Book 3: Chapter 24: Yund

Book 3: Chapter 24: Yund

“We’ll take ‘im, m’lady,” Victor heard one of the guards say to Valla, but she looked at him with a frown and shook her head.

“No. I’ll be bringing him to lady ap’Yensha.”

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry, but he’s coming with us,” the other guard said. Victor stepped out of the bathroom, now clad in his armored shirt and holding Lifedrinker, and stepped up next to Valla.

“No, men. We’ll take him from here. If you feel that’s a problem, have a magistrate collect him from the ap’Yensha estate.” Valla stared at the two guardsmen, brow furrowed, eyes brooking no argument.

The two guards looked at each other, clearly conflicted, and Victor noted their better-than-average fitting uniforms, shiny mail, and polished boots. These guys either took their job more seriously than most or got paid better than most. Both were Ardeni and young. They looked fit, and their hands rested on their weapons comfortably.

“What clan are you two from?” Victor asked on impulse.

“Yes. What are your names, guardsmen?” Valla asked, her sword still naked in her hands.

Sergeant Hine backed away from the two guards and held up his hands, “Now, now, guards. I appreciate you coming to investigate, but I think Lady ap’Yensha will be within her rights to look into this matter. As she said, seek a magistrate’s order if you’d like to pursue things.”

“Right,” the taller guard said; he had perfectly coiffed red hair, curly and glistening—a sign that Victor had come to understand meant he’d advanced his race a time or two. “We’ll be on our way.” He tugged at his friend's elbow, a dark-haired fellow with bright yellow eyes, and the two of them made a hasty exit.

“They didn’t want to give us their clan name,” Victor said.

“Correct. I wish I had the staff here to follow them,” Valla said. She glanced at Sergeant Hine. “Do you have someone to spare?”

“Not anyone that wouldn’t make a fool of themselves. I’m sorry.”

“Did you fetch those guardsmen?” Valla pressed.

“No! They came into the common room—said they’d heard a clash while standing out front.”

“That’s bullshit,” Victor said.The initial instance of this chapter being available happened at N0v3l.Bin.

“Aye,” Valla grunted as she knelt to inspect the “thief” again. He was breathing, but some of his bones were clearly bent in the wrong places. “Ancestors! Do me a favor and never tackle me, Victor.”

“I’ll get this room sorted. Just give me an hour, please?” Hine said, glancing at Victor as he surveyed the damage.

“Yeah, I’ve got somewhere to go, anyway,” he turned to Valla, “You gonna take this guy to Rellia? I’d like to know what was going on. Was he targeting my axe, or was he just lucky?”

“Rellia has people that will get the information from him,” she glanced at Victor and then at Hine, “Don’t worry. I’m talking about an imperial, licensed mind caster.”

“Mind caster?”

“Aye,” Hine grunted, “someone with a mind affinity. Damn rare, and damn illegal if you don’t register with the empire.”

“Fuck that,” Victor grunted on instinct. He didn’t like the idea of the empire or anyone requiring someone to register so they could keep tabs on their magic.

“What do you mean?” Valla asked, producing a small amber vial and holding it to the thief’s lips.

“I mean, I don’t like the idea of some imperial agency in charge of my magic. I’m not a mind caster or whatever, but I wouldn’t do it.”

“You don’t understand how dangerous they are. They can make suggestions that, if you heard them, you’d struggle to resist. I could spend the afternoon telling you the horror stories I’ve heard.”

“I’ve seen it,” Hine said quietly.

“Oh?” Victor looked at the man while the thief gasped, and his bones began to click and crack back into the correct positions.

“Aye. We was on duty out near the World Breakers. Me and the rest of the Red Slayer Company. Captain came ‘round and told us to head to a village up in the foothills; I still remember its name—Misty Hollow. When we got there, me and four other hard men and women, we found a man sitting by the village well, just weeping into his hands. In a circle, all ‘round him were the people of the village. Every one of them was slumped over like they’d been sitting on their knees, and their throats were cut. Only one of them held a knife, though, and that’s when shit went weird.” He glanced at Valla and nervously added, “Pardon my language, Captain.”

“What?” Victor asked as Valla shrugged and shook her head. Not only was the story interesting, but the man was only the second or third native he’d heard say the word “shit.” The sergeant looked down at the thief, and Valla took the hint, flipped him over on his stomach, to his protestations, and tied his hands behind his back. Then the sergeant continued.

“The weeping man took his hands away from his face and looked at us. He said, ‘Stand still,’ and we did. Not one of us took another step. Then he said, to my mate Yorfil, ‘Pick up the knife.’ Ancestors be damned if he didn’t step forward and pick up the knife. Then the weeping man said, tears still falling from his cheeks, ‘Why don’t you cut your throat?’”

“What the fuck?” Victor asked.

Yund, though, he’d been a giant in Victor’s mind, a terrifying menace that could swat him like a fly. Someone with immense power and wealth that held Victor’s life in the palm of his hand. Here he was, though, not so tall, quite fat, slow, with jiggling jowls and cheap clothes. Even his axe looked like something Victor would leave lying on the battlefield. “Hey, Yund, you old asshole.”

“Wha . . .”

Victor stepped through the doorway, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the lintel, and his three yipping, growling shadows slinked in around him, taking up various dark corners of the room. Yund began to sweat, and his words died in his throat as his eyes bulged and his hands began to tremble. “Sit down,” Victor said, and Yund practically collapsed into his chair.

“Do I know you, sir? Is this about the money I owe Tharjis?” Yund looked from Victor to Lifedrinker, then let his eyes dart around at the shadowy hounds emanating their dark aura, and Victor actually saw him gulp. That gave him pause, and as he took in a deep breath, he realized he was channeling a lot of rage-attuned Energy into his pathways, more than he’d intended.

Looming there, over Yund’s desk, Victor saw a red, flickering light reflected on the shiny, brass shield hanging behind Yund, and he knew he was starting to glow with a red aura. Not only that, but he had, at some point, lifted Lifedrinker free from his belt, and the fact that she was in his hands, humming for action, almost drove him into a frenzy. It was with a monumental effort of will that he reeled in his rage and slowly forced in and out another long, slow breath.

“You don’t recognize me, asshole?” Victor asked, leaning closer.

“No, um, is it you that I owe?” Yund stammered, his jowls shaking with the way his head darted left and right, searching for answers in the corners of the room.

“How I’ve changed, eh? So much that you can’t see it in my eyes. Isn’t my skin enough? Sure, I’ve seen some sun, but I’m still the only tan-colored mother fucker in this city with no wings. Come on, asshole. Look into my eyes.” Victor leaned in close, and that’s when the light ignited in Yund’s panicked face.

“V . . .V . . . Victor? Ancestors, boy! You can’t blame me for what that noble did! My hands were tied . . .”

“No, pendejo, my fucking hands were tied!” Victor growled, and suddenly all his rage was back, and he smashed Yund’s desk with Lifedrinker, utterly reducing it to kindling with the rage-fueled swing. He pushed through the ruined furnishing and grabbed Yund’s leather collar, lifting the man from his feet and pressing him against the rear wall of the office, crumpling the cheap shield hanging there. “God, I want to fucking squeeze your head off,” he hissed, pushing his face an inch from Yund’s.

“Wa . . . wait, Victor!” Yund wheezed.

“Where are your fucking contracts?” Victor growled, and he knew he was glowing again. He knew his hand was hot where it pressed into Yund’s chest, and Lifedrinker buzzed in his other hand, begging him to let go, to Berserk and lay waste to the entire place.

“In my ring . . .”

“Right, if you want to live . . .” Just then, a bang on the door sounded while his coyote howled from the practice floor. “Sit down!” He pushed Yund into his chair and gestured to his coyotes, “They’re watching you.” Then he gripped Lifedrinker and, with a kick that finished off the door, sending it flying off its hinges, strode back onto the practice floor.

Ponda, the door guy, and two other thugs were standing in the center of the hall, cudgels and even shields equipped. The two coyotes Victor had left on watch were stalking them, walking in slow circles around the four henchmen, and when Victor exploded from the office, they broke off and came to stand on either side of him. Victor stared at Ponda, and it only took a moment for the light of recognition to shine in the big Vodkin’s eyes.

Victor grinned, staring at Ponda. At one time, he’d almost thought of the Vodkin in friendly terms—he’d seemed sort of cool the way he spoke with the fighters and talked shit about Yund behind his back. He’d seemed a giant to Victor back then, and he was a huge man, close to Victor’s size, though that would be a different story if Victor lost himself to rage, and he felt damn close. “You fucking stupid, Ponda? The game’s over. Time to go find a new job.”

“Victor? Little runt with an anger problem? Why’d you come back, kid? Yund ain’t worth your time, especially if you got free.”

“You’re right about that much, Ponda. He’s not worth my time, but they are,” Victor gestured with his axe at the fighters standing around.

“Come on, Victor! There’re hundreds, thousands of people like them in the city. How about Gelica? Or a dozen other cities I could name. You think killing Yund and taking a handful of fighters will make a difference?”

“It’ll make a difference to them,” Victor growled, pointing at a woman sitting against the wall, head in her hands. He stepped forward, desperately wanting to project his fear Energy, wanting to see the panic in their eyes, wanting to hear their screams as he ran behind them and cut them down with merciless cleaves. His fear Core pulsed and throbbed, begging him to release it, and then Oynalla’s words came to him, bouncing around in his skull, warning him to hold back from overusing that attunement. He stopped and sucked in a deep breath, and said, “Fuck off, Ponda. I don’t want to wake up at night thinking about how I cut you to pieces.”

“C’mon, Victor, I know you, kid. Sure, you’ve put on some muscle, but it hasn’t been that long. I’m tier three, and these whoresons aren’t far behind. Just take off, huh? I’ll tell Yund we beat you up and sent you packing.” He glanced at his wide-eyed companions, and they seemed to take heart in his words. In fact, they appeared bolstered, and Victor wondered if Ponda was using some kind of ability.

Victor decided it was time to put an end to the talking; he reached into his Core and reversed the pressure of his will on his rage-attuned Core. He cast Berserk as the heat of his Energy flooded him, and he screamed his titanic fury at the sky. His body doubled in mass, maybe more, and tremendous corded muscles shot up around his shoulders, neck, and arms. His legs became like tree trunks, and his terrible shriek grew in volume until the people standing around clapped their hands to their ears and backed away, wide-eyed, as Victor lifted Lifedrinker, one-handed, into the air.

“I said, fucking leave, Ponda!” he roared, his voice like a monster’s, hoarse, deep, grinding. It rolled out of his throat like an avalanche. So effective were his words and actions that Ponda and his three cronies turned and, without a second glance, bolted from the warehouse. Victor’s instinct was to give chase, to cut them down, and his coyotes looked at him, whining, prancing toward the door and back again, shaking with the urge to run after the fleeing enemies.

“Hold,” he rumbled, and Victor realized he was still himself. He’d pushed his rage out, cast berserk, but he wasn’t truly angry; the fury of his scream had come from a deeper part of himself, and his waking mind didn’t resonate with it—not that day. He turned—a giant, limned in red, glowing Energy, eyes bloody with harnessed murder—and growled at the people standing around, “Don’t flee. I’m getting your contracts.”

Victor turned and, still berserk, stomped toward the office. He didn’t fit in the doorway, so he smashed a shoulder into the wall next to the door, widening it. Stooped over, he advanced on Yund and growled, his breath coming out like a bellows, “Ring.”

Yund fumbled with his hand, trying to slide the ring from his left pointer finger, but it was tight, and didn’t want to come off. Victor reached out and snatched the man’s hand, tiny, like a child’s, and a part of Victor’s mind wanted to bite it off—who was this puny man to stand in his presence? He clamped down on that thought, though, and with his thumb and the meat of his pointer finger, he grabbed Yund’s ring and pulled. It slid off easily, though Yund screamed, and Victor realized he’d pulled off a long strip of the man’s skin.

He shook the ring, so the bloody skin fell off, then he grunted, “Unbond.” Yund’s face, red by nature, had faded to a wan pink, and his eyes widened further still at the command.

“Victor, all my contracts, much of my wealth is in that . . .”

“Unbond,” Victor growled again and, already stooping over, leaned closer, so his huge, blood-red eyes were staring into Yund’s. The man gingerly reached out with his non-bloodied hand and touched the ring. He held his finger there for a brief moment, and then he pulled it away, a crestfallen, ruined look on his face.

Victor felt his rage cooling and knew he’d lose his Berserk any moment, so he took Yund by the neck and dragged him out of the office. He threw him, tumbling through the sand and filthy hay, to slide up to a group of three fighters lingering closer to the exit than Victor had last seen them. “Hold,” he grunted, then he put his hands on his knees and breathed, allowing his anger to fade and his rage-attuned Energy to seep back into his Core.

Yund groaned and writhed, clearly further injured by his long slide over the rough floor, but the three fighters pounced on him. One slid his practice sword under Yund’s chin and braced his knees against his back, forcing the much larger man to gasp, and struggle for breath. Victor, back to his usual self, cleared his throat and said, “Someone come here. I’ll give you the key to the cells, and I want everyone out here. Tell them I’m giving you all your contracts and a share of Yund’s wealth.”