Book 6: Chapter 41: Post-Mortem

Book 6: Chapter 41: Post-Mortem

Victor stood before the ranks of the ninth cohort, running his eyes up and down their rows. They were tough-looking men and women. Every single one of them, from the smallest, slightest Ghelli to the biggest, most muscular Shadeni, looked like they could handle themselves. They each bore scars and carried experience in their eyes. Many wore ribbons and medals on their chests. Some wore awards from previous campaigns in the Imperial Legion, but most only displayed what they’d earned during the campaign, and, in this cohort, almost everyone had won accolades.

About half of them had earned multiple medals for the battle with the Ridonne. During the weeks of travel from Persi Gables to the Untamed Marches, the legion quartermaster, with his many assistants, had been hard at work creating more medals and ribbons to be handed out after further skirmishes and battles. Sarl’s lieutenants had been busy awarding them for the cohort’s many victories against the undead. Victor saw silver battle commemorations, red-ribboned medals for valor, blue for sustaining injuries, and gold medals for exceptional prowess, usually measured in enemies killed. The Glorious Ninth were the most decorated men and women in the legion, of that Victor was sure, even not having seen all that Rellia and Borrius had taken the rest of the army through in the last week.

While the cohort stood at attention, quiet, ready to hear his words, Victor turned his gaze over his shoulder to see the black-clad men and women who’d survived their existence as thralls under Dunstan. It was a much smaller group, about a sixth as many as were lined up facing them, but they were solid, serious-looking people. Of course, they were all human, so they had a size advantage on the Ardeni and Ghelli and certainly on the occasional goat-like Cadwalli and the diminutive Bogoli. Victor thought about that briefly while he let his eyes run along their number—these were the first non-undead humans he’d run into other than his cousin, Olivia.

How strange! It was weird to lay eyes on so many men and women who didn’t have red or blue skin, who didn’t have brightly colored eyes or hair or horns or wings, or any of the other myriad oddities that he’d grown accustomed to in his time on Fanwath. Still, it was plain that these people’s ancestors had come from Earth. They, too, stared back at him quietly, waiting for him to speak. He locked eyes with Perry for a moment and offered a brief nod before turning back to the cohort. He looked to the left, glancing over to Sarl and the heavily cowled figure beside him—Victoria. He was glad she hadn’t tried to flee; he had questions for her. Beside them were Edeya, Kethelket, Lam, and now Valla, as she finished walking over and turned, standing shoulder to shoulder with Lam. Suddenly, he felt nervous.

Victor frowned, reminding himself of who he was. He was the man who’d delved into the dark, twisting depths below this very keep. He’d descended into the nest of wampyrs and single-handedly slain most of their number. Then he’d battled, deep underground, their evil lord and freed this keep and the people behind him. He was Victor, the man who’d faced down a thousand reavers and bought time for these other men and women to arrive on the field, saving the fifth cohort. He was the man who’d led these people to victory against the Ridonne, slaying their champion from another world or dimension. He had no need to be nervous; these soldiers loved him. Many had said as much. They’d listen to him, and his words would be well-received. He was sure of it.

Victor reached into his Core and opened his pathways to a flood of inspiration-attuned Energy, using it to cast Inspiration of the Quinametzin. As the white-gold Energy spread through him and radiated out, touching every soldier assembled in the bailey, he saw eyes light up, smiles widen, and understanding flash across their faces—it was obvious why they were there; it was time for Victor to explain who the men and women lined up behind him were. “Brave, tireless Ninth!” he began, speaking in a loud, clear voice.

He wasn’t titan-sized. He was just Victor, a man larger than life with or without his titanic aspect. He stood before them, decked out in his shimmering magical wyrm-scale armor and his massive, intimidating Helm of the Kethian Juggernaut. With the bright light of inspiration running through his mind, Victor knew it didn’t matter what size he made himself; these soldiers respected him. They’d seen him put himself on the line for them again and again. They not only would listen to him, but they wanted to. They wanted to please him. He suddenly realized that this wouldn’t be difficult at all; his nervous energy was from his fear, and it had no place here.

Everyone stood quietly, so still that a distant observer might think they were statues. Victor nodded and continued, “Thank you for rushing to this keep, ready to come to my aid. As you can see, Dunstan is dead. His ugly, undead wampyrs are dead, and the keep is ours.” He paused a moment as some of the more exuberant soldiers began to whoop and cheer. He smiled, nodded, then lifted a hand, and they grew quiet. “When I killed the foul creature that ruled in this keep, some of his thralls were set free from his control.” He turned and held out a hand as though presenting the humans lined up behind him.

“I know it’s easy to be suspicious of them. These are men and women who, not long ago, might have been forced to fight against you. I think it’s important that you all understand the hell they’ve been through. On the world of Dark Ember, where Hector and his undead servants come from, people like these,” again he gestured to the one-time thralls, “are allowed to live small lives in villages. They’re controlled by bullies, not unlike the Ridonne, but a thousand times worse. Whenever the vampiric lords want fresh meat or soldiers for their armies, they come to the village and take them. They don’t offer riches and power; they don’t convince them to sign up. They simply take them, infect them with the dark magic of their vampiric bloodline, and force them to become monsters like those you and I have been fighting.”

“It seems the curse takes time to grow roots in a person’s soul, to really grab hold and twist their spirits into undead things. These men and women behind me were the lucky few who hadn’t been fully consumed by it. Whether consciously or with some instinct for survival, they’d been fighting against it. When Dunstan died, his magic fled their blood, and they became normal, living people again. More than that, they have a thirst for vengeance in their blood! They remember the vile things Dunstan and his kind have done to them, their families, and loved ones. They want justice! I offered them freedom. I offered them the chance to flee this war. Every single one of them chose to stay and fight. They want to see that green star snuffed out! They want to feel the undead break beneath the blows of their weapons!”

Again, Victor paused, looking left to right, up and down the ranks, meeting many eyes, looking for dissension. He didn’t find any. “Can I count on you, Glorious Ninth? Can I count on you to take these new soldiers under your wing? Will you teach them the ways of our legion? Will you help them fill your ranks? You won’t find fiercer companions! Nia, come here.” Victor turned and watched as the tall, scarred woman stepped forward stiffly, her broad shoulders pulled back. Her eyes were nervous, but Victor saw the spark in them, the same light that had made him want to ensure his people would treat her and her kind fairly. “Nia, how many loved ones have the wampyr and their kind taken from you?”

“All, Lord. More than I like to think about to count.”

“What does it mean to you to join the Ninth here?”

“Everything, Lord!” She spoke with breathless passion, eyes bright, springing with tears as she looked upon the assembled soldiers, her desire to be one of them so plain, so desperate, that it was palpable.

“Thank you, Nia.” Victor turned back to the line of black-clad former thralls. “Let me see your fists in the air if you have a score to settle with Lord Hector!” He watched as they each lifted their fists, scowling fiercely, perhaps thinking of one lost family member or another, perhaps remembering being treated as cattle. Victor nodded and turned back to the cohort. “Well? Can I count on you?”

“YES!” they thundered, slamming their fists to their chests in a vigorous salute.

“Captain Sarl.” Victor locked gazes with him until he stepped forward and saluted.

“Legate, sir!”

“Get your lieutenants together and work these new soldiers into your unit rosters. Take their oaths of service and assign them a partner, someone who will be there to guide them through the many customs and routines of our legion.”

“Yes, sir! Lieutenants! Step forward!”

Victor nodded, then lifted his voice again. “Thank you, Ninth! I’m counting on you to make this work. I’m counting on you to help these men and women find the justice they seek.”

#

“That was a good thing you did, if a bit awkward for your recruits.” Lam pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, smiling across at Victor and Valla. Edeya and Kethelket took seats on either side of her.

“Awkward?” Victor nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know how I envisioned it in my head, but I suppose putting them all on the spot like that, on display, I guess, was a little rough. Still, I wanted the army to know how I felt. I didn’t want there to be any doubt that if they held grudges or conspired against the former thralls, they’d be acting against my wishes.” He turned to Sarl, the last of them still standing, leaning on the chair to Valla’s left. “Did I put you in a bad spot, Captain?”

Victor mentally made a note to read the message. “Does that include the Shadeni tribe?”

“No! Borrius left behind many of the extra troops who’d been swelling the cohorts on the march, and there’s been a steady influx of fortune-seekers coming over the pass.”

Victor looked to his right, locking eyes with Valla. “Thoughts?”

“We should call for reinforcements. We should bolster the Ninth to a double cohort. Have six hundred of the highest-level soldiers at the pass meet us at the citadels.”

“I like the sound of that. Sarl?”

“It would be easy to double-up unit numbers. I could keep the same command structure in place.”

“Kind of the beauty of the legion structure,” Lam added. “Cohorts are often bolstered like that depending on the assignment.”

Victor nodded, looking at Edeya. “The troops at the pass have been drilling? They know the commands?”

“Yes, of course. Most of them were drilling with the legion all the way here during the march.”

“Right. Okay, I’ll leave that to you, Sarl and Lam. Coordinate the meet-up. Now, I have one more request, Sarl. When it comes time to leave behind a hundred soldiers to garrison this keep, take volunteers. I’d like those who are most weary, those who could use a break from the constant fighting, to stay here. I promised the former thralls that they’d be brought to the front line, that they’d get a chance at spilling some undead blood.”

“Understood.”

“Okay. I want hourly watch rotations this afternoon and tonight so that no one has to be on duty for long. Let’s let the soldiers relax and celebrate a little; they deserve it.” Victor smiled at the people around the table and added, “You all deserve it. I’m so lucky to have such dependable, competent friends leading this army.”

“Here, here!” Lam laughed, pounding a fist on the table.

“Well said!” Kethelket nodded, inhaling deeply through his nose and sitting up straighter.

Valla reached under the table and grasped Victor’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Her cool fingers against his hot flesh brought to mind another matter, and he added, “When you march tomorrow, Valla and I will stay behind.”

“What?” Edeya was the first to respond, eyes wide, voice rising with a tinge of panic.

“Relax!” he laughed. “I don’t mean permanently. We’re going to use these.” Victor fished the two “apples of evolution” out of his ring and set them on the table. “I received these when I claimed the keep, and I’m . . . claiming them. Valla will, of course, object,” he chuckled and winked at her, “but she deserves one. I’m eating the other because I have to keep advancing, too, regardless of my current strength. We don’t know what Hector or his closest subordinates will be like. I have to be strong.”

“What are they?” Sarl leaned close, looking at the foil-wrapped fruit.

“Apples of Evolution, whatever that is. I’m assuming racial advancements.”

“Victor, I . . .”

“Didn’t I already say you’d object? Overruled.” Victor squeezed her hand.

“He’s right, Valla.” Lam reached over the table and took Valla’s other hand. “You’re too selfless, and you’re often in the thick of things with Victor. I’ve even pushed my race to advanced. What are you? Still in the improved ranks, yeah?”

“I, too, am at the advanced stage.” Kethelket nodded.

“Well, I . . .” Sarl chuckled and shook his head.

“You need to spend some of the campaign tokens you’ve earned, buddy,” Victor laughed. “Okay,” Victor smiled and nodded at Valla as she bit back further objections, “it’s settled, then. We’ll eat these apples here, then haul ass on Guapo to rejoin you all. Oh!” He paused and snapped his fingers, reaching back into his dimensional storage container. He retrieved the silver, rune-etched spyglass and held it up. “Before we end the meeting, help me figure out what this thing does.”