Book 8: Chapter 25: Party

Book 8: Chapter 25: Party

Victor stood in his shower, washing away the sweat of a hard day’s practice. He was a little late for Lam's party but figured he had some time before people—Lam and Valla mostly—began to get irritated with him. He and Lesh had been sparring for hours, and he was a mess. The dragonkin had put him through a rough one, eager to demonstrate his scales’ new resilience and the strength and agility he’d gained from his bloodline upgrade.

Victor chuckled at the thought, turning his face toward the mini rainclouds, washing the soap out of his hair. While he had his eyes squeezed shut, he turned his gaze inward and marveled proudly at his new Core. Once he’d started using the cultivation technique that Dar taught him, the bands of glory, rage, and fear-attuned Energy had begun to rotate around his compact, central sphere of inspiration. The gleaming, sparkling band of glory-attuned Energy moved quickly, while the overarching ring of smoky, purple-black fear moved more ponderously. Rage was somewhere in between.

It amazed Victor to no end, watching the interplay between his different affinities. He could see the slow trickle of fear, rage, and glory toward the center, but he saw how they changed as they passed through each layer. Dar hadn’t been lying; his Energy fed his spirit, and now none of his rage or fear got through unaltered by his other affinities. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of his Core’s redesign or if he was just experiencing some sort of placebo effect, but Victor had felt great the last couple of days. His mood had been good, his outlook positive, and it seemed like he was getting more out of everything he did.

Smiling at the idea, Victor got out of the shower, intent on being amicable at the party. He was a little apprehensive; there was the chance that some hard feelings might come up. After all, he’d been fighting, no-holds-barred, against many of Lam’s guests not too long ago. Still, the challenge dungeon had been a competition, and he hoped some grudges could be forgiven after some pleasant conversation, drinks, and food.

He dressed in the clothing version of his armor, choosing a midnight blue shade for his shirt. The other pieces, his pants, boots, belt, bracelet, and headband, all shifted to a deep black that complemented the choice. “Nice,” he grunted, looking at himself in the mirror. The headband took a little getting used to, but it was supple leather, tooled with silvery thread, and, according to Valla, gave him an almost regal appearance.

As he left the bathroom, he glanced at Lifedrinker leaning beside the bed and thought about wearing her. He decided it was a little much, considering it was “his” home. Still, he didn’t trust all the people Lam was inviting, so he summoned his coyotes and left them in the room to keep watch. They yipped and cried a little, but when he expressed his intentions, they curled up like they were sheltering for the night on his bed. Grinning, Victor walked out and nearly bumped into Sora.

“Oof,” he said, falling back against his door, “almost ran you over.”

She looked up at him, smiling. “Victor! I was just wandering a little, trying to avoid Cam.”

“Yeah? Cam’s here?” Victor got a little frustrated looking down his nose at her, so he cast Alter Self, reducing his height to something more like seven feet.

“So weird that you can do that! What an interesting ability!” She giggled and sipped her drink; from the flush of her cheeks, he didn’t think it was her first. She looked lovely, Victor couldn’t deny—a slim-fitting dress that didn’t cover much of her lithe, tan figure. Her grayish hair was curled and shone vibrantly, almost like silver, and she had a mischievous twinkle in her big, bright eyes.

“So, you’re hiding from Cam?”

She nodded, brushing a droplet of condensation from her drink off her chin. “He’s going to deny everything I told you about his betrayal. Be warned.”

“Well, come on. I’ll shield you from his wrath,” Victor said, feeling too smooth for his own taste, and turned down the hallway. “I should get to the party before Valla kicks my ass.”

“I get to meet her? The mysterious woman that holds the leash of a mighty titan?”

Victor sighed and chuckled. He had no doubt that there were plenty of rumors around Sojourn about him and, of course, anyone connected to him. “You’ll meet her, all right.” He could hear music, surprisingly modern Earth-like music, with instruments playing that reminded him of synthesizers, drums, and even guitars. It was mellow, nothing like rock and roll, but definitely not the jaunty medieval stuff he’d gotten used to on Fanwath. “Is that local music?”

“Strista brought a minstrel box, a good one, loaded with music from dozens of nearby worlds.”

“Strista . . .” Victor ran the name through his mind. “The avian woman with the whip? Her master is a consul, right?”

“Yes, Master Yon.” As she answered, Victor stepped out of the hallway into the main parlor of Dar’s house and was a little surprised by the size of the crowd. There had to be more than thirty people in the room, and he could see, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, an equal or greater number out on the deck. “Damn, Lam,” he breathed, scanning the space, seeing some familiar faces but many he didn’t recognize.

Sora leaned close, speaking low, “Quite a showing. I don’t think any invites went unanswered. Can you blame them all? Everyone in the city is still talking about the thrashings you handed out in the Vault of Valor. Then there’s the venue—Ranish Dar’s lake home! He’s never had a gathering here. Many masters are feeling irritated that their apprentices were invited here before they were.”

Victor nodded absently, still trying to spot Valla while avoiding locking eyes with any of the dozens of people already staring his way. He saw a glimpse of silvery, teal wings out on the deck and started moving that way, only to have an enormous figure, someone he first thought was Dar because of his colorful, loose clothing, step into his path. “Oho! There she is, and there’s the man of the hour!” Victor looked up into Brontes’s brutish face and couldn’t help smiling at the giant’s crooked-toothed grin. He also couldn’t help noticing how Sora inched closer to him, practically pressing her side against his as Brontes stuck out a meaty hand.

“Brontes!” Victor clasped the meaty palm. “I’m glad to see you didn’t bring your club.”

“Oh, Ballsmasher?” He laughed. “I have him resting in a pool of hot clay back home, still recovering from your axe’s wicked edge!” His grip felt like a sandpaper-wrapped ham hock, and as he squeezed, Brontes frowned, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Shit! Have I gone mad, or have you shrunk?”

“Careful, Brontes,” Sora sighed.

Victor chose to ignore the question and pulled his hand back. “Nice to see you, big guy. Wanna do some sparring sometime soon? I have a friend I want you to meet.”

“Do you jest?” Brontes boomed. “Of course!” He gestured expansively and enthusiastically, and Victor felt very glad Dar’s home had been built with giants in mind.

Victor felt a growl starting to take shape deep in his chest. The little asshole was trying to get Valla upset. He’d told her about the Iron Prison, of course, but, as he was wont to do, he’d downplayed the danger. She, of course, wasn’t one to be easily manipulated, however. “Oh, Arcus!” She laughed. “It may seem dangerous to you, but that’s only because you’ve only just met Victor. He’ll be fine.” She moved close to Victor and grabbed his arm, leaning against him. “Won’t you, my sweet?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, kissing her forehead, “of course.”

“You’re not worried?” Arcus pressed. “The council has lost five iron-rankers trying to make a foothold in that place!” The muttered conversations on the deck told Victor they had done more than draw a small crowd; everyone was listening. He was about to spout some bravado to try to change the topic and prevent Arcus from actually getting to Valla, but then another voice spoke up, raspy and low—Arona.

“Haven’t you read the reports of the fights after you were eliminated, Arcus? I think Victor will be fine.” The Death Caster stepped up to Victor’s left as she spoke, and he glanced at her; she looked similar to the other times he’d seen her—black lips, dark eyes, and sharp teeth. He quickly shifted his gaze back to Arcus when he saw that she wore a very slinky black dress that exposed a lot of pale flesh rather than her usual layered black robes. Valla’s hands tightened on his biceps.

Arcus chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “Right, yes. I suppose if they couldn’t get one of the top-ranked bulwarks in the city to clear the entrance, someone like Victor will have to suffice.”

“I’m a top-ranked bulwark. Number two in the city. Thank your fiery gods that Victor will be going in there.” The new speaker had a deep, rumbling voice. Victor peered at him, only to see it was a man he didn’t recognize, easily eight feet tall but leaner than Brontes, with a rigidly straight posture. He was dressed in a fine suit layered in different shades of purple, and his face was classically handsome with a square jaw, straight nose, and lips that curled in a pleasant smile. “That man is the sturdiest, hardest-hitting bastard I’ve ever crossed blades with.”

Finally, it clicked for Victor, and he realized it was the man who’d been encased in plate armor. He glanced at the woman by his side to confirm—she didn’t have her crossbow, but there was no doubt she was the one he’d eliminated—his wife. Victor smiled at her and asked, “How’s your bow?”

“She’s fine, sir. Thank you for your honorable mercy.” She let go of the man’s arm and bowed, and the tall man stepped closer, reaching out a hand.

“Victor, you have my thanks as well.”

Victor took the hand and squeezed, nodding and smiling, pleased that most of the people he’d fought seemed to be good sports about their losses. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the giant warrior’s name, but it wouldn’t come to him. Finally, he sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I’d introduce you to Valla, but I’m an idiot when it comes to names.”

Valla let go of his arm and reached out a hand to the woman, who smiled. “I’m Lyla Rose, and this big fellow is Dovalion Boarheart.”

It seemed that Arcus didn’t like being left out. He shouldered closer, bumping Arona, and asked, “Boarheart, why didn’t you accept the council’s offer?”

“Because I’ve lost enough this decade. I’ll be spending my time grinding away at the Dread Spire for the next few years.”

“We will be,” Lyla corrected, clasping Dovalion’s hand with hers.

Arona, done being patient, shifted to lock eyes with Victor. “Don’t let Arcus discourage you, Victor. If you can hold the entrance until the portal opens again, I’ll help you subdue that dungeon. I’d go first, but the council thinks that prisoners are lying in wait, killing the council representatives, not the undead inhabitants of the dungeon.” She frowned, and Victor felt some cold Energy wafting off her as she struggled to contain some emotion—anger? Irritation? She sighed. “I wanted to go in first. My bone thralls are made for such a situation, but Master Vesavo refused to allow it.”

Arcus started talking then about how he’d handle it if he were “allowed” to go in first. Victor didn’t buy it; he knew damn well that Arcus and his master hoped that Victor would die when he stepped into the dungeon. Then, they could drop the whole charade. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he doubted there was any real reason to get Rasso Hine out of the dungeon. As that thought occurred to him, he waited for Arona to finish saying something about monsters respawning in a dungeon and asked, “What’s the deal with this Rasso Hine guy, anyway? They’re risking all these lives to get one man out?”

“Justice!” Arcus cried. “We cannot allow the council to punish an innocent man!”

“It’s more than that,” Arona added. “My master thinks Hine knows something about the half-finished invasion circle that Consul Rexa found and destroyed last month.” The conversations around them had picked back up, but a new hush descended at Arona’s raspy declaration.

“Imagine that!” Arcus scoffed. “Who would think to invade Sojourn? We’ve nearly a thousand veil walkers in the city at any given time.”

“The circle was real,” Strista said. Victor hadn’t seen her approach, but she stepped forward on the other side of Valla. “My master saw it with his own eyes. I saw him sketching it from memory later that day.”

“Consul Yon?” Again, Arcus scoffed. “You know what the other consuls call him, yes?”

Arona nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t be rude.”

“Arcus is brave,” Strista said, irritated clicking sounds coming from deep in her throat, “when he has Lord Roil’s robes to hide behind.”

Victor saw Arcus’s face tinting toward crimson and could even feel some heat emanating from the man, so he stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Let’s keep it cool, huh? This is a party. Strista, I liked the music I heard earlier; it had a different kind of beat—a little faster. Can you play it again? On your device, I mean? Valla, where’s Lam? I wanted something to eat, and the table was picked over when I passed by. Also, damn, but I’m thirsty! Anyone else want a drink?”

His interjections seemed to have done the trick. Glowering but visibly restraining himself, Arcus turned to speak more quietly with a young woman who looked like she might have been his sister. Victor frowned at that thought—hadn’t Edeya said something about his sister? Everyone else started speaking at once about drinks, snacks, the view, the fabulous setting, or Strista’s music. Valla pulled his arm, and he turned to see her pointing out Lam, who was waving her hands, speaking to some of Dar’s house staff. Victor chuckled and walked over; it would be a long night, but he was already having fun. He hoped he’d run into the turtle-guy, Drobna.