“...seems these terms are amenable.” King Groff folded his fingers together, peering at the document his chamberlain pushed before him. Behind the king, Qi Pot, the champion of Xan, stood. He wasn’t as feared for his martial prowess as Obert, but he looked competent enough to Victor. He was a wiry, lean fellow who wore a rapier that seemed to exude shadows. They drifted out of the tooled scabbard like smoke, obscuring the weapon’s hilt and darkening the air around him.
Qi Pot wasn’t particularly tall, but he had a way of leaning forward that emphasized his lean, predatory posture. He didn’t glower or try to intimidate Victor, which, if Victor was honest, was more intimidating than outright hostility. Still, the man’s seeming competence made it all the easier for Victor to look the fool. Queen Kynna had done her part to make that job easier, too.
It seemed that, during the celebratory feast, she’d “had too much to drink” and had gone on and on to anyone who’d listen about how she was eager to replace Victor with a new champion claimed from Frostmarch. Apparently, she wasn’t happy with his “lucky” victory. As one might expect, word of her disgruntled displeasure with Victor spread rather rapidly. So, Xan had come calling, offering favorable terms to move up the duel before Queen Kynna traveled to Frostmarch to claim a champion from the former king’s cadre.
As the delegation from Xan stood and departed, Queen Kynna dismissed Chamberlain Thorn and then turned to Victor. “That went very well.”
Victor nodded. “If I understood things correctly, you only stand to lose what you gained from Frostmarch? You’ll remain queen of Gloria even if I lose?”
“That’s correct. So, whether you win or lose, Victor, you’ve saved Gloria. At least for the immediate future.” Smiling, she tried to push her chair back, but it was heavy, and the feet were caught in the plush rug that ran the length of the table. Victor hurried forward and lifted the back, helping her to slide it out. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, not the chair. Thank you for risking your life to help my people.”
“Um,” Victor smiled, backing up a few steps as the Queen stood, “you’re welcome.”
“And the timeline is all right with you? You’ll be ready to fight tonight?”
Victor glanced at the big, ornate clock standing in the corner of the negotiation room. It was nearly noon. “I’ll be ready, My Queen, but a craftsman is waiting at the palace. Do you mind if we hurry back?”
“A craftsman? I’d hoped to have lunch with you. You’ve been here a handful of days, and we’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”
“Well, I mean, you were busy at the feast, and before that...” Victor shrugged—there was no need to recount all the hectic activity since his arrival. “Anyway, I’m sorry about missing lunch, but when I invited this guy to the palace, I didn’t realize we’d be meeting with Xan so soon. I guess I could reschedule—”
“No.” The queen waved her hand and walked to the door leading to the portal room. “We’ll have more time after this duel.” She paused to look at him again, her brows drawing down as her expression became more serious. “You will win, won’t you?”
Victor grinned. “That’s my plan.”
“Qi Pot is well-respected—not as feared as Obert, but that’s largely because he’s younger and has fought fewer duels.”
“I have a plan for him.” Victor tried to smile reassuringly, hoping the queen wouldn’t ask for details. He doubted she’d feel encouraged if she heard the outline of his strategy.
“Good. Very well, then, Victor. Go to your appointment. I’ll see you before the duel.”
Victor bowed. “Your Majesty.” Before she had time to second-guess his release, Victor hurried out, and a few moments later, he was stepping out of the portal, back at the palace in Gloria. Bryn awaited him, and he smiled and nodded when he recognized her posture and scowling eyes through the gap in her visor.
She saluted and stepped away from the other guards in the chamber. “Where to, sir?”
“Where’s my guest waiting?”
“The eastern parlor, sir.”
Victor nodded and looked at the group of four guards at their posts on either side of the door. “Can one of you fetch Artificer Trobban from the eastern parlor and bring him up to my suite?” They all saluted, but one junior member—Victor could tell because he only had one yellow rose embossed on the gorget of his breastplate—hurried through the door. Victor gestured toward the door. “Let’s go, Bryn.”
He followed her back to his quarters, though he probably could have led the way. He had a decent mental image of the palace layout, at least the parts he’d frequented over the last few days. Still, it was customary for his “escort” to take the lead, so he humored her. Along the way, she asked, her voice echoing hollowly from the inside of her helmet, “How did the negotiation go?”
“Pretty good, I think. The queen seemed happy. I have to fight at sundown.”
Bryn’s steps faltered, and she looked over her shoulder. “Are you prepared?”
“I better be!”
“Must you always jest?” A moment after speaking, she hastily added, “Sir.”
“I’m not really joking. There’s not a lot I can do between now and sundown. I came to this world to fight duels, so, yeah, I think it’s fair to say I better be ready.” Bryn was silent after that, and when they reached his quarters, she took up a guard position beside the door. “When’s the last time you had a break?”
“During your negotiations, sir.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. So you’re good?”
Her helmet inclined marginally, “I’m good.”
Arona frowned. “A construct?”
Trobban nodded. “Just so.”
“They’re so limited, though. I’d never have the potential of a true Core or a proper bloodline. Racial advancement treasures wouldn’t work, and—”
“Ah, pardon me, Lady Arona, but I believe your knowledge about constructs is lacking in some departments. There are ways to create vessels every bit as potent as an epic-tier natural species. It’s all a matter of preparation, Energy infusion, and, of course, the acquisition of appropriately powerful artifacts—a heart, a mind, a Core, the materials for the flesh and bones, and other special organs like eyes, sexual—”
Arona’s frown had fallen away as the man spoke, but she waved a hand, cutting him off. “To make a living construct equivalent to an epic-tier species would be an enormous undertaking with expenses rivaling even my former master’s greatest projects. I refer to a man who is a veil walker and has been for thousands of years. I don’t have access to those sorts of resources.”
Victor frowned, contemplating everything he’d heard. He could offer to help, but he understood Arona’s objection; he had a few million beads, but that likely wouldn’t come close to scratching the surface of what Trobban was proposing. Before he could think of a comment that wouldn’t sound inane, Trobban spoke again, “There are other options. There are ways to create living vessels that do not require the sacrifice of another soul. Certain trees have the potential—if we could graft a branch from the Er’va’leigh oak, I could encourage it to grow into an approximate replication of your former body—I’m assuming that’s what your spiritual projection is based upon?”
Arona nodded. “It is. Will it be able to accept my full Energy level?”
“I believe so, though it may take some time to mature to that potential.” Trobban frowned. “Speaking of growing, how do you feel about embryonic spiritual implantation?”
“You mean for me to inhabit the body of an unborn being?” She frowned. “My old master spoke of it. I’d have to supplant the nascent spirit of the being, and then I’d also be forced to grow at a natural pace. I don’t relish the thought of another childhood.”
“So, that brings us back ‘round to the idea of a properly prepared undead vessel. With enough time and the right affinity, it's possible that you could spark life within such a body. If we could convert your death-attuned Energy into a new Core—”
“How much are we talking?” Victor interrupted. “I mean to build her a proper vessel from natural artifacts and whatnot.”
Trobban smiled and shrugged. “Each treasure would be a monumental expense, and we’d need many.”
Victor rubbed his chin, stroking the stubble along his jawline. “Trobban, will you please step out? I’d like to speak to Arona alone for a moment.”
“Of course!” His chair scraped noisily on the tile as he slid it back. Arona stared at Victor as Trobban’s heels clicked on the same tile, hurrying toward the door. “Shall I wait without?”
“Yeah, don’t go far,” Victor called.
When the door clicked shut, Arona said, “It’s too great an expense. This is something a veil walker might attempt, someone who’s gathered treasures for millennia.”
“Listen, I didn’t want to say this in front of Trobban because no one knows yet, but Dar didn’t just send me here to fight off a couple of champions who are threatening Kynna. He wants me to help her conquer this world. We’re talking nearly a hundred nations. I’ll have to fight a shitload of champions, but there will also be many nations who won’t want to fight, who will take a knee, offering tribute and swearing fealty to Kynna. I get a piece of all that tribute. I can demand certain things. It’s customary.”
“And you’d squander part of your well-earned treasure to help me build a body? I won’t allow it. I’d rather create a proper undead vessel, and then I can seek my own solution.” As Victor’s countenance grew increasingly stormy, she asked, “Why, Victor? Why would you offer so much to someone who, really, hasn’t done anything for you? To someone whom you hardly know?”
He shrugged and spoke his mind, tired of games and duplicity. “Mainly because I like you. I don’t know why, but every time we’ve been thrown together, I thought you were pretty cool. Then there’s the fact that I don’t like Death Casters, and I can’t stand the idea of you being forced to be one. Once you’re properly undead, tell me, do you think you’ll lose some of that yearning you feel to get away from death-attuned magic?”
Arona’s raspy voice grew quiet and small, and Victor could hear the fear in it. “I don’t know. It would change me, but I don’t know how much.”
“Right. Besides all that, you should know it’s worth a lot to me to hold up a middle finger to a guy like Vesavo. The guy gave me the creeps and reminded me of all the assholes I dealt with from Dark Ember, especially Hector. You know, there are a ton of high-tier assholes on that world, and I still feel like I need to pay them a visit. They treat humans like cattle there!” Victor growled and shook his head. “I’m getting off track, but my point is that if I can help you, a person I think of as a friend, escape the curse of being like those pinché mother—Eh, you get the idea. I want to do it.”
Arona stared at him for a long minute, but she slowly nodded. “If you can help me build an epic-tier vessel, and Trobban can convert my Death Core into something else in the process, then I will swear fealty to you, Victor. I will serve you until such time that we both feel I’ve earned what you’ve given me. I will go with you to crush the Death Casters on Dark Ember. With an epic-tier vessel, I can reach veil walker status! I can grow to be a proper companion to someone as mighty as you. I will dedicate my—”
“Easy!” Victor laughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, all right? First, we need to get all the shit together. Now, don’t mention the succession war to Trobban, all right?” When she nodded, he called out, “Trobban, get in here.”
The door opened, and Trobban veritably ran back to the table. He seemed eager, as though he had an idea of what Victor was about to tell him. “Yes, Sir Victor?”
“Sit down, please.” Trobban nodded and dropped into the chair, leaning an elbow on the table as he stared intently at Victor. “Okay, we’re going to do an epic-tier vessel. Are you capable of craft—”
“Yes! Yes! I can do it, Lord Victor! With the proper materials, we can create the perfect vessel for you, Lady Arona! Why, I can—”
“Hold on, man!” Victor chuckled. “Listen, you need to talk with Arona. You need to consider every possibility. It’s imperative that she comes out of this without losing any potency but also with a new Core and, at least, a new primary affinity. You should know that I have a potent Spirit Core, and if I can be of any help, I’ll be willing.”
“I will endeavor to meet your demands, milord.” He ducked his head, and Victor sighed. It wasn’t lost on him that the guy had gone from calling him “sir” to “lord” now that he thought he was about to bankroll an extravagant project.
He thumped his thumbs on the table, thinking. After a moment, he nodded. “Listen, Trobban, it might take us some time to gather everything we need, but you need to make a list, and I’ll work on it. More importantly, you need to understand that you and I are the only people on this entire planet who know about Arona. If word gets out, I’ll know who to blame. Understood?”
“Absolutely, sir! My lips are sealed. I’ll do nothing to jeopardize a project like this; I stand to gain too much!”
Victor nodded. He hadn’t considered that. For an Artificer, crafting an epic-tier body for Arona would probably be the equivalent of...Victor couldn’t think of a proper comparison. Maybe it would be like killing a legendary beast, like a great ancient wyrm, all alone. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll leave you two to talk and consider all the options. I have a duel to fight soon, and I’m damn hungry.”