Victor Deus (Heritage of the Blood Book 1)

by Brent Lee Markee

  The High Commander must have noticed Zander's frown, because he turned around quickly heading straight for Victor. “What have you been doing to the boy Nim? He can barely stand.”

  Nim rolled his eyes as Victor ineffectually tried slapping away Stewart Cantel's hands as the man picked him up and brought him over to a cot in the corner of the tent. “Don't coddle the boy.” Nim said defensively.

  “Coddle… Coddle! I'm just putting him here so I don't have to see him pass out halfway through our conversation.” High Commander Cantel had his hand on Victor's chest so that he couldn't sit up.

  “I'm fine.” Victor said before a big yawn overtook him.

  “If you're fine, than Nim is the worst card player I've ever seen.” Zander said laughing.

  “Hey,” Nim said sounding even more defensive. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I don't know a man who knows you that will play cards with you anymore.” Zander said grinning

  “I don't cheat.” Nim said in a sulky voice.

  “I have no doubt of that. It is a little amazing how you seem to know a deck so well though, but that is beside the point. What have you been doing to the boy?”

  “I swear to Thom, if people keep talking about me like I am not here I'm going to cut out some hearts.” Victor said angrily. All three men looked at Victor with surprise, but laughed when he yawned again. Victor quit trying to force himself up in a great sigh of defeat.

  “No disrespect meant Victor.” Cantel said moving his hand away. He looked at Nim expecting an answer.

  “Well, the squad decided that they were going to teach him when we had breaks. Trenton took to him best when he had recovered.” Nim said.

  “Trenton, that's the Half-Ogre Battle Sorcerer in your squad right. Trenton Grimbash I believe.” Zander asked quizzically.

  Nim nodded. “Victor was very interested in some of the spells that Trenton was casting, and when everyone found out that the boy had a knack for… well, just about everything they all took it upon themselves to teach their trade to him. That didn't leave much time for him to rest, but he was sleeping well until two days ago. That's when he had a extrasensory communication with Shawnrik. He hasn't been able to sleep since.”

  Zander Halcyon, Tetriarch of the Sorcerers, and Stewart Cantel, High Commander of the Knights of the Protectorate both turned their heads back towards Victor. He didn't like the looks they were giving him. He knew that as military men, they would both think first of how they could use that ability to some greater purpose. The next though he knew Zander would have would be to study him like a bug under a looking glass. The next question that Stewart Cantel asked though surprised Victor.

  “You said Victor had an interest in the spells Grimbash had cast? From what I remember, his spells are rather specialized. What were you fighting?”

  “Oh, didn't I mention we ran into a Dracair patrol our third day out?” Nim said nonchalantly.

  “Why Nim, no you didn't.” Cantel said with a look that said he would brook no foolishness.

  Nim Sighed. “We ran into a patrol about three leagues southeast of Asylum near Undrik's rise.

  “What's Undrik's rise?” Victor asked Nim quickly, but it was Stewart Cantel that answered him with a hint of pride in his voice.

  “It's the rise where Undrik Raffalion fought off two Dracair patrols alone before succumbing to his wounds. When they found the bodies, their were other Dracair tracks that had come along afterwards, but they hadn't disturbed the ground. If there is one thing the Dracair respect it is strength, and that day Undrik showed his strength with four warriors, and two dreadnaughts headless on or near the rise. the Protectorate buried him under that rise even though it was in Dracair territory.”

  Victor watched as the three men in the room bowed their heads in a moment of silence in remembrance of an honored dead. It was the tales of men like him that kept the Protectorate strong, and it was men like that who were the strength of the Protectorate.

  “So you met a patrol?” Zander asked quizzically when the moment of silence was over. “We didn't see even a track farther south.”

  Nim nodded. “Normal patrol, two Dracani and a Magnus Dracani.”

  “I wish you wouldn't call them that, why can't you just say warriors, and a dreadnaught like everyone else?” Stewart Cantel said peevishly.

  “Just because we give them a different name doesn't eliminate the first. Ignoring that something exists is just the first step to Ignorance.” Nim chided.

  “Always instructing,” the High Commander said shaking his head. “Did you find out what the patrol was after?”

  “No, from all I could gather they were just scouting the area. Whoever is in charge of that rabble of Orcs, and Goblin-kin probably requested a competent scouting party.” Nim walked over to the table that contained the map of all of the troop movements in the area as he spoke.

  “I think they are going to move soon. There is only so long you can keep an army like that at bay. From what I have gathered you want me to scry to see if Ashur is in trouble?” Zander said walking up beside Nim.

  “No my friend, I know they are in trouble.” Nim saw the questioning look that Zander shot him and forestalled any question by speaking quickly. “I had Bredwin the Dwarven Cleric in my patrol do a divining, and someone, or something blocked him pretty hard.”

  “Oh, I see.” The Tetriarch of the Sorcerers walked to the tent flap and barked an order. “I need a mirror, a big one.” A moment of silence ensued. “Did I stutter?”

  “No Tetriarch Halcyon, I'll get right on it.” The soldier said to the sound of boot steps running quickly.

  “I think between you and I we might scare that boy into retirement.” Nim said with a chuckle.

  Zander turned back into the tent laughing. “He's a good lad, just a little green. He'll be back soon.

  The three men stood talking at the table about what was going to happen in the coming days, when the soldier returned with a full length mirror being carried by himself, and three other soldiers he must have picked up along the way.

  “That is perfect.” Zander Halcyon said examining the mirror. “Good work private.”

  “Thank you sir.” The guard said saluting, and the men with him did so too when they had set the mirror up. Stewart Cantel gave them a salute that dismissed them all, and walked over to the mirror.

  “I never liked the fact that mages could do this. It's an invasion of privacy.”

  “It may be that my friend soldier,” Zander said to Cantel, “but it is also a useful tool for finding things other people don't want found.”

  Unlike the preparations and incantations that Bredwin had gone through when he was diving Zander Halcyon's use of the mirror was silent and almost instantaneous.

  “I took out the scry to a general area, so that I most likely wouldn't encounter interference at that distance.” The image got closer and closer until it stopped with a sound much like a pealing bell. “Ah, there we are.” The image before them was of a camp of Blood Orcs. They seemed to be in a box canyon, and didn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. “That's a nice sized camp. Ashur, Dunnagan, and the boy are in there.”

  “Well then, I don't see any reason we should wait, you have to go get them Nim.” High Commander Cantel stated.

  “But what about the war?” Nim asked cautiously. It was obvious that he wanted to go and rescue his friends, but he also knew he had a duty here.

  “We need Colonel Theromvore here. He is one of the best morale boosters for the troops. You and Zander help morale, but if all three of you are here, the men will feel invincible. You must go get him without delay.”

  “Yes sir.” Nim said saluting with a smirk.

  “Zander you go with them.” Forestalling any protest Cantel held up his hand. “That's an order. You can travel the lines of power, and it will be much faster this way.”

  “Yes Sir!” Zander said Saluting smartly.

  Rolling his eyes High Commander
Cantel turned back towards the map. “Leave in the morning. Tonight we have some things to discuss about the…”

  Victor tried to listen to the conversation, but he found blackness enveloping him. They were going to go help their friends, he knew he needed his rest.

  *****

  Victor held onto the reins of his young charger as the party raced northeast. The last five days had been torture on his senses. Ever since he had spoken to Shawnrik he slept fitfully. He had tolerated the first two days, in which they had needed to get back to the Protectorate camp. He wasn't so happy about the day they spent in camp resting, and readying supplies, and equipment however.

  They had finally left that next morning, taking the lines of power back to his home, back to Safeharbor. As they approached the platform to enter the lines, Victor had felt a brief thrill of anticipation at being able to travel the lines again. Even that didn't last long however. It felt good to be home, but he couldn't wait to leave again.

  To his bitter disappointment however, their journey north had not continued that day. It seemed that it would take some time to find enough of the hybrid mounts that possessed enough intelligence to travel the lines. According to Zander and the Grey Elf wizard Za'kereth only creatures with enough intelligence and draconic blood could travel the lines safely. The fact that they needed to find mounts for two full squads, plus three extra hadn't made things any easier. It had taken Nim that entire day to find the twenty three horses needed.

  Victor had been glad that McDowell's squad, and the squad Zander had taken command of had 'volunteered' to go with them. Soon it became apparent however that neither squad could be turned from the endeavor. Having so many well trained soldiers was comforting, but the wait it had spawned had not been. To make matters worse, Bartholomew reported that Lia had left Nim's manor a week before, and Jenn could not find out where she had gone.

  Victor spent most of that day sharpening his daggers, and pacing. He had found two dagger belts in the room where Nim had put all of his cache of equipment they had procured from the assassins guild. Each belt had ten sheaths that held throwing daggers. It had taken some modification, but Bartholomew had finally gotten them so that they would fit Victor efficiently. The next thing he had found that was of interest was a belt buckle that hid four metal stars. When he had asked Bartholomew about them, the man had been very impressed with their quality. He had then continued into a dissertation on how they were used properly. It seemed that it was much the same as throwing a knife, with a few modifications on the flick. His ensemble had been completed by the two forearm sheathes, two boot sheathes, and the sheath for the back of his neck. At his side he wore the dagger that Shaylyn had given him the morning before she had disappeared.

  When the evening was wearing to an end, Victor had gone to practice while their was still good light. Going back to the yard where Nim, Ashur, Shawnrik, and himself had spent so many hours, since the beginning of the year, had made him feel a bit nostalgic. The yard had been set aside for training, and as he rounded the corner he had realized it was being used for that purpose as the familiar ring of metal on metal met his ears.

  The fact that most of the soldiers were in the training yard made him feel better about his need to practice, but at the thought of practicing in front of all of these professional soldiers made him flush with embarrassment. Practicality had won over his discomfiture however. He needed the practice, and he had needed to get used to his new array of daggers. No matter what the squads would think of him. The first person Victor had really noticed was Elandria shooting at an archery target next to a human male he recognized from Zander's squad. He passed behind the two, and continued onward towards the far end of the yard, as far away as he could get from everyone else. This was the part of the yard he normally used anyway, as it possessed target dummies roughly people shaped specifically for the purpose of throwing practice.

  Testing his newfound throwing daggers, he found that they were as well balanced as the other daggers he had been using for the last year. Doing as Ol' man Walkins and then Nim had taught him, he had focused on his target, aware of his immediate surrounding, but keeping his target always in sight. As Nim had shown him to, he imagined all of the different scenarios he could face, and worked on countering each.

  So focused had he been on his practice, he didn't notice the crowd he had gathered until he had thrown the last of the twenty daggers for the third time, from the new belts which were arrayed across his chest. It took a murmur of approval, and a few soft whistles of appreciation for him to notice, and when he turned his head, both squads were standing about twenty yards away, just out of the area he had been aware of.

  He had felt his face flush, but his embarrassment couldn't last long under the approval that was coming from the soldiers, as it quickly turned to a sense of pride. That was until McDowell decided he had to play the role of Sergeant.

  “Aye, nice work their laddie, but yer belts seem a bit empty to me.” He intoned gruffly.

  “If anyone is alive after that flurry of metal, they deserve the kill.” Trenton Grimbash said with a grin, which was followed by a mirthful agreement from the rest of the soldiers assembled.

  Victor had never taken criticism well, and his pride made something click inside of him. A grin spread across his face, and McDowell's visage turned to that of curiosity. Before the Sergeant had been able to voice any of that curiosity however Victor was a blur of motion. Diving into a roll he pulled the daggers out of his boot sheathes, and let loose as he came around, a breath later two more daggers appeared in his hand with a flick of his wrists, and joined the first two on their way towards the second target. He dropped into a spin pulling the last of his concealed daggers from the sheath at the back of his neck, and let loose.

  All of it had felt like one smooth motion that Victor had never accomplished before that time, but his thoughts on the matter only lasted long enough to hear the thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, of his daggers hitting their marks perfectly. Not finished, he had released the latch of his belt buckle, and removed the stars hidden within, and smoothly flicked them at another target as Bartholomew had shown him to do earlier that day. Earlier, it had been a clumsy motion, but now they left his hands as if he had done it a thousand times before.

  Without watching to see the stars hit their target, Victor had turned towards the Sergeant, who was clearly trying to suppress the fact that Victor was impressing him. He had pulled the dagger that Shaylyn had given him with a deliberate casualness. He had then turned towards another of the targets in the ring, and threw the dagger as hard as he could and he watched as it had struck deeply between the crude eyes that were carved on it.

  When he heard the chuckles that were directed towards the sergeant, and the intakes of breath at his display, he found that he couldn't help himself from showing off more. He shaped a small amount of energy and turned towards one of the two remaining dummies in the ring, and in moments four balls of compressed force sped towards the dummy.

  As the missiles left his hand, he began pulling in more energy, a grin of sardonic amusement spread across his face the entire time. A ball of flame soon leapt from his hand towards the last of the targets, and as it hit, it enveloped the dummy and the area around it in flames. He decided at that moment that he was done showing off. Never before had he felt the urge to show off before, but looking back at that moment he realized that he had no control over the matter. His grin returned however as he thought back to that moment, as he had, as a last act of defiance, simply turned towards the first of the dummies, and began removing his daggers from it so that no one could see how big his smile was.

  They had left Safeharbor that following morning, and had now been on the trail for a full day. Leaving Safeharbor had not been the invigorating experience their trip through the lines of power to the Protectorate camp had been. It had started out nicely, but when he was forcibly ripped from the line, and hit the ground hard he realized that it was not the same kind of trip. He
assumed it had something to do with the preparation of an area as an exit point. He had watched as the horses came through and landed almost softly, bending their legs as if they had done this before.

  When they were getting ready to start out this morning, Victor had asked Zander how long it would take for them to reach the location where Ashur and Shawnrik were. The answer was a non-committal four days. The grin he had gotten moments before faded as he thought again about that destination. Wherever it was, Shawnrik was in pain there, and they couldn't get there soon enough for Victor's taste.

  Hold on Shawnrik, We are coming.

  Year 3043 AGD

  Month of Ragnós

  Third Eighth Day

  Continent of Terroval

  Southwest of Stalwart

  Blood Orc Encampment

  Hold on Shawnrik, We are almost there.

  “Victor,” Shawnrik said sitting up with a start. He had gained consciousness twice before from such a message, but he could not tell how long it was between messages. He had been in excruciating pain the last two times, so the only thing he had done was open his eyes and then fall back into unconsciousness. He expected it was days, but he was not lucid enough to tell for sure.

  The unbearable pain that had been his bane had been abating little by little, and as he looked around, he realized that it was now almost completely gone. All that remained was a dull ache in his muscles, as if he had done a hard days work the day before. Looking around he realized he was on the stone slab in the corner of the cell he shared with his two companions.