Victor of Tucson
Book 6: Chapter 30: Correspondence

Victor hefted the lead-stoppered, blue jar in his hand, watching the thick liquid sluggishly slosh around inside. “It just starts burning when broken?”

“That’s right.” Kethelket grinned as Victor handed it back. “Once the containment runes are broken, the alchemical mixture will ignite. We have ten for each of my Naghelli. As you’d planned, we’ll try to lure the undead further into the forest, and then we’ll fly past them, into the thicker trees, and start bombarding.”

“Good.” Victor did the math as he looked over Kethelket’s winged troops massing on the battlement, lining up to receive their bombs. He had two hundred here at the Black Keep, having left some back at the pass and still more with Borrius and Rellia. “Two thousand firebombs ought to do the trick!”

Sarl spoke up, “I’d have my doubts, considering this mist, but the alchemical agent is meant to cling to surfaces and burns very hotly. We tested it on a section of grass, and the mist retreated before the heat.”

“That’s great. Be sure to award your alchemists with an extra campaign token.” Victor turned back to Kethelket. “No sign of giant mutant undead monstrosities coming this way?”

“My scouts have not reported back yet for this hour, but, as of the last, no.”

“Right. Well, let’s get this show on the road.” Victor watched as the alchemists and their assistants continued to make their way down the line of waiting Naghelli, handing out their explosive jars. After a minute, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Naghelli! I’d like to speak to you briefly before you depart!” The conversations died down, and soon, the only sound was the clink of glass as the crates of bombs were slowly emptied.

Victor continued, “When you joined the conquest expedition, there were many among us who had their doubts about your intentions. In my mind, you’ve already proven yourselves, but after your heroics in the last few days, none can doubt the sincerity of your bravery! Here we are, asking you to risk your lives again, flying into this shitty, clinging, death-stinking mist to confront a monstrous host, and it’s not without risk! If you somehow get knocked out of the sky, you’ll face a thousand times your number of undead out there. If that happens, I want you to retreat and try to regroup. If it’s chaos and you can’t find your brothers and sisters, then make your way north, out of the mist.”

Everyone had grown even more quiet and still at his words, and Victor didn’t want them to feel demoralized by his doom-laced words. “Listen! That’s a worst-case scenario. If all goes well, you’ll fly out, throw your bombs, and then fly back. We appreciate the risk you’re taking, and we know that each of you represents one of the very last of your kind. Don’t sell your lives cheaply!” Victor didn’t know where some of the phrasing of his words was coming from; it wasn’t the way he usually spoke, but he supposed he’d heard people speak that way before, and his brain was just better at pulling stuff out of the recesses of his memory than it used to be. That said, he didn’t want to end on a dour note, so he lifted Lifedrinker and screamed, “Now get out there and torch some pinché undead!”

His words brought a cheer out of the darkly clad flyers, and many of them lifted a firebomb in their hand as they cheered, which made Victor more than a little nervous. Still, he laughed and cheered and then watched as Kethelket took command of his troops, ordering them into the air. They split in the misty, twilit sky into two lines of flying shadows, each circling the keep in opposite directions. Victor knew they were planning to use ranged attacks to draw the undead into a chase, trying to lure the ones in the open clearing around the keep into the forest before flying further out and lighting their fires.

They’d only been at the Black Keep for a little over a day, but he was both nervous and optimistic about the timing of their attack. On the one hand, he worried the invaders’ heavy reinforcements they’d been anticipating would arrive at any moment, and on the other, he hoped they were close—maybe they’d be caught in the fire, too.

“They’ll be all right,” Valla said, though Victor felt her words were meant to reassure herself just as much as him.

“Yeah, I mean, the undead out there don’t have ranged attacks to speak of . . .”

“Unless something worse lurks further into the woods.” Edeya shrugged, and Victor nodded, pleased to see that she was speaking up more and more, even with other commanders present. If it were up to him, she’d see a promotion soon.

Valla leaned forward, peering into the dim light, and then turned to Lam. “Wouldn’t the scouts have seen them? We’ve had Naghelli flying out there all day.”

Lam nodded. “I think so. I’ve also flown out a couple of times and seen no sign of anything other than this mindless horde.” She pointed. “Look! They’ve started to draw them.” Victor followed her gesture to see sparks and flashes in the darkness, and he knew the Naghelli were throwing spells down at the horde.

“Can’t really see much through the fog.” The flickers and flashes grew in intensity and number, and then they seemed to fade, and Victor knew the Naghelli were moving further into the woods. He’d been tempted to claim the keep, hoping it would cause the obscuring haze of death magic to withdraw as it had around Old Keep, but they’d been afraid it would tip their hand to Prince Hector. So much had been happening, and things were going well, so he’d decided to hold that card for later. Thinking of things going well, he turned to Edeya. “Any further word from Borrius and Rellia?” The main army had earlier reported a decisive victory over yet another of Hector’s undead armies; their ambush had gone off flawlessly.

Edeya pulled out her Command book and skimmed the most recent entries. “They’ve burned the corpses on pyres and are marching on a keep that their Naghelli scouts have located six leagues to the south. Borrius says it’s similar in size and fortifications to Old Keep, though it’s clearly of different origin.”

Victor cracked his knuckles and clenched his jaw, trying to think of something he should be doing. Valla must have read his mind because she said, “I know it’s hard to leave matters in the hands of others, but right now, you’re doing what you must. We’re still likely to be attacked here, so we must wait a while to see how this fire gambit will play out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Victor glanced at Valla and met her eyes, noting some dirt or ash or something smudged on her chin. His instinct was to reach out and brush it off, but he knew that would probably irritate her, especially with Lam and the others standing nearby. Instead, he said, “You’ve all been working hard with no rest. Let’s grab a minute while we can. If the firebombs work, we’ll know soon enough.”

“Victor? Um, Legate?” Edeya said, holding up a different Farscribe book, a thinner, narrower one. “You asked me to keep an eye on this, and I noticed a new message from your, uh, cousin, is it?”

“Seriously?” Victor had only given the book to Edeya the day before and hadn’t had any new correspondence from Olivia then.

“Yes! I checked before coming up here to watch the send-off, and there it was.”

“Right. Well, I’m off to check on the troops.” Sarl saluted and marched away, but Lam and Valla didn’t seem to have any such intention. Victor sighed and held out his hand, resigned to having an audience watch him read the message. Edeya handed him the book, and he flipped to the last written-in page:

“Huh,” Victor said, reverting back to his old vernacular.

“Well?” To his surprise, it was Edeya who prompted him, though Lam and Valla also watched his face intently.

“Oh, well, nothing much. She didn’t get any answers for me, and she wants me to visit.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting much, anyway.” He snapped the book closed and handed it to Edeya.

“Aren’t you going to write back?” Valla reached for the book.

“Maybe, but I’m kind of busy. You know, in the middle of a war.” He gestured into the disturbingly quiet, fog-filled night.

“You seem upset,” Edeya said, handing the book to Valla. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything . . .”

“I’m fine,” Victor growled, then he snatched the book from Valla. “I’ll be in my house. Come and get me if something happens.” He turned and walked, not waiting for an answer, and anyone looking at his face would see that he knew he was being a jerk. He almost stopped and apologized, but he didn’t. He stomped down the steps, over the courtyard, and into his house. He pointedly didn’t think about anything until he’d gone into his library and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs. Sitting there, staring at the bookcases, only about ten percent full of books, he frowned and tried to figure out why he was feeling pissed off.

He supposed it would be easy to say he was mad that ap’Gravin was in the wind and, along with him, any further answers about how Victor had been summoned, if he’d been brought through time intentionally, by accident, or at all. What if he was from a different universe? The stupid idea had been tickling the back of his mind lately, but he had no idea if such a thing was possible. He’d heard people use “universes” in the plural sense, but he didn’t know if they were using the term generically to mean the vastness of the current universe combined with different planes of existence and all the things in between.

Still, he’d found himself fantasizing that his abuela was alive and well in a different universe with a slightly different timeline than this one. At other times, he was at peace with the idea that his abuela had moved on and even thought of her living among his other ancestors. The truth was, Victor had no idea how such things worked, and he knew it. Sitting there, alone, stewing in his bad mood, he began to realize that a part of him had believed his new “cousin” would come through with some answers. He’d offloaded some of the weight of his worries and, worse, his hopes on her, and now he was pissed off that she’d failed. He knew it was irrational. He knew she’d said she wasn’t giving up, but he couldn’t help how he felt. Could he?

“Yeah, I can,” he sighed. He could do better; he knew what was bothering him, and he knew it wasn’t something he or, more importantly, Olivia could control. With an audible groan, he summoned a pen from his ring and opened the book:

Victor wrote for a long time, losing himself in his story and finding some genuine therapy in the act of writing about his experiences in the Wagon Wheel. He finished writing about how Yund had betrayed him, selling him to ap’Horrin, and decided to call it good for the time being. He signed the letter, asking Olivia to get back to him soon, and snapped the book closed, feeling like he’d dropped a heavy weight, one which had sat on his shoulder for a long, long time. Was that all it took to feel better about something, to write about it?

He was still sitting in that comfortable chair in his library when he heard the front door open and close, and then Valla quietly stepped into the room. She had a funny expression, and Victor figured it had something to do with her being mad at him, mixed with feeling sorry for him, mixed with not knowing if she should interrupt him. He headed things off by saying, “I’m really sorry I was an asshole earlier. I wrote a bunch of stuff to Olivia, and I hope you’ll read it, too. It’s stuff I never talk about.”

Her expression brightened, and she said, “Really? I think I’d like that. Can I see it later, though? I think your plan is working, Victor. The darkness is gone, and the night is aglow with orange light bleeding through the fog. I think the forest is truly burning.”

Victor stood up, something unwinding in his chest. At some level, he’d been afraid his forest fire plan would fail. “Yes!” He started toward her, slipping his Farscribe book into a storage ring. He’d just pulled her into a hug when the door opened and slammed again. A moment later, Lam stormed into the room.

“Valla, check your Farscribe book! The legion’s under attack! Also, Kethelket is here; some of his people are missing. He’s enraged, Victor. He’s raving about betrayal!”

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