Victor of Tucson

As he approached the gray stone city walls, Victor realized his earlier estimation was off; he’d been gauging their height based on the size of the people he saw. His mind had let slip an important detail Dar had given him about the folks on Ruhn—they were almost all giant-sized. With that realization, he figured the walls were closer to two hundred feet high. The soldiers standing in the shadow of the gatehouse were loosely arranged in two ranks of ten, and they all watched the road through the eye slits of heavy plate helms as he approached.

The soldiers in the back rank were armed with long spears, and those in front wielded heavy metal pikes. To Victor’s eye, their uniforms made them look sort of like conquistadores—black uniform pants, polished boots, and shiny helmets and breastplates. They each wore a sky-blue sash emblazoned with a yellow rose—the sigil of Gloria. Of course, when everyone was a giant, no one really seemed like one, so it wasn’t particularly imposing for Victor, who was easily a match for the soldiers when it came to bulk, to step toward the armed, combat-ready men and women.

“State your business in Gloria!” the centermost soldier shouted when Victor was no closer than thirty yards from the gatehouse. The term ‘Gloria’ referred to both the nation and the capital city of Dar’s descendants, so Victor wasn’t sure of the spokesman’s exact meaning, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

“I’m here to see the queen.”

Murmurs and even a few sniggers broke out among the soldiers, and the speaker turned to shout, “Quiet!” before addressing Victor again. “The queen is quite busy. If you’ve no other business in the city, then it would be best to turn around; we’ve little room or charity to spare for a vagabond.”

Victor chuckled and stepped closer. “That’s quite an assumption. ‘Vagabond?’ Why not wanderer or stranger? It seems you’ve chosen to label me with negative connotations.” Victor laughed inwardly at his words; if the man he’d been a few years ago had heard those words come out of his mouth, he would have lost his shit laughing. What a poser!

“Whatever you call yourself, we’ve no room. Do you wish to declare yourself? Are you from Frostmarch? Xan? You had to come through their blockades! Turn around or be seized for questioning. This is your final warning.”

In unison, the guards took a stomping step forward and lowered their polearms so the points aimed toward Victor. He wondered what hidden signal the leader—captain?—had given. He didn’t back down, in any case. Instead, he stepped forward again, closing the distance between himself and the soldiers to just a few long strides. He sighed, shaking his head. “Is this the welcome I’m getting? I expected more.” The guard began to speak, but Victor held up a hand. “You asked me to declare myself, so I will. I’m here at the behest of Ranish Dar to serve as a champion to Queen Kynna, and I’d appreciate you guiding me to her. If you can’t do that, then at least get the fuck out of my way.”

To his amazement, a good third of the soldiers fell to their knees at the mention of Ranish Dar. As he continued speaking, many of the other soldiers lifted their polearms, perhaps loathe to seem threatening to a man making claims like the one Victor just had. The captain, though, stepped closer, his pike still leveled menacingly. “Have you any proof of these claims?”

Victor held up his right hand, displaying Dar’s signet. “I have Ranish Dar’s signet. Maybe you could recognize that? If not, just take me to the queen, and she will verify my words. I would have thought she’d put out word that I was on my way, but…” He trailed off, sighing, as he looked past the soldiers into the depths of the cavernous gatehouse tunnel. His gaze drifted down to the now-quiet soldiers, especially those kneeling. Did they worship Dar like a founding ancestor, or was it something more? They certainly seemed pious in their bowed obeisance.

“Will you demonstrate your strength to back up your claim? A show of your aura, perhaps?” The captain had stepped even closer, and now, if he wanted to lunge, Victor felt sure the man could bring his gleaming pike into play.

“That’s an odd thing for a captain of the queen’s soldiers to ask. Why would I display my strength so that spies could run tattling to the borders and alert the Kings who hold this nation under siege?” Victor stepped toward the captain, allowing his pike to brush against his hip as he held out a hand. “I’m Victor, and I come from a place called Tucson. Ranish Dar has seen the plight of his nation on Ruhn, and he wants me to help set things right. Now take my hand and then guide me to the queen.” He’d rehearsed such words with Dar that they were starting to feel natural on his tongue. He hoped he was convincing to the soldiers.

Something about his tone and the sureness of his body language must have convinced the soldier because he slung his pike onto his shoulder and then clasped Victor’s hand. He had a firm, strong grip, and when he nodded, looking through the slit of his visor, Victor saw hard, pale eyes. The soldier released his grip. “I’m Captain Wash. Red Wash—if we meet again while I’m not on duty, please call me Red. The queen has people who can verify the signet you bear. Please follow me to the palace.” With that, he turned and began striding through the ranks of soldiers, who were either bowing or kneeling by that point.

Victor could tell the soldiers were struggling to remain disciplined, and by the time he’d marched halfway through the gatehouse tunnel, one of them, a woman, called out, “Is it true? You’ve seen Ranish Dar?”

Victor smiled and turned, walking backward as he waved. “It’s true! He’s doing well and sends his regards to the people here! He’s proud of your hard work!” Dar never said such a thing, but Victor thought it wouldn’t hurt to boost morale a little. As he turned and continued to follow Red, he could hear the excited chatter behind him, and his grin grew.

As they exited the tunnel, several soldiers approached Captain Wash, but the man waved them off and hurried onto the street that ran parallel to the wall. Victor followed, his neck craning to give him a view of the tall stone structures. Gloria reminded him of what he’d always imagined a true medieval metropolis would look like. The buildings were mostly built from stone blocks like the great wall surrounding them, and they were tall, with many towers and minarets capped in glittering metallic and glass-studded tiles. Those tiles and the many crystalline windowpanes picked up the light of the pale yellow sun, bringing the heights to life with their reflections.

More than that, pennants and tabards flew from nearly every structure. They bore coats of arms and fanciful designs and added splashes of color everywhere. On every corner and in the courtyards of every great building, rose bushes bloomed, and their pleasant aroma was ever-present as he and the captain made their way through the clean, orderly streets. The populace was another story.

Everywhere Victor looked, he saw gaunt, hungry faces—mostly among the young. He’d been prepared for this; Dar had explained that while Ruhn’s population was largely of a high iron-rank average, the children would be the ones who suffered the most when there was a shortage of supplies. The adults, who’d had time to gain levels, didn’t require as much food to survive; the Energy was rich, and their bodies would sustain themselves on it. The children, however, were still low-tier, and the Energy in the air did little for their mostly normal, mortal constitutions.

When he saw those groups of sickly children with wan faces and wide, staring eyes, he felt warring emotions—anger at those responsible and pity for the pathetic individuals before him. He wanted to stop and hand out food, but he knew it would cause a riot and that he’d, at best, put off their suffering for a day or two. Instead, he steeled his resolve to end the stranglehold Gloria’s neighbors had on the nation’s supply lines.

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As for their looks, Dar hadn’t been wrong; for the most part, the people of Gloria looked like large humans. Here and there, Victor saw signs of Fae bloodlines—large, bright eyes, pointed ears, and a general beauty and grace that outshone some of the more mundane-looking folk. He and the guard captain didn’t draw many stares; Victor was dressed nicely but plainly, and he wasn’t so out of line with his looks that he stood out. Plenty of the Ruhnish folk had dark hair and tanned skin, and, as he’d observed earlier, the people who weren’t “giantish” were few and far between and obviously not native to the world. Ŗà𐌽ȪВÊＳ

The palace was an imposing and beautiful structure, and it reminded Victor that, while Gloria was down on its luck as a nation, it had a proud heritage. It was a sprawling compound with many courtyards, gardens, wings, and outbuildings. He saw minarets domed in turquoise and glittering precious metal, stained-glass windows, and structures built entirely of seamless, polished marble. Everywhere his eye went as he followed Red through the echoing corridors, Victor saw liveried servants but only caught glimpses of the nobility through archways or around corners. He wasn’t sure if Red was trying to keep him away from those folks or if they were just very thinly spread out on the palace grounds.

After a while, they came to a room with a vaulted ceiling, plush carpets, and many antique-looking, high-backed chairs lining the walls. Red pointed to one of the chairs and said, “Please take a seat, and I’ll fetch the chamberlain.”

“If you must.” Victor sat down and folded his arms over his chest, glaring as the captain hurried to a closed door. He then paused and looked back.

“Please don’t wander.”

Victor’s frown deepened. “If you thought I meant harm to the queen, it would be foolish to leave me alone here.”

“I don’t.” Red cleared his throat and spoke again, “I mean, I don’t believe you’re lying. Having the chamberlain inspect your signet is merely a formality, um, sir.” With that, he bowed briefly and then departed. The gesture reminded Victor of his lessons on Ruhnic tradition, especially those regarding honor. If Red had indicated that he thought Victor was being dishonest, it would have been within his right to call him out, forcing an honor duel. He shook his head, tsking, as he thought it through.

It wasn’t two minutes later when he heard the click of bootheels on marble, and then the door swung wide, and Red appeared with another, older man. He was dressed in attire similar to the servants but finer: black pants, a sky-blue, silken shirt with a yellow rose embroidered over his left breast, and polished, black leather shoes. He looked very sharp—everything was pressed to perfection, and his curly gray hair was coifed like he’d just come out of the barbershop. Victor stood, and though he, too, was nicely clothed, he somehow felt sloppy as the man stepped toward him, looking down his long, sharp nose at Victor’s hand.

Red cleared his throat and announced, “Chamberlain Thorn, may I present Victor of Tucson, emissary of the great Ranish Dar and prospective champion to Queen Kynna Dar.”

At his words, Victor grinned. He wasn’t sure why he’d said he was from Tucson, but it was nice to hear the name again. He’d learned the customs well, so he bowed deeply at the waist. Chamberlain Thorn also bowed, then stepped forward and held out his hand. “May I see Lord Dar’s signet?”

Victor held up his hand, making a fist so the signet ring stood out proudly among his plainer storage rings. Thorn leaned forward, and Victor felt a small surge of Energy as his gray eye glittered with silvery sparkles. A moment later, he straightened, and his smile was enormous as he said, “Welcome to Gloria, Champion.” He sharply about-faced and barked, “Hurry! Assemble the Court. I’ll present Victor to the queen personally!”

Red turned and bolted, his clomping boots loud at first, then fading with distance. Chamberlain Thorn’s smile never faded as he slowly studied Victor from head to toe. “It’s truly a miracle! I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you, sir! There have been rumors, of course. The queen’s attendants whispering about secret correspondence. Of course, we all dreamed. Surely, the great Ranish Dar wouldn’t let his first kingdom come to ruin. Still, it’s many a generation since anyone has seen or personally heard from him. Yet here you are, bearing his signet, with a promise to fight for us! Queen's mercy!” The man had tears in his eyes, and Victor struggled to maintain a little distance between them as the fellow kept encroaching into his personal space.

“Well, it’s good that you’re happy, Chamberlain. Now, since I seem to have you in my corner, can you give me any information about those who might wish to see me fail?”

Thorn’s eyes shot wide at those words, and he nodded emphatically. “There are those among the nobility—landholders and distant relatives of the queen, who would benefit if they made underhanded agreements with the Kings of Frostmarch and Xan. I’ll draft you a document, sir, an accounting of Gloria's great lords and ladies. Will that be suitable?”

Victor nodded. “Yes. That’s one thing Ranish Dar couldn’t properly prepare me for; he’s lost touch with the political scheming of the noble houses of his former home.”

“I will be your guide, milord.” He opened his mouth to say more, but just then, many stomping boots sounded from the corridor outside, and soon Red was striding through the door, flanked by four other soldiers in matching attire. Victor didn’t love that all the household guards seemed to wear full helmets; he liked seeing a person’s facial expression when he spoke to them. Still, he couldn’t argue that it made for a more imposing presence.

“Lord Thorn, Her Majesty awaits in the throne room.”

“Very well.” Thorn turned to Victor. “Please accompany me to meet the queen, milord.”

Victor nodded and gestured for the man to lead the way. Dar had driven home that it would be fruitless to insist on informal titles in the court of Queen Kynna. The Ruhnians put a lot of weight on the formality of rank. Chamberlain Thorn led the way through a new corridor, this one very broad and with a soaring ceiling. Paintings of stern-looking men and austere ladies lined the walls above the fanciful, pale-blue wainscoting, and Victor occupied his mind wondering who they were as they approached a junction. He saw servants scurrying in the distance and imagined they were scrambling to do whatever servants did when the queen called an impromptu gathering of the royal court.

Red and the other soldiers stomped in near unison behind them, and when they turned the corner, Victor saw four more similarly armed men standing guard outside an ornate, massive double door. Two guards pulled the doors wide as they approached, revealing a picture-perfect, fairytale throne room. The cynic in Victor remembered the hungry, haunted faces of the children in the city outside, and he wondered if some of the opulence on display before him could be somehow traded for food.

The silver-flecked marble floors shone with a high gloss, reflecting the dazzling sunlight streaming in through high cathedral windows, and, at the center of their focal point, a dais rose to support a massive throne of blue crystal. Victor lost track of everything else—the nobles lining the sides of the room, the elegant furnishings and art, even the softly playing string quartet in the corner. All he could focus on was the incredible vision of the queen sitting atop that crystal throne.

Queen Kynna was, as Dar had supposed, far more Fae than Igniant, but Victor could see traces of her ancestor in her visage. Her skin looked like flesh, unlike Dar’s stony appearance, but it was a lustrous pale-gray color with hints of something beneath the surface that sparkled like glitter or maybe diamonds. Her eyes drove home her relation to Ranish Dar, though; they shone like two tiny suns, brilliant nuclear reactions beneath heavy, black brows. Victor couldn’t deny she was beautiful, if a bit severe and cold.

Kynna had high cheekbones, a regal countenance, and full lips, painted a shade of blue that picked up highlights in her dark eye shadow and the midnight blue, gem-studded, form-fitting gown she wore. As for a crown, five sharp, black crystal spires rose up through her thick, curly black hair, gleaming with some kind of inner light. She looked statuesque—too perfect to be real—even as she leaned on one elbow on the arm of her throne and gazed down at Victor and his procession.

As Victor stood, a little dumbstruck, Chamberlain Thorn stepped forward and bellowed, breaking the spell, “I present to you Lord Victor of Tucson, disciple of Ranish Dar, whose lineage and wisdom are reflected in the grace of our queen and whom we revere for the founding of this great nation.” Thorn bowed so low that he continued down onto his knees and lay prostrate by the time he finished speaking.

Victor took the hint and performed a perfect, formal bow at the waist. He didn’t wait to be given permission to stand, however. He straightened and moved into the suddenly silent hall. He could hear the nobility breathing to either side of him, but not a soul uttered a word as his boots clicked on the marble. Kynna straightened, shattering the illusion that she was a statue carved from crystal. He stopped a few strides away from the dais where her throne sat and waited, locking his eyes with Kynna’s blazing ones.

After a few heartbeats, her voice rang out, strong, strident, clear, but utterly feminine, “You may approach.”

Victor stepped forward to the edge of the dais and fell to one knee, summoning the spear he’d had crafted for this occasion. He held it aloft on the palms of his hands—no easy feat, for the thing weighed several hundred pounds. The haft was crafted from something called ebon oak and was sturdy enough to withstand everything Lesh and his other sparring partners had been able to dish out. They’d tried cutting it, smashing it, and snapping it with a hundred different methodologies, but, just as the weaponsmith had promised, it was very sturdy stuff.

The top three feet of the spear were taken up by the blade—a length of magically hardened steel that the weaponsmith had staked his reputation on. Victor wanted something sturdy, something he could drive through a hunk of similarly hard metal, digging for a gap without worrying about snapping the blade. It had held up to the demand through quite a lot of testing. The blade gleamed and winked in the light, a shimmering length of razor-sharp, mirror-finished metal that ended in a point so needle-sharp that Victor felt confident he could use it to dig a splinter from a child’s foot.

Edeya had given him a “charm” to loop around the butt-end of the spear haft—a couple of Darren’s Thunderbird feathers fastened by a thin lock of Lam’s golden, wire-hard hairs. It didn’t do anything except make the spear look cool, and Victor figured, knowing the way he fought, that it’d be ruined soon, but he liked it. The weapon was heavy for two reasons: the materials were tough and dense, and it was enchanted to grow with him, doubling in size if he took on his titanic form.

With all that being said, the gathered nobles—and Queen Kynna herself—could not deny the quality of the spear Victor held aloft as he knelt. He let the anticipation hang heavy in the air before speaking, “Queen Kynna, I offer you a gift for this auspicious occasion. I present this spear and vow to wield it in your name, vanquishing the champions of Frostmarch and Xan. The time has come for your house to ascend to its rightful place of prominence on Ruhn.”

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