Victor of Tucson

The vast teleportation network on Ruhn made traveling between cities and larger towns painless, but it took something away from the scale of the world, at least in Victor’s mind. When he and the queen’s entourage traveled from Gloria to Iron Mountain, nearly five hundred miles distant, it only took a few seconds. His first view of his duchy was a dim, stone-walled room where rune-inscribed metallic inlays made intricate patterns on the floor—the portal chamber.

A guard wearing gray and black livery and wielding a lightning-tipped spear immediately took a knee. The queen’s emissaries had already prepared the duchy for their change in rulership. “Your Grace,” the tall, narrow-faced man said. “I am Gand, your guard captain.”

“It’s good to meet you, Gand. I’d tell you to stand, but the queen will be here any second.” A flash of light heralded more arrivals, and soon, the room was filled with nobles, ladies in waiting, Queen’s Guards, and, of course, Kynna and her son, Tomorran. As the party, some thirty people, filled the portal chamber a little uncomfortably, Victor turned to Gand. “Where’s my chamberlain? Have rooms been made ready for the queen and her people?”

“Duke Sandoval,” Kynna said, coming to stand beside him. “My Queen’s Guards are interviewing and vetting your household staff. I’m sorry, I meant to tell you, but the preparations for our departure got away from me.”

Gand looked up from where he knelt. “I was about to say the same, milord. Most everyone’s in the great hall with Her Majesty’s people.”

“I have people in place, Victor.” Kynna turned to Gand. “Please rise, Captain. Tell me, where are the Ladies Davas and Loray?”

Gand stood and nodded to the door. “Without, My Queen.”

“Very good. Please give Duke Sandoval a tour of his estate, and my people will see to us.”

“As you say, Your Majesty.” Gand bowed low, then turned to Victor. “Shall we, milord?”

Victor turned to scan the throng of people, ignoring the murmured conversations. When his eyes settled on Bryn, he nodded. “Let’s go, Bryn.” He turned to Kynna and bowed. “I’ll speak to you soon, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I’ll be in touch.”

Victor nodded, then followed Gand out the door and past another row of royal dignitaries he vaguely recognized from Kynna’s palace. With Gand leading the way, Victor and Bryn were given a lengthy tour of an estate that rivaled Kynna’s royal palace in grandeur. Victor was, frankly, struck dumb, a little numb and withdrawn as he realized that the entire place was, technically, his. So long as Gloria wasn’t conquered and he wasn’t killed, the enormous structure with hundreds of rooms, including vast ballrooms, a great hall, kitchens, parlors, a library, a martial hall, barracks, and three different wings of bedrooms and suites, was his.

The estate put his home on Fanwath to shame. It put Rellia’s palace to shame. The tower where Victor’s suite was located had twenty floors and a magical elevator that used spatial magic to deposit him at his desired level nearly instantaneously. More than the structure itself, the estate was loaded with valuable furnishings, art, and every little thing that Victor would never think of—curtains, dishes, glassware, linens, pantry items, and a million other tiny objects he took for granted.

The tour took more than two hours, and Victor was feeling overwhelmed enough, but when they finished in his master suite and stepped out onto the balcony, he got his first clear view of the real value of the Duchy of Iron Mountain—the land. The first thing he saw was the mountain. His palace, for there was no denying that was what it was, was situated on a massive hilltop, but if he looked to his left, down the slopes of the hill and overtop miles and miles of orchards, he saw the mountain for which the duchy was named, and it made him feel tiny. It also woke something in his chest—the Iron Mountain was a slumbering volcano.

The peak stood alone. A few rolling hills drifted away from its shoulders, but otherwise, the great conical, steel-gray slopes rose up starkly to form an enormous mountain, the top of which was slightly concave, draped in white snow, and obscured by clouds. It was like a thing from a fantasy book cover—a mountain that seemed impossibly huge and out of place, rising from thousands of square miles of green forests and cultivated land.

Victor stared at it for a long time, listening to the song in his chest as his magma-attuned Energy echoed the deep, soundless voice that rippled, unnoticed by most, through the land. The mountain made the one where he’d battled Hector look like a hillock. Its presence rumbled in his bones, and he began to truly understand why the System called such beings “sleeping gods.”

“Um, milord, if you look to the right, you can see the town, well, more of a city these days, really.”

Victor blinked, finding his eyes dry, and wondered how long he’d stood staring at the volcano. He glanced at Bryn and Gand, offering a quick, reassuring smile. “That’s a hell of a mountain.”

Gand nodded. “Aye, milord. The greatest peak on the western continent.” He gestured to the right. “The town, though, sir. I can point out a few of the more prominent locales.”

Victor nodded and turned to look where Gand pointed. His palace had high walls, but they were far below his tower. Looking past them, Victor traced his eyes over perhaps a mile of manicured, garden-like lawns, and then, at the demarcation of a much smaller, more decorative wall, the town began. It wasn’t nearly as large as Gloria, but as Gand had indicated, Iron Mountain was more of a city than a town. Gand pointed out a famous inn, the market square, the city administration hall, the guard barracks, and, on the banks of a broad, slow-moving river, the warehouses where the wealth of the duchy was made.

Iron Mountain’s lower slopes were peppered with mines, and all manner of metals, precious and otherwise, were mined from its enormous slopes. They were brought on rails to the town, shipped off on barges, and taken to other towns and cities where they were processed. “It’s by design, milord. The original Duke of Iron Mountain hated the smell of industry; he insisted on selling the ore raw, despite the value he gave up by foregoing smelters and forges. He argued that the duchy was rich enough, especially when you considered the orchards. We feed half the continent.”

Gand sounded proud, and Victor, looking out at the beautiful countryside and the neat, orderly little city, could understand why. It was a lovely place. He said as much, “It’s a beautiful place, Gand. I’m assuming you’re able to give me this tour because you were cleared by the queen’s people?”

“Yes, milord. I was among the first to go through their vetting process. They were thorough, but I can understand why. Terrible what happened in Gloria!”

“Yes. The queen’s being careful for a reason. On that topic, tell me, where are the Haveshi?” Victor knew that Kynna had sent her agents to gather up the former ruling family of Iron Mountain, but he didn’t know where she’d put them.

“They’re awaiting you in the Hunting Hall, milord.”

“The Hunting Hall? Was that on the tour?”

“I pointed it out, milord, but we didn’t go inside. It’s a large parlor where one of the earlier dukes, Avard, I believe, liked to keep his trophies and artwork with a, well, a hunting theme.”

“And all the Haveshi clan is there?”

“Yes, milord.”

Victor sighed, dreading what came next. “All right. Let’s go get this over with. I can’t imagine they enjoy being left in the dark.”

Gand’s gray eyebrows twitched like he wasn’t sure if he should smile or frown or agree or disagree. After a moment’s hesitation, though, he nodded. “Aye, milord.”

As they walked, Victor asked, “Are they…” He wanted to say ‘popular,’ but considering he was a duke now, he tried to elevate his vocabulary slightly. “Well-loved?”

“For the most part, aye, milord. The people were proud of Duke Qi Pot, and while he was away doing his duties for the king, his brother ruled Iron Mountain with an easy hand.”

“And his brother’s name?”

“That would be Lord Draj, milord. I beg your pardon; I suppose he’s no longer a lord.”

“Draj Haveshi? Is he the head of the family, then?”

“There’s also his mother, Lady Tyla, milord, but she’s softer spoken than Draj.”

Victor nodded, and they walked in silence for a while as he thought about the situation. He didn’t like having the former ruling family of the duchy living under his roof, and he intended to remedy that situation, but he had to be delicate. He tried to imagine someone he cared about in their situation; this was their home, and it was a beautiful place where he was sure they’d built many memories. Kynna had told him he could do as he pleased—even banish them. The thought made him sick to his stomach, though, and he knew she’d already guessed he wouldn’t do either.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Despite the discomfort of the situation, he hoped to find some kind of middle ground. He’d seen dozens of beautiful estates on the edges of the city as he’d scanned it from his tower. Surely, these people could be made happy and whole without having to share a roof with the man who’d killed their former head of household. What a fall, though—to go from this palace, ruling over these beautiful lands, to mere citizens. Victor felt like he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. He’d leave.

“How many people live in the duchy?”

“Upwards of eight-hundred-thousand, milord.”

“And the coffers? How do they stand?” Victor wouldn’t be surprised to find the duchy’s wealth drained and mysteriously missing.

“That I don’t know, milord. Sir Draj would have an idea, but your treasurer will no doubt finish her vetting soon, too.”

As they turned down a wide, arched hallway with paintings of forest scenes lining the walls, Victor turned to Bryn. “Did you get ahold of the artificer?”

Her helmeted head nodded. “Yes, milord. Trobban will settle his affairs and arrange to travel here within the week.”

“Good.”

At the end of the hall, eight guards wearing the yellow rose of Gloria on the breastplates stood guarding a pair of wooden doors carved with hounds, birds, trees, and the like. Gand stopped and said, “The Haveshi are within. Would you like me to announce you, milord?”

“No. You and Bryn can wait here.” He moved between the guards and stood before the door, gathering himself. He was his natural size—something close to eleven feet tall, and he’d shifted his Sovereign Will bonuses to agility and dexterity; he didn’t think he’d need strength or vitality and figured a little boost in his motor skills might help him avoid making awkward movements, tripping on a rug, or something equally embarrassing.

Before he opened the door, he cast Inspiration of the Quinametzin and grinned as the shadows lifted from the hallway, and the soldiers nearby shifted and inhaled sharply. He tugged the doors wide and stepped through.

Victor didn’t mean to glare as he scanned the room, but his natural expression was rather predatory; his dark brows were constantly angled downward, and his eyes were sharp and hawkish, accentuated by his long, straight nose. For that reason, when he saw some of the folks who looked up at his entrance flinch back, he forced himself to smile as he reached back and pulled the doors closed behind him.

The Hunting Hall was large with high, vaulted ceilings, and though one wall was dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows, gauzy, gray-green curtains hung over most of them, giving the lighting a calm, peaceful effect. The décor was interesting; just as Gand had said, there were many trophies from hunts on the walls and stands—the horns, claws, and teeth of fantastic beasts mounted on plaques, as well as a great many taxidermied heads. Victor saw bears, stags, great serpents, and dozens of creatures he couldn’t name.

Couches set in conversation groups were scattered about, and on them, Victor counted at least twenty people with a strong, familial resemblance to Qi Pot. Another dozen or two folks with wildly disparate appearances were undoubtedly children or in-laws. It was a good-sized clan, by Victor’s standards, but he knew there were other families on worlds like Ruhn and Sojourn with thousands of members. As people realized he’d entered, their conversations died, and everyone, even the children, stood and turned to face him.

He looked around, his inspiration helping him to read the expressions—fear, anxiety, and anger were common, but he also saw curiosity and, in some of the younger faces, hope and perhaps a bit of admiration. What tales had they heard about him, he wondered. The room was silent, and in that silence, Victor’s ears picked out their nervous breaths and the tapping at the window as a soft breeze jostled the branches of a fruit tree grown a bit too close to the building.

Victor didn’t know what Draj or Tyla looked like, but he supposed he didn’t care. His words were for the entire clan. “Hello, everyone. I’m Victor Sandoval, and, by right of conquest and royal decree, I’m the new Duke of these lands.” He let his gaze traverse the group, settling on many sets of eyes, waiting patiently to see if anyone would be foolish enough to object or declare their animosity.

No one spoke, but many men and women began to take their knees. Victor held up a hand. “I’ll not demand you kneel here. What would be the point of such a show between us? If I wanted to teach you a lesson in humility and force you to demonstrate your obeisance, I’d be sure to arrange an audience first.” He chuckled, ever amused by his ability to pull words he barely understood from the depths of his mind thanks to all the reading he’d done at Dar’s behest.

As those who’d begun to kneel returned to their feet, Victor focused on a woman with three small children clutching her skirts. The kids, two boys and a girl, regarded him with big, fearful eyes, making him want to lighten the mood. “My goodness,” he said, scanning the other children in the room, “what well-behaved children! I know it can’t be easy keeping still and quiet, and I want you to know that I appreciate it. I’ll be sure to award your good manners.

“As I said, I’m the Lord of these lands now, and I understand how that must be difficult to hear. I understand that many of you may wish for my demise. I’m sure many of you also wonder what fate is in store for you. Surely there are rumors, though, yes? I haven’t spoken publicly, and I know Her Majesty, Queen Kynna Dar, hasn’t made any proclamation, so you must be feeling some dread.”

“Ancient Gods, just tell us!” a young man wailed, and Victor chuckled as a taller teenage girl clamped her hand over his mouth.

“Fair enough. Well, you should put most of your fears to rest; I’ve no intention to punish you for being related to a man who, by all accounts, was simply serving his king—” He was forced to stop as gasping sobs escaped many of the men and women. More than one collapsed onto the couches, unable to stand on shaky legs. Victor smiled and gestured to one older woman struggling to stand again. “Stay seated, please. In fact, everyone, take a seat. I should have started with that.”

He stepped further into the room and waited while almost everyone sat, especially those with children. Some didn’t sit, however. Some stood with arms folded, glowering. Victor marked those faces, intent on learning if it was simply pride that kept them on their feet or if they harbored dangerous ideas about vengeance. Looking at those folks, wondering if he should be ready to fight, his sharp Quinametzin eyes picked out some interesting details; these people wore no jewelry, nor did they have weapons. Had Queen Kynna’s people stripped them of their belongings?

“I’ve heard good things about your family, and I intend to see that you have every opportunity to maintain some status in the duchy, but I’ll also see to it that other options are available. I can’t imagine it would be easy to live in the shadow of this palace after having once ruled from it.”

A woman with dark hair and eyes, dressed in an elegant, silken blue gown, spoke up, “We must leave the palace?”

Victor turned to regard her. She sat on a pale leather couch, with her legs crossed, and held the hand of a blond-haired boy who couldn’t have been more than six years old. “Pardon me for asking; I’ve yet to put faces to names. Might I have yours?”

“I am Tyla Haveshi.” The answer surprised Victor, and he fought to hold his face neutral. The woman didn’t look more than thirty years old, but she was the matriarch of this clan. He should have expected as much, but it was hard to escape his old notions. He’d imagined she’d look more like his abuela.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Tyla.” He knew better than to address her as “milady.” Kynna had made that clear to him; he was the Lord of these lands, and these people, in particular, would need to be reminded of that fact. Even so, some of the men and women gathered there gasped and looked stricken by what they viewed as blatant disrespect.

“I’ll be glad to meet with each of you regarding the prospect of continuing to serve the duchy, and, in some cases, it might make sense for those people and their immediate family members to live in the palace. However, most of you will be expected to live elsewhere. I intend to provide your family with a sizeable estate and lands in the duchy.”

“You’d throw us from our home, then?” This time, it was a man who spoke up, one of those who hadn’t sat down when he’d asked them to. He was tall, with dark, curly hair and golden eyes, and looked very much like Qi Pot.

“Draj, I presume?”

The man folded his arms over his chest and nodded. “That’s right.”

Victor didn’t press him about not addressing him respectfully. Not yet. He’d anticipated an objection like the one Draj had voiced. “I know I’m new to these lands, but I’ve read a history or two. The Haveshi held power in Iron Mountain for just over seventy-four years, shortly after Qi Pot won his first duel for King Groff. Is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, what was the name of the duke before that?”

“I—”

“If you don’t remember, don’t feel bad; over the last twenty-four hundred years, there have been no less than eighty different families, under the rule of twenty-nine different royal bloodlines, to hold the claim to these lands. Qi Pot was Duke of Iron Mountain for far longer than some of those other dukes, but not the longest—not even close.” Victor allowed his voice to grow deep, speaking from his gut as he let his aura slip its bonds. “In short, Haveshi Clan, your claim on these lands is nothing unique, nothing special.”

As people gasped and shrank back from the weight of his aura, Victor glared at Draj and growled, “Sit down.” The man fell back onto the couch behind him, and everyone else who still stood quickly followed suit. Victor walked toward the windows, reeling in his aura; he’d tried hard to focus its weight in Draj’s direction, but some of it had pressed down on the children, and he already felt guilty, hearing sobs as they struggled to breathe.

When he had it in check and silence once more reigned in the room, he pointed out the window to the massive mountain near the horizon. “This duchy is called Iron Mountain because of that mighty peak, not because of any family in this palace. One day, I’ll leave, too. One way or another, someone else will rule these lands. It’s just the way it goes. This duchy is part of Gloria now, and if you play your cards right, every single member of your family might gain lands and titles that make you look back fondly at the times you spent here, thinking them quaint and small.”

“Does Gloria have so much to offer? Duchies greater than Iron Mountain?” someone asked. Victor didn’t see who; he was still staring at the mountain.

“Not yet.” He turned and clapped his hands, startling almost everyone. “I’ll have one of the queen’s stewards begin interviews. If any of you want to serve the duchy or the crown, I’ll help arrange it. As for the rest of you, I’ll have the details regarding your land grant and estate ready for you in a day or two. In the meantime—”

“Milord!” Tyla stood, still clutching the hand of the little boy. “If you’re done…impressing my family, I would like a chance to speak. Even before you arrived, we all came to an agreement. In the event that you decided to show mercy and if we weren’t banished, we all agreed that we wanted to continue to serve the people of Iron Mountain. We wish to swear fealty, Lord Victor. We all wish to serve your household.”

Victor folded his arms, frowning at the woman, wondering why nothing could ever be simple. Couldn’t they all just move out? Couldn’t he just get back to training and planning the next duel with Kynna? He had a magical egg to eat! For a brief moment, he wondered if he could return to Kynna and refuse these lands. Was that an option? Instead, he nodded, forced a smile, and gestured to a couch. “Let’s sit down, Tyla. I’d like to hear more about your family.”

This chapter upload first at NovelBin.Com