Victor of Tucson

“Yes, Your Grace, according to the historical documents, Longar Fray was King of Iron Mountain some three thousand and twenty years ago. It was his son, Cadman, who first took the oath and joined the empire.”

Victor nodded and gave the young man another appraising look. He was another Haveshi—Draj’s fourth son, Sonland, the senior archivist for the duchy. “But I thought Iron Mountain was part of Xan. Was that not the case?”

“Not initially, Your Grace. Iron Mountain was a kingdom in its own right when the Empire was first formed. The kingdom fell to Xan seventy-four years later. Originally, the two nations signed a one-hundred-year treaty, but Fray’s bloodline died out following the war, and when Toradan, King of Xan, sought to make the merger permanent, no one from Iron Mountain stood against him.” Sonland spoke with a clipped precision and often paused to adjust his strange, crystalline spectacles. As he completed his sentences, he had a habit of nodding as though he were confirming his words to himself.

“If Cadman was King of Iron Mountain when the empire was formed, what happened to Longar?”

“Records from that time are limited, Your Grace, but I found no indication that he died. A few archived correspondences indicate that he was ‘seeking enlightenment’ when he passed the rule on to his son. At that time, Ruhn did not have open trade routes with Sojourn, so some of their language was archaic. Still, I believe that the ‘enlightenment’ he sought was related to him being a steel seeker.”

Victor rubbed the back of his neck, shifting in his seat. He wasn’t tired, not physically; his body felt limber and rested after the massive Energy infusion he’d taken in upon slaying the guardian golem. However, he’d been waiting around for hours and was ready to get back to his quest. “So, he became a veil walker and left? That’s your opinion?”

“I believe so, milord. I’ve not found any record of him reappearing on Ruhn.”

“Okay, this is all very interesting, Sonland, but can you tell me if Longar Fray lived here? In this palace?”

The young man nodded, reaching up to adjust his glasses again. “Yes, milord, this has been the seat of Iron Mountain’s ruling house for nearly four thousand years.”

Victor looked around the library with renewed respect; it was hard for him to fathom four thousand years, let alone a palace that was that old. He’d never been much of a scholar in school, but he could remember learning about Ancient Greece and thinking about how impossibly old those structures pictured in his textbook seemed. If he recalled correctly, they were more like two thousand years old. How could this palace, in seemingly perfect condition, be twice that age? He had to chalk it up to people living a lot longer and to magic—two factors that certainly could change the course of civilizations.

When Victor had come to the library and requested information about Longar Fray, he’d been a little vague about what he wanted. He wasn’t sure he wanted people in the palace to know about the vault-like door he’d found in the mountain. He still didn’t know who he could trust. “Was there anything else about Longar? Anything to do with the mountain?”

“The histories are ancient, Your Grace, and not very detailed. He was an adventurer king, though, and it’s said that he spent many years on the mountain. He’s credited with locating many of the richest veins of ore and slaying many ancient and powerful creatures that dwelled on Iron Mountain’s slopes and in the depths of its caves.”

“Any, um, warnings?” Sonland’s expression told Victor that he knew he was fishing, but the historian played along.

“Warnings from Longar Fray, milord?”

“Yeah, concerning the mountain?”

“No, Your Grace, nothing comes to mind.”

Victor fidgeted, feeling antsy. “Right, well, who do I talk to about finding a big key with multiple prongs from Longar’s era?”

“A key, milord?”

“Yep. A key that wasn’t made to open any locks in this palace.” He held his fingers about eight inches apart. “It’ll be about this long and have three tines, two of which will be pointed to the sides. I’m ninety percent sure it’ll be made of amber-ore.”

“If it was meant to safeguard valuables, it’s likely somewhere in the ducal treasury vault, Your Grace.”

Victor snapped his fingers. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Where’s my treasury?”

“I believe it lies beneath your residential tower, milord. My father and Treasurer Evelda Gladston have access. I’m sure either will gladly show you to—”

Victor shoved his chair back noisily and stood; he’d remembered the gilded portcullis on the basement level as soon as the man mentioned his tower. Guard Captain Gand had shown it to him on his first day in Iron Mountain. “Thank you, Sonland. It was nice to meet you, and I’ll be sure to let your father know that I approve of your appointment here.”

Victor strode to the door where his escort—two household guards and a page named Reva—awaited him. Sonland sputtered his thanks and promised to be of service if Victor needed more information, but Victor just waved absently as he exited the library; he couldn’t stop thinking about that door and his need to open it. “Reva, fetch Lord Draj and have him meet me at the treasury immediately.”

“At once, Your Grace!” She snapped a sharp salute and sprinted toward the nearby stairs, her polished black shoes clicking loudly on the marble.

Victor looked at the two guards. They’d been waiting outside his chambers, stationed there by Queen Kynna to watch for his arrival, and he’d commandeered them for his own purposes. “You two don’t need to follow me around if you don’t want to. I’m heading back to my tower.”

One of the guards, a tall, lanky fellow whom Victor had seen fighting in the Queen’s garden, answered, “Your Grace, we’ve orders to keep sharp about your whereabouts so long as you’re in the palace. Queen Kynna—”

Victor waved his hand, cutting him off. “It’s fine.”

With renewed purpose, he led the way back to his tower. When they’d first arrived through Florent’s portal, he’d sent another page to fetch Trobban, the Artisan, and Florent had gone to brief the queen on his exploits. They were supposed to meet back at his quarters as soon as possible, so it wasn’t just his usual giant strides that spurred his quick pace through the palace; Victor was eager to get back to the mountain, eager to see what was beyond that enormous enchanted metal wall.

The library was in the northern palace annex, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise to find Draj and Reva, the page, already waiting at the stairwell leading to the lower levels of his tower. Despite the very early morning hour, Draj was dressed sharply in a gray and black suit and looked alert as he bowed. “Greetings, Your Grace. I’m told you wish to inspect the treasury. I’d anticipated such, and I assure you that you’ll find all is in order.”

Victor looked at him for a long moment, realization dawning on him. Draj thought he was conducting a surprise inspection of the duchy’s stored wealth. He supposed it made sense; it was probably something he should have done during the first day or two of his arrival. Wouldn’t most new dukes want to confirm with their own eyes that their treasurer hadn’t run away with the duchy’s riches during the changeover?

He nodded and gestured to the stairs. “After you, then.” Draj turned and hurried down the steps, and Victor followed. The treasury was on the first lower level, and when they got off the stairs and approached the gold-plated metal portcullis, Victor was surprised to find the treasurer, a mousy little woman dressed in layered crimson robes, already there, working to disarm the many wards.

“I sent Evelda ahead, milord,” Draj said, looking over his shoulder. Victor had only met the woman once when he’d been introduced to most of the palace staff, and she hadn’t made much of an impression. Still, she seemed pleasant enough, and as the portcullis began to clatter up into its recess, she turned and bowed low. Draj nodded to her. “Very good, Evelda. You may wait here.”

“Just a moment, Draj.” Victor turned to the little woman, noting that she’d kept her gaze down, avoiding eye contact. “Evelda, do you have a good accounting of the contents of this vault?”

“Every bead, coin, gem, and bauble, Your Grace.” Though she answered quickly and with a sure voice, she still didn’t look up.

“Draj, can you say the same?”

“No, milord. I have a general sense of the value and know where the beads are kept, but I—”

“Then I think I’d like Evelda to provide my tour.”

“I—” Draj frowned, glancing back at the small woman, but then he nodded and stepped aside. “Very well, Your Grace.”

Victor smiled at him and, as he walked past, gave him a clap on the shoulder. “It’s nothing personal, Draj, but I’m curious about some of the older…trinkets in here.”

Victor stepped through the opening into a short, metallic tunnel. He could feel the thrumming Energy contained in the runes carved into the metal—runes that would no doubt erupt with deadly traps if Evelda hadn’t disarmed them when she opened the metal gate. As he stepped into the expansive metallic chamber beyond, he could hear Evelda’s shuffling steps behind him.

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To his surprise, the duchy’s treasury wasn’t crowded. It wasn’t piled with gold and gems and sacks of beads. It didn’t have racks of gilded armor and weapons or stacks of antique paintings, vases, and statues. It was a rectangular, metallic room lined with similarly metallic chests in neat rows. Victor turned to Evelda. “Dimensional containers?”

“That’s correct, Your Grace. All of the wealth is stored in them, save a few items that can’t be housed in such a manner. You’ll find them through yonder door.” She pointed to a square metal door set into the left-hand wall. “A few conscious baubles left by former members of the ruling household, milord.”

Victor moved deeper into the vault and motioned for Evelda to approach. He hadn’t altered his size, and she only stood a few inches higher than his waist, so he had to lean down when he spoke in a low voice, “I’m looking for a special key. It’ll be one of the oldest items in the treasury. It should have three prongs and be about—”

“I know what it is you seek, Your Grace!” Evelda scurried toward the far right-hand corner of the room and rested her hand atop the chest there. “When I was an apprentice here, I was drilled regularly on the contents of each chest. The objects in this one are the oldest, and I struggled with the many strange items. Still, old Undrona taught me well, and I remember the key quite fondly; it’s been a mystery to the treasurers of Iron Mountain, you see. There’s not a lock in the entire duchy that it fits.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. I should’ve come to you first.”

At his words, Evelda turned to him, and, for the first time, Victor noted that her eyes were like little blazing suns in her gray-skinned face. “Thank you, Your Grace!”

Victor couldn’t help himself and asked, “Do you have Igniant ancestry?”

“Um,” she looked away again, turning back to the chest, “yes, milord-from my paternal grandmother.”

“You’re familiar with the queen’s ancestry, right? Ranish Dar?”

“Oh, yes, milord. I believe my grandmother was a cousin to the Dars.” She hummed softly, and then, as a gleaming yellow-tinted metallic object appeared in her hand, she crowed, “Found it!” She turned to Victor and held it up. A foot-long key with three distinct prongs, two of which were angled to the sides. It was lengthier than Victor had envisioned, but a good bit of that length was taken up by the knob on the end, set with a golf-ball-sized ruby. “Milord, am I permitted to ask if you found the matching lock?”

Victor stepped forward and took the key. He turned it left and right, then slowly nodded. “I think so. I can’t divulge what it’s for just yet, but if all goes well, I’ll put the mystery to rest for you.” He glanced around the treasury and then, leaning close to Evelda, quietly asked, “Can I trust Lord Draj when it comes to the contents of this treasury?”

“You’re asking me, Your Grace?” For the second time, the woman looked up with those blazing eyes of hers.

“I am. Call it an instinct, but I think you’ll be honest.”

“And honest I shall be, milord. Lord Draj submits a quarterly report on the Duchy’s finances, and each time, he has me double-check his figures for the treasury. Never once has he asked me to alter the numbers to match a more convenient fiction. I cannot say the same for his predecessor.”

“You’ve been here longer than Draj?”

“I’ve been here three hundred and fourteen years, Your Grace.”

Victor smiled and nodded. “I’m glad we met, Evelda.”

Still looking up at him with those bright eyes, she smiled, and her plump cheeks dimpled at the corners of her mouth. “I’m very pleased to have met you more personally, as well, milord.”

Clutching the key, Victor nodded and then turned to stride out of the vault. Draj stood in the antechamber, his hands clasped before him. As his little entourage formed around him, Victor nodded to his seneschal. “Draj, I want to congratulate you on maintaining such a well-accounted treasury. Everything looks to be in order.”

As he strode up the stairs, his guards and page in tow, Draj called after him, “Thank you, Your Grace!”

A few minutes later, after a short ride in his magical elevator, Victor entered his quarters and found Trobban and Florent awaiting him in the parlor; he’d left the door unlocked for them. As soon as he bid the guards and Reva farewell and closed the door behind him, Florent called out, “Any luck, Your Grace?”

Victor held aloft his prize, glinting brightly in the light thrown by the recessed Energy lamps. “Hell yes, I had some luck. Can you cast your portal again yet?”

“Nearly, milord. I can sense the cooldown winding away.”

Trobban stood and walked toward him. “What’s this about a gigantic iron automaton, Your Grace?”

“First of all, it’s not iron. It’s black metal, but it’s a hell of a lot tougher than iron. I wrecked it pretty badly, but I think you might find some valuable components inside—maybe even something you could use for our project.”

“I’m always eager to examine the work of other artisans. It sounds like this one might be quite old, yes?”

“Yeah, if my theory is right, it’s over three thousand years old. I think an ancient king put it there to guard his secret. What the secret is,” Victor thumped the heavy ruby-topped key in his palm, “we’re going to find out.”

Florent cleared his throat and added, “The construct used a devastating Energy attack—more Energy than I’ve ever seen released at once. Luckily, Duke Sandoval was able to avoid it.”

Victor arched an eyebrow at him. “You talking about that wave of red lightning?”

“Yes, milord. Your guards and I stood well back until you split the golem’s focus with your axe. I believe it was unable to replicate the tremendous release of Energy without that gigantic sword.”

“A focus, you say?” Trobban rubbed his chin.

Florent nodded. “Yes, it was severed in the battle but remains largely intact. I’m sure you could learn much from studying it.”

Victor had begun to pace back and forth, unable to contain his eagerness to get back to the cavern and the locked door. To distract himself, he asked, “You spoke to Queen Kynna?”

“I tried, Your Grace,” Florent replied, “but she wasn’t here. She traveled early this morning to Gloria—meetings with her family or some such.” As he finished speaking, he leaped to his feet and snapped his fingers. “Portal’s ready, milord.”

Victor nodded and pointed to the empty area in the center of the room. “Let’s do it.”

Florent lifted his staff, gathered some Energy, and released it in a torrent of crackling black sparks that seemed to rip a hole in the universe. As the gap expanded, Victor tried to watch, peering at that weird, dark Energy as it sizzled and stretched the void at its center. He couldn’t find anything to focus on, though, and soon, the portal was large enough to step through. When Florent nodded, Victor used it.

He emerged to a new scene in the gigantic cavern. Bryn and her squire had set up a camp of sorts. They’d put up a sizeable pavilion-style tent about fifty yards from the amber-ore wall, and a wide area around it was fortified with spiked barriers—sections of metallic fence adorned with dozens of three-meter metallic spears. Another smaller pavilion was set up like a kitchen with a table, counters, and a cooktop. In a gap in the fortifications, Bryn and Feist stood, stripped down to their gambesons, sparring with swords.

When they saw and heard Victor emerge from the crackling portal, Bryn shoved Feist away and jogged over to him, red-faced and sweating. “You made good time, milord. Does that mean you were success—” She cut her words short as Victor held up the key.

“Nice little camp.” Victor nodded toward the fortifications. “You had all that shit in a storage ring?”

“Yes, sir! I figured we might need to make camp during your explorations of the mountain and prepared accordingly.”

Victor smiled. “You’re pretty damn good, Bryn. Remind me to give you some sort of accolade when we return.” While he spoke, he heard the others come through the portal behind him, and he turned to Trobban, who was standing, mouth agape, staring at the enormous amber-ore wall.

“Incredible!”

“The golem is over there.” Victor gripped his shoulder and turned him so he could point out the black semi-truck-sized figure on the far side of the cavern. Victor looked to Florent, then back to Bryn. “Listen up, folks. I'm going through that door if this key works, and I think it will. You all might as well continue to fortify this position and hold it. I know you’re all curious about what’s on the other side, and you can look through, of course, but I’ll be going alone. If there are more things like that,” he jerked his thumb toward the destroyed construct, “then I’d rather only have me to worry about. Understood?”

“Yes,” Florent was quick to respond.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Bryn snapped a salute.

Victor looked at Trobban, but the artisan was already drifting toward the broken golem. “Okay, my earlier orders still stand: only Queen Kynna can know about this place for now. Don’t travel back and forth the palace bringing everyone and their mother here.”

Feist, who’d just jogged over, busy fastening the straps to his breastplate, muttered, “Why would we want everyone’s mother here, Your Grace?”

“Exactly my point, bud.” As always, the urge to go deeper, the pull on his blood, was nagging at Victor, and he couldn’t stand still any longer. He nodded and turned toward the enormous circular door. “I’m going. I guess, if there’s some kind of sleeping evil god or something in there, be ready to run.”

“Do you think…” Bryn’s words trailed off, and Victor glanced at her, seeing real fear in her eyes as she appraised the gigantic amber-ore wall in a new light.

“Listen,” Victor said, turning to face them all, “I was mostly joking about that, but this kind of barrier wasn’t made for anything small. Either Longar Fray was trying to keep something in, or he was trying to keep everyone out. We don’t know why, so we need to be careful. Florent, do you have that escape portal ready?”

“Always, Your Grace.”

“Then stand back here with the others.” With that, Victor turned and strode the fifty yards or so to the door. He could feel the call, the pull, the push, and he knew, no matter what, he was going through this wall, whether the key worked or not.

“Your Grace,” Bryn’s voice was right behind him, and he turned to her, frowning.

“What, Bryn?”

“Um, if-if, um…”

Victor groaned. He was so close. He wanted to snap at her, to yell at her to back off, but he gathered his will and took a deep breath, pushing his impatience and the mighty pull aside. “What is it, Bryn? You can say it.”

“If there is something awful, milord, some ancient dead god that wants to kill us all, should—should we close the door?”

Victor grinned. “So that’s all you wanted? Hell, Bryn, if something like that happens, then do it. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to unleash something like that on a bunch of innocent people.” He nodded again, then held out a fist, and she half-heartedly punched his knuckles.

“I hope it’s not something like that, Your Grace. Victor.”

“Me too. Now get the fuck outta here, will you?” He laughed to lighten his words, and she grinned as she turned to jog back to the others. Victor turned back to the door.

His hand was steady as he held the key up to the lock, turning it until the tines lined up with the correctly shaped slots. When he began to push it in, he worried he’d done it wrong or that the key wasn’t quite right because it got stuck about three inches in. He tapped it, twisting lightly left and right, and then it began to sink again, perhaps having cleared some ancient corrosion or grime.

The entire vault door vibrated almost imperceptibly when the key was halfway inserted. When it was three-quarters in, the amber-ore began to glow with faint luminosity. When it was fully inserted, the key clicked, and the ruby shone with brilliant red light. Licking his lips in anticipation, Victor turned the key, and it smoothly rotated with a rapid series of clicks. He kept turning until it stopped after three complete rotations, and then he heard the workings of gigantic gears as the enormous bolts holding the door shut slid open.

When the noise ended, and the door ceased its glowing and humming, Victor pulled on the handle and, on noiseless gigantic hinges, it swung wide. The door was thick—at least eight feet wide—but swung open with the lightest of touches. Beyond, a twenty-foot tunnel of solid amber-ore stretched toward a circle of darkness. Victor turned back to his companions, watching him with weapons in their hands, and nodded. Then he stepped into the tunnel.

He'd taken three or four steps when the pull on his blood, spirit, or both began to lessen, and the stress of its constant pressure faded. He rolled his neck and took a deep breath, noting the air was much cooler than on the other side of the door. That’s when, like a whisper he could hear with his very bones, a voice came to him, “Titan-blood. Long have I awaited one of our kind. Come. Come and hear my tale. Come and earn your prize with a favor.”