Victor Deus (Heritage of the Blood Book 1) (38 page)

“Well I'd have to say that you started watching me after dinner, but you started following me when I got up for my walk.” Victor turned towards his Adopted father and saw a smile of approval on the man's face.

“Very, Very good Victor. Hone those instincts, and they will treat you well. It is part of our heritage. I am the offspring of a Dracairei, or what we call the Dracair Assassins, they have the ability to mask their presence quite efficiently from our extra sense. That has helped me more than once in my adventures, it's good to know you might see it coming.” Nim walked up to Victor and did something that he had not been expecting however.

Nim grabbed Victor and embraced him. “I'm very proud of you, you know. If I had ever have a son I hope he is like you. I could hardly hope for better.” He put Victor down and put his hand on the glossy eyed boys shoulder. “As you have probably figured out from walking around, there is nothing a soldier lives for more than the peaceful times.” Looking like he was in serious thought he added, “Well, most of 'em.” with a wink. They talk about the mundane, but their minds are always on the job ahead. That is why they talk about things that really matter. If a man has nothing to fight for he won't live long in the midst of battle. These men quite literally defend their homelands from threats on a regular basis.” Nim took a deep breath and looked around at the men proudly.

“The last thousand years have been rather quiet compared to the years before, and the only reason our population has stayed ahead of the wars is because our women tend to have two or three children at a time. That's another part of our heritage, and someday I'll explain to you about the links that can come into play amongst these siblings, but not today. Every year we lose between two to ten thousand men, and every year three to twelve thousand men replace them from the academy. Most of the men we lose are green, so that means that somewhere between one in six or five out of six will not come home. Those aren't exactly welcomed odds, but they do it, because it needs to be done. Your people,” Nim looked at him seriously, “Our people, are a very hardy folk.”

Victor nodded appreciatively. “I know, I've sort of been coming to that realization over the last week more than ever before. The Vigilantes are some of the best aren't they?” Victor asked.

Nodding Nim said, “That they are Victor. That is a squad I would have loved to lead when I was a Sergeant.” He looked around sadly. “Of course I was only a Sergeant for about a week. It was during the last real push that the Dracair sent at us. They never seem to want to come themselves so they send their minions. I think it happens after they have too many of the things around, so they just send 'em to keep us busy, but they do it every twenty years or so. A lot of my friends died during that time, and I met some of the people that I would fight with for a long time. War is a funny thing Victor. It is vicious, merciless at times, and some of the things seen during times of war shouldn't be seen at anytime.”

“There is however the other side of the coin. War promotes progress and change. It strengthened men's resolves, and makes men think. Women always seem to want to reproduce more during times of war, and Scientists and Wizards think of all kinds of new things. Some of the greatest leaders are forged during wartime that would have otherwise been wasted on some farm, or killed for robbing the wrong purse. Friendships that go deeper than most are forged in times of war. When people are going through the same trials it strengthens bonds more than anything else. We are brothers and sisters in arms, and we are united in a sense of purpose, and we know that what we are doing is right.”

Victor saw Zander Halcyon walking towards the two from the side of this vision and looked at him, which diverted Nim's attention momentarily. When the man was almost to them he greeted them, came a few steps forward and then simply disappeared.

“Rude lad, disappearing like that.” A voice came from behind the two that sounded a bit too smug for Victor's taste. Nim sighed.

Victor turned quickly and saw Zander standing about three feet from them. He quickly looked back at where the man had just been. “Translocation?” Victor asked impressed.

Laughing Zander answered, “Nothing so grand Victor, simply an illusion. You two are rather easy to sneak up on you know.” He said with mirth showing through quite visibly.

“How long have you been here?” Nim asked in chagrin.

“Oh, since I saw you leaving your squads camp. I created a bubble around me that blocks out all known forms of detection, and allows me to move about invisibly. It takes a large amount of energy and focus to maintain, but it's a fun trick. Shaping can be a very useful tool for infiltration when used correctly. When used sloppily the energy gathering and use can be detected from a long way away, they may not know what you are doing, but they will know someone is there.” Looking like a cat that just caught a mouse Zander turned his attention fully on Nim. “The squad I'm in command of is moving out tomorrow also to head to the south. I thought our men could travel together.

“Well that sounds like a good idea milord.” Nim said dryly.

“Are you sulking Nim?”

“No, but I'd be careful with the
men
comment, I have a very good archer in my squad that might take offense to it.” Nim laughed.

“I'll have to remember that.” Zander said wistfully before turning and ruffling Victor's hair. He got on a knee so that he could look Victor in the face. “I think you should stay behind Victor, there is liable to be a lot of fighting, and I know you've spent your whole life training, but even with your five and a half years of training you are still only a boy.”

“Oh, I know.” Victor said with a grin. “I had no intention whatsoever of going tomorrow. I thought I'd stay and run water back and forth between the soldiers, and shine some shoes.” His face was very serious, and his tone displayed no hint of humor. “After that I thought that I would take some more lessons with the High Commander between his planning a war and all. Followed by tea with the Queen of course.”

Nim and Zander could only stare at the boy and blink.

“I blame you for this Nim.” Zander said finally.

Nim shrugged, “Don't blame me, he was like this when I got him. I might have helped him refine it, but he's got a natural talent. I think you'd have to lock him up in the brig to keep him here, and I think that would only delay him…”

“Here, let me leave so you can talk about me without my interruption, since I don't seem to be here anymore anyway.” Victor turned and started back towards the squad's camp as the light left the sky completely replaced by a blanket of glimmering darkness.

“Definitely your fault.” He heard Zander say as he started walking away, followed by Nim who sounded very smug, “I know, it's great isn't it.”

Chapter 17

Face of the Enemy

Year 3043 AGD

Month of Ragnós

Eighth day

Continent of Terroval

Southwest of Stalwart

Blood Orc Encampment

The night had felt excruciatingly long, and the little sleep Shawnrik had managed was fitful at best. As morning approached he felt like it would have been better staying up all night, instead of fighting a losing battle with an unassailable foe. His time spent with Ol' Man Walkins had given him a healthy respect for sleeping lightly. If it wasn't some other thief coming in to take what they had, or silence the competition, it was Ol' Man Walkins searching through your things looking for what you might be holding back from him. The last two months of travel with Ashur and Dunnagan had instilled a new level of caution to his already alert mind. The difference tonight was that Shawnrik knew the enemy was just down the hallway, every strange sound would bring him out of his half-conscious state. The one time he had been able to fall asleep his dreams were plagued with the reptilian face of his Dracair jailor.

Sometime, in the early hours of the night he had noticed a soft sound reverberating through the wall. After concentrating upon the sound for a long while it finally clicked, it was the sound of someone crying. Once he realized what the sound was he began to focus on where it was coming from, and trying to make out who it was. Shawnrik found that if he concentrated hard enough, he could make out several voices. The barely suppressed whimpers of children mingled with the quiet sobs of women who have come to know despair. It was then, listening to the cries of an unknown number of women and children that something changed in Shawnrik's thoughts. Eventually he found himself lulled to sleep by the haunting sounds. This time when the lithe assassin came into his dreams Shawnrik wrapped his hands around the man's throat. The Dracair pulled his dagger and stabbed him over and over again, but Shawnrik held on, even as he felt the poison coursing through his body he refused to let go, one thought driving him onward before he awoke.
You will die before me!

“Bad dream lad?” Dunnagan asked, sitting against the stone wall of their cell opposite Shawnrik.

“Yes and no.” Shawnrik replied. “Last night I heard crying, it was more than one person. They are being held to the Northwest of us I think.”

Dunnagan nodded, his face somber. “Aye, I heard 'em as well, though I didn' think ye'd be able ta hear em. At least we know that some of the caravan is alive. Assuming they haven't gathered even more people from the area as well. What happened in yer dream?”

“Last night when I tried to fall asleep I dreamt of our scaly friend, he stood at the front of the cell taunting me. Not able to sleep with his eyes boring into me whenever I closed my eyes I listened to the sounds around us. That was when I noticed the crying. I listened to it until I felt I could hear each individual voices anguish, and sometime during that I fell asleep. I once again dreamt of our Dracair captor... ” He flexed his powerful young hands. “... I wrapped my hands around his throat. He kept stabbing me, and I could feel the poison coursing through my veins, but still I held on.”

“Good lad.” Dunnagan smiled up at his young friend. “You'd have made a good Dwarf.” Hearing Ashur snicker in the corner Dunnagan turned to his old friend. “Oh Don't worry lad, ye'd have made a good dwarf too.” Looking back to Shawnrik he added in whisper loud enough to be heard by Ashur. “His head is certainly thick enough.” This broke a lot of the tension that had been building in the cell, and allowed them to truly laugh for the first time since their capture. As if their laughter had been a cue for his entrance the Dracair Assassin opened the outer door to their holding area and began to move towards the three.

“It seems the overgrown snake does not like to hear us laughing.” Ashur said loudly, and with more joviality than Shawnrik thought he himself would have been able to muster.

“Aye lad, it's a failing of the Dracair as a whole. They only seem ta get their kicks when they're bein' sneaky or slaughterin' something weaker than themselves.” Dunnagan tried to stifle his laughter as their captor moved closer to their cell. It was still apparent in his voice however when he said. “Oh, 'allo scaly.”

Shawnrik had seen a snake with his head in the air warning that it was about to strike not all that long ago, and it had looked happier than the Dracair Assassin's face did at that moment.

“You three seem to think this is a pleasant experience.” The assassin hissed through gritted teeth. Teeth, the likes of which Shawnrik had only seen on carnivores, all pointy and made for tearing. “I am called Tallion, if that is too difficult for your feeble tongues you will refer to me as Dracairei.”

Shawnrik, gave Ashur a quizzical look, it being the first time he could remember hearing the term.

“It's the name that the Dracair call their assassin branch of the family tree. The warriors are referred to as Dracani, and the Dreadnaughts are Magnus Dracani.”

Again a small hint of surprise lit the Dracair Assassin's features before he managed to school them. The next look that came across his features was animosity tinged with a hint of curiosity, or at least that is what Shawnrik interpreted the look that the Dracarei was giving to Ashur as.

“You know much for a soft skin. By what are you called?”

“My mother named me David.” Ashur replied.

“Ah yes, but that is not what I asked. We have heard you refer to the large young one as Shawn, and the Dwarf you called Dunn. However, we have yet to garner your name.”

“Well Tallion sir, you can call me whatever you like. I've been called just about everything in the book. Everything from milord to you son of a bitch. You take your pick. Though, I wouldn't recommend referring to my mother in such a context. The last fellow that did that wasn't much of a talker anymore.” Ashur said, his confident smile firmly in place.

The Dracairei made a hissing sound. “I do not think that I would be able to break you gentlemen.” His tone seemed sad for a moment to Shawnrik, but spoke again with less melancholy a moment later. “We might be able to break the young one, but I think it would take too much work. Instead, until you give us answers we shall torture women and children in the next room.” The assassin turned, as if to exit the room and a low growl erupted from Shawnrik's throat.

Ashur looked put his hand on his young friends arm. “Most people call me Ashur.” The big man said. A noticeable misstep was apparent in the assassin's stride as Ashur told the Dracairei his name, quickly covered by the graceful spin he performed as his agile body came to face their cell once again.

The assassin moved closer to the bars as if to get a better look at Ashur. Shawnrik noted that the assassin was still well out of arms length when he stopped for his scrutiny however. “You lie, prove you are who you say you are.”

Ashur's posture changed instantaneously, and Shawnrik realized then that his traveling companion had been making himself look smaller and less threatening ever since they had been surprised on the rocks overlooking the Orc camp. “Open that door up and I'll show you.” Ashur growled.

“No, I do not think that we will do that. I suppose that would make your dwarf friend Dunnagan Stormhammer then?”