Throne Hunters Book Four, Chapter 42

(Quick note about a passage I've entered into Chapter 37. You'll immediately see why this was a necessary edit :P

“What do you suggest, Sam?” Harald knew his anger was misplaced, born of frustration and helplessness. “Stay here and endanger you all? Sit around till they send someone more competent who doesn’t underestimate our strength?”

“We can use my Artifact,” said Sam. “The one the angel gave me? We can just open a Portal directly to the Dungeon and get out of here.”

“Huh,” said Vic. “You know, I’d forgotten about that trick. I say it’s high time we skipped out of here.”

Harald pursed his lips.

“What?” Sam raised a brow. “You want to hang around and see if the next assassin is more capable?” She drew out the white disc. “Look. Right now. We can…”

Then she frowned.

“What is it?” asked Nessa. “Sam?”

“It’s not working.” Sam stared at the disc. “It’s being blocked.”

“Not surprising,” said Anna wearily. “I was going to say, most important locations in Flutic have Artifacts that prevent invasive entry and exits.” Her smile was apologetic. “I could never afford one, but I suppose Melisende didn’t want unwanted visitors with extendable swords appearing in her bedroom suite.”

“She should have bought a better Artifact, then,” said Vic, unruffled. “One that prevents destiny from knocking.”

“Damn,” said Sam, and the disc faded from her grasp. “So we’re trapped. But Harald. We can hold them off together. Stay with us. I can’t heal you if you’re gone.”)

(Now, back to Chapter 42!)

Harald led the Throne Hunters across the Celestara ground to the manor house. They passed the cooling crater in which Kessa’s remains lay charred, the sight of which drew a long, low whistle from Vic even as everyone else stared, wide-eyed.

“Damn, Harald.” Nessa moved up alongside him. “That… you survived that?”

“There’s a reason you have the Solace,” said Harald, tone wry.

“Actually, I’ve handed it over to Vic.” Nessa smirked. “I didn’t survive my last fight, either. Though I did level.”

“We all did,” said Sam. “Well, Vic and I did, too. He and I are both 5th Level, now.”

“Congrats,” smiled Harald.

“Oh, fuck off,” said Vic from the back of the group. “You and your complacent, arrogant, 8th Level ‘congrats’. Take your patronizing encouragement and shove it up your—”

“And I’m 7th Level now,” said Nessa. “Hard to believe, but then again.”

Harald glanced sidelong at their Delve Captain. They were almost at the manor house, and while he wanted to hear about her new Abilities, there was something more pressing he wanted to ask. “How are you holding up?”

“Without the Crown, you mean?” Nessa curled a long lock of hair behind her ear, expression turning pensive. “I… my Ego has edged up just enough that I can keep putting one foot before the other. And, honestly?” She glanced sidelong at him. “With how busy we’ve been with not dying? I’ve not had much time to think about things. Which… helps.”

Harald nodded. The lights of the manor were right ahead, the back patio crowded with figures. It had the air of a party, complete with subtle music from stringed instruments, but it didn’t look too festive.

“I…” Nessa trailed off again. “I’ll be honest. If I had half a Bell to myself, I’d really have to fight the urge to disappear into the Shambles, and…” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “But it’s not as bad an urge as it once was. I think—having endured the Judgement Slats, and not been made to feel guilty—I…”

Harald slowed their pace, and the others, sensing the importance of the conversation, slowed as well, giving them room.

Nessa laughed, the sound half-despairing. “This isn’t the time to talk about this.”

“No, I think it is.” Harald offered a broken smile. “We’re about to go upset a bunch of people with pet Gold-rankers. There might not be another time.”

“Then that makes this conversation irrelevant if we’ll soon be dead.”

“No, it makes it the last chance I have to check in with a dear friend.”

Nessa stopped walking altogether and turned to face him. Her expression was stricken, her face pale in the distant lantern-light. “Harald. Why did you… after the way we manipulated you, used you. After you discovered how terrible we were as your friends. Even until… I mean—why? Why put so much faith in us? In… in me?”

Harald shrugged. “I don’t know.” He smiled helplessly. “We only get this one life, right? And—the friends we made, the people who drew close to us—it’s like…” He sought the right words, the meaning in his heart elusive like a fish darting between his hands as he sought to catch it in a pond. “We were thrown together, maybe by fate, maybe by accident, but, when the cards were down, we only had each other. And I guess I had a decision to make. Double down on our friendship, see it through, see if we could make something good out of it, or just… walk away. And be alone. So.”

Nessa was staring intently at him, listening with raw focus.

Harald dry swallowed. “So I chose to gamble. On us, on you, on the Throne Hunters. And… well. It was a great fucking gamble.” He grinned. “Look at us now. Look how far we’ve come. You’ve come. MS.  Level 7 Bladeweaver.”

Nessa snorted. “You fool. What an idiotic wager.” But something had lifted within her, and she looked subtly more at ease. “I’d have kicked Vic and I to the curb if I’d been in your place.”

“You’d not have made the same mistakes I did in the first place,” said Harald.

“No.” Her smile faded away. “I’d have made a completely different set of mistakes, and suffered terribly for it.”

“Well.” Harald inhaled deeply. “Here we are. Ready, Delve Captain?”

She winked, then nodded to the manor house. “Let’s go ruin their party.”

Harald gave a firm nod and resumed striding toward the back patio. The massed crowd had caught sight of them, and a phalanx of raiders had moved to the perimeter, each one practically burnished with power and confidence.

Gold-rankers, easily a dozen of them.

Harald had toyed with the idea of approaching the manor with the heads of those he’d defeated. To walk up, his contempt writ large on his face, and toss the heads at the feet of their lords and ladies, to show them with a barbaric display of defiance just how their precious hunters had failed.

But that impulse had come from a dark place, one he recognized as stemming from the Demon Seed, and so he’d curbed it ruthlessly.

It wouldn’t have served their cause. A moment’s depraved satisfaction only to be followed by ruin.

He saw them there, gathered in a loose collective in the scale-lantern light. Josse and Yseult Khan. Doran Blaze, his expression ravaged by grief, his eyes gleaming. Lord Draken, tall and broad shouldered in his armor, dignified and furious. Lord Rowan Thorn in the same forest green and midnight blue that Thracos had worn. Lady Mirella Argent, distinguished and poised, her sneer brittle and unconvincing. Lady Elara Verdant, to one side, expression shadowed, contemplative, wary.

The assembled lords and ladies of Flutic, watching him and his friends approach, their resentment and loathing rising from them like heat shimmers.

The Gold-rankers that formed a cordon around the patio shifted their weight as Harald drew too close, so he ceased his advance and resisted the urge to smirk. Did they really think he’d try to cut down their masters?

“Sir Harald!” Lord Josse’s voice rang out. He was clearly attempting to sound contemptuous and amused, but there was no mistaking the tension that curdled beneath the words. “Your duel against Lord Blaze is scheduled for Ninth Bell. This is a private party.”

“Your hunters are dead.” Harald pitched his voice to carry, ignoring Josse to meet the gazes of the other lords and ladies. “I cut them down with my own hand. Assassins from the dark. Your best Silver-rankers, little more than worm food now.”

The whole assemblage was still. The string music had ceased.

Doran Blaze’s lower jaw trembled with rage. “You murdered my daughter.” His voice was scalding with grief and outrage. “She was so good. So pure. You have no idea what beauty you’ve taken from this world.”

“I finally see all of you for what you are.” Harald did nothing now to hide his scorn. “The scales are fallen from my eyes. But that’s fine. You care nothing for my opinion. All you desire is the Twilight Crown. So we can skip the accusations and fake outrage and cut right to the chase.”

Everybody became subtly more alert.

“Doran’s scheduled to fight me at Ninth Bell,” he began, but Thornar Blackhammer cut in, voice rough.

“That’s Lord Blaze to you, Darrowdelve.”

Harald ignored him. “He stands to benefit, doesn’t he, from my having just fought five back-to-back duels. I’m worn out, weak. So I say, let him prove his courage by fighting me here and now. Before you all. Why wait till Ninth Bell? What do you say, Doran? You willing to avenge your daughter?”

All eyes turned to the Lord of House Emberfell, whose face had grown mottled with patches of white and red.

“Look at me,” said Harald, spreading his arms wide. “How did I defeat your best yet remain unhurt? Have you miscalculated? All of you? Overlooked something crucial? There’s one way to find out, Doran. Step into a Dueling Ring with me. Surely you’ll succeed where the last five failed? Surely you’ll be the lord capable of shutting my mouth and ending my impudence once and for all?”

It was fascinating to watch calculation steal the throne from grief. Doran’s eyes narrowed as he licked his lower lip. He glanced from side to side, taking in the curious stares, the barely hidden smirks. Oh, but his peers would love to see him fight Harald and die.

Harald placed his hands on his hips. “I only ask that we make this quick, as I’m loath to enjoy House Celestara hospitality for a single Bell more.” His gaze cut across the crowd to lock in on Yseult and Josse. “Because House Celestara hospitality is shit.”

Yseult’s eyes flashed, but she remained otherwise unchanged. Josse, however, paled, stole glances at the other lords and ladies, then opened his mouth to vent his outrage.

Only for Yseult to touch his elbow.

Josse stopped, hesitated, then closed his mouth.

Harald smirked at him and looked back to Doran.

Lord Thornvale sipped from his goblet. “What do you say, Doran? We’d love some entertainment. Will you provide it for us?”

Doran scowled at the younger man.

“When I cut Doran down,” said Harald, “I will become the rightful owner of the Twilight Crown. And my friends and I will quit this manor. If you all have enough honor amongst you all to allow me to walk as far as the front gate without trying to stab me in the back.”

“Oh, but the pup has quite the yap,” said Lady Argent. “Doran, hurry up and kill him already.”

Harald met the Lord of Emberfell’s gaze, and knew that he had him. In the man’s wounded stare he saw fear, calculation, and cowardice.

Time to push him over the edge.

Harald summoned the Scourge. The appearance of the huge blade caused the Gold-rankers to tense, a couple manifesting their own weapons in response.

“Come on, Doran.” Harald locked eyes with the lord. “This blade is Epic ranked. Let’s find out if your fancy jewel armor can stop its edge. I’ll warn you though, its a toxic blade. It collects poisons from across various dimensions—I can’t claim to understand it—and causes truly agonizing deaths. Come see for yourself. What do you say?”

Doran laughed bitterly, the sound forced. “I won’t dignify you with an official duel. You murdered Melisende, you murdered my daughter. You deserve nothing better than to be hunted down like a dog.”

Harald nodded and allowed the Scourge to vanish. “Like I thought. So you concede the duel?”

“I concede nothing!”

“As a matter of order,” said Yseult, her tone dry. “You accepted the duel, my lord. You must either fight it or concede.”

“Then fine, I concede!” Doran did his very best to sound scornful, but couldn’t match Harald’s own acidic tone. “It means nothing to concede to a wretch like this. He doesn’t understand true nobility, so our laws and principles don’t apply to him.” Doran’s grin became wolfish. “Yes, the Twilight Crown is yours for the nonce. But since you can now only measure the remaining span of your life in minutes, it matters not.”

“Good. Your daughter fought well, by the way. She was a far braver and better person than you are or ever will be. I’m sure she was ashamed to call you father.”

Doran’s eyes bulged and he lunged forward, only for Thornar to grasp him around the chest and pull him back with ease. “It’s not worth it, my lord. Allow me. I’ll pulverize him before he can blink.”

The crowd stirred. Hands drifted to hilts. The moment was about to end. Violence was in the air. The entire assemblage hungered for his blood.

Time to play his trump card.

“I release ownership of the Twilight Crown,” he shouted. The growing hubbub stilled. “I don’t even have it on me. I threw it in some bushes on the way here. This I swear on the Fallen Angel, on the Mother Church, on my soul and love for my friends.”

Everybody went still.

“You threw the Crown in a bush?” asked Yseult in disbelief.

“He’s telling the truth,” said a House Thornvale raider. “I can’t believe it myself, but my Artifact asserts he’s not lying.”

Vic stepped up alongside Harald to rest an elbow on his shoulder. “Have any of you oafs ever heard the expression ‘finders keepers’?”

Eyes widened. Lords and ladies glanced at each other.

“Go,” hissed Lady Argent. “Find that Crown!”

House Silvershield raiders hesitated for but a second and then sprinted out in to the dark, fanning out to disappear into the darkness.

“Go, go you idiots!” barked Lord Thorn. “After them!”

Shouts and command rang out. The raiders and house guards sprinted forth into the dark, shoving at each other and shouting.

Harald adopted Veil of Shadows and moved back and to the side. His companions, forewarned, moved with him. The raiders, Gold-ranked and Silver, streamed past them, out into the gloom. Moving quickly, knowing the seconds were precious, Harald moved for the manor’s far corner.

Not every raider left the back patio, however; each lord and lady retained one or two Gold-rankers, clearly loath to trust their health to their hosts. But if any of these saw Harald and his crew depart in the chaos, they chose not to pursue and abandon their charges.

Heart in his throat, Harald ran around the manor’s edge and up along its side. Laughter began to bubble up in his throat as they broke into the front gardens. House guards were on patrol, but at the sight of the Throne Hunters making their exit they stopped and called out challenges.

But they either knew better to try and stop them, or simply didn’t care enough to do so.

Wise. They’d have had no chance of arresting Harald and his friends.

An explosive BOOM detonated in the backyard, causing the ground to shiver.

“Looks like friendships are being ruined!” called out Vic in hilarity.

The broad gates were up ahead. Harald ran without hesitation at their very center. They were locked, guards before them, but he didn’t want to waste time, to risk anyone coming to heir senses. He intended to ram the seam between the two gates with his shoulder, burst the portal open, when a figure dropped out of the night sky to land directly in his path, the violence of their fall causing them to sink into a deep crouch, huge hammer over one shoulder.

Thornar Blackhammer.

The Gold-ranker straightened up with an easy smile as the Throne Hunters staggered to a stop.

“So eager to leave?” Thornar’s rumble was amused. The House Celestara guards, knowing what was to come, scattered. “My lord would have words with you.”

Shit.

Harald glanced around, but they were out in the open, on the main drive, with no cover or options. “Tell him I send my apologies, but I don’t think there’s much to discuss.”

“On the contrary. There are many unresolved matters to review.” Thornar gently patted one palm with the head of his hammer. “But if you want me to insist, I’d be more than happy to convince you.”

Harald spread his arms and began to back away, but it was futile. Had the Blackhammer leaped from the rear of the property to the gate in one bound? Was that possible? And if so, what hope did they have of avoiding him?

Worse, the main street was right there, a dozen yards beyond the Gold-ranker. If they could just step out onto those cobblestones…

“No cutting insults?” Thornar raised a craggy brow. “Cat got your tongue now that you see the consequences of your crimes?”

“Actually, we weren’t the ones who sent assholes out to kill us,” said Vic, raising a finger. “And in fact—”

A huge shape emerged from the shadows. They must have been using an Artifact to draw so close and go unnoticed, but now they stepped into the scale-lantern, crimson red and steel gray armor resplendent.

Lady Hammerfell.

Eight feet tall, and clad in beautiful armor that was burnished to a dark sheen with a red cloak as vivid as blood falling from her broad shoulders to pool at her feet, her presence was easily a match for Thornar’s own. Her vast blade, seven feet in length, its hilt alone two feet long, all of it crafted from black metal, rested across one dragon pauldron.

The warning, the threat, was clear.

But as before, Lady Hammerfell’s gaze was kind, her smile gentle. Burgundy hair framed her features, falling in twisting curls just past her shoulders, and there was in her dark gaze an unexpected compassion, even a hint of humor, that gave Harald the courage to square his shoulders and step forward once more.

“Brianna.” Thornar’s tone had grown gruff. “This doesn’t concern you. Begone.”

“Mind your tongue,” said Brianna, tone unruffled. “Or I’ll take it from you.”

“Ha!” Large as Thornar was, Lady Hammerfell loomed a good two feet over him. “We both know I’m higher ranked.”

“And we both know you haven’t raided in over a decade.” Her smile was apologetic. “That you rest on your laurels and haven’t seen a fair fight in far too long. Well.” She lifted her gargantuan blade from her bulky shoulder and gripped it with both fists. “If you insist on delaying the Throne Hunters, I’m more than happy to put your legend to the test.”

Thornar adjusted his grip on his hammer nervously. “These fools murdered Kessa. They insulted Lord Blaze’s honor. You cannot take issue with their facing justice.”

Lady Hammerfell gave the slightest of shrugs. “But I do. Enough talking. Are you ready?”

Thornar laughed scornfully. “You’re serious? You’d begin a war between House Drakenhart and Emberfell for them?”

“This has nothing to do with House Drakenhart.” The corner of Lady Hammerfell’s lips quirked up in amusement. “This is a private affair. Now fight me, Thornar, or begone.”

The older warrior’s expression curdled in fury. He spat on the ground between them, and without another word crouched low to hurl himself back into the night sky, his trajectory sending him toward the back of the manor house.

Brianna lowered her huge sword, gaze rising to track the departed warrior. “Always knew he was a coward.” Then she smiled at Harald. “Anyway. You’re free to leave.”

“Thank you, Lady Hammerfell.” Harald took a shuddery breath and then bowed low. “You have my sincere gratitude.”

“No, you have my apologies.” Her tone grew cold. “The rot in Flutic runs deep, but know that not everybody has lost their way.”

“You should come with us!” Vic’s face brightened at his own idea. “Now that you’re an honorary Throne Hunter, you should totally come to the Dungeon with us and help…” He trailed off at Brianna’s amused expression. “No?”

“Cute.” She stepped up to the double gates and put a hand on the ornamental black iron top of one. With an easy shove she tore it open so that the bolts bent, casements tore free, and chain links snapped. She pushed the gate open and moved aside. “Best hurry, Harald.”

Harald took a deep breath, gave a curt nod, and moved past her. “I’ll repay this debt someday.”

“Perhaps.” She inclined her head, stepped back, and melted away into shadows to disappear.

“Amazing,” breathed Sam. “I want to grow up to be her.”

“We’d best hurry like she said.” Kársek urged them all out onto the street. “Sam?”

Who drew forth the ivory disc and focused on it. A second later a portal of white fire appeared before them, its center opaque.

“This’ll take us straight to my room in Alabenthos’ complex.” She put the disc away. “I’ll smooth things over.”

“Can’t wait to see how I’m received,” said Vic, and stepped through to disappear. Nessa followed next, then Kársek.

“I have to go last,” said Sam, looking to Anna and Harald.

“I’m not going.” Anna drew herself up.

“You’re not—?” Harald stared at her. “What? But if you remain behind…?”

Anna’s expression fluctuated between sternness and vulnerability. “Harald, it just doesn’t make sense. I’ve been thinking hard about it, and—I can’t pretend to be a raider like the rest of you. I’m only 3rd Level. You’re 8th. I thought I was at heart a raider, one pretending to be a countess, but now I see it’s the other way round.”

“But they’ll come for you,” protested Harald. “You can’t stay behind.”

“I have the Infinitum Vic… repossessed for us. With that I can hire security, bribe the right people, and restaff House Sonora. My House needs me. And…” She glanced at Sam then just as quickly away. “And I release you from your service to me. It… it was a beautiful dream, but we both know it couldn’t last. You’re far more than a mere knight of House Sonora. I’ll make it known that we’re no longer connected, and hope that will insulate me from the worst.”

“Anna.” Harald stepped toward her even as Sam moved diplomatically away. “I can’t… you…”

But he didn’t know what to say.

Anna took his hand in her own. “Harald. You breathed new life into my House. Into, well, me. For a moment there…” She searched his face, her smile fleeting. “For a moment there I thought perhaps… but no. You are walking your own path, just as I have my own. I won’t drag you all down. Where you need to go I can’t follow. This isn’t a decision so much as a reality. Go. With my blessings, and my gratitude. You will always have a good friend in me.”

Harald felt a despairing rise of emotion within him, an urge to defy the impossible, to save Anna, to save her House, but also—what? Fight in the depths of the Dungeon to end the demon war?

He hung his head.

Anna lifted his chin with a finger, then stepped in close to kiss his cheek. For a moment her lips lingered on his skin, her smell close, and then she stepped away. “Go.”

Harald took a shaky breath and nodded. “My apologies. For all my mistakes. I… I did my best.”

“I know you did.” Anna linked her hands behind her back. “Please send word when you can. I’ll be thinking of you all.”

“I will.” Harald took a final breath, glanced at Sam, then moved toward the Portal.

“Goodbye, Anna,” said Sam. “You have been a good friend.”

“May the angels smile on you, Sam.” Anna raised her hand in parting.

Harald turned to face the burning white portal. The Dungeon lay beyond. Its endless levels, its perilous foes, its tremendous challenges, its demon war.

At his back he heard distant shouts, a high pitched scream, and then another detonation.

He was glad to be putting Flutic behind him.

Glad to be leaving its politics and corruption and venality.

For the real war lay in the Dungeon. Vorakhar and the demons, Alabenthos and the angels.

And for the first time he felt equipped to step onto that battlefield and make a difference.

To start turning the tides in the favor of the forces of light.

He squeezed Sam’s hand. She smiled at him, expression nervous, alive with vitality and emotion, her chest rising as she inhaled deeply, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

And then, together, they stepped into the burning white light, and were gone.

THE END

(And there we go! That's a wrap. I'm going to review the chapters, make some minor edits, but send it pretty much as is to my editor later today. If you have any feedback on the tale, any suggested improvements or things you think I missed/dropped, please let me know. Or if you simply enjoyed the fourth installment, I'd love to hear that, too :)

Thanks so much for following along. I don't know if you can tell, but I had a ton of fun writing this book. I'm going to return to Immortal Great Souls next, and post Chapter 1 of Book 4 here tomorrow. I'll probably be taking the next two months to finish that book, at which point I'll assess which series to tackle next. Might need to finish Gods of the Game/Krieg Chess next (quick 90k words), and then return to Throne Hunters #5. I hope you stick around for these next projects, but regardless, thanks for being part of the journey so far, and for all the support.

You guys are the best!)