Throne Hunters Book Four, Chapter 41

Harald’s instinct was to immediately draw back, heart hammering in his chest. Two foes. Moving a good distance apart from each other, but in parallel, and no doubt planning to attack in concert.

His thoughts whirled. How was this possible? Who’d get the Twilight Crown if he fell while fighting them both? Would they then turn on each other? Had they agreed to this pact due to his proving surprisingly durable? Were they cowards, or had they been commanded to fight alongside each other?

Veil of Shadows allowed him to melt away. They’d not seen him, for their approach had been indirect, both scanning the shadows as they’d advanced. He’d seen little more than their outlines, but marked them enough to recognize one as an armored warrior, slender compared to Kessa’s bulk but fully accoutered in plate, while the second was slender, possibly female, and wore flowing robes.

House Viridian and House Silvershield.

No telling which was which, however.

Harald kept drifting back, swaying around ferns, slinking past bushes, keeping his gaze locked on the direction of his assailants.

Could he take them both with his newfound powers? The Maw of the Starless Deep might stun them both, giving him time to neutralize one—but if they were as tough as Kessa, or tougher, he’d not be able to kill one so quickly. Then they’d both flank him, possibly with Servitors and powerful Artifacts at their disposal.

Harald grimaced, lips drawing back from his teeth in a silent, frustrated snarl. That had to be their intent. He’d done too well against their best Silver-rankers. The lords and ladies had decided to remove all possibility of his defeating these last two by fielding them together.

Capitalizing on the unfairness of the situation.

After all, what could he do? Petition them for justice?

Harald bit his lower lip as he considered. The Scourge was Epic-ranked. His foes thus far had only fielded Rare and the occasional Masterwork Artifact. Possibly Kessa’s Forgeheart had been Epic, but she was likely the exception, beloved as she’d been by her father.

Even so.

What to do?

Harald tried to devise a solution, and then a voice came back to him, his father’s sardonic tone, a message he’d not thought of in some time: If you go it alone like I did, you’ll lose yourself. Going solo will be mighty tempting. You’ll think friends are holding you back. Limiting you. That life will be easier without them, less complicated. That you’re an idiot for catering to their needs.

But trust me. Get yourself some good friends.

Harald tried to push the advice away. He’d already leveled up twice in short order. This final challenge—going against two Silver-ranked opponents—would no doubt allow him to level up again.

He could reach Level 9.

The thought tantalized him, and for a moment he stood still, contemplating the glory.

But then he tore his thoughts back down to reality. Madness. He might be able to kill one of them, but he no longer had the Solace’s protection. To take them both on, especially if each was tougher than Kessa, was suicide.

He needed his friends.

But did he dare bring them into this battle?

Harald rubbed at his jaw, furiously thinking.

They’d insist on helping him. That’s what friends did. But he had to know when to ask for help. If asking them to join him now would result in their deaths.

Was it worth dying to protect them?

Or would their help allow them all to win over their foes?

He thought on Kársek’s terrible rune, thought of Sam’s healing powers, Nessa’s tactical brilliance, Vic’s speed. Anna might be too outclassed here, but the others…?

Going solo will be mighty tempting.

Should he depend on his friends? He wavered in the moment, blood-minded desire urging him to tackle the two raiders alone, but in the end it was the memory of Sam’s face that pulled him back from the edge. Sam’s sober gaze, her eyes contemplative and… loving? Maybe, who knew if that was it, but… she’d be so hurt, so disappointed in him if he threw his life away while she waited, ready and willing to help, only a few hundred yards away.

Harald sighed. He couldn’t do that to her.

So, suddenly resolved, he turned and ran swiftly back to the lodge, moving low and Veiled, casting worried glances behind him all the while. He swung out wide only to fetch Kessa’s helm and maul, then grab the gardener’s barrel filled with Artifacts, and only then did he approach the Lodge, moving out into the open and raising one hand as he approached, knowing he was watched.

The front door opened to reveal Nessa, her shadowed expression wary. “Harald? What’s going on?”

“We don’t have much time.” He stepped past her into the deep gloom, the others crowing in around him, and by the angels and the devils both, his heart leaped at the sight of their faces, their company, the warmth and concern and friendship he felt in their midst. Beacon of Hope? Maybe. But it wasn’t needed. To be back with them eased a tightness in his chest, and confirmed that this was the right call.

“We’ve very little time.” His urgency stilled all questions. “The Houses have reached an agreement. They’ve been sending Silver-ranked raiders to hunt me down. Whomever kills me gets the Crown for their House.”

“What?” Sam’s tone was indignant. “Hunt you? House Celestara—?”

“Has obviously gone along with it.”

“Harry.” Vic was peering into the barrel. “Is this full of Artifacts, or am I having a weird, non-erotic dream?”

“I’ve killed three of them so far,” said Harald. “House Emberfell, Thornvale, and Drakenhart.”

“Three?” asked Anna, voice rising with shock.

“And these are their Artifacts, yes. Again, we don’t have much time, because the other two are hunting me together, and they’re tougher than the first ones, who were plenty tough.”

Nessa began drawing the Artifacts out and setting them on the dining table. “Incredible,” she whispered, turning Blade of the Thrice-Oathed about in her grip.

“They’re all Masterwork or Rare,” continued Harald. “I thought, maybe if you all equipped yourself with this gear, we could come up with a plan, and…?”

“Kill them,” agreed Nessa, voice growing cold.

“I don’t mean to sound like an amoral murderer, but killing House affiliated idiots is becoming my favorite pastime,” said Vic, taking up the Thirsting Blade of Hollow Victory. “Ooh, this is nice.”

“Nessa, can you sort this out fast?” Harald gestured at the weapons and gear on the table. “We have maybe a minute, maybe two before they arrive here.”

“Let me see.” Nessa didn’t hesitate, her calm collected Delve Captain-self rising as she moved from Artifact to Artifact, briefly putting a hand on each.

“Oh, and this,” said Harald, drawing the Solace of Aurelum from what remained of his robes. “I already used it.”

Sam was taking in the shredded and burned state of his clothing. “You look like you were cooked in an oven.”

“I kind of was,” he grinned, scratching the back of his head.

“All right.” Nessa pressed her fingertips to her temples as she closed her eyes in thought. “Vic, switch The Point for the Blade of the Thrice-Oathed. Your Soul Ability of telling vicious truths should complement it well. Anna, you take the Goldchops in the place of the Judgement Slats—we don’t need that cursed item undoing half our team, and the Goldchops are lethal at range. That also allows us to leverage your three Thrones to great effect. I’ll take the Cloak of the Thorned Eclipse, as I’m most likely to land grievous blows and benefit from turning invisible. Since I’ll be entering into direct combat, I’ll also take the Solace, as that will allow me to hold the line far longer and take greater risks, and the Ashplume Visor so as to halve damage at a critical moment. Sam, you take the Ember Maul. It’s ability to double-hit is impressive, and made doubly so by its huge Strength boost.”

Nessa hesitated, grimaced as if doubting her decisions, then opened her eyes. “What are you currently carrying, Harald?”

Kársek had moved to a front window and was watching the approach. Confident that the dwarf would alert them of imminent danger, Harald fought down his urge to rush. “The Scourge, the Aureate Master, the Rootheart, and a new Artifact, it’s a Masterwork defensive item that deflects any ranged attack every five seconds.”

Vic let out a low whistle. “Harry, don’t take this the wrong way, but we should absolutely ensure you are hunted by the collective Houses of Flutic every other week. We just made a bleeding fortune here.”

“We’re not out yet,” snapped Sam. “Harald? What aren’t you telling us?”

Harald couldn’t restrain a wince. “I, ah, also might have leveled twice.”

The room went quiet.

“Twice?” asked Kársek from the window, tone steeped in polite skepticism.

“Twice. Level 8 now. Um. They were some intense fights.” Harald felt helpless before their incredulous stares. “But, ah, that’s a good thing. My new Abilities, well, they’re kind of great?”

“Kind of great?” mimicked Vic in disgust. “You know, I clearly got a second-rate Demon Seed.”

“Anything we need to know from a strategic point of view?” asked Nessa, forcing her tone to remain professional.

“Sure. I can emit a halo of broken glass the encircles me, and I’m pretty sure it avoids my friends. And I can now open a rift directly to the abyss which stuns our enemies and lowers their defenses till they get their wits back.”

Everybody’s eyes had opened wider.

“And, ah, I can slow our enemies now, as well as become more powerful the longer I fight.”

“I see movement,” whispered Kársek.

Thank the angels, thought Harald.

“I mean, damn.” Sam rubbed the side of her face. “That’s… that’s good news.”

“This is the plan.” Nessa bit her lip, glanced at the front door, then the ruined back half, formulating something on the fly. “Anna, Harald, you creep out the back, flank them. Anna, when you’re in position, hit one of them with the Compressed World. Harald… you do your abyssal rift… thing, then try to lock down the other one with the Rootheart. Go.”

Anna looked like she’d protest, no doubt wanting to know the rest of the plan, but there was no time. Nessa would explain it to those remain behind, so Harald took Anna by the hand and pulled her out the back, engaging Veil of Shadows as they went. Would that it could cover Anna as well, but she regained her wits sufficiently so as to activate Crimson Entourage, augmenting Harald’s speed and buoying his morale as she swelled in regal confidence by his side.

They navigated the fallen rafters and crushed furniture as quickly as they dared, then slipped out the side to the shattered patio and half-emptied pond. Harald listened intently as he led Anna quickly toward the wall of chest-high bushes, crouching low, but all he could hear was the countess’s harsh breathing and the stomp of her boots on the stone.

He held up a hand, causing her to stop, and peered out through the verdant branches. No sign of the two assailants. Had they split up as they’d drawn close to the lodge? That’d make sense, after all, to flank the building to ensure Harald didn’t bolt—

There. 

The armored knight. He strode silently along the a hedgerow, his blade a sliver of moonlight, his armor painted black but gleaming as if slicked with oil. He moved swiftly and with confidence, his helmed head turned to the lodge as he watched it closely.

No sign of the robed figure.

They had to act.

But Harald felt a strange lethargy steal over him, making him loath to break the silence, to move. It clouded his thoughts, filling him with malaise. Frustration arose within him, and he flexed his will. Ego 32 tore the reluctance to shreds, and he turned back to Anna. “Throw the Compressed World. We can’t wait.”

But Anna stood still, biting her lower lip, eyes narrowed as she strained to move, to break whatever effect or Ability had befallen her. What was her Ego? A formidable 14 or the like, impressive for a regular person, but nothing compared to what she faced.

Damn it.

Harald’s own auras all inspired dread. Except—

Harald activated Thronebound Mantle, and felt its dire power wash over her. Anna’s eyes fixated on him, her mouth opening slightly as she exhaled a shudder.

It was the first time he’d ever used it thus, but he recalled the wording perfectly: Thronebound Mantle instilled fear and loyalty in equal measure.

“Anna,” he commanded quietly. “Throw the Compressed World.”

She gave a jerky nod, his own aura overcoming her reluctance, and pulled free the golden sphere. Took a single step, and threw it.

At the same time, Harald activated Aura of the Aching Depths, projecting it beyond into the verdant area between him and the knight, even as he summoned Maw of the Starless Deep for the very first time.

The abyss sang within him with terrible, annihilating joy, and he felt it reach from incomprehensible depths to this realm, to part the ground, to unseam it, so that nothing was destroyed, nothing consumed, but all simply split and rent asunder. The sky grew lurid with the colors of a bruise, rich purple and tan green, jaundiced yellow and hints of rippling black, a miniature aurora borealis that was strangely glorious and horrifying at once.

Harald rose to peer over the hedge just in time to see the Compressed World bounce off some invisible forcefield that surrounded the knight and fly right back toward them.

“Watch out!” he cried, sweeping an arm around her waist and leaping to the side. His Strength was such that she felt as light as gossamer, such that when the Compressed World unfurled where they’d been standing, its outer perimeter only caught their feet and flipped them over midair, so that they crashed down into a tangle of limbs on the slate stones.

Harald immediately leaped up, extricating himself from the countess, who lay momentarily stunned.

But he had no time to check on her. Shoving his way through the bushes he activated Abyssal Grasp on where the knight stood swaying, facing the great chasm that had opened in the ground.

Holy shit.

It was as if the night sky were pooled in its depths. There were no sides descending into nothingness as one might glimpse in an actual canyon or hole, just a infinite, swirling blackness, the abyss with its glimmering, bewitching lights.

Even as its master Harald felt the pull, the lethal fascination of those depths.

Tearing his gaze free, he willed the Abyssal Grasp to seize the knight, whose defenses were stripped by the Maw. The smoky ropes curled around his black armored legs, and power began to pour into Harald, a sweet flood, though less than Kessa had possessed.

Simultaneously he activated the Black Halo and Sovereign Silence, layering the aura over the others, his Thronebound Mantle deepening and augmenting all the other effects.

The knight, recognizing belatedly their peril, tore his visored gaze away from the Maw, and raised one gauntlet so that a searingly bright white rune flew from his palm at Harald.

Who lunged to the side, intent on dodging, but the rune curved abruptly to one side then dipped and was swallowed by the Maw of the Starless Deep, to disappear in an instant.

The knight froze, clearly taken aback, then made a gesture that summoned three ghostly silver knights in a triangle around him, not reflections of his own form, but each distinct in their own manner.

But Harald wasn’t going to wait. He summoned in turn his own Shadow Knights and Shadowpaw. They appeared more menacing, loomed, somehow, with augmented power, and Harald recalled how the Black Halo would render them more perilous for as long as they remained within its ambit.

Dread Wellspring Bestows +1

The words appeared briefly before his eyes, and he felt himself become subtly more in every way.

The knight was striding obliquely toward him, moving around the Maw, but then the great chasm seemed to inhale, or develop its own gravitational pull, for the three ghostly knights staggered, turned away from it to dig their feet into the turf, only to be torn toward the rift and sucked whole into its glittering depths.

Harald paused, stunned.

The knight also turned to stare.

Three golden hatchets spun through the air, blurring as they flew toward the black knight, who leaped back, blade sweeping up, only to fall into a defensive stance—the Plow, Harald realized. The three hatchets fell upon him at once, but somehow the knight parried them all, his blade singing as it darted from side to side, sending the Goldchops spinning out in different directions.

The knight broke into a forward run, but it was as if he ran through mud; he labored across the grass, struggling against Sovereign Silence, only to point his blade at Harald, who suddenly felt a great weight press down on him, driving him to one knee.

“Damn it,” Harald ground out between gritted teeth. It felt as if the world rested upon his shoulders, and even with his prodigious Strength it took all his effort to not drop his second knee.

The Black Halo was revolving with a continuous roar, a great barrier of glittering shards, but before Harald could expend it to empower a Tenebrous Blast, the knight spoke.

“You are more formidable than even my lord guessed.” His voice was clear and powerful, rich with authority and strangely compelling. “I admire your Abilities. So strange, so beautiful. But they will avail you not. For I am Sir Eillon Margrave, a Level 8 worthy of House Silvershield, and I tell you now, this battle will end with your death.”

The man was casting some kind of spell with his voice, for the weight on Harald’s shoulders was now joined by a renewed lethargy in his mind. His will to act was constrained, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to just listen to the man, to allow the beauty of his voice to lull him deeper into complacency.

The Goldchops had been arcing around but came to a stop, hovering in place a good six yards behind the knight.

Dread Wellspring Bestows +2

The slight boost to his Ego was enough to nudge him back into awareness. It wasn’t that he lacked the strength of mind to dispel the knight’s suggestion, but rather that he’d momentarily forgotten the need to do so.

Clearing his mind, he allowed his head to drop, the Scourge to lower so that its tip hit the turf.

“Your mind is your weakest element,” continued Sir Eillon, voice swelling with triumph. “Like all dullards you trust in your strength, your Artifacts, your powers, but your mind, your mind is your true fortress, and if you fail to strengthen its walls, oh, how easily they may be breached.”

The man had moved out wide from the Maw, but was angling back in now, examining the Black Halo as if seeking a means to pass through it.

Then, to Harald’s fascinated horror, a second Maw opened just beyond the first, its abyssal pull weaker than his own but targeting him, providing him with no protection from its enervating effect.

The shards of the Black Halo immediately began to be pulled into its depths, pouring themselves into this secondary chasm’s oblivion.

Enough of feigning weakness.

Harald released a Tenebral Surge and poured the last of the Black Halo into its blast. Black fire flew out from him in a great ring, swept through the shards and absorbed them, and hit the knight full on.

He raised his blade in a hopeless parry but wasn’t lifted off his feet as Harald had hoped—instead he was shoved back a couple of yards, heels digging furrows in the turf, and then the Surge was past him, his armor warped but his frame unbowed.

“Your abyssal energy is now known to me,” he laughed, straightening from his defensive crouch. “The longer we fight the weaker your powers become. Even now, you feel my words lulling you—”

The Goldchops burst forward again, and this time the knight was forced to spin and drop with remarkable skill, the hatches missing him by inches.

But then Shadowpaw bayed and both Shadow Knights formed on either side of the crouching figure, emerging from their miasmas to hew down with their huge axes.

Sir Eillon cursed, deflected one blow, but was knocked onto his ass by Shadowpaw’s lunging attack, shoving an armored forearm into the mastiff’s maw even as he attempted to stab the hound in the side.

Harald wrestled with the impossible weight that still dragged him down, and with great effort swept the Scourge in a horizontal slash, unleashing a Demonic Edge. The sizzling black arc flew toward the struggling knight, only to be pulled away by his simulated Maw and swallowed by its night-filled depths.

Dread Wellspring Bestows +3

Grimacing with effort, Harald rose shakily to his feet. It felt like he carried an entire carriage on his shoulders. The slow increases to his Strength was making a difference, however, and he summoned another Black Halo, its might empowered by the knight’s own continuously drained vitality through Abyssal Grasp.

The shards immediately began to sluice into the fake Maw, but Harald staggered forward so that river of broken glass poured over the knight first on its way into the abyssal ravine.

Sir Eillon screamed as the Black Halo tore into him. Shadowpaw crunched his jaws on the man’s arm, and the second Knight, empowered by the Black Halo, brought his ax crashing down on the knight’s shoulder, cleaving deep into his flesh.

To Harald’s horror a second Black Halo manifested around the knight, far smaller and composed of slower moving glass, but this tore into the Knight with enough force to drive him back, ripped Shadowpaw’s hindquarters open so that the hound released his bite and howled in agony.

“Curse you,” Harald ground out, staggering ever forward. Where both Black Halo’s were intersecting the glass was shattering upon their opposites, forming a crashing roar as the Halo’s consumed each other.

Gasping, Sir Eillon pushed himself back and away, his movements hampered by Sovereign Silence so that he moved as if in a dream.

On instinct, Harald dismissed his Maw, but the shadow copy remained. Damn it.

A golden sphere flew overhead, unfurling as it fell upon the knight, who shouted his defiance at the descending Artifact and waved his sword, causing the sphere to once again rebound and sail back toward Anna.

“You cannot defeat me!” cried the knight. “I am attuned to your powers now, you are as helpless before me a newborn otter, your abyssal energies are mine own! Feel the weight of my will upon you, succumb, Harald, know me for your master—”

“Khazadrok.”

The vast rune flew out from the darkness to pass through the knight, who this time was lifted up off the ground and hurled toward Harald, tumbling through the air, his armor shattered, rent, and blast apart. The shadow copy of the Maw disappeared as the knight slammed into the ground, rolled, and fetched up right before Harald.

“Wait,” groaned Sir Eillon, feeling around the turf for the blade he’d lost. “Wait, we can figure this out—”

With a great cry Harald raised the Scourge and brought it down with all his strength. It clove straight through the knight’s throat, cleaving the head free from his neck and ending the man’s influence on Harald immediately.

With a gratified sigh Harald straightened, freed from the crushing weight at last, and stared across the lawn to where Kársek was ambling out of the bushes, rune hammer propped over his shoulder.

“What took you so long?” asked Harald with a grin.

“Had to stop for a smoke,” said Kársek, grin matching Harald’s own.

“The other raider?”

“Didn’t appreciate Nessa’s swordplay. She was hard to nail down, but we managed. Tough, though.”

“Yeah, tough.” Harald studied the dead knight at his feet. “This one was a right bastard. I appreciate the assist.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Kársek, stopping on the corpse’s other side. “What are friends for?”

Anna emerged from the patio, pushing through the bushes, the Goldchops sailing over to revolve around her. “Right? What are friends for?”

Harald felt warmth steal into his chest, a warmth utterly unlike the burning heat of blood lust and the desire to conquer. Reaching out he squeezed Kársek’s shoulder, then turned to grin at Anna.

“I’m not sure. But I think I’m starting to figure it out.”

Anna returned his smile. Kársek chuckled, dismissed his rune hammer, then half turned as the rest of the crew began to come around the side of the lodge. A quick appraisal showed that they’d been bloodied, and the left half of Nessa’s leather armor was shredded and soaked in gore, but they walked without difficulty and all looked relieved to see him and Anna still standing.

“All right, boss?” Vic propped Sir Gale’s great oathblade over one shoulder. “You done messing around?”

“No, actually.” Harald looked past his friends to where Celestara Manor arose in the near distance, windows ablaze with light. “I think I’m just getting started.”