Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 27

“Whoa, whoa!” Harald raised his hands, eyes going wide. “Anita—wait!”

“Intruder!” she yelled, and the Artifact hammer did something to her voice, causing it to hollow out and grow resonant, inhuman, to fill the hallway like the crash of thunder even as the leaping worms of electricity ran down the haft of her hammer to begin crackling over her body.

Damn it! For the briefest moment Harald considered trying to incapacitate her with Abyssal Grasp, to push into her chamber, close the door behind them and explain, reason with her—but she was 9th Level, an upper Silver-ranked raider, and he’d no confidence that he could best her.

Didn’t want to fight her.

But there was no time to think. To calculate. To hesitate. Instinct seized him and he tore the Twilight Crown from his brow, his Ego crashing back down to 23, his Presence to 13. Fear and uncertainty and panic arose within him, tempered and controlled but no longer utterly repressed by the inhuman might of his mind.

“Anita!” He dropped to his knees and spread his arms out wide, crown dangling from his fingers. “Please! I mean you no harm!”

Anita’s brow furrowed, her lips seamed into a tight line, and she hesitated, Artifact hammer drawn back as if to smash him into fragments.

“I swear it. I’ve come for help, but to also make an offer. Something you want. Something we both want. I won’t fight you!”

She glared at him, clearly frustrated, resenting this complication, then gave a curt up-nod. “You have five seconds before I pulverize you.”

Nobody was rushing into the hall just yet. Five seconds. Harald took a measured breath. “Gorkin kidnapped my friends. I freed them, and in doing so found this Crown. King Gustav’s. We fled rather than hand it over to the Council, because we knew one of them would just use it to conquer the city. But we don’t want that. We have a different hope.”

“They’re saying you murdered Count Gorkin. You and all your friends. An attack meant to steal the Crown.” At which point her gaze slid over to the Artifact in question. Her brows rose abruptly, as she realized just what he was holding.

“Sure they are. But Gorkin killed Countess Sonora’s father. Stole her properties. Paupered her. I swore to House Sonora to help her regain what was hers. We struck at his warehouses in the Marheim Gate and that led him to kidnap her and my friends. I’d have been caught, too, if I hadn’t been out.”

Anita’s stare could have bored holes into a stone wall. She grimaced, glanced down the hall, then gave a sharp shake of her head. “Why should I trust you?”

“I don’t know.” Harald smiled helplessly. “But let me tell you my plan. Why I think you’ll approve. If you don’t like what I’ve got to say, you can just turn me over to the House Emberfell authorities, right? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Footsteps echoed up the hallway. Folks were incoming, running fast.

A wild, speculative look crossed Anita’s face. “Fine. But you give me the Crown first. Then you can come inside.”

“No problem.” Ego 23 allowed him to make the calculation instantly. “Here.”

Anita clearly hadn’t expected him to agree. She took it gingerly, focused on it, then took a step back. “It’s really it. Gustav’s crown.”

“Scale Master!” A half-dozen Emberfell guards came around the corner, clubs and blades in hand. They looked competent, hardened, and while alarmed, ready for whatever the situation might demand.

“Inside,” snapped Anita, then turned to the guards. “Thank you for coming. I’m having second thoughts about having this man arrested. Please wait outside my door while I ask him some questions. If you hear me shout out, don’t hesitate to force your way inside.”

The sergeant stared curiously at Anita, then at Harald who was rising to his feet. “As you say, Scale Master. We’ll be right here.”

“Good. Thank you.” Anita stepped aside so Harald could enter, then closed the door behind him.

Her chamber was more akin to a warren of connected rooms, with almost all of them lit by scale-lanterns and dominated either by bookshelves groaning under the weight of scrolls and books or worktables on which all manner of marvelous items, contraptions, and scientific equipment were strewn. Books were piled in corners, shipment crates shoved against walls, and the place smelled of parchment, ink, metal, and a pleasant, subtle musky scent.

Anita considered the Crown then fixed him with her stare again. “Go ahead, Harald. And make it good.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Harald rubbed his palms over his hips and took a breath. “My friends and I are done with being hunted and abused by the six major Houses. We’re done with how the city is run, how the poor are ignored, the injustices and cruelty. We’re done with the hoarding of scales, the focus on plundering the Fallen Angel for political gain, the short sighted nature of our politics that has squandered so much potential.”

Anita raised an eyebrow. “How noble of you.”

“Now that we have the Twilight Crown, we mean to use it. To elevate a ruler to wield authority over all of Flutic. Not a king or queen, a—a chancellor, or—I don’t know the right name. Not me, not my friends. We’re too focused on the war taking place inside the Dungeon. We want to anoint someone who’ll focus on the same priorities. Reshaping the city, reshaping key policies. They’ll have leeway on most matters to do what they want, but in certain key areas—” Harald tried desperately to remember Vic’s list, “—like taxation, or—or justice for corrupt nobles, or who the City Watch reports to—we’ll lay down the law.”

“Let me guess. You want me to convince Lord Blaze?”

“No.” Harald smiled apologetically. “We’re going to lay a trap for Lady Melisende Celestis and then force her to accept it.”

Anita blinked. “And you want my help in elevating House Celestara?”

“She’s the single most potent member of the Council. The most ambitious, the most cunning. She’ll tear apart anything we attempt, so we need to co-opt her first.”

“And you think I can convince her?”

“No.” Harald laughed huskily. “I—look. We’re going to set up a meeting with Lord Blaze via the Platinum Rose Auction House. Master Ling secretly reports to Celestis everything he learns. He’ll let her know I’m back in Flutic, and when I mean to meet with Lord Blaze. I’ll set the meeting location in the auction house, and Melisende will send her Gold-rankers to capture me and the Crown.”

Anita frowned. “And this helps you how?”

“My friends will force an audience with her while she’s undefended, and force her to swear an oath to the Crown. And as an inducement, we’ll tell her Lord Blaze will accept the position if she refuses.”

“I see.” Her skepticism was still rife. “And you think Lord Blaze will accept this ploy because…?”

“Because we genuinely want what you want. What you told me about, so many months ago. To help the poor. To redistribute wealth. You and Lord Blaze can help us shape the policy we’ll command Melisende to enforce.”

“Huh.” Anita tapped the crown against her thigh. “I see. Even if she sends a squad to capture you, she won’t be undefended. And House Emberfell won’t, under any circumstances, lend you raiders to attack House Celestara.”

“I know. We’re not asking for that. Just that you help us convince Melisende that my meeting with Lord Blaze is actually happening.”

“Because you can’t just send a fake message through Master Ling?”

Harald’s smile turned apologetic. “Melisende is too cunning for such a shallow ploy. She’d need to see Lord Blaze receive the message and plan to attend the meeting.”

“And she’ll know that how?”

“Oh come on.” Harald met Anita’s gaze with his level own. “Everybody has spies in everyone’s household. Especially Melisende. She’ll get word. And when she does, she’ll think I’m genuinely trying to set up a connection with House Emberfell as opposed to laying an overly complicated ambush for her.”

Anita nodded reluctantly.

“I mean, what’s the alternative? Someone, the Inquisitors, or a Gold-ranked raiding team, runs us down. They take the Crown. Do you think they’ll just hand it over to the Council?” Harald raised his brows questioningly. “Especially if its House Celestara, Viridian, or Silvershield? No. They’ll keep it, make a play for power. And then we’re talking full-blow civil war.”

Anita said nothing.

“With our plan, we stand a chance of cutting the head off the snake. With House Emberfell and Celestara behind us, we’ll already have a strong position to force the others to bend knee. We’d let Melisende enjoy the trappings of power while we effect real change, and then put all out energy into the real crisis: the demon war taking place in the Fallen Angel’s depths.”

“And this is you without the crown on.” Anita tapped it against her thigh again, considered, then cracked open the door. “Thank you, gentlemen. All is well.”

Harald heard murmurs and then retreating footsteps. Relief swamped him.

“Well.” Anita’s tone turned prim. “I’m touched by your confidence in me, but I’m hardly in a position to make this decision. We need to go speak with Lord Blaze.”

“Right,” said Harald, trying not to sound disappointed. “Because he won’t just take the Crown and hand me over to the Council.”

“He might. But…” She studied him again through narrowed eyes. “I’m willing to take a bet on your plan. The angels know Flutic can’t keep going the way it’s been run. And you’re right. I desperately want change. I’m at my wits end, trying to curry favor with indifferent nobles. Men and women who think systemic miseducation, starvation, and lack of economic opportunity are caused by fundamental character defects in the poor, instead of the consequence of bad laws, biases, and historical causes.”

Harald nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure he followed that last part. “Your voice will be key in helping shape new policies. Vic—well. He’s grown really passionate about all this. You’ll find a ready ally in him.”

“And not you?”

“Me too. But I’ll be honest. My heart and soul belongs to the war within the Fallen Angel. All the reforms in the world won’t matter if we lose that one.”

Anita considered. “I don’t know much about that. But. Yes. Let’s go speak with Lord Blaze. I’ll do my best to convince him of your cause.”

Harald glanced at the crown.

“And I’ll hold onto this for now. I prefer your sincerity to your magically enhanced persuasive abilities.”

“Fair enough. On to Lord Blaze, then.” A thought occurred to Harald. “But… if I’m seeing crossing the entirety of Emberfell Hall, word will get back to Melisende.”

“True enough. In which case, I’ll ask Lord Blaze to attend us here. Please be so kind as to wait.”

Harald spread his hands and stepped back, as if indicating he had no choice. Anita considered him a moment longer, then gave a curt nod and departed, crown in hand.

Harald sighed and sat down in one of the few open chairs. Well, he’d set events in motion, and now he had to play whatever cards were dealt to him.

Time passed. Though the research lab all but glittered with curious items and fascinating things to explore, Harald remained slouched in his chair. His thoughts sank to a low murmur, and he felt himself grow heavy. So much had happened, so quickly. His eyelids drooped but never quite closed, and he interlaced his hands over his stomach.

Eventually his mind turned, as of its own accord, to the Mote of Humility. Such a strange gift. So easy to overlook, to forget. Vic had simply chosen to ignore it altogether.

Harald dove into his Cosmos, eyelids closing at last, and sank deep into the darkness until the armature of the Fallen Angel appeared beneath him, resplendent and awe-inspiring. He turned his attention to the tiny speck of light that hung diametrically across from the Demon Seed, and studied its iridescent hues. The sight of it alone lifted his heart, and for awhile he simply considered its beauty.

The Mote of Humility. To give another complete power over him. Instinct bid him laugh and banish it from his mind. A dark instinct, composed of avarice and arrogance, that hunger that willed him rise and never cease rising. To become the most powerful raider that ever there was, to rival the angels themselves in might.

To what end?

Staring at the Mote, Harald couldn’t put the dark emotion into words. Oh, he could come up with pretty sounding phrases: to protect the people of Flutic, to defeat the demons, to defend his friends—but at its core, the instinct was simply born of his Soul Nature.

Insatiable Hunger.

There was no denying its endless greed.

Harald grimaced. The angel hadn’t compelled him to use the Mote. Had simply gifted it. Offered a different path. A way to check his hunger.

To ensure that he never completely lost accountability to whom he’d once been.

Harald thought of Sam. Her bright blue eyes, her hesitate smile, her golden braid. Thought of her fundamental goodness, the years she’d sacrificed to run Darrowdelve Manor, and how she’d somehow found the generosity of soul to not hate him for that enslavement.

Had instead fought free of her trauma, her pain, to not only be a light in his life, but to kiss him, to want more.

Harald didn’t deserve such goodness.

The thought of hurting her one day—of becoming so evil, so dark, that he might find it within the depths of his depravity to turn against her, was too much. He knew—to the bottom of this soul and back—he knew that he’d never be able to raise a hand against her in anger. So why not gift her with the power of the Mote?

Harald reached out and closed his fist about the gleaming speck of magic. Its warmth spread through him, comforting and clarifying, and Harald pictured Sam in his mind, clad gloriously in her new armor as she’d emerged from her room so many months ago, shy and defiant both, to show him what she wished to be, and in his heart he whispered: let her have dominion over me.

The mote flashed brightly, causing the cracks between his fingers to pulse a lambent pink, and then was gone.

Harald opened his hand, surprised.

Huh.

He turned slowly, but no, the Mote was vanished from his Cosmos.

But he’d done it. He inhaled deeply and found a new sense of peace that had evaded him for weeks now. A sense of… release? He couldn’t quite phrase it right, but he felt better for his decision.

He’d have to convince Vic of the wisdom of letting go.

Opening his eyes, he stirred in his chair just as the laboratory door opened to admit Anita, her hands empty. She immediately stepped aside for a powerfully built older man, his red beard streaked with gray, his hair bound back, his features hard and angular. He wore a functional robe of House Emberfell orange and slate blue, and from his belt hung a dozen tools, all of them well used. Nearly as broad as he was tall, he exuded hard authority, fierce focus, and the preternatural calm of winter skies before a storm.

“Harald Darrowdelve. Ms. Lothbury has told me of your plan. You are audacious. Breaking into my hall, plotting to overthrow the City Council, and asking for our aid in your misadventures.”

Anita closed the door quietly behind her lord.

“Forgive me my presumption,” said Harald, rising to his feet and bowing shallowly from the waist. “My…” He sought the right words. “My circumstances aren’t exactly ideal for regular protocol.”

“As a result of your own actions.” Lord Blaze raised a callused palm, cutting off Harald’s response. “You could have brought your complaints against Count Gorkin to the Council. To me. Instead you chose the wholesale slaughter of hundreds.”

Harald felt a pinprick of anger. “Countess Sonora’s household was massacred. The City Watch had stood by and done nothing. Her pleas to the Council and Lord Draken ignored for years up till that point. My friends were in danger, possibly already dead. If you think I’d trust Flutic bureaucracy over my own initiative, you’ve got the wrong man.”

The head of House Emberfell studied him intently. “So you admit to killing all those men?”

“Sure.”

“Sure, he says. Alone?”

“I had a little help from some Artifacts. But yes.”

Lord Blaze considered him again, nodding slowly. The moment dragged out, and Harald met the older man’s stern gaze with his resolute own.

“The current situation is untenable,” said Lord Blaze at last, moving to a sideboard where he took up a cut crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of something amber. “The Church is rattling its saber and threatening theocracy. The City Council has ceased to meet as each House seeks to capture you and the Crown for itself. The current peace is artificial, and cannot last.” He turned to regard Harald. “Would that House Emberfell could detach itself completely from this growing mess so as to remain focused on our research, but alas.” He raised his glass, smile turning wry. “That’s not how the world works.”

“As I’ve learned,” agreed Harald, tone cautious.

“As you’ve learned indeed. I was content to sit this all out, to allow whomever found the Crown to fight the others, and accept a new political age, but this…” He raised his hand and the Twilight Crown appeared in his grasp. “And you? These possibilities are intriguing. Walk me through your plan, step by step.”

Harald allowed himself a slow inhale of relief. Had all this been but a test? A means for the man to test his mettle? Harald inclined his head to show willingness, and repeated what he’d told Anita, trying to portray their plan as simply and powerfully as possible.

Lord Blaze listened with fierce focus, taking the occasional sip of his drink while occasionally raising the Crown to examine its wondrous beauty.

Harald at last fell silent.

“Implicit in your plan is my swearing to this Crown,” said Lord Blaze. “Weaving my life and fate to whomever wears it. You didn’t say who’d that be.”

I’m not sure, he wanted to say, and almost did so, feeling as if the honesty itself were a virtue. But how could he ask this man to bind his life and House to an undetermined figure? The name came to him in a flash: “Countess Sonora.”

“Countess Sonora.” Lord Blaze said the title slowly, as if tasting it. “I see. Well, she’s nobility, at any rate.” He considered it, seeming to turn it over in his mind. “And what little I’ve heard has either been to her credit or about her unfortunate state of affairs.”

“I’m sworn to her service,” said Harald. “I have nothing but the highest respect for her character, leadership, and sense of justice.”

“Hmm. Good for you.” He turned to glance at Anita. “Thoughts?”

Anita inhaled deeply, held the breath, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “Everything’s going to hell, one way or the other. This way at least we have a seat at the table.”

“The demons are in the details,” rumbled Lord Blaze. “If I am to eventually swear to Countess Sonora, if that is to be the lynchpin of this entire new world order, than I would speak with her first. Can she attend us?”

“I… yes.” Harald considered. Was this a trap? A means to neatly cut off their movement before it could begin?

Lord Blaze smiled mirthlessly. “I can sense your discomfort. Imagine mine, in agreeing to your plan. Consider this a gesture of trust on your part.”

“My being here and at your mercy doesn’t suffice?”

“Will I be swearing an oath to you? No? Then it doesn’t.”

Harald took a breath. “Fine. I’ll fetch her now.”

“Very well. I’ll ensure you leave undetected. When you return, give this to the gate guards, and they’ll bring you directly to me.” And Lord Blaze extended a small rectangle of metal.

It was surprisingly heavy, its surface oiled, and eerie flarings of light rippled across its surface when Harald raised it to the lantern light. A single stylized flame was incised into its face. “I should be able to return within a Bell.”

“I’ll be waiting. And until then, I’ll hold onto this as surety that you’ll return.” And Lord Blaze raised the crown before allowing it to disappear.

Damn it. He’d bonded it to his Cosmos.

“You’re playing a high stakes game,” smiled the lord. “Don’t be surprised when the other players move aggressively to defend their own interests.”

“A Bell. We’ll return before then.”

Lord Blaze’s smile became grim humored. “I admire your pluck, boy. Your tenacity. You should be dead be dead by now. Dead many times over. But…” He tossed back the last of his drink and gave the empty glass to Anita with a satisfied hiss. “But damn if I don’t want to see you succeed. Fetch Countess Sonora. Let’s hope she impresses as much as you do.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me.” Lord Blaze opened the door. “You’re pitting yourself against House Celestis. Nobody ever pits themselves against Lady Melisende and wins. You’re a dead man walking, lad. Even if I agree to go along with your little plan, that doesn’t mean I’ve much faith in your survival. Honestly? I’m pretty confident you’ll be dead within a day.” His smile turned into a vicious grin. “But I guess there’s only one way to find out.”