Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 26

Of their party, only Anna had ever visited Emberfell Hall before, and her description of the great complex defied belief.

“It’s located outside Flutic,” she recounted. They were all shouldering their packs, putting on clean clothing, stealing a final bite to eat, and preparing to depart the Dungeon. “About a quarter mile outside the walls. My father had business there on occasion. They were a good customer for his Marheim imports.”

“Why outside the wall?” asked Sam.

“Caution.” Anna turned so Nessa could work on the next buckle for her ornate breastplate. “Fire is the greatest danger to any city. And Emberfell Hall has so many furnaces going at once that in the first century it often burned down.”

“Sounds sloppy,” said Vic.

“I don’t believe it’s been a problem for a long time. They built a dam across the Silverbright, turning it into the reservoir that feeds most of the manor houses in Flutic today, and built the Hall itself atop the dam. It’s a stunning work of engineering, there’s nothing like it in Flutic.”

“Must be helpful, having all that water at hand in case of fires,” said Harald.

“Exactly.” Anna’s smile was flinty. “It’s part castle, part crafting hall, but mostly it’s just a world unto itself.”

“We dwarves are very familiar with it,” said Kársek. “Tinker dwarves like my clan are always welcome to help in the ongoing projects, and Dumrûn sends delegations often. I, however, have never visited.”

“So what’s our best approach?” Nessa raked her curly black hair back into a tail and tied it off with a thong. “Your Artifact can only take us to places within Flutic, right Sam?”

“Right,” said Sam.

Anna considered. “We should Portal in as close to Forge Gate as possible, then take the Forge Road to Emberfell. Like I said, it’s not far. The entrance is heavily guarded though. Four scale golems are always present, plus House guards.”

“We can’t just walk up,” protested Vic. “We’re wanted men. And women.”

Anna shrugged. “I’m afraid we might have no choice. Emberfell is part castle.”

“I might be able to sneak in alone,” said Harald. “My Abilities are well suited to infiltration.”

“That might be our best option,” agreed Nessa. “Introducing ourselves at the main entrance would no doubt lead to our arrest. Plus if you’re spotted inside, Harald, you might be able to bluff you way through with Anita’s card.”

“Right,” said Harald.

“The guards require all visitors place their Artifacts in a scale-locked vault at the entrance,” agreed Anna. “I doubt we’d want to hand over the Crown to their safe keeping.”

“All right, it’s decided. We appear close to the Forge Gate, and then I’ll make my way to Anita. You all get some rest while I enlist her to our cause.”

“I don’t like your going alone,” said Sam. “What if something goes wrong? How will we know?”

“We’ll give him a certain amount of time in which to accomplish his mission,” said Nessa. “Four Bells, say. If he’s not back by then…”

“We what?” Vic raised a brow. “Storm Emberfell?”

“Something like that,” grinned Nessa.

“It’s our best chance at success,” said Harald firmly. “And if need be, I’m sure I can fight my way back out. My Shadow Servitors will make all the difference.”

“Then you need to go in with our best Artifacts,” said Sam firmly. “Nessa, lend Harald the Aureate Master?”

Nessa nodded, summoned the golden armband, and gave it to Harald.

Who considered. “Strange. This is the first time I’ll be unequipping the Goldchop.”

“You need to keep the Death’s Proxy, for sure,” agreed Sam. “The moment you take it off everyone who’s scrying for you will know you’re at Emberfell.”

“So I’ll keep the Scourge, the Proxy, and the Master.” Harald summoned the Goldchops. For a moment he watched them bob in the air around him, and then, with great reluctance, he placed its haft through his belt.

Harald closed his eyes and forged his bond to the Aureate Master. Then he summoned his Window and studied his stats.

His only notable ones now were Constitution 25 and Ego 29.

Beyond superhuman, they were as high as any Gold Rankers, and he could feel the difference: his mind was lucid and purposeful, his self-control total, while his energy reserves felt inexhaustible. He could go days fighting without sleep now, barely felt the need for hunger.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam.

“My Presence is only 13.” Harald smiled apologetically. “I’m worried I won’t be as persuasive with Anita as I might need to be.”

“Here,” said Nessa, and with a jerk she pulled the Crown from her brow. “Here. Take this.” Her expression immediately became haunted, but not as nearly as before, and then her eyes widened. “Oh. My Ego just rose. Again.”

“Again?” asked Vic. “Have you been holding out on us, darling?”

“Just… just a 10, now.” But Nessa managed a haggard smile. “What any average adult should have.”

Sam smiled widely. “That’s wonderful!”

Nessa took a deep, shaky breath. “Thanks. Feels… it feels marginally better than I did before.”

“When did you gain your first point?” asked Harald, fighting the urge to give her a hug.

Nessa squared her shoulders. “After Anna used the Judgement Slats against the inquisitor. I felt…” She searched for the right words. “I felt a wave of nausea, and some horrible memories came up, but I wasn’t… I mean, memories of my father, my mother, didn’t come. Not in the way I’d thought they might.”

“Because you’re not responsible for her death,” said Sam quietly, firmly. “The Slats could tell.”

“I guess?” Nessa’s smile grew pained. “Regardless, it was an affirmation I couldn’t argue with, and it… it helped.”

“That’s wonderful, Nessa.” Vic stepped in and hugged her tightly. “That really is.”

For a moment they just stood there, and then Harald manifested the Scourge. It appeared in his fist, massive and fell, and with even greater reluctance he severed his connection and handed it to Nessa.

Then, hesitantly, he placed the Crown on his brow, and bonded with its incredible power.

His mind deepened and expanded, his thoughts growing more purposeful, clearer, more potent. Ego 33. The world thrummed. Nothing felt beyond his control. His Presence in turn surged to 23, and he felt his being exude more palpably into the chamber, his will, his desires, his needs somehow growing tangible.

His friends reacted subtly around him; Sam’s eyebrows rose as a new flush crossed her cheeks, while Anna widened her eyes then quickly looked away. Nessa nodded in affirmation, while Vic shook his head in mock-disapproval.

“Better?” asked Kársek.

“Yes.” Harald took a deep, steady breath. His concerns, his fears, his doubts felt inconsequential. Everything would play out in time, and what he couldn’t see or control right now would have solutions suggested by the very course of events. All he need do was trust in his power, his potency, and his will.

“Then let’s get going,” said Vic. “I for one am heartily sick of the Dungeon. It’s time for Flutic’s polluted air, its smoggy byways, its delightful sewer-stink.”

“We’re not going to the Kitty Kat Club,” smiled Nessa.

“More’s the pity. Sam?”

Who manifested the Waymark and focused on its ivory circumference. “Seraphina said this was intuitive. I can only go to places I’ve been, however, so I’ll take us to…” She bit her lower lip in thought. “There’s a market close to Forge Gate I used to frequent, years ago, when I was daydreaming of buying a sword. Are we ready?”

Everyone hitched their packs a little higher, patted pouches, waterskins, and nodded.

“Then let’s go.” Sam raised the Waymark which glimmered with pearlescent light. A second later an ivory portal appeared before her, opening into a glowing white aperture.

“I’ll go last,” said Sam, eyes wide with wonder as she considered her own miracle. “Best hurry.”

Harald took the lead without hesitation. He stepped into the white light, and instead of feeling that strange inverted sense of dislocation he normally felt, he was bathed by a soothing benediction. A second later he emerged into a narrow alley, the evening air darkening to dusk. Returning the Crown to his Cosmos so as to not draw undue attention, he padded forward, engaging Veil of Shadows, and moved to the alley mouth where he peered out into a crowded market.

It was a small one, and focused on weapons. The stalls were large, squared away, and staffed by competent looking vendors. Blades and other weapons were laid out on display, and the crowd that drifted through was sparse but intent, a mixture of martial professionals and businessmen. Voices filled the air with murmurs, and the tang of steel and iron was rich.

The others gathered behind him and then the portal was gone.

“Just like I remember,” said Sam quietly, stepping up alongside him. “It’s a, what’s it called, a primary market or something, where other vendors buy their stock to sell in shops deeper in the town. You can get good prices for quality goods if you’re patient.”

“We need to find accommodations,” said Vic, tone pitched low. “Where we can hole up while waiting.”

“Let’s do this,” said Harald. “Leave word with that large stall over there where I can find you. It looks pretty permanent. See all the lanterns? When I return, I’ll ask for you there.”

“All right,” agreed Nessa. “We’ll leave word under a fake name. Jessica Underhill.”

Harald nodded. “I’ll get going. The longer I’m here the more danger I risk drawing. Regardless of what the time is, I’ll return before the fourth next Bell rings.”

They all nodded and for a moment just stood clustered together. Harald felt his heart swell. Such familiar, dear faces. Each and every one of them. Kársek patted his arm. Vic extended his hand with mock-formality, then when Harald shook pulled him into a one-shouldered hug with a laugh. Nessa hugged him in turn, and then he turned to Anna.

“I’ll be back soon, Countess.”

She inclined her head with natural dignity. “See that you are, Sir Darrowdelve.”

He tried for a smile, and was immensely relieved when she managed one in turn. Only then did he turn to Sam, who’d hung back, biting her lower lip as she watched him.

Raised a hand in a casual farewell as he turned away. “See you around, Sam,”

“You jerk.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him back into a tight hug. “Be safe.”

“I will.” For a moment it was just wonderful and frightening and incredible to hold her close, but then they both stepped apart at once and he cleared his throat. “Don’t get in trouble without me.”

Before anyone could respond he stepped out into the market and hurried away.

His thoughts whirled, felt chaotic without the stern control of the Twilight Crown. But even without it he was at Ego 23, so soon he locked the emotions and chaotic desires in place and cleared his mind. It was time to get to work.

He left the pocket market behind and found Forge Road. Orderly and well regulated, it was mostly deserted at this evening hour, and he could easily make out Forge Gate up ahead, massive and well-lit in the Flutic city walls.

There was no difficulty in leaving the city. Veil of Shadows allowed him to simply slip out by walking in the shadow of a laden cart. The guards never even glanced his way, though the sight of several large posters on which his face was crudely painted, his name emblazoned beneath it, gave him chills.

The City Council was moving fast if they’d already mass produced wanted posters.

The broad road ran a quarter mile to Emberfell alongside the Silverstream, its swiftly coursing waters embanked on both sides by skillfully built stone blocks. A mess of huts and unregulated taverns clustered about the road just outside the city, but these soon gave way to darkness and ragged meadows that sloped up to the closest hills, their faces so pocked with boulders and rough rocks that nobody had tried cultivating them.

The Forge Road rose and soon Harald caught sight of an orange glimmer up ahead. This only brightened and grew more distinct as he drew closer, and soon resolved itself into the broad facade of Emberfell Hall.

Anna hadn’t been kidding when she described it as part fortress. The sun was setting behind it, coloring the tumultuous clouds into a mess of yellow, fiery orange, and salmon pinks, as if it were Emberfell itself that was imparting them radiance instead of the setting sun.

Rocky hills rose sharply on either side of the Hall, which formed a wall across the steep valley mouth. The building was a couple of hundred yards wide, its base dark and reinforced while its upper half was all galleries, covered verandahs, towers, and vertical windows that blazed with inner light. A great central pagoda rose in the center to a height of some eighty or ninety yards, and a giant ramp rose from the approach to a pass through a fortified keep atop a freestanding island of rock before extending the last fifty or so yards to the main entrance which was located thirty yards above the valley floor.

Made sense, thought Harald. You wouldn’t want your main gate leading into the bottom of the lake beyond.

The ramp was broad and massively reinforced. The keep atop its tall island was no doubt a check point, and where he’d customarily present Anita’s card.

It wouldn’t be his approach, however.

Leaving the road, he faded into the growing gloom, allowing Veil of Shadows to ensure nobody spotted him doing so. Even at this late hour the occasional heavily laden wagon or cart was crossing the entrance bridge, rumbling over the huge planks and passing through the great tunnel that ran right through the center of the guard keep.

The air was growing brisk and damp. The Silverbright rushed endlessly by his side, guided by the sharply built embankments. All the trees and undergrowth had been cleared from the approach, however, so that Harald jogged forward half-crouched, painfully aware of his lack of cover.

Voices filtered down from the main entrance high above in the Hall, and he espied guards patrolling the covered walkways or stationed in the towers, all of them little more than silhouettes at this remove.

He reached the base of the Hall and touched the cyclopean blocks of stone. They were so cunningly fitted together that he doubted he could slide a knife point between them, and so huge that he didn’t doubt they could hold back an entire lake.

Tonguing the inside of his cheek, he scanned the wall. It rose a good forty yards to the lowest of the balconies and walkways. A stone stairwell was built against the wall, leading up to the main entranceway. An easy means of descent for the guards if given cause.

Harald paced toward the Hall’s far end, endlessly scanning the facade. This was no easy climb. He focused on the spot where the Hall met the stony cliffs of the flanking hill, but there was a bonfire of light there and a prominent guard tower. They’d clearly not neglected to watch for an approach by hill.

But there—a shadowy protrusion, large and blocky and dark, like a small cottage affixed to the wall some thirty yards up. He couldn’t guess its function, but the windows were dark, and it was equally far from the main entrance and the well-lit flanking tower.

His best bet.

Harald ghosted up beneath it and dropped to a crouch. No movement, no lights. Thirty yards up, give or take.

Could he command the smaller of his Shadow Knights clamber atop the shoulders of the larger one? He’d then scale them both, but even so, that would only raise him—what—five or six yards above the ground? Even if he leaped, that was still some twenty yards to scale.

Harald examined the seams between the huge blocks. Each was almost the size of a cart, and he couldn’t even insinuate the tips of his fingers between them. Damn.

Harald turned in a circle, exasperated. He couldn’t be stymied already, could he?

A thought occurred to him, and he summoned Shadowpaw. The mastiff appeared by his side, comforting in his familiarity.

“I need to get up there,” said Harald, roughly scratching the hound’s thick pelt over his neck. “How high do you think you can jump?”

Shadowpaw craned his head back, considered the wall, then gave himself a shake.

“Hmm. That would be with my hanging around your neck.”

Shadowpaw’s look became all the more skeptical.

“Fine, fine.” Harald dropped into a crouch and considered.

An idea occurred to him, so ridiculous that he couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. New plan. Thanks for your patience.”

Shadowpaw disappeared back into his Cosmos.

Harald summoned the Aureate Master and cut its connection to his Cosmos. Squeezed it into his scale pouch, then drew the Goldchop from his belt and equipped it.

It disappeared, then returned as a trio, hovering around him.

“All right,” whispered Harald under his breath. “Let’s see if this works.”

He gingerly reached out and took hold of two of them by the haft, then willed the third to lower almost to the ground so that he could step on it.

That done, he looked up, and willed them ascend.

The hatchets thrummed and together they began to rise, slowly but surely.

Harald bit back a delighted laugh. It was working! Up he levitated, yard by yard, the Goldchops straining, and despite his three Thrones he knew they’d not be able to do so for long.

But he just needed to reach the underside of that protruding building.

Higher he rose. Ten yards, twenty. The underside of the outcropping building’s floor grew distinct beneath him, but the Goldchops were on the verge of vanishing. He’d grown so used to their lasting as long as he needed that he was surprised to remember their presence wasn’t indefinite; his weight was straining them such that any moment now—

The Goldchops vanished, and with a cry he lunged and clasped a great wooden beam on that edged the outcropping’s underside. His fingertips found an inch of ridge along the top, and with a gasp he hung over the darkness, legs swaying, heart hammering.

But Strength 14 was sufficient to allow him to hoist to clamber across, find the right spot, and then haul himself up, climbing haphazardly till he clasped a window sill and pulled himself up to get his toes onto his original beam.

The windows were shuttered, the glass dark beyond them. Breathing smoothly, his prodigious Constitution making this endeavor eminently manageable, he drew his dagger and worked it up the central gap till the clasp rose and fell free. He swung the shutter open out wide, then peered in through the revealed window.

It was like staring into a pool of ink.

Harald glanced about, taking in the galleried walkway another ten yards above, the distant watchtower, but didn’t think anybody had noticed him.

So he summoned his Shadow Knight inside the chamber, hoping it wouldn’t cause furniture to crash or fall over.

He couldn’t make out the knight through the glass, but knew it was there, inside the chamber. A moment later it unlatched the window and raised it high. Harald swung a leg inside, ducked, and was in.

Faint light filtered into the chamber. A bedroom of sorts. Dusty and grand, it featured what might have been a four poster bed. A thick rug covered the floorboards, and glass glimmered on what must have been shelving.

Harald dismissed the knight, pulled the shutter down, then closed the window.

He was in.

Silence. He listened intently, heart beating powerfully but calmly, and equipped the Aureate Master once more.

Time to find Anita.

Given that she was a Level 9 Scaleshaper Savant, she’d probably have her own research lab, right?

Harald padded up to the door, fumbling in the gloom, and finally found the handle. Despite his predicament he felt calm, collected, so he opened the door a crack and peered out.

A stone hall lit only by a distant lantern, its illumination steady and unflickering.

He emerged into a hallway that reminded him of the subterranean corridors in dwarven district of Deepforge. One way led to deeper darkness, the other to a brightly lit hallway.

Harald moved up to this intersection and peered around the corner. An orange rug ran down the center of the hall which boasted a half dozen stout doorways down its length. A stairway led higher on one end, while the other terminated in a wall adorned with a beautiful painting of a dwarven forge.

A young man was whistling under his breath as he changed the fuel for a lantern, a heavy pack on the floor indicating he was working his way down the line.

Harald equipped the Twilight Crown, activated the Aureate Master, and stepped out confidently into view.

His Presence washed over the youth who somehow sensed him and whirled around, eyes widening even as his jaw went slack.

“Excuse me.” Harald kept his tone polite as he withdrew Anita’s card. “I’ve become hopelessly lost. I meant to reach Lady Lothbury, but have taken far too many wrong turns. Could you guide me to her?”

The servant tore his eyes from Harald’s face to glance at the card, read it quickly, and then smoothed down his jerkin. “I—of course, my lord. You’re… this is definitely the wrong—I mean, you must have descended the Iron Stairwell instead of climbing?”

“That sounds right,” smiled Harald, tucking the card away. “I have a terrible head for directions.”

“I can see you there, if you wish?” The youth’s neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Or give you directions…?”

It had worked. Thank the angels for Presence 23. “I would no doubt get lost. Could you show me the way?”

“Yes, of course.” The young man almost dropped his oil flask in his haste to set it down, then straightened, smoothed his orange tunic again, and took a few hesitant steps. “If you’ll follow me?”

They climbed several stairwells and entered a broad hall that led deep into the Emberfell complex. The upper region was busy, and though Harald drew curious stares, his poise and utter confidence, along with the obviously focused servant who was clearly leading him somewhere forestalled any questioning. The air was warm and tinged with the smell of hidden smelteries, and the sound of industry was distant but constant.

“Here,” said the young man, tone breathless as they entered a series of intersecting stone hallways, each stretch of wall boasting its own ornate door. Each was banded in iron and displayed a crest on a small shield affixed to its center. The door before which they’d stopped displayed a quill crossed with a hammer.

“Lady Lothbury’s chambers? Thank you.”

The servant bowed deeply and hurried away.

Harald took a slow breath. That had worked out… surprisingly well. Anita’s card and his own assurance, along with actually getting inside, seemed to have done the trick.

He rapped on the shield with one knuckle and stepped back, smoothing down his tunic as he did so.

The door swung open a moment later, revealing Anita Lothbury herself. Petite, her dark-skinned features delicate, her black hair gathered in furrows and bound back into a large bun, she gazed up at him with fierce severity. “What—Harald?”

“Hello Anita,” said Harald, hoping the power of the Crown would smooth over the instant displeasure and shock that had appeared on her face. “I’m—”

A wondrous hammer appeared in her fist, composed of complex gold and sapphire segments, its head crackling with electricity. When she stepped back and raised it, the air around them both darkened as the sound of rolling thunder filled the hall, and she opened her mouth to scream.