Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 17

Vic spent an hour with Nessa in the back of the corridor. Harald found himself restless, curious as to what they discussed, jealous that he wasn’t part of the conversation, and irritated by his own uneasy emotions. It had to be the lingering effects of Nessa’s ridiculously high Presence. Didn’t help that Anna settled herself cross-legged in an alcove to ostensibly meditate, but kept sneaking troubled glances at him every few moments when she thought he wasn’t looking.

The small chamber was growing suffocating.

He wanted out. His energy levels were increasing, his need for action, to test his new Abilities, to crush foes, to grow in power.

But there was no rushing this part. Kársek needed rest, Nessa to wrestle her fractured ego into submission, and Vic to ease himself back into their party.

Too much was changing too quickly for Harald to simply rush them back out into carnage. Though that’s what he wanted.

After all, what better escape from personal problems was there than the destruction of mortal foes and the accumulation of scales?

Damn it. The thought galled him: they all needed nine million scales to Ascend their Fourth Thrones.

A scarecrow would render some six Golden Dawns. Once that had been a fortune, but they’d need to kill some 30,000 of them to raise just one of their number to the Fourth Throne.

No. As ridiculous as it sounded, as impossibly ambitious and far-fetched, the truth was undeniable: they needed to descend deeper into the Dungeon. To at least make it down to the 30’s.

Which meant this next foray of theirs was going to be a trial run, a warm-up bout to familiarize themselves with their new Abilities, and then? Harald would press everyone to hit the 28th.

That sense of purpose gave him a modicum of peace. Time was of the essence. Yes, they had defeated Gorkin and Thracos; yes, everyone had just Ascended to the third Throne; yes; everyone had just gained a Level.

But there were Gold-rankers hunting them now. They had the Twilight Crown in their possession, and for as long as they did, all of Flutic’s nobility would howl for their blood.

Three Thrones, Level 6, and a handful of wondrous Artifacts wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

Not if they were to survive what was to come.

Because even if they fended off the six Houses, even if they somehow managed to dominate the situation above in Flutic? They still had to deal with Vorakhar and Eclavistra and the demon war for the Thrones.

That’s when it hit Harald, a thought he’d have shied from were it not for his bruising Ego, an Ego so powerful that it refused all escapes, all denials, all attempts at evasions: the knowledge that his father, the mighty, the terrible, the illustrious Darius Darrowdelve, yet fought for Vorakhar in the Dungeon’s depths was terrifying.

What hope did he, Harald, have of finding freedom if it had evaded his father all these years?

Was this all just a lie? Was he fooling himself in thinking he was forging his own path when in truth he was probably staggering blindly down the road Vorakhar had set before him?

He’d refused Silenthros’ offer of freedom, after all. Now he couldn’t help but second-guess it. Had that been the wisest course of action after all, or had the Demon Seed whispered in his ear, compelled him to not stray too far from his master’s influence?

Thracos had been right.

The only answer was more power.

Only with power could you determine your own fate.

And it would take all the power of the Fallen Angel to defy Vorakhar and survive.

The prospect was daunting. They were still laboring up on the 27th Level. How far did he need to reach, what sort of foes did he need to be able to defeat to go to war with Vorakhar openly? The 70th Level? 90th?

How much power was enough?

The answer echoed in his mind like the tolling of a death knell: no amount of power was enough.

He needed it all.

Footsteps.

Harald looked up to see Nessa and Vic emerge from the gloom. Nessa’s presence was muted, but not wholly absent; she’d removed the Aureate Master, reducing her Presence to—what?—22 or the like. Her Ego must have dropped to 13, which no doubt was why she looked shaky, her manner hesitant, but the Crown that glimmered on her brow provided just enough of a boost to keep her from falling apart.

Still. Presence 22 bestowed upon her the aspect of a fallen queen, her beauty arresting, her manner such that it was difficult to tear his gaze away. But now he felt himself around her once more, and rising to his feet, put away his dark ambitions to smile warmly.

“Well!” Vic rubbed his hands together. “We’ve just had a wonderful little confabulation and taken a merry trip down memory lane. Ah, is there anything more heart-warming than stirring up old mistakes, broken promises, and deep regrets? I don’t think so!”

Nessa smiled gamely, but she looked hungover, her face waxen.

“Glad to hear it,” said Sam, tone wary. “Are we good to head back out?”

“As soon as I get my fair share of the goodies,” said Vic. “After all, I’m just sporting The Point, while you all are bedecked in Epic-level items of ridiculous power. Surely you didn’t forget poor ol’ Vic while you were doling out the presents from the goodie bag?”

“Actually, we do have some items left over,” said Harald, fighting the urge to smile. “You know. Bits and pieces that nobody else wanted.”

Sam kept her face straight. “Honestly? We thought you’d be content with the bag of wine bottles we’ve been hauling around for you. You saying that’s not enough?”

“Ah, but you two are both so droll.” Vic arched a brow. “Nessa told me nobody distributed Thracos’ loot. Incidentally, congrats, Harry-boy. Sounds like a splendid knock-down brawl. I’d say I’m sorry I missed it, but—well. You know my extreme aversion to lying.”

Kársek emerged from his alcove, Artifact sack in hand, stifling a yawn with the other. “We gave the Aureate Master to Nessa, as you know. But there remain a good number of items for you to examine. Thracos’ cloak, a talisman he wore, along with some of the darker Artifacts we took from Gorkin’s horde.”

Vic made grabbing motions. “Less talk, more giving.”

Harald watched in amusement as Vic began pawing through the bag’s contents. “You can ignore the miniature pike. It’s a more complicated version of The Point. The whip’s problematic, in that it has a mind of its own. And the dagger works off of blood magic, which is, yeah. Problematic.”

“Problematic to whom, exactly?” Vic withdrew Ruby’s Hunger and turned it about so that the lantern light caught in the giant ruby in its pommel. “Ooh, pretty.”

“Problematic to me,” said Sam, tone turned stony. “Then again, you’re demon-kin now, so you probably won’t mind.”

“You think I would have minded before? It heals, it empowers, it disrupts—why, the description says it even removes embarrassing stains, gets rid of unwanted facial hair, and it entertains visiting relatives. How could I say no?”

“Daggers are short range,” said Nessa. “That’s a serious limitation.”

Vic pulled out Thracos’ living cloak. “Now this is a piece of work.”

“Can I see?” asked Harald, stepping in close and taking the green, ivy-infused garment.

Artifact: Viridian Mantle
Quality: Masterwork
Special Ability: Bloomguard
Activation: When threatened, the cloak unfurls into a mass of writhing ivy tendrils that intercept incoming attacks, absorbs ambient magic, and lashes out at nearby enemies.

+3 Constitution while worn
+2 Ego while worn

Limitation: The cloak feeds on its wearer. After every battle, its wearer must resist the cloak’s hunger or take damage as the cloak reabsorbs nutrients. If the bearer fails to ward off the cloak’s hunger three times in a row, the cloak will attempts to overtake him completely.

“Talk about problematic,” said Harald. “It’ll take control of you if you fail to resist it three times in a row?”

“Pah,” said Vic. “First, I won’t fail even a first time, and second, if I fail it twice, I need but remove it. I do like the combination between the cloak’s defenses and the dagger’s ability disrupt. Some pleasing synergy there as well between the cloak’s active defense and the dagger’s healing properties.”

Sam had taken the cloak and frowned as she read the description. “Thracos was all about his parasites. This is basically just a giant tick.”

“Nice try,” said Vic. “But I’m not so easily grossed out. And here, the last item.” He drew out the whorled wooden medallion, then frowned. “Oh. That’s incredibly boring.”

Harald took it in hand.

Artifact: Rootheart Sigil
Quality: Masterwork
Special Ability: Verdant Dominion
Activation: Upon invocation, this sigil pulses with deep green light and infects the surrounding terrain within a 30-foot radius. All plant life twists to your will, animating as tendrils, thorns, or thickening root barriers.


+2 to Presence
+2 to Constitution

Limitation: The Sigil’s power is limited by the amount of existing plant life in the vicinity.

“Perfect for Thracos,” said Harald, passing it to Sam. “But I can see it lacking appeal for you.”

“I’ll keep The Point, and take the dagger and cloak.” Vic swirled the Viridian Mantle about his shoulders, where it floated down to drape his form in the same ominously stirring manner as it had Thracos. “Lovely. And stylish.”

“Then are we ready?” Harald looked about the group, and felt a pang of guilt when he saw Anna standing toward the back, her gaze troubled as she studied him. “I think it’s time we tested ourselves against the scarecrows.”

“Ready,” said Nessa. “Harald, I’m going to suggest you hang back for the first fight and take on an oversight role. We already know you can take them down by yourself, so we should get some experience in by ourselves.”

“Sure.” Harald bit back his frustration. “That makes sense. I’m hoping we’re going to crush everything we find, so there’ll be plenty of time for my experimenting with my own powers down the line.”

Nessa nodded sharply, expression troubled, as if it had cost her to make even that one request. “In that case, I suggest the following. We’ll use Shadowpaw to locate the next set of scarecrows. They usually show in groups of one to three. We’re looking primarily to experiment with our new Abilities here, so we’ll hold off on just throwing in the Compressed World or hitting them with Kársek’s rune out the gate. Instead, Sam, you’ll drop the Starfire Bastion immediately. That plus the Disc of Hollow Watchers will greatly reduce the Thought Reaver’s effectiveness, as they won’t be able to teleport or we’ll be insulated from their mental blasts. Make sure Guardian’s Mantle is on, and use the Eclipse Edge to target whichever Reaver is farthest away.”

Sam nodded.

Nessa’s tone became more confident as she kept going. “Anna, you’re going to be entering combat with me. Hold the Judgment Slats in your off-hand, and fight to the best of your ability. I’ll be there in case there’s trouble.”

Anna’s nod was fierce, her expression focused.

“Sam and Vic, you’ll sweep out wide on the chamber’s other side. With the enemy unable to teleport, you’ll simply be engaging and cutting them down. Kársek, you’ll bring up the center, and use your rune wherever you deem best.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Kársek, tone calm, voice resonant.

“Their key ability is to teleport away and bombard us with mental blasts,” said Nessa, looking around the group. “With that denied to them, and our Ego’s all at 18 or higher, we should be able to cut them down quickly. However, don’t forget their strength. A direct blow from their claws can carve stone.”

Harald saw Anna dry swallow before she spoke up. “Should I don my armor?”

Nessa considered then shook her head. “Best you just suit up like before, with your cuirass, helm, and gauntlets. Maybe your greaves and vambraces, too. But the fould, the pauldrons, the rest of it—you’d best start learning not to rely on that, as from hereon out you’ll need agility more than the ability to withstand a hit.”

Anna nodded.

“Remember, we’re exploring how all our new Artifacts and Abilities intermesh. We’re going to take this slow and steady. With our foes unable to teleport, they’re not going to be very mobile, so move in pairs, stay calm, and be ready to experiment and react. And if anything goes wrong, Harald will be there to save the day.”

And the smile Nessa directed at him warmed Harald to the bottom of his heart.

“We clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” everyone said at once.

“Then let’s pack up and head out.”

*

Their group ghosted through the halls and tunnels of the 27th in tense expectation. Shadowpaw led the way, a constant shadow who materialized each time he turned back impatiently, tongue lolling in his jaws, as if to say: why so slow? Harald led the group, moving beyond the torchlight so as to benefit from Shadow Fortitude, and the others followed his breathless silence.

As always, the 27th was reluctant to give up its treasures. They explored for some time before finding their quarry, traipsing up broad, shallow steps or descending narrow corridors that connected one great chamber to the next. All were of the same uniform shape and hue, that rusted orange over slate gray, the ragged and partially demolished balconies gazing down over empty pools, eroded statues, or strange, clock-work constructions.

Harald was beginning to wonder if the Fallen Angel herself had taken note of their over powered status and hidden her scarecrows away when finally Shadowpaw tensed and stopped, sniffing audibly at the air, then wagged his bushy tail vigorously before leading him up to an archway that led out into a great chamber.

Harald gestured for the others to be alert, and followed up next to the hound.

Damn.

The Fallen Angel must have been paying attention, for in this grand hall, larger than any Harald had seen before, stood what Harald thought might be a dozen scarecrows, all of them oriented on the dark tunnel mouth in which he stood, silently expectant.

Shit.

Harald backed up cautiously, Veil of Shadows allowing him to move in utter silence, and returned to his friends.

“Well, there’s quite the welcome reception up front. Just under twelve scarecrows, and they were staring right at me.”

“Twelve?” protested Sam. “That’s not fair!”

“Grow up, darling,” drawled Vic, and Harald felt a burst of warmth for the man, his caustic wit, his return to their group. “When has fair ever had anything to do with anything?”

“It is fair, actually.” Nessa’s tone was pensive, her manner intent. “We’d massacre anything less.”

“So?” Anna almost managed to hide her nerves. “Do we retreat? Press on?”

“There’s no point in running away, countess,” said Vic. “It’s not as if the Fallen Angel will relent and offer us up a scarecrow or two if we refuse to bite.”

“He’s right,” said Nessa. “The Fallen Angel’s decided this is to be our challenge. That it’s so far outside the norm of what Harald fought merely reflects how powerful our group has become. And with the Disc, we should still be fine. Harald, you’re back in play. Move up the center with Kársek. Was there anything about the chamber we should know about, tactically?”

Harald shook his head. “One wrap-around balcony, perhaps five of the scarecrows around it. A statue in the center, your usual broken angel shape. Alcoves, but I couldn’t see far into them. The scarecrows were mostly in the back half of the room, and fairly spread out.”

Nessa nodded. “Let’s do the following, then. Anna, throw the Compressed World to the right side of the statue. Hopefully it will block off that flank, and force the others to funnel down the left side of the room toward us. When they do so, hit their leading front with the Mourning Thorn, then step behind me. Sam, drop the Starfire Bastion immediately, make sure the Guardian Mantle’s protecting us, then help Harald clear the balcony with blasts of the Eclipse’s Judgement Light. Kársek, you’ll hold the rear, and hit any scarecrows that drop behind us with your rune. Vic, Anna, you’re going to advance down the left flank with me, and cut down all the scarecrows that come our way. Everyone clear?”

“Love it,” said Vic. “You’ll understand, of course, if I wet myself in sheer devotion and drop down to worship you when you activate the Aureate Master?”

Nessa rolled her eyes.

“Got it,” said Harald. “I’ll send the Goldchops toward the upper back, and I’ll take the left balcony with Shadowpaw. His howl should stagger them.”

“I’ll take the right, then,” said Sam. “But shouldn’t I be in the center of the fight, to help with healing?”

“Most of the damage will come from mind blasts,” said Nessa. “The quicker we take down the enemy, the less they’ll be able to stun us by hitting us with multiple attacks at once. If we find ourselves in trouble in the center, I’ll call to you.”

Sam nodded.

“And that’s why you’re our Delve Captain,” said Harald with a grin. “And you know what’s crazy? I think we’ve got an excellent chance of overwhelming the lot of them.”

“Don’t ruin our luck,” protested Vic. “Honestly, Harry, one never proclaims an easy victory before a fight. That’s just asinine.”

Anna laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Harald allowed himself to smile at her. “I’ve been called worse.”

“All right. Ditch packs. Sam and Harald in the front, and when they split to go out wide, Anna you move in to throw the Compressed World and Mourning Star. Then Vic and I will step ahead of your, and the three of us will move to the left while Kársek brings up the rear. Clear? Let’s go.”

They propped their bags and packs against the wall, summoned their Artifacts, and after exchanging nervous, anticipatory smiles, moved down the hallway to where Shadowpaw was still watching the cavernous room with uneasy tension.

Sam and Harald moved up together, shoulder to shoulder, he with Chyron’s Scourge in one hand and the Goldchops hovering over his shoulders, she with the Eclipse Edge glowing softly in one, the hilt of the Ashwright’s Vow in the other. Even as Harald glanced down at its burnished orange crossguard, she activated the sword, and a molten flood of fire sprang forth, filling the tunnel with lambent molten light.

It was beautiful. A central core of bright yellow light lanced out some four feet from the center of the hilt, and around this spiraled deep crimson threads of pulsing crimson light that ceaselessly intertwined and came together to form a wicked point.

It would phase clear through armor, Harald recalled, pass through weapons, and strike directly at the scarecrow’s flesh.

Sam squared her shoulders, brow furrowed with focus, and in that moment Harald could only marvel at how far she’d come, how magnificent she looked, how utterly wondrous the transformation had become from a few months back when she’d still been his Oathbound majordomo.

Now? She looked like a vengeful angel stepped out of legend.

Everyone bunched up behind them.

“Ready?” Harald whispered.

“Three. Two. One. Go!”

They burst out into the huge chamber and immediately split, him to the left, her to the right.

The scarecrows came to life, bristling and bringing up their wicked talons, beaked living masks poking forward as they hunched their bony shoulders, their deeply embedded eyes blazing with crimson hatred.

The Goldchops flew forward as if hurled by giants, blurring overhead as they soared toward the back of the room even as the glimmering radiance of the Starfire Bastion dropped over the closest two thirds of the chamber. The hall was simply that big, but within its protective encloser Harald felt his spirits rise as he anticipated its enhanced protection.

Multiple auras flared to life as the party flooded into the chamber: Aching Depths, Beacon of Hope, Will of the Blade, Harmonic Resonance, Crimson Entourage, Aura of Cruelty. Harald couldn’t tell them apart, he just felt the swell of emotional and combat prowess uplift, even as he withheld Thronebound Mantle as an ace up his sleeve.

He swept the Scourge in an upward arc, hurling the first Demonic Edge at the closest scarecrow on the left side balcony, and then, seized by inspiration, he simply leaped. His Strength, after all, was 21; he’d not experimented with it in this manner yet, but with Dark Vigor making him feel as if he had wings, he realized it was time to put his greatly enhanced stats to the test.

The scarecrow leaped back, barely avoiding the crackling black power of the Edge, but Harald came hurtling up behind him. Had he heard stone crack beneath his heels as he’d leaped? No matter, such was his raw Strength that he leaped clear up to the second floor to land on the cracked stone walkway and hurl himself at the retreating scarecrow, even as Anna let out a fierce cry of determination from below, no doubt hurling the Compressed World.

Shadowpaw bayed, and Harald felt a wave of uneasiness pass over him, the mastiff’s basso profundo roar causing him to falter just a modicum.

What the hell? Why had he been effected?

Shadowpaw was right there, having leaped up alongside him, but the mastiff had turned away to move to the edge of the balcony and stare down fixedly at the battle arena below.

Wait.

That hadn’t been Shadowpaw’s howl.

Harald’s eyes stared as the darkness in each alcove boiled, and then felt ice water flood his veins as dozens of huge, familiar-looking mastiffs erupted from the alcoves to charge into the room.