Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 13

The figure that stepped through was clearly kin to Eclavistra and Vorakhar, but substantively different. He towered at almost seven feet, his gleaming ebon horns adding another foot beyond even that impressive stature, and his raiment spoke of inexpressible refinement.

Despite his fear, despite his urge to either flee or launch an attack, Harald couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the impossibly refined and handsome man. He was a study in monochromatic contrasts, his skin and artfully tousled hair alabaster white, his clothing a montage of mirrored black and the richest ivory.

Gleaming black riding boots rose to his knees, to meet black pantaloons richly detailed with black thread. A waistcoat that was half ivory, half ebon, hugged his slender frame, only for the lapels to flare out wide at the collar like the petals of a gorgeous lily, even as a black undershirt chased in metallic black threads rose up to huge his neck. Huge paldrons of dark silver bulked out his shoulders, and from these extended the voluminous sleeves, one black, the other white, which terminated in the demon’s black taloned hands. He wore two layers of cloak, one ivory within, hugging his legs, and the other draped from his broad shoulders to fall like a waterfall of jet. Slender black chains were draped here and there, and wherever his clothing caught the light faint patterns revealed themselves, half-hidden for being the same color.

And his face. It was an abstraction, an ideal of beauty that verged on the feminine, smooth-shaven and so perfect as to appear alien. A pointed chin, a high brow, slender lips pursed into a line, his eyes closed so that his lashes lay heavy upon his cheeks. Completely at odds with the massive horns that rose and curved and then curved back once more, their points angled toward the ceiling.

Harald felt a jolt. Silenthros, for surely it was he, stood with his eyes closed, in the exact same manner as Thracos. As if the world pained him, and he was loath to open his eyes and take in the sordid disappointments before him.

Only then did Harald note the tail. Thick as a crocodiles, as black as night, with scaled fins angling back down its length, it lay supine on the floor behind the demon, its muscular length at odds with the demon’s otherwise refined presence.

Nobody moved.

Harald could sense his companions straining, seeking a decisive course of action, everyone staring at the demon with restrained horror. Everyone but for Kársek, who took out his pipe and began tamping some tabac into its bowl.

“A death summoned me here,” said Silenthros, voice gentle but setting off harmonics that caused the air to ring like a resonating wine glass. “The loss a dear one. And I find you all gathered, like vultures, with his Artifacts and scales clutched in your claws.”

Anna squared her shoulders, her natural inclinations no doubt urging her to speak. But Harald stepped forward, painfully aware of the need to keep her from drawing attention to herself.

“Thracos hunted me.” His voice sounded coarse and uncouth in comparison. “He broke the terms of our contract and offered me no quarter. So we killed him.”

Silenthros raised his chin as if hearing a curious but distant strain of music, and for a second Harald wondered if the demon had heard him at all.

“Ah. Vorakhar’s plaything. A Darrowdelve. Your father has proven a constant irritant. I see that you yearn to follow in his footsteps.”

The demon’s words hit Harald like a blow. “My father? He lives?”

The corner of Silenthros’ lips curved into the subtlest smile, and he inclined his head. “He does, and harries my flank. A most loyal bulldog and servant of my brother. How amusing that you didn’t know.”

Harald’s mind reeled. He’d suspected, hoped, dreaded this revelation. Had demanded answers from Vorakhar, but the other demon had ignored his questions.

Darius Darrowdelve, his father, lived.

“It seems Thracos violated the terms of the duel.” Silenthros’s smile faded away. “How disappointing. I was to be notified of the Level and time so as to watch the proceedings. Something must have forced his hand. He was an idealistic child, given to secret fancies and forlorn dreams, but never obtuse.”

And the demon turned his face to the dark hallway in which the corpse lay.

Run. This was their chance. Now, before it was too late -

But Harald didn’t move. None of them did. Fleeing on foot from a being such as Silenthros would only result in a loss of dignity. There was no way in all of hell that they could simply outpace him if he desired to speak to them farther.

“Ah, my child,” whispered Silenthros, as Thracos’ corpse floated out of the dark toward him. The spray of geode brains and hair was horrific in the light, gleaming like organic glass, with only the demon-kin’s mouth left whole. “What did you do?” There was genuine pity in Silenthros’ voice, a melancholic pity that verged on paternal disappointment. “You had such bright promise. Such a noble heart. For you to die thus…”

The demon considered the suspended corpse a moment longer, then, without looking back at the Throne Hunters, spoke with an entirely different voice. “Give me the Demon Seed.”

Shit.

Harald tensed anew, his body bracing for obliteration. His thoughts whirled, but no solution presented themselves. On some level it was a miracle that the demon hadn’t already pulverized them all and claimed it for himself.

Harald glanced at his companions. Sam’s face was pallid, her jaw clench. Anna stood as if frozen, eyes wide. Nessa’s hand was on the hilt of the Dawnblade, her nostrils flared. Only Kársek appeared unperturbed, and upon catching Harald’s glance, he nodded meaningfully in Silenthros direction, cheeks puffing as he brought his pipe to life.

“Yes.” Harald’s voice had grown shaky. “Here it is.”

With trembling fingers he drew the whorled seed from his pouch and approached, his steps faltering.

Only now did Silenthros turn away from Thracos to face Harald. He extended his black taloned hand, the fingers long and with a couple joints too many, and into this Harald dropped the Seed, furious at his compliance, but not seeing an alternative.

“Harald Darrowdelve.” The demon’s voice was somehow a whisper and a vice all at once. Harald’s breath locked in his chest, his throat clamped shut, and he lost all ability to move. “I can see why Vorakhar crowed at your acquisition. You’ve more potential than even your father. Yet I see the recalcitrance burning in your heart. You love your patron not. What is it you truly desire?”

His throat unlocked. He was terrified, yes, in the grip of his enemy, but his formidable Ego allowed him to keep his wits. “A nap would be truly appreciated.”

The corner of Silenthros’ lips curved again. “Freedom. I see it now, writ plain as if branded on your brow. You desire freedom from my kind.”

No more quips suggested themselves.

“Ask it of me, and I shall sever the bond that binds you to Vorakhar. You shall become an entity circumscribed solely by your own will, and governed by fate alone. Vorakhar shall lose all power over you, all unnatural influence. Do you wish this, Harald?”

Could it be? Could Silenthros accomplish such a deed? Probably, right? He was the premiere demon in all of the Dungeon. Vorakhar feared him. Perhaps he had that power. But why would he exert himself on Harald’s behalf after losing Thracos? He’d not do this from the kindness of his own soul.

“Don’t take it, Harald,” said Sam, voice low and urgent. “It’s a trap.”

Silenthros raised one brow, and his companions froze, even the smoke rising from Kársek’s pipe.

“This is a personal decision,” said the demon.

Harald dry swallowed. Freedom. Hadn’t his hatred of Vorakhar been his rallying cry all along? His determination to be his own man, to resist corruption, to avoid following in his father’s footsteps?

A father who yet lived?!

Darius arose in Harld’s mind’s eye, confident, sneering, all-powerful, larger than life. Immediately feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt suffused him, and he felt his heart constrict.

His father had failed in his quest for freedom. He’d vowed in his letter to confront Vorakhar and end their relationship, but instead he still labored as Vorakhar’s slave in the eternal war.

Would that be his fate if he refused this offer?

Had his father refused the same at some point?

It’s a trap.

How could Sam say that? She was a Netherwarden Knight, her entire Class was defined by her opposition to demons. And she had been Oathbound for most of her life, should know, more than anyone here, how precious freedom must be. Why would she wish that he remain enslaved?

Silenthros waited patiently, eyes closed, the faintest hint of amusement in his perfect, porcelain features.

Harald’s heart thumped powerfully in his chest. His exhaustion was dulling his wits. Only his Ego kept him thinking, his raw, unstoppable will to survive, to succeed.

A trap. How? Freedom from Vorakhar would gift him with the power of self-determination, with the chance to hide from Vorakhar, to grow independent of the other’s manipulations. No more being thrown about like a toy, no more bringing inadvertent danger to his friends…

No.

Harald studied the other demon. The very fact that Silenthros made this seemingly benign offer after losing Thracos meant it was indeed an attack. A subtle one, assuredly, but a means to end Harald’s life without violating some unspoken concordat between the demons.

How?

Then Harald understood.

How would Vorakhar react to losing one of his prized toys? With fury. And Silenthros would explain that Harald asked for freedom.

Vorakhar would seek him out, and either destroy Harald outright, or place such terrible new strictures upon his enslavement that his existence would become a thousand times worse.

Damn. It was as Thracos had said. Perhaps one day when I’m Gold-ranked I’ll consider autonomy, but now? Silenthros would snuff me out without effort.

Harald wouldn’t live for long without the power to defend himself. Was that what his father was doing? Fighting to accumulate enough power to fend of Vorakhar when his time came?

Despair curdled in Harald’s soul. His father had been laboring under Vorakhar for almost a decade already. Was that how long it might take?

“No, thank you,” whispered Harald, and something within him died, some vestige of hope, some illusion that freedom might yet be his before too long.

“Hmm.” Silenthros released Harald, so that he staggered back. “Very well. You may keep Thracos’ Artifacts as a reward for your unexpected victory, and I harbor you no especial ill-will for slaying my childe; it was his foolishness, or perhaps that of his House, that led him to this crude end. We will, I am sure, see each other again.”

And with that the demon stepped back into his portal of black, and disappeared, Thracos’ body following a moment later just before the portal closed.

Harald sagged with relief as his companions came back to life.

“What—?” Nessa took three rapid strides forward. “Where did he go? What happened?”

“He froze you all while we spoke,” said Harald, tone lifeless. Sam rushed to his side and touched his arm in concern. He met her gaze briefly, then looked away. “I refused his offer.”

“Oh, Harald.” She wrapped him in a tight hug, and in her arms he found some measure of comfort, some modicum of solace. But that very warmth was dangerous—it threatened the precarious hold he had over his emotions, a tenuous grip that would unleash all his pain and anger and misery if he lost it.

So Harald hugged her back, briefly, then stepped away.

“Wisely done,” said Kársek, nodding as he took another puff. “Accept no gifts from the gathul.”

“So we’re safe?” Anna sounded bewildered. “He just… left?”

“We’re safe from him, I think.” Harald moved back to collect his pack, sensing Sam’s pitying gaze as he walked away. “Thracos broke the terms of Silenthros’ agreement with Vorakhar. That protected us in some way.”

Nessa took a deep, steadying breath as she wrestled her composure back under control. “I never thought there’d be honor amongst demons.”

“It is said that the gathul observe their own rules,” said Kársek, hitching his pack up higher. “That their war is governed by certain edicts they dare not break. I don’t know why, but so it is said.”

“Well.” Anna forced a smile. “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth. What’s our plan from here?”

“A safe hole in which to hide,” said Nessa dourly. “I can barely keep my eyes open. We all need rest.”

“Agreed,” said Sam and Harald simultaneously.

“Let me see if Shadowpaw can help.” Harald composed himself, and though his nerves were frayed, his composure near shattered, and terrible damage done to his self-image, he closed his eyes, fought to steady his breath, and summoned his Servitor from his Cosmos.

It had been long enough since Thracos had slain him that the mastiff was able to reform. He glanced about the chamber, sniffed audibly, then let loose a low growl in the base of his throat.

“The demon’s gone,” said Harald, not quite believing it himself. “And we’re leaving the place, regardless. Can you find us a hidden room or somewhere safe to rest?”

Shadowpaw glanced about the group, wagged his bushy tail, then padded down the hallway opposite the one in which Thracos had died.

“Here we go,” said Sam, summoning the Eclipse Edge into her hand.

“I know it’s ridiculous to ask,” said Nessa wryly as she moved up alongside Harald. “But everyone try to stay alert. We’re still on the 27th Level. A surprise by one of those scarecrows could be fatal.”

There were exhausted nods all round, but it was clearly a tall order. Fortunately Shadowpaw seemed as healthy and rested as ever; he took the lead, blending into the darkness, which in turn gave Harald just enough vitality through Shadow Fortitude to keep him going.

But theirs was a somber and exhausted group. Nobody spoke. When Harald glanced back, he saw Anna’s eyelids drooping. Nessa was staring ahead with fixed intensity, but her eyes were glazed. Sam’s expression was one of muted determination, but he could see how incredibly drained she was. Only Kársek, with his dwarven fortitude, seemed to still be in the fight.

They trudged through the dark. Passed cautiously through grand, ruined chambers, until at last Shadowpaw stopped before a random stretch of wall and sniffed at its stone blocks before whining and glancing back at Harald.

“An entrance?” He moved up and searched the wall. There was nothing obvious to fixate on, but recalling the scarecrow whose Dawnblade summoned ghost he’d once tracked, he moved his lantern close to the wall so that the surface imperfections stood out in stark shadow. Up and down he raised the lantern till he spotted the regular-looking indentation, which, when pressed, cause a narrow door to recess and slide open.

“Lovely,” said Nessa. “Shall we?”

“The scarecrows know about these doors, or used the one I found last time,” said Harald, stepping into the narrow passage after Shadowpaw. “So they’re not completely safe.”

“But better than staying out in the open,” said Anna.

They filed in, and the narrow passage opened shortly after into a small, square chamber whose walls sported three deep alcoves each. The ceiling was only ten feet overhead, low for this level, and Harald couldn’t find another passageway leading anywhere else.

“Heaven,” said Sam, dropped to her knees to pull out her bedroll.

“I’ll keep first watch,” offered Kársek, moving to sit just inside the passage.

Harald was too burned out to argue. Everybody laid out their bedrolls, and to his surprise nobody sought to claim an alcove for themselves. Instead, they covered the floor of the central chamber and dumped their packs alongside the walls.

Anna set to removing her armor, and Sam, without comment knelt beside her to assist. They bent their heads over the buckles and straps, and piece by ornate piece they pulled the plates off her till at last she was clad only in sweat-dampened and rumpled gambeson and leggings.

“I’m staring to loath that armor,” sighed Anna, setting the last piece aside in a neat pile. “And can’t help but feel Rivik was right. What a waste of money.”

Nessa had already draped an arm over her eyes. “There’s a reason raiders prefer chainmail.”

“You can’t sleep in chainmail, either,” said Sam, moving to her own roll.

“You can sleep in anything,” replied Nessa. “It’s just not comfortable.”

“I’m not going to put it back on,” said Anna, regarding her armor with something akin to sad resolution. “This far into the Dungeon it won’t protect me from a direct blow.”

Harald pulled off his boots, and luxuriated in the sensation of stretching his toes. “Maybe just some of it. The cuirass and backplate, say, the vambraces for your arms. The helmet.”

“Helmets are always good,” agreed Nessa sleepily.

Anna glanced back at Harald, and he could see her desire to talk. But then she glanced about their small group, smiled tiredly, and lay down as well.

The room was chill, the bedroll thin, and the potential for danger high. But the moment Harald’s head touched his roll, he passed out.

* * *

Kársek awoke them however many hours later. The dwarf did little more than shake their shoulders gently before laying down to rest wordlessly in an alcove, and in moments was fast asleep.

How many hours had passed? Harald felt greatly refreshed, so it had to have been at least six. Maybe more?

The team kept their voices hushed as they broke their fast, and sat on their bedrolls in companionable silence as they washed down their cured meat, hard travel bread, and sharp wedges of cheese with more of their precious water.

“We’ve maybe enough to keep us going another couple of days,” said Sam. “And that’s if we err on the side of half rations.”

“We were never meant to live off what we brought in for long,” agreed Nessa. “We’ll have to descend to the 28th soon.”

“What’s on the 28th?” Anna sat straight backed, and Harald felt admiration and pity for how well she was keeping herself composed. He tried to imagine being in her position that early in his raiding career without a Demon Seed, and couldn’t fathom it.

“I…” Sam frowned. “There’s a direct portal to the 29th, which is famous for its clockwork golems. Giant interconnecting gears, etcetera.” She considered. “But the 28th…? I don’t recall.”

Nessa chewed pensively. “I think… is the 28th the tower level? The one with the black knights?”

Sam opened her mouth excitedly to confirm, then slumped. “I don’t know.”

“Tower level?” asked Anna, her words slowing as if she were stating something so obvious she was sure she sounded foolish. “I thought we were in a dungeon…?”

“Each level has its own logic,” said Nessa. “Some are more vertical than others.”

“I knew there were jungle levels, and… well.” Anna caught herself. “That’s interesting. A tower?”

“If I’m correct.” Nessa shrugged. “I might be thinking of the 24th? I’ve never bothered really studying what came after the teens.”

“If it is the tower,” said Sam, “then it’s an endless series of spiral staircases, tight chambers, and views into the void. It’s meant to be brutal, close-quarter fighting.”

“Lovely,” said Harald. “Any chance for food?”

Both Nessa and Sam shrugged.

“Well, we’ve a day or two here yet.” The rest had done him wonders, but even now memories of Silenthros and his offer came stealing back. Rather than consider the implications of what he’d decided, Harald focused instead on the burgeoning flicker of eagerness. “I say we take a day or so to test out our new Abilities against the scarecrows. Sam, the more you use the Eclipse Edge, the greater our chances of attracting the attention of the angel-kin.”

“Right,” said Sam. “I’d love to try out Luminous Interdiction.”

“Yes,” agreed Anna, her brow clearing as she smiled. “A chance to practice my new Abilities would be welcome.”

“I wonder what Vic’s doing right now,” murmured Nessa, then caught herself, glanced around the group, and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ve been surprised at how much I miss him.”

Sam nodded. “I never thought I’d miss his disgusting jokes, but…”

Harald realized he’d not been thinking of Vic at all. Weird, that. But now, summoning his friend’s smiling face to mind, he felt a pang of pain and fear, and reflexively thrust the thought away.

Looked like there were a lot of things he didn’t want to think about right now.

“We’ll give Kársek time to rest,” he stated firmly. “Then we’ll do a trial sweep of the floor. See how well you guys can handle the scarecrow mind blasts. What’s everybody’s Ego at after equipping their Artifacts?”

“22,” said Sam quietly, “if I equip the Twilight Crown.”

“14,” said Anna, tone quiet with modest pride. “None of my Artifacts provide me with a boost.”

“9,” said Nessa, and looked away quickly with frown. “The same as Anna.”

“I had 18 when I fought here last,” said Harald, “and that allowed me to weather the mind attacks.”

Sam leaned forward. “Some of the Artifacts we’re not using provided Ego boosts. The Judgement Slats gave a +4 bonus, I think, and the Ashwright’s Vow gave a +2.”

“And we’ve the Aureate Master, which doubles all bonuses,” agreed Harald. “We can figure this out. How about Nessa gets the Crown and the Master? That would boost her to 19.”

“I could swap the Oathspike for the Slats,” said Anna reluctantly. “That would raise me to 18.”

“Letting me slot in the Ashwright’s Vow to use with the Wreath,” agreed Sam. “That would push my Ego back up to 19, and then 20 again for the shared bonus stats.” Sam brightened. “Along with that +5 to Dexterity.”

“What about Kársek?” asked Anna quietly, glancing back at the sleeping dwarf. “He can’t use Artifacts, correct?”

“Kársek will be fine,” said Nessa in dark amusement. “He’s more solid than all of us put together.”

“Then it’s agreed,” said Harald. “We’ll let him rest, then we’ll set forth to hunt. Don’t forget that there are shadow mastiffs on this level, too. They’ll attack by surprise when we’re not ready. We’ve been lucky they’ve not attacked us yet.”

“Maybe Shadowpaw’s keeping them away,” said Sam.

“Maybe. But I’d like to put in a solid day’s work when we get started.” Hunger and anger and ambition began to roil in Harald’s depths. “I want to replenish our scale supply for healing, I want to use the Edge as much as we can, and I want to see just how well our team stacks up against the scarecrows. If we’re as potent as we think, there’s a good chance we could roll down the remainder of the Level 20’s and crush all opposition.”

“Easy there,” smiled Nessa. “Let’s keep our ambitions level-headed for now.”

Anna nodded vigorously.

Harald inclined his head. But he realized he meant it. They’d taken down Thracos, and were now even more powerful than before. A bleak urgency had him by the throat. His father had been down here for years. Laboring under Vorakhar. Fighting the demon’s war.

Such would not be his fate.

He’d gain power, he’d rise in Levels, he’d do whatever it took, as long as it earned him power.

For only in power did he have a chance of one day finding freedom.