Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 4

Harald inhaled sharply, felt himself tense, felt all his many Abilities and Artifacts and Servitors right there for the summoning. If House Silvershield with its demon-bound Lady Argent thought he’d come quietly, that he’d be intimidated by a score of City Watch and their best raiders, well -

“Run!” Nessa’s bark was all business, low and forceful and leaving no room for argument. She broke into a sprint, heading up the line toward the Copper Gate.

Harald blinked, glanced back to where the Watch and raiders were spilling into the plaza, and took after his Delve Captain, Kársek and Sam and Anna at his heels.

Up the line they ran, passing the other Copper-ranked teams who glared or peered at them curiously, right up to the massive portal before which Vic was parlaying with the two guards on duty.

“Hey,” Vic managed, his smile affable, “I was just getting us -”

“Run!” barked Nessa again, and burst through the portal without slowing.

The Copper-ranked team at the head of the line yelled their protests, and the guards stationed at the platform all erupted in anger and alarm.

Bedlam. Commands were roared for them to stop, the taxation officials rose to their feet in outrage, and the guard at the base of the steps leading up to the polyhedron moved to bar the way, pike held cross-wise.

Nessa didn’t hesitate. She slid her blade free of its sheath and in the same upward swing slashed the pike haft in twain, following immediately through the surprised man’s guard to elbow across the jaw and send him tottering to the side.

Up the stairs she bounded to the platform itself, everyone hot on her heels, and to Harald’s immense relief the sole remaining guard in charge of issuing banal warnings about entering the Portal, simply stepped aside.

“They don’t pay me enough,” he said with a weary smile, both hands raised.

Nessa raised her gloved hand, scales gleaming in her palm, and the polyhedron immediately came to a stop, shivering like a hound sniffing at prey.

A pentagonal face. Nessa had summoned one of the top 12 levels. Four golden slashes above the topmost edge indicated the 4th Level.

The level in which Harald had rescued Kársek. Where he and Sam had first explored their powers. Ashen walkers, jumping spiders, haunt lights.

He had no time to protest, to question.

“Harald!” Nessa pulled him to the fore. Vic and Kársek were holding the rear, weapons raised, the guards still yelling about the dire consequences of breaking protocol. In the near distance, reinforcements were sprinting toward them. “Harald! Your protective hiding… thing!”

Right.

He dug Eclavistra’s golden bracelet out of a belt pouch and slipped it on. As the pentagonal face hollowed out and became an entrance to the Dungeon, he raised summoned the Gold Chops and strode to the fore, rising up toward the polyhedron, the Dungeon Plaza falling away, sounds growing attenuated as the portal yawned massive to swallow him whole.

All went dark as the abyss claimed him, as the world tilted and fell away, and then he emerged into a hallway as familiar as home.

Made of old stone, the large passage speared ahead into the gloom, loops of chain hanging down from the ceiling and swaying subtly as if in some unfelt breeze. Far ahead, in its own pool of glacial radiance, burned a haunt light, its white and azure glow an island of danger in the darkness.

He’d appeared in a T-junction. A second corridor ended where he stood, leading off into the darkness to his right.

Silence. Stillness. That familiar damp, mineral smell.

Harald inhaled deeply and stepped away from the portal leading back to the Plaza even as Nessa appeared behind him, longsword in hand. In short order the others manifested behind her, with Vic stepping through last.

“How dramatic!” He beamed as he sheathed his rapier. “You should have heard the futile threats. Oh, but they must be stewing in impotent fury right now. Delightful.”

“We’re safe?” Sam turned to regard the portal back. “They can’t just follow us through?”

“We’re safe,” said Nessa, resting her longsword upon one shoulder. “Even if they open a portal here right after us, they’ll appear elsewhere on the floor. It’s feasible that they’d run into us if they search long enough, but we won’t be staying on the 4th for long.”

“So there is a plan,” said Vic, peering down the branching corridor. “Care to share it?”

“It’s simple. We’re limited in how far down we can comfortably go before survival becomes questionable. I reckon we can manage the 18th, but beyond that, we’d be constantly fighting for our lives. By starting near the top, we can now descend any number of floors, and leave our foes guessing as to which we’re on. To truly hunt us, they’ll have to spread their forces from the 4th all the way to however far down they think we might have gone, reducing the numbers hunting us on any given Level.”

“Sound thinking,” said Kársek, hitching his pack into a more comfortable position. “Well done, Delve Captain.”

“Agreed,” said Anna, her tone brisk and nervous and tight.

Harald restrained a grin. He remembered all too well his first foray onto the 4th, and how eager and afraid he and Sam had been. Every shadow had hidden a foe, every sound portended death. Only now did he understand Vic and Nessa’s droll amusement as they’d led them into their first Ashen Walker fight.

“The 4th is of no challenge to us,” he said quietly. “We’re absolutely safe.”

“I know.” She responded too quickly to sound natural. “Of course. It’s just… been awhile.”

“Master Darrowdelve rescued me on this very floor by himself,” said Kársek. “He was running the halls blindly with his Gold Chops and Shadowpaw. And that was some time ago.”

“I know we’re safe,” Anna repeated. “I’m just naturally tense. It’ll pass. I reached the 6th Level before stopping.”

“Well, we’ve reached the Dungeon.” Sam took a few steps down the corridor, peered at the haunt light, then turned back to them. “Now what? Is there a way of summoning the angel-kin?”

“You should keep the Eclipse Edge out,” said Harald. “It might work as a beacon for her.”

“Good thinking.” Sam extended her arm, and a moment later the divine blade appeared in her first, its length surrounded by a nimbus of soft pearlescent light. “You saw her on this level, didn’t you? When I left you alone?”

“That’s right!” Vic snapped his fingers. “Alas! Would that the layout of this place remained constant and you could lead us back to that chamber. Then again.”

“Then again,” agreed Nessa, “our enemies would have an easier time of finding us.”

“But the point remains,” said Sam. “She can and has appeared on this Level before.”

“We should still work on descending to the 5th.” Nessa tongued the inside of her cheek as she considered their options. “I’d prefer to make our way to the 11th. That’s far enough down that the Houses will have their work cut out in finding us.”

“She appeared to me in a chamber housing a well,” said Harald. “But that room was hidden. Are all the ways down just as hard to find?”

“Not necessarily.” Nessa set off toward the haunt light. “Traditionally ways down can be found in Ashen Walker nests. We’ll just go clearing them out till we find one.”

“Ah,” said Vic, sighing happily. “Such lovely memories. Sam and Harald, blushing and gulping, tripping over their own feet as Uncle Vic taught them the ways of the world. Look how they’ve grown up.”

Sam gave him a shove, and Vic stumbled away, laughing.

The hallway was too narrow for their accustomed dungeon delving formation, but given how weak the threats were Nessa didn’t seem compelled to insist. She took the lead, followed by Sam, then Vic, then Anna, with Harald and Kársek bringing up the rear.

The dwarf walked stolidly alongside him, hands gripping his pack straps, calm and reassuring in his confidence.

Harald allowed himself to exhale. They’d made a choice, for better or worse, and the die was now cast. All the possibilities, the opportunities to wield the Aureate Master in conjunction with the Crown and Edge were now gone. Yet even now he couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied.

Vic dropped back and studied Harald. “You seem irate, Harry-boy.”

“No.” Harald tried to think of a good lie. “Just… I don’t know.”

Vic pulled a long face. “You resent not becoming the dark king of Flutic by lunch time.”

“Jump in a hole, Vic.”

“Ah, I have, and most gladly, many a time. But look, think of it this way—if I may offer you some wisdom?”

“Can I stop you?”

Countess Anna was glancing back and listening in with amusement.

“Do you recall Sorwenna? From the Kitty Kat Club?”

Harald rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“Ah, Sorwenna. Her blonde mane of hair like a golden waterfall, feline and graceful, yet so blessed with curves, and that improbable bosom, given her svelte waistline - !”

“What’s your point, Vic?”

“Do you recall that night you did your manly best to acquire her services? And how she turned you down despite your ready scales?” Harald glared at his companion. “Do you recall what advice I gave you after?”

“Yes.”

“That she was simply too much sand for your little bucket.” Vic shook his head pityingly. “It broke my heart to watch you try.”

“It was a very limited heart break. You then slept with her that night.”

“My bucket is capacious, and I have that priceless quality known as confidence, darling. Sorwenna knew my number, but she decided not to care, for I projected elan and the promise of a good time, even if there were bound to be regrets thereafter. And there were regrets. It turned out I’d misrepresented the size of my scale purse—an innocent mistake—and though my gifts in bed are legendary, she wasn’t amused. The next morning—”

“Vic.” Harald pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you telling me this story?”

“Hmm?” Vic frowned as he continued walking backward. “I don’t know. I like talking about Sorwenna?”

“He was drawing a parallel,” said Anna, unable to hide a smile, “between this Sorwenna’s feminine allure and the weight of the Artifacts you tried to wield.”

Kársek chuckled. “He is suggesting, perhaps, that just as you lacked the confidence to bed this lady, you lack the confidence to wield such powerful Artifacts simultaneously.”

“I hate Vic’s advice,” muttered Harald. “And! It wasn’t a question of confidence. For a moment there my Ego rating reached 41.”

“Almost enough for you to convince Sorwenna to take you to bed out of pity,” agreed Vic sagely.

Anna took Vic by the shoulder and pulled him farther up the line, taking his place before Harald and Kársek. “What was that like? That’s an impossible number. I’ve never heard of anyone going above the 20’s.”

Harald frowned and looked away. “It was… I don’t know quite how to put it. It felt like becoming… a storm, or a force of nature. It was still me, but just barely. I…” Again that moment loomed in his mind, the power, the unshakeable knowledge that he could accomplish any feat he desired, no matter how impossible. “It felt as if my will had become so powerful that my sense of self couldn’t bear it. Like… the architecture of my soul was collapsing under its weight.”

“Hmm,” rumbled Kársek. “I doubt many humans have ever wielded a Legendary and Epic Artifact in conjunction, then had the effect doubled by a Masterwork item. Even an Anvil King in the depths of Dumrûn itself would struggle to wield such power.”

Harald had nothing to say, but a wave of bitterness washed over him anew.

“You’re only Level 5,” said Anna gently. “Your ascent has been meteoric, but you’ve only Ascended three Thrones. Such power simply requires a stronger foundation.”

“Clearly,” said Harald. “But no matter. There’s nothing to discuss. The Aureate Master is making its way back to Thracos, and that possibility is gone.”

“Sam,” called Vic. “We need some Beacon of Hope back here. Harry’s acting like it’s that time of the month again.”

Anna, Sam, and Nessa all turned to level flat stares at the Rapier Regent.

“What?” He smiled uneasily. “Aren’t gentlemen of evolved sensibilities allowed to make menstruation jokes?”

None of the women looked amused.

Vic raised his palms. “My apologies. My sense of humor is too modern, perhaps, my sympathies with the feminine condition too—”

“Vic,” said Sam.

“All right, all right, I’m shutting up.” And he hurried to take point.

“I’m fine,” said Harald, as Sam looked back to him. “Just feeling some regret. Just wishing the Twilight Crown wasn’t too much sand for my little bucket.”

“Fair,” said Anna, and Sam nodded once before looking ahead once more.

They cleared out three Ashen Walker nests over the course of the next hour, but none contained a well leading to the 5th. Tension began to rise in their group. Harald kept glancing back over his shoulder, ever more convinced that a Gold-ranked raiding party was about to emerge around a corner to strike them down.

“Perhaps we do need to find a secret room,” said Vic, pulling webbing from his arm after they cleared their fourth nest. “Perhaps the Fallen Angel is annoyed at our being so overpowered this high in the dungeon.”

Sam returned from the recess of the small complex, having cut her way into every corner in search of a hidden well. “Wouldn’t she provide a well more quickly so as to move us down?”

“You’re assuming she’s noticing us at all.” Nessa stood, hands on hips, frowning at the fallen corpses at her feet. “We may be the stars of our own tale, but compared to what’s taking place down on the lowest floors, we’re but a footnote.”

“That’s true wisdom,” said Kársek, nodding gravely. “We’d all fare better if we remembered that at all times.”

“I am no footnote.” Vic scowled in disgust at the webbing that was now stuck to his fingertips. “I am also rapidly becoming in need of a bath. Possibly one followed by an oiled massage. Honestly, we need a better approach.”

A disturbance fluttered against the edges of Harald’s awareness. A growing pressure. He glanced about, and saw a faint sliver of purple light growing more powerful to one side of the warren.

His gut clenched and his throat locked up. Anger and disgust and an overwhelming sense of futility washed over him, so that all he could do was point at the growing light with his blade.

“You’re kidding me,” said Vic. “I thought we were shielded?”

“We should run.” Sam moved to the warren’s exit archway. “Before -”

“You think Vorakhar can’t catch you?” Harald squared his shoulders and moved to stand before the now brightly blazing spar of lavender light. “There’s no running from him.”

But even as he spoke Harald felt a difference in the portal manifesting before them. The light wasn’t the royal purple and black of Vorakhar, but pale and delicate, its core lightening to pearl. A moment later the portal split and a figure stepped forth.

It wasn’t Vorakhar.

She was winged, full of figure, majestic and alluring both. Her skin was the same pale lavender as her portal, perfect and without blemish, and revealed to a scandalous degree. Her white hair hung like a mantle down her back, and twin ridged horns rose from her temples to spear upward a good eight inches in height.

Eclavistra.

Her armor was different from the first set she’d worn, but equally seductive and impractical. Gothic and ornate, it accentuated her curves, and a subtle fragrance filled the air, lavender of course with a peppery undercurrent.

Her black-ringed eyes were narrowed speculatively as she took in their company, but her manner was languorous, at ease, and despite himself Harald felt his heart begin to race at her dark allure and formidable presence.

I’m so touched that you recalled my bauble, Darrowdelve. I’d begun to fear you’d spurned my offer.

“You said your gift came without strings.”

And so it does. But I warned that its usage would draw my eye, so here I am. Summoned like a biddable servant to admire your wondrous growth. Her voice was a velvet purr, and shivers ran down Harald’s back as she stepped toward him, the sway of her bare hips mesmerizing. And my, how you have grown.

“We’re uninterested in your offers or games,” said Sam. “Let’s skip the pretense so we can be on our way.”

But what’s the rush? Eclavistra walked around Harald, trailing a long nail along his shoulder. Are you so ungrateful for my aid that you’d risk insulting me? You can’t fault me for wondering why you’ve chosen to use my gift at long last.

Harald turned to keep the demon before him, and saw his companions in varied states of alarm and focus. All but Vic, whose eyes couldn’t have been wider as he drank in Eclavistra’s feminine form.

“We’re on the run,” Harald said simply, trying to banish the musky scent that was now revealing hints of leather and dark vanilla. “No more, no less. Anonymity was… is of great value to us right now.”

The demon stepped away to move slowly through the ranks of his friends, her blank burning white gaze drinking in Anna, then Nessa, then Kársek. Is that so? Whatever your situation, you know that I can be of aid. Alas, it pains me to admit that I have made no advances since we last spoke. Poor Eclavistra. Discarded, disdained, and detested by even such lovely mortals as yourself. Perhaps I could be of use? She glanced passed Sam to meet Harald’s gaze directly. Wouldn’t you like to use me?

“That’s quite enough of that,” snapped Sam, and her Beacon of Hope cut through the demon’s allure, only to be augmented a moment later by the clarity offered by her Guardian’s Mantle.

Whatever dark enchantment Eclavistra had been weaving was sundered, or at least greatly reduced, so that Harald blinked and came to himself, visions of how he could possibly put the demon’s body to use vanishing from his mind.

You ruin my sport, admonished Eclavistra, turning to pout at Sam. And me with so few ways to entertain myself these days. Must you deny me even a little teasing?

“Don’t pretend to be helpless.” Sam’s tone remained hard and unyielding. “We know the power you wield. You can snuff us all out with a snap of your fingers. If you have business with us, state it. If not, we’ll be on our way.”

So fierce. So protective. You’ve also grown, Sam Tuppins. It seems my previous aid has gifted you with a rare class indeed. But you’re right. The demon strode to the front of the group and turned to face them all, hands linked behind her back, weight on one foot so that the opposite hip pushed out. I could break your little spells, I could grind you beneath my heel. I could force you to adore me, so that even you, Netherwarden Knight, would crawl gladly over the broken bodies of your friends to worship at my feet.

She said this so sweetly, so innocently, that it took Harald a moment to absorb the horror of what she was saying.

But I won’t. Because that’s not who I am. I seek allies in this war. Humans and dwarves and elves and anybody of suitable potential. And in this group I see such wondrous candidates for greatness. And lo, by some marvelous coincidence and through no small effort of my own I have come into a treasure worth offering to you all.

“Another gift?” Harald’s throat had dried up. Sam’s Abilities were either weakening or Eclavistra was putting more intention into her presence. “We’ll thank you, if it comes with no strings attached.”

Oh, but we are past such enticements. All now requires that all players buy into the game. My gift is simple, its reward enormous, and I believe you all now understand the obligations it would entail. A Demon Seed.

And she raised one long-nailed finger to hold aloft a black, withered oval whose baleful presence was so intimately familiar to Harald.

“No.” Sam’s response was immediate and without doubt. “Absolutely not.”

What a shocking response. But before you deny my offer, consider: Harald has profited by his own, has he not? Gaze upon his power. What was he before he received his gift? Nothing. Now? A force to be reckoned with, and growing more fearsome and potent by the day. Are there none in your number that might desire to puissance? Who might be willing to change their destiny for greatness?

Eclavistra affected a meek expression, though her blank eyes blazed. I am not so cruel a master as Vorakhar. My patronage comes with endless delights. We would be partners, allies, in this demonic war. Come. Join me in glory.

“I’m afraid not,” said Harald, taking a step back. “They’ve seen the damage the Seed has done. The ruin it’s brought. We seek to aid the Fallen Angel, not her enemies. Thank you for your offer, Eclavistra, but we must decline.”

Vic stepped forward. His eyes gleamed, his expression appeared dazed. “To the contrary, Harry-boy.” His gaze moved up and down Eclavistra’s form with naked desire. “To the contrary. You will find in me, my lady, a most willing and biddable and talented slave.”