Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 2

Vic moved to the sideboard where he poured himself a glass of brandy. “Now, far be it from me to not adopt a cavalier approach to assaulting the combined military might of Flutic’s noble Houses, but honestly, even I need more than just ‘make them swear to the Crown’.”

“I can secure us an audience with Lord Draken,” said Anna, a single vertical line appearing between her brows. “If he has not yet been appraised of my role in last night’s massacre, I can request that audience be private.”

“Very well,” said Vic, waving his glass of brandy through the air. “Picture it: there we are, or, well, there you two are, face to face with Lord Draken in a private study. Quaint instruments of torture hung upon the walls, his brooding presence across a table from you both. What then?”

“Instruments of torture?” asked Nessa.

“Swords. Weapons. I was taking poetic liberty so as to heighten the drama.”

“We must make him swear an oath to the Crown,” said Harald quietly. “Sam? May I see it?”

Sam nodded reluctantly, and a moment later the Twilight Crown appeared in her hands. It was perilously beautiful, forged from some black metal whose circumference ran with liquid gleams. Black gems were inset beneath each spearhead tine that ringed its upper edge.

“Here,” she said, and held it forth.

It was surprisingly light. Harald turned it about in his hands, pondering its history, its power, and then connected with its essence.

Artifact Acquired: Twilight Crown
Quality: Legendary

Special Ability: Sovereign Bond

Activation: Those who swear fealty to the wearer of the Twilight Crown open their Thrones to siphoning, empowering the wearer with a vastly expanded pool of power directly proportional to the number of Thrones bound to it. Additionally, each sworn subject may temporarily designate one Active or Passive Ability to bestow upon the wearer, forfeiting its use for the duration of the bestowal.

Special Ability: Death’s Pact

Activation: Upon the wearer’s death, all bound by oath to the crown are instantly slain, their lives tethered irrevocably to the bearer’s fate.

+5 to Ego
+5 Presence

-2 Ego to all who swear an oath to the crown

Limitation: The crown incites disproportionate hatred and fear among enemies, amplifying their paranoia and will to oppose its bearer.

“It doesn’t state what the oath should entail,” mused Harald. “Only that fealty should be sworn. And… it doesn’t compel those who do so to grant the wearer an Ability, only that they may opt to do so.”

“The Artifact may not compel them,” said Nessa archly, “but I am sure there are other means of convincing people.”

“Here, take a look,” said Harald, and passed the Crown to Anna. She studied it, then raised her gaze to read the invisible text that had no doubt appeared to her. Nodded, and handed it to Vic.

“Lovely,” said the Rapier Regent. “Quite, quite lovely.” He read the text as well, then twirled the crown carelessly about his pointer finger. “Just putting this out there: anybody feel like swearing fealty to me?”

“Vic,” complained Sam.

“No, seriously. I am known in quarters both high and low as a tender and caring master. Sure, I am quick to employ the lash, but that’s usually to add a little spice to the sauce.” Vic ceased twirling the crown and smiled. “You could all do much worse than bend knee to King Vic.”

“May I?” asked Kársek, extending his hand.

“Fine.” Vic pulled his face into a moue as he handed it over. “I can’t believe not even one of you leaped at the chance.”

“Obviously Lord Draken won’t agree to swear fealty,” said Anna. “The moment we reveal the Crown, he’ll try to seize it for himself. But you can’t employ its power without manifesting it from your Cosmos.”

“A big hat,” said Vic. “A big furry hat that would cover the crown completely.”

Harald went to protest, then exchanged a glance with Anna. “A big hat might actually work. We only need to hide the crown for a moment.”

“But then?” Vic’s eyes gleamed. “To compel someone to act against their wishes, you need leverage. What leverage do you have on Draken? Not strength, seeing as you can’t destroy his House with superior forces or beat him personally into submission. No knowledge with which to blackmail him. You hold none of his dear ones hostage. You can’t bribe the man. In fact, you’re going to waltz in and ask him to sign away his freedom and subject Flutic to a king, something I’m pretty sure he’d find abhorrent.”

Harald took the crown back. “You’re wrong. I will use strength. Just not what you were thinking about. Sam—the Eclipse Edge?”

Again Sam pursed her lips, but again she summoned an Artifact of priceless value from her Cosmos. The blade appeared in her grasp.

It was just as beautiful as the Crown, but where the first was all dark majesty, the blade glowed with holy power. Strangely broad of blade, with fine gold filigree down its center, it tapered but only a little to its diamond tip.

“I’ll give this back to you,” said Harald, as he stepped forward to take the sword. “It’s still yours to carry till we find the angel-kin. I’m just… I just need it for this one moment.”

Nessa sneered as she moved to the sideboard to pour her own brandy. “So you say.”

Sam handed it to Harald with obvious reluctance.

Artifact: Eclipse Edge
Quality: Epic

Special Ability: Judgment’s Light

Activation: At will, the wielder can unleash a devastating arc of light, searing all enemies in its path while leaving allies unharmed. This attack bypasses mundane defenses, striking directly at the soul.

+4 to Dexterity while wielded
+4 to Strength while wielded

+4 to Constitution while wielded

+4 to Ego while wielded

+2 to Presence while wielded

Passive Ability: Celestial Gravitas

The sword radiates an aura of divine authority, imposing a crippling sense of dread upon foes within a 20-foot radius. Those of weaker Ego will find themselves unable to meet the wielder’s gaze and their movements slowed by fear.

Limitation: Those with impure intentions will find the blade grows unbearably heavy, while the worthy find it as light as a feather. The powers of the Eclipse Edge are doubled if wielded in tandem with its sister blade.

Reaching into his own Cosmos, he summoned the Gold Chop. Three hatchets appeared in air about him, his constant companions. With a twinge of guilt, he severed his connection to the Masterwork Artifact, and the three became one, dropping from the air into his waiting hand, inert. This he set aside.

Then he summoned the Helm of Wrath. Its hideous form appeared in his hand, barbed and with its hobgoblin faceplate. With distaste he set this beside the hatchet.

With only Thracos’ armband yet bound to his Cosmos, Harald raised both the Eclipse Edge and the Twilight Crown. A Legendary Artifact and an Epic. Combined with the Masterwork armband, and he was now holding such power and wealth that was beyond the dreams of even most Gold-ranked raiders.

Everybody watched him, and he saw no small measure of fear and trepidation in their eyes.

He summoned his Window:

Strength: 13

Dexterity: 13

Constitution: 14

Ego: 23

Presence: 11

With his stats before him, he bonded the Eclipse Edge to his Cosmos. The process was, as always, surprisingly simple: he willed it to meld with his soul, and it did so, forging a connection and becoming inextricably linked with his being.

Strength: 17

Dexterity: 17

Constitution: 17

Ego: 27

Presence: 13

The flood of power surged through him, and he felt his mind grow crystal clear, his focus total, his body thrum from the surfeit of potency. For a moment he allowed himself to wonder: each time he raised his Ego, he felt himself grow renewed in purpose and strength of will, as if each previous elevation had grown stale. Or perhaps it was that Ego 27 simply made the marvel that had been Ego 23 feel commonplace?

No matter.

He bonded the Twilight Crown.

Strength: 17

Dexterity: 17

Constitution: 17

Ego: 32

Presence: 18

The effect was heady, as if he’d knocked back a dram of potent spirits, and for a moment his vision blurred. His skin burned as if he flushed all over, and his breath caught as his throat closed.

Then the moment passed. His vision cleared, and he felt himself renewed. What had just happened? With the Crown upon his brow, the Eclipse Edge in his hand, he felt himself less a person, not so much Harald as a force of nature. The world seemed to thrum, as if a current were being passed through it, as if the very objects around him were being given voice. The air was limpid, and his friends felt so very small, so limited, so circumscribed by their petty fascinations, habits, and weaknesses.

A base instinct warned him to stop. Some primal physical impulse to step back from the edge. But before he could talk himself out of this course of action, he manifested the Aureate Master.

The thick band of heavy gold appeared around his bicep, and the numbers in his Window blurred.

Strength: 21

Dexterity: 21

Constitution: 21

Ego: 41

Presence: 25

His body began shivering violently as the thrum that had suffused the world roar to a roar. He felt himself submerged in a rushing current, as if he’d dropped into a raging river carving its way free of a glacier, the world endlessly flooding past him as he stood resolute in its path, defying the natural order, imposing his will upon its desire to erase him.

The colors grew saturated and luxurious, greens deepening into jungle-like vivacity, the browns rich like slumbering suns, the auburn glints of Anna’s hair akin to smoldering embers on the verge of leaping into flame. His mind arced and burned with such sinewy strength that his head felt incapable of retaining its desires, and pain lanced deep into his brain like searing white shard of shattered metal.

He was at the bottom of a well. He stood upon a mountain peak. Furious winds buffeted him even as a great stillness sought to swallow him whole. Somewhere a great gong was tolling, on and on and on, and Harald pressed his hands to his temples in a vain attempt to keep his head from bursting.

People were shouting in alarm, moving toward him. His friends. But they didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, what he was undergoing.

“Stop,” he croaked, and as one they froze.

Harald reeled.

Closed his eyes.

Such was his strength of will, such was the power of his mind that it was collapsing under its own weight.

But it was his mind.

His strength of will.

With tremendous effort, he pushed back.

Like a titan within a collapsing temple, he stretched out his resolve and buttressed the walls of his thoughts. He seared the weaknesses closed, and brought the riot of images and impressions under control.

There was nothing he couldn’t dominate.

Nothing he couldn’t command.

Even the very fabric of his mind was his slave.

Moment by moment, inch by inch, he brought the tremendous power flooding his essence to heel, until at last, with a gasp, he opened his eyes once more.

He felt himself a thousand miles removed from where he stood. He felt the world around him to be immaterial, made of such tissue-like softness that it was barely there at all. His mind was burnished steel, polished diamond.

There was nothing that could stop him.

Nothing that he couldn’t do.

But a flicker of awareness told him this was mania. This was euphoria brought on by extreme power.

His lip was hot and wet.

Wondering, he touched it, and his fingertips came away red.

“Harald,” pleased Sam. “Stop. Stop!”

But he couldn’t. Not yet. They didn’t have time to experiment endlessly. So he focused his attention on the Eclipse Edge, which burned in his fist like a shard of sunfire, and willed its Passive, Celestial Gravitas, to well forth to its fullest extent.

The blade fought him. But slowly, commanded by his obdurate will, its divine authority spread forth, flowing like honey to fill the room, causing the air to lighten and glimmer.

That done, Harald brought his new Passive to the fore.

Thronebound Mantle.

The abyss yawned open beneath his feet, within his soul, and the interstices that existed between every fleck of matter, that hovered though all reality, resonated with his mind, his soul. The abyss poured its cold benediction upon him, and in its alien heart Harald thought he sensed pleasure.

Darkness overlapped the divine authority of the Eclipse Edge. The parlor grew turgid with his presence, the air stultified and nearly impossible to breathe. His Presence leeched into the room, coiled about each person there, and constricted into a knot.

“There,” Harald croaked. “This is the strength that I’ll bring.”

And in that moment he felt himself terrifying, his friends playthings in his grasp. If he wished he could command them all to kneel before him, to swear their undying love, to draw weapons and assault each other. He could make them dance like puppets, he could crush them in his fist.

Harald swayed, dismissed his Artifacts, cut off his Passives, and collapsed.

* * *

A cool, damp cloth brushed across his brow. It felt heavenly. Resisting the urge to groan, Harald opened his eyes and saw the parlor ceiling. His friends were clustered around him, faces pale, brows furrowed.

Pain throbbed in his head as if he’d spent the night before carousing long past the point of all wisdom.

“There you are,” said Sam softly. His head lay on a cushion, and she knelt by his side, cloth in hand. “Harald? Are you…?”

“I’m all right.” He winced and tried to sit up, but Nessa on his other side pushed him back down.

“Take it easy.” It was a command. “You’re bleeding from every orifice.”

“Not that we checked,” said Vic from where he stood. “We’re just assuming given what we can easily see.”

Harald touched his fingers again to his lip, then his ear. Warm, sticky blood. His thoughts were scattered. What had happened? For a terrifying moment he simply couldn’t recall.

“You collapsed,” said Anna, tone severe, arms tightly crossed over her chest. She stood to one side, expression forbidding, but Harald thought he sensed the fear and concern hidden beneath her anger. “We thought you’d died.”

“Your heart stopped,” said Kársek. “I had to get it started again.”

“So much for this plan.” Sam dipped her cloth and returned it to his brow, cool and damp once more. “It’s clearly unfeasible. We need to start preparing to hide in the dungeon. Perhaps the angel-kin will give us answers or information that will help.”

“No,” said Harald, and this time he did sit up, brushing aside Nessa’s impatient hands. Pain flashed through his mind like lightning, but then was gone just as quickly. “No. I only need a moment to convince Draken to swear. I don’t need to keep all that power for any longer.”

“Problem,” said Vic. “Nowhere in the Crown’s description does it say he then has to obey your commands. He just can’t kill you. What’s to stop him from locking you up the moment you collapse?”

Harald opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t think of an answer.

“He’s right,” said Nessa, sitting back on her heels. “Even if you force him to swear—which I now think you could—he overwhelm you the moment after and toss you in a cell.”

“I could command him to release me,” said Harald dully.

“Lord Draken is rigid and hidebound in his thinking, but he’s not a fool.” Anna sat in an armchair. “Vic is right. He could have you thrown in a jail cell the moment you collapse or take off your Artifacts, then communicate with you via proxies. Guards, say, who’d have no ability to unlock your cell. He could hold me—us—hostage, and compel you to give him the Artifacts in exchange for our lives.”

“We call that ‘pulling a Gorkin’,” said Vic.

Harald buried his face in his hands. There had to be a solution. He had all this power at his disposal. It felt as if he’d reached out and touched the Angels themselves for a second there, had become one of their number. With that authority, with that command, there had to be a solution.

“King Gustav used the Twilight Crown to cement his rule,” said Sam, tone gentle. “But he used it from a position of power. He was already king. He had an army at his command. Powerful raiders. The Crown coerced the other nobles to fall in line permanently, but they couldn’t openly resist him to begin with. That’s not our situation. We have no power. No wealth. We’re Copper-ranked raiders. Anna is but a Countess with no staff. The Crown doesn’t give you complete dominion. It just makes it so that nobody who has sworn to you can kill you. But there’s so many other things they can do besides murder.”

“Look,” said Vic. “I really, really want to be a dark tyrant’s consigliere. The money, the whores, the fashion—it calls to me like a siren’s song. But Harry. Darling. You can’t start a war with all of Flutic if you fall over the moment you put on the Crown. It’s just not a good look.”

“Maybe I’ll grow used to it,” said Harald, touching his bloodied lip again.

“The Artifacts are too powerful.” Sam’s voice remained gentle as she swabbed the blood away. “You’re only Level 5. You only have three Thrones awakened. Yes, you’re incredible, and the Demon Seed makes you even more so, but we’re talking the Twilight Crown here, Harald. A Legendary Artifact. There’s literally no greater rank in all of the Dungeon.”

Harald scowled down at the rug. He felt petulant, and hated himself for it. “I hear what you’re saying.”

Kársek’s pensive frown was so pronounced his brow seemed to beetle out over his eyes. “I propose a compromise. We don’t have all day to determine a plan, and as it stands, confronting Lord Draken is too fraught with uncertainties. I suggest we retreat to the Dungeon. There we can hide and deliberate further. Perhaps the answer lies in elevating Harald to Level 7, or whatever is needed for him to wield the Artifacts. Perhaps we’ll find the angel-kin. Perhaps we’ll devise a plan that allows us to emerge covertly from the Dungeon and strike at the nobility with a greater chance of success. But for now, we must act, and I advise caution.”

“Agreed,” said Sam, her expression apologetic. “It’s the wisest course of action.”

Anger smoldered to life in Harald’s chest. His stomach clenched, and  the pain in his mind doubled. “If we retreat to the Dungeon, we’ll lose our ability to sneak into Lord Draken’s presence. They’ll place guards at the Portal, so there’ll be no sneaking back out. And Gold-ranked teams will start hounding us at all Bells of the day.”

“Or we could just give the Crown to Lord Draken,” said Nessa. “Honestly, it’s the easiest solution. Yes, it’ll result in civil war, and yes, we might be coronating a new king, but if we act promptly we can remove ourselves from center stage and allow Lord Draken to handle the situation.”

“No,” said Sam and Harald simultaneously.

“No,” agreed Anna. “This is too rare an opportunity to effect change for the better to simply give it away. If anything, the Crown belongs with the angel-kin. My mind feels like runaway carriage, one moment leaning to the left, then to the right. If only we had more time. But we don’t. If we must act now, I would…” She grimaced, clearly thinking rapidly. “Another question. If we enter the Dungeon, what are the odds that Vorakhar will appear to claim the Crown?”

“Ooh,” said Vic. “Good question.”

“Would he want it?” asked Harald. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a Legendary Artifact,” said Nessa caustically. “Even Vorakhar would desire it.”

“That would be bad,” said Vic. “Daddy Vorakhar with the Twilight Crown? I guess we’re not going into the dungeon, then.”

“Wait,” said Sam, snapping her fingers. “Remember that other demon lady? His sister?”

“Eclavistra,” said Harald dully.

“She gave us a token. Remember? That we could use to avoid Vorakhar’s notice one time upon entering the Dungeon?”

“Then she’d appear instead and claim the Crown,” said Harald. “How is that a win?”

“She’s the weakest of them all.” Sam bit her lower lip, hesitated. “Perhaps we’d have more leverage with her, could argue something in our favor?”

“She might be the weakest, but she could still blast us apart with ease.”

“But to what end? I know this sounds wild, but she approached us before, right? She needs help. Allies. I’m not saying we should become such, but perhaps dealing with her is better than having Vorakhar appear.”

“This has happened to me before,” said Vic, retreating to his armchair and glass of brandy. “Rarely, but every few months I’ll find myself at the Kitty Kat Club with no good options. All the best whores are taken, and my scales are all spent. Do you know what I do then?”

“Nobody cares, Vic,” said Nessa.

“I pick the least bad option.” Vic raised an eyebrow. “I don’t spend all night lamenting my fate. I just laugh and embrace fate and keep moving.”

“He’s right,” said Anna. “We have to act. With each passing moment the noose tightens.”

“To the Dungeon,” said Kársek. “We cannot foresee all eventualities from here, but the Dungeon at least offers a greater chance of survival than attacking Lord Draken.”

“We could just give the Crown away,” protested Nessa. “We don’t have to be heroes and save Flutic. What does Flutic even care? Oh, fine. Forget I said anything. Let’s go throw ourselves at the mercy of the demons and see what comes of it.”

“All right.” Harald brought forth the Eclipse Edge and Twilight Crown once more, willing them both to appear in his hands so that the Crown wouldn’t activate, and severed his bond to them both. “Here, Sam. You should hold onto them.” The very sight of the Artifacts made his gorge rise and his soul clamor for their power. “I guess you’re right. There’s no good way to capture Draken, and we’re out of time.”

Sam took both Artifacts back and a moment later they disappeared. “Thank you.”

He smiled wearily. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see what’s awaiting us in the Dungeon.”

Kársek extended his hand and hauled Harald to his feet. “The lantern can only illuminate so much of the path ahead. It’s only by walking forward that we discover where it leads.”

Harald took up the Gold Chop and after a moment’s hesitation, the Helm of Wrath. “You’re right.”

“We need to hurry,” said Anna, tone decisive. “Let’s meet by the front door in five minutes. Sam, Kársek, please pack as much food from the kitchen as you think we can carry. There’s no telling how long we’ll be underground, but I want to avoid having to eat Dungeon monsters for as long as we can.”

Then she smiled, and so bright and natural was her confidence that Harald felt some of his gloom melt away. “We’re still in the game. We’re armed with precious Artifacts, we’ve survived the impossible, and all of Flutic has cause to fear us. Don’t forget that. We’re going to survive this. Together.”

Vic clapped lazily. “I’d follow her anywhere. Especially if she doesn’t mind my packing her best liquor decanters?”

Harald chuckled and walked carefully out of the parlor. His head yet ached, his anger yet throbbed, and the darkest, most avaricious parts of his soul yet keened for the opportunity he was passing up to establish dominion over Flutic.

But the others were right.

It was time to roll the dice, and see what hope the Fallen Angel and her Dungeon might offer them.