Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 39

The party paused in the entrance hall to take in the carnage and structural damage, as Harald had known they would. As one they slowed, footsteps suddenly ginger, and took in the destruction and slaughter with wide eyes.

Harald stood back, trying not to feel resentful, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. Instead, he stared at where the Helm of Wrath lay against the wall, its front enameled with crimson. The portrait through which he’d slammed Jacek lay broke just behind it, the frame shattered, a large copper plaque reading: Lord Vandelmere plain to read.

“Did you try asking nicely?” asked Vic at last, and that drew a near hysterical laugh from Sam, who clamped a hand over her mouth in horror.

But the pall was broken. Nessa shook her head and picked a path to the front door even as Anna placed her hand on Harald’s arm, her expression taut, her gaze sober.

“You know, I may have jumped to some conclusions there,” said Harald, voice a harsh rasp. “My mistake.”

“Just… how many…” Vic was gingerly stepping over corpses. “… of them did you actually kill, Harry-boy? Don’t say all of them.”

“A few ran away. I think.”

“He thinks.” Vic joined Nessa by the front door and then let out a low whistle. “Hey, everyone. There’s even more dead people out here. In case you were wondering.”

“It’s an incredible feat you have wrought, Harald,” said Kársek, thumbs tucked into his belt. “It defies belief.”

“We don’t have much time,” said Anna, taking control of the situation. “We can count on nobody investigating for a while yet due to Gorkin’s immunity, but we can’t risk being caught on the premises when the Watch finally decides to do its damned job. Let’s pair up and search. Kársek, Harald, you take the basement level. Vic, Nessa, the ground floor. Sam, please accompany me in my search upstairs.”

Everyone nodded and separated. Harald and Kársek returned below ground, where they poked around. The dungeon proper was only half of the basement level. The rest was so normal as to be banal; a root cellar, a wine cellar, a series of rooms filled with wash tubs, storage, and all the usual necessities required for the running of a wealthy manor.

Kársek took the lead, rapping his knuckles here, observing the lines of a cupboard there. Harald followed behind, trying to divine the logic behind the dwarf’s investigations, but content to just watch. The desire to lay down and sleep was overwhelming, but he staggered on.

“Ah,” said Kársek. He’d summoned his war hammer from his Cosmos and used it to tap one section of a linen closet wall, then another. “Hear that?”

Harald shook his head.

“Here.” Kársek tapped again. “There must be a latch. Hmm.” The dwarf ran his fingertips under a shelf, frowning as he focused, and then distinct click sounded and the entire back wall swung inward, shelves and towels and folded blankets and all.

“There we go,” said Kársek with satisfaction. “A light?”

Harald raised the scale lantern he’d commandeered, and revealed a small room beyond. A tiny antechamber in which an iron door stood, heavily banded and studded, massively reinforced and impressive.

“Well then,” said Kársek, stepping in and rapping on the door. “This looks about right.”

Harald stuck his head out into the hallway. “I think we’ve found it!”

Kársek tapped the iron door with his hammer. It clanged in a very dense manner that intimated how thick it was.

“There are two ways to get through doors like these,” said Kársek, scrutinizing the heavy handle and keyhole. “One is to remove the hinges, when you can get at them. Those, however, are on the inside.”

“The second?”

“I could probably knock the entire door inwards with my Rune of Destruction, but that might do untold damage to what lies within. Let’s see if anyone can locate the key.”

The others descended, and it turned out Anna had found a keyring attached to Gorkin’s belt. They all crowded around as she tried first one and then another, until one made of wondrous silver slotted in and turned the lock with a deeply satisfying click.

“If I may, Countess,” said Kársek with grave politeness, and stepped forward to open the door.

Harald raised the lantern so that its rays could flood into the small chamber beyond.

“Oh, my,” whispered Vic. “An actual treasure room? I’ve died and gone to the Pleroma.”

Three huge chests were set against each wall, but Harald’s gaze was drawn to the head and shoulders of a statue set above a central plinth. The form was abstracted, the face without features, for it served only to display the perilously beautiful crown that rested about its brow. The black metal gleamed as if forged from oil, and black gems were inset beneath each spearhead tine that ringed its upper edge. It flashed in the lantern light, and the sight of it alone was enough to steal Harald’s breath.

“What… that can’t be.” Anna’s voice was a whisper. “Surely not?”

Harald pushed through the knot of his friends and stepped into the room. The air was frigid, and the crown seemed to hum, as if resonating just below what his ear could detect. He extended the lantern behind him so that somebody could take it, and stepped up to bust.

“Wait, Harald,” protested Sam, but her voice was weak, unsure.

Red hands shaking, the hairs on their backs bent down and glued in arcs by the congealing blood, Harald reached for the crown and lifted it off the statue.

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 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.

Harald dropped the Twilight Crown. It fell roughly back onto the statue’s head, and there lay askew.

“Harald?” Anna’s voice was sharp. “Is it…?”

He turned to stare at them, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. “It is. It’s King Gustav’s Twilight Crown.”

Sam placed her hand over her mouth. Vic’s clapped his hands to his temples. Nessa all but scowled. “That explains it, then. Why nobody would interfere with Gorkin’s activities.”

“Wait,” said Sam. “You’re saying all the nobles were bound to him?”

“No,” said Nessa, tone growing hesitant. “That wouldn’t make sense. Not with how Gorkin was a minor nobility, and ignored by everyone as much as he was left alone.”

Anna’s tone had grown wondering. “Then why here? Why with Gorkin, of all people?”

It was Kársek who responded. “My people still speak of the Twilight Crown and King Gustav’s reign. For us, it was not so long ago as it is for you. We still learn how the demons threatened to escape the dungeon, and how King Gustav descended to the 76th Level to do battle. How only his squire, Sir Vandelmere, emerged with news of King Gustav’s victory and death. How Vandelmere saved the Twilight Crown and brought it back, though many wished he hadn’t.”

“Wait,” said Harald. “In the entrance hall. There’s a portrait. I thought it was of Gorkin. It reads ‘Sir Vandelmere’.”

Anna was nodding slowly, comprehension dawning. “That’s always been his claim to greatness, how he was descended from the loyal squire of King Gustav himself. Though a joke at court, at least during my father’s time, was how far his apple had fallen from his ancestor’s tree.”

“So it was given to Vandelmere in secret, then,” said Nessa, tone soft as she stepped past Harald to run a fingertip across the crown’s curvature. “But why? Oh. But of course. So that no new King Gustav could ever arise again.”

“Why not destroy it?” asked Sam.

“An Artifact of such power cannot easily be destroyed,” said Kársek. “What was it ranked, Harald?”

“Legendary,” he whispered.

Vic let out a low whistle. “That’s -”

“It doesn’t matter how many scales,” interjected Nessa. “Nobody could ever sell it. The whole city would rise up to kill whomever claimed it.”

“She’s right.” Anna raised her chin. “Draken, all of them, have afforded Gorkin leeway for keeping the crown safe. Safe from them. From any pretender. The moment someone claims it, every major House will marshal for war and come for the pretender’s head.”

“You need to think more expansively,” protested Vic. “What of the fine dwarves of Dumrûn? I’ve always deeply admired their open-mindedness. Surely they’d be interested in offering a few scales…?”

Kársek stared at Vic with profound pity. “You wish to empower an Anvil King with the Twilight Crown? You wish to see the land fall before endless Deathforge Legions? There are those in our halls of stone for whom avarice is a virtue. The crown would only empower their worst instincts.”

“Hmm.” Vic rubbed at his chin. “Is that a vote against it?”

Anna moved forward to stand before the crown. “This ancient Artifact. This object of terror and awe. I grew up hearing stories about it. To see it here, before us, now. I can scarcely believe it. Once, centuries ago, King Gustav wore it on his brow and forced legendary warriors to bend knee to his rule. With this he forged Flutic into a unified city, and established the order we seek to upkeep today. But this was the cause of his downfall. Not even Gustav the Just was able to resist its temptations and darkness.”

Harald stared deep into one of its black gems. “All who swear fealty to its bearer open their Thrones to being siphoned, and can bestow an Active or Passive upon them.”

Anna reached out, hesitated, then drew her hand back. “But that’s not its true power. With it, Gustav bound his greatest enemies to his own life, ensuring that if and when he died, they would fall with him.”

“Did they?” Nessa glanced at Anna. “When Gustav died in the dungeon?”

“No,” said Anna softly. “That was the miracle. Gustav alone died on that day. Nobody knows how the curse was avoided, however. And it took the threat of a major demonic incursion to end Gustav’s rule.”

“What should we do?” Sam stepped in close to Harald. “You said we’d be killed if we take it. Should we… just leave it? For someone else to guard?”

“Leave it?” Vic snorted. “Darling, when the world gives you Twilight Crowns, you don’t sniff and walk away.”

“If we leave it,” said Nessa darkly, “then it’s as liable to fall into Melisende Celestis’ hand as anyone else’s.”

“You’re right,” said Anna. “None of the major Houses dared make a move for it while everyone else watched, while Gorkin claimed it as his duty as guardian. But now? With the last of Vandelmere’s progeny slain? There’s no telling what would happen. Who might dare to place it upon their head in an attempt to ‘save’ the city from itself.”

“Then we take it,” said Harald. “We take it and we hide it.”

“They’ll come for us,” said Anna. “Once they learn it’s missing. They’ll stop at nothing to find it.”

“Does that mean we should just let them have it?” asked Sam. She glanced about their group. “I’m not saying I know what to do. I’m just asking if fear means we shouldn’t try to do the right thing with it.”

“And what’s that?” asked Nessa, tone skeptical.

“I…” She raised her hand, and summoned Eclipse Edge into it. “I think whomever this belongs to could tell us.”

“Give it to the angel-kin?” Nessa snorted, then considered. “I mean, it’s not a terrible idea.”

“That’s assuming you can give it to her before we’re found,” said Vic. “On the other hand -”

“No, Vic,” said Nessa.

“Give it to the angels.” Anna’s tone was thoughtful. Again she traced the edge of the crown. “Those who are fighting the demons even now. If there’s anyone who could use it for good…”

“Or destroy it if they deem it too dangerous,” added Sam. “Harald? What do you think?”

Harald thought of the angel-kin descending through the green miasma, her wings burning gold, her eyes aflame. Felt again that awe, that deep, desperate wish that she’d consider him on her side.

Would she? If he offered her the Crown?

“Yeah. I think that’s the right call.” Inspiration came to him suddenly. “But Sam should take the Crown. I don’t think anyone else can handle it.”

“Wait, what?” Sam stepped back. “Me? No, I mean -”

Nessa nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, Vic did the same, albeit glumly.

“You’re the best of us,” said Harald simply. “And already carry the Eclipse Edge. It makes sense that you should carry the Crown.”

“But…” Sam glanced wildly from face to face as she stepped back against the wall. “Me? Me? The Twilight Crown?”

Kársek nodded calmly. “That sounds about right.”

“Oh, stop being so modest, darling.” Vic clucked his tongue. “You, you, you. You’re practically an angel, anyway, what with all that Netherwarden Knight nonsense. Go ahead and grab the damned crown so that the rest of us can have a little fun with these three chests already.”

Sam visibly dry swallowed and looked to Harald. When he nodded, she grew pale, but stepped forward. For a long, agonizing second her hand hovered over the dread Artifact, and then she took it up.

Harald had the distinct sensation that he was watching a momentous historical moment unfold before his eyes.

The crown vanished, and in its place appeared the Thornguard shield. Sam’s own presence grew more magnified, and her distraught appearance smoothed away as she inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. “It’s done.”

“Finally,” said Vic. “Countess, the keys? Thank you. Now- this one looks likely.” He crouched before the closest chest, unlocked it, and threw it open.

“Ah,” sighed Vic. “Now that’s better.”

Within the first chest were large purple sacks of the finest silk, each tied off at the neck. Vic undid the first knot and pulled the sack open wide, revealing what had to be hundreds upon hundreds of Golden Dawns within.

Nessa took the keys and moved to the second chest. This revealed more sacks, while the third chest was filled with wrapped bundles that quickly revealed themselves to be Artifacts: daggers, rings, folded sashes, a mace, helmets, and more.

“This…” Vic’s voice shook. “I’m just so happy right now.”

“We need to get going.” Nessa moved to the entrance of the linen closet and listened. “The crown will draw the nobility like dead meat will flies.”

“There’s too much wealth.” Vic rose to his feet, stricken. “I never thought that could be a problem, but how will we get this out?”

“I could carry a chest,” said Harald dubiously. Even as exhausted as he was, his Strength of 19 was more than enough. “We’ll need a carriage.”

“Very well.” Vic grew decisive. “Nessa, come harness a cart or a carriage with me. You lot, bring the chests up. We’ll meet out front. Let’s go.”

And he took off at a run.

“If only he were always so motivated,” muttered Nessa, and took off after him.

Kársek and Sam began leveraging a chest out of the room while Harald took a second up by himself. When he reached the front portico he set it down and swayed, a wave of nausea and sheer exhaustion washing over him.

“Wait here,” said Kársek. “Sam and I will handle the last one.”

“Sure.” Harald sat on his chest. “I’ll… I’ll do just that.”

They went back inside, leaving Harald with Anna.

Who studied him, her lips pursed, and then, impulsively, reached down to take his blood-smeared hand. “Harald.”

He glanced up, surprised. “Countess?”

“Thank you.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “What Gorkin had planned for me, for all of us… I know what it must have cost you to do… this. All of this. But you did. You’ve proven the truest knight a countess could hope for. That… that I could ask for.”

Harald met her gaze. Surrounded as they were by the copious dead, he could only marvel at the rawness of her emotion. She must have been terrified while trapped by Gorkin, knowing full well what that monster who’d killed her father was capable of. Must have believed it impossible for him to rescue her. And then to see what it had taken to do just that…

Harald stood. “Of course. You had to have known I would come for you. You have my oath.”

She smiled tremulously up at him. “I had thought… I mean, it occurred to me, that you might give us up as a lost cause. Given your dedication to defeating the demons.”

Harald shook his head slowly. “Didn’t Sam tell you? I was going to Pastoric tonight to remove the Demon Seed. I was going to accompany you out of the city.”

“You were?” Her eyes opened wide.

“I was.” He took in the dead around him, the utter carnage. “But… but now. With the Twilight Crown, and your no longer needing to flee the city… now I think I need to hold on to it, if only for a little longer. So as to ensure Sam can give the crown to the angel-kin, to make sure you stay safe as this… all of this, gets dealt with.”

She sniffed and nodded swiftly. “Of course. Thank you for your sacrifice.” Then she laughed, the sound half-broken. “I’d act in a very unladylike manner right now and embrace you if you weren’t…”

Harald gazed down to his absolutely gore-soaked self, and grinned. “I understand.”

“Later?” Was that a question. “When we’ve had a moment? I would like to find a way to thank you properly. For all you’ve done for House Sonora.” She hesitated again. “For me.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

The sound of a carriage coming around the side of the house grew louder, and the voices of Kársek and Sam approaching from within the hall. The moment was slipping away.

Anna smiled again and withdrew her now blood-smeared hand.

But even as Harald inclined his head to Anna, even as he realized that he’d done it, that he’d pulled off the impossible task of saving his friends, the countess had been wrong on one account.

Doing so hadn’t cost him. Not in the way she imagined.

And keeping the Demon Seed?

That was no sacrifice.

Harald gazed about the dead. The bodies that littered the portico, who lay broken upon the steps, who were strewn about the gardens, crushed under the gate, torn limb from limb wherever he looked.

He regretted none of this.

In his mind’s eye he saw once more the dead Ebon Wolves rise at his command to battle Fosso.

He was an Abyssal Master now. He’d yet to explore his new powers, to understand the extent of his new Abilities.

And instead of being sickened, he was excited.

Thrilled.

But he schooled his features to politeness and turned to smile at Sam and Kársek as they emerged with the last chest.

Truth be told?

If he was absolutely honest with himself?

He couldn’t wait to get back in the dungeon, and see just how much damage he could now do.