Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 35

The next few days passed uneventfully.

Harald and his companions stayed away from Marheim Gate, and only returned to Sonora Manor on the third day after the strike. They were careful of being followed, and Harald used Shadowpaw liberally to ensure that they weren’t overlooking tails.

All were relieved to finally be quit of their safe house. Conversation had endlessly encircled the possibilities for why that Red Fist guard had been hidden in the office compartment. Vic was adamant that the man was a coward; Sam worried that the strike had been expected, and some trap almost set off; Nessa refused to entertain conjectures until they had more information. Kársek pointed out that the spy couldn’t have been alerted by their silent entry; he must have been already hidden when they’d arrived, which gave them all pause.

But Harald couldn’t shake the concern that they’d overlooked some terrible weakness in their plan. Had there been other spies in the first two warehouses? And if so, did that mean Gorkin had known they were going to strike? Or was that just a precautionary measure? They’d all been hooded, which should have granted them some measure of anonymity, but their attack styles were distinctive…

But what was done was done.

They finally quit the safe house and melted back into the city. Sam headed back to her apartment, Vic and Nessa to tend to their affairs, which left Harald and Kársek to report back to Countess Sonora.

It was late afternoon when finally he knocked on her parlor door and entered at her voice. Anna was seated by the fireplace, looking weary, a sheaf of papers on her lap, her orange-red hair bound up and gleaming in the firelight.

“Harald.” She set the papers aside and smiled. “Finally. Was anyone hurt?”

“Just the Red Fists.” He took the chair across from her. “Have you heard anything concerning?”

“Just that three warehouses were burned down at the same bell three nights ago. There’s been much speculation, but I’ve not heard anything connecting us to the attack.” She studied him carefully. “You seem concerned.”

So he told her how just about everything had gone as planned.

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips. “A hidden compartment. Was there anything else inside?”

“I… didn’t think to examine it. The fire had already started. I was… no. I didn’t look.”

“But the chest was on the table? Unlocked?”

“Unlocked,” he confirmed.

“In plain view of the compartment?”

“Ah,” said Harald. “Bait.”

“Bait.” She frowned at the flames, pensive. “Gorkin is wily. Beyond cunning. Three warehouses guarded by inexperienced and easily replaceable guards… was there an unlocked chest in the first warehouse?”

“I didn’t look. I was running late, so I fled right after I set the fire.”

“Hmm. This doesn’t bode well. You took precautions to not be followed?”

“And wore hoods, everything Nessa suggested.”

Anna exhaled, her brow marred by a single small vertical line. “We can’t underestimate him, if we haven’t already. It’s possible the other two warehouses were similarly watched. How did you dispatch the guards?”

Harald recounted his attack.

“Your Goldchops might have been seen, then. Even if Gorkin doesn’t immediately recognize them, he has but to ask - your recent fame will work against us. Which will tie you to me. Damn it.”

Harald watched with helpless frustration as Anna rose and began to pace. He wanted to protest, to insist they’d done everything right, but he couldn’t.

“If Gorkin believes I’m behind these strikes, he’ll retaliate, just as he did against my father. I must quit the city.”

Harald went to protest, then caught himself. Of course. Even if he and the Throne Hunters assumed immediate guard duty over her, there was no guarantee they could defeat whatever forces Gorkin might send.

“You five must go to ground while we consider our options.” Anna bit her lower lip, thinking. “Or quit Flutic with me.”

“Or we strike directly at Gorkin now,” said Harald. “If he knows who we are, there’s nothing to be lost.”

“Other than your lives,” said Anna, her smile without humor. “His manor hasn’t become any less impregnable. No. We should quit the city while we can. If we’re overreacting, it does us no harm.”

“I can’t leave.” Harald felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. “If I do, Thracos swore to hunt me down the moment I quit Flutic. He’d be a greater threat than even all of Gorkin’s power.”

“Of course.” Anna stopped, her smile turning bitter. “Incidentally, I never asked: what is your new task?”

Harald’s tone turned wooden. “To steal confidential technology from House Emberfell.”

“I see.” Her stare was pitying, which made it all the worse. “You think you can do that while dodging Gorkin’s men?”

“I…” Harald grimaced. “I’ve been actively not thinking about it. The very thought… but if I refuse, I’ll have to fight Thracos, and I can’t beat him yet.”

“If you refuse to leave, Kársek won’t come, either.”

Harald couldn’t argue that. The dwarf was beyond stubborn.

“And I’ll warrant Sam won’t leave. She’s not in my employ. She’ll stay. She cares about you.”

“I… damn it.”

“Nessa, Vic…” Anna shrugged. “They might see reason. But they’re surprisingly loyal to you, too.”

“Regardless, you need to leave immediately. If our actions can be tied back to you…”

“Yes.” Anna moved to a side table, touched a packet of letters, then sighed. “I must depart immediately. But my carriage is distinctive. I can’t simply ride out of Flutic without my departure being noticed and possibly intercepted.”

“Then you’ll have to sneak out. Regular traveler’s clothing.”

“Yes.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “I’ll need to triple Vic and Nessa’s rates to convince them to protect me on the road.”

Harald winced. Of course. She had no guard detachment of her own, and even if she did, riding out with them would foil the attempt at anonymity.

“I’ll begin putting events in motion.” Anna’s tone turned decisive. “I release you from your oath to protect me, seeing as your failing Thracos’ challenge is a death sentence. Contact the others and ask them to return to the estate as quickly as they can. I wish to be gone within a few bells’ time.”

Harald forced himself to stand. “Yes, my lady.”

She met his gaze, and in the depths of her eyes he saw compassion and bitterness, hard-earned wisdom and pain. “Don’t worry, Harald. I knew your debts when I took you into my service. We did our best, but it wasn’t good enough. If you can convince the others to travel with me, I’m sure that I will be safe.”

Harald felt his sense of honor warp and strain. He couldn’t let her ride out into the countryside without being by her side. He’d taken an oath. But nor could he fail Thracos’ challenge. He felt paralyzed.

“I’ll figure something out,” he heard himself say. “I swear it. I’ll fetch the others, and before you leave, I’ll have a solution.”

Her smile turned sad. “If you say so, Harald.”

He stood there a moment longer, then tore himself away and strode out of the parlor. Kársek was in a second parlor whose armchair he was particularly fond of. Pipe smoke wreathed his head, and he was turning the pages of an old and beautiful book when Harald strode in.

“Trouble?”

“Trouble,” agreed Harald. “Anna doesn’t think we can risk Gorkin not knowing it was us.”

“Wise.” Kársek set the book aside. “Given the setup we walked into.”

“So she’s going to quit Flutic immediately before Gorkin can act.”

“I see.” Kársek’s gaze narrowed just a fraction. “But of course you cannot leave.”

“No.”

“Which means I stay as well. Still, we can attempt to convince the others. They’ll not be safe in Flutic. Our associations are well-known.”

Harald clenched his jaw.

“This is the path you’ve chosen to walk, Harald.” Kársek’s tone was gentle. “The path of your Demon Seed. It demands you dedicate yourself to power and nothing else. An oath to the countess cannot compare.”

“I know, but…” Harald again felt that tearing sensation in his chest. “Kársek. What should I do?”

“Hmm.” Kársek tapped his pipe out in a flowerpot and set to wrapping it in his leather case. “You have a decision to make. Keep the Demon Seed and accomplish Thracos’ next goal, even if it is a dishonorable one such as stealing from House Emberfell, who seeks only to uplift the poor and needy.”

“Or… relinquish the Demon Seed?”

Kársek raised a brow. “Pastoric said it could be done.”

“But then…” All the old arguments came to the fore. “I’d not be able to gain the power to protect…”

“Mmhmm,” agreed Kársek, putting the leather smoke satchel away. “Yes, quite. An interesting conundrum. What use is attempting to gain power, if the process leaves you unable to protect the very people whose safety spurs you on?”

Harald ground his fingers into his eyes. This was when he was needed. Now, with Anna, to safeguard her escape from Gorkin. What use growing in power if he failed her and his friends now?

“Think on it,” said Kársek, patting Harald’s elbow as he passed him by. “We need to keep moving. Time is of the essence, it seems.”

“Right.” Harald trailed after him, feeling wretched. “Let’s go to Sam’s, first. She’s closest.”

“Very well.” Kársek glanced up at him as they strode down the length of the entrance hall. “Never fear, Harald. No matter where your path leads you, I will be there by your side.”

The dwarf’s words filled Harald’s chest with warmth, but somehow made him feel all the worse. He couldn’t swear such an oath, and it made his friend’s loyalty somehow painful in contrast.

*

Sam went very still after hearing the news. Her face grew pale, and then she bit her lower lip and stepped back to sit in her window seat.

Harald watched her, his sense of frustration and helplessness only growing.

“The unlocked chest. Of course. How didn’t we see?” Her voice was a whisper. “I suppose the clues were right there all along. I just didn’t want to…”

“Countess Sonora has the right of it,” said Kársek gruffly. “Even if she’s wrong, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Right, of course. And…” Sam raised her eyes. “You can’t go with her, can you, Harald?”

“I…” The angels wept, it hurt to agree. “Thracos said he’d know if I left the city. That he’d hunt me down the moment I did.”

“What if we set an ambush?” Sam leaned forward, manner intent. “If we know he’s coming after you, then we control the terrain. You saw how we fared against the terror birds. With Kársek, with my Eclipse Edge, we could stop him.”

Harald shook his head. “He’s a Silver-ranked raider. He has an Artifact that literally doubles the potency of his other Artifacts. Even if we managed to kill him, odds are some of us would die. I can’t risk that.”

“So…” She shook her head, trying to understand. “You’ll just let the countess leave? And stay?”

Harald placed his hands on his hips and hung his head.

“You swore an oath to her,” said Sam.

“I know, damn it.”

Sam sighed. “Sorry. I know you do. I know this isn’t easy. But…”

Harald stared fixedly at the ground.

“Kársek, you’re staying?”

“I am.”

“Have you spoken yet with Nessa or Vic?”

“We came to you first,” said Kársek.

“Leave Flutic.” He could hear her soft incredulity. “Even after we did everything right. Almost everything.”

“I would go if I could,” grated Harald.

“But you can,” said Sam.

Harald grimaced. He felt cornered.

“After your exposure during the auction, you’re famous,” said Sam softly. “If anyone saw you in action, Gorkin will know who you are. You’ll be hunted. You can’t stay.”

“I’ll kill anyone they send after me.”

“Fosso is Silver-ranked. You just said you couldn’t face Thracos.”

Harald had no answer.

“And you prefer to stay and steal from House Emberfell instead of ensuring Countess Sonora’s safety?”

“Of course not!” His cry was wild. “But what choice do I have? Remove the Seed? Become nothing?”

“Not nothing.” Sam rose and crossed to him. Took his hand. Waited until he met her gaze. “You’re Harald Darrowdelve, my best friend and Countess Sonora’s loyal knight. You might not have access to your Abilities and Class, but look where that’s all taking you. Abyssal Grasp? What’s next? How far down this dark path do you have to walk till you realize you’ll have sacrificed everything just to become Vorakhar’s puppet?”

“I won’t become his puppet.” Harald spat out the words. “I’ll use my powers for good. Like King Gustav, who saved the city from the demons.”

“King Gustav, of Twilight Crown infamy?” asked Sam softly. “There was a reason he was the last king.”

“Hmm,” rumbled Kársek, thumbs stuck into his belt. “And it didn’t seem that the angel-kin approved of your presence in the dungeon.”

“Damn it, she…” Harald squeezed his eyes closed.

“Well, I won’t leave you to spiral into darkness,” said Sam. “Don’t try to argue with me. I’ll stay with Kársek and ensure you don’t lose your soul in your attempt to gain power.”

A sense of futility and helplessness washed over Harald again. He knew he’d not change her mind. Knew that staying would imperil both her and Kársek. That Gorkin would eventually find them.

And if they died? While Harald attempted to impress Thracos with ever darker deeds?

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“You know what to do, Harald,” said Kársek. “You know what must be done.”

“But…” He couldn’t even find the strength to mouth the old protests.

Sam enclosed him in a hug. “We can travel. Leave Flutic, leave all this madness behind. The dungeon, the demons, the Houses. We can see the world. Live. Be free. There’s no need to shackle yourself to Vorakhar. Not if it means undoing yourself.”

Harald’s shoulders slumped. “How am I supposed to protect Anna if I have no power?”

“At least you’ll be there,” said Sam, still holding him close. “At least you’ll be by her side. That’s worth a thousand times more than your staying here to do evil deeds to amuse Thracos.”

Harald inhaled and went still. He thought of the Forge Fathers and their warnings. Pastoric’s intent stare. The angel-kin marching toward him, determined to wipe his stain off the world. Thracos’ slippery logic. Vorakhar’s amusement. His father’s warnings. Anita Lothbury’s earnest integrity, her commitment to the poor, and how he now had to violate her trust, steal her work.

And for what?

Power?

What use was power if he had to betray so many ideals and friends to acquire it?

“Fine,” he said quietly. “Fine. I’ll take it out. I’ll speak with Pastoric. I’ll… I’ll remove the Demon Seed.”

Sam hugged him tight, so tight he couldn’t breathe, and then stepped back to beam at him. “Thank you. I was so worried. So worried I was losing you, moment by moment, bit by bit. This is the right decision. I can feel it. Know it. You’ll see.”

Kársek gave him a measured nod, but in his eyes Harald saw a deep respect that hadn’t been there before.

“But we don’t have time,” said Harald. “Anna needs to leave now.”

“I’ll find Vic,” said Sam. “Kársek, you hunt down Nessa. We’ll return as quickly as possible to Sonora Manor, and there await word from you. You head down to the Kitty Kat Club, and demand Pastoric perform the rite as quickly as possible. If it takes him a day to prepare, we’ll start ahead without you, and you’ll catch up when you can. If he can do it on the spot, we’ll all leave together.”

“I… all right.” And just like that, a dark future slipped from his shoulders. A life of murder and sin, of butchery and slaughter, of dark powers and demonic influence fell away. He’d miss the excitement, the thrill, the power, but to know he’d no longer need to dance to Vorakhar’s tune, to deal with the likes of Gorkin and Lady Celestis, to be free of his own murderous nature…

It… it felt good.

Hollowing, but good.

“We need to hurry,” said Kársek. “Send word the moment you know how long you’ll be.”

“Yes,” said Harald. “Be safe. If you see any sign of trouble, just go. I’ll figure it out and follow after.”

Sam nodded gravely, then stepped in again for a final hug. “I know it’s hard. The hardest thing you’ve done yet. But you have no idea how much I admire you for it.”

He squeezed her in return, wishing he felt her joy, then watched as she hurriedly packed a leather satchel with clothing, some key belongings, her new spices, then snatched up her scale pouch and moved to the door.

And there she turned to regard her home, simple and plain but her own, and Harald saw loss and pain and sorrow in her gaze as she took in her private loss. Then Sam gave a stern nod, as if affirming the rightness of this decision, and smiled at them both.

“Let’s go.”

*

Harald ran to the Kitty Kat Club. It was several miles and right in the heart of the Shambles, but no coach would be fast enough for him. He ran, thoughts spinning, light of foot and possessing endless reservoirs of stamina. He dodged around slower pedestrians, fleet as the wind, but he couldn’t outpace his fear, his panic.

To lose his power.

To lose his Abilities.

Shadowpaw, the Goldchops, Dark Vigor.

That feeling of mastery and control.

And more, if he was being honest: to no longer impress everyone with his rate of advancement, his impossible growth, to no longer be the talk of the town, admired and wanted by the city’s grandees.

To become ordinary.

To become nothing more, nothing less, than Harry Darrowdelve.

It galled him. Filled him with fear.

Who was he without his purpose, his mission?

What would he do when he no longer had to train, no longer had to dedicate every waking moment to exceling?

His mind shied away from the very thought.

But what was the alternative?

To become a monster of extreme power and utter darkness, who couldn’t protect his friends when they needed him most?

What use was power then, if Gorkin slew Anna and ruined House Sonora with impunity?

So he ran, ignoring the shouts of annoyance and calls for him to slow down. Darted through crowds and took detours through alleyways. Deeper and deeper into the Shambles, until at last he emerged into the courtyard before the Kitty Kat Club, the early morning light painting its rambling facade in shades of unflattering gray and sunlit yellow.

A maid was sweeping clouds of dust and dirt out the front door, and she all but squawked as he strode in, not giving her time to step aside. The common room was as it ever was, the bleak scene of nightly debauchery stripped of its illusory intimacy and roseate luxury to become a tawdry theater stage of thread-worn props.

To his relief Pastoric was right there, seated at the bar and enjoying a cup of something hot as he leaned over a book, ignoring the people mopping the floors and cleaning the glasses behind the bar.

“Pastoric!”

Something in Harald’s tone caused the other man to tense as if expecting a blow, then turn slowly, brows lowered. Only at the sight of Harald did he relax and let out a sigh.

“I thought you an Inquisitor with that tone,” said the Seraphite, and then his brow quirked. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Harald glanced about. Nobody was too close. He leaned in. “I’m ready. I want you to remove the… you know.”

“You are?” Pastoric’s amazement was genuine. “Praise the Fallen Angel! That’s marvelous! I won’t ask what’s changed, but yes. Wonderful.”

“But it needs to happen now. As in, immediately. My friends must quit town and I must accompany them.”

“Hmm.” Pastoric closed his book. “That is more tricky. I need certain items, certain ingredients, if you will, to effect the rite. What you’re asking of me is a mighty undertaking. We’ll be pitching the purifying might of the Fallen Angel against, well. You know. And that’s not done with a snap of my fingers.”

“Then how long?”

Pastoric rose from his stool. “Let me go see what I’ve got at hand. Whatever’s missing I’ll have to send for. Do you have scales?”

Harald patted his pouch.

“Very good. I’ll be right back.”

And to his credit, Pastoric crossed the room at a jog, and disappeared through an archway with all haste.

Harald forced a smile as several of the bartenders glanced his way, but remained focused, practically vibrating as he rippled his fingers on the bar.

He could still change his mind. What if he asked Vorakhar for help with Gorkin? Might Thracos intervene if Harald convinced him Gorkin was ruining their game?

But wouldn’t there always be another Gorkin?

On some level, this was a profound choice: power, or his friends.

He’d never be able to have them both.

It was a truth he’d always hid from.

Denied.

But he’d known this day would come.

“Damn,” he whispered.

It took Pastoric far too long to return. Harald almost sent someone after him, but finally the Seraphite entered the common room again, a paper held before him. He was reading its contents silently, and when he reached Harald he set it on the bar.

“This is everything I’m missing. We’ll need a number of holy items that must be purchased at some cost from the cathedral. Candles, certain incenses, holy paste… I can’t go myself, but I know someone who can acquire them for me if I provide the right number of scales.”

“How much?”

“Five Golden Dawns should do it.”

So little? Harald almost asked, but managed to bite his tongue in time.

Pastoric smiled. “Some value is beyond wealth.”

“Indeed. How long will it take your friend?”

“If I bid him haste? He should be able to get back to us by tonight. I don’t want him arousing suspicion. The last thing we need is the Inquisitors tailing him back to us.”

“Tonight. And the rite? How long does it take?”

Pastoric’s smile grew wry. “If I cut all the unnecessary parts? The heart of it, the true transubstantiation should take only a bell, perhaps two, depending on how deeply embedded the Seed has become. You’ll be very weak, after.”

“I know.”

“I don’t mean simply without your Class. Actually weakened, as your soul will have been mutilated by the tearing out of your Cosmos. You should plan on sleeping the rest of the night.” Pastoric sighed. “Or hobbling your way after your friends, as I can see you intend.”

“Tonight.” Harald frowned, then set the Golden Dawns on the counter. “Fine. I’ll be back then.”

“Very well. But, Harald.”

Harald turned back.

“You’re doing the right thing.” Pastoric’s voice swelled with authority. “You are saving your soul.”

“Sure,” said Harald. “I’ll be back later.”

Harald exited the Club, then took off at a run once more. Events had been put in motion. For a few more bells he’d enjoy this might, and then it would be torn from him.

He ran. Not with the mad urgency of before, but with steady determination. And with every step he wrestled with his resolve. Kársek’s approval, Sam’s gladness, Pastoric’s conviction - each had indicated that this was absolutely the right course of action.

And opposing them? Vorakhar’s sadistic glee, Thracos’ cruel amusement, the disgust of the angel-kin and the barely hidden disdain of the Forge Fathers.

There was no question that this was the right move.

If you can find a way to wield those powers without becoming as bad as Vorakhar, then you’re a wiser and stronger man than I.

In the end, he’d been unable to. He’d failed at walking that dark path without being forced to make sacrifices he couldn’t bear.

So he’d step away.

He’d stay true to his friends, to his liege, to himself.

There were other lives for him.

Other paths for him to walk.

Or so he kept telling himself.

He slowed to a jog when he entered the Angelic Quarter. The last thing he wanted was for the Watch to holler at him and demand an explanation for his unseemly haste. Even so, more than one patrol watched him pass with strange expressions, something akin to pity and dark amusement.

Did they intuit the choice he must make?

Finally Sonora Manor came into view. Breathing heavily, Harald slowed to a walk and followed the garden wall to where the wrought iron gate stood ajar.

Harald stopped.

Why was the gate ajar?

Harald instantly activated Veil of Shadows and pressed back against the wall. Dark Vigor and the Goldchops gave him strength and power, and he was up and over the wall before anybody could stop him.

He dropped into the garden and crouched against the lee of the wall, senses painfully alert.

Silence but for the cawing of crows.

The gardens looked normal. But no. The front door was half-open as well, and even from here Harald could see somebody sprawled in the doorway, unmoving.

Heart thudding, glancing all around, he summoned Shadowpaw and Wirmas. The mastiff immediately sensed his master’s distress, and even the hobgoblin had the wits to keep his comments to himself.

They ran fast and low across the grounds. Harald kept an eye on the rooftops, the few trees that grew at the edges of the property.

Nothing.

The front door might have been left open as a trap. So instead, he pried open a parlor window and slipped inside.

Silence.

The deep and unnatural silence of a deserted home.

Shadowpaw leaped in lithely through the window, and Wirmas struggled in a moment later.

Harald crept to the parlor door.

Blood gleamed red on the marble floor. Streaks where bodies had been dragged. Deep grooves were cut into the walls were magical attacks had been unleashed.

Nessa’s longsword lay against the far wall, its blade blackened.

But no corpses except for Rivik in the entrance.

Harald felt numb.

Veil of Shadows still active, he crept through the manor as if it were a dungeon, pausing at doorways, alert, attentive, the Dawnblade in his fist.

Shadowpaw sniffed at the blood, peered around, but otherwise didn’t seem alarmed.

Harald made his way into Anna’s favorite parlor.

A wall of books had been destroyed, shelving and wooden casement blasted clear of the stone behind to litter the floor.

On her table lay a sheet of parchment, a dagger stabbed through its center and pinning it to the wood.

Harald crept close, feeling numb, feeling nothing.

The countess is my guest.

She shall remain so until you present yourself and take her place.

- Your deeply admiring friend