Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 32

Harald went alone to the Platinum Rose Auction House that evening. He wanted time ponder Kársek’s words. They reminded him of his conversation with Pastoric, not so long ago. The warning the Forge Fathers had given him. Eadwolf’s surprisingly gentle guidance.

It seemed everybody wanted him to be afraid of his own burgeoning power. That nobody trusted him to retain his integrity. To remain a force for good in the long run.

Harald stopped outside the auction house and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it. They weren’t wrong. He could barely remember the youth he’d once been. Overweight, nervous, desperate for approval. Living in the shadow of his father, resentful, usually drunk, and terrified of giving anything his best shot for fear of falling short.

Now? Now he could survive a battle amidst terror birds on the 21st Level, calling on powers he’d never been able to dream of.

Countess Sonora was depending on him. Flutic might one day need him. His friends… would they even be his friends if he became a nobody, without a Class, with no Abilities or Thrones? Wasn’t their very identity inextricably tied up with being the Throne Hunters?

He wanted more than anything to be a force for good.

But another memory flashed before his eyes: the angel-kin deciding he needed to be killed, ignoring his protests, seeing only his taint and evil.

And he’d have died again were it not for Vorakhar’s intervention.

“Damn it,” hissed Harald, dropping his hand.

“Trouble?”

Harald spun and saw Thracos approaching, the other demon-kin as elegant and amused as ever, eyes closed, the vines of his cloak slowly writhing about his form.

“Oh. Hey.” For a second Harald couldn’t think, so shocked was he at seeing the other man. “I… no. No trouble.”

“Hmm. Good.” Thracos stopped before him, his smile a mere curve at the corner of his lips. “For a second I thought perhaps I was in for disappointment.”

“Oh!” Harald put his hand to his pouch. “Oh, that. No, I’ve got your crystal right here.”

“You make my quest sound incidental to your true priorities.”

“No!” Harald felt as if he stood on a pitching deck at sea, unable to catch his balance. “We just recovered it today. Was a hell of a fight. I just had… I had other thoughts on my mind. Here.” And he drew out the Servitor Crystal and held it out.

“I must say I’m impressed.” Thracos held the crystal up so that the light of the closest lamppost shone behind it. “I thought I was asking too much. I see now that my fears were unfounded. I had a suspicion that you’d accomplish this well before the deadline, and I admit, I’ve come to check several times already these past few days. Well done, Harald.”

“Ha, thanks.” The man’s praise brought little pleasure. Harald stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away.

“Hmm.” Thracos canted his head to one side. “My mystic powers and deep knowledge of the human psyche deduce that there’s something else on your mind. What could it be, I wonder? My vanity would have our upcoming duel consuming all of your thoughts.”

“I… I sincerely doubt you’d understand.”

“Try me,” said the other demon-kin, and as he walked past Harald he nudged him with his shoulder, knocking him off-balance. “I am ever full of surprises.”

Harald watched the man go.

Something told him Thracos wouldn’t turn around again.

Damn it, he needed someone to talk to. Someone who saw things as he did. So he hurried up and fell in stride with the other man.

For a spell they just walked in silence. They passed the action house’s entrance, and continued along the avenue.

“I don’t want to become evil,” he managed at last.

“Ha!” Thracos grinned. “Adorable.”

Harald flushed. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. What a world. To think your patron picked someone so… delightfully naive.”

“Naive?” Harald glared at the other man. “My powers -”

“Are tools. Which seem to have served you well, judging by your ability to fetch my new Servitor Crystal.”

“Not everything is about utility. Power isn’t its own goal. I want to remain myself.”

“You sure? Who were you before your Seed?”

Harald’s words caught in his throat. “I mean, I want to remain true to my ideals.”

“To be good? Tell me then, what is it to be evil?”

“To be… selfish. To hurt innocent people. To do what our patrons desire. To help them in their war against the angels.”

“Not bad. Lord Vance, a wise man, once put it succinctly for me: an evil man is one who coerces obedience to his private ends, destroys beauty, produces pain, and extinguishes life. Is that what you fear becoming?”

“I… yes.”

“Have you done any of those things?”

Harald hesitated. Had he? His friends fought willingly by his side. He’d extinguished life, though - the Red Fist mercenaries were dead because of him. But they were Countess Sonora’s foes, and defended what had been stolen from her. Did he produce pain? He thought of Sam, of his friends, how they had at times suffered because of his actions. Not purposefully, though. Did he destroy beauty? No.

“Not really.”

Thracos clapped him on the shoulder. “Then don’t fret.”

“But the effect of the Seed…” Harald shook his head, frowning. “It encourages me to do things…”

“Right.” Thracos paused, opened his eyes, and stared up at the cloudy sky. “Look. Think of it this way: can you wish Vorakhar away?”

Harald glanced around nervously, but nobody was close. “No.”

“Then be pragmatic. You have fallen into his sphere of influence. The question now is not whether you should use the power, but how.”

“I could remove the Seed altogether.”

Thracos glanced at him, surprised. “The Seraphites? Oh, Harald. Save yourself time and just slit your own throat. You are a racehorse, as am I. Neither of us would be content being put out to pasture. No. You must engineer a situation where you can determine your own fate.”

“And that’s what you do?”

Thracos’ smile was unnerving. “I’m working on it. How, you ask? By acquiring power as quickly as I can. Through Servitors, Artifacts, and gaining as many levels and Ascended Thrones as possible. For our patrons are not gods. You know this?”

“I - sure.”

“They’re not gods, Harald.” Thracos turned to face him. “They are powerful beyond belief, but their power is finite, and they struggle against equally powerful foes. If we can but wrest enough power to match them - which, I believe, is possible - then we can one day fight free and become our own masters.”

Harald shook his head. He thought of the scale of power on which Vorakhar operated, and laughed huskily. “You’re mad. There’s no way we can match them.”

“And you know everything? Look.” Thracos extended his arm, and a thick, golden bracelet appeared about his wrist, a blood-red ruby the size of a chicken egg embedded in its top. “There are wonders in the dungeon beyond your reckoning. This is the Aureate Master, one of my most precious Artifacts. Do you know what it does? It doubles the strength of my other Artifacts. All of them.”

Thracos dropped his arm, the bracelet fading back into his Cosmos as he did so. “Consider your own Artifacts. What if you could double their power? What if you acquired a Mythic Artifact, and then doubled its potency?” Thracos raised a brow. “And I am only now reaching half my potential. Imagine what else I will find the deeper I delve. What wonders the Fallen Angel will render unto me. Impossible, you say? You only reveal your ignorance. With the blessings of the Fallen Angel, nothing is impossible.”

Harald nodded mutely, but if anything he felt numb. How the fuck was he supposed to best Thracos in a mortal duel if the man had the Aureate Master?

“I see.” He wasn’t sure if his voice quavered.

Thracos punched him lightly in the shoulder. “So cheer up. Your battle isn’t over yet. After all, you’ve earned yourself another week. Do you want to hear your next challenge?”

“Sure,” said Harald, blinking away a moment of lightheaded dizziness. “What would you have me do?”

“Let’s change it up, shall we?” Thracos’ smile grew sinister. “Enough with sending you ever deeper into the dungeon. No. I now desire something else. You are familiar with House Emberfell?”

“Yes.”

“I have heard that they have had several momentous breakthroughs in their research into scale-powered marvels. One of their number, a prodigy called Anita Lothbury, is supposed to have discovered the means to create Artifacts.”

Harald blinked. “Make Artifacts? That’s…”

“Improbable? Yes. But that’s what she’s supposedly done. I want you to steal her plans, her blueprints, the mechanism through which she accomplishes this marvel. House Emberfell is remarkably secretive about such matters, so I don’t think my merely asking would get me anywhere. You, however, can break into the Emberfell Crafting Hall, locate her lab, and steal this secret for me.”

Harald’s felt his throat constrict. He saw Anita before him again, petite and intense, her eyes magnified behind her spectacles. Lord Blaze wants to change Flutic, she’d said. Harness the power of the Fallen Angel to level the playing field and uplift the poor, the broken, those who scrabble in the Shambles and every other forgotten corner of our city.

He’d felt amazed at her conviction, her integrity, her passion.

If any of this resonates with you, if you desire power for more than just personal glory, if you’ve any interest whatsoever in making a difference for all of Flutic and not just yourself, come see me. Present my card at the entrance to the Emberfell Crafting Hall, and I’ll show you wonders you’ll not believe.

“You’re not thrilled,” said Thracos, tone droll. “Ah well. That’s your challenge. You have until the end of next week to accomplish it. I’m quite confident you’ll succeed.”

Harald grimaced, but didn’t know what to say. All he could do was watch the other demon-kin walk way.

“Damn it,” he hissed. “Damn it all to hell.”

*

The Throne Hunters took the next day to themselves. Harald and Kársek went for a long morning walk through Flutic, despite the drizzling rain, and stopped into a loud and boisterous inn whose cuisine was famed across the city. There they spent scales on plate after plate of delicacies, and though they ate in silence as they listened to a bard perform one exquisite song after another, the silence was a comfortable one.

That afternoon Harald put himself through a long series of stretches, did some light sword training, and then retired to the countess’ library to sit in a corner and lose himself in a fanciful tale. It featured a young man who unknowingly absorbed the spirit of a legendary warrior, and slowly overcame his weaknesses as he trained with the blade until he was accepted into the elven war academy in the depths of Mithlorniel - where his past wife and true love was also reincarnated as an instructor.

Harald read deep into the night, absorbed by the story, but when he finally finished it, he couldn’t help but smile. If only the real world were so rewarding of love and righteousness.

The next morning they all gathered about the dining table for a sumptuous breakfast. Countess Sonora was vivacious and animated, and her skills as a hostess were on full display. She inquired about their adventures on the 21st, complimented each member of the group on some contribution to their survival, and made everyone feel, at least once, as if they were the most important person present.

Vic ate it up, but even Harald couldn’t help but feel warm when Anna regarded him with her direct gaze and slowly nodded her approval.

When finally the dishes were cleared away, the countess sat back and steepled her fingers. “Well, all good things must come to an end, so now I will tax your patience with an unorthodox request. As you know, Sir Harald and I wage war against Lord Gorkin.”

Nods all around.

“And Harald struck a first and telling blow by disappearing an entire complement of Red Fist mercenaries and stealing many of Gorkin’s most secret documents. From studying these I’ve deduced the existence of three hidden warehouses through which Gorkin does illicit trade with Marheim warmongers. These are owned under false names, but defended by the Red Fist and the profits, I am sure, flow steadily into Gorkin’s coffers.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Vic. “My faith in the man is ruined.”

“Harald and I have discussed how to proceed, and have decided that a simultaneously executed strike against all three serve our interests best. We wish to torch the buildings, ruin his goods, bring to light the connection between all three enterprises, and damage his relationship with the Marheim traders.”

“Hmm,” said Kársek. “A tall order for Master Darrowdelve, seeing as he’s just the one person.”

“Indeed.” Anna’s eyes flashed. “Hence my proposal: Vic, Nessa, you are only contracted to engage in the occasional raid in the dungeon in my name. Tonight, however, I would appreciate your aid in taking down these warehouses. I am willing to compensate you more than fairly, and to increase future compensation rates if all goes well.”

“Tempting, tempting,” said Vic, sitting back. “But I’m now a merry Throne Hunter and Level 4 Rapier Regent. I delve with casual ease on the 21st Level, and can secure tens of thousands of scales with but a flick of my wrist. A renegotiation was already in order.”

“Fair enough,” said Anna, nodding as she took this in stride. “All is on the table. Nessa?”

Nessa frowned down at her fork. “A dangerous request, Countess. Three sets of variables, three teams, and all of us jeopardized if but one thing goes wrong.”

Harald leaned forward. “I’ll be taking one of the warehouses by myself. My Abilities are perfect for this kind of operation. Which means you four can take the second. Whomever finishes their target first moves to the third before they have time to respond.”

Nessa’s gaze flicked over to him. “They’re located close enough to make this practical?”

“Sure. They’re all shabby, rundown places in the same part of the Marheim Gate. A quarter-mile apart, at most.”

“Hmm.” Nessa glanced at Sam. “You in?”

Sam hesitated. “I mean… I never anticipated violence against regular people. I mean,” she corrected hurriedly, “not regular people, seeing as these are Red Fist mercenaries, but, you know. People.”

“They took the commission knowing who they were working for,” said Harald grimly. “And what they were defending.”

“Right. Still.” Sam stared down at her plate. “Killing… people. I don’t know. It feels… like crossing a line.”

“It is crossing a line,” said Anna decisively. “But violence has always existed outside of the dungeon. Some for good reason, some not. This is to restore my family heritage and punish a despicable man. I’ve plenty of evidence as to his crimes now. I’m more than happy to share it all with you if it puts your heart at ease.”

“It might, actually,” said Sam. “Sorry. I know I should just agree and be part of the team, but… yes. I’d appreciate seeing what you’ve learned.”

“Then I’m in,” said Nessa. “Sam’s powers all but guarantee we’ll survive the encounter. I assume Kársek is in?”

Kársek gave an amused nod.

“And we’re doing this tonight?” Nessa glanced from Harald to Anna. “That’s not much time in which to plan this operation.”

“Time enough. You can scope out your target this morning. The warehouse I attacked was defended by five guards. Two on the rooftops, keeping lookout, three inside. One of them was more powerful than the others.”

“The owner of the Bonemelter,” said Vic. “Yes, I assume we can expect lieutenants or sergeants to be present.”

“More than that,” said Nessa. “They’ll be on alert now after the first strike. How long has it been?”

“Two weeks,” said Harald.

“Hmm.” Nessa considered. “Is Gorkin the kind of man to pay for double guards on three secret warehouses for two whole weeks?”

“From what I’ve inferred from his paperwork, no.” Anna set her palms on the table. “A week, yes. But his numbers and methodologies have always erred on the side of risk and saving scales. Which I believe is connected to his protected status - the major Houses won’t touch him.”

“About that,” said Vic. “Worrying. Yes?”

“Yes,” allowed Anna. “I tried pressing Lord Draken, but he wasn’t interested in explaining his reluctance.”

“And Tibbits made Gorkin’s unusual status quite clear,” said Nessa. “I don’t like antagonizing powerful men with mysterious sources of power.”

“That’s not true, darling,” said Vic. “You love nothing more than causing powerful men to stutter and steam.”

“Hmm.” Nessa considered. “Ordinarily. But in this case?”

“We’re not striking his home,” said Harald. “That would be madness. He clearly doesn’t take his protected status for granted. Anna has found evidence that he employs an entire regiment of guards to protect him at all times, an elite group known as the Ebon Wolves.”

“Ebon Wolves,” mused Vic. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Marheim heavy infantry,” said Anna. “They’re restricted to his manor grounds. Their rates are extortionate.”

“Models to emulate, then,” said Vic. “But yes, let’s avoid attacking his pet fortress.”

“Agreed,” said Harald wholeheartedly. “These secret warehouses, however? Just the Red Fists.”

“Just the Red Fists,” repeated Sam, tone wondering. “How far we’ve come.”

“After the 21st?” Harald grinned. “I feel entitled to saying it that way. I take down one, you four the other, and then we converge on the third as quickly as possible. We set all three aflame and quit the scene, leaving no witnesses.”

“Hard to guarantee that last,” observed Kársek mildly.

“It’s got to be the crux of our plan.” Harald looked to Nessa. “We can come up with a strategy after you take a look at your target.”

Nessa nodded hesitantly. “And you’re confident you can take down your own, unaided?”

“Without using some of your, ah, Abilities, on the guards?” asked Sam.

Now it was Harald’s turn to hesitate. He’d not thought that part through. Abyssal Grasp had made his last attack easy. “I can do it,” he said at last. “Veil of Shadows is what I really need to make this work, along with Shadowpaw and the Goldchops. We don’t have to be as mysterious as I was the first time. With the buildings going up in flames, we can leave bodies behind.”

Sam shuddered.

“Very well,” said Nessa. “I’ll let Vic work out the employment rates with you, Countess. I’m going to head out and get a look at our targets now. The sooner I see them, the better.”

Vic looked over at her indolently. “Be careful, dear? It would absolutely ruin our plans if you just marched in the front door and demanded a tour.”

Nessa merely narrowed her eyes, which caused Vic to grin.

“Very well,” said Anna, her eyes gleaming. “Thank you. I don’t take your help for granted, and I know you’re not just doing this for the scales. I won’t make any grand promises now, but know that when Gorkin falls and House Sonora is restored to its rightful place, I won’t forget who stood with me in my time of need.”

“Hear, hear,” said Vic. “Though, to be painfully honest, the scales do play an inordinately large part of my motivations. Still. I am all for being lauded as a champion of the worthy. Sir Carmine is at your disposal, dear countess.”

“Sir Carmine,” snorted Nessa, rising to her feet.

“Sam?” The countess stood as well. “If you’ll attend me in my parlor, I believe I can make a most compelling case for why you should feel no qualms over this attack.”

Sam stood. “Yes, my lady.”

“Can I come, too?” Vic rose. “I do love a bit of gossip. And we need to engage in some light negotiation.”

“Of course,” said Anna. “Harald? Let me know when you return and how it went.”

“Of course,” said Harald. “Nessa? Shall we?”

“Let’s,” said Nessa. But when they stepped outside into the hallway, she glanced sidelong at him, her stare cold. “If this fails, Gorkin will come for all of us - and he’ll start with the countess.”