Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 30

“Wait!” cried Harald. “No! We hold the ridge!”

Everyone froze. Vic and Sam had already turned to begin racing back down into the jungle.

Screeches and trills sounded from the distance. Dozens. Scores.

Nessa’s expression was wild, her gaze darting back and forth.

“If we run into the jungle we’re done for,” said Harald, forcing his tone to be calm and certain. “We’ll be running single file, we’ll risk being split up, getting lost. The terror birds will move faster, attack us from the sides. We’ll be defenseless.”

Nessa gave a jerky nod of her head, then scrambled up to the ridge’s edge once more to gaze down into the crater.

Harald joined her.

The terror birds were streaming out of the conquered ant nest, their speed frightening, a veritable swarm of them emerging from the tunnels to race down the ramps and out onto the stony ground.

The sight took Harald’s breath away.

So many.

And not fledglings. Full blown adults.

“All right. All right.” Nessa squeezed her eyes shut and rested her brow against the stone outcropping before her. “We don’t run.”

Harald hesitated, unsure whether he should wrest full control of the moment from her, but wanting, needing, her to assume control. To display that acumen and decisiveness that had guided them so many times before.

“Harald?” asked Sam from below.

“All right.” Nessa snapped her head back up. “Everyone, over the ridge. We’re going to face them as they come.”

For a moment nobody moved, but then Kársek began climbing up, and the others followed.

“Harald, summon Wirmas.” Nessa sprang up onto the ridge proper, an act which caused the wave of approaching terror birds in the distance to screech in delight and hunger. “Kársek. You’re going to be the tip of our spear.”

The dwarf hauled himself up and stood beside her and Harald. The crest of the ridge sloped down sharply before tapering off, the ground cracked, tufted here and there with tall grass, but otherwise without notable obstacles.

Vic and Sam came up behind them.

“Sam, you’re going to stand behind Kársek. Your job is to protect him with the Shield of Valor. Your Eclipse Edge’s attack can pass harmlessly through allies. Use that to keep him safe while he charges up each Rune. Detonate a Celestial Flair whenever you think you’re going to be overwhelmed.”

Sam nodded hurriedly.

“Vic, you’re to stand with Kársek. Use The Point to protect him, kill anything that gets too close.”

“Yes,” said Vic shakily. “Yes, all right.”

Harald stared, mesmerized, at the approaching army of terror birds. They ran as fast as galloping horses, their long, scaled legs devouring the land, their heads thrust forward as they coursed toward them. How many? A hundred? Their front was a net that drew tighter the closer they got, their ranks getting deeper with each passing moment.

“Harald, you, Wirmas, and your Goldchops will hold the right flank. Shadowpaw will help me on the left. We have to stay close enough to overlap our auras, but not so close that we’ll be pushed into each other if we give ground. Clear?”

“Clear,” said Harald, tone dreamlike, but then he realized everyone was staring at him, and he forced a smile. “We’ve got this. Keep your scales close for healing. Sam’ll keep us going with her Guardian’s Mantle. I’ll put the Goldchops on aerial duty to handle any leaping birds. We’ve got this.”

For a moment they just stared at him, but then Kársek chuckled and patted Harald on the elbow. “Of course we do. Wish I had time for a smoke first.”

“Yes.” Vic’s smile was shaky, his complexion pallid. “Yes, we do.”

“You with us, Vic?” Nessa fixed him with her stare.

He glanced, eyes glassy, at the rapidly approaching horde. “I… if you don’t have something worth dying for, you’re not living.” He blinked, smiled at them. “Something annoying Eadwolf said. Well, I’m ready. Shall we? I want to get back to Sonora Manor in time for dinner.”

Harald laughed. The outermost edge of the approaching terror birds was perhaps thirty seconds away, the ground now thrumming under their charge, dust pluming into the air behind them and reducing the mound to a hazy outline. The birds screeched, thrust their heads forward in an attempt to outrace each other, and seemed not to care as the ground sloped ever upwards.

Harald summoned Wirmas. He felt the hobgoblin arise from the depths of his Cosmos, the hunched, albino Servitor appearing by his side. For a second the glassy-fanged monster sneered, and then he caught sight of the oncoming horde, and laughed.

“Ah, Praetor! It seems this is the last time I shall do your bidding! My heart, it breaks!”

“Do what you can, Wirmas.” Everyone else was moving into position. Harald set the Goldchops to circling in rapid circles over Kársek, and almost he changed his mind, disobeyed Nessa to send them flying into the face of the attacking birds. But no. Lethal as the Goldchops were, he’d seen how limited their bite would be against too many foes. They’d simply get lost in the scrum.

Wirmas drew his dagger and sighed contentedly. “Come, little chicks! Come trample us into the bloody mud!”

“Shut up, Wirmas,” snapped Vic from where he stood beside Kársek, who had bowed his head over his war hammer. Sam was perhaps five yards behind them, biting her bottom lip as she rippled her fingers over Eclipse Edge’s hilt.

Shadowpaw had intuited what Harald desired, and moved out to pace before Nessa, his low, clotted snarl so deep and powerful Harald could hear it over the growing roar of the approaching army.

“Fight for the angels!” shouted Harald, raising his Dawnblade. “Fight for each other! Fight for the Throne Hunters!”

Everyone responded with a cry.

The terror birds raced up toward them. So fast. So eager. Harald’s every sense grew more acute, and he felt as if he could smell the birds, could make out each distinct feather, the way their large eyes gleamed with a raptor’s predatory hunger.

There was no counting them.

Any moment now.

“The front ranks won’t leap to attack!” shouted Nessa. “Not coming uphill. Ready! Activate Abilities!”

Harald awoke his twin Thrones and poured their power into Dark Vigor and Aching Depths. He felt Sam’s Beacon of Hope wash over him, soothing his terror, steadying his resolve, even as Harmonic Resonance uplifted his morale and sense of tactical mastery. Will of the Blade assured him he was exactly where he needed to be, and the last of his doubts fled him, even as Aura of Cruelty saturated the air, turning Vic’s indolent pose into one saturated with menace.

Would it be enough?

Bolstered by the overlapping auras, Harald sneered, raised the Dawnblade into the Ox Stance, and screamed his defiance as the first rank of terror birds closed, and then unleashed his first Demonic Edge.

“Khazadrok.”

Kársek’s intonation was akin to the tolling of a vast bronze bell, and the Rune of Destruction burst forth. Out of the corner of his eye Harald caught sight of utter devastation blasting into the massed terror bird ranks as the monsters simply detonated.

But his own Demonic Edge cut into the lead terror bird that had wrapped around to come at him, cutting deep into its chest, severing a wing, and causing it to falter and reel. There was no room for slowing down, however. The pressure of the other birds caused the first to drop, pushed down from behind, and then it was gone, trampled underfoot.

Harald sent for his Abyssal Grasp even as he summoned his Umbral Aegis. Shadows flowed up around him, covering him in faceted armor, casting his vision into dusk. Empowered by Dark Vigor and the Goldchops, he ran forward and unleashed another Demonic Edge and then battle was met.

Shadowpaw bayed.

The Dawnblade went slick black as Abyssal Attunement clothed its length, and power began to funnel into him as both Abyssal Grasps connected with prey and began to feed him power.

But there was no room for thought, for decisions. Everything became downward slashing beaks, splayed talons as feet kicked forward to maul at him, the press of bodies and dust.

Harald slashed, ducked, took a blow to the side that sent him sprawling and cracked his armor. A Goldchop sailed down and exploded through a bird’s head, splattering brains and beak everywhere. Harald laughed, rose, his armor healing over, slashed clean through a leg, only to grunt in surprise as a battle axe beak slammed into his shoulder, piercing armor and driving him down to one knee.

A forest of legs around him, talons stomping, screeches. Harald slashed, Abyssal Attunement sending pulses of power into him, and then something hit him in the back and he sprawled down.

No pain though.

Never any pain.

Harald grinned as he rolled over, a foot stomping down where he’d been, and swung the Dawnblade through the air, unleashing another Demonic Edge. He was devouring the power of his twin Thrones at a tremendous rate, but Abyssal Grasp kept refueling him, draining two victims even as a pair of terror birds fell apart, his Demonic Edge cutting through their necks.

A great detonation of white energy filled the air, total and cosmic, and the terror birds that were gathered around him, all of them jockeying for position to attack him, reeled back before Sam’s Celestial Flair.

Enough time for Harald to rise, panting, for some of his wounds to begin to heal, but there was no time to rest.

“Khazadrok.”

Harald plunged forward, cut through the side of a terror bird’s head, ducked a beak attack, staggered back from another bird just as a Goldchop flew in and slammed through its head. He tripped on a corpse, Wirmas’ dying form disappearing from under his heels, then was slammed to the ground as twin claws slammed into his shoulders, a leaping bird riding him down and smashing his face into the dirt, the faceplate of his Umbral Aegis cracking. Something slammed between his shoulder blades once, twice thrice with enough force to cause his sternum to crack. The Aegis shattered, then the weight was gone.

Harald rolled over, gasping for breath, blinked, but there was no time.

No time to heal.

To assess.

Terror birds were all around them. Guadian’s Mantle was bathing him in its restorative power. Something was terribly wrong with his back, but even as he thrust a gauntleted hand into his scale pouch a huge beak slammed down, hooked him in the shoulder, shattering the Aegis again, and whipped him around, lifting him right off the stone ground.

Harald screamed as the world spun. He came loose from the beak and hit the flank of a terror bird. He nearly lost the Dawnblade, but held on, sliding over the monster’s curved back, its vestigial wings rising and fluttering around him, then he was off, on the ground, more healing, more power, Abyssal Grasp never letting loose.

Shadowpaw died.

He felt the mastiff fall, hurtling into his Cosmos.

Aegis reknit itself, shadows flowing up all around him, and Harald remained crouched amid the storm of legs as the huge birds shifted around, searching for him, Veil of Shadows momentarily making him disappear amidst the dusty murk.

Fist in his scale pouch.

He absorbed as many as he could.

Strength flooded into him.

“Khazadrok.”

Harald set to slashing with his black blade, hewing through legs, and birds screeched and hopped away, toppled, lay kicking like dying horses, but they’d found him, they rounded on him, beaks descending like guillotines.

Harald screamed and unleashed a Demonic Edge then dove after, plunging through a bloody hole and hitting the ground, coming up rolling, more power flooding into him, and he punched a knobbly knee hard enough to bend the leg backwards and came up only to be rushed right off his feet by a bird slamming into him.

He screamed, pinned to its chest, then a second buried the curved hook of its beak into his back, tore him free, everything happening so fast, the Aegis rendering what should have been a mortal blow into a merely horrific one, and the bird whipped its head and Harald went flying, spinning over feathered backs, beaks clacking at him, to hit one, bounce off it, hit the ground.

Something stomped him and his leg broke.

No pain.

Harald grunted and reared up, stabbed the bird through the neck, a pulse of power, and one of the birds that were being drained by the Abyssal Grasp died only for another to fall victim and begin to feed him power a second later.

“Khazadrok.”

And then another totality of white fire as another Celestial Flair dropped. Sweet, sweet relief as he realized Sam still had to be alive, and even as the birds reeled around him, momentarily drunk with blindness, a wave of coruscating power flowed through him and then, shattering and burning their bodies so that a dozen toppled to the ground, undone by the Eclipse Edge.

Harald thrust his hand into his scale pouch, absorbed, realized it was nearly empty, saw the gleaming Golden Dawns everywhere the corpses lay, and like he’d done with the goblins set the intention of absorbing them as he ran toward his next foe, their power and might suffusing him and reknitting his wounds.

Demonic Edge. A terror bird fell apart.

Stat bonus messages were flooding into his field of vision, but he dismissed them, simply taking the augmented power as it came.

A bird descended from the sky, talons spread, and Harald threw himself aside, a Goldchop slamming into its side and knocking it off its feet as Harald wrenched himself back and stabbed it in the side of the skull, shattering bone.

Feathered bodies all around him.

Madness.

Exultation.

Glee.

Blood.

Harald clasped the Dawnblade two-handed and swung it about him like a madman, hewing and cleaving, taking blows, dropping to one knee, unleashing Demonic Edges, his Aegis desperately trying to keep him alive as he suffered blow after blow.

There, a glimpse through the sparser crowd of birds of Vic and Kársek, the Rapier Regent unstoppable, The Point in one hand, rapier in the other, weaving a web of living steel around the dwarf who stood, head bowed over his war hammer, completely serene amidst the madness, until he looked up, face waxen, eyes sunken, blood pouring from both nostrils, and intoned:

“Khazadrok.”

A mass of terror birds ruptured.

Harald’s moment of distraction cost him. He was knocked down by a pair of birds working in tandem, hit the ground on his side, lost his sword, rolled.

Huge taloned feet slammed down, missed, slammed down, missed, then one stomped the side of his head and for a moment all the sound of battle went away, his vision grew foggy, his body distant.

But he kept moving.

Crawling.

Twin golden blurs passed overhead, buying him time.

Guardian’s Mantle soothed the edges, brought back definition to his vision, and sound returned as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

His blade.

Where - there.

Harald staggered drunkenly to where the Dawnblade lay, green and stoneslick once more.

More power was flooding into him from the twin Abyssal Grasps, keeping his Aegis up, his armor drinking desperately of every shadow.

Then Nessa was there, leaping over a collapsing bird to slash at a second, a spasm of white electricity flashing and shooting from one bird to the next. She moved to stand behind him, and together they turned in place, blades weaving through the air.

Terror birds came at them.

Harald realized he was laughing, his arms liquid, his throat raw, blood on his tongue, blood on his face, his body streaked in feathers and gore. Demonic Edge. A terror bird fell into halves. He parried a downward slash of a beak, cleaving the head in twain, ducked another bird as it flew over him, rose, slashed open a feathered breast, took a blow to the shoulder, but Nessa stabbed it through the eye.

“Khazadrok.”

Every terror bird to Harald’s right exploded.

Nessa pushed forward, driving the remaining birds away, and Harald reeled, looked about, saw Golden Dawns scintillating, and waded through them, absorbing as many as he could.

The ground was made treacherous by corpses. Mounds of dead birds. Beheaded, burst, cut in twain, pieces of leg, viscera, the stench of bellies cut open.

Golden Dawns suffused him with healing, his wounds closed, his mind grew sharp. The Aegis reknit itself, and he felt himself ready to battle, but worn so thin, like the rind of a fruit scraped to the point of tearing.

Abyssal Grasp would keep him going until he died of drinking too deep, too much.

Kársek was down. Vic was staggering, facing off against a quartet of birds.

Harald willed the Goldchops to his aid.

Sam?

There, surrounded by a nimbus of white light, her angelic blade blazing bright, and even as he glanced at her she unleashed another blast from the blade, eviscerating another dozen birds.

How many… how many left?

Harald turned in a slow circle.

A dozen?

These were drawing back, clacking their beaks in dismay, and then as if hearing a silent signal they turned and ran, streaking toward the jungle line.

Harald retched, spat a tooth, straightened.

No more.

No more to kill.

Here and there terror birds trilled in pain, their soft cries at odds with their former bellicose selves.

But…

There were no more.

They’d killed them all.

“Harald?” Sam’s face was streaked in blood.

“We’re… how’s Kársek?”

Vic fell to one knee, touched the side of the dwarf’s neck. “Alive. Barely. His pulse… his pulse is weak.”

Harald staggered over, dropped to his knees before the dwarf. How many times had he invoked the Rune of Destruction? Four? Six?

He’d warned them he could only do so safely some three times.

Together with Vic they turned Kársek onto his back. Blood leaked from his mouth, his ears, had soaked his beard, ran from the corners of his eyes like crimson tears.

“No,” whispered Harald. “No.”

Sam dropped beside them, the Eclipse Edge gone, and placed both hands on Kársek’s chest. She bowed her head, closed her eyes. “Scales. Get me scales.”

Everybody scrambled about, snatching Golden Dawns from the air, and brought them back to Sam, who indicated they should be placed on Kársek’s chest. These she cupped with one hand. The other she placed across his brow.

“Wait,” said Vic. “What is she…?”

“Shhh,” urged Nessa.

The Golden Dawns under Sam’s fingers glowed and disappeared. A moment later the pallor left the dwarf’s face, which returned to its customary ruddy hue. His breath unhitched and deepened, and Harald thought he heard a sigh of contentment come from his friend.

“There,” said Sam, sitting back on her heels. “He’ll be all right now.”

“Did you…” Vic glanced around the group as if looking for moral support. “Did you just heal him? Like a healer does?”

“Oh, Vic,” said Nessa tiredly, turning away to glance across the crater.

“Yes. New level. I’m… I’m feeling a bit strange, though. Might… sit down.” And Sam wobbled then spilled over to sit awkwardly.

Harald was by her side, drawing his waterskin out. His fingers were sticky with gore, and he felt lightheaded, delirious, but he focused on unstopping the top. “Here. Drink.”

Sam stared owlishly at him, then took the waterskin and sipped, sipped again, then raised it to drink deeply.

“I can’t believe we did it,” said Vic, lowering himself into an easy crouch, his bloodied rapier hanging loosely from one hand. “That was… what? A hundred? A thousand terror birds?”

“Closer to a hundred,” said Nessa, tone terse. “And we’d have been massacred without Kársek. His Rune was evaporating a score of them at a time.”

“Sam was the key player,” said Kársek, eyes still closed, voice low and grave. “She deserves the credit.”

“You’re awake!” Harald lurched over onto his side to drop next to the dwarf and take his hand. “Thank the angels. You…” Emotion overcame him.

Kársek cracked open an eye and smiled. “Thank Sam. Without her Guardian’s Mantle I’d have died two Runes ago. And her timely Celestial Flairs. Along with the focusing most of her Eclipse Edge blows on where Vic and I stood.”

“Hey,” protested Vic. “I wasn’t exactly doing nothing, either.”

“No,” agreed Kársek, and closed his eye. “You were admirable.”

“Hmm.” Vic snorted and turned away with a frown.

“New Level?” prompted Harald, glancing over at her.

Sam blinked, still looking overwhelmed, then nodded. Her hands had begun to shake.

“I got some stat bonuses,” said Harald with a smile.

“As did I,” agreed Nessa.

“Well, since you’re all sharing, I got a new Level as well.” Vic raked a hand through his bloody hair, doing nothing to improve it. “Rapier Regent, Level 4, at your service.”

“Bravo, Vic!” Nessa’s smile was so genuine that Vic straightened and smiled back in kind.

“You all right, Sam?” Harald made his way over to her, went to place an arm over her shoulders, then saw how much gore he was caked in and stopped.

“Yes. I’m fine. I really am.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and bowed her head. “It was just… there was a moment there, I thought…”

“Yeah,” said Nessa. “I did, too.”

They sank into silence.

Around them countless Golden Dawns glittered. The few remaining terror birds with some life yet croaked or tried to stand, shifting and thrashing.

“Hey!” exclaimed Vic, tone bright and surprised. “Over there! Harald!”

Who stood and followed the direction Vic was pointing.

Right where a black Servitor diamond was rotating slowly in place.