Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 27

A week.

Seven days.

That’s all that remained before he failed Thracos’ challenge to provide a terror bird Servitor.

Heading home from Sam’s place, Harald mulled his prospects.

Scales: 712,941/1,000,000

He’d made incredible progress in only a few days’ time. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to make 287,059 scales to Ascend his third Throne. That was just over four Zenith Tides per day. Yesterday, he’d only made one. And he’d never made four, not even on his best day.

Perhaps leaning on Wirmas and his crew of reavers wasn’t good enough.

Harald let out a bark of almost hysterical laughter, drawing concerned stares from Flutic citizens who edged away from him.

Harald shook his head ruefully, ignoring them. Vorakhar had clearly intended for him to work the amulet/Wirmas combination for all it was worth, but the 16th Level was already responding to their continued assaults. There were fewer hobgoblins in evidence, and on the last run they’d been bunched up together, some groups numbering almost two hundred, as if in anticipation of King Wirmas’ assault.

Was the Fallen Angel punishing them for their tactics?

But how else could he earn four Zenith Tides a day? It was an absurd sum, astronomical.

If he could reach the 27th Level, he could wreak havoc on the Scarecrows. But the closest direct portals were on the 25th and 29th, and there was no way he’d be as suited to fighting those monsters as he was the telepathic Thought Reavers.

Harald rubbed at his stubbled jaw. What if he just assaulted the 16th by himself? But he’d need to personally slaughter almost five hundred hobgoblins by himself to make those kinds of scales.

Well. Perhaps he simply needed to double the number of his raids.

Or.

Harald stopped in the street, not caring for how he blocked the flow of traffic.

Or he could take it from Gorkin.

He’d been meaning to strike at the bastard again. Had been waiting for the countess to alert him as to the next best strike.

But Gorkin’s entire warehouse cache had only held four Aurora Veils. He’d need to hit ten warehouses a day to make it worth his while.

“Damn it,” muttered Harald, and resumed walking.

Then again, they’d not done anything with Bonemelter, the Red Fist club. As a Rare Artifact, it was worth a 100,000 scales by itself. They couldn’t sell it through the Platinum Rose, but perhaps they could sell it to the dwarves to be broken down? Surely Kársek could effect that transaction? If they got a Horizon’s Whisper there, Harald would only need to earn two more, which was about 28,000 scales per day.

Definitely doable.

If the dwarves would take a stolen Artifact. If Kársek’s dignity allowed him to sell it.

Suddenly impatient, Harald flagged down a passing hansom cab, leaped in, and gave Sonora Manor’s address.

A quarter of a bell later he leaped down, paid the driver, and saluted Bosworth as he slipped past the guardhouse and jogged down to the manor.

He could tell from the guard’s bristling outrage that leaping the gate and jogging wasn’t in keeping with the old man’s sense of decorum, but he was in a rush.

Rivik met him at the front door, alerted through his Class, no doubt, as to Harald’s arrival.

“How’s Kársek feeling?” asked Harald, doffing his cloak.

“Master Kársek is much recovered,” said Rivik, taking the garment. “He has been steadily eating his way through half our larder, though that’s no complaint on my part. The master dwarf needs to regain his strength, and we’re happy to provide.”

“Good, good,” said Harald, moving to edge past the butler.

“But Countess Sonora would like a word.” Rivik raised a brow as if underscoring the importance of the request. “I believe she’s completed her studies of the purloined letters and would like to discuss their import with you.”

“Right.” Harald blew out his cheeks, glanced up the stairwell in the direction of Kársek’s room, then resigned himself to checking in on his friend soon. “Lead the way.”

For once, the countess wasn’t in her favorite parlor, but rather had commandeered the dining table on which she’d laid out scores of papers, each connected by colorful threads of yarn, the letters and papers he’d stolen laid carefully amidst them.

“Well!” Countess Sonora’s face was flushed with triumph. “I think I’ve wrested everything of use from the trove you stole. And what a trove it turned out to be!”

Harald moved alongside her to study the table. Here was a rough charcoal sketch of a warehouse - not the old Sonora one - with a list of sums pinned beneath it. There three letters in an elegant, cursive hand. Here a map, again in charcoal, tracing twisting passages with symbols marked all over it. A sketch of an estate in the countryside, with another letter beneath it. A small book the size of Harald’s palm whose pages bristled with bookmarks and annotations.

“So… what is all this?”

The countess beamed, smoothed a curl of fiery hair back, then hesitated. “I don’t even know where to begin. Except to say that our Gorkin, the fiend, has a far more extensive financial empire than I gave him credit for. And not just mercantile interests, either: illegal partnerships with scale lenders, loans to weaker Houses, smuggling routes for illicit goods, a ledger in code with what must be bribes listed along with dates to customs inspectors, officials in the City Watch, and even minor nobility. Blackmail letters, hidden rental profits, secret ownership of at least three other warehouses under false names, exclusive trading agreements with the city, bills of lading for exotic goods whose shipments appear underinsured or outright falsified, probably to avoid taxes or outright lies to mask his smuggling operations…”

“All that was in the letters I stole?”

Sonora laughed. “No. But what you brought me were the threads I was able to slowly untangle, to pursue, to investigate and reveal.” She gazed at the complex web laid out across the table. “I’ve called in favors, done my own research in the public records, and used my own knowledge and my father’s old ledgers to construct this as best I can. And while half of this is conjecture, I’m positive I’m not that far off the mark. Yes, I’ve had to extrapolate, make educated guesses, but even so, I doubt I’ve even captured half of Gorkin’s holdings and affairs.”

“That’s incredible.” Harald allowed his gaze to rove over the papers, the threads, the illustrations. “It sounds like most of it is illegal?”

“Most of it indeed. He’s a monster, Gorkin is, but one who has operated in plain sight. Which.” She pulled out a chair and sank into it. “Is why I went to Lord Draken to see if we couldn’t haul him before the court to hang and quarter him.”

Harald sat slowly. “That didn’t go well?”

“Oh, Lord Draken was sympathetic. Just like he was when I first approached him a few years back about the theft of my properties. But this time I was merciless when he tried to evade my points. I took a risk and challenged him, only to be told in no uncertain terms to drop the matter.”

“Drop the matter? Does Gorkin have blackmail material on Lord Draken?”

“It’s possible.” The countess picked up the bribery ledger then tossed it away. “Though I didn’t find any evidence of it in these papers. Gorkin is a gnat compared to Lord Draken. I can’t believe he’d last this many years if he was blackmailing the lord of House Drakenhart.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know.” The countess slumped back. “He told me to drop the matter. That going to the other major Houses would receive the same result. That it was a cruel and unfair world, and that while he was trying to make some matters right, others were beyond his control.”

“Huh.” Harald frowned at the mess of clues and papers. “Tibbits… Tibbits claimed he had no enemies amongst the major Houses, but still fortified himself as if for war. That there was something going on that he’d not reveal, even for an Infinitum, and that we should pick another mark.”

The countess shook her head in mute frustration.

Harald sat forward. “Well, we can continue our own assault. It’s not like he was able to stop me from attacking his warehouse. We just need to identify a suitable next target and go from there.”

“Yes.” The countess tapped her chin, pensive, then nodded decisively. “We’ll not let the mystery stop us. Now, our original goal was to bleed him dry while not revealing our involvement. But that was before the scale of his enterprise was made clear. Now…”

“Hmm.” Harald stood and walked around the table, studying the different piles. “There’s a lot here that would damage him if it came to light, regardless of his protected status. We could inform the Watch about these smuggling tunnels, for example, or reveal which officials in the Watch he’s bribing. Or the blackmail letters. If we make the secrets known to all, those minor nobles will be humiliated and furious with Gorkin, who’ll no longer have any leverage on them.”

“A dangerous game,” agreed Sonora. “But doable. I think the key aspect of all this, when I step back and think of the whole, is his trade with Marheim, built, as you know, upon the back of my father’s stolen businesses. We have enough evidence here to deduce that he’s got a secret agreement with those Marheim merchants that ensures preferential access at lowered rates to certain goods. He imports cheap and sells high. If we could sever that connection, we’d be cutting off his river of gold.”

Harald took up the sheaf of letters and flicked through them. “What do you suggest? Intimidate his key contacts?”

“I doubt we can scare them more than he can.” Sonora tapped her lips. “But something comprehensive could throw all his affairs in disarray. Say, in one night, we torch all three of his secret warehouses. That would cripple his ability to receive goods covertly, deal him a substantial economic blow by losing the goods he’s not yet sold, and indirectly bring attention to the connection between the three warehouses, which might lead authorities to unwittingly investigate him.”

Harald rubbed at his jaw. “Right. And freeze his trade from Marheim until he sets up new places to store the goods.”

Excited now, Sonora took up another sheet. “Here are the payments he’s been making to the Red Fist. It lists three other locations in the Marheim Gate they’re defending. With this, we can deduce both how many mercenaries you’ll be facing, and the warehouse locations.”

“You’ve checked the addresses?”

“Rivik went by them yesterday. They’re shabby places, but efficiently run, and the Red Fists were kept out of sight. Definitely operational warehouses.”

“Can you show me on the map?”

The countess did so, pointing out each warehouse’s location.

“Close enough that I can run from one to the next. But I’d have to move fast so that word doesn’t spread as to what’s happening.”

“Can you… do that thing again? Where you disappear them without leaving a trail?”

Harald considered. “Probably? But they might be on the alert, given what happened at the first warehouse. Our best bet would be three simultaneous strikes. I could ask the others to help. Because of my unique Abilities, I could take one by myself, while the rest of the Throne Hunters take a second. Then we converge on the third. With a little luck, all three would be burning within the same bell.”

“They’ve been through a lot this week. Are you sure they’d be up for something like this?”

“We can always just ask.” Harald’s smile was tight. “Perhaps after our 21st Level run on the terror birds. Once we’ve had a chance to fight as a team again.”

“Very well. The more time that passes since your last strike the better. I’ll let you decide how to handle this situation.”

“All right. And, Countess?”

She raised a brow.

“Once I’m done, racing toward my third Throne? I’ll be able to start channeling most of my daily earnings back into your coffers. I’ve not forgotten about your House’s needs.”

“Our House, Harald.” But her smile took the sting from her words. “And thank you. But worry about that later. First we need to ensure that you survive.”

“I’ll work on that.”

For a moment they just stayed thus, smiling at each other, and then Harald bowed his head, suddenly aware of how familiarly they’d been speaking, how natural it felt to work with her, how much her smile meant to him.

She must have realized something along the same lines, because she looked away and rose swiftly, smoothing down her dress. “In which case you are dismissed, Sir Darrowdelve.”

He placed his fist over his heart in the old-fashioned manner and bowed. “I remain your dutiful knight, Countess Sonora.”

“Oh, call me Anna,” she laughed, unable to maintain her serious expression.

“Anna. Thank you.” And before he could say something foolish, he quit the dining room, feeling elated.

From there he ascended to Kársek’s quarters. The door was ajar, so he pushed it open gently and peered within.

Kársek sat in the armchair by the window, his ceremonial hammer laid across his lap, his eyes closed.

Unsure if his friend was sleeping, Harald was about to withdraw when the dwarf smiled. “I’m almost done. Come in.”

Harald moved silently to sit on the corner of the bed, and waited as the dwarf finished his meditation. True to his word, a few moments later Kársek relaxed and opened his eyes.

“You seem better?”

“Because I am better.” The dwarf passed his hand over his chin braids. “Rest, Earthblood, and plenty of good iron within the meat I’ve been consuming have restored me.”

“And you were… meditating? Eadwolf’s advice?”

“No,” smiled the dwarf. “I am still in the process of bonding with my hammer. It is a lifelong process, or at least one that shall last me for as long as I am a DreadRune. I imprint my essence twinned with Earthblood, so that it may better act as a conduit to my powers. How did your time go with Eadwolf?”

“All right.” Harald considered, then shrugged. “Surprising, actually.” And he shared what the trainer had told him.

“A wise man, Eadwolf. I agree with him. And Sam was pleased, no doubt.”

“She was.” Harald smiled. “We had tea and biscuits and you should have seen her, fussing about her place and trying to straighten everything as if I were a visiting dignitary. I think she was pleased.” Harald’s smile faded. “I’m going to do more of that moving forward.”

“Good. But now you are behind on your scales.”

“I am. Which brings me to something I was going to ask you: do you think you could sell the Bonemelter to Deepforge?”

“Hmm.” Kársek sat back. “It is not honorably come by.”

“Spoils of war?”

“A war is waged by both sides. The Red Fists did not expect you.”

“Spoils of… raiding?”

“We dwarves are not welcome in Flutic. Not truly. We are too different, our power too mysterious. But we are tolerated, because we bring trade, wealth, and our craftsmanship. The Thane of Deepforge must nurture that relationship so that our people are left alone.”

“You’re saying we could endanger them by bringing the Bonemelter.”

“There would be no difficulty if it was acquired in the dungeon. But you murdered its owner and stole the weapon from him. Part of the process of handing over an Artifact to Deepforge involves investigating its provenance. Ensuring that nobody else has a claim on it, and that the seller is legally entitled to sell it.”

“Hmm.” Harald grimaced. “They won’t take it, then?”

“If I ask it, they will. But I then take responsibility for any trouble that arises from their breaking down the Artifact and paying you scales for it. I would take on that responsibility for you, but not if it involves endangering my people. That I cannot countenance.”

“I see.” Harald’s shoulders slumped. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kársek.

“Don’t be. I thought it a clever shortcut. Instead, I’ll have to earn the scales the old-fashioned way.”

“Is leading a hundred reavers into battle now considered old-fashioned?” But Kársek’s eyes gleamed with good humor.

“We’ve a week to go. I need to clear over 40,000 scales each day if I’m to Ascend before the deadline, and that leaves me precious little time to lead our assault on the 21st Level right after. Which means…”

“Which means you’ll be doubling your number of daily raids.”

“Right. I don’t see another way. Except I’m worried about taking Wirmas with me both times. I think the Fallen Angel is starting to protest. Still. I can’t think of another solution.”

Kársek nodded, expression grim.

“That aside, the countess has identified my next target.”

“Gorkin?”

“Not directly, but yes. Turns out he owns three clandestine warehouses. I’m going to torch them all during the same bell, dealing him a costly blow as well as possibly exposing his illegal trading network.”

“Defenses?”

“Red Fists, like the first. According to the payroll, each should be guarded by six of them, though that may have changed since my first strike. They’re all in the Marheim Gate, in the seedier areas.”

“I’ll help you,” said Kársek. “I believe the others will as well.”

“Oh, good.” Harald felt a wave of relief pass through him. “I was worried because of the nature of the work…”

“I might not be willing to sell the spoils of these raids to Deepforge, but I will take part in them. Lord Gorkin is an evil man, and those who take his scales as payment do so knowing the risks they are consequently taking.”

“Then I’ll speak to Sam and the others when I see them next. I was thinking of attacking after our terror bird run.”

“Sound thinking,” agreed Kársek. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime?” Harald stood up. “I’m going to raid.”

Kársek levered himself out of his armchair and propped his war hammer over one shoulder. “Lead on, then, tharkûn.”

“You sure you’re ready?”

Kársek simply raised a bristly brow.

“I guess you’re ready.” Harald grinned. “This time though, try not to step over any not-yet-dead orcs?”

“Ha,” said the dwarf, tone serious. “Not a mistake I’ll be making twice.”

*

The guards at the Copper Gate had grown familiar with Harald and his Throne Hunters passing through in some configuration each day, and simply waved them through. Harald made his declarations, not caring if one of the taxation officials was in the pay of House Celestara or whomever, and together with Kársek climbed up to the Copper platform to face the spinning polyhedron.

“Our legends claim that all of the dungeon is contained within it,” said Kársek softly, gazing up at the shifting faces.

“Inside it?” Harald stared curiously at his friend. “What, in miniature?”

Kársek shrugged. “Curious, isn’t it, that nobody has ever managed to delve down into the dungeon from Flutic? And there have been some impressive attempts.”

But there was no more time for philosophical considerations. Harald held up a Silver Starburst and six Copper Crescent scales, and the polyhedron locked in on them, swelled even as its triangular face hollowed out, and then they were rising, rising, and gone.

Harald’s knees flexed as he appeared on a parapet above a ruined courtyard on the 16th, Kársek beside him. The Dawnblade was in his hand, still inert, and he turned in a quick circle, summoning Shadowpaw from his Cosmos as he did so, ready for an errant band of orcs to spot them while on patrol.

Nothing.

The green miasma hung thick and dolorous in the air. The parapet extended all the way around the courtyard, and faced out over a tumbled series of lower walkways, bridges, and massively thick walls. In the distance a large blocky fortress rose from the ruins, a green fire blazing from its flat peak.

“That’s new,” said Harald, squinting at the distant flame.

“Aye,” said Kársek, frowning. “New isn’t good.”

“Or it could be excellent. A hundred Zenith Tides, all piled up and awaiting an intrepid hero?”

“I mean, it’s possible.”

Shadowpaw yawned and whined at the same time, then clomped his heavy jaws together and licked his nose with a massive red tongue.

Harald smiled. “Looks like someone’s ready for action. Prepare yourselves for some dubious company.”

And he summoned Wirmas.

The pallid hobgoblin appeared with a shudder, and passed a clawed hand over his sole good eye before breathing deeply and taking in the 16th. “Once more into the breach, Praetor?”

“What do you reckon that is?”

Wirmas studied the distant keep, its battlements dark against the flickering green light in its center. “As much as I loathe to plead ignorance, I’ve no idea. Fascinating. Shall we direct our attentions to it?”

“Let’s load up on reavers, and then make that our first goal once we’re a hundred strong.”

Which they then did. Over the course of the next bell, though no tolling could be heard this far down, they conquered two massive warbands and soon commanded yet again a century of reavers, each as massive and glowering as the next.

The blazing keep remained prominent over the landscape, rarely hidden from view. Harald kept glancing at it nervously, but once they were ready, he directed their forces thither.

Nothing opposed them as they drew close. The flanking walls were abandoned, and for once no orc patrols appeared to harry their flanks. The reavers marched with solid discipline, though Harald caught more than one raising its pugnacious visage to study the distant flame with something akin to wary awe.

Finally it loomed above them, massive and dour. It rose some ten stories tall, windowless, and a great broad bridge without railings arched out over the void toward a huge portcullis that was in fine repair, its black iron grating obdurate and massive.

“Can you handle that?” asked Harald, gesturing at the far portal.

Kársek frowned. “If we see a foe behind it, yes. Otherwise I cannot summon my Rune.”

“It is mighty in aspect, yes, but nothing we cannot handle,” crooned Wirmas. “My reavers will bunch beneath it and lift it high enough for us to wedge a rock beneath, then under it, like loathsome worms, we’ll crawl.”

“I mean, I guess that’s a plan.” Harald scanned the top of the keep, the surrounding ruins. “Let’s cross.”

The bridge was wide enough for ten reavers to march forward at once. But no sooner had the first rank stepped out onto the rock than the portcullis issued a ragged shriek of much abused metal and began to rise.

The reavers stopped and raised their fell bows, yard-long arrows nocked and drawn back to their cheeks.

Harald, in the third rank, tried to peer over the huge shoulders, but in the end impatience caused him to shoulder his way through the reavers to the front.

The portcullis rose slowly, steadily, and disappeared from view.

Then out into the green miasma, her white dress near glowing in the gloom, emerged an angel, her dark hair cut short about her jaw, twin gleaming arming swords clenched each hand.