Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 25

Harald, Sam, and Kársek hit the 16th Level that afternoon.

The green miasma that cloaked the endless castles and walls was becoming all too familiar. Harald summoned Wirmas, who bowed low, and then they got to work.

Hobgoblin patrol after hobgoblin patrol fell to Wirmas’ authority, and then they took their first clan. A bell later, perhaps, they took their second, and filled out the hundred reavers that Wirmas could command.

And then they got to killing.

This time Harald and Sam insisted on remaining on the front lines. They charged foes, Sam’s Shield of Valor and Harald’s Umbral Aegis protecting them from arrows and hurled spears. They fought desperate battles where reavers crashed against hobgoblin formations. They slipped on blood. They healed with hands thrust into pouches of scales.

Whenever things grew truly dire, Kársek unleashed his Rune with surgical precision, and devastated the enemy ranks.

Wirmas’ attitude had grown… circumspect. Perhaps his witnessing Harald’s lethality against the troll shamans had inculcated some modicum of respect. But it didn’t matter. With Sam’s Beacon of Hope washing over him, Harald felt purposeful, controlled, rational.

When at long last their souls wearied of the slaughter, when the cyclopean blocks and endless bridges, passageways, and courtyards grew too much to keep exploring, they returned to the portal, the reavers carrying sacks of scales over their shoulders. Harald dismissed them to whatever pursuits they wished to follow in the depths of the 16th.

Wirmas bowed low once more, his sole blue eye gleaming with some cunning satisfaction, and was gone.

“Well.” Sam wiped sticky blood from the side of her face with a wet washcloth. “How long do you think that was? Three bells?”

“Four and a half,” said Kársek, tone sure.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Sam considered the large sacks. “That felt… better. More honest.”

“Yeah.” Harald sheathed the Dawnblade. The odds of an orc patrol finding them here after they’d cleaned out the whole area were slim. “Guess I’ll… absorb all the scales? Before we go?”

“Makes no sense to pay taxes on them,” agreed Sam, gazing wistfully at the bags.

“Don’t offer to share,” said Kársek, taking a swig from his flask. “I can sense your innate generosity rearing its head. We are here for you and you alone. You must be ready to fight the terror birds within nine days’ time.”

“Right. Right.” Still, it felt wrong. He knew Sam was ambitious, that she yearned for more power. But instead he plunged a hand into the first sack, deep amongst the sharp-edged scales, and set to absorbing them.

It was bliss. An extended period of glory as he felt the countless Silver Starbursts and Golden Dawns enter his Cosmos, empowering his simulacra of the Fallen Angel.

When the bag was emptied at last, he blinked and came back to the present. Kársek stood with his back to them, watching the approach. Sam was seated close by, arms propped on her knees.

“How much was that?” she asked.

Harald checked his window.

Scales: 605,333 / 1,000,000

“A little over 7,000 Copper Crescents’ worth.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Four more bags to go. Lucky you.”

Harald smiled guiltily and got to work.

More eons of bliss spent absorbing scales passed.

When the last sack was finished, he inhaled deeply, felt that profound satisfaction and ecstasy of the soul fade away, and checked his window again:

Scales: 634,049 / 1,000,000

“There. Damn.”

Sam opened her eyes. She’d dozed off. “Done? How much?”

Harald told her. “That’s a gain of three and a half Zenith Tides.”

Kársek looked back at them. “A marked improvement over your last run. Then again, you aren’t paying taxes.”

“Agreed. If I keep going at this rate, every day, then nine days multiplied by 35,000 is…”

“A little over three Horizon’s Whispers,” said Kársek, and then his normally dour expression cracked into a smile. “That should be just enough.”

“And that’s if I do only one raid per day. If I did two, I could be done in half the time, and have that many more days to raid the 21st.”

“Oh, the angels wept,” said Sam, resting her head back. “I couldn’t do this twice a day. Nine bells’ worth?”

“And you’re discounting Eadwolf’s training. It could prove more valuable than gaining an extra day to raid the 21st,” said Kársek.

“Yeah. True. I guess we’ll see how it goes. We ready to return?”

Sam hauled herself to her feet. “Ready.”

“Of course.” Kársek gathered the empty sacks. “I will come with you as many times you as you desire, Harald. And not only because you are my tharkûn. This level is rich in Earthblood. I am gaining quickly by practicing my Rune here.”

“Great. Good to hear.” Harald smiled tightly. “So far so good. Let’s go shock those taxation officials.”

*

Eadwolf appeared at Sonora Manor the next morning. This time he was clad in a thick gray cloak, knee-high boots, and had no weapons buckled at his hip. Countess Sonora greeted him civilly as he entered the dining room where everyone had just finished breaking their fast.

“House Sonora has decided to officially employ your services on a week-by-week basis, Master Eadwolf.” Harald got the impression the countess was saying this for their benefit. “Our situation is precarious, and it is your instruction that will help us survive each weekly trial. Now. How do you wish to go about your training? Harald must raid each day, and will be taking one or several members of his crew with him when he does. This is non-negotiable, as his survival depends on it.”

Eadwolf studied Harald from under his dark brows, then inclined his head. “If those are the terms, then those are the terms. I’m glad you chose to employ me despite my barking yesterday.” At this he grinned his feral smile. “You would be surprised how many coddled lordlings run for their mother’s skirts when I show my claws.”

Vic snorted.

Eadwolf placed his hands upon the back of an empty chair. They were knobbly, strong, heavily veined, and callused. “If I can count on nothing but one week with you, then we shall do this with the week: you will follow the drills you’ve been doing so far. You’re not half-bad, as crews go. Your Blade Master knows what she’s about.”

Nessa inclined her head.

“I’ll spend each day with one of you. We’ll go for a nice walk. Buy ourselves a cup of tea. And talk.” Eadwolf’s sunken eyes flashed. “I must know your temper before I can judge how best to improve your mettle.”

Vic took a breath as if about to utter one of his witticisms, then clearly had second thoughts and closed his mouth.

“But know this. I can point you in the direction, but you must want to take the steps. Any fool can pick up a blade and learn the Dungeon Square.” Harald fought not to blush. “But the difference between a fighter and a warrior is the mindset. Fighters die like this in the dungeon.” Eadwolf snapped his fingers. “Warriors? They’re like roaches. You just can’t seem to kill them.”

“Nice,” said Vic. “I mean, there’s about a dozen things I could say right now, but I don’t want to be yelled at while drinking my coffee.”

Eadwolf’s smile was remarkable for how discomforting it was. “You and me, today, Vic. You’re going to need the most work.”

“You’re serious?” Vic stared at the Nihtscuan down the length of his nose. “I mean, I suppose I should hardly expect a man of your base proclivities to appreciate my elan.”

“Let’s go for a walk. But fair notice. I’m not here to waste my time. If you want my training, you commit to giving me your all. If I sense you’re not serious, and can’t be made so, I’ll stop. I’m too old to coddle fools.”

Vic sat up straight. “I’m no fool.”

“Let’s see. Up. We start walking now.” And with a nod to the countess, Eadwolf quit the dining room.

“Great. Superb. Absolutely marvelous,” said Vic, rising reluctantly to his feet as he finished the last of his coffee. “Countess, I tell you to your face: I’m going to steal these three candied buns from your table. I’ll use them later, as necessary, to console my poor wounded ego.”

Countess Sonora smiled. “Be brave, Victor.”

Who could only sigh dolorously as he followed after Eadwolf.

“So what’s this going to be?” asked Sam. “Lectures?”

“More than that, I’ll warrant.” Nessa was frowning at her serving knife as she tapped it against the knuckles of her other hand. “Eadwolf’s earned his reputation for a reason. He said it himself. He’s going to work on turning us into warriors. That’ll mean ferreting out our weaknesses and forcing us to confront them.”

“I know what my weaknesses are,” protested Sam, then glanced guiltily at the countess. “And I’m working on them.”

Nessa raised both eyebrows as she continued studying her own knife, clearly indicating she’d made no comment.

“We can all use help,” said Harald heavily. “Though I don’t know how much I should tell him.”

“He won’t be able to help you if he doesn’t understand what’s driving you,” said Nessa.

“It’s a question of trust,” added Kársek. “You’ll have to decide for yourself if your need is equal to the risk.”

“Eadwolf doesn’t seem the kind to run to the Seraphites,” said Countess Sonora.

“More the kind to cut Harald’s throat on the spot if he finds his patron objectionable,” agreed Nessa. She set her knife down with a clink and sat up straight. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. For any of us. But in the meantime, you heard the man. Let’s train.”

“A couple of hours would be great,” agreed Harald. “Then I’m heading back to the 16th.”

“A couple of hours, then,” agreed Nessa, eyes gleaming. The sight gave Harald comfort. He’d not seen that predatory look in their depths since he’d saved her from Wirmas. “Let’s have at it.”

*

The next three days proceeded in a similar manner. They broke their fast at Seventh Bell. Eadwolf plucked a victim to work with, and disappeared with them. The rest trained under Nessa’s harsh gaze. It was familiar work. Warm-up runs, sword drills, sparring. Sonora Manor lacked his father’s gymnasium, but they made do with household objects, buckets of water hanging from milkmaid yokes, and other extemporized weights.

Harald earned 35,932 scales the day that Vic trained with Eadwolf. 29,344 the day Sam was taken away. But only 13,616 on the third day due to a frightening accident Kársek suffered - an orc they’d thought dead had reared up as he made his way around a courtyard, assuring himself that all their foes were dead. This one wasn’t, and stabbed the dwarf deep in the armpit with a wickedly sharp knife.

For a horrifying few minutes Harald had thought the wound a mortal one, but Kársek was made of sterner stuff; insensate, he couldn’t absorb scales, so they’d rushed him to the portal and back out onto the Copper platform, where the healer was summoned and managed to bring him back from the brink of death.

In four days Harald absorbed about 114,000 scales.

An enormous sum.

But far short of the 140,000 scales he’d anticipated harvesting by now.

Frustration had him by the throat, but Sam pleaded that he not go raiding at night just yet.

Their team, after all, was falling apart.

Returning to Sonora Manor after his second raid, Harald learned that Vic had quit the grounds after finishing his session with Eadwolf, livid and trembling.

He didn’t return the next day when Sam departed for her session. Harald returned from his third raid, terrified that Eadwolf would have brutalized her sensibilities, but she was instead withdrawn, deeply pensive, gaze hooded as she sat in the second parlor, watching the rain streak down the windows.

“All right, Sam?” he’d asked from the doorway.

“All right, Harald.” She’d not looked away from the window.

“Things with Eadwolf…?”

“About what you’d expect.”

“So… good?”

“No, Harald.” She’d looked at him, gaze clear and depthless like well water. “Not good. But… necessary.”

He’d tongued his cheek, nodded though he knew he didn’t understand, and realized that he couldn’t just stand there when she looked at him so. “Anything you want to share…?”

Sam shook her head slowly.

“Fair. All right. I’m going to… I’m going to go wash up.”

The next day was Nessa’s turn. Harald returned with Kársek recovered from his wound but still weak, and found Sam pacing the entrance hall, hugging herself tightly.

“Kársek!” She rushed to the dwarf’s side and helped him sit. “What happened?”

The explanation was mercifully short.

“We can’t take the dungeon for granted,” said Sam, studying the dwarf, eyes wide.

“No, of course not,” said Harald, unable to restrain his impatience. “But accidents happen.”

“It was my fault,” said Kársek. “I let my guard slip.”

“We’re killing too many, moving too fast,” said Harald.

“Even so. There’s a reason for the rule. I’ll not make the same mistake again.”

“And Nessa?” asked Harald. “She…?”

“Not good,” said Sam, voice hushed as she looked up through the entrance hall ceiling in the direction of the guest rooms. “Though, how could it be? She returned just a bell ago. Face mottled, you know? Patches of white and red, like she’d been strangled. Went straight to her room and closed the door.”

“Vic?”

Sam shook her head.

“Is this…?” Harald dropped into a crouch beside Kársek. “Is this the right move? On our part? Taking on Eadwolf when we’re already so…?”

“Messed up?” prompted Sam.

“Sure. Whatever the word is. We’re the Throne Hunters. Vic, Nessa, us. The five of us. We’re messed up, but we’re still getting shit done.”

“No.” Sam’s voice grew soft. “Eadwolf’s right. Our weaknesses will cause us to fail before too long. One bad glory trip on Nessa’s part before a raid, or Vic falling too far behind to keep up, or my… well. Or you.” Her gaze glimmered with sudden tears. “You’re in the most danger, Harald. We could lose you at any moment. He’s out there. Trying to snare you. Doing everything he can to make you his weapon. We can’t risk that.”

“I’m not his tool,” said Harald darkly.

“Not yet,” said Sam, her voice made bleak with heartfelt sadness.

“She’s right,” said Kársek, shifting in the armchair. “What he’s sparked inside you is finding ready tinder.”

“I’m not -”

“Because there’s ready tinder in all our souls,” continued Kársek, inexorably. “We are all of us filled with grief and anger, resentment and bitterness. What he did was give you a unique outlet for all that pain. How can you not be tempted, Harald? Any of us would be.”

“Not you,” said Harald bitterly.

“We cannot know that,” said Kársek, shaking his head gravely. “As a DreadRune, no, I am not likely to be tempted. But when I was a mere Earth Mover? After losing Freyka?” He shook his head again.

“My point being, better we break here, in safety, than down there, surrounded by monsters.” Sam wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Eadwolf described it as a controlled break. Resetting a badly healed broken arm. It hurts, but the arm will grow back stronger and better for it.”

Harald sighed and hung his head. “Fine. I trust you. You think it’s a good idea? Both of you? Then we’ll keep at it. If we don’t lose Vic and Nessa along the way.”

“They’re stronger than that,” said Kársek, his confidence quiet but absolute. “But the break is still hard.”

“I think you can trust him,” said Sam abruptly. “With your situation.”

“Yeah?” Harald tried not to sound skeptical.

“Yeah. He’s… he lost all his people to the dungeon, a few years back. But didn’t want to return to Nihtscua. He’s powerful, Harald, but has nothing but scorn for the Houses. He’s… I don’t know. His own man. Like, with a kind of integrity I’ve never really met before. I think he’d give you a fair chance to explain yourself.”

“Hmm.” Harald considered. “Maybe. I’ll see how my talk with him goes.”

“I agree with Sam,” said Kársek. “And not just because he said nice things about me.”

“Ha,” said Harald, then rose as Kársek leaned his head back, ruddy features growing pale. “You all right?”

“Rest,” said Kársek. “I just need sleep. Earthblood will restore me.”

They got him upstairs, into a clean white shift, then bundled him up with a warmed brick and closed the door. The dwarf was already snoring as they both crept out onto the landing.

“Come on. Let’s get you some dinner. You look…”

“Phenomenal?”

“Rough. And we need to trim your hair. It’s starting to get floppy. Unless you’re looking to grow it out again?”

“No. Keep it short. Please.”

*

Harald awoke the next morning grim and steadfast. Today was to be his training session with Eadwolf. He was apprehensive but skeptical. No matter how rugged and experienced a trainer the Nihtscuan might be, what words of advice could he offer someone who suffered from the Insatiable Void?

Vic returned, though for once he declined breakfast, and instead pried Nessa out of her room and coerced her into a walk. The pair headed out in silence, both frowning, both pensive.

Sam stayed home that day, no doubt to mull over her own lessons with Eadwolf, and Kársek remained in bed, resting and devouring hearty meat stew.

Which left Harald to pick over his breakfast, his appetite vanishingly small.

He was staring off into the middle distance, mechanically chewing on a rasher of bacon, when he realized he was no longer alone.

Eadwolf had taken a chair at the end of the table, and watched him with gleaming eyes. “You look preoccupied.”

“Is that a surprise?”

The Nihtscuan’s grin was feral. “My master used to say one should eat with complete focus. That it was a time for presence and immediacy, and that for the duration of a meal, one should put all one’s cares aside.”

“That work for you?”

“Nah.”

“Who was your master?”

“He’s long dead now.” Eadwolf’s smile faded away as he stroked his braided beard. “Long dead. What matters is the present, whether you’re eating or not. Ready for our walk?”

“Sure.” Harald pushed his plate away. “I’m curious as to what you’ve got in store for me.”

“A healthy attitude. Come.”

They quit the house and began a slow perambulation around the gardens. Eadwolf’s gaze never ceasing to slowly rake the rooftop, the walls, the trees. He didn’t look alarmed, Harald realized, just… perpetually wary.

And to his surprise, the Nihtscuan didn’t immediately begin talking. They walked in silence for a spell, and with each passing moment Harald’s impatience and curiosity grew.

“You’ve got good friends,” said Eadwolf at last. “They’re royally fucked in the head, but then again, it’s hard to get through this life without taking damage. Still. I’m impressed by your crew.”

“Nessa’s the delve captain,” muttered Harald.

“Your crew,” said Eadwolf again. “You know that.”

Harald went to protest, glanced at the weathered man by his side, then subsided sullenly.

“Kársek, well. That dwarf’s a sight for sore eyes. Would that my own crew had possessed such a foundation. I’ll not be spending any time with him. He doesn’t need it. Sound as solid oak, he is, and committed to you past all reason. A life debt, he told me.”

Harald grunted.

“Nessa? Now there’s a tangled briar. All roses and thorns. She’s adept with the blade, but that’s proven her weakness.”

Harald glanced at the man. “Weakness?”

“Aye. Didn’t you know that one’s strength can become one’s weakness? By hiding behind her blade, she could avoid asking the hard questions of herself. And it’s hard to meet someone willing to press a Bladeweaver on matters they’d rather leave alone.”

“I see.”

“Sam, well. That’s a rose that’s straining to reach the sun. It’s rare to meet someone so good-hearted, so… righteous. But her stem’s been warped by growing on your family’s arbor.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Are you now?” Eadwolf grinned. “Then you know why I’m speaking to you like this?”

“Like what?”

“On equal terms. Friendly-like. Casual.”

“Because…” Harald realized he’d no idea.

“Because you’re different, Darrowdelve. Your friends danced around your problems as if to mention them was death. They fear you and love you. Depending on the hour, sometimes it was one, sometimes the other. I was brought on to help you all become warriors. But you don’t need my help in that regard, do you?”

Harald met the other man’s gleaming gaze. “No.”

“No. It’s why I left you for last. The others are common problems. Abuse, addiction, insecurity, trauma. You can’t swing a stick in the Shambles without hitting a dozen people suffering from similar ills. But you. You’re in a different category.”

Harald stopped and faced the man. He wanted to protest, but to what end?

Eadwolf studied him, still smiling, but his eyes were narrowed. “You, Darrowdelve. You’re more akin to the monsters I once hunted in the dungeons. It’s your fundamental nature to kill, isn’t it? To devour. Yes, you’re a monster, through and through.”

“And this is supposed to help me how?”

“I wondered how I could help someone who has no problem destroying any enemy that steps before them. And then I realized: you need help harnessing your power, reining in yourself. You don’t need help learning to devour your foes, no - what you need is help so that you don’t destroy your friends, yourself, and everything around you.”