Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 24

Eadwolf the Gray presented himself at dawn with a challenge brought by an extremely flustered Bosworth: to hunt him down on the Sonora grounds, where he would lie in wait for the crew.

“To hunt him down,” repeated the countess, her face wan from a night of little sleep. Clad in a simple but elegant gown of emerald green, she stared at her gate guard in disbelief. “You’re quite sure?”

Bosworth all but saluted again, his bushy mustache quivering. “Yes, my lady! I swear it upon my life, upon the very blood that courses through this poor flesh! He vaulted the gate before I could even question him and disregarded my shouted queries! I have failed you, my lady!” His barked words lost all vigor, and became a piteous quaver, distant and echoey. “I have failed you. I beg your permission to take my own life!”

“Nonsense, Bosworth. Enough of that. Please return to the gatehouse, thank you.”

Bosworth hung his head, distraught, and all but dragged his pike behind him as he quit the front door to return up the driveway to his post.

“Your grounds aren’t that extensive,” said Nessa. She had been the first down, and was already dressed in her combat gear. “It’s a test. He’s already evaluating us.”

“A dreary kind of test, if you ask me.” Vic cupped his coffee closer. “Forcing us to wander about the garden yelling his name like a master in search of his cat. What sort of training is this?”

“No, Nessa has the right of this. He’ll be evaluating how we go about finding him.” Harald felt a spike of excitement. “I doubt he’ll simply be hiding behind a bush. What if he has an Artifact that helps him evade notice?”

“I bet he has a slew of them,” said Sam. “He’s dungeon veteran, after all.”

“Best we be methodical,” said Kársek. “The gardens wrap around the manor. They are larger than those of House Darrowdelve, but with less places to hide, given the countess’ decision to render most of it into grassy lawns.”

“Two groups,” said Nessa. “A trio and a pair. We remain within eyesight of each other, and close enough to assist in case of an ambush.”

“Ambush?” Vic shuddered. “Not before Eighth Bell, if you please.”

“Or we remain together,” said Sam. “That way he can’t pick off the pair.”

“Same formation we used on the 13th against the goblins?” asked Harald. “I mean, he’s not going anywhere. We can afford to be careful.”

“Works for me,” said Sam.

“As long as I can bring my coffee,” said Vic.

“Shadowpaw would make this much easier,” added Harald. “Is there any reason we can’t use all our resources?”

Nessa went to protest, but Harald could tell it was more on principle than anything else. She frowned, closed her mouth, then shrugged. “I guess I don’t see why not.”

“Shadowpaw would be great,” said Sam. “He wants us to hunt him down? Well, let’s unleash the hounds.”

“Oh, Sam,” grinned Vic. “You sound positively barbaric. I love it.”

Sam stuck her tongue out at him.

Countess Sonora smiled. “Well, I wish you a rewarding time of it. I’m going back to my studies.”

The Throne Hunters stepped out onto the front portico. The sun had yet to crest the tallest towers of Flutic, and all was velvety dove gray shadows. The lawns were bleached of all color, and the air was damp with morning mist.

Harald summoned Shadowpaw from his Cosmos, and the giant hound materialized by his side, huge and fell.

“We’re hunting a stranger,” said Harald, raking his fingers through the mastiff’s pelt. “Not to kill, just to find. He’s hiding from us. It’s a game.”

Shadowpaw’s brow furrowed.

“Don’t attack him,” repeated Harald. “Just help us find him. He came in by the front gate. Want to pick up his scent there?”

Shadowpaw chuffed, clearly annoyed at being summoned for such a frivolity, and padded up the driveway toward the gate.

“Formations, then,” said Nessa. “I’ll take lead, Harald to my nine o’clock, Sam my three, Kársek… we never adapted this formation to your new power. You can’t unleash the Rune without destroying us all, but you won’t be needing to do so this time regardless. Vic, you’ve got our six. Let’s go.”

They clustered close and began striding after Shadowpaw, gravel crunching.

“Weapons?” asked Harald, more because it felt strange to be empty-handed than anything else.

“Good idea,” said Nessa. “Since we don’t know how seriously Eadwolf is taking this, let’s err on the side of caution.”

Everyone drew a blade but for Kársek, who propped his sacred war hammer over one shoulder.

Shadowpaw led them all the way up the drive, then circled a few times before the wrought iron gate before stopping to sniff energetically at the ground. He cast from side to side a few more times, then set off, loping along the inside of the estate wall.

“Slow him down,” said Nessa. “We don’t want to run into Eadwolf blindly.”

Shadowpaw obeyed Harald’s silent command and resumed his pursuit at a walking pace.

They followed their erstwhile instructor’s trail all the way around to the manor’s side, where it entered a tiny orchard of apple trees. Their leaves had already fallen, leaving each a whorled trunk and mess of knobbly branches.

Nessa stopped so as to study the copse, moving her head from side to side as she sought some sign of their prey.

Harald did the same, praying they didn’t spot their instructor awkwardly hiding up in the branches of a tree.

Shadowpaw walked around and around, then looked up, stymied, to stare at Harald apologetically.

“What?” asked Vic. “That’s it? That’s all your doggy can do?”

Harald turned in a slow circle, convinced that Eadwolf was creeping up on them, but saw nothing. Just the dewy grass, the ornamental shrubs along the wall, the manor rising large and impressive, its windows warmly lit.

“He must have activated an Ability or Artifact,” said Sam.

“Sure. Anything from a leap to flight would stop him from being tracked,” agreed Nessa. “Harald, have Shadowpaw continue scenting in widening circles.”

They watched as Shadowpaw loped around the copse, ever wider, and when he barked excitedly and took off, a good fifteen yards from the trees, Harald grinned. “We’re back!”

This time excitement caused them all to jog after the mastiff, who continued to lope around to the rear of the property. Harald kept glancing around nervously, certain that they were being duped.

The back garden was dominated by a freestanding octagonal cupola, with tall pines lining the walls. The lawn undulated as it stretched out before them, no doubt once an intricate garden but now reduced to simplicity.

“There,” said Nessa, raising a fist so that they all stopped. “See? Inside the cupola.”

And indeed, just barely visible in the dawn gloom between the columns was a rangy figure, couched just behind a column and watching them from beneath a hood.

“Well, that was easy,” said Vic. “Harry, send your Goldchops over to finish the job, will you?”

“That can’t be him.” Sam’s voice rang with certainty. “Not so easily visible as that. It’s got to be a decoy.”

Shadowpaw had stopped and glanced back, confused at their sudden unwillingness to follow.

“Say it’s a trap,” said Harald. “Where would he be to spring it?”

The hooded figure sprang to his feet, split into twin copies, and each sprinted away in opposite directions across the lawn.

It happened so quickly that their whole group broke into shouts.

“Harald, Vic, after that one!” Nessa pointed. “Sam, Kársek, with me!”

Her natural command, bolstered by Will of the Blade, her Active that allowed her to coordinate her allies’ movements, caused everyone to split as directed.

Harald sprinted after the fleeing figure, Vic keeping pace, and they chased the cloaked man to the manor’s rear wall. But instead of slowing or veering to one side, their quarry leaped, landed feet first on the wall, and then began to run up the vertical surface as if it had become his new ground.

“What?” Vic’s cry of annoyance was visceral. “That’s not fair!”

Harald didn’t waste time protesting. All of Vic’s Abilities were geared toward duels, but his own were more versatile. Engaging Dark Vigor, Harald summoned the Goldchops for the added Dexterity and Strength, activated Veil of Shadows even as he closed with the wall, and with a Dexterity of 16 leaped to catch hold of a window’s lintel.

Momentum kept him going. He found toeholds, gripped the edge of the large caramel-hued stone blocks, worked his way up to grasp the edge of a second-floor veranda, then hauled himself up again to leap and latch on to decorative scrollwork carved into the facade. Another burst of strength and athleticism, and he powered up to the tiled rooftop, clutching the rounded edge with precarious desperation before hauling himself over to roll up onto his feet.

To be met by a long, matte-gray blade to the throat. It pressed against the edge of his skin, wickedly sharp, and his eyes widened as he realized he’d clambered straight up into Eadwolf’s trap.

“Fast,” said his new instructor, voice accented with the northern lilt of the Nihtscua. “But unwise.”

Both Goldchops rose into view, glimmering beautifully in the breaking dawn light.

“Ah,” said the hooded man. “Now those are pretty.”

Harald didn’t wait. He sent the Goldchops flying at Eadwolf, ensuring that they came at head height and dull back-ends first.

“You’re dead!” laughed his instructor, passing his blade through Harald’s throat just before both hatchets passed through him in turn, reducing his form to an outline of black smoke which immediately curled and wisped away, dissipating in moments.

Harald croaked, hand going to his undamaged neck. A chill had swept through him, terrible and piercing, but his skin was unbroken.

The Goldchops swung back around and returned to bob by his side.

“What the…?” He rose, confused, and cast around. The Sonora Manor rooftop was large and complex, but there was no sight of the hooded man.

Shouts came from below, and Harald moved to the rooftop’s edge to see Nessa by the rear trees spinning about even as Sam’s Shield of Valor flew through another figure that had become dark smoke.

“You get him?” Harald called, hands cupped to his mouth.

“No!” Nessa’s anger was evident even at this distance. “You?”

“No!”

The parlor door below him opened, and he saw the tops of Countess Sonora’s orange-red head and the hooded figure emerge into the bleak morning light. “Master Eadwolf is well pleased!” Countess Sonora’s merriment was evident. “We’ve been having a good chat while you hunted. Come on in. He will speak with you now.”

“The bastard,” Vic said distinctly from the patio, where he’d sat down on an iron chair.

Harald snorted, shook his head, then grinned.

Good. Eadwolf was clearly a man worth learning from.

Now to just figure out how to get back down.

*

Eadwolf was an imposing man. Gaunt and angular, his skin was burnished as if by years spent braving the elements. His brows were prominent, his eyes lost in the shadows beneath them, his cheekbones harsh, his cheeks hollow. His black hair was graying, pulled back into a ponytail and twisted into twin braids beneath his chin.

But it was his manner that kept Harald in a constant low level of alertness. The man never seemed to rest or be completely still, but was always shifting, gaze sliding back and forth, checking the windows, the doorways, and soon Harald realized the man never placed his back to anything but a corner, even if it forced everyone to reorient on him.

Under his black all-weather cloak he wore furs in the Nihtscuan style, a mantle of wolf fur bulking out his shoulders. He seemed a creature of the wild lured indoors, and when he smiled, he revealed overly long canines, yellowed and sharp.

Countess Sonora was at ease as they all converged in the parlor. “I think you’re in good hands. Eadwolf here presented himself most politely at the front door once you’d all run off.”

The Throne Hunters as one examined their new instructor, whose smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Greetings. You hunt well. I came looking for excuses to decline the mentorship, but you gave me few.”

“How did you do that?” asked Sam, tone wondering. “An Artifact?”

“You might learn in due time. But first, I am Eadwolf, known as the Gray. Last I raided I reached the 54th Level. Nessa there told me you all want to be pushed hard. Dangerous words.”

They introduced themselves, and at Eadwolf’s prompting, revealed their Levels, Ascended Thrones, and Classes. He then interrogated them as to their Abilities, and displayed the most curiosity at Kársek.

“A DreadRune?” He rubbed at this bearded chin. “I’ve heard of them. Legendary. Change the tide of battle kind of figures.” His gaze flicked back and forth. “Honor bound?”

“Honor bound,” agreed Kársek.

“Well. That changes the equation. And my estimation. This could be interesting. I take it your formation outside as you hunted me is your approach to the dungeon.”

It wasn’t a question.

Nessa raised her chin. “My methodology. Organization, control, discipline. It’s served us well.”

“Sure.” Eadwolf began to prowl about the parlor, pausing to peer at objects d’ art, sniffing here and there. “Any such system works right up until it doesn’t. Then teams fall apart, lose their heads, get killed.”

“Sure,” said Nessa, imitating the Nihtscuan. “Everything works till it doesn’t.”

Eadwolf cut a glance back at her. “Unless each wolf in the pack knows how to fight alone. How to react. How to recover. That’s why I’m here. To hone that edge. Sharpen those instincts. Teach you to be dangerous at all times.”

“Sounds tiring,” said Vic, sinking into an armchair.

Eadwolf stilled and stared at him.

Vic flushed. “What? It’s true.”

Harald fought the urge to explain his wastrel friend, but bit back his words.

“You’re presenting weakness,” said Eadwolf softly. “Why?”

“Weakness?” Vic forced a smile. “If honesty be a sign of weakness, why, then we live in the strongest society the Fallen Angel could have hoped for.”

“I scent it on you. Weakness.” Eadwolf’s tone grew softer. “You think it sophistication to amuse yourself, you think it wit to act inappropriately. But it’s just weakness. A reluctance to take intensity seriously, for fear that you’ll be called to do your utmost. Better by far to laugh and not try than try and fail and be forced to face your limitations.”

Vic flushed and sat up. “You know nothing of my limitations, my past, or the profundity of my wit. I applaud your amateur sleuthing into my nature and paradigm, but last I checked, you were hired to teach us to fight better, not confess our secret rage at our parents and hug the pain away.”

“Weak,” said Eadwolf again. “But a weakness deeply buried. Longstanding habit has made you blind to what at first was a conscious effort at deflection. Now you can’t stop yourself.” The Nihtscuan tilted his head to one side. “You are the weakest of the group.”

“Weakest?” Vic rose. “I’m a Level 3 Rapier Regent, only one level behind Harald, one more than Sam. What are you blabbering about?”

“When did you last advance?”

Vic narrowed his eyes.

“Once you had fire,” said Eadwolf. “To reach Level 3 is no mean thing. But how long have you been trapped there? Trapped by what? Lack of talent? Failure of imagination? No. Fear. Something happened. You got burned. Now you’re scared. Scared to be burned again. Soon the others will leave you behind. You’ll become incidental. A footnote in the crew’s climb to glory. Unless you change. Unless you become better.”

Vic raised both hands and forced a laugh. “Nessa, leash your hound. He’s yapping up the wrong tree.”

Nessa tongued her cheek and pointedly crossed her arms.

“Oh, you can’t be serious!” Vic glared at her. “You agree with him? My wit’s what keeps this party going! Without my elan, we’d have imploded under everyone else’s insecurities and issues!”

“I’m here to make you dangerous,” whispered Eadwolf. “All of you. To help you break through your limitations. Everyone is flawed, everyone has blind spots, fears, insecurities. In the dungeon, each and every one of those will be used against you. Either you face your limitations here, with me, or you’ll be forced to accept how they destroyed you while drowning in your own blood.”

“All right,” said Vic, his smile cutting. “I’m willing to listen and be a good sport. But please. A little less melodrama?”

“Weak!” Eadwolf’s bark was shocking, abrupt, searing the air with its violence. He vaulted over the velvet settee, rounded the coffee table, and was in Vic’s face even as the other man recoiled. “You risk your companions! All of you, weak!”

He spun and raked them with his glittering gaze. “You! I smell the reek of glory sweating out of your pores. You! Something in you is broken, you flinch when our eyes meet.” And then Eadwolf glanced at Harald and stilled. “Ah. And here we have a real predator. You’re not weak. You’re too strong. A wolf amongst hounds. You won’t fail them by being unable. You’ll fail them by tearing their throats out in a moment of anger.”

Harald recoiled.

“Kársek’s OK,” allowed Eadwolf. “I’ve no worries about him. But the rest of you? Your trajectory is that of a firework. You’ll blaze a trail into the night sky, drawing admiring gasps from everyone, but your very nature will doom you to an explosive end, far before you reach the stars. It will be a pretty conflagration, but it will be pathetic compared to what you could have been.”

Sam’s face was red. “You know, we hired you to come here and help us, not insult us into - into - some kind of -”

Nessa’s jaw was clenched, her expression furious, her complexion pallid.

“Children.” Eadwolf turned in a slow circle, taking them all in. “You think all it takes to reach the bottom of the dungeon is a sharp sword and knowing how to swing it? The deeper you go, the greater the pressure. Mental. Emotional. Mortal. The merely inept die on the Iron Levels. The unlucky and unprepared die before the 20th. What do you think kills raiders before the 40th?”

Vic went to mutter something, but at the last moment changed his mind and simply sneered, expression sour.

“Themselves. Their weaknesses.” Eadwolf faded back to the wall, footsteps silent. “Their fears. Insecurities. Doubts. They enter a level in their usual formation. Brittle but effective. And then something goes wrong, but before they can recover, something else goes bad. And everything spirals. Terror, panic, pain, blood, death. The team implodes, undone by their rotten dynamics, their hesitations, their weaknesses. What could have been salvaged is ruined forevermore.”

Eadwolf bared his yellowed teeth. “That’s not what you want to hear, is it? You wanted an instructor who’d lift you up, tell you how special you are. How funny. How smart. Admire your sword forms. There are a hundred trainers out there who’ll do just that. Me? I’ll stress test you. Find your weakness and strengthen it. My goal? Fortify your team. Make it so you don’t implode. So that you can take a hit, take two, and still recover.”

Eadwolf’s words hung in the air. Vic was clenching and unclenching his hands. Nessa breathing deeply and slowly through her nose. Sam kept glancing at everyone else, as if seeking cues on how she should be taking this.

Only Kársek remained unperturbed, thumbs stuck in his broad belt, face marred by the slightest of frowns.

“I’ll take my leave. You want me to come back? Send word. It won’t get better. I’m not going to mother you. Be your friend. Odds are you’ll come to hate me before I’m done, but I’m willing to wager you’d be dead otherwise before you reach the end of what I have to teach. Unless you’re willing to learn. To change. To grow.”

Eadwolf inclined his head to the countess, who’d watched all this with a thin vertical line between her brows. “Countess.”

And then he picked his way through the parlor, sliding between them as gracefully as a knife thrust, and exited the room.

“Damn,” said Nessa. “That wasn’t… that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Vic fell back heavily into the armchair. “You know Berta, down at the Kitty Kat Club? How a certain type of client pays her to whip them? I’ve never understood that instinct before. And to be honest, I still don’t. Who thought bringing this man here was a good idea?”

“I do,” said Sam quietly. Her gaze was unfocused, but she came back to herself as everyone stared. “Because he’s right. About me, at any rate. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” And Harald knew she was referring to Vorakhar’s indictment. “I’m broken. I’m trying to mend, to heal, but it’s not happening quickly enough. If he can help me get there sooner, if he can help me grow strong in the places I’m weak… then I’ll take the abuse.”

“Let me introduce you to Berta,” said Vic. “It’ll be shorter and quicker to get a session from her.”

“What do you think, Kársek?” asked Harald.

Everyone stilled, their anticipation heightening.

Kársek frowned, lower lip sticking out as he pondered. “I believe Eadwolf sought to make an impression. That he was trying to frighten us away. Testing us. If we summon him again after this, then we’ll have demonstrated we’re serious about desiring to improve.”

“Sure,” said Vic. “But what about his general nastiness? You think that’s warranted?”

Kársek nodded slowly. “We are not children. Words are like keys. They can only cause pain where they fit the lock.”

“Wait,” said Vic, putting his hand to his chest. “Karsy. You’re saying you agree with Eadwolf about my vanity being weakness?”

The dwarf ignored him. “Master Eadwolf found little to criticize in our hunting. So instead he attacked our sense of self, and there he found us easy marks. He was cruel, but then so is the dungeon. If it were a matter of simply improving our sword work, we’d find no better teacher than Nessa. He sniffed out our weakness, and offered to help us grow strong.”

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Vic, “when all he did was praise you.”

“I’m with Kársek,” said Harald. “If he can help me get a better handle on the Demon Seed, on its effect on me, then I’m all for it.”

“I was about to say something witty,” groused Vic, “but I’m already traumatized.”

“That was easily done, then,” said Nessa. “If only all of us could be helped so easily.”

“Oh, darling, stop.” Vic let his head loll over so he could look up at her. “Do you honestly think it’s harder to stop doing glory than it is to be effortlessly effervescent like me?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Sam.

Nessa grimaced at him, an approximation of a smile that promised death, and left the room.

“Yep,” said Harald. “We’re hiring Eadwolf. And none too soon.”

“Good,” said Kársek.

“I’ll send word,” said Countess Sonora. “Harald? You intend to raid today with Wirmas?”

“Oh, yes.” Harald felt a cold mantle of purpose settle upon his shoulders. “Twice a day until I’m dead.”