Throne Hunters Book 2, Chapter 6

Matters financial kept Harald from delving into the dungeon as swiftly as he desired when dawn broke upon Flutic.

Returning from his run, he saw Master Ling and a handful of assistants at his front door conversing with a bleary-eyed Vic. The members of the Platinum Rose were dressed in elegant finery, with Master Ling having donned a set of black silk robes masterfully embroidered with a gold rose across his back. As Harald strode up the driveway, they turned as one to regard him.

“Ah! Flutic’s favorite son, the cause of such admirable economic intercourse, and the prized customer of the Platinum Rose Auction House himself: Master Darrowdelve.”

“Master Ling. I presume I brought a good amount of business to the Platinum Rose?”

“Most assuredly. I’ve come to regale you with the details.”

“Then please, do come in. I’ll just be a moment.”

Half a bell later Harald joined Master Ling in the first parlor, where Vic had gone so far as to serve tea and stale biscuits. Freshly washed and wearing a plain outfit of dove gray, Harald took a cup from Vic with a smile and sat across from the auction master.

“Dear Master Darrowdelve, you caused quite the stir when it was discovered you had departed unannounced.” Master Ling actually winked. “Several important bidders were quite put out at not being able to congratulate you personally. It took all my efforts to placate them, but still, they left disappointed.”

“I’m sorry to have put you in a difficult position,” said Harald mildly. “But the sums of scales being offered for my meager possessions were quite overwhelming. I became emotional, and Master Carmine advised that I take in some air.”

“Of course, of course, most understandable. The results of the auction far exceeded even my heightened expectations. I can only say that it warms my heart to see that Flutic yet recognizes quality, and turned out its best for your estate sale. You will be most gratified by the outcome, and I have brought with me annotated lists of each offer.”

“You are most kind.” Harald felt himself strangely detached; that some large sum of scales was about to be presented to him almost felt like an item of academic interest.

“Yes.” Master Ling blinked, clearly having expected greater excitement, then snapped his fingers. One of his assistants approached and extended a scroll with a bow.

Harald took it, broke the seal, and unscrolled it smoothly as Vic leaned over his shoulder.

It was a lengthy list, but he simply read the final lines where all the sums were tallied:

9 Golden Dawns

4 Aurora Veils

6 Zenith Tides

3 Horizon’s Whispers

Harald was forced to incline his head as wonder pierced his detachment. His family possessions had fetched 364,900 scales, almost four times as much as Sam’s initial estimate. It was a ludicrous sum, far in excess of what his shabby belongings should have fetched, and the message was clear.

The Houses of Flutic were not being shy in expressing their hunger.

“Now,” said Master Ling, “let us begin at the beginning, and proceed till we reach the end, at which point we shall stop. I wish to explain the commissions deducted by my humble business, as well as note which bid went to which buyer -”

“Master Ling.” Harald handed the scroll to Vic, who set to reading it closely. “I’m afraid I must do you the disservice of postponing that conversation. I have absolute trust in the honesty of your auction house, and while I intend to resume this in-depth analysis as soon as possible, I unfortunately have commitments this morning that prevent me from doing this matter the justice it deserves.”

Master Ling was masterful at hiding his emotions; he simply inclined his head graciously and waved off the assistants who’d been on the verge of opening a number of books. “But of course, Master Darrowdelve, though it is I that must tender an apology. I shortsightedly assumed that you would be so gratified by such a successful transaction that you’d welcome my unexpected arrival. Shall we instead set a date for a more in-depth review?”

“Would that I could set matters of honor aside and show you the respect and gratitude you deserve,” said Harald. “But yes. As you can no doubt guess, my schedule has become… complicated, shall we say, by the recent interest the grandees of Flutic have shown regarding my humble situation. May I send a suggestion for when we may meet at leisure to your offices at a later date?”

“Assuredly.” Master Ling gestured to a final assistant who’d been standing at the back. This man was powerfully built, his expression sanguine, his movements lithe and subtly lethal. A blocky backpack of rare quality hung from his broad shoulders, and this he swung about as he knelt by Master Ling, opened, and drew forth a small iron chest.

Master Ling inserted a slender key and with a click unlocked the chest. Within was a green pouch, and this he set on the table before Harald. “Your proceeds from the sale, Master Darrowdelve.”

Harald inclined his head, making no move to count the scales. “It has truly been a privilege to work with the Platinum Rose.”

“The honor has been ours.” Master Ling rose. His assistants gathered their belongings and assembled behind him. “I shall leave a scroll listing the parties behind the most salient bids for you to peruse at your leisure. Suffice it to say that some of them would greatly appreciate hearing from you in a timely manner.”

Harald inclined his head once more.

“Well then!” Master Ling beamed. “I have truly appreciated the opportunity to serve your interests. I hope you think of the Platinum Rose if any future opportunities present themselves?”

“You can rest assured,” said Harald.

Vic saw the party out, and then returned just as Harald poured the scales into his palm. They gleamed in his hand, shimmering and refulgent, enough wealth to encompass what a successful raider might harvest from the dungeons over the course of their entire career.

“A pretty sight,” said Vic, moving to sit across from him. “And my compliments, incidentally, in how you handled Master Ling. I believe he thought he’d be here all day.”

“I’ve no interest in the details, not when they can be so easily verified.” Harald checked that the three Horizon’s Whispers were present, then poured the scales back into the pouch. 

Vic’s expression was sly. “You’ve got options now. You could increase the fund to everyone’s benefit. You could use those scales to secure yourself a new home of quality, seeing as we’ll soon be evicted from Darrowdelve Manor. Or you could just gobble it all up like an avaricious monster and feed every scale into your quest for power.”

“If you include my sign-up bonus from the charter, that’ll get me over halfway to my third Throne.” Harald bounced the pouch again. “But then again, having a place to sleep at night wouldn’t go awry, either.”

“The home base of our illustrious crew should reflect our glory and rarefied caliber,” agreed Vic. “After spending so much time in your manor, I fear I can’t downgrade to a regular house. May I suggest a small manse off Seraphic Park that I scouted out? You could rent it for a meager five Aurora Veils a month.”

Harald leveled a flat stare at his friend.

“Too much? Ah well, you can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

A hesitant knock sounded on the front door, and then Sam’s voice called as she opened it. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“In here!” called Harald, and a moment later Sam appeared. She wore her full adventuring gear, her armor beautifully repaired, with a pack over her shoulder and a new longsword at her hip. “Looks like you’re ready for business.”

She smiled apologetically. “I’m starting to appreciate the impracticalities of living apart from you all. It’s hard to keep track of what’s going on. I thought perhaps we could create a schedule, so that I know when to show up and for what.”

“Your instincts have served you well,” drawled Vic. “Much has happened since we saw you last, and all of it exciting. But to answer your implicit question: yes, Harald intends to contact Vorakhar again this morning, which does indeed require a new delve of us all.”

Sam’s eyed widened in shock. “Harald?”

“Take a seat.” Harald gestured to a chair. “I’ll catch you up on what you’ve missed.”

Nessa appeared halfway through his recounting, a cup of coffee clutched in her hands, the pungent smell enlivening. She looked half-asleep still, and waved off Harald’s curious look as she sought refuge in a distant armchair.

When he was done explaining, Sam simply shook her head in wonder. “Your estate sale fetched almost five Horizon’s? And House Thornvale knows of the Demon Seed? And tonight you’re dining with Lady Celestis…?” She laughed and abruptly covered her mouth. “Harald. This is all happening too fast.”

Vic stretched out contentedly. “It’s what happens when you go from being a no-account layabout to the darling of the Gazette overnight. You in, darling?”

“Of course.” Sam gave a firm nod. “You didn’t have to ask.”

“Then you need to sign the charter, we need to get our writ for the Throne Hunters, and then get below ground,” said Harald firmly. “Here’s the paperwork.”

“Throne Hunters?” asked Sam.

“What do you think?” asked Harald nervously.

Sam considered, then smiled. “I like it.” 

While she read through the charter, Vic and Harald fetched their own mugs of coffee, and returned to Sam carefully penning her signature to the bottom of the last sheet.

“There,” she said, and her eyes gleamed as she looked up at them both. “The crew is now officially complete.”

“And that means we each get our signing bonus,” said Harald. “A Horizon’s Whisper each, plus access to the Artifacts my father left me.”

“You’re mad,” said Nessa from her corner. “Handing over so much wealth to a crew you’ve got no control over.”

“You’re right,” smiled Harald. “Consider it a wager.”

Nessa glowered at him over her mug. “And what, pray tell, are you betting?”

“That the blessings of love and friendship will more than compensate for -”

Nessa snorted and looked away.

Harald’s smile became a grin. “Regardless. Let’s suit up. We need to vote on our officials, head down to the Mining Consortium’s offices, register our charter, secure our writ, and get into the dungeon.”

“Hold your stallions, Harry,” said Vic.

“It’s ‘horses’,” muttered Sam.

“Stallions are more in line with my essence,” said Vic sweetly. “We need to distribute the Artifacts. Now, I’ve given it some thought, and suggest the following: I should claim The Point, as I have the greatest skill in aiming a rapier-like weapon. Sam should take the Thornguard, as she’s already leaning into being the defensive member of our group, while Nessa should take the Phaseblades, as she’s in possession of the greatest battle acumen and can best decide when to use them. Harald, as much as it pains me to say, you should have the Goldchop.”

Harald glanced at the two ladies. Sam didn’t seem overly excited, but neither were actively protesting.

“I won’t say no to the Masterwork Artifact,” Harald said tentatively. 

Sam frowned. “Doubling up on shields seems excessive to me.”

“Then we should consider selling it,” said Vic. “And use the proceeds to buy you something more in keeping with your style. Until then, however? Take the Artifact with a smile, darling.”

“Well.” Nessa finished her coffee and set it aside. “The way our fortunes are changing, I wouldn’t be surprised if all of us soon Ascend to our third Throne, at which point this will all be moot.”

“True.” Vic shrugged. “A problem for another day. Shall we reconvene in the entrance hall?”

Harald rose, excitement thrumming through his veins, and headed upstairs to don his raiding gear. His leather armor was in poor condition, but it would have to serve. He’d neglected to have it fixed in all the commotion and activity. Then he descended to the gym, activated Gustav with an empowered attack, and brought up the four Artifacts.

All the while, he considered the funds he’d made from the Platinum Rose auction. 

He didn’t want another manor, or even an elegant home. He didn’t need anything fancy or superlative. What he wanted was power. To determine his own fate.

He’d absorb as many of his scales as he could afford.

Sam stood in the hallway, her pack leaning against one leg, looking uneasy. She smiled as he entered, the expression not reaching her eyes.

“You doing all right, Sam?”

“I… don’t know. Yes? Probably?” Her smile was half frustrated, half helpless. “It feels so strange to stand here like a guest.”

“You know you’re not.”

“I want to be.”

“Fair enough.” Harald inclined his head. “How is everything else working out?”

“It’s… strange, and wonderful, and terrifying, and…” She again tried for a smile. “I’ve been securing furniture for my new apartment. I never thought I’d be so thrilled at decorating my own place. It has this most amazing window, round like the moon and big as a carriage. I just sit at its base all evening and watch the city grow dark. And I had a little more work done on my tattoo. I’ve eaten out a couple of times, treated myself to a fine dinner last night at The Glazed Pheasant, and it was…”

“Strange?”

She smiled in defeat. “I’ve spent most my life eating alone in the kitchen here, but to eat alone at a patio table, surrounded by fancy folk, and just… have food and wine brought to me? I spent half the time wanting to run away, the other feeling like I was in a dream.” She shook her head. “But while I’ve been wrestling with all that, you’ve been… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Busy, I guess.” He gave her a crooked smile.

“You sure about searching out Vorakhar?” Her tone turned grave. “He’s no casual resource, Harald. We can’t grow accustomed to seeking his advice.”

“I don’t see any other way. If you do, I’m all ears.”

She grimaced but shook her head.

Harald hefted the Goldchop. It had a pleasing weight to it, and was beautifully crafted. The edge of its blade was keen, and Harald angled it back and forth so that the gold glimmered. Gold was a terrible metal for weapons, but this was an Artifact. He had to assume it would keep its edge. 

He couldn’t wait to bind it to his Cosmos.

“Here you go,” he said, extending The Point and Phaseblades to Vic and Nessa as they entered the hall. “Courtesy of the Throne Hunters.”

“And our sign-up bonus?” asked Nessa, taking the three daggers.

“Cold.” Vic examined his Artifact. “Look how quickly she grows accustomed to unearthly wealth and privilege.”

“Sam’s got them. Soon as we’ve gotten our official paperwork from the Mining Consortium we’ll hand them out.”

“And Ascend to our second Thrones,” added Vic, pointed The Point down the hall. A moment later it exploded in length, faster even than a lunge, and extended a good five yards before retracting just as quickly. 

Vic grinned, delighted. “Now this I could grow used to.”

Nessa shook her head pityingly. “It won’t compensate for that singular deficiency, darling. It will only highlight your lack.”

“Nonsense.” Vic made a few slashes and then extended The Point again, aiming it carefully down the hall. When it retracted, he turned and grinned at her. “I finally have a weapon worthy of my natural endowments.”

“The angels save us,” sighed Nessa, rubbing at her brow. “Men.”

“Ready?” Harald opened the front door. “Let’s try and get the bureaucracy over with as quickly as possible.”

“I was about to say ‘lead on, dear leader’,” said Vic, “but that would be Sam, wouldn’t it? At least, above ground?”

Sam flushed. “That’s purely a nominal title. I’m only in charge of the funding and inventory for the crew -”

“Too true,” said Nessa.

“Nonsense!” Vic beamed at her. “Nessa is the delve captain, and you are the crew leader! Am I right, Harald?”

“That’s what we all agreed on.”

Sam glowered at them both. “Formalities.”

“Formalities are all that separate us from the beasts,” said Vic, raising a finger. “So, Sam? Lead on.”

She swung her pack over one shoulder, glared at Vic, and then stomped out the front door.

“Ah,” sighed Vic. “We’re off to a rousing start.”

*

In order to avoid Ustim, they had Sam and Vic enter the Mining Consortium’s offices off the Dungeon Plaza to register the charter and acquire the writ.

Harald accompanied Nessa as they got a room in one of the inns that faced the plaza, a cheap room with two beds and a stout lock on the wooden door. It cost them a Silver Starburst per hour, with one paid upfront. They sat in the sun that splashed down upon a window seat that looked out over the Dungeon Portal, and there Nessa relaxed, back against the wall, legs stretched out before her.

Harald sat on the seat’s far end and gazed out at the milling crowds below. “Which level, do you think?” 

“That’s right. I’m the delve captain.” Nessa smirked and leaned her head back to catch the morning sun. “Hmm. No sense in repeating the 4th. But we should definitely stick with the Iron Levels.”

“You sure? We’re carrying some serious Artifacts now.”

“Let’s not make the classic mistake of over-relying on tools. Once you descend beyond the 12th Level, you’re facing intelligent foes for the first time. Best to keep things simple and keep you alive.”

Harald fought to keep himself from frowning.

“Aw,” teased Nessa. “Looking to run before you can crawl?”

“I think we’re past crawling.”

“No, you’re not.” She closed her eyes. “You’re barely past the Dungeon Square.”

“I defeated Yeoric.”

She opened one eye. “Fair. Fine. You’re past crawling. But your patron can find us on any level, correct?”

“I thinks so?”

“So… let’s try for the 10th. That should provide enough of a challenge without being overwhelming.”

“The 10th.” Harald tried to recall the details. “That’s where… isn’t that the one overrun with Crypt Keepers?”

“Once, assuredly. Today? They’ve been massacred by centuries of exploitation, courtesy of Flutic’s finest.” Nessa smiled wryly, and Harald did his best not to openly admire just how beautiful she looked. “Just like all the other Iron Levels, the 10th isn’t what is used to be. But yes. Crypt Keepers.”

“And they’re not intelligent?”

“Hardly. They’ll come swarming like roaches. The standard tactic is to find high ground and cut them down as they come. Or a choke point, if you’re uncertain of your abilities.”

“So we’re taking the high ground. Wait. What does that even mean, in a dungeon? High ground?”

She smiled tiredly. “You’ll see. The real question is: will your patron bother to drop by?”

Harald tongued the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. I hope so. I’m going to try to call out to him. He should be attuned to me.”

Nessa considered, shrugged one shoulder, then closed her eye once more.

Harald spent his time watching the Humble Petitioner’s line crawl by below, watched as different crews approached the main gates and presented their writs. A large team from House Emberfell took the Silver Gate, clad all in fiery orange and royal blues. Anita wasn’t amongst their number. A small delegation three-strong from House Celestara in royal blue and gold took the Silver Gate some ten minutes later. Then came a crew that caused Harald to nudge Nessa. 

She cracked open an eye, saw what was going on, and sat up with a jolt.

It was a royal dwarven team from Dumrûn itself. Their arrival caused a stir; everyone in the huge plaza turned to regard them as they approached with their heavy tread. Some fifty dwarves marched in, war banners raised on the flanks, though clearly less than half their number was heading below; those that were wore the legendary stone full-plate armor of the Forge Fathers, inscribed with deep geometric patterns of burning gold, their heavy helms carried by attendants so that their weathered, craggy features were exposed. Half were bald, but all were white bearded. 

Their leader was a dwarf as broad as he was tall, his stone plate crafted from jet black stone, the war hammer resting over his huge shoulder looking heavy enough to give even Lady Hammerfell pause. A simple circlet of iron rested around his brow, and his features were grave and ferocious, his stare locked straight ahead.

“By the angels,” whispered Nessa, rising to her knees to lean out the window. “A Deathforge Legion. Haven’t heard of one of those making a play at the dungeon in decades.”

Flutic officials from the Mining Consortium and the Seraphic Church walked alongside the lead dwarf with all the gravity and self-importance they could muster.

“A Deathforge Legion.” Harald drank in the spectacle. Each member of the legion was noteworthy, looking cut from dwarven legend. 

“That’s an Anvil King at their head,” agreed Nessa, for once as impressed as Harald. “I don’t recognize which one, though. They’ll have come direct from Dumrûn. Incredible.”

They watched the spectacle unfold with rapt attention along with everyone else. The Anvil King marched without hesitation up to the Diamond Gate, where a bevy of officials had appeared in anxious anticipation.

“Diamond,” breathed Harald. “How long since that gate’s been used?”

“I don’t even remember,” said Nessa. “Vic’s going to die when he realizes he missed this.”

“And Sam.” Harald felt a pang of sympathy. “Damn it, she’d kill to see this.”

What followed was a series of brief ceremonies, with the Flutic officials blessing the expedition or at the very least giving their permission. The dwarves seemed indifferent to the local politics. One of their member intoned a prayer and manifested an anvil as large as a boulder. Upon this he leaped with sprightly energy despite his obvious centuries’ worth of age, and from the top of this huge Artifact blessed the company in the stern language of the dwarves.

All but the Anvil King bent knee.

When the blessing was complete, a blue burning aura appeared around each dwarf, and their eyes blazed like stars.

“Oh damn,” whispered Harald, leaning forward so far his stomach pressed against the sill. “What even is that?”

“Dwarven magic,” whispered Nessa back. “Earthblood being channeled through their Artifact.”

The Anvil King raised his huge war hammer, its head as large as a wagon wheel, barked out a command that rang across the huge plaza, then strode past the human officials, past the accountants and gate guards, to mount the Diamond Stage.

The huge anvil disappeared as quickly as it had been summoned.

The Diamond Stage was built of gorgeous white marble, its railing carved and elegant, its breadth sufficient to house a company fifty strong. The twenty dwarves of the elite Deathforge Legion gathered before the spinning polyhedron, blazing and burning, and watched as their Anvil King raised a glittering scale.

“That’s got to be an Infinitum,” whispered Nessa. “Or maybe even a Nightshard.”

The thought boggled Harald’s mind. If it were a Nightshard, then the dwarves were planning to descend to the 72nd or 76th Level of the dungeon. Madness.

The polyhedron shifted its frantic rotations, oriented on the Anvil King, and then a triangular face seemed to widen even as its center hollowed out. The dwarf shouted out a final cry, then took off at a run, charging up through the air and into the portal, followed without hesitation by the rest of his legion.

A moment later they were gone.

The portal resumed spinning and vibrating.

The entire plaza seemed to sigh. The dwarven attendants began marching away, a handful of their number moving to take up stations to one side, clearly ready to wait till the return of the legion with large packs at the ready.

The Mining Consortium officials and priests departed, the Diamond Gate officials thinned in number, and ten minutes later it was as if nothing untoward had taken place.

“Wow,” whispered Harald, leaning back and shaking his head. “Incredible.”

“What?” Vic opened the door with a flourish, a brand new scroll in one fist, his smile cocksure. “Did you see a lady of particularly generous assets?”

Sam thwapped his shoulder as she crowded into the room from behind.

Nessa and Harald exchanged a glance and reached a wordless agreement.

“Oh, nothing.” Harald stood. “Any problems?”

Sam beamed. “All settled. The charter has been notarized, duplicated, and filed, and we’ve acquired a Copper Gate writ for a Golden Dawn.” 

“That means it’s time to receive our signing bonus,” said Sam, and she tossed a small drawstring pouch to Nessa and Harald. “Your Horizon’s Whisper.”

“Excellent.” Nessa’s eyes gleamed. “I’m going to get right to it.”

“Should we lie down and hold hands as we Ascend?” asked Vic with a laugh. “Make it a true crew experience?”

Nessa didn’t bother to respond. She lay upon one of the narrow beds, took out the whisper-thin scale and held it up so that the morning light reflected off it and across the wall in a prismatic spray. 

“Other bed’s yours,” said Harald to Sam, bowing low. “I’ll take the window seat.”

“And me?” Vic turned about in dismay. “All that’s left is the chamber pot.”

Nessa snorted on the bed as she cupped the scale in one hand, held a Phaseblade in the other, and closed her eyes. 

“To think I’d Ascend in such utter squalor.” Vic sighed, sat, and then lay out on the rough boards. “What a cruel jest.”

Harald took out the emerald pouch Master Ling had gifted him. He plucked out the nine Golden Dawns to keep as spending cash, and poured the rest into his hands.

He’d considered forgoing his sign-up bonus seeing as he’d claimed a Whisper from the Infinitum already, but then decided that no, he’d take his legal due from the crew like everyone else. With his sign-up bonus, that came out to a value of 464,000 scales.

With his 112,274 already absorbed, that was enough to blast him right past the halfway mark to his third Throne.

But first, the Goldchop.

Harald fought for calm. His heart was racing. 

If Flutic had been impressed by his accomplishments so far, then they had no idea as to what he was going to achieve next.

Elated, frightened, but most of all ruthlessly determined, Harald absorbed the small fortune of scales into his Cosmos.