Throne Hunters Book 1, Chapter 44

Sam didn’t return until three days later.

Harald ignored Vic’s badgering, Nessa’s pointed stares. Other than entering the secret room one more time in order to put into motion his plan, he refused to discuss the treasures within and instead threw himself completely into his training. It still felt strange to tackle his morning runs alone, to work on the weights without Sam’s encouragement, analysis, and feedback.

The very next morning, he returned from his run to find a courier standing outside his front door in the official livery of the Flutic Treasury, all puffed in gold and black.

“Ah, Master… Darrowdelve?” The courier hesitated, glancing up and down Harald’s sweaty form.

“Speaking.” Harald walked up the main steps to stand before him. “Yes?”

“I have been entrusted with delivering to your hand a Decree of Debt Reckoning. This is a formal document signed by the Under Secretary of the Flutic Treasury in response to a delinquency on the part of your household in paying a collection of debts that were consolidated at your request six months prior.”

The courier extended the thick envelope.

Harald smiled. “Excellent delivery. Thank you.” He took it.

The man inclined his head with a tight smile, then departed.

Harald let himself inside and then paused to listen.

Nothing.

An empty house. Vic and Nessa were out.

An empty house that stood upon a foundation of debts.

“Ah, well,” he sighed, and strode down the entrance hall to the kitchen in the back. More and more, that room had begun to feel like the heart of the entire manor. He took up a knife, cut through the Treasury Seal, and drew forth the luxuriously thick letter.

Lips pursed, he read the warning. It stated in formal terms that he’d entered default and would now be fined as the Flutic Treasury began procedures to seize the house.

And so began their final month before eviction.

Feeling bitter anger, he tossed the letter upon the table. “So it goes.”

Vic had anointed himself the official Darrowdelve Manor chef, and set to cooking elaborate feasts of dubious quality. He claimed that he received inspiration from the Fallen Angel herself, and it was she that dictated that he glaze figs in bacon fat and then stuff them with cheese, or caramelize root vegetables in honey and acorns in the oven before mashing the whole of it into soup with grilled eels and balsamic vinegar.

The food was edible, if more often than not nauseatingly rich.

But Harald didn’t complain. His duel with Yeoric was at last truly imminent. He exercised, he ate, he slept. He looked forward most to his classes with Nessa. To untangling the logic of the blade. He quickly came to love the way the longsword had begun feeling like an extension of himself. It happened rarely, moments when he lost himself in a drill, or relaxed enough to intuit how to move, where to turn, what to anticipate.

But when he did, it felt sublime. It never happened with the wooden training swords. But with the Dawnblade, it would glimmer to the fore, the sheer number of hours spent drilling and striking, flowing from guard to guard bringing forth a state of mindless focus that allowed his instincts to shine.

If he felt this way after only a month’s training, how must it feel after a year? After five? Though the more he learned about handling the sword, the greater the gulf of what remained to learn yawned.

“That’s the way of it,” Nessa said one evening after he’d badgered her into a second training session. They were both drinking water by the patio steps, the sound of crickets sawing against the distant trundle of carriage wheels. “Especially with the longsword. Train hard, and you can quickly become proficient with the basics. How to hold the sword, how to strike, how to step. But to progress beyond that crudest of understandings? That’s when things feel as if they’ve slowed down to a crawl.”

“I can see that.” Harald scowled at his tin cup. “When our swords touch I’m overwhelmed with options. To press or surrender, to push in for strong leverage or allow a weak one to work in my favor. The result is paralysis.”

“Only for now.” Nessa smiled at him. “I recall my first year vividly. I would sneak out of my father’s house to train with his fencing instructor in the evenings. I spent all day longing for the moment I’d step into the training hall and join the other students. The feel of the sword in my hand. At first it felt so right, and then, gradually, it felt overwhelming. I thought myself incompetent, unequal to the task.”

“What did you do?”

“I persevered. In a real fight, you barely have time to think. You must rely on training and instinct, on reflexes and the desire to win at all costs. The only way to achieve that is through countless hours of quality training. To study under a master who corrects your mistakes, your bad habits. To drill and drill, spar and spar, so that one day, when you finally find yourself facing some idiot who wants you dead, you don’t seize up, you don’t panic, you don’t trip over your feet.”

Nessa looked away across the dusky garden. “You simply do what you’ve done a hundred thousand times before, and you cut that man down, no matter who he is.”

Harald nodded. “I guess I’ve got a ways to go, then.”

“Don’t feel discouraged.” Nessa glanced back, considered him. “You’ve a talent for the sword. I don’t say that lightly. You’ve a feel for it, which is important, but a willingness to commit which is just as crucial. Now you just need to familiarize yourself with the flow of combat so that you simply do what needs doing when the time comes.”

Harald grinned and finished his cup. “Speaking of, shall we continue downstairs?”

Nessa laughed despairingly. “I’m done, good sir. You need to rest.”

“Sure.” Harald took up their wooden blades and stowed them in the long bag. “I’ll rest. Soon.”

Vic emerged from the kitchen, lips compressed in distaste. “Harald, you have a visitor. One of your former compatriots? She’s wishes to inform you as to the details of the duel.”

“Lucine?” Harald felt a bitter flood of negative emotions. “Great. You put her in the parlor?”

“What I want to know,” demanded Vic, “is when I swapped Rapier Regent for Majordomo. I’m willing to cook, I’d go so far as to say I’ve discovered a new talent. But answering doors -”

“Thanks, Vic.” Harald patted the man on the shoulder as he stepped past the man. “You’ll get a nice Silver Starburst bonus at the end of the month.”

“I - what?” Vic spluttered even as Nessa’s laughter trailed Harald into the house.

The half-elf was making her way around the parlor, hands linked behind her back, lips pursed as she studied the old paintings. She sensed Harald’s appearance at the door, and turned with that enviable grace that was a heritage of her lineage.

“Harald.” Her tone was cold, her beautiful visage marred by distaste. “Shall we keep this quick? Yeoric asked that I inform you as to the particulars of the duel. So that there can be no claims to a misunderstanding on your part.”

“Lucine.” Harald entered the parlor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go ahead, then.”

But her distaste was momentarily interrupted by a more complex emotion as she studied him. Surprise? Confusion?

Ah. She was noticing how he’d changed.

Head quirked to one side, she tapped her chin as she approached, brows furrowed. “Harald. You look…”

Harald raised an eyebrow, prompting her to finish her statement, but she changed tack.

“Have you accepted patronage from another House?”

“That’s none of your business, Lucine.”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Had he once thought their green depths so peerlessly beautiful? Now she seemed little more than a shallow creature, her emotions all too readable, her gaze lacking depth. “Very well. No matter. Yeoric wishes to keep the duel quick so that it doesn’t interrupt our schedule. We’re planning to make a dungeon run around Tenth Bell, so you’re to report to the Dueling Circles at Eighth. You’ll forfeit the match if you’re more than five minutes late.”

“Not a problem,” said Harald, keeping his annoyance under control. “Eighth Bell at the Dueling Circles.”

Lucine couldn’t stop studying him. Her gaze flicked up and down, then lingered on his torso, his shoulders perhaps. “Yes. The terms are as follows: no Artifacts, no Servitors, and the winner is decided by forcing their opponent to submit or knocking them out. No friends, retainers, or familiars may interfere in any way with the duel, and if said interference is detected, the offending party forfeits the duel and the stakes double.”

Harald inclined his head. “Sounds good.”

Lucine paused, clearly having expected complaint. Ah. She’d suspected he’d planned to win by cheating. Classy.

“No scales may be used during the fight to effect healing, and there’s to be no blood price allowed in the case of accidental death.” Lucine’s eyes glimmered. “If you enter the Circle, none may legally seek reparations for what happens inside. Understood, Harald?”

“Sure.” Again Lucine frowned, taken aback. She went to speak, but he cut her off. “I’m adding a clause of my own, however. The loser must formally bow to the victor - if they’re still capable, I guess - and formally declare before the witnesses that the winner is the greater fighter in every way.”

Lucine sneered. “You wish to underscore your humiliation? Fine. I can’t imagine in what world Yeoric would have a problem with that addition. Honestly, Harald, I can’t imagine -”

“I don’t care.” Lucine’s eyes widened in outrage, but Harald spoke over her. “I don’t care what you think. If you’re done delivering the terms, get off my property.”

“With pleasure.” She drew herself up and strode past him toward the front door, where she paused to spin about and glare at him. “I can’t wait to see you grovel, Harald. I don’t know how you’ve cheated these past few weeks, but it won’t matter. Yeoric is going to hurt you so badly that you’ll -”

“Lucine.” Harald narrowed his eyes and began striding toward her. “Get out.”

Something in his expression silenced her tongue. She flushed, yanked open the door, and then was gone.

Harald sighed and pressed his brow to the wooden panels after he swung it shut.

Shame and anger roiled within him. Old memories, old regrets. His half-boiled hopes, his foolish vanity. How had he ever considered Yeoric’s crew his means of salvation?

No matter.

At Eighth Bell the day after tomorrow it would all be resolved.

But the fuse of his anger was lit now. Lucine had brought it all crashing back. Harald scowled. Yeoric didn’t want the duel to inconvenience his plans, did he?

Well then. Harald would have to make his defeat quick.

*

Master Ling’s men arrived the next morning to collect every piece that was to be sold. Harald braced himself, told himself he was ready, and signed the paperwork that was presented to him without really reading it. Fortunately, Vic was there to snatch the documents back and scan them, then politely suggest three amendments.

Harald left him to it. Instead, he trailed the movers who strode efficiently into the house with straps and reinforced blankets, wrapping up one piece of furniture after another and carrying them to the carts waiting out front.

One by one, the parts of his childhood disappeared, sliding out the front door to leave mute traces of their having existed behind: faded rectangles against the walls, islands of dust that had accumulated under objects, glaring open spaces, new echoes that hadn’t sounded before in suddenly barren rooms.

Vic was everywhere, laughing, commenting, annotating the list of packaged goods. Harald felt himself a ghost in his own home.

It was the packaging of his mother’s harp that hurt most.

It hadn’t been played since her death. She’d taught him basic techniques, but he’d never wanted to touch it after she was gone. The movers wrapped it tightly, and then with great care hefted it and carried it away.

It was as if they removed the final shadow of her ghost, and Harald felt a lurch in his chest as it disappeared.

“You can insist that they leave it,” said Vic quietly, appearing at his elbow. “We can easily afford to keep anything you value now.”

“No.” Harald considered, then shook his head. “I’m losing the house. Where would I put my mother’s harp? Any of it? I’ve been feeling like a ghost, watching the pieces be carried away, but the truth is this house died years ago. I’ve been living with ghosts, and now they’re finally being put to rest.”

“Poetic,” said Vic. “But, all right. Oh. Look who we have here.”

Sam stepped into the second parlor, looking as lost and shocked as Harald felt. She had a large pack over one shoulder, and wore a tunic of vibrant emerald green, the cloth rich but sturdy and cinched at the waist with a broad leather belt studded in brass. Over this, she wore fitted trousers of a deep, earthen brown, tough enough for raiding but cut to flatter. Her boots were also new, made of supple leather dyed the color of aged wine, rising to mid-calf and buckled with an air of practicality and style.

Her golden hair was worn loose save for a band that kept it from her blue eyes, and around her neck hung a simple cord adorned with a score of heavy silver rings. The tattooed tips of red-yellow feathers emerged from her tunic to rise up the side of her neck, the colors smoldering and beautifully inked.

“Sam,” said Harald, his throat closing tight. “You came back.”

“They’re taking everything today?” Her protest was clear, half-panicked.

“Yes. The auction’s in three days.”

“Right. Of course.” She took a deep breath. “Of course. I was just so focused on the duel.”

“It’s… it’s strangely unsettling, seeing everything go.” He smiled apologetically. “Which is at once obvious that it would be, right? And yet, for some reason, I thought I’d be more at peace with it.”

She nodded briskly. “I’m - I need to step outside.”

And she strode out of the parlor toward the back of the house.

Vic gave him a nudge. “Go on.”

Harald hurried after her.

Sam stood at the edge of the stone patio, gazing out over the garden, taking deep breaths.

Harald moved up alongside her, studied her, then joined her in looking out over the untamed wilderness.

“Not how I envisioned my return,” she said at last, and then gave a broken laugh. “I had it all figured out. But then I saw the carts, everything being brought outside, and I… I just wanted to vomit.”

“Yeah,” said Harald. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She flashed him a smile, and in that brief expression he saw something new in her, a complexity, a sharpness, a focus that there hadn’t been before. “Perhaps this is best. I came to explain how things had to change, and what better way to do it than in the midst of this chaos?”

Harald crossed his arms, listened.

Sam took another deep breath and then turned to face him full on. “Harald. It’s… I’ve done a lot of thinking these past few days. I spoke with a friend, and he advised me to just sit and think until my thoughts ran clear. It took two full days. It was… it was the most uncomfortable sensation.” She smiled brokenly. “The closer I came to where I needed to be, the more I wanted to jump up and run out of that room. But… I stuck with it. And realized a few things.”

Harald listened intently, meeting her bright blue gaze.

“I can’t keep on living in this house, for one. I can’t continue being the Sam I used to be.” It all came out in a rush. “Everything needs to change so that I can continue doing what I truly want to do with my life. And that’s raiding, that’s growing my Class, that’s discovering myself, my best self, my truest, strongest self.” She grimaced, her hands opening and closing, and then forced a smile. “I thought maybe I’d want nothing more to do with you. That felt like the appropriate response. But it wasn’t true. Our relationship… it’s profoundly broken and messed up. But I still value you. It’s true what I said before: you’re like a brother to me. But.”

Harald raised his brows, prompting her to continue.

“But you’re not my brother. And that’s not the only way I feel about you. I… I hate you, I loathe you, and sometimes I want to… just, do extremely unsisterly things, and - and -” She wiped tears from her eyes, smiling widely, her expression at once self-mocking and desperate. “And it’s all twisted up into an awful, tangled knot. And I want none of it. I want to cut that knot away, free myself from that past, but somehow also remain a part of your raiding party?”

Harald nodded, sympathetic.

“Because that’s what I want. To fight next to you, to salvage scales, to rise. I know that to be true, a core truth. But I need to continue finding myself, discovering who I am away from you, from Darrowdelve Manor, all of it. So.”

“I hear you,” said Harald softly. “You’re absolutely right.”

She studied him, not exactly suspicious, or surprised, but awaiting a “but” of some kind.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking since you left, too. And realized that I’ve been a self-centered ass. I’ve been so focused on my father, on Vorakhar, on the Demon Seed and feeling like a hero-in-the-making that I didn’t stop to think if I was being a friend. Or a pseudo-brother.”

Sam frowned, listening intently.

“I want to support you in whatever you need, Sam. I care deeply about you. Because you’re also the not-sister I’ve always had. And yes, our friendship, our relationship, is profoundly fucked up. But I’d like to work on healing it. Even if that means not seeing you for months, or years, or however long you need. Whatever you decide you want, what’s best, I support you all the way.”

“You do?” Tears came to her eyes and she laughed despairingly. “Gods, I’m still doing it.” She looked up as she wiped at her face. “Still putting your opinion at the very top of the world.” She shook her head despairingly, but smiled at him still, that broken smile “But thank you, Harald. That… that’s more affirming than you can understand.”

“Of course. It turns out that while I’ve become very good at getting up for morning runs, I’m still pretty terrible at just about everything else.” He smiled apologetically. “So, please, tell me what you need. You’ve given me so much, Sam. It’s my turn to give you everything I can.”

She laughed despairingly once more and turned away. For a moment, she just stood there, head hanging low, shoulders shaking, and then she drew a sudden, savage inhale and looked up at the sky again. “He told me it would take more than a couple of epiphanies to break old habits, to change who I was. I guess he was right.”

Harald wanted to ask to whom she was referring, but didn’t know if he had the right.

But she glanced back over her bright emerald shoulder and answered his thoughts. “Furthak. The smith who made my armor? He’s helped me a lot. Warned me. He told me I wasn’t ready to come speak to you, but I thought he was wrong. Knew it. The duel’s tomorrow. I had to come.”

“I’m glad you took the risk. But you didn’t have to. I’d have waited as long as necessary for you to reach out.”

“And that’s why I felt like I could come back now. Even though.” She took another shuddery breath. “Even though things still have to change.”

“Well, if it’s of any help, they’ve been changing at a pretty quick clip.”

“You mean Master Ling, the auction?”

“Not quite. I found my father’s hidden room.”

“You did?” She took a sudden stride toward him and gripped his arm, expression earnest, shocked. “You found it? How?”

“I hit Gustav with my Abyss Ability. Turns out that was the trigger. Kind of. A secret door opened, and stairs led down to a tiny chamber. In it was a letter from my father, an Infinitum scale, and four Artifact weapons.”

Sam’s eyebrows kept rising higher and higher. “An Infinitum…? A letter? What did he say?”

“You should read it yourself. Vic and Nessa already have. It’s… it’s pretty much what you’d expect from my dad, part insult, part horrifying revelation about Vorakhar and my Demon Seed.”

“And an Infinitum?” She blinked. “That’s… not enough.”

“No. Not for the manor. Not for all this stuff. But more than enough for what I’ve got planned. I’ve been waiting for you before telling the other two.”

“For me?” She frowned. “Vic must have gone mad.”

“He’s been channeling it into some pretty horrendous cooking. I’ve not had the heart to stop him.”

Sam stared at him, gave a half-laugh of disbelief, then pressed her hand to her temple. “It’s as if the past three days never happened. Everything’s swirling and flowing forward again. But those three days did happen. I’ve changed, Harald.”

He nodded soberly. “I’d say that’s a good thing, if my opinion mattered. Nice tattoo, by the way.”

She touched the tips of the crimson feathers on the side of her neck and smiled a private smile. “Thank you. Well.” Another deep breath, and she closed her eyes. They remained thus in silence, and then she exhaled and opened them. “Shall we call Vic and Nessa?”

“Your call. Only if you want to.”

“I do.” Her nod was decisive. “I want to be part of this. That’s why I came back.”

“Then let’s help Vic with getting the movers out, and then we’ll talk, the four of us.”

*

It took them until the Second Bell in the afternoon for the auction men to finally depart and Vic to hustle them all downstairs. He insisted on bringing wine in order to celebrate whatever decision Harald had made, convinced, as he told them several times, that it was the one and only correct decision.

Sam stood apart from the others, her smile pained, Nessa’s welcome and Vic’s wink doing little to put her at ease. She deflected Vic’s questions, promising to answer later, and he was easily dissuaded.

So that finally they were gathered in the small chamber by scale-light, clustered in a tight knot.

“Sam needs to read my father’s letter first,” said Harald firmly.

“Another five minutes’ delay?” Vic sagged back against the wall. “My heart. It can’t take it. I feel faint.”

“Oh, please, do faint,” said Nessa dryly. “That’ll give us at least a couple of minutes of silence.”

Vic scowled exaggeratedly at her.

Sam took the four sheets of parchment and set to reading.

Harald couldn’t help but watch her expressions with intent interest. She didn’t disappoint. Dismay, shock, horror. She’d glance up at him on occasion, eyes wide, only to dive back in. When she was finally done, she set the parchments down, hands shaking, and covered her mouth.

“I know. I’ve had days to try to come to terms with it all, and it only gets worse the more I think about it.” Harald crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “This Demon Seed will undo me unless I fight it with everything I’ve got, and even then that won’t be enough. It’s too powerful. My father was a strong man, he was Darius fucking Darrowdelve, and even he couldn’t stomach what it promised him, how it wanted to change him.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” said Sam quietly. “You can just stop. Never go back down into the dungeon again.”

“Let’s not get crazy here,” cut in Vic. “He definitely has to do something, especially with that scale. In fact -”

“I want to fight.” Harald spoke to Sam, their gazes locked. “Maybe it’s due to my new Nature, or maybe my new Nature just reflects who I am now. But I’m not going to run.”

“You want to avenge your mother?” asked Nessa quietly.

“More than that. I’ve this foolish memory of myself as a child -”

“I’ve got those,” interjected Vic sympathetically.

“- where I tell my mother why I want to be strong.” Harald smiled ruefully. “It made sense to me when I was six, and only just started ringing true once more. I want to be strong to help others. To help everyone in Flutic who has no idea as to what’s going on with this celestial war. To help that angel I saw. To help you three. I want to make a difference. But to do that, I have to be strong. And for better or worse, I’ve got this Demon Seed now. So I have to find a way to master it.”

Sam was slowly shaking her head in horror.

“I know I can’t succeed without you three. The fates have thrown us together. Our past has been…” Harald sought the right world.

“Fucked up,” said Sam.

“Insincere,” offered Vic.

“Based on manipulation and lies,” said Nessa.

“Complicated.” Harald forced a smile. “But it doesn’t need to continue that way. These past few weeks have been intense for all of us. But for better or worse, they’ve brought us to a turning point. We can resolve to move forward together, to fight to be our best selves, or we can fragment, splinter, let our weaknesses govern us, and fall away into the darkness.”

“I love it when he gets like this,” Vic whispered to Sam. “It’s so inspiring.”

“I’m serious.” Harald looked from one to the next. “I can’t do this alone. My father literally said as much. I’ll fail and be corrupted by the Seed without even realizing it. Vic was right about needing to think long-term, in needing to invest in strategies that will bear fruit down the road instead of going for immediate gratification today.”

“Excellent!” Vic pumped his fist. “Harald, you’re not going to regret this -”

“Hear me out, Vic.”

Vic froze.

“That’s why I’ve decided to split the Infinitum. I’m going to pay Lady Sonora her Horizon’s Whisper to clear my debt, then absorb a Whisper and Ascend to my second Throne so that I can crush Yeoric. Then I’m going to give two to Sam as thanks for all the sacrifices she’s made so she can also Ascend to her second. I’ll then split the remaining six Whispers into the creation of our own official raiding crew. We acquire our own charter, our own dungeon writ, and I’ll deed the Artifacts to the company, which then loans them to each of us for as long as we’re in good standing with the crew.”

Nessa’s face turned pale. Vic’s eyes widened. Sam simply stared at him as if he’d started spouting elvish.

“I was thinking we could use the scales to create a crew fund from which we each get paid a salary, or something. A monthly payment of some kind.” And here, Harald gave a pained smile. “That way we can all use these resources to Ascend together, and then continue to train together, to raid together, and to help each other grow. I want to become a hero out of legend, a true monster when it comes to power - but not that kind of monster. Which is why I’m asking you three to walk with me. To, as my father said, keep my aim true.”

Harald took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself to keep smiling. “So. What do you guys think?”