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Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 16:11:09 +0000 UTCHope. Despair.
Which emotion warred most strongly in his breast? Harald gazed upon the angel-kin and couldn’t tell.
If she recognized him her face betrayed no awareness; her stare was direct and challenging as she glared at where the inquisitor stood.
Who in turn was openly gaping, the seams that bound his withered eyelids shut stretching the scarred skin. He flared his fingers on the hilt of his golden scepter, indecisive, then extended his arm off to one side and made a show of dismissing his Artifact so that his heavily gloved black hand remained open fingered in the air.
“What an honor,” he sneered, the caustic nature of his tone shocking Harald even in his heavy-headed stupor. “Seraphina. Why am I not surprised that this is where we should meet?”
Seraphina?
Seraphina the Skyward Blade? The single most dangerous Gold-ranked raider in all of Flutic? Harald flicked his gaze back to the angel-kin, studying her anew. The hidden prodigy who everybody had courted covetously, wondered at, marveled at, hated and revered?
The young woman raised her chin but a fraction. “I don’t know your name, nor do I care to learn it, holy toad.” She raised her peerless blade and pointed it at Sam. “I’ve come to claim my stolen sword. Will you contest me?”
The inquisitor bowed mockingly low. “Would I dare? Where the Mother Church in all her hallowed glory has failed? You accuse me of hubris, paragon, where instead you should recognize me as a man most humble and aware of his failings.”
Only now did some measure of cold amusement enter her gaze. “Oh, I am only too aware of your failings. Stand aside.”
The inquisitor took in the room, his face moving with minute jerks from side to side as he seemed to blindly assess where all his foes lay. Impatience cracked this servile facade, but he covered it quickly and again, with a show of an elaborate bow, moved well away from his column of white light.
Seraphina picked her way across the room, her tread measured and graceful, as if she were a dancer emerging from the wings of a state toward a spotlight where she would begin her performance.
And Sam. Sam yet remained frozen, her face contorted with anger and determination, the Eclipse Edge raised in her fist.
By the angels, she looked as righteous and perilous as Seraphina.
Who circled the column of light, studying Sam, expression grave as she looked the Netherwarden Knight up and down. Harald’s breath caught. Would the angel-kin recognize Sam’s purity, just how incredible she was?
When the angel-kin had completed a circuit she stopped before Sam, and without looking at the inquisitor made her demand. “Dismiss your power.”
“Shall I make the requisite warnings?’ Again the man’s voice was steeped in mockery. “Shall I tell you how irate and dangerous that woman is, despite her promise? I wouldn’t have you accusing me of negligence, after.”
The angel-kin pursed her lips and made no response.
Kársek groaned on the far side of the room, half sat up, lay back down.
Fuck, but the inquisitor’s last assault had done a number on them.
Nessa? Harald twisted about, trying to see where she lay, but his back spasmed and he bit back a grunt.
The last thing he wanted right now was attention. His Thrones were slowly but surely recovering. However this played out, the angel-kin wouldn’t care about his and Vic’s fate. Which meant the inquisitor’s wrath was only denied. Sooner or later, Seraphina would remove herself, and then they’d be at the inquisitor’s mercy once more.
He needed a plan.
But what?
The column of light abruptly collapsed into drifting motes of silver light, freeing Sam who took a step forward then caught herself, aware of how completely the room had changed.
“I—what?” Her eyes widened as she took in Seraphina only a few paces before her. “Who—oh!”
“You hold my blade.” But the angel-kin sounded distracted. She was really peering at Sam, clearly surprised. “But… who are you?”
Sam flushed, squared her shoulders, then seemed to change her mind and dropped to one knee. “I—we’ve been searching for you, your… your holiness? We—I mean, Harald brought your sword out of the Dungeon, and they entrusted it to me while we tried to return it to you.”
Only now did Seraphina look to where Harald lay, and the flicker flash eye contact was akin to the kiss of a lash. “You expect me to believe that?”
Sam glanced back, saw the state Harald was in, and her face widened in concern. A soothing balm of gentle benediction washed over Harald and so sweet, so welcome was the sensation that Harald almost groaned anew. He felt muscles begin to unsnarl, strange looseness in his spine begin to lock up, and it felt as if his fevered brow was eased by a cool cloth held by a loving, hidden figure.
Guardian’s Mantle.
Why not Warden’s Pulse with its more acute healing? Something must have prevented Sam.
No matter. The longer this encounter lasted now, the greater his recovery.
Harald winked at her, which elicited a firm nod of approval before Sam turned back. “He’s got a Demon Seed, yes, but I’ve known him since I was a child. He’s a good man. As is… well.” Sam hesitated and glanced toward Vic.
“You wound me,” croaked Vic. “I am… the best… of men… in certain specific… departments.”
“They are both good men,” said Sam stoutly. “I swear this.”
Seraphina pursed her lips. She didn’t look convinced; if anything, Sam’s avowal had only increased her frustration, as if this development were completely unwelcome.
“You sought to bring me my blade.” She extended her hand. “Complete your mission.”
“I—yes.” Sam had trouble hiding her reluctance, and Harald could understand why—how easy was it to get used to wielding such power? But with grimace she took the sword by its glowing blade, reversed it, and held the hilt out to the angel-kin.
Who raised it before her, examining it as if for defects, then extended it out to the side so that light could shimmer liquidly down its length. Whatever synergies possessing both swords were clearly now back in play, for it seemed as if a modicum of tension flowed from her frame even as her presence became more fell, her beauty more piercing.
“I admit I’m surprised.” Seraphina resumed scrutinizing Sam. “The blade is glad to be returned, but mourns no longer being in your hand.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “It can mourn?”
Seraphina’s smile was just shy of mocking. “You never unlocked the powers that come from holding both swords. Yes. They are wondrous weapons, and I am not worthy of wielding them. But you. Having discharged your duty, you now owe me nothing, but still I would ask: what is your Soul Nature?”
Sam didn’t hesitate. With an air of defiance that Harald could see right through, she gestured and summoned her Window’s information.
Harald knew those lines by heart.
Brightest Star: You are the beacon that cleaves through night’s veil, the unwavering luminescence that guides the lost and forlorn. Your strength is a promise to the world: a light that not only reveals, but elevates.
“Your Soul Rank is Divine?” Now Seraphina did sound shocked, her brows knitting in consternation. “But who are you? Where did you come from?”
“Dear Seraphina,” said the inquisitor with a half-step forward. “I hesitate to interrupt, but my business is pressing. If you wish, step away with this wonderful child, and allow me to resume the Mother Church’s work.”
Seraphina ignored him. “Your name?”
“Samantha Tuppins. That is, Sam.”
“Your class?”
“4th Level Netherwarden Knight.”
“Netherwarden Knight,” breathed Seraphina. “My, but you’re a treasure on par with my blades. Rise, Sam.”
Who did so, to glance uncertainly back at Harald. “My friends are dear to me, your holiness. I can’t—I won’t—abandon them.”
“Yes.” Again Seraphina stared at Harald. “You have the most questionable allies.”
“That they possess Demon Seeds is without doubt,” snapped the inquisitor, his patience fraying. “I will cleanse them and remove myself.”
“No,” said Sam, turning to face the inquisitor full on. “You won’t.”
The man’s painted visage distended into a sour sneer. “Tough words for a child.”
“You’re aware of what Demon Seeds imply?” Seraphina’s tone was mild in comparison. Curious, almost. “They are lost, Sam. They may speak and act like your friends, but those Seeds will extend roots into their souls and blossom into foul flowers. There’s no hope for them.”
“I disagree.” Sam raised her chin. “Harald is a good man, and everything he’s done—well, almost everything—has been in defiance of Vorakhar. He desires nothing more than to earn enough power to defy the demon and destroy him.”
“That he will never do,” said Seraphina with quiet certainty. “The Prime Demons are beyond the capabilities of anybody. I’m the highest ranked raider in Flutic and I can’t fight him.”
Harald coughed, cleared his throat, and forced a grin. “I am nothing if not full of surprises. I’ll destroy him or die trying.”
“You say that now.” Seraphina’s appraisal was cool, clinical. “But demon-kin are endlessly capable of deceiving themselves in their quest for power. Because that’s all you want. Everything else you say is the justification you need to console yourself as you commit ever darker deeds.”
Harald levered himself up to sitting. His back was marginally better. “Maybe. I’m no saint. But I’ll swear on anything that I am committed to vengeance. Vorakhar claimed me because he already owns my father. I want nothing more than to right his wrongs, to defend Flutic, to die on the side of the angels.”
And to Harald’s surprise tears stood out in his eyes and he felt his heart rise into his throat. Something about saying those words to Seraphina’s face made him appreciate them anew. The raw earnestness that he’d lost somewhere along the line, that had grown submerged under the exigencies of endless emergencies, the rationalizations he’d used to justify his dark powers, his brutal acts, the slaughters, the duels, the deaths.
But he meant it. By the Fallen Angel, he meant it. In that moment he yearned for nothing more than to stand as the third point to Sam and Seraphina’s triangle, their equal in righteousness, to be considered one of their number, to stand on their side in this war.
Seraphina pursed her lips in contemplation.
“Nonsense!” The inquisitor’s bark was sharp and filled with disgust. “Utter and rank nonsense. The boy weeps hypocritical tears because he knows his life is on the line. He and the other must be crushed under my heel for the good of Flutic, for the good of the Fallen Angel.”
“Like I said.” Sam raised her fist and in it appeared the Ashwright’s Vow, its glowing orange hilt warped and wondrous. A second later a blade of wrought orange energy burst forth, woven about by a helix of gold. Around her brow blazed the Ashwright’s Wreath, and so anointed Sam looked fucking awesome. “If you want to hurt my friends, you’ll need to cut me down first.”
“That is easily done.” The inquisitor’s tone was oiled lethality. “Seraphina? Has your heresy deepened to the point of defending demons?”
“Speak to me of heresy again and I’ll cut out your tongue,” said the angel-kin. “But this I vow: you shall not harm Sam. She is too important. I declare her under my aegis.”
“Oh come on!” The inquisitor all but threw up his hands. “What game is this? I shall move to kill the demon-kin. She shall intervene. I will be forced to defend myself. Then what? You shall strike me down? Your defense is foul. If you kill me you defy the Church more openly than you have ever done before, and my four brothers shall add your name to the Verboten List.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t already,” said Seraphina. “Sam. I speak to you with all the sincerity of the forces that fight for the Fallen Angel—fondness has blinded you to your companion’s growing evil. I know it hurts, but you must step away.”
“I can’t.” Sam’s smile was just shy of broken. “I wouldn’t be myself if I did. I’d rather die.”
The inquisitor’s gloves creaked as he flexed his fingers. “A pretty quandary you’ve thrust us into. Well, I shall not blink in pursuing the Church’s business. If I must be martyred in her service, so be it.”
Seraphina rubbed her thumb across her brow as she frowned, then sighed and stepped before Sam to face the inquisitor. “I won’t let you kill a Divine Ranked prodigy. Not even to kill to Demon Seeds. You know who I am and who I serve. I command you in His name: abandon your quest for now and depart.”
“I don’t take orders from fallen saints,” sneered the Inquisitor. “And I am also not without power. I’ve often wondered if I could break your spirit. What you might beg once I stripped you of your powers.” His crimson-smeared lips warped into a lascivious smile. “With the Fallen Angel as my witness, you’ve left me no choice. Seraphina, I declare your Verboten in the eyes of the Fallen Angel, and have no choice but to strike you down.”
Seraphina smiled. Both Eclipse Edges began to glow more brightly. “You have some power, I’ll grant you that. But I am the Skyward Blade. If war must finally break out between us, then I won’t flinch. But.” She raised her chin. “If you won’t accept my verdict, perhaps you will listen to a true authority.”
It wasn’t a question, Harald realized. His breath had caught in his throat while this exchange had taken place, and now he sat back. A true authority? Could the Fallen Angel be summoned to intervene?
The inquisitor frowned. “You blaspheme.”
“Let us see.” Her voice rose to a shout, stern and redolent with power. “Alabathenos, Holy Servant, Righteous Father, Benevolent Son, here your angel-kin’s plea and attend me now. I cry your mercy, I plead your judgement. Attend me now in the name of the Fallen Angel and the Last Crusade.”
Her words rang out like the peal of a bell, causing the very air to shake and shiver. The shadows in the chamber seemed to lighten, as if a source of light were being birthed before Harald’s unseeing eyes, and the hairs along the backs of his arms, the nape of his neck prickled and stood on end. His mouth filled with a metallic taste, and the inquisitor’s sneer became a snarl as he backed up against the wall, golden scepter appearing in one fist, a censor in the other, white mist pouring forth from its many perforations.
The air took on a blue sheen even as silvered mercurial ripples flooded across the high ceiling, as if an azure pool had flooded the floor. Harald’s breath caught as panic opened wet feathered wings in the back of his throat. His heart began to hammer, and some primitive instinct bid him scurry away on all fours, to find a corner, a hole into which hide.
But it wasn’t his native instinct that urged him hide. It was the Demon Seed, he realized. It was vibrating deep in his Cosmos, as if seeking to tear itself free of its unholy binding to his soul.
A portal appeared in the center of the room. At least four yards tall, it rippled as if a stone had been dropped into a vertical pool, and as each ripple poured out it spread the marmoreal blue and silver till it formed a perfect circle, and then a figure stepped through, and Harald’s mind blanked in the presence of such overwhelming glory.
The figure was huge. Easily three yards tall, as broad as a barn door, it was both clearly inhuman and utterly awe-inspiring. It was clad in bulky alabaster and ivory full plate that was adorned and edged with flourishes of platinum and gold, a tabard of navy blue hanging from its belt to fall past its knees. Huge wings of dove gray and robin’s egg blue bulked up behind its powerful shoulders, and in one gauntlet that could have palmed Harald’s head with ease he held a blade that even the Hammerfell might have had trouble lifting.
But his head. It was a blank, features black, utterly with features and hair. No eyes, no ears, no mouth, no ears. Just the contours of a dress shop mannequin, but burnished by the broad halo that hovered in the air above its brow. No neat circlet of metal, this halo was alive and ever revolving, like a platinum eel that chased its tail, broadening and narrowing as if it reflected some gauge of the angel’s power.
For there was no denying its nature.
If Vorakhar was a Prime Demon, then this Alabenthos, Seraphina’s patron, was some manner of angel in truth.
Harald felt pinned in place against the wall. His mind reeled. Was this one of the five angels that existed in the Pleroma, kin and equal to the Fallen Angel herself? No. That was impossible. He knew the names of the four remaining angels: Mirathal the Reflecting, Galdoreth the Glimmering, Nenya of the Depths, and Tavaril of the Twilight.
But then what was this being?
Seraphina had dropped to one knee before her patron, her svelte and graceful form insignificant before his ornately wrought bulk.
“Father, thank you for heeding my summons. I desire your judgment in this matter, an issue that I believe may impact the Last Crusade for beyond even my understanding.”
Sam’s mouth had fallen open, but now she sank bonelessly to her knees, face upraised to the gigantic angel.
“This is Samantha Tuppins. She sought to return my blade to me, and has done so without protest. She is a treasure, Father. I would recruit her to our side, and in doing so enrich our forces beyond measure.”
Sam’s tanned face paled as the angel brought his attention upon her, and Harald saw her shake as if seized by the ague.
“Her companions are scattered about this room.” Seraphina gestured at where everyone had sat up to stare, awed. “Two of them are corrupted by Demon Seeds. Sam swears that they are good men, and will lay down her life to defend them. The inquisitor here insists on slaying them, and will cut down Sam if he must. He refuses to listen to my judgement on the matter. I pray that you may offer us wisdom that will help guide us all in this moment.”
Alabenthos had yet to utter a word, yet so total was his presence, his command, that even had Nessa worn the Crown and augmented it with the Aureate Master her allure would have paled to a candle flame beside the angel’s righteous conflagration.
Alabenthos turned his smooth visage to consider Harald, and a terrible weight fell upon him. He felt himself encased in lead, squeezed by a terrible vice, the air driven from his lungs and his mind reeling as a great force leaned upon him.
The Demon Seed shrilled.
Harald fought his every instinct that bade him resist, push back, refuse to allow the angel access. But Sam’s plaintive stare undid that reflex; with every ounce of his Ego 26 strength, he forced himself to submit.
And in truth, what choice did he have?
A moment later Vic croaked in alarm, then fell silent.
The inquisitor stepped forth. “I am Inquisitor Havan, anointed by the Mother Church to the Fourth Order. In her name am I here, in her name do I root out heresy, blasphemy, sins, and evil. These raiders murdered a Count but two nights ago and stole an Artifact of terrible power from his vault: the Twilight Crown. The city is convulsing with panic as a result, and civil war looms over us all. I have been tasked along with my four brothers to bring back the Crown and entrust it to the Church so that she may bring peace and surety to the streets. That the thieves possess two demon-kin amongst their number is no shock; evil and corruption will rise to every sordid occasion.”
Even though the inquisitor spoke smoothly, his voice shook as he bore the full brunt of the angel’s regard.
“I have no desire to kill this Tuppins. But if she stands in my way, she aligns herself with the demons and shall suffer accordingly.”
The inquisitor’s words hung in the air, quavering and defiant.
Harald watched, wide-eyed, aware that he was witnessing a miracle, that he was in the presence of true divinity.
Surely the inquisitor would bend knee?
Samantha Tuppins is a worthy recruit, spoke the angel, voice resonant and rich with power. Her companions yet retain hope for redemption. Stay your hand, inquisitor. Take the Crown if you must, but you shall not harm these mortals.
Hope, joy, deliriously unexpected rescue. Harald sagged back against the wall, relief making him melt.
The inquisitor snarled, painted lips writhing back from his perfect teeth. “So it is true. I didn’t want to believe it myself, but the war is being lost because even our most hallowed exemplars have fallen into heresy and corruption.” He raised his golden scepter which began to glow brightly. “Attend me, brothers! Lend me your strength! I, Inquisitor Havan, do defy this corrupted effigy of holiness! Scepter to scepter, might to might, open the web of Virtuous Synergy and lend me the full extent of your power!”
Seraphina rose to her feet, bid Sam do the same by taking her elbow, and drew her back.
Alabenthos the huge angel remained immobile as the inquisitor’s scepter blazed ever brighter. Harald watched, expecting the angel to admonish the inquisitor, but he stood silent, watching, waiting as the inquisitor’s scepter grew ever brighter till it was blazing like the sun.
“I am deemed worthy!” Havan laughed, voice rising to a cry as the air filled with the thrum of building thunder. “I am pure! The power flows into me with the Fallen Angel’s blessing! The might of my four brothers is mine to wield, and now shall I castigate you for your corruption! Oh joy, that I am the instrument of this redress! Or sweet, sweet joy that I may be of true service!”
The scepter flared into total brightness.
Alabenthos disappeared inside a new column of utter blankness. Harald felt himself slammed back against the wall as the power of the detonation nearly knocked him unconscious. His thoughts were erased, his skin scorched, and now did he feel Sam’s Warden’s Pulse as her healing insulated him from blacking out altogether.
Harald blinked as the light faded.
Half the chamber was gone. A crater easily four or five yards deep and been burned away from under the angel, the rock slagged and hissing, dripping like wax and brightened to molten white and red. Most of the balconies above were aflame, and chunks of masonry were falling from the walkways even as parts of the wall had been smoothed to glass-like slickness.
Alabenthos hovered yet in the air in the exact same position. He was unsigned, undamaged, not even a feather ruffled.
“Oh,” croaked Inquisitor Havan, his entire body sagging.
You disappoint me, intoned the angel. Havan tensed, tendons standing out in his neck, his hands turning into gloved claws, eyes bulging, and then he simply collapsed, steam rising from his skin and hair.
Now. The angel revolved in place to face Harald. Now shall I dispense the justice you are due.
Comments
Mark Timmony
THIS is the world building I was expecting when I originally read your blurb for this project oh so long ago. I saw a taste of it with the dwarves, but this is the Tucker I’ve come to expect from Immortal Great Souls. Brilliant!
Ryan Williams
A cliffhanger like this on a weekend? EVIL. Alabenthos needs to smite Phil.
