philtucker
patreon
Throne Hunters Book Four, Chapter 37
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 12:33:27 +0000 UTC“Of course it’s become a public event,” groaned Vic.
The crew had finally been invited by Lord Josse to take advantage of a guest suite in a lodge located at the back of the property. Word had spread via couriers and countless spies to the other four major Houses about the impending duel and the discovery of the Twilight Crown, and Flutic was in uproar.
Sam finished stirring some honey into the teapot and set it on a tray. The lodge came complete with an extensive kitchen in the rear, and as had once been custom at Darrowdelve Manor the crew had opted to use it as their base of operations instead of the fancier dining room or even the charming breakfast nook that looked out over a lantern-lit ornamental pond.
“What are the odds that the other Houses will cause trouble?” asked Harald, taking his cup of tea with a grateful smile. First Bell had rung in the middle of the night, and with it the notification that the duel had been postponed till Ninth Bell.
Nessa stirred her cup thoughtfully. “There’ll be some intense meetings throughout the night, that’s for sure.”
“Except Emberfell has already accepted the duel.” Anna sipped her tea and smiled at Sam. She’d greatly recovered her poise, and despite looking worn and exhausted, her pant leg stiff with dried blood and her auburn hair escaping its braid, she looked once more the countess. “Dueling is as old a ritual as any in Flutic. Both parties would have to agree to cancel the duel. Any attempt, even on the part of the City Council or Mother Church, to void it otherwise would be impossible.” Anna considered. “Certain traditions are untouchable.”
“Hmm.” Vic leaned back to close his eyes, head resting on the wall. “Something tells me the heads of the other four Houses will be shockingly ready to dispense with tradition.”
“They’ll be making Emberfell all kinds of offers throughout the night,” temporized Anna. “To either bestow the duel to one of them or to cancel the duel outright.”
“He won’t accept,” said Harald. “He’s taken House Emberfell’s involvement in Melisende’s death personally.”
“Do you want him to accept?” asked Sam, sitting down at a side table.
“I…” Harald paused. Part of him yearned for the combat, to test himself against a more powerful opponent, to stretch himself and see what new miracles he was capable of. But then another part recognized that this was liable to be his final battle. Not only was he ignorant of Doran’s level and number of ascended Thrones, but he didn’t even know the full extant of his Artifact’s abilities or number or nature of Servitors. “I don’t.”
“Harry’s never shied from a fight,” said Vic. “Not since he met Daddy Vorakhar.”
“It takes both parties to agree to a duel’s dissolution,” said Anna. “Even if Doran agrees, especially if he agrees, you’ll hold an inordinate amount of power, Harald. They’ll need to convince you, too.”
“Demand a hundred Nightshards,” said Vic lazily. “I’m sure they can scrape it up between them all.”
Sam snorted. “A hundred Nightshards. That would beggar the city.”
“He’d be speaking their language,” smiled Vic, cracking open one eye. “They’d probably make him an honorary member of the Council for being so comfortingly greedy.”
Anna smirked, and Vic raised a brow in mock surprise. “Wait. Is the countess amused by my raillery? Am I forgiven? It must be so. She’s been so stoic in the face of so many brilliant jests. I must have finally gotten through to her.”
Anna sighed in mock exasperation. “The only way I’ll forgive ever forgive is you is when I get to spear you through the leg the way you did me.”
“Is that it?” Vic set his cup of tea aside and stretched his leg along the countertop. “Then have it. Though, fair warning: you’ll earn the enmity of—”
“—every whore in the Shambles,” cut in Nessa tiredly.
Sam picked up the thread, tone deadpan, “Who will hate Anna for ruining perfect manflesh or something or other.”
Vic paused, expression that of mild surprise. “My, how gratifying. The students have been paying attention to the master after all, it seems.”
“I’ll spear you through the leg tomorrow,” said Anna. “I don’t want to ruin my tea.”
“Fine,” sighed Vic, lowering his leg once more. “My perfect manflesh is always ready for a skewering. It shall quiver in anticipation till then.”
Harald shook his head and set his tea aside. “I’m going to get some fresh air.” He opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the artfully rough stone patio that encircled the pond. An ancient acacia tree spread its canopy overhead, and through its delicate leaves the stars did glimmer. The air was scented with rich midnight blooms and filled with the call of cicadas or crickets or some other vibrating insect.
He stepped to the edge of the pond and studied its lily-covered ink-black surface. In the distance he could hear the sound of voices; grooms and servants welcoming guests, carriages rolling up to the front of House Celestara, whose logistical apparatus was in full swing as countless esteemed visitors arrived to take part in the feeding frenzy.
So much had happened, and so quickly. The past few days felt like a blur. Somehow they’d survived, somehow they’d not lost a single member of their crew, but too many of their successes had been by the skin of their teeth or due to fortuitous interventions.
Worse, each crisis had resulted in a new plan. They’d settled on so many courses of action that stepping back now and looking at it all, Harald had to admit they’d never really had a plan. Not in terms of a set course of action that cut through adversity so that they could impose their will on the world. Instead, they’d been constantly on their heels, reactive, seeking to survive at any cost.
And why?
Because they didn’t have enough power. They had to wait here in Josse’s guesthouse because they couldn’t depart without being cut down. They had to acknowledge Doran Blaze’s ire because they weren’t powerful enough to ignore it.
Power. It was the only true currency of the world. Without it? They danced like crazed puppets, desperately seeking to remain on the stage.
Harald curled his hand into a fist. Power. It wasn’t that they’d been shirking in their efforts to grow. But if they survived this duel, this brush with the Houses of Flutic? He vowed he would burn a blazing path through the levels of the Dungeon the likes of which had never been seen, would cut his way down into the 30’s and 40’s without rest or mercy.
6th Level wasn’t enough.
Reaching Silver rank in a couple of months wasn’t enough.
Nothing was good enough except for being the best. He recalled Thracos’ scorn at the suggestion that he turn against Silenthros. Thought of his father, alive somehow, down in the depths of the Dungeon, battling to further Vorakhar’s goals.
Power.
It was the only way to achieve freedom.
“Hey.” The voice was soft, tentative, and Harald turned to see Sam emerge from the kitchen door, teacup in hand. “Mind some company?”
“No, of course not.” He smiled self-consciously. “You caught me in the middle of vowing to reach 15th Level by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“As long as that? You’re growing complacent.” She moved up alongside him to take in the view. The pond, the screen of bushes and trees, the lights of Celestara Manor in the near distance just beyond.
Harald took her in. The braided golden hair, the exhaustion that she somehow managed to wear lightly, the leonine grace and strength. She met his gaze, immediately looked away, flushed, then looked back.
“Um,” he said, remembering the kiss. The words she had said moments before following Seraphina deeper into the Dungeon. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?” She grinned in amusement. “I’m fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.”
“Why’s that?” He couldn’t help but smile in return. “Oh, you mean the duel against Doran Blaze tomorrow? Or the constant, ah, corruption that I’m fighting off from the Demon Seed? Or… maybe my ability to manage Vic as he tries to drag us all into some kind of heroic but bloodthirsty civil war?”
“Yeah, something along those lines.” She studied him, expression growing sober. “How are you holding up? It feels like we’re always running, racing to stay ahead of oblivion. And I know you feel responsible for us all, even if you shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t? Gorkin kidnapped everyone because I led our attacks on his warehouses. Because I swore loyalty to Anna. Which led to our finding the Crown, which led to all this. I dragged everyone into this mess.”
“Dragged?” She raised a brow. “You make it sound like we were unwilling. I think I remember quite clearly agreeing to every step of this journey.”
“Well.” Harald looked away. “Maybe you wouldn’t have if you could have seen where it would lead.”
“To my getting an Angel Seed?” Her amusement was rich. When had she grown so comfortable, when had that hesitant nature, that constantly self-assessing doubt gone away? “To my becoming part of something far greater and more important than cleaning Darrowdelve Manor’s kitchen? Nah. I think I’m pretty happy with how things have changed.”
“Right, sure.” Harald managed a broken smile. “Just skip over the constantly fighting for our lives part, or how most of the city now wants us dead.”
Her hand stole into his own. “At least the company’s not half bad.”
His breath caught, and for a moment it was all he could do to simply stare ahead. Then, with great effort, he turned to meet her gaze. There was a warmth and vulnerability to her stare, a directness, that disarmed him. A faint blush had crept into her cheeks, but she refused to look away as the air between them grew charged.
“Yeah, not half bad,” he managed, then wanted to kick himself for how clumsy that sounded.
“I, um.” She squeezed his hand. “Back in the dungeon. When I left with Seraphina.” Now it was Harald’s turn to feel his cheeks burn. “When I said—you know.”
“Yeah,” he agreed quickly, not knowing what he was actually agreeing to.
“I… I meant it.” She turned toward him, her voice growing husky. “Harald. I—I know this is messed up on some many levels…”
“You’re an Angel Seed kind of girl, while I’m a Demon Seed kind of guy.”
She laughed. “Sure. But, more—I wanted so much to find space, independence from you. From the horrible dynamics of our past. Even though you were great! I mean, not great, a spoiled asshole, really, but in an impersonal kind of way, I could still tell—well, not really, you were really caught up in your own problems, though of course they were real problems, but the—”
Sam cut herself off and took a deep, steadying breath.
Harald resisted the urge to jump in and just listened, trying not to smile.
“What I’m saying,” she said, voice measured now. “Is that when you freed me, I knew I needed to untangle a lot of emotions from our problematic past. And I asked for space.”
“I remember.”
“And you gave it to me. And never pressed for more. For which I was grateful. And disappointed?” She winced. “Which felt ridiculous, as I was the one who’d asked for it?”
Harald nodded vigorously, unsure if he should be apologizing instead.
“But then, with Gorkin, and the fighting, and watching you grow, watching you tear yourself apart for us, for Flutic, for… well, Vorakhar, I guess, but mostly—what I mean, is—”
Harald stepped in and kissed her.
Sam tensed up, her grip on his hand suddenly crushing. Her lips were soft, completely unresponsive, and for a single panicked second Harald thought he’d completely misunderstood her intent, had done the absolute worst thing he could possibly do in this moment, but then she relaxed, seemed to melt into him, turning her head slightly so they could kiss more deeply. Her body pressed against him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to wrap his arms around her, pull her tight, fire rippling down his skin, his thoughts gone, swept away by the hurricane winds of desire—
The world detonated.
Everything went white, and in that blankness, that nullity, Harald had the briefest of impressions of the trees and bushes turning into black silhouettes and then burning away. He was lifted off his feet, and then all went dark.
*
The world came rushing back in. He lay amidst rubble. A toppled wall. Sam was crouched over him, bloodied and grim, her hand on his chest. No pain. Of course, not with Shadow Fortitude, but everything felt loose and jangly and wrong. But he was absorbing scales, no, Sam was forcing him to absorb scales, and she was yelling something at him, eyes wide with panic, with terrible need.
“…summon your Servitors! Hurry—Harald! Summon—”
He did so.
And from his Cosmos emerged Shadowpaw, instantly snarling as he flattened himself against the wreckage of the guest lodge, gaze sweeping the devastation. Then both knights were there, improbably huge and with axes in their massive gauntleted fists, boots crunching the rubble as they stepped into flanking positions around them. Harald tried to summon the Goldchops, but they weren’t there—only the Scourge, the Aureate Master, the Rootheart Sigil.
So he manifested those instead, and his Constitution went insane.
Power flooded into him. Not strength, per se, but deep, impossible resilience. The strength of an ancient tree that had resisted countless world-ending storms. The strength of mountain roots that would last millennia. The endless strength of the tides, who would batter coastlines for as long as it took to grind them down to gravel.
Harald rose from the wreckage.
Sam’s Starfire Bastion illuminated a dome overhead with pale white fire. Her Guardian’s Mantle was working its healing magic on him, even as her Beacon of Hope blunted his fury and panic and kept him steadied and purposeful.
The rear half of the lodge was staved in, as if a giant had taken a petulant kick at one wall, tumbling the raftered roof and most of its structure inward. The trees were broken into kindling, the bushes uprooted, the pond half-emptied. The slate stones were broken like dropped ceramics, and distant shouts of alarm could be heard from the near distance.
But there was no sign of their assailant.
“What the heck?” Vic’s call was more indignant than pained from under a crumpled section of wall. “I was just finishing my tea, that was completely uncalled for!”
Harald directed the knights to begin unearthing his companion, but then a dull, angry word sounded, and must of the rubble simply blasted away, reduced to dust and fragments.
“Khazadrok.”
Relief had never felt so sweet.
“I hit whoever it was with Luminous Interdict,” said Sam, wiping the blood away from her face with her sleeve. “They ran when they saw their strike failed to take us out.”
“Who was it?” Harald moved to help the knights hurling chunks of stone aside. Kársek was helping Nessa emerge from a pocket of darkness under the broken wall. Sam didn’t answer, but rushed to help Anna, whom Vic was carrying out of the wreckage in his arms. Her face was muddied with blood and dust. She placed her hand on Anna’s brow, raised scales in her other hand, and set to healing her first.
“I am going to lodge a formal complaint,” said Vic. “The accommodations were fine, lovely even, but the staff is far too violent for my tastes. Ridiculous!”
Kársek manifested his rune hammer and surveyed the destruction. “Where are they?”
“They ran,” said Sam, dropping her hand as Anna groaned and came to. “One person. I didn’t get a good look at them. I was too busy being thrown into the wall.”
“They underestimated us,” said Nessa.
“Or the integrity of the guest lodge,” said Kársek grimly. “Those walls were strong. If they hadn’t been, we’d have been crushed.”
“Honestly.” Vic raked his fingers through his dusty hair. “An assassination attempt? It’s not even Second Bell. How gauche.”
“Should have seen it coming,” muttered Nessa, sitting heavily on a block of stone and pressing her hand to her temple. “Far easier to just kill Harald then get him to agree to something.”
“Nessa?” Sam hurried over. “Let me see that.”
Nessa raised a hand. “Don’t bother. It’s probably just a concussion. Bad enough that I didn’t think to heal with scales. I’ll do that now.”
“All right,” said Sam, clearly unhappy.
Harald turned to where figures were approaching at a run. He twirled the Scourge slowly, causing the air to whine as if abused. “Here they come.”
But it was House Celestara guards who arrived, scale-lanterns held high as they slowed in amazement and took in the destruction. Their leader, a guard captain, looked blankly at the half-toppled lodge and the shattered grounds. “I… sir, can we…?”
“A little late, fellow,” snapped Vic. “But top marks on security. House Celestara clearly knows how to protect its guests.”
The captain came to his senses. “My sincere apologies. We have a healer on staff that can tend to your injuries. Please, come with me. Lord Josse will want to hear of this personally.”
“I’m sure he will,” said Harald dryly. “Lead on, then.”
They quit the lodge and followed the guard patrol back to the manor. Which was so busy it looked as if Josse were hosting a ball; the halls echoed with voices, servants rushed frantically about carrying refreshments, and somewhere deep in the house a cello was playing.
The captain lead them across the sprawling back patio, through the crowd of guests and dignitaries who either studied them with fascination or called out imperious questions, then inside and up a private staircase to the same council chamber in which Harald had first found Josse, Yseult, Anna, and Vic. It was clear that House Celestara guards and raiders were being actively recalled from the field, for their presence had easily doubled, with Yseult’s Gold-rankers lounging outside the council chamber proper.
These worthies rose to their feet at the sight of the Throne Hunters’ rough state, but before they could speak Harald and his friends were ushered into the council room.
Josse, Yseult, and a handful of what had to be Celestara advisors were engaged in conversation, but at Harald’s entrance they turned, expressions studiously neutral.
“Ah,” said Harald, before anyone could address them. “I see.”
“You have my sincere apologies,” said Josse, not bothering to rise to his feet. “This is terrible. I will launch a full investigation, and have my forces comb the grounds for the monster who did this.”
“Sure you will,” said Vic. “That’s really sweet of you.”
“Your hospitality is clearly not up to the task of defending us,” snapped Nessa. “With all due respect, we’ll leave and find our own lodgings. We’ll return in time for the duel.”
Yseult’s tone was mild. “I’m afraid that’s unacceptable. Too much is at stake for you to be allowed to wander off into Flutic. We insist you remain here.”
“Insist,” said Harald, testing the word. “So we’re your prisoners?”
“Honored guests,” smiled Josse.
Vic pulled out a chair. “Then we’ll join you here. The odds of an attack in your private council chamber ought to be low, right? Oh wait, maybe not.”
Josse’s smile hardened. “I’m afraid we’re caught up with private affairs. I’m told the guest lodge still stands, and that the bedrooms in the front were unaffected. You will return there, and I’ll place a cordon of guards around the perimeter to ensure your safety.”
Harald nodded slowly. “I see. Your best men, I’m sure.”
“You are our guests,” said Yseult, her amusement clear. “Do you insinuate we’d offer you anything less?”
Harald sucked on his teeth, but the cruel amusement in Yseult’s gaze was too incendiary for him to handle without losing his temper. So he turned and strode from the room, ignoring the guards, and headed back down the hall.
A few minutes later they were back in the lodge. He kept the Scourge summoned, the blade propped over his shoulder as he paced back and forth through the large living room, the terracotta tiles burnished by the lantern-light, his friends moving to the windows so as to peer outside.
Nessa, however, went from lantern to lantern and extinguished them all, so that soon they were plunged into darkness.
“Well, it’s clear somebody’s made Josse an offer he can’t refuse,” said Anna, tone brittle with disgust.
“I thought Josse was tied to Vic through the Crown,” protested Sam quietly, peering out a large window.
“That ended when I gave it to Harald.” Vic sighed. “Don’t blame me for Harry’s stupid request.”
“Josse’s protection was worthless if House Emberfell killed us all,” said Harald, still pacing. “But yes. He’s free of the Crown, even if we give it back to Vic. But it’s not Josse we need to worry about.”
“Yseult,” agreed Nessa, drawing the curtains closed on a large window. “She’s already taken the reins. I wonder if Josse even realizes he’s been deposed.”
“What do we do?” The Ashwright’s Wreath glimmered like live coals about Sam’s brow, while the Vow burned in her fist, its flaming blade lambent in the dark. “We can’t just sit here.”
Nessa drew the last curtain closed, but remained by the window, peering outside through a crack. “They want Harald dead. It won’t matter if Emberfell refuses to call off the duel. If someone kills Harald and steals the Crown, the duel becomes irrelevant.”
“I thought duels were sacred,” asked Vic in mock innocence. “Anna, darling? Surely no blue-blooded noble would dare mess with the ancient protocols of dueling?”
“I think I’m ready to stab you through the leg,” said Anna stiffly.
“Rowr,” purred Vic. “Let’s find a private room, them.”
“If it’s me they want, then I can’t stay here.” Harald stopped his pacing. “I’ll use Veil of Shadows to avoid attention. Maybe I’ll even overhear something of interest.”
“You can’t go out there alone,” protested Sam. “What if they send a Gold-ranker after you? Veil of Shadows won’t stop an Epic-ranked Artifact or Ability.”
“What do you suggest, Sam?” Harald knew his anger was misplaced, born of frustration and helplessness. “Stay here an endanger you all? Sit around till they send someone more competent who doesn’t underestimate our strength?”
“We can use my Artifact,” said Sam. “The one the angel gave me? We can just open a Portal directly to the Dungeon and get out of here.”
“Huh,” said Vic. “You know, I’d forgotten about that trick. I say it’s high time we skipped out of here.”
Harald pursed his lips.
“What?” Sam raised a brow. “You want to hang around and see if the next assassin is more capable?” She drew out the white disc. “Look. Right now. We can…”
Then she frowned.
“What is it?” asked Nessa. “Sam?”
“It’s not working.” Sam stared at the disc. “It’s being blocked.”
“Not surprising,” said Anna wearily. “I was going to say, most important locations in Flutic have Artifacts that prevent invasive entry and exits.” Her smile was apologetic. “I could never afford one, but I suppose Melisende didn’t want unwanted visitors with extendable swords appearing in her bedroom suite.”
“She should have bought a better Artifact, then,” said Vic, unruffled. “One that prevents destiny from knocking.”
“Damn,” said Sam, and the disc faded from her grasp. “So we’re trapped. But Harald. We can hold them off together. Stay with us. I can’t heal you if you’re gone.”
Harald moved to the door. “I know you don’t like it, but I’m at my most dangerous, at my best when I’m alone. The darkness is my friend. I won’t hunker down here and endanger you all.”
“Nessa?” Sam turned to her in desperation.
“He’s right.” Nessa tore her gaze away from the world outside the window. “Play it smart, Harald. Take the Death’s Proxy. Might help cover your tracks.”
Kársek dug out the brooch from their heavy pack and took the Rootheart Sigil in exchange.
“Be safe,” said Sam, tone forlorn.
“Don’t worry about me.” Harald moved to the rear of the large room to where the back wall leaned crazily into what became the wreckage of the lodge. “Anybody they send sniffing around here won’t live to see the dawn.”
“Harald,” said Anna. “Just avoid trouble. Please.”
“Oh, leave him be.” Vic settled more deeply into his armchair and stifled a yawn. “Harald needs to vent some pent up emotions. After all, he and Sam were smooching when the hit came. So rude.”
“Shut up, Vic.” But Harald didn’t feel much by way of anger with his friend. Or embarrassment. Even though Sam looked mortified, he realized he didn’t feel much of anything at all.
It was the void. Welling up within him, consuming him, drowning him in its chilling need for destruction.
“Be safe,” he told his friends, then picked his way through the wreckage, Veil of Shadows drowning him in darkness and smothering any sound he might make. He emerged into the night, Chyron’s Scourge held lightly by his side, and summoned Shadowpaw. The huge mastiff appeared like a living nightmare by his side, pelt bleeding into the darkness.
“Come on, boy.” Harald roughed the hound’s scruff once, twice, then turned his attention back to the night. “Time to go hunt some assholes.”
Comments
Lorenz
Loved Sam floundering for the right words to say to Harald about her feelings before the detonation……didn’t see that attack coming…..hope Harald finds who did it.
![Murasaki [ムラサキ] from fanbox](https://patrefans.com/kistorage/44954.jpg)
