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Throne Hunters Book 2, Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2024-06-05 13:00:14 +0000 UTCNot what I expected, thought Melisende as she sat at the head of the table. That pleased her. She searched for predictability in politics but despaired of it in person. The hulking youth who was even now smiling gratefully at the servant pulling out his seat was not what she’d imagined when she thought of Darius Darrowdelve’s son.
A thousand subtle details were revealing themselves with each passing moment. The dynamic between him and Lady Ermarine was fascinating. Then again, Lady Ermarine’s presence here was fascinating in and of itself. A provocation on Harald’s part? An unwitting faux pas? Was she meant to read into Evernessa’s status as an indication of what Harald desired, or was his desire much more prosaic?
“Your first foray into the dungeon was remarkable,” said her brother, his tone predictable in all its overtones. “To harvest such a wealth of scales from the 4th is almost unbelievable.”
Harald froze, clearly picking his response, but Melisende took up her glass, ensuring that the glittering cut crystal drew everyone’s eye as she leaned back, effecting casual amusement. “Josse, we haven’t even been served the aperitifs. Let’s leave the grilling to the chefs, shall we?”
Josse’s dark gaze glittered as he stared at her, but then he inclined his head stiffly, all affronted etiquette. “Of course, Sister.”
Oh, Josse.
Harald’s relief was obvious, though he sought to mask it well. He sat, if not at ease, then at attention, like a hunting dog awaiting the signal to break into the field. Alert to a fault, as if a moment’s relaxation might cause him to miss a crucial cue.
He wasn’t wrong.
Should she mention that she was already aware of his latest venture that morning? Her contacts at the Dungeon Portal had sent word of Harald’s latest accomplishment, a stint on the 8th Level that had netted him over 15,000 scales. Would revealing said knowledge impress him with the reach of her influence, the extent of power?
No. Best not to overplay her hand.
“Though I can’t fault my brother for his curiosity,” continued Melisende. “You’ve become the talk of the town, Sir Darrowdelve. How have you fared under all this scrutiny?”
A gentle, opening bid.
Harald smiled politely. A pity, those teeth, but he was quite striking. It happened in every raider who met with some success, that halo of intent, that fierce presence. It came from their manifesting the ability to slaughter monsters. And Harald, well, there was something intimidating about him, even as his manner was almost innocent. He wasn’t aware of it, that was clear. If he was a hunting hound, then he was a bull mastiff who still thought himself a pup.
“It’s been intense,” allowed Harald. “And slightly bewildering. I still can’t believe I merit this level of interest.”
“Come,” said Melisende, raising her wine to her lips. “The Gazette made your accomplishments clear, and your heritage is a storied one. You can’t claim to be surprised?”
Harald glanced at Evernessa. A source of strength? “Unfortunately, I’ve avoided my father’s path until recently. This is all quite new to me.”
Yseult leaned back, her leather ensemble practically creaking. “You’ve taken to it well.”
“I’ve had good teachers,” smiled Harald, glancing at Evernessa again.
“You’ve been instructing Harald in the blade?” asked Melisende, keeping her tone light. “I recall hearing that you were inordinately talented, Lady Ermarine.”
Evernessa had been sipping her wine, gaze flicking back and forth, her expression at once subtle yet all too sharp. “He’s proven an apt student.”
Lady Melisende’s brother leaned forward. “If I may be so bold, my lady, you are part of Sir Darrowdelve’s party? May I ask your Class?”
“I am indeed,” she replied, inclining her head. “Bladeweaver.”
“A rare Class,” said Yseult. “No wonder you’ve had such success with Sir Darrowdelve.”
“The credit is all hers,” agreed Harald. “I couldn’t tell my Tower Stance from the Tail Stance when we began.”
He was so quick to deflect praise. Natural modesty, or a calculated ploy? Regardless, it was a fascinating strategy for someone fishing for House patronage, unless, of course, he wasn’t. Or perhaps he was simply that artless?
Lady Yseult pressed the attack. “Have you followed in her steps, Sir Darrowdelve? Are you a Bladeweaver?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
The pause grew protracted.
Josse laughed stiffly. “Is this to become a guessing game, then?”
Nessa’s smile could have cut throats. “We’d be here all night if it was.”
Josse, predictably, flushed. “You doubt my ability to deduce his Class?”
“If you’re so confident,” said Nessa, “how about a wager?”
“Or we could respect our guest’s desire for privacy,” murmured Melisende for propriety’s sake.
“A wager?” Josse’s gaze narrowed. “Very well. But he must answer five questions honestly.”
“Giving you in turn five guesses only,” said Nessa. “Yes or no questions. Harald?”
“If his lordship insists.” Harald was clearly uncomfortable.
“And the stakes?” asked Josse.
This was happening far sooner than she’d anticipated. Melisende could crush it, but knowing when to give Josse free rein was crucial in ultimately keeping him at heel. So she leaned back, affecting a mildly interested expression.
“Your silence for the rest of the night,” said Nessa sweetly.
Josse’s expression darkened considerably.
Yseult glanced at Melisende, but she gestured to let the moment continue.
“Then if I guess correctly, Sir Darrowdelve will reveal the source of his fortune.”
Evernessa glanced at Harald, who grimaced. Where Evernessa was smooth as black ice, he appeared flustered and dismayed. “If that’s what you wish, my lord.”
“Challenge accepted,” said Josse, and leaned forward, mouth curling into a sneer. “My first question.”
*
The harlot. Oh, but she knew what she was doing, that was clear, waltzing in here with her provocative dress and streetwalker’s eyes. Daring him to explode, to stoop to her level.
But no. For a moment, he’d been tempted to make the stakes personal. To demand she accompany him to the Drakenhart Ball next week, so that he could torment her at leisure. But this was an opportunity to show his sister he was changed.
Improved.
So he chose a different approach. Turning to face Harald, he asked, “Is your Class primarily combat-oriented?”
Harald inclined his head. “Yes.”
“Of course. But a necessary precursor to my next questions.” Josse fought to keep from smiling. Nothing was more satisfying than the hunt. “Is your Class primarily focused on close-quarters combat?”
“Yes,” said Harald again.
“Bravo, Brother,” said his eldest sister. “You’ve narrowed it down to perhaps a thousand possibilities.”
“Have faith, Sister,” smiled Josse, but he could have thrashed her. Well. If that were remotely within the range of his abilities. “Is your Class associated with a particular alignment or ethos, such as light, darkness, or neutrality?”
Harald hesitated. The callow youth wasn’t the insipid brute he’d first appeared to be, that much was clear. There was calculation in his eyes, but no fear. “No.”
His manner of response had given much away. Unable to restrain his energy, Josse rose to his feet and began to pace around the table, hands linked behind his back. Two questions left. A Class that was martial, close-ranged, and closely associated to an alignment or ethos without being directly aligned. “Does your Class specialize in solo combat, or does it thrive in group dynamics and leadership?”
“Yes or no questions,” said Nessa.
“Fine,” snapped Josse. “Does your Class specialize in solo combat?”
“Yes.”
“One left,” said his younger sister. As always, she was impossible to read, but he knew her well enough to understand the stakes. If he pulled this off, he’d earn praise. If he failed, scorn. Such was always the case. Solo, martial, close combat, with an alignment or ethos aspect. Which, given Harald’s acquisition of some 10,000 scales indicated…
Josse placed his hands atop his chair back and leaned forward, scrutinizing Harald closely. “Does your Class draw power from an external entity or source, like a demon, angel, or the essence of a particular environment or concept?”
Harald tensed.
Ah ha.
“Yes.”
Trepidation, guilt, uncertainty. Nothing he was proud of, at any rate, which indicated he wasn’t chosen by one of the angels or the Fallen Angel herself.
“Five guesses,” said Nessa, sounding bored.
“I’m well aware.” Josse considered, sifting through the possible candidates. Marginally associated with an ethos or concept, and deriving power from either a demon or an unpleasant concept. Add in a healthy measure of squirming and guilt, and the options were precious few.
“First guess.” He hesitated, then went with the most obvious. “Shadowbound Berserker.”
“Good guess,” allowed Yseult.
“No,” said Harald.
“Demonkin Gladiator.”
“Josse,” admonished Melisende, because she had to. The implication was stark, the insult clear.
“No.”
Josse hesitated. “Nether Revenant.”
Nessa let out a bark of laughter. “Now that’s insulting.”
Josse glared. “I’m not faulting his features. Nether Revenants are returned to the full blush of health.”
“No,” said Harald.
“Two guesses left,” sighed Evernessa, smiling sweetly at him.
“Void Knight.” Perhaps he followed in his father’s footsteps?
“Hmm,” agreed Yseult, her mind clearly running along a similar channel.
“No.”
Josse stepped back, nonplussed. There weren’t many options left that met the criteria. Harald met his gaze with flat equanimity. He drew his power from an entity or concept, something that was close to an ethos, something with immoral overtones. That moment of awkward hesitation, it had evinced… shame? Concern? Was he a Blighted Champion? Such wielded the toxic energies of the more cursed levels of the dungeon, transforming their detrimental effects into raw, destructive power… but at the potential cost of their humanity.
Possibly. But it didn’t feel right.
A Hellforged Duelist? Could he have established a direct conduit with a demon, such that he drew fuel from the fiery depths of the dungeon to enhance his combative edge?
The lumpen oaf met his gaze with a flat, empty stare. The nervousness had evaporated, the hesitation. Josse knew his own glare could be unnerving. He’d seen more than one raider fall apart before the lash of his tongue, knew his stare to have ferocious weight. But Harald was only growing tougher by the moment, not at ease like Evernessa, but… unyielding.
As if that which made him Harald, that polite, bumpkin knight of a raider, were simply evaporating away, leaving behind…
Josse smiled. “Ah. I have it.”
Evernessa inclined her head to one side. “Go on then, my lord. Prove that miracles really do still happen in this sordid city of ours.”
“Abyssal Marauder.”
*
For a single terrifying second, Nessa thought the prick had guessed correctly. A lifetime of training kept her composed, her crooked, mocking smile on her lips, but then he revealed his ignorance and she relaxed.
“No,” Harald said, voice steady, almost emotionless.
“Alas.” Nessa weaponized her smile. “It would seem you have lost, my lord. Such a shockingly unpredictable outcome.”
There was danger here. She knew all too well that Josse believed himself not be trifled with. Oh, but how many had she met over the years? Bullies and bastards, convinced that they were the stars of their own legends in the making, perpetually shocked and outraged that the rest of the world didn’t feel the same?
None as revolting as Josse, none who brought back more disgusting memories.
She could see the old sadistic fury in his gray eyes. Could imagine just what he was feverishly wishing he could do to her if protocol didn’t constrain him. Even now, in this tense second, he was no doubt swearing vengeance of this humiliation.
Well, let him come. She wasn’t sixteen any long, and more than capable of matching the edge of her tongue with the edge of her blade.
With great effort, Josse inclined his head. “It would seem my confidence was misplaced. Your mystery, Sir Darrowdelve, is all the more intriguing for it. I shall excuse myself. Sisters.”
And with a sharp bow, he quit the balcony, radiating fury.
Nessa settled back into her seat, wine glass in hand. Her satisfaction was visceral, fierce, yet she still felt nauseated. As she’d known she would.
But the sweetness of that altercation had almost made attending this dinner worth it.
Almost.
She couldn’t wait to see how the vaunted Melisende would respond to this setback. The tone of the dinner, the orchestrated nature of the seduction, the initiative, all had been reversed. That she would, Nessa had no doubt. The leader of House Celestara was by all respects a lethal prodigy. How would she play it?
Melisende remained completely at ease. It was an impressive show. She betrayed none of the frustration that her brother’s blunder must have aroused. “Josse was correct on one account. Your mystery is indeed fascinating. As is your friendship with Lady Ermarine. May I inquire when and how you met?”
Ah. And neatly phrased so that Nessa couldn’t answer for Harald.
“We met some four years ago,” said Harald. “Or just a little more than that now, wasn’t it, Evernessa? We were introduced at a theater, but the name of the production escapes me now.”
Nessa smiled demurely. To call that performance a “production” was to put lipstick on a pig. It had taken place at the now-closed Ravenous Hog, a former favorite of Vic’s for the licentious displays performed on a crude central stage by the men and women who worked there. “That’s right,” she agreed, pretending to remember. “You were quite overcome by the artistry. I could hardly get a word out of you all night.”
Harald’s eyes gleamed. He’d been so shocked by what the two women had been doing to the man on stage that he’d gulped down an entire bottle of wine while looking everywhere but at the people Vic was trying to introduce him to.
“It was a… stirring performance,” agreed Harald. “I’d never seen such… dedication to the craft. They really got into it.”
“Yes.” Nessa fought the urge to laugh. “I recall it made quite the impression on you.”
“Four years ago?” Melisende’s smile was innocent. “A time of mourning for you both, I would imagine.”
That killed their humor. Four years ago Darius Darrowdelve had disappeared into the dungeons, never to return, while Nessa had quit her home, determined to never benefit from her father’s wealth or name again.
Obviously Melisende knew the particulars. What else did she know? How deep had her research gone?
Nessa turned to their hostess and one of the most powerful women in all of Flutic with a genial smile. “You know what they say. The deeper the dungeon level, the more beautiful the scales.”
“If you’ve the presence of mind to seize them,” agreed Melisende. “We all have wild moments in our lives, I suppose. Times when we feel disconnected from all responsibilities and consequences. Would that it could remain so. Ah, here is the soup.” She smiled brightly as servants began setting dishes before them. For a moment all was clinking and expertly placed bowls, the red soup giving off a rich and creamy aroma. Glasses were refilled, and Yseult began to inquire politely as to their charter and crew, asking technical questions that passed the time, making conversation as they sipped their soup.
Melisende was clearly content to let her older sister take the helm. Her expression remained curious, polite, confident. Nessa didn’t let her guard down. Their hostess had drawn an inch of steel, conveying her message to Nessa without needing to draw the blade.
*
Harald took refuge in the food. Nessa’s presence by his side had been meant to be comforting, but instead she felt dangerous and unpredictable, alert to undercurrents he couldn’t sense while gleefully loosing arrows at their hosts.
But the food was safe. And delicious. And Lady Yseult was clearly smoothing over the chaos of the first few moments with polite questions and fascinating observations about the dungeon. She didn’t monologue, but rather invited their thoughts on matters she was clearly an expert on without then refuting or boring them with her response.
Harald relaxed by slow degrees. Nessa seemed content to converse with the highly ranked raider, and Melisende occasionally prompted new lines of conversation through incisive questions. Nessa only had to step on his foot twice to prevent him from explaining too much about their charter and the nature of their goals, and both times he thought he recovered gracefully.
Finally, the last dish was cleared away, and they all rose to enter the salon for brandy. The fireplace was crackling, and Lady Yseult politely drew Nessa aside to show her an ancient blade mounted on the far wall.
Nessa, aware of what was taking place, but unable to refuse, cast Harald a warning glance before following after the woman.
“Well.” Melisende stood before the massive fireplace, snifter in hand. The firelight played over her features, and for a moment, she appeared tired, faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, her gaze distracted.
Harald resisted the urge to fill the silence.
She smiled and raised her gray eyes to him abruptly, as if returning to herself. “Harald. May I call you such? I have enjoyed your company, which is a relief.”
“Thank you, Lady Celestis. I can honestly claim the same.”
“Melisende, please.” She returned her gaze to the fire. “You are that rarest of things, a mystery that doesn’t easily yield itself to cursory examination. I’ve taken the liberty of having you investigated by my agents, and their reports have only confused me more.”
Harald hesitated, unsure as to how to respond to such a bald revelation.
“Oh, come,” smiled Melisende. “You must have known I would do my due diligence. But despite my attempting to piece together the puzzle pieces, I have yet to gain a sense of the whole. What is it you desire, Harald?”
“What do I desire?”
“Yes.” She smiled warmly again. “Too often we lords and ladies presume to know how best to tempt or reward those whose service we wish to enlist. But I’ve found it far simpler and more efficient to just ask. So.”
“I…” He’d fully expected her to make a pitch, to tempt him with wealth and rewards that he could politely decline. “I wish to rise in power and become a successful raider.” He hesitated, wondering if there was anything else he could add. “And to do so with my crew. I care deeply for my friends.”
“Admirable.” Melisende studied him. “To be frank, I am aware of the scope and nature of your debts. Are they what propel you to raid the dungeon?”
Harald broke eye contact, some residual shame from his past self making it easier to gaze into the flames. “No, my lady. I have accepted the consequences of those debts.”
“What if they could be erased?”
He cut a look at her. “By House Celestara?”
She shrugged one shoulder languidly. “Yes. Hypothetically speaking.”
“Lady -”
“Melisende, please.”
“If we’re being frank, I still don’t understand why you and the other Houses are so willing to invest so much in me.”
“The answer might bore you, seeing as it has much to do with economics, but one truth that has been made evident to me time and time again is that economics is the driving force in our world.” She smiled sadly. “For centuries, Flutic has depended on the wealth harvested from the Fallen Angel to rise in power and exert hegemony over the Continent. But the very scales that elevated our city to a metropolis of unrivaled power are proving to be our downfall. You have seen the dead scale lanterns, the rusting scale-golems, the abandoned trains?”
“Of course.”
“They are but the most visible aspects of Flutic’s decay. For two centuries, scales were harvested from the Fallen Angel at such a rate that we had more power than we knew what to do with. But that surfeit of power was a curse. Why develop our mundane technologies when we could fuel wonders with scales? Why create a military complex when we could field high-level raiders that could destroy entire battalions by themselves? Why treat the other nations and civilizations with respect when we were clearly chosen for greatness by the divine?”
Harald listened to her soft voice with wonder and sharp focus. He’d heard intimations of all this before, but never from someone so uniquely placed as to speak with such authority.
“And then?” Her smile was wry. “The rate of scale extraction began to fall. This is commonly known. The upper levels of the dungeon began to play out like an overworked mine. For a century, sheer momentum kept everything going, but Flutic has grown hollow. For centuries, we simply imported everything we needed from abroad, but now, having grown weak, those very traders and nations set the terms. We can no longer refuse them entry to the dungeon even as our own wealth dries up. The ranks of the church are bloated to such excess that one in six citizens of Flutic is a priest and exempt from taxation, while our fledgling industries are woefully behind the advances of other nations.”
Harald didn’t know what to say. Such words were… if not heretical, then shocking in the extreme coming from a grandee of Flutic.
“And where are we today, as a city-state?” Melisende’s smile remained gentle. “A half-dozen Houses squabbling for glory in the shadows of our past. A city of gold built atop a foundation of clay. Our economy is on the verge of collapse, and every year motions are put forth to adopt the Marheim currency as our own. Houses boast regiments of elite raiders but strain to nurture new talent. And all the while our competitors watch and sharpen their knives, awaiting the day when they can march on our walls and conquer the City of the Fallen Angel.”
Melisende reached out and touched Harald’s elbow. “You ask why we are all so eager to court your loyalty? It’s because the end is upon us. Flutic will soon collapse, either under its own weight or conquered from without. Every House is in need of miracle workers, men and women who can wring blood from stones, scales from empty dungeon levels, for the heroes of tomorrow. Once a first raid such as your own might have been commonplace. Today? It is unheard of. And while the other Houses might wish to recruit you to further their own glory, I wish to enlist your aid in saving Flutic itself.”
Her smile remained wry even as her gray eyes shone. “That is why I have invited you here tonight, Harald. Because House Celestara is the sole House preparing for the fall of Flutic. But to be ready, to have a chance of stemming those blood-dimmed tides, we’re going to need every advantage and the very best raiders when that time comes.”
Comments
Ujjwal
What dreamer said
Arrogant Dreamer
His ego is approaching Kanye West levels! He's not a very good or bright team player it seems. Why preach for growing together when all his actions contradict that? He obviously understands his lack of experience and knowledge, yet he keeps touching that hot stove because the color is pretty!
Ale
I think i might be addicted to this like Harald is to dungeon delving
Mark Timmony
Right, so one step forward (resisting Nessa) then one step back (falling for his own addiction)? I might have to bail on this and come back in a couple of months as these chapters aren’t doing it for me when I’m getting them one at a time.
Mark Timmony
I am thinking this too! It’s annoying that he continues to pull them out without a consideration to the fact they are hobbling his progression!
SirWins
Lets go finally. We are seeing his class affect him. This is how it should be never ever satisfied with what he gas acheived. Good job phil you are showcasing condemnation of success perfectly. Always looking for the next success. Its great. Personally i love supremely ambitious characters even though its bioproduct of the seed i still love it.
sitnky winky
I think that might be the point though, as addiction seems to be a common theme in this story.
Adunn
Man. I know it’s his whole schtick but Harald needs some self control. I never thought I’d be disappointed in someone choosing to go in the dungeon but here I am. Part of that might be that the dungeon in this story seems kind of lackluster so far. It never truly feels like a dungeon delve because you can choose to go to whatever floor you want and come out wherever there’s a portal. The world of Bastion seems more like a true delve.
Adam Roberts
Great for farming easy copper, but how will Harald grow from this with the gold chops eating all his XP? “On the next episode of Thrones of the Fallen…”
