Chapter 9 #3
The dwarf’s rock-solid conviction stilled all conversation, until Lady Hammerfell bowed her head. “I would fight alongside your people, Master Kársek. Perhaps my example will inspire others to do the same. There are no small number of raiders at House Drakenhart who hold me in high regard.”
Kársek bowed his head stiffly.
“Fine,” said Harld. “Let’s go speak with him. I suppose we really don’t have a choice. It’s Vic, after all. If anybody can get him to…” But Harald couldn’t make himself pretend. “I don’t think it’ll go well. But we still must try.”
Anna sat forward. “We’ve been too cut off from the rumors and news. At the very least, we need to learn what the other Houses are thinking. What has happened. Perhaps the situation is very different from what we understand. We can’t know until we’ve ventured forth.”
“Agreed,” said Lady Hammerfell. “If it suits you, Countess, I’ll accompany Harald and his companions to the cathedral. Depending on how that conversation goes, I can then make a circuit of the Houses to see what I can learn.”
“No,” said Nessa, then blinked and focused her eyes. “My apologies, Lady Hammerfell. If you show up at Vic’s door, he’ll take it as a threat. Won’t matter what we say, he’ll see your presence as our not trusting him. We have to go alone.”
“She’s right,” said Harald reluctantly. “We need to do everything we can to have him welcome us as his old friends.”
Lady Hammerfell frowned, then inclined her head. “Very well. You know him best.”
“We should go now,” said Sam. “If the ceremony is tomorrow night, we’ve not time to waste.”
“Agreed.” Harald rose to his feet. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re safe, Anna. Thank you, Lady Hammerfell. We’ll send word of what we’re able to accomplish.”
Anna rose and took Harald’s hands in her own. “Be careful. Vic may not be the person you once knew. The man who stabbed me through the leg was already not the Rapier Regent who delighted me with his wit these past years.”
Harald bowed his head. “The Demon Seed. I know. We’ll do our best.”
Lady Hammerfell was studying the floating mote of light with quiet curiosity. “Is that…? Never mind. May the Fallen Angel smile on your efforts.”
They all sketched shallow bows to the Gold-ranker, then made for the front door.
“The Cathedral of our Fallen Lady,” said Kársek. “Do we know how to get there?”
“I do,” said Sam. “I used to go when I was a girl for the Winter Mourning. It’s a good half-hour walk from here. Less if we hurry.”
“The approach will be guarded,” said Lady Hammerfell, stopping inside the front door as they stepped outside. “And with your new companion, you may not get much of a chance to speak with the sentries.”
Harald glanced at Exeros. “Right. Of course. As if we didn’t need this to be any more complicated.”
Lady Hammerfell smiled gently. “You’ll find a way.”
“That we will,” said Kársek. “An honor as always, Lady Hammerfell.”
They bid their goodbyes and walked up the driveway to the gatehouse. Harald turned once to try to spot Eadwolf, but the canny old Nihtscuan was too good at hiding.
The raiders outside the gate stirred and backed off as their small party emerged. Sir Baskin rose from his canvas stool, his smile a little more wary.
“Nice try,” said Harald, addressing the portly knight. “Would have been a neat bit of work to trick me into attacking Lady Hammerfell.”
Baskin spread his arms. “Can you blame a man for trying?”
Dull anger thudded in Harald’s skull, and he embraced the Crown of the Abyssal Tyrant.
His Thrones roared as they poured mythical power into his new and compounded aura, which flooded the cobbled street with shimmering darkness.
The air grew frigid as the abyss began to sap all present of their vitality, and Harald felt his power and command, his authority and dread will blanket the assembled raiders.
“You may think this all a jest, but I tell you now, you try my patience.” His voice was hollow with dark power, and the men and women around him staggered back, faces turning pale, hands fumbling at their weapons.
“Your presence here is an offense. If you are here when I return, I shall strip the flesh from your souls and leave you quivering in the sight of the Fallen Angel, for only she will be worthy of judging the depths of your cowardice and shame.”
Sir Baskin stumbled back, his chest heaving, his brow already bathed in sweat as the dark light played over his rotund form, all his geniality and good humor vanished. In every face Harald saw rising terror, and their wills were like small candleflames that he had but to puff on to extinguish.
“Go,” he commanded. “And return only if you want to experience an agonizing end, alone, in the dark.”
For a moment, nobody moved. They stood shivering and quailing in the penumbra of his might, and then, as one, they broke.
With feeble cries that seemed to come from far away, they clawed and pushed at each other, running in either direction down the street, leaving behind their gear and weapons and packs.
A few moments later, the front of the gate was cleared.
Harald allowed the Crown of the Abyssal Tyrant to subside, and saw that his companions were staring at him, wide-eyed.
“Come on,” he said, voice rough and ready. “Let’s go talk to Vic.”