Chapter 17
They converged on the cathedral.
Harald sent word to Kársek in Deepforge, bidding him, if possible, to gather his host at Second Bell.
A premonition told him there wasn’t time to wait until dawn.
Best to strike too early than to arrive too late.
Brianna Hammerfell departed to collect her retinue.
To gut House Draken and leave the new lordling stripped of all pretense.
She’d allowed him to indulge in his tantrum long enough.
With a new order rising, she no longer saw why she should respect tradition, and moved to educate the boy on the realities of politics in Flutic.
“But why summon so many forces?” asked Sam, buckling on her armor after giving it a thorough clean and repair. “You just killed a dozen of them. Why are we afraid of eight?”
Harald had washed and dressed in a functional suit of leather and chain armor.
He wasn’t even sure the gear was necessary—Form of the Black Throne was probably tougher than the chain.
But if it didn’t hamper his movement, it could only help.
He rose from a stretch and smiled at Sam.
“Because we’re making a point. We’re crushing our opponents, seizing the cathedral, and using the moment to forge alliances.
When dawn breaks, the city will find Anna in Vic’s place of power, the Handmaidens slain, and with Deepforge and the best of House Drakenhart at her side. ”
Nessa snorted. “When did you get so good at politics?”
“I’m nobility.” Harald twisted from one side to the other. The stiff leather creaked and gave to his superior strength. “I may not have enjoyed it, but I absorbed the game just by being around my father, I guess.”
They left shortly thereafter: Anna in the carriage, Harald controlling the horses, Sam and Nessa riding inside, Eadwolf hanging on to the back.
Through midnight streets they rolled, through empty streets in which hung the veil of fear. Faces appeared in windows to watch them go by, only to vanish when Harald glanced their way.
Yet, Harald rose in a riding wave of confidence. He’d slain a dozen Handmaidens with his crewmates’ help. But there was no hiding his own growing mastery. And now with the Demoniac Body and Demonic Assimilation?
He craved battle.
For deep in his core, seated beside his sealed Well, lay a new presence. A dark ocean contained within a teardrop of purest night, a private reservoir of unholy energy. It was new, strange, and so tempting. Demonic essence, harvested from the Handmaidens he’d slain.
It burned sweetly, begged for release. To supercharge his every movement, to anoint him with heretical grace and power.
Oh, but how he wished for resistance. How he prayed for a real battle.
How might Brianna react, what might her expression be, if she saw him flex his full might now?
Harald snorted and dismissed the foolish thought.
They reached the Avenue of Penitence. The cathedral arose at its terminus, gaunt stone shaped to brave the passage of eternity. The great rose window was dark, the massive front doors ajar.
A crowd had gathered before the ancient edifice. Almost fifty strong, the sight of the assembled dwarves and Silver and Gold-ranked raiders lifted Harald’s heart with fierce satisfaction.
Here. Now. This was how it began.
The forging of an elite force that could change the course of the world.
Harald drew the carriage to a halt right behind the war party, which parted as he leaped down, and the carriage doors opened to reveal familiar faces.
Brianna loomed over her compatriots, her expression bemused, theirs tense, unsure.
But the humans were outnumbered by the dwarves, and from their brawny ranks emerged Kársek, clad now in black and gold plate armor of impossible beauty.
He wore it like a dragon wore its own scaled skin, and he appeared ennobled and kingly, though he wore no circlet, no crown.
The worthies met in the center, surrounded on all sides by faces grim.
“Well met, Harald,” said Kársek, voice low and firm. “I have roused the host of Deepforge, and I am honored that they have heeded my call. Let me introduce the elders that shall lead our kindred into battle.”
Three dwarves stepped forth, and each was white-haired, white-bearded, with faces carved by the passage of centuries.
Under each beetling brow glittered fierce light, however, their stares indomitable and unimpressed, their presence as formidable as cliff faces that had already weathered an eon of tempestuous weather and ferocious storms.
“Hail, Sir Darrowdelve,” said the eldest of the three, a familiar face. He wore a white leather eyepatch that was intricately stitched with black thread, and an ivory cloak flowed sumptuously over his silver and platinum armor.
Harald bowed with deep respect. “Forge Father Thangrim. Thank you for heeding Flutic’s call in its hour of need.”
The Forge Father nodded curtly. “Gathul and their servitors are to be crushed like vermin underfoot. That is their purpose. We dwarves shall be the iron-capped boots. There is nothing more to say.”
Kársek was brushing his hand over his small twist of a beard braid. “And this is Thane Brogar Ironheart, a Chasm Caller of great repute, and Thane Vargar Granitejaw, who earned such honor during the battle of Three Flames in Dumr?n that his deeds need not be recounted.”
Both of the elderly dwarves inclined their heads in silence.
“It is an honor to meet you at last,” said Anna, taking control of the gathering with warmth and confidence. “Should we all survive these trying times, I shall work without end to ensure Deepforge is forever honored for lending its strength in our time of need.”
“May I introduce Countess Sonora,” said Harald, and bowed deeply once more.
Forge Father Thangrim inclined his head. “DreadRune Kársek has told us that you guard your honor like a dwarf. It is good to meet humans who yet recall the most important values in life.”
“And I’ve come with a fair few,” said Brianna, her amusement barely discernible in a slight curl of her lips. “Countess, let me introduce you to Aurion Crush, Gold-ranked raider and House Drakenhart’s greatest warrior.”
Aurion was a leonine man, his golden mane shot through with silver, his handsome face weathered and boasting a single vertical scar that had rendered one eye blind—or would have, had the ruined orb not been replaced by a sphere of pure gold.
“Countess Sonora. Lady Brianna has spoken highly of you, as well. I am eager to crush the filth that pollutes our body politic, and then to discuss how the chips shall fall thereafter.”
Countess Anna inclined her head graciously.
“First, we cleanse the city. Then we set matters to rights. All of you have earned my gratitude in placing Flutic above petty politics in this hour. I shall now surrender the moment to those most steeped in the art of warfare. May the angels bless you in this battle.”
“This shall be a massacre,” said Brianna, tone turning businesslike.
“Though we should not underestimate the trio that protect Vic. By our count, there are five regular Handmaidens left, and these three regents of Eclavistra. Their primary powers are of subterfuge, entrancement, and deceit. We should expect them to try to divide our ranks, turn us against each other, and to attack our greatest en masse.”
“Or they’re gone,” said Aurion. “They’re not idiots, are they? With twelve of their number dead, they’ll know the war is over. Odds are they’ve killed this Carmine fool and fled back to their demon queen.”
“They’re still here,” said Sam quietly. “I can sense them within the cathedral.”
All eyes turned to Sam, who, to Harald’s great pride, met their combined stares with calm certainty. “I am a Netherwarden Knight. My Warden’s Discernment confirms that demonic taint is still active and present just within.”
“Well then.” Aurion frowned at her. “It seems we’re to have a battle, after all.”
“We dwarves shall circle around and attack from the rear,” said Kársek. “We shall be the anvil to your hammer.”
They spent the next few minutes deliberating the plan, but in truth there wasn’t much to discuss. The dwarves departed, entering a building to the avenue’s side to pass through and around, and the human raiders stood before the grand steps that led up to the cathedral.
Harald inhaled deeply. He felt like grinning. He felt like running up the stairs and plunging into the darkness beyond the doors by himself. But he held back.
They weren’t here to just kill demons. They’d come to cement Anna’s rise to power. And to do that, they all had to be bloodied together.
Brianna moved amongst the twenty House Drakenhart raiders with familiar ease, drawing laughter and engaging in small talk. Nessa was stretching, while Sam gazed up at the cathedral with a frown.
“A Copper Crescent for your thoughts?” asked Harald, stepping up alongside her.
“I’m uneasy. This is… Aurion wasn’t wrong. The Handmaidens aren’t fools. They underestimated us once. But if they’re still here, they’ll know they’re vulnerable. That they’ve lost that air of invincibility they courted.”
“Their greatest trick.”
“They’re not brute fighters.” Sam was still studying the grand old building’s ornate facade. “They’re a threat precisely because they can warp people’s judgment and will to their purposes. But if they’re still here… it’s not because they think they can win in a straight fight.”
“Then?”
“I don’t know.” Sam turned to him, her concern plain. “But this can’t be just an easy mop-up fight. They have to have a plan.”
“Well.” Harald mulled it over. “Everyone has a plan until they run into my Chyron’s Scourge.”
Sam laughed. “Sure. Listen, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. When—”
“All right everyone!” Brianna raised her seven-foot-long blade. “We’re going in!”
“After?” asked Harald, reaching out to squeeze her arm.
“Yes.” Sam smiled tightly. “After.”