Chapter 14
The decision was made for their delegation to proceed to House Veridian at dawn. In the meantime, Lady Hammerfell would head to House Drakenhart to recruit the members of her old raiding party and the elites who still held her in higher esteem than Lord Draken’s son.
“Odds are that the other Houses won’t listen to our request,” Lady Hammerfell had said as she stood in the front doorway. “But if we show up with the support of the dwarves, and especially if I can coax Aurian Crush to our side, then we stand a chance of changing their basic calculus.”
Aurian Crush was Lady Hammerfell’s counterpart at House Drakenhart, the fifth highest ranked raider in all of Flutic. He’d been something of a mentor at first, but had come to see Brianna as an upstart rival, so she wasn’t sure she could sway him.
“Regardless,” she’d said. “We show up with force, or we might as well not show up at all.”
Sam and Nessa had returned with a salvaged carriage and team of horses, and disappeared into the stables round back to take care of them.
Eadwolf was on the roof, keeping his perpetual lookout.
Which left Harald on alert within, waiting, watching, almost itching, for a group of Silver-ranked raiders to try their luck while Brianna was gone.
Anna joined him in the front parlor where he’d chosen to keep watch over the lawn. A sole lantern hung on one of the portico pillars outside, casting a faint golden radiance over the grounds. Its radiance seemed to only emphasize the darkness beyond.
“How are you holding up?” asked Harald as she entered the room, clad in the same outfit as before. “Find something that’ll will convince the rest of the city to kneel at your feet?”
She mock-glared at him as she joined him on the other end of the window seat.
“Hardly. But I dusted off a gown that will suit. I don’t see how this plan will succeed.
The Houses were precariously balanced during Gorkin’s possession of the Crown.
With everything knocked askew, and so much blood spilled, I don’t see how we’ll be able to put things to rights. ”
“Two of the old leaders are dead: Melisende and Lord Draken. We’ve Josse and the Draken kid to deal with, which is already a big change. And we really only need one or two to come over to convince the others to do the same.”
Anna smiled. “You sound so confident. If only I’d known that House politics were this simple all along.”
Harald grinned. “Well, seeing as we’ve no choice, I’ve chosen confidence over despair. I notice you haven’t suggested a different course of action.”
“Because other than hunkering down under Lady Hammerfell’s protection, I don’t see one.” She rested her chin on the base of her palm and stared into the darkness. “To think Vic of all people could have brought this to pass.”
“Vic.” Harald looked outside as well. “There’s going to be an accounting. If he survives. If we survive. But…”
He trailed off, eyes narrowing. Was that… movement? Lithe forms had leaped neatly over the great wall that fronted the avenue to land in the darkness amongst the bushes and shrubbery lining the edge of the garden.
“What is it?” asked Anna, sitting up as she noticed his sudden tension.
“Anna, find Sam and Nessa. Flee the manor. Quickly.”
She didn’t protest as some nobles might—instead she rose and ran lightly from the room.
A glowing arrow burned a trail through the air as it sped from above to flash toward the figures.
It was followed by another half-dozen in rapid order, and where they hit came a concussive boom as they detonated, sending showers of dirt and chunks of the back wall tumbling into the far avenue.
The distant figures ran out wide, and Harald was able to make out details: great ram horns, form-hugging armor festooned with spikes and hooks, expanses of pale flesh, burning purple eyes.
Oh shit.
Harald rushed out of the parlor, down the great hall, threw the great deadbolt aside and yanked open the front door.
Only to find the chaos from seconds before already abated.
Six Handmaidens strolled toward him as if at a tea party, no longer harried by attacks from above.
All were smiling, some demurely, others with overt wickedness, and their eyes burned the same haunting lavender.
The moonlight gleamed on their articulated armor and bare flesh, and their cloaks rippled as they approached.
Eadwolf? Harald heard sultry laughter from above, then a cruel titter, and his blood ran cold.
He had to hold their attention while Sam and Nessa got Anna away. How powerful had Vic said the Handmaidens were? Powerful enough that even Brianna didn’t want to face them en masse.
Now there were six of them closing in on him, with who knew how many more up above.
Harald made his way down the steps into the night air, summoning Chyron’s Scourge as he went, but forced himself to remain relaxed, to not show his beating desperation.
Exeros’ mote followed him, its light dim, and Harald thought he could sense the angel’s interest quicken.
But something told him the Shattered Seraph wouldn’t intervene.
Six Handmaidens.
He summoned the Aureate Master, and felt his stats leap to dizzying height. But they only provided the illusion of lethality: even as he felt power and predatory grace enter his frame, as his reserves of stamina and his mental acuity sharpened, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.
He could tear through a hundred hobgoblins with ease. Could kill Thracos single-handed now. Had come so far, so fast.
But against the Handmaidens?
Against the chosen lieutenants of Eclavistra herself?
He could only pray to buy moments.
The confidence of the approaching female demons was complete. Unhurried, their hips swaying seductively, they closed the net and came to a stop a dozen paces from him, a half-circle spread out across the drive and grass.
Casually, hoping against hope they wouldn’t take offense, he summoned the Aetherlight Circlet about his brow, and felt his nimbleness and depths of energy double. Now, at least, he could take scant comfort in knowing the first ranged attack against him would be repelled.
Strange. Their faces were flickering slightly, distorting with spasms of faint light that failed to hold. He caught brief fragments of different faces, expressions warmer, features less cruel, but these failed to hold. Their gazes were fixed on Exeros’ mote, wary, watchful, uncertain.
Was the Seraph helping him, or was this his own power allowing him to see through their illusions?
Harald summoned the Solace of Aurelum into an inside pocket and felt the dense golden ball pull upon the cloth. By the angels! His breath slowed as he felt himself somehow grow even more hale, as doughty as an old oak, unstoppable, with endless reserves of strength.
“Welcome to Sonora Manor.” He pitched his voice to carry, tried for jocular bonhomie. The three leaders who had stood beside Vic in the cathedral were absent. A small grace. “I’m afraid Lady Anna is unavailable to visitors. Perhaps you could return another time?”
Light thuds caused him to glance back over his shoulder. Handmaidens had leaped lightly from the rooftop, two, four, no, another six.
Twelve in all.
They sauntered outward, perfecting the circle around him.
Quickly, he summoned his stats, intent on checking the numbers.
Strength: 29
Dexterity: 27
Constitution: 37
Ego: 32
Presence: 13
He’d never changed the Artifacts he’d carried into battle with Brauxis. And while he now had the Constitution of a Gold-ranked raider, his presence was that of a regular man. No wonder the demons were smirking.
They’d no idea what they were facing.
But his Ego was impossibly high. No doubt why they’d failed to sway him with their powers. Just wait until he unveiled the Crown of the Abyssal Tyrant.
A familiar Handmaiden laughed, amused no doubt by his polite dismissal, and she placed a clawed gauntlet on her ample hip. “Oh, I fear we’re all too accustomed to forcing our way into where we’re not wanted. But we’re never resented for long. Our company is just too enthralling.”
“I know you.” Harald wagged a finger at her, trying his best to control the thrill his augmented stats imparted. “You were on the Avenue of Penitence.”
It had to be her. The massive curling ram horns, the huge skull-pauldron on one shoulder, the white corset, the lavender tabard-skirt.
The demoness pulled her gaze away from the mote and curtsied, pulling at an invisible skirt as she bowed her great horned head.
“Elixethera at your service. I asked to lead this mission, as you so intrigued me last time. A strong man. So much promise. Such deep wounds.” She pouted.
“Somebody was very mean to you when you were growing up. Was it daddy?”
Harald grinned. “I bet you don’t call him that to his face.”
Her pout spread into a grin. “One day I shall, perhaps, when he bends me over his knee. But for now, I’ve come with a message of peace and love. You see, there are ample rewards to bending knee. Pleasures such as you can’t imagine. And pain, if that’s your preference.”
Her words echoed strangely in Harald’s mind, and lingered, their intent alluring, their suggestion potent. Impossibly so. Harald restrained the urge to scowl as he broke free of their power, thankful as ever for his impossibly high Ego.
And thankful that she seemed willing to waste time talking.
“My apologies,” said Harald and made himself smirk in what he hoped was an infuriating manner. “I’m already sworn to Vorakhar. Eclavistra will just have to get in line.”
“Yes, you’re his little darling boy, aren’t you? But that need not be the case.” The first demon took a step forward. “Why not serve alongside your friend, Vic? You could fight together. Swap masters. Lady Eclavistra is so much more rewarding.”
Again, the words seemed to lash around him, muting his other thoughts, heightening the appeal of joining Vic, of surrounding himself with these beautiful demons, of enjoying their company, their attention…