It took two days to hear from Countess Sonora, but Harald wasted no time in sitting around waiting. He and his companions resumed their training regimen with all intensity. Kársek remained in the shed, the door closed, and nobody saw fit to disturb him.
The big change, however, was Vic deciding to train with them.
“What?” demanded the golden-haired Rapier Regent when Harald descended to the entrance hall at Sixth Bell the next morning. Vic stood in training gear, his manner sullen, his only signature of personal flair being a red sash he’d tied rakishly around his waist.
Otherwise he looked trim and ready to run.
“Are you lost?” Harald attempted a concerned expression. “I can point you to the kitchen if you like. You have to pass through it to reach the wine cellar.”
“Oh, such scathing wit,” said Vic. “If only you could fight Thracos with your peerless sarcasm. How humiliating it would be for the both of you.”
Sam had yet to arrive, so Harald simply crossed his arms and studied his friend. “Seriously though. Did you need something? Or have you been up all night?”
“Seriously, though,” mimicked Vic, “go to the 87th Level of the dungeon and see what happens.” He sighed. “Look. I’m not an irrationally confident man. I can grasp when the environment is changing and I’m being left behind.”
“The two blows I landed during our duel.”
“Galling. Actually, what’s the word for worse that galling?”
“Humiliating?”
“That. But more. Last night, at the countess’s…” Vic trailed off, frowning. “You showed something there, a quality that gave me chills. The way you spoke, the way you simply willed her to agree with you… I don’t know, Harry-boy. It woke me right the hell up.”
“Hmm,” said Harald. “So you decided to start… running?”
“Start everything.” Vic ran his hands distractedly over his golden hair. “There was a time—now, don’t laugh—when I took my training seriously. I was blessed with an inordinate amount of natural talent, and a facility for learning beyond anything that my instructors had seen—but even so, I took training seriously. A time when I was bright eyed and innocent, when I thought the equation of life a simple one: the more effort you put in, the greater the results.”
“That’s usually how it works.”
“Oh Harald.” Vic’s smile was patronizing. “That’s true right until you run afoul of someone more powerful than you, be it a corner bully, an abusive guardsman, or depraved nobleman who takes a fancy to you. We don’t operate in a void. The world always inteferes. So I… well. I started putting more effort into deflecting the world, and found myself equally good if not better at politics and charm than sword play and raiding.”
“But?”
“But. Indeed.” Vic sighed. “I am growing long in the tooth, Harald. I feel old age creeping up on me. Soon my hair will gray, my joints will swell, and I’ll piss blood while my eyes fall out.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works. And aren’t you only, like, 23 summers old?”
Vic waved his hand. “My point is that I need to start taking things seriously again. Nessa is Level 5. You’re at my very own level, and at your rate, will soon be catching up with Nessa. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being superfluous. So here I am, at this angel-blasted hour, ready to run in circles till I feel uncomfortable and wish to die.”
The front door opened to admit Sam, who stared at Vic in surprise. “Hello. Lose your way to the wine cellar?”
“Everyone’s a wit,” moaned Vic. “Can we please skip the wry commentary and just get to the running?”
Vic was more than able to keep up with them both, though he muttered curses throughout, and when they returned he descended with them to the gym to tackle the Marheim weights.
This he was quite voluble about detesting, but he strained and grudgingly accepted Sam’s advice on how to structure his own regimen.
Harald thre himself at every exercise, whether it was climbing the rope or vaulting the horses, hauling the sand bags or working his way hand by hand down the horizontal ceiling ladder.
When finally they were done, Vic was drenched in sweat, his mood foul, and unwilling to answer anything beyond grunts and rude gestures.
But he joined them for a hearty breakfast, and when Nessa descended, rolled his eyes at her own raillery and demanded loudly that they proceed to strictly silent sword drills.
And so the day passed.
For all Vic’s apparent hatred of exercise, he held nothing back, and threw himself into each challenge, spar, and drill with keen intensity.
“Incredible,” Nessa said to Harald as they tidied up in the gym, Sam and Vic having ascended to prepare a late lunch. “Are you sure that’s our Vic, and not some terrible doppelganger?”
“I’m as surprised as you are.” Harald heaved a corpse bag over one shoulder to carry it back to the closet. “But I think the real test will be whether he joins us tomorrow morning.”
He did.
Stiff and scowling, Vic worked his way through his own series of stretches before Sam showed up, then trailed them around and around Season’s Park. He never sought to catch up, and refused to acknowledge their presence, but he never fell completely out of view either, limping and hobbling along as he fought through his aches.
Word arrived early that morning that the Countess would like to see them for lunch, and Harald noticed the relief from all of his companions.
Nobody had mentioned it, but everyone had been worried the countess would go to the Seraphites instead of sending for them.
“Unless, of course, she already has,” pointed out Vic, buttoning up his doublet as he descended the grand staircase, hair gleaming and freshly washed. “There could be an entire squadorn of inquistors awaiting in her library, complete with braziers, tongs, and other nasty toys.”
“Thanks,” said Harald dryly, adjusting his belt. “That’s just what I needed to hear.”
The best that could be said about Vic’s smile was that it was insincere.
Sam was supposed to arrive with a hired carriage, so Harald took the opportunity of going around back to check on Kársek. The dwarf had been keeping to himself ever since their return from Countess Sonora’s, but Harald felt ill at ease ignoring him for too long.
“Kársek?” He rapped on the shed door. “You in there?”
“Come in, Master Darrowdelve,” came the somber voice.
Harald pushed the door open, half expecting the shed to have been turned into a dwarven hall, complete with miniature pillars and a small golden anvil, but instead he simply saw Kársek sitting at the back on a cushion, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.
He wore a sober gown of charcoal gray, its edges embroidered with complex geometric patterns of golden thread, and a heavy hammer lay on the floor before him, a weapon of wondrous appearance.
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Its head was a perfect rectangle and made of jet black stone, while the haft and bindings were of gold and silver, the handle of silver wiring crosshatching over some ebon fur.
The weapon resonated with power, pulsing as if with its own heartbeat, and Harald felt his mouth dry as he gazed upon it.
“Yes,” agreed Kársek, as if to some unspoken question. “My attunement is nearly complete. I have bent my will to infusing this rune hammer since the thane of Deepforge gave it to me. Soon I shall be ready to delve with our team once more.”
“I… I see. Your rune hammer?”
“Indeed.” Kársek studied the weapon, and Harald studied the dwarf. It was still the same young man, his hair tawny brown with red highlights, his beard barely grown in, his eyes flecked and bright. But otherwise he seemed utterly changed; he had an air of gravitas and dignity that was far in excess of the dwarf’s previous decorum, and Harald felt as if the very air was churning about the seated dwarf.
“A rune hammer is a potent weapon in and of itself, and where I will layer my magics so that they are active at all times. But its true utility lies in acting as my conduit, allowing me to release the first Rune that I have summoned, Khazadrok, the Rune of Destruction.”
The name of that ruin reverberated within Harald’s mind, as if it had been accompanied by distant thunder strikes, as if a hundred hammers had beaten down on steel anvils at the very same instant, causing Harald to flinch.
“The same rune you used on Yseult Khan.”
“Indeed,” agreed Kársek. “It is a potent rune, and why I chose it for my first. In time I shall summon others, but for now it shall serve me best in the dungeon.”
“So it’s inside your hammer? Like an Artifact’s ability?”
“Akin, but no. The Rune imbues the rune hammer, so that every time I hit a foe the rune is invoked and my foe assaulted by its power. Few are the beings that can withstand a direct hit from its power. I can, of course, also summon the Rune into being and send it forth before me, as I did with Lady Yseult Khan, destroying anything that means us ill.”
Harald tried desperately to not feel over-awed. “No kidding. You sent a Gold ranked raider through the parlor wall.”
Kársek bowed his head. “The attack was greatly diminished for not being channeled through my hammer. Also, it is important to note that the power of the rune diminishes the farther it gets for me. I am but newly on the path of Dreadrune. In time I shall grow into my class’s potential, and then I shall truly be an asset in your war.”
“I mean, Kársek… you already are. I’m… I don’t know how to thank you for all this. I wouldn’t be standing here without you. Seriously. I can’t thank you enough forw hat you’re doing. For us, for the Throne Hunters crew.”
Kársek bowed his head. “You are my tharkûn. No thanks are necessary. What I do I do from necessity. I pray only that I accumulate sufficient power to do what needs to be done when it time befalls us both.”
Harald couldn’t quite parse that last statement, so he let it slide. “Well, you have my thanks regardless. We’re ah, we’ve been summoned back to Countess Sonora’s estate to hear her decision on my offer. I thought I’d check in on you, see if you wanted to come along, or just hang out here till we return…?”
Kársek frowned then stood, lifting his hammer as he did so. The great weapon appeared weightless in his grip, and almost immediately faded from view like an Artifact being returned to one’s Cosmos.
“Yes, I think it fitting that I formalize my relationship with the countess. As she has accepted your service, she has become, not your tharkûn, but your liege, and thus a person of great importance to me.”
“Then we should head out front. Sam’s due to arrive with a carriage.”
Kársek nodded and followed Harald to the manor entrance. It was so strange. Kársek’s clothing was fine enough for a dwarvish lord, made of thick wool over what Harald thought might be a fine silver shirt beneath.
“Is that armor you’re wearing beneath your tunic?”
“Aye,” said Kársek, not breaking his stride. “Provided by the thane. A mithril shirt of the finest weave. It shall serve me in good stead.”
Harald let out a low whistle. “That’s a handsome gift.”
Kársek fixed Harald with a hard stare as they walked. “It was not a gift. It became mine when I became a Dreadrune.”
“Oh. Right. I see.”
Sam had already arrived with the hired carriage when they rounded the manor corner, treading carefully over the rubble from the blasted parlor wall, and Nessa and Vic had joined her in the entrance way. They glanced over as Harald approached, and Sam beamed at Kársek.
“You’re looking quite handsome today. You decided to join us?”
Kársek inclined his head gravely. “When last I met Countess Sonora, I was near delirious from channeling my rune unaided. This time, I wish to impress upon the lady the gravity of my obligation if she is to hold my tharkûn’s loyalty.”
“Tharkûn?” asked Nessa.
Kársek nodded. “A term for those to whom a life debt is owed.”
Nessa nodded her understanding.
“Kársek,” began Vic, “your being a Dreadrune, does it require your being so… I don’t know how to put it. Dour? Adult? Heavy?”
“My manner shall change as we grow and raid together, Master Carmine. For now you are all untested in true battle, as am I. My manner is thus reserved and wary, for much rides on our successes. But if we succeed in our ventures and prove ourselves not only reliable but boon companions, then shall my manner become less gruff and more warm.”
“Oh,” said Vic. “That’s… very direct of you. I understand. Thanks.”
“We’ve already fought together,” said Nessa cautiously.
“Only when I was an Earth Mover. Not with me as a Dreadrune.” Kársek inclined his head. “The difference is immeasurable.”
“Well!” Sam tried for some cheerfulness. “Then it seems we need to get back into the dungeons as soon as we can.”
“Agreed,” said Harald. “This afternoon, perhaps, if the countess has no need of us.”
Everyone nodded.
“Then let’s get ourselves hence,” said Vic, springing into the carriage. “After all this horrific training I’ve been doing, my soul cries for a little pampering.”
They arrived at Lady Sonora’s just after 2nd Bell, and were allowed in once more by Old Bosworth, whose salute was startlingly crisp. Up to the old manor house they rolled, and there were disgorged before the broad front steps.
Rivik appeared as before, his uniform identical, his expression perhaps a touch less frigid; disdaining pleasantries, he ignored Vic’s teasing to lead them inside to the dining room, where the countess would shortly join them.
Kársek inspected everything with grave dignity, and Harald couldn’t help but wonder what the dwarf made of the genteel state of dilapidation. Events had been so fraught and rushed the night before that they’d not had time for civilities. Then again, Kársek had until a few days ago been a destitute Tinker Dwarf; surely hadn’t turned into a snob overnight?
They sat and were served salad and clam soup, which Rivik encouraged them to begin. Vic made dark suggestions that this was the easiest way to poison them, but Harald ignored his friend and was nearly halfway through his serving when the countess entered the room.
“Please, remain seated,” she urged, moving to the head of the table. “I appreciate your coming so swiftly.”
Harald studied her carefully. She appeared worn, and though her make-up was applied expertly, he could make out the hints of shadows under her eyes. “But of course, Lady Sonora. We’re at your command. Can I properly introduce Master Kársek, who is now much recovered and more himself?”
Kársek rose from his seat to bow low alongside the table, and Sonora, taken back by the dwarf’s immense and palpable dignity, inclined her head graciously in turn.
“I apologize for being overcome when last I visited your manor, my lady,’ said Kársek gravely. “I am Kársek the Dreadrune, a Tinker Dwarf who owes a life debt to Harald Darrowdelve.”
“Countess Anna Sonora. It is a pleasure to properly meet you, Master Kársek.”
“It is imperative that you know that Master Harald Darrowdelve is my tharkûn, meaning that I owe him a life debt, and am wholly loyal to him. Thus, if you are his liege, you may indirectly count on my own assistance, so long as your honor remain true.”
This time the countess took the dwarf’s declaration in stride, bowing her head once more. “Thank you for explaining the matter. I shall do my utmost to remain an honorable liege.”
Pleased, or at any rate temporarily satisfied, Kársek returned to his seat. Rivik pulled out the countess’s chair, then tucked it back in as she sat, only to hurry away and return with a decanter of juice with which he filled her glass. The second servant, a matronly woman with a face like an anvil, set the countess’ soup and salad before her, and in seconds they both melted away as if they’d never been there.
“I shall cut right to the heart of the matter,” said the countess. “I spent the past two days thinking on our situation, both my own predicament and your own entangled history, and have decided that I am willing to accept your oath.”
Relief flooded through Harald, who inclined his head graciously.
“That being said, my acceptance is provisional, and dependent on the continued good word from your companions, especially Miss Tuppins in her role as Netherwarden Knight. Should they at any time indicate that you are slipping, or that your… dark patron’s influence is growing, we shall revist this conversation.”
Harald again bowed his head. “That is only fair, Countess.”
“But, assuming that all goes well, I am pleased to welcome you to House Sonora, and look forward to regaining much of our lost glory over the coming months and years.”
“A toast!” said Vic, raising his wine glass. “To the inestimable Countess Sonora, and that wretched braggart who has somehow inveigled his way into her service.”
Nessa rolled her eyes and raised her glass. “To House Sonora, and to its imminent return to glory.”
“To good friends,” said Sam, her voice hesitant as she blushed. “And to remaining true to our best selves.”
“To honor and duty,” said Kársek.
“To my new knight,” finished the countess, raising her own glass. “Welcome, Sir Darrowdelve.”
Harald raised his glass in turn, and smiled at the gathered company. “To all of you, and to you most of all, my lady. I couldn’t envision a better group of friends or a more noble and deserving liege. Our adventures are just beginning, and that together we’ll not only restore the fortunes of House Sonora, but change and challenge the power structures of Flutic in ways that nobody can yet understand.”
“Here, here!” they all cried, and rising they clinked their glasses together, and drank.