Harald rose from his crouch when Vic stepped out through the portal, lantern raised, rapier in hand.
“Hello, Vic,” he said, trying to disguise his relief. It was almost impossible to tell for how long he’d been waiting since leaving the hall with the angelic visitor—six hours? Ten?
Time got funny in the dungeons.
Nessa emerged next, longsword at the ready, and then Sam stepped through, her eyes widening with relief at the sight of him.
“You,” said Vic, raising his rapier nonchalantly so that its wicked tip pointed at Harald’s chest, “have a lot of bloody explaining to do.”
Harald looked to Sam. “How much did tell you them?”
“Enough to convince them to come back. Not as much as they’d like.”
“Not nearly enough,” said Nessa, tone cold, gaze hard. “Seeing as you forgot to mention you’re friends with demon princes.”
Harald winced. “My apologies. I’d no idea Vorakhar would choose to show when he did.”
“Doesn’t matter what you thought,” said Vic, and gone was his humor, his dry wit, his insouciant bon homie. “You’re going to get one chance to explain what’s going on, and if it doesn’t justify what looks like mortal negligence from where I’m standing, well. I might get upset.”
Harald raised both hands. “Sword, Vic?”
Vic considered, then lowered his rapier.
“Now,” said Nessa. “Explain.”
“All right.” He’d gone over this scenario dozens of times while waiting, but in the moment he couldn’t remember what he’d resolved to say. The truth, then.
“You never met my father,” he began. “But you know of him.”
“Sure,” said Vic, stepping back to lean against the far wall. “Darius Darrowdelve the demon slayer. Made quite a stir a decade ago with his equally big claims.”
“He had a Nightshard scale to back his claims up,” said Harald. “That was enough for most. Especially as he wasn’t intent on trying to become a major house. He cashed it in almost immediately and declared a neutral stance on all the politics. Well. The demon prince that visited us earlier was the same one he claimed to have slain.”
“Oh ho,” said Vic, though the smile failed to reach his eyes. “Duplicitous daddy.”
“Yes. Well.” And Harald sketched it out. His first sojourn into the dungeon, the dire rats, the visit from the demon. The offer he’d made, and how Harald had, in a delirium, accepted.
“So I woke up with my window changed. A new Soul Nature, Rank, and Ability. A fresh perspective on life.”
“So that’s what happened.” Vic glanced at Nessa, who was still frowning at Harald. “I knew there was more to your tale than second chances. Nobody changes that radically of their own accord.”
“You lied.” Nessa’s voice was forbidding, cold as the grave. “You told me you changed. But that’s not the truth, is it? You were changed.”
Harald took a deep breath. “Vorakhar explained. He said he didn’t change me so much as bring my strength to the front. This is a version of myself that would have manifested if everything had gone right in my life, affirmed my best instincts. But it’s still me.”
Nessa’s smile was cruel. “Well. Now I know who to call on when I decide to turn a leaf on my glory habit.”
“Harald was dying,” snapped Sam. “You’re not.”
“Regardless, it set me on this new path.” Harald drew himself up. “And I’ll be honest: I’ve no regrets. I’ve not been asked to do anything… demonic, nor do I feel like another person. I just feel like the Harald I always wish I could have been.”
“How sweet.” Vic’s smile was saccharine. “A Harald who fails to mention all of this to his bosom friends.”
“Bosom friends?” Harald stepped up to where Vic stood. “Is that what we are, Vic? Are you telling me you’ve taken no advantage of me, before my change, or after? That you care only about my wellbeing, and haven’t sought any angles on how to benefit financially from me in any way?”
“Touché, Harry-boy.” Vic’s eyes remained killer-cold. “I guess we’re all finally acting like grown-ups here. But all that aside, your failure to mention your new infernal allegiances nearly got us killed. I’ve never put your life in danger.”
“Fair.” Harald took a deep breath, resisting the urge to argue for arguments’ sake. “I should have told you. I simply had no idea Vorakhar could track me as he did. Or would remain interested. Call it naïve on my part. Or idiocy. But I was just as surprised as you were when he showed.”
“Idiocy suits,” said Nessa. If Vic appeared cold, she looked quietly furious. Genuinely upset. “Though there are other, perhaps, better words.”
Sam stepped forward. “Vic, Nessa. I’ve frowned on Harald’s friendship with you both since it began. But he insisted on keeping you around. I advised him to refuse your help, Nessa, given your glory addiction. And Vic, you’ve never pretended to be other than what you are, a charming opportunist.”
“Tell us what you really feel, darling,” said Vic.
“But Harald didn’t listen to me. He accepted your help, Vic, because I think he genuinely considers you a friend. Nessa, you know better than any of us what Harald did to bring you on board. You both need to consider him through that lens, not just what happened here in the dungeon. Harald’s a genuinely good person. Naïve, yes, but come on: he’s spent his life living a dream, protected by luxury. You both know that. You took advantage of it. He made a mistake, but it wasn’t malicious. Now you all need to decide what happens next: an end to this partnership, or a second attempt on a clearer terms.”
“Will you look at Sam,” said Vic, affecting surprise. “So forceful, so outspoken. Have you been hiding this delightful personality behind your maid’s feather duster all this time?”
“She’s right.” Harald stepped back, giving Vic room. “I still consider you both my friends. Not only that, but I need you both. Your help, your advice, your…” He cast around, looking for a better word, then shrugged helplessly. “Your friendship. I’m in way over my head. You both know so much more than I do. I’ll understand if you want to cut things down to pure business, given how we’re connected now through Countess Sonora, but I’d appreciate trying this again. Trying to elevate what we’ve got going on beyond half-truths and opportunism.” Harald glanced from Vic to Nessa, both hard to read. “I’d like to be real friends. Raiders. To fight together, work together, rise together.”
“You’re a demon’s toy,” said Nessa. “That doesn’t bode well for long-term prospects.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Vic carelessly. “He’d hardly be the first to strike ill-advised bargains.”
“What do you mean?” asked Harald.
“Well, daddy for one,” said Vic. “Then there are rumors about some of the greatest houses. Nothing definite, but suspicions. House Thornvale’s meteoric ascent, for example, has caused no end of rumors and suspicions.”
“We’re not talking about Rowan Thorn,” said Nessa. “We’re talking about Harry-boy Darrowdelve. You really think he’s going to keep his head for long with a demon prince pulling his strings?”
“Nobody is pulling my strings.” Harald spoke with confidence, staring hard at Nessa. “I am my own man. The only influence Vorakhar has had on me is giving me a second chance at life and endowing me with a Demon Seed. And all that does is reward effort. It’s why my physical stats have jumped from six-six-five to eleven-nine-twelve in under a month.”
“Wait, what?” spluttered Vic.
Nessa’s eyes went round as an owl’s.
“Yeah.” Harald grinned. “You noticed how my paunch is gone?” And he smacked his stomach. “Well, mostly gone. But there’s muscle under the fat now, and I can run for miles around Season Park without losing my breath. A big chunk of that came from my new class.”
Vic closed his eyes delicately and gave a little shake of his head. “New class what now?”
“I’ll tell you everything.” Harald paused, letting the words sink in. “No secrets. But only if we’re going to try and make this friendship between us all work. Otherwise what’s the point?”
“You could simply satisfy my raging curiosity,” said Vic.
“Ha,” deadpanned Harald.
“Hmm.” Vic sheathed his rapier and rubbed at this chin, swiveling to glance at Nessa then turning back to Harald. “Friends. Bosom companions. I suppose these changes explain the new way you’re looming, Harry-boy. You look bulkier. But in a pleasingly intimidating manner. Less of a melting dessert and more of a…” He paused, searching for the right word. “A monolith about to tip over and crush me. It’s a good look. Intimidating, even. And, well. We’re already in bed with you for a couple of Horizon’s Whispers. What’s a little demon influence on the side. Nessa?”
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She was glaring at Harald, brows lowered, face pale. “I… I don’t know. You lied to me, Harald. You inspired me with false hope.”
“Not false,” said Harald. “I meant everything I said.”
“But was that you talking, or the Demon Seed? No, don’t bother answering. Obviously you’ll take the credit, but that’s what you’d do regardless of the truth.” She hadn’t put her blade away. “I’m not even particularly bothered by the demon’s appearance, or the agony he caused me. I can scratch that up to your naïve stupidity. It’s your daring to speak to me the way you did last night. The false pretenses. That hurts, Harald.”
Harald considered answers, rebuttals, all manner of responses coming to mind. But in the end there was only one worth saying. “I’m sorry, Evernessa. I truly am. I never meant to betray your trust.”
She held his gaze, eyes glittering, and then, at long last, sheathed her longsword.
Vic clapped his hands. “What an intense little chat we’re having. And shame on you, Nessa, for never mentioning this little tet-a-tet you had with Harald. It sounds quite stirring. But I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. I can recognize a stirling opportunity when I see one, and being a rank opportunist, am eager to seize it.” He raised a finger as Sam went to protest. “Especially, that is, as this opportunity comes by way of a dear friend whom I’d be most willing to help out, or, shall we, say, continue to help out as I’ve been doing.”
His words hung in the air.
In the distance, chains clanked dismally.
Nobody spoke.
Vic’s turned from one person to the next expectantly, then gave a heartfelt sigh. “I see Nessa isn’t as mercurial with her affection as I am. How about this: we’ll table the need to decide the matter for now, and extract ourselves from the dungeon. Return to Harald’s manor, have a good wash, a meal, and then discuss our options before that lovely big fireplace in the first parlor. What do you all say?”
That’s when Harald noticed. Both Vic and Nessa were wearing their adventuring gear from before, and both looked worn and weary. “How long have I been down here?”
“It’s been a day and a half since we saw you last,” said Vic. “We hung around like whipped dogs for far too long, waiting to see if you’d return, and then decided to return to the portal to see if you’d made it there instead. No dice. So we returned to Flutic where I tried to chase down an old acquaintance who knows more about devilry than anyone else I know, but they refused to see me due to past indiscretions. A frustrating waste of time. We’d only just returned to your manor to see if you’d made it home when Sam burst in, yelling something about needing to run right back to the Dungeon Plaza.”
“Thank you,” said Harald quietly. “For trying to help.”
“Honestly, Harry, what do you take us for?” Vic threw out his arms. “We are—or were—or may yet be—your friends. Four years we’ve wasted together. Why do you think we care for you only as much as we do a pair of slippers?”
“I brought a Zenith Tide,” said Sam. “I’ll return without it, then you emerge later and use it as part of your explanation for Ascending to the first Throne.”
“What’s this now?” Vic’s eyes opened in innocent surprise. “First what’s-it?”
“You’ve Ascended to your first Throne?” demanded Nessa, brow furrowing in shock. “The demon gave you a Zenith Tide?”
“Not quite,” said Harald. “But yes. First Throne, new class, all sorts of surprises. I’ve much to tell. But Sam and I were worried about my being charged with something for Ascending while ostensibly only on the 4th Level. That they might suspect my being connected to demons, for example.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Vic. “They won’t care. They’ll make a clear note on how much you’ve risen, sure, but all sorts of underhand dealings take place in the dungeon. If they investigated every raider who leaped in power it would not only be a bureaucratic nightmare, but they’d run afoul of the Houses that don’t want Mining officials snooping around their business. No, they don’t mind how you advance, as long as you’re willing to entertain offers from the Houses that want to take advantage of you.”
“Oh,” said Sam, shoulders sagging.
“It was a good plan, though,” said Vic, leaning over to pat her encouragingly on the shoulder. “Very smart, very thoughtful.”
Sam glowered at him.
“Well. Then I’m all for Vic’s suggestion,” said Harald. “Let’s head out. I’ve been down here for far too long without sleeping.”
“You didn’t sleep?” asked Nessa, surprised all over again. “You don’t look like someone that’s been up for two days.”
“One of my new abilities,” said Harald. “It gives me little jolts of energy. Not really great in the long term, though.”
“Must be nice,” said Vic. “Is it a coffee-related class you’ve got?”
“Something like that,” grinned Harald. “But it’s really starting to catch up with me. Shall we head back to my place?”
Everyone looked to Nessa. She was still staring at Harald, her expression obdurate, but finally she nodded. “Fine. We can at the very least continue this conversation.”
“Good.” Harald gestured to the portal. “Shall we?”
“Indeed. Let the best looking of us sally forth.” And Vic stepped into its burning face and disappeared.
Nessa frowned at Harald one last time and followed suit.
“You doing all right?” Sam hesitated before doing the same. “I felt like I was gone for far too long.”
“Fine,” said Harald. “I’ve got some surprises to share with you, too.”
“Surprises?” Now it was Sam’s turn to frown. “More demons?”
“No. Watch this.” He raised his hand, and summoned his Artifact.
The Dawnblade materialized, its malachite length gleaming in the scale-light.
Sam’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “An Artifact? You found an Artifact?!”
Harald managed to restrain from grinning too widely. “I explored a little. Had time on my hands, you see. But yes.” He willed the blade to fade away, and it disappeared, back into his Cosmos. “I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of wine.”
“Impossible,” said Sam. “I can’t even… Harald. You keep this up, they’re going to pressgang you into House Drakenhart or something.”
“They can try. Now let’s hurry up before Vic and Nessa get mad at me all over again.”
Shaking her head, Sam stepped through the portal and disappeared.
Harald took one last look around the 4th Level. Took in the great stone walls, the dismal air, the distant bright haunt-light. It felt as if he’d been down here for weeks, not days.
Then he drew forth the Aurora Veil Driftshell and considered its ethereal beauty before absorbing it into his palm.
A wash of health and power spread through him, easing aches and revitalizing him all over again.
He repeated this with forty of his Copper Crescents, leaving his purse with just over ten scales left to show the taxation authorities.
Now. Time to get back home.
So thinking, he stepped into the portal at last.
* * *
The group reconvened in the first parlor.
The heavy curtains were drawn against the night, and Vic had taken the initiative of building a large fire in the great hearth, so that the parlor was toasty and the air had a faint but inviting scent of cottony smoke. A couple of artfully placed lanterns filled the large room with pools of mellow gold, but for the most part the old furniture was sunken in shadows outside the warm firelight, around which four armchairs had been set.
Harald emerged from the wine cellar with one of the bottles he’d found in the hidden room. He sat in an armchair with a sigh, and handed it over to Vic, whose eyebrows shot up as he blew the dust off the yellowed label.
“What’s this? How did this escape my roving eye? A 767 House Emberfell Crimsonell? Harald!” He raised his gaze with something akin to reverence. “You could sell this for three Golden Dawns to the right buyer.”
“That poor buyer’s going to have to weep lonely tears,” said Harald, stretching his feet out toward the fire. “Do us a favor and open it up?”
“With unabashed delight,” said Vic, rising and moving to the side table. “Ladies? Care to drink scales in liquid form?”
Nessa was combing out her wet locks, head tilted to one side, gaze locked on the fire. “A glass, if you please.”
Sam, on the other hand, hadn’t dared emerge from her room till she was perfectly presentable; she wore a gown of fine wool dyed dove gray, and her damp golden hair fell down her back in neatly combed mane, worn loose for perhaps the first time Harald had ever seen. Her voice was tentative: “Yes, thank you.”
“Sam!” Vic turned to face her. “Be more assertive. Wait. Is this the first time we’ve socialized outside of the kitchen?”
Sam was sitting straight backed, hands in her lap, looking very self conscious.
“She’s a maid at heart,” said Nessa dreamily. “Even if she has a new class.”
Sam flushed and looked down.
“You’re going to eat your words, Nessa,” replied Harald, not bothering to get worked up. “Wait till you hear her new Soul Rank.”
“Do tell,” said Vic, turning back to pour the wine. “You were a level hundred Majordomo before, weren’t you? What are you now? A demonic handmaiden?”
Harald watched Sam, not wanting to intercede too much, to let her fight her own battles. She looked lovely. Her gown had a modest square neckline with a touch of delicate embroidery, and her sleeves were long and gently fitted, with a slight flare at the wrist. She wore a braided belt of leather with a tasteful buckle, and a simple pendant hung from her neck, gleaming elegantly in the firelight.
A brand new dress. Knowing Sam she’d have purchased it years ago, and spent long nights dreaming about wearing it out on a night just like this.
And now here she was, living her dream, her golden skin flushed not from the firelight, but her heightened emotions.
Come on, Sam, he willed. Own the moment.
Sam took a deep breath and raised her gaze to where Vic was glancing back at her. “I’m a Level 1 Netherwarden Knight. And my new Soul Rank is Divine.”
Vic’s hand jerked so that he almost overpoured; his whole body lurched as he fought to save the wine and just barely refrained from pouring it all over the table by swooping the whole bottle up in an exaggerated scoop.
Nessa had paused combing and turned to stare at Sam. “You’re what?”
“A Netherwarden Knight.” Sam’s voice grew more sure as she read her description out loud: “Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome.”
Neither Vic nor Nessa spoke.
Sam raised her chin, as if daring them to mock her.
“Divine, hey?” Vic crossed over and handed her a glass first. “Well. It looks like the sky’s the limit for you then, darling, and perhaps not even that.”
Sam almost immediately looked uncomfortable once more.
“Here you go, Harry-boy.” Vic handed him the second glass. “Netherwarden Knight. I thought I knew all the classes, but that’s a first. Nessa?”
Nessa shook her head, mystified.
“You are about to become a very sought after commodity, Samantha.” Vic leaned against the back of Harald’s chair, his own wine momentarily forgotten. “Once word gets out, that is.”
“I’ve no intention of letting that happen,” said Sam tightly.
“Oh, don’t worry about Nessa and I, our lips are sealed. But.” Again Vic considered her. “You must have plans for yourself, outside of cooking Harry’s meals? One day you’ll want to make a play for power, for fortune, for—I don’t know, what dream have you always harbored in your little heart?”
“Vic, you’re assuming she has dreams,” said Nessa. “And my wine?”
“Hmm. Oh, right.” He pushed off and walked back to the sideboard. “Sam?”
Sam stared down at her glass. “I… I don’t want fame, or wealth.” Her voice has returned to its hesitant cadence. “I want… it’s right there in my class description. I want to protect Flutic and the continent from the darkness that lurks in the dungeon.”
“Noble,” said Vic, handing Nessa her glass. “How does that square with your jumping into portals at the behest of demons, though?”
Sam raised her gaze, expression solemn. “That was to help Harald. I’ve no interest in further dealings with Vorakhar.”
“Somebody had best send him a note, then. Harald? Mind sharing your class?”
“We never agreed on whether we were going to continue raiding together,” said Harald softly. He sniffed at his wine; it had a heady nose, rich and velvety, with a faint touch of berries and leather. “Nessa?”
Nessa was gazing at the fireplace once more, wine glass pressed to her lower lip. For a long, long moment she made no answer, the silence filled only with the pops and crackles of the burning logs, and then she sighed. “Of course I’ll stay. Where else would I go?”
She turned to smile at Harald, a smile made gentle by pain and remorse, by acceptance and melancholy. “For a moment there I thought things could be different. But that was just a dream. Nobody really changes, do they? Not without outside intervention. But there’s still a need for my sword. For my lessons. So I’ll stay. Things will return to how they were, and that’s not…”
She trailed away and looked dreamily once more into the fire. “That’s not bad. That’s actually fine. Perfectly, adequately, predictably fine.”