The Aura of the Aching Depths expanded from Harald’s core. The air around him grew subtly shadowed, sound growing muffled, the temperature dropping. Harald felt his Throne of Harmony pouring its strength into the Passive, fueling its enervating expansion, and saw the moment his aura washed over Nessa.
Her reaction was subtle.
He’d have missed it if he weren’t watching carefully.
Her knuckles whitened on the hilt of her practice blade, her eyes narrowed a fraction, and then she parted her pursed lips to slowly run the tip of her tongue over the lower one, as if deliberating a new approach.
Harald steadied his breathing. He couldn’t rely overmuch on the Aching Depths. It would blunt Nessa’s edge, perhaps even bring hesitancy to her mind, but not make her lose track of her skills and training.
With great deliberation he channeled Abyssal Attunement into his practice blade. He felt the potential of the abyss race down its length, turning the dark wood an absolute black. Felt the power shimmer faintly over him, enhancing his presence subtly, combining with the unease his Aching Depths brought.
Nessa considered, then gave a slight nod and entered a stance of her own.
And to his annoyance she raised a hand and gestured for him to attack.
Harald glided forward, keeping his footwork clear and steady. He needed but to land a single blow for the Attunement to begin the process of enhancing him at Nessa’s cost.
One blow.
At the last moment she surprised him by lunging forward, point spearing toward his sternum. Harald parried on instinct and stepped out to the left, just as Nessa’s feint became a downward strike that swooshed obliquely past him to the right.
And then it was on.
Harald pressed as fiercely as he could.
The Aching Depths made it feel as if they fought underwater, the air thick and cold, the shadows writhing around him, limiting him not at all but imbuing him with a fearsome ability.
Their blades cracked together three times and then she smacked him across the arm, a blow that would have lopped off his wrist.
But Harald ignored the pain and kept pressing. He fell into the familiar sequence of strikes, coming at her from all sides, and then to his chagrin Nessa laughed.
“The Dungeon Square?” She fended him off with ease, anticipating each strike. “What is this, Harald, a playground?”
And she slid into his next attack to slam the tip of her blade solidly into his gut.
Harald grunted. The urge to leap back, to reform his guard, to re-evaluate was strong, overwhelming. The pain was sharp, his breath knocked out from him.
But he manifested his will, put that instinct aside, and brought his blade crashing down in a massive overhead strike.
Not a feint, because he meant to hit, but he knew she’d sway aside.
Nessa bowed back, allowing his abyss-kissed blade to skim past her, missing by an inch.
Harald kept coming though, and with all his strength slammed his shoulder into her own.
She’d never have fallen for it without the Aching Depths dulling her wits.
Shocked, Nessa stumbled back, blade flickering up, blocking strike after strike with impossible flair. Blade’s Grace, her own Passive? It had to be; she parried two rapid strikes even as she fought to not collapse to the ground.
But then she changed her plan, dropped to one knee, and somehow wrested her blade around to slam it into his own cross-parry.
For a moment Harald loomed over her, trying to drive his full weight into her upraised blow, but then she slipped away, all resistance melting, and he stumbled forward as she rose to his side and brought her sword around and cracked it across his back.
Harald grunted, wheeled around, and now he was on the defensive.
Even with Aura of the Aching Depths draining the light and exerting its enervating influence on the air around them he couldn’t keep her at bay.
Nessa’s expression was livid.
She hammered at him, and one in three blows got through, slashing down his chest, cracking against his knuckles, spearing into his shoulder, slamming into his knee.
Harald ignored the pain, fought on, grunting and shifting his weight, parrying and fighting to not become completely overwhelmed.
One touch.
He just needed to get one touch through.
But he couldn’t do it.
Again and again he slipped into the Dungeon Square, the series of blows that had served him so well in the actual dungeon, that had cut down mindless ashen walker after ashen walker.
Nessa punished him for the predictability of his technique.
At last, gasping for breath, reeling, his guard was blasted wide open by a crossblow. He could only watch as Nessa’s sword blurred.
She’d been striking at him so quickly.
But now he lost track of it altogether.
In less than a second she executed a series of rapid, flowing movements that struck him on each quadrant almost simultaneously. Harald simply collapsed, falling back to the grass to lie on his back, gasping and staring up at the sky, blinking away sweat and fighting the aching pain.
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then somebody began to applaud with wry appreciation.
Harald guessed it wasn’t Sam.
“Bravo!” Vic’s voice was sardonic with false cheer. “Never have I seen children handled with greater severity. Though was I imagining things, or did Harry-boy cause you to lose your composure there, Nessa? Hmm?”
Sam appeared over him, her expression grim, and extended her hand. “Well done.”
He took it, allowed her to haul him up to sitting.
Everything ached or stung.
Vic was stepping down onto the grass, glass of wine and a pastry in hand.
Nessa was frowning at him, chin lowered.
“Now, from where I was seated, it seemed as if he pressed you surprisingly hard.” Vic beamed at Harald. “The air went all dark and spooky, and suddenly you were on your heels, Nessa. Oh wait. Did you actually drop to one knee?”
“He never landed a blow,” snapped Nessa. “He signaled his every attack, often by pointing at me with his elbow. His reliance on the Dungeon Square is as stubborn as it is stupid, and what little edge he had came as a result of his new Abilities, not any skill.”
“Oh, for sure, absolutely.” Vic took a bite of his pastry and washed it down with some wine. “But I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer my question, darling.”
Harald was still panting, but he raised one brow as he looked back to Nessa.
Who met his look and flushed. “He did surprise me there for a second, yes.”
“I knew it!” Vic bent his knees as he leaned back, raising his glass the skies. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a killer on our hands! A veritable monster! Well.” He straightened. “The makings of one. Darling, admit it. He did quite well given how little training he’s had.”
Nessa raised her chin, expression flinty. “His Passive is formidable, I’ll grant you that.”
“Oh, tell us about it. I saw you wilt like a flower under the midday sun. It looked dreadful. And no, I’ve no desire to experience it myself.”
Nessa took a deep breath and her tone and expression settled, becoming controlled and neutral once more. “It’s… like nothing I’ve felt before. I felt… hesitant for no reason. As if attacking him were a profoundly unwise decision. This voice whispered in the back of my mind that I was going to lose, that to fight him would be… futile.” She glared at Harald. “Obviously that voice knew shit.”
“Fascinating,” said Vic, nodding encouragingly. “Do go on.”
“It’s a powerful aura,” snapped Nessa. “It makes him look intimidating, and so forth. But it did nothing for his clumsy attacks and lack of understanding on how to duel an intelligent opponent.”
“That he can learn,” said Vic, waving his wine glass airily. “Actually, that you can teach him! But still. Sam, are you equally disappointed that Harry-boy never managed to hit Nessa with that black blade of his? I know I was.”
“You did well,” said Sam, tone subdued.
Nessa sighed reluctantly. “Don’t get down on yourself. Your Passive is a team-building aura. You enhance your allies. Thus it’s useless when fighting alone. But in a team, like my own Harmonic Resonance or Will of the Blade, it makes everyone more lethal.”
Sam nodded, glum.
“But look.” Nessa considered them both. “This was more than just an exercise in sadism. Though.” And here she stared at Harald. “There was definitely an element of that. This was a reality check for you both. You just accomplished a number of impressive feats, from spending a lengthy period of time in the dungeon to acquiring rare to possibly unique classes at the behest of a demon. It’s natural for such accomplishments to go to your heads.”
“They went to mine,” said Vic brightly, “and I wasn’t even involved.”
“But.” And here Nessa fixed them with her gray stare. “You’re both on the verge of making the classic mistake that’s killed more raiders than anything else.”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Vic nodded soberly. “Putting your dick in crazy.”
“Vic, will you please just shut up?”
Vic stared in dismay at his empty wine glass. “Time for a refill.”
They watched him ascend to the patio.
Nessa propped her blade over one shoulder and leaned her weight on one foot, other hand on her hip. “This is what’s happened since time immemorial: someone decides to make their fortune raiding. They get some armor, a shiny blade, and in all earnestness train for a month or two while they beg a more established team to take them below. Finally they make a connect, and down they go. Once, twice, thrice, and if they’re lucky, if they’re not torn apart by dire rats or ashen walkers, they get themselves a fancy class. A Warcleaver, say, or a Skullcrusher. Suddenly they’ve got themselves an Active and a Passive, and they think they’re hot shit.”
Her crude final words were delivered like stabs to the chest.
Harald pursed his lips.
“And you know what?” Nessa’s smile was merciless. “For a few quick raids, maybe they even are. The Iron levels aren’t that challenging. Mostly mindless foes, predatory animals, and a few nastier things thrown in for good measure. But as soon as they drop below the 12th? They die. Because they stopped their training, they stopped doing the basic, boring work, and relied on their flashy new Abilities to get by.”
“You’ve made your point,” said Harald.
“Have I? I could see it in your eyes last night. Excitement. Confidence. The urge to start skipping levels. To get more valuable scales at a quicker rate. Forgetting that the Dungeon Square might work against ashen walkers, but someone with half a brain?”
Harald sighed and stared down at the grass. “You’re right.”
Nessa clearly hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. She stood there, ready to argue, belligerent, but with the rug pulled out from under her.
“You’re right. I killed those ten ashen walkers and thought it meant something. I got my class and thought it meant something. Vic hasn’t shut up since we got back about how valuable Sam and I have become. It went to my head.”
Now Harald did look up, and he met Nessa’s stare with his own flat look. “But you’ve set me straight. When you pressed me, my form, everything went sailing right out the window.”
“Same,” said Sam reluctantly. “It felt good at first, but then…”
Nessa shifted her weight, clearly annoyed by their agreeing with her. “You both have done well. I don’t want to take that away from you. But you’ve only trained with the blade for a little over a week or so. It’s ridiculous to think you’re ready to do more than raid the higher Iron levels.”
“Yeah.” Harald slowly stood, wincing as everything hurt. “Well, thank you for the reminder. We clearly needed it. Are you willing to keep teaching us the rest of what we don’t know?”
Nessa stared at him, expression inscrutable, but he could tell that deep down she was still furious, and only then did he understand why: this was meant to be payback. She’d wanted to elicit the same intensity of emotion that his betrayal had caused her. To be reasonable, to be agreeable, had robbed her from feeling vindicated, or whatever she’d been after.
“I don’t have the next five years to do that.” She sniffed and looked away. “But for now, yes. But we’re going to amend our agreement.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m no longer housebound. As long as I’m capable of teaching your lessons, I’m doing my part. Outside of that? It’s none of your business what I do.”
Harald wanted to protest. But he had no ground to stand on. He could see Nessa waiting for him to complain, to be a hypocrite so she could tear out his proverbial throat.
Instead he inclined his head. “As you wish, Nessa. So long as you’re able to teach at the high standard you’ve set.”
“We’ll start tomorrow.” She tossed her wooden blade down beside the long bag. “We’re done for today. Go train with the weights below, or pester Vic for exercises. I’m leaving.”
Where you going to go, Nessa? The question burned on the tip of his tongue. She didn’t walk past him, didn’t turn away. She was waiting. Waiting for him to put his hand into the iron trap.
So all he did was nod, hands on his hips, and wait, till at long last she inclined her head and strode back into the house.
“Well that was a disaster,” said Sam, moving to sit on the steps.
Harald joined her. “What aspect of it?”
“Oh, I don’t know where to start.” Sam rested her chin on her thumbs, interlaced fingers before her lips. “The implicit promise our instructor just made to go find more glory? The way I danced around like an idiot, my shield doing nothing for me while she spanked me like a child? Our loss of the moral high ground for having accepted favors from demons?”
Harald didn’t respond at once. He simply bit his lower lip and stared out morosely over the wilderness of his estate.
“We’re doing our best, Sam. And we’ve done pretty damn well. Nessa spoke sense. We can’t get ahead of ourselves. I was thinking about accelerating our raiding schedule, of perhaps going deeper. Now I see that we can’t do that without Vic and Nessa, and maybe not even at all.”
“You were deciding for me where we should go raid?”
“No, not when you put it like that. But…?” He glanced sidelong at her. “I assumed you’d come raiding with me if invited?”
“Hmm.” She looked away.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, seriously. What is it?”
“I’m… I’ve got a lot on mind, I suppose. There’s a lot happening. Being beaten up by Nessa so that she could prove a point helped knock open a few windows. Let the light shine in. Make me ask questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Private questions, for now.” Sam winced and stood. “I’m going to go stretch in my room, and then I’m going to take the day off. Get out of the manor. You know, I just realized that I haven’t even gone for a bloody walk since you released me from my oath?”
Harald looked up at her in surprise. “You haven’t?”
“No.” She frowned at nothing in particular. “I’ve been so focused on training, on becoming the perfect little raider, on catching up on all the time I lost being a majordomo, that I just… didn’t think about it.”
“Well, you should go.”
Sam stared down at him, expression hard. “I don’t need your permission.”
“What?” Harald blinked at her in confusion. “I was just agreeing with you.”
For a moment they simply held each other’s gaze, and then Sam shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts, and nodded. “I know. Sorry. I’m feeling… intense. A walk will do me good. I’ll be back in time for supper.”
And with that she knelt by the long bag, stashed her wooden blade inside it, went to do the same with Nessa’s, then stopped.
Harald watched her, still confused.
Sam pulled her hand back from Nessa’s sword, left it lying in the grass, then rose and climbed the patio steps, passed the emerging Vic, and disappeared into the house.
“Wine!” Vic frowned at the bottle. “Well. Raspberry cordial. I suppose it’s more of a poisonous syrup, but it does feel more breakfasty, don’t you agree?”
Harald sighed and looked back out over the garden.
Vic sat on the step next to him. “Shall we get drunk?”
“You’re already drunk.”
“I was using the royal ‘we’ for you.”
“That…” Harald let it go and simply shook his head.
Vic popped the cork, then poured a virulent red liquid into a cut crystal glass he’d brought with him. “Life. A source of endless bon mots and proverbial proverbs. Want me to console you with some old chestnuts?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I think you need it.” Vic sipped from his glass and grimaced. “Argh. That’s disgusting. Ah well.” He took a long gulp. “Sam looked… serious, on the way out.”
“Mmhmm.”
Vic watched him for a beat. “I’d really rather my wisdom be solicited.”
Harald dug his thumbs into his eyes and then looked at his friend. “What wisdom, Vic?”
“It’s an old conundrum, that quaintest of paradoxes. You, Harry-boy, have a raging erection for your own success. Understandably so, given the squalid little dumpling you were just a month ago. But now you’re getting a taste of real growth and power, and you can’t get enough. Yet! You’re seeking to build a cozy little family, a raiding team with which to delve into the dungeon. That would be Nessa, Sam, and myself.”
“I gathered,” said Harald dryly.
“Good. You’re keeping up. But here’s the rub: you can’t engage so violently in auto-eroticism and expect the rest of us to tag along gamely. It’s one or the other, darling. You either expand the scope of your vision so that it encompasses the rest of us, or you find yourself alone before too long and knocking on strangers’ doors.”
“I’ve been a team player. I invited you all into my home. I’ve… I’ve given you business opportunities. I tried to give Nessa a chance after her glory debacle.”
Vic clucked his tongue. “On the surface of it, yes, to a degree. But it’s all been in service to your shining star. Which is all very well and good, don’t get me wrong, I’m something of a devotee of selfish individualism myself. But this here, what you’re trying to do, is… damn it. I can’t think of a sufficiently vulgar metaphor.”
Harald watched his friend stonily as he refilled his glass.
“My point,” continued Vic, “is that you need to internalize the fact that we’re each of us unique individuals with glittering Cosmoses of our own. Our own dreams, ambitions, hang-ups, fears, raging drug addictions, and deeply warped sense of selves.”
“I know that, Vic.”
“But that’s the thing.” Vic poked him in the chest. “You don’t. Not deep down in there. Tell me. Why did Sam storm off like that?”
“She was going for a walk.”
Vic raised an eyebrow.
“A walk in the city,” Harald elaborated reluctantly. “To take time for herself. Which she said she hadn’t done since being freed from her oath.”
“Ah,” said Vic. “Lovely. I was waiting for this.”
“You were?”
“Of course! The delicious tart has been washing your floors and bleaching your underwear for as long as I’ve known you. An oathbound! And then you free her, which I’m sure you did in a manner that took her sensibilities into account—right?”
Harald winced.
“And enlisted her right into your training. Which she obviously has a taste for, and ambitions of her own, but did you pause, did you ask yourself: is this healthy for brave Samantha Tuppins? Is this what she needs, to transition from being your majordomo to your running and training partner?”
Poor Ms. Tuppins, Harald heard Vorakhar sneer. She’s worked so very hard to be useful. To make a difference in the world. But nobody takes her seriously, because they all know exactly what she is. A little maid, so brave, so foolish, destined to die just before the final act so that the true hero can confront the monster. Poor, poor Ms. Tuppins.
“Fuck,” said Harald.
“And there’s Nessa, of course.” Vic waved his glass before him, sloshing the cordial. “What a beautiful, broken, deadly woman. She’s like a shattered mirror, choosing to reflect the worst of herself at everyone who glances her way.” Vic paused, frowned. “You know what I mean. And then you did something the night before the raid. She was going to sneak out, wasn’t she?”
“You knew?”
“It was pretty obvious.”
“You didn’t move to stop her.”
“I’ve done enough. I’m not her father, I’m not her husband, I’m not even fucking her. You remember the number one cause of raiders’ dying?”
“Vic.”
“What I’m saying is, I knew she was going to bolt, but at some point you let people take responsibility for themselves. You can lead a horse to water, but you shouldn’t dunk its head in the lake and hold it under till it takes a fucking drink. But you. You made her take that drink, didn’t you.”
“I thought I was helping.”
“What you were doing was taking responsibility.” Vic stared at him, gaze shrewd. “Beyond a certain point, help becomes a promise. But you didn’t stop to consider what it meant to make that promise, did you? Or the terms of that promise, from where she was standing?”
Harald wanted to protest. To argue that his intentions had been true.
You lied, Nessa had hissed. You told me you changed. But that’s not the truth, is it? You were changed.
What had he told her, the night he’d fought her to a stand-still?
Come on, Nessa. We can walk this path together.
He’d made no mention of the third, shadowy figure walking it already by Harald’s side.
“You want this to work, Harry-boy, you need to be more careful with your promises. You need to actual think about your supposed friends, and not just what you can get out of them.” Vic raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “You want Sam and Nessa to become true raiders after your own heart, fight-and-die friends who’ll guard your back either down in the dungeon or the ballrooms of the nobility? Then you need to start taking them as seriously as they’ve done you. Otherwise?”
Vic shrugged, considered, and then drained his glass.
“Pah,” he wheezed. “Disgusting.”
Harald stared morosely at the grass between his feet. Vic was right.
“I ever read you the description for my new Nature, Vic?”
“No,” said Vic, “I can’t say that you’ve ever bothered.”
“You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.”
Vic made a face. “Well, now I’m the one with an inappropriate erection.”
Harald snorted and looked away. “I’ve been telling myself that Vorakhar’s gift hasn’t changed me. Not in the way that matters. That I’ll resist his demonic lures, that I’ll walk the straight and narrow path, and benefit from his gifts while remaining true to myself. But he’s done more than give me the Demon Seed. He brought to the fore a part of myself that desires nothing but total conquest.”
Vic considered. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first.”
“I need to do better. Be better. I hadn’t even realized how badly I was messing up. Thank you, Vic.”
“Oh, pshht. I’m just your opportunistic friend that here’s to raid your wine cellar, enjoy crossing wits with the Platinum Opera House—no, clashing tits with the… fuck, this stuff is strong.” Vic considered his empty glass, then refilled it. “What I’m saying is, don’t thank me, Harry-boy. I’m a cruel, callous leach with a yearning for feminine… what’s a polite word for ‘cunt’?”
“And on that note I’ll take my leave.” Harald began placing the practice swords in the bag.
“Probably best.” Vic leaned back on the steps and sighed. “I was made for this. Dropping pearls of wisdom before swine while lounging about in a dead man’s evening gown. Find me another bottle, will you darling?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” But Harald wasn’t fooled. Even as he mounted the steps, Vic’s words continued to sting, the truth he’d revealed, the abyss he’d casually pointed out yawning at Harald’s feet.
Vic might be drunk, but he was, as ever, fully in control of himself and the moment.
When he got inside, he dumped the bag by the kitchen doorway and leaned his aching head against the wall. Nessa had beaten him but good, and now he felt like he doubly deserved it.
“I will do better,” he whispered. “I will do better. Vorakhar won’t have me. I’ll be a better friend. We’ll rise together.”
He thought of his True Nature, and shuddered.
“We’ll rise together,” he whispered again, and pushed off the wall. “We will.”