The next morning Harald rose early, not to run, but with the intention of getting out of the house and simply walk. The day before had been nothing but circuitous discussions and fitful bouts of training; it had done nothing to relieve him of his conflicted emotions, nor settle his uncertainty about the path they’d chosen to tread as a crew.

He wanted certainty. He wanted that particular bliss that came from knowing you’d chosen the single best option. But as persuasive as his friends had been, he still wasn’t sure that this was it.

To train and fight and rise with the Throne Hunters until they could… what? Kill Vorakhar? That’s where his companions had fallen silent, when he’d asked them where this all would lead. They’d waxed poetic about the journey, training together, accelerating their pace, how they’d help him stay sane, stay… himself… but as to the terminus?

They simply didn’t know.

How could they?

He’d stayed up late into the night, alone, sunken in unproductive thoughts. A long, dark reverie that had been interrupted only by Kársek’s abrupt appearance and eerie change. The young dwarf had looked like himself, physically, but his air, his sudden dignity, the dark and terrible power that had glittered in his eyes—all of it had been a dramatic evolution.

Harald had tried to understand the import of everything the dwarf had spoken, but was sure that much of it had gone over his head.

More uncertainties.

Sam and Nessa were already in the kitchen when he descended, and to his surprise seemed to be having a civil conversation. A new ease had appeared between them both, which was one improvement he heartily welcomed.

“Heading out?” asked Sam, one arm crossed over her chest, coffee mug in hand.

“But not to the dungeon,” said Nessa wryly from where she sat at the table. “Unless you’re becoming supremely casual about venturing below.”

“Ha, no.” Harald moved to the coffee carafe. “I’m not quite there yet. One day, maybe. You’ll know I’ve become a veritable monster when I start raiding without sword and gear.”

“Hello?” Vic’s cheery voice echoed through the manor from the front. “I come bearing gifts, namely a new set of cards and a willingness to divest everyone of their scales. Hello?”

“Gambling?” Nessa sounded half amused, half exasperated. “At this hour?”

Vic appeared in the doorway clad in a black velvet doublet and half-cloak. “Who’s feeling irresponsibly lucky?”

“Vic, it’s not yet Eighth Bell,” protested Nessa.

“All the more time for us to spend playing this game I learned last night. It’s stressful, yes, and the pace rapid, but ah! The scales one must wager to remain in the game… no? Nobody’s interested?”

“Have some coffee,” said Sam soothingly. “Maybe a buttered scone?”

“Pah,” said Vic. “What? You going to tell me that you want to remain a morose mess of people fearing Thracos, demons, and the imminent blackmail that’s surely to come from the major Houses?”

“Something like that,” grinned Harald, despite himself. “But now that you mention it, I should begin my petition to Countess Sonora, what with House Thornvale neutralized for now.”

“Joining House Sonora might deflect Melisende’s anger,” murmured Nessa into her coffee. “In large part due to the Countess being as far from a rival as one can get.”

“Possibly,” said Vic, wagging his head from side to side. “But don’t discount how irrationally vindictive women can be when spurned.”

Both Nessa and Sam just stared at him.

“What?” he protested, standing up straight. “I speak from personal experience. Women are—”

“Don’t dig your hole any deeper,” warned Nessa.

“Agreed,” said Sam.

Vic hesitated then sighed, shoulders slumping dramatically. “Very well. Regardless, you’re definitely in need of protection. You’re positive you wish to go with House Sonora, though? That’s like opting to hang a millstone around your neck instead of leaping aboard a gilded carriage.”

“Gilded carriage with bars for windows,” said Harald. “No, I think I prefer a commitment that affords me some measure of independence.”

“Hilarious. You think Countess Sonora will hesitate to use you to her advantage?”

“We can discuss it, I suppose. How soon do you think I can see her?”

“How soon? I was meant to dine with her this evening. She’s attempting to convince me to fight for her outside the dungeon. Her financial woes are growing dire, and she’s a hankering to fight for her stolen assets. Something Ness and I have always been leery of doing.”

Nessa nodded. “House politics is only ever lucrative in the short term.”

“Then perhaps I’ll come along?” Harald glanced at them both. “If you don’t think she’ll mind?”

Vic shared an inscrutable look with Nessa. “She won’t mind. She doesn’t get many guests anymore. But don’t mistake her for a helpless maiden, Harry. She’s as sharp and driven as any House grandee.”

“Whatever she is, I’m certain it’s better than Lady Yseult and her sister. Very well.” Harald stood and flashed a smile. “So: training until then?”

“But I brought cards,” protested Vic.

“Training,” agreed Sam.

“We need to break you out of your reliance on the Dungeon Square,” agreed Nessa.

“Fine,” sighed Vic, tossing the deck onto a distant table. “I suppose you were all serious yesterday about accelerating everything.”

“How long’s it been since you leveled, Vic?” asked Nessa.

“You wound me.”

“You do realize that Harald is now the same level as you?”

Vic stared at Harald, his gaze suddenly speculative. “Hmm. Maybe it’s time I started training seriously after all.”

“There’s no need,” grinned Harald. “In a week or two I’ll make Level 4, and then it’ll be me protecting you in the dungeon.”

“Oh, is that so?” Vic’s grin turned predatory. “Then perhaps we should begin today’s session with a friendly little duel? Nothing serious, mind you. Just a little test of my third Level Abilities against yours.”

“Boys,” warned Nessa.

“Sounds great.” Harald smiled. “I’ll be waiting outside. Try not to take too long picking the outfit you’ll be humiliated in.”

Vic grinned. “Oh good. As fun as it’s been watching Nessa spank you, I think it’s time Uncle Vic taught you some real humility. I’ll see you in just a moment, Harry-boy.”

And he strode from the parlor.

“Was that wise?” asked Sam.

“It was perfect,” replied Nessa. “Well done, Harald. Needling his ego is practically the only way to get him to exert himself.”

Harald didn’t answer. Instead, he felt a dangerously excited sense of anticipation arise within him.

He couldn’t wait to try his new abilities against Vic.

* * *

Harald swapped into his training gear and limbered up outside on the lawn while awaiting Vic.

Sam and Nessa took seats at the edge of the patio and conversed quietly as they watched and enjoyed a cold breakfast.

He couldn’t deny it. Harald was excited to face Vic. The other man had always seemed to far beyond his abilities, so skilled, so deadly. Only a month or so ago he’d led Harald through the 4th Level of the dungeon, talking him through his first fights with the ashen walkers.

And now they were going to spar as equals.

Harald swung the Dawnblade in great swooping arcs, limbering up his shoulders. Not equals. Vic was still far more experienced in the art of dueling than he, and the rapier was the weapon par excellence for fighting a human opponent.

He’d seen Vic fight enough times to understand how this would go; the Rapier Regent would crouch low with his weapon extended aggressively forward, a needle waiting for the right moment to lunge and land a mortal blow.

Harald would need to parry and deflect the lunge, get inside the weapon’s reach, and then demolish Vic once he was deprived of his rapier’s point.

Getting in would be the trick, however.

Vic finally emerged, clad in a white shirt and tan pants, somehow managing to look equally ready for violence or tea with a duchess. His golden hair was bound back, and his manner was alert, focused, intent.

“Wooden practice blades, I believe?” Vic crouched beside the long bag to draw forth his training rapier. “We wouldn’t want you all sliced to ribbons, would we?”

“Suits me,” said Harald, setting the Dawnblade down against the patio retaining wall.

“Why don’t you dismiss it?” asked Sam, leaning forward.

“I’ve temporarily replaced it with another Artifact.”

“Of course he has,” sighed Vic, rolling his eyes as he stepped out onto the grass, where he began a series of practice lunges from a deep crouch. “And no doubt acquired a unicorn as a Servitor, and been gifted a thousand Infinitums by the Fallen Angel herself.”

“How did you know?” asked Harald wryly as he drew out his practice blade with the leaden core.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Good luck,” said Sam, eyes shining. “I can’t wait to see what you can do.”

“Most likely it’ll just be rolling around on the grass in pain,” said Nessa. “Luck, Harry.”

He saluted them both with the blade and moved to stand across from Vic, who turned to regard him, blade still cutting back and forth. “Rules?”

“Rules are for children and the timid. You and I? We shall duel to our heart’s content – that or our body’s tolerance. Just… not in the face, if you can manage it.” Vic grinned. “You don’t want to earn the wrath of a thousand whores.”

“Not in the face,” allowed Harald, matching Vic’s grin. He swung the practice blade around, cleaving through the quarters of the Dungeon Square, then entered the Plow Guard, hilt at his hip, tip pointed at Vic’s face, ready for a swift parry.

Vic eased into his combat stance, rapier extended like a silver line before him, other arm curved out to the side. There was a steely athleticism to him that was rarely demonstrated; too often Harald pictured Vic lounging in a kitchen chair or sleeping off wine on a parlor setee.

But here, now, Vic subtly shifted his demeanor and became a Rapier Regent. Calm, sharp, focused, he studied Harald and no doubt saw elements of his guard and intent that Harald wasn’t even aware of betraying.

But unlike with Nessa, Harald didn’t want to slowly work his way through all the steps, so instead he tapped his two Thrones and allowed power to flow into his aura. The Aching Depths poured forth, dimming the early afternoon light, dropping the temperature, and swirled around Vic as it sought to rob him of his determination, his clarity of thought, his boldness.

“Oh, very nice.” Vic’s smile was as cutting as his blade. “I can see why Nessa was begging for mercy before.”

Harald didn’t have to look to know Nessa was rolling her eyes.

“But two can play at this game.”

And Vic changed.

Everything about him became unfamiliar and intimidating. He seemed more lethal in every way, his features somehow imparting a sense of murderous cruelty that made him as monstrous as anything Harald had fought in the dungeon. The tension in the air heightened, piercing through his Aching Depths, and Harald’s very body reacted to the aura, his gut clenching, his throat tightening, his eyes widening.

But Ego 23 ensured that Vic’s Aura of Cruelty could only go so far; Harald took a deep breath, and smiled. “Now I know how your lovers feel when you darken their doorway.”

“If only your blade could pierce so deep,” smiled Vic. “Alas. You wield it like a feather duster.”

“Some of my very best friends were Majordomos. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Quit flirting and fight,” called Nessa.

“She’s right,” said Vic. “Here it comes!”

Harald instantly ignited Dark Vigor as Vic lunged smoothly out to the side, sliding impossibly far to position himself on Harald’s flank even as power flooded into his frame, boosting his Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution.

Harald spun, parrying the low sweep that would have taken out his leg, and leaped back as Vic followed up, his rapier spearing forth again and again.

He was so angels damned fast. Not only that, but there was a purpose to his attack, a knowledge as to where to probe, when to feint, that made it so that Harald didn’t even have time to think of ripostes or counters. Instead, he stumbled back, on his heels, parrying desperately as their blades clacked in the afternoon air, till Vic drew away and rose slightly from his crouch.

“Admirable. You’ve -”

But the withdrawal itself was a feint. Vic exploded into his infamous lunge, unleashing Piercing Lance so that he blurred as he came at Harald.

Too fast. His aim was perfect.

Harald didn’t have time to do more then throw himself aside into a desperate roll, landing awkwardly on his side and coming up into a crouch even as Vic tapped him on the shoulder and then the side of the neck.

“Darling,” said Vic. “Honestly. Rolls only work in theatrical productions. One to me.”

Harald stood, forcing a smile, and shook out his shoulders. The man was operating under the effects of Aching Depths with admirable elan. “What’s your Ego, Vic? I don’t think you ever said.”

“Mine?” Vic’s smile was enhanced by his aura into an expression of pure disdain. “Oh, believe you me. It’s outrageously high.”

Harald considered his approach. Dark Vigor was imparting a prodigious enhancement to his physical stats that allowed him to just barely compensate for his lack of skill, while Aching Depths was hopefully blunting some of Vic’s lethality. But Shadowy Fortitude wasn’t of much help in landing a blow, and Demonic Edge was liable to take Vic’s head off.

Whereas almost all of Vic’s Abilities were perfectly suited for a duel.

“En garde,” said Vic, sliding into his stance and immediately lunging for Harald. Who executed a hasty parry, danced away so that he could adopt a stance, then pressed the attack chopping and slashing at Vic in an attempt to drive him back.

But Vic’s blade was everywhere, as with unparalleled speed he wove a defensive barrier of rapid, interlocking strikes. Harald longed for the boost that the Goldchops imparted, felt slow and weak in comparison to the style he’d adopted in the dungeons, but still he pressed his attack. With great care he avoided the Dungeon Square, knowing Vic would tear him apart the moment he did, and instead used his blade’s weight and his own strength to hammer at Vic’s defenses, hoping to overwhelm the lighter blade.

He didn’t even see the riposte coming. One moment he thought he had Vic on his heels, the next a solid blow landed right in his sternum.

And then Vic used Subtle Step to somehow slide right behind Harald and crack a blow across his ribs followed by a second to the side of his thigh.

“Bravo, Vic!” called Nessa.

“Punch him in the face, Harald!” shouted Sam.

Harald grimaced as he turned. He raised his blade and forced himself to calm down. He inhaled deeply and let it go. The other man was just too skilled, too experienced. How many actual duels had Vic fought, how many delves into the dungeon? They might have the same number of Thrones and Levels, but Vic’s experience was just too deep.

If he was going to win this, it would have to be with a completely different approach.

Vic watched him, countenance harsh and cruel.

“All right,” said Harald, and willed Abyssal Attunement to flood down the length of his sword, turning it jet black. He felt the cold promise of the abyss blossom on its edge, and entered the Ox, hilt by his temple, tip pointed aggressively at Vic’s face. “Ready?”

“More like hopeful,” replied Vic. “And a little pitying?”

Harald smiled.

Vic had said no rules.

He summoned Umbral Aegis.

Shadows came flooding toward him, streaking across the grass, coalescing like frost about his figure, enveloping him in ebon armor. He felt a direct link to the abyss open through his newly formed cloak, his gaze darkening as his black faceplate appeared, his every inch immediately covered in black plating.

Vic’s eyes went wide.

But Harald was already moving. He swung his abyssal sword and unleashed a Demonic Edge, sending the shimmering arc of terrible energy flying past Vic’s flank, the very air tortured by the assault, and even as Vic recoiled Harald was on him, thrusting his blade at the man’s chest.

Somehow Vic twisted and parried the blow, his rapier flicking up with unnatural speed, but Harald wasn’t done. He powered right into the bind, crashing their swords together and then followed Sam’s advice to crack his gauntleted fist right into Vic’s face.

The man’s head rocked back but the blow did little damage; he sought to disengage, to untangle their weapons, but Harald kept the pressure up, trying to trip the man by sweeping his leg out as he stumbled back.

Vic danced around the attempt, neat as a courtier in a ballroom, and then disappeared, Subtle Step taking him away and placing him to Harald’s flank. He unleashed a blow, but Harald’s Umbral Aegis absorbed it even as Harald spun, longsword scything around to drive Vic back again, only to unleash a second Demonic Edge that seared the air inches above Vic’s head as it flew past.

Vic’s instincts bid him duck, right as Harald burst forward to knee him in the face.

The blow was solid. A direct hit. But somehow Vic still didn’t suffer much damage as he staggered back, eyes fluttering as he brought his rapier around.

Harald pressed in, stabbing and chopping with his sword, abandoning his form as he sought to land a solid blow with Abyssal Attunement. The propulsive power of Dark Vigor burned within him, and he found himself desperately yearning to crush Vic, to prove himself, to hammer the other man into the ground, to defeat him utterly.

Especially before his Thrones ran out of power, and all his Abilities fled.

Vic parried with impossible skill, still stunned by the blow to the head, his rapier seeming to move of its own accord, always deflecting and guiding Harald’s blade aside.

Harald couldn’t keep it up for much longer. His twin Thrones were almost completely expended. A second or two more was all he needed, however, just another moment to crack through Vic’s guard—

A sense of warmth and calm washed over him, easing the mania of his lust and bringing him back to himself. A centering of emotion, a core formed from affection and steadfast loyalty, the illumination brought by a hope, by good will, by an unwavering faith in his goodness.

Harald drew back, the blood lust not fading altogether, but dimming.

Vic caught his balance, blinked, and then sank immediately into his guard.

Harald could hold his Abilities no more: the Umbral Aegis and Abyssal Attunement faded away even as Dark Vigor snuffed out, causing the gray, smoky flames that had wreathed his form to disappear.

“The angels wept,” said Vic, reaching up to dab at his nose and then check his fingers for blood. “Harald, that was positively frightening. Were you trying to cut off my head with those energy attacks?”

“No.” Harald was breathing powerfully, but he turned to glance back at the patio, where Sam had risen to her feet and moved to stand at its edge. Her Beacon of Hope yet suffused him, and her gaze was intent. “That was my Demonic Edge Ability. I was missing on purpose to knock you off balance.”

“Oh good,” said Vic, rising from his stance. His expression turned outraged. “You kneed me in the face.”

“Not that it seemed to do much.”

“Well, of course not. My Body of Steel is probably as good as your shadow armor. Probably. But still. That felt personal.”

“How did you do it?” Harald propped his blade on his shoulder as both women descended to join them. “No matter how hard I pressed you, I couldn’t get through your guard.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Vic smiled, and in truth he looked completely unhurt. “I am as uniquely suited for winning duels as I am at unlocking boudoir doors. Inherent Alertness bestows upon me a near preternatural sense of awareness, and Web of Steel grants me endless ripostes and parries that weave, indeed, a web around me.” Vic sniffed one last time, touched his nose, then grinned. “And even if you should land a blow -”

“Which he did,” said Nessa dryly.

“Even if that impossibility should happen, why, Body of Steel will help me shrug it off.” Vic grinned. “But while I’d usually love nothing more than talk endlessly about myself, let’s talk about you. What was that fabulous get up you wove from darkness itself?”

Harald grinned. “Umbral Aegis. It’s a huge drain on my Thrones, though. I can’t keep it up for long.”

Nessa grinned. “Oh Harald. You make it too easy.”

“What?” Harald blinked. “Especially if I unleash Demonic Edge. I can only manage one or two of those strikes before I’m drained dry.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” grinned Vic. “But well done, Harry. Well done! Though I was clearly vastly superior when it came to actual fencing, you excelled at brute, ugly brawling. And toward the end there, your expression: terrifying. I barely recognized you. If I hadn’t known better…”

“Yes, well.” Harald scratched the back of his head and glanced sidelong at Sam. “I’m glad I came to my senses there.”

Nessa was studying him. “I’d love to test how strong your shadow armor is. I didn’t see it crack from Vic’s blow to your side.”

“It’s strong, but not impervious. I was fighting… what was I fighting. Hobgoblins, I think it was, and one landed a huge blow—no! It was a goblin boss. Was it a goblin boss?”

The other three just stared at him.

“Actually, wait, it was hobgoblin arrows. I took three or four to the chest, and the Aegis’s cuirass cracked. The arrows bounced off, but a little more and I think it would have shattered.”

Nessa’s expression was deadpan. “You took three hobgoblin arrows to the chest?”

“You’re doing it wrong,” added Vic. “You’re supposed to avoid them.”

“Unless you were testing your armor in the most stupid way possible?” asked Nessa.

“Um, no, it absolutely wasn’t deliberate…?” Harald grinned. It felt so good to have the Beacon of Hope washing over him. “That would be, ah, complete madness. Maybe they just surprised me. Anyway, my point being that the Aegis scales to my number of Thrones. It’s not impervious to all damage.”

“Still, I’d like to test it.”

Sam shook her head. “But that energy attack of yours. That looked… terrifying. The very air was warping around it.”

“Amazing, right?” Harald grinned. “I’ve got a range of about ten yards, give or take, but it can cut inches deep into a tree. I can unleash it while closing with the enemy, then while they’re reeling finish the job.”

“I nearly wet myself when you hurled that first one at me,” said Vic. “Having it flash by so close felt incredibly… this might sound strange, but… dirty? And not in the way that I like.”

“It’s called Demonic Edge,” said Harald heavily. “I know what you mean. The Demon Seed was really active during that level, and I think it’s fully corrupting the class now.”

Sam reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“Regardless, it looks like an incredibly potent attack,” said Nessa. “We should compare it to my Crescent Arc, which, I’ll have you note, I only earned at 4th Level.”

“Sure. I think that all sounds good. We’ve got the whole day till we head out for dinner with Countess Sonora, don’t we?”

“Enough time for me to get horribly drunk,” muttered Vic. “To allow Harald to land two blows on me during a duel… I’m losing my edge.”

“You lost it a long time ago, old man,” grinned Nessa. “But if you humble up and start training? Maybe you’ll get it back.”

“Humble up?” Vic stared at Nessa, aghast. “Other than a little rust on my dueling skills, what on earth is there to be humble about?”

Harald grinned and carried their training blades back to the ag. Sam trailed after, her Beacon of Hope finally fading away.

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. He crouched, stowed the swords, then looked up at her.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Of course.”

They held each other’s gaze, and Harald felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to just rise and hug her.

But that wouldn’t feel right, not with her struggling so hard to find herself, to carve out her own independence.

So he just held her gaze, feeling warm, feeling… seen, and when she nodded and walked away, he inhaled deeply and just watched her go.

One of his uncertainties had been quelled.

Having Sam close by was going to make all the difference in the long run.