Curselock

Chapter 103: Dropped Trail

“What do you mean only twenty six gold for the mushrooms and moss?” Leland spit, practically seething every word.

Ms. Lavender, who was the source of his ire, kept her face stricken with a slight smile. Being a low-ranking official for the town of Frostford, she was given the task of buying the herbs from the canceled herb hunting contest. The task was dauntless as most of the teams were angry about the cancelation of the event.

Case in point, Leland.

Being by no means an expert on plants, mushrooms, and the many kinds of moss, Leland knew he lacked the knowledge to properly price-out two sacks of rare magical herbs. But he wasn’t foolish enough to believe twenty six gold was anywhere near a fair price.

“You are low-balling us just because you can!” he accused. “We have no one else to sell to, so you think you can just walk all over us!?”

Jude and Glenny, behind him, nodded along. They had risked life and limb in the pursuit of gathering herbs for the town. The event was canceled due to terroristic magic, fine, sure, whatever. But the least they felt Frostford could do was give them a fair price.

“Yeah!” Jude echoed. “This is highway robbery!”

Ms. Lavender’s smile flickered for a moment.

“We could always just take the sacks outside the town walls and burn them,” Glenny suggested. “What color do you think the flames will be, Leland? I’m guessing blue, like their glow.”

Leland glanced at a few mushroom caps that peeked out of the loosely tied sack. “I would have to agree with you on that. Glowing mushrooms are known for their magical properties, after all. But we’d probably be accosted by the guard if we did something like that… again.”

“Again?” Ms. Lavender asked. “What do you mean again?”

“Nothing special, just guard sergeants trying to run us out of town.”

“That shouldn’t be the case. Mayor Frostlung never ordered—”

Glenny coughed. “We are getting away from the problem at hand. We wish to leave this town. The festival has ended early along with the sole event we came for. We have plenty of mushrooms and moss and we want the parasitic staff in trade for them. Not gold.”

Pursuing her lips, Ms. Lavender eyed the two sacks before shaking her head. “While I admit that your supply of mushrooms is in need, there simply isn’t enough to buy the staff outright.”

“But it was the first place prize. Do you really believe that we would not have taken first place?” Leland asked.

“Undoubtedly. But unfortunately that hardly matters. To give you the staff now, would be far from worth it on our end. The contest was supposed to bring in fifty sacks of various herbs. Not two with only mushrooms and moss. We have margins to meet.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s business. And bureaucracy.”

Leland and Glenny scoffed at her words, but Jude muttered, “Floe and Gelo would have given us the staff.”

All eyes went to him. “Floe? Gelo?” Ms. Lavender asked.

“No one important,” Leland quickly filled in before seeing Jude’s hurt face. “No one important to you, I mean.”

The town official let out an annoyed sigh. “Look, I apologize for what happened to the event. But such is life. You have no need for these sacks, but Frostford does. We can buy them off of you, or not your choice.”

Leland looked at Glenny, who gave him a shrug. “Fifty gold for both.”

Ms. Lavender scratched some math out onto a piece of paper. “That is doable. Do we have a deal?”

Leland stretched out his hand, and the two shook. Ms Lavender walked into the back of the town hall before returning with a small coin purse. The boys took it without much fanfare, asking where the local bank was.

After a long and slow line at the bank, each boy had sixteen more gold to their name plus a little spending change. Immediately after, they ate lunch at their inn before changing into their gear. Donned in their new armor sets, bags stuffed to the brim with treasures and magical items, and a new goal in mind, they exited the town. They went the long way, giving the island just off the coast one last look.

“Goodbye Gelo,” Jude said to the open air. “Until we meet again.”

Leland and Glenny didn’t say any words, but the sentiment reached them both.

Within the hour, they were on the road heading toward the nearest mountain talking about how they were glad they came to the town for the festival despite the competition not working out.

Isobel was currently smiling.

It was an action she rarely did and with much disdain. But when the situation called for it, how could she, the Huntress, not use every tool in her arsenal. Still, her face was beginning to hurt and her mind was beginning to wonder. Hours she had put up with mindless conversation, gossip, and fake jokes behind fake masks. Small talk was not her purview.

She was speaking with two, a young man and a woman much too old for him. They drawled on and on about some type of plum wine, and how they were the only vintners in the area. Well, if you discounted the Parshiant family. They were not true vintners, not like the couple Isobel was currently speaking with.

“Does the type of barrel change the final taste?” she asked, mentally tuning out the answer. She really didn’t care about the subtle taste differences between oak and maple.

What she did care about, however, was a man eating his dinner at the bar not ten paces away. The inn was small and warm, a friendly place for many happy patrons. No one had any idea they were in proximity to a soon-to-be murderer. Well, Isobel guessed they already were in proximity to a murderer. She’d taken her fair share of lives… and there was always the possibility the man at the bar had already killed, just not enough to become a Witch.

But she was watching, she was waiting. If he killed someone before her very eyes, he’d become a Witch on the spot. That special Lord-y action was somewhat of a hidden nuance to her rank and position as Inquisitor. It wasn’t so much that she did the Lords’ jobs for them, but rather her eyes were always focused while the Lords’ weren’t so much.

But that wouldn’t happen. Not while she was watching. The man in question was so unbelievably bland, Isobel almost lost him when they entered the city. With no discernible markings, over-the-top hair style, or self-important clothing style, the man just looked like a nobody. Honestly, if she didn’t hear a Witch give the man directions to kill three kids, she’d not believe he was angling to do anything bad.

Which was, quite frankly, odd.

The man sipped on some soup, speaking to no one nor being spoken to. No one, besides Isobel of course, even looked at him. It was almost like he was—

The Huntress’ heart skipped a beat.

As her table companions continued on about proper climates for aging wine, Isobel focused on a Legacy ability. It was a subtle ability, one that properly defined her as a Legacy of the Hunt. There was no showing of massive amounts of mana, no wash of wind followed by a blast of sharpened air, not even a glint in her eyes. There was only her and her prey.

The world, to the Huntress, brightened. Her senses doubled, her mind enhanced. She saw everything and nothing, she fully became the predator.

She saw the man, sitting quietly at the bar eating soup. She saw him raise his glass, take a sip, she saw him bend and warp. She saw the mana controlling him, she saw the ethereal and invisible tether connected to him.

She cursed, a puppet.

Under her breath, so quietly those at her table couldn’t hear, she uttered, “Legacy of Marionette.”

But where? When? Isobel was sure she was following the Witch’s uncle when they exited the poacher encampment. She knew, without a doubt, that the man she was stalking was human when they entered the town’s wall. When did he make the switch, she asked herself, she berated herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was too busy internally complaining about small talk to even notice the doll sitting at the bar.

How much time had she lost? Every minute counted against a vile Lord.

Her Legacy ability ended, and the world returned to monotone.

Instantly she was on her feet. Those at her table yelped in surprise, but the Huntress didn’t care. She rushed past them out the inn’s door and into the street. Behind her napkins and tablecloths kicked up and spun around the room. Tables shook, glasses cracked, meals were ruined.

Then her Legacy ability was back on.

When? she screamed internally. When did I lose him?

A platter of memories came back. She followed a safe distance down the mountain. She stayed back when he talked to a waggoner and his daughter. She waited in line to enter the town a few people behind him, where he had bumped carelessly into a young man about the same height and weight as him.

Isobel cursed again. There, right there, was when he made the shift. He attacked his marker, he set his talons into the young man. But that also meant…

She cursed again and returned to the inn. Her entrance was met with angry patrons and an even angry innkeeper. She ignored them, hustling to the bar where an inconspicuous man sat sipping his drink and soup.

The man didn’t react when the Huntress gripped the back of his shirt. He didn’t react when her hand glowed golden yellow. He didn’t react when she shoved her fist into his stomach. She felt around in there, yanking out a ball of misty green magic.

She cursed a third time when the man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over. His face then changed, morphing and contorting back to the young man she remembered from earlier that day, not the prey she had been following.

But why? she then asked herself, thinking back, her mind still spinning with enhanced thought.

Where did the nephew go? Why did he feel the need to make a puppet? Did she tip him off somehow? Again her mind found her time standing in line to enter the town. But instead of focusing on her mark, something in the background caught her eye just before he bumped into the innocent young man.

She cursed again, this time loud enough to wake the neighborhood. She replayed the memory again and again, finding three young men, boys really, exiting the town as she and the nephew were waiting in line. They were wearing new and shiny armor and gear, their bags were fully packed, and they were heading off toward the island.

But then they doubled back, heading toward the mountains. Three boys, one mage, one rogue, one warrior, talking about the herbalism competition. She had ignored them, at the time, because the mage had a flair attached to his belt. She didn’t think they were her boys.

Leland you idiot, she screamed in her mind.

Isobel launched out of the inn, her speed fully unleashed. Two days. Two days she’d been following around a puppet and talking about wine and daisies.

She could make up the time, she knew.