Curselock

Chapter 204: Contacts

Carmon Red hadn’t been to the dark streets of Ivory Reach since Annie died. He’d sworn off the place, opting to completely ignore that side of the city. The Umbra was a cancer, a cancer his wife spent most of her life trying to cut at. And she had failed, and the cancer continued to spread.

And yet, what he needed could only be bought here.

“Carmon Red, the Echo Dancer, fancy meeting you here,” some low ranked thug said, leaning against a damp wall. He flipped a coin off his thumb, catching it mid air and repeating the gesture. “What’s a traitor like you doing here?”

“Here to buy,” Carmon said, his voice like ice.

The thug snickered. “Well of course. This is the Consortium, after all. But that’s not what I’m asking.” He stood up properly, kicking off the wall. “What are you doing here, in the capital?”

Carmon didn’t miss the swish of an unsheathed dagger. He glanced at the shadows around the thug, making it obvious but not too obvious. He was here for a reason and spooking the people who had a say in special sales by beating their guards too badly would be in ill form.

The shadow noticed his glance and slinked away, most likely off to tell their boss.

Just as planned.

“Here to buy,” Carmon said, taking a step toward the crypt like building. How many people had been killed trying to enter this particular establishment, he wondered. Enough to fill a graveyard at least twice over, he assumed.

The thug stepped between Carmon and the door that looked like any other door in an alley. “They say you had a hand in making that young princess disappear. They say you helped that Ashford traitor take her.”

The man stalked forward. “And you know what they say about traitors, don’t you?”

Carmon took the bait. “What do they say?”

“That all traitors work together!”

The thug lunged, flipping his coin at Carmon with the speed of a cannon ball. The coin split, duplicating into enough gold to make a banker jealous.

Carmon sighed mentally, his feet spreading slightly. With practiced ease, he stepped, the first step of the few defensive dances he knew. His body twitched, fading from reality for a split second and easily dodging all the projectiles.

He then punched the thug in the face, sending him hurtling through the door that looked like any other.

Carmon stepped through as well, brushing off his cloak. He was met with sixteen Umbra assassins, each waiting just out of vision in the shadows.

“I’ve come to buy!” he yelled to no one in particular. “Yas, do you still run this place!?”

A long silent moment passed as each assassin slowly unsheathed their weapons or gathered the necessary mana for their deadliest spells. Yet the kill order never came. Instead, a shy voice peered out of the darkness.

“Carmon? Why are you here?”

He sighed. “To buy! This is still the Consortium, right?”

“The Inquisitors buy from us now?” the voice, Yas, asked.

“We both know I’m no longer with the Inquisitors.” Carmon pointed at the unconscious thug he punched. “Even that one knew, and that one was an idiot.”

Yas, in all her glory, stepped into the light. She wore a silken dress that wouldn’t step foot in the same room as a common laborer and three thick black metal bands on her wrist. Each one pulsed enough mana to power the city for a month, yet she used them as a fashion accessory.

“Hmm, is that right?”

“I have a list and the gold in hand,” Carmon promptly said.

“What kind of list?”

“The kind that requires you and Trent to sign off on.”

Yas’ eyes widened. A predatory smile overpowered her meek frown. “Why didn’t you start with that? Please, right this way.”

She gestured past the shadows and assassins and into her office. A big sale was coming, she just felt it. If she was lucky, it would be time to buy a fourth mana band.

Roy walked into the guild open and free. He ignored the looks of worry from the less experienced and those already hit by the cult’s actions. A glance at the job board explained that an open-ended quest had been sanctioned for any cult member’s head. Six gold coins each. An expensive bounty, but one far more dangerous than worthwhile.

Still, people were going to try, and fail, to cash in, and Roy wasn’t going to stop them. That was part of the adventuring life, and it built character just as much as it took lives. Those who fail and survive came back smarter and more fearsome than before, thus empowering the city.

Taking on the cult wasn’t what he was here for, however. Roy ignored the front desk attendant as he walked past the line waiting to speak with the attendant.

“Sir? Sir!? You can’t go back there without—”

Someone hit the attendant on the back of the head. “Shut it! Don’t you know who that is? That’s the Bastion.”

Roy smiled to himself. He loved the recognition his job provided him. Ah, who was he kidding? He loved his job! He surely hoped he could get back to it soon, he was itching to protect a town or two from a cataclysmic monster attack.

Down the hallway and around the bend put Roy in front of a door labeled, “Guild Master.” He knocked once, then pushed it open before a response could be given.

“Surprise!” he shouted before realizing the room was empty.

He scratched his beard, stepping out of the room and heading down another hallway and around another bend. Entering the guild’s training facilities, Roy noticed his target right away. The only man in the room that demanded respect from just his presence alone.

The Guild Master and Legacy of the Warrior, his brother, Ray.

“Roy?” Ray asked, upon seeing his brother.

“Ray!” Roy yelled.

“Roy!” The Guild Master went through a wave of emotion. Surprise, confusion, happiness, anger. A lot of anger.

Ray saw red. He leaped across the training facility, scaring off all the little guilders lifting weights or practicing the sword, landing just before his brother. A sword appeared in his hands, extending in size until it fit perfectly in his hand. He thrust, aiming for Roy’s heart.

Roy just waved a hand, blocking the strike. “I’ve missed you brother!”

Ray cursed, swinging again. “They branded you a traitor!”

Roy easily blocked, noting that his brother’s heart just wasn’t in it. He’d defended worse when they were kids! “A grand old story to tell! But that will have to be later! There’s a cult around and we’ve got to get the guild moving! All hands on deck!”

“But they! You! The princess! A Harbinger!”

Roy nodded gravely. “Yes, yes. All true, but what you have heard most likely isn’t. The princess is safe, and the Harbinger is coming back for round two. So, chop chop! I’ve got stuff to do and you’ve got people to organize.”

Ray scoffed, giving one last swing of his sword. “What do you think I’ve been doing? Sitting on my thumbs and smiling?” He looked away. “You’ve always done this, even when we were kids. I don’t need you looking out for me. I can do my job just fine without big brother watching over my shoulder. You saw the front room, right? When was the last time you’ve seen it that crowded here?”

Roy grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “A long time, and I know you can do your job. But I worry, you know? Mom said to look out for you, and I took that to heart.”

The Guild Master’s face fell. “You can’t just bring up mom. She’s an instant win whenever we argue. For either of us.”

“Ah… but I have to use her, otherwise I’d never win an argument with you. You were always the smart one.”

He stiffened a tear. “Where have you been, brother?”

“With Jude, Diana, and the others. A true tale to tell, but right now we all need to clear our names and protect the city! When that’s done, Jude’s been working on a song. He’d love it if you were around to give it a listen.”

“Of course I’d listen to his song…”

Diana awkwardly shook the hand of a very elderly woman. “It’s good to see you again, Master Rain.”

The woman, bedridden and moving like a sloth, waved her hand. "Ah now, it's not the truth you're telling me, is it? And haven't I warned you about such lies?"

“That ‘only fools and ijits lie,’ yes.”

“Exactly,” she spat, giving Diana a long look. “Heh, you remind me of a younger version of me.”

“And what did we just say about lying?” The old woman laughed and Diana allowed herself a smile. “Master, I’m sorry to cut the pleasantries short, but time is of the essence.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, it’s not like I have much time left in the world, now do I?”

“I need Skysplitter. I’ve come to—”

The bedridden woman abruptly sat up, the speed of the movement causing her sagging skin to be pulled like a scarf waving in the air. “You what now?”

Diana looked off to the side, her master’s glare too strong even for her. “Something big is happening. A rematch between me and a Harbinger. I lost last time, master, badly.”

Rain didn’t look convinced.

“I… I enraged and almost let Jude die. If it wasn’t for the others…”

“Skysplitter is nothing but a crutch.”

“I know. And I know what I’m asking. After this battle, I’m going to retire from the frontlines. My focus will be entirely on Jude and his future success.” Diana somberly smiled to herself. “Can you believe that I know of a way for Berserker Legacies to actually grow in power, rather than plateau like we both did?”

With her lips pursed, Rain said, “Speak for yourself. I grow in power every day.”

Diana looked away. It had been some time since her parents died. She was young back then so the idea of death had yet to really sink in. One day they were there, the next she was being thrust into Master Rain’s arms as an orphan. So in a way, Rain was her mother and father. And seeing her sitting here like this, well, it reminded her of those confused days after her real parents died and before she met the holder of Skysplitter.

Rain sighed. “I’ve held onto that cursed weapon for most of my life. There were times when I thought I needed its power, and yet, I never picked it up. The burden is just too great.”

Diana listened carefully. She knew the story from years past. Rain’s lover held the weapon, she fell to its power, and Rain had to kill her before the parasite could fully assimilate. While tragic, it was a tale known to many others in many different lands. Parasitic items were a slow death, no matter how one sliced it.

That was why she pressed for Jude and Roy to never take one.

“It’s not like that thing will be of much use. It can’t bond anymore, it can only harm.”

Again, Diana knew and understood. Skysplitter was… different compared to most parasitic items that won over their host. The sudden dispatch of the host after losing put the weapon in a perpetual state of incompleteness. The term was “hatched,” and the Skysplitter never recovered.

Yet some of its power still remained. And now with some insights about parasitic weapons from Leland, Diana understood what all of that meant. The soul used to create the weapon was scared, damaged, or killed. But the magic forcing the soul to become a tool still remained. An egoless ego weapon… it only took two people dying to create.

“I know,” Diana said, her shoulders slumped like a teenager finally accepting that the adult knew better. “But I—”

“No,” Rain said plainly.

“Err—”

“If you pick up that accursed axe, it will take you for everything you have. No. No pupil of mine will be forged into a puppet like that. I would rather see the blasted thing fall into the fiery lava of Mount Vistin than know I ended your life.”

Diana recoiled. “It won’t—”

“No. And yes, yes it will kill you.” Rain took her hands, the gesture riddled with creaking arthritis. “Since when have you ever backed down from a fight and looked for a cheap way to power? That’s not the ‘Diana’ I remember.”

Her posture fully collapsed, and she fell into the seat situated at her master’s bedside. “I’m afraid. Jude almost died because I wasn’t able to kill an enemy. And I— I don’t know what else to do.”

Rain gave a soft smile. “It’s easy. Win.”

Diana blinked. “Oh right. Of course, how could I be so foolish?”

The old woman chuckled. “See? Simple, really.” A second passed before she spoke again, “Trust yourself, trust your allies. Trust that buffoon of a husband.”

“He’s not a buffoon…”

“Oh girly, if you can’t see that he is, then maybe you do need Skysplitter…”

Isobel stood outside of a stout little mansion surrounded by manicured grass and bushes. It sat near the Inquisitor headquarters in the heart of Ivory Reach, one of the few pieces of private property around, actually. Not that it ever felt that way. The owner was an Inquisitor himself, after all, and he often allowed the new trainees to use his homestead as a training facility.

There was nowhere better to run in the city. Grass was a luxury here.

It was here, actually, that Isobel met her mentor, Rushwin. High Inquisitor Rushwin.

And while she hoped he would be out and she could sneak by without cause for alarm, Isobel was no fool. Rushwin was most definitely here, or at least nearby. It was his home, his mansion, his grass and bushes, after all. And for some reason, the man preferred it here, rather than in his office in the castle or his other office in the Inquisitors’ headquarters.

The city was on high alert, though. Maybe she’d luck out and—

“Hello Isobel.”

She cursed, turning to meet face to face with her mentor.

“Hello Rushwin.”

“You are a wanted woman,” he said, his voice smooth like aged wine but with enough bite to make even the most adventurous drinkers pucker.

“I am. And here I am. Take me into custody.” She held out her arms, keeping her wrists close like she was ready to be shackled.

Rushwin wasn’t a tall man. He was old, graying, wrinkled. He walked with a bit of a limp, the joints in his knees slowly going despite all the healing he’d received. Even his regal dress had seen better days, all stretched and frayed at the ends.

But Rushwin, at that moment, was a tidal wave a hundred feet tall. He was as spry as a triumphant gladiator that had just taken their opponent’s head. His wrinkles had highlighted and re-highlighted each showing off countless battles won and a full lifetime of taking what was his: Power. There was no enemy that could defeat him other than the call of eternity, the call of death.

“And why wouldn’t I just kill you now? A traitor like you? I could finish the paperwork within an hour.”

Isobel didn’t try to fight the crushing weight of the man’s words. Instead she pivoted to plan B. “Because I know a certain princess-soon-to-be-queen that would be rather upset with you. I did save her life multiple times and helped a young man get her home.”

Rushwin didn’t let his thoughts show. “And would this young man be Leland Silver?”

“The very same, yes.”

“A traitor consorting with a known Harbinger. That paperwork would only take thirty minutes at this point.”

Isobel rolled her eyes. Or rather, she forced her eyes to roll as Rushwin’s power had all but frozen her where she stood. “Nah. The kid’s a good one. As I understand it, his Lord didn’t tell him about her title of ‘Vile.’ But then again, the Boneforged Monarch likewise didn’t inform Sybil when she accepted her patronage.”

“You dare say our Queen is a Harbinger!? Paperwork would only take fifteen minutes now.”

“Honestly Rushwin? I think you are trying too hard. I’ve seen you when you were truly angry with someone. This is not that—"

She fell to her knees, the High Inquisitor’s power literally creating dewdrops along her body despite not invoking any spell work. A side effect of overloaded mana to such a degree might make some think a Lord was tiptoeing around in the mortal world.

“T-this is c-closer!” Isobel choked out, her lungs feeling like they were suffocating underwater.

“Tell me, Isobel,” Rushwin said softly, stepping closer. “Why should I not kill you right here, right now?”

Isobel growled out her answer like a feral cat, “Because we want the same thing! Because the Inquisitors are my home! Because I am no traitor!” She felt her answer wasn’t good enough, so she added something that she had pushed away for a long, long time. “I swear! I swear on Abby’s soul that I am exactly as I have always been! And I swear that Leland is as good as a person can be! Let us help you!”

Rushwin ceased his power the moment Isobel mentioned her daughter. Either the woman before him was a skin stealer that could also take memories, or Isobel had finally accepted herself. He knew which he would bet on.

He extended a hand, helping her up. “You have some explaining to do.”

Spencer quietly sat at a rundown bar. He ordered a drink and a bowl of peanuts. Slowly he ate away at the nuts, sipping his drink in measured intervals. He always hated this part, mainly because of how long it took. But that was the price of business. One drink and a bowl of nuts to be eaten over the course of thirty five minutes exactly.

As secret passwords went, Spencer knew of better.

Eventually, right as he was finishing his last sip, the bartender nodded toward the back of the tavern. A door, which hadn’t been there previously, was now unlocked. Runic camouflage was easy to spot when one knew where to look, yet this particular door was heavily guarded. It was a master artificer who built it, after all.

Spencer entered quietly, making sure the door latched behind him. He proceeded down the hallway and cringed when space tightened. He pushed through the unease, coming to another door. At this one he simply waited for it to open. When it did, space fully closed. There would be no magic for him past this door, at least, not any worthwhile magic.

Choppy music was playing when Spencer stepped in, a device in the corner spinning with metal tubes running off of it. Idly he inspected the contraption, finding the make and tone to be rustic. Definitely not Sam’s best work. Maybe a prototype.

A puff of steam expelled from the music box and Spencer turned away, finding something else to entertain himself with. A ball with spikes, a flat piece of metal that was oddly soft. There was even a painted picture framed on the wall that moved. How Sam did that one, he didn’t know. Only that it would be a great present for Lucia… one day.

As the minutes ticked by, an oblong piece of wood with runes carved into it began to glow red hot. Spencer shielded his face from the searing heat, annoyed. The glow became brighter, consuming the room completely. Then, like day turning to night, the light ended. A man stood on the piece of wood.

“Spencer!” Sam screeched, his arms already outstretched for a hug.

Spencer rubbed one eye while peering through the other. He accepted the hug, noting that Sam had grown old since their last meeting. He said as much, “You’ve grown old!”

Sam pushed him away. “Bah! Those stupid anti-aging pills ran dry. I told them not to destroy the last Eternal Sapling, but noooo! Short term monetary gain is much more important than literal immortality!”

Not batting an eye, Spencer plowed right on with the conversation, adding his own exaggerated craziness to the mix. While outright lying to Sam wasn’t advisable, stretching the truth was more than enough to set the old artificer in good spirits.

“Which Lord was it that created those things?” Spencer asked. “I think I know a guy who could ask for more, for you.”

“Do you now? Tell me more!?”

“Not until I cash in some of those favors you owe me.”

“Favors?” Sam gargled. “What favors?”

“Remember when I got you out of prison within the hour when you destroyed half of Noble Street?”

The old man's face went dark. “You promised never to bring that up again.”

Spencer laughed, breaking the tension. “And you promised you would never use Sunfire Wood again! And” he pointed at the wooden slab, “here we are.”

Sam glanced down and grumbled, “What’s your favor?”

Spencer smiled. “I want your help kidnapping the regent queen and the soon-to-be-crowned queen.”