Curselock

Chapter 206: An Invitation

An hour later, a portal opened upstairs in the communal room. Stepping out and stretching his back, Roy stepped through, wobbling slightly. He took a deep breath in, like he was trying to pick up a scent like a bloodhound, then burped. He quickly went downstairs, joining his wife and Lucia at the adults’ table.

“No Ray?” Lucia asked.

Roy shook his head. “Little brother is doing his own thing at the guild. He’s right where he needs to be, in all honesty, organizing and creating moral support. He gives us his best, though.”

“Ah, that’s sweet of him. He needs to come around more, especially now that Jude can drink.” Diana said before her eyes turned warm. “Remember that one time out in Flyn?”

“How could I?” Roy retorted. “I drank so much everything about that mission is just a blur.”

She laughed. “Ray drew on your face with a quill! Good times, good times.”

Roy muttered something before shifting the conversation. “No Skysplitter?”

“No,” Diana said, shaking her head. “Master wouldn’t let me have it, even after explaining the situation.”

“Probably for the best.”

“And Isobel,” Diana reminded.

Lucia made a face. “Her plan was already the most out there. I’m not going to hold my breath for it.”

The three old friends ordered a round of drinks, watching the boys play a card game. As expected, Glenny was cheating, but since both Jude and Leland didn’t notice, they let the game continue on.

“Like father like son,” Roy said, eying the card sticking in Glenny’s sleeve.

“It was Annie that cheated, not Carmon,” Lucia said quietly, her voice touching upon a sting of sorrow long remembered.

“Carmon cheated too, he just wasn’t very good at it—”

“Hey!” Jude called loudly from their table in the corner. “Is that a card in your sleeve!? Glenny!?”

Diana snorted. “Like father, like son, literally.”

Soon the boys devolved into a fit of arguments and name calling. The card game had soured, and since none of them had drank enough to instantly forget, the insults continued until the parents stepped in.

“All right, all right,” Roy firmly said. “Glenny cheated, we all saw it. No need to throw a fit about it.”

“But he—”

“It’s part of who he is. The rogue always cheats. Figure this out now before you lose friends over it.”

Jude and Leland grumbled something as Glenny looked smug. “See guys,” he said, “I can’t help myself. It’s part of who I am.”

That roused Leland and Jude to another round of insults. They continued until the parents gave up, eventually turning insulting each other into a game in and of itself. Who could think of the most exaggerated over the top comment won, which just so happened to be from Jude to Leland: “Your breath stinks so bad that after kissing you for the first time, your girlfriend went and put herself in a coma!”

Glenny had burst out laughing, the parents all went wide eyed, and Leland went quiet. A beat passed, then he laughed as well.

“At least I have a girlfriend,” he quickly replied, receiving an “ooo” from Glenny.

The moment was stopped cold when Lucia asked, “Are you sure that she’s your girlfriend? You don’t want to make assumptions and rush things.”

Leland’s face turned red and he turned away.

Luckily for him, a portal opened upstairs and Carmon walked through holding a box. Not even five seconds later, another portal opened and Spencer and an elderly man stepped through. A brief exchange of words happened between all three of them, then they made their way downstairs.

“Ah, good. Everyone is already together,” Spencer said, gesturing to the old man. “Everyone, this is Sam. Sam, everyone.”

The man fiddled with his fingers, picking at the skin around his nails. His eyes flicked from one person to another, hesitating for a moment on Leland.

“He looks like you,” Sam muttered.

“Hmm? Oh yeah. That’s Leland, my son.”

Sam’s head jerked down and everyone else’s face twisted.

Spencer explained. “Sam has… crippling social anxiety—”

“Not true!” the man quickly interjected. “I just don’t like being outside my workshop. I can talk to others just fine.”

“Ah,” Spencer cleared his throat. “Sam is a homebody.”

“Yes that sounds accurate.” He looked at the group. “Apologies.”

Lucia raised her chin, looking at Sam from a different angle. “No need to apologize… are you the artificer?”

“Indeed I am. Legacy of the Workshop, at your service.”

Leland made a mental note, he hadn’t heard of that Lord before.

“Well good. When Spencer said he was going to contact an old informant, I figured you’d be a bit more… more…”

“Criminal?” Sam supplied. Lucia nodded. “You blow up one street one time and people start making assumptions.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide. So did everyone else’s.

Sam scratched his head. “Ah, that was a joke.” He paused. “Well it’s not, actually. But I meant it to be humorous.”

To the side, Jude whispered too loudly, “I think there’s some social awkwardness in this guy as well as being a homebody.”

Spencer turned to the side so that his mouth was only facing Sam. “I thought you didn’t want to speak of destroying the street?”

Sam forced his head to creek over. “It just came out.”

“Uh huh. Well, don’t worry about it. You are in good company.” Spencer then patted Carmon on the back. “What’s in the box?”

Carmon, who still held the box, slowly put it down. “Fresh from the Consortium.” He flicked it open, revealing two rows of vials.

Each identical to the last, the vials shimmered with red crimson, each protected by a steel housing and ivory cork. A misting of mana washed from the potions, imbuing the air with the feeling of cozy warmth.

Sam’s eyes went widest. “Are those—?”

“Eight of Grand Alchemist Tyson’s superb healing potions,” Carmon said.

“How!? That man’s work has reservations ten years out!”

“These were stolen.”

“Oh.” Sam’s expression crinkled.

Lucia spoke up, “Is that all you got?”

Spencer said quietly, “No, but I don’t want to set the other things out in the open. I’ve got them in my ring.”

“Everything?” Diana asked.

“All but Tears of a Wandering Life.”

“Ah. Well, that one was always a stretch. Good job.”

“Tears of a Wandering life?” Sam asked, his voice teetering on disbelief and alarm. “There is only one use for—”

“That’s right,” Carmon interrupted. “Can you be quiet for a minute? We are trying to finalize our plans.”

Spencer started talking before the old artificer could retort, “Did you get enough for two people?”

“Yes, but the crucible I bought doesn’t have the capacity to make two doses at once. Apparently they don’t really make crucibles that specialized.”

“Impersonation potions aren’t something people make very often,” Lucia added. “But without the tears, are we still going that route? The illusion is going to be seen through.”

“I also got everything for the backup plan. Metal of the Money King, Alloy Snakeskin, Sin Ore.”

Sam gasped.

No one else did. The boys gave him strange looks and whispered among themselves.

“And we’ve got the artificer to forge them,” Spencer said calmly. “Let’s get working on both anyways. We’ll decide when Isobel gets back. Anyone heard from her?”

As if fate heard him, the door of the inn opened.

The bartender called out to the newcomers, “Welcome! I need to see identification before letting you in. There’s some cult business in the city or somethin—”

The man’s words died in his throat like his lungs were half full of water. He crumbled to his knees just as a portal opened below him. It swallowed him, snapping closed behind him.

Sixty more portals then opened, littering the inn’s common room with dark circles and the hum of tensioned magic. Beside Spencer, Lucia crackled with lightning, Roy’s skin turned to iron, Diana’s blood began to pump, and Carmon slipped into the shadows, moving to flank.

“Now what do we have here?” a voice called, each word dripping with palpable water. “Is that any way to salute a commanding officer?”

With measured grace, High Inquisitor Rushin, the Tide Maker, strolled in. Physically the man was unremarkable, yet his presence carried the weight of a thousand shipwrecks and millions of deaths at sea. A wraith given human form, a tsunami with a name, an old man harboring enough power to deter an armada.

One step behind him was a woman who turned dark baggy eyes into a fashion statement. She wore ratty old clothes, a borrowed cloak that was neither comfortable nor a proper fit. Her steps were oddly confident, despite following closely being such a powerful presence. The Huntress was what she was called, though she had recently abandoned the name for her the one those close to her knew her by: Isobel.

Rushwin scanned the inn. Various portals beside those ready for attack had opened and moved the innocent bystanders away, so his gaze only fell upon his Inquisitors, their children, and an old man. He wasn’t expecting the old man, but judging from his tattoo of a house, he figured the man was no threat. Legacy of the Workshop if he wasn’t mistaken.

Idly he looked at everyone else’s tattoos, even if they were covered or if their hands were held out of sight. Legacy of the Berserker, Bastion, another Berserker, Blade Dancer, Chameleon, Magic, Magic, and… he didn’t know that one. Legacy of the Crow, perhaps? Not that a Lord’s emblem always identified exactly with what they were known for.

Ah, a connection solidified in his mind. “You must be Leland Silver, the Harbinger.” Rushwin ignored the gawking old man a few steps from the boy and continued his little speech. “Isobel here is ready to stake her life on your alignment. Tell me, why should I not kill you where you stand?”

Leland glanced at his friends and family around him. Each was tense and brimming, ready to strike. Yet he didn’t feel it. He stood, making the movement slower and more controlled than he probably needed. As he did, a few avenues of thought sprouted in his mind. Carefully he went over each, until he realized what he was doing and stopped.

He was tired of this game. The oh I’m so powerful, bow to me game. Isobel had done it when they first met, the Toy Maker had as well, up until he died. Ashford too. Many of the Lords he had spoken to, though they deserved respect.

Honestly Leland was sick of it.

He could stand up to an ignorant Lord, why couldn’t he stand up to an old man? The Lord of Souls had hurt him more in just a rough touch than this man could ever, even with the crushing pressure the man exerted.

He glanced at his friends and family once again. They were tense, far tenser than they should be, Leland thought. The man’s presence wasn’t that bad. Strong, sure, but he’d fought and killed stronger.

Mind made up, pages shuffled to life as Leland summoned his grimoire. Briefly he thought he could hear Lodestar laughing, but when his thoughts flicked to the sound it disappeared. He ignored that, focusing on his contracts.

With a press of his palm, the inn shifted a few shades darker. Violet fused and formed, rushing to Leland’s head like a flock of sheep at a shepherd’s call. The contract he chose was one he hardly utilized, yet it was one that had proven its staying power multiple times over.

Anger, resentment, defiance.

Fear.

No, not fear but rather, instilling fear.

He called upon the contract with the Lord of Spirits, ushering in emotions branded with Lordly might. He wasn’t afraid of this man, yet he pushed and poured everything into making him afraid. Dread, the feeling of drowning, the knowing that whatever you do, you will fail, all of it. Soon Leland projected the same aura of pressure that the man did, yet solely focused on a single person.

“I’m getting really tired of people asking me that. Especially people I don’t know,” Leland finally replied. “I think it’s time I start asking instead.” He paused for but a moment, yet it stretched for what felt like an eternity. “So, tell me, why should I not kill you where you stand?”