Curselock

Chapter 220: Ashford

Expecting Aunty P to rush out of the castle and into the battle, Leland was surprised when she veered off into a room rather than exiting through the main gate. He supposed it made sense, she was, after all, the regent queen, and couldn’t exactly waltz into battle. Still, he paused, causing Isobel to pause as well, and considered: follow Aunty P or rush into battle himself.

The choice was obvious, and instead of entering that room, he exited the castle, wings already appearing on his back. Isobel did the same, and together they were in the air, rushing out of the anti-space magic fields. They didn’t have to fly far before a large oblong portal opened in their path.

Entering, they found Spencer.

“What’s going on dad?” Leland asked.

His father was more than haggard. From eyes faintly glowing with blue power, to posture that looked like a fishing hook, the man’s seated position explained a tale of endless mana but human fatigue. He sipped from his parasitic tea cup, the twinkle in his eyes only growing.

“We killed the Sightless King, or maybe I should say Glenny did, sort of—”

Leland and Isobel both reacted to that, great grins stretching across their faces despite the dower air.

“—He’s hurt, but recovering. Ashford appeared and did something to the Sightless King’s corpse. I’ve evacuated everyone that I believe would be killed instantly if Ashford attacked.”

“If he attacked?” Isobel asked. “He hasn’t yet?”

Black feathers twitching, Leland didn’t like the sound of that. He asked, “Either of you ever heard of a ‘Claim?’ With a capital ‘C’”

Isobel didn’t respond. Spencer just shook his head.

“Because Aunty P reacted very fast when the attendant mentioned a ‘Claim.’”

Tsking, Isobel muttered, “I think this is above our paygrade.”

Leland turned on her. “So what? You just want to abandon—”

She held up her hands. “Learning about Claims is above our paygrade. Killing things, however, is not. Claims can come later.”

The animosity fell from Leland’s lungs. “Alright, good.”

“Not to be the bearer of bad news,” Spencer spoke up, “but Ashford is much stronger than he was in Ruinsforth. Closer to Lordship than not, I’d say.”

Smirking, his son said, “Good thing I’ve had experience fighting Lords.”

Ashford didn’t react to the portal opening a few dozen paces away. He already wasn’t reacting to the city’s defenders who had stayed behind to kill him, so why would he care about one more? Except, this time he did react. With his eyes closed, it was the young man’s voice that pulled him from the last few respectable breaths of his mortal life.

“So it was war then, huh?”

Ashford didn’t miss that another portal opened some distance away, taking refuge on the roof of a building overseeing the battleground. Still, he didn’t care, not when the master of this whole situation was before him.

He opened his eyes, finding Leland Silver. Despite the worry around him, despite the fearful chanting and cries in the distance, Leland Silver stood tall. Ashford didn’t miss how a few of the defenders flinched at his sudden appearance, one woman in particular let out a doom-filled gasp when he appeared.

Not that it mattered, but Ashford also noticed that Leland Silver had grown in power. A magnitude or two, maybe even three, but far, far from the level necessary to stop the plan. He already had the Claim, everything was already set.

Still, Ashford found himself responding, not because he felt an obligation to, but because curiosity got the better of him. It wasn’t every day that warring Harbingers spoke together under the guise of ceasefire.

“The master wants what the master wants.”

The statement was said with flagrant bland, the type he had always spoken to Witch Charlotte with. There was, he had found, a special way to treat people below one’s station. That being, bored contempt.

Lelend Silver shrugged. “A lot of people died because of your ‘master.’”

Ashford didn’t take the bait, nor did he bend to whatever conversation the boy wanted. “Don’t care.”

He almost smirked when the quick retort seemed to stump the young Harbinger. But he didn’t. It was a shame, Ashford thought. Someone so weak, so previously powerless had stood up to him and came back to face him a second time. If it was any other situation, maybe the two could have worked out their differences. Become friends, even. It wasn’t every day that Harbingers—

No, no, no. Ashford cut off that line of thought. Leland Silver would never have agreed to an amicable relationship, Harbinger or no. They were too far apart in their world views.

Leland bit his lip, then said, “So you have a Claim. Don’t you think it is time to leave, then?”

And as if the table had flipped, it was Ashford’s turn to be stumped. He quickly regained composure. “Why am I not surprised you know of the Claims, Curse Harbinger?”

Stifling at the casualty of the title, Leland glanced behind himself. All around were Ivory Reach’s most potent defenders. His mom, Jude’s parents, Glenny’s dad, countless Inquisitors, a few Royal Inquisitors, and many, many more. He sighed.

“Guess the secret is out of the bag, huh?”

Ashford cracked an eyebrow at that. “Don’t tell me— You had hidden your allegiance all this time? Even after flagrantly displaying your halo?”

Leland was slow on the response. “What can I say? Most have no idea what the halo signifies.”

The Undying Harbinger scoffed, “Three hundred years ago, you would have been hunted to the ends of the world for even hinting you were a Harbinger.”

Not missing the crowd of defenders suddenly becoming very alert, even more than they already were, Leland summoned his grimoire and pressed his hand into a page. Four frilly wings made of cloud-like feathers appeared in a gale of magic. Ashford didn’t react, now interested just as much as the crowd. Though he did stiffen when a wash of… calm overcame the area.

“Yes, yes. I did try to hide my title, but now that it’s out in the open, I think you’ll find that I’m as ‘good’ as they get.”

Leland ended his little speech with a flutter of his wings, enough to kick away the awful stench the battleground had gained due to the growing number of dead.

Everyone was silently staring at him, until Ashford started clapping. “A hero’s welcome!”

A few sporadic claps sounded through the crowd, but they died off just as quickly as they came. Leland did, however, spot High Inquisitor Rushwin in the back whispering to an equally old woman wearing a cloak.

“I’m no hero,” Leland tightly said. “And I don’t expect or want a welcoming. I just want you to leave, Claim and all. There is no reason to fight. You’ve got what you wanted, and you’re not going after Sybil any longer. So—”

Ashford sighed. “For as informed as you are, you are so dull.”

“Ah, petty insults now, eh? I can play that game. You look—”

“Quiet,” the man muttered.

Leland’s face twisted into a frown. “Enlighten me then. You have the Claim. You don’t need Sybil. What else do you want? Whatever you are going to do with it, does it have to be done here? Can’t you just fly south until you find some quiet place to work?”

Taking a moment, Ashford gave his young adversary a long, long look. “There is little freedom allowed to me by my master’s will. There are even fewer pleasures I routinely allow myself. Eating is nice. Sleeping is better. Drinking is always a charm. Keeping friends? I haven’t done that in many, many years.”

A faint whisper sounded from the palms of his hands. A deep emerald glow began.

“See, I am, in essence, immortal. ‘Undying’ is every bit on the nose as it is pedantic. And in my long, long life, I have seen many, many people die. Some by my hand, most from what life simply brings. I had a family, once or twice. I lived a normal life before I realized it was a curse. I’ve forgotten more names and faces than you could ever know. I’ve had the worst pains in my heart, the kind that feel as though they never would heal, wane like a dulled nail.”

He paused a moment. “Ask your friend Glenny or his father Carmon Red, if you haven’t an idea what I am talking about.”

In the crowd, someone drew a sword.

Ashford continued, “And through all of this, I’ve had few people who I’d call a friend or loved one. My accomplice in this whole mess was not such a person. The Witch Charlotte was a crazy murderer and her death is a godsend to the people who one day might have had their strings of fate cut by her.”

The green glow grew brighter.

“But I’ve always made it a priority to never lose my humanity. As an immortal such as I, it is too easy to fall into the hole of apathy. Even when your life is not your own and held by an imprisoned all-seeing master. So I made it a point to always, and I do mean always, kill those who kill the people I work with.”

Leland’s feet went numb. A tingling sensation creased his neck. The glowing grew brighter, until a shadow appeared in its center. A thin blade began to peel from Ashford’s palm.

“Can’t lose my mortal emotions,” the Undying Harbinger calmly said, despite the wave of movement from the defenders. They were preparing. “Less I want to become like the very Lords I despise so much. And ‘revenge’ is an easy enough emotion to gather in short order.”

He looked at Leland. “I’ll make this quick for you. No hard feelings for killing Charlotte, okay?”

The question sparked something in Leland. “What!? No! No, that is not okay! What is wrong with you—”

A blade made of the transcended soul of a dead parasitic weapon fully materialized in Ashford’s hand. He gripped it lightly, the small gesture pulsing with unfiltered power. Corruption, death, whatever unholy malevolent force the Undying Legacy held, flooded the battlefield in a way that reminisced a Lord’s domain.

A weight of creation hung on Ashford’s shoulders, the kind that pushed beings beyond, chewed on them, then spit them out, tempered. His skin hardened, his organs turned to metal, his sight became cosmic, his breath expanded infinitely.

Just as the Lord of Curses couldn’t change Leland, the Undying Lord couldn’t change Ashford. But whereas the Lord of Curses guided and taught, the Undying Lord hammered and forced. Ashford was trapped by his master’s call, except in his very existence. What made him, him still laid bare. And that bared existence wanted to remain mortal. Wanted to feel, wanted to live.

It was a shame that the bridge from god to humanity was murder. At least for the murdered.

There was no time to react, the speed at which Ashford sliced with his sword appearing before Leland soundlessly. But as the boom from the sudden movement made the crowd’s ears cry, Leland felt no pain.

“Go! Get out of here!”

Carmon Red, sword in hand, stood in defiance of the Undying Harbinger, protecting Leland despite the untamed power cracking stone and breaking the air.

Emerald light folded down from Ashford’s sword onto Carmon’s before Leland reacted. The oppressive weight of the world danced along each of his four wings as he launched from the ground. As quickly as he could, two more sets of wings appeared. The first black and wide, the second scaled and leathery.

He didn’t dare look back, nor did he wonder why none of his father’s portals opened for him. He couldn’t, not with the aura of death following close behind.