Curselock

Chapter 228: Magic

The Lord of Magic’s domain stretched as far as the eye could see. Black boards, each caked with chalk and sprawled with runes, glyphs, and enchantments. Magical circles gave way to summoned beasts, each bound by elemental might as if the Planes themselves were right here in this very room. Beakers and vials filled the shelves and tables, each bubbling away or ticking out of sync with seconds or minutes.

Leland took a few steps, only for his eye to be caught by something shiny. He studied the device, hesitant to pick it up and properly give it a look over. From just a cursory look, the item warped the air around it, creating what appeared to be purified water.

Strange.

He continued, finding a diagram for a being with nine arms and three hands. Written in magical chalk, the picture moved and acted, roaring like the beast would in real life. The chalk-monster thrashed and trampled, shaking even the blackboard it was drawn on.

Even stranger.

A thing laid restfully in a cage made of silvery mana. It held the appearance of a small cloud-like blob. But, when Leland stared at it while not looking at it, it morphed into a hideous tentacle amalgamation of flesh and blood. Occasionally, a beaker attached to a hose would drip a drop of green liquid on the monster. The cloud-blob wouldn’t react, but the tentacle monster slowly grew more and more sleepy.

“Curious little guy, isn’t it?” a voice called.

Leland turned, finding the Lord of Magic appearing out of thin air. The man was much the same from the last time the two met. Tall, relaxed, a cunning gaze, and a pointy chin. In many ways, the Lord of Magic was akin to a good friend to Leland, despite the pair only meeting once.

Years and years of study and lecture had amounted to Leland reading every basic, intermediate, and a few higher-level texts the man had created over the years. Which, interestingly, he wrote while still mortal.

Wearing robes that looked to be made of fleece, the Lord of Magic waved a hand, summoning a table and chairs. A segmented candle appeared next, then a table cloth and dinnerware. Then a cooked turkey appeared. And some potatoes.

Leland tried not to stare. He failed.

“Sit, eat with me,” the presiding Lord said.

Leland did, copying how the Lord of Magic unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap. But when knives began to float and carve up the roast bird, his attention flickered to the action.

“Table-side Flattery,” Leland said, identifying the name of the cantrip.

While cantrips were something anyone with talent in magic could learn, most were relinquished to party tricks or heightened to bread and butter formulations. In this case, Table-side Flattery might be used in an expensive restaurant, but past that, few would go out of the way to learn the magic. Why learn someone that would take hours upon hours to make non-dangerous when simply carving something yourself was easily as effective?

“Correct!” the Lord of Magic cheered as streamers and fireworks exploded just off his shoulder.

Leland blinked a few times.

“Ah, apologies,” he then said, the show abruptly cutting off. “You are not a kid any longer. I should respect your age.”

“It’s fine?” Leland said, more like a question than not. He quickly cut himself a bite of turkey, eating it.

It was dry.

“I’ve been watching some of your escapades, Mr Silver,” the Lord stated, taking a bite himself. He made a face at the piece of meat on his plate, flinching his head toward the meal. It suddenly burst, transforming into succulent slow-roasted beef.

Leland eyed his new meal, taking a bite. It was good, although the conversation at hand muted the flavor enough to be noticeable.

“And how have I done?” he asked.

The Lord of Magic considered this. “In many ways, you’ve exceeded expectations. In others, you’ve failed them. But, that is coming from the perspective of a Lord, specifically one of magic rather than curses. I would suspect that if your Lord was here, she’d be praising you like a trophy puppy.”

Having had many meetings like this one right now, Leland knew when he was being insulted and when he wasn’t. Lords saw things in a different hue, being immortal gods and all. And while Leland knew he wasn’t being insulted now, he did feel a bit irked.

And one thing he knew well, was how to irk right back.

“So mortals are just puppies to you Lords, huh? It’s not like I put a stop to a Vile Lord’s plot to uncage himself from an immortal prison. I’d say that makes me at least a dog, not a puppy.”

The Lord of Magic’s jaw slowed, the piece of meat he was chewing suddenly becoming rubber. He swallowed deeply. “That you did. That you did. But more like a mutt than a purebred, I’d say.”

Leland and the man eyed one another, Leland cracking a smile first. Again, everything was games with the divine. Show some backbone, show some humility, add a flare of jovialness, maybe a dash of long, slow pauses, and maybe, just maybe, they will treat you better than a dog.

“I supposed I deserve that,” the Lord of Magic said. “In our first meeting, if I remember correctly, I gave you the advice to be more proactive with your endeavors. It seems you took that to heart.”

Leland wasn’t sure he felt the conversation so far had been proactive. If anything, the true conversation hadn’t even started yet. He supposed getting on the man’s good side was important enough, though.

The Lord continued, “Although, you forget yourself mortal.” The words were spoken slowly and carefully, almost a whisper but loud enough to fill the whole room. “I deserve respect. You do not.”

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In many ways, Leland knew the man to be right. People had been treating him differently lately. Ever since the battle for the Palemarrow Castle and Harbinger Ashford’s subsequent defeat at Leland’s hands, people have looked to him like he was the embodiment of his newly given title.

City Protector.

They even gave him a customized award for his actions.

Of course there were still his naysayers, those who thought him being a Harbinger was a doomsday clock ready to be started. As Sybil tells it, there are few allies in the Royal Courts for his retained residency in the kingdom. Those in power, political power to be specific, beside the royals themselves, wish him to leave despite everything. Although they won’t say that to his face.

And it's not like they could even if they tried, him being in the castle most of the time with the Queen. But maybe that was part of the problem – being in the castle, surrounded by butlers, maids, and guards who were at the battles. All of which looked at him with pride and went out of their way to make sure he was comfortable.

So, in the end, Leland decided to be honest with the Lord of Magic.

“You’re right,” he said, dipping his head. “You do deserve respect. For that, I apologize. May I ask for advice? I feel you are in a somewhat unique situation that may shed proper light on my issue.”

The Lord studied him. “Go on.”

“How do you deal with ego? I can’t enter a tavern without an army veteran or guard recognizing me and buying me a drink. It’s been nearly two weeks since the battle, and well, people either kneel to me or they cower away from me. I fear it’s going to my head.”

Suddenly the Lord’s eyes glaze over. He stares off to the side, reminiscing about the very problem the boy in front of him speaks of.

“Power,” he says, “comes from the heart. Evil begets evil while good begets good. I know it is not what you are asking, but I feel it’s important to say. The weak always follow the strong. It is human nature, after all. And so long as you do not stray off the path that produced your power to begin with, I believe you’ll understand that you don’t matter.”

Lelend frowned at that, but the Lord continued, “Until you are like me, worshipped by thousands, tens of thousands even, this small amount of renown you’ve gained is hardly enough to sway the scales of a focused man. So just remember, there is always more you could be doing, could have done. How many more people could you have saved if you were faster? Stronger? Better?”

Staring at the table, Leland thought about that. His mind when back to the first time he and Ashford met. What if he was strong enough to end things then and there? How many more would be alive?

“I understand,” he muttered.

The Lord tapped his thumb against his chin, thinking. “I guess that’s a good enough preamble for our meeting today. Our contract.”

Leland straightened his back. “Yes. It ends soon, and you said we could renegotiate.”

“Indeed, indeed.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling at the young mortal. “Or we could do something more interesting.”

That sparked Leland’s interest, but not in the way he was hoping. Simple was always better when dealing with a Lord. Complicate things, and things get out of hand, quickly.

“What do you have in mind?”

“In one sentence? I need mana, a lot of mana.” The Lord of Magic gestured to a blackboard, the one depicting the nine-armed beast. “With our world converging with a few others, things have become hectic. This here is one of our new worldly-residents.”

Leland internally groaned. This, again. It might have been his fault, but he sure didn’t feel like it was his responsibility to fix. All he did was help an Archon escape this world back to her own. How was he supposed to know that meant kicking off such an event? Well… he did, the Lord of the Void told him as much. But she also said everything was going to be perfectly fine.

“Go on,” he said.

“One of these worlds is incredibly rich with mana. One of the ‘tears’ from our reality to theirs has already been found and contained. Currently it is siphoning nearly all of the mana the tear produces.”

“And let me guess,” Leland said. “You want me to somehow create more tears, find more, or barter on your behalf to make more.”

“Nope!” the Lord of Magic said, his lips curled up like he had just been gifted the world. “That’s the beauty of it all. More tears are forming as we speak.”

Leland prepared himself for the but.

“But that brings problems in and of itself.” The Magic Lord took another bite of beef. “Namely in the form of other Lords. Everyone wants mana, and I’ve already fended off two raids from two separate Lords.”

Raising an eyebrow, Leland asked, “Lords raid you?”

He shook his head. “Ah, I forget you are still mortal. No, when we Lords refer to ourselves as doing things such as this, it means our Legacies. My Legacies have already defended against two other Legacies’ raids. Similarly, I, personally, do not need the excess mana. My Legacies, do.”

Leland wasn’t sure if he agreed with the Lord of Magic on that. When the Lord of Curses said she did something, she meant it. But still, he understood well enough to get the wider picture.

“And what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“That, my dear boy Leland Silver, is the question, isn’t it?” The Lord of Magic raised a single finger. “A question that you are uniquely qualified to answer.”

Leland shuddered. “Contracts.”

“In exchange for whatever you wish to barter for, I want you to contact Lords and tell them to knock it off. Create contracts with them if you have to. Kill their Legacies if you must.”

Sighing, the Legacy of Curses slowly shook his head. “No can do. I’m not putting myself in the firing line for you. I already have enough enemies who are Lords.”

The Magic Lord leaned back in his seat, his face plastered with surprise. He reeled himself in quickly. “I supposed that is fair. But how about this? If I remember correctly, last time we spoke, you asked for Lightning Bolt. If you make this contract with me, I can easily make that come—”

“No.”

“How about Greater Lightning Bolt?”

Leland shook his head.

The Lord of Magic blinked a few times. “Channel Greater Black Lightning? Not even your mom has that spell in her repertoire.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Mr Silver,” the Lord said, his voice hushed. “I don’t think you understand the precedence of what is happening right now. You know of Degrim’s Law?”

“No mana is ever created, it’s just moved and transformed,” Leland supplied.

“Then you can understand what it means when suddenly there is a new font of mana added to the world?”

“For one, it means that stronger monsters are going to appear.”

The Lord nodded. “As well as new avenues of study and higher tiers of magic.”

“Sounds like a gold rush,” Leland supplied, eyeing the Lord carefully.

“Exactly! You understand perfectly. So? How about it? You create contracts with these Lords wishing to step on my territory. You get them to back off. Tell them they can have their fun later, but I’m first.”

Somehow, that sounded worse than the original pitch to Leland. If the Lord of Magic was the Lord of Curses, she’d just go tell the other Lords off herself. But Leland supposed not everyone was the Calamity. And he also supposed not every Champion was the Son of the Calamity.

This was going to be a long negotiation.