“So, tell me, why should I not kill you where you stand?”
Rushwin’s face was a mask, his emotions hidden under layers of experience. For most of his life, he had been an Inquisitor, even becoming a High Inquisitor in his later years. During all of that, he had killed, fought, and defended against some of the most heinous criminals the world had ever seen. The type of people that would make dainty women faint and gave children lifelong traumas.
Leland, the young man standing before him, was nowhere near the worst of these criminals. He didn’t even breach the top one hundred. A thousand, even. A Harbinger, yes, but one whose crime was so underdeveloped, many reports about his actions directly contradicted others. And yet, standing in the inn’s door frame watching the young man, Rushwin felt something he hadn’t in years.
Authority? Fear? Dread?
Rushwin wasn’t sure if the feelings were even real. They were palpable, thick in the air the same way his own crushing aura resonated, yet they were hollow. Like the young man didn’t actually want to fight, like he was trying to bluff all the while holding the winning hand.
The feeling made Rushwin’s jaw hitch slightly. He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on the very adults he had once employed. Inquisitors, former Inquisitors really, understood and knew battle. They, like Rushwin, had fought and killed criminals like it was their job. Which, despite what most thought, wasn’t what the Inquisitors were about. Investigation and reconnaissance, that was their mission statement, not government sanctioned murder.
It was a shame the current iteration of the Inquisitors were so well versed in the horrors of life, it wasn’t like that when Rushwin joined. There was a time when he liked helping people. That was what he strived for, helping rather than punishing.
Rushwin didn’t know the Silvers, Browns, and Carmon Red all that well. He’d met each of them in passing, but he was never fully stationed in the capital like they were. Sure, he had a house there and liked to stop by the training academy, but the job came first and that often meant traveling.
So when Rushwin couldn’t understand why the former Inquisitors before him turned coat and became traitors, he knew he had to rectify that notion. Even Isobel, the Huntress, turned against the crown. The parents? Parents often did stupid things for their children, which made their betrayal at least somewhat understandable. But the Huntress? She was the last person he expected to turn.
Color him surprised that she showed up at his house one afternoon. Color him doubly surprised when she still put her lot in with the young Harbinger. Color him triply surprised when she swore on her dead daughter’s soul that the young Harbinger was innocent and a good kid.
Yet all of that surprise disintegrated at Leland’s question.
Quickly Rushwin glanced back at Isobel. Her face was hardened into a mask, just like he taught her, yet it was weak. He saw through it. Worry, not for herself or for the boy, but worry for him. For her mentor, for her former High Inquisitor, for the only person she had ever deemed worthy of friendship after her tragic history.
“You think you can kill me? Do you even know who I am?” Rushwin found himself asking.
Leland answered instantly, almost like he was expecting the question. “Nope. But since you came here with Isobel, I assume you were the owner of the house she was trying to break into. In other words, you were her plan B.”
Rushwin heard Isobel curse under her breath. Was that really all he was to her? Plan B? Breaking into his home was her first plan? Not coming to him directly and pleading her case? That hurt.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” He pushed his shoulder out, allowing the emblem of the High Inquisitor to shine front and center. “High Inquisitor Rushwin—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Leland interrupted. “And I’m Harbinger Leland Silver, the Son of the Calamity, or something like that. Never learned my title, quite frankly.”
Licking the back of his teeth, Rushwin studied the young man. “Son of the Calamity.” The title hung at the front of his mind, like a lantern in the night. There was more to that, he knew. Years of investigating told him that that clue alone was well and away more important than the title of “Harbinger.” Yet, it meant nothing to him.
That meant two things. One, it could be completely made up or given by someone who lacks actual title-giving power. Or two, the title meant something far more niche than he could currently conceive. “Son of” implied there was an actual “Calamity,” which proved Leland Silver was the disciple of someone of substance. That, or his father or mother’s title is “Calamity,” which didn’t match any of his information.
Could killing him here and now bring the wrath of the “Calamity” on him? Or more importantly, on the Palemarrow Kingdom?
Rushwin took the moment to respond, again studying the faces of everyone present. The young man’s parents looked the most worried, though the other parents held different levels of confusion. The title, he supposed, they recognized it just as much as he did. Isobel’s mask tightened, making her a waste of time to try and read. The other young men, however, were open books. Each brimmed with pride, their friend bathing in the glory of outspeaking a High Inquisitor.
Young men these days show no fear, huh, he thought.
“So you know who I am, and now I know who you are. The rumors are true, Harbinger.” Rushwin intentionally spat the last word, hoping to find a weakness or point of irritation.
Leland, however, ignored the comment, maybe even the two sentences all together.
“Anyone know which Lord he belongs to?” the young man asked, causing a ripple of unease through the group.
Rushwin didn’t allow it to show, but the question unnerved him. Mixed with the dreadful violet halo hovering about Leland’s head and whiplash of an aura he hosted, Rushwin found no solace in wondering what knowing his Lord could present.
“Lord of the Drowning Man,” Isobel supplied all too quickly.
“Okay,” Leland said. “I’ll be right back.”
Then power razed through his body, enough to permeate the air but lacking in all ways important. Rushwin watched carefully, expecting some grandiose attack or spell work. Instead the magic that flowed through his body fizzed and dissipated, turning into nothing of the sort.
“Lord of the Drowning Man, I humbly wish to create a contract with you.”
It was whispered, barely audible even to a man of power such as Rushwin. He watched the magic fully fade then flicker, a rekindling of sorts. He blinked, finding Leland suddenly changed in posture and tune. Gone was the young man’s halo, gone was the aura of dread and enmity. Present was a new man, one that looked as though he had seen the world. Just when did the change occur? He was watching the entire time—
“I hold a message from the Drowning Lord,” Leland then said.
Rushwin didn’t allow anything to slip past his mask, though a certain level of doubt now reached his mind. An image was forming, one that held Leland Silver in the light of madness. No one could just “hold a message from a Lord” like that. Unheard of. Preposterous. Deluded.
“’Rushwin Chapman.’”
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Rushwin halted, Leland’s tone like an icepick.
Leland continued, “’Leave the boy alone or I will be very displeased. He’s one of the good ones.’” He then scratched the back of his head. “Not much of a message… though he did give me this—"
This time Rushwin’s mask did break. He looked around like everyone here were deluded fools. That! That was what they were banking on? A few words—
Despite his internal thoughts bounding around his mind, Rushwin was still paying attention to Leland Silver. He watched the young man touch upon his grimoire, summoning a power that was very familiar.
The dreadful halo made a reappearance, though this time it simply was. No emotional aura radiated from its constitution, it simply hovered above his head. The same could not be said about the magic currently swirling around Leland’s hands. Water, more specifically, dead water. The water the Drowning Lord laid claim over, the very water Rushwin and all other Drowning Legacies had stake in.
But now Leland Silver, Legacy emblem of a crow or some other bird, had access to.
“Impossible,” the word slipped out before Rushwin realized what he was saying.
Leland smirked like a fisherman casting a line at sunset. “The spell is called ‘Drowning Touch.’” He looked around at his friends. “Any guesses on what it does?”
“Uh, fills someone’s lungs with water?” one of the other young men supplied. Rushwin was too occupied to pay attention to which one spoke.
“You’d think that,” Leland said. “But the way the Drowned Lord explained it to me, is that there is actually death magic imbued into the water. It only makes you feel like you are drowning until you go into shock or something.” He shuddered. “Death magic is scary... and weak, all things considered.”
Rushin turned on Isobel. “What is this?” he demanded.
Isobel held her arms crossed. She took a deep breath. “Just another toy for him to fight with.” Knowing the answer was not enough, she added, “Think of the message your Lord gave him. It’s hard to believe, but he can speak to other Lords. It’s part of his Harbinger power.”
“What!?”
Isobel nodded. “He does quests for them or brings them gifts. As I understand it, most of the Lords like him. At least, that was the impression I got from the Lord of Erupting Skies’ Champion.”
Rushwin’s eyes darted back and forth.
“What? Don’t believe her?” Leland asked. “Here, watch this.”
The grimoire floating in front of him flipped pages. He pressed his palm into the page. “This one is with the Lord of Nature. Called Healing Touch, recognize it?”
Rushwin watched the young man’s finger glow natural green, the memory of a certain Legacy of Nature healer he once knew coming to him. He recognized the spell as well, having been healed by its power dozens of times over.
“Had to help the Lord of Nature’s Champion clear a monster nest so she could dismantle a Light Architect’s Lighthouse. Jude and Glenny helped with that one.”
The page flipped again. “This one is from the Seraph Lord.” Four pure white wings ripped through the back of his shirt, fluttering to life like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.
“I’m still in the process of completing her requirements. I have to help lost souls move on,” Leland said, the page flipping again. “This one is with the Lord of Space. I had to tell some soldiers about a worm hole in their basement.”
He flickered slightly, space around him bending in unnatural, magical ways. Rushwin’s frown couldn’t grow any larger. This was… unbelievable, yet worthless. He put his mask back on, tightening his posture.
“I’ve seen enough. While you certainly have… claim to the title of Harbinger, you still have not shown me why I should not kill you. Being a Harbinger is illegal if you didn’t know.”
Leland rolled his eyes. “I did know, actually. There is a long list of Lords that are illegal to become Legacies to. Yet, my Lord is not part of that list.”
Rushwin brushed off the comment. “A lie.”
“Nope.”
His brow twitched. “That list was created by the Champions of the Palemarrow Kingdom themselves. Lords wrote the list, through their Champions, so that we might protect ourselves from the Vile ones.”
All magic ceased around Leland. He gave the High Inquisitor a look. “You do realize the Lord didn’t give you a list of every single ‘Vile’ Lord right? Because if they had, my Lord would have been on the list.”
“Be that as it may—”
“In fact, I suspect the reason they didn’t give you my Lord’s name is that none of them actually consider her a ‘Vile’ Lord. There’s a lot that goes into that title, it is not just a simple checklist.”
Rushwin paused. “Regardless, the law states—”
“That if one’s Lord is on the list, then they have an illegal Lord,” Lucia Silver said. “Leland’s doing nothing wrong. Aunty P gave incorrect orders to kill him under a highly stressful situation. We, Leland included, are nothing if not allies to the Palemarrow Kingdom. Titles or not.”
Rushwin shook his head. “The law is there to protect us against evil. It does not list every single evil out there, most are implied. But I digress. Leland Silver’s Lord will be added to the list as soon as I return to my office, I shall see to that.”
Leland coughed once, bringing the attention back to him. “I have one last thing from the Drowning Lord. He told me not to say it unless you were still being difficult after all of this.”
Mentally chuckling to himself, Rushwin said, “Fine, what is this deluded message ‘my Lord’ has given you.”
“He told me to remind you of someone named ‘Macy Nomak.’”
Like a bomb in the moments just after it went off, Rushin burst with power. The room instantly became wet, dead water droplets filling any and all available surface area. Around him, everyone crumbled, all except Leland, despite the power being solely focused on the young man. Rushwin paid that no mind, instead stepping closer.
“How do you know that name?” he seethed, bitterness misting from his lips.
Leland looked around. “We just went over this death magic thing. Can we stop posturing? We are on the same side here.”
Rushwin hitched, noting that his aura of death had no effect on the young man. “What is this?”
He struggled. “Death magic has nothing on soul magic. I shrugged off the Lord of Souls squeezing my soul, I can shrug this off.” Again Leland looked around, his own mask of confidence slipping at the sight of his friends doubled over, their hands on their necks. “If you don’t stop in the next three seconds, I’m going to contact the Lord of Death and hand over my entire life for instant-kill magic.”
Rushwin’s power subsided. Jude and Glenny breathed again.
“Thank you,” Leland said, breathing easy. “Now to answer your question. I don’t know who that is, nor do I really want to. The Lord of the Drowning Man said the name was to be uttered only as a last ditch-effort. That you might cry a little when—”
“Shut up.”
Leland did, in the meantime he tapped each of his friends and family, healing what damage he could with the Nature Lord’s power. Rushwin watched this happen, though his mind was elsewhere on a memory long repressed.
His first memory as an Inquisitor, his first successful arrest and execution as a justice wielding guardian of the innocent. If only he didn’t miss that evidence that absolved Macy Nomak of any wrongdoing. An innocent life he took that day, yet that wasn’t what kept him up at night. It was that he never reported his error. It was that, as a High Inquisitor, he buried the truth about his own mistake. That his “justice” was tainted.
“Look, High Inquisitor Rushwin,” Leland said, tired, “when Sybil wakes from her magical coma, she will explain that Isobel and I fought tooth and nail to get her back here. We protected her and nearly died fighting against the very cult raiding this city right now. I don’t know how else I can say it, so I will say it as clearly as I can.”
Leland waited until he had Rushwin’s full attention.
“I am not your enemy. I am just a boy who was given a different path in life, a path that is supposed to push me to greater heights than my parents. That was why I accepted my Legacy because I wanted to impress them one day. I have never had ill thoughts about this kingdom or Sybil or any of the other royals. I have never colluded with a Harbinger, only fought them, even killing one. My Lord killed the Toy Maker, by the way. You can cross that name off your list.”
He paused, getting back on track. “There is nothing I want more in the world right now than to rid the city of threats to make sure Sybil wakes up to smiles and rainbows. She’s going to be changed, somewhat, when she does finally wake up, and I hope to be there when she realizes she lost her mother and has to lead the kingdom. I get the feeling that it is going to be a tough transition for her. I am not your enemy, far from it, in fact.”
Rushwin stared at the young man, finding no lie nor half-truth. Just genuine words, each said with a passion and willingness to walk forward despite what naysayers might whisper.
It was then that Isobel stepped forward and said, “Sybil did kiss Leland just before he teleported her from the clutches of two evil cults halfway across the world and stranding himself in the Archon Valley rather than using that same magic to teleport himself to safety.” Then quieter, she said, “Please, Rushwin. Give him a chance.”