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Chapter 11 - Shadows of the Ashdown

Shadows of the Ashdown

Outside my Fireheart home, my bodyguard was waiting.

Kevin leaned against the overhanging shadow of the courtyard wall, stance pointed, fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His eyes scanned the street without hesitation, as a hawk scans the plains for prey.

"I heard from the Steward that you were going out on the streets," he said the moment he saw me.

"It won't be long," I said. "I'll likely be home before sundown."

"Understood, Young Master."

He didn't press it. That was Kevin—self-disciplined, reliable, and never one to press for information beyond what was required. His holding back had more to say about his training than any words possibly could.

'It's sad that he ended up as my escort,' I considered quietly, though I didn't speak aloud.

We strolled side by side for a while until my pace lessened. I stood looking at the familiar corner, the tiny creased spot of stone where I had first seen Isabella. The image came up in my mind without calling for it, and a small pain entered my chest.

'This body really is weak… tired already, just from walking this far?'

The idea hurt. I wished to stop, to breathe, but the sun's gradual sweep across the sky reminded me—I could not stay. I had to return before dark.

So I pressed on, dodging into the crush of Emberhold City's alleys. The crowd pushed in like waves, voices and footsteps ringing off the stone, until I faded into the calmer hush of the alleys.

Kevin scowled as light faded around us.

"Young Master, you shouldn't be here," he warned, unconsciously stroking the hilt of his sword.

I disregarded the warning. My gaze swept through crooked streets, tracing the weak memory carved into this world.

"Found it."

In front of us was a thin building squeezed between leaning walls. Its wood slumped, paint long since flaked off, the scent of mildew pervading from its crevices. To everyone else, it was only a forgotten shell. To me, it was precisely what I'd been looking for.

"I was afraid this location would not yet be here," I said quietly, "but it appears my fear was in vain."

Kevin's eyebrows creased. "Young Master… why did you come here?"

"Why? Does it seem odd to you?"

"Honestly, yes. The feeling here is full of danger. This building in particular."

There was a small smile on my lips. "You have sharp instincts. That's precisely it."

The door creaked when I pushed it open.

– Creak.

Stale air clung inside. Talk ceased. Dozens of eyes directed themselves toward me, cold and unfriendly.

Huh, a brat? Did somebody snatch him without us knowing?" one man snorted.

"Don't speak filthy," another grumbled. "Most likely just got lost."

"Then how about the fella behind him?" a third questioned, eye darting to Kevin's sword. "He's got a sword.

The tension broke. Kevin's hand moved to his hilt, stance leaning ever so slightly forward. His readiness was palpable, and I could sense the tip of his killing intent creeping out.

The men inside merely smiled.

One of them stepped forward, narrowing his eyes on me. "Hey kid, what brings you to this kind of neighborhood?"

It was a while since anyone had spoken to me so poorly. Surprisingly, it was more comfortable than the forced courtesy of home.

I smiled weakly. "Why, you wonder? I'm here as a customer."

"How rude our little visitor sounds," the man laughed wickedly. "Perhaps he'll learn if I remove his tongue."

Kevin's knife half-drew with a hiss of metal, his body straining to strike.

"Young Master, he is so—!"

"Hold on a second."

I extended my hand, halting him. My eyes remained fixed on the smirking thug.

"You recognized me as soon as I entered this neighborhood. None of this theatrics is necessary. Let's make it easy." 

The man's smile dropped.

"I'm in a rush," I went on, voice hardening. "So call the branch manager. Unless you really want me to really vandalize this joint."

The words were sheer bluff. I had no strength to destroy this den, not in this body. But fear is a blade keener than the sharpest sword.

Beads of sweat glided down the man's cheek. His eyes strayed away.

Behind me, Kevin's voice was low, confused.

"…Young Master, what is happening?"

"It's nothing," I replied casually. "I was actually planning to go somewhere else, but circumstances made it… inconvenient."

Kevin's keen eye held on me, as if he had put two and two together. His gut was more acute than I had assumed.

I took a deep breath inside. 'I would have rather been here by myself. But in this body, that's not possible.'

"Sorry to get you into this," I whispered. "But there's no avoiding it.

The location I had selected today was not the Fakir Sect, whose influence within the Martial Alliance was unparalleled. They traded in information and rumors, and had established their niche within the Alliance of the Ten Clans through knowledge only.

If it was just about convenience, I would have gone. But my ask… my ask was perilous, even for them. Unless I spent a fortune, they would never lay hands on it.

And so, I had come here instead to the shadows.

If the Fakir Sect was the Orthodox crown jewel, then here stood its shadowy mirror. The real king of the underbelly, feared and spoken of in hushed tones—

The Ashdown Clan.

Soon enough, we were taken further in, into a cellar concealed at the back of the building.

Kevin objected, his voice stern: "I cannot let the Young Master go down into such an establishment by himself!"

But I did not listen to him. Time was pinning too heavily on my back.

In the cellar, the atmosphere was icy cold. Standing there was a man whose loveliness was discomfiting, his face sharp and snake-like.

"I am Casey," he said, dipping in a faint bow. "Ashdown branch manager."

His smile was polite, but his eyes flashed like a snake's—harmful, uninterpretable.

"We did not quite expect someone of your kind to show up at a place like this as a customer. We apologize for the brusque greeting."

"There is no need to apologize," I said. "The only thing that is important is whether you will grant my request."

"Prior to that, may I inquire…" His smile grew harder. "Why here rather than somewhere else? A son of the Fireheart Clan has many choices."

"You persist in asking odd questions." I leaned forward, my tone chilling. "I am here for a favor. That is all you require to know."

"We are merely curious why you chose us rather than the Fakir Sect."

Of course he would do that. Everyone would.

"This is a favor only the Ashdown can provide. Why bother inquiring about something you already know?"

My frustration crept into my tone. His eyes sparkled, but his smile twisted again.

"My apologies if I've hurt you. I merely wanted to verify… after all, there are whispers around you, Young Master."

I remained silent.

"The reason I came to greet you in person," Casey went on, "was only because of your last name."

"Yes," I said bluntly. "I understand my name has consequence. Now tell me—are you taking my offer, or will this dance go on? This is the third time I've asked."

"The Ashdown never say no, as long as the price is correct."

Finally. Forward.

"I'm looking for a boy, roughly ten years old."

I handed him a piece of paper, a rough drawing scrawled upon it.

He read it, furrowing his brow.

"…I don't get it. If you're just looking for someone, there was no need to come here."

"The region is far, and I know little about it," I explained. "The Fakir Sect would drain me for such a favor."

He smiled. "Maybe. But you have to know—the Ashdown do not run cheaply either."

"I know. And I came willing to pay."

Casey ran his finger along the paper. "The description is distinct. That will be useful. But the area you indicate is huge, several times the size of Emberhold. It will be expensive."

"So let me get this straight," I interrupted, "the cost is prohibitive."

He said it.

Kevin coughed behind me, visibly shocked.

I even felt the impact of it, thinking about the sum of allowance I would have to save up just to cobble it together.

But I didn't flinch.

"The more trouble we have, the steeper the price could rise," Casey warned.

"I fear," I cut in, "I will not be paying in coin."

His hand froze. "Excuse me?"

Danger lingered in the air like a unsheathed blade. To be here—son of the Fireheart Clan—in the lair of the Ashdown, to be willing to offer anything but coin, was already sinful.

But that was why I had come.

"I have an item of information," I spoke deliberately. "One worth trading."

"Information?" His eyes sharpened. "Young Master, don't you remember where you are? We are the Ashdown. There is no secret we do not already possess. Compared to the Fakir Sect, our reach is even greater."

His tone turned cold. "If you do not have the resources to pay, we can forget that we ever met."

"The Lord of the Ashdown."

Casey stiffened.

For the first time since we arrived, I saw genuine fear flicker in those serpentine eyes.

"Your Lord's whereabouts, truly missing," I whispered. "Are you not interested?"

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