Mark of the Fool

The massive hinges groaned, screeching like blue annis hags as Grimloch and Claygon pushed the door shut.

“Shit,” Alex swore, looking down the abandoned hallway for guards poised to sound the alarm.

Around him, the party tensed…but no guards appeared and no alarm was raised.

For the moment, they could breathe with relief.

“This looks to be a servant’s entrance.” The prince looked around the hallway, inclining his chin toward a number of large wheelbarrows overflowing with laundry. It seemed a strangely mundane sight to find in such an otherworldly place, but Alex supposed that even demons needed clean garments.

“I am surprised to find it under-guarded,” Khalik whispered, scanning several towering doors lining the corridor. “They are under attack so one would expect all entrances would be secured…but, it is obvious that my expectations are wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Hart rumbled, examining a piece of laundry from a bin with the tip of his sword. He sniffed the air around it, his face instantly registered regret. Recoiling, the Champion flung the garment away. “That’s one of the first things you learn about sieging: if you’re holding a castle, you secure every entrance. If you’re attacking, you know they’re going to secure the entry points.”

“Very true, my friend,” the prince said. “But a mortal castle would not place an entrance outside of a protective wall, so our assumptions about demon siege tactics might be wrong.”

“I dunno,” Alex said, dread growing. “This does seem a little too easy…but shit, I don’t know if the misgivings I’m having are coming from me, or the damned terror-field.”

“And no doubt the demons would be counting on that.” The prince drew his sword. “We should proceed with the assumption that they are laying a trap for us. Alex, where do we go?”

“No idea.” Alex gripped the orb. “We’ll have to go further in: I won’t be able to tell if we’re getting closer to, or farther from the three sons until we…y’know, start walking.”

“Aye, let’s get movin’ then,” Cedric said. “Trap or not, better we be about our business than waitin’ around here.”

“Right,” Alex said. “We’ll keep the pace quick, and quieter than mice.” He glanced at his air elementals. In the low-light of the hallway, they weren’t easy to see. “Alright, my airy friends, I want you to check each door ahead of us. Peek through cracks, under doors, and even keyholes, but try not to get spotted. If you see anything moving on the other side, let me know with a little trickle of wind.”

He felt a soft breeze caress his face in response.

“Good,” Alex turned back to his companions. “The air elementals have door duty. Now, let’s move.”

As one, the war party floated deeper into the demonic fortress, listening to the chaos of battle outside, and the distant movements of the Hold’s denizens rushing to and from posts, while bellowing in an array of demonic tongues.

Minutes passed as they moved through largely abandoned passageways, each lit by strange forks crafted of metal displaying crimson bolts of electricity crackling between their tines. They washed the surrounding area in flickering red light, highlighting layers of dust blanketing the floor.

‘Eerie contraptions,’ Alex thought, pausing to test the orb at a fork in their path. ‘And why do they even have light sources, anyway? Most demons see in the dark just fine, and these hallways don’t look like they get much traffic, so… no…something’s off.’

“Hold for a second,” he whispered to his companions, floating toward one of the crackling forks. “There’s something bothering me.”

“What is it?” Cedric asked. “Somethin’ to do wit’ those strange lookin’ torches?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Alex whispered, reaching toward the fork. Now that he was nearer, he sensed a hellish mana emanating from the crimson bolts. “It doesn’t make sense to have so many magical torches, especially in areas they don’t seem to use very often. So let me just…” He got the attention of a nearby air elemental. “Could you touch this for a second? Not the lightning part, the metal part below it.”

The air elemental floated to his side, wind whispering as it approached, and touched the lightning-torch’s handle. Alex braced for a reaction…but nothing happened.

“Hmmmm.” Gingerly, he touched it with a fingertip.

And didn’t explode.

“Right, it doesn't seem like a hidden trap.” He gripped the handle, letting his mana pour into the magical device, feeling its inner pathways. “Let’s see…the device is definitely feeding off of the domain’s ambient energies, so itwouldn’t work outside of Cawarthin. Hmmm, seems it channels chaos to create a controlled arc of—Oh.”

His mana senses paused on a control within the device.

He tensed.

“Oh hells, well, that could have been really bad,” he reported.

“What? What’d you find?” Theresa asked, raising her swords.

“This thing is trapped.” He released the fork, flying to one across the hallway. Letting his mana pour into its inner pathways, he cursed again. “This one’s trapped too.”

“Wait, trapped? How?” Thundar asked.

“Judging by its inner construction?” Alex looked at the minotaur. “I think it reacts to a common word. They all do. Hold on, everyone move away from here for a second. Make sure you’re not in between these two forks.”

His companions quickly parted, giving him room to work.

“Alright.” He backed away from the fork until he was hugging the wall with only his finger touching it. “Here we go.”

Alex drove his mana toward the trap’s control, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. A wave of failures slammed into his mind—the Mark’s wrath fell on him with full force—but he guided his way through the bombardment as best he could, barely activating the trap’s control.

A coarse crackle.

A flash of red.

Bolts of lightning leapt across the hall, striking the other fork, forming a thick rope of lethal power. Crackling crimson electricity arced back and forth between the forks, Alex’s hair stood on end as he retreated, shaking off remnants of the Mark’s displeasure.

By the time the final image faded, so too had the lightning bolts, leaving only that dim, crackling light in their wake. A light well-illuminating his companions’ shocked expressions.

“Holy hells,” Cedric shook his head. “That coulda fried any one o’us.”

“Or sent a bunch of us back to the clearing,” Hart scowled, glaring at the tines. “I damn well hate magic traps.”

“And the halls are filled with these devices.” Isolde said. “No wonder they are guarded with such little care. If a demon were to come across us down here, they could simply utter a single command word and we would all die.”

“Which also explains why they have light devices on the walls despite demons being able to see in the dark,” Khalik murmured. “Hmmmm, I’d hate to give away our location by leaving darkness in our path…any demon coming upon where we’ve been would know that someone has infiltrated their stronghold. But, in truth, I suppose that’s preferable to being roasted by demon-lightning.”

“Yeah, I think we’d all agree with that, but maybe we can solve both problems at once,” Alex said, conjuring a Wizard’s Hand with his staff. The spell pulled the fork from its bracket, killing the lightning immediately. “Okay, so here’s what we do. I’ll conjure a bunch of Wizard’s Hands, have them take the forks out of those brackets as we’re getting close, then put them back when we pass. I’ll conjure forceballs to give us some light. My spells glow crimson so the colour of our light’ll match theirs; from a distance, they shouldn’t realise anything’s wrong, if all goes smoothly.”

“Aye, there’s good plannin’ for ya,” Cedric nodded. “Well, cook them Hands up, then let’s get on wit’ it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Alex nervously watched the hallway as he poured mana into his staff.

‘Let’s hope no demons are near here,’ he thought, conjuring a series of Wizard’s Hands. Soon, he had a flight of six floating at his side—along with four forceballs—with no sign of discovery from any demons.

“Alright,” he said, checking the mana in his staff. It was still holding strong, and regenerating well. “Let’s move, we’ve wasted enough time.”

In silence, the party moved forward, but at a slower pace this time. Though the Wizard’s Hands flew with speed and precision, the matter of removing the forks from their brackets then returning them as they passed, took extra time.

He didn’t much like the situation: every moment in the fortress risked discovery and failure, but he resisted the urge to simply rush ahead as they reached another split in the hallways. Caution now, or discovery later.

“To the left,” Alex said, feeling the orb grow warmer as he stepped into the left passage. “The sphere’s about room temperature now. We’re definitely getting closer.”

“Perhaps things will go smoothly, afterall,” Drestra said, her tone hopeful.

“Never say that,” Thundar whispered as they stepped into the hall. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

Alex stayed vigilant, his eyes taking everything in with care; noting less dust on the floor, a strong sign that this part of the Hold was well-travelled. Leaving him with the feeling that a demon rounding a corner from a hall ahea—

He stopped dead.

“Wait,” he whispered.

A breeze touched his cheek, blowing in the direction of a closed door about fifteen feet ahead. His hand rose, bringing the group to a halt as he held a finger to his lips.

The party followed his gaze, eyes on the door. Their bodies tensed.

‘Father…enemies?’ Claygon asked.

‘Yeah, but they don’t know we’re here,’ Alex thought.

He nodded forward, mouthing ‘keep going’ to Theresa and the others. The huntress nodded, and the group resumed their flight forward.

…just as an agwiagma floated into the hall from another passage.

Everyone froze, including the demon, its bulging eyes growing wide.

Its forehead tentacle flared.

The mouth opened wide.

And two arrows struck its throat at once.

Theresa’s arrow speared it as though she were bowfishing, while Hart’s blasted through the creature’s neck, driving it back, pinning it to the wall.

A loud clatter rang out as the metal arrow-head raked stone.

“What was that?” A demonic voice asked through the nearby door. “I smell…fear. And death.”

“Shit,” Alex swore, nodding toward the door. “We’re about to have company. Hart, make sure you’re through there firs—”

The door swung open before he could finish.

A b'alamxiba rushed to the doorway, jaguar-like head snarling, fangs bared, mouth opening to roar.

Then, a terrible crack.

Its eyes went wide.

Slowly, the image of Claygon flickered out of invisibility, an enormous stone hand already wrapped around the demon’s skull.

He closed his grip.

One crack and a pop later, the demon shuddered, falling limp in the golem’s dripping fist.

Alex sighed, relieved…until he spied the other demons in the room.

“Look—” he started to say.

Monstrous voices tore through the hall.

“Take ‘em down!” He snapped.

Claygon, Hart and Cedric rushed the chamber at speed, with Alex right behind, followed closely by his pack of air elementals. Ahead, fivedemons were rising from a table covered in painted bones, their claws lengthening on skinless fingers.

In a blink Hart was leaping at the pack snarling, his sword—crafted of a hive queen’s claw—blurred in an arc. A tearing noise ripped the air as he split two demons in half with a single stroke, then whirled on another.

The nearest one hissed and jumped straight for the Champion of Uldar. Sounds of squelching flesh and shattering bone stopped Hart in place when the demon suddenly screamed; an enormous form shimmered into visibility, Grimloch, his jaws clamped firmly on the monster’s torso, materialised.

With a grin, the sharkman seized the struggling monster’s limbs.

And pulled.

In a heartbeat, what was once one demon, was now three ragged pieces of twitching meat already disappearing down the sharkman’s throat. The last of the demons in the room were yowling in rage as elementals swarmed them, striking them with lightning flashes.

They blurred, claws flashing, striking down elementals with each swipe, but Alex was already pouring mana into his staff. Aeld wood flared with power, and sleeping magic hurtled through the air, seeping into the demons’ essences.

Roars became yawns which soon turned to snoring as both creatures fell to the stone…

…directly in front of Claygon.

A quick swipe of his war-spear split both in two.

“That’s seven down,” Hart growled. “And a million more to go.”

“Yeah,” Alex said grimly, cocking his ear to the ceiling.

From above, shouting in demonic tongues and the clack of clawed feet running across stone, reached him.

“I get the feeling we’ll be seeing more than seven, real soon.” He glared down at the dead demons, cursing them. “Let’s get moving, everyone. We’ve got a fight on our hands.”

Grimloch licked his bloody lips. “Bout time.”