Mark of the Fool

“You leave them alone!” Hart roared, an uncharacteristic note of fear in his voice. The champion cut down all demons in close proximity to his blade as he pushed ahead, stalking the towering fiend like the reaper. “I’ll split you from crotch to crown!”

He shot forward with a war cry, but a b'alamxiba hit him from the side, throwing off his flight path. Pazuzites piled on, straining against his enormous strength as he raged against them in turn.

But they were also strong…and numerous.

‘Father!’ Claygon thought. ‘What should we do?’

Alex fought the terror-field closing in on his mind. “We have to—”

Clawed fingers seized his shoulder, as more gripped his arms. Then his legs. He was struggling, trying to get free of the hands holding him. He called Wizard’s Hands and forceballs for help, but agwiagmas swarmed his force constructs, bursting them.

Alex looked around, desperately searching for his flicker dogs…but they were long gone. He struggled as the aeld staff was dragged from his hands—releasing waves of panic—and a pazuzite raised it in triumph, cavorting about in victory.

The young Thameish wizard was wrestling with the chaos swirling in his head, his thoughts were everywhere, when a sudden scream took his attention.

“No! I-I’ll stop!” Thundar cried, tossing aside his mace.

“Thundar!” Alex called out to his friend.

Azzad’s laughter boomed through the chamber as the minotaur rushed toward him with a fear-filled groan; Thundar passed one of the dead, crossbow-wielding demons, throwing himself down at the towering monster’s feet.

Claygon stood nearby, seemingly paralysed.

‘Father…I…I do not know what to do! If I attack…you…the others could be hurt too!’ He thought.

Alex tried to fight the images of his friends being tortured and eaten; in the back of his mind, something was bothering him…something he couldn’t put words to.

He gazed up at the towering bulk of Azzad, his eyes searching for any way he could kill this monster before…before…

Alex examined the demon's body language, noting the look in its eyes, and calling on the Mark. Images rose in his mind, comparing Azzad’s movements to those of every demon he’d ever encountered.

There was something about Azzad that was familiar…

An image of Zonon-In—full of deceit—came to him.

Realisation struck; Alex looked down at the trembling minotaur cowering before the demon.

“Thundar!” He choked out. “Get away! He’s lying! His body language is all lies!”

The minotaur continued to whimper helplessly while Azzad laughed.

Until the whimpering abruptly stopped.

“I know,” Thundar said, his voice dangerously calm. “Hey, demon. This belong to you?”

There was a heavy twang of a bowstring.

A squelch of flesh.

“Aaaaaaaargh!” Azzad screamed, stumbling back, a massive crossbow bolt protruding from his eye. He pawed at his face, dropping one of his swords.

Thundar rose to his full height—small compared to the bulk of Azzad—with one arm raised, seemingly empty-handed…no…

…the air shimmered around his hands as an illusion peeled away. The illusionary double of the minotaur—hiding inside—peeled away, revealing the mace that he'd never dropped.

And on the way to the massive demon, he’d picked up another demon’s discarded crossbows.

“You!” The son of Ikharrash wailed. “You spineless beast! My eye, you took my eye!”

“Then you owe us another,” the minotaur’s voice was flint.

He snapped his fingers, muttering a short spell.

A volley of force missiles fired from his hand, cutting through the air, piercing the demon’s face, plunging deep into its other eye.

“Arrrgh! You blinded me!” It screeched. “You’ll wish you were dead a thousand times for this!”

“Try coming down here and saying that.”

Thundar tossed aside his mace, reaching down and lifting one of the monster’s immense swords. The minotaur’s magically empowered muscles bulged as he hefted the weapon, clenching his teeth and levelling it at the demon like a spear.

He charged Azzad with one of his own black swords, pointing it at a massive knee.

The blade sank deep, splitting bone while the demon’s servants, Alex, Hart and even Claygon watched, frozen in place. With a stone-shaking thud, the monster collapsed on its hands and knees, tears of black blood flowing as Thundar lifted his mace.

He gave it a quick twirl with his fingers.

Then, slammed it with all his wrath into the side of the hyena-like head.

The snout whipped to the side, and Azzad lay prostrate on the floor. He mewled with agony. “W-wait! Stop! I’ll do anythi—minions! Help me!”

Thundar glared at the demons spread around the room. “Really? You gonna do it? You all terrorise those weaker than you, right?” He pointed at the fallen Azzad. “You’re gonna listen to this terrified little worm?” His thumb jerked toward Claygon. “Knowing you’ve got to go through him?”

Every demon eye was on the golem, watching him brandishing his spear.

The horde glanced at each other…then quickly released Alex and Hart, moving away from them. The pazuzite holding Alex’s staff dropped it like it was scorching its hands.

“That’s what I thought.” Thundar turned back to Azzad, driving another blow at his face.

A sharp crack, and the demon’s snout folded.

“Aaaaaargh! No, I can help you!” The last triplet cried. “No more, please, stop! I can grant you any desire! Treasure! Magic! Mates! Beasts!”

“No, that wouldn’t be right,” Thundar grunted, strapping his mace back to his belt. He reached down. “After all, I still owe you something.”

“What?” Azzad cried, the lids covering his blind eyes twitching.

Thundar hefted the other black blade, nostrils snorting out twin clouds of steam.

“I only gave you back one sword.”

“No than—”

With a grunt, the minotaur hefted the enormous blade high, then drove it down to meet the demon’s head.

A wet crunch and black metal split that head in two.

Azzad shuddered, then went quite still.

As an awe-struck Alex picked up his staff and Hart fetched his sword, the minotaur slowly turned to face the rest of the demons, seemingly paralysed in the chamber.

“Alright.” He cracked his neck. “I’m tired, and I want to go home. I’ll go through the rest of you if I have to. Who wants some of this?”

The demons snarled, bearing claws and fangs.

“Now, now, Thundar,” a deep, familiar voice boomed through the chamber. “I’d be a terrible teacher if I made you do that after the lesson is complete.”

Alex felt a wave of teleportation magic as the towering form of Baelin materialised in the air.

The demons gasped.

Floating beside the ancient wizard—who was sheathed in an aura of unnerving power—was a demon’s head. A demon’s head the size of a small house.

“Ikharrash is dead,” Baelin said simply. “And now, so are you.”

With a ugly word of power, he conjured an orb of utter darkness—blacker than a moonless and starless night—and, with a shudder, it broke into scores of marble-sized orbs that shot through the air like shrapnel from an explosion.

They sought out any living demon near them, striking with precision.

Stunned fiends gasped for air as bone crumbled and flesh crushed inward; penetrating the small orbs of darkness, disappearing with a grotesque noise.

Some tried to scramble away, but they too were pierced by the black marbles, crumbling inward and vanishing as though they had never existed.

In heartbeats, the snarling horde was a full, panicking rout as fiends scrambled over each other, trying to flee the ancient archwizard.

Very few made it from the room.

And then only by a few steps.

When at last the sound of crumbling bodies faded, Baelin and the four companions were left alone in the chamber. Only the dead remained with them.

“Well done, everyone!” The chancellor said, his voice filled with warm pride as he kicked the body of Azzad with a cloven hoof. “Ikharrash is dead. All three of his sons are dead. And I have taken the liberty of moving their treasures to one of my strongholds. I do think it is time for you to come back to the portal with me. We have much to discuss.”

“Yeah.” Alex gave Thundar a look filled with gratitude. “Yeah we do.”

“Uhuh.” Hart nodded to the minotaur with respect.

‘Yes.’ Claygon agreed, radiating warmth and awe as he looked at the minotaur.

Thundar looked at them in confusion. “What? Do I got demon bits in my fur or something?”

Alex reappeared in the clearing, dreading what he might find.

Relieved, when he saw it was exactly how they’d left it—terrifying and filled with dangerous looking plants—but with not a single sign of demons nearby.

His friends were gathered around the portal, splayed out on the ground, except for Theresa and Brutus, who stood at the clearing’s edge—watching the trees—and Cedric, who was pacing back and forth a short distance away from the group.

Isolde had been watching him closely, but she—and the others turned as Alex materialised in the clearing.

Relief washed over Theresa’s face, but the others tensed when he first appeared.

Cedric ran forward. “The rest! Are they—”

“—quite fine,” Baelin said, as he, Thundar, Claygon and Hart materialised in the clearing.

Cheers rose from the group as a stampede of feet thundered across the ground. Theresa flew into Alex’s arms, kissing him. Brutus nearly tackled them to the ground. Thundar was caught in a tight hug by Khalik and even Isolde, while Grimloch stomped over to Hart and clapped him on one shoulder.

Cedric clapped him on the other while Drestra simply nodded to the Champion. “Glad you’re alright,” she said.

“More than alright, thanks to this consummate badass.” Hart nodded at Thundar.

“Oh? What’s all this, then?” Cedric said. “Y’take out the last son, big guy?”

“Yeah, I did,” Thundar grinned. “Got lucky and used my head.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “But we can discuss that in detail shortly. Come friends, let us leave this place. Did any demons penetrate the clearing?”

Isolde shook her head. “A patrol came close but—” She gave a respectful nod to the engeli. “—your two engeli flew into the woods and slew them instantly and in utter silence.”

The chancellor looked up, meeting the gazes of the winged giants. “You performed your duties well. You will find payment waiting in your palaces.”

Both engeli gave the archwizard silent nods, then disappeared as the chancellor strode to the portal. “Come, let us be rid of this foul place.”

“No argument from me,” Cedric said emphatically.

Together, the companions stepped through the gate, emerging back in the material world. The dry air of the ruined city struck Alex like a fist, a strong contrast to Cawarthin’s foul humidity.

It was more than a little relieving.

“I’m glad we’reback,” Theresa whispered, holding Alex’s arm. “That terror-field kept trying to get into mind: All I kept thinking about was all these horrible things that might be happening to you. It took everything I had not to run into the jungle and chase you down. But…that would’ve only made things worse.”

“I’m glad you stayed near the portal and safe,” Alex said emphatically, rubbing her side. “Last thing I would’ve wanted was for you to come back without a spell-mark.”

“I know,” she said, kissing him on the check, making a face as his scraggly beard scratched her face. “Please get rid of that thing.”

“That just makes me want to keep it,” he said proudly, running his fingers through it.

“Ugh.”

As the last of the group filed through the portal, Baelin turned, waving a hand and speaking a quick word. The gate shuddered in the ruin’s doorway, shimmering then vanishing as though it had never been.

“Well,” Cedric sighed. “We’re all done. Guess it’s back to Thameland?”

“Not quite yet,” the chancellor said, waving his hand toward the square.

There was a pulse of teleportation magic and the air wavered. An instant later, comfortable chairs appeared—fitted with overstuffed cushions—in a circle within the ruined square.

Baelin gestured to the seats in invitation. “This is a class, my young, Heroic friends. And as such, it would be useless if I were to simply throw you at enemies without you learning anything.”

“Learning?” Drestra cocked her head to the side. “Won’t we do that back at the Research Castle? New spells and such?”

“Indeed, just as promised,” the ancient wizard said, strolling to one of the seats and sinking down on the cushion. “However, the combat that you just undertook is full of lessons of its own, but they will be useless if you don’t discuss and debrief after such a fight. And so—”

Baelin smiled.

“—welcome to your first debriefing session of the Art of the Wizard in Combat. And as for the rest of you—” He snapped his fingers and the tracking orb appeared in his grip. “—we will begin this session a little differently than previous times. With…shall we say, a spectacle to watch.”