Mark of the Fool

“Before we part, I would like to congratulate you on your exceptional work.” Baelin leaned forward in his chair—one of many he had conjured in a circle around the fire—and gazed upon his students and the Heroes of Thameland.

Pride brimmed in his goat-like eyes.

But something else also lay there…something unsaid.

“You have progressed immensely,” the chancellor’s voice was warm. “You defeated your enemies in Tenebrama and accomplished your mission with few issues. The demons’ relic was destroyed, you reached the extraction point without a single injury or causality even though surrounded by overwhelming odds. But, before I go on, is there anything anyone wishes to say?”

Alex’s hand rose. “I think we did a lot better than our last mission: we resisted the wrath-field, which was tough to fight, we all made it out without needing the spell-marks and—like you said—we reached our objective; destroying the target.”

“Aye,” Cedric said. “I didn’t lose m’damned head, this time.”

“Neither did I,” Hart said.

“I…almost did,” Drestra said, still sheathed in her true form. She was curled up at the edge of the circle, as Baelin had said he didn’t have a chair to accommodate her size that he could teleport for her. The Sage looked down at Thundar, her lips pulling back from her fangs.

Alex guessed that the expression was a smile, though it looked more like she was preparing for a fresh ‘beef’ luncheon at the moment. “But Thundar helped me through it. Thank you for the lesson.”

Thundar beamed.

“Aye!” Cedric said. “Them mantras helped me keep m’self focused even though we couldn’t see much. Bloody hard, that was. Kept wantin’ t’smash faces, even if it was a friend’s.”

“Yeah, same here,” Hart agreed.

“I think I can say that all of us—except for Claygon—” Prince Khalik nodded respectfully to the golem standing beside Alex and Theresa’s chair. “—were assailed by those same feelings of rage.”

“That is true…I…was…not…” Claygon’s speakerbox boomed, his choice of voice mimicking that of a demon. “I could…feel my father’s…anger. It was…confusing.”

“And how was it confusing, Claygon?” the chancellor asked with interest. “Yours was a unique experience within Tenebrama, and I do believe that sharing it would be useful to all of us.”

The golem paused for a long moment. “...I…felt father’s anger…and it made me want to attack. I wanted to protect. Father was under attack…from the plane. From…himself. But…there was no one to strike with my war-spear or shoot with my fire.”

“That would be confusing.” Baelin nodded. “And how did you deal with it?”

“I…waited…remembered father’s advice about not always attacking things…I was…patient.”

“And do you think that worked well for you?”

“Yes…” Claygon said. “Because…I trusted father…”

“Indeed.” Baelin smiled. “And with that, you have hit upon the most important element that contributed to your entire team’s success this time. Trust.”

The chancellor looked at Drestra. “It might be tempting to say that your success stemmed from Drestra’s powerful transformation, Alex’s very expensive explosive device, your clever use of spells, Thundar’s affirmations, or even your teamwork. In truth, these were all secondary. The primary factor that brought you through Tenebrama so successfully? Trust.”

He held up a hand. “Now, a cynic might roll their eyes and fear that I am about to launch into a sentimental speech about love and friendship triumphing over great evil or something of that sort. Absolutely not: two weak youngsters madly in love would be consumed by a demon as easily as a hateful, lonely wretch. Trust is rather pragmatic, in this case.”

Baelin nodded toward Alex. “You spoke of trust before you began this mission, and it was quite apt that you did. In Tenebrama, none of you could see each other. You had no way to monitor each other’s positions or see what a teammate was doing. Each of you operated as a team but—in many ways—you were alone. Tell me, what would have happened had you been thrown into this situation with unreliable strangers?”

Prince Khalik raised his hand. “We would have performed poorly. In essence, we could not know if our teammates were pulling their own weight, conducting themselves well and staving off the wrath-field. What would have happened if one of them had been ensnared by it and attacked another team member with a powerful spell? We would have all been in trouble. It would have made me constantly mistrustful of the others, while having to be vigilant against enemy attacks, dividing my attention.”

“Precisely.” Baelin nodded. “Very good. You trusted each other’s abilities. That enabled you to perform your own jobs without having to worry about whether the team member next to you could perform theirs. And that generates power. You have all grown immensely from when I first met you, including you, young Heroes. You have learned how to better function and fight as a unit. And that is a skill which can aid any Proper Wizard or warrior, or Hero throughout their trials…but now, I must reveal a worry to all of you.”

His look turned grim. “You have taken a major step toward your final transformationas young people with bright futures. Be you warrior, wizard, dragon, shark beastman, human and so on…this lesson and your success shows me that you have progressed to a new stage.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Theresa asked. “So, why would you be worried?”

“Because you are growing to the point where I suspect you will leave my sphere of protection sooner, rather than later. And the world—as I have said—many times, is an unforgiving place. I will continue to teach you ways to protect yourselves, to destroy attackers and conquer foes…but with your newfound level of agency comes a newfound ability to venture out in the world and strike your own path.”

He sighed. “I have trained a great many students in my time, teaching them all that I could. My teachings have saved many lives. At other times, they were not enough. My only hope is that—as you grow beyond where I might protect you—these lessons serve as both sword and shield.”

Silence followed.

“We already venture into danger,” Drestra’s deep voice crackled. “But thank you.”

“Indeed!” the archwizard’s voice lifted, taking on a lighter tone. “And do not let an old man’s melancholy rob you of what this is: a victory. Go. Celebrate. You have earned it and…” He looked at Drestra closely, a chuckle passing from his lips.

The dragon cocked her head. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, his tone amused. “It is just that you remind me of at least one former student, and of another dear friend. Now, let us return to the Research Castle. Go and be merry! Eat, drink, dance. Or do it all.”

He looked at Alex. “But you, my friend, must come with me for a moment. We must talk.”

The young wizard nodded; he had a feeling he knew exactly what the chancellor wanted to talk about.

“Cretalikon, within the Outer Labyrinths,” Baelin said, his voice grim and stern. “That is where we must go next.”

Alex watched as an illusion floated above the chancellor’s desk in the university, marvelling at the sight of it.

It was the image of a maze—so mind-bendingly complex—that his eyes throbbed just from trying to trace a path through it. The labyrinth was massive, so large that entire cities thrived within its chambers, each separated by hundreds or thousands of miles of winding halls. Labyrinthine walls towered above floors of stone and bone, some rising as high as a castle rampart, while others towered over the elemental mountains within the Rhinean Empire.

Every wall burned, wreathed in flames ranging in colour like a rainbow.

Flame licked the labyrinth’s marble, filling the air with shimmering heat waves and rising soot. Within great clouds of ash flew dozens of demonkind, many mocking the creatures desperately crawling through the endless halls and corners below. Alex noted that each flying fiend was wearing a glowing crystal attached to a stone belt inscribed with a demonic glyph that translated in the Common Tongue to the word: ‘Freedom’.

Those without such sigils seemed to be bound to the maze below: he watched a strange monster—a centipede-like creature with row after row of feathered wings in place of chitinous legs—attempting to wing its way above the labyrinth’s walls.

It wore nostone of freedom on its side.

Each time it flutteredabove the walls, the realm shifted, folding in on itself in a seemingly impossible, alien geometry that Alex’s mind could not begin to grasp. When the reconfiguration was complete, the monster was gone.

“Over here—” Balin pointed to another part of the image. There was the monster, now trapped in that part of the maze, surrounded by dozens of strange crystalline fiends, their shapes like oozing, partly-melted gemstones.

They struck at the hapless creature from all sides, crystalline pseudopods smashing and flaying the creature into bits of chitin, wings and bug-like flesh.

“That…is…horrible…” Claygon said.

“You can say that again,” Alex agreed. “Is this one of the hells?”

“In a sense,” Baelin said. “It is a domain that shifts its alignments between the hells and other planes of existence, effectively travelling between each. Sometimes it exists in the Hells. Sometimes it exists in the elemental or celestial planes. Sometimes it exists seemingly nowhere.”

“That’s amazing,” Alex murmured. “The planes really are fascinating places…but that’s going to be hard to navigate. Is that where…Zonon-In said Hannar-Cim’s information is?”

“Indeed.” The chancellor waved a hand in front of the image, shifting its focus to several chambers in the maze: each so titanic that entire cities lay within.

The image focused on a particular city—an enormous centre with buildings crafted of gold and sparkling gems the size of wagons.Its towers soared hundreds of feet in the air—some even thousands—many forged in the shape of demonic generals and masters, clutching weapons or sceptres of rulership.

Coiling vines of writhing greenery enwrapped the city, sometimes bursting into full jungles between streets of gem and gold. They steamed, and despite the thousands of fires burning in braziers flanking every street, they did not burn .

Yet, no fire burned brighter than the one capping a six–sided pyramid: the flames topping the structure might have been as big as the entire Research Castle in Thameland, and burned with colours that Alex could not even name.

Surrounding the pyramid was a massive palace that could rival the city of Generasi in size,filled with buildings of maddening geometric shapes.

“Holy hells,” Alex swore. “It’s beautiful isn’t it…in its own way? Its own mad way.”

“Many demonologists have said much the same.” Baelin gestured to the palace. “You are looking at one of the many wonders of the planes: a palace older perhaps than our world itself, and filled with demons of an age that they would have witnessed the dawn of civilization in our world.”

“And who does it belong to?” the young, Thameish wizard asked.

“To Ezaliel himself. You are looking at one of an Abyssal Knight’s many manses.”

The young man’s jaw fell open. “Is Hannar-Cim’s information in there? By the Traveller, Baelin, Zonon-In’s information better be specific. I could search that place for a year and probably not explore it all.”

“And that is where my news to you turns good and ill at the same time.” The goatman shifted the image. “The good news is that the information you seek does not lie in Ezaliel’s palace itself.”

The image focused on another building: a palace that easily matched the size of the university, constructed of silver, gold and jewels. Surrounding it was its own maze of burning marble, interwoven with hedges of blood-red flora, each spiked with thorns the size of daggers.

At the centre of the palace stood a statue of a towering minotaur…or what looked to be a minotaur at first glance.

A closer look revealed its demonic nature: four horns instead of two, tentacles hanging from his body in place of fur, two great fathered wings sprouting from its back, and six-fingered hands clutching a fearsome-looking trident.

The statue’s four eyes were burning rubies, staring down at the courtyard below with an inner malice. A cruel arrogance marked the bull’s expression.

“This is the palace of Kaz-Mowang: a former mortal cultist of Ezaliel that served him so well, that he ascended—or descended, depending on your perspective—to demonhood, achieving immortality in the process. He is one of Ezaliel’s most ferocious, powerful lieutenants and a fanatic to the Abyssal Knight’s cause. And—according to Zonon-In—he fought Hannar-Cim on an ancient, mortal battlefield.”

Baelin glared at the palace itself. “And though the battle was a draw, he took from her a prize, which he spirited away to his lair. In there, you will find what you are looking for.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Well…I never did think it would be easy. Baelin, tell me everything you know. If I’m going in there, I’m going to have to prepare like my life depends on it.”

He sighed. “You know, because it does.”