Mark of the Fool

The hellish jungle reeked. A harsh stench like ammonia, mixed with rot, rankness, and a miasma of composting floral scents assaulted Alex’s nostrils like a weapon. Grimacing, the young wizard exited the portal, quickly wrapping his cloak tail around his nostrils; ahead, he could hear Brutus whining and sneezing.

Humidity was thick, like they’d been submerged in a vat of hot muck designed to both stifle and swelter them. There was also a bitterness permeating the atmosphere that he could taste, and he lowered the cloak and spit on the foliage nearby.

Some of the taste still remained.

“Ugh, wish we could have gone for Orbs of Air,” he grunted, listening to the thunderclap of terrible magics being brought to bear. Somewhere beyond their sight Baelin rampaged, and Alex felt oceans of mana clashing against each other. He shook his head. “You’re probably enjoying this, aren’t you?” He whispered.

“No sign of anything that’s alive near us…except for those guys, I guess,” Thundar nodded to a pair of towering humanoids flanking the portal clad in golden armour, and wielding glowing greatswords. Their white-feathered wings were drawn about themselves like cloaks, and their eyes burned bright silver within great golden helms.

They radiated terrible power, even standing statue-still.

“What n’all the hells are tho—Wait, are they engeli?” Cedric scratched his red hair. “Aren’t they servants o’ Uldar?”

“Some are, according to holy books,” Alex said. “But they’re also their own spiritual species that serve mostly themselves…and powerful archwizards, I guess.”

“It’s good to know that our escape’s covered,” Theresa said, nodding through a gap in the treeline. “I wouldn’t want to be trapped in there.”

The Hold of Ikarrash towered above them, its spires filling much of the sky. Alex couldn’t help but gape at the monumental scale: he’d never seen anything as enormous beyond literal mountains, and he’d never imagined anything that immense could be wrought by mortal—or immortal—hands.

“Shite, that’s the size o’bloody Ussex…no, that’s the size o’ ten bloody Ussex’s!” Cedric whispered. “Bleedin’ hell, how’re we supposed t’ find anythin’ in that?”

“Ikarrash's sons will be in the lower chambers,” Prince Khalik said quietly. “And they will not only be opulent, but also well-guarded. But, Baelin did say that he left something to help us—”

Before he could finish, an orb of grey matter flashed into being before them.

“Hello, my students,” Baelin’s voice came from the sphere, freezing the party in place as they reached for their weapons. “This is a spell I crafted just for this occasion, and it is keyed to the essences of your quarry. As you approach them, the orb will emit an increasing heat to indicate that you are closing in. If you take a wrong turn and begin increasing your distance between yourself and Ikarrash’s sons, then this orb will grow colder. Happy hunting.”

With a final echo, the voice faded, leaving the grey orb floating in mid-air, waiting for someone to take it.

“Only one orb, eh?” Khalik gave the sphere a troubled look. “That is not good.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked. “Oh wait. I get it. Only one of us will be able to carry our only guide…if they get blasted and sent back to the portal, then not only will they be gone, but so will the thing telling us whether or not we’re going the right way.”

“That’s not good,” Hart grunted. “We’ll want someone who’s not gonna get stuck in.”

“That would either be myself, Alex, Khalik or Drestra…” Isolde reasoned. “I think Alex would be our best candidate. He is the least likely among us to get himself stuck in combat and he also is used to defending himself.”

“Agreed,” said Khalik, handing the orb to the young Thameish wizard. “You will need to be our guide, then.”

Alex took the orb, wincing at its touch. “Well, it’s icy cold right now,” he said, holding it close. “So, let's head in the direction of that castle. The more time we spend here, the more likely we’ll be discovered.”

Silently flying above the foliage, the group of Cawarthin-invaders began their journey into the jungle, falling silent as the sounds of Baelin’s battle boomed above them. All around the din of conflicts between a host of demons flared.

Screeches of pain.

Cries of terror.

Dying shrieks.

The sounds of monsters tearing the flesh of other monsters.

It was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl, and Alex scanned the alien jungle cautiously as they flew between thick tree trunks oozing a diseased-looking crimson sap.

The scent of the jungle was beginning to cause the young wizard’s head to throb, a disquiet began to stir in his chest. As they moved deeper into the jungles of Cawarthin, the Hold of Ikarrash grew in the skyline, as did the anxiety within Alex’s own heart.

The screams intensified around them—and the battle above grew more vicious—the unnerving cries wormed their way deeper into his mind. Where beforetheywere merely unpleasant, now they’d become sinister. More purposeful, as though they were closing in, and his imagination conjured images of demons whispering in the dark treeline, stalking the group of mortals who were arrogant enough to trespass in their domain.

An image came to him: one of Burnsaw and Zonon-In, out there in the trees, plotting and cackling at the foolishness of their mortal prey.

‘What if this is all a trap?’ Alex thought. ‘What if Zonon-In knew all of Baelin’s plans and everything she said was just a trap to lure us down here and kill us. No, torture us first and then kill us—No, stop! It’s the terror-field. Harden your mind against it.”

Taking a deep breath, he grounded himself in the moment, acknowledging his fears were irrational and letting them pass. He noted tense body language, and tightened jaws and knuckles among his companions.

“Remember the terror-field,” he whispered. “It’s getting into our heads. Acknowledge the fear, then let it pass. Don’t get too upset and don’t try to fight it too hard. Just…let it go and remind yourself that you’re among friends.”

“Thanks,” Cedric whispered back. “Was almost half-bloody sure these trees would be reachin’ out an’ grabbin’ us for a spell there.”

“It could happen to the best of us,” Khalik said, wincing as another explosion tore through the distance. “Let’s keep our nerve and let us get to the Hold with it intact.”

“We’ll try,” Drestra’s voice crackled, her reptilian eyes darting through the foliage. “What a terrible place.”

“No argument there,” Alex whispered.

“Wait, stop!” Theresa hissed from the front, raising a gloved hand. “I…hear something. Maybe a few hundred feet ahead.”

“Go low, then,” Alex whispered, looking at Khalik. “Does Najyah see anything?”

The prince fixed his familiar with his full attention, then slowly nodded. “Tiashivas, from what she describes, and many of them too. We will need to take great care around here.”

“Can we slip past them?”

Khalik frowned, his eyes fixed on Najyah. “I think so. Theresa do you agree?”

“Yes…” she said. “They’re not moving, and there’s a path in the trees to the left. If we go low and quiet, we should be alright.”

“Low and quiet, it is, then,” Alex whispered. “Let’s move.”

Silently, the hells-invaders dropped down until they were hovering only a handspan above the foliage, flattening out and shrinking their profiles as much as they could.

They slid over the strange flora like sharks silently cutting through water, and Alex took a moment to examine the plants clotting the jungle floor. Even taking into account his limited lessons in magical botany, most of the species here were beyond his knowledge.

Oily fern-like plants dripped viscous liquid onto a purplish moss that formed a carpet over the blasted soil. Berries the size of eyeballs oozed a rusty smelling substance, while flowers resembling starfish seemed to reach toward the mortals as they hovered above.

Alex winced at their overpowering scents, praying to the Traveller that Brutus wouldn’t sneeze again: he could hear the Tiashivas as they drew closer. The demons were off somewhere to their right, creating a ruckus as they cooked something over a campfire and brawled among the trees.

The forest was too thick for Alex to catch sight of them, but he did smell their roasting meat as the aroma drifted through the trees. There was…something familiar about the scent, similar to steaks he’d grilled for evening meals in Generasi, though this smell had an oddly sweet undernote.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but there was something unnerving about the aroma, which made him very happy he couldn’t see just what it was they had roasting over their fire. Over time, the tiashivas’ disturbing scents and sounds faded as they left them behind, gradually replaced by movement coming from ahead.

A lot of movement.

And Baelin’s orb grew warmer.

Alex glanced up, looking for the Hold through gaps in the jungle’s thick canopy, catching glimpses of the deep orange sky through layers of dagger-like leaves. The Hold of Ikarrash loomed above them, so enormous that it occupied half of the skyline. Lava flowed from its towers, raising smoke and the pungent stench of sulphur.

Alex longed for an Orb of Air. ‘As if this place needs to smell any worse,’ he thought.

“The treeline’s ending up ahead,” Theresa said. “There’ll be a clearing soon… I think we should be close to the Hold then.”

“As quiet as you can, then, everyone,” Alex whispered. “We’re almost past the first challenge.”

Slowly, the mortals flew to the edge of the treeline, peering out over the undergrowth.

Ahead, a hundred feet of blasted earth and lava pools lay, leading to a small village of ramshackle huts and hovels, seemingly long abandoned. Above, flocks of pazuzites flew in a frenzy, pointing, squawking and soaring toward the great battle in the distance.

Beyond the village the stone walls of Ikarrash’s fortress rose, as thick and imposing as a mountainside. Snaking vines glowing with the orange light of flame, crept up the rock, covering it in otherworldly blooms the size of Grimloch. Alex’s eyes narrowed: they reminded him of the hungry mouths of certain carnivorous plants Professor Salinger had taught them about.

“Best to avoid those vines,” he whispered.

“You see a way in?” Hart asked. “I’m not seeing anything from here.”

“No, I’m not either,” Theresa whispered, squinting at the stone for a sign of a door or passageway. “We’ll have to circle around and see if we can find a doorway.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

The mortals slipped along the treeline, flying low, focused on the stone ahead. Creeping along, Alex noticed the odd window carved in the rock—barely visible among those thick vines—through each one, demons leaned out, pointing skyward and shouting to each other.

‘Nearly every eye’s likely fixed on Baelin,’ Alex thought. ‘Good for us, as long as we can find—’

“There.” Theresa pointed. “That’s our entrance.”

They paused, following her outstretched arm, spotting a vast door carved in the stone. It was enormous—large enough for a creature twice Grimloch’s height to step through—and broad enough to accommodate a pair of wagons side by side.

In a mortal castle, it would have served as the main gate, but—here—it seemed more like a side entrance: the door was shut, only guarded by a single pair of pazuzites, each demon twitching and squawking at each other, glaring up with longing as flocks of their kindred poured into the sky, joining the battle raging above.

“Hello, entrance,” Alex said quietly, noting the orb’s growing warmth. “This looks good. We’ll need to take those guards out quietly.”

“I can do that,” Hart said, drawing his enormous warbow.

“And so can I,” Theresa drew her composite bow.

“Okay,” Alex said. “Go to it, but maybe we should make sure… Claygon. Grimloch. Are you still with us?”

“Yep,” Grimloch’s voice growled.

‘Yes…father,’ Claygon said.

“Fly over there as quietly as you can, then wait for Hart and Theresa’s arrows to hit their targets. If the guards die from getting a little too close up and personal with the arrows, then good. If they don’t? Then, kill ‘em.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Alex heard Grimloch say as he moved off.

“Also,” Isolde cut in. “Be aware that the invisibility spell I cast on you is one of the least powerful. The magic is delicate. An act of violence could be enough to disturb it and break the magic. So only attack if necessary.”

“Awww,” Grimloch grunted. “Learn better spells.” His voice faded away.

‘...there are better versions of invisibility?’ Claygon asked, a note of disappointment seeping through their link.

‘Yes, but don’t worry,’ Alex thought. ‘There’ll be plenty more opportunities for fighting later.’

‘You’re…right…father,’ Claygon thought. ‘Will…be patient.’

Alex sighed. ‘When did everyone around me become a violent maniac? I used to hang around sensible people,’ he thought, watching his incredibly violent huntress girlfriend pull back her arrow.

He caught himself enjoying her profile as she aimed the bow. ‘Right, nevermind, I almost forgot that I also have issues.’

With a pair of twangs, two arrows loosed.

“Nothing ever happens at this door,” one of the pazuzite guards complained. “No interlopers. Nothing to sink our claws into.”

“You’re right,” growled its companion. “Always down here, never getting to have any fun.” Its tongue licked a sharp beak. “No delicious rage and fights to—”

The second demon’s words dropped as an arrow plunged into its eye.

“What? Where did—” The first demon’s words died as a much larger arrow smashed through its skull.

“Well,” Alex said, watching the two demons slump to the blasted earth. “Away we go, then.”

‘Claygon,’ he thought. ‘Could you do your father a favour and quietly get the door?’