Mark of the Fool

“Dammit,” Alex swore to himself, replaying what had just happened in his head.

The image of that hellhound clamped onto Theresa’s arm was seared in his mind, along with the thought of what could have happened if she wasn’t wearing magical chainmail. Considering he blamed himself, it was all too real and sobering.

“That was so stupid,” he muttered, anger colouring his thoughts as they reached the bottom of what felt like an unending staircase. ‘You told the hellhounds to scatter, so why would they be gathered in one spot, you drooling jackass?’ He cursed himself. ‘You even told the elementals not to warn you if they saw anything you’d summoned, but how in all hells could they tell the difference between groups of hellhounds? You should’ve known they weren’t yours, and now—’

“Alex!” Khalik’s voice slapped him like a palm.

“Hm?” He looked into the troubled face of his friend, realising everyone elsewas watching him.

“Which way do we go? Ground yourself, man! Think about what you could have done differently later!” The prince gestured to three passageways leading from the landing.

“Oh shit, right, sorry,” Alex apologised, waving the orb about. It grew warmer when held directly ahead. “Central path.”

“Are you alright? Are you with us?” Khalik looked at him solemnly.

“Yeah, I’m with you.” The young Thameish wizard took a deep breath, letting his emotions slip from his mind to wash away. He would deal with them later. “Let’s get this done.”

As the group flew along the central path, Drestra glanced at the orb. “How much farther, do you think?”

“Well, if this thing gets any hotter, it’ll be burning my hand soon,” Alex grumbled, shifting his grip on the sphere. “Which means we’re almost there.”

From the front of the formation, Brutus suddenly stiffened, his noses pointing forward, his hackles rising as a low growl rumbled through his chest.

“Yeah, you said it, boy,” Alex said. “I’m ready to be done with this place, too.”

But the cerberus kept growling as they moved forward, growing increasingly agitated, his heads swivelling in all directions.

“It’s alright, Brutus.” Theresa patted her cerberus’ side. “I know there’s a lot of demons down here, but we’ll be out of here soon…at least, I hope so.”

“No…” Grimloch took a deep sniff of the air. “He’s not smelling demons.” The sharkman licked his lips. “That’s human flesh he’s smelling. Looks like there’s people down here.”

“Wait, what?” Cedric whirled, eyes wide. “First, why’d y’call it ‘human flesh’, like that?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“You’re right on that account, friend,” the Chosen winced. “But why would there be any trace o’ humans down here? We’re in a hellish demon abyss, aren’t we?”

Alex and Khalik looked at each other, but it was Isolde who spoke first.

“To earn their favour or to appease them, some cultures have been known to sacrifice their people to demons as slaves, pets, playthings or even to be used as fodder.” She said grimly. “Their existence in such a place must be utter torment…”

“Or they could be cultists,” Thundar suggested. “A bunch of Leopolds and Zonon-In worshipping types.”

“I am not certain they would be living in the hells, though,” Isolde said.

“Hey, supposedly most archwizards eventually leave the material plane, don’t they?” Thundar pointed out an old tale. “Why couldn’t some of them be living in the hells?”

The companions looked around.

“Fighting an archwizard…” Hart growled. “I don’t know about that. The regular ones are bad enough in a fight…so I’m not liking our odds against another Baelin, unless we get a few hundred miracles on our side.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Well, we don’t know for sure what it is. Might even be a trick or an illusion for all we know. In any case, that’s not our mission…unless these supposed humans are being held down here. It’d be pretty shit to just leave them in the hells, though.”

“Rescuing them would be difficult,” Prince Khalik pointed out. “We have spell-marks to protect us, but they would not. Freeing them from this fortress without getting them killed, I would imagine would be nigh on impossible.”

“Maybe we find them, mark their location, finish what we came to do, then tell Baelin,” Alex suggested as the group paused at another split in the path: a hallway led to the right, and another curving staircase was leading deeper into the Hold. “Grimloch, Brutus, which way’s the smell coming from?”

The sharkman nodded to the stairs. “That way.”

At the same time, the cerberus growled, pointing his snouts toward the steps.

“Well, that's one location confirmed,” Theresa said, glancing at the sphere. “Where’s our quarry, now?”

Alex waved the orb toward the stairs feeling a surge of heat through his fingers.

“This way,” he blew on his hands and shifted the orb, pointing down the steps. “Wherever those three demons are, it looks like that human smell’s coming from the same direction as them.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean Ikharrash’ssons are using the humans as shields,” Prince Khalik said. “Our battle will be difficult enough without having innocents to worry about.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” Alex turned to his air elementals, switching to their tongue. “I need you to go and scout ahead.”

The elementals gave a whoosh, instantly sweeping down the stairs and into the dark while his Wizard’s Hands continued extracting electrified forks from wall sconces.

“Let’s hope that’s not something we’ll need to worry about,” Alex said, nodding toward the steps. “But, with the kind of luck we’ve been having so far…”

He fell silent as they continued their descent into the Hold, suddenly, his elementals reappeared, crackling with electricity.

“Ambush ahead!” He called.

“Let me take care of it.” Drestra calmly offered, flexing her fingers. “I have something for this.”

“Go ahead, but you’d better do whatever it is fast!”

Demonic cries echoed up the stairwell.

The Sage of Uldar began her incantation, channelling an immense tide of mana. Demon cries were growing louder, more frantic and then, Drestra pointed a single finger downward.

A sphere of frost magic, the size of a small house, manifested before them with the sound of sucking wind, solidifying into a titanic boulder of ice and snow. A flick of her wrist sent the boulder rolling with the sound of thunder, plummeting down each enormous step, disappearing around a corner, gathering speed, and—a heartbeat later—frantic cries reached the party from the demons below, followed by shrieking, and the wet crunch of bodies. Cries died away, leaving only the thunder of Drestra’s icy orb surging down the staircase.

Alex looked at her, his mouth agape. “Holy hells, that was awesome.”

“It’s one of my favourites,” she sounded pleased. “It was created by another Sage of Uldar for just this purpose: rolling on Ravener-spawn in dungeons with steep tunnels. Glad to see it works on demons, too.” There was a smile in her voice.

A loud explosion shook the entire stairwell as the ice ball’s momentum ended against a wall somewhere far below. Stone dust rained down from the ceiling.

Drestra gestured toward the steps. “No more ambush. Now, shall we?”

In amazement, the companions continued, flying above icy steps smeared red before they rounded a corner taking them into a passage one floor below.

“The orb’s heating up again,” Alex announced.

“The smell’s getting stronger, too,” Grimloch growled.

“Then we’d best prepare f’the worst,” Cedric said.

“Yeah, everyone keep your senses sharp,” the young Thameish wizard warned.

‘Think. What’ll you do if Ikharrash’ssons have hostages?’ He considered the possibility. ‘Dammit, I wish I’d mastered a teleportation spell: I could just grab captives and teleport them out of harm’s way while the others are busy beating the hells out of those three demons. But, no use wishing for what you don’t have. Think about what we do have. We’ve got lots of power to throw around with the Heroes here, still, that won’t help us much if there’s prisoners. Maybe I can use summons? Maybe bury the demons in a horde of summoned monsters…ach, but they’d just rip the hostages apart. Shit, maybe—’

“Scent’s coming from over there.” Grimloch nodded toward a hallway branching off the passage. “It’s strong, we’re real close.”

“Wait, what?” Alex peered down the hall.

At most, the corridor was only a few dozen feet long, terminating with a set of looming double doors. The short passage’s walls were lined with forks sparking in their sconces, while suits of armour—human-sized—stood every five feet or so. They faced each other, gripping weapons and shields emblazoned with the symbol of Ezaliel.

“That’s pretty ominous, I bet you that’s where our quarry…” the young, Thameish wizard paused, waving the orb back and forth. His brow furrowed. “Actually, that’s not where our targets are.”

“Really?” Khalik cocked his head, noting a tapestry hung from the wall above the doors. “That’s strange…those doors almost scream ‘throne room’.”

“Or a wizard’s personal chambers,” Hart grunted. “You’d be surprised how many wizard’s towers have their living area all set up like a throne room.”

“Have you been in many throne rooms?” Khalik asked.

“Just the one. But I’ve been in my share of wizard’s towers. You know…for the purpose of killin’ ‘em. No offence.”

“None taken,” Isolde said. “Now then, what do we do? Do we investigate this place or stay on target? It is not so far out of our way, and if there are victims being held against their will…”

“I think we should take a quick look,” Khalik said, squinting at symbols etched into the full-size armour. “This place feels like it has importance. I don’t much like the idea of seeking our prey only for powerful reinforcements to attack us while we’re otherwise engaged.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Alex said. “Let’s check it out…but first…”

He looked at Claygon. “Would you mind blasting those suits of armour, buddy? They have this, ‘we’re going to animate and chop intruders to tiny bits’ written all over them.”

‘Yes…father.’ The golem raised his hands, aiming his palms at two statues, while turning his head toward a third.

Light flared, blazing power shot forward, blasting three suits of armour to molten slag. A heartbeat later…

A terrible screech of steel on steel cut the air as armour shuddered, coming to life. Raising shields and sturdy weapons, they slowly turned, facing the intruders.

But, Claygon had already charged his fire-gems, ready for another volley.

Beam after beam blasted through the hall, blowing apart metal, blackening stone, and turning the tapestry to ash. Sparking forks died as sconces melted, dripping down the walls, radiating near blinding heat.

Soon, what remained of the line of animated armour were pools of bubbling steel.

“Alright, let’s breach those doors!” Alex cried. “Claygon, could you go first—”

“No, wait.” Theresa raised the twinblade, its shining steel glinting in the crimson light. “Is there mana coming from them?”

Alex paused, peering at the doors, opening his enhanced mana senses. He hadn’t felt anything earlier…but now, mana was definitely building behind them, mounting as someone or something held their magic at the ready.

“Yes,” he whispered. “It feels like someone’s getting ready for whatever comes through those doors.”

“Then let me go first. If there’s a wizard in there, I’ll have a surprise for them.” She waved the Twinblade purposefully.

Alex paused. “Okay. Claygon opens the door. You’ll be the first one through. Hart, Grimloch, Claygon? You're right behind her. Let’s go!”

As one, they charged. Claygon lowered his war-spear and shoulder, building speed; Theresa flew close by his side, her predatory eyes fixed on the doors.

The golem struck wood, war-spear first.

A screech of agony erupted when the doors imploded, war-spear driving point-first into an enormous tiashiva waiting behind them.

Theresa darted in front of Claygon, her swords poised.

A large, richly adorned apartment lay before them, crawling with snarling demons surrounding a tall, sharp-faced woman in charcoal-black robes. Beside her, a finely dressed man cowered, his chalky face mapped by rows of wrinkles, his balding head dotted with scraggly white hair.

He pointed with a shaking finger. “K-kill them!”

With a single word of power, the black-robed wizard thrust both hands toward Theresa, firing a pair of jet-black rays of necromantic power. The spells hissed like serpents as they cut the air as fast as any arrow, but they might as well have been moving at a snail’s pace against the huntress’ lightning reflexes.

A noise like a struck gong reverberated through the chamber as black beams met silver blades, rebounding from their surfaces, returning to the wizard. The woman’s eyes flew wide as her own spells found her gut, her scream ripped the air. Alex watched, transfixed, while necromantic power withered both life and mana in a hideous parody of natural decay.

First her skin paled.

Then blackened.

Her flesh shrivelled.

Her eyes turned white as her hair and teeth fell to the floor.

In an instant, a putrid, rotting corpse—withered and mummified—collapsing on the rich carpets, staining them and her robes with decay.

In that moment, most—both Alex’s companions and the demons—paused in shock, staring at the grisly remains… until their attention was dragged back to each other.

Dripping demon heads suddenly arced across the room, demanding their focus.

“Stop gawking and start killing, you fools!” Hart roared, plunging into the demonic horde, his sword swinging.