Mark of the Fool

“A spectacle?” Alex asked, settling into a wide, cozy chair with Theresa beside him, arms wrapped around his. She snuggled up while Brutus curled up at their feet.

“Indeed,” the chancellor said. “Unfortunately, that conflict was…taxing, shall we say? Very taxing. You were combatting an entire horde of demons, staving off the terror-field, while watching each others’ flanks. It was a great deal to consider and to deal with.”

“You’re speaking of it as though you were there.” Prince Khalik relaxed in a chair beside Thundar.

The cabal mates had rushed for two individual chairs positioned beside each other, denying Isolde a single seat. After a bit, she’d been…‘forced’ to share a broad chair with Cedric.

Neither looked at all bothered with the arrangement, though she tried to hide her joy.

The Chosen didn’t: his grin was both broad and cat-like.

“Were you following us under invisibility, Baelin?” Khalik asked the ancient wizard.

“I was not!” The chancellor denied. “I did have my own battle to fight, and—at this stage in your development—I felt that I had granted you enough…safety rails, shall we say. Were I to follow you invisibly—like a parent hovering, trying to stop a child from tripping and falling—would have been a disrespect to your now formidable combat abilities. …that said, I was observing you objectively.”

He waved the orb about. “This magical device possesses more than one function: it examines an area within a hundred feet and sends what it ‘sees’ directly to one of my streams of consciousness. My eye was on you from the moment you entered Cawarthin.”

“We weren’t in any danger,” Grimloch stated flatly.

Alex looked at the sharkman sharply; he almost sounded disappointed.

“Ooooh my noooo.” Baelin shook his head. “You absolutely were in danger, though far less than you would have been without spell-marks. Had something gone terribly awry, rendering the spell-marks insufficient to assure your safety, I would have come for you. …but if I didn’t arrive in time…”

“Well, glad there was real danger then,” the sharkman was clearly relieved.

“I like you.” Hart nodded at him in approval.

“You’re both crazy,” Drestra's eyes flicked from Hart to Grimloch. She shook her head.

“Thanks for the compliment.” Grimloch grinned.

“Okay, I really like you!” The Champion laughed. “When this is all over, I’m buying you some drinks, big man.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alex interrupted them. “Baelin…so you said if something rendered the spell-marks…insufficient?”

“Indeed. As you know, there is a slight chance—for example, if you were to be obliterated instantaneously—that the spell-marks’ activation would occur too late to save you. However, such a scenario would be very unlikely. Mostly.”

“Uhuh…” Alex looked at his spell-mark uneasily. “Are there any specific dangers we should know about that could get past your marks, Baelin? Like…anything in particular we should be watching out for?”

“Not anything you would be likely to run into,” the archwizard said, sounding disconcertingly vague. “I suppose an interdiction would be the greatest threat, but if you throw yourself against something capable of that, then either you have refused to listen to all advice I have ever given you, or I have utterly failed as your professor and guardian.”

“What’s…an interdiction?” Cedric asked, his voice unsure. “Never heard o’ the like before.”

A low growl escaped Baelin’s throat. “It is one of the most powerful divinites that can be brought to bear. A miracle of miracles, as it were.” The chancellor’s eyes grew distant and his expression turned sour, as though he was observing a far removed, but very unpleasant memory. “Deities, as you have all heard, are powerful beings, glutted on faith, and that faith allows them to interact with the laws of reality in ways that even wizards cannot.”

He held up a finger. “An interdiction is when a deity—or one of their most powerful divinity wielding servants—denies a law of reality through sheer will, a strong declaration, and divine power.”

“Oh dear,” Khalik swallowed.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty bad,” Thundar said. “Imagine if they say ‘there’s no light here’ or ‘there’s no air’ or something like that.”

“Precisely,” Baelin said. “Or—more relevantly…” He took a deep breath, drawing himself up. “No mortal magic may call upon mana in my domain. That is a favourite of many deities who know they shall be opposed by wizards or other magically gifted mortals.”

Alex shuddered. “By the Traveller…that’d shut down the spell-marks and every bit of our magic. We’d be pretty helpless.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “However—again—if you were facing something capable of that sort of power, then something has gone terribly wrong….in any case, we are getting off topic.” He smiled at the Heroes. “A common occurrence in a class whose professor is a mortal as old and doddering as I.”

“Are you mortal, though?” Theresa asked.

“Debatable. Depends on your definition and who you ask,” the archwizard said smoothly, before uttering a word of power.

A great pool of mana shifted around the circle of students, and the air in the midst of the circle shimmered, transforming into a vast, life-like illusion. The companions began murmuring softly: confronted with the hovering image of themselves standing before the gateway in Cawarthin, ready to quest into the demonic jungles.

The image paused before moving forward.

“As a matter of routine,” Baelin said. “I begin our debriefings by asking a simple question: ‘what went right and what went wrong’? However, I do believe that in this case, your reflections can be enhanced by a bit of observation first.”

He tapped the side of his head. “This was your first visit to the hells and the very first time many of you had to engage with an otherworldly presence attempting to smother your coherent thoughts—”

Everyone—except Grimloch—threw Alex a brief, uncomfortable look.

“—and so it might be difficult for you to clearly evaluate your actions without a reminder now that you are more, shall we say, clear headed. I will show you—by way of illusion—everything that I observed of your journey by way of the orb. Take notes, if you wish. I can teleport your writing instruments to you upon request. Alright? So, let us begin.”

###

Watching himself by way of an illusion was a novel experience for Alex Roth, but—in some ways—a familiar one. On one hand, the Mark had shown him his past more times than he could count, but on another, he’d never had the experience of observing himself from outside before.

Or for that matter, watching himself and his entire team from outside before.

But one frivolous—considering the seriousness of the situation—rather ridiculous thought was taking his attention.

‘Oh by the Traveller, does my beard really look that bad?’ Alex cringed. ‘Ugh, look at how it’s tangling in the wind like string! Jeez, Khalik was right, I really need to take care of it…or maybe I should just shave it o—Oops, pay attention, Alex!’

He focused as Hart and Theresa’s arrows cut through the air, piercing the heads of two pazuzites.

From there, the group entered the fortress, shutting the doors behind them.

Alex grimaced.

Already, he recognised his first mistake, he quickly made a note to bring up later.

They watched mostly in silence—whispering to one another now and then—as they saw themselves moving along the fortress’ corridors. Grumbling ran through the group when the illusion showed them examining the sparking forks, followed by muted murmuring when they met their first demons.

By now, Alex was busily scribbling notes, circling those things he thought he’d done well, and highlighting what he thought he’d done wrong with big, black X’s.

“We were down there for a lot less time than I thought,” Theresa whispered, watching as the group flew down the halls. “It felt like we were in there for hours.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “I can’t believe we’re already at the stairs—Oh, by the Traveller, this part.”

Alex’s teeth clenched, watching himself blunder into the pack of hellhounds. He shook his head, cursing out loud.

Theresa squeezed his hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, but I still messed up,” Alex muttered, squeezing her hand in return. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, but I can’t afford to make mistakes that would have such a high cost.”

The couple fell silent, watching as their illusionary selves continued through the Hold. Alex noted the sour look on his face and added to his notes.

“Ah, here comes my second favourite part,” Baelin said cheerily, chuckling as the companions’ illusions breached the chambers of Herinrich Streppler, killing his wizard, interrogating the man, then tucking the terrified, evil merchant under Claygon’ arm like a sack of grain and taking him with them.

Alex watched closely as they paused outside of Ikharrash’s sons’ massive chamber. He chewed his lip while they flew past the room and made their way to the kitchens, nodding in approval at Khalik’s plan, as well as Cedric and Drestra’s contributions.

He smiled, watching them burst through the wall and wreak havoc on the demonic forces inside. The smile abruptly faded, a sour expression replacing it as he watched the battle.

“Ach, shite, I can barely watch this,” Cedric cursed as his illusionary double charged the last of the three demonic brothers. Dark muttering spread through the circle as they watched the shadow leap from beneath a demon’s throne, slipping into Cedric’s chest.

“And this is where it all goes wrong,” Isolde muttered sourly—as one by one—the groups’ number was battered.

“Yes.” Drestra leaned forward in her chair. “But I’ve been wondering what happened after I was pulled away.”

“Oh no…” Thundar muttered, sinking lower in his chair, covering his face with both hands. “We don’t have to watch the rest, do we, Baelin?”

The chancellor paused the illusion. “You really do not wish to experience it again? I would think you would be the one most eager to continue.”

Isolde glanced at the minotaur in curiosity. “Oh?”

“No, no, don’t ask. We don’t need to see the rest,” the minotaur muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “You don’t want to see the rest, trust me.”

“I want to see the rest,” Khalik said. “It can only help us if we all see how the final battle played out.”

“Oh yeah,” Hart grinned. “All of you have to see this glory. There’s a reason I’m going to drown Thundar in beer later. A real good reason.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said, “in some ways, the final part of the battle is the most important…for several reasons.” He cleared his throat. “It’s…also my favourite part.”

“Yeah, I’d watch it a thousand times in a row, if I could,” Alex agreed, drawing curious looks from Cedric, Isolde and the others who weren’t there to witness Thundar’s triumph.

“Oh by my ancestors, fine,” Thundar said. “I’m just…hoping it ain’t as embarrassing as I think it was.”

“Thundar,” Baelin said, his voice almost grandfatherly. “Please, the victors of great battles do not concern themselves with such paltry things as ‘embarrassment’.”

With that, he waved a hand and started the illusion again.

Alex watched with bated breath as the illusionary battle unfolded: first came Azzad’s terrible lies, and he watched fear play across the faces of Hart, Thundar and himself. Then came Hart’s rush, and their capture…and…

He frowned.

‘Is Thundar saying something?’ He wondered. ‘I can’t hear it…maybe that’s when he cast the Illusionary Duplicate spell he was hiding in. And then—’

“Oh here we go!” Alex cried. “You’re going to love this part, Theresa!”

“By my ancestors,” Thundar grimaced as he rushed toward the demon, throwing himself at Azzad’s feet.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the group.

“I…it is alright, Thundar,” Isolde said comfortingly. “The terror-field can get to us all, and Azzad took advantage of that.”

“Just wait for it,” said Alex, Baelin and Hart simultaneously.

The three men looked at each other with knowing grins.

“What’s got you so exci—Oh!” Grimloch suddenly rose from his chair.

“Holy shite!” Cedric cried, gaping as the illusionary Thundar shot Azzad through the eye. “That’s bloody brilliant!”

“Oh, it gets better,” Baelin’s voice was filled with pride.

“Then you owe us another,” the illusionary minotaur’s voice was like flint as he blasted the demon with force missiles.

“Daaaaaaamn!” Theresa cried, leaping from the chair. “This is amazing!”

“Kill me,” the minotaur groaned.

“Kill ya?” Cedric looked at him incredulously. “Only way I’m killin’ ya is wit yer body weight in booze, y’hear?”

Drestra vibrated in her chair, seized with high-pitched giggles.

Thundar seemed to be trying to dig himself into the ground as his illusionary double fired off another one-liner, spearing the demon through its knee cap with its own sword.

“Whoa, whoah, whoa!” Grimloch cried, the sharkman’s voice brimming with uncharacteristic excitement. “Show that again!”

“Perhaps later,” Baelin said, with no hint of a lie.

The minotaur made a gurgling, dying noise as his illusionary self intimidated the horde of demons. “Don’t say it…don’t say it…”

“No, that wouldn’t be right,” the illusionary Thundar said. “After all, I still owe you something.”

“What?” Azzad cried.

Thundar’s illusion hefted the demon’s other blade, his nostrils snorting out twin clouds of steam.

“I only gave you back one sword.”

“Top score!” Baelin shouted.

“Amazing!” Alex cheered.

The others roared with approval.

Drestra burst out laughing. “Delightful!”

“I wish the demon had killed me,” Thundar groaned. “Look, look, look…I didn’t say all that shit just because! I had a reason for it! A good one!”

“As I suspected,” Baelin said, gesturing to the scene. “Which is the reason—aside from vast satisfaction—I insisted that everyone witness this. Thundar, tell us…why did you say those things, aside from the fact it is your right and I would have done the same.”

“Well…” the minotaur grunted. “It’s…it’s how I overcame the terror-field.”