Mark of the Fool

Baelin watched the young Alex Roth scurry across campus, no more than a dot upon the green. It was amusing, knowing that they both were about to join with their cabals…

“...and yet, the manner in which we visit them will be quite different,” the ancient wizard said aloud, snapping his fingers.

A looking glass appeared before him—twice his height and thrice the width of his shoulders—reflecting both himself and the great office behind him.

Taking a moment to gaze upon the opulence of his surroundings, he straightened his robe and beard-braids, examining the bronze clasps to ensure they’d kept their shine.

It would not do to appear in front of old friends without looking his best.

“And so it begins.” He waved a hand at the mirror, it rippled in the way the surface of a lake would after he’d cast a stone into its depths. The reflection warped and shifted, darkening until the room echoed in the mirror had faded to a pitch black.

With care, Baelin cast a spell of Void Adaptation on himself, then stepped forward, his hoof gliding into the darkness facing him. Another step, and he disappeared from the office.

Darkness surrounded him for a brief moment, broken only by lines of white shooting by in all directions.

Stars.

Stars reduced to tiny lines of light by speed and distance, as the magical mirror catapulted him across a space so vast, that most numbers used in Generasi would be laughably inadequate.

No average teleportation spell would be up to the task in any capacity, which was a good thing.

Better that any rival making the effort to find their meeting place be actually forced to work for it. In time, space slowed around him as stars shifted from lines of light, to twinkling dots in the distance.

Before him, an object grew in his vision as he closed on it: a vast stairway carved from obsidian glass harvested from the heart of a primal volcano. When at last his movement stilled in space, he floated down, hooves touching the bottom step then taking him up the stairs that began in empty space, and seemed to lead into nowhere.

The ancient wizard climbed hundreds of steps, admiring the distant stars and letting his cabal’s concealed guardians examine him closely as he climbed to the awaiting sanctum.

“It is I, Baelin,” he said smoothly. “Calm yourselves, friends, I am no shapeshifter that you need to destroy.”

For a time, he could feel gazes searing into him, capable of piercing any illusion or transmutation he could be capable of creating, lingering as he peacefully climbed the steps. At last, the watchers pulled away, satisfied that he was who he was.

That had not always been the case in the past, and his cabal would tolerate no more shapeshifting intruders. He ascended to the top step, turning back and pausing for a moment to gaze upon the wonders of the universe.

Stars burned in unfathomable distances with clusters and galaxies further still. The cold vastness of space lay in between, unbroken save by unseen objects and travellers locked up in airtight vessels of magic and wondrous craft. He knew they were there, even if he could not see them.

“Ironic,” he whispered, as he mostly did when coming to this meeting place among the stars.

For thousands of years, the people of his world had looked up to the sky, thinking that the ball of dirt upon which they stood was everything. The source of all life. The only firmament.

The cradle of creation.

Meanwhile, they held to the notion that the sky above them was the domain of nothing more than birds, twinkling lights and hidden deities.

But, the opposite had proved true: the universe was a vast place, filled with more wonders and dangers than even Baelin dared face without companions to share it with.

To do otherwise would be foolhardy.

And terribly, terribly lonely.

Of course, it wouldn’t do to share the wonders of the universe with too many: for that would give the altogether tastelessly inadequate tyrant-wizards, mad priests, megalomaniacal dragons and petty gods, foolish ideas.

Foolish ideas in the hands of foolish beings would only lead to foolish outcomes: such as entirely bothersomethings turning their attentions to a world entirely unready for those attentions.

Or worse, draw the eye of an actual threat.

There were many terrible things in the universe, some best left alone, while others were to be actively worked against without the fumblings of neophyte magicians interfering with millenia-long conflicts.

If folk found their own way to the stars, they usually had the competence to engage in the grand cosmic tapestry with some wisdom.

Usually.

‘I do wonder if the Traveller was part of this tapestry.’ He speculated, a hand rising up to trace the hidden lines of a constellation so distant, that his world would not have heard of it. ‘It is not an entirely unreasonable assumption but…that could cause complications.’

“Will you stare at the stars until they burn out, Baelin?” a voice spoke from behind him, one as deep as an ocean trench.

A thrill struck Baelin’s ‘heart’.

“Magun-Obu.” The chancellor turned away from the stairs and stars. “How long have you been there?”

“An eternity. Since you mounted the steps then paused still in contemplation. I thought I would slip into torpor again before you finished.”

Before the chancellor spread a circular platform hovering in the black of space, forged with obsidian glass surrounded by enormous standing stones floating about it in a ring, each the height of an ancient redwood.

Within the circle rose a set of five thrones, each tailored to suit its owner.

Baelin’s was an imposing armchair of stone and bone, bedecked with the skulls of his enemies. The throne to its right was a simple, squat boulder, carved with the glyphs of a long-dead tongue. Beyond that, a golden seat towered above the rest, shining with hundreds of jewels encrusted in stardust, armrests representing dragons roared at the world.

Above it, floated the replica of a sun.

The next throne was a mound of perfectly ordered coils of wires and metal cords—some glowing with inner lightning—surrounding a perfectly formed crystal of silicon carved in the shape of a chair.

And finally, the fifth was a majestic obsidian seat—perfectly symmetrical by all measures—its back was capped by a ruby of the same scale as a rhinoceros’ skull.

This was the only throne that was occupied, at the moment.

Magun-Obu the Maker sat cross legged, dark-skinned, shaven-headed, powerfully built and sheathed in a voluminous robe woven of a black silken fabric. In one of four hands, he gripped a staff: tall, forged of an ebon metal, its origins undisclosed even to his cabal.

It was topped by a skull of some long forgotten humanoid, eye sockets filled with large emeralds. Rubies and sapphires filled its jaws—alternating between glittering red and shimmering blue—each replicated a human tooth.

The striking wizard—as tall as Baelin himself despite his mostly human heritage—rose from his throne, crossing the platform with bright eyes. “How do you fare, you old son of a bastard?”

“Hah, the only things you can call ‘old’ without hypocrisy, are mountains, you decrepit wretch.” Baelin grinned, extending his hand.

What followed was one of the most epic of secret handshakes, only able to be performed by two beings of great power, six arms between them and the vigorous summoning of magical hands of force.

When at last the ritual was done, the two men laughed, embracing each other.

“It is much too long since we all came together.” Magun-Obu said, his eyes shining. No smile touched his lips, but it rarely did: his smiles always hid in his eyes. “How fares that school you inherited? Have you grown tired of it, yet?”

“Fonder, if I am to be honest.” Baelin walked with the other archwizard; they sank into their thrones. “I believe I shall stay there for a time longer. How does work go?”

“The newest pantheon is less demanding than the last.” Magun-Obu leaned back in his throne, and the chair back bent with him, allowing him to recline in comfort. “Their payment is more worthy. Their task is more challenging and satisfying. All together? An improvement.”

“Good to hear, but I have to say, I don’t know how you can tolerate deities’ demands—”

“You say that upon our every meeting.”

“—because it remains true. You make wonders of architecture and sorcery for them, and yet they often treat you as nothing more than an underpaid gardener.”

“Then I shall retort with my own refrain. I do not understand how you tolerate the constant presence of so many children.” Magun-Obu’s lip curled. “I cannot fathom it.”

“They keep me fresh,” Baelin chuckled. “If it were not for the young ones, I would likely spend much of my time in torpor like you. Ah, speaking of young ones, how is your son?”

The other archwizard’s lip twitched. “I do not see him often…we still do not understand each other.”

“You should work on that. I know you can. You had a fondness for that apprentice of yours K’mark. Moulded him from a young man into an archwizard.”

“That was different.” Magun-Obu said grimly. “He wished to learn the powers of sorcery…my son learns the theory, but seems more interested in weapons, claws, and the strength of his arm than he is in the boundless wonders of sorcery. I do not understand it. His mother’s influence, no doubt: trolls have strange ways, no matter which world they are born in. But…in the end, what does it matter? She will die. My son will die. I will live on.”

“Aaaaand you might find the hole that they leave in death lasts much longer than their measure of life.” A new voice spoke.

In a flash of flame, a light blazed into being, as though another sun had been born only a hundred feet away. The light shrank, curling into itself until it took on the shape of a man even taller than the other two archwizards.

His armour was regal, his bearing noble and his long black hair perfectly cared for. He seemed human, though his size betrayed something different, as did the claws upon his fingers, the fangs filling his smile, and his blazing reptilian eyes.

“Emperor Anaxadar!” Baelin called cheerfully, moving to get up. “Still playing at conquering your world?”

“I told you not to call me that.” The man’s height was immense; he held up a clawed hand. “We are each other’s friends, not subjects, we have too few friends to start burdening each other with titles. And do not get up.”

“We will call you that as long as you keep playing with that empire of yours, old friend. One must make fun of you,” Baelin chuckled as the new archwizard took his seat.

Anaxadar’s nostrils flared, blowing twin lines of smoke. “You are using ‘muuuust’ incorrectly. You are choosing to poke fun at me. Like a wretch.”

“Is he using it incorrectly? ‘Must’ is quite appropriate.” Magun-Obu’s eyebrows rose. “Are you truly still trying that scheme? You should give it up, your mother’s not around any more to encourage it.”

“And I will tell you what I have said for centuries: the conquest is for me, now. For my peoples.” Anaxadar’s claws traced the armrests. “A world that worshipped a departed sun goddess might not be healthy, but one that worships her son as its Divine Emperor…well, I might be able to lead it well after forty millennia of nature running amok in it.”

Baelin shook his head. “You play with fire, old friend. Someone’s going to kill you, one day. World conquering almost never ends well for the one attempting to be conqueror.”

“As we said, we will not help you if it turns ill.” Magun-Obu agreed.

“And as I have said, this is my own project. Just as your architecture and schools are: just as you do not ask us for help with them, I do not ask for your help in this. Even if it does lead to death.” Anaxadar nodded. “Now enough of such grim talk, have you seen the others?”

“Not yet,” Baelin said. “I’m surprised that Sanii isn’t already here.”

“I was earlier, but needed to perform maintenance on the guardians.” A woman’s voice—echoing from ten directions at once—rang through the meeting circle.

Floating from behind one of the massive stones, came a humanoid construct—the height of an average adult human female—built of shining metal alloys and clothed in robes of white. The construct’s eyes glowed red, flaring as she spoke, and from her feet, issued jets of flame.

“The 143rd body of the Wizard of Steel greets you. The central brain apologises for not being able to attend this meeting in my primary chassis.”

“Sanii!” Anaxadar called. “The ‘Wizard of Steel’? That is a new one. It is also ostentatious.”

The construct’s head snapped toward the ‘human’ as she hovered down to seat herself on her throne. Wires flared bright from contact. “It was given to me by a primitive world’s denizens, though the structures of all my bodies use very little steel. And the name is no more ostentatious than ‘Divine Emperor’ or any of your other titles.”

“Hah!” Baelin threw his head back. “She has you there, you old lizard.”

A flare of sunlight sparked behind Anaxadar’s fangs. “I will get you back for that, you—Ah, our number is about to be completed.”

The emperor gazed up toward the stars, and the rest followed his gaze.

Baelin warmly noted a pale, growing speck among the black.

It drew closer, eventually growing clear: a lean crow with feathers as white as clouds and eyes as red as blood. The bird fluttered down, resting on the glyph-marked boulder, shifting shape until it had taken the form of an ancient woman.

She was unassuming—cloaked in homespun robes and furs—though her craggy face held a chilling cast from the sinister light in her eyes. “Old friends. The sight of you takes a thousand years off these bones.”

“Cra.” The chancellor smiled. “I am pleased to see you too.”

“My heart is warmed as though the sun smiles on it.” Anaxadar boomed.

“My affection has not lessened.” Sanii’s voice issued forth, with something similar to emotional warmth.

“I am as well.” Magun-Obu nodded. “How goes things in that barbaric world? Have you run into my apprentice?”

“I have not,” Cra’s voice seemed to bubble. “He avoids me and I think he fears me. Isn’t that adorable?” Her laughter was wet, and though her voice was muted, Baelin heard it as clearly as if she was whispering in his ear.

“How goes things with your latest apprentice?” The goat beastman asked.

“He shows promise…and yet does not…” A pleased smile grew across her wrinkled lips. “Whether he survives my riddle remains to be seen. If he does, then we will be ready for the next step. If he does not?”

The smile widened. “My collection grows.”

“You always were a cruel teacher, Cra,” Anaxadar said.

“So are we all, by many measures,” Baelin said. “Cra’s methods are harsh, but fair, and not so dissimilar from how I learned wizardry. In any case…after far too long, we are assembled again.”

“Indeed.” Magun-Obu’s deep voice boomed. “And I am curious as to why. I have completed the task you asked of me. Yet that could have been resolved in correspondence. Why the meeting?”

Chancellor Baelin leaned forward. “Because I have something of a larger favour to ask. I am going into battle again. True battle. …what say you if we reunited in combat for a special occasion?”