Mark of the Fool

Chapter 862: One Rather Important Thing

With all haste, the Ravener had changed the confines of its dungeon.

At the farthest reaches of its tunnels, an ocean of water had poured into its lair, drowning Ravener-spawn as it surged. The construct was forced to give its full attention to sealing the passages before the bulk of its army drowned.

And at last, after many tense minutes—and more energy expended than it would have wanted—the last of the tunnels were altered, sealed in stone, and reinforced against the hungry waters.

It would survive.

But…it was not pleased.

‘What has happened to these Heroes?’ it wondered, troubled. ‘How did they gain so much power?’

Again, it sorted through its memories, searching for past cycles where the Heroes of Thameland had shown such might.

There were none.

No General, Chosen, Champion, Saint or Sage had defeated forces as powerful as the one it had sent to destroy the Usurper who was closing in on its lair.

The power this Usurper had wielded was unprecedented.

Again, that stirring grew stronger within it.

‘I will need to change strategies,’ it thought, examining its internal stores. ‘I am gaining strength through the divine link; power cannot be wasted.’

The Ravener drew power into itself, storing it.

Its next strike must be crushing, and it would need all of its strength for that.

Aenflynn’s voice came over their link.

“Patience,” the fae lord said. “We are almost there.”

The archwizard struck at the fae lord with the sort of magic that could break entire cities.

Yet, Aenflynn endured.

The fae channelled Uldar’s divine power, changing his strategy. No more would he try to destroy the wizard.

Instead, he would simply endure.

Time was on his side.

He would save his strength for the right moment.

‘And that moment is coming,’ he thought, meeting the beastfolk’s steely gaze as their apocalyptic powers raged. ‘It is coming.’

One of the living dungeon cores exploded, drawing a laugh from Asmaldestre the Unmaker.

“These creatures are entities of destruction. But I require more!” her voice boomed across the wilderness while she fired shot after shot from her weapon. More living cores burst, plummeting from the sky, falling on Ravener-spawn, crushing them beneath their bulk.

“Excellent work, Asmaldestre!” Isolde called, forcing aside the gibbering noise still plaguing her mind. She raked a poison-spirit with lightning. “Khalik, are you finished with the fae gate?”

“I am nearly done with all of them!” the prince called back, floating in mid-air and lifting his hands. He raised an immense stone wall, towering dozens of feet before him, and with a single word, he collapsed it, burying the fae circle and Ravener-spawn rushing to get inside, crushing all beneath the stone. He flicked his wrist, conjuring streams of clay atop the wreckage, sealing everything in.

The prince glanced up at Najyah circling high in the sky. “Najyah does not see anymore gates, it seems we have closed all that appeared on our map, and more!”

“The fae are still taking spawn through to the material world!” Thundar shouted, aiming a bolt of force at a fae knight’s chest. The creature exploded. “Thank the Traveller we’re stopping as many as we can!”

“Same with the Ravener-spawn!” Bjorgrund called.

Grimloch and the giant waded through a horde of Skinned Ones, their weapons carving swaths of carnage through the creatures. Working together, they approached a rampart-crusher, its massive tentacles whipping at them.

The two warriors reached out, grabbing its tentacles, nodding to one another then running in opposite directions. With a shriek, the rampart-crusher went taut, caught in a tug-of-war between two giants.

The pair yanked at the same time, ripping the monster in two.

“I got the bigger half!” Grimloch laughed.

“Hah! You must be blind!” Bjorgrund stuck his tongue out at the other giant. “It’s a draw! The next one we get decides the winner!”

“You’re on.” The sharkman grinned.

Together they went looking for more monsters.

Theresa and Brutus had been fighting a knight-like Ravener-spawn while Claygon flew above, unleashing fire-beams across the countryside.

“If we have finished with the…fae-gates…” the golem said. “Then…we should…find Hart, Drestra, Cedric and Merzhi—” Claygon paused, his head cocking as though listening to something. “Wait…wait…wait…wait! Everyone! Gather…together! Father thinks he’s…found the Ravener’s lair! I am going to send a signal…then he’ll come and get…us!”

“Then it begins,” Prince Khalik said. “I hope everyone has saved sufficient mana and energy, I think the final act is coming. Isolde, would you mind signalling the Heroes?”

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“Gladly,” the lightning wizard said.

Raising her hands, she released a spear of lightning above them that erupted; electricity spasming, lighting up the sky.

And seen for miles around.

“Keep teleportin’!” Cedric shouted. “We’ll lose th’ bastards one way or another!”

“I’m trying!” Drestra’s voice crackled. “But, they’re everywhere!”

The dragon’s wing beats catapulted her through the sky, legs tucked, neck extended, eyes looking straight forward.

She was doing everything she could to keep her top speed while the other Heroes gripped her horns and scales.

Surrounding them was a cloud of enemies.

Not Ravener-spawn.

Fae, who’d been following the Heroes like a horde of mosquitoes looking for fresh blood. They carried no weapons…apart from the filthy smirks painting their lips.

“Why do you fight, Heroes?” one hissed. “You have a pact with our Lord Aenflynn, are you not allied with him? Put down your weapons and choose peace!”

“You cannot strike at us, Heroes of Thameland,” laughed another, her eyes alight with malice. “You might harm us, which would break our laws. After all, we have done nothing to harm you!”

“Stupid bloody pact!” Cedric cursed.

It had been like this for some time.

The Heroes had—at first—rampaged through the skies, killing every Ravener-spawn they encountered while hunting for signs of the Ravener’s lair.

But, the fae had started tailing them, finding ways to interfere with them, using their pact with Aenflynn against them.

Soon, the Ravener-spawn had learned to avoid the Heroes altogether, while squads of fae soldiers kept them surrounded, easily forming a sphere of bodies around the warriors from Thameland. They would follow the Heroes, putting themselves in their path at every turn, taunting them with mocking words while daring them to harm even a single hair on their heads.

The Heroes had tried to get away, to teleport and scatter, but—each time—new fae would appear, stopping them.

All the while, Ravener-spawn were still being ferried to Thameland by other fae. Each time they succeeded, fae would mock the frustrated Heroes.

“Oh no!” one cried as—in the distance—a Ravener-spawn titan vanished. “That spawn looked especially muscular! Perhaps he will crush one of your tiny mortal forts!”

“Oh my, those Ravener-spawn knights certainly looked fearsome!” shouted another when a group of the eight back-legged knights also vanished. “Perhaps they will find parents in your armies! Those poooor little children that were sent away will soon be orphans, never seeing their kin agaiiiin!”

Sing-song laughter followed.

Cedric’s grip tightened on his morphic weapon.

Hart’s hand grabbed theChosen’s wrist. “Don’t you dare!”

“I can’t keep listenin’ t’this!” Cedric shouted. “I jus’ can’t.”

“I hear ya, but we’ve got to power through their horseshit,” Hart said. “We don’t wanna play into their slimy hands! Ain’t that right, Merzhin?”

The Saint’s head was bowed, his eyes closed.

His lips were silently moving.

“Ain’t that right, Merzhin?” Hart demanded again.

The Saint finally opened his eyes, a peaceful smile on his face. “I apologise, what was that?”

Hart stared at the small man incredulously as the wind whipped over his helmet. “What in the hells, how can you not be paying attention?”

“I was praying,” Merzhin said, his tone still peaceful.

“Oh, you praying to the Traveller?” Hart asked. “Looking to help her faster?”

“No, well yes and sort of,” He looked up at the fae surrounding them. “These devils seem to have forgotten one rather important thing.”

“And what would that be, little mortal?” a fae soldier called down mockingly.

“That I was excluded and mistrusted by my companions at one time, which was actually a good thing.”

The fae warriors looked at each other in confusion.

“Because, you see…” Divine light gathered around Merzhin’s hand. “I was not present when that pact you spoke of earlier was made. So, I am in no danger from your laws.”

The fae collectively began frowning, understanding seeming to be slowly dawning on them.

Around Merzhin’s hand, blinding light blossomed. “And wicked will be undone! All their sins will be marked on their flesh, and those that look upon them will know horror at their ruin!”

“No—” The fae soldier, no longer looking smug, shouted.

The light enveloping Merzhin’s hand had already flared, an unseen wave of power ripped from it in all directions.

Drestra paused, hovering in mid-air as the faes’ attitude seemed to change.

One smiled, tensely, “I suppose your power is not-Aaaaargh!”

He and his kin screamed as one.

First came the boils.

The fae’s beautiful skin warped, turning green and grey as great, pus-filled boils and sores spread over their bodies, covering exposed flesh.

Their bodies began contorting.

Screaming became wet gurgling as—before Cedric, Hart and Drestra’s amazed eyes—their tormentors’ bodies warped, turning inside out as if a hand had reached within them and pulled.

Fae bodies shuddered for a time, respirations dying, their bodies plummeting to the ground as twitching sacks of flesh and bone.

“There. That took care of them.” Merzhin collapsed his hands together. “We thank you, oh wondrous Traveller, for the powerful miracle you have blessed us with. My prayer came from Uldar’s book, but please know that it was directed at you, as is all of my gratitude.”

Hart grinned at the Saint. “Holy hells, you’re blood thirsty.”

Merzhin shrugged. “They were too smug for my liking. I decided to fix that.”

“Well, I’m jus’ glad we never went an’ fought each other. That woulda been messy!” Cedric looked down at the ruined flesh piles far below. “Real glad.”

“Hey, look!” Drestra suddenly shouted. “Over there! It’s a signal from Isolde’s group!”

In the distance—far to the south—the flash of a great ball of lightning appeared.

Cedric grinned. “They’re callin’ us back! Ya think they mighta actually found th’ bloody Ravener? Let’s go find out!”

“Thank you, Traveller,” Merzhin whispered. “May you continue to guide us.”

Together, the Heroes of Thameland teleported toward their companions.

All was quiet over what seemed like a simple patch of unremarkable wilderness in Och Fir Nog.

The only thing that marked it as not ordinary were the mighty beings—astral engeli and elder air elementals—guarding the piece of wilderness.

They spoke not a word, and the area was mostlysilent…

…until a large group of warriors appeared, teleported in by the General of Thameland.

“—trail goes deep into the earth here,” Alex was just finishing his explanation to his companions. “We didn’t see any tunnels leading down yet, but that doesn’t mean anything: this is where Uldar’s body most likely is.”

“And likely where the Ravener is too,” Merzhin added, breathing deeply as he examined the ground. “And your summoned engeli is right, Alex. I feel a powerful divine presence deep beneath the earth. A familiar one, I might add…”

He nodded, as though confirming his idea to himself. “Yes, it must be Uldar’s corpse.”

“Then this is it,” Prince Khalik said. “This is where the final battle begins.” He exhaled loudly, looking around. “I see no tunnels, though.”

“We might have to make some,” Alex said, looking at the faces of his companions. One stream of consciousness took in every feature of their faces, memorising every detail, and they watched him intently in return. “Okay, let’s take stock, we heal any injuries anyone might have, and then we finish this.”

“Uh, I have a question.” Bjorgrund raised his hand. “We buried all the fae gates. How are we supposed to get back to the material world if this goes bad?”

“Baelin can take us,” Alex said. “Or I might be able to manage with the Traveller’s power.”

“And I should be able to uncover some of the gates should we need to escape,” Khalik offered.

“Alright,” Bjorgrund said. “Well, that’s good to know. Still…” He looked at the ground. “Maybe I asked a stupid question. If this goes bad, I don’t think we’re coming back.”

“Then we have to make sure it goes well,” Alex said. “So like I said, let’s take stock of ourselves and then…”

He looked at the ground. “Find a way into its lair.”

As he said that, he turned a stream of consciousness to a single task: praying to the Traveller. From here on, that would be its singular job: channelling as much faith to her as he could.

Within his soul, her power stirred.

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