MARK OF THE FOOL 6

©2024 J.M. CLARKE

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Also by J.M. Clarke

Mark of the Fool

Book One

Book Two

Book Three

Book Four

Book Five

Book Six

Book Seven

Check out the series here:

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Chapter 1

Seven Seasons of Change

Ayear and a half had passed since the Fool left Alric one late summer’s morning. Nearly seven seasons since he’d fled his homeland to escape the Ravener’s return.

And those seven seasons had brought change, as time tends to.

But, there are many kinds of changes in the universe.

There are small ones: a man sewing a new pair of trousers, a woman buying a jug of milk from a different farmer, or even a king deciding to have boar pate with breakfast instead of duck.

Then there were changes that were great to some, but with short reach: a young couple wedding under a summer moon, the birth of a wolf pup in Coille Forest, the blow thrown by a young man that found the face of a former friend.

And then there were titanic changes. Ones with ripples that reached across land and sea, sweeping up all as they passed: the rise of a tyrant, the wrath of a deity, or the fall of an empire. Some were even greater still, reaching across planes and affecting beings who dwelled in different worlds.

And in seven seasons? Those seven seasons had been full of titanic changes, even if they had not yet fully come to pass. Even if those who made those changes were not quite aware of how great they would be yet.

Within the research castle in the land of Greymoor in the Kingdom of Thameland—yet unnamed by its builders—many of those sources of great change had gathered.

There was Chancellor Baelin, head of the University of Generasi, and a symbol of power by any measure. Beside a roaring fire, he shared knowledge with Professor Vernia Jules—head of the university’s alchemy department—and three of Thameland’s Heroes.

The Saint was absent, but the Champion, warrior of Uldar; and the Chosen, leader of the Heroes; were present with the Sage. Along with them was a mysterious member of the fae, known to most as the Guide.

Known to some as the Stalker.

The Sage paid little attention to chancellors, fae, Heroes, or alchemists. Her mind was elsewhere, outside of this room, focused on another who was absent.

The priests of Thameland had never found Uldar’s Fool… Drestra the Sage thought she might have.

And that he was closer than was thought.

Outside of the keep, in the snow-locked courtyard on a winter’s night, the Fool of Uldar was called ‘father’ for the first time.

And so another change had come to his life.

Alexander Roth’s mind reeled under the weight of that word. Somewhere in the visions of his future, he’d expected there might be someone who would call him father one day.

He loved his girlfriend, Theresa Lu, and planned to marry her if she would have him. As for children, he really hadn’t given that much thought. In his hometown of Alric, having children was just something people did.

They grew up.

They worked.

They married.

And they had children.

The only folk who didn’t take that path were mostly priests and scholars, or the very curmudgeonly, like his old boss McHarris. In Generasi, most folk made different choices. Some would dedicate their lives to careers, research, magic, or the arts. Others would simply take up lives of travel and exploration, leaving behind thoughts of building home, hearth, and family.

On some deep level, Alex Roth knew he could choose that sort of life if he wanted, but the young man from Alric hadn’t really left those old town traditions and life paths behind.

Therefore, it wouldn’t be at all surprising for there to be at least one small someone in his life someday to call him ‘father.’

But he’d never—in his wildest imaginings—expected that the someday would be now, and that the someone would be a construct.

Standing before him was his newly evolved golem: Claygon.

He towered roughly ten feet tall and looked even more ferocious than the goddess statues in the Cave of the Traveller that the fire-beams in his hands and head had come from. From his creators’ hands, the sculpted form of an invincible four-armed warrior with sharpened teeth had been born. He’d been crafted of grey clay with a surface carved to imitate intricate, full plate armour, adorned with scenes of warriors and monsters among the filigree.

The three fire-gems sparkled in his palms and forehead, connected to a powerful golem core. In the light of a glowing sapling—a magical aeld tree—they seemed to shine with their own inner fire.

Each a window to the new power within.

For Claygon had changed too.

In a battle of life-and-death, power had bathed him from an unknown entity, turning his body from clay to fine marble. He was now stronger, tougher, richer with mana, and… he’d also transformed in other ways.

And to Alex, perhaps this way was the greatest.

‘Father.’

At last—after many months—Claygon had communicated, and that remarkable word was his first. Alex had been granted that wondrous title, not by a toddler of his and Theresa’s blood, or a child adopted by choice, but by a golem crafted by his and his sister’s hands.

Inside, Alex felt a torrent of emotions: love, shock, confusion, delight, awe, fear, and more. They raced through him, leaving him paralysed, not knowing quite how to react.

And he didn’t think the Mark could help him.

He did know one thing for sure.

This moment would decide the strength and direction of his and Claygon’s bond.

‘Father?’ Claygon’s voice asked in his mind. It was deep, like the rumbling of the earth, though childlike in a way: uncertain, yearning, loving, and unknowing.

And fearful.

Vulnerability emanated through their link, telling Alex that what he said now would either create great change or do irrevocable damage. He’d heard tales in Shale’s Workshop of evolved golems who were met with rejection and fear by their creators. It would always end in rampages, torches, pitchforks, and destruction.

He thought of the first time he’d met Drestra. The Sage had been unheard by everyone around her, and she turned agitated and bitter. He thought of Selina, how she feared rejection from everyone, including her own brother when her fire affinity was discovered.

He even thought of Brutus—brought home from the woods by Theresa as a pup—with his six eyes shining bright with curiosity.

What would have happened had Theresa been a cruel master? Alex’s gaze fell on Claygon’s fire-gems. How long would it have taken for those bright eyes to grow dull?

But the young wizard, the golem maker, had no intention of dulling eyes or fire-gems. He’d treated Claygon with love, not only to avoid rampages and mayhem, but because he loved the silent giant that he and his sister had built.

And so, he responded in the only way he could.

“Claygon!” he shouted, his smile growing so wide it hurt his cheeks. “You can talk!”

Alex sprinted across the snow, kicking up little clouds of white powder, and leapt through the air, landed on Claygon’s warm torso, and wrapped his arms around him.

‘Father?’ the gentle voice echoed through Alex’s mind as the young man squeezed his torso tight.

“You talked!” The Thameish wizard’s voice cracked as tears welled up in his eyes and joy surged through his chest. “Oh, by the Traveller, you can taaaalk!”

The golem stood frozen, watching his creator—his father—through marble eyes. Feelings rushed through their link: surprise, relief, and… a bubbling, rising sensation of happiness.

‘Is… this… right?’ Claygon asked, his lower arms gently wrapping around Alex, hugging the young wizard. His grip was powerful, and for a brief, claustrophobic moment, a little stab of fear went through Alex. Claygon’s arms were like the earth rising to consume him.

The golem hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Alex said, looking up at Claygon’s face. “It’s okay. You can probably feel my feelings through our link, can’t you? Just like I can feel yours.”

He spoke slowly and with the most soothing tones he possibly could. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Claygon, suddenly coming to full sapience. If it were him, he’d feel scared and confused.

There would be things that needed explaining.

And he would need reassuring.

“It’s okay, you can hug me. I know you won’t hurt me,” he said. “Sometimes people get feelings and little emotions that pass quickly. It’s natural, but they don’t define us. It’s our decisions that do. And I’m deciding I want you to hug me, if you want to.”

A torrent of emotions rushed through their link.

And then.

Trepidation came through along with nervous, flickering hope.

The arms slowly wrapped around Alex again, hugging him gently. One of the massive stone hands slowly patted the young wizard’s back. Alex smiled, unleashing all of his giddiness, letting it race through his bond with his golem. Letting him know that his affection was desired, trusted, and reciprocated.

That trepidation began to vanish, pushed aside by the growing hope and a childlike, simple feeling of pure joy.

‘Father,’ the voice said, its confidence growing. There was less of a question in it now. It sounded more natural, more comfortable.

More… like Claygon was accepting it.

“Yeah, buddy,” Alex said. “I suppose I’m your father of sorts. Welcome to the world, my brave golem. Welcome to the world.”

As he leaned back, he noticed wizards passing through the courtyard, looking at him as though… well, as though he’d quite lost his mind. He supposed it must make for a strange sight. A grown man suddenly talking to his golem, hugging and telling the golem to ‘call him father.’

At best, he might’ve appeared eccentric.

At worst, like he might’ve belonged in a dungeon somewhere.

Alex didn’t care. He’d just survived one of the greatest battles of his life, the love of his life had unlocked a hidden secret within swords that were precious to her, and his golem transformed in both mind and body.

Looking like he needed to be locked up was nothing in the grand scheme of things. His own god had branded a big glowing jester’s face on his shoulder, though it was hidden by a little illusion he’d concocted with his good friend Thundar. But hidden as it was, he knew it was still there, so a little golem-directed affection didn’t bother him much in comparison.

Everything was relative in life.

Which was something Claygon would have to learn, depending on how much he already knew.

“Hey,” Alex said, examining him closely, looking for any more signs of physical change. Nothing caught his eye. “Seriously, welcome to the world!” He jumped down and turned in place, his arms spread to the castle around him. “How does it feel? You can think! You can talk!”

Silence passed between them and—for an absolutely terrible moment—Alex feared Claygon’s mind had receded. Then feelings and snippets of thought sparked at the other end of the link before exploding into a kaleidoscopic storm of emotions.

Half-formed words flickered through the bond, each disappearing as quickly as they materialised.

‘Don’t know…’ Claygon finally said. ‘Don’t know… the words.’

“The words?” Alex asked gently.

‘Words for… feelings.’

“Right…” The young wizard went to cross his arms, but paused. To many folks, crossing one’s arms created a barrier between people and showed feelings of distance, possibly anger. Those were definitely not feelings he wanted to show Claygon, so he kept his hands spread slightly by his sides, showing openness, friendliness. In time, he’d need to teach his golem about these things and lots more so he could properly navigate the world.

“There’s a lot of words for feelings,” he said. “I’m sure this is all… a lot for you, so I won’t start teaching you them now. You’d like to learn about that kinda stuff, though, wouldn’t you?”

‘Yes!’ came Claygon’s enthusiastic cry through his mind.

Alex clapped in excitement. “Good! Good! That’s what I like to hear. I’ll teach you so many more things too, but I have a couple of questions for you.” He pointed to his temple. “I hear you using words in my mind. How is it you know those words? If you don’t know, that’s okay.”

‘I know… simple words,’ the golem said. ‘Things… you say. Things… you said. Some… I understand.’

“Good, good, then we’ll figure out what you understand together!” Alex grinned. “For now, we should go tell all our friends the good news! I mean… you can talk! A lot of people have been waiting for this for a long time.”

‘Waiting… for me?’

“Yep! Theresa, Isolde, Thundar, me, Khalik, Selina, Baelin, Professor Jules, Grimloch… we’ve all been waiting. Not to mention Lagor and some of the other people at Shale’s. There’s more, I’m sure… but anyway, you want to meet the others?”

There was a pause.

‘Yes.’

“Awesome!” Alex cried, turning to the aeld tree. “Claygon’ll come back later, okay?”

A wave of curiosity and acknowledgement radiated from the tree.

“Great, we’ll be back.” He looked up at his golem. “Ready to meet the world?”

‘Yes…’

“Then let’s go!”

Together, the young wizard and the golem pushed through the snow back toward the keep. Far from Alex’s mind was the warning that Gwyllain had given him, though he would bring that up later. What was important was that he’d been warned.

What he wasn’t warned about was that Drestra the Sage was preparing for him.

Change was not done with Alex Roth.

In some ways, it was only now truly ready to begin.

Chapter 2

The First Letters

Alex burst into the entryway with a smile so wide, his jaw should have been aching, but even if it was, he wouldn’t have noticed anyway. As the doors burst open and the cold night wind billowed his cloak around him, every eye in the room turned to him.

Blood mages looked up from tending the wounded. Warriors stirred from half-doze, hands falling on weapons as they geared up for threats. Wizards and dwarven engineers turned from maps and schematics, still jumpy from the assault on the tunnels.

But there were no enemies or falling rocks at the door, only Alex Roth striding forward like he’d just won every grand prize in the Games of Roal, while Claygon shut the doors behind them.

By now, Alex was well-known throughout the expedition, and his heroic deeds during the recent battle only strengthened his reputation. Watchers nodded to him with respect, and Thameish soldiers elbowed one another, tilting their heads and whispering as he passed by.

Though most eyes—which had brightened when the door first opened—turned away, expressions becoming indifferent. For as much as he’d gained a reputation for hard work, bravery, and cleverness… he’d also become known as an eccentric.

Golem-dancing, muttering to himself, and gloating over seemingly nothing were well-known Alex Rothisms, and in his current state—widely grinning and nearly skipping in front of his golem—it just seemed as though he were going through one of his regular fits.

In a way, the young wizard preferred it that way. In this wonderful moment, he had a secret that only he and Claygon knew, and that put such a spring in his step, he felt like he’d drunk an entire pitcher of flight potion.

The only thing that would bring him higher would be telling his friends. Which was why he was more than a little perturbed at finding them missing.

‘Where is… everyone?’ Claygon’s voice boomed through Alex’s mind. ‘They were… here. Isolde was… red.’

Alex stifled a laugh. “Yes, she was red, wasn’t sh—” He paused. “Wait… do you remember that?”

‘Khalik and Thundar were… making that loud noise. The one you almost made now.’

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Alex said. “That is the sound I just made… huh. You know what laughter is, let’s chat about that after we find out where everyone went.”

He glanced about, catching sight of the blood mage, Meikara. The young woman—a former member of Alex’s survey team—was examining Tyris Goldtooth, checking over a patch of bright pink skin on the lava mage’s arm; the remains of a freshly healed wound.

“Come on, maybe they saw them,” Alex said, approaching the two women with quiet footsteps, giving a little wave when Tyris looked up.

“You two alright?” he asked. “I know, I know, it’s a foolish question to ask after a near apocalyptic battle since not too many folk are truly bloody well alright after something like that, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Meh, appreciate the thought,” Tyris said. “And I’m actually alright. If you asked me that a few hours ago, I probably would’ve punched you in the face if I had the strength. But right now? All those wonderful feelings of ‘being alive’ are kicking in. Right now, I want an ale, a steak, and a kiss or ten from a pretty boy.”

“No steak. Broth,” Meikara said, painting Tyris’ skin with a healing salve.

“Broth? Do you think the jarls of the north celebrate being alive with broth?”

“I don’t care about celebration or jarls,” Meikara said firmly. “I care if my patient dumps a bunch of poisons in her body while it’s trying to heal—Why are you laughing, Alex?”

“Oh, nothing really.” Alex waved the question away, a hand pressed to his face, doing his best to force down the laughter. “It’s just that you reminded me of someone.”

He remembered Ffion, Drestra’s friend from the Crymlyn, peevishly spitting like a cat when broth was brought to her sickbed.

‘I wonder how she’s doing,’ he thought. ‘I gotta remember to ask Drestra when I see her. We haven’t had time to chat yet, and it’ll be nice doing some catching up with her. Wonder if she has anything exciting to tell me?’

“Did you come here just to harass my patient, Alex?” Meikara asked, her eyebrow raised.

“No, actually,” he said. “Did you see where everyone went? Everyone that was on our survey team, I mean.”

She jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “Do you remember that little fae fellow we rescued?”

Alex’s smile faded a little. “I just talked to him, actually.”

“Well, he went and spoke to some of your friends, then he went outside. After that, they went upstairs.” She paused, thinking. “I think I heard Grimloch saying something about food—you know how loud he is—so I think you’ll probably find them in the dining hall.”

“Huh… Okay, I’ll go look for them. Oh, right, while I was outside, did anyone say when Baelin or Professor Jules would be back down?”

“No,” Tyris said. “Haven’t heard a word from them since they left with the Heroes.”

“Right… Well, thanks, I’ll catch up with you after things calm down a bit.”

“Go with strength.” Tyris reached up and clasped his hand.

“Say hello to Vesuvius for me when you get back home.” Alex turned, walking toward the stairs.

She gave him a casual wave as he left.

Alex fell into deep thought as he and Claygon climbed the stairs. For the first time since the golem spoke, he began turning over the asrai’s warning in his mind.

‘This… fae,’ Alex thought of the blue-skinned man strolling along beside the Heroes… strolling with a friendly voice, and a predator’s stride. There was a wrongness to the creature that made the young wizard’s teeth grind. ‘I bet that’s what Gwyllain talked about with Theresa and the others.’

He thought of the last thing the fae had said:

“Don’t say the name. Some fae’ve got a bad habit of… putting lures in their names. Makin’ ’em all sticky-like and letting them know when their name’s been spoken. Not sure if he’s one, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

‘Names…’ he thought. ‘Professor Mangal talked about the power that lies in names. That if we acknowledge a name someone uses for us, then that gives that name power. What if it could go the other way? What if there were ways to make a name have power over someone saying it? What if⁠—’

‘Vesuvius… that name…’ Claygon’s voice boomed in his mind, startling him so badly that a couple of passing blood mages recoiled, then scurried away, whispering to each other. ‘Is that the name of the big turtle I fought?’

All thoughts of blue frightening fae left Alex’s mind, and he turned to Claygon, asking mentally, ‘Wait… you remember that?’

‘Yes,’ the golem said. ‘He… strong. Hit hard. You told me… how to beat him.’

Alex peered into his golem’s marble face. ‘Hmmmm, what’s the first thing you remember?’

Claygon’s thoughts flickered at the other end of his bond. ‘Not sure… thinking… remember… rain.’

‘Rain?’

‘Outside… rain on body. Felt… cool. Felt… good.’

‘Rain, eh?’ Alex thought. ‘That could have been any time… Do you remember all the dancing we did? The books Selina read you?”

‘Always,’ Claygon said firmly in his mind. ‘Will always remember.’

Another wave of giddiness went through Alex’s chest. His ‘golem enrichment exercises’ hadn’t been a waste at all.

‘Eat your heart out, Toraka.’ Alex grinned. ‘Can’t wait to show you how much my baby boy has grown!’

He paused briefly at the thought. He was most attracted to his girlfriend when she was in the middle of monster-murder, and his ‘baby boy’ was a doom fortress on two legs.

‘You know, maybe the question I’ve gotta ask myself is not do I have issues; maybe it’s how many issues do I have?’ Alex thought grimly, resuming his trek to the main hall. He glanced back at Claygon, wondering if the golem might be able to eavesdrop on his thoughts. ‘Hey, you didn’t hear that just now, did you?’

‘Hear what, Father?’

‘Nothing. Nothing worth repeating.’

“There you all are!” Alex cried as he stepped into the dining hall.

On the other end of the massive hall, Grimloch, Theresa, and the others were huddled at the end of one of the dining hall’s tables, each nearly the length of the Lu family’s taproom. It was built to support feeding the entire expedition team at once, along with any guests from the Thameish army, and reinforcements from Generasi who might be about at mealtime.

Some had thought it a waste of space when there were potential sieges to consider. And today had left no doubt that such things were a very real possibility.

“Were you looking for us?” Prince Khalik asked, running a hand through his beard. “We were hoping you would be back soon. There is something we must discuss.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a feeling I know what it is,” Alex said as he and Claygon weaved between tables. “But I’ve got something to tell you first.” He grinned. “And I think you’re all going to love it.”

“Is that why you look like the cat that has gotten the cream? Or the Khalik and Thundar that have tormented their cabal mate?” Isolde scooted over from beside Theresa, making room for him to sit down. Hogarth and Svenia shuffled down to make room for her.

From across the table, the minotaur and prince shared knowing smiles.

“Yeah, but my reasons are a lot more wholesome.” Alex smiled up at Claygon.

‘Alright, buddy,’ he thought. ‘I don’t want to steal your thunder, so… You seem to know how words work; do you remember how to write any words from the books Selina read to you?’

Another flicker of memories came from the other end of the bond. ‘Yes. But… not so well. Never… did it before.’

“Great!” Alex said out loud.

His friends stared at him.

“Well, he has at last lost his mind,” Prince Khalik said sadly.

“Truly, a sad state of things.” Thundar shook his head, looking at Theresa mournfully. “It’s official, your lover’s a madman. How’s that feel?”

The huntress sniffed theatrically. “I always knew this day would come when his madness finally overcame him. But madness or not, we’ll still give him a warrior’s death.”

“It is the only way.” Isolde nodded sagely.

“I’ll eat the body,” Grimloch grunted.

“You are all the worst people I’ve ever met, and the only mad thing about me is that I’m continuing to associate with you bastards,” Alex said, digging into his satchel and taking out a roll of scrap paper and the largest, thickest pen he had.

‘Father? Why… all of you attack each other with words?’ Claygon asked.

Alex winced. ‘Um…’ he thought. ‘It’s humour; we don’t really mean it.’

‘What is… humour?’

‘Um…’ Alex put the sheet on the table. ‘I can explain that more another time, but basically, it’s the thing that makes us laugh. But more important things first.’ He handed the pen to Claygon. ‘I’m the only one who can hear you through our bond. If you want to introduce yourself to everyone, you’ll need to use this.’

The golem gently took the pen from his father and bent over the table. As the pen point touched the sheet, Alex’s friends all began looking at each other, a realisation dawning and spreading among them.

Theresa looked at the golem’s face sharply. “No… no way.”

Her eyes—along with everyone else’s at the table—fell on the pen moving along the paper. Their eyes grew wider as Claygon began to slowly form letters he’d been shown before.

Hello. Can’t. Speak.

I am… He paused, his head turning toward Alex. ‘Father… what letters are in my name?’

Alex felt a lump well up in his throat. “C… L… A… Y… G… O… N,” he said. “That’s how you spell it.”

Their friends watched—jaws hanging open—as he printed each letter.

Brutus sprang from beneath the table, bounding over to Claygon and barking excitedly.

Najyah—who’d been perched on a chandelier suspended from the rafters—let out a sharp cry, swooping down, flying circles about the golem’s head as he finished his first message:

I am C L A Y G O N. Warm. I feel warm to meet you.

Theresa screamed, hopping from the bench and hugging Claygon just as Alex had. Khalik and Thundar whooped, cheering and leaping from the table to rush to the golem’s side. Tears were running from the minotaur’s eyes. Grimloch actually smiled, while both Hogarth and Svenia wiped tears from their eyes.

“Marvellous.” Isolde’s blue eyes shone. “Tremendous. What a glorious day! I must teach you proper decorum before the others corrupt you.”

It was a perfect moment.

A moment that Alex would recall for the rest of his life.

Which was why he didn’t notice Drestra rushing across the room toward him.

By the time he realised she was even in the hall, her hand had fallen on his shoulder.

“Alex.” Her eyes were as hard as yellow diamonds. “I must talk with you. Now.”

Chapter 3

Protective Children

“Hello to you too.” Alex gave Drestra a surprised smile. “Can this wait for a while? We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’d really rather it didn’t,” she said, her voice holding a gravity that wiped the smile from his face.

Behind him, two heavy footsteps moved closer.

A menacing boom and the grind of stone on metal.

The Sage’s gaze shot to something above Alex’s shoulder, making the young wizard spin around.

In a blink, Claygon had transformed from calm companion to dangerous guardian. Two arms raised his war-spear, upper hands tightening on the haft. His two lower hands balled into fists as a flicker of light ran through the fire-gem above his eyes. Emotion hardened through their link.

There was no mistaking the warning in his body. A promise of aggression.

Alex panicked.

‘Claygon, no, no, no!’ His mind worked quickly. ‘No, no, she’s a friend! Don’t attack, she’s a friend! You remember Drestra, don’t you?’

‘She… is aggressive. Could hurt you, Father.’ The golem’s words flowed smoother, easier, and less halting, but still tense, cautious in his overwhelming desire to protect. There was no anger in them, though. ‘She is preparing to attack.’

“Wait, what?”

Drestra’s hands had risen before her, fingers curved like an eagle’s talons, eyes blazing. From beneath the veil came the whispered chanting of a spell—spoken low, slow and steady—but ready to complete in the wink of an eye.

“Drestra, what’re you doing? That’s Claygon! He just transformed! He’s sentient now!” Alex snapped.

“I know that’s Claygon.” Her voice was flint. “So why are you telling him to attack me?”

Tension filled the air. Alex’s friends had gone silent. Grimloch was rising from the table.

‘Telling him to attack her?’ the young wizard wondered. ‘What the hell is she talking abou—Oh, by the Traveller, she doesn’t know his mind’s awakened!’

To an outsider—ignorant to Claygon’s new awareness and agency—it would seem like Alex had told him to attack the Sage of Thameland.

He raised both hands in front of him in a gesture to ease tension. “C’mon, Drestra, nobody’s attacking anybody. Claygon gained sentience no more than twenty minutes ago. He probably had some memories and probably some vague thoughts before, but—Shit, I’m getting distracted. Look, the point is, he’s just getting used to the world, and you looked real aggressive for a second there.”

Something flashed through her eyes, something that passed too quickly for most to read. Something that raised caution.

The tension gradually drained from the Sage and—more importantly—she stopped chanting.

“I… apologise,” she said to Claygon, sounding slightly unsure of herself. “I didn’t know.”

‘She… looks less aggressive now, Father,’ the golem’s voice echoed in his mind.

‘I guarantee she’s not going to hurt me,’ Alex thought. ‘I guarantee it. Juuuust lower that war-spear, would you? We’re getting some looks.’

Throughout the dining hall, wizards had gathered to either have a quick meal, discuss the day’s horrors, or both. Now, all looked ready to bolt as nervous eyes locked onto the Sage and the golem.

Alex frowned, noticing something about Drestra that he hadn’t until now—she was alone. There was no sign of Cedric, Hart, Baelin, or Professor Jules anywhere. He didn’t know if they were all still at their meeting, or engaged in some other task, but one thing was obvious: Drestra had purposely separated from them to seek him out.

Alone.

Doubt rose in him, and he wondered if his promise to Claygon—that she meant him no harm—was actually as true as he’d assumed.

‘How can you guarantee she won’t hurt you?’ he asked himself. ‘Can you really be so certain? Look at her. Just one glance at her body language and you know she’s hiding something. Maybe she found out who you really are and she’s coming to drag you off to the cathedral in Ussex? Or maybe she’s some shapeshifting monster trying to kill you. Stranger things have happened before, even as recently as today.’

He chewed on his lower lip and shook his head.

‘Listen to yourself. You’re sounding irrational. Don’t let unknown monsters make you lose trust in our allies. Still, though, why is she here alone? Hm, you know, if she were here to drag you off to Ussex, she wouldn’t be alone; she’d be with Hart and Cedric. She’s powerful, and she’s not stupid. Challenging you by herself when she’s surrounded by wizards and warriors in the middle of our territory would definitely be⁠—’

‘I am lowering… my spear, Father,’ Claygon’s voice boomed through Alex’s mind, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Okay,” Alex said, glancing at his golem. “Thanks. Drestra, everyone, it was all a misunderstanding and eeeeverything’s all cleared up now. Nothing to worry about.”

A wave of relief spread to his friends as he caught a slight movement from Theresa. The huntress was subtly moving her hands from the hilts of her swords.

‘This could’ve gotten bad. Very bad,’ he thought.

“Well now, look how easily misunderstandings can happen.” Prince Khalik gave a jovial laugh, striding to stand between Alex and the Sage. His voice was rich and calming. The voice of a young man trained from birth in statecraft, using all of his skill to unravel a dangerous knot. “It is good that Claygon is so protective, and I am sure he will learn well who his friends are. And you are one of his friends, are you not, Drestra?”

Khalik watched her eyes closely, as did Alex.

This time, nothing betrayed her true feelings. Nothing he could see, at least. For the first time, he wished he could look beneath that veil.

“Yes, we’re friends,” she said. “I’ll never forget what Claygon did for me and my people, or all the hurt he suffered.” She looked at Theresa, her eyes flicking to her swords. “I’ll never forget what you did either.”

The huntress flushed, looking away.

“Nor you,” Drestra said, her eyes catching Alex’s gaze. “How could I ever forget what you did for me, Ffion, or Mother. No matter what happens.”

She went quiet then, letting something hang in the air between them. A statement of trust, a declaration of loyalty… and a plea for trust in return. Slowly, some of Alex’s earlier suspicions subsided.

He wouldn’t say there were bonds of deep friendship between him and Drestra like there were between him and his cabal mates, but he’d built a level of trust with her. A trust that had grown from their first meeting in the encampment on the night he’d listened to her worries and given her some much-wanted advice.

Alex took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what this was all about, but he’d put trust in her just as she had in him.

“I won’t forget what you’ve done for me either,” he said with certainty, then turned to Claygon. “Remember how she and Hart saved us in Crymlyn? She’s a friend. Things are okay.”

‘So was Amir,’ a small part of his mind whispered. He noted the thought, setting it aside for now.

‘She’s a friend… I… understand,’ Claygon thought, and acknowledged his father with a deep nod.

Alex looked at Drestra closely. “So, you said something was urgent, right? Fine, let’s deal with it. Where do you want to talk? Is here good?”

“No,” she said. “It’s… something sensitive.”

The Sage threw a glance at Alex’s companions.

“Alright, then how about you, me, and Claygon go somewhere and talk about it, then?” He watched her reaction closely.

If she showed reluctance at the suggestion that his golem be with them, that would end every bit of trust he’d put in the Sage. There’d be no more Amirs for him, not if he could help it.

But she didn’t hesitate.

Not a flinch.

Her cheeks moved as a smile grew beneath her veil, one so wide, the corners of her eyes crinkled. “That’s more than fine. Shall we get going?”

Alex considered the situation for a moment.

‘Maybe it’s better I find out what this is all about now rather than letting it fester and catch me off guard later.’

“Aren’t Cedric and Hart going to miss you?” Alex asked.

“They’re still talking over some matters with Baelin and Professor Jules,” she said. “I stepped out for a bit. This… this couldn’t wait.”

“Well, then, let’s get to it.” He turned to his friends. “Sorry to cut Claygon’s… awakening day short? Birthday…? Maybe we’ll just call it his introduction day. Anyway, we’ll be back.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Theresa said. A cautious trust lay in her eyes. “Take care of him.”

“Indeed,” Khalik said, his wide smile barely concealing a warning. “Do bring him back to us in one piece.”

“I will,” Drestra said, not bothering to ease their concerns.

Alex wondered just what she had in store for him.

“Is this far enough?” He gave a nervous laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were luring me out to the woods to kill me.”

Drestra didn’t laugh.

She flew through the night ahead of Alex and his golem, her cloak billowing in the winter air. Below them lay the moors, covered in a blizzard’s worth of snow—low hills had disappeared beneath layers of white. Behind them, the research castle rose, close enough to take up much of the horizon, but far enough to be well out of earshot when quiet words were needed.

And up ahead?

Alex wondered what could be waiting for him when Drestra finally did decide to start talking. That is, if she began talking. She just might start blasting without a single word instead.

She held all the cards since only she knew what direction this mysterious conversation would take. He rested one hand on his satchel where at least one booby-trapped sleeping potion lay, just in case. Just in case.

“This is far enough,” she said, abruptly descending toward the ground. “We can talk here.”

“Alright, well, at least it’s not out in the woods,” Alex said, swooping down after her.

‘Father… if she wants to kill you, following her here… not good,’ Claygon said.

‘It’s just humour, big guy, just like we talked about. Just humour,’ he thought.

‘Humour… I should learn…’

He stifled a laugh as they landed. The image of a golem telling jokes nearly made him burst out laughing despite the tension of the moment. But that image did bring up a more serious matter.

‘I’m going to have to try and build you a device that’ll let you talk, Claygon. Maybe Toraka might know of a way to do it. Anyway, we’ll have to talk about that later.’

He pushed the thought from his mind, crossing his arms before him as he watched the Sage. Drestra shifted back and forth in the snow, anxiety playing through her body.

Tension.

Resolve.

Again, he gripped the satchel.

“So… what’s this about?” he asked. “And while we’re at it, where are Cedric and Hart?”

Now she flinched, turning her head slightly, looking at him sidelong.

Her resolve almost seemed to shake. Her posture shifted as what seemed to be different urges went to war within her. Alex let it play out, subtly preparing to defend himself.

‘If you’re some shapeshifting monster, let’s get this over with,’ he thought.

She sighed, looking to the moon and stars dotting an inky night sky.

Then she faced him.

“I’ve been trying to decide how I’d broach this for… more nights than I want to say,” she said. “I was even asking myself for a while if Cedric and Hart should know first… but you’ve been good and honest with me. So, I decided to come to you first.”

Alex’s heart beat faster. “Come to me for what?”

Suspicions grew in his mind.

“We went to the Cave of the Traveller,” she said quickly, pushing the words out as though—if she didn’t get them out fast enough—they wouldn’t come out at all. “To investigate anything having to do with Uldar, like we said we would. And certain things happened. One of them was that I met these two guards from Alric who asked about you. Their names were Peter and Paul.”

Every nerve in Alex’s body frayed at once. As though someone had dumped a vat of ice water on him.

“I spent time with them in the Cave and we got to talking about Theresa and you.” She took a step closer.

It took all of his will not to take a step back.

“And while we were talking about you… I learned something.”

“And what was that?” he asked, his mind trying to quickly put together what it might be.

“Well… That every time my mother and father—may he rest peacefully with the spirits—celebrated my birthday… you were celebrating yours, in Alric.”

He kept his face neutral even as, internally, he screamed.

“That’s right,” he said. There was no point in lying.

“They also said you left on the day of the Ravener’s return. You, your sister, Theresa, and Brutus even left ahead of Theresa’s family. Did you go to the Cave? …Actually, wait. Let me ask the real question.”

Her reptilian eyes met his.

Her crackling voice took a deep breath.

“Are you the Fool?”

Chapter 4

Tada

Alex Roth exploded.

Or at least, his mind did.

Thoughts and emotions clashed within, leaving him paralysed, yet filled with an overwhelming desire to burrow into the earth and disappear. Through all of the panic sweeping him up, one thought kept recurring, screaming through every cell in his being:

‘She knows. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows!’ his mind shrieked. ‘She knows! She knows! She—calm down!’ he snapped at himself. ‘Pull yourself together, you bloody fool. By the Traveller, you do deserve that title. She doesn’t know for sure. She asked if you were the Fool. She didn’t say: I know you’re the Fool so confess all your sins to me, or I’ll kill you in the woods.’

His mind whirled faster, the world around him slowed to a crawl.

Vaguely, he became aware that every moment of silence that dragged on without a denial compounded, looking more and more damning. He was trying to think fast, and a few extra seconds processing and not blurting out some idiocy was worth it.

‘You can lie your way out of this,’ he thought. ‘She doesn’t have any solid proof and she won’t get any unless she drags a priest over to Greymoor, and Baelin will never let that happen. You could lie. You could tell her it’s all a coincidence. You could say you were afraid of becoming the Fool, but it didn’t happen.’

His mind worked through scenarios.

‘You didn’t plan for folk to find out this early. You wanted to be more powerful. Less expendable, more important. Too strong for anyone to simply drag out of Generasi and throw into either type of dungeon. But someone did find out… and, you can always lie. If she knows you went through the Cave of the Traveller? Simple enough. You could say you were worried for your sister, and you wanted to make it to the university’s registration on time. You left Alric ahead of everyone else to make it to the boats before they got overwhelmed by everyone else on the bloody island.’

His mind worked through the story. ‘You were attacked by the silence-spider, were saved by Cedric, and didn’t want to take a chance in the countryside because it was full of monsters. So, you tried your luck in the Cave. It all worked out, and there we are. No Fool. No Mark. You show her your body, she doesn’t know about the illusion. It would be a bit embarrassing stripping down to your smallclothes right here in front of her, but that’ll put the question to bed. You’ll both be embarrassed and then go back inside where it’s warm and safe. And—By the Traveller, how many seconds have passed?’

Only one or two, he rationalized.

His mind was racing as though he’d finished off a dozen potions of haste and they’d propelled his thoughts to the speed of lightning. Fear was a hell of a motivator at times. And an accelerant.

‘Right, that’ll be that. We go home and forget about this. Down the road… when I’m ready, I can reveal all and apologise for lying. I’m sure she’ll understand… But… is that really what I want? Is that really what I want?’

There would be no going back on whatever he did here and now.

If he lied, he’d have security for now, but lose trust in the future. Perhaps forever. And he might deserve that too. Drestra could have easily given him up, gone to the priests, or accused him in front of everyone.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she’d come to him and brought him here, somewhere private… Not in consideration for herself, but in consideration for him. What would happen if he repaid that consideration with lies? What would happen if he met her declaration of trust with deceit?

In a time when they both knew that the church and perhaps Uldar himself was lying to the people of Thameland?

He was at a crossroads, and he had a choice to make.

Telling the truth meant taking a big risk, a risk that could cost him his freedom.

If she took his admission that he was the Fool and flew off to tell every priest from here to Wrexiff, a lot of things would get complicated. Very complicated. He was one of the only two members of the expedition that could control living dungeon cores, he’d gained a reputation in the city itself, and he’d shown his power and worth as a combatant.

Still, he wasn’t irreplaceable. Not yet. If his secret were revealed to the wrong people and they demanded the Generasians hand him over, then, as even Baelin had said, there’d be limits as to what he could do to help. There was every chance the city would hand him over to keep their access to dungeon core essence, since it was too valuable for them to just walk away from.

If they surrendered him to the Thameish authorities, his life in Generasi, the future that he wanted, would be finished.

His inherent caution screamed to avoid even the slightest whisper of that risk.

Then what would have been the point of laying down seeds of trust between him and Drestra? And in the end, it all came back to her.

He could ask himself a million questions. Come up with a million plans.

But only one question mattered: did he trust Drestra of Crymlyn Swamp, the Sage of Uldar?

And he knew the answer.

Seconds passed in silence.

Maybe two.

Maybe three.

To Drestra, each was an eternity. What would he say? Would he deny it? Would he say yes? Her eyes flicked to his golem. Was Claygon truly acting on his own will, or had that been a lie?

Either way, she was prepared to defend herself, if need be.

‘Are you the Fool?’ she wondered. ‘Just answer, and end this agony already⁠—’

He moved.

His hands were rising.

Was this an attack?

Would he try his potions on her, or some other trick?

Her eyes moved back to Claygon.

Would the attack come from there?

Should she strike first?

His hands continued to rise until they hovered just below his chest. The pose was something between a shrug and an apologetic gesture. Then he waved his hands a little, like he were a street performer who’d just finished a backflip.

“Tadaaaaaa!” he said, his expression sheepish.

Then he fell silent.

And she was silent.

And the world was silent.

Cold wind blew a haze of snow between them.

“Excuse me… what?” Drestra demanded.

“I uh… I mean, uh…” Alex cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. I’m the Fool.”

The Sage stared at him for a long time after that, her mind trying to make sense of it all. And it did fit, if she really thought about it.

His strange fighting style: he never attacked anything directly; he only hindered enemies or destroyed them through indirect means. He didn’t poison Ravener-spawn; he put them to sleep. He wouldn’t throw a fireball into a group of cultists, but he would order Claygon to burn them to ash.

And then there was their first conversation… How he seemed to know—and know, oh so well—her position of being forced into service by Uldar.

“Some of the priests… some of the nobles and knights…” She’d snorted near the campfire. “They called it the ‘Cycle of Victory and Horror. The pride of the Kingdom of Thameland,’ as if there’s something to be proud of in any of that.”

“Yeah, they used to teach us some of the same things at the church school when I was young,” Alex had said, his voice calm and understanding. Like her mother’s voice whenever she’d gone to confide in her. “I think I’ve heard that expression before. Most people want the Ravener defeated forever, though, right?”

“Do they truly? I wonder about that,” Drestra had said, and she remembered the bitterness of those words as though she’d just said them. “There are things we could be doing. Hard decisions we could make or even different paths to look at, but everyone just wants to do the same thing that Thameland’s always done: throw us at monsters like we’re nothing more than clubs to bludgeon them with. Like we’re no more than blunt weapons for them to use. What about us? We have this duty but…”

She’d paused to gather her thoughts, and then Alex had spoken, his voice going as hard as stone: But Uldar never asked.

The way he’d said it, it wasn’t like someone who was merely offering a sympathetic ear. It was like he’d known exactly how she felt. And with his admission, she realised it was because he was in the same position she was. One that was even worse, actually.

“This whole time…” she murmured. “You were one of us. Hart thought you were probably dead, Cedric talked about protecting you, and Merzhin wanted you to be dragged back to your ‘duty.’ No one could find you, and you were right here the whole time.”

She gasped. “The priests are banned from Greymoor!”

Alex’s expression grew more sheepish. “Now, to be fair, that was only partly for my sake. Chancellor Baelin—if you haven’t realised it—is no fan of gods or priests. Which is a bit serendipitous for me, when you think about it. He banned priests from setting foot on campus. Without that little rule, I probably would’ve been back by your side nearly a year ago. And very most likely dead.”

He gave a nervous chuckle. “But yes. The point is that I left Thameland, and when I came back, I didn’t exactly run to your side. I would apologise for that, but we’ve been honest with each other so far, so I’ll keep that up: I’m not sorry I left.”

Alex rose to his full height. “I’m not going to lie, if I’d been brought to your side back when I was first marked, I would probably have been dead in under five minutes, unless you all protected me, of course.” He gave her a knowing look. “But you were already bitter about this whole thing. I’m guessing that babysitting a useless noncombatant in a warzone would’ve done nothing to make this easier on you or the others.”

He raised a hand, pointing south. “So, I left, built power, learned what I could, and came back to try and help put this whole cycle to bed forever. It’s the best play I could make with the cards I got dealt. But, maybe you won’t see it that way.”

The Fool spread his hands, like a criminal surrendering to the city guard. “I’d get it if you didn’t see it that way. If I were in your shoes, I’d be a little angry.”

He was right.

She was angry.

All those months of crawling around through the wilderness, constantly fearing an attack by monsters. All those nights fearing the dark, listening to Hart’s snoring, Merzhin’s preaching, Cedric’s waffling attempts at leadership, and those priests’ Hero worship had been maddening.

All the worry that her secrets might come to light and how others might react… All the loneliness.

Meanwhile, Alex was down south in a place that sounded like absolute paradise. While she was fighting a war she wanted no part of, he was learning magic, eating fine food, enjoying good company, and taking care of his family.

Sharp teeth ground in her mouth.

She was mad.

She was madder than every devil and demon in all the planes.

But… she knew where that anger was coming from.

It wasn’t from blame. After all, were she in his shoes, she would have done the same thing. It wasn’t disgust or judgement. If she thought him a coward that had run from his holy calling, she would have been no better than the people she’d railed against by that campfire months ago.

No, it was envy.

She would have killed to be where he was: away from battle, dealing with her own desires, building power, hoarding magic and wealth, and getting ready to take care of her family.

But he was not the one that kept her here.

He was not the one who would put her family and lands at risk were she just to fly across the oceans and vanish.

She could envy him, sure, but she couldn’t blame him.

Though one thing was sure.

No more cloak and dagger in the dark.

“So… you know, what’ll you do now?” Alex asked.

“I’m going to listen,” Drestra said. “I’m not taking you to any priests. I want you to talk. Tell me everything. Tell me about how you were marked, your journey away, what you’ve learned and your journey back. And I have some things to tell you too. We need to talk. Really talk.”

“Right.” Alex let out a sigh of relief. “And what about Cedric and Hart?”

“We can talk about that too,” she said. “But first, let me in. Tell me everything.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

And he started talking.

Chapter 5

Comparing Notes

It took him longer to tell Drestra than it had to tell Baelin.

Though, he supposed the tale had grown longer since that day in the chancellor’s office. Perhaps he’d be well served to write it down and have it ready in some sort of pamphlet to hand out to the next person who asked.

In the end, though, he shared most of his story with her: escaping Thameland with his little sister, Theresa, and Brutus without being caught by priests. Being attacked by the Hive-queen, briefly controlling a dungeon core, then destroying it and taking the essence with them to Generasi.

Drestra listened in silence as he’d told her of his time in Generasi, his and Baelin’s experiments with the dungeon core essence, Claygon’s creation—and what he’d used to make his core, and why the substance probably led to the birth of the golem’s mind—the attack of the clawed monsters in Generasi, and finally⁠—

“—another of the damned things jumped me at a windmill just outside of Greymoor,” he said grimly, remembering that night all too well. The image of the flour mill burning like an inferno would stay with him forever. “Believe it or not, they’d joined up with a couple of blue annis hags—which was a bloody unholy alliance made in the hells. They even used birds to spy on the encampment.

“Since they knew what we were up to because of the birds, they conjured up this horde of monsters and laid a trap for me using the aeld tree. They sprang the trap one night at the windmill, and in the fight, a hag’s lightning spell hit the clawed thing instead of me and it dropped from the top of the mill like a boulder… which meant its talking days were done. So, I never got a chance to question it. Later on, after all that other stuff, we found out about others controlling dungeon cores and… that’s the tale in a nutshell, really.”

And that was only a slight lie.

In the end, Alex had decided not to tell Drestra about his experiments with the dungeon core essence behind Professor Jules’ back. He still felt guilty about deceiving her, and the less people that knew, the better.

Even what he’d told her gave him a bit of discomfort. Though with his final words, a burden had left him to be sure, but with it came a feeling of being caught, like he’d just gotten out of the bath while reaching for a towel.

He’d shared secrets carried by only a few for almost two years. To reveal them to someone else made him feel more than a little exposed.

Which wasn’t helped by the fact he could not get a read on what she might be thinking. In the entire telling, she’d gone as still as a reptile, watching him with a snake’s cold gaze. There was no judgement, no warmth, no understanding. He might as well have been talking to a statue.

Now and then, her eyes flicked away as she processed his words, but there was no big shift in her demeanour to hint at any conclusions. Well, none that he could see. For a moment, there was no telling what he would’ve given to peek under that veil.

“That’s… a lot,” her voice crackled. “So, you knew more about the dungeon cores than you said.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, shrugging an apology. “To be honest, I would’ve liked it if I could’ve come clean about everything a hell of a lot sooner. As much as I love Generasi, I’m wondering how much more I—and everyone I’m close to—could have learned about the Ravener and Uldar if I didn’t have to focus on hiding from priests. And all the hiding made it a little hard to be near Carey, let me tell you.”

“I see. It would be… difficult, to get much done in your situation. Hiding, by its very nature, restricts you, for good or for bad.” She blew out a breath, and the air grew warm for a moment. “It’s hard to believe that all this time we were fighting up here, the Fool—you—were out there trying to solve things in another way.”

“I did what I could,” Alex said.

“I… guess that makes up a little for being in paradise while we were in hell.” Her voice took on a fiery note. “But now that I know, what you know…” She swore beneath her breath. “When you started talking, I was hoping you’d be able to give me some answers. Now, I just have more questions.”

“Yeah, you’re preaching to the choir with that complaint,” he said. “Questions about the Ravener, questions about the Traveller, questions about us… questions, questions, questions… If it’s any consolation, in research, if you keep generating the right questions, then you’ll get closer to an answer.”

“I hope you’re right, because I am getting tired of all the questions,” her voice crackled again. “But… what you have told me does help explain some things.”

“Oh?” Alex cocked his head. “What sort of things?”

“When we left the Cave of the Traveller, we were attacked by bone-chargers and chitterers,” she said. “Except the attack was strange. They seemed to be focused on me in a way I haven’t seen before. Usually, they—Ah!” Her eyes went wide. “This explains so much about what Cedric was saying.”

“Wait, wait, wait, back up now… what was Cedric saying? I want you to tell me about this attack, but this seems pretty important.”

“It might be.” She glanced over his shoulder at the castle, as though making sure no one was coming out after them; they had been out here for quite a while now. Claygon’s head had completely turned around, watching the castle while he and Drestra talked.

And listening, Alex realised.

“It doesn’t look like we’ve been missed yet,” she said. “But to be truthful, Cedric was suspicious of you after we first met. Something about the chitterer dungeon focusing on killing you. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now that I know you were attacked by these clawed monsters in Generasi, and that you had controlled a dungeon core before that…”

“Cedric’s sharp,” Alex said, his belly flip-flopping. “But yeah, about these attacks on you. This focus. Did you notice any monsters giving you more attention after you controlled the dungeon core? Any at all?”

“Honestly, a little,” she said. “But there’s been so much else going on with Aenflynn that I haven’t had time to really think about it.”

“Aenflynn? Who’s that?”

“Someone we got on our side thanks to one of your suggestions,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to tell you something.”

“Oh holy hells,” Alex swore. “You managed to trick a fae lord onto our side?”

“Trick is not the right word. It’s more… haggled,” she said. “And I’m not sure ‘on our side’ is right either. I think he’s only helping us because it amuses him.”

“Yeah, that tracks for things old and powerful,” he said, remembering Zonon-In’s absolute glee when she bullied those weaker than herself. “You’ll have to watch him.”

“Yes, and his servant too, The Gu⁠—”

“Shhhh!” Alex hissed. “Careful there. Gwyllain warned me about him. He said his name might be sticky. That means⁠—”

“Oh, I know what that means,” Drestra said. “The witches of Crymlyn have had dealings with fae and spirits that have magic embedded in their names before. He said he used many… I will watch for that and warn the others that we need to be careful of how we speak of him behind closed doors.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “Still, it’s good that you’ve got access to the fae roads.”

“You might too,” Drestra said. “You are our allies, Baelin was talking to… our friend, about how you might be able to use them too. Having use of them would be a benefit when you can’t teleport someplace.”

“Yeah…”

“And speaking of that, this… clawed monster you talked about in… what empire was it?” she asked.

“The Irtyshenan Empire, it’s to the northeast, across the sea and far beyond the Rhinean Empire,” he said. “They’re pretty insular folk at the best of times, and they’re taking even worse than they normally do to outsiders these days.”

“I wonder… You had said that a clawed monster was exploring that land, and that doorway in the Traveller’s cave led to somewhere cold. I have to wonder if it could have been there?”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s big news. Anywhere more specific? I’ve looked at maps; the place is huge. As in, ‘can fit almost a hundred Thamelands in it’ huge. Searching all of it without a lead could take years. Maybe decades. Maybe centuries.”

She shook her head. “All I saw was the inside of a building. Just stone walls and writing.”

“Right… and this writing, what did it look like?”

Drestra frowned. “I can’t remember the letters exactly, but… they looked like this.”

She bent down, drawing a line of symbols in the snow.

Alex’s breath caught.

“That’s… that’s exactly the same writing that’s in the Traveller’s book!” he hissed, excitement racing through him. Finally, a lead. “Hell, I’ve seen those exact symbols in it, some even in that order!”

“Really?” Drestra looked up, reptilian pupils dilating. “I want to see this book.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind if someone else takes a look at it,” he said. “And I don’t think she’d mind either.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Whatever that portal was, it was not going to stay open for a Hero.”

“Right, well, there’s no magic in the book, so it shouldn’t be a problem for you to go through it.” He ran a hand through his short beard. “But yeah, it’s something to think about. We’ll need to talk to Baelin about this.”

“Good…” She glanced down at the symbols. “And… I’d like to talk to Cedric and Hart about it too.”

Alex looked at her in surprise. The way she’d once spoken of Cedric and Hart had changed dramatically since he’d first met her. All the tension she’d shown when she’d first come to the encampment all those months ago seemed to be gone.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I can see why. It’d be better if we were all on the same page… Drestra, how do you think they’d react if they knew about me?”

“You mean that you’re the Fool?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Look. Look how much we’ve learned by letting go of so many secrets between us. And if Cedric and Hart knew, there’d be a lot more we could accomplish. And… I’d like to believe they wouldn’t drag me in front of the priests.”

“I don’t think they will,” Drestra said. “They like you, and after what we found out about the dungeon cores back in my home, they’re not eager to deal with any priests either.”

“Right… And speaking of priests, what about Merzhin. What’s he like?”

“Fanatical, nosey…” the Sage grunted. “Good-hearted, in his way, I think. He wants nothing more than to defeat Uldar’s enemies and help Thameland’s people, but in his mind, the way to do that is only through Uldar.”

“Sounds like a perfect Saint,” Alex mused, remembering the strange goddess pendant that hung from the Traveller’s neck. Or at least, he thought of them as goddesses. For all he knew, they could have been nothing more than cool statues she was fond of. If they were goddesses, though, then a ‘perfect Saint’ she was not. “I’m guessing he’d drag me off in an instant.”

“Before you could say a word, if he had his way.” Her voice crackled a warning. “It is too bad. He is very powerful. Were he in our fold, he’d be a great ally. If Uldar is working against his own people, but Merzhin can’t see that… then he’ll be a powerful enemy.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex noted. “Well, you know what? If I don’t tell at least Hart and Cedric now, then that’ll put my secret on you. And if it were to ever come out, there’d be hell to pay.”

From what Alex knew of the Chosen, he’d likely be none too pleased with the secrecy, but it was better that things be brought out into the open and dealt with now that Drestra knew. It would be an even bigger problem—like imprisonment in a dungeon for life level problem—if the fact that he was the Fool came out in some way that could be misinterpreted.

Cedric might get angry, though given the situation with Uldar, Alex got the feeling he could talk to him.

Maybe make things easier and smoother.

As for Hart? It was hard to tell. The Champion was a hard man to read.

“If you want, I could help you tell them,” Drestra offered. “We could do it together.”

Alex took a deep breath.

This was all coming very fast.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Unless there’s something else you want to tell me while we’re here, then let’s go find them. Better we do it before I lose my nerve. Already, my mind’s thinking of all the ways this can go wrong. But… I trust Cedric. Best to see if he’ll trust me after this.”

Chapter 6

Reading People

As days went in Alex Roth’s life, there were few as important as the day he received the Mark of the Fool. That day altered his lifepath forever, and the only other that could compete was the night his parents’ alehouse burned.

But this day?

This was close. The dungeon core attack earlier, Claygon’s awakening, admitting he was the fugitive Hero to Drestra… and now, steeling himself to tell Hart and Cedric that he was the missing Fool.

It wasn’t exactly the day he’d been expecting when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t even over yet.

‘Father… will you be safe?’ Claygon asked in his mind. ‘Drestra was nice, after all… will Cedric and Hart be nice too?’

‘I hope so, buddy,’ Alex answered as they landed in the castle courtyard. ‘And I’d like to think so. One thing you’ll learn is that when you fight by someone’s side, you kinda build trust. Well, most of the time. There were these guys named Derek and Minervus—from before your time—and fighting by their side kinda wrecked any trust I might’ve had with them. But Cedric and Hart? They’re good… well, they’re alright.”

‘Father…’ Claygon said as he, Alex, and Drestra walked toward the keep’s gate. ‘If they… hurt you… or any of your friends⁠—’

‘Our friends, Claygon.’ Alex opened the door. ‘They’re your friends too.’

A flicker of emotion reached through their link, and then silence.

Alex looked up at his golem with a question forming in his mind when⁠—

“Maybe I should do the talking first?” Drestra glanced over her shoulder. She’d taken the lead without them noticing. “I know you should be doing most of the talking since you’re the one who has to say what needs to be said, but maybe I could soften them up a little.”

“No.” Alex shook his head, looking around the entrance hall. It was almost empty now. The wounded, their caretakers, the planners, and strategists were gone—likely to different chambers—replaced by a few guards and the remaining golems.

There was no sign of the Heroes anywhere.

“Hart and Cedric are brave men.” Alex climbed the stairs behind Drestra, hearing a commotion coming from the dining hall. “And it’s my secret to tell, and from my read on them, I don’t think they’d react well to you ‘softening them up.’ They’d probably take it better if I just came out with what I have to say.”

She frowned. “Your ‘read’ on them—Wait. I think I hear Cedric.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, pausing at the top of the stairs, cocking his head. There was a familiar voice booming from down the hall. “That’s Cedric, alright.”

“The meeting must have finished.” She started for the hall. “I wonder what they decided. Anyway, what do you mean by ‘read them’?”

“Well, I suppose ‘reading them’ isn’t the nicest way to put it,” he said. “But, you know how you can tell a lot about people by looking at their body language?”

“Hm? A bit.”

“Most people do it subconsciously,” Alex said. “You know, like how you can sort of tell that someone’s angry at you without them even opening their mouth. If you focus on reading people enough, you can learn a lot about a person just through their nonverbal manner. It’s not perfect, of course, but… if you ‘read’ someone’s body language, you can kinda get an idea about how they might react to certain things.”

“Oh… I don’t know what to think about that. It does sound useful, though. What does my body language say about me?”

“Uh…” Alex was completely caught off guard. “Well, it’s less like you can look at a person and see their entire life story play out before you, but given enough time, you can put together certain details when you compare them alongside what people actually say and do. Funny thing, though…”

He peered at her. “And I do mean this as a compliment, but your body language is sometimes a bit harder to read.”

She paused. “Oh?”

“Yeah, everyone’s body language is different, but yours can be very different at times,” he said. “I remember when I first met you, I couldn’t make head or tail of it.”

“Strange…” Drestra said quietly, and before Alex could reply, they reached the dining hall.

Where there’d only been a few wizards lingering at the tables earlier, now the room was overflowing with castle staff and Thameish soldiers taking a late supper. For the better part, the atmosphere was boisterous and friendly. Alex’s friends were still crowded around their end of a long table, but they’d now been joined by a couple of new additions who seemed right at home scarfing back hunks of meat and weak beer like it was the eve of a long predicted famine.

Despite their feasting, Cedric and Hart’s usual cheer was absent.

They shared grim expressions while discussing something with Khalik, Isolde, and the others, until the booming voice of the Chosen revealed the subject of their concern:

“Never seen an invisible Ravener-spawn.” Cedric swallowed a piece of roasted fowl. “And I’s not tryin’ t’ be cute wit’ a clever joke or nothin’ like that. I mean, we’ve never fought anythin’ like that.”

“And it was real fast too, you say?” Hart rumbled. “Every Ravener-spawn we’ve come across that are on the bigger size are usually on the slower side. Either this isn’t a Ravener-spawn, or it’s something new. Something we haven’t seen before.”

“And you have read nothing in your copies of the bestiaries?” Prince Khalik leaned in closer, lowering his voice even though the Heroes hadn’t. “You do not need to answer, if that is confidential, but⁠—”

“Oh, we’d tell yous, right quick,” Cedric said. “There’s gettin’ to be less an’ less of a point in secrets as this whole bloody thing goes on. An’ I tells yous, if’n we’d heard a whisper about great, dirty invisible beasties that turn folks t’stone, best believe you’d be hearin’ about i—Oi, what’re lookin’ at?”

Prince Khalik and the others had spotted Alex and Drestra from across the room, and both the Chosen and Champion turned toward the newcomers.

“There yous are!” Cedric shouted, then frowned, his eyes shifting between Alex and Drestra. “So what’s all this urgent business about, then? From what I sees, y’just went off to go pal about.”

“We need to talk,” Drestra said.

“Yeah.” Alex looked at the Chosen and Champion. “The four of us, together.”

‘A gathering of Heroes,’ he thought dryly.

“Is everything alright?” Theresa asked pointedly, her eyes flicking to the Sage.

“Yeah,” Alex said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Just fine. Better than expected, really.”

“Should we come along?” Isolde asked.

“No,” Alex said quickly.

He didn’t think having Isolde with them was the best idea. She and Cedric… well, they liked each other, and if the Chosen didn’t react well to his revelation and turned on Isolde, things would get even messier.

Alex thought well enough of Cedric to believe that wasn’t likely, but people could easily turn against each other if they felt they’d been betrayed. If the situation involved a romantic relationship and the notion that one of them had been manipulated by the other…

If Cedric got it into his head that Isolde had manipulated him to keep him from looking too hard at Alex, things could end before they even really got started between them.

It all depended on how he and Hart reacted.

‘Can’t believe I’m bloody doing this,’ Alex thought before a chair scraped.

“Can I come with you? Or is this conversation private again?” Theresa asked, already partway out of her seat.

She gave him a look, a look that said: ‘do you need help?’

And… in that moment, his answer was⁠—

“Yes, it’d be great if you came with us,” he said. “You might be able to help.”

Isolde, Khalik, and Thundar gave each other confused looks.

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

“Good,” the huntress said firmly. “Let’s go.”

‘Good that she is coming, Father,’ Claygon said. ‘It will be easier to smash those two… if they try to hurt you.’

‘Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘You and I are going to need to talk about a few things before I build you something that’ll let you speak.’

‘Good… that can be after we smash our enemies.’

Alex chose not to respond.

“If I didn’t know better,” Hart rumbled as they flew above the snow, “I’d think you were bringing us out to the woods to kill us.”

“Aye, this s’got a whole lot o’ an ominous air about it now, don’t it?” Cedric looked around the moors.

“It’s here,” Drestra said, pointing to the earth before anyone could respond. “We’ll land here.”

Cedric and Hart shrugged and followed the Sage, descending to the exact spot where she and Alex had their talk earlier. Theresa caught her partner’s eye.

‘What’s going on?’ she mouthed.

He tapped his shoulder meaningfully.

The colour drained from her face. “Really? Here? Right now?” she whispered.

“Drestra already knows,” he whispered back.

“What?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said. “It’s been wild. Just… watch my back, just in case.”

“Oookay,” she said, grimly sizing up the Champion with a nervous gulp. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too.” He floated down from the sky. “Me too.”

They landed in a circle, with Cedric and Hart peering at them curiously.

“This really feels like we’re about to plan a regicide or something,” the Champion said. “All we’d need to do is put on white, then go off to kill a king.”

“Put on white?” Cedric raised an eyebrow.

“Snow.” Hart jerked his thumb at a nearby hill. “It’d help us blend in. Sneak up on King Athelst⁠—”

“Alright, alright, maybe let’s back off the treason talk for a minute.” Cedric rubbed his temple. “S’not even funny. Maybe we already got the priests an’ maybe even Uldar hisself as an’ enemy. We don’t bloody well need t’ add any more conspiracies an’ secret enemies.”

An awkward silence hung in the air as the Chosen looked from Alex to Drestra. The Sage avoided his gaze.

Cedric’s face dropped. “Oh, bloody hells, what? What’s it y’ve learned now? Ya about t’ tell me that me da’s some sort o’ great, dirty demon or somethin’ o’ that sort?”

“It’s definitely regicide.” Hart nodded sagely. “The king’s in on it, and now we have to kill him.”

“It’s not regicide,” Alex said.

“Do y’just wanna kill the king or somethin’?” Cedric snapped.

The Champion shrugged. “We might have to kill our church and our god. Why not complete the set?”

“If’n… that doesn’t make any… never mind.” The Chosen turned away. “Let’s jus’ rip the bandage off, why don’t we?”

“Rip the bandage off, is it?” Alex sighed, stepping forward. “Yeah, that’s a good way to do it.”

From his read of Cedric’s and Hart’s temperaments, he had a feeling he knew the perfect way to tell them.

So he began by taking off his cloak.

“Oi… what’s this you’re doin’ now?” Cedric’s eyebrows rose. “We havin’ another liftin’ contest? Is that why y’ dragged us all out here, then?”

Alex handed his cloak to Claygon, then undid his shirt.

He also handed that to his golem, flexing his sculpted torso.

‘Well, here goes nothing,’ he thought.

“What I’m about to show you,” Alex said quietly, “I’ve shown to… almost no one else. Claygon, could you stand between me and the castle?”

‘Yes… Father. Be careful.’

The golem’s marble feet crunched through the snow as he interposed himself between his creator and the research castle. Cedric and Hart were staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

Alex sighed, turning his right shoulder to them. “Well, here it is.”

And he dispelled the illusion.

There was a shimmer.

And then a jester’s face was revealed, like a smiling brand on his shoulder.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

The colour drained from Cedric’s face as he squinted as though his eyesight was failing. Wordlessly, his mouth opened, then closed.

“Huh,” Hart grunted.

“Yeah, it’s what it looks like,” Alex said, reading their body language.

Hart’s was impossible to read, as always.

Cedric was about what he’d expected: surprised, shocked, but luckily, with no hint of anger.

‘Right,’ Alex thought. ‘Things are going well. No screaming, no raging, no crying. Good, that should give me enough time to start explaining while he’s still caught off guard. Then, we should get through this.’

He opened his mouth to speak.

Cedric was still completely frozen.

Which was why Alex didn’t see the punch coming until it slammed into his face.

Chapter 7

‘Protect’

Alex had met Cedric in Coille Forest a long time ago.

The Chosen was as boisterous as he was friendly. The type of fellow who made even Alex—who’d desperately wanted to avoid all the Heroes at the time—want to sit down and have an ale with him.

He wasn’t anything like the Chosen that Alex once imagined. The fountain overlooking Alric’s town square that paid tribute to the five Heroes had depicted their leader as a shining paragon. A haughty-looking, fine-featured young man who looked like he would press his own judgement on others while directing all his meagre kindness toward himself. The type of man who would’ve been described as a paragon of goodness in the past, but also the sort of man revealed to be vile in later tales told by others.

In short, the sort of fellow who would have gladly lectured a defenceless Fool on ‘godly duties,’ forced all the grunt work on them, and perhaps even shoved them toward the front line when it came time for battle.

That wasn’t the sort of man who’d walked out of Coille Forest. It wasn’t a man with eyes full of judgement and a self-righteous sneer on his lips. It had been Cedric: a shirtless, woad-tattooed warrior with an easy smile, an easier kindness, and the strength of several bulls.

Alex well remembered that strength from when the Chosen had helped him up off the forest floor. At the time, it seemed an impossibility for so much power to be stuffed into one human form, and Alex would never have believed that—only a year and a half later—he would be as strong.

Not only was the Chosen’s might far beyond preternatural, his speed also matched it, which was something Alex learned in the most abrupt and personal way when Cedric’s fist caught his jaw.

The first thing he thought was… well, nothing. There was a brief, wondrous moment in time where he was fairly sure his soul had been punched out of his body. He fully expected to be watching himself from the afterworld, stupidly wondering why he was lying in the snow with his head on backwards.

The pain came next, bringing with it two bits of good news. First, that he was still alive, which was a fairly nice thing to be most of the time. Secondly, that the Chosen had obviously held back. After all, Alex’s head hadn’t been blasted off his neck and sent flying halfway back to the castle.

The Fool stumbled backward, holding his jaw as the world tumbled around him.

Then something like thunder exploded. Familiar, yet menacing.

One word echoed through his mind: Protect.

‘Oh shit,’ Alex’s thoughts came as if through mud.

Theresa and Hart were yelling.

Cedric swore.

And Claygon attacked.

By the time Alex fully realised what was happening, his golem was already lunging for the Chosen, war-spear thrusting, fire-gems blazing.

“Bloody he—” Cedric blurred to the side as the spear came down.

There was a terrible ripping noise.

Snow exploded in a geyser as the war-spear tore through frozen earth.

Hart drew his sword a breath before Theresa, yet both hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Drestra rushed between the golem and the Chosen, hands raised. “Stop! Stop!”

Cedric’s morphic weapon flared out into a shield. “Oi! Oi! She’s right, easy now, big guy!”

Whooom!

Fire-gems flared bright.

“Claygon!” Alex cried. “Claygon, Claygon, stop!” His hands waved desperately, his mind reaching through the link to touch Claygon’s thoughts. “It’s okay. I’m alright,” he said gently.

‘Protect,’ the golem’s voice ground like gravel. His body hesitated, but his mind blazed with the overwhelming urge to guard, crush, and defend.

“It’s okay.” Alex calmly went to his golem, placing a hand on one of his marble arms. It was hot. Very hot. “I’m alright. Cedric and I are having a disagreement, is all. And we shouldn’t solve all disagreements with violence.”

“He opened with violence,” Theresa growled, glaring at the Chosen.

“Aye… maybe not the wisest thing I’ve done.” The Chosen’s tone was cautious, though his eyes were blazing and fixed on Alex. He still simmered with anger.

“Your words say that, but you look like you’re ready to use that other fist.” The huntress took a step toward the Chosen. “You won’t touch him again.”

“Oh, by the spirits,” Drestra swore.

Emotions flared in Claygon, threatening to ignite.

“Guys! That kind of talk’s not helping!” Alex said sharply. “I’m trying to calm things down, and any other threats are going to set him off.”

‘He… wants violence,’ Claygon’s voice boomed in his mind. ‘He… will get violence.’

For a brief instant, Alex wondered how his golem had developed such a bloodthirsty streak, then immediately realised that son had taken after father.

“No, Claygon, no one wants any more violence,” Alex said gently.

“I don’t.” Drestra glared at Cedric.

“Oh come off it, that deserved a punch. Maybe ten,” the Chosen growled.

“Don’t be such an idiot,” the Sage fired back.

“Idiot? Do you have any—” He whirled on her, eyes narrowing. “Oi, why’re you actin’ like it’s no big deal? D’jyou know?”

The Sage went quiet for a heartbeat.

The Chosen’s face washed crimson. “Oh, that’s just bloody great!”

“Cedric,” Alex said gently. “I get it, if I were in your shoes, I might’ve punched me too⁠—”

“Oh, if ‘you was in my shoes,’ is it?” the Chosen scoffed. “You gots any idea⁠—”

The golem took a step forward. Cedric tensed.

“Both of you!” Alex said, his voice growing firmer. “Can we not do this? Please!”

“I’m tryin’! So ya need t’tell yer mate t’back off!” the Chosen snapped.

“I’m trying,” the Fool said, his voice growing hard.

“You started this.” Theresa pointed one of the Twinblades’ swords at Cedric’s chest. “You don’t get to complain.”

“Oi, fine thing for you t’say, aye. I threw one wee punch, then this one—” He nodded toward Claygon. “Tries t’skewer me!”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d acted like an adult,” Drestra snarled behind her veil. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? Oh, oh, so it’s fine when all o’ yous get mad about secrets an’ lies, an’ start talkin’ like we need to gut every bloody priest in the land, but oh, let’s blame ol’ Cedric fer bein’ a wee bit mad at secrets an’ bloody lies! An’—”

“Hey, all of you shut up for five seconds. That includes you, Claygon. You’re grinding your feet loud enough to wake the dead.” A deep voice cut through the din.

A shocked silence fell. Every eye—including Claygon’s—looked at the Champion.

Hart had sheathed his sword and his arms were crossed. “This is gonna sound strange coming from me, but let’s use our words instead of cutting each other to pieces in the snow, alright? ’Specially over something we already kinda knew.”

“Wait… already kinda knew?” Cedric looked at Alex. “What, did y’tell him too?”

“Hey, I’m just as confused as you,” Alex said. “What’re you talking about, Hart?”

The Champion looked at the others, his expression growing bewildered. “What…? I thought it was obvious.”

“What’re you talking about?” Drestra demanded. “I just found out about twenty minutes ago! How did you know?”

Hart shrugged. “Gut feeling.” He nodded to Alex. “After our side-journey to Crymlyn Swamp, I got to thinking about things. I mean, if the church was lying to us—and maybe our own damned god was too—then what the hell else did we miss? Who else was lying to us? So I started thinking about all the people I’ve met since this whole mess started.”

He looked at Alex. “Then I thought about you and the way you fight. And the more I thought about it, the less sense you made.”

“What? I make perfect sense!” Alex snapped, offended.

“Maybe to a drunk. Look, when you fight, you never do anything directly. And you should. You’ve built all that muscle, but you never use a warbow. I thought maybe you didn’t have time to learn how, but a crossbow? Any serf can pick up one of those and use it as long as they’ve got eyes and the muscle to wind it back.”

He made a winding motion with those enormous hands. “Hells, you never even throw a punch and you’ve learned all that fancy magic, but you never blow anyone up like this one does.” He jerked his thumb toward Drestra, who went red.

Then the Champion pointed to the castle. “Then there’s Baelin. You’re so chummy with that big, bad wizard-chancellor of yours that you’re basically his grandson.”

Now it was Alex who blushed.

“But, when he’s going into battle, he’s carrying weapons and wearing armour. And you’re not.” Hart looked Alex up and down in a way that made him feel naked. “And it’s not just Baelin. Your girlfriend’s carrying swords, Khalik has a sword, Thundar’s got a mace, everyone’s got weapons… Everyone but you. Even your bloody golem’s got a weapon, and he is a weapon. Carrying weapons is smart if you’re getting into fights.” He blew out a misting breath. “The Ash Ravens have gutted our fair share of wizards stupid enough not to have a weapon as a backup. All they rely on is their magic. Everyone needs a backup, it’s stupid not to have one.”

He jabbed a finger toward Alex. “And you aren’t stupid. So, I thought, ‘Why the hell doesn’t he carry any weapons when everyone else does? Maybe he can’t—Ooooh.’ And I figured you were probably the last member of our five-man—er, four men, one woman—band. And that’s that. I thought everyone else knew.”

“Wha—But…” Alex stammered. “But I… You can’t just draw a conclusion from something like that! There could have been a dozen other explanations! That’s not how logic works! Or science!”

“Well, I don’t know any of that fancy science stuff.” Hart shrugged. “But I was right, wasn’t I?”

“I… but… wha⁠—”

“Oi!” Cedric looked at the Champion, his expression utterly offended. “If’n y’thought o’ all that, why didn’t y’bloody say somethin’? Matter o’ fact, y’ talked me outta thinkin’ that somethin’ wasn’t on the level wit’ him!”

“Yeah, so?” Hart gave the Chosen a look like he was talking to a very slow-witted sheep. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I figured it out after we went to Crymlyn. Back when you were going on like a madman after the double dungeon⁠—”

“Madman!” Cedric cried.

“Yeah, madman. I didn’t have any damn idea that anything was off with Alex. I learned stuff later and I changed my mind. Even a loopy dog would understand that much.” He squinted at the glowing set of scales on Cedric’s chest, then looked at Alex’s shoulder. “You two sure your Marks didn’t get switched or something?”

Cedric and Alex made choking noises.

“But… why didn’t you say anything!” Drestra demanded. “Night after night, I was lying awake thinking about this! You didn’t say a word!”

He shrugged again, and the gesture made the Sage’s teeth grind behind her veil.

Hart didn’t seem to care one bit.

“I figured if I’d figured it out, then the wise Sage would’ve.”

Drestra joined the choking noises.

Hart looked at Theresa. “Now, now, no one’s going to start cutting apart your boyfriend, so I think you can put your swords away, eh?”

The huntress looked away briefly, then slowly sheathed the Twinblade.

“There we go.” Hart dusted off his hands. “And now no one dies in the snow. That’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”

“Okay, okay, hold on now,” Alex said. “Okay… even if you… ‘figured it out,’” he said, refusing to accept he’d been seen through in such a simple way. “Why’re you acting like it’s no big deal?”

“Yeah!” Drestra said. “I spent nights lying awake⁠—”

“You said that,” Hart pointed out.

“It’s important.”

“It’s really not.”

“It is!” she snapped. “How come you don’t seem… upset… or aren’t thinking about it?”

“Because it’s not that important,” Hart said. “So what if he’s the Fool? He’s been helping us, hasn’t he? Haven’t you?” He looked at Alex.

“Er, yes, but—” the Thameish wizard began.

“Well, there you have it,” the Champion interrupted, spreading his hands. “He’s helping us. What’s it matter if he tells us he’s got a glowing Mark on his shoulder? And if he was going to betray us? I’d just cut him in half, which I won’t have to do because he’s still helping us.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“And there you have it,” Hart continued. “Guess the only one that isn’t a Fool around here is me.”

A stunned silence filled the air.

Then Alex heard a strange sound.

A sound that was between a cough and the grinding of rock on rock. It was rhythmic… warm somehow.

The young wizard slowly looked at Claygon and realised what he was hearing.

Laughter.

His golem was laughing. ‘Father… I think I know what humour is.’

And Alex wondered when it was that he’d lost complete control of his life.

“Well,” Hart said. “If you’re all done acting like little kids, let’s get down to business, why don’t we?”

“Aye…” Cedric said. The anger was gone from his eyes, well, most of it. He still looked a little peeved at Alex, and was shooting Hart dirty looks. “Sorry for the punch… sort of. Be best if y’start talkin’. Y’should have yer say an’ tell your story.”

Alex sighed.

He really needed to start making that pamphlet.

Chapter 8

The Heroes’ Paths are Not the Same

“—and then I came here, and you punched me in the face,” the Fool finished his tale. “And that’s it. That’s the whole story, and I swear I’d rather box a behemoth than tell it again.”

‘Father… you cannot punch a behemoth. It would squash you, unless I protected you.’ His golem’s voice echoed in his mind.

‘Figure of speech, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘Figure of speech.’

“Aye, s’long story in truth.” Cedric hovered in midair with his arms and legs crossed, Drestra’s flight spell levitating him several feet above the snow. As a group, they’d relocated and were now farther away from the castle, floating above the ground behind a large hill. Alex told his tale to Cedric and Hart, keeping their full attention. The pair were enthralled, their silence only broken by a loud grinding noise as the Chosen’s teeth clenched and unclenched between his jaws.

On occasion, Alex paused to ask Theresa for her perspectives on things she’d been present for, but apart from that, no one else said a word.

By the time the telling was done, it appeared to be well past midnight judging from the position of the moon, yet Alex was still wide awake and watching the Chosen again. Especially any movement of his hands.

The pain from that fist connecting to his face had finally faded after a little application of Mana-to-Life, and he wasn’t too eager to be the audience—and subject—of a repeat performance.

“That was a long story,” Hart grunted. “I like the part where you blew up that windmill.”

“That’s what y’got out of it?” Cedric’s expression was utterly incredulous. “You only got a windmill blowin’ up?”

“Well, I was kinda disappointed when that Generasi noble’s granary didn’t blow up, so yeah. I was waiting for that. What’d you get out of it?”

“That I’ve been wastin’ m’bloody time an’ spirit wit’ worry!” Cedric growled, whirling on Alex. “You bloody bastard. Y’got any idea what’s been goin’ through here all these months?” He tapped his temple. “All dis bloody time, I’ve been picturin’ some poor fool⁠—”

‘Literally, a Fool,’ Alex’s mind added unhelpfully, and he wisely chose not to voice those words.

“—dead in a cave somewhere or all swallowed up by some great, dirty Ravener-spawn an’ crapped out in a forest for the worms an’ flies t’feast on!” He snorted. “I been worryin’ about it. Feelin’ guilty sometimes. An’ there you’ve been off somewhere—alive an’ well—an’ didn’t even breathe a word t’anybody. S’bloody selfish, that’s what it is!”

“Selfish?” Theresa scoffed. “Cedric, I like you, but you’re out of your damned mind. Did you even listen to the story? Alex’s been trying to solve all of this while he was in Generasi. We all have. Even Khalik, Isolde, Thundar—who’ve got nothing to do with this—are putting in a lot of work to see the Ravener dead. And that it stays dead. How is that selfish? And look! He even came back!”

“Aye, he did, an’ then we met ’im.” Cedric glared at Alex. “An’ what’d y’do? Y’didn’t say a bloody word. Even when we was in the damned Crymlyn an’ we learned that every bloody person under the sun’s been hidin’ things or lyin’ t’us, what’d y’do? Did y’come clean wit’ it? No, y’just kept it to yourself like a bloody sneak.”

“Cedric, Cedric…” Alex said, jumping in, keeping his voice soft. The Chosen was working himself up, and they didn’t need him to lose his head and start throwing punches and agitating Claygon again. “I get it, I’d be mad if I were in your position, as I said. You’ve been worrying about the Fool being somewhere out there, dead, and now you find out I’ve been with you this whole time, so you feel like all that worry was a waste.”

“Damned right, it was a bloody waste!” the Chosen snapped. “Y’know, I liked you from the first time we met back in Coille Forest. I liked both o’ yous—” His eyes scanned Theresa’s face. “—and that little sister o’ yours, Alex, an’ Brutus too. Thought you was all damned brave for facin’ down a silence-spider wit’ nothin’ fancy, just a pair o’ swords an’ some magic.”

He scoffed. “Little did I bloody know, you was runnin’ off.”

“That’s not fair,” Alex said. “I got this on my shoulder—” He pointed to the Fool. “—and… what was supposed to happen to me? Do you remember what I looked like back then? I was a skinny baker’s assistant who knew one spell. Forceball. And the Mark stopped me from casting that fast, or even very well.”

“Aye, but y’could cast it, couldn’t ya?” Cedric said. “Y’talked about learnin’ how t’compensate for the Mark’s limitations… an’… y’know, before I go any further, let me just say that I think those limits are a complete load o’ shite. You’ve got me sympathies, Alex.” He shook his head. “I don’t have any way o’ knowin’ what was goin’ through Uldar’s head when he made that Mark. If what Hart said had come t’pass an’ I’d gotten the Mark o’ the Fool, I most likely woulda lost m’bloody mind by now.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Alex’s jaw hardened. Memories of some difficult days came back to him and—for a moment—he could taste that early bitterness on his tongue. “It… it was rough.”

“Aye, I imagine that it was.” The Chosen nodded, his voice a bit softer. “But the point is, y’started to figure out ways around it the very night y’got Marked. Skinny baker’s assistant or not, y’could’ve come wit’ us. I said I was gonna protect the Fool when I found ’em, didn’t I? Y’really trusted me that little?”

Alex’s breathing paused in surprise.

There was an emotion that had slipped into Cedric’s voice and flitted across his face—too quick for most to notice.

Hurt.

The Chosen was hurt.

And out of all the reactions Alex expected from Cedric, that was the last one.

He sighed. “Look, maybe if I knew you better back then. But we’d just bloody met. I was on the run—terrified that some priest was gonna snatch me up and throw me to some Ravener-spawn at any moment—and then you came walking out of the woods. No offence, but you were the very last person I wanted to meet. I’m not gonna lie, I liked you too, mate. But just because I started to get around the Mark doesn’t mean I would’ve been any good in a fight. Look.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Back then, I would’ve been absolute dead weight on all of you⁠—”

“That’s not true,” Theresa interrupted, a defensive note in her voice. “We would’ve been dead in the Cave of the Traveller if it weren’t for that brain of yours, Alex.”

“Yeah, maybe, but that was a lot of luck too.” He nodded to Claygon’s fire-gems. “The Traveller’s defences saved us twice. If she didn’t have those statues in her temple, we would’ve been silence-spider food. If it weren’t for your wits and those strong arms, we might’ve been Hive-queen food.”

‘Father… these saved you?’ Claygon pointed to his fire-gems.

‘Yeah, buddy, a part of you has been protecting all of us since before you were born,’ Alex thought. ‘And I’ll never stop being grateful.’

“Right, y’see? Y’could’ve helped us an’ we could’ve protected yous.” Cedric’s fingers left impressions on his crossed arms. “No need t’bloody run off wit’ all them secrets an’ lies. No need t’ risk your lives goin’ through that cave by your lonesomes.”

“Cedric, consider it this way,” Alex said. “Back then, you wiped out an entire horde of silence-spiders all by yourself, and that was when you’d first gotten your power. And that was against a bunch of the soldier spiders. We nearly died to a swarm of workers. Drestra’s told me about your adventures here. I would’ve either been dead meat, or one of you would’ve gotten hurt trying to protect me. If not one of you, then some of the soldiers following us. And this thing⁠—”

He tapped his shoulder.

“—our people hate it. Have you ever read Galloway’s book on us? On the Heroes?”

Cedric frowned. “Can’t say I have. Think I remember seein’ it at the clan’s church, but never felt no reason t’read it before I got Marked. Then after getting my Mark… well, what’s some dead man’s book gonna tell me about the Chosen that I wouldn’t learn in the capital or on the battlefield.”

“Well, it’s not bloody kind to people like me.” Alex’s tone was sharp. “There’s lots of talk about how wonderful the Chosen is, the wisdom and power of past Sages, the holy might of the Saint, the unstoppable force of the Champion. But me? The Fool? He basically says I’m shit. And you’ve heard how the priests talk about past Fools.”

His eyes scanned the entire group. “How would you actually react? This skinny, weak guy joins up with you in a fight for life-and-death. A fight for the kingdom. And all he can do is bloody bake? Sure, he can learn new things, but they don’t apply real well when the main thing you need on your side is ‘blow up Ravener-spawn right now.’ So, now you have this deadweight with you who you have to protect. Tell me, how would you really react?”

Silence hung over the group.

“I might’ve hated you,” Drestra said with a note in her voice that was as black as pitch. “No, I definitely would have hated you. Those times were hard enough, and there’s no way I would’ve appreciated having to protect someone else while we were facing everything we had been.”

“I don’t think I would’ve cared.” Hart shrugged. “Lots of people follow a mercenary band onto a battlefield. You need cooks. You need smiths. You need stablehands. But some of those knights? The priests? A lot of them already thinking the worst about you? Yeah, I can see that not going well.”

“I would’ve protected ya,” Cedric insisted. “I said I would’ve done it when I first met yous, an’ I meant it then, and I still mean it. I’m not some fair weather friend or stupid bastard who believes all that cruel shite.”

“Yes,” Alex said, looking Cedric directly in his eyes. “I believe you. But you also said to me when we first met that, in your eyes, every Hero has a role, duty, and purpose.”

“Aye, that’s so.”

“So, you would have brought me to the priests,” Alex said. “You would have protected me, sure, but I wouldn’t want to just sit on a battlefield somewhere and be protected, Cedric. I’d want to contribute to the fight, to my family, and to the world. And I couldn’t do that if you were there acting as my nursemaid while I was desperately trying not to die every fight.”

“Well, y’learned how t’fight down in that big school o’ yours, didn’t ya? If y’did it there, you could’ve done it by our side,” the Chosen’s voice dropped. His hand shot up, raking his long hair. “I woulda seen to it that y’woulda learned.”

“No, man.” Alex shook his head. “I’ve only gotten to where I am because of the people I met. Cedric, you’re a good man—and I mean that—but, no offence, you’re not Khalik. You’re not Thundar. You’re not Isolde⁠—”

Cedric flinched at her name.

“—you’re not Vernia Jules. You’re not Baelin. You’re not Val’Rok, or Kybas, or Gel-Dor and Fan-Dor. You’re not Shiani. You’re not Professor Ram, Professor Mangal, Hak, or Salinger. You’re not Claygon. And you’re certainly not Theresa. All of those people helped me get to where I am today, and listen, the real lie I could tell you is that I got here all on my own. It took a lot of time, a lot of resources, and a lot of people to get me to where I am. To get me to the point where I could at least keep up with all of you, in my own way.”

He made a motion like he was gripping an invisible sphere. “And without the university’s resources? We never would’ve figured out any of the dungeon cores’ secrets. We never would’ve figured out the truth behind Uldar or the church. None of it.”

“Drestra could’ve taught you more about magic,” Cedric said, though his voice had less conviction.

“No.” The Sage shook her head. “I’ve had enough asked of me. You would want me to play teacher too, on the battlefield? No. No! I would have flown back to the Crymlyn and burned anyone that stepped foot in it after me.”

Another silence took the group.

“…Aye, a lot’s been asked o’you already,” Cedric grunted. “I still think we might’ve been better off if’n y’were at our side. Look, y’say you woulda been dead weight but the three of us get along a lot better wit’ you about. Maybe things would’ve been easier before… but, then again, maybe not.”

His nostrils flared, revealing misting breath. “Y’know, when this thing appeared on me chest.” He tapped the symbol of the Chosen. “I thought it was the best day of m’life. I actually did a jig. I screamed so loud, it brought Da out from the smithy t’see if I’d been mauled by a bear or somethin’.”

He chuckled at the distant memory. “Everyone in the clan was all a roarin’ an’ laughin’. Kegs o’ale got tapped. Heaps o’food was brung out.” He laughed even harder, tapping the morphic weapon that had shaped itself into a gauntlet on his arm. “The clan leaders even granted me Mì-chumadh—the most prized weapon in all the clan—and sent me off to do the ancestors proud. And that’s what I set out to do too.”

His smile faded, and he looked at Alex. “Might be that I imagined it was the same fer all of us. Same for you… an’ if it wasn’t, I thought I could make it that way.”

“And that’s why you’re the perfect person to get the Mark of the Chosen, Cedric,” Alex said. “Listen, I’m telling the truth when I say that there’s no person I’ve ever met from Thameland that I’d rather have that Mark than you. But this?” He tapped his own Mark. “You alone couldn’t make this better for me, nor make the me from back then fit better with all of you. I needed to do that in my own way and take care of my family while doing it. I get your anger, man. I get your hurt. You wanted to do right by everyone, and I kept this a secret from you. Makes you wonder who to believe. But that’s the thing, Cedric.”

Alex spread his hands. “You may have broad shoulders, friend, but they’re not going to carry the whole world. And they shouldn’t have to.”

“Aye, maybe you’re right… Ah shite, now I feel like a complete ass for punchin’ ya. Sorry about that, man,” the Chosen apologised.

“Well, I’m sorry we couldn’t have this talk sooner,” Alex said. “We’ve had it now, though. And it didn’t come out in some stupid misunderstanding that would’ve seen us try to kill each other.”

“Claygon tried to kill me.”

“And he’s sorry about that.”

‘I am not, Father.’

‘We’ll talk later, Claygon,’ Alex thought.

“Well, now that all of our cards are on the table,” Hart cut in, “are we all good with each other?”

“Aye, I am. An’ glad that we’re all together.” The Chosen grinned, revealing his gold tooth.

Hart stared at the tooth for a moment, then at Cedric’s hair, then shuddered and looked away.

“I am too,” Alex said. “And now… I think we should take the next step.”

“Oh? An’ what’s that?” Cedric asked.

“Me and Baelin go kill Ezaliel and find out what’s happening with the Traveller,” Alex said. “You all try to catch one of those… clawed creatures and find out what the hell’s going on with our church.”

Chapter 9

Consolidating Resources

And so the Fool, Chosen, Champion, and Sage planned their future.

It wasn’t the first time they’d talked like this, but this time—at last—they spoke with all their secrets out in the open.

Most of them, at least.

Midnight had come and gone, yet no one’s eyelids had grown heavy. They weren’t yawning. They hadn’t nodded off. Excitement filled the air… capped with residual anger.

As they talked, Alex noticed heat returning to Cedric’s voice every now and then as tension played around his mouth. His body language remained more relaxed, his movements less forceful. The fullness of his anger would take time to drain away, Alex thought—and hoped—but at least, he wasn’t throwing punches anymore.

At least, not at Alex.

He had something else to focus his anger on now.

The Chosen’s fist slammed into his palm. “I feel like a bloody wolf in a cage,” he growled. “I’d like t’be off t’this Irtyshenan Empire ourselves and turn the place upside down ’til we find what Drestra saw through the Traveller’s portal.” He nodded in the direction of the castle. “But we can’t leave if the Ravener’s pullin’ out all sorts o’ extra nasty tricks; we’re gonna be needed here. An’ besides, Merzhin’s already gettin’ kinda twitchy. I can jus’ hear ’im now, scoldin’ us fer shirkin’ our holy duty and all. He might even go t’the priests t’complain.”

“Yeah,” Hart grunted, thumbing the pommel of his sword. “We don’t want him or the priests looking at us too hard, especially since that invisible beast could mess us up real good if we get caught off guard.”

“That’s not even what worries me the most.” Drestra pointed to the earth beneath them. “We can fight monsters. With Aenflynn’s forces and any Ravener-spawn that we control, we can build our own armies and kill our enemies, even unknown ones. But what happens if the Ravener starts overloading a dungeon core with all its power while we’re inside a dungeon? You heard what Baelin said: it held him off for a while.”

“Aye, an’ if two o’ them could put up a fight against that scary bastard, then one could likely squash us bloody flat,” Cedric grunted. “They could kill hundreds o’ soldiers too, an’ there wouldn’t be one bloody thing we could do. All o’ that trainin’ they gave us in the capital didn’t do nothin’ t’get us ready fer dis kinda shite.”

“Yeah, the Ravener’s escalating,” Alex said darkly. “And if I had to guess, it’s reacting to us taking control of its dungeon cores. I controlled one for just a second in the Traveller’s Cave and the Ravener sent out an entire hunting party of assassins to track me all the way to Generasi.”

“Aye, an’ that means it can get Ravener-spawn off the bloody island,” Cedric said. “An’ that ain’t supposed to happen.”

“But if it can get those clawed things off the island, why doesn’t it attack the rest of the world?” Drestra asked. “What makes us so lucky?”

“It’s like a predator, stalking through its territory.” Theresa glowered at the horizon, as though the Ravener were hovering in that direction, just beyond sight. “It treats our whole kingdom like its hunting ground.”

“I’m not sure about that, Theresa,” Alex said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it does hunt us but… if it’s a predator and we’re its prey—and since our fear is what fuels dungeon cores—why doesn’t it keep following us outside of Thameland?” He gestured to the west. “Most of our people are right across the channel between here and the mainland. That’s a hell of a lot closer than Generasi. If it could follow me, it can definitely send those clawed things—and who knows what else—after our people in the empire. But it doesn’t.”

“Predators are not ravening monsters that chase down and eat every single scrap of prey, Alex,” she pointed out. “Wolves don’t slaughter an entire herd of deer; they hunt the weak and eat their fill.”

“Right, but our weak are gone,” he said. “All that’s left in Thameland are our Heroes, priests, the army, and anyone else who can fight. If it’s actually behaving like a wolf or a bear, then what it should be doing is chasing down everyone who leaves. Imagine how much fear it’d have to feed on if it had those clawed monsters stalking the Rhinean countryside, striking from the shadows, killing our old, our weak, and our young.” He shook his head. “Imagine how much terror a tactic like that would create? The Ravener would be drowning in power.”

“Bloody frightenin’ thought that is.” Cedric was somber. “But it’s true. If it could send monsters after you all the way t’ the south, then why can’t it chase the rest of our people?” He paused. “…’Less it don’t want to.”

“My thoughts exactly, mate!” Alex nodded emphatically. “That’s why I don’t really think it’s hunting us. I think it’s herding us, like a sheep dog herds a flock of sheep. When our people escape to the Rhinean Empire, well, that’s the same as putting sheep out to pasture, so it lets our people go.”

“But when you took control of the dungeon core, that was the same as a fat, juicy sheep escaping,” Drestra said. “So it needed to send out hunters to either kill the sheep or bring it back.”

“And now more sheep are escaping,” Hart jumped in, nodding to Alex and Drestra. “You two can control dungeon cores, and so can that Carey girl.”

“An’ when more sheep start escapin,’ y’bring out all yer shepherds and herdin’ dogs,” Cedric finished. “Aye, it fits. Explains why it’s escalatin’.” He looked at Drestra. “An’ why you’ve got a big, nasty target on your back now.”

“Yes,” the Sage said. “And that brings us back to the point: if it’s escalating, there’s no way we can leave. We’ll be needed here.”

“And that’s where I think we can divide and conquer.” Alex made a chopping motion in midair. “Except in this case, it’s us we’re dividing, and our enemies we’re conquering.”

“Go on,” Hart said.

“Well, first of all, we have an advantage in that I can count the number of people who know I’m a Hero on both hands,” Alex said. “You’re all likely to be watched by the church. If they’re keeping secrets, I can’t imagine they’d want to risk having Uldar’s mightiest weapons all going rogue, especially since one’s already missing.”

“You’re probably right.” Drestra’s voice crackled, her eyes hardening. “When I really think about it, we have priests constantly following us to supposedly give support. They let us act on our own now, but back when we were first Marked, I could hardly sneeze without a priest popping up to wipe my nose. Maybe they’re there for more than nose wiping.”

“And now that we’ve been good little Heroes for over a year, they let us have our run of the land,” Hart added, giving an amused snort. “The look on their faces if we all just pulled an Alex and ran off. I’d pay solid gold to see that.”

“Oi, don’t even joke about that,” Cedric said firmly. “Lotta people’d die if we did.”

“Oh no, look out, Cedric’s mad. He just might punch me!” The Champion held up his hands.

The Chosen’s face turned beet red. “Not funny, mate.”

“Funny to me,” Hart rumbled, then looked back at Alex. “But I see your point. We can only go so many places since the priests don’t want us too far from their sight, but they don’t know enough to have any interest in you.”

“Yeah, which means I can look into things outside of Thameland,” he said. “Though, I’ve got to admit, progress has been slow because of that. But! I’m hoping that Baelin and my little trip down to the lower planes can give us some clues. I really believe the Traveller is a key in all this. If not the key, then at least a piece of the puzzle.”

“At the very least, I want to know why a Saint of Uldar would build a secret temple in the earth near her hometown and not have one single image of Uldar in it. And why would she have a portal that slams shut as soon as a Hero comes near it?” Drestra said.

“Yeah, me too,” Alex said. “And that’s what I’m hoping we figure out in the hells.”

“I can’t believe you’re goin’ to the hells before y’go t’an empire right here in our world.” Cedric shook his head. “You’re completely bloody crazy, y’know that, don’t cha?”

“Well, I’ve got Baelin to give me a ride down to the hells, and we know where we’re going,” Alex said. “As for the empire… There’s no way I can think of exploring it without learning some kind of long-range teleportation spell. Even then, it’s going to be rough, with how they’re gating out outsiders and all.”

“I still think it’s bloody madness that y’think goin’ to the hells is an easier thing t’do.”

“The world’s upside down. I’m just trying to react to it.” Alex shrugged. “But while I’m literally going to hell, you can go places I can’t. This is completely up to you, of course, but if I were you, I’d start considering a little burglary.”

“Who’re we burgling?” Hart asked.

“The cathedral in Ussex would be my suggestion,” Alex said. “We need answers, and we need them sooner than later. If the Ravener’s escalating, then we need solid ways to counter it. We need to solve this mystery.”

“Cool. I’m up for that,” Hart said. “I can be sneaky-like when I want to be. I’ll be like a shadow. Steal some books. Snap some necks. It’ll be fun.”

“Aye, but we’ve got to think about Merzhin, though,” Cedric pointed out. “Ach, I feel for ’im.” He looked at Theresa and Alex. “You two should see ’im. He’s our age, aye, but he jus’… looks like he’s so much younger. I keep thinkin’ that he’s like a little kid, one that’s too fond o’ Uldar.”

“Hmmmm, can you get him on our side?” Alex suggested. “Drestra was saying how powerful he is, and we’d have an easier time investigating the church if we had the Saint willing to work with us.”

The three other Heroes looked at each other dubiously.

“Don’t think that’s gonna work,” Hart said. “We mentioned this a bit before, but he’s a fanatic among fanatics. Like, you ever see those guys standing by the roadside on a rock, claiming that the end of the world’s coming and only their deity can stop it?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Theresa said.

“Me neither,” Alex added. “But Alric’s a small town and religion’s not super prevalent in Generasi, so I’ll take your word for it.”

“Anyway,” Hart said. “So, Merzhin’s like one of them, except he was raised to be one of them. He’s all in.”

“Okay…” Alex frowned. That description reminded him of Carey, but she’d started questioning what they’d been told after learning they could control dungeon cores. Maybe this Merzhin could turn a corner too. “What if we started with some honesty? How would he react if he knew I was the Fool and was helping out?”

Hart, Drestra, and Cedric burst out laughing.

“You want to end up in chains?” the Sage asked. “Because that’s how you end up in chains.”

Claygon emitted a mental growl through their link.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Alex asked.

“Look, ya told me an’ I punched ya. What d’you think he’d do?”

“Yeah… okay,” Alex acknowledged. “But what if we told him everything? About controlling the dungeon cores, about their connection to Uldar, all of it. How would he react?”

Drestra frowned. “I don’t know. He might explain it away, he might have a meltdown. Either way, he’d tell every priest with ears, and then they’d know we know. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for that fight.”

“Speak for yourself.” Hart chuckled. “I’d meet ’em in the light with my bow or in the dark with a knife. They want a fight? I’ll give them their last.”

“We’re strong, t’be sure, but we’d be branded traitors, then we’ll have all o’ Thameland after us. I don’t want nothin’ t’do with slaughterin’ my fellow country folk, Hart.”

“If they come at us to cage or kill us, then I have no problem killing them,” Drestra fired back.

“You’re awfully cold-blooded at times,” Cedric said.

“And your blood runs too hot at times.”

The Chosen frowned.

“I think you’re both right,” Alex said. “We’ve got to defend ourselves, if it comes to it. Obviously, there are people who want this conspiracy to remain. But I’d rather we kill people who want to kill and oppress us, rather than some… poor bastards that don’t know any better. That’s why, if you find out more about what’s going on with the church, we could really narrow down who we need to talk to and whose heads we need to crack. And…”

He looked at Drestra. “You talked about not being ready for that fight?”

“I’m not. I’m trying to break through to fourth-level spells,” she said. “I can’t handle the Ravener and ancient conspirators all at once.”

“Well.” Alex leaned forward. “Maybe I can help with that. Listen, I’ve learned a lot at that school of mine. A lot about fighting. A lot about magic. Maybe I can talk to Baelin, and we can see about a little… training for all of you. I mean, look what I managed to do for myself in the last year.”

He grinned wickedly.

“Imagine what we could do for all of you.”

Chapter 10

Operation ‘Nurturing Heroes’

“Ooooh, I like the sound of that,” Hart snarled, his large eyes twinkling in anticipation. “You said you went from being a skinny baker’s boy a year ago to turning into… well, you?”

“Aye, is true, he’s bloody hard to recognise now,” Cedric said. “He went from lookin’ like a blade o’ grass to lookin’ more like a thick, bloody oak.”

“Blade of grass? Thanks. Thanks a lot,” Alex said dryly.

The Chosen ignored the snippiness in his tone. “How did you do it?”

“I used the Mark. It hinders all that pesky ability to fight, all spellcraft and divinity, but when they say it helps everything else, they do mean everything else. If you can learn it? The Mark will help you. So, thanks to it—and Khalik—I’ve learned how to train better, eat better, walk better… even breathe better.”

He looked at Drestra. “Baelin said that I’ve got something of a mastery over spell arrays and magic circuits, and he should know. He should be busy for the next while—going down to the hells to break some abyssal knights⁠—”

“I still think yer completely barkin’ mad when I hear y’talking about that kinda thing.” Cedric shook his head.

“—but what I can do is get some pointers from him and pass them on to you three. I’m a fair teacher; I’d like to think so anyway. I’ve been teaching my sister and Claygon and they’ve turned out just fine⁠—”

Cedric gave Claygon a skeptical look.

“—and besides, even if I’m not the best teacher right now, the Mark will turn me into a great teacher in no time with a bit of practice. And that’s not all I can contribute.”

Alex reached into his satchel, pulling out the spell-guide for greater force armour. Drestra’s eyes shot to the book, burning with interest.

“Is that a spell-guide?” she asked, her excitement clear.

“You got that right,” he said. “The university’s library has more of these than Crymlyn Swamp’s got fish. Or… well, maybe not that many, but you get my point.” He looked between her and Cedric. “You want spells? You’ve come to the right wizard. I can show you mana regeneration techniques that’ll let you fight longer and harder.

“And as for you, Hart, teaching you more fighting techniques probably won’t help you much—you’ve got dozens of generations of the finest Thameish warriors right in your Mark—but with a little blood magic, some training, and a little time, I might be able to bring your body up to a new level of power.”

“Well, I like the sound of that.” Hart beamed.

“The only problem is… it’s completely experimental.” Alex grimaced. “I made it work for myself because I know my own body really well. But, for other people… I’d have to use some guesswork, which’d be a bit more dangerous.”

“Define dangerous.” Hart raised an eyebrow.

“Well.” Alex scratched his head. “If I get it wrong, I could mess up your life force or do some serious damage to your body.”

“What if I’m there t’heal ’im?” Cedric raised his hand. “Would that make things a tad safer?”

“I… Hell, why didn’t I think of that? Yeah, if you used your divinity to fix any damage I did mucking about, then I’d have a lot more room for trial and error. But still…” He looked at Hart. “Listen, no offence to you, but this isn’t something I’ve tried with my closest friends for a reason. Even if Cedric’s there to stop any permanent damage, we could be talking about a lot of pain here.”

Hart shrugged. “A little pain for me means a lot of pain for Ravener-spawn.”

“Right and true.” Alex grinned. “Well, if you’re fine with it.”

“We can also see if any of you are compatible with life enforcement,” Theresa suggested. “It’s where a lot of my power comes from. And if it works for any of you then, by the Traveller, you’d be monsters.”

“Hah! I like the sound of that too.” Hart chuckled. “This is a much better way to use you, Mr. Fool. Have you in the backline, feeding us info, skills, and resources. Like a proper quartermaster. Gotta wonder why the kingdom doesn’t use you like that. Well, I guess where you are has a hell of a lot more resources than even the capital’s got.”

“Mmmm, true. But as for why Fools are used the way they are…” He looked up at the sky. “Well, let’s just say that—if we do manage to meet Uldar—I’ll have my own questions for him.”

“I’d drink t’that, brother.” Cedric paused as if deep in thought. “Well, I like this plan. An’ we can use the fae roads t’get back ’ere quick when we need ta. Then y’give us a lesson, an’ we can be back in the fight in a day or so. Aye, this is really comin’ together.”

“The Ravener might be escalating,” Drestra’s voice crackled, “but so will we.”

“Aye, the Heroes are united… Almost,” Cedric grunted. “Wish there was a way t’bring in Merzhin.”

“Hmmmm,” Alex scratched his chin in thought. “I get that. I kinda want to as well. I don’t know him, but he’s been branded the same as us. And he’s very powerful, from what you say, so I’d rather him with us, than against us. What we could do is get ourselves ready to fight. Get stronger and informed. Get ourselves ready to act. Then…”

He snapped his fingers. “You can tell him if you still want to, and if we do this right—even if he goes against us—it’ll be too late for him to stop us. We just—or, you, actually—have to tell him when the time is right. When we can pull him aside, or put him down if he tries to stop us.”

Cedric grimaced. “That’s… s’a real nasty way o’ puttin’ things. Real nasty. Underhanded, even. Don’t sit right wit’ me, really… but bloody hell, just walkin’ up to ’im and tellin’ ’im now’d be bloody stupid. It don’t make me feel comfortable, but it ain’t really about me, is it?”

His eyes took on a melancholy cast as they took in the cold, empty moors. “S’about the land, the people, gettin’ rid o’ the Ravener once an’ fer all so people can live here in Thameland wit’out great, dirty monsters showin’ up lookin’ t’ kill everyone every hundred years.”

“So we can live free,” Drestra said with heat. “So we can live for ourselves.”

“So no one has to go through what we’ve been through ever again,” Alex added.

Silence followed.

The other three Heroes looked at Hart.

And the big man shrugged. “What? You expect me to say something fancy? I just wanna kill the monsters, get rich, and then maybe do something fun with that Tyris friend of yours.”

“Hell, that’s as good a reason as any,” Alex said. “I’ll talk to Baelin, and we’ll get ourselves ready to wipe out all these bastards. Together.”

“Aye, together,” Cedric agreed.

“That went well,” Theresa whispered over Claygon’s heavy footsteps echoing through the halls. She looked up at the golem. “Except for the part where you tried to kill Cedric… Though to be fair, I wanted to punch him too.”

‘Punching… would not end the threat as quickly. But… good,’ Claygon said in approval.

Alex sighed. “Claygon says that’s good, and that he wanted to use a more permanent solution. Claygon, we really do have to talk about that.”

‘I will… listen, Father,’ his golem said.

“Good,” Alex said, turning to Theresa. “And yeah, I’m not in chains. They didn’t beat me unconscious. All in all, it went well. Now, I just have to tell Baelin what I might’ve, sort of volunteered him for and—if he doesn’t reduce me to a pile of ashes—then I’ll call it a win. A little punch is an easy price to pay.”

‘If he tries to turn you to ask… I will fight him. Run while I sacrifice my⁠—’

“No, Claygon, no sacrifices,” he said. “Especially not futile ones. We really do need to talk when we get back to Generasi. I’d do it now, but, by the Traveller, this has been a long day.”

The wee hours of the morning had come to the Research Castle, and the halls were still. A deep silence had descended, only broken by the occasional clack of a Watcher’s staff tapping along the stones. Their patrols were thick in the halls, but there wasn’t another soul stirring.

All seemed to have finally turned in, even Alex’s companions were absent from the dining hall when he, Theresa, Claygon, and the other Heroes finally made their way back to the keep.

They’d parted ways with clasped hands and good feelings, leaving Alex to track down Baelin and Professor Jules, if they were still awake.

“It’s been a long day,” Theresa yawned. “Do you think they’re still up?”

“Oh, definitely,” Alex said. “Well, at least Baelin. He might’ve told Professor Jules to go to bed, but he’ll still be up. I’m not sure if even needs sleep… Makes me wonder where he goes after he finishes his workday.”

“Maybe among the stars,” Theresa said, a wistful look taking over her face. “Remember that Many-Spheres Theory Isolde talked about? The one that says each star might have their own worlds, as different from ours as we are from those elementals you summon? Maybe that’s where he goes. He can teleport anywhere, right? And I’ve never heard of him having a house in the city.”

“Yeah, I haven’t either, come to think of it. You’d think that it’d be public knowledge, and knowing Baelin, you probably wouldn’t miss it.”

Theresa raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, can you really imagine Baelin living in anything but an unassailable fortress of doom?” Alex said. “Unless the unassailable fortress of doom was really a decoy and he actually lived in some obscure, cosy little cottage where his enemies couldn’t find him.”

“I could believe—” She yawned again “—in either of those things.”

“You should go to bed, love.” Alex looked at her in concern. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

“So have you.”

“You nearly died.”

“So did you,” she insisted.

“Fair point. Let me put it this way: I have to be up for a little longer. You don’t have to be, so why would you be? That’d be madness. Go on, go to bed. I’ll be there soon.”

Theresa grumbled. “Fine. But don’t let him keep you up forever. I know that spell of yours cuts down on your sleep, but you do need some.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Alex said. “But… well, we’ll see how scheme-y he gets.”

“Really? ‘scheme-y’?”

“It’s a perfectly real word that I made real just this second.”

“Sure.” She rose up on her toes and gave him a lingering kiss. “Love you, don’t stay up too late.” She looked at Claygon. “Don’t let him stay up late.”

‘I… won’t. Will make Father go to bed. Good… night,’ Claygon said.

“He says he’ll make me go to bed, and I don’t imagine I could stop him if he put his mind to it. Oh, and he wishes you a good night. And good night to you too, love. Love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And with that, Theresa slipped into the darkness.

Alex and Claygon made their way up the keep’s stairs to the top floor. The double doors to Baelin’s office rose at the end of the hall with a steady stream of light escaping from beneath them.

“Good, he’s still up,” Alex whispered, looking at Claygon. “This will be your first time meeting him since you awakened. Well, I imagine he’ll be very taken with you.”

‘He cannot take me… I am my own. And yours. And Selina’s.’

“True, and I appreciate the sentiment, but again… figure of speech. And so the list of things we have to talk about grows. But that’s a ‘later’ problem.”

Alex approached the doors, softly knocking on them.

“Vernia?” Baelin’s deep voice spoke from within. “Is that you—Ah, of course not. Alex, Claygon. I’d know those gaits anywhere. You’re up rather late. Well, please do come in.”

There was a flare of mana, and the doors swung open.

Chapter 11

The Ancient Wizard and the Golem

“Ah, Alex, Claygon, welcome.” Baelin looked up as the young wizard and his golem stepped into his office.

The ancient wizard was bent so low over a map table that his beard-braids threatened to scrape the painted surface of Thameland. Across a tabletop made of cork, a map was carved showing the realm, the sea around it, and the nearby coast of the Rhinean Empire. It was topographic, with cork rising to represent mountains, and dipping down to illustrate valleys and other lowlands.

Dozens of pins pierced the cork, each capped with tiny carvings of castles, dungeon cores, and cities. But these elements weren’t what drew Alex’s gaze the most, because hovering above the map, strange golden lines glowed—each shedding sparkling light—spider-webbing over the land, some even reaching across the sea.

He didn’t recognise them, though from their shapes, he assumed they might be roads or rivers, but they didn’t match any he’d seen on any other map of his homeland.

“Evening, Baelin.” The young wizard stepped closer to the map, peering at the golden lines as Claygon came up beside him. Alex could feel his golem’s curiosity as he too stared down at it.

His hand raised slightly, a marble finger pointing toward the map as if drawn to the cork.

The motion drew Baelin’s sharp gaze, though Alex—his focus on the golden lines—hardly noticed. “What are those lines?”

“The fae roads as they appear in the territory of one Lord Aenflynn,” he answered, still scrutinising Claygon. “Our Hero friends, and their new… associate, have taken the liberty of informing us as to the roads’ locations and their network around your lands. It is a fine thing they’ve done. A tidy bit of negotiation on Drestra’s part. She’ll go far, in time, both in wizardry and in other fields, I do believe.”

“Yeah, I want to talk to you about that… I mean her going far in wizardry, and I want to talk to you about a lot of other things,” Alex said, his finger passing through one of the golden lines. It tickled his skin. “Is Professor Jules coming back soon?”

“At any heartbeat, I suspect,” Baelin said, his gaze boring into Claygon while the golem’s finger traced fae roads. “Why do you ask?”

Alex glanced at the double doors behind him then leaned toward the chancellor, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I told the Heroes.” For emphasis, he tapped his Marked shoulder—now covered by his cloak, shirt, and the illusion spell.

The ancient wizard’s bushy eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Well, well, that is quite the development. At a later, safer time, you and I will have to discuss how that came to be. I take it all went well?”

“I got punched.”

“Oh, is that all? Bah.” Baelin waved his hand dismissively. “Hardly trouble at all, the—Alright, Alex, it is bothering me, why are you having Claygon trace the lines of the fae roads?” Baelin cocked his head. “If you wished to call my attention to his handsome new appearance, you needn’t have resorted to such subtle tactics. He already has my full interest.”

The chancellor floated into the air, hovering over the table, and levitating around Claygon, examining him like a curious fish orbiting a lure. Claygon paused his examination of the illusionary roads, his head turning in complete circles, following the ancient wizard’s movements.

He gave Baelin a slight little wave with two of his hands, drawing a chuckle from the goat beastman, who waved back. “Ah, an adorable gesture from such a devastating weapon of battle. An amusing juxtaposition: your sense of humour is improving, Alex.”

The golem cocked his head, looking down at the young Thameish wizard. ‘Father… why not tell him… I am awake? He thinks… I am moving because of your… direction. That is… wrong.’

Alex could hardly fight the wide grin spreading over his lips. ‘Give him a minute. He complimented my sense of humour, right? Let’s let the joke continue a little longer,’ he thought.

‘This is… humour?’ Claygon asked.

‘To me, it is.’ Alex beamed.

“Hmmmm, the power radiating from him has increased dramatically! Most impressive! I see that his movements have grown smoother as well, almost true to life, really…” The chancellor paused before the golem, peering into his face. “The signature of his mana has… altered slightly as well. Fascinating. I wonder what new powers he might exhibit? Has there been any progress in his growing cognition? Has he changed internally as well as external—Why are you laughing?”

Baelin’s expression was puzzled as Alex bent over the map table, his body shaking with barely stifled laughter.

“I fail to see—Oh… oh my goodness!” he cried in delight, whirling back to face Claygon. “Yes… yes, I see now! Claygon, your movemen—Oh blast it, I must have finally grown senile!” The chancellor spread his hands as though welcoming a ship to harbour. “Ahhhh, my large friend! You have awoken at last, have you not?”

The golem slowly gave the chancellor two thumbs up.

“Hah! Glorious! Magnificent!” The ancient wizard clapped. “This is an absolutely wondrous development. How does it feel to think, to move, to act on your own power?”

“He tried to kill Cedric,” Alex reported.

‘Father… saying it that way removes the full picture,’ Claygon pointed out. ‘He will react negativ⁠—’

Baelin’s laughter erupted, echoing throughout the chamber. “Oh my, considering what your creator just told me⁠—”

“Father,” Alex corrected. “He calls me Father.”

At those words, he felt a little surge of happiness rush through their link.

“Oh, now that is interesting.” Baelin stroked his beard-braids, their bronze clasps clacking together with the movement. “That says a great deal about your relationship. Some golems who awaken to cognizance see their creators as parental figures, but many simply see them as, well, creators, masters, or leaders. Warmth defines the bond between you and him. It will be fascinating to watch how that develops in the future. But in any case, considering what you just told me, I think I can guess why he attacked our friendly Chosen One. Is Cedric still among the living?”

He peered at Claygon, not waiting for a reply. “I guess it would be safe to assume that he is; otherwise, the conversation we’re having would be somewhat more dire. Claygon, you are unwounded and—while you are powerful—I should hope that the Chosen would have put up a little more fight than that.”

‘Father… could I have a pen and something… to write on again?’

‘Of course!’ Alex thought, conjuring a forcedisk and producing both parchment and a writing tool.

The golem placed the paper on the forcedisk, using it as a desk while he slowly drew letters, which grew to form words.

He was… fast. No one… hurt. Father… calmed all.

“Ah, good, good, good,” Baelin said. “I daresay it would be a tad difficult to smooth over ‘Hero murder’ as an international incident. That would truly be the last thing I need today. This… new friend of the Heroes has been vexing me enough as it is.”

“New friend?” Alex asked.

“The little predator that guided our friends along the fae roads.” The ancient wizard gestured to the golden lines over the map, then wagged his finger at Claygon. “You watch him closely, my young, stony friend. There could come a day when son might need to protect father against him.”

Will… crush if needed, Claygon wrote.

“Hah! What a delightful personality you have. A Proper Wizard would kill for a companion such as you.” Baelin patted the golem’s broad, marble shoulder.

“Right, that reminds me,” Alex said. “I have something to tell you too, about the Heroes’ fae friend. I wanted to warn you about him.”

“Warn me?” Baelin cocked his head slightly.

“My fae friend, Gwyllain. He said that…” He mentally fumbled with what to call the white-bearded, moose-riding fae. “He said that the Heroes’ new friend—Mr. Herofriend, let’s say—has a lot of different names. And he said that those names are… sticky, he called them.”

“Ahhh, that old fae trick.” Baelin nodded grimly. “I might have known. Clever, though, to have multiple names and put traps in all of them. It would take quite the expenditure of power and no small amount of skill. Hmmm, he no doubt is older than I had initially thought, and I’d guessed fairly old.

“The tricky thing is that—since he has multiple names—he could have laid traps in any number of names and titles. We should refer to him by one he likely has never used before. Mr. Herofriend should suffice. I would be very surprised if he had seeded those particular words with a magical trap. Only you could have thought of such a novel way by which to refer to him. Now, what else did your little friend say?”

“Oh, only that there’s dark rumours about Mr. Herofriend,” Alex said. “Something about ‘not playing gently with mortals’.”

“Ah, well, that much I had guessed myself,” Baelin said grimly. “Hmmm, perhaps I should take my own measures. The fae are—by and large—an unpredictable people. It might be that Mr. Herofriend wishes to help us now, but that could change at any time. There is always an element of whim that one must be aware of when dealing with fae. Yes, I do believe my own measures will be necessary.”

“Yeah.” Alex looked down at those golden roads. Each promised new avenues for the Heroes to travel. They could respond to enemies quickly, come to the Research Castle at speed, and deploy armies over vast distances. Alex then wondered what hidden dangers might be ahead, both on those roads and off. “Well, the Heroes and I are going to be doing some preparations. This is just one more thing to prepare for.”

“Preparations?” Baelin asked.

“Oh yeah, that was the next thing I have to tell you.” He glanced at the doors, listening for Professor Jules’ tell-tale gait moving down the hall. Silence met him. “The Heroes and I talked about some stuff, so I need a bit of a favour from you.”

He told the chancellor of the plan to increase the Heroes’ power: including passing on Baelin’s theories of tactics and combat, teaching Cedric and Drestra new and powerful spells from spell-books in the library, and his planned experiment with Hart. The more he talked, the closer Baelin came, leaning in and floating nearer, his goat-like eyes twinkling like stars on a crisp Thameish night.

“How… intriguing. I did offer to pass on some teachings to Drestra, but this… this will be far more magnificent. With the Heroes being such fine clay to work with, and hands as skilled as yours and mine to sculpt them… well, I am positively salivating to see what might result.”

You… will sculpt their flesh? Claygon wrote. They will die.

“Oh, no, my young friend, it’s just a figure of speech,” the chancellor said. “I merely meant that we will grant them the knowledge and skills to transform into their best selves.”

Figures… of speech… confusing.

“That they are, that they are, Claygon,” Baelin said. “Try living for a few thousand years and watching the popular expressions of era after era tumble away to be replaced by new ones. It can be positively mind-rending. Now, as for these teachings… I am in full support, of course, and I shall aid when I can.”

“That’s great,” Alex said. “Because there’s aspects of spellcraft I’d obviously have trouble teaching, and I won’t be able to help them at all with fighting techniques.”

“Hmmm,” Baelin mused. “We shall see how much my fighting techniques would be of help to someone like Hart. Do not mistake me: a Proper Wizard maintains their body and learns how to direct it in acts of necessary violence, but—even at my great age—I would not by any means deem myself a master of modern melee and ranged combat arts. I learned to fight in a very different time, I perfected those skills and only expanded on them as necessary. Most of my vast gift of time has been spent on wizardry, of course. I could well teach those interested a thing or two about the spear, club, and axe, but to someone with generations of combat knowledge flowing through them… I do not know how helpful I could be.”

He tapped one of his beard-braids. “I think your method of improving his base physical capabilities to enhance his millennia worth of experience and skill is indeed the best method, unless we find some rather unique and formidable techniques to teach to him. Hmmm, perhaps there are some fighting manuals in the hells that we might uncov—Ah! That’s it!”

“What? What’s it?” Alex asked.

Baelin gave a low, dark chuckle. “Over the next year, I of course will be sojourning to the hells for the express purpose of… slaying a number of Zonon-In’s rivals. This will be a large time commitment and would have been difficult to smoothly schedule when one considers my administrative duties, other duties, my time on the expedition, as well as teaching my students in various years’ the Art of the Wizard in Combat.”

He raised a finger. “But what if we slay five dragons with a single meteor?”

“I, uh, don’t think that’s how that expression goes⁠—”

“For you see!” Baelin smiled, unabated. “You and many others have learned a great deal about combat on this expedition, as you did in the Barrens. So, I think it’s time to set you forth against more exotic prey.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”

“Oh yes.” Baelin chuckled. “I think it is time to tell you, your cabal, your friends, and the Heroes… to go to hell. Or rather, to come to multiple hells… with me. I will seek out the greatest quarry, of course, but everyone else will benefit by having armies to fight and magics to defeat. You will all learn a great deal from a period of extended demon-slaying.”

Chapter 12

Approaches of Bombardment and Guile

“Professor Jules is not going to like this,” Alex murmured. “I’m not sure I like it.”

Baelin, his eyes sparkling while he remained floating in midair as he schemed for the future, looked at Alex with incredulity. “Truly? Now you wish to turn coward? Bah, I say! When we spoke of slaying Ezaliel and obtaining information on the Traveller, you were as eager as a rabbit in springtime. Don’t tell me this little… disaster today has caused you to lose your nerve?”

“I wouldn’t really call it a ‘little disaster,’ Baelin. A couple dozen people lost their lives.”

“And I mourn them,” the chancellor said, a note of gravity in his voice. “In my own fashion, I mourn them. I will ensure they are remembered well, and their families are well-compensated.” He sighed. “The loss of Watcher Shaw stings in particular. The man served with the Watchers near-on thirty years. He was a fine warrior, a good tactician, and a Proper Wizard. Gemini—the leader of the Watchers—will be most upset. However⁠—”

He gave Alex a serious look. “—along the great path of life as one moves through the world, there will be bumps, sinkholes, and dangers. Every single expedition member joined with the understanding that they would face great dangers. Safety can be maximised and loss of life minimised, but—in the end—nothing is guaranteed. This could have been far worse, Alex. Far worse.”

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “But, ‘small disaster,’ the words just make it feel a bit too insignificant for my liking.”

“Ah, well that comes from a matter of perspective,” the chancellor said. “I have seen things that would drive others to catatonia: wars, demonic eclipses, plagues, famine, and spells so powerful that entire lands were washed out to sea when the spell went awry, yet they were forgotten by the vast majority of history.”

He glanced at the map, eyes distant as though looking through it to watch something else. Something Alex couldn’t see. “I am sure you will find a way to have a very long lifespan, Alex. You might see my perspective as alien now—if I were your age and raised in your circumstances, I certainly would—but amass enough years? And you will likely see disasters in an entirely different way, and on an entirely different scale.”

Alex opened his mouth to reply, then closed it immediately as a thought and context occurred to him.

Baelin was probably right. Back when he’d first been Marked, he’d paid a visit to Alric’s local magistrate to claim the entirety of his and Selina’s inheritance.

At the time, the funds had seemed a vast sum that would utterly change their lives.

Now? After living in Generasi and seeing what great wealth looked like, and if the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension went as planned, all of that coin—the sum total of his parents’ wealth—would seem like pocket change compared to what he could earn. Maybe in time, he’d begin to look at death in the same way. Over twenty dead was a catastrophe now, but perhaps, with the passage of years, and surviving more deadly battles…

He shook his head, clearing his mind. ‘I can consider that another time.’

“You might be right,” Alex said. “But, anyway, we got a bit offtrack. I’m not reluctant to go down to the hells because I ‘turned coward.’ It’s just that… well, I have the distinct memory of you saying that you wanted me to know fourth- or fifth-level spells before we went down there.”

“Ahhhh, true,” Baelin said. “I did say that. However, that applied to that particular mission. When the time comes, you will be facing the forces of a greater demon, quite possibly without my help, which means I will likely be directly engaged with Ezaliel—and any of its allies. I most likely will not have the attention or time to protect you, even if you fall under dire circumstances. Further, and let this serve as your first lesson in journeying into dangerous planes⁠—”

He conjured a pair of illusions, letting each hover above his palms. Over his left was an army of powerful soldiers and wizards, mustering to march through a portal to a hellscape. Floating above his right palm were a trio of adventurers—well-equipped with weapons and supplies—moving stealthily like experienced warriors over a blasted abyssal desert.

“There are two main ways to lead an expedition into dark, otherworldly realms,” Baelin said. “The first—” He wiggled his left hand, and the illusionary army above it charged a horde of demons, crashing into them with fury. “—is what I would call the Bombardment Approach. Not an official academic term, but it serves the purpose. Essentially, you assemble a small army of powerful individuals to breach the plane in force. It is loud. It is messy. It is dangerous. And it is expensive. Truly, it is only useful for destroying targets, or defending otherworldly citadels. And when we attack Zonon-In’s enemies⁠—”

The image of the army faded, replaced by an illusion of Baelin, Alex, his cabal, Claygon, the Heroes, and other members of the Art of the Wizard in Combat attacking a horde of demons.

“—this will be the approach we will use. We will be loud, and I will handle their most dangerous forces while I assign you enemies to face that can help your learning without overtaxing you. We will rain fire, and that will be the end of them. But this approach will not work well when it comes time to obtain the information about the Traveller from Ezaliel’s subordinates.”

He wiggled his right hand, and the image of the grizzled adventurers changed to one of Khalik, Alex, and Theresa infiltrating an ancient demonic temple. “The Guile Approach is what we’ll need. You need to obtain something, and we don’t know precisely what it is. Is it a scroll that can burn? A stone tablet that can be crushed? A rumour in some demon’s mind that will be lost forever if they are slain?”

“Right…” Alex said, running his hand through his short beard. “If we go in with the Bombardment Way, we might destroy the information before we even get it.”

“Precisely,” Baelin said. “At that time, you and a very small group must act autonomously. I can move unseen when I wish to, but I will be needed to draw Ezaliel’s attention. As such, you—and this small group—will have to act independently. I would not send you into literal hell without being sure you can defend yourselves under such circumstances. But for the Bombardment Approach? As you are now, you are more than capable enough. You will have me as a safety net, my spell-marks to whisk you away from dangers, as well as a group of powerful allies around you. Under such circumstances, we can proceed!”

“But wait,” Alex said. “What about the Heroes? They said that things are escalating here. They’ll be more than a little bit needed right here to… you know… fight the Ravener.”

Baelin waved a hand dismissively. “Simplicity in itself. Remember, our COMB-1000 classes took little more than a single period each week. The Heroes can travel here through the fae roads, or I could teleport them to the Research Castle. From there, one little spell and we will appear in the precise location within the hells to proceed immediately. If the Saint complains, I could see to it that some of our resources are dedicated beyond Greymoor. We are building to that anyway.”

“Right,” Alex said. “But what about Professor Jules not liking this?”

Baelin was about to respond when quick, familiar footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Ah, speak of a devil, and they may appear,” the chancellor said just as the doors opened.

“Who’s a devil now?” Professor Jules asked, shutting the doors behind her. “What are you planning? Something I’d disapprove of, no⁠—”

She paused, her eyes falling on Alex and then Claygon. “Well, good… wee hours of the morning, Mr. Roth. What brings you here so late?”

“Planning,” Alex said. “Baelin was just thinking of ways we could take advantage of a few opportunities.”

“Oh?” Professor Jules looked at the chancellor dubiously. “Nothing too dangerous, I hope?”

“I will be taking my combat class to the hells,” he said proudly.

The younger professor stood by the doors for a full five seconds, her eyes bulging. “Really? Really, Chancellor?” A deep frown creased her brow. “After what happened today, you’re planning on bringing students into more danger?”

“After today—if anything—I’m more convinced than ever that such dangers presented in a controlled environment are more necessary than they’ve ever been, Vernia.”

She gave a deep, heavy sigh. “Well, I won’t be the professor who tries to dictate another’s curriculum. That’s too gauche, but still…” Professor Jules gave Alex a pointed look. “I assume you will be a party to this madness?”

He shrugged. “You know me well enough. What do you think I’ll do?”

Her sigh deepened. “You spend far too much time running headfirst into danger, Mr. Roth.”

“I do not!” Alex protested. “I take measured risks. They’re calculated.”

“Then you’re worse at mathematics than I’d thought.”

“Hey! I’ve gotten loads of benefits from my way of doing things, and they aren’t that risky!”

“Monster hunting isn’t risky?” The alchemy professor raised an eyebrow, putting her hands on her hips. “Battling cultists isn’t risky? Using a mana vampire like a power source then draining it to propel a golem with an untested mana core isn’t risky⁠—”

Claygon waved at her, and she nodded in return.

“—Ah, hello, Claygon. Sorry I didn’t greet you, how impolite. Must be the lack of sleep. In any case, Alex, I am fairly sure that you are the Chancellor of Risk. Well, you would be, except for Bae⁠—”

Her words halted, her head slowly turning back to Claygon.

“Wait…” she murmured. “Did you just…?”

The golem nodded, drawing a new note on his sheet of paper.

Hello. Professor Jules.

The older woman’s jaw dropped. “You… you’ve awakened to intelligence! This is incredible! Oh, my goodness!”

In an instant, all complaints about dangers were forgotten, and she was scurrying up to Claygon like an excited child, producing a pen and paper from seemingly nothing at all. “Goodness me! Changes outside and within! I had thought your awakening—if it were to come at all—might be due to certain conversions of the properties in your inner elements. There are certain theories about silicon…”

Her pen danced across a page.

“But enough of that, how do you feel? What’s your first memory? What are your thoughts? Do you have a sense of touch?”

Claygon looked at Alex as though begging for help, but the young man simply shrugged.

The golem seemed to give up, scrawling a new message: I am. Learning. Things. Write. Slow.

“Ah, I won’t overwhelm you, then.” Professor Jules whirled on Alex. “Mr. Roth!”

“Yes!” Alex’s back straightened as though he were a soldier and his commanding officer had just snapped at him.

“Oh, calm down, this isn’t the army, Mr. Roth.” Professor Jules rolled her eyes. “I do need you to answer my questions. In particular, what is Claygon’s learning capacity? He is already capable of writing, which indicates that he had a form of memory storage before his awakening… unless he gained intelligence some time ago?”

“No, it was right after the battle,” Alex said. “And uh, I haven’t really had time to test how quickly he learns.”

“That should be your first priority!” Professor Jules declared, looking at Alex with disappointment. “You have such a rare opportunity, Alex. A new mind to form, and one existing within a corporeal shell that has no biological limiters. It could be that we have a genius on our hands?”

‘What is… a genius?’ Claygon asked mentally.

“It’s basically Isolde. And Baelin. And Professor Jules. I’ll explain it more later,” Alex promised.

Thank… you.

“Hmmmm?” The alchemy professor’s head darted between them. “Ah! He can communicate through your link? Excellent data.” She jotted down a note. “You must build him a speakerbox soon. Very soon.”

“It’s on my to-do list, Professor,” Alex said. “Trouble is that it’s a very long and growing list.”

“Perhaps some reprioritising would help you. For example, I’m suggesting you lower the priority level of ‘horrendous risk,’ which might give you time for other, more productive activities.” She glared at Baelin.

“Hmmm… Professor Jules might have a point.” The chancellor stroked his beard, peering into Claygon’s fierce expression. His eyes flicked to the war-spear in the golem’s grip. “Hart might present a good opportunity to test such a thing. He is a repository for centuries of combat knowledge. You could have him train Claygon in various spear-fighting techniques and see how quickly our friend would take to them.”

Alex froze, then gave a wide grin. “That’s perfect! What do you think, Claygon?”

Good. Will… help me protect.

Professor Jules gave a devastating sigh. “Of course. You have a new mind to shape. You have a new form of life to study. And what does everyone want to do? Teach him how to hit others with a sharp piece of metal! Gah!” She threw up her hands. “You’ll just infect your little sister with such urges.”

‘Too late,’ Alex thought, remembering Selina’s knife. ‘She’d probably want Claygon to learn how to fight the most. I wonder how she’ll react when she meets him? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.’

Chapter 13

A Dance of Heat and Flame

“—and so, heat rises, travelling as high as it can go,” Shiani was saying, pointing to the flame. It was a tiny, controlled flicker caged within an oil lamp at the table’s centre. Glass walls surrounded the small fire, caging it in, giving it no opportunity to grow and spread to the books and papers sprawled around the lamp’s brass base.

The fire was harmless, Selina told herself, though she was still having a hard time keeping her eyes on it.

She could barely hear Shiani’s calming voice, her mind warring with the flickering dance of flame. With every bob and quiver, the fire drew more of her attention, its beauty held her gaze… yet also stoked a spark of guilt that made her want to turn away.

She forced herself to watch and to listen.

If she wanted this… affinity of hers to become something good, she’d have to do just that.

“Are you okay?” Shiani asked, pausing the lesson. “We can take a break if you need one.”

“No! No, I’m okay,” the young girl insisted, clenching her jaw. This was the third time Shiani had asked her that, and each time it made Selina just a little more irritated.

Her annoyance wasn’t directed at the fire mage; it was at herself.

‘If I keep acting like a little kid that everyone’s got to treat like glass, I’ll never do anything good with this fire affinity,’ she thought, forcing herself to listen and watch the flame. ‘I’ll just keep being that scared, stupid little girl who always runs away from fire and monsters.’

Her hand clenched beneath the table. ‘Stupid little girl, stupid! Focus!’

She looked up at Shiani, noticing the worry on the young woman’s face, and faked a smile. “You were saying heat rises?”

“Yes…” Shiani said slowly. “Heat radiates off of any fire, but the heat will travel up. It’s why you can put your hand close to the side of the lamp and have it be fine, but your fingers will burn if you hold them over the flame. Ah, careful⁠—”

To test it for herself, Selina waved a hand over the fire while the other one hovered near the glass. It was definitely hotter above the lamp. She frowned, a familiar thought in her mind.

Fire was a cruel thing. It really was.

If a fire started at the bottom of a building, the heat would rise, reaching anyone upstairs and stopping them from getting away because they couldn’t get downstairs to run out the door to safety. They’d be trapped. If heat travelled down instead of up, then people would have a better chance of getting out of the building and not dying from the smoke and flames.

She said as much to Shiani.

“Fire is not a cruel thing, to my people,” Shiani said. “It’s no crueler than water or wind or sunlight. Think about it this way: if heat travelled down, then we’d have a harder time cooking our food. We’d need to put our pots under the flame, and just think about how hard that would be to do.”

“Wind and sunlight don’t burn people alive,” Selina said darkly, wondering if there was something wrong within her mind. How could she think that something so awful was beautiful?

“Wind can sweep away crops,” Shiani said sadly. “If it’s strong enough, it can blow houses down, tear a mother’s baby from her arms and blow them into the sea to drown. Wind can uproot trees and blow away good soil. Water can drown animals or people. The sea can flood and wash away homes. Sunlight can burn peoples’ skin or make them die of thirst if it’s strong enough. These things are just as cruel.”

Selina frowned, trying to compare those things to the hunger of flame.

Shiani kept talking. “And besides, in your example… if the roof burned first, then—with heat travelling down—it’d burn every living thing below and they still wouldn’t get away.”

“That’s true, I guess,” Selina said. “Which means that fire can do good and bad, just like the sun, water, and wind.”

“Exactly.” Shiani smiled brilliantly. “And many people here feel that fire is a thing of death. But to my people, it’s life.”

“How can it be life?” Selina asked.

“When a forest burns down, the ash feeds the soil and makes the new trees grow healthier,” the fire mage said. “Fire helped my people fight the monsters on our island back before we knew the power of metal or blade. And fire can even bring life… Have you ever heard of the phoenix?”

“Feeee nicks,” Selina sounded the word out. “No?”

“Okay, well. A phoenix is a sacred creature to my people. They live on the elemental plane of fire in the celestial planes, and even here in the material world in deserts and volcanoes. They’re birds with the most brilliant and beautifully coloured feathers of crimson and gold, and they can command fire better than any dragon can. Fire is actually life to them, and so they can never truly die.”

“They’re immortal?” Selina asked. “We learned about immortals in class. These phoenixes never die?”

“They do and they don’t,” Shiani said.

Selina was about to point out the contradiction when she remembered where she was now living. This wasn’t Thameland. There were so many strange and impossible things that were commonplace in Generasi that she’d just learned to accept them with few or no questions. It was a sentiment shared by many of her classmates, and—as a private joke—they’d started answering all of their teachers’ questions about magical and natural phenomena with a simple phrase:

A wizard probably did it.

Their teachers were less than amused.

And she didn’t want to do that to Shiani.

“Do they… come back to life?” Selina asked. “Everyone says that’s impossible. My teachers say that. Alex told me that Baelin said so too.”

“That’s true, as far as I know.” Shiani pointed to the fire. “But what happens if I blow this fire out?”

“Um… it would go out?” Selina proposed.

“That’s right, it would.” Shiani leaned over the lamp and gave a quick puff through pursed lips. The flame snuffed out, fading into nothing more than a single ember, and a trailing line of white smoke. “But what happens if we reignite it?”

She uttered a single word of power.

There was a… shift in the air, one that felt warm. Selina wondered if she was starting to feel mana, like Alex could. Or maybe it was just fire mana since she only felt it when flame magic was being conjured.

The power flowed from Shiani, settling into the glowing ember and setting it alight again. Selina’s eyes widened. Watching the flame return made her feel like when she’d seen Claygon take his first steps.

She tamped down the guilt that came with that thought.

“And, the flame is back,” Shiani said. “We have an expression among my people: As long as there is fuel, the fire never dies. And that is the way for phoenixes. They are birds of fire, and when they die, it’s like a candle being snuffed out. But, with a little fuel, they can come to life in great explosions of fire. To them, fire is life. And with the glory of flame, they can live for millennia, burning from one life to the next.”

“But wait,” Selina said. “Fire can only come back if there’s fuel, you said. So what’s their fuel?”

Shiani shrugged. “I asked my fire magic professor that very question. We don’t really know for certain. For a few centuries, we thought it was mana, but phoenixes burn back to life even in places where there’s little to no mana. And the mana in their bodies dissipates when they die, so there’s nothing left to rekindle their life. So mana can’t be the fuel source.”

She tapped the side of her head. “Then my teacher said that wizards used to think that phoenixes burned their own memories as fuel. They would come back to life, but with each life, they would forget their old memories and begin anew. Then around two hundred years ago or so, some other wizards went straight to the source and asked the phoenixes themselves to see if they could finally get an answer to that question.

“What they learned was that they remember their past lives perfectly! So memories weren’t the answer to them returning to life. Then we wizards guessed that it was the soul that was the fuel—and a little burned away each time they resurrected—but they soon realised that phoenix souls grow more powerful, not less powerful over time. That’s why ancient phoenixes look like miniature suns when they come back to life.”

That image caught hold of Selina’s imagination, refusing to let go. A great, powerful bird like Najyah, rising from ash in a glorious flower of flame.

“Then, what is their fuel?” Selina was more puzzled than before.

“As far as we know, they might not need fuel.” Shiani spread her hands helplessly. “Fire elementals burn forever without fuel; maybe phoenixes are the same. As much as we know about magic, we still don’t understand everything. Our professors don’t, at least.”

“Hmmmm.” Selina looked back at the flame. “Fire that burns forever… scary. How would you put it out?”

“Maybe some flames aren’t always meant to be put out,” Shiani said. “Maybe that’s what makes some fire so wonderful. Like the sun, burning forever to warm our world.”

Selina glanced at the sun through the window, squinting against the light. “So if the sun was gone… it’d be cold here.”

“Well, you would be cold if someone moved a campfire away from you on a cold night, wouldn’t you?” Shiani offered.

The young girl turned that over in her mind. “Can you… move fire with magic? Do you know any spells like that?”

“Hmmm, there’s a spell called Control Flame,” Shiani said. “It’s mostly used for stifling fires or keeping them burning longer. Wizards who get very good with it can even make fire walk around like it has legs.”

Selina held her hand over the oil lamp, feeling the heat. “Can you move heat with that spell?”

“What do you mean?” Shiani asked.

“I mean, could you make the heat just… go away from somewhere, like making a fire walk away? Then with the heat gone, it’d be cold?”

“I’ve… never heard of anything like that,” Shiani said, pondering the question. “Maybe… I don’t know, I’ve never thought of that before. Or heard of anyone trying anything like it. Controlling fire itself is different, I think.”

“Why is it different?” Selina asked. “Fire’s just a lot of heat and light, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s… I mean, that’s one way of looking at it,” Shiani said. “But… I don’t know, I’ve never heard of such a spell being used that way. Malcolm, have you?”

Shiani turned to the other occupant of the table—the ice wizard, Malcolm—who was slumped over in his chair, fast asleep with his head hanging over his chest.

“Malcolm!” Shiani snapped.

“Uh, wha—?” The young man dragged himself awake. “What? What’s wrong? We under attack?” His eyes were bleary, and his words slurred.

“Malcom, how long have you been asleep?”

“Around the time you started talking about fire?”

“Oh by the mountain’s flame,” Shiani swore. “Never mind. Have you ever heard of a Control Fire spell being used to move heat without the flame? To make things cold?”

“Uh.” He scratched his stubble. “No? Why would anyone do that? Sounds like it’d be hard. By the way, you’re still going to help me with that assignment, right?”

“Yes,” Shiani grunted. “You could pretend that’s not the only reason you’re here.”

“Meh, why lie to children?” He shrugged, looking at Selina. “You’ve got a fire affinity, right?”

“Yeah,” Selina said.

“And you still want to do ice stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said a little more forcefully.

“Well, uh… I dunno.” He looked up at the sky again. “When the sun moves away from the north—where I’m from—then that’s when winter comes hard. Maybe study the seasons or something? I dunno, I’m just some third year student, so what do I know? I’m not some fire and ice genius.”

With that, he rose, sauntering to the balcony while stifling a loud yawn.

Shiani shook her head. “Why don’t we take a break,” she suggested. “I’m going to grab a glass of water.”

Selina was left alone with her thoughts. And the flame.

“Hmmm, the seasons…” she wondered aloud, thinking about winters back in Thameland.

She remembered waking up in the Lu Family Inn on winter mornings when it was still dark and icy cold. The days would be short and frigid. Those were days for staying inside with hot drinks and hotter soup, doing work indoors, and spending time with family.

But if those days were short and cold because the sun was away… then maybe she could make mini winters by moving heat around. The question was… how?

She looked back at the flame, watching the heat rise.

Her eyes narrowed in thought.

Heat already moved, didn’t it?

It travelled up, like Shiani said. The sun travelled, taking its heat with it, and making the weather in her homeland turn into winter.

Maybe—

“Oh hey, your brother and everybody else is back,” Malcolm said from the balcony. “And there’s… whoa, what the hell happened to Claygon?”

“Is something wrong with him?” Selina asked, her voice filled with fear. She scrambled out of her chair and onto the balcony, staring into the courtyard.

A squeal of delight escaped her gaping mouth when she saw Claygon. Clapping her hands, her face beaming with joy, she rushed toward the apartment door.

“He’s evolved!” she cried. “He’s evolved!”

Chapter 14

Selina and Claygon

Selina was tingling with excitement as she took the stairs two at a time. From somewhere behind and above her, she vaguely heard Shiani calling her name.

“Selina, be careful you don’t fall down the stairs! Your brother will kill me if you do!”

“I’m fine!” Selina shouted back undeterred, now stubbornly taking the stairs three at a time.

She hit the ground at a sprint, rushing into the courtyard and skidding to a halt, her shoes scraping along the cobblestones. She was gaping again, her eyes bulging at the sight of the reborn Claygon striding forward with a new body of shining marble.

“Oh, by the Traveller!” She gasped, hands pressing to her cheeks. “He’s so beautiful! Look how beautiful you are!”

In all of the many times—and there were many—that she’d imagined what Claygon might look like if he evolved, she’d never thought he’d look like this. Sometimes she imagined him as grey stone, sometimes as the same red-coloured stone that Alex had said existed in the Barrens.

But never, ever had she thought of stunning, smoothly polished white marble. She was so transfixed by his glorious form, she didn’t notice when he stopped dead in his tracks to stare at her.

She also didn’t notice her brother walk up to her, waving his hands wildly while calling her name.

“Selina! Selina!” he shouted, snapping his fingers in front of her nose. “Alex to Selinaaaaa! Come back from the next plane, Selinaaa!”

“Argh!” she yelped, finally noticing he, Theresa, Khalik, Brutus, and Najyah were surrounding her. “When did you get here?”

Alex gave her a withering look and sighed. “I swear, one little golem evolution and you’re suddenly invisible to your own flesh and blood. Truly, no one has ever suffered like I have!”

“Ah, Alex,” Prince Khalik cleared his throat. “Considering what happened in Greymoor, perhaps your uh… timing with that joke is a little…”

“Ah.” Alex winced. “I see what you’re saying. And—Selina?”

The young girl had left the circle, walking toward Claygon as though she was entranced. “Alex… Alex what happened to him? Oh, by the Traveller?”

As Shiani ran down the stairs to join them, Selina was circling Claygon, eyeing him from his feet to the top of his head. Her gaze lingered on the high gleam coming from his fire-gems.

They drew her eyes like the flame had.

She could feel something emanating from him, similar to what she’d felt when Shiani had cast her spell.

‘Fire mana?’ she wondered.

His head was following her as she circled him, like he was watching her as intently as she was watching him. His lower hands twitched as though wanting to reach out to her, but something was making him hesitate.

Selina frowned at Alex, who—for some reason—had a big, stupid grin on his face like he was keeping the most amusing secret in the world to himself.

“Why are you making Claygon do that?” she asked. “You’re being weird, Alex.”

For a moment, Alex’s eyes glazed over and his head cocked to the side as though he was hearing something that only he could hear.

“No, no,” he said gently. “You’re not being weird; she just thinks I’m being weird.”

Selina frowned, looking at Khalik and Theresa—who were also smiling at her as though her birthday present was about to be revealed—but neither said a word.

“Who’re you talking to?” she asked her brother, her frown deepening. “You’re being weird and crazy again. Are you talking to yourself?”

Claygon’s hand rose, waving at her as though denying her words.

Alex burst out laughing. “No, no, I don’t look weird and crazy! Yes, it’s funnier this way! Yes, yes, this is also humour!”

“Oh dear, Selina,” Khalik said, his bearded face a mask of concern. “It would seem that your brother has lost his mind. It is a shame really. From my house to yours, I offer my deepest condolences.”

“I hope you have the strength to take care of your brother when he’s chewing leather and chasing birds on all fours.” Theresa gave the biggest, fakest sob that Selina had ever heard. “I’ll be there in spirit!”

Her face fell into her hands, her body shuddering with both fake crying and very real laughter. Brutus looked at his master curiously before dropping to his haunches and raising his heads toward the sky.

The cerberus howled at the sun like a wolf who’d lost his entire pack to poachers. Even Najyah began to screech and cry, circling Alex like a vulture who’d found a tasty bit of carrion to leisurely pick apart.

Selina was growing even more confused, alarmed, and annoyed with every heartbeat. She looked to Shiani for some semblance of sanity, but the fire mage was staring at the chuckling Khalik, the laugh-crying Theresa, and the rambling Alex like they’d all lost their minds.

Slowly, the young girl looked up at the balcony, finding Malcolm watching the scene with a bored expression.

“What? Don’t look at me!” the ice wizard shouted. “I dunno, but if he’s mad, break his knee and run away or something.”

Claygon looked at Malcolm sharply.

“Ah, yeah, that’s right,” Alex said to seemingly no one. “That’s more humour. See? You’re learning already.”

“What’re you talking about, who’re you talking to?” Selina demanded, wondering if she should break her brother’s knee.

“Alright, alright,” Alex said, looking at Claygon. “I’ve had my fun. Time to stop the torture. Let that be a lesson: sometimes something starts out funny, but if it goes on for too long, the joke becomes just plain cruel and tragic. So, let’s avoid that, shall we? Here.”

He took a pen and notebook from his satchel, flipped it open and walked over to the golem with an expectant smile. “Here you go, buddy.”

Claygon gently took the pen and notebook between his fingers, setting the book on one of his lower palms. Selina watched as he used his palm as a writing surface.

His index finger and thumb cradled the pen, and he began writing slowly.

Selina watched, mesmerised, looking between her brother and the golem they’d built together. But Alex just kept smiling at her like a fat cat who’d drunk all the cream in the kitchen.

It was… strange, now that she actually thought about what was going on.

Normally, when Alex gave Claygon silent directions, he usually had a distant expression on his face. And…

“Wait, how are you telling Claygon how to write stuff if you can’t see… what… he’s… do… i…” Her voice trailed off as Alex’s grin grew wider, her head slowly turning back to the golem.

He was looking down at the notebook as though paying strict attention to what he was doing.

And then…

It hit her.

“Can you… can you think?” she asked, blinking in disbelief. “Are you doing that writing on your own, Claygon?”

There was a short nod from the golem that made her gasp, and then he looked up, turning the notebook to face her.

Hello. Selina. I am Claygon. I am happy to see you.

Selina screamed.

She screamed so loudly that it sent Brutus into long mournful howls again, startled Najyah, who veered off her path and spiralled downward to crash into Khalik in a tangle of squawking, flapping wings, flying feathers, and shouting wizard.

But Selina didn’t notice.

“You’re… oh my goodness, you can think! You can write! Claaaaaygooooon!”

She leapt at him.

Selina sailed through the air, arms spread wide as the golem scrambled to drop his war-spear, notebook, and pen to catch the flying younger Roth sibling.

In a heartbeat, she found herself wrapped in hard, warm marble arms, holding her as gently as a newborn. She hugged the golem like he was the biggest, softest, deepest well of comfort she’d ever known.

The young girl had never felt stone that warm before, and not just warm from heat coursing through it like smooth stone kissed by hours of sunlight, but warm in another way.

A comforting way.

Claygon’s warmth reminded Selina of winter fires and roasting chestnuts in Thameland. Of baking cakes and hot apple cider. Of warm bonfires and summer nights, and of the warmth of her parents’ hands as they held hers.

It reminded her of the days when fire was just beautiful. When her father had to pull her hand away from the fireplace because she kept reaching toward the flame. It was one of her first memories, and she’d forgotten it until now.

That memory was all warmth, free of guilt and the horror of burning alehouses. Claygon was warmth in the same way.

“Welcome to the family, Claygon,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you can finally hear me. Did you like the books I read you?”

The golem stiffened, then bent down and scooped up his pen and notebook with his lower arms. Selina pulled her face away from Claygon’s torso, pausing in surprise.

His chest was wet. Then again, so was her face.

She hadn’t noticed the tears running down her cheeks.

‘Stop being such a little girl,’ she scolded herself, wiping away tears and watching as Claygon wrote letters in the notebook.

Yes. I liked your reading. Remember the books. Made me feel warm.

And then there was no use in wiping her tears away.

“Claygon almost died?” Selina cried, nearly falling off the golem’s lap. “What? Oh no!”

“Yeah, it was really scary, Selina,” Alex said grimly, sipping a cup of pine needle tea and leaning back in his chair. “Really terrifying. When that beam hit him, I thought he was going to turn to stone and break apart. But no… he changed instead. He turned to stone, alright, but he got stronger than ever. And later that night, that’s when he started thinking on his own, talking⁠—”

“It’s not fair that only you get to talk to him, by the way,” she complained, looking up at Claygon. “Smash him, will you?”

The golem froze, his hand wrote another message in the notebook lying on the table before them. I can’t smash Father. Don’t smash Father, Selina. Sad.

She sighed. “Fiiiiiine, but I’m just glad you’re alive.” She patted him on one of his thick stone arms.

The golem leaned toward her touch happily.

She giggled.

Alex looked at Claygon curiously. “Huh, that’s interesting. You know, what’s odd, every time someone’s threatened me with violence, even as a joke, Claygon’s gotten a little testy about it. But you seem calm right now, buddy. Even happy.”

Her brother’s face turned blank, then he nodded. “Ooooh, that’s why.”

“What’d he say? What’d he say?” Selina pushed.

“Yeah, what did he say?” Theresa asked from across the room. The huntress was kneeling in front of Brutus’ huge food bowl, filling it with slices of warm meat. The cerberus stared at the bowl, drool pooling on the floor.

“Well, he said that he doesn’t want ‘Selina and Father’ to fight, and that he knows we wouldn’t hurt each other,” Alex said. “All in all, a bit boring of an assessment, isn’t it? What happened to the drama of siblings locked in deadly battles of succession, struggling over inheritance with daggers⁠—”

“Okay, I’m just going to ignore you if you’re going to be weird,” Selina said. “Why is he calling you Father and me Selina? I helped build him; he should call me Mother.”

A look passed over Alex’s face. “That… that would be super weird, Selina.”

“Why? Oh—ew! Ew! You’re right, gross, gross, gross! Forget I ever said that!” Her skin crawled as she shuddered in disgust.

Theresa burst out laughing, spilling beef on the floor. Brutus snatched it up.

“Thank the Traveller,” Alex said. “Claygon said that I’m his father because he’s connected to me. He said you’re Selina because you’re part of the family, and you made him too. He said he could call you ‘Creator’ if you’d like?”

“No, Selina sounds nicer than Creator,” she said. “Maybe he can call me teacher. I’m still learning, but I’m going to teach you so much stuff, Claygon!”

Claygon wrote in his notebook: I like that. Makes me feel warm.

Her smile deepened. “I like that, and it makes me feel warm too.”

Chapter 15

Upcoming Hellish Difficulties

Selina looked at Alex solemnly, earlier warm feelings draining away as she thought about the story her brother had told. What he’d said was horrifying, a tale of monsters she could barely imagine, invisible dangers, and enemies so powerful, they’d even given Baelin pause.

And she’d always looked at the chancellor as invincible.

Then Theresa had told her story: of darkness beneath the earth’s surface, of powers trying to crush her and their friends… But also of wonder and triumph. Selina’s eyes were drawn to the mirror-sheen sparkling across Theresa’s blades as they leaned against the door frame to her and Theresa’s bedroom, catching the sun’s rays and the eye. Something was certainly different about them, something had changed.

Change…

She frowned at the bed she shared with the huntress. She was growing, but the bed wasn’t. With each passing night, it seemed to grow more cramped, leaving her wondering when she’d find herself on the bedroom floor as Theresa sprawled out and encroached on her side of the bed.

Maybe she could pretend to be asleep and kick her out of the bed a few times, maybe then she’d go and sleep in Alex’s room.

They’d probably like that, and she could end up with her own room and a bed all to herself. Mr. and Mrs. Lu’s angry faces appeared in her mind. No, they wouldn’t like that idea if they found out…

Then again—her brow furrowed as she schemed—they wouldn’t be mad at her, now would they?

“Why do you look like you’re hatching evil plans over there?” her big brother asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked away from the bedroom, blinking innocently.

“Oh yes, you do. That innocent look didn’t work on me when you were five, and it won’t work on me now.”

“Alex, what are we going to do?” she asked sincerely.

“And changing the subject won’t help you either. Face it, Selina, I’m too clever for y—oh, oh wait, you’re serious.” His big, stupid grin dropped. “What’s the matter? What are we going to do about what?”

“About the Ravener and all those monsters?” She leaned against Claygon. Clutching the hem of her shirt, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “They’re going to hurt you—no, all of you—one day.” Her large green eyes looked from Claygon to Alex, then to Theresa and Brutus. “They’re going to hurt Khalik or Thundar or Najyah, Isolde… They keep getting worse, don’t they?”

“Yes, but we keep getting stronger,” Theresa insisted, patting Brutus’ head while he feasted on the beef strips. She strode across the room, taking her swords in hand, and spun them in her grip. “Remember those silence-spiders in the cave? My sword couldn’t cut through their shells. I couldn’t do anything to that damned Hive-queen. But now?”

She cleaved the air twice with the blades, each catching the sunlight. Selina blinked. Was it a trick of her eyes or did the air… look funny when Theresa slashed it?

“Now I can split Ravener-spawn armour that’s twice as thick as hers was,” the huntress said firmly. “Maybe three times as thick. Great-grandfather’s Twinblade cuts twice for every slash, and it can also deflect magic. I can defend us.”

There was a scritching noise as Claygon wrote in his notebook. I am stronger. Will protect Father. Will protect all.

“Yeah, Claygon’s stronger than ever,” Alex agreed. “I’m learning better summoning spells and other ways to defend myself and our friends. We’ll be alright, Selina.”

“Will we?” Selina asked. “Every time you tell me a story about the Ravener and its monsters, things keep getting worse. More people are dying, more monsters attacking, and they’re getting stronger too. You said Watchers died, and they’re so strong!” Her voice rose. “If they can get killed, why can’t you?”

“Not going to happen,” Alex tried to reassure her. “If anything tries to kill us, we’ll just kill ’em right back. A lot of things have tried so far, but nothing’s succeeded.”

“I’m worried,” Selina said. “I wish I could help⁠—”

“Don’t even think about that.” Alex pointed at her. “This isn’t some bard’s roadside story where the princess gains the magical power of friendship and destroys the evil dragon.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, Alex,” she said, more than a little offended. “But you learned spells in like a year and now you can fight. I can do the same thing.”

“Listen, the answer’s a hard no,” Alex was unyielding. “You’re eleven. The scariest thing you should have to worry about is whether you’re going to study for a test or not. That’s how it is, and that’s how it should be.”

“No. No, you’re wrong. That’s not how it is, Alex. Ever since we left home, monsters have been trying to eat me. Those silence-spiders, the demons, those clawed monsters at Isolde’s cousin’s ball. My friends tell me stories all the time about dragons and sea monsters attacking places that they’re from.”

Selina folded her arms across her chest. “If I’m old enough to be eaten by a monster, aren’t I old enough to fight back? Aren’t I old enough to kill monsters?”

Alex and Theresa looked at each other for a long moment.

Her brother sighed, an uncomfortable look on his face. “I… look. You know what’s funny? Baelin told me the same thing once.”

“Really?” Selina said.

“Yeah, remember last year when I brought you with me to the Art of the Wizard in Combat for a bit?” Alex asked. “Well, just before that, Baelin told me this story… well, the story’s a bit gruesome, so I don’t think I’ll be repeating it here.”

“Awwww, I want to hear the story!”

“Well, ask him, then.” Alex spread his hands helplessly. “The point is, it involved children facing some pretty grisly fates—as I said, gruesome—anyway, after he finished the story, he said something very similar to what you just said. That children can die whether or not they know how to defend themselves. You remember some of those lessons, right?”

“Yeah,” Selina said.

“Well, maybe a few more might be in order,” Alex admitted. “Now, I still can’t teach you magic yet. I’m not going against your teachers on that, and you need a good foundation of the theory first.”

“Okay, but what about after?” she pushed.

“Well, after that, we’ll see about getting you to the point where you can turn any demon that wants to make a meal out of my sister into ground meat.” His jaw clenched.

“And then!” she pushed, leaning forward. “And then I can come to Thameland, and⁠—”

“Absolutely out of the question.” He firmly waved her suggestion away. “And you can’t blame me for that one because it’s out of my hands. Baelin, Professor Jules, and the other administrators of the expedition only let qualified researchers and fighters join. And their standard for who can get in is probably going to be even higher after this latest incident. That won’t include little sisters, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, bah! Maybe I’ll ask Baelin.”

“He’ll say no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I think I do…” He paused. “At least I hope so. So! Your lessons on how to defend yourself are going to be restricted to training, and only in proper places.”

“I’m not going to blow up the insula, Alex,” Selina said. “I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. You’re many things, dear little sister, but stupid’s not one of them. The thing is, learning magic can go wro—Ah! You said the insula! That reminds me of something.”

He waved Theresa over to a chair. “Honey, could you come here for a minute? I’ve got something I want to talk about. Something important.”

The huntress paused. “What… is it? You’re not saying that you’re about to go off and do something dangerous all by yourself, are you?”

Alex froze, like a deer caught in lantern-light. “Alright… so I have two important things I want to talk about.”

“Alex!” Selina snapped.

It is okay… I will protect, Claygon wrote.

Alex paused again. “Okay, three important things.”

“So, let’s get the parts out of the way that are going to get me yelled at,” Alex sighed, looking at the golem, the huntress, and his sister.

Selina watched him closely. It’d been a long time since she’d seen him this nervous.

“Right, so there’s no easy way to say this, Selina, but we’ll be going down to the hells for a while,” he said.

“What? What’re you talking about?”

She listened as her brother explained how he, Theresa, Claygon, and their friends would be heading to the hells with Baelin to learn to fight demons. Selina wasn’t sure which feeling was stronger: fear or jealousy.

“That sounds dangerous…” she said when he’d finished. “But you’ll be with Baelin, so that should be okay.”

“Yeah, Alex, I’m not sure why you looked so anxious,” Theresa said.

“Yeeeeeah, yeeeeeeaaah, well… then there’s the part where I might have to go and uh…” He ran his fingers through his stupid, scraggly-looking beard. Selina did not like that beard. “Well, look, I might maybe sort of kinda have to go down to the hells uh… without Baelin’s help. And uh… without uh… Claygon.”

“What?” Theresa and Selina exclaimed as one.

The golem flinched.

“Yes… I know, buddy, I know,” the Fool said. “Yeah, I know, buddy. The problem is that one of the things I need to do down in the hells needs… a subtle approach. Baelin tells me that I won’t be able to bring many of my friends down there with me, and I won’t be able to bring Claygo—Yes, yes, I know it’s dangerous, but I⁠—”

“No, you have to take Claygon!” Selina pleaded. “He’s so strong, and he’s saved all of us!”

“Yes, but if I need subtlety, then that’s the one thing Claygon doesn’t have. I can’t exactly go somewhere without you being noticed, buddy. And that’s not all,” Alex said grimly. “It’d have to be a small team that comes with me, and they’d have to be people that could go unnoticed.”

He scratched his scraggly beard. “And—I’ve been giving it some thought—if I go alone, I’d feel a lot better.”

“Alex, you can’t defend yourself as well as you’d need to,” Theresa insisted. “You need someone at your side.”

“I did think of that, you know. Seems a bit foolish to train myself in all these group tactics just to muck it all up by going to hell by myself. You all mean the world to me.” He looked at the golem, the young woman, and growing girl seriously. “And so does the cabal. Hells, I’d feel like utter garbage if I got Grimloch killed on some dangerous mission. This isn’t like when we fight in Thameland, where we can just blow up all of our problems. It might involve sneaking and all that, possibly not bringing our full power to bear.”

He sighed. “I was thinking about my summoned monsters. They fight by my side, they can appear out of nowhere, and they’re expendable. Of course, I’ve got to summon them, and I might not always have enough time for that. So… I thought, what if I get some people that were, oh by the Traveller, this sounds awful: expendable? Folk that I wouldn’t mind working with but—if something happened—I wouldn’t be getting half of my friends killed. Maybe mercenaries or something. I don’t know.”

Silence hung in the air.

“Alex, I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Theresa said. “I understand you want to protect us, but the people you can rely on most to watch your back… well, that’s us.”

“Yeah, you should all go together. It’d be safer,” Selina insisted.

“That’s the rough part. I can’t take everyone with me, so anyone that comes along could be in for a rough time of it. We’d be dealing with more danger than we’d normally have to since there’d be less of us. It just doesn’t sit right with me.”

Theresa put her hand on his. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out together.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Gross.” Selina wrinkled her nose. “Now you have me super scared about what the third thing is. Are you going to tell us that you have to be demon food? Everything you’ve already said is awful.”

“Well, this one’s a bit different.” His eyes twinkled as his mouth took on a wistful smile. “What would you say if I wanted to get us out of here?”

“Like go and get some lunch?” Selina asked. “I am getting hungry.”

“No, I mean, out of this apartment… Out of the insula. I’m asking if you guys would be open to an… upgrade in our living arrangements. Not right away, but soon. I’m asking if you might like living in our own place.”

Chapter 16

New Frontiers of Fortune

“I’ve been doing some thinking in the last day or two.” Alex leaned forward, elbows pressed to the table, glancing over his shoulder at the room his sister and his girlfriend shared. “You’re getting bigger, Selina. A lot bigger.”

He looked at Claygon. “You’ve changed a lot too, buddy, and I need to make you a speakerbox or something that’ll let you talk, and since that’s going to be a big project, I started thinking I’d kinda like to have my own workspace at some point. So, it might be time for us to move into someplace with more room.”

“You mean somewhere else in the insula? Like a bigger apartment? Can we afford that?” Selina asked.

“Pffft, you’re too young to be worrying about finances,” he said.

“Alex, what should I worry about? You said I shouldn’t worry about monsters, then you say I shouldn’t worry about coin? I’m not a brainless donkey, ya know. I know we’re not exactly rich, so I’m not going to pretend that we don’t have to watch our coin.”

“Well, that’s the thing, right?” her brother said. “I didn’t have to worry about money when I was growing up with Mother and Father, and neither should you. I’d be a pretty bad brother if I let my kid sister worry herself to death about coin.”

“Well, I’m not going to sit here empty-headed, thinking about building blocks and clay all day.” She crossed her arms. “Can we afford it?”

“Right now?” Alex said. “Absolutely, we can’t⁠—”

“There might be something we can do about that,” Theresa interrupted him. “Actually, this is as good a time as any to bring this up.” She tapped the pommels of her swords. “I think I might quit my job at the beastarium. Or, at least, ask if I can reduce my hours.”

The huntress smiled. “I’m thinking about doing some monster hunting. Well, I’m thinking of doing a lot of monster hunting. It was too dangerous for me to do it alone before. If I met anything my swords couldn’t cut, I’d probably be dead, right?” Her smile grew positively predatory. “Now? I can cut through stone if I put enough force behind my strikes. It’d take a really, really tough monster to resist them. So, with the right contracts, I could earn a lot more coin for us than I do at the beastarium, and it’d be a whole lot more fun too. Isn’t that right, Brutus?”

One of his heads lifted from his food bowl, yapping in excitement.

Alex gave Theresa a look, one Selina had seen him give the huntress many times when he thought no one was looking. The strange thing was that he only seemed to have that look when Theresa was being particularly scary.

Ah well, her brother was just weird sometimes.

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Alex’s tone was filled with concern. “You’re an absolutely amazing fighter, Theresa, but Baelin taught us, and we know what can happen if there’s no one around to watch your back.”

“It’ll be alright,” she said. “I’ll pick bounties that I know I can handle, and I can ask you to teach me about the monsters I’ll be hunting. You can tell me their weaknesses and strengths. Plus, I’ll have Brutus with me and—” She smiled at Claygon. “If you’re up to it, you can come with Brutus and me sometimes. The three of us would be almost unstoppable.”

Alex turned to Claygon with a quizzical look on his face. “Would you be alright being away from me for a while, buddy?” He cocked his head, his expression growing distant. “Oh yes, I’ll be fine. Usually, campus is safe. Except for Carey’s rally, I’ve never been attacked here. And, there’re plenty of Watchers around to make sure I stay safe while you’re gone. So, by all means, go if you want to smash monsters with Theresa and Brutus, don’t let me hold you back. Okay? Aaaaah, perfect.”

He looked at Theresa. “Claygon says he wouldn’t mind. It’d help him fight better now that he can think. And you guys can communicate using simple signs, or he can write things until I build his speakerbox.”

“Awesome!” the huntress cheered. “Now we definitely can get that bigger apartment. Should we go talk to Hobb?”

“Well, here’s the thing about that,” Alex said. “I thought of talking to him, but… I’m thinking that it’d be a waste to give the university even more money, wouldn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Selina asked.

“Well, I mean, if we’re going to be paying more for our room and board, I’d rather be paying us instead of making Hobb’s abacus go clack, clack… or maybe not, actually. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him use an abacus. Maybe he doesn’t need one, he’s a devil after all, and they have some amazing powers of logic and mathematical law⁠—”

“Alex, focus,” Theresa said.

“Yeah, don’t start talking about random stuff halfway through a sentence, Alex.” The younger girl frowned.

“Oh yeah, right.” Alex shook himself. “Alright, what I’m suggesting is maybe… just maybe, we buy our own place. Our own little piece of Generasi. We want to stay here, don’t we? Don’t we?” He looked at Selina. “You want to attend the university when you graduate from the junior school, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like to. That’s why I want to study hard and get a scholarship like you did.”

“Alright, then, we’re staying in Generasi for a while. At least… oh, you’re eleven and you probably won’t finish an undergraduate degree until you’re at least twenty-one. So that’s a full decade. Why keep paying Hobb for ten years or more when we could have our own place?”

“Alex… that sounds reasonable, but uh… how much does a place in Generasi cost?” Theresa asked. “I thought it’d be… thousands.”

“Well… I did some asking around. I think we’d want a townhouse, so we have enough room for all of us. Anyway, I asked what prices are like. … and in some districts, a townhouse can run you like eighty thousand gold.”

“Eighty thousand?” Selina and Theresa’s eyes grew wide.

“Now, now, the good news is that we would want a place near the school, which is… cheaper.” Alex held up his hands, waving them as though he was trying to fan down a fire.

“How much cheaper?” Selina asked.

“Oh… about…” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “About sixty thousand.”

Silence hung in the air.

“You know… give or take.”

“Alex, in what lifetime would we ever be able to afford that?” Theresa choked. “I… it’d take me years at my job… at our jobs. If I hunt monsters… what’s that like… forty mana vampires? No, no, the one we captured had its bounty increase a lot, so that means it’d be even more, and besides, they’re not exactly common. I’d probably have to start looking for dragons to hunt, and while that’d be fun, I don’t think dragons are exactly falling off of trees around here.”

“Alex, you don’t have to worry about that kinda stuff,” Selina said, feeling a little guilty. Her big brother shouldn’t have to think of crazy, impossible schemes just because she was getting a little big for a bed. She glanced at her and Theresa’s room.

Maybe it was time to suggest that Theresa should move into Alex’s room, after all.

It wasn’t like Mr. and Mrs. Lu would get mad at her.

She opened her mouth, ready to make her suggestion.

“No, you won’t have to hunt a dragon,” Alex smiled, patting Theresa’s hand. “For you see! I have a cunning plan, and I think I can take the next step toward it thanks to Claygon’s evolution. That’s right, it’s time for the next part of the financial portion of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension!”

He raised his arms to the ceiling as he declared the terrible name for his plan, reminding Selina of a picture of a mad and dangerous ancient wizard summoning a demon in one of her textbooks. Of course, instead of conjuring a terrible creature, Alex was calling out a terrible name.

Theresa and Selina exchanged unamused looks, then the young girl turned to Claygon, patting one of his lower arms. “If you ever have to name anything, Claygon, don’t be like Alex.”

“Hold on now, I named Claygon!” her brother huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re not saying that he has a lousy name, are you?”

“No, because you didn’t name him, I did!” Selina puffed out her chest. “I thought Claygon was an awesome name, and you just agreed with me!”

“That’s not how it went!” Alex said. “That’s not the way I remember it at all!”

“You’re both remembering it wrong,” Theresa said. “Nua-Oge mispronounced ‘clay golem.’ She said ‘Claygon’ and you thought it was brilliant, Selina. Alex agreed. So, technically, it was Nua-Oge who ‘came up with it’ and you both just agreed with her.”

“Oh, right,” Alex muttered, like his thunder’d been stolen.

“Mhm, which means you’re still terrible with names and that’s why Claygon’s name is perfect and not stupid,” Selina huffed.

“You’re not stupid!” Alex said. Then he froze. “No, no, wait-wait-wait-wait⁠—”

“Thaaaaaank you, Alex.” His little sister grinned. “You should be nice to me like that all the time.”

“…I should stick you outside, let you sleep on the balcony.”

“Brutus would keep me warm anyway,” she said.

Alex glared at the cerberus. “You would too, wouldn’t you, you treacherous dog.”

Brutus barked happily.

“Yes, he would,” Theresa said proudly. “Because he’s a good boy.”

“A good, treacherous boy,” Alex sighed. “Anyway, the point is that we won’t be able to get our own place yet… But if the financial part of my plan works, we won’t have to worry about coin ever again. Unless we want to build or buy a castle, of course. And, well… one thing at a time.”

As Alex started going over the details of his plan, Selina gave her room a final onceover. Briefly, she wondered if she should bring up the idea of Theresa moving into Alex’s room, then decided against it.

After all, he was right. They would be staying in Generasi for a long time, so having Theresa move to another room wouldn’t exactly solve their problems. Even if that gave Selina more space, it still meant they’d be paying the university a lot of money for way too long.

Besides, it’d mean Theresa and Alex would be the ones cramped in his bed. Her big brother had gotten bigger over the last year. She couldn’t imagine how annoying it’d be for them, bumping into each other all night.

And Theresa’s parents would be really mad too.

She shrugged. Of course, she had no way of knowing that—had her brother and Theresa known what she’d been thinking—their mournful screams would have been heard halfway across campus.

“And introducing—the new and improved—Claaaaaygoooon!” Alex’s voice boomed through Shale’s Workshop as he gestured toward his golem like a farmer pointing to his biggest, and most beautiful, prized pumpkin.

Awed murmuring swept over the workshop’s staff gathered around the pair in a circle some three people deep. Crafters, assistants, salesfolk, and administration all crowded each other, vying for the best vantage point.

Inside, Alex beamed; amused as he watched these grown wizards—all masters, or at least masters-in-the-making in their fields—gathered around like children excited for the country fair.

They ooo’d and aaahh’d as Claygon simply raised his arms, turning in place like a young nobleman modelling his new finery.

Some of the crafters clapped, and Lagor was among them.

He, Sim, and Carmen—Alex’s closest colleagues and friends at work—were pressed together by the crowd drooling over Claygon’s new form.

“I’ll be damned, can you feel the power coming offa this thing!” Lagor gaped as the golem raised his war-spear over his head triumphantly. “Feels like I’m standing next to the damned sun!”

“I’m glad Shaleleath doesn’t have to fight him,” Sim murmured. “If you enter the duel by proxy next year, I’ll be sitting it out unless I do a whole lot of upgrades.”

“And if he’s like this now…” Carmen gawked. “What’s gonna happen if he evolves again?”

Claygon’s head turned toward Alex.

‘They… do not… dislike me, Father?’

‘Oh, I think it goes a little beyond ‘don’t dislike you,’ Claygon,’ he thought. ‘I think they adore you!’

‘They… do?’

‘Oh yes,’ Alex thought. ‘You’ve drawn everyone’s eyes. And I do mean everyone’s.’

He glanced up at the catwalk and spied the very person he’d wanted to see Claygon the most.

Toraka Shale.

His boss of bosses.

And she was staring at his golem like he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

‘Perfect,’ Alex thought. ‘The next step of the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension begins.’

Chapter 17

Claygon’s Good Impression

“Agh, you couldn’t have brought him a little later?” Lagor complained, glaring at the crowd as they slowly closed in on Claygon. Little by little, the ring of curious onlookers surrounding the young Thameish wizard and his golem shrank, people pressing tighter and tighter against each other.

Crafters reached for Claygon, wanting to touch him, their hands yearning to feel his marble surface. Only the greatest restraint stopped them and—if there’d been less people in the press—even that might not have been enough.

“Ah, what I wouldn’t give to be able to see his core,” Lagor grunted as other engineers pushed in behind him. “Ach, budge up back there, would you? Alex, you really shouldn’t have brought Claygon during shift change! You’re not even working tonight. You could’ve saved this for when you came into work! You know, when it was quieter!”

“Why, so you could hog this sight all for yourself, Lagor?” a dwarven crafter snapped, pushing aside a skinny elven engineer. “Your assistant brought his golem in when most everybody on staff could see him! He’s being considerate, which is more than I can say for the lot of you. Come on, make way for an old man!”

“Old?” the elf beside him scoffed. “You’ve only seen seventy summers!”

“And that’s old! …By human standards.” The dwarf cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes, that it is,” Alex agreed. “But, ah, sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t bring him in at this time because I was being considerate or anything like that. I brought him in now, because, well, I was too excited to wait for my shift.”

And that was only a half-lie.

Alex had been rabid to show off Claygon. Were he a master of illusions, he might have conjured a hundred-foot-tall image of the golem and let it hover above the city for every wizard in all of Generasi to see.

But there was also a very specific reason he’d brought Claygon to Shale’s Workshop at shift change.

Toraka Shale herself.

The workshop owner was crossing the floor like she was mesmerised, bloodshot eyes burning holes into the transformed marble golem. Alex hadn’t seen her blink recently, or even breathe.

‘Good, good,’ he thought. ‘Reel in that fish.’

“What changes have you seen in him?” Lagor asked. “Have you done any structural tests yet? What’s his mana output and conductivity? Anything else?”

‘Why… do they watch me like that, Father?’

‘Because they’re curious about you,’ he replied mentally. ‘See all these golems here?’ He gestured to a trio of commissioned iron golems standing next to a loading bay, ready to be shipped out to their very wealthy new owner. ‘Each of them costs about one hundred and fifty thousand gold coins on the open market. Shale charges a little less because she has the facilities to make a lot of golems, but those three are as expensive as almost nine of those townhouses I was talking about buying, Claygon.’

He smiled at his golem warmly. ‘But you? You’re priceless. Not just to me, but to all of these people here.’

‘Price… less, Father?’ Claygon asked mentally.

‘Yeah, you’re unique. You’ve evolved, and that makes you fascinating. Wait until they figure out you have a mind now, then you’ll really see something neat. Watch this.’

“Well, Lagor, you were wondering about what changes happened to Claygon on the inside?”

“Yeah, I did… more than a minute ago,” Lagor grunted. “Then you zoned out like a mad-person.”

“Hah! I didn’t zone out. I was talking to someone.” Alex’s smile widened. Excitement welled up in his chest.

Lagor raised an eyebrow, then wagged his finger at Alex. “No, no, that’s bait. You’re gonna make me ask if you’re crazy and demand to know who you’re talking to.”

Alex’s smile faded.

“Then you’re gonna reveal that you’re talking to… oh! Oh!” Lagor threw a startled look at Claygon. “By mana and iron, is he thinking now?”

Alex’s mood soured a little, and he crossed his arms. “Well, now that you’ve taken all the surprise out of it, yes! Yes, he’s got a mind! Say hello, Claygon.”

The golem waved at the crowd, shocking them into silence. From across the workshop, Toraka Shale’s footsteps quickened, and her bloodshot eyes grew wider. Oooo’s and aahh’s spread through the crowd as Alex took out a pen and notebook, handing them to his golem.

“Say hello, buddy,” he said proudly. “And, just to make sure you all know I’m not trying to pull anything sneaky, I’ll close my eyes.”

Alex pressed his hands to his eyelids. “I want one of you to write down a question for Claygon to answer while I step out of this circle with my eyes closed and my body facing away. That way, you’ll know I’m not making him respond. You’ll know that it’s all him.”

He took a step forward. “Coming through, make way, make way!”

Alex stepped into the crowd, listening to their murmurs as they shuffled aside, making room for him to pass. He subtly angled his body so that he’d cross paths with the source of a certain set of footsteps approaching the circle. A certain set of quick footsteps belonging to Toraka Shale.

He stopped when she did, very aware that she stood close to his side, though he was sure she hadn’t noticed, her eyes, no doubt, still fixed on his wonderful golem.

And so, he waited for Claygon to write his greeting. He’d know for sure when⁠—

Cheers and vigorous applause rose from the crowd.

And there it was.

‘Good job, Claygon, they love you,’ he thought. ‘Now you just need to answer whatever question they write down for you.’

‘This… I like this… Father.’

‘I’m glad you do.’ He sent the thought to Claygon.

‘And I’m also glad for what’s coming next,’ he thought to himself, needle-focused on Toraka’s reaction. She’d gasped, letting out a small cry of surprise at the golem’s greeting, but he knew that what was coming next would really impress her.

For now, he wasn’t sure if she fully believed that Claygon had awakened to true sapience. After all, what she’d seen so far could have been replicated with a few tricks.

Lagor had told him of a time when charlatans would travel from noble house to noble house, claiming to have an intelligent golem available for purchase. They would be invited into the halls of great lords and ladies to demonstrate their claims.

And demonstrate they would.

Their golems would answer questions designed to test their skills.

Their golems would identify matching images from a series of paintings.

Their golems would sort out words that were written in hand to decipher handwriting then rewrite them in proper form.

When all the tests were completed, and the amazed whispers were hushed, it would appear that the charlatan had presented a sapient golem to those men and women of power.

And then the bidding would start.

The charlatan would take the small fortune they’d been offered for such a prize, then wander off into the wilderness. It was only when the lord or lady tried to speak to their new golem or get it to perform some complex task that they realised the truth. Their golem was no cleverer than a boulder.

The skill-testing question? Answered by the charlatan, who would listen closely and direct their golem on how to answer.

The matching of paintings? The charlatan would simply stand beside the golem, peeking through their eyelids and guiding the construct to the correct paintings to point to.

The scrambled words? A quick peek at the page let the charlatan instruct their golem on the correct words to write in clear lettering.

Then human nature would take its course, allowing a pesky little phenomenon to occur that Professor Jules hated: confirmation bias. The swindler would then leave the noble household far richer than when they’d first come to the door, the lord or lady would have a cheap, shoddy golem they’d overpaid for, and that would be the end of that.

Of course, until the lords and ladies caught on and chased the charlatans away or left the room during their miraculous tests. When the truth was revealed, the lord or lady would be the proud owner of a severed head, while the charlatan… well, they’d be down one head.

These days, any crafter in Generasi with half a brain would know to watch for such tricks, and he knew Toraka would be no exception.

And so, the right moment to strike would be…

“Oooooh! It’s real!” Lagor cried. “He answered the question, it’s real!”

Cries of excitement rose from the crowd, and this time, Toraka was shouting excitedly with them.

‘Now. Now is the time,’ he thought, turning toward Toraka and opening his eyes.

His boss of bosses was staring at Claygon with her jaw hanging open.

She looked close to drooling.

Good. That was just the reaction he needed.

He cleared his throat as the crowd swarmed Claygon, peppering the golem with all manner of questions and excited congratulations.

“Boss,” he said. “Do you have a bit of time before you go home?”

He fought to keep his face a mask of calm. He knew damn well that she had time; they’d just finished a massive order and her workload would have eased for a bit.

“Hm?” she murmured, bloodshot eyes still fixed on Claygon.

“Mrs. Shale, I’d like to talk to you about something, privately,” he said, putting a bit of urgency in his voice.

Finally, she managed to tear her eyes away from Claygon, blinking for the first time in what seemed like minutes. “Oh yes, I do have some time. I… do, have some questions for you too. Well, more than some.”

“Perfect, and I imagine that you do,” he said.

Already her eyes were back on the golem.

He fought down a smile. ‘The fish has bitten. Now to land it.’

“Do you drink, Mr. Roth? Or do you prefer Alex?” Toraka Shale asked, opening a cabinet that revealed row upon row of fine liquor.

“Oh, Alex is fine,” he said. “And I do drink. I mean, I am a student, after all.”

“Yes… One could almost forget that at times. Hmmmm. Vodka? Whiskey? Rum? Falernum?”

“Ummmmm, surprise me?” he said.

“Hmmmm, let’s see. You’re Thameish. I have a lovely scotch that you might enjoy.”

She took out the bottle of amber-coloured liquid, pouring him a drink in a crystal glass.

He took it, giving it a sip and appreciating the flavour. It was good. Very smooth.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” he said warmly, his words building the connection between them. Building rapport.

She gave a curious glance to the door as she sat behind her desk. “Is Claygon alright by himself?”

“One sec,” he said.

‘Are you alright down there, buddy?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Father. This… warm feeling,’ Claygon thought.

‘I’m happy you’re having fun,’ Alex thought.

“Yeah, he’s just fine,” he said to Toraka. “I think he likes the attention.”

“I see.” She shook her head in amazement. “Mr. Roth, I’ve been working in this business for a long time. Do you know how many golems I’ve seen awaken to sapience?”

“How many?” he asked.

She held up two fingers, wiggling them. “And one of them happens to be Claygon.”

“That few?” He blinked in surprise.

“Yes. This is going to spread across the city. And… well, my questions can come later. For now, what is it you wanted to ask me?”

“Well, it’s simple.” He took another sip of scotch. “I’ve been working here for about a year now, and I’ve taken leadership among Lagor’s assistants for a lot of the projects. Have you read his report on my performance?”

“I have,” she said neutrally.

“Then you’ll know I’ve exceeded expectations in every category,” he said, then began to list his accomplishments over the past year, calling on the Mark while focusing it on the purpose of ‘presenting himself.’

He took the images it presented of everything he’d achieved at the workshop, transforming them into a case that built his value with every word. This was not the time to be modest, and—by the time he’d finished—he felt rather good about himself. Shale, though… her face was a stoic mask during his entire presentation.

But that was alright, he’d expected that.

“—and that’s why,” he said. “And considering what Claygon and I have accomplished together, I’d like a raise.”

He’d made his case, and he ran through different scenarios as he waited for her response.

If she said yes, they’d negotiate.

If she threw out a low number, he’d haggle a little.

If she said no, then he would start looking into the other golem workshops in the city.

In the end, the raise itself didn’t matter that much. It simply would mark the first step, the first successful negotiation between himself and his boss. It was needed for the next few steps in his actual plan for building wealth.

Shale took a deep breath. “I’m afraid… I can’t give you a raise as a crafter’s assistant, not with your track record.”

He fought to keep his face straight. After all, he was prepared for this scenario.

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but she beat him to it.

“What would you say to a promotion instead?” Toraka Shale asked.

Chapter 18

The Lion’s Den

“Before you say anything, I want to dispel all notions that this is a ‘hollow tower.’” Toraka Shale leaned forward on her desk, tenting her fingers. “I don’t tolerate such trash practices in my workshop, unlike some of our competition here in the city. Many of them are associated with enough hollow towers to build complete castles.”

The young Thameish wizard was silent, caught off guard by the offer and having no idea what a hollow tower was. His mind reeled as his prepared responses became irrelevant. This was one scenario he hadn’t anticipated.

“Um, what’s a hollow tower?”

“You don’t know?” She gave him a crooked smile. “Then you’ve been very lucky not to have encountered one in your work experience up to this point.”

“No, actually, the exact opposite of very lucky,” Alex said. “At my last job, ‘promotion’ was a dirty word.”

“Ah, well, sometimes no promotion is better than a hollow tower.” Shale’s face grew grim. “When I first started working in the field, I worked for a potion-making company: Tilvin’s Tinctures, it was called.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Alex admitted.

“I’d be surprised if you had.” She smirked, her eyes gazing over her office like a conqueror surveying new lands. “This building was Tilvin’s Tinctures, and this office belonged to Tilvin himself.”

“Oh. Oh my,” he said, looking around the office for signs of a former occupant. He found none. “Did you inherit it or buy it?”

“Inherit it? Hah!” She gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “If I had shared a single drop of blood with Tilvin, I would have thrown myself into the Prinean decades ago. No, I bought it, Alex. Because Tilvin was a terrible businessman and a worse boss.”

He flinched in sympathy. “I uh… know what that’s like. Was it one of those ‘everything that goes right is my idea’ and ‘everything that goes wrong is your fault’ sort of deals? Because I love those,” he said, sarcasm more gushing from his voice than dripping.

“You do know how it is,” she grumbled, her eyes lost in dark memories. “And so, we get to hollow towers. Tilvin—and sadly, scores of other businesspeople in the city—are very fond of promoting workers to higher positions, giving them loads of extra responsibility, and very little increased financial compensation. Hence, one climbs a tower, but gains no benefit from it: a hollow tower.”

“Oh, by the Traveller, that sounds… Well, I won’t lie, it sounds terrible and really unfair.”

“That’s because it is, and I promised myself a long time ago that I would never adopt such a practice,” she said sternly. “Because of that, I wanted you to be confident that this isn’t some hollow offer. You’ve done good work here, and the fact a golem you made on your own shows so much potential, more than proves your talent for craftwork. Especially at your age and… Where are you in your education?”

“Halfway through second year.”

“Wow, that is impressive… and what’s the maximum level of spell you can cast?” Her body language shifted slightly: leaning forward, eyes widening with alertness, a slight tension in her muscles.

Alex remained still, keeping his body language calm as though he hadn’t noticed a thing.

‘You’re still measuring my worth,’ Alex thought. ‘Very clever. You’re acting like I’m impressing you, meanwhile, you’re pumping me for my limits. Well done, and I guess there’s no sense in lying.’

“I can cast up to third-tier spells, but obviously, I’m a lot better when it comes to mana manipulation,” he said.

“Mhm, I can see your talent for mana manipulation. It’s quite extraordinary. And you’re only at third-tier spells. Remarkable!” The tension left her body. “And you’ve accomplished so much so fast. Hmmm, but that does put both of us in an interesting situation.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head, watching her closely. “What sort of situation would that be?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Alex. You’re too good to be anyone’s assistant at this point. Much too good. But there are certain prerequisites of power and spellcraft that you don’t quite meet yet in order to be a full crafter here at the workshop. You can do most of the job, but a full crafter would still have to check your work and even cast some spells for you that you don’t know yet. Like Shape Metal, for example. It’s very handy for forging iron golem bodies quickly. Or Stone Shape. You’ll need these spells to help you produce quickly and with full detail.”

“Mhm?” Alex said, keeping his face neutral. “You’re saying that I wouldn’t be able to perform a crafter’s full duties. At least, not yet.”

“You catch on quickly.” She snapped her fingers.

A hidden hatch on the side of her desk opened, unleashing a horde of tiny hands—no bigger than a small child’s—each forged of brass. They swarmed into the air on bee-like wings and, with a metallic buzzing, flitted over to her writing desk, fetching paper and pens.

As he watched in awe, they landed on the desk in front of his boss, centred the sheet, and began writing simultaneously. Half a dozen hands working together to produce a contract of employment right before Alex’s eyes. In less than a minute, the entire document was complete.

Only a few lines remained blank: one for an agreed rate of pay, a space for Toraka’s signature, and another one for his.

As he scanned the contract, he paused on an interesting set of words, his new job title: Junior Crafter.

“Hm,” he mused, running his hand through his beard, cursing the itchiness. “I don’t remember meeting any junior crafters at the workshop. Is it a rare position?”

“It is, because you’d be our first.” She smiled. “As I said, you can’t do everything that an entry level crafter can. You’d need one of the others to look over your work or lend you a spell or two during the construction process. But, leaving you as an assistant would be a waste of your time and my labour resources. Besides, it’s time that you start gaining some leadership skills. I have a feeling you’ll go far with them.”

Alex smiled at the irony. Over the past year, he’d often taken a leadership role among fellow combatants, and he’d also noticed how even the Heroes had taken to treating him as a source for guidance.

He’d had plenty of leadership experience, just… not much when it came to building things rather than smashing them. Ironic for a Fool, since they couldn’t really fight. He had more experience leading people into combat than leading them in anything else.

“Yeah, getting leadership experience would be valuable, and I could take on bigger and better roles in the workshop,” Alex said, subtly hinting at loyalty. He’d need that for what came next. “But… well, I think you know what I’m about to ask. What’s your offer of payment?”

“Down to business, then,” Shale said. “Could you hand me that piece of scrap paper beside you?”

He noticed a small piece of paper near his drink. “Certainly,” he said, sliding it to her.

“Thank you.” She relieved one of her industrious writing hands of its pen and tapped it on the piece of paper. “What do you earn now?”

“Two gold coins per shift,” Alex said.

“A good wage for a student,” she complimented her own business practices. “Though your skills are far beyond a student’s now. Let’s see that you’re compensated appropriately.” She wrote a number down. “What about this for a starting wage?”

She smiled, turning the page toward him. The ink on the number 35 glistened.

And he fought to keep his face neutral.

“That’s in gold coin, of course,” she said smoothly. “Per shift. Not too bad, eh? At your current rate of pay as an assistant, you make… ohhh, subtracting weekends, holidays, and festivals, we do roughly two hundred and twenty-one workdays here at the workshop. Let’s leave things like overtime and any extra days you book off for your exams out of it, so on average you bring home four hundred and forty-two gold coins in a year. At thirty-five gold coins per shift, you’ll match your former annual income in… no wait, you’re part-time, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes, I am,” he said.

“Right, so that’s…” Her eyes drifted up and to the side as she worked through mental calculations. “About three hundred gold in a year?”

“A little less, actually,” he admitted. “Festival days.”

“Right, that’s true. And it also makes the math easy. At thirty-five, you’d match your yearly income as an assistant in roughly nine shifts. Well, just over eight and a half, technically.”

Alex felt cold sweat threatening to erupt from his skin. Between the apartment, the junior school, and Theresa’s course auditing, their monthly expenses were thirty gold coins.

He would earn that in one shift at this new rate.

“In a year, you’d gross just north of five thousand gold coins,” she said. “Naturally, you’d be subject to Generasi’s tax rate⁠—”

“Wait, taxes?” Alex suddenly felt like he was choking.

Toraka Shale threw her head back, letting out an almost demonic laugh. “Yes, Alex, taxes. Welcome to a most hated part of adulthood. You wouldn’t have had to pay them on your wages since your income was relatively low, but the governing council does take a solid twenty-seven and half percent of all income once you reach a certain income level. It does sting, but I suppose it’s the price we pay for, you know, roads, security and what-not. Just be happy you’re not tributing goats to a local lord or something.”

“I guess?” He felt the sting of coin flying from his hands. No wonder Mr. and Mrs. Lu were always so cranky when Alric’s tax collector came around.

“Still, even with paying taxes, you’re a lot further ahead,” she said. “You’ll gross just north of five thousand gold coins in a year, pay about fourteen hundred in taxes, then take the rest home. That’s thirty-five hundred gold pieces for a student who currently lives in a heavily subsidised insula at the university and—if you perform half as well in school as you do here—you’re probably on a scholarship. The university gives you free food, so your living expenses are going to be minimal. What I’m saying is that you’ll likely be able to squirrel away more than three thousand gold coins in a year, even if you increase your spending. In just over ten years, you’ll be able to buy a flat somewhere in Generasi outright. But… you won’t have to wait that long.”

She drew an upward facing arrow beside the 35.

“As soon as you graduate—perhaps even sooner, depending on how fast you pick up higher level spells—I’ll see that you’re promoted to full crafter. I pay any new crafter who joins our team a starting wage of seventy gold coins.”

Alex nodded slowly. That was about what Professor Jules had said many crafters were paid per shift in Generasi. “That’s a good wage,” he said.

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “I’ll count your time as a crafter’s assistant and your time as a junior crafter towards your seniority here at the shop. You won’t be earning starting wages for long. Furthermore, if you wish to buy your own house or make any large purchases and need a letter of character witness to provide to a vendor, I’d be happy to write one for you.”

She tapped the blank line where he was to sign. “So, what do you say?”

“Could you give me a moment, Mrs. Shale? I’m just doing my own calculations,” he said.

“What’s there to calculate?” she asked, a slight pressure entering her voice. “I don’t make an offer like this to just anyone, Alex. And it’s not one that’s available for long. I can’t have you walk out of here to go tell every student at the university that there could be ‘junior crafter’ positions at Shale’s. If you walk out, the offer expires.”

He smiled slightly. “I thought that might be the case.”

Pressure.

It was a common tactic in sales. One he’d picked up from sitting in Borgia’s Square, watching merchants negotiate with customers. He had to admit, she was a master of several of the techniques he’d witnessed.

First off, she’d explained the hollow tower to him, which was her subtle way of hinting that others in the city used such practices. This was done to show him that he might have a rough time working for her competition.

Then, she’d flattered him by complimenting his skills, while at the same time reminding him of his limits. She’d used more subtlety, but this time, it was to indicate that she was doing him a favour with this job—and, in a small way, she was—while letting him know that it’d be hard to get such an offer elsewhere.

After that, she’d asked him for the scrap piece of paper nearby, a small favour to continue building rapport.

Then, she’d completed all the math for him out loud, promising him riches, commiserating with him on the pain of taxes, offering to do him a favour that would help him establish roots in the city, and painting a bright future for him. Most importantly, though, it was a bright future that would require his continued loyalty to her.

Oh, and he couldn’t forget the drink she’d offered as another small favour to him. One that got a little alcohol in his system to put him in a warmer, more receptive frame of mind.

Finally, after the carrot, she’d brought out the stick.

That was the pressure.

She’d said the offer only lasted until he walked out the door. It was a clever move, meant to deny him time to think, stop him from consulting with anyone else, or going to her competitors.

‘In short, she’s created demand, added scarcity and urgency to the deal,’ he thought. ‘All in an effort to stop me from negotiating. Well done, Toraka. And if I were just after a salary, I might have accepted it.’

He leaned forward. ‘But this isn’t about wages and promotions. This is establishing patterns. This is about what comes later. So… en garde, Toraka. Let the negotiation begin.’

His mind turned toward the workshop. ‘Claygon, would you mind coming up and seeing Father?’

Chapter 19

Creating Demand

‘Iam… coming… Are you safe, Father?’

“I am safe,” Alex said out loud.

“Hm?” Shale frowned.

“Oh, sorry, I do that sometimes.” He chuckled. “I was talking to Claygon.”

“Oh?” Toraka Shale’s eyes shone with curiosity. “You can communicate with him from this distance?”

Alex beamed.

The two of them were sitting in her very large, well-appointed office. He was sipping her expensive scotch while listening to the gurgle of running water coming from the mana-powered waterfall that rose all the way to the ceiling. The water glowed a sea blue and disappeared in a basin below, reappearing at the top to cool the entire room. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much something like that would have cost.

On her desk stood her music golem, about a foot tall and forged to resemble a graceful young woman. The construct ‘blew’ into a golden horn, producing the sound of a full orchestra.

Each piece of office furniture was crafted by the hands of masters—using the finest woods, stone, and metal—and her liquor cabinet’s contents alone probably could have funded his little family’s living expenses for at least two years.

But the lavish furnishings merely enhanced Shale’s image. The sheer power and wealth Toraka Shale must wield would have made the Lord of Alric look like a penniless vagabond. From this office, she controlled an army of crafters who built hordes of powerful golems. Each iron golem in the shop below would have generated more than fifty thousand gold coins’ worth of profit per sale.

The young Thameish wizard had never seen her house, but if it was anything less than a palace, that would have been by choice, not lack of funds to build or buy one. Meanwhile, there he was, a bumpkin from a small town in Thameland, a student, and someone with less gold to his name than the cost of Shale’s desk chair.

In short, he was a helpless lamb sitting in the lion’s den. Its place of power.

But with one quick phrase: ‘Oh, I was talking to Claygon,’ he’d completely reversed the power dynamic.

Now she was the one looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak and tell her more about the wonderful golem that had captured her imagination.

And just like that, he was no longer the lamb.

“Sorry for the pause. I was talking to him again,” he lied smoothly, enjoying her excited little flinch. “You asked me if I could communicate with him at this distance? Well, yes. But I haven’t actually tested the limit on how far we can communicate yet.”

“Have you done any other tests?” she asked.

“Oh, he’s not a laboratory specimen, so we haven’t gone out and performed a bunch of tests or anything like that. I can tell you that he’s a quick learner.” He smiled warmly, like a father bragging about his child. “You should see how quickly his writing’s improving. It’s astounding.”

“…Really, now?” Toraka asked, leaning even farther over her desk.

“Yeah, his cognition’s really something. It’s stunning to see how far he’s come in the few days since he evolved. Did I tell you his sapience seemed to coincide with his evolution?”

“No,” she said, clearly fascinated.

“Oh yes, I’ll spare you the details of what the trigger was, but I’m wondering if—assuming I can use those circumstances as a model—I’d be able to spark his next evolution intentionally.”

Her lip twitched. “Do you really think you could purposefully cause golem evolution?”

He shrugged. “I’m a golem maker, not a prophet. I leave that sort of thing to priests and—Ah, here he comes now.”

Toraka looked at her office door expectantly as Claygon’s thunderous footsteps echoed down the hall.

‘And so the fishing rod begins to pull,’ Alex thought.

‘Father… is this the right door?’ His footsteps stopped just outside Shale’s office.

‘That it is, my friend. Would you mind knocking before you come in? Gently, now,’ Alex thought.

‘I… will try to be gentle.’

After a heartbeat, Shale flinched as a terrific banging came from outside. It sounded like someone had thrown giant rocks at the door, making it shudder on its hinges.

“Erm, c-come in!” Shale called.

There was a pause.

Then the door latch clicked, and Claygon gingerly stepped into the room, bowing his head below the door frame. He waited to close the door. A little past him—filling the hallway—were half the staff of the workshop, piling over each other, still gawking.

“Oh, come on, really?” Shale scowled. “This isn’t a sideshow at the circus, people, it’s a place of business! Back to work, all of you, back to work!”

Grumbling came from the clot of disappointed staff members.

She looked at Claygon. “Would you mind closing the door?” she spoke softly, as though she were speaking to a friend’s child.

The golem glanced down at the latch and gently batted the door closed, but it banged so hard in its frame that the wall surrounding it shook. Muffled, startled yelps came from the hallway followed by a veritable stampede of footfalls.

‘That was loud… sorry.’

“Claygon says he’s sorry about the noise,” Alex told her.

“Hah, they deserved that. Gawking like a bunch of children,” she said as she gawked at Claygon like a child. “Ridiculous.”

Alex shrugged at the golem. ‘I guess the door slamming was okay… this time. You shouldn’t normally do that, though. With your strength, you’d destroy any door weaker than a castle gate.’

‘And that is… bad, right? Grimloch said… that is good.’

‘Oh by the Traveller, my baby’s been thinking for less than a week and they’re already trying to corrupt him,’ he thought. ‘We’ll talk about that later, Claygon.’

‘You say we will talk about many things later… I look forward to it.’

‘I’m starting to look forward to it less and less…’ Alex thought about all the many, many things he’d have to explain to Claygon.

“You are marvellous, aren’t you?” Toraka half-rose from her seat, looking as though she wanted nothing more than to charge across the room and examine Claygon with every single device she owned.

“Yes, he is,” Alex said.

‘What does… marvellous mean?’

‘It means very good,’ Alex thought.

He felt a flutter of emotions from the golem, ranging from delight to surprise. ‘Father… could you tell her I said… thank you?’

Alex nearly choked up. “Yes, I can, Claygon,” he said out loud, turning back to Toraka. “Claygon says thank you.”

“Oh, u-um,” she stuttered, completely off-balance. “You’re very welcome.”

Alex resisted the urge to smile.

With Claygon in the room now, he’d given himself two great advantages.

First, Toraka would be distracted for the rest of the negotiation. Now, every time she tried to outmaneuver him, she’d have to waste mental energy pulling her attention away from Claygon. To make things worse for her, her focus would naturally drift back to the golem over time.

And a distracted opponent was a far less dangerous one. Someone who bore a Mark that poured dozens of images into his mind if he tried to go against it knew that better than most.

The second advantage came from the reminder Claygon’s presence brought. Here he was, a unique, powerful, priceless golem made by the very person sitting in front of her desk. A golem she would very well lose access to if Alex were to leave her employ, not to mention losing the skills of the one who’d crafted him.

“Right, sorry for the interruption, we were talking about wages, weren’t we?” Alex brought the conversation back to the business at hand.

“Er, yes, that’s right,” she said, her eyes still fixed on Claygon.

“I’d like to ask for sixty per shift.” He folded his hands over his lap.

That got her attention.

“Sixty?” Her eyes grew wide. “That’s almost double, and nearly what an entry level crafter makes.”

“True, and I also recognise that you said I have great skills; that the only thing separating me from having the full skillset of a crafter is not knowing a couple of spells.” His voice was even, his tone smooth. He avoided using the word ‘but,’ which would have created a subconscious wall between them. “A crafter would only have to take a couple of minutes after their schedule to cast those spells for me when needed.”

He spread his hands. “Just a couple of minutes in return for a junior crafter: someone that can do everything else the job requires at a discounted price.” He did some mental calculations. “Which would net you a savings of about fifteen hundred gold pieces a year.”

That number was nothing compared to the sheer volume of gold that flowed through Shale’s Workshop every day, but it was enough to show that she would stand to benefit from having Alex do most of the work of a crafter at a discounted price.

And he knew that.

‘Shift the narrative away from her doing you a favour,’ he thought. ‘Bring the negotiation back to a notion of reciprocity. Increase your value. Rebalance power in the conversation. And…’

He noticed her eyes drifting back to Claygon.

‘…take advantage of her distraction.’

“Actually, overall, your gross would go up even more than that,” he said. “Since you’d have an extra pair of hands working on another golem. You’d produce faster.”

‘Show her the advantages,’ he thought. ‘Show her what she’d gain. And now…’

He looked at her body language.

She’d leaned back a bit, crossing her forearms over her desk: a defensive gesture. A sign of discomfort. She was hesitating, but not out of anger… so then, what…

“I can’t go that high,” she said, her tone polite yet firm, showing no room for negotiation on that point. “If I gave you that much, it’d devalue the work of every starting crafter here at the shop.”

“Ah, yes. They’d wonder why a ‘junior crafter’ is making a wage that’s so close to theirs,” he said. “It’d breed questions. Maybe disloyalty.”

‘Show understanding, show that you’re not a child. You’re a man who can understand her concerns. A reasonable one,’ he thought.

‘Father… why do you look like you’re in a battle?’ Claygon thought. ‘Do you need me to… protect?’

‘Oh noooo, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘I’m juuuust fine. Juuust fine.’

“I’m glad you understand, Alex,” Toraka said. “If I start giving a student—no matter how talented he is—a wage so close to a full crafter’s, it’s going to cause problems… But, okay. What about forty-five?”

“Fifty-five,” Alex suggested.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re haggling like you’re in Borgia’s Square.”

“Well, it⁠—”

‘Father, what is that… sound?’

“Hm? What sound, Claygon?” Alex asked, drawing Shale’s attention back to the golem.

Claygon gingerly stepped over to the desk, his enormous shadow falling over Toraka and Alex. He bent down to examine the music golem from close up.

‘The sound… is a good sound.’

“What’s happening?” Toraka asked.

“Oh, he just likes your music golem, is all,” Alex said. “I can’t wait to build a speakerbox for Claygon. It’s expensive, but it’ll let him communicate with everyone, not just me.”

A subtle twitch ran through her lip. More coin would let him build the speakerbox faster, which would let her talk to Claygon and ask him all the questions she was dying to.

“I’m sure he’d love to talk with you,” Alex said. “And let me tell you, there’s loads of folk who want to talk to him. Baelin, Jules, a whole bunch in the alchemy department… I wouldn’t be surprised if half the alchemists in the city would like to have a chat with him.” He smiled at Claygon. “I hope you like the attention, buddy.”

But he didn’t answer, too enraptured by the music golem’s song.

A host of emotions trailed through their link: warmth, curiosity, pleasure, and… longing. Alex noted that last emotion carefully. He’d bring it up later.

As for Shale? She fidgeted ever so slightly in her chair, not missing what Alex had just done.

He’d created demand by subtly reminding her that anyone in the city would want to examine Claygon, and they’d likely hire the one who built him in a heartbeat.

She looked at him closely, carefully, then.

He noticed a change in her eyes. She no longer looked at him as though he were a talented student. She looked at him the way an experienced merchant would look at another.

With respect.

He barely resisted the urge to smile in triumph.

And with that? He’d accomplished exactly what he wanted.

Everything that followed would just be a bonus.

“Do you come from a merchant family, Alex?” Toraka asked.

“My parents ran an alehouse,” he replied. “And after they passed to the afterworld, the couple that raised me ran an inn. They had to do their share of haggling with farmers and brewers from time to time.”

He, of course, made no mention of any divinely gifted Marks and their role in preparing him for this.

“Well, they taught you well,” she said. “And my condolences on your parents. What would you say to fifty gold pieces per shift and—” She held up a finger. “If you need a lump sum of coin to buy a place in the city, I could lend you that sum and simply take some of it back from your wage on a schedule. It’d let you establish roots in the city faster.”

A counteroffer of more coin, bundled with a devil’s favour. One that would tie him to her business both by way of finance, and gratitude.

But none of that mattered now.

He’d already won; she just didn’t know it yet.

“Fifty is perfect.” Alex extended his hand to seal the negotiation.

“Excellent.” She shook his hand, throwing him a big smile. “I’ll take care of you, trust me on that.”

‘More than you know,’ Alex thought. ‘Let’s see, that’s steps three and four of the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension skipped. Now we’re ahead of schedule. I should grab something to eat to celebrate.’

At that thought, his eyes fell on the window beside Shale and his smile faded, replaced by an expression of surprise and curiosity.

Across the street, there was a man doing something near the front window inside the rundown bakery. Except he wasn’t baking, nor was he eating, or even displaying baked goods.

He seemed to be painting what looked like a sign.

And—if Alex wasn’t mistaken—that sign looked like it had two very interesting words on it:

‘For Sale.’

Chapter 20

A ‘Haunted House’

Alex Roth, the very first junior crafter ever hired by Toraka Shale, emerged from the workshop with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Tucked away in his satchel, he carried a writ of employment with a promissory wage clause which included fifty gold pieces per shift, with three shifts per week as a schedule.

Not included in the written contract was Toraka’s verbal promise to lend him her aid when it came time for him to buy his family’s first home in Generasi. Also not included were the numerous extra benefits that would be coming to him in the future.

Soon, it would be time to begin step five of his plan, which—in some ways—was the easiest step. Of course, it was that step that would also bring the greatest risk to his life with it, but when wasn’t his life at risk these days?

“Just need to get my hands on a dungeon core of my own,” he muttered, crossing the crowded street with Claygon at his side. “No problem, really. I only need to enter a dungeon, steal the core, and break it down, just me and Claygon… and maybe the rest of the cabal. If I’m lucky, invisible monsters won’t turn me into stone and scream at me until I’m rock-shards!”

He sighed. “What even is my life, really?”

Then there was step six to think about.

If step five risked his life, then step six risked the entire plan. There was no step more critical, but if it worked…

“Financial freedom,” he muttered to himself, stopping in front of the rundown bakery.

He put his hands on his hips, examining it with a practised eye.

Alex had never really stopped and taken a good look at the building before, not in any depth, and what he found… was disturbing. McHarris was selling bad eggs, but with this place, he couldn’t imagine which of their ingredients wouldn’t be bad.

“Bloody thing looks more like a haunted house than a cake shop,” he murmured, eyes scanning the building’s facade.

‘What is a haunted… house?’ Claygon asked.

‘Oh, it’s an attraction they build for the Festival of Ghosts,’ Alex thought. ‘It’s full of people dressed as spooky monsters. It’s supposed to be scary just for the fun of being scared. Selina and Theresa love it, but personally, I see enough monsters in real life. I think the haunted house is supposed to resemble actual haunted buildings, which are buildings that angry spirits are trapped in.’

‘Oh… and what makes this… look haunted?’ Claygon asked.

‘There’s a few things. First of all, look at all the cobwebs around the window. Haunted houses always have loads of cobwebs hanging from them, though that’s really less a sign of ghosts than it is a sign of poor cleaning habits. Oh, and it’s also a sign of spiders, but that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Not… to me…’ Claygon thought.

‘Oh right… I’ll explain spiderwebs another time. Anyway, the threshold looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in months.’ Alex continued scanning the building. ‘Windows are dusty, the brick on the chimney’s darker than a moonless night, and it smells like old dry food even from here. And—Oh, by the Traveller, no!’

He shuddered at a terrible sight crawling from a crack in the mortar.

A sight less welcome in a bakery than even the most vicious of Ravener-spawn, so feared by chefs from Thameland to Generasi, that there were some who had nightmares about it.

The creature that was a plague to restaurants and mills across the world…

…the common cockroach.

It crawled along the bakery wall, antennae wriggling away as though it were drumming on the bricks, before slipping back into the crack and disappearing into the building to defile everything within.

“Well, there goes the idea of grabbing a quick meat pie,” Alex muttered. “Last thing I want is… oh. Oh dear.” His stomach churned. “Is that… oh dear, those are bat droppings on the roof. How has the baker’s guild not shut this place down yet?”

He glanced at the sign above the door, which had a faded image of a mermaid carrying a cupcake in a giant clam shell. The paint was chipping, nearly flaked away, exposing the bare wood beneath. Under the image was the shop’s name: Mermaid Cakes.

“Well, let’s go and have a look, shall we?” Alex said.

The first thing that caught Alex’s attention was the tinkling of a bell as he opened the door. It was a pleasant little sound, contrasting strongly with the second thing that caught his attention.

The smell.

A pungent, sour scent struck his nostrils like a punch from Claygon’s fist, nearly laying him on his back before he’d taken two steps into the place. Only an iron will—forged by a year of combatting the Mark—and the sheer politeness hammered into him by two different families kept the contents of his stomach from spewing out onto the floor.

Not that a pile of vomit on the floor would have been out of place.

At a quick glance, it looked as though the wooden floors were… if not ‘clean’ then ‘clean enough.’ Alex had learned all the tricks when it came to floors. For a few minutes’ effort, one could make a floor seem clean with a quick sweep of a broom, no mopping or polishing needed.

Of course, the corners told the true story.

And the story these corners were telling was filthier than a sailor’s bragging after a late night visit to the local brothel. Dust, crumbs, tangles of hair, and worse all nestled in those corners, each the perfect nest for an entire menagerie of vermin.

‘By the Traveller,’ Alex thought, noting cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. ‘Did no one report this to the bakers’ guild? Does Generasi even have a baker’s guild?’

“Hello?” a voice called from somewhere unseen. “Is that you? You’re early.”

Shuffling came from the direction of the kitchen, or at least where he guessed the kitchen was. Mermaid’s Cakes was set up much like McHarris’ bakery: a small seating area at the front of the shop where customers could enjoy hot snacks, then a counter upon which bread, cookies, and pies were displayed, and finally, a doorway to the back where the kitchen was probably located.

It was from that door that Alex’s nostrils caught the sourest of the shop’s odours, though he also detected a certain sickening sweet and sour aroma rising from the baked goods on the counter.

‘Rotten ingredients are likely masked with sugar or jam,’ he thought. ‘Ugh, here I am, halfway across the world and I run into the exact same thing I found at home. Still… there’s some talent here.’

While the scent might have been the stuff of food poisoning nightmares, the baked goods looked delightful. In particular, a certain cookie caught his eye, one dressed up with an image of the shop’s mermaid mascot, covered in icing rather than paint.

He was just about to take a closer look at the cookie when the source of shuffling footsteps appeared: a middle-aged man with a pan in hand.

A pan he nearly dropped when he spied the hulking young man and his towering golem. Alex wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time that he and Claygon had provoked that reaction in a stranger.

“A customer?” the man cried as if shocked. “Can’t… excuse me, sir, but—and I know this is a bit rude—but do you exist? I can’t rule out the idea that the boss ordered the wrong sort of mushrooms.”

“Er… no, I’m real,” Alex said. “Er, you’re a bakery, right? You shouldn’t be that surprised to have a customer.”

“I can be if it’s this bakery,” the man snorted, putting the baking pan down on the counter and squinting at Alex. “Well, then off you go. Shoo shoo. Run along now.”

The Thameish wizard gaped at the man, glancing up at Claygon.

‘This man has told us to leave… we are not welcome,’ Claygon noted.

“Yes… I mean no, that doesn’t make any sense!” Alex cried.

The man startled, snatching up the pan again. “You’re not one of those ghost hunters, are you? If you are, you’d best be moving along and moving along quickly. My pan found the head of the last one and I won’t be afraid to do the same to you.”

‘This man is a threat,’ Claygon declared, levelling a fire-gem at him. ‘I will destroy him.’

“No, don’t destroy him!” Alex cried.

“I tell you, that act’s not going to work!” The man brandished the pan. “There’s no ghosts in here! If there were, they would have done me the sweet mercy of taking me into the afterworld already!”

“What the hells are you talking about?” Alex demanded.

‘I am destroying him now, Father,’ Claygon said.

“No! Don’t destroy him! We’re not destroying anyone!”

“You take your act and your fake ghosts, and you get out of here!” the bakery worker snapped.

“Will you shut up! I’m trying to stop Claygon from turning you into a bloody ghost!”

‘If he is a ghost… that means he will stay a threat after I destroy his body. Yes… haunted house, I understand, Father,’ came Claygon’s resounding voice in Alexe’s mind. ‘We will… go outside. Then I will blow up the house.’

“No, it’s okay, Claygon, he’s not a threat!” Alex pleaded.

“Oh? Is Claygon the name of your fake ghost?” the man demanded.

“No, it’s the name of my very real golem!” the wizard snapped. “He’s who I’ve been talking about!”

“Ooooooh, now I understand. You’re nothing more than a common loon.” The man sighed in relief, putting down the pan. “Right, off you go, then. Or if you’re going to go mad and blow me up, let’s get it over with. Oh, by the way, it’s pronounced ‘Clay Golem’ not ‘Claygon.’ Are you foreign or something?”

“What’s being foreign got to do with anything?” Alex demanded, starting to wonder if he should let Claygon blow this place up. “So what if I’m bloody foreign?”

“Means you could be talking funny and mis-saying words.” The man put his hands on his hips. “You do have that weird accent.”

“My accent’s not weird! Your accent’s weird!”

“No it’s not, yours is.”

“Look, what… what is going on here?” Alex squinted at the walls. “Is this a prank? Is this some big joke Thundar came up with? Ah, or maybe Baelin, he’d do something like that.”

“What makes you think I’m joking, you loon?”

“Because none of this makes any sense!” Alex gripped fistfuls of his long hair. “I—a bloody customer—walk in, and the place smells like a bloody trash fire. Then you come out, deny that I exist and tell me to leave your bakery and start talking about ghosts and the like! What in bloody blazes is wrong with you? It’s no wonder you don’t have any customers coming into your bake shop, and you look like you could use a bloody sale.”

The man cleared his throat. “It’s not my bake shop. And listen, I’m trying to protect you. You must be a loon to walk into a place like this. You’re the first customer I’ve seen in about a month now, and there’s a good reason for that. Look at the place.” He gestured around. “You have a nose. It stinks in here for good reason. Yet here I work and here I stay.”

“Wait…” Alex paused, a horrifying sense of deja vu hitting him. “You just work here?”

“Oh yes, I need the job, hence me not minding you obliterating me right now,” the man grunted. “Better than working for the old slave driver. I mean, look at this.”

To Alex’s great horror, the man rolled up his sleeve, revealing a series of welts along his arm. Familiar welts. Welts that might have been given by an abusive baker punishing a worker for not whipping custard fast enough.

A moment of empathy/sympathy struck Alex so hard, he had to lean against Claygon for support. “And… he holds you hostage with your pay? Never promotes you? Never appreciates or trusts you? Has you using rotten food and just plays it off? Never protects you from nasty customers?”

A baffled expression crossed the bakery worker’s face. “How… how do you know all that?”

“Because…” Alex sighed. “At one time, I had welts just like yours. We’re brothers in mistreatment, my friend. Brothers. Tell me about your McHarris.”

“My McHarris? Who’s that?”

“Another devil, my friend,” Alex said. “One I’ll tell you all about.”

Chapter 21

The Baker’s Tale

“My name’s Troy,” the baker sighed, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. He was bent so low over a table, that he looked about ready to collapse. “Troy of Tauberurg, from the Rhinean Empire originally, and now the very last person employed at the Mermaid’s Cakes Bakery.”

“Alex Roth,” the young wizard said, inspecting the man’s welts. “Originally of Alric, in Thameland, and now a student at the university and a junior crafter with Shale’s Golemworks.”

“Well, ain’t you a fancy one,” Troy snorted. “Don’t know how we’re any brothers, what with you having a fancy job like that.”

“Oh, trust me, we’re brothers alright,” Alex insisted. “A little over two years ago, my arms regularly bore welts just like yours. If you want, I can heal them for you.”

“If you can, have at it.” Troy held his forearms out.

Concentrating through the Mark’s interference, Alex slowly cast Mana-to-Life, pouring power into Troy’s body. In an instant, a change came over him. His skin flushed with vigour, his eyes brightened as the angry welts on his forearms shrank and faded.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” the shocked man swore, examining his arms. “As good as new. I think you even took a crick out of my back while you were at it. Thanks. But why?”

“Selfishness, if you can believe it.” Alex patted the man’s arm. “I only did for you what I wished someone could have done for me every night for years. I couldn’t tell my family what was happening because they would have taken McHarris to task and he would have fired me as easy as breathing. Maybe I’m healing my past self, in a way.”

Troy squinted. “Well, all that fancy babble-type university talk’s going over my head, but thanks, I guess. I’d fix you something to eat in return, but there’s nothing that’s even fit for a dog in here.” He looked around the bakery with distaste. “I just feel sorry for the poor wretch the boss sells this place to.”

“Bad boss, eh?” Alex said.

“The worst, though you sound like you know something about that.”

“Do I ever. So, I used to work for a man named McHarris—” Alex told Troy an abridged version of his time at the bakery in Alric. A very abridged version. If he were to go into the whole story, they’d likely still be sitting at the table three evenings from now. Troy nodded along, his expression growing darker and darker, though his eyes softened in sympathy as Alex talked.

He eventually burst out laughing when Alex reached the part of the story where he’d sic’d the guards on McHarris. The man was laughing so hard, he went completely red in the face, coughing and gasping for breath as tears streamed down his face. “Ah, that’s great! I’d give an arm to see the boss end up like that. Or at least a finger.”

“Yeah, now and then, I dream about it.” Alex chuckled. “Those are some of my best nights. But uh… one thing I have to give McHarris, he knew how to run a bloody business for the most part. His bakery didn’t look like a haunted house. What happened here? And what’s this business about ghost hunters?”

“Ah, now it’s time you hear about my woes, my baking brother.” Troy laughed. “Now, I’m going to say something that sounds like I’m some bragger, but let me tell you, it’s fact: ten years ago, the Mermaid’s Cakes was one of the best bakeries in the whole district. Maybe the best.”

“Big claim,” Alex said. “I’ve eaten at quite a few good ones here.”

Troy shook his head. “None of them could hold a candle to us. Was a time when even your big friend there—” he nodded to Claygon “—would have agreed we were the best. And he doesn’t even have a mouth to eat with, or a nose to smell!”

‘Father… is this… humour?’ Claygon asked.

“Yeah, you’re getting it, buddy,” Alex said, glancing at Troy’s confused expression. “Yeah, Claygon’s just learning humour. Just gained sapience, like I said.”

“You university people and your big words.” Troy rolled his eyes. “But I get ya, though the point still stands. This was the best bakery, back when old Master Beerensteyn ran the place.”

“Oh…” Alex paused. “New management, then? Someone bought it?”

“Worse, inherited it,” Troy snorted. “His son. Went like this. A decade back, the Mermaid’s Cakes was the best place you could go for food in this entire district, and one of the best places to work too if you knew your way around a kitchen. Master Beerensteyn insisted on one thing: quality. And that didn’t just mean the food. He took the time to hire good workers, paid them well, kept the place looking great and took his time making the food. The secret was the ingredients and how he prepared them.”

The bakery worker smiled, caught up in nostalgia. “He used to soak his fruit for days—sometimes weeks, depending on the dish—for all sorts of preparations. His favourite was a mixture of rum, golden sugar, and certain spices. Oh, that infusion was just perfect. We’d have customers lined up for blocks, and he had applications every day from folk looking to work here. Blast it, most days we were sold out of everything shortly after lunch. Couldn’t even make it to dinner. And the prices! Oh, the prices were about as low as the guild would let him make them. He wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but that doesn’t matter too much when you’re making the best pies for miles around.”

“But then…” Alex tapped the table. “Something happened, I take it? Something with his children?”

“With his son.” Troy spat the word like he was spitting acid on a cockroach. “A brick-headed jackass who’s as useless as teats on a bull. He had some magic in him, or so I heard, and Master Beerensteyn sent him to the university to get all trained up. Ugh, he was back in just under a month. Never confirmed why; rumours say he might’ve cheated and got caught. Or it could’ve been just plain laziness. After that, Master Beerensteyn sent him off to learn half a dozen trades. The boy just waited for his parents to leave for work in the morning and then snuck back into their townhouse to sleep or chase girls all day.”

Troy threw a venomous look at the bakery’s counter. “So, Master Beerensteyn put him to work here, greeting customers and seating them. Bastard just used to read dirty books under the counter. You know the ones? Cheap, short, and raunchy. In the end, me and the rest of the staff just took to ignoring him.”

He sighed. “Then one sad day a few years back, old Master Beerensteyn keeled over with a heart attack. His wife went a month later. Tragic business, made even worse by the fact that their stupid son inherited everything. Including this business, which he suddenly took an interest in. Maybe he thought he had his own coin-pressing factory here, I dunno. It doesn’t matter.”

Troy threw a sad look at the baked goods on the counter, wrinkling his nose. “You know, I’m so used to the smell of those things that I don’t even notice it anymore. But anyway, the first thing he changed was, of course, the quality of the ingredients. We went from using fresh sweet apples to those really sour ones that sell for cheap by the roadside. Not even good enough for Borgia’s Square.”

“Ooooooh.” Alex winced. “That’s uh… oh dear, I see where this is going.”

“Don’t assume, because it gets worse.” Troy gave a dark laugh. “No more soaking ingredients—he thought that was a waste of time—and he started keeping things longer than he should have. Was the milk getting blue and furry? ‘Not a problem!’ he says. ‘Just scrape the mold off the top and use the rest.’”

“No!” Alex cried, more offended than he’d been since a giant invisible monster had tried to kill him a few days back. “You can’t be serious? That’d kill people!”

“Oh, it quite nearly did.” Troy shook his head. “A few times. And it gets worse. He started asking us to take unsold goods—and there were a lot of those at this point—and just doll them up and resell them for days on end. Stale? Sour? It didn’t matter. Customers started to go away veeeeery quickly. The nail in the coffin came from the ghost hunters.”

“Do I even want to know?” Alex asked.

“No, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.” Troy grunted. “Around the second time we poisoned someone with bad food, the staff started leaving faster than rats off a sinking ship. Maintenance wasn’t being done and actual rats… and roaches… and flies… even bats… started moving in. The place began falling apart, and it looked so haunted that these ghost hunter types—folk who find ghosts and just… well, I don’t know what they do except stand around claiming they’re sensing spirits—showed up here going on about how the spirits of old Master and Mrs. Beerensteyn were haunting the place. To be honest, I wish they actually were. Might’ve taught that boy a lesson. Anyway, customers dried up after that.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” Alex said. “The threat of ghosts is no joke, especially when the food might actually turn you into one. That’s… a depressing story. So, what makes you stay, Troy?”

The older man grumbled. “I thought if I stayed long enough, I might see this place rise again. Become what it once was. But bah… now he’s going to be selling it. The last straw was the upstairs tenants leaving. Which drops the coin coming in from this place down to zero.”

Alex paused. “Tenants… is this a townhouse?”

“Oh yeah.” Troy nodded. “Used to be a nice cosy little home upstairs, but… agh, now that’s all done. The place is unlivable.”

“Right…” Alex’s eyes narrowed. “And now he wants to sell it?”

“Yeah, but who’d be stupid enough to buy it?” Troy gestured to the cobwebs. “We’ve got a roach infestation. Flies. Rats. Bat infestation. And the spirits only know what else. Plus, the bakery’s reputation is ruined. This place ain’t even worth the wood and stone it’s built from anymore.”

“Uhuh…” Alex looked around, his mind calculating. “And does anyone know it’s for sale yet?”

“Not unless someone saw me painting the sign,” Troy shrugged. “But it’ll be no use, like I said, no one’s gonna buy it.”

On that point, Troy couldn’t be more wrong, Alex realised.

This place could charitably be called a garbage dump. But that was exactly what would make it so valuable. Property in Generasi was at a premium price, but this place—in the state it was in—wouldn’t sell for half of what it was worth. Maybe even less. Now the sheer number of repairs needed was intimidating, but to an enterprising businessperson with a team of competent labourers, or one resourceful wizard, the place could be fixed up in months.

Maybe even weeks.

The key would be examining the soundness of the structure. Though even if there were structural issues, having a place to tear down and land to build on in such a valuable location in the city would bring investors running.

They’d buy it for cheap, fix it up, and if they didn’t want to run a bakery, they could use the place as a rental property for graduate students from the university. Or they could even fix it up then resell it at a much higher price.

In either case… this was a rare find.

“Troy… would you mind showing me around a bit?” Alex asked.

“Why? You’re not thinking of buying this trash heap, are you?”

“Let’s just say that you’ve piqued my interest,” the ambitious young wizard said. “Is there a basement?”

“Yeah, but it’s useless.” The bakery worker’s voice rose with worry. “Look, the damned thing’s just filled with a lot of stored crap the boss couldn’t be bothered to dispose of, or sort through. And there might actually be a family of dire rats down there, judging by the squeaking.”

“Right…” Alex said.

A cleaned out basement would make a great place for a workshop. The bakery itself could provide an income if it was brought back to life, and the townhouse could be a perfect starter home for his little family.

It was close to the university, right across the street from work and—hells—he now made enough money to also hold on to their apartment in the insula, if he wished. He would certainly need to while he was cleaning the place up…

Wait.

‘I’m really considering buying this, aren’t I?’ he thought. ‘How much of this is from wanting to ruin another shitty baker, Alex? Oh, probably fifty percent, but that doesn’t matter; this still makes a load of sense.’

“You know, I really would like that tour,” Alex said.

Troy shook his head. “Even just looking around would be foolish, you know?”

The Thameish wizard smiled. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s called me that. And it probably won’t be the last. Show me around, would you? If I get my way, you’ll be very happy with where things could be going next. Your boss, though? I don’t think he’ll be so pleased.”

Chapter 22

The Horrible Hoard

To say that the living quarters were in an even worse state than Alex had feared would be an understatement. Troy hadn’t been exaggerating. Dust clouds rose in mounds, provoking fits of coughing and sneezing as the baker led him through a doorway that was covered in suspicious-looking stains in the alleyway, then up a flight of stairs that creaked so badly, Alex had Claygon wait in the dining area.

Cobwebs reached for him, clinging to his face with each step, and as light poured up the stairwell, he spotted masses of black dots fleeing through cracks in the wood and stone. Cockroaches, their stink so putrid, that Alex––resembling a robber—wrapped the tail of his cloak around his face as they climbed the stairs.

The rickety door to the living area smelled of wood-rot, and beyond that…

“Oh, by the Traveller, save me,” Alex murmured as Troy waved him forward into the townhouse and the sea of disaster that had overtaken it. He gagged from odours far worse than roach stink, then tripped on pieces of debris as they stepped over the threshold.

“I tried to warn you,” Troy grunted. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong, and that’s the truth,” Alex muttered, surveying the mess while trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Old legends came to him. Of dragons decorating their dark lairs and sleeping pads with hoarded stores of treasure. There was a hoard here alright, but not the kind those legends spoke of.

Instead of gold, pearls, precious stones, magical items, and other priceless treasures, this hoard was piled high with moldy food scraps, old containers, stacks of broken furniture, and other debris. There was enough of it that it formed its own landscape. Hills, valleys, and even mountains of trash; oozing foul liquid mingling with the stench of death and decay while emanating sounds of vermin scurried through its depths.

“Okay, we’re not taking a step farther without precautions,” Alex said, drawing two flight potions. “No way I’m fighting monsters and demons just to get killed by some sort of filth fever.” He handed one to Troy. “If you don’t have any objection, I’m going to cast a spell called Orb of Air over our heads to protect us, and if we drink these flight potions, we can float above the trash.”

“I’ve only ever flown in sky-gondolas before,” Troy said, looking a little nervous, and pointing at the endless rubbish pile. “There’s a small path through this mess. We could just weave our way through it.”

“No, I’m not taking any chances, and neither should you.” Alex pushed the potion into Troy’s hand. “Here, we’ll stay close to the ground. It’ll be safer than wading through all this stuff. Suppose something jumps out and bites you?” As if to illustrate his point, the pile moved. Troy pulled the stopper from the vial and downed it, levitating above the mound. A huge smile took his face as Alex cast Orb of Air.

The two men floated through the townhouse, freely taking stock of the ruins without suffering the foul air and adding everything in their bellies to the mounds.

“The last tenant had a bit of a problem,” Troy explained as they floated past a tower of decaying books. “Never threw anything out. For years, he kept talking about keeping it ‘just in case.’ I think he lived through some sort of famine in the southlands. Got it into his head that if he let anything go, he’d miss it when ‘things turned bad.’ I never got involved, and we didn’t know how bad it had really gotten until a couple of years in. He kept paying the rent, though, so the boss didn’t do anything about him. Sometimes I wonder where he is now.”

“Hopefully, somewhere cleaner,” Alex murmured as they flew up another flight of stairs, inspecting the next floor. “I’d be worried about disease.”

“And well you should be. You’d be wise to be on your way,” Troy said. “Any fool who buys this place will live to regret it.”

“I assume your boss will have it cleaned up before showing it to people,” Alex pointed out.

“I heard something of the sort, but I’ve yet to see any labourers hired,” Troy snorted. “He’d best not expect me to do it. I need the job, but there’s some things even I won’t do.”

“I hear you, but… if one had the right labour, or spells…” Alex stroked his beard. “There’s a lot of potential here.”

As they flew through the townhouse, Alex called on the Mark, focusing it on the task of evaluating property. It wasn’t something he’d ever done directly, but the Mark still had plenty of images to show him. All of his spelunking through dungeons, examining the temple in the Cave of the Traveller—looking for hidden passages—and the construction work he’d seen being done to the Research Castle came to him, providing scores of useful images.

The Mark guided him, pointing out similarities between those structures from his past, and the townhouse he was floating in.

And he liked what he was seeing.

Even filled with garbage, the townhouse seemed well and carefully built. The inside spaces were wide with plenty of glass windows to allow the light in on Generasi’s many sunny days. Or, they would, once the years of grime was wiped away.

The beams were solid, and though some of the wood finishes needed replacement, in general, the building didn’t seem to be in need of major renovations. And as for the amenities?

They were solid.

Very solid.

Above the bakery, the living quarters consisted of three floors, with a kitchen, three bedrooms, a bathing area, sitting rooms, a sewing room, and a study. There was even a balcony off the top floor, with the tatters of an awning overtop a rooftop garden and a sitting area.

It was more than enough for Alex’s small family, with plenty of room for even Brutus and Claygon, though—in the latter’s case—Alex would have to reinforce the townhouse’s stairs.

The more he looked around, the more excited he became. This was a project he could really sink his teeth into once the trash was gone, and the vermin sent packing. When the work was complete, it would make for a fine living space. At least, until he could buy something grander.

And… there were no ghosts.

None so far, at any rate.

As they finished the tour, Troy appeared convinced that he’d talked Alex out of buying the building, not realising that what he’d actually done was ensure a sale.

Depending on the asking price, Alex had an idea of how he might get it for cheap.

“When did you say you were going to put that sign up?” he asked Troy.

“Sometime next week. I think the boss is getting things in order. There was talk of a clean-up crew coming in to make the place look a bit nicer. A lick of paint and moving the trash out was mentioned.”

“I see.” The young wizard thumbed his chin. “Maybe, you can⁠—”

“Troy!” a voice bellowed from the bakery below. “Troy, where are you? Did you—argh! A golem? What in all hells is going on?”

Troy gave Alex a resigned look, sighing deeply. “That would be the boss,” he grumbled. “And I can tell he’s in a grand mood.”

“Well, we’ll see how grand of a mood he’s in after a few minutes of conversation,” Alex whispered, grinning wickedly, and dismissing their Orbs of Air.

‘The Boss’ was not a very tall man. If he’d stood as straight as he could with his head held high, spine rigid, and chin up, he might come up to the bottom of Alex’s neck. However, the way he held himself and moved… was like he thought he was a hundred feet tall.

The skinny man ran his hand through greying hair, scratching his head, and watching Claygon while the golem closely examined the spread of baked goods across the counter.

“Boss, you’re here,” Troy said, his voice losing life by the instant. His shoulders fell and he soon looked more corpse-like than alive.

Meanwhile, Alex was sizing up the boss, noting his body language, measuring his mood, and looking for weaknesses. The man squinted at the young wizard with red, pig-like eyes, and it didn’t take Alex long to reach one very important conclusion.

Judging from the way he was swaying and squinting against the bright light pouring through the front door, the boss was, at the very least, hungover.

‘He might even still be drunk,’ Alex thought. ‘This might be easier than I imagined. I’d better catch him off guard first.’

“Hello there. Alex Roth.” He abruptly thrust out his hand, startling the man as he held it out for a handshake. “I understand you’re in the market for a buyer?”

“Huh? Wha?” The boss gingerly shook Alex’s much larger hand. “How do you know—” The smell of stale booze drifted from his breath.

“I can see why you’d want to be paid as quickly as possible.” Alex looked around clinically. “This place is falling apart and—between you and me—it’s easy to see why you’d want it in someone else’s hands just in case the guild makes their way over here suddenly to check up on things.”

He chuckled as the man started to pale. “I get it, you don’t want some big boss to come looking in on you, telling you to clean up your toys. After all, this is your business and you want to run it however you’d like, am I right?”

“Um, yes,” the boss murmured, looking at Alex closely. “Are you… erm, interested, young man?”

“Oh, very interested,” Alex said, putting a note of naivety in his voice, sounding for all the world like someone who’d spend all his worldly wealth to buy a single piece of trash.

And the man’s pig-like eyes lit up instantly. “Well, well, then have a seat! Have a seat and welcome! Troy! Go get us some hot cider. And—” He paused, noting a cockroach skittering in front of the counter. “—and uh, you’d better make it quick.”

“Erm, right, boss,” the baker muttered, glancing at Alex like the young man had lost his mind.

The boss and the Thameish wizard sank into two wooden chairs at a small table near the door. The shorter man glanced at Claygon. “Erm, the golem’s yours, I take it?”

“Yes. Yes, he is,” Alex said smoothly, watching the man’s eyes predictably light up.

Golems were not cheap, which helped solidify the image that Alex wanted to project: a young man with a lot of coin and perhaps measurably less brains. A young man who would be the perfect buyer for… for…

“Um, I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage,” Alex said. “You know my name, but I don’t…”

“Govert,” the bakery owner said proudly. “Govert Beerensteyn, son of Heinke and Sanne Beerensteyn, may they have found peace in the afterworld.”

“May they have found peace,” Alex echoed. “And you kept things running after they were gone?”

“Indeed, I have, but… in truth, it has been a burden,” Govert confided. “A difficult thing to juggle alongside my own personal work.”

What personal work? According to Troy, this man didn’t hold another job, and judging by his clothes, Alex was inclined to believe the worker, not the boss. Govert’s shirt, pants, and boots were well-made and would have cost a fair sum at one time, but now they were threadbare in spots, looking like they’d need at least a half-dozen patches after another season of wear.

He’d obviously hit upon hard times.

But he didn’t need to know that Alex knew that.

“Yes, I can understand that.” The young man nodded in feigned sympathy. “Running a business on top of another job is a difficult thing at the best of times.”

“You know how it is.” Govert gave a smile so oily, it could have fuelled a dozen lamps. “But you’re young, you might have more energy for it than I do. Tell me, are you a baker yourself? And how did you hear about my little sale?”

“Well, I am something of a baker myself. Mostly amateur. Thought I’d make a go of it as a professional,” Alex lied smoothly. “And as for how I found out about the sale? Well, it was pure luck. I saw your worker painting the ‘for sale’ sign and had to pop in and take a look.”

“Ah, that is a bit of good luck for you!” Govert laughed. “You see, this place has an excellent reputation. It has built-in customers and it’s a very nice building with an upstairs living area that would be good for you, your family, or any renters you decide to take on. It’s a good family property and a good investment. Plus, the area is very desirable!”

“That it is!” Alex said. “Which makes me think that somebody will buy it quickly.”

“Precisely.” Govert nodded with glee. “No, I don’t expect it will be on the market for long!”

Alex laughed easily. “I have a feeling that its time on the market will be very, very short.”

“Then we are on the same page,” Govert’s enthusiasm shifted to practicality. “Ahhhh, no offence, but you are quite young, and I don’t expect to part with this place as an act of charity… Would you be able to pay? I’m afraid I would expect to be paid up front.”

“Well, I do work for Toraka Shale across the street,” Alex said. “She can front the funds.”

“You do not have them yourself?” The man frowned.

“Let’s just say my star is currently rising,” Alex said. “And a lot of my wealth is tied up in other matters at the moment, if you know what I mean.” He nodded to Claygon.

“Aaaaahhh yes,” Govert said. “It is troublesome when capital is tied up in properties and investments… Though for this deal, I’d need proof that Mrs. Shale would be kind enough to trust you with a loan of this magnitude. The building will not be cheap.”

“I could have proof in hand in the morning,” Alex said. “But why don’t we go over the price… now.”

“Hmmmm,” Govert looked at Alex’s golem, seemingly torn. Eventually, though, he succumbed to the idea of an easy sale. “Alright, we can agree on a price now⁠—”

“In writing,” Alex insisted.

Govert shrugged. “If that will make you more comfortable. But any deal we make will expire at midnight tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Alex said, smiling broadly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Excuse me for a moment.”

He concentrated, conjuring Wizard’s Hand after Wizard’s Hand until six of the glowing spells were floating around him. Flying into his satchel, they took out a length of blank paper and several pens, writing up a contract right there on the table’s stained surface, leaving a blank line for the price, and spaces for two signatures: his and Govert’s.

The older man watched nervously. “Wow, I didn’t expect things to be going so fast.”

“Well, while we hesitate, others eat, as they say.” Alex smoothed out the paper. “So… let’s talk about price, shall we?”

Chapter 23

Cornering the Vermin

“Sixty-five thousand would be a very fair price, I would say.” Govert’s eyes narrowed as Troy tottered back into the room, bearing two hot cups of cider.

He carefully placed them on the table away from the contract.

“Your drinks, sirs,” the assistant said stiffly before returning to his spot behind the counter. There he stayed. There he watched.

“If you look at the location and the fact that you’d already have regular clients eager to frequent the business on a daily basis,” Govert said, “you’ll see this is a real steal. You’ll make your upfront costs back in less than a year, I can guarantee that. The place needs some love and care for sure, but if you’re a crafter at Shale’s, then you should be up to the challenge. A fine project that you can turn into a place of your own!”

“Hmmmm,” Alex glanced around. “A place to make my own…” he murmured, as though amazed by the possibilities.

He could almost feel the glee radiating off Govert.

Which instantly melted when Alex uttered the following words and dropped the naive smile like a hot rock.

“Sixty-five thousand?” His eyebrow rose. “Govert, you must think I’m a real fool, don’t you?”

“Erm…” the business owner stuttered, caught off guard by Alex’s shift in tone. “I don’t follow.”

“The average price of a townhome in this district is sixty thousand,” the young Thameish wizard said. “And that’s for homes that are move-in ready. Trust me, I’ve done my homework. And this… this is not move-in ready. There’s the sea of trash upstairs, for example, which I’m fairly sure you’ll promise to remove… right up until you receive your chests of gold, and then you’ll be gone so fast that even Chancellor Baelin couldn’t catch you.”

“Um, I’m not sure I like what you’re implying.” Govert frowned, his cheeks growing pink. Behind him, Troy stifled a giggle. “I’m no thief.”

“Not technically,” Alex agreed. “But you did just try to sell me a rotten egg while claiming it was fresh.”

“I don’t think⁠—”

“This place is infested with vermin, as you well know. There’s probably more cockroaches living here than there are fish in the Prinean. And of course, I heard squeaking coming from downstairs that sounded like dire rats to me.”

Govert turned pale. “I don’t think⁠—”

“Now just a minute, I’m not done,” Alex continued. “There’s removing the trash up and downstairs, then the costs of rehabilitating the reputation of this place… To be honest, I could see any number of buyers running as soon as the first roach appeared. Don’t you think sixty-five thousand’s a bit much?”

“Now see here.” The older man frowned. “I don’t see why I should let you—someone who doesn’t even have the full price—come in here and dictate to me what I should or should not sell my building for. I think I’m going to ask you to leave.”

He began to rise from the table, pushing his chair away.

“Oh, sit down, will you?” Alex said calmly, waving Govert back down. “We’re bargaining here.”

“We are not. You’re insulting me. Now get out of my shop before I call the guards!”

“I could leave.” Alex shrugged. “And I could also stop by the baker’s guild on my way home and maybe drop a word or two about certain… things they should be looking at in your building.”

Govert stilled.

“I don’t know about Generasi,” Alex continued. “But any food business back in my hometown, with such clear violations of guild policy, I’d suspect the fines you’d receive would be very, very hefty. Not to mention being forced to shut down. The place could be condemned. Hells, you might be arrested.”

Govert’s lip twitched. “I’m… I’m in good standing with the guild.”

“Are you?” Alex cocked his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. I reckon in a big city like this—for a shop as old as this one—that as long as you keep paying your dues, they probably wouldn’t come in to check on you now, would they? Maybe if they received complaints, but they obviously didn’t. Layfolk don’t often think to complain to guilds, do they? My old boss said some choice things to some of us and wasn’t well liked back in my hometown, but no guild official ever came in to check on him.”

He leaned forward. “But I wonder what would happen if I were to just, oh, I don’t know, lead them back here?”

Govert had gone pale. “You—why… what⁠—”

Troy was doubled over the counter, shaking with silent laughter. Claygon had turned around, watching the exchange closely.

“You’re not too bright, are you?” Alex asked.

“What? How dare you—” Govert growled.

“Sit down,” the young Thameish wizard snapped, channelling Baelin’s and Khalik’s authoritative voices into a commanding tone. “I’m about to do you a bloody favour; the least you could do is have a seat and not bellow at me.”

The businessman watched him closely, grumbling as he sank back into the chair. “You’re not going to bully me out of my own business.”

“I don’t see how you have a way out of it,” Alex said calmly. “I’m sure you thought yourself clever. Your business will be soon going on the market… next week, I’m guessing? Or maybe a couple of weeks from now?” He made sure that it seemed like a guess, not wanting to reveal Troy’s hand in any of this. Not yet, at least. “I can see the plan you had cooking: you’d come in, hire a bunch of labourers to clean the place up, then sell it to some poor unsuspecting fool.”

Govert swallowed.

Alex continued. “But I saw it first. All of it. All before you had the chance to have the filth removed, and so… here we find ourselves.”

“Troy!” Govert snapped. “Why did you show him around?”

“Don’t blame him. You wanted a buyer, and he was just doing his job.” Alex shrugged, much like Hart would have. “And you still have a buyer, my friend. Just not one who’s going to get ripped off by you.”

“What?” the businessman murmured.

“It’s simple, I want your place,” Alex said. “I want to buy it outright, and if we settle this by say… tomorrow, I see no reason to get the guild involved. You wouldn’t have to pay for any trash removal—I’d have all of that done myself—and then you could be on your merry way, and this would aaaaall be behind you.”

Govert snarled. “How… much?”

“Oh, for this place? Why don’t we say ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand?” the man sputtered. Even Troy gasped from behind the counter. “Ten thou—Now you’re robbing me! You wouldn’t be able to buy a cheap flat for that price! Not in this district!”

“I think it’s a good price,” Alex said. “After all, I can’t move in. I can’t use it as a business until I join the guild of bakers, which means taking on the massive task of cleaning up and removing any disease-spreading agents first… Really, you’re more selling me piles of filth and disease vectors than a home.”

“Ten thousand… that’ll ruin me!” Govert insisted.

“Will it?” Alex wondered. “Personally, I think it’s more than fair. You inherited this place, after all. Got it for free and then tarnished your father’s life’s work. I don’t see you having put much—if any—coin in here, so ten thousand would be almost pure profit for you, wouldn’t it? It’s a good deal.”

“This building’s worth at least sixty thousand!” the older man hissed.

“In good condition, yes,” Alex said. “And once you cleaned it up, you’d probably be able to get a number of offers on it. Maybe you’d manage to get fifty thousand for it.”

“Fifty thousand!” Govert’s eyes lit up. “That’s a more reasonable number⁠—”

“Reasonable numbers belong to reasonable homes, my friend,” Alex said. “Not this. Reason left this place a long, long time ago, so ten thousand suits it well.”

Govert sputtered like a pot about to boil over. “You’re robbing me!”

“You already said that,” Alex pointed out. “And I’m not robbing you, I’m doing you a favour. Think of it this way: what would happen if you had buyers come in and say… take a long look around, they’d likely come to a similar conclusion as I did. One guild report later, and you’d be fined and jailed. I’m just giving you a way out…”

“My father would spin in his grave if he knew you were trying to swindle me like this!” Govert snapped.

“He probably already is. I’d reckon seeing as how you let his life’s work go to seed… but that’s none of my business, really. Ten thousand, and you can walk away. This’ll never haunt you again.” Alex softened his tone, slowly sliding the contract toward the businessman. “Think of it this way, you get ten thousand gold tomorrow and never have to worry again. You can use it to invest in some merchant venture, or you can use it to buy a small property, or a larger one elsewhere in a cheaper district. And! You won’t have to bother hiring labourers to do any clean up. Come on, be reasonable! This is more than fair.”

Govert twitched. “Ten… ten thousand’s too low. Much too low!”

“Name a price, then,” Alex said simply.

“F-forty thousand,” the businessman countered.

“No.”

“Th-thirty-five?”

Alex looked at Troy. “How long of a walk is it to the baker’s guild?”

“Alright! Alright!” Govert snapped. “T-twenty thousand. That’s less than a third of my original asking price.”

“Hmmmm,” Alex did a few swift calculations in his head. At his current rate of pay at Shale’s, he’d pay that sum off in a few years. Less if he threw some of his savings into it.

Of course, if his plan worked out, he’d have the whole thing paid off in little over a couple of months.

“Twenty thousand seems fair,” Alex said, sliding the contract over to Govert. He snapped his fingers and a Wizard’s Hand swooped in, floating at eye level with the businessman. “Shall we sign?”

Govert’s jaw trembled. “What about twenty-five⁠—”

“How about the guild?”

“Damn you!” he snapped, snatching the pen from the spell’s grip and hastily scrawling both the price and his name. “You’re a damned devil, you are, and I hope this place ruins you!”

“A devil would’ve gotten a lot more out of you than this, trust me,” Alex said as another Wizard’s Hand snatched the contract and brought it to him. “In a way, this is a mercy. Just look at it that way. It’ll make you feel better.”

He grinned as Govert uttered some vile curse words. “You’d better hope this boss of yours gives me the coin tomorrow or I swear I’ll⁠—”

“You’ll what?” Alex asked lightly, rising from his chair. “Just to warn you, my golem doesn’t take too kindly to threats on my person. I don’t know if you want to go all ‘criminal’ on me, but unless you’re hiring a dragon to come break my legs, I don’t think you want to go down that road.”

“Agh!” the businessman sputtered, storming out of the building as Alex’s radiant smile followed him out the door.

“Well, that went better than I thought it would,” he said, listening as cursing faded down the road. He turned to Troy and Claygon. One of them was openly gaping. “Troy! My friend, you need a job?”

“Eh, oh uh…” the baker stammered. “What? What just happened?”

“I just bought this business.” Alex smiled. “Which means I need at least one staff member. How much did that goon pay you?”

“Oh er… six silvers a shift,” Troy said reluctantly.

“Let’s start you off at eight, then, and go up from there.”

“What? Eight—this isn’t a joke, is it?” The baker’s assistant’s eyes were wide. “Maybe I did eat some bad mushrooms.”

“No, my friend, no bad mushrooms.” Alex reached into his pocket, drawing out eight silver coins, and pressed them into a stunned Troy’s hand. “As a matter of fact, I want every ‘bad mushroom’ gone from here. Close up the shop and get rid of all of those rotten ingredients.”

“I…” Troy looked to be on the verge of tears, staring down at the coins. “Are… are you going to reopen this place? Make it good again?”

“Absolutely, once it’s been purged of Govert’s neglect. And I’ll need someone with experience to help bring it back from the brink. Would you be with me on that?”

“Hells yes!” Troy cried. “I’ll start throwing out all the old crap right now!”

With a laugh, the baker’s assistant hung up the closed sign in the front window and rushed to the back, humming happily while he emptied the larder of all signs of rotten food.

Alex smiled broadly. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

‘Father…’ Claygon asked. ‘I… didn’t attack that man. Is that… good?’

“Yes it is, Claygon,” the young wizard said. “And I’m proud of you. You’re learning! Speaking of which, we should have that conversation now. There’s a lot I need to teach you, but we’ll start with the basics.”

‘Can… we do that near the aeld tree?’ Claygon asked. ‘…I miss it.’

“Awww, of course, Claygon, of course,” Alex said. “Classes are done! We can nip back to Thameland for our talk. Hells, maybe we could dance while we’re there. I’d like to see how much of our lessons you remember.”

Chapter 24

A Beautiful Gift

It was a beautiful day in Greymoor. A lovely winter’s morning where it felt like all the world was at peace, almost as if the rivers of blood spilled on the Research Castle grounds in recent days had never been. The wind was uncharacteristically warm, the sky uncharacteristically clear. Perfect dancing weather, to Alex’s mind.

And he and Claygon took full advantage of it.

“Good!” Alex complimented the golem as both fell into the third stance of the Spear-and-Oar Dance, acting as ‘mirrors’ for each other. The young wizard held a stout broom handle in the fifth guard, while Claygon mimicked him with his war-spear. “Very good! Next one!”

Both golem and wizard shifted into third position together, their feet crunching snow as they fell into the first stance, raising their hafts into second guard.

“Yes!” Alex said, more than pleased. “Your form’s perfect, and your movements are so much smoother!”

‘Thank you… Father,’ Claygon answered in his mind. ‘And… thank you… friend.’

As the golem thanked their nearby spectator, there was a flare of green-golden light across the snow, and with it came a warm embrace of emotion. The aeld tree watched Alex and Claygon from a few feet away, captivated by their performance. Expedition members shot curious glances their way as they passed through the courtyard, but tasks were waiting—plenty of repairs on the castle and tunnels had to be done—so none could spare the time to linger and watch.

Which suited Alex just fine.

The conversation taking place between him and Claygon as they danced was intimate, not meant for every passing ear. Even if their thoughts were often exchanged through their special link, sometimes Alex spoke aloud.

‘—but, yes, as I was saying,’ he thought, falling into the fourth stance. ‘People aren’t super literal about their words. Sometimes they are, but often they’re not, and the more someone gets to know someone else, the less literal their words tend to be.’

His broom handle and Claygon’s war-spear flourished, spinning in their hands as they weaved a graceful pattern through the air. The golem spun his weapon in slower arcs than Alex’s haft, but his movements had progressed in speed and ease since they’d begun earlier.

He was learning quickly.

Very quickly.

Alex only hoped that he’d learn the growing list of social subtleties he was trying to teach him just as fast. It’d make things easier on both of them.

‘For example, remember when I said to Isolde and Thundar that I’d kill them for abandoning me over the holidays?’ He was referencing a conversation from yesterday at the docks in Generasi. ‘I didn’t really mean that I would kill them. What kind of monster would that make me? They were going home because they nearly died in the last fight and—not surprisingly—that made them want to see their families.’

‘They felt… like they wanted to see… their fathers and mothers… just in case… they died… soon?’ Claygon asked, switching his grip on his war-spear from his upper arms to his lower ones.

Alex startled at the movement. He’d never taught him how to do that. ‘That’s it, buddy, you got it. If you haven’t noticed, we all live pretty dangerous lives, don’t we? And people we know have died. When you think about that, it makes you want to… say things to people you might not get the chance to ever say if you wait too long.’

‘Say… things…’ Claygon paused. ‘Then when you say… you kill them… that was… not true.’

‘Right.’

‘It was… humour?’

‘Right, very good!’

‘You… said you didn’t want them to go… but in a funny way. Not literal.’

‘You’re getting it!’ Alex thought, jumping and spinning in the air, softly landing in second stance.

Claygon paused for a moment, then tried to mimic the move.

His powerful legs catapulted him through the air, his massive bulk soaring more than a dozen feet… before he completely lost balance. With arms flailing, the golem slammed into the snow, kicking clouds of white into the morning air.

“Claygon!” Alex shouted, running over, feeling waves of concern coming off the aeld. “Are you okay?”

‘I’m… unharmed,’ the golem said, pushing himself to his feet with ease. ‘Not… good at that… yet.’

“You’ll learn,” Alex said, patting one of Claygon’s lower arms. “You’ll definitely learn. You just need to be patient.”

‘Patient…’ the golem thought, turning to face his creator. ‘Patience… waiting… Father, can I ask a question?’

‘Yeah, any time, Claygon,’ Alex thought.

‘You were impatient earlier, Father…’ Claygon said, setting the butt of his spear down in the snow. ‘You know… Thundar… Isolde… they will come back. You said… you would kill them for leaving. Humour… it is humour… but it is strong words.’

‘Right,’ Alex said.

‘Drastic words… How come you can’t wait for them to come back? Patiently?’ Claygon asked. ‘Waiting… is easy. You stand in stillness and you… let things happen.’

‘Oh, well… it’s different for us people of flesh and blood,’ Alex answered. ‘We need to eat and sleep… and I think your attention span is probably loads better than almost any mortal’s. And you can also achieve a stillness that no mortal can.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Even if I stood as still as you, I’d still fidget, and even if I managed not to, my muscles would eventually cramp up and I’d have to move. Even if I kept them still with blood magic, I couldn’t stop my heart from beating, or my lungs from breathing. If I did, I’d… y’know, die for real.’

‘Right…’ Claygon thought. ‘So… waiting is harder for you.’

‘It is, yes, but also I really like Thundar and Isolde, so I’d miss them,’ Alex said through their link. ‘Sort of like how you wanted to see the aeld tree. Since we’re good friends, I made that joke. It’s funny, only because they know I’d never actually hurt them. It’s… humour’s a bit hard to explain, but that’s why we had a laugh between us.’

‘Yes… laughter…’ Claygon thought. ‘But for people you don’t know… Father, do they not mean you harm when they say… harmful words?’

‘That’s a bit harder to predict,’ Alex thought. ‘You need a lot of context clues to really know for sure. For example, if we walked out into the snow right now and ran into a bunch of leering, muscly men with big axes demanding money or my life, it’s a good assumption they mean to gut me and leave me in the snow.’

‘But if they are in the city…’ Claygon thought. ‘They will not… hurt you?’

‘Well, probably not,’ Alex said. ‘Best in that case to just watch me handle it, then you’ll learn a bit more about how to predict these things.’

‘…But I must protect.’ The golem gripped his war-spear.

‘And I don’t always need protecting,’ Alex thought. ‘Besides, you’re a thinking being now, buddy. You need to learn more about yourself. You might’ve been built to protect and fight, but you can re-define your purpose if you wish.’

‘I like… protecting,’ Claygon thought. ‘Like… smashing.’

Alex sighed. Of course, he would. After all the fights they’d been in, Claygon would have either come to love or hate fighting, and the young wizard wasn’t sure whether he was disturbed or relieved that it was the former.

He shrugged. It was just the way things were, he supposed.

‘Is it… alright… for me to like… other things?’ Claygon asked, cutting off Alex’s train of thought.

The young wizard looked up at him closely. This could be a critical moment in his golem’s growth. His facial expression was fixed, his countenance didn’t vary, so there were no cues to read, but Alex could feel waves of anxiety, nerves, and hope coming from him.

If he were to say the wrong thing, he could crush him.

But if he gave him no direction at all, then only the gods knew where that might lead. What if Claygon decided he liked skinning people alive? Alex shuddered.

Claygon needed careful guidance, and Alex needed help—he called on the Mark, focusing it on the task of giving guidance. Images from past conversations with Claygon returned, along with some of his quieter talks with Selina as she tried to understand the world, her life, and the future.

The images helped to guide his words:

‘It’s alright, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘You’re a thinking being and you can decide to get into whatever you want. Do you remember how you react when anyone tries to hurt me?’

‘Yes…’

‘Then think of it like this. If you define and shape your life on hurting other people, then that will make people want to hurt you, me, and Selina. I don’t like hurting people—but I’d bloody well do it in response to them hurting us. I don’t know if that’ll turn out to be the same for you, but I do know that by not being a shit to folk most of the time, people are more willing to help me.’

‘Yes…’ Claygon thought. ‘But… the monsters we fight… they hurt… and so we want to kill them.’

‘Perfectly said!’

‘Mmmm… Like smashing… but… don’t like fighting everyone…’ Claygon paused. ‘But… I was thinking… something other than fighting or smashing.’

“Oh?” Alex cocked his head, answering out loud. “Such as?”

‘Father… can I ask you for something? Ask you for help?’

The young wizard’s breath caught.

‘That’s the first time you’ve ever asked me for a favour. You’re getting more of your own ideas,’ Alex thought, smiling. ‘I’m proud of you. So, what is it? Depending on what it is, I’ll try to make it happen for you.’

‘Father. You are going to make me something to speak… with. Some way for me to talk out loud?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Beside them, Alex could feel the aeld’s attention focusing on the two of them.

‘And I’d… like it to sound like something,’ Claygon said.

‘Like what?’

‘The golem… the little one in the office of… of Toraka Shale…’ he said slowly, with nervous hesitation drifting through his and Alex’s link. ‘It made… music. Pretty music. I liked it.’

‘Yeah, it’s a wonderful device,’ Alex agreed. ‘Do you want me to make you something like that?’

‘No… yes…’ The golem pointed at his ‘mouth.’ ‘The speakerbox… that will let me talk… can you make it so it will make sounds like that too?’

Alex smiled warmly. ‘Of course, Claygon. I’ll have it make sounds like that and any other sounds you want it to. If Shale lets me take a look at it, I should be able to base your speakerbox on that design.’

‘Is that… troublesome, Father?’

“Not at all,” Alex said, more than pleased. “As a matter of fact, I’m just happy for you. Though I’m curious, why do you want to make sounds like that? Music and such?”

‘I… I’d like to, Father. I like those sounds… and I’d like to make those sounds myself. And…’ He looked at the aeld tree. ‘And I’d like to make… music for the… my friend. The tree… likes music. Remembers… someone singing to it.’

“Ah, that would’ve been Professor Salinger,” Alex said. “Well, then I have two reasons to roll up my sleeves and get that work done! I’ll have it whipped up for you as fast as I can, Claygon.” He smiled at the aeld tree. “And then you can sing to our friend as much as you like.”

‘Thank you… Father. I feel… warm,’ Claygon said.

“Oh, I’m happy to do it,” Alex said. “I⁠—”

He paused as a wave of warm emotions embraced him.

And they weren’t coming from Claygon.

The young wizard turned to the tree in time to see its light flare like the sun. Green-golden radiance blazed so brightly, he had to squeeze his eyes shut. Along with the brilliant light came feelings of warmth, joy, and something more.

A deeper affection that Alex couldn’t put into words.

Cries rose from expedition members in the courtyard as the aeld tree’s warmth became a stifling, encompassing heat. And then, it was done. The light faded to a gentle glow, and the heat decreased until it was no more than a pleasant, comforting warmth.

‘Father… what is that in front… of you?’ Claygon asked.

Alex opened his eyes, blinking away white spots, his pupils slowly readjusting to the light. Shock held him in place.

There, rising from the snow before him, a thick branch, complete with green leaves shining like emeralds. The air was suddenly awash with the scent of spring and summer entwined, and an aura of power sparked from it.

On his finger, the ring gifted to him by Elder Blodeuwedd tingled as aeld magic reacted to aeld magic, and Alex forced his eyes away from the branch to give his full attention to the young tree.

It looked as healthy and as beautiful as ever, but with a slight change to its shape. A branch was absent from its trunk. It hadn’t been cut away in a violent act with a hatchet or saw, for where the branch once was, there was now a smooth stump of healthy, perfect bark, as though it had always been that way.

Alex was overcome, nearly falling to his knees in gratitude, and he simply bowed his head. “Thank you,” he cried emphatically. “Thank you!”

‘Warm…’ Claygon murmured in his mind, looking at the branch rising from the snow.

The aeld tree had granted him a part of itself.

He now had the first thing he needed to make his staff.

And it was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

Chapter 25

The Death of Winter Break

It was perfect.

Power bled from it in waves touched by a hint of the aeld’s natural warmth. A mound of snow nestled beneath the branch melted away from its touch, and its golden-green light sparkled in the melting rivulets.

“Oh, by the Traveller.” Alex reached toward the gift, and pure magic tingled across his fingers. Pure magic mixed with… something he couldn’t immediately name.

The instant his fingers wrapped around the branch, it came to him. Warm feelings caressed him through its touch, and there was a spark of the aeld tree’s consciousness.

His eyebrows rose. “You didn’t just detach a piece of your body from your trunk. You cleaved away a piece of your being.”

Warm affirmation tingled in his palm.

“I’ll be damned…” Alex turned the branch over in his hands, examining its smooth bark, marvelling at its balance. “Well, I’ll be gentle when I make my staff. And… oh boy, you’re going to make a good one. You have your own power, and I can just imagine the mana conductivity you’ll have.”

He looked up at the aeld tree, excited. “Listen, as soon as it gets warm, I’ll get you a queen of hornets and a queen of honeybees. You’ll have them to bond with and protect yourself with in the future. I want to do that for you.”

‘I… and I will sing to you,’ Claygon said, stepping forward and running his stone hand along the aeld’s trunk. ‘As soon as I can… I will.’

Waves of gratitude emanated from the tree, seeping into Alex’s core through his grip on the branch.

“This is incredible,” he murmured.

“I agree,” a deep voice rumbled behind him.

“Gah!” The young wizard jumped, whirling around, and finding a familiar horned figure looming over him. “Baelin! You scared me!”

“And you have only yourself to blame for that,” the chancellor chided. “After all, you have enough gifts to feel my power before I even arrive. If you did not sense the teleportation magic, then you simply are not paying enough attention.”

“But, I—” He pointed to the tree. “Aeld!”

“Indeed, but a Proper Wizard practices constant vigilance… Mmm, perhaps not constant, but they must remain aware of their surroundings to at least a higher degree. Though, I must admit I can see why you would be a tad… distracted.” He eyed the aeld branch. “Fascinating. Such a thing opens wonderful possibilities for you. And with very good timing too.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “The aeld tree seemed very happy when I offered to make Clay… go… wait. You said the timing’s good? What do you mean?”

“I’ve had contact with a mutual… acquaintance, shall we say,” the chancellor said pointedly.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Alex frowned, cocking his head to the side.

“One you came into conflict with and who also makes you rather uncomfortable,” Baelin smiled. “Since you lack the necessary wisdom and courage to find pleasure in life’s more exotic charms. For now.”

“Oh! Oh, by the Traveller!” Alex gagged, remembering the towering, demonic Zonon-In. “Ugh, no need to elaborate! I remember! I… wait, she contacted you? Already?”

“Indeed.” The ancient wizard rose up to his full height. “We are to complete our first… request from our acquaintance in a month.”

“In a month?” Alex gawked. “So soon?”

“So soon.” Baelin looked at the branch critically. “That is why I was looking for you, to share that information and give you the beginnings of a briefing so you would be ready when the time comes. If I were you, I’d start crafting that staff of yours. And do so quickly.”

“Yeah…” Alex said, his mind whirling. “Yeeeeaah.”

“In otherworldly planes, there are times when our notions of material physics and geometry must be completely thrown away.” Baelin gestured to an illusion. “That especially applies to the demonically ruled hells, which are aligned with the cosmic force of chaos.”

As he lectured, the illusionary image whirled and shimmered above him, displaying an otherworldly hellscape. Stones the size of cities floated in a void of flame and scintillating colour, each covered with their own peculiar flora and twisted forms of demonic life. At times, arcs of red lightning shot between the stones, indiscriminately striking plants and demons, exploding anything it struck.

Baelin’s small audience glanced at each other.

And it was very small, indeed.

In the vast hall of trophies that served as the classroom for the Art of the Wizard in Combat, only Alex, Khalik, Claygon, Theresa, and—by Baelin’s firm insistence—Selina, were present.

The others who would be accompanying them on their special journey—the Heroes, remaining cabal members, and Grimloch—were away, either engaged in battle, or seeing family. In the sharkman’s case, Alex had the feeling that both options might be one and the same.

In time, upon returning from their commitments, the others would be given the same briefing, leaving the few present to be the first to begin their preparations for the upcoming trial. And have a longer time to dread it.

Grimacing, Prince Khalik raised his hand.

“Yes, do you have a question, young Khalik?” Baelin asked.

“I do,” the young man said as he fed Najyah a small morsel of beef while she perched on his desk. “Does this… chaotic force affect our mana and magic?”

“It can.” Baelin turned to the illusion, focusing the image on a space between the titanic floating stones. A flock of lean demons were dancing through the storm, their vulture-like beaks silently cackling among the crimson lightning. Their limbs flailed in a ruinous mockery of grace, their tails lashing and their wings whipping wildly about their shoulders. “For example, do you see anything strange happening in this scene?”

Baelin’s students leaned forward in their chairs, each studying the demons’ capering, looking for some missing detail.

It was Khalik who gave the first cry of realisation. “Their wings do not move at all as they should. They should not be staying airborne.”

“Very good, Khalik.” Baelin pointed to the flailing wings. “In the material world, if their wings moved in such an erratic manner, they would plummet to the ground in a pile of broken bones and shattered flesh. However, in this domain of the hells, the rules of lift do not apply in the same way that they do here. Neither do the rules of gravity. Demons can take advantage of this, but for those from the material world who use wings⁠—”

He looked at Najyah.

“—or flight magic⁠—”

He looked at Alex.

“—to soar into the air, they will experience a complete loss of control over their flight paths as the physical rules of our reality cease to apply. A flight spell will become completely chaotic, and wing beats can cause one to move in any random direction as gravity changes around them.”

“Huh…” Alex said, pointing to a floating stone. “It looks like gravity applies to each of those giant rocks, though, right? I’m noticing demons walking around on them just fine without falling off.” He squinted. “Even when they’re walking on the sides or bottom.”

“Another good observation,” Baelin said. “Indeed, if you do stay low in altitude while flying around one of these floating stones, you will be fine as long as you remember that gravity will always pull toward the centre of the stone, no matter how or when it turns. ‘Up’ and ‘down’ do not exist as general concepts in this domain.”

He ran his finger through a stone’s image. “It only applies to each of these stones individually. When you are standing on, or flying near one? ‘Up’ is away from the stone. ‘Down’ is toward it. It is as simple as that… on the surface. That’s but one example where the laws of magic, physics, and reality can become very different in other planes. Which leads us to the main thrust of what we will be doing.”

The image shifted with most of the floating stones melting away, leaving but one.

It was far larger than the others and looked as though some impossibly titanic crafter had carved it to form the rough shape of a demon’s skull. From the top of the skull, a massive fortress of black stone rose, easily as large as the entire university campus. From a large number of the fortresses’ windows bled a hideous mix of boiling blood and glowing lava, running down its sides then disappearing somewhere deep within the skull-like stone below.

Alex grimaced. “Well, that looks like a charming place.”

“Good place for a date,” Theresa agreed sarcastically.

“I would love to build a summer home there,” Prince Khalik added with a wry smile. “Imagine the view! And, ugh, the smell must be something.”

‘Dangerous place…’ Claygon thought. ‘Lots of… monsters.’

“This is the Hold of Ikarrash.” The ancient wizard peered at the stronghold. “And it is the headquarters of one of Ezaliel’s more powerful lieutenants. A greater demon by the name of—well, of Ikarrash. Thanks to some information I received, I have the layout of this stronghold and—together—we will be slaying him and destroying the place entirely.”

Baelin grinned viciously. “Fun, hm?”

“Yeah…” Alex said. “Fun.”

“Oh, spare me your sarcasm; you will gain much from this experience!” The ancient wizard laughed. “And while I deal with Ikarrash himself, you will be infiltrating his fortress from below and eliminating his three sons! They are powerful demonic princelings who would naturally assume control if left to their own devices.”

Khalik cracked his knuckles. “This sounds… potentially like suicide.”

“Oh, bah!” Baelin waved a hand dismissively. “You will have my spell-marks to protect you, not to mention being accompanied by the Heroes of Thameland. I would still worry, of course, but this is by no means a suicide mission. A Proper Wizard does not engage in such activities unless under the greatest of duress. In truth, I think with Claygon and the Heroes supporting you, you will have more than enough power to slay your targets. The question is, can you handle the strange hazards the realm itself presents? That will be your first task.”

The chancellor snapped his fingers, producing a flare of teleportation magic. From thin air, a stack of floating tomes appeared, each larger than a dinner platter.

“You will be using these texts on demonology to research the realm,” Baelin said. “Note that I have told you the name of the fortress we shall assault, but not the name of the hellish domain it is found on. A Proper Wizard should know how to research any otherworldly plane of existence they seek to enter, and how to prepare accordingly for the specific risks that venturing to such a domain will bring. I could tell you all the risks involved in this journey, but that would engender helplessness and bad habits. Still, these are the hells we are speaking of.”

He waved the books over to the small group. “Therefore, I shall not leave you completely without guidance. I have already gathered the appropriate books in which you can search. But, for the next domain we visit, you will be expected to source all books yourselves. Any questions?”

Theresa raised her hand. “How many demons are there in that castle?”

“Tens of thousands,” Baelin said calmly. “Perhaps more. It will be in your best interest to use the terrain to take away your enemy’s advantage in numbers.”

Theresa whistled. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

Khalik raised his hand. “What of earth magic? Will it work on those stones? Or is that magic also twisted by the domain?”

“You will have to research that yourselves, I’m afraid,” the ancient wizard said. “Any more questions?”

Selina slowly raised her hand.

The others looked at her, and Baelin paused in surprise.

“Yes, Selina?” he asked, his tone gentle.

“Why are the three sons away from their father?” she asked slowly. “Wouldn’t they be together?”

Baelin smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Out of the mouths of babes. Indeed, an excellent observation, Selina. And the answer is that members of this demonic family do not get along so well, according to my intelligence. Father will not come to aid his sons if they are too weak to survive an enemy on their own power, and sons will not aid father since they serve him out of fear.”

Alex frowned, raising his hands. “Then how about the sons? Do they work well together?”

Baelin smiled wickedly, pointing to the floating stacks of books. “Read and find out, my young friends. Read and find out.”

Khalik sighed mournfully. “And so dies our winter break.”

Chapter 26

A Favour and a Plan

“Hey, Khalik, I need your help,” Alex said, dragging his nose out of the immense tome of demonology.

The prince held up a finger as he jotted down a note, frowning at a passage. “Hmmm, I would have thought the air in the Domain of Cawarthin would have had a more acidic tinge to it… but it is the opposite. More slimy and basic, it seems. You will need to brew us some potions of resistance.”

“Yeah, got it,” Alex said, glancing at a Wizard’s Hand as it added another entry to the growing list of preparations he had laid out nearby.

“So, yes.” The prince looked up from his book. “What do you need help with, my friend?”

Alex sighed, flipping the list of preparations over to the other side. There, he’d recorded a list of ingredients he’d need to craft his staff. In the centre of the list was one single item written in large letters and circled thrice:

Dungeon core essence.

“I need you to help me raid a dungeon,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I know the timing’s pretty shit, what with Grimloch, Isolde, and Thundar away right now, but I need to complete the staff before we head down to Cawarthin. I’ve been going over things in my head, and I’m a little nervous about using my potion-mist.”

“Oh? Aaaaah.” Khalik nodded. “The density of the air is different, the winds can be high, and the gravity is variant.”

“Exactly!” Alex raked his fingers through his madly itching beard. He had the urge to just shave the thing off. “It’s not going to be a good look on any of us if I toss a sleeping potion at a squad of demons just to have it blow back in our faces, sink to everyone’s ankles, or float into the sky. Hells, there’s a chance that there might be some unknown alchemical reaction with the bloody air, so I’d rather not find that out by blowing us up.”

“Mhm, so you need an alternate way to fight,” Khalik noted, fingers running through his own well-groomed beard.

Alex glared at it jealously. “How come his beard never itches?”

“…Alex, you said that out loud.”

“What? I did?” His face flushed. “Well, uh… well, it still stands: how come it doesn’t itch?”

“It itches less as you grow it,” Khalik said. “You simply need determination.”

“Mine just seems to be itching more!” Alex scratched at his beard frantically, barely resisting the urge to hack it off right then and there and covering Khalik’s spotless floor with scraggly chestnut beard-whiskers. “I think I’m going to go mad!”

“Have you been caring for it?” Khalik asked.

“Caring for it?”

“Yes, with proper soaps? Beard oils?” The prince squinted at Alex’s beard.

“What in all the endless hells is a beard oil?” Alex asked.

Khalik winced, looking at his friend’s beard as though it were a poor, starving animal. “Worry not, my hairy friend, I will see that your father takes care of you.”

“Why are you treating my beard like it’s an abused dog?”

“Because it is,” the prince said grimly. “But we are losing sight of the point: you need another way to fight and protect yourself. You’ve been planning to make this staff for a while, but now you need it sooner than you thought you would.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Alex groaned, jerking his thumb at his own apartment through Khalik’s window behind him. On the balcony, Selina was teaching Claygon how to write faster while feeding the treacherous and spoiled Najyah morsels of fish.

Leaning against the wall nearby—still glowing with green-golden light and thick with emerald leaves—was the aeld tree branch, drinking in the sunlight, emitting feelings of contented curiosity that Alex could feel all the way across the courtyard.

He waggled his thumb toward it. “So now I need my staff, and I’ve got my first ingredient—and don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining—I just thought I’d have months to get the rest of what’s needed to craft the thing. Instead of, you know, days.”

“Hmmmm, hence the poor timing, when our forces are diminished.” The prince nodded sagely. “It is… troubling. Raiding a dungeon with just myself, you, Theresa, and Claygon will be of some risk.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alex grunted. “And trust me, I feel bloody terrible asking you this, but the proverbial crossbow’s at my temple, and fate’s itching to pull the trigger. I’d hate for us to get down there and then have it turn out that I’m completely useless.”

“True, we shall need all of our power to overcome the demonic foes that await us. But to raid a dungeon with so few, considering the deadliness of the Ravener’s last attack, and how it flooded the dungeon cores with enough power to give Baelin pause…” Khalik teetered his hand back and forth. “We may not stand a chance. Then again, we might. Have you thought of asking Baelin to fetch a dungeon core for you?”

“Yeah,” Alex admitted. “But I tossed that idea aside like old cheese because—to be honest—I think he’d say no. You heard what he said about the raid on Cawarthin. We have to research the domain ourselves. You know how big he is on making us independent. I don’t see him just fetching a core for me.”

“Fair, but it costs you nothing to ask,” Khalik pointed out.

The Thameish wizard sighed. “I know… but—and before you say anything, I know this might sound completely mad—but I’d… I’d like for us to do it on our own. I have a plan, and if it works out, I’ll be regularly raiding dungeons to harvest cores. And the faster I start doing it, the better my plan works. It won’t be long before folk on the expedition get comfortable enough to start going after them to sell for profit. Right now, I’ve got an advantage, but it won’t last forever.”

“Mmmm, I see.” Khalik glanced at the aeld branch across the courtyard. “You’re saying if you cling to the hem of Baelin’s robe now, then you’d need to rely on him every time you went to claim a dungeon core. And that could get… complicated. And it would also make you complacent.”

“Yeah,” Alex sighed. “And I know, I know this sounds awfully bloody selfish, but I’ll use every bit of power my staff will have—and if I have any say in the matter, it’ll have loads—to help us in the hells, and for anything any of us might need, Khalik.”

“Mhmmm,” the prince said thoughtfully. “I understand. It is a risk… but if the plan is sound, then I will help you.”

“Great, thanks, man!” Alex reached over, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

“I will not have time to regret it if things turn deadly.” Khalik ran a finger through his beard. “I will not dwell on the negative.” He grinned. “Besides, what would be the point of wizardry if we did not use our powers for grand, foolish adventures!”

Alex laughed. “Professor Jules would wither if she heard you say that!”

“Then it is good she is not here to hear it.” Khalik’s grin widened for a moment before falling away. A deep frown took his face. “However… I do believe there would be sense in bringing someone else into our fold for this quest. After all, we are only four: Theresa, yourself, me, Claygon… ah, six if I count Brutus and Najyah. Is there anyone you trust? What of Tyris?”

“I think she’s away for the holidays,” Alex said. “Besides, she’s… well, she’s monstrously powerful herself and Vesuvius is a titan. I can’t really bring her along without expecting her to ask for a cut of the core remains. And between you, me, and Theresa… that’s already quite the split.”

“Oh?” The prince raised an eyebrow. “You were going to give me some of the dungeon core remains?”

Alex shrugged. “It’s only fair, right? I’m not going to ask you to risk your life for nothing, Khalik. You should profit too.”

Khalik sat back, contemplating. “Hmmmmm, interesting… I have little use for dungeon core remains. I have not studied alchemy. But if you could use your talents to craft me armour infused with earth magic, then I would be most pleased.”

“Consider it done,” Alex said. “But yeah, you see the point, right? Here, look⁠—”

He pulled out one of his notebooks from his satchel and flipped to two bookmarked pages. “Take a look at this.” Turning the book to face the prince, he pointed to a pair of diagrams on either page. “I’ve got the schematics worked out for my staff and the other project I’ll need the essence for, and—with my portion—it’ll be barely enough to do both. If we make it a four-way split, then I’m going to be in trouble.”

“Mmmmmm.” Khalik squinted at the diagrams. “I see. In my eyes, a four-way split is worth it to give ourselves a greater chance to live. Though there might be another way. Perhaps we could hire someone we trust, someone who would work for a flat fee. Your new job allows you to dole out quite a reward, and I would be willing to contribute to the reward to get a proper mercenary.”

“Hmmm, now there’s a thought.” Alex tapped his chin through his beard. “You know what, we have loads of mercenaries, monster hunters, and members of the Delvers’ Guild on the expedition. Maybe I could—Oh bloody hell, I must be going senile! Ripp!”

“Hm? Oh, yes!” Khalik’s eyes brightened. “The swiftling monster hunter! I have spoken with him a few times. If he is willing to work for coin instead of dungeon core essence, then he would be perfect. Supernaturally quick, skilled in battle, and strong of nerve.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex nodded, liking the idea more and more. “Baelin did say I might need to hire some folk to help with one of our upcoming quests. This’d be a good chance to work with Ripp and see what he’s made of. Great idea, Khalik!”

“Thanks, now and then I have those.” The prince chuckled. “Now, as for obtaining the core itself, I think it would be folly for us to try to overpower the dungeon and all of its Ravener-spawn in a direct assault. Even with Ripp, we will be only five… seven if you count Brutus and Najyah.”

“Right, you’ll get no argument from me there,” Alex agreed. “I’m going to head to the Research Castle later on to find out if we have any information on new dungeons. If we do, then I’ll sort through the ones the expedition hasn’t already claimed for a future raid and pick one that might be a bit easier for us to take. Like a chitterer dungeon or something. There’s no way we’re raiding a dungeon full of Skinned Ones without an army or a Baelin.”

“Of course, I might value courage, but I do not value throwing my life away for no reason,” Khalik grunted, his eyes lost in thought. Suddenly, they brightened. “Say… a thought occurs to me. Alex, this is a good time to tell you: I’ve reached third-tier spells.”

“Really? Oh, that’s brilliant!” the Thameish wizard cried. “Absolutely brilliant. I’m happy for you!”

“Indeed, I am happy for myself. I wanted to save it for a surprise for next semester, but… this feels a little more important than showing off. The nice thing is that I learned the Stone Shape spell recently, and with it, I think I might have a plan that will let us harvest our dungeon core, barely risk ourselves, and allow us to be back in Generasi in time for a fine supper. Interested?”

“No, of course I’m not,” Alex said sarcastically. “Why would I have any interest in plans that’ll keep us alive! Sounds a bit boring, to be honest—Of course I’m interested! What is it?”

The prince took a deep breath, laying out his tactics with all the poise and grace of a young man trained in statecraft since he learned to speak. He explained his ideas with confidence, pausing occasionally to consider the finer points of the strategy before continuing.

By the time he was finished, Alex was leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “That’s a damned good plan.” He gave an evil laugh. “Oh, and by the Traveller, if I was a dungeon core and someone pulled that on me, I’d be livid!”

“We will not give it time to be livid,” Khalik said, his tone satisfied and dark. “So, if you are alright with it, let us go explain the idea to Theresa and Claygon. After that, when would you like to start?”

“Honestly?” Alex shut one of his books. “If you’re free tomorrow, then the quicker I get this dungeon core essence, the quicker I’ll be able to put the staff together.”

“Then, tomorrow it is!” Khalik exclaimed. “I would offer you a drink in preparation, but I have a strong feeling we will need all of our wits about us.”

Chapter 27

Dark Roads to Darkest Dungeons

The fae roads weren’t what Alex had imagined, not what he’d imagined at all.

On Baelin’s map of Thameland, they’d appeared as glowing golden lines, shedding sparkling light like sunbeams snaking above fields, forests, and hills. It was a captivating image, and—when Alex’s little group had stepped into a fae gate minutes before—he had thought they’d emerge on a path of glowing gold that would lead them through summer forests teeming with pixies and asrai.

They did get a forest, alright.

A forest straight out of a nightmare.

“Charming place.” Khalik eyed the dark trees surrounding them, pulling his cloak tighter about his shoulders. “And cold too.”

The trees were black-barked, twisted and shifting. They turned in their roots, watching the mortals walk the black paths through their woods. Strange cries erupted in the distance, overlaid with what sounded like great claws scraping across stone.

Above the forest floor a low mist hovered, emitting a strange rusty scent, seeming to avoid contact with the path itself. Alex scanned the mist, but for all his searching, he found no sign of⁠—

“I haven’t seen a living thing since we got here,” Theresa muttered, her sharp eyes searching the canopy. “No birds, no squirrels… not even an insect. And I’ve never heard any animal make sounds like whatever’s in those woods.” She cocked her ear toward the eerie sounds rising from the forest.

“I’ve never heard the like either,” Ripp said, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. His large eyes narrowed as his long, pointed ears twitched on either side of his head. “And I’ve been in my fair share of forests; magical and otherwise.” He glanced at Alex and Khalik. “You two got the other half of my pay on you somewhere?”

“I would not tell you that either way.” Khalik thumbed his shortsword’s pommel. “You will get the rest of your pay if we all return alive. I have no interest in giving you any ideas about hiding when danger comes, then picking the coin from our dead bodies.”

Ripp’s sharp features twisted at the insult. “You wound me, sir. I’m a damned professional, not a common bandit⁠—”

A scream tore from the tree line, sending the companions scrambling for weapons, chanting spells, or both. They were tense, ready for whatever horrible fae-beast waited to charge them.

They waited. And waited some more.

Nothing emerged. The cries ceased.

“Wait…” Theresa frowned, listening intently. “Is that chewing?”

Brutus whined, rubbing a head against Theresa’s side. Najyah ruffled her feathers, cringing into Khalik’s shoulder. Claygon wordlessly hefted his war-spear, pointing it at the tree line, ready to strike.

“Yeah, that’s chewing, alright.” Ripp grimaced. “Maybe we should, ah, pick up the pace a little.”

“No argument from me.” Alex glanced at a small map he’d copied from the Research Castle’s map room. “The good news is that we’ll reach the crossroads soon. And remember, we’re supposed to be safe on the roads, according to the Heroes’ bargain with Lord Aenflynn.”

“Why did you add ‘supposed to be’?” Khalik asked.

Alex gave him a look. “You know why.”

“Fair enough, then let us move quickly,” the prince said. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but the sooner we reach that dungeon, the safer I will feel.”

With every eye keeping constant watch on the dark woods, the group doubled their pace, marching with purpose along the black road under air thick with tension. As they moved, new and stranger sounds emerged.

Branches snapped, voices whispered in the breeze and—for a moment—Alex thought he heard heavy footsteps echoing through the mists.

His skin crawled with the sensation of being watched, but he saw no one. Feeling like they’d spent hours in the fae lands, they finally reached the crossroads. The mist thickened around them, growing so opaque that every tree nearby vanished from sight.

At the intersection where paths met, the world became a wall of thick mist, leaving the forest completely obscured. The strange cries faded away, yet the scent of rust grew stronger.

“Where do we go from here?” Khalik asked.

“Well, that’s the tricky thing.” Alex looked up at a stone menhir where the monument rose from the centre of the crossroads. “I know where the map says we should go but, uh…”

He gestured to the menhir.

It was twice as tall as Claygon, and its deep grey surface shimmered like water. Etched into its face were markings that twisted and wove through each other in patterns that confused the eye and spirit. It was as though any signs carved in the stone were purposely trying to hide from prying eyes.

“You know, I think—” Alex started.

“Welcome, mortals,” a voice boomed from the menhir, sounding like boulders grinding together. “You who are included in Lord Aenflynn’s covenant and who have stayed on the path to reach here may pass in safety. May you find safety on our roads. And may you be proper guests in our realm.”

Those last words were tinged with a warning, echoing through the mist as a peculiar bubbling and cracking noise issued from the menhir—its shimmering surface abruptly hardened to solid stone. The four signs carved in its facade no longer wove around each other and were in a language Alex had never seen before. Each symbol was accompanied by an arrow pointing to one of the four directions the crossroads led to, and from.

The young Thameish wizard glanced at the map, his finger tapping the legend of symbols recorded in the bottom right corner.

“Alright, to get to where we want to go, it looks like we’ll have to head right.” He traced the lines of the roads on the map. “Then it’s another hour’s walk to the fae gate closest to our dungeon.”

“Come, then let us move quickly,” Khalik said, leading the group down the right-hand path.

“Yeah, this is one forest I want to leave as fast as possible,” Theresa agreed, following with Brutus close by her side.

“Aye.” Ripp sped up, taking position at the front of the group. “Luck can run out on you real fast in the fae wilds. I ain’t looking forward to travelling these roads for any extended length of time.”

“It’s a means to an end.” Alex glanced over his shoulder at the junction behind them. “But I hear you. I think we should be on our guard whenever we—Oh by the Traveller!”

Without warning, the mist vanished as though they’d stepped through an invisible door. All around lay summer fields of golden wheat filled with ripe grain ready for the harvest, blowing in a warm gentle breeze. Flocks of gem-feathered birds soared through the sky, and gentle birdsong tickled the ear.

As one, Alex and his companions looked at each other, then slowly turned toward the direction they’d just come from.

There, the menhir stone towered at the centre of the crossroads, its surface once again rippling and shimmering like water. And around it? No forest or mist.

Only summer fields unfolding as far as the eye could see.

Even the road had transformed, changing from a shade of pitch-black earth, to yellow brick sparkling like the morning sun.

“Maybe we should, uh… read a little more about this place,” Alex said.

“Another time.” Theresa tugged on his cloak. “Let’s hurry and get back to the real world before we turn into mushrooms or something.”

“Yeah, fair.”

The shock of winter chilled Alex to the bone as they stepped into a white haze.

A heartbeat earlier, the seven questers had gingerly entered a circle of shining mushrooms lying beside the yellow brick road. Now, they found themselves in the midst of a frozen forest somewhere in Thameland, bracing against gusting winds and whipping snow.

“A white Sigmus is supposed to mean good luck.” Theresa grimaced. “But it’s not Sigmus, and all this snow can go straight to the hells!”

“Will it just keep blowing like this?” Khalik cried over the wind. “The plan will not work if there is no visibility!”

“It should only be gusting, not a full blown storm!” Theresa called back, looking up. “The sky’s blue; we just came out at a bad time!”

“Ugh, I’d give a kingdom for some wind magic right now,” Alex muttered as the blowing snow finally died, revealing a winter wonderland of frost-covered oak and pine. “That’s better.” He dug flight potions and potions of sensory enhancement from his pack. “Here ya go. Now, shall we begin?”

Ripp took a potion, his face screwed up. “Ugh, I hate these.”

“Too unnatural?” Theresa asked, putting a bottle to her lips.

“Too damn slow. When I fly, I feel like I’m moving like a dead snail,” the swiftling grumbled, drinking the liquid down.

Alex shrugged. “Everything’s relative, I guess.” He turned to Khalik and gestured at Claygon. “Would you do the honours?”

“Gladly.” The prince spread his hands dramatically, chanting a spell and laying flight magic over the golem. “Ahhhh, that feels good. It will not last as long as when Isolde casts flight magic, but it should get you to where we need to go, my big friend.”

Claygon nodded, turning his war-spear toward the snow, and using its razor-sharp point to write two words in the white:

Thank you.

Khalik smiled then shot into the air. “You are most welcome, and congratulations on your writing. It has grown both faster and neater! Now, let us see what our foes look like.”

Everyone took to the sky, soaring above trees, climbing through brisk winds until, from their vantage point, the ground below shrank to the size of a detailed map. To anything looking skyward, they would look like a flock of ill-defined shapes flying high in the sky, unless they were especially sharp-eyed.

And—luckily—the Ravener’s chitterers were sightless.

It wasn’t long before they spotted the first of the Ravener-spawn tramping through the snow. From a distance, they looked no more threatening than a party of villagers moving through the woods, foraging for roots beneath the frozen earth.

Though the closer they came, the quicker that notion vanished as a steely gleam of pilfered weapons and untended armour contrasted with the white. These were no mere villagers on an innocent winter’s hunt.

“Do you see them now?” Theresa asked, having spotted the monsters just after Najyah, but right before Ripp.

“Yep,” Alex confirmed, mentally counting the creatures moving among the trees. “There aren’t that many; about… twenty-one, it looks like.” He took a quick look at the Thameish report he’d gotten from the Research Castle. “The entrance to the dungeon should be close. It says it’s on the side of a forest hill. Let’s hope the snow didn’t bury it.”

“It did, but we’re in luck, the enemy’s showing us where it is. Take a look.” Ripp grinned, pointing to their right. “Over there.”

Some several hundred feet away, a hill emerged from a clearing in the trees. Around it, another chitterer pack laboured at a task—each using ill-gotten tools—digging out the snow-clogged entrance to their dungeon.

“They work like ants,” Khalik said. “How many would you say there are?”

“Maybe another fifteen,” Theresa noted, stringing her bow. Its enchanted string glowed as she nocked an arrow. “I’m sure there’s a lot more inside, though.”

‘It does not matter…’ Claygon said. ‘All of them will be… destroyed.’

‘You got that right, buddy,’ Alex thought, turning to Khalik.

“Things are looking good to me. What do you think? Is that going to work for your plan?”

“Hmmm.” The prince tapped his chin. “There is more snow than I anticipated. If you could have Claygon rake the hill with flame as he goes in? That would be helpful.”

“Can do,” Alex said. “Alright, we all know the plan. Think we’re ready?”

“Every moment we hesitate is another moment they have to spot us,” the prince said. “Let’s begin.”

“I’m ready to go,” Theresa confirmed.

“Ready to get paid,” Ripp said.

‘I… am… ready.’ Claygon gripped his spear.

Brutus growled, looking down at the dungeon.

Najyah fixed the dungeon with her cold glare.

“Alright,” Khalik said, tapping Alex on the shoulder. “If you could dispense your wonderful haste potions, please? Then we can be on our way.” He looked at Theresa. “Begin when I give you the signal.”

“Understood.” The huntress nodded.

Alex looked at Claygon. ‘This’ll be your first battle where you’ll be directing yourself, buddy. Are you ready?’

‘I was… created… to be ready,’ his golem reminded him.

‘Fair enough,’ Alex said mentally while chugging his potion of haste. ‘Remember, no risks that you don’t need to take.’

‘I… understand,’ the golem replied through their link.

Alex looked at Theresa. “Be careful, I love you.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes fixed on their prey below.

“Then, let us take our positions.” Khalik waved Alex toward him as he flew away from the rest of the group.

The two young men soared higher, flying around the dungeon, flanking it.

“No sign that the dungeon’s sensing me yet,” Alex said quietly. “Looks like we might be too high for it to do so, thank the Traveller.”

“Good, good.” Khalik squinted down at the hill, then up at Najyah circling above. “Now… when the dungeon core turns its wrath on you, you will be able to sense it, right?”

“I should be able to, but there’s only one way we’ll know for sure,” Alex said.

“Then, there’s no point in waiting.” The prince raised a powerful arm above his head.

Across the sky, their companions froze in midair, watching him closely.

Then Khalik dropped his arm as though he were chopping an invisible foe in two.

And with that, their companions dove for the dungeon.

Chapter 28

Rapid Dungeon Raiding

Alex was more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs as Theresa, Claygon, Brutus, and Ripp swooped toward the snow-covered hill.

The huntress’ hands were already blurring, loosing arrow after arrow into chitterers as the group of four attackers went for the Ravener-spawn. Her bowstring’s heavy twang announced a rapid stream of bolts that pierced their monstrous hide.

Some collapsed, some stumbled back, hammered by projectiles now protruding from them like pincushions. Others raised their chittering voices, raising cries of alarm, scrambling for bows lying in freshly fallen snow.

Whoooooom!

But Claygon’s fire-gems charged in heartbeats.

Whoooosh!

They blasted from the sky with fury.

Three blazing rays struck. Two lanced Ravener-spawn like boils, turning the monsters into geysers of flame and steaming snow. The third struck the hilltop, reducing it to vapour in a flash of light and terrible heat.

As the attack-force touched down at the entrance to the dungeon, the white hilltop boiled, pouring bubbling mud down its sides like lava from a volcano.

“All goes well,” Khalik nodded. “And now we just wait for… ah, there it is.”

Alex felt a rush of mana from below, followed by shrieks of rage rising from deep within the hill, dozens of shrill voices joined as one.

“Yeah,” Alex said nervously. “Do we go now?”

Khalik watched the brewing battle like an eagle. “Not yet, Alex. Not yet. Let these Ravener-spawn commit. Let them fully fix their gaze in the wrong direction.”

“And down you go.” Theresa released an arrow into an oncoming chitterer, taking it in the throat. She was nocking the next before the creature hit the snow. “And down you go. And down you go.”

Arrows found throats and chittering mouths, staining the snow black, littering it with bodies. For every Ravener-spawn she slew, two more emerged from the snow-covered tree line, wading through snow drifts, hurling horrid cries, long spears, and arrows at the intruders.

She watched the weapons fly—moving toward her as slowly as driftwood to her potion-enhanced senses—and weaved through them like a lithesome dancer, skimming the deep snow with flight magic.

The huntress answered the attacks with more arrows, sending the creatures to their deaths in heaps. “How’s it going back ther⁠—”

A blast of heat stopped her words, spraying her cloak with billowing steam.

“They’re mad now!” Ripp cried. “But they’re still not coming up in numbers.”

Theresa swore softly, hitting another charging chitterer in its broad mouth. “They’re probably hoping their scouts take care of us. I can’t blame them, but I’d just like to know where all these damned things were hiding. There’s way more than twenty-one!”

The chitterers were growing thicker in number, brandishing spears and rusted blades above their heads, coming for the huntress as they half-charged, half-loped toward her.

“Aye, well let’s speed up the killing, then. Get them stuck in,” Ripp growled.

A blur shot past her.

Even with her sharp senses fully engaged, she could barely follow the swiftling’s movements as he skimmed the snow. The diminutive warrior hit chitterer ranks like an angry wasp raging through a horde of unsuspecting honeybees.

His strikes were flicks of steel and splashes of black blood as chitterers were cut to ribbons in heartbeats. When one fell––its body covered in a dozen wounds—the swiftling would immediately be wreaking havoc on his next target.

Between his blade and Theresa’s bow, Ravener-spawn dropped by the dozens, dead before they could even reach their enemy.

“Brutus!” Theresa shouted, launching a clutch of arrows at the horde. “Rip them up!”

Three barks answered and the cerberus barreled ahead, a trio of vicious jaws snapping. Chitterers whirled on the flying beast, raising dented shields or rusted swords, but he crushed their guards with his bulk, teeth tearing, crushing armour, and finding Ravener-spawn flesh.

His prey fought back desperately, but a single bone-crushing bite to the skull silenced all counters.

Between the huntress, cerberus, and swiftling, the scouts’ numbers thinned until few remained.

“Come on,” Theresa challenged, loosing a final arrow then slinging her bow on her back. “Come and get us!”

She gripped her sword-hilts, drawing the Twinblade, its steel screaming in triumph and bloodlust.

And the dungeon screamed back.

The ground rumbled, scores of chittering cries erupting from the cave mouth. Claygon’s fire-gems glowed, sparking with magic as he raised his war-spear.

“Finally!” she snarled, whirling on the cave. “Ripp, Brutus, you clean up the stragglers out here. Claygon, let’s get started on the next part of Khalik’s plan.”

“Aye, I’ll gladly take the easy job, thank you very much!” Ripp shouted, his flickering blade opening another dozen cuts on a chitterer before he’d finished the sentence.

Brutus barked, chomping on a pair of Ravener-spawn.

“Then let’s go,” Theresa said, nodding to Claygon.

Together, the golem and huntress entered the cave, soaring through the low light.

Daylight from the cavern’s mouth faded, leaving only a slight portion of the interior illuminated, revealing a horde of Ravener-spawn racing toward them.

“Alright.” Theresa stopped, hovering some ten paces from the entrance. “Let’s wait for them to come to us.”

Claygon slammed his fists together in agreement before unleashing three beams of flame on the advancing horde. The first monster rank quite literally dissolved, falling in heaps of ash and fine dust.

More raced forward, screaming and leaping through the flames, yet driven beyond pain by the dungeon core hidden somewhere in the darkness behind them.

These single-minded creatures met Claygon’s war-spear and Theresa’s swords. Enchanted metal parted rusty chainmail and rotting leather like decaying leaves, splitting the screeching monsters with every strike. The golem’s spear withered their bodies, while the huntress’ Twinblade delivered two cuts for every strike.

In moments, dead Ravener-spawn lay across the tunnel floor, and a rumble of fury echoed from down below.

“Almost there…” Theresa murmured, marvelling at the ease with which her blades cut through shields and armour. “Come on, I know you’re not giving us everything you’ve got—Hah! There you are!”

In the inky light, their prey had finally emerged.

Towering chitterers bearing the finest armour and weaponry within the horde, loomed from the dark. They roared, shaking their heads, flinging shining lines of spittle through the cave as they bashed rusted greatswords against shields the size of carriage doors.

The dungeon’s elite forces were here.

And that meant its attention was firmly on her and Claygon.

It was time.

“Brutus!” Theresa cried. “Now!”

She signalled her cerberus with three quick whistles, and he answered with a pair of howls that echoed through the cavern, over the trees, and into the sky itself.

The huntress cracked her neck, focusing on the foes ahead. “Now it’s up to you, Khalik and Alex. Go get it. Claygon?”

Exploding into motion, the golem charged, spraying the chitterers with an endless stream of flame. Squinting against the heat, Theresa leapt after him, the Twinblade poised, steel singing.

War-spear and swords were soon ripping through burning Ravener-spawn.

Alex watched as Brutus snapped a chitterer’s bony neck in a pair of jaws, tossing the creature’s broken body to the snow. A heartbeat later, the cerberus’ ears perked up, then he raised his heads, baying at the sky.

“There’s the signal,” Alex said, cracking his knuckles and drawing a single booby-trapped flight potion. “Alright, then. You ready, Khalik? This next part’s all you.”

“I am,” the prince confirmed. “Remember, you will have to guide me.”

“I will. I’ll be the best damn eyes you’ve ever had.” Alex prepared to dive.

“Good. Then guide me well. Let’s begin.” Khalik took a deep breath.

The two young men nodded to each other, tucked their arms by their sides and swooped downward, aiming for the hill. Cold wind stung Alex’s face as the ground rose up, trees rapidly growing in his vision.

Frigid air died away as residual heat from Claygon’s flame radiated from the steaming hill.

‘Any moment now,’ Alex thought, closing in on a muddy path on the hilltop. ‘Any moment, it’ll sense⁠—’

Suddenly, he felt a shift. Dark mana swirled somewhere beneath the earth and the attention of a powerful force fell on him.

He sucked in a breath of air. “Here it comes!”

The earth shook like an angry beast. “There it is, Khalik!”

“Can you pinpoint it?” the prince shouted, landing atop the hill. Hot mud splashed as he thrust both hands sheathed in earth-armour into the steaming earth. “Can you sense it?”

Alex concentrated, reaching out with his mana senses, following the path of that dark power below. As it watched him, he watched it in return.

‘Deeper?’ he thought, searching through the earth, seeking out their quarry. ‘Deeper? No… too deep… closer… to the left, maybe?’

“There! I found it!” Alex shouted to Khalik, pointing at the earth. “Seventy feet down, thirty to the left!”

“Good! Then here we go!” Khalik pushed his hands into the soil, chanting an incantation. Earth magic shifted around the prince, seeping into the ground, reaching deep beyond its surface…

…and touching the stone below.

“I’ve made contact! Now go! Draw its gaze!”

“Way ahead of you!” Alex catapulted through the air, soaring above the hill. He banked to the left, flying in a loop around the hilltop, concentrating as he slowly cast a summoning spell.

The ground shook as the dungeon core raged within the earth.

He could feel its mana coursing through the hill, shifting stone, forming new tunnels. Alex imagined chitterers surging through the dungeon, moving into those new passages with weapons ready to gut him.

Now, the dungeon core’s attention would be split between intruders striking from the cave mouth, butchering its horde, and the Ravener’s enemy soaring out of reach.

It would have little thought left to direct at the earth mage who was slowly reaching into the earth with his Stone Shape spell. His mana shifted rock, forming a small, shrouded tunnel through the dungeon, leading from the hilltop to the source of the core’s mana.

The prince was doing his work quickly… but Alex could help him be quicker.

As the last syllables of his summoning spell died, a conjured earth elemental appeared on the hilltop below.

“My elemental friend!” he called in an elemental tongue of earth. “I need you to burrow into the earth until you find my friend’s earth magic!” He gestured to the prince. “Widen the tunnel that he’s digging and help him connect it to the chamber he’s aiming for!”

The earth elemental gave a grunt like grinding stone then plunged into the soil like a sea urchin diver into the sea.

Alex could feel its mana join Khalik’s, reinforcing the prince’s spell and lengthening the tunnel. Their power reached deeper into the hill…

…while the dungeon core reached toward the surface, lengthening its own tunnels. Soon the hilltop would be teeming with Ravener-spawn.

“Khalik! How much longer?” Alex shouted. “That hill’s about to explode with chitterers!”

“I am almost there! I feel the earth changing and your elemental is guiding me! I know I am near the chamber!”

The hill shook violently, coughing soil into the air as new caves formed on its surface.

“Khalik!” Alex shouted again. “We’ve got to pull back; we won’t make it!”

“I will!” the prince’s voice boomed with confidence. “I will not let some rock best me! Call Ripp and tell him to get ready!”

“Damn, you’re one stubborn bastard!” Alex cursed him before turning to the battle before the cave mouth.

Brutus and the swiftling had made short work of the remaining chitterer scouts, leaving the snow covered with lifeless monsters.

“Okay, come on, Ripp!” Alex called. “Get up here! We’re almost ready!”

“Better be sooner than almost, bosses!” the swiftling shouted, dashing through the snow and up the hillside. He was beside Khalik in less than a blink, watching the tunnels from the hilltop. “We don’t have much time!”

“I am nearly there… just allow me to… concentrate!” the prince roared. “There!”

He stood, forcefully spreading his hands as though ripping apart a set of doors hanging in midair.

The earth growled, then it gurgled, then came the tearing sound. Soil and stone abruptly split, revealing a long, narrow tunnel leading down into the dungeon. Its opening was too close for most to fit in.

Most, but not all.

“Now!” the prince commanded.

“Back in a blink!” Ripp leapt in, sprinting down the tunnel’s length faster than an arrow in flight.

A heartbeat passed.

Then two.

“We should—” Alex started to speak.

Furious roars came from below, rising from an untold number of throats, chilling Alex’s blood. He recognised the hideous cry of a gibbering legion.

Then something small shot from Khalik’s tunnel.

“I got it!” Ripp shouted in triumph. “Stole it right from their grasp!”

Clasped in his hands, held high above his head… was the dungeon core.

Chapter 29

Preparing the Proposal

“Nice job, Ripp!” Alex shouted. “Now, let’s get the hells away from here!”

“Way ahead of you, bosses!” the swiftling cried, racing from the hill and leaping into the air then soaring well above the treetops.

‘Claygon!’ Alex thought. ‘We’re finished, get out of there!”

‘Coming… Father…’ came the reply, followed by a boom and a flash of light from the cave mouth.

Heartbeats later, Theresa and Claygon emerged into the daylight, climbing into the sky. Brutus barked twice, soaring after them.

“Everyone’s clear!” Alex turned back to Khalik.

The prince was leaving the hill with Najyah as Ravener-spawn came boiling from half a dozen tunnels.

“One more thing to do!” Khalik shouted. “Alex, get the bag ready!”

“On it!” The Thameish wizard pulled a small sack from his belt as the party came together in the air, still climbing away from the forest. “Ripp, hold that dungeon core steady!”

“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast, bosses!” the swiftling cried.

“Khalik, hurry!” Alex pressed, holding the bag beneath the core.

Shouting an incantation, the prince called on a shatter spell.

Mana shifted.

A noise like glass screeching across metal erupted as potent sound waves concentrated on the dungeon core, leaving the black orb shuddering in Ripp’s grip, a jagged crack running along its side.

“My turn.” Theresa floated up beside Ripp.

She raised the Twinblade.

And her swords crashed down.

A harsh sound of shearing stone came next as magical metal carved through the cracked dungeon core like water, leaving cuts that split the orb into three. It screamed in Alex’s senses, tearing asunder, filtering into the sack, and becoming fine dust as black as pitch.

Alex quickly sealed the bag, binding its mouth with a strong length of cord and sighing with relief. “We did it!” He grinned at Khalik. “It worked! We actually pulled it off!”

“Of course we did, we are powerful and my plan was sound.” The prince laughed in triumph, looking down at the hapless chitterers boiling from the coreless dungeon. “Now, what do you say we clean our plates? It would be rude to leave the Thameish army to deal with our leftovers.”

‘Agreed…’ Claygon said, though only Alex heard. His fire-gems flared with power. ‘Time… to end the rest.’

With those words, the golem unleashed full fury on the confused Ravener-spawn.

It wasn’t long until all that remained on the hillside was a barren hill, dead monsters, and scorched earth.

“Two hundred and ninety-eight, two hundred and ninety-nine,” Khalik counted. “And there we are, three hundred altogether. Would you like to count them yourself?”

“No, no, I’ve got eyes,” Ripp said, gazing at a small chest filled with shining coins. “I watched you count ’em myself, right here in front of me, and the sum’s right.”

“Are you sure?” The prince started to close the chest. “By all means, I want you to be comfortable. I could have used sleight of hand to fool your eyes, and I would take no offence if you wished to be sure of our honour.”

“Yeah, man, I know how it is. We might’ve used magic to cheat you or something,” Alex agreed, leaning over the table and tapping the side of the chest. “Don’t think we’re going to get insulted or anything like that.”

“Listen, boys, I know you mean well.” The swiftling looked at both of them evenly, standing up in his chair and taking hold of the chest. “But—and I mean this as no offence to you—but neither of you are near fast enough to fool a swiftling’s eyes. There’s no sleight of hand. And as for magic? We swiftling’s are closer to fae than not. I’d bet the tips of my ears that my mana senses are sharper than yours by a big margin. Trust me, me counting coins now would just be wasting your time and mine.”

He slammed the lid shut and dragged the chest to his side of the table, the annoying sound drawing the gaze of other patrons in the Brass Grapes. “Alright, then. Three hundred for the job. A good payday, I’d say.” The mercenary grinned. “Listen, if you’re ever in need of a small and quick blade, don’t hesitate to call on ol’ Ripp, now.”

With that, the swiftling jumped from his chair, bowed to the two wizards, and shot from the bar in a blinding flash of speed. Before Alex’s eyes could even begin to track him, he was gone, leaving the Thameish wizard shaking his head.

“Should’ve hired him ages ago,” he said. “Let me tell you, some of those fights we’ve been in wouldn’t have been half the trouble they were with Ripp by our sides.”

Khalik shrugged, then raised his hand, catching the attention of a server. “And we would be all the weaker for it. Better to hire more experienced fighters now that we know how to handle ourselves rather than before we did. I have no plans to be a useless child in battle, waiting for guards and servants to save me.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” Alex smiled as the server approached.

The young men ordered two cups of fortified wine with shots of rum on the side to celebrate their victory. Alex might have ordered more than one if there wasn’t a great pile of work waiting for him.

It was going to be a long evening.

He looked back at his friend. “Right, about the mercenary thing. Now that I think about it, we would have only needed to hire mercenaries recently. Until we came to Greymoor, we were fighting most of our battles in Baelin’s class.”

“It is true,” Khalik agreed, his smile nostalgic behind his beard. “And the only true battles we fought were against foes who sought our lives when our guards were down. Like the mana vampire’s attack on Najyah⁠—”

His familiar gave a loud screech of offence, ruffling her feathers and digging her talons into the perch positioned at the side of their table.

“It is alright, it is alright.” The prince stroked her feathers, his voice soothing. “The monster is long dead. We have already avenged your honour, Najyah.”

She gave another offended squawk, but seemed to settle down, her feathers growing decidedly less puffy.

Alex fought the urge to laugh. “Yeah, there was also the attack at Isolde’s cousin’s villa. Then those bloody demons. Ugh, let me tell you, I can’t wait to get down there and show them some surprise carnage for once.”

“Mhmmmm.” Khalik nodded, still gently stroking Najyah. “Of that, we are in full agreement. And speaking of that…” His eyes fell on two small sacks by Alex’s side, each containing a share of dungeon core essence. “What will you do now? Will you begin crafting your staff immediately? Start on my armour? Research spells?”

“Well, I’d love to do any one of those things, to be honest,” Alex said. “But what I’ve got to do first is a bit less glamorous.”

“Oho?” Khalik raised an eyebrow. “What comes next?”

“A business proposal.” Alex reached into the satchel beside his chair, pulling out a notebook and setting it on the table. He flipped pages until he reached a long, formal document that seemed to go on forever.

The prince whistled, eyeing the pages dubiously. “Interesting. Vastly interesting. What is it for?”

“My boss.” Alex glanced around the Brass Grapes and leaned across the table, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m going to try and set up a business partnership with Toraka Shale.”

Khalik’s eyebrows shot so high, they threatened to melt into his plaits. “That is… very interesting indeed. But why are you doing it first?”

“Well, the staff’s going to take a bit of coin to make. Well, a bit’s putting it mildly, it’s going to take a good chunk of coin, more than I’ve got currently.” He flipped through the notebook again, stopping when he reached the set of schematics for his staff. They’d increased from when he’d shown Khalik them a couple of days earlier. “I have ways to design it so that it’s cheaper, but I’ll be bloody damned if I’m going to waste aeld tree wood and dungeon core essence on a crappy staff.”

He scoffed. “It’ll be a masterpiece, or I’ll throw myself in the Prinean.”

“I understand, you have a good quality canvas, so you do not wish to spoil it with fingerpaint,” Khalik agreed. “And this… business plan will provide you with the war-chest needed for your staff?”

Alex chuckled evilly. “Oh, it’ll get me more than that, Khalik, a hell of a lot more than that. But yes. I’ll need the coin from this if I’m going to build a proper staff.”

“Hence the business proposal, then…” The prince ran a hand through his beard, eyeing Alex’s notebook. “Do you feel comfortable with it?”

Alex gave him a look. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

“Hmmmm… let us have the lie first.”

“Well, I think it’s brilliant and no one could resist it.” He topped it with a confident smile.

“And the truth?”

“Oh, by the Traveller, I’m so bloody nervous, I feel like my skin’s going to rip itself off and go running to the Rhinean Empire,” he said mournfully, his head dropping to the table and his fingers raking through his unkempt beard. “I’ve never done anything like this before, man, and the you-know-what’s been helping too. But… well, a lot of my family’s future is riding on this.”

He tapped the business plan with a finger. “If this goes wrong, it’s bye-bye staff until I can come up with something else, and bye-bye financial freedom for the foreseeable future.”

“That is not so bad.” Khalik shrugged. “You are clever, and even if this fails, you will create another plan. I know you will. Besides, you now have a well-paying job that will give you its own opportunities.”

Alex gave the prince a withering look. “That’s easy for you to say, you’re loaded. You’re swimming in coin. For me, this is different, man. And… look, for reasons that would be abundantly clear if you read the proposal, there’s a bit of a time limit on this sort of plan. I’m not sure what I’d try next if time runs out.”

“Then show it to me,” Khalik said.

“Hm? The proposal?”

“Yes.”

“Ooooh, bah!” Alex scoffed, waving him off. “Trust me, you don’t want to read it, it’s dry as a bone, and it’s like ten pages long so far.”

“I am curious, all the same, bone-dry or sea-wet.” He waved the book toward him. “Come, hand it here.”

Alex sighed, sliding the book across the table. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you—And ah! I see the server is on the way with our drinks. Good thing too. You’ll need at least one just to get through that.”

“Let me be the judge of that, Alex.” Khalik flipped to the first page of the proposal. “Now be quiet for a moment, I need to concentrate.”

“Yeah, shutting up then, if that’s what you want, but I’m telling you⁠—”

“Alex.”

“Right, right, shutting up for real.”

The young Thameish wizard went quiet, watching the prince read through his proposal with a deep frown lining his forehead as drinks were placed on the table. Khalik’s eyes travelled across the pages line by line, lips muttering in Tekish under his breath.

Anxiety-filled, Alex picked up his wine cup, giving it a swirl and taking a larger sip than he’d intended. He sipped nervously while Khalik read, and—by the time the prince had finished—he’d drained one cup and had ordered another.

“Well?” he asked as Khalik put down the notebook. “Thoughts? Is it great? Terrible?”

“Oh, most terrible!” the prince offered, his face a mask of disgust. “The worst writing I have ever seen. You must have been taught the common tongue by a wine-addled frog.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Oh, haha! I just told you I’m so nervous, I’m about ready to skin myself, and you go making fun of me. Some friend you are!”

“Apologies, apologies!” Khalik held up his hands in surrender before noticing his wine glass and eagerly taking it up. “In more serious words, though, it is good… though it could be better.”

Alex’s heart dropped slightly. “Really? Have you written business proposals before?”

“I have not,” Khalik admitted. “But I have read many proposals for matters of state, all written to convince a king they would be beneficial to him, his queen, his house, and his kingdom. I have seen proposals that have succeeded. And those that have failed. I can teach you some tricks from the ones that found success.”

Alex’s green eyes grew wide. “Khalik… I could kiss you right now.”

“Even if you could, I would never allow it with that foul, neglected, thing on your face.” The prince waved his hand in mock disgust. “Now come, bring me a pen. I will show you tricks on how to get those with power to part with some of it.”

Chapter 30

The Final Financial Battle of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension

“First of all,” Khalik began, flipping to the beginning of Alex’s proposal. “Understand that these things I am about to tell come from lords beseeching their king, not a subordinate beseeching their boss. The situations are similar, but not equivalent. For example—” He ran his finger down the margin beside the second page. “Your tone in this would not be suitable for a subject addressing their monarch. You are missing the customary toadying, bowing, scraping, and sickening compliments that accompany these things in a great effort to avoid… oh what is the Rhinean term for it? Isolde said it once…”

“Lèse-majesté, you mean?” Alex asked.

“Indeed! That is the word. An assault on the monarch’s dignity,” Khalik said. “It is something that must be avoided, even when the king is as easy-going as my father. But yes, you need not worry about buttering up your boss as you would a king.”

“Actually.” Alex chuckled beside the prince. “My first instinct was to throw in as many compliments as possible—maybe some begging, for good measure—but I didn’t think that would set a good precedent for what’s supposed to be a business partnership.”

“Indeed, you are most correct in this.” Khalik nodded. “Which is why proposals delivered to my father from other kingdoms’ ambassadors read decidedly different in tone. When one ruler is conversing with another, it is important they show each other respect, but in no way convey deference. It is the same with this.”

He pointed to one of Alex’s sentences. “Here, your language is neutral, yet respectful, which is good for one seeking to craft an equal partnership. However, you have missed one important aspect to your proposal.”

Alex flinched. “What is it?”

“Simply put… hmmm.” The prince flipped to a blank page in Alex’s notebook. “Might I tear this out?”

“By all means.”

Khalik ripped the page from the book and flipped back to the proposal.

“In your proposal, you explain all the benefits of your business plan: you speak of great profits, grand rises in reputation, and the speed with which you and Toraka Shale can reach the market if you were to act together quickly.” Khalik wrote each of these points on his sheet of paper. “You also give a good breakdown as to how this will increase the market share of Shale’s Workshop. These are all glorious points. However, you have failed to explain one matter: your capability.”

“Pardon? I did that! On page six, I have the schematics for the product, and I explain how capable it is! Not to mention that she’s already got an example to look at.”

“Indeed, that is true,” the prince said. “But it is not the product’s capability that you missed; it is your own.”

“Eh? My own.” Alex paused, confused. “Oh, I’ve already taken care of that. When I negotiated my salary for my new job, I sang my own praises so much that it was almost sickening. She knows what I’m capable of.”

“In general, yes. But! You do not explain why you are uniquely positioned to do these things you speak of in this proposal. You should not only be selling your boss on the idea, you should also be explaining why you are indispensable in its execution.”

“Well, that’s easy to see,” Alex said. “So far, I’m the only one who’s made anything with dungeon core essence… Eh, that’s not quite true, I guess. Some Thameish crafters made weapons and armour out of dungeon core remains for the Heroes, but I’m the only one who’s made a golem before.”

“Mhm, that is true, but I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

Khalik frowned. “Why are you telling me this? Put it in your proposal. Tell your future business partner why you are capable, and why you are irreplaceable.”

“Oookay, yeah, good point,” Alex noted it on his own piece of scrap paper. “Anything else you’d suggest?”

“A few things.” Khalik flipped to the proposal’s first page. “You have done an excellent job of explaining how a business partner can be valuable to the project, but you should specify why Toraka Shale would be valuable to the project.”

“Right.” Alex nodded along. “Otherwise, it might seem like I’m looking at her as just a generic bag of coins to fund the project.”

“Too right,” Khalik said. “In the case of a lord making a proposition to their monarch, it is about convincing the ruler why something cannot occur without their intervention and royal treasury. After all, everyone and their goat wants the king to open the royal treasury. As for you, you must convey why Shale’s Workshop is indispensable compared to another business.”

“Hmmm,” Alex frowned. “Might not want to lean too heavily into that. I don’t want her to get the impression that she has me over a barrel.”

“That is true, so in this case, you must strike a balance. If you do not show why Shale’s role is significant, then you run the risk she could be insulted or question your future loyalty.”

“Future loyalty?”

“Indeed. What guarantee does she have that you will not immediately dissolve the partnership as soon as you are able and move on to another workshop?”

“Ah yeah, fair point. Fair point,” Alex agreed, making another note. “This is already helping loads.”

“Good! And remember that a compliment to her and her business will put her in a fine mood and make it more likely that she accepts your idea. Another thing, have you thought of what the current priorities of Shale’s Workshop are as a business?”

“What do you mean? Making money, of course,” Alex said.

“Yes, but how? Through expansion? Through invention? Through driving a rival out of business? Find out what Shale’s most immediate concern and priority is—if you can—and show how this proposal will help that along.”

“Oh, that’s bloody great!” Alex said. “It’ll make my idea seem like it has a lot more of an immediate impact. Good thought there, Khalik.”

“I try.” The prince grinned. “As for the rest, I think it can stand on its own. Your…” He glanced at Alex’s shoulder. “…friend helped you most of the way. What I have given you merely serves as the extra spice to enhance an already fine meal.”

“Ah, this is the best,” Alex said. “Don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“That armour will be a good start.” The prince sipped his drink. “And perhaps—if this proposal goes as well as you anticipate—I might ask you for a discount on one of your fine… products.”

The Thameish wizard looked at Khalik sharply. “Really? You think you’d order one?”

“Absolutely, one of them would make a kingly gift for my father and mother. So yes, I think I would. And that simply means that—to repay your debt—you must make sure the proposal goes well, then.”

“Yeah!” Alex jotted down his final note for his business plan’s potential revisions. “Well, if it does, the first thing I’m going to do is get you so drunk, you won’t be able to walk straight. Seriously, mate, your plan helped me get that dungeon core fast. I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

“Hah! Well, it is for my own benefit as well, Alex. Your staff might help me avoid a grisly fate in the hells.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll come to that. We’ll have Baelin’s spell-marks to protect us,” Alex countered.

“And for that, I am grateful. Except these are demons that we will battle are not simple muupkaras. Who knows what unexpected dangers we will face. So, I will be more comfortable with your staff complete, and on our side.”

“Right, fair point,” Alex said. “I suppose the only thing to do now is finish this proposal and hope that all goes well. Both at Shale’s, and in the hells.”

“A toast, then.” Khalik raised his goblet. “May your proposal go well so that you will live through our coming battle.”

Alex chuckled wryly, raising his cup. “And—should I die—may my proposal go so well that I can die a rich man!”

“Hah, you can be morose sometimes, but still… well said. Cheers! And may a river of gold fall upon you!”

The two young friends clinked their goblets together.

“Well, then, nothing more to it.” Alex whispered to himself, pacing back and forth in front of Shale’s office. In one hand, he clutched a copy of his business proposal—with the original being perfected over several nights and given to Toraka some days earlier—and in the other, he held a rather hefty box.

‘I… can carry that for you, Father,’ Claygon said, glancing up from his book.

“It’s alright, buddy. I didn’t grow all these great, big muscles just to let them go to waste, you know,” Alex said, nervously glancing at the door. “Besides, I’m so nervous, I might jump out of my skin if I don’t have something to hold on to. I’d⁠—”

His sentence was cut off as the door suddenly opened.

“Alex, you’re early,” Toraka said. “I was just about to step into the washroom. How long have you been waiting out here?”

“About ten minutes, maybe,” he lied. Likely, it was closer to twenty or more. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear Claygon coming down the hall.”

“Well, I was busy making some calculations, and I have my music golem going a little loudly,” Toraka said, then turned and nodded at Claygon. “Good day to you.”

‘Hello,’ Claygon said mentally while waving at her.

She smiled. “I’ll never tire of seeing that. Anyway, I’ll be right back. You both can go wait in my office. Alex, pour yourself a drink. Strong or not.”

“Oh, I’ll leave the strong stuff for later,” he said. “In case I need it for celebration or… consolation.”

“Well spoken. Then go and pour yourself some minted water or something. I’ll be back.” She strolled down the hall, leaving Alex and his golem to shuffle into her office.

With shaking hands, Alex poured himself a tall glass of mint water and sank down in a chair before her desk—putting his box down—as Claygon took his place at his father’s side, burying himself in his puzzle book.

Alex shifted nervously, eyeing his business proposal spread open on Shale’s desk. It looked like it had been thoroughly reviewed with several notes scribbled in the margins.

He gulped, praying to the Traveller that all those notes meant good things.

He glanced at the office door then leaned over, trying to figure out what her notes said. They were in a language he’d never seen before. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

This was not the time for weakness.

‘Father…’ Claygon said. ‘Are you alright?’

“I am,” Alex said quietly. “Just steadying the heart. Soon we’ll know how this’ll all end up. Being nervous won’t change anything about i⁠—”

He paused, hearing Shale’s footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Time to do or die, Alex,” he muttered.

“You make yourself comfortable?” Toraka stepped into her office, shutting the door behind her. “Ah, I see that you have. And you didn’t start with the strong stuff, after all.”

She rounded the desk, sat in her chair, and glanced out the window.

“So, are you enjoying your new home?” she asked, nodding to the bakery across the street.

Alex’s bakery.

A ‘closed for repairs’ sign hung from the door, right above a sign that read ‘under new management.’ There was a light on inside. No doubt Troy was in there, cleaning the kitchen and giving it some much needed love after years of neglect.

“Well, I haven’t had too much time to enjoy it yet,” Alex said. “Just working on getting things cleared out, but… got to say,” he nodded to the proposal on the desk, “that’s been occupying just a tad more space in my head.”

“And I can see that,” she said, flipping through the proposal. “Have you ever written one of these before?”

“No, actually, this is my first,” he said.

“Well, you did an excellent job. It reads like it was prepared by someone accustomed to writing dozens of proposals,” Toraka said.

Alex mentally thanked both the Mark and Khalik. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I do. And I have to say, the opportunity to bring golems like Claygon to the market?” She looked up at his golem hungrily. “Well, I find that intriguing. Very intriguing.”

Chapter 31

When it Rains…

“Ido have a question for you, Alex.” Toraka Shale tented her fingers before her. “This… substance, the one you indicated in your schematics. I’ve heard rumblings about something coming from that expedition of Vernia’s. I take it this has something to do with that? She’s been quite excited about something you people discovered out there.”

“Well, if she hasn’t given any specifics, then I won’t either, at least for now. What I can say is that you and I have an opportunity.” Alex leaned forward, tenting his fingers on the desk as well. “We have a substance—one I can get a solid supply of—which will hit the market… I’d say sometime in the next six months.”

There was no lie in his words.

By now, everyone on the expedition with half a brain had likely realised the value and the road to magical progress the dungeon core remains presented.

‘I’d bet my left pinky finger that others are already planning their own little dungeon-hunting expeditions,’ he thought. ‘Hells, they probably would’ve already started if that invisible monster hadn’t led such a devastating attack on the castle and spooked everyone. Which means we won’t have long before folks start getting their nerve back and get down to the business of selling dungeon core essence.’

“Hmmm, the next six months, you say?” Toraka flipped to the schematics in her copy of his proposal. “And this substance is important for the process. At least, according to your notes, it is.”

“Oh, it’s key,” Alex assured her. “You can’t make golems like Claygon without it. It’d be like making honey on toast without the honey! See, that’s why I think—if you and I act together—we can make Shale’s Workshop a pioneer in the market. You have a few advantages right now that no one else has.”

“And what would those be?” Toraka raised an eyebrow.

“Well, for one, I have a supply of that substance right here.” Alex tapped a pouch at his side. “We could begin making the first golem prototype right away. You’d literally be able to market ahead of everyone else by months. By the time your competitors start looking to produce their own versions of these special golems, you’ll have a steady supply of customers who already know that you were the first, the best, and the most reliable.”

“True, if it all comes to pass.” Toraka drummed the tips of her fingers together. “If it all comes to pass. I have no idea if this… product, is as revolutionary as you’re claiming it is. I’ve had people walk into my office before claiming all sorts of things.” She chuckled. “Once I had some man come in off the street yelling about how he could make flying golems out of mere bird feathers, wheat, and pig-iron. I can’t tell you how many wizards have claimed to have discovered the next big thing, the next revolution, the next wonder that would transform society and the market. In my experience, ninety-nine percent of them were wrong.”

“Well then, I’m in the one percent who’s right,” Alex said confidently. “Listen, do you trust Baelin and Professor Jules?”

Toraka winced. “Depends on the sort of trust. That old archwizard scares the hell out of me. I avoided his classes for a reason.”

“You missed out on a lot, then,” the Thameish wizard said defensively.

“Maybe, maybe not. Half the people I knew who took his classes dropped out after the first week. The other half… If they weren’t crazy before, they seemed pretty crazy after a semester or two.”

Alex could think of a few choice words Baelin would have for the master crafter if he had been sitting in her office. Something about Proper Wizards, no doubt. Wisely, Alex chose to keep such thoughts to himself.

“Alright, his teaching methods aside, would you trust his and Professor Jules’ judgement if they thought something was revolutionary? Something revolutionary enough to justify an entire expedition, the construction of a complete Research Castle, and a military presence in a warzone?” He leaned forward. “Something revolutionary enough that even the city council put their weight behind it.”

Toraka’s lip twitched. “A fair point. I’m not fainthearted enough to miss a gold rush when I see one… Alright, but do you realise there’s one problem with being a first adopter, Alex?”

“Enlighten me,” the younger wizard said.

“It’s convincing others that this new thing you’re doing has merit. The problem with being ‘ahead of your time’ is that—while it might get you a nice note in a history textbook—it often translates to poverty, or at least major monetary loss during your lifetime. It doesn’t matter if you have a revolutionary product, others have to believe it’s worth paying top dollar for it.”

She flipped to the back of his business proposal where the potential economic risks and rewards of the project were, tapping a number he’d circled several times to draw her attention to it.

“This price here…” She whistled. “If I could charge that for one golem? The margin of profit we’d be talking about would make half the industrialists in the city weep. But we’ll never be able to charge that much if our clients can’t be convinced it’s worth it.”

“Luckily, that’s where one of your other advantages comes in.” Alex nodded to Claygon, who looked up from his puzzle book to give Shale a thumbs-up. “You have a walking advertisement right beside me. A walking advertisement that won the super-heavy weight division of the Duel by Proxy at the Games of Roal the very first year he entered. A walking advertisement that—since then—has undergone golem evolution and developed sapience. Let me ask you, Mrs. Shale, has there been talk about Claygon among your social circles? Among your competitors?”

She gave him a wry smile. “There has been, as a matter of fact. Even a couple of people were proposing to buy your friend. I told them you wouldn’t be interested, of course.”

“Of course,” Alex agreed. “But then what’ll happen when you can tell them you’ll have golems ready for sale that are almost as good as Claygon? Word will spread, Mrs. Shale, and you’ll have customers lined up all the way down the street!”

Her fingers drummed faster. “…Interesting.”

“And you have one more advantage, by the way,” Alex said.

“And that is?”

“Me.” He reached over to his box, undoing several brass clasps that held it shut. Carefully, he teased open the doors on the side, sliding out what was inside.

Toraka gasped. “Is that?”

“A model,” Alex said, turning a sculpture forged from blown glass and affixed to a wooden stand toward her. It was a perfect replica of what he’d described in his schematics: a golem core built from dungeon core essence. “You always wanted to have a look at Claygon’s core. Well, this is as close as you’re going to get… until we build the real thing, that is.”

He slid the sculpture to her, hiding a smile as she took it with the same feverish need that a starving person would a joint of venison. The master crafter turned the sculpture, digging out a jeweller’s lens from a desk drawer to give it a closer look.

“This is… very good,” she complimented him. “The design… it’s similar to a golem core that’s been infused with chaos essence, but… yes, I see some differences.”

“It’s one thing to see a schematic,” Alex said. “But quite another to see an actual model. A model I built in a few hours, by the way.”

She looked up at him, startled. “A few hours? Alex, the work on these mana pathways… it’s so fine… you sculpted this by hand?”

“By Wizard’s Hand mostly, and with some tools from my alchemy set,” he said. “Obviously, it’ll take longer to make the real thing, but I wanted to make a point.” Alex pointed to his chest. “As far as I know, I’m the only living wizard who has ever made anything with this stuff.” He patted the sack on his belt. “The only one. I bet I could make a real core—and the golem that it’ll go into—in… oh, I’d say, a hundred and twenty days? Probably less, with your help.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That fast? It takes us a hundred and fifty on average to make a regular iron golem. You’re saying you can make an advanced one even faster?”

“I am,” Alex said. “The substance does a lot of the heavy lifting, which allows you to skip a few of the regular steps you need in the golem crafting process. And, I’ve made some refinements to the construction process since I first experimented with the essence. I expect that over time, we’ll be able to work even faster.”

Her breathing quickened; she was growing excited at the thought.

“And, I have to say, I understand why you might be reluctant to go into a business partnership with one of your employees. Especially one as young as me, but—I assure you—you’re not looking at your average flighty student. You’ve seen my work record as an assistant and recently as a junior crafter.” He nodded to Claygon again. “You’ve seen the results of my work. You know I come in, and you know I can produce.”

“Mhm…” She looked down at the numbers presented in his business plan again. “I have to admit, there’s not much risk here. On my end, the supplies needed are just what we’d use for a regular iron golem. If anything, your risk is a lot greater than mine.” Toraka looked at him pointedly. “Which brings up a touchy point that I’ve been considering. This… stuff—which you’ll need to tell me more about once nondisclosure agreements are signed—from the way Vernia talked, it sounds like getting it is quite dangerous.”

Alex shrugged. “I won’t lie, it’s not as simple as nipping down the street to fetch some bread.”

“With that in mind, what happens if you’re killed during one of these little sojourns to get more of this miracle substance?” Toraka asked. “Not only would I be losing a business partner and my supply of the ‘miracle substance,’ but I’d lose a valuable employee who owes me over twenty thousand gold coins. What guarantee do I have that you’ll be good for your debts if this dangerous work makes you pay the ultimate price?”

She looked meaningfully at Claygon.

“No,” Alex said, crossing his arms. “Mrs. Shale, with all due respect… I’m taking on the bigger risk here. You’re risking your business partner and supply, but as you said, I’m risking my life. If anything—if we go into business together—I should be asking you to look after my family.”

“Hmph, you’ve gotten mouthy.” She raised an eyebrow.

“If we’re going to be partners, we’ll need to speak a bit on the candid side, won’t we?” Alex said. “Why don’t we start now?”

“Right…” Toraka sighed. “Well, then I’ll speak candidly. You’re a hot commodity right now, Alex. As you said, you have a skill and a product no one else has, and you can prove its value. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we sign a temporary contract using your plan as a model.”

She tapped the business proposal before her, making Alex’s heart skip a beat. “I’ll be the first customer. If these golems are half as impressive as Claygon, I want to be the first with one. I’ll test it out, and if it works, then we’ll put it into production as partners. But! This percentage you’ve suggested, I think we’ll have to negotiate that. I say seventy-thirty for profit share, in my favour, since I’m providing most of the supplies and the infrastructure to build with.”

Alex chuckled. “Mrs. Shale, that all might be true, but again, I’m risking my life to get the product. And I’m also the only one who knows how to create these golems. Fifty-fifty is only fair.”

She scoffed. “You cheeky little—Sixty-forty, then.”

The Thameish wizard shook his head. “Fifty-fifty, and—in return—the contract can include a noncompete clause to put your mind at ease that I won’t go into business for myself. With the profit margins we’re looking at, fifty percent is going to be an enormous amount of coin, even for someone as established as you. In return, making sure that I don’t bring the process to anyone else for a period of… say half a decade, if we have to part ways, is a nice guarantee.”

He paused, feeling bold. “Also, if you’re going to be the first customer… then you should provide a down payment, since the standard for anyone wanting to do business with Shale’s Workshop is typically half up front, which is only fair, I’d say.”

Alex stilled himself, trying to quiet the pounding of his heart. His mind screamed, wondering if he’d gone too far.

Toraka outright glared at him. “You’re really pushing your luck.”

“I’m taking a calculated risk,” Alex said, hiding his fear under a light tone. “If you don’t want any part of this, I’m willing to go out and take my proposal to other golem workshops. I’d just rather work with you. I like you. I like this shop. I like Lagor and Sim and my other co-workers… I’d prefer making you rich rather than someone else.”

“Richer.” Toraka sucked her teeth in thought. “You’d be the one going from rags to riches… Alright, look, I’m putting a lot of faith in you here, Alex.”

His heart jumped. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if Lagor and Vernia weren’t always singing your praises, I wouldn’t be giving the slightest thought to what you’re proposing,” she said, standing. “So here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Alright?” Alex said, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

“You and I are going to go down to the offices of Plamman and Plummer, barristers,” she said decidedly. “And we’re going to go this very minute. We’re going to have a contract formalised before I lose any more of my senses, or you get greedier, and we’re going to sign the thing right there and then. In blood, if need be.”

His heart leapt into his throat. “Okay?”

“Then what we’re going to do after that is go straight to my bank.” She sighed, fetching her cloak from a rack. “And I am going to pay you half of your fifty percent of the profits from the sale of one of these… Super Golems—and we are workshopping that name by the way—to me in the form of a promissory note deposited directly to your account. You’d better not spend six figures in one place, by the way.”

His body went cold as his mind threatened to melt. “How… how much did you say? That’s more than⁠—”

“Alex, be quiet for a moment,” she said. “I’m trying to make you rich.”

Chapter 32

…It Pours

“Imean…” Alex stammered. “But… I don’t have a bank account.”

“Really?” Toraka Shale frowned. “You’ve been in the city for how long and you never opened a bank account?”

“Um…” His mind refused to cooperate, unable to string even two coherent thoughts together. “I mean… um, I…”

“You’ve been here long enough to have a bank account. Where have you been keeping your money?”

“In… in my apartment,” Alex murmured, too stunned to even consider hiding the location of his comparatively meagre fortune.

“Really? Well, you’re going to open an account, then,” she said sternly. “If we’re going to be business partners, here’s a lesson for you. You’re not going to stuff a hundred and ten thousand gold coins—because I am subtracting the twenty thousand that you owe me, by the way—under your apartment floorboards like some common adventurer.”

Alex was trembling. “I… wha…”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” She chuckled. “A locked chest is good enough for a few thousand gold coins from any Games of Roal winnings. But we don’t call that real wealth in the circles I run in. Circles you’ll have to learn to run in soon enough. If the golem’s complete, and it’s as incredible as you claim—even half as incredible as Claygon—then you’ll get the other one hundred and thirty thousand I owe you.”

The Thameish wizard—a young man who’d spent years slogging away in a bakery for a few silvers a shift—nearly fainted right there in the chair.

“I…” He shuddered. “That’s… for that level of profit… you’re charging a lot more than anything I would have suggested.”

She shrugged. “Your second lesson: learn proper mark-ups. You’re creating an exclusive product that kings would stab their brothers for. We’ll charge accordingly.”

“I…” His knees trembled, tears welling up in his eyes. “But… that…”

“Third lesson.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Never show how happy you are with how much money you’re about to get. Makes people feel they could have gotten you for less. Anyway, you’re about to be very, very rich, and if you keep negotiating and innovating like you are, I suspect that the Roth name will soon be a very important one here in Generasi. I do believe you’re about to make the kind of money that dynasties are built on, Alex.”

“I… alright… thank you… Mrs. Shale,” he choked out.

She smiled at him. “We’re about to become business partners, Alex. Call me Toraka. Oh, and by the way. I’m making you head of sales for this entire project. You negotiate like a devil. It’d be a waste to let those skills rust away in the shop.”

“A-alright,” he murmured.

She cocked her head at him. “Well? Aren’t you going to get up? Or do you plan on having Claygon carry you to the lawyer’s office?”

“No! I can walk!” Alex yelped, leaping up and following Toraka out the door with Claygon right behind.

And so, in the final step of the financial component of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension, the Roth-Shale Super Golem Crafting Project came to be.

It was a name that would be workshopped in the coming days.

Heavily.

Alex Roth stumbled home from the bank, leaning against Claygon.

His pouch was heavy with gold coins, a fraction of the fortune now sitting in his newly acquired bank account in the Generasi Central Bank. And that fortune was only a small fraction of the wealth he stood to make with Toraka over the next couple of years.

Alex’s hands trembled at the thought.

“I did it…” he murmured to himself as he and his golem made their way to the insula. “I bloody did it… By the Traveller, I’m rich.”

His mind raced, remembering the sums he’d heard tossed around at the bank. The sort of coin that could buy entire towns back in Thameland.

‘I don’t know what a lot of what was said means… but congratulations, Father,’ Claygon said.

‘Thanks, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘It’s… it’s life-changing, what just happened is absolutely life-changing.’

‘In… a good way?’

‘Oh yes, in a very good way,’ Alex thought. ‘Oh, and don’t you worry. These golems I’m crafting aren’t going to be copies of you. You’ll always be unique, my friend. Very unique.’

‘It does not matter to me if there are others like me,’ came Claygon’s thought. ‘There are other humans like you, Father. But there is only one you.’

Alex nearly choked up at his golem’s words.

Today was getting to be a bit much for his heart.

In a good way.

As he and Claygon stepped into the courtyard, he couldn’t wait to tell Theresa and Selina the amazing news.

The arrow slipped from the huntress’ fingers, clattering to the floor as she stared at Alex in open-mouthed shock. There was a thud as Selina dropped a textbook on the table.

“Have you gone completely mad?” Selina asked. “This… this has to be a joke, right?”

“Y-you said… one hundred and ten thousand gold coins, right?” Theresa stammered. “There was a thousand after that ten, right? I didn’t just hallucinate that? Or dream it?”

Alex sank into a chair by the table like his body had turned to jelly. “No… you heard it right,” he said. “That’s… yeah, we’re… uh… We’re rich beyond our wildest dreams, guys. That’s… it’s true.”

Tears welled up in Selina’s eyes. “When you bought that building, you said you had a lot of debt because of it…”

He made a cutting gesture with the edge of his hand. “Gone. All of the debt’s gone. And it’ll stay gone so long as I make a good golem.” Alex smiled up at Claygon. “And Roth golems are the best golems.”

“Oh, by the Traveller, Alex!” Theresa leapt out of her chair, sprang across the room, and wrapped her arms around him. “You did it! You can build your staff now!”

“I—uh, can do a bit more than make a staff now, Theresa. This is life-changing… we could buy⁠—”

“What matters to me is that you can make something that’ll keep you and the rest of us safe.” She hugged him tighter. “That’s what counts.”

Right then and there, Alex Roth promised himself that Theresa Lu would live like an empress for the rest of her life if that was something she ever wished for.

“I don’t…” Selina murmured, sliding out of her chair, walking lightly over to her brother, and squeezing his arm. “Thank you, Alex. I think… I think Mother and Father would be proud of you. I know I am.”

Right then and there, Alex Roth promised himself that Selina Roth would also live like an empress for the rest of her life if that was what she ever wished for.

As he basked in the embrace of his family—with a foundation of wealth finally firmly beneath their feet—he thanked the Traveller for their good fortune. At long last, their future in Generasi was secure. With his new venture, Alex would be able to completely fix up their new bakery, transforming it into a thriving business and a wonderful home.

He’d be able to fund all of Selina’s schooling, even beyond undergraduate studies. He could buy the supplies for Claygon’s speakerbox without a second thought. Soon his golem would be talking and singing to the aeld tree whenever he pleased.

For his friends, he could build magic items to protect them in battle and make their lives easier in peace.

And as for Theresa’s parents? With so much coin coming in, he could fund their retirement whenever they wanted to take it. If they wanted to move to Generasi? He’d be able to snap his fingers and buy them a townhouse in the city, or even a villa in the countryside.

A major change had come to Alex Roth and his family’s life again. A wonderful change.

A frown took his features.

A fragile change.

‘All of this good fortune… it’s all dependent on me getting more dungeon core essence. I can’t keep putting Khalik, Theresa, and my other friends at risk helping me keep my supply of dungeon cores flowing. I have to come up with a way to get them myself… which isn’t going to be easy. There’s a reason why dungeon raids are usually led by a team of magically empowered super-fighters blessed by a powerful god. Dungeon cores won’t do us any good if I get killed trying to get my hands on them. And if… no, when the Ravener’s defeated… it could also mean no more dungeon cores.’

He chewed his lip, fighting his own worries. ‘You’ll need to diversify, just like you would a spell list. Make sure you have multiple paths for earning coin. More than one way to build your wealth. But that’s a later problem. Right now, you need to focus on building your staff and getting the bakery fixed u⁠—’

“Alex? You look like you swallowed a jug of vinegar.” Selina frowned at him.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about things,” he said as Theresa finally released him from her death grip of a hug. “The bakery, for one. I’ve got to get it cleaned out sooner or later.”

“Ooo! Can we go see it again?” Selina asked. “You hardly let me see much of it last time, and I really want to see where my room’s going to be.”

“The place is not fit for human habitation yet,” he reminded her. “It’s not really fit for any habitation that doesn’t involve cockroaches, rats, mice, and other various varieties of vermin.”

“Please? I mean, we’re… rich now, right? We should go to the city and celebrate! Like maybe go to that nice restaurant we went to for your birthday! And on the way there, we could take a look at the bakery.”

“Hmmmm.” He thought the idea over. “I don’t know. Last thing you want is to catch some bakery-inflicted plague.”

“You said you used Orb of Air and flight potions when you looked at it with… Troy, was his name, right? We could do the same thing, and I’m forcing you to let me take you out for a nice meal, Alex,” Theresa said. “We could see the place on the way, like Selina suggested. C’mon, I’d love to go.”

“Alright, but don’t complain to me if you both get a flesh-eating disease,” Alex said. “Or if you’re eaten by some giant flying cockroach.”

“Look out!” Alex cried, recoiling in horror.

The young Thameish wizard flew through the air, his feet hovering above the bakery’s cluttered floorboards before his back collided with a wall. Stammering, he pointed ahead with a shaking hand. “A giant flying cockroach! Theresa, flee! We must flee for our lives!”

Floating in the air ahead of him was the giant flying cockroach: Selina. His younger sister put her hands on her hips, glaring at her brother. “Alex, why do you have to be so silly sometimes?”

“Look out, Theresa!” Alex screamed in mock terror. “The flying giant cockroach can talk!”

“This giant flying cockroach is going to push a giant flying rat down the stairs if he doesn’t stop!” Selina yelled, floating high in the air, curling her fingers like claws.

“Theresa, help! The cockroach is going to kill me⁠—”

“Sure, I’ll help… I’ll help Selina.” Theresa laughed, floating through the apartment, examining the rooms.

“Thanks,” he said sourly. “Some thanks I get.”

“You got thanks earlier, but then you started being weird,” Selina pointed out, flying to another room. “Also, this place isn’t so bad. I mean… it’s got a lot of stuff in it…”

She eyed the junk gathered in piles on the apartment floor. Alex’s clean-up operation had begun by his own efforts—he hadn’t had time to hire labourers yet— but that effort had only seen the apartment go from ‘horrifyingly unlivable,’ to ‘slightly less horrifyingly unlivable.’

“And maybe having so much stuff all over the place isn’t very nice… but the rooms are nice, and there’s a lot of them. Our new home is gonna be really pretty once it’s all cleaned and fixed up,” Selina said, brimming with optimism. “We’ll wake up to the smell of fresh bread every morning! And I’ll have a place to build things and study magic!”

“Oh yes,” Alex said. “Once the cleanup’s all finished, and the basement’s done, I’m going to set up my workshop down there. You can have your own space too for studying and building whatever you’d like. We might want somewhere bigger down the road, but for now, this place will really serve us well.”

“I can see us spending a lot of time on that rooftop garden.” Theresa wiped grime from a window. “It’s too bad there’s nowhere close by for Brutus to run, though.”

A floor below, Brutus barked as though he were answering to his name being called.

“No, Brutus!” the huntress called down to the main floor. “I don’t want you up here eating anything buried in all of this trash, boy. You don’t need old rotting rat in your belly!”

She paused, frowning at Alex. “Um, how are we going to get rid of the vermin anyway? If there’s half as many roaches as you say you saw when we were here last time, then it’s going to be a nightmare and take a miracle to get rid of them all. My uncle once had a really bad cockroach infestation at his cottage, and father said it took him the better part of a year, and a whole lot of homemade poison to get rid of them.”

“Well.” Alex cracked his knuckles. “You let me worry about that. I’ve got a few plans, shall we say. Tomorrow, I’m going on a bit of a shopping spree to get everything I need for my staff. Then Claygon and I’ll be cleaning and sanitising the kitchen, and I’ll bring my alchemy kit with me to do a little staff-building.”

He smiled wickedly. “At the same time, I have some… plans for our… uninvited vermin guests. I don’t think there’ll be a single roach or rat left in the building in a few days. No living ones, in any case.”

His smile grew wider as he rubbed his hands together and planned his next task. The perfect combination of staff-building, and vermin extermination.

Chapter 33

Extermination by Army

“Well, Claygon, it seems like we’ll be here for the next twenty hours or so. And, ugh—if I could slap that Govert in his stupid, unsanitary face, I would.” Alex grimaced as he finished scrubbing years of grease, stains, and hardened batter from the kitchen’s central island and flung another dirty rag onto the growing pile. “I swear, that man never used a sliver of soap and water on this place. Not one sliver!”

‘We make… good progress.’ Claygon gently dipped his pair of mops—comically small in his enormous stone hands—into two buckets, continuing to mop the kitchen floor. ‘It is… too bad I can’t use fire. It would clean away all the old dirt quickly.’

“Yes, but with one big problem being that it’d also clean up everything else. Everything else meaning the floor, ceiling, walls… well, the whole bakery, really.” Alex shook his head at the basin of dirty water close by, then raised his hands, making a face at the dark gunk clinging to his gloves. ‘Ugh, I knew this should’ve been a Wizard’s Hands only job, but noooo, Alex, you had to contribute so things would go faster.’

‘You… are making things go faster, Father. It’s a good thing.’

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy,” he said wryly, looking around at his army of Wizard’s Hands scrubbing away thick layers of grime that had built up on nearly every surface since Govert had inherited the bakery. “But if it’s all the same, in retrospect, I have a feeling that taking longer and keeping my hands—gloved or not—clean, would’ve been better.”

He ripped the gloves off, tossing them into a basin brimming with diluted sanitising cleanser: a formula usually used by alchemists for disinfecting equipment after working with particularly toxic substances.

His version contained double the usual concentration of alchemical cleaner.

In most cases, such a mixture was considered overzealous, even by Professor Jules’ standards. But, for this place? Alex was considering that maybe it wasn’t quite strong enough.

“Still, at least it finally looks like we’ve basically gotten the place sanitised!” he said, taking a deep breath of fresh air. “It does smell a lot better, that’s for sure.”

‘Father… you have Orb of Air over your head. I watched you cast it earlier.’

Alex froze. “Ah… yes, well, that explains the pleasant scent. Forgot it then, and thanks, buddy.”

‘You… are welcome.’

“Right, then.” Alex put his hands on his hips, his eyes going to a corner of the kitchen. “Looks like we’re about ready to begin setting up.”

There, tucked in the corner were a pair of large boxes full of supplies—including his alchemy kit—alongside the precious aeld branch leaned against the wall, waiting. It still glowed with a cheery green-golden light, bubbling with excited curiosity at its new surroundings.

If it minded the occasional roach crawling through cracks in the floorboards, it showed no sign of it.

“I suppose the only bugs that’d put you off would be carpenter ants and the like,” Alex said thoughtfully. “Not much to fear from cockroaches when you’re a piece of magical wood. In any case, you just wait there for a moment, I’ll start working with you riiiiight after I eliminate the vermin.”

Alex cracked his knuckles, laughing evilly as bugs crawled along the ceiling, their wriggling antenna popping out of holes in the mortar.

‘May… this battle end in your quick victory, Father,’ Claygon said.

“Oh, it will.” Alex spread his hands, joints popping ominously as his fingers flexed. “Oh, it will. Now, let the grand summoning begin!”

With those words echoing through the kitchen, Alex conjured an army just as he had when he was seeking the aeld tree with Gwyllain by his side. He cast spell after spell, filling the kitchen with otherworldly summoned monsters, being very specific as to what kind of creatures he called to him. First, he brought Bubbles, and several other water elemental friends to the material world. In this case, ‘several’ meant a good two dozen. Next, he refreshed his mana with Hsieku’s technique, then cast Summon Elemental Beetle four times, calling a quartet of water elemental beetle swarms.

He cast Summon Viper-Devil repeatedly, conjuring a dozen of the hissing serpents from the hells. Lastly, he rounded out his summoned army by calling half a dozen air elementals to do his bidding.

“Phew, I love doing that,” he said, taking time for a stretch after his enthusiastic conjuring session. “It’s going to be loads better too when I build some of this magic into the staff. No more bloody Mark shenanigans every time I want to cast a summoning spell. Anyway, time to get down to business!”

Clapping loudly, he drew the attention of his otherworldly horde.

“Might I have your attention, please!” he said in the common tongue, fully aware that few of his horde would understand it. Still, calling an army of summoned monsters to order did something for the ego.

‘Makes me feel a bit like a general, to be honest,’ he thought.

“Alright, friends, today, we’re going to be going on a little vermin hunt. Well, less a hunt and more of a vermin annihilation extravaganza,” he said several times, switching through different otherworldly tongues. “This building is full, and I do mean full of creatures like that.”

He pointed to a cockroach running along the wall, drawing the attention of his magical minions to it. “As well as creatures like these.”

Alex went over to his satchel, retrieving and waving drawings at his summoned creatures: one was of a rat, and the other a bat. “And today, I want you to comb through every crack, gap, hole, and space to get rid of every last one of these blighted bastards. I’ll give you the specifics of your missions now. Oh, by the Traveller, I love saying that.”

He clapped twice, turning to Bubbles and company. “My water elemental friends, you’re going to slip into holes and cracks in the walls, floors, and ceilings. I want you to find every rat and cockroach that you can—” he waved the drawings, pointing out bugs crawling on the bakery floor “—gobble them up, suck every bit of water from them until they’re as dry as tinder, and then drop them in that bin over there.”

Alex pointed to a large, tin barrel by the door. “Sound good? I’ll give each of you lots of potions as a reward for helping. So, get ready to start when I say ‘go.’”

His water elementals bubbled with glee, and he actually giggled, turning next to the viper-devils.

“You, my friends,” he said, switching to a tongue of devils. “You’re going to be the seekers of our little operation. You’ve got senses and hunting instincts that make even demons and devils fear you. So, I want you to go and not only seek, but also have a feast. Find the little hidey-holes that the water elementals miss and hunt for rats. Eat them, friends. Oh, and⁠—”

He pointed to the floor.

“—you’ll find some really big rats down there. Give them a few bites, and a nice big dose of your venom and let them drop.”

The viper-devils looked at each other, then hissed in a way that reminded Alex of malicious laughter.

“Well, that’s a sound that’ll live rent free in my nightmares.” He looked at the elemental beetles next. “You’re all on bug-duty too. Fly through every space you can fit in, hunt and kill every fly you see.” He pointed to flies already buzzing around his freshly cleaned kitchen. “Once they’re all cleared out, go up to the top of the building and drive out every bat there.” He waved the drawing of the bat for effect. “Alright? Alright.”

The beetles buzzed in affirmation, gathering together, ready to follow his command.

Lastly, he turned to his air elementals, speaking in one of their tongues. “You’re on bat duty too, my friends. I want you to go to the top of the building, find all of the leathery winged fellows roosting up there, and roust them. Suck them up and throw them out of the windows. And don’t let them come back either.”

The air elementals made a whooshing sound, floating away like storm clouds racing through the sky.

“Right, you all have your orders now.” He clapped his hands. “Go!”

With a cacophony of whooshing, bubbling, hissing, and buzzing, his otherworldly army scattered throughout the bakery, hunting their prey with frightening zeal. He hadn’t blinked even once in the time it took his beetles to begin snapping flies from the air, turning them to paste with their grinding mandibles and swallowing them down. Some swooped at the walls, snatching roaches before they had a chance to skitter away.

Viper-devils shot along floorboards, diving between cracks, uncovering holes where rats hid in the darkness, or heading to the stairs, primed to set upon the larger prey below. Air elementals swarmed up the stairs in droves, seeking the colony of bats roosting there.

And Bubbles gathered his water elemental companions, leading them through gaps in the floorboards and walls. They flattened like disks, seeping into spaces and gaps like running water, disappearing beneath the floor and within the bakery’s walls.

Humming contentedly, Alex turned to his alchemy supplies as battle sounds not normally heard in a townhouse echoed through the building. Walls gurgled, mixed with frightened cries from cornered rats and their mouse cousins. Cockroaches skittered to and fro, desperately fleeing liquid death, and from the basement, panicked dire rats shrieked as viper-devils fell on them.

“Must say it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than hiring labourers and rat-catchers,” he said cheerily, beginning to set up his workstation.

Claygon paused his mopping. ‘Father… I feel… left out.’

“Oh? What is it, buddy?” Alex asked. “You want to join in on the battle too, or something? I mean, I don’t think you’d fit in the walls.”

‘No… Father…’ Claygon said, and Alex felt a shyness coming from his golem. ‘I mean… this building is being cleaned. But… well, me…’

Alex paused. “You want me to give you a polish, you mean?”

The golem shifted his weight back and forth shyly. “…Yes.”

Alex chuckled. “Well, say no more, buddy. I’ll polish you right up! And after that, it’s time to get my staff-work started.”

‘…That you, Father,’ Claygon said, and Alex could feel a slight embarrassment coming from him.

‘Well, it’s official,’ Alex thought, fetching a soft, clean rag. ‘I have the most adorable golem in the whole city.’

“Alright, aeld tree branch? Check. Crafting tools? Check. Plant pot? Check. Crystallisation stabilising infusion? Check.” Alex looked at the kitchen island carefully as he strapped on his mask and adjusted his apron. “Alright, everything’s ready.”

He shuddered, recalling the monstrously large amounts of coin he’d spent on some of the ingredients laid out before him. Crafting a staff was no cheap task. Crafting a staff that could be activated through pure mana manipulation? Even more expensive. Crafting a staff activated through pure mana manipulation, took advantage of aeld tree wood, and had a design that would let him add more magical abilities in the future?

That had cost enough to buy a pair of small bakeries in this district.

“But it’ll be worth it,” he promised himself, flipping through his staff schematics. “It’ll definitely be worth it.”

He glanced at the aeld tree branch leaning against the island, bubbling with rising curiosity and wonder.

“Well, then, my friend.” Alex rubbed his gloved hands together. “We’re going to be making you into a magic staff today. But don’t worry, the process I’m going to use isn’t invasive. It’ll only work because—as far as I can tell—you’re made of living wood, so you’ll just need to use these…”

He picked up a set of ‘false roots’ that he’d bought at a magical plant store, “…to drink deeply of the liquid I’ll be brewing for you. That’s all there is to it. In return, you’re going to have a whole lot of magical power flowing through you. Sound fun?”

He felt a wave of warm curiosity drifting from the aeld tree branch.

“Brilliant. Then let’s get started, shall we?”

Chapter 34

The Methods of Staff-Making

As Alex had learned over many, many long days and nights of careful research, there were a host of methods an alchemist could use to craft a staff.

In the most ancient days of magic, wizards’ staffs were forged by way of blood sacrifice to a powerful demon, devil, or other spirit, one who would bind only the strongest souls into a chosen tree branch to fuel the staff’s powers. These magical items were cruel and monstrously powerful, channelling vicious magics that echoed the suffering of the souls trapped inside.

Some of these staffs even survived to modern times as terrible artefacts of a barbaric age.

As alchemy advanced and the world grew richer in mana, less bloody methods were used in staff crafting. Wizards took to binding elemental spirits within the cores of ancient woods, granting terrible elemental powers. Though they were—to some extent—less cruelly made, these staffs were still wrathful things, wrought of dreadful magic and often temperamental at best.

Fortunately for Alex, modern staff-making techniques were less—if at all—cruel, less dangerous, and more versatile than the terrible ways of ancient times, which gave the young wizard more, even better, and far more acceptable options to choose from.

‘Of course, I would have to go and choose one of the more difficult methods,’ he thought, painting the aeld tree branch with mana-infused oil. Its green-golden glow flickered, like it was laughing from being tickled. ‘Oh well, easy methods tend to make for unimpressive results. Still, a lot of this is going to be tedious, meaning lots of waiting around… Although, I think I know how we can pass the time.’

He turned to Claygon standing nearby, eyes fixed on the aeld tree branch. His surface gleamed brilliantly after his meticulous polishing, and Alex admired it, picking up a flask of dark liquid and bringing it to a pressurised mana processor.

“So, Claygon.” He popped the cap on the flask, dripping liquified dungeon core essence into the processor. “I know how much you like learning things, and this is going to take awhile, so, since there’s not going to be anything for you to do except listen to my army eradicate vermin, how about if I teach you some of what I’ll be doing?”

The golem pulled his gaze away from the aeld tree branch. ‘What you will… be doing?’

“Yep, in my staff-making,” Alex said. “By the time I’m finished, you’ll know more about alchemy than most first-years! And… maybe if I ever need help with this sort of stuff again, you’ll be able to assist me, if you want. What do you think?”

Claygon looked between Alex and the aeld branch. ‘Yes… Father. I would love… to learn.’

“Good! So, let’s begin lesson one of staff crafting!” Alex eyed the dark liquid dripping into the container, adjusting the freshly polished mana vacuum. “There’s a lot of different ways to go about doing this. If there’s anything wizards and alchemists love, it’s variety and—between you and me—being a little redundant at times. That’s why there’s absolutely a bloody wagon load of different methods for making a staff, but I think it’s simplest if I tell you about the two most common ones… and then the strange one I’ll be using.”

‘Strange… one?’ Claygon cocked his head, watching as the dungeon core substance slowly dripped into the processor.

“Oh yes, we’ve got—” Alex paused. “Wait, I was getting a bit ahead of myself there. We’ll get to the strange one later. Let’s go over the easiest one first: Magic Circuitry Infusion. Fun fact for you, that’s likely the way your fire-gems were made.”

Claygon raised his upper hands, opening his fingers and examining the fire-gems shining in his palms. ‘Really?’

“Oh yeah.” Alex remembered the very first time he’d felt the gems’ magic circuitry back in the Cave of the Traveller. “You just take a magical medium and inscribe a magic circuit into it… Though, it’s a bit more complex than that, but that’s the basics of it. In the end, you have an item that replicates a spell. It’s fairly easy to do—if you know your way around alchemy—and can be pretty cheap as far as magic item creation goes. Just as long as you make the item rely on the ambient mana in the air.” Alex finished measuring out the dungeon core essence into the mana processor. “Your fire-gems are a bit different than that. They’ve got their own internal power sources, so you can activate them just about anywhere, mana in the air or not.”

He made a gesture like he was rubbing a pair of coins between his fingers. “But that gets much more pricey, especially if you have to inscribe multiple magic circuits into one object. That’s when you’d need to build lots of different power sources into the item—or one big one connected to all the separate circuits—and that’s not cheap. If you’re going to do that, you may as well go straight to the second method, in my opinion.”

‘Which is?’ Claygon asked.

“Mana Core Creation: which is close to how you were made, Claygon.” Alex warmed up a heat source beneath the processor. “Basically, you create a core—similar to a golem core—that acts like both the power source and control centre of a magic item. For a staff, you don’t make it as powerful as a golem core nor as complex, but it still takes some pretty skilled alchemy-work to pull off. To me, the nice thing about staffs made with mana cores⁠—”

He went about setting up the flowerpot, opening bags of sanitised soil and specialised fertiliser as he talked, “—is that the lovely little design doesn’t need spellcraft in order for me to use it. Everything can be controlled with good old-fashioned mana manipulation. Most wizards would find that more of a headache, but for me, it’s the perfect Traveller-sent blessing.”

‘Good…’ Claygon said, eyeing his father’s alchemy equipment. ‘Is that the method… you’re using to make your staff, Father?’

“Oh, absolutely not!” Alex poured the soil into the pot, carefully stirring it, then added a bag of dried mushrooms from his personal garden—something to increase mana conductivity. “You see, in order to install a mana core into a staff, you need to cut the actual body of the staff open, put the core in, then seal it back up again. Which, uh, wouldn’t be very pleasant for our young, branchy friend over there.” He gave the aeld branch a friendly nod.

The branch released a wave of anxiety.

‘That would be… bad,’ Claygon said.

“Just a bit. Now, if I knew a spell called Wood Shape, I might be able to warp its wood, install the core, then close it back up with no issues.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know that spell, so we’re using a method from magical botany for making a staff out of living wood. It’s called Staff Incrementum, and it needs one of these!”

He picked up the false roots, waving them in front of Claygon’s face. Their prongs protruded like spines on a sea urchin.

‘Those… spikes are going to stick the branch?’ Claygon asked. ‘They look like they would… hurt it.’

The branch’s emotions sent out a peal of agreement, drawing Alex’s curious eyes. It wasn’t the first time the aeld or its branch had reacted to his and Claygon’s mental conversations. He was learning that aelds had a powerful sense of empathy, picking up on the emotions, intentions, and thoughts of those around them.

The tree had been the first among the Research Castle’s inhabitants to sense the Ravener-spawn coming from beneath the earth. He could only wonder what else it could sense…

“Well, just to be clear, the prongs don’t go into the branch.” He flipped the false roots over, showing both the branch and Claygon a slot in the device’s centre. “The bottom of the branch goes here, now that it’s been coated in mana-rich oil, which enhances conductivity. Here, I’ll show you.”

He took up the aeld branch and false roots, carefully measured the branch’s diameter and circumference, then adjusted the slot on the roots and slowly slid the magical device over the bottom of the branch.

Alex heard several clicks as an internal conductor touched the oily wood and internal clamps slammed shut, securing the staff. A high-pitched whine emanated from the device as aeld tree power coursed through the false roots.

The prongs vibrated, stretching and twitching like angry spider legs. A golden-green glow shone at the tip of each prong, and the aeld branch gave off waves of nervous curiosity, while showing no sign of pain.

“Good.” Alex nodded, pointing out the lights to Claygon. “See those lights at the end of the prongs? It means the roots are channelling the aeld’s power, which means the connection between the false roots and the branch is good and strong, and that’s what we want.”

‘Good… but where do the prongs go, Father?’ Claygon asked.

“Well, what do they look like now that they’re at the bottom of the branch?”

‘Like… tree roots. Do they go into the earth?’

“That’s my big, brainy golem for you! That’s completely right!” Alex laughed, lifting both branch and flailing false roots above the plant pot. His Wizard’s Hands swarmed over the soil, digging a deep hole in the centre of the dirt. “Now, watch this…”

He slowly lowered the branch into the soil, watching the false roots twitch then begin digging into the soil, covering themselves with rich earth. Once he’d lowered the roots halfway into the pot, another snapping sound saw the prongs suddenly extend, hooking onto the inside of the pot, securing the branch.

Gingerly, Alex let go, watching the aeld branch for signs of toppling.

“There we go!” He chuckled. “I got the self-securing kind, because, hey, I can afford it. Anyway, keep in mind that those roots are the key to our process, Claygon. What I’m going to do is basically create a crystalized mana core that can go into any staff, but then I’m going to liquify it and pour it into this mana conductive soil here.”

He tapped the side of the pot. “Then, I have to keep the soil at a high heat and let the false roots and aeld tree branch drink up the liquified mana core. Afterwards, I’ll add a crystallisation agent and wait for the entire thing to naturally crystallise in the aeld branch. It should combine really nicely with its natural magic to form a staff of living wood.”

‘That sounds… complicated,’ Claygon said.

“It is! And if I mess up the proportions, the mana core will stay liquid and all the ingredients I bought will be completely useless!”

‘Why do… you sound happy about that?’ Claygon wondered.

“Oh, what’s the fun in alchemy without a little tension?” the young wizard asked, vaguely aware that he sounded quite insane. “It’d be kinda boring if there wasn’t any risk at all, eh?”

Alex felt a flurry of confused emotions from his golem, followed by a nervous-sounding phrase: ‘If… that’s what you want… Father.’

“Ah, good, you’re already figuring out the wonders of being socially polite even if you don’t understand what someone’s talking about. You’ll go far, buddy. Point is, though, I wouldn’t be trying any of this if I didn’t think I could do it… and speaking of doing it…”

He glanced at the pressurised mana processor. “It’s about time we start the next step. Watch closely, this next part’s a bit delicate, so I won’t be able to really narrate what I’m doing step by step.”

‘Tell me if you need me, Father…’ Claygon said.

“Oh, I will, but I should be fine.” Alex flipped open the schematics, studying his list of ingredients.

Over time, he’d created a precise list of steps for how to add and process each ingredient his staff would require, including the amount of time needed for controlling their reactions.

His attention went to the carefully laid out ingredients organised in rows across the kitchen island.

“Right, then, let’s get to it,” he said, looking over the list of magical powers he’d selected for his staff, hoping he’d chosen well.

His first choice was to include every single summoning spell that he knew—which at this point was quite a few—as well as every Call Through Elemental Plane spell he’d learned since first-year. Each one would be beneficial to him in combat, as he could activate them with a little bit of quick mana manipulation embedded in the staff.

For that to work, he’d bought essence from every plane he’d learned about in magic theory, Professor Mangal’s Summoning classes, and his own personal study: soil from the elemental plane of earth, a bottle of sealed flame from the elemental plane of fire, a measure of brimstone from the hells, holy ice from the heavens, and so on.

They weren’t cheap, but thanks to some astute negotiation with Toraka Shale, he could now afford them. Alex smiled at the memory.

For force spells, he’d bought force magic-infused tesseracts to add to his solution, and for his blood magic spells, he’d include some of his own blood, which would bind the staff’s power to him alone.

Along with those elements, he would also infuse ingredients that would grant the staff flight magic and body enhancement magic.

And that was where the easy part ended…

He looked at a sealed box rounding out his line of magical ingredients, where he’d placed a key one: the last remaining mana-ejection potions gifted him by Elder Blodeuwedd in the Crymlyn Swamp.

If he used those just right, he’d have a nasty weapon against any mana-rich enemies.

If he had his way, those demons lurking down in the hells were going to be on the receiving end of a very bad time for a change.

Chapter 35

Magnificent Blooms of Power

The one incident topping the list of things that truly convinced Alex of how key having the power of Elder Blodeuwedd’s mana-ejection potion at hand would be, was the invisible Ravener-spawn attack against him, his friends, and the other expedition members in the Research Castle courtyard. He’d saved lives thanks to the elder witch’s potion, but only by a whisker, and as crucial as it was to have, using it in his staff posed certain problems he’d had to overcome.

First off, it wasn’t likely that an enemy would be obliging enough to just stand around while he painted the tonic on them. So, a solution he’d tried was to use a bunch of Wizard’s Hands and some intensive training, keeping the goal of painting moving targets during combat in mind.

After a few experiments using the Mark, some gesso to paint the enemy, some Wizard’s Hands, and an unbelievably patient stone golem, he’d managed to paint a few symbols on something in motion.

But two related problems had quickly presented themselves.

First, he’d wasted a whole lot of paint—which he couldn’t afford to do if he was using the potion—since the Wizard’s Hands splashed gesso everywhere pursuing Claygon. Secondly, the supply of potion was limited, and getting more wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t like popping over to the Crymlyn to help Drestra’s people rid themselves of a demonic horde every week wasn’t anything short of delusional. Which left him trying to find a solution based in reality.

The answer he came to was replicating the potion’s effects in a magic item that would allow him to ‘stamp’ an enemy with a symbol, and produce mana expulsion power at will.

How to do it had been murderously tough to work out.

He had to break down the potion’s magical composition using his alchemy kit and several gruelling nights of painstaking testing in the Cells. Then it was off to the library to grab every book he could find on staff-making and magic item creation.

Which led to another near-sleepless night of work, but in all that, he’d uncovered an old method of transferring a potion’s effects to a more permanent magical item. Of course, as is often the case with alchemy, the method called for some very expensive ingredients that he would never have been able to afford before his deal with Toraka.

Even then, the price the alchemical supply merchant had quoted nearly stopped his heart.

“But, it’s going to be worth it,” he muttered, sliding the box over to the mana processor. “At least, if all goes to plan, it will.”

Once he’d solved how to make his staff replicate a potion’s effects, he’d needed to resolve the problem of having that effect transfer onto an enemy. After another long night of consideration—the hypothetical solution had been simpler than he’d expected.

That was if the idea worked, because at this stage, it was all still theory.

He’d designed a custom force effect for his staff, one that would effectively be a giant stamp with shapes of the symbols Elder Blodeuwedd had painted with her potion.

Like a great, big rubber stamp made of force magic.

Ram would be proud, if it worked.

And if it didn’t⁠—

“You know what a nice side-benefit is of how we’re making this staff?” he asked Claygon. “It’s that I get to fiddle with it later and make any changes I need.” He nodded to the fire-gems. “You know how your fire-gems power up faster now that you’ve evolved?”

‘Yes…’ Claygon said. ‘I remember… they were slower before.’

“That’s right, and that’s because they changed along with you,” Alex said. “They’re better integrated with your mana now so you can flood them with your golem core’s power, which lets them power up a lot faster. Now, the thing is, normal magic items don’t do that. For example.”

He tapped the fire-gem in Claygon’s palm. “Let’s say that gem wasn’t integrated into your body. Without some very finicky alchemy-work and really expensive ingredients, that fire-gem would be static. It wouldn’t change, and it’d be hard to make changes to it. It’s like how regular golems don’t evolve or develop sapience over time. Like I said, you’re special.”

Alex felt a little spark of happiness through his link with Claygon, which he found quite adorable.

The golem looked at the aeld branch sitting in its pot of mana-treated soil.

‘You… are going to make the staff… special too?’ he asked.

“Oh yes,” Alex said. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve got this special wood… and dungeon core essence, so why wouldn’t I make a special staff?”

‘Good… the aeld branch deserves to be a special staff. But how will it be special?’

“Glad we both agree.” Alex rubbed his hands together. “The thing is, Staff Incrementum creates a staff of living wood. One of the advantages is that once the staff’s initial powers settle in, I can always snap the fake roots on whenever I want, make more liquified mana core, and have the staff drink it up. And then, we’ll have all kinds of new effects, which’ll be really good since there’s other powerful ones I’d like to attach to the staff. For now, I don’t quite have the mana pool to forge them, but when I do, we’ll have some real fun. Anyway, enough talk, let’s get this next part done. Watch closely.”

Alex turned, gathering up his ingredients and prepping them.

The elemental essences were placed in suspensions of mana-rich oil to draw out their power, then he took the force magic-infused tesseracts and added them to the dungeon core essence.

Taking out his mana conductor—a new, far more sensitive model—he inserted it into the mixture, flicked a switch on the side of the pressurised mana processor and…

With a whoom of intense power, heat and pressure channelled into the substances. Alex was deep in concentration, pouring his mana into the solution. Sparks erupted as the tesseracts cracked, releasing force magic into the liquified dungeon core essence.

Liquid shuddered when the mana conductive substance combined with the new power, pushing against the sides of the container as Alex steadily guided the reaction.

A long, slow breath escaped him as he guided the pressurised mana through its reactions. The work was finicky, but if he hadn’t mastered Hsieku’s technique, it would have failed.

Gradually, the powerful reaction began stabilising, signalling it had reached the point for more ingredients.

First, a powerful binding agent was added, uniting the rest of the materials.

Then came the elemental essences, flaring with magic within their oil-based suspensions.

With the utmost care, Alex stirred in each one as Claygon leaned over his shoulder, watching them undergo a startling reaction in the processor.

The elemental flame essence released jets of fire, spraying a sea of flame within the processor, only held in check by Alex’s skill in mana manipulation. Elemental earth caused crystallisation in the solution, creating tiny jewels, geodes, and veins of gleaming metal before quickly reverting back to liquid.

Now, the once black solution glowed with crimson light, thrumming with power as Alex introduced new ingredients.

‘It’s beautiful…’ Claygon noted.

‘Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,’ Alex thought.

Essence of elemental air sent wind and lightning dancing through the processor. Water created tiny typhoons of steam, rain, and ice. Essence of flight magic caused the glowing substance to float for a heartbeat before settling down as the processor’s pressure redoubled.

Alex clenched his jaw.

Reactions sparked in volatility as dozens of magical forces—all enhanced by dungeon core essence—raged within the processor, shaking the magical device on the kitchen island from the sheer force of pressurised power it was fighting to contain.

For the first time since he’d begun his work, Alex felt a twinge of nerves.

This pressurised mana processor was one of the most expensive he could find in Generasi, reinforced with strong magics designed to contain the most violent of alchemical reactions. But it wasn’t built with dungeon core essence in mind. An unknown substance that acted as the ultimate catalyst for magic.

‘Please hold,’ he pleaded. ‘I just bought this place, it’d be a shame to blow it and myself up so soon. It’d be a shame to blow up m—Oop!’

A reaction flared, shaking the processor vigorously as the powers within threatened to spiral out of control. Alex pushed his own power, guiding the reaction like he was guiding his body’s energy flow using the cleansing movements.

It calmed, quietening.

‘Just keep going, Alex,’ he thought, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘Better to get through this before anything nasty happens.’’

And just as he added the next ingredient, a drop of his own blood, light flashed.

The glowing liquid boiled, writhing with newfound life, then suddenly… it changed, taking on a familiar shape. Alex gasped as—for a breath—the solution transformed into an image of his face, trapped, struggling under the pressure of the mana processor, mouth contorted and screaming.

The young wizard recoiled, eyes wide, his concentration slipping.

Abruptly, the mirror image shattered, scattering into a cascade of steam, rushing liquid, and pure, molten energy as the mana processor began beeping in warning, straining as the reaction spiked out of control.

“Shit!” Alex threw the entire weight of his power into the substance, trying to tame the reaction.

‘Father? Father, are you alright?’ Claygon cried in alarm.

“Just… give me a… second…” He squeezed the words through clenched teeth, bending his mind to the reaction. He called on the Mark and it guided him through memories of mana manipulation, alchemy, and fighting mana reversals in his own body.

Through each memory—his experience crafting Claygon, hundreds of potions, and mastering mana manipulation—he let his power flow, redirecting the reaction, calming it, controlling the energy.

The roiling force began to stabilise. Each disparate ingredient from across the planes, raging against each other only moments before, now began joining together harmoniously. They bonded to the dungeon core essence, mana flowing with perfect conductivity, each ingredient empowering the next.

For the better part of an hour, Alex controlled the reaction, monitoring it closely. At times, it seemed to flow as smoothly as warm oil, gently, calmly, seeming ready to guide itself, but in the blink of an eye, it would change, spiralling into chaos, forcing him to fight it like a ship’s helmsman on a stormy sea.

But, those storms passed, and with each one he conquered, they grew scarcer, until in time, the churning energy within the processor quieted to an easy simmer, allowing him to move on to the next step.

“Alright. Here goes.” Picking up the portion of crystallisation stabilising infusion, Alex gingerly added the transparent substance to the shining liquid in the processor and was immediately rewarded with a sharp snap, like ice cracking in the heart of winter, the reacting fluid shining with all the colours of the rainbow, hardening within the processor.

Tiny crystals appeared, glittering like stars reflected on quiet waters, the hardening process crept across the liquid, rising in spectacular shapes like salt crystals. Alex moved the mana conductor in a spiral, guiding the crystals upward until they took the form of a glittering crystal flower in full bloom. Each ‘petal’ thrummed with a different form of mana, radiating power in symbiosis with each other.

The young wizard sighed, struck with awe. The heart of his staff was complete, and more beautiful than anything he’d expected. Carefully, he inspected the bloom with his mana conductor, sensing out each power, assessing his work, confirming whether or not it had borne the right fruit.

And indeed, it had.

In that beautiful crystalline bloom, he found every bit of magic he’d wanted his staff to hold. Summoning magic. Blood magic. Force magic. Even the mana signature of Elder Blodeuwedd’s potion. It was all there, just ready for the final touch: a body to hold it.

Alex glanced at the aeld branch.

“And it’s almost ready,” he said, looking up at Claygon. “You see this, buddy? This is what dreams are made of. This is what power and protection looks like. This is what progress looks like.”

The golem leaned over his shoulder, peering down at the crystalline mana core. ‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘But… it will not fit.’

“Ah, and that’s where this comes in.” Alex reached for a tiny crystal bottle stoppered with a small gem. “This potion is called Form of Fluidity,” he explained, unstopping the tonic. “And apart from being horrifyingly expensive, when it’s applied to a living thing, it transforms their body into this flowy… oily material, much like certain oozes and slimes you’d find in the wild.”

He mimed chugging it. “One sip, and I could fit through those spaces between the floorboards. Of course, the effect is only temporary, but still really useful for slipping in and out of dangerous situations. Not that I’ll be the one drinking it, though. You see, magical botanists devised this very interesting way of applying the potion. And all I have to do is simply add it to our crystal here and… well, you’ll see.”

Alex poured the potion onto the bloom, while increasing the pressure in the processor, then guided the potion’s mana through the crystal. The reaction was instantaneous.

‘No… Father, the crystal,’ Claygon murmured as the flower once again collapsed into liquid, shining with dozens of coloured lights.

“As I said, it’s juuust temporary.” Alex lifted the processor. “And now…”

He carefully cut the heat source, flicking on the processor’s cooling feature. The steaming liquid rapidly adjusted, cooling to room temperature.

“And now, for our final step.”

He turned, ready to take hold of the plant pot where the aeld branch waited, shining with anticipation.

Chapter 36

Growth and Labour

“Now that we’ve got our mana core liquified, we have to apply it to the false roots,” Alex explained to his golem.

‘Father… I have a question,’ Claygon said.

“I love it when you have questions.” Alex put the processor down so he could check the temperature of his mixture. “It shows that you’ve got a curious mind, Claygon, and having some healthy curiosity takes you much further in life than being a dullard. So, what would you like to know?”

‘The pot…’ Claygon’s attention was on the soil. ‘It is… full of earth… but the shop we went to… there were plants floating in liquid. Why not… do it that way?’

“Oh? You mean why bother with the soil at all?” The young wizard checked the temperature gauge on the side of the processor, nodding in satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s a good question. It’s true that certain plants can be cultured in water, and some you can use a mineral-rich liquid solution for. But the answer is time. Remember how you said you were alright with waiting? That you were patient?”

‘Yes… Father,’ Claygon said.

“Well, sometimes patience is rewarded. And sometimes, without patience, there is a consequence,” Alex explained. “You see, the soil slows how fast our little aeld branch friend will take up the liquified mana core. It’s more of a slow release of energy into the staff.”

‘And that’s… a good thing?’ his golem asked.

“Oh, it’s not only a good thing, it’s a necessity.” Alex tapped the side of the plant pot. “The aeld branch is going to take up this entire solution through the false roots, right? But if it drinks it too fast, then the mana core will recrystallise⁠—”

‘It’s… going to recrystallise?’ Claygon looked at the liquid with concern. ‘It had sharp points when it was… solid. Will that… not hurt the aeld branch?’

“Very astute: the answer’s a very strong and mighty yes.” Alex patted Claygon on the arm. “Oh, and by the way, be careful when you’re interrupting someone. I don’t mind it, because I understand you’re just excited to learn, but some people could find it very rude and insulting.”

‘Oh… sorry… Father…’ Claygon said.

“Oh, bah, no need for apologies. I’m just warning you for when you’ve got your fancy, shiny speakerbox and you’re chatting with everyone you meet.” Alex chuckled. “Not everyone’s as understanding, kind, intelligent, wise, forgiving, and devilishly charming as I!”

He laughed, then paused, reflexively waiting for someone to roast him.

Of course, no one did.

Claygon simply nodded as though his father’s words were the greatest truth the world had ever known. Besides, the only other living creatures around were the vermin in the walls and his summoned army hunting them down. And they were a little busy at the moment, and probably not really up on the whole roasting between friends thing.

Alex coughed awkwardly. “Anyway, I mean, I might be exaggerating on my good qualities… a little.”

‘Is that… humour, Father?’ Claygon asked.

“Er, yes, but anyway! My point was that you were right… but you were also a little wrong.” Alex tapped the branch gently, and its light flickered as though his touch was ticklish. “When it solidifies in the branch, it can hurt it… if it drinks the liquefied mana core too fast.” He rubbed the bark. “You see, if it absorbs the mana core too quickly, the liquid won’t have time to flow through the wood evenly, and pockets of liquid mana core will form. Those pockets will then harden, forming small, sharp crystal blooms that’ll tear through the wood fibres. That’s where the soil comes in handy, it slows the process down, giving the liquid a chance to spread through the entire branch consistently. Then, when it does crystallise, it’ll solidify through the whoooole branch, along the wood grain.”

‘And that… that doesn’t sound like it would hurt the branch,’ Claygon mused.

“That’s right. Anyway, did that answer your question for now? It’s just about time to move on to the next step.”

‘Yes… thank you, Father.’

“Oh, you’re welcome.” Alex held the processor over the pot, pouring the liquid into the mana-rich soil around the aeld branch, watching as the earth shone with dozens of coloured lights. He was moving at a snail’s pace, slowly and steadily—ensuring not a single precious drop was spilled—as he covered the soil with liquified mana core.

“We want to get as even a distribution as we can,” he said to Claygon. “That means we have to soak the soil around the branch fairly evenly. The false roots can correct for some imbalances—like too much liquid on one side of the pot—but it’s better to keep things as even as possible.”

‘Yes, Father… so that the aeld branch drinks it evenly, and the mana core crystallises evenly.’

“You’ve got it.” Alex gently swirled the liquid over the soil. “Very good. Aaaaand, with that, we’re just about done.”

Tipping the processor, he let the last few drops of liquified mana core drain into the soil, then paused, admiring the multi-hued glow. He’d learned that in the most northern and southern places of the world, there were nights when the sky was filled with lights of different hues and shades, weaving like silk tapestries hung by deities.

He wondered if they looked anything like these shining in the soil surrounding the aeld branch.

“Alright!” he said enthusiastically. “So far, so good!”

‘What… happens now?’ Claygon raised a hand as though wanting to touch the soil.

“Well, now we do that thing that you’re so good at: we wait patiently,” Alex said. “In the next hour, we should know for sure if the branch is taking up the mana core.”

‘What happens… if it doesn’t?’

“Well, one of two things.” Alex began cleaning and sanitising his tools. “Best case scenario is there’s a little bit of an imbalance in the soil, which means I can simply adjust it with some fertiliser.”

‘And what is… the worst case scenario?’

Alex gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Worst case scenario is that I screwed up a step when I was making the mana core, which means that I’d have to toss everything I just did and start all over again. If that happens, then you’ll have your first experience seeing your father fall to his knees and cry.”

‘…You said those ingredients were expensive.’

“And that’s why I’d be falling to my knees and crying.”

‘Ah.’

“Exactly, ‘aaaaaaah!’ I’d be screaming that word too! You get it!” Alex scrubbed out the pressurised processor. “In any case, we’ve got some time to kill, and a bit of mana left, so we might as well get a little more work done since we’re here, and Traveller knows the place needs it.” He looked around the kitchen. “We might be able to kill all the vermin today—or at least most of them. I definitely don’t hear those dire rats anymore—but there’s still a lot of junk to remove.”

‘I can move the heavy things… Father. You just stay here… rest. You are tired and I don’t… get tired,’ Claygon said, standing a little straighter.

“Ohoho, no you don’t!” Alex wagged a finger. “I didn’t just polish you to a mirror-sheen just to see you get dirty hauling a bunch of garbage around.” He cracked his knuckles. “Like I said, I’ve got some mana left, so let’s leave that sort of thing to some new helper friends I’ll be calling.”

Formiac ants were some of the greatest workers in all the outer planes.

Virtually tireless, ultimately focused, loyal to a fault, and excellent at teamwork, they could raise literal mountains on their home plane if given enough materials, and they’d complete the task in surprisingly little time.

For the job of taking out years of garbage and disposing it in a city-provided bin, they were more than qualified. Alex stood in the common room, conjuring the final member of his squad of six ants while Claygon watched.

To anyone walking into the bakery unawares, the ants would have made for a terrifying sight. Each were the size of a pony, with long, hooked pincers and front legs that ended in unnervingly human-like hands.

Their long antenna flicked the air, while beady, insectile eyes took in their surroundings with a strange, distant intellect. Unsettlingly alien minds lurked behind those eyes, coldly assessing their summoner, their surroundings, and even Claygon.

Only the deities knew what manner of thoughts were sparking in those chitinous heads.

Alex cleared his throat, switching to the creatures’ insectile tongue; a tongue that required making a series of clicking sounds so distant from any language he’d ever heard, that he could scarcely believe what was coming from his own throat.

“Hello, friends, I’ve got a job for you,” he said slowly, stumbling over their language. Every ant’s head snapped toward him, focusing on the young wizard with an eerie stillness. They could have easily been mistaken for stone if not for antennae that bobbed and twitched with every pulse.

The Thameish wizard was a hair’s breadth away from giving in to a strong urge to shudder, but he closed his eyes for a breath and pushed it down, avoiding offending his new friends.

“So, I’ll lead you upstairs in a moment. There, you’ll find rooms full of all sorts of inanimate objects. Big ones—” he spread his arms out “—small ones—” his arms came together until only a tiny space lay between his hands “—and I’d like you to take all of it and bring it down to that bin over there.”

Alex led the ants through the front door where a bin crafted of thick timbers and iron bands sat atop sturdy wheels of planed-wood and metal. Renting the thing had been quite the culture shock. In Alric, when farmers or townsfolk had trash to dispose of—which was a rare thing—they’d either bury it as fertiliser for their crops and gardens or burn it in huge fire pits dug just outside of town for that purpose.

When he’d brought up disposing of the bakery’s garbage to Toraka Shale using the same manner used in Alric, all the colour had drained from the master crafter’s face.

“If you tried that here, you’d be fined so enthusiastically, your descendants would still be paying the city long after you were dead and gone,” she’d said in a horrified tone. “This is a city of wizards, as you well know. If everyone just dumped their waste however they wanted, all the alchemical run-off would have filled the wilderness with masses of mana-twisted mutants and wild magic by now. In Generasi, you have to go get a permit, then rent a bin on wheels. When you’re done with it, contact the city and they’ll take it away and dispose of everything safely.”

‘It’s a sound practice,’ Alex thought, showing the ants how to put things in the enormous bin, then leading them to the staircase on the side of the building. ‘And it’s probably a good thing that I’m not burning all that trash piled up upstairs. I could see those fumes killing half the city.’

“—and bring it all down these stairs, or you can climb out the windows and come down the side of the building, if you want.” Alex finished detailing the job to the ants, whose antennae were flicking in time with his words. “Just keep dumping everything in the bin until the mana starts running out on my summoning spells. When you feel the tug starting to call you back to your home plane, drop whatever you’re holding into the bin, then wait down here for me, and as a little thank you for helping me, I’ll give you this.”

He pulled out a small sack of sugar, shaking it in front of the enormous, extraplanar ants. Their antenna flicked wildly at the scent of the sweet treat. They didn’t hesitate springing into action, scampering up the stairs with absolute mechanical efficiency.

Soon, the giant ants formed a constant stream of chitin and litter, ferrying the garbage from the upper floor to the bin in front of the bakery. Their efficiency was almost golem-like; they never stopped moving, never stumbled, never paused for a break, never got distracted, or even slowed to click at each other.

They were a study in efficiency, and Alex was amazed at how quickly the bin began to fill up with the contents of the second floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore happily. “At this rate, we’ll have the place free of trash in no time. Fantastic! I’ll save hours of labour costs if this continues.”

He wrapped his fingers together behind his back, looking up at the building with a sense of pride spreading through his chest. “Well, Claygon, I’ll still need to hire folk to give the place an extreme scrubbing once all the trash is gone, and I’ll also need to get carpenters in to do much needed repairs, but this place might be livable a lot sooner than I’d originally thought.”

Alex smiled up at the golem. “And then, I’ll get that basement set up good and proper for my workshop, which means you’ll have that speakerbox in no time.”

There was a pulse of excitement from Claygon. ‘You are… a good… father to me.’

“Well, I try.” The Thameish wizard shrugged. “I’d be a pretty shit one if I didn’t do my best by you. In any case, why don’t we wait a bit, then check on the staff. Tell you what, I’ll teach you how to play cards. Maybe you can play Thundar and break his winning streak. And speaking of him, I can’t wait to show him and Isolde our new home. I think they’re going to be real bloody surprised.”

‘Father… it’s beautiful…’ Claygon murmured. ‘Look at the light…’

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Alex’s eyes shone with anticipation, observing a multi-hued glow pulsing upward through the aeld branch’s bark. “It means our aeld friend is drinking all that liquified mana core just fine.”

His smile widened. “Looks like I’ll have a brand new staff that’s ready for our next battle, after all.”

Chapter 37

A New Battle Brewing

When Alex Roth had so confidently declared he would have a staff ready for their next battle, he didn’t know conflict was just over the horizon.

Though, it would prove to be far from typical.

It had all begun one pleasant morning at the Generasi dockside.

The day hadn’t started off ominously, all things considered.

He was up at the crack of dawn and—as usual—concentrated on material in the spell-guide for greater force armour, speed-read materials from textbooks on demonology, and considered which courses he should be taking in the new semester.

After that—humming tunelessly—he’d gone down to the insula’s kitchen to make something for himself, Selina, and Theresa, and had a nice chat with Claygon, and then a fine breakfast with his little family. He’d then checked on the aeld branch—which he’d brought back to the apartment a week ago. Once he was satisfied that it was still making healthy progress, he’d pulled up a chair at the table and read while waiting for expected company.

Soon, Prince Khalik—accompanied by Najyah—joined his family in their apartment, then everyone headed off to the city docks to wait for a Generasi bound ship.

The sun was well into the sky when the ship carrying Thundar appeared on the horizon. By the time the vessel finally came to rest at the dock, the day was warming considerably.

Alex and company were relaxed, chatting among themselves as they arrived at the pier, when the mood suddenly changed. A certain minotaur sprinted down the gangplank like he was being chased by hellhounds, bounded at Alex and Khalik, and seized the pair by their shoulders.

“You’re my friends, right?” he demanded, staring at them with eyes wild and red.

“Not when you ask like that!” Alex cried, taken aback.

“Hey, hey, is that any way to talk to your cabal leader?” Thundar asked through a forced smile, one eyelid twitching rapidly and his grip tightening on their shoulders.

“I do not recall making you our leader!” Khalik said, trying to pull away from his friend, but the minotaur held on like a bear trap clamped on a terrified bear.

“Even if it’s not official, eh?” The minotaur chuckled dangerously. “I am still an important member of this cabal, remember? You know, the thing where we agreed to help each other?”

“Well, yeah,” Alex started. “But I mean, you didn’t even say ‘hello’! You just ran off the ship like a maniac and tried to crush us.”

“Hahahaha!” Thundar laughed, sounding off, his deep voice unusually shrill. “What are hellos and goodbyes between good, good, good friends who’re oathbound to help each other! I mean, I’ve helped you both a bunch! We’ve fought together, I’ve nearly laid down my life a half-dozen times for my good, good, good friends here, we’ve shared drinks together, I mean⁠—”

“Are you drunk?” Khalik frowned suspiciously, leaning forward, sniffing the minotaur’s breath. He grimaced, the regret clear on his face. “Ugh! I can’t tell what’s beneath all of that smoked fish odour! Ugh, Thundar, I warn you—if you got into your crew’s alcohol—sailors’ grog can be foul⁠—”

“I’m as sober as the day I was born, and don’t interrupt your good, good, good friend, it’s rude and offensive!” Thundar’s grin was exaggerated, broad enough that it looked like foam would spill from the corners of his mouth.

‘Ah! It is like you said, Father…’ Claygon slapped one of his palms with a fist in sudden understanding. ‘Interrupting someone is… rude. I see now. Thank you… Now I know what you meant.’

In Alex’s overwhelmed mind, he couldn’t even remember what his golem was talking about. And he wasn’t the only one drowning in a sea of confusion. Beside Claygon, Selina was staring up at Thundar as though the minotaur had suddenly grown two more heads and started breathing lightning. Brutus was sitting in front of his master with all three heads cocked to the side as though observing a rabbit drunk on nut wine.

…Which had actually happened, back in Alric.

Mr. McGregor had taken to sealing his personal stores of spirits far more carefully after that incident. The townsfolk found hungover rabbits for days afterward.

And hungover was exactly how Theresa’s face looked.

Either that, or like she’d been clubbed on the back of the head; her jaw hung open as she stared at Thundar in bewilderment, only closing when a fly threatened to land in her mouth.

As for Najyah, she was so shocked that… No wait, she was too busy to be shocked. Alex observed the giant eagle as she feasted on a hapless seagull.

‘When did she catch that?’ he wondered, vaguely aware that Thundar was still talking to them.

“Thundar!” Theresa managed to shake herself. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “If there is—and it’s this desperate—you can tell us. We’ll help you in any way we can.”

The minotaur froze.

He slowly looked down at Theresa with anxiety-filled eyes darting back and forth while he shifted his weight uncomfortably on his hooves. “Um… no.”

Silence blanketed the small group as the huntress watched the minotaur, even more confused than before. The stillness was only broken by shrieks from panicked gulls scrambling away from Najyah, and the murmurs of passengers disembarking and moving past the strange scene that was unfolding.

“Why not?” Theresa demanded. “Oh, I see how it is. Whatever it is, it’s soooo important that only your fancy wizard-cabal friends can help you?”

“Well… er…” The minotaur cleared his throat, releasing Alex and Khalik to back away from the huntress. “Well, uh… that’s to say… I uh… well, you know… the thing is…”

“Yeah!” Selina glowered, putting her hands on your hips. “We’re your friends too. Just because we’re not wizards like you doesn’t mean we can’t help you! Don’t you trust us, Thundar?”

The eleven-year-old girl’s big green eyes stared into the minotaur’s soul.

“No, no! It’s not like that!” Thundar pleaded. “It’s not like that at all! Doesn’t have to do with me not trusting you! It’s that… well, it’s not something you can really help with! I mean. Especially not, you, Selina⁠—”

“Why, not!” She scowled. “You think I’m too young and stupid to hear what it is?”

“No!” Thundar screamed. “No, you’re not stupid! Oh, by my ancestors, why is this happening? Alex, help me! Help! Me!”

“Why are you dismissing Theresa and my little sister?” The Thameish wizard placed his hands on his hips. “Maybe this is a problem that needs some wizarding work, sure, but we haven’t kept them in the dark before, even when we were about to head into some sort of danger! This is really unlike you, man!”

“Aleeeex…” Thundar rasped as though he were dying, squirming under the gaze of three glowering sets of eyes. “Aleeeex… don’t do this to me. Not like this. Not like this…”

“Oh!” Khalik suddenly cried, his brown eyes growing wide with understanding. “IIII think I see what is happening.”

All eyes fell on him as he gave Theresa and Selina a meaning-filled look.

“My friends, I think, erm, Thundar’s issue is one that is… how should I put this… a little delicate. Perhaps he is embarrassed to share it among, shall we say… mixed company?”

Another long silence.

“Oooooh!” Selina said, nodding. “Icky boy stuff.”

“It’s not icky!” Thundar’s voice grew shriller than before. “It’s… sensitive, like Khalik said.”

Theresa sighed, her eyes rolling so hard, they looked like they would fall from her head and onto the pier. “I understand, but maybe you could’ve said something before instead of scaring everyone by acting all terrified and hysterical.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I haven’t slept in two days,” the minotaur grumbled. “And I wasn’t hysterical. I don’t do hysterical!”

“…Right,” was all Theresa and Selina said as one.

“Why haven’t you slept in two days? What happened?” Alex asked.

“I was too nervous to sleep!”

“So, it’s your own fault, then.”

The minotaur’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. “You treacherous bast⁠—”

“Theresa, let’s go get something to eat.” Selina shook her head. “We passed some fish stands on the way. You wanna go see if they’ve got anything good?”

“Yeah, we’d better leave the boys to it.” Theresa sighed, taking Selina’s hand. “Before Thundar has a breakdown. We’ll be back, boys. You just… do what you need to do.”

“Thank you.” Thundar bowed his head to the two young women as they took Brutus and headed to a line of nearby food stalls. “Alex… Khalik… why don’t we head over there.” He inclined his head to the other side of the dock, a spot decidedly less crowded and free from folk pouring off the ship’s gangplank. “It’s more private.”

“Fair enough…” Alex said, having a sudden inkling of what his friend’s strange behaviour was about. He fought back a smile. “Let’s go, then the only non-cabal ears that’ll hear us will be Claygon’s.”

The golem gave the minotaur a little wave, and Thundar sheepishly waved back.

“Indeed, we will keep our voices low.” Khalik grinned through his beard. “I could even send Najyah away if you find that you grow uncomfortable with her being in earshot. She is a girl, after all.”

Thundar made a rude noise with his lips. “Bah, now you’re just making fun of me.”

“As is our right.” The prince chuckled. “As you said, we are your friends.”

“So.” Alex tented his fingers before his broad chest, leaning toward Thundar conspiratorially.

The nervous minotaur looked up at him from his seat on a bollard. “So what?”

“This is about Kohana, isn’t it?” the young wizard declared.

“Keep your voice down!” Thundar hissed as the prince threw his head back and burst out laughing. “You don’t know if she’s here somewhere. What if she hears you?”

“Thundar, you’re being paranoid. Generasi’s enormous, and you don’t even know if she’s in the city right now. We’re technically still on winter break—Oh, right, that reminds me, we’re going to the hells in a couple of weeks.”

“Well, I don’t know, she could be anywhe—Wait, did you say going to the hells?” Thundar said.

“Oh yes.” Khalik quickly explained the grand task that Baelin had set out for them.

The minotaur nodded along with his words, giving a big sigh when he was finished. “Well, that figures. Of course. No rest for the wicked, it’s off to the hells for us. I swear, that ancient goat’s going to kill us, one day.”

“Shhhh! Keep your voice down!” Alex said, his eyes darting back and forth. “You don’t if he’s around here!”

“Oh, now who’s being paranoid!”

“Look, there’s a much bigger chance of Baelin appearing out of nowhere than there is of Kohana just happening to be at the docks right now,” Alex pointed out.

“In any case.” Thundar held up his hands. “If we’re going to the hells, I’m definitely gonna ask her out before that. Definitely. Even if she says no, better I do it before some demon guts me.”

“Do not worry, Baelin will have his spell-marks upon us,” Khalik reassured him.

“All the same, I want this done in case something goes wrong, you know?” the minotaur said.

Alex’s mind flashed back to that fateful night at Patrizia DePaolo’s ball, where he’d confessed his love to Theresa before joining the battle against the monsters, so he well understood what Thundar meant. Their lives were dangerous and could possibly be short, and waiting for the perfect moment to act might never come.

“Right…” Alex said. “So, you want our help with this?”

“Yes, my absolutely mighty, handsome, loyal friends!” Thundar clasped his large hands before him. “By my ancestors, I need your help! I’ve been up for two nights straight just thinking about how to do it! I was this close to throwing myself in the sea by the time the ship got here!”

“Alright, alright, settle down.” Khalik patted the minotaur’s shoulder. “We will… help. Though, I do not know how we can. A confession of the heart or of interest should be done alone and from… well, from the heart, not filtered through the advice of fifteen advisors.”

“Yeah, that’s all good and fine for you to say, King Charisma.” Thundar glared at him. “You could probably talk a golem into going out with you. I’m not so good and fancy with the words.”

“Hey, back when I told Theresa how I felt, I wasn’t so good and fancy with the words either,” Alex said. “And let me tell you, man, I did it spontaneously and with words that felt right.” He tapped his chest. “Straight from the heart. It probably wasn’t the smoothest confession in the world, but sincerity goes a lot further with most people than methodical planning.”

The minotaur turned his glare onto Alex. “Yeah, well, you had a childhood friend who’s been crazy about you for probably her whole life, which gave you an advantage that I don’t have. You probably could have vomited halfway through your confession, and she would’ve been happy.”

“Hey… I resent how true that might be… uhm… Did she really like me that much?” Alex asked, glancing at Khalik.

“There was a reason I helped you from the sidelines.” The prince winked. “If it was not obvious that she liked you, I would not have bothered.”

“Yeah, helping from the sidelines!” Thundar said. “That’s the thing I need.”

“My friend Thundar, helping to smooth circumstances around you and your lady-friend is one thing,” Khalik said. “For example, if some boor was stumbling into your way, I could see distracting him. If you said words that you did not mean, I could see Alex and me helping you explain yourself to stop any escalating anger or embarrassment. But… if you want us to tell you what to say… is that truly what you want?”

“Yeah,” Thundar said. “Help me with phrasing. Help me think of the right circumstances. I’m so nervous, I’m ready to throw up.”

“Then I cannot see us helping with that,” Khalik said.

“I have to tell you, man, I agree.” Alex nodded. “That’d be like the three of us asking her out instead of just you, plus, I could see things going wrong if all of us tried putting our heads together over your feelings. I mean, there’s that old expression: too many cooks in the kitchen. And in the end, she’s a being with her own thoughts and desires. No matter what we do, whether or not she’s going to go out with you is all up to her.”

“Alex, I don’t have rocks for brains, you don’t think I know that?” Thundar sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I get it. Asking her out is up to me, and her saying yes or no is up to her. I’m not naive, I know how it works. I also ain’t too naive about my chances. She’s older than me, sophisticated, as centred as a mountain in a storm, pretty, sexy, fit, smart. Honestly, if she’s not already seeing someone, I’m gonna be shocked.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Then… why all the nerves? If anything, you’ve got a more mature handle on this than I did when I told Theresa.”

The minotaur looked him directly in the eyes, and for a moment, he seemed much older than he truly was. “Because, my friend, when you’re going to do something, you want to make sure you do it right, don’t you? Regret’s a nasty disease, and I don’t want it following me.”

He stood suddenly, rising to his full height, making Alex take a step back. Sometimes he forgot how tall Thundar actually was.

The minotaur’s nostrils flared. “Look. If I’m going to do this, I deserve to put myself out there at my best. And she deserves to get me at my best. That’s what I want help with. I say a lot of stupid shit. But not this time. No breakdowns. No stupid hijinks.”

When he looked down at them, for a moment, Alex saw the powerful leader of a cabal. A wizard and a warrior who would be talked about for generations. “Help me. Help me be my best.”

“You have my sword, my captain,” Khalik said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“You have my staff,” Alex agreed.

‘And… my spear?’ Claygon added hopefully.

And so it was that the boys of the cabal went into a new battle.

Chapter 38

The “War Council”

“Ido not understand why you three have banned me from a cabal meeting!” Isolde shouted through Khalik’s door, knocking insistently. “Theresa said that Roth mumbled something about a… war council? If we are going to war, then I see no reason to exclude me in such an arbitrary fashion!”

“Alex…” Thundar glared at the young Thameish wizard without mercy. “Why did you say anything?”

“I was half-awake!” Alex hissed, eyeing the door as though a demon were about to burst in. “I didn’t know she’d tell Isolde!”

‘Should I… block the door?’ Claygon asked.

‘No, no, it’s fine, Claygon,’ Alex thought.

“Hmmm, the fact that she told her in such a fashion—saying a ‘war council’ without context—means she did it on purpose. As a joke.” Khalik eyed Alex’s apartment across the insula’s courtyard. “Well played, huntress. Well played.”

“I know you are in there!” Isolde’s knocking grew more demanding.

“By my ancestors, Isolde’s the last person I want to find out about this!” Thundar grimaced. “She’s gonna make fun of me for sure.”

“Hmmm, I am not so sure about that,” Khalik mused, running a hand through his beard.

Thundar looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Khalik. I got back yesterday morning. She got back yesterday evening and she’s made fun of me twice already.”

“You made fun of her three times,” Alex pointed out.

“Yeah, but when I do it, it’s funny. When she does it, it’s hurtful and tragic.”

“You were laughing when she did it.”

“I was half-crazed with exhaustion and anyway, speaking of half-crazed, what do you mean you’re not so sure, Khalik?”

“I mean, Thundar, that our friend Isolde finds herself in a similar position to yours,” Khalik noted. “She too is troubled by matters of the heart. I don’t think she will laugh at you as much as you might think, and if she does… well, you have a great weapon to strike her with.”

“What kinda weapon?” Thundar asked.

“Cedric.” Khalik tapped his heart.

“Fair enough,” Thundar grunted. “And uh… I guess if I’m gonna ask a woman out… maybe asking a woman for advice ain’t the worst idea in the world, now that I think about it. Shit, I really was half-crazed from exhaustion. Alright, hold on.”

The minotaur crossed the room. “Just a minute! Don’t knock the door down!”

When he opened the door, Isolde stood in the hall with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot. Her face was a thunder cloud. “Well? Are you through with making our cabal into a boy’s club?”

She stomped into the room, a basket brimming with books floating behind her, borne by an electric blue forceball. Isolde threw herself into the last of four chairs at Khalik’s table, glowering at the rest of the cabal before returning Claygon’s polite little wave.

“Well,” she said to the young men. “I do not know if this was your idea of a practical joke, but such pranks are the lowest form of humour. You told me last night that we have an expedition to hell to prepare for, and not calling on all of your resources is most immature, foolish and—quite frankly—hurtful.”

Alex, Thundar, and Khalik looked at each other sheepishly.

“Uh, Isolde—” Alex started.

“Wait, I am not done!” She dragged a thick stack of books from her basket, slamming them down on the table. “I will have you all know that I took the liberty of raiding the fourth floor of the library for every book on demonology that I thought might be relevant.”

“Yeah, tha—Wait, the fourth floor?” Alex froze. “You… you hit fourth-tier?”

A cat-like smile curved across Isolde’s lips, and her blue eyes sparked with pride. She flicked her ebony hair. “Indeed. I was nearly there when I left, and—after a few lessons with grandfather—was able to reach fourth-tier quite handily!”

“Why didn’t you tell us yesterday? Congratulations, that’s great!” Thundar roared.

“Hmph!” She turned her head away, crossing her arms again. “Well, I was tired from the voyage, and I knew that if I told you then, you might insist on filling me with enough wine to leave me senseless for a week. I thought it would be imprudent, for that reason. Besides, since you have covered yourselves in secrecy, excluding me from cabal activities like this, I see no reason at all to share!”

She began opening books. “Now, what are we discussing?”

“Uh…” Thundar grunted, closing the door. “My uh… love life… actually…”

Isolde stared at him, a dozen expressions flitting across her face.

First, she paled.

Then, she turned red.

Then she blinked rapidly.

“Ah.” She slowly closed the book before her. “I, er, see… see why you might have wanted… a… er… boys’ club for this. Um… oh dear, by the four elements um, I… oh my, how embarrassing. Um, this is not a prank, is it?”

There was a note of hope in her voice.

“Nope.” Thundar shrugged. “I’m going to ask Kohana out, and I’m gettin’ some support. We’re figuring out how I can present my best self.”

“Ah, quite right… how, er, sensitive. Well, I um…” She cleared her throat. “I suppose… if you invited me in… then… you are seeking my council as well?”

“Yep,” Thundar said. “Probably a good idea to get a woman’s perspective. Come to think of it, maybe I should ask Theresa too.”

“Oh no, that is not a good idea.” Isolde shook her head furiously, catching Alex off guard.

“Wait, why not?” he asked. “She’s smart! And wise!”

“She also viewed you like a stag to be hunted over a period of years,” Isolde said. “Theresa talks about it with a rather frightening smile.”

Alex could imagine that smile.

The fact it did strange things to him in no way meant that he had issues.

“Wait, that can’t be. I’m not some sort of prey animal!” He glowered, looking at the others. “I slay monsters and demons. I’m a predator! Aren’t I, boys?”

Khalik looked away.

Thundar coughed awkwardly.

“A-aren’t I… boys?” Alex asked again, his confidence plummeting.

“Anyway, I do not think her specific advice would apply too well to your situation, whatever it is, Thundar,” Isolde said, pointedly refusing to meet Alex’s gaze.

‘Don’t worry, Father…’ Claygon said. ‘I think you are… a dangerous predator… to monsters.’

‘T-thanks, Claygon,’ Alex thought glumly.

“Anyway, except for maybe Khalik, you have the most relationship experience of any of us,” Thundar said.

Isolde’s face washed bright red once more. “I certainly do not! I have had all of a single relationship—which was a terrible mistake, I might add—I am not some lout at the bar who has more relationships behind her than there are shot glasses before her!”

“Yeah, well, you beat my zero, Alex is still in his first relationship, and you’ve got a new crush,” the minotaur said casually.

“I most certainly do no—” Isolde’s voice grew shrill, her blush deepening until she resembled a ripe cherry.

“Isolde…” Alex leaned over to pat her on the shoulder. “We can all tell. There was a reason Khalik made that redhead joke back at the Festival of Ghosts.”

“I am well aware you can all tell, but to admit that would be to admit defeat!” she cried in consternation. “He was supposed to be interested in me! I am not some silly little girl whose heart flutters at the sign of red hair!”

“To be fair, he also has quite the sculpted physique,” Khalik pointed out.

“So do all of you, and yet I do not find myself melting into a puddle!” she moaned, her head dropping to the table. “By the elements, when he smiles—” Her breath caught a little. “He somewhat resembles that maniac, Tyris Goldtooth! Why? Why am I attracted to that?”

“I think Hart’s wondering something similar, but from the other end,” Alex muttered.

“What was that?” Isolde looked up.

“Nothing,” he said. “Well, then. Isn’t this lovely? Love is in the air for two more of our cabal!”

Khalik made mock kissing sounds, drawing glares from both Thundar and Isolde.

The minotaur shook his head, turning back to the young noblewoman. “Look, I ain’t gonna make fun of you if you don’t make fun of me.”

He held out his hand, almost like a general calling a truce.

“Deal,” she said, shaking his hand. “So, you were first. Tell me of this woman. Who is she?”

“Kohana—me and Alex’s cleansing movements instructor,” Thundar said. “She’s an upper year.”

“Really? Hm. And you wish to present your best self?”

“Yeah, I’m fine with her turning me down, but not if I don’t present my best self, you know? That’d be… terrible,” he grunted.

“I… I can respect that, Thundar. To give one’s all, whether it be in relationships, in statecraft, in study, or in battle, is the only noble way to go through life.” She nodded, acknowledging her own words. “You seem to be rather fascinated by her. What do you find so captivating?”

He winced. “I dunno. What do you find so captivating about Cedric?”

She squirmed in her seat. “I asked you first!”

“Hrm, fair enough, fair enough.” He stared at ceiling as he gave the question some thought.

Khalik leaned forward with curiosity, as did Alex.

To be honest, despite knowing that Thundar had an obvious crush on Kohana, he’d never asked the minotaur anything about his feelings. He’d just assumed it was because his friend liked her tails or something.

But the last day had shown him that Thundar had put much more thought into this than he’d ever considered, leaving him wondering what his friend might reveal now, about the feelings in his heart.

“I like her tails,” Thundar said.

“I’m going to murder him,” Alex said.

“Well, that’s what it was at first, but… she’s… I dunno, she’s dedicated.” The minotaur shifted uncomfortably. “She comes to our classes ready to go every time, and she really seems like she’s steady as a rock from the way she talks about the cleansing movements and life. She was kind enough to come see me when I was healing after that battle with the mana vampire. She just… seems like a good person. And uh, it’s really cute when she straightens her spectacles.”

Alex and Khalik gave Thundar a warm smile.

“Now, you!” the minotaur said. “I shared, so your turn now!”

“Oh, well… if you must know,” Isolde sighed.

Alex turned to her expectantly, wondering what had attracted his friend to the Chosen of Uldar.

‘This is Isolde,’ Alex thought. ‘I kinda doubt she’s going to say it’s because he has nice hair and muscles.’

“His hair is beautiful,” she said dreamily. “And my goodness, he could model for the statues of gods.”

‘…You know, I walked into that one, I’ll accept that,’ Alex thought.

“But more than that,” she continued. “He is brave and has a very curious mind. His sincerity is unreserved, and not just with me, but with everyone I see him with, whether that be his fellow Heroes, we students, or others. And his voice… just… oh my, I have said too much.”

“Well, this is entirely too wholesome for my tastes,” Khalik said. “I hardly have any new ammunition to mock you with, how dull!”

“Hmph, well, I for one am glad for Thundar’s sincerity.” Isolde sniffed, then looked at Thundar. “But, Thundar, I cannot help but wonder why you need us. You seem to have an understanding of what you want, and you are determined to get it. You say you wish to put forward your ‘best self,’ but do you really need us to help you with that?”

“Yeah,” Thundar grunted, looking at them earnestly. “Like… look, I’ve never been on a date before, you know? I mean, unless you count walking around the meadows with some of the girls back in my tribe ‘dates.’”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Yeah, but Kohana’s all sophisticated and shit like that. I don’t think saying ‘hey, let’s go walk in a meadow’ is really… putting my best self forward, you know?” He sighed. “I wanna get to know her better, and I want to let her get to know me. The best me… but uh…” He glanced at his friends. “What’re… what’re my best qualities?”

“Pardon?” Khalik asked.

“What’s good about me!” Thundar cried, his voice rising. “That’s what I need help with! I know what I’d say: I can drink most under the table, bench press a good-sized boar, and crack a monster’s skull open. But uh, none o’ that’s real good for dates. It’s who I am, but I’m wondering what other people see. So yeah, why’re you all friends with me, you losers? What makes me good?”

“That is the neediest question I have ever heard in my life.” Khalik chuckled.

“Well, I’m being needy, you happy?” Thundar snapped. “Just… help me out, okay? This shit’s embarrassing enough.”

“Alright, alright,” Alex laughed. “I get it, man. Well, that’s one thing I’ve always liked about you right there. You can take a joke. Anyone can go around making fun of others, but when we make fun of you, you give right back, but… it’s all good-natured, you know?”

“Good-natured,” Thundar nodded. “Alright.”

“You are loyal, as well.” Khalik tapped the tabletop, deep in thought. “There are few that I have met who are as willing to risk themselves for their cabal and friends. You watch our backs, and I will always appreciate that.”

“You are also humble,” Isolde added.

“Humble?” Thundar laughed. “Now that’s gotta be a joke. I’m always going on about how I’m the leader of the cabal, right?”

“True, but you are still humble in a sense. Intelligent enough to receive admission to the greatest university of wizardry in the world, yet you downplay it.” There was a note of respect in her voice. “You do not show off your intellect as a point of pride, which is something I could never imagine for myself.”

“Alright, alright,” Thundar said, coughing in embarrassment. “Ugh, this makes me feel a bit awkward… but uh, you know what? Thank you. That’s just what I’ll say… I’m not too sure all this’ll help me ask someone out, though. This is all deep stuff.”

“Well, you got a lot going for you in other ways too,” Alex said. “You’re a member of a very special expedition, you won or placed in multiple events in the Games of Roal, you’re built like a brick shit house… and you care about others. You’re sincere, Thundar; otherwise, you wouldn’t be going through all this trouble in the first place.”

“Hm?” The minotaur frowned. “Hey, that’s not bad… yeah… that’ll help me.”

“What will help you?”

“When I ask her out… I make it about her,” he said. “I go in sincere. I say that I like her and that I wanna take her out for a meal or something so that I can get to know her better. Shows my sincerity and… my… humility, I guess. The rest I can show off on the date itself, if she says yes.”

“You know, I have a feeling you are overthinking this,” Khalik said. “But… that is not a bad strategy, at all.”

“I can agree with that,” Alex said. “Well… now all that’s left to do is date planning.”

Thundar waved a hand dismissively. “Bah, date planning, date schmanning. She’s probably gonna say no, anyway. Better to be spontaneous? I mean… what’re the chances of us actually going out?”

Chapter 39

I Can Fix⁠—

In a panic, Thundar scrambled to get ready for his date.

“Shit, shit, why the hell didn’t I listen to Alex?” the minotaur cursed, running a stiff comb through his fur. He checked his teeth in the mirror, making sure they were sparkling white and didn’t have any bits of food between them. “Who the hell was the idiot who said ‘date planning, date schmanning’? By my ancestors, I’d like to punch that guy in his big, stupid snout. I really do got the brains of a damned cow!”

Throwing the comb down, he snatched up a rough cloth from his small dresser and began buffing his horns. Lying on his bed was a fine set of clothing trimmed with the furs of griffons; a gift from Alex to congratulate him on his date.

A new belt—complete with a golden dragon buckle—was a gift from Khalik, while the silver-hilted, ornamental dagger had come from Isolde.

Sometimes, having rich friends had its own perks.

“Of course, that won’t help me if she wants to come back and see my place!” he grumbled, glancing around his dorm room. “Nothing says ‘hey, I’m not actually an adult’ than bringing a girl back to a damned dorm room.”

Checking his horns for the hundredth time, he slid on two bronze horn-caps, and got dressed, smoothing his new outfit.

“Alright, Thundar.” He belted on his coin-purse, looking himself over in the mirror, then with a deep breath, slid into the cleansing movements, focusing on his body, the present moment, the flow of his energy, his mana, his breath, and the beating of his own heart. “Calm down. You’ve been fighting monsters and you’re literally going down to the hells. You can do this. She’s gonna be perfect; all you gotta do is go pick her up and not make a complete ass of yourself.”

The minotaur cleared his throat, straightening his hair another time.

“Alright, big man, knock ’em dead.”

With that final declaration, Thundar whipped open his door, stepped into the hallway, and locking it behind him, made his way toward the city.

He hoped his nerves would calm with time.

Thundar’s nerves were wreaking such havoc in him, he came close to stopping at the top of Kohana’s street to be violently ill. The minotaur loudly sucked in breath after breath, trying to calm his belly while folk stared at him as he went by.

There was even a youngster pointing at him from the window of a carriage pulled by enormous terror birds.

“Mommy!” the little boy cried. “Why does that man look like Uncle Luigi when he gets home at night?”

“Don’t look! Come away from the window!” A woman slammed the carriage curtain shut and the child disappeared.

“Well.” Thundar took a deep breath. “That does a lot for a fella’s confidence, jeez.”

Steadying himself, the minotaur journeyed down a cul-de-sac, admiring tastefully painted townhomes lining the street. In the courtyards of quite a few of them, young wizards soaked in the warm day, lounging in wrought-iron chairs, either lingering over healthy-looking lunches, or with their noses buried in textbooks.

They glanced at him curiously when he abruptly stopped before an emerald-green townhome.

“Yep, student rentals… number four…” he mused. “This has to be the place.”

Kohana’s house was very well-kept, with a small herb and vegetable garden cultivated on the front porch. It lacked the wondrous, unique plants of the university’s botanical gardens, but whoever cared for it obviously tended the earth with plenty of their time and energy.

“I wonder if it’s hers,” he murmured, his hooves clopping up the walkway to the front door. Butterflies rose in his belly. “Well, maybe I’ve already learned something about her. Alright, Thundar, try to remember everything Khalik and Alex told you about their magic gardening course.”

As the minotaur sifted through Khalik’s complaints about the early morning time slot for Salinger’s botany course—searching his memory for anything useful he could talk about—he stepped onto the porch, glancing down beside a nearby planter bursting with ripe tomatoes ready for picking.

And that was when he saw the bilogar with its tawny spotted fur, long snout, and stumpy tail.

Which was his first clue that something might be very, very wrong.

“What the…” he murmured.

At the sound of his voice, the animal slowly raised its head from the porch floor, looking up at him with sad eyes. Thundar was no expert on bilogars, but—if he were forced to guess—he’d wager that the one looking up at him came from a racing or hunting breed.

Though he doubted this sad-looking creature would have the energy to race or catch anything faster than a rock stuck in a mud puddle. It was rail-thin, not in that energetic way of wolves and other hunters, but in more of a sickly, malnourished way, as though its last good meal had been sometime shortly after birth.

What was even stranger, though, was that—in other ways—it looked pampered, with newly brushed, unmatted fur, white teeth, and a silk cloak adorned with crystals secured around its neck and fastened with a matching bow tie.

Frowning, Thundar knocked on Kohana’s door.

“Maybe, uh… maybe it’s been sick,” he said softly.

His heart jumped when he heard the quick padding of feet coming toward the door, then his date swung it open, seemingly flustered as she pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.

“Hi, Thundar! I’m glad you could make it! Come in, come in, I’m almost ready!”

“Um, you look great already,” he said, admiring the bright silk dress that hugged her limber form.

Her very limber form, which Thundar watched appreciatively as her tails wiggled behind her.

Then, a smell hit him.

A sour, acrid odour that pervaded the otherwise clean-looking house.

He choked back the urge to gag.

“Did you have any trouble getting here?” she asked as she tied her hair back.

“Uh, no, I—” He held back bile threatening to rush up his throat. He swallowed hard. “—It uh… it was fine.”

“Good!” She flashed him a brilliant, white smile. “Before we go, you should take a good whiff of my acidweed.”

“Acid… weed?” Thundar asked.

“Oh yes, I have it growing all over the house,” she said proudly. “Flowers and other plants release awful pollens that clog your aura. Acidweed cleans it away. Go on. Take a good, deep breath. It’ll help balance your aura.”

“Oooookay?” he said through a forced smile, taking a good long whiff.

Under the circumstances, Thundar performed a feat of will only akin to anything the gods could do—he didn’t throw up right there on her front entrance mat. The smell was something found in nightmares, fermented vinegar mixed with rotten goose eggs, dung, and alchemical accidents.

“There we go.” She patted his cheek. “Good and balanced. Now, I just have to feed Puppy, then we’ll be ready to go.”

“Oh yeah, I saw your puppy out there,” Thundar said excitedly, grateful for the chance to change the subject to anything but acidweed. “What’s his name… or her name?”

“Oh, he’s a he,” she said. “And his name is Puppy.”

“Oh, his name’s Puppy, okay and—Wait, his name’s Puppy?”

“I think it’s cute.” She giggled. “I had two cats named Big Kitty and Little Kitty, but friends of mine adopted them. They’re good names, and they don’t obfuscate my pets’ true selves. Oh, could you hold Puppy’s lunch?”

“Yeah, sure I… I…” He stared in shock at the contents of a steel bowl full of kale and broccoli that Kohana was handing him. “Huh. These. These are vegetables.”

“I know, it’s delightful, isn’t it?” She led Thundar back onto the porch, and he noticed her fluffy tails rubbing against his calf. “Both Puppy and I are vegan.”

An internal scream ripped through his mind, managing to overcome his tail fascination. “Wha—your bilogar’s vegan?”

“Oh yes, and he’s much happier for it.” She leaned down, patting the predator’s head. “Aren’t you, Puppy?”

Puppy’s miserable eyes fell on the bowl of greens, then looked at the road longingly, as though wanting nothing more than to run down the street and disappear into a butcher shop.

Thundar was starting to feel the same way.

“You shouldn’t do that, you know.” Kohana frowned over her spectacles, her knife slicing into a steamed yam.

“Hm?” Thundar finished sipping his iced water. “Do what?”

“Drink that?” She nodded to the water glass. “I don’t drink water anymore, it’s bad for you.”

The minotaur placed his drink down beside his platter of lamb gyro—his hand was shaking badly. “Drinking water… is bad for you?”

“Oh yes.” She giggled, her tails wagging behind her in her seat. “It’s a pretty common misconception that we actually need water.”

He stared at her openly. “Um, look, I’m no expert on blood magic and… health and stuff, but… don’t we die of thirst pretty fast if we don’t drink water?”

“As long as you’re eating a healthy plant-filled diet, you don’t need water.” She shook her head, pushing up her spectacles. “All it does is bloat your belly and interfere with the sun’s energy as it transfers into your body.”

“First, uh, first I ever heard of that,” Thundar said with growing horror.

Around the restaurant—the same one they’d taken Alex to for his birthday—patrons within earshot were craning their necks, looking on as Kohana loudly spun grander and grander tales, increasingly divorced from reality.

Even the waiters were starting to throw Thundar sympathetic looks.

‘C-come on, man, don’t judge!’ the minotaur told himself. ‘You’re in a city full of all kinds of weird shit and weirdos. Maybe… maybe she’s just… maybe she’s making a bunch of jokes or something! Yeah, that’s gotta be it!’

Thundar forced a laugh. “Man, that water thing got me good⁠—”

She frowned over her glasses. “It’s not funny, Thundar. Water will kill the sun’s energy coursing through you. Which can kill you! It’s no laughing matter.”

His laughter—and a good part of his hope—died in that moment.

“Um, er…” He desperately tried changing the subject. “So, uh… what made you decide to teach the cleaning movements? I mean, it’s pretty incredible stuff, and it takes a lot of your time, I’m sure.”

“Mm!” She made a muffled sound as she swallowed a piece of yam. “I want to teach people how to centre themselves in the world. They can get so caught up by all the city’s sights and sounds, they can easily lose track of who they are and what they’re doing in the present moment. In my first year, I was a complete nervous wreck.” Her tails waggled. “My tail was even losing its fur.”

“Ah yeah, that sounds rough. I was nervous in first year too… wait, your tail?” He craned his neck, glancing at the pair of tails behind her.

“My race grows more tails as we age, and we become more powerful in our innate magics.” Kohana ate her last piece of yam. “Centring ourselves in our own energies is a way to grow our power.”

“Right…” Thundar nodded, reaching for his water glass, then pausing. After a moment, he picked it up anyway, despite her slight frown of disapproval. “You found they helped you and that’s why you want to teach others. That’s noble.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, batting her eyelashes.

Which did things to him.

“You’re noble yourself, Thundar,” she said. “A brave warrior who stands out in the Games and is a rising star in the university. Yet, you never miss my classes. Why is that?” she asked slyly.

And for that, he gave an honest answer. “Because it helps centre me, keeps me balanced and focused. It’s actually not completely different from some of our elders’ teachings back home. Since it works well, I keep doing it. Simple as that.”

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You know, I respect you for that. When I was learning, it felt like half the people in the class came to ogle our instructor. She was very fit. It’s nice to know you’re taking an actual interest in the cleansing movements.”

Thundar chuckled, taking a bite of his gyro to another slight frown of disapproval. “Way I see it, life’s too short and too risky to bother with going to a class just to ogle the instructor. Don’t get me wrong, your movements are like water and your tails are something else, but I wouldn’t just show up for the view if I didn’t enjoy the cleansing movements. That’d be a waste of your time and mine.”

She giggled. “Charming. I’m glad you have taken such an interest in it. Through that and my dietary changes, I was able to reach new pinnacles of power and oneness with my own self. It’s important to me to pass that on to others… and I’m glad you’re such a fine pupil.”

He smiled.

‘You know, maybe this ain’t so bad. Yeah, she’s a little weird, but maybe she just has some wrong ideas,’ he thought. ‘I mean, I ain’t perfect either, and she is super, super hot and doesn’t exactly seem like a bad person. Maybe I can help out a bit. Maybe have Theresa teach her about why some animals need meat to survive⁠—’

“It’s also why I want to fix you.”

“What?” His mind froze.

“Well, you’re such a good pupil, but… you have a few bad habits.” She pushed up her spectacles again.

“…Like?”

“Well, all that meat eating is ruining your aura, and I think a good acidweed bath would clean your pores,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then there’s all that water drinking. We’ve got to stop you from doing that!”

“Uuuuuhh… I dunno if that’s a great idea⁠—”

“Then we can begin sun-staring together.”

“What the hells is that?”

“It’s when you stare at the sun for an hour,” she said, pushing up her spectacles once more. “By lowering your internal water and letting the sun’s rays strike your eyes directly, you can take full advantage of its power. A lot of people say that it’s bad for the eyes—and it does sting—but they’re all babies and don’t have the will or perseverance to stick with it so they get the proper health benefits.”

“Uuuuuhuh.” Thundar stared at her face. “Say… just, a random question, Kohana.”

“Sure! Ask me anything! I’m always ready to teach.”

“Have you… always worn spectacles?”

“Well, no actually.” She chuckled ruefully. “I started needing them in my second year. Maybe reading too many books was bad for my eyes!”

“Uhuuuh, yeah, maybe that was it.” Thundar glanced out the window. “Anyway, since you’re done eating, why don’t we get our bills and call it an evening. I wouldn’t want to take up your whole day, after all.”

“I suppose it is getting late,” she said. “It’s almost mooning hour. Oh, and in case you were wondering, that’s when you take in the moon’s energies from the other side by lying on your stomach and pointing your rear toward⁠—”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I uh… I get it!” Thundar’s laugh was shrill. Bordering on panicked. “Better let you get to that, then. Wouldn’t want to do dessert either. Might uh… mess up your aura.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle. “You get it! You truly get it!”

“Well, I got a lot of things, today,” Thundar said. “A lot of things. Anyway, let’s get you home so you can… do your mooning.”

Thundar, son of Gulfbiff, tried to be honourable in many things.

As such, he honourably dropped his date back home and bade her a good night.

And after that?

He gave her bilogar a nod of sympathy and then honourably fled for his life.

Chapter 40

In the Aftermath of Disaster

“And then! And then!” Thundar slammed his fist on the table. “She said that drinking water is bad for you! Can you believe that shit?”

Alex froze, looking up from the spell-guide for greater force armour. “Are… are you serious?”

“As death!” Thundar moaned, reaching for another glass of rum with a shaking hand. “She said it blocks the sun’s effects on your aura or somethin—Khalik, this isn’t that funny!”

The prince had fallen from his chair, howling with laughter, so consumed by mirth that he couldn’t find the strength to stand. “No, it’s even funnier! By the gods, this is incredible! Tell me, tell me, did she try to sell you strange herbs, or anything of the sort?”

“I honestly thought that’d be next!” Thundar downed a shot of rum, making a face. “Ugh, and the staring at the sun⁠—”

“No!” Isolde could no longer resist, tearing herself away from her textbook. “No. What? No. You are lying to us. This… this must be a joke.”

By now, Khalik’s laughter had deteriorated into full blown sobbing.

“Listen, listen,” Thundar said seriously. “If this was all a joke, then I’m the punchline and the only ones telling the joke were fate and the gods! I am not lying to you! She said that she stared at the sun so she could get all its good energy right into her eyes! Right into her eyes, Isolde!”

“Oh… oh my goodness.” The young noblewoman began to shake, covering her mouth.

“And! On! Top! Of! That!” Thundar’s voice boomed. “She said that her eyes got bad after first-year! And that it was probably from reading too much.”

Alex burst out laughing, surprised when Isolde joined him.

The young woman was bent at the waist, giggling uncontrollably while trying in vain to cover her mouth. “No… not that! That is too much!” She threw her head back, her laughter echoing off the walls of Alex’s apartment.

Claygon looked between the members of the cabal, his gaze lingering on Thundar as the minotaur began to giggle, then chuckle, until he too was roaring with laughter.

‘Father… bad things can sometimes be funny?’ he asked. ‘Thundar was just saying his date was… bad, but now he’s laughing with you.’

“Yeah, buddy!” Alex barely managed to squeak out the words through his own hysterics. “Sometimes bad things can be funny! Not all the time, but sometimes they can!”

“Easy for you to say.” Thundar rolled his eyes, chuckling as he poured himself another drink. “You weren’t the one dealing with all that madness!”

“I would say that you are actually quite fortunate, Thundar.” Isolde wiped tears from her eyes. “Your amorous focus of affection showed you her… eccentricities early. When I had my bout of poor luck in love, my mistake did me the discourtesy of hiding his figurative boils and warts until I was fully committed to the relationship. Bah!” She shook her head mournfully. “I would have given much for such a bad first date with Derek. I had many months of grief thanks to him, while all you have for your trouble, Thundar, is an amusing story. But I have to ask, how are you doing? I can only imagine the disappointment.”

“Me? Disappointed? Naw.” He waved away her concern. “Way I see it, is that it coulda been a lot worse. Like you said, I could’ve gotten deeply involved and—next thing you know—bam! I’m living in a cabin up in crazy-land. No, in the end, this isn’t too bad. I went out with her, got to know her—like I said I would—and what I found made me run for the hills. That’s nothing to regret. Better than carrying a crush for someone who would’ve been a disaster for me.”

He snorted in amusement. “Imagine how sad that would be? I could’ve floated through my full four years here with this big, stupid crush. Maybe I would’ve put her on a pedestal too. Built her up in my head until I thought she was this untouchable goddess. Maybe I would’ve turned down other opportunities. Gone through my university years pining for a ‘goddess’ that’s less ‘goddess’ and more ‘common garden variety weirdo.’”

Isolde’s eyebrows rose. “That’s… rather mature, Thundar.”

The minotaur shrugged. “It’s practical. I saw one of my older cousins pining for this one girl for like three years, imagining her as this perfect…” he made a vague gesture “…thing.”

“Very descriptive,” Alex said.

“Indeed,” Khalik agreed, climbing back into his chair. “You would make for a fine poet.”

“Hey, I’m a wizard and a warrior, not a damned bard,” Thundar grunted.

“Fair enough, but I am curious, Thundar.” Khalik cocked his head. “What happens now? Is she interested in a second date?”

“Dunno, and I ain’t thinking about that for a bit. I’m gonna tell her when classes start up that I had fun but… don’t think we work too good together. Hope she’s okay with that. Last thing I want is for things to get awkward during our cleansing movements sessions. I really like those.”

“Then I hope all goes well.” The prince poured himself a drink. “And I hope your next date is a better experience.”

“Well, the bar’s been set pretty low.” Thundar chuckled, then his smile faded. “…I have been thinking about her pet a bit.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “It’s a good thing you told your story while Theresa was out walking Brutus. I doubt she would’ve seen the humour from the moment you mentioned that she only fed that bilogar vegetables.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it,” the minotaur said sadly. “I’m not exactly gonna go and steal her pet. But that’s the thing, you know? She means well. I can tell she loves… Puppy—by the ancestors, I still can’t believe that’s his name—and I’d be kind of a jackass if I just, petnapped him.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said. “Some people would just look at it as a rescue.”

“The animal might disagree,” Prince Khalik said somberly. “We have a story in Tekezash.” He rose to his full height in his chair. “There was once a soldier on his way home from war. In this war, he saw many terrible things and had done many terrible things. His dreams were of blood, and the guilt turned his waking hours into horrors.”

He glanced at Najyah, who had her head tucked behind her as she slept. “On his way back to his village, he saw a hawk by the road, feasting on a cat that had a blue piece of twine around its neck as a collar. Nearby, he saw a child crying. And so he asked the child if that was his cat.”

Khalik put on a voice. “And the child turned to him in tears and said: ‘It is not my cat. It is my father’s cat, but I let him escape. Now the hawk has killed him, and my father will beat me.’ The soldier asked the boy: ‘Why will your father beat you for what the hawk has done?’ And the boy said to him: ‘Because I am a bad boy.’ This enraged the soldier, and so he demanded that the boy lead him back to his house. There, the soldier beat the father terribly.”

Khalik slammed a fist into his hand. “He said to the father: ‘I will take your son and raise him properly, away from your violent ways.’ And so, the soldier raised his spear to slay the man… but he felt a sharp pain in his back. Surprised, he turned… and found the boy. The boy had stabbed him with a pitchfork. And as the soldier died, he asked the child: ‘Why? I was trying to save you.’ And to this, the boy told him: ‘Because you are an evil man and you hurt my father.’ So, the soldier died.”

“Jeez, that’s a dark story,” Thundar winced. “What’s the moral?”

“Let me see if I can guess,” Alex said. “That not everyone who you think you are saving will see it that way, even if their circumstances are utter shit.”

Khalik snapped his fingers. “You are correct. It can also be said that the soldier never lost his violent ways, despite his grief over them. After all, his way was to beat the father in front of the child.” He spread his hands. “My father told my brother this story, and my brother told it to me. When you are ruling a country—and you are a good monarch—it can be tempting to muster your armies to crush any tyrant you see. But when your armies are striding over borders, crushing and gutting soldiers, you might find that the people see your ‘liberation’ as something else.”

“We have similar tales among the nobility in the Rhinean Empire,” Isolde said grimly. “I can imagine that—if you were to take this animal away from his mistress, he might not appreciate what you have done. After all, a bilogar’s loyalty is foremost to its master.”

Thundar jumped in. “Ya know, that’s true, which makes this situation even worse. The more I think about Kohana and that poor skinny pet of hers, the more the way she’s feeding it doesn’t sit right with me. Predators need meat.” He jerked back, seemingly struck by inspiration. “I’ve got an idea that doesn’t involve pet theft. Maybe I can tell her that Puppy’s eyes looked dull, and his aura seemed out of balance to me, like he needed to see a healer! I think she’d go for that. Any healer with eyes would take one look at him and see that there’s something definitely wrong, then bang, problem solved!” Thundar looked very pleased with himself as he drained his glass.

“That should solve the problem nicely, Thundar,” Isolde said.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, with a hint of worry in his voice. “What you said about loyalty earlier, that’s… something I think about a fair bit. I mean, when I think about Thameland.”

“How so?” Khalik asked.

“Well, let’s say in the worst case scenario that keeps playing through my head—Uldar’s actually evil, or something—then let’s just say for a moment that he gets stopped. The cycles end and the Ravener’s gone. Everyone is supposed to live happily ever after, right? Except maybe a bunch of regular folk in Thameland aren’t so happy about that, eh?”

“Ah yes, that. That is true…” Khalik murmured. “I have some hope that perhaps things will not be so grim, but… if they are…”

Silence fell over the room.

“It’s something to talk about with the Heroes, I think,” Alex said. “If we lose the church and our faith in Thameland, they’ll be who people are probably going to listen to.”

“Yeah, well,” Thundar grunted. “You’ll get a chance to ask them soon enough. Which reminds me—” He looked at Isolde. “You’ve got me rooting for you and Cedric. I hope your first date with him’s a hell of a lot better than mine with Kohana.”

The young noblewoman went beet red. “I-I have no intentions of asking him out!”

“Ah, a traditionalist, eh?” Thundar chuckled. “Well, he’s bold. When he gets a chance, he’ll ask.”

“I… I do not wish…” Isolde paused, looking away. “I… hope not.”

“Wait, what, why?” Alex asked. “You like him, and he’s a lot better than your last pick, I gotta say.”

Her lips thinned. “It is… impractical, Alex.”

“How so?” An eyebrow rose.

“I am a noblewoman. A member of the aristocracy of the Rhinean Empire,” she said, raising her chin. Her eyes flashed as she held Alex’s gaze. “I have responsibilities to my empire, my grandfather, my parents, the fief… I cannot irresponsibly choose just any partner.”

“Oh, come now.” Khalik’s frown deepened. “Do not tell me your parents insist on choosing your marriage partner for you. Or even who you choose to court in your youth. Even mine do not engage in such a practice. Though, they will make their opinions known.” He winced. “Very known. So, I have that to look forward to.”

“My condolences. My parents are similar,” she said. “They do not insist on choosing a marriage partner for me, only because they have full trust that my choice will be one that does not bring trouble or shame to the family. They trust that I will pick well.”

“Would’ve been real disappointed if you’d brought Derek back, then,” Thundar said.

“Thundar!” Alex looked at him sharply.

“What, it’s true!” The minotaur frowned. “Think about what Theresa’s mom and dad would do if she brought Derek to their threshold.”

“Oh, by the Traveller, even I don’t want to imagine that much violence.” Alex shuddered.

Isolde laughed bitterly. “Well, you are not as correct as you think you are. My parents would worry about that choice on a personal level, but would not interfere from a political standpoint—if I were foolish enough to make such a choice—as Derek would not be a terrible choice on paper. He is from a fine family in the realm with wealth and clout behind them.”

“Ugh.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Glad I wasn’t born into nobility, then. Don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff. But, what’s wrong with Cedric?”

“Cedric is… Cedric is a valued member of his clan, within your kingdom, Alex. But he is not a member of the nobility. He has no great holdings in your lands or mine. It is… difficult.”

“Well, what about the fact that he’s a Hero. A Chosen, no less,” Alex said. “That’s about as important as you can get in Thameland. After every Ravener defeat, Chosens have gone on to be generals, some married Thameish princesses, others were given fiefs. Cedric’s no bloody title-less bumpkin. In some ways, he’s got one of the greatest titles in the realm.”

“Indeed, and I have accounted for that,” Isolde said. “When I was at home, I took the liberty of proceeding to an archive in the capitol. I discovered that there have been instances of Heroes of Uldar marrying Rhinean nobility before. It is not unheard of.”

“Right, that’s good, then!” Alex said. “Problem solved, right?”

“It is not simp—Wait… Thundar, why are you cackling like an old witch?” Isolde glared at the minotaur suspiciously.

He was fighting back laughter. And failing. “Well, I was just thinking I gotta tell Cedric to run. Or go fight the Ravener and then just… live in the wilderness somewhere where no one can find him.”

“And why is that?” Isolde asked.

“Well, I mean…” He giggled. “You two haven’t even gone out on a date yet… and you’re already looking up ancestors-damned marriage precedents! Hah!”

Isolde went stark white.

Khalik and Alex slowly looked back at her with evil twin grins on their bearded faces.

“I-it is not like that!” she yelped.

“Is it not?” Khalik asked innocently.

“It is not!”

“Are you sure about that?” Alex asked innocently.

“Yes!” Isolde cried. “I am not some wretched madwoman who would cling to someone like a drowning sailor to a piece of driftwood! I-it…” She turned away. “I-it just pays to be prepared for eventual possibilities, is all.”

Alex looked at Khalik and Thundar. “So we’re going to make sure we give Isolde and her fiery-haired prize plenty of alone time when the Heroes get here, right?”

“Of course!” Thundar and the prince said in unison.

“I hate you all!” Isolde’s scream echoed through the insula.

Chapter 41

Advanced Alchemy

“Mr. Roth, I was hoping I’d find you here,” a quiet voice came over Alex’s shoulder, startling the young wizard.

“Professor Jules.” Alex wheeled around in his chair, half-rising as his alchemy professor plopped down in a seat beside him.

At the other end of the table—and across the third floor of the library—several students looked at her with a mix of surprise, spite, and naked fear. A small smirk played at the edges of the professor’s lips.

“Oh dear, they don’t like the sight of me, do they?” she said lightly, making herself more comfortable in her chair. “Shall I increase the difficulty of my assignments, I wonder?”

‘And this is why students don’t like her that much,’ Alex thought.

‘I do not think she cares… Father.’ Claygon looked up from one of Selina’s books on arithmetic.

‘I know, which makes them like her even less,’ Alex thought.

“Were you just thinking about how students don’t like me?” A white eyebrow rose on the professor’s wrinkled forehead.

“Guh, never—” Alex started to say, but was cut off by a dismissive wave of the hand.

“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Roth. I’ll see through it,” she said. “Is what I would say if I had foreseen the Amir situation.”

A dark cloud consumed her expression, stoking Alex’s guilt. He was still lying to her by omission about using her laboratory without permission. If he was lucky, she’d never put it together, and if he had his way, that secret would go with him to the grave.

“In any case, I saw that you’d submitted your course selection,” she said primly. “Which is why I am here: you’ve signed up for the Introduction to Magic Item Creation course?”

“Er, yeah,” Alex said, scratching his beard. “It’s not a problem, is it? I mean, with the expedition and all.”

“No, no, it’s not. I’m glad you’re taking additional alchemy courses. I just think you’re taking the wrong one,” she said bluntly.

“O-oh? Most potions only go up to third-tier effects, right? And I’ve already been brewing all sorts of potions on my own, I thought I’d go for something a little more advanced… You want me to take another potions course?”

“No, by all the planes, no.” Professor Jules took two forms from her carry-bag, sliding them—and a pen—toward the young wizard. He peered at them nervously, like they were angry weasels ready to spring as she explained. “One of those is a form stating that you’ll be withdrawing from the Introduction to Magic Item Creation course, taught by Professor Procipkek, and the other will enroll you in the advanced magic item creation course taught by me.”

He stared at the two forms, then looked at his professor in shock. “Really? You want me… to skip a course. Even without challenging the exam for credit?”

“You can write it, if you want to, but it’ll be a waste of your time and waste of an afternoon for one of my teaching assistants.” She laced her fingers together before her. “A little bird named Toraka Shale tells me that you’re involved in a special project with her. One involving a special substance?”

Alex winced. Her body language screamed distaste. “I, er, take it you don’t approve?”

“Of course I don’t,” she scoffed. “You’re running off—half-trained—to put your life in danger finding a powerful substance that we don’t quite fully understand, in an attempt to bring it to market.”

“Er… is that not allowed?”

“It’s not a matter of allowed or not allowed, it’s your own private matter, it’s just that you’re triggering a rush more quickly than I anticipated.” She sighed. “I suspect we’ll be dealing with profit-seeking adventurers from all over the place soon enough. Also, you’re not completely trained in all alchemy safety protocols. You’re risking your life twice over.”

“Um.” He glanced at the application for advanced magic item creation. “If that’s true… then why am I being rewarded?”

“It’s not a reward, Mr. Roth, it’s a necessity,” she said pointedly. “From the day I met you, you were wanting to run ahead and engage in all manner of dangerous activities without a shred of training. I tried to drill into you the necessity of slowing down and learning all safety procedures before attempting anything too dangerous. And what do you do? You get a job at a golem workshop. And now you’re experimenting on your own. Speaking of which, how’s that staff coming along?”

Alex winced. “Did Baelin tell you?”

“No, you just did. Toraka told me a bit about your new project and—after enough whiskey—I got her to give me a peek at your schematics, citing that I was protecting my students. Which I am.” The professor couldn’t hide the burning curiosity in her eyes. “And I noticed that your design didn’t call for an entire core’s worth of material. So, I assumed that you—yet again—went off to do something completely and utterly dangerous, funded almost entirely by Toraka’s irresponsible handing over of a small fortune to an eighteen-year-old student.”

“Nineteen,” Alex corrected.

“Still a baby. In any case, I realised something.” She spread her hands. “I’ve lost, Mr. Roth. You are quite insane and will probably try to invent a way to snuff out the sun if left to your own devices. However, you are also quite good. Toraka doesn’t have any tolerance for idiots—ask her about the university job fairs—so she certainly wouldn’t start a business partnership with someone like you if you didn’t know your stuff.

“There’s also Professor Val’Rok, who wouldn’t stop bragging about how he taught you Hsieku’s technique and how you learned in record time. That’s a higher level of skill in mana manipulation than even most four-year alchemy students have these days.”

The professor then critically sized up his physique. “Then Professor Hak reveals that you somehow managed to join a couple of blood magic spells together to rebuild your own body. Baelin also mentioned this and informed me you’ll be publishing a paper on it soon.”

“Ah, yeah,” Alex said. “I’ve been juggling that during winter break. At this point, I think it’s almost ready to submit to Baelin for corrections.”

“Charming.” She grimaced. “So, you’re going to further spread your madness. Anyway, Professor Val’Rok, Toraka—when she sobered—Baelin, and Professor Hak all insisted that you be allowed to ‘fly.’ The point is, you are an intellectual stallion, Mr. Roth, with too much energy, and too little caution.”

“Thank you… I guess?” Alex said.

“You also have a problem in that a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing, and so.”

She reached into her carry-bag again, pulling out a stack of textbooks and quietly placing them on the table. “If I allow you to be trapped in a course that is beneath your abilities, you won’t learn anything that’ll help you, yet you’ll still run ahead of yourself and probably blow yourself up sometime in the next six months. Hence, the necessity. I am going to hammer into you skills, learning, and safety procedures that are at your level, and you are going to use them to not kill yourself, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mum,” he said, then froze, his mind catching up with what he’d just called her. Heat abruptly raced across his cheeks as his face turned bloodred.

A quick flash of amusement ran through Jules’ body language, but she let the moment pass. “Students make that mistake often,” she said. “Normally, they’re of an age where they’d be beginning their studies at the junior school, but it happens.”

Alex felt himself turning redder. “You know… maybe I’ll just sign these papers now.”

“Maybe you should.” Professor Jules grinned. “Oh, and by the way, the next time you see Toraka, give her hell for me. Showing off proprietary secrets when drunk isn’t a good habit to make.”

“But…” Alex paused. “You’re her close friend, right? And you got her drunk, Professor!”

“Which is no excuse for breaking safety protocol and any nondisclosure agreements,” Professor Jules sniffed. “Researchers do it all the time with their friends and loved ones, but it’s still no excuse.”

Within a large, symbol-encrusted cauldron boiled a liquid that burned with teal and crimson light. Bubbles of black formed in the boiling substance, containing vast concentrations of mana before they burst, spreading their energies into the solution.

Power sparked in the cauldron as Alex guided the reaction along.

“Steady… steady…” he said, watching sparks of power within the cauldron, directing it with his mana. “Would you mind adding a little mana, Toraka?”

“Already ahead of you,” she said, a look of wonder painting her features. Teal and crimson were reflected in her eyes. “This is wonderful, this… substance. Vernia wasn’t exaggerating, its conductivity is something else. Look how it’s enhancing the power of everything around it.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great, isn’t it?” Alex chuckled, his laugh muffled by his mask, though it still rolled off the underground chamber’s walls.

Alex and Toraka had been working in a restricted workshop, one buried deep within the sub-basement of the golemworks, granting them privacy from prying eyes.

Away from distractions, and distractors.

Only one pair of eyes looked on. Claygon stood silently at the edge of the workroom, watching the two golem crafters engaged in their art.

“I think we’re nearly at a resting point,” Toraka said. “Which means it needs time to stabilise before we move on to the next step.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Alex looked to the other side of the room. “You want to work on the body for a while?”

On a sturdy worktable at the other end of the space, a partly-completed construction of iron lay, forged in the form of a statuesque woman. Much of the construct’s chest cavity was wide open, revealing a complex network of mana pathways leading into its limbs, and in the centre of its chest, the hole was ready to receive the golem core.

Claygon looked upon the iron golem with shifting emotions, many Alex couldn’t begin to separate. The golem touched his own chest just above the spot where his own core burned, drawing Alex’s attention.

He began to say something when Toraka’s voice cut in. “Sure, let’s work on the body for a while. You’re picking up metalworking fast enough.”

“Thanks,” he said, stirring the solution with his mana conductor. “Honestly, you’re doing most of the heavy lifting on that, though.”

“I should be, I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive.” Toraka shifted her mana within the solution, gradually calming the reaction. “Alright, I’m going to set it to rest.”

She pressed a sigil on the side of the cauldron, sending a pulse of mana into the substance. Immediately, the rolling boil ceased, and the solution stilled until its surface resembled painted glass concealing a source of inner light.

“Good stuff,” he said.

“Very, very good stuff,” she agreed. “I’m very pleased with how things have gone. Honestly, you’re doing a lot more work on the golem core than I thought you would be.”

He shrugged. “It’s my design, right? It’d be kinda weird if I came up with the thing then couldn’t bloody well make it.”

“You’d be surprised how often that happens.” Toraka sighed. “There’s lots of ‘idea people’ out there, Alex, and not many with the skills to turn innovation into reality.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not one of them.” He carefully placed the cauldron’s lid atop the massive pot’s lip.

Toraka pressed another sigil, and—with a pulse of mana—a click sounded and the lid locked in place. “I’m glad you’re not, but unfortunately, most students with ‘big ideas’ are, though.”

“Really?” Alex wandered over to the golem body, opening a tool kit.

“It’s an epidemic.” She went to a mana-powered forge, pressing a glyph on its side, which sparked another pulse of power, followed by a burst of flame and heat within the furnace. “In the early days, after I first bought this shop, I made it a point to go to a career fair that the university put on in the main castle annually. It was always well attended by eager students, with the idea being to recruit the best and brightest right out of school.”

“And how’d that go?” Alex asked.

“Well, I don’t go anymore, do I?” Her laugh was bitter. “We did get a few excellent hires, but far more bad ones. Then there were the ones approaching our booth, clutching schematics for magical devices that couldn’t even cut it as passable projects in a second-year alchemy class. But of course, to them, their ideas were always the next big thing, which only needed a few skilled workers—provided by the workshop, of course—to get things started.”

The mention of the word ‘staff’ brought a surge of excitement to Alex.

When he’d left home that morning, the staff had almost completed its growth process.

It was so close to being finished, that he figured it should be complete when he walked through the apartment door that evening.

Chapter 42

The First Staff Tests

Alex brought his thoughts back to present, eager to finish up and get home to his staff.

‘What was Toraka just saying?’ he wondered. ‘Oh yeah, she was talking about students and how limited knowledge was a bad thing.’

He picked up a block of iron with a sturdy pair of tongs, and holding them securely, carefully deposited it within an enormous machine that resembled a hulking tarantula. Pressing a glyph, Alex activated it, sending mana flowing through its eight pipes, liquifying a sizable chunk of purified carbon within the device. He consulted a gauge on the side. “Looks like the carbon regulator’s good to go, no need to add any more carbon. But yeah, Professor Jules was saying how… how’d she put it again?”

He frowned. “How a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing when you think you know more than you really do.”

“That’s one hundred percent true,” Toraka said. “The thing is, with first- and second-year students, they’ve just opened their minds to a billion new possibilities in magic and science. Problems start because they don’t fully understand or appreciate all the present limitations of wizardry yet. Well, that, and the fact they haven’t learned how to research what they’re seeing in their heads before pushing every idea and supposed innovation they conceive of.”

“So, some make a lot of assumptions, like for example, assuming they’ve solved a major problem without knowing that it was solved a century or more ago, or that there’s precedent for an idea they’re all excited about which was proven to not work,” Alex supplied.

“Exactly. It’s why you’re a breath of fresh air. So young, yet you actually have grounding and evidence for your ideas.” He could hear the smile in her voice, despite the mask obscuring everything but her eyes. She snorted. “I find first-year philosophy students are even worse, by the way. They learn a few theories then become convinced they’re masters of ethics and existence.”

“Really? I haven’t met many philosophy students.”

“They’re not for me, shall we say,” Toraka said. “I prefer things to be more… practical. And speaking of students, it’s about time for your new classes to start, isn’t it?”

“Tomorrow, actually.” Alex set the tongs down. “I’m not going to lie, winter break was over before I had time to enjoy it. Feels like I blinked a couple of times and classes are ready to start again.”

Toraka chuckled. “Ah, memories. It was like that for me too, it was the same for my husband, for Sim… it’s always like that. So, what courses are you taking? Anything exciting?”

“Well, I’m not really taking anything fancy and new,” he said. “Mostly building on what I’ve already been taking.”

“Of course, and that’s actually a common pattern.” Toraka nodded. “Most undergraduates spend their first year or two trying things out, learning different disciplines of wizardry before getting locked into their strengths. What did you decide to expand on?”

“Well, I’ll be taking Professor Hak’s second-year blood magic course,” Alex said. “And Professor Mangal’s summoning course. There’s the compulsory general magic theory course and—though I’m technically getting an alchemy credit from the expedition—Professor Jules strongly recommended that I enroll in her advanced magic item creation course.”

“Really?” Toraka said in surprise. “Vernia is letting a second-year take advanced magic item creation? She hates letting students skip grades.”

“I know, it surprised me too,” Alex agreed. “There’s almost no way she’d let me do it normally, but… well…” He gestured to their work. “She thought it might be time to learn more advanced safety regulations that’d actually apply to what I’m doing.”

Toraka’s eyes rolled behind the lenses in her safety mask. “Well, sometimes she’s too stodgy. Does she really think I teach my employees nothing while they’re working here? Our safety regulations are some of the strictest in the city.”

“Right, that reminds me, she said something about you not sharing proprietary secrets when you’re drunk? Even with friends?” Alex delivered Jules’ opinion.

Toraka stiffened. “That little… okay, Vernia. If you’re going to play it that way… Anyway, we’ve had enough distractio—Oh wait, what’s your last course?”

“What else?” Alex picked his tools back up. “The Art of the Wizard in Combat?”

“That mad old goat’s mad old course?” Toraka scoffed. “It only gets more dangerous after first year. You’re out of your mind, truthfully. He’s probably going to have you fighting demons, you know?”

“Yeah, well.” Alex’s thoughts went back to the waiting staff. “I have a little something that’ll help even the odds. Demons or not.”

The aeld branch had always been beautiful.

But now it had grown into a work of art.

Its leaves at the top of the staff—fanned wide on several stems—were interspersed between fruits of crystalline power. Each shone with every colour of the rainbow, shedding a glowing, multi-hued light that combined with the aeld’s green-golden radiance. Within the staff, crystal fibres had grown through the inner wood, reaching its upper branches and manifesting as crystal ‘fruit.’

It blazed with an abundance of power that left Alex’s mouth agape. He was not only confident that it was able to conjure all the magic he’d poured into it, but it would do so with greater force and strength than he’d hoped for. When his magics grew, he could add more powers to the staff, and it would fuel them with ease. The aeld branch also seemed to be enjoying its new transformation. Feelings of delight, yearning, and curiosity were wafting from it in waves.

‘It… is… beautiful,’ Claygon said, crouching beside Alex, determined to fit in the limited space at the side of the balcony. ‘I… feel it.’

“Yeah, it is beautiful, isn’t it?” Alex murmured, glancing at the high position of the moon. “It’s too bad it’s so late… Er, so early now that it’s past midnight; otherwise, I’d show off our new staff to Theresa and Selina.” He considered what to do. “Maybe we should just leave them since they’re sound asleep and let them see it in the morning, and besides, who knows how many more nights they’ll have in this apartment.”

He felt a note of curiosity from the aeld staff.

“Oh, I suppose I should explain.” He gestured toward the city. “Remember the place where I first started crafting you? Well, that’s our new home and we’ll be moving there soon—you know, after some of us risk our lives in the hells—there’ll be a lot more room for all of us. The cleaners are nearly done, which means we could be moving any day now. That’s assuming I’m not moving into a morgue after the hells, that is.” He didn’t want to scare the aeld staff, so he kept the part where he was taking it to the hells with him to himself, for now. He’d tell it later.

‘I will… protect us, Father,’ Claygon said, patting Alex on the back, nearly knocking him over in the process.

“Oh, I’m only joking, Claygon…” Alex paused, wrapping his hand around the staff. “Probably.”

He took a close look at the plant pot, noting several false roots poking from the soil, indicating the process was complete. He gave the staff a nod and slowly pulled it from the rich earth.

Its glow intensified as he hoisted it in the air: green, gold, and other hues danced in the moonlight. Power tickled his palm, coursing through the wood, ready for use in the blink of an eye.

A grin lit his entire face.

This.

To actually hoist a mighty staff above his head, ready to unleash its power? A staff he’d made with his own two hands, his wits, his magic, and his will? Well, that, and more, was why he’d wanted to become a wizard in the first place.

It was a fantasy he’d dreamt of since boyhood, and here he was, staff in hand, laughing in pure joy. A dream fulfilled.

“Alright, I can’t wait ’til morning. I’ve got to go test this out right now.” He glanced at Claygon. “What would you say to a nice moonlight walk, buddy?”

‘I would be… happy. I want to see… the staff…’ his golem said.

“Brilliant, then I⁠—”

It was only when he heard the whining through the balcony door that he realised his mistake. A moment later, there came a scratching of nails on wood and the whining grew urgent.

“Ah… right,” he said. “Here’s a lesson for when you get your speakerbox, Claygon. Always be careful of saying the word ‘walk’ around a dog. Especially one with three sets of ears.”

A panting Brutus padded through the doors ahead of Alex and Claygon, stepping into the stadium. In the low light, Alex saw that the combat practice area was mostly deserted, though a few solo students were still honing their battle magic skills well into the night. Most were of races with innate night vision, like dwarves, but others simply practised by way of moonlight and various magics illuminating the field near them.

All paused, watching as a cerberus, a stone golem, and a powerfully built mortal wizard strode into the stadium. Some quickly returned to what they were doing, while others let their eyes linger on Alex’s glowing staff as he took up position near a practice dummy.

Brutus watched the students curiously before sniffing the ground, circling in place, and plopping down to chew on an old beef bone he’d been carrying in his middle jaws. Alex considered what magic to call from the staff first.

‘What… are you going to do, Father?’ Claygon asked and the staff bubbled with powerful waves of curiosity.

“Well, might as well start with the basics,” Alex said.

He focused his mind, channelling power into the staff. Pouring mana into the wood through his grip, a vast wave of power rose to meet him—a vast wave of power with a mind. The aeld staff’s consciousness eagerly reached out to him, ready for his mana to join its own.

“Wow, I guess that’s one good sign already.” He reached through scores of mana pathways, trying to get a feel for the staff’s inner workings. What he found was dazzling. Within the magical wood lay crystal pathways in an intricate network, each brimming with mana. The aeld’s natural power and the mana core commingled so seamlessly, he had trouble knowing where one’s power ended, and the other began.

A perfect fusion, allowing his mana to slide through the staff effortlessly, providing easy access to the mana-rich inner controls for the staff’s wealth of powers.

“Hmmmm, alright,” he mused. “There’s forceball. There’s greater force armour… and the other ones… all the force effects are in order. Good. Good. And summoning? Ah, yeah. It’s all there. Same with blood magic. And this one? Yep, it’s got the signature of Elder Bloddeuwedd’s potion all over it. I’ll do that bit last. Let’s do something easy and get ourselves a baseline, Claygon.”

He let his power flow into the control of a familiar spell.

The crystalline fruit flared in the staff’s branches.

A tremendous rush of power flashed—more mana than he’d ever channelled on his own—and then…

In an instant, it was followed by the familiar crimson light of a glowing forceball dappled with tinges of gold, green, and other hues. The spell floated in the air—at least twice the span of any he’d conjured by way of spellcrafting—with a light that burned almost as brightly as the sun in the Barrens, making him squint.

He smiled at it fondly, fighting back a rush of giddiness. “Well, hello, old friend! It’s kinda fitting that we’re starting out with you, isn’t it?” Alex looked at Claygon, unable to suppress childlike giggles. “It works! It works, buddy, it bloody works!”

‘Congratulations, Father…’ Claygon thought. ‘Why… does it look… different?’

“Well, that’s because—to put it lightly—the staff is so much stronger than I am. It uses my mana as a catalyst to channel its power.” He waved the aeld staff at the forceball. “But it’s doing most of the work. And—when I was designing the mana core—I made sure that each of the staff’s powers had a bit more flexibility than a regular pesky spell array would have. It means that any of the spells it replicates can be weaker or a lot stronger than any I could normally create with spellcraft without using a lot of modifications to magic circuits.”

His mana rushed to another control within the staff.

There was a flash and a burst of crimson light as a Wizard’s Hand appeared in the air. It was also larger than any he’d ever conjured on his own, and it too glowed with a brighter light.

‘That… is good, Father,’ Claygon said.

“Yeah, but now, let’s see if the really good part starts,” Alex said. “You see, the fun thing about subjugation type summoning spells is that—when you have enough power—you can actually summon multiple monsters with one spell. And this staff is very powerful, so, if I’m right…”

He reached into the aeld staff, finding the control to call water elementals, and at the same time, spoke a single word: Bubbles.

In an instant, that strange power moved within him, touching the staff. A heartbeat later, four water elementals appeared before him, bubbling with curiosity.

“Yeeesss!” Alex said, jumping for joy.

Summoning magic with no interference from the Mark, just pure mana manipulation.

Incredible!

He called on the Mark, focusing it on manipulating mana through the staff… and much to his delight, images of guiding his mana to the controls appeared in his mind.

“Yeeeessssss! This changes everything! Let’s keep going, Claygon. There’s a few more powers I’d like to see.”

Chapter 43

Testing the Staff and Testing the Nerve

Curious students paused their combat practice, watching as Alex used his staff for the first time. Calling on the Mark, he guided his mana through the fibres of powerful crystal and mana-infused wood, finding each control faster and with more precision.

He conjured elementals, devil-vipers, hell-boars, and flicker dogs in small packs. Elemental beetle swarms appeared in such great numbers that their buzzing droned throughout the stadium. In mere heartbeats, with staff firmly in hand, the young wizard conjured an army that would have normally taken him minutes to call if he’d been casting summoning spells while fighting the Mark’s customary interference.

He also discovered that the inner power—the strange magic which solidified his connection to other planes—worked just as well when he conjured through his staff than when he didn’t.

“Makes sense that it would,” he said to himself as he summoned a small pack of hellhounds with little more than a quick flick of mana and his wrist. “It helps me when someone else casts a teleportation spell on me, so why wouldn’t it help me use that type of magic through a staff.”

‘Father… what about protecting yourself?’ Claygon asked.

“Oh, this staff can do that too. Take a look.”

He waved the staff, getting a little creative.

Within, he split his mana into two streams, using them to reach two controls at once. Power flared… but mana only poured into one control.

A familiar spell manifested before him: force shield. A much thicker one than he’d ever conjured himself, veritably humming with power.

“Awww,” he said. “Well, I didn’t expect I’d be able to conjure two sets of magic at once… but maybe if I hit one control after another one real fast… That’ll be something to test later. And speaking of tests!”

He turned to Claygon.

“Hey, Claygon, could you do me a favour?”

‘What… is it, Father?’

“I want you to hit me. Well, no! Wait, don’t hit me. If you do, I’ll turn to paste. I want you to hit my shield.”

‘Yes… Father.’

Claygon brought his fist back, then slammed it into the shield.

Alex watched with bated breath as… the shield was instantly shattered.

‘I… broke it… Father,’ Claygon said, a note of pride coming through their link.

“Yeah, yeah, that you did. You did well. But I guess that was a bit of a poor test,” Alex admitted. “Too much power would shatter any shield. I have a better idea.”

Through his staff, he conjured another shield, then turned to his summoned creatures. “I want you to attack this shield with everything you’ve got.” He switched languages for each different creature. “Well, not everything! Physical attacks only, please!”

The shield rose, inviting his summoned monsters to test it, and with all the enthusiasm they could muster, they didn’t hold back, rushing in, snarling, biting, tearing, and mauling the force spell.

Hellhounds, viper-devils, elemental beetles, and hell-boars charged, ramming the shield with full force. Terrible crashes resounded through the stadium, drawing attention from curious students, but Alex—too busy watching the assault on the shield—paid them no mind.

“Yesss! It’s stronger than my other ones.” It whipped around, facing his summons. “And it even responds faster. This is good. Real good. And now… Oh wait, all of you! You can stop now!”

One by one, he switched languages, calling off his summoned army, then once again, reached into the staff with his mana.

It touched a control, and power raced through crystal and wood; crimson light—tinged with other hues—poured from the staff, enwrapping his body in a flexible mesh of force magic.

With a flash of light, it disappeared.

‘What was that, Father?’ Claygon asked.

“Greater force armour,” Alex said excitedly. “One of the best pieces of protection magic you can have. But we won’t know how tough it is until I test it out.” He turned to a nearby hellhound, speaking to it in a tongue of devils. “Would you mind biting my arm?”

Alex presented his arm to the creature. It didn’t hesitate. With malicious glee—as is within the nature of devils—the hellhound chomped on his arm… immediately recoiling, yelping when its fangs simply glanced off steely force magic.

“Holy Traveller, I didn’t feel that at all!” he cried, examining his arm in wonder. “No force got through, none at all, not even with the strength of the hellhound’s jaws! Hmmmm… Makes me wonder…”

He glanced at Brutus, a thought playing in his head.

…Just as the cerberus snapped the beef bone in half with the squeeze of one set of jaws, another head made eye contact with him, its tongue lolling out.

“You know what? Maybe we’ll uh, skip that test,” Alex said. “Let’s try body enhancement instead.”

Brutus returned to the beef bone.

Guiding his mana from one control to the next, Alex cast body-enhancement magic over himself, empowering his strength, speed, and senses in mere heartbeats. “Yes, yes, yes!” He was overjoyed. “This is incredible. Okay, next thing. Claygon, could you stand still for a moment?”

‘I am… standing still, Father. You are the one… hopping from one foot to the other.’ Claygon pointed at his legs.

“Oh, I am no—Oh, shit, I guess I am.” He glanced down, acknowledging that he’d been excitedly hopping about for Traveller only knows how long. Clearing his throat, he composed himself. “Point is, I need you to keep still for a moment, buddy.”

‘I will, Father,’ Claygon replied.

With care, Alex’s mana activated another control point in the staff, and a rush of invisible magic enveloped the golem.

“Alright, now—if things worked properly—you should be able to fly. Try flying for me, buddy.”

Claygon looked down at his feet, looked up… then slowly began to rise through the air. Soon, the golem was ascending at speed, soaring through the stadium, lapping it once while Alex clapped and cheered.

By now, most students had already left or were leaving, watching his progress as they went. One young battle mage tracked Claygon’s flight through the stadium while cheering them on with a huge smile on his face and two thumbs in the air, caught up in their successes with the staff.

Alex nodded as he passed by.

‘Father! I flew! The staff… used flight magic!’ Claygon called, pausing to hover above his creator.

“I can see that, and that’s bloody fantastic!” Alex cheered. “No more having to rely on Isolde to get you in the air. Hah! This is brilliant.”

He felt a wave of bashful joy rise from the staff.

“Oh, don’t be modest. You’re a magic staff put together with some of the world’s fanciest materials. Of course you’re brilliant.” Alex smiled. “So… let’s see if one other thing works.”

He guided his mana one last time, activating the control for mana-ejection magic and pointed the staff at a practice dummy. Crystalline fruit flared and power erupted, releasing a small swarm of force constructs, each bleeding magic.

They swarmed the dummy, painting it in glowing lines that mimicked Elder Blodeuwedd’s symbols. Alex watched them go, searching for imperfections in the glyphs.

He found none.

In short order, the constructs vanished, leaving behind glowing symbols that lingered for a full minute—fed by the staff’s power—before disappearing.

“Well,” he said. “The symbols looked right. But… I won’t know if they’ll have the right effect until I use them on something with mana, and I’d rather not use that power on myself or a friend.”

‘You can use it… on me, Father,’ Claygon offered, landing beside Alex.

“Oh no, definitely not.” The Thameish wizard shook his head. “You’re a construct that runs on mana. Forcing you to eject it… I can’t imagine that’d be too pleasant for you. So, let’s skip that.”

‘Then… when will you test it?’ Claygon asked.

Alex sighed. “Ideally, I’d like to test it on Ravener-spawn or some other nasty creature, maybe something from the Barrens. Since we’ll be going to the hells soon, I don’t think I’ll have time to do my own hunting beforehand.”

‘Then… will you test it on a demon?’ the golem wondered.

“Looks like that’s the way it’s going to have to be, unfortunately. It’s not ideal, really—it’d be better to find out if it works by trying it on less dangerous prey—but time is what it is. That particular power will have to be field tested. Oh well, it’s not the first time I’ve had to do so and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

‘Maybe… you could test it… on Cedric,’ Claygon suggested.

“Well, there’s an idea, but I don’t think he’d… wait…” Alex paused, giving his golem a suspicious look. “Are you suggesting that because he punched me?”

The golem stared at him for a long moment, then slowly looked away.

“By the Traveller, you are! You’ve learned how to hold a grudge. Now, remember, all’s forgiven between Cedric and me, so you shouldn’t really hold a grudge for that.”

‘Yes… Father…’

“That said!” Alex gave him an evil grin. “I am very proud of you. As a matter of fact, this is a good teaching moment! On the way home, I’ll teach you about a wonderful concept called revenge.”

‘I… look forward to learning, Father,’ Claygon said.

“Oh yeah, and this is an important lesson, because—and don’t let anyone tell you any different—when used right, revenge is absolutely awesome. But you’ve got to control it. You’ve got to know who you want to take revenge on. I think Baelin might agree with that.”

‘I… see…’ his golem mused. ‘Have you ever taken revenge on anyone before?’

“Oh, Claygon.” A glint of malice shone in Alex’s eyes. “Let me tell you the tale of McHarris.”

‘Father… you have already told this tale… I know it…’

“Oh,” Alex said, withering in disappointment. “Am I already starting to repeat myself?”

‘I… do not know… But I do know that I would like to hear the story again… and I didn’t know it was because of… revenge. I like your stories, Father…’

Alex grinned. “And this is why you’re my favourite, Claygon.”

“Well, you have been busy.” Baelin turned Alex’s staff over in his hands. “Very busy.” Its light reflected in the chancellor’s goat-like eyes. “This is truly a work of art, my young friend. You have done quite well using such fine materials.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, beaming and shifting his weight in the chair.

“You are most welcome. I merely am reporting what I see,” the ancient wizard said as the staff’s light shone through his office in the Research Castle. “I daresay that our young friends will be most impressed. Well… Drestra most likely will be, in any case. Hart and Cedric should also appreciate it, but I doubt on the same level as she will.”

His eyes twinkled as he handed Alex the staff, then rose to his hooves and rounded the desk. “When they see it in action, they will be most impressed.”

“I can only hope.” Alex swallowed and followed Baelin. “They’ll be here soon, won’t they?”

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “I was told they entered the fae roads a few short hours ago. No doubt that means they’re almost here. Come, let us gather in the classroom and wait for them. I take it our other hell-raiding friends have already assembled?”

“Yep,” Alex said. “Theresa, Brutus, Claygon, Khalik, Najyah, Thundar, Grimloch, and Isolde were heading to the classroom right after breakfast. They should be ready. I’m just wondering if I am.”

“I should think so.” Baelin chuckled as he waved a hand at the double doors. They opened in silence. “You did, after all, craft a staff so mighty that you could not resist rushing to my office to show me before our briefing even began.”

“Yeah, well,” Alex muttered as they stepped into the hall. “It’s a damned good staff, but I keep thinking about enemies like Zonon-In… like the demons we fought. They were tough to beat in our world, so I have to wonder what they’ll be like on their own territory.”

“You should not be wondering.” The ancient wizard looked at him critically. “You have had quite a bit of time to research your enemy and their location. As such, should you not know exactly what awaits you?”

Alex snorted. “A Proper Wizard does their research, yeah, but they also have to prepare for surprises. Not everything’s in a book; otherwise, we wouldn’t need these practical lessons in the first place, am I right?”

“Hah!” Baelin clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s a good man! It is good to see you are taking on my lessons, even when I try to mislead you.” He looked ahead as they strolled down the corridor. “You are right to worry, Alex, so long as your emotions do not dull your senses and coordination during battle. A Proper Wizard does not consider themselves invincible unless odds are truly, utterly, and completely in their favour. And even then… I have seen the powerful laid low by a lucky beast-goblin spear due to carelessness.”

As he opened the door to the stairs, he said, “Cleave to that caution, my young friend, but do not allow it to control you.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Good.” Baelin chuckled darkly. “Now, let us proceed with the briefing so we can discuss how we’ll be eviscerating demons—once our guests arrive, that is. Hmmm… I wonder if Carey’s made it yet.”

“Carey? What’s she got to do with this?” Alex asked.

“Ah, do you remember that—as part of our negotiations—we would be sending teams to aid the Saint while the Heroes were learning alongside us?”

“Yeah?” Then Alex’s eyes went wide. “Wait… Carey volunteered? She’s going into the field? But she’s terrified of monsters!”

“Indeed. Oftentimes, a brush with death can inspire greater fears, or greater courage,” Baelin said. “And in Carey’s case? It seems to be the latter. For the present, at least. I only hope that she will be ready for the rigours of what is to come.”

“Yeah,” Alex sighed. “She’s not a fighter. Brave or not, I don’t know how she’ll deal with monsters.”

“Oh, that I am not too worried about. The Saint will be there, and we have sent… significant forces with her. She will be quite safe, I should think, and seeing as she requested the assignment, I would not rob her of agency. No, to me, the risk comes from within. Her faith has been shaken, from my understanding, and now she goes to visit one of the strongest symbols of Uldar within your kingdom. I only hope that her spirit is fortified.”

Chapter 44

A Saint’s Questions

Awealth of lessons followed Merzhin through a life spent in the church—his home and sanctuary. And though he did not quote them to each and everyone around him—as they had been uttered by the mouths of mortals and not the holy word of Uldar—that did not mean he had not called on them often in his own private moments.

Scores of little anecdotes and phrases shared by the priests that raised him, the children he grew up alongside, and even the layfolk who kept his church home clean, dry and in good repair were his companions throughout his young life.

Some were grand lessons, such as Father Dale’s telling of his journey to the church, and how folk could wash away dark years through the light of forgiveness.

“Uldar forgives, true,” he’d said as he knelt before the sepulchre. “But you will never truly believe it if you do not also forgive yourself for your own past.”

That lesson had done much to grow Merzhin’s empathy and his kindness toward himself. Then there were the simple day-to-day words of wisdom, like those imparted by Layman Yorrick one winter’s day.

“You know, it always pays to do your hardest work at the beginning of your day,” he’d said, shovelling the church yard clear of snow alongside Merzhin and the other acolytes. “Your mind is clearest then. Leave easy work for a tired mind and a fatigued body, I say. Come the afternoon, you will thank yourself for the easier burden.”

That lesson had taught Merzhin much about how to organise his day. And finally, there were the little expressions that would pop into his mind as echoes from the voices of his fellow acolytes.

“I swear, Merzhin,” Acolyte Joanna had glared at him one day after he’d been in a mood. “You’ve got to stop stewing in your own holy brew. You look sour enough to scare off the Ravener.”

And those words? Those words had not really taught him anything new, but the phrase had stuck in his mind for years to come, giving him a way to refer to people who we were caught up in simmering anger.

He always thought of them as ‘stewing in their own holy brew.’

And right now?

Merzhin was stewing in his own holy brew.

“Might we get you anything, Holy Saint?” A priest broke him out of his reverie.

“I am sorry, my mind was… elsewhere,” Merzhin said, slowly looking up at the priest. “No, my fellow brother in Uldar’s grace, I am fine. May holy Uldar’s glory walk with you today.”

The priest bowed deeply. “Of course, Holy Saint. I will leave you to your contemplation. May Uldar guide your thoughts. And may he guide the other Holy Heroes in their journey as well.”

Merzhin’s jaw twitched, and he did not trust himself to answer as the man left him, for those same Heroes were the source of his anger. Warmed by a miracle of Uldar, the Holy Saint sat cross-legged on a boulder he had cleared of snow, considering his confrontation with the other Heroes earlier.

“I’m beginning to suspect these trips of yours, quite frankly,” he’d said to Cedric, Drestra, and Hart as the three gathered belongings in their tent. “I understand that your last journey to the Generasians was out of necessity, for our unholy enemies had menaced them, but remember, Uldar, this land, and its people need you here.”

“It’s gonna be quick-like, Merzhin,” Cedric had said, and the Saint hadn’t missed the note of tension in his voice. That tension had cloaked him—and Drestra—since their return from Greymoor, and, for all of Uldar’s holy insight, he could not uncover why. “We’ll take the fae roads, help our friends, get in a bit o’ learnin’ an’ be back before you know it.”

“But you are needed here,” Merzhin had insisted. “Every hour you spend away is an hour the enemy could be mustering.”

“True.” Hart had been toying with a dagger which he’d slid into a sheath. “But you know what’s going to help with that? Gathering our own strength. Maybe you should be looking at this as an opportunity the Generasians are giving us to hone our skills so we can go into battle at our strongest, right?”

“Holy Uldar has provided gifts to prepare us for our trials ahead.” Merzhin’s frown had deepened. “The rest we can learn on the battlefield while doing good for our land.”

“Because that’s been working so well,” Drestra had growled. “We’re gathering strength for the real fight⁠—”

Cedric had shot her a look.

“—and any extra we learn can only help us.”

“True, but these trips… you take them on your own,” Merzhin had started, but could not find the words to continue.

“Friend, we’ll be back in no time,” Hart had assured him, adjusting the massive sword on his back. “In the meantime, the Generasians’ll be sending you some pretty capable support.”

And to that, Merzhin did not have much else to say. His thoughts and heart were clouded, and his feelings defied words. He’d left them then, standing aside as the Guide had come to take them to these… foreigners, who so occupied their minds.

Now, he was here, alone—by choice, in some ways—and trying to clear his thoughts.

“What is happening to us?” he wondered quietly. “Uldar, I see a rift forming between your Holy Heroes.” His eyes drifted to the sky as he pressed his hands together in prayer. “My Lord Uldar, I beg you to grant me a sign. I beg that you grant me guidance, for the path ahead has grown as shrouded in mist as my own heart.”

He closed his eyes. “I keep the faith and battle your sworn enemy, but… there are new challenges that this unworthy servant lacks the wisdom to understand. We fight the Ravener-spawn, and though they grow more voracious and desperate, I do not falter. We have been granted your holy power for this very purpose, after all. But… what of our own struggles from within?”

Merzhin grimaced. “The Holy Sage, Holy Champion, and Holy Chosen have grown more distant from me… from all of us. They take the priests’ council less, partake of quests without including me among them. It is… lonely, Holy Uldar, but more than that, I worry they are turning from your path.”

The Saint opened his heart, listening for Uldar’s voice. “First, the Holy Fool is lost, and then another three of your Holy Heroes turn more toward outsiders for aid… fae, foreign wizards, than they do those you have placed on this earth to aid them. My Lord Uldar, please grant your humble servant a sign. Show me how I may mend this rift between us. Show me how I might bring your three Heroes back into your fold.”

He let his words fade into the silence of the forest clearing, straining both his ears and heart that he might hear Uldar’s reply, for he was a subtle god. Unlike other deities, he did not coddle his chosen people by loudly proclaiming either his edicts, or his comfort in a voice that shakes the heavens.

It was also not his way to speak by way of disaster and curses, falling upon his people with terrible wrath and vitriol. Uldar’s voice was the subtle twist of fate. The coincidence. The passing favour or disfavour of luck. His words were only for those who listened closely, in faith, and could interpret his subtle signs.

These ways made his words precious, for their meaning eluded the unwise or unfaithful… but sometimes those ways were frustrating to mere mortals. Even to one such as Merzhin. Sitting in the silence of the icy glade, he would have given much to have Ulder tear open the sky and shout his will for all to hear.

“Forgive my lack of patience, oh mighty Uldar,” Merzhin begged for forgiveness. “But I fear this is an infection that will fester, and I am far too dull to hear the subtlety of your divine will. Please, aid me.”

Again, Merzhin waited, but there came no reply.

At least, none the Holy Saint could hear.

With a heavy sigh, he hoisted himself up, brushed errant flakes of snow from his chainmail, and began his journey back to camp. It was a short walk—he would have never left their brave knights and priests alone for too long—but even those few moments of silence were enough to further sour his mood.

He truly was stewing in his holy brew now.

It was only through discipline forged by years of faithful study of scripture that he was able to reset his mask of calm, granting the perimeter guards a polite nod as he passed back into the camp proper.

Men and women looked up from their tasks—maintaining gear, tending horses, and praying—while he drank in their gazes of quiet awe as he passed through their ranks.

As the other three Heroes had gallivanted across Thameland alone, making deals with fae and commiserating with wizards, Merzhin had turned his attention to their staunch followers. He had ministered to them, heard their troubles, healed their wounds, and steadied their spirits.

In return, they granted him companionship and succour for his soul, healing some of the shameful loneliness that had crept into his heart. Struck by the thought, he slowed his step, pausing in the middle of the small encampment.

A shocked chuckle escaped his lips.

‘How could I have been so blind?’ he thought, chiding himself. ‘I did not hear Uldar’s answer because he had already given it! Though a rift might grow between the others and myself, I have to truly ask: were we ever close? No, we were not. Nor do we have to be. We are not granted our roles to make friends with each other. We are granted our power to eliminate our enemies. And have we not been doing so admirably?’

He pondered his fellow Heroes. ‘Hart is brutish, crude, and nearly faithless, but he is a stout slayer of Ravener-spawn. Cedric struggles to please those around him and is too weak of spirit for the mantle of leadership that Uldar has placed upon his shoulders. But he is courageous, skilled, and leads by example. Drestra?’

He fought a small surge of displeasure, knowing well it was an unworthy emotion. ‘She is cowardly, shrewd, faithless, cold, and unapproachable. But is she not a deadly force on the battlefield? Does she not burn our enemies to ash? Even when she journeyed with the others back to her faithless swamp, she led them against cultists seeking to sully our holy land. She too has a use in Uldar’s plan.’

The Holy Saint beamed at the surrounding knights and priests. ‘If there is a rift, let there be a rift. It is not into the Heroes that I should be pouring my efforts; it is into the people! To Uldar’s people! And that is his gift, for there has always been a rift between the other Heroes and myself, but as that rift grows, I grow closer with the people. With his faithful.’

He bowed his head in prayer. “I thank you, holy Uldar, for your guidance. I thank you for granting me the wisdom to find the meaning in your teachings. I⁠—”

A sound—like air being sucked from a cup—started Merzhin from his prayer, drawing his attention to the fae gate at the centre of the camp. Stepping out of the circle of mushrooms were a group of strangers: warriors, wizards, and strange beasts from Generasi.

They hailed from a multitude of peoples—more than Mezhin had ever seen in his nineteen years—and bore weapons, staffs, and armour that seemed to spark with both magic and decadence. Flanking them were a pair of massive stone giants; golems, he believed they were called.

A disciplined-looking woman—bearing both staff and sword—stepped forward from the group, her eyes focusing on him. She bowed her head. “Saint Merzhin, I presume?”

The Saint gave her a peaceful smile. “Holy Uldar has deemed me worthy of such a name and title, yes. Greetings and Uldar’s blessings be with you… madam?”

“Watcher Hill,” the woman said, her words clipped and her tone brusque; the manner of speaking he’d heard coming from more than one sergeant serving with Thameland’s soldiers. He only hoped she would be as dependable and professional as they. “I am in command of the University of Generasi’s Secondary Expeditionary Force. Might I have some room made around the fae gate? We have a large contingent coming through.”

“Er, you may.” Merzhin turned to Uldar’s followers. “Could we make space for our guests?”

“Holy Saint!” An instant response from dozens of voices followed, with knights, soldiers, and his flock scrambling to clear the space around the fae gate.

Merzhin’s gaze crept over the strange group of newcomers.

‘Such wonders lie in this world,’ he thought, his eyes lingering on the stone golems. ‘I cannot believe there are so many⁠—’

His thoughts paused.

One of the Generasians was staring at him. A young woman in plain clothes, with golden hair…

And a symbol of Uldar hanging from her neck.

‘Well,’ he thought, marvelling at Uldar’s ways. ‘Perhaps my little flock has grown.’

Chapter 45

The Phantoms of Faith

Carey felt like she was going to be sick. Frayed nerves and anxiety ran through her like carpenter ants gnawing through rotten wood, consuming her peace. Cold sweat beaded on her skin since she’d awoken that morning.

She’d felt lightheaded during Watcher Hill’s briefing, and positively faint when her group had crossed paths with Cedric, Drestra, and Hart on the fae roads.

But now?

Now, standing in the Heroes’ camp, she found it was all she could do to keep her meagre breakfast down.

“Hey, are you okay?” came the gruff voice of Tyris Goldtooth, a deep frown on her face. Those green eyes, just minutes before, had been sending the hungriest of looks the Champion of Uldar’s way.

The lava wizard seized Carey by the shoulder, giving it a shake. “Hey! Hey, you alright? If you’re gonna be sick, do it somewhere else, somewhere away from the fae gate.”

“I am quite alright,” Carey said quickly, trying to shake her nerves. “I’m quite, quite alright, I swear.”

“You sure?” Tyris frowned. “Every time I saw you this morning, you looked like you were about to keel over and die.”

“Just a little under the weather, I suppose,” Carey bit back the truth.

“Uhuh,” Tyris’ eyebrow rose. “Keep yourself focused. We’re heading right into danger, and I don’t want you getting distracted and gutted.”

“I won’t, I swear,” Carey mumbled.

“I hope not.” Tyris shrugged, stepping back toward the fae gate.

‘Of course I can’t actually tell you that I’m terrified vicious monsters are going to come looking to kill me because I interfered with the weapons of my peoples’ greatest enemy. Or that I’m also currently having an ever so inconvenient crisis of faith because evidence has come to light that my god might have betrayed me—and all of his people—and now I have to face the greatest of his mortal representatives!’ The young woman’s thoughts redoubled her fears. ‘Oh, what am I even doing here? By Saint Avelin, I must have taken leave of my senses. I should be back at the castle, my face buried in a mask! Not out here with all the dangers of flesh and soul! And⁠—’

A roar erupted, shattering her thoughts.

Carey reacted by whirling and screaming.

An explosion of heat blasted through the air, announcing Vesuvius’ presence as he rose from the fae gate, his enormous feet stomping through the snow. Beside him, Tyris watched Carey as though the younger woman had lost her mind.

An easy grin appeared on her face, her gold tooth glinting. “Well, I’m not sure whose cry frightened more Ravener-spawn: yours or his.”

Nervous snickering spread through the expeditionary force, while flaming crimson spread along Carey’s cheeks.

She glared at Tyris.

“You’re terrible! Absolutely dreadful!” she snapped.

“Maybe,” the other woman said. “But you look like you took a couple of steps away from death’s door. Not so nervous now, are you?”

Carey fought her anger, which made Goldtooth laugh all the harder.

“Guess not. So I’m going to call this a victory.” The redheaded woman turned to their comrades, several still wearing amused looks.

“Cut it, Goldtooh.” Watcher Hill strode up to Vesuvius. “Save the pranks for when we’re not in enemy territory. You’re spooking our allies.”

Carey glanced about, noting Thameish knights trying desperately to calm their rearing and whinnying mounts in response to the enormous tortoise. The priests’ eyes were fixed on the titanic familiar in a mixture of trepidation and approval.

“Uldar be praised,” a young priest muttered. “Let the Ravener’s-spawn fight monsters for once.”

“Uldar be praised, indeed,” a high, clear voice cut through the murmuring. “We are glad to have such staunch allies by our side.”

Carey flinched, slowly turning; the voice had surprised her… and who it came from drove that surprise into the realm of panic. What little she knew of the Saint of Uldar was only by description and reputation, and even then, it wasn’t much.

The other Heroes had not spoken of Merzhin much during their times in Greymoor, and she’d only personally heard mention of him once. She’d been eavesdropping at the time, craving news about her homeland’s precious Heroes. What little she’d learned was that he had a surprisingly youthful appearance—though he was the same age as the other Heroes, he looked far younger, according to Hart Redfletcher.

And the young man striding toward the expedition members—clad in the fine garments of a priest—looked no older than fifteen winters, yet all the Thameish folk around watched him with deference, lowering their heads.

He could be none other than the Saint of Uldar, and a rush of terror went through her. There had been a time when she would have been more than ecstatic to meet the holiest mortal in all of Thameland.

Now?

Her feelings roiled, sparks of guilt mixed with waves of anger went through her, coupled with an overwhelming desire to greet Merzhin with a demand for answers.

‘Why can we control dungeon cores?’ she wanted to cry. ‘Why? What has Uldar done to us, what is his plan?’’

Even as the urge fled in favour of rising fear, she was terrified that Merzhin would see right into her heart. That he would see her shaking faith and know she was wavering and false. And was she false? For weeks, she’d wrestled with questions of faith, feelings of guilt, and outrage.

All her prayers felt false.

…and all were answered with silence.

Always that silence.

Even the symbol of Uldar… In some ways, wearing it felt like she did it only out of habit… or like donning a costume. The comfort it once gave her was long gone, replaced only by shame and questions.

And the closest living thing to her god was coming nearer, with the same symbol hanging from his neck. Suddenly, fleeing back through the fae gate and away from peppering him with all the questions that disturbed her day and night seemed like the best idea.

But—before she could—the Saint looked directly at her.

His eyes met hers and held them.

“Greetings,” he said. “And on the day of the fifth rain, Uldar looked and saw the land was wetted.”

She swallowed, the familiar scripture coming to her lips from years of repeating it. “And he said: ‘That is enough, oh, weeping sky, for the farmer’s crops have drunk their fill and the forest’s trees have drunk more still. Wipe away your tears today and quit your weeping, so that the traveller might walk with the sun on his head.’”

And Merzhin’s eyes lit up. “I didn’t expect one of you Generasians to be so versed in our scripture! Welcome, welcome, fellow child of Uldar.”

Carey beat down the urge to wince at the designation. “I’m, er, actually from Wrexiff, Holy Saint.”

“Oh, you are Thameish! Fantastic, I didn’t know some of us went to study in places so far afield. Well, welcome to our camp. I hope that we work well together.”

“I do as well, ever so much,” she managed to say.

“I am sure you and I will have much to talk about,” he said, a note of eagerness in his voice. “Uldar’s connection is to his people, and the connection would be maintained, even among those who travel far from his land. I am glad you are here… Miss?”

“Carey. Carey London,” she introduced herself, bowing and drawing on all the etiquette lessons hammered into her throughout her young life.

“I am Saint Merzhin,” the Hero said, giving her another friendly nod and a smile before walking toward Watcher Hill. “We will speak more later, Carey.”

With a mighty effort, Carey resisted the urge to scream.

Could she keep her questions silent over how many nights and evenings she would spend so close to the Saint of Uldar? She was not so sure.

‘Ugh,’ she thought. ‘I feel like I’m in the hells. I wish I was back in Generasi.’

“So, this a classroom, huh.” Hart swivelled about in his chair, hands drumming on the desk. “You all really sit in these rooms for like six hours a day?”

“Not in university,” Isolde said from behind her desk. “The longest time you sit in one particular class is just under three hours. Beyond that, the attention span will fray.”

“Mine might fray after five minutes in one of these places,” he said, standing and lifting up the desk to inspect it.

“Ah, come on, we’re t’be talkin’ about fightin’ demons. I think that’ll hold your attention just fine.” Cedric eyed the trophies lining the walls. “An’ this looks a hell of a lot less like a classroom and more like a hunter’s hall, to my eyes, at least.”

The classroom, as it was, was originally a large hall within the Research Castle. Both a staging ground and a briefing room for survey and dungeon core harvesting teams. On the walls hung maps of Thameland and Greymoor, as well as maps of dungeons already conquered by the expedition’s combatants.

In between the maps, weapons, shields, and armour hung—polished to mirror shine—framing trophies of slain Ravener-spawn, all stuffed and cured in perfect preservation of them in life. The reassembled skeleton of a behemoth dominated the back of the chamber, posed in a position of cringing fear.

Its empty eye sockets watched the group gathered for the expedition to the hells. Isolde, organising her research while throwing sidelong glances at Cedric. Khalik, feeding Najyah as she perched on the side of his desk. Thundar, thumbing his mace across his lap. Grimloch, picking his teeth. The three Heroes, Alex, Theresa, and Brutus… and of course, Claygon, who was reading a book in the back of the room.

“A bloody frightenin’ hunter’s hall ya got here,” Cedric noted, eyeing the snarling face of a bone-charger mounted on the wall beside the golem.

“That’s because it’s Baelin’s class,” Alex said as he arranged his notes. “To be honest, when he gets back, I’d be surprised if we stay here for too long. His pre-combat briefings tend to take place in more…”

He paused, looking for the right words.

“Practical locations?” Theresa suggested.

“Yeah, thanks! That’s perfect,” Alex said.

“Good,” Hart grunted. “I’m already feeling the need to stretch my legs.”

“We’ll be doing that soon.” Grimloch grinned, his arms crossed as he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall nearest Hart’s desk. His rows of triangular fangs gleamed. “And you’ll have all the demons you can eat.”

Hart glanced at Grimloch. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Badass.” Hart raised a hand toward the sharkman.

Their high five was a thing of legends, as loud as a fireball spell going off, and it actually startled Drestra from her daze. She looked up from her close examination of Alex’s aeld staff to glare at Hart… but her eyes quickly returned to the staff.

“This… this is incredible work,” she murmured, the staff’s crystalline fruit bathing her face in multi-hued light. “It feels so powerful.”

Alex felt it emit a wave of pride.

“Yeah, it turned out really well.” He grinned, looking at the staff fondly. “I’m super happy with you and can’t wait for us to wreak havoc on some demons together.”

It radiated a wave of pride and anxiety, along with a quiet determination. It seemed it was already learning from Claygon.

“Your aeld staff seems so healthy,” Drestra commented. “Mother spoke of healthy aelds being better guardians.” She glanced at his ring. “Has it reacted to your ring at all?”

“I feel a tingle from it now and then when I hold the staff.” He lifted his hand, spinning the wooden ring on his finger. “But nothing obvious or anything. It didn’t magically make me into a god or anything.”

“It wouldn’t do that. Aelds don’t have that much power,” Drestra explained.

“Oh uh… that… er, that was a joke,” Alex said.

Silence followed.

“Are you sure about that?” Khalik asked. “Last I checked, jokes tended to be funny, did they not, Thundar?”

“Yeah.” The minotaur shrugged. “Unless they invented a new form of ‘not funny’ joke when I wasn’t looking.” He looked at Alex. “So yeah, I don’t think that was a joke. Y’know… on account of it not being funny and all⁠—”

“I get it!” Alex said acidly. “I’m going to let the demons down there eat you.”

“Heh, yeah, they’d want a nice slab of beef, I guess. They’d avoid eating you because…” He looked critically at Alex’s beard. “You look like you carry disease.”

“I don’t look like I carry disease!” the young Thameish wizard insisted.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it.” Hart shrugged.

“Well, er, I don’t think it’s lookin’ all that bad,” Cedric muttered diplomatically, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Alex didn’t need the Mark to know that the Chosen was lying through his teeth.

“I should point out that demons are immune to nearly all mortal diseases, by the way,” Isolde said to Cedric. “We learned through our research—and will cover this in our briefing—but I do believe it would be better not to spread false information now.”

“Really? That a fact?” Cedric cocked his head at Isolde. “Why don’ they get sick, then?”

“Erm, well…” She shifted in her seat as the Chosen’s eyes focused on her, moving her hair behind one ear and clearing her throat. “Well, I do not wish to bore you with unnecessary details.”

“I don’t think y’could ever bore me, to be honest,” Cedric said simply. “I like hearin’ y’talk.”

Isolde looked away immediately as she turned beet red.

‘Holy hells, he’s a natural,’ Alex thought.

“I agree with our young friend’s assessment,” Baelin said. “It is not an unnecessary detail. A Proper Wizard learns the whys of their foes’ strengths and weaknesses.”

Gasps of surprise ran through the class as the chancellor suddenly appeared at the front of the chamber, clad in his suit of bronze armour and gripping his staff.

“Apologies for scaring you. I was under an invisibility spell,” he said, his voice booming through the room. “And I also disguised my scent to illustrate a point.”

He looked at the class gravely.

“When one is dealing with demons, one must be acutely prepared for the unexpected.”

Chapter 46

A Relaxed Introduction into Demonology

“Hello to you all, and welcome to a new semester and our first session of the Art of the Wizard in Combat. It promises to be a rather special session indeed,” Baelin addressed the class as they collected themselves. “As you know, within the hour, we will be venturing into the hells on our first demon hunt.”

He nodded to the Heroes, watching Drestra as she passed Alex’s staff back to him and scrambled to take a seat. “I am most pleased and proud to welcome the Heroes of Thameland to this particular seminar. Cedric, Hart, and Drestra, thank you for joining us.”

“Oh, thank you for havin’ us over,” Cedric said. “I ain’t one for too much book learnin’, but I’ll be happy to learn more about how t’bring hell down on our enemies.” A sheepish smile came over him. “Ah, didn’t mean for the pun.”

“It is quite alright.” Baelin chuckled. “A little levity—even that which is unintended—can calm the nerves before a battle. It is valuable. And speaking of battle, I would like to give a slight overview of what this course is about to our newcomers. Keeping the goal of the course in mind will help those who seek to learn from it, even if they are not students of the university.”

He focused his attention on Hart, Cedric, and Drestra. “The Art of the Wizard in Combat—through all of its years—is a course designed to prepare wizards for the rigours of magic and battle. In short, when one seeks to gather power through wizardry, one will inevitably be challenged by way of violence. It is the way of the world.”

Already Drestra and Hart were nodding at his words.

“As such, allowing students of wizardry to go into the world with all the combat prowess of a librarian is a foolish thing. Now, you might be wondering what you have to learn from this course. To answer such a question,” he looked at Alex’s cabal, “tell me, what is the philosophy behind the skills that I’ve taught you? Ah yes, Khalik, your hand was up first.”

“It is to teach one to use all the resources they possess to destroy their opponent and protect their allies,” the prince answered.

“An excellent response,” Baelin said. “All too often, wizards learn to rely only on their magic. And beyond that, they often learn to rely on nothing more than their combat spells. This is utter folly. A battle is a struggle for resources, life, and death. Why would one not utilise every advantage? Every strength? Every tactic? To not do so in combat is to gamble with one’s life without a full deck. My aim is to teach my students to command every card that’s at their disposal.”

“Oh, so it’s like learning how to master a bunch of different weapons?” Hart called out, not bothering to raise his hand. “In case you’ve got to make do with what you have?”

Baelin smiled broadly. “Indeed! I think you will do quite well here, my young friend. But yes, that is the philosophy behind the course. By the time you have engaged in a few sessions of training with us, you will learn better how to rely on your comrades and on other resources aside from your Marks. In addition, through a little learning from your peers, it is my hope that you will be able to bring your own powers to new heights.”

He gestured to Cedric and Drestra. “You both will have access to lessons in spellcraft as well as new spells for you to learn.” His eyes rested on Hart. “I understand that Alex will be finding ways to enhance your already unique physical prowess, and I shall aid him in this.”

“Much obliged,” Hart said.

“Good. But that is for later.” Baelin gazed at the cabal. “A time ago, I assigned you all the task of researching where we are going. Both in terms of the hells in general, and the domain we seek in particular. Let this be a first lesson for you to adhere to, my heroic friends—remember that information is a resource that is incredibly important to anyone going into battle.”

“Yeah,” Hart jumped in. “Like when you send scouts ahead of an army.”

“Almost,” the chancellor said. “Scouts are helpful, but when one is dealing with otherworldly planes, dark magic or rare monsters, one must also rely on information that is written in ancient libraries of magic or obtained from wise counsellors. Now then, to my students, what did you learn of our destination? Ah yes, Alex?”

The young Thameish wizard lowered his hand, organising his notes while quoting them entirely from memory. “So, you told us that we’ll be going to the Hold of Ikarrash, which lies in the Domain of Cawarthin.”

“Very good. You found the name. Before going further, though, what did you learn of the hells in general? For the benefit of the new additions to our class.”

“Oh! Right.” Alex cleared his throat. “Yeah, I was getting a bit ahead of myself, wasn’t I? Alright, the endless hells are an otherworldly plane. They’re one of the largest of all the otherworldly planes, and they’re aligned with the concepts of chaos and order.”

“Simultaneously?” Baelin asked.

“It depends on the domain,” Alex explained. “In domains where you find a lot of demons—creatures of utter chaos—then you’ll find that domain will be chaotically aligned. In a devil-ruled domain, though, you’ll find that they’re a lot more aligned with order.”

“Very good,” Baelin said, turning to Cedric. “You have a question?”

“Aye.” The Chosen lowered his hand uncertainly, as though he didn’t quite know what to do with it. “Well, the thing that’s got me wonderin’ is… y’talk o’ demons an’ devils an’ law an’ order, but aren’t the lot o’ ’em an evil bunch?”

“The ones that invaded my home sure were,” Drestra’s crackling voice affirmed.

“Indeed, a common belief.” Baelin nodded. “But is it true? Can anyone answe—Oh, yes. Isolde, your hand rose before I even finished. What do you say to Cedric’s question?”

“Demons and devils represent two different extremes on the axis of order and chaos,” Isolde explained, turning to face Cedric. “Demons are creatures of utter chaos, whim, and individuality, while devils are creatures of order, discipline, and oaths. When taken to such extremes, order and chaos can be what we consider ethically evil. A demon acts on all whims, even if that whim drives it to kill innocents with impunity. Devils act on logic and order, and if that requires the death of a hundred kingdoms or endless tyranny, they—by and large—will gravitate toward that.”

“So… They’re fanatics? Order and chaos fanatics?” Drestra asked.

“That is a simplified way of putting it, though it is more complex than that,” Baelin said. “You must remember that demons and devils appear to be similar to us mortals, but they—and most other outsiders that dwell in otherworldly planes—possess a key difference. What difference might I be referring to?”

Thundar put his hand up, receiving a nod from Baelin. “Each of them’s got a different need. Their bottom of the pyramid’s different from what ours is.”

“Precisely!” Baelin applauded. “Though I should explain further for our guests,” he said, noting the confused expressions on the three Heroes.

Waving his hand, he conjured an illusionary pyramid to float beside him and ran one finger along its side. Wherever his fingertip touched, a horizontal line appeared. He did this repeatedly, separating the pyramid into five horizontal sections.

“This is what we call a hierarchy of needs,” the ancient wizard explained. “And do not worry, it is very quick to explain. Every organism has a hierarchy of needs that should be met in order for them to thrive, as represented by this pyramid. The bottom needs must be met before those above.”

He tapped the foundational section of the pyramid. “The first need that all organisms must meet is physiological.”

“What’s that mean?” Hart asked.

“Physiological are needs one must fulfil to sustain one’s life, namely: food, air, water, warmth, shelter, and rest, though some versions of the pyramid also place safety on this tier, but we will get to that later. In short, you—as a living being—must secure these resources before all else or you shall die. Once those are secure, one moves up the hierarchy.”

He tapped the next level of the pyramid. “Here we have safety. After one is sure they can eat, drink, stay warm enough not to die of exposure, and can breathe, a living organism needs ways to protect itself from predators, rivals, and natural hazards.”

His hand moved up to the next section. “Next are needs that are more debatable as to whether or not they are necessary for life: the needs of belonging and love.”

Thundar, Isolde, and Cedric winced. Hart grinned.

“After that,” Baelin said, paying them no mind, “you find on the next level the need for self-esteem and accomplishment, and finally…” He moved his finger to the top of the pyramid. “The needs of self-actualisation and self-fulfillment.”

“That’s… a lot,” Drestra remarked.

“Let me give you this example,” Baelin said. “You wake up one day to find that you are alone in the wilderness. It is the heart of winter. Your stomach hurts, you are cold, and your throat is dry. In the distance, you hear wolves howling. What do you do first?”

Drestra’s reptilian eyes focused on the pyramid. “I would seek out a cave, get myself out of the wind, and warm myself with my magic.”

“Good.” He looked at Cedric. “What would you do in this situation?”

“I’d try an’ find deer or fish in a lake or somethin’.” Cedric frowned in thought. “Catch ’em, build a fire, cook ’em up, an’ gorge m’self. Then I’d drink some water from melted snow, like m’da taught me to do.”

“Indeed, and Hart, what would you do next?” Baelin asked.

“Go and kill those wolves or drive them off,” the giant of a man grunted. “They might attack me while I’m sleeping or eat my food supply. Then I’d fortify the cave.”

“Good, and after that?” Baelin pushed.

“I… don’t know… probably see if there’s other people around,” Hart said, gaze drifting to the pyramid. “Oh, wait, I see what’s happening. After I found people, I’d get a lot more comfortable. Maybe we’d build a settlement together, or I’d move into theirs. More protection in numbers. I’d wanna know if I was doing a good job, because—if I was just being a shit—then maybe they kick me out of the settlement, and it gets harder for me to live.”

“Aye, I got it now!” Cedric snapped his fingers. “Then when everyone’s all safe an’ well-fed an’ I’m feelin’ like I’m pullin’ my own weight, then—if I gots any time to m’self—maybe I start thinkin’ about why I woke up in this strange land. What Uldar—er, any deity’s plan is for me an’ such.”

“Very good,” Baelin applauded. “And the reason why this hierarchy is considered a hierarchy is because—in general—all mortal sapient creatures must fulfil needs at the bottom of the pyramid before they can fulfil higher needs. If you sit about in the snow, trying to consider your place in the universe? Then you will freeze to death. Now, this is where demons and devils differ. The same with engeli.”

He tapped the bottom of the illusionary pyramid once more. “Take the foundational level and replace it with something completely different. Otherworldly creatures—such as demons and devils—do not require food, water, or air in most cases. They are usually tied to a concept which serves to feed their energies.”

His hand clenched in a fist. “A demon of violence would need to surround itself with violence or fall prey to madness and frenzy. A devil of courage could not tolerate even the beginnings of cowardice or reluctance in their presence. A demon of lust… well, you know.”

Khalik, Alex, Theresa, and Thundar chuckled.

“But yes, that is the major difference,” Baelin said. “You have an otherworldly being that must fulfil needs that would be mostly superfluous to us as a means of survival. What that means is that a ‘well-fed’ demon might appear to act much like a mortal, but do keep in mind that—above all—demons are creatures of chaos that must fulfil whatever concept drives them.”

“Right…” Cedric said. “An’ this big boss we’re goin’ t’be smashin’ up—well, that you’re goin’ t’be smashin’ up—what needs does he got?”

“A very good question. Would someone else like to answer?”

Alex raised his hand. “Ikarrash is a creature of fear, as are his three sons. So their realm is filled with terror.”

“Exactly,” Baelin said. “And?”

“That brings us to our first hurdle,” Alex continued. “The Terror-Field.”

Chapter 47

The Ruined Demon City

“Oh, that sounds bloody charmin’,” Cedric growled. “The hell’s a terror-field?”

“Yes, it most assuredly is since it does carry an aura of terror that hangs over the entire domain,” Isolde said. “This aura is concentrated within the hold of Ikarrash himself. It attacks the mind of all creatures foreign to the plane and stokes feelings of fight or flight within them that leaves them constantly on edge.”

“That sounds awful,” Drestra said. “Is there a way to overcome it?”

“Is there?” Baelin asked.

“Yes,” Alex said. “Strong will protects you against the worst effects of the terror-field, but it can still be a dangerous thing if it gets into your mind at a vulnerable moment. I read this nasty account about these adventurers who went into the domain, fighting the terror-field the entire time, and were beating it too. Right up until one of them got surprised by a demon springing from the shadows. It broke his concentration, his surprise turned to panic and next thing you know, he’s cutting down one of his own allies trying to get away, which caused the others to panic and… only one of them made it out alive.”

“We did find a spell…” Khalik flipped open his notes, squinting down at a line. “Called Adapt to Plane. It can protect from the worst effects of a domain’s hazards, and this one has many. The terror-field is one, but the air is also slimy and slightly corrosive. Not good for most life from our world. Magic and divinities are also affected by both the plane’s chaos alignment and the terror-field, so miracles that inspire bravery in one’s heart are less effective in the Domain of Cawarthin.”

“Yeah, and summoned monsters might be more inclined to lose their nerve,” Alex said. “Which is why it’s best to only use subjugation-type summoning magic. Those spells oblige the summoned creature to listen to the caster.”

“Aye… aye… is there any good news?” Cedric asked. “An’ can you cast this spell… Adapt to Plane?”

“No,” Alex admitted. “It’s a fifth-tier spell.”

“Which is where I come in,” Baelin said smoothly. “Since you have uncovered the solution, I shall provide it for you.”

Silence followed as the cabal nodded, while the Heroes glanced at each other.

“Wait…” Hart slowly raised his hand for the first time. “You weren’t going to cast it on us unless this lot figured out that it existed?”

“Precisely,” the ancient wizard said. “If I were to hold your hands for the entire exercise, it would teach you to relax and not fend for yourselves.”

Drestra raised her hand. “Um, but wouldn’t… everyone stand a good chance of dying if things went wrong?”

“No, since I will be placing spell-marks on one and all to guard your lives. But nothing more. If you cannot research the enemy properly to find solutions for their advantages, then you cannot overcome any opponent that approaches your own might. Not without incredible risk to yourself, and a reliance on random luck, and that is very unhealthy.”

“That’s… that’s cold,” Hart grunted. “True, but cold.”

“If warmth is what you wanted, then I would suggest going to sit by the fireside of your grandparents. Rest assured, my young friends, your enemies will be much colder than me.”

“Aye, I don’t think the Ravener’d be givin’ us time to run back t’camp t’ask for advice,” Cedric said. “Makes sense gettin’ folk t’think for themselves.

“Indeed, I am glad you see it that way,” Baelin said. “Now, to my regular students, are there any other hazards that you’ve uncovered?”

“There is the chaos of the domain itself,” Isolde said. “It can affect one’s actions if one spends enough time within it, eventually driving one to chaos, but such an effect usually takes months of exposure to manifest.”

“Very good,” Baelin complimented her. “Now, is there anything else you discovered that might be helpful?”

“We compiled a catalogue of the most common demons noted in the domain,” Alex offered, flipping the pages of one of his notebooks to a series of drawings depicting ferocious denizens of Cawarthin. “Considering the terror-field, it’s not surprising that a lot of the demons associated with the place have ‘terror’ as their foundational need.”

He pointed to the image of a vulture-headed demon with the body of a long, lanky humanoid flanked by oily black wings. Its talons looked like they could gut a bone-charger. “They’re called pazuzites, and wrath is their foundational concept. These things fly into states of rage as easily as they draw breath, they shoot lightning, are about as tall as Grimloch, yet they’re surprisingly strong, despite how skinny they are. They can fly, and it takes nothing to drive them into one of their rages since it’s their default status. Too much calm and peace, and they go nuts.”

Alex showed each Hero the image, before flipping to the next one. “Now this little bastard’s called an agwiagma.”

“Well, that thing’s bloody ugly!” Cedric said emphatically, eyeing the drawing Alex was displaying with a frown.

It had the face of a really ugly fish, with wide, staring eyes, fangs poking from bulging lips, and bat-like wings emerging from its sides. Hanging from below its gut, dozens of thread-thin tentacles dangled, and extending from its forehead, a single tentacle glowed with a crimson light.

“Blech,” Grimloch growled. “That thing looks nasty. All the worst parts of anglerfish and jellyfish. Neither are too tasty.”

“Then I don’t think this demon would be any tastier,” Alex said. “Its tentacles are just brimming with deadly venom, its forehead tentacle can bewitch the mind if you look at it for too long, and it also shoots beams of heat. If it bites you, it carries diseases that it passes on through the bite. It’s not good. Their foundation is fear.”

“Makes sense,” Grimloch said. “It looks like what a lot of selachar nightmares are made of.”

“And speaking of things made of nightmares, b’alamxibas also have a foundation of fear.” Alex flipped to the image of a tall, muscular, skinless humanoid demon with barbed claws and the head of a spotted jaguar. “Watch out for these sneaky brutes. If they ambush you and clamp their jaws on you, it’s not likely they’ll be letting go anytime soon.”

He flipped to another page, revealing a familiar three-eyed demon. “These are tiashivas. We’ve had dealings with them before. Nasty creatures. Strong. Fast.”

“I know them,” Drestra’s voice crackled. “Some were at the camp in the Crymlyn.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “They’re demons of violence, so they’re going to be most comfortable… well, trying to kill us.”

“That fits,” Cedric said. “Oh! Question. Since a bunch o’ these great, dirty demons want everyone around ’em t’be cowerin’ an’ such… are they gonna be pissed if we ain’t scared of ’em?”

“An astute observation,” Baelin said. “Your bravery and urge to seek a fight will drive them to vigorously try to destroy you as surely as we of the material plane would strive to stop a blight from destroying our food stores. Now, is there anything you learned of demonkind in general?”

“They’re resistant to diseases and immune to most common poisons,” Khalik said. “Because their nature is so different from ours. Some are resistant to spells, and tend to have tough hides, stout constitutions, and great resistance to the elements.”

“Indeed.” Baelin nodded. “I am pleased that you took your homework so seriously. And that leads us to your specific targets. What can you tell us about them?”

Alex flipped through his notebook, showing the Heroes a drawing of a massive, hyena-headed demon with the body of a corpulent, humanoid toad. Its belly was a distended sack wearing an enormous pair of plump amphibian lips.

“Introducing Azzad, Zabai, and Osshar,” he said, “the three sons of Ikarrash, who Baelin’ll be killing while we look for these three bastards.”

“But there’s only one of ’em there,” Cedric pointed out.

“That’s because they’re triplets! They’re the spitting image of each other,” Alex pointed out. “Each has the foundational concept of terror as their most basic need. After that, information gets a bit spotty. Not too many accounts anywhere of folk having fought them. They’re huge, about twenty feet tall, and really strong. Their mouths spit mucus and can swallow someone in an instant… and that’s about it. Oh wait, one more thing. Their laughter hurts. I mean, it literally physically hurts.”

“Yeah, they use some kinda wave of sound to break down flesh,” Thundar said. “Hurts the ears too, obviously. Now that’s it. It’s all we got.”

“That’s enough,” Drestra said. “I think we can work with that.”

“Excellent,” Baelin said, smiling at his students. “Excellent research done by all of you. You are far more prepared for the rigours of this journey than most are when they first venture into the hells. It will aid you quite nicely, and I suspect my spell-marks might not be necessary. And speaking of that… I would like all of you to collect your things, then gather before me. We have a stop to make before reaching the hells itself.”

Alex was the first to materialise and a blast of sweltering heat stung his eyes.

He took in the area, swearing. Lying all around was a wasteland of dried out trees and sun-blasted earth. The ruined structures of what looked to be an ancient city extended skyward, with buildings in different states of collapse leaning at crooked angles, like hands reaching from the surface of the sea as their owner sank beneath its depths.

“This is not a nice place,” he said, his grip tightening on the aeld staff as it emitted waves of curiosity and trepidation.

A moment later, the entire war party—including Baelin—appeared, each eyeing their surroundings with the caution of experienced fighters. Theresa and Claygon stepped closer to Alex, flanking him protectively.

The Heroes scrutinised the ruins, muttering beneath their breaths.

“Where are we?” Drestra asked.

“Welcome to the lost City of Sallamora.” Baelin stepped forward, scanning their environment intensely. “We are roughly three thousand miles southwest of Generasi.”

“Three thou—” Cedric whirled on Baelin, his eyes bulging. “That’s bloody… that’s…”

“About two months travel by ship,” Hart murmured.

“Made in just a couple of teleport spells?” Drestra gasped.

“You get used to it,” Thundar said, straightening his chain shirt and eyeing his mace.

“Indeed.” Baelin turned to a partly-melted statue standing in the centre of a nearby square. “For you will be travelling much, much farther than this. Now, the reason why we are here is that the barrier between the planes is rather weak in this location. Weaker than in most places in our world, which is an advantage to us. Hmmmm…” His eyes narrowed, examining the ruins. “Just give me a brief moment.”

As Baelin fell into silence and the others checked over their supplies one final time, Alex opened his mana senses to their surroundings, trying to feel for any magic that might lie nearby.

And something did tingle in his senses.

Something that made that strange power stir within him.

He couldn’t quite grasp what he was feeling at first, but—as the heartbeats passed—he finally understood.

“It feels like… it feels a bit like my summoning magic here,” he said to Theresa. “I can feel how close the other planes are… No, wait, that’s not quite right.” He squinted, carefully examining the energies around him. “No, it’s only the hells. This place feels a bit like… oh how can I put this… like how it feels when I conjure demons.”

The huntress’ hands dropped to her sword-hilts, and her eyes scanned the shadows between nearby ruins. Beside her, Brutus growled, following her gaze with his own, sniffing the air. “How’s that possible? Why would the hells be so close to our world?”

“It must be like it is in my homeland,” Isolde said, glancing at Cedric as the Chosen stepped closer to her. “In the Rhinean Empire—especially around the four elemental peaks—the barrier between our world and the elemental planes is thinner. That is the reason why elementals are so common there.”

“And there are also places within the Barrens where the barrier between the elemental plane of earth and the material world is weaker,” Baelin said, nodding toward a rather large building nearby. “Here, that phenomenon is present with respect to the hells. The mortals that once lived here used this weakened barrier to call armies of summoned demons and devils, conquering their enemies with the forces of chaos and tyranny.”

“It… doesn’t look like it worked out too good for them in the long run,” Thundar commented, his eyes falling on an ancient skeleton crushed beneath a pillar.

“That it did not,” Baelin said grimly. “In time, slaves broke free of chains and slaughtered masters, then went home. Now only ruins remain, but within these ruins lies something useful for us.”

With a single word of power, the ancient wizard waved his hand toward a doorway. There was a pulse of great power and the space within the doorframe—which had led to nothing more than a tumbled pile of stone—rippled and shifted, until a jungle of otherworldly plant life beneath a stormy sky appeared. It was crisscrossed with bloodred lightning.

“This is your doorway into the realm,” Baelin said. “It will also be your doorway out of it. Ensure that you know its location well, for if you lose track of it while you are in Cawarthin? Then even I will not be able to guarantee your safety.”

Chapter 48

Invasion Plans

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, concern plain in his tone.

Baelin turned back to his class with a grim look. “In short, my spell-marks cannot transfer you across planes.”

A heavy silence filled the air as Drestra raised her hand. “What exactly are these spell-marks anyway?”

“I shall show you. Do I have permission from each of you to cast spells upon you?” Baelin looked over the class, nodding when he found no dissent. With a wave of his hand and a word of power, the ancient wizard placed his spell-marks on them, the symbols manifesting on the backs of their hands.

Hart grunted, examining the spell-mark. “Great. Another mark from another powerful being. Hope this one comes with less responsibility.”

“It does.” Baelin smiled. “To those of you new to the class, these symbols represent a contingent teleportation spell. The instant any of you is struck by an attack or a hazard that would involve serious injury, these marks will transport you out of danger and to a place of… relative safety. As part of my class, my students explore the dangerous wilderness near Generasi. This spell automatically returns them to the school if they are injured or otherwise at the threshold of disaster and inescapable harm. Unfortunately, it cannot cross from the hells to the material world.”

He gestured to the portal conjured in the ruined doorway. “Hence, my solution. That is a one-way gateway between our world and a quiet little area within Cawarthin that is not frequented by many demons. It remains unmolested and undiscovered for the most part. When a spell-mark whisks you away from danger, you will be transported to the clearing directly in front of this gate.”

Baelin pointed to the ruined town square. “At that point, it will be up to you to simply come through the gate and bring yourself back to these ruins and safety. As I said, it is one-way, and I have keyed the gate to each of you. No other beings will be able to cross the line to our world. However, I shall summon a pair of guardians to defend the gate, but!”

His expression turned solemn. “Do make every effort to not let yourselves be tracked back to the portal. It would be most dangerous for you if the area around your escape route were to become a warzone. Anyone transported back by the spell-marks would appear—disoriented—in a pitched battle. I trust you all enough to ensure that this portal will remain undiscovered. Only you will be able to see it, so its discovery by the enemy would only occur from either carelessness or unseen factors.”

He glanced at the portal again. “I will be engaged in my own hunt and cannot guarantee my presence at the portal, particularly if you are sent back to it early in our mission.”

“Got it,” Alex said. “We’ll make sure we don’t set off fireworks or the like by the portal then.”

“Very good.” The chancellor took a deep breath. “Now, then. I shall be going into battle. I strongly suggest that you wait for at least five or ten minutes before you step through. That should be more than enough time for me to get myself engaged. At that point, much of the realm will be focused on me, and you will have an easier time infiltrating Ikarrash’s Hold, or choosing to rush in and take the direct approach, as you see fit. You’ll have time to think of your battleplan when I leave. So, any questions before I go?”

“Yes, actually,” Drestra said. “How will we know when you’ve engaged the demons?”

Alex burst out laughing. “Oh, we’ll know.”

“We’ll know,” Khalik said dryly.

“We’ll know,” Theresa and Grimloch said together.

“Yeah, we’ll definitely know,” Thundar said emphatically.

“Indeed, I doubt we shall miss it, even on the other side of a portal such as this,” Isolde said.

The ancient wizard roared with laughter, throwing his head back and letting his mirth roll through the ruins. “Ah, my wonderful students, you know me well. In any case, one final thing to do.”

He waved a hand, uttering a short incantation and sending a wave of mana pouring over the young students. Alex felt warm energy blanketing him, seeping into his skin and disappearing.

‘Father…’ Claygon said. ‘It feels… warm.’

‘Yeah, it’s protecting us,’ Alex said. ‘From all the nasty energies of the place we’re going into.’

‘Good… and I will also protect you…’ Claygon said, gripping his war-spear.

“Alright, that is an Adapt to Plane spell,” Baelin said. “You should be safe from the worst effects of the domain itself, and some of the flora’s more dangerous effects will also be blunted. One final note, on the other side, you will find something that will help you locate your prey, though you will still have to do much of the searching for yourselves. Now then, farewell for now. I shall see you all when we claim victory.”

A reverberating thud followed as the ancient wizard tapped his staff against the earth. He spoke a smattering of words of power, raised an enormous wave of mana, then abruptly disappeared.

“Well, that’s bloody impressive.” Cedric raised his hand, letting his quicksilver glove run down his skin until it formed what looked like a bubble near his fingers. “Sword? Shield? No, spear.”

With a snap, his morphic weapon changed, forming a long spear. “So, then… Seems we’ll be needin’ a plan.”

Drestra looked at the others. “You’re a team and you have experience fighting in… these kinds of situations…” She glanced at the portal. “It might make more sense if you came up with the plan.”

“Aye, we’re supposed t’be learnin’ how to work together from all o’ you,” Cedric agreed. “I’m happy t’let y’steer the ship.”

“Same.” Hart drew his enormous sword and added, “I’m just here for the fight.”

Grimloch looked down at the Champion, giving him a toothy grin. “I like you.”

“Same here.” Hart grinned back.

“You should meet a friend of mine. His name’s Kybas. He has a crocodile that he sics on people. Named him Harmless.”

“Bwahahahaha!” Hart roared with laughter. “That’s amazing. And hilarious.”

‘Oh, by the Traveller, the maniacs are coming together,’ Alex thought.

“Aaaaanyway,” Thundar cut in. “Alright, it’s plan time.” He looked at Khalik and Alex. “You two wanna start us off? You’re usually the ones that get the ball rolling with respect to plans.”

Several sets of eyes fell on the prince and the Fool, who looked at each other and shrugged.

“I have some ideas,” Khalik said. “You?”

“Yeah, same. You wanna go first?” Alex offered.

“After you.” The prince gestured as though he were holding a door open for Alex.

“Okay, then.” The Thamemish wizard looked through the portal. “I’m thinking it’s a terrible idea to go in loud. We’re a big group and we’re going to be breaking some heads at some point, but it’d be a pretty shit idea to run up to a fortress full of demons, screaming and blasting.”

He scanned the jungle. “There’ll be poisonous plants in there no doubt, but Baelin’s spell will protect us from some of that. If we keep to clear paths… use some flight spells to get above the undergrowth… we should be able to move silently through the bush. Anything to add, Khalik?”

“Only that we will have to fly low,” the prince said. “And I would suggest we keep spellcasting to a minimum on our way to the castle. Remember, certain demons can sense mana quite well.”

“Yeah, good point,” Alex said. “Let’s get our defensive magic up now. Isolde, here’s your chance to try out your new invisibility spells.”

“That is true,” she said. “Though it would drain a lot of my mana casting it on a group this large.”

“That’s alright, I think we just need it for Claygon, Grimloch… and maybe Brutus and Thundar.” He looked at the group’s giants, including Hart. “You’re enormous too, but you know how to move silently without being seen.”

“That I do,” the Champion said. “I learned how to sneak into an enemy camp without anyone seeing me when I was about eight or nine to slit someone’s throat.”

“And…” Alex paused. “That’s… er, a valuable skill. But the point is, I think we can spare putting an invisibility spell on you. Cedric, Drestra, you two know how to move quietly, obviously.”

“Aye,” Cedric said. “I was huntin’ since I was seven.”

“I’ve been hunting since I was six.” Drestra’s voice crackled with pride.

“Well, I was hunting since I was—” Theresa started.

“For the love of the Traveller, it’s not a contest,” Alex sighed. “We get it, you’re all sneaky and that means less invisibility spells for Isolde to cast. Now, we have our approach and formation to talk about.”

“I have some thoughts on that,” Khalik said. “Theresa and Najyah could take up the front, alongside Brutus. They have the best senses of all of us. In the back, we position Grimloch since his senses are also excellent, and with him, Thundar, who can use his powerful nose and skill with illusion to detect enemies coming from the rear.”

“Sounds good to me,” Thundar said. “I’ll watch our backs… or well, smell our backs. No wait, that didn’t come out like I wanted⁠—”

“Hart, you have sharp eyes,” Alex said. “I think you’d do well on our left flank, while Claygon and I can be on our right.”

“Hm, good formation,” Hart said.

‘I will protect all of us… Father,’ Claygon said.

“That will leave myself,” Khalik said, “Isolde, Cedric, and Drestra to form our centre. Does that sound reasonable to everyone?”

“I see no problems,” the young noblewoman said. “It is a formation that ensures we have a hard shell on all sides and can detect enemies coming from a good distance away. I approve.”

“I don’t have no quarrel with havin’ Khalik, Drestra, an’ Isolde in the middle—makes sense t’protect ’em—but why me?” Cedric frowned. “No offence, but—next to Hart—I might be the best frontline fighter we’ve got. M’place is in the front, protectin’ all o’ yous.”

“You’re not wrong, Cedric,” Alex said. “But you’re also a spellcaster. From the middle, you can throw your magic at anything coming at us from all sides, and your weapon’s got a lot of reach. You’re fast, you can fly to any side and reinforce anyone who needs help.”

“Aye…” Cedric nodded slowly. “I sees that now, but then why’re you on a flank wit’ Claygon? Wouldn’t it make more sense for ya t’be in the middle?”

“You’d think that, but my senses are sharper now thanks to a little magical method I used on myself. Same one I’ll be using on Hart after we finish up today.” He nodded to the Champion. “It’s best having our scouts on the outside of our formation.”

“Actually, I think Cedric brings up a good point, Alex,” Theresa said. “Having you on our flank doesn’t really make a lot of sense. If you’re in the middle, you can still watch our flank. You usually call out our tactics during battle, so I think it’s better if you’re in the middle where you can see everything and also direct us.”

“Huh… that’s a good point,” Alex said, glancing at Claygon. “You think you can defend that side on your own?”

The golem banged the butt of his war-spear against the earth, emulating Baelin’s earlier move, but now, the sound of metal on rock was magnitudes louder. ‘I will be enough.’

“Well, if you think you’re enough, I won’t argue with you,” Alex said, turning to the others. “Alright, time for some defensive and empowering spells. Let me handle a lot of it. My staff—” he waved the aeld staff about “—doesn’t have unlimited mana, but it has a lot of it, and it recharges pretty fast too, so I can handle a good portion of that stuff. If there’s anything the staff can’t do, then you can fill in the gaps, but it’s better if everyone walks into this with as much mana as we can.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hart said. “Cast away.”

With that, Alex raised his staff, pouring his mana into it. Its aura flared with light and power as he layered magic on himself and his companions. Everyone received the power of flight as well as a number of physical enhancements: strength, speed, agility, sensory, and more.

He girded them in greater force armour, sheathing them in invisible protection. Upon himself, he cast force shield and deflective force rectangle.

As the others were casting spells on each other—including Isolde’s invisibility magic—he began summoning a group of air elementals. One after the other, he conjured them until a full flight of ten hovered before him.

“Hello, friends,” he greeted them enthusiastically in an elemental tongue of air. “Surprise! We’re going to the hells today, and we have to be stealthy about it. I’d like all of you to surround us and fly silently. If you sense anything coming our way, let me know with a light gust of wind. If a fight starts, I want your focus on any flyers attacking us. Buffet their wings, blow them down, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

One of the air elementals crackled out a question, and Alex shook his head in response. “I’d avoid lightning. We’ll be moving as quietly as we can for a while, and lightning isn’t exactly… stealthy⁠—”

His words were cut off by a massive boom coming from the gate.

Through the portal, an explosion ripped through the sky, stinging the eye as though a second brilliant sun had appeared.

“Well,” Alex said, straightening his cloak. “I think it’s safe to say that’s our signal. Baelin’s not subtle when he doesn’t want to be.” He glanced toward a gawking Cedric. “Told you we wouldn’t miss it. Alright, folks, let’s go. We’ve got hells to invade.”

Chapter 49

The Wilderness of Cawarthin

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, 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 he could taste, and he lowered the cloak and spat on the foliage nearby.

Some of the taste 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 head. “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 tree line. “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. Baelin did say 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 midair, 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,” Khalik said, 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. “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, and 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 before they were merely unpleasant, now they’d become sinister. More purposeful, as though they were closing in, and his imagination conjured images of demons whispering between the dark trees, stalking the group of mortals who were arrogant enough to trespass in their domain.

An image came to him, one of Burn-Saw 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 let 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.”

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 hovering 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 the aroma of their roasting meat drifting 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 forest’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.”

The mortals flew to the edge of the forest, 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.”

They slipped along the tree line, 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, keeping his voice low, 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’s and Theresa’s arrows to hit their targets. If the guards die from getting a little too up close and personal with the arrows, then good. If they don’t? Then, kill ’em.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Grimloch said as he no doubt 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, never mind, 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, the two demons now slumped to the blasted earth. “Away we go, then.”

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

Chapter 50

Demonic Trapfinding

The massive hinges groaned, screeching like blue annis hags as Grimloch and Claygon pushed the door shut.

“Shit,” Alex swore, looking down the abandoned hallway for guards poised to sound the alarm.

Around him, the party tensed… but no guards appeared, and no alarm was raised.

For the moment, they could breathe with relief.

“This looks to be a servants’ entrance.” The prince inclined his chin toward a number of large wheelbarrows overflowing with laundry. It seemed a strangely mundane sight to find in such an otherworldly place, but Alex supposed that even demons needed clean garments.

“I am surprised to find it under-guarded,” Khalik whispered, scanning several towering doors lining the corridor. “They are under attack, so one would expect all entrances would be secured… Though it is obvious my expectations are wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Hart rumbled, examining a piece of laundry from a bin with the tip of his sword. He sniffed the air around it, his face instantly registering regret. Recoiling, the Champion flung the garment away. “That’s one of the first things you learn about sieging. If you’re holding a castle, you secure every entrance. If you’re attacking, you know they’re going to secure the entry points.”

“Very true, my friend,” the prince said. “But a mortal castle would not place an entrance outside of a protective wall, so our assumptions about demon siege tactics might be wrong.”

“I dunno,” Alex said, dread growing. “This does seem a little too easy… but shit, I don’t know if the misgivings I’m having are coming from me, or the damned terror-field.”

“And no doubt the demons would be counting on that.” The prince drew his sword. “We should proceed with the assumption that they are laying a trap for us. Alex, where do we go?”

“No idea.” Alex gripped the orb. “We’ll have to go further in. I won’t be able to tell if we’re getting closer to, or farther from the three sons until we… y’know, start walking.”

“Aye, let’s get movin’, then,” Cedric said. “Trap or not, better we be about our business than waitin’ around here.”

“Right,” Alex said. “We’ll keep the pace quick, and quieter than mice.” He glanced at his air elementals. In the low light of the hallway, they weren’t easy to see. “Alright, my airy friends, I want you to check each door ahead of us. Peek through cracks, under doors, and even keyholes, but try not to get spotted. If you see anything moving on the other side, let me know with a little trickle of wind.”

He felt a soft breeze caress his face in response.

“Good.” Alex turned back to his companions. “The air elementals have door duty. Now, let’s move.”

As one, the war party floated deeper into the demonic fortress, listening to the chaos of battle outside, and the distant movements of the Hold’s denizens rushing to and from posts, while bellowing in an array of demonic tongues.

Minutes passed as they moved through largely abandoned passageways, each lit by strange forks crafted of metal displaying crimson bolts of electricity crackling between their tines. They washed the surrounding area in flickering red light, highlighting layers of dust blanketing the floor.

‘Eerie contraptions,’ Alex thought, pausing to test the orb at a fork in their path. ‘And why do they even have light sources, anyway? Most demons see in the dark just fine, and these hallways don’t look like they get much traffic, so… Wait… something’s off.’

“Hold for a second,” he whispered to his companions, floating toward one of the crackling forks. “There’s something bothering me.”

“What is it?” Cedric asked. “Somethin’ to do wit’ those strange-lookin’ torches?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Alex whispered, reaching toward the fork. Now that he was nearer, he sensed a hellish mana emanating from the crimson bolts. “It doesn’t make sense to have so many magical torches, especially in areas they don’t seem to use very often. So let me just…” He got the attention of a nearby air elemental. “Could you touch this for a second? Not the lit-up part, the metal part below it.”

The air elemental floated to his side, wind whispering as it approached, and touched the lightning-torch’s handle. Alex braced for a reaction… but nothing happened.

“Hmmmm.” Gingerly, he touched it with a fingertip.

And didn’t explode.

“Right, it doesn’t seem like a hidden trap.” He gripped the handle, letting his mana pour into the magical device, feeling its inner pathways. “Let’s see… The device is definitely feeding off of the domain’s ambient energies, so it wouldn’t work outside of Cawarthin. Hmmm, seems it channels chaos to create a controlled arc of—Oh.”

His mana senses paused on a control within the device.

He tensed.

“Oh hells, well, that could have been really bad,” he reported.

“What? What’d you find?” Theresa asked, raising her swords.

“This thing is trapped.” He released the fork, flying to one across the hallway. Letting his mana pour into its inner pathways, he cursed again. “This one’s trapped too.”

“Wait, trapped? How?” Thundar asked.

“Judging by its inner construction?” Alex looked at the minotaur. “I think it reacts to a common word. They all do. Hold on, everyone move away from here for a second. Make sure you’re not in between these two forks.”

His companions quickly parted, giving him room to work.

“Alright.” He backed away from the fork until he was hugging the wall with only his finger touching it. “Here we go.”

Alex drove his mana toward the trap’s control, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. A wave of failures slammed into his mind—the Mark’s wrath fell on him with full force—but he guided his way through the bombardment as best he could, barely activating the trap’s control.

A coarse crackle.

A flash of red.

Bolts of lightning leapt across the hall, striking the other fork, forming a thick rope of lethal power. Crackling crimson electricity arced back and forth between the forks. Alex’s hair stood on end as he retreated, shaking off remnants of the Mark’s displeasure.

By the time the final image faded, so too had the lightning bolts, leaving only that dim, crackling light in their wake. A light well-illuminating his companions’ shocked expressions.

“Holy hells.” Cedric shook his head. “That coulda fried any one o’us.”

“Or sent a bunch of us back to the clearing.” Hart scowled, glaring at the tines. “I damn well hate magic traps.”

“And the halls are filled with these devices,” Isolde said. “No wonder they are guarded with such little care. If a demon were to come across us down here, they could simply utter a single command word and we would all die.”

“Which also explains why they have light devices on the walls despite demons being able to see in the dark,” Khalik murmured. “Hmmmm, I’d hate to give away our location by leaving darkness in our path. Any demon coming upon where we’ve been would know someone has infiltrated their stronghold. In truth, I suppose that’s preferable to being roasted by demon-lightning.”

“Yeah, I think we’d all agree with that, but maybe we can solve both problems at once,” Alex said, conjuring a Wizard’s Hand with his staff. The spell pulled the fork from its bracket, killing the lightning. “Okay, so here’s what we do. I’ll conjure a bunch of Wizard’s Hands, have them take the forks out of those brackets as we’re getting close, then put them back when we pass. I’ll conjure forceballs to give us some light. My spells glow crimson, so the colour of our light’ll match theirs. From a distance, they shouldn’t realise anything’s wrong, if all goes smoothly.”

“Aye, there’s good plannin’ for ya,” Cedric said. “Well, cook them Hands up, then let’s get on wit’ it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Alex nervously watched the hallway as he poured mana into his staff.

‘Let’s hope no demons are near here,’ he thought, conjuring a series of Wizard’s Hands. Soon, he had a flight of six floating at his side—along with four forceballs—with no sign of discovery from any demons.

“Alright,” he said, checking the mana in his staff. It was still holding strong and regenerating well. “Let’s move. We’ve wasted enough time.”

In silence, the party moved forward, but at a slower pace. Though the Wizard’s Hands flew with speed and precision, the matter of removing the forks from their brackets then returning them as they passed, took extra time.

He didn’t much like the situation. Every moment in the fortress risked discovery and failure, but he resisted the urge to simply rush ahead as they reached another split in the hallways. Caution now, or discovery later.

“To the left,” Alex said, feeling the orb grow warmer as he stepped into the left passage. “The sphere’s about room temperature now. We’re definitely getting closer.”

“Perhaps things will go smoothly after all,” Drestra said, her tone hopeful.

“Never say that,” Thundar whispered as they stepped into the hall. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

Alex stayed vigilant, taking everything in with care, noting less dust on the floor, a strong sign that this part of the Hold was well-travelled. Leaving him with the feeling that a demon rounding a corner from a hall ahea⁠—

He stopped dead.

“Wait,” he whispered.

A breeze touched his cheek, blowing in the direction of a closed door about fifteen feet ahead. His hand rose, bringing the group to a halt as he held a finger to his lips.

The party followed his gaze, eyes on the door. Their bodies tensed.

‘Father… enemies?’ Claygon asked.

‘Yeah, but they don’t know we’re here,’ Alex thought.

He nodded forward, mouthing ‘keep going’ to Theresa and the others. The huntress nodded, and the group resumed their flight forward.

…Just as an agwiagma floated into the hall from another passage.

Everyone froze, including the demon, its bulging eyes growing wide.

Its forehead tentacle flared.

The mouth opened wide.

And two arrows struck its throat at once.

Theresa’s arrow speared it as though she were bowfishing, while Hart’s blasted through the creature’s neck, driving it back, pinning it to the wall.

A loud clatter rang out as the metal arrow-head raked stone.

“What was that?” a demonic voice asked through the nearby door. “I smell… fear. And death.”

“Shit,” Alex swore, nodding toward the door. “We’re about to have company. Hart, make sure you’re through there firs⁠—”

The door swung open before he could finish.

A b’alamxiba rushed to the doorway, jaguar-like head snarling, fangs bared, mouth opening to roar.

Then, a terrible crack.

Its eyes went wide.

Slowly, the image of Claygon flickered out of invisibility, an enormous stone hand already wrapped around the demon’s skull.

He closed his grip.

One crack and a pop later, the demon shuddered, falling limp in the golem’s dripping fist.

Alex sighed, relieved… until he spied the other demons in the room.

“Look—” he started to say.

Monstrous voices tore through the hall.

“Take ’em down!” he snapped.

Claygon, Hart, and Cedric rushed the chamber at speed, with Alex right behind, followed closely by his pack of air elementals. Ahead, five demons were rising from a table covered in painted bones, their claws lengthening on skinless fingers.

In a blink, Hart was leaping at the snarling pack, his sword—crafted of a Hive-queen’s claw—blurred in an arc. A tearing noise ripped the air as he split two demons in half with a single stroke, then whirled on another.

The nearest one hissed and jumped straight for the Champion of Uldar. Sounds of squelching flesh and shattering bone stopped Hart in place when the demon screamed. An enormous form shimmered into visibility, Grimloch, his jaws clamped firmly on the monster’s torso, materialised.

With a grin, the sharkman seized the struggling monster’s limbs.

And pulled.

In a heartbeat, what was once one demon was now three ragged pieces of twitching meat already disappearing down the sharkman’s throat. The last of the demons in the room were yowling in rage as elementals swarmed them, striking them with lightning flashes.

They blurred, claws flashing, striking down elementals with each swipe, but Alex was already pouring mana into his staff. Aeld wood flared with power, and sleeping magic hurtled through the air, seeping into the demons’ essences.

Roars became yawns, which soon turned to snoring as both creatures fell to the stone…

…directly in front of Claygon.

A quick swipe of his war-spear split both in two.

“That’s seven down,” Hart growled. “And a million more to go.”

“Yeah,” Alex said grimly, cocking his ear to the ceiling.

From above, shouting in demonic tongues and the clack of clawed feet running across stone, reached him.

“I get the feeling we’ll be seeing more than seven, real soon.” He glared down at the dead demons, cursing them. “Let’s get moving, everyone. We’ve got a fight on our hands.”

Grimloch licked his bloody lips. “Bout time.”

Chapter 51

Out of Place

During the time Alex and company were considering the best way to infiltrate Cawarthin and accomplish the mission Baelin had assigned to them, they’d agreed that a silent intrusion into the demon domain would be their best chance. The plan was to slip into the realm like ghosts, enter the Hold, move through it undetected, then catch Ikarrash’s three sons unawares, and eliminate them before other demons were any wiser.

If they got swarmed?

No problem: their spell-marks would whisk them away to safety even if they were struck.

Of course, if they were discovered early, their plan would crumble like sand, presenting them with the far less desirable scenario of facing hundreds of demons inside the Hold.

Their silent infiltration would collapse into nothing more than a very dangerous assault.

And this situation?

Well, it was now a very dangerous assault.

“Tiashivas from the back!” Alex cried, summoning another hell-boar. “Claygon, turn one of your fire-beams to our rear! Cedric, reinforce Thundar! The rest of you… survive!”

Alex’s companions fought through an endless tide of demons in the fortress’ halls. At blinding speed, Wizard’s Hands grabbed and flung trapped forks far from their path, elementals swarmed monsters, while forceballs weaved through demons’ legs, sending them sprawling.

Tiashivas and pazuzites pushed through the swarm of summoned monsters, while Theresa and Brutus met their ranks with violence in return. The huntress’ Twinblade split demon meat, cutting down monsters like hay.

Brutus stayed close, savaging fiends determined to strike his master and himself from the side. Demon voices shrieked their outrage as the cerberus mauled them, only growing silent when Hart trampled them. The Champion fought beside the hound and huntress. One sweep of his enormous sword sent demons to their deaths by the half-dozen.

His laughter rolled through the passage, echoing above even the terrible rampage of Claygon. The golem brought down a slew of demons, every sweep from his war-spear cleaving and withering monster after monster. He didn’t hesitate. He never paused to catch his breath.

His strikes were a sure, never-ending storm.

Pausing after a deadly stroke that pinned a pazuzite to the wall, he half-turned, firing a fire-gem backward. The ray streaked over the group of companions, lancing into schools of agwiagmas, blowing the fish-like demons to fine grey ash.

“Much obliged!” Thundar shouted, his bull-headed mace caving in a tiashiva’s skull, while his illusionary duplicates confused and distracted a group of b’alamxibas. “But I could use a little more⁠—”

Cedric’s spear—blazing with Uldar’s divinity—impaled one of the jaguar-headed demons menacing Thundar.

“Much obliged again!” the minotaur called.

“Think nothin’ of it!” Cedric shouted back, whirling his weapon, stabbing foes with the point, and cracking their heads with the butt. “Wish there was less o’ these things! There’s more o’ them than bloody Ravener-spawn!”

“Good. More meat.” Grimloch lifted a struggling pazuzite and bit it in half. He tossed both halves into the horde, then waded into their ranks, his spiked maul blurring in his hands. Every stroke hit with the force of a battering ram, crushing demons to paste.

“That is good! Hold them at bay! I will crush them!” Isolde chanted a spell, materialising a swarm of iron spikes around her. With a quick wave of her hand, she sent the swarm of spikes into enemy ranks attacking from the rear, spearing a dozen or more.

Roars of rage and pain erupted, she followed up with a trio of electric orbs crackling with bolts of lightning sparking between them. The spheres flared with power, the young noblewoman thrust her arms before her and launched the orbs into the horde of demons; they spat lightning in all directions.

Where a lightning bolt struck an iron spike, electricity lanced deep into its target, demon bodies danced grotesquely before collapsing in twitching heaps on the stone.

The lightning-balls had more work to do, and a heartbeat later… they exploded, electrocuting agwiagmas, hurling smoke-trailing forms into the demons’ ranks. Away from the front-lines, the demons were preparing their own magics. Pazuzites capered and danced, building up auras of crimson lightning around their talons.

Their digits were flexing, prepared to send deadly magics at the fortress’ invaders, but Najyah and Khalik struck. Sheathed in powerful stone armour—with talons and beak sparkling in diamond-sharpness—the eagle flew through the capering vulture-headed fiends. Her beak and talons tore at eyes and severed fingers, shattering both concentration and deadly magics.

In retaliation, those that could turned to strike the bird, but Khalik’s spells blasted from her body, lashing out in all directions, conjuring a swarm of living sand, sharp rock, and glass spraying directly for the demons’ faces.

While the demons clawed at the cloud of living grit, Alex’s summoned monsters joined in. Swarms of elemental beetles followed water elementals, the beetles harried the demons in the back ranks, the small elementals slipped along the ground undetected, latching onto the monsters’ limbs, draining their fluids clean away.

“Alex, can you send me some more haste magic!” Theresa cried, splitting another tiashiva in half. The huntress was bleeding from several cuts. “I don’t want to slow down now!”

“Done!” He levelled his staff at her, releasing more haste magic, then glancing at Drestra. “You ready?”

“Yes!” the Sage shouted, her limbs blazing with a colossal tide of mana. “I’ve got it! We should be safe! Everyone, get ready!”

Her fingers flexed as whirlwinds of cold magic manifested around her hands. The temperature dropped around the Sage of Uldar, and mist condensed around her fingers.

“Here it comes!” she roared, aiming her arms at both their front and back ranks. Two orbs of ice and snow leapt from her fingers, travelling almost lazily toward the demons in front of, and behind, their group.

The spells drifted along until they reached just beyond the demons’ ranks.

Then, they exploded, swirling, turning into roaring whirlwinds of ice, snow, and pure cold magic. Alex’s breath misted as frost formed on surfaces all around, turning demonic war-cries to wheezing, chattering teeth, mixed with the crackle of rapidly freezing flesh.

Drestra’s creations swept the passageway in both directions, consuming everything in their paths. Demons were dragged from their feet, tossed against stone walls and each other like dolls as ice rapidly consumed their flesh. Soon, the tornadoes were filled with broken, frozen bodies, striking and shattering unfortunate kindred caught in their paths.

In heartbeats, what was once a passageway filled with an army of enemy monsters, had been reduced to a graveyard of ice and shattered, frozen corpses.

“Damn!” Thundar shouted, lifting his mace and crushing the last half-frozen demon. “I love fighting with you! This is easy!”

“T-thanks?” Drestra said. “I guess?”

“Save the congratulations for later!” Alex shouted, hoisting his staff. “We’ve got an opening, and we’d better use it before they swarm us again. Let’s go!”

“Indeed!” Khalik stepped forward. “We don’t want them draining our resources! Let’s not forget the real fight lies ahead of us!”

“Ach, killjoys,” Thundar grunted as the group charged ahead.

Falling into silence again, Alex swore internally. ‘This is bad. Those bastards know we’re here now and they’re going to start looking for us, even with Baelin distracting the bulk of them. We’ll get buried in demons at this rate. Damn it all! Why’d we have to get discovered so soon? What the hell went wrong?’

He shook his head. ‘Not now. Break down our mistakes after we get back. We have to concentrate and figure out how to salvage this now. Okay. Think. Adapt. Think. Adapt. Think. Adapt.’

He looked at his staff, cocking an ear to the ceiling. Above, he heard another demon horde rushing across the floor, probably to intercept them.

‘I’ve got to buy us more time,’ he thought, pouring his energies into the aeld wood. ‘And the best way to do that is to make sure they don’t know exactly where we are. We need distractions. And a lot of them.’

Quickly, he guided his mana into the summoning controls of his staff.

Even as the group flew on, he conjured swarms of elemental beetles, air elementals, aervespertillos, flicker dogs, hellhounds, hell-boars, and even lantern celestials: anything fast and that could make a lot of noise.

“I want you to run through the halls!” he told the newly summoned monsters. “Go and spread out, make as much racket as you can and attack anything you see! Make chaos. I want to be able to hear you from half a mile off! Go! Go!”

The summoned creatures scattered, raising a terrible din and spreading out in all directions. In minutes, the halls were alive with roars, shouts, and screams from his summoned monsters as they clashed with, and taunted, demonic forces.

Next, he turned to his remaining air elementals. “I need four of you to fly ahead and behind us,” he said in their tongue. “If you see any demons coming our way—except for anything that I’ve summoned in front of you—fly back and crackle as loud as you can. Let us know they’re coming.”

With a whoosh of wind, the air elementals scattered.

“What the hell was all that?” Hart asked.

“Distractions and scouts,” Alex said as sounds of battle echoed through the stone. He quickly explained what he’d done. “—It should buy us a bit of time. The demons are gonna have a hell of a time pinpointing us in all that chaos.”

“Aye, but now we won’t hear ’em comin’ for us so easy,” Cedric pointed out.

“That’s the air elementals’ jobs,” he said as they paused at another fork in the halls. “We’ll have some warning at least, but it’d be a whole lot better if we find our targets fast—Er, this way! No wait…” He waved the orb back and forth. “The other way, to the right this time!”

His companions turned to the right as Alex drew on his staff, pouring more haste magic into each of them.

‘Gotta keep up our pace,’ he thought, glancing at the aeld staff. ‘But I need to keep as much power as I can for our fight with those triplets.’

Within the aeld wood, he could feel its mana dropping. The dungeon core essence and magical wood had come together and created a deep well of mana to draw from—a well that refilled at an alarming rate—but he’d been calling on its power almost constantly.

Its energies were ebbing. He needed to give it time to regenerate.

‘Come on,’ he thought, as the group rounded yet another in a seemingly endless series of corners. ‘How big is this place anyway? The bloody orb’s warmer than metal on a summer’s day and it doesn’t feel like we’re any closer.’

The group reached the top of a curving staircase that led deeper into the fortress. Its steps were large enough for a giant to walk down with ease. Alex held the orb ahead of him, waving it up and down.

It grew warmer as his arms dropped.

“Down the stairs,” he said. “They’re somewhere below us.”

“Then down we go,” Khalik said, glancing behind them, listening to the sounds of battle echoing through the halls. “Your distractions are working for now, but they’re eventually going to realise that something’s wrong. Come.”

The group soared down the stairs, listening carefully for signs of pursuit. Alex held the orb so tight, his knuckles had turned chalk-white. It was growing warmer and warmer as they descended.

‘Alright, we must be getting close,’ he thought, spying a massive pack of hellhounds ahead. ‘Good, it won’t be long⁠—’

He abruptly paused as the group flew toward the hellish canines. They growled at their approach. Alex’s eyes went wide.

“Wait!” he shouted. “They’re not mine!”

But his words came too late.

The monsters leapt for the stairs, their teeth shining in the crimson light. Theresa let out a scream as one pounced on her, its jaws clamping on her forearm.

“No!” Alex cried, reaching forward, but her sword was already removing the offending mouth.

“I’m okay!” she shouted, whirling on the rest of the pack. “Brutus, sic ’em!”

With a rumbling growl, the cerberus pounced on the others, his three sets of jaws pulling down the smaller creatures, tearing them apart. Hart leapt into the fray, and the Champion’s sword quickly finished the rest.

Alex flew to Theresa’s side. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She rubbed her arm. “The chainmail caught it. Let’s just keep going.”

“Thank the Traveller for chainmail,” he grunted, his jaw tightening beneath his beard.

Descending, he took in the hellhounds’ corpses, his frown deepening.

‘Hellhounds aren’t native to Cawarthin according to the demonology texts, which means that either the books were wrong… or something brought them here,’ he thought.

Grimly, he remembered Baelin’s earlier words: “When one is dealing with demons, one must be acutely prepared for the unexpected.”

‘What else is down here that’s not supposed to be?’ Alex wondered.

Chapter 52

The Unexpected Finds

“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 internally 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 else was 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.”

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. 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.”

“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’s sons 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, 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, when 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, a smile in her voice. “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.”

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’s sons 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 peered 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 eyed her swords. “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 ripping 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—collapsed 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.

Chapter 53

Streppler’s Sins

The slaughter was just that. An undeniable rout: quick, brutal, and one-sided.

Minus their wizard, the demons fell into chaos, trampling each other, fighting to get claws and fangs into prey bold enough to attack their necromancer. More frenzied tiashivas seemed to lose all reason, slashing the backs of their own allies standing between them and the mortals breaching their lair.

Those who made it to the front quickly learned who was prey, and who were the actual predators.

Hart’s sword blurred around him, cutting a crimson path of death through the frantic demons. Theresa was close behind, swords cleaving double-cuts with every stroke, and Claygon and Grimloch came next, leaving their own swath of destruction in their wake from both war-spear and maul.

The trembling man—his rich garments splattered in gore—shrieked in terror as the last of his bodyguards fell, leaving him alone with a menacing party of warriors and spellcasters who clearly meant him no good.

He held up his hands—most fingers sparkling with gem-encrusted rings—in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! D-don’t kill me! I-I’m a prisoner here! They were going to sacrifice me!”

One look at his body language revealed lies were pouring from his lips, and Alex stalked toward him, his staff raised. The man whimpered, his terror rising, cringing away from the towering wizard. “Wait! I’m innocent! I⁠—”

“Stop.” Alex’s tone was flint. “I know you’re lying. Tell us the truth or I’ll peel the flesh from your bones.”

“Mercy, no! No, please!” The man’s voice grew shrill. “I-I-I can pay you! I’m rich… I’m a successful merchant! If you guarantee my safety, I can⁠—”

“We don’t have time for this,” Khalik cut him off, glancing at Alex. “Could you have Claygon carry him? It would be better if we could interrogate him while we’re on the move.”

“Agreed.” Alex smiled, looking up at Claygon. “Good job on the demon-slaying, buddy. Would you mind picking this man up and bringing him along with us? You don’t have to be too gentle.”

‘Yes… Father.’ His golem reached toward the hapless man with one enormous stone hand.

The merchant squealed like a frightened pig, beginning to loudly pray to the Traveller knows who, as he was hoisted from his feet and roughly shoved under one of four arms. From the foul scent suddenly filling the air, it seemed he’d soiled himself.

“Ugh, definitely gonna need to wash you when we get out of here, Claygon,” Alex grunted.

‘I… would… enjoy that, Father,’ his golem said.

Towing the screaming merchant, the war party left the chamber, flying down the hallway and picking up the path toward their quarry. All the while, the merchant bawled, pleaded, and bargained, offering promises of vast wealth.

“Alright, you.” Alex glared at the man as they reached a sloping passageway. “Who in the hells are you, and what are you doing here? And—if you even think about lying—that arm you’re tucked under won’t hesitate to crush you. Am I clear?”

“Alright, alright!” the merchant cried. “No need for that! My name is Herinrich Streppler! I-I’m from the Torgundy!”

“That is a remote area northeast of the Rhinean Empire,” Isolde said. “What would a merchant from our world be doing in the hells?”

“B-bartering!” The man was almost in tears. “I’m securing a measure of… security. Sennara—the wizard you just killed—promised she could secure some protection for me! She promised me dozens of demons!”

“What in all hells? You’re here for demons… like you’re going shopping at some market?” Alex frowned, reading the man’s body language. He fidgeted constantly, averting his eyes and sucking his teeth. “No… you’re hiding something. Claygon, crush him.”

“No, no, no! Wait—augh!”

“Alright, Claygon, give him a minute, but no more.” The young wizard held his hand up. Claygon began to count.

“So, why are you really here then, Mr. Heinrich Streppler!”

“Alright, alright… I… I’ve been working with Ikharrash for a while,” he murmured. “Sennara put me in contact with him! I… I’ve been using demons to eliminate my rivals. I must say, it’s been very effective!”

“I can imagine,” Alex said dryly. “What are you still doing here?”

“It’s something of a getaway for me!” Heinrich moaned. “The jungles… the red lightning… it’s a nice change from our world. I find it quite beautiful and safe. Sennara arranged for me to be able to spend time here when I wanted. I even have servants to look after my every need.”

“Uhuh.” Alex shuddered, raising an eyebrow as he remembered Baelin and Zonon-In. “Is that all?”

“I… well, what I told you about security is true. I did want more security! Th-there’s been problems to the north. The Irtyshenans have been pushing into the forests at Kymiland’s western border and stirring up the monsters around there. They’ve been getting rowdy. It’s only skirmishes so far, but bad enough that there’s been a steady stream of monsters and bandits being pushed down into Torgundy. The roads aren’t safe! I lost three shipments last week! So… so…”

“So this Sennara offered to get you demonic caravan guards?” the Thameish wizard asked, his interest piqued. “And how long ago did this conflict start? The one between the Kymiland and the Irtyshenans?”

“Only recently,” Heinrich murmured. “But it’ll be a full blown war soon. Lots of profit to be made for those willing.”

“Interesting… and⁠—”

“Hold on, Alex.” Thundar raised his hand. “There’s something I’d like to know. What’d you give these demons in return? Demons don’t work for free, and last I checked, they don’t work for silver and gold.”

Heinrich paled. “I… I don’t want to answer that.”

“You will answer.” Thundar’s eyes seemed to burn. “Or I’ll put your eyes out with my horns.”

“No, no, please!” the merchant begged the minotaur. “I don’t… look… there’s… they like to scare things down here, right? And… well, my home city has plenty of vagabonds, too many for that matter. I… I thought I’d just put them to use! Folk no one would miss!”

Silence hung over the group like dense fog.

“What’d y’just bloody well say, man?” Cedric demanded, glaring down at the man with naked disdain. “Are y’meanin’ t’tell me y’took innocent folk an’ brought ’em to this cesspit t’be bloody tortured by demons for the rest o’ their lives? Just s’y’could get yerself some bloody guards?”

“P-please! Y-you must understand! I have a family to feed! D-demons are ferocious fighters!” Heinrich murmured. “A-and it keeps margins down!”

Alex’s jaw hardened. “You bast⁠—”

The orb grew almost burning hot in his hands.

“Uh… guys,” Hart said. “We’ve got company!”

They had rounded a corner, coming upon an immense underground passage at least twice the size of any other they’d encountered. At the end, a massive gateway rose, one that could have served as the front gate of a fortress in the material world.

It was framed by two monstrous statues of massive, hyena-headed demons, with the corpulent bodies of humanoid toads, and a third—identical in every way—was perched on a ledge right above the door like a looming gargoyle.

“Eek!” Heinrich screeched. “Please no! Get away from here! Those are Azzad, Zabai, and Osshar’s personal chambers! Ikharrash’s sons! You’ve just killed us!”

“You’ll die first if you don’t shut your trap,” Grimloch growled, flashing his bloody teeth.

The merchant fought his whimpering, going as quiet as a mouse and whiter than a sheet as he trembled in Claygon’s grip. Alex glowered at him, imagining all sorts of nasty things for this nasty man before turning his attention back to the gate.

He opened his mana senses, carefully feeling for wards or magical traps set in the stones, the doors, or the titanic statues. An eyebrow rose when a tingle of mana came from inside the room, not outside.

“There’s some pretty powerful magic in there,” he said. “As if we needed more confirmation that we found the right place.” His eyes scanned the enormous hall. “Huh… does anyone else find it odd that there’s no guards posted outside?”

“Baelin’s probably pulled most of ’em away, I’m thinking,” Thundar suggested, sipping water from his canteen while listening for the sounds of Alex’s summoned monsters clashing with demonic hordes in the distance. “Then there’s your summoned monsters running around, distracting them… but yeah, it is kinda weird the door’s completely unguarded.”

“Unless they are using siege-defence tactics,” Prince Khalik suggested. “Perhaps they’re waiting inside the room, ready for us to come through the doorway. That will put us in a bottleneck for them to easily destroy us as we come in.”

“Fireball formation, as they say,” Isolde said grimly. “It is what I would do.”

“Shit,” Alex swore. “It’s what I would do too.”

“Aye, didn’t even think o’ that,” Cedric murmured, eyeing the statues. “Ravener-spawn lay traps n’such at times, but they don’t usually set up big barricades an’ have organised resistance. It’s differe—Hart, what’re you lookin’ at?”

The Champion was squinting at the three statues. “Something doesn’t look right.” He nodded toward them. “From here, we should be seeing stone in the backs of those mouths… but it’s all dark in there, like…”

“Like the mouths have no stone back there.” Theresa nodded. “Yeah, I see it too. It almost looks like there’s a metal pipe buried in the stone.”

“Yeah, that’s why I was looking for murder holes,” Hart grunted. “Bet you they pump boiling oil or lava on top of anyone trying to get in through the front doors. Clever bastards.” He pointed at the lightning forks. “You hammer on the doors, trying to batter your way in, then they pour lava on you and zap you with those magic forks. And—if you’re not dead then—they probably open hidden hatches in the stone and fill you with arrows, or more lightning. All they gotta do after that is walk out and stomp your corpse.”

“Clever,” Drestra growled. “We would have been back at the clearing if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, but what’re we gonna do about it?” Hart said. “I guess maybe if Claygon charges, he could break down the doors real quick, but they’d still be funnelling us into a death trap.”

“Then we don’t go into their death trap,” Khalik said, his focus on Heinrich.

The merchant looked as though he was going into shock.

So the prince slapped him.

“Ah!” Heinrich squealed. “What? What do you want now?”

“You’ve been to this fortress many times; from what you say, it’s your vacation home, right? Are there any other rooms adjacent to that chamber?”

“Um, y-yes?” Heinrich nodded toward another passage across the hall. “There’s kitchens and such for Ikharrash’s three sons, and there are some other doorways that lead into their quarters. B-but those’ll be guarded! I’ll die if you take me there!”

“I’m not interested in other entrances,” the prince said. “I just need you to lead me to a room that shares a wall with this chamber.”

Alex’s eyes lit up. “Okay, that’s a good idea. Tell you what, I think I can make it even better.” He lifted his staff, feeling the mana within.

A good deal had regenerated.

“I’ll summon a horde of hell-boars and have them charge the doors. That’ll give these bastards something to think about,” Alex said.

“And then what’s the plan?” Drestra asked.

“We’ll discuss it after we leave this hall,” Khalik said. “No doubt we are being watched and listened to by the brothers, so let’s just leave them guessing, shall we?”

With that, the group fell silent as Alex began summoning an army.

“Here!” Heinrich pointed his chin toward a door close by. “That’s one of the kitchens! It shares a wall with the main chamber!”

“Excellent.” Alex nodded to his golem. “Claygon, get the door, would you?”

A single blow of his massive stone fist opened the kitchen door, allowing him and the hyperventilating merchant to enter. ‘The door… is open, Father.’

“Good work, buddy.” Alex floated in, leading his companions.

In the distance, hell-boar squeals echoed through passageways along with dull thuds from monstrous skulls hammering on reinforced doors. Beyond that, shrill demon voices grew louder as the chaotic sounds of clashing between demons and his summoned monsters died down.

“I think the enemy’s about done with my distractions,” Alex said grimly. “They’ll be on us soon.” He indicated the wall on the opposite end of the cavernous kitchen. Gut-churning scents rising from massive ovens made him glad he didn’t know what was being roasted. “Khalik, you think you can do it?”

“I think so,” the prince said thoughtfully, floating past a row of cauldrons—each large enough to fit Grimloch, Brutus, and Claygon into—bubbling with a ropey-looking green liquid. He touched the stone wall, closing his eyes, muttering an incantation. “Yes. I can do it from here!”

“Do what, exactly?” Cedric demanded. “Care t’let us dumb ones in on the plan, y’masters o’strategies?”

The prince turned, jerking a thumb toward the wall. “I will be using a spell to weaken and open the stone here.”

“Then I’ll have Claygon charge through it, breaking a great big hole in the side of their chamber.” Alex smiled. “Then we all rush in while they’re caught off guard and… we break them.”

“Aye… aye!” Cedric’s eyes lit up. “I like the sound o’that! So, then we… huh.” He abruptly turned to the Sage. “Say, Drestra, I’ve got me’self an idea. Would y’mind helpin’ out wit’ it?”

“If it lets us kill more demons easily, it’d be my pleasure,” her voice crackled through her veil.

“Aye, good.” The Chosen smiled. “Why don’t we give these little demons an even bigger surprise?” His eyes went to the bubbling cauldrons. “Somethin’ t’grab their attention.”

“Hold on now.” Hart looked down at Heinrich, his grin absolutely evil. “What about two more surprises?”

Now it was Alex’s turn to smile. “See? You’re already learning more about cooperating and using your resources. Ain’t that a grand thing?”

Together, the companions hatched their plan.

Chapter 54

Three Demonic Brothers

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” Osshar grumbled, his fangs grinding as the chamber’s main doors boomed on their hinges. “All this banging’s driving me mad! Why aren’t we attacking?”

He scrutinised his brothers—lip curling in distaste at minor imperfections marring the otherwise perfect form that all three shared—they squatted on elaborate thrones, observing the chamber’s side entrances.

“Patience!” Azzad snapped, revealing chipped, yellowed teeth. The fool never did take care of his fangs properly. “Why attack when we control the fortified position? Let them bang away and exhaust themselves! That’s to our advantage!”

“We should at least use the lava!” Osshar pointed to pipes spider-webbing across the ceiling and running down the chamber walls, burrowing through them, then vanishing behind stone surrounding the three carved images of themselves outside the doors. Within the towering ceiling in the room lay an enormous chamber where lava was pumped directly into a reservoir from the earth beneath the Hold then dispensed at the triplets’ whims.

Osshar licked his hyena-like chops, remembering the last time they’d poured lava onto a band of unsuspecting rivals seeking their lives. To this day, the delightful smells as lava bathed them, and their terrified screams, still made his pulse quicken.

How long ago had that been?

A century?

A millennium?

Far too long.

What was the point of a lava trap if one never got to use it?

“Where are they?” Sabai demanded, moving away from his throne and growling at the runtish pazuzite hovering before a peephole. “Are they not back at the entrance?”

“N-no, most malicious of masters!” the pazuzite cried. “I don’t see the interlopers! Just the monsters they conjured!”

“I told you we should have thrown the doors open and swarmed them!” Sabai whirled on his brothers. “You foolish fools! This is why Father prefers me to you two impulsive brutes! You have no subtlety! Cowardice oozes from you in a stink that everyone in the realm can smell!”

“You dare!” Azzad snapped. “You are the greatest fool of fools! We have full tactical advantage here!”

He gestured to their demon forces spread throughout the enormous chamber. A hundred pazuzites with claws twitching, and another hundred tiashivas sharpening bone axes against each other. Above, scores of agwiagma floated near the ceiling, their forehead tentacles glowing with power.

B’alamxibas waited in the shadowy corners of the vast room, poised and ready to spring from the shadows and fall upon their foes.

Hosts of varied demons had come together, waiting for their orders. Eight-armed makadeans—tauric demon spiders propelled by eight legs and eight arms. Heavy crossbows were hoisted on each arm, meant to rain volleys of hellfire-hardened, iron bolts on those foolish enough to barge through the doors. Demonic suuderai boiled in the gloom beneath the brothers’ thrones, the sinister creatures eager to possess unwary mortals.

“See?” Azzad pointed to the room’s side entrances, also covered with lava pipes feeding through the stone around them. “We’ve covered every direction, our forces are ready, even a demon-host led by the Three Who Dwell in Ash would break against our defences! Why throw away tactical advantage just to rush into the halls like maniacs? Where’s the logic in that?”

“Then we won’t be able to use the lava!” Osshar snarled. “You foolish fools are fooling yourselves if you think those mortals won’t be getting a taste of my simple, but masterful trap today!”

“Well, trap or no trap, we won’t be using anything if they don’t come to us, Osshar.” Azzad growled. “Where are they? Blast it, I wish we had our sniffers. They’d tell us where they are.”

“Father needs them,” Sabai said. “And we—Wait… do you hear something?”

“No, why—?” Osshar paused. “Wait… yes. Like the earth rumbling?”

The three hyena-headed demons looked all around, their ears twitching and swivelling.

“It’s a… grinding sound, right?” Osshar grunted.

“Masters!” a pazuzite shouted, pointing at a wall. “I sense great fear coming from there! And strange noises!”

“What? Isn’t that one of the kitchens?” Azzad asked. “What are they—It sounds like they’re tunnelling!”

Sabai snarled. “Archers! Pivot your aim! Troops! Turn! Prepare to strike as they come through! I want those invaders dead before they can take three steps!”

Osshar scowled, his anger rising as he leapt from his throne. “I want to tear them apart personally. How dare they deny me my lava!”

A massive tongue licked his enormous belly-lips like he was tasting something.

“First, I’ll drown them in mucus, then swallow a few of their warriors whole. My laugh is going to pop eardrums, and my magic will poison their insides.” He began to jiggle at his own plan.

“No fair!” Sabai snapped, charging up behind Osshar. “First blood is mine!”

“No!” Osshar turned, ready to reprimand his brother.

Only for a moment.

First came a sudden surge of mana like a riptide.

Then a mounting boom rocked the chamber.

He whirled in time to see a tremendous hole rupture a wall—wide enough for him and his brother to fit through shoulder to shoulder—ejecting a storm of boulders that dropped onto hapless demons standing too close.

But the hole was soon obscured by a floating mix of mist and stone dust.

A voracious roaring wind followed.

A sour stench filled the air.

A whirlwind of acid sprayed from the hole.

Osshar’s sensitive ears screamed in pain, acid fumes gnawed at his nose, a tornado swelled, growing in intensity, whirling into the chamber, gathering up stones and demons close by.

“Look out!” Sabai leapt back.

Acid droplets sprayed like water, burning tiashivas, melting their flesh in an instant. Osshar growled—his own demonic form was made of much sterner stuff—and waded forward with confidence, straight toward the whirlwind.

His bulk would keep him anchored to the ground.

His resilient hide would resist the acid, as he’d simply walk through the spell and⁠—

Glowing droplets touched his skin, hissing dangerously.

He flinched, screaming as his flesh began to burn.

“What’s this?” he cried. “It’s burning!”

Radiant holy liquid sprayed over the stunned demon, burning flesh, and as he inhaled, scorching his lungs. “Agh!” Osshar stumbled back, trying to escape the holy rain, but the tornado was already on him—full of the blessed drenching liquid—which swirled with acid, eating away his rubbery hide.

“Got… got to get out!” he gasped.

A sudden whoosh caught his attention in time for him to spot an enormous cauldron—glowing with divine blessing—barreling down on him at great speed. The blessed vessel struck with the deep clang of a rusty church bell, almost bowling the demon over. Metal crumpled against his bulk, burning his hide with divinity.

Screeching, Osshar fought to peel the crumpled metal away, casting the ruined cauldron into the tornado as it finally passed. He coughed and heaved, his chest racked in agony. His vision blurred from holy fluid stinging his eyes and tongue as droplets peppered his face.

‘They have at least one priest,’ he thought, enraged. ‘Those mortals used their filthy blessings on our kitchen vessels and our food and sent them against us like a weapon! What kind of scum fouls a perfectly good meal that takes days to percolate? They’re tricky, but let’s see how tricky they are when I kill the first one I see!’

Osshar looked up, squinting at the stone dust swirling in the hole.

A flicker of movement.

“There!” He pointed. “Archers! Fire at the hole!”

A screech of terror filled the room as someone flew from the hole at incredible speed.

Osshar drank in the mounting fear, savouring it as dozens of bolts and lines of lightning shot past him, striking the brazen fool in midair. The scream withered to a dying gurgle as crimson lightning ripped through the attacker’s form.

By the time the man collapsed, all he could do was twitch in silence by Osshar’s elephantine feet.

“That’s one less—Wait…” He stared. Now that the dead human lay before him, there was a familiarity about him. “Isn’t… he that coward the necromancer brings here? What is he⁠—”

He heard the sound, but much too late.

Osshar, son of Ikharrash, looked up in time to see an enormous human flying toward him—sheathed in the mana of many spells—with a titanic sword held in a tight grip. Before the powerful demon could even twitch, the warrior became a blur of motion.

Something raced for Osshar’s neck.

And then… the world was tumbling.

End over end, the chamber spun around him.

‘What’s this?’ he wondered. ‘Did a wizard bewitch my mind?’

He tried to right himself, anchoring his body to the ground, but for some strange reason, he could feel neither his legs nor arms. The sound of stone impacting the side of his hyena-like head gave a dull thud.

“Wh—” he tried to choke out, but no air came to him. There was no breath in his lungs and… What was he seeing? Standing above him was a body—headless and spasming—sinking to the stone.

One of his foolish brothers had gotten themselves killed before the battle had truly started! How useless they were! A sneer spread across his lips.

‘How could he let his centuries of life end so easily, so foolishly, and be taken by unworthy mortals?’ he wondered. ‘Which one is it?’ He scanned the fool’s form, trying to find the unique imperfections that would betray who the body belonged to: Azzad or Sabai.

He looked closely… then his heavy eyelids tried to widen in shock.

‘The body! It has no imperfections!’ he realised as though through a veil. ‘That’s… it’s mine! But how… how could I…’

As the last of his lifeblood poured from his severed head, his thoughts slowed and slowed… until—at last—he thought no more.

And so ended the life of Osshar, son of Ikharrash.

“I got one of the sons!” Hart’s shout came through the fog of stone dust and mist.

“Then let’s get the rest!” Prince Khalik shouted. “Everyone, get ready!”

“Forward!” Alex raised his staff, commanding another small horde of summoned monsters through the breach in the stone.

A pack of flicker dogs howled, charging through the gap and into the chamber, where they flickered into the ranks of the enemy, mauling them.

“First wave’s in!” Alex shouted. “Go!”

Claygon flew through the obscuring dust first, followed by Cedric, then Grimloch, Theresa, Brutus, and then the others streamed through in a line.

Alex took a deep breath as he flew in. “Here we go!”

He emerged in the chamber, already commanding his Wizard’s Hands.

All around, utter chaos reigned. Hordes of demons were in disarray since Drestra’s tornado had ripped through their ranks, drenching them in acid and divinity-infused broth. Cedric’s idea to bless both the cauldrons and their contents had been inspired, and throwing the enormous cook pots into the Sage’s whirlwind proved a devastating combination.

Hart’s idea to use Heinrich as a decoy was also inspired. Putting an end to one evil life and wasting the demons’ first volley in one swoop.

And now, the demons were feeling their enemies’ bite.

The flicker dogs harried the confused demons, allowing Hart to lead a charge straight for another of Ikharrash’s sons. Snarling, the Champion’s bulbous target spread both mouths, set to unleash his demonic laughter and disgusting mucus, when⁠—

Whoooooosh!

Claygon fired beams directly into the mouth on the demon’s gut.

Boom!

An explosion shattered the air, setting the monster ablaze, collapsing his laughter into screams.

And then the Champion of Uldar was on him.

The huge demon barely raised his guard, and the blade—driven by Hart’s tremendous strength—bit deep, carving a trench in its limb. It flinched, then the team was on it.

Cedric’s spear, bleeding holy power, jabbed its side.

Theresa’s cuts slashed its other arm to ribbons.

Grimloch took a massive bite from its flank.

It howled and flailed.

And Claygon?

The golem’s war-spear streaked toward its shoulder. The demon writhed, trying to flee, and the blow carved deep into his torso. Claygon then cocked a stone fist back, swinging it with full force.

The hyena-headed demon’s eyes slammed shut in reflex.

A terrible crunch followed as Claygon’s fist flattened its snout like a bellows, turning the monster’s head to pulp.

“Two down!” Cedric shouted. “We’ve got ’em on their back foot; keep on ’em!”

Grimloch and Brutus roared, diving into a clot of demons. Claygon, Khalik, Thundar, Isolde, and Drestra fired punishing magic into scattered schools of agwiagma floating high in the chamber, and at crossbow-wielding fiends.

Theresa and Hart drew their bows, sharp eyes scanning the room for demons gathering magic. The instant they caught sight of capering pazuzites, or the glow of crimson lightning, they loosed their arrows, skewering threats before magics could be brought to bear.

And Alex conjured monsters, drawing even more power from the aeld staff. This was not the time to hold back.

‘Gotta keep up our momentum,’ he thought, guiding his horde of Wizard’s Hands and forceballs through the room, disrupting the enemy.

His attention turned to the centre of the chamber where the lone surviving son of Ikharrash stood—his mouth agape—three towering thrones behind him.

If they acted quickly, they could finish the battle before it really started.

‘This is easy,’ Alex thought. ‘…Almost too easy.’

Chapter 55

Demonic Laughter

“I’ll be takin’ the last one’s head!” Cedric shouted, flying toward the demon, his spear blazing with Uldar’s divinity.

Alex raised his staff.

But a slight doubt kept nagging at the back of his mind.

They’d come to the hells with a lot of power, and they’d hit the trio in ways the demons hadn’t expected. It should have been easy… but something still bothered him. As Cedric streaked toward the last son, he knew they’d made sound tactical decisions, capitalising on their advantage while they could.

Looking to end the fight clean and fast.

Then he remembered Baelin’s warnings about overconfidence.

And that demons were unpredictable.

He raised his staff, ready to direct mana-draining magic at the towering fiend.

But in response, that hyena-like maw opened.

And the demon laughed.

Agony slammed Alex’s ears. His companions screamed, while Cedric froze in midair, both hands clamped over his ears. Pain contorted Alex’s form; his eardrums pounded like they were about to explode. Confusion raked his mind.

‘Father…!’ Claygon cried. He was the only one unaffected by the great demon’s laughter. ‘What’s wron—Look out!’

The golem raised his fire-gems, blasting a wave of demons springing at the pain-racked party.

‘Father! Can you hear me?’ Claygon cried in desperation, flying to Alex’s side, his war-spear cutting through swarms of demons in his way.

‘It hurts so much!’ Alex’s thoughts screamed. ‘The book said their laugh causes pain but…! I feel like my head’s splitting⁠—’

His darting eyes fell on the staff clutched in his hand.

Realisation struck.

He’d placed sensory enhancement magic on his team members, heightening their senses, making their hearing ripe for assault from the demon’s sonic weapon: its laughter. The auditory sensation was pure torment, pitch and volume intensified beyond reason, distorting sound waves, ripping through their heads.

‘Got to…’ He raised his staff weakly. ‘Got to… drain mana… Claygon, I⁠—’

The thought died when a shadow shot from beneath a throne, racing for Cedric while the Chosen of Uldar curled up in agony.

“Wh-what the hell…?” Alex choked out, pushing against the torture in his head, trying to gain enough clarity and will to power the staff.

Before he could, the shadow fell on Cedric.

“Get back, y’bloody…!” the Chosen cursed at the threatening shadow, lifting his spear as if in slow motion.

Even if Cedric wasn’t weakened, the creature was devilishly quick, sweeping past his spear, and diving for his chest.

No…

…diving inside his chest.

“Wh…?” Cedric gasped as the shadow sank beneath his skin.

For a breath, the Chosen’s unbelieving eyes stared at shining scales on his chest—where the demon had vanished just an instant before—and gingerly reached for the spot.

“What’s happeni—Aaaaaargh!” he cried, dropping his weapon, both hands desperately clawing at his temples. “I feels it in me! Tryin’ t’take o… ver!”

“Cedric!” Isolde and Alex groaned.

The Chosen fought back with all his will, holding the demon at bay.

Horror mingled with pain in the young Thameish wizard.

Possession. In demonology, it was a fiendish power where certain demons had the power to possess a mortal body, taking over its will.

If the Chosen of Uldar became controlled by a demon, while the rest of them were paralysed by pain…

‘We’ll all… die! Claygon!’ he thought, glancing at the golem as he blasted an oncoming horde of demons.

‘Father!’ Claygon cried.

Alex’s thoughts raced. He couldn’t shoot the demon within Cedric… but he could stop that laughter.

‘We’ve got to shut… that demon up! Stop it from laughing!’ Alex thought in desperation.

‘But… Father!’ Claygon’s fist crushed a pazuzite. His war-spear slashed through a group of tiashivas. Fire-beams lanced the demon horde, blasting all those working to bring their magic to bear. ‘You’ll be… swarmed if I turn away!’

“Please… just… do it!” Alex grunted, calling his Wizard’s Hands to him.

In that instant, Claygon turned from the hordes, unleashing a fire-beam at the remaining triplet’s laughing face.

Ikharrash’s third son, his laughter booming through the chamber, abruptly yelped and sprang aside. His bulk wasn’t completely spared, the beam clipped him, exploding in flame. The yelp turned to a scream of rage. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

A wave of demons fell on the party.

Isolde was first to go: an agwiagma swooped down on her, its poisoned tentacles striking from behind. Her greater force armour held, but its demon kindred piled on, swallowing her in a cloud of fish-like monsters.

Next to vanish was Grimloch, struck by scores of crimson lightning bolts at once, while Brutus vanished when b’alamxibas overwhelmed him in a coordinated attack.

More monsters swarmed Khalik, then Drestra.

Alex cursed, recovering from the overpowering laughter.

Most of their team—and spell power—was gone in heartbeats.

And now, the horde was coming for him.

Whirling his staff around in an arc, he called his forceballs to him, trying to deflect dozens of claws. A flash at the corner of his vision warned him crimson lightning was streaking across the chamber. He dove to the side, saving himself.

Meanwhile, he was pouring everything he could into the staff, readying its power. Wizard’s Hands clamped down on Alex’s ears, protecting him from any laughter the demon might try.

‘If I drain mana from Cedric’s body,’ he thought, ‘maybe that’ll drive the demon out when its mana starts draining too! Come on!’

Cedric screamed, battling the demon’s influence on his mind and body. Thundar, Theresa, and Hart fought back-to-back with Claygon, striking down the tide of demons trying to eliminate them.

Alex’s mana coursed through the staff.

The hyena-headed demon beat flames away, beginning to recover.

And Cedric screamed.

…and abruptly stopped.

‘Oh no.’ The Thameish wizard’s fear spiked, dread filled the glance he risked at the Chosen. He expected a demon would now be in control of one of the most powerful warriors in all of Thameland.

Instead, the shadowy demon floated in midair, looking around frantically for the host body it was in instants before.

‘The spell-mark!’ Alex thought. ‘It must’ve taken Cedric away before that demon completely possessed him!’

Another glance, this one toward the hyena-headed demon made his blood chill.

The creature was all smiles.

“Possess them!” the towering monster cried.

He inhaled like a massive bellows, readying his laugh.

“No!” Alex levelled his staff at the titanic fiend.

The aeld branch emitted a wave of defiance as power poured from it, releasing a swarm of magic.

“This nonsense can’t help you—” the demon snapped in the common tongue as the spells swirled around its body, painting Elder Blodeuwedd’s symbols across its skin. “What’re you—Aaaaaargh!”

The demon screamed.

Mana poured from it like a fountain, washing away in every direction.

Around it, its underlings gaped at their enormous commander’s reactions. Some seemed pleased at his suffering, smirking, but their focus never wavered from the intruders.

The shadowy demon, flanked by two more that had shot from beneath the thrones, flew for the warriors, eager to possess them. Alex levelled his staff, unleashing more mana-draining magics.

Symbols appeared across their essences, their forms wavering as mana flowed from them.

“The hells with this, bring down the big one! We’re about to fall!” Theresa shouted. “We’ve got⁠—”

There was a splash, and a wave of mucus flew across the room, striking the huntress.

“Theresa!” Alex cried as she struggled against the hardening substance.

She never got a chance to break free. In a blink, demons were on her, blasting her with crimson lightning.

Then, she was gone, whisked away by her spell-mark.

Hart struck all around him, laughing maniacally as bodies fell.

“Stop laughing, you maniac! I’ve had enough crazy laughter for one day!” Thundar roared. “We’re about to be wiped out!”

“I know!” Hart laughed harder, his blade cutting down half a dozen tiashivas at once. “Don’t that get your blood pumping?”

“No!” Thundar snapped, shooting a group of agwiagmas from the air with a wave of force missiles.

Alex took in the situation at a glance. The floor was littered with dead demons, but more poured into the chamber from all entrances. Around him, the swarm thickened—it was taking everything he had to dodge and deflect them—and if any more of those shadow demons were to appear, he’d be done for. Only Claygon’s unstoppable power prevented them from being completely overwhelmed, though even he was having trouble keeping back the ever renewing demon numbers.

The three shadowy demons were growing weaker as their mana flickered away—yet they kept crawling forward—while the towering son of Ikharrash stalked toward the mortals, his teeth grinding in rage.

“What… have you done to me?” he demanded. “You know you won’t be leaving here, don’t you? No magic will sweep you away! I’ll keep you here and peel the flesh from your bones! You will know terror when I, Azzad, begin to work on you!”

“The hells with this! Claygon!” Alex shouted, pointing to the big demon. “Kill that bastard! Don’t bother about protecting me! Just get him dead!”

‘But… Father!’ Claygon pleaded. ‘I… must protect you!’

“I’ll be fine!” Alex shouted. “Go! Take him!”

He felt a wave of frustration from the golem as he cut down an entire row of pazuzites.

‘Dead!’ Claygon roared in his mind, charging through rows of demons to face their master.

Fire-beams lanced out, blasting the towering demon. Azzad howled viciously as flame magic struck him, enveloping him in a column of fire before he stepped forward to meet Claygon.

“I’ll turn you to gravel!” His eyes glowed red as he burned. “Then I’ll crush your filthy masters!”

Two large hands reached into the air, grasping with clawed fingers, and as Alex dove down to join Thundar and Hart, he felt the tingle of teleportation magic.

“Look out, Claygon!” he shouted, taking up position beside the Champion and minotaur. He ducked an axeblade and deflected a claw with his staff. “He’s calling something!”

Two somethings, as it turned out.

In a flash of crimson lightning, a pair of swords—each forged from an ominous-looking black metal—appeared in the demons’ hands, bleeding both magic and deep red lightning.

The demon pointed at the charging golem, a dangerous sneer on his hyena-like face, and with a roar, he rushed to meet Claygon.

War-spear swung.

Black swords swung.

Their clash landed with the force of a battering ram against a stone wall.

The demon grunted, jumping back and parrying a series of Claygon’s blows. He was yowling as another fire-beam ran along his flesh, yet—through immortal fortitude—he kept on fighting.

“You’re strong, creature!” the demon shouted. “But you lack the experience I’ve earned over far too many of your mortal centuries for me to count!”

To illustrate his point, he easily feinted the golem, turning aside the war-spear and striking a blow across Claygon’s torso. The heavy black blade rang like a trebuchet stone against a rock face, but failed to leave even the slightest scratch.

‘Shit,’ Alex thought. ‘It looks like we killed the other two so fast because we caught them off guard. But they’re tough, and a lot faster than they look!’

Claygon lunged at the towering fiend, eliciting another crash of metal on metal. The demon growled, his arm shaking from the impact. “Fine, then, enough of this game,” he snorted. “Move aside. Your masters are made of much weaker stuff.”

Lips parted on the demon’s immense belly, spraying Claygon with mucus.

The golem didn’t pause, simply burning it away with his fire-beams.

“Argh! Filthy, defiant creature!” Azzad snarled. “Fine, have it your way! Dance with me! I’ll see my minions tear your masters apart!”

He barked out his terrible magically-infused laugh.

A wave of prickling coursed through Alex’s body, though much of the demon’s power had faded—withered by mana-draining magic. The creature scowled.

“Now you—” The last son paused, his eyes growing distant for a moment, then lighting up. “Well… isn’t that interesting?”

He parried another of Claygon’s blows.

“Seems that one of the patrols found an interesting portal outside the stronghold’s walls…” His grin widened as a stab of panic ran through Alex.

“What?” Thundar shouted, driving away a tiashiva’s axe. “You piece of shi⁠—”

“Theeeeere it is,” Azzad leapt out of the golem’s reach.

The war-spear crunched, cutting deep into nearby stone. Azzad kicked the golem with an elephantine leg, sending Claygon stumbling back.

“My minions have already destroyed the portal,” the fiend sneered. “Now they’re busy capturing your friends. It seems they fought fiercely, but since shadow demons now control them… they wasted their energy. Maybe they can still fight fiercely… for me!” He was quite pleased with himself.

An image of Theresa and the others filled Alex’s mind—with no spell-marks and vulnerable—writhing in some filthy demon’s grip as it seized control of their bodies.

“No!” Alex’s panic spiked, the terror-field reaching into his mind.

“Oh yes!” Azzad roared. “Submit to me now! Or I will let my minions free the flesh from their bones!”

Chapter 56

To Pay Back What You Owe

“You leave them alone!” Hart roared, an uncharacteristic note of fear in his voice. The Champion cut down all demons in close proximity to his blade as he pushed ahead, stalking the towering fiend like the reaper. “I’ll split you from crotch to crown!”

He shot forward with a war cry, but a b’alamxiba hit him from the side, throwing off his flight path. Pazuzites piled on, straining against his enormous strength as he raged against them in turn.

But they were also strong… and numerous.

‘Father!’ Claygon thought. ‘What should we do?’

Alex fought the terror-field closing in on his mind. “We have to⁠—”

Clawed fingers seized his shoulder, as more gripped his arms. Then his legs. He was struggling, trying to get free of the hands holding him. He called Wizard’s Hands and forceballs for help, but agwiagmas swarmed his force constructs, bursting them.

Alex desperately searched for his flicker dogs, but they were long gone. He struggled as the aeld staff was dragged from his hands—releasing waves of panic—and a pazuzite raised it in triumph, cavorting about in victory.

The young Thameish wizard wrestled with the chaos swirling in his head. His thoughts were everywhere, when a sudden scream took his attention.

“No! I-I’ll stop!” Thundar cried, tossing aside his mace.

“Thundar!” Alex called out to his friend.

Azzad’s laughter boomed through the chamber as the minotaur rushed toward him with a fear-filled groan. Thundar passed one of the dead, crossbow-wielding demons, throwing himself down at the towering monster’s feet.

Claygon stood nearby, seemingly paralysed.

‘Father… I… I do not know what to do! If I attack… you and the others could be hurt too!’ he thought.

Alex tried to fight the images of his friends being tortured and eaten. In the back of his mind, something was bothering him… something he couldn’t put words to.

He gazed up at the towering bulk of Azzad, his eyes searching for any way he could kill this monster before… before…

Alex examined the demon’s body language, noting the look in its eyes, and called on the Mark. Images rose in his mind, comparing Azzad’s movements to those of every demon he’d ever encountered.

There was something about Azzad that was familiar…

An image of Zonon-In—full of deceit—came to him.

Realisation struck. Alex looked down at the trembling minotaur cowering before the demon.

“Thundar!” he choked out. “Get away! He’s lying! His body language is all lies!”

The minotaur continued to whimper helplessly while Azzad laughed.

Until the whimpering abruptly stopped.

“I know,” Thundar said, his voice dangerously calm. “Hey, demon. This belong to you?”

There was a heavy twang of a bowstring.

A squelch of flesh.

“Aaaaaaaargh!” Azzad screamed, stumbling back, a massive crossbow bolt protruding from his eye. He pawed at his face, dropping one of his swords.

Thundar rose to his full height—small compared to the bulk of Azzad—with one arm raised, seemingly empty-handed… But…

The air shimmered around his hands as an illusion peeled away. The illusionary double of the minotaur—hiding inside—vanished, revealing the mace that he’d never dropped.

And on the way to the massive demon, he’d picked up another demon’s discarded crossbows.

“You!” the son of Ikharrash wailed. “You spineless beast! My eye, you took my eye!”

“Then you owe us another.” The minotaur’s voice was flint.

He snapped his fingers, muttering a short spell.

A volley of force missiles fired from his hand, cutting through the air, piercing the demon’s face, plunging deep into its other eye.

“Arrrgh! You blinded me! You’ll wish you were dead a thousand times for this!”

“Try coming down here and saying that.”

Thundar tossed aside his mace, reaching down and lifting one of the monster’s immense swords. The minotaur’s magically empowered muscles bulged as he hefted the weapon, clenching his teeth and levelling it at the demon like a spear.

He charged Azzad with one of his own black swords, pointing it at a massive knee.

The blade sank deep, splitting bone while the demon’s servants, Alex, Hart, and even Claygon watched, frozen in place. With a stone-shaking thud, the monster collapsed on its hands and knees, tears of black blood flowing as Thundar lifted his mace.

He gave it a quick twirl with his fingers.

Then slammed it with all his wrath into the side of the hyena-like head.

The snout whipped to the side, and Azzad lay prostrate on the floor. He mewled with agony. “W-wait! Stop! I’ll do anythi—minions! Help me!”

Thundar glared at the demons spread around the room. “Really? You gonna do it? You all terrorise those weaker than you, right?” He pointed at the fallen Azzad. “You’re gonna listen to this terrified little worm?” His thumb jerked toward Claygon. “Knowing you’ve got to go through him?”

Every demon eye was on the golem, watching him brandishing his spear.

The horde glanced at each other… then released Alex and Hart, moving away from them. The pazuzite holding Alex’s staff dropped it like it was scorching its hands.

“That’s what I thought.” Thundar turned back to Azzad, driving another blow at his face.

A sharp crack, and the demon’s snout folded.

“Aaaaaargh! No, I can help you!” the last triplet cried. “No more, please, stop! I can grant you any desire! Treasure! Magic! Mates! Beasts!”

“No, that wouldn’t be right,” Thundar grunted, strapping his mace back to his belt. He reached down. “After all, I still owe you something.”

“What?” Azzad cried, the lids covering his blind eyes twitching.

Thundar hefted the other black blade, nostrils snorting out twin clouds of steam.

“I only gave you back one sword.”

“No than⁠—”

With a grunt, the minotaur hefted the enormous blade high, then drove it down to meet the demon’s head.

A wet crunch and black metal split that head in two.

Azzad shuddered, then went still.

As an awestruck Alex picked up his staff, and Hart fetched his sword, the minotaur slowly turned to face the rest of the demons, seemingly paralysed in the chamber.

“Alright.” He cracked his neck. “I’m tired, and I want to go home. I’ll go through the rest of you if I have to. Who wants some of this?”

The demons snarled, baring claws and fangs.

“Now, now, Thundar,” a deep, familiar voice boomed through the chamber. “I’d be a terrible teacher if I made you do that after the lesson is complete.”

Alex felt a wave of teleportation magic as the towering form of Baelin materialised in the air.

The demons gasped.

Floating beside the ancient wizard—who was sheathed in an aura of unnerving power—was a demon’s head. A demon’s head the size of a small house.

“Ikharrash is dead,” Baelin said simply. “And now, so are you.”

With an ugly word of power, he conjured an orb of utter darkness—blacker than a moonless and starless night—and, with a shudder, it broke into scores of marble-sized orbs that shot through the air like shrapnel from an explosion.

They sought out any living demon near them, striking with precision.

Stunned fiends gasped for air as bone crumbled and flesh crushed inward, the penetrating small orbs of darkness disappearing with a grotesque noise.

Some tried to scramble away, but they too were pierced by the black marbles, crumbling inward and vanishing as though they had never existed.

In heartbeats, the snarling horde was a full, panicking rout as fiends scrambled over each other, trying to flee the ancient archwizard.

Very few made it from the room.

And then only by a few steps.

When at last the sound of crumbling bodies faded, Baelin and the four companions were left alone in the chamber. Only the dead remained with them.

“Well done, everyone!” the chancellor said, his voice filled with warm pride as he kicked the body of Azzad with a cloven hoof. “Ikharrash is dead. All three of his sons are dead. And I have taken the liberty of moving their treasures to one of my strongholds. I do think it is time for you to come back to the portal with me. We have much to discuss.”

“Yeah.” Alex gave Thundar a look filled with gratitude. “Yeah, we do.”

“Uhuh.” Hart nodded to the minotaur with respect.

‘Yes,’ Claygon agreed, radiating warmth and awe as he looked at the minotaur.

Thundar looked at them in confusion. “What? Do I got demon bits in my fur or something?”

Alex reappeared in the clearing, dreading what he might find.

Relief flooded him when it was exactly how they’d left it—terrifying and filled with dangerous-looking plants—but with not a single sign of demons nearby.

His friends were gathered around the portal, splayed out on the ground, except for Theresa and Brutus, who stood at the clearing’s edge—watching the trees—and Cedric, who was pacing back and forth a short distance away from the group.

Isolde had been watching him closely, but when Alex materialised in the clearing, she and the others turned.

Relief washed over Theresa’s face, but the others tensed when he first appeared.

Cedric ran forward. “The rest! Are they⁠—”

“—quite fine,” Baelin said as he, Thundar, Claygon, and Hart materialised in the clearing.

Cheers rose from the group as a stampede of feet thundered across the ground. Theresa flew into Alex’s arms, kissing him. Brutus nearly tackled them to the ground. Thundar was caught in a tight hug by Khalik and even Isolde, while Grimloch stomped over to Hart and clapped him on one shoulder.

Cedric clapped him on the other while Drestra simply nodded to the Champion. “Glad you’re alright,” she said.

“More than alright, thanks to this consummate badass.” Hart nodded at Thundar.

“Oh? What’s all this, then?” Cedric said. “Y’take out the last son, big guy?”

“Yeah, I did.” Thundar grinned. “Got lucky and used my head.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “But we can discuss that in detail shortly. Come, friends, let us leave this place. Did any demons penetrate the clearing?”

Isolde shook her head. “A patrol came close, but—” she gave a respectful nod to Baelin’s guards “—your two engeli flew into the woods and slew them instantly and in utter silence.”

The chancellor met the gazes of the winged giants. “You performed your duties well. You will find payment waiting in your palaces.”

Both engeli gave the archwizard silent nods, then disappeared as the chancellor strode to the portal. “Come, let us be rid of this foul place.”

“No argument from me,” Cedric said emphatically.

Together, the companions stepped through the gate, emerging back in the material world. The dry air of the ruined city struck Alex like a fist, a strong contrast to Cawarthin’s foul humidity.

It was more than a little relieving.

“I’m glad we’re back,” Theresa whispered, holding Alex’s arm. “That terror-field kept trying to get into my mind. All I kept thinking about was all these horrible things that might be happening to you. It took everything I had not to run into the jungle and chase you down. But… that would’ve only made things worse.”

“I’m glad you stayed near the portal and safe,” Alex said, rubbing her side. “Last thing I would’ve wanted was for you to come back without a spell-mark.”

“I know,” she said, kissing him on the cheek, making a face as his scraggly beard scratched her face. “Please get rid of that thing.”

“That just makes me want to keep it,” he said proudly, running his fingers through it.

“Ugh.”

As the last of the group filed through the portal, Baelin turned, waving a hand and speaking a quick word. The gate shuddered in the ruin’s doorway, shimmering then vanishing as though it had never been.

“Well,” Cedric sighed. “We’re all done. Guess it’s back to Thameland?”

“Not quite yet,” the chancellor said, waving his hand toward the square.

There was a pulse of teleportation magic and the air wavered. An instant later, comfortable chairs appeared—fitted with overstuffed cushions—in a circle within the ruined square.

Baelin gestured to the seats in invitation. “This is a class, my young, Heroic friends. And as such, it would be useless if I were to simply throw you at enemies without you learning anything.”

“Learning?” Drestra glanced around. “Won’t we do that back at the Research Castle? New spells and such?”

“Indeed, just as promised,” the ancient wizard said, strolling to one of the seats and sinking down on the cushion. “However, the combat that you just undertook is full of lessons of its own, but they will be useless if you don’t discuss and debrief after such a fight. And so⁠—”

Baelin smiled.

“—welcome to your first debriefing session of the Art of the Wizard in Combat. And as for the rest of you—” He snapped his fingers and the tracking orb appeared in his grip. “We will begin this session a little differently than previous times. With, shall we say, a spectacle to watch.”

Chapter 57

Replaying Illusion

“Aspectacle?” Alex asked, settling into a wide, cosy 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 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—it 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… 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 divinities 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, lifelike 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, and—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.

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

‘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’s 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 and 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, their illusionary selves continuing 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’s 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 when they burst through the wall and wreaked havoc on the demonic forces inside. The smile abruptly faded, a sour expression replacing it as the battle unfolded.

“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 the shadow leaped 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.

“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 end of the illusionary battle commenced. First came Azzad’s terrible lies, and fear played 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 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 bodyweight 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 kneecap with its own sword.

“Whoa, whoa, 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, nostrils snorting 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.”

Chapter 58

Reinforcing the Will

“And that, my friend, is a golden nugget that should be shared with your teammates,” Baelin said to Thundar, giving him an encouraging smile. “Would you mind expanding on that point?”

The minotaur looked uncomfortable. “Well… I know I was talking like I was a twenty-foot-tall badass or whatever… but not going to lie. Inside? I was scared shitless.” He tapped his skull. “The shit that big demon was saying got inside my head and so did the terror-field. So, it was like… all I could see were these nasty mental images of you all getting… mangled.”

Alex shuddered, recalling what had crept into his own head.

Some teammates were nodding. Seemed that he and Thundar weren’t the only ones affected.

“So, right away, I started using techniques from the cleansing movements,” Thundar explained. “I let those thoughts and feelings pass over me, acknowledging ’em as I did. But that wasn’t enough. Something about the terror-field made the thoughts… what’s the right word… sticky? Stubborn? They wouldn’t go away. So, uh…”

He cleared his throat. “I started saying things out loud to kinda deny those images, thoughts to anchor myself. Yeah, most of that muttering you saw me doing? That shit wasn’t spellcasting. I was saying, ‘I’m not afraid,’ ‘Baelin’s engeli are protecting my friends,’ and uh… ‘I can kill this bastard,’ over and over again. Something about hearing my own voice kept me grounded, and that helped keep the terror-field out.”

“Thundar… I’m so impressed with you right now, I am almost ready to vote for you as cabal leader!” Khalik laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “If anything, how you did what you did just makes it even more impressive.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the entire circle.

“Whoa, now.” Thundar held up his hands. “I dunno, like… muttering ‘I’m a badass’ over and over again to yourself is something that some crazy bastard would do. Or y’know… some try-hard who only dresses in black, even when it’s like the hottest day of summer.”

“No, no, no,” Alex insisted. “Listen, I’m not letting you do that shit to yourself. What you did was necessary. Anything you had to do to get that noise out of your head is valid. Some guy saying ‘I’m a badass’ repeatedly while he’s sitting in class, I mean, yeah, that’d make me cringe. But doing it so you can drive hell-magic out of your mind? That actually is badass.”

“I don’t know much about boys wearing black in classes,” Drestra’s voice crackled through her veil. “But I don’t think you should be embarrassed by what you said. I mean, it was a bit funny⁠—”

“Thanks,” Thundar said dryly.

“No, no! In a good way!” Her voice was warm. “And it helped destroy our enemy. So… I wouldn’t feel shame over it, if I were you.”

“Well, that’s the trouble with feelings, isn’t it?” Thundar shrugged. “They just happen. All we can do is try and steer ’em in the right direction and hope they lead us right. Or we can lead them right.”

A startled silence followed.

“Has… anyone ever told you that you’re rather wise for your age, Thundar?” Baelin asked.

The minotaur shrugged.

“Well, they should,” the chancellor said.

“I dunno, most of the time, I just say whatever stupid shit jumps into my head. Unless I’m meeting new peop—Wait, we’re supposed to be analysing the battle, not me!” Thundar raised his voice. “Right, so, I guess my point is that, well, you can use words to reaffirm to yourself what’s real and what’s magic trying to mess with your mind.”

“And that might be the greatest lesson you all take away from this venture,” Baelin said encouragingly, pointing to Thundar. “An iron will is often most helpful when it comes to defending against magic that strikes the mind or soul, but a Proper Wizard—warrior or Hero—enhances their own will using specific mental techniques to ensure they are not overcome. When one loses one’s mind? One loses all battles. And to that point…”

He looked at the group expectantly. “Now that we have teased out Thundar’s great wisdom, what else would you say that you did correctly in your undertaking? What do you think could stand improvement?”

“Well, I can think of a bunch of stuff I did wrong,” Alex grumbled, organising his notes. “First, I let us walk into the Hold without a way for us to see in the dark without giving away our position.”

“Oh?” Baelin leaned forward. “Do go on.”

“Well, I have to ask myself, what would’ve happened if the demons didn’t have those fork-traps down there? They can see in the dark, so why would they need light sources? They could simply leave their fortress pitch-black. For us to light the way, we would’ve needed forceballs. Forceball light would have just screamed, ‘Hey, we’re over here!’ to any demons within a few hallways of us. Lighting was crucial, and I overlooked it.”

He glanced at his notebook. “There must be some potion or spell that can let someone see in the dark. I’d be shocked if a wizard hadn’t already come up with something like that.”

“Indeed, a fine point,” Baelin acknowledged. “When a Proper Wizard is engaging their enemies, they must pick apart their advantages. From there, they can use their own magics to either remove those advantages or equalise matters by gaining the same advantages for themselves.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t account for that,” Alex grumbled. “That brings me to my next mistake… I didn’t really have a good way to disarm those fork-traps. If they’d been activated by proximity instead of a common word, we would have been done for.”

He scowled. “Then there was that mess with those damn hellhounds. You told us to expect the unexpected, but I let hellhounds catch me completely off guard. In the future—if my summoned monsters are out of sight—I need a way to recognise which are mine, and which are the enemies’.”

“Hey, man, don’t beat yourself up about that kinda shit,” Thundar said. “We all did good, and we all made mistakes. You acknowledge them, but no need to cut yourself to pieces.”

“But—”

“If you’re worried about me, don’t be.” Theresa put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Like Thundar said, we all did well, and we all made mistakes. We’re learning.”

“Aye, lemme tells yous this, I sure learnt somethin’,” Cedric said, his eyes growing distant. “That feelin’ o’havin’ somethin’ crawlin’ around inside yer head an’ body—fightin’ yer soul fer control—’tis a bloody awful thing. Like bein’ full o’snakes.” He shuddered. “I hated every bloody second of it, an’ I wish I could go back down t’ them hells n’ wipe out every last one o’ them kindsa demons… but runnin’ inta battle… that was my mistake, wasn’t it?”

The Chosen’s fingers flexed in his metal gauntlet. “I went off t’finish th’last demon an’ got us in bloody thick trouble. I made a stupid choice f’sure. We’d already chopped up two o’ them big ones, an’ when you’re fightin’ Ravener-spawn, y’press any advantage y’gets. Don’t make much sense stoppin’ t’have yerself a think.”

“It’s true,” Drestra’s voice crackled with frustration. “When Merzhin takes as long as he does to use one of his more powerful miracles, it sets us back. Pushing forward is what we were taught to do.”

“Yeah,” Hart agreed. “Leaving an enemy alive doesn’t make sense. Dead ones can’t hit back.”

“Aye, but that didn’t work out real well this time now, did it?” Cedric said.

“An interesting observation,” the ancient wizard remarked. “And why do you think that was the case this time?”

“I got cocky. Overconfident. Punched wit’out thinkin’. That kinda shite,” Cedric reasoned.

“Oh? Is that all?”

The Chosen looked at Baelin in surprise. “Beg pardon?”

“I encourage you to examine your conclusions more thoroughly,” Baelin said. “As Hart and Drestra pointed out, there are many situations in which seizing the initiative will help solidify victory, if not outright guarantee it. After all, such a tactic has worked well in your previous battles, has it not?”

“Aye… that’s so…” Cedric said slowly. “But it still went like shite this time.”

“And why might that be?” Baelin asked.

The Chosen frowned, falling into deep thought.

For a long moment, silence hung in the air while Cedric reviewed his part in the battle. Alex was also examining the fight and had come to what he thought was a sound conclusion.

He was about to raise his hand… but decided against it.

‘Better if Cedric answers. The Heroes need to learn how to do their own analysis and assessments.’

The Chosen ran his fingers through his long red hair. “Y’know… I gets the feelin’ that the problem coulda been that I had no bloody idea what them demons was capable of. A rush works on Ravener-spawn, but that shadowy demon thing caught me completely off guard.”

Alex and Theresa nodded.

“True. Very good.” Baelin’s voice was warm and congratulatory. “Seizing the initiative is right when you are guaranteed that such a tactic will undo your enemy, without that guarantee, taking such a risk could easily bring more trouble for you. Rushing ahead against a prepared enemy with unknown capabilities is likely a dangerous move to make.”

“Right…” Cedric said. “Learned that the hard way.”

“Indeed,” the chancellor continued. “It is important to know as much of your enemy’s capabilities as you can. If you do so, and you have the proper counters? You will master them. It is those unknown factors that bring the powerful to their knees and—unfortunately—even the greatest of Proper Wizards cannot account for all chaos in the universe.”

He looked over his students. “Is there anything else you feel you have gained from this experience?”

“Yeah,” Hart jumped in, looking at Alex’s group of close friends. “We worked pretty well as a team today… but you all clearly have a lot more experience working with each other. In the Ash Ravens, we also learned about each other. We’d know what our mates could do, and they’d know what we could do. Made working together a lot smoother.”

From the corner of his eye, Alex caught an abrupt shift in body language from the Sage’s direction. By the time he’d fully turned, she was completely still.

“Very good,” Baelin agreed. “Exploring your capabilities and learning to work around each other’s strengths and weaknesses will greatly improve your ability to function as a cohesive unit in battle, as well as in other areas. That said, you have already begun to work well as a team. Your natural compatibility is quite good. But with that in mind⁠—”

He looked at everyone in the circle slowly. “Keep in mind that you may not always have the privilege of choosing your most optimal allies when entering a battle. At times, you will be forced to work with strangers, for whatever reason that might be. In those times, let this experience serve as a reminder of how to handle such circumstances. Today can teach you how to adjust to new team members’ rhythms. Take this lesson with you as you work with others in the future.”

“That reminds me of another point of observation I wished to bring up,” Isolde said, raising her hand. “It was… an incredibly complex battle with many moving parts that I was not used to.”

“Go on,” Baelin said.

“Well.” She clasped her fingers together. “There were new members within our ranks, and not only that, we were fighting in a completely alien realm, a dangerous environment we had never been to before.”

“Yes,” Khalik agreed. “The demons were complicated opponents. They possessed a number of varied weapons, abilities and magics, plus there were a great number of them, and while some used crimson lightning, others were firing crossbow bolts at us. We also had to contend with the three sons’ magical laughter, and those unnerving shadow demons and their ability to possess us. All of this made it very difficult to track everything that was happening while also trying to think of proper counters at speed.”

“Excellent points,” Baelin said. “Unpredictability among your opponents only compounds as they increase in number. To counter this, one must consider multiple possibilities, grow one’s power and—as I said earlier—become used to working both with, and against new combatants, and that comes with practice.”

Alex nodded, thinking about what he would have to deal with in future. ‘One thing’s for sure,’ he thought. ‘Baelin’s right… I’m going to need people who aren’t my friends when I go down to the hells for information about the Traveller. It’ll be impossible for me to predict everything that could go wrong down there… and as much as I hate thinking this way, it’s better if something happens to people I don’t know, than to those I do.’

He looked at the Heroes.

‘The other thing I’ll need to do is to grow their power. And that’s something Baelin and I can start working on right away.’

Chapter 59

Preparing for Mad Experiments

“Let’s start with these. I believe you’ll find them useful,” Baelin announced.

A loud bang broke the silence as a neatly stacked tower of books dropped in the centre of a tabletop before the Chosen and Sage of Uldar. Two pairs of eyes travelled from the bottom of the pile, up to its full height of more than two feet. The Heroes paled.

“I… y’do know I ain’t never read that many books in m’whole life, right?” Cedric sounded uneasy.

“Neither… neither have I…” The Sage’s eyes were sparkling with excitement, though her voice held a hint of apprehension.

“And I do not expect you to read all of them now,” the chancellor reassured the two Heroes, pacing the length of the room, passing through rays of early evening sunlight.

Several hours had passed since their debriefing in the ruins, and the companions were back in Greymoor, meeting in different areas of the Research Castle. After a satisfying noontime meal, Baelin had ushered Drestra and Cedric into one of the castle’s more private studies.

Here—in this spacious chamber—dark-stained oak shelves covered every inch of wall space, brimming with texts both old and new. Most were largely useless for what Alex had named ‘Operation Grand High Ultimate Hero Transformation’—he was the only one calling the project that—being that most of the books here were on Thameish history, geography, various bestiaries, and other reference books that would have been helpful to a survey team, but not so helpful to natives of Thameland.

And so, Baelin had transported massive volumes about wizardry and spells from Generasi’s library. “I have taken the liberty of bookmarking certain passages referencing magical theory that would be immediately helpful to you, along with spells in several spell-guides that you would be well-advised to learn. Since I’ll be taking a hands-on approach in teaching you, I believe you will be able to pick up the concepts quite quickly since you are two very clever young people.”

“That’s a lot o’ faith you’re puttin’ in me,” Cedric said, standing up and carefully removing a book from the top of the pile. He began flipping through the pages. “Huh… might not be as bad as I was thinkin’… Seems I knows some o’ this stuff already.”

“Good. And that knowledge will serve as your foundation to build even further knowledge,” the ancient wizard said. “Do not be afraid, and besides, I shall assign you both your own tutor.”

He gestured to Isolde and Thundar seated at a table nearby.

The minotaur was peering intently at Baelin. “Okay, uh… I get why Isolde’s here,” he said self-consciously. “She’s all super brainy and everything, but uh… why me?”

“Because you have a gift for cleverly applying spells,” Baelin said. “I believe it will be a good experience for you, and you are already well-equipped in tutoring others. After all, you crafted an entirely new illusion spell for Alex and then taught it to him. Apply such ingenuity when educating the Sage, and I am sure you will both learn a lot.”

“Yeah, oka—Wait, I’m teaching the Sage?” A note of surprise was in the minotaur’s voice.

“I’m teaching Cedric?” Isolde whispered.

“I’m fine wit’ that,” Cedric said quickly.

“Indeed,” Baelin nodded. “Thundar, Drestra has a—relatively—better understanding of magical fundamentals than Cedric does, so she would benefit from your experience in wielding both spell and mace. You can teach her new perspectives on empowering allies and such. Isolde’s grasp of magical theory is undeniably well-advanced, which will be most useful in catching up Cedric in that capacity.”

“O-okay, but uh,” Thundar said. “What about Alex? Wouldn’t he be more qualified to teach than me?”

Baelin glanced at the door of a private reading room a short distance away. “He is occupied at the moment, but your underestimation of yourself will deny others your impressive skills, Thundar. I demand you stop it.”

“Yes, where is all of that ‘I should be the cabal leader’ talk now, Thundar?” Isolde asked. “I must say, I find this newfound humility of yours… far more fitting.”

“Now don’t you start making fun of me,” Thundar grumbled.

In the reading room, Alex closed his eyes, focusing on his mana as it gently passed through Hart’s lifeforce. “You feel any pain yet?” he asked quietly, both hands pressed to the Champion’s broad back.

“Meh, there’s some tickling still, but nothing hurts,” Hart grunted, glancing down at a Wizard’s Hand busily writing in one of Alex’s notebooks. “You getting everything you need?”

“Yeah, I am.” Alex passed his mana through Hart’s muscle fibres. “These are the same combination of spells I’ll be using to empower your body, but for now, I’m just getting a feel for what your lifeforce is like. When Cedric’s free, that’s when I’ll begin the process. So, look forward to it… probably.”

“I was looking forward to it up until that suspicious-sounding probably,” Hart said. “What’s with the probably?”

“Well, Mana-to-Life and Warp Flesh are a very effective combination, but they’re finicky. Real finicky,” Alex said, using Warp Flesh spell to continue examining Hart’s lifeforce, while avoiding actually warping his flesh. “I’ve used it on myself, but obviously, I know my own lifeforce really well. Since I don’t know yours, using it on you will be a lot trickier. Sorta like fighting while you’re blindfolded.”

“Ah yeah, well, that’s what Cedric’s healing’s for, right?” Hart chuckled. “And why you’re gonna be testing it on someone expendable and not on one of your friends?”

Alex froze. “You’re not expendable.”

“Yeah, but you’d be a lot less broken up if you accidentally screwed my head on backwards than you would if you messed up this magic stuff on your girlfriend, am I right?”

“Well, I⁠—”

“None of those fancy words, now, just give it to me straight.”

“Yeah… you’re right.”

“Atta boy.” Hart shrugged. “I know what I’m getting myself into… mostly. So, what’s this magic-y stuff gonna do to me again?”

“It’ll enhance all your senses, make you stronger, faster, tougher,” Alex explained, moving his mana into the Champion’s core. “You’ll heal faster and—with me there stimulating your muscles while you train—build strength really fast so that you reach new limits of your physical power.”

“I like the sound of all that good shit.” Hart chuckled darkly. “It’ll be just like when I got Marked. My strength, speed, and stamina shot through the roof. Hah, having that happen again? Oh boy. That’ll be something. I’ll be cutting through demons and Ravener-spawn like a blur.”

“Yeah, well, don’t blame me if Cedric has to put you back together a few… dozen times,” Alex muttered.

“I won’t, I won’t. Probably.” Hart grinned over his shoulder.

Alex snorted, taking his hands away from Hart’s back. “Alright, that’s enough for now. I think I’ve gotten a good feel for your lifeforce to begin making a plan. How much time do we have before you need to get back to Merzhin?”

“Well, that mission Merzhin’s on with your people is gonna take about four days. So… y’know. You got the rest of today and three more,” Hart said.

“Plenty of time, then,” Alex said, noting a time beside his notes. “I’ll go over these tonight and solidify a plan. After that, we can get together with Cedric at dawn and get started on making you into a new man. If we brute force it, we might be able to purge your body’s impurities tomorrow. After that? You’ll need to rest for a bit, then we can get to the training. Oh, right, does the Mark of the Champion let you heal faster?”

“Yep.” Hart rose from the chair, reaching for his shirt on the table.

“I thought so.” Alex took a look at his notes. “You have a very powerful lifeforce, so that doesn’t really surprise me. How much faster would you say?”

“Most bumps and bruises are gone after a nap.” The Champion buttoned his shirt. “Cuts take longer… never really timed it… but they heal faster than before I got Marked.”

“Hmmmm, it’d be better if I knew exactly how much faster, but I’ll take it.” Alex added another note. “Since you’ve got the Mark already empowering your body, I suspect this method will work even better on you than it did on me. So, with that in mind…”

He clapped Hart on the shoulder. “Kill some damn monsters for me when we’re finished, okay?”

“Hah!” The Champion clapped Alex on his arm. “That’s the plan, man. That’s the plan. Merzhin doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Alex’s smile faded. “Right… the Saint… What’s he like anyway? What’s your impression of him?”

“Hm?” Hart stepped back, cinching the clasp on his cloak. “Whaddya mean?”

“I’m curious about him, and—right now—he’s off on a mission with one of my friends,” he said, feeling a little strange calling Carey his friend. “So, I’d kinda like to know what sort of man he is.”

The Champion’s large eyes squinted at the shorter man, and he leaned against a wall. “Tell you what. You tell me about that hot redhead, Tyris, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about our Saint friend.”

“Tyris, eh?” Alex leaned back in a chair, kicking his feet up. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Hah, has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a type?” The Champion smirked. “And don’t let your girlfriend hear you talking about another woman like that.”

Now it was Alex’s turn to smirk. “She knows that I have eyes, but I’m loyal, and not stupid.”

“Hah! Fair enough. Alright, then, I’ll go first… so Merzhin.” Hart took a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t give him much thought outside of whether or not he’s got my back in a fight, and he always does. He’s zealous to the extreme, but he doesn’t really mean any harm by it, at least I don’t think he does.”

He gave Alex an appraising look. “He’d still drag your ass to the priests if he could, so I don’t think you’d really like him too much, but I’m sure that’d go both ways.”

“Sounds like he gets along with others, though?” Alex asked. “If he’s got your back, I mean. Doesn’t sound like he’s a bad guy.”

“Well, I don’t think he is, but I don’t think he’s got too many friends either.” Hart shrugged. “Drestra doesn’t like him, and he doesn’t get along with her. Even with all that aside, I don’t see him talking or joking with too many people.”

“Oh?” Alex frowned.

“Yeah, he’ll minister to the knights and rangers that follow us, but he won’t drink with ’em. He might break bread with you after a sermon, but he’ll mostly eat alone. Takes water instead of wine, doesn’t really talk much outside of praising Uldar.” The Champion shrugged. “That kinda thing. It ain’t bad, to be honest. We had a few guys join up with the Ash Ravens that were like that. But, that kinda thing don’t really help you make friends, unless they’re as into Uldar as you are. Otherwise, it’s just a wall between people, y’know?”

“Yeah…” Alex said, remembering Carey’s overwhelming passion for Uldar. “But that’d let him make friends among the priests, right?”

“Dunno. I’ve seen them talk to him a lot, sure, but they treat him more like a… kinda like a boss, or their leader?” He snapped his fingers. “They treat him like they treat the really big, fancy priests in the capitol! You can’t really call that friendship. Though maybe you can, I dunno. I’m not ‘King of Friends.’”

“Right…” Alex said, thinking hard. “That sounds a bit sad, to be honest. But, I guess Carey and the others will be in good hands.”

“Probably. Now, enough boring shit. Tell me about Tyris!”

Alex gave Hart a look. “Do you like lava?”

“Huh? Well, I’ve seen it up north. It’s cool.”

“And do you like turtles?”

“Yeah, cute little guys.”

“Well, you’re already off to a good start.”

Alex—the Fool of Uldar—woke long before sunrise the next morning, prying himself off the makeshift pillow he’d made using a folded up towel on his desk. Stretching his back, then cracking his neck, he rotated his arms, letting his gaze settle on the vast sea of notes lying around.

Crumpled balls of parchment, numbering dozens, littered the back of the desk alongside discarded notes, and bits of scrap paper.

Partially-completed diagrams overflowed a trash can near his feet.

Shredded strips of paper were scattered over the stone floor.

But among this disastrous ruin of ink and discarded paper, sat a completed notebook.

The cover simply read: The Great Hart Champion Amplification Plan. Version 3.

He’d finally completed his plan for enhancing the Champion’s body.

“I hope this works,” he muttered, standing and stretching his arms behind his back. “If it does, I could have a paper on my method in Baelin’s hands in less than two weeks. It could even start a blood magic revolution.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled a few times.

“All in all, it was a night well spent.”

Cracking his knuckles, Alex grabbed the book and prepared for the day.

Chapter 60

Hart’s Transformation and Cedric’s Horror

“So, this thing you’ll be doin’ won’t kill Hart, right?” Cedric was strapping the Champion of Uldar to a long, narrow table. He gave the thick leather bindings a dubious look, eyeing the heavy metal buckles. “What in all hells is this place for anyway, torture?”

“It’s actually an operating room, used to do research on certain living specimens when they’re captured in the wild. You know, Ravener-spawn and the like,” Alex said distantly, checking his notes one last time. “Hence the straps.”

“Riiiiight.” The Chosen eyeballed a glass cabinet full of instruments—scalpels, bone-saws, brain-hooks, and eye-gougers. “But er, I’m bein’ mighty serious here… will dis kill Hart?”

“Probably not,” Alex said.

“Probably.” Hart shrugged.

“Ugh, I hates th’both o’ yous,” Cedric muttered. “An’ t’think, I was wonderin’ if I could be next in line if dis works on Hart.”

Alex looked up expectantly. “You could be.”

“Er, no that’s, er, never mind, I think I’ll be fine jus’ the way I⁠—”

“Actually, you’re right,” Alex interrupted, picking up a wooden bucket and placing it on the floor at the head of the operating table. “We need you for healing when I inevitably start ripping Hart apart.”

“Yeah, right, speaking of that, you got a gag or something?” Hart asked. “Might start screaming and don’t wanna bite my tongue.”

“Good point.” Alex looked at Cedric. “So yeah, you wouldn’t be able to heal yourself if I’m ripping you apart, man. At least, not reliably.”

The Chosen looked from the Fool to the Champion. “Y’both are bloody touched in the head, y’know that?”

“Meh, sometimes being crazy gets things done.” Alex rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s get started. I want to get this done so I can go cure Thundar’s hangover, and have you upstairs in time for your date—I mean, tutoring session—with Isolde.”

Cedric grinned at him. “In due time, friend, in due time. Once all dis Ravener an’ trainin’ madness has calmed down, I’ll step out wit’ her proper-like, if she’ll have me.”

Alex was a breath away from saying: ‘I don’t think you have to worry about that. She was already looking up marriage traditions. You should probably run,’ but he managed to resist.

“Can we get started already?” Hart asked. “Operating table’s cold, and I’d like to be either powered up or dead by mealtime, please.”

“Right, let’s get to rebuilding your body, then.” Alex rubbed his hands together again. “So, Cedric. What I’m going to be doing is pretty similar to a technique that Grimloch and Theresa use: life enforcement. It literally enhances your lifeforce and body.”

“Oho!” The Chosen raised an eyebrow. “Explains why the pair of ’em are so bloody quick on their feet, an’ why she’s so strong, t’boot! An if’n it’s makin’ that big sharkman even stronger, why don’t everybody do it?”

“Yeah, I want a piece of that,” Hart agreed.

“Well, you can only use it if you’re compatible with it. What I’ll be doing is brute-forcing the first stage of life enforcement using a little cocktail of spells to clear your body and lifeforce of impurities.” Alex cracked his knuckles. “When I’m done, maybe see Theresa. She might be able to teach you the real thing, if you’re compatible with it, that is.”

“Aye, I’ll keeps that in mind,” Cedric said. “So, you was explainin’ somethin’?”

“I was saying,” Alex continued. “What I’ll need you to do is use your divinity to heal Hart the second I tell you to. These spells aren’t exactly the most… refined, so I’m going to make mistakes. You’ll be our safety net.”

“I’ll be ready,” Cedric vowed. “Seems simple enough. When’re we startin’?”

Alex looked down at Hart. “You ready, big guy?”

“Yep, just give me that gag, and I’m good to go,” the Champion rumbled.

“Oh ya, I’m sure you’re gonna need it.” Alex snagged a sanitised gag off a nearby shelf and secured it around Hart’s mouth, making sure the wooden tongue depressor was set between his teeth. “Alright, don’t hate me for this. You ready?”

The Champion of Uldar nodded.

Alex looked at Cedric. “You ready?”

“Aye, let’s see this fancy, dangerous shite o’ yours,” the Chosen said.

“Okay, then let’s get to it.” The Fool placed his hands on Hart’s bare chest.

He cast his spells.

Mana to Blood.

Warp Flesh.

Then poured his mana into Hart’s body, seeking the miniscule fibres that made up the Champion’s form. Calling on the Mark, he passed mana through him repeatedly, exploring every aspect of his lifeforce.

From the Mark, images of the examination he’d conducted the day before appeared, helping him guide mana through Hart’s body. For a span of twenty minutes, Alex simply moved his energies back and forth, letting the Mark hone his skills as he directed his mana through the Hero.

“Alright, I think I’ve gotten used to your insides.”

“Mmmmf,” Hart mumbled.

“What was that?” Alex lifted the tongue depressor from between Hart’s clenched teeth.

“I said, well, that’s something you never want someone saying to you,” Hart grunted. “I take it this is where the pain starts?”

“Yep, could be. You ready?”

“Not exactly th’most comfortin’ thing y’coulda said there, Alex!” Cedric shook his head.

“Better hard truth than sweet lies.” Alex shrugged.

“I hear that,” Hart agreed. “Gimme the gag, then let’s go.”

The Fool placed the tongue depressor back between Hart’s teeth, and once again poured mana into the Champion. Using Warp Flesh, he ran a mana current through muscle fibres, ligaments, and even bones, hyper-stimulating the tissue.

Hart’s body abruptly stiffened on the metal table—the mana current contracting the very fibres of his being—and limbs twitched from intense stimulation. The Champion’s eyes flew wide, his skin reddening with each heartbeat.

“Alright,” Alex said. “I think it’s—No, wait, shit!”

Something tore.

Hart roared into his tongue depressor, his hands balling up in agony.

“Cedric!” Alex cried, cutting Warp Flesh.

“Shite!” The Chosen leapt in, both hands shedding a blueish-white light. He called upon a miracle of Uldar and pressed his hands to Hart’s midriff. “Oh, Mighty Uldar, I ask you hear the call of your servant and share your divinity with the stout-hearted soul before me.”

Glowing divinity swelled into incandescence around his hands as light flooded Hart’s body. Beneath his skin’s surface, dozens of injuries healed as the ruddiness retreated from the giant man’s skin, leaving him drenched in sweat.

“You alright?” Alex watched him with concern.

Hart shook his head.

“Should we stop?”

Hart shook his head harder.

“Holy shite, you’re a bloody pair o’madmen.” Cedric stared at the Fool and Champion.

“Yeah… I get that a lot…” Alex said. “Hmmmm, I wonder…” He reached back into Hart, feeling out the man’s muscle fibres. “Dammit, I was hoping for a shortcut.”

“Mmf?” Hart grunted.

“Part of what I’m doing is hyper-stimulating your muscles so they tear themselves apart. At the same time, I’m feeding you with Mana-to-Life to lessen the pain while your muscle growth accelerates and you get stronger.” He nodded toward Cedric. “I was hoping Uldar’s healing miracle might make things easier if we used divinity to put your body back together, but… seems like the miracle heals you back to exactly how you were when we first started.”

He shook his head. “We’d just be tearing your muscles apart to always put you back to square one. You wouldn’t retain any gains.”

There was a long pause.

“I… didn’t understand most o’ that,” Cedric admitted. “But what’ch’you mean’s we can’ts use my divinity to make this go any faster?”

“A little worse,” Alex said. “Until I get this right, we’re going to lose any progress we make each time you heal Hart.”

The Champion let out a sullen grunt.

“Yeah, I agree, it’s annoying as hell.” The young Thameish wizard turned to his notes, willing a Wizard’s Hand to cross out a notation. “But that’s the thing with science; sometimes eliminating a possibility is progress… in its own way. Even if it’s a possibility you were hoping for.”

“No offence, but science sounds like a load o’ disappointing shite.” Cedric looked completely unimpressed.

“Well, sometimes that’s absolutely right,” Alex said. “Ah well, that’s often how it goes. There’s no shortcuts for things worth doing. Alright, are you ready, Hart?”

The Champion nodded.

“Cedric?” Alex looked up at the Chosen.

“Hey, I ain’t the one bein’ shredded up like a piece o’ leaf in a buck’s mouth.” He held his hands up. “I’m just the one puttin’ things back together. I’m good whenever you’re good.”

“Alright, back to it, then.” Alex placed his hands on Hart’s chest.

He called on the Mark, letting its images wash over him, searching out what he’d previously done well.

Then, he ran the mana current through Hart’s body again.

The Champion stiffened, his skin turning bright red and a choking sound escaping his throat. Alex adjusted the current with care using Warp Flesh, searching for the right balance of hyper-stimulation.

Another tearing sound.

Hart jerked in his restraints.

“Shite!” Cedric was at his side in an instant, healing divinity knitting the Champion’s body. Hart’s breathing calmed and Cedric let out a deep breath.

“Y’sure y’wanna keep goin’, mate? This shite looks brutal,” Cedric asked the fellow Hero.

“Mo’,” came Hart’s muffled, determined reply.

“Jeez, you’re tough,” Alex said admiringly. “Alright, again, then.”

He channelled his mana current through Hart and—again—something precious tore. Cedric called on his healing miracle. The Champion nodded for the Thameish wizard to keep going. Again and again, Alex passed the mana current through Hart, always tearing something within minutes. And each time, he made progress, advancing a bit more before hearing that now familiar tearing sound.

“We’re getting there,” Alex said, watching more of Uldar’s healing light pass into the Champion.

“Say… can’t we just, I dunno, give ’im a bunch o’ booze or somethin’?” Cedric asked, his eyes pleading. “Somethin’ t’put ’im t’sleep, or at least kill the pain.”

Alex sighed. “I thought of that. There’s a sleeping draught I could brew, and there’s herbs and tonics that dulls the nerves and reduces pain… but there’s a couple of problems with that.” He focused on Hart, monitoring his condition. “One of the reasons this is so hard is because I’m working semi-blind here. When I did it to myself, I could feel it the moment I did something right, or the moment I did something wrong.”

He tapped the table beside Hart. “The problem right now is that I can’t feel what you’re feeling, so I’ve got to rely on whatever my spells are telling me—which isn’t all that much—and whatever reactions you’re having. If you’re asleep, that’s one less set of reactions for me to go by, and more chances that I’ll really mess something up. The other thing is—if you’re asleep—you can’t tell me to stop. And the moment you say stop, this ends.”

“Doth shtop,” Hart growled, resolve filling his large eyes.

Cedric threw up his hands. “You’re bloody right ’round the bend, mate. Both o’ yous.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re going to feel like a new man when we’re done.” Alex began pouring mana into the Champion once again with care.

Heartbeats passed.

Heartbeats turned to minutes.

Minutes to an hour.

An hour to two.

Over and over, Alex ripped Hart’s body apart with Warp Flesh, poured vigour into it with Mana-to-Life, and had Cedric heal the injuries he’d caused. And he caused many over the slow passage of time.

Yet, each time, the damage took longer to happen. Each time, his control over Hart’s flesh grew more precise.

After two and a half hours, his control had finally reached the point of being fine-tuned enough for Cleanse Flesh…

And so, another hour passed.

Then another two.

Then three.

All three young men had fallen silent, consumed by determination and concentration. Alex was in awe of Hart’s resilience. Even with Cedric’s healing miracles supporting him, there was little doubt in the Thameish wizard’s mind that the process would have killed most people he would have tried it on.

Only the Champion’s bottomless well of stamina kept his heart beating and his body from collapsing into lifelessness as Alex’s mana lashed his every fibre over and over again.

With the Mark’s support—and their perseverance—the mana currents passing through Hart’s body finally balanced. Life-to-Mana fed him, flooding him with renewed vitality, and with Cleanse Flesh washing through every fibre…

…the giant of a man gave an immense shudder.

A stench filled the air.

A sudden ripping noise cut the air as Hart’s muscles flexed, then his limbs burst free of his restraints. The Champion flipped onto his side, tearing the gag from his mouth, and retched onto the floor.

A stream of black gunk poured from his lips, splattering on the stone.

“Oh shite!” Cedric shouted, charging forward with Uldar’s light shimmering around his hands. “Are y’dyin’?”

“No!” Alex stopped the Chosen. “No, no, no… the exact opposite of dying!” A huge smile took over his face. “It worked! His body’s cleansing itself of all the impurities that it was holding on to. His lifeforce’ll be a lot stronger after this!”

Raising a trembling hand, the Champion gave them a thumbs-up while he spewed foamy, black filth on the floor.

“Shit, Hart, use the bucket!” Alex grabbed the pail, shoving it below the stream gushing from the Champion’s mouth. “Congratulations, Hart, your new path to power begins!” He looked up at Cedric. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s stinkin’ like manure in here, and that you’s both are cracked!” Cedric shook his head, one hand pinching his nose. “I mean, I hopes this does wonders for y’Hart, but you’re bloody cracked. And ugh!” The Chosen’s face scrunched up. “That stuff bloody stinks!”

Hart hawked out a wad of slime then grinned, showing black-stained teeth. “Let’s see you call me cracked when I’m tearing demons in half with my bare hands.”

He gagged, cringing away from the bucket. “But you’re right, that stuff really does stink.”

Chapter 61

Growth and Minions

“Just keep going, I got you!” Alex shouted, pouring his mana into the Champion.

“Hah! Don’t gotta tell me twice! This feels amazing!” Uldar’s Champion laughed, the sound roaring through the moors.

Heavy links that formed a massive chain whirred through the air above Hart’s head, the oak of a man swung the attached ship’s anchor in great arcs, cutting the air with a noise like a trebuchet stone soaring for a fortress wall.

His bare torso dripped sweat and was flushed a deep red, chest muscles flexing, veins prominent against moist skin. His lips curled back, eyes burning with exhilaration.

“Look at this! I feel like something outta some legend!” Floating high above the snow, the Champion shifted his grip on the colossal chain and angle of his swings, training muscle groups cording his trunk.

With every swing, he raised his legs, quadriceps bulging beneath his trousers. A half-dozen thick leather straps were attached to his legs, each connected to iron chains dangling some ten feet below, suspending rocks sizable enough to strain the back of a young giant.

Hart would lift then swing his legs, controlling the stones’ movements. Muscles, joints, and tendons strained with each motion.

Alex sat on Claygon’s shoulder—gripping his aeld staff and anchoring himself, focusing on Warp Flesh and Mana-to-Life a safe distance away from the laughing Hero.

“How is it, doc?” Hart spun like a top, anchor and boulders whirling all around him. “You need a break?”

“Do I need a break?” Alex laughed. “You must be out of your mind. I could do this all week!”

‘For the love of the Traveller, take a break, you damned maniac!’ Alex actually thought. ‘Your body guzzles lifeforce like a… well… like your mouth guzzles booze! I’ve run Hsieku’s technique through my mana pool so many times, its fibres are literally going to grow arms so they can beat the shit out of both of us!’

“Hah!” Hart laughed. “A whole week? I just might take you up on that.”

With a whoosh, the Champion flipped in the air, swinging the ship’s anchor on a low angle. Iron struck snow, sending a cloud of white drifting through the wintry air.

“We can’t stay that long, Hart!” Drestra shouted, a note of longing obvious in her crackling voice. “…No matter how much we might want to.”

“Hey, never mind that big bastard, don’t pay attention to him. Pay attention to this big bastard.” Thundar was staring down at the two Sages of Uldar standing before him. “Hmmm, not bad. Not too bad at all.” He took a look at her feet. “But, your illusionary double doesn’t look like she’s standing in the snow. That’s the thing with illusions, easiest way to see through them is when they don’t interact right with the environment. It’s something you need to remember when you create them.”

“Oh, damn.” Drestra laughed, her true form looking down at where her duplicate’s legs ended, vanishing where its ankles met unbroken snow.

“Yeah, it’s just something to watch for,” Thundar said. “Oh! And while I remember, keep in mind that your illusion won’t leave tracks in the snow. So that’s something you’ve got to watch out for. It’s all about the details.”

“You’ve really thought this stuff through.” Drestra and her double floated above the snow as she examined it thoroughly. “If I’m flying, though, I won’t be touching the snow, so that wouldn’t give the illusion away, right?”

The minotaur grinned. “Now that’s using that big, Sage-y brain of yours. Next, we’ll go over some enhancement spells. They’ll help you and anyone you fight beside… Especially the guy getting stabbed right now.”

A short way off, Isolde was stabbing Cedric in his gut.

“Ah, yes, this is excellent work!” she said enthusiastically, driving her dagger into his stomach again and again. “You learned greater force armour incredibly quickly!”

“Aye, well, s’agood thing too…” the Chosen sounded uncomfortable. “You’re uh… not holdin’ back, are ya?”

“Baelin emphasised the importance of not doing so,” she said, aiming for his neck. Her blade glanced off an invisible barrier of force. “And he was quite correct, I can see that now. Though, I must admit, I was horrified at the idea at first.” She stepped back for leverage, firing a force bolt at his right thigh. A crack came as the spell splintered against the Chosen’s armour. “Think of it this way: it is far better that you discover that your force armour has weaknesses when I, with my thin arms and dull knife, am attacking you, rather than a bone-charger rushing at your skull.”

“Aye, that ain’t wrong…” he muttered. “Feels wrong, though.”

“Embrace the crazy, Cedric!” Hart roared. “It’s the path to unlimited power!”

‘Well, he’s not wrong, there,’ Alex thought, his eyes scanning the Heroes.

It was a day since the trio had spent hours in an operating room augmenting Hart’s body. The plan to elevate the Heroes’ skills and powers was proceeding better than he’d expected. Both Chosen and Sage had nimble minds and were quick learners—Drestra in particular—they’d grasped the utility spells Baelin had selected for them as fast, or faster than, any student enrolled at the university.

‘Those big mana pools do let them practise a lot,’ Alex thought. ‘Should’ve known they’d catch on fast.’ He looked up at the Champion. ‘But Hart’s the one who’s gotten the real boost.’

As Alex marvelled at his transformation, the Champion swung the colossal weights like they were as light as pebbles.

Alex felt a measure of pride.

When he used the process on himself, he’d been building strength for a year—and had a solid foundation—but Hart was altogether a different story. He was a big man, born with great strength, deep stamina, and easy agility; a natural athlete. Then, the blessing had come, and he’d been Marked as Champion of Uldar, empowering his body far above human limits. With the Mark and his natural abilities, he could have easily wrestled Grimloch, despite the sharkman cultivating his lifeforce.

Now, less than twenty-fours hours later, he’d transformed, unlocking vast depths of physical power, his strength had nearly tripled, and those gains showed no signs of slowing.

‘He could be at least ten times stronger by the time he plateaus,’ Alex thought, continuing to feed the big man’s lifeforce. ‘Possibly twenty… maybe more. He’s faster and tougher too. Good. Ravener-spawn or demons won’t know what hit them. And if the church wants to come against us? Oh boy.’

Alex’s attention turned to his notebook, willing Wizard’s Hands to make a new notation. ‘I should be able to finish my preliminary paper soon; just have to name the process,’ he thought. ‘Roth’s Radical Rebuilding of Muscles has a nice ring to it. Maybe I’ll pitch it to Baelin.’

He glanced at the book that Claygon was reading, then at the stack sitting in one of the golem’s palms.

‘All those books remind me—classes will be starting soon,’ he thought. ‘Back to learning more spells, blood magic, and alchemy. And I still want to find a spell that lets you see in the dark. No way I’m going back to the hells without something like that.’

He watched Hart swinging his chains for a time. ‘I’ve got the bakery to check on, see how the work’s coming; I’ve got Toraka’s golem to finish too… Lots to do, and I definitely want that stuff done before I go looking for information about the Traveller.’

He rested an elbow on his dangling legs, chin falling into his palm. ‘On the chance that something happens to me down there, I want the bakery finished and that golem complete. That’ll give Selina and Theresa a place of their own to live, and a nice nest egg to keep them comfortable. Oh, shit, Claygon’s speakerbox. I definitely want that done…’

His eyes fell on Thundar, reflecting on their trip to the hells. ‘And I need to start thinking about who I’m going to hire to go down there with me. Ripp’s a must; his speed’ll be key for infiltration and information gathering. But… shit, who else?’

Alex considered whether he knew any warriors and spellcasters who’d be willing to cross the planes for a generous payday. None came to mind; none to suit his purposes anyway. ‘They have to be good in a fight, obviously, but—as the terror-field really showed us—they’ve got to have a strong will and be able to keep their wits about them. Even if I bring the most vicious warriors ever to walk the earth, it won’t help if their minds crumble as soon as some hell-magic gets to them.’

He tapped a finger on his knee. ‘They also have to be trustworthy… Which means either I’ve worked with them before, or they come with really good recommendations. Or, they come from a guild or mercenary group that’s highly recommended. Hmmmm, maybe some of Hart’s people?’

Once again, his eyes fell upon the enormous warrior. ‘Maybe, but then again, the Ash Ravens don’t sound like the type to walk into the hells. If I wanted to kill a wizard? Sure. But literal armies of demons? Probably wouldn’t take the job. Also, getting involved with someone who knows any of the Heroes is probably not the smartest thing a missing Fool should be doing.

‘Maybe I can ask Baelin. He used to work for kings, hunting assassins… maybe he’d know some good people. Yeah, I’ll ask him about it next time I see him. In the meantime… I wonder when Zonon-In’s going to show up with another demon lieutenant for him to beat the shit out of?’

“Mercenaries, you say?” The ancient wizard stroked his beard-braids as the wind rattled their bronze clasps. “An interesting question.”

“A life-or-death question, to be honest,” Alex said. “Literally.”

The pair of wizards stood on a balcony high up on the Research Castle with the cool night wind blowing lightly through the moors. Layered in fur—atop a warming spell covering his body—Alex found himself a little envious of Baelin’s natural coat of fur.

‘It must be good for dealing with the cold,’ he thought. ‘It’s probably pretty awful during Generasi’s hottest days, though.’

“Indeed, the choosing of mercenaries is a life-and-death matter. Often for the mercenaries and—sometimes—for the wizards hiring them,” the chancellor said. “It is a skill that many Proper Wizards must master: minion recruitment.”

“Oh… uh… I wouldn’t really call hired people minions,” Alex said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, what would you call them, then?” The ancient wizard raised an eyebrow. “Followers, perhaps? That would imply they are following you due to a cause, or your personality. Cohorts? I’ve heard that term used for the closest of followers—for some reason—but you are not seeking such a thing.”

Baelin chuckled. “Alex, you are literally seeking to hire individuals to help you in a task because strangers are more expendable than friends.”

“Uh… that sounds awful when you put it that way, but… yeah, I guess,” he admitted.

“And they are following your commands because you are paying them. Mercenaries? Yes. Hirelings? Another correct term. Minions? Absolutely. You are hiring minions, like a Proper Wizard would!”

“Okay, okay!” Alex threw up his hands. “So, how do I hire good minions?”

“Now you are asking the correct question, and let me tell you, that is a dilemma that ancient warlords, powerful archmages, and the wealthy have grappled with for time immemorial. How does one find competent minions? How does one build trust? How do they function as a conqueror’s force?”

“Whoa, Baelin, I’m not trying to build an evil doom army here.” Alex raised a brow.

“Not yet. In any case… you’ll want competent individuals willing to work for payment who will venture into the hells willingly, and not melt the first time a succubus or incubus looks at them while biting a lower lip. I understand.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where to begin.” Alex frowned. “The monster hunters in Generasi seem good, but… I don’t know many of them. And it’d be better if I could find actual specialists in demon-slaying.”

“Hmmm… what would you be willing to pay?” the archwizard asked.

“Not my soul.” The young wizard didn’t hesitate, making his position crystal clear.

“Oh, bah, that would be boring…” Baelin looked off into the distance. “There is a place where I think you could find what you are looking for. Stout-hearted adventurers with iron will, luck, and skill. But it is a place that is difficult for even I to locate reliably. It… moves about, for lack of a better way to say it. Once I do find it, though, the payment will be expensive.”

“Less expensive than putting my life in shitty hands? I’d have to say that being cheap could come with a pretty high cost.” Alex’s tone was grim. “I’ll pay what I have to.”

“Very well,” Baelin said. “Give me some time, and I shall take you there.”

“Really? I thought you said it’d be hard for you to locate.”

“It is, but I know someone who tends to keep track of it. He shall find it quickly,” the goat beastman said.

“Who is it?”

“A member of my own cabal. It has been far too long since we last met. Perhaps it is time we meet again.”

Chapter 62

Moving Day

“Yes, that’s it, my minion!” Alex laughed maniacally. “Work for me!”

“Will you stop calling me that!” Selina grumbled, hoisting a box out of the sky-boat and onto her shoulder. “I’m not your minion, you big jerk!”

“You must be!” Her brother gestured to the sky-boat—laden with boxes and furniture—hovering a foot above the cobblestones. Powerfully built labourers were unloading the vessel, carrying boxes through the bustling street to the bakery’s front door.

“I told you to let us and the movers carry everything, but you’re choosing to lug around those heavy boxes. So, you must be my minion!” Alex laughed, erecting a mighty tower of unassailable—but terrible—logic. “Besides, Baelin says that Proper Wizards hire minions.”

“It’s okay, Selina.” Theresa hoisted an enormous crate over one shoulder. Her eyes twinkled in the morning sunlight. “In a lot of the old stories, minions betray their evil wizard masters and destroy them. So, you have that to look forward to.”

Selina threw her older brother an appraising look. “I like the sound of that…”

“Hey!” Alex whined, picking up a chair. “I resent that! I am a kind master!”

Selina rolled her eyes, watching Claygon lift an armoire from the sky-boat. “Is Alex a kind father? I’ll take your silence as a no.”

‘Wait… what?’ Claygon’s head whirled toward Selina, but the little imp was already staring at Alex with a toothy, victorious grin.

“See? Rebellion time,” she whispered, turning back toward the bakery.

For a moment, the young girl stood completely still, taking in the building’s lines, her green eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe this is all ours,” she said in awe. “It looks so different now.”

Over weeks of renovating, deep cleaning, and painting, the bakery had transformed from a vermin nest, to a charming home and welcoming business. The brick was restored from the dingy mud colour covering it—alarmingly reminiscent of dry dung—to a vibrant, inviting red. New windows—some clear and some crafted of varied shades of blue stained glass—sparkled in the sunlight between wooden and iron shutters painted black.

A freshly whitewashed front door—complete with a massive brass handle—stood open, waiting for the bakery’s new inhabitants to move their belongings into their home.

After much preparation—two weeks into the winter semester—moving day was finally here.

“Yeah, I can hardly believe it myself.” Alex’s smile blazed with pride. “When you’re older, I’m going to have your name added to the deed, Selina. And yours too, Theresa.” He chuckled. “What’s my kingdom, is your kingdom!”

‘It is… it feels warm, Father.’ Claygon had also stopped.

“It’s beautiful.” Theresa sighed, admiring their new home. “I couldn’t ask for a more perfect place for us to live in.”

“Oh, bah! Perfect?” The broad-shouldered wizard barked out a laugh. “You’re exaggerating. This is but a fine beginning, my lovely huntress, wondrous golem-son, and fine minion-sister! I know you would love a nice little hunting lodge somewhere in the countryside, Theresa, and you’d better believe that I shall provide! How would a nice big manor house—or heck, a palace—suit you? All with fine architecture? If I keep working on what I’m working on, all that and more’s going to be possible.”

Selina looked up at Alex, her eyes shining. “All that sounds nice, but this is still perfect. It’s ours. The first home that’s all ours since… well…” She took a deep breath. “Since the alehouse burned down. That makes it special.”

“I agree,” Theresa said. “Don’t go buying half the world on my account, Alex.” She smiled, her face alight. “This is one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I just wish Mother and Father could see us.”

“I wish our mom and dad could see us too.” Selina sounded a bit downhearted.

“Well, I’m sure they know about it,” Alex said. “They’re probably watching from the afterworld, and they’re really proud of us.” He looked up at the sky. “At least, I hope you are, Mother and Father.”

“They have to be,” Selina said. “I’m doing well in school. You got us this wonderful home, you’re even helping the Heroes. They have to be proud.”

Alex gave her shoulder a squeeze. “No doubt, Selina. I’m sure you’re right.”

‘If only there was a spell that could let me ask them,’ he added in his thoughts, grabbing another chair and carrying it to the bakery alongside his family.

Inside, the transformation was just as marked as the one outside.

Brand new tables and dining chairs filled the bakery’s eating area, sitting atop newly planed floorboards stained a deep burgundy. The smell of freshly seasoned wood mixed with a delightful aroma drifting in from the kitchen.

Alex could hear bellies rumbling in response to the delicious scent as the movers arranged the dining room or took boxes up the recently installed stone staircase leading from behind the shop’s counter, to the living space above.

The young wizard put down the chairs he’d been carrying, nodding to a mover who’d just come downstairs. “Would you mind taking that big box from my stubborn little sister? I mean, she’s a little… little.”

“Oh, well, we can’t be having little ones do the work of grown folks.” The heavy-set man tromped over to Selina, taking the box from her. “You, little lady, can direct me where to put this.”

“Hmmmmmm… okay,” she said. “It’s this way!”

The man smiled at Alex. “I’ve got a couple of young ones myself. I know how it is.” He followed the young girl upstairs while another mover eyed Theresa, still holding the enormous crate balanced on one shoulder.

“Should… I take that?” he asked, reluctance screaming loudly from his tone and body language.

“Meh, I’m alright.” She bounced the box.

“Yeah, she’s probably the strongest of everyone here,” Alex admitted, pride filling his voice. “Well, everyone that’s not a ten-foot-tall stone golem, that is.”

“Ah, right then. I’ll fetch something else.” The labourer headed back outside.

‘I am very… strong,’ Claygon confirmed through their mental connection, climbing the—reinforced—steps, carrying the armoire up to the second floor.

“I’d better get this upstairs too.” Theresa followed in the golem’s footsteps.

“Alright, I’ll meet you up there.”

“Boss!” Troy poked his head out of the kitchen door. “Just wanted to tell you that the bread’s nearly done. Lunch’ll be ready within the hour.”

“Excellent!” The Thameish wizard clapped. “How’re you liking the kitchen now that it’s all remodelled? Anything you think we’ll need to change?”

“Oh no, boss, it’s brilliant.” The baker was all smiles. “The new ovens are perfect, the kitchen supplies are top notch, and you got us some proper ingredients.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Alex gave him a thumbs-up. “Well, if you think of something that’d make your job faster, better, or easier, don’t be afraid to tell me. We can have a chat about it.”

“Sounds good!” Troy actually giggled, sounding like a delighted child as he made his way back inside the kitchen, humming a little tune. “Best boss I’ve ever had, and I only just started working for you.”

Alex couldn’t help the little thrill rising up in his chest. “And this is what coin’s for.” He whispered. “Making sure less people have to work for the McHarris’ of the world. Oh, and being able to buy whatever you want and bury yourself in hedonism, I guess. But that’s no fu—No wait, that actually sounds pretty fun.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A nearby worker interrupted Alex’s train of mad thought. He and another mover were carrying a large, steel box. “You said you wanted to show us where the boxes in the basement should go, sir?”

“Oh, yes! Follow me.” Alex gestured to a side door. “You can’t access the basement from the first floor. Safety first, and all.”

“Right, sir.” The taller of the two movers grunted, balancing his side of the heavy box in his grip.

The tall young wizard led the moving men up the stairs to the second floor, through the living space, which, at the moment, was a chaotic mess of partially-unpacked boxes and scattered furniture. Most of the furniture for their new home was bought the week before in a flurry of a shopping trip Alex had taken his family on. Even Brutus had gotten something: a plush, oversized down-filled dog bed he was presently sound asleep on, curled up in the corner. All four paws were moving like he was running, and one of his heads was snarling, while another was growling and whining. He’d made himself right at home.

Most of the furniture in their insula apartment belonged to the university—and for the time being—they were keeping the place for convenience, like for mornings when they had early classes, or for late night ones, or when Theresa had to be at the beastarium, or Alex had to teleport to Greymoor.

And so, they’d made a day of choosing enough furniture to supply a three-story building. Some would have to be custom made and would be delivered when it was ready.

Of course, a lot of their personal items had already been carted over from campus by the movers, and much of Alex’s equipment went straight into the basement.

His new lab was coming along nicely.

“Down here.” He gestured to the movers, opening a door of magically treated iron. Through it lay a staircase, well-lit by lights in steel sconces. “The stairs were reinforced, and they’re sized for bigger folk than humans, so watch how you step.”

Carefully descending the stairway to the renovated basement, they reached Alex’s pride and joy, his own in-house laboratory, complete with stone walls of magically treated steel. Tables and equipment were being set up by some of the movers, while a specialist was performing the finishing touches on a protective summoning circle on the other side of the basement.

The lab wasn’t as secure as those found in the Cells, but it was more than sturdy enough for his crafting and summoning projects he had in mind for the near future.

He could start building Claygon’s speakerbox in this very room, and he was getting more excited just thinking about it, about hearing Claygon talk for the first time.

“You can put the box over there.” Alex pointed to a corner of the lab nearest a mana vacuum. “After that, I’ll come with you to get the next one. We should be able to get most of the lab unpacked by the time our lunch is ready.”

“You don’t have to feed us, sir,” the short labourer said, taking the box over to the spot Alex indicated.

“But I want to feed you.” The tall wizard smiled. “And in return, you can tell people that this bakery’s days of selling terrible food-poison-giving food is long gone.”

“If that bread tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll tell everyone I know.”

“Glorious, and I⁠—”

“Aleeeex!” Theresa’s cry echoed from upstairs. “You’ve got a visitor!”

“Oh, that’s me!” Alex said to his workers, moving to the steps. “I’ll see you all outside!”

Taking the stairs two at a time, he emerged from the basement, expecting to find one of his friends waiting, or maybe even Baelin.

What he was not expecting to find was Toraka Shale standing among the chaos of his sitting room, a small brass box in hand. “So.” She took in the sitting room. “This is what all my coin buys, is it?”

“Toraka!” Alex blinked. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Of course you would be, but we’re neighbours now, and what kind of neighbour and business partner would I be if I didn’t bring you an appropriate housewarming gift,” she said dryly, glancing around. “You’ve really transformed this place, no denying it. I thought you’d taken leave of your senses when you bought this… well, I certainly can’t call it a dump anymore.”

“Yeah, I could see what was hidden under the surface, and it really did need a ton of work, but it’s paying off.” Alex pulled out a chair from between the sea of boxes. “Do you want to have a seat? I know it’s kinda upside-down in here, but we could clear a space and I could put on some tea or melt some chocolate from the kitchen? If you stay for a bit, we’ll be having lunch soon.”

“Oh no, that’s quite alright, Alex.” Toraka raised her hand. “I have to get back to work soon, and you don’t need me hanging around on a big, busy day like this. So, without further ado.” She handed him the brass box. “I think you’ll like this.”

Puzzled, the young wizard took the box, placing it on the closest table and undoing the metal clamps sealing it shut. Lifting the lid, he found an inner lining of emerald-green velvet holding⁠—

“A sound replicator!” Alex cried. “Holy crap!”

“The same kind that’s in my music golem, though a little larger.” Toraka smiled. “I know you’re about to build a speakerbox for Claygon, and this will let him make any sort of music, sounds, or voices he wants to.”

“This… this is an incredible gift,” Alex said, gratitude plain in his voice. “Thanks for this, Toraka. I’m going to make sure I finish Claygon’s speakerbox as quickly as I can.”

He glanced up to the floor above where he could hear his golem moving around. “But, I think the thanks will sound a lot better coming from him.”

“Good and—after you’re all set up here—I want you to finish our special project with me.” Toraka’s eyes twinkled. “I’m very excited to see the product in action.”

“And I won’t disappoint you,” Alex said. “You’ll have the second finest golem you’ve ever seen.”

Chapter 63

Loud and Clear

“Take a good look, Claygon. You too Selina, Theresa—and you too, Brutus!” Alex spread his hands over a row of alchemical components on the table. “All of this stuff? This is what’s going to let you talk, my golem buddy. This is what’s going to let you sing.”

‘I… can’t wait… to sing…’ Claygon’s excitement bled through his link with his father.

“Claygon says he can’t wait to sing,” the young wizard translated for his audience. “And, buddy, you won’t have long to wait.”

“I can’t wait to hear him sing.” A delighted Selina was almost vibrating. “And talk. It’s not fair that you’re the only one who gets to hear him.”

Brutus’ massive heads timidly sniffed the elements that made up the speakerbox: a casing of hardened steel, Toraka’s sound replicator, and a few more internal components.

“Wow!” The huntress patted Brutus’ middle head, peering at the parts on the table. “These look pricey.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Alex said seriously. “It’s because they are. Especially the sound replicator. Toraka was an absolute saint to gift it to us.”

“Yeah, she sure was. How much would something like that cost?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Fair enough. Well, she’s welcome to share anything I kill any day.” Theresa examined another component. “What are these other parts?”

‘Yes… what are they, Father?’ Claygon leaned in, inspecting the metallic items.

“I’m so glad you both asked.” Alex pointed to a funnel-shaped device. “This is an amplifier. Toraka’s sound replicator’s very, very good for a musical golem that sits on a desk in an office, but you need something with a lot more oomph and more bass if you’re going to be shouting over the noise of a battlefield.”

He pointed to another device, this one resembling an eight-pronged magnet. “Now this is an interesting little part that I found in a corner shop that Professor Jules recommended. Their deals are absolutely criminal. Anyway, this is a mana interface, specifically a model with an attachment function.”

Alex reached up, tapping Claygon’s barrel-like stone chest. “The interface is what’s going to let you actually use the speakerbox. It’ll connect with your internal, artificial mana, just like your fire-gems do. It’s not going to be as well-integrated as if I’d built it into you when I was first attaching the fire-gems, but it’ll still do the trick. The neat thing about it, though, is how it attaches to you.”

Alex ran his finger around the front of his neck in an arc. “At first, I was thinking of making the speakerbox something you could wear around your neck like a necklace, but… I came to the very scientific conclusion that the idea was an incredibly stupid one.”

‘Because… it could get torn off… when I am fighting?’

“That’s exactly right.” Alex turned to Theresa and Selina, who were looking questioningly at the golem. “He said it could get torn off while he was fighting.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Theresa said. “He takes so much punishment that a random chain could melt or snap like a twig.”

Selina winced at those words. “I’m glad you can protect yourself and Alex, Claygon, but I wish you didn’t get hurt so much.”

‘I detect damage… but feel no pain.’ Claygon patted Selina’s shoulder with a large, stone finger. ‘Worry not.’

“Claygon says he doesn’t feel pain,” Alex said. “In any case, what the attachment function does is create a mana current between your body and the speakerbox, and uses it to actually secure the box to you. It’ll also spread your mana all through the speakerbox’s structure, which will pass along some of your sturdiness to the box. In the same way that regular clay and stone’s nowhere near as strong as your body is, the mana current will make the box stronger too.”

He tapped the steel casing. “This should make it so that it won’t break easily. Of course, you make so much mana that I’ll have to do some modifications, or you’ll probably blow up the entire speakerbox as soon as I attach it, but I’ve got a way around that. What it comes down to is that in the end, the box should be able to take a couple of direct hits from a demon’s warhammer and hold up just fine. I’m still going to add some extra shielding, which can’t hurt, but it should do what we want it to do just fine without it.”

‘This sounds… like a lot of work, Father… and you’re not as strong as I am… you get tired.’ Claygon bowed his head. ‘Thank you… so much for doing this.’

“No need for thanks, Claygon, I want to do this for you.” Alex smiled, patting the golem’s side. “Now, then!” He clapped his hands. “If I could get you all to mask up and stand back, I’ll get started. This process doesn’t involve anything strongly reactive—so no danger of blowing us up, or melting anyone, or disintegrating our bodies, or freezing us solid, or frying us in a massive jolt of electricity, or blasting us to component atoms or⁠—”

“We get it, Alex,” Selina said dryly.

“Yeah, okay, you probably would.” He scratched at his beard—which looked slightly better groomed after a few lessons, tools, and beard oils from Khalik—and turned back to the worktable. “It’s not dangerous, is what I’m saying. Theresa, if you could keep Brutus out of the way, though, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Done and done,” Theresa said. “Come on, Brutus! Let’s go upstairs for a bit. I’ll be right back, guys.”

He kissed her cheek. “Looking forward to it.”

Rubbing his hands together, he began suiting up for the build.

Over the past few days, Alex had made a few practice runs using bits of scrap metal he’d forged into shapes similar to the speakerbox’s components. He’d simulated the building process repeatedly, using the Mark to hone his skills.

At the end of it all, he’d discovered that the practice runs really hadn’t been necessary. His skills in building and alchemy had grown and advanced with every project he’d crafted to this point. However, this project was personal, it was for Claygon, so every extra bit of care and caution he took was well worth it.

He also couldn’t ignore how precious and expensive the components he’d be working with were.

Squinting through the lenses of his protective mask, he wielded a fire magic-powered soldering torch as deftly as if he’d been born with it in his fingers. With his mana running through its inner circuits, it produced a steady, very hot flame, which he carefully brought into contact with the amplifier.

There came a hiss of flame on steel, and—behind him—Selina’s stifled gasp reached him.

“Are you alright?” Theresa’s voice sounded muffled, her mask muting it.

“I’m okay.” The young girl’s tone was steel. “I’m okay.”

“Tell me if you’re ever not,” the huntress said, her voice calm and reassuring.

‘Father… I have noticed that you often ask Selina how she is… when there is fire near… Has she had an accident with fire, or is she afraid of it?’ Claygon leaned over Alex’s shoulder, his focus now on the young girl. Alex felt his curiosity bleeding through their link.

‘There is something. I’ll tell you about it when I finish the speakerbox,’ he thought as sparks began to fly.

With great care, Alex attached a bit of mana conductive solder to the end of the amplifier, melting it in place. With one quick motion, he took up the sound replicator, running his mana current through it, then pressing it to the solder. Metal bonded to metal, and Alex’s mana began flowing through both amplifier and sound replicator in a single continuous current.

‘Excellent. Good bond.’ He glanced at a pair of Wizard’s Hands waiting off to the side.

The duo of force spells drifted over to him, taking both speakerbox components in a firm, steady grip. Alex willed them to remain perfectly still—ensuring the bond would not release—then picked up a cryowand.

He spun it in his fingers, and a big smile crept across his face. It had been one of the very first devices he’d learned about in Professor Jules’ advanced alchemy class since the semester began.

‘A cryowand is invaluable to the alchemist who needs to solder something quickly.’ The professor had held up the device in front of the class. ‘It’s also very useful for alchemists who are conducting heated reactions that have finicky temperature requirements. It can pull heat away from any precise spot you direct the wand’s ice magic to, which then allows for rapid spot-cooling. Take care with it, though, since it requires very precise mana manipulation. So—unless you are a complete madman, like some alchemists are—I would strongly, strongly suggest that you do not jump ahead and start experimenting with a cryowand. Even if you do happen to have access to one outside of this classroom.’

The accusatory look she’d given Alex at the time had been one full of flint, vinegar, fire, death, and knowing.

Of course, without a shred of guilt, he’d immediately bought one for his lab and used the Mark to master it in a very short space of time. His mana manipulation abilities had grown to such an advanced level that the tool had been fairly basic for him to grasp.

Running his mana current through the long, thin device, he generated a spark of absolutely cold ice magic, pressing it against the solder gently, quickly cooling the substance without it cracking.

Setting it aside, he touched the sound replicator again, running his mana current through it and nodding with satisfaction when the current passed freely between both components, he then reached for his soldering torch.

Painstakingly, the components were attached to each other. An audio processor to translate Claygon’s mana into a signal the sound replicator could interpret, allowing the mana interface to pass mana from the golem to the other components.

He took up the steel casing next, soldering a pair of connections between the metal and the mana interface, and then forged it all together.

Another application of the cryowand, and the treasured object was finished.

“And, here it is,” Alex announced proudly, holding up the device gingerly as though it was a priceless artefact he’d uncovered from the ancient world. “Your speakerbox is all done, buddy.”

‘Is… I cannot believe it… I will be able to talk…’ Claygon’s voice murmured in his mind.

“We’re going to hear his first words!” Selina cried.

“This is big,” Theresa agreed.

“Are you ready, Claygon?” Alex faced his golem holding up the box, his full attention focused on him.

‘I…’ The golem looked over his family slowly. ‘I am ready… I want to talk.’

“Alright, then here we go.” The young man reached up, pressing the speakerbox to the stone chest. “Don’t worry, it might take a few minutes to calibrate.”

The moment the contacts of the mana interface touched Claygon’s torso, a loud rumble and hum cracked the air as the golem’s power coursed through it. The steel jerked free of Alex’s grip, sealing itself to the stone with the sharp clink of a lock.

Humming rose, increasing in volume, changing from a deep crackle to a high-pitched whine.

The golem stood very still, waves of confusion and panic reaching through the link with his father.

“It’s okay, Claygon,” Alex reassured him. “I know it feels weird, just let it do its work. It’ll feel better when it calibrates.”

‘I…’ the golem’s voice came through their link. ‘I want to go outside.’

Without another word, he turned, climbing the stairs to leave the lab.

“Is something wrong?” Selina asked anxiously.

“No, Claygon wants to be outside.” Alex followed his golem. “The speakerbox is calibrating, and it’s making him feel weird.”

“Is he okay?” Theresa asked, climbing the stairs after her partner.

“He should be, but I’ll take the box off soon if he still feels strange. I imagine it’d be like having an extra arm bolted onto your body. I’d feel strange too!”

Running after the golem, they ascended the building floor by floor. Claygon’s great strides carried him up the stairs far quicker, and his speakerbox made peculiar noises with every step.

In one stride, it crackled.

In another, it whined.

For a brief, terrible instant, it gave a shriek so loud that Alex and Selina screamed.

“Is that normal?” his little sister asked.

“It should be.” Alex sounded unsure. “At least that’s what Toraka said.” Mounting the last few steps, he burst into the sunlight dappling their rooftop patio.

There stood Claygon—his polished, white stone gleaming, and his fire-gems burning with inner light—staring up at the sky. Nearby, the aeld staff leaned against a trellis, emitting waves of curiosity and concern.

“Claygon, are you okay, buddy?” Alex, Selina, and Theresa rushed to his side.

Slowly, his great, stone head drifted downward, his gaze dropping as the speakerbox fell silent. The golem’s head stopped moving, stone eyes fixed on a row of budding flowers rising from a wooden planter box.

Nearby lay a book on gardening that Selina had read to him the first night in their new home.

A deep whisper emerged from the speakerbox, like a giant’s first breath.

“Daisies,” Claygon said, his eyes fixed on the smallest of the blooms.

Alex’s breath caught.

Theresa gasped, pulling off her mask.

Selina’s hands rose to her cheeks.

And Claygon turned to them. “Father, give me your answer… true… can you all hear me?” His natural voice was deep as the ocean, sounding like two mountains crashing together. It was a voice that rose from his mana core: the closest thing to his soul.

Alex swallowed. “I can hear you, loud and clear, buddy. Loud and clear.”

Chapter 64

Golem Songs and Minds

“You can talk! You can talk! You can talk!” Selina screamed, jumping up and down.

“I… I can talk!” Claygon’s voice boomed over the rooftops, rolling into white clouds high above. From a nearby building, a flock of pigeons fled, launching into the air, screeching in panic.

The golem froze, then shouted, “Sorry!” The word boomed through the entire neighbourhood. In the distance, dogs abruptly barked and howled, bringing Brutus bounding up the stairs, answering their frantic voices with his own rumbling growls.

Alex burst out laughing while his sister collapsed in hysterics, unable to stop giggling.

“That’s it, buddy!” he cheered. “Let the world hear your voice!”

“Yes!” Selina pumped her fists. “Shout! Let everyone know you’re here!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Theresa held up her hands. “Maybe we shouldn’t terrify our new neighbours three days after moving in. Might not be the first impression we want to give them.”

“I’ll speak… a lot quieter,” Claygon’s voice boomed from the speakerbox, dropping in volume with each word until it was only slightly louder than Alex’s. “Is… this acceptable?”

“Look how smart my son is! Hah!” Alex cried. “Yes, that’s perfect. Well, buddy? How’s it feel? How’s it feel!”

“It… feels… good… to talk in my own voice. Own… voice?”

Static crackled from the speakerbox.

What came next caught the young wizard by surprise: Claygon’s voice was now high and thin.

A child’s voice.

“How does this sound, Father?” he asked.

“It surprised me,” Selina cut in. “But I think it sounds cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah, cute. Like you.”

The golem cocked his head in confusion, and it was obvious. Alex decided not to examine too closely what it meant that he found a ten-foot-tall-doom-golem-with-a-permanently-snarling-face cute, and what that said about his mind. “Honestly, Claygon?” Alex shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your voice, and you’re one of the rare folk in this world who can choose what their own voice sounds like. You can keep your first voice, you can sound like a child—you are very young, after all—or you can even sound like a talking bear if you really wanted to. It’s your choice, buddy! And that’s the beautiful thing about it.”

Claygon watched Alex with care for a long moment, a flurry of emotions dancing through their link. Some happiness lay there, alongside nerves, and apprehension.

‘Choice paralysis,’ Alex thought to himself.

“You can take all the time in the world in making your choice. Heck, I built that speakerbox to replicate any sound you want. You can change voices every week or even every day if you want, just like how I would change my shirt and pants.”

“Thank you… I will take time… thinking about what I want…” Claygon said.

Another flurry of emotions. Happiness. More nerves. Relief.

“I would like… to make a song. Can I—” He paused.

Resolve flashed through their link.

“I will make a song,” Claygon said, his voice sounding like an old man’s.

A crackle rose from the speakerbox.

Followed soon after by a song.

It was a simple tune, one Alex remembered Toraka’s music golem playing in her office. It held a smoky crackle, giving the melody an ethereal softness, while the singer’s voice—a woman’s—was low, rich, and soothing.

The golem began to sway back and forth, calm spreading through his link with his father. And the song itself? A sad one. The singer’s words told of lost loves, regrets, the pain of loneliness, and the evils of drink. Her warbling tone was dramatic, meant to bring tears to the eye and melancholy to the heart.

But neither tears of sadness nor melancholy were anywhere to be found in Claygon. Only quiet, contented, triumphant emotions were what emanated from his core.

“The song sounds sad,” Selina whispered to Alex.

“It’s not sad to Claygon,” he whispered back. “For him? It’s a song of triumph.”

“A song of triumph.” Theresa’s hand slipped into his. “I like that.”

For a long time, the little family listened to the golem’s song as it drifted through the air and over the neighbourhood.

The only other sound to be heard was Brutus whining, communing with their canine neighbours baying in the distance.

Another day found Claygon making music again, though—instead of a sunny day on a rooftop—it was a cloudy evening deep within the bowels of Shale’s golemworks.

In Toraka’s lab, the golem leaned against a wall, softly playing a bard’s song of remembrance and battle, presenting a contrasting backdrop to the hiss of hot iron being connected to hot iron.

“Steady…” Shale warned, squinting through her mask’s lenses. “Steady… keep that alignment straight…”

“I’ve got it, Toraka, I’ve got it… Just this last part and… there we go.” Alex lifted the soldering torch away from the metal, scrutinising the joint between the golem’s arm and its shoulder. “It looks level to me. You?”

She paused soldering the plate she was attaching, taking in his work at a glance. “Perfect. And I’m almost done here too.” Carefully, the master craftswoman finished the iron golem’s leg joint, giving it a visual inspection and nodding to herself in satisfaction. “Very good. All done on this end.”

She took a few steps away from the vast craft table, regarding the iron golem from the tip of its toes to its crown. “That’s it. The body’s finished.”

“Good job,” Alex congratulated her. “And uh…” He looked at another table. “By the Traveller, I think we’re ready for the final step.”

On that table a massive orb lay, glowing with a purple-violet hue: the golem core for Toraka’s first dungeon core-infused iron golem. It blazed with an awesome power, and a deep well of inner mana sat within its form. To Alex’s mind, it was slightly on the unimpressive side.

Its power was a fraction of Claygon’s core, and it generated mana with far less efficiency. He saw it only as proof of a successful concept that could be brought to market.

But for Toraka, it was far more. The master crafter oozed excitement.

From time to time, she threw hungry, impatient looks toward the core, her eagerness bleeding from her body language in torrents.

And now?

Now, she watched it as though awestruck, a naked yearning burning in her eyes. “This is truly it, isn’t it?” Her tone was hushed. “I want to see it work.”

“Then, I guess there’s no reason to delay,” Alex said.

Together, they began the final process of attaching the core.

Strict procedure was followed, of course—though Toraka seemed almost keen to cast it aside—by attaching the mana vacuum to the core, ready to drain away uncontrolled mana should the golem go berserk.

With a pull of a lever, she raised the iron golem into an upright position, the head of the metallic craft table rising until the construct’s feet settled on the floor. Chains snaked down from the ceiling, wrapping around the iron body, holding it there and binding its movements in the event of a rampage.

From his place at the side of the lab, Claygon stopped singing, now watching the next step with interest.

“The golem’s going… to be born,” he spoke in the voice of a tenor, all clear, rich, and warm. “I’m glad… I get to see this birth.”

“If it’s half as fascinating as you are, I’m going to call this a major win,” Toraka said to him.

“I hope you get… your major win.”

“Well, aren’t you precious.” She chuckled warmly, looking at Alex as he locked a scaffold into place behind the iron golem’s back. “Did I ever tell you he’s precious?”

“You have, and you’re right.” Alex scaled the scaffolding. “And we’re going to give you a precious one of your own, soon enough. Care to do the honours?”

With surprising agility, Toraka clambered up the scaffold, scaling it with the ease of a squirrel. “Of course I want the honours—no, wait.” She placed one hand on the golem core, leaving room for Alex to take the other side.

They nodded to each other.

Then inserted the core together. With the greatest care, junior crafter and master crafter attached the core to the iron golem’s inner mana circuitry.

They poured in mana from the mana vacuum.

A pulse of power spread through the air as mana ran along inner pathways. The clinking of metal plates shuddered through the room as the golem’s body began to twitch.

“Here we go…” Alex murmured, his hand steady on the mana vacuum.

With a rush of power, the golem’s fingers clenched.

“Yes…” Toraka’s eyes shone. “I can feel our connection forming.”

The core’s internal structures ignited—power raged within the construct’s body. Slowly, the iron head turned, taking stock of the room from all directions.

Iron hands moved smoothly, spinning in their wrist sockets.

Hands clenched, snapping into fists.

The internal reaction settled.

Silence hung over the room until Toraka drew in a deep, trembling breath. “This is it,” she murmured in wonder. “It worked. The power, I can’t believe the power.”

“Welcome to the world…” Claygon spoke, his voice returning to its initial deep, gravelly, tones. “Do you… have a mind?”

Alex looked at Toraka searchingly, but she was already shaking her head.

“I don’t feel a mind in there,” she admitted. “Sorry.”

A flash of disappointment reached from Claygon to Alex, quickly dispersing.

“I expected… too much,” he said.

“Well, it’s often better that golems don’t have minds… uh, present company excluded.” Toraka smiled. “You’re a very good golem, Claygon, but I’ve heard of some nasty ones.” Her look turned grim. “I heard of a golem once who was owned by a wizard, who used to take it out hunting. Well, that golem developed a taste for blood and bonded strongly with its master. The master died one day, and the golem kept doing what it had always done: it hunted. But without the master to guide it, it took to hunting whatever it wanted.”

She sighed deeply. “And what it decided to hunt was people, for some reason.”

“Did the people harm him?” Claygon asked.

“No, it just didn’t like people. Or it decided to kill them because it thought they’d make challenging prey. Perhaps it was following one of its master’s last, crazed orders. No one knows the reason. All people knew was that the golem had to be stopped… and it took a lot to stop it. It was an iron golem and had a fair number of upgrades to give it extra power and onboard weapons.”

Her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she searched her memories. “I think… it had killed half a thousand people over a decade before it was finally cornered and destroyed. Awful story. And there’ve been many other golems who’ve lost themselves to some form of madness or another. It’s why sometimes it’s a good thing golems don’t have minds. One wrong turn of thought, and you have an immortal, almost unstoppable killer on your hands. No offence.”

Claygon paused, taking in her words for a long moment.

The connection between him and Alex was silent as the golem’s emotions went blank. Alex was looking at Toraka, hiding a mixture of anger and horror.

Her story had been true, and he’d heard similar tales before, but he couldn’t help but see what she’d said to Claygon as highly offensive.

Before he could say a word, though, the golem’s voice boomed from his speakerbox.

“I see… then, that makes sense…” His words were clear. “Golems with minds can be dangerous… So it is a good thing when they don’t have them. Then by that logic… people should not have minds either.”

“Yes… what?”

“I have… seen people… do evil things. Animals kill. People kill. Demons are immortal and they kill too. None of them… should have minds, then.” His voice was cold, devoid of emotion, and his stony gaze was fixed on the craftswoman.

“Well, I… uh… well… the thing about that is,” Toraka stuttered. “Well, I see that I’ve, uh, stepped in it, haven’t I? When you put it that way, it makes what I said a bit nasty, doesn’t it?”

“There is… truth in your words. There is… truth in mine. When golems are bad, you crush them. When people are bad, you crush them. When animals are bad, you crush them. When demons are bad, you crush them.”

“Well, that’s a simple way to put it… though I suppose it’s on point, without getting into the finer points of ethics.”

“It’s a start,” Alex said. “We humans haven’t figured out the ethics of the world in all its fine points. I don’t expect Claygon to figure them out without at least a few hundred years of thought.”

Toraka cleared her throat. “Anyway, sorry about what I said.”

“Apology… accepted. You will no longer be considered a ‘bad person.’ You will no longer be crushed.”

Both Alex and Toraka froze.

“Claygon…” Alex panicked, thinking back to earlier days where he chose violence regularly. “I⁠—”

“That was… a joke…” the golem interrupted him. “I have… learned of humour from Father. Ha… ha… ha… ha…”

Cold, stilted laughter boomed through the lab, cementing itself in Alex’s psyche, likely waiting to ambush him in his nightmares.

Toraka leaned into Alex and whispered, “You taught your golem to have a terrible sense of humour.”

The young wizard could say nothing in his defence as Claygon’s laughter filled the evening gloom.

Chapter 65

A Rich Woman’s Fun

There came a terrible crunch.

The sound of steel collapsing.

“Yeeeessss…” Toraka hissed, delighted with her new golem’s performance as it crushed the heavy metal sheet with ease. “This is excellent. Look how quickly it responds to my commands, and the power output… Simply beyond anything that even I’d imagined.”

“I agree. It seems to be pretty well at the upper end of expectations,” Alex chimed in, watching the iron golem tramp away from the crumpled metal.

It stomped toward a line of stone cones set up to test its agility and began weaving its bulky frame through them. The sight of a massive iron construct performing such precise movements wasn’t exactly common, but Toraka was nodding along as if it was the most impressive, natural image in the world.

Each footstep came like the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer with the peal of thunder, shaking the stone beneath their feet. Towering over Claygon by a good three to four feet and likely outweighing him by a couple of tons, the size difference between them was clear.

“It’s definitely more agile than a standard iron golem would be as well.” Toraka entered detailed notes on the golem’s performance into her log. “Much more agile.”

She nodded across the testing chamber to where an iron golem—of similar dimensions and physical design as the new one—was negotiating the exact same obstacle course.

The ungainly construct had knocked over several cones during the test, leaving them scattered across the path.

“The extra agility really expands the tasks it can perform,” she commented. “A golem could out wrestle a dragon, but if it trips over its own feet every time it takes a step, then its uses would be limited to the most basic of manual labour. Now… let’s move on and try a more direct test.”

As the two golems reached the finish line of their respective obstacle courses, Toraka snapped her fingers, bringing them to attention, their heels clanging together like trained soldiers. The iron giants turned to face each other across the broad testing chamber, bowing at her mental command.

Then, they charged like raging bulls.

“Holy sh—” Alex barely managed to stifle the curse word as the room shuddered from the impact of their footfalls, their weight pounding from stone to stone.

Claygon stepped up beside Alex and Toraka, intent on the iron golems.

With a tremendous crash, the metal titans collided, hands connecting, driving their enormous bulk against the other. A screech pierced the air as iron ground against iron…

A golem’s feet raked the ground as it was pushed backward. The dungeon core powered construct drove the older model back as though a bull were pushing a young boy.

Whistling her admiration, the master craftswoman began clapping. “This is excellent!”

Alex breathed a small sigh of relief. And as his mind often had a tendency to do, it conjured a horrifying scenario. The old golem was handily defeating the newly crafted creation, melting away his financial future in one fell swoop.

Such an image was soon erased by the look in Toraka Shale’s eyes, fixated on the new golem and dancing with undisguised greed. He could practically see coins piling up around her.

With another snap of her fingers, she stopped the contest. Both golems broke contact with the other, relaxing their grips and stepping back. They faced Toraka, giving her a deep bow.

“Alright, well, there’s one more test that we have left to do,” she said, throwing Alex and Claygon a sly look. “What do you say? Would you like to see a little prototype I’ve been working on?”

Excitement gripped the young man’s chest. “Hells yes, I would!”

“I… am interested too.” Claygon leaned toward the woman in curiosity.

“Good. You must share this with no one.”

Toraka clapped her hands.

A sound like thunder grinding on a cliff face echoed from the back of the chamber as an entire section of wall slowly rose, revealing a secret room. From within, a tall brass construct forged in the curious shape of a humanoid praying mantis unfolded its arms. Atop scythe-like blades on those arms sat a pair of hands, and in those hands was a tray held by elongated fingers possessing a dozen joints.

Upon the tray lay a curious device: a thick iron box, covered in dials, tubes, and exposed circuitry that wove together in a complex pattern. On one side, a hole big enough for an iron golem to insert its arm up to the forearm gaped. From the opposite side of the box a thick, heavy tube jutting more than half a dozen feet, protruded.

“What’s thaaaaat?” Alex’s eyes shone. “Looks like it’d make a very big boom.”

“It’s designed to do just that.” Toraka smirked. “I would like to introduce you to the Gale Force Cannon Mk. I Prototype.”

“Holy crap, that’s an awesome name. You’re good at naming things.”

“One of us has to be,” she murmured.

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “How does it work?”

“So glad you asked,” she said. “And my answer is that’s a proprietary secret. What I can tell you is that it produces a super-heated column of fire magic, further charged with a burst of lightning magic, all held within a force magic carrier wave.” A twinkle danced in her eye. “Add in a sprinkle of disintegration magic, and…”

“…and you have the coolest sentence I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Exactly.” She beamed as the mantis-construct bowed to the old iron golem, which inserted its limb into the hole. Energy sparked, emitting a pulse of mana so powerful, Alex’s hair stood on end. “It’s a bit of a pig on mana—for obvious reasons—so it’s built to draw power from a golem core.”

“Right.” Alex veritably drooled as a pair of stone golems carted out an immense steel target from a storage space. “Drawing power from a golem core puts less pressure on the device’s internals since some of the burden is offloaded by having its own power source. It’s a great solution. So, what’s the practical application, aside from rampant destruction—military use?”

“By the gods, no.” Shale laughed. “It’s far too expensive and impractical. For the same price as this, a kingdom could hire at least two dozen battle mages. No, this is a pure hobby. And a rather fun one! Observe!”

With the snap of two fingers, a blast screen emerged from the floor before her, Alex, and Claygon, thick enough to withstand explosive magic or deadly flame, yet clear and shielded by a force screen for them to view events behind.

A memory returned, the explosion caused by chaos essence and dungeon core essence coming together in Greymoor.

‘This… I have a memory…’ Claygon thought. ‘A bright light… standing in front of you, Father… to protect you…’

‘You remember that?’ Alex replied mentally as the golems set up two rows of giant steel doors.

‘I do… but it is… vague… I hope whatever happens… is not… so powerful.’

“So, we’ll learn a lot about both golems’ power output.” Toraka pressed a hand against the force screen, peering through it in anticipation. “If the new golem’s power output’s… well, we’ll see. Time for the first demonstration.”

A sudden surge of mana, and a hum of powerful magic coalesced.

The old iron golem pointed Shale’s deadly device at the closest line of steel doors.

Humming power built to a peak.

A beam of white light blew through the tube, lancing into the steel. Lightning crackled and a wave of heat shimmered, slamming into the shield like a runaway boulder. Alex reflexively recoiled. The beam—as thick around as his waist—tore through reinforced steel plate after steel plate, reducing five into smouldering ruins.

“By the Traveller!”

“Haha, pretty cool, eh?” Toraka grinned. “See, this is one reason having a lot of coin is nice. It lets you have all kinds of exotic fun. Now, let’s test my newest addition.”

Before them, the old iron golem was passing the weapon to the dungeon core-powered one, who hefted it above its head and inserted its arm. The rush of mana when it connected to the machine spiked to a higher peak.

Without hesitation, the golem turned the device to face the closer row of steel doors.

An immense power surge rocked the room.

The device rattled, its tube glowing lava red.

The beam forming was twice the diameter this time, bulging from the end of the tube, then tearing through the air. Slamming into the closest door, it burrowed through, leaving a smoking pile of slag behind.

Plate after plate ruptured into molten shrapnel, a trail of smouldering ruin hissing in the beam’s wake. The last metal plate split as the beam flew straight ahead, hitting the testing chamber’s back wall, blowing a ragged hole through it, and sending stone fragments pelting down like rain.

A line of smoke ascended from the tube, dissipating around the damaged wall.

“Hohohohoooooo!” Toraka cheered. “Now that’s power! The output! The efficiency! It’s incredible!”

“Hells yes!” Alex cried. “Look at that! It’s incredible!”

A tinge of envy flashed through him, and—for the first time in a while—he cursed the Mark of the Fool for preventing him from using and constructing weapons. The very idea of Claygon taking up a device like Toraka’s and blowing holes in ten demons at a time…

“That… is impressive,” Claygon said, his voice slightly distant.

Toraka’s cheering stopped, giving the golem an incredulous look, arching her brow. “Oh? You don’t sound impressed.”

“The device’s power… is very high. You have done good work… and the new golem has done very well.”

Again, that distance in his voice.

Shale squared her shoulders. “You still don’t sound impressed. Care to try wielding the device yourself?”

Alex’s heart skipped a beat in excitement. With Claygon’s power, he wondered just how much destruction it could cause. The golem looked at his father, as though poised to ask permission.

He paused.

Then marched forward, filling Alex with pride. “I… will do it…”

It didn’t take long for Toraka’s golems to set up another row of steel doors, ready for Claygon’s use. The four-armed golem gently took the device from the dungeon core-powered construct, his hand lingering on the other golem before he finally inserted a lower arm into the hole.

A wave of mana impacted Alex, and his skin tingled.

As Claygon aimed the weapon at the closest steel door, the young Thameish wizard was suddenly struck by the thought that this experiment might be—in fact—a bad idea. The iron golems produced only a fraction of the evolved Claygon’s mana.

And if the second one had punched through the wall in back of the chamber…

Alex whirled toward Shale. “Toraka, maybe we should⁠—”

But it was too late.

Claygon had activated the device.

A hiss followed a whine, and the sound of metal screamed.

The room shook.

Steel doors rattled as the stone golem levelled the device at his target. Humming power increased, rising to a screech.

There was a flash.

A terrible impact.

Crumbling stone.

Alex and Toraka cried out, their eyes stinging.

Then, it was over.

As Alex’s eyesight recovered from the blinding light, he gasped.

Five steel doors were gone. Just gone. The floor around them had crumbled into steaming gravel, and the device’s tube had melted, now in utter ruin.

“Oh… I broke it… I am so sorry,” Claygon muttered.

“Don’t be!” Toraka said excitedly. “Look at the devastation! The destruction! Claygon, I knew you were unique, but this… ohohoho, this is great!”

“You’re not… mad?” Alex asked.

“Of course, not! Claygon revealed a design flaw in the device, and now I get to rebuild it. Make it better.” Her eyes shone in anticipation. “And that’s what crafting is all about!”

She looked at her golem with pride. “And my golem represents a new stage in golem crafting. More efficiency. More power.” An evil grin took her features. “We’re going to have half the city’s wealthy tossing their golems aside for the new model. It’s perfect!”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Now we both have excellent golems.”

She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll start bringing my new golem out for demonstrations next week. Word will spread fast, and I’ll have kings from here to Thameland ordering one.”

She looked her golem up and down. “This is going to be a new chapter for both you and me, Alex. Forget that place you have across the street. In a year, you’ll be able to buy half the damned bakeries in Generasi.”

Alex thrummed with excitement, imagining the bright future that lay ahead of him, Toraka, Claygon, and his family. Things were looking up, now all he needed to do was breakthrough to third-tier spells outside of summoning magic and prepare for Baelin’s next mission into the hells.

But… a note of melancholy touched him.

And it took him a moment to realise that it was not his own.

Claygon was looking at the newest of Shale’s golems with a long melancholy note drifting through their link.

And his voice echoed in Alex’s mind. ‘Father… I wish to talk to you.’

Chapter 66

Hidden Thoughts and Hidden Stars

Night had fallen when Alex and Claygon emerged from Shale’s golem works. Generasi was now plunged in darkness only broken by the sliver of a new moon above, and an abundance of city lights all aglow.

To Alex, nights like these always held an eerie quality in Generasi. Whereas back home in Alric, thousands of stars spread across the sky during each new moon, seeming to awaken the night. During Generasi’s new moon, stars numbered few.

Professor Jules explained the phenomenon as something called light pollution—a term that had baffled him at the time—where the huge number of city lights stifled the stars’ own. She’d explained that some wizards had long predicted that this light pollution would eventually grow to be such a problem, it would interfere with the day and night cycles of people, monsters, and beasts.

For now, though, it was only the stars that suffered, but this still left Alex feeling a sense of tension when he watched the sky. He sometimes wondered if the Many-Spheres Theory was true or false; when the sky looked like nothing more than a black void, it was hard to imagine other worlds and pantheons floating up there among the hidden stars.

He looked at Claygon walking close by his side, their link utterly silent, making him wonder what thoughts were going through his golem’s mind, as hidden as the stars.

Suddenly, Claygon slowed, stopping in the middle of the street, his eyes fixed on their new home. A blip of emotion came through the link, fleeting, gone in an instant.

“Father…” Claygon murmured. “Can we not go home yet? I’d… like to see the aeld tree.”

“In Greymoor or my staff?” Alex asked.

“Both…”

“Okay, that’s fine by me. Whatever you need. Tell you what, I’ll go inside, fetch the staff, tell Selina and Theresa we’ll be out for a while, then we can go to Greymoor. I can even get a couple of our books to take with us. Sound good?”

“Yes… thank you,” Claygon said.

Campus was even darker than the city, and more stars peeked out from above.

Only a few more.

And as they appeared, Claygon began voicing what was on his mind.

The golem turned to his father, the light of the aeld staff reflecting off his polished surface and fire-gems. The staff’s curiosity flowed into the air. “Father… can I ask you a question?”

“Any time. Anything,” the Thameish wizard said. “Well, anything within reason. And any time probably doesn’t include after I’m dead. But if I’m asleep, you can wa—Okay, I’m nervous and rambling. Sorry. Sorry. What’s going on, Claygon?”

“Will… the new golem you made with Toraka… will it have a mind?”

Alex winced, wondering where this might be going.

Was Claygon bothered that the golem couldn’t think?

Did he want to meet more golems like himself?

“No, sorry to disappoint, but uh…” Alex scratched his beard. “I don’t think so. I’ll be honest, Claygon, I’m not really sure what made you evolve and develop your mind. But one thing I am sure of is that it has something to do with the dungeon core essence burning in your heart. And…”

He looked up at the stars. “Well, like I said, you’re special. I didn’t want to make loads of Claygons for everyone under the sun to buy. The thought of there being a bunch of you out in the world… well, I didn’t like it. So, I decreased the amount of dungeon core essence in Toraka’s golem’s core and changed the design to lessen the chance of mutation. Now, it’ll be less likely to develop a mind and evolve. I know you might not like⁠—”

“Good… I am glad it will not have a mind…” Claygon said.

“—yeah, I’m sorry, I mean—wait, what?” The young wizard looked at his golem sharply.

“Hmmm… were you… surprised?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. I thought you wanted to have more golems that were like you.”

“I don’t know about that… I was thinking about the story Toraka told… about the golem that hunted… I was wondering why he did that…”

“Yeah.” Alex pat Claygon’s arm. “I’m sure a lot of people were wondering why that happened.”

“That makes sense… but I was thinking… that the golem’s master… his father… did not sound like a good man. You take care of me… you teach me things… you fight and you fight with me at your side. I learn how to fight. But I learn other things… I like to do other things.”

“What else do you like?”

“You… our family… reading, music, lots of things,” Claygon said. “More than just fighting… but I like that too. If that master only taught the golem how to hunt? Maybe he… could have learned something new if he had the chance… but it was all he knew…”

“Oh wow,” Alex said. “That’s some really advanced thinking, there.”

“What… do you think?”

“You mean, about why that golem started killing people?” Alex blew out a breath. “I, shit, I don’t know, Claygon. Could be that you’re right. I mean, maybe the wizard also made his golem badly… or maybe the golem just really wanted to kill people.”

“Yes… I do not know… but I think a bad master would make a bad golem.”

“Maybe,” Alex admitted. “That could be true.”

“And that is why I am glad Toraka Shale’s golem will not get a mind… I do not think she would be a good master.”

Alex flinched. “Really?”

“She only looks at golems… like tools… even me, I think.”

“No, that’s not true. Not about you. She really likes you, and she treats you like a person.”

“I do not know… She is nice to me… but her golems, she treats them like tools… and she says it is bad if golems have minds…”

“Yeah, she did say that, didn’t she?” Alex glanced at a passing student hurrying back to the dorms. “I think it’s a complex thing. She honestly cares for her golems, but yeah, a lot of the time, I get the impression that she honestly does see you as a person… Oh jeez, now you have me wondering. Maybe she looks at you more like a curiosity? I don’t really know.”

“I think… if I belonged to her… she might not see me as a person… I think she would… look at me only for how useful I could be.”

“Well, I’m not sure. Honestly, unless she had a sapient golem of her own, I couldn’t tell.”

“You treat me… very well… You, friends, family… all treat me like I am made of flesh and have a heart… blood, like you. I do not think she would go that far. You would never say… golems should not have minds…”

Alex’s face flushed. “Yeah, I guess not. I don’t know what to say.”

“I am just glad I have the best father…” Claygon said.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad my golem’s the best too.”

The young man and the golem strolled across campus, toward the portal to Greymoor.

Claygon sang to both aeld tree and aeld staff, his music drifting through the dark night of the new moon. The Research Castle was still, save for his song and the quiet clink of guards’ armour as they patrolled along the outer walls.

Above, Greymoor’s skies were a sea of shining stars, unpolluted by the artificial magical light of a sleepless city. It was a comforting sight and a familiar one.

One that gave Alex a measure of peace as he practised a spell.

While his golem was serenading both aeld tree and staff—which was giving off waves of happy feelings—he was focused on learning a new spell.

Mass Darksight.

It was a spell that transformed the eye, allowing it to see in complete and utter darkness. A tricky third-tier spell, with a complex spell array.

With a growl, he aborted the spell for the thirtieth time, letting the magic dissipate while recording the spell array that had defeated him again.

“This is tough,” he muttered, sitting cross-legged in midair, hovering above the snow. A forceball served as his light source and a pair of forcedisks carried his spell-guide and notebook.

His eyes flicked toward the staff set in a snowbank between the tree and Claygon. The same emotions drifted from staff and tree, prompting a question in Alex’s mind.

“Does the staff have a different consciousness?” he murmured softly. “Or do the tree’s emotions spread into a new ‘body’? Jeez, doing a lot of thinking about what consciousness in magical items means lately, like when I was talking with Claygon.”

His eyes narrowed, scrutinising the staff. “There’s plenty of room in its inner core for new, more powerful magics. I could create an alchemical infusion of Mass Darksight and simply place it in the staff. Hells, I’m already doing that with a lot of spells. I could just put any magic I want in the staff, stop learning spells aside from summoning ones, then I wouldn’t lose all that time fighting the Mark.”

Alex considered what to do. “I could just focus on summoning and make up for all the other magics I wouldn’t be casting by using the staff’s powers and other magic items. The disadvantage of that is if I ever lost my staff, I’d be pretty screwed. Summoning magic’s very powerful. But what happens if I can’t use it?”

He rocked his head from side to side, deep in thought. “No, I’ve come this far. I’m just going to keep going with my plans.”

Turning away from the staff, he returned his focus to the spell once more, guiding his mind through the Mark’s interference and the spell array.

For much of the night, he kept going, his single-minded focus honed from hundreds of hours of practise. In some ways, the process had become easier, like the moves of a dance practised to perfection.

He was so used to contending with the Mark’s interference, it had become second nature, familiar. At times, his mind would even wander…

…which was why he didn’t notice that something had changed.

“Did somebody light a torch?” he murmured, glancing up at the walls. “It’s a lot brighter out here all of a sudden.”

He squinted at a dark corner of the courtyard, realising that he could suddenly see every single stone that made up the walls.

“Oh shit, it worked!”

He had cast Mass Darksight and made the breakthrough, casting a third-tier spell—not a third-tier summoning spell—without the help of that strange power.

“Thank the Traveller,” Alex sighed. “I did it.”

He waited for that surge of excitement that always came when he broke through to a new tier, but… nothing came.

“Huh. I guess it’s not as thrilling as when I learned third-tier summoning. But still, this is good. This is very good.” He made a note bolding 100% under the words Mass Darksight in his notebook.

Closing it, he turned to Claygon, ready to tell him of his success, but the words died on his lips.

The golem and the aeld tree were gently swaying back and forth with the wind, moving in time with the melody of Claygon’s song.

“I’ll leave them be,” the young wizard said, pulling out another notebook from his bag, where he tracked each spell he’d learned. Now that he’d reached third-tier spells without the help of that strange power, it was time to decide where to go next.

A couple of choices lay ahead of him.

“On the one hand, I could learn as many third-tier spells as I can, and really solidify my foundation. But I have my staff for a lot of the third-tier magic I’d want to cast.”

He tapped his pen on the page.

“Maybe it’s better to start learning fourth-tier summoning spells… That could be a good idea… I have the mana capacity for i—No wait!” Alex’s eyes went wide, he began running through the ‘wish list’ of spells he wanted to learn. “If we’re talking about fourth-tier spells that make use of that ability of mine… then there’s one I need to grab right away.”

He stopped on a particular page with a single spell bolded and underlined.

Alex drew a circle around it.

Planar Doorway.

That spell would be the first true teleportation spell—which transferred someone from one place to another—that he could learn.

Mastering it would open up all kinds of possibilities.

Now he was excited.

Chapter 67

The Manacles of Distance

“Strange, I thought you had already reached third-tier spells?” Baelin polished a beard-clasp. Before him, a pen hovered, signing paperwork scattered across his desk. “You didn’t?”

“Only with summoning spells,” Alex said excitedly. “But this! This means I can cast other spells of third-tier now.”

“Oh, then this truly is exciting news,” Baelin said warmly. “I take it you’re here about registering for the fourth level of the library?”

“Yes.” Alex nodded enthusiastically. “I want to start learning Planar Doorway as soon as possible. I’m thinking that this power—whatever it is—will help me learn and cast it faster. Plus, I’ve seen how useful your teleportation spells are. I want a piece of that for myself.”

“Ah, how brilliant. Even if you didn’t have that power giving you aid, I would have strongly recommended looking into teleportation, at any rate. I’ve suggested as much to Isolde as well.”

“Really?” Alex asked. “She didn’t say anything about that.”

“At present, she’s exploring other spells first—more related to her classes—but she will get there, in time. As for you—” The chancellor rose from behind his desk, hands clasping behind his back. “I am very glad you began right away. A Proper Wizard sets about conquering the fundamental laws of the universe as soon as they are able.”

“You mean conquering the concepts of space and distance?” Alex stood as well, trailing the chancellor as the ancient wizard strolled to the window, his hooves clopping on the stone floor.

“Precisely.” Baelin smiled, gazing out over campus and the city beyond. “Look at this view. Magnificent, is it not? So much greenery. The buildings. All of the wonders going on between these walls, not to mention the wonders even beyond that.”

“Yeah.” Alex’s eyes fell on the city, hovering near where the bakery lay. “It’s an amazing place full of amazing things. I’d love to show the Heroes some day. Hells, I wish I could have shown my parents.”

“I understand, and I sometimes wish the same.” The chancellor sighed. “Though mine would have likely melted in superstitious terror. Yours?”

“They would’ve been shocked, I can tell you that. As far as I know, they’d never seen anything like this. You should go to Alric one day. I think someone like you might say it’s… quaint. If you’re trying to be polite.”

“Oh, I could not judge. My tribe would have seen your town as a wonder of the world, no doubt. I take it that Alric’s on a river?”

“Yep.”

“Indeed, then they might have even tried to take it for themselves. But that segues into a fine point. Alex, why is Generasi located where it is? Why is Alric where it is? Why are these towns and cities where they are?”

“Well, that’s easy… is what I would say if you weren’t obviously baiting me with a deceptively simple question that you could use to teach me some complex lesson after I inevitably get it wrong.”

“Hah! Have I truly grown so obvious?” Baelin watched Alex, delight in his smiling, goat-like eyes.

“Only when you want to be.” The young wizard shrugged. “But I’ll bite. We learned why towns and cities are located where they are back in Alric’s church school. Basically, wherever there’s resources, there’s people. Alric was founded because of the location having a river, and the flat earth made for good farmland. Being so close to Coille Forest was a plus too. It’s just a logical place to live.”

He gestured to Generasi. “And this city’s here because of how close the mana vents in the Barrens are, which lets magical technology be built and function far more cheaply. Plus, more wizards are born here. It makes sense for people to cluster around natural resources.”

“Indeed. And, to some extent, you are correct. And now here is the part where I tell you how your answer was not complete,” Baelin said smoothly. “You spoke of natural resources and a settlement’s proximity to them, and that much is true. It makes sense for farms to be built on good soil to grow grain, for a mill to be built on a nearby river in order to grind that grain into bread, and in turn, it makes sense for people to cluster around a food source. But does it? Does it truly make sense for people to move near the river, the mill, and the farm in droves? After all, a clerk, a tavern owner, and a glassblower don’t technically need the river for their day-to-day lives like the miller does. So why do they move near the miller?”

“I know you’re manoeuvring me, but I’ll answer anyway: they move to the miller to be close to food,” Alex suggested. “Otherwise, it’s going to be stupidly difficult to get to that food. Imagine having to leave your home for a week’s walk every time you need bread. It’s just more convenient to be near the places you work and get your food from.”

“And there it is!” Baelin boomed. “Distance. That is the truth of it, Alex. People cluster around natural resources—like children crouched around a fire—because distance would make living elsewhere far more inconvenient, if not actually impossible.”

He chuckled. “And thus, people are shackled. One must pay fealty to a lord to live on a plot of land they control because of the resources therein. One must live near their place of work or lose one’s job. Distance is a manacle, my young friend, just as much as time or mortality. But—thankfully—wizardry has had far more successes when it comes to defeating distance.”

The ancient wizard gestured to the city. “Imagine a world where everyone could teleport with a thought. Why would all these individuals live here—crammed into the same expensive place—if they could choose not to?” He pointed to a student far below walking across campus. “Do you think she likely comes from the dorms? With teleportation as an option, she could make her home on top of a mountain, within a meadow, on a quaint farm, if she so chose. She could wake in Tarim-Lung at sunrise and be at her first-year magic lore class within a dozen heartbeats.”

His eyes drifted to the distance. “Defeat distance thoroughly enough, and you may make your home in any space in this world, on any plane, or even elsewhere. You can build your sanctum in some place as remote, unassailable, and beautiful as you like. Trust me, a world where distance is not a concern would be a vastly different one.”

He nodded to Alex. “And your decision to begin to conquer the concept of distance is one that I enthusiastically approve of. It might come in handy sooner than you might think.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

The archwizard’s look turned grim. “I had an enlightening conversation with Zonon-In this morning. In the upcoming week, your class will be spending some time in the hells once again. The task, though, might be significantly more challenging this time, and—to fully disclose my thoughts—I had to contemplate whether or not you would all be ready for this next challenge.”

That gave Alex pause. “Where in the hells are we going this time? Also, that wasn’t a swear, I meant that literally.”

“Tenebrama. It is a domain that lies permanently beneath a pall of darkness. No natural light exists within the realm, and many of its denizens see in the dark as comfortably as you take breath. Others simply do not have eyes, relying on other senses. Most relevant is that the plane is a plain. A flat, dry expanse that continues far beyond the size of any mortal plain. Nothing but black sand, darkness, and utter cold for a distance of thousands upon thousands of miles. Light and warmth are fleeting friends, while distance will be an enemy.”

“A week?” Alex balked. “I won’t be able to learn that spell in a week.”

“Indeed, hence the poor timing,” Baelin said. “The trouble is, I think some of the other challenges that Zonon-In’s quests might afford your group would either be too easy, would not provide you with any learning opportunities, or be so utterly challenging, that only a wizard who has lived twice or three times your lifetimes could manage them.”

“Oooooh… well, that’s… that’s great,” Alex said, thinking back on his mistakes the first time they entered the hells. “Well, maybe a future challenge will be a bit more, uh… reasonable?”

Baelin sighed. “That is the other issue, which brings both good news and bad news. The trouble is… she is running out of rivals that she wishes to see dethroned. In short, she has indicated to me that—sooner, rather than later—she will reveal who holds the information that we seek.”

His gaze pierced Alex. “Expect to embark on your mission for the Traveller’s information well before the semester’s end.”

“What?” the Thameish wizard exclaimed. “So soon?”

“Sooner than I would have liked,” Baelin said grimly. “In truth, I would have liked for you to have engaged in several more training missions in the hells before we tackle our grand prize… I suspect—from what Zonon-In has indicated—that our window of opportunity for the best chance of success might be somewhat fleeting.”

“Right, no pressure then, as usual,” Alex mumbled.

“Fear not, I will be with you every step of the way, as much as I can. And soon, that wretch Ezaliel will know the taste of permanent oblivion. In the meantime, research the enemy. You’ll need to prepare something for the darkness⁠—”

“Actually, I’m glad you mentioned that,” Alex said ruefully. “The spell I broke through with? It was Mass Darksight.”

“Hah! Well, that is most fitting.” Baelin nodded. “Then I would recommend meeting with your friends. Do something that warms the spirit, for this mission will chill you all to the very core.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I’ll take your advice on that.”

“Oh, and how is Claygon doing?” the chancellor inquired. “I notice he is not at your side today. Is he… well, I suppose he cannot be ill, but is he… indisposed? I had heard he began speaking at last. I had hoped to share words with him.”

“He’s at home now, helping Selina prepare for our official housewarming party. I’m inviting the cabal over. You’re invited to come along too, if you want.”

“Ah, how kind of you, my boy.” The chancellor beamed. “The trouble is that I will be a tad preoccupied today, and so I must rudely deny your invitation.”

“Oh jeez, I understand,” Alex said, though he was a little disappointed not to be able to host the chancellor. There was a sort of… grandfatherly way about the ancient wizard that the young man had grown attached to.

Well, ‘grandfatherly’ filtered through thousands of years of barbarism, madness, magic, obsession with power, and towering strength by all measures.

Still, much of that was probably why he liked to spend time with the ancient goatman.

‘I’ve got to have him over from time to time,’ he thought.

“Honestly, with the amount of paperwork you have, I can see why you wouldn’t have time,” Alex said.

“Oh, it’s not paperwork today… it’s more of a… social engagement that has many other benefits for both myself and for you. It’s an engagement where I’ve finally managed to wrangle all the participants together.”

“Oh?” Alex cocked his head. Then his eyes grew wide. “Wait now. Are you meeting up with your cabal?”

“Oh yes, you are quite correct.” Baelin chuckled. “And it has been too long. You see, we have all conquered the fundamental barrier of distance. We live very remotely from each other, but we can all come together whenever we wish. Time, however, has proven—as I said—more stubborn. We have tried, but none of us has managed to conjure time from the ether as of yet. One of us is working on it, though. Unfortunately, we are all quite busy.”

He sighed wistfully. “I run a school, another of us is something of an architect for a very exclusive body of clients, another runs an empire and wrangles his family, yet another ah… has exotic amusements, shall we say. And finally, one is always available, but has accomplished this through unorthodox means.”

“They sound like a pretty amazing bunch,” Alex said in awe. “Wish I could meet them.”

“Keep being a Proper Wizard and you might one day.” Baelin glanced at the position of the sun. “Speaking of time, I am afraid mine has run out. Enjoy your housewarming gathering. I have my own meeting to attend.”

Chapter 68

A Meeting Among the Stars

Baelin watched the young Alex Roth scurry across campus, no more than a dot upon the green. It was amusing, knowing 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 that deep shadow. 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 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, those hidden gazes seared 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 to gaze upon the wonders of the universe.

Stars burned in unfathomable distances with clusters and galaxies farther 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.

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 bothersome things 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 millennia-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 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 and 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 capped by a ruby of the same scale as a rhinoceros’ skull.

This was the only throne that was currently occupied.

Magun-Obu the Maker, dark-skinned, shaven-headed, and powerfully built, sat cross-legged 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 jaw—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, and 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. Molded 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, 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?”

Her 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?”

Chapter 69

The Purest Form of Entertainment

Anaxadar’s smile was predatory, bleeding sparks and smoke.

Cra’s wet laughter echoed through the depths of space, her wrinkled skin shifting as though worms swam beneath it.

Sanii was silent, but her eyes flared bright, and the wires of her throne flared with them. A silvery dust seemed to crawl over her metallic surface.

Magun-Obu’s knuckles popped as his hands flexed, and the jewels of his staff’s skull swam with inner shadows. “It has been some time since we were united under the same war-banner. To what enemy do we owe this imminent violence?”

“I will soon make war against an abyssal knight from one of the hells.” Baelin leaned forward in his barbaric throne. “The battle will likely take place in that knight’s personal city at the very heart of its domain. I suspect there will be vicious resistance, naturally.”

“An abyssal knight?” Anaxadar cocked his head, the motion bird-like. “Baelin, pitting all of us against most abyssal knights—even in their own domains—would be like calling an army to put down one rabid rodent. I enjoy crushing insects, but this feels strange for you.”

“Anaxadar raises a point,” Sanii’s voice issued from deep within her metal frame. “You often relish battle in ways that most of us do not.”

“I doooooo too,” Cra said.

“Hence my specification of ‘most of us.’ Magun-Obu and I do not share your fondness for violence in the same way. The point: Baelin would enjoy battling this knight alone.”

“You are quite right, of course.” The chancellor ran a hand through his beard-braids. “I hold a grudge against this particular demon, and under normal circumstances, I would be crushing him with my own hand. However… this task requires both more finesse and more force. There are risks for those I have taken an interest in…” He paused. “And… perhaps have come to care for.”

Murmuring spread through the cabal members.

“I do not ask this of you without compensation,” Baelin continued, meeting each of their gazes, one after the next. “I hereby invoke the Principle of Reciprocity, as we agreed upon in our inception. Each of you can name a favour from me—and do try to have some restraint—so that I may fulfil it.”

“Inteereeeestiiiing,” Cra mused, the ancient woman’s bushy eyebrows rising. Once more, something seemed to swim beneath her skin. “Explain yourself; you’ve aroused my curiosity.”

“Mine as well, considering the task you already asked of me.” Magun-Obu tapped his chin with one of his four hands.

“I think I have found a point of interest, one that will benefit both those I am mentoring quite nicely, and—if I am reading the situation correctly—result in a gain for myself. One of those lovely, ‘everyone wins’ scenarios,” Baelin said. “We will be retrieving some information from the hells, whether it be in the form of an interrogated prisoner, a written record, or something else, I can only guess for now. To be specific, I will be keeping Ezaliel occupied while someone else—far more vulnerable than any of us—retrieves the information.”

“You need the threat crushed utterly. It must be contained so that this secondary plan can be executed,” Sanii reasoned out.

“Without your battle spilling over and wiping out both this information and the one attempting to find it.” Magun-Obu’s eyes lit up. “Now I understand the task.”

“What iiiiis this task?” Anaxadar hissed. “Your cloak of enigma is a little much, even for us.”

“Baelin asked me to find the current and subsequent three projected locations of the Whetstone Tavern.” Magun-Obu looked to the chancellor. “You will be hiring minions to seek this information?”

“Partially,” Baelin said. “A person I know will be hiring minions. It is mostly for him that I take part in this task—he will gain the most immediate benefit—but I do have a personal grudge with Ezaliel. He boldly attacked my school. Now I shall destroy his domain. However, I suspect he will not be so accommodating as to combat me by himself. I have no fear of his minions, but if any of his abyssal knight allies flock to his domain—let alone if he calls the lord he is sworn to—I am unsure if I could defeat them all without resorting to measures that would atomise all but the most powerful of allies.”

“And who is this one that will benefit? An ally?” Magun-Obu asked.

“No, a student of my school.”

“Oooooh, you have taken an interest in a student? A personal interest too. That’s not like youuuu.” Cra’s ancient eyes twinkled. “Perhaps we shall meet them as well.”

“In a thousand years, perhaps. Perhaps even a few hundred,” the chancellor said quickly. “But for now, I think my corruption is enough for him. You would be an even worse influence than me.”

“That is up for debate,” Anaxadar said.

“You dare speak to me in such a fashion?” Baelin glared at him.

“Yes.”

“Oh, alright, then.”

“You have told us where the battle is and against whom,” the towering, fanged “human” said. “Now what about the when?”

“That I do not quite know as yet. But soon. Within the next two months, I suspect.”

“I am currently performing research on Ezaliel and all possible allies.” Sanii’s eyes flashed as the 143rd body communicated with the others in her mind. “I will have documentation ready for your perusal by the meeting’s end.”

“Good. Efficient.” Magun-Obu nodded. “I will contact my own sources to see if there are any surprises to be gleaned.”

“I will call upon certain fiends,” Cra whispered. “And see what lore they have to tell.”

“I will seek out the fallen archives of Arc that lay in my empire,” Anaxadar mused. “And I will speak to Lady Laurahasa in case she possesses any insights.”

“You still speak to that one?” Baelin looked at him sharply. “She is not to be trusted.”

Anaxadar snorted flame. “I tell you, Baelin, you would like her.”

“She is a goddess.”

“And for the thousandth time, the deities of my world draw their power from their portfolios—from creation itself—not through worship. And most of them were mortals, once.”

“And they hatch schemes that make me look honest. That goddess you speak of, what was her portfolio again? Ah, yes: dark magic and secrets. Very trustworthy.”

“I don’t trust her completely, but her creed is to spread secrets, and that is a good source of knowledge,” Anxadar said. “We know that dangerous knowledge is to be used with care and analysis.”

“You both have had this conversation one hundred and twenty-two times,” Sanii said. “Almost verbatim. As is tradition, I will point out that Baelin’s prejudice against the divine is somewhat emotionally driven. Baelin will then list the rational reasons behind his prejudice. Anaxadar will point out that he is a demigod, due to his mother’s blood. Baelin will say that this is a unique situation, and that he is only half-blooded. Cra will laugh. Magun-Obu will attempt to hide his boredom. I have just saved us approximately forty-seven minutes according to the previous averages of how long this conversation takes to resolve. Magun-Obu, you likely will congratulate me on my efficiency and thank me for it.”

“Thank you for your efficiency.” Magun-Obu bowed his head.

“Thank you for taking all the fun out of it!” Baelin snorted, grossly offended.

“The point is not to finish the argument, Sanii,” Anaxadar protested. “The point is to play it out, see what traps we can spring on each other. The bones of the argument are the same⁠—”

“—but the truth of it is different every time!” Baelin finished. “That is the fun of it!”

“It concludes in the same way, so it is fundamentally the same.” Magun-Obu tented his fingers. “For practical purposes.”

“Practicality is not the beginning and end of all things!” the chancellor protested. “What about fun?”

“At our expense?” the four-armed man frowned. “At the expense of our time?”

“Thaaaat would make it more fun.” Cra chuckled.

Anaxadar pointed a claw at her. “She understands!”

“We are getting offtrack, and we are in rapid danger of devolving into a fit of stupidity⁠—”

“Which is our right!” Baelin leaned forward. “What better way to entertain a brilliant mind than to see what creative ventures of complete foolishness one can conjure!”

“It is the purest form of entertainment,” Anaxadar said sagely.

“I would not say it is the purest form.” Magun-Obu leaned forward, his eyes flashing. “By inflicting it on others, you are causing harm through emotional damage.”

“Semantics!” Anaxadar bellowed. “I speak not of the morality of it, but the direct path of joy from the action!”

“Then you are still incorrect. Utter purity of joy would indicate a self-perpetuating emotional response that continues to feed upon itself without outside emotions or stimulus,” Sanii spoke, her eyes glowing brighter.

“You twist our intent in favour of semantics.” Baelin rested his hands on his knees. “The intent is to say that purity results because the brilliant mind can conjure their own entertainment without outside stimulus by simply creating their own stupid scenarios to craft entertainment.”

“Now, Baelin, Anaxadar, my young friends, you are getting ahead of yourselves. A sin of the young.” Cra drummed her knees, leaning forward on her boulder. “You speak of purity. Purity would imply it had come first.”

“Now you bring in outside factors.” Anaxadar said. “But… this is amusing.”

“Indeed.”

“Then let us debate each other into the ground.” Baelin smiled. “My fellow old fools.”

And so, Baelin’s cabal—in one of the most feared enclaves over many worlds—roared at each other about the nature of entertainment in purposeful stupidity, their voices ringing out past the stones and into the black void beyond.

They did not reach a conclusion, but they would not have had it any other way.

“Oh yes, Baelin,” Sanii said as they neared the meeting’s end. “I have been tracking the movements of Heart’s Desire. It is currently far from any of our worlds of interest, but in the process—while scanning for its influence—I surveyed the languages of several hundred worlds. In a sample size of one hundred thousand tongues, I have not been able to find a translation for those runes you sent to me.”

“Ah, blast it,” the chancellor grunted, his jovial mood from the debate soured. “And if you didn’t solve it, I suspect there are few in the universe that could. I will have to hope this information we are seeking will give us some answers.”

“Understandable and apologies given,” the Wizard of Steel said. “Without violating our Pact of Noninterference in Each Other’s Secrets and Affairs, what is your interest in this information?”

“That, I will have to leave for later,” the goatman said. “There are things I wish to confirm first. If all goes to plan, then I shall benefit greatly, and I might be able to pass on the benefits to all of you. Now, what of the Principle of Reciprocity? Do you have tasks in mind for me?”

“I do,” Cra said. “If you could be a dear and help me track down an elder thing that has absconded with a soul, I will say we are even.”

“I wish for your help with some research.” Anaxadar tapped a claw on his throne. “The old spells of my world are lost, but the gift of my world’s gods is fascinating. I wish to see what you make of it and also bring me some subjects for our experiments.”

“There is a spell I am researching that needs the heart of a titan. One who has wrought great evil. Help me destroy her,” Sanii spoke.

Magun-Obu shifted uncomfortably. “You have experience speaking to… children. Give me some advice about just that… speaking to children.”

“Very well.” Baelin nodded. “These all sound fair. As always, it is a pleasure to meet like this. I will call upon you when the time comes for us to come together. Are there any other matters?”

“What about food?” Cra said. “Remember when we used to meet over a feast? I miss those days.”

“Unnecessary for me, but it would be a comfort to you organics,” Sanii said.

“I have the best chefs in my world under my command,” Anaxadar said. “You wish for it? I will bring you a feast undreamed of for our next meeting.”

“Delightful!” Baelin said. “That reminds me of someone who thinks along a similar line. Their solution would be… more quaint, I would think. But…” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the direction of his world. “Sometimes, there is nothing wrong with quaint. In any case, are we adjourned?”

“We are,” the other four spoke.

“Then until we meet again.” Baelin grinned viciously. “May we bring ruin to our enemies.”

“May they fear us,” Cra said.

“May those we protect be safe and may we discover all the secrets we desire,” Sanii added.

“May what we build repel our foes forevermore,” Magun-Obu pronounced.

“And may the sun rise on those that follow us,” Anaxadar growled. “And let ash rain on the heads of those that strike at us.”

“As it has been,” the chancellor finished. “And—in time—may our numbers grow.”

Chapter 70

A Warm Prelude to Cold

‘The chancellor would likely call this celebration quaint,’ the young wizard thought.

Alex Roth had no idea where Baelin had gone, and he imagined the ancient wizard departing for a mountain peak somewhere. He could see him meeting with a circle of other bearded old men in some mountaintop castle.

Or in a distant forest, the palace of an emperor, or even under the ocean somewhere.

‘Maybe in the heart of some volcano… Naaaah, that’s too crazy, even for Baelin.’ Alex was setting the table for friends in his very own dining room. Outside, the rain pounded against the windows, serving as a backdrop to the rattling of plates and silverware coming from the kitchen below, and the smooth orchestral music thrumming from Claygon’s speakerbox. ‘Well, wherever he and his cabal are, I’m sure they’re discussing things of cosmic importance with all the dignity you’d expect from ancient beings like them. Probably wouldn’t think much of a bakery and the pack of idiots in it right now.’

“I tell you, peanuts grow below ground on bushes!” Thundar bellowed, gently placing a pot of gravy on the table. “Don’t make me go and look it up!”

“They are a nut, Thundar. They grow on trees!” Isolde shouted back, carefully placing a punch bowl beside the pot. “And I dare you to look it up! Prove me right!”

“My friends, I could resolve this at once.” Prince Khalik glanced between them, setting down a pot of hearty stew. “I have taken magical botany, and we grow peanuts in my homeland. In one word, I could settle⁠—”

“Don’t you dare!” Thundar and Isolde whirled on him.

Hogarth and Svenia, who’d been bringing dishes to the table, looked at each other, keeping their thoughts to themselves. They knew better than to say anything.

“We are settling this ourselves.” Isolde sniffed. “I shall elucidate to Thundar the finer points of patterns within taxonomy, and either convince him or seek the answer myself from a direct source in the library.”

“And I’m gonna make her back down, or I’ll be the one to slam a book in her face!” the minotaur roared. “And then tell that face that it’s stupider than my face!”

“Impossible. Yours is the stupidest face of all!” Isolde growled.

“It’s a peanut.” Theresa carried a bowl of assorted nuts complete with a handful of serving spoons. “What’s the big deal?”

“It is the principle of the thing,” Isolde insisted. “The twisting of facts.”

“It’s also fun.” Thundar shrugged.

“You find this fun? That is perverse.”

“If you didn’t, you’d let Khalik end it,” the minotaur pointed out.

“Why are you like this?” The prince made a disappointed noise, then looked at Sinope, who followed Theresa with a large bowl of greens. “I apologise for the stupidity of my friends.”

The dryad had a twinkle in her eyes. “Don’t apologise. I like how lively things are.”

“I’m glad you do.” Alex straightened the place setting. “Because it’s almost always like this. I swear, I doubt you’d ever catch Baelin’s cabal going on about such stupid shit.”

“Give us a thousand years to get it out of our systems.” The prince chuckled. “Though in Thundar and Isolde’s cases, it might take two.”

“I think… all of you… are very smart… and kind, and strong,” Claygon spoke through the speakerbox, his voice back to the gravelly tone. It sounded a little odd having something so wholesome spoken in such threatening tones. He was carrying two platters. One of paella, with its saffroned rice heaped with plump shrimp, mussels, scampi, chorizo sausage, chicken, hake, and whiting. In the other, a steaming dish of cross-cut lamb shanks braised in white wine, broth, and vegetables, garnished with risotto.

The aromas were making Alex’s mouth water and had been since the dishes were simmering on the stove in the main floor bakery kitchen. Making a feast for such a large group just wouldn’t cut it in their much smaller private kitchen upstairs.

Besides, since the bakery hadn’t officially opened yet, the large kitchen was the perfect place for creating some special dishes for the party—celebrating the very first home of their own—sharing it with their friends. Course after course was brought up to the dining room from below, carried by hungry people who clearly appreciated the aromas drifting through the building.

“Are you sure you’re alright with me being here, boss?” Troy the baker asked as he climbed the stairs, balancing a deep bowl of fruit soaked in a sugar syrup flavoured with star anise, vanilla, rum, cloves, citrus peels, and cinnamon sticks. That was the dessert for the adults. “Feels like this is a private gathering, what with all your close friends being here and all.”

“Mr. Beerensteyn didn’t invite us to anything,” a short, stocky woman said—Troy’s wife—following after him with a platter of puff pastries filled with sweetened whipped cream. “My sister looked at me like I had three heads when I asked her to take care of the young ones for the evening.”

“Well, I’m not Troy’s old boss, Govert,” Alex said. “This boss wants you at his table for his family’s housewarming party.”

“I am happy… to have you here… You have helped my family a lot,” Claygon said.

Troy and his wife started.

“You know, big one, I’m not really used to you speaking, but thanks for welcoming us,” Troy said.

“See? And that’s why Claygon’s the best,” Selina said happily, smiling up at the golem.

A short time later, the rest of the guests arrived, filling the house with laughter.

First came Grimloch alongside his sister, Nua-Oge. The sharkman and selachar had brought their appetites and a housewarming gift: a good luck charm to be hung from the window, crafted from an iridescent conch shell.

Malcolm, Rhea, and Shiani arrived as a trio, with Caramiyus, Rayne, and Angelar following soon after. Once again, much of the COMB-1000 class was reunited for the first time in a while.

“Sorry we’re late,” Shiani apologised profusely. “Malcolm is terrible and wasn’t going to bring a housewarming gift.”

“My presence is the gift,” the ice wizard said glumly, handing over a gleaming sculpture made from never-melting ice.

The parents of Selina’s close friends—Mariama and Abela—came next, dropping off the two girls and leaving them with an excited Selina, who was dying to show off Claygon.

Finally, last but not least, Kybas arrived, and beside him, an obviously thriving, Harmless. The young crocodile had gained nearly half a hundred pounds, and from his appetite, it was clear why.

“He’s been eating so well!” the little goblin cried as his familiar enjoyed all the attention from Theresa, Selina, Abela, Mariama, and Grimloch. “I’ve had to up his feed almost every few weeks. Hehehe, it won’t be long before he’s gobbling up sea serpents.”

“Sea serpents are mighty fine eating.” Grimloch grinned. “Hey, you get a chance to look over that map?”

“Yes! Yes!” Kybas nodded vigorously. “I think I know where the lair is, just past the coast. We can go soon!”

“Gooooood,” Grimloch growled. “Gonna be bowls of thick manticore soup for dinner that night.”

“Great, something to look forward to after our little trip,” Theresa said.

“What’s this?” Alex asked.

“More monster hunting!” Kybas said cheerily. “A nice play date for Brutus and Harmless. With food after!”

Sinope gasped. “You’re going to eat a manticore?”

“Yes,” said Grimloch and Kybas together, while Theresa rapidly nodded. Shishi whispered something to the huntress in Tarimite, and the taller woman whispered something back in the eastern tongue, the words stilted and broken, though she had improved over time.

“But… manticores are deadly poisonous!” the dryad said.

“That’s the fun part,” Kybas said. “The thrill of food that could kill you!”

“It’s extra spice.” Grimloch shrugged.

Brutus barked happily.

Nua-Oge buried her face in her hands.

“Alright!” Alex called, gesturing to the table. “Everything’s still warm thanks to the warming spells… I mean, that’s why they’re called warming spells, and nothing beats fresh food. Come on, everyone. Let’s tuck into a not poisonous meal.”

Before the word “meal” had left his mouth, the entire group was rushing to the table like Ravener-spawn laying siege to a fortress. Only the thinnest of polite behaviour had held them back in the face of those enticing aromas, and now—with permission given—they cast it all aside.

Food was piled onto plates and into bowls, the clatter of utensils on glass filled the dining room. Standing at Alex’s side, Claygon quietly played music, circling the table to chat with every single guest.

‘A brand new voice, and my golem’s suddenly a social butterfly,’ Alex thought, watching the towering construct asking Rhea about the new tattoos that scrolled along her arm. ‘Proud of him.’

The young wizard chatted, drinking in the atmosphere, a wonderful realisation dawning on him. This would be the first of many such get-togethers, and not just here. Troy and his wife were quiet during the meal—being a fair bit older than the other guests—but one glance at their body language told him they were enjoying themselves.

At least enjoying the food.

With time, how many more friends would he be able to host?

How many more people would he have working for him for fair wages and under good conditions? He would host more gatherings in this not-so-humble bakery, sure, but what about in other places?

Countryside manors?

Ocean villas?

Hunting halls?

Maybe one day he’d be the one with a super-doom-fortress in the heart of a volcano.

But such pleasant imaginings couldn’t go on forever.

The cold hand of reality came for him as the conversation shifted, turning to darker subjects.

“I took some time to research Tenebrama before leaving campus,” Isolde said. “Our mission there will be challenging, to say the least.”

“What trip down to the hells is not?” Khalik pointed out.

“What’s this, now?” Troy asked, curiosity plain on his face.

“We’re going to the hells for one of our classes,” Alex said. “Routine trip. Well, not exactly routine.”

Troy sputtered, shaking his head.

“What’d you find out, Isolde?” Thundar asked.

“That some of our deficiencies in our first journey will not be as forgiving in the new environment we will be in. There is no cover, so we will have to be under stealth the entire way. Our teamwork must be perfect, as we will not be able to see each other, and if we make the mistake of speaking too loudly, it could easily alert the enemy to our presence.”

“Well, so far, what I’m hearing doesn’t sound good, not that I expected it to,” Alex grunted. “Does it get worse?”

“It does…” Isolde said sourly. “I have read accounts of the experiences of previous expeditions into the domain. Hypothermia was a very common killer among those in past expeditions, but it was the wrath-field that was the true killer.”

She paused, noticing the other conversations at the table were quieting, but she continued on. “The wrath-field caused discord within groups. Petty annoyances would be magnified. Fears would turn to rage, and anger would grow unfocused. Friends would turn on each other, stab each other in the back. Jilted lovers who had worked through their problems would flare with rage, hurt, and jealousy, turning such things into⁠—”

She watched the wide-eyed stares of Selina’s young friends.

Hogarth and Svenia nudged each other.

Isolde cleared her throat. “In short, the attacks on the mind result in even more dire consequences than those in the last realm. We will need to very thoroughly control our emotions. I… especially worry about the Heroes. Hart, Drestra, or Cedric rampaging through us would be disastrous.”

“I… can also… feel anger… if I were to… lose control of my mind…”

“Or me,” Grimloch said, his voice stony.

“We’d all be in trouble.” Thundar poured himself another glass of punch. “But I can teach you the mantras I used to keep myself in check, that’d help. I’ll teach the Heroes too and try to keep them steady.”

“Sounds like a good strategy,” Alex said. “Rage’s going to be tough to deal with, especially when we start getting attacked. Or if anything goes wrong. Honestly, the best thing for us would be to get in quietly, hit our destination, and then get ourselves extracted without a fight.”

“In an ideal world, that would be the case,” Khalik said. “In any case, let us save such dark thoughts for another time… We will be in true darkness soon enough.” He lifted his goblet. “To us. To warmth. To fellowship and good times. And to the new home.”

“To good times, and our new home,” Alex said.

“To our new home,” Selina said.

“To our new home,” Theresa said.

“To our… new home,” Claygon agreed.

Together, everyone raised their glasses—though the golem used the tip of his finger—and clinked them together.

Alex tucked back into the warm meal, preparing mentally for the cold trial ahead of him and his friends.

Chapter 71

Impressed and Dismayed

Hart’s fist met a bone-charger’s skull.

It wasn’t his best punch.

And apart from the gauntlet upon his hand, it was the sole weapon he’d used on the monster.

Yet, it shattered the rock-hard skull as though it was the shell of a robin’s egg. With a kick to its back, he cracked another bone-charger’s spine as his blade whipped about him, cleaving through a behemoth’s legs.

The Champion laughed like a man possessed, his every movement a blur as he tore across the battlefield. “Yes! Run, you little rats! I’m the monster now!”

And Merzhin could not help but agree.

The Saint watched his fellow Heroes, both impressed and dismayed.

And more than a little suspicious.

‘What happened to you?’ he wondered as Drestra split into four illusionary copies, rushing toward the horde of bone-chargers in a dizzying spiral of flying images.

Bone-chargers roared, lunging at the Sage, heads lowered, jaws gnashing, legs churning great sprays of muddy snow. But rather than strike the Hero with full force—crushing her body to paste—they blundered, mistaking an illusion for her, colliding with each other in a tangle of limbs.

The true Drestra flew above the confused pile, fingers curving like claws as she channelled a river of fire down on the beasts. Ravener-spawn bellowed, bursting into flame, burning away in the melting, steaming snow.

“That’s it, Drestra and Hart!” Cedric slammed into a bone-charger, splitting it in half with his morphic weapon, now transformed into a greataxe. One of the creature’s claws raked him, but the blow rebounded off invisible armour. Another claw swiped out, scraping his force shield, while a swinging tail was deflected by strange, glowing weapons of force. Each weapon changed shape with every heartbeat. “The rest o’ yous, we got ’em pinned down! Now, Merzhin, finish ’em off!”

With a roar, mounted knights of Thameland charged swarms of Ravener-spawn, driving their lances forward, piercing tough hide. Beside them rode a fae cavalry unit, swinging swords of glowing silver while mounted on fae steeds. The bodies of knights and fae thrummed with power, layered with powerful body enhancement spells cast by the Sage and Chosen.

Behind them, the priests and their rangers marched—untouched by Ravener-spawn—freely launching arrows or divine miracles into the enemy.

Saint Merzhin shook himself back to his senses, fixing his eyes on his target.

The Heroes and their companions had tracked the horde of monsters to this dungeon, ripped open the dungeon’s side with a devastating blast of earth magic, and flooded into the gaping hole like angry ants.

Now, the dungeon’s chamber lay before them—revealed to the open sky by the wall caved in by the Heroes—with only a handful of bone-chargers left to protect the core.

Even the Saint would have to say that it felt good catching the enemy by surprise and tearing their structures apart for a change.

And now it was time to finish it.

He looked up to the sky, his hands rising in supplication.

“Oh, holy Uldar, we thank you for this holy bounty and beseech you. Bring ruin to our enemies, as you did so long ago!”

Above, the steely grey sky began to shake.

Thunder boomed.

Lightning flashed.

Clouds boiled.

Merzhin smiled in holy ecstasy as the divinity of his god flowed through the gateway of his soul. “Yes, my god! I feel You with me!” He turned his eyes down to the dungeon core beneath the earth and the dwindling horde of monsters desperately defending it.

He levelled a single finger at them.

His high voice boomed over the hills, overlaid with a far deeper roar.

“And He shall smite the wicked and curse them with a serpent’s kiss!”

There was a tearing sound from above.

And the lightning came down.

It struck in the centre of the cluster of Ravener-spawn, flashing through them, freezing them in place as Uldar’s divine power did its terrible work. Then their skin began to shift.

Then boil.

Then explode.

Their blood transformed, bursting from their bodies as a hundred vipers—hissing in rage—and swinging dripping fangs down to pierce the Ravener-spawn. Holy venom burned the creatures, withering them, leaving them as dried out husks.

Even the powerful dungeon core was not spared.

As the serpents’ fangs bit the black orb’s surface, it screamed in anguish, shuddering, crumbling to dust.

In the span of heartbeats, the dungeon had fallen.

“We got ’em beat!” Cedric cheered. “Dungeon’s dead and not a drop o’our blood spilled!”

The Thameish army roared in triumph, thrusting their weapons toward the now-clearing sky. Priests chanted Uldar’s name. Fae cavalry warriors smirked at the corpses of dead enemies.

Hart pounded his chest.

Drestra was at the core, beginning to gather the dust.

But Merzhin’s heart was not settled.

He cheered too, calling Uldar’s name, but in his mind, the battle replayed. His fellow Heroes were different, changed, fighting better, conjuring new spells and tactics. Hart’s physical transformation was monstrous. He had been a physical paragon before, but now he threw about even the strongest Ravener-spawn like they were nothing more than emaciated rodents.

And so, the Saint wondered.

‘Just what has been going on at the Generasians’ camp? What has happened to the other Heroes?’

“Well, hold down the fort while we’re gone.” Cedric stuffed a mirror into his bag after taming his long red hair. He was crouching in the middle of a bearskin pad, collecting the rest of his belongings. A number of books lay among his things: books the Saint had never seen before. “We’re goin’ t’be out fer two days. Don’t let the Generasians bite ya, Merzhin, an’ be nice to ’em.” His smile came easily.

The Saint watched the Chosen from the mouth of the muscular young man’s tent, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, the rest of the camp was packing up, preparing to move out as soon as the Generasians arrived.

His eyes fell on Hart, who—uncharacteristically—was actually grooming his scraggly stubble with a razor blade.

A mix of feelings chased each other within Merzhin’s soul.

“Cedric… have those foreign wizards been doing anything untoward?” he asked gently.

“What’s this?” The Chosen stood, hoisting his pack onto his back. “What’re y’talkin’ about?”

“I can’t argue with the results,” the Saint said. “Uldar would be pleased with how his Heroes have been slaying his enemies.”

“Aye.” Cedric reached to where his morphic weapon lay against the tent pole. The metal melted from the shape of a greatsword, running onto his hand and taking the form of a gauntlet. “S’been bloody great!” He grinned, his golden tooth glinting in the morning sun. “Been the easiest battles we’ve had against them bloody Ravener-spawn.”

“Yes…” Merzhin agreed. “But… is there a cost? This power—especially what has happened to Hart—it seems unnatural.” He rose to his full, though short, height. “Let us not forget the ‘Folly of Felix’ as told in Uldar’s third gospel: ‘And so the potter came forth unto the crossroads, but it was not fae he called out to, but to the foulest of devils. And he said to the devil⁠—’”

“—give me power, an’ I’ll slay the monsters that took my son from me, an’ I’ll pay whatever price y’ask for,” Cedric finished. “Th’ local priest taught me that story when I was a wee one, Merzhin. An’ then Felix the potter was granted great power by this devil an’ he killed the Ravener-spawn, he turned int’a demon an’ killed everyone he met. Aye, I know the tale, but what’re y’implyin’, mate? Them wizards’ve been helpin’ us. There’s no deals wit’ devils.”

“At times, devils can come in fair forms,” Merzhin warned. “We know that the devil that appeared to Felix appeared as a friend. But the power—as easily given as it was—came at a terrible price. I… worry that such things are happening to my fellow Heroes. I would not see you undone, Holy Chosen.”

Cedric stared at him, and Merzhin thought he might start shouting. Instead, the Chosen smiled sadly. “They did some safe—er, mostly safe, wizard shite to Hart.”

“Mostly safe?”

“Aye, well, it’s wizard shite. We ain’t exactly talkin’ about pettin’ cute pups, are we?” Cedric said. “But they’re good ones, down at that big ol’ Research Castle o’ theirs. S’a shame y’can’t come wit’ us, mate. If y’could, y’might see things a tad different. Come on, Merzhin, don’t y’get along wit’ the wizards that come t’help us?”

Merzhin was about to say no.

The stern Watcher of… Roal, that’s what his title was, the one that served as their commander was too standoffish for him. That Tyris Goldtooth was too fiery for him, prone to battlelust that he would call madness.

But there was one.

Carey London of Wrexiff.

He got along with her well enough and—he had to admit—he was looking forward to seeing her again.

The rest, though?

“I do not dislike the wizards,” he said. “But… just be careful, Cedric. Uldar knows if you go to face demons that hide beneath smiling faces.”

“Oh, demons smile less than you’d think,” the Chosen said.

“…What?”

“Never mind, ya wuda had t’be there.”

“Do you find that Uldar has a strong presence in your daily life, even when you are so immersed in the matters of magic?” the Saint asked Carey, drawing her out of her reverie.

She flinched, looking down from her seat on the edge of Vesuvius’ shell.

The war-column—Thameish soldiers, rangers, and knights, fae irregulars and Generasian wizards—marched through a pass between two large rock rises. Tyris sat cross-legged on the front of her familiar’s volcanic shell, and she had been thoughtful of the other wizards, letting them ride the enormous turtle’s shell during the march.

Lost in thought—as she had often been lately—Carey had not heard the Saint as he approached her in the snow. The young woman shook herself.

‘The group was attacked more than half a dozen times the last time you came out here, Carey,’ she thought. ‘This is not the time to let your thoughts wander!’

“I’m sorry?” she apologised quickly, a bloom of discomfort rising in her chest. “What did you say, Holy Saint?”

Merzhin gave her a crooked, unnatural smile. “I was wondering if the matters of faith lay upon your mind even in a place so full of distractions as your school of wizardry.”

“Oh, well, yes, my faith does play through my mind ever so much,” she said, leaving unspoken the questions of faith that plagued her with frightening and growing frequentness. “Uldar is not far from my thoughts.”

“Indeed, that is good.” He nodded vigorously. “It is important to keep his glory close to heart and to mind.”

An awkward silence hung between them as they rode, until it at last dawned on her what was happening. “I do so apologise, but, er, are you purposely trying to make conversation?”

The young man winced. “Oh dear, am I so transparent? I was taught by one of my mentors to be as the mirror, reflecting the thoughts and faith of Uldar’s flock, not as the window. He would be disappointed.”

“Oh, not at all, I do appreciate you speaking to me. It can get terribly lonely at times, when one is constrained by one’s thoughts,” she muttered, saying more than she’d intended.

A flash of recognition lit up Merzhin’s eyes. “True! And I have experienced such things myself. But, take heart, there is a solution.”

“And that is?” Carey asked, fearing she already knew his answer.

“Faith. Let Uldar fill your heart, and you can know no true loneliness. Let Uldar guide your steps, and you can never truly lose your way. Let Uldar lead your thoughts, and you will never be tricked or led astray.”

Tricked or led astray.

A hot wave of anger went through Carey, and she nearly screamed at the Saint. They had all been tricked. They all had been led astray, either by the church or Uldar himself.

She bit the words back.

“I shall keep that in mind.” She smiled sweetly, making a show of gripping her holy symbol.

With a final nod of encouragement, Merzhin rode off toward the head of the column.

Carey’s eyes followed. ‘I think I would have liked him a lot more before I knew about the dungeon core’s secrets, even though he means well. Still, hearing that sort of thing… this could be a hellish few days.’

Somewhat later, and beyond the material plane, a portal opened in the utter darkness of Tenebrama.

Chapter 72

The Dark Struggles of Wrath

In his relatively short nineteen-year life span, Alex Roth had seen a lot of darkness: both literal and metaphorical.

There was the dark of Alric during a winter night, when no flame burned to break the darkness. There was the pitch-black within passageways in the Cave of the Traveller, only broken by his forceball light. There had been those dark spaces in the Ravener’s dungeons: unlit, leaving their mortal enemies blind.

But none compared to the dark now surrounding him and his group of companions.

Tenebrama’s darkness was so thick—like the bottom of the deepest well—that it seemed to drink the light of his memories, casting light images in dim shadow. The Mass Darksight magic—channelled by way of his aeld staff and cast through the spell—that he’d placed on the group was already doing its work, turning what would have been an impenetrable blackness into a strange colourless world in which they could at least see.

But even that magic had its limits.

Normally, the power of Mass Darksight empowered the eye to see through pitch-black up to one hundred and twenty feet, but it would provide no colour, leaving the world in shades of greys.

And beyond that range? All would be shrouded with an absence of light.

But here, in this dark plane, it was more severe. The supernatural gloom was so thick that even the dark-dispelling magic struggled to pierce it, reducing visibility to merely sixty feet.

Alex shifted uncomfortably, his staff in hand, emotion drifting from it in waves. Fear. Trepidation. Anger.

Discomfort. Two new crystalline blooms had formed in its branches after he’d infused it with Mass Darksight and invisibility, yet the blooms shed no light. Invisibility magic sheathed the staff, the one who wielded it, and their companions.

As such—to Alex’s eyes—it seemed as though he were alone in the dark. He felt for the rope tied to his waist: a comforting tether. He and his companions were bound together by the thick rope. Under invisibility and travelling in silence, it would have been a simple matter to get lost in the pitch-black otherwise.

Still, the rope extending from his waist disappeared from sight a little more than a foot beyond his body. Everyone tied to him was no longer visible.

It was lonely.

It was terrifying.

And he could feel rising anger pushing against his thoughts.

“You’re among friends,” he whispered. “You’re among people who support you. You’re calm. You’re not actually angry.”

His mind settled as the affirmations grounded him, and he took a deep breath.

The rope grew taut.

It was time to move.

Up ahead near the front of his invisible group of teammates, the enormous Grimloch drifted forward under flight magic, cutting through the air as silently as he cut through the sea. His eyes—used to the lightless ocean depths—could pierce the dark without the aid of Alex’s magic, seeing farther as well.

His senses were well suited to dark realms. Better than any of the other members of the party and—with Baelin’s directions in mind—it was the sharkman they would rely on to guide their way.

“You are charged with destroying an ancient relic within Tenebrama, which has the dubious name of the Fountain of Infinite Shadow,” the chancellor had informed them. “It channels the darkness of the realm into an obscuring illusion that hides its master’s greatest treasures. Your task is to free those treasures, which means your mission will be to destroy this relic. It might be a simpler mission than your last, but only if you remain undiscovered.”

He had handed them a vague map and a list of landmarks. “The fountain is powered by a constant blood sacrifice fuelled by the deaths of countless demon and mortal slaves. The odour of fresh blood can be smelled halfway across the plane.”

And that had been no exaggeration.

In the dark, the rusty tang of life blood filled the air, biting Alex’s nostrils. Some of their group–excluding himself, Theresa, Hart, Thundar, and Grimloch—wore Orbs of Air. Without visibility, having use of their other senses was important in tracking their present location.

Grimloch—his intense sense of smell for blood sharper than any shark’s—could lead them through the dark, featureless plane like a wolf to wounded prey.

‘And boy, is it featureless,’ Alex thought.

There was only flat earth and black sand for as far as they could see. Which, in this case, was about sixty feet. No stones lay in their path. No wind caressed the air. All was silent, except for the sounds of monsters.

All around came the sweep of wings in the air, of beasts clashing with roars of rage, and the clamour of terrible violence. Their sounds were harsh and tumultuous, grating on Alex’s nerves in a way he knew was unnatural.

Again, the realm plagued his mind.

The air was frigid and—combined with the dark—made it seem like he was trapped alone in a chamber of shadow that held no colour. He could understand how one could go mad here, trapped in the cold, forced into silence because of hundreds of demons.

Thankfully, he had someone to talk to.

‘Claygon?’ He reached out to his golem mentally. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I am… Father,’ came the construct’s mental reply, though Alex could feel tension in the golem’s tone. Waves of emotion travelled between them, but no anger. ‘I feel… nothing from the wrath-field.’

‘Well, you’re lucky,’ Alex thought. ‘You weren’t affected by the terror-field either. Probably because your mind’s so… unique. I’m just glad to hear you’re alright.’

‘Are you?’ Claygon thought. ‘I feel… anger from you, Father.’

‘Why would you ask me that?’ Alex thought. ‘You think I can’t handle this? Come on, Claygon I made you, I—Wait, wait. Shit. Sorry. It’s the wrath-field.’

‘I… understand. I will… protect you.’

Another flash of anger boiled in the young wizard’s core.

Why would he need to be protected?

Because of the Mark? Was he some useless Fool that needed everyone to hold him like a baby? No, he was⁠—

He stopped his train of thought, recognising the alien emotions and let them pass.

‘Yes, thank you for protecting me, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘I really appreciate it.’

He withdrew into his own mind, working on keeping himself calm.

‘Why does this seem so much harder than Ikharrash’s fortress?’ he thought. ‘The terror-field was unpleasant, but I could deal with it. I almost didn’t notice it for a good while. But this place? This is much tougher. Why the hells is it so tough? It’s making—Alex, you’re losing it again.’

With a slow deep breath, he calmed himself, making himself consider all the information he had. All the differences between this realm and the last. In silence, he mulled over the two realms, soon finding an answer.

In fact, most of the differences were literally clear.

‘The last realm was filled with stimulus: demons were everywhere, there was a thick jungle, flashing lightning, and a fortress full of monsters. Here, we’re surrounded by coldness and darkness, overwhelmed by the smell of blood, and the unnerving sounds of demons in the distance. There’s not much to distract you. You’re all alone with the demons in your mind.’

Shaking himself, he began tapping his arm as he floated along, guided by the rope. ‘Think. Keep yourself occupied. And hope to the Traveller that Thundar’s lessons can help everyone keep their heads⁠—’

‘Watch out, Father!’

Two forms hurtled from the darkness, locked in a deadly grip.

They crashed to the ground, spraying a cloud of black sand into the air as they tore at each other. Two pazuzite demons—overcome by rage—ripped and tore at each other some twelve feet away from Alex.

The din grew in the dark.

Suddenly, the sound of hundreds of wings flapping through the pitch-black overhead appeared, circling, swooping around with abandon. Demons called to each other in their many tongues, laughing and squawking, enjoying the fight. Some cheered the violence, while others bet souls, portions of food, and trinkets on who the winner would be.

He felt the rope slacken.

The group had stopped.

‘Shit,’ he thought, trying to control a spike of irritation. ‘We’re close. Why’re we stopping, Grimloch?’

There would be no answer for him.

These demons could almost hear a pin drop, and their sight was well-adapted to the constant darkness. Even a whisper at the wrong moment could give the team away.

And so, Alex waited, fighting impatience, until a tug at his waist pulled him forward. As he followed, floating above the ground, a gaze seemed to pierce him from the right.

A crash came. Sand stung his face.

He wiped it away, barely resisting a gasp at what met his eyes.

A pazuzite demon was beside him, its hot, vile breath filling his nostrils. It was no more than a foot away—it could reach out and easily touch him—and it was looking right at him.

His mind whirled. His staff raged, eager for him to use its magic and strike at the demon. The creature had seen him, it had seen through his invisi—no, wait.

It wasn’t looking at him.

It was looking through him.

On eggshells, the young wizard floated around the pazuzite. Its eyes did not follow, remaining on the bloody fight between its kin. Alex sighed mentally, relief washing over him as he followed the rope’s pull. He kept an eye on the brawling demons, cursing internally as they disappeared into the darkness behind.

It had been a long while since he’d felt so helpless, and he didn’t like the feeling.

‘Keep calm,’ he thought. ‘Keep calm. Your feelings don’t matter. Think of the mission. Think about what you’re learning. The rope was a good idea, but you need to try and find other ways to communicate with the others when you can’t talk or see each other. That’s something to work on. That’s it! Problem-solving. That’s how you keep your mind occupied. You can problem-solve, just like you did before you came down here. It allowed you to come up with the little present you made for these demons.’

His hand fondly touched the satchel by his side as he thought about the last projects he’d tackled before coming down to Tenebrama. He’d worked on a couple of special ones right after the housewarming party.

The first was the armour he’d promised Khalik, now finished, and being worn by the earth mage, unseen under the guise of invisibility. The second project, though?

It was a critical one—crafted for the sole purpose of devastating the demons’ relic without revealing their presence—and completed with material provided by the Heroes when they’d arrived that morning.

‘That’s right, you problem-solved for this.’ He recalled the hours he’d spent using the Mark to master aspects of the clockwork-craft needed for the device. ‘Let’s just hope all goes well.’

He clenched his jaw, eyes looking down at the spell-mark on his hand. ‘You’re not going to have a protective mark and a portal waiting for you when you come down to the hells again looking for the Traveller’s information. You might even be on your own. So keep the lessons you’re learning right now in mind.’

As he continued to drift forward, his mind gradually let go of anger, working on the communication problem instead. There had to be some spell out there that allowed thought-to-thought communication… and if there wasn’t…

What else could he do?

There were those communication devices that Professor Jules used. If he could get his hands on some of those… then perhaps…

‘Wait, we’d still have the same problem. We’d still have to speak into them,’ he thought. ‘Maybe⁠—’

He flinched.

A tall spire of black rock loomed ahead.

It was the first landmark.

They were getting closer.

He pushed thoughts of communication aside.

It was time to concentrate.

What felt like hours had passed, though—in this place—it might have only been minutes. Floating through the endless dark, the group had passed thousands of demons, approaching a deepening odour of fresh blood.

Grimloch had guided them unerringly, slipping everyone past the landmarks Baelin had described. Alex was even more impressed with the sharkman’s skills.

At last, the rope went slack and—for the first time since they’d entered Tenebrama—Grimloch spoke.

“There’s no demons close to us. We’re about three hundred feet away. Alex, you can get it ready.”

“Gladly,” the young wizard whispered, digging into his satchel.

Tenebrama might have been dark, but it wouldn’t be that way for long.

Alex was holding a strange device, a hexagonal shape made of well-oiled springs and clockwork. From it, he could feel the thrum of chaos essence and another bit of magical material.

In his hands, he held the world’s first chaos-dungeon core explosive device.

Or, as Theresa had called it:

A Chaos Bomb.

Chapter 73

A Small, But Insistent Explosion

Toraka Shale had often said that innovation came from three things: boredom, laziness, and necessity.

Boredom drove inventors to tinker in their workshops.

Necessity forced people to find new solutions for problems.

And laziness? If someone was tired of performing an unpleasant task, well, that often served as a great impetus to develop new techniques. The urge to automate or ease long, boring, repetitive tasks drove much innovation in wizardry.

In Alex’s case, it was necessity that drove the creation of the chaos bomb.

For a time, he’d struggled to find a way to destroy the demons’ relic without breaking their invisibility. If the team was caught anywhere near a burning ruin that had once been an intact magical artefact, they would be instant fodder for the tens of thousands of demons hovering in the skies around them.

And while there were more powerful forms of invisibility that would allow them to attack and remain cloaked, those spells were difficult to master, and neither he nor Isolde could call on such convenient magic, at least not yet.

“We need something we can set and forget,” Alex had said to his cabal and Theresa one afternoon. “Something indirect—not a direct attack—but something that could cause enough damage to destroy a demonic relic that the demons probably spent a lot of time and attention fortifying against destruction.”

“Well, you would be the person most apt to come up with a solution.” Prince Khalik had looked up from sheets of design schematics of the armour Alex was crafting for him. “You have had to deal indirect damage since the day you were Marked.”

“True.” Alex had raked his fingers through his—now slightly less—scraggly beard. “But the problem is that none of my indirect solutions have enough punch to destroy that blood relic. Honestly, except for Claygon, I don’t think any of us have direct solutions that I’d trust to demolish that relic.” He had nodded to the golem, who was watching Selina’s messenger construct—forged in the shape of a bird of prey—while it perched by a window.

It had just returned with a message from one of her friends.

“It is vexing,” Isolde had agreed, closely examining a spell-guide on explosion magic. “I am finding no practical solutions. There’s a certain explosion spell that would have the power, but it is fifth level, incredibly difficult to learn, takes an impractically long time to cast, and drains so much mana that it could affect the caster’s life force.”

Thundar had snorted. “Only the craziest spellcaster would bother with something like that.”

“I have a thought…” Claygon’s voice had boomed from his speakerbox. On that day, he had chosen the high, clear tones of an alto singer. “What about… that explosion… the one I protected you from?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Wait, do you mean the dungeon core and chaos essence explosion?” Isolde’s blue eyes had shot up from her document. “Well… it certainly did have the power, but it would explode immediately once the substances were combined.”

“Hold on now…” Alex had said, his eyes following Selina’s messenger construct. “I think Claygon might be onto something. Getting chaos essence will be expensive, but either Shale or Baelin could source some for me. It’ll cost, but why not? Coin’s for destroying your enemies.” He’d nodded toward the messenger construct. “And I think I can build us the perfect little delivery system. I might not be able to make the explosive part myself, but hey, that’s what helpful friends are for, right, Isolde?”

And now, that system was in his hands. He unfolded a complex array of four wings from a sphere’s sides, carefully winding the gearwork. Well-oiled and engineered to precision, the clockwork was shockingly quiet.

“Lead the way, Grimloch,” Alex’s voice was the slightest whisper, trusting the sharkman’s enhanced hearing to pick up his words. “And point me in the right direction. Remember, you’ll be setting it for me.”

There was no grunt in reply. The rope growing taut around his waist told him it was time to move. Sliding through the dark, he followed the tether as a hill of black sand emerged from a shadow-coated wall ahead.

Silent and invisible, his teammates drifted up the side of the hill, staying near the sand. He held his breath as they rose over the hill. This was the riskiest part of their plan. If they could destroy the relic without being discovered, then their flight to the extraction point would be relatively easy.

If not…

Alex’s jaw worked.

So far, they’d made their way through like the well-honed, silent machine he held, all while fighting the realm’s wrath-field. He was proud that neither his friends, nor the Heroes’ minds, had been lost to the creep of wrath.

As he crested the hill, a conversation they’d had before stepping into the portal came to mind.

“For this to work.” He’d finished tightening the rope around Drestra’s waist, nodding to the others. “We’re going to need absolute trust in each other. There’s going to be a lot of anger flying through us, and we’ll need to trust that we’re going to keep ourselves under control and do our jobs.”

His eyes had rested on each member of the team as they’d gathered in a dank cave where the barrier between the material world and Tenebrama was thin. Baelin had been standing by, ready to open the gate.

“If we lose trust, that helps the wrath-field get into our heads, and we won’t be able to do what we need to.” He nodded to Grimloch. “Much of our success rests with you, big guy. I know that’s a lot of pressure, but we’re trusting you to lead us. Everyone else, we mostly sit tight and let him get our little present to the relic. Our jobs come in if things go wrong, so keep in mind that the wrath-field could really get into our heads, then. We’re going to have to put a lot of trust in each other.”

He’d looked at Drestra, stepping back. “And just for the record. I trust all of you. With my life, really.”

The Sage had only nodded, much of her expression hidden by her veil.

Her body language had been guarded; now Alex was wondering what was going through her mind at this moment.

Ahead, he heard a terrible racket. Laughing demons, the sounds of leathery wings rubbing against each other, and clawed feet slamming on sand and stone.

Among the sounds came a sudden scream: a voice in pain.

“Shit,” Cedric whispered from nearby, his voice tense with wrath.

Alex braced himself for the worst.

If the Chosen flew down there…

‘Remember,’ he thought. ‘Any mortals down here are probably cultists or demons disguising their voices. Don’t go down there.’ He listened to the scream closely, calling on the Mark, reviewing past experiences summoning and fighting demons. ‘That’s a demon’s voice. Don’t react to it, man. Don’t do it. I’m trusting you not to do anything rash.’

He feared Cedric would roar with outrage and shoot toward the cry, dragging himself and everyone else into some conflict.

The Chosen kept control.

Surprised and relieved, Alex smiled. The Hero was learning.

“Alright,” Grimloch whispered. “Get it ready, then set it on down. I’ll aim it.”

Alex swallowed, taking in a deep silent breath and turned the master dial on the chaos bomb.

Another point of trust.

If Grimloch took too long to release it…

But trust won out over fear. He set the bomb down, making sure it was pushed far enough to form an obvious indentation that was clearly visible in the sand. Grimloch’s massive hands fell over his, picking up the bomb.

The sharkman would take the primed device, point it at the relic, and let it go. It would fly straight for the fountain while he led them away. When the rope went taut, everyone knew it was time to go.

Alex began counting. The oiled springs inside the sphere would slowly extend toward each other, applying pressure to two vials: one containing chaos essence, and the other, dungeon core essence.

After thirty seconds, the vials would crack, combining the two substances.

And then—with all hope and a loud boom—no more relic.

Hopefully, that didn’t also mean no more Alex and friends.

‘One… two…’ he counted, the rope going taut around his waist.

He followed as Grimloch led the team away. They rose higher, moving away from the hill. He risked a quick glance behind him.

‘Five… six…’

The messenger construct-bomb materialised as it flew. A sphere with four wings, rapidly catapulting along its fated mission.

‘All up to you now, little guy,’ Alex thought as the invisible assault team picked up speed.

The bomb disappeared into the dark and beyond his sight. He kept counting.

They gathered more speed.

Icy air stung his face.

‘Twenty… twenty-one…’

An outcry arose behind them, from beyond the hill.

A demon must have heard the bomb.

There was a flurry of wingbeats, and monsters shouted at each other.

Alex’s group continued building speed.

‘Twenty-seven… twenty-eight…’

“Something hit the wall!” a demon roared. “What was that?”

‘Twenty-nine… thirty.’

The demon’s voice boomed. “What is⁠—”

And then dark turned to light.

An ear-shattering explosion ripped through the darkness behind them, lighting up the plane, erupting in a blinding flash of heat and light. Alex risked another look over his shoulder, swearing to himself.

For an instant, he saw the relic—a fountain of black stone the size of a castle’s tower, except tall and thin, spewing shadows from its peak—outlined in full glory in the blinding white light.

Hundreds—no, thousands of demons—of hosts of varied species were silhouetted around the fountain. And below, Alex glimpsed the sacrificial altar, the size of a hulking building with dozens of demons bound to it.

In a single heartbeat, it was all gone.

The Fountain of Infinite Shadow vanished in a flash of light and soul-blasting heat. The altar disintegrated, the demons in the air vanished, and the entire hillside near the fountain was flattened.

And that was when Alex knew he’d miscalculated.

The mana from the explosion was even more powerful than he’d believed it would be. And he realised why. He’d unleashed the bomb on a chaotically aligned plane.

And dungeon core essence reacted with chaos essence.

The explosion was infinitely more massive than he’d estimated.

When the shock wave hit, it blasted the air from his lungs, knocking him end over end as the rope whipped around him. Invisible and attached, his companions screamed as a hailstorm of black sand ripped past them.

Praying the rope would hold, Alex held on for dear life—hugging his panicked staff to his chest—as they careened through the sky, crashing to the ground, colliding with showers of icy sand, and skidding through the dirt. Alex grunted as grit raked his skin.

‘Shit! How in every hell didn’t you consider the potential for interference from ambient chaos in the air! Why didn’t you take that into account! It’s in the plane! What’s wrong with you, it’s like the hellhounds all over again!’ Anger rose, threatening to swallow all reason.

‘Stop!’ he screamed internally, clamping down on the emotion. ‘It’s the first chaos bomb ever made. You couldn’t know all the secondary-effects. Besides, you don’t have time to be angry about this now. Find out if anyone’s been taken by their spell-mark. Any demon that could have heard us is going to be too distracted, too deaf, or too dead to hear us whisper.’

“Everyone,” he rasped. “Are we all still here?”

“Alive,” Grimloch said.

“Here and dying,” Thundar growled, his voice shaky with anger.

“Head spinning, but here,” Theresa mumbled.

‘Here… Father…’

“Barely alive,” Khalik grunted.

“Someone broke my fall,” Isolde groaned.

“That… that was me…” Cedric groaned from the same direction.

“Apologies…” the young noblewoman said.

“I should be thankin’ ya…” the Chosen murmured.

“Stop flirting. I’m alive,” Hart said in irritation.

And then silence.

Alex held his breath. “Drestra?”

“Shhhh!” she hissed in rage. “Trying… to keep… control…”

“Remember,” Thundar growled, his voice moving closer to the Sage’s. “Say them out loud if you need to. Affirmations.”

“Can’t… why did… this whole… it’s all ruined…”

“Ground yourself. Come on, Drestra,” Thundar mumbled. “We trust you. You can do this.”

There was a moment of silence as the Sage whispered to herself.

Half a minute passed.

All around them, demons swarmed through the air in the darkness on unseen wings, making for the column of flame and light roaring from the heat-blasted waste. Much of the sand had been melted into a thick plate of glass.

The scent of blood was gone.

All about the roaring flames, silhouettes of demons clashed in the air as blame flew. They tore at each other, clawing, ripping, and hurling insults.

Others cowered in fear and fled, afraid their master would lay his wrath upon them. Of course, Baelin was already elsewhere on the plane, taking care of the monster.

“Alright, I’m okay,” Drestra whispered. “Let’s go.”

“I knew you could do it,” Alex whispered.

“Good job,” Thundar agreed.

“…Thanks,” the Sage muttered, a strange note in her voice.

“Come on,” Grimloch murmured. “Let’s get going.”

The rope went taut around Alex’s waist again, and the companions were soon in the air, moving fast.

With the relic in ruins, they needed silence to escape, but also speed.

It was best to be at the extraction point before anything else went wrong.

The first landmark came and went without incident. Demons were still utterly focused on the great column of roaring flame and had given no thought to searching for invisible travellers.

It was only when they passed the second landmark that they found trouble.

It came from nowhere.

An eyeless creature—shaped like a xyrthak, but smaller—flew from the dark, making not a sound, its beak pointed toward the explosion.

Except it crashed into one of Alex’s shrouded team members.

Drestra’s cry was muffled when the demon clipped her, sending itself spinning through the air.

Even before it righted itself, it bellowed, a harsh sound of surprise and rage.

Its cry tore through the wasteland.

“Oh no…” Alex murmured.

Monsters answered its call, their screams tearing the air. Thousands of wings whipped the darkness.

“They know we’re here!” Grimloch shouted. “Fight back and fly! I can see the extraction point! We’re only minutes away!”

Drestra swore repeatedly beneath her breath, wishing to all deities to boil the blood from the demon that crashed into her. Rage coursed through her: rage at herself for her lack of control, rage at her companions, rage at the demons.

She knew that wasn’t her.

That was the wrath-field.

And her companions trusted her to resist it.

They trusted her.

They trusted her.

Maybe it was time to start trusting them.

As she called upon her well of mana, she wondered if it was finally time to show them the truth of her.

Secrets be damned.

She reached for her veil.

Chapter 74

All Secrets be Damned

The black skies of Tenebrama were heavy with the thrum of demonic wings sweeping across them.

In the darkness, monsters raged at one another, screeching curses and threats in their demonic tongues.

“Interlopers! How dare you defile our domain!” a deep, thunderous voice boomed through the black. Whatever was speaking sounded big. “You have destroyed our sacred fountain, but even without it, your puny lives will still end in sacrifice!”

As it spoke, the burning light in the distance flared, growing for a brief time.

“Oooooh shit!” Thundar’s voice came from the darkness.

Flying demons were everywhere. Pazuzites. Eyeless, xyrthak-like things. Enormous beings that were all tentacles and eyes. Bat-winged, horned warriors bearing weapons of utter darkness.

They came in all shapes and sizes.

They came from all sides.

They swarmed like locusts.

And all were looking right at Alex and his companions as they flew toward the extraction point.

Alex’s mind raced. “Everyone! Drop your ropes and I’ll stop our invisibility with the staff!” he shouted, instantly cancelling his own invisibility, and the light from the staff flared. “We need to be able to see each other! Light up the skies, fight for your lives! We⁠—”

The words died on his lips.

An immense surge of mana was growing, building, releasing close by.

“What in bleedin’ hells is doin’ that?” Cedric’s voice was tense. “Drestra?”

Alex turned from the demons.

His breath caught.

His companions were now visible, hovering in the dark. But all were watching one Hero.

Every pair of eyes were transfixed on the Sage of Uldar.

Drestra—for the first time since Alex had known her—had removed her veil. And beneath the cloth? A wide mouth full of enormous, sparkling fangs sat between taut lips. Reptilian eyes burned with an inner light and—as she dropped the rope from her waist—orange radiance flared behind those teeth.

Her mana surged… and she began to grow.

First, her crackling voice changed, dropping lower and deeper until it was the rumble and roar of an erupting mountain. Her clothing melded with her skin, disappearing as flesh rippled and twisted in shape.

Drestra’s limbs stretched.

Claws sprouted from fingers already the size of tree branches.

Bones cracked. Flesh tore and shifted.

Her face lengthened, eyes grew as horns sprouted from her skull, dark hair merged with flesh. Deep red scales sprouted from smooth skin. A thick, spiked tail emerged beneath a pair of vast, bat-like wings.

Grimloch and Claygon had always been the largest members of their group, but—in heartbeats—Drestra of Crymlyn Swamp dwarfed the entire team combined. When her transformation was complete, she was greater in size than a trebuchet laden with massive stones.

More ferocious than any Ravener-spawn.

And the heat she radiated?

Surpassed that of Vesuvius many times over.

Alex’s mind tried to accept what he was seeing. Demons surrounded them; he’d seen mana vampires, Ravener-spawn, and other creatures of legend. He’d seen enough magical creatures to fill many lifetimes.

But nothing had prepared him for this. The shock of seeing a dragon—even more shockingly one who was a friend—in the flesh for the first time in his life.

For that was what she undeniably was.

Drestra of Crymlyn Swamp, the Sage of Uldar, had assumed her true form.

Her true form as a dragon.

Red scales layered her body, with thinner black ones covering her neck and belly. The golden staff that was the Mark of the Sage blazed on the side of her neck. Ridges ran down her back. A duo of curving horns swept back from her skull. Her thick tail whipped the air, sheathed in spikes toward its tip and capped by an enormous spear-blade of bone which looked like it could slice a demon in half, or pierce a castle gate.

The only features that remained the same were her reptilian eyes: the same golden orbs that had always framed her face.

“Don’t just gawk, stop them!” a demon roared from the dark.

The Sage’s draconic eyes flicked toward the voice. Air shimmered around parted jaws, coral-red light built within her maw. Grey smoke and acrid gas hissed between sword-shaped fangs. Venom dripped on black sand.

And Thundar gaped. “This is the coolest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured.

“No argument,” Alex whispered.

And then the dark skies burned bright.

A cone of flame erupted from her throat, raking the air, consuming a horde of oncoming demons that would have surely overwhelmed them. Her long neck swept to the side, flame scorching flocks of charging monsters. Dragon-fire burned hot, turning the smaller fiends to ash while setting the larger ones aflame like torches.

In a heartbeat, the darkness Tenebrama’s demons lived under was gone, replaced by fire and smoke. Demons flinched away, trying to escape its reach.

And Alex remembered a conversation he’d had with Khalik long ago:

“—and then I found out what dragonfear is.”

The prince had placed his glass on the table and drawn a large, imaginary circle around it. “Dragons have an aura around them of supernatural fear, and the older they get, the stronger it grows. The fear penetrates the mind and infests the heart. Not fear from within—” He’d pointed to his own chest. “—but fear from outside.” He’d gestured around them. “It is magical and digs into the mind like a pickaxe.”

Now, Alex could observe firsthand what his friend had meant, and while he didn’t feel the dragonfear… the demons certainly did.

The dragon that was Drestra roared, and the demons flew erratically in their scramble to escape. She roared again in rage, whether from the effect of the wrath-field or not—Alex had no way of knowing—then a great beat of her wings sent her in pursuit. Flames blasted from between lips that twisted, casting spells.

A tidal wave of mana washed into Alex, and the red and black dragon shimmered, her form splitting into seven illusionary duplicates. Each breathed fire as one—and though only one’s flame was real—the figment drove demons away like hens fleeing a fox.

Yet, bolder ones remained, roaring back challenges.

An enormous fiend, a creature of mostly tentacles and eyes, soared at her, its tendrils sprouting spikes. She whipped her head toward it, flames extinguishing as she filled her chest with breath.

A stream of acid poured free. Liquid hissed when it bathed the bold creature, sending it into shrieks, flesh boiling away until only a slurry was left to splatter on the sand below.

“Stay away from the fumes!” Drestra roared, her crackling voice thundering. “They bring death! Fly! Fly away, my friends! Fly!”

And those words snapped Alex and his companions back from astonishment.

“You heard her!” he shouted, raising his staff. “Get to the portal and support her with everything you’ve got!”

“Understood… Father.” Claygon raised his upper arms, palms pointed forward. His fire-beams lanced the horde of demons, striking those closest to Drestra as she winged through the sky, then he shot up after her. “I… cannot be harmed by inhaled poisons. I will protect you, Drestra.”

The golem slammed into a flock of pazuzites—rage driving their attack in spite of dragonfear—cleaving them apart with his war-spear. His fists struck the creatures with each swing, spurring his companions into action.

Hart and Theresa drew their bows, hands blurring, launching a flurry of bolts into the horde. Isolde called on lightning, and Cedric’s morphic weapon changed form, becoming a bow.

“Uldar, bless with me wit’ arrows o’ light to smite all o’ these demons!” he prayed, forming a string and arrows of light, finishing off creatures struck by Isolde’s lightning.

Thundar’s arms snapped out, raking demons with heavy force missiles as they closed in, cracking wings and skulls, sending the creatures plummeting. Prince Khalik flew beside him—with armour of steel and stone sheathing him, studded with glowing runes and quartz crystals—his spells whipping up the sand, transforming it into shards of black glass.

With a gesture, they streaked for the closest knot of fiends, shredding them like dry leaves.

Alex waved his staff, casting haste magic on everyone.

Drestra was first, and he smiled in satisfaction when, all of a sudden, the dragon’s speed doubled, sending the demons into panic. Next, he cast the spell on the warriors. Their attacks struck with even greater speed and precision. Lastly, he conjured swarms of Wizard’s Hands to fan around them, lighting up the dark and interfering with monsters, tossing them around.

Some tumbled from the sky.

While others tumbled… right into Grimloch.

“Feeding frenzy!” the sharkman bellowed, leading the group toward the extraction point as Drestra crisscrossed the sky, his jaws snapping demons apart. He was laughing now, and his laughter held both anger and relief. “Roar with me!” he shouted at the others.

And Grimloch roared, a sound that his companions joined with zeal. Every bit of anger created by the wrath-field was released into the demons. Their rage finally had somewhere to go.

And Alex’s Wizards Hands whirled demons out of his path like tops.

Roaring together like a pack of behemoths, the companions fought their way through the tide of monsters—at first, tearing through them like Grimloch cutting through the sea. Soon, though, since Tenebrama offered no place to take cover and fight from, the demons amassed again, their numbers increasing, swarming, seeming endless.

When the fiends began their rally, they came on hard.

The skies filled with soaring, diving bodies.

Demons called on their own magic, casting it down on the mortals.

Drestra flew into the path of crimson lightning bolts, deflecting them, letting them run off her scales like water. She kept roaring, sending cones of flame and war-spells onto the creatures, wreaking havoc through the horde.

The enemy was relentless, closing in on them, trying to form a ring.

And even the team’s ferocious assault, and Drestra’s dragonfear could not keep them all at bay. Demons were edging closer, swooping in, claws, weapons, spells, and venom ready. Their magics struck nearer.

“There it is!” Grimloch bellowed. “There’s our extraction point!”

Drestra roared louder, chanting a spell, and as the air seemed to ripple, the dragon shot fire from her claws while flame erupted from deep within her core.

“Alright then!” Cedric shouted. “Hold on, bash these bastards a bit longer! We’re almos’ out!”

Alex flinched, expecting the Chosen’s words to conjure some hidden titan-sized demon from thin air. Some terrible final challenger they’d have to strike down when they were so close to escaping.

…But no titan appeared.

And then Grimloch shouted the words they were all waiting to hear as he smashed a persistent demon with his maul, turning it to pulp. “We’re here! We made it!”

“That means it’s almost celebration time!” Thundar laughed, sounding elated.

Alex could feel something in the air as they approached a rock rise that resembled a twisted goblin: the extraction point.

Forming a circle around it, they prepared to defend themselves from the demons weaving toward them.

“They are stopping!” a massive demon raged in the sky. “Kill them! They mustn’t escape!”

And the monsters came for them from all sides.

Alex was already smiling.

The moment they’d reached the extraction point, he felt the teleportation magic forming.

“Not today, demon,” he said lightly. “Maybe another day! Well actually, I’ll probably never see you again! Bye, bye!”

And the portal opened beneath Alex and his companions—like a great maw opening in midair. It rose, consuming each team member in one swoop.

For an instant, the young Thameish wizard was tumbling through space.

And then he was in the cave where, earlier, they had left the material plane for Tenebrama. The portal they had come through was gone, and in its place burnt a small, magical fire.

Beside it, Najyah was perched on a stalactite, while Brutus paced back and forth, sniffing the air, his whining filling the cave with their echoes.

His snouts shot up, sniffing faster… Then he growled when an enormous dragon rose from a gate near Alex. The other companions soon followed.

Shocked silence held the group in place, the past moments sinking in. A feeling of great relief washed over Alex, blending with waves of emotional exhaustion. The wrath-field had been driving his heart to the limit, and now with its influence abruptly gone, a lethargy seeped into his very bones.

There was no question: anger was exhausting.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

And then Drestra started talking.

“So…” her voice rumbled through the cavern. “We need to talk. Obviously.”

Chapter 75

Revelation

“You mean, we need to talk about how cool you are?” Thundar was all smiles. “Since when in the hells could you turn into a dragon? Were you always a dragon? Holy shit, you’re a dragon!”

“I—” Drestra started speaking.

“Never did I think I would live to see the day I fought at a dragon’s side,” Prince Khalik said, his grin wide through his beard. “Never, ever did I think I would see dragonfear plague my enemies! It was glorious!”

“But—” the Sage tried to continue.

“Like Thundar said, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Theresa agreed as Brutus bounded up to her, growling and barking at the dragon. “Brutus!” she chastised him. “Use your noses! That’s our friend.”

“That’s—” the dragon started.

“Amazing.” Grimloch gave her a thumbs-up. “An apex predator.”

“Yeah, what he said!” Alex said.

“What… they said,” Claygon agreed.

“Aye, s’bloody wild, but y’saved us out there.” Cedric stared up at her, looking a little crazed around the eyes. At some point before the portal had swallowed them up, his arm had circled Isolde’s waist.

Neither seemed uncomfortable and neither made a move to untangle themselves from each other.

“Indeed, I want to convey just how impressed I am.” Isolde looked Drestra up and down. “Your form is admirable and truly comparable to the wyrms of legend. But, I must ask… Is this… really you? Or some form you have assumed with a spell.”

Silence followed, broken only by Drestra’s thunderous breathing.

“It… is my true form,” she said slowly.

“So, was all that story n’ such about y’bein’ adopted by your ma, the elder. Was that all a load o’ shite?” the Chosen asked, some of his earlier enthusiasm fading. He gave a bitter laugh. “It was a right detailed tale that, for bein’ a bunch o’ made up stuff, if that’s what it was.”

“No!” the dragon spoke firmly, her voice rumbling through the cave. “It was no lie. Around eighteen years ago, my mother did find me on a giant mushroom in the swamp… I didn’t mention just how giant the mushroom was.”

“Didn’t you say that some big snake was going to swallow you whole?” Hart’s voice was low.

“…Yes.”

“Was that true?”

“…Yes.”

“And what about the part where Elder Blodeuwedd killed it?”

“I did not lie to you.”

The Champion of Uldar whistled. “And how big were you at the time?”

“Isn’t that a rather rude question, Hart?” Isodle threw a stern look at the giant man, while Theresa was loudly—and meaningfully—clearing her throat.

“Just trying to figure out the landscape, as it were.” Curiosity marked his face. “Listen, a woman I’ve been travelling with for more than a year—who’s been fighting monsters by my side—just turned into a damned dragon. I think I should be able to ask her a few questions.”

“Aye,” Cedric agreed, his arm slipping from Isolde’s waist. “That turnin’ into a giant, fire-breathin’, walkin’, flyin’, siege engine might’ve been a trifle useful when we was gettin’ our faces kicked by chitterers, silence-spiders, and bone-chargers.”

“You’re… both right,” Drestra said.

Her titanic body shifted—scales bunching like a serpent’s as she moved—then she settled on the floor of the cavern. The cave groaned as her great weight rested on the stone. “To answer your question, Hart… my mother said I was about the size of a vegetable cart.”

“Damned big snake, then. The lady’s got my respect for slaying such a beast,” Hart said. “And the part about you bawling your eyes out? Was that true too?”

“…Yes.” She sighed, sending streams of smoke and poisonous fumes drifting from her nostrils.

“Uuuuhhh, if it’s okay with you, and if the others have no objections, I’m just going to uh… put Orbs of Air on everyone who isn’t wearing one,” Alex offered. “You know… poisonous gas and… confined spaces don’t really mix too well.”

“Oh, by the elements, you are right.” Isolde’s face paled. “We were all in such a state of wonder that we completely forgot.”

“…I didn’t think of it either.” Drestra lowered her head as Alex protected his companions from imminent death.

“Right, right, so… what… y’got adopted by the Witches?” Cedric asked. “Do they bloody know y’re a great, big dragon?”

“They do now,” Drestra said. “At first, they did not. My mother didn’t bring me back to the village right away… Dragons can naturally change shape⁠—”

“Overpowered bastards,” Hart whispered.

“—and my mother knew some transmutation magic of her own. It took her a few days to calm me, but she taught me how to use my inner magics to look… mostly human.” She bared her fangs. “I can’t get the mouth and eyes quite right.”

“Explains the veil,” Hart said.

“Yes.” The dragon nodded. “And long ago, the Witches of Crymlyn used to wear veils, back when the swamp was infested with evil spirits, centuries before anyone here was born. The belief back then was that if veils were worn, a witch’s face couldn’t be seen by the spirits, and they wouldn’t get attached to them and start bothering or following them home.” She pointed to her snout with a claw. “Mother said she brought me to the village at night, and by the time she showed me to anyone else, she’d already hidden most of my face with a veil, so it wouldn’t be seen by any evil spirits hunting in the swamp. The other witches knew I wasn’t quite human, but they didn’t question it. I lived as a human for much of my childhood…”

Her claw scratched a trench in the stone. “When I was older, I revealed myself to the village. They… took it well.”

“Right, that must’ve been a relief.” Alex ran his fingers through his beard. “I imagine you must’ve been dreading that day. Revealing a secret is never easy.”

“Aye, but the witches don’t ’xactly cast out strange creatures. Not surprised they took it well,” Cedric said. “Clan Duncan an’ the Witches o’ Crymlyn aren’t too different, an’ we gots relationships wit’ some o’ th’ spirits an’ monsters o’ the woods around those parts. Don’t see dragons bein’ too different fer much o’ yer kin t’ be good with.”

He frowned. “But still, I gots to ask, why didn’ y’tell us? Was y’afraid we wouldn’t accept ya? C’mon, Drestra, I’m not this steamin’ big pile o’ shite. Y’fought by m’side an’ saved m’life. I wouldn’t just cast y’aside.”

“No, that’s not it…” Hart frowned, the Champion’s large eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t feel right to me.”

And Alex agreed with him.

Drestra had been marked as the Sage of Uldar, destined to fight the Ravener. She was a young woman who had come to him, looking for any solution she could find to help end the war. She wanted the Ravener-spawn destroyed and she wanted this all to end.

Why would she hide such power from her enemies?

Why would she hide it from those she fought beside?

Was it a matter of trust? He remembered how she and the other Heroes acted toward each other when he’d first met them. There was no harmony between them, and they acted like three powerful individuals who just happened to be fighting the same foes.

They weren’t a team. Maybe she thought the other Heroes would try to kill her if they knew her true form. Did she have so little trust in them?

‘No, that doesn’t make any sense,’ Alex thought. ‘There’ve been nonhuman Heroes in the past and they were treated as Heroes. Besides, she doesn’t seem like the type to worry about that. The Drestra I know would use everything she had to fight her enemies. No, it’s gotta be… Oh. Oh.’

Maybe it was something more personal. Something that could perfectly explain why Drestra had kept her form a secret.

“I…” Drestra paused. “You’re right, Hart. There was more to why I kept my secret.” She sighed. “In truth, it was because I understood that if I ever had to fight my way out of being a Hero of Uldar to protect my home from the church… and others… my body and its power would be quite the surprise.”

“Something that’d catch your enemies off guard,” Hart said. “Including us.”

“…Yes.”

“Well, I can’t blame you.” The Champion shrugged. “If you ever needed to escape or fight us, better to take us by surprise with a show of power and a statement that says: ‘I’m actually a dragon, so die now.’ Nobody would have seen that one coming. It’s what I’d do if I was a dragon… Actually, I’d probably be eating villagers or kidnapping royals and stealing treasure, but I’m not you.”

“Thanks,” Drestra said dryly.

“I’d honestly do the same,” Alex said. “If I needed an emergency escape or battle plan, I guarantee I’d keep my abilities to myself too. Best element in combat’s the element of surprise.”

“Alright, so, why show us y’kin change now?” Cedric asked. “Wasn’t an actual life-or-death mission. If we failed down there, then… Shite… now ya gots me thinkin’ about it, an’ I woulda been broken up if we failed… Hells, I think I woulda been real broken up. When the hells did I start carin’ so much?”

“It sneaks up on you,” Isolde said. “It is not life-and-death, but it feels that way at times… but, Drestra, you were saying something?”

“Yes…” the dragon growled. “You asked why now…” And her reptilian eyes shifted, falling on Thundar. “It’s because… of what you said to me. You said that you all trusted me when the wrath-field was taking my mind. You said that you trusted me to resist it.”

Her eyes scanned the others. “And if all of you had enough confidence and trust in me to fight my own mind, then I thought that I should trust you too. I know it might look bad, but I thought it was better that you know.”

Alex gave her a silent nod of approval.

“I see, so you was keepin’ your true self back s’y’could blast us all t’ash if’n y’decided we was threats to ya.” Cedric shook his head. “I ain’t gonna lie, that’s bloody colder than a winter’s day in’ a bloody northern ocean. There we was, fightin’ by yer side all this time, while y’was waitin’ t’cook us if’n we twitched the wrong way.”

The Chosen let out a low growl. “I’m gettin’ real tired o’ secrets. Everyone’s keepin’ secrets. Feels like I’m walkin’ around fightin’ monsters for everyone while folk keep tryin’ to shove m’head in a damned bag. But…”

He looked Drestra in the eye. “Y’came an’ told us about it. Y’transformed fer us when it counted, an’ y’said y’was gonna trust us now, an’ I ain’t so small a man as t’hold a grudge forever. Y’did no harm t’me, an’—if I’m bein’ real honest—if we ever need t’fight the church, s’good that we gots ourselves a secret dragon on our side.”

His arms spread wide, and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “So that’s what matters t’ me, in the end. How abouts you, Hart?”

“Like you said, we got told the truth. And now we have a dragon. I see this as nothing but a win.”

“Aye, I can agree wit’ that, Hart. I can agree wit’ that.” The Chosen smiled up at the Sage. “I’s glad t’ know th’ real you.”

“Thank you,” Drestra said. “Thank you. I imagined this going a lot worse.”

“Wait, wait, hold on, now! How come it’s not going a lot worse, Cedric?” Alex’s voice rose. “The last time someone revealed their secret to you, you punched them in the face.” He put his hands on his hips. “But now you’re all ‘let’s let bygones be bygones’? This is some unequal treatment, and I protest!”

“Really?” Theresa glanced at Alex. “Things are ending on a peaceful, wholesome note, and you’re going to ruin it with a joke that could stir the pot?”

“Yes!” Alex insisted, glancing at Grimloch. “I know of a very handsome, intelligent person that nearly had all their teeth shattered long before age would’ve de-teethed them! And I’m offended on their behalf!”

Cedric turned toward the Fool. “Well, Alex, I’s done some growin’ lately. Besides, if’n y’re offended an’ wantin’ t’punch the bloody dragon in her face? Then be my guest!”

The Fool paused… his eyes slowly falling on the dragon.

Drestra grinned at him, showing her many, many, many large teeth.

“You know what? There’s something I always say. Hurray for personal growth is what I always say. Hurray for no punching!” Alex said.

“Thanks for lightening the mood.” Drestra laughed, and it was like the crackle of flame. “And thank you all… for taking this so well.”

“Hey, like Hart said, this is a win,” Thundar snorted. “Now, let’s give ourselves a nice big round of applause, because I think we did real good on this mission. Real good.”

“Indeed,” Baelin’s voice boomed from the dark. The chancellor stepped into the firelight. “You have done exceptionally well. Even better than I expected. It seems you have reached a new level on your journey into Proper Wizardry.”

He looked at everyone gathered, his eyes lingering on Alex. “I believe you are all ready for the next steps of your journeys.” Meaning entered his voice. “And be prepared, they are coming soon. Very soon.”

Chapter 76

A Step out of the Circle

“Before we part, I would like to congratulate you on your exceptional work.” Baelin leaned forward in his chair—one of many he had conjured in a circle around the fire—and gazed upon his students and the Heroes of Thameland.

Pride brimmed in his goat-like eyes.

But something else also lay there… something unsaid.

“You have progressed immensely,” the chancellor’s voice was warm. “You defeated your enemies in Tenebrama and accomplished your mission with few issues. The demons’ relic was destroyed, you reached the extraction point without a single injury or causality, even though surrounded by overwhelming odds. But, before I go on, is there anything anyone wishes to say?”

Alex’s hand rose. “I think we did a lot better than our last mission. We resisted the wrath-field, which was tough to fight, we all made it out without needing the spell-marks and—like you said—we reached our objective, destroying the target.”

“Aye,” Cedric said. “I didn’t lose m’damned head, this time.”

“Neither did I,” Hart said.

“I… almost did,” Drestra said, still sheathed in her true form. She was curled up at the edge of the circle, as Baelin had said he didn’t have a chair to accommodate her size that he could teleport for her. The Sage looked down at Thundar, her lips pulling back from her fangs.

Alex guessed that the expression was a smile, though it looked more like she was preparing for a fresh ‘beef’ luncheon. “But Thundar helped me through it. Thank you for the lesson.”

Thundar beamed.

“Aye!” Cedric said. “Them mantras helped me keep m’self focused even though we couldn’t see much. Bloody hard, that was. Kept wantin’ t’smash faces, even if it was a friend’s.”

“Yeah, same here,” Hart agreed.

“I think I can say that all of us—except for Claygon—” Prince Khalik nodded respectfully to the golem standing beside Alex and Theresa’s chair “—were assailed by those same feelings of rage.”

“That is true… I was not…” Claygon’s speakerbox boomed, his choice of voice mimicking that of a demon. “I could… feel my father’s… anger. It was confusing.”

“And how was it confusing, Claygon?” the chancellor asked with interest. “Yours was a unique experience within Tenebrama, and I do believe that sharing it would be useful to all of us.”

The golem remained still for a long moment. “I… felt Father’s anger… and it made me want to attack. I wanted to protect. Father was under attack… from the plane. From… himself. But… there was no one to strike with my war-spear or shoot with my fire.”

“That would be confusing.” Baelin nodded. “And how did you deal with it?”

“I waited… Remembered Father’s advice about not always attacking things… I was… patient.”

“And do you think that worked well for you?”

“Yes…” Claygon said. “Because… I trusted Father…”

“Indeed.” Baelin smiled. “And with that, you have hit upon the most important element that contributed to your entire team’s success this time. Trust.”

The chancellor looked at Drestra. “It might be tempting to say that your success stemmed from Drestra’s powerful transformation, Alex’s very expensive explosive device, your clever use of spells, Thundar’s affirmations, or even your teamwork. In truth, these were all secondary. The primary factor that brought you through Tenebrama so successfully? Trust.”

He held up a hand. “Now, a cynic might roll their eyes and fear that I am about to launch into a sentimental speech about love and friendship triumphing over great evil or something of that sort. Absolutely not. Two weak youngsters madly in love would be consumed by a demon as easily as a hateful, lonely wretch. Trust is rather pragmatic, in this case.”

Baelin nodded toward Alex. “You spoke of trust before you began this mission, and it was quite apt that you did. In Tenebrama, none of you could see each other. You had no way to monitor each other’s positions or see what a teammate was doing. Each of you operated as a team, but—in many ways—you were alone. Tell me, what would have happened had you been thrown into this situation with unreliable strangers?”

Prince Khalik raised his hand. “We would have performed poorly. In essence, we could not know if our teammates were pulling their own weight, conducting themselves well and staving off the wrath-field. What would have happened if one of them had been ensnared by it and attacked another team member with a powerful spell? We would have all been in trouble. It would have made me constantly mistrustful of the others, while having to be vigilant against enemy attacks, dividing my attention.”

“Precisely. Very good,” Baelin said. “You trusted each other’s abilities. That enabled you to perform your own jobs without having to worry about whether the team member next to you could perform theirs. And that generates power. You have all grown immensely from when I first met you, including you, young Heroes. You have learned how to better function and fight as a unit. And that is a skill which can aid any Proper Wizard or warrior, or Hero throughout their trials… but now, I must reveal a worry to all of you.”

His look turned grim. “You have taken a major step toward your final transformation as young people with bright futures. Be you warrior, wizard, dragon, shark beastman, human and so on… this lesson and your success shows me that you have progressed to a new stage.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Theresa asked. “So, why would you be worried?”

“Because you are growing to the point where I suspect you will leave my sphere of protection sooner, rather than later. And the world—as I have said many times—is an unforgiving place. I will continue to teach you ways to protect yourselves, to destroy attackers and conquer foes… but with your newfound level of agency comes a newfound ability to venture out in the world and strike your own path.”

He sighed. “I have trained a great many students in my time, teaching them all that I could. My teachings have saved many lives. At other times, they were not enough. My only hope is that—as you grow beyond where I might protect you—these lessons serve as both sword and shield.”

Silence followed.

“We already venture into danger,” Drestra’s deep voice crackled. “But thank you.”

“Indeed!” the archwizard’s voice lifted, taking on a lighter tone. “And do not let an old man’s melancholy rob you of what this is: a victory. Go. Celebrate. You have earned it and…” He looked at Drestra closely, a chuckle passing from his lips.

The dragon cocked her head. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, his tone amused. “It is just that you remind me of at least one former student, and of another dear friend. Now, let us return to the Research Castle. Go and be merry! Eat, drink, dance. Or do it all.”

He looked at Alex. “But you, my friend, must come with me for a moment. We must talk.”

The young wizard nodded. He had a feeling he knew exactly what the chancellor wanted to talk about.

“Cretalikon, within the Outer Labyrinths,” Baelin said, his voice grim and stern. “That is where we must go next.”

Alex watched as an illusion floated above the chancellor’s desk in the university, marvelling at the sight of it.

It was the image of a maze—so mind-bendingly complex—that his eyes throbbed just from trying to trace a path through it. The labyrinth was massive, so large that entire cities thrived within its chambers, each separated by hundreds or thousands of miles of winding halls. Labyrinthine walls towered above floors of stone and bone, some rising as high as a castle rampart, while others towered over the elemental mountains within the Rhinean Empire.

Every wall burned, wreathed in flames ranging in colour like a rainbow.

Flame licked the labyrinth’s marble, filling the air with shimmering heat waves and rising soot. Within great clouds of ash flew dozens of demonkind, many mocking the creatures desperately crawling through the endless halls and corners below. Alex noted that each flying fiend wore a glowing crystal attached to a stone belt inscribed with a demonic glyph that translated in the common tongue to the word: Freedom.

Those without such sigils seemed to be bound to the maze below. He watched a strange monster—a centipede-like creature with row after row of feathered wings in place of chitinous legs—attempting to wing its way above the labyrinth’s walls.

It wore no stone of freedom on its side.

Each time it fluttered above the walls, the realm shifted, folding in on itself in a seemingly impossible, alien geometry that Alex’s mind could not begin to grasp. When the reconfiguration was complete, the monster was gone.

“Over here—” Balin pointed to another part of the image. There was the monster, now trapped in that part of the maze, surrounded by dozens of strange crystalline fiends, their shapes like oozing, partly-melted gemstones.

They struck at the hapless creature from all sides, crystalline pseudopods smashing and flaying the creature into bits of chitin, wings, and bug-like flesh.

“That is… horrible…” Claygon said.

“You can say that again,” Alex agreed. “Is this one of the hells?”

“In a sense,” Baelin said. “It is a domain that shifts its alignments between the hells and other planes of existence, effectively travelling between each. Sometimes it exists in the hells. Sometimes it exists in the elemental or celestial planes. Sometimes it exists seemingly nowhere.”

“That’s amazing,” Alex murmured. “The planes really are fascinating places… But that’s going to be hard to navigate. Is that where… Zonon-In said Hannar-Cim’s information is?”

“Indeed.” The chancellor waved a hand in front of the image, shifting its focus to several chambers in the maze, the ones so titanic that entire cities lay within.

The image focused on a particular city—an enormous centre with buildings crafted of gold and sparkling gems the size of wagons. Its towers soared hundreds of feet in the air—some even thousands—many forged in the shape of demonic generals and masters, clutching weapons or sceptres of rulership.

Coiling vines of writhing greenery enwrapped the city, sometimes bursting into full jungles between streets of gem and gold. They steamed, and despite the thousands of fires burning in braziers flanking every street, they did not burn.

Yet, no fire burned brighter than the one capping a six-sided pyramid. The flames topping the structure might have been as big as the entire Research Castle in Thameland, and burned with colours that Alex could not even name.

Surrounding the pyramid was a massive palace that could rival the city of Generasi in size, filled with buildings of maddening geometric shapes.

“Holy hells,” Alex swore. “It’s beautiful isn’t it, in its own way? Its own mad way.”

“Many demonologists have said much the same.” Baelin gestured to the palace. “You are looking at one of the many wonders of the planes. A palace older perhaps than our world itself and filled with demons of an age that they would have witnessed the dawn of civilization in our world.”

“And who does it belong to?” the young, Thameish wizard asked.

“To Ezaliel himself. You are looking at one of an abyssal knight’s many manses.”

The young man’s jaw fell open. “Is Hannar-Cim’s information in there? By the Traveller, Baelin, Zonon-In’s information better be specific. I could search that place for a year and probably not explore it all.”

“And that is where my news to you turns good and ill at the same time.” The goatman shifted the image. “The good news is that the information you seek does not lie in Ezaliel’s palace itself.”

The image focused on another building. A palace that easily matched the size of the university, constructed of silver, gold, and jewels. Surrounding it was its own maze of burning marble, interwoven with hedges of bloodred flora, each spiked with thorns the size of daggers.

At the centre of the palace stood a statue of a towering minotaur… or what looked to be a minotaur at first glance.

A closer look revealed its demonic nature. Four horns instead of two, tentacles hanging from his body in place of fur, two great feathered wings sprouting from its back, and six-fingered hands clutched a fearsome-looking trident.

The statue’s four eyes were burning rubies, staring down at the courtyard below with an inner malice. A cruel arrogance marked the bull’s expression.

“This is the palace of Kaz-Mowang, a former mortal cultist of Ezaliel that served him so well, that he ascended—or descended, depending on your perspective—to demonhood, achieving immortality in the process. He is one of Ezaliel’s most ferocious, powerful lieutenants, and a fanatic to the abyssal knight’s cause. And—according to Zonon-In—he fought Hannar-Cim on an ancient, mortal battlefield.”

Baelin glared at the palace itself. “And though the battle was a draw, he took from her a prize, which he spirited away to his lair. In there, you will find what you are looking for.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Well… I never did think it would be easy. Baelin, tell me everything you know. If I’m going in there, I’m going to have to prepare like my life depends on it.”

He sighed. “You know, because it does.”

Chapter 77

The Creation of an Act

“First of all,” Baelin started, “I do not recommend you challenge Kaz-Mowang in a direct force of arms. He is a foe that is still beyond you.”

“Baelin, I may be a little crazy sometimes, but I’m not stupid… Most of the time at least. And I’m definitely not suicidal!” Alex said, jotting down a note in his notebook and nodding to Claygon. “Zonon-In nearly killed me, Claygon, Theresa, and Cedric. And that was when she was holding back. There’s no way I’m starting a punch-out with any demon who’s on her level.”

“I… would like to face Zonon-In again,” Claygon said, his voice having returned to its initial gravelly tone. “I owe her… for damaging me… hurting my father… my family…”

“A capital thought!” Baelin sounded pleased. “Despite what Alex might consider to be my… biases, I would enjoy seeing you take your vengeance my young, polished friend. However, Zonon-In at her full strength is still beyond you, though she is somewhat weakened from her defeat. I urge you not to rush in before you are ready. A Proper Wizard—and an intelligent warrior—only moves to crush an opponent when victory is assured, unless forced into an unforeseen situation.”

“Yeah, Claygon,” Alex urged him. “Let’s not pick a fight with two greater demons at once, both of whom will kill us.”

“I… will not, Father,” Claygon’s voice boomed. “But… someday. Someday.”

“Agreed.” Alex patted his golem’s arm. “For now, let’s just focus on the greater demon we have to deal with right now. So, we know that we can’t fight Kaz-Mowang. Makes sense… hmmm…” His fingers combed through his beard while he examined the illusion of Cretalikon. “Okay. So, it seems to me that an infiltration mission is the way to go: The Guile Approach, as we talked about. We can’t just blow up the palace and pick through the wreckage.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “You could destroy what you are seeking.”

“Right… right.” The much younger wizard nodded. “Then my first question is… how close can you drop me to Kaz-Mowang’s palace? Can you teleport us inside?”

“Potentially,” Baelin said. “But the geometry of the Outer Labyrinths makes it a difficult place to cross the planes with any sort of precision. All gates I could make from the material plane would be automatically shuffled to specific areas of the maze. Those areas are common for planar travellers and tend to be either well-guarded by Ezaliel’s forces, patrolled by wild predators, or both.”

“Well, that’s great,” Alex said, noting that down. “We’d either have to do the stupid thing and go in blasting, or… do they bother cultists who’re working for Ezaliel or travellers looking for an audience with Kaz-Mowang or his master?”

“The predators bother all, but the demonic guards will let those with ‘proper business’ in Cretalikon pass.”

“That could mean a small group, well-disguised and prepared with a rehearsed story,” Alex said. “Okay, and what about navigating through the maze? I saw it… fold on itself like a damn…” He searched for the words. “Shit, I can’t even think of a way to describe it.”

“Few can,” the archwizard said. “The geometry of the realm confounds some of the greatest mortal mathematicians. I can tell you that flight above the walls triggers a response from the domain itself, causing it to fold in space and deposit the flyer into another part of the labyrinth at random. As such, I would not recommend that.”

“Yeah, that seems pretty obvious,” Alex agreed. “Looks like we’re left with walking, then?”

“Walking is easier, though not by much. Once within Cretalikon, you will be able to walk through the maze. It is rather difficult to navigate by sheer intellect and pattern recognition alone, but it can be done, though that method is inefficient and can be dangerous since you could encounter the labyrinth’s many, many predators in the process.”

“And what about teleportation?” Alex asked. “Or climbing the walls?”

“Those prove to be easier solutions.” The archwizard waved his hand over the image, which scrolled away from Kaz-Mowang’s enormous palace, centring itself over an area of the maze outside of the city. There, it focused on a peculiar sight.

A pack of strange, lizard-like demons with wide, constantly twitching eyes looking in two different directions at once appeared. The creatures—at least one score in number—navigated the maze with practised precision, but they neither crawled nor walked.

Instead, their feet and hands clung to the burning stone in the same manner that Alex had seen a small reptile in the botanical gardens at school do. A gecko, it was called, and he’d seen few non-magical creatures capable of climbing so well on sheer surfaces as they could.

He’d once seen one cling to a smooth piece of glass as easily as Theresa might cling to the rough branch of a tree she was climbing.

These human-size demons—similar in appearance to both geckos and chameleons—scaled burning walls of stone with ease. They swarmed over the top of the wall and into the next maze-hall.

And there they came upon a group of mortals.

A band of four adventurers—well-armed and well-equipped—drew their weapons as the demons plunged down on them. Two powerfully built warriors surged toward the lizard-like demons, cutting through several with blades glowing with powerful magics, but the demons swarmed, lashing them with their tongues, pinning them to the ground.

What followed was a grisly, red feast that was both horrifying, and hard to turn away from.

Next to fall was an archer, who was tackled by another lizard-like demon before he could loose his arrow.

Jaws closed on the bowman’s head.

Alex winced but didn’t turn his eyes away.

The last of the four mortals standing was a wizard—initially frozen in shock at his companions’ deaths—but finally came to his senses as the demons advanced on him. With a quick incantation, the magician disappeared, teleporting several halls away.

The young Thameish man leaned forward in his chair. “Holy crap, teleportation works? That’s great!”

“It is technically the easiest way to travel through the Outer Labyrinths,” Baelin said. “Technically.”

“Why do you say ‘technically’—Oh, right. If you can’t fly above the walls, then you can’t see where you’re teleporting to. You’d be blindly transporting yourself to another part of the maze, where you could—Aaaaand there it is,” Alex said grimly.

In the image, the hapless wizard was screaming as a demonic ooze monster—a living mound of magma—enveloped him, consuming him in two blinks.

“You could easily teleport yourself in proximity of somewhere or something you’d rather not be around,” Alex said.

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “Which is why care and strategy must be used with teleportation. And speaking of teleportation, that brings me to another complication. Ezaliel knows that I am no friend to him. I cannot risk teleporting you to the city in case we are seen together. I could send you ahead, but I suspect that he will have agents watching for me the moment I enter the plane. If you wish a stealthy entrance into the city and Kaz-Mowang’s palace, you will need to enter the plane alone.”

“Right…” Alex sighed. “So, enter with a small team, without you present, and then make our way to this city through a giant, complex maze—where we can only walk or climb—while not being discovered, and then under stealth, infiltrate a greater demon’s palace. Great. Sounds bloody great. Right, now tell me how it gets worse? What sort of emotion or concept is this realm tied to?”

“Mania,” Baelin said bluntly. “Within the bounds of the domain, one will feel all emotions intensely. Bouts of uncontrolled laughter are common, and uncontrolled tears are incredibly common. As are fits of rushing about aimlessly, struggling to control one’s thoughts, and rages that would be akin to a young child’s tantrums.”

“I think these emotional states are getting better all the time,” Alex noted sarcastically. “It couldn’t be the domain of ‘being able to stay extra focused’ now, could it? It’s a bit nasty having a maze realm that can steal your ability to concentrate and plan your actions… This means I’m going to have to make sure anyone I recruit has a very strong will, or is already a maniac.”

“Good thoughts,” Baelin agreed. “And what about your point of entry? How will you do that?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and Alex noticed that he was barely offering him any of his own suggestions.

‘He’s really trying to get me to think the situation through on my own… Guess he was right about me stepping out from his protective circle soon,’ Alex thought, peering at the illusion.

“Could you take the image back to Kaz-Mowang’s palace for a second, Baelin?”

“Of course.” The chancellor waved a hand.

Alex pointed to the palace grounds, tracing his hand through the inner maze surrounding it. “Does that maze have the same ‘I fold over you and send you to another part of the maze’ thing that the labyrinth outside the city does?”

“In a sense. Instead, though, it simply reaches up and crushes those who try to fly above it—but only when Kaz-Mowang wills it. Zonon-In has informed me that his personal maze is usually more of a toy. A curiosity to amuse himself, his lieutenants, and his guests. When he wishes, however, it will destroy any who try to fly above it.”

“Well, that’s charming,” Alex said, examining the palace. He studied the courtyard, noting a series of richly appointed carriages pulling up in front of the main gate. “Does he get a lot of visitors?”

“Zonon-In says that Kaz-Mowang loves to show off his wealth and power and does this by finding any excuse to host guests, usually on a large scale. It seems he is a rather conceited creature, very much in love with himself, and entertains lavishly as a way to bring attention to himself.”

“Huh.” Alex nodded. “Is he having a party soon?”

“Indeed, Zonon-In has suggested that he will host a party within the next few weeks.”

“Iiinteresting,” Alex said. “We might be able to sneak in while all those guests are there… or… there’s no way he’d allow random humans on his guest list, would he?”

“Not unless you were a high priest of his cult, some powerful ruler on the material plane… or you are there as the meat, as sport, or as entertainment.”

“Right, that makes se—” Alex paused. “Hooold on a minute. Did you say entertainment?”

“I did. You have a thought, don’t you?”

“I doooo.” Alex looked at the demonic guests being ushered into the palace. “Do you know what sort of entertainment he likes? He sounds arrogant as all hells, but does he insist that his entertainment be all like… competitive human-gutting or something?”

“No,” Baelin said. “Demons in this realm enjoy puzzles, as evidenced by the maze that serves as their home, and they also enjoy experiences that heighten the innate mania they experience. Such emotions can become intoxicating.”

“Okay… okay!” An idea began to brew in Alex’s mind. “They like spectacle? They like to laugh?”

“Why, yes. Yes, they often do.” Baelin’s eyes lit up with understanding.

“Yeah, you get where I’m going…” Alex cracked his knuckles. “Do you think you can get me and a small band of people in as entertainment? Maybe ask Zonon-In to arrange some entertainment for him as a gift? That could be our way in.”

“I do believe I could,” Baelin said. “I do believe I could indeed. What’s your idea?”

“I recruit some minions that could help me put on a show. We use that to get into Kaz-Mowang’s party. Once all the demons and their friends are celebrating, then we use that opportunity to go rifling through the palace and see where he might be keeping the information. During the party, I might be able to get one of his servants talking. Maybe find out what exactly we’re looking for.”

“I see,” Baelin said. “With the right minions recruited, that could very well work.”

“Yeah, and since it’ll be super dangerous,” Alex said, “I’ve got to make sure I bring as few friends with me as possible. Maybe one, maybe two, tops. The rest of the ‘act’ has to be made up of people who… well, thrive in situations like this, people I’d be more comfortable going down with me if things go really wrong.”

“I see… any specifics in mind for your act?”

Alex chuckled in bitter irony. “Do they let wizards in the place?”

“Wizards are a regular fixture there.”

“Then I’ll need to learn the Planar Doorway spell… and I’m going to need a jester’s hat.”

Chapter 78

A Loved One’s Responsibilities

“What? Are you out of your damned mind?” Theresa demanded. “You’re not leaving me behind!”

Alex winced, looking up from his spell-guide for Planar Doorway. He swallowed, feeling the full power of Theresa’s ‘death stalker’ face.

‘You can’t budge on this one, Alex,’ he thought. ‘You can’t.’

He met her gaze head on.

They were alone in their apartment in the insula after Alex’s alchemy class and Theresa’s shift at the beastarium. Claygon and Brutus were on their way to the junior school to surprise Selina, which left Alex alone with Theresa to tell her about his plans for Cretalikon.

A day had passed since Baelin’s talk with him about Kaz-Mowang, and that conversation had brought him to one firm conclusion, one that involved Theresa, one he knew she would fight him on.

He’d tried to break the news to her gently, but directly.

There were certain things he could have done in an attempt to soften things if he wanted to. He could have made her a favourite dish, or offered her a relaxing foot massage while she sipped some fresh pine needle tea. But what awaited him was hard and dangerous.

She deserved to get the hard truth of it.

“I wish I didn’t have to bring anyone at all that I love with me, but I don’t have a choice, I have to bring Claygon,” Alex said. “We talked about this. What I’m doing is gonna be… crazy dangerous. I’m going down deep into the hells. Baelin won’t be there as a safety net because his focus has to be on Ezaliel.”

“Alex…” Her nostrils flared as her frown deepened. “That… that doesn’t make any sense. That’s more reason for me to come with you. We’ve been protecting each other since before the Cave of the Traveller, and now you want to go down into the hells without me? How would you feel if I said I was going to do something so deadly by myself? And I don’t mean my hunts, I mean, literally going down into a place like the hells with mostly strangers.”

“I know you won’t like this but, yeah, Claygon’s going to be waiting in reserve at a portal, since he can’t be right beside me,” Alex said. “Baelin and I talked about the best way to do things. A war-golem wouldn’t have worked with the plan we came up with, but he can be part of the plan if Baelin transports him to a different part of the domain with a couple of summoned monsters that he’ll be conjuring. They’ll be killing any wild demons that are waiting anywhere near that portal. Claygon’ll have a spell-mark that’ll teleport him to me the instant I call him, and he’ll be bringing the summons with him.”

“So Claygon’s not going to be at your side?” Theresa balked further. “Even more reason you need me. Come on, Alex, you’re not the kind of guy that would just turn to me and say ‘this is too dangerous.’ You’re not, so where’s this coming from?”

Alex winced. “I… I don’t wanna say it.”

“Come on, talk to me.” She slid into the chair across from him at their little table. “What’s going through your head? Tell me, because I can’t understand this. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

He sighed, closing the spell-guide. Alex looked into his partner’s eyes, his hands sliding across the table to take hers. “The thing is… I don’t want to risk anyone close to me. It bothers me that I even have to bring Claygon along, but both he and Baelin said it’d be rash not to have at least one close ally down there.”

“Then I can wait with Claygon. Baelin can put a spell-mark on me too, and you can call me and him. If things go wrong, I’ll be there to back you up.”

“It’s… jeez, listen Theresa, I’m thinking about our family, about Selina. Look, I’m going on this mission, and I’m taking a big risk. I know that. If things go wrong… and… by the Traveller, I don’t want to even think about this—if you, me, and Claygon die down there, then what happens to Selina? What happens to Brutus? That’d be almost our entire family wiped out… just like that.”

The huntress winced, squeezing his hands. “I get that. But we fight together against dangers all the time. The demon attack here in Generasi. The Ravener-spawn back home. By fighting together, we made sure we both came back together.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Alex said. “But this is me trying to infiltrate a greater demon’s palace—at his party—to get my hands on information about the Traveller that could help us. It’s risky, it’s dangerous, and honestly, I think taking you with me would be pretty selfish. I want to fight by your side, but… Brutus, Selina… your parents. I just want to hedge all my bets. I’m taking people along to back me up. Baelin’s going to help me. I wouldn’t be doing this at all if I didn’t think I had a good chance of pulling it off. But I want to make sure that—if something does go wrong—that your parents still have a daughter, that Brutus still has his mom, and…”

He took a deep breath. “And that Selina has someone to come home to after school. I promise, this isn’t going to become a habit, but like… I dunno. Just give me this, this one time.”

Theresa remained silent, looking deeply into Alex’s eyes. A thousand thoughts seemed to brew behind her eyes; most would be left unsaid.

She finally spoke. “Alright. It is hard, Alex, and I hate having to think like this. I hate it. But, if I go with you, it would be selfish. I’d be going for you and me, not for Brutus and not for Selina. I wish I didn’t have to make this decision… but you’re right. This is different from Thameland, or when we were attacked in Generasi.”

“Yeah, and I hate it too,” Alex agreed. “Listen, I want you to come with me, but you saw what happened in Cawarthin, in Ikharrash’s fortress.”

Her hands squeezed his. “We were affected by the terror-field and the demons swarmed us. If it wasn’t for Baelin’s spell-marks, we’d all be dead. And you say this Kaz-Mowang’s as powerful as Zonon-In?”

“Yeah.” Alex’s expression was grim.

She shuddered. “If she’d really been trying against us, we would’ve all died in the Crymlyn, even with Cedric and the witches’ trees helping. If things do go wrong, we’ll be gone, me, you, and Claygon… and if the worst does happen…”

“Brutus and Selina are going to need someone to comfort and support them, someone who understands what they’re going through, not three corpses.”

“Yeah…” Her grip on his hands was so strong, they ached. “Alright. I trust you to come back to us. Go… but make sure you come back.” She leaned forward, kissing his forehead across the table. “Come back to me.”

“I will,” Alex said, kissing her lips. “I swear on the Traveller, I’ll come back to you.”

For a moment, they just held each other’s hands.

Then the apartment door began creeping open, its hinges squeaking.

In a wild moment, Alex thought demons were at the door to kill him since he was an associate of Baelin’s, or else as revenge for Cawarthin and Tenebrama. Or maybe it was the Ravener’s clawed monsters sent from across the sea by Thameland’s ancient enemy, claws ready to gut him.

When a horned figure loomed in the doorway, his thoughts went even wilder, imagining Burn-Saw or even Kaz-Mowang himself there to murder them in their apartment.

It was Theresa’s voice that returned him to sanity.

“Thundar?” she asked.

Alex blinked.

The horned figure standing in the doorway was the towering figure of his friend. Alex’s sigh of relief was so strong, he nearly doubled over. “Thundar, you scared the soul out of me! Holy shit.”

“Jumpy, much?” Thundar’s hooves tromped across the threshold and he slammed the door behind him. “Is it because you’re about to go down to the hells to face some greater demon by yourself?”

Alex winced. “You heard?”

“I did. I certainly did.” He dropped into a chair beside his shorter friend. The minotaur glared down at him. “You know, you’ve done a lot of crazy shit, but this might be the damndest, most foolish, craziest thing you’ve ever talked about. Which is why I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, it’s—wait, what now?”

“I heard everything you said from, ‘Theresa, I’ve got to protect all my friends by going down to the hells with a bunch of strangers,’ but you’re going to need at least one person with you to watch your back, Alex. And I get why Theresa can’t come—if I was in your shoes, I’d have said everything you said to her, that all makes perfect sense. If all of you die, it’d put your sister and Brutus in a real bad way. But me? I’m the perfect guy to go with you. As I said, you’re gonna need someone right there with you to watch your back.”

“Thundar, I⁠—”

“Remember when we were cooking for the last Festival of Ghosts? I told you: If I die in battle protecting a friend, then I die in battle protecting a friend. There’s few better deaths than that. That’s how I feel, and my ancestors would praise me for it. And me?” He pointed to his chest. “I don’t got a girlfriend, or little sisters, or dogs to worry about. If I fall, my family will mourn, but if they know how I fell, they’ll be as proud as my ancestors.”

“Thundar,” Theresa cut in. “You can’t just say you’re expendable.”

“I’m not. What, are you nuts?” He looked at her like she was nuts. “I’m just saying I’m well positioned to take the risk. And I got skills he’ll need. I can fight, but that’s not the point. Remember the terror-field? I resisted that. I taught the rest of our team how to get through the wrath-field. When Cretalikon’s mania-field hits, you can guarantee I’ll keep my head. Can you say the same for a bunch of strangers? You got mercenaries, but you’ll need one good friend to keep an eye on them and you.”

“Thundar, if anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself,” Alex insisted.

“Good.” The minotaur clapped his friend on the shoulder. “That’ll give you an extra reason to be real careful so we get back home. Because if you let me die down there, I’m gonna become the nastiest demon-marked ghost you ever did see. I’ll haunt the shit out of you.”

“What if I’m dead too?”

“Extra haunting. There’re no rules saying that ghosts can’t haunt other ghosts. Besides.” He nodded toward the apartment across the insula’s courtyard. “You know that when Khalik finds out you’re leaving him behind, he’s gonna hit the roof, right? Isolde’s gonna lecture you about only taking mercenaries down there with you.”

“Oh, she doesn’t have any ground to stand on when it comes to ‘not bringing people with you to dangerous places.’” Alex scoffed. “She didn’t bring Hogarth or Svenia on our trips to the hells.”

“Um.” Theresa cleared her throat. “Alex… can you think of one single reason why Isolde might not have wanted to bring extra protection from her household with her?”

Alex paused, the memory of Cedric’s arm around Isolde’s waist returning to him. “…Oh.”

“Huh.” Thundar chuckled. “I’ll need to use that against her. Point is. You need at least one person at your side for this crazy quest. I got the skills, I’m volunteering, and I wouldn’t be leaving behind responsibilities. Plus, it’d make Isolde and Khalik feel better. Come on, man.”

“Alex, this is selfish, but it’d make me a bit more comfortable if someone that we know was with you.”

He considered everything Thundar had said, and what he was offering. “…Yeah, okay,” Alex agreed, at last.

Wrapped in a wave of guilt, a surge of relief also came over him knowing that one of his friends would be with him. He made a vow, promising himself that nothing dire would happen to Thundar. “But if you die, and I don’t, I’m coming to the afterworld to kick your ass, and if I also die, I’ll already be right there beside you kicking your ass.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Thundar grinned. “Now, I didn’t come here to bully you. I ran into Baelin earlier and he wanted me to give you a message.” The minotaur drew himself up, trying his best to mimic the chancellor’s dignified voice. “I am to inform you that your chance to recruit minions—his word, not mine—will be coming shortly. I am also to inform you that—unless they belong to races with natural fur—that Kaz-Mowang does not tolerate facial hair on his performers. Zonon-In has informed me that he thinks smooth-skins should be smooth-skins.”

He slumped his shoulders as he finished. “And that’s the message.”

Horror stricken, Alex clutched his beard protectively. “What the hells other details did she leave out? That means… I have to shave?”

Thundar nodded gravely. “You have to shave.”

“Oh no,” Alex murmured.

Theresa’s eyes shone, and a dreamy smile took her face. She looked up toward the sky as though she could see every deity in the world above her.

Releasing Alex’s hands, she collapsed her palms together in prayer. “Thank you, Traveller. Thank you.”

Chapter 79

The Death of the Beard

“We are gathered here today to send off a brave warrior,” Khalik said sadly, putting his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Let it be known that he fought well and hard, but now must fall to benefit others. What do we call that?”

“A Hero,” Thundar and Alex echoed.

“Oh, by the elements.” Isolde rolled her eyes. “I cannot believe you called me out here for such a thing.” The young noblewoman squinted at the position of the late evening sun setting as ocean waves crashed over the Generasi beach. A small, hand-crafted boat—only large enough to contain a child’s doll—lay before them. “Just shave it off, already!”

“Shhh!” Alex clutched his beard protectively. “You’re scaaaaaaring him.”

The young noblewoman made a sound as though an invisible hand was strangling her and turned away, shaking her head.

“It’ll be alright, little one.” Alex patted his beard sadly. “A day will come when you will rise again. For as long as I live, you are immortal.”

“Please do not inflict such cruelty on Theresa,” Isolde muttered. “You have given her hope. Do not dash it away now. That is more cruel than giving no hope at all.”

“Quiet, Isolde.” Thundar lowered his horned head. “We’re grieving.”

“Yes…” Alex said, as grimly as a man condemning his brother to death. “Let us be done with it.”

He brought up the straight razor.

The operation did not take long.

With what felt like a few quick scrapes, it was over.

Alex gathered the remains of his beard with the greatest care and laid it to rest in the small boat. “My cabal mates, we are gathered today to bid farewell to a fallen comrade.”

“Utterly ridiculous,” Isolde muttered.

“Let it be known that he was with me through thick and thin… and through many dangers. But, sometimes, we go where even our closest cannot follow,” Alex pronounced.

“Where even our closest cannot follow,” Thundar and Khalik echoed.

They turned to Isolde, who stared at them in utter incredulity.

“You cannot be serious.” She shook her head. “I shall not say it.”

“Please,” Khalik said. “For all of us.”

“Will it get us off of this beach faster?”

“Likely, yes.”

“Where even our closest cannot follow—Bla, bla, bla, put the ridiculous boat in the water and light it on fire already!” Isolde snapped.

“Father…” Claygon leaned down toward the beard. “I was not going to say anything but… this is dead hair. It has no feelings, and you likely appear disturbed to everyone around you… Except for Khalik and Thundar.”

“It’s about the sentiment!” Alex cried in an overly dramatic manner. “It’s about the poetry!”

“You would never understand, either of you,” Khalik sounded pained. “Let us see it done. Your beard does not deserve to hear such disrespect.”

“Yes,” Alex said, gently picking up the boat. “Good night, sweetest of princes⁠—”

“Put. The. Boat. In. The. Water,” Isolde growled from between clenched teeth. “Or I swear on the elements, I will paste it back on your face if you miss it so much!”

“Ugh, such disrespect.” He shook his head sadly, placing the vessel in the water. “May the tides carry you to the afterworld⁠—”

“It is hair!” Isolde screamed.

“I do not think… the beard has… a soul, Father…” Claygon said, the confusion clear in his voice.

“Such cruelty!” Alex cried. “May the next world be more gentle!”

He pushed the boat out to sea, watching as the tide took it deep into quiet waters.

As it drifted away, Alex raised his head, about to sing a funeral dirge, but a look-that-could-kill-a-demon-lord radiated from Isolde, stopping him. Instead, he, Khalik, and Thundar watched the boat drift deep into the water in respectful silence.

And so, Alexander Roth sent his first beard into a kinder place, and turned to his golem. “Claygon… in some northern funeral customs, an outgoing burial boat is set on fire by a flaming arrow to cremate the dead. If you would do the honours.”

The golem’s head darted between Alex and the boat. “Father… I am not so sure… that is a good idea.”

Alex placed a hand on his arm. “Please. For me. For the beard.”

“For the beard,” Thundar and Khalik echoed.

“Strike me down,” Isolde begged the heavens. “Strike me down. I am ready for sweet death.”

“If… that is what you want, Father…” Claygon turned toward the boat.

His central fire-gem flared bright.

A lance of flame fired from his forehead.

It was beautiful. The orange light of Claygon’s flame shone across the waters, mixing with the reflection of the setting sun. Thundar and Khalik began to sing the funeral dirge. In Alex’s imagination, it was as though a hundred spirits of fire had risen to see his beard into the afterworld.

And then, the beam struck the boat.

And the boat—quite predictably—exploded.

Instead of flame springing to life and igniting the vessel, burning brightly and cremating the remains of the dead… beard, a column of flame erupted, exploding boat, beard, and several unfortunate fish, sending all boiling into the air in a column of fire and steam.

Thundar and Khalik stopped singing.

Alex stared at the boiling ruins, his mouth gaping.

Isolde nodded in satisfaction. “The elements were smiling on me today.”

No sooner had she said those words than the wind shifted.

It whipped over the beach, carrying with it an unforeseen consequence of fiery burials on the open seas.

“Oh, by the Traveller!” Alex screamed, the stench of burnt hair and fish skin assaulting his nose. “That stink!”

“By my ancestors!” Thundar’s eyes began to water. “This is worse than the hells!”

“My nose! My eyes!” Isolde screamed.

“Flee!” Prince Khalik cried. “Abandon your posts! Fleeee, flee for your lives!”

Screaming and coughing, the cabal stumbled off the beach nauseated, leaving behind a terrible stench and a very, very, very confused golem.

“To simply burn hair… why did Father use a boat?” he wondered aloud, turning to follow his screaming father.

Alex hated to admit it, but the absence of itching was nice.

Rubbing his now smooth cheeks, he reclined in a long divan on his rooftop garden, with the spell-guide for Planar Doorway floating before him, held up by a pair of crimson-glowing Wizard’s Hands.

Along with the moon, they provided enough light for him to read by.

It was late into the night in Generasi, and the muted sounds from still busy taverns reached him from the distance, but all was quiet on Alex’s street, except for the occasional hums, thuds, and clattering from Shale’s Workshop. The rest of his family was long asleep. Claygon stood nearby, watching the street below, his head tracking night travellers going about their business.

Altogether, it was a quiet night, one perfect for deep study, which was a very good thing. The spell array for Planar Doorway was intensely complex.

In some ways, it was similar to other teleportation and summoning spells he had already learned. Like Call Through Ice—and other spells that sent small items through tiny gateways in elemental planes—but of a level of complexity he’d never encountered before.

The magic circuit had to account for a host of variables.

Planar Doorway would cast an object from the material plane—briefly taking it through another plane of existence—and back to the material world in less than a heartbeat. Except, with this spell, the ‘object’ was the living caster themselves, providing the wizard with the ability to instantaneously move from one place to another, though the spell had a relatively short range of up to a thousand feet.

It also allowed the caster to transport an equivalent weight of matter with them, including other living beings.

And that was where things got a bit tricky.

Sending a small inanimate object across the planes for instant movement was one thing, but living beings were complex. At the same time, both durable yet fragile, often in unexpected ways.

Alex had read of cases where average folk had survived a fall from a hundred feet or more. But he’d also read about cases where a fall from three feet had killed a grown man instantly.

When using teleportation spells, the shock of passing through two or more planes instantaneously was far more dangerous than a fall. It had to be carefully managed by the spell. Magic Circuits had to control the caster’s movement across the planes, or it might send them into a wall of ice, an astral vortex, a powerful inferno, or some other life-ending hazard.

Naturally, that would be bad, and so the magic circuit had to detect hazards across the planes, ensuring that it avoided them when sending the wizard across the boundaries of reality.

Then there was the issue of orientation.

While the average person might think of the ground as static and unmoving, both a wizard and an astronomer knew better. The world was constantly moving, spinning, and rushing around its sun in a never-ending orbit. A teleportation spell that did not account for that movement could smash the wizard against the ground, or simply leave them catapulting endlessly through the sky.

And there were other factors the magic circuit had to account for as well.

All in all, it made for perhaps the most complex spell array Alex had faced yet.

“Okay,” he said, scrawling an entry into his notebook. “Even with that inner power helping me, this is going to take some time.”

“Why is that, Father?” Claygon’s head turned one hundred and eighty degrees, staring at Alex in a way that sent a shudder through the young wizard. Heads were not meant to turn that far. Unless one was an owl. “Is it because… you are still grieving?”

“Claygon,” Alex said very seriously. “We promised never to speak of the funeral again.”

“But… I have so many questions…”

“Claygon, you’re killing me,” Alex pleaded.

“Okay… for now…”

“Thank you.” The young wizard sighed in relief. “Basically, the spell has a lot of different components to it. The magic circuit is complicated, and if I screw it up, then there’s a lot of ways it could turn me into a corpse. Or maybe many, many parts of a corpse.”

“That would be sad… Would I then need a funeral boat for you?” the golem asked with sincerity.

“Claygon!” Alex choked. “You promised!”

“But I wasn’t speaking of the beach⁠—”

“Claygon!”

“Alright… no more boats. If this spell is so dangerous… would…” He looked to where the aeld staff lay against the garden trellis. “Would putting that magic in your staff… be better?”

“In some ways, yes,” Alex said. “But it’d take me a bit of time to formulate the right infusion for magic that’s this complex, and it’d take even longer for the staff to absorb it and create a new bloom. I probably could pull it off in time, but—if worse comes to worse—we’d be going to Cretalikon without my staff. And that’s a risk I can’t afford to take.”

“That… makes sense…”

“Besides, if I want to learn more about whatever this power is within me, it’d be better if I learned teleportation spells myself. And if I break through to fourth-tier with this spell, it’ll help me gather more power. So, yeah, I’m stuck with this complex spell for now.”

“I hope you… learn it faster than you fear you could…”

“Thanks, Claygon, I hope so too. It’ll give me a lot to do while we’re making the other preparations for the trip. And speaking of that… any sign of him yet?”

“Not yet, Father…” Claygon said. “I have been watching every passerby, but have… wait… I think I see him. Small… moving very fast.”

“That’s Ripp, alright.” Alex jumped up from his divan, fetching his staff and casting flight magic over himself. “I’ll be right back, Claygon, this shouldn’t take too long.”

He picked up a heavy pouch from beside the divan. “Hold the fort for me.”

“Indeed…” the golem said. “And, Father, I have one final question.”

“And I might have one final answer,” Alex replied.

“Will Ripp also… honour your beard?”

“Claygon!” Alex choked. “Are you doing this on purpose? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

The golem’s head cocked to the side. “Why… would I be doing anything on purpose, Father? I am… learning.”

“Learning to make me suffer,” Alex muttered. “No more, alright, no more!”

“I understand…”

With a final scandalised look, the Thameish wizard leapt from the roof, floating down to meet Ripp in the street below.

His golem watched him for a time. “Maybe… I will ask Theresa… instead…”

Chapter 80

Building a Team

“Good eventide!” Ripp skidded to a halt on the cobblestones, stopping just in front of the bakery. “Late hours, you’re keeping.”

“Evening, Ripp.” Alex floated down in front of the swiftling, noting the glint of weapons strapped to the little man’s armour. “Sometimes night’s the best time to get things done, especially when it’s so busy in the daytime.”

“Aye, if I’ve just come back from a hunt and got paid, the day’s all taken up. On those kinda days, there’s only time for leisure and other business when the night falls,” Ripp said pleasantly. “So, I got your message. Is it about another job?”

“You could say that,” Alex said, gesturing down the street. “Walk with me.”

The swiftling looked up at him, a light of intrigue in his eyes. “Aye, lead the way, then.”

Together, the young man and the swiftling strolled down the street, their cloaks high and their voices hushed. To anyone peeking through a window from the shadows, the pair could have easily been taken for a couple of rogues scheming to burgle a nearby house.

The truth of it was that there was a burglary being planned, but for a place far, far from Generasi.

“You’re going to be needing another black ball?” Ripp asked, his eyes constantly searching the dark of alleyways they passed. He nodded to stray cats passing by and scowled at a twitchy rat gnawing on a piece of dropped trash. “Need me to dive into another hill and fetch one from a monster den? By the way, you shaved! Good for you, lad! You didn’t wear a beard right.”

Alex had… mixed feelings about that statement. “Actually, I only shaved for the job I want to talk to you about, which’ll be somewhere a little more… exotic than Thameland,” Alex said. The butt of his staff clicked against the ground as they walked. “Tell me, have you ever had a job anywhere off the material plane?”

“Oh, well, doesn’t this already sound curious?” Ripp’s eyes narrowed at the thought of intrigue. “Not often, I’ll admit. I was hired by a wizard to crack open a beastie in the elemental plane of earth once. It was supposed to be all diamonds on the inside, he’d been told.”

“Oh? That must have been quite the payday.”

Ripp made a face. “Unfortunately, nothing but quartz inside. My employer got himself killed for nothing.”

“Poor him.” Alex winced. “How’d you get back?”

“We got in through a natural portal, so I just needed to run fast. Very fast.” Ripp’s face turned dark. “So… what sort of plane are we talking about?”

“The endless hells,” Alex said grimly. “In the Outer Labyrinths.”

Eyebrows rose. “Oh. Well, that’s… something. Don’t bother with specifics about plane names and such; the only thing I’m going to understand is hells. Hoh, boy, and what’s the job?”

“We’re going to steal something from a greater demon.” Alex pointed to a richly decorated townhouse nearby. “He’ll be hosting a gala soon. The plan is for us to slip inside as part of the entertainment, and while we’re in there, burgle what we came for, then hopefully, get out without incident.”

“Aye…” Ripp nodded slowly. “Well, it’s not the maddest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But… it’s sure giving everything else a run for first place. What’re we stealing?”

Alex shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. It’s information, but it could be written down, it could be carved into a gem, some demon could know it. We’re going to find out during the party.”

“Well, shite, this keeps getting better.” Ripp’s laugh was shrill. “We’re going right into the belly of the beast, on a demon’s plane, in their sanctum to steal something… and we got no idea what we’re stealing?”

“We’ve got some idea. Some.”

“Hoooh boy, you’re going to need a king’s ransom to hire me for this one, Alex.” The swiftling shook his head, his long ears wiggling beneath his hood. “And I’ll be honest, if you weren’t you—and we didn’t pull that job in Thameland together—I’d be laughing at you with every step I’d be taking down this street. My legs aren’t the longest, mate. There’d be a lot of steps and a lot of laughing.”

“Right, if I didn’t know me, I’d be laughing at me too. And as for a king’s ransom?” Alex lifted the sack at his waist. “This is five thousand gold. I’ll give you this upfront, and you’ll get another five on our safe return.”

Alex almost missed it.

The fae’s movements were rapid and liquid, his tics and tells passing so swiftly, that the untrained eye would never have caught them. But Alex’s trained eye did, just barely: a slight stiffening when he heard the sum.

A point of shock.

And maybe hunger.

“Well,” Ripp tried to play it off casually. “That’s not bad… but extra hazards…”

“Name a price,” Alex said.

“Fourteen. Three-quarters now. A quarter when we get back. We might die, and I’d like some spending time, in case we do.”

“Twelve thousand. Half now. Half when we get back. You can spend all you want when we get back alive. And we will. You’re going to help me make sure of that.”

Ripp paused. “Aye… is it just you and me?”

“Myself, you, my friend Thundar, and… maybe two to three others, tops. Stealthy types. My golem will be back up.”

Ripp paused again, and Alex could almost see the calculations working through his brain. “Seven thousand now. Six thousand when we get back.”

“Six thousand and six thousand, take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” Ripp sighed. “I’ll come with you into the breach. Gods above, whatever you’re going to get must be priceless to be worth this much pay and danger.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “You have no idea.” He handed Ripp the sack. “We’ll go to my bank in the morning and get you the other thousand.”

“Thanks, I’ll need to do some quick spending in case I’m too dead to do it later.” He gave Alex a searching look. “And who’re the others you’re hiring? I could give you a list of hunters to avoid. And some good ones, if you don’t already have folks in mind.”

Alex shrugged. “Let’s say that I’ve got a connection. A place where only the very best mercenaries go.”

“Now the key thing to remember is that some of the potential minions you will encounter there are idiots,” Baelin said, leading Alex through an alley in Generasi’s business quarter. “Complete buffoons. The worst sort of scum.”

“Baelin…” Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, following the chancellor closely. “I literally just told a guy I hired yesterday that where we’re going will have only the very best mercenaries there.”

“In many ways, it does,” Baelin said. “But if you are looking for pre-sorted warriors who have only the cleanest morality and highest competence, then… unfortunately, such a place does not exist. This place will have some of the best hired arms you can buy, but it will also have others intermixed. I would suggest using your skill in reading others carefully.”

“Right,” Alex said. “So… where are we going? Specifically?”

“That, I cannot say,” Baelin said. “Both because where we are going tends to be… in multiple places at once. Honestly, it’s a metaphysical nightmare, and I asked one of my cabal members—one far more fond of metageometry than I—to track it down. The other reason is that the owner would not appreciate it if I were to make the place too well-known. And speaking of tacit agreements with the owner, there are some rules to follow.”

He gave Alex a very serious look. “First, you have brought gemstones, yes? You did remember that payment is strictly in the form of gemstones? No stamped coins?”

“I’ve got ’em right here.” Alex rattled two bags, one great and one small.

“Good. Secondly, you are to purchase at least one drink from the barkeeper. To purchase none would be the height of rudeness.”

“Got it.”

“Thirdly, a number of various languages will be spoken. Most will be unfamiliar to you.”

“I don’t know, Baelin, I’ve studied a lot of languages. I think I should at least have a passing knowledge of most of them.”

“Then your thinking is wrong,” the chancellor said, turning the corner in a narrow alley. “Do not give in to arrogance. The material world is far larger than you might think.”

Alex was having trouble keeping track of their route. Were the alleys in Generasi always such a maze?

“Okay, then,” Alex said, intrigued. “Anything else I should know?”

“Do not draw a weapon, no matter what happens. Things would turn quite ugly if you do. And that’s about all. I would suggest communicating in a tongue of demons. That will help narrow your choices of potential minions.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of doing exactly that.” Alex tapped the pouch of gems on his belt. “So, when are you going to teleport us there?”

“We are already there.”

“Wait, what?” Alex frowned at the goatman. “What are you talki—Oh. Oh.”

It was at this point that the young wizard knew they weren’t in Generasi anymore.

They were elsewhere.

Somewhere very cold.

At some point—without him even realising it—the two wizards had rounded a corner in Generasi’s alleyways and stepped into one in a completely different city. The surrounding buildings were ancient, their stones cyclopean, and their architecture a hodgepodge of time periods. It was as though people had been modifying structures belonging to their ancestors generation by generation, each leaving a lasting mark that the next generation would do their best to erase.

Streets away, Alex spotted lofty towers of carven stone, reaching up toward cloudy skies. There were no gondolas in those skies nor any sign of familiars, or any of the exotic beasts found throughout Generasi.

The mana in the air… was thin.

Not as thin as Thameland’s, but thin enough to let Alex know that mana vents were no common thing here.

The sounds of an alien city reached his ears. Speech in languages he’d never heard before, in voices both human and not. The aromas of boiling meats and beets reached his nose, wafting along on the harsh scent of cheap perfumes and burning incense drifting from windows that were curtained with fur, and shuttered with slatted wood.

Ahead of the two wizards, stood a stone tavern in the centre of a crossroads of alleyways.

It matched the surrounding architecture but seemed… out of place.

He squinted, scrutinising it, trying to grasp the problem. Nothing obvious met his eyes, but he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that something about it was off. That it didn’t quite fit.

The doors were barred, and hanging above the entrance was a large sign with a whetstone engraved on it.

“Welcome to the Whetstone Tavern,” Baelin said fondly. “A crossroads for many and a home for few. Those that find this place are mostly the sort that you need… you just need to have the eye to recognise them.”

He switched to a tongue of demons. “Come, then. Let us have ourselves a drink. I will meet a friend inside while you sort your business.”

“Got it,” Alex said, taking a deep breath and following Baelin to the door.

It creaked open, allowing a sliver of daylight into the dark, firelit space.

Within, it seemed to be no more than any typical tavern, though it was somewhat barbaric in how it was outfitted. The floor was rough stone, covered in rugs of bearskin and the hides of both long, and shorthaired beasts. Trophies from various monster hunts—mostly bleached skulls—were displayed on the walls.

Lithe figures clad in gauzy garments danced around a massive fire pit, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke, roasting food, and the rise and fall of voices in a host of languages, mixing with a steady drum beat.

As daylight trickled in, eyes turned, falling on the door. Some were human. Many were not.

All sized up the two wizards.

“You here for peace? Drinks? Or more?” a man asked from behind a bar of carved wood. He was tall, lean, and had a piercing gaze beneath a wide brimmed hat.

Baelin looked down at Alex and barely nodded.

“Drinks, peace, and possibly more,” the young wizard said, his voice filled with confidence. He couldn’t flinch before the patrons here. Most looked hard and dangerous.

“Then welcome, strangers.” The barman gave a nod of silent assent. “Treat this place as your home and it’ll treat you like you’re its master.”

“We will,” Alex said, closing the door behind them.

“Ahhh, there is my friend.” Baelin nodded to a tall, hooded figure in dark robes on the fire side of the tavern’s common room. In one of his four arms, he clutched a skull-headed staff. “I shall fetch a drink and enjoy some conversation. Good hunting.”

“Yeah, thanks. Oh, and do me a favour, do these people know you?” Alex asked.

“Some know of me, more know of my friend.”

“Good.” Alex handed him the heavy sack of gems, keeping the small pouch. “Keep this on you. It’ll help me later. I’ll hold on to the small one.”

“Fascinating.” The chancellor took the sack. “I look forward to seeing what you have in mind.” He stepped away.

Alex’s eyes took in the room, assessing those who had returned to their drinks. He was beginning to wonder why Baelin had brought him here. The place seemed like any other roadside tavern where one would find mercenaries.

Within a few heartbeats, though, he quickly understood how wrong he was.

His eyes shone in realisation.

Chapter 81

And They All Met in a Tavern

The air held little mana.

The same could not be said for some of the figures occupying tables in the tavern.

Though many were clad like any common mercenary or itinerant warrior would be, some also carried one or more objects that radiated high levels of power.

A steel axe strapped to a hulking orc’s back, encrusted in runes, blazed with fire magic.

A wiry woman playing a game of cards—with unfamiliar faces—had a golden halberd leaning against the bench by her side. Sparkling emeralds emanated a rainbow of deadly magics from it.

Other weapons, precious stones, and armour all burned with their own magics, each exuding a power as great as any Alex had seen in Generasi. These were the true monsters of magic weaponry: stormbringers, swords of chance, blades of honour, and foe-hammers all.

And those were just the weapons.

The warriors who wielded them also had him taking notice.

In the past two years, Alex had spent a lot of time with and around warriors, considering his life had been filled with mostly peaceful things, like baking, before he’d left Thameland. The Watchers of Roal were a constant on the campus, but Hart Redfletcher was the greatest warrior he’d met so far—being the culmination of hundreds of years of powerful warriors. Then there was Cedric, Theresa, Hanuman, Grimloch, and others from Generasi, while Thundar was firmly on the path to greatness.

But within this tavern?

One look at the body language of nearly everyone present revealed a naturalness of movement as they moved their bodies with utter ease and deadly precision. There were some here who seemed like they could give even Hart a challenge.

Folk without even a single bit of magic had the presence of those whose blade could make demons cry.

There were also those whose body language was far from subtle. It was loud, jerky, and seemed to scream look at me. They swaggered around as though trying to own and impress a room full of folk that could end a life with a single twitch.

Their bravado wasn’t working, though they looked from table to table, eyeing Alex and anyone who met their gaze with a note of challenge.

The young wizard met their stares evenly, neither flinching nor showing any sign of unease. He wasn’t aggressive, yet he remained guarded, displaying neither weakness nor open challenge.

Alex wasn’t there to engage in a bar fight, after all.

He was there to recruit fighters.

Sidling up to the bar, he nodded to the barkeep. “What do you have?”

“What do you want?” The older man grinned. “We have many things. Many, many things.”

“Cider?”

“Sweet or dry?”

“Sweet.”

“Then I have just the thing.”

“Great.” Alex slid a tiny jewel—the smallest he had brought—across the counter, and the barkeep’s eyes seemed to spark at the sight.

He handed the Thameish wizard a tankard of bubbling cider in a clay pot.

“Thanks,” Alex said, leaning forward. “Listen, I’m looking for folk for a job… any idea of who in here’s good?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Folk find their way here from many places. Some come on purpose, looking for pay. Others stumble in here, running from trouble. And others… well, they are always here. You’ll find what you need from among the lot.”

Alex frowned. “Is that some kind of cryptic prophecy business?”

The barkeep’s eyes shone. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll find out soon enough, I think.”

“Yeah, okay, definitely cryptic prophecy business. Tell you what, if it all works out as you say, there’ll be a ruby in it for you.” Alex slipped away from the bar, making his way to an empty table near the door.

Stepping over a couple of drunks and the leftover ruins of a fight, he slid onto a bench, paying attention to the warriors nearby.

Alex was thumbing the small pouch of gems at his belt, slipping it under his cloak and palming a jewel in one fluid movement, when a deep grunt drew his attention to the nearest corner.

A curious sight met him.

Two enormous men—one blond and the other with hair like fresh snow—stood before a table, facing each other. Both had one hand placed firmly on the table as they watched one another with expressions like stone.

As Alex watched, puzzled, the blond man raised a hand.

And drove his palm into the side of the other one’s face.

The slap was like a boulder dropping. Alex swore, expecting knives to be drawn or the white-haired man to collapse like a poleaxed ox.

But nothing happened.

The man stood tall, his neck not even budging from a blow that could have felled Thundar.

“Not bad,” he grunted, tattoos rippling across bronzed skin.

He raised his arm back.

Then swept it forward.

If the first slap was a boulder falling, then the second was a thunderclap rupturing the air. The blond bear of a man’s head snapped to the side, his face shuddering, and his neck making an unhealthy cracking sound. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, while the white-haired man sneered.

“Need more steel in your neck, friend.” He reached down for a pouch, and counted the jewels inside.

Alex watched him carefully, noting the magic drifting from the blade at his waist, the power in his thick muscles, and the sharp, calculating look in his eyes. He took in the man’s powerful arms, completely covered in dozens of intricate tattoos, each bleeding magic.

His eyes paused on a phrase inked across the hulking man’s skin: Let them know you’re not afraid of Hell.

He’d found someone of interest. “You have steel in your neck and steel in your arm,” Alex switched to one of the tongues of demons. “You using that arm for anything besides slapping?”

The man startled, eyes filled with caution, and falling on the Thameish wizard. Stark white hair fell to his shoulders.

Alex kept his body language open and friendly, but confident.

“Depends on who’s asking and why?” The big man also spoke in a tongue of demons, a hand on his sword-hilt.

“Someone who might be interested in seeing your purse get a little heavier.” Alex gestured to an empty seat across the table. “Dangerous work involving the hells.” The young man nodded to the warriors’ tattoos. “Not that you’d be afraid of them.”

“…Interesting.” The man stepped forward, dropping into the offered seat. “You know your stuff.”

“I have to, in my line of work.” Alex took a sip of cider, looking down in surprise. “Damn, that’s good. So, do you know anything about the Outer Labyrinths?”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“Good, then this will be quick to explain.”

It was not quick to explain.

On purpose.

Alex launched into an explanation of the job, in low tones and using the tongue of demons. His explanation was long—purposely so—and winding, with his words rising in volume at certain points.

His approach gave him time to watch.

And assess.

If this warrior lost focus partway through Alex’s speech, it’d be clear that he wouldn’t have the focus and will to stave off the mania-field. If he didn’t pay attention to the details, it would reveal a lack of interest.

Should he get bored and drift off, it would reveal that he lacked seriousness.

Those actions would disqualify him.

But the man kept his focus on Alex for the entire explanation, eyes unmoving, hardly blinking. His attention was rapt.

As Alex continued talking, at points where he raised his voice, he noted others in the room. Some watched him with interest, and he marked those that looked on with comprehension—those who could understand the syllables of a tongue of demons.

“And that’s the job,” he finished.

“Break into a party of demons, pretend we’re entertainers, and find something hidden?” the man asked, his voice low. “Sounds dangerous.”

“And it involves good pay.” Alex slipped the jewel he’d palmed into his fingers, rolling it between them to let it flash in the firelight. He drew it back into his hand with a fluid movement. He nodded to Baelin and his mysterious friend. “Those two have more to show you. A lot more. If I’m lying, you can tell me to go to hell. Well, maybe not that, since I’m planning to go there anyway.”

Alex told the warrior the sum he would be paying, and the large man’s eyes lit up. “I’ll give you one now as a retainer, and the rest you’ll get after the job’s done. If you can bear danger, that is, and if you can handle yourself.”

“I am Ezerak Kai, former king of Feuran, Army-skinned, Blackguard of the Ebon Fist. And I’m not afraid of hell… but I am afraid of poverty.”

“Good. Good.” Alex searched the man’s mannerisms for any sign of lies. He found none. “I know your strength. Can you prove your skill?”

Ezerak smirked, extending an arm.

His skin rippled.

Monsters emerged. Each tattoo rose from his flesh, shifting and twisting until the inked images became small, dragon-like beasts crouching on the table.

“These are a fraction of the size of some of the other creatures I command,” Ezerak said, his voice filled with confidence. “I have bound many to my command and flesh. They serve me and they will serve you. As for my sword-arm? You saw how I slap. I strike even harder. And swifter.”

Alex looked down at the creatures sitting on the table.

‘They’d be useful for scouting, for performance, and for combat,’ he thought.

“Very good.” He extended his hand. “We’ve got business, then. Former King Ezerak, I am Alex Roth.”

“And you’re now my employer.” The larger man shook his hand.

“And hopefully mine,” a woman’s voice said from nearby, her words in the tongue of demons.

Alex startled, as did Ezerak. The young wizard hadn’t heard a single sound as she approached. The mercenary was short but broad-shouldered. Her skin had a greenish cast to it, and the short tusks protruding from her bottom lip revealed at least a bit of orcish blood.

At her waist hung a pouch dyed with several colours, and blazed with magic.

“I heard some of what you were saying. You need warriors to go down to the hells, and I need gems.” She nodded to the young Thameish wizard leaning over the table. “I’m not going to boast or brag. I fight using throwing stones.” She tapped the pouch at her waist. “They strike flesh, and they explode, then⁠—”

There was a scrape.

Alex, Ezerak, and the newcomer looked up as a towering man in black armour rose from a table. His bulk had been hidden behind the smoking fire pit. He strode toward them—armour clinking with every step—and the massive mace strapped to his back clanked against their plates.

He didn’t break stride, stepping over sleeping drunks, an intense gaze behind his visor.

He was nearly at their table…

…when he turned, headed to the door, and opened it without a word. Brisk wind and blowing snow whirled into the tavern before the door shut behind him.

The trio watched the door in baffled silence.

“You know, I really thought he was going to attack us for a minute,” Alex said.

“Probably going to take a leak,” Ezerak said.

“In the cold? Doesn’t this place have a latrine?”

“There’s an ogre passed out in it. The door’s blocked and the scent’s so bad, it makes your eyes water.” The woman jerked her thumb toward a dark doorway in the back.

“Well, when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go, I guess,” Alex said.

“Right.” The orc—or half-orcish—mercenary shook her head, nodding to Ezerak. “Hey, former king, do me a favour, would you?”

“Depends, Guntile,” the white-haired man said.

“This.” She took out five pieces of flint from another pouch. “Throw them in the air for me, would you?”

“Ah, this old trick.” Ezerak took the shards without hesitation, tossing them toward the ceiling.

What followed was one of the most amazing displays of dexterity Alex had ever seen. Guntile’s hands blurred into her pouch, casting smooth stones through the air so fast, it was like watching a blizzard.

With seemingly impossible accuracy, they struck each piece of scattered flint dead-on, popping them in tiny flashes of spark and heat.

Before two heartbeats had passed, she was done and grinning at Alex, revealing broad teeth and tusks.

“I’ve fought demons. They pop much better against them,” she boasted. “If one came in now, I would⁠—”

The door burst open.

Blazing sunlight filled the tavern, and what blew in this time was not cold and snow, but heat and swirling sand. As Alex tried to grasp what was happening, a cloaked figure scrambled inside.

A head darted this way and that, spying their table, which was nearest the door.

The form blurred toward him and the two mercenaries.

Demonic crimson eyes glinted from beneath a dusky hood.

Chapter 82

Those of Oaths, Blood, and Coin

The demon moved like water.

It danced between unconscious drunks and the uneven floor as though moving on flat earth.

Guntile snatched a stone from her pouch, flicking it at the fiend.

The pebble flew true, but the creature ducked low without breaking stride, all in one fluid motion. The stone ruptured against a nearby beam, outlining their attacker’s form, revealing the gleam of a blade at its waist.

Alex’s thoughts raced.

He was almost up and out of his seat, ready to defend himself, but a mystifying thought struck him.

If this was an attack, why did the demon have its sword sheathed?

Before Ezerak could draw his weapon, their attacker was mid-leap, hands outstretched like a springing leopard’s claws, ready to pounce…

And sailed beneath the table.

In a blur, it shot between their seats, and crouched under the tabletop.

Those crimson eyes met Alex’s, and dark lips below them hissed softly; a finger pressed against them.

They whispered imploringly, words the young Thameish wizard did not understand.

He spoke in the tongue of demons he’d used before. “Wait, what now?”

A flash of comprehension passed through crimson eyes. “You speak a demon tongue?” he whispered, surprise clear in his low voice. “No matter if you be wizard or scholar, hide me, my friend. Drink and act like I am not here!”

“What?” Alex looked at the other two at the table. They mirrored his puzzled expression.

Clarity came quickly.

From outside, voices were shouting in a language Alex had no knowledge of, and he looked back down at the stranger.

He was undecided.

‘The hells with it,’ he thought, plopping down on the bench and slapping the seat beside him, his eyes on Guntile and Ezerak.

“Both of you, down!”

The two mercenaries looked at each other.

“He’s paying you… and probably me.” Guntile sat beside Alex.

“Aye, how far kings do fall.” Ezerak shook his head, sitting across from them, arms resting on the table.

Folk in the barroom turned away, focusing on their drinks, conversations, and the swaying dancers.

The bartender’s eyes had just dropped to a clay cup he was polishing when the door burst open.

A squad of men and women—well-armed and sheathed in bronze armour—rushed into the tavern, khopeshes drawn and shields high, snarls marking their lips. They stopped abruptly, scanning the smoky room, eyes widening at the armoury of deadly weapons before them.

Anger drained away, giving way to restraint.

The lead warrior lowered his shield and weapon, eyeing the patrons in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Suddenly, Alex felt magic pulse through the air.

The newcomers flinched back, body language hesitant, apprehension marking their faces. With a quick glance at his fellows, the leader nodded to the bartender, speaking to him in a harsh-sounding language.

His face neutral, the bartender replied in the same tongue—the words coming easy to his lips—and the warriors’ frowns deepened.

Three broke off from the group, eyes searching tables for any sign of their quarry.

Those eyes fell on the trio at the table nearest the door.

They strode forward with purpose, one spoke, uttering something in the unfamiliar language.

The young wizard simply sat tall, back straight in his seat, calling upon the Mark.

It brought him images of every minute shift in their body language since they’d come through the door.

He altered his own posture, setting his jaw, eyes steely like someone used to command.

Which, in some ways, he was.

“What’s this?” Alex continued speaking in the tongue of demons he’d been using since arriving at the Whetstone Tavern. “You dare disturb me and my mates when we’re enjoying a drink? Get gone, you, or I swear I’ll turn you into newts and boil you all in a potion!”

From the sand and heat that had blown in through the open door, and the soldiers’ olive complexions, he’d taken them for people from a desert land somewhere, and he had no idea if they knew what a newt was or not.

Not that it mattered. That wasn’t the point since he’d assumed they wouldn’t understand his words anyway—or any—tongue of demons, so he’d made the threat with a purpose. The sounds of those demon words were gruesome—each syllable piercing the ear—frightening to those with no knowledge of them.

And right now, he needed ‘frightening.’

The soldiers took one look at his expression and body language, and heard the horrible sounds coming from his throat, and cringed back like scalded dogs. Three pairs of wide eyes combed over the young wizard and his hard-looking companions, fingers making holy signs before their chests.

Abruptly, the squad leader barked a command, his head inclined toward the door, and the trio shrank away. Without another word, the warriors hurried into the desert heat, their voices fading as the door banged behind them.

“What was that about?” Ezerak called to the bartender.

“Guards.” The man’s eyes glinted beneath the red brim of his hat. “Searching for a killer and rogue, apparently.” He smiled broadly. “And we know how we feel about killers and rogues.”

A hearty cheer, accompanied by raised mugs and the pounding of fists on tables, swept through the tavern. Guntile joined in, pounding her fist on the tabletop, making Alex wince. The very one making her cheer was still under their table, no doubt not appreciating the sound of a fist pounding inches above his head.

Alex leaned down, nodding to the demon or whatever he was.

“You can come out now,” he said.

“As I thought from the cheers and great pummeling right above my skull.” The man slithered from beneath the table. His breath came and went in great gasps.

“Sit down, join us. You look out of breath.” Alex patted the bench.

“The reason for that is very simple, my friend.” He collapsed onto the seat, drawing back his hood.

Crimson eyes swam with exhaustion and his skin—a dark umber—was drenched in sweat. He dried tightly curled black hair, and slightly pointed ears with the hem of his cloak.

‘Half-elf maybe?’ Alex wondered. ‘But crimson eyes… dark elf? Demon?’

The man turned, a grand smile breaking across his features. “To you, my friend, and to both of you—” he looked to Guntile and Ezerak “—I owe my life. Were I not as dry of coin as the great deserts are of rain, I would see that you drink until you sleep as well as those over there.” The man nodded to the passed out drunks on the floor.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts, I suppose.” Alex frowned, more than a little bewildered. “So why were they chasing you… oh wait, where are my bloody manners?” He tapped his chest. “I’m Alex Roth, and you?”

“Kyembe, who folk call the Spirit Killer.” The rogue patted his own chest. “You have heard of me, perhaps?”

A glint of metal drew Alex’s eye down to the hand Kyembe had brought to his chest, noting a shining ring on a lean finger. It blazed with a dreadful magic—as powerful as any in this place—reminding him of his time spent in the hells.

Though his body language was easy and open, Alex watched the stranger with an intense gaze, carefully reading his body language.

“Right,” he said slowly. “No, sorry to disappoint, but I’m afraid I haven’t heard of you. Should I?”

The Spirit Killer glanced at Guntile and Ezerak. Both shook their heads.

“Bah!” He shrugged. “Perhaps you would not have. As I look around this tavern, I can see that in my flight, I have stumbled into a most peculiar place.”

“Oh, and why were you running?” Ezerak asked.

“A misunderstanding, you see.” The stranger cleared his throat. “Those guards are under the impression that I did their great empire a disservice.”

“What was the disservice?” Alex asked.

“I gutted a high priest and hung him by his guts in his temple.”

Guntile snorted. “Why the hells did you do that?”

“His wife is a high priestess who hired me to kill a demon that had been stalking her city, hunting and killing for pleasure.”

Alex scowled. “Sounds demonic.”

“Right?” Kyembe spread his hands. “As it turns out, her husband—the high priest—was the one setting the demon on their people. He also sent it to kill me and his wife’s followers. Learning that your husband is a demon-summoning murderer of your own people does tend to make one less interested in the relationship, it seems. In any case, as I said, he set his summoned demon on me—which offended me somewhat—hence the gutting and the hanging. His followers found that less amusing than I did, so I was making my way across the city to the harbour when I came upon this place and thought to hide here.”

He patted Alex on the shoulder. “And that is when you decided to rescue me, because you are—as of this moment—the greatest among all men. I cannot let this debt stand, you must let me repay you in some way.”

“Mhmmm,” the young Thameish wizard mused.

The man’s mannerisms were fluid, like flowing water, and his ivory-hilted sword—though less powerful than the ring—was coated in its own magics. Alex thought back on his blurring movements when he first entered the tavern.

It was becoming clear that this… Spirit Killer might very well be a very, very dangerous man.

Thankfully, he was in the market for ‘very, very dangerous.’

“You said you killed a demon.” Alex leaned forward. “Do you often do that?”

“Much of my trade and life is focused on it.” Kyembe’s eyes hardened. “Their kind is filth, and many hold folk in their claws. Why not destroy them? Let them be in fear for a change.”

“I can get behind that,” Alex said slyly. “Tell me, you speak this tongue of demons very well. Have you ever been to the hells?”

“Once. It was not a pleasant ti—” A sudden dawning of understanding entered his eyes. “Aaaaahhhh, you seek to lead a raid into a demon’s stronghold? Looking to hire swords. Yeeessss… now that I look closely, you have the look of—well, to be honest, you have the look of a wrestler—but you also have the look of a wizard. And few mortals but those who practise such arts have such a command over the tongues of demons. Well, if that is your purpose, you can count on my sword, my ring, and my magics. Although…”

He glanced down at the shabby tunic covering his torso. “I would appreciate a… meal, if you could, as poorly as that reflects on me.”

Alex smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t make sure my mercenaries were well-fed. All three of them.”

“Wait… so I’ve got the job too?” Guntile asked.

“Let’s just say your rock throwing… rocks. Your skill made an impression.” Alex grinned.

“Oh…” Ezerak murmured awkwardly.

“What?” Guntile frowned.

Kyembe let out a deep chuckle, which made Alex like him immediately, even if their ‘chance’ meeting aroused his suspicions.

A demon slayer that happened to wander right into his hands when he was looking to slay demons? He wouldn’t rule out coincidence—or some cryptic prophecy business, considering this place and what the bartender had said—but the timing seemed a little too perfect.

It made him wonder if there was more going on here than it seemed, if maybe Zonon-In had gotten wind of Baelin’s plans and wanted a spy among their ranks. The chancellor had warned him about some of the rogues in this place.

‘Anyway, better to keep a close eye on traitors,’ Alex thought, remembering Amir. ‘If you are a spy or an assassin, Kyembe the Spirit Killer, then let’s have you right within Baelin-scrutinising, and Claygon-blasting distance, shall we?’

“Well, are we not a merry band?” Kyembe said. “Is this all of us?”

The door burst open again, this time bringing in cold air and snow, along with the towering, armour-clad figure who’d exited before.

With armour clinking, he made a line directly for their table.

An intimidating air radiated from him as he stopped before them, looming like an oak tree.

“I heard everything.” His words were clipped. Precise. “You seek to slay demons and rob them. You wish to pay. I wish to be paid. I am Celsus. Ezerak can vouch for me.”

“Wait, what do you mean you heard everything?” Alex was startled.

“His people’s ears are as sharp as diamonds. I wouldn’t be surprised if he heard half the whispers in here. Celsus, are you sure you’re interested?” The former king seemed surprised. “It’s not like you to get involved unless the job really moves you.”

“It did. I’ve had run-ins in the hells. Any plan against their masters? I want to be part of,” he growled, raising his visor.

An elf’s features were revealed, one with ghostly-white skin and not a trace of hair anywhere on his head, not even above his eyes, giving his large, strange eyes—gold, with red flecks—an intimidating cast.

“I’d hire him,” Ezerak said. “Few warriors are his match in this whole place, and that’s saying something.”

“Agreed,” Guntile joined in. “He isn’t… the most subtle, but if we have him as our backup, you can count our opponents as good as dead.”

“I like the sound of that,” Alex said, looking at Kyembe. “What do you think?”

The Spirit Killer leaned back, spreading his hands helplessly. “Do not look at me! After all, I just got here.”

Alex took a long look at the tall, pallid elf… his body language was odd. He seemed to be hiding no ill-intent, but then again, the way he moved was almost alien.

‘Definitely in Claygon range,’ the young wizard thought.

“Right, welcome aboard, Celsus,” he said. “And to answer your question, Kyembe, this is almost the whole team. I hired another mercenary, and we’ll have a friend of mine accompanying us. But yeah, that’s it.”

“So, including you…” Guntile counted on her fingers. “Seven. Small team for a raid in the hells.”

‘And possibly an expendable one,’ Alex thought, stymying his guilt. ‘But, in the end, better us than everyone close to me.’

“Yep, it’s seven. A magnificent seven,” he said. “No wait, there’s Claygon too, so more like an eight really. A hateful eight?”

“What are we hating?” Guntile asked.

“Hopefully not ourselves for taking this job… and speaking of the job, let’s get to it in more detail.” He waved Celsus down to take a seat at the table.

“Now, tell me, how many of you have seen performers at a fair? How many of you can dance?”

Chapter 83

The Consequences of Minions’ Incompetence

For the first time in a long while, Alex Roth was barely paying attention during a class.

Now, that wasn’t to say he really needed to pay much attention in magic lore. Even in year two of the course—which dealt with advanced history, physics, and philosophy—since the Mark helped him absorb the material like a sponge.

If he really wanted to, he could have used it to recall information that he’d only paid minimal attention to during the lecture. As long as he attended the class, he could daydream all he wanted, then use the Mark to retrieve the professor’s material later.

Combining that with speed-reading and a quick scan of the information in his textbooks, he could probably teach himself the entire course—and part of next year’s—in under a month.

Maybe less.

Still, Alex Roth would never be so disrespectful that he would ignore one of his professor’s lectures after they’d made the effort and taken their time putting it together. And—despite what many of the other students thought—magic lore was actually fascinating to him.

So, for him not to be paying attention in class, something very odd or very wrong had to be going on.

Today?

It was both.

Alex sat in the back row of the lecture hall beside Khalik and Thundar, his pen idly tapping a page and his mouth silently moving, repeating the incantation for Planar Doorway.

He wasn’t trying to cast the spell; he was trying to master the incantation’s syllables. After nearly two weeks of feeling like he was repeatedly bashing his head against a stone wall with the spell, he would have gladly done anything for a breakthrough.

Muttering, he looked down at his notebook, focused on the single number he’d written in the centre of an otherwise blank page:

17%.

Two weeks of effort and he’d only managed to master seventeen percent of Planar Doorway’s spell array.

‘This is bloody ridiculous,’ he thought, frustration growing, resisting the urge to snap his pen in two. ‘All of this mysterious power inside me—helping me with all the summoning spells I want—and it can’t get me through this?’

In truth, the mysterious power was the only reason he’d gotten as far with the spell as he had.

The task that he’d taken on wasn’t easy—trying to break through to fourth-tier spells using the most complex spell he’d ever tried to cast in such a short space of time. Meanwhile, he was also juggling classes, time at the Research Castle, getting another dungeon core to continue his work with Shale—which he’d finally gotten less than three days ago—training with his merry band of mercenaries while they roomed at the Whetstone Tavern—facilitated by Baelin’s teleportation spells—and trying his damndest not to go completely insane. Meditation was his best friend lately.

He actually saw it as a small miracle that he’d even gotten as far as he had with the spell.

But he didn’t need a small miracle.

He needed a big one.

‘At this rate, I’ll have less than fifty percent of the spell down by the time we head to Cretalikon. And I really want to know that teleportation spell if I’m going into a bloody demon maze.’ He brooded, looking toward the front of the class at some of his classmates in the lecture hall. There were fewer who weren’t engaged than in first-year magic lore, but quite a few still appeared intent on paying attention to literally anything than the voice of the professor.

‘Oh, come on,’ he thought. ‘The least you guys can do is pay attention; it’s not like most of you have a suicide mission to a domain in the hells to look for… well, something. I’ve got real bloody things to worry about.’

He shook his head, trying to banish his worries.

‘Look, you’ve got time, Alex,’ he thought. ‘You’ve still got about two weeks left. You already got the dungeon core for Shale, so no more extra trips to Thameland for a while. Work on the business plan you and Toraka are developing is limited to only work hours. You’re all moved into your new home. The speakerbox is complete… you’ve recruited all your minions—I mean, mercenaries… yeah, you’ve basically done everything extra that needed to be done.

‘Now you can dedicate all your extra time to mastering this spell if it comes to that. You might get a breakthrough. There’s no need to worry, yet. Just focus on doing what you can do. Remember, you’ve got time.’

Bringing himself back to focus, he tuned in to the lecture, trying to quiet his misgivings.

‘It’ll be alright,’ he thought between calming breaths. ‘It’ll be alright.’

He would soon learn that it was not—in fact—alright.

After another hour, class ended and students poured from the lecture hall, desperate to get away from what many thought to be the most boring mandatory subject imaginable.

Alex and his two cabal mates were the last to leave. “And so ends another riveting lesson on the toileting habits of ancient wizards,” Khalik said. “Shall we have some lunch?”

“I can’t right now.” Alex grabbed a spell-guide from the basket hanging beneath a forceball. “I’ve really got to get back to work on Planar Doorway.”

“Still giving you trouble, eh?” Thundar asked. “Well, from what you told me, it’s stupidly hard. Just don’t be too hard on yourself. Won’t do you any good if you’re dead before the mission even starts ’cos you starved yourself to death.”

“I won’t make it a habit.” Alex moved away at a half-jog. “It’s temporary. I’ll take it a bit easier when this demon gala’s behind us.”

“Yeah.” Thundar snorted. “I’d best get back to practising my dance. Don’t want them tossing us out ’cos we look like clods with two left feet. Happy studying!”

“Happy feasting!” Alex waved as he rounded a corner.

He hurried toward one of his favourite spots for practising spells—somewhere nice and close to the infirmary, just in case things went horribly wrong—and was already deep in thought, reciting the incantation in his head when he slammed into a wall of stone.

“Agh!” he stumbled back, clutching his nose.

“Father, there you are. I was waiting for you,” Claygon said.

“Ugh, try and wait a little louder next time, buddy,” Alex murmured. “Did you finish seeing Baeli⁠—”

He paused, noticing the towering figure of the archwizard standing behind his golem.

And the look on the goatman’s face was grim.

Very grim indeed.

“Walk with me a moment, Alex,” he said. “To my office. We have much to discuss.”

“Is there something wrong?” the young wizard asked, shutting the door behind him. Its click sounded unnervingly final.

“Yes.” The chancellor quickly rounded his desk, pulling open a drawer and taking out a handful of spell-marked gems. “Very. I have just finished having a talk with Zonon-In… and there is trouble.”

“Oh no.” Alex crossed the room, his mind conjuring multiple disasters. “Don’t tell me Kaz-Mowang cancelled the demon gala or something. Did he find out about the plan? Did one of the mercenaries betray us?”

“No, no, nothing like that. In some ways, it is worse,” Baelin muttered, counting the gems. “Zonon-In informs me that her servants are dullards, oafs, and imbeciles. The only reason I am not seeking them out to blast them out of existence is because she has already done so.”

Alex’s heart thundered. “W-what did they do? Did they warn Kaz-Mowang about us?”

“No.” The chancellor looked Alex in the eye. “They were incorrect on the date of his gala. Highly incorrect.”

The young Thameish wizard swallowed. “When… when is it?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“That… that is too soon!” Claygon protested, raising his voice for the first time that Alex could remember. “Father hasn’t mastered his teleportation spell yet!”

“I know, trust me, I know,” the goatman growled, stalking toward a bookshelf. He pressed the back of a rather nondescript book, a click followed, and the entire row of shelves slid sideways, revealing a deep storeroom.

Inside, suits of armour, staves, and weapons all blazed with power, filling the repository. Baelin stomped in and selected what he needed. “Now, I have to scramble to rearrange my entire schedule and try to make my meeting with Ezaliel coincide with the gala, which I am sure shall not arouse any suspicion!” His voice oozed sarcasm and bitterness.

“Shit…” Alex muttered. “Can we just go later? No… no, that demon’s stronghold is going to be a lot more secure when he’s not expecting dozens of guests, isn’t it?”

“Precisely,” Baelin said. “The safest time for you to enter those walls—and the time that will guarantee you the most success—is when your enemy is welcoming people inside of those walls.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Alex began to pace back and forth, his mind working. “And the longer we wait, the more chances for things to go wrong. But, still, maybe… When’s he hosting another gala?”

“That is unknown,” the chancellor said. “It could be any amount of time, even years, according to Zonon-In.”

“Yeah, but, does she know what in all hells she’s talking about, this time?” Alex demanded.

“I should hope so,” Baelin said. “Since… and this is the worst part… she confirmed it by showing me her invitation. Her second, mind you. Those dead servants lost the first, inconveniencing her greatly and—far more importantly—us. That is why I say to ensure the competence of your minions, Alex. Look at all the havoc wrought by the carelessness of brainless demons!”

Alex stopped dead. “She’s going to be there?”

“Indeed.” The chancellor eyed several different staffs before selecting one crafted of gold and wood. “She has given her word that she will not interfere with anyone associated with me, but she does not know that you are working with me.”

“She will… recognise me,” Claygon said.

“Yeah, but you were being held in reserve anyway, buddy,” Alex said. “Still, this is… oh man, this is bullshit. Okay, hold on, let me think for a second, Baelin. There’s no way I’m going down there unless I feel that I’ve at least got most of what I need for success. Going in short on preparations would just risk me, Claygon, Thundar, Ripp, and the others I hired.”

“Indeed,” the archwizard agreed. “A Proper Wizard adapts to circumstances, judging whether to continue with plans or cancel them, if one has time.”

“Yeah, well, the faster we can get the information, the quicker we have a chance to figure out something about Uldar, the Fool, the church, and the Ravener,” he muttered. “And… the Ravener hasn’t sent any more invisible, petrifying monsters after me, Carey, or Drestra yet, but I’d be a fool to think it’s not planning something.”

“Agreed.” The chancellor sheathed a dagger at his belt. “With that in mind, what are your thoughts? I will advise you after your decision.”

“One sec… okay…” He ran through a mental inventory. “Let’s see, I’ve got all the mercenaries recruited. Our team’s at maximum size. Everyone’s basically picked up what their roles are for the performance. Ezerak’s doing tricks with his magical tattoos. Kyembe’s dancing and fire-swallowing. Ripp’ll be doing acrobatics. Guntile’s juggling lightning. Thundar and I’ll be dancing, and he’s making illusions, and I’ll be doing strongman stuff. We’ve got all of that covered.”

His hand reached for his chin, fingers poised to run through his beard, before remembering it was gone. “Celsus and Claygon will be spell-marked and left in reserve. If there’s trouble, I’ll call them, and that’s when all hell’s gonna break loose. Let’s see… what else. I’ve got my staff, I’m about as prepared as I can be on demonic culture and language, and I’ve been using the Mark and a pen to puzzle my way through about a hundred mazes a week.”

His eyes fell on the spell-guide he held. “The only thing left for me to do is to learn Planar Doorway. Everything else is done. I’m probably going to be as prepared as I’ll ever be except for that one spell.”

“Then what will you do?” the chancellor asked.

Alex sighed, resisting the urge to swear. “Okay. First, I’ll wait to see if you can arrange your meeting with Ezaliel. If you can’t, I’m not going anywhere. We’re finished if things go wrong and he gets involved. He has to be either distracted or dead. But… if you can get that meeting? Screw it, the only thing that waiting’s going to do is lessen our chances in the long run.”

He shrugged. “Hells, maybe Kaz-Mowang hears that you’re trying to find information about Hannar-Cim and destroys it. Time is not our friend here, and if I call everything off because I haven’t learned one spell, well… let me put it this way. It is a really useful spell, but if it’s the thing that makes or breaks us? Then I’ve made a major oversight somewhere.”

“That would be my assessment as well,” Baelin said.

“Then it seems that we’re going to the hells in less than a couple of days,” Alex muttered. “No safety net, this time.”

“Indeed, it is the way of things… Though I wish it was not so soon.” The chancellor strode over to Alex, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I have faith in you.”

“Well, that’s a major vote of confidence.” The young wizard squared his broad shoulders. “And you tend to be right about things, Baelin. Let’s hope that you’re right this time.”

Chapter 84

The Image of the Fool Fulfilled

Alex appraised the image confronting him. In many ways, his reflection in the mirror was more than a little discomforting. It was as if he’d finally done it, betrayed himself, embraced his role in Uldar’s grand scheme at long last.

At least, that was how he looked.

His costume was a garish crimson, chequered in yellow and blue. Big, white gloves covered his hands, and his shoes were so long, they made his feet look like they belonged to some giant, humanoid rabbit.

His face was painted a stark white, though one of his eyes was covered by a black star, and below them, a foolishly long false nose protruded, fashioned from a cored, waxed carrot.

Worst of all was the hat. More of a cap, really.

It was big and floppy, dyed bright red, sickly yellow, and vibrant blue. Projecting from the top were four drooping horn-like sleeves that hung down past his ears, and attached to the end of each?

A single tinkling bell.

Four bells in total, ringing and rattling each time he moved his head. The final signature that completed his Fool’s uniform.

Finnius Galloway would have nodded in satisfaction as he penned Alex’s entry into another volume of A History of Our Heroes and Their Opposition of the Ravener.

Were he still alive, at any rate.

As far as Alex knew, the author was long in the afterworld, and this ridiculous costume was likely to be the only thing standing between him and a demon’s hungry claws.

In more ways than one.

After he’d bought his troupe’s costumes, he’d set about enhancing them with alchemy. They hadn’t become actual suits of armour, but he’d increased both the strength and resiliency of the fabric, then layered an enchantment of greater force armour onto each one.

It’d been expensive work, but he had the coin—with more on the way—and losing their lives would have been just a tad more costly.

He just wished the entire get-up didn’t look so ridiculous.

If the worst happened, he’d rather death found him looking far more dignified.

“Alright, Alex.” He clapped his hands to his cheeks, bringing his mind into focus. “No sense in wasting any more time. Let’s go.”

On his bed—beside his staff—lay a satchel dyed in gaudy shades of purple. Waves of emotion came from the aeld branch as he picked it up: nerves, curiosity, determination, and excitement.

“We’re going to get out of this together,” Alex soothed the staff, taking one last look around his bedroom in the bakery.

It was far bigger than his room in the insula and his old bedroom in the Lu Family Inn combined, and well-adorned with high quality furnishings. The bed was the most comfortable he’d ever slept in, the wardrobe had more than enough room for more clothing than he owned, and there was a sitting area near the window.

A sitting area! In his bedroom!

“I’d better not die right after I finally get rich enough to enjoy this stuff,” Alex grumbled, dragging himself to the door.

On silent footsteps, he made his way down the stairs to the dining room where a welcoming group was waiting, which he’d kind of expected.

What surprised him, though, was just how many people were waiting for him.

He’d expected Theresa, Selina, Claygon, and Brutus to be up, ready to see him off, but he hadn’t expected Prince Khalik and Isolde to be sitting at the dining room table along with Thundar. Whispered conversation fell silent as he appeared in all of his foolish glory.

“Tadaaaa…” he said, trying to lighten the mood, though his voice was a little weak. “I finally look the part.”

Not a single laugh answered him.

Prince Khalik crossed his arms, his face grim.

Isolde narrowed her eyes, her gaze hard and stern.

Theresa’s death stalker face grew even more terrifying.

Claygon stood impassively, but a wave of determination reached for Alex through their link.

Brutus whimpered. Najyah… well, Najyah preened herself, showing a total lack of interest.

Selina stared at her brother—eyes red and jaw tense—as though she was intent on burning him into memory.

And lastly, there sat Thundar, giving Alex a nod of shared resolve. The minotaur was already dressed in his costume: a bright, mustard-yellow tunic and trousers, chequered with images of stags leaping over brilliant red berry bushes.

Bright purple paint was slathered over his hooves, which were now shod with silver horseshoes for the occasion. A snowy white magician’s cape fell from his broad shoulders, and his face was concealed by the stag mask he’d worn at Patrizia DePaolo’s ball and the Festival of Ghosts in first year.

“How do I look?” Thundar growled through the mask.

“Like a ridiculous magician,” Alex said lightly. “Perfectly suited for the role.”

“Great, so if I die, I’m gonna die looking like a jackass. That’s just damned perfect,” the minotaur snorted.

“Oh, please, we won’t have to worry about that!” The young wizard’s voice was positively cheery. “We’ll be in and out in no time, and if not? We’ll just smash all the demons down there! Right, Thundar?”

Silence.

“Oh, come on, you’re all acting like we’re at a funeral,” Alex said. “And the person that died is someone we actually like! Come on, let’s get some fearlessness going, shall we? And none of this last second ‘we’re all coming with you’ business either. You know how that’s going to play out. You argue why you should come, we point out all the logical reasons why you should stay here. We go back and forth, we convince you. You stay here.”

“If,” Prince Khalik started. “If we were to argue, what makes you so sure that you would win? You could be convinced by us.”

“Khalik, don’t.” Thundar shook his head. “We’ve already got a team together, and we’ve been practising our performances for two weeks. I’ve met the other mercenaries, and I already know Ripp. You haven’t met them. None of you have. You aren’t prepared. You’re just going to make this harder, man, but thanks for the thought.”

“Yeah, what Thundar said,” Alex agreed. “We’ve got everything lined up. Zonon-In’s secured us spots as some of Kaz-Mowang’s performers. But she said there’d be a band of six people. Not nine or ten.”

Isolde sniffed. “Your logic is unpleasant… but correct. Know that I would have followed you into the very teeth of the hells themselves.”

“We know,” Alex and Thundar said at the same time.

“Come back safe. Safe,” Theresa emphasised.

Alex crossed the room, planting a kiss on her lips. “We will.” He turned to Selina, spreading his arms. “A hug for your big brother?”

There was a stillness, followed by a scrape of wood on wood as the young girl’s chair shifted. She slid from her seat, rounded the table, and wrapped her brother’s torso in a tight hug.

Selina buried her head in his chest. “Please don’t die.” Her voice was small and teary.

Alex hugged her back, stroking her fluffy hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

Internally, he hoped that he’d be able to keep that promise.

The goodbyes were quick after that.

Nobody staying behind wanted to dwell on grim possibilities of failure, while Thundar, Claygon, and Alex didn’t want to delay any longer than they already had.

Friends and family watched the golem and two young wizards from the bakery’s front doorway, waving as they stepped into the early morning light, footsteps heavy from the weight of their supplies, and their even heavier hearts.

Alex looked over his shoulder, waving until they rounded a corner and passed into the busy street beyond.

“So, are you ready? Like actually?” Thundar asked. “Like without the brave face, I mean.”

“No, of course not!” Alex hissed. “I think I’m gonna turn the seat of these pants brown! You?”

“Same.” Thundar snorted. “I think I spent three hours in bed last night asking myself if I’d lost my damned mind. Didn’t get to sleep until I took a tonic.”

“What about you, Claygon, are you ready?” Alex asked.

“Yes,” Claygon said. His grip tightened on his war-spear. “If I am destroyed protecting you, Father… I’ve fulfilled my purpose. And I would really… like to kill that big demon.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us isn’t afraid,” Alex said. “But you’ve got to value your life more, buddy.”

“I… do. I don’t want to die… but I am… still ready.”

“Ugh, well, now I feel shitty for turning coward at the last minute.” Thundar glanced down at his mustard-coloured costume. “Like, shit, yellow was the perfect colour for me.”

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” Alex shook himself, taking a deep, calming breath. “We’re the ones practising meditation and the cleansing movements the most, and we can’t calm ourselves down? Come on, what’s the matter with us? Why should we be afraid, except for common sense, of course.”

“Yeah, and the danger of being horribly killed,” Thundar added.

“Mashed into pulp…” Claygon chimed in thoughtfully. “Stone ground to dust. Eyes gouged out. Elbows shattered. Knees split. Our bodies burned away. Our limbs hacked and mangled⁠—”

“Yeah, maybe we should bravely run away,” Alex interjected.

“Turning tail and fleeing sounds good.” Thundar nodded seriously.

The three companions looked at each other, then laughed for the first time that day.

As they laughed, they drew eyes from those out in the early morning air. Merchants looked at them with puzzled expressions, as did travellers and folk having their morning meal on their balconies, watching the streets below.

One person in particular caught Alex’s eye. Just for a moment. It was a lean woman, one whose face was very familiar, who disappeared as the morning crowd moved around them. Alex thought he’d seen her before, and it took a minute for him to remember who she reminded him of.

She bore a striking resemblance to Lucia, the sky-gondolier who’d ferried Alex and his family to the university on their very first day in Generasi. When he’d last seen her, she’d been making great haste to leave the city after Khalik had paid her a hefty sum to take them—and one unconscious mana vampire—into the Barrens.

But it couldn’t be her.

Since when did Lucia wear such rich, finely-made clothing? And the woman definitely lacked the dead-fish stare that was characteristic of Lucia’s face. There was no way she’d have such lively eyes and bear an expression that was so relaxed.

No, it must have been a relative of hers.

“Morningtide, boss!” a voice called from up ahead.

Ripp was waving the wizards and golem into an alleyway. The swiftling was dressed in bright greens, looking like a merry forest faerie. A big bycoket sat jauntily on his head, its forward brim so long, that it reminded Alex of a duck’s bill. “Your tailoring was right on the coin, boss. It fits me as well as my own skin.”

“Glad to hear it.” Alex smiled wanly, stepping into the alley with his two much larger companions. “We’ll need it to fit well in case there’s any fighting to do.”

“It might not come to that,” Ripp said. “The plan’s solid, even if we need to make it happen earlier than planned. But that’s the way with monster hunts. Things got a way of surprising you.”

“Yeah, that’s when you’ve got to think and adapt,” Alex said wryly.

Ripp arched an eyebrow as he led the trio deeper into the alley. “That’s not a bad expression, you know?”

“It’s something of a mantra of mine.” The Thameish wizard came to a dead stop where the alley ended. “So, you all ready?”

Ripp spread his vest open, revealing an array of nasty-looking hooked knives. “Oh, I’m ready. You sure they’ll let us bring weapons in with us?”

“Within reason,” Alex said. “If it’s part of the act, then it won’t look suspicious. There’ll be a lot of us taking part in the ‘sword dance.’”

“Aye, I getcha.” Ripp glanced at the minotaur’s mace hanging from his belt.

Thundar shrugged. “Weapon dance doesn’t sound as good.”

“Aye, that it doesn’t. And you got the other supplies we need for the acts?”

“Yep.” Alex patted the heavy pack on his back. “And enough dried waybread to last us a week if things turn bad and we end up having to hide out in the maze.”

He didn’t mention some of the other things they were bringing with them.

Claygon’s bag held two chaos bombs, ready for use if things went really wrong. Dozens of potions were spread among all three packs.

And lastly?

Alex’s hand fell on his garish satchel, feeling the small book within it. He had brought the book of the Traveller along, and with it, he hoped to unravel her mystery at long last.

Chapter 85

Into the Labyrinth

This time, the Whetstone Tavern was sitting atop a hill, surrounded on all sides by grass so tall, the stalks rose to Alex’s chest.

The building looked more rundown than before—or so it seemed—with lichen and vines crawling up the walls, and cracks running through the cyclopean stones. Yet, for all the aesthetic differences, it looked no weaker structurally.

And Alex doubted that it was.

“Well, we ain’t in Generasi anymore.” Ripp looked around, pointing out trees in the distance and a small village at the bottom of the hill. The buildings were so squat and ancient, that their roofs were of earth, and greenery had sprung up on top of them. “Where are we?”

“The answer would mean nothing to you,” the chancellor said, a note of stress in his voice. He was garbed in a rich robe, and wore rings and bangles that shone in the evening sunlight. “Suffice it to say that we are very, very far from Generasi.”

“Well, I’m not being paid to make maps, so that’ll do.” Ripp shrugged, nodding to four figures outside the tavern. “I guess that’s the rest of us for this little moving demon-feast?”

“Yep.” Alex nodded to three brightly clad mercenaries… and Celsus.

Guntile was the first to spot them, waving cheerily and jumping to her feet. The half-orc mercenary wore a costume of bright red fabric, covered in sparkling multicoloured sequins.

When she moved, it was like a rainbow had come to life. “Right on time, boss,” she said, stretching her shoulders.

Ezerak nodded, leaning against the wall. He was the least clothed of the group, wearing a simple bright orange loincloth of woven silk. The single piece of clothing allowed hundreds of tattoos to be exposed, covering bronzed skin, each depicting a fearsome beast, demon, monster, or soldier.

The surface of his body looked as though an entire realm had been painted on his skin, and every image was so lifelike, it seemed they were ready to leap from his flesh and pounce.

It was quite likely that most—if not all—were ready to leap off his flesh.

A fine, curved sword hung from his waist, its hilt encrusted with diamonds.

“Evening, Commander.” The former king nodded, hoisting a heavy pack onto his back. “I am ready.”

“As am I.” Kyembe took a sip from a waterskin before leaping to his feet. “Let us rescue whatever we are looking for from the demons.”

The half-dark elf was dressed in a bright purple costume, complete with a blue cape that hung to his waist, and a grinning skull mask that wrapped his face. His crimson eyes were terrifying behind the mask’s skeletal eye sockets.

At his waist, the ivory-hilted, thin-bladed sword hung, and on his index finger, his ring shone.

The last mercenary, armoured and as still as stone, stood near the others.

Celsus wore no costume or uniform, simply sheathed in his usual armour and bearing a mace.

The tall man spotted Claygon. A strange shift rippled through his body language.

Alex eyed him and Kyembe carefully as the two groups met a short distance from the tavern.

“Good to hear everyone’s ready,” Alex said. “We’ve rehearsed our parts, and we know what to do if things go right, and if things go wrong. So, any questions?”

Guntile nodded. “Do we have looting rights? Meaning, if we find treasure besides what you’re looking for, can we grab it?”

Ripp, Kyembe, Celsus, and Ezerak all looked at Alex with piercing interest.

“Yeah, go nuts,” he said. “I’m only after one thing. You can take whatever you want… unless I get to it first.”

“You’re a good boss.” Celsus nodded.

“Very good, Commander.” Ezerak gave him a thumbs-up. “I already like working for you.”

“May our hands find many fortunes.” Kyembe’s deep voice was bright behind his mask.

“And may our pockets get so full, they burst.” Guntile grinned.

“Aye, and let’s hope we live to spend it,” Ripp finished.

The mercenaries nodded to each other.

It seemed they’d hit it off.

A good sign. Hopefully, heralding good things to come.

“Right, then let us get on with it,” Baelin said. “I must be away soon.” He nodded to Celsus and Claygon. “My friends, I will mark you both with my magic, unless either of you objects.”

The pair were silent, and the archwizard waved a hand, sending a wave of teleportation magic through the air. A glowing spell-mark appeared on one hand of the golem, and one of the armoured warriors’, who carefully examined his.

“Now…” the chancellor said. “I will be transporting everyone to your entry point in the Outer Labyrinth. The place is a wild one, unguarded by the plane’s more organised forces, but patrolled by predators. Expect a fight upon your entry, unless you are very fortunate. From there, it will be half a day’s walk to the rendezvous point. You will find a carriage supplied by… a friend, containing the rest of your supplies for your performances while also completing the deception that you are an experienced troop of entertainers. It will be equipped with hell-boars serving as both beasts of burden, and the wagon’s guards. Have a brief rest there, but do not linger, from there you will still have another quarter day’s journey to the city and the palace of Kaz-Mowang. If timed right, your arrival for the gala should occur about one hour before his guests, save for the earliest and most eager, of course.”

“Right,” Alex said. “And the maps?”

Baelin took two scrolls from a bag. “These are the most recent maps of the area you’re going to in the Outer Labyrinths. Keep in mind, the maze changes over time. You must keep to schedule, or these maps will rapidly become obsolete.”

“Right,” Alex said. “And the extraction point’s the same place we’ll be entering from?”

Baelin nodded. “Indeed. Unfortunately, the plane’s not in so convenient an alignment as to present one that would be closer.”

“That means…” Ripp’s brow furrowed. “If we find ourselves in trouble, we’ll be a day’s travel away from freedom, at least at a human’s pace. If I was on my own, I could get out much faster, though.”

“If we find ourselves needing to make our escape, we must move quickly and quietly, while still foiling any hindrances we encounter.” Kyembe nodded thoughtfully as he spoke. “A challenge to be sure, if an army of those vile creatures is pursuing us. Though life is full of challenges, is it not?”

“I’d like things to be a bit easier, honestly,” Alex said dryly, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was true. He couldn’t deny the kernel of excitement in a corner of his heart.

A very, very boneheaded corner.

“Remember,” Baelin said, “I will help you if I can, but—in all likelihood—I shall be rather occupied, ensuring that you do not encounter resistance from those beyond your power.”

“Gotchya,” Thundar said. “So that means no goatus ex machina for us? Great. Well, I’m about ready to die. Who’s with me?”

Alex and the mercenaries gave half-hearted cheers.

“The only one dying… will be the demons,” Claygon’s voice—sounding like stone grinding on stone—boomed.

Kyembe nodded to him. “I like the way he thinks much better.”

“Let’s hope he’s right,” Ezerak said. “But we all knew what we signed up for, and where we’re going.”

“Very well, then.” The archwizard spread his hands over the party readying to raid the hells. “Let us begin your transportation. I wish all of you luck, fortune, and the blessings of any fickle gods that you worship. May your minds be swift, your arms strong, and your magics deadly. May your enemies be slow, cowardly, foolish, and weak.”

His goat-like eyes focused on Alex. “Good hunting. All of you.”

Two things struck Alex as he stepped through the portal.

The first was the heat.

Cretalikon’s simmering heat enveloped him like a wave, making his eyes tear and parching his nostrils as he entered the domain. He squinted at a pair of panting hellhounds he’d sent through the portal to scout ahead—marked with a band of yellow to identify them.

The second was the mania-field.

It hit him like a millstone.

Before he could even draw his first muggy breath, his thoughts began racing, focus died, and emotions ran wild. Feelings flitted through him, amplified ten-fold: fear, anger, excitement, even anticipation magnified in intensity.

The urge to act was overtaking reason, the desire to scream in terror, shout in triumph, and claw at his own self-mocking costume in rage all came together, fraying his nerves.

Alex forced himself to shake his head, fighting for quieting breaths. He whispered affirmations: “You are calm. These are not your feelings. They’re the domains. You are calm. You are calm.”

He gripped the aeld staff, feeling inquisitive emotions. The mania-field seemed not to be affecting it, though it emanated waves of curiosity and uneasiness. Maybe because of their other trips down to the hells, it was growing less affected by the field in much the same way Claygon was immune.

“Well, I can’t lose a contest of wills to a tree branch,” Alex muttered, finding calm in his own emotions. As the mania abated, he considered his surroundings.

And whistled.

The portal lay within a great crossroads in the labyrinth, large enough to hold the Research Castle in Greymoor. All around, walls as high as any mortal tower stood—perhaps sixty or seventy feet in height—built of stone burning with raging flame. Rock faces were rough, though climbable… if one fancied turning to charred ash.

As the others appeared through the portal behind him—he had arrived first, as usual—Thundar began muttering his affirmations against the mania-field. Ripp’s breath hissed, the swiftling twitching and shuddering as he fought to control his thoughts. Guntile tapped her stones in a calming rhythm, while Ezerak chanted something low in a foreign tongue.

Celsus and Kyembe showed no reaction to the demon realm. The armoured giant never broke stride, and the Spirit Killer was as calm as he’d been in front of the tavern, giving Alex no cause to be concerned about the pair falling under the field’s influence.

His attention turned to the exits. A host of twisting paths led deeper into the maze in all directions, each wide enough for a small army to pass through.

His nostrils flared. Though the air was surprisingly fresh, it was tinged with the slightest hint of brimstone, blazing wood, and boiling meat. Alex sweltered under that heat as far-off sounds reached his ears: a distant battle, cries for help and screams of suffering, a voice locked in utter ecstasy, the frenzied beat of a drum accompanying manic chanting and laughter, loud, hysterical laughter.

Far above, the fire-streaked sky was a roiling sea of orange and red—flame had erased clouds—filled with soaring, darting forms of flying demons. He also recognised the marks of civilization up there. His eyes were drawn to a magical carriage hundreds of feet above, pulled through the sky by a demonic wyvern.

The creature’s fevered screams cut the air.

“Charming,” he muttered.

“Er, boss.” Ripp nodded ahead.

Alex looked at the crossroads.

His hellhounds were tense, snarling at a troop of anthropoids emerging from a passageway. A troop of monkeys. A troop of giant, demonoid simians. Each resembled an enormous baboon—at least eighteen feet tall, by Alex’s estimate—covered in fiery orange fur, with bulls’ horns protruding from either side of their skulls.

And they were in abundance.

The largest dozen or so loped along the ground, with at least that many bounding across the walls, moving through the passage, spreading over flaming stone.

“Diabnirei,” Alex named them. “Primal demons of mockery and anger. They’re the hunters Baelin warned us about.”

“Big bastards,” Thundar commented, readying his mace.

“Orders… Father?” Claygon asked.

“Kill them. Leave none alive. They’re persistent, so they’ll chase us until the hells end to get revenge.”

“Time to earn your pay, lads and lass.” Ripp’s hands blurred, extracting two hooked knives from his vest.

Ezerak snarled, drawing his blade. Guntile fished a handful of stones from her pouch. Kyembe’s sword seemed to leap into his hand.

A loud crash came as Celsus drew his mace, slamming it against the stone.

A giant demon startled at the sound.

“Oh!” Alex cried. “And try not to mess up your costumes.”

“An extra challenge.” Guntile laughed, seeming to welcome it. “You heard the boss. Clean ’em up, you bastards!”

With the roar of a cyclone thundering from his speakerbox, Claygon charged, leading the others into their first battle in Cretalikon.

Many, many miles away, Baelin stepped from a portal and into the seemingly boundless castle belonging to Ezaliel. Flanking him were two mighty engeli—serving as bodyguards—while all around, enemies watched the archwizard with unconcealed hostility.

Demons and devils snarled at him from each corner of an antechamber, grinding their claws on priceless gold and marble, seeming not to care.

The chancellor met their ‘intimidating’ glares with his own gaze of disdain.

“Apologies, guest of Ezaliel,” a voice crackled.

A demon manifested before Baelin, one of smoke and ash coalescing into a humanoid figure with burning ember-red eyes and ashen flesh. A fine doublet and hose covered its form, and it bowed, its manner formal.

“Welcome to the halls of my master.” The creature gestured to the nearest passage. “You are awaited.”

“Then let us begin, shall we?” the archwizard said stiffly, playing the part of an irritated diplomat.

From his mind, a call went out: ‘I am here. Be ready to strike.’

Planes away, the powerful consciousness of four archwizards touched his own.

They were poised, ready to unleash hell upon hell.

Chapter 86

The Mercenaries’ Power

The horde of demon monkeys howled, bellows echoing along the walls. They beat their chests, stomped their feet, and gnashed their fangs to drive terror into their foes.

Alex’s team wasted no time with mere threats.

Guntile’s stones shot through the air with deadly precision, flying far and fast. Each struck a beast clinging to the walls, exploding in great flashes of light and bone-shattering peals of thunder. Demons blew apart in columns of flame and force, limbs flying one way and bones another.

And that was just the opening salvo.

As raging demons gaped at their dying fellows, Ripp was among them, knives flickering as he sped between their legs, blurring in impossible speed, steel spraying black and red liquid.

A hamstring slit behind an ankle.

A vein opened in a thick thigh.

In a heartbeat, two giants were tumbling to the earth, and Ripp was on them, hooked blades doing their gruesome work.

Ezerak chanted a war cry in an ancient tongue, raising his curved blade high. His skin rippled. His tattoos boiled.

An army comprised of a horde of horrifying monsters—demon lions, snarling griffons, enormous bats, and stalking trees leapt from his flesh—each growing to full-size in heartbeats as they jumped the frenzied demon monkeys.

Ezerak’s monsters ripped the demons like parchment, shredding them with claw, fang, and beak. A larger diabnireus sprang from the wall gripping a massive rock above its head and dropping it on a griffon’s skull, rupturing the creature in a wash of ink and fumes.

Regenerating, it returned to Ezerak’s chest, free of colour, leaving it grey and wan.

Alex’s jaw dropped, but before he could utter a word, a titanic surge of mana struck his senses from the side.

Kyembe had stepped up, raised his arm, and aimed his fist before him. His ring flared a blinding bright white. A terrible heat swirled. With a sickening hiss and crackle like bone bursting, a white beam of hellfire shot from the ring—filling the air with scorching heat—and striking a demon-ape mid-chest in mid-leap.

The creature shrieked only once, erupting in a column of white flames that consumed it down to bone and beyond, leaving only a cloud of white ash. Within the cloud, the spark of hellfire burned, jumping to another demon. Then another. When its searing light winked out, four had been reduced to dust.

Kyembe groaned and the scent of burnt flesh rose.

But Celsus was surging past the Spirit Killer, every stride eating the distance between him and the now panicked horde. With the momentum of a falling tree, his enormous mace smashed through air, flesh, and bone with equal ease.

Demons pulped beneath the blows, their own strikes clattering futilely against his armour. He didn’t slow.

In heartbeats, most of the horde was down and the rest looked frantic, poised to scatter.

Claygon stopped them dead.

Literally.

Fire-beams lanced into the apes, and though their fur resisted flame from the labyrinth’s stone walls, it incinerated against Claygon’s terrible fire magic.

In the end, the troop of anthropoids was reduced to a horde of twitching corpses, drifting ash, and bits of meat drowning under the menagerie that had swarmed from Ezerak’s form.

“Uh…” Alex murmured in amazement. “Well… uh… well done.”

Thundar elbowed his friend, leaning in and whispering, “You, uh, wanna hire these guys all the time? Pretty sure we’d have your kingdom cleaned up in ten minutes.”

“I hear you,” Alex whispered back, watching the mercenaries take stock of the situation. “Well, you get what you pay for, I guess. And I’m paying a lot. And I do mean, a lot.”

“Fair enough.” The minotaur nodded.

“Father, all threats are destroyed… You should be moving soon,” Claygon said, taking up a position beside the portal. The butt of his war-spear struck the ground.

“We will guard your escape.” Celsus marched back, also taking up a guard position across from Claygon on the opposite side of the gate. “Do not fear. We will be ready if you need us.”

“Let’s hope we won’t,” Alex said, his eyes falling on the other mercenaries. “Even with this group, I’d prefer that we be out of here without fighting another horde of demons. You never know when catastrophe will get you.”

He nodded to Kyembe. “Hey, are you alright? I smelled something burning.”

“Hellfire is a gluttonous beast, and it demands its price.” The Spirit Killer pulled back his sleeve, revealing a mass of burns snaking along his ring-hand and arm.

Alex flinched. “Holy hells! That doesn’t look alright!”

“Give me a moment.” The purple-clad mercenary sheathed his sword, and Alex felt another surge of power as Kyembe pressed his other hand to the wounds. Muted, golden light enveloped his fingers, cooling flesh and sloughing off burnt tissue, exposing new, unblemished skin.

“There, as smooth and whole as the day I was born.” He pulled his sleeve down. “I can pay hellfire’s price for some time, so long as my eldritch energies hold. Beyond that? Things become… challenging, shall we say.”

“Right…” Alex noted the arm, filing it away on a mental list of weaknesses. If Kyembe, Celsus, or any of the others did try to betray him, he would have to hit them fast, hard, and right where it hurt. “Well, I can heal with blood magic, so if you need to save your power, just tell me.”

“A fine offer, and I thank you.” The Spirit Killer nodded.

“Two healers.” Ezerak whistled. “We’re spoiled on this job.”

“Aye, and nasty killers too,” Ripp said. “I’m feeling more confident already.”

“Don’t, that’s always when things go wrong in the old stories.” Alex grimaced, pulling out Baelin’s map. “Alright, let’s get going. We have a party to go to.”

The journey through the labyrinth was—thankfully—not a difficult one. Baelin’s map proved invaluable, providing clear and simple directions through the miles of maze-tunnels between Alex’s group and the waiting wagon.

Through the hours-long walk—made easier with body enhancement magic from the aeld staff—the team spoke little, kept their eyes peeled and their ears cocked for the first sign of danger.

Ripp took up position at the front of the group, often zipping ahead, scouting corners to alert his companions of hidden danger. Guntile took the rear, her eyes on the path behind them, scanning for even the faintest shadow of a wild demon.

Though there was little conversation between them, Alex had much to occupy his mind. Claygon’s emotions and thoughts reached out to him across the miles. ‘No threats here, Father. Are you… alright?’

‘Alright and on schedule,’ Alex thought, tracing their path along Baelin’s map. ‘Haven’t met any travellers, forces from the demon’s city, or wild demons. How about you?’

‘Nothing here, Father. Just… standing still with Celsus. He is very good at standing still… for a living thing.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex thought. ‘Well, he’s very good at fighting too. Rely on each other and watch him closely.’

‘I will, Father…’ Claygon’s thoughts drifted away.

The aeld staff gave a small peal of emotion, as though saying goodbye to the golem’s consciousness. Alex shook his head. ‘Still wondering how it does that.’

“No threats up here, boss!” Ripp called, peering around a corner. The swiftling kept his distance from the burning walls.

“None on our left.” Ezerak eyed the wall closest to him.

“None to our right.” Kyembe watched the other one.

“And nothing behind us,” Guntile reported. “This is almost too easy.”

“Don’t say that,” Thundar warned her. “No faster way to find something jumping out at you than saying that.”

“You’re a superstitious lot,” Ezerak said, sounding amused.

“Comes from experience. And by the way, that’s something else that’ll get monsters jumping out at you.” Alex referred back to the map, calling on the Mark.

It brought him detailed images of the path they’d taken since reaching Cretalikon, giving him a better understanding of their trek through the maze so far. The Mark even noted tiny landmarks and peculiarities in the stone, most of which had escaped Alex’s notice at the time.

‘If we lose the map,’ he thought. ‘I’d better make sure to have our route out of here memorised. I can see mania taking hold of us if we get lost on the way back, especially if there’s an army of demons on our tail… and speaking of mania…’

He took a subtle look at the mercenaries. ‘They seem fine, at least right now. But, if things go wrong, that’s when Thundar and I’ll really have our hands full. These folks are a dangerous bunch, without question, and if even one of them turns on us, it likely won’t end well.’

As they made their way through the maze, Alex replayed the battle at the portal in his mind, looking for weaknesses in his ‘minions.’

‘Ripp’s quick. Real quick. His blades bite hard and fast. If he turns against us, we can’t hesitate. Not for a second. Greater force armour might buy some time, but he’d slaughter me if I don’t take him down fast. The best way to counter him would be to summon a horde of monsters to slow him down then hit him with sleep magic.’

His eyes briefly flicked to Ezerak, remembering the creatures covering his body. ‘He’ll be a major problem if he turns. The man wears an entire army on his skin, but he must use a lot of mana powering those tattoos. Blodeuwedd’s mana-draining magic should—hopefully—drain a lot of his forces. After that… a sleeping spell… maybe.’

His attention drifted to Kyembe. ‘He’s almost as quick as Ripp in some ways, and his ring means nothing short of instant death. Still, it takes time to charge—like Claygon’s fire-beams used to—and I bet it also draws a lot of mana. While he’s charging it, I hit him with Blodeuwedd’s mana-draining magic then freeze him in place with blood magic, or maybe put him to sleep.’

The last one for him to consider was Guntile. ‘Those stones of hers could split Thundar and me like rotten fruit, and she’s real quick with them too. Maybe use deflective force rectangles to slap them away, which’ll buy me a few seconds. Then a bunch of Wizard’s Hands to try and pull the bag from her, followed by sleeping magic or booby-trapped flight magic.’

He nodded, satisfied with the planning… somewhat. ‘Still, no matter how you look at it, a fight between us and them would be rough, and if two or three of them join up and turn on us, we may as well accept the fact that we’re as good as dead. Jeez, I wish I’d learned Planar Doorway already, it’d be great for escaping.’

His eyes drifted up to the flame-racked skies. ‘No sense in wishing or buying trouble. Plan for the worst, but focus on what’s in front of you.’

“Boss, we’re here!” Ripp called, peeking around another t-junction.

Around the corner, a festive-looking wagon waited, as fine as any Alex had seen at festivals in Alric or those in Generasi. Its frame was crafted of solid brass, and the wooden panels surrounding it were painted a deep scarlet.

Atop, a bronze gargoyle perched, its eyes burning with illusionary red light. Though the wagon was big enough for at least ten very large passengers, it was only being pulled by two draft animals: two of the largest hell-boars Alex had ever seen.

The demonic beasts were docile, gazing at the troupe with placid eyes as they approached.

“Well, here we have it,” Alex announced. “The Troupe of the Gargoyle’s carriage to take us into the city.”

“Thank my ancestors,” Thundar grunted. “I was sick of walking.”

“We rest here.” Alex turned to the mercenaries. “Eat up, drink, nap, do any last-minute business you have to. This’ll probably be the last meal we’ll be having for a while.”

“Or at all,” Guntile grunted.

“Ah, banish such thoughts.” Kyembe’s crimson eyes flashed under his skull mask. “We are mighty, as we have shown each other. The lion does not spend each moment cowering and contemplating his death.”

Ezerak grimaced. “One of my generals was called the Lion. Last I saw of the man, he was skewered on half a dozen pikes. Death comes no matter how you think of it.”

The Spirit Killer spread his hands. “Then better to plunge into the afterworld in a fine mood, not a foul one. Death cares not if we scowl or smile when it comes.”

“I’d rather tell it to piss off for another hundred years,” Alex said.

“Or two hundred,” Thundar added.

“Can we stop talking about death now?” Ripp scowled. “It brings poor luck.”

“Fair enough.” Alex tapped his staff on the stones. “Eat and get some rest. We’ll be seeing the walls of Jaretha, Cretalikon’s capital city soon. And then it’s show time. Literally.”

Chapter 87

The Walls in the Centre of the Labyrinth

The ramparts of Jaretha made the Outer Labyrinth’s walls look like a child’s sandcastle.

Forged of gold and white, burning stone, it filled the sky above as the Troupe of the Gargoyle rolled toward the open gates. Calling them city walls seemed to do them a disservice.

The walls around Generasi? Now those were fine city walls, in Alex’s—admittedly inexperienced—opinion. They were high. They were strong. They were well-polished.

They weren’t, however, roughly eight hundred feet high, as Jaretha’s ramparts were, according to what he’d read about the hell-domain.

“Such wealth and splendour, yet so many fiends take their pleasure in the torment of mortalkind. How many of these immortal fiends leave their walls to hunt us in the material world?” Kyembe sat behind, leaning out as Alex gripped the hell-boars’ reins, guiding them as they pulled the wagon to Jaretha.

The young wizard noted disgust in the Spirit Killer’s voice.

“It’s bloody ridiculous when you think about it, isn’t it?” he muttered in agreement.

“Enjoying their cosmic joke is the way of demons and gods. And we are the subject of their amusement.”

“Heh. You remind me of someone.” Alex smiled.

Floorboards groaned behind them as painted hooves shifted position. Thundar poked his head out of the wagon over Alex’s other shoulder, whistling at the gathered crowd before the city.

He leaned around the side of the wagon, looking back.

A mere hundred feet of stone separated Jaretha’s rampart from the surrounding maze, like a moat standing between a mortal castle and the encroaching wilderness. The labyrinth stretched around the city as far as the eye could see, its burning walls parted by hundreds of pathways leading from its depths.

From each passageway came dozens of demonic travellers, all making for the city’s walls, turning the length of stone into a writhing thoroughfare of fiendish bodies.

It was both horrid… yet beautiful, in its own strange way.

Alex could only wonder how mortals—and there were mortal wizards who had left the material world to dwell in this city—could stay here without going mad.

“You, uh, marked where we came out, right?” Thundar whispered as Kyembe ducked back into the wagon. “If we have to leave in a hurry, it’d be real easy to run into the wrong path.”

Alex subtly tapped his right shoulder. “I’ve got it memorised,” he said, guiding the wagon through the crowded road to the colossal city gates. “Trust me, there’s no way we’re leaving here without knowing where we’re going.”

“Thank the ancestors.” Thundar looked ahead to the city’s gates, which appeared white from a distance, and of an irregular texture, only becoming clear what the surface actually was as they came closer.

They were not painted white, in fact.

Nor were they carved of white stone.

Rather, the bones of untold numbers had been pressed into their steely surface, laminating them in a skeletal sheath, serving as a grisly warning to any who would think to enter the city by force.

Or break one of its laws when within its walls.

“I don’t want to be decorating those gates when this is all over,” the minotaur muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex said. “We’d probably be decorating some hall in Kaz-Mowang’s palace instead.”

Thundar glared at him. “Listen, if we’re gonna die, I’m making sure they get you first.”

The troupe passed through Jaretha’s gates, two beams of red light falling on them like the sun’s rays breaking through cloud cover. Though the light came from far more sinister sources.

Flanking the gates inside the city stood two demonic titans. Each half as tall as the walls at their backs, horned, hooved, and cyclopean. A single eye watched from the centre of their foreheads, burning like red stars, casting scarlet beams wherever their gaze fell. Scaly hands gripped spiked clubs large enough to smash a rampart while their ankles were encircled by rings of spiked steel.

A single kick would see those barbs shear through scores of foes at once—whether mortal or demon—making any sane enemy tremble at the resulting carnage.

After a few tense moments, the titans’ eyes drifted away from the wagon, turning to inspect other members of the bustling, fiendish crowd. They were far from the last eyes following the mortals as they made their way through the city.

Dozens of demons and devils paused their business, turning to stare, gawk, point, and grin at Alex and his wagon as it passed through the streets. Some cracked their knuckles.

Some licked their lips.

Others gnashed their fangs.

All looked upon him with a manic hunger that made his skin crawl. For his part, the young wizard kept his eyes forward, shoulders set, and his back straight. Using the Mark, he altered his body language to project importance, as though he belonged in the city and was there on important business for a very important master.

‘Whether in mortal realms or demon ones, you’re more likely to be left alone if you look like you belong,’ he thought. ‘And you can’t risk a fight before you even get to Kaz-Mowang’s palace. If that happens, the whole mission’s blown.’

His eyes travelled up to the walls of the jewelled palace of Ezaliel dominating much of the sky above. ‘Don’t start throwing around thunder and lightning yet, Baelin,’ he thought. ‘Give us a bit more time.’

Chancellor Baelin was very, very close to throwing around thunder and lightning.

The ancient archwizard drummed his thumbs against the decidedly uncomfortable geometric monstrosity that Ezaliel had claimed was a seat. He was still not quite convinced that the chair hadn’t been some sort of nasty, private joke on the demon’s part.

The surroundings might also have been a part of that joke.

Ezaliel’s meeting room was a kaleidoscopic nightmare of nonsensical shapes, rhombuses, dodecahedrons, and other flights of visual mathematics, all clashing together in a way precisely designed to irritate the mortal eye.

To make matters worse, the room was overlaid with polished, mirrored glass.

On every surface.

Thousands of twisted reflections of every demon in the chamber, as well as Baelin and his two attendant engeli, writhed in his vision from every angle. A fitting representation of the domain’s mania-field.

For an untrained mind, the surroundings would have frayed their will to the limit and opened their thoughts to the mania-field.

To Baelin? It was simply irritating.

As was the simpering demon before him.

He was a lean, bulbous seneschal with the head of a jackal and the body of an emaciated human. His voice was like glass scraping across chalk, and his tone was ripe with the sort of arrogance reserved for bootlickers, bureaucrats, and young noble offspring hiding behind the power of greater masters. “—as we have discussed at length, the piddly, insignificant ‘crimes’—that you so accuse the Abyssal Knight Ezaliel, Ionomancer of the Third Mountain, Master of the Orillian Cult, Defeater of the Three Hundred and Ninety-Seventh sub-maze of⁠—”

The chancellor resisted the urge to blast the offending demon into component atoms.

His eyes drifted away from the sycophant to the form of Ezaliel, floating above his demonic attendants like some minor god looking down on his earthly realm.

He was unchanged from Baelin’s memory. His form was carved like a perfectly cut jewel with thirty rhombic faces, each displaying otherworldly lights swimming deep within its jewel-like structure.

The lights shone like the shimmering hues in Noarc’s Rainbow Tower, and while pretty, they also disturbed one’s senses like a predators’ eyes shining through a lightless jungle, or the light from stars that had grown sick. At times, they flared bright enough to light up the mirrors, twisting the reflections, making them waver like one viewed them through bubbling water.

His power was much greater here, Baelin felt it, and the silent abyssal knight emitted the confidence of a general surveying a conquered realm.

The chancellor’s nostrils flared in displeasure.

He doubted the demon was so foolish as to forget the results of their last encounter. Baelin had been the victor by a wide margin, and the demon’s home advantage could only serve to lessen such a gap, not eliminate it completely.

No, there was something else at play here. The ancient archwizard had the distinct feeling that he was not the only one with help waiting in other realms.

A part of his mind wandered, thinking of the small group who were—likely at this moment—beginning to infiltrate the halls of Kaz-Mowang. Another part of his mind consulted his internal timekeeper, counting down the amount of time he had left before he could begin his… ‘distraction operation.’

The gibbering struck them first.

A babbling of voices drifted toward their wagon on the hot wind, punctuated by the manic rattling of iron bars. There was giddy laughter, mixed with deep, heart-breaking sobs.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Guntile whispered from inside the wagon.

The troupe had passed through the city and were now slowly and cautiously travelling the passageways of Kaz-Mowang’s personal maze. Things had been unnaturally quiet. The greater demon’s guards had not troubled them at all, simply looking at the gargoyle atop their wagon then glancing away as though they were beneath even a second look.

From there, they had moved deeper into the confines of Kaz-Mowang’s maze while the sounds of the city faded. Only the crackle of the fiery sky, the creak of their wagon, and their own whispered words broke the unnerving silence.

Yet, manic energy filled the air, like a breath held before a scream.

And now the scream had come.

A shriek of ecstasy and agony joined the gibbering and sobbing ahead, sending a chill deep into Alex’s soul.

“I’m not sure I wanna know what that is,” Thundar murmured. “I’m getting sick just hearing it.”

“Steady,” Ezerak whispered as their wagon emerged from Kaz-Mowang’s personal maze. “Steady.”

“Yeah,” Alex said as they rolled onto the greater demon’s well-tended grounds. “In a way, our performance begins right now.”

“Aye,” Ripp muttered. “I for one want to know where that racket’s coming from.”

“Your wish is answered.” The Spirit Killer leaned over the others, his hand gripping the edge of the wagon. “Look there, beyond the fountain. You will see what passes for music in these realms.”

Alex followed Kyembe’s pointing finger… then immediately wished he hadn’t.

Ahead, a towering fountain rose, forged in the image of Kaz-Mowang, standing triumphant on a hill of corpses. The tines of his trident sprayed red liquid through the air, their streams arcing down, splashing into the waiting mouths of stone gargoyles.

And behind the fountain, the source of the sounds.

A dozen cages—like those for songbirds, but several orders of magnitude larger—sat in a row beside a line of crimson hedges. Inside each cage, a mortal huddled: trapped, filthy, and utterly broken.

Glassy eyes stared into nothingness as they wept, giggled, or sobbed to themselves. Some laughed hysterically while smashing their foreheads against the iron bars. Others chewed bleeding fingers.

Each wasting muscle was tensed from the effects of the mania-field, and ashen skin was crisscrossed in a grid of scars and open wounds.

A pack of demons stood around—claws clutching fancy glasses of what looked like wine—drinking, chatting, and sharing laughter. The scene was the exact image you’d expect to see of a group of aristocrats enjoying the orchestra at one of Patrizia DePaolo’s balls.

But the sight of those poor, broken souls wasn’t what drew Alex’s eye the most. Among the demons near the cages were two recognisable figures standing with a third, and the trio towered above the others.

The first was a demon of metal and gears, looking like an infernal machine given unnatural life. Its head was far too small for its body, while its belly was rounded like a great iron cauldron. Gears whirled in its joints as steam poured from its eye sockets and mouth.

Kaz-Mowang was the second: tall, hulking, and with a manic malice emanating from him in waves. His body was a tower of power, and his horns could have impaled the hell-boars with a single sweep. He was without the trident he customarily carried, instead, he held a fine goblet of wine as he conversed with the demons, one who Alex recognised all too well.

Not too far from the wagon, stood the towering, powerfully built form of Zonon-In, with menace in her eyes and her crab’s claws snipping at the air in time to the screams.

As the wagon rolled along, she spied them, a toothy grin taking her maw as she announced: “At last, more entertainment has arrived! Let us hope they can keep their minds, though if they don’t, that’s always fun too. In its own way…”

Chapter 88

Old “Friendly” Faces and New Unfriendly Ones

For a few heartbeats, Alex’s nerves threatened to fray.

Memories of what had happened in Crymlyn Swamp came back to him. The demonic magic ripping through his mind, the war-spear slicing Claygon’s body, the terrible blows raining down on his friends…

He shuddered as anger and uneasiness crept up his spine, expecting Zonon-In to recognise him. Would she attack? Probably not. The greater demon knew that these ‘performers’ she had helped ‘arrange’ for Kaz-Mowang were agents of a rather dangerous archwizard.

But having her present could complicate things—depending on what she did—and he was also surprised that she was there so early since he’d assumed she’d only make an appearance when the gala was well underway, giving him and his team time to get set up, and be ready for their performance.

She was a wild card he hadn’t expected to be played this early.

Alex gripped the hell-boars’ reins as she approached, flanked by the curious Kaz-Mowang, and that towering greater demon of metal, gears, smoke, and steam.

Zonon-In grinned, glancing at the bull-headed demon. “What do you think of this interesting little wagon? The performers call themselves the Troupe of the Gargoyle? Isn’t that deliciously ironic?”

Kaz-Mowang raised an eyebrow. Twin clouds of smoke rose from his nose. “Are they related to Garnyx’u’lon?” he asked, his voice boiling as though a dozen beings spoke as one.

“Of course not,” Zonon-In snorted. “But the image of our fallen rival would serve well to lighten the heart, wouldn’t it?”

“Agreed,” the third demon spoke, its words marked by the spewing of sparks, ash, and steam from a multitude of gaps in its metallic body.

Alex bowed his head as he brought the wagon to a halt, watching the greater demon with concern. Her grin was nasty, her eyes a sea of malice… but no trace of recognition took her face. There wasn’t a single twitch of acknowledgement in her body language. Either she was really good at hiding her intentions—which she likely was—or she hadn’t seen through his disguise.

Still, there was no need to tempt fate. It would be best if they were away from these three, and deep into their business as quickly as possible. With a great flourish, he called out to the demons:

“Pleased to meet you, m’lords and m’ladies!” Alex hopped up, leaping into the air, and flipping twice before landing on the stones with hardly a sound. Hardly a sound save for the clinking of bells on his cap, that is. “We, the Troupe of the Gargoyle, humbly humble ourselves in the abode of the great, mighty, terrible, and wonderful Kaz-Mowang!”

The Fool of Uldar cartwheeled into a handstand before whistling in the direction of the carriage. “To me, my fellows!”

One by one, the team members exited the wagon in dramatic fashion.

Ripp shot forward, racing across the stones in a tight figure-eight, then whirling and spinning like a child’s top before dropping into a bow beside Alex.

There was a flash of light and a popping sound as Guntile struck the ground with a magical stone that instantly ruptured in a display of multicoloured flame and smoke. She leapt through the smoke, skidding forward to take a knee before Kaz-Mowang.

Kyembe came spinning off the wagon, twirling his sword in one hand in a circular cut, while spinning a long, coloured stick in the other. His feet struck the earth, tapping the ground in a frenzied beat as he danced, spun, and twirled the sword and stick. He tossed the blade in the air, caught it in a loop on his belt, then planted the stick on the stone, leapt up, landed atop it, and bowed at the waist, keeping perfect balance on a single foot.

Behind him, two lions leapt from the wagon, grappling and clawing each other before separating. The enraged beasts glared, circling each other from a distance before charging, maws parting and claws extending.

When they collided, they shattered like glass—flowing back into Ezerak’s tattoos—revealing the former king and Thundar locked in battle, their teeth clenched. The man pushed the minotaur back, then the minotaur pushed the man back.

In a mutual display of strength, they grabbed each other by the shoulders, throwing one another down, then bowing before the greater demons.

“We, the Troupe of the Gargoyle, look forward to entertaining you!” six voices shouted in unison.

Silence followed, only broken by the constant gibbering of caged mortals.

Then, loud applause.

“Quaint!” Kaz-Mowang proclaimed as he clapped, a massive smile taking his bovine features. Alex made note of every exposed tooth in that mouth, they looked as sharp as daggers. “Delightful and quaint! Reminds me of my mortal days, long, long, long ago! Very good choice, Zonon-In!”

The towering she-demon grinned. “I am much obliged, Kaz-Mowang. And they have more to show you!” Her grin widened. “Much more.”

“Hmmmmm…” the third demon mused, his displeasure voiced by a hiss of steam from all sides. Billowing, the hot cloud drifted close to Alex’s face, coming dangerously close to scalding away his makeup as he balanced on one hand.

“I expected more from them, Zonon-In. Where is the blood? Where is the mania?”

He gestured to the caged mortals at their backs. “Where is the madness? I want entertainment.” He jabbed a finger—tipped by a sword-like claw—toward Alex. “You. Take that one’s sword—” He pointed at Kyembe “—and fight the minotaur to the death. That will be a good opening to the festivities. Proper fun.”

“Now, now, Yantrahpretaye,” Zonon-In said. “Mortal entertainers who perform so far to that extreme are rare, and for very good reason.” She grinned. “What? Is that lump of mercury you call a heart so unmoved? Perhaps if they were juggling gears instead, you would be more interested.”

“Play your games elsewhere, Zonon-In, I have no interest in your private jokes or attempts to infuriate.” The steel demon puffed out a cloud of steam, which seemed to writhe with its own fiendish life. “I want blood in my entertainment. Screams. Ecstasy. Agony. Not parlour tricks. Kaz-Mowang, order one of them to kill one of the others.”

Alex’s mind worked quickly. “May I have permission to speak, most mighty of demons?” he asked Kaz-Mowang, keeping his voice simpering—oozing complimentary sycophancy—but without showing any fear that could arouse the demons’ curiosity… or hunger.

The bull-headed fiend glanced down at the jester—who was still balanced on one hand—and gave a snort. “Speak.”

“Yes, mightiest of the mighty,” Alex said. “I wish to hear of your exploits, demon master. Zonon-In said that you are a great warrior, and I thought we might incorporate some of your magnificent battles into our act. Quaint recreations of your limitless might.”

Alex’s eyes flicked to the sculpted likenesses of Kaz-Mowang throughout his courtyard and palace architecture.

‘Play to his vanity, Alex,’ he thought. ‘There’s plenty to work with.’

“Go on…” the greater demon said, his chest just barely puffing up.

Yantrahpretaye let out a puff of acrid black smoke. Metal ground on metal beneath the surface of his form.

“Our stylings will capture your majesty—though not completely since we’re but mere mortals—and present it through the quaint eyes of mortal actors. We’ll astound! We’ll thrill! We’ll elicit laughter! And we’ll show your guests your glory! I ask that we be allowed to keep our lives so we can present your magnificence with our full complement!”

The bull-headed demon stared down at him, blowing another puff of steam from his nostrils. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t think you have fooled me, mortal. I know very well that you’re begging for your life and that of your friends, and what a way to do it! Very well, you have pleased me so far!” Lips parted, he revealed his razored fangs. “But I warn you, I have very high standards. You will capture my glory in the ways you promised and more, or I will see that your bodies provide the exotic entertainments my compeer desires.”

“I wish to see the inside of mortal skin.” Yantrahpretaye scraped his knife-like claws along his belly.

“And you will!” Kaz-Mowang announced, clapping his companion on the shoulder. The sound of his hand striking that iron shoulder was like a church bell sounding. “We have many mortal rats, demons, engeli, and other spirits to run my maze. We have creatures to be vivisected, some to over-stimulate, and others to dance. You will have all the sensations you desire. Allow me this quaint act, my guest.”

The metal demon sprayed a great line of steam from the top of his head. “Your once mortal existence is showing, Kaz-Mowang. But fair. There is plenty to feast upon. These mortals can be allowed to… exist, for now. But if they fail to impress, allow me to do with them as I will.”

“Zonon-In?” Kaz-Mowang raised an eyebrow at her. “Will you need these creatures again?”

“I will not,” she said simply. “Do what you must.”

“Very well, then.” The bull-headed demon grinned down at the Troupe of the Gargoyle. “Now that you know the consequences of failure, let that motivate your performance to its greatest heights.”

“Yes, potent master.” Alex bowed his head. “Might we ask for a boon? We wish to know more of your mighty exploits… might you regale us?”

“Hmmm, no.” The demon snorted. “I will have my archivist tell you of my deeds. A servant will show you where you may put your wagon. Keep from underfoot until the gala begins. I will send my archivist and master of festivities to you so that you may know your place and role. Now go, before one of my other guests decides to begin the festivities early… using your blood!”

“Well, it’s official,” Thundar muttered from inside the wagon, practising his illusions. “I hate this place. I hate that demon bastard, and I’d like to smash his face in until his snout caves in.”

The group had pulled the wagon far off to the side of the palace, stopping among a large number of tents, carriages, and enormous carts. From within them, sobbing from mortal suffering, moans of pleasure, and other maddening noises could be heard.

In the distance, more of Kaz-Mowang’s guests arrived.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“You and me both, Thundar. I wish Claygon was here so we could break all three of those demons in half… Well, actually, more likely they’d rip us apart before we got the chance. Greater demons are no joke.” Alex straightened a bell on his costume. “Better we get in and get out of here without them knowing that anything’s even missing…”

He winced as a cry came from a nearby carriage. “I wish we could free all of these poor souls, though.”

“Down that path lies death,” Ezerak warned in a whisper. The former king practised bending an iron bar. “Most of these folk have already had their minds shattered.”

“And many have found themselves in this horror by way of pact, not capture. Still…” Kyembe practised twirling his blade. A terrible anger simmered in his voice. “This place needs to be ashes in a hot wind. I would see to it that the cages are thrown open, and these vile demons thrown down.”

“Oi, oi.” Ripp glared at him. “Let’s not get stupid, alright? Them three demons made my ears wither. We’re good, but I doubt that a fight between us and them would end in any other way than with us dead.”

“Hmmm.” The Spirit Killer tapped the side of his skull mask. “Of that, I would not be so quick to declare, my friend. Demons and gods think themselves lions among the meek compared to we mortals, but the lion has learned to fear fire, bow, and spear. And we have such in abundance.”

“I would like to see that arrogant iron bastard go boom,” Guntile snarled, rattling her stones across her finger joints. “But… I don’t know about our chances. Ezerak?”

“Against those three? We might take it.” The former king’s expression was dark. “Not without losses, though, especially if Celsus and the golem don’t get here soon enough to reinforce us. And if the demons’ servants and guests join the fight? We’re dog meat. And anyway, we’re not being paid to start fights unless we get orders to. Are we starting a fight, Commander?”

Alex shook his head. “If we get a chance, we might free some people on the way out… but I can’t risk all of us, especially for people who might be here because they wanted to be cultists.” He looked at Thundar. “Thoughts?”

“Yeah, it’d be real nice if we could let some of those folks out, but no way we can protect them all the way back to the portal, and last thing I want is to be captured or gutted like a fish because we’re trying to be heroes. …Shit, maybe that’s an awful thing to say…”

“I think Baelin would approve,” Alex said. “Maybe we’ll come back and burn this place to the ground when we’re archwizards.”

Thundar smiled. “You know just what to say to make a guy feel better.”

“Troupe of the Gargoyle?” a posh-accented voice called from outside the wagon. “I was told by my lord and master that you would need lore on his achievements?”

“There’s my cue,” Alex whispered, moving toward the back of the wagon. “All of you, I want you to go out and mingle with the other entertainers, if you’re confident in your social skills, that is. We need information. I’m going to try and get this archivist talking. If I can manoeuvre the conversation right, I might get a good idea of what we’re actually looking for. And where we need to go to find it.”

Chapter 89

A Symbol of Fruit

The archivist, to no one’s surprise, was a horrible creature.

Twice as tall as Alex, with the bloated body of a bipedal pig—dripping with mucus—and the head of an enormous, filthy fly. The creature’s odour burned Alex’s eyes and churned his stomach.

It took every bit of his training to keep his face neutral, and thankfully, the carrot strapped to his face limited his sense of smell. He did have to keep blinking to stop tears from pouring down his face.

The master of festivities, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. She looked almost human, with only her goat’s horns, bat-like wings, and scorpion’s tail betraying her demonic nature. She was also stunningly beautiful, so much so that it nearly hurt his mortal eyes to look upon her directly. A robe of white silk hugged graceful curves.

Sucking on one of her fangs, she gazed at Alex distantly as he bowed before them.

“This humble jester makes your acquaintance,” he said. “I’m the leader of our troupe, and I hope we can serve to entertain and thrill. Thank you for taking the time to give me my instructions and regale me with the deeds of the great Kaz-Mowang.”

“Hmmmm, so you know etiquette. That’s a true rarity in a mortal,” the master of festivities pronounced, glancing at a golden scroll held in clawed fingers. “In order of appearances, your act will be third—after the beasts—but before the maze run. Once the gala begins, you shall be ushered into the servant’s gallery, then you appear when your troupe is called. If your performance is satisfactory, you shall be given the chance to eat of Kaz-Mowang’s table and enjoy some delicious libations. My lord is generous; he would never see his entertainment cast out into the city as though he could not afford to feed them.”

“Understood,” Alex muttered. “Kaz-Mowang be praised.”

“Very good.” The master of festivities made a mark on her golden parchment. “Celpahophon will provide you with the lore you seek. Ensure you sing my master’s praises properly.”

With a single beat of her wings, she was off, flying into the blazing sky.

There was a sound of bubbling phlegm, and the archivist spat on the stones at his side. “Mortal! I like you!” the fly-headed demon proclaimed.

Alex’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

“Yes!” the demon gurgled. “You have shown great interest in the most interesting subject in all the realms: the glory of the great Kaz-Mowang!” A foul odour sprayed from its fly-like mouth with every word.

Alex resisted the urge to curl in a ball and die, after heaving his guts out.

“Yes, I have!” he said with a forced smile, immediately regretting opening his lips when the odour hit his tongue. “I want to know all about the great lord’s battles, his victories, and his triumphs. There are many to be told, I’m sure.”

“Of course there are!” Celpahophon boasted. “And I have memorised the details of each and every one.”

“Every last one?” Alex’s interest piqued. Behind him, the rest of the troupe climbed from the wagon, spreading out among the other entertainers. “What are your favourites?”

‘Get people talking about themselves,’ he thought. ‘Lower their guard. Demons especially love talking about themselves.’

“I’m so glad you asked!” the archivist trilled like a glee-filled bird. “A favourite of mine is Kaz-Mowang’s triumph over the Coward Ilzula⁠—”

The archivist self-importantly began recounting details of different battles that his master had fought.

And the more he talked? The more Alex wished he could turn the greater demon inside out.

The hard way.

Every ‘triumph’ was truly just some new cruelty.

Most victories were against the sort of folk Alex would likely have called friends, and Kaz-Mowang’s successes often spelled days of darkness for entire planar domains or mortal realms. It made Alex’s teeth grind.

But… he was noticing something.

Not a single name this mucus-covered demon mentioned belonged to any hero, realm, or demigod he had ever heard of. He’d learned a great deal of history at the university, yet none of the names were familiar, even those belonging to individuals from the material plane.

‘The world is a big place,’ he thought, considering the travelling Whetstone Tavern. ‘But I should have heard of at least one of them…’

He had a feeling that the Many-Spheres Theory was not that farfetched after all. Though maybe he should be focusing his attention on this demon and its endless prattling.

“Ahhhh, that is a glorious tale. There’s no way we can fit them all into our performance, but we’ll try and bring in one or two of your favourites.” Alex winked. “But erm… there’s a battle that even this humble one has heard of, despite coming from a backwater world. Is it true that the great Kaz-Mowang fought a mere mortal called Hannar-Cim?”

The archivist stopped dead and—for a moment—Alex wondered if he’d gone too far.

The creature shuddered like aspic, sputtering as a wet tearing sound rose from its back and a pair of immense dragonfly-wings sprang free, buzzing furiously. “That battle was terrible! Terrible! I do not wish to speak of it! Take care that you do not mention it in front of my master for—when his mood is low—any talk of it instantly drives him to terrible wrath.”

“Ah, my apologies!” Alex cried, as though admonished by the enormous demon. “I had heard that the battle ended in his resounding victory.” He decided to take a slight risk. “Hannar-Cim was a devious opponent, triumphing only by quickly moving from place to place! Trickery! But Kaz-Mowang still defeated her!”

“Her trickery robbed my master of complete victory!” the archivist screeched. “She used her deceitful mortal magics to escape before the final blow could be struck, wetting herself in the process!”

Somehow, Alex had a feeling that part wasn’t true.

“Ooooh!” The young wizard slapped his forehead as though coming to an incredible revelation. “I’d heard that Kaz-Mowang had taken a trophy from her upon her defeat!”

“He takes trophies from all worthy opponents upon their deaths, but Hannar-Cim’s object was dropped as she fled, soiling herself thoroughly!” the demon boasted. “A vile thing! She should have remained to grant my lord his victory as per his right.”

Alex considered the demon’s words.

When exactly did this battle take place?

He knew of no tales about the Saint of Alric in combat with a greater demon. Had the priests simply left that out of her chronicle? He doubted it. All of his teachers at the church school loved filling young minds with the deeds of Alric’s patron saint.

Then again, they might have only taught stories of her victories, and left out any battle where a demon fought her to a standstill. If such a battle made Kaz-Mowang’s archivist flinch at the telling, he could well imagine the church having similar qualms.

Hopefully, whatever information he found would shed light on everything.

“It’s shameful that the great Kaz-Mowang couldn’t collect his prize from a corpse, as is right and proper,” Alex’s voice dripped with sympathy.

“Yeesssss! Yeessss! You understand!” The archivist’s enthusiasm bubbled over.

The Fool of Uldar mimicked that enthusiasm, using the Mark to examine every minute tick in Celpahophon’s body language. He mirrored the giant demon’s posture, loosened his jaw, and widened his eyes as though he were a child gawking at the stars for the first time.

“I couldn’t hope to understand.” He bowed his head. “Not in the way you do… but… oh I wish… no, I couldn’t…”

“Speak, mortal!” the archivist cried. “There is no need to hold back from sharing in Kaz-Mowang’s glory!”

“Well, it’s just…” Alex shuffled, scuffing his feet along the ground. “I wish I could see some of Kaz-Mowang’s trophies for myself. Their glory must make one weak in the knees.”

“Yes, yes, they do!” The fly-headed fiend giggled, his laughter causing great gouts of slime to run down his chest, soiling his rich, silk vest. “You should count yourself lucky that Kaz-Mowang’s trophies are only for his own eyes and those of his closest allies and advisors! The sight of them—for a mere uninitiated mortal—would strike blindness into you and wither all memories of beauty in your mind!”

“Ahhhh, if only my eyes were more sturdy and my mind less imbecilic!” Alex cried, miming clawing at his own face in regret. “Might I ask—” He looked around conspiratorially “—if you could describe some to me, just so that I may share in even the ghost… the shadow… the mere scent of their glory!”

He poured enthusiasm into his voice—just a touch of uncontrolled emotion. A slight pulse of mania spread through his chest at the sound of it, as Celpahophon puffed up with even more self-importance and boundless glee.

“Well, since you asked so humbly, I will give you a taste of my lord and master’s trophies!” The fiend’s stench wafted through the air, a pulse of purple light coursing through the many lenses in his eyes. “First, let us speak of the Lion’s Head of Numarai⁠—”

For a time, Alex let the giant demon ramble, going on about gruesome treasures that made his blood boil. Some of these ‘trophies’ had no value in terms of magic or gold, but were the sort of sentimental items that one could never replace: paintings of deceased loved ones, the first gift from one’s lover, or a child’s first shoes were some of his favourites.

Again, Alex had to fight the urge to call Claygon and have him rip this fly’s wings off. With a great effort, he resumed focus, paying attention as Celpahophon turned to more general treasures: magical weapons, lost artefacts, and other items of power.

The young wizard steered the conversation subtly, waiting for a lull, then asking questions about the trophies from battles the archivist had previously mentioned. And—within those questions—he slipped in the important one.

“And what prize did he earn from that foul Hannar-Cim?” Alex asked. “I hope it was something precious.”

His voice portrayed utter sincerity, not allowing his ingratiating facade to crack for an instant.

And the demon leapt on the bait.

“If only!” it snorted. “She dropped a pittance of an item⁠—”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly.

“—with no practical use… or discernable sentimental value! It was a simple rectangle.” The demon made a shape with its fingers. “One just slightly larger than your human hand with the symbol of a silver apple on the back, and a lantern engraved in it. Other glyphs marked it, but none held any power! Perhaps it was just a useless piece of artwork she’d scratched out!” He shook his head in disgust.

The young man nodded. “Yeah. Must be worthless…”

To the demon, perhaps, but to the Thameish wizard, he’d just gained something precious: he now knew what to look for.

‘Symbols… maybe some sort of stone tablet to decode the book?’ Alex thought. ‘Maybe a translation tool… He said it had no discernable use, and these demons had decades to figure out how it works. Maybe it only works in the Cave? Or maybe it’s a dead end… But it’s a lead. At least, it’s finally a damn lead!’

“Indeed, worthless, but better it be in the hands of my master than some cowardly wretch!” the archivist boasted.

Alex promised himself that—if a fight did break out here—he’d make sure to smash this fly.

“Thank you for your insights!” he said. For a moment, he considered asking where Kaz-Mowang kept his trophies, but that would have been entirely too obvious. He’d need some other way to learn where those trophies were kept.

He and Celpahophon exchanged a few more pleasantries before Alex was at last permitted to take his leave to incorporate Kaz-Mowang’s glory into his act. As he watched the fly-like fiend buzz into the air, his mind was already calculating.

Thinking.

Adapting to his circumstances.

Looking for anything that could help him reach his goal for the mission.

Something came to mind, something dangerous, but it also promised a delicious irony. He remembered how close Zonon-In was to Kaz-Mowang.

‘He’d probably show her his trophies,’ Alex thought. ‘And if she thinks she’s helping a powerful archwizard—one that could owe her future favours—then I think we’ve got ourselves a plan. Good, let’s let her work for us for once. If we can time things just right, we might be well gone from this place before the gala even ends.’

Elsewhere in the city, from deep within his own manor, a greater demon bellowed at his servants to ready his palanquin for Kaz-Mowang’s gala. He was late, annoyed, and on edge.

Strange rumours buzzed of goings on in Ezaliel’s palace. Rumours of danger and dark negotiations. It was enough to give the mania-field extra bite today. The greater demon resisted the urge to punish his honour guard. A group of fearsome veteran tiashivas who would serve as his escort through the gala.

As he paced, he hardly gave them a second look.

Not even one of their most veteran members, whose third eye was narrowed in agitation.

The creature had an enormous scar on its chest.

As though someone had raked a burning saw through its flesh.

Chapter 90

A Performance Among Fiends

Alex’s scar itched under his shirt sleeve. Normally, the old wound wasn’t prominent in his thoughts. He had more important marks on his body, after all, but this evening, a creeping sensation kept running through the long, raised scar on his arm. He scratched it absently, while sounds of revelry reached him through a thin wall and the door to the chamber the troupe was waiting in.

Hours had passed since his conversation with the archivist, and the time had been filled with frantic activity. Information was shared—as the troupe did some last-minute rehearsing—recounting everything they’d learned from other entertainers they’d talked to. His talk with the archivist had borne the ripest fruit, but there were interesting bits the others had discovered.

Thundar had learned from a circus act that—not too surprisingly—Kaz-Mowang favoured anything depicting the image of a bull. Minotaur performers were regarded fondly, and bulls losing in contests of beasts were judged harshly.

That made it clear to Alex and company that Thundar should be featured prominently in their act.

Guntile had confirmed that Kaz-Mowang tended to show his closest allies his trophy room and other important areas of the palace at the end of his galas. He was loath to leave the attention of his guests for too long.

The rest of the team hadn’t gathered much that would be helpful for their mission, except for one grim warning: the master of festivities had, without warning or hesitation, immolated performers who’d displeased her at past galas.

“Would’ve been good to know that before we decided to come down here,” Thundar had grumbled.

But, at this point, the time for grumbling and complaining had long passed.

The troupe was in a side chamber, brought there by Kaz-Mowang’s servants, just one group in a long line of mortals and fiends waiting to entertain the greater demon, and hoping to win his favour.

They’d been led through gilded hallways large enough to march armies through, each corridor patrolled by vicious tiashivas, pazuzites, and more exotic denizens. Some were gigantic humanoids whose skin was a mass of boil-like eyeballs, creatures called Omnesventae, who were known for seeing through all but the most powerful mortal illusions. They’d licked their lips as if relishing something tasty, intently watching the performers as they’d passed, as though committing their features to memory.

Alex had no illusion as to what would happen to his team if they were taken by even one of these monsters.

The plan was to avoid that by giving a performance that pleased the demons, especially Kaz-Mowang. If they failed…

‘We’ll be in a world of problems,’ he thought. ‘Or maybe not. Cuz… we’ll be dead.’

Thundar clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder, looking the Thameish wizard dead in the eye. “You ready?” he whispered. Behind him, the rest of the troupe stretched, preparing for their debut. Beyond them, other performers readied themselves. Some looked jittery and on the verge of fainting.

“Yeah,” Alex whispered back. “As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“No.” Thundar shook his head vigorously. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick… I haven’t eaten in a while, so it’s gonna be that nasty sorta sick that’s all burning bile and water.”

“I hear you,” Alex muttered. “I’m feeling the same way.”

“Well, don’t matter if we’re ready at this point.” Thundar tapped his mask. “Only matters that we do it and do it right. No pressure, eh? Just confirming, but, if we die… I’m haunting your ass.”

“Likewise, Thundar.” Alex took a deep breath, fighting away stage fright and the mania-field effects warring inside him. “Likewise.”

Beyond the door, sounds of violence, and roars of fiends loudly cheering echoed through the stone. From the shrieks and wild applause, the Beasts’ performance seemed to be coming to a vile and bloody climax.

Tough act to follow.

Alex took a deep breath.

Cheers came through the wall.

Followed by silence.

“And so, we have an astounding victory by Khanigor!” Kaz-Mowang’s voice boomed. “A bloody one, just the perfect appetiser. The way we like it! But now, we have something more quaint. Mortal players! See them astound and clown while you feast on my lively finger-foods! Come! I call the Troupe of the Gargoyle!”

“Here we go,” Alex whispered, leaping forward as the doors were thrown open.

Greeting them through the gaping doors was Kaz-Mowang’s ballroom, a chamber so massive that much of Patrizia DePaolo’s villa could have easily fit inside. It seemed to go on forever. Gold and marble paved the floor, magical flame blazed in candelabras and braziers of platinum and ivory. The ceiling was a whirling, living tapestry of Kaz-Mowang locked in deadly combat with a horde of engeli and mortal knights.

Demons, mortal cultists, and devils filled the ballroom.

They milled about, over-filling the balconies, flying above the crowd below, darting and dancing between chandeliers, feasting and toasting Kaz-Mowang.

Some of their food still wriggled as they dropped it down their throats.

The demons were as varied as they were in multitude. Portly, blue-skinned fiends with maws protruding from their bellies. Beautiful, curvaceous succubi in dresses made to kill; in some ways, quite literally. Snake-bodied men and women with six arms and faces raised with pride.

And more.

Many, many more.

The room’s energy had the feel of a manic mob’s, barely held in check by wills honed by millennia of existing within a disruptive field.

These were their audience as the Troupe of the Gargoyle bounded into the room. Ripp zipped across the floor like a stone skipping over a lake’s surface, blurring as he went. Then came Thundar, his head lifted in arrogance as he took on the role of Kaz-Mowang himself, flanked by illusions of luscious demons and cowering mortals.

Alex and Kyembe backflipped and danced behind him in perfect harmony, nodding to each other as they performed cartwheels. Guntile juggled fire and exploding stones, and Ezerak led a horde of beasts: lions, wyverns, and drakes all prancing along like trained horses in a parade.

Even to the jaded eyes of their demonic audience, they drew attention, with increasing numbers of the fiends turning from their conversations and drinks to level gazes at these springing, dancing, capering mortals.

“Gentlefiends!” Alex cried, springing into the air, and drawing his staff from across his back. “The Troupe of the Gargoyle is here to delight you! To inspire you!”

The aeld staff gave a peal of nervous excitement as he spun it around himself in dizzying circles, using the Mark to ensure his every movement was perfect. From the staff, he launched a dozen forceballs, swirling and whirling around him.

“We aim to make you laugh, we humble players do, and make this moment in your immortal lives one to remember! At least for a few hours!” he shouted, pouring body enhancement magic over himself. Mana flooded his form, tightening his muscles, filling him with new vigour. He soared through the air, flipped, and landed on a single finger, holding his staff high, balancing it on one toe of his foot.

“For that’s all we humble players can ask!” he shouted. “And that we may come even close to honouring the glory of Kaz-Mowang that he so deserves!”

As Alex shouted, he timed his words with the rise of the orchestra’s melody, letting the greater demon’s name echo through his halls. Meanwhile, Guntile flung a fistful of power stones in the air, letting them burst in flashes of coloured light, claps of thunder, and radiant smoke.

Above the central area of the ballroom, a longship crafted of pure glass hovered, held aloft by powerful flight magic that allowed it to orbit the chamber at a leisurely pace. Within the longship lounged dozens of jewel studded demons and cultists with golden symbols tattooed over their bare skin.

Kaz-Mowang was among them—a veritable emperor on his throne—casually watching the entertainment below.

His eyes lit up at the declaration of his glory.

‘Got you right where I want you,’ Alex thought, lifting his voice.

“Let the performance begin!” he cried.

And with another explosion from Guntile, and fearsome roars from Ezerak’s beasts, they began in earnest.

First, they led off with a re-enactment of Kaz-Mowang’s triumph at the battle of Yavic. Ezerak’s beasts provided the enemy forces, charging Thundar while he struck them down.

Ripp served as his general, praising Thundar as he marched around like a conquering emperor, while the others portrayed the cowardly, comedic enemy generals and kings that sought to throw down Kaz-Mowang’s ‘righteous rulership.’

Alex served as the capering fool, stupidly singing his master’s praises, before being slapped by Thundar for flubbing his titles. Kaz-Mowang roared with laughter at the sight.

One by one, Thundar—as Kaz-Mowang—threw down his enemies, who scrambled and stumbled around like dullards. First Kyembe fell, blasted by illusionary beams of magic. Then Ezerak. Then Ripp.

As they lay broken, Alex pulled out his final card: changing history to appeal to his audience.

Guntile stepped forward, declaring herself to be Hannar-Cim. Her announcement caused Kaz-Mowang to fall silent in his longship. But he was not silent for long.

The greater demon clapped in delight as Thundar ‘crushed’ Guntile, sending the mercenary fleeing and crying out, begging for mercy before being soundly destroyed.

It was a complete lie.

A grand twisting of the truth.

And Kaz-Mowang loved every moment of it, his applause resounding through the chamber. His clapping spread among many of his guests—though for some, with markedly less enthusiasm, except for his servants—growing until applause engulfed the ballroom like runaway flame.

Alex and his troupe continued their performance, breaking into individual acts, entertaining the crowd with their own talents, strategically allowing the attention to gradually move away from them. They entertained, but unobtrusively, letting the demons return to their own conversations and drinks.

It wasn’t an epic finale… all purely by design.

A subtle ending would cement their good impression, without making them the centre of attention. They could finish their act with quiet flair then take their bows and smoothly blend into the throng of party goers, and as other acts performed, escape notice.

It might not be a good strategy for performers looking to secure permanent patronage or future contracts… but for ‘performers’ looking to slip away from the crowd to steal something?

No better way to end a performance.

And so, they went out with a whimper. As more and more demons lost interest in the quaint performers, the anticipation grew for the upcoming maze run. The only demon that watched them, with displeasure, was Yantrahpretaye.

The creature puffed out rapid streams of smoke and steam as the performance ended. “I want violence, not this play-acting and illusion!”

“You’ll get violence later, impatient one.” Zonon-In popped what looked to be a questionable piece of meat down her gullet. “The maze run will bring you what you seek. Let the quaint ones go. They have earned their lives, I say.”

“Here! Here!” Kaz-Mowang roared, pounding his goblet on the table before him in the longship. “My glory was spread, and my enemies were shown to be the dead buffoons they always were! Let’s not punish those who please us, or why would anyone seek to please us?”

The mechanised demon sent another irritated puff of smoke screeching over the side of the glass ship. His hungry eyes remained on the troupe, giving them a hard look that promised all sorts of horrors if he were ever alone with any of them.

Alex didn’t intend to let that happen, melting into the crowd as Kaz-Mowang announced the beginning of the maze run.

As one, the fiends began gathering, readying to move outside and watch the spectacle in the greater demon’s personal maze. Groups streamed to tables, grabbing refreshments before heading outdoors.

The Troupe of the Gargoyle huddled at the side of the room, nodding to each other.

“Well, we didn’t die,” Thundar said.

“A fine thing, in most circumstances.” Kyembe cracked his knuckles.

“What next?” Ezerak asked.

“Now, we spread out,” Alex whispered, looking up at Zonon-In warily.

The greater demon descended from the longship through flight magic, then settled before a table filled with strange, repulsive-looking pastries.

“I’ll be right back,” Alex said, then slipped through the crowd.

Moving between the revellers, he cautiously sidled up to the greater demon.

“Thank you for your support, oh mighty mistress!” He bowed deeply, the bells on his cap ringing. His voice shifted in pitch, disguising it slightly.

Zonon-In glanced down at him—a knowing twinkle dancing in her eyes—as though she kept a secret. “Your patron believes in you, and so I support you.”

“Indeed!” Alex’s tone was respectful for all near to hear. “I’m glad to see you were pleased with our quaint, little performance. I hope that you keep pleasant memories with you throughout the evening. May you treasure it as you enjoy your evening, enjoying the maze run or even—if you’re so fortunate—” He gave her a meaningful look “—if you have the pleasure of seeing mighty Kaz-Mowang’s trophies.”

Zonon-In stared down at him, her eyes shining.

“Even my patron—our old friend—would love to see them,” Alex said. “If only he were here to do so in person. Perhaps you could see them for him, tell him of their magnificence. I’m sure he’d be delighted and appreciative of that.”

The greater demon licked her lips.

Chapter 91

The End of Patience

“Do you think I am here to risk myself, or to allow you to risk my position?” Zonon-In’s eyes flashed, her voice falling so low that little sound seemed to come from her lips. Yet her voice echoed through Alex’s mind. “I am here to enjoy the party, mortal. Your affairs are your own.”

Her gaze burned into the jester as he prayed to the Traveller that she wouldn’t recognise him. He was nearer to her than he would have liked—closer than he’d anticipated—waiting for the moment her eyes lit up in malicious recognition, his stomach clenched.

Thankfully, she showed no sign of realising who he was… so far.

He pushed on.

“Yes, indeed, and I would never dream of asking you to do anything untoward or risky,” the young wizard promised, his voice falling to the lowest of whispers. “For no effort on your part, though, certain… parties, would know of your aid. And…” He glanced up at Kaz-Mowang; the demon basked in fawning attention. “Any help is another chance for… competition to be cleared away.”

Zonon-In sucked her fangs. “Hmmmmmm…” Her growl was low, reaching Alex’s ears and deep into his core. “Fair. It won’t cause me any strife to do this. But you get no more help from me, mortal. The risk is yours, not mine.”

“Fair,” Alex whispered.

“Be ready. I won’t miss the maze run for any of you, but after…” Zonon-In paused. “Have we met, jester? Have you visited the hells before?”

Alex fought a shudder. “I’ve been to the hells a time or two,” he said casually, not letting his tension show. “But I would have remembered someone as memorable as you if we’d met on this plane before.”

Technically, no lie told.

She scrutinised him, then shrugged and sauntered off to join Kaz-Mowang.

Alex let out a ragged breath and almost burst out laughing. He’d been right in front of the greater demon, and she hadn’t recognised him, and that was a great feeling.

‘The faster we’re either out of here or she’s dead, the better. Honestly, both. Both would be good.’ His thoughts turned to his companions.

The demonic guests filtered out of the ballroom, giving him time alone with his team. In the end, just a few stragglers, servants, and fellow performers remained in the ballroom. Relieved, entertainers rushed the buffet tables, grabbing food and libations before the press of demons came back for more.

With a meaningful look at each other, Alex and company moved to a quieter corner of the large room, making a show of sharing lively conversation as they examined food on a table topped with bowls and platters of mostly recognisable fruits and vegetables. No wiggling meat for them.

“We’re a go,” Alex whispered. “Kaz-Mowang’s showing off his trophies after the maze run and Zonon-In’s going along for the tour.” He looked around, making sure no one was near. “That’s our in. We’ll follow them, find out where the trophy room is, and snatch what we came for.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Thundar said grimly, keeping his voice low. “We all going?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Ripp glanced over his shoulder. “A group of us disappearing would be noticed, and a big group roaming through the halls in this place would be noticed even more.”

“Are we splitting up, then?” Guntile cringed. “That never goes well.”

“Don’t see how we have much choice.” Ezerak sniffed some multicoloured greens in bowls on the table, then began filling a plate. “We all stay? We can’t do the plan. We all go? Chances of us getting caught goes up. Kyembe, any thoughts? …Kyembe?”

The group looked over, the lean man had lifted his mask and was pouring himself a very large cup of wine. A heaping bowl of spiced fruit sat on the table in front of him.

“What?” he asked when he noticed them watching him. “This is the part where we have either triumphed or will be having our guts torn out and used for decoration. If the latter happens, I would like some wine in those guts.” The Spirit Killer sniffed the wine goblet. “And this is a fine vintage; better in our bellies than in demons’.”

Thundar looked at him in awe. “Hells, you’re a genius!” He rushed to the table, pouring himself a mug of wine.

“Yeah, no argument here.” Alex filled a cup and drained it.

Kyembe had been right.

The wine was good. Very good.

“Right…” Ripp said slowly. “So, who goes and who stays?”

“I think I should stay.” Thundar put down his mug. “I’d rather go, but I was the centre of our performance. They’re gonna notice if I disappear.”

Alex nodded, thanking the Traveller that Thundar suggested the idea before him. Better his friend was here, where there might be a better chance of him escaping if things went wrong.

“Good idea, Thundar,” he muttered. “Maybe…” He considered the mercenaries. “Two of you should come with me. Three stay here, three go hunting. Seems practical, everyone gets a fighting chance, and no team’s too big.”

“You’re the boss.” Ripp shrugged. “Who stays and who goes, then?”

Alex contemplated his choices for a time.

They could all handle themselves in a fight, so that was a given, but he needed stealth as well. Thundar would need enough combat strength beside him if a horde of demons spotted him and whoever he was with.

His eyes fell on Ezerak; the former king could summon an army from his skin. Numbers would be key to fighting a horde of demons in this enormous room, but not quite as useful in a tight corridor.

Ezerak should stay with Thundar.

Alex looked down at Ripp.

Calling the swiftling fast was an understatement. He could move like a blur and had snatched a dungeon core from an army of Ravener-spawn before they could blink. He could be trusted, they’d worked together before, and he was deathly quiet when he needed to be. Ripp would go with him.

Which left the other choice.

He considered Guntile, watching her as she carefully palmed her stones, getting them ready should things turn bad.

He eyed Kyembe, who was obviously enjoying his wine and shovelling his fruit like it was his last meal.

Alex sighed.

He trusted Guntile more than Kyembe, but if this ‘Spirit Killer’ was treacherous, better to have him close—in reach of Ripp’s knives—than out here with Thundar.

“Alright, Ripp and Kyembe, you’re with me.” Alex tapped his staff on the floor.

“Aye, thought I might be.” Ripp squared his shoulders. “Well, then, Spirit Killer. Hope that drink was good.”

“It was.” Kyembe wiped his mouth, his crimson eyes flashing. “Perhaps we can liberate some of it on our way out of this place. That and other treasures.”

“Liberate? No judgement, but you mean steal, right?” Thundar said.

The Spirit Killer shrugged. “Here, there are only tyrants and monsters that rule. They do not know how to treat their wine. I say it is not theft, it is a rescue.”

“I don’t think they’d see it that way,” Alex pointed out.

“Dead demons do not see much, my friend. And they need no wine.”

“We are terribly late!” the greater demon snorted, his palanquin shaking as he disembarked. “You fools will have made me miss the maze run!”

Beneath the palanquin, a horde of twenty demons shuddered under their master’s weight, discreetly sighing in relief when he finally climbed down.

“Guards! To me!” the greater demon bellowed. “Wine, I seek wine!”

Exchanging looks of disdain, the tiashiva bodyguards grouped around him, forming a menacing troop of honour guards.

Yet, one seemed to pay his master little mind.

The scarred demon was focused on Kaz-Mowang’s palace, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

For the briefest moment, he’d felt… a familiar power flare. A power that few other demons had his connection to.

But that could not be.

How would that mortal be here?

“I have new ones to show you, Zonon-In!” Kaz-Mowang laughed uproariously, the sound of his hooves clacking on stone. His gait was a swaggering one, as his laughter rolled through the hallways, echoing from pillar to post.

“I hope so.” Zonon-In sounded thrilled. “I’d say you were slacking, otherwise.”

“I never slack,” Kaz-Mowang boasted. “I come, I see, I conquer. The mortals in the maze run? They were from one of my latest conquests in the material world.”

“That explains why they seemed so delightfully… fresh.” The sound of her mouth tentacles slurping across her lips was enough to chill the spine and turn the stomach.

“Charmin’,” Ripp hissed sarcastically while pressed to a wall beside Alex. “We’re gonna be trophies if he sees us.”

“Or he shall be ours,” Kyembe whispered on the other side of the young Thameish wizard.

“We’re not picking fights that we can avoid,” Alex whispered, peering down the corridor, keeping his eye on patrolling pazuzites strutting through the hall. He held his breath, waiting for them to pass.

They moved by without spotting the concealed trio.

“Go! Hug the next corner!”

Alex crept from behind the wall, moving to the next corner and hiding there. Ripp and Kyembe were silent behind him.

“Still together?” he whispered.

“Here,” Ripp whispered back.

“I am with you,” Kyembe added.

“Stay close,” Alex peeked down the long hallway, watching Kaz-Mowang leading Zonon-In and a group of demons and mortals—mostly female—toward his prized trophies.

They’d been following the greater demon and company for a while now, the bull-headed fiend stopping every few steps to proudly show his guests some bit of architecture that displayed his wealth and taste. Meanwhile, Alex and the two mercenaries had crept along behind them, hugging walls, and pressing themselves against corners since they’d left the ballroom in the chaos of party guests returning from the maze run.

Briefly slipping into an empty chamber while the demon showed off his palace, Alex cast invisibility magic on the three of them, allowing them to stalk Kaz-Mowang’s party at a safer distance. The tiashivas and pazuzite patrols lessened, with many going to guard the halls around the ballroom, but their numbers were still more than Alex wanted to see, especially with those Omnesventae around.

Their illusion-piercing eyes could abruptly end the plan, so—when one appeared down a nearby hall—Alex, Kyembe, and Ripp doubled back, retreating around the nearest corner until the fearsome creature moved on.

If Kaz-Mowang wasn’t as fond of hearing his own voice as he was, they might have lost him in the multitude of hallways.

‘Come on…’ Alex thought as they tracked the bull-headed fiend. ‘Where is this damned trophy room of yours? Why’d you have to build the biggest damn palace ever? For the love of the Traveller, why?’

Deeper and deeper they went into the gargantuan structure, passing seemingly endless rows of statues honouring Kaz-Mowang’s form, murals depicting his deeds—none were too insignificant—and suspended light fixtures glowing in his likeness. Everywhere they looked, his image greeted them, bombarding them at every turn, threatening to disorient the trio, making it harder to recognise where they were, or where they had been.

Alex used the Mark constantly, drawing images from it, using them to keep track of their path. If not for its help, the complex web of hallways and never-ending images of the palace’s master would have left even the clearest mind in total confusion. The Mark provided a mental map.

When they finally got their hands on the prize they were here for, it’d be up to him to lead them out of there.

And fast.

‘That’s if we ever get to his bloody trophy room!’ Alex thought in agitation. ‘Does it even exist? Do you even have trophies, or did that disgusting, long-winded, shit-sucking fly demon lie to me! What’s the matter with you? I⁠—’

“And here we have it, my most favoured guests!” Kaz-Mowang’s voice boomed from ahead.

‘—Finally!’ Alex thought.

The trio crept around a corner, spying a massive doorway, which was not surprisingly sculpted in a replica of Kaz-Mowang’s face, the mouth wide open, serving as an entryway.

Two Omnesventa flanked the entrance, their many eyes searching the hall beyond their master’s guests. The three burglars darted behind the corner.

“We found it,” Ripp hissed. “Now what?”

“Let’s pull back and wait until they go…”

Alex’s voice trailed off.

From somewhere inside the trophy room, a tickle of energy touched him, similar to when he was close to teleportation magic, only much more specific. The power was warm, familiar… one he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Not since he, Selina, Theresa, and Brutus passed through a portal and appeared in the Rhinean Empire.

It was the Traveller’s power.

And in his core, something resonated with it.

As his master guzzled wine, the demon dubbed Burn-Saw looked up suddenly.

“No, I definitely felt something,” he growled. “Hannar-Cim’s servant is here.”

Thundar glanced around the ballroom as he entertained a gaggle of succubi with his Kaz-Mowang impression. His eyes fell on a tiashiva with a massive scar running across his chest.

‘Wait, why’s that demon look so familia—Oh. Oh shit!’

Baelin glowered as Ezaliel’s minion prattled on about alliances, the meagre value of mortal life, and truces. Still seated in the offensive chair he’d been shown to in what felt like a lifetime ago, the archwizard gripped the armrests so tightly, they creaked.

‘Enough!’

He’d tolerated this charade for far too long, and now, his patience had run its course. He could finally embrace his breaking point.

Alex and his team would have had enough time to act by now.

‘Time for the distraction to begin.’

“I have a counter proposal,” the chancellor’s voice boomed.

He reached out across his mental link. ‘To me, my friends.’

From a distance, he felt a planetary surge of mana.

His cabal was coming.

Chapter 92

Chaos in Jaretha

Burn-Saw began moving with urgency while whispering to his master.

Thundar’s stomach dropped.

Things were about to go to hell.

Literally.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He laughed. “I gotta go and get my friends together for uh… a party.”

“Oooh,” one of his admirers pouted. “We were hoping you’d show us another impression of the mighty Kaz-Mowang.”

“Of his stamina.” The word dripped from the other female demon’s mouth.

Thundar’s brain felt like it was turning to mush, ready to explode with a mixture of feelings that were being highly encouraged by the mania-field.

One quick look at Burn-Saw, and a long deep breath, brought him back to reason.

The fact that succubi had a nasty habit of draining the life and soul from their mortal mates—according to the last book on demonology he’d read—was also enough to kill any spicy ideas that he’d been starting to entertain.

“Later, ladies,” he lied. “Can’t disappoint the real Kaz-Mowang.”

The minotaur quickly made his way to Guntile and Ezerak, who were watching the commotion brewing between the newly arrived demon and his guards.

“We’ve got a problem,” Thundar whispered, taking the pair aside and nodding toward Burn-Saw murmuring to his increasingly incredulous master. “See that scarred-up guy over there? He knows Alex and he can probably sense him too. We’re gonna get made.” He adjusted his mask, making sure his face was covered should Burn-Saw catch sight of him.

Ezerak looked at Guntile.

Their eyes hardened.

“Orders?” the half-orc asked.

Thundar set his jaw, keeping his attention on Burn-Saw who was leading his master toward a door.

“We follow ’em, flank ’em, and kill ’em before they get to Alex and the others. Then⁠—”

An earth-shattering explosion stopped his words. The floor bucked like an enraged dragon, nearly throwing the trio to the ground. Shrieks cascaded through the ballroom.

The roar from an enormous beast shook the entire domain.

“What is happening?” the master of festivities cried. “Are we under attack?”

Mania sparked, running through the room in chaotic waves, violent festivities collided with the growing emergency, meeting in a spike of wild emotions. Even the native demons began twitching with intense feelings ranging from excitement, to fear, to rage, and more.

“An invader is among us!” Burn-Saw shouted. “Deep within this palace! We⁠—”

Another explosion stopped his words, rocking the palace, sending screams rising beyond the walls.

Manic energy filled the chamber.

“That came from outside!” one of Kaz-Mowang’s guard captains roared. “To the maze walls! Secure the grounds!”

The room erupted in chaos.

A section of Ezaliel’s palace walls exploded, raining rubble onto the city. Masses of stone, sparkling gems, and precious metals poured onto structures far below, crushing entire buildings in great clouds of dust.

Demons screamed, some laughed.

Fire erupted from windows and smoke billowed from a cavernous hole in the palace.

And through that smoke?

A storm of violence raged.

Baelin floated in a tempest of force, flame, and lightning, calmly watching his summoned engeli shred demons with their blazing swords. Any fiend brave enough to try penetrating the archwizard’s barrier melted away, reduced to smog and sludge.

Baelin was now alone with the lean, bulbous, jackal-headed seneschal. The arrogant demon hovered helplessly before him, limbs taut, gripped by invisible chains.

“Do you know how many decades I have aged listening to your ramblings?” the chancellor snorted. “A lifetime of bore and torment compressed into a handspan of minutes. So, as I often say, one good turn deserves another.”

With a flick of his wrist, a portal opened in midair. Within the ragged hole, thousands of hungry weapons danced: spears, swords, axes, knives, and maces crafted with serrated blades, and hooks that curved like claws, gleamed.

“The Living Armoury of Koza-Kas.” Baelin grinned as the demon’s eyes widened. “Worthless, you called my students’ lives. Well, let us see what your life is worth to the armoury. Let us see how quickly your candle is snuffed out. Though, I warn you… the armoury, though famished… does enjoy toying with its food.”

With a wave of dismissal, he cast the screaming, long-winded demon through the portal, sealing it behind him. He then abruptly uttered a word of power, erecting a layered barrier of force, deflecting a beam that had erupted from the rubble, sending it into the carpet of shattered glass scattered across the floor.

Air shimmered and the Abyssal Knight Ezaliel burst from the rubble, blazing in power, roaring his outrage.

And his whole domain joined in the sound.

“I knew it would come to a fight between you and I, wizard!” Sickening lights played through the demon’s gem-like body, shimmering and writhing with wrath and power. “But a surprise attack? Truly?”

“Just as you led a surprise attack against my school and students. Why would you deserve otherwise?” the archwizard growled. “As I speak, you are summoning allies, are you not? Well bring them here at once so that you can all be cast into the void together!”

With a snap of his fingers, Baelin’s jewels exploded in flaring light, the armoury concealed within was revealed, sheathing him in full battle garb.

Bronze chainmail armour.

His mighty staff.

A hammer blazing with captured sunlight.

Two animated, floating shields.

But Ezaliel had made his own preparations.

Space twisted as demonic forces dropped through a host of planes as if the many domains were one, creating a shuddering reality that welcomed powerful fiends to the abyssal knight’s own.

The first to appear was tiny. An abyssal knight that was a humanoid no bigger than a human thumb, held aloft by a pair of rapidly buzzing wings. Though small, it burned with a power that saw the realm shuddering around it.

The second towered in height, a female demon as tall as a mature tree, with flesh of rotted wood and fungal matter so foul, it threatened to turn even Baelin’s stomach sour. Sprouting from decaying flesh like malignancies, flowers weighed down by venomous dew, throbbed.

A third seemed closer to human in some ways. With hair the colour of straw, the facial features of a man of astounding beauty, and clad in ivory armour that sparkled with the light of a thousand mornings. In one hand was a sword of the deepest midnight, and in the other, a shield like starlight encased in force.

Yet—when it grinned—its maw overflowed with bloody thorns seemingly plucked from an entire forest of brambles.

The last was an amphibious creature. A blazing salamander standing upright on two hind legs, its skin dripping an oily substance that blazed when it touched the ground, burning with heat strong enough to melt iron.

Following close behind these abyssal knights, armies of demons boiled from a tear in space, each more foul than the last. The chamber that Baelin had been shown to, and even the sky above the demon’s palace, was soon filled with Ezaliel’s allies.

“Behold my allies, wizard. We are mountains standing tall beneath a vast sky compared to the feebleness of a puny pebble like yourself, and make no mistake, that if I so desire, I can call upon my lord and master. Now, kneel, or you will wish that destruction is all we bring to you.”

Baelin smiled. “That is an excellent line, Ezaliel, I think I shall take it for my own, but with one modification. Unlike you, I am no lackey. Understand me clearly, demon, we have no master above us. Perhaps it is as you say, and you are mountains beneath your sky. But know this. We are the sky.”

Reality tore open around him.

Magun-Obu stepped into the demon’s world, leaving darkness in his wake.

Sanii manifested in a flash of lightning and thunder, her metal skin crawling with thousands of minute forms.

Anaxadar appeared in a pillar of flame that raged like an angry sun.

And Cra simply was, standing in a space as though she had been there from time’s first breath.

“One or five,” Ezaliel said. “It matters little. This will be a battle to remember, one you will not live to recount. You will fall even if we bear wounds from this clash.”

“No,” Baelin said. “One does not remember the unworthy dead. Dinner is served, my friends! Contain and destroy. Break them as you will.”

Cra’s wet laughter echoed through the chamber. Something boiled beneath her skin. “Then let us feast!”

Mana flared.

Power poured in a cosmic river.

And the air shattered.

“What in Ezaliel’s name is happening?” Kaz-Mowang screamed from within his trophy room.

Zonon-In shouted.

Other demons cried out in alarm.

The ground raged like a storm-struck sea.

But Alex’s mind was reeling from the power stirring within him, reaching out to whatever lay in that trophy chamber. Desperation boiled, stoked by the mania-field, demanding that he rush forward and snatch the Traveller’s object.

A small hand grabbed his trouser leg, grounding him.

“Boss!” Ripp hissed, his voice barely audible as the palace shook. “Maybe we should back off! They’re gonna come out of there like lobsters leaping from a boiling pot!”

“When do lobsters leap from a pot? What lobsters have you been boiling?” Kyembe’s voice rasped from the other side of Alex.

“Not the point!”

The Thameish wizard shook his head as thunderous footsteps bounded across the trophy room floor.

He snapped back to reality. “Go! Go! Go!” he hissed. “Down the hall!”

Kaz-Mowang barked orders. “Guards! Stay here! Let no one cross this threshold!” His footsteps were replaced by the beating of massive wings.

“Shit, go!” Alex hissed.

The trio rushed down the hall on silent feet, reaching a corner as Kaz-Mowang flew from the hall of his trophy room, wings cutting the air.

Zonon-In followed—throwing a subtle glance in either direction—and behind her came the gaggle of fiends and cultists that the bull-headed greater demon had led into the chamber. They flew along the hallway, heading in the opposite direction to where Alex and the two mercenaries hid, making their way to the ballroom in the quaking palace.

The young wizard watched them go, recognising what was happening.

‘Baelin’s started his attack,’ he thought. ‘Now’s our chance.’

“This is our opportunity,” Alex whispered. “They’re not going to be looking for the Troupe of the Gargoyle in all this chaos. Let’s grab what we came for and get out.” He nodded down the hall. “It seems he left the two guards by the entrance, though. We’ll have to take care of them. And fast. Kyembe, can your ring do the trick?”

“With one stroke,” the Spirit Killer promised. “I can strike both down.”

“Good, then let’s go. You blast them, and we keep moving.”

“Aye, let’s get the bastards, then,” Ripp agreed.

“Hold,” Kyembe mused. “A thought occurs. Remove my invisibility cover.”

“What?” Alex demanded. “Are you crazy?”

“Perhaps, but I have an idea, my friend. One that will bear fruit. Probably.”

“Probably?” The young wizard raised an invisible eyebrow.

“I cannot guarantee it, since what are guarantees in life? But we waste time, remove my invisibility.”

Alex frowned. Was this the prelude to betrayal?

Maybe this was an opportunity in disguise.

“Fine, but keep in mind that I can’t put you back together if those two giants rip you apart.” Alex raised his staff, removing the invisibility magic from Kyembe.

The Spirit Killer materialised, pulling off his mask. “Wish me luck, friends.”

His face twisted into an expression of utter terror as he began rushing toward Kaz-Mowang’s trophy hall.

Alex followed in silence. “Ripp, if he makes any wrong moves or says anything suspicious to those demons, I want you to put enough holes in him to turn him into a sieve.”

“Got it, boss,” Ripp hissed.

“Help! Help!” Kyembe shouted from ahead, approaching the hall. “We’re all going to die! Demon lords are invading! Our souls will be swallowed up! Help!”

He ran along the hallway, making his way to the trophy room, sighing with exaggerated relief when he neared the guards. “You! Oh, by the stars, I am saved!”

Kyembe staggered forward, disappearing from view.

Alex and Ripp stopped a short distance from the hall, crouching and pressing themselves against a thick column. They peeked around it, spotting another golden statue of Kaz-Mowang positioned across from the hall leading to their prize. A shield was raised in triumph, its golden surface gleaming like polished glass and acting as a mirror, allowing Alex to see into the trophy room’s hall while keeping his distance.

The staggering Spirit Killer was reflected in it. A frightened, dazed man for all the world to see. The demon guards glowered down at the mortal, many eyes appraising him while others scanned the halls for more intruders.

Alex prayed to the Traveller they wouldn’t look at the shield too closely and spot him and the invisible swiftling beside him.

All around, the palace rumbled.

Thundar picked himself up off the floor, shaking his head as demons and mortals panicked, surrendering to mania.

Guntile and Ezerak flanked him back-to-back, ready to act if the fiends erupted into violence.

“Holy hells, we were nearly trampled,” the minotaur groaned, glancing at Burn-Saw.

His breath caught.

The tiashiva was leading his master through a door that would take them deeper into the palace. The scarred demon was shouting a name… Hannar-Cim.

“Hannar-Cim! Hannar-Cim! Hannar-Cim!” It was as clear as crystal.

“Shit, we gotta go after them!” Thundar bounded forward, the two mercenaries right behind.

In their rush, no one noticed that a dangerous member of Kaz-Mowang’s party was nowhere in sight.

Yantrahpretaye—the machine-like greater demon—was gone.

Chapter 93

The Rescue Begins

“Stop, mortal!” one of Kaz-Mowang’s demon guards bellowed, pointing an immense spear at the staggering, purple-clad man. “You are trespassing in the depths of Kaz-Mowang’s halls! Flee, or die!”

“Please, mercy, I beg of you, great and mighty demons!” Kyembe cried, his voice cracking as though he were about to weep. “Do not send me back alone! I am frightened!”

More eyes turned, scrutinising the mercenary, demonic maws twisted in disgust.

Alex watched their reflections, his every muscle tensed. If betrayal were to come, it would come now.

“Please, you cannot send me back!” Kyembe begged in the demon’s tongue, falling to his knees. “I—I will die if⁠—”

“You will leave, mortal, or we will flay and devour you,” the second demon guard warned, taking a step forward.

“Wait!” the Spirit Killer sobbed. “There are others in the halls⁠—”

And there it was—the betrayal. “Ripp—” Alex started.

“—they seek to kill me! They are armed and hiding nearby!”

“Hold on a minute.” Alex paused his order. “Something’s off.”

If this was a betrayal, then why lie about nonexistent enemies? Unless…

And then Alex understood.

The guards’ eyes turned upward, some checking the surroundings, others examining reflections in the shield held by Kaz-Mowang’s statue. Suddenly, the Thameish wizard felt an immense rush of hot mana.

A demons’ eyes squinted, then went wide.

“There!” It pointed to the shield. “In the shield! Look, someone watches us!”

“What?” the other guard’s eyes burrowed into the reflection.

In that instant, their focus left Kyembe.

And he struck.

He raised his hand, his ring blazing white.

That distinctive crackle heralded a beam of white hellfire, hissing as it flew, striking a stunned demon in its chest without warning. With a muffled gasp, the fiend erupted into flame and white ash, vanishing in a rush of searing heat.

The beam leapt to the other guard raising its weapon in defence, but a spear was no match for hellfire—metal and demon disintegrated in flame. There had been no time for them to raise the alarm. No time to cry out. No time to alert Kaz-Mowang.

White ash and boiling metal fell, raining on Kaz-Mowang’s likenesses.

“Come!” Kyembe called over his shoulder, the hand bathed in golden light already healing his burns. “The plan bore fruit and the path is clear.” He drew his sword.

“Well, I have to say, that was a pretty good way to do it,” Alex said, shuddering as he stepped into the hall. Hellfire was nasty; effective, but nasty.

A part of him wanted some.

“You’re crazy,” Ripp’s voice came from beside Alex. “Damned crazy.”

“We are in a demon’s palace.” Kyembe spread his hands. “At his trophy room door, to be exact, while—” Another distant explosion rocked the palace “—a devastating battle takes place somewhere beyond our sight. My brother, I think we all abandoned sanity the moment we decided this was a prudent idea.”

There was a pause.

“Aye, I see your point,” Ripp muttered. “So, that’s the trophy room, is it? Well, that’s someplace that’d singe the hair off ya.”

“I’ll say,” Alex murmured, noting the pull of the Traveller’s energy growing stronger. “Really matches paintings I’ve seen of the hells.”

Through the open maw of Kaz-Mowang’s carved image lay an enormous chamber, even larger than the ballroom…

…and far more dangerous.

Within about ten paces, the floor on this level ended. Some fifty feet below, a seething lake of liquid rock boiled, hissing and sizzling, burning away the moisture in the air. The lower floor was a sea of lava. Above it, a web of bridges and floating platforms crafted of enchanted glass and glyph-laden gold, spread out. The bridges had no railings around them and were nearly transparent, providing a dramatic view of the inferno below, a feature well suited to demons.

The sight made Alex’s stomach clench.

On each platform, the spoils of Kaz-Mowang’s battles were on proud display.

Some bore enchanted blades.

Others held what looked to be baby teeth behind glass, laid out on velvet cushions.

Petrified remains of beasts, demons, and humanoids were taxidermied and frozen in some final moment of terror.

The young wizard turned from the grisly prizes, opening his mana senses while trying to ignore the growing call from the Traveller’s artefact. He felt the air, searching for signs of magical traps or wards. The thought of being surprised by something like a wall of concealed disintegration magic kept him focused.

His mana senses scoured the room, finding nothing.

He checked the doorway next, calling on the Mark, using it to find traps like trip wires or pressure plates.

He found none and was just instructing Ripp to scout ahead when Kyembe stiffened. “Down!”

An instant later, Alex heard what the Spirit Killer had heard.

The sound of bow strings being pulled.

Swearing, he hit the ground as a horde of tiashivas boiled from behind the wall on either side of the trophy room’s entrance, muscles taut and bow strings tensed.

Screaming in their tongue, they loosed a volley of arrows, skewering the air where Alex and the mercenaries were standing a heartbeat before.

These tiashivas were far bigger than any the young wizard had ever seen and were well armoured in rune-encrusted ivory plate. Jagged weapons hung from belts resembling linked chains of vertebrae, and each demonic warrior moved with expertness, signalling long experience.

These were Kaz-Mowang’s elites who were now reaching for more arrows.

The Spirit Killer was on his feet in a breath, his ring gathering power.

“Ripp! Stop them!” Alex shouted, his voice tensing.

“Got it, boss!” came the familiar cry.

The young wizard felt something pass at the speed of a swift wind. In a blink, twin cries came from ahead.

Ripp blurred among the fiends, bringing the fight to them. A demon teetered, ready to drop like a falling tree—a long dagger was buried in its third eye—while two more dripped black blood from gaps in their armour.

Although caught by surprise, the guards recovered quickly, dropping their bows, new weapons replacing them.

The tide changed, and suddenly, Ripp was fighting for his life. The air around the swiftling was now a dance of spiked bone-weapons, striking at him with speed and brute power. Only the swiftling’s speed was saving him, but he couldn’t dodge every cut aimed at him.

With a battle cry in an unknown tongue, Kyembe surged toward the fight, his ring blazing and arm hissing as burns crawled up his flesh. The air thrummed, shimmering around his sword as hot, white light spread, outlining the weapon like an eclipsing star.

Until it found the blade.

With a crackling roar and a blast of heat, steel erupted in a white blaze like the sun’s rays.

Tiashivas whirled on the Spirit Killer.

And then they began to fall.

Kyembe was a blur among them, blade flicking like a viper. Hellfire cracked magic armour where he stabbed into gaps, wounding the demons, and in an instant, they erupted in a hail of white ash.

The tiashivas showed no fear, leaping at this new attacker with practised courage, giving Ripp the moments he needed to recover. He hacked at them, striking with hooked blades, slicing through vulnerable joints, then finishing the monsters when they fell.

Still, many remained, and though Ripp and Kyembe dodged and fought fiercely, their wounds increased.

Alex scowled. It was time to bring these demons’ wretched lives to an end.

Covered in invisibility, he added flight magic and catapulted through the air, calling on the aeld’s blooms to cast haste on himself and his two companions.

Kyembe and Ripp became whirlwinds.

Steel flashed.

Blood sprayed.

Hellfire burned.

In heartbeats the demons were falling by the number, their ranks decimated as the two enhanced warriors shredded them.

By the time Alex had reached the battle, a path of death—paved with black demon gore—lay in Kyembe and Ripp’s wake.

He added body enhancements, giving them a boost, then turned to the task of harassing Kaz-Mowang’s elite guards. He began to summon. Like ghosts, small water elementals appeared behind the monsters, then Alex shouted in a tongue of water.

Demon heads turned in surprise on hearing the voice… but they looked straight ahead, not down. From behind and below, summoned water elementals sprayed the tiashiva’s lower bodies as ice elementals froze the liquid. Instantly, ice hardened the joints in their armour, freezing them in place.

And Kyembe and Ripp went to work, propelled by the magic covering them.

In no time, the swiftling and Spirit Killer were stepping over a sea of ruined corpses.

“You fight well.” Kyembe smiled at his small comrade.

“Aye, could say the same to you.” Ripp nodded toward the summoned monsters. “And your magic and these wonderful creatures were much appreciated, boss. Nothing like having a wizard as your boss, wouldn’t you say, Kyembe? I never thought I could move any faster, but there I was.”

“Your words are true. I might be able to heal faster with this haste magic upon us.”

“Well, you know what? I’m just glad I could count on your particular set of skills.” Alex removed the invisibility as he flew. “Here’s something that should help you out.” He landed, pressing his hands to their backs, concentrating, channelling Mana to Blood, pouring life force into them.

Ripp’s wounds began closing, Kyembe healed instantly. “I could grow accustomed to this.” The Spirit Killer examined his mended arm.

“Glad to help.” Alex smiled. “Seems no alarms were raised⁠—”

Another explosion sounded in the distance. The palace shook, stone dust rained.

“—unless you count that. What do you say we get finished before someone or something spots us. Huddle up everyone.” He glanced down at the water and ice elementals. “We’re going to make ourselves some anti-lava heat ‘armour,’ as I like to call it. Alright, my elemental friends. I want you to jump on us, sit on our shoulders and cover us in cold energy and water mist. Keep the air around us cool and moist, understand?”

The water elementals bubbled.

The ice elementals cracked, settling on the trio’s shoulders and spraying cooling mist and waves of icy power over them. The temperature surrounding them dropped, and despite the terrible heat coming from the lava below, Alex felt like he’d stepped into the coolness of the Crymlyn.

Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw. “Alright, here we go. I’ll make us invisible soon, but first, let’s form a line and hold onto whoever’s in front of you. We don’t want to get separated.”

They entered Kaz-Mowang’s trophy room in a chain.

Light blazed from the lava below them, washing everything in a deep orange glow. As Alex put invisibility magic on them and the elementals, they picked their way along the transparent walkways, eyeing the surrounding trophy-platforms, examining their details.

The young wizard watched the floating glass and gold displays, being mindful of dangers while looking out for glyphs or signs of mechanical traps. He noted doorways cut into the walls, revealing a number of entrances into the chamber. Some were big. Some small. Some were partly hidden.

Each were quiet, unguarded.

With a sigh of relief, he prayed that things would remain that way.

Abruptly, the palace shook, and the clear bridge swayed beneath them. Alex planted his feet, trying to keep his balance. Beside him, Ripp swore, but Kyembe was silent, his grip tightening on Alex’s shoulder.

“Oi, what’s Baelin doing?” Ripp hissed. “He’s going to shake this place apart at this rate.”

“Trust me, if that’s what he wanted, it’d be rubble by now,” Alex said.

“Aye, well, could you spare some flight magic, boss? I’d like to catch myself in case we lose our footing. I don’t think these elemental friends of yours will be much help if we plunge into that lava.”

“Yeah, fair point… wait… Kyembe, do you have any experience using flight magic?” Alex asked.

“…Some…” Kyembe’s tone was reluctant. “My mentor and teacher of wizardry once cast a form of magic that bore me aloft. But I have little experience with maneuvering in such a way.”

“Well, stay close to the ground,” Alex warned. “And only use it to catch yourself in case things go wrong.”

“An idea I would not argue with.”

With a wave of his staff, Alex cloaked them in flight magic, glancing at the entrance, cursing every delay they encountered. He felt like something was crawling up his spine, and expected to be caught at any moment.

‘You’re being paranoid,’ he told himself. ‘The demons are too busy with Baelin’s distractions. That’s the point of the distraction. And we⁠—’

His thoughts halted.

There, across the enormous trophy room.

On a platform away from the walkways, a tall glass enclosure hung. Within it was a plump velvet cushion. And on that cushion? A rectangle of black glass and silver trim that could fit into one of his hands. On the black was the image of a silver apple with glyphs carved into the object’s edges. Below? The Traveller’s lantern lay atop the surface.

A familiar power thrummed from it.

One that called for home.

Kyembe had been right, Alex realised.

This wasn’t a theft.

It was a rescue.

Chapter 94

Death Comes to Jaretha

Alex could hardly contain himself.

After nearly two years of wondering, searching, and running into dead ends, he’d found something. Something that could give him some answers was near, yet still just out of reach.

Dread gnawed at his belly.

Getting the Traveller’s information in his hands felt a little… too easy.

Like all he had to do was reach out, smash the glass, and claim the object for his own. But how could it be so simple? Would Kaz-Mowang—a greater demon—really leave a mere two guards and some tiashivas—no matter how elite they were—to protect his prized treasures from theft?

No traps?

No wards?

It made no sense.

Yet, no matter how much he strained his mana senses, he couldn’t feel a single bit of mana coming from anywhere.

‘That might not mean anything,’ he thought. ‘Maybe there really aren’t any surprises waiting. If I were Kaz-Mowang, maybe I wouldn’t set traps around my trophy room. Why inconvenience myself if I wanted to just come down here and admire the spoils of my conquests any time I felt like it? Bringing guests with me would also be a lot of trouble… Hmm, but to avoid all that, what I would definitely do was trap the ever-living hells out of those trophy cases!’

Alex floated with Ripp and Kyembe toward the case containing the Traveller’s possession, his eyes alight. Using the Mark, he studied the case, looking for anything unusual.

His eyes traced the glass and the stone pillar supporting it.

They scanned the floating platform itself.

Power coursed through it, but he sensed no mana except for the flight magic keeping the platform aloft. He found no other magic, and no sign of pressure plates, springs, or any other triggers that would set off a hidden trap.

Alex swallowed.

The palace rumbled.

“Well, are we good?” Ripp asked.

“I think so,” Alex said.

The symbols carved into the object surface matched those in the Traveller’s book. It felt like it was calling out to him, urging him to reach out and take it.

“The hell with it. I gotta try something,” he muttered, raising his staff, and conjuring a swarm of Wizard’s Hands.

He let the Hands float forward, each one wrapped around the glass enclosure. As one, they squeezed, tightening their grip, then began floating upward, lifting the case as they went.

Alex heard a slight click.

He felt mana flare.

Spikes sprang from the container, spearing the Wizard’s Hands, shredding them. They vanished.

“Oh shit! I didn’t feel that trap!”

The spikes slowly retracted as the case rippled like water and the mana faded away.

He swore again. “Shit! We don’t have time for this!”

“A devilish trap,” Kyembe said. “Can you not break the glass?”

“Maybe?” Alex muttered, glancing back at the gaping doorway.

No sign of any demons for now. If the three of them moved fast enough, they should be gone before anyone even knew there’d been a robbery, but these delays weren’t helping.

He glared at the glass container, his mind working. “Hold on, I’m going to try something.”

Alex raised his staff again.

“If we want to hit them, it’s gotta be hard and fast,” Guntile whispered, peering around the corner of a hallway. Ahead, Burn-Saw led his master deep into the palace.

“Agreed,” Ezerak’s voice was low. “Better we get this over quick.”

“No wait!” Thundar muttered. “No, we can’t jump ’em yet.” He nodded toward the demons. “If we get into a pitched battle with them in this hallway, someone could come along while we’re fighting them. And if things go bad, Alex isn’t here to summon Celsus and Claygon.”

“What should we do, then?” Guntile asked.

“Hmmm, Burn-Saw’s leading them toward Alex, right?” Thundar said. “We let ’em keep going. When they find Alex, Ripp, and Kyembe, they’ll be off guard, right? Maybe accusations’ll start flying. Lotsa yelling. All the usual shit. And while they’re doing all that?”

The minotaur wizard cracked his knuckles. “We jump ’em from behind and hit ’em as hard as we can.”

“The element of surprise, I like it.” Guntile nodded, pulling out a fistful of stones. “I’ll hit them with a wall of these that’ll rock their teeth out.”

“My army will attack them from behind,” Ezerak said.

“And I’ll… well, I’ll jump in there too,” Thundar grunted, flinching as another explosion shook Kaz-Mowang’s palace. “That’s if we’re alive that long. Come on, Alex, what’s the hold up?”

Baelin ripped open a hole in reality, blasting Ezaliel with the heat of a star.

Blazing death sprayed through the portal, washing the abyssal knight in the sun’s wrath. Ezaliel let out a cry, folded the space of his domain, then vanished.

The demon abruptly reappeared behind Baelin.

Uttering another shriek, the abyssal knight shuddered, firing a cascade of beams that arced through air and sped for the archwizard from every direction.

A word of power erected a multilayered shield around Baelin.

Demonic power struck walls of force.

The beams waned, and the archwizard spoke again, filling the air with hungry orbs of darkness, each racing for Ezaliel. The demon spun—its jewel-like facets shining—shooting innumerable beams at his foe. Where a beam struck an orb, space cleaved.

And explosions rocked the air.

In the distance, more chaos was awakened.

Magun-Obu floated above a burning street, encased in an impenetrable shell of darkness. The fiery salamander-like demon knight rampaged, summoning plumes of white hellfire, casting them at the four-armed wizard.

“What is wrong, wizard?” the demon knight bellowed. “No words for me?”

Hellfire struck Magun-Obu’s wall of darkness, withering as its life and energy was sucked away.

“They would be wasted.” The mage pointed his staff at the demon, and the jewels within the skull blackened.

Four bolts of darkness streaked out. The abyssal knight of flame weaved away, trying to dodge, but Magun-Obu uttered a single word.

A sound like glass shattering filled the air.

Then the demon froze, held in place by cosmic forces. Black beams struck, withering its skin as though untold diseases joined with the ravages of a thousand years to fall on the creature as one.

It wilted to one knee, but still fared better than its companions.

The tiny abyssal knight soared through the air on swift wings, slashing at Sanii. Metal tore on the wizard of steel’s form, but those glowing eyes merely watched the little demon in utter stillness.

“Is this true?” the knight’s tone was mocking. “Can even metal be paralysed by fear⁠—”

“Flight path calculations complete,” Sanii said. “Proceeding with termination.”

With these words, hundreds upon thousands of what appeared to be minute flecks of metal dust poured from ports in Sanii’s body, capturing the air with glistening particles.

The abyssal knight glared at the dust. “What is this? Do you think it the proper time to play with… constructs, wizard?”

“Nano-sized, and each one bears a fraction of my mind and power,” Sanii said.

Mana shifted in the air.

“But each is as capable of wizardry as I am.”

The sky erupted in power as thousands and thousands of tiny constructs cast Force Missile in tandem. The abyssal knight growled, tucking its wings around itself, teleporting a hundred feet away.

But Sanii’s constructs were multitude.

And many had already predicted where the knight would go.

The demon cried out, force missiles striking as one, piercing both its physical body and its essence. It fell in a ragged heap, fighting to heal itself, rolling across the battlefield and landing where the towering tree-like abyssal knight battled Cra.

The demon howled, its vines snapping through the air and batting the ancient woman around as though she were an old rag. With every stroke, it imparted toxins and spawned the roots of illnesses within her that were well-suited to ending even a titan’s life.

And yet, the wizard was unshaken.

Her wet laughter spread through the realm.

“Why will you not die? Or defend yourself?” the demon demanded.

“I am in no danger,” Cra told it. “And I have been enjoying our time together. Why would I end it?”

“Cra!” Magun-Obu shouted, conjuring chains of utter void to wrap around his fiery foe. “We are to contain them with efficiency! Stop playing the fool; you are only wasting time!”

The old woman threw her cabal mate an amused look. “The young… so impatient, but sometimes their wisdom exceeds their elders’.” She looked at the demon. “You seek to infest my body, is that correct? To melt or control it? A childish attempt. Even the lowly shoggoth could shake off such nonsense.”

Her grin was wide.

Too wide. Something swam beneath her skin. “This is how you infest someone.”

And her body melted, transforming.

What it became had no name, but it hurt the eye to look upon it. There were eyes. There were tentacles. There were limb structures so old, their names were long forgotten.

And there were mouths.

So very many mouths.

Cra grew, swelling until her bulk dwarfed that of the abyssal knight.

The demon screamed a challenge, exhaling gases that liquified stone and the flesh of its own demon forces, yet was benignly absorbed by Cra’s new flesh. The wizard’s tentacles lashed out, wrapping the demon’s trunk and limbs. Barbs dug in, injecting something foul into the bark.

And the demon’s scream of challenge became incomprehensible, so terrible that it caused even the last of their number to pause.

Of course, the heroic-looking, white-armoured demon had more than a single reason to pause.

It was aflame.

The creature’s body burned, wrapped in flames that blazed as bright as the brightest star, melting its essence, body, and armour. It snarled—growling at its opponent like a cornered beast—revealing teeth that were either shattered or gone.

Its eyes squinted at a vast column of billowing smoke rising before it with twin veils of burning light behind. Through the smoke, something approached, shaking the ground with every step.

Anaxadar emerged with fangs bared.

In his true form.

To say that he was simply another dragon would be like calling dragons earthworms. His bulk was titanic, his wingspan broad enough to lend shade to a full block in a vast metropolis. His wings bore membranes like pure sunlight. The dragon wizard was covered in black scales that seemed to throb, moving as a lava flow would, exposing rivulets of power beneath them, pulsing like the crust of a volcano. Anaxadar’s facial features were pits of pure starfire.

Heat bled from him in waves, turning demons to ash.

“You disappoint me.” His voice was thunder, flame, and the roar of a forest ablaze. “You seemed fit for battle. Aren’t knights meant to slay wyrmkind? To slay the wayward demigods of the universe? Where is your fire, abyssal one? Where is your light, demon?”

Enraged, though in agony, the demon surged toward him, its sword blurring.

Anaxadar batted him aside with a single claw.

The abyssal knight crashed to the earth with such force, that where it landed, a trench formed.

“My disappointment grows.” Anaxadar sighed. “You are not even worthy of my breath.” The light in his maw flared. “But I have a generous nature, so you can experience it nonetheless.”

Structures and more wavered around the draconic demigod.

And his breath poured forth.

While Baelin would have channelled a portion of a star’s wrath through a portal, Anaxadar’s breath was that of a star’s white-hot core, enhanced by his own spells. It travelled no farther than where it touched, leaving no trace of buildings or life in its wake. Yet it touched a great deal.

The cone of his breath was broad, carving a boiling trench of metal, stone, and chaos that turned sections of the demon city’s mighty walls to nothing. When he inhaled, both his demonic opponent and a great slice of Jaretha was gone.

Demons screamed, fleeing for their lives.

But others mustered.

Titanic gate guards—dwarfed by the dragon—thundered across the city, ready for the battle of a millennia.

And Anaxadar bore his teeth, circling about, putting his bulk between the titans and Kaz-Mowang’s palace. He would keep the fight away from Baelin’s comrades.

“Your list of allies shrinks, Ezaliel.” Baelin batted aside another wave of beams.

“Never!” the abyssal knight growled. The tingle of teleportation magic shimmered around them. “I can call upon endless allies, for the hells are endless. What you do now will begin eternal war. You cannot win.”

Baelin chuckled. “Well, you would be surprised. Here’s the problem with eternal wars. They require two sides to both be alive and willing to fight.” The ancient wizard’s eyes blazed. “By the time this is over, you will be dead and those most inclined to avenge you will have come here and died by my and my allies’ hands. The rest? They’ll likely scrabble for your demon lord’s favour, seeking to usurp each other. You will be too dead to reward their efforts. So, why would they risk themselves?”

His nostrils flared. “Your ‘eternal war’ will last minutes.”

“Do not be so sure,” Ezaliel growled.

“Why not? I have done this before. Now, come, enough wasting time. I aim to torture you a fair bit before this ends, so let us continue. Let’s start by draining that mana of yours.”

Baelin arced out beams of light, surrounding Ezaliel in a cloud. The abyssal knight shrieked as his power was siphoned away.

Elsewhere, in another demonic palace, something similar was happening.

Chapter 95

A Dish Best Served by Way of Many Pointy Teeth

Alex was painting Elder Blodeuwedd’s symbols along a glass enclosure in the trophy room of Kaz-Mowang’s palace. “If I can drain the mana, we’ll be in business. Watch the doors. All of them. Tell me if anything’s coming.”

“Gotcha, we’ll keep watch,” Ripp said. “Get that case open quick.”

“And try not to be killed by some devilish trap,” Kyembe added as he let go of Alex’s shoulder.

“I’ll do my best,” the young wizard said dryly.

In his hand, the power of the aeld staff thrummed as symbols formed across the glass surface. Mana—undetectable even to Alex’s sharp senses—leaked from the case, flowing free, disappearing into the air.

His plan was simple: he’d drain enough mana from the trap to be able to lift the glass case and take the Traveller’s artefact. He’d summoned an earth elemental earlier, thinking it could break the case, but the glass turned out to be harder than steel, and the spikes were triggered, skewering the stone elemental as easily as butter.

Time was ticking along—the only choice he had now was to try and disarm the trap.

Alex frowned, examining the flow of mana with his senses, finding his way to its source.

In the column beneath the glass case, he detected a cleverly disguised magic circuit, both intricate in design and maddeningly powerful. To learn spells, he’d had to break down a lot of magic circuits, but even with his level of skill, he doubted he could craft anything like this.

And that was the problem.

‘I can’t disarm it without opening it, and I don’t think it’s just going to let me start mucking around with it. It’s much more complex than those lightning forks in Ikarrash’s fortress.’ Alex sensed the flow of energy as it poured from the glass. ‘And if it has its own power source, then it’ll take me forever to drain enough mana to shut it off.’

The palace quaked, an explosion rocking it.

Lava lapped at the lower walls of the chamber.

Alex looked around.

‘There must be a faster way to do this,’ he thought, intently examining the platform, column, and case. ‘Think, Alex. C’mon, think. You’ve got a trap. You can’t break it. Claygon might be able to punch through the glass, but if he hits it hard enough, he could also smash what’s inside. No, you need to do something different. Drain it faster with more symbols? No… maybe… no, I doubt I can break the columns. Come on, think. Adapt. Think. Adapt. Think⁠—’

His eyes considered the platform carefully, it was supported by flight magic. ‘Flight magic.’

“Alex, you really are a fool sometimes! The lava! That’s it!” He made a mental calculation. “Okay, got it!”

Pointing his staff at the floating platform, he painted it in mana-draining symbols. Mana flowed from it in a wave, spreading through the air and dissipating.

The platform shook and shuddered, its power beginning to fade.

“What’re you doing?” Ripp’s voice called out.

“Opening a door,” Alex said. “Hold on, let me concentrate…”

He sensed the platform’s power ebbing away.

Then, it began to plunge.

And the young wizard flew after it.

Platform, column, and glass case plummeted, landing atop the lava.

Glass heated, bobbing on the surface.

It cracked.

Gold melted.

The platform started to sink. Hovering above—protected by cold energy from his summoned elementals—Alex watched.

“Come on…” he muttered, squinting against the heat. “Come on…”

Mana rapidly drained from the glass as the platform was consumed, molten rock bubbling around the column, drawing it into the lava. Alex’s heart was pounding, roaring in his ears. Anxiety brought with it a storm of questions.

What if the trap never breaks?

What if this one chance to understand the Traveller’s past disappears under burning lava deep within the hells?

“Come on!” he growled—the pillar was cracking. “Fail, you stubborn bastard, fail!”

Then—as though obeying his command—another crack sounded.

Mana flared bright for an instant, nearly overwhelming his senses, then altogether stopped.

The power leaking from the glass died.

Something shifted.

The column sank faster.

Alex gasped, diving toward the Traveller’s object. Heat struck him like a wall. His elementals cried out.

He clenched his teeth, raising his staff. “Sorry, friend.”

A wave of surprise and confusion rose from the aeld as he drove the butt of the staff into the glass case, shattering it, sending shards flying into the lava.

The palace shuddered against an explosion sounding in the distance. The column shook. Lava sprayed.

And the cushion began to topple.

“No!” Alex screamed.

Drops of liquid rock splashed, striking the cushion, igniting it. The Traveller’s artefact seemed to be calling out to him. Every instinct wanted him to leap forward and grab it.

But that would have meant instant death as the lava was surging, the heat rising.

He cast Wizard’s Hands.

They darted through molten rock, a pair grabbing the prized object then soaring toward Alex as he retreated from the intense heat. He almost screamed for joy when they dropped it in his waiting hand.

But every sound he was about to make failed him.

Something shifted.

Power inside the rectangular artefact stirred, reaching out, touching something deep in his core. His vision blurred and shifting images danced before him as if through a haze.

Dark voids appeared with winking stars burning in the distance. Alien oceans of green. An endless sky dotted with hundreds of islands floating so high, they couldn’t be seen from the lands below.

Cascading rainbow-coloured lights brimming with stars, monsters that dwarfed mountains, and much more appeared to Alex…

Yet, certain images kept repeating. Cities much like Generasi, only bigger, filled with towers of steel and glass. Their light filled the air both day and night, and their sounds were endless.

Within one city, he saw a small apartment within a giant tower, and he felt a strange nostalgia.

He was drawn to it… pulled toward it…

And then the images were gone, and he was visible again.

The sound of combat mixed with the groaning of the palace.

“There you are!” Ripp shouted, blurring through the stout legs of a powerfully built pazuzite. “Where were you?”

“Wha-What?” Alex murmured, confusion creasing his brow.

Above him, the swiftling raced from door to door, slashing demons streaming into the chamber. Kyembe fought by the front entrance with the fierceness of a demon himself, his hellfire-sheathed sword cutting through and combusting monsters with each stroke.

Alex blinked repeatedly.

What happened? He’d been facing away from the front doorway.

Now, he was facing it.

Where had he gone?

He shook his head.

He didn’t have time to consider any of that now.

“Let’s get out of here!” he shouted, holding his prize close and flying up to join Ripp and Kyembe. All around the chamber, trophies protected in display cases floated. Some were of great value, while others… held little worth beyond sentiment.

And all were secured in their cases, most likely trapped.

He would have liked to raid the chamber for everything it had to offer, but there was no time for that. Better to leave now with their prize and lives, than stay and lose everything.

With that thought in mind, he put the artefact in his satchel for safekeeping then raced to support his allies. He conjured air elementals, sending them at Kaz-Mowang’s guards, lightning sparking, wind blowing them off bridges and into the lava below.

Many devils were immune to the fire’s bite, but the demons were not.

Shrieking, they sank into molten rock.

Nodding at each other in satisfaction, Alex and Ripp flew to Kyembe, supporting the Spirit Killer as he burned and slashed his way through the remaining demon guards. When he was done, he spat on the fiends.

“None escaped.” Kyembe wiped sweat from his brow. “The path is clear. But I am puzzled. Where did you go, Alex? One minute you were here, the next you were gone.”

“I… I don’t know,” the young wizard admitted. “The instant the trophy touched my hand, I started seeing and hearing all these strange sights and sounds. I couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, then suddenly, I was back here, and you and Ripp were fighting those guards. I really don’t know what happened. But, here, let me make us invisible again, and we can get out of here while you tell me what happened with those demons.”

Ripp shook his head. “We had a bit of rotten luck as it turned out. A patrol came by with one of those thousand-eyed bastards and it spotted us. Next thing ya know, they’re all over us; some rushed in to keep us from leaving by the front entrance, others went for the other doors. There were enough of them that I guess they thought they could handle us, so they didn’t go for extra help.”

“The vile, arrogant things were busy chanting about how they would be taking glory for themselves, and of the rewards they would receive from their master. They were in no hurry to seek help or raise alarms. A bad choice. We had swifter rewards for them.” The Spirit Killer wiped demon blood from his blade.

Alex had to admit he was warming to the man. A lot.

“Well, I guess it’s time for our rewards,” he said as they vanished. He dismissed the elementals, and the trio began flying along the corridor. “We’ll meet up with Thundar and the others, then get the hell out of here.”

“Aye, just keep your ears and eyes sharp,” Ripp said. “When you think you’ve won is often when you’re in the most danger.”

It only took thirty heartbeats for the swiftling’s words to be proven true.

Initially, things looked bright.

They passed tiashivas racing through the halls, on high alert, but none of the many-eyed giants that could see through their illusions.

Just as they rounded a corner, another troop of tiashivas entered the same hall they were flying through. Alex held his breath at the sight of them. They were accompanied by a creature he’d never seen before, a hulking demon with red rimmed pig-like eyes, a long snout, and scales covering most of its body.

Malice and surliness oozed from its beady eyes as it glowered at a… tia… shiva…

“Oh, no…” Alex whispered, his eyes falling on the familiar tiashiva, who had stopped dead in the hall. “No, no, no… There’s no way I’m that unlucky.”

As it turned out, he was that unlucky.

“Wait!” Burn-Saw pointed his weapon in Alex’s direction. “There! Hannar-Cim’s power! It flared before, but it’s growing stronger now! Her servant hides near us!”

“What the hells?” Ripp whispered.

“Such things can happen,” Kyembe said. “Do we run or fight?”

Alex’s mind whirled, trying to find the best solution.

The choice was abruptly made for him.

As the giant demon squinted in their direction, its nostrils flaring, Alex watched as a wave of stones arced toward the fiend’s back.

A storm of cracks.

Flashes of light.

And a host of muffled explosions echoed through the hall.

The pig-faced demon squealed as its back blew open, catapulting the massive creature forward, it dropped on surprised tiashivas, turning them to paste.

It struggled to stand.

As smoke drifted along the hall, growls from deep within a dozen beasts vibrated through the air. Ezerak’s painted monsters surged through the smog, leaping on the guards, shredding and tearing at them with abandon.

A trio of Thundars charged through the smoke, a battle cry to his ancestors filling the air. Two swung maces, adding to the confusion, while the third leapt on the pinned demon. With a grunt, the minotaur raised his mace above its skull, then his arms fell, and the weapon struck home over and over until…

…a loud crack came.

The monster squealed as Ripp appeared, his knives carving the demon’s thick neck.

A heartbeat later, Kyembe shimmered into being, his sword sweeping through demons like wheat.

Alex wasn’t watching them; the battle was well in hand.

His focus was fully on Burn-Saw.

Oreca’s Fall Island played over in his head like it happened yesterday.

The tiashiva stumbled away from his allies, grinding his teeth in rage.

He was not the only one consumed by wrath.

Alex’s cloak of invisibility faded.

“Hey! Do you… have any idea how much trouble you caused me, you slippery bastard?” Alex was gripping his staff so hard, his knuckles turned white. He could feel the touch of mania on his mind. All the months of summoning, searching futilely. Every frustration. Every disappointment.

It all came back in a tidal wave.

And he raised his staff.

“You’re not getting away this time. Do you remember trying to kill me and killing a bunch of people on a beach in Generasi? You scarred me, remember that? And you tried to kill people close to me. Then you ran, but you’re not getting another chance to run.”

And so, Alex began summoning.

Though his summons weren’t as numerous as Ezerak’s horde, he conjured an army of his own.

Burn-Saw’s three eyes grew wide as a horde of hellhounds, hell-boars, and air elementals came for him. The contemptuous tiashiva snarled as he met them head-on, powerful swings blasting them away and back to their home planes.

But for each one he banished, Alex conjured two more.

The monsters crawled all over him.

His strikes became less powerful and more frantic.

Battle cries changed in pitch from fierce to desperate.

Until at last, he was overwhelmed.

Lightning struck from all sides, paralysing him. A hell-boar slammed into his gut, knocking his breath out and toppling the scarred demon. He was trampled and gored. The tiashiva fought desperately to crawl to his feet, but an army of hellhounds surrounded him, jaws dripping.

Then they lunged from all directions. He had no chance to flee. Screaming beneath the weight and jaws of swarms of summoned monsters, Alex’s elusive quarry—at long last—stopped screaming.

It was even more satisfying than he could have hoped it would be.

Chapter 96

A Dish Best Served Twice

While Thundar, Kyembe, and Ripp stomped the tiashivas and their master, Guntile and Ezerak emerged from the smoke.

The half-orc cracked her knuckles. “Well, that was a good little fight,” she said, turning to Thundar as the minotaur cleaned his mace. “That was a good idea you had. Waiting for those demons to catch up to the others really gave us an edge.”

“Wait, what?” Alex demanded, snapping out of his revenge-fuelled joy. “What does she mean by, ‘waiting for those demons to catch up to the others’…?”

“Oh, uh…” Thundar coughed awkwardly. “You see, the thing about that is… what you oughta know… Okay, look, it worked, right? We flanked them and now they’re dead. I wanted to get to you faster, but… y’know, sometimes ya need to think like a general.”

“We’ll talk about this strategy of yours later,” Alex said grumpily, even though he would have done the same thing in the minotaur’s shoes… or hooves.

There were more important things to think about at the moment… like escaping.

“Alright, everyone. Great job.” He looked at the mercenaries. “I’m glad you’re part of my team. Now, let’s make sure we get back home so you can collect the rest of your well-deserved pay.”

He began reapplying invisibility magic to his team, starting with himself.

“Aye, thanks, boss,” Ripp said. “Let’s get ourselves out of⁠—”

“I see. I finally see noooooow.” A menacing voice stopped Ripp’s words and Alex’s spell casting before he could make anyone else invisible.

Yantrahpretaye—the greater demon of iron and steam was nowhere to be seen, yet his words echoed from floor to ceiling. Metal wall sconces rattled, a bristling energy—like pressure shifting in a lightning storm—charged the air.

Being invisible didn’t stop the hairs on Alex’s body from crackling.

Without a word, the companions formed a circle, backing each other, searching the hall.

Kyembe’s sword was ready.

Ezerak raised his blade, his army of monsters ringing the Troupe of the Gargoyle.

Guntile growled a warning, baring her tusks.

Ripp’s daggers flashed.

The trio of Thundars pounded maces against their palms.

Alex held his staff high, his summons circling him.

Where was that damn bucket of wires and bolts hiding?

“Sphincter’s tightenin’ up over here, Alex,” Thundar whispered.

“You’re not alone.”

“Kaz-Mowang should have ordered you to kill each other as I told him!” Yantrahpretaye’s voice struck. “Thieves! Spies! Opportunists! Abusers of his hospitality. But… I can ignore that and offer you a chance to live.”

A scraping noise raked the passageway.

Smoke billowed from a distant hall. Fire? Did Baelin’s battle set this place on fire?

“What kind of chance?” Alex asked cautiously.

Steam hissed. “I am as a brother to Kaz-Mowang, but things are never simple. Jaretha’s politics are becoming complicated. And under the right circumstances, Yantrahpretaye could be the abyssal knight of this city.”

“Some brother…” Thundar muttered.

“Silence, mortal!” the demon’s voice swelled. “For it is I who speaks. Now, tell me what you are doing here. Stealing trophies, no doubt? You will hand them and your weapons over to me immediately.”

Alex glanced at Kyembe and Ezerak, their eyes were combing the hallway.

The former king’s expression was grim.

Kyembe’s stern.

Alex scowled.

Smoke continued billowing into the hall.

“You will also join me in a plan to kill Kaz-Mowang,” the demon’s voice commanded. “In return, you can leave here with your lives.”

Alex swallowed, his grip tightening on the aeld staff. Where was that damn demon? “Maybe we could negotiate⁠—”

“There will be no negotiation. My offer is my offer, and it is final. Any more questions and one of you will have to kill at least one other member of your little band of thieves if you expect my mercy.”

Alex scoffed. “Who the hell would take an offer like that?”

“Smart mortals. Mortals who wish to survive.”

The young wizard’s frown deepened. Where was he? Why didn’t⁠—

“The smoke!” Kyembe snarled, pointing to the smoke cloud billowing into the hallway. “Something evil hides inside!”

“What?” Alex squinted.

His eyes grew wide.

There—within the billowing black cloud—a twisted face leered at them.

“Oh, shit! Everyone, blast the smoke!” Alex instructed the air elementals next. “Use your wind! Blow it away!”

Guntile pitched a wave of stones, while Kyembe raised his burning ring. A beam of hellfire lanced the half-orc’s stones, bursting them in an explosion that rocked the corridor.

Air elementals circled the smoke, dispersing it in swirling gusts.

Yantrahpretaye’s howl was terrible. “You dare? When I return Kaz-Mowang’s trophy to him atop your shattered bones, he will owe me a favour, and that will be enough, for now.”

In a breath, the smoke scattered, revealing the demon’s powerful form. Steam leaked from every joint, grinding as rusty claws reached for the Troupe of the Gargoyle.

It formed a fist, then squeezed.

Waves of power rippled through the air, and suddenly, Kyembe, Ezerak, Ripp, and Thundar were fighting to keep hold of their weapons.

“What the—” Alex gasped when he felt a sharp pain raking his waist through his greater force armour. He looked down in disbelief: his utility knife was piercing his protective spells.

“Magnetism! Watch out, it’s attracted to certain metals!” he warned his companions.

Ripp screamed, whirling away as his daggers slipped from their sheathes. They swarmed like a line of hornets, stabbing at the swiftling as he sped through the hall, moving faster than the blades, barely saving himself from being gutted.

Alex conjured forceshields with his staff, deflecting his knife and Ripp’s daggers.

“Kill the bastard!” he shouted. “Guntile, get your stones ready!”

The metal demon laughed. “You will not get that chance, mortal. I did not come alone. Oh, and I can see you, little wizard.”

“I can see you too.” Alex’s heartbeat rose as a familiar female voice reached him from behind.

“Well, well, well, the toys are playing.” Zonon-In laughed.

The towering she-demon stepped into the passage on the side opposite from Yantrahpretaye, flanking the group. Sickening mouth tentacles danced between her lips.

She was accompanied by a battalion of pazuzites and tiashivas.

She extended her claws, crab-like pincers snapping.

Alex’s mind reeled, fighting enhanced panic from the mania-field and the sight of her with the other greater demon. Maybe there was a chance… a chance… that Zonon-In might help them if she could also eliminate one of her rivals in the process.

That, or she could simply just kill them on a whim in all of this chaos.

He couldn’t trust her, and neither could they face two greater demons and escape. Not without casualties.

Time for the emergency reserves.

Glaring at the iron demon, Alex took to the air, flying straight for Zonon-In. He met her gaze, his eyes fierce as he activated Baelin’s magic.

‘Claygon!’ he said mentally. ‘I need you. Get into a fighting stance, position your spear, make sure you’re ready to use it, and get your fire-beams ready. Listen to me carefully.’

This was Zonon-In’s hour.

She grinned in glee as the comical jester flew toward her with such an adorable look of rage. It was almost adorable enough to make her want to spare him. And if the mood was right? She just might.

After all, things were going incredibly well.

Outside the palace, the city of Jaretha burned. She had watched Ezaliel’s battle alongside Kaz-Mowang, his servants, and his other guests while inwardly cheering as the archwizards devastated her master and his allies.

Kaz-Mowang could only gawk like a fool while his guests trembled in fear.

Beyond the bull-headed fool’s walls, the entire city was burning and turning into a storm of blood and death. Abyssal knights had fallen like leaves. Greater demons had been snuffed out like candle flame. Even the city’s titans were no longer guarding the gates, because they’d been torn to shreds by cosmic magic, lovely tentacles, and beautiful dragon claws.

In short? Things were going even better than she could have ever hoped for.

When she’d decided to help Baelin, her plan had been simple, yet layered.

She knew the archwizard wanted her master dead, and she had been largely disgraced in his court as a result of her recent defeat. Others were making plans to outmaneuver and destroy her.

Thus, she had destroyed them first.

Two greater demons—some of Ezaliel’s most prized lieutenants—killed, which was enough to ensure her position was secure. But that was the beauty of her plan: this result was only the beginning.

If Baelin eliminated Jaretha’s master, then there would be a place in his ranks. One of his lieutenants—or any other greater demon—could rise to the position of abyssal knight, as long as they proved cunning and stronger than their compatriots.

With some of her rivals dead, him dead, and his court broken, the path would be open for her to make a play.

And now? She laughed inwardly.

Ezaliel had called his many allies, only to get them slaughtered like flies.

And with that many abyssal knights dead, it would be child’s play to snap one of their fiefdoms up, since she now had few rivals left in Jaretha from the look of the wizards’ destruction rampaging through the city.

The game was to play just the right cards to make sure her coming advantages would be maximised.

And fortunately, an opportunity had presented itself.

Not long after the apocalyptic battle started, Kaz-Mowang had shown his true colours. The mighty, prideful demon had taken up his trident and bravely… led his guests away from the city and to a safehouse far from the disaster.

Vain Kaz-Mowang was, but foolish, he was not. Zonon-In could already see his plan. He’d retreated from the city, protecting his guests and—more importantly—the bulk of his armies.

Once the raging battle ended, he would return to the city as a conquering saviour, ready to assume his reign in the oncoming chaos. Of course, she had not followed him.

She had other plans.

Already, her own forces waited outside the city, poised to strike before Kaz-Mowang could summon up enough spine to return. She would strike down the remaining greater demons left in the city while they tried to recover and—by the time the bull-headed coward returned—she would have gathered enough power for what was left of Jaretha to see her as its new master.

And then let him try to destroy her as she rebuilt the city in her image!

Of course, there had been one wrinkle: Yantrahpretaye.

That wily old bastard was clever, fierce, and decisive. She would have preferred to see him removed from play. But how fortunate it had been for her when he appeared in that smoky form he travelled in and whispered to her about the strangest thing that had occurred in the ballroom.

A renegade tiashiva.

Shouting accusations that enemies were in Kaz-Mowang’s palace.

She’d taken it as an opportunity to either gain a favour or cripple a rival.

And so, she had gladly accepted, coming to this battle to aid him… or at least, that was what she had said.

‘I’ll participate in the battle, alright,’ she thought, grinning as the entertainers—who she’d known were actually thieves—struggled with their weapons.

Her grin widened when one of them cast a handful of exploding stones into Yantrahpretaye’s face, blasting her rival and extracting a steam and smoke-tinged curse that echoed through the palace walls.

‘I’ll put in a minor effort, and let you all rip each other apart,’ Zonon-In thought. ‘Then I’ll slaughter the weakened victor and take whatever it is that Baelin sought from the corpses. It will be so sad when I tell him that his team was killed in battle! But by good fortune, I was able to retrieve what he wanted. Then he will owe me another favour. The wizard will kill my other rivals and pave the path for me to take not only this fiefdom, but others as well.’

A mouth tentacle licked her lips as she watched the jester’s approach.

‘And perhaps in another few millennia, I will have gathered enough power to obtain a lordship. Yes, it all begins toda—’ Her thoughts paused, narrowing on the jester.

His voice… the way he flew.

Something about him seemed so, so familiar.

What was it?

Where had she seen hi⁠—

She bared her teeth.

Of course! The swamp! He was the mortal who controlled that golem. The one who stole her war-spear! How could she not recognise him?

‘Good! Let the prey come to the hunter! I will flay him until I get my weapon back and he tells me where his companions are. Then, he will die a slow death, one befitting of such a wretch. But wait… where is the golem?’

The wizard was close now. He raised a hand, pointing beside her.

The air shimmered.

Something appeared.

The golem was suddenly beside her—its face snarled and its body was no longer clay, but white stone. It posed in a fighting stance, two of its hands aimed at her.

Terrible pain gripped her chest.

In shock, she slowly looked down. Her own war-spear was buried in her breast. The stroke was clean. Precise.

It had skewered her heart completely.

“No…” She choked on black blood as her weapon—returned to her as she’d wanted—drank her life force. “This… my… hour…”

With those gargled words, Zonon-In slumped to the ground like a fallen tree.

Schemes and plans flitted away.

With the last of her withering life, her eyes found Claygon’s face.

And—fixed on the golem—she died.

In the space of minutes, Alex Roth had gained revenge twice.

And he was in the mood for more.

Chapter 97

Iron, Smoke, and Flame

In the Crymlyn, Zonon-In had vowed that as long as she lived, Alex would never be free of her, and neither would his closest friends. She could have appeared anywhere, and at any time in their lives. If they ever grew comfortable, let their guard down, or forgot about her, she could have killed them on a whim. Her threat would have hung over them until their dying breath.

But, in a wonderful twist, she was the one who was dead.

And Claygon celebrated.

‘I got her, Father!’ his speakerbox boomed, gems flared, already pointing at Yantrahpretaye.

The beams lanced through the hallway.

“Zonon-In!” the iron demon roared. “You useless dead—Argh!”

Fire-beams struck home, but their flame dimmed as they washed over the demon’s metal shell.

‘He must be resistant to magic, like Zonon-In was,’ Alex thought.

But still, the attack had some impact. The demon’s control of their weapons was lessening. His utility knife floundered around with little direction, not stabbing as aggressively as before.

Realisation hit him. “Everyone, pay attention to that iron bastard! Keep him off-balance! He needs all of his concentration to affect our weapons!”

Ezerak growled in acknowledgement, his sword pointed at the towering fiend. “Let’s give him something to keep him busy, then!”

A wave of painted monsters charged the smoke-spewing fiend, claws, hooves, and paws thundering across stone. More shimmered into being, leaping from the former king’s flesh. Lions, griffons, wolves, and more swarmed the iron monster from all sides… to little effect. Creatures that had earlier savaged the demonic monkeys at the portal crossroads couldn’t even break this monster’s iron hide.

They couldn’t damage, let alone kill it, but at least they were distracting it.

Which meant Alex’s summoned creatures couldn’t hurt it either.

The greater demon kept fighting, billowing scalding steam and sweeping dagger-sharp claws through the painted creatures like they were mist.

Alex’s jaw clenched.

Two greater demons were dead, but they’d been caught by surprise. Yantrahpretaye had been ready and was at his full power. He wouldn’t make things easy for them.

He also had allies…

Zonon-In’s horde had recovered from the shock of her death and were screaming how they would make the mortals pay. They came charging at the Troupe of the Gargoyle with a vengeance. In turn, Alex, Thundar, Claygon, and the mercenaries weren’t about to make things easy for her minions and met them with stiff and fatal resistance.

Bone cracked, and flesh pulped as Celsus stepped from beside Claygon, his mace swinging as he waded into the sea of demons, laying them out in broken heaps.

Alex assessed the battle, making a plan.

“Ezerak, keep your monsters on top of that iron demon,” Alex said. “We’ve got to keep him off-balance. Guntile, keep firing on the horde. Don’t let up on them. Blow them to another hell if you can. Thundar, you and Ripp confuse that thing and keep up the pressure on the rest! Claygon. Kyembe. You’re with me. We’re going to kill that metal bastard. Celsus!”

He looked at the towering warrior. “Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

The armoured mercenary grunted in acknowledgement, whirling his mace like windmill blades. Demons fell like wheat.

Alex called out to his summons, nodding toward Celsus before flying at Yantrahpretaye. “Help him fight the demons however you can! And keep them away from us!”

Guntile and Ripp faced the horde of fiends, hitting them with explosive stones and flying blades.

“Here we go! Good luck, Alex!” Thundar cried, rapid-fire force bolts streaking for the demons’ ranks ahead of him. The tide of monsters slowed, but more were coming.

Zonon-In hadn’t brought a mere handful of fiends, she’d brought an army.

Alex and his companions would need to work fast.

“Kyembe, can that burning sword of yours cut iron?” Alex asked.

“As a knife splits rotten fruit.” The Spirit Killer’s blade blazed with hellfire.

“Good. Claygon, use your war-spear and try skewering him. We need him pinned down.” Alex raised his staff, drawing out more haste magic. “Let’s get this done!”

He poured haste magic onto Kyembe and Claygon, then waved the staff at Ezerak’s monsters, granting them enhanced speed.

The Spirit Killer and golem blurred at the greater demon, but the creature coughed out a cloud of steam, his voice mocking. “That trick is a pale imitation used by mortal kind. You seek haste? I will show you true haste.”

A whine of steam came from deep within the demon. Its joints glowed red, then its speed accelerated.

Blows—already swift and precise—fell unseen on Ezerak’s minions as they seemed to die away unaided. Alex conjured more haste magic and greater force armour, pouring it on the painted monsters.

“Hurry!” the former king shouted, moving behind Kyembe. “My armies are not endless!”

“Trying!” Alex shouted, conjuring forceballs and force Hands, sending them at the demonic foe.

Kyembe and Claygon reached Yantrahpretaye at the same time the force constructs surrounded him, crawling over him in swarms of disorienting lights and barriers.

The golem thrust the war-spear at the greater demon, who simply batted it aside with a powerful iron arm. Claygon twisted the weapon, sliding the blade along the fiend’s body, digging a channel deep in its forearm.

Yantrahpretaye’s howl was like the scream of metal on metal and—as sparks rained down—Kyembe ran in, his sword high.

The Spirit Killer thrust the blade, but seemed to misjudge the range, and it fell short of its target.

“Your aim is poor!” the demon called.

But the Spirit Killer wasn’t finished.

He pulled on the sword’s grip in either direction and—with a surge of power—the ivory hilt lengthened, becoming the white haft of a sword-staff, shooting the extended blade deep into the demon’s leg.

Hellfire blazed white-hot. Yantrahpretaye’s iron glowed orange around the wound, sending the monster into howls.

“Did I miss you, demon?” Kyembe asked. “Then let me try again.”

His fury plain, the Spirit Killer leapt at the giant, sweeping the burning weapon at its legs, while Claygon struck its arms. The war-spear slashed deep into iron, rupturing metal, spraying clouds of steam over his stone surface.

Yantrahpretaye screeched, and steam hissed as he whirled on Claygon, slashing at the golem with steel claws.

The pitched shriek of metal on stone cut the air.

Claygon floated backwards, three jagged lines marked him.

‘I am alright, Father…’ he said in Alex’s mind. ‘My stone is harder than my clay was… I will not fall.’

He punctuated those words by blasting Yantrahpretaye’s face with all three fire-beams.

Alex glowered at the demon. ‘Just be careful, Claygon,’ he said, pointing his staff at the fiend, and in rapid succession, shot Elder Blodeuwedd’s mana-draining symbols at him. The glyphs covered the demon’s form, and power drained away.

“You!” He whirled, burning eyes boring in Alex’s direction. “What have you done to me? You will reg—Argh!”

Kyembe leapt, flaming sword slicing metal repeatedly. Smoke and steam billowed as molten iron streamed down the monster’s legs.

The greater demon was shrieking, backing away, but the summoned creatures and constructs blocked its line of sight, holding it off-balance. Alex had learned much from fighting Zonon-In in the Crymlyn swamp.

In truth, Yantrahpretaye—even with enhanced speed—wasn’t as fast as she was, and he was also severely outnumbered. Ezerak’s army, and Alex’s tide of monsters were far more distracting than the witches’ few trees were.

Claygon was faster, stronger, and tougher now, and Zonon-In’s own war-spear was his. Kyembe was fearsome, and his hellfire did its work with every stroke.

And Alex, armed with his aeld staff, had more options than in the Crymlyn. Draining their enemy’s power was one of them. They also had to keep the demon busy and stop him from having too much time to think.

Burning wounds were spreading across its body from Kyembe’s sword-staff, while Claygon’s war-spear was biting deeper and deeper into Yantrahpretaye’s metal. His mana was draining, and he was slowing.

‘Any time now,’ Alex thought. ‘We finish him off and⁠—’

Mana suddenly surged. The demon’s eyes flared, steam leaking from his joints.

His metallic gut yawned open, exposing a chamber of whirring gears, wires, and spinning mechanisms.

Behind those?

The light of flame grew.

Heat billowed as the air scorched. Alex gasped, his eyes tearing. “Everyone back, he’s gonna⁠—”

“Father!” Claygon shot in front of Alex.

Kyembe leapt back…

…but too late.

Yantrahpretaye’s core exploded, his joints spraying the hallway in flame. Alex screamed, the hall ignited, and his clothes caught even as he hid behind Claygon.

Somewhere below, Kyembe screamed and the aeld staff screamed with him.

Thundar shouted in the distance.

Alex’s eyes stung from light and heat.

And then the flame was gone.

Shuddering, Alex fought for air, the scent of burning cloth filling his nose.

“Father!” Claygon cried, his head turning. “You are burning!”

“I know!” Alex shouted, channelling mana from the smoking staff.

The young aeld staff emanated waves of pain and terror as he used it to call a water elemental. Bubbles appeared, gurgling in surprise.

“Put out the fire!” he cried.

The water elemental gurgled, spraying cold water, dousing his smouldering clothing and staff. Relief spiked from the aeld.

“Thank the Traveller, you’re alright,” he murmured, trembling at how close he’d come to death.

But what about the others? How were they?

He peered through a rising plume of smoke in a panic.

The summoned monsters were gone, some of Ezerak’s beasts were now nothing but greasy stains on the stone.

There was no sign of Kyembe at a—No.

No, that wasn’t true.

There, in the smoke, a body burned, gripping a sword-staff still covered in hellfire.

Down the hall, the blast had hit the others.

Ezerak was pulling himself to his feet. Burns ran over his flesh, though his magical tattoos had protected him from the worst. Guntile was desperately slapping at herself, snuffing out burning clothing. Thundar looked like he’d landed in a bonfire, but—still chanting affirmations—he fought on. Ripp had ducked behind the demon horde and was spared the worst of the explosion. He now chopped through them, blades flying.

At his side, the inhumanly tough Celsus fought on as though nothing had happened. His armour steamed, but he had not slowed. Nor paused.

Groaning, Ezerak was raising his sword and striding toward the fiends, monsters leaping off his skin.

He was buying the team more time against the demonic horde. Some of them had burned, but not all. Many were protected by their natural resistance to flame.

Then Alex’s eyes widened.

Where was Yantrahpretaye?

His eyes desperately searched the hall. The greater demon had vanished.

Where the hells was h⁠—

A whoosh of air saved him.

On instinct, he shot forward, shouting as pain burned across his back. Another impact struck him from behind, blasting the air from his lungs.

He flinched as something in his side broke. Pain exploded through him from head to foot when he hit the ground floor full force. The aeld staff flew from his hands and Bubbles tumbled away.

‘Father!’ Claygon shouted, flying toward Alex.

The young wizard’s vision swam. He was dazed and everything hurt.

‘Watch… out!’ his mind screamed a warning.

Behind Claygon, the greater demon emerged from the smoke.

Yantrahpretaye’s claws were raised, poised to strike the golem. Claygon’s head abruptly swivelled one hundred and eighty degrees, unleashing a fire-beam directly into the demon’s face.

It howled, slashing at Claygon, leaving deep gouges before kicking him away. The demon floated through the air, ringed in flame. Its mana had weakened, but what was left still raged like a storm-struck sea.

And it looked right at Alex. “I can smell your heat, mortal. Taste your life force in the air.”

A rope of flame coiled around his hand.

Stones cracked in his damaged face, exploding where they struck.

“Get away from him, you bastard!” Guntile growled, her hands whipping stones like hail. “He’s not dying until we get paid!”

The demon glowered down at her. “You’re next⁠—”

There was a terrible clang of stone on metal.

Claygon rammed Yantrahpretaye from the side—driving the war-spear deep—shearing the demon’s metal body.

The two giants spun through the air, crashing to the ground, shattering stone.

Alex flew away, toward his staff, his movements unsteady as the titans grappled across the fractured floor.

The weakened wizard was barely able to raise his staff. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision, searching for Guntile.

“Throw me a stone!” he choked.

“What?” she cried. “If it hits you, it’ll explode!”

“I’ll catch it…”

“But—”

“Trust me! Just throw it!”

The half-orc drew her arm back and whipped a stone at Alex. He marked its arc, using the Mark and—though his side screamed with pain—he snatched it from the air, then raised the frightened staff, drawing out the power of Call Through Ice. He fixed his eyes on the metal demon.

That strange power rose inside him.

Something felt different now.

Deeper.

More urgent.

Chapter 98

Terrible Tearing of Metal

The hidden power intensified, begging to be used.

Its energy was more potent than ever, flaring in his gut like a lump of burning coal.

Alex called on Call Through Ice, casting Guntile’s stone through the gateway into the elemental plane of cold. Icy wind raked his face from the open portal, and as his inner power sang, he could feel the exact path of the stone travelling through the planes.

He kept his eyes fixed on its destination: the two titans wrestled before him, shredding stone tiles like paper. As Yantrahpretaye grappled with the golem—taking repeated fire-blasts to his face—a steam-shrouded gap in the demon’s metal plates caught Alex’s attention.

An elbow joint hissed, releasing steam.

His timing had to be precise as he teleported the explosive stone into the gap.

Yantrahpretaye shifted his grip on Claygon.

The space slammed shut, crushing Guntile’s stone between metal plates, shattering it.

The explosion rolled through the hallway.

Yantrahpretaye screamed as a hole tore open in his arm, billowing smoke and whistling steam. Shrapnel whined through the air, cracking on the corridor’s walls, punching deep into a nearby statue of Kaz-Mowang.

Fragments struck Claygon—some buried in his polished surface—but he never flinched.

They could wait; after all, he had a demon to kill.

Straddling the enormous fiend’s chest, the golem stabbed Yantrahpretaye’s side with his war-spear, pinning him to the ground.

Two of his hands rose, balling into fists.

The demon whined, eyes flickering in shock.

Claygon’s fists fell.

He hammered Yantrahpretaye in a storm of thunderous blows, denting metal and caving in armoured plates. If he’d been flesh, his bones would be ground to dust and his bulk would now be smeared across the stone.

But Yantrahpretaye was made of sterner stuff.

Even as his plates buckled under Claygon’s assault, he fought like a cornered animal. The metal demon’s jaws cracked open, vomiting a cloud of smoke and sparks into the golem’s face, blocking his vision.

Yantrahpretaye drove a blow into Claygon’s core, throwing him off and—with shocking agility—leapt to his feet, whirling on Alex.

The young wizard was channelling blood magic, working to soothe his wounds.

Burning eyes flashed in the demon’s metal skull as he favoured his damaged arm. “You cracked my arm, little filth. Bathe in the blood of a thousand horrors.” Yantrahpretaye spat a cloud of steam.

Alex clenched his will.

Something slammed into his mind like a bone-charger barreling into a wall. Hundreds of blood-curdling screams ran rampant through his thoughts, threatening to drive him to terror and mania, but he pushed back, mental affirmations fighting through the demon’s magic.

The fiendish power died and his heart leapt.

The demon loomed before him, claws raised, ready to deliver its deadly stroke. Alex tried diving to the side, but the claws had already swung at his head.

A noise reached his ears. The sound of flame hissing and metal breaking rang out.

The iron demon screamed. A blade—burning in white hellfire—seared his lower leg.

The wound gaped, as did Alex, looking ahead with unbelieving eyes.

Behind the demon, Kyembe stood his ground, burns covering his lean body, his teeth clenched.

Crimson eyes burned as he twisted the haft of his sword-staff, parting hot metal, forcing the wound wider. “I still live, wretch.” His face contorted in an expression that was half-snarl and half-smile. “You will not say the same.”

Another scrape of melting metal hit the hall as Kyembe wrenched the blade from the demon’s leg, and molten iron gushed.

The Spirit Killer struck in a flurry spurred by fury. His weapon shredded the demon, iron shards and boiling metal flying with every stroke. Yantrahpretaye reeled back, his claws flailing as Kyembe chased him, tearing ever deepening wounds into their enemy.

Alex had thought the mercenary dead. How couldn’t he be dead after bearing the impact of that explosion? However he’d survived, the young wizard was very, very grateful he had.

But how long could he last with those devastating burns?

Alex considered what to do.

His eyes darted to Celsus, Ripp, Thundar, and Guntile fighting the tide of demons, hitting them hard. Yet, their numbers remained endless, despite Ezerak bringing his army as well his sword against the horde of fiends.

‘It’ll be me and Claygon, then.’ Alex reached out to his golem. ‘Claygon! Focus on the demon’s joints with your spear. I’ll try and drain more of his mana. But if things get bad, take a chaos bomb from your satchel, prime it, and toss it down the hall. Then get Thundar and the others and get out of here as fast as you can.’

A wave of anxiety emanated from the golem. ‘Are you… sure?’

‘That’s only if we have to,’ Alex thought, flying toward Kyembe. ‘Only if we have to.’

Yantrahpretaye swiped at the Spirit Killer, who danced through the demon’s attacks like a bird on the wing, his burning blade slashing its metal shell. Steam spurted from its wounds, burning Kyembe, but he didn’t waver. The demon was slowing; the jarring noise of his gears grinding as his body moved was a welcome sound.

His mana was draining.

“Wretches!” he howled. “I⁠—”

Claygon hit him again, his war-spear digging a trench deep in the metal. Yantrahpretaye wheezed a great cloud of smoke as Alex flew behind Kyembe, casting Mana to Blood. He pressed his hand to the lean man’s back. “You’ve got him!” Alex shouted. “And I’ve got you! Keep it up!”

“I was not planning to stop and let him gut me, my friend!” Kyembe barked a sound between a cough and a laugh.

The Spirit Killer swung the sword-staff in a deep draw cut, chopping Yantrahpretaye’s leg as his strength returned.

Flame hissed.

Yantrahpretaye bellowed.

Kyembe’s blade sheared the iron demon’s leg, severing most of his calf and foot. The body parts hit the floor, spewing molten metal as gears inside ground to an abrupt halt.

“Good… work!” Claygon shouted, focusing his war-spear on the demon’s damaged elbow.

Then he twisted.

Metal on metal sheared another limb, spinning it away, it clattered to the floor, whirring then falling still.

“You mortals are a plague!” Yantrahpretaye hissed in rage. The air shimmered with heat. “I will not tolerate you further!”

The demon reached its hand toward Alex’s allies fighting the horde in the hallway.

An unseen wave of power struck the air.

“He’s going for our metal!” Alex cried, shooting into the air. “Watch him!”

“No, not our metal,” the demon taunted as Claygon ground his spear into his hide. “Just one of you.”

Something heavy hurtled through the air.

Celsus’ fully-armoured form struck Kyembe with bone-shattering force, knocking the Spirit Killer from his feet. The two men tumbled, rolling to a stop in a pile of limbs.

Kyembe groaned, spitting blood, struggling to get to his feet. His breath came ragged, and his eyes were dazed.

Celsus kipped up to his feet in one move, no worse for the wear.

With a sweep of his mace, the warrior charged the greater demon, whose attention was now on Claygon.

The golem pushed the demon to the ground with full force, but Yantrahpretaye’s eyes homed in on his war-spear. His power clenched, and suddenly, the golem was in a struggle to keep hold of the weapon. The war-spear fought him, trying to fly free.

He grappled with it as Yantrahpretaye levelled his stump at him. With a hiss, molten iron belched out, drenching the golem.

Cooling steam blasted Claygon, solidifying melted iron to his stone form.

“Get away from him!” Alex roared, conjuring a pack of ice elementals with the aeld staff. They materialised beside the iron demon, drenching him in frigid energies, but he twitched his neck to one side.

Magnetic power washed over the metal partly covering Claygon, shooting him high into the air, then driving him downward like a falling star.

“Oh shit!” Alex leapt aside.

His golem landed atop the ice elementals, sending them back to their home plane. Claygon tried to rise, but the demon’s power kept him pinned to the ground.

In the struggle, Celsus reached the fight.

The armoured mercenary jumped, landing on Claygon and charging up his side like he was ascending a ramp, then he sprang directly onto the demon.

His mace swung. There came a series of cracks from the demon’s body. Celsus smashed the enormous weapon into Yantrahpretaye’s face, splintering it.

“Get away—!” The demon breathed a cloud of scalding steam into the warrior’s face… but Celsus did not flinch.

Again and again that mace came down, caving in Yantrahpretaye’s face.

“Get off me, fiend!” the demon screamed.

Magnetic energy pulsed.

Flesh tore.

“Oh no…” Alex cried, climbing to his feet.

Spikes—both outside and in—grew, covering and lining Celsus’ armour plates. Terrible metal barbs extended, driving into the warrior’s flesh.

Yet, Celsus did not cry out.

He simply kept crashing his mace into the demon, blow after blow.

“Die!” Yantrahpretaye roared. “Just die, curse you!”

Another wave of magnetic energy swept the air. The spikes grew longer. Blood spurted from the warrior’s visor. Still, he did not falter. His will was impossible. Any mortal should have been dead. Yet, Celsus continued his unrelenting barrage.

There came a crunch and spray of flame. The demon screamed as the towering warrior crushed one of its burning eyes. With his remaining hand, the demon swiped at Celsus in desperation, driving his metal claws through the mercenary’s armour and into the flesh below.

Blood flowed, yet he fought on, punishing the demon even as he weakened. Red leaked from his armour and his weapon shook in his hand. He swung again, dealing a crushing blow.

Yantrahpretaye shrieked.

Magnetic power poured through the air, claiming much of his waning mana.

Celsus’ armour imploded, crushing the man within. The mercenary’s body stiffened, then went still, his mace dropped from his fingers, hitting the demon’s face one last time.

Slowly, the warrior’s still form slid off the demon as Alex sprang forward to catch him.

His mind reeled as he laid Celsus on the stone.

First, he was struck with shock.

Then sadness.

Then rage.

Deep, abiding rage.

Growling from deep within himself like a caged beast, he flew toward Claygon’s satchel. ‘I’m teleporting a chaos bomb right into this piece of filth’s damn guts, Mark or no Mark!’ he thought.

He neared the golem, then his world stopped, drowning him in a river of scalding steam. It washed over him in waves. Alex screamed, dropping to the ground, pain covering him, nerve endings in agony, his skin burning even through his force armour.

Creaking with effort, Yantrahpretaye rose, hovering over Claygon as the golem struggled against his magnetic power.

‘Father… move!’ the golem screamed.

“No. No escaping. You… die… next…” Yantrahpretaye whistled steam. Raising his claws, he charged the Fool.

Alex tried to move, but the burns were anguish, his very skin screaming as though it were on fire every time he moved.

He met the iron demon’s burning eye with a hatred of his own, fear and desperation rising in his chest.

A scheme played in his mind.

One that—if it failed—could kill him.

But he was in a corner, and he had to do everything he could to get out of it. He began muttering words of power, words that were seared into his memory.

As he called upon his mana, the power within him rose, eager to join his efforts. The Mark screamed, flooding him with every failure it could, but the power pushed against it even as his concentration wavered, helping to complete the magic circuit.

Power raged.

Yantrahpretaye’s claws swept downward. Their points raced for his face, looking to shred him like ribbons.

He could feel the wind cooling his skin as he spoke the final words of the spell.

Planar Doorway.

Then, he was gone.

He rushed through a thousand places across the planes.

Then reappeared somewhere dark and steaming. The sound of grinding gears surrounded him. The heat from screeching metal and demonic mana scraped his skin. His eyes watered.

And he knew where he was.

His plan was to cast the chaos bomb into the demon’s gut, and that was where he’d appeared, staff and all, inside the jumble of parts inside Yantrahpretaye’s iron core.

Rage filled him, stoking a hunger for vengeance. He was wounded, but not dead.

And right now? Mark or no Mark, he couldn’t miss.

Gripping his staff, he poured a body enhancement spell into his physical form, muscles throbbing with power. Then—by the light of the aeld’s crystal blooms—he reached up, grabbing one of the tangle of wires within the greater metal demon.

His teeth bared. “Time to die, you rusty piece of shit.”

And he pulled hard.

Chapter 99

To Rip and Tear… Until it is Done

The Mark screamed, battering his thoughts with every failure he’d ever had.

And it wasn’t the only one screaming.

Fuelled by his rage, Alex Roth yanked the wire free, tossing it aside as Yantrahpretaye’s shrill cry echoed through the iron compartment he’d teleported into.

“That’s right,” he growled, seizing a gear inside the monster’s core, and with a surge of power, ripped it from its axle. “Go on, scream! Now it’s your turn to scream!”

Alex’s head pounded, but he grabbed pipes. He grabbed wires. He grabbed gears.

He yanked on parts he could not even name.

And—one by one—he tore them away.

The Mark poured its displeasure into him, hammering him until his eyes burned, screaming at him to stop. Soon, he was almost blind as failure after failure rampaged through his mind, clouding both his eyesight and will.

So, he felt around, using his hands, grabbing any wire his fingers touched, dragging it out. With every bit of strength and leverage he could muster, he gutted the steel-bodied demon like a fish. Its insides were now a sputtering debris field.

“Stop!” Yantrahpretaye screamed. “Stop! What are you doing?”

“I’m ripping you apart with my bare hands! Better you than us!”

The Mark reacted, and Alex felt like his head was splitting. Failures flashed, repeating everything he’d ever done wrong, every mistake he’d ever made. Images appeared in a constant stream, tormenting him, but the metal demon had to be stopped.

Yantrahpretaye channelled mana from his dwindling pool.

Alex couldn’t let him use that magnetism again, especially not after the horror he’d inflicted on Celsus.

Through the Mark’s assault, he hunted for the aeld staff, grabbing it in a trembling hand then channelling its energies, painting the greater demon’s core in mana-draining symbols.

The staff’s energies were weakening, but he pushed it for whatever help it could give him. He summoned four ice elementals to surround him.

“Keep it cool in here and freeze whatever starts heating up.” His voice was weak, seeming to echo in his head as he pulled another wire loose.

Yantrahpretaye’s cries grew panicked.

The temperature in the demon’s belly began to rise, but a shot of icy power stopped it, pushing it down. The greater demon’s ebbing mana could do nothing to raise it.

Alex heard a worried voice calling to him.

‘Father! Father, where are you?’ Claygon cried.

‘I’m inside this demon’s belly,’ he thought. ‘Can you move?’

‘Yes… now I can!’

‘Good. Do me a favour and rip his other arm off.’

‘Right away… Father!’ Claygon’s voice thrummed with anger.

The young wizard yanked on another wire. The demon’s gut swung open, and Alex dragged himself up, making his way to the demon’s chest. Metal scraped metal as Yantrahpretaye’s claws raked his lower gut, reaching for Alex, but the Fool was far from his reach.

Suddenly, stone crunched steel.

Two of Claygon’s hands wrapped around Yantrahpretaye’s arm.

Then pulled.

The fiend’s elbow separated, severing the joint in half.

The demon howled, but the sound was weaker. Alex continued to rip at its insides, and the Mark punished him, the images speeding up to a dizzying rate. The young wizard had to keep going. He had a shot at stopping him, no matter what it cost. Nausea gripped him, and he slammed his eyes shut, dry-heaving. His arms were shaking, but they still stripped Yantrahpretaye’s insides bare. The demon was shuddering now. An odour of rust filled the air, reaching Alex’s nostrils even through the Mark’s brutal onslaught. Then, like a tower falling, the greater demon reeled, toppling to the ground.

With a high-pitched whistle, steam escaped its core, hissing softly until it stilled.

Abruptly, the Mark’s interference stopped. After all, Alex had no reason to keep attacking the demon… it was dead. Exhausted, and with his head throbbing, Alex slid from within Yantrahpretaye’s chest, and collapsed on Kaz-Mowang’s palace floor, his breath ragged. At least he could see again.

He trembled. He was burnt, blood leaked from the wound in his side, every breath hurt, the skin on his hands was in shreds. Machine-grease covered the ruins of his torn jester’s costume.

Their opponent was dead.

And he wasn’t.

He sat up slowly, scowling at the horde of demons still filling the hall.

Their numbers were fewer, and their assault had paused. They gaped at him—he was drenched in Yantrahpretaye’s black life blood—as he glared at them from beside the ruins of one of their great masters.

Alex licked at oil running down the corner of his mouth, spitting it on Yantrahpretaye’s mangled corpse.

Then he stood and cracked his neck, taking a step toward the demons.

They backed away.

He took another step. An explosion rocked the palace and—for a moment—it seemed like his footfall was the cause.

And that was enough.

Their nerve snapped like a burning thread, and they turned, shrieking and clawing at each other, pushing their brethren aside to escape the Troupe of the Gargoyle. The horde scattered down side hallways, mania spiking, driving their panic, leaving the troupe alone with the ruins of dead demons… and their own dead ally.

Blood trickled from a wound on Guntile’s head as she limped toward Celsus’ body. “Agh, poor Celsus. You fought hard to the end. I wish you could have had a better deat⁠—”

Another explosion shook the hall, this one more intense than the last.

Alex and his companions fought to keep their feet, swaying to stay upright.

They had all been through a hard fight, and it showed.

Scratches ran along Ezerak’s torso, and a claw wound gaped open just below his throat.

Ripp was bleeding from a cut on one of his long ears, and he had a stab wound in his side, which he was carefully wrapping. Claygon had scratches all through his stone surface and was still partly coated in iron.

Thundar’s fur was matted with blood—the red was his, the black was the demons’—his mace was gripped in one hand.

Alex nodded to him. “You okay?”

“Am now,” Thundar grunted. “Nearly lost my life twice in just heartbeats. That was bad. But never mind all that.” His eyes fell on Alex’s shoulder. “You killed that demon, wait… did you teleport?”

“Yeah,” Alex groaned. “Something’s changed, and I need answers.” He patted the satchel. “But we don’t have time to talk about that now. We’re in rough shape and we need to get out of here or we’re all gonna die. Hell, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for… shit, where’s Kyembe?”

Alex turned, looking for the mercenary who’d saved his life.

The man was on the ground, wounded and shaking, dead demons and rubble partially covering him. One of his hands glowed with golden light and was pressed to his chest.

“I… live…” the Spirit Killer choked out, his grin more grimace than smile. “Though… that might change… momentarily. Still… our enemy lies dead. And that is good. That is good.”

“And you’re not dying with him.” Alex looked to his golem. “Claygon, could you pick up Kyembe… and maybe get Celsus’ body? He doesn’t deserve to have his final resting place be down here in the hells. He should come back with us.”

“Yes… Father.” The golem started to turn away.

“Hold on, I need something from you.” Alex flew to him, retrieving a single chaos bomb from his satchel.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll get us out of here: the Planar Doorway spell has a range of about a hair over a thousand feet. I can get us back to the Outer Labyrinths.”

“Are you sure?” Thundar asked. “That’s… that’s a big distance and there’s a lot of us. How many of us can you take at a time?”

“Enough,” Alex said. “I’ll run mana regeneration to keep my mana flowing. I will get us out of here.”

He looked at the wounded Kyembe and Claygon. The Spirit Killer was in a bad way, but his wounds were already beginning to heal. He looked better. “Guntile, Claygon, Ripp, and Ezerak, you hold the fort for a minute. I’ll take Thundar out first and be right back.”

“You sure?” Thundar asked. “I⁠—”

Alex placed a hand on the minotaur’s shoulder and spoke the words of power, casting Planar Doorway. The Mark protested and—still feeling residual effects from its earlier onslaught—he nearly dropped to his knees.

The power inside him pushed back, combining with his will, getting him through the spell array.

Remembering a hall near the front of the palace, he cast himself and Thundar through the planes, materialising in the deserted hallway.

“Holy hell,” Thundar murmured. “This is incredible.”

“It’ll be more incredible when we’re out of here.”

Uttering another incantation, Alex teleported them deep into the gardens, then again into the sky above Kaz-Mowang’s maze.

And—for the first time—they witnessed the destruction that Baelin’s cabal had brought to Jaretha.

“By my ancestors,” the minotaur swore, dancing flame reflected in his eyes.

Below them, Jaretha burned, roiling in utter chaos.

In the distance, a dragon—bigger than any mountain he’d ever seen—battled a horde of demonic titans. Demonic titans that were dwarfed by their opponent. The great wyrm’s wings blazed as he swatted his foes like flies, searing them, knocking them blocks away.

His maw spat magic with the power to unmake things, even from this distance.

Beyond the dragon, was a—much smaller—creature that hurt the eyes to look upon for too long. Alex made out tentacles that were more like strings from where he and Thundar were. They were lashing out, flaying the creature’s opponents.

He couldn’t see anyone else, but he could feel them. Baelin’s towering power and mana surging from thousands of lesser mages.

“Yeeeeah, maybe let’s not go anywhere near there,” Thundar wisely suggested.

“Agreed. Not for all the magic in the world.” Alex turned away from the war. “Let’s keep going.”

The two wizards teleported again and again, climbing higher into the skies of Jaretha. They closed on the city walls, unnoticed; all eyes were on the apocalyptic battle being fought deeper in the city. Alex doubted anyone would be paying any attention to two more wounded mortals desperately trying to escape the chaos.

And so, he continued casting Planar Doorway, each spell drawing enormous mana, but his pool was deep and already regenerating.

He would have more than enough to get everyone to the edge of the maze. He hoped.

“There it is!” Thundar cried.

“Just a little more,” Alex said.

Concentrating, he continued teleporting them through the sky until—at last—they reached a quiet edge of the maze. From within the labyrinth came sounds of screaming and wailing. The citizens of the demon city were retreating through the maze in a panic.

At least for now, the spot he and Thundar reached was free of traffic.

“I’ll be back in a flash,” Alex said. “I wanted to get you out of there; no way I’m letting what happened to Celsus happen to you. Next, I’ll bring Claygon. With his size, I don’t think I’d be able to bring more than him and Kyembe.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” Thundar grunted.

“I have to.” Alex shook his head, remembering a ruined armoured body. “Look what happened to Celsus. One wrong move, and that could have been you or me. If Isolde and Khalik had been down here, it could have been one of them.”

“But it wasn’t.” Thundar looked at him sternly. “Think about the bad shit later. Right now? Our allies need out.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “You’re right.”

With a deep breath, he cast Planar Doorway again.

On the trip back, he began to feel the strain of his mana pool draining, but he triggered Hsieku’s technique, pouring mana from his fibres. “You’re not failing yet,” he told himself, pushing on.

As he’d told Thundar, he brought Claygon and Kyembe next, teleporting them through Jaretha and out to the edge of the maze.

He went back for Guntile, Ripp, Ezerak, and Celsus’ body on the last trip.

But he wasn’t about to escape Kaz-Mowang’s palace without leaving him a parting gift.

He deserved a big surprise.

“Ripp.” Alex handed the bomb to the swiftling. “Could you turn this dial for me? It’ll activate this messenger construct. Then, point it down the hallway and let it go. The second you release it, we leave.”

Ripp looked at the device like he was looking at a live cobra. “What is it?”

“An explosive,” Alex said. “A nice powerful one. So, don’t forget, point it toward the hall.”

“Will do, boss.” The swiftling took the device gingerly, wound it up, then released it.

Spreading its wings, the construct flew away, carrying the chaos bomb through the hallway.

Alex cast Planar Doorway, teleporting his team from the passage.

He brought them out of the palace and into the sky, repeatedly recasting his spell. The Mark’s interference was as fierce as the power within him was comforting, but he had no time to slow. At any second⁠—

The explosion ripped the air.

A terrible blast echoed through a vast wing of Kaz-Mowang’s palace, immolating it in flame, chaos, and pure power. Solid stone crumbled to dust. Precious gold liquified.

The fire breathed, expanding through the palace grounds.

“That’s quite the blast,” Guntile murmured. “Too bad my stones can’t do that.”

“I hope that arrogant bastard enjoys rubble,” Alex said. “Let him worry about the mess while we get away.”

With those words, he teleported his companions over the wall and out of the city.

Behind them, the apocalypse continued.

Though his thoughts were elsewhere.

He was tired of waiting.

As soon as he got the chance, he would examine the Traveller’s artefact. Getting his hands on it had been brutal, nearly costing all their lives.

But now, he had it, and it was time for some answers.

Chapter 100

The Screen

Baelin tore the abyssal knight’s soul from its body.

The demon was young—unashamedly draped in arrogance—with too little power to back its pitiful ambitions. The archwizard glowered at the creature, holding its squirming essence in his grip.

“G-give it back!” the demon choked. “Damn you, mortal, give it back!”

The ancient wizard glared at the squirming, wretched thing in his hand.

“No,” he said.

With a squeeze, he crushed the demon’s soul.

The abyssal knight stiffened, his eyes going blank, flickering with loss for the briefest of moments. Then the light died in that gaze, and the demon’s body plummeted from the sky.

“You are running out of meat shields, Ezaliel.” Baelin was irritated, glaring at the chaos around him, hunting for his opponent.

His exasperatingly elusive opponent. Smoke drifted from the fiery ruin of Jaretha’s centre, now flattened by the catastrophic battle between Baelin’s cabal and Ezaliel’s allies.

Hordes of bodies from the demon’s allies littered the ground, and more took their place, crawling from portals ripping open in space. Baelin’s lip curled with displeasure. There was a reason he often cursed the hells for being endless.

An abyssal knight—all serpentine features and scorpion stings—flew at Magun-Obu in the distance. The four-armed wizard shook his head and spoke a word of power, shifting the air. He vanished, slipping into the space between seconds, then reappearing behind the serpent.

His arm—layered in burning star-essence—now protruded through the creature’s chest.

The archwizard looked at his cabal mate. “They are persistent, old friend. I hope you scheduled properly. This might take days.” Without turning, Magun-Obu spoke a word of power, raising his hand.

Down below, the ground rumbled as if in warning to Jaretha’s denizens.

Then, it erupted.

A fortress of black stone burst from the ground, rising like a sprout. Spikes extended from its towers and runes scrolled along the stone.

“Here is a temporary fortification should we need a breather,” Magun-Obu rumbled. “But prepare for the long haul. I suspect we shall be here for a time.”

Baelin growled. “I hope you are wrong, old friend.”

The chancellor’s face was as dark as the smoke around him. “Where have you skittered away to, Ezaliel? If you do not face us, you can be sure I will hunt you across the planes. You only delay the inevitable. But, have it your way—cowardly rabbit—if hiding is your game…”

The chancellor glanced in the direction of Kaz-Mowang’s palace. Through the smoke, there was no question that it was in ruin. Flames belched from a wing that had been annihilated, fire spreading across the grounds.

And the energies he sensed from it?

The power of a chaos bomb.

‘Then Alex and his company have likely escaped,’ Baelin thought. ‘And since the rat has proven remarkably elusive, perhaps it’s time for the next part of the plan. Though I had hoped this business would be at an end by now.’

With a wave of his hand, Baelin chanted an incantation toward Jaretha’s skies, channelling his ancient power. A ward manifested, crystalizing into a dome that shrouded the demon city.

“You are sealed in with us, Ezaliel,” the archwizard said quietly, but his voice rolled over the city as though the words he spoke were being bellowed by a titan. “I feel your energies lurking somewhere, and I am certain you will not abandon your domain easily. I also know your list of allies grows thin. Eventually, it might occur to you that flight would be your better option. To escape and strike at me in the material world at a time of your own choosing.”

He shook a finger in chastisement. “That will not be the way of things. You, your allies, my cabal, myself, and any other sorry soul still in this city are now sealed within it. There is no escape. You may call as many allies as you wish, but you can no longer creep, walk, fly, teleport, or cross planes to escape this ward. Your allies may enter, if they’re foolish enough to do so, but they cannot leave. The ruins of your city will be your tombstone, whether you like it or not. So show yourself. Do not waste my time.”

“You are arrogant, mortal wizard,” Ezaliel’s voice boiled from somewhere nearby. “I am master of this entire realm. I have yet to bring its full power against you.”

“Then you are incredibly patient and masochistic,” Baelin sniffed. “Your city is in ruins, and you will take untold years to recover from this blow, and let’s not forget your dead allies. Your demon lord will not be pleased that you have caused so many of his servants to be eviscerated.”

“He will avenge their losses.”

“Then why is he not here now?” Baelin called. “Why is he not avenging you?”

“He shall.”

“Really? I think not. Your incompetence has caused the ruination of your capital and great damage to the domain. Many of your lord’s servants have been brought into a fight that is personal to you. And trust me, if demon lords challenged me each time I slew one of their servants? There would be far more dead demon lords in the cosmos.”

“You will wear yourself down eventually, wizard. And then. Then we will see how easily your tongue flaps.”

“Oh, by this battle’s end, I will indeed not be speaking to you. After all, it is only folly to speak with corpses.”

As he uttered those words, more portals tore open around him, greater demons and abyssal knights—bringing armies—swarmed into Jaretha.

And so, Baelin turned back to the fray.

In the back of his mind, he hoped that Alex and his company were long away.

“How’s that feeling?” Alex asked, pouring mana into Kyembe’s shrinking burns.

His side no longer screamed, threatening to steal his breath; Mana to Blood had healed his wound.

“As though army ants chew my skin,” the Spirit Killer said, still cradled in Claygon’s grip as the group moved through the labyrinth. “But I am nearly strong enough to move on my own power.”

“Good,” Alex said. “Can you fight?”

Kyembe clenched his teeth, pressing his hand—glowing in golden light—to his wound. “In a few minutes’ time, I think. I used much of my eldritch energies, but I will be strong enough to swing my blade.”

“Good.” Alex shook his wrists, flexing his fingers. “Because my mana’s running low, and the fibres are starting to scream.”

The Spirit Killer gave him a puzzled look.

“My… uh… eldritch energies are running low,” Alex said.

“Fair. Then preserve them. I shall be back on my feet soon.”

“Good, and… seriously, I owe you for saving my life.” The wizard patted the man’s shoulder. “You went above and beyond.”

The Spirit Killer gave him a pained grin. “Whether by pay or purpose, we are united in battle. I would be a foul worm, indeed, were I to leave you to pain and death.”

“Not everyone’s like that,” Alex said. “I’ll try and return the favour as best I can.” He patted Kyembe’s shoulder again, looking up at Claygon.

‘How are you doing, buddy?’ he asked mentally.

‘I am fine, Father. The… demon… scratched me, but he did no true damage… I’m fine,’ Claygon thought. ‘My body is much stronger now. And… I am happy… I killed Zonon-In.’

‘Yeah, that’s one hell of an accomplishment,’ Alex thought. ‘If you could drink, I’d buy you an ale or ten…’ He squinted at the iron encasing Claygon’s form. ‘Does that stuff hurt at all?’

‘No… I feel no pain… but it slows me down a little.’

‘I’ll get it off when we get home,’ Alex thought.

‘When will we be getting home? Everyone… looks tired.’

Alex and his golem gazed over the group. Ezerak marched at the front of the line, flanked by two of his beasts. The former king wavered from time to time. Most of his tattoos had faded to grey.

Guntile brought up the rear, chewing her lip as she marched. She’d developed a noticeable limp and was favouring one leg as they moved along the passage.

Ripp—scouting ahead—was moving slowly, his skin pale and his face grim. Thundar was panting, looking tenser the farther they went in the maze. His eyes darted every which way. Alex was tired too, and he came to a decision for the good of everyone. Moving ahead without rest would only wear them down even more, making it easier for folks to make mistakes.

And they were definitely not out of the woods… or maze, as the case may be.

The sound of blood-curdling screams kept reaching them. If the cries were from wild demons that lived in the labyrinth, or demons escaping the city. It didn’t matter; whatever was screaming like that was best avoided. There were also sounds of vicious conflicts between monsters. The encounters were often quick, fatal, and ended in silence for a time.

On occasion, they passed demons fleeing from the devastation in the city. So far, none harassed them, only throwing cautious glances while keeping to their own business.

Ezerak warned that things would not always be that way.

“Their kingdom just fell,” he had said. “They’re going to get desperate. Angry. The mania-field will enter their minds and the mortals will get hungry. I’ve seen kingdoms fall before. The aftermath is always bloody.”

Alex frowned. ‘It’s going to take some time before my fibres recover,’ he thought. ‘So no teleporting for a while. Not until we can rest and recover a bit. We really don’t want to find ourselves teleporting blindly into a nest of wild demons. We need time to recuperate. And we’re still about a day away from the portal. I hope.’

He winced as stone ground on stone, setting everyone’s teeth on edge.

A massive rock slid across another.

Above, the sky suddenly darkened, the maze folded on itself, scooping up an unseen traveller who had tried to fly above its walls, carrying them away.

This was the third time that had happened and—each time the maze moved—its passageways shifted, changing direction. It was clear the winding roads were already altering from Baelin’s map. In time, the layout would be completely different.

Once they recovered, one of them could climb the walls, peer over the ramparts and see where they were in the maze from a higher position.

They just needed their stamina back.

“Alright,” Alex said, his attention on a side passage in the western wall. It ran for about a hundred paces before terminating in a dead end. “We’ll go another fifty paces or so then make camp just before that crossroads up ahead.” He nodded to a junction down the path. “We’ll rest up then head out in a few hours.”

“Aye, good thinking,” Ripp groaned. “But I don’t think we should start any fires. It’s warm enough here, and we don’t want anyone seeing the smoke.”

“No shit,” Guntile grunted. “Things are scuffed enough as is. We don’t need them tracking us by some line of damned smoke.”

The group stopped before the crossroads, and Alex searched Claygon’s satchel, fetching bedrolls and dried provisions. Kyembe had almost fully recovered and was ready to join the others in a meal.

They were famished, eating in silence for the better part while the golem kept watch. Celsus’ body lay by his side, wrapped in a blanket. Most avoided looking at the dead warrior’s shroud.

When they’d eaten their fill, the order of how they’d take watch was decided. Claygon would keep watch throughout their rest time, and someone else would join him, then alternate with whoever was next in line.

Kyembe volunteered to take first watch, only to be quickly overruled.

In the end, Thundar took first watch beside Claygon, letting the others get some sleep.

And that suited Alex just fine.

He had something he needed to do.

“Where are you going?” Thundar hissed.

The minotaur was ‘at his post,’ which meant he was leaning against Claygon with his mace in hand, eyes fixed on the crossroads. “You’re heading back the way we came from.”

Alex shouldered his satchel, patting it. “I’m going to take a look at the Traveller’s stuff.”

Claygon’s head swivelled toward his father.

“Wait, like right now?” Thundar said.

“Right now.” Alex tiptoed past the sleeping mercenaries. “I need to know, and I need to know now. Things could get bad if we’re down here for too long, and if something happens to me, I want to die knowing what it is we came down here for. Besides.” He tapped his chest. “Touching the artefact sharpened that power inside me. Maybe there’s something else buried in there that can help us.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Thundar murmured, nodding to the dead-end passage. “You just going down there?”

“I don’t want to be interrupted. Who knows what I’ll find, so I don’t want to take the risk that the others will see me.” Alex started to move away from the group.

“Are… you sure, Father?” Claygon whispered.

“I’m sure. I’ll tell you both what I find.”

Walking quietly, he reached into the satchel. When he turned the corner down the side passage, he took two objects out: the Traveller’s book and her rectangular artefact.

The symbols on each caught his eye, while the power resonated with his own. He sat on the ground at the dead end, placing the book beside him, scrutinising the rectangle. His fingertips traced the side of the object, running along symbols etched into it.

He felt no power in them, but did feel a strange protrusion.

“A button?” he murmured, slowly pressing it, and reaching out with his mana.

Yet, what touched him was not mana as he understood it… It was that strange power that had taken hold within him.

It coursed through the artefact.

And then the side lit up.

Chapter 101

Heroes Across Time and Space

Blue light flashed along the object’s side, startling Alex. It glowed almost the same shade of blue as Isolde’s lightning bolts. He fumbled the metal and glass rectangle, almost dropping it—relieved when it didn’t hit the ground.

He held on tighter. “That was clo—” An odd buzzing came from the device, and a strong tremor shook his hand, startling him again, but this time, the artefact went into free fall, landing in his lap and not on the parched ground. “Thank the Traveller,” he whispered.

Would it have broken? He wasn’t sure, but it was made of glass and felt fragile, so he wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, it might be something that exploded on impact, though he wasn’t sure about that either, so better safe than dead in the afterworld blown to tiny pieces.

He picked up the object, holding it closer to his lap. If it fell again, it wouldn’t have far to fall. Alex glanced around the dead-end passage, checking for unwanted company. He was alone.

His attention went back to the blue light.

Except, it was no longer a blue light.

The side of the artefact had transformed into what looked like a small painting in the likeness of a young woman who was hugging another young woman around the shoulders. Both were smiling. One was dark-haired, with a round face and chubby cheeks. Her smile was broad, and she looked like her ancestry could be traced back to Tarim-Lung or one of the other countries in that part of the world.

The other woman had sharp facial features, and held a staff inscribed with glyphs. Green hair fell down her shoulders.

But Alex’s eyes lingered on the first woman.

Something about her… seemed familiar.

He called on the Mark, focusing it on recalling certain human facial features: especially, bone structure. Vivid memories of the Traveller’s desiccated body came back to him.

The bone structures of the two women were almost identical.

Alex’s breath caught. “This must be of Hannar-Cim when she was young⁠—”

As soon as those words left his mouth, the image vanished, replaced by a lock. Panic struck.

What just happened?

Had he activated some sort of defence?

He examined the image of the lock and inhaled.

There was a tiny activation button inside the artefact—he could feel it—like on a device that worked by mana manipulation. Except, this had one key difference. Mana wouldn’t activate it.

The lock called for the strange power within him, and by now, he’d learned enough to recognise what was inside him for what it actually was: the Traveller’s power. He no longer doubted that.

Alex stretched his hand out, placing a finger against the symbol of the lock, then he reached out. Inside, the energy shifted, and the lock flew open with an audible click.

Without warning, the image of the two young women appeared, with three symbols floating before them. The first showed a device that—unsurprisingly—he’d never seen before. It was shaped like a rectangle, but it had a telescope’s lens in the centre, pointing directly at him.

The second was a map of an unknown region of some world.

The third was the one Alex found most interesting—a square containing a series of symbols floating inside, and it was constantly moving. Out of all of the characters, he recognised just three.

One looked like a character from one of the tongues of demons he’d studied. Another was from a language of the elemental plane of earth.

The last?

Alex turned to the Traveller’s book, excitedly opening it to the first page. “There it is… there it is! I think they’re the same symbols as in the book!”

He was almost giddy.

This could be it. He could finally get some of the answers he’d been looking for!

He pressed the symbols in the square. The image was replaced by a series of glyphs floating over a painting of a swirling sea.

Alex frowned, examining each letter carefully. Some were clearly from the same language that was in the Traveller’s book, but others were new. He called on the Mark, focusing it on every tongue he’d learned or studied in the past two years.

It gave him nothing useful.

There was no language that he’d come across so far that was even remotely similar to the characters in front of him.

“Hmmm… What does this mean? Okay, let’s see… look for any characters… any that might be helpful—Hold on a minute now.” He was getting excited as he examined the bottom of the screen. There, hidden in the bottom right corner were symbols from the elemental tongue of earth, a celestial language, and a lot more.

Holding his breath, Alex gently pressed the symbol for the elemental tongue.

Most of the unfamiliar symbols vanished, leaving only the Traveller’s symbols on the right… and on the left…

He stifled a gasp as he read:

Welcome to Hannah’s Translation Book, powered by Hannah-OS! What would you like to translate, Hannah?

His hands shook, he scanned the rest of the text: To Translate to Private Language, please enter⁠—

To switch languages, check the symbols below⁠—

To program a new language, please⁠—

‘This is getting overwhelming,’ he thought, then his eyes stopped on a line of text: To Translate Text by Sight, please press ‘Camera-Translation’ and point the optical lens.

“What’s this now? What the hell’s a camera?” Alex focused on the words ‘Camera-Translation.’ With the utmost care, he pressed them.

The painting disappeared.

“Wait, no, no, no! What’d I do? Go back! Turn back!” he cried.

But the words didn’t return. Instead, the glass displayed an image of flat stones.

“Oh no, don’t tell me I broke it! I broke it, didn’t I?” He rotated the device, his eyes wide. The image of the stones shifted as he turned it. He raised it, aiming the back at a brightly burning maze wall.

The flaming wall appeared across the artefact’s surface.

“Wait…” He waved a hand behind it.

His hand waved back and forth in the painting. Turning the artefact around, he examined the back bit by bit, noticing a tiny lens hidden in the upper right corner, like the lens of a picoscope or miniature spyglass.

Alex remembered the symbol of the rectangle from earlier, the one with a lens in its centre. ‘Maybe that’s what a ‘camera’ is…’

“Translate using the camera, eh? Maybe…”

He turned the artefact toward the Traveller’s book…

…and his joy soared. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ the young wizard screamed inside.

The book was displayed, but—in place of that unfamiliar language—the characters across the book changed, transforming into the elemental tongue of earth.

Success, at long last. He could finally read the Traveller’s book.

Alex looked up to the burning skies. “Thank you,” he quietly prayed. “Thank you for leading me to this… Please lead me to more answers.”

As he closed the book, he felt a sensation like he was being watched, if only for a moment. Another look around assured him that he was still alone.

He stood up and peered down the pathway, finding nothing.

Settling back down, Alex aimed the camera at the symbols on the front cover of the Traveller’s book:

The Secret Portal Journal of Hannah Kim the Traveller.

Do Not Read if you are not Hannah Kim.

He promptly ignored the warning. He had come too far, so he turned to the first page, wondering what “secret portal journal” meant.

Though, he was starting to develop a theory.

The camera faced the first page, and the symbols transformed into words he could understand.

Alex began to read:

Well, Toto, I guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.

I’ve been in Kalatonia for about three months now, and I decided it’s time to start writing things down. You know, just in case I go crazy, and this is my only link back home.

At least this journal can help me organise my thoughts. Dad would be so ‘proud’ to see me finally journaling. If I ever see him again, that is.

Alright, Hannah.

There’s no way around it.

You’ve been Isekai’d before you’re even sixteen.

And that is bullshit.

“What the hell does ‘isekai’ mean?” Alex murmured, reading along.

March 23rd was when I went to sleep, I think. And I was in my bed in Toronto. The only medieval building I saw irl before was like that church three blocks away. That’s medieval, right?

Well, right now? I’m in a castle.

Finally.

That stupid dumbass summoner nearly got me killed.

Alex read on as Hannah wrote about a strange journey, piecing it together from her entries, which varied wildly in detail.

As far as he could tell, she was from a place she called Earth—a strange name—from a city called Toronto. This ‘Earth’ had beings that seemed normal to him, but who Hannah seemed to find special.

The name of these people caught his attention.

It’s weird, Hannah had written. I’m picking up the language here way too fast thanks to the court magician’s spells, but certain things don’t seem to translate. Back home, we had superheroes around the world since⁠—

A pause.

I should have paid more attention in history. But we’re called ‘Heroes,’ here. That word translates. But the word ‘superhero’ doesn’t. That’s really weird. Well, I always did want superpowers, so… this is kind of a W?

She didn’t explain what these superheroes were directly, and—unfortunately—she was not around for Alex to ask her any questions.

As he read on, he pieced together more of her story.

“This really confirms it… the Many-Spheres Theory is right.” Alex shook his head, his mind reeling from the sheer amount of information being dumped into his brain. “She gets summoned from Earth by this kingdom to fight one of their enemies, but the summoner messed up his divine miracle and she ended up appearing in a random forest instead. She fought hard to survive for about a month before they found her… at fifteen? That’s only a little older than Selina.”

He shook his head. “Poor kid…”

He read on, a question growing in his mind.

Hannah recorded battles against demons and a demon king. She talked about her training in magic and about still having a trace of that power that summoned her across worlds.

She spoke of nurturing it, mastering it in a way the others summoned from Earth hadn’t been able to do.

But the strange thing was… he found no mention of Thameland, Alric, or the Ravener… or any other place he’d ever heard of.

Though he did find one very interesting entry:

Close call.

Royal guards nearly found my journal. Don’t trust them. Starting to think we’re prisoners here. Some of the other Heroes keep trying to look over my shoulder too. Can’t trust them either. Will only trust Val and Chris. They seem solid. Going to have to translate this book into code, even if I have to invent my own language to do it.

Hey, it worked for Tolkien, and he didn’t have access to actual magic.

Will stop writing here until the language is finished.

“Tolkien…” Alex murmured. “Another strange name…”

His eyes moved to the next entry.

Done! Language invention: success. Thank Ikanale and Tabitun-Abu for magic⁠—

“Who’re they?” Alex whispered, reading along.

It took awhile, but I transcribed my old book just fine, then I burned it. Now no one in the universe can read my journal, except me. But… I have to say, that language magic was very handy. I wonder if I can do something with my old phone?

It’s basically just been a piece of junk since the battery ran out, but with Val’s crafting power and some of my knowledge, we might be able to make something.

An entry later:

Success! Got the phone running on my power. Val couldn’t believe it. She can’t even feel a trace of the energy that brought us here anymore. But mine’s growing stronger every day.

No one else knows.

Demon king? Regular king? Let them try and put me in a cage.

I’m going to be able to teleport!

Alex was impressed with her ingenuity. “Mastering a power no one expected you to do anything with… She and I probably would have gotten along real well. But where the hell is Thameland?”

In a few more pages, he got closer to his answer.

Her entries grew darker as she described an apocalyptic war against this ‘demon king’ and his conjured armies from the hells. As battles went on, the kingdom started pushing their young Heroes harder.

Battles grew more deadly.

And then:

Lost my translator to that summoned bull-headed freak!

All my pictures were in there! The ones of Val and Chris and me! The ones from home! Real home! My maps! Val says I should be happy I got away alive, but I want it back!

That was my life! That was home!

Give it back!

Alex continued reading as the entries turned angrier. Shorter. More clipped. The battles got worse, and Hannah grew more ruthless. She’d put all her rage into her training, growing more dangerous with her inner power and the strange magics she’d learned in the kingdom she was in.

It wasn’t long before the other Heroes began to follow her as she led them from crushing victory to crushing victory.

Until, finally:

Victory. We won. The Demon King’s dead. Kingdom’s celebrating. Val’s dead. Chris is dead. Only the assholes are alive.

This kingdom and this planet can go straight to hell.

I’m gone.

I am gone.

Chapter 102

Passing Things to Needy Souls

I’ve learned enough about the teleportation power.

Right now? I can go anywhere I want.

I learned enough magic to protect myself.

I’ve gotten the divine protection of Ikanale and Tabitun-Abu—the only two deities in this damned world that are worth anything—and I know how to use weapons.

I don’t care about this kingdom.

I don’t care about its people.

I don’t care.

I can go anywhere I want. I can explore the stars.

I’m gone.

“Explore the stars?” he muttered. “She must’ve learned about Many-Spheres Theory early in her life.”

As he kept reading Hannah’s journal, he learned about her adventures in different worlds and on different planes. Some were pleasant. Some awful. Some dangerous. As she travelled, she would write about what she liked and what she didn’t, about her home, and being unsure if she should return.

She wrote about wanting to find a new home.

And then one day…

“There it is…” Alex murmured in amazement. “Home.”

Journal, it’s my seventeenth birthday in three days.

And for my birthday gift, I’m giving myself a home.

I came to this world about a month ago and I actually really like it here. The air is clean. The land’s pretty peaceful. The people are friendly. The church is actually helpful!? Can you believe that?

When I got summoned to Kalatonia, the church there didn’t do shit. Just kept their donation tins out. I’m not saying all deities are bad, I mean I worship two of them, but that church left a bad taste in my mouth.

But this place?

Thameland?

They actually teach people real things!

I mean, not just things about Uldar, but actual mathematics! Geography! Science… well, what passes for science here. It’s incredible!

This place is medieval, but who cares? I’m no super knowledgeable sorcerer, but I know enough magic to keep myself comfortable. I’m going to relax. Maybe I won’t stay forever. But I can start a life here.

A peaceful one.

“Uh-oh…” Alex murmured, cringing inwardly. “She is not going to like being Marked.”

The journal entries continued, detailing her new life in Alric. At last, all the talk about the Traveller coming from a far away place made sense. Hannah seemed to adapt well to the life of the town. She kept her distance at first—not even giving anyone her name, only telling them that she was a traveller—until she eventually warmed up to the people. And they warmed up to her.

A lot.

It was a year filled with festivals, helping townsfolk while they helped her in turn, and with building a life in Alric. She hunted, protected people from wild monsters, gardened and—with the gold she’d hoarded from previous adventures—she even built a small cottage a little way out of town.

Alex wondered what that must have been like. A foreign woman coming from seemingly nowhere and doing all sorts of wonderful things. Even though she hid most of her talents, it was impossible for someone like her—someone with a command of wizardry, divinity from her two goddesses, and the pure raw magic of teleportation that she’d mastered—not to stand out.

As the people embraced her, he noticed her entries turned more and more affectionate toward Thameland.

At times, though, he found that there was a growing doubt in her notes.

I keep hearing word of this Ravener thing. It sounds an awful lot like the Demon King. Except it’s weird. Instead of a tall guy with horns, it’s like… a black ball? What’s up with that?

“Well, it’s… dangerous,” Alex muttered, sounding a bit defensive. “Sorry, but not every apocalyptic doom bringer can be a tall guy with horns.”

They say that five Heroes are chosen to defeat this Ravener… At least they don’t pull innocent people from other worlds. Heck, these people don’t even know there are other worlds out there.

And honestly?

I kinda don’t want to tell them.

Anyway, if this Ravener comes up…

Should I run away?

I could.

The next entry:

No. I won’t run away. I beat the demon king. I can help people if this Ravener comes back while I’m here. Alric’s treated me well. I’ll do what I can to protect it. I’ve got these powers. I want to protect the people here, and I want to use my skills for people I actually like.

Not people that some kidnapping shitty king tells me I have a duty to protect.

It’s my choice.

And besides, it’s not like I’m going to be Marked. It’s only eighteen-year-old Thameish people that get these marks.

It’s going to be my choice: I’ll help out in my own way.

“Oh boy,” Alex said as he turned the page.

The next entry:

TWICE. I WAS CHOSEN AS SOME ‘HERO’ TWICE. WHAT ARE THE ODDS? WHAT THE HELL! THIS IS BULLSHIT! NOW SOME CHURCH PEOPLE ARE TELLING ME ABOUT DUTY AND HERE WE GO AGAIN.

Maybe I should just leave.

Alex’s eyes were racing down the page.

I decided not to leave, journal. Because I’m stupid, and because I like it here.

I’m going to help people how I can as the Saint. What’s weird is… I don’t worship Uldar. I feel a connection to something but there’s no heavenly choir or voices telling me how to channel this new divinity… it’s weird.

But the power is nice. My divinities are stronger than ever.

I hope you don’t mind, my goddesses.

…But just in case, I don’t think I’m going to reveal all my powers. Especially not my ability to teleport. They say the priests have wards set up to keep the monsters in Thameland, and also alert them if Heroes try to leave. Something about that rubs me the wrong way.

I should keep some things to myself.

Alex was racing through the words now:

The other Heroes are good people, thank goddesses. But they’re a bit mean to one of them: Kelda of Clan McCallum. The Fool. She is kinda snippy, but apparently, she was a warrior for her clan before she got Marked as the Fool. Now she can never fight again.

I’d be pissy too.

I’m going to keep trying to talk to her.

Alex read through the next few entries with rising excitement. This was it. If there were clues to be had, this was where he should find them.

Hannah’s entries hadn’t revealed any clues so far in her story of the Heroes’ fight against the Ravener. Apparently, there was tension between her and the Chosen. He was a young knight who had received the Mark of Uldar’s greatest, and he’d taken that role of leadership very seriously.

But—for all the power the Mark had given him—Hannah had already fought in a brutal war. She was more experienced than he was, and stronger in many ways. The rivalry was rough.

Even as the rift between her and the Chosen grew, she grew closer to the Fool of her time:

Kelda and I talk the most out of any of the Heroes. She’s prickly, really nice once you get to know her. She’s been trying to adjust to her role, but she is a warrior. You can’t throw out years of effort because of some god.

The priests following us don’t seem sympathetic, though.

I mean, I hear that a lot of the Fools in the past have been useless, evil, or cowards… but is that any reason to freeze her out so much?

Not going to lie, the vibes are starting to get bad.

Maybe I’ll try to talk to them after we raid the next dungeon. I’m going to try and give Kelda some spotlight. Maybe figure out a way to make her look better.

Alex turned the page quickly, his breath hissing at what he saw next.

Something is wrong. Is it all lies?

Okay. Okay. Organise your thoughts, Hannah.

Write it down. Make it all make sense.

So we went into the dungeon, and it was a tough one. One that was probably there since the Ravener came back. It was really established. A lot of monsters. And it fought smart.

Kelda and I got separated from the others because of a cave-in it triggered. We had no idea if the others were alive, but we pushed forward. Found the dungeon core. Killed all the monsters.

And then, I decided to try and help Kelda learn how to destroy a core. If she could do that, then the others would have to look at her better, right? And the dungeon cores break with powerful divinity.

The Marks are divinity or something like that, right?

I thought maybe the Fool could figure out a way to break it.

But she actually controlled it.

Alex’s blood ran cold. “She knew?” he hissed. “If she knew, why doesn’t anyone else know?”

We were trying to figure out what happened when some of the priests found us. And those assholes thought she must have joined the bad guys!

They tried to kill her and get me to kill her!

I tried to talk them down…

But… well… it didn’t work.

So I teleported them… but only parts of them. Their heads, mostly.

“Holy shit, she could do that?” he muttered. “Can I do that?”

Kelda was panicking, but we didn’t have time for that.

I told her I’d explain later, and I teleported her out of Thameland. Then I blasted the cave with the biggest fireball I could.

When the other Heroes showed up? I told them the dungeon core got us and destroyed the priests and Kelda. They believed me.

I teleported Kelda to an old hollow in Coille Forest. I teleported to her after the Heroes and I made camp. We talked. I told her everything: she’s mad I kept a secret, but she’s mostly overwhelmed.

I’m overwhelmed too.

I… I need time to think about this.

Did they lie to us? Do they deserve our help?

“Oh, by the Traveller,” he said, feeling another pulse of power inside. “By the Traveller. What now?”

He looked at the next entry.

Things are getting bad. Very bad. Very bad.

Alright, where to begin… I can’t control the dungeon cores. I think it’s because I don’t worship Uldar. Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that the dungeon cores have gone nuts. They’re pumping out more monsters than ever, and now they’re really trying to kill us.

Some clawed Ravener-spawn I’ve never heard of before tried to kill Kelda.

She made traps to protect herself—though they weren’t lethal—but if I hadn’t gotten back there, she would have been killed.

I checked church records.

There’s no record of humans controlling dungeons.

I don’t know what’s going on, but this has to stop.

I’m pulling out everything I have except for the teleportation. We’re going to kill this Ravener. Then we’re going to figure things out.

The next few entries were records of short, brutal fights between the Heroes and Ravener-spawn. They killed their way through dungeon after dungeon, then fought the Ravener.

In the end, the Champion and Sage died, but Hannah and the Chosen lived:

They’re making me the Patron Saint of Alric now. I still haven’t given out my name to many people, so they’re going to call me The Traveller. I don’t really care, to be honest.

I met up with Kelda after the last battle and we decided that we have to figure out what the hell happened. One problem: with the Ravener dead, there’s no more dungeon cores to examine.

So we’ve got to find some kind of information.

We’re going to teleport around the world and see if we can find anything.

Hopefully, we’ll get to the bottom of this.

Alex’s hands shook. “Yes… oh come on, please have found answers,” he muttered. “Please. I need something. Anything.”

However, a sinking feeling was building in the depths of his stomach.

If the Traveller had gone out in search of the same answers he was searching for… if she’d found them, she probably wouldn’t have kept them to herself.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he whispered.

He continued flipping through the entries.

What followed was a long series of accounts, detailing Hannah and Kelda’s search for clues across different places in the world. Both were driven, but it had turned to an obsession for Kelda.

She said to me today: ‘I am a warrior. And now I have a fight again. I’ll fight this to the end.’

Well, if she wants to be a warrior… I’ve got to give her some kind of sword.

“What’d she mean by that?” Alex wondered, turning the page. “What is… oh.”

He jumped up, nearly dropping the artefact on the stones.

Barely believing his eyes, he read the words one more time, exactly as they appeared on the painting.

They were clear.

It was a success: I managed to share my power with Kelda.

I got my power to recognise her Mark.

Now the Fool is armed.

Chapter 103

A Ritual’s Unexpected Side Effect

You know, the Mark of the Fool is really unfair.

Kelda’s had my power for less than a month, and she’s already nearly as good as me.

It took me five years to learn how to grow and channel it.

I’m happy, but come on, it’s not even remotely fair.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t fair that you got ‘super teleportation’ either, but we all take what we can get,” Alex murmured, looking down at his right shoulder. “That must be how I got some of her power.”

He looked at his fingers, recalling events in the Cave of the Traveller.

There was a moment—a brief moment—when he’d touched her power. He remembered how he’d been trying to get the dungeon’s mana to touch her energy to break the core and—as the dungeon core was shattering—he’d touched that unique energy that was a part of her.

It was only later that he’d begun to notice his sudden gift for summoning and magic related to teleportation.

“Her power—or what was left in her body—must have recognised my Mark,” Alex said excitedly. “It must have thought I was Kelda and shared itself with me. Holy shit. Holy shit! This is huge!”

He frowned, thinking more about the power. “It doesn’t feel like I have all of it, though. Her notes said she could teleport without spells. Her power enhances my teleportation and summoning spells, but that’s about it. Maybe I didn’t get the whole thing because she was already dead. I can’t even imagine what her full power must’ve been like.”

He felt the energy within him. “It definitely got stronger after I came in contact with this object of hers… Maybe there’s someplace else I can draw more power fro—wait a minute. If she and Kelda were teleporting around… Wait a minute!”

Alex raced through the entries, finding a passage he just knew should be there:

Kelda broke into Generasi University.

Because she’s insane.

By now, she’s better than me with my own power. She can get through wards so easily. She can teleport things—in pieces—with such precision that it’s shocking. She makes me want to work harder.

I won’t lose.

The next entry:

We might have found a clue. There was a book in Generasi’s library: said that some of those clawed monsters that attacked Kelda were seen in the Irtyshenan Empire.

So we’re going to divide and conquer.

I’m going to settle back in Alric and build a sanctum. Somewhere I can research. I think I need to go to the source: if Uldarites can control dungeon cores, then Uldar has to know what’s going on.

Kelda wants to work on other Fools who might have escaped Thameland, research her Mark, and see if anyone else has a clue about what’s going on.

The next entries were optimistic.

Hannah detailed how she’d built a sanctum in Alric, while Kelda developed some sort of organisation elsewhere in the world, one that Hannah wanted to know as little about as possible. It didn’t sound exactly… legal.

They’d stayed focused on their quest and worked well together, but maintained secrecy:

In the event that one of us is captured, we’ve taken to keeping some of our activities secret from each other. It seems someone’s been moving against us. We don’t know who or the exact details.

But just in case, I’m going to be a bit more careful with what I write. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but it feels like I’m being watched. My secret language is private, but Kelda knows it.

And if she’s captured, she could—if they did things to her—show them how to read my notes, and then they’ll know everything.

Maybe I am paranoid—even though I know we can escape everything—but if there’s anything I learned from Kalatonia, it’s that some gods can’t be trusted. And in other worlds, deities are very active. Every record I’ve seen shows that Uldar has been mostly silent, only ‘speaking to his people through everyday life.’

But I can’t ignore the possibility that he’ll interfere directly if we get too close.

We’ll be careful.

Alex swallowed, feeling the dread in her words.

As time went on, she wrote less and less frequently as she aged.

Years passed between entries sometimes, and they became more and more bleak.

Another year. No progress. No dungeon cores to examine. No link to Uldar. Hips hurt now. Back hurts too. Starting to wonder if I should pass on my work. But who would I trust?

Kelda and I don’t contact each other much these days. We visit less.

She’s changed. Obsessed with her Mark. She feels time creeping up on her.

We both do.

He read further, then gasped at another entry.

Kelda thinks she might have figured out something about her Mark. I’m going to examine it later today. She said it was based on something I’d once told her about home.

Desperate with excitement, he read the next entry:

She’s right. By my goddesses, she’s right.

We’re going to see if we can reverse it.

Alex flipped to the next page. “Reverse what? Reverse what?”

His heart sank at the next entry.

We made a mistake.

The process went wrong.

Kelda is gone.

Down to the very soul.

I am alone.

“Shit!” Alex swore. “Shit, shit, shit! What happened? What did you do?”

He flipped pages frantically.

There were only a few more entries.

In desperation, he read through her final entries about her journey to find Uldar.

He reached the second to last one:

I have one hope left. I know where I made my mistake.

Since we’d destroyed the Ravener, I decided to get rid of every potential sample. All dungeon core pieces. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s why the Ravener and the dungeon cores turn to dust when it’s defeated, so no one can study it too closely.

So I will wait. Another cycle is coming soon.

I will wait, and I will go through the next cycle one final time. I visited Earth again. So much has changed. Everything hurts these days. Everything is so hard. But that’s life. I’ve lived a long life and a good one.

I hope with my last act, I can finally solve this mystery.

Alex’s heart was in his throat as he flipped to the last entry.

Failed.

I’ve failed again.

A dungeon core appeared right in my damn sanctum.

So I went after the Ravener-spawn and core first. The fight was tough. The dungeon core was very aggressive… like I expected. I fought hard. Changed the signature of my teleportation power to destroy every Ravener-spawn it touched. Didn’t want them escaping.

Some of the portals went wrong. Pure chaos now.

Need to shut them down. But weak.

Fought the dungeon’s most powerful monsters.

But I was slow. Old. Tired.

I broke them, but my body is broken too.

My soul’s too close to the afterworld for divinity to bring me back. Body’s mostly repaired, but my soul is already going on. Too weak to move.

Teleporting the ink into my book to write the last entry.

Can’t move my hands now.

Kelda. You’re gone. Your soul’s gone, but I hope there’s a piece of you out there.

I hope that we meet again.

If somehow anyone finds this. Anyone that knows the language I taught Kelda. I’ve hidden a shard of memory. Managed to figure out how to teleport a thought into the pommel of my old sword.

Same process as when I was fiddling with my phone. But clumsy.

It will have a warning for anyone that finds this.

A warning for friendly eyes.

And maybe a path forward.

The following is a ritual that will summon my blade back to the location of this book. It will act like a beacon.

From there, she had described a ritual similar to a spell. All one needed was the book, something linked to the Traveller’s soul—she assumed her body would be used—and her name.

The ritual wasn’t even really a spell array, more like an advanced way to call her magic from across the gulf of… sky? Stars? Space? Alex was still trying to wrap his head around it all.

Once he’d memorised the ritual, his eyes focused on her final words:

To anyone that finds this, please keep my secrets as best you can.

Alric is my home. My true home.

If word gets out about what I am and what I seek, the people could suffer. Don’t let them suffer. People have suffered enou⁠—

And that was it.

The thought cut off, the last perfectly formed letter written in teleported ink.

And nothing followed.

Alex sniffed—slightly choked up—and closed the book.

The sound was unnervingly final.

“You led a hard life, didn’t you?” he whispered. “And yet the last thing you wrote is about protecting my home. By the Tra—” He paused, feeling the power within him pulse as he said her name. “I should say, by you, Hannah Kim.” Another pulse. “I wish I could have met you. The world would probably be a lot better place if you were still in it. You tried, and not a lot of people can say that. You gave your whole life to trying to solve this mystery.”

He patted the book. “I’m sure Kelda would be proud of you. And I’m sorry Alric will never know just what you tried to do for all of us. Well, maybe one day. Maybe one day when this is all over. Still, I gotta say, I wish you’d written down whatever it was that Kelda discovered about the Mark.”

Alex glanced at his shoulder. “Even if things went wrong, I’d really like to know what you both thought you’d found. Well, maybe your shard of memory will explain it.”

He put his hands together in prayer, then began setting up the ritual. Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult to do. A piece of chalk from his satchel drew what was effectively a summoning circle on the stones.

He drew symbols in the Traveller’s language inside the circle, taking care to be meticulous with the symbols.

When he was finished that part, he positioned the book and artefact in the middle of the circle: they weren’t her body, but they were dear to her, and the artefact held a power that had flowed through her very soul.

He hoped that counted.

Alex sat before the objects and bowed his head, reciting the words in her book: “Hannah Kim. Hannah Kim. Hannah Kim. I call upon your power. I call your power to this location. Let what you held dear in life act as a beacon. In all the worlds and all the planes, let this call bring your power here. Come, hear my cry. Hear my cry, wherever you may be: the power of Hannah Kim, known through many worlds as… the Traveller.”

What happened next, Alex knew he would remember for all the days of his life, even if he lived for ten thousand more.

The power within him pulsed.

The power within the artefact pulsed.

And both awakened with the ferocity of a blazing forest.

The Traveller’s energy spread out in a wave, transcending space and planar barriers, reaching out across a distance so vast that even if it could be quantified, it would be meaningless to Alex.

The energy of the ritual joined with his inner power and that of the artefact, spreading wider. It felt like he was sending the universe’s most powerful smoke signal.

And he was rewarded with a response.

Then shocked when something else answered.

“Two?” Alex was stunned. “But she only hid one item!”

He scratched the back of his head, puzzled. He could vaguely feel where both responses were coming from. The first came from somewhere cold and dark. An infinite frightening void where no light had ever touched.

But it was the second that truly frightened him.

It felt as though he’d touched… a wall. No, a door. A door that should never have been touched by any living being. Terrible yearning seeped through the signal, followed by a raw emotion that stifled the endless want.

Confusion.

A mind filled with confusion answered his call.

Something was coming. Two somethings.

Alex reached for his staff, but—before his fingers could touch it—powerful teleportation magic raged around him, so ferocious that it overwhelmed his senses, sending his thoughts reeling.

Even the greatest teleportation magic he’d ever felt Baelin cast was a shadow compared to this.

Reality shifted.

An object appeared before him.

A sword: fine-bladed and made of an unfamiliar metal. Runes ran down the side, and the pommel was a copper wire wrapping around a piece of silicon.

Before he could examine it, that something else—sheathed in blazing white light—manifested. Alex squinted, hiding his eyes with a raised arm, trying to temper the brightness.

Once again, that terrible feeling touched him, leaving him with the impression that he’d made contact with someplace he never should have. It lingered for a breath, then fled, replaced by a web of confusion, calm, and warmth.

As the light began to lessen in intensity, apprehension grew.

Just what had he summoned?

Had the Traveller hidden a guardian to⁠—

His heart stopped.

His mind stopped.

His senses stopped.

Floating before him—transparent like mist—was someone he’d longed to meet.

A young woman. A young woman who might have been chubby at one time, but who’d been hardened by tough battles over a period of years. Her face was striking in the same way that a painting of a goddess might be.

Her dark hair was long, hanging over familiar robes.

Robes that had shrouded a corpse in a cave he’d passed through back in his homeland.

Slowly, the woman—or spirit or whatever she was—opened her eyes. Confusion filled them as she looked around. “How… is this possible?” Her voice was low and rasping, yet clear above the roar of the labyrinth’s flame.

Alex’s heart sang.

Floating before him in the blossom of her youth…

Was Hannah Kim, the Traveller.

He had gotten his wish.

Chapter 104

The Traveller

Was she really there?

For a time, Alex’s mind seemed to freeze.

The battle had stressed it. The Mark’s punishment had pushed his nerves to the limit. Everything he’d just learned from her book had filled his mind, bringing it close to being completely overwhelmed.

And now, this… Alex sat cross-legged in the middle of a ritualistic circle, in a domain of the Endless Hells with the Saint of Alric—a woman he prayed to—floating before him.

A woman who’d died over three hundred years ago.

It was too much, and he wondered if his sanity had finally fled.

For her part, Hannah Kim looked just as confused as he did. She took in her surroundings like someone awakening from a long dream and spoke a single word he’d never heard before as her eyes traced the circle below.

The symbols at the circle’s edge were what drew her focus most before her attention turned to Alex.

The woman startled.

And the young wizard’s mouth opened and closed like a beached fish. “It can’t be… you’re dead. Baelin said nothing could bring back the dead,” he said aloud, talking more to himself than to her.

Bewilderment clouded the Saint of Alric’s expression. Her brow creased, and as her form flickered, dread fell over him again. And just for a moment, that feeling of something being close to him that shouldn’t be returned. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she spoke first.

And—this time—her words were in the common tongue. “Who are you? Where am I?”

Silence.

Alex cleared his throat. “Well, um, I’m Alex Roth from Thameland. From, uh, Alric, actually. You are Hannah Kim, the Traveller, aren’t you?”

More silence.

“Alric?” She frowned at the burning walls around them, distrust clear on her face. “These are the hells.”

“I know, I know, but things are a bit complicated.” He pointed to the circle. “See? We took your artefact from Kaz-Mowang’s palace.”

The Saint of Alric looked down, gasping when she noticed her belongings. Her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh my goddesses, you found my phone!”

“Yeah, I—your what now?”

“My phone. I thought I’d never see it again, even if I did manage to come back. I can’t believe this! Oh!” She looked at Alex again, lowering her head and giving him a little curtsy. “I’m the Traveller… Oh wait, you used my name. Well, I’m Hannah the Traveller. Thank you so much for finding my phone and… for bringing me back for a bit. You did what I have been trying to do for… for… how long have I been dead?”

“About three hundred years,” Alex told her. “We’re in another cycle.”

“Oh… that long… I’ve been struggling for that long?”

“Struggling with what?” Alex asked. “I don’t even know how this is possible. You tell⁠—”

Suddenly, that dread spiked again. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Hannah’s form flickered briefly, but a wave of divine calm flowed from her spirit, banishing all uneasiness.

“My time will be limited, so we have to work fast.” She gave him a warm smile. “I’m dead, so my questions don’t matter as much as yours do, child of Alric. If you summoned my sword, that means you went through a lot of trouble to read my book. You know what it contains, and I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah, but…” Alex paused. “Okay, tell me this. How are you here?”

His mind raced. Her spirit was back from the dead. Did that mean he could see his parents again? Could Selina?

The Traveller looked at him for a long moment, as though gazing through his soul. She sighed. “If you read my book, you know about my power. I could go anywhere with it in life. When I woke up, on the other side, I still had my power. It was part of my soul. So I’ve been trying to use it to leave the afterworld. It never seemed to work… but something’s changed lately. My spirit’s been growing stronger, different. The last few attempts I made to travel beyond the afterworld nearly worked, and then when you lit the beacon… wait…”

Her breath hissed. “You have my power! You must have formed a bridge between me and the world of the living!”

“Right… since I have your power, the beacon must’ve been a lot stronger than you intended⁠—”

“Why do you have my power?”

Alex paused.

“Alright, I’ll try to be quick, because it’s a long story.”

And Alex told his story: getting Marked as the Fool, leaving Alric, their encounter in the Cave of the Traveller, finding her book and touching her power with his own. He talked about how Alric had changed and how the Generasians had come to aid Thameland.

He talked of his search for answers about dungeon cores and having unknowingly taken up her quest.

“I’m worshipped in Alric?” she asked. Her tone was amazed. “That’s… that’s something I never imagined. But… maybe that explains a few things. Many deities gain power from faith, and now people are praying to me. But I only felt strong changes very recently.”

Something struck Alex like a thunderbolt. “Hannah, there’s been a few of us that have completely stopped praying to Uldar. My girlfriend and I pray to you directly: you’re getting all of our faith. You deserve it a hell of a lot more than Uldar does, I have to say.”

Hannah’s cheeks reddened slightly. “That’s probably why I feel so much stronger. I’m gaining divinity.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Alex said. “I don’t know how any of this wor⁠—”

Another pulse of dread.

Hannah grimaced. “It’s pulling.”

“What’s pulling?” Alex asked, a chill running down his spine.

“The afterworld,” she said. “I’m not supposed to be here and it’s pulling me back hard. My time is shorter than I thought.”

Hannah locked eyes with him. “If you’re taking on my quest, then I need to warn you about something. You’ll find it in my memory shard, but it’s better if I just explain it to you right now.” Her face was grim. “The church is working against you.”

“I know, they’re keeping secrets⁠—”

“That’s right, that’s what I meant,” she pushed on. “Kelda and I had a theory. There’s a reason why you don’t really see successful Fools in the history books. When we were investigating the dungeon cores, there were people watching us, and anyone else who was working with us. They moved in the shadows. Spycraft, that kind of thing.”

Her jaw clenched. “There’s a secret arm of the church, we think. We could never confirm it for sure, but we had a lot of evidence that convinced us that what the church says, isn’t actually the way things are. One time, we were attacked by a group of people that were really well trained in divinity, stealthcraft, and combat.”

Alex shuddered. He remembered seeing someone with the Thameish delegation who surprisingly had perfect control of his body language. The man had given him the impression that he’d been reading the people around him. “I… I think you’re right. By the Traveller⁠—”

Hannah’s radiance flared when he used her name. She blinked in surprise, looking down at her hand. “Huh…”

“What happened there?” Alex asked.

“You used my name in the way you would a deity’s, like you were invoking it… I felt power for a second. Just a tiny, tiny bit of power… but I felt it.”

Alex filed that away for later. “Interesting, but what I was going to say is that we also came across someone that was probably from that secret arm of the church. Do you know where to find them?”

She shook her head. “Wherever they are, they’re very good at hiding, and their agents take their own lives when they’re captured. We never were able to track them down.”

“Wow, they’re really committed to their cause if they’re taking their own lives… That’s still a good lead,” Alex mused. “I wonder if the Saint knows anything. I might be able to get the other Heroes to ask him on the sly.”

She looked at Alex sharply. “You mean the other Heroes know about this?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “All of them except the Saint.”

“And they’re on your side?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re already doing a lot better than we were. Kelda and I didn’t have many allies, and none who knew exactly what we were looking for… Sometimes I regret all the secrets. But you should look at the church closely. Try and find out if there’s anywhere specific they could be hiding. They’d need space to train warriors as elite as the ones we faced.”

“Right…” Alex nodded. “I might be able to look for the⁠—”

Another wave of dread.

The Traveller grimaced. “The pull’s getting stronger.”

“Wait, wait… please!” He clasped his hands in prayer. “Traveller, I ask you, please do not depart yet. I pray to you.”

Her radiance flashed again, and that dread diminished.

“By my goddesses, that feels weird.” She shuddered. “But I’ll take it. Quick! Whatever questions you have, I want to help you. I don’t want you to fail like I did.”

Alex swallowed, looking down at her book. “You said in your journal that you realised something about the Mark of the Fool. What was it?”

Her eyes turned sad.

Alex pushed on. “I read what happened to Kelda, and I can’t imagine what that was like for you. I can imagine what she went through, though, being a warrior and having all that taken away because of her Mark. I get the desperation she must’ve felt because I’ve been there too. And with what happened to her, I know you might not want to tell me, but please, I need to know.”

He jabbed a finger at his marked shoulder. “This thing makes no sense. Uldar made all the Marks to be effective with no weaknesses. Why does this one have so many constraints on it? How many lives has it ruined? How many Fools died because monsters, or even the damned church tried to kill them, and they couldn’t even defend themselves? I just had the fight of my life, trying to defend my companions, and this Mark tried to destroy my mind for it. Why? I have to know what you know, please.”

For a long silent moment, the Traveller stared down at Alex.

Emotions warred on her face: regret, guilt, hope, grief, fear… and finally, resignation.

“Fine. Don’t make the same mistake as Kelda did, but you deserve to know. All the Fools did.” She took a deep breath. “How should I explain this…” Hannah touched the sleeve of her robe, pinching the fabric.

“Tell me… do you know what a patch is?”

Alex frowned. “Like on a piece of old clothing?”

“Something like that. I couldn’t remember if I wrote about that in my book…” She took a deep breath. “In my old world, there’s something we use called programs. They’re a bit like spells, except they’re made by a central, um, company. Uh, place. Then users of these programs use them, but they can’t change them.”

“Okay…” Alex said slowly. “But, what’s that got to do with the Mark?”

She cast her gaze around, as though sorting through her thoughts. “Well, when a company puts out a program and they want to change it, they release something that’s called a patch. It’s new code—uh, a new piece of a spell that goes over top of the old spell and changes it.”

Alex could have been blown over by a stiff breeze. “You’re saying that somebody… changed the Mark? That it was different before?”

She nodded. “After Kelda heard about patches, she spent a long time examining her Mark: the very fibres of magic it was made of.”

“You can break it down?” Alex asked. “Even archwizards haven’t been able to do that.”

“She had the Mark, she had my knowledge, and she had to build some very specialised equipment using materials you can’t even get in your world. But she built them and used the Mark to get good enough at using them to examine her Mark and mine.”

She tapped the Mark of the Saint, which still shone on her soul. “Mine is one complete piece of magic. The original version is the one that existed in my time, and I imagine still exists today. But hers and yours? There’s signs that they’ve been patched. Someone changed the Mark of the Fool after it was originally made, Alex. It’s been altered.”

“What?” Alex cried, jumping to his feet. “Someone tampered with it? You mean it wasn’t always so restrictive?”

“We didn’t find that out, unfortunately. All I can tell you is that it was changed after it was originally made.”

“But who could have tampered with it?”

The Traveller’s expression turned grim. “That’s the thing about patches, Alex. They almost always come from the person or company who created the program in the first place.”

“So, Uldar. Uldar himself likely changed it?” Alex was stunned. “But why?”

“And that’s the right question you have to ask. Go seek the answer to that very question.”

“Wait, but, from the sound of it, then… Kelda found a way to remove the patch?”

“The process obliterated her soul…”

“But did it work?” Alex asked.

The Traveller took a deep breath. “Swear to me you won’t go looking.”

“I’m not swearing to anything! Please. I’ve got to know.”

She sighed.

“…For a moment, Kelda’s Mark began changing. She looked so happy. But, yes, if you want it put simply, it worked. We were able to remove the patch for the briefest of moments… then the very worst happened. Her soul was destroyed.”

Chapter 105

Hannah Kim, the Patron Saint of Alric

Hope. Though Kelda’s story was tragic and filled Alex with a simmering rage, it also gave him hope.

His thoughts raced.

“You’re saying there’s a chance?” His voice trembled.

“No. We failed,” she said firmly. “We utterly failed. Kelda and I spent years putting together everything that we’d learned, and we still failed.”

“But you succeeded,” Alex insisted. “You undid Uldar’s tampering.”

“And who knows if that would have made things better,” she countered. “It’s a dead path and it’ll only lead to your pain.”

“Hannah, that’s bullshit, and you’re smart enough to know that.” Alex’s eyes blazed. “You said that we learn something that ‘passed for science’ in Thameland. I take it this Earth that you’re from, and Katalonia, had higher science, right? More understanding of methodology?”

Her face hardened. “Katalonia? That was some dark ages stuff. But Earth had a lot of science. Super science, even.”

“Okay! Okay!” Alex spread his hands. “So! Think about it like this. Science is a line of failures with each researcher learning from the last one’s mistakes. Let’s say you develop a formula for some super-potion or something. Then lose the formula. Well, you still have the researchers that made it and you still have the result.”

He pinched his fingers in front of his eyes like he was narrowing his view through a lens. “The next generation of researchers would have a much better idea of how to proceed! They’d have the building blocks of failure and success.”

Alex jabbed a finger toward his Mark. “That’s how this works! Every success and failure from previous experiences helps you learn how to proceed! All of your prior successes are the building blocks to the ultimate triumphs, but failures can teach you even more!”

The Traveller raised her chin. “This is obliteration we’re talking about. It’s your soul disappearing. It means no afterworld. Nothing at all. If what happened to Kelda happens to you, you’re just gone, and there’s no turning back. The cost is way too high.”

“Let me be the judge of that. And, I agree in part,” Alex pushed on. “But. You started a map. I have access to one of the greatest bodies of knowledge in my world, and I could have access to wherever you worked on the Mark. We have years of your work to guide us. We could do this. Think about it, Hannah, my patron saint. We could make it so that no other Fool has to go through what I—what Kelda—has gone through! Even if we end the cycle of the Ravener forever, it’s possible that I could end up with this Mark limiting me for my entire life. If we fail, then the next Fool will suffer too. Please.”

He clasped his hands before him. “I am praying to you. Tell me more. Tell me where your equipment is. You didn’t destroy it, did you?”

The Traveller’s light flared at his prayer, the spirit’s face frozen in indecision. “We… we didn’t destroy it. But I can’t tell you where it is.”

Alex’s frustration flared. “You⁠—”

“Hold on, I’m not saying I won’t tell you: I’m dead,” she said. “It’s not right for the dead to rob choices from the living. I was kidnapped by kings and deities. I’m the last person who should be denying you a choice. But the problem is that I don’t know where the equipment is.”

“What do you mean? Your notes said you were… wait…” Realisation struck him. “Oh… Kelda never told you where it was, did she?”

“No.” Hannah shook her head. “And after she was destroyed, I didn’t try to find it. If the church had ever taken me, it was better that I didn’t know. But there is something. There’s a portal in my cavern that we keyed our Marks to. No one else—including other Heroes—can use it.”

Alex’s heart dropped. “Oh no… the Sage from this cycle tried entering a portal below your cave and it slammed shut when it recognised her Mark!”

“That’s not good, because now it’s permanently closed,” she said, deep in thought. “I can tell you that Kelda said it was really cold where she was staying.”

“Right… the empire maybe? You think her sanctum could be there? Somewhere in the Irtyshenan Empire?” Alex asked.

“It’s a guess,” she said reluctantly. “Even then, it’s a thin one. We did spend a lot of time there in our search for clues, though we didn’t find any. If there had been somebody there who knew what was going on, all traces of them were long gone.”

“But the cold is still helpful,” Alex said. “I came to the hells on less. And this? This is my life. And the lives of others.”

Hannah looked from her belongings to the scorched walls of the hells. “The church.”

“What do you mean, the church?”

“Find their secret arm. That would be my suggestion,” she said. “I built my sanctum to try and break into Uldar’s realm, but I spent too much time hiding from the official church. I looked, but I couldn’t find the secret side. I could have looked harder. They might have information about what exactly this patch was… and failing that… you should try to find the ascension point.”

“What? What do you mean?” Alex asked. “What ascension point?”

The dread was building in the air again, growing stronger, impossible to hold back.

“Uldar ascended to another realm,” she said. “He ascended to full divinity from the mortal world. You know how in some places in the material world you can travel to other planes more easily?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “You’re saying that we’d have an easier time transporting ourselves to Uldar’s realm from wherever he ascended?”

“I think so. If it’s a path that’s been used once, it can be used again. Find that, and you might find Uldar. The church might know more about what the patch was and why the Mark of the Fool was changed. Uldar would definitely know, and I would bet a lot of money that the church knows where he ascended from. Maybe if you find that information, it can help you avoid the same fate that Kelda suffered.”

“That’s… wise… I’ll try and do both,” Alex said. “This is… I’m so glad I found your phone. I’m so glad I found it and you. Thank you, Hannah. So, what happens to you now?”

“I… don’t know.” The Traveller’s radiance flickered. Dread rose in the air. “One thing I do know for sure is, I’m confused, Alex. Really confused… Your voice has been familiar to me since we started talking. And it’s been growing more familiar the longer we’ve talked. I’m in the world of the living again. I learned… all these different things. I can’t even wrap my head around it all.”

The dread built.

“I’m going back to the afterworld. But… maybe I can bring myself back sometime. With your prayers, I think something’s changing in my spirit. My teleportation is growing stronger.” Her eyes flashed. “And if I came back once… maybe I can come back again.”

“Maybe you’re changing because of the faith we’re showing you. Maybe you really are gaining divinity. My mentor, Baelin, says that faith is a powerful force. Maybe it can even help the dead.”

“Maybe. Maybe.” Her radiance faded further. “Well, what will happen will happen. Just so you know, I think I can—wait, that’s why your voice sounds familiar. When I dream, I hear your prayers! You’re the voice in my mind!”

“Really?” Alex blinked. “The dead sleep?”

“We dream.” She smiled warmly. “And sometimes the dreams are so sweet.”

The dread pulsed again.

Hannah Kim’s image diminished as it did, she drew herself up to her full height, floating toward him. “I’m going to start talking like a Tolkien character for a bit.”

“A what character? Who’s⁠—”

“Alex Roth of Alric!” Her voice boomed from every stone, rising, shaking the sky, even though she hadn’t raised it at all. Her radiance was blinding. “Thank you for doing so much for the descendants of those I love. Thank you, child of Alric. Of Thameland. I—Hannah Kim the Traveller—swear to answer your prayers if it’s in my power, and to do what I can for you from wherever I am. It is my hope that we shall meet again in this world or the one after.”

She raised a finger, and it flared like the brightest star. “You—who have gained some of my gift—I reward you now. For your courage. For your faith. And for your willingness to face the darkness that I could never defeat.”

Placing her finger against his forehead, she poured a river of power into him.

The Traveller’s energy swelled within him, growing ever stronger. Transforming, becoming more complete.

And then the river sputtered dry.

She gazed at him with affection. “I have shared more of my energy with you. In time, I see you mastering it in the same way that Kelda of Clan McCallum once did. Without spellcraft, it is my hope that you will travel the universe and see planets and look upon the realms of gods. To see the planes as they are.”

Alex bowed his head. “Thank you. Thank you so much for the gift… No, the blessing. I will keep praying to you, and I hope that my faith, my sister’s, and my partner’s—and whoever else sees you as their saviour, can make you stronger. Maybe you can gain enough faith to get out of the afterworld. And maybe… you could bring others with you?”

Hannah’s gaze turned sad. “It’s a miracle that I was able to leave at all. As for others? Let’s just say… it’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Alex asked.

“Some things can only be experienced to be understood.” Her smile was sad, though kind. “Death is one of them.”

“Then…” Alex took a breath. “Can you deliver a message to my parents? They’re already there.”

“I will try.”

“Tell them that I’m alright.” Tears came to his eyes. “That Selina’s alright. That Theresa’s alright, and so are Mr. and Mrs. Lu. And that I’m going to work hard to make sure we all stay alright. Tell them we love them, and we miss them.”

“I will,” the Traveller said, her presence fading. Her voice grew quieter. “I will…” Then her smile blazed. “And if I return again, then I will give you their answer.”

A lump formed in his throat. “Thank you. Thank you so much. If I… summon you again, do you think it’ll work?”

She shook her head. “That ritual was made to only work once to summon my sword, and I should not even be here… Obviously, though, I know less about this power than I thought I did. I promise you that I will strive and struggle to find my way back to protect you and my town. And perhaps others.”

“I hope you manage to come back,” Alex said. “And I might try and summon you again.”

“Let the dead worry about the paths of the dead. You must worry about the path of the living.”

“I… think I understand.”

Her form was now as sheer as a delicate veil, almost ethereal.

But her smile was radiant. And a bit mischievous. “I sounded pretty awesome just now, didn’t I? Like a real superhero or epic king. Not bad for a little bit of roleplaying, wouldn’t you say?”

And with those words, he felt a door closing.

The radiance faded.

And the Traveller was gone.

Alex sat in the circle for some time, simply taking in what had happened. So much had been revealed. Some questions were answered. Some were raised. A pair of paths formed.

And he had a new power to explore.

What could he do if he was able to travel anywhere in the world? He could explore Thameland and the Irtyshenan Empire in the same day.

He glanced at the shoulder where the Mark of the Fool lay hidden beneath Thundar’s illusion. Just what secrets did it hold?

What would it be in its original form?

He would find out.

Hopeful, Alex performed the Traveller’s ritual one more time… but felt nothing. No response. He sighed, but he understood.

“Until we meet again,” he said aloud, clearing away the ritual and gathering up his belongings. He tied the sword to a rope and slung it over his shoulder. “Fight on, Hannah. Fight on. I’ll be fighting too.”

With a small smile, Alex Roth began walking back to his companions.

It was time to get back to them.

It was time to escape the hells.

It was time to find this secret arm of the church.

One way or another, there would be a reckoning.

“Impossible…” Kaz-Mowang raged in his hidden grotto, deep within the Outer Labyrinth. “Impossible. That energy… it can’t be!”

Nearby, his insect-like archivist gurgled among the remnants of the palace and the milling guests who had taken shelter within the greater demon’s hidden sanctum. Many were the worse for wear. Many looked frightened.

All burned with a fury that was just waiting to be unleashed.

“What is it, most glorious master?” the archivist asked.

“Hannar Kim…” The bull-headed demon leapt to his feet. “I felt her energy. I felt it!” Steam billowed from his nostrils. “This cannot be a coincidence. That wretched mortal must have had some part in this disaster.”

Several members of his household growled, gnashing their teeth.

His archivist gurgled with excitement, spitting a line of mucus along the floor. “My most glorious master, what will you do? Will I have the chance to see your glory directly?”

“You will.” Kaz-Mowang’s hooves ground against the stone beneath his hulking throne. “Warriors! Prepare for a sortie! We must seek an enemy. An old one who thinks to strike me in the back like a coward. She ran from me once.”

He smiled. “She should have kept running.”

Within the Ravener, a terrible process was taking place.

Where once it had conjured a single Petrifier, now it was crafting three.

Three to destroy three Usurpers and bring the cycle back into balance.

It was the maneuver dictated by protocol. An ancient escalation of violence that was built into it long ago. The Ravener’s mind was bent toward the process, working on nothing else.

Even when the Usurpers had escaped its first Petrifier, it did not break concentration. It simply performed steps as was decreed.

But now, something disturbed it.

A strange energy had pulsed from somewhere so distant, it could not identify where the location was. But it knew what it was: a Usurper. A Usurper joined with a strange power it had only encountered once, many cycles before.

An unexpected development.

What was the Usurper doing?

What was the Usurper plotting?

Factors were drifting further out of control. Still, its instructions had not changed. Protocol remained protocol.

And yet…

A disturbance formed in the Ravener’s mind. A thought of what if. What if more unexpected patterns came to be? What if new threats arose? What if the instructions did not anticipate shifting variables?

The orb of darkness floated in its chamber for a time, contemplating this.

Until, at last, it made a decision.

It broke protocol.

This was a step that it was only to take if the number of Usurpers had risen to five or more… Except things were shifting beyond prediction. Better to act now.

With this thought, its vast mind reached out across the distance.

Reached out and made contact.

Deep inside an escarpment—in a holy chamber—Uldar’s First Apostle raised his head. Something had touched his mind.

“I hear you,” the ancient voice spoke in the dark. “Tell me, fellow child. What must be done to make the first sacrifice still bear fruit? What must be done in Uldar’s name?”

Within the darkness, a golden light glowed.

And then went out.

The Fool will return in Book Seven!

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If you liked Mark of the Fool, you’ll love Rune Seeker, also by JM Clarke?

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A Necromancer reborn. A new System. Can he unlock it's true power? After fulfilling the duty all Arch Necromancers are tasked with, the last thing Sylver Sezari expected was to be reborn. But he did. And after crawling his way back into the land of the living, he’s alive once again. In a strange land, a strange time, and with a strange floating screen in front of his new face. Either through plan or chance, he’s alive again, and planning to enjoy himself to his heart's content. Don't miss the start of this LitRPG Adventure about a reincarnated necromancer growing in power and finding his way in a new world where the rules have changed vastly since he last "lived." With equal parts humor and dark sorcery action, expect loads of skill progression, deep worldbuilding, and unforgettable characters in this story which had nearly 9 million views on Royal Road. Now completely revised and re-edited for Kindle & Audible.

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