Mark of the Fool

Chapter 719: Pain

Alexander Roth was no stranger to pain.

His parents deaths had dealt him a wound that would always cut to his very soul. McHarris, the Baker, had hit him more times than he could remember. Burn-saws blade left a deep scar on his flesh. Battles against greater demons in Cretalikon, and the Thameish church had wounded him in ways that went beyond physical pain.

Then, there was the Mark, a symbol placed on his skin that sought to drive him mad with mental anguish if he tried to oppose its will.

Alexander Roth was no stranger to pain.

This pain, however, was different.

Something was squeezing, wrapping around his soul, coils tightening. It reached down to his very essence, grasping Hannahs power, crushing it like an iron gauntlet around his throat.

His knees buckled, lungs reflexively gasping for air.

Father! Claygon shouted. Fatherare you alright?

The wizards mind reeled. He gasped for air.

Theresa screamed, drawing her swords.

Brutus bulk swelled as he encased himself in bone armour.

Something blurred between the trees.

Alexs eyes flew wide; a form clad in plate armour inscribed with holy scripture, and a white surcoat emblazoned with Uldars hand, was there. In one gauntlet, it gripped a blade blazing with divine power. In the other, a shield, painted with two symbols; the first was Uldars white hand

the second, the balanced scales of the Chosen.

The First Apostle.

And his sword was thrusting.

Time seemed to slow.

Alex watchedmoment by agonising momentas the blades point drove at his heart. The Travellers power struggled within him; his body turned, rolling from the blowbut, oh so slow.

Much too slow.

The point was mere inches from his chest.

Theresa struck, her blades slipping into the divine weapons path, her lips parted in a scream, cinched hair whipping behind.

Both swords of the Twinblade struck the First Apostles steel, scraping its upper edge, narrowly keeping it from its goal.

His blade drove lower, pointing downward, away from Alexs heart

plunging into his gut. A scream wrenched from the young wizards throat as steel sliced rock hard muscle, plunging deep into his body. The First Apostle grunted, twisting the blade, tearing it from the side of Alexs belly.

Agony and blood became the Fool of Thamelands world; his insides burned hot, yet seemed to freeze all at the same time. Snow turned from white to bright red where the wizard had collapsed.

Theresa was screaming. The twinblade seemed to shriek with her.

In a blur of fury and vengeance, the huntress leapt onto the First Apostle, swords flashing. His single blade matched hers blow for blow, his shield dancing in front of her strikes. Metal clashed with metal. Snow sprayed through the air.

Slash marks crisscrossed Theresas body as the holy mans blade struck through her guard. Wounds were dealt faster, deeper. The huntress clenched her teeth, but he was tearing her apart. Every strike came with blurring speed and divine strength; each blow rang like thunder, driving her back on her heels.

Brutus roared in from the side, three sets of teeth flashing.

The First Apostles shield swung out, slamming into a set of the cerberus jaws.

There came a crack of metal on bone and the cerberus-familiars claws paws hugged the snow, anchoring his body, driving the full weight of his spiked bulk into the holy leaders armoured form.

The Apostles sword snaked up, aiming for Brutus heads, but Theresa parried again, sending the blade wide, yet deep into the cerberus side. Bone armour blunted the blow, though the blade still connected, spraying red through the air.

Claygons war-spear thrust forward, but the holy warrior spun away, escaping the blow. Theresa slid along the snow to the First Apostles flank while Brutus circled his other side, then Claygon, the huntress and cerberus leapt on the ancient Chosen of Uldar with full fury.

Alex was growing colder, blood ran from the ragged hole in his body; fear reached into his spirit like tendrils.

Hed witnessed this before.

The Heroes, fighting against the First Apostle, closing on him from all sides. Harts might and speed, Cedrics power, Drestras draconic form aligned with Thundars magicyet things hadnt worked in their favour; theyd been no match for the ancient warrior of Uldar.

Hed ripped them apart, and was now doing the same to Alexs companions.

Theresa screamed as the First Apostle sliced a deep cut in her arm moments after leaving a gaping wound along the side of one of Brutus heads. It was only Claygon that saved them.

He was faster since his last evolution, his body was stronger, sturdier. Unyielding. The First Apostles blade and shield collided with the golems form, but they merely scratched the towering construct. There was a time when a single one of his blows had shattered Claygons body.

But now, the only damage that Uldars servant could manage to inflict was a scratch.

Die! the golems wordsdistorted and frightening through his voice boxscreamed through the night. Die! Diedie!

No, the First Apostle said, leaning away from the war-spears path. He ducked iron fists, blocked Brutus teeth with his shield, and took Theresas blades on his armoured side, slicing her other arm.

Hes going to kill them, Alexs mind screamed. Do something!

His handsomething heavy lay in it. Waves of horror, terror and grief were flooding from it, coursing through him. The thoughts were coming from outside; not from his own mind.

His eyes drifted to his hand. The aeld staff. He was still holding it in his right hand, and it screamed in his mind.

Have todo something he thought, his body growing colder, weaker. His vision blurred, like a fog descending on him. Something inside was shrieking, telling him to heal himself, preserve his own life.

He drew on the staffs power.

But, did not heal himself; he cast haste magic on Theresa, instead. The huntress speed doubled, and the Twinblade became a whirlwind of steel. This slowed the wounds spreading across the huntress body, yet seemed to trouble the First Apostle as much as a fly buzzing around a dragon. Alex cast haste on Claygon next, but the divine warriors steel slipped around the golems blows, though they were coming close to clipping him.

The young wizard tried raising his staff, wanting to cast haste on Brutus, but his grip was failing.He tried again, digging deeper, clenching his teeth, finally succeeding. Now, those fighting the First Apostle could move at double speed, yet, the holy warrior still carved into Theresa and Brutus like he was slicing a Sigmus bird.

Alex had bought them time, but only precious seconds.

Suddenly, he was turned on his back.

Hey! Hey! a familiar voice cried.

Alex blinked; Birgers ancient, bearded face filled his sight. The firbolgs hot breath washed over his face. Giant hands pressed on the young wizards gaping wound.

Get us out of here! the giant shouted. Bjorgrund cant hold them off for much longer!

Hold who off?

Alexs eyes turned, finding the young giant in a fight for his life.

He stood above his father and Alex, protecting them, swinging his woodcutters axe with abandon. All around, warriors of the church attacked. The young giant bled from a mass of wounds, deep enough to claim a humans life, but thankfully, he was not human, and kept fighting on.

Holy warriors stabbed at him with their spears, struck his body with halberds, quickly scurrying from reach. He fought back, striking some, launching them through the air, breaking skin and bone, yet, they did not remain down for long. Their fellows quickly attended them.

Healing divinity pressed into them, bringing them back to fighting form.

At a distance, holy warriors shot volleys of arrows at the struggling giantor perhaps it was Alex they were aiming for, while Bjorgrund blocked them with his body; his back was resembling a porcupines.

The young wizards eyes were fixed on two archers.

One was the figure of the Third Apostle, with a beard as white as his surcoatthe other

a majestic bull moose, nostrils puffing, releasing golden steam. Bells rang on his branching antlers, the merry sound mingling with the sounds of battle. The man astride the beasts back had an otherworldly cast to his skin, like frostbite and blueberry stains.

Mistletoe, blood-red holly, and other Sigmus plants were braided through his snow-white beard and scarlet clothing. No saddle burdened the mooses back.

A deep frown creased the riders face and his faded grey eyes gleamed in irritation. His body language raised a primal fear in the young wizards core; the type of fear that took hold of a mouse the moment it caught a snakes eye.

Instinctual terror on seeing its predator.

Alex knew him; the Guide whod worked with the Heroes. The predatory fae whod come to the Research Castle after the petrifier attack.

The fae that Gwyllain, theasrai, had warned him about.

Disappointing, the Guides lips formed the word.

Focus! Birger shouted, drawing the wizards gaze back to him.

Brutus yelped.

Theresa shrieked in pain.

Stopit! Claygon shouted.

We have to hurry, holy leader! the Third Apostle shouted. We are running out of time!

Alex gripped the aeld staff, clenched his jaw, and grit his teeth. Keeppressureon my wound Ill try to teleport. His words to Birger were muffled.

He reached for the Travellers power, struggling against the interdiction. It squeezed down on his soulbut the grip seemed looser. There were cracks in its defences; gaps where the Travellers power could squirm free.

He called on the Mark as he pushed against the First Apostles power, looking for weaknesses. It guided him, showing him gaps in the interdictions defences as he tried and tried to squirm free of its hold.

Agony erupted in his leg as an arrow planted itself deep in his leg. Only sheer force of will kept his mind focused on the Travellers power through his scream.

The power flickered.

A gap was in reach.

Gnashing his teeth and centering his will, Alex forced Hannahs energy into the gap.

The power flared.

With a growl of pain, he touched Bjorgrund as Birgers hands pressed the wound, he teleported to Theresa.

or tried.

Hed moved only a slight distanceperhaps a half footcloser to the First Apostles deadly melee.

How is that possible? the Third Apostle cried.

Yeeeeeess! the Guide shouted. Now this is the quarry I was hoping for! I might need to step inOof, or maybe not.

The words of an incantation surged from behind the First Apostles visor, he fended off his three opponents.

Alex tried teleporting again, determined to reach his family, but moved only a half pace closer.

The First Apostle completed the spell.

A bead of orange light swept from the tip of his sword and arced toward Theresas face. The huntress flinched, sweeping her sword up, parrying the light with her Twinblade. The bead shot past her shoulder, floating behind her.

Her blade was too high.

Her enemys sword came down, slashing her legs.

Theresas scream travelled through the forest, ripping into Alexs soul, her trousers reddened, wicking fresh blood.

Brutus leapt forward, jaws stopping a follow-up cut aimed at her neck. The cerberushis armour cracked and bleedingclamped down on the First Apostles arm; Claygon drove his war-spear at the Chosen of Uldar.

Blast it! the First Apostle cursed, slipping under the golems blow, then kicking Theresa hard in the chest. Bone cracked, she sailed backward

into the bead of flame.

It exploded.

The huntress burned.

For an instant, Theresas form was replaced by a burning alehouse.

Noooo! Alex screamed, throwing everything he had at the interdiction with the Travellers power.

The First Apostle twisted from Brutus grip, rushing Alex.

Hannahs power struggled against the divinity it was facing. He pushed, again teleporting with Bjorgrund and Birger, moving past the First Apostle, appearing just out of reach of Theresa.

She writhed free of the flickering flames, teeth clenched, flesh scorched.

And grabbed his hand.

Alex teleported again. Grab onto meClaygon he thought.

The golem turned away from the First Apostlethe holy warrior kept slashing at his iron backgrabbed Brutus and touched Alex. Coughing blood and struggling to stay conscious, the Fool of Thameland teleported again.

This time a dozen paces away.

With a growl of frustration, the First Apostle leapt after them.

Alex teleported again, appearing twice the distance away.

We must go, holy leader! the Third Apostle shouted. We cannot risk staying any longer!

Retreat! The First Apostle ordered, but shoot them!

Arrows cut through the air, deflecting off Claygons iron body.

Alex teleported again, trying desperately to save his family and new companions.

He felt the grip of the interdiction slip from his soul.

Were pastthat circleof dirt Theresa choked, her skin smouldering.

The Travellers power flared again.

Alex teleported well away from the ambush.

Back to the fae gate, my lovely hounds! the Stalker called, a grin spreading across his lips. With a whistle, he nodded to the circle of Thameish earth. Sanctified soil shuddered, swarming from the snow, retreating through the fae gate with the holy warriors of Uldar.

The dangerous fae, with an untold number of names, sat atop his moose and rubbed his hands together. That youngster slipped away from us. But, theres something Ill tell you fine hounds; your Fool is my type of quarry! Next time, I might even get a chance to step in, oh yes indeed!

Together, he and the hidden members of Uldars church slipped away, disappearing back into the fae wilds.

Leaving behind only disturbed, red snow, spent arrows, and a grain or two of loose soil. The only remnants of the terrible battle that had just taken place.