Mark of the Fool 5: A Progression Fantasy Epic, page 44
Things at the central table changed when the walking disaster known as Grimloch raided it. Alex saw the colour drain from the Watchers’ faces as the shark man piled platter after platter high with food. Then—as he was about to head back to their table—a Watcher leaned over and said something to him.
With a single grunt, he reached out and grabbed a small barrel before striding proudly back to his seat.
“Before you say anything,” Grimloch said. “Remember, you stopped me from eating our food. Not food the Watchers brought.”
Nua-Oge stared at him for a long, quiet moment, before her head slowly fell into her hands. “Why… why do I bother?”
“I don’t know,” Grimloch grunted. “Anyway, I brought presents.” He slammed the barrel on the table. “Pumpkin ale. Provided by the Watchers.”
The entire table went still.
“Oh no,” Nua-Oge, Eyvinder, Shiani, and Selina said as one.
“Oh yes!” Thundar, Alex, Sinope, Caramiyus, Angelar, Prince Khalik, Malcolm, and Rhea contradicted. Hogarth rubbed his hands together like a greedy fly, while Svenia was already scrambling for her cup.
As one, they lunged for the barrel.
Even Isolde gave it a long look. “Perhaps… perhaps just a bit.”
And soon, they were well into their cups.
Now, there was a good amount of swaying from members of Alex’s group. A good deal of… merriness.
And Prince Khalik was one of the merriest of all.
“Alright,” the prince said, slamming his cup of wine on the table. “I tire of this dancing around the bush. No more shall I walk on eggshells over this.”
The entire table paused mid-feast, their eyes wandering to Khalik as he sat tall in his chair and squared his shoulders as though he were about to carry an enormous weight.
Alex looked down at the sand and giggled. “Walking on eggshells? I think you mean seashells.”
Silence followed.
“Because… because we’re on a beach.”
“We got it, Alex,” Selina said, hanging her head in shame.
“Well, I thought it was funny.” Theresa took a long sip of her pumpkin ale.
“You have awful taste, Theresa,” Selina said.
But the huntress was already having more ale. “Goodness, this is good. Father and Mother would kill to have a keg of this at the inn.”
“I would kill to have a keg of it in my room!” Khalik laughed uproariously.
“Oh please, Khal.” Sinope touched his arm. “You only say that because you’ve never tasted my peoples’ fall wild apricot brew. I swear, one sip of it and you’ll never be able to drink anything else.”
“Wait… wait… wait!” Thundar raised an eyebrow, swaying slightly in his seat. “Wait, Khal? Who’s Khal, when did Khal happen?”
“Yeah!” Alex said, resting his cup on the table. “What is this Khal business?”
“Indeed.” Isolde smiled, her face slightly red and her electric blue eyes dancing. She bobbed back and forth.
“That is of little importance.” Khalik waved their questions off.
“Yeah, says you!” Alex said. “Khal is a major development! The people need to know!”
“You fools, you are being distracted from the true mystery.” Khalik grinned, his smile turning sly behind his thick beard. He leaned toward Isolde. “Isolde, my dear, wondrous friend.”
“Yes, Khalik?” She smiled sweetly. “Are you sure you wish to verbally fence with me? You have had a few more than I.”
“Indeed, but I can take a few more than you, and I would not be so confident, all things considered,” he said mysteriously. “And besides, there will be no fencing. There will be a single question. Then you will shatter like glass in a hailstorm.”
“Oh?” Isolde cocked her head. “And, pray tell, what sort of question is that?”
Khalik’s smile widened, like a spider who’d just witnessed a hapless wasp land in its web. “What is it with you… and redheads?”
Alex and Theresa gasped.
Thundar choked on his drink.
Selina looked around in confusion.
“I’m not going to be able to defend you this time, Lady Von Anmut,” Hogarth said, quickly tucking into his food.
“This foe is beyond me,” Svenia said apologetically, draining her cup of ale.
The others at the table glanced at each other.
Isolde, however, seemed not quite to understand exactly what had occurred at first. She smiled, nodded. Thought it over for a moment.
And then all the colour drained from her face.
Her face went slightly blank. “I… I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Oh holy hells, are we doing this?” Alex looked at Khalik, Theresa, and Thundar.
“Oh hell yes we are.” The minotaur grinned viciously, leaning over the table and tenting his fingers beneath his chin. “Come oooon, Isolde, we all have eyes. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you act around tall, redheaded—”
“And shirtless.” Alex also grinned viciously, leaning over the table and tenting his fingers beneath his chin. He and Thundar looked like the most mismatched twins in all the world’s history. Isolde looked between them like a deer flanked by hungry wolves, then glanced at Theresa for help.
“I’m sorry, Isolde.” The huntress grinned like the cat who’d gotten the cream. “I’m on their side this time. You do seem to have… a particular type of prey.”
The young noblewoman went beet red. “What… I am quite unaware of what you mean! It is obvious that you all have had much too much to drink.”
“Oh, I am not so sure you are one to speak of how much we have drunk.” Prince Khalik chuckled evilly. “After all, it is your face that is as red as the hair on your preferred type. You must have drunk a great deal, after all. Why else would your face be red? Unless of course… there is something you are embarrassed by. Now what could that be, I wonder?”
She went even redder. “I have no idea what any of you are talking about! None! Zero! You are all courting madness!”
“Um,” Selina said. “I don’t know what anyone’s talking about either.”
“They are talking about nothing, the ruiners!” The young noblewoman glared at all of them. “Nothing!”
Silence followed.
“The lady doth protest too much,” Malcolm said.
“And here I thought the food was spicy,” Rhea added.
“I smell blood in the air,” Caramiyus said.
“And in the water,” Grimloch added.
“Well, Isolde would probably like that.” Alex smirked. “Considering that it’s red.”
“Roth. Lu. Son of Gulbiff. …Khal.” She avoided using the prince’s surname. “I swear if you keep this up, I will end you.”
“Keep what up?” The prince cocked his head. “Come to think of it, did you not say that we were drunk and essentially speaking of nothing? Why are there consequences to keeping nothing up?”
“Yeah, just some good ol’ innocent nothing.” Alex cackled like a crow. “What’s wrong with doing nothing? I could understand if we were doing something. But nothing? That’s just rude to stop us!”
“I am warning you…” Isolde growled.
“Oh, right! Warnings!” Thundar brightened, half-rising from his seat. “I’d better go warn Tyris that someone might be on the prowl for her—”
Theresa nearly spit out her drink.
“Son. Of. Gulbiff!” Isolde’s voice cracked like an icicle sheathed whip. “I swear on all the elements that if you take one step toward Goldtooth’s table, I shall pull out every single strand of your fur one. Piece. At. A. Time.”
“Oooooooh,” Grimloch grunted. “I was just going along before, but now I get it. This is about her crush on Cedric.”
Isolde’s horrified silence filled the air while her friends vibrated with barely suppressed laughter.
“Wait…” Selina’s eyes went very, very wide. “You like Cedric? Like, the Chosen of Uldar, Cedric? Oh, he does have red hair. But so did Derek. Do you like guys with red hair, Isolde?”
The look that Selina gave the tall, young noblewoman was one of complete and utter innocence. It was the kind of look Alex hadn’t quite seen on his sister since she was about eight years old, and he didn’t know if she really was just asking an innocent question, or if she was the most secretly evil of everyone.
Isolde’s choked scream in response was loud enough to draw glances from nearby tables.
“I… I do not have a crush on Cedric of Clan Duncan,” she said in a voice about as firm as wet paper. “He is… a valuable, respectable acquaintance. A Hero to a kingdom that is close in relation to my realm. A man of importance and a great help to the expedition!”
“He also has lots of big muscles, lots of tattoos, and he never, ever wears a shirt,” Theresa pointed out.
“Indeed—And that is entirely irrelevant!” Isolde glared at her, grabbing her ale and draining half the cup. “I am not some cat in heat! If! If the Chosen of Uldar were to grace my thoughts beyond a professional capacity—which he does not, I assure you—I would most likely focus on his bravery, the openness of his mind, the stoutness of his heart, his sense of justice, the ease of his smile, which is punctuated by his gold tooth rather than marred by it. Ah! There is the fact that he is an excellent listener! These are all things that would be of far more interest to me than the width of his shoulders, shape of his jaw, or the way his hair falls to his collar bones. And… and…”
The table had again gone silent with utter glee, then broke into uncontrollable laughter.
Shiani awkwardly sipped a glass of water. “Oh dear,” the young woman said. “I know it’s late fall, but is it just me or did it just get a lot warmer outside?”
Isolde’s scream of horror perfectly aligned with her friends’ endless, roaring laughter.
“Don’t worry, Isolde!” Thundar clapped her on the back while she doubled over, her flaming-red face in her hands. “The cabal has your back in all areas!”
“That is right!” Prince Khalik said triumphantly. “We shall help you pluck your next red rose!”
“We’ll make a heroic effort,” Alex agreed.
Isolde’s scream rose higher into the sky.
“Hey,” Gregori leaned around the table. “That woman screaming like that… isn’t that your ex-girlfriend?”
“Nooot remotely my business,” Derek said, forcing his eyes to stay on his food. “Actually, could you pass me that?” Before anyone in the Brotherhood could say anything, he grabbed a pitcher of beer.
“Thanks.”
And poured liberally.
Chapter 58
The Petrifier
At last, it was complete.
Deep within the Ravener, a new monster had spawned. Weeks of fear bled from every corner of Thameland to feed the storm of dark crafting, and still the process was longer and more drawn out than in the past. Many cycles had come and gone since the Ravener last brought a new Petrifier to life. And now, the inner devices used in the spawn’s complex creation were warmed up again. A second would be much quicker to create, but, if all went to plan, there would be no need for another. By design, the first would not be among the living for long.
The last detail needed for its completion was a small organ situated in its midsection—one that roared and pulsated with violent pools of mana. It would be used once, when time came for the lethal creature to obliterate itself. Petrifiers were those rarest of monsters with a single purpose: destroy all Usurpers within the realm and in the furthering of that task, kill all witnesses to its presence—then erase itself from existence.
Keeping mortals in the dark was central to the Ravener’s plans during each cycle. So, throughout time, no Petrifier had ever been left alive, even their bones were erased. Such was the way of things when it last crafted a Petrifier.
And so it would be now.
With a ripple across its black surface, the Ravener shuddered and began spawning. Its great monstrous guard: Hive-queens of Silence, scaled behemoths, the mighty Rampart-crushers, and all other creatures in its service turned toward their master.
And trembled.
Each was mighty enough to lead hordes of Ravener-spawn from their dungeons and through the land to destroy mortal armies. Yet, they recoiled in fear when the creature slipped from the Ravener’s now boiling surface.
Hunters crept from side passages, growling and awaiting their leader’s entry into the world.
The first elongated, silvered limb emerged.
Followed by another.
Then a third.
Three legs writhed from the dark sphere and planted themselves in a lake of shadowy water below. A small forest of wriggling tentacles appeared, testing and tasting the air. A long, silvery oval shell, matching the colour of its legs, rose from the Ravener, and atop the shell were nine eyestalks capped with massive glowing eyeballs shining in the darkness. A dreadful power lurked within eight, but the ninth—the central and largest one—shimmered with the radiance of a precious stone.
That dominant eye observed its surroundings like a living diamond, gleaming with deep intellect.
When the entire shell was finally free of the dark orb, a new Petrifier was born.
And it proclaimed its birth.
Its fanged jaws spread apart at the shell’s anterior—wide enough to swallow a knight and their charging mount—and its shriek reverberated within the cavern walls, making Ravener-spawn shake harder. The creature straightened to its full height, rising nearly a hundred feet in the air, displaying its soaring, shimmering form. Silver chitin shifted with the light, and the Petrifier’s many eyes appraised the new world around it. Its sheen dulled until it was as dark as the cave. Then, like a living prism, its form became the shapes, images, and colours of its surroundings, adapting and mimicking them like camouflage. To all near, it would have appeared invisible.
The Petrifier’s gaze turned to the other monsters and it shrieked its dominance, glowering down on every creature. Each recoiled, lowering their heads and fleeing, concealing themselves. They were created with an instinctual fear of the towering monster, for it was made to command them, and they were made to follow it lest they taste the fate its eyes could unleash.
It scraped the tip of a foot along the bottom of the underground lake, stirring up the silt drifting there and coiled to spring on the other spawn.
“Enough,” the Ravener spoke for the first time in this cycle. Its voice came deep and resonant, burying all sound throughout the caverns beneath its rich tone. Were there any mortals nearby to hear, they might have thought it was steeped in wisdom.
The Petrifier stilled, then turned to its master and took an uncertain step back.
“Do not fear me, my creation.” The Ravener’s surface rippled with each word. “For you are mine, and you will be safe as long as you do not harm what is mine.”
The unruly look in each of the Petrifier’s eyes died. Its eyestalks bowed low, and its throat released a whimper of submission.
“You have a task,” the Ravener continued. “You will eliminate the Usurpers; they plague this land. Let no mortal see you. And should they—destroy them.”
“Yes, master,” the Petrifier rasped. “How many Usurpers do I hunt?”
“Three,” the Ravener informed its creation. “You must act quickly. There was only one for an entire passing of four seasons, and within a day, there were two more. The spread must end before the situation is irreversible.”
“Understood.” The Petrifier’s eyestalks turned to the Hunters.
“And these are mine to use?”
“They and these,” the Ravener’s surface rippled and two dungeon cores floated out. “Take them and plant them as you need to. Build armies to aid you.”
“Yes, master,” the Petrifier’s voice was tinged with an excited hunger. “And when I succeed, am I to destroy myself?”
“Not right away.” The Ravener’s voice was even. “Once your task is done, conceal yourself and wait. Should new Usurpers appear, the Hunters will alert you so you can kill them. If I am defeated, or a full year has passed with no new interlopers replacing the dead ones, then you can eliminate yourself.”
“Yes, master. I serve at your pleasure.” The Petrifier’s eyestalks lowered in deference. “Might I query you?”
“You may.”
“I have searched my memories. Do we remain in the Second Protocol? Is the First Protocol not in play?”
“The worst has not been realised. The Second Protocol remains.”
“Gooood,” it rasped. “And what of the missing Hero? The one you suspect as a Usurper?”
“You are mistaken,” the Ravener said. “Those are not your memories; they are your predecessor’s. It has been several cycles since, and that Usurper would have reached their mortal end by now. There has been no trace of them for cycles.”
“And the other Usurper of that time, master?”
“Killed during the next cycle.”
“So if it is only these three to start, then the matter will be simple,” the Petrifier growled. “May I start immediately? Do we know where they are?”
“No and yes,” the dark orb pronounced. “Their precise location is unknown, but the Hunters have scouted and know where one was last sensed, and where the other two tend to gather.”
“Good.” The Ravener-spawn’s colouration shifted. “I will begin the hunt.”
“May your hunt go well,” its master wished it.
With a chittering shout, the creature crawled from the water on three flexible legs and stretched its tentacles to enwrap the Hunters. Countless Ravener-spawn scrambled from its path, giving ground as it bounded into a tunnel and ascended through the dark with terrible speed. In the spiraling passage, it braced its legs against three walls, almost flying to the surface.
Beneath the earth, the vast network of tunnels that shrouded the Ravener’s lair from prying eyes lay.
The Petrifier growled, acknowledging its surroundings.
When its incarnation last walked these lands, the Ravener’s sanctum was hidden atop a mountain. Whether deep within the earth or high above it, each place offered sanctuary for its master’s purposes, but perhaps these tunnels were the better choice. Just atop the surface, a mass of earth and stone spread through the vertical shaft, sealing it shut. All who came upon these caves would believe they had reached a natural dead end.
