Mark of the Fool 5: A Progression Fantasy Epic, page 47
She smiled, then tilted her face up to kiss his cheek. A frown touched her lips as something scratched them. “You’re sweet.” She glanced at the cover of the book he was ready to open. “What’re you working on?”
“New third-tier summoning spells,” he said. “I need to make sure I have a good handle on that level of magic.”
“Oooo, what’re you summoning?” She leaned over for a peek at the book.
She didn’t know why she bothered. The pages were full of the same symbols and diagrams that Alex was always drawing. They made her head spin.
“Right now? Nothing really. By the time you reach third-tier summoning, most of the monsters you call really should be summoned in the Cells for safety’s sake since a lot of them are pretty dangerous. I think you might like this one, though.”
He flipped the pages of the spell-guide, stopping at an artist’s rendering.
“Oh my!” Theresa said. “Look at him!”
The drawing was of a tall, proud-looking canine that resembled a cross between a large wolf, a doberman pinscher, and a bull mastiff. There was a nobility in the way it stood and a proud intelligence to its features.
“What’re they called?” Theresa asked.
“Flicker dogs,” he said. “They’re really pretty neat actually. Their homes are in the celestial realms, and they’re a lot like wolves here on the material plane. The big difference is that they can teleport.”
“Really?” She frowned, imagining wolves teleporting, then imagining herself long dead in the Coille somewhere. “That’s terrifying, but kinda cool. Can they teleport like Baelin does?”
“Oh, by the Traveller, no,” Alex said. “Most can travel about seven hundred feet with a thought. They can also ‘flicker’ in place. Which means they can vanish to avoid an attack, then reappear in the same spot. They can be really annoying to fight and even harder to catch, and they’re also very good at getting into places and sneaking around. Another nice thing about them is that they’re about as intelligent as humans, and they’re very loyal.”
“I can’t wait for you to summon one.” Theresa tapped the ears of the drawing with a gloved finger. “I wonder if it’ll let me scritch it?”
“Heh, well, we’ll see if it’ll be open to scritches, you know how dogs are; some love a good scritching, some prefer biting your hand off.” Alex laughed. “Once I get this spell array figured out, I’ll be summoning one, and if all goes well, you might be scritching before the day’s through.”
She giggled. “What about your other summoned monsters? Any other cute ones?”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “Well, cute wouldn’t be the right description for hell-boars—which are about seven feet tall at the shoulder—or formiac ants, which look like regular ants, except they grow to be about the size of Brutus. But, even though they’re not cute or great in a fight if they’re alone, they’re amazing climbers—and with enough guidance—really good at construction.”
“That’s neat,” she said. “Got something you plan on building?”
“Not specifically,” Alex said. “If we’re ever caught out in the wilderness, they can help with building a shelter real fast. How cold it gets in Thameland or even in the Crymlyn started me thinking about how important getting a quick shelter would be under those conditions.”
“Nice thinking,” she said.
He gave her that look again. “What’s gotten into you? You’re not usually so interested in this kinda stuff.”
“Well, you’re showing interest in my stuff,” Theresa said. “So, of course I’m going to be interested in your stuff… even if I don’t get a lot of it.”
The smile spreading across his face was like sunlight coming out on a cloudy day. Well… sun that was still somewhat obscured by clouds. He couldn’t deny it anymore: the mess of fuzz he’d been cultivating for the last while was finally something one might call a ‘beard,’ a rather short one, but it had certainly reached beard-level.
Theresa wasn’t sure if she liked it; it was scratchy when she kissed him.
“That’s another thing I love about you,” he said. “I—”
His face suddenly went blank, and he sharply turned to Claygon.
The golem continued his dance.
“What is it?” Theresa asked.
“I don’t know…” he muttered. “Probably nothing… probably.”
“That really sounds like it was definitely something,” she said, peering at Claygon.
“Well, I don’t know… I’ve been mentally guiding Claygon through the dance while we’ve been talking, but I don’t think the last couple of steps he took were ones I directed.” He peered intently at the golem.
Claygon continued his dance across the grass, and holding the spear as he was, he reminded the huntress of seeing Fan-Dor and Gel-Dor performing the dance for the first time on The Red Siren. The twins had moved through the dance together, identical in every way, as mirrors of each other. Moving as one.
“You know,” Alex muttered. “I’m wondering if it’s the material.”
“What do you mean?” Theresa pulled her thoughts back from the memory.
“I mean, Claygon keeps getting close to a breakthrough in sentience,” he said. “Every now and then, I feel his mind begin to spark. Then nothing else happens. I’m wondering if the material he’s made with is the problem. Maybe the mana doesn’t conduct through clay well enough for his mind to fully form? Or maybe when he evolves—if he evolves—we might see his mind fully form then. All we can do for now is just try and keep it stimulated and show him lots of affection.”
Theresa smiled. “Maybe we can do that right now.”
“Hm?” Alex looked at her.
“Take a break,” she said, jumping to her feet “Dance with me. Dance with us. Let the three of us do the Spear-and-Oar Dance together. Maybe we’ll get some insights.”
He cocked his head. “That’s not a bad idea, besides, I’d be a dead man before I said no to dancing with… Claygon. You’re also a nice bonus.”
She rolled her eyes, walking toward the golem. “Your father is so mean, Claygon. You need to show him what it’s like to be a true gentleman.”
“Strong, tall, and silent?” Alex hopped to his feet, following her.
“Silent, but at least polite,” she said, falling into the first position of the Spear-and-Oar Dance.
Alex took up a position beside her, putting his hands on his hips. “Well, we’re probably not going to be able to do that dance; after all, it’s meant to be performed by two, not three.”
“Well, then you’ll need to improvise, I guess.” She grinned at him. “You’ve been practising Fan-Dor and Gel-Dor’s dance all this time and you can’t come up with something new?”
“Pfft!” He blew out a breath, readjusting the placement of his hands. “I’ll show you something new. I’ll have you know that Alexander Roth could be the choreographic director for a circus!”
“Yeah, maybe for the clowns.”
“…Well, I just ran right into that one now, didn’t I?” He shook his head. “Ah, whatever. If I’m a director of clowns, then you’re a clown too, because I’m about to direct you!”
He fell into the second stance of the Spear-and-Oar Dance. “Follow my lead. I’ll give you some suggestions, but in the end… hell, just do what comes naturally. We’re making this up, after all.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And that’s the fun part.”
Together, Theresa, Alex, and Claygon launched into a different version of the dance, one not meant for two, but for three. At first, things were clumsy. A dance for two performers mirroring each other didn’t work too well for three. One dancer would act as a reflection of the other, which left the third redundant. It made their dance unbalanced and awkward.
“This isn’t working,” Theresa said. “Maybe we should try moving to complement each other instead of mirroring each other?” She thought of the selachar twins, moving beautifully across the deck. “We should move like one entity.”
“Hmmm,” Alex mused. “Yeah, that’s like the Dance of Fusion. In that dance, it’s less of a mirror and more like… each dancer acting as a different part of a stronger whole.”
“Okay…” Theresa said. “I like the sound of that. Is it for three or more?”
“No, still two… but I think we can modify it. Here, let’s try this…”
He led them into a new dance, one that was the Spear-and-Oar Dance built on the Dance of Fusion’s principles: not two moving in reflection, but three moving as one in complement. At first, things were awkward as Alex and Theresa stumbled around Claygon.
But soon, they grew more comfortable and started moving in tandem. A transformation occurred while the trio glided across the grass, responding as one. It felt… proper, like they should have been moving like that all along.
Theresa fell into it more and more, laughing with Alex as they danced with the golem.
She had no idea just how much that little dance would change her life.
And soon.
Far beyond Generasi, things were already shifting.
And her sword would be needed.
Chapter 62
Hostile Negotiations
“I don’t think we need Aenflynn’s swords,” Merzhin said disapprovingly. “And I am getting a little tired of being left behind, my companions.”
Drestra froze in the middle of shouldering her pack.
‘Not now,’ she thought.
“Oi, Merzhin,” Cedric said. “Leave it lie.”
“I do not believe that I can,” the small Saint said from across the embers of the campfire. Around them, their escort of priests and knights were breaking camp. “The Ravener-spawn have been especially heinous as of late. Uldar has watched as—in the last while—they have struck with both more frequency and ferocity than ever before. The Holy Heroes must act together.”
“I agree,” Hart said, slipping on his pack.
“Holy Champion, now is not the time to arg—Wait… you agree?” Merzhin was taken aback.
“I do. The Ravener’s spawn are getting nastier lately, so we’ve gotta work together to stop them,” Hart continued. “But that doesn’t mean just the four of us, it means us and anyone else we can get to help. The army. The Generasians. The fae. Anyone. We need to be doing everything we can to get everyone we can.”
“True… but this Aenflynn is toying with you!” Merzhin said. “And Lo did the fisherman trust the hungry pike, who left with the entire catch. Like in the parable, he lies and takes advantage. After all this time, I cannot imagine him taking these meetings with us for any other reason than his own amusement and the thought that—in desperation—we might fall prey to one of his mountingly unfair offers.”
Drestra fought to keep her face straight.
“Ain’t it our duty to keep tryin’ anythin’ we can for country an’ god, though?” Cedric said.
“Indeed. Apologies, I was letting my own feelings cloud our need to do what we must. And, in the end, these meetings cost us nothing while having the potential to generate more allies.” He placed his small hands together before himself. “I shall pray to Uldar that you are guided and that the miracle of success visits your negotiations. While in Dulforth healing the garrison and raising morale, I will say another prayer for your success. Hopefully, when we meet there, you will have positive news this time. And may Uldar’s grace smile upon the three of you.”
There was a pause.
“Aye, an’ you as well,” Cedric said.
“Nice save there, Cedric,” Hart said, walking between the Sage and the Chosen.
“Thanks,” the red-haired young man said. “Thought I was gonna choke on them Uldar’s blessin’ words, but I managed to get ’em out. Feels a bit ironic an’ all, considerin’ Uldar might not be too happy with what we know… or what we’re about t’do.”
“We need to think about what happens if he finds out about… all of this,” Drestra said. “We want to be ready.”
“Hopefully, he won’t go full maniac on us. I’d hate to have to fight him,” Hart said.
Drestra looked at the Champion, surprised. “You’re afraid to fight him? I didn’t think you’d be afraid to fight anybody.”
Hart shrugged. “He’s a comrade. He might not be my friend, but he’s fought alongside me for more than a year. We’ve saved each other’s lives. We’ve killed together and broken bread together. And it’s never easy turning your sword toward an ally. It just isn’t.”
“Y’sound like yer talkin’ from experience,” Cedric said.
“That’s because I am.”
For a few heartbeats, the only sounds heard were from the Heroes’ boots crunching through muddy snow.
“It stinks, doesn’t it?” Drestra thought about the traitors among her own people.
“It does,” Hart said. “But let’s leave all that aside. You sure this is gonna work?”
“No,” Drestra said as they pushed through a thicket and into a hidden clearing. “It will at least let us dictate terms. I’m tired of being led around by the nose.”
The Heroes paused at an unremarkable, dead tree.
“Aye, I’m tired of it too,” Cedric said grimly, drawing back his metal-sheathed fist. “Let’s see if we can’t be the ones drivin’ the wagon for once.”
The Chosen drove his fist into the wood, and with a crash, it split apart, revealing a hollow in the south side of the tree. He stuck his hand in and felt around, grasping an object hidden deep inside the trunk. When his cupped hand emerged, it was holding an orb the size of a human head: a dungeon core.
“S’been a bit of a pain luggin’ this thing about, hidin’ it every time we move camp.” Cedric handed the dungeon core to Drestra.
“Don’t complain. Getting away to practise with it’s been even harder,” she said, pouring her mana into the core. “Last night, Merzhin nearly caught me. He’s going to get suspicious.”
“Well, I dunno about that,” Cedric said. “Y’ve always gone off doin’ your own thing ever since y’joined us. If anythin’, you’ve been spendin’ more time with us than before we found out about all o’ dis dungeon core business.”
She looked at Cedric and Hart for a long time. “Well, we’re united by purpose now.”
Hart snorted. “United by purpose now? What, are you saying dealing with the Ravener wasn’t purpose enough for you? Hah!”
“I guess not. Before, all we were doing was pushing down the Ravener for another hundred years. Some longer-lived people would’ve had to deal with it in their lifetime again, which seemed rather futile to me. And since I knew that, and it didn’t sit too well with me, I wasn’t exactly full of a lot of motivation. But now? Now we’re cutting the head off the snake.”
“Aye, fair enough,” Cedric said, looking at the dungeon core. “I thought fightin’ the Ravener was about as noble a purpose as I could think of… Though bein’ sure that none o’ me grandkids’ll have t’deal wit’ the same threats we do s’even better. Much better. Anyway, let’s get this done. Y’ready, Drestra? S’all gonna fall to you.”
“Hold on,” she said, closing her eyes and pouring more mana into the dungeon core.
After the Ravener-spawn attack in Coille forest, the three Heroes had searched for a full day before they’d found the chitterer dungeon and destroyed it, but they’d been too enthusiastic. Their plan had been to capture the dungeon core for Drestra, but by the time they were finished with the chitterers, every last chitterer was dead, the dungeon was wrecked, and so was the dark orb.
When they tracked the bone-charger dungeon a mile or so away, they weren’t about to make the same mistake twice, and curbed their enthusiasm, making capturing the orb the priority. They’d raided the dungeon, kept it fairly intact, smashed the bone-chargers and the behemoth serving the orb with prejudice, then claimed their prize. A living dungeon core for Drestra to explore, and eventually, control. For her plan to work, before they left the bone-charger dungeon to meet up with Merzhin, she’d need lots of practise, long sleepless nights of practice to reach a specific goal.
The process to get to that goal had been gruelling. The dungeon core’s inner mana pathways almost felt alien and forcing it to do more than randomly making walls wasn’t a simple task. She did have three advantages in her favour: the Mark offered the Sage an almost bottomless well of mana, vast amounts more than the Chosen, and he possessed far more than an average wizard; her will was steel and her mind determined; and—if she set her mind to it—she could live without sleep for weeks. While Cedric and Hart kept watch, time and again she’d passed her mana through the core, focusing on something she’d done accidentally while touching the centre of the core the Generasians had: making monsters.
In the end, she’d managed to accomplish what she’d wanted, but also found something unexpected, a startling revelation as it were. One that would change the way negotiations with Lord Aenflynn would go… and the entire war.
“Alright.” She slipped the dungeon core in her bag. “Let’s take control of our fate.”
The meeting place was much like Drestra remembered. An unchanging stone in a sea of change.
Each journey the Heroes had taken into the fae wilds through a fae gate was always different, the landscape always changed. Sometimes they walked along green rolling hills. Other times, they crossed an endless meadow surrounded by trees that never seemed to come closer, no matter how long they walked toward them.
Today, they were walking through cultivated lawns and hedges, among mazes of shiny green boxwoods sculpted into the shapes of lifelike monsters, both large and small. They had even passed a tall bush pruned in the shape of a mage spellcasting: a literal hedge wizard. Yet, at the centre of it all was the same destination they always found themselves arriving at.
Well-tended flowers of a dozen shades were in full bloom, stretching out before them. Rising from a mound taller than the rest of the landscape was a small stone cottage that one could find anywhere in the Thameish countryside. A thatched roof woven together like threads of spun gold sat above stained glass windows that shifted colour each time a Hero blinked. Smoke puffing from the mouth of a stone chimney billowed skyward in neat, singular clouds, forming animal shapes that rose, spreading and seeming to dance across the sky.
