Mark of the Fool

Chapter 842: The Unnatural Banishing of Night

Evening brightened.

And with each passing heartbeat, the war-spirit’s expression turned more vicious.

Her words played through Alex’s mind.

‘Great violence is coming.’

“What do you mean?” he asked.

A crowd was gathering; Thameish soldiers, priests and knights, drawn by the strange light, emerged from nearby buildings, joining those in the square.

“Hey, hey, Alex!” the General of Thameland heard a familiar voice.

Tyris Goldtooth stepped from the crowd. “What’s going on? I heard a blast then…” She squinted at the sky. “Why is it so bright out here?”

“War comes. Death comes,” Asmaldestre’s voice drew every eye in the square. Her hair-blades scraped together chillingly as her eyes searched the west. “I sense great violence coming to us. Greater than all the violence we drank in battle this day. Greater than any violence wrought by the invisible creatures with many eyes: I sensed theirviolence, no matter how they hid from the eye.”

Murmuring rippled through the Thameish army.

“I will go into battle.” Asmaldestre told Alex. “I will drink this violence like lifeblood.”

“Wait,” Alex spoke quickly. “No, you said violence is coming to us. We should gather against it together. If many warriors face…whatever’s coming at the same time, that means even more violence.”

Asmaldestre’s expression went blank; she ran her glowing-tailblade across the cobblestones lining the square, slicing them as though they were butter. “Very well.”

“Hold on.” Tyris came closer. “What exactly are we facing here?”

“I can't really say,” Alex’s hands balled into fists. “But I have a couple of guesses, and any one of them is going to be really bad.” The young archwizard looked at Tyris and the knights' commanders. “Start rousing everybody. If they’ve bedded down, get them up. Everyone needs their equipment on and they need to be ready to fight or retreat.”

He looked at the war-spirit. “How far is the threat from here?”

She took a deep breath, as though enjoying the sweet aroma of a feast. “Many of your miles away.”

Tyris let out a sigh of relief. “So we have ti—”

“It will be here in minutes.” Asmaldestre’s voice was like the hiss of death. “It moves quickly. So quickly…yes, this will be a mighty reckoning.”

“By the Traveller,” Alex swore. “Tyris, everyone, get people moving! Now!

“Shit! Alright!” The battlemage cast flight magic on herself, rising into the air and cupping her hands. “Sound the alarm!” She shouted. “An attack’s coming! Vesuvius! Get ready for battle!”

“Alright, let’s go, Asmaldestre.” Alex pressed his hand to the war-spirit’s side.

“To war.” she said.

He couldn’t bring himself to answer as they teleported to the Fields of Cormac.

His companions were waiting, weapons drawn, all eyes facing west. Above the trees, light was growing on the horizon, like sunrise erasing nightfall.

It felt wrong.

“Alex…” Theresa lifted the Twinblade. “Brutus smells something burning. A lot of things burning.”

Beside her, the three-headed hound had grown, sheathed in spiked bone armour. His heads were lowered, hackles raised, and his tail thrashed as he growled toward the west.

His claws gripped the soil.

“He’s scared,” Theresa said quietly.

“He ain’t the only one,” Thundar growled, raising his mace, stepping between Drestra and the growing light.

The Sage stepped forward, pushing herself in front of him and removing her veil. She snarled, “That makes three of us.”

“Don’ be scared, fer now.” Cedric lifted his morphic weapon, snapping it into a spear. The white Mark of the Chosen burned on his chest as he lifted Uldar’s battleaxe. “I’s thinkin’ we’ll b’havin’ plenty o’ reasons t’be afraid in a bit. Bloody never seen night changin’ like this b’for.”

Bjorgrund grunted, gripping his divine axe. He stepped nearer to his father, who’d moved between him and the growing light on the horizon.

“Do you have any idea what’s coming for us, Alex?” Birger asked.

The archwizard’s stomach sank.

“When I saw the vision in the dungeon core…” He began, squinting at the brightening sky that had awakened a memory. “I saw a lot of things. Awful things. One was the sky: completely unrecognisable, full of fire like Cretalikon.”

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“Hold on.” Hart looked at him sharply. “Do you mean the vision you had of the Ravener culling people? Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Yeah,” was all Alex said.

“Well, that explains much.” Khalik had sheathed himself in dense armour of earth and stone. His voice sounded strained. His familiar was not on his shoulder. “I sent Najyah into the sky to see what we are about to face…and what she sees is the sky on fire to the west. And it is coming this way.”

“Then…” Claygon paused.

“I’ll be right back,” Alex said.

“Wait—” Theresa started.

But he was already gone.

He appeared miles to the west, his eyes were fixed on what was ahead of him.

Najyah and Khalik were right; the sky was on fire, just as it had been in his vision.

“This is it,” he whispered. “It begins.” The young archwizard glanced at the Mark of the General. “Looks like we’ll be testing your new powers in battle.”

Calling on the Mark, his thoughts accelerated; the world around him slowed to a crawl as he took command of his many streams of consciousness, setting each to a different task.

One stream took control of his right arm, casting a seventh-tier spell; Conjure Objects. Another concentrated on his left hand, casting Sense Enhancement. A third focused on his right leg, casting Orb of Air. A fourth stream controlled his left leg, casting greater force armour. A fifth focused on his facial muscles, casting haste. He slowed his thoughts.

His limbs twitched rapidly.

Five spells activated at once.

Conjure Objects teleported his aeld staff from Welling to his hand.

Orb of Air sheathed his head. Greater force armour girded his body. Sense Enhancement sharpened his vision, hearing, touch, sense of taste and smell. Haste magic suffused his entire body.

In less than a heartbeat, he was drenched in magic.

Waves of worry and curiosity emanated from the staff as he held it tightly. “This could be bad,” he whispered. “But we’ll get through it.”

He teleported toward the light, hurtling through space, then reappearing…greeted by a wall of searing heat that slammed into him.

“By the Traveller!” he hissed, stopping in place.

Death was coming.

Three clouds of fire burned across the sky, filling it from horizon to horizon and burning so brightly they stung the eye. They turned night into day, even desiccating clouds.

Below, forests turned to ash.

With long, finger-like appendages of flame, the fiery clouds reached down to torch the countryside. Woodlands burned. Fields of grass were ash. Blackened skeletons of woodland creatures turned to soot, black smoke billowing into the sky.

In Alex’s hand, the aeld staff shrieked in terror.

The fiery clouds raced ahead, travelling through the air at terrifying speed, devouring the distance in no time, trailing an inferno behind them.

Watching the scene unfold, fear left the young archwizard.

Replaced by rage.

With those flames came the memory of the fire that had taken his and his sister’s parents, though now, they were coming for him and many of the people he knew and loved.

But, this time, there were two main differences.

First, there was no Mr. Lu here to hold him back.

Second?

He took a deep breath, glancing at the white-glowing Mark of the General on his shoulder.

Second, he—and his companions—had the power to stop an inferno.

“Hey!” he roared, his voice echoing over the land.

Before him, the clouds of flame paused.

Alex felt untold eyes on him.

“General…” the word hissed from thousands of voices.

The General of Thameland’s eyes fixed on the clouds, watching them closely, his enhanced vision catching tiny flecks of light forming those fires, but he couldn’t distinguish more details, not from his distance.

And he wasn’t about to get any closer. Not yet.

“Yes. I am the General of Thameland. If you want me, come for me. Come and die.” Alex spread his arms. He let the words hang. There would be no speeches directed at these things.

And they offered him none in return.

The clouds flared as bright as the noonday sun then raced for him.

He teleported away, back to his friends, back to the Fields of Cormac.

“Alex!” Theresa cried. “I thought you’d gone off by yourself!”

“No,” Alex said grimly. “Not this time.”

“Father…what is…it?” Claygon asked.

“Three swarms, like clouds of fire in the sky,” the General said. “They’re burning hot enough to turn forests to ash. And they’re coming to kill me. Specifically: they said ‘General’.”

Silence followed.

“Oh, is that all?” Thundar grunted. “I thought you were gonna tell us it was dangerous or something. Ugh, this is gonna get rough, isn’t it?”

“So, how do we handle it?” Hart asked.

“That’s right, so how do we handle it? Becauseyou’re not going to handle this alone, Alex,” Theresa told him.

“No, I’m not,” Alex promised. “But not all of us can stand against those things. As far as I could tell, those clouds are made up of swarms of tiny…fiery things. They look like sparks of fire, about the size of fleas. Weapons are basically going to do nothing to them.”

“Well, that means I’m useless.” The Champion grunted. “So, General, what do you want me to do?”

Theresa swore under her breath. “I’ll basically be useless too.”

“The same here,” Bjorgrund said.

“Me too,” Birger muttered.

“It does not matter the size of the foe.” Asmaldestre’s words struck. “Great. Small. Physical. Not. Violence will find them.”

“My fire…would it be useless?” Claygon asked, his voice dropping as he looked at the fire-gems in his upper palms. “My spear…and fists…will not help.”

“I think your blasts will help, buddy,” Alex said. “We might not be able to burn them, but the shockwaves from the explosions should be devastating to a swarm.”

“Good! I can…protect…us this time…” Claygon said.

“By my reckoning.” Khalik looked around as Najyah landed on his shoulder. “My magic, as well as Isolde’s, Drestra’s, Cedric’s, Thundar’s as well as Claygon’s beams and Merzhin’s miracles, should be the most useful.”

“Talk faster…” Birger said nervously.

The west was growing brighter.

But Alex looked to the east. To the sea.

“Drestra, you’re good with wind magic, right? You can create fire tornadoes,” Alex pointed out.

“I am,” she said. “and I can create mighty winds.”

He turned to Merzhin next. “The priests created a barrier around Thameland, and it stopped Ravener-spawn from leaving these shores, right? Do you think you could alter that barrier?”

“I can easily alter it, especially since my Mark has evolved.” Merzhin adjusted his robes, readying himself for battle. “Why?”

“Fire needs air,” Alex said. “If you extend the barrier—just by a few hundred feet beyond shore—we can drive those things into the sea. Drestra can use her wind magic, and I can cast Control Weather. We’ll blow them into the water.”

“What about us?” Theresa asked. Brutus whimpered beside her.

“I want you, Brutus, Hart, Bjorgrund and Birger back in Welling,” he said. “You can organise the army and help them get ready in case more Ravener-spawn are coming. Birger, can you ward the town?”

“Against fire clouds?” The giant blew out a breath. “Maybe.”

“I’ll take a ‘maybe’,” Alex said. “Merzhin, Asmaldestre, Claygon, Thundar, Cedric, Drestra, Khalik, Isolde…I want us flying north, away from Welling. We’ll steer those things away from the army. Once we leave, I’ll try and create hurricane winds with Control Weather and you can summon winds with your magic, Drestra, but Control Weather takes a while to cast. We’ll have to work together to wreck those things and push them into the sea, so, I’ll be counting on all of you.”

“You can, as always,” Khalik said. “If this is the Ravener’s first deadly strike against us, then we will need a response just as terrifying. Let us give these ancient Ravener-spawn an enthusiastic welcome to the modern world.”

“Yeah.” Alex glowered. “And a real good reason to be afraid of it.”

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