Mark of the Fool

Chapter 873: Confinement

Another divine ward sprang up, forming a half-sphere of divine light, sealing Merzhin and Alex in the throne’s chamber.

Both young Heroes were now trapped between the first ward sealing the throne, and the second one sealing them in. They had little space to manoeuvre, perhaps only about five feet between the two wards.

The Saint shielded his face from the ward as though he was facing a white-hot blast furnace. “The power coming from it…it’s incredible!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Aenflynn’s voice purred, then a rumbling sound came from the side of the room.

Another effigy of the Fae lord—almost identical to the one of earth and rock that greeted Alex and his companions when they’d arrived in Och Fir Nog— stepped from the wall. This one was crafted completely of stone.

He smiled at the two Heroes—gave them a friendly wave—then casually took a seat in the chair beside the side table with the decanter on it. Humming to himself, the Fae lord uncorked the bottle and poured himself a drink.

“You know,” he sniffed the contents of his glass. “The secret of this honey wine’s recipe has been passed down through generations of fae. It actually predates your kingdom.” He sighed, taking a long sip. “It was a favourite of The Stalker—or The Guide as you called him—and I’d promised him the secret of where to get it once he’d slain the two of you. Alas, you are here and he is not. And so, I drink this glass in his names. His many, many names.”

The stone effigy took a long drink as though it were flesh.

Alex glared at him, then looked at Merzhin. “Can I teleport through this new ward?”

The Saint extended his hand toward the second ward, a growing unease on his face. “No. It’s like the one around the throne. Trying to leave here through any means would destroy you—body and soul.”

Alex cursed loudly.

“You would be wise to listen to your small friend,” Aenflynn said cheerily. “These wards are quite deadly to anyone attempting to pass through them, even using teleportation.”

Alex’s jaw clenched. He looked at the wine. “You planned this.”

“Not exactly this, no,” Aenflynn said. “But I did anticipate that someone would attempt to steal the throne from me. It made for the perfect trap, wouldn’t you say? I am a little disappointed that I only managed to capture two of your number, but I am not one to spit on gifts.”

Alex looked at Merzhin. “Can you get through the ward?”

“I am trying,” the Saint said, both hands rising toward the ward. He spoke softly. “The power’s intense… Quite intense.”

“And well it should be!” Aenflynn said cheerfully. “After all, what you are looking at is the result of months of work and experimentation. If it could be shattered so easily, then I would be forced to question my own competence.”

Alex snarled at the fae. “So…what is this then?” he gestured toward the barriers. “What are you planning here? Obviously, this was meant to trap, not kill us. So what is it you want?”

“Ahhh, very astute,” Aenflynn said. “You have more value as hostages than you do as corpses. Much more value. A pair of corpses would only be good as extra fertiliser…but alive…you have value.”

“If you think Baelin or anyone else’s going to stand down because you caught us in your little trap, then you have another thing coming,” Alex said.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But that is why I thought we could have a little chat.”

“Chat?” Alex scoffed. “I don’t know how you’re projecting your consciousness into that puppet, but you need to pay attention to your opponent outside.”

As he spoke, he directed two of his streams of consciousness to examining the divine wards and the chamber. If he could find something to help them get out of here…

“Oh you mean the old goat-thing battling me in the sky?” Aenflynn chuckled. “Oh I wouldn’t worry about me in that context. Your old friend is about to have his own problems. Insurmountable problems…right about…now.”

“Alright, I think this has gone on long enough.” Aenflynn erected a barrier between himself and the ancient archwizard before him. “You are quite the warrior, my friend. I’d venture to say that if I did not have Uldar’s throne in my possession, you would likely have bested me by now. But, I have the upper hand.”

The ancient archwizard paused, giving Aenflynn a stony glare through his metallic mask. “Is that so?” the goat man looked down at the castle. “Is that why I feel a thread of your magic reaching into your castle? Planning something for me, are you?”

“Oh it is not you I have something planned for,” Aenflynn said lightly. “It is your young friends. You see, two of them have intruded into my home and are presently caught between two especially nasty divine wards.”

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The ancient wizard fell silent.

“That get your attention, did it? I am so glad.” The Fae lord smiled. Around them, fae still clashed with otherworldly monsters within the whirling clouds. “So let me remove any illusions that you might have about saving your little Fool and Saint. If you try to teleport to them, I will slay them.”

The old wizard let out a hard, vicious laugh. “Child, you underestimate how resourceful and powerful these young warriors are. They will slip out of your trap and flay you from crown to foot. That is, unless I do it first.”

Aenflynnwagged his finger at the beastman. “It seems you are underestimating me. I can tell you that they are quite trapped at the moment and are at my mercy. So, stand down. Let us teleport to one of my private groves where we can settle this in a civilised manner over a glass or two of honey wine.”

“Oh dear…you truly do not understand your position, do you, Lord Aenflynn?” the archwizard said, his voice almost pitying. “You are going to die today, and likely in a painful manner. Either I will kill you, or my young, talented allies will when they free themselves from your trap. You have no bargaining power here.”

“Hah! You place much faith in your young companions.” Aenflynn flashed his sharp teeth.

“Of course. They have shown incredible talent, drive, and skill. I have watched them grow from mere whelps into powerful wizards, warriors…and even the young priest has come to impress me. Which—if you knew anything about me—truly says something. They are remarkable. They are like me: they have power and do not have to steal it from a corpse. Now, since we are talking, I will make you an offer instead: stand down, now. Give us back the throne, and perhaps I can see to it that you face exile instead of a painful death. Naturally, your ultimate fate will not be in my hands, but I could put in a good word for you. You will likely still need to be punished, though. In my time, the punishment for thievery was losing a hand. Face it, Aenflynn, it is taking all of your power—and Uldar’s—to hold me back. And my young friends are strong as well. You cannot prevail here, and you would be wise to give up.”

“Hmph!” Aenflynn shrugged. “Perhaps an example is necessary.” He glanced down at his castle. “Tell me, out of the Fool and the Saint, which is your favourite? Oh well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. Whichever one remains alive after this will have to be your favourite by default.”

“Ah, well, bad news I’m afraid,” Aenflynn said. “Your archwizard friend has proven to be rather stubborn. Now I will need to make an example of one of you.”

On either side of Alex and Merzhin, the divine wards flared with holy light.

“Whichever one of you lives through this encounter, make sure to chastise him.” Aenflynn’s eyes flared.

The divine wards shone brighter.

Heat began building, radiating from each one.

Alex’s eyes darted around the room. Deep down—beneath the powerful magics of Army of Heroes—he could feel a growing horror. Such power…and there was little he could do to stop it.

As their conversation with Aenflynn had continued, Alex had come to realise just how complete this trap was.

Merzhin had said that if they touched the wards they would be destroyed. If they tried to teleport through them, they would be destroyed. The Saint had been working on breaking them but seemed not to have made any progress.

‘No. There’s a way out of this. There has to be a way out of this,’ Alex thought.

The divine wards were growing brighter.

Power was building in them.

‘Think…adapt, come on!’ the young archwizard thought.

But it was Merzhin who acted first. “In the name of Uldar! In the name of the Traveller! I hereby call upon an interdiction: between these two divine wards, the being known as Aenflynn cannot use Uldar’s power to harm us! The power will wash away! And pass over us without harm!”

Aenflynn’s stony eyebrows rose.

A nimbus of light built around the Saint of Thameland as power pulsed from him. Divine energy met the divine wards, passing through them and reaching beyond.

Ripples spread through reality.

Light continued building in the wards.

“Uh…Merzhin…” Alex said.

The Saint was doubled over, his skin looking paler, and clammy.

Power continued growing in the divine wards.

“Merzhin!” Alex called.

Expressionless, the Fae lord whistled.

“Merzhiiiin!” the young archwizard screamed.

Waves of light exploded from the wards, each ward emitting the type of heat hot enough to melt enchanted iron, and turn bone to ash.

…but the waves passed through Alex and Merzhin with little more than a tingling sensation. They then dissipated, vanishing as the wards returned to their original state.

“Oh…oh by the Traveller, we’re alive!” the young archwizard shouted.

“We are,” Merzhin panted.

“You are…” Aenflynn sounded disappointed. “Perhaps your old friend is right. You are resourceful.”

“Yeah, I’ll say!” Alex grinned, casting mana to life on Merzhin. “Well done with that interdiction.

Merzhin glared at Aenflynn. “This thief knows what he’s doing when it comes to Uldar’s power.”

“Thief, am I?” Aenflynn raised an eyebrow. “That’s the second time I’ve been called that in the last little while,” he muttered, displeased. Scowling, he looked into Merzhin’s eyes. “Uldar was a friend. I am no thief: I am simply using a friend’s tools in my time of need. And even if I were a thief, what would that make you? You call out to this ‘traveller’ instead of Uldar,” the fae lord tut-tutted Merzhin. “That makes you akin to a divine adulterer. Running to the skirts of another deity after all that Uldar did for you people. Bah! Ungrateful wretches?”

“Ungrateful?” Alex scoffed. “What in all hells do we have to be grateful for? This friend of yours created a terror-construct to kill us, generation after generation. How does that earn loyalty?”

He recalled a conversation he’d had with Khalik long ago. Alex then repeated the prince’s words to the fae. “Any king who rode around murdering their own subjects at his whim and taking their possessions like a common bandit, would likely have a dagger where his heart used to be, and a head separated from his neck. And I imagine the same goes for deities if their worshippers are strong enough; deities are just monarchs with a fancy name and unique powers when you really break it down.”

“How nasty of you,” Aenflynn said. “Ah, well, I am not here to convince you of your folly.”

“So what now?” Alex spat. “No hostages for you. Our friend’s going to rip you in two.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. You do not get to be as old as I without a few back up plans, little mortal. Like the one that’s been underway for hours now.”

“What th—” Merzhin gasped, his eyes wide. He was staring at Uldar’s throne. “The power around the throne…it’s growing, and fast!”

“Do not worry about that. That is not your concern. This is: guards! I have two mortals in need of company! It would seem that my hospitality is not being accepted!”

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