Mark of the Fool
Chapter 588: A Change in the Program

“Soon it’ll be us against Tyris and Vesuvius.” Alex rubbed his hands together. “Are you excited, buddy?”

The young Thameish wizard and the golem descended from the arena, chatting excitedly about their upcoming match. Their last opponents—defeated and shamed—were trailing far behind them. Phoenix’s head was hanging low.

The way Jace was looking at his pet could have peeled paint, and Alex could have sworn he’d heard the man utter ‘cauldron of chicken stew’ beneath his breath.

“I am…very…excited,” Claygon’s voice rumbled. “This will be…a battle to remember. Do you think…we will win, father?”

“Oh, yeah! Easily!” Alex cheerfully slapped his golem on the arm. His emphasis on the word ‘easily’ drew a displeased grunt from Jace, along with more irritated muttering.

“Tyris and Vesuvius were our toughest fights last year—and they were really tough—but we still beat them. They gave us their best and we defeated them anyway. And we’re stronger than we were last year. A lot stronger.” Alex raised his staff for emphasis. A wave of excitement washed over him from the aeld branch, and Claygon looked at it.

Nervousness and acceptance trickled through the link. “I am sure…they are stronger too…and Tyris can cast spells through her familiar…but you can only cast spells on me. They will…have an advantage…” Claygon reached out, rubbing his hand along the wall as they walked. “But…that is alright…I am ready to accept defeat.”

“Oh man, don’t say that,” Alex said. “We’re going to win, and we’re going to take home that prize. Don’t worry about anything, buddy. And—”

The light from the competitors’ chamber was now pouring into the passage.

“Well, let’s chat about this a bit later, while we’re waiting for Tyris to finish off her opponent,” Alex said.

“Yes…father,” Claygon agreed.

More angry muttering and the word ‘rotisserie’ came from Jace.

Alex and his golem walked in to find the competitor’s chamber nearly empty. Only Tyris and Vesuvius, along with the lone masked man were left by themselves in the waiting area, sitting on opposite sides of the room and keeping to themselves.

Tyris was all smiles when Alex and Claygon walked toward them, leaving Phoenix and Jace to drag themselves to the exit.

“I knew you’d do it.” She grinned, her gold tooth shining in her mouth. “We’re looking forward to facing you two.”

The chamber shook as Vesuvius slammed an enormous foot down, grinding it into the floor like a massive bull getting ready to charge.

Claygon matched his display by giving his war-spear a quick spin in his hand, then slamming the butt end into the ground.

‘What’d the floor ever do to the two of you?’ Alex thought.

“We’re looking forward to facing you too. At least, once you finish your semifinal,” he said, glancing at the masked man. “Hey, you! I’d watch yourself around these two—” He jerked his thumb toward Tyris and Vesuvius. “They’re not going to make things easy for you.”

The man looked up at Alex, then at Tyris.

Then he dropped his head back down without a word.

“Well that’s rude,” Alex muttered.

“Oh don’t worry about him,” Tyris waved a hand dismissively. “You usually get one or two people that come in all masked and dramatic. They tend to get eliminated early, but if this guy has made it to the semis, then he deserves his drama.”

“Tyris Goldtooth! Magnus Ekavir!” a Watcher called, stepping into the waiting area. “Your match is upcoming, prepare yourselves!”

“Well, that’s me.” Tyris cracked her knuckles as Magnus stood up, making his way toward the passage leading to the arena. He wore a calf-length cloak secured at the throat, draping his shoulders, arms and much of his lower body.

“I’ll be back, then we can give Claygon and Vesuvius their playdate,” she rubbed her hands together, grinning broadly. Again, her gold tooth flashed.

“I’ll make sure we don’t stomp you guys too hard,” Alex said.

“Pffft, doesn’t matter if I win or lose against you, I’m still going to give you a thrashing. …but just so you know, Vesuvius and I will win.”

“Oho, you’ll try, Tyris,” he smirked. “You’ll try.”

“No, you’ll try.” She grinned back. “But you won’t succeed.”

“No you’ll try,” Alex fired back.

“No, you’ll try.”

“No, you’ll try!”

“No, you will!”

“No, you—”

“Okay, okay, Magnus is waiting and I’m sure everyone is going to do their best in the semifinals,” the Watcher called. “But we should probably get to it before sunset, you know.”

“Heh, true. I’ll be back, big guys.” She winked at Claygon and Alex. “Keep the seat warm for me.”

Together with her familiar, the lava mage strolled out of the waiting area and into the passage leading above. It took a long time for Vesuvius’ thunderous footfalls to fade.

Alex threw himself down on the closest seat, stretching out. “Well, this is it. Our last wait before the final.”

“Yes…” Claygon said. “I hope that other…competitor doesn’t beat her.”

“Well, Tyris is really tough,” Alex said. “And Vesuvius is a juggernaut. I think there’d be very few people that could take them. And if they could? Well, most of them would have bigger fish to fry than competing in this tournament.”

“True…” Claygon said. “But still…I hope Vesuvius wins…”

It didn’t take long for a tremendous commotion to shake the arena above. The room trembled as what sounded like a wrestling match between thunder and an earthquake exploded through the arena far above.

Alex listened to the sounds as though it was a drum concert.

“It begins…” he said, imagining the epic fight between Tyris and the mysterious man. He frowned for a moment as he thought about the young woman’s gold tooth and red hair, lit up by her familiar’s lava.

“Hmmmm, say…Claygon.”

“Yes…father?” his golem asked.

“Do you think Tyris has any Thameish relatives? Say…among Clan Duncan, where Cedric’s from?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Do you think it’d be rude to ask her?” Alex asked.

“I…do not know if such a question would be rude or not…I haven’t had intelligence long enough for me to know for sure…father. You…would know much better than me. Are you…wondering if she’s related to the Chosen of Uldar?”

“Look, two redheads with gold teeth?” Alex scratched his hair. “Like, what are the odds? They’ve got to be related or something.”

The golem cocked his head, and a sense of confusion emanated through their shared link. “Father…as far as I know…gold teeth are not passed on through bloodlines…and there are many people of unrelated families that have red hair. I think…this is a coincidence.”

“No, come on, man,” Alex said. “They’ve got to be related. It has to be.”

“If you met…a dark haired woman with two swords…would you ask if they are related to Theresa…?”

“Well, no, but I mean…a pair of swords aren’t passed down through her family line,” Alex said.

“...father…neither is a gold tooth, and Theresa’s swords are actually passed down through her family,” Claygon said.

Alex flinched, his face washing red. “Okay, look, that’s different! I tell you, man, it’s weird. I mean Tyris…it’s like some creator deity made two people look like each other. Like they made Cedric, then forgot what Cedric looked like and made Tyris.”

“Father…that is illogical….” Claygon said. “A creator deity did not make all people in the world…and if they did…Tyris is older than Cedric. So he would look like her…not the other way around, as you suggest.”

“But I met Cedric first”

“...what?”

“Nevermind, just nevermind.” Alex crossed his arms. “It’s still weird, finding two people that look like that.”

Claygon scratched his stone chin, mimicking one of his father’s habits.. “I do not know about that…gold teeth are used for decorative and practical purposes in corrective dentistry…we have seen people in Generasi with gold teeth and red hair…father, I am not sure if pursuing this line of questioning is productive.”

“The thing is, it’s still weird!” Alex complained.

“It is not…but asking her that question might be weird.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Enh, you’re probably right. I’ll still ask her after the final, when we beat her.”

Another earth shattering boom shook the arena floor.

“Which sounds like it’ll probably be soon.” Alex crossed his arms, letting his head lean against the wall behind his seat.

More sounds like the rumble of thunder shook the stadium as two colossal forces clashed above the waiting chamber.

“Huh, well, Magnus is putting up a good fight against her.” Alex nodded. “All of her other opponents lost a hell of a lot faster. He must actually know what he’s doing…it’s odd, though.”

“What is…odd?” Claygon asked.

Alex squinted at the ceiling. “Well, he didn’t have a familiar or pet or a servant with him in the waiting area, which means he’s probably a summoner…but I haven’t felt even the slightest bit of summoning magic. Nothing at all. So where’s his proxy companion? Invisible, maybe?”

The Thameish wizard frowned, thinking about knights and warriors who entered tournaments in the old tales. In almost every one where the knight arrived at a competition with their visor down and sporting a nickname instead of a real one, they’d always end up demolishing all of the challengers then go on to face the hero as their greatest rival.

Alex rolled his eyes. This wasn’t some old folk tale or bardic story; this was real life. Last year he’d looked at himself—a towering hulking young man with a towering, hulking golem at his side—and realised he’d be the sort of man who’d always lose to the hero in those sorts of tales.

And yet, he’d won.

And so would Tyris.

“Wait, what do you mean, you lost?” Alex choked.

Tyris shrugged, her expression a mix of disappointment, bewilderment and respect. “He boomed us. We fought as hard as we could…but seriously, that guy’s a monster. You watch out for him. His construct’s a nightmare to deal with.”

Alex gaped, looking from her, to a disappointed Vesuvius, to the masked man who’d returned to the chamber and was now staring at Alex.

“We will face them…head on…” Claygon said. “And…it does not matter if we win or lose…we had fun…”

Alex squirmed a little, trying not to think about the small fortune he and his friends bet on them. There was no sense ruining Claygon’s fun.

“Well, I’m gonna bet on us,” the Thameish wizard said, aware of the irony of his statement. “We’ll win.”

From across the chamber, Magnus’ eyes bored holes into Alex with anl intensity that made a chill go down the young man’s spine. The Thameish wizard stared back into that mask, looking the man up and down.

Something about his gait and stance were familiar…there was a militaristic quality to them that he’d seen before.

He couldn’t quite place where.

‘I suppose I’ll find out soon enough,’ he thought.

“And here we are! The final showdown of the Duel by Proxy: Super Heavyweight Division is aboooout to start!” the announcer’s voice echoed across the stadium and beyond. “We’re finally here, ready to celebrate the coming together of two juggernauts! Two titans! Two demolishers and destroyers! And their mighty masters!”

The announcer clapped his hands together. “Let’s give it up! To the left stand the mighty Claygon and Alex Roth! One is an evolved stone golem, and the other is simply built like one! These two towers have been terrorising even the most talented teams in the competition all day! And now, here they are hovering on the precipice of victory, ready to take the championship for a second year in a row!”

Cheers swept the stadium, and Alex waved to the crowds, throwing his friends a glance.

They weren’t cheering with much enthusiasm.

Instead, they were busy whispering to each other and pointing at Alex’s opponent, standing on the opposite side of the arena.

Isolde had gone stark white.

“But, they now face two great and terrible challengers,” the announcer gestured to his right. “The mysterious Magnus Ekavir has been a storm alongside his force construct! Prime!”

The crowd roared at the mention of their names. “Magnus! Magnus! Magnus! Prime! Prime! Prime!”

“Well that’s a damned ominous sounding name,” Alex muttered, squinting at the masked man. “And what the hell’s a force construct? Shale’s never talked about that befo—Oh. Oh.”

Realisation hit him like a catapult stone.

The militaristic stance.

The warrior’s gait.

The precision in the way the man moved.

“Claygon!” Alex said. “We’re in big trouble.”