Mark of the Fool
Chapter 669: Teleportation Practice and the Arrival at Greymoor

One instant Alexander Roth was hovering high above the sun-blasted wasteland known as the Barrens of Kravernus.

The next, he was gone, appearing in clear skies high above sun-kissed waves rolling along the Prinean sea.

“Holy hells,” he whispered. “That was far. I think I’m nearly ready.”

In the months since Carey’s death, the Fool of Thameland kept practising, preparing for the Irtyshenan Empire.

Weeks earlier, he’d broken through to fifth, then sixth-tier spells, leading Professor Mangal to offer to work with him one on one, and soon, he’d be readyto conjure his first entities using binding contract and relational contract style summoning.

When he accomplished that, he’d be ready to write the Exam for Credit for fourth year summoning, and if he passed, the plan was to work directly with Professor Mangal from then on. It was an exciting, hectic time that he wished he could have just taken some time to slow down and enjoy.

But that didn’t happen. Not really.

He had a lot to do, though some of it—like breaking through to fifth and sixth-tier spells—was behind him, all of it was necessary. He had to be ready for whatever came, but he also knew he couldn’t burn himself out. What good would it do if he pushed himself to breaking, achieved most of what he needed to, only to crack in the process, unable to enjoy or appreciate his successes. So, he’d begun taking breaks while keeping them to a minimum, trying to strike a balance, not knowing when or where the church would strike.

He would have loved a nice long break, but there was only one of him, and much to be done that only he could do.

More nights than he could remember had found him in his lab, infusing new summoning magics and other enchantments into his staff.

He’d added a magic that shifted earth and shaped stone so he could dig for Kelda’s sanctum or anything else, if he needed to. He’d infused magic into the aeld staff to warp ice, changing the shape of both snow and ice.

In combination, the magics would allow him to alter hostile terrain in the wilderness of the Empire so he could build shelter if he needed to. The Traveller’s magic should be able to let him vanish if he found himself in trouble, but there were lots of different magics in the world that he knew nothing about, and he wasn’t so naive to assume that he did. If he went to such a hostile realm—one of the coldest places on the planet—without insurance, that would definitely mean he deserved to be called a fool.

To compensate for the frigid temperatures there, he’d infused his staff with magic that could change the temperature of an area from well below freezing, to the warmth of a summer’s day, or turn an already cold night to a temperature so frigid, any enemy without shelter or a counter-spell, would become an ice block within minutes.

He’d also added magic that raised walls of force, providing excellent defence.

Everything he’d done, had seen the aeld staff grow immensely, both in both power, and versatility, and it was all worth the amount of time and coin it had cost him.

His businesses had been thriving, which meant coin wasn’t an issue. He and Toraka had fulfilled the city’s golem contract in impressive time, generating a dragon’s hoard of profit. His new bakeries were popular and profitable, so much so that he was already considering opening one in another quarter of the city.

The magic item studio wasn’t open yet, but the list of potential customers was growing. Folk were already contacting him, seeking both personal, business commissions, supplies, and more.

When the previous owner had retired, she’d left a hole where customers were once able to get unique magical items, Alex was all too eager to fill it.

He was getting supplies, crafting stock for the shop, some he and Selina, like bird-like messenger constructs, had worked on together. They couldn’t fill the entire place themselves considering all the items he wanted to carry, so he was looking at hiring some crafters to move things along; even with the Mark and his Wizard’s Hands, there was only so much time he could spare, especially since he needed to dedicate so much of it to his teleportation.

And that was progressing in leaps and bounds.

Alex looked up at the sun’s position, noting the clouds in the sky and the Generasi coast in the distance; he did some mental calculations.

“About…fifty five miles, I’d say,” he said in the Irtyshenan tongue, practising the language. “The longest jump yet. I could get to the Irtyshenan Empire, but it would take me using a whole lot of jumps, more than I’d be comfortable with…which means I need to keep improving the distance I’m teleporting to preserve my energy.”

He was thinking that if all went well, in another month or so, he should be able to reach the Empire in ten jumps or less. Not ideal, but ten jumps would still leave him with plenty of energy to travel the breadth of the cold, northern realm.

In another month, he’d also have their language perfected.

Alex was fluent in the Irtyshenan language now, but he had to be more than just fluent; to travel through the reclusive land where looking down on, and being suspicious of foreigners was as common as snow, he couldn’t speak with even the slightest hint of an accent not of the Empire.

That had been his focus for the last while, perfecting his accent so that he sounded like he was born there. He’d started taking meals in bars, taverns, and restaurants that served Irtyshenan cuisine or liquors from surrounding countries.

He kept to himself while he was there.

Speaking little.

But listening a lot.

He would focus on all the conversations around him, especially those in the Irtyshenan tongue. He picked out accents from different regions, slowly learning intonations placed on the same words.

He’d also started learning the body language of the Irtyshenans, though he could only go so far. Any former imperials were mostly folk who’d fled the Empire long ago, and had been living in the city of wizards for many years or even decades, so their mannerisms and speech had long been mixing with the peculiarities of their adopted home.

Still, if Alex could mimic enough of their accents and mannerisms to get by, he could then immerse himself in the Empire and finish his training.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

Alex glanced to the northeast, toward thedirection of the Empire.

Then to the northwest, in the direction of his homeland.

“When are you going to strike…” he muttered, thinking of the hidden church. “I know you’re planning something. But when, what, and how?”

As the weeks had gone by, he’d grown decidedly paranoid.

In the wee hours of the morning, he expected to wake up and find some church-sent assassin standing over his bed.

But none had come, so far.

“How long?” he wondered. “I know you bastards are going to do something.”

On one hand, the longer they took, the more time he had to prepare, and establish himself in the city. To keep himself and his family secure. But on the other hand, he just wanted the threat over with.

They would come, of that he was sure, and he would face the battle he’d been preparing for for the last two years of his twenty years of life.

He just wanted it to end.

But, he shook his head. “I can’t get impatient: the more time I have, the better. By the Traveller, I’m starting to lose my mind; maybe I should talk to Theresa. She’s usually so grounded. I think she should be back from The Arcane Archery by now. Maybe I’ll teleport home and surprise her. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”

Concentrating, Alex focused the Traveller’s power, teleporting to the living area of the bakery.

He saw Brutus first, gently nuzzling the person he saw second; his fiancee, leaning over the dining room table with her face buried in her hands. Her body was shaking.

“Theresa?” Alex called her name, alarmed.

The huntress shot up, the Twinblade in her hands in a heartbeat. Her expression was fierce, her lips drawn back in a snarl…but her eyes…

They were troubled, her expression melted a moment later, eyes growing wide.

She rushed into his arms, dropping the swords on the floor. “I almost did something terrible!”

“What? It’s okay, it’s okay, talk to me,” he said, holding her.

And so Theresa told him everything: meeting Maria, following her, the thoughts she’d had, and what she’d wanted to do.

“Brutus and I killed those beast-goblins, every last one of them,” she said, sitting at the table. Alex had brewed a hot cup of pine needle tea for her. Even now, as she sipped it, she was still shaking though his arm was around her. “At least, that’ll help her, but I still feel awful, Alex.”

“You didn’t actually go through with it,” he said.

“But I was thinking about it. I just wanted to protect you, and I was so convinced…so convinced she was from the church.”

“Honestly, I would have been suspicious too.” He kissed her cheek. “But you didn’t do anything you have to regret. We’ve all had bad thoughts.”

“I stalked her, like some weirdo.”

“Look, I get it. Was it the best thing to do? I won’t lie and say yes, but living with the church hanging over our heads like some sword, of course that’d make us do extreme things. We just have to be better next time.”

“You really think that?” she looked at him, her face flushed. “You really think it wasn’t so bad?”

“If you’d attacked her, well…yeah that would have been a different thing.”

“But I might have, if her son hadn’t shown up.”

Alex shrugged. “Look, we’re all acting a little crazy lately. We found our god dead on his throne, and learned that his church is conspiring against us. That…that’s a lot to handle. Truth is, I’ve been getting pretty paranoid myself, honestly.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asked.

“Part of it’s not giving myself enough time to dwell on things; I just prepare.”

“Right…well, I’ll never do that again. Not ever,” Theresa promised herself.

“That’s key. There’s a reason I want to marry you…well, a lot of reasons, but that’s one of them,” he said softly.

She gave him a thin smile. “Thank you, Alex, hearing that makes me feel better…but, right, speaking of hearing things. That Fool stuff…it’s getting around.”

“It is?” Alex said, his stomach flip flopping as he thought about it. “Well, better it happen like this than for the church to be the ones putting the story out. Maybe the rumours could even help…but it’s still a damned frightening thing in many ways. A relief, but frightening all the same. We’ve been carrying this secret for a long time, now it’s coming out.”

“I know,” she said. “I don’t know how to feel either. It’s not even my secret.”

“Well, we’ll deal with it together…and the real challenge is coming,” he said. “The church is likely going to make a move soon, I just know it. But who knows if it’ll be against me, the other Heroes, or all of us. But they’re definitely not going to stay silent. That bloody nose we gave them will stop dripping, and they’ll come after us.”

“But we can’t let that make us treat everyone like suspects,” Theresa said, partly to herself. “We just can’t.”

“Yeah, I agree,” he tightened his armaroundher shoulders. “But, as much as I wish you didn’t have to go through this, at least we won’t be going through it alone.” He looked out the window. “The day when everyone knows who I am is coming, and I’m glad we’ll be facing it together.”

“Me too…” Theresa said, resting her head on his arm. “Me too…hold me for a while?”

“Of course,” Alex said, putting his other arm around her.

Together, the young couple sat in silence, taking comfort in each other’s warmth.

That warmth would be needed for the storm that was brewing.

It was raining when they arrived in Greymoor.

A small army of the crown’s soldiers, surrounding a mounted delegation, rode through the moors. They huddled beneath thick cloaks with hoods pulled high, hiding neither weapons nor armour. Swords were sheathed and bows unstrung, but they were a party ready for war if war came looking for them. They rode past the wizards’ outposts, horses’ hooves churning water, grass and muck, their breaths misting in the mid-autumn air.

Greymoor’s Research Castle loomed ahead and the procession stopped at a tall gate built into the Castle’s outer wall.

“Who goes there?” a Watcher called from the gatehouse.

A single rider urged their mount ahead of the procession.

“We are here in the name of King Athelstan Merciex!” she called. “We seek the Thameish citizen, Alexander Roth. By order of the king, he is to be turned over to us immediately!”