Mark of the Fool
Chapter 518: Old "Friendly" Faces and New Unfriendly Ones

For a few heartbeats, Alex’s nerves threatened to fray.

Memories of what had happened in Crymlyn Swamp came back to him: the demonic magic ripping through his mind, the war-spear slicing Claygon’s body, the terrible blows raining down on his friends…

He shuddered as anger and uneasiness crept up his spine; expecting Zonon-In to recognize him. Would she attack him? Probably not: the greater demon knew that these ‘performers’ she had helped ‘arrange’ for Kaz-Mowang were agents of a rather dangerous archwizard.

But, having her present could complicate things—depending on what she did—and he was also surprised that she was there so early since he’d assumed she’d only make an appearance when the gala was well underway, giving him and his team time to get set up, and be ready for their performance.

She was a wild card that he hadn’t expected to be played this early.

Alex gripped the hell-boars’ reins as she approached, flanked by the curious Kaz-Mowang, and that towering greater demon of metal, gears, smoke and steam.

Zonon-In grinned, glancing at the bull-headed demon. “What do you think of this interesting little wagon? The performers call themselves the Troupe of the Gargoyle? Isn’t that deliciously ironic?”

Kaz-Mowang raised an eyebrow. Twin clouds of smoke rose from his nose. “Are they related to Garnyx’u’lon?” he asked, his voice boiled as though a dozen beings spoke as one.”

“Of course not,” Zonon-In snorted. “But the image of our fallen rival would serve well to lighten the heart, wouldn’t it?”

“Agreed.” The third demon spoke, its words marked by the spewing of sparks, ash and steam from a multitude of gaps in its metallic body.

Alex bowed his head as he brought the wagon to a halt, watching the greater demon with concern. Her grin was nasty, her eyes a sea of malice…but no trace of recognition took her face.

There wasn’t a single twitch of acknowledgement in her body language: either she was really good at hiding her intentions—which she likely was—or she hadn’t seen through his disguise.

Still, there was no need to tempt fate; it would be best if they were away from these three, and deep into their business as quickly as possible. With a great flourish, he called out to the demons:

“Pleased to meet you, m’lords and m’ladies!” Alex hopped up, leaping into the air and flipping twice before landing on the stones with hardly a sound. Hardly a sound save for the clinking of bells on his cap, that is. “We, the troupe of the Gargoyle, humbly humble ourselves in the abode of the great, mighty, terrible and wonderful Kaz-Mowang!”

The Fool of Uldar cartwheeled into a handstand before whistling in the direction of the carriage. “To me, my fellows!”

One by one, the team members exited the wagon in dramatic fashion.

Ripp shot forward, racing across the stones in a tight figure-eight then whirling and spinning like a child’s top before dropping into a bow beside Alex.

There was a flash of light and a popping sound as Guntile struck the ground with a magical stone that instantly ruptured in a display of multicoloured flame and smoke. She leapt through the smoke, skidding forward to take a knee before Kaz-Mowang.

Kyembe came spinning off the wagon, twirling his sword in one hand in a circular cut, while spinning a long, coloured stick in the other. His feet struck the earth, tapping the ground in a frenzied beat as he danced, spun and twirled the sword and stick. He tossed the blade in the air, caught it in a loop on his belt, then planted the stick on the stone, leapt up, landed atop it, and bowed at the waist, keeping perfect balance on a single foot.

Behind him, two lions leapt from the wagon, grappling and clawing each other before separating. The two enraged beasts glared, circling each other from a distance before charging, maws parting and claws extending.

But when they collided, they shattered like glass—flowing back into Ezerak’s tattoos—revealing the former king and Thundar locked in battle, their teeth clenched. The man pushed the minotaur back, then the minotaur pushed the man back.

In a mutual display of strength, they grabbed each other by the shoulders, throwing one another down, then bowing before the greater demons.

“We, the Troupe of the Gargoyle, look forward to entertaining you!” six voices shouted in unison.

Silence followed, only broken by the constant gibbering of caged mortals.

Then, loud applause.

“Quaint!” Kaz-Mowang proclaimed as he clapped, a massive smile taking his bovine features. Alex made note of every exposed tooth in that mouth, they looked as sharp as daggers. “Delightful and quaint! Reminds me of my mortal days, long, long, long ago! Very good choice, Zonon-In!”

The towering she-demon grinned. “I am much obliged, Kaz-Mowang. And they have more to show you!” Her grin widened. “Much more.”

“Hmmmmm…” the third demon mused, his displeasure voiced by a hiss of steam from all sides. Billowing, the hot cloud drifted close to Alex’s face, coming dangerously close to scalding away his make as he balanced on one hand.

“I expected more from them, Zonon-In. Where is the blood? Where is the mania?”

He gestured to the caged mortals at their backs. “Where is the madness? I want entertainment.” He jabbed a finger—tipped by a sword-like claw—toward Alex. “You. Take that one’s sword—” He pointed at Kyembe. “—and fight the minotaur to the death. That will be a good opening to the festivities. Proper fun.”

“Now, now, Yantrahpretaye,” Zonon-In said. “Mortal entertainers who perform so far to that extreme are rare...for very good reason.” She grinned. “What? Is that lump of mercury you call a heart so unmoved? Perhaps if they were juggling gears instead, you would be more interested.”

“Play your games elsewhere, Zonon-In, I have no interest in your private jokes or attempts to infuriate.” The steel demon puffed out a cloud of steam, which seemed to writhe with its own fiendish life. “I want blood in my entertainment. Screams. Ecstasy. Agony. Not parlour tricks. Kaz-Mowang, order one of them to kill one of the others.”

Alex’s mind worked quickly. “May I have permission to speak, most mighty of demons?” he asked Kaz-Mowang, keeping his voice simpering—oozing complimentary sycophancy—but without showing any fear that couldarouse the demons’ curiosity…or hunger.

The bull-headed fiend glanced down at the jester—who was still balanced on one hand—and gave a snort. “Speak.”

“Yes, mightiest of the mighty,” Alex said. “I wish to hear of your exploits, demon master. Zonon-In said that you are a great warrior, and I thought we might incorporate some of your magnificent battles into our act. Quaint recreations of your limitless might.”

Alex’s eyes flicked to the sculpted likenesses of Kaz-Mowang throughout his courtyard, and palace architecture.

‘Play to his vanity, Alex,’ he thought. ‘There’s plenty to work with.’

“Go on…” the greater demon said, his chest just barely puffing up.

Yantrahpretaye let out a puff of acrid black smoke. Metal ground on metal beneath the surface of his form.

“Our stylings will capture your majesty—though not completely since we’re but mere mortals—and present it through the quaint eyes of mortal actors. We’ll astound! We’ll thrill! We’ll elicit laughter! And we’ll show your guests your glory! I ask that we be allowed to keep our lives so we can present your magnificence with our full complement!”

The bull-headed demon stared down at him, blowing another puff of steam from his nostrils. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t think you have fooled me, mortal. I know very well that you’re begging for your life and that of your friends…but what a way to do it! Very well, you have pleased me so far!” Lips parted, revealing his razored fangs. “But I warn you, I have very high standards: you will capture my glory in the ways you promised and more, or I will see that your bodies provide the exotic entertainments my compeer desires.”

“I wish to see the inside of mortal skin.” Yantrahpretaye scraped his knife-like claws along his belly.

“And you will!” Kaz-Mowang announced, clapping his companion on the shoulder. The sound of his hand striking that iron shoulder was like a church bell sounding. “We have many mortal rats, demons, engeli, and other spirits to run my maze. We have creatures to be vivisected, some to over-stimulate, and others to dance. You will have all the sensations you desire. Allow me this ‘quaint’ act, my guest.”

The metal demon sprayed a great line of steam from the top of his head. “Your once mortal existence is showing, Kaz-Mowang. But fair. There is plenty to feast upon. These mortals can be allowed to…exist, for now. But if they fail to impress, allow me to do with them as I will.”

“Zonon-In?” Kaz-Mowang raised an eyebrow at her. “Will you need these creatures again?”

“I will not,” she said simply. “Do what you must.”

“Very well, then” The bull-headed demon grinned down at the Troupe of the Gargoyle. “Now that you know the consequences of failure. Let that motivate your performance to its greatest heights.”

“Yes, potent master.” Alex bowed his head. “Might we ask for a boon? We wish to know more of your mighty exploits…might you regale us?”

“Hmmm, no.” The demon snorted. “I will have my archivist tell you of my deeds. A servant will show you where you may put your wagon; keep from underfoot until the gala begins. I will send my archivist and Master of Festivities to you so that you may know your place and role. Now go, before one of my other guests decides to begin the festivities early…using your blood!”

“Well, it’s official,” Thundar muttered from inside the wagon, practising his illusions. “I hate this place. I hate that demon bastard and I’d like to smash his face in until his snout caves in.”

The group had pulled the wagon far off to the side of the palace, stopping among a large number of tents, carriages and enormous carts. From within them, sobbing from mortal suffering, moans of pleasure, and other maddening noises could be heard.

In the distance, more of Kaz-Mowang’s guests arrived.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“You and me both, Thundar. I wish Claygon was here so we could break all three of those demons in half…well, actually more likely they’d rip us apart before we got the chance. Greater demons are no joke.” Alex straightened a bell on his costume. “Better we get in and get out of here without them knowing that anything’s even missing…”

He winced as a cry came from a nearby carriage. “I wish we could free all of these poor souls, though.”

“Down that path lies death.” Ezerak warned in a whisper. The former king practised bending an iron bar. “Most of these folk have already had their minds shattered.”

“And many have found themselves in this horror by way of pact, not capture. Still…” Kyembe practised twirling his blade. A terrible anger simmered in his voice. “...this place needs to be ashes in a hot wind. I would see to it that the cages are thrown open, andthese vile demonsthrown down.”

“Oi, oi.” Ripp glared at him. “Let’s not get stupid, alright? Them three demons made my ears wither. We’re good, but I doubt that a fight between us and them would end in any other way than with us dead.”

“Hmmm.” The Spirit Killer tapped the side of his skull mask. “Of that, I would not be so quick to declare, my friend. Demons and gods think themselves lions among the meek compared to we mortals, but the lion has learned to fear fire, bow and spear. And we have such in abundance.”

“I would like to see that arrogant iron bastard go boom,” Guntile snarled, rattling her stones across her finger joints. “But…I don’t know about our chances. Ezerak?”

“Against those three? We might take it.” The former king’s expression was dark. “But not without losses, especially if Celsus and the golem don’t get here soon enough to reinforce us. And if the demons’ servants and guests join the fight? We’re dog meat. And anyway, we’re not being paid to start fights unless we get orders to. Are we starting a fight, commander?”

Alex shook his head. “If we get a chance, we might free some people on the way out…but I can’t risk all of us, especially for people who might be here because they wanted to be cultists.” He looked at Thundar. “Thoughts?”

“Yeah, it’d be real nice if we could let some of those folks out…but no way we can protect them all the way back to the portal, and last thing I want is to be captured or gutted like a fish because we’re trying to be heroes. …shit, maybe that’s an awful thing to say…”

“I think Baelin would approve,” Alex said. “Maybe we’ll come back and burn this place to the ground when we’re archwizards.”

Thundar smiled. “You know just what to say to make a guy feel better.”

“Troupe of the Gargoyle?” A posh-accented voice called out from outside the wagon. “I was told by my lord and master that you would need lore on his achievements?”

“There’s my cue.” Alex whispered, moving toward the back of the wagon. “All of you, I want you to go out and mingle with the other entertainers, if you’re confident in your social skills, that is. We need information. I’m going to try and get this archivist talking: if I can manoeuvre the conversation right, I might get a good idea of what we’re actually looking for. And where we need to go to find it.”