Mark of the Fool
Chapter 576: Coins in Question

Alex and his friends moved from display to display, taking a look at the coveted prizes for the Games of Roal.

On a raised platform—behind magically reinforced glass guarded by squads of Watchers—were wonders that glittered in the morning light.

Or at least, what had seemed to be wonders.

There were multiple suits of full plate armour inlaid with gold and precious jewels on display as prizes for combat events; like the sky-joust and the grand melee. There were swords with jewelled hilts, weapons bearing glyphs with strong—and deadly—enchantments on full display. Magical items like cloaks that kept one protected from harsh elements, and boots infused with glyphs of running enhancement, were there to be presented to the winners.

Crowds moved around the platform—audience members and competitors alike—trying to catch a good glimpse of what the winners would be taking home this year. Their eyes shone with excitement and hope…and Alex was sure that he’d looked the same last year.

Now, though?

“Is it just me or do these look a little less…” Theresa looked around, lowering her voice. “You know…”

“Spectacular?” Alex offered.

“Yes, that’s it. It’s not that they look like they’re of lesser quality. But, I remember thinking last year that what we could win were like treasures that dragons hoarded in their caves in legends and songs.”

“And now they seem unimpressive to you?” Isolde gave her a knowing look. “They seem about the same to me.”

It was true: last year, Isolde and Khalik had been very unimpressed with the selection:

“Oh holy shit, I am so glad I entered these Games,” Alex had said, barely resisting the urge to press himself against the glass.

“Hm,” Khalik had said. “I thought there would be more. Some prize purses in the past have been much greater.”

“Truly,” Isolde had sniffed. “Even last year the prizes were superior.”

Thundar and Alex had looked at each other.

“You two really need a better idea of what ‘average wealth is’,” the minotaur had snorted, “This is a hell of a lot. Like a hell of a lot.”

“Agreed,” Theresa had gaped.

“Yeeeeah,” Alex had muttered.

Alex cringed at the irony of the memory.

Now, he was the one with a better idea of what ‘great wealth’ was, which had changed how the prizes looked in his eyes; each of the items on display were well-crafted and radiated magic, to be sure, but by no means were they legendary artefacts that belonged in a dragon’s hoard.

He remembered the first time he’d stepped into the Whetstone Tavern and experienced the blinding auras of power surrounding the items in the barroom. Kyembe’s sword and hellfire-spewing ring, Ezerak’s curved blade and Guntile’s stones had all blazed brighter than most prizes here put together.

Then there were the weapons his friends owned. Claygon’s war-spear, claimed from a greater demon and held comfortably in one hand as he examined a set of armour through the glass display—was far more deadly than any weapon on offer here. Theresa’s Twinblade definitely outclassed all the prizes here.

Alex shook his head, eyes drifting to cornucopias spilling rare magical fruits, herbs and minerals. Last year, he’d thought those ingredients were worth a small fortune to alchemists…and they were, in a sense, but now, the emphasis would have to be on the word small.

The cornucopias’ contents were rare, but he suspected that even the smallest sample of shattered dungeon core could buy all the rare ingredients here.

Twice over.

Then there were the prize purses, each was filled with what he used to think was a lot of gold: he remembered rushing to the section where the prizes for the Proxy Battles were.

“See that, Claygon?” He had pointed them out to the golem. “That’s what we’re going to be trying to win.”

He’d been so excited, gawking at all the coin.

Now, it was Claygon who was striding over to the Duel by Proxy prize purses to point them out to him.

“Are these…what we are competing for, father?” He pointed. “Three hundred and…fifty gold pieces for the light-weight division. Five hundred gold pieces for the…medium-weight division.One thousand for the…heavy-weight, and…fifteen hundred gold pieces for the super-heavy weight division. Is that…a lot of coin?”

“Uh…in a sense, yes, and it also depends,” Alex said quietly, well aware of the excitement among the other competitors. He couldn’t blame them: for most of the students, monster hunters and others here, it was a lot of coin.

For the Alex Roth from last year, it was a fortune.

For the Alex Roth from today, it was basically pocket change.

Still, there was no reason to say that; it wouldn’t be right to start scoffing at the prize purses, like some rich snobby bastard from a bad play. The sort of character who always seemed to have more coin than most lords, and sneered at impoverished orphans who got into wizarding schools.

‘It’s weird how often those characters come up in different plays,’ Alex thought. ‘And they always seem to be sneering, don’t they? Who’d do that? Just spend all day sneering. I wouldn’t sneer at anyone! Unless they deserved sneering at. Like McHarris. He definitely deserves sneering at. I’d sneer at him like it was a competitive sport. Wait now…do I actually hate this random baker from Alric more than the Ravener? By the Traveller, I really do have issues.’

“Alex…” Theresa whispered. “Am I getting out of touch?”

He burst out laughing. “That’s what I was thinking about myself, earlier!”

“What? It’s not funny!” she said. “These prizes are more than my family makes in about ten years, and here I am wondering if it was worth entering the tournament again this year. I feel ungrateful.”

“Now you are starting to see my perspective.” Isolde smiled, her smugness palpable. “These prizes are fine for what they are: offerings for events that centre on fun, glory and entertainment, but they are hardly any life changing amounts of coin here—What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Isolde…a couple of handfuls of gold coin changed Lucia’s life,” Alex pointed out. “Completely.”

“True, but that is different.” She explained. “They were the seeds to a fortune, but it was her decisions and luck that utterly changed her life. Folk look at these prizes as though they are the fortune themselves. For many, they are. In my view? They might be the seed…or even less. I imagine that—for Khalik—the disparity is even more pronounced.”

“Yeah, that’s actually a good point,” Alex agreed.

Thundar snorted, shaking his head. “I swear, I’m also thinking the same way: I’m turning into you and Khalik. All this stuff is impressing me a hell of a lot less than it did last year.”

“Indeed,” Isolde said. “Coin begets coin: you three are now rowing in a river of gold.” She nodded with approval. With the way Alex is spending his coin building his businesses, it will likely be that the river will grow into an ocean of wealth with time.”

Her eyes fell on a massive chest filled with gold; the prize for the Grand Battle. “Even that sum seems unimpressive now, does it not?”

The sign below it showed the amount of coin in the chest.

22,500 gold pieces, a fraction of his regular income. He remembered asking if such an amount would have been enough to buy a castle last year…now, he was almost a little embarrassed he’d asked that question in the first place, but only a little. He was growing; he’d come to Generasi to learn, build his magic, power and fortune—after all—but he’d been very naive back then.

Khalik and Isolde had said it would barely be enough to afford a townhouse in Generasi, but now—being an owner of a townhouse in Generasi—he knew they were absolutely right: he’d only gotten his place at the low price that he had by way of blackmail and outwitting a bastard.

Last year, he’d told himself that he had to focus on acquiring the kind of wealth that the Watchers had on display here to impress the Generasi authorities. The more taken they were with him—and the more prominent of a figure he was—the less likely they’d toss him in a ship hold if his secret came out.

Now he’d actually outstripped what he’d hoped for, and even the tournament’s grand prize wasn’t impressive to him any more. Sometimes, he even wondered if—already—some folk in the city would step forward to defend him if the Thameish church demanded that he be returned to Thameland against his will.

But it paid to be cautious, at times, and he wasn’t quite ready to be exposed as the Fool of Thameland.

On a shelf above all the other prizes, was another chest holding fifteen thousand gold pieces. Rising from its centre was a wizard’s staff. The haft was pure platinum covered in glyphs, with a massive ruby, as big as one of Selina’s fists, fixed in a scrolling setting sitting on top. Alex examined the glyphs, finding enchantments for Fireball spells, Lightning Bolt, Cone of Frost, Wall of Stone, Flame Wall and Flame Scythe spells all built into them.

It was an expensive object, without question, costing more than the grand prize from the previous year, but it still didn't match an aeld staff made from the living enchanted branch the aeld tree had granted him. His staff was custom and customisable, and would bloom and grow well into the future.

“Hey Theresa, what’s the top prize for the Grand Land Hunt?” he asked her.

“Pretty much the same as last year: a quiver that never runs out of arrows and a hunting horn that can only be heard by people you want to hear it, to everyone else, it’s silent. And whoever hears it sees a clear image of whatever the person blowing the horn sees.”

“That’s actually not bad,” he said quietly, “that's something worth getting, even if we don’t win this year.”

She gave him a fierce look. “We will win.”

“Yeah, with all the practical training we get, you’re right. We will win…and I’ve got a plan for Wolud this year,” his eyes sparked.

“You know what’s real funny?” Thundar whispered. “Kybas is going to help us make more coin than these prizes are even close to being worth.”

Isolde rolled her eyes, but Theresa shook her head, astounded. “It’s incredible how much things can change in a year.”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Alex said, thinking about their deal with Kybas.

He’d staked twenty thousand gold for betting, a sum that would hurt—a little—if he lost it, but could potentially explode into a fortune if he won. It was worth taking the chance. With enough winnings, he’d be able to advance his plans for the shipping business, and speed up the timetable for buying another building.

He’d wanted to stake more, but twenty thousand was the betting limit for each event. Khalik had definitely grumbled about not being able to bet more, but Thundar and Theresa were nervous about losing that sum, so they’d only bet ten thousand gold apiece.

This year's Games would be a nice way to go out.

‘This’ll probably be the last year we’ll be competing,’ he thought. ‘Next summer, Isolde will have graduated and the rest of us will be getting ready to go into fourth year. I’ll probably be looking for information in the Irtyshenan Empire and we’ll be even more focused on the Ravener: so I doubt we’ll have time for the Games. And if we did enter and won, we’d be taking prizes from people who they’d mean a lot more to. Besides, it’s better if gambling doesn’t become a habit. Do it once? We probably won’t get caught. Do it again? People might start asking a lot of questions.’

“Well, I shall enjoy seeing the lot of us take a win. Truly, to me, the competition and honour will be worth more than the gold at this point,” Isolde said. “Winning the Grand Battle will be a most glorious crown jewel to my final summer as an undergraduate. So, come, let us enjoy some of the grounds before we meet up with Khalik.”

“Can we go see our stall first?” Selina asked. “You kept saying it was a surprise, Alex.”

“Yeah, that’s because it is.” He grinned. “It’s spectacular, and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise by revealing it before it was ready.”