Mark of the Fool
Chapter 577: Mad Stan's Fear

To reach Alex’s little surprise, he and his companions travelled through an ocean of pavilions and stands covering the tournament grounds. They squeezed through gathering crowds to get there under the bright, early morning sunshine. The Roth Family Bakery’s tent stood in an alley of food vendors—in a coveted spot near the centre of the festival.

Merchants from Generasi and far beyond hurried to organise their carts, pavilions, and stalls, calling to one another in dozens of languages that rang through the air, mixing with the aromas of grilling, frying, baking, and roasting foods. Alex caught snippets of conversation: the previous year, he’d promised to learn as many of those tongues as he could.

Now, he understood almost every word being spoken, and in times like this, he could only be thankful for the Mark.

He looked to a sky swarming with sky-ships, flying beasts, and sky-gondolas.

“Can you believe Lucia used to drive one of them?” He pointed at the small boats.

“Still can't believe she isn’t driving one anymore,” Thundar snorted. “Everything’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Isolde gazed upon the fairground. “Both with us, and our surroundings: it seems that people are giving their all this year.”

“Yeah.” Selina watched a moving painting on the side of a vendor’s stand. “Last year, most of the stalls looked amazing. Some were decorated so beautifully… but I think they look even better this year.” She looked up at Alex. “Will our bakery’s booth stand out?”

He grinned at Claygon. “You could say that.”

Confusion bled through the link with his golem. “What…is it…father?”

“You’ll seeeee,” Alex sang, rounding the corner of a thoroughfare.

“Wow!” Selina cried as their tent met her eyes.

Claygon stopped, shock flooding through their link. “…I can’t believe it.”

“It seemed fitting,” Alex said softly.

The Roth Family Bakery’s pavilion was painted in bright reds and forest greens—like summer and fall dancing together—decorated with murals of pastries that looked real enough to leap into a passerby’s mouth.

Using the Mark, Alex had spent nights surrounded by a swarm of Wizard’s Hands, all holding palettes and paint brushes, creating the delectable looking images with delicate strokes.

Yet, as spectacular as those images were, they weren’t what caught the most attention. High above the booth, illusions—as large as they could be within the rules and bylaws of the Generasian Fairs and Festivals Commission—depicted a certain golem in triumph.

Claygon flexed on top of a podium in the middle of an arena. Another depicted the golem battling Vesuvius during last year’s finals. And another showed Claygon juggling iron golems like they weighed no more than feathers.

In each image, one of the mighty golem’s four arms stuffed his face with pastries as he triumphed over his foes. But, the biggest illusion of all featured him holding huge baskets overflowing with hot, steaming bread in the palms of his lower arms.

His upper hands held a sign that read: Roth Family Bakery, and already, the lineup stretched down the alley, spilling over into line-ups for other stalls.

“Does the line for gyros start here?” someone would ask.

“No, no I’m waiting for the bakery,” someone would answer.

“Have you already been served?” a meatball fryer asked a family in front of his stand.

“No, sorry, we’re not in line for here, we’re waiting for the bakery,” a mother apologised.

If looks could kill, many in the alley would be dead; vendors stalked through their stands, hovering over food like irritated gargoyles, throwing Troy dirty looks as he and his team took goodies from portable ovens as soon as they were ready and plated them for hungry clients.

“By the Traveller, that smells so good,” Selina sniffed the delicious aroma coming from their booth.

“Wait, didn’t you just eat?” Thundar pointed out.

His belly growled.

Selina looked at it smugly. “Didn’t you?”

The minotaur shrugged, rubbing his belly, “I’m bigger than you, I need more food.”

“And I’m still growing.” Selina smiled, rubbing her belly in turn.

“Well, well, well,” Isolde’s smile was both pleased and cat-like as she strolled toward the stand. “Are we intent on making enemies today, Alex?”

“We are,” he said simply, enjoying the whispers of the crowd as they parted before him and Claygon. “You can’t build an empire without annoying somebody along the way.”

His grin widened as another vendor muttered curses at him in her mother tongue.

“Or, y’know, driving people into a murderous rage.”

“Why…did you use…my image for the booth…father?” Claygon asked.

“Because you’re supremely cool.” The Thameish wizard clapped his golem on the arm. “And you make a great sales-mascot. Honestly, I thought about putting some of Sinope’s friends on the sign, but it felt a little…”

“Exploitive?” Theresa offered.

“Yeah, that’s the word. Besides, Claygon is much cooler than any dryad. But, don’t tell Khalik I said that.”

“Huh, well would you look at that?” Theresa peered at the line in front of their booth.

“Oh, he’s right there, isn’t he?”

“No, no. Look. It’s an old friend.” The huntress nodded toward a familiar figure.

Mad Stan—the bear wrangler—hadn’t changed much since the previous year, and Alex had a sneaking suspicion that he probably hadn’t changed much in a very, very long time.

He still gave off the impression that…well, that he was a little off.

Which was why it almost hurt a little when he looked up as they approached, with a look of panic on his face.

“H-hello there!” he hailed them, waving anxiously. “I-it’s good to see you back in the tournament!”

“You remember us!” Selina called cheerily.

As they approached, folk began to whisper. Wide-eyed children pointed at Claygon and Brutus.

Warriors eyed Theresa and Thundar.

Students whispered, watching Isolde.

And most watched Alex.

“How could I not remember you?” Mad Stan said. “A lot of these vendors’ve been goin’ on about you since last night!”

The young Thameish wizard cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

“Yeah, what the heck have you been doing this past year?” he demanded. “Folk talked up your bakery like some Divine Chef had descended from the heavens with blessed baked goods for the masses. People were gossiping about how lots of goods coming into Generasi are handled by a new company that you have something to do with, and that’s been using golems for labour. Then I hear folk sayin’ that something’s going on in Thameland, of all places, where some of you are from.”

He scratched his head. “It’s like all of you are suddenly at the centre of a lot of things. So, I thought I’d come see for myself if at least the bakery rumour was true.”

“It is,” Alex said confidently. “As you’ll find out soon enough. Hey, how’re the bear-mammoths doing?”

That panicked look crossed Stan’s face again. “They’re…fine…” he said slowly, looking around as though monsters were about to leap out from nearby corners. “Say, is that big sharkman friend of yours coming back to wrassle?”

Alex and Thundar burst out laughing.

“Probably not,” the minotaur grinned. “I think he’s moved on.”

“Yeah, moved on to…bigger fish,” Alex doubled over with laughter. Thundar joined him.

Selina, Theresa and Isolde gave them disgusted looks, but they didn’t seem to care.

“Well, better bigger fish than my bear-mammoths.” Mad Stan wiped his forehead.

“Speaking of them,” Alex finally managed to stop laughing long enough to speak. “Are you competing again, Stan? I remember you were in the light-weight and super-heavyweight divisions last year.”

“Yep, I’m competing again,” he said, looking at Claygon. “Even though I don’t like my chances against your golem.” He squinted, looking discouraged. “Aw, heck, he’s evolved hasn’t he?”

“I…have.”

“Gah!” Stan recoiled as though a mana vampire just flew at him. “You can talk now?”

“I…can talk…I have a mind. I can’t wait…to experience the duels…now that I…am aware of things,” the golem told him.

“Oh great, so you evolved from clay to stone, and you can think too. I’m dead in the super-heavyweight competition! Dead!” he sighed. "And with that damned rules change too."

"What rules change?" Selina asked.

"Oh did I not tell you?" Alex said. "Apparently, there was a big lobby after last year to try and get the rules evened out between proxies that are familiars and ones that are not. Something about 'rampaging turtles' and such. So, now this year—for the first time ever—everyone's allowed to cast spells on their fighters. We just can't cast spells on our opponents' fighters unless our proxy is a familiar. Then we can cast through them."

"It means...father can cast spells on me..." Claygon said.

"That's great" Selina cried.

"For your brother, maybe," Stan said mournfully. "Makes us familiar-slingers lose an advantage. S'unfair if'y'ask me, but I'm biased. And I don't make the rules! Well, super-heavyweight's done for me." A hopeful look crossed his face.

“But there’s still the lightweight, at least!” His eyes took on a sly twinkle. “I taught Yo-boo a few new tricks since last year: he’s smarter than the average bear-mammoth, afterall! Say, is your friend with the fancy bird coming back to duel this year?”

“Oh yes,” Alex said. “And he’s taught the fancy bird a few new tricks too.”

Khalik did have new tricks, and Alex had a pretty good feeling the competition wouldn’t be prepared for skills honed against hordes from hell. The Thameish wizard was sitting in the stands, waiting for the Duel by Proxy to start with Thundar, Theresa, Brutus, Selina, Claygon, Isolde, Hogarth and Svenia.

A VIP box was nearby where Khalik’s parents, Roba and Sinope sat, along with a small number of important members of the Generasi upper class. Tekezashi royal guards, wearing plainclothes sat around them, blending in with the rest of the audience.

They watched the crowd like hawks, though—much like last year—there were quite a few empty seats throughout the stands. No matter how much the Generasi council and the Watchers marketed lighter weight challengers facing each other in the Duel by Proxy, those fights were never as popular as the heavier weights. To many spectators, a contest of small monsters wasn’t as exciting as a bombastic duel between titans.

Alex glanced at Claygon, speaking to him mentally. ‘So, buddy, do you have any memories of this place from last year? Anything at all?’

His link was silent for a moment, before the golem’s words finally came through. ‘It feels familiar…but the memory…I can’t place it. I don’t have any images or sounds that make me remember this place…but I still feel something.’

‘That’s alright buddy,’ Alex thought. ‘You’ll make new memories this year then, and hopefully, they’ll be good ones. Speaking of good things, you sure you’re not uncomfortable?’

The golem crouched in a manner similar to how Alex had seen Tarim-Lungite students squat when taking a break, perfectly balanced and perfectly still.

‘I…do not feel physical discomfort…father,’ Claygon assured him. ‘I’m made of stone. Even when I crack, I don’t…feel pain…Which is…good. You have to suffer with pain… I wish you…and our friends…didn’t have to.”

‘Sometimes pain tells us something that other things can’t, but it’s a nice thought, Claygon,’ Alex replied. ‘And I’m glad you’re aware of everything this year. Let’s give you some memories. Good ones.’

Ahead, the illusionary screens shifted away from the battlefield to focus on the announcer rising into the air. Alex recognised him, he was the same one from last year: a broad fellow wearing a long cape and bright clothing. He inhaled a deep breath, and roared a greeting, his voice magically augmented to reach the entire crowd.

“Gentlefolk! Today we bring you a death defying event! A battle of beasts, magic, and the wit of wizard versus wizard! In ancient times, archmages would often resolve disputes by duelling each other through proxies! Chosen champions, summoned spirits, golems, bewitched beasts and more, would engage each other in vicious combat as stand-ins for mighty wizards who could tear entire realms asunder in a dispute! Today, we bring you this ancient contest by way of sport and spectacle! Let’s hear your cheers for the champions you see before you, and their chosen companions!”

“It begins.” Queen Ishtar clapped. “Do you think he will win again?”

“I don’t doubt him,” Sinope said. “Khalik is mighty.”

“He is,” King Aksuma agreed, “as is his familiar.”

“Very good, very good! Stay ready people, it’s going to be quite the show!” the announcer shouted. “The combatants in this elimination tournament are hungry for victory, glory and the waiting prize! These are the rules! There will be three rounds in each match!”

He held up three fingers.

“In each round, each competitor is awarded a maximum of ten points by three judges. Most rounds will likely end in a score of 10 to 9, with the advantage going to the more dominant duelist. Each time a combatant is knocked down, they lose a point for that round. For each time they are pinned, they lose two points for that round! If a contestant is knocked out, or if someone surrenders, the battle ends! If both contestants make it to the end of all three rounds, then the one with the highest score at the end of all three rounds takes the battle! No spells or potions can be used on a familiar outside of a round. For those who cast spells through their familiars, any ongoing spells must be dismissed at the end of each round. Make sure to preserve that mana!”

He took another deep breath. “And now we begin with a rematch of rematches! A former champion! I call Khalik Behr-Medr!”

Alex gripped his seat, remembering the coin he’d bet on his friend, hoping the power and skill the prince had gained over the last year was enough to score another win. But, even he had no idea of the level of hell that was awaiting his friend’s challengers.

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