Mark of the Fool
Chapter 595: Heels

“You sure this surprise you’ve got in mind for our competition is going to be enough?” Theresa asked Alex while walking alongside him, Brutus and Claygon.

“I can’t say that I’m a hundred percent certain, ‘cos that’d be a lie, but I’m real hopeful.” Alex strode beside her, gripping the aeld staff tightly. His mind was going through the different steps of his plan. Every part of it had to be executed to perfection if he wanted them to win the Great Land Hunt. This year, the competition was fierce.

All around, the woods and countryside were alive with activity as other hunting teams took their positions. A mix of skilled rangers, practised wizards and monster hunters spread out in groups. Some were accompanied by hounds and other beasts, while others had flying constructs or summoned monsters supporting their teams.

Most of the hunters looked anxious, glancing around with suspicion, tools and weapons held close.

“Anyone that was here last year, probably thinks that what happened last year might happen again.” Theresa commented on the hunters’ looking twitchy. “No one wants Ranier beating the rest of us in two seconds like he did last year. So, how sure are you that this will work?”

“Like I said, I can’t be positive, but I know it’ll be the best chance we’ve got against him,” Alex said.

“We…will win…” Claygon said. “Grimloch won the Great Water Hunt…and you won…the archery competition…Theresa…”

The huntress’ cheeks turned red as she smiled. “Well…those archers from the Divine Wind weren’t there this year, so that made it a lot easier.”

“Yeah, but you’re also better than you were last year,” Alex said. “I don’t think you should minimise your victory. You should bask in it, like Grimloch did.”

“...okay, maybe not exactly like Grimloch did,” Alex said sheepishly.

The sharkman had won the Great Water Hunt againthis year, but naturally, he hadn’t done so with even the tiniest bit of grace.

Even before the event had started, the towering sharkman had strutted around the starting boat, posing and grinning with glee as the other competitors glared daggers at him. Of course, he didn’t mind that at all, simply waving them over like a drunken brawler looking to start a fight in a tavern.

His antics had made the audience go crazy, some outright booed the sharkman, while others roared their approval and chanted his name, holding up handmade signs that featured a grinning shark’s head.

“Your brother has become the perfect heel,” Isolde had said.

“I know…” Nua-Oge had buried her face in her hands, shaking it in embarrassment.

“What’s a heel?” Selina had asked.

“It can mean a few different things, but in this context,” Isolde had explained. “It means a villainous competitor, one who is antagonistic without outright violating the rules of sportsmanship…though sometimes crossing those lines slightly.”

“Oh no!” Selina had said. “Then people won’t like Grimloch…wait.” She frowned, looking around at the crowd’s signs. Some even had little hearts drawn above Grimloch’s winking face. “Why do people look like they love him, then?”

Isolde had given Theresa and Nua-Oge a look, then sighed. “Some people like villains.”

“Yeah,” Thundar had said, looking at Alex. “I heard that the monster most wizards learn summoning for is the succubus, ain’t that right? Don’t get much badder than them.”

“Ah, let’s talk about that some other time,” Alex had said, though Thundar was actually right. But, he didn’t want Selina learning about succubi and what all of that meant until she was older. Much older.

“The point of the matter is that villains in sport can be exceedingly popular,” Isolde had said. “Many people want to root for the ‘bad guy’ as it were.”

“Well, if bad guys were as nice as Grimloch, I’d root for them too,” Selina had said.

“My little brother? ‘Nice’?” Nua-Oge had turned to Selina in shock. “I’ll have to tell him you said that. It might embarrass him…but for now, I think he’s about to try his hardest to prove you wrong.”

And Grimloch had done exactly that.

The sharkman had leapt into the water like a falling meteor the instant the starting bell had rung, rocketing after the colourful fish the competitors were supposed to catch.

Grimloch’s competition had been ready for the sharkman’s…aggressive tactics…and most had prepared accordingly. Some drank body enhancement potions, summoned ocean-diving beasts and wore protective armour to protect themselves from the giant beastman.

Unfortunately for them, the Grimloch from this year was not the same one as the Grimloch from last year.

Last year he was strong.

This year, he’d outdone himself; becoming tougher, faster and far more ferocious than ever before.

His bubbling laughter had filled the water as he clotheslined, head-butted and body checked his competition into floating, unconscious heaps. By the time the event was almost done, the remaining opponents were spending more time running from him, than looking for fish.

The audience had gone wild, boos and cheers filling the skies as he hoisted up his trophy and his new belt of strength enhancement. His top prize win had sent a grin exploding across his face that sparkled like sunlight striking the ocean’s surface. His victory dance was bold, boorish, confident, rude and utterly lacking in sportsmanship. It was like he was the champion…of the world.

If the event’s officials had a problem with any of it, they never said so, at least not to his face.

Theresa’s contest, on the other hand, had been far more reserved.

Archers had assembled on the field, preparing to strike their targets. Like in the previous year, contestants from all walks of life had come to test their skills in one of the greatest contests of marksmanship that was held anywhere around the Prinean sea.

There had been tall, long limbed bowmen that looked like they’d been training with warbows since they could stand. Swift-fingered elven archers clutched enchanted hunting bows, polished with runic script. Dwarves had handled strange contraptions made of steel and pulleys that looked more like machines than bows, and horse archers held bows with the skill of veterans who’d lived through a dozen wars.

Then, of course, Theresa had been there—looking every inch the huntress she was—handling her cherished bow strung with the glowing string she’d won last year.

Her weapon thrummed with power.

The bow Alex had gifted her for her birthday, had received upgrades—at one of Generasi’s finest weapons-workshops—enchanting its limbs with powerful magics that enhanced the distance that her arrows flew, the might of the bow’s shots, and the strength of its limbs.

Much like the transformation that had let her become a stronger, faster version of herself over the past year, her bow had grown deadlier and served as a fitting companion to the Twinblade.

And she had put it to good use.

The first competition was where both power and precision were tested: the line of archers had to strike their targets, which would then recede to the next station one hundred feet away, and stay there for the next shot. This repeated, moving by one hundred feet, station after station, testing the archers’ skills.

The previous year, Theresa had placed sixth after the first round, striking the outer ring of the bullseye at nine hundred feet. She’d lost points, which meant that there’d been five contestants narrowly ahead of her in points, at that stage.

This time, things were different.

A better bow and another year perfecting her skills in both combat and life enforcement had transformed her from a deadly huntress, to a supernatural one. Again and again, she’d hit the bullseye, launching precise shots with only a glance, a quick pull of the bowstring, and a heavy twang from the enchanted weapon.

Each arrow—as thick as three fingers—had pounded into her targets with the crack of a ballista bolt striking a tree, shaking them with each shot.

Selina, Alex and Claygon had chanted her name as she drove the target back, finishing the first round in second place; an elven archer had struck the bullseye at a thousand paces, his arrow landing in the second ring from the centre.

Yet, despite the elf’s slight lead, she’d remained calm.

Poised.

Ready to take down her prey.

Alex’s eyes were riveted to her in that moment, the sight of that death-stalker face had turned up his heartbeat.

The second contest had been a test of speed, challenging the competitors to hit as many moving targets as they could within a time limit.

Last year, this round had been the one that saw Theresa close the gap between her and the competition.

It was no different this year.

The round had quickly become a duel, pitting her and the elven archer, who'd bested her in the first round, against each other. The contest was tight, they'd loosed arrows so quickly, that each one blurred across the field, barely visible. The staccato impact of projectiles hitting their targets had been like a frenzied, drum beat, and—by the end of the round—the pair had released more arrows than an entire hunting party chasing a herd.

When the dust settled, Theresa had pulled ahead.

The final round was a test of power.

The goal was to fire an arrow through a stack of targets, testing how many it could pierce at one time.

Last year, the centaurs of the Divine Wind had run away with the round, their arrows crashing through five targets at a time.

Though the team was absent this year, there were lots of newcomers who could easily have challenged their supremacy in the power round.

Giant beastmen, and thick limbed-archers had sliced through four and five targets at a time. A couple of the stockier dwarves’ shots had punctured half a dozen targets in a row.

But none matched the powerhouse force behind Theresa’s arrows; the huntress’ shots blasted through targets like catapult stones through a wooden door, spiralling through seven and eight bullseyes at a time.

The elven archer—her closest competitor, who’d only managed to pierce the thickness of two targets—could only gape in awe as she unleashed what sounded like blows with the potency of a giant’s fist into the row of targets before her.

By the contest's end, not only had she taken the lead, but she’d retained it, winning top prize: the enchanted hunting horn was handed to her by a grinning announcer.

After the match was at an end and the prizes were handed out, she’d turned to her opponents, bowing her head to them in a sign of respect.

Yet, despite her show of good sportsmanship, Alex overheard some frightened looking audience members hissing the words ‘heel’ and ‘villainess’ to describe her; it seemed that good sportsmanship and respect had done nothing to quiet the pure terror that her death-stalker face caused some people.

It was the same face she now wore as Wolud Ranier and his party stepped through a gap in the treeline up ahead.

“There they are,” she whispered, looking the illusion mage up and down.

For his part, he was happily chatting away with his teammates, oblivious to the death-glare burrowing into his back as he stepped back into the trees, making conversation with his teammates as they made their way to their starting position.

Brutus let out a low growl.

“Steady,” Alex said, “save that energy for when the contest begins.”

After another minute or so of walking, Alex, Theresa, Brutus and Claygon arrived at their starting position in the woods. They were deep within the shadow of the trees, surrounded by the thickets that blocked them from view.

“This is a good place to start a hunt…or it would be if we weren’t pressed for time,” Theresa said. “We need to move fast if we want a chance at catching that spirit rolok. It’s fast, so as soon as it can, it’ll go still, then turn invisible.”

“We…will be fine, Theresa…believe in father’s plan…” Claygon said, looking down at Alex. “It…won’t be long before the contest starts, father…”

“Well, I think there’ll be enough time if I start right now,” Alex said. “Alright, Theresa, it’s time for operation ‘hoodwink Ranier’.”

With that, Alex lifted his aeld staff—it let out a giddy wave of glee—then brought it down, dramatically driving its butt into the earth.

‘Last year,’ Alex thought, using his and the Traveller’s power to reach across the planes, ‘You summoned a swarm of wizards’ eyes to find your quarry before anyone else could move, Ranier. Well, friend-o, let’s just say that two can play that game.’

And so Alex Roth began to summon.

With terrifying speed, an entire army of summons materialised around him: hellhounds, air elements, Aervespertillos, hound engeli and every other hunting monster he could conjure.

Then, he conjured the final piece to his little plan.

The air shimmered as his soul connected with the outer planes.

There was a tinkle of bells.

A swish of tails in the wind.

And a celestial fox appeared before him, gazing on his conjured minions with a look of surprise and amusement. “My, my, this is quite the assembly. What are we doing?”

Alex gave her an evil smile. “Hunting. And if you get the quarry? There’s some fine sweets in it for you.”

“My, my, my, my.” The celestial fox stretched. “Then we had better get started.”