Mark of the Fool
Chapter 617: Shadow over Luthering

Sir Sean Swift had been awake for so long that he could mark the number of nights since he’d last seen his bed on most of the fingers of one hand. Sunrise after sunrise had found him sleepless, and worried.

But, that was the way of things lately.

“Sir Swift, you must have your rest,” the soldier’s voice couldn’t hide her concern.

“Not until this is done!” Theknight barked, his irritation plain.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he forced his wavering eyes to focus on the forest path ahead. Morning light bled through the canopy as the third sunrise since he’d last slept slowly rose on the horizon.

The shadows were deep.

But the hunt couldn’t wait.

“In every report of a sighting of these clawed monsters we hear that they’re getting closer to Luthering,” he said. “Foreign battle mages are stationed in a town that lies under my protection, so, how can I sleep if others are pushing so hard?”

His hands tightened on the reins. “How can I sleep when the Saint of Uldar is missing?”

Nearly three days had passed since St. Merzhin had disappeared alongside a young Thameish woman who was working with the Generasians.

The entire realm had been turned upside down, with every able-bodied man and woman—from the lowliest soldier to the king himself—mobilised to find the missing Hero.

Sir Swift was no exception; for days now, northern battalions had reported sightings of strange, clawed Ravener-spawn. Unnervingly humanoid creatures, never before seen in any bestiary that the knight knew of.

He’d been told that identical creatures had attacked the Generasian’s Research Castle in the north last winter.

“A Fool is expendable,” Father McDowell, one of Sir Swift’s closest spiritual advisors, said. “But a Saint? A Saint is the Heroes’ greatest healer. Chances of past Hero parties surviving was always much lower if their Saint was injured or killed.”

“We know,” Sir Swift said. “And that is why he must be found. If there are strange monsters heading toward Luthering? I won’t rest until I lay my eyes, and my blade on them.”

“Sir Swift, we won’t be much good to anyone if you collapse,” one of his rangers said. “You must rest.”

“The scouts are due to return soon,” the commander said, pushing aside a branch hanging over the path. “If we—”

A woman suddenly shouted from ahead.

“Commander! There’s something over here!” she called. “Follow my voice!”

The knight recognised his scout-captain’s voice.

“Forward!” he ordered, drawing his sword and spurring his mount ahead.

The charger thundered through the woods, leading the column of soldiers behind him.

Alba’s voice continued calling through the trees, bringing the warriors to a clearing of thick brush and undergrowth.

And nothing more.

No sign of Alba. No sign of the scouts who were with her. No sign of anything but a clearing dotted with vegetation.

“What’s going on?” Sean murmured, bringing his horse up short, skidding to a halt.

Standing in the clearing, soldiers on horseback—and three mounted priests—formed a circle around him, eyes scanning the surrounding trees, hands hovering over weapons. Wide eyed horses snorted nervously, steam rising from flaring nostrils.

“I could’ve sworn her voice was coming from here,” Father McDowell said, gripping his flanged mace. Sweat trickled down the priest’s deeply, lined face.

“Alba, where are you?” Swift called, squinting through the early dawn light. He guided his horse forward at a slow pace. “Alb—”

A squelching noise came from the forest floor as the horse trod on something wet.

Its ears flicked back and forth.

Sir Swift looked down.

Beneath the mount’s hoof, glistening remains belonging to his scout-captain oozed. Part of a gauntlet was all that identified her.

His heart thundered.

“Ambu-”

But the word came too late.

A dark shape sprang at the party, landing squarely in McDowell’s saddle. The Hunter’s head shot forward, bared fangs clamping on the shocked man’s neck, throwing him to the ground. The priest's strangled cries turned to gurgling, then stillness.

In a blur, the monster’s talons struck out on either side of the priest’s mount, splitting the faces of the two priests that once flanked the elderly cleric.

The tang of iron rose through the early morning air and within heartbeats, Sir Swift’s priests were dead.

Then the other monsters came.

They moved through the undergrowth like phantoms.

Some leapt from the trees.

All bore claws that slashed like blades.

The exhausted knight tried to fight back, but the ambush came too fast, and these monstrous opponents were too vicious to stop. Claws split muscle. Envenomed teeth punctured flesh. Heavy fists smashed bone though it was covered in muscle and chainmail.

Panicked cries, both human and equine, tore the air as the Thameish troops fought to live.

All vestiges of Sir Swift’s exhaustion fled, and the knight fought with the fury of a rabid wolf. His sword swiped all around, delivering strokes that in past, had ended scores of Ravener-spawn.

But these creatures were made of sterner stuff.

The edge of his blade recoiled from hardened hide, or missed the nimble creatures as they darted by, killing with impunity.

“Damn all of you!” he screamed, gripping the reins of his rearing steed. “For Luthering!’

The knight readied for what would be his last stand against the enemy of his realm and god.

His horse, however, had other ideas.

The terrified beast squealed as claws slashed its flank, then reared and bolted from the clearing, galloping for dear life. Other mounts followed, hooves churning bloodied soil, eyes wide with terror. Their riders–those who still lived—could only cling to their reins, praying for escape.

“Back!” Sir Swift demanded. “Turn back!”

But the frightened beast kept running, no matter how hard the commander tugged its reins. The knight looked back, watching as his warriors were slaughtered at the fangs and claws of these creatures that only dispensed death.

With eyes facing his dying troops, Sean never saw the tree branch hanging over the path. The back of his helmet struck it with such force, that his neck nearly snapped.

Consciousness fled, and the last thing he heard was the churning of hooves, and the screams of the dying.

The Hunter, known as Singer, swallowed a hunk of flesh from the leg of a human who’d been slain minutes before.

It licked its lips, watching other humans flee into the trees on the backs of beasts of burden. The monster made no effort to give chase, instead it snarled, mimicking a grin and facing a nearby tree. “It is done, leader.”

There came a tremendous racket, like something enormous shifting through the branches as Butcher appeared, dissolving its invisibility while it eyed the fleeing humans. “The trap is set. So, where are the Usurpers?”

“Close,” Singer said. “I feel two close by. They will come to investigate and then they will die.”

“Good, all is going well then,” Butcher said, satisfied. “I will meet with the others and wait. When the time is right…we strike.”

“A sighting in Luthering?” A troubled Professor Jules repeated.

“Yes, professor,” the Watcher said. “A band of Sean Swift’s troops were annihilated this morning. We had Watchers combing the forest, but there was no sign of any Ravener-spawn.”

“It appears the creatures are waiting for their real targets.” Professor Jules took the far-speaker from her robe and pressed the activation rune. “Mr. Roth, can you hear me?”

There was a crackle, then the young wizard’s voice came through. “I can hear you, professor. Any updates?”

“Yes,” she said. “The soldiers in Luthering were attacked. After all the sightings, the enemy has finally made their move.”

“So, the jaws of the trap open.” Alex’s voice was clear, sounding older. “Is the deleo at the Research Castle yet?”

“Yes,” Professor Jules said. “She arrived about an hour ago.”

“Good. Then it’s time for a trap of our own.”

It was late afternoon by the time they were ready.

Alex had gathered everyone back at the Research Castle to fill them in on the details of the plan. The deleo from Generasi—a towering woman in black robes and an iron mask who went by the alias of Reaper—was key to his plan, and he’d explained her role very carefully.

“So, you’re saying I must be ready to shoot at the exact coordinates you indicate?” she’d asked.

“Yes,” he’d confirmed, “and you can’t afford to miss, or we’ll have a huge explosion on our hands.”

“I don’t miss,” she’d assured him from behind her mask.

They’d met with his full team: Khalik, Isolde, Thundar, Theresa, Claygon, Grimloch, Brutus, Hogarth, Svenia, Hart, Drestra, Cedric, a half dozen Watchers of Roal, and Tyris and Vesuvius.

A devastating force was assembled and ready: the experienced team had enough powerful members to fight and cover each other’s backs, while being a small enough force to be teleported with ease to where they needed to be.

Once everyone was ready, Alex transported them from the Research Castle in a series of jumps, taking them across Greymoor in groups of five or more at a time.

They took position in the hills outside the forests near Luthering, far enough not to be discovered by anyone lurking in the trees, but close enough to be ready for the next stage of their plan.

From there, he’d teleported Drestra and himself, the two flying through the skies above the woods.

Alone.

“You’re handy with that,” the Sage said, letting go of his hand and eyeing the forest below. “The power that lets you teleport, I mean.”

The Sage and the Fool floated a hundred feet above the tallest trees.

“I’m getting better at it too,” he said grimly, raising his staff. “But I wish I was better. We’re going to need every resource, tool, and ounce of power we can muster: whatever’s happening right now, is big.”

“Well, the enemy finally made their move,” her voice crackled.

Alex’s aeld staff began to glow.

“Ya, they took the initiative,” he said, conjuring a flock of aervespertillos. “And we have to take it back.”

He sent the summoned monsters out over the trees, their screeching calls echoing through the sky. If there were any Ravener-spawn hiding in the woods—or under invisibility—they would find them.

“Five of them,” Drestra said, counting his monsters.

“Enough to scout around us,” he said. “But not enough to drive the enemy away. If we brought an entire army—”

“—they might not attack us,” she finished. “I know, I know, you already explained your reasoning, and I agree, it’s sound.”

“Sorry. I know, but I guess I’m just nervous,” he said, moving forward. His eyes—sharpened by a sensory enhancement potion—scanned the forest below. “I’m not worried about me, but if we don’t figure this out fast, Carey and Merzhin could be dead. Maybe they already are. And I don’t want anything happening to you, either.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m worried about me too, but…well…” he paused, trying to control a tremor in his voice. “I’m too mad to think about myself much. Anyway, let’s focus up. What we’re doing is risky, so we need to be on high alert.”

He took in the woods from above.

“If I’m right, they’re already watching us.”

Baker watched the Usurpers through a tree canopy, its mouth open and drooling with anticipation.

It had worked. Two Usurpers were now within grasp.

“I see the Sage,” Miller said from nearby. “But who is the other?”

“I don’t know,” Baker answered. “I have not seen that one before, but…do you feel that?”

“I do,” Butcher growled. “There is a power in him…a familiar one. One that causes…worry.”

“Yesssss, it is familiar somehow,” Miller growled. “We will have to strike swiftly.”

“But, do we kill them?” Butcher asked. “This is a ripe opportunity…they came without many reinforcements. Those small monsters are few, and can be easily eliminated.”

“But their cries…” Miller’s eyes followed the aervespertillos. “There is something about them, something similar to our own voices.”

“We should be wary of them, but the Usurpers must be captured,” Butcher growled. “No. The Sage will be captured. The other? The other will be turned to stone and shattered. That power feels strange. We must lower our risks.”

“Yes,” Baker said. “We—”

Suddenly, one of the small creatures released a different cry.

“There you are!” the male Usurper shouted, pointing his staff downward.

He conjured swarms of flying insect-like creatures, sending them into the trees.

The Sage cast a spell and suddenly multiplied, becoming nine copies of herself, circling one another in the air.

“They see ust!” Butcher cried. “Activate the dungeon core!”

Miller hissed, concentrating on the dungeon they’d formed below ground.

The earth rumbled, ground churned, then split apart.

Hundreds of blood-draks swarmed from hidden tunnels, soaring into the air.

Alex watched the ground rupture with a cold detachment.

“Just as expected,” he said. “Looks like they’re using similar tactics to what they used at the Research Castle. Those Hunters and petrifying things will probably try and kill the two of us in all the confusion…But, we’ll see who kills who. C’mon, it's time to get the others.”

He touched Drestra and—together—they disappeared.