Mark of the Fool
Chapter 625: Explosion

The song was driving Carey nearer to madness.

When she’d first found herself in this prison that her kidnappers were much too fond of calling her ‘room,’ her thoughts had been jumbled, her mind too full of questions to notice much of anything but them. Now, she couldn’t shut the grating song out. It was all she could think about; that, and getting out of there. Even rain pounding on the village rooftops beneath the darkening clouds of an evening sky—couldn’t drown it out.

It was an endless hymn to Uldar, repeating, constantly drifting through the walls.

Sometimes the voices changed.

Sometimes the words changed.

But the song itself never did, droning on and on in a loop, seemingly designed to drive her to madness.

To her, it felt like these priests were giving her a preview of her funeral dirge.

The young woman was pacing the room—her cell, in fact—trying to find a way out.

“I am such a fool,” she criticised herself. “Spending all my time at school in prayer, alchemy, and my other studies, while Alex and his friends were off challenging monsters from all over the planes.”

She muttered under her breath. “I could use some of their resourcefulness ever so much right now. By the Traveller, how did damsels escape their prisons in the old tales?”

As far as she could remember, most didn’t.

They normally waited for some charming and beautiful knight to ride up to their prison on an impossibly swift and mighty charger, ready to slay all witches, dragons or Ravener-spawn that had captured them, then whisk them back to the safety of their homes, churches, or marriage beds, depending on how bawdy the tale was.

On occasion, they would escape on their own, but that was usually thanks to hidden skills the storytellers would cleverly reveal at the last moment.

“The evil wizard thoughthe’d captured a defensive fawn, but he’d stolen a mighty sorceress instead! And his magic was no match for hers!” she remembered one such story told on her tenth birthday, right after she’d told her parents that she wanted to become a wizard in her own right.

There were other such tales where the helpless damsels revealed themselves as clever warriors in disguise, or masked thieves who slew, or lock-picked their way out of trouble.

Other age-old tales had Uldar descending from the heavens to smite a dragon, or bless the captive with enough fantastic, supernatural strength to snap a witch’s back.

Unfortunately, Carey was neither warrior or rogue, Uldar was nowhere to be found, nor would he likely be too sympathetic to her plight.

As for her magic?

The glyphs on the bars stopped mana from flowing through her, the same way they did in Generasi. It was obvious that these villains had experience capturing and imprisoning wizards.

Which left her with one option.

“You need your bag,” she whispered. “You need it, Carey. If you can get—” She paused, quickly glancing around. Uldar songs travelled through the stone walls of this place as clear as a bell, so why wouldn’t her voice?

Maybe there was a spy sitting just down the hallway—out of sight— eavesdropping on anything she said.

‘Get your bag,’ she thought. ‘Professor Jules assigned you with testing a chaos bomb on a live dungeon in the wild to see how the explosion would react with the mana of an untouched living dungeon core and its unique mana. The timer’s attached, there’s a winged construct with it to deploy, if you could get to it, you could set it, blow these horribly, nasty people to bits, then be on your way home!’

She smiled at the thought. ‘Wouldn’t that be terribly exciting? You could strike a blow against these enemies and be off to the Research Castle in time for…time for…time for what, Carey?’

Her enthusiasm began to fade. ‘Where exactly are you? Where is this place? You know you’re in some natural stone setting, the woods outside the village look like you’re probably still in Thameland…but where? You’ve only learned the beginnings of combat magic. You’d simply get lost and die.’

She shook her head. ‘No, Carey! Stop being the miserable coward that you are! Think: you know some combat magic, you’ve studied maps of Thameland and learned at least one flight spell. You know how to get on in the wilderness since you spend so much time there with the expedition, and you’re a wizard! A wizard! And the Traveller went out of her way to protect you. If you get out of here, you will find a way home! You simply must! Now, how do I escape from—’

A gentle tapping came from the door.

“Carey?” Merzhin’s hoarse whisper called her name.

Gasping, she hurried over, finding the Saint peering through the bars.

“Carey, are you alright?” he said softly. “Have they treated you well?”

“No, Merzhin, they have not treated me bloody well!” she snapped. “If they had treated me well, wouldn’t I be free and not locked up in here like some lab specimen? Or maybe we should just call me what I am, a prisoner!”

He winced. “They’re not all bad, you know.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell that to the bloody goons standing behind you, they might let me out.”

She paused.

There were no goons behind him.

That dangerous looking old man—the one who’d pulled her through solid stone—was nowhere to be seen, and the hard-eyed women who’d flanked him weren't there either. She craned her neck, peering down the hallway as far as she could, but found no one lurking there. The only sound that met her ears were the voices raised in song, repeating their praise to Uldar.

“Where are you shadows?” she asked, her suspicion obvious.

“I said I needed to be alone for a time,” he said quickly, glancing down the hallway on either side of himself. It had been a warm day, but the sweat running down his wan face was excessive. He had a wild look around his eyes. His breathing came shallow and quick. “I told them I needed time for contemplation and…well, to get my thoughts in order, then I used the chance to slip away.”

“And…there were no guards about?” she asked, her suspicions growing.

“None,” he said. “There weren’t any when I was down here the first time either. This place is holy, Carey, it isn’t a prison from a fairy tale. There aren’t any jailers here with more keys on their iron rings than teeth in their heads.”

“Really?” Carey said. “And you weren’t followed?”

“I checked many times,” he said. “Eldin can glide through stone like water, but I prayed to Uldar to warn me if there were any threats around.”

“And do you think Uldar would consider him a threat?” she asked archly.

“I…listen, I just needed to see you alone; Carey, I need your help,” he begged.

“You need my help?” she scoffed. “Merzhin, I’m the one in a prison cell while you totter about free—and unguarded. One of us does need help, and it’s me! I’m the one who needs it!”

He winced. “Maybe I deserve that,” he whispered. “But I can’t sort my thoughts out. You’ve seen this place through your window, haven’t you? Surely you can’t deny how wondrous it is!”

“I’m sorry, the iron bars spoil the view ever so slightly,” she muttered.

But Merzhin hardly seemed to notice. “But…is it right that those blessed to live in this place, enjoying Uldar’s grace, never leave to help our soldiers and others suffering out there. Carey, when Uldar walked the earth, he helped us. He aided his people.”

“Merzhin…” she said, her anger fading.

“And even when he left, he gave us…the Heroes! He gave his priests power and told them to protect and guide the land. He had us build schools in our churches: he gave us priests to teach us: he wanted his people to read and learn how to do sums and thrive! He wanted us to have bountiful harvests and forests filled with game. He gave all of that to us, he gave so much to us, and I have given so much in his name. But these people…they give too, in their own way…and they say their secret duty is important, but couldn’t they at least help our people in secret?”

Carey couldn’t speak.

The words had died on her lips.

She could see it in his eyes; the same horrified struggle she’d felt as her faith was shaken.

“Uldar is grand and perfect,” he continued. “But…people are flawed. What if these people are deeply flawed? What if…what if they’re not following Uldar properly? Remember the Parable of the Greedy Priest? The one who took tithes and simply used them to live like a false king? He was struck down for his sin! Could these people not be the same? Carey, you’re my friend…maybe my only friend in this world! Uldar’s not answering me, even here; please, help me!”

Carey London swallowed, glancing at the window.

Judging by the light, she figured there was about two or three more hours of light before twilight fell.

“Merzhin, I can’t help you. Not from this cell.” She gripped the bars. “We need to get out of here. We need to think and contemplate away from this place. We need to leave.”

“I…maybe,” he said. “I could ask them if they would place you under my protection, then we could go—”

“Merzhin, do you know what they said to me when I first woke up?” she looked deep in his eyes. “They told me I will never leave this place alive.”

He startled, his hand covering his mouth. “They said that?”

“They said they would either kill me if I didn’t cooperate, or I would join their order after they learned my truths,” she said. “Do those sound like the words of good people?”

“Don’t ask me that!” He recoiled. “I have too many thoughts going through my mind right now! I don’t know what to think, Carey, I just don’t! They talk about Uldar’s divine will…and to serve that is to serve our ultimate purpose. If they need to protect Uldar, then…”

“Do you know that?” She pressed her forehead to the bars. “Merzhin, look at me.”

He looked away.

“Will you just bloody well look at me!” she snapped.

Sheepishly, the young man’s eyes met hers.

“Merzhin. You are the holiest man in all of Thameland. Even the First Apostle said that in some ways, you are even closer to Uldar than he is.”

“H-he said that?”

“He did. So you get to decide if this feels right to you. There is no scripture that says that these people are doing Uldar’s will. The First Apostle says that he talks to Uldar, but how do you know that? Have you heard Uldar’s voice here? What does Merzhin think of this place? What do you think of what’s happened? What do you feel? Search your heart. Pray to Uldar if that’s what you want. Pray to any Saints of the past. Find what your soul is telling you. What doyou think?”

With that, she’d placed her trust in him.

She knew that Merzhin was good.

He was a good person.

And she was betting their lives on that inner goodness.

The slight young man was silent, staring at his feet, and—in that moment—he looked so much like a lost child that she wished someonecould just wrap their arms around him. At the same time, though, she watched the shadows, looking for any movement in the growing dark.

She couldn’t deny the possibility that someone had followed him. Or, that he was working with the First Apostle and Izas to get her to say things that she didn’t want to.

But for now, there was nothing else she could do but pray to the Traveller that Merzhin was still on her side.

Finally, he looked up.

“Even if I wanted to give us some time away from these people,” he said slowly. “I don’t have the key to let you out.”

She actually laughed. “Merzhin. You’re the Saint of Uldar. Do you mean to tell me that Behemoths and Blood-Hydras can’t stop you…but a locked door can?”

He winced, turning red. “I—I could do away with the door! But I’m not keen on using Uldar’s gifts before I’m sure whether his will lies with these people or not.”

“I'll tell you what,” she said. “If you choose wrong? May he strike me down instead. Come now, we need to get away from here.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright.”

His mouth opened, ready to say something else.

Shadows moved behind him.

Something in the stone. Something fast.

His eyes grew wide. He began to turn.

Carey began to scream.

But it was too late.

There was a glint of steel and—

The entire escarpment of Uldar’s Rise suddenly groaned, shuddering down through its core. A deafening blast erupted, shattering peace in the once tranquil village as a darkening day lit up like noontime.

The shadow froze.

Thunderous roars rolled through the air around him, chilling souls like an angry god’s wrath.

“Attack!” a voice screamed. “We’re under attack!”

Another blast confirmed those words.

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