Mark of the Fool

Chapter 896: Aftermath

Chapter 896: Aftermath

“Well, looks like it’s stopped.” Thundar pointed. “See?”

At long last, the Ravener’s remains had stopped flooding the floor of the chamber. Most of the enormous cavern was filled with black dust; the remains of the terror that had reigned over Thameland for millenia. Even the lake was saturated with them.

“All that stuff’s got to be worth a fortune!” Thundar rubbed his hands together.

“We’ll split it among the lot of us,” Alex grinned. “We might as well get some good from it.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Bjorgrund asked, looking at Alex sharply. “I wouldn’t know what to do with any of it.”

“Don’t worry, if any of you don’t want Ravener-remains, I can buy your portion from you, or use it to make magic items or golems that I could sell, then give you some of the profit, …after a small fee for my labour, of course.”

“That sounds good to me, and you sound like a real merchant,” Bjorgrund said.

“No, no, no, my young friend, he's trying to rip you off!” Thundar said quickly, waving his hands at the giant. “Ask him how ‘small’ this fee would be! Next thing you know, this bastard’ll be grinning at you as he hands you three silver coins for your trouble while he’s saying, Oh, sorry friend, after my fee, this is all that’s left, terribly sorry! I could just hear him now, saying how sorry he was without a hint of apology showing in his eyes! None!”

Alex started laughing, his whole body shaking. He was in a good mood, a very good mood. “Come on, Thundar, I wouldn’t rip Bjorgrund off… he’s not you.”

“Actually, speaking of doing things with remains…” Drestra’s voice crackled. She had returned to human form and was pointing at the deific body lying on a pile of Ravener-spawn corpses. “What do we do with him?”

The group fell silent.

After their initial celebration, they’d turned to cleaning up, picking up arrows and going through Ravener-spawn corpses, searching for any pieces of equipment they’d dropped during the battle. Hannah had gone, leaving them behind while she went to Thameland where scores of wounded fighters needed healing, but she’d promised she would see them later.

The rest of the group was scattered across the lair, they had paused at Drestra’s words, and were now looking at the god’s body.

Uldar’s form lay splayed across a pile of Ravener-spawn corpses, thrown aside and almost forgotten.

No one had considered it or even thought to pick it up after Theresa had dumped it there earlier.

“I’d eat it,” Grimloch rumbled. “But that poison in it wouldn’t be tasty at all.”

“Aye, that’s real helpful insight, Grimloch,” Cedric said.

“Thanks.”

“I didn’ mean—Ach, nevermind.” Cedric looked at Drestra. “What’s there t’ talk about? We could jus’ take ‘im back t’ his sanctum, aye? Then seal th’ whole thing up an’ forget about ‘im.”

“Or we could give his body to the king,” Merzhin said. “To King Athelstan. He rules the country, so he should have a say in what is done with Uldar’s body, I would think.”

“Or Hannah. Maybe we should give it to Hannah,” Theresa suggested.

“Meh, I dunno about that,” Hart said. “That body’s probably worth a lot, right? Why don’t we take it to some rich alchemist and walk away from there with some extra coin in our pockets?”

The group fell silent.

Some looked away.

Their expressions ranged.

Some looked disgusted.

Others looked thoughtful.

Few looked outright accepting, but none vigorously protested Hart’s suggestion, either.

“Honestly,” Alex cut in. “I”m with Merzhin, I think we should bring it to the king, maybe not give it to him right away, but he and Tobias Jay should know that we’re discussing what to do with it. But, that said…there’s a little project I have in mind—”

He looked at the body. “—something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, and a bit of Uldar’s divine essence would really help me with it.”

“Oh, aye?” Cedric made a face. “Usin’ a bit o’ his body feels kinda ghoulish t’me, but I don’t think there’s a single soul here who would argue against you usin’ some o’his essence fer whatever y’ gots in mind. There’s not a person here who wouldn’t trust you wit’ their lives. An’ after all that Uldar put Thameland through, at leas’ ‘is bloody corpse can do some good. So, whatever ya’ gots in mind, all I can say is, why not?”

“Oh yeah, it’ll help out all of us in a major way,” Alex promised.

“But hold on, what about the poison in his body?” Prince Khalik asked. “Unless you are using it to make more poison, how can you use any essence from it? That poison killed a god, why wouldn’t it destroy everything else?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Alex said. “One second.”

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With a thought, the young archwizard teleported back to his laboratory in Generasi. He conjured a swarm of forcedisks with his staff, then teleported a few good sized sample containers onto them.

He returned to the lair with the disks and sample containers.

“Like I said, I wouldn’t worry about that.” He smiled. “Check this out.”

He focused on Uldar’s body, his attention on the god’s physical form and the divine essence that still remained inside it.

Concentrating, he formed a clear image in his mind of that essence and—most importantly—pictured it separating from the poison that had suffused the body. Once he was satisfied with the image, he channelled the Traveller’s power.

In an instant, the specimen containers filled with a glowing, silvery substance.

Not a single drop of the dark poison was visible in the samples.

Drestra and Isolde looked awestruck as they rushed over to get a closer look at the samples.

“No poison?” Isolde asked. “How did you do that?”

“Hannah’s power,” Alex explained lightly. “I just focused on teleporting some divine essence out of his corpse, while leaving the poison behind. Honestly, it was easier than I thought; having Hannah here, back in the material world, really elevates her power inside me.”

“What a wonderful power,” Drestra’s voice crackled as she scrutinised the samples. “And you are sure there’s no poison in them?”

“I’m sure, but I’m definitely going to be analysing and purifying them before I use them for anything,” Alex said. “Even a trace of that poison could mean catastrophe.”

“It makes sense,” Isolde said. “I cannot wait to see what you plan for this.”

Alex was about to answer when a bitter laugh interrupted the conversation.

Merzhin was scowling at the god’s body, laughing, without a hint of humour in his voice. The small Saint of Thameland was shaking his head. “Do you all not see the ridiculousness of the situation? It’s like some great cosmic joke!”

“What…what is…it?” Claygon asked.

“Think about this,” Merzhin said. “Alex, if you could teleport Uldar’s essence out of him with the Traveller’s power, then it stands to reason that you could teleport the poison out of him if he was alive.”

Alex considered that, “Yeah…I think you’re right.”

Merzhin laughed even harder. “Imagine then if Uldar had turned to his people for help. If he had created the Heroes not to war with the Ravener, but to preserve his life and help cure him of his poisoning. Even if a previous Saint or a General could not find a cure, all he would have had to do is endure and keep trying to find one with his Heroes. Eventually, Hannah would have been born with her unique power, arrived in Thameland, and she could have taken the poison out of him!”

Alex and his companions looked stunned.

The General of Thameland then imagined a completely different path from the one Uldar had taken.

The god of Thameland wouldn’t have retreated to a sanctum to hide, but rather stayed among his people, revealing his ailment to them. Some might have challenged him, but others might have grown more faithful to him, desperate to help the deity who had built their kingdom.

He would have lived his life as a benevolent Lord: sick, but beloved by those who aided him, who cared for him. The god had once said that fear was a powerful motivator for faith, but wouldn’t people have more feared their god’s passing? Wouldn’t the benevolent, more natural fear—the fear of losing a mentor, a loved one, or a friend—have fuelled faith as much as the Ravener had?

And Uldar would only have needed enough faith to survive.

Until…

Another image rose in Alex’s mind.

There was Uldar, white-bearded and frail, surrounded by his Heroes—if he had chosen to create them—and his loving worshippers. He would be sitting on a throne in the material world, and Aenflynn would have been by his side, helping his friend.

And these people would be visited by a Traveller…a Traveller from a faraway world, wielding magnificent powers and abilities that even Uldar could have hardly imagined.

Even if she couldn’t have cured Uldar when they first met, with some practice, in time, she surely could have. Then the frail old being would be gone, replaced by a mighty and kind ruler that would steer Thameland toward a bright future.

Uldar wouldn’t be just a destructive relic of the past now… a soon to be forgotten corpse.

“I can see the bitter humour in that, Merzhin,” Alex said.

“When one is immortal, one sees that an endless life’s greatest gift is being able to live long enough to see new opportunities arrive at one's feet, when mortals have long since passed away, never able to see them,” Asmaldestre’s voice stung the ear. “Just as I have lived long enough to have the opportunity to drink of this glorious, violent battle against a god’s creation of war.”

The war-spirit’s wounds were deep—and likely would have been fatal, had she been mortal—but she was not, and they didn’t seem to bother her in the least, though Alex could see her insides exposed from some of the injuries. They certainly weren’t superficial, but she handled them gently, lovingly, like she was glad to have them.

“Are you…alright?” Alex asked, looking at the wounds. “Do you need healing?”

“The marks of violence do not harm a spirit of war in the same way they might harm one of your kind,” she explained. “Our existence is violence. It is fundamentally different. While we can enjoy the honour of dying in battle, it would take far greater wounds to bring me any true harm. These will heal soon, and I will carry the scars as medals of honour won on the battlefield.”

She looked at her summoner closely.

“Our contract has ended.”

“That it has, Asmaldestre,” Alex said. “You have received your weapons and helped me in these final battles. You took part in the violence you wanted. Was it satisfactory?”

“Yes,” the war-spirit sounded pleased. “The song of violence was loud and clear on this day.And I enjoyed dancing to it. Now, it is time for me to depart. This summoning was pleasurable, and I would not be opposed to further association as time marches on.”

“Nor would I,” Alex said. “I’m sure this won’t be the last battle I find myself in. There will be future wars and future conflicts to fight. I would be glad to fight alongside you at that time.”

“Good, then until we meet on that battlefield again, Archwizard,” she said. “Until we shed blood together. Until the song of violence sings once more.”

With those words, her form began shifting, growing hazy.

Then, she vanished, leaving only the tang of blood tingeing the air.

“And so our first companion departs,” Khalik said. “It is sad but…not that sad. I must admit, she sent chills up my spine. And speaking of chills up the spine, let us leave this gloomy place. Alex, you can teleport the Ravener’s remains whenever you want, right? I think we have finished gathering our equipment, so let us go. There is much to be done.”

“Right.” Bjorgrund picked up Uldar’s body and threw it on their floating disk with the rest of their equipment. “Let’s go.”

With that, the companions gathered around the General of Thameland.

He reached out with the Traveller’s power, and teleported them away from the Ravener’s lair. They passed through the barrier between the fae wild and the material world, and—at last—appeared in Thameland, in the countryside.

Nearby stood the burnt out remains of the windmill where Alex and Claygon had fought the Ravener’s Hunters and the blue annis hags.

From this day onward, there would be no more fights against Ravener-spawn, not here or anywhere.

There would be no more dungeon cores, either.

The Ravener’s substance would provide a supply for a long time, and there were likely plenty of dungeon core remains to be found across Thameland from the cores that had collapsed when the Ravener died.

But after that? No more Ravener-spawn would be created. And no more—

A thought struck him.

He turned to Claygon.

“Hey buddy, can you do me a favour?” he asked. “I want you to try something.”