“I had him!” The Stalker’s scream echoed over the Lake of Ever Ice. He pulled his beard, gnashing his teeth. The squat fae stomped on the frozen surface, kicking at frost like a child throwing a tantrum. Below him, the ice rippled and writhed from his wrath.

Nearby, his mount pawed the ground as though preparing to charge, its hoof scraping the ice-packed snow. Bells rang in disharmony throughout his antlers.

Behind the moose, the hidden church’s forces had paused at their tasks—frozen part way through preparations to leave—watching the fae throw his tantrum.

The First and Third Apostles stood together.

“What has happened?” Gabrian asked.

“I have no idea,” Izas said. “One moment we were scrambling to leave because he said he’d found the Fool, and the next…this!”

“Blast it,” Gabrian said, striding to their fae companion. “What has happened?”

“The impossible! I lost him! Somehow, I lost the filthy mortal!” The Stalker cursed his quarry. “He finally left wherever he was—this sanctum—and reappeared in Thameland!”

“In Thameland?” Izas strode up beside them. “Where, precisely?”

“Someplace near your old home, but he wasn’t there for long—”

“Hold now, you said he went near our old home? Near Uldar’s Rise?” Gabrian demanded.

“Yes, yes he did!” the Stalker growled. “But he was there for just a few moments, then he disappeared and reappeared near the southern borders of Kymiland, as you mortals call it.”

The First and Third Apostles looked at each other. “Strange,” Izas said. “And then he simply disappeared?”

“Probably back to that sanctum, if that's where he’s gone…” the Stalker glared at a tent in the middle of the encampment. “…curse that stupid mortal, Warder.” Reflexively, he took the red gems from his pouch, rolling the pair of eyes in his palm. “If his mind hadn't snapped so quickly, he might've given us more information.”

“If the Fool has returned to the sanctum, then we are right back where we started,” Izas said. “But this is worrying…why would he return to Uldar’s Rise, even if only briefly?”

“It is worrying…” Garbrian echoed. “Perhaps it is a distraction, one meant to frighten us into returning home.”

Izas shook his head. “Then why go to Kymiland after Uldar’s rise? We are missing something, holy leader.”

“Agreed…” Gabrian said. “Izas, I am going to set up the miracle of recall. Things are now moving beyond our knowledge, I think we would be wise to secure our retreat and future should things go awry. I will count on you to continue working on the door that Warder spoke of.”

Izas frowned. “But without returning to Thameland to set another location, the only place the miracle of recall can bring us back to is Uldar’s Rise, and our home is now guarded by the foreigners. We can go back to the island, but there is no point in that.”

“If we are driven from our quest, we should—when we can kill all the foreigners—retake our home. But we will need divine intervention for that,” Gabrian said firmly. “But I am only considering that plan as a precaution. I know we shall not fail in our quest. We will not be driven from it. We will kill the Fool, and only then return to Thameland.”

“Of course, holy leader,” Izas said as the Stalker continued unleashing a stream of profanities against the Fool, Warder, and anyone else who’d confounded his hunt. “I will go to the door, then. Stalker, will you guide me back there?”

“Yes, yes of course! The sooner the better!” the fae spat, his spittle freezing on the ice covered lake. “We've been wasting too much time as it is. Damn this Fool for giving me false hope! By my Lord Aenflynn, I can't wait to see his wretched head mounted on my wall!”

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In the material world—in a hidden spot among the islands off the eastern coast of the Irtyshenan Empire—the Stalker, Izas, and a guard of warrior-priests stepped out of the fae roads and onto an isle of grey rock.

Together, they travelled from the island’s centre to a hidden cove on the southern shore, descending a staircase of coral and rough stone. Their location was many miles from where the Fool of Thameland had once searched for Kelda’s sanctum.

At the bottom of the steps, a cave was carved into the rock. Through a tunnel in that cave hovered a portal. It was tall, broad and blazing with the Traveller’s power, and—at one time—it served as a secret doorway for the Guild of the Red Mouse.

Once one of their most well-guarded secrets, known only to a few.

One of those few, had been Warder.

For days, the guild leader had refused to break beneath the Stalker’s torments. Yet, there was a limit to how much willpower he could muster, and how much suffering his mind and body could endure.

After close to a week of interrogation, he’d finally broken, shattering like glass.

He’d sung many of the guild’s secrets to his tormentor, betraying a number of his fellow guild members in the process. Most of what he’d revealed had been of little use to the Stalker and his hounds, but the location and workings of Kelda’s ancient portals were of much interest.

The hunters had found the doorway, and claimed it. They’d defended it from the Guild’s repeated attempts to reclaim it, allowing Izas and the other priests to begin their work.

Channelling divinity—and using the Third Apostle’s vast knowledge of spellcraft—they’d begun trying to pick apart the workings of the Traveller’s power. Those energies were a mystery, but they’d still hoped that—in time—they could unlock the power’s secrets to claim it and teleport directly to the Fool’s hiding place.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Progress in their endeavour had been scant, but Izas had faith that they would eventually prevail, even though a growing dread had begun filling the Third Apostle to his core, eating away at confidence granted by his faith.

“Stalker,” he said to the fae as he prepared to examine the glowing portal before them. “Have you ever known a quarry that has proven so difficult?”

“In many ways, more difficult, but not so frustrating!” the Stalker snarled. “He's like a burr you can't quite scratch out: not dangerous, but irritating! We should be able to snap him in half like a bear would a rabbit, but he’s so elusive! I have half a mind to go down to where his family lives, find them, and kill every last one of them. That would draw him out!”

“And place the entire quest and our purpose in jeopardy,” Izas said.

“I know, I know,” the Stalker said. “I'm just spitting smoke right now.” He gave the mortal a quizzical look. “Why do you ask, though? Something making you nervous again? You've been a bit jittery lately, my hound.”

“I cannot help but feel that we have missed something,” Izas said. “What if he has found some weapon in this sanctum?”

“Then he would've used it on us by now,” the Stalker pointed out.

“Maybe,” Izas said. “I just cannot help but feel that…no, never mind…”

“What is it?” the fae asked.

“It is as though the jaws of a great beast are closing around our necks,” Izas shuddered.

“You must be imagining that: we’re the great beasts, and he’s the prey!” The fae cried. “I have many names, my hound, but quarry or victim are not among them! We are the hunters, and he is the prey.”

“Indeed…I am losing focus,” Izas turned his attention to the portal.

Still, the wizard-priest could not shake that feeling of dread.

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“Whaaat is thiiiis?” Bjorgrund gasped, gaping at the magnificent axe in his hands. Its length was as great as the golem axe Alex had stolen for him in the Irtyshenan Empire, but it blazed with divine power. “Is this really for me?”

“It sure is,” Alex smiled.

“The energies coming from it…by my ancestors, they’re something else!” Birger murmured. “Where in the world did you get this from?”

“Let’s just say the owner wasn't using it anymore,” Alex said. “You probably won't find an axe as powerful in most places in the world: it's a gift, along with the armour—” He pointed to Uldar’s breastplate, still held by the earth elemental. “—so you’ll be better protected for the upcoming fight.”

The giant gaped at Uldar’s armour, then spun the axe, giving it a few test swings. “This is some kind of weapon. I can’t believe how well-balanced and light in the hand it is, yet it has so much heft when I swing it. Look how easy it is to manoeuvre, like it's moving where I'm willing it to go!”

“Glad to hear it,” Alex beamed.

“But what are all those other weapons for?” Birger asked. “They’re all too big for you, and Bjorgrund only has two arms.” He looked at the crates of materials Alex had teleported to the sanctum. “Are they for the golems you're going to make?”

Alex let out a loud laugh. “Not really. It'd be a waste to give weapons like that to constructs that don’t have the spark of reasoning. I could give them to Claygon, but he really likes his war-spear. No, these weapons are for a different purpose.”

“What sort of purpose?” Bjorgrund asked, taking the armour from the elemental.

Alex smiled. “You'll see. I'll talk to you after I break through to ninth-tier.”

The giants looked at each other.

Birger shook his head. “You say that so casually: ninth-tier spells are the stuff of legends, and you're talking about breaking through to ninth like you're going down to the brook to fetch a bucket of water. I shouldn't be surprised, though.” He looked between the General and his son. “Over the last few days, I've witnessed the two of you grow by leaps and bounds when it comes to melee combat. It’s stunning how different you are now compared to when we got here. Especially you, Alex.”

He nodded toward Bjorgrund’s rune. “I've trained Bjorgrund in the ways of fighting since he was a young boy, and he's also rune-marked: I’d expect him to grow quickly when it comes to battle. But, you Alex, you’ve never held a weapon for fighting with—according to what you told us—and now, here you are, fighting as though you’ve had one in your hands for years. You move like a dancer with it, fast, graceful and precise!”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “I'm glad to hear it. I've got someone to impress.”

“Well, I think the church is going to be impressed…then dead,” Bjorgrund swung his axe in a figure eight.

“Oh, I'm not talking about the church,” Alex said.

The young giant cocked his head to one side.

“Wait until ninth-tier,” the young wizard grinned.

“You know, you've got no reason to be mysterious about what you’re doing.” The old firbolg frowned.

Alex shrugged. “I'm preparing for the fight of my life, let me have a little fun. Besides, you probably won't have to wait long: at the rate I'm going, I'll probably break through to ninth-tier today.”

He looked at his open notebook sitting on a table.

Written across the pages were notes he’d taken keeping track of each attempt at Summon Astral Engeli he’d made.

The last one read:

Attempt 73 Progress: 89%.

###

Within the summoning chamber in Kelda’s sanctum, Alex channelled the power of a ninth-tier spell.

This was his eightieth attempt at Summon Astral Engeli.

He was so close to succeeding.

A magic circuit of staggering complexity burned in his mana pool, composed of eight, interconnected smaller circuits.

They worked in tandem, channelling great power.

Hannah's power flooded the circuit, joining together with the young wizard’s spell.

As the Mark of the General guided him, it showed him images meant to perfect his pronunciation and concentration.

The ninth, and final interconnected circuit was forming.

The spell array was completing.

Alex’s mouth felt dry from hours of incanting.

He was tired, he was hungry, and had a pounding headache. He could feel his mana pool decreasing. But he was nearly there…so very close.

Focusing his thoughts, joining them with the Mark and the Traveller’s power, he pushed on, painstakingly moving through the last of the spell array…until…

At last, it was done, he’d broken through.

The spell had completed.

The magic circuit formed.

All shook around him as Alex roared in triumph.

The power of the spell, and the Traveller’s power reached across planes, touching the celestial realms.

Calling down an engeli.

The creature appeared in the summoning circle in a flash of burning light, materialising as a formidable winged being of astounding beauty. Hovering above its head was a burning halo—a wheel ringed with rows of piercing eyes.

From a face that was androgynous by nature—at once both young and old, the engeli looked upon its summoner—a powerful looking young wizard—and gazed down with eyes that seemed to look through to Alex’s soul.

The engeli bowed, lowering its head. “I see your soul, and you are true of heart, archwizard. How may I serve?”

Archwizard.

Alex had risen to a realm of power that he’d never dreamed he ever would when he wore the Mark of the Fool.

He stood on the road to being a mage whose name would live a thousand years or more.

Cosmic secrets, paths to immortality, and overwhelming power were now at his fingertips.

But, he was not finished yet.

“Greetings,” he said. “Celestial champion. Together, we're going to wipe a great evil from this world. Not immediately, but soon.”

“A fine purpose,” the engeli said. “Shall I give you my name, then? So that you may call me when the battle comes.”

“Yes,” Alex said, then paused.

Names.

A name so he could call his newest soldier.

Something about the word played in his mind.

But, he would have to reflect on it later.