Mark of the Fool: A Progression Fantasy Epic Read online

  MARK OF THE FOOL

  ©2022 J.M. CLARKE

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  Contents

  Also In Series

  1. Fools and Inheritance

  2. Uldar’s Legacy

  3. The Mark’s Mocking Grin

  4. Departure and Dogs

  5. The Coins and the Priests

  6. Coin Tricks and Fire Light

  7. Good Dreams and Bad Luck

  8. The Chosen

  9. Telling the Truth

  10. Red Eyes in the Dark

  11. The Goddesses’ Wrath

  12. The Traveller’s Magic

  13. Walls and Keys

  14. The Sanctum of Doors

  15. The Hive-Queen

  16. The Core

  17. Out into the Light

  18. Using What You Have

  19. The Red Siren

  20. Cookies and Dances

  21. The Spear-and-Oar Dance

  22. Tests by Moonlight

  23. The Nightwatch

  24. Other Dangers

  25. The City at the Center of Creation

  26. Wonders in the Sky

  27. Negotiations in the Hall of Magic

  28. Welcome Home

  29. Selecting One’s Path

  30. The Means of Survival

  31. The Chancellor

  32. Responsibility and Paths Forward

  33. The Beastarium

  34. A Clash of Beasts

  35. The Beginning Fruits of Failure

  36. Dummies and Forceballs

  37. The Spell-Joust and the Second Spell

  38. An Endless Forest

  39. The Beginning of Baelin’s Test

  40. The Plain of Dust

  41. Predators

  42. Ambushing the Ambushers

  43. The Escarpment

  44. The Bonedrinker

  45. Lessons and Gods

  46. A Pie Party

  47. The Path of Potions

  48. The Art of Asking Questions

  49. The First Classes

  50. Familiar Encounters

  51. Help Wanted

  52. Manipulating Mana and Mind

  53. The World Opening to the Senses

  54. Safety in The Cells

  55. Reflecting on Different Paths

  56. Naming and Sculpting Futures

  57. Terrain and Entourages

  58. Planning Around the Mana Vents

  59. Group Dynamics

  60. Wrangling the Herd

  61. Trust

  62. Glyphs and Quicksilver

  63. Unsafety in the Cells

  64. Benefits of the Talented

  65. Arm-wrestling Wizard’s Hand

  66. The Summoning

  67. Beyond the Material World

  68. The Devil that You Know…

  69. Expanding Perspectives

  70. Different Paths in Life

  71. Gains in Mass and Mana

  72. For and Against Pride

  73. A ‘Handy’ Breakthrough

  74. Ghosts of the Past I

  75. Ghosts of the Past II

  Thank you for reading Mark of the Fool!

  Blackmist

  The Path of Ascension

  A Dream of Wings & Flame

  Groups

  LitRPG

  Also In Series

  Mark of the Fool: Book One

  Mark of the Fool: Book Two

  Mark of the Fool: Book Three

  Dedicated to my mother, who told me all the stories of the world, and to Ms. Sutton, who taught me how to tell them.

  Chapter 1

  Fools and Inheritance

  The worst days tended to start with good mornings.

  “You’re fired. Fired! Get all of your things and get out of my shop! If I ever catch you here again, I swear on Uldar’s beard, you’ll wish I called the guards for you,” Master McHarris roared, his face turning beet-red.

  As mornings went, this one was shaping up to be great.

  Alex Roth froze in the middle of a disaster: collapsed shelving, shattered eggs and flour dust falling like snow in the middle of the bakery. The young man gave an awkward cough and wiped the white powder out of his chestnut brown hair. “Does this mean you won’t be giving me this week’s pay?”

  McHarris reddened further.

  “I mean, not for today, obviously, but there was yesterday and Firstday, so that’s two silver pieces—”

  The baker made a choking noise before stomping across the disaster zone, jabbing his key into his strong box, ripping it open and whipping two dull coins into Alex’s chest. They bounced from his chest before he could catch them, landing on the floor with a white puff of flour.

  “There! And you only get that so folk know McHarris is no cheat! Now get out—” The baker snatched up a rolling pin. “—or you’ll need to put those silvers where your teeth used to be!”

  Alex had seen enough of McHarris’ rages to know he meant it. The young man tore off his apron and scrambled to grab his pay. He sniffed the air near the eggs as he bent; a nasty stench confirmed his suspicions from early this morning. Keeping his face neutral, he jumped up and scuttled for the exit to the front room of the shop.

  “Boy…” McHarris said, scratching his head. “What happened to you? You were quickest-witted out of any assistant I’ve ever had, but today you act like a bull with half its brains slammed out of its skull. That sister of yours won’t grow up proper if her older brother pulls things like this.”

  Alex paused just as he was about to pull open the kitchen door. That was all news to him. McHarris paid well enough, but he terrorized his assistants. Welts still marked the young man’s arms from when he’d been too slow whipping the custard a couple of days ago.

  “I dunno, sir.” He gave a shrug and hid the grin threatening to spring up. “Maybe it’s a special day?”

  He was gone before McHarris could say anything else.

  The town of Alric was shrugging off sleep when Alex emerged from the bakery for the last time. Sunlight filtered through a haze of clouds and townsfolk trudged past the square’s fountai
n with their days’ tools and lunches in hand. The scent of baking bread and boiling porridge drifted from windows nearby. A carriage—pulled by a set of proud horses—approached from down the road, their hooves clattering on the cobblestone. On the side of the carriage door was emblazoned the symbol of a lantern: the Sigil of the Traveller, the town’s patron saint.

  As it passed, Alex spied two guardsmen sitting on the side of the fountain. They were bleary-eyed from the night watch, and squinted at Alex as he strolled up as light-footed as a pleased cat.

  “Morning, Peter. Morning, Paul.” Alex made sure to use their names. Remembering details about people made them friendlier to your cause. Just one of the tricks he’d picked up in the last four years of hustling together every coin he could. “I got something to report.”

  Peter groaned, scratching at his stubble-marked chin and craning his neck to look up at Alex. The young man was lean and gangly, and quite a bit taller than most.

  “You caught in a snowstorm, boy? It’s mid-summer.”

  “Naw, that’s flour, idiot; you don’t recognize one of McHarris’ assistants? By the Heroes’ good graces, I’ve been on night watch with a blind man.” Paul shook his head and peered closer at the flour-encased youth. “Alexander… right? The Roths’ boy? What’s it you have to report?”

  A dull ache touched Alex’s heart at the mention of his parents, but he kept his face neutral. Even the largest wounds grew dimmer with time. He jerked a thumb backward toward the bakery. “McHarris is putting rotten eggs into his cakes and covering it with sugar. He could poison somebody.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow, reaching beside him and picking up his helmet, clapping it on his head. “That sounds like a guild violation, not a crime.”

  “I don’t think the merchants or nobles that shop there would see it that way, and I don’t have time to run to the guild before he cleans up the evidence.”

  Alex held up two flour-dusted silver coins. “This is not a bribe. I’m just saying that if you go over and take a quick look around, you might do the public some good while pocketing a silver coin each.” He gave a winning smile and rolled the coins across his knuckles. “I know, you’re tired and want to go home, but that’s a third of a day’s wages for you, all for walking fifty steps and having a sniff around his kitchen. If you find nothing, you keep the coin. Sound fair?”

  Peter and Paul looked at each other.

  “Boy.” Peter shook his head. “You’re bad at bribing people.”

  His winning smile shrank. “N-no, it’s not a bribe, I’m—”

  “You’re trying to pay us to get a service done for you. It’s a bribe. One where you might not get what you want, so it’s a stupid bribe.”

  “The worst attempt I’ve ever seen,” Paul groaned as he lifted himself from the fountain. “But, if he’s willing to try something that stupid, maybe we should take a look. Last thing we need is for some bigwig to turn all green in the face and keel over. Come on, Peter.”

  Alex could hardly contain his excitement as the guards made their way toward McHarris’ shop, though he made sure to hide his smile when Paul turned around.

  “Oh, and don’t try that again. Stupid or not, bribery of a guard’ll get you ten lashes. Understand?”

  Alex nodded vigorously and gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll be a good boy from now on, sir!”

  Paul shook his head. “The hell’s wrong with you?” He pointed up at one of the fountain’s statues rising over their heads. “Act the fool long enough and you’ll get the Fool’s Mark. That little sister of yours needs a brother she can rely on.”

  “I have a plan for that, Paul, don’t you worry,” Alex said. “But thanks for asking. You’re good people.”

  “Guardsmen have to make sure the youth are on the right path, don’t we?” Paul rose to his full height, puffing out his chest unconsciously. “Anyway, off you go now. If you’re right, this’ll probably get ugly. Oh, and happy birthday, Alexander. Eighteen’s a big number. Keep those coins and try to treat yourself.”

  Alex blinked. Well, he had been right. Remembering details about people did make them friendlier. He certainly felt a bit more friendly toward Paul. He’d have to do something nice for him later.

  He grinned.

  Once he became a full-fledged wizard.

  Sliding back behind the fountain, he watched the guards enter the shop and chuckled as McHarris’ cries of dismay echoed through the windows. When the crashing began, he outright cackled. Of all the food he’d ever had from McHarris’, revenge definitely tasted the best.

  “Serves you right, you old bully. That’s for browbeating every helper who’s ever worked for you.” He smirked, tossing his last pay into the fountain. As of sunrise this morning, he no longer needed McHarris’ coin. Alex said a silent prayer of thanks to the Heroes’ Fountain—one of many that had been raised in the Kingdom of Thameland.

  To the hulking figure of the Champion, Alex thanked him for bravery. To the bespectacled, stern Sage, he thanked her for the wits he had shown. To the kind figure of the Saint, he thanked her for the generosity he’d received. And lastly, to the handsome form of the Chosen, he gave him appreciation for luck and blessings.

  Beside the four grand figures—who watched the square with benevolent granite eyes—crouched a caricature. It was an ugly sculpting of a man with a chin too curved, eyes too bulging, and a nose like a pumpkin’s stem. A jaunty jester’s hat sat on his head and his statue was the only one stained by bird droppings.

  The Fool.

  The last of the Heroes and the least of them. None who had borne the Fool’s Mark left much of an impression in legend. Many had died. Others disappeared. Some even betrayed the very party they were chosen for.

  The Fool—according to all of Alex’s teachers—had nothing to offer anyone, save for a nominal but necessary service to the Heroes. Uldar’s Prophecies called those bearing the mantle necessary, though history suggested otherwise.

  And so, to the Fool, Alex simply offered his empathy. He knew well how it was to struggle. Thankfully, those days were at an end.

  Whistling a jaunty tune as the guards grappled with McHarris somewhere in the bakeshop, he strolled down the street with spirits higher than they’d been since before he and his sister were orphaned.

  He didn’t catch the slight itching on his right shoulder, nor the way the bulging eyes of the Fool seemed to watch him walk away.

  Nine pounds measured out by the magistrate down to the ounce.

  Exactly four hundred and fifty gold coins; the entire wealth of the Roth family after the fire reduced their alehouse to rubble. The parents’ estate had been liquidated, placed into the town trust, and held until their firstborn child reached adulthood and could claim it under common law.

  Now, Alex was eighteen, and it all belonged to him and his sister. A fortune that would have taken him more than twelve years to earn working for McHarris. And that was if he’d never missed a day. With how he had to split his time between the bakery and helping out at the Lu Family Inn, it probably would have been at least thirty. Decades’ worth of his labour—and his mother and father’s entire legacy—was all stuffed into a heavy burlap sack slung over one of his gangly shoulders. It was hard to believe his parents had been gone for four years.

  With each step toward the inn, the weight of losing his parents and the heaviness of the sack weighed him down; a mix of guilt, excitement, regret and relief came. He wished to Uldar that he had his family rather than a cold sack of gold, but that coin would bring a much better life for him and his sister.

  He rounded the corner onto the street he lived on and his eyes narrowed. The sun was setting. His whole day spent at the magistrate’s office, wading through more paper than he’d ever seen at the church’s school. Then he’d gone to spend time at his parents’ graveside. Now, he was on his way home, planning to break the news of his future plans to the Lu family.