Mark of the Fool C.828: Preparations for Graduation

Morning sunlight streamed through shuttered windows.

Drawn curtains stopped neither bird-song, the chattering of children on their way to school, nor the tempting aroma of baking bread from drifting into the bedchamber.

Yet, the room’s occupant ignored it all.

Isolde von Anmut sat cross-legged on her bed, concentrating every fibre of her mind on her mana pool. For weeks, the young noblewoman had been working on perfecting this mana manipulation technique. She had broken through to seventh-tier in a thunderous fashion; and would need as much mana as she could harvest to power her new and mighty magics.

And—after this marathon session—she was almost there.

Isolde’s mana fibres sparked as she massaged them, searching for the precise touch: a tricky thing, made a bit easier because of past experiences using mana manipulation in alchemy and magic lore.

This new technique was challenging, but she wouldn’t let that stop her, and suddenly.

Power began flowing through her—incrementally at first. Increasing. Then a bit more. Eventually becoming a flood. Energy poured through her mana fibres, revitalising her.

“At last,” she whispered, with a snarl of satisfaction.

Opening her eyes, she leapt from the bed, her light nightgown fluttering around her, and raised her fist like a conquering warlord. “I have done it! I have completed another step in Alex’s…Operation…Operation.”

She cringed. “Operation: Everyone Lives. An apt name, but could he not use the Mark of the General to become better atnaming?” The noblewoman shook her hand, putting her hands on her hips. “I suppose even a divinely granted Mark cannot account for poor taste. No matter: poorly named or not, it is a good plan. And I have nearly completed it. All that remains is for me to master the details of spell arrays, and that should not be too difficult, after all—Wait. What time is it?”

The young woman quickly peeked between the curtains and the colour drained from her face. “By the elements, is it already morning? Ooooh, Isolde, shame on you! You allowed yourself to lose track of time and have been practising the entire night!”

Muttering the incantation for Planar Doorway, she opened the curtains, letting sunlight drift through the slats of her shutters.

“And of course it had to be today of all days! Of all days!”

She turned to the open wardrobe, and bounded across the room.

Hanging between its painted doors—on a golden hook—was a fine robe of deep electric blue and royal purple velvet. It was a special garment: a gift from her grandfather to mark her acceptance into the university some four years ago.

She had never worn it, having saved it for today.

And today was the day that she, Lady Isolde von Anmut of the Rhinean Empire, was to graduate from the University of Generasi.

And it was not a day to be late.

“I must get ready,” she said, rushing to grab her soap and towels. “I shall need a strong cup of tea to straighten my mind and—”

An insistent knocking sounded on her bedroom door.

“Lady von Anmut?” Svenia’s voice came through the thick wood. “Are you well? I heard a commotion?”

“I am well, Svenia! You may come in!” Isolde grabbed her comb. “Wait, is Hogarth with you? I am not dressed for company yet!”

“No, he is not, m’lady.”

“Then yes, come in!”

The door opened, and the guardswoman stepped inside. Her armour was freshly polished, her clothes looked crisp and flat-ironed, her boots were shined to perfection, and her blonde hair was caught up in a neat bun tied with silken ribbon.

She bowed deeply to her lady. “Lady von Anmu-”

“Svenia, you have to help me!” Isolde pointed to the collection of daggers hanging on the western wall. “Which one should I wear?”

“Erm.” The guardswoman quickly rose from her bow. “The dirk is nice.”

Isolde threw a glance at it before shaking her head. “Too plain. It has a subtlety that would not do on such a grand day as this! Today calls for more pomp!”

“Er…then what about the sapphire-hilted poniard?” Svenia pointed to a dagger hanging a little away from the others. Its hilt, pommel and crossguard were encrusted with jewels, mostly sapphires.

“I…” Isolde paused, staring at it for a full ten seconds before placing her head in her hands. “Of course that is the rightone. I bought it a while back right here in Generasi specifically for this occasion because it matched the blue of my robes. I completely forgot! By the Elements, my mind is an absolute mess!”

“Lady von Anmut, it’s alright,” Svenia said gently.

“It is not alright!” Isolde dragged the dagger off the hook, gesturing toward her bodyguard with it. Svenia took a step back. “Things must be perfect today, absolutely perfect! Not even a single hair can be out of place!”

“You’ll be fine, my lady. I know you will. You always do your best, and your best has always been more than enough. If it weren’t, then you would not be here today,” Svenia said. “Well, that’s just the way I see it, I’ve watched over you for most of your life, and I know you will be stellar today: congratulations, Lady von Anmut.”

Silence.

‘Congratulations’.

The young noblewoman paused as that simple word washed over her, bringing a lump to her throat, in spite of herself. Her tension eased. Somewhat. “Thank you, Svenia. Thank you for being by my side during my time here.”

“Thank you for protecting us in some of our recent battles, m’lady. It feels like you hardly need us anymore since you’ve grown so much,” the warrior woman smiled. “Hogarth and I were talking about how strong you’ve become. We can hardly keep up with you any longer, not as we once did in any case…but I’m glad we were able to guard you so far. We’ll continue to do so until you no longer need us.”

More silence.

Then Isolde’s back straightened. “Excuse me for a moment, Svenia. I am going to bathe. Could you bring Hogarth here once I am dressed?”

“Of course, my lady,” Svenia bowed.

Hogarth and Svenia entered Isolde’s bedchamber, the short man startling, then bowing. “You look wonderful, Lady von Anmut, like a goddess!”

“Thank you, Hogarth, though you must surely be exaggerating.” Isolde wore her brilliant robes, the dagger hanging from a knotted beltcinched at her waist. Her hair was styled in a river of black waves cascading down her left shoulder. Her make up was subtle. The sunlight poured through now-open shutters, pooling around her: she looked like a queen from a bard’s legend.

Both bodyguards bowed deeply.

“He isn’t wrong, my lady,” Svenia said. “There are empresses who would envy you today.”

“Thank you, Svenia,” Isolde said. “Please, rise. I have something to say to you both.”

The two bodyguards glanced at each other, quickly standing upright.

“I want to thank you,” Isolde said. “You have been with me since my childhood, during my best years and…my worst. These last four have brought a mixture of both, and what a strange four years they have been.” They nodded along, acknowledging the sentiment.

Isolde’s first year had been fairly uneventful: she’d made a few friends, and spent her time mainly focused on her studies. Most of her memories from year one were of classes, hours in the library, the Cells, and various textbooks and spell-guides.

She’d had some good times with her few friends…but many of them were tainted by Derek’s presence.

Derek Warren.

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Her first true romantic relationship, one that had ended in utter betrayal.

As though reading her mind, Hogarth spoke up. “Times have indeed been strange. That dirty boy you kept company in your first year here caused you much pain...and I apologise that we weren’t able to protect you from him.”

“Yes, my lady,” Svenia added. “It’s our responsibility to crush annoying pests and filthy threats, but we failed to do that as far as he was concerned.”

“It is alright.” Isolde smiled sadly. “My heart was determined to see me hurt back then…no, that is not right. Derek was selfish enough to hurt me. The fault is his, not yours and not mine. But, it is funny…” she whispered. “…thinking about that situation now does not hurt nearly as much.”

There was a time when Derek represented only pain and the deepest rage.

“With time and my delicious ‘revenge’ against him in the Games of Roal, I find most of my anger has faded. I still would not count him as a friend…and I would not even go so far as to say that I wish him well, but he does not really matter anymore, does he?”

“That he does not, my lady,” Hogarth said. “Your current friends have honour, something he never did, though he was good, initially, at pretending that he did.”

Isolde smiled and nodded.

After she’d met Alex Roth, Prince Khalik Behr-Medr, and Thundar, Son of Gulbiff in her second year, much of our life had changed. Her circle of friends had grown, and she’d become involved in matters of significance, including the legendary conflict of another realm, as well as matters of great magical advancement.

She’d journeyed to the Hells alongside warriors and Heroes, and had grown to become an exceptional lightning mage. Her experiences had culminated, bringing her to where she was now; set to graduate with the ability to cast seventh-tier spells: two tiers above the minimum level to graduate from the greatest university of wizardry in the world.

“It’s wonderful,” Hogarth said. “From the time you met your new friends…your time here has been more favourable to you.”

“And you have been beside me through so much, from my childhood,” Isolde said. “Which, again, is why I wanted you both to know that having you with me, has brought me great comfort.”

“We take your safety as more than simply our jobs, Lady von Anmut,” Hogarth said solemnly.

“It’s our duty and responsibility,” Svenia said.

“Responsibility…” Isolde murmured, glancing at her dressing table. “Perhaps so, but you went above and beyond the bindings of duty. And I think that deserves to be recognised. I wanted to do something for you in appreciation so I have commissioned Stark’s Armoury and Weapons to produce two suits of fine, magical plate armour, for you both. They will be lightweight, yet able to protect you better than heavy steel.”

Svenia’s eyes flew wide. “That would be much too costly!”

“Lady von Anmut, such a gift—”

“I will also be providing you with new enchanted weapons,” Isolde cut off any protests. “Your current equipment has served you well, but you deserve better, considering what you have fought on my behalf. You have a responsibility to me, but I also have a responsibility to you. Please, accept my gifts even as I accept my degree on this special day.”

“Thank you!” They bowed once more.

“Rise.” She stepped forward, touching their arms. “And once again, I thank you. Now, come, let us make sure that we are ready for this momentous occasion.”

Isolde smiled, thinking about the day ahead.

Her grandfather would be teleporting her family to the university at ten o'clock. They would assemble on campus, and then be taken to the location of the graduation ceremony. Isolde did not know exactly where it was to take place, but she did know that at least one of the members of the ruling council would be there, along with the university faculty, and friends and loved ones of the graduates.

And most importantly, the graduating class.

It was supposed to be a grand affair.

“Perhaps this will be our final celebration before we fully go to war,” Isolde said.

“We will be beside you in that too, Lady von Anmut,” Hogarth promised. “And we’ll see you through it.”

“Let us not dwell on such grim things,” Isolde said. “And I apologise for bringing it up. This is not a day for dread, but for wonder…and it will also be the day that I take care of something I have put off for long enough.”

She glanced at a small wooden box sitting on her dressing table beside a folded sheet of paper. The young noblewoman had agonised over both for many evenings, though they were unrelated.

Still, both would be important today.

Most important.

“Come, let us be on our way,” Isolde said to Svenia and Hogarth. “Oh, and you are sure I look presentable?”

She turned in place, her robes billowing.

“Without doubt my lady, you look lovely,” Svenia said.

“How do I look?” Selina asked Theresa, stretching out her arms and twirling in her new dress.

The two young women were in their living area with Claygon and Brutus.

Selina’s gown was a sleek calf-length burnt orange affair, highlighted with orange and red trim, with a short cape flowing down her shoulders that ended in a jagged pattern like crackling flame. Her clothing embraced her connection to fire, and also accented her green eyes,

“I think you look great,” Theresa smiled.

“Thanks, I’m glad,” Selina smiled back. “I love this dress. It's not puffy like the other ones I used to wear. It feels and looks more grown up,” She looked at Theresa. “You look really great too.”

Theresa wore a knee-length sheath dress stitched in green and golden silk with forest green leggings beneath. The Twinblade was on her side, hooked to a wide black belt. “Thanks,” she said. “We’d better get going soon. When Alex finishes downstairs, we still have to get my family from the villa and I hope my brothers are ready, because the last thing we need today is to be late.”

“Late or not…I'm glad we will be together…” Claygon said. “…today…this will…be a good day…just like…older times…”

“Alex must be excited,” Selina said. “It’s a big day for him. Is he done, yet?”

Claygon paused. “No…and Theresa…I do not think your brothers…will be the ones who will make us late…”

“Boss, you’ve got to stop!” Troy cried. “You're going to get your graduation robes dirty!”

“It’s more than worth it for this, Troy,” Alex insisted, leaning over the kitchen counter, swiftly whisking batter. “I have to make sure the recipe’s just right. It has to be perfect.”

Grumbling ran through the morning shift. A dozen people—in white aprons and hats—were staring at Alex, trying to shoo him away as though he were a naughty cat.

“Come on, boss,” Troy insisted. “You don’t trust us? We’re less likely to mess things up than you are to mess up your robes! Wouldn’t you say?” He looked around at the rest of the staff.

They hissed and jeered, echoing his sentiments.

“Get going, boss, leave the cooking to us!” A stout man raised a wooden spoon as though it were a sword.

“It’s what we’re responsible for!” A grey-haired woman gestured with a ladle.

“Boss, you shouldn’t be–gah!” An orcish cook ducked as a Wizard’s Hand soared over his head, carrying a sprig of thyme to the other side of the kitchen where a cauldron was simmering over a steady fire. Another crimson glowing Hand lifted the lid—a familiar scent drifted out—as the other Hand dropped the thyme into the dish.

A third Hand stirred it into the stew before the cover was returned to the pot.

“Sorry about that, Rollgar,” Alex apologised to the orcish cook, who huffed.

“You can apologise by getting out of the kitchen, boss!” Rollgar insisted.

“That’s right,” Troy added. “I don’t know what you’re making, but we can take care of it.”

Alex smiled gently. “Honestly, you all take care of me a lot already, but this is something I have to do.” He looked at the cookie batter, then the stew. “These cookies and stew are my mother and father’s favourite recipes. And, uh, if you know anything about my past, you’ll understand why I want to make them myself.”

His words silenced the staff, they went as still as a held breath.

“Oh, gods, boss I’m sorry—” Troy began sputtering.

“Don’t apologise, you didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, I probably should be wearing something different,” Alex looked down at his fine robes. “I just, well…the idea hit me this morning, and I immediately teleported down here and got to work. We’ll serve them tonight…and in a way, it’ll be like mother and father are here with us for my graduation. …I want to get things exactly right.”

With a nostalgic smile, he looked at the cookie batter. “Did I ever tell you about my mother's recipe?”

“No, boss.” Troy peered at the bowl’s contents. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about it, if you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Alex picked up a small bottle. “One of the most important things about her recipe—aside from love—is that it’s simple. And, you know, simple recipes rely on proportions. You can’t hide a mistake among a bunch of other ingredients.”

The young archwizard glanced at a cake sitting on the central counter, ready to be packed up; it had been ordered by the family of another graduate and was built in three, magnificent golden layers of moist goodness, decorated with buttercream and accented with gold coloured marzipan scrolls.

“Take that cake: there’s about fifteen different ingredients in it, right? It’s challenging to make, but there’s so many ingredients in it that they can cover for one another.”

His attention returned to the cookie batter. “But a recipe with five or less ingredients means that the amount of each ingredient has to be exactly right. If you put too little vanilla bean essence in a complex cake, the cocoa powder will carry the day. If you put too much nutmeg in one, then cloves and ginger could compensate. But in a simple recipe like this?”

A Wizard’s Hand flew down to Alex’s side, carrying a small bottle of concentrated elderberry juice. He took it, unstopping the bottle with his right thumb, and sending the cork flying as the glowing Hand caught it between two fingers. “Each ingredient has to do its part, and the few drops of juice that’s called for has to be added in the exact amount. The juice ties the other ingredients together. Without it, you won’t have that united flavour that the recipe needs: you might not notice the flavour explicitly when it’s there, but you will notice it when it’s not. That’s the secret to my mother’s cookies: it’s not one ingredient overwhelming the others, it’s them working in harmony, enhancing each other as one.”

With that, he tipped four drops of juice into the batter, stirring and folding them in.

Troy smiled. “Reminds me of some of Old Master Beerensteyn’s recipes. Your mother sounds like she was good in the kitchen.”

“My father too,” Alex said quickly, not wanting to leave him out.

“I can see where you got your talent from, boss. Alright then, we’ll leave you to it. But…could you at least stop and put on this apron? I really don’t want to see those nice robes getting all messed up.”

Alex glanced down at his flour flecked robes.

The young archwizard had chosen a deep wine-coloured velvet for his robes, to match the crimson of his spells. Throughout the fabric, his tailor had sewn in symbols that were important to Alex. There was the symbol of Brutus and Theresa’s blood magic ritual that he’d created for his engagement gift to her, which was sown into the robe near his heart.

Embellishing the front, were the Heroes’ Marks, including the symbol of the Fool and the General. There were also a number of glyphs that represented the different monsters, including Bubbles—the very first summons—that Alex had learned to conjure. An image of Claygon and Asmaldestre covered the back. A symbol of the aeld tree and his staff were embroidered in gold thread along his right sleeve, and along the left, the lantern symbol of the Traveller. In his pocket was Kelda’s Coin of Silent Friends.

Around his neck he wore Baelin’s charm-pendant along with his necklace with the symbol of the Traveller hanging from it. On his index finger was Blodeuwedd’s ring of protection.

Alex would not forget the many who had helped him reach such a momentous day in his life.

“Alright, I’d better get these cookies made,” he said softly.

“Okay, and best of luck at your graduation, boss,” Troy said.

“Thanks, but I’m not the one who needs luck today,” Alex chuckled. “All I have to do is collect my degree. If anyone needs luck, it’s my friend, Isolde. She’ll need it…for more than one reason.”

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