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Chapter 47 Rising arc
🕑 Added 2025-08-22 06:48:25 +0000 UTCPdf and Epub versions below.
There were a hundred things he could ask. A thousand. Details about their apparent near extinction as a species, about the how and why of the invasion, about morality and the future and the why. But he didn’t.
“What did you see?”
The Archmage sipped at his tea. “I shall assume that you mean what I saw during my own awakening as an Archmage. I had, even when I was young, been attuned to matter. Water to ice, ice to steam, steam to water. States of which there are many, and why salt is different from sugar. I couldn't stop questioning it, which is why I became a budding transmutation mage. But when I became an Archmage, I saw the bonds between creation. The laws that governed life, the structure between atoms. How stone could be fire, and how there existed a state of absolute nothing. That when you shred the building blocks of reality, you discover another layer no one has ever seen before.”
“I saw space.” Marcus shifted on his seat, slowly picking up the teacup. “How, when you consider things from almost anything but a human’s perspective, there is mostly nothing. A whole galaxy, an entire universe, and the overwhelming majority is just. Empty. Nothing but space. And I don’t drink tea, Archmage.”
The liquid turned to wine, and the man shrugged. “Please, call me Vistus. The Empress saw a reality made from her own will, illusions turned real because there is no objective truth. Only perspective. Wisdrog apparently witnessed the beginning of humanity, witnessed the end of everything, and gleaned fixed details from a future that is constantly changing. He was before my time. Balthazar had a vision of a steel world, of life springing from cold metal. I could go on. My point being; we all see very strange things.”
“If there were so many Archmages,” Elly said, tone forcefully calm. “Then how come the Dungeon is still a threat? You can literally turn things to nothing. I’m sure someone, at some point, could have found a solution. There have been, what? Dozens?”
Vistus shrugged. “More. Even within the Empire's own history, which only spans six hundred years now, there are seven or eight Archmages every hundred years. But for all our power, we are still mortal. Some of us forged mighty suits of armor, can nullify every attack or predict every action. But at the end, we bleed. We die, be that by the Dungeon’s hands, by the hands of our own kind or at the hands of time. And all the while, the Dungeon proves endless.”
“They say it has no bottom,” Marcus said, a spark of curiosity blooming. “So what would happen if I shrunk the distance between the surface and infinity?”
The Archmage spread his hands. “I have no idea. You are unique, as is every one of us before you. Some specialties might overlap, but not much. Perhaps there have been duplicates, but not in our recorded history. You get the point.”
“How did you know?” Elly asked, leaning forwards on her seat. “About Marcus, I mean? You have spies, I know that, but this speaks to more. It speaks to certainty. Twenty thousand men, mages, political complications, yourself. None of it comes cheap, and the end of the world would very well have supplied pressure to ‘awaken’ Marcus on its own.”
Vistus inclined his head. “Every Archmage usually has done a thing. The pinnacle of their craft. I can freeze every molecule in a certain radius, which you will be happy to know has put enough stress on my body to require weeks of healing. For me it's a skill, for others it can be an object. You are familiar with Balthazar’s magnum opus, I believe, though it is one among several. The man was… skilled. Very, very skilled. Wisdrog produced one of his own. The Scroll of Wisdrog. No one said the brilliant necessarily have good naming sense.”
“And what’s written on this scroll?” Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow. “Me, I suppose?”
“Not quite. I have it with me, if you’d care to see?”
Marcus nodded cautiously, accepting the remarkably bland piece of parchment. A mostly faded logo was on one side, the other half filled with rambling notes. But there, on the bottom half, was a list of names. Sixteen of them, each with a short few sentences attached.
‘Elara Veylan. Year of birth, 545, New Imperial Calendar. Description at age eighteen, lithe frame, pale amber eyes, chestnut hair kept in a long braid, faint freckles across her nose. Birthplace, Hamfill, Deyara Province.
Kaelen Drayce. Year of birth, 512, New Imperial Calendar. Description at age eighteen, broad-shouldered, storm-grey eyes, short dark hair with a natural curl, faint scar along his left jawline. Birthplace, Holdside, Varrin Highlands.
Seris Thornevale. Year of birth, 482, New Imperial Calendar. Description at age eighteen, tall, wiry, hazel eyes, wavy copper hair, an easy smile. Birthplace, Crestfield, Rivenmark.
Horzo Kaelith. Year of birth, 593, New Imperial Calendar. Description at age eighteen, lean build, raven-black hair, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, and an intense gaze. Birthplace, Homereach, Luthra Vale.’
On and on the list went, the Archmage pointing to an entry near the bottom. “Its not in chronological order, but there I am. Vistus Decimus Olomnus, born 552 New Imperial Calendar. And there, ninth from the top, is you.”
‘Marcus Sepsimus Lannoy. Year of birth, 601, New Imperial Calendar. Description at age eighteen, tall, thin, brown eyes, pale skin, short light-brown hair. Birthplace, Mirranian Kingdom, Redwater.’
Marcus blinked, eyes roving over the parchment. He shook his head. “This is the original. Decades old. Older.”
“It is. That’s not the right question.”
“Why am I the last to be born?”
Vistus leaned forwards. “Exactly. Now that’s something we are very, very, curious about. It might be the limit of Archmage Wisdrogs prediction, which has proven itself accurate. Every name on that list has become an Archmage, and for almost two centuries the Imperial Crown has been consolidating power by adopting the people on that list. There was talk of you becoming the new son of the Empress, before she had a son of her own. There was talk of it regardless, though at the end it was decided nothing could be risked with the last name.”
“It says Mirranian Kingdom,” Marcus observed, tone faintly distant. “It says Marcus Sepsimus Lannoy.”
“Exactly right. A not inconsiderable amount of effort has gone into ensuring that not only your Kingdom continues to exist, but that your family in particular had everything it needed to thrive. You are not special in that regard. The prophecy is somewhat flexible, but entire noble houses have changed their name in the past to conform to it. The current Empress herself was adopted by the Empress before her.”
Marcus shook his head. “This is pointless. Nothing you say is something I can believe, and verifying anything will take time we don’t have.”
“I’d argue we have nothing but time, now,” Vistus replied, posture relaxed. “The entire purpose of this invasion was to pressure you into becoming an Archmage, a goal that has been accomplished. And if you wish to summon your succubus to verify if I’m lying, please do. I don’t mind.”
Grunting, and taking a small sip of his wine, Marcus let Elly speak as she did. “You’re a trained martial artist. Aided by divination, but trained. I don’t doubt you’ve developed skills against cold-reading, are a trained actor or possess a dozen other skills. You are employed in what might be the most dangerous profession in the world, and you’re old. That means you’re either lucky, highly intelligent or lying. Luck runs out, and you can’t lie your way through a life or death fight.”
“I shall take the compliment,” Vistus demurred. “You, or indeed the death of your continent, was unforeseen, and you have my apologies we did not render aid. By the time we understood the threat well enough to do something about it, there wasn’t much left to save. Distance, pardon the obvious attempt at flattery, it is an enemy we have been unable to defeat until now. And yes, I am trained in a variety of skills.”
“You assume Marcus, or either of us, aren’t angry enough to fight the Empire out of spite. You killed a lot of people. Friends, civilians, soldiers. All because you need his help. That seems backwards.”
The Archmage leaned forward, looking at her with an almost frightful intensity. “What would you do, Queen Elenoir Marsennius, if you could go back? If you had advanced warning of the impending doom you survived by the skin of your teeth? How many would you kill? How quickly would you take power, if only to prepare your people for the end? How much blood would you spill?”
“Hypotheticals aren’t the point,” Marcus interrupted, tone forcefully even. “And you ignored her point. You came here with fire and blood, and now you say you did it because you need our help. That’s counter productive at best.”
Vistus didn’t reply at once, and Elly stiffened. Marcus looked, finding a small party advancing on them. Four strong; two demons, an elemental and a mage. His own guards tensed, moving closer where before they’d given them privacy, and the Archmage made no sound of protest.
The four quietly filed behind the Archmage, close—and thus trusted—but obviously putting the man above themselves. Marcus flicked his hand, two portals opening as summoning matrixes were weaved.
Vess and Xathar walked through them, the former the picture of grace and the latter seeming mildly irritated. Marcus scratched his mount idly, Vess not shooting him a look. Not apologizing for essentially ignoring him for weeks now, and he had his suspicions as to why that might have been.
Not the time, though. Not remotely the time.
But now there was set-dressing, which was just great. People to judge every word they said, every mistake and ploy. Marcus preferred the more informal air, which in his experience actually got things done, but he wasn’t exactly dealing with a lone mage.
Vistus was a representative of the Empire, and one who only answered to the Empress. Mostly. Marcus imagined that, being as powerful as Vistus was, it wasn’t exactly a clear master-servant relationship.
“Archmage Marcus, meet Brogus, Pina, Clarissa and Bilal. Everyone, our continent's newest Archmage.”
The four bowed, and it struck Marcus as wrong. Almost enough to make him cringe. Vistus was doing him a favor—someone can’t name themselves as an Archmage and what not—but two of the four had tried very hard to kill him. The Brute he’d met before, the Felid he hadn’t. And now they bowed, because he’d hallucinated some stars.
Imposter syndrome. That’s new.
At least none of them spoke. He was still annoyed at Pina for attempting that ritual, at Clarissa for burning his eyes away, but time had let his emotions cool. It was war, and he had done plenty of nasty things to the Empire in turn.
Pina was as bald as he’d predicted, though. That was a nice consolation prize.
“The armies have fully disengaged,” Vistus said, breaking the silence. “Order has been restored. You have built a very effective army in not a lot of time, Queen Elenoir, and the mages in its employ are more skilled than their training should allow.”
Elly clicked her teacup on the table. “Enough flattery. You knew coming here, even if you succeeded, would mean angering us. Make us hate you, even. I shall be generous and assume you thought of that.”
“Of course,” Vistus replied, sounding vaguely bored. “The official deal is as follows; If Archmage Marcus agrees to aid the Empire in containing the Dungeon, The Mirranian Kingdom will become the newest province of the Empire. The Lannoy family will retain their titles, privileges and authority, as well as be made Stewards of the region. Trade will no longer be taxed, reparations for the war will be paid, ecetera, ecetera. I don’t have the feeling you’re going to answer that proposition right now.”
Marcus slowly shook his head. “I am not, no. There are… things I want to clear up. Questions that need to be answered.”
“By all means,” Vistus replied, reclining. “I have time. Weeks of it, more if necessary. I planned for this to be the rest of my year, which means we’re actually ahead of schedule."
“You mentioned Balthazar before. Who was he?”
Vistus exhaled. “Ah, that. The Great Artificer. One of the more notable Archmages, since some of the most impressive things he’d built are still around. Helped create the Empire, in fact, and struck a deal with the first Emperor after doing so. I assume you ask because you ‘talked’ with the man inside the School of Life?”
“Yes.” Marcus tensed, resisting the urge to clench his fists. “How did you know?”
The Archmage shrugged. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You grew up too quickly, gained skills you should not have had the time to train, and suffered from a mysterious illness for a number of days. And before you ask, yes. We placed it there. Our best artificers determined it had only one more use left, and none of the other candidates would have as much use of it as you.”
“That implies a great amount of influence,” Elly noted. “Far beyond what a number of well-paid informants might grant you. It has been in Mirranian vaults for, by the former King's own accounting, decades. Quite the investment.”
“It was a risk. We would have taken it back had nothing come of it, but in truth it was made for Archmage candidates in the first place. Used to train a legion of apprentices for Balthazar himself, but many mages struggle inside of it. Both mentally and magically, I mean.”
Marcus grunted. “It nearly killed me. I had to force an emergency ejection, and thinking back on the sheer depth of the runes still gives me a headache. I could have gone insane.”
“Some do,” Vistus admitted. “You didn’t. And interacting with its inner workings sends even seasoned artificers into comas that can last weeks, which is another early sign of you being an Archmage. Your talent is not with runes, but your mind is robust. Adept at working with forces so far beyond us mere humans it’s almost funny. Some even say we are a mutation, us two. Humanity's desperate attempt at ensuring our survival in an increasingly deadly world.”
“Are we?”
The Archmage hummed. “Maybe. I have found no solid proof either for or against the theory, so it's possible. Not a particularly great focus for any Imperial research program, I will admit.”
“I still don’t see why you can’t just train Archmages,” Elly said, glancing down as her drink refilled itself. “While I am no expert on magic, I have been around a lot of it these recent months. Mages, even Marcus, train. He would not be where he is without extensive reading, tens of thousands of hours of practise, hundreds of experiments. Surely streamlining the process will, eventually, yield results?”
Vistus inclined his head. “You think as the early Empire did. Take mages, create an environment of extreme pressure, then refine the approach over time. And while it did create a number of very fine battle-mages, it failed to produce even a single Archmage. The cost was also high, both in terms of lives spent and resources used. Back then the Dungeon was more manageable, but the Empire was young. Unstable.”
“That was real?” Marcus asked, tone dropping. “Executions sanctioned by teachers, extreme competition to the point of murder, failure punished by death battles? Guards everywhere, outfitted with enough magical equipment to make them shine?”
“That is the one. I will not make excuses for my forebears, though these days it is a much more modern institution. The Academy of Ethereal Arts, known in its early days as simply the Academy. It is where the children of the rich and powerful go to learn magic. The Imperial Academy in the capital is for everyone else, though its proximity to the Empress still attracts many scions.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes. “I might want to visit that. The former, I mean, not the Imperial Academy."
“They will quite literally bend over backwards to accommodate you,” Vistus replied dryly. “Assuming we come to an arrangement here, of course. Ah, speak of the major downside to joining. If you wish to utterly ignore the person joining us, feel absolutely free. Or kill him, even. I can’t offer anything for his death, but I’d be grateful.”
The Archmage winked, an overexaggerated yet somehow dry gesture, and Marcus watched another bald man join them. The newcomer didn’t say anything, bowing deeply towards Vistus then himself, and Marcus didn’t see why Vistus would want the man dead.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway. What would happen if I were to decline?”
“Nothing,” Vistus said, sighing. “Trying to force you to comply would create more problems than it solves, so I would leave. Then, in a few years, the Empire is highly likely to fall, and you can face the end of the human race alone. If you doubt your usefulness, don’t. That spatial blade you make? The one that kills professionally outfitted soldiers by the dozens and is only a tier-three spell? I’ve tried to recreate it. It takes me six matrices and drains enough power to make it inefficient at best, suicidal at worst. But you can use it, over and over, and while I don’t doubt some talented spatial mage in the Empire could recreate it, it won’t be as good, and would probably take years.”
Marcus could imagine it already. He’d heard tales of the endless hordes, the mindless tides of beasts. Some were strong, some were weak, but most of all they were numerous. Big and tough, but nothing truly special. One arc could kill hundreds, if he timed it right. Thick hides and fur were good protections, but they weren’t quite metal.
Elly grunted. “You won’t force us, fine. Say I believe that. Three things. You glossed over the fact you knew Marcus was in the School of Life, information that has been kept very tightly controlled. Vess herself cleared anyone who could know, and there are very few people who can slip by her. Second, you controlled time. If you can do that, what are we even doing here? Third, I built the Mirranian Royal Army from the template of my homeland. A template my people, and others from my continent, have been refining for many, many years. How come they are so similar to the legions?”
“In order?” Vistus shrugged. “Yes, the Empire sent spies to keep an eye on Marcus. We are, have, kept an eye on every name on that list since the moment they are born. And while I am sure Vess is highly skilled, there are those capable of fooling succubi. Not many, but some. No, I don’t control time. Temporal magic is, according to some, the domain of the gods. Some very, very few can create artifacts using it, including an old friend of mine, but they have limits. I won’t be able to use mine for a long while, for example, though it saved my life against an opponent I underestimated; you. As for the Legions, there was a brief moment in time some one hundred and fifty years ago that the Empire sought to invade your continent. Consolidating resources, so to speak. The sea turned out to be an obstacle we could not overcome, at least not efficiently, but initial efforts had already been launched. Such efforts included cultural alignment.”
Elly opened her mouth, closed it, then grunted. “Great. Fine. I hope you won’t be offended if I find, interrogate and execute those informants, which is the only part of what you just said that I can do something about.”
“That is your right,” Vistus allowed. “But I would appreciate the opportunity to recall them. Like I said, they are very expensive to train. More than expensive, they’re rare. I’m sure I could find some way to compensate you. An artifact capable of storing Life Enhancement energy, perhaps, allowing you to use bursts of it when needed?”
Elly, to Vistus’ clear surprise, actually snorted. “No offence, but I’m not in a trusting mood. I also don’t need it, cause in case you’ve forgotten, I’m apparently married to an Archmage. I trust what Marcus makes a Hells of a lot more than what you can supply. We will think about what we’ll want for the spies.”
Marcus flexed his arm, slowly dragging himself out of his thoughts. And really, there was only one answer. He wasn’t petty enough to act on hatred over logic, not since the School of Life, and if he refused, there was no guarantee the Empire would stay away.
Maybe they would go into survival mode, wipe them out to prevent a war on two fronts. He could imagine Vistus, uncaring for casualties or politics, wiping out town after town. Whole armies vanished, a few soldiers turned into explosive reagents and wiping out their entire company. Over and over, Legions marching behind the man to clean up what remained.
Perhaps Marcus could fight him off. The Archmage had seemed distressed at having his body split apart, but it was a gamble. A long, bloody war, or prosperous peace? And all that was assuming the man was lying, of course.
If he wasn’t, if the Empire really thought it would lose without him, then there wasn’t a choice at all. Still, no sense not to ask questions.
He really only had one left, though. “How did Balthazar die?”
“Balthazar died because he got curious about the Dungeon,” Vistus replied, seeming to sharpen his focus. Maybe the man could read it off his face, or maybe it was just a topic that interested him. “The School of Life let him train thousands of mages, plucked from farms and more, and he could give them years of experience in days. Those mages summoned tens of thousands of elementals, demons and more, and then he took all of that into the Dungeon. He never came out.”
Marcus exhaled, glancing at Elly. She shrugged minutely, probably knowing what he was thinking and coming to similar conclusions. “We’ll have to work out a deal in detail, but yes. If the Empire falls, humanity dies, and for all that my nihilism likes to think the world would be better off, I live here. I would like to continue living here, and since you never brought it up, I assume there’s nowhere to run to.”
“There isn’t,” Vistus replied, a grim smile stretching over his face. “You already know there isn’t. Welcome to the plot to stop the end of the world. Gods be good, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
The man leaned forwards, Marcus clasped his hand, and the war ended.
Marcus let go of the man’s hand, and the next war began.
Afterword
And that’s the end of book one. Book two will begin without delay (there will be an interlude to wrap up the war, though), and the world will begin to expand. More places to see, beasties to kill and the end of humanity to prevent. That sure ramped up quickly.
If only disasters had enough manners to wait until we’re good and ready for them, hmmn?
Comments
LordVis
Oh no, they do not. And soon enough we'll see why.
Beeees!
Wowza, the empire does not duck around. But I guess an existential threat such as this requires it haha
