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Chapter 54 Consolidation arc
🕑 Added 2025-09-16 06:34:27 +0000 UTCPdf and Epub versions below.
The Hounds are what many experts consider the drags of the Dungeon. Its foot-soldiers, though that ascribes a level of sentience to the Hole it has never shown. The Hounds come in many forms, from flying felines to six-legged hares, but all are highly aggressive. Not individually dangerous, and none exceed fifty Imperial Kilograms in weight, but they often travel in large numbers. Beware the long Hound, for they are never alone.
Remember; The Hounds hunt not for malice, not for some distant master, but for hunger. Once their bellies are full, they will breed, and their young grow quickly.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
The vault. A place of pride and joy for any suitably rich family, able to securely store things for the next generation. Suits of armor, steel weaponry, important documents. Magical items, if the family was rich enough.
Marcus had his own Royal Vault emptied of all but three objects. The first was an old tome bound in human leather, a witches grimoire. Too valuable to just give away, though he was planning to gift it to Gretched regardless. The old witch had been doing well, and she was one of the few people who could make proper use of it.
A witches grimoire tended to have… odd magic. Dangerous magic from a past age.
The second was a small black book, the name on the cover long since burned away. It reeked of darkness, which was the closest thing his senses could get to the feeling it possessed. Evil was another word for it.
And the third. The School of Life. A cube, chiseled from stone not found in his Kingdom, and covered in microscopic runes. Thousands of them, and these days his senses were sharp enough to see they overlapped oddly. Invented space where none had been before.
It tickled senses he’d only recently gained, though only a little. It was a runic masterwork that happened to use spatial workings, nothing more. Still, it was an artifact crafted by an Archmage, and even broken it should still teach him something.
He was still considered a runic expert in the Kingdom, and that was from only studying the thing while inside of it, then not doing much with runes for a year straight.
Still, better to leave the best for last. He turned towards the little unmarked book, carefully stretching his senses around the thing. The curse, which in truth was just another word for enchantments, did nothing. It would, he was sure of that, but for now it was just passively humming along.
Curse breaking, another old discipline that had vanished when modern magic became widespread, wasn’t his specialty. He wasn’t bad at it, what with his control being finer than most and his knowledge of runes being fairly extensive, but this was trapped. Meant to harm anyone who didn’t know the very specific way of opening the book.
If there was anyone alive who could, Marcus hadn't found them. Hadn’t looked particularly hard, either. Still, a cursed book in his family vault peaked his interest.
It also seemed he was the only one whose interest it had peaked for a long while, because the magic was decaying. Losing its sharp edges, blurring as time passed and the rigid patterns of the runes became not so rigid.
Marcus slipped a small, raw tendril of magic past it. Infused with spatial intent, carefully weaving between the curse and the book. A divide he was sure hadn't existed, once upon a time, but now seemed quite obvious.
His tendril reconnected back to the other end once it was through the line, and he weaved a simple little first-tier matrix with it. Weaved it rather slowly, not able to move the tendril much for fear of triggering the curse, but it was doable.
The matrix weaved together, and Marcus pressed his will against it. Intent refined, magic thrummed, and suddenly the curse existed five feet to the right. Marcus picked up the book, letting the curse snap back once he had his prize. It unraveled, its anchor strained to the point of breaking, and a nasty little puff of smoke appeared.
Marcus waved his hand, containing it as the stone was eaten away, and turned to inspect the book. Opened it, no more magic inside the thing than normal paper usually possessed.
A blank page. Then another, and another, and more until the end of the book. There, on the very last page, were a short few sentences. An inside joke he didn’t get, an old word which roughly meant ‘got you’, and then nothing. The end.
Marcus pressed his senses against the book, more bewildered than upset, and nothing. Just a book locked tightly with a curse, probably meant as a joke between people now long dead.
Well, that was a disappointment.
He put the book back on its resting place after the curse had burned itself out, smoothing over the stone with a minor elemental spell. Turned towards the School of Life instead, hearing someone slowly entering the vault behind him.
“Gretched,” Marcus greeted, one eye shifting perspective. The old witch paused, looking around before bowing her head. “Good timing. Please, come in. I have something I’d like you to have a look at.”
The woman did, tone more scratchy than usual. A late night? “That’s the School of Life?”
“It is,” he replied. She sounded eager, but that was one treasure he was very much keeping for himself. “Its also not what you’re here for. Take a look at that book, tell me what you can feel.”
Disappointment, then obedience. Not even vocal disappointment, either. Sometimes he really did like being an Archmage. Made certain things so very simple.
Gretched picked up the book, sniffing it and idly leafing through the pages. “Used to be cursed. It wasn’t dissolved, or picked apart, so I won’t even guess at how you managed to remove the anchor. Empty, no invisible ink, what I’m generously going to call a joke at the end. This is a graduation present.”
“A graduation present?”
“It's an old custom for my kind. My mother did it to me when I passed her final test. I stabbed her. It's meant to show that no gift is worth more than the ability to make your own future, which a fully fledged witch can do with more certainty than almost any other soul. I’m going to ensure it dies as a practice. Needlessly cruel.”
“Any idea why it's in my family vault?”
Gretched shrugged. “No. Maybe another joke. Maybe someone thought it was actually worth something but never checked. The curse was strong. Stronger than the one my mother put on my gift. Old. Can’t tell you more now that it's gone. Is this why I’m here?”
Ah, the old person spite. Angry at having to walk all those steps for something as stupid as that. Good to see age wasn’t eroding her spine.
“You’re not.” He handed her the grimoire, watching her eyes grow wide. “This is a reward, in a sense, and payment for what I’m about to ask of you.”
She paused, carefully tucking the tome under her arm. “Ask what?”
“I’ve just ordered the construction of a new tower for the Academy. Five hundred feet in diameter, at least as high as the castle we’re standing in. Room for two thousand students, and with enough space to make all sorts of useful rooms. I’d like you to build it.”
Gretched opened her mouth, closed it, then spoke after a long few seconds. “What?”
“You’re the only mage I’ve met that actually lived in a magical home,” he replied. “Spatially enlarged, which isn’t what I want for the Academy, but it had other things. Defenses built into the framework, running water, extraordinarily stable construction. I can think of no one better to be in charge of the project.”
“That was a hut. A hut. What you’re describing has never been built in the history of the Kingdom before.”
Marcus hummed. “You’ll have everything you need, of course. Funding, expertise both magical and mundane, thousands of builders and hundreds of mages. You’ve already been refining your skills since coming to Redwater, ironing out inefficiencies and blind-spots inherent within master-student bloodlines. We have no mages specializing in construction, Gretched. I’d like you to change that.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course,” he replied, waving his hand towards the exit. “The grimoire is yours regardless. I hope you’ll help me build one of the largest magical buildings in our history, but I won’t force it on you.”
She would. He could see it. Her desire for legacy, even if she refused to take a direct apprentice before coming to Redwater. Or after, for that matter. But legacy could mean many things, and a tower like he was planning to build would stand for a long, long time.
Or be a ruin in two years, but then he liked to think the Empire’s divination mages were being pessimistic.
Gretched left, and Marcus turned his full attention to the School of Life. To its language of runes, so dense and deep and meaningful he could spend a lifetime studying it. Some had, undoubtedly. There was no way the Empire would risk sending it to a tiny corner of the continent if they hadn’t drained it of all usefulness.
But knowledge couldn't be depleted, not from an artifact as grand as the School of Life, and he slowly sent out his magic to start exploring. To inspect the damage, map out areas of interest, and most importantly to ensure it really was broken.
Old memories resurfaced. Months spent studying the thing from the inside, literally immersed in its magic. Magic that was still active, back then, twisting and living in a way he’d never seen anything do before or since.
Now it was cold, dead, and in some ways that made it easier to study. Easier to separate into its base components, glimpsing meaning when it wasn’t changing and adapting to a million hidden variables.
A whole world inside a cube not even weighing twenty pounds. A fake world, perhaps, but it’d felt real. Looked real. Paradise, if Balthazar had been kinder. A place without death or age. Instead it had been a tool for some unknown purpose, though Marcus suspected someone could only stay inside so long.
All the laws of magic and nature forbade longevity, and nothing he had seen from the School of Life suggested it could break that.
He spent hours looking at the thing. Tracing runic formations, guesstimating functions, he even attempted a minor repair to a spatial cluster, which both worked and not. The runes came back alive, but they relied on other clusters so tightly nothing actually happened.
And without spatial magic to give him insight, most of it was far too advanced. A black-box of information, where he knew the inputs, knew the outcome, and yet its inner working remained a mystery. Even more s-
Someone was close. Hand raising towards his neck, moving quietly, and Marcus twisted around to see Elly dancing back. He suppressed the reflexive wave of infinitely thin space, unraveling it before the magic could rush into reality, and glared at her. “Don’t do that.”
“I tried to tap you on the shoulder,” she replied, tilting her head. “You violated reality. What time do you think it is?”
“Why?”
“Answer the question.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes, tone exaggeratingly suspicious as he forced his muscles to relax. “No. You’re trying to trap me, and I won’t stand for it.”
“You’re no fun.” She rolled her eyes. “According to the guards you’ve been in here for five hours. You missed the meeting with the enchanting guild’s representative, and then missed dinner with me. I’d understand being enthralled by a box for five hours, but it's not even that. Just a stone.”
He cracked his neck, the stiffness of his limbs lending weight to her treasonous argument. “I’ll assume that was some form of innuendo and move on. Also, there is no enchanting guild.”
“There is now. They took your absence badly and talked amongst themselves. Nine of the best enchanters in the Kingdom now form their very own little ‘Society of Enlightened Minds’, or some such. Should I fetch a few soldiers and straighten them out?”
Marcus sighed. “No, no. I’ll deal with them. I planned to from the start, so I’d rather all that preparation doesn’t go to waste. You’d think the nobles who employ them would keep their leash more tightly gripped, but nooooo, of course not. They just have to make it my problem. Why didn’t anyone fetch me?”
“Fetch the Royal Archmage from his mystical quest inside the Storied Vault of Secrets?” Elly asked, a grin in her tone. “I don’t think we have anyone that brave in the castle. Not anymore, and certainly not so that a few self-important old men and women can complain about their monopoly being threatened.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, let’s go then. I’ve spent enough time looking at that dead world.”
Elly skipped after him as he left the vault, the door sealing shut with barely a sound. He’d sent some of his more promising students to maintain it, both as a learning opportunity and as cheap labour, and it seemed they’d done a good job.
“I’m not coming with,” Elly said as they started to climb the stairs, making him look. “What? Scaring people is funny, but there’s a ‘problem’ at sea. Well, in the bay, but at sea sounds more pressing. Makes for a better excuse.”
“Anything I need to know?”
She shrugged. “Nah. It's good, really, but an over enthusiastic noble tried luring in more beasties from the sea using magically infused cow meat. It worked a little too well, so Helios asked me to help aggressively cull the population. That ship you spatially enlarged the cargo area of after your official birthday party should be able to hold it all. And Hells, we even have enough mages these days to properly freeze corpses that large.”
“Cool,” he replied, ignoring her eyeroll. “I was in a mood, as I warned you I would be. You being there was a balm on my soul, truly, but I underestimated how much more sycophantile everyone would be.”
“That’s not a word, but I feel you. Anyway, have fun with the enchanters!”
She waved as she turned right, Marcus turning left and feeling her fill her body with Life energy. And he still hadn’t been able to really rub in his teleporting abilities, either.
Soon.
He shook off his good mood as he walked, letting calm wash away most of his emotions. Elly had that habit, these days, able to install humor and petty snark and more, but while it wasn't unpleasant, he loathed to lose control.
Probably some deep-rooted childhood issue. What wasn’t. Regardless, he was calm. Cold, if one was feeling uncharitable, professional if one was feeling generous. Marcus found it helped.
That’s how he stepped into the meeting room, nine men and women sitting around a large table. Food had been served, expensive wine poured, but silence fell all the same. Powerful they might be, he was still their King. That would have meant much even if it was all he’d been.
“Your Grace,” one of them began, and Marcus' memory dragged up a name. Albert. Older, highly respected within the enchanting community. The man barely suppressed a sneer, which admittedly did help Marcus lose that last little bit of humor. “I’m afraid we’ve begun without you.”
Marcus hummed. “You’ve done more than that. The Enchanters Guild. I’m not so sure your employers will be happy to receive the news.”
“But they will still want what we can provide,” Albert replied, seeming so very self-assured. “As do you. This Academy business of yours, your Grace, threatens our livelihood. I’m sure you can understand our position.”
“I can understand it quite well.”
Albert smiled, a touch of condescension in his tone. “I thought as much. You have promised the Empire much, wagons and wagons full of enchanted bone weaponry and scale armor. The Enchanting Guild would be willing to offer its services, assuming certain assurances are put in place.”
The door opened to see a woman Marcus had never seen step inside, fingers tapping her leg in a short sequence. The woman moved to stand behind one of the silent enchanters, Marcus turning his attention back to Albert. Still smiling, still seeming self-assured, not bothering to even glance at one of his fellow’s apprentices.
“Did you know I have made somewhat of a study of your craft during my youth?” he asked. “I never quite reached the skill you no doubt possess, Master Albert, but it was enough to begin training my own enchanters when the Academy was founded. Now, I have been advised this might create a problem. Threaten people who hold quite a bit of power, most of whom are now in this room.”
Albert narrowed his eyes. “We have more members than those who sit here today, your Grace.”
“Do you? Potential members, yes, but this is a young Guild. But then I knew you were going to make some form of trouble, though I never anticipated you’d do something this bold. Nevertheless, I prefer things to be under my control. Call it a character flaw, if you must.”
The old enchanter tapped the table. “You’ll never supply enough goods to satisfy the Empire without us.”
“I won’t,” Marcus replied, shrugging. “Funnily enough, they don’t really seem to care. Three days ago I secured a six month extension on the contract, an extension given without any penalties or additional costs. They seemed almost eager to remove an economic problem, really, so that their newest Archmage could focus on more important things.”
Albert looked quite a bit less self-assured, for some reason. “That is not how business is done.”
“If you say so. Regardless, you still make a good point. My Academy is young, and my own enchanters have learned all they can from books. So little is written down, so much knowledge is hoarded. As such, I required proper teachers. Teachers who I needed to approach discreetly, lest all the others of your craft closed ranks. Which happened anyway, but that’s beside the point. Ponn?”
The silent apprentice bowed, shifting towards her usual form. Still massive, still with great hair, still with that same adoring look to her eye. A little disconcerting, but he pushed the feeling down. “Masters Aregno, Helena and Gaston have agreed to your terms, Archmage.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Ponn.” The shapeshifter smiled, abandoning the Master she’d never served to stand near the door. Marcus shrugged as her usual weapon grew in her hands. “I’ve secured the knowledge needed to train my own legion of enchanters. Ones who won’t do silly things like move against the Crown or try to form Guilds to control access to their craft.”
Albert shot to his feet, face reddening. “This is an outrage. Charter regulation states that-”
Ponn’s warhammer smashed into the table, splinters flying everywhere as the old man reeled. Marcus was kind enough to snap a modified shield around the table, lest everyone present would be spending the next hour being attended to by a healer, but it seemed the point had been made.
“Your Guild has existed for a number of hours,” Marcus said, tone perfectly calm. “Now it's dead. Pointless. The Academy would be very happy to offer generous contracts to everyone present, be that for a set period of time or a more permanent basis, but make no mistake. The Academy is the future, and the Academy is mine. Don’t ever try to threaten it again.”
He turned, Ponn opening the door for him, and he nodded to the shapeshifter. Offered her a small smile in thanks, receiving a beaming one in return, and the door closed behind him again a moment later.
Marcus stretched, rolling his shoulder and mentally going over his list of chores.
No, that was everything. He turned and started walking towards his study, Vistus’ book on matrix exercises waiting for him. More reading, more practice and more progress.
A satisfied smile briefly lit up his face before he schooled it into something more neutral. The Guild had no power without their monopoly over enchanting, he got three new master enchanters for his Academy, and now he could stop wasting time on them.
Peace was nice, he found. It allowed for him to indulge in his hobbies, slowly refining his skills without facing death every two seconds. It allowed for him and Elly to eat lunch on the castle roof, basking in the midday sun. It allowed for all manner of pleasant, relaxing things.
He could get used to it rather easily.
