Archmage Merida was in a truly foul mood. Many would be unsurprised by this, Merida’s moods tended to vacillate between cranky and downright homicidal, at least on the surface. But this was different, failure did not fall upon the Archmage of the Myriad Arts often.
It wasn’t the failure of the trial weighing upon her. That had, she had to reluctantly admit, been simply beyond her control. Noone could have seen the Slayers threatened defection coming, and she was certain they’d be feeling the fallout of that for decades if not centuries to come.
Certainly she’d spent the last few hours reading and re-reading the first hand accounts from Natalya, Alec, Holly and Amara in the hopes of finding some crumb of what had set off the Slayers and finding nothing that screamed ‘undercover deity’ to her.
She’d have looked further, and certainly intended to later, but alas her position as the Necropolis’ sole archmage did come with some duties. Power without purpose, afterall, was just tyranny, and her fellow necromancers did not love her so much as to allow a tyrant in their midst.
First and foremost amongst her duties was the education of new necromancers, it fell to her to set the curriculum, to hire and appoint her fellow teachers, as well as quietly make sure none of them were quietly sacrificing their pupils for various gains, and hand out punishments when such lines were crossed.
It was in fact an emeritus position, where most archmages went tall, relying gon a single esoteric art, she had gone wide and that made her uniquely qualified to select what magical arts the Necropolis should lean into (outside of the truly obvious). It was her who had insisted on a mandatory alchemy class for example, a choice that had paid dividends. A skeleton of now would, without any enchantment beyond a few dips in a potion vat, last centuries longer than before she’d taken the post.
Necromancy, alchemy, enchantment and healing were now viewed as equal parts of the process of becoming a necromancer. It was, in Merida’s opinion, her greatest contribution to necromancer kind. Not the wars won, not the foes slain, but the cold, inevitable march of knowledge under her austere guidance.
Of course being in charge of the Necropolis’ faculty did mean actually meeting them sometimes, and today was one of those days. Normally these meetings would be little more than a formality, and perhaps an excuse to break out the good biscuits, but today was another matter.
Holly and Alec’s arrival imperilled a number of projects, the risk for forbidden knowledge infecting the entire advanced stream was the sort of thing that gave even Merida goosebumps.
Amongst the normal students it was a fairly simple thing to contain. People accepted there would be a number of deaths each year, the Necropolis was, amongst many other things, a school for dark magic and that came with risks.
Merida was in fact quite proud that, even including the few times they’d lost an entire year of apprentices, they had a far lower attrition rate than the Path of Summoning for example.
The advanced students were a different matter entirely, with every single one of them marked for greatness in one form or another, be it through their own talents, some unique (or at least rare) spell or skill they’d stumbled upon, or (for the majority) being descended from another powerful mage.
Magical ability did not, despite an enduring and pervasive belief, normally get carried by bloodlines. There were exceptions, inherited curses for example were practically a guarantee that the victim would be a magical talent.
That was a snippet of information that Merida herself had gone to great lengths to expunge. Partly because it helped limit the potential challengers she had to face, but mostly because the number of students dangerously crippled by a cornucopia of minor curses had been getting more than even she could stomach.
The true way to develop magical ability in a child, the archmage had figured out from her ages of observation, was simply to ensure they were exposed to magic regularly. To get their soul used to having mana wash over it, taking a little for themselves in the process whether they meant to or not.
It wasn’t much, just enough to overfill their magicka pool, slightly tearing it in the process, for lack of a better term, and it certainly wasn’t a description that put people at ease, even the most veteran mage couldn’t quite suppress their unease at (very mildly) damaging their soul as a mechanism for power. At least that’s what Merida thought happened, damage leading to fresh growth, until eventually there stood a mage.
Noone had ever definitively proven the soul was where the magicka pool resided, but the list of other candidates was all but non-existent by this point.
Of course the magical potential of legacy students was not what made them a problem. What made them a problem were their mage parents who would make their displeasure known if anything happened to them. And there was nothing like an advanced student of necromancy for finding and getting into trouble.
Over the thousands of years Merida had been in charge they’d instigated ghoul uprisings, opened rifts to the Hells, broken into the Wraith Vaults, and on one spectacularly ill-advised occasion held a sleepover in the Whispering Archive in the misplaced belief it was some sort of rite of passage. Which admittedly it had been, but not one meant for apprentice necromancers but for senior warmages seeking clearance to handle weapons-grade memetics – the self-replicating and occasionally living ideas that were practically the only defence against a powerful telepath.
And no matter how the idiots got themselves killed somehow it was always Merida that the parents blamed, somehow having a reputation for ruthlessly killing potential challengers meant every mage presumed she’d put them up to it. It couldn’t possibly be that their little darling had done something stupid of their own volition. As if teenagers needed a reason to break rules, as if they even needed an excuse!
She’d lost track of the number of irate parents she’d been forced to kill on the duelling field, and she’d found enough venomous snakes in her bed that she had an entire snakeskin wardrobe.
Part of her wondered how Erebus would come for her if his proteges were slain. Her lips curling into a smile as she pictured it.
It would likely be during the day, when she was outside of her warded bedroom or similar place of power. Or perhaps it would, complacency was a far more dangerous weapon than anything she could lay hands upon in her rooms.
She knew from Natalya’s report that he could multicast, seven spells at once wasn’t a record but it was one more than she could juggle herself. He’d likely strike from the shadows, literally, stepping out of the darkness with a spell on his lips and lightning on his fingertips.
Her wards could handle elemental power easily enough, unless he was burning vitae in the attack, but after his battle with the imperator she doubted he had much life left to burn. There would be something physical, just to cover his bases, a thrown alchemical or a magically slung stone.
All easy threats to handle. The problem would be his entropy magic and whatever death spell he’d selected for her.
There was nothing for breaking down defensive spells as good as entropomancy, better to simply dodge it than to try and block it, but she doubted she’d get that opportunity.
There’d be a split second where she had to re-establish her magical shields, that would be when the death spell struck. And there were so many different death spells.
Again, from Natalya’s report, she knew he favoured mana-heavy ones like Rend which tore a foe in half. It was a good tactic, the spell was a hefty one but there wasn’t any true counterspell, the victim would just have to try and magically outmuscle their attacker and Erebus was a heavyweight by anyone’s measure.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
But then again so was she, if she could just stop Rend then she’d be in the clear.
Erebus was incredibly powerful, his knowledge of magical theory extensive, his experience in battle comprehensive. But he was a child.
Merida had been killing powerful mages for thousands of years, if she could just survive his surprise attack then she was certain she could beat him.
Mind settled she turned her attention back to her fellow teachers sat around the table. She was naturally sat at the head of it, there was no pretence of equality here, no round table.
To her right sat Vortigern, the old ghoul was, if not a trusted ally, then at least a dear friend. As the third oldest member of the faculty he rather had to be, anything less they’d doubtless have tried to kill each other by now.
The swordsmanship teacher (and other weapons) was easy to like, at least when he wasn’t teaching, and Merida knew that often when the staff had an issue with her they’d discuss it with him first. Given most of the time that stopped her needing to deal with it, it was a role she was happy for him to assume.
The seat to her left was empty. Its usual occupant, the second eldest of the faculty, their illustrious history teacher, was taking a brief sabbatical. Loathe as Merida had been to lose them it had been hard to deny them a holiday given it was the first they’d taken in… ever.
Further down the table Berilith was talking to Mortimer as her, with shaking hands, dry-swallowed a couple of pills, normally she’d have objected to the banshee openly enchanting a fellow member of staff, but given the spell was an enchantment of calming she was inclined to let it go. Especially given she knew for a fact that the balding, grey haired man she was calming was on three different anxiety meds, and still visibly twitching at every sound.
For an alchemy teacher he was holding out quite well, for starters he still had his eyebrows and was coming perilously close to breaking the record for staying in the role, just two months away from his tenth anniversary.
When that time came Merida was already resolved to push him to retire. It was going to hurt, Mortimer also taught enchanting and basic reanimation, finding replacements for all three jobs would be hard but it was clear the poor man’s nerves were shot. Understandably so, because the leading cause of death for Necropolis students was not undead gribblies, other-dimensional horrors or knowledge to sear the mind clean. It was the sound of breaking glass, followed by a quiet “oops.”
It was purely in deference to Mortimer that Merida no longer yelled in meetings and she was quietly looking forwards to being able to shake him by the hand and thank him for his long years of service.
The rest of the faculty were very much not planning a surprise party for him, because the last thing anyone wanted was to watch him keel over with a heart attack. But she knew that Berilith had called in favours to get the man a quiet out of the way village to act as healer for, and between herself and Healer Necrosia they’d even managed to arrange enough rejuvenation treatments at the Sanitatem Institute for him to receive those ten years back in full.
Merida doubted she’d be able to swing him the Order of Adamantine Will, given it was technically for bravery in combat, but she was determined to at least try.
The last two members of staff, Olivia and Inferno Jones, were quietly talking at the end of the table, presumably gossiping about why a meeting had been called. Neither qualified for the secret trial earlier.
It was at this point Merida realized she was procrastinating. Time to work.
“Thank you all for coming.” The elven archmage began. “I must inform you that we will be accepting two new students, Alec of Respite and Holly, Daughter of Von Mori, into the advanced stream.”
There were, predictably, groans from down the table. Mortimer, Olivia and Jones all speaking over each other in their complaints. She wasn’t surprised Mortimer hadn’t known, he was perhaps young to qualify as a senior necromancer (just in his mid-thirties despite a hairline twenty years his senior) but he did qualify. However the yelling often proved bad for his nerves and he’d stopped attending altogether after a dropped light-orb had caused him to actually draw his wand on the mage who’d done it. He’d drawn it to catch the orb, but that hadn’t stopped the other necromancer from sending a thorn-binding in his direction.
“I know, I know.” Merida assured them, “But this order comes down from on high I’m afraid.”
“Oh come on Merida, we can’t have a pair of absolute know-nothings contaminating the class mid year, it’s too dangerous.” Inferno Jones insisted, “Either we don’t pay them enough attention and they get killed, or we focus on them too much and one of the others gets killed.”
“I know.” The archmage repeated, “I don’t like this any more than you do. And if that was all the problem I’d just order one of the Shields to bodyguard them, but I can’t because they’re a walking talking infohazard.”
Olivia swore while Mortimer reached for his meds, apparently intent on double-dosing. Fortunately Berilith stopped him, the banshee gently holding his hand closed until he’d calmed down.
“How bad an infohazard?” Jones asked, the old pyromancer looked nervous now. He might have been teaching here for decades but he was still technically an outsider. The last thing he wanted was necromantic secrets falling in his lap.
“How on Reath are we meant to protect the students from their own classmates talking?” Olivia added unhappily.
“It’s not just the students you have to worry about. The stuff in these kids heads is enough to sign our death warrants thrice over.” Vortigern told them with a weary sigh. “I presume you have countermeasures ready Merida?”
“I want all of you to brush up on your silence spells, and I’ve got doubly bad news for Mortimer I’m afraid. You’re going to be spending the next couple days in your lab preparing memory blank spheres, just five minutes should be enough. I want three for each of us. You use one, you tell Mort, he’ll make you another one.”
That seemed to relax Mortimer a little bit, the balding man giving a tight nod in response, “Of course Archmage.”
“Good. Hopefully that will be enough, but if the knowledge does break containment I want you all to tell me immediately. I’ll be reaching out to the Council, see if I can get us access to a skilled memory editor just in case. Beyond that we’ll need to be on the lookout for other mages trying to pry it from their heads, there’s always one pillock who thinks they can handle secrets they aren’t cleared for.”
“Martyr preserve us.” Olivia muttered, “Is it even safe to let these two roam around the Necropolis? Who the hells even are they?!”
“The chosen apprentice of Erebus the Grey Walker, our new Archmage of Entropy.” Merida all but spat, feeling some small vindication as she watched the colour drain out of her living colleagues cheeks. “Though you needn’t worry about their general safety, I think, the Slayers and Shields will almost certainly step in to fill in that gap, just make sure things are covered your ends.”
“The Slayers?!” Mortimer blurted, managing to pale even further somehow.
“Relax Mort.” Vortigern assured him, “This is a good thing, a bunch of crazed battle junkies will do a much better job seeing off trouble than we ever could. What we should be focusing on is how this might affect the other students.”
“Mhm…” Berilith hummed in quiet consideration, “this could imperil Project Spidermage.”
“I swear if I could kill the idiot who named it a second time I would.” The elf grumbled. “But yes, that is an issue. Eyes That See Truly will be all but impossible to mindwipe with standard methods, and is too important to take more conventional countermeasures.”
“Perhaps a chemical or alchemical amnesic?” Olivia suggested, directing the question more to Mortimer than to her boss.
Mort shook his head sharply, “I wouldn’t risk it. We barely understand our own biology, let alone an oversized arachnid’s.”
“Then what?” The young Gardener pressed.
“Then we let the dice fall where they will.” Merida concluded, “And we keep Hope For A New Dawn safe. I’m authorizing lethal force, any fallout you direct to me, I will resolve it personally.”
“Are there any other foreseeable issues with the other students?” Berilith asked softly.
“Alicia.” Merida answered after a few moments thought, “Alec and Holly’s proximity to her mother will cause friction but I doubt it will erupt into violence.”
“Do you want it to?” Vortigern asked her, an undead eyebrow arched in inquisition.
“No. If they are to come to harm I would want to be on hand to ensure their souls don’t destabilise in the process.”
Mortimer raised a tentative hand, “Is that likely to happen?”
The Archmage of the Myriad Arts didn’t facepalm, because it would have been unbecoming of her position, but it was a close run thing as she realized she hadn’t told the three living mages of the most important things about their new students.
“Yes. Alec and Holly aren’t human, or more accurately Holly isn’t and her inhumanity reflects onto Alec. Holly is a dryad of the Forest Von Mori, soul bonded to Alec. Given their ages and inexperience, the bond should be presumed volatile.” She told them, and very nearly killed Olivia for the pitying look the Gardener gave her.
“If you want one of us to teach your classes with them, we’ll understand.” Vortigern told her, her old friend narrowly avoiding getting skewered by more than just a glare for the effort.
“I will handle it.” Merida told them coldly, “Now, unless anyone can think of further concerns to raise, this meeting is adjourned.”
The ancient elf ignored the sympathetic glances she got as her staff filed out of the room, Vortigern pausing at the threshold as if to say more before shaking his head and closing the door behind him.
Only then did Merida let her shoulders slump, sighing so deeply it looked like she’d started to deflate.
The soft-hearted fools at the trial had no idea the horror they’d inflicted on her two new students by letting them live. The agony that would follow because they’d refused to do what was necessary. Still she was older now, wiser, or at least more knowledgable.
Merida would not allow events to repeat themselves. Never again.