Four years ago, I launched chancethepodcaster.com on the extra day of the leap year. As this is the first anniversary of that moment, I thought it best to share another sneak peek into Rise of the Adept. There may be some minor editing done later on but the story beats should remain the same by publishing. Once again, I apologize if there are any formatting issues.
Whenever Archmage brought up the Antarctic Academy for Magicians, everyone started to question him.
“Why did you create an academy for Antarctica?” Because every continent has one with no exception.
“But if no one lives in Antarctica, who’s supposed to attend the academy?” If anyone decides to live there and is to be a magician in training, then they will attend the Antarctic Academy for Magicians.
“Why did you make the academy colder than the rest of the academies?” It is what it is.
While the Antarctic Academy for Magicians did not have classes, it did have its use. The academy served as a place to store magical relics: items that were valuable in some manner but those that he didn’t need to keep his full attention on. It also served as a place to hold prisoners who had information Archmage needed. The cold was bothersome but not dangerous, and combined with the isolation, served as a way to slowly have prisoners start talking.
Archmage hoped enough time had passed to gain the information he needed.
He opened the door and stepped into a small, featureless room. Sitting down on the ground, legs crossed, was Darius Murdoch. His time in captivity had not been too kind to him. His skin was pale, his body thin, his hair had grown out long, and he was in desperate need to trim his new beard. He wore only a black tunic and brown trousers, not thick enough to help deal with the cold. Darius was contained within a runic circle and his wrists were bound in chains. The circle and chains were creations of Professor Sierra Montague: the circle limited his movement within the bounds and the chains prevented him from using magic as long as they were on.
Darius kept his head bowed, looking at the ground. He didn’t look up when he heard the door open. Archmage looked down on his student with pity. Darius was one of his brightest students who would later go on to serve as a professor of necromancy. However, after an experiment killed two students, Archmage banned necromancy completely, and Darius went rogue. He was apprehended when he tried to revive Virgil the Damned, his ancestor, which was partially successful. Now, Darius may have the answers that Archmage needs to find and destroy Virgil.
“Five months, three weeks, and four days,” Archmage announced. Darius weakly looked up to his captor. “That is how long you’ve been imprisoned here. Answer my questions and that will change.”
“So you can kill me?” Darius said, his voice low.
“I have decided that once I am done with you, I shall deliver you to Professor Brenton,” Archmage corrected. “He shall serve as your warden.”
“We both know that he’ll execute me,” Darius chuckled.
“You did kill his sister and brother-in-law.”
“In self-defense,” Darius sighed. “I’ve read their journals. I know what they know, including the secrets you’ve entrusted with them.”
“And you also know the history of Virgil the Damned,” Archmage said quickly to stay on topic. “You took pride in researching and learning about your family history. You will tell me everything you know.”
“Why not ask Cassandra?” Darius asked, followed by a look of concern. “How is she?”
“Your sister never cared much for family history,” Archmage waited for a response from Darius, who remained silent. “She is well, although she is more quiet than usual. She is worried about you.”
“Does she know that I am here?” Darius asked, only to be met by silence. “Of course not. You wouldn’t dare tell her that I am here, left to freeze and starve.”
“You are given food and water each day.”
“A meal once a day to keep me alive,” Darius focused his eyes into an intense glare. “When my sister asks about me, you stay silent. You are incapable of lying, and you know that if you tell her the truth, she wouldn’t approve. No one would approve of the extreme measures you take.”
“Everything I do is for the greater good,” Archmage said sharply. “You’re wasting my time. Tell me of your family history so that we may never have to see each other again.”
Darius chuckled and shook his head. “As I see it, you need me. If I tell you what I know, I want something from you.”
Archmage sighed. “What?”
“I want classes based on the theories of necromancy to be taught at all of your academies,” Darius quickly demanded.
“Out of the question.”
“One incident was all it took for you to ban necromancy completely, no kind of warning involved.”
“Students were killed.”
“And it was very tragic,” Darius frowned. “But the two students responsible acted against my orders and were unsupervised. I suggest you teach necromancy so that students know how to defend themselves from it.”
“Students do not need to defend themselves against something that no longer exists.”
“We both know that even with your power and resources, you cannot completely eliminate the school of necromancy,” Darius stood up and looked at Archmage, their eyes now leveled. “You cannot hope to stop Virgil, wherever he may be.”
Archmage was not surprised by Darius’ proclamation in the slightest. In fact, he was expecting for him to come to that conclusion. There was no denying that Darius was smart in his own right, and that when questioned about Virgil the Damned, he would be able to connect the dots together. Archmage wanted him to know that his ancestor lived on. He was expecting his former student to take pride in his success, and from there, Archmage could proceed with the rest of his plan.
The school of foresight wasn’t just for scrying for the present and looking into the future. With foresight, Archmage could learn of someone’s past by reading their mind. While it may prove to be intrusive to the mind, it worked most of the time. However, a magician who knows of the spell’s existence may be able to resist the mind reading, just how one can resist enchantment spells. While Archmage had been able to ignore such resistances in the past, that was before he was poisoned. Darius had capable willpower and may prove to be a challenge to his weakened teacher.
Archmage focused on Darius’ mind. With his thoughts turned towards Virgil the Damned, he thought that he may be able to catch something. And he did. Archmage saw glimpses of Darius’ downfall against Simon Crowley’s illusions. He saw the destruction of the phylactery that housed Virgil’s soul previously. Then, darkness. Archmage tried to push through the darkness but it was a futile gesture. Darius snickered and grinned.
“Must you make this difficult?” Archmage questioned.
“I may be imprisoned, but I am not broken,” Darius declared. “You and I are enemies, and I will drag my feet through your procedures as long as I am capable of.”
Archmage frowned, then held up his hand. He formed a sphere of fire in the palm of his hand. “You will answer my questions.”
“Threats are beneath you. You’re falling apart.”
“If I’m falling apart, then what’s to stop me from following through with my threat?”
Darius thought about it, then shrugged. “Absolutely nothing. But I shall be warm for a second before I die.”
Archmage clenched his fist, dispersing the fire ball in his hand. “Then I’ll visit you in another five months.”
“If you’re alive,” Darius pointed out.
“If I die-” Archmage started, then gasped at the sudden feeling in the back of his head. “Someone just teleported onto the premises.”
Darius started to speak only for Archmage to teleport away. For security, Archmage prepared a way to detect a magician who used displacement magic to enter academies without his permission. Although Simon had abused the rule for some time before, it was Darius’ breaking into the North American Academy for Magicians that prompted him to be wary of teleportation. Now, the spell had alerted him to a potential intruder.
Archmage teleported into a large auditorium designed for mass gathering of students. There were wooden bleachers to the side of the walls, two doors leading into two hallways, and a skylight showing the purple sky of the pocket dimension the academy was located in. He was not alone: across from him were two men. One was short with a shaved head and wore black robes. His left hand had withered away with what little skin he had on it wrinkled. His companion was taller and very thin, but dressed sharply in a dirt-covered jacket and slacks with a brimmed hat to finish the look. He rested on a metal shovel as if it were a cane. The second man was very much undead with rotting gray skin and sunken eyes.
Archmage recognized both of the men that stood before him. The short man in black robes was Austin Orvillle, a former student of the North American Academy for Magicians. Previously, he was enrolled in combative classes and had poor grades. Ultimately, after losing a practice duel, he lashed out and tried to physically attack another student. While Professor Brenton stopped the attack and called for his expulsion, Darius stepped in on Austin’s behalf. Given that it was his first time offense, Darius convinced Archmage to let Austin serve detention by cleaning up after experiments in his class. Austin stuck around after his time was served with his transfer into necromancy classes approved by both Solomon and Darius. Austin studied and was one of Darius’ top students. He finished his necromancy coursework, but rather than pursue other schools of magic, elected to travel somewhere reclusive to study necromancy.
Overall, Archmage wasn’t too concerned with Austin, but his companion was worrisome. The undead abomination simply went by Grave (short for Gravedigger). He was created by Virgil the Damned before he was defeated, first to dig up fallen corpses. However, something led the lich to experiment on and empower his creation, who became his executioner. Through these experiments, Grave grew his own personality and thoughts, and even though he was practically immune to magical attacks, remained loyal to his creator. Grave stood by Virgil’s side throughout many battles, including their last battle. Archmage saw the monster fight and kill many men, but after a gruesome battle, Santiago Salvador beheaded him with a swing from his sword. Now, Grave was back, which could only mean that Virgil sought out his executioner to serve him once more.
“You are not welcome here, Austin Orville,” Archmage declared. “Leave now and I will spare your life.”
“That isn’t my name anymore,” the necromancer shook his head. “I, Strathir Mortice, will not leave without Master Murdoch.”
Archmage frowned and turned toward Grave. “You will not leave, given that you should not be standing to begin with.”
“Good to see you too,” Grave said, then grinned. “I like the new body, but the old one had a better sense of fashion. Oh well. And it’s too bad Santiago is dead. I was really looking forward to meeting with him again.”
Archmage saw no reason to correct Grave. “I am disappointed that your lich master didn’t come himself. It would have saved me a lot of time.”
“The rumors are true,” Grave muttered. “Master Virgil is back.”
“I am the reason we are here,” Strathir revealed. “Through my studies, I have brought back Gravedigger so that I can free Master Murdoch. Together, we shall usher in a new age of necromancers!”
“It would appear as though I have made a mistake,” Archmage sighed. “I need to fix it.”
Archmage held up his hand and unleashed a wave of fire towards his enemies. He was finished talking. All that was left to do was eliminate the intruders. Strathir raised his good arm to cover his face and tried to shield himself magically but his robes were caught on fire. The necromancer screamed out in terror and dropped down to the ground. Grave was immolated and covered in fire as well but showed no sign of pain or damage. Archmage held back a curse. Strathir was able to keep Grave’s powers together when raising him, making the monster difficult to destroy.
Grave charged forward, shovel poised to strike. Archmage remembered how dangerous Virgil’s champion was with a shovel and planned accordingly. He muttered a quick supportive spell to create a barrier between him and his opponent. Grave broke through the shield with a strike of his shovel, forcing Archmage to step back. He muttered another spell and struck out with a powerful gust of wind. While the spell did no damage, the wind was strong enough to force Grave back and put out the fire. At least now, Archmage didn’t have to worry about getting burnt.
With displacement magic, Archmage summoned a shortsword in his hand and readied his stance. Although he was far stronger with magic, he knew how to hold his own in combat. Grave pressed forward, making multiple jabs out to his opponent with the end of his shovel. Archmage blocked each blow to the best of his ability but knew that to continue the battle in this manner would be the death of him. Grave was stronger and not bound by exhaustion while Archmage would grow tired quickly, especially in his current state.
“Gravedigger!” Strathir called out. He lived, although his robes were burnt by fire. “He’s wasting our time!”
“I was just starting to have fun,” Grave said and slammed his shovel down, with Archmage barely blocking it. The undead creature took a quick sniff. “Go down the hallway behind you. He’s in the room at the end.”
Archmage gritted his teeth and blocked another blow from Grave. From the corner of his sight, he saw Strathir making a dash for the hallway. He couldn’t let Darius escape, no matter what. When Grave prepared another jab of his shovel, Archmage took that second to teleport away a short distance and now stood in front of Strathir. He swung his sword, catching the necromancer by surprise with a cut across his chest. Archmage intended to finish him off by striking at his neck but was suddenly disarmed when a shovel struck him in the hand. Grave had turned around and thrown his shovel at his enemy.
Archmage tried to cast a spell but Strathir was already preparing one after he had been slashed. The necromancer blasted Archmage with a spectral skull, which knocked the wind out of him and sent him flying to the ground. Archmage raised his head up to see Strathir preparing another spell and Grave running towards his shovel. If he hadn’t been poisoned, he would have made short work of these two. Now, he had to resort to using his most powerful spell.
Time stood still.
Archmage sighed in relief after casting his most powerful spell and counted in his head.
One.
He only had a few seconds to act.
Two.
Archmage didn’t want to use this spell as it took great effort and concentration.
Three.
He stumbled toward his sword on the ground.
Four.
He picked up his sword and walked toward Strathir.
Five.
It was time to end this intrusion, once and for all. Archmage raised his sword when a surge of pain coursed through his body, and time resumed.
Archmage held back on stopping time because it took too much of his concentration. He quickly focused on an alteration spell meant to push back the poison’s effects. A lesser magician would find the task impossible, but even while strained, it was a task Archmage could accomplish. The pain faded away, but in that moment, his enemy struck. Strathir adjusted to cast his spell where Archmage now was and conjured black chains from his hand. The chains wrapped tightly around Archmage’s right arm, disarming him of his sword in the process. With one pull, the necromancer brought his foe down to his knee.
“This is a new spell I crafted,” Strathir gloated. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Kill him already,” Grave grunted, grabbing his shovel.
“I want him to recognize that he’s beaten,” Strathir grinned. “Teleport the three of us to Master Murdoch.”
Archmage was about to respond by blasting Strathir with lightning when the chains tightened around his arm. He gasped in pain, recognizing what Strathir’s new spell was. Either he would comply with his demands and teleport them to Darius’ cell, or the chains would tighten and destroy his arm. Given that Strathir was a necromancer, it could very well drain his soul. Archmage couldn’t think of an immediate way to counter the chains, and so, he had no choice but to comply.
Not that it would change anything. Archmage had one final trick up his sleeve. He concentrated and teleported himself, Strathir, and Grave to Darius. Archmage sighed in relief as the chains lessened their grip on him.
“Austin?” Darius gasped in surprise.
“My name is Strathir now, Master Murdoch,” he turned to Grave. “Free him, Grave.”
Grave dragged his feet across the runes, breaking the circle that confined Darius. With one strike, the undead warrior destroyed the chains with his shovel, allowing him to cast spells once more. Darius stretched outside of the circle, a freed man. Archmage did nothing to stop these events. Instead, he mentally prepared himself for what he had to do. There was no going back once the damage was done but Archmage was left with no other choice.
“I told you that you couldn’t eliminate every necromancer,” Darius reminded Archmage.
“I never told you what I was going to say before I had to leave,” Archmage muttered. His three enemies turned to him expectantly. “If I die, at least I’ll take you out with me.”
Darius chuckled. “Big words coming from a man who has yet to recognize he is beaten.”
“And you have yet to recognize that we stand in a pocket dimension that I’ve created,” Archmage smirked. Suddenly, horror fell upon Darius as to what he meant. “I wonder what will happen to us if I end its existence.”
“Get us out of here Strathir!”
Archmage wouldn’t give them time to escape. He closed his eyes and blacked out. The Antarctic Academy for Magicians was no more.
In the brief second that he had to act, Darius grabbed onto Strathir’s shoulder and closed his eyes, relying on his student to escape.
When Darius opened his eyes, he found himself on a hill frozen with white snow as the cold air bit across his skin. He took notice that Grave had grabbed onto Strathir’s other student and came along with them. Although he felt colder than when he was imprisoned, Darius couldn’t help but grin when he looked up and saw the bright sky above him.
He was free.
“Master Murdoch, allow me to cast an alteration spell so that the frigid temperatures do not bother us,” Strathir offered.
“Of course,” Darius said with a nod, his tone quiet.
Leaving Strathir to his spell, Darius soon forgot about the cold as his student’s spell took place. It was a simple alteration spell meant to negate the feeling and harmful effects of extreme temperature. Darius wasn’t aware that Strathir learned it but years had gone by since they last saw each other.
Although Darius had every reason to celebrate his victory, a part of him felt empty. He turned away from Strathir to dwell on his thoughts. Archmage was his enemy, but now that he was gone, Darius wondered if he truly wanted the death of his mentor. All he had wanted was for lessons on necromancy to be taught in the academies as he felt that magic involving life and death would be important for magicians to know of. Darius wouldn’t deny that he went to drastic measures to see his vision and accepted that the next generation of magicians would see him as a villain. Yet, he felt such a sacrifice was worth it to better prepare for any threats that the other schools of magic couldn’t defeat.
In the end, Archmage wouldn’t see reason, and now he was gone. Darius sighed, his breath visible before him before fading away.
Then, the realization came to Darius’ mind. Although Archmage’s death was regrettable, it opened the door to new possibilities.
“Strathir, Grave,” Darius turned to face the two. “I trust that I have your support.”
“Of course, Master Murdoch,” Strathir bowed in respect of his teacher. “Whatever plan you have in mind, I shall follow you to see it fulfilled.”
“In the past, I served Virgil, and for now, I’ll serve you,” Grave answered with a nod. “Where do we go next?”
“The only place to begin my new plan. It’s time to go home.”
Chance The Podcaster 