Drakes In The Distance

Hans didn’t dare pray for protection, not when there was the chance that his master might hear him. Ironically, there would be almost no faster way to ensure his death. Arcet hated human superstition, as he intermittently made abundantly clear with horrifying acts of violence.

But all in all, he could be worse. As far as Archmages go, Arcet clearly had a mission, even if Hans had no idea what that was, which meant he wasn’t as fickle as some of the other Archmages. He had no peers, which meant there wasn’t drama and politics constantly putting his workers in danger. And he took a fairly hands off approach; he set up his domain in the mountains, recruited humans to start mining, and then left to lurk in his tower, focused on arcane secrets far beyond Hans’ understanding.

Yet, unfortunately, Hans had the task of interrupting Arcet from his studies. He cautiously tapped on the door to his master’s study, and waited several long moments. “You may enter,” a voice finally bid, and Hans did so promptly. He had information to give, and hoped things would be as simple as saying it and leaving.

“Lord Arcet,” Hans spoke, bowing in the process, “Drakes have been spotted within your domain.” Silence was his only response. “They appear to be engaging in scouting missions, currently,” he further offered, “ducking in and out of the borders, and patrolling the southernmost crags.”

Arcet stood still, gazing out his window, and Hans could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Had he spoken out of turn? Was he the bearer of bad news? Finally, the lich spoke: “I see.”

And that was it. Hans waited, hoping that Arcet would either elaborate, or dismiss him. He knew better than to try to slink out of the lich’s sight unbidden. “Are there any countermeasures we should take, my lord?” He tried.

“If they aren’t interrupting the excavation, you should stay the course.”

“Are they a threat?” Hans asked, immediately cursing himself for not taking the opportunity to leave with that last order. “They are Lord Kywon’s, do you think he might be trying to oppose you?”

“Oppose me? No. Everything becomes clear once you see the Archmages for who they truly are.” The words hung in the air as he stared off into the distance through the window, gazing at the treacherous peaks that made up much of his domain.

“And, uh, what would that be, sire?”

Arcet glanced at him directly, “Is it not obvious?” Hans shook his head nervously. “Look at their motivations. Why do they do the things they do? Kywon as an immediate example, the man is motivated by a desire to make things the way they once were. Only one thing matters to him, and it is his quest to restore dragons to the sky. Foolish. He never even knew dragons.”

Arcet began to stalk around the room, running his pointer finger along the grooves in the stone wall. “Kywon will ultimately always hear what he wants to hear, and see what he wants to see, because he’s a visionary. Everything relates back to his quest, his goals, his ambitions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sire. So Kywon is a...weak link among the other Archmages?”

Arcet had to pause at that, turning to the underling as something deep welled up inside of him. From his chest, where he used to have lungs, up along his neck, where he used to have vocal chords, spilling from his jaw. A cacophonous laugh, one that felt like a mimicry, a mockery, of the laugh that once was. Back when he was mortal, when he was weak. “Kywon isn’t a weak link. They’re all this weak. Every single one of them.”

Arcet started pacing again, finger digging into the stone, tearing at the hewn bricks, as he rotated around the room. “Ikel is self obsessed and tied to the humans that worship them. They live for attention, and all they want in the world is to keep their village loyal and ‘happy’,” he spat the last word like it was a curse. “Lucille is a warmonger, battle is both her ends and her means. She captures territory and doesn’t bother protecting it, allowing her to endlessly entertain herself conquering the same areas over and over again. Eltensia is just a battlefield for her. She squanders immortality.”

“And then, of course, there’s Ella.” Arcet’s permanent grimace darkened. “She’s the only one capable of seeing past her own nose, which would make her dangerous if anyone listened to her. She’s truly power hungry, seeking to expand her horizons unlike the others who are content to live within their own realms. I imagine that never dying is a factor in that.”

“So, is she a worthy foe?” The underling asked tentatively.

Arcet dug his fingers into the wall, and ripped a stone out, hurling it across the room. “She is weak! They are all weak. She’s obsessed with magic, with humans, with politicking in her court. She would never investigate any of our actions unless we told her to her face that we planned on destroying everything she ever cared about. She has no vision.” Arcet turned to the henchman, who seemed suddenly aware of the danger he was in, asking these questions of the lichlord. “If you took the best pieces of every single one of them, maybe. If you took Kywon’s vision, Ikel’s ability to move people, Lucille’s adeptness for warfare, and Ella’s power and willingness to do what must be done, there is a chance there might be a foe I might need to care about. But that will never happen, since all of them are too stupid to work together on matters like this. All of them are too stupid to know what my aim is, what I am accomplishing.”

Arcet loomed over the human lackey, his eye sockets staring down at him with a freezing blue glow. The rant hung in the air, and the underling was too scared to break the silence. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. “Do you know why I hired you, Hans?” The man blinked at Arcet’s question, shocked that the Archmage knew his name. “It must be something you’ve wondered about. I’m a skilled enough necromancer to assemble all the forces I need, in the form of Whispers and Zombies and Skeletons and all other manner of undead. Why would I ask for the help of a human?”

“Do we offer you something unique?” Hope entered Hans’ voice.

“You do. What am I truly, Hans? In the same exercise of examining the other Archmages.”

“You...” Hans hesitated, trying to appropriately answer the most dangerous question he’d ever been asked. “You have a vision for this plane, much like Kywon. There’s rumors that you have dreams, unlike any other lich, that we’re searching for something as we excavate these mountains. You don’t capture territory for the people in them, you capture territory for the things they possess. You lead, but not directly. You don’t look for worship, you look for results.”

“Very good. Do you know what those dreams are?”

“No, sire, I’ve heard too many different things that all contradict each other.”

“I just want some peace and quiet.” Arcet’s words confused Hans, that sort of desire didn’t make sense for the type of mage Arcet was. “This world has been too noisy for far too long. Constant hustle, bustle, chaos, conflict. Just...too much breathing. I dream of a world where all of that stops. Forever. A world of true silence, where I can rest and clear my head for the first time in a thousand years. Ever since they spoke to me for the first time.”

“When who did, sire?” Hans felt dread rising in his chest.

“It doesn’t matter who. What matters is the vision, Hans. So, tell me, what do you think you have to offer?”

“I...I truly don’t know, sire.”

“You remind me why I want peace and quiet.” Arcet’s neckbones cracked softly as he turned, taking in the entire room, and Hans was even more acutely aware of the fact he was stuck alone with the archmage. “Humans. I’ve had to deal with your kind for hundreds upon hundreds of years. You’re why all the others are so stupid. They’re obsessed with you, directly or indirectly. They would fight me if they knew what I was planning, my extermination. But they never will. Not until it is too late.”

Arcet’s hand reached forward, and passed through Hans’ chest like a knife through hot butter. Pain shot through the man’s body for only a split second before Arcet crushed his heart in his hand, and send a pulse of necrotic energy through the nervous system for good measure. There wasn’t any need for suffering. The corpse slumped over onto Arcet’s arm, and the lich pushed the body off, letting it fall to the ground. Suffering wasn’t Arcet’s aim.

Silence was.