Arcane Essence - Part Three

The Control

Boch had guessed right. The first words of his uncle’s incantation were the trigger words that released not only the delayed spell that activated his ring, but also the locks on his carefully concealed spell chambers in his mind.

He had carefully thought out the sequence of spells to be released from the ring. First was a spell for fire protection. Next was a fire strike targeted at himself followed by lightning and essence arrows aimed straight ahead.

The living throne shrieked in dismay and pain as the fireball exploded in Boch’s lap. The death grip was immediately released as the throne tried desperately to quench the fires by slapping itself.

As Boch stood to cast another set of spells, his concentration was shattered by the horrid stench, an unanticipated side effect of the fireball. As he faltered, the control words jostled with each other in his mind, canceling out most of his prepared spells. He was able to cast an essence lock on the door to keep the guards out.

He never believed the conflagration he unleashed would actually harm his uncle, but it was never intended to; just create a distraction as he slipped the snake from his pocket. Boch quickly activated one of his rings that created a sphere of null magic around him. Any magic attempting to pass through the sphere either direction would be absorbed by the sphere and the energy would be used to sustain the sphere itself.

“What a pleasant surprise, my boy. It’s a shame it all came too late.”

“I’m not so sure, uncle. I still breathe and your throne looks a bit the worse for wear.”

“True, but your sphere won’t last forever and then you will be mine.”

“No one can foretell the future, uncle. Not even you.”

“What a pity you never tried the tests. With your sheer power, you would have passed with ease.”

“But then I’d have to answer to you, uncle.”

“Would that have been so bad, Boch? Oh!”

His uncle’s eyes suddenly flew wide open with surprise as the snake sank his fangs in his calf and the deadly venom started to course through his veins. With each beat of his uncle’s heart, more of his body turned to stone.

“Who taught you, Boch?” he asked with a fading gasp.

“Arch Mage Pritle was my mentor.”

“But he died millennia ago?!”

“Exactly.”

“How? Why?”

“You don’t have much time left, uncle, so I’ll be quick. As I am sure you remember from the school histories, Pritle was the foremost farseer of his time. He foresaw a time of deep trouble. The school would become corrupted like the outside world. He left various clues and hints throughout his writings pointing to his spell arsenal. Unfortunately, he didn’t see someone like me finding it.”

Before his uncle completely transformed, he cast his Specter Hand spell, pulled the arcane essence from his uncle, and locked it in the empty pendant he wore.

“Guards!” Boch shouted, unlocking the throne room doors with a thought. As the constructs streamed in, Boch cast a repair spell on the throne and sat down.

“Bring me my siblings.” Boch commanded with a wicked, knowing grin spreading across his face. Now was the time to create his own brood of sorcerlings, for what he planned would make his uncle’s reign look benevolent.

A dry cackle reverberated throughout the throne room.