Creation Mage 7

by King, Dante

  Creation Mage 7

  War Mage Academy 7

  Dante King

  Copyright © 2021 by Dante King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

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  Chapter 1

  It was a week after Yuletide and the Chaosbane Ranch looked like the bastard lovechild of an Inuit village and Woodstock. Blatantly magical tents had sprung up around the enormous log cabin mansion like fungi clustering around a fallen tree, their numerous and different shades and patterns standing out vividly against the snow that still blanketed the expansive lawns.

  These tents had been pitched by the new arrivals that had begun to trickle, and then to flood, onto the Chaosbane family’s property a few days after we had celebrated the cutting of the Yule Log.

  “Friends and acquaintances, well-wishers, and folk empathetic to our cause and point of view,” Reginald Chaosbane, the Headmaster of the Mazirian Academy, had replied to me when I had asked him who the fuck was camping out on the lawn.

  “Not squatters?” I asked.

  “No, not squatters,” the Headmaster had assured me, lighting up something that looked like a cigar but smelled like marijuana dipped in gasoline. “They are sympathizers to our cause. Sympathizers to the cause that your parents, the jolly old Twin Spirits, put into action roughly three decades ago, the one that your father and mother began hypothesizing while they were still students at the Mazirian Academy.”

  I had looked out over the tents, watching the inhabitants getting up and performing their morning ablutions. One tent, an elaborate confection of silks, looked like it was home to a whole family of djinnis. Another looked like nothing more than a basic, miniaturized bridge with rough hessian cloth hanging across the arch. As I watched, a troll emerged from under the crudely constructed bridge, stretched, and scratched his ass with a look of deep concentration over his craggy face.

  “You can take the troll out from under the bridge,” Reginald Chaosbane said reflectively as he breathed out a plume of marshmallow scented blue smoke, “but you can’t take the bridge out from over the troll.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was the most profound philosophical insight I had ever heard or if it made absolutely no sense—it was hard to define the difference with Headmaster Chaosbane.

  “You call them sympathizers to the cause,” I said slowly. “But that just means they’re rebels, doesn’t it, sir?”

  Reginald looked sideways at me and grinned through another cloud of smoke.

  “Depends on who you ask, Mr. Mauler,” he said.

  “Well, let’s just say you were to ask the Arcane Council…” I said.

  “Oh, the Arcane Council, yes, in that case,” Reginald said, motioning toward the campers with his cigar, “what we have here are a big old bunch of rebels.”

  That had been a few days after Yuletide. Now, here we were only a week out from that insane holiday I had shared with the Chaosbane clan, and the grounds surrounding the Chaosbane’s family seat were filled with these rebels.

  “The Headmaster has been sober at some point since Yuletide, right?” I asked Leah Chaosbane, while the two of us sat out on the porch of the Chaosbane ranch house and looked out at the myriad people. It was early in the day and the two of us were nursing a couple of mugs of good, strong Auntie Brewster’s Brain-Buzz Espresso.

  “Sobriety is all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” Leah said.

  I changed tact. “What I mean is that the man realizes that this ranch is practically right under the noses of the Arcane Council in Manafell, doesn’t he? He is aware that you could stand on the battlements of the Castle of Ascendance and almost see this place?”

  “Of course,” Leah said, twirling a loose strand of her bubble-gum pink hair around one long finger.

  “And he’s not worried that the Arcane Council might wonder why the circus has suddenly come to town?” I gestured at the plethora of tents that could be seen from the porch.

  “That lad might be reckless at times,” came a crusty voice from behind us, letting loose one of the world’s great understatements, “but he ain’t as dumb as all that.”

  It was Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock, the ancient and grouchy patriarch who ruled the Chaosbane clan. He was hobbling along on his vector stick and wearing the hand-knitted hat that he was never without.

  “It’s true,” Leah said. “He was born at night, but not last night. If you’re worried that he might be being a little obvious with this little gathering of rebels, then fear not. He knows exactly what he is doing, honey-kitten.”

  “It might be tough for you, being an Earthling and all,” Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock said, “to see things from the Arcane Council’s point of view. Cripes, it’s hard for most right-thinking folk to see anything from their point of view, really, what with their heads being buried so far up their own asses!”

  “What you have to realize though, Justin,” Leah said soothingly, “is that the Arcane Council prides itself on its reputation for being mysterious. For wrapping themselves up in enigmas and secrets and lies like an old whore might clad herself in lace and pearls and flowery perfume.”

  “In short,” I said, “Headmaster Chaosbane is banking on them expecting us to be just as concerned about being clandestine as they themselves would be?”

  Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock snapped his fingers together and pointed at me. “That’s just it, young fellow. The fact is that we here at the Chaosbane Ranch have always had a pretty lenient open-door policy when it comes to guests and what those guests are allowed to get up to on our lands.”

  “Except the Flamewalkers, Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock,” Leah reminded the old man absently, magicking one of her thin black cigarettes from out of nowhere and lighting it with a blown kiss.

  “Well, obviously, that rule doesn’t apply to the fucking Flamewalkers,” Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock scoffed. “The stuck-up buggers wouldn’t accept an invitation here even if I was drunk enough to extend one their way! Besides, I’d rather circumcise myself with a rusty bread knife than put myself through three minutes of company with any of those that live over yonder!”

  The Chaosbane and the Flamewalker families had long been neighbors out there on the outskirts of the city of Manafell. As far as I could tell, they had been pissing each other off for generations, almost to the point of it being
a habit or a tradition.

  I had been given a taste of this when we had first arrived on the sled that had taken us through the wormhole. Reginald had hovered over the Flamewalker estate and allowed the magical bulls that pulled the sled to destroy their neighbor’s lawn and garden furniture with their monstrous turds.

  “My point is,” Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock said, “is that even if the Arcane Council are having a bit of a sticky beak at what we’re up to here, they’re going to assume that it’s just some cracked party or reunion of ours. They can’t know how many fucking Chaosbanes there are floating about out there.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock cocked a wiry eyebrow at me. “Because even I don’t fucking know how many there are, Mauler.”

  He maneuvered himself stiffly over to a free chair and lowered himself into it with a great sigh and screeching expulsion of gas from his backside.

  I wrinkled my nose as the stench of cabbage and eggs wafted over Leah and me.

  “Great Granddaddy,” Leah said reprovingly, “that was fucking foul.”

  “Hm, it was a bit, wasn’t it?” the old man said, looking rather pleased with himself.

  While I tried not to throw up, I looked out over the rolling, snow-covered grounds. Not too far away from the ranch house, I could see three of my closest companions standing out in the field and enjoying a little magical sparring practice.

  Cecilia Chillgrave, aristocratic Elven Frost Mage and hot-ass blonde, was standing barefoot in the snow. She was, quite literally, in her element, which explained why it was her who was taking on Janet Thunderstone and Alura, the Gemstone Elemental princess.

  As I watched and attempted to distract myself from the brassica-rich miasma that had enveloped the porch, Janet let loose with some of her Storm Magic. With her hands held out, she used her Chain Lightning spell to send miniature lightning bolts zapping toward her best friend, Cecilia.

  Cecilia rolled to one side lithely, narrowly avoiding a few little bolts that kicked snow up from the lawn in powdery tufts. As she was doing this, Alura made her move and fired a weakened version of her Light Beam spell at the Frost Mage.

  Cecilia rolled to her feet and made an icy wall materialize out of nowhere, deflecting the beam of energy up into the sky. She then countered with an attack of her own, firing a spray of needle-sharp icicles at Janet before the Storm Mage could let fly another attack. The Ice Shards, though clearly watered down by Cecilia so as not to hurt Janet too much, shot through the air.

  A second before they connected with the daughter of Idman Thunderstone, Alura summoned a Crystal Pup—a crystalline canine-like creature that could be sicced on those whom she wished considerable harm—into being. The creature was impervious to basic ranged weapons like crossbows and throwing knives, but not so with magical attacks. At Alura’s bidding, the Crystal Pup leapt in front of Janet and bore the brunt of the Frost Spell, shattering into pieces.

  “Nicely done,” I heard Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock say gruffly from behind me.

  The three women untensed and came together, congratulating one another.

  We had been sparring with each other most days after Yuletide — to get back into the mentality of War Mages, and to keep our skills sharp.

  There was a definite feeling of anticipation in the air on the Chaosbane Ranch, a feeling which was only heightened by the arrival of all these other mages who had apparently been summoned by Reginald Chaosbane. There was an atmosphere of expectancy that no one voiced but everyone felt.

  There was something momentous in the works, that much was obvious. Something that was bound to be as full of excitement as it was full of danger.

  Thinking that I wouldn’t mind another chat with the Headmaster of the Mazirian Academy, I got to my feet and drained my coffee.

  “Just going to go and take a stroll and see if I can find the Headmaster,” I said.

  I passed Igor and Mort Chaosbane walking up the stairs to the porch as I descended them. The three of us exchanged nods. Truth to tell, Mort and I exchanged nods of greeting, while Igor, the sclera of his eyes more red than white, merely giggled to himself and waggled his flyaway mustache.

  Igor Chaosbane was a shabby Rune Mystic, in whose body were doubtless all the chemical ingredients needed to build a biological weapon of mass destruction. It might have been early morning for most people, but for Igor, it was probably the pinnacle of just another night out on the tiles.

  Mort, lanky and pale and dressed in plain brown robes that reminded me of a Franciscan monk, was helping his cousin up the steps with a hand under his elbow. The man looked albino to me and sported a pair of the most hideously incredible pale blonde mutton chop side whiskers that I had ever seen in the flesh. They were an incongruous touch for a man who was famed for being one of the most feared and successful bounty hunters in all the land.

  I walked away from the ranch house and started making a lazy circuit of the main Chaosbane compound. It was another quintessential winter’s day. The fresh snow squeaked under my feet as I walked, and the sun glittered off the icicles hanging from the branches of the trees. A couple of robins flitted around in a cheerful fashion, almost as if they were auditioning for the festive bird of the year competition.

  All around me, the tent-dwelling rebels were stirring. More than a few were awake and practicing their spellwork: dueling, wrestling, or just blowing shit up. I caught sight of my Halfling pal, Nigel Windmaker sitting outside one of the enormous barns with Madame Xel and Odette Scaleblade.

  There was a sudden bellowing noise, a cry of “Oh, fuck!” and a sudden explosion of timber planking as something crashed through the side of the barn.

  I stopped walking, pausing to make sure that nothing untoward was going down.

  Chubbs, the rotund werewolf ranch-hand, with whom Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock enjoyed a similar relationship as Tywin and Tyrion Lannister did, picked himself up out of the splintered remains of the wall he had just been catapulted through. He staggered a bit, went to pick up the cowboy hat that lay a few feet away in the snow, and fell over.

  “Are you all right, friend?” came a familiar voice from out of the shattered section of the barn that Chubbs had just been propelled through.

  Rick Hammersmith, Earth Elemental, fraternity brother, and forger extraordinaire, ducked out through the hole with some difficulty. He was dressed in his usual grass skirt and plaited leather and grass belt, and not much else. Like Cecilia, it didn’t appear that Rick felt the cold, though whether that was because he was an Earth Elemental or simply because he was as tough as a dime steak I didn’t know for sure. His dreadlocks cascaded around his big, amiable face, which was currently creased with concern as he surveyed the dazed Chubbs.

  “I told you it was a fool’s errand to try and shoe those big-ass bulls, friend,” he said. He lumbered over and pulled the tubby werewolf to his feet. “Those big bastards don’t need footwear.”

  I carried on my walk, leaving my friends to it, my eyes peeled for any sign of the Headmaster.

  After rounding a little copse of pines, I stumbled across a tent pitched in the lee of a large overhanging boulder. Outside sat two figures that I dimly recognized, enjoying the warmth given off by a bright lime-green fire. After a couple of moments, I realized that they were Iowyn, a Storm Elemental, and Kryn, a Wind Elemental. With all the crazy shit that me and my closest friends and companions had been caught up in over the past few months, I had not seen either of these women for quite a long time, but I remembered them well enough from my first days at the Academy and during our classes and time spent around the Academy’s fantastic pool area.

  Iowyn was covered in thick and luxurious blue fur. It looked like the fur you might see on an otter, but it moved more like the fur on a cat. I still, just as I had on the very first day that I had met her, found myself wanting to run a hand through it—around her ass or up her thigh, for preference—to see what it felt like. Purely to satisfy my scientific curiosity, of cou
rse.

  Kryn, the Wind Elemental, had green skin that looked like silky, super fine moss. It glistened as she moved in the bright light of the sun that sat just above the eastern horizon.

  Both the women saw me as I rounded the copse of trees and waved at me.

  “Justin!” Iowyn called in a husky voice that sounded like whiskey tasted. “What are you up to?”

  “Long time no see,” Kryn piped, flashing me a smile that I could see even from where I stood.

  “Come on over here and tell us your news!” Iowyn called to me, her midnight blue eyes flashing.

  I waved apologetically back and yelled, “Sorry, I’m on a bit of a mission. Got to see the Headmaster! Raincheck?”

  The girls made little sounds of disappointment and waved at me as I moved on, heading toward the fenceline. Just before I got out of earshot, Kryn called to me. I turned and the Wind Elemental ripped her jacket open to reveal a pair of pert, green tits.

  “Your loss, Justin!” she cried good-naturedly and then covered up. She and Iowyn dissolved into a fit of giggles as only females can and cast brazen looks in my direction.

  I really didn’t know what to say to that so, with a twinge of regret at leaving, I waved again and carried on my way.

  There had, now that I thought about it, been quite a lot of that sort of thing ever since I had returned from the Castle of Ascendance.

  It had been common knowledge amongst our immediate circle that I had been on somewhat of a hiatus from fucking and creating spells, up until very recently. After collecting the relics hidden away at the Castle of Ascendance, and having Gertrude use them to open up fresh slots in my spellbook, I now had four slots open to me. Four slots that were just waiting to be filled.

  Word, as it so easily does, had gotten around. It seemed like all my close female acquaintances, as well as some like Kryn and Iowyn whom I did not know as intimately, were clamoring to help me fill them. I must have seen all sorts of shapes, sizes, and colors of flashed asses and bared breasts over the past week. The result of so much exposure to so many hot half-naked women was beginning to become apparent.