Creation Mage 6

by Dante King

  Creation Mage 6

  War Mage Academy 6

  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

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  Chapter 1

  “You better break out

  the bourbon and rye,

  Tequila and gin,

  I'm telling you why;

  The Chaosbanes are comin’ to town!”

  Sitting out on the porch of our fraternity house with a steaming mug of Papa Djinn’s Extra Pungent Roast, I snorted as Igor Chaosbane walked past me and tossed another battered suitcase out onto the garden path.

  Igor had been humming and singing carols for the past two hours, ever since we had all convened in the cavernous kitchen of my parents’ old house and prepared to part ways for the holiday break. It had not escaped me that this Yuletide carol of his was sung to the same tune as ‘Santa Claus is Coming to To Town’, but when I mentioned this to him, I received only a blank stare in return.

  The Yuletide season had fallen upon the Mazirian Academy with all the abruptness and subtlety of a landslide engulfing a Swiss ski resort. The sleepy town of Nevermoor, which clustered at the feet of the hill on which the Academy squatted, was festooned with genuine, multicolored fairy lanterns—made and enchanted by real-life fairies. The thatched cottages—which were quaint at the best of times—were now covered with thick, fluffy blankets of snow. They now looked like iced gingerbread houses built by the type of mythical twee, plump grandmother-like baker who had maple syrup running through her veins and tinsel coming out of her butt.

  “Why does Igor have so many suitcases?” I asked Nigel Windmaker as Igor disappeared back inside. “I swear he’s been wearing the same shabby duster ever since we met him.”

  The halfling and I were sitting out on the front porch and watching the fat white flakes of snow drift down from a leaden sky stuffed from horizon to horizon with bulging clouds. The clouds looked like they could carry on snowing pretty much indefinitely. Whatever weird deity or god or mad mage who controlled the weather over the kingdom of Avalonia was clearly getting into the spirit of things.

  Nigel sighed unconcernedly and shrugged. He took a sip from his own gently smoking mug of ember root and candied catnip tea. It smelled like cough syrup that had passed through a camel, but Nigel insisted it was extremely good for you. I had decided to take the Wind Mage’s word for it and stick to the new coffee that Bradley Flamewalker had recently purchased.

  “He can have as many suitcases as he likes,” Nigel said. “The important thing is that we get a whole week away from the Academy, from study, and from any nutso adventures that might raise their ugly heads.”

  I thought that last part was optimism bordering on the dangerously foolish, but I didn’t say anything. No point bringing my buddy down to earth like that. It was Yuletide after all.

  “And you and Damien are really going to Earth?” I asked.

  Nigel turned to beam excitedly at me. His glasses had fogged up due to the steam coming off his hot drink, and he pulled them off and polished them.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Me and Damien are heading to another world! I can’t freakin’ wait, Justin! There are so many things that I want to see, what with everything you guys have told us about it.”

  “That return portal must have cost you a pretty penny,” I said. “Not to mention a fair bit of wrangling with the B.I.T.”

  The B.I.T. was short for the Bureau of Inter-Macrocosm Travel. It was the branch of thaumaturgical law enforcement on Avalonia responsible for organizing portals to and from different worlds. Like all good departments of government, it was slow, ineffective, and expensive, and somehow made something that should have been super cool—magical interplanetary travel, in this case—wrist-slittingly boring.

  “Yeah, there were a lot of pointless forms to fill out,” Nigel said as a gust of wind flurried the falling snow this way and that. “And it cost a damned packet, but my parents’ estate pays me a reasonable allowance and I’ve been saving it up.”

  “And Damien gets a free holiday,” I said.

  Nigel grinned and took another sip of his foul-smelling tea. “I like to think that he’s going to be working too. I intend to live it up and turn this big old brain of mine down to low simmer. It’s why I’m bringing him along. I want someone who knows all about Earth customs; etiquette and manners, that sort of thing.”

  “Where’s the portal spitting you out?” I asked.

  Nigel’s brow furrowed briefly. “Damien said it would be smart to start off in a place that he knows, his old stomping ground. The City of Angels, I think he called it.”

  I nodded. “Well, good luck finding manners there, my friend.”

  The two of us lapsed into silence and settled back on the bench. I pricked my ears up and looked out into the swirling snow, scanning for the approach of Leah Chaosbane, who was supposed to be picking me and Igor up.

  I was heading with Leah, Igor, and, I assumed, Reginald and Mortimer to the Chaosbane family ranch for the Yuletide break. I had been invited by Leah, and thought that it would be remiss of me to turn her down. The Chaosbanes were about as big a bunch of fruit loops as had ever breathed air. I imagined that a family gathering of them could be nothing short of spectacular. Surely, I would regret it if I didn’t go. Now that the time was drawing nearer to actually take the plunge though, I couldn’t help wondering if I was ready for this.

  Off to our right, by the mound of snow that hid the flattened remains of an old sofa that Nigel had memorably landed on after crashing out of his bedroom window during a party, Ar-undead was chasing robins. The zombie was attempting to snatch the fluttering birds from the air, but was nowhere near fast enough. His odd growling laughter came muffled through the close air.

  “Ar-undead is going away too?” Nigel asked me, following my gaze.

  “Yeah,” I said, “Madame Xel and Odette are going to take him to some occult meeting or other. I’m not precisely sure why. Speak of the devils though, here they come. You can ask them yourself.”

  Odette Scaleblade, wrapped in her usual collection of gypsy shawls and scarves, appeared out of the festive murk. She moved lightly through the snow, her head shrouded in a wrap that doubled as a hood against the fat flakes of snow. Behind her, wearing more clothes than I had ever seen her wear, was Madame Xel, the Succubus.

  I say that Madame Xe
l was attired in more clothing than I had ever seen her in, but seeing as the beautiful mauve-haired woman usually opted for the kind of skirts that might more accurately be classified as belts, that was not really saying much. The only precaution she had taken against the slightly chillier weather was to wear a pair of luminous yellow tights under her miniskirt and a purple feather boa that almost exactly matched the shade of her hair.

  “Ladies,” I said in greeting, “it’s lovely to see you. I was thinking that I might miss you, but, predictably, the Chaosbanes are running a little late.”

  “You would ‘ave been fortunate indeed if they got the time right,” Odette said in her husky, exotic voice.

  “Or the day, for that matter,” added Madame Xel.

  “Mr. Windmaker, ‘ow are things with you? I ‘ear that you are going to Earth?” Odette said, turning to Nigel.

  Nigel was getting more and more comfortable coming under the scrutiny of beautiful women these days. Only the traffic light red of his blushing ears suggested his pulse was racing at the mere sight of our two Academy teachers.

  “That’s r-r-right,” he stammered.

  Madame Xel made an envious little noise in her throat. “Ah, Earth,” she said. “A world in which it is said that temptation and vice were invented. Remember, Mr. Windmaker,” she said, shaking snow off her bat-like wings and winking one bright purple eye at Nigel, “if you are faced with the choice between two sins, always choose the one that you have never sampled before.”

  The blush spread from Nigel’s ears to envelop his whole head.

  Odette slapped Madame Xel playfully on the arm with the back of her hand. “You are supposed to be a professional educator, Xel, don’t corrupt the young mage!”

  “Oh come on, Odette, it’s the holidays, isn’t it?” Xel retorted, grinning.

  Odette Scaleblade waved a hand and turned to look at me. “Justin, we cannot stay long—”

  “Unfortunately,” Madame Xel interjected, her grin morphing into a lascivious smile.

  “—as we ‘ave to get moving before the weather sets in and the roads are blocked,” Odette said.

  “You’re here for Ar-undead?” I asked.

  “Correct,” Odette replied.

  “Where are you taking him exactly?” Nigel asked with interest.

  “There is a special gathering of Academics taking place a few days journey from ‘ere,” Odette said. “As a zombie that ‘as been somewhat tamed—for lack of a better word—Xel believes someone like Ar-undead could prove invaluable in this gathering’s occult research and theorizing.”

  “What research w-w-would that be?” Nigel asked.

  “There are rumors, postulations, and hypotheses floating about. Speculations concerning the ability to restore someone from undead to life,” Xel said succinctly. “There are arcane scientists who would very much like a test subject. One like Ar-undead on whom they could perform cutting-edge spells. It is always preferable if test subjects are less likely to tear your head off and scoop out your brains, after all.”

  Nigel nodded.

  “Is there a chance that what happened to Ar-undead can be reversed?” I asked.

  Madame Xel waggled her hand. “Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps not. There is no harm in trying though, is there? An eagle cannot reach new horizons until it builds up the courage to lose sight of its eyrie.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Any chance that Ar-undead had of becoming one of us mortals once more was worth taking. He may have spent most of the time I’d known him being an award-winning shitcake, but I had caught a glimpse of the guy that he might’ve been just before he had been zombified. He deserved another chance at life.

  Odette motoned to her companion, and the two women made to leave.

  “Hey, wait a sec,” I said, getting to my feet. I stepped down into the falling snow and kissed both women. “Merry Yuletide,” I said.

  Odette and Xel grinned at one another.

  “See you when we get back, Mr. Mauler,” Madame Xel said, in her most officious voice. “We both will.”

  Odette took Ar-undead by the length of chain that fixed him to one of the porch pillars. Xel severed the chain with a touch of magic, and then Odette led him away. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, watching the zombie gamboling and frolicking through the drifts of snow, totally impervious to the cold. He reminded me of a big old labrador heading out for a walk, albeit a labrador capable of twisting the top of your skull off and chowing down on your gray matter as if it was a bowl of ice-cream. It was not long before the trio had vanished up the garden path and into the slowly strengthening snowstorm.

  I went and sat back down next to Nigel and continued to wait for my ride. The two of us were lost in our own thoughts when a huffing and puffing from inside heralded the approach of someone else. The front door opened, and Rick Hammersmith stumped out. Our fraternity brother was dressed in his usual traditional grass and leather skirt, fastened with the belt that was also his vector. His massive torso was bare. The only concession that Rick seemed to have made for the frigid conditions was a pair of enormous green earmuffs that were clamped over his dreadlocked head.

  “There you are, friends,” he said in his deep bass rumble. “I wanted to catch you before I took off for home. I am heading out the back yard, from the cliff top.”

  The big islander held out an enormous hand and engulfed first Nigel’s and then my own in a handshake that, had Rick been so inclined, could have broken most of the bones in our arms.

  “I’ll see you boys when I get back, eh?” he said.

  “You sure will,” I said. “At least you will see me. If Nigel gets tangled up with those lovely ladies on Figueroa Street though, I doubt any of us will ever see him again.”

  “Wait, what?” Nigel said.

  “You looking forward to head back to your island and the tribe, man?” I asked Rick, ignoring Nigel’s attempts at getting me to elucidate.

  Rick rumbled his assent. “Sure, sure, friend,” he said. “Been a good long while since I have seen my folks. It will be good to get back out into the forge with my father, like we used to before I came here. It’ll be good to eat some of Ma’s homemade blue bark and shadow shrimp gumbo. I hope she doesn’t think that I’ve lost too much weight or that I’m looking peaky.”

  I ran my eyes over the Earth Mage. The huge square shouldered elemental looked as full as a tick that’d been living at the gym. His body was covered in massive slabs of muscle and tattoos that looked like etchings in stone.

  “I think that she’s going to see that you’ve been in a pretty good paddock, bud,” I said, slapping Rick on the arm. It was like slapping a telephone pole.

  Rick chuckled. “I will prepare my father’s portable forge while I am away. When I return, we will unlock that white staff of yours so that you can converse with your ma.”

  I looked over at the white staff, leaning against the wall next to my father’s black crystal one.

  “It’s all good, Rick,” I said. “Unlike with my father, where we needed to chat with him about learning how to create more spells, we’re not really in a big rush to speak with my mother.”

  I didn’t voice how I had felt a growing trepidation about talking to my mother over the past couple of weeks. Bringing this doubt to the attention of my frat bros was unnecessary, seeing as how I was yet to understand it myself.

  “All right, well you guys enjoy your break,” Rick said. “See you when I see you.”

  “Not if we don’t see you first,” Nigel said. “Which we most certainly will.”

  Rick showed his tombstone teeth in an amiable grin and stomped back into the house, closing the door behind him.

  “Bradley still around?” Nigel asked me when the Earth Mage’s heavy footfalls had faded.

  I shook my head. “Nah, he left early this morning. Left a note by the coffee and waffles.”

  Bradley had snuck off, under the pretense of a wilderness trip, to take part in an Avalonian cooking competition calle
d the Great Yule Bake Off. Entering under a fake name and thaumaturgically disguised, he was hoping that, if he won this revered culinary accolade, his snooty highborn family might come around to the idea that the only son and heir of the Flamewalker wealth and estates actually wanted to follow his dream of becoming a world renowned chef.

  Nigel looked at me. “There are waffles?” he said. “I didn’t see any waffles when I made my tea. I want a waffle.”

  “There were waffles,” I informed him. “You wouldn’t have seen them because you were busy doing your hobbit yoga.”

  “It’s not hobbit yoga,” Nigel said in a resigned voice.

  “Well, whatever the hell it is, while you were doing your Swedish exercises, Rick was downstairs nailing waffles. You know once the big man gets into the kitchen you have to move like something built for speed not for comfort.”

  Nigel stared glumly out onto the pristine snow that covered the front yard, turning the bushes and hedges into perfect blocks of white. Then he turned to me. “What’re Swedish exercises?”

  “Exercises,” I said, “from Sweden.”

  “And what’s Sweden?”

  “Sweden is the country that makes the women’s volleyball tournament the saving grace of the modern day Olympics.” I held up a hand to stem the inevitable flow of questions that were bound to pour forth from my genius fraternity brother. “Don’t ask me any more questions, you’ll find out all about this on your vacation.”

  I fiddled with the capture orb that hung from my belt and now contained the dragon that we’d faced off against in the last Mage Games trial.

  Nigel saw what I was doing and said, “I notice that you haven’t practiced with that little bit of gear just yet.”

  “No,” I said, running my fingers over the beautifully smooth wood.

  “Why?” Nigel asked.

  I weighed the question. “I guess because I’m unsure about it. Sure, I’ve captured something as inherently cunning and lethal as a dragon, but is it really going to let me order it around?”