Natural Magic: A Progression Fantasy Saga (The Last Magus Book 1)

by DB King

  Abruptly, Alec realized that both he and Eleira had stopped eating to watch the men argue. “We’re fine,” he said, scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs. A glance over at Eleira’s plate revealed half her apple scone was missing—when had the girl found a moment to eat that without being seen? “Are you talking about the storm?”

  “It was no storm,” Tanuin said, taking the seat next to Eleira. “At least no ordinary storm. You saw those creatures, didn’t you, Alec?”

  He swallowed hard. Suddenly his appetite no longer seemed as consuming as it once had. “They were terrifying,” he admitted, thinking of a black tendril scraping across the deck of the airship.

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Uriel said sharply. The mage piled his plate high with nothing but rolls, until a small mountain of bread lay before him on the table. “Although I admit that for those unused to such wrinkles in the fabric of everyday life, an assault by a cloud of shrikes would certainly seem monstrous.”

  “It’s all connected, Uriel,” the elf said. He took a look at the bounty on the table as if he’d gladly spend the whole day helping Alec slay it, then brushed off his shoulder and rose. “All of you keep an eye out. Anything strange happening around the grounds of the Estate, you report it to Uriel.”

  “Strange things are always happening in Northmund,” Uriel said breezily. But Alec thought he could detect a touch more worry in the Archmage’s aged face than usual as he buttered a roll. “Anything out of the ordinary for my household servants will be brought directly to me, of course.”

  “Of course.” Tanuin straightened. “I’ll be off, then.”

  Alec could barely believe what he was hearing. “Wait, what? You can’t go—you’ve only just arrived!” After five years without the friendship of the elven ranger, to see him leave so quickly felt borderline intolerable.

  Tanuin laughed, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not leaving forever,” he teased, putting a hand on Eleira’s shoulder. “I have some business to be about in the region. I’ll be back before you know it. Besides, you two are about to be far too busy to notice I’m not around. Archmage Diamondspear will be giving you both your first lessons in magic. If you’re going to get up to snuff for the Academy, the two of you will have to hit the books in a major way.”

  Alec’s eyes widened. He could hardly wait—then he remembered what he’d done to the plant in his room and paused. Magic was a very powerful tool, but also incredibly dangerous. He’d need to be slow and cautious when it came to learning to control it, lest he make a mistake he couldn’t fix.

  Tanuin gave Eleira’s shoulder a final squeeze and moved to the other side of the table. Alec couldn’t help but notice that the younger elf didn’t seem sad at all to have her mentor leaving her alone at the Northmund Estate. Perhaps she’s even more excited to begin her lessons than I am, Alec thought—but something inside of him doubted it.

  As Tanuin gave Alec a quick embrace, the elf whispered into his ear. “Uriel might not be the only one teaching you magic,” he said quickly, giving Alec’s young body a squeeze. “I’ve heard there’s another teacher the Archmage keeps in residence at his manor. If he’s who I think he is, you’re going to want to be careful around him.”

  Another teacher? The warning from Tanuin did not go unheeded. Alec’s fingers dug into the elven ranger’s sides, unwilling to let him go. “What do you mean, ‘careful’?”

  “Just that,” Tanuin said with a quick smile, breaking the embrace. “Good luck, Alec. I suspect you’ll look just like a junior Uriel by the time I get back.” He mussed up Alec’s hair, which he hated, and took his leave with a grin. Uriel watched him go impassively, a streak of butter from his roll dripping into his long beard.

  Once the elf was gone, Uriel turned his attention to his two young pupils. A smile spread across the Archmage’s aged face as he sized them both up, then gestured for them to continue their meals.

  “Tanuin is correct that your instruction in magic is to begin today,” Uriel said, finishing his first biscuit and taking a second. Dimly, Alec wondered how the man got any nutrition at all if he took meals like that. “However, as both of you are aware, you’ve come to the Northmund Estate with vastly different life experiences, and under very different circumstances. As such, you should not expect to get the same treatment. No two students are alike, and when said students are learning the craft of magic, that maxim applies twice as firmly.”

  Eleira gave Alec a sharp look over her glass of orange juice. For a moment, Alec just stared at her, uncomprehending, then he realized: she was jealous of him! She thinks I’m going to get preferential treatment, he told himself, because I can do magic that she can’t.

  That wasn’t fair. Archmage Diamondspear’s speech made perfect sense to him—both he and Eleira had strengths and weaknesses in different areas. Alec might have more skill with absorbing magic, but Eleira knew far more about the Elements and how they worked than he did. It only made sense that their lesson plans would be tailored.

  She couldn’t truly be upset about that, could she?

  “Eleira,” Uriel said with a gesture at the elf girl, “your teaching will be more traditional. As you already have a Grimoire—the Leafwalker Grimoire you and Tanuin brought with you to the Northmund Estate—your early lessons will revolve around learning to speak the required words within them.”

  “I have some experience with that already,” Eleira protested. Clearly the elf girl wanted to do something more exciting than scrutinize the tome she’d lugged all the way to Uriel Diamondspear’s estate.

  “Ah, but pronunciation and intonation are so important!” Uriel gestured around the hall. “A poorly phrased word can cause a spell to collapse before it is cast, fizzling out—or worse. Mages have suffered severe injuries due to misplaced phonemes in the past. An incorrect participle can even spell death for the unwary mage.”

  The thought of it made Alec feel ill. He wasn’t going to have to memorize heavy tomes, was he? Sure, the monks at the Archon Tower had always made a point of telling him he had a greater talent for letters than most, but that didn’t mean much compared to the scholarship of elves. Sort of like being the tallest gnome at a convention of giants.

  “As for you, Alec,” Uriel said, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, “your training will be markedly more… experimental. As such, I’ll be enlisting the help of an old friend in putting together a curriculum for you. We’ll be playing your tutelage by ear, but it is my hope you’ll learn to master your… unique powers at the same time that Eleira learns hers.”

  He should have let out a sigh of relief—and would, if Tanuin hadn’t warned him. There would be no long sessions of memorizing heavy tomes in Alec’s future, but the words the elven ranger left him with rang in his ears. You’re going to want to be careful around him.

  Who was this mage that even Tanuin feared?

  Just then, the great hall began to darken. The candles flickering in their alcoves burnt low and dim as a wave of icy mist crept across the floor. Alec looked up at the windows, but they remained shut A wind blew across the cafeteria as if a thunderstorm had erupted outside. The distant sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall—through Alec’s bones. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Alec grabbed hold of the table tightly, fighting the urge to run. He dearly wished he’d held onto some of that magic from earlier. His hand reached into his robes to feel for his Diamondspear.

  No sooner had his fingers grazed the metal than a deep, booming voice rang out across the hall.

  “All prepare for the arrival of Maimonides the Shadebringer!”

  Chapter 15

  Terror froze Alec to the spot. His fight or flight response overloaded, the desire to run screaming from the dining hall warring with the impulse to pull the Diamondspear from his robes and extend it to its full, deadly length. Across the table, an equally shocked expression filled Eleira’s beautiful face.

  Uriel Diamondspear, however, merely rolled his eyes and continued eating. “Always
with the dramatics,” the old man muttered as he shook his head. “Alright, Maimonides the Shadebringer. You’ve scared your pupils half to death—enough of the dramatics.”

  The mist surrounding the table cleared in an instant. It rolled backward to a single point a few feet away, coalescing into the form of a short man in garish robes. Whoever this was apparently had even less fashion sense than the monks of the Archon Tower. His jacket clashed horribly with his shirt, lavender threads against a backdrop of bright bubblegum pink. And who would think to add brown to that color palette?

  Within moments, the only trace of the mist was a single plume of smoke rising from the short man’s pipe. No, not a man, Alec realized. A gnome. A gnome mage stood before him, smoking a pipe and grinning like he’d just played the world’s best joke.

  Uriel Diamondspear sighed heavily. “Must you, Maimonides? We are trying to enjoy our breakfast.”

  The gnome let out a wheezing little laugh and shrugged. “Every meal goes down better with a little show,” he said, striding forward on his stubby legs. “So these are our pupils, Urry? Let’s have a look at them.”

  As Alec watched, the man pulled out a pair of spectacles and slid them on. He closed the one eye in a squint, making him look like some kind of very strange cyclops. The tiny man leaned forward, his eyes barely reaching over the tabletop.

  “Ah, yes—goodness! Youth! It’s wasted on the young, that’s what I always say.” The gnome gave Alec a quick once over, then spent much longer admiring Eleira’s pleasing form. “Though it certainly has its benefits. You’re of the Leafwalker tribe, my fair elf? No need to tell me, of course—I can see it in your eyes. Along with other, more prurient distinctions of your anatomy—"

  Uriel coughed. It was the kind of cough that let everyone within its hearing know that the man who’d made it was seriously displeased.

  The gnome broke off with a pained little look. “Very well,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk. “Which one of them’s mine? The one who does magic without a book. I do so hope it’s this fair elven maiden, though from the way she’s looking at me, she might prefer her handsome older instructors be a bit taller than she is—”

  “Alec,” Uriel said, pointing. Alec got the distinct impression this was a performance the two men had put on many, many times over the course of their friendship. “He’s your pupil, Maimonides. You’d best keep that in mind. There’s a reason half the maids on the Estate won’t attend to your chambers any longer.”

  “That’s because the other half bribe them to get me all to themselves,” the gnome said with a lecherous laugh. “Alright, young man, let me have a look at you. Urry thinks you’re some sort of once-in-a-generation talent, but you look more like an errand boy for some monks to me.”

  Alec let out a nervous little laugh. “That’s exactly what I am, Master Maimonides.”

  Maimonides the Shadebringer looked taken aback. “Master!? Oh no, son. Never let another man call himself your master and allow him to get away with it. To agree to such things is to voluntarily lose a piece of your soul! Besides, if you’re as powerful as old Urry says, you’re the one who should be proclaiming your mastery, not the other way around.”

  As the gnome made his way around the table, intent on examining Alec, Eleira’s face filled with recognition. “Wait a second. This is Maimonides? The Shadebringer!?”

  “You think anyone else would agree to the title?” Uriel asked wryly.

  The gnome climbed up onto the table, kicking Alec’s half-finished plate of food to the side, and pulled a silver box from his robes. An antenna stuck from one end, and Maimonides ran this up and down Alec’s side, frowning as if the young man were some specimen he’d caught and put into a jar.

  “You know this guy?” Alec asked Eleira.

  “I know of him,” the elven woman corrected. “Maimonides the Shadebringer, the Master Arcane Scientist. Half the patents in the elven and dwarven registries have his signature on them—all his inventions. His innovations in alchemy and thaumaturgy are legendary! And this is him?”

  “That would be correct,” Maimonides said, tucking the box away. No sooner had it disappeared than he replaced it with a measuring tape and a device that looked like a metallic torch. He began measuring the width of Alec’s arms and neck, much to the amusement of Uriel. The Archmage looked as if he struggled mightily to keep from bursting out laughing.

  “Master Maimonides?” Alec asked, his eyes widening as the gnome wrapped the tape around his skull. “What are you doing?”

  “I told you, don’t call me ‘master’,” Maimonides snapped. He hummed gently to himself as he worked, checking this and that measurement as his hands crawled up Alec’s body. It was one of the strangest experiences of Alec’s life—he felt like one of the Temple’s horses being sold to a stranger. All that was missing was for Maimonides to check his teeth.

  Then the gnome did just that. He pried Alec’s jaw open, forcing the tip of the torch beneath his tongue. “Keep that held firmly right there,” Maimonides instructed, tugging one of Alec’s arms nearly out of its socket. Despite his small size, the gnome had an almost supernatural strength. Perhaps he was augmented by magic. But all Alec knew is that he’d had just about enough of Maimonides poking and prodding him.

  “Master Diamondspear,” Alec muttered around the thermometer. “Can you please stop him?”

  “In my experience, I’ve found it’s better to just let Maimonides burn himself out,” Uriel said with a shrug. “His curiosity regarding new pupils is insatiable—and, it must be said, almost always inappropriate. I believe he should be finishing up any moment now.”

  Just then, the device in Alec’s mouth let out a cheerful little ding! Maimonides took it out and gave his teeth one final once over, then read the device’s read-out with a worried look. “Oh my,” the gnome muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Alec demanded, his heart leaping into this throat. “Is something the matter with me?”

  “I don’t know how to say this,” the gnome said, turning back to Uriel.

  “Oh please,” Uriel guffawed, biting into another biscuit. “You of all people have never been at a loss for words, Maimonides.”

  The gnome chuckled at that. “I’ll tell it to you plainly, Uriel—but only because the two of us have such a long history. I’m afraid the boy is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s going to take a lot to bring him up to scratch if you want him to pass the admissions tests to the Academy.”

  Uriel pursed his lips. There was something about the flatness of his gaze that made Alec realize the two men disagreed about Maimonides’s assessment. “That’s why you’re here, Maimonides,” Uriel said. “You know I trust your methods over all others.”

  “That’s because you’re a very smart man,” the gnome said, climbing down from the table. Then he gave the Archmage a strange look. “You sure you want him in the Academy, Uriel? You know he’s about as far as it’s possible to be from the average student.”

  Now this felt more like the truth. Maimonides didn’t mean it in an unkind way—there was clearly something about Alec’s power that was wild and untamed. He and Eleira couldn’t be more different in their approach to magic, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  Uriel concurred. “It’s important,” the Archmage said, looking from Alec to Eleira and back again. “Both of them need to be within the Academy’s walls as soon as possible, Maimonides. Whatever you need in order to achieve that will be provided, of course.”

  “Of course,” Maimonides agreed. “That’s why I’m going to train him in the House of Doors.”

  Alec nearly fell out of his chair. The House of Doors!?

  “Whatever you need, except for that,” Uriel said, irritation furrowing his brows. “Absolutely not, Maimonides.”

  “I know you don’t like the idea,” Maimonides said, “but it’s important!”

  “To say I don’t like the idea is a gross understatement,” Uriel said, crossing his arms over
his robes. “This has nothing to do with Alec, Maimonides. It’s entirely about you. You’re always trying to get into the House of Doors.”

  “I know,” the gnome said, making no effort to hide it. “But this is different, Urry. I don’t want to train him in any other place. And frankly, I don’t think he’ll be able to clear the Academy entrance exams in the timeframe you need him to unless we expose him to the House of Doors.”

  Uriel glared at the gnome. Even his plate of biscuits seemed forgotten for the moment. “You’re joking,” the Archmage said. “Even for you, threatening the integrity of Alec’s education is low!”

  “I’m not threatening anything,” the gnome countered. “As you yourself said, Alec’s training will be highly experimental in nature. It needs to be, considering the unknown nature of his magical abilities. And what better way to test those abilities than to put him in the very real—and very constant—danger of the House of Doors?”

  To Alec’s surprise, Uriel appeared to be seriously considering the request. “You truly believe this is necessary?”

  Maimonides made a gesture of crossing his heart. Alec associated it with boys making overwrought promises and trying to get out of trouble, but on the diminutive gnome it looked almost noble.

  “Give me access to the House of Doors, and I can do amazing things with your pupil,” Maimonides said. “Besides, I’ll be with him every step of the way, making sure he’s not in too much danger. You know I’m very nearly your match, Urry.”

  The Archmage chuckled at the sentiment, but it was clear from the twinkle in his eyes that the two men differed on this point. “So you say,” Uriel laughed. He nodded, and Alec saw the tension break in Maimonides’s stance.

  “Very good,” the gnome said quickly, gesturing for Alec to rise. “The two of us will be on our way then, and you and this deeply attractive elf cutie can work on your conjugations together—”