War Wizard

by King, DB

  War Wizard 1

  DB King

  Copyright © 2021 by DB 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

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Logan

  Chapter 2: Logan

  Chapter 3: Logan

  Chapter 4: Logan

  Chapter 5: King Corvan of Tyan

  Chapter 6: Logan

  Chapter 7: Logan

  Chapter 8: Logan

  Chapter 9: Logan

  Chapter 10: Logan

  Chapter 11: Logan

  Chapter 12: Logan

  Chapter 13: Guard Captain Raymond

  Chapter 14: Logan

  Chapter 15: Logan

  Chapter 16: Logan

  Chapter 17: Logan

  Chapter 18: Logan

  Chapter 19: Logan

  Chapter 20: Logan

  Chapter 21: Logan

  Epilogue

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  About the Author

  Prologue

  The realm of the Gods in its untouched state was without shape or form, a plane of endless gold and white that stretched into infinity.

  But the Gods, wielding the power they commanded, could make it whatever they wished.

  On that day—insomuch as the Gods experienced ‘days’—it was the form of a grand council hall. Impossibly intricate columns of gold and jade and obsidian stretched leagues above, terminating in a massive rotunda large enough to form the firmament of any city of man or elf.

  The three Prime Gods were there—a council had been called. The beings of indescribable power were in their preferred forms. Caelum, the God of the Heavens, was in the shape of perfectly white, shifting clouds. The clouds reflected his moods, from soft and gentle when his disposition was fair, to dark and roiling when his temperament soured.

  “Why are we here?” he asked, his voice low and echoing, like the rumble of thunder over an unending plain.

  Abyssa, the God of the Underworld, that place of darkness where lost souls wandered, took the form of thousands of eyes, all different shapes and colors, all blinking at odd intervals. In the rare times she appeared to beings of the mortal world, she presented herself in such a way to both intimidate, and to show that she was always watching, always observing the behavior of mortals in order to find the precise excuse she needed to snatch their souls away to her realm.

  “The question on both of our minds, it seems.” Abyssa’s voice was sensuous and melodic—the perfect tone with which to tempt mortals to commit whatever sins she wished.

  The final God was Provencus, the God of Destiny. His preferred shape was that of endless fractal forms that branched into smaller branches which themselves branched into their own branches. They represented the paths of fate, their multiplicity and connection—and their beauty. Provencus had called the meeting, the reason for which had yet to be disclosed.

  Together, these three were the rulers of three realms—the realm of the heavens, the realm of the underworld, and the realm of fate, which bound all together. And their powers were unmatched.

  “I trust that you both should know by now that if I would bother to summon us together, there would be a good reason for it,” Provencus said.

  “That’s not always the case, you know,” Abyssa said, her eyes ever-blinking. “Typically you draw us here with great fanfare and urgency to do nothing more than speak interminably about one prophecy or another.”

  “Prophecies which all foretell the fate of the realm of the Gods and the mortals,” Provencus added. “My duty is to the fabric of fate that binds all of our worlds together.”

  “You say that as if there could possibly be any threat to our rule,” Abyssa said. “A rule that we have enjoyed for millennia upon millennia.”

  “And a rule that others enjoyed before us,” Provencus said. “And others enjoyed before them. There is no shortage of those in the realms greedy for our positions.”

  Abyssa let out a snort. “I’d like to see them try to take what we’ve earned.”

  “Enough,” Caelum said, his cloud form darkening. “The more you two prattle and prod one another, the longer I must wait before hearing what all of this is about.”

  Provencus’s fractals shrank and retracted for the briefest of moments at Caelum’s command. While each of the gods was powerful indeed, the god of the heavens wielded the lion’s share. In matters of dispute, his word was final.

  A hush settled over the meeting hall, Provencus’s fractals spreading and retracting, as if he didn’t wish to speak what was on his mind.

  “A calamity is coming,” he said. “One that threatens our rule over the three realms and may spill into the mortal world.”

  A crackle of lightning flashed from within the depths of Caelum. “What?” he asked, anger in his voice. “A calamity? What manner of calamity?”

  More silence followed.

  “That’s what is most troubling about all of this,” Provencus said. “I can’t see what the calamity is. Only that, should it come to pass, it would result in all of us being cast out of power.”

  “No more speaking in vagaries,” Abyssa said. “Tell us in plain language what you see.”

  “It’s like nothing else I’ve experienced,” Provencus said. “I see… us. And then there is the calamity, the disaster, whatever it is. And then there is us once more, but we’ve been cast out, wandering the spirit realm as lost as any of the other Gods who have come before us.”

  “You can’t see it?” Caelum growled, his clouds darkening still. “How is this possible? You’re connected to all the threads of fate!”

  “Whatever it is, I can’t see it. I don’t… I don’t have the power.”

  Those words fell like lead onto the floor of the great hall.

  Power was all that mattered to Gods. Everything they did was for power, and more of it. To know that something was causing their power to dwindle was enough to give them all pause.

  “You should have the power,” Abyssa said.

  “But I don’t,” Provencus replied. “And I suspect that you both are in similar situations, your power not what it once was.”

  Neither Caelum nor Abyssa said a word.

  “My power is to see the threads of fate,” Provencus said. “And if I lack the ability to do that…”

  “Enough of this maudlin blather,” Caelum said. “I want a solution to this problem.”

  “Yes,” Provencus said. “We all do. And I have a theory as to why our power is in the beginning phases of waning—we’ve given too much of it away.”

  “To the Archspirits,” Abyssa said. “We were fools to trust them.”

  The Archspirits were lesser gods, avatars of beasts and nature who exercised the will of the Gods in the world of man and elf. While the Prime Gods had power to influence the material world, it was more abstract, more indirect. The avatars were their tools, culled into physical form from the spirit realm and given shares of the gods’ power.


  “We gave them too much power,” Caelum said. “And now we must take it back.”

  “Indeed,” Provencus added. “I am unable to see the true nature of the calamity. But I can see that it involves the Archspirits in some way.”

  “I’ve an idea,” Abyssa said, her voice taking on the sultry tone of it possessed whenever she saw a chance to utilize her skills. “Let me take them down into the underworld for a few hundred years. A little time in my world and they’ll be more than willing to dutifully obey us as they once have.”

  “No,” intoned Caelum. “We can’t afford to take them out of the physical world for so long. We need them there to carry out our designs.”

  “Fine, fine,” Abyssa said. “I never get to have any fun.”

  “We must summon the Archspirits,” Caelum said. “Gather them here so that we can see what is truly going on.” He spoke the words, but appeared to think better of them as soon as he had. “No—we won’t tell them what is truly going on.”

  “Is that so?” Abyssa asked.

  “It is. If the matter is that we have given the Archspirits too much power at our own expense, then we will simply take our power back. They don’t need to know any more than that.”

  Abyssa said nothing, seeming to give the matter some thought. “You wish to hide the nature of the calamity from them?”

  “Considering we ourselves do not even know the nature of the calamity,” Provencus said, “perhaps that would be a prudent decision.”

  “Correct,” Caelum said. “We were negligent in allowing them to gain so much power. Now, we must let it wane. That’s all they need to know.”

  “If they were to know that we will be less powerful in time… they might take advantage,” Abyssa said. “But they won’t be happy to know that we’re taking their power.”

  “Then let them be unhappy. They exist at our pleasure, and they will follow our rules. Now, call them here.”

  “Already done,” Provencus said. “Those who wished to respond to the call have done so. There are only four.”

  “Four?” Caelum demanded. “There are dozens of Archspirits. And what do you mean ‘wished’? They ought do as we command!”

  “As our power has waned, so has theirs grown. Our call is irresistible no longer. More Archspirits are birthed by the century, our magics allowing the faith of mortals to bring new spirits into being.”

  “Bah,” Caelum said, his cloud form flickering. “Just bring them here.”

  “Come,” Provencus said, his voice dreamy and faraway, as if speaking to ears that weren’t there.

  Moments later, the towering, arched doors of the hall opened with a boom, the infinite expanse of gold and white visible beyond. Four shapes appeared, their forms backlit by the piercing white behind them.

  “Archspirits,” Caelum said, his voice so deep and booming that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the hall. “Join us.”

  The sounds of footfalls echoed through the space, the figures growing closer and closer until their faces and shapes could be made out.

  There were four Archspirits. Fenrir, the primal spirit of the wilderness, bore the body of a powerful, hulking man and the head of a wolf, dark fur covering his muscles. He carried himself with more power than grace, his steps loping and long, like a predator slowly but surely closing the distance between him and his prey. He snarled as he moved, his teeth baring.

  Arachne, the spirit of spiders and crawling things, moved with silent steps. She was tall and willowy, her hair silver as steel and her skin white as untouched snow. Her straight hair was draped over one eye, the other blood red. A small smile was on her beautiful face, curled up in one corner in a knowing way, her teeth small and pointed. Four spider’s legs were tucked behind her back, each ending with a blade-sharp point.

  There was Maar, the Archspirit of serpents and reptiles. His form was tall and powerful, his body covered in golden scales, a cobra’s black diamond pattern over his chest, a cobra’s hood growing from the back of his neck. He was dressed in black and gold robes, his demeanor that of an aristocrat, a slight sneer on his face that displayed two long, fangs that curled over his lips.

  Maar’s hand was on the small of the back of Ifriti, the Archspirit of fire—or as she preferred, the Archspirit of industry and ingenuity. Her form was like red-hot molten in the shape of a beautiful woman, her hair long, as black as burnt carbon. She was Maar’s lover, a union that never failed to give the Prime Gods pause for the power the two of them together possessed.

  The four Archspirits made their way to the center of the meeting hall, standing between the enormous gods who loomed over them.

  “Quite the construction you have here, my friends.” Ifriti’s industrious eye was drawn to the masonry and design that the Gods had conjured.

  “But I take it you didn’t bring us here to admire your handiwork,” Maar said.

  Fenrir dropped into a squatting position, his powerful arms draped over his knees.

  “The gods wish to impress us,” he said, his voice gruff and low. “Make us feel small, weak. I already don’t like this meeting. No wonder the others failed to heed their call.”

  “Calm, wolf,” Arachne said, placing her slender hand on Fenrir’s round shoulder. “No need to get this off to a hostile start.”

  “Enough,” Caelum said. “We brought you all here to discuss a matter of great importance, not so that we could hear your thoughts.”

  Maar raised a finger. “A small request, if I might? I know that you all can take whatever forms you wish, and the ones you’ve all chosen are quite impressive, make no mistake. But it’s somewhat difficult to have a conversation with, ah, a hundred-foot tower of blinking eyes, for example.”

  Abyssa chuckled and moved closer to Maar. “What’s the matter, snake? You find this unsettling?” She increased the speed of her blinking, the hundreds of eyes opening and closing at a frantic pace.

  “To be honest?” he asked. “Very much so. And think about it—you don’t have to yell down at us, we don’t have to scream up at you… much more facilitating of productive dialogue.”

  “Whatever gets you to silence yourself, snake,” Caelum boomed.

  With that, the three Prime Gods shifted their forms. They shrank until they were the size of the Archspirits. Caelum took on the form of a man in the prime of middle age, his body strong and his robes white and trimmed with gold, his hair as white as clouds and slicked back, matching his beard. Provencus changed into a slender, scholarly man with piercing, searching eyes, his clothes the billowing, comfortable dress of a scholar. And Abyssa shifted into the shape of a beautiful woman with tan skin, her hair long and dark, her shapely body covered in strategic places with black, skin-tight leather.

  “How’s this?” Abyssa asked Maar. She swept her black-nail-tipped hands over her body. “I hope you won’t find this distracting for other reasons.”

  “Can’t resist being the center of attention, eh Abyssa?” Ifriti asked, the deep red magma of her skin shifting and churning.

  “Aw, what’s the matter, fire girl?” she asked. “Worried your snake might find me a touch more interesting?”

  “Enough,” Caelum said, his voice still booming and commanding. “Provencus, tell them what you have told us.” He narrowed his steely eyes at the god of foresight, letting him know that it wasn’t the full truth that he was expected to reveal.

  “Hm, yes,” Provencus said, his voice reedy. “We have been discussing your works in the mortal realm.”

  “Is that right?” Ifriti asked. “I take it you’re impressed with what we’ve been able to inspire in the humans? Kingdoms of hundreds of thousands, cities like jewels strewn across the world… and all my doing.”

  “And so modest, too,” Abyssa said. “One of your many charms.”

  “The woods thrive,” Fenrir said. “There is balance between man and elf and nature outside of their cities.”

  “Indeed,” Arachne said. “My children are happier than they’ve ever been.�
�� To prove her point, she extended her arm and allowed dozens of tiny spiders to crawl down its length. “I would do anything for them.”

  “And there’s art,” Maar said. “Luxury and wealth. One could even say that a golden age among the humans and elves is taking place. Together, their armies are powerful enough to resist the orcish hordes that dwell in the southern reaches of their empires. And of the Archspirits, we four are the greatest. But many more grow in power. The War Wizards have their power, and they mark new followers by the day. The Archspirits have become what you always wanted… and perhaps more.”

  “You’ve achieved much,” Caelum said with a nod. “But as you all well know, it was at our behest.”

  “Not entirely true,” Maar said. “The power we’ve gained is power that we’ve worked for.”

  “And the power you have gained is too much,” Caelum said.

  “Too much?” Ifriti asked.

  “Yes. There is balance in the world of man and elf—but only for now. If you are allowed to gain more, it will ruin that balance. The kingdoms of man and elf will grow too powerful. And they will turn that power on each other—and themselves.”

  “I’m confused,” Arachne said. “You’re taking our power?”

  “No,” Caelum said. “I am simply not allowing it to grow, letting it wane.”

  “Then you are taking it,” Fenrir growled. “But without being bold enough to simply seize it for yourself.”

  “Silence, wolf,” Abyssa said. “You’re forgetting your place.”

  Fenrir stood up, his powerful form on display. “Which place is that?” he asked. “My rightful place as guardian of the woods? Or do you mean my place as your lackey?”

  Caelum began stepping toward Fenrir. “You’d be wise to watch your words, wolf. You exist because we allow it. With nothing but a word, I could unmake you, reduce you to nothing but shapelessness in the spirit realm.”

  “Perhaps,” Fenrir said. “But you would lose your own power over the mortal world. Creating Archspirits is no small feat, even for the Gods themselves. If you were to strike us out of existence, it would be at your own peril.”