Creation Mage 5

by Dante King

  “Oh, it’s over the mountains and under a river or two, through some sticky woods and down a rabbit hole, don’t you know?”

  “Hm,” I said, not having a goddamn clue what she was talking about, or whether she was sober. “Sounds obscure. You don’t know a woman called Leah, do you?”

  Afro ignored me. “We were selected by those who run our Academy to come and give you a run for your money.”

  “Mazirian Academy mages will give as good as they get,” I said.

  “Nope. We’re not interested in the other mages. Only you, Justin Mauler, Earthling and,” she leaned forward and whispered, “Creation Mage.”

  I held her gaze then. It was hard to discern much in an eye that literally reflected yourself back at you. Although it did strike me that, as quirky and witty as she was, there was a cold determination running through this woman. Like a razorblade in a bag of cotton candy.

  “The Blade Sisters, huh?” I said.

  “That’s us,” Afro said. “Keep your eyes peeled for us out there. We’ll be looking for you.”

  Then, she and her eerie, yet undeniably attractive, sisters melted into the throng.

  We made our way slowly along the tunnel, passing evenly spaced nooks on our right. In each of these little alcoves, a team of five mages was waiting. Beyond them was a door that, presumably, led to another ramp that ascended into the arena.

  We came to the next empty nook but, at my insistence, I made the boys bypass it.

  “What’re we doing?” Bradley asked me as we hurried on down the curving tunnel.

  “We’re going to the very end of the tunnel,” I said. “I just had a very weird chat with a chick who was part of the Blade Sisters. Anyone ever heard of them?”

  None of the boys had.

  “They’re from the Belgarath Academy, apparently,” I said as we strolled on. There was no one in front of us now. “Does that name ring any bells?”

  To no one’s surprise, Nigel said, “I think I’ve h-h-heard of that Academy. If it’s the one that I’m thinking of then it’s pretty odd for them to be here. From what I recall reading about it, and I only came across a mention of it in passing, it’s worlds’ away.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I got the impression that it wasn’t just next door.”

  “What were they like, these Blade Sisters?” Damien asked.

  I considered the question.

  “Different,” I said. “And in this world, I’m not sure if someone who strikes you as different is necessarily a good thing. There was something about them that put my teeth on edge. That feeling you get when you push a fork along a plate, you know?” I paused. “They were hot though.”

  Rick turned into the last alcove on the right and sat down on one of the carved earthen benches.

  “Probably good being in the last one, friend,” he said. “Good tactic. Means that nobody is going to walk past and try their hand at throwing a hex at us before we get out there.”

  “My thoughts exactly, big man,” I said, taking a seat opposite the Earth Mage.

  The rest of the boys squashed into their seats, and we commenced waiting.

  Dimly, from outside, we could hear the magically enhanced voice of Reginald Chaosbane echoing out over the stands.

  “The first round that our brave and, some might say, mad competitors are going to face is, as you can see before your eyes, a maze!”

  There was a great murmuring rumble of approval from the crowd, which caused dust to drift down from the ceiling of the tight alcove.

  “Our wonderful enclosed maze here is, unlike most ordinary mazes, very much alive!” Reginald continued in a stage whisper that nonetheless boomed out over the crowd. “Now, I cannot go into any of the succulent and tasty details of the thing. Surprises are best left as, well, surprises. Besides, life in the maze is much like life in a gentlemen’s club. Yes, the revelation of the ladies working the pole is gratifying, but it is in the anticipation of the revelation that the true excitement and joy lies.”

  There were a multitude of hoots from the assembled watchers. The sound of firecrackers exploding sounded like distant gunshots. There was thunderous stamping and applause.

  Once again, Reginald was ingratiating himself with the common people by reminding them that he had the same base appetites and needs as they did. Yeah, he might have been one of the most gifted and powerful mages walking around Avalonia, but he was also partial to getting fucked up and going to a titty-bar when the mood took him.

  “Like I say, the maze is alive,” the Headmaster continued. “And, like everything that is alive, one of the things it must do is… feed.”

  “That s-s-s-sounds firly menacing, doesn’ it?” Nigeel said.

  Bradley clapped the halfling on the shoulder. “Hey, remember, we have been in far tighter spots than this. And it’s worth recalling that there are regeneration runes out there.”

  “Y-y-yes,” Nigel said levelly, “and it is also worth recalling that one in ten-thousand regenerations c-comes with a side-helping of brain damage or severe psychosis.”

  “Just what we needed to hear before heading into the fray,” Damien said. “You can always be relied upon to use your statistics and genius to act as a little ray of sunshine for the team, can’t you, Nigel?”

  “I’m just p-pointing out that we shouldn’t become complacent, that’s all,” Nigel said.

  “Shh,” I said, before the conversation could turn into a bitch-fest. “Listen!”

  “The second part of this opening day,” Reginald said, “starts when our warriors make it through the maze—if they make it through the maze. They will emerge out into the glorious open air in the center of our arena, out of the labyrinthine confines of the maze, and will be confronted with… Well, they will see in due course. There shall be an item or gear cache waiting for each team. Inside, they will find equipment or weapons that have been supplied by their sponsors to aid them. All I shall say of the task, without getting too pun-tastic, is that they will be required to grab an egg, egg-scape the predicament they will no doubt find themselves in, and scramble their way over the finish line.”

  Well disposed groans and laughter came muffled through the earthen walls of the alcove.

  “And now, without further ado on my part, let’s all of us settle back, grab something cold and inhibition-crushing, and get ready to enjoy the show!” Reginald Chaosbane bellowed.

  There was a final rolling crescendo of applause, which sounded like a thunderstorm breaking ten feet above our heads. Then, ponderously, the door at the front of our alcove swung open.

  As I thought, there was a ramp leading upward into the gloom beyond it.

  “Game faces on, lads,” I said. “ Vectors at the ready and sphincters tightened up. I want everyone to have a spell on hand, okay? It’s time to go out there and show those other unlucky chumps who the fuck we are.”

  And, with that, I led the way up the ramp and into the maze.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In every book I have ever read or movie I have ever watched that involves a maze of some sort, anyone heading into the maze always has a little time in which to acclimatize themselves to the shitstorm that they find themselves in. They pad along for a while, usually wreathed in mist that is creeping up out of the ground, and allow themselves to be lured into a false sense of security.

  The maze that we found ourselves in was free from spooky mist, so it didn’t feel like we were walking through some child’s interpretation of what a maze should be like. On the contrary, even though the hedge walls rose twelve feet high on either side of us and curved over to form a roof, the underside of the leaves above in shone with a soft, phosphorescent pink glow. It gave our horticultural surroundings a weird Blade Runner or Tron vibe. Coupled with the fact that the path running through the vegetative tunnel was wide enough for three of us to walk abreast—or one Rick—it wasn’t as confined as I thought it was going to be.

  Also, even though the setting begged for complete silence, and
maybe a soundtrack conducted by Hans Zimmer, we could still plainly hear the crowd coming through the hedge walls. There was no forgetting that we were now in the middle of a packed arena filled with what must have been going on close to eighty-thousand screaming fans.

  “How are they even able to watch what is going on in here?” Damien asked as we moved along.

  “I would s-say that Chaosbane is somehow magically projecting what is taking place in the interior of the m-m-maze on another one of those thaumaturgical superscreens, like he did at the Exhibition matches.”

  “But he had little floating orbs to capture what was going on then,” Bradley said. “I don’t see any of those in here, do you?”

  Nigel sighed. “I hate t-t-to point out the obvious, Flamewalker, but you are aware of just how much of a magical badass our Headmaster is, right?”

  Rick chuckled.

  “Remember,” I said in a low voice as we moved quickly but carefully along, “we are basically walking through Reginald Chaosbane’s imagination right now. You better believe that that man would have come up with all sorts shit to put in here, so keep your head on a swivel and discard any ideas you have of being able to predict what’s going to happen in—”

  My wise words were cut off by twin explosions of leaves bursting out of either hedgewall about twenty yards ahead of us.

  Classic Chaosbane, I thought as I brought up my black crystal staff. We haven’t even reached the first fucking corner and he’s already throwing something at us.

  When the bursts of leaves had settled, the heads of two enormous Venus fly traps protruded from each side of the maze. The bright pink mouths of the plants were easily eight feet across and lined with vicious light green barbs about two feet long.

  “Hey, I just thought,” Bradley said. “What happens if one of us is killed in here? Where are the regeneration runes?”

  “How about we do our best not to find out the answer to that question?” I said.

  As we regarded the pair of massive carnivorous plants, another one of the fuckers dropped down out of the roof of the maze. This late arrival snapped its jaws at us in a manner that suggested that, if it had had any lips, it would have been licking them.

  Then, in a sudden rustling rush, the plants shot toward us. They moved across the hedgerows and the canopy above us in the same way that sea monsters were depicted swimming in the ocean, their vine bodies arching behind them as they dove in and out of the shrubbery.

  Nigel was first off the mark with his spell. He raised the ornate dagger vector that he carried in a sheath up his sleeve, and which I had recently realized was actually a letter-opener and not a regular knife, and pointed it at the oncoming fly traps.

  A whirling gust of wind blasted out from the Wind Mage’s hands and ripped down the maze toward the attacking plants, shredding leaves from the hedges as it went. The localized tornado smashed into the approaching fly traps, but it barely slowed them down. Whether it was thanks to their strong, thick viney bodies or because they were plants and were used to the assault of wind and weather wasn’t clear.

  It seemed that I had subconsciously developed a favorite spell as of late, because I let loose with some Frost Shards at the plant squirming its way across the roof of the maze. The arm-long icicles punched into the angry plant’s head and pinned its mouth closed. It started thrashing, forgetting all about its targets: us.

  Then, Damien stepped forward to the head of our band. He raised his arms in front of him, the rings on his fingers sparkling in the soft pink light.

  “I’ve never been much of a gardener,” he said.

  The Fire Vortex roared out of his outstretched hands and filled the maze with searing golden light and eyelash-shriveling heat.

  The three oncoming giant Venus fly traps were caught in mid-bound, just as they were about to fire themselves at us. They didn’t writhe and shriek; they didn’t have the time. They simply stopped dead and shriveled in the face of the scorching wash of flames.

  I held my hand up to my face to protect myself from the heat and took a step back.

  Damien flamed those hangry bastards until they crumbled into ash. Then, he lowered his hands and dusted them off.

  “Shall we push on?” he asked.

  The noise of the crowd, which had been drowned out by the gyre of raging flames, seemed to have risen an octave. I wondered whether that was because of us, or whether another team had kicked the ass of some other dangerous monster.

  We continued on, working our way deeper into the maze.

  It was exactly how Reginald Chaosbane had described it; the maze was very much alive. What surprised me most was the way in which the maze’s guardians, as well as the maze itself, wasn’t just out to kill us.

  I mean, they were most definitely out to kill us all, as many times as they could and with great energy, but they weren’t just out to kill us. Reginald Chaosbane and his team had designed the maze and the creatures and magic within it to entertain the crowd. It was, in a way, the star of the show.

  I got the distinct impression that, as well as being a bloodthirsty son of a bitch, the actual maze itself had definitely been imbued with a sense of humor. This was made apparent when it kept sticking out a trailing creeper to ankle-tap Rick.

  The first time that this happened and the big Earth Mage went sprawling, all of us whipped around to see what fresh devilry was upon us, but nothing happened. We continued on our way.

  The same thing happened a minute later, this time sending Rick off balance so that he almost squashed Nigel who was walking in front of him.

  The third time, Rick went down on his face, and the tentacular vine actually raised up like a cobra, as if it was enjoying watching him struggle in the dust, before whisking back into the hedgerow.

  There were a few turn-offs to the left and the right, of course. Luckily for us, Damien was confident in his sense of direction, even within the closed labyrinth of the maze.

  “I think growing up and running with a gang in L.A. is what refined it,” he explained, when I asked him how he managed to hone this skill. “You spend all your time legging it through the night, through the backstreets and alleyways, through warehouses and derelict buildings, trying to avoid the law and other gangs while doing what you need to do to survive. You get pretty adept at keeping ahead of people who are trying to take you down, and knowing how to get back home or to safety or whatever.”

  “You’re sure you know that we’re heading toward the center, friend?” Rick asked, ducking to avoid a curtain of hanging blue ivy that was only in danger of touching his head.

  “Yeah, we are,” Damien said simply.

  “How do you know, though?” Bradley asked.

  Damien shrugged and pointed at the center of his chest. “I can just feel it. As soon as we stepped out into the arena I sort of made a mental map in my head.”

  Bradley continued to look slightly dubious.

  “Look, when you think about it,” Damien said as I led the way cautiously round a curving left hand turn, “it’s not so weird. The arena is essentially a big circle, right? And all the teams got spaced evenly around it. That means that we were all pointing toward the center, the moment that we stepped out from that ramp, right?” He tapped the side of his head. “I guess I just have a good mental compass. I can tell that we’re going the right way.”

  Bradley, who was slightly ahead, must have stepped on something or activated some sort of tripwire because he said, “Oh, bugger and bollocks!” and then instantly activated his Crimson Titan form. In a second, he was covered in the gelatinous glowing orange exoskeleton that he had used on that very first day that we had met him.

  Rick followed suit, bunching his great fists and triggering his Rock Skin spell, which turned him into a rastafarian version of the Thing.

  “What the hell is going on?” I said, trying to see around the two forms that now effectively blocked the entire path.

  “Crossbows!” Bradley called over his shoulder.

 
There was the musical twang… twang-twang… twang-twang-twang-twang of multiple crossbow strings releasing in quick succession. Feathered bolts flicked overhead. Projectiles thunked into the dirt someway behind us with dull smacks.

  “Don’t worry, friend,” Rick grunted as one of the small but lethal missiles whacked into his stout shoulder and pinwheeled away, deflected by his Rock Skin spell, “you boys just chill. Bradley and I have this.”

  Bradley did indeed have it sorted. Almost before Rick had spoken to Damien, Nigel, and I, a series of small explosions and staccato light lit the maze walls like fireflies going supernova.

  “What in the shit is going on up there?” Damien called from where he was knelt at the back of the group.

  There was the sound of splintering wood and taut strings snapping, then the noises ceased and, with very little fuss, Rick stepped to one side and made his Rock Skin vanish.

  Bradley Flamewalker was standing, seven-feet tall and a couple of feet wide, in his enchanted mech-suit. Where his arms should have been, he had cannons instead.

  I raised my eyebrows and let out a low whistle.

  “Well dip me in chocolate and coat me in nuts,” I said. “That augmentation is pretty fucking rad.”

  Through the gummy orange magic, which the cannons seemed to be crafted from, I could just make out Bradley’s arms. His fists looked to be clenched around two large triggers.

  Bradley grinned and pointed behind him, with his incredible cannon arms, at the wooden wreckage that must have been a bunch of high-velocity crossbows only a few short moments before.

  “I’d say they were worth the visit to the Inscribers, yes,” he said.

  We encountered a few more traps along the way toward the center of the maze. Surprisingly—or maybe not when you considered who it was who had designed them—many were free of magic. Instead, they were good old-fashioned traps, the kind that you might have seen in any Earth-based warzone.

  At one point, when I was leading our little procession, we rounded a corner and found the way blocked by a door. Just your run-of-the-mill door. The hedge maze narrowed so that the only way forward was this door. It looked strangely out of place in that setting; with its faded white paint peeling off and its tarnished brass knob.