Creation Mage 5

by Dante King

  I nodded. That made sense.

  “Why is Chaosbane suddenly acting the grownup?” I asked Mallory and Barry.

  “Because,” Reginald Chaosbane said in his debonair and roguish way as he strolled toward me, “a whispered rumor has come to my ear—it would have come to both if Igor hadn’t tried to pour toad’s piss into my left one—that there are certain unsavory stirrings in the Arcane Council. And that’s Headmaster Chaosbane to you, Mr. Mauler.”

  “Sorry, sir,” I said with a smile.

  Reginald grinned lazily and tweaked his mustaches. “Don’t be silly, Justin, I’m just twisting your nips. Call me anything you like, dear boy! Anything at all!” His face suddenly darkened. “Except Karen. Do not ever call me Karen.”

  “Uhhh…” I said.

  “Splendid,” Reginald said. “Yes, there were a few things I heard that forced my hand into playing the grownup, as you call it. The tiresome bitching and moaning coming from the Council was one thing, but I was also caught with my trousers down on one other thing—quite literally, I was releasing a brown trout into the wild at the time and—”

  Barry cleared his throat.

  Reginald stood up a little straighter and shook his head. ”Quite right, quite right, not relevant, Barry, thank you. The other item of news that took me a little by surprise and made me feel that extra precautions could not hurt, was that there would be students from foreign Academies competing in the Qualifiers. The rivalries between Academies have always been a little fierce, and sometimes this competitiveness can manifest itself in the form of mass riots, brawls, magical duels, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t seen or heard about that sort of thing before, Headmaster,” I said.

  “Well, we haven’t hosted any sort of inter-Academy games yet, Justin,” the Headmaster said. “But, I couldn’t help but notice you got a little taste of the rivalry that exists between the Mazirian Academy and places like… the Belgarath Academy, for instance.”

  I snorted at this. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess some of those students from other Academies take those rivalries seriously.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Reginald replied. “It’s what adds such zip, zing, and zap to the War Mage Games.”

  I shook my head. “Those fucking Blade Sisters,” I said. “They were trouble, alright.”

  Reginald wagged his head and looked musingly at Priestess Entwistle. “Yes. Beautiful women and trouble usually come in the same box. The amount of dignity, sleep, and chest hair that I have lost at the hands of beautiful women far outweighs anything that I have ever gained.”

  Barry Chillgrave nodded his head sagely. “Aye, Headmaster sir. If I had a gold piece for every time some fine beauty kicked me in the bollocks, by the gods, I would have hidden a shiteload more treasure on that island.”

  Reginald grinned at me. “I would watch your back if I were you, Mr. Mauler,” he said. “And, as Barry’s wise words remind us, watch your front too. Those Blade Sisters, they looked dangerous even for beautiful women.”

  This deeply philosophical discussion was interrupted by Madame Xel.

  “Excuse me, Headmaster,” she said, taking me by the arm. “I need a quick word with my delicious client here.”

  Reginald waved cheerily at me as Xel led me a little way away.

  “Now before you lovely boys go home for celebratory ice-creams,” Madame Xel said, “I just need to remind you of something.”

  “Remind away,” I said.

  “After seeing how well you and your fraternity showed off Solarphine’s Sticks, there are many useful sponsors vying for your attention,” Xel said, patting me on the chest affectionately. “May I suggest, as your agent, that you capitalize on this interest.”

  Somehow, in all the excitement, I had totally forgotten about this facet of the Mage Games. I rubbed my eyes tiredly and tried to focus.

  “All right,” I said, “we have the rest of the week until the final round, right? Can you go ahead and organize meetings with the top three?”

  Madame Xel smiled widely and winked. “And what do I get if you land some game-changing deals?” she asked.

  I smiled and tilted my head to one side thoughtfully. “You can have whatever you want.”

  Madame Xel licked her lips, leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “Oh, yummy, that’s my absolute favorite!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had been, even for a life lived in Avalonia at the Mazirain Academy, a goddamn crazy week. After the trials and tribulations of the Qualifiers, the sex marathon the night before, and the mission to capture the soul energy so that I could chat to my father, I was feeling about as exhausted as I ever had in my whole life.

  That wasn’t to say that I was down in the dumps about anything—far from it. Sometimes though, a man just needs a solid ten hours of shuteye.

  I climbed the main staircase of my parents’ old house and made my way to my room. When I was almost at the top of the main staircase, the door to the dungeon suddenly burst open. Mallory Entwistle and Leah Chaosbane came stumbling out into the hallway like a couple of excitable schoolgirls. They were clutching at one another and giggling. As I watched them interacting, I couldn’t help but think that they looked like a couple of long-lost pals.

  Leah caught sight of me after a few seconds, waved, dropped me a bigass wink, and blew me a kiss.

  “How goes it, lord conqueror of the opening round?” she asked, bowing so that her pink pigtails broke free of their loose buns and went all over her face.

  “Good,” I said. “I’m just about to go and hit the hay.”

  “Mm-mm-mmmm,” Leah said, “lucky old hay.”

  I chose to ignore this comment. If I didn’t, chances were I’d end up in a compromising position with the Headmaster’s cousin, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea just yet. I could handle crazy, but the Chaosbane crazy was another brand entirely.

  “You guys look like you’re getting along like a house on fire,” I said.

  Mallory smiled, but Leah said, “Urgh, I hope not. Have you ever been in a house fire? It’s very stressful. Your clothes get ruined most of the time.”

  She pulled out one of her black cigarettes, lit it, and blew out a long trail of smoke that tied itself into a bow.

  I wonder how many houses that loose cannon has burned down, on purpose or inadvertently, I thought.

  “I just mean, you look like old buddies catching up after a long time,” I said. “Did you guys know each other before we brought Mallory back here?”

  “Funnily enough, no,” said Mallory. “I had, of course, heard much tittle-tattle concerning the Chaosbane clan, but I had never realized that they had such a powerful woman in their midst.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Leah said. “You’ll make my head grow so big that I’ll have to start wheeling it about in a handcart!”

  Inwardly, I wondered whether these two women might be approaching insanity from two different ends of the spectrum. With this in mind, them getting together might create some truly fantastic, formidable magic. Or, more likely, it would lead to the type of destruction and property damage usually reserved for oil refinery explosions.

  I patted the bannister distractedly. “Cool. I’m glad you’re getting along. Leah, remember though, that Priestess Entwistle is a… forced guest of ours at the moment, yeah? The two of you shouldn’t go cutting loose through Nevermoor or anything like that, okay?”

  Leah saluted, her face stern. “I would never dream of disobeying an order from someone with such a fantastic tushy.”

  Mallory giggled. It was strange to see someone so put together and ethereal giggling.

  “But, seriously, don’t you worry,” Leah said. “I won’t let this naughty thing out of her cage unless I get express permission from the powers that be.”

  I snorted and grinned. “Good to hear. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. It’s going to be a good day.”

  “Any day that one wakes is a good day,” Mallory said as I continued up the sta
irs.

  “True that,” I replied.

  “Peace out, girl scout!” Leah called.

  You could have said a lot of things about Madame Xel—the first fifty of them or so would be about her prowess in the bedroom. One thing you couldn’t say about her though, was that she was a layabout.

  My first meeting with a potential sponsor took place the very next day. I awoke to the news, in the form of a note on the pillow beside my head. On careful inspection, I saw that the note, apart from being signed with a lipsticked kiss by Madame Xel, had the marks of little, sharp teeth in it.

  I shook my head, wondering what sort of creature Madame Xel had sent to deliver the note.

  The note itself read simply:

  To my favorite—and only—client,

  Your first meeting today is scheduled for 11:00am at your place of residence.

  It is with the Master Blademaker, Onico Mozat.

  He will show you things that will help you cut people into small pieces.

  Your agent,

  Madame X

  I got out of bed, showered, and changed while I wondered what kind of person this Onico Mozat would be. All ready for the day, I ran down the stairs and grabbed myself a cup of the Ifrit Special Blend—pepped up with some chilli flakes, at Bradley’s recommendation. I was sipping on this delectable morning brew when the doorbell rang.

  I opened the door to reveal a tall, thin figure, dressed in browns and blacks. His arms were bare and so sinewy that the well-defined muscles stood out along his limbs like knots in rope. His ears were pointed in the elvish fashion. His long and crooked nose looked like it could have belonged to your stereotypical goblin.

  “How’s it going?” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. Behind him, the clouds amassed in a moody sky. It looked like it was going to rain soon, and I was suddenly very homesick for a seventy-inch TV, a Playstation 4, and the latest The Last of Us game. It was exactly the sort of day for curling up on a comfortable couch with some junk food and a joint the size of a trombone.

  The newcomer stuck out a hand, and I took it. The fingers were long and thin, with knuckles as hard as marbles. I could tell that the hand could ground every bone in my hand together, if the owner had wanted to.

  “It is going well,” he replied.

  Then there was silence. We released grips.

  “You’d be the Master Blademaker, would you?” I prompted.

  “Yes, Onico Mozat is my name, Dark Elf and Master Blademaker,” Onico Mozat said.

  “Sweet title,” I said. “My name’s Justin. Justin Mauler. Can I help you with your stuff?”

  The Dark Elf looked quizzically at me. He had a rolled up leather mat out of which the handles of swords and other weapons poked. He also had a bag that clanked when he picked it up.

  “No,” Onico said.

  I nodded. “Not much for small talk, are you?”

  “No,” said Onico.

  That about concluded the introductions.

  “All right, I guess you should come in then,” I said, holding the door open for the bladesmith. “You won’t want to be standing on the doorstep if this storm rolls over. All that metal you’re carrying, you’ll attract lightning like a turd attracts flies.”

  Onico nodded, used one hand to pick up his bag, which must have weighed about one-hundred pounds, and walked over the threshold.

  I took the Dark Elf through to the kitchen, where he laid his wares out on the huge scrubbed wooden table.

  There were swords of various shapes and sizes, a couple of axes, and a fine selection of daggers and small throwing axes.

  “This is just a sample of what I make.” The Dark Elf stood stiffly, nursing the cup of coffee that Bradley had made for him.

  I ran my eyes over the extremely lethal-looking hardware arrayed on the table.

  In all honesty, swords were mostly all the same to me, but even my amateur eye could appreciate the time and effort gone into crafting the pieces in front of me.

  “All of my weapons are made from perpetua steel,” Onico Mozat said. The bladesmith seemed a little more disposed to open up when he was talking about the weapons he had crafted. “This steel is rare and expensive and never dulls.”

  “Never?” Damien asked. He had come into the kitchen just behind us and was sitting on the bench by the stove, stealing bits of fried fish out of the pan that Bradley was sweating over.

  “Yes,” Onico said. “Never.”

  “It never needs to be sharpened ever?” I asked. “Not ever?”

  Onico eyed me curiously. “I say never and mean never. If it needed sharpening once every three hundred years, I would not use the word never.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  Onico pointed at a couple of the daggers and one of the swords. “The stones set into the crossbars of these pieces lend the weapons minor enchantment.”

  “What kind of enchantment?” I asked.

  “The sword will answer the call of the one who owns it,” he said, “so that you can never lose it. The daggers both contain banshee beryl stones, which will slowly poison anyone who tries to use them to harm their masters.”

  “Like an anti-theft device?” I said.

  “If you like,” the Dark Elf said.

  “These blades,” I said, “I’m surprised that you haven’t offered them to the Blade Sisters. They seem like the sort of gear that they could advertise well. I bet your sales would go through the roof with the Blade Sisters wielding them.”

  The sinewy bladesmith’s expression did not change. He took a sip of his coffee. “I am a Nevermoor local,” he said levelly. “I wish my blades to be used by those who walk in my ken. Community is important. Also, if the Blade Sisters can be judged by someone like me, I would say that they already have some powerful bladesmith or weapon maker sponsoring them.”

  “You don’t think that it’s just natural skill and magical ability on their part?” I asked.

  Onico shrugged. “Perhaps. But when you are born and raised to create objects of death and power, you learn to spot the aura such things give off. The Blade Sisters are formidable, but they are made more formidable by the weapons or talismans that they hold.”

  “Interesting,” I mused. I continued running my eyes over the weapons, although I was thinking more about the Blade Sisters than the exquisitely made objects in front of me.

  “Tell me,” I said abruptly, “is there anything amongst all this that would be more suitable for a guy who hasn’t ever really used a sword before?”

  “You’re not proficient with a blade?” Onico asked.

  “Growing up on Earth,” I said, “sword fights are pretty limited. You’d be amazed at how few times I was called on to fight in a pitched battle or in a duel to defend a maiden’s honor.”

  The irony was lost on Onico Mozat, though not on Damien. My Fire Mage frat brother began choking on a piece of fried fish and might have died there and then had Rick not stomped into the room and smacked him on the back.

  Onico glanced unconcernedly at Damien, and then pointed at an ornate device that looked like a spring-loaded knife that you can hide up your sleeve.

  “I have seen you fight,” Onico said. “Your magic is strong. That piece there might serve you well, if ever an enemy gets within grappling range of you.”

  I picked up the hidden blade device.

  “What do you call this thing?” I asked.

  “The last chance,” Onico said, without a trace of a smile.

  “I like it,” I said. “I feel bad though, because surely the point of any sponsorship deal is for me to be showing off your products. The only time that this last chase of yours is ever going to get shown off is when it’s protruding two inches out the back of someone’s neck.”

  Onico Mozat’s face remained impassive.

  “I would happily supply you with weapons enough for your entire team, Justin Mauler,” he said shortly. “The way that you all fought was impressive. You fought for an overall victory, yes. But, you also fo
ught for one another, for the man next to you. This is a creed that I admire.”

  I looked around at the lads.

  “What about it, guys?” I said. “Do you reckon you could handle walking around with one of the best weapons in Avalonia hanging off your belts?”

  Rick lumbered forward and snatched up an axe big enough to cut a man clean in half with alarming ease. A scabbard lay next to the axe, which looked like it looped over one shoulder so that the axe could be worn across the carrier’s back.

  “Yeah,” the Earth Mage rumbled. “Yeah, I reckon I’d be willing to act as a billboard if I got to carry this exquisite bit of craftsmanship around.”

  Onico seemed to sense a kindred spirit in Rick Hammersmith, because something that was almost a smile quivered for a second on his serious face.

  “A fine selection,” he said.

  Rick ran a thumb down the blade of the battle-axe, then placed a finger near the tip of the handle. “Ah, I see you can change the hafts, Master Mozat? Depending on whether you’re going to be involved in some close quarters fighting or not. Inspired.”

  The blademaster’s chin rose a little. “That’s right.”

  After Rick’s lead, the other lads came flocking around.

  Nigel was second to make his selection, helping himself to some throwing stars. When I questioned why he’d opted for these, the halfling said with his trademark logic, “They’re lightweight.”

  “Good for flying, you are thinking, Wind Mage?” Onico Mozat said approvingly.

  Nigel nodded enthusiastically.“Correct. I also saw how effective they c-c-can prove during the aerial fight yesterday. If Bradley had not been in Crimson Titan form that Blade Sister chasing him would have cut him to ribbons with hers.”

  Onico nodded. “These throwing stars are also equipped with enchantments that prevent the owner from losing them, as well as hexes which harm anyone who attempts to use said items against the owner.”

  Damien loaded himself up with a pair of matching daggers, following the terse prompting of Onico Mozat.

  “There are red topaz stones set into the base of the blades,” the Dark Elf explained. “These may be activated with your Fire Magic so that the blades themselves can be lit. Once heated, the steel will cut through other metals with ease.”