Creation Mage 2 (War Mage Academy)

by Dante King

  I knocked back the last of my first drink just as our fresh beverages arrived. It seemed that Cecilia wasn’t just a fox in the looks department, but she could also drink like a fish.

  “So, why don’t all the students get involved in these warm-up matches?” I asked. “Seems that it’s the obvious thing to do, isn’t it? If it means that you might secure a sponsor for when the Games kick off for real?”

  Cecilia reached across the table and laid one cool hand on my forearm. “Darling, that is so like you to see things that way, but you have to remember there is a flipside to every coin. Yes, the rewards can be great, but if you screw the sphinx and have a ghastly time of it in the arena, you might irrevocably hamper your chances of ever landing a sponsor.”

  The glass of boiled blood brandy paused in front of my lips. The scent of caramelized oranges and spices tickled my nostrils.

  “So, you might shoot yourself in the foot before the competition really begins?” I asked.

  “That’s right.”

  I took a mouthful of my drink, sighed, and shrugged. “Fuck it. No risk, no reward. I’m in.” I sipped my drink. “You know, I’m surprised that things like advertising and sponsors would appeal to someone as well-bred as your good self.”

  Cecilia raised a shapely eyebrow at me, tilted her perfectly sculpted head back, and regarded me once more from under heavy lids. My libido stretched and sniffed at the air.

  Damn, but she is a looker, I thought. In a world where everyone seemed more or less happy to topple like a house of dominos at the slightest sexual proposition, Cecila remained staunch and, as of yet, unattainable.

  “Well, it’s funny that you should say that, because that was the one and only objection my parents had to me becoming a War Mage.”

  “What, they're happy enough to let you go out and fight to the regenerated death, but they don’t want you wearing the Goblin’s Rights Commision t-shirt while you do it?”

  “Something along those lines,” Cecilia said. “They find it vulgar. We are a family that does not need money, you see. We are very rich. So the idea of me being paid to do something is one that my mother and father find quite distasteful.”

  I shook my head in wonder.

  Fucking rich people.

  Cecilia laughed at the look of bewilderment on my face. “One of my father’s favorite sayings is, ‘The only part of the Chillgrave family that should work is the money.’”

  “Tough gig,” I said.

  Cecilia gave her hair a theatrical flick and smiled. “Tell me about it, darling. It’s a damned tough life.”

  “So, why did they send you here?” I asked. “Couldn’t they send you somewhere else?”

  “Like where?”

  I paused. “Well,” I admitted, “I dunno. Somewhere that wasn’t here.”

  “Like another Academy?”

  “Well, yeah, if there are such things,” I said. It was then that I realized that I didn’t even know whether there were other magical academies in Avalonia, or places to learn magic outside of the Mazirian Academy.

  “There are indeed, darling,” Cecilia said. She gave me a warm look. “Sometimes I forget how fresh you are to our world. The way you handle yourself makes me think that you have been here all your life. But, yes, there are other academies. I’m sure you’ll come to meet mages from them during the intercollegiate Mage Games that are held throughout the year.”

  “I look forward to kicking asses from across the Kingdom,” I said. “But your parents didn’t ever consider sending you to one of these other schools?”

  “Oh, they did,” Cecilia said, “but they ended up sending me here—no doubt for reasons of their own.”

  “You’re not a product of your environment by the sounds of it,” I said. “From the mentions you’ve made of your parents, I mean.”

  “Hm. You see, where I differ from my parents and my ancestors, is that I haven’t been blinded by pride. I’m not ashamed to remember where our wealth originated. My parents refuse to acknowledge the fact that Barry Chillgrave sired our dynasty on gold and silver that he pirated from merchants, smugglers, and the aristocracy.”

  “Ah, I get you,” I said. “That’s normally how it goes, isn’t it? A man or woman can be a pirate or a tyrant or a cutthroat business person. They can make use of and employ all sorts of awful underhand tricks; ruin lives, bring down others, pollute and corrupt the world they move in. But, after a generation or two, that dirty, two-faced, backstabbing piece of shit who founded the company—or dynasty—turns into some cheeky old rascal who did a bit of wheeling and dealing back in the day. They are romanticized. Must be different when that cutthroat pioneer refuses to move on and stays in this world in the form of a poltergeist.”

  Cecilia cocked her head and gave me a slow smile. Her forget-me-not eyes twinkled. “Justin Mauler, you are quite the enigma, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said, suppressing a chuckle. “Enigmatic. That’s me.”

  “Barry is, as you say, a part of the Chillgrave family that my parents are most loath to talk about,” Cecilia said, continuing to run those captivating eyes of hers over my face. “Ironic when you consider that the family wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for him.”

  “So your parents don’t see eye-to-eye with Barry?” I asked.

  “No. They view him as a relic that would be better off shut neatly away somewhere.”

  I thought of the Eldritch Prison and remembered Barry being led away by Idman Thunderstone’s guards.

  “Yes,” Cecilia continued, “my parents choose to forget our own humble origins. We are one of the great families in Avalonia and have been for hundreds of years now. Our line has included monarchs, and my parents never cease to remind me of that. Queen Hagatha, our current ruler, is actually a cousin of ours.”

  “What do they do, your parents?” I asked.

  Cecilia laughed that fluting laugh of hers. It sent shivers across my skin. I breathed deeply and caught the scent of lavender, snow and plums that wafted from her.

  “Do? Darling, what did I just tell you? They don’t do anything—perish the thought! They have a lot to do with the Arcane Council though. My father is an Archmage and my mother a Seer.”

  “Your mother can predict the future?” I asked incredulously.

  Cecilia grinned. “No. She can see many possible futures. She can see many threads that lead into the future, but she cannot see the whole tapestry. The future, she has often told me, is all about context. It might be one thing to know that it is going to rain, but to be able to know when to take out your umbrella you have to know a host of other details—where and when this rain is going to fall not being the least of them.”

  I nodded. “Shit, that all sounds very intense,” I said. “Does this mean that thou is already betrothed to ye old prince?”

  Cecilia leaned back and laughed, putting one porcelain hand to her flat belly. She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye.

  “Mm, well now that you mention it, there has been talk about me marrying the Queen’s son—ye old prince, as you put it. However, I believe he celebrated his fourth birthday last week, so I’m not holding my breath.”

  “But you might have to one day?” I asked.

  A flame of defiance—a dangerous look—kindled in Cecilia’s sapphire eyes. “I’m not resigning myself to any such whim of my parents,” she said fiercely.

  I believed her. I had seen Cecilia fight, and I had no doubts that she’d dig her heels in when it came to something as personal as an arranged marriage.

  “No,” she said, and the flame flickered and went out, “I’m more of a romantic at heart.”

  She looked at me then, for a long time.

  “I have to say, I’ve seen you cut a troll almost in half,” I said. “If anyone knew the way to a man’s heart, it’d be you.”

  Cecilia laughed again. I realized that I enjoyed making her laugh.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’d rather fall for someone, than have someone thrust upon me.”


  Gods, I’d like to be thrust upon you, I thought.

  “Well,” I said, trying to keep things light, “you can always fall for me, so long as you don’t mind sharing, of course.”

  “Ah yes, the curse of the Creation Mage,” Cecilia said, coloring slightly.

  “I don’t know if I would call it a curse as such,” I said, swallowing the last of my drink and staring out at the horizon. The sun had just kissed it and was getting ready to sub the moon in. “I think it’s more about finding understanding partners, you know.”

  Cecilia nodded toward the pool, where two of the Frost Elemental females had started up some very heavy petting. “You have definitely come to the right place, then,” she said.

  She turned to me and swallowed the last of her own drink. She signaled for two more, with that special ease that some people have—the same skill that enables some people to hail a specific cab in New York City traffic.

  “So, you’re still happy to be my partner in the exhibition match?” she asked me.

  “Of course. Nothing has changed. I’ll be interested to see how I stack up against students who have the use of their dungeons.”

  I was hit with a sudden thought. Perhaps all the talk of mixing it up with members of other frats and sororities had triggered it.

  “Cecilia,” I asked, “would it be cool with you and your sorority sisters if my frat brothers and I borrowed your dungeon facilities—just for the upcoming exhibitions?”

  “Alas, darling, that is strictly forbidden. Nothing I can do about it,” Cecilia replied with a commiserating shake of her head.

  I explained how Alura and Enwyn helped out with fighting the gremlins in the dungeon, but Cecila shook her head again.

  “You see, it was precisely because you had no poltergeist in your dungeon that you were able to do that. On that unique occasion, it actually helped you. But poltergeists are compelled to report anything like that to Chaosbane and the Arcane Council, and news of a Creation Mage fraternizing with lots of different fraternities and sororities would be news they’d be eager to hear.”

  “Don’t poltergeists know that snitches get stitches?” I asked with a wry grin.

  “I guess not, darling.”

  We sat and watched the sun set for half an hour more, sipping our cold drinks.

  “Cecilia?” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.

  “Justin?”

  “How do you think we’ll do? I’ve never competed in anything like this before. You reckon it’ll be like walking out into a storm for us?”

  Cecilia leaned forward, giving me an excellent front row view of her cleavage.

  “Darling,” she said, “I think we are the storm.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  One thing became readily apparent to me, so far as my Avalonian history classes were concerned: it didn’t take much to distract me. A fly buzzing around the room, my own licentious thoughts, trying to identify the muffled thud of music coming from the pool, or attempting to guess who might have let loose the occasional mysterious classroom fart that everyone studiously pretended not to notice.

  My favorite, however, was Janet’s ass.

  The Storm Mage habitually sat in front of me during class to prevent me from distracting her—or so she said. At first, I had bridled at this a little, but then I had realized that Janet’s favorite type of pants inevitably slipped down her ass while we were sitting for two hours in the classroom. This happy little accident allowed me to see what style and color panties she was wearing that day.

  When it came to tortuously boring lessons, it was the little things that got you through.

  Today, dear Miss Thunderstone had a pair of lacy black numbers on, which I could tell were cut in the cheeky style—where the chick’s asscheeks are half on show. This thought acted as a balm to the never-ending facts and dates that washed over my brain, drowning and stifling it.

  “Hey!” Janet’s voice whispered out of the ether. “Hey, Justin!”

  I jerked in my seat. “Wha…?” I mumbled. I’d been on the verge of entering a doze. I cleared my throat. “What?” I said, more clearly this time, addressing Janet’s perfect ass.

  “Hey,” Janet whispered, “my eyes are up here.”

  “Sorry.”

  Janet had turned around in her seat while Madame Fledwer dictated to a piece of chalk that scrawled her words across the blackboard.

  “My dad wants to meet with you,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  “My dad wants to meet with you,” Janet repeated.

  “When?”

  “Later.”

  I raised my eyebrows. This might have sounded like bad news, but meeting with Janet’s father meant I had a new avenue for our poltergeist problem. I could take my shot at seeing if he would consider letting Barry out on parole or something. We desperately needed a poltergeist. As much as the bros and I had been practicing in the yard out the back of our frat house, it was nothing compared to what everyone else could do with a poltergeist-run dungeon.

  “Okay, sounds good,” I said to Janet.

  Thankfully, the class came to an end only half an hour or so later. Janet and I hung back, letting the rest of our fellow students file past us.

  “So, when does your old man want to meet?” I asked her, once the coast was clear.

  Janet gave me an ambiguous look, opened the door, and stepped into the corridor. I followed.

  “You must be the much talked of, eminently average Mauler,” said a haughty voice, dripping in contemptuous frost. “By the gods, when my daughter spoke of you I could not help but expect more than… this.”

  I turned to face the man who had spoken this kind, generous, and tactful greeting. He was standing in the corridor behind me. He was tall and thin, though it was a thinness that spoke of rigorous diet and exercise rather than sickness or frailty. His shoulders were broad, his limbs long. His hair was shoulder length and swept back from a widow’s peak, black as the inside of a wolf, though it was shot with gray.

  “Let me guess,” I said, “you’re the chief of the fun police, right? Captain Goodtimes?”

  “I am disappointed,” the man retorted.

  “Da-ad,” Janet said awkwardly, blushing scarlet under her brown hair.

  “You know, Captain,” I continued in a mock disappointed tone, “you really should work on your interpersonal skills. In this day and age, it’s only a matter of time until one of your staff members becomes disgruntled and sues your ass for something. I heard of one poor bastard who employed this guy and caught him with his fingers in the cash register one time. Fired him pronto. The employee had the stones to then sue the guy he’d been trying to steal from for damages!”

  To my astonishment, Idman Thunderstone snorted and let out a dry chuckle.

  “By hell and all its devils, lad, you’ve got some gall, don’t you?” he said. “Speaking of stones, you truly are your—well, let’s just say you remind me of someone I used to know.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, recalling what Janet had seen weeks ago, when the Arcane Council’s charm had been removed. She’d touched my father’s staff and recalled a portrait of my parents in her father’s secret chambers at the prison. Apparently, Idman was at least an admirer of my folks, or perhaps even a fellow conspirator. Now wasn’t exactly the time to delve into the history of Janet’s father, so I let his little comment slide.

  Idman replied, “There aren’t too many people in this world who could be blindsided by me and come out with something like that! Fun police, hah!”

  He slapped me on the back with a long-fingered hand. It was like being hit with a rubber glove full of marbles. Tall and whip-thin he might be, but this man could no doubt give someone a beating should the mood take him.

  I turned to Janet. “You never told me that your old man had a sense of humor.”

  Janet shrugged noncommittally.

  I wasn’t beyond admitting that I was surprised and somewhat discombobulated. From what
I’d heard about Idman Thunderstone—him being a former royal torturer for one, not to mention the High Warden of the privatized Eldritch Prison—I’d expected him to be a professional hardass.

  “I take on a different demeanor when I’m at work,” Idman explained. “It’s part of the job, you know. Those poltergeists see any weakness, and they’ll exploit it. So, I’m as hard as the obsidian that comprises the prison when I’m there.”

  “I’ve always been interested in what I’ve heard of the Eldritch Prison,” I said to the taller man. I was six-two, but Idman had a good couple of inches on me. “Janet has always kept pretty quiet about it. Any chance we could go and take a tour?”

  Idman regarded me for a long moment. His gaze seemed to cut into my core, delving into my most private thoughts. It took a lot of willpower not to look away from those cold eyes of his. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head, as though thinking it better to hold his tongue.

  He pulled out a stone from his pocket. I recognized it as a portal stone, the same sort that Enwyn had used to bring Janet, me, and some of the others back from the land of the Gemstone Elementals. Idman pressed it, and a portal opened in front of us.

  “After you, Mr. Mauler,” he said.

  I knew a challenge when it was laid down, and I wasn’t ever a man to shirk one. I stepped into the portal and was whisked away.

  With a lurch and a tumble, a totter and a stumble, I emerged out of whatever ether you enter during corporeal transportation. My feet hit the ground, and my arms reached out to lean against the wall of a cheerless stone passage.

  “Are you quite all right there, Justin?” Idman asked from behind me.

  I turned and saw that he and Janet had both followed me through. Janet was looking a little windswept, but Idman looked as if he might have just stepped out of a barber’s shop. There wasn’t a hair on his head out of place.

  “Let the tour,” he said, in a disconcertingly grim voice, “begin.”

  He swept off ahead of us. It was weird; any vestige of the man I had just met seemed to be fading by the second. He was fast becoming a real-life Dracula. A hand on my shoulder made me turn around.