The Blade Mage

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  “You should probably explain that to the Archmage.”

  “He knows,” Parker said, giving me a hard look. Finally he chuckled and said, “Who do you think told me to help you? You really think I would’ve gone behind his back like that?”

  “Wait, are you saying that the Archmage told you to give me the address of the Marauders? Or did he tell you to let me go at the execution?”

  Parker Grimm shook his head and put the car back into drive. I watched as his taillights disappeared from the parking lot, more confused than ever.

  ***

  I stood in the doorway of my little secluded home, staring at my small living room. This whole time all I’d wanted was to come home, but now that I was back…it was too quiet.

  And lonely.

  The moment I’d walked in the doorway, it’d hit me. Loneliness. Like a bitter mist settling over my bones. All I’d wanted was to come home, but now that I was there, I wanted to be anywhere else. The past few days had been stressful, terrifying, and horrible, yet, I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in my quiet little house alone.

  My thoughts drifted to Faith. It couldn’t be helped, I supposed.

  It was the thoughts of what could’ve been that haunted me most. It was as though the emptiness of my little mountain home somehow amplified those feelings. As though returning there made it real. The first real connection I’d had in a long time, and it was gone. Gone for good.

  I stood motionless in my own entryway for some time, unsure what I should do. I didn’t have the desire to move. Not to unpack. Not to see what I had in the fridge. Not to bother turning up the heater. I just didn’t care.

  I was about convinced to make my way into the kitchen, sure I still had a bottle of Wild Turkey in the cabinet, when there was a knock on the door behind me.

  For a moment I thought I’d imagined it. Then the knock came again.

  I turned around and faced the door, unsure if should open it. I didn’t get many guests, and despite my onset of loneliness, my depression bade me seek seclusion from the cruel world outside.

  Then there was a third knock, followed by a familiar voice. “Wyatt! Open the damned door!”

  I did and found myself staring into the face of Axel.

  “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked, grinning like an asshole.

  “Sure,” I replied, moving out of the way. I noticed he had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “What are you doing here? I thought your father was having you sent away.”

  “He was,” Axel agreed. “I decided not to go.”

  “Won’t he be angry?”

  “Almost certainly,” Axel replied, turning to glance around my place. “Well, this is…quaint.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, then repeated my original question. “What are you doing here?”

  He stared at me as though it was the stupidest question I could’ve asked. “Well, I’m coming to stay with you, obviously.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I figured if we were both to be in exile, we might as well be in exile together. Besides, you were pretty lost until I was freed. Seems like you need someone around to watch your back. So, what is there to do around here?”

  “Wait, hold on,” I said, staring at my old friend. “Are you coming to live with me?”

  “Well, yeah,” Axel said as he dumped his duffle bag on the floor and plopped down on the couch. “Just think of how much fun it will be.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. Some part of me wanted to protest, but, then again, maybe he was right.

  I shrugged and headed toward the kitchen. I was still after the bottle of Turkey, but I didn’t feel quite so alone as I pulled two glasses down from the cabinet. And for some reason, I felt like things might be all right after all.

  The End

  Dedication

  Growing up, I wasn't good at making friends. If you've met me, that may be hard to believe, but I wasn't always the social butterfly I am today. When I was a kid, we moved around a lot, and it always took me the better part of a school year to make new friends. Part of the problem was that I never really fit with any particular tribe. Another problem was that social norms were always a challenge for me, and I didn't take to casual friendships very well. My dad always said, "True friends are rare. In your whole life, you'll be lucky if you have more 'real' friends than you can count on one hand." So, with each new town, and each new school, I awkwardly arrived and slowly built relationships, many of which I still have to this day.

  Even in high school I still struggled. My family moved my Sophomore year, and this was perhaps the toughest transition. I'd built a solid group of friends, and the thought of starting over, well, it terrified me. For most of that first year, I had but a handful of casual acquaintances. I feared I'd finish out my high school years a friendless loner.

  Early in my Junior year, however, the Gods of Class Schedules smiled on me, and I found my schedule closely matched to a lanky smart ass named Mike. The other half of my schedule was lined up with a laid-back country boy named Jake. I made friends with each of them separately, and to this day, I still consider both family.

  And then…

  One day, a laughing hyena of a high school student approaches me. I've seen him around, but I've never spoken to him. And he looks angry.

  "You're Phill?" he asks.

  I nod.

  "You're, like, best friends with Mike, aren't you?"

  "Uh, yeah, I guess," I reply.

  "But you're also, like, best friends with Jake, too, right?"

  "Uh, yeah."

  "Well, those are my two best friends," he tells me.

  "Okay," I say, unsure what to think. Am I about to get into a fight with this kid for stealing his friends?

  Then he flashes me his boyish grin. "Well then, I guess that makes us best friends. Want to hang out after school?"

  Sixteen years later and two days ago, he texted me that I should stop whatever I was doing to watch the last four episodes of the final season of a TV show I've never even seen a single episode of.

  So….

  This one is dedicated to you, A.J.

  I'll never forgive you for spoiling the Revan reveal on Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, but I can't thank you enough for always supporting my work, or for your enduring friendship. And all the laughs along the way.

  And for the sacrifices you've made, which have ensured that someone like me would have the continued freedom to sit at home and make up stories. You're a real hero, as far as I'm concerned.

  And yeah, werewolves are cool because they're furry.

  Acknowledgments

  J.H. Fleming, first and foremost, who continues ensuring my scribbles are made readable. Thank you for your patience and hard work editing my stories, especially when my characters piss you off, as was noted rather colorfully several times throughout this book. And for Christopher, who has been my first reader and supported this series from the onset. And to my other dear friends and family members who have supported this writing journey. For a time, it might've seemed I'd gone quiet on the writing front. Some may have even worried that I'd given up. Never. The truth is that I had my head down, plodding away on the Blade Mage. It might've taken a little longer than I would've liked to get here, but I am here now, and ready to open the doors so that this product of isolation can finally be shared.

  Shain Stone's Spice Cake Recipe

  Hit List:

  1 ½ - 2 cups of all-purpose flour

  1 ¾ teaspoon of baking soda

  ½ brick of Kerrygold Irish Butter (No exceptions. Has to be Kerrygold or just fuck off) (Half a brick equal 1 stick of butter or half a cup)

  About a cup of White Sugar (C'mon, we both know you're gonna add a little extra)

  2 or 3 eggs

  2 teaspoons of vanilla extract

  Several spoonfuls of Apple Butter

  Caramel icecream sauce (Just squeeze some in there)

  Ground Cinnamon (Just shake a bunch
in there)

  ½ cup of milk

  Instructions:

  Preheat your oven to 350, dummy (I always forget this part)

  Mix your 1 ½ - 2 cups of all-purpose flour and your 1 ¾ teaspoon of baking soda in a bowel. I use a fork. The idea is to get the baking soda mixed in with the flour.

  Melt your ½ brick of Kerrygold

  In a separate, larger mixing bowl, add your melted butter and cup of sugar together, and stir that shit.

  Add your 2 or 3 eggs and mix that shit.

  Add your 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract, Several spoonfuls of Apple Butter, Caramel icecream sauce (Just squeeze some in there), Ground Cinnamon (Just shake a bunch in there), and then stir that shit.

  Add your ½ cup of milk and, you guessed it, stir that shit.

  Grease your cake pan, or pans, with cold Kerrygold butter. Just rub it on like you're rubbing an enemy's face in the dirt.

  Full size cake pan – Probably 30 minutes, but maybe 40. You should check with a toothpick after 20.

  Small pans – Probably 20 minutes, but maybe 30. You should check with a toothpick after 15.

  Icing

  Wait until the cake has cooled down, you impatient…

  Hit List:

  ¼ - ½ Brick of Kerrygold Butter

  A bunch of Powdered sugar

  A jug of milk on standby

  Ground Cinnamon

  Optional – Caramel sauce & Apple Butter

  Food Coloring – If you want it to be pretty (I usually use orange. It seems to go nice with the brown cake)

  Instructions

  Melt the ¼ - ½ Brick of Kerrygold Butter and add to a mixing bowl (Start with ¼ and see if that makes enough for your sweet tooth.

  Start adding powdered sugar and stir (You want it to thicken up)

  Add a bit of milk to smooth the ride (I usually add more milk, before I go back to add more butter)

  Add in ground cinnamon, caramel, & Apple Butter – Just a bit at a time, mix, and taste. You'll know when it's right.

  Add in your food coloring if you want it to be pretty

  Slather that shit all over your cake.

  Eat and be happy.

  Phillip Drayer Duncan has written ten novels. His work has been published with Yard Dog Press, Pro Se Productions, Seventh Star Press, and Happy Omega Publishing.

  Along with reading and writing like a madman, he enjoys kayakin’, canoein’, fishin’, and pretty much anything nerd related. More than anything, he enjoys spending time with his ridiculously awesome girlfriend, friends, family, and the monstrous five-pound beast that lurks in the shadows of his home.

  During the warm months, Phillip’s natural habitat includes the river or a campfire. In the colder season, he morphs into a hermit and may be spotted under a pile of books or video games. You might also catch him in the wild at a concert or a convention. He is generally an approachable creature, but it’s best to give him snacks if you wish to ensure he won’t bite. Cookies are preferable.

  His earliest books were acted out with action figures and scribbled into notebooks. Today he uses a computer like a real grown up, despite refusing to act his age in any other circumstance. And to be honest, if it would pay his bills, he’d be playing with G.I. Joes right now.

  His greatest dream in life is to become a Jedi, but since that hasn’t happened yet, he focuses on writing.

  He is eagerly awaiting the next season of Firefly; please don’t inform him it was canceled.

  Also by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  Catalysts – Featuring 2 Blade Mage & 1 Moonshine Wizard Story

  FREE & only available by signing up for the Phillip Drayer Duncan Newsletter.

  The Blade Mage:

  The Blade Mage

  Of Song and Shadow

  The Memphis Knights

  Rebels and Outlaws

  Swords and Dust

  The Moonshine Wizard:

  Moonshine Wizard

  The Distilled Shorts Collection:

  First Job

  The Ogre & The Primates

  A Sword Named Sharp

  Hunting one Like Us

  The Monster Beneath the Bed

  The Hunt for the Dark Wizard

  Assassins Incorporated:

  Assassins Incorporated

  Assassins Incorporated: Rehired

  Tales of the Warden

  Anthologies & Single Shots:

  Tales of the Interstellar Bartenders Guild

  Gary Phillips Hollis for Hire

  Flush Fiction, Volume II: Twenty Years of Letting it Go!

  Write to the Cover, Volume One

  Black Fedora

  Charles Boeckman Presents: The Wild West

  Tall Pulp

  Pulpology

  Zev Moon

  To Love and Die

  Nonfiction:

  When the Shadow Sees the Sun – Creatives Surviving Depression

  PhillipDrayerDuncan.com.

  Don't forget to pick up your FREE digital copy of

  Catalysts

  Featuring the Blade Mage prequel shorts…

  The Generic Mage

  &

  The Last Great Blade Mage

  Join Wyatt and Axel as they hunt down a wicked clown goblin and live the experience of Wyatt being chosen as Blade Mage.

  Get Catalysts FREE by signing up for the Phillip Drayer Duncan Newsletter at…

  PhillipDrayerDuncan.com

  Happy Reading!

  If you enjoyed The Blade Mage, read on for an excerpt from the 2nd Novel in the Blade Mage Series…

  Of Song and Shadow

  By

  Phillip Drayer Duncan

  PhillipDrayerDuncan.com

  Chapter 1

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I whispered, glaring at Axel.

  “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t bring weapons,” he replied.

  “Shh,” I said, trying to determine just how close the beast was.

  We were side by side and both pressed up against the trunk of a tree. I’d like to say we were strategically staging an ambush, but…we were hiding.

  After a moment, I heard crunching footsteps and ragged breathing. The beast was there, just a few feet away.

  There was the distinct sound of a man chugging from a bottle, then a voice asked, “Where are you, little mortal men? Too scared to come out and face old Paeter, eh?”

  Axel and I shared a look.

  “Come on then, you little cowards,” Paeter said, his words slurring into a snarl. Clearly, he was drunk. That wasn’t going to help our cause.

  “You know what would be really handy?” Axel whispered.

  “What?” I replied.

  “Weapons.”

  “We don’t want to hurt him,” I reminded him for the twentieth time. “We’re supposed to bring him in unharmed.”

  “And just how do you plan to do that?”

  I ignored his question and peeked around the edge of the tree, catching sight of dark hooves in the moonlight. I ducked back into cover, confident he hadn’t seen me. Old Paeter was focused on taking another pull from his bottle.

  “Maybe we should try to talk him down,” I said.

  “All right,” Axel replied, giving me a serious look and nodding. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

  He was already halfway around the tree when I grabbed his arm and pulled him back into hiding. I forced a smile and said, “Maybe I should do the talking.”

  “Why?” Axel asked. “You aren’t very good with people.”

  “Better than you.”

  “If you say so. Just hurry it along. It’s cold out here.”

  I glared at him, then built up my courage and slowly stepped around the tree.

  As I approached, I couldn’t help but notice just how big Paeter really was. His bottom half alone was the size of a donkey, which, conveniently enough, was exactly what his bottom half was. From the torso up, though, he was a man. A very large man with a drunk temper and a vicious kick.


  Axel had told me he was called an onocentaur, but I never knew when Axel was making shit up. Guess I should’ve paid more attention in school. The Cabal had ensured we had a variety of studies around supernatural bestiaries, but I couldn’t be bothered to remember them all. Or even most of them.

  Paeter, the onocentaur, noticed me from the corner of his eye and paused mid-drink, watching me.

  “Hey there,” I said, giving him a little wave. “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. If we could start—”

  I dropped to the ground as the bottle whistled over my head, shattering on the tree behind me.

  Before I could get to my feet, a giant fist wrapped around my throat and I was lifted from the ground. Paeter slammed my back up against the tree and held me in place. The strong stench of stale whiskey filtered through my nostrils as he brought his face close to mine. Liquor dribbled from his chin to his beard. As my eyes met his, it occurred to me he might snap my neck. This whole ‘try to talk him down’ thing had, perhaps, been a mistake.

  “You asked for a fight, human, and you got one,” he said, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. Fortunately, most of it hit his beard instead of my face.

  Axel’s voice spoked into my mind. “You were right, Wyatt. You’re immensely better with people than me. Immeasurably better. You’re doing great, buddy.”

  Ignoring my friend’s mental intrusion, I managed to rasp out, “I don’t want to fight.”

  “What?” Paeter asked. The veins in his forehead bulged as his features tightened. Apparently, I’d only managed to piss him off even more. “You think you’re too good to have a scrap with old Paeter? You think I’m weak because I’m an onocentaur? I bet you wouldn’t say that to a centaur!”