by Dante King
She was the smaller of the pair; petite and athletic. She wrapped her legs around me, and I picked her up and entered easily. I stepped out of the bath and pressed Janet up against the rough stone wall, pounding into her with a savagery that she clearly relished. Her nails dug into my back as I spun around, and we knocked a shelf full of unguents and lotions clean off the wall. With the impact, I felt a surge of electricity pass through me, vibrating through every cell of me. It was far from unpleasant. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and the skin along Janet’s arms and legs turned to gooseflesh.
“Yes!” she screamed and, at the exact same moment as her, I came. There was a crunch as I pressed her up against a mirror and shattered it, but both of us were too far gone in the moment to give a shit about that. Dancing, miniature tendrils of bright blue lightning flickered and crackled across our bodies, as to illustrate the breaking of the lustful storm that we’d just unleashed within each other.
After our heart-rates had returned to their resting rates, Janet unhooked her ankles from around my ears, and I lowered her to the ground.
We looked around at the damage that we had caused and started to laugh. Enwyn handed us towels, and we wrapped them around ourselves and walked out of the bathroom. We sat ourselves down on the sofas, which were covered in the furs of some unknown animal.
“Well,” Enwyn said, “I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m going to sleep like a log tonight.”
Chapter Twelve
Breakfast the next morning was a thoughtful, peaceful, and intimate affair. Enwyn, Janet, Cecelia, and I sat with the Prophet King and his daughter, Princess Alura, at a round quartz table and sipped on pottery mugs full of what must have been the Elemental equivalent of coffee. The liquid was the same dark brown color as coffee, only slightly more viscous and with a much more robust and earthy taste. I sweetened mine with a couple of spoonfuls of some sort of plant-based sweetener, which reminded me of agave.
I was feeling as rested and content as I had ever felt. The memory of the preceding evening’s antics was still fresh in my mind and I kept running over it in mind’s eye, replaying the sight of Janet pleasuring Enwyn—as well as Janet and I bucking up against the wall and destroying the bathroom fittings—in my head like the morning sporting highlights. Whatever the moss-ale was made from or however it was brewed, it seemed that it was hangover-free too so, all in all, I was feeling about as relaxed as a two-minute egg as I tucked into some sort of bacon and mushroom medley.
Cecilia looked from me to Janet to Enwyn and back again.
“So,” she said, “what did you three get up to after leaving the feast? I noticed that you didn’t come back after escorting these two to our apartments, Justin.”
Her voice was as cool and aristocratic as it ever was, but I could most definitely detect a slight frost that coated her words. I resisted the urge to grin cheekily—knowing enough about women to realize that Cecilia had hung a noose in the air and was waiting to see if I was going to stick my neck through it. Obviously, she knew what had happened the night before or, at the very least, had a fairly definite idea as to what had gone down.
I swallowed my mouthful of deliciously sautéed mushrooms and took a drink from my glass of crystal-clear spring water. The last thing that I wanted was any sort of friction within our group. I thought very highly of all these women, both for their prowess in combat as well as their physical charms.
And I would still very much like to see what sort of sexual appetite lurks under Cecilia’s propriety, manners, and thinly veiled innuendos, I thought. Don’t do her a disservice by bullshitting her.
“Well,” I said, making sure to keep my eyes locked with hers so that she knew that I wasn’t treating her annoyance as a joke, “I guess that while you were practicing diplomacy with the Princess here, the three of us were practicing polygamy.”
Cecilia snorted, but I could see the light of amusement kindle in her eyes. She had half-thought that was going to spoon feed her some crap about hitting the hay early or something, I could tell.
“I knew it,” she said. “I knew something like that was going to happen when I saw these two wanton hussies,” and Cecilia gave Enwyn and Janet a mock-furious look, “walk away giggling and nudging each other like a couple of tipsy teens.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re an astute woman, Miss Chillgrave,” I said. “More astute than me, that’s for sure. It’s not often that I can say this—though it seems like it’s happening more and more ever since I learned that I was a mage—but I was taken completely by surprise.” Then I gave her the shadow of a wink from over the top of my coffee mug, swallowed, and said, “There’s no doubt in my mind that you would’ve added a certain something to the proceedings.”
Cecilia bit her lip.
Unexpectedly, Princess Alura of the Gemstone Elementals turned to me then, and, gesturing to Enwyn and Janet, said, “Ah, so you and these two companions of yours copulated last night after the feast?”
Somehow, the Princess using the word ‘copulate’ made me feel that what we had done was even dirtier than it had been—and it’d been pretty damn dirty in the first place. I looked at the Prophet King. I was not sure if this was quite breakfast table talk, especially seeing as the breakfast table we were all sitting around was a royal one. The glittering giant King seemed quite unmoved, however. In fact, he had set down the knife that he was using to peel some sort of glowing fruit and was gazing at me intently with those piercing gold and white eyes.
“I, uh, well, yes, I suppose we did,” I said, through a fresh mouthful of bacon-like broiled meat.
Princess Alura’s eyes gleamed with interest. I wondered, just for a moment, whether she was going to ask for the juicy details. I was an open-minded man, but even I had reservations about going into a play-by-play of a threesome next to a King. However, the Princess asked me a different question, one that I found delightfully insightful on her part.
“You’re a Creation Mage?” she said, in her calm, quiet voice.
I nodded, finding myself leaning forward to engage with her. Now that I really came to look at her—under the clear light of what passed for day in this underground land—I saw that she was more beautiful than I had first perceived. She was dressed today in another garment of swirling white, which seemed to swirl about her as if it was caught in a light breeze. Every now and again it would cling in certain places that would draw my attention to just how very female this fine-looking sparkling creature was.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m a Creation Mage, as your dad knows and has no doubt discussed with you.”
The Gemstone Princess nodded. “Yes. It is my understanding that a Creation Mage, rare practitioners as they are, take on the abilities of those they couple with. Is this true?”
“That’s right,” I said. Deciding that being all coy about the subject was pointless, I nodded sideways at Janet. “Miss Thunderstone here is a Storm Mage, and it was thanks to our little drunken dalliance after an Iron Maiden concert—incredible live performance, by the way, well worth seeing if you get the chance—that my magical skills manifested themselves. I took on her Storm magic as a result of our, um, coupling.”
“I see,” Princess Alura said thoughtfully. “And, after the threeway experience that you enjoyed last night, have you gained anything in the way of new abilities through that?”
My eyebrows raised of their own accord.
“I, uh, well, to be honest I hadn’t really thought to check.”
“But, surely, Miss Emberskull here is a Fire Mage?” the Princess asked, politely inclining her glittering chin toward Enwyn.
“Yes, I am, your Majesty,” Enwyn said, “but, as a matter of fact, Justin and I have also already been together…”
Princess Alura arched one sharp eyebrow and turned to me in amusement. “My, my, Mr.Mauler,” she said in her soft voice, “you are not a human that wastes times it seems. You are much like your parents in that regard.”
I wasn’t on
e-hundred percent whether she meant I was like my parents in the way that I didn’t like to waste time beating around the bush once I had found something I was interested in taking a closer look at in general, or that I was a chip off the old block when it came to satisfying my lustful desire—but I thought it likely that it was the former.
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, “I’m a staunch advocate for making the most of your life while you’re living it, you know. Just think of all those poor people who passed on dessert that night on the Titanic.”
Janet laughed at that and then said, “That’s actually quite insightful in a macabre sort of way.”
The Princess surfed smoothly over this mammoth gap in our worldly upbringings with the poise of the born and raised diplomat. “Ah, I see,” she said. “So, you had already partaken somewhat of both of their separate powers. Interesting. Then, after last night, have you not found yourself in possession of some sort of hybridized magic?”
I felt, rather than saw Janet and Enwyn look at me. This thought had not even occurred to me. Without answering, I reached into the pocket of my jacket and extracted my little spellbook. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for—if anything—but as I slowly flipped through the crisp parchment pages, my gaze was arrested by a section that I could have sworn had not been there before.
SPONTANEOUS HYBRID MAGIC
When my eyes alighted on this section, my thumb shot out and stopped the pages from the flipping.
I looked up at Princess Alura, who was staring at me, those intense Gemstone Elemental eyes as cool and unreadable as a couple of orbs of granite. Had her use of the word ‘hybridized’ been coincidental? My gut told me that this sparkling woman was definitely not as dumb as a box of rocks, but played her cards very close to her chest and let on less than she knew.
My eyes went back to the page. To my amazed delight, I saw words forming, even as I gazed at the previously blank sheet.
BLAZING BOLT
Combination Spell
A purely mentally composed spell (no gestures needed) fired straight from the practitioner’s vector. Spell is similar to that of the Storm Bolt–though manifests itself as a burning red sphere of crackling energy. Spell can be deployed to home-in on a target's mana imprint even to the point of following the target around corners/over and under obstacles.
Instantly, my mind—fueled with a hearty breakfast and an evening spent rolling around a bathtub with two gorgeous women—fired into a list of the possible uses for this spell. Top of that list was how handy it would be in hunting a Cockatrice. If my understanding of what the spellbook was saying was correct, this spell would enable me, once I had seen a target, to paint it—much as a laser-guided missile could be locked to a target. Then I could fire the spell and forget about the target.
“Invaluable,” I muttered. “The next one of those leaf-tailed bastards to cross our path will be toast. We’re as good as back home.”
I shook my head at how great this world kept getting. Not only did I get to partake in a sizzling threesome, but I got magically rewarded for it!
The rifling of pages from across the table made me look up. It seemed that my new spell had acted as a catalyst for Janet to start skimming through her own spellbook—a beat-up, fashionably dogeared tomb with a suede cover and metal studs.
“I’m afraid I don’t think that it works like that, sugar,” I said apologetically. “I’ve got a feeling that, unlike the pleasure and fun, the magic transference is only a one-way deal.”
Janet’s hands continued flying as she tore through the pages of her spellbook, and then she suddenly stopped, her hand slamming down on a page with evident satisfaction.
“Hah!” she said, grinning over at me. “Handsome? Yes. Mouth-watering physique? Sure. Charming? Undoubtedly. All-knowing? Not yet.”
She spun her spellbook around and pointed to the page. I craned forward in my chair.
STORM RAIN
Fires a series of lightning bolts at a targeted position from above, causing area damage to anyone caught within its radius.
I looked up at the sexy brunette who was gazing at me with glee.
“Firstly,” I said, “that spell sounds fucking sweet. Secondly, judging by the way that you’re grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat, am I right in guessing that you didn’t know this spell until this morning?”
Janet nodded. “That’s correct, sir.”
“Damn, that’s pretty helpful, huh?” I said. “That’s going to come in handy if we have any more trouble with monsters on our to hunt the Cockatrice today.”
“I think it’s safe to say that it’ll come in handy in any battle I find myself in from now on,” Janet replied.
“True,” I said, mulling over the spell. “Especially in a group battle with a lot of enemies. I’m picturing it coming down like a storm of arrows, you know. Perfect for thinning the herd.”
I had to admit, I was a bit jealous. I was quickly starting to view spells as almost collectable items. I wanted as many as I could fit in my spellbook. I snapped my fingers, a thought forming.
“Enwyn,” I said, turning to the bespectacled Goth, my eyes only resting on her perfect cleavage for a fraction of a second, such was the importance of my thought. “Enwyn, have you checked your spellbook this morning?”
Enwyn shook her head. “You think that I would have acquired a new—”
“I can’t see why the hell not,” I said.
Enwyn pulled out her own spellbook. It looked exactly how I imagined such a thing belonging to her might look. It was all plain, sleek black leather with an understated buckle in worked silver. She opened it at the first page and then systematically started leafing through. Before long, she placed an elegant finger at the top of a page. Her pretty dark eyes scanned from left to right quickly. Then she smiled a smile that could have illuminated a coal mine.
“Flame Armor,” she breathed, her voice tight and hoarse with barely controlled delight and disbelief. She looked up at me, as if I’d purposefully set out to give her the greatest most unlooked for gift that I could have thought of—rather than just fucked her as directed. “Flame Armor!”
Something about the name of the spell set a bell to ringing, but before I could ask any questions Enwyn said, “Justin, this is a rare spell, a very rare spell. It is known to only a couple of Inscribers—perhaps only one.”
“How is that possible?” I asked.
“That’s easily explained,” Enwyn said, continuing to beam at me. “This particular spell has been a magical family heirloom of sorts, held almost exclusively for the past however many hundred years by the Flamewalker family.”
Ring-a-ding-ding went that bell in my head.
“More accurately, I should say that it has been held by the Flamewalker family’s private Inscriber and passed down from one Inscriber to another through the ages.”
I nodded my head. “I’ve seen that spell in action,” I told her. “I was on the receiving end of it, in fact. It’s a nice little bit of magic to use when you’re in a tight spot.”
“You’ve seen it in use?” Enwyn asked. “How?”
“Bradley Flamewalker is in my fraternity,” I explained. “We didn’t start off on what you might call cordial terms. It looked to me to be a more complex version of the Flame Barrier spell.”
“It’s in a similar vein certainly, though far more intricate than that spell, and far more powerful.”
Enwyn nodded, bent down, and ran her hands lovingly along the page, as if to stroke the words written there. “Deary me, the Flamewalker family are going to be quite acerbic when they find out that one outside of their clan has the knowing of this spell.”
I wanted to ask Enwyn to elaborate on this—I’d always found the hoarding of knowledge to be a singularly selfish and confounding way to act—but, before I could do so, the Prophet King had got ponderously to his feet. He cleared his throat, making a sound like a cinder-block being dragged across a concrete floor, and then spoke.
“Now that we
have broken our fast together, it is time for me to help you in the way that I promised,” he said.
“You’ll show us where we can find a Cockatrice whose tail feathers we can collect?” I asked.
The Prophet King nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You and your companions shall ride with me, my daughter, and a contingent of our men. We shall hunt the Cockatrice Elemental-fashion, showing our quarry the proper respect even as we take its life. We are a people who do not like to waste a life if it can be helped, and so once you have the fern-tail we shall bring the creature back here to be butchered.”
“You eat those things?” I asked.
The Prophet King shook his head. “The meat is not fit for Gemstone Elementals, but our basilisk mounts love it and it makes them strong.”
“So, it’s a win-win?” I asked.
“Except if you’re the Cockatrice,” Janet said with a grin.
The Prophet King strode from the room, his massive feet echoing as he made his way swiftly down a side passage.
“Come,” the Princess said, looking back at me over one glistening shoulder, “we must get you mounted.”
I snatched up my staff from where it had been leaning against the table and followed the Princess as she glided gracefully from the room. She moved with light footfalls for someone who could very well have weighed a quarter of a ton, and I couldn’t help noticing the suggestive way that her hips moved under the misty, floating dress.
A touch on my arm brought me back from the edge of quite a pleasant daydream. It was Cecilia walking next to me.
“Hello there, Miss Chillgrave,” I said, in a mock aristocratic tone that I tried to emulate from the five minutes of Downton Abbey I had tried to watch one time, before flicking back to the latest episode of Game of Thrones. “Are you ready to partake in a spot of hunting?”
She nudged me with an elbow and shot me one of those looks, the kind that would have had a detrimental effect on the rate of the icecaps had we been on Earth.
