Natural Magic: A Progression Fantasy Saga (The Last Magus Book 1)

by DB King

  He charged.

  Three bandits who’d just managed to escape the hooves of the unicorn turned to face him. Three sets of knives, versus his one spear. Wielded by men who’d trained to kill, against a boy who’d only recently come of age.

  And yet it was so easy. The first bandit struck out with his knife, seeking Alec’s heart. The Shield Ring flashed across his wrist, forming a protective barrier that parried the blow skillfully.

  The shocked bandit had just enough time to scream as the Diamondspear plunged into his neck.

  Both of the remaining bandits shared a look. The confidence they’d had moments ago fell off their faces—these were now men who knew it was kill or be killed. This made them more dangerous, of course, but Alec had something they didn’t.

  Anger. Righteous anger.

  He slammed the Shield Ring’s barrier into the second bandit’s face, then tugged the Diamondspear free of the already-dead bandit to strike at the third. The third bandit, a man barely older than Alec with a wispy blonde goatee, ducked beneath the strike. When he rose to his feet, he had his dead partner’s knife in his other hand.

  The man struck out again and again, trying to get past Alec’s defenses. Even with the Shield Ring to block the blows against his right side, he found himself struggling to turn the blade. It’s like Archmage Diamondspear said, he thought. A cornered animal fights the hardest. People are capable of so much when their back is to the wall.

  The second bandit recovered just enough to run. He scooped up Thomas, seizing him before the boy could make it to the elf girl, and bolted toward the forest.

  Pure rage burned like a fire in Alec’s veins. With a roar that couldn’t have come from his own throat he lunged forward, burying the Diamondspear in another bandit’s guts. It wasn’t a killing blow—but it did disable the man, sending him to the ground in a heap clutching his stomach. Not a clean kill, and a terrible way to die.

  Alec turned away without a thought for ending the man’s suffering. All he could see was Thomas disappearing into the woods—little Thomas who’d been brave as a lion—in the arms of the last bandit.

  More energy flowed from his fingers, only to fizzle like the elf girl’s spell. Alec’s vision swam, the world going all dizzy the way he felt when he’d missed a meal or two. He reached harder, pushing with mental muscles he’d never used before, but the magic refused to come. The trick he’d done with the unicorn had sapped whatever power he had—for the moment, at least.

  I’m going to lose him! Alec thought. The bandit was already at the treeline, Thomas screaming and writhing in the man’s burly arms. In another few seconds, he’d be too far into the trees to see. They could send a search party into the woods, but they’d likely never find the man—nor would they find Thomas.

  A whisper seared Alec’s brain. It felt similar to the strange touch of the Archon, but quieter. Almost like a whisper of silk.

  It was his cloak. The Bloodcloak called to him, whispering in a tone that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Use my power, it cried, flapping in the wind.

  Alec wasn’t sure what the cloak meant, but he gripped the cloak and focused. And felt a sudden wrenching sensation that made him queasy.

  The bandit continued running—but now he was running toward Alec, not away from him. Within a blink, the Bloodcloak had teleported him away from the vegetable garden and into a safe spot a short distance within the woods. The bandit, with his eyes fixed behind him on the lookout for an arrow or a throwing dagger, didn’t realize he was running almost right up to Alec’s side.

  Alec felt a pang of regret as he drew the Diamondspear. Not for the bandit, whom he’d already decided had to die—but for Thomas, who’d have to witness what he was about to do.

  Just as he reached Alec, the bandit became aware of who he’d been running towards. The man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he skidded to a stop, Thomas writhing in his arms. To his credit, the bandit realized the truth of the situation almost immediately: he dropped Thomas to the dirt, raising his hands in a gesture of supplication.

  “Please,” the man grunted, his tone so different from the cruel one he’d used only moments before. “Don’t—!”

  Alec struck. As the Diamondspear flashed in his hand, it felt less like he wielded the weapon than the weapon wielded him. He was its instrument of divine retribution, a fast and brutal combatant who dealt out justice without mercy. The spear’s tip slashed through the bandit’s throat, cutting off his shameful begging.

  The man sank to his knees, blood staining the grass. He looked up at Alec a moment longer, an unreadable expression in his eyes, then fell sideways into the dirt. Thomas lay just beyond him, curled up into a ball and whimpering.

  Instantly, the feeling of vengeance within Alec dissolved. How could he have done such a thing? He looked down at the man at his feet, no longer seeing anything that resembled justice. It was just the corpse of a bandit—a man who’d have hurt his friends given half a chance. His gorge rose, and he felt like he would be sick.

  Thomas’s cry steadied him. The boy rose to his knees with a whimper, looking up at Alec with a mixture of awe and dread. Alec realized he was still holding the Diamondspear, fully extended, with blood dripping from the tip. He retracted it hastily, returning the weapon to its baton form, and shoved it into his robes with a faint sick feeling.

  “It’s okay,” he said, lifting the boy into his arms. Damn it. He shouldn’t have had to see this. I should have spared the bandit. He deserved to be locked in a cell, not slaughtered like an animal!

  Something dark had taken hold of Alec as he wielded the Diamondspear. Of that, he was certain. It had steadied his mind, provided him with a deep sense of purpose as he fought his way through the bandits. But the aftereffects shook him to his very core.

  He remembered the way some of the guards would talk about drinking too much during the night and being sick the next day. Hung over, they’d called it, as if the effects of the alcohol were like a stubborn rainstorm that refused to give way to a sunny day. Alec had never been drunk, but he felt now that he understood those guards a lot better than he once had. The Diamondspear had done something similar to him.

  Mortimer and Eleira remained near the spot the bandits had attacked. In the short span he’d been in the trees, several guards from inside the Temple grounds had come, weapons at the ready. Master Abel and Master Matthias looked both happy to see him and a little terrified.

  As Alec set Thomas down, Uriel emerged. The Archmage had taken his time catching up with the rest of the group. As a result, he’d missed the fighting entirely. His ancient eyes took in the sight of the dead men on the ground, giving them a long, cold look. His gaze traveled to Alec, and sympathy filled his face.

  Before Alec could take a single step, Thomas hugged him tightly.

  “Thank you,” the boy murmured, proving that he was brave despite the trembling he’d done earlier. “If you hadn’t come when you did, Alec, me and Mortimer would be with those bandits right now!”

  Alec thought the bandits would have done something much worse than simple abduction to the boys, but he didn’t dare tell Thomas that. Instead, he squeezed the boy back and told him to go join the monks. “You did wonderfully,” he told Thomas, rubbing his sandy hair. “You were brave as a lion.”

  Thomas went off, beaming, and Alec turned to Archmage Diamondspear.

  “Alec,” the older man said. There was an entire speech contained in that single word. “You bloodied the Diamondspear.”

  A bone-deep weariness stole over Alec. Despite the brightness of the day, it felt as if a cloud had just rolled in front of his soul. The blue sky felt curiously gray, and he swayed on his feet.

  “Yes,” the boy admitted, glancing toward the treeline. “I had to stop the bandit from making his way off with Thomas. I know I should have let the guards arrest him, but... it was like I couldn’t think straight. It felt so right to bring the man down with the Diamondspear. It felt like justice—”<
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  Uriel nodded sagely. A deep sigh emerged from his lips, his shoulders sinking. “I wish I’d had time to warn you, young man,” he said, his short beard swaying in the wind. “I should have told you about the Diamondspear’s effects when I first gave it to you. I did not expect it to be necessary this early.”

  Alec glanced over at the happy group of boys. Now that the bandits were dead, Mortimer and Thomas talked excitedly with Eleira, Master Matthias, and Master Abel. Already they’d embellished their part in events to be larger than it had been: by the time they made it back to the rest of the foundlings, they’d likely be the heroes of the story. The thought alleviated his troubled mind after using the Diamondspear to kill the bandits.

  “What about the Diamondspear’s effects?” he asked his mentor. “It almost felt as if it were affecting my mind.”

  Uriel’s lips formed a tight little line. “It is the way of the Diamondspear,” the old man explained. “A burden every member of our storied line must bear. Since time immemorial, the members of the Diamondspear clan are—and have always been—battle mages.”

  The thought sent Alec’s mind into overdrive. He knew this weapon had once belonged to Uriel’s sister. How many generations of Diamondspear men and women had carried into battle, mixing their martial prowess with their gift for magic? His weapon had a storied history, indeed.

  “We defend the innocent,” Uriel said with pride. “Protect the weak against the strong, as you did today. And in doing so, one must not flinch from the heinous acts that must sometimes be committed in the name of that protection. The Diamondspear is what gives our clan the fortitude to do what needs to be done, young man.”

  Alec felt humbled by the man’s speech. He bowed low, tucking the baton deeper into his robes. Something about it whispered to him still; an echo of the thrill that sang in his veins during battle. He rejected it consciously, knowing there was no longer a need for it here. All his enemies were dead—for now.

  A crowd had begun to gather at the disruption to the day. A number of peasants who worked in and around the Archon Temple’s grounds gathered near the vegetable patch, their faces going pale or surging with triumph at the sight of the defeated bandits. Master Matthias and Abel kept the peace, answering the questions of anyone who asked for more information. As Alec watched, two men came from within the Temple carrying a stretcher, ready to begin the work of transporting the bodies outside the grounds to be buried.

  Then the boys arrived. Alec supposed he should have expected it—they simply couldn’t be held back from this much commotion for long. They spilled from the front gates, their faces lighting up at the sight of the carnage. Until he saw their expressions, he’d been worried they would react like Thomas—with awe and horror. He should have remembered that to young boys, events like these felt like great fun. The loss and regret that came with the taking of human life had yet to feel real for them.

  “Holy shit, Alec!” That was Marcus, whose swearing produced irritated looks on both Matthias and Abel’s faces. Neither of them would correct the boy on a day like this, though. “You got the bandits!”

  “Look at what he did to them!” another boy hollered, pointing at the deep track full of muddy water cutting across the field. “It must have been some kind of spell!”

  “Was that you, Alec?” a third asked. “Or did Archmage Diamondspear use magic against those bastards?”

  “It was me,” Alec admitted, watching the admiration on their faces deepen into pride. Despite the awful sensation he’d felt after relinquishing the Diamondspear, it felt good to have them look at him that way. “They tried to pull Thomas into the woods. They won’t be troubling us any longer…”

  A figure came up next to Alec, barely up to his chest. It was Thomas, who no longer looked frightened in the least. “It was like watching the Archon!” the boy said excitedly. “I swear, Alec used magic like in the stories! He made a unicorn out of water, and—” he mimicked tiny explosions— “boom, boom! Took ‘em down!”

  The boys gathered around Thomas now, eager to hear the story from his lips. To Alec’s surprise, the youngest member of the gang had a natural talent for storytelling. He could already hear Thomas embellishing the tale, making him seem like a figure out of legend. Let them have their fun, he thought, not correcting him.

  Eleira stood a short distance away, her mouth working soundlessly. Even the battle hadn’t removed the sour look from the elf girl’s face. Feeling bold, Alec decided to see if he could do the trick.

  “You’re safe now,” he said, feeling like a hero from a storybook. Wasn’t this always the moment the pretty young princess swooned over her rescuer? “I dispatched those brigands. I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”

  If he’d expected gratitude from the girl, he was sorely mistaken. Eleira stared at him flatly, as if he’d pulled down his trousers and pissed on the plants just in front of her feet.

  “I’m well aware,” she snapped, looking utterly poleaxed. “How did you do that? I’ve seen men Archmage Diamondspear’s age who couldn’t control a spell with that much power. And you don’t even have a grimoire!”

  Alec quickly thought of his cover story, sensing this woman’s remark cut too quickly to the heart of things. “Must be lucky, I guess,” he said, allowing himself the luxury of a blush. “Uriel says I was exposed to a grimoire as a youth, before I came to the Archon Temple.”

  He could see she didn’t believe him in the slightest. “Uriel,” the elf girl whispered, as if being on a first name basis with the great Archmage Diamondspear somehow shamed her. “Good grief.”

  Just then, a yell caught Alec’s attention. Last to arrive at the scene was Tanuin, whose mouth hung open at the sight of all the carnage. Worry filled his ageless face for a moment as he scanned the scene. Then, when he saw Alec alive and unharmed, he relaxed.

  “I see you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you!” the elf said, pulling Alec into an embrace. “Are you alright? Is anyone hurt?”

  “He’s alright,” an aged voice whispered. All the heads in the square turned to the figure of Master Matthias. Even at his impressive age, there remained something calm and in command about the stately man. “In fact, young Alec is much better than alright. Any doubts we may have held about your parentage have been well and truly squashed, young man. You are truly a mage.”

  “And a powerful one at that,” Master Abel added. Although Alec couldn’t help but notice the strange look in Master Abel’s canny eyes. The man knew Alec had never so much as held one of the ancient grimoires that gave men access to magic. He could almost see the wheels turning behind Master Abel’s face, trying to understand.

  Well, no matter. Abel was on his side now, at long last. He almost wished he had time to enjoy it.

  Then he looked up at the airship tethered to the bell tower and thought better of his wish. Nothing in the world could compare to the thrill of traveling in a flying ship!

  As the group began to disperse, Uriel came to Alec’s side. “You have been bonded to the Diamondspear for barely a day,” the old man said with a chuckle, “and you’ve already baptized your weapon in the blood of evildoers. Esmerelda would be proud to have you wielding her blade, young man.”

  Alec was proud to wield it. And he’d be even more proud once they were underway, soaring high above the clouds.

  Chapter 13

  Alec could not see the ground.

  For a very long time, he saw nothing of the sky and the clouds through which the vessel flew. His mind simply kept returning to that fact, so glorious and so impossible. I can’t see the ground from up here! Look how high up we are!

  Archmage Uriel Diamondspear’s flying craft wasn’t merely an airship—it was the airship. Its engines carried it higher and faster than any of the blimps, zeppelins, or dirigibles other kingdoms over proudly called a ‘fleet’. At night, when the upper stratosphere grew so cold that the tips of his fingers felt as if needles were being pushed into them, he felt as if he could reach up an
d touch the stars.

  There was luxury, as well. The interior quarters of the airship exceeded any hotel Alec had ever heard of. Each morning he awoke, much as he had in Archmage Diamondspear’s suite, to a hot breakfast and a warm mug of tea. Tanuin and Uriel each drank coffee, which burned Alec’s stomach too much to drink in a sizable quantity. Tanuin claimed it put hair on a young man’s chest, but Alec had been much too timid to ask why that was a quality he would want to have. None of the women Alec had ever caught himself staring at had hair on their chests—how could anyone like that?

  The second morning after their departure, he carried his mug of tea to the upper deck, sipping it down a bit to keep it from sloshing over the edge. Although the mighty airship was large and stable, it still rocked gently back and forth like a ship at sea. Uriel had explained that they’d be following a tradewind almost all the way to Northmund, but there could still be random storms and zephyrs to blow them off course, even with them being so high in the atmosphere. Every now and then, the deck rocked sharply, and Alec had to grab hold of something to keep his footing.

  But it was all worth it for the view. Alec could have lived on an airship for a hundred years and never gotten tired of the moment he emerged on deck, surrounded by a brilliant blue sky. Clouds stretched far beneath the flying vessel, like a living, fluffy carpet stretching out in all directions. He tested a glance over the side as he made his way to the front of the airship, satisfying himself yet again that the ground couldn’t be seen.

  It sent a thrill through his veins. We’re up so high, he told himself, a momentary wave of dizziness shaking his tea. I can’t believe this ship doesn’t run on magic!

  At this early hour, the deck was nearly deserted. A few of Archmage Diamondspear’s crew members moved in the rigging, checking the sails and keeping the airship on course. The only figures he recognized were Uriel himself and Tanuin, each of whom stood near the front of the ship conversing in low, friendly tones. Twin plumes of steam rose from their coffee cups, filling the chilly morning air.