Ink Mage 1

by Dante King

  “Hold back,” I said to my friends with a wink. “If we’re using magic after all, I’m going to prepare the battlefield.”

  I snatched a beer mug from a nearby table and tossed it on the ground.

  The sappers jumped back, as though they were afraid of getting a little wet.

  Mohawk glared at the spilled liquid. “What the fuck? Spilling beer? That’s damned sacrilege.”

  Patch smacked his fist against his palm, the flickering light from the hearth casting crazy shadows over his sneering face. “What are we waiting for?” he asked his comrades. “Let’s get ’em.”

  As the nine men roared and leaped forward, I knelt beside the beer I’d spilled, placed my hand on the sticky liquid, and activated my snowflake rune. Immediately, the beer crystallized into ice, and the sappers slipped and skidded along the frozen surface.

  Always the eager one, Jacques rushed past me and cracked a sapper over the head with a mug. The sapper cried out and clutched the wound but only managed to lose his balance and fall on his ass.

  “That was brutal,” I said.

  “Non-lethal,” Jacques said. “I promise. By the way, when did you become a Mage?”

  “Now’s not the best time to explain.”

  The other sappers had regained their balance, but I wasn’t done with my initial trick just yet. I sent Mana into my fireball rune and cast three flaming spheres at the ice on the ground. It melted near instantly, causing a great cloud of steam to rise up in the middle of the sappers, scorching them and obscuring their vision.

  Using the steaming shroud as cover, I leaped into the confused group of assholes. My fist found a pudgy stomach, my leg struck a tender groin, and my knee smashed into a jaw that sprayed teeth and blood.

  Veronica came beside me and grabbed a sapper’s arm. She tugged on it, spun him around, and twisted the limb until there was an audible crack of snapping bone. The man screamed, and she tossed him to the ground with what looked like little effort.

  “Remarkable strength,” Jacques commented.

  “I’m not without my uses,” Veronica remarked as she stepped over the screaming man.

  I heard an almost feminine cry behind me and whirled around, expecting to see Amelia being harmed.

  Instead, I saw Amelia dealing out harm. She’d summoned an icy blade and had stabbed a sapper in the meat of his ass. He was screaming like a little girl as he tried to reach round to remove it. The blade suddenly melted, but Amelia wasn’t done yet. She grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him round so he was facing her, and delivered a hard right knee to his nuts. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he dropped to his knees, clutching his crushed pride.

  My attention was drawn to a screaming man with a bloodied nose, and it was only when I saw his strange hairstyle that I recognized him as Mohawk. He brandished what looked like a broken chair leg, its tip spiked, and charged toward me. I ducked beneath his clumsy swipe and swung my arm for his face as his broken chair leg whistled past my head. He reared back a little, so my hand didn’t connect with his face. Instead, my fingers grasped the wiry threads of his mohawk.

  Almost instinctively, I channeled Mana through my Fire rune. I only sent a little Mana into the tattoo, so only tiny embers shot through my fingers. My spell set Mohawk’s hair alight, and I released him. He screamed as the flames consumed his terrible haircut. In a wild attempt to put out the blaze, he scurried from one table to the next, searching for a beer mug that wasn’t empty to douse the conflagration.

  “That’s a new trick,” Jacques said to me. “Why don’t I try it?”

  I was expecting my old friend to reveal that he also possessed magic, but he simply grabbed the sapper he’d stabbed earlier, dragged him across the tavern floor, and threw him headfirst into the hearth.

  Jacques grinned at me from the other side of the room as the sapper did his best impression of Mohawk only moments ago, screaming as he futilely searched for something to extinguish the flames.

  A sapper came at me from my right, and I twisted to avoid his charge. He pivoted on his foot and rushed for me again. This time, I grabbed him by the hips, hauled him backward, and drove him through a table. The wood snapped beneath his back as he landed heavily on the flood and cried out in pain at the impact. I delivered a solid kick to his midriff, driving the air out of him, and he curled up into a ball.

  The steam dissipated, revealing three sappers lying on the ground, groaning and nursing their wounds. The man I’d just felled was struggling to rise from the wreck of the table. Mohawk and the other burned man were dunking their heads in buckets. I wasn’t sure where they’d found the buckets, but the stench coming from them gave me a few ideas about what they contained. The remaining three, including Patch and Red Nose, had scuttled backward. The tavern was a mess of smashed chairs and tables, shattered mugs, and a smattering of broken teeth, splattered blood, and spilled beer.

  Applause and cheering broke out from the bar, and I looked up to see the barmaids grinning while the Mistress wore an impressed smile.

  “You assholes used magic,” Red Nose said as he gripped a broken arm.

  “And you threatened my friends,” I said as Jacques, Veronica, and Amelia came to stand beside me. “Were you expecting to get away with that?”

  Patch motioned to the other sappers, and they started toward the tavern’s exit. It seemed like they had realized that they were outmatched and were going to leave. Fleeing was the smart thing to do.

  But these guys weren’t very smart at all.

  Instead of fleeing, they snatched their weapons from the rack beside the door and turned toward us.

  “We’ve faced monsters before,” Red Nose said as he slapped a hammer in his palm. “Couple of Mages can’t be much harder to take down.”

  “You’re really out of your league here,” I said.

  I hadn’t fought any regular people since acquiring magic—just trollmen and Beasts—but this brief brawl had shown me just how powerful I had become. In a fight against regular humans, they would never stand a chance against me. If these sappers hadn’t threatened my friends, I would almost have felt sorry for them.

  “William, ever the level-headed one,” Jacques said. “I was just getting warmed up.”

  “I think you boys have had enough punishment for one evening,” the Mistress said as she walked out from behind the bar. I hadn’t noticed before because the bar had been hiding it, but she had a beautiful pair of long, graceful legs encased in purple lace stockings.

  “You going to let Mages use magic in your tavern?” Red Nose asked the Mistress. “Look what they did to Gerry here.” He motioned to Mohawk. “He’s been growing that ’hawk for months now. Might never grow back.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Take your companions to the infirmary. I’ll tend to your wounds shortly.”

  The conscious sappers dragged the bodies of their unconscious comrades through an exit door beside the bar.

  The Mistress turned to face Amelia, Veronica, and me. “As for you, did you not see the sign forbidding use of weapons in my tavern? Even if they’re Mage weapons, they’re still weapons.”

  I considered telling the Mistress that Amelia and I weren’t Mages, nor did we have any weapons with which we’d used to cast spells.

  “Apologies for the mess we’ve caused in here.” I indicated the smashed furniture with a sweep of my arm. “But I can assure you we used no weapons, Mistress...”

  “William,” said Jacques, “allow me to introduce Mistress Blossom, Supreme Ruler of the Sticks and Stones Tavern.”

  “A pleasure.” I extended my hand. “My name is William. These ladies are my companions, Amelia and Veronica.”

  “Veronica, I know,” Mistress Blossom said with a smile, “but it’s wonderful to meet you, Amelia. Mages are always welcome in my tavern. In fact, I welcome most anyone, so long as they purchase alcohol and don’t pester my barmaids too much.”

  “Thank you very much,” I said to the Mistress. “
We’re glad to be in a place with such excellent beer!I haven’t come across the last name Blossom before,”

  “It’s an honorable name for a family with a close bond to nature.” Mistress Blossom took my hand. “And now,” she continued. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten; I saw you all using weapons in my tavern. The rules are clear. You will have to go.”

  “Respectfully, ma’am,” Jacques tentatively interjected. “You will find William and these fine young ladies have no weapons on their persons.”

  I glanced at Jacques, and he looked at me with a serene smile.

  “Is that so?” Mistress Blossom raised an eyebrow. “And what are these devilish markings on your forearms, young William.” She glanced at Amelia’s arm. “Oh, you too dear? What sort of cult have you both got mixed up in?”

  “They’re art,” Amelia said, suddenly defensive.

  I hadn’t realized how much the tattoos meant to her. She had been raised with the typical noble disdain for them. But now? She was the complete opposite, ready to defend them against any naysayers. It made sense; after all, the tattoos had made her capable of wielding magic, something she’d dreamt of since she was a child.

  “I don’t dispute that,” the Mistress said. “I never meant to offend. It’s just that. . . I believe I recognize the symbols. They’re spell runes, are they not?”

  “They are,” I said, not seeing a reason to lie to someone who obviously knew the truth.

  “And who drew them?” she asked, her dark eyes suddenly intense in their curiosity.

  “I think that’s our time to leave,” Jacques said as he grabbed my shoulder. “Night is getting late, and we have places to be.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” the Mistress said. There was a loud bang, and I spun around to see that the tavern’s entrance door had slammed shut. Had it done so all by itself? That seemed strange.

  I put my hand behind my back so the Mistress couldn’t see that I was sending Mana into the Fire rune on my arm. I felt a tiny flame appear in the center of my palm, and I prepared myself to throw it should the Mistress show any sign of being a threat.

  “You can all relax,” Mistress Blossom said.

  I glanced at my friends, and their muscles looked as tense as mine felt. Each was preparing to throw themselves into another fight if necessary.

  “I simply wanted to ensure no one could hear what we’re about to discuss,” the Mistress continued. “You are in no danger here. And I hope you won’t try to inflict any harm upon me.”

  “We can trust her,” Veronica said. “Mistress Blossom has helped me a great deal since I’ve been in Brightwater. You can tell her everything you’ve told me.”

  I glanced at Amelia, and she shrugged.

  “Blossom is crafty and perhaps even a better thief than I am,” Jacques whispered to me. “But she’s an honest one.”

  I sighed as I withdrew Mana back into my pool, and the flame on my palm died out.

  “All right,” I said before I turned to the Mistress. “These tattoos aren’t from some cult or gang of vagabonds, as so many people seem to think. These markings are what I used in the fight you just witnessed.”

  “How is that possible?” Mistress Blossom looked confused.

  “Perhaps it’s simpler to show you than to explain,” I said.

  “I don’t think so; I’m not having you causing more damage in here than you already have.” Mistress Blossom put up her hand commandingly.

  “I assure you, Mistress Blossom, this won’t do any damage,” I said in my most respectful tone.

  I held up my left hand and quickly, before she could say anything more, channeled Mana through my Fire rune, and lit little flames on all five fingers.

  Mistress Blossom’s mouth dropped open. I could see the other barmaids, still milling round the bar, staring with their mouths open also.

  “Well, I’ll be. That is a remarkable trick,” Mistress Blossom said.

  “How are you doing that?” a red-headed barmaid called out. “Where’s your wand?”

  “Sophie,” Mistress Blossom said. “Come over here, will you?”

  The barmaid dropped from the counter and walked over to me. I held the dancing flames and noticed how much easier it was to sustain them. Not only had my Mana stores increased, but retracing the runes had made it much easier to control the spell’s effects. I had noticed this same thing during the fight with the sappers, too.

  The flames extending from my fingertips cast flickering shadows over the redhead’s pale, freckled skin as she lowered herself to peer at them.

  “Now, tell me if you can find the source of his magic,” the Mistress commanded the barmaid. I had a feeling Mistress Blossom knew exactly what I’d been using to cast my spells, but it seemed like she wanted to have a little fun with the woman under her employ.

  The barmaid peered at my tunic closely, stepped to the side, and examined my back, looking for something.

  Mistress Blossom came alongside the barmaid. “Why don’t I help you look?” she asked the barmaid.

  Together, they stooped to peer at my trousers, giving me an eyeful of the Mistress’s ample bosom.

  “Nope, no wand of that kind down there,” Mistress Blossom said.

  “Are you sure?” the redhead asked. “There is a significant bulge...”

  “That’s his cock, that is,” Jacques commented.

  “It’s more of a stave than a wand,” Amelia muttered. Her hand suddenly shot to her mouth, and her face reddened, as though she’d accidentally spoken her thoughts aloud.

  I laughed under my breath. I extinguished the flames on my left hand and held my forearm out to the Mistress and the barmaid. “The tattoos are what allow me to cast the spells.”

  “They’re glowing,” the barmaid said in a hushed voice.

  “I suspected as much,” Mistress Blossom said, running her finger down my arm to feel the markings. “But I didn’t know how it was possible.”

  Amelia spoke up. “William is what we call an Ink Mage, ma’am. He can cast spells directly through the runes on his skin.”

  Mistress Blossom let go of my arm and looked at Amelia. “And what about you, dear? You have a tattoo as well. Are you also an Ink Mage?”

  Amelia channeled some Mana through the tattoo on her right arm, only through the snowflake, and allowed a clump of ice to form on her palm. Mistress Blossom’s eyes widened as the tattoo on Amelia’s arm lit up. Amelia was getting much faster. I felt a small swell of pride at how fast she was learning.

  “I’m a Rune Sorcerer,” said Amelia. “I can use the tattoos, but I can’t give them. Only William can do that.”

  “An Ink Mage, and a Rune Sorcerer,” Mistress Blossom said. “I’ve met hundreds of Mages, but never a pair like you two. Until this evening, I had never even heard of such mages. And now, two of them have entered my tavern on a single night? It almost beggars belief.”

  Amelia smiled and withdrew her Mana from the spell. The ice immediately melted back into her hand. She glanced at me, and I smiled at her; she was learning an impressive amount of control over her new power.

  I looked at the barmaid, Sophie, and wondered whether she cared about the terrible condition of the tavern after the fight. I doubted the Mistress would be cleaning it all up; it would be Sophie and the other barmaids who mopped the floors and gathered the broken furniture.

  “So, you didn’t use any weapons,” Mistress Blossom continued. “I suppose that means you technically didn’t break any of the rules. But the tattoos seem to be magical weapons themselves. Perhaps I should ban you all the same? I’d need to change the wording on the sign...”

  “If I may, your ladyship,” Veronica spoke up. “I know these two travelers, and I can vouch for them.”

  Mistress Blossom turned her attention to Veronica, whose brow still glistened from the exertion of combat.

  “And what makes you think they are trustworthy, Veronica?” Mistress Blossom asked, her arms crossed over her generous bosom.

 
; “William is a recently escaped slave.” Veronica pointed to me.

  I hadn’t expected that to be Veronica’s leading point; it seemed like something that would render someone untrustworthy. But the Mistress glanced at me, impressed.

  “So, you got away?” she said. “Good for you, lad.”

  Veronica continued. “Amelia and William both assisted me in battle today; their help was invaluable. And they are both strong supporters of freedom, like we are. They killed some slavers yesterday.”

  “I see,” the Mistress said. “Well that does change things a bit.” She turned to Jacques, who was picking his teeth with a large splinter that might have come from some broken furniture.

  “But what about you?” She rounded on him. “You used a mug in the brawl.”

  Jacques spread his hands and grinned, laying the splinter on an only partially broken table beside him. “The mug came from inside the tavern, ma’am.” He bowed his head in deference. “I simply used the environment of your fine establishment.”

  “You threw one of my patrons into the fire,” Mistress Blossom countered.

  “Also contained in the tavern, your ladyship. I didn’t bring in any weapons.”

  Mistress Blossom sighed. “You’re right, as ever.”

  Jacques gave an ingratiating grin.

  “Where’s my cut, Jacques?” the Mistress asked him.

  Jacques cleared his throat. “But of course, where are my manners? I forgot all about this.”

  He fished in one of the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a coin purse.

  The Mistress’s face lit up, and she extended her hand.

  Jacques dropped the purse into her hand with a clink. “This is half of what I earned from those brawlers before our little quarrel began.”

  “Earned,” the Mistress repeated with a chuckle. “Ah, Jacques. You know I can never stay mad at you for long. I’m never happier than when defrauding scum who torment slaves for fun. Even better when we make a profit doing so.” She gave a lilting laugh.

  Amelia blanched. “You regularly steal from your patrons?” she asked.

  Mistress Blossom looked earnest. “But of course, dear. We’re only stealing from them what they’ve already stolen from the poor. All the proceeds go to the upkeep of this noble establishment. We’re looking after the needs of the poor, using the profits exploited by their oppressors. Speaking of upkeep, it’s time I took care of the little mess you all made.”