Creation Mage 2 (War Mage Academy)

by Dante King

  The spellbook had also noted that I possessed a rainbow cauldron, which made me wonder if that rare capture of mine had somehow influenced this hidden section in the book. It was obviously all conjecture, and I didn’t think it worth asking anyone just then.

  My eye moved steadily down the short list of potions, but was arrested when it hit the intriguingly titled Panty-Dropper Potion.

  “I doubt old Professor Snape would be knocking that one up,” I murmured to myself as I ran my finger along the line of script.

  PANTY-DROPPER POTION

  Name the desired object of attraction and say: “[Name] is the fairest of them all.”

  I was reading through the ingredients list, which included all the family favorites of a magical cocktail—slug nuts, toad warts, and crumbled sulfur—when I sensed someone standing at my shoulder. I turned and found Bradley Flamewalker reading the potion too.

  “We’ve got all those ingredients in the frat dungeon’s stores,” he remarked.

  “We do?”

  “Yeah, I ducked down there after we killed that manticore for the second time. I figured that it was pretty unlikely that another beast would rip through the magical void so soon after the manticore came through, and I had a little nosy about the stores. We’ve definitely got all that stuff.”

  My finger landed on the final ingredient on the list.

  “Manticore venom,” I said, looking sideways at Bradley. “You reckon Rick saved that when he was skinning the thing?”

  Bradley, the frat low-man, shrugged. “We’ll have to ask him. If he didn’t though, we won’t be able to make that potion. Manticore venom is damned hard to get hold of and ruinously expensive to buy.”

  My attention was snagged just then by the quartet of assholes in front of us. They had finished adding the ingredients to their potion and were now passing the time, while they waited for it to simmer for ten minutes, by flicking leftover magpie eyes at Rick Hammersmith’s back. Rick, being built like a brick shithouse, but possessing a patient and non-confrontational nature, was putting up with this annoyance with his typical stoicism.

  “Gods, do you even think the great hulk can feel it?” Ike, the blue-skinned Frost Elemental asked the other three, in a hissing whisper.

  “Pfft, that motherfucker is so stupid I bet you could hit him over the head with the cauldron and he wouldn’t yell out ‘til the mornin’,” said Qildro the Dark Elf, not even bothering to keep his voice down.

  I saw Rick momentarily pause in whatever it was that he was doing. His shoulders bunched, as if he had been physically struck. Another magpie eye bounced off his shoulder.

  I was just on the verge of reaching over and dropping a handful of possum guts down Arun’s back, when Arun, Ike, Qildro, and Dhor put their heads together. They were truly like little kids; they got bored with their sport if they got no immediate reaction.

  “Shall we invite him to the frat party, do you think?” said Dhor the Earth Mage Dwarf, guffawing like the best kind of fucknuckle.

  “Shut the bloody hell up, Dhor!” I heard Arun say as he bent his orange-haired head toward the Dwarf and gripped him by the arm. “As much as I’d like to laugh in these mongoloids’ faces when they ask if they can come to the party, what I would really enjoy, beyond all else, would be for them to miss out on it altogether and then hear about what a sensational time it was the next morning.”

  “Are you listening to these jerks?” Damien asked me. His dark eyes were shining, and I noticed that his fingers were twitching at his side. As I watched, a spark danced across his knuckles. I laid a placating hand on his wiry shoulder.

  Bradley was suddenly at our side. His expression was a mixture of disgust and a bizarre sort of longing.

  “You all right there, low-man?” I asked.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, in a slow and thoughtful voice. “It’s just odd, you know. It was not that long ago that those four were part of my inner clique. They come from some of the wealthiest, well-to do—”

  “Stuck up, fucking in-bred, narrow-minded…” Damien muttered.

  “—and connected families in Avalonia. It was only a few short days ago, or so it seems, that I considered myself one of them—if not the preeminent among them.”

  “And now look at you,” I said, clapping Bradley on the shoulder, “part of the most disreputable, shabbiest fraternity on campus. Aren’t you proud?”

  Bradley turned his austere gaze upon me. “I have already passed through more adversity and tougher trials with our fraternity than ever I did with my old group of friends.” He indicated the four whispering d-bags in front of us with a nod of his immaculately coiffed head. “I will do whatever is necessary to take down these four.”

  “Are you about to do a bit of Trojan Horse on them?” I asked him.

  “Sorry?” Bradley asked.

  I backtracked. “I mean, are you about to become our fraternity’s inside man? You know the ways of the aristocracy and you’re going to use that knowledge to help us in our battle against these imbeciles? Is that it?”

  Bradley smiled grimly. “Is that honorable?”

  “Man, what world and what century are you living in?” Damien said incredulously. He lowered his voice. “You really think that you have something up your sleeve?”

  I had also just been tickled by inspiration. I slapped my spellbook into my hand. “We’ll get them back,” I said. “I have a bit of an idea.”

  I gave Bradley a meaningful look and waggled the spellbook at him.

  Bradley raised his eyebrow at me and ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully.

  “Are you thinking—”

  “What do you think that I’m thinking?” I cut him off as I flicked my spellbook open to the page with the potion recipes.

  “The Panty-Dropper potion?” Bradley asked.

  I nodded and smiled at the back of Arun’s head. “And I know just how to pull this off.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time that we got to the last lesson of a very full day, I was positively champing at the bit to get back to the frat house and set the wheels of my plan in motion. It was with one eye that I watched the last hour’s worth of sand trickle through the large hourglass, which marked the passage of time, in my Vector Care class. To be fair though, as keen as I was to get things rocking and rolling, as far as putting Arun and his frat brothers in their place, I was finding this class quite engaging.

  “So, you see,” Madame Incana told the class, “your vectors are much more than just lengths of wood, leather bound books, pieces of jewelry, or other special items. They too live, to a certain extent. Over time they should become more than just inanimate objects through which you can channel your power—they should become extensions of both your body and your personality.”

  Madame Incana’s obvious passion for her subject was quite intoxicating, as was the woman herself. She was a green-skinned, green-haired Dryad—a tree nymph. She was as graceful and supple as a willow switch, her eyes were the color of new leaves and, as she strolled up and down between the desks, she left the smell of mown grass and freshly turned earth in her wake. She was just as sexy as Madame Xel was, but in a totally different way. She had the air of the girl next door about her. There was something nerdy and bashful about her, but something that hinted to me that, should you get her into the bedroom, she would call down thunder on you and rock your world.

  Wanting to catch her attention, I asked, “If our vectors are as sentient as you seem to think they are, how do we keep them happy or stay in their good graces?”

  “These items that you carry, Mr. Mauler, chose you. The very act of choosing goes some way to show that the vectors are more than just simple accessories and really do house the souls, ghosts, or residual spirits of past mages. To build and strengthen the bond that will form between you and your vector, I have alway found it prudent to advise simple respect. Treat your vector with respect. Do not throw it around or neglect its maintenance or care.”

 
“Sounds like a goddamn iPhone,” I muttered. “Keep the dust off it and wipe away fingermarks every now and again.”

  The black crystal staff, which was leaning against the back of my chair, gave an almost imperceptible hum and then zapped me with a tiny shock of static.

  “Ah, I was kidding!” I hissed under my breath. I rubbed at the back of my neck.

  “Respect,” Madame Incana said again. “It will get you far in this life. It will strengthen your bond with your vector and, in doing so, will make you a more powerful mage.”

  I pricked up my ears at this. Anything, any tip, that would allow me to become stronger and more adept at magic was something that I would take note of.

  “So, the more chummy you get with your vector, the better you become at magic?” I asked.

  Madame Incana put her hands into the pockets of the emerald green coat that she wore and studied me. She peered at me through the gold-rimmed glasses she wore and gave me a small smile. “I think that it could be said that the more friendly and well-acquainted you get with your vector, the more attached it will get to you. There are stories of vectors saving their mage’s lives through spontaneous spellcasting and things of that order.”

  “Madame Incana, could two vectors ever join together to form a single one?” I asked. “Could two—for lack of a better word—souls inhabit the same object?”

  Madame Incanaa cocked her head to the side. Those gorgeous green eyes sparkled with a sudden kindled interest. “What a curious question, Mr. Mauler…”

  I held her gaze, but did not answer.

  “I have never heard of such a thing happening before,” Madame Incana said thoughtfully. She looked around at the rest of the class, all of whom were hanging on her words. She was the perfect teacher; obviously extremely interested in her subject, well-articulated, and captivating to look at. “But I have theorized extensively on this very subject. It is my belief that, if two souls or spirits tried to inhabit the same vector, then one would ultimately have to defeat the other and claim sole control of it.”

  I frowned. I had been sure, had instinctively felt, that the blending of my old vector staff into my father’s black crystal one had been a mutual agreement of sorts.

  “However,” Madame Incana went on in her soft and sexy schoolmaster’s voice, “it is also my belief—though I have never witnessed or met someone who has seen such a thing—that a vector might be shared by two souls, so long as they were kindred spirits in life.”

  “That sounds like a rare alignment of circumstances,” I said.

  Madame Incana gave me a very intelligent and knowing look. “Rare as hen’s teeth,” she said.

  I returned to the frat house just behind the rest of the boys. As I walked into the grungy, Gothic entrance hall, I could hear the rest of the frat in the kitchen. There was the unmistakable clink and rattle of plates and glasses. It sounded to me like the guys were grabbing a bit of food and a few fortifying ales before they headed down to the dungeon for potion ingredients. It was a good idea; none of us knew what the hell we could expect down there.

  I strode across the hall. The idea of an icy cold alcoholic refresher sounded like a great idea. I pushed open the heavy door that led to the homey kitchen, but as I was about to step through, a splash of sparkling light running up the stairs made me turn. Before I could see exactly what the thing was, it had whipped out of sight and continued up the stairs, leaving only soft laughter in its wake.

  “What the…” I said, frowning. Somehow, the fleeting apparition hadn’t struck me as another unwanted visitor, like the Death Mage had been.

  “Yo, Justin!” Damien called from where he sat at the large, rough wooden table on the other side of the cavernous kitchen. “You gonna come in here and grab a little food and a beer before we head downstairs and face whatever shit-show the dungeon has in store for us?”

  “Uh…” I said, my thoughts still on the mysterious figure and my eyes glued to the stairs.

  “I’ve had a little brisket on the go since early this morning,” Bradley said. “Should be just about perfectly smoked by now.”

  Brisket sounded fucking tempting. However, I felt that it was my duty as owner of this house to investigate anything dodgy. I didn’t think the uninvited visitor was malicious, nor did I want to interrupt my bros when they were about to dig into a delectable feast, so I decided to go alone.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be down in a bit,” I said. “I’ve just got to go and check on something upstairs.”

  Rick looked at me beadily with his deep jade eyes. “Brisket waits for no man, friend.”

  “Not with you about it doesn’t, big man,” I said before I turned and made for the stairs.

  As I made my way up the stairs, something about the sparkling figure asserted itself in my mind. I realized that it was most probably the Gemstone Princess herself, Alura, coming to visit me.

  Hopefully, I thought, feeling the squirming anticipation uncoil in my belly.

  The door to my room, which was usually closed, was standing slightly ajar. I nudged it open quietly with the toe of my boot. It swung open to reveal Alura.

  The Gemstone Princess was lying on my bed, her back to me, changing and altering her position as if she was trying to find one that I would find most alluring. The insubstantial ethereal gown that she habitually wore, which swirled about her like fog over a pond in the morning, was changing and altering—I assumed at her thought. As I watched, it shrunk down to reveal the bottom of her ass cheeks, then grew again into a gossamer-thin robe through which I could make out every contour of her body.

  “You could wear a hessian sack, and you’d still make my jaw drop,” I said.

  Alura gave a little gasp, rolled onto her back, and giggled coquettishly as she observed me from her upside-down position on the bed.

  “Such a charmer today, Mr. Mauler,” she said.

  “Oh, you know me, Your Highness,” I said, stepping into my room and closing the door behind me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Well, Enwyn told me that she planned on paying you a visit,” she said in her measured and diplomatic voice, “and so I thought that I might come along too. Perhaps preemptively, if I got the chance.”

  Now, during my more lucid and sober moments at college, I’d stumbled across an old Latin saying that resonated with me: ‘Nosce te ipsum’, which translates as ‘know yourself’. I’d always thought that this was a handy thing for a person to keep in mind. So I was not surprised when my brain instantly started considering what sort of combination spells I might learn after a threesome between myself, a Gemstone Elemental, and a Fire Mage.

  While I was considering this, as well as gazing enraptured at the half-naked form of Alura lying on my bed, another thought elbowed me. It was a reminder that the rest of the boys were waiting for me downstairs.

  Yeah, I told my bossy brain, but if I was to engage in a bit of a friendly threeway, then I’d probably end up with some new spells, which would no doubt help us if any crazy shit were to go down in the dungeon…

  My brain seemed pretty happy with that bit of logic and thankfully piped down so that I could go back to staring at Alura.

  “I guess the early bird gets the—” I started to say.

  There was a sharp rat-tat-tat, the unmistakable sound of someone knocking to be let in. My heart began to beat faster in my chest. Enwyn, perhaps?

  I walked to the door and flung it open, a smile on my face.

  There was no one there.

  I frowned. Then I turned and walked over to the balcony door, thinking that perhaps this had all been part of a plan that Alura and Enwyn had cooked up for my enjoyment, a way to heighten the tension as it were. However, when I opened the door and stepped out into the fresh air, there was no one there.

  “Well, I give up,” I said, coming back inside and shooting a quizzical look at Alura.

  The Gemstone Princess laughed.

  The knock came again, but this time I noticed its particular sound. It
was the sound of knuckles on glass, not the sound of knocking against a wooden door. I walked over to the window opposite the bed and ripped back the heavy curtains.

  Enywn Emberskull was literally floating outside the window.

  The beautiful Fire Mage was wreathed in what looked like some kind of flame. When I looked closer, I noticed that they were more like the ghosts of flames. The more incredible aspect was not what her magic looked like, but its purpose. She was literally flying, silhouetted quite theatrically against the sinking sun.

  Enwyn smiled at me, as if this was a normal evening occurrence, and flew around to the balcony where she landed softly. As soon as her feet touched the stone, the flames disappeared.

  “Guess what?” she asked as I stepped out to meet her and we embraced.

  “Either I’ve accidentally taken acid, or you’ve gone and learned a new spell,” I said.

  Enwyn grinned. “That I did.”

  “Shit, that’s cool,” I said. An image of the Human Torch from the Fantastic Four popped into my mind. “How can a Fire spell make you fly? Surely, that’s more to do with Air magic, right?”

  “Elemental magic types are not clearly delineated,” Enwyn explained. “Fire and Wind are not as separate as they might initially appear.”

  After arriving in this world, I had learned very early on not to look at things in a scientific way. Mundane earthly science might have proven something, then magic would come along and kick your conclusion square in the cojones. However, the idea that Elemental magics sometimes bled into one another made sense. After all, forest fires created their own weather patterns and wind. Conversely, without air, fire would suffocate and die.

  “That’s interesting knowledge,” I said.

  “Speaking of interesting knowledge,” Enwyn said, brushing past me, “Chaosbane still is not back yet. I went to those members of the faculty that are just below Chaosbane in the Academy’s hierarchy—my higher-ups—and they have noted the Death Mage break-in and the theft of what appears to be a Skeleton Key. There aren’t often burglaries, so the higher-ups believe this was just an opportunistic theft, since yours is the only frat or sorority house without a poltergeist to protect it.”