by Dante King
There was a murmur of agreement. Damien kicked at a log in the fire, then swore when his sock started to smolder.
There was a mewing sound from down by my feet. I leaned down and picked up the sabertooth cat that I had brought home with me from our adventure in the realm of the Gemstone Elementals. The little creature had been hanging about me more and more as of late. It had even gotten into the habit of stealing away in the deeper pockets of my jackets so that I ended up carrying it around the Academy. Mostly, it remained inconspicuous. The only time that I had worried was during a class on vector care, when a substitute lecturer had begun sneezing uncontrollably and looking around the room in complete confusion.
Absently, I ran a hand down its spine. The cat purred, arched its back, and flicked its purple and mauve striped tail around my face.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “I told you what my old mate Idman said about the Rune Mystic. That course of action is the one we should take to alleviate our present predicament. Worry about the poltergeist after that.”
Damien grinned at me and gave me a knowing wink. “Ah, but it’s all good for you being a Creation Mage. You can, ah, study to get some fresh spells, can’t you? No inscriber required.”
“Study to get spells?” Nigel asked, frowning and looking up from his little book.
“Studying with his weiner, Nigel,” Damien said.
“Oh,” Nigel said. “Oh, yeah. You lucky bastard.”
“Even that often extremely tight, slippery, and enjoyable avenue of knowledge hasn’t come up with anything fresh recently,” I admitted.
I had been sleeping fairly regularly with Enwyn, Alura, and Janet. As much fun as the sex was, I hadn’t added any new spells to my arsenal. My latest goal had been to try and subtly steer Janet and Alura into some sort of romantic dalliance with me, but things hadn’t come together in that way just yet.
“Yeah,” I said as the unbeatable smell and sound of sizzling bacon filled the room, “all we can do is see how things go on Exhibition Match Day. Might be a case of hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.”
Exhibition Match Day arrived suddenly. One moment, it was a week away and the days were dragging by. The next, I was waking up, staring up at the peeling paint on my bedroom ceiling, and it was game day.
There was a knot in my stomach, which I didn’t understand when I first surfaced from sleep. Then I recognized it for what it was; that pleasant blend of nerves, excitement, and a keenness to kick ass that precedes all sporting competitions.
The Exhibition Match Day was scheduled to kick off in the evening, and so it was with great impatience that I and the rest of the frat watched the hours tick slowly by. I brewed a few vials of the Warrior’s Salve—the potion that Janet and I had cooked up during our study session at her sorority—for the incredibly likely chance that either me or Cecilia would get injured during the match. I slipped the full vials into little leather pouches on my belt that Nigel had let me borrow for the occasion.
As far as I knew, none of my fraternity brothers were all that fussed about teaming up with each other for the event. Everyone was keeping respectfully, or tactically silent, on whether they were competing at all.
“It’s time,” Damien said with a grin.
Nigel smiled at me. “Prepare yourself, Justin. You’re in for quite the treat.”
Rick’s face morphed into a goofy grin. “I have a brief scheduled interaction with a certain Fire Elemental.”
On a number of occasions over the last few weeks, I had seen Rick chatting to a rather voluptuous and curvy Fire Elemental at the Academy. When I had eventually quizzed the big Islander about it, he had told me gruffly that he had been ‘paying her visits.’
“I’m eager to taste the show food,” Bradley said. “You’d be surprised what kind of special delicacies are on offer.”
“Let’s make a move,” I said as I led them out of the frat house and down the hill.
We started to make our way through Nevermoor village, setting a course for the Academy’s colosseum—the place where we did our Physical Fitness Training. As soon as we entered the village, we were swept up in a tide of people all seemingly heading in the same direction.
“Are they all going to the Exhibition Match?” I asked Nigel.
“Oh yes, even these precursor matches draw huge crowds,” Nigel told me. “The Mage Games are a big deal, Justin. I think you’re in for a real eye-opener this evening!”
Nigel, as was the case about 95% of the time, was right.
“Well, shit the bed,” I said as the boys and I stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the colosseum. “Ain’t that a sight.”
It was what you might have got had you taken a fairground, a New Orleans Mardi Gras, and that market from Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace, put them in a cocktail shaker, given them a good forty-second jiggle, decanted the new mixture into a glass, and stuck an umbrella in it.
“Yeah,” Damien said, his words etched with wonder. “Yeah, that’s fucking something all right.”
The massive open space of the colosseum, as well as the surrounding tiered seating, was packed with color, noise, madness, and all sorts of weird and wacky stalls and rides—not to mention thousands of people. It was absolutely heaving, and there were more people coming in with us.
From our vantage point on the upper rim of the great bowl, I could see the flashing lights and hear the jumbled cacophony of a whole fairground’s worth of rides and entertainment competing for supremacy. Occasionally, fireworks would whizz up into the air and burst into all sorts of crazily elaborate patterns and shapes.
My eyes were trying, and failing, to take everything in at once.
“Let’s get in there,” I said.
The boys didn’t need telling twice.
Down amongst the chaos and the profusion of color and noise, it was almost impossible to tell that this was the same colosseum as Ragnar Ironskin’s lethal obstacle course. There were tents and stalls all over the place—letting off an array of steams and smells—selling all sorts of delicious-looking snacks and drinks. Walking through the packed throng of spectators and possible combatants, I saw basilisk skewers, smoked goldhorn buns, ethereal crumble, caramel cauldrons (five for a silver-colored coin the size of my pinky nail), and popped kelpie balls. What any of that shit might have been I couldn’t have said, but they suited the festive atmosphere perfectly.
Looking around at all the different races and humanoids, I realized that there were a helluva lot more students at the Academy than I’d originally thought. I pointed this out to Bradley, but he merely shrugged.
“I guess it’s not so very surprising really, is it?” he said. “I mean, look at how much time we have spent out of the building in our opening month or so. I assume that, the longer you study here for, the less time you spend in the actual building. There must be heaps of students doing missions and lessons on different worlds.”
“Good point,” I said. The thought that we’d get to spend more time in different worlds rather than in the school itself was a cheerful one.
“I guess nothing teaches better than real-world experience, huh?” I said.
“Quite right,” Bradely agreed. He seemed to be only half listening to me and was squinting past my right ear.
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” Bradley said, pointing out a pig-sized creature with wings, rotating on a spit a few yards away, “that vendor’s got slow-cooked marsh drake! And is that… a mage sage glaze he’s basting it with?” He grabbed my arm and called to the other boys. “Come on, gentlemen, you’re going to want to try this!”
After we’d loaded up with a marsh drake burger drizzled with extra glaze, we strolled around the grounds and checked out some of the rides and attractions.
It was pretty cool that the Academy opened the Exhibition Match Day up to the entire village. It gave the whole occasion a carnival air. There were kids playing on the wizarding equivalent of bumper-cars: miniat
ure versions of the Horseless carriages that floated about six inches off the ground. Another booth involved firing miniature crossbows at what looked like real rabbits. When a rabbit was struck by a bolt however, it burst into a cloud of colored smoke. The color of the smoke corresponded with a list of prizes up on one wall. Even as I watched, some kid nailed a rabbit, and it burst into a puff of green smoke.
“Winner winner, harpy’s dinner!” said the vendor, who looked to be some sort of Earth Elemental. “Here you go, miss!” He handed the little girl a stuffed snake, which turned around and gave the girl a lick with its cotton tongue. She giggled.
Something else caught my eye. A pack of students who were milling around a handful of flashily-dressed individuals.
“Hey, Nige,” I said, giving the halfling a dig with my elbow.
“Ow. What?”
“Who the hell are those guys?”I pointed toward the group.
Nigel pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted. “I’d hazard that those finely attired gentlemen are representatives of sponsors of one kind or another. The slimier ones—those two, for instance—are probably agents.”
I looked at the one’s he’d pointed out. They looked like you could grease a baking dish with them, all oiled hair, broad smiles, and piercing eyes.
“What’s the deal with all the students hovering around them?” I asked. “Are they just trying to butter them up before the match?”
Nigel nodded. “Probably.”
Personally, I thought that was a sort of shitty way to go about the whole business. However, I could definitely see how it might pay to schmooze an agent or sponsor that you had your eye on.
“Hey, Nige,” I said, “d’you reckon the Rune Mystic would be among all those reps and what not?”
“I imagine so,” the halfling said.
I popped the last bite of my burger into my mouth and dusted off my hands. “All right then. I better get in there and see if I can have a word with him. I’ll let him know to keep an eye on me when I’m participating in the match.”
I approached the group of sycophantic students, who were jostling and yelling to make themselves heard over their fellows, and surveyed the agents and sponsor reps. I wasn’t sure what sort of man I was looking for, but I couldn’t see the harm in picking out the one I thought looked most like a Rune Mystic. I was thinking he’d be a rather intellectual-looking individual, a wizarding equivalent of an IT specialist, maybe.
My eyes zeroed-in on a small, balding fellow wearing an immaculately pressed three-piece suit with trouser creases so sharp you could have cut cheese with them. I was just about to approach him when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned around and had to do a double-take.
“Chaosbane?” I asked before I shook my head. This guy wasn’t the Academy’s Headmaster, Reginald Chaosbane; he just looked a lot like him.
“Once,” he said with a nod. “I forsook my surname once I ascended. I have no need for family trappings anymore. Now, I’m simply Igor.”
“Ascended?” The phrase was so strange to me that I didn’t bother introducing myself.
He put his hand over his mouth and whispered to me, “I highly recommend against it. Sniffing a diamond pixie’s fart will get you higher than you’ve ever been in your life, but it also does things to your. . . appetites.” He shuddered and stared into the distance, giving me the perfect opportunity to look a little closer at him.
His facial structure was almost exactly the same as Reginald’s, and he had identical dark, probing eyes. However, this man had a nose that must have been broken at least four times. His hair, instead of being dark, was a sort of ashy blonde. Like Chaosbane though, he sported a mustache, though his was not the suave Johnny Depp-esque bit of facial hair that Chaosbane wore. No, this stranger looked more like he had taken the end of a broom and stuck it to his top lip with superglue. It was a beast of a thing. I couldn’t stop looking at it.
“The name’s Igor,” he said, suddenly back in this realm of existence rather than staring into space. He removed a leather-gloved hand from his duster pocket and held it out to me.
“Justin,” I said, taking his limp hand and giving it a firm shake. It was like trying to grip a slippery fish while it squirmed beneath your grasp.
“In case you were wondering, I’m a Rune Mystic,” he said as he slipped his gloved hand back into his duster pocket. “I’m responsible for the regeneration runes used in tonight’s little contest. I’m also aware of your little predicament. You want my sponsorship for your dungeon.”
“That’s right,” I said. “We don’t have a poltergeist, and your regeneration runes could bridge that gap.”
“Understood. My cousin, Reginald, has said great things about you. But one must always bear in mind the fact that Reginald has always been a crazy motherfucker and prone to exaggeration. So, you will have to prove yourself. “
“Prove myself,” I said blankly.
“That’s right,” beamed Igor, clearly pleased that I was staying abreast of the conversation. “And, if you don’t prove yourself, then you will prove only that I have wasted my time.” He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “And my time is very precious. Very precious indeed. I’ll have you know I gave up an orgy with a herd of Gorillantaurs to be here today.”
I wondered if Gorillantaurs were actually gorilla centaurs. The thought that there might be such creatures, and that this odd bastard might be disappointed in missing out on a bit of group sex with a bunch of them, blew my mind to smithereens. It seemed that sniffing diamond pixy farts really did fuck with your appetites.
“I’ll, uh, give it my best shot,” I said dazedly.
“Lovely! Speaking of best shots…” Igor pulled a little vial out of his pocket, tapped out a line of mustard colored powder, and took a huge snort. “Toodle-oo!” He twitched spasmodically as he disappeared into the crowd.
“What a family,” I muttered, turning back to see where the boys had got to.
Reginald Chaosbane was standing right behind me.
“Shit!” I said, taking a step back.
“Where?” Chaosbane said, looking about himself, as if he thought he might have been about to stand in a dog turd.
“What?” I asked.
Chaosbane waved this exchange away. He was wearing a long coat, open at the front, showing off his skeletal body and smattering of chest hairs. He wore cut-off pants and tan-colored loafers, his big toe poking out from a hole on the right shoe. He looked like some sailor who’d just washed onto a beach somewhere after his galley had sunk.
“I see you met my cousin, Igor?” he said, taking a pull on a flask that had appeared magically in his hand.
“Sure did,” I said. “He’s an interesting guy.”
“If you say so, old boy,” Chaosbane said, taking another hearty pull on the flask. “I’m taking a brief interim from my brief interim to be here today. I figure, since it’s the Exhibition Match Day and all, I should really be here.”
“So long as you didn’t give up an orgy with a bunch of Gorillantaurs to be here,” I said sarcastically.
Chaosbane chuckled. “No, not quite,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it was the National Succubi Wet T-Shirt Competition that I missed out on.” He looked wistfully at his flask. “Pity. Still, one has to be professional, don’t you agree?” He tipped the flask up and drained it. When he had extracted the last drop, Chaosbane snapped his fingers, and the flask dissolved. “Well, Justin. Good luck in the thingy. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully.”
“Cheers,” I said bemusedly.
“I better get myself prepared for the day’s events. Must be in top shape for all the attendees. I think I’ll wear my velvet suit.” He grinned to himself before he clapped me on the shoulder and, in a twinkling, was gone.
“What a fucking family,” I said again.
“Not talking about my dad are you, by any chance?” said a voice that, thankfully, did not belong to the eccentric Chaosbane clan.
&
nbsp; Janet and Alura had appeared.
I grinned and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me. What are you guys up to? Are you competing later?”
Janet shook her head. “Don’t want to risk getting shitty sponsors. I’ll wait until the real thing, when I’ve had a bit more time to brush up on my spells.”
“How about you, Alura?” I asked.
The Gemstone Princess tipped her sparkling head to one side. “I won’t be participating in the match,” she said. “But there’s a sideshow that’s piqued my interest. I might even obtain a sponsor out of it, but it’s mostly just for fun.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. I imagined her in a hot-dog eating contest where she crammed phallic-shaped cuisine down her throat by the handful. Suddenly feeling myself getting a little hot under the collar, I shook my head free of the thought.
Alura smiled at me, none the wiser about my most recent imaginings. “I’ve taken a bit more interest in occult jewel-crafting.”
“You’ll have to show me what you come up with,” I said.
She beamed at me, her teeth sparkling like diamonds. “I’d like that.”
“Well, I better get going,” I said. “The match will start soon.”
“Wait!” Janet said before sinking back into herself, as though she hadn’t meant to yell the word.
I paused. “Something else?”
Janet nodded. “There’s, um, something that I wanted to speak with you about—that we wanted to speak to you about.” She motioned at Alura, whose eyes had taken on a literal gleam, an aspect of her physiology that I’d come to appreciate as a kind of arousal indicator.
“So, what’s up?” I asked, a small smile playing on the corners of my lips.
“Well,” Janet said, “Alura and I have decided, very selflessly I might add, to give you the opportunity to learn a fresh spell.”
