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

  Natural Magic

  The Last Magus 1

  DB King

  Copyright © 2021 by DB King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  Free progression Fantasy Novel!

  Contents

  Other Series by DB King

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Thief’s Bounty: Chapter 1

  Free progression Fantasy Novel!

  About the Author

  Other Series by DB King

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  Shinobi Rising

  Chapter 1

  “Remember,” Master Abel said, his voice weary from repeating the same thing three times in as many minutes. “Keep the young ones in the forest for the entire day. Return after sunset, if at all possible. Should the Archmage trip over some snotty young ne’er-do-well during his visit, we would never hear the end of it…”

  Alec nodded. From a distance, the great bell of the Archon Temple tolled the breakfast hour. The chime repeated itself, its dull reverberation thudding through the walls—much like Master Abel as he repeated himself. Alec never lost his patience with Master Abel, however. He understood the importance of the day, and had resolved weeks ago to get through it with a smile on his face.

  “I admit, I’m envious,” the youth admitted, smiling. “To think Archmage Uriel Diamondspear would visit our Temple! It’s a great shame that I’ll be out in the forest with the Temple’s wards, unable to pay homage to him myself.”

  No it won’t, Alec thought, letting Master Abel launch into another long-winded diatribe. He greatly preferred the forest to the dusty libraries and dimly lit halls of the Archon Temple. Alec spent most of the week looking forward to his Sundays, when he’d take all the Temple’s children—orphans, just like him—out into the woods for a little forestcraft and storytelling. The children were always happy for the fresh air and sunshine, and Alec could avoid the questions that had become more and more insistent as he neared his eighteenth birthday.

  As if he could read Alec’s thoughts, Master Abel cleared his throat and took a different tack. “I believe you know what to do,” the wizened old man said, leaning across his desk. While most of the monks kept their personal offices almost fanatically clean, Abel’s were a hodge-podge of dusty books, scrolls, and souvenirs from distant lands. “Tell me something, young man—have you given any more thought to your Vocation?”

  Those were the words Alec dreaded hearing. In a mere two weeks, he’d be turning eighteen—and by the time a young man in the Archon Temple reached his eighteenth birthday, he was expected to have chosen a Vocation. These weren’t set in stone, exactly, but the path a man chose at this stage in his life tended to have effects that one couldn’t shake.

  Every monk at the Temple wanted Alec to become a scribe, or a translator. Even Master Abel, who downplayed Alec’s talents every chance he could, admitted Alec had a greater talent for letters than any of the other strays or foundlings housed within the Archon Temple’s walls. It seemed natural that he would pick up the pen and put those talents to use for the Temple’s benefit. The pen is mightier than the sword, Master Matthias reminded him near the end of every Temple lecture, as if by sheer force of repetition he could influence the young man’s future.

  There was only one problem with that statement: Alec preferred the sword.

  The choice was up to him, of course. As an able-bodied eighteen-year-old man, both the King’s Army and the Expeditionary Forces were open to him. Conflict was against the creed of the monks in the Temple, of course, so they wouldn’t even hear of such a thing. Yet the allure of travel beckoned to Alec. As much as he loved the Archon Temple—well, teaching the children at the Archon Temple, at least—he wanted to see more of the world. The idea of spending the rest of his life translating ancient tomes from dead languages appealed to him about as much as cleaning the chamber pots with his toothbrush.

  “I haven’t given it a great deal of thought,” he lied. The words came easily to his lips, and until now, they’d mollified the monks who asked him about his future plans. Master Abel, however, wasn’t so easily swayed.

  “You have a very short amount of time to decide,” Abel said, cracking his knuckles. The man had a love for using his joints to make noise; he even did it at the table, making the young foundlings gag. “Once you’ve chosen your Vocation, you’ll have to pursue it with all the dignity of the Archon Temple. And, should you choose a Vocation that cannot be learned or practiced within the Temple, you will have to leave us.”

  Alec didn’t need Abel to tell him that. It had weighed heavily on his mind for months. Should he choose a Vocation that didn’t involve his talents as a scribe, he’d have to leave the Archon Temple behind for good. While it was true he wished to see more of the world than its cramped confines could offer, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was willing to leave it all behind forever. So many of the boys here depended on him. Thomas would be bullied mercilessly were it not for him. One-eyed Mortimer required help at times, gathering herbs and plants for the apothecary with the others…

  Master Abel took his hesitance for a different emotion. A starry look entered the old man’s eyes, as if he looked out upon far-flung vistas from a better, vanished time. “Ah, I know what you’re thinking, young man! Like so many before you, you wish to sow your wild oats—to cavort with the world and take in all of its pleasures! You imagine yourself a brave knight, a fearsome warrior! A figure out of legend!”

  “Or a mage,” he blurted, his cheeks coloring as the words left his lips. How had he let that one slip out? Not even the other foundlings had ever heard about his secret dream. To confess it before Master Abel, of all people…!

  Fortunately, the wizened old monk took it as a joke. “Exactly! Young men like you get all sorts of strange notions. Like that friend of yours—what was his name? Tamsyn?”

  “Tanuin,” Alec said, harsher than he’d intended. He’d learned not to speak to the monks in that way, but he couldn’t help it. Hearing the elf’s name in the monks’ mouths normally no longer bothered him—but today, of all days, the sound filled him with irritation.

  Master Abel noticed. “It’s been a while since that ranger visited us,” the old man said, making a steeple of his fingers on the tabletop. “Likely as not he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Always stirring up trouble, that one…”

  “He’s alive,” Alec hissed. “I know it.”

  For a very long time, Tanuin had been the only person at the Archon Temple Alec could consider a true friend. Yes, there were the foun
dlings, and of course the monks treated him with nothing but sympathy and kindness (Abel excluded). Yet the distance in both relationships left Alec feeling more lonely than if he’d spent his youth wandering the halls of the Archon Temple without company at all.

  Tanuin had changed all that.

  The ranger had not only been the first nonhuman Alec had ever met, he’d been the first person to ever treat him as an equal. Neither his tutor nor his ward, Tanuin brought artifacts from the outside world and endless stories whenever he visited the Archon Temple, setting Alec’s imagination aflame with possibilities. Alec looked forward to each of his visits like they were feast days, with more excitement than Yuletide.

  Five years ago, Tanuin had vanished without a trace. The band of elves he ranged with had been tight-lipped when Master Matthias inquired as to his whereabouts, which none of the monks had taken as a good sign. Alec tried to forget his memories of the friendly, world-traveling ranger, but such memories remained stubbornly unwilling to fade.

  Master Abel barked out a harsh, flat laugh. “Take my advice,” the man said, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Put these dreams out of your head. The King’s Army is a meat grinder—sign up with them, and you’ll wind up dead on a foreign battlefield, surrounded by people whose names you don’t even know. The Archon Temple is a hallowed institution of learning. It’s honorable, clean—and safe.”

  Three things Alec wasn’t the least bit interested in.

  Abel’s expression softened. “You’re a bright boy,” he said, something like camaraderie entering his tone. “With a little more effort in your studies, you could go far. Were you to devote yourself to religious contemplation, you could even succeed Master Matthias as the head of the Temple one of these days. Now wouldn’t that be a more appropriate dream for a boy with your gifts?”

  It would. And Alec couldn’t deny the idea held a certain appeal. The monks tolerated the foundlings they brought in and raised within the temple grounds—it was part of their holy mission, of course—but they never seemed to truly care for them. His life had been one with very little love. As head of the Archon Temple, he could change all that.

  But he’d still be lonely. And while the thought of the fairer sex remained very much a vague, incoherent dream in the back of his mind (he’d met even fewer girls than he had elves!), he got the distinct impression he wouldn’t be happy spending his entire life alone. Not even in a position of authority the kind that the Temple could give him.

  “I’ll think about it, Master Abel,” he promised. It was all he could do. I’ve been thinking enough for three men lately, he told himself, frustration dripping like sweat from his skin. Maybe a day in the woods is what I need—a little fun, and less thought…

  Master Abel looked as if he’d had the same idea. “You should go and join the boys,” he said, nodding a curt dismissal. “You’ll want breakfast before you escort them into the woods. Remember, keep them busy until full dark if at all possible…”

  “I know, Master Abel,” Alec said, barely able to hold back laughter. How many times would the man repeat himself if not stopped? “There’ll be no boys here to sully Archmage Diamondspear’s visit, I promise.”

  In truth, Alec was glad he’d miss the Archmage. Seeing a powerful magic user up close would only remind him of what he could never have.

  As he retreated from Abel’s chambers, activity buzzed around him. Though the morning had only just begun, the Archon Tower was a constant throb of busywork. It was said the building was thousands of years old, and at its advanced age, every fresco and candelabra needed near-constant cleaning to keep from falling into disrepair. Manservants carried laundry through the hallways, filling the stone corridors with a rich lavender scent as Alec made his way to the cafeteria.

  He had to cross the Yard to get there. The Archon Temple resembled a fortress more than it did a holy site: indeed, from a distance, an invading army probably would not have been able to tell the difference between the two. High stone walls encircled the main plaza, with towers in each corner forming the dormitories and the lecture halls. In general, the higher a monk’s quarters were above the ground, the better his status—Master Matthias’s quarters, for example, were at the very top of the Eastern Tower.

  Though how he manages to sleep with all that racket, I have no idea, Alec wondered as he made his way across the grass. Floating spheres revolved around the big bell tower overlooking the chapel, bathing the whole square in heavenly illumination. Normally they remained dull, circling the bell tower like ornaments on a Yuletide tree—today, they burned like miniature suns. They functioned as both a beacon and a hitching point for airships.

  Archmage Diamondspear’s own airship had already docked against the tower, though the man himself wouldn’t emerge from on board for several hours yet. By the time the Archmage arrived for his tour, Alec intended to be well and truly gone from the Temple. Still, the sight of the triple-masted craft made his heart skip a beat. A half-dozen gleaming cannons extended from the aft bow, as if Diamondspear readied himself to make war against the Temple at a moment’s notice.

  What would it be like, Alec wondered, to ride in a craft like that? He wanted to, of course: almost as badly as he wanted to be a mage. But only mages could afford such transportation. Even the finest knights in the King’s service had to make do with horses, and the Expeditionary Force traveled on foot. So thinking about it was silly.

  By the time he reached the cafeteria, the other foundlings had just about finished their meals. Two dozen grinning faces greeted him, most covered in dirt. The boys had neglected their evening shower the previous night, or the monk in charge of putting them down in the dormitories had forgotten. No matter, Alec told himself. We’re going to be in the woods today anyway.

  “Alec!” That was Thomas, the frailest of the boys. The others had made sport of mocking him before Alec put a stop to it. Now Thomas behaved as though Alec walked on water. He’d never had a fan before, and he found it oddly uncomfortable. “You’re late!”

  “Master Abel detained me,” Alec said, settling into his seat at the table. An apple and a bowl of oatmeal awaited him. He tucked the apple into his robes and pushed the oatmeal away. The monks said it was a sin to waste food, but he wouldn’t have time to scarf it down before they traveled. The apple would suffice until they dug into their lunches later.

  The boys laughed at his proclamation. They all knew full well that Master Abel ‘had it in’ for Alec, as they liked to say.

  “Did he crack his knuckles?” Mortimer asked, fiddling with the black patch over his right eye. Strangely, the other boys never teased him for it—perhaps because it made him look like a pirate. “It’s so gross when he does that…”

  Several boys made disgusted faces at the very idea.

  “He wanted to make sure you were all ready to have a nice time in the woods today,” Alec replied, only having to lie a little. “And… he asked me about my Vocation, again.”

  One of the boys—Marcus, a little older than the others with boldness to match—snickered. “We’re your Vocation, Alec. Did you tell that old bat you’re stuck with us for life?”

  “Alec’s going to be a knight,” another boy said, swinging an invisible sword through the air. “Isn’t that right, Alec?”

  “No, a ranger!”

  “No, he’s going to stay here,” Thomas said nervously. He did everything nervously, just about. “You’re not going to leave the Temple, are you, Alec?”

  “Quiet down, all of you,” Alec said, covering his own nerves with a smile. The boys reacted instantly, going silent the way the other monks would have given an arm and a leg to be able to do. It’s not hard, Alec thought, they just have to care. “Have you seen that airship tethered to the bell tower this morning?”

  Two dozen pairs of eyes fixed directly on him. “No,” Mortimer said, sounding shocked. “We have a visitor?”

  Alec nodded. “Archmage Uriel Diamondspear,” he explained, looking over each of the boys i
n turn. “A very powerful wizard. He’s here to meet with Master Matthias.”

  Excitement filled the cafeteria. The boys were rambunctious at the best of times—with the news of a mage in their midst, they’d become nearly untamable. “A wizard!” one of them exclaimed.

  “I’m scared to meet a wizard!” Thomas cried. “What if he turns me into a toad!”

  Several boys snickered at that. “No one’s going to turn you into a toad,” Alec assured the boy. “Matthias needs peace and quiet for his meeting with Archmage Diamondspear. That’s why it’s good we’re going to the woods today.”

  The rest of breakfast went the way it always did. Alec asked if any boys needed to go to the bathroom, and about half of them raised their hands. Strangely enough, Alec wondered, it’s never the same boys…

  Once they were all ready to go, he marched them single-file toward the front of the cafeteria to put their dishes away. The head chef, a muscular man with a big beard held in a net to keep hair from getting in the food, beamed at each boy as he handed them a sack of food for the trip.

  “And this is for you, young master,” the chef said. He always called Alec young master, no matter how many times the youth tried to persuade him otherwise. “Packed you a little extra today, as I saw you didn’t have time for breakfast. Don’t worry, I won’t tell any of the monks.”

  “Thanks,” Alec said, taking the bag. One of these days, he needed to have a longer talk with the man. Those brawny arms looked like they’d seen combat, and the chef’s big barrel chest seemed as if it had been made to support a suit of armor. No rumors surrounded him, yet Alec was certain he’d once been a soldier in the King’s Army.

  Maybe hearing what it was like from someone who’d been there would help him make up his mind. The decision weighed heavily on him, despite the cheerfulness of the day. Even the promise of perfect weather couldn’t dispel it completely.