Spellweaver codex 2, p.1
Spellweaver Codex 2, page 1
Spellweaver Codex 2
Elder Mage Chronicles 2
DB King
Copyright © 2023 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.
v003
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Contents
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Contents
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
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Free progression Fantasy Novel!
About the Author
Series by DB King
Apocalypse Knights
Crafter’s Fate
Dragon Magus
Dungeon of Evolution
Elemental Mastery
Fatehaven Farm
Kensei
Mage’s Path
Night Guild
Ranger’s Magic
Shinobi Rising
Spellweaver Codex: Elder Mage Chronicles
Summoner’s Shadow
The Last Magus
War Wizard
World End
Chapter 1
Calwyn Weft stood on a cliff edge, a warm wind ruffling his dark hair. The secluded valley spread out before him—the rugged hills, dense woods, and deep river running like a sparkling blue ribbon down toward the rest of the Empire of Yaetis. He took a deep breath, relishing the pine forest scent. In the three months since he had come to the high hills and the hidden tower of the Library—the greatest magical center in the Empire—spring had given way to summer, with the first green shoots turning into the full bloom of life. It was magnificent to behold. Like Cal, the year was coming-of-age.
Cal closed his eyes and felt the wind brush his skin. A few months ago, the wind was only one more type of weather, like sunshine or rain. All he thought about was how it affected village life: driving windmills, scattering leaves across the fields, and helping folks to dry their laundry. Now, the wind was something else entirely. Having almost mastered its magic, he was aware of every nuance of movement. He noticed the way it pressed strongly in some places and weaker in others, how it split around him, how the rustling of branches below reflected its ebb and flow.
“Real world to Cal,” a voice said. “Are you still with us, or are you sleeping on your feet now?”
Cal opened his eyes and turned to see his best friend, Raya. Despite the weather of the past few weeks, her skin remained fair, only a few light freckles acknowledging the effects of bright sunshine. She tilted her head to one side and looked at him with sparkling green eyes.
“I swear, you’re getting weirder with every minute we stay around here.” Raya jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Their influence doesn’t help.”
Past her stood two more people. Azamar’s red robes and gray-flecked beard flapped wildly around him as the mage peered over the edge of the cliff. Martha wore her blonde hair pinned up, revealing pointed elven ears, but her embroidered robe also danced in the breeze. She glanced down at Azamar who—like her—was holding a leather and metal-bound tome, a mage’s codex, and said something Cal couldn’t quite hear.
Cal looked over the edge of the cliff. It was perhaps a hundred feet down to the ground, with a steep rubble-strewn slope that descended into the forest.
Past the sweep of the trees on a rock crag overlooking a band of the river, stood the massive, spiraling tower of the Library, a vast edifice of pale and ancient stone. Turrets and balconies jutted from its sides, with symbols marked between them that Cal was finally learning to decipher. The forest hid the courtyards and buildings around its base. Beyond, distant mountains rose at the far side of the valley, their snowcapped peaks a dazzling white in the early morning sun.
But the Library wasn’t the only thing visible above the trees. Plumes of smoke rose from another area of the forest, like gray fingers scratching at the sky. For a moment, Cal thought it might be an army encampment, but more likely, it was a large group of hunters or a village. He had been too busy learning magic to explore much around the tower, so he had little grasp of who or what else lay nearby.
He tipped his head to stare straight down over the edge of the cliff and immediately regretted it. The view was dizzying, and his stomach lurched at the thought of what would happen if he fell that far. As the wind died down, he turned to look at Martha and Azamar.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
His magical tutors looked back at him like he was an idiot, and Cal cringed.
“You’re the Spellweaver,” Azamar said. “The most powerful magic user in the world. The question is not whether a course of action is open to you, but how will you succeed in it?”
“I agree,” Martha said. “You may have started out under the tutelage of a master of fire, but you are a wind mage. You’ll need to take the leap eventually, and with all the progress you’ve made, you should be ready.”
“Really?” Cal looked over the cliff and swallowed, then looked back at her for further reassurance.
“Really. Now, get on with it. I don’t want to waste your talents standing around here talking about nothing.”
Still tense, Cal stepped back from the edge of the cliff. It was easier to think when a dreadful fall wasn’t right in front of him, only the sturdy shoes he’d inherited from his father preventing him from sliding over the edge and falling to a messy death.
Raya stepped back with him and ran a hand across her light brown hair, trying to catch and tuck back loose strands. She said nothing about the cliff, but Cal could see a similar tension in her. It was strange to see Raya scared, but far less surprising to know that she stood beside him despite her fear.
“What do you think?” he asked quietly.
She looked at him, and her expression creased into a smile.
“I believe in you,” she said. “And I’ve seen some of the crazy things you’ve been doing with your spells. If the magic man thinks you can do this, then you can.”
Cal smiled at her. Azamar and Martha might understand his magic better than Raya—who had no power of her own—but she knew Cal better than either of them did. Her belief meant the world to him.
“All right.” Cal took a deep breath and braced himself, then turned his attention back to the ground in front of him, not quite looking at the edge of the cliff, but at the space just before it. He advanced into that space, and then one step further, moving before his brain could tell his body to stop, until he stood at the cliff edge once more. He marveled with fear and wonder at the view.
Cal held out his hand and turned his mind inward, to the magic inside of him. He felt its flow, the knots and strands of power, how he could shape them—even the possibilities for things he couldn’t do yet. There was a tingle in his mind. The air in front of him shimmered, and his codex appeared. He’d become so expert that it appeared right in his hand, but still he flinched, remembering those early moments when the book fell out of nowhere to hit him on the head.
“I’m ready.”
He raised his foot and stepped off the ledge of the craggy precipice. Air rushed up to meet him, with the ground not far behind. He tumbled through empty space, codex gripped tight in his hand, terror and excitement making what lasted no longer than a heartbeat seem to stretch out into eternity. He saw the cliff pass by; the rocks below; a single goat looking up at him in confusion.
For a fragment of a moment, the rush and the terrible thought of what would happen if he failed threatened to overwhelm him. The moment vanished, snatched away by the wind as he grabbed hold of his magic. Through the spells in his codex, he
The air curled beneath him, a gust of wind rushing in to lift him up. Instead of plummeting toward the ground, the breeze swept him along past the base of the cliff. He held his arms out like the wings of a bird, though he knew it would make no difference to how he flew; it just felt right. He let out an exhilarated cry as he twisted, flipped over, and rushed back the way he came.
The air was uneven, buffeting him up and down, side to side. For a moment it parted, and he fell through, almost scraping the ground before he found a stream to lift him up again.
As he approached the area below where he stepped off the cliff, he fought to balance the currents. The air rippled under him, threatening to rush off in a hundred directions at once. But he was feeling more in control already, winds shifting according to his whim, the magic obeying his commands.
He settled, resting in one place on a pillar of wind, and looked up the cliff. At the top, his friends peered over, looking down at him. Cal grinned and took a bow.
“I’m glad to see that these new powers haven’t tempted you to become a showoff,” Azamar said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Like you’re so humble about your abilities, magic man.” Raya snorted. “I saw you flinging fireballs around above the stables the other night, singing a song about what a brilliant mage you are.”
“The song wasn’t about me; it was about another mage from long ago.”
“A mage who just happens to wear red robes, have a long beard, and wield fire magic? Yeah, clearly it wasn’t anything to do with you.”
“Are you two quite done with you bickering?” Martha snapped. “We have serious business to attend to here.”
“You always think there’s serious business to attend to,” Azamar said.
“And I’m always right.” Martha silenced him with a stern glare, then turned her attention back to Cal. “Focus on moving up, but in a controlled fashion—none of that wild flying we’ve just seen.”
“That wild flying got me here,” Cal pointed out.
“And it will again, but the more control you have, the better you’ll be able to fly to the right place, at the right time, without crashing into everything along the way. Proper use of magic is about control, remember.”
Cal nodded. It was a lesson she stated over and over again, drumming it into him as they practiced, and he knew those repetitions represented more than just nagging. She was absolutely right. He needed to control his powers to get the best use out of them, and so fulfill his destiny as the Spellweaver, fight off the Spellbreaker, and protect the existence of magic in the world. If that meant taking his time while he took control of his channeling, that was fine.
He closed his eyes and focused on the currents, both of the air swirling around him and of the magic running through him. The currents touched and tangled as he used wind spells to direct his power. There was a sense of movement in his body, and when he opened his eyes again, the cliff face was drifting slowly past the front of his face.
“Faster,” Azamar called out.
“No,” Martha said. “Slow is good. Slow shows control.”
Cal did his best to ignore them and focus on his magic. He kept rising; the cliff-face sliding past until he reached its top. He hovered in front of his friends, supported solely by the empty air that solidified under his feet and formed invisible supports around him, anchoring him in place.
The wind kicked up, and the currents around Cal shifted. He sank to the left, caught himself, then almost fell to the right as the air rippled again.
“It’s hard to balance like this,” he said.
“You’re not going to fall, are you?” Raya asked, looking at him with concern.
“No, it’s not that unstable. Just hard to keep upright and still.”
Cal adjusted the air flow around him, using slight movements to balance the shifting currents of the wind. Given a little practice, he thought he could master this and levitate steadily in one spot. He just needed more time to work on it.
“Well done,” Martha said. “You’re almost turning into a competent wind mage.”
Cal smiled. Coming from the fearsome wind master, that was high praise. She must be really warming to him to let those words slip out. Even her face seemed less sternly fixed than it had before, holding something he might almost have taken for warmth.
Martha turned to Azamar and raised an eyebrow. He nodded, and she nodded back. The two of them turned to look at Cal.
“You’ve done well,” Azamar said. “Remarkable progress, more than I ever expected, even given the Spellweaver spirit reincarnated within you. But now it’s time for a substantial test of your capacity.”
“I concur,” Martha said. “We have spent long enough preparing you. Now we need to see if that preparation has paid off. A real rest.”
She ran her fingers across the cover of her codex. Next to her, Azamar held his own book close to his chest, while the fingers of his other hand curled in by his side.
“A real test?” Cal asked. “What does that mean? Will we go back and—”
His words were interrupted as Azamar raised his hand and flung a ball of fire.
Chapter 2
Cal ducked, and the flames shot past his head, but the movement destabilized him. He fell from his pillar of air and went spinning across the sky, desperately snatching at strands of wind as he tried to regain control.
Cal swung his hand around, bringing up a gust of wind to stabilize himself against. His world stopped spinning, and a few heartbeats later, so did his head. He looked back at the cliff top, ready to voice outrage at the attack, but saw Martha and Azamar holding out their codexes, clearly ready for action. It seemed the test had already started, and both of his tutors were about to put him through his paces.
“Run,” Martha called out. “Or better yet, fly.”
With a flick of his hand, Cal summoned a blast of wind. It was the first wind spell that he’d learned, and the one that came most instinctively. He had more power now than when he first learned it, and the spell propelled him at speed away from the cliff, his shadow sliding across the open ground that led down to the trees.
He thrust out an arm, using the gesture to control the wind. It wasn’t needed, he could have just used his mind, but the physicality of it helped him solidify the movement of magic in his head, to master new spells and situations faster. His balance was improving, his flight less erratic and more controlled. Still, there were wobbles as he rushed along.
He looked back. Martha rose into the air, carried on a wind of her own. She drifted upward, hovering for a moment above the cliff edge, then started to move, flying after Cal.
He grinned. At that pace, he believed he could evade her fairly easily. A short journey down the valley to prove his speed, then he could fly back to his friends, and the test would be complete.
But as he looked back, Martha suddenly crunched up her legs, folding them in as if crouching on some invisible surface. She thrust them out, and a massive boom erupted. Birds scattered from the treetops in fright; the sound shook the branches around them. Cal’s eyes widened as Martha soared toward him.
If he was going to pass whatever this test was, then he undoubtedly must stay ahead of her.
He summoned another gust of wind, calling upon the air currents running down off the mountains and the strong breezes rushing up the valley, using the winds’ nature provided to enhance the ones he could summon.
The burst of power accelerated him, flinging him forward faster at the price of stability. He swerved clumsily across the sky, arms flailing, just clinging to his codex as the clashing winds buffeted him.
Cal looked back and realized Martha had almost caught up to him. She reached out with her empty hand, palm open, fingers pressed flat together. She swung her arm, and there was a current in the air so sudden and sharp Cal could see the edges of its ripples. He rolled to the side, and the blade of air cut past him, too close for comfort.
This was it, then. The test was a fight, him against the master of wind magic, to see how strong he had become. This was the sort of test he could cope with. He rolled again, easily dodging another slash of the air blade, and grinned as he gathered his own magic. How should he strike back? A blast of wind magic to counter Martha’s, perhaps, or a fireball, so that she faced magic she wasn’t so familiar with. Perhaps he could summon a wind sword and fight her in close combat.
