The Accidental Archmage: Book Seven (Dragons and Demons)

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  Food and drinks began arriving, and table etiquette among both the dvergar and svartálfar evidently ended with the speech of the host. Forks and knives flashed, and the massacre of roasted fowl, boars, and venison immediately commenced. Mugs were quickly emptied. Minor quarrels erupted between individuals for choice portions, and drinking challenges were loudly made.

  Members of the company looked on with amazement. It was a brawl disguised as dinner. Only Otr wasn’t actively involved, and Tyler believed it was only because he was hemmed in by the company. Otr grinned at the mage.

  “Dvergar Lords on our right, and svartálfar on the left. Let’s eat!” declared Otr, who then turned his attention to the dwarven lord opposite him. “Hey, Dvalin. Double or nothing! A keg of ale each! Let’s see who finishes first!”

  “Done!” came the answer.

  So, the two races can mingle, and even eat and drink together. Why the hell are they at loggerheads with each other during jotnar-less times? wondered the mage.

  Suddenly, a dwarven warrior rushed into the tent and whispered something in Otr’s ear. The dvergar prince glanced at Tyler and then at Dvalin. With a nod at each, he stood up. The mage and the svartálfar prince followed him outside the tent, shadowed by the exile.

  “Somebody is asking for the First Mage,” explained Otr quickly. “I find it strange as the guards said she suddenly appeared out of the dark. And surprisingly, the guard commander reported they were unable to draw any weapon. But nothing untoward has happened yet.”

  She? wondered the mage.

  Chapter Twenty-One:

  Escalation

  “Let’s see who it is,” ventured Dvalin. “If she had malicious intentions, she wouldn’t have approached the guards.”

  “I agree. The incident with the sentries could mean an intention to avoid conflict. And there are already four of us. We could easily handle who’s waiting for us.”

  But as Otr was talking, the companions started to come out of the tent. The mage immediately walked to Tyndur and briefed him. The other companions listened to the mage’s explanation.

  “Not your average entity then. If she’s that confident, then I wouldn’t want to initiate a conflict with her until I know more,” suggested the einherjar. Murmurs of assent from the companions followed, though Asag and Thyma were both quiet. The latter, though, had a faint smile on her face.

  “We’ll remain here and be ready to assist if needed,” said the einherjar. “I do hope it’s an if, not a when. Been a long day.”

  The mage smiled in amusement. It appeared Tyndur was continually mindful of dwarven protocol. He had apparently heard Otr and followed convention by not insisting on accompanying the welcome party. It looked like the dwarves were more tradition-bound than humans – what a lord or commander said was the law, no ifs or buts about it.

  “Let’s go,” said Otr.

  As the four started on their way, the mage saw Asag move to a distance away from the companions, his warhammer tightly gripped in his hands. The daemon had another of his crazy grins on his face. Despite himself, the mage was compelled to pray no fighting would erupt. Any battle would lay waste to the dwarven encampment on top of the massif. Sutr would be enormously happy if that happened.

  It was a challenging trek down the rough trail. With no torches and only the light of the moon to guide them, the mage kept on bumping into Dvalin. But the two dwarves had no issues with the darkness or the trail. Lights were strictly forbidden on top of the mountain. Even the commander’s tent they had left behind was heavily shielded by magical runes and spells to hide whatever brightness emanated from it.

  They reached a small clearing a quarter of the way down the mountain. Otr gestured at them to wait and proceeded to a stone dwelling. He came out shortly with a large and muscular dvergar in full battle armor, metal faceplate in place. He had a large sledgehammer on his back.

  Tyler examined the weapon as the warrior bowed to Dvalin and found it to be just that – a sledgehammer. No modifications, no enchantment, nothing. Just an everyday workman’s tool. Otr then brought the dvergar to him and introduced the warrior as Floki, the detachment commander. He was also the dourest dwarven soul the mage had ever met.

  “Where’s the uninvited guest?” asked the mage.

  “Two posts down,” came the short reply.

  “Describe her,” Tyler asked again.

  “Woman. Long hair. Long spear. Armored. Full helm,” succinctly answered Floki.

  Of course, it’s a woman. We just said her, not him, thought Tyler. This guy’s worse than a Twitter account.

  “Anything else?” asked Dvalin. The svartálfar prince apparently knew how to ask the proper questions. Tyler was still thinking about what to ask.

  “Gold armor. Golden hair,” came the terse description.

  Tyler paled at hearing the reply.

  Gullin. It had to be her. I doubt if anybody in these parts casually wears gold armor, thought the alarmed mage. Then the memory of the draken saying she’d be back surfaced. If it’s a re-match, then it’s the worst time for one.

  ***

  It was Gullin. Even in the darkness, something about her glowed, revealing her features and displaying the best features of her unique armor.

  Tyler was beyond being surprised at seeing the young draken. But it was a feeling made hugely better by the first words of the young draken to the mage. Gullin wasn’t here for a fight. Kobu was his usual stoic self. Still, given his long relationship with the exile, the mage could feel the unease from the warrior. The incredible battle between the draken and Asag’s beast form had not been forgotten.

  I guess that daemon felt something, though he wasn’t sure what it was. No wonder he kept his distance and had the warhammer at the ready, thought the irritated mage. But that son of a bitch could have told me something. Even Thyma knew something. Ah, these crazy magical fuckers!

  The mage could now sense the aura of Gullin. But over it was a potent disguising spell, one which not only changed in a subtly manipulative form the perception of onlookers but also wholly suppressed any magical emanation from her. The mage suspected Grastein’s hand, a deduction which raised worrying questions about the draken’s sudden presence.

  After the usual introductions and Tyler’s personal guarantee, Gullin now followed them back up the mountain, finally halting in the clearing where the guard commander’s quarters were located. Floki and a contingent of dvergar waited, arms at the ready, though not in a directly threatening manner.

  The mage then requested the use of the stone dwelling. Tyler wanted to talk to Gullin before they reach the companions. He wanted to know more. Despite what the golden dragon had said, he was wary about the situation. The destruction the pair of magical beings had wrought on Fossegrim was also still fresh in his mind.

  ***

  “With all due respect, what brings you to these parts, Gullin? We did run into your elder. Though I don’t understand his obsession with names. I guess he’d call himself Grastein now, or at least for a while. But please don’t get me wrong, I am glad to see you. Your sacrifice in defense of my wife is a matter of a personal debt, and I would also like to consider you a friend,” said Tyler calmly.

  The ancient being smiled and laid a golden armored gauntlet on the mage’s shoulder.

  “I am your friend, Archmage. Even if your magical knowledge is atrociously bad. For entities such as I, magical knowledge is a fundamental yardstick of worth. But there’s something ineffably powerful about you, so you shouldn’t worry about that,” replied the beautiful entity. Tyler didn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented, but decided that for a draken, what Gullin just said was high praise.

  Gullin was, without a doubt, gorgeous. But her beauty carried more than a mere tinge of merciless steel. Her eyes, though not yet jaded by the long years, bore the look of wisdom strong enough to put a lot of high-level mages in their places. Nonetheless, it also indicated a mercurial temperament, its ebb and flow as unpredictable as t
he shift in the golden iris in her eyes, from human to serpentine—and back.

  “As for my honored elder, he always seeks a new name before going on a long sleep. But I am impressed. You were able to convince him to play in the fire jotunn’s backyard,” laughed the dragon again.

  Grinning, the mage replied he was glad Grastein accommodated his request. It was not exactly what he wanted, but at least the flow of reinforcements to Sutr’s main army had been interrupted.

  “That’s a rare occurrence, Archmage. For him to be the Scourge again isn’t a small matter. But no matter, I also came because of his bidding,” said Gullin.

  “Not the bearer of bad news, I hope,” Tyler said in a half-joking tone. The mage thought, what could be worse? He already had a flood of jotnar in front, not to mention a probably hostile dark entity waiting for them when they should try to venture into the Greek underworld of underworlds. Leaving the dwarves to face the onslaught alone while he went in search of the dimensional crack leading to Tartarus never entered his mind.

  “There’s civil war in Skaney now, for one. The High King apparently thought it the best time to subjugate independent-minded but now weakened jarls. I thought you’d be interested in that bit of news,” replied Gullin. “But that’s not the reason I am here.”

  “And that would be?” asked the shocked mage. Tyler didn’t expect the civil conflict the jarl of Hedmark predicted would break out so soon. And he had come to look upon the jarl as a worthy friend.

  Another friend who’s going to be in dire straits soon, thought the mage.

  “A clan of debased fire draken has thrown its lot in with the fire jotunn. While it is not the Rising our Gray House and that of the Red House of Long were preparing for, such a development is not to be encouraged,” somberly explained Gullin.

  “Debased?” asked the mystified mage.

  “Devolved, in human terms.”

  ***

  “You mean they’re just beasts now?” inquired Tyler doubtfully. Somehow, he found it difficult to reconcile the contrasting images in his mind. Tyler had to admit the mythical picture of dragons he’d grown up with back on Earth wasn’t an easy one to put aside.

  “Slightly above animals, armed with a degree of intelligence, but now governed by their baser natures. The Houses try to eliminate any we come across,” explained Gullin indifferently.

  “You’re going to kill them because of that?” asked Tyler, voice now a bit louder. It sounded to him like genocide. By the same race.

  “Sadly, it’s something we all agreed to do a long time ago. We are the first-born, closer to the primal energy of the First World than any other being. As we have tried to protect the First World, we also do the same for this world. There’s nowhere else to go. A different kind of magic might kill us. And dragons, of whatever kind, are a perilous race, even in a lower form. This alliance with the lord of the fire jotnar is but an example and a dangerous precedent,” patiently explained Gullin.

  “Still…” The protest started to leave Tyler’s lips.

  “Archmage. This is a matter for our kind. The conflict within our race has been there ever since a dragon lost its sense of the natural duty and obligation which comes with our gifts,” continued the golden draken. “And the race has suffered. Among the keltoi, for instance, perception of our kind has been lowered to that of a mere peist, an animal, or worse, as a pest or piast. One or two solitary ancient ones of that lost House do remain, but we haven’t heard from them for millennia.”

  “And the Rising?” asked the mage.

  Gullin lowered her head and slowly admitted she might have overstepped her bounds by mentioning it. A prophecy, as old as time, of the rise of a mighty clan among the lower dragons, one which would unite all other tribes against the ancient houses. But the augury was silent as to the eventual outcome.

  So, the rogue clans remained in hiding, gathering their strength, while the few remaining but much more powerful dragons belonging to the original draconic lineage hunted them down. Unfortunately, the deviant lines, with their animal traits predominant, breed faster than the ancient ones. For those of Gullin’s kind, it was a race against time and numbers.

  “You’re here to face them in battle? I would have expected more of your House if a rogue clan of such mighty beasts is involved,” noted the mage.

  “We are few, and Grastein cannot yet openly involve himself, nor can members of his House. The time is not yet ripe for our emergence. One or two more of my kin might come to lend their strength, but we are forbidden to show our true form lest matters prematurely escalate,” Gullin told the mage.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Gullin. You’ll be facing a clan. That’s a lot of fire draken. You’re forbidden to show your true form. That’s fighting with an arm and a leg tied up. Even with our help, you and whoever comes from your House is toast,” summarized Tyler with trepidation.

  And the entire company too if things go south, came the unappetizing thought. But there was no need to state the obvious.

  “I know. Though I intend to go with you to your destination. I do have unfinished business there, and thankfully, outside of this reality, such a restriction does not apply,” said Gullin.

  “I will be happy to have with you with us, Gullin, but my authority would be paramount, just so you know,” the mage said, mindful that any issue on who was giving orders would come back to bite them in the ass if not settled at the outset.

  “That is a given, Archmage. It’s your company and your hunt. Leave me one of them, preferably that serpentine fellow,” grinned Gullin.

  “He’s yours,” replied the mage also with a smile. “I’ll manage Asag and the Oracle.”

  Gullin replied she didn’t have any issue with the Oracle. As for Asag, her grudge could wait. That was to say if the daemon would still be alive by the end of the quest. At those words, Kobu suddenly tersely commented he had a suspicion the daemon would still be around after everything was over.

  “Good.” That was all Gullin said.

  ***

  When the group reached the top of the mountain, the mage found the companions arrayed in front of the command tent. Asag was there, though Tyler felt disappointment through their bond. The daemon must have sensed Gullin’s aura wasn’t murderously hostile. But when Tyler explained Gullin’s role, the daemon surprisingly had another of his crazy grins, this time punctuated by a bow in the draken’s direction.

  Then the mage brought up her news of war in Skaney, which in turn resulted in a lot of curses and expletives directed at the High King. The jarl of Hedmark clearly also found favor among members of the company and the two dwarven princes, except for the daemon and the Oracle who weren’t involved in the Battle of Hedmark.

  “That worm of a King!” exclaimed Otr. “If not for what’s facing us, I’d lead a group of volunteers to his aid.”

  “We, Otr, the word is we,” objected Dvalin.

  “Alright, we’d lead a massive army of volunteers to his aid,” corrected Otr.

  “Wouldn’t your father object? It might be considered interference in human affairs,” commented Tyler.

  “Volunteers. If we lose, then we’re outcasts. If we win, then we’re heroes among the two races,” chortled Otr, a reaction that elicited a loud laugh from the other dwarven prince. Then the pair continued their laughing fit, holding on to each other.

  Members of the company looked at each other, and Tyndur slowly shook his head. The daemon moved close to the mage. But the Oracle stood where she was, a hand covering her mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Asag.

  “I don’t know,” whispered the mage. “Ask Tyndur. Maybe he understood what the joke was all about.”

  “I don’t think he thinks it’s a joke. I could see him shaking his head,” said the daemon.

  Tyler waited until the duo had finished laughing. Both had tears in their eyes, and the mage thought of what he was going to say next. Somehow, telling everybody a group of fire dragons was coming their w
ay would be a huge bummer after the hilarity.

  ***

  Tyler was on his warm bed. The weather on the mountaintop at night was freezing cold though the dwarves shrugged it off like it was but a slight inconvenience. Warriors’ quarters were dug into the side of the peak, on the opposite side of the mountain.

  As they walked toward the rest area in the darkness of the night, the mage noticed the dim outlines of doors and numerous small windows cut into the rocky face. The vast warren of the dwarven quarters must have been in existence for a long time.

  The mage saw it in the smoothened surfaces of the stone beds, tables, and chairs. Even the lit sconces betrayed their age. If the ones used now were magical, the blackened objects showed that there must have been a time when non-magical flames had been used.

  The news about the new addition to Sutr’s forces had not gone down well. The two dwarven princes stood still for several seconds. Then Dvalin let loose a series of loud guttural phrases. Tyler didn’t understand it and could only guess where one sentence ended and another started. But the times when the svartálfar prince came up for air confused the mage’s comprehension of the parts of the long tirade. A few seconds after Dvalin started, the other Prince began his own litany of curses, though not as loud as the other. But it was punctuated by savage blows against the ground.

  The party watched in amazement at the display of sheer, mindless anger and frustration. The daemon did have the decency to minimize his laughter into twittering behind the mage’s back. Though Asag’s sniggering somehow sounded more irritating to Tyler. Then the mage saw Thyma subtly move her hands. The furious duo calmed down.