The Accidental Archmage: Book Eight (Where Titans Walk)

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  The man standing before Tyler knew exactly what he was doing, why he was doing it, and the manner of exacting his pound of flesh. And the outline of it all was laid bare in a calm, conversational way. Tyler looked deep and hard into the eyes of the Romanii, and he wasn’t surprised the man didn’t flinch. Anybody who looked into Tyler’s eyes would eventually sense the mass of power waiting to be unleashed and withdraw in fear. But not the mage before him.

  “You have given me a lot to think about, Cassius. But that’s you. What does Jupiter want?” asked Tyler. Even he could sense an almost indescribable catastrophe behind Cassius’s thoughts and actions. It made him uncomfortable, and it was something he couldn’t deal with right now.

  “My aid and my eyes, Archmage. The usual actions of a concerned god. You are free to deny my offering. Although I have been told to give you any oath of service you desire subject to the small matter of telling the deity where we are at times and what we are up to,” revealed Cassius. “Not that it would prevent them from continuously watching you in the event my offer is declined.”

  Tyler held out a hand as he thought about what the man told him. It was a gesture for the Romanii to give him space and time to absorb what he just heard. But Cassius was right, the Archmage had to admit. With all that has happened, his actions would now be the subject of increased scrutiny. Dealing with surreptitious watchdogs would be tiresome and exceedingly inconvenient. Tyler had another Se-Osiris before him.

  “What would you decide?” he asked the Romanii mage finally.

  “Wake up, Archmage. It’s all a game and you’re being played,” said Cassius with a bitter smile. “But with me in the company, fewer eyes would be on you.”

  “I know. But what choice do I have about that blasted game? To begin with, I never had an option in their grand play. Well, death was a choice at the start, but that’s obviously off the table,” replied Tyler, squarely meeting the mage’s daunting stare.

  “We are all the same at the beginning. No choices, no options. Infants born to the cruel whims of fate. But we grow. We learn. And eventually, if we have the stomach for it, exact justice for wrongs suffered or do what we believe is right,” replied the Romanii.

  “You’re not the kind to turn the other cheek, are you?” commented Tyler sarcastically. “There are times when pity and mercy would certainly be called for.”

  “Turning your cheek exposes one’s throat. You would do well to remember that,” replied the Romanii softly. “But enough of such matters. There is one thing I would like to be unquestionably clear between us.”

  “And that is?” asked the Archmage. It was turning out to be an interesting, albeit uncomfortable, discussion. Cassius was a driven man, torn and shaped by his experiences.

  “I have no desire to be the Archmage. My dreams do not extend that high, and my level of tolerance for ethereal pain and headaches is quite low. Nor do I want the onerous burden of trying to save a world of humans and their creations from themselves. My patience is not that long. But I intend to be Emperor of the Imperii. That’s enough for me. The gods, or even the Archmage, have no right or authority to interfere with such a crass obsession for mortal, and hence, mundane power,” said Cassius knowingly. “But I judge my skill and abilities to be yet insufficient. I am nearly there, yet I know that what I have now is not enough. Yet such gifts would come in time.”

  ***

  Tyler studied the man. The mage seemed deadly honest in his brutally open and shockingly ambitious admission. Still, the young Archmage also knew that the Romanii mage’s observation on the Archmage’s limits was also correct. Political and military affairs of kingdoms were beyond the remit of the pantheons. But as Tyler recently learned, the restriction also applied to the Archmage, unless gods were involved. Odin had flashed the rule in Tyler’s face before the battle started.

  Nor was open intervention in such worldly affairs allowed. The Archmage’s status and power alone were already the subjects of intense interest among known and unknown deities or powerful spirits. Blatant interference in purely mortal affairs would lead to dangerous consequences. All he – as well as the pantheons – could do, as far as the politics of temporal power was concerned, was a prod here and a whisper there, all in the ears of humans or beings they assumed could make a difference.

  That damned rule is unfair and a pain in the ass, remembered Tyler.

  “But in the fortuitous instance of a capable mage deciding to impose order on this world and all in it, such an individual would have my support and loyalty if I were the emperor of both Hellas and the Imperii. A more loyal and watchful servant, such a ruler, would never have. I’ll await your decision. At least on what Jupiter wants,” said Cassius softly as he stood up and walked away, leaving the Archmage alone in the middle of a brooding silence where they once stood.

  ***

  Dangerous thoughts and ideas swirled around Tyler’s mind, each built up by premises and then dissolved by counter-arguments. It was an unhealthy reverie suddenly interrupted by the voice of the exile.

  “I’ve met his kind before. Powerful, sure of themselves. Dangerous men and women. Killed some and incapacitated many to a point they won’t be a threat to anybody. But this fellow is a rare breed. First time I’ve encountered an ambitious man who wants to be mage-emperor,” commented Kobu thoughtfully. “Do you want him dead now?”

  Despite the frank abruptness of the exile’s offer, Tyler wasn’t taken aback. Kobu being the war leader he was, cutting down a threat before it materialized into an actual one was a natural reaction. Though the young man could see that the warrior was now more open and direct with his thoughts. It was a welcome change. Tyler needed a different perspective most of the time. He knew the best decision came from a considered determination of available choices.

  “It’s just an ambition, Kobu. Not even a prophecy. Nowhere is it stated that the man’s desire would ever be granted. He does have valid points about how his gods would perceive the situation,” replied Tyler. “Just the same, it would be best to keep an eye on him. At least, he’s mortal and would be easier to read than that damnable demon or even that ghostly mage. And Zeus sent him. We couldn’t just send him back in pieces.”

  Kobu gave a quick bow and returned to his watchful vigil. The mage, on the other hand, continued to think about what Cassius said. The Romanii was right. As long as he had the requisite power, all Tyler had to do was carefully walk the tightrope between keeping the pantheons at bay and giving them cause to intervene. With that, he could, theoretically, wage his own war across Adar. With more Elder knowledge and power from the world itself, even the collective strength of the pantheons wouldn’t last against him. Considering what the deities of the First World had done to Adar, it would be easy to convince the avatar to exercise its will through a mortal vessel.

  It was a deliberation brought to a halt by Hal’s inquisitive, though tentative, voice. The pair knew his moods and way of processing information. His current thoughtful state must have stoked an appreciable level of apprehension.

  “Sire, surely you’re not taking that mad mage’s words and suggestions earnestly,” said the guide.

  “It’s an option, Hal,” Tyler replied, a reflective tone underpinning his answer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Motley Crew

  The young Archmage stared at the gleaming white shroud of Fossegrim Forest. Winter had come. But he expected the beautiful ivory cloak to arrive earlier in this part of Adar. They were in northern climes, after all. It looked peaceful. Even calming. That, despite the welcome they had experienced.

  They had arrived at the woodland’s outskirts only to be greeted by a nearby small company of brigands. It was a large enough force for highwaymen. Surprisingly, it consisted of a mixed group of humans and dokkalfr, with a few humanoid jotnar thrown in. Tyler surmised that the presence of non-humans was a consequence of the latest iteration of Ymir’s war, though the mage didn’t expect that the three races would ever be working together, e
ven as marauders.

  Misery does love company, he reflected after a while. Then the thought arose that cowardice could be part of that wretched bag called misery after observing a few relatively well-armed and armored humans among the gathered ragtag horde. Deserters.

  Tyler wanted to avoid another battle. The mage had his fill of killing for the day. But two factors militated against such a decision. One was Eira, who was furious at the presence of such ravagers near her domain. The second was that the encampment sentries spotted them a few minutes after the company arrived. The latter put paid to any idea that a battle could be avoided.

  Not that there was any chance of dialogue. For robbers, the interlopers were quite efficient and quick to react. They all came swarming out of their camp like an angry, disturbed swarm of bees several moments after the spouses finished their whispered argument. The bandits were a sizeable contingent, around two to three hundred in Tyler’s estimate.

  Not that it mattered.

  Right after Eira’s spell of wickedly sharp roots thrust up from the ground, bloodily impaling attackers, the rest of the company, except for Thyma and the two new additions, exploded into action. The trio of Habrok, Astrid, and Kobu tore into the incoming yelling mass, cutting down bandits of all racial persuasions. After all the battles they have been together, it was still an incredibly gory yet riveting sight for the Archmage.

  The one who said battles could be like cutting wheat wasn’t joking, thought the horrified but transfixed mage. It was one thing to be deep within such a savage brawl or to watch it from afar. But at the distance involved and the present point of view of the onlookers, the coordinated mayhem of an assault that left piles of dead and dying in its wake was an epic slaughter.

  The flying limbs and brutally sliced torsos, coupled with copious sprays of red in the air and on the ground, merely added to and emphasized the battle’s one-sided quality. To Tyler, it looked more like an execution than a fight. And that was with Thyma and the two mages standing by, dispassionately observing the grisly mayhem.

  At least these brigands didn’t have mages, thought Tyler. Otherwise, things would have been more… chaotically savage. No telling what those three magical killers would do if opposing mages were present. Nasty and savage, that’s for sure. But then again, banditry certainly isn’t a job option for a mage on this world. There were a lot of other less troublesome and unquestionably more lucrative opportunities.

  Then Tyler’s reflection turned to a more practical deterrent. A rogue mage schooled by masters who were recognized and accepted by the kingdoms would face a future of being hunted down, and if lucky, merely killed. Deviant practitioners of the art don’t reflect well on the reputation of the teachers and the institution itself. Or school, cult, or whatever group provided the training. A quick trip to the depths of whatever hell their magic could conjure would be a mercy for the erring mage.

  Observing the counterattacking companions, Tyler saw that the trio didn’t follow a complicated battle plan. They simply divided the onrushing mass into three linear killing lines, and then viciously plowed into the mob, each in a distinctive style. Tyler estimated it took the three companions a full minute to reach the end of their fighting areas. He could see some bandits at the rear were trying to flee once the terrible scale and insane speed of the murderous counterattack became apparent, but it was useless. Habrok’s unearthly arrows, the Valkyrie’s otherworldly speed, and Kobu’s teleportation magic made escape impossible.

  The Archmage was tempted to call back the companions to grant mercy to the escaping survivors but promptly reconsidered. Any marauder who escaped this day would be robbing, pillaging, or murdering at the next opportunity. It was a hard choice – taking the lives of fleeing beings – but he decided that he’d rather have them dead than again victimize hapless villagers and merchants. It was the lesser of brutal choices, but one which would enable him to sleep at night. At least, what innocents the band had murdered, robbed, or raped had been avenged.

  But the recent memory of the blood-soaked battlefield of Sigtuna didn’t prepare him for what lay before him. It was an event unforeseen, nor was the proximity of the gory spree welcome to his tired senses. The white and encompassing cloak of snow – now brightly colored with shades of garish crimson and a few other morbid colors – made the macabre scene stand out. To think that he had considered the fast travel afforded by Se-Osiris a timely blessing.

  ***

  He was initially surprised at the offer of the dead mage. Previously, only deities and powerful non-human entities had the power to transport the company across Adar’s length and breadth. Apparently, the apparition didn’t have any reservations about using Thaut’s power. Or the mage must have been a very naughty individual during his time.

  “Not one of my original skills, in case you’re wondering,” Se-Osiris explained with amusement when he saw the Archmage’s reaction. “But my lord Thaut granted me a smidgen of power. He must really be in a hurry as the usual lecture on the limitations on its use was fortuitously overlooked. Lucky break for us, I believe.”

  It was an explanation that drew an interested Cassius. The two mages, one dead and one living, didn’t even bother to introduce themselves to each other. Tyler assumed each one already knew of the other. Since both had inflated professional egos, it was apparent neither would deign with the usual pleasantries.

  “A spell, then. Usable by mortals?” came the brief query from the Roman.

  “Only if you’re dead and granted the power by a deity. Something about how the energy is used and channeled into the material plane. Mortal flesh appears to resist the conjuration, I’m afraid,” replied Se-Osiris somberly. But Tyler’s enhanced senses couldn’t fail to pick up a faint smug emanation.

  Shit. I hope this trip doesn’t turn out to be a pissing contest between this pair of oafs. Mages! One is but a ghost and been dead for a long time, and yet the fucking better-than-you attitude seems to be alive and well, cursed Tyler inwardly. Yet he had to admit that right now, he preferred Se-Osiris to Cassius. The upbeat personality of the entity appealed to him.

  Finally, the trio of warriors wrapped up their grisly work and came back to the rest of the company. The young mage was shocked by their bloody appearance. Each was covered with blood and gore, so much that one could hardly believe they weren’t wounded. Tyler had expected Habrok to be a bit cleaner than the two, but apparently, the ranger also waded into the melee – blood was dripping from the scabbard of his longsword.

  With a shudder, the young man closed his eyes and released a small amount of power. There was no way Tyler would allow the trio to continue the journey into Fossegrim looking like sated zombies returning from a feast. He even saw some unidentifiable soft, long, and rubbery pieces among the chunks of flesh stuck on the trio’s armor. The spell instantly cleaned up the blood-soaked companions. Also, it removed the olfactory abuse that accompanied their blood-soaked appearance.

  Amidst the words of thanks coming from the three, Tyler could only give a wan smile. It could be his overactive imagination, but the mage thought he could feel the slimy, slippery liquid and fleshy bits when the magic wove its cleansing path through the companions.

  “Welcome to Fossegrim,” he added weakly, looking at the company. Eira grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the waiting trees.

  ***

  Tyler let himself be towed by Eira. A lot of things were in his mind, a jumble of concerns and queries all begging to be answered or demanding to be considered immediately. The irritating flow of diverse ideas and notions were momentarily shelved by Eira’s thankful intervention. It was her hurry to get back to her beloved home. Still, in the process, her touch and infectious eagerness drove the bugging concerns into a corner.

  Tyler couldn’t prevent the rise of such disturbing considerations. Knowing what he did now made the mage a lot more worried about what might be happening beyond what he could imagine. As Tyler painfully discovered, life was a series of consequences, all resulting
from the actions one choose.

  A fucking loop, the disturbing conclusion arose when the young mage thought about his experiences during one of the rare moments of calm through the company’s dangerous and surreal romp through the depths of Tartarus.

  Suddenly, things around him stopped. Everything was in bizarre, silent stasis. The slow trickle of snowflakes halted in mid-air. A lot of entities to blame for the occurrence ran through his wary and alarmed mind—a reaction that brought a grim smile to his face.

  Shows you how many bastards and bitches I’ve met and pissed off in this world, he reflected sourly—each with their own and usually disparate agendas.

  “Archmage.”

  A woman’s voice sounded in his mind. He recognized it and relaxed his ready stance just as a solitary snowdrift swiftly moved upward, swirling its motes into a familiar female form.

  “Adar,” acknowledged the young mage, slightly bowing as he spoke the name.