“With your permission, sire. Let me handle this intrusion. I believe it’s time for these creatures to remember who I am. One leaves home for a while, then everyone forgets what you are capable of,” said the exile with a grin.
“Tell me about it,” butted in the einherjar.
“Take care,” Tyler said as he nodded. He knew he couldn’t deny Kobu’s request. The man’s sense of honor demanded he faced this trial alone.
“Shouldn’t we help?” asked the ranger. “I could stick them all full with arrows at this range even before they had time to blink.”
“No, Habrok. I believe Kobu would be greatly insulted if we lifted even a finger to aid him. It is a matter of personal honor for our friend. I do believe he’s extremely offended by the fact that his enemies sent assassins after him,” replied Tyler in a voice loud enough for the einherjar to hear. He was concerned the warrior would take the opportunity to fight the new arrivals all by himself. The silly expectant grin on the einherjar’s face made it too possible.
Kobu had already reached the edge of the tree cover and his figure could now be seen from the path. The ranger shifted positions and guarded their rear, though in a place where he could observe the road.
“It is time, exile.” The rest of the party heard the male hunter speak.
The three remaining companions, including the mage, had moved closer to the road.
“If anything happens to Kobu, you know what to do,” whispered Tyler.
“Of course, sire. Fortunately, there’s one each for us,” murmured the einherjar.
Then they heard Kobu firmly reply in a loud and clear voice, tinged with a trace of grim amusement:
“Indeed, creature.
But it is also as they say,
The direction the wind carries you matters not,
Rather the way a person lets the breeze
Carry one to whatever fate awaits.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Heavenly Sword Art of Living Longer
Njorth spake:
35. “Great was my gain, | though long was I gone,
To the gods as a hostage given;
The son did I have | whom no man hates,
And foremost of gods is found.”
Loki spake:
36. “Give heed now, Njorth, | nor boast too high,
No longer I hold it hid;
With thy sister hadst thou | so fair a son,
Thus hadst thou no worse a hope.”
“Why didn’t they ambush him instead?” muttered the puzzled Habrok. “That’s what assassins do.”
“Doing that lessens their chance of success. An ambush or any stealthy attack would drag the rest of us into the fight. Considering they have avoided that approach, I have a feeling they could gauge the ability of their targets,” replied Tyler.
“Calling him out gives them a better chance?”
“It does. They know his sense of honor and outrage will demand his sole involvement. An excellent tactic,” said the mage, still watching Kobu stride toward the hunters. “But they’re professional assassins after all.”
The waiting hunters kept their human guise. The mage was waiting for them to change, intensely curious as to their real forms.
Kobu had stopped in the middle of the road, resting the dull side of the single-bladed weapon on his right shoulder. Tyler was surprised to see the exile had brought with him what the mage believed to be a nodachi, a sword with a three-foot blade. It looked inappropriate for the swift and close combat Kobu would fight. The stalkers, though keeping their distance, had already encircled him. Kobu didn’t bow as he usually did when meeting new people or sentient beings. The mage did notice a slight smile on the exile’s relaxed face.
“My apologies for not asking your names in this… duel, but I hold that honor to be the sole province of warriors,” Kobu said calmly.
“Nor do we share our names with prey, exile. But the glory and fame of our nest will be lifted tenfold when we bring back your head,” replied one of the females.
Kobu laughed and in response, told them:
“Apples counted
A witless farmer
On winter sapling.”
“I didn’t know his prose was no better than mine,” commented Tyndur with the result of the ranger trying to stifle his snigger.
“Hush. I believe it’s starting,” warned the mage, as he saw Kobu bring the giant version of a katana into a ready position – both hands on the longsword grip, right hand positioned above the left, with the weapon raised at head height in front of him. The exile had moved his left foot forward. The combatants stood still for several seconds. Nobody spoke and a grim yet expectant silence ruled the woods.
The forms of the three assassins abruptly changed and the mage saw the female half-spider at Kobu’s back jump into the attack. Everything was a blur after that sudden movement. Tyler, with his magically-enhanced vision, saw everything. After barely two seconds, the exile was standing in the middle of the bodies of three dead spider assassins. One was vertically cut in half, another had a split cranium, while the third was sliced through at the midsection, separating the human upper part from the multiple monstrous and hairy limbs of the lower body. Their ichor was everywhere, but the exile miraculously appeared clean of the greenish slime.
“Ymirs frosteistna!” exclaimed the ranger. “What happened?”
Tyndur took some time to say something, though the mage could see that the warrior’s mouth was open in disbelief. The abilities of the einherjar evidently allowed him to see how Kobu fought. Kobu had now changed the form of his weapon to a single-bladed axe similar to that of a woodcutter. As they watched, the exile went from body to body, methodically crushing the heads.
“Not bad,” Tyndur whispered finally, exhaling as he did so.
“Sire? What happened?” again asked Habrok.
He turned to the ranger.
“When the one at the back jumped, the weapon shifted to a polearm with long, wide blades at either end. He stepped back and sideways, avoiding webbing cast by the others. But the polearm was lowered and thrust backward and upward at the first attacker. Kobu didn’t even look back; the blade struck at the head, slicing it open, then he swiftly twirled the weapon, continuing its arc, throwing it against the one in front. He vanished, appeared where the weapon transfixed the still alive assassin, smoothly sliced it sideways, cleaving the other in half. Job done, he returned to the dying survivor, cutting downward. There; you picture it now?”
Habrok nodded.
“Hellishly fast. Didn’t even see anything,” remarked the ranger.
Down Came Three Spiders
I didn’t even know he was that deadly. In our battles, I didn’t have the luxury to see Kobu in action. The other companions had duels enabling me to see how they fought. Kobu was the exception.
Tyler then felt his staff grow warm. Alarmed, he looked around, casting a scrying spell. There were no threats around them. The unexpected heat then disappeared. He looked at the weapon thoughtfully, wondering about the strange occurrence. When he looked up, the mage saw Tyndur and Habrok already starting to move toward their victorious companion. He followed after them.
“Congratulations, Kobu. That was very impressive,” he told the exile. The other companions had already praised the man on his victory. Tyndur even slapped Kobu on the back as he voiced his admiration. A rare event for the einherjar, observed Tyler.
The exile smiled.
“My enemies must think poorly of me to send such beings. I do pray that one day I can go back and correct such a misconception,” replied the exile with a meaningful expression. “I did expect pursuit, but one of a higher level than these vermin.”
“I admit I was concerned for a while. That very long sword – a nodachi? – looked ill-advised for the fight. And the weapon you used was unfamiliar to me,” said the mage.
“I am surprised that you know of such weapons from my homeland, sire. It could also be called an odachi. Both terms
refer to swords of such lengths though the term nodachi is older in usage. As to my display of the weapon, it is best to hide from your enemy the true nature of your intentions, and the exact form of the killing implement to be used. A battle already starts from the moment your enemy catches sight of you,” explained the exile.
“And that two-bladed version of the naginata?”
“Ah. A peculiar weapon born out of necessity, driven by the reality of having a magical weapon at my disposal. No single school of swordsmanship or weaponry could prepare me for its versatility. So, I was forced to develop my own – specifically for this gift.”
“I have heard of the art of kenjutsu. Even the famous two heavens as one style of Musashi. I’ve… read that story. So, what do you call your style of fighting?
“The heavenly sword art of living longer, sire,” smiled the exile wryly.
“Interesting,” noted Tyndur. “In Skaney, there are schools for military training, but only basic instruction was given. They’re usually run by the jarls. If one wants specialized training, then a warrior-to-be goes to a mentor, meaning one who has survived wielding the weapons the student wants to use.”
“No specific style or technique in melee combat?” asked Kobu.
“Well, everybody starts with glima, or wrestling, and proceeds from there. Other body movements in combat intended to overcome one’s opponent were considered tricks. That includes brutal tugging, furious kicks, even a rock thrown at close range at an opponent’s head,” added Habrok.
“Then the temples for battle magic,” volunteered the einherjar.
“A rock?” Tyler couldn’t imagine the purpose of man’s oldest weapon in a battlefield full of swords, axes, and spears.
“The shield does serve as a weapon too. A large rock hitting your enemy’s helm at an unexpected time means he’s dead,” said Tyndur. “Not that I’ve tried it. I don’t think raining down small boulders and large rocks on a dokkalfr patrol counts.”
“Though if ever the time came for Kobu to return to his homeland, I think I’ll go with him. Just to see if there’s something to be improved in the present attack with insane fury school I’m familiar with,” he continued.
***
The party continued along the road, with the mage magically checking their surroundings from time to time. His mind was bothered by the fact that the three assassins didn’t set off any alarm or sense of threat in his mind when they arrived.
Could it be because they were specifically after the exile, or the creatures had an innate trait concealing their magical nature? wondered Tyler. If it’s the latter, then there would be other beings out there capable of doing the same thing. Not good.
They took two more rest breaks before the party was in sight of the bastion. The tall structure was manned, with archers and a catapult on top. The road ran right through it. A triangular red banner with black borders, decorated with an emblazoned stylized blue raven, flew from the top of the fortification.
“Odin’s colors and symbol,” said Tyndur. “Everywhere I go in the northern lands…”
The einherjar didn’t finish his statement. The party continued to walk forward. Tyler strengthened their magical frontal shield and added another above their heads. A force of around twenty warriors came out of the opened gate, adopted a wedge formation, and marched toward them, spears pointed skyward. A mage was with them, right in the middle of the protective screen.
At least it’s not a pattern for an attack, thought Tyler. Not that I would know. They could easily swing their flanks around us. But the way the spears were carried by the warriors is encouraging. But there’s no hiding my energy shields from that mage.
Before the two groups could meet, the wedge of warriors split in half, each going to either side of the road. One warrior, with the welcome sight of a shield slung at the back, and the bastion’s mage continued toward them.
Tyler told the party to stop and wait for the approaching duo. The fully-armored warrior, face covered by a faceplate, held up an arm, palm out.
“Góðan daginn,” greeted the figure. Tyndur quickly moved forward with a nod in Tyler’s direction.
“Good day to you too, my fine figure of a warrior,” loudly replied the einherjar. “To what do we owe the honor of such a display?”
“Jarl Geir’s instructions. We were to watch for a party of four individuals coming along this road and to bring them before him immediately,” came the reply in a decidedly feminine voice.
“How do you know we are that party? We could be bandits,” challenged Tyndur.
The mage again inwardly sighed. A diplomat, Tyndur will never be.
The woman merely laughed.
“Our mage. First to make sure you’re not undead and second, that you have magical wards in place. The description was quite detailed, including that of a burly, surly warrior bearing a battleaxe.”
“Surly? I disagree. Vehemently!”
“Come, Tyndur. We are indeed expected. Lead on, warrior,” said Tyler, successfully stopping a heated argument from the warrior about how he was described.
“Of course, High Mage,” answered the woman with a deep bow. “But it will be the mage who will guide you to the jarl’s trelleborg. I command this bastion, and regretfully, my responsibilities keep me here.”
The group followed the redoubt’s commander and the battlemage, introduced to them as Aage.
“What does a battlemage mean?” Tyler asked the einherjar in a low voice.
“A newfangled concept. It’s an outlandish idea, if you ask me. Neither a warrior nor a mage,” whispered Tyndur. “Rather like a cross between a horse and a donkey.”
As they passed under the bastion, the female warrior removed her helm, and her men went back to their positions. She was strikingly beautiful with long blonde hair. Tyler caught Habrok and Tyndur openly staring at her as they walked past. Fortunately, the woman was too busy with her helm to see the stupefied reaction of the duo. Tyler noticed that the bastion was well-maintained, unlike the stone fortifications he saw in Scarburg.
Once they were some distance away, the mage leading them spoke without turning his back.
“Her name is Rona. Took on a batur’s worth of undead during one patrol. All by herself. Knocked them all back to where they came from.”
Around thirty to forty opponents. That’s hardcore, thought Tyler, and noticed that the ranger and einherjar had looked at each other when they heard Aage’s words.
Chapter Seventeen
Hedmark
Tyr spake:
37. “Of the heroes brave | is Freyr the best
Here in the home of the gods;
He harms not maids | nor the wives of men,
And the bound from their fetters he frees.”
Loki spake:
38. “Be silent, Tyr! | for between two men
Friendship thou ne’er couldst fashion;
Fain would I tell | how Fenrir once
Thy right hand rent from thee.”
Hedmark
One could smell the ancient atmosphere of Hedmark. It was not that the town was dirty, squalid, or comprised of dilapidated structures. Far from that. The environs of the fortress were clean, the narrow and straight streets paved with stone, and the reported strong smell of piss and dung, ever so present in ancient and medieval towns of Earth, was thankfully absent. But also missing were what one would call its permanent inhabitants. Most people within sight of the mage were armored and armed.
But the town seeped with vestiges of magic, long left in the very stone of its walls and the older structures. Tiny pieces of it wafted through the air at times, breaking free from the confines of Hedmark’s foundations. Mercifully, the magical tendrils were just that, unused energies from the aurae and enchanted weapons of those who had fought for the territory from days long gone. They didn’t carry memories or emotions of their owners or those who passed through the ancient town.
There must have been a lot of magical energy expended in those days
for such power to be embedded in the stones, thought Tyler as the party walked through the massive gates. Many mages were apparently involved in the war for this region.
Right after the well-defended entrance, the party found they could see the town proper. A mere fifty feet of clear area separated the wall from the structures of the settlement which itself was located in a vast, though lowered, area. As Tyler looked between the high walls and the top of the buildings, he noticed that not one of the roofs of buildings near the wall towered over it. He nudged Tyndur and pointed out that fact.
“Hedmark started as a military stronghold, though the jarl then made allowances for a civilian presence in the future. But there is an ancient rule that the tops of any building inside the trelleborg must not be seen from the outside,” answered the einherjar.
“Prevents ranging by heavy mágganon, as the Greeks call it. Basically, stone-throwing machines. A primitive heavy weapon, but still serves its purpose,” casually remarked Kobu.
“Mágganon? Oh, I take you mean what we called mangonels,” said Tyler. “I assume you have knowledge of other siege equipment?”
“Of course, sire. War characterized my homeland for so long that knowledge of such machinery had become a necessity for warriors. We incorporated weapons and tactics from other realms, hoping to gain any advantage we could get in those countless battles and sieges. My mercenary experience was also an eye-opener, especially with what the Imperii Romani had, but—as expected—they zealously guarded the secret of such weapons. But not to the extent that one with a mathematical bent couldn’t figure out the mechanics of those set upon their walls.”
“I assume that’s you?” said the mage. The group had started walking down a smooth inclined road.
“Oh, no, sire. Several of my men. Imperii Romanii cities on their frontier were constantly under threat from those coming from what they called the Terra Barbara – half of the island continent they called home. I lost a lot of my men in that job.”
The Accidental Archmage - Book Five Page 18
