The Accidental Archmage - Book Five

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “We’ll try our best, sire. It’s unfortunate these are undead; otherwise, we could have incendiary defenses too,” remarked the exile.

  “Why not?”

  “The human body takes a lot of time to burn to ashes. Even considering we’re fighting undead with some flesh on them, I doubt if fire would kill them. We’ll be facing burning skeletons instead. More dangerous enemies. Crushing their heads will kill them, as we have discovered.”

  “Damn. But I guess you’ve improvised something,” said the mage.

  “Yes, sire. Though the woods around the fort would sadly be denuded.”

  “We can replant later. But as long as I can unravel the animating spell, our troubles would be over in an instant,” commented Tyler.

  “If anybody could do it, sire, it would be you. Deities are notoriously short-sighted, they couldn’t think themselves out of a simple maze,” said Kobu with a chuckle.

  I think my irreverence is contagious, observed Tyler.

  A knock on the door caught their attention. It was again Aage, with Tyndur and Habrok in tow. It was time for the dwarven meeting. As they walked along the hallways, the mage realized that the size of the jarl’s keep, seen from the outside, was indeed deceptively small. Given the length of the corridors they were walking through, it was a sizable structure. A final turn led them into an open courtyard filled with dwarven warriors, neatly divided into two groups facing each other. A path was between the two assemblies, leading directly to a double door.

  “It appears each brought their entire complement, less the injured, of course,” murmured Tyndur.

  Habrok grinned widely at the comment. It looked like the ranger had something to add but wisely refrained from speaking out loud.

  Then Tyndur whispered to the mage, “I am going to be more famous than usual.”

  “Huh? How come?”

  “I went to the inn the jarl mentioned. There were a lot of bards there. Crawling with them, in fact. Talked to some. Hell, all of those within earshot. They’re now coming up with individual versions of the story of how Tyndur the Grim crossed the Barrens. Not our journey, but my first trip. Slipped a few gold to those who sounded more promising and my road to immortality in song was assured!”

  “What if they don’t deliver?” asked Tyler. “Many do that you know, they’ll take your gold and run.”

  “No chance of that, sire. I made it very clear I’ll hunt each and every one down to Hel, if need be. My flaming battleaxe was the final stamp on any wavering brain.”

  The mage laughed, to the surprise of those around them.

  ***

  As the group entered the door, Tyler saw the jarl, his aged adviser, and the two dwarven leaders. The occupants of the room stood up as they entered.

  “Please sit down. Take whatever seat you want. Except you, High Mage. Come sit by my side. This is a war council. No need for formalities,” said the jarl.

  “These are Dvalin and Otr. Princes of their respective Houses,” continued the jarl. Dvalin was the one with gleaming armor, while Otr was the other, paler one. “Aage, kindly introduce everyone.”

  The mage learned the adviser’s name was Anarr, a renowned warrior and traveler in his glory days. He gave Tyler a humorous smile as they were introduced.

  Probably thinking about the possibility of another dwarven spectacle, thought the mage as he grinned back.

  “Tyndur, kindly change places with Kobu. I need your words during this meeting.” The exile had taken his seat beside the mage.

  “Sorry, Kobu. Tyndur’s knowledge would be invaluable in this situation,” he whispered.

  “I understand, sire,” answered Kobu in an amused tone.

  “We are here because of the delegations from our dwarven friends who’re beset by the same troubles but worried about the undead prevailing in the coming battle. They have no illusions about the hatred of our enemies for the living. If we fall, they know they’ll be next. So, they have come to offer what aid they can in our time of need. For that, Hedmark extends its gratitude to your peoples and will forever remember. Help given in a time of need is doubly appreciated,” said the jarl, slightly bowing in the direction of the two leaders.

  “If we do survive the coming days, let it be known that Hedmark is open to trading and other arrangements with your kingdoms, with separate posts, of course. Let us avoid unfortunate misunderstandings arising from custom and different outlooks,” continued the jarl diplomatically.

  Hey, this guy might be young, but he knows his politics! With trade from both dwarven races, Hedmark would be rich and powerful indeed. And I doubt if business would be the only relationship the jarl would have with them. The High King won’t be happy, observed Tyler.

  “We are most fortunate that we have a High Mage with us. It is with great respect that I turn over the conduct of meeting to him,” finally added the jarl.

  Huh? What happened?

  Tyndur leaned over and whispered.

  “It’s expected, sire. You’re the highest-ranking person here. Custom demands you handle the proceedings. But there’s a slight complication we have to resolve,” advised the einherjar in the lowest voice he could manage.

  “And that is?”

  “Which dwarven group gets to talk first. They’re very touchy about those matters. Matter of pride, you see.”

  Duckshit.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bony Regards

  Heimdall spake:

  47. “Drunk art thou, Loki, | and mad are thy deeds,

  Why, Loki, leavst thou this not?

  For drink beyond measure | will lead all men

  No thought of their tongues to take.”

  Loki spake:

  48. “Be silent, Heimdall! | in days long since

  Was an evil fate for thee fixed;

  With back held stiff | must thou ever stand,

  As warder of heaven to watch.”

  “I am so screwed,” Tyler told Tyndur.

  “Like a goat caught between a hungry draken and a mad ogre,” replied the einherjar. “But there’s a solution. Though you might not like it. Leads to more bad blood.”

  The mage was about to ask when the sound of furious knocking startled them all. The old adviser quickly went to the door and opened it. A panting warrior stood there, arm braced against the entrance. It was apparent the man ran all the way. Sprinted from the gate, guessed Tyler.

  “Begging your pardon, my jarl, but something’s happening at the North Gate. A scout has just come in with word that his fellows are guiding two large groups of dwarves into Hedmark. But they’re being pursued by a horde of undead. Unfortunately, they couldn’t move fast, the dwarves don’t want to leave their heavy weapons behind,” reported the man.

  The jarl looked at the two dwarven leaders, caught by surprise by the development. Worry was etched on their faces.

  “Those are the reinforcements we were supposed to send to the fortress. I intended to announce it during this meeting, but it seems circumstances have caught up with us,” said Dvalin. “That’s 2,000 dwarven warriors with some siege experts.”

  “2,000? We brought 4,000 of our warriors and three ballistae, the Imperii kind!” bragged Otr.

  “Ah, but we brought ten of those heavy weapons!” replied the other.

  Oh my God. Their men are fighting for their lives, and it’s still a pissing contest in here, thought the aghast mage. And there’s no way the passage of such large contingents would pass unnoticed.

  “How many are pursuing them?” asked the jarl.

  “It’s hard to tell, sire. The darkness makes it difficult. That’s one reason our scouts remained with them. They had to be guided through our defenses,” said the warrior.

  The jarl looked at Tyler.

  “Suggestions?”

  “Mages to the battlements. They can provide some illumination over the attackers when and if they come within range of the walls. We should know what we’re facing. But I believe a sortie is needed,” replied the m
age.

  “I feared you would suggest that one. It’s tough fighting in the dark unless they’re in the vicinity of the defenses. Torches have already been prepared in our killing areas. But let’s go to the gate first and assess the situation firsthand,” answered the jarl who then asked the messenger.

  “Alarms?”

  “Already raised, jarl. Our men are already rushing to their positions,” answered the messenger.

  The group went out of the room into the open courtyard to be greeted by the loud ringing sound of iron clappers. He guessed the place was magically warded to prevent noise from coming in and conversations from being heard. He doubted if the technology of perfect soundproofing had been developed in Adar.

  Warriors from the shadows stepped forward as the jarl strode through his keep – his hird, or personal retainers. A column was quickly created with the hird leading everybody. Tall and well-armed warriors surrounded the ruler. Following the jarl were Tyler and his companions. The dwarves then brought up the end of the queue, though in two separate files, each led by the own chieftains. Around them, Tyler could see warriors bringing their gear and running toward the walls, though some had already put on their armor and helms. He glanced at Tyndur and motioned for the man to join him.

  “What was the solution you mentioned?” the mage whispered.

  “Normally, each group chooses a champion, and they fight for the privilege of being the first to present whatever they wanted to say,” replied the einherjar in a low voice.

  “To the death?” said the startled mage.

  “Near death. Each champion fights with a maul made of hardwood. The weapons won’t kill outright, but there’s a lot of broken bones by the time the duel is over. Of course, feuds lasting centuries begin that way.”

  “Can’t they just toss a coin?” said Tyler, still not believing what he heard.

  “For dwarves, important occasions require gold. And it would take Ragnarok before you could get a dwarf to volunteer a gold piece for that toss.”

  ***

  When the column reached the North Gate, the jarl, Tyler’s party, the two dwarven leaders, and members of the hird went up the tall gate bastion. On either side were similar though lower battlements. The mage saw that mangonels were mounted on top of each of the three massive stone columns.

  As he walked up the stairs, the small windows also afforded him a view of the forward walls. It appeared he was mistaken as to the number of catapults. What he saw when he arrived were the ones being assembled on the ground below. Now the mage could see recessed areas along the wall, which also had mangonels.

  Ingenious, he noted. Preventing attackers from seeing the heavy weapons as they assault the walls.

  When they reached the open platform on top of the tower, they couldn’t see anything beyond whatever the faint moonlight graced with its beams. Even then, the illumination seemed curiously dimmed. Tyler’s enhanced eyesight was of no help beyond what he could see as the first line of defenses. But from time to time, the group could witness flashes in the far distance. The mage estimated it at five to six miles away.

  Tyler released a spell to examine what the darkness kept hidden. He immediately got the impression of a chaotic battle scene – a large ring of warriors was at the periphery of his perception, surrounded by a sea of enemies. Numerous isolated groups were moving towards the fortress, some being pursued. But he couldn’t say if the entire battlescape was that of an organized withdrawal or a panic-stricken mob being routed.

  “Is the scout here with us?” asked Tyler of the jarl. The torches on the parapets were understandably unlit, leaving the area dark. Otherwise, it would provide an enemy with perfect silhouettes.

  “No, he’s downstairs.”

  “Could I talk to him? I want to ask him a few questions,” said the mage, and the jarl immediately gave instructions to one of his guards.

  Tyler turned to the two dwarves.

  “You sent reinforcements to Hedmark even without knowing what the jarl would say?” he asked the two with a smile, hoping they’d see it.

  “You’re smiling, High Mage. That’s an encouraging accompaniment to your question,” said Otr.

  “I forgot you could see better than humans in the dark,” replied Tyler. It was an honest answer. He did forget about the depths of mountains and deep tunnels being devoid of natural sunlight.

  “With all due respects to the jarl, we could have just given instructions to our forces to go back if the ruler of Hedmark refused. It’s like trading, High Mage. A wise trader knows when his offer couldn’t be refused,” said Dvalin.

  “Indeed,” laughed the jarl.

  A man came up the steps, accompanied by the guard.

  “Ivar the scout, my lord,” introduced the guard.

  “I apologize for any inconvenience, Ivar. But were you among those who saw the undead host, the one near Hedmark?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Two questions first; one, how many, and two, any sign of heavy siege equipment?” inquired the mage.

  “As to numbers, it is impossible to say, my lord. They covered the entire area and we couldn’t see both ends of it, and that’s from a distance. On the siege machinery, we didn’t see any.”

  “Ladders?”

  “None, my lord. But it was strange watching the dead arrayed as though they were a living army. There were plenty of other creatures – bony drakes, skeleton ogres, desiccated dokkalfr, even dead dwarves. If I didn’t know they were undead, I would have sworn they were an organized force. Even the flying creatures were included in an arranged manner.”

  “I assume they had scouts too?” remarked Tyler.

  “Yes, my lord. That’s the reason why we couldn’t get any closer. Probably also why the movements of the dwarven hosts were discovered.”

  “That’s all, Ivar. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure to serve, High Mage.”

  Huh? Word sure gets around fast.

  “Now that’s a lot of undead,” noted Tyndur.

  “I guess we better be prepared with the sortie. I’ll assume that those flashes in the distance are our men,” said the jarl. One of the guards again went downstairs.

  “The rescue force will consist of ten pentekostyes, divided into two groups. Unfortunately, the fortress only has three baturs’ worth of cavalry. We didn’t expect any use for them and sending them out at night is ill-advised,” said the jarl.

  Pentekostyes? Right. Jorund explained that to me on the road outside Maljen. Each pentekostyes will have four batur of warriors, roughly 160 men. That’s over ten percent of the trained warriors of the fortress. The jarl is risking much in this foray.

  “With your permission, jarl, our men would like to join the sortie. At least ten dwarven warriors to each pentekostyes. We have better eyesight in the dark, and their presence will reassure those being rescued,” said Dvalin. The two chieftains had apparently discussed the matter, with no bickering, when the venture was announced.

  “Good idea,” said the jarl. “Please arrange matters with Skarde. One of the guards will accompany you to him.”

  Tyler felt somebody tugging at his sleeve. It was Tyndur.

  “It’s unfair. They get to have all the fun?” complained the einherjar.

  “Let’s put it to a vote,” blurted Tyler. “Those in favor of joining the foray, raise your hands.”

  Tyndur raised both hands, with one also raising Habrok’s arm.

  “I was joking, Tyndur. Of course, we’ll help in rescuing the dwarves and the scouts. That’s more than half the force we have right now. But let’s see what the arrangements are,” laughed the mage.

  “I am glad to hear that, High Mage. I doubt if my men and advisers would allow me to join. Looks like an exciting battle. At times, I wish it were like the old days, being in the middle of the fighting. But enough of matters past, let’s see what Skarde has prepared for us.” The jarl motioned with his hand for the party to follow him down the stairs.

  Belo
w the tower, companies were already in ordered ranks, each with a group of dwarves at the lead. The two dwarven leaders left the jarl’s entourage and joined separate companies. A large bearded man in full-scale armor, with a bearskin cloak complete with a gaping head, approached them.

  “My jarl,” the man bowed.

  “My chief lieutenant, Skarde. We’ve been together since we both decided to play with the jotnar a long time ago,” presented the jarl.

  Brief introductions were made, though Tyler noticed the man’s eyes widened at the High Mage description. The warrior’s eyes then swept over their armor and weapons. The man was struck speechless by what he saw.

  The man knows weapons and armor. Few warriors ever notice what we’re wearing, much less our weapons, observed the mage.

  “My lord High Mage, I have to say that this is indeed a night to remember. I knew a High Mage had joined us. But this! Wyrm and draken scales, wrought by the finest smiths. And I believe your weapons are also of the same legendary kind!” exclaimed the warrior.

  “Hush, Skarde,” reproached the jarl. “Not too loud lest envious hands attempt unscrupulous acts, damning the thieves forever. Gifts from powerful beings, I am told. Are the men ready?”

  “Yes, my jarl.”

  “Good, Kobu here will lead the sortie with you as his second-in-command,” said the jarl.

  “I understand. We’ve met, though this is the first time I’ve been with Habrok and Tyndur. I was already told that he would also lead the defense of the fort.”

  “No problems about that, Skarde?” asked Kobu.

  “None, sire. I have seen what you have asked to be prepared. You have a lot more experience in siege warfare than I would ever hope to have,” replied Skarde.

  “Knowledge paid for in blood, Skarde. I can’t even remember how many forts I have defended or taken. Unfortunately, after a while, it becomes but a part of a warrior’s life.”

  A commander’s life is what he meant. But that many sieges? Not including battles and skirmishes? He is a warlord. And the land of Wa is not a place to visit. Constant war must be their daily diet.