The Accidental Archmage - Book Five

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “I apologize I asked, Kobu. There are matters not meant to be shared,” said Tyler.

  “No need to apologize, sire. You are my liege lord, after all. It feels good to be able to talk, even indirectly, about the past, the burden on one’s mind, once in a while.”

  “A report from Ivar the scout, Lord High Mage,” a man’s voice called out from behind the pair.

  Tyler turned. The jarl looked at him, surprised as he was. The mage couldn’t understand why Ivar wanted to report to him.

  Isn’t he the jarl’s scout? Should he report to the jarl first?

  The mage approached the waiting forest ranger. But Kobu walked in front of him, slightly to his left.

  “Yes, Ivar?” Tyler asked as he stopped a few feet from the scout. Not that the platform was spacious, to begin with.

  “My Lord High Mage. One of my men just reported back. He was carrying an artifact which he found on the field of last night’s battle. It’s a knife that clearly looks ancient, with ornate runes and symbols. It feels hot to the touch. Obviously magical. With your permission?” asked the scout.

  The mage nodded. It was an interesting magical find and had aroused his curiosity. Aside from rings and rune plates, other artifacts had been few and far between.

  The scout quickly rifled through the leather bag slung at his side and brought out an object wrapped in thick sackcloth. He held it up in his left hand and gingerly unwrapped it. It was a beautifully-crafted long knife, as described by Ivar. The blade was slightly curved, though strangely, it had a greenish tinge to the metal. Tyler could sense the odd energy radiated by the weapon. The aura was similar to what he perceived back in the Barrens. It was obviously a magical item as Ivar said and the mage doubted any civilization now on Adar could have made such a weapon.

  Must be an object left behind by the mysterious people living previously in that cursed land. Dug up by the undead, no doubt.

  As he examined the weapon, refusing to touch it as it lay in the proffered hand of Ivar, things abruptly exploded into action. Ivar grabbed the knife with unbelievable speed, jumped at the mage, and viciously stabbed. Kobu also reacted swiftly and was able to knock the scout aside but not before the blade of the knife got into an inch of Tyler’s body.

  Incredibly, the mysterious weapon was able to penetrate the repulsing field and the first personal energy barrier. Only the final shield, the one projected by the mage’s staff, stopped the deadly edge from continuing its fatal journey—and only because Kobu disrupted Ivar’s momentum. Tyler didn’t know whether the knife would have pierced right through the dragon armor, but that was something he didn’t want to discover.

  As Ivar was caught off-balance, three arrows struck him in quick succession, two through his ankle muscles, pinning him to the floor, and another through his hand, making him drop the knife. Tyndur materialized in front of the mage, battleaxe in hand, preventing any further attempts. Kobu swiftly moved forward and grabbed Ivar by the back of his neck. The scout muttered an incantation and the knife immediately jumped to his left hand. Ivar quickly stabbed himself, the curved blade entering his head under the jaw. It was all over before the jarl’s guards could even shout a warning.

  The companions all looked at each other, shock finally registering in their minds. Everything was done instinctively and without a moment’s thought or hesitation. Tyler looked at Ivar’s corpse. The strange knife had inexplicably slid out of the fatal wound and was now lying on the floor, blade as pristine as ever.

  “Tyndur, get that accursed knife back in its covering and give it to me. Don’t touch it with your fingers,” the mage instructed.

  A fucking assassination attempt? And with such a powerful tool too!

  By instinct, the mage’s eyes looked toward the primary suspect for the attempt on his life. Though it was still dark, his eyesight could now see countless glowing green dots in the far distance. An ocean of them. The enemy had arrived.

  “They’re here,” said Tyler.

  The jarl walked to him, still surrounded by his guards. The mage found himself inside the protective circle of Jarl Geir. It was good security, but inordinately stifling, not only physically but also on the mind. It reduced one’s awareness of their surroundings.

  “I apologize, High Mage. I never expected Ivar could be an instrument of the dark power that’s coming,” said the jarl simply.

  “There’s no need, jarl. I should have expected the leader of the coming horde, being wise in matters of warfare–though I hoped not to the same degree as when he was still alive–would employ mortal means and strategies. Eliminating a key player at the start of the game would be your brother’s play, yes?”

  “It sounds like him. Even the pausing of the advance party. He must have expected an excellent return from the drakes. Since that failed, he would be relying on a sudden rush against the walls and gate. It’s easy and quick enough to fashion battering rams from the trees around here.”

  “Little things should also have warned me. I remember Ivar calling me High Mage even though I’d just arrived and he wasn’t here long enough either. I suggest you send a few men to check around where he stayed and where he went. Hopefully, the assassination attempt was the only surprise he had in store for us,” said Tyler. “Now we wait.”

  “True. Now we wait,” repeated the jarl as he extended his right arm for the common Norse symbol of fellowship. Tyler gripped the forearm of the jarl and smiled.

  “Fair winds and following seas,” the mage uttered. The jarl laughed.

  “An apt blessing for one of Skaney. And here’s mine: may the Kraken never disturb thy seas.”

  The mage wanly smiled.

  Here’s to hoping it’s but a myth here and that I don’t need to travel to Banna by boat.

  ***

  The mage scrutinized the distant army. It was like watching a multitude of green dots flowing down a channel of water. But he noticed something abnormal about their progress – the steady stream of green points broke into numerous clumps at the end of the torrent.

  The obstacle course from last night, remembered the mage. Well, at least, it would break up their mass.

  He didn’t update the jarl yet on the seemingly innumerable enemies coming toward them. Though for now, he was thankful for the night. The sight of the ocean of undead would have broken an ordinary warrior’s spirit.

  A miscalculation on the leader’s part, he decided. He failed to grasp the vital psychological effect of the size of his army. That’s the typical warrior for you – attack on the brains.

  The leading elements of the undead army now appeared to be bogged down in the maze of trenches and mounds. The mage could see the confusion and breakup of formations as more and more attackers encountered the field or the crowded rear of those who went before them. Despite the dire situation, Tyler couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. It looked like a production line gone wrong. After several minutes, the number of dots delayed by the broken ground had swelled massively, with more on the way to the field. Then from the back of the incoming mass, a vast number of green pinpricks suddenly rose to the air. The distant sky was full of them. It was as if the stars themselves had come down from the night sky, changed their color into the detestable greenish hue, and arrayed their numbers on the horizon. The snicker died in the mage’s throat.

  I knew it! he thought despairingly. He glanced over to Kobu and the jarl.

  “A moment please,” he asked. “Tyndur and Habrok too.”

  The two came closer, the escort of the jarl keeping a respectful distance from them.

  When they reached him, he broke the bad news in a brief whisper.

  “How many?” asked the jarl. Tyler pointedly stared at the stars in the sky as his answer.

  The jarl just smiled. “There always comes a time for a man to die anyway. Why not tonight?”

  “Damned. Tonight is not a good time to die,” protested Tyndur in hushed tones.

  “Why not?” asked Habrok.

  “That
’s the flying part. How are we going to deal with the walking ones if we’re dead?” came the answer. That response even got the mage struggling to understand what exactly Tyndur wanted to say.

  Kobu just smiled and said nothing.

  “You’ll come up with something, sire,” confidently declared Habrok. “We already fought and defeated two Aztecah armies with undead in their ranks, not to mention bearded Aztecah gods in their very own sanctums. I am not even including the disaster you inflicted on Ymir back in Scarburg, and kicking Ares’s and his minions’ arrogant behinds.”

  “Oh, you forgot the battles in the Void Lands,” added the einherjar in a low voice.

  The jarl kept quiet the entire time, but the shocked disbelief on his face was evident.

  “This is a new battle. Let me think,” was all the mage could say. The rest went back to their positions.

  Unfortunately, Tyler could clearly see the multitude of flying attackers now moving toward the fortress.

  I can’t think of anything. Any solution I come up with involves the use of Elder energy, and I need whatever we have for unraveling the spell. I can delay, or even devastate parts of what’s flying toward us, but there are too many, and only one of me. Damn! Where are Windstorm and his kin when you need them!

  The more he thought about it, the closer the flying specks became, and the higher his desperation mounted.

  Can’t those Ismenian draken spare even ten minutes? What’s the use of being their lord when you can’t count on them! thought the mage furiously. He could feel his blood rise in response to his frustration. Fuck this. I use the Elder energy we collected and then we can’t unravel the spell.

  He quickly double-checked with his guides. The answer was the same. They needed all that was produced, considering the unknown quality of the energy. A quantity was required to break through the dimensional veneer and the spell which held the main conjuration together, and then the rest to collapse the matrix of the ancient animating magical pattern. X added they needed to wait until the highest possible concentration of energy was before them to ensure the maximum probability of success. That meant the leader of the advancing army would have to be within hailing distance of the walls.

  Fuck me. I’m gonna get owned. The vulgar and slang responses were all he could think of.

  The assailants were as fast as those involved in the probing attack. In ten minutes, details of their sizes and formations were already apparent to Tyler.

  And organized formations? Meaning they’ll be conducting an organized attack on the defenses? When it rains, it really pours!

  Suddenly, the air in front of the mage curiously shimmered, slowly resolving into the form of a giant wyrm floating in the air.

  It was Palirroia, the Ismenian drakon. Somehow, the being had sprouted massive and magnificent wings. Behind him were several other draken of his race, among them one he recognized – Nýchta, the night.

  ***

  “You called, my lord?” asked the drakon in front of him, the voice low and deep enough to go echoing through one’s bones, leaving a trail of coldness wherever the rumbling susurrations reverberated. “We can spare ten minutes.”

  Tyler felt as if a tub full of cold relief had been poured over him. He stood for a while, looking at the wyrm. The mage could swear the being was amused.

  “You did hear me,” was all he could say.

  “Of course, my lord. The release of your peculiar energy was felt by Windstorm across the ether. Desperation marked it well.” The reply was made mentally. “What do you want us to do?”

  “There’s a deluge of undead converging on this fortress. I can’t manage them all, especially the flying ones. There’s just too many,” replied the mage.

  “A game of all we can dispose of in ten minutes? That’s quite the challenge.”

  “The flying ones first, please.”

  “As you wish. They’re not a problem for us. There might be some strange energy in the air, animating them, but we are prepared for and faced worse things. And there’s nothing like purifying fire combined with lightning to light the darkness,” said the draken with some amusement. The group vanished.

  The entire platform was quiet. The defenders couldn’t see what’s happening, but Tyler could. Broad swathes of green dots were winking out, including many on the ground. But those below the flyers were being replaced as quickly as they disappeared.

  Has it been ten minutes? That’s a lot of undead off the field. At least the flying ghouls have been dealt with, more or less. That group could have wiped clean the ramparts, us included, all by themselves. With or without my magic.

  He examined the skies. A few flying dots remained, but the mage thought it was manageable. But the number of enemies on the ground was rapidly increasing again. Palirroia suddenly reappeared before the mage and transformed into a young man with blond hair and beard, wearing ordinary scale armor sans helm. He nimbly stepped into the platform, and the others involuntarily stepped back, crowding around the mangonel, except for members of the party. Tyler could hear the hiss of the swords of the jarl’s hird as weapons were unsheathed. He bowed before the mage.

  “A refreshing exercise, my lord, but it is now time for us to return to our vigilance,” the being stood up.

  “Out of curiosity, how often do those entities on the other side attack?” asked the mage.

  “A continuous and never-ending watch, my lord. Almost every fifteen minutes. Only we don’t know if it’s a major threat or a mere testing skirmish every time they show up,” replied the wyrm. “My time with Ares was a trying one for my race. There are but a few of us, and my absence was sorely felt.”

  Then he glanced to the side and saw Habrok.

  “Hail, ranger! Good to see you alive and at the service of our master. But where’s the warrior?” asked Palirroia.

  “Fallen, great drake. He’s in Valhalla now,” said Habrok.

  “Ah. Nothing like a good death, fighting for what one believes. I pray when my time comes, I would be as fortunate as he was. Fare thee well. Your battle is upon you and the numbers of your opponents, though lessened, are still great.”

  “Fare thee well, Palirroia. Our gratitude for the invaluable help,” said the ranger.

  The wyrm in a man’s shape turned to Tyler and gave a final bow, before disappearing with his kind.

  The jarl walked forward.

  “You are full of unimaginable surprises, High Mage. You do deserve your real title. Never in my imagination could I conceive of the idea that a wyrm would bow to a mortal. Even now, my mind refuses to accept what my eyes saw.”

  “Even I could scarcely believe it, jarl. That race has weightier problems on its hands. Their assistance was a welcome, and crucial, one, but now the siege begins,” said the mage. “From his words, there are still a lot of them out there. But at least the flying monsters have been reduced to a mere nuisance. That kind worried me. In their numbers, and in the darkness of the night, they would have been enough to leave this fortress empty of men and dwarves in less than an hour.”

  He gave the jarl a slight motion of his head and moved toward the end of the parapet. The jarl soon stood beside him, the guards having been signaled by the ruler to stay where they were.

  “I have to admit the enemy’s numbers are too great to be defeated, jarl. Even with our assistance. We’re all going to perish before morning comes, unless I can nullify the spell animating them. I believe you ought to know the reality of the situation. Good thing the attack is at night, otherwise, even the bravest hearts would fail at the sight of the vast numbers facing us. We do have a slim chance, a gamble that involves attempting to unravel the animating spell. That’s the reason for my sleepless night, but even then, what I was able to come up with might not work. Worse, it required that the high concentration of the bizarre energy be close at hand, meaning that the corpse of your brother would have to be here, before the walls. Until that happens, we just have to weather whatever they throw at us,” whispered Tyler
.

  “I understand, First Mage. But whether we live or die, I am glad you ventured here, of all places, to fight at our side. Such an act by you and your companions will never be forgotten,” replied the jarl.

  “Well, as we have both mentioned before, let’s make sure some people will be left to remember,” Tyler smiled.

  The mage looked at the distant field again. Last night’s battle area was already overrun by green dots, and the flood of bright spots was coming closer, though they hadn’t reached mangonel or catapult range yet. That kill zone was also where Birki laid out his latest work. Tyler never thought watching glowing flecks would be such a chilling experience.

  “Sire.” It was Tyndur.

  “Yes?” The mage looked back.

  “I searched the body of that rat. Nothing strange, except for this rune plate. I believe it’s the bastard’s means of communicating with the leader of the revenants,” said the warrior.

  “Let me see that,” said Tyler. The germ of an idea was forming in his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Insults Matter

  Loki spake:

  60. “That thou hast fared | on the East-road forth

  To men shouldst thou say no more;

  In the thumb of a glove | didst thou hide, thou great one,

  And there forgot thou wast Thor.”

  Thor spake:

  61. “Unmanly one, cease, | or the mighty hammer,

  Mjollnir, shall close thy mouth;

  My right hand shall smite thee | with Hrungnir’s slayer,

  Till all thy bones are broken.”

  Tyler scrutinized the rune plate, and then turned to his guides.

  “What do you think? Activated by energy?” he asked.

  “Of course, sire. A surprisingly small amount. We believe it’s intended to reach one destination only, in both directions,” answered X.

  “Thanks.” The mage walked to the jarl. What he planned had to be explained. It involved a lot of insults and might be misinterpreted; Jarls could be touchy about honor and the reputation of their line.