The Accidental Archmage: Book One - Ragnarok Rising (MOBI EDITION)

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  That was Habrok.

  “How do you find being under my service so far,” asked Tyler.

  “Sire. We are still alive. Have met creatures nobody else could say they have. Been given truly princely magical arms and armor. Seen our enemies crushed and defeated. What more can we ask for?” said Habrok.

  Jorund nodded.

  “Permit me, Sire. Serving you had proven to be a legendary path. No warrior could ask for more.”

  “Let’s just make sure we are all alive at the end of the journey,” sighed Tyler.

  “I gather we go to seek out the mad hermit?”

  “Yes, Jorund. How far is the cave?” Tyler looked at Habrok.

  “Around five or six miles from the entry to the Dokkalfr Mountains. Fifteen miles from Scarburg. But we have to look for his cave.”

  Tyler gave the rest of his money to Jorund.

  “A small wagon and provisions. And whatever you think we need. Three to four days. We leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  “At once, Sire. Habrok, your turn to be on watch.”

  With that, Tyler went back to his room. Going around Scarburg was not a good idea. People are still recovering from the damage of the jotnar attack and he intended to grab as much rest as he could in that comfortable bed. Exploring the new knowledge that Hal mentioned also called for his attention.

  Lying down on his bed, he closed his eyes and focused on the expanded comprehension now available to him. He concentrated on the spells known to him and indeed found a new one. A means to focus energy to create movements in the earth. A quake spell. I doubt if Rumpr would be happy when I start quakes all over the place.

  He examined the basis and mechanics of the spell. It looked to be a derivative of earth moving spells with a significant difference. It required, like the lightning spell, a violent release of energy focused on a specific area.

  But the effects could not be determined at the time of casting. The quaking and the cracking of the ground were a given. Only, he couldn’t determine the particular effects beforehand. In that sense, it was an area of effect spell with a random factor. He wondered how the specific spell effects could be determined at the time of casting.

  But he reasoned that with his rudimentary control over his other spells, he should focus on increasing his capacity to cast spells and hone his handling of what he had. He knew he had improved his spell handling. Unfortunately, fatigue and mental exhaustion proved to be major hindrances in the battles he had fought.

  With that on his mind, he fell asleep. A dreamless one for a change. A knock on the door woke him up. It was Jorund. Everything was ready.

  The trip was unexpectedly free from unpleasant surprises. Bandits appeared to have fled the area and the jotnar together with the dokkalfr also must have withdrawn due to their defeat. Upon reaching the cutoff leading to the mountains, Tyler saw the road inward was actually a trail. Rough, rocky, and uneven. He resigned himself to a bumpy and bruising ride.

  They made camp at a small clearing beside a rivulet running from somewhere above the mountain. They had pushed on as far as the wagon could make it. Habrok went ahead to scout for an appropriate site. He found an ideal one. It was above the tree line and overlooked the grove where they left the wagon and horses. The rivulet was a bonus. Tyler didn’t expect it. Habrok did have to do a bit of rock work to channel the water in their direction.

  Pitching their tents, the two warriors went back to their routine. Jorund kept watch and explored the surrounding area, while Habrok concentrated on their campsite. Learning from their experience, Habrok added makeshift barricades at strategic places around the site. The two refused any help from Tyler so he was left to sit on the ledge overlooking the trees below.

  It was a strange feeling for him. A few days ago, this area was crawling with jotnar and dokkalfr. Now it was quiet. Only the birds could be seen. He expected the larger animals to have been driven away by the movements of war. It will take time for them to return. Meal time was back to the rations of the road.

  “Habrok, how far is the cave?” Jorund asked.

  “It should be a mile up then a trail should appear. Then about two hundred feet inward into the bottom of a deep chasm. There are a lot of openings in the mountain up there. The mad hermit's cave is the one near a grove of old trees. It's the biggest opening on that side."

  "WHO ARE YOU CALLING MAD!"

  The loud voice boomed through the clearing. The three grabbed their weapons. But the twilight made it difficult to see the source of the voice. Tyler looked around their campsite. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared. The voice sounded as if it came from everywhere.

  "UP HERE, YOU BLIND DUMB NUTS!"

  Tyler looked up. On a ledge above their campsite was a figure. Clad in some sort of cloak. He couldn’t make out the features and other details. The man was partially covered by an abutment on the rock.

  “GOOD EVENING, MY GOOD MAN! MAY WE HAVE THE PLEASURE OF KNOWING YOUR NAME?” he called out.

  “HAH! YOU KNOW MY NAME! YET YOU CALL ME WITH THAT DESPICABLE TERM! MAD, AM I? DUMB NUTS!"

  Starkad. Such a touchy hermit. Not mad. A bit unhinged maybe.

  “We do apologize, my friend, but that was the name given us back in town,” lied Tyler.

  “Those fools. But I am happy the town still stands. To see jotnar and dokkalfr ruling in Scarburg is a sight mine eyes do not wish to see. Better to be blind. But you on the other hand, are a different story altogether.”

  “What do you mean, my friend?” asked Tyler in a friendly voice, trying to reassure the temperamental hermit.

  “Comes the man, of mortal race he may be. Brother to the wolf, I ask, or kin to the guards, though deep and ancient they must be.”

  Tyler could see the man was calming down. Though the hermit’s words were disturbing. And he also guessed the man was hungry. No food from traders and the dearth of game should have exhausted his supply.

  “Would you grace us with your company for the evening meal? By way of recompense for our ignorance. It’s but poor fare but we would be honored if you would join us.”

  “You have a glib tongue, mage. But I accept your offer.”

  How did he know I am a mage?

  The man disappeared from the ledge. Habrok walked to the camp fire. The camp fire was shielded on three sides by overlapping standing branches to minimize the possibility of unfriendly eyes seeing the glow from a distance. Jorund stood where he was, battleaxe in one hand.

  “Good evening, mage. And to you both, the ranger in drake armor and the warrior in svartalfar-forged plate.”

  He was shocked. The man appeared in their campsite in a place where they weren't looking. He also didn’t expect the man to be so observant and knowledgeable. Whether that makes him dangerous would be seen shortly, assessed Tyler.

  “Come share our night-meal. I am Havard, the ranger is Habrok and that is Jorund.”

  “You can call me Tyndur. I had other names before. But they don’t matter now. They only serve as memories of a faded time.”

  As they walked towards the camp fire, he saw the man's brown robe was in tatters but relatively clean. He was bald and runic tattoos marked his face and other visible parts of his body. He was tall, with a thin blond beard, blue eyes, and a lean muscled physique. He walked as a seasoned warrior. Confident and sure of himself. In his right hand, he held a long but heavily carved thick wooden staff.

  “Come, mage and warriors, sit with me. Let us all start all over again as we share the meal.”

  Tyndur stared at the ranger and the warrior when he saw them. He slightly bowed his head.

  “Oi! A warrior bred and true. Odin’s own, now Havard’s guard. The path is danger, death resides. A hero of the sagas, though none will be told. Thy story will be written but not by mortal hands,” said the hermit to Jorund.

  “How about me, master hermit,” asked Habrok.

  “Wine, women, and more women, stalwart ranger.”

  “Sounds good to me,” replied
the man.

  He doesn’t sound like a mad hermit. He can speak plainly when he wants to.

  The four shared the meal in silence as the man tore into the food. Jorund looked at him as their food ration for a full day disappeared. Tyler smiled and shook his head. Habrok on the other hand was fascinated by the man's appetite.

  After Tyndur washed down the meal with a few cups of ale, he gave a loud burp, put his back against the pile of gear stacked near one of the tents, and then looked at them.

  “A puzzle, my mind says. Three men, in a land filled with Ymir's minions. What seek they, these madmen. A grace from Odin’s eyes? The magic of seidr and kunna? Answer me.”

  Man, this guy appears to have more personalities than a flower has petals.

  “I am looking for a man called Starkad. I was told he was in these parts. I need his help regarding matters of magic.”

  “He was but an Erinherjar. No mage was he. So what help could he give?”

  “He had some experience with a different form of magic. I hoped he could shed some light on the matter.

  “No need to play with me, mage. Your need seems true. But for now, night's rest beckons and matters of light are better seen in the rays of the sun. I will see you an hour after day break.”

  With that, Tyndur stood up and walked away. Tyler eyes followed him as he stepped through two tents. Then he simply disappeared. Jorund and Habrok immediately went to where he disappeared. Long minutes after, the two came back.

  “It seemed he just disappeared into thin air,” said Habrok, “his tracks stopped just after the tents. No other sign of him.”

  “It’s fine, Habrok. He did say he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The night came and passed with a surprising lack of unwelcome visitors. Though Jorund and Habrok were expecting jotnar or dokkalfr remnants to disturb them. Morning was a welcome arrival. Spending the night in an isolated area in a wilderness recently vacated by the enemy was nerve wracking.

  Tyndur appeared, or rather manifested, just before the meal. Nobody noticed his arrival. He was just there in the middle of the campsite.

  Nice timing. And nicer trick.

  “Hail and good morning, Tyndur. Just in time for our morning meal.”

  “Good morning, young mage. Your companions?”

  “They eat when they want to. It’s a rule we adopted while we’re on the road. Come, let’s have out meal together.”

  Perfect, Tyler thought. He had told the two to eat ahead and stay away from the campsite that morning. He wanted to have a private discussion with the hermit.

  As they were eating, Tyler took the opportunity to initiate the discussion.

  “You don't look to be the type to seek a hermit's life, Tyndur. From what I have seen of you, I would guess you to be a warrior.”

  “Secrets we all have, mageling. Like you. I see a mage, on the cusp of awakening. Yet is he a mage truly? Of another world maybe, reborn to a second life. Elder might, ancient knowledge, what tidings does he bring?”

  Oh, man. Freak me. Another man of prose. It’s bad enough when they speak in plain sentences.

  “You seem to know more of me than I do of you, Starkad.”

  The hermit’s face broke into a sad smile.

  “Ah, my friend. Mention not names of a frivolous and shallow past. Starkad. Skaldr. Other names have I. All in the past. It was a sad day. But a glad day. Called to arms, an unassailable foe awaited. A berserker's wrath, a warrior’s rush. But strength and skill availed him not, when a wave of an ancient hand stopped him cold.”

  “Then what?”

  “Caught in bonds of force, the warrior brought to a place of wonder, of ethereal ascendance. Where Asgard and Valhalla are mere brass trinkets beside the glory of a throne made of gold. Alas, at the gate I stayed, my mind denied, my abilities flawed.”

  “So, you became a hermit. Trying to ascend and be allowed entry.”

  “Hah. What would you do in my place? Go back to a thatched barn when a gilded palace awaits you? Better a life of effort trying to be what I could be than be satisfied with what I had thought to be the pinnacle of a warrior’s life.”

  “Have you learned anything so far?”

  “My path and yours do diverge, my young friend. From different worlds we came, and through different paths we will meet at our common destination in the end.”

  “Then my coming here appear to be a fruitless exercise in my search for knowledge about my abilities?”

  “Your path is closed to me, immortal of the world. Master you may be, but of what, I cannot say. Sagas you won’t need, nor praise of mortal men. For the world is you, your eyes need but see.”

  “You know, the way you say things make it more confusing for me.”

  The hermit laughed.

  “Of the First World you may be, but thy brain is thick as an ogre’s ass, or of a troll, though an anvil fits you more.”

  “This quest appears to be more and more an illusive journey.”

  “Not at all. Consider this. Divergent our paths may be, yet common magical principles govern; the use and understanding, of an ethereal energy which lights the way to ascendance.”

  Now he sounds like a yogi. Me and my life. Why couldn’t things be simpler? A quest here, a quest there. Before you know it, you're an overpowered player.

  “Plain language please, Tyndur. Where I came from, we are not used to such indirect ways of talking.”

  Tyndur laughed. And laughed.

  “Forgive me, Havard. But to talk in meanings plain and simple, do not a magical bent allow. For horizons to be explored and expanded, lessons need be cloaked in ways obscure and hidden. If matters be so easy, no farmer nor tradesman will be, for all will be mages.”

  “True.”

  “But fret not. Only these lessons you do need learn. Know it and you know all that is needed for your own path. So, to my words, harken.”

  A mortal man thou art,

  A human bent, may be;

  But thy way is prepared,

  Needed knowledge at hand;

  Thou limit thyself, a

  Mind cage of your making;

  There are no boundaries,

  Chains of forms to bind thee.

  Tyler shook his head.

  “Have you ever thought that the Norse gods may be looking for you?

  “Hah! The gods? What are they, but of mortal men born. Their palaces of air, of dreams made, and blind to the paradise that lies beyond the Veil. Paradise I have gazed upon, though its Gates bar me well. The sights I have seen, and the Blessing I had felt. The pleasures of this world now taste naught, and of faded color it does show. My world is but a memory of visions granted and taken. To ascend and return is my dream, and though Odin and others may stand in my way, they will bar me not.”

  “But Odin says Thor may be adamant about you returning to Valhalla?”

  “Thor. A being of power, of thunder and lightning. Great be his might, but greater still is his inanity. He thinks of glory, a passing fancy in the minds of men. His worship will fade when mortals find peace, and his time will be spent amid old tales, ale, and whores.”

  “How about Odin?”

  “The All-Father knows but cannot speak. The All-Father speaks but cannot show. His mighty wisdom bound by chains of his creators, tight and strong. So play the role he must, for Asgard and pantheon’s sake. Only thy duty fulfilled and true, will hold at bay, the true nemesis of the gods, the wolves of greed and disbelief.”

  Man, that’s brutal. Good luck to the Norse gods trying to bring him back.

  “A lot of times I have wished that things would be far simpler to understand.”

  “So do I, young Havard. So do I.”

  CHAPTER XX

  When Greeks Come Calling

  Tyndur stayed with them only for a while after his talk with Tyler. They did leave him the rest of their provisions. Which for Tyler was a good trade-off for not combing the mountain to look for him. He also suspected that the hermit had something to do
with the lack of jotnar or dokkalfr disturbing them.

  The three had an early mid-day meal and packed everything for their journey back to Scarburg. The three started to move out of the trees, Tyler and Habrok on the wagon while Jorund was mounted on a chestnut horse.

  As they approached the main road, a wind started to pick up. The dust smothered them. Yet the wind grew in strength, making it a struggle just to see where they were going.

  Suddenly, the wind stopped. The dust started to settle down. Jorund had his battleaxe out while Habrok was holding his bow, arrow at the ready. It was clear the wind was unnatural. Magical in origin. A suspicion confirmed when Tyler could see the faint shimmering of a strong barrier enclosing them. The size and power of it indicated a very powerful high mage or a divine entity.

  Two beams of light flashed, hitting Jorund and Habrok at the same time. Jorund fell off his horse with a crash. Habrok lay sprawled on the wagon. Tyler already had his personal barrier activated and he waited for the foe to show up. He had started gathering magical energy.

  Then the form of a young man coalesced from motes of light, finally forming a familiar haughty youthful face. Erithizo.

  “We meet again, mage. Did you think I would forget you?”

  Tyler immediately launched the biggest fireball he could manage at the arrogant demigod. But the fireball exploded a few feet from Erithizo. As it detonated, Tyler saw that the flames flowed around an invisible form in front of the youth.

  But Erithizo didn’t escape the overflow of fire. Whatever barrier he had was not able to cope with the effects of the massive explosion. He staggered and Tyler could see his figure giving off wisps of smoke.

  The figure who stood before the youth and deflected his spell stepped out of the swirling smoke. He was wearing the classic heavy Greek hoplite armor, with a hoplon shield. A long leaf bladed sword was in his right hand. The huge and bizarre size of the ornate plumed crest on top of his Corinthian helmet reminded Tyler of a strutting peacock. But his armor was all red. Deep red. Even the hilt of his sword and his sandals.