The Accidental Archmage: Book Two - Gifts of the Greeks (Accidental Archmage Series 2)

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “Your assessment of the Dorian army?”

  “The entire army really hasn’t meshed as a single fighting unit. In short, it’s a hodgepodge of an army. They even have separate supply columns. Though I am surprised at how fast they were able to travel from Dori. Though our scouts are harassing them day and night. The strike and scamper thing.”

  “Magic again. Cuts down on travel time. Even with baggage trains. But the number which will be finally facing us is still great. How about our defenses?”

  “A vast improvement from before, Sire. I was able to get the workers to build one catapult, but that’s it. No time to build more. The gates and high walls are repaired. Workers, assisted by citizens, are trying to improve the low walls by adding more stone. Additional wall defenses are crude, but they will provide cover.”

  “And our men?”

  “Desertions, Sire. We’re down to approximately 5,000 men, excluding the Pelasgoi .”

  “That’s a lot of deserters.”

  “Well, the rumors have already placed the Dorian army at 100,000,” laughed Jorund.

  “That means we’re down to a ratio of one defender against four Dorians. With barely defensible walls.”

  “That’s correct, Sire. Time was not on our side. A month more would have made better walls. Even the moat has barely been started.”

  “We just have to make do with what we have, Jorund. Things usually do not proceed as planned. And the battle god appears to be just a front. He’s not the brains behind all of these events.”

  “Then who, Sire?” asked Habrok.

  “I have no idea,” answered Tyler.

  “None as of now. But we will find out,” a comment came from the opened door. It was Dionysus. The four didn’t even notice him come in.

  “Master Dio, nice of you to join us,” smiled Tyler.

  “I wouldn’t miss the side stories. Bad for a playwright,” answered Dionysus as he pulled a chair from a corner table setting. “Now, where were we?”

  “We were discussing that creature and the invasion,” replied Tyler.

  “I have sent the body to where other interested persons could see it. Your room is being fixed by the way,” he told Tyler.

  “Now to continue, before we were pleasantly interrupted,” said Tyler with a slight bow towards Dionysus.

  The deity laughed. “You do have a way with words, Master Mage.”

  Tyler turned to Jorund.

  “Any news about the sons of Ares? And that Champion of his?”

  “Information mentions the sons of Ares as being at the back of the column. I would say that’s to ensure everybody keeps moving forward. Probably also to avoid any looting by the mercenaries of both Dorian and Ionian settlements. Not for the good of the inhabitants but more to ensure their presence before Akrotiri. A satisfied mercenary with loot on his hands may decide not to endanger his prospects of enjoying the fruits of his labor.”

  “They’re just bandits then?”

  “Not all, Sire. But many of them. As to the Champion, he had been seen among the leading elements of the army. He must be with those camped within sight of the city gates.”

  “Gentlemen and lady. Here’s our situation. Members of the entourage of Ares who were supposed to be with the attacking army are incapacitated. An attack against me just failed so whoever is or are behind it must be part of the invasion plan and probably reassessing his or their plots. The invasion army has not been assembled in full as of now. It’s a rare period of opportunity. The enemy strength is still in flux and has not been gathered. Any strike against them in the next few hours would be unexpected.”

  “We attack, Sire?” asked Habrok.

  “Of course, Habrok. What did you say back in Scarburg, the time we played with the enemy’s tail column?”

  “Mounds of dead enemies, Sire.”

  “Then we’ll try to get you those mounds again.”

  “Excellent, Sire,” answered Habrok. Tyler saw Astrid blanch. Jorund had his usual pre-battle smile.

  “This IS interesting,” commented Dionysus.

  “Here’s what we do. Just don’t inform the warriors yet. I want this to be a surprise welcome party. I am beginning to see we’re quite fond of those. Just before dawn, the time when men should be sound asleep, the four of us will pay a visit to the enemy’s encampment.”

  “Only the four of you?” asked Dionysus.

  “That’s the advance greeting. In the meantime, ready the Akrotiri defenders for a sally. Gathering and organizing them now would be interpreted as a preparation for manning the walls and defending the gates. Once we move out, the defenders can follow in a few minutes. In absolute silence, if that is possible. Once they are outside, they should be assembled in the following order. Archers first, then the cavalry, the Pelasgoi heavy infantry, and then the Akrotiri hoplites. Let the slingers join the scouts. I want them on the flanks of the encampment.”

  “Silence can be managed,” remarked Dionysus. “Even Pappo can handle that.”

  “Once I fire a flare in the air, it will light up the encampment area. Let the slingers count to twenty and then start harassing the flanks. After a count of fifty, the archers should start disturbing them. Don’t worry about their reaction. I’ll make sure they would be occupied with the state of the ground of the camp. I am sure their sentries will alert the Champion on our arrival. Tell the king’s general that once he sees the Champion beaten and on the ground, let the cavalry attack, followed by the rest. Attack them up to two miles out and then return. The panicked flight will do the rest of our fighting for us.”

  “I like that plan,” said Dionysus. “But how about the sons of Ares?”

  “That’s the reason why I set a two-mile limit. Jorund said the column stretched much further than that. At the very least, they would have their hands busy trying to figure out what was happening and controlling the retreating men,” answered Tyler. “If they come forward, then we’ll see what we can do about it. I do have some ideas of my own.”

  "You know, Sire. What we are going to do is a large raid or maybe an ambush," remarked Jorund.

  "No choice, Jorund. We face them the conventional way, we die the conventional way. And I don't think anybody here has any plan of dying out there or even on the walls of the city," replied Tyler.

  "I know, Sire. The Norse are fond of your tactic. It would be interesting to see it used against a hoplite army," Jorund remarked, the faint outline of a smile again threatening to erupt.

  “Questions?” he added. Nobody else spoke.

  Either they agree with my plan, or they’re shocked beyond their wits by the audacity of what I proposed. Probably except for Jorund. The hell with it. There’s nothing to be gained by waiting behind rickety walls, knowing you’re going to get killed anyway.

  “If there are no more questions, then I guess I better get some sleep first. Jorund, please wake me up when it’s time for the show.”

  “Of course, Sire. As for me, I have things to do and about five hours to do it. I’ll catch some sleep when I have organized matters.”

  “I go with Jorund, Sire,” said Habrok.

  “I’ll stay here and be your guard, Sire,” Astrid spoke up after Jorund gave her a furtive hand signal.

  Good. These three are starting to work as a team, he observed.

  “The mage’s room will be the next door to his former room. It’s still a mess,” added Dionysus.

  Huh? I didn’t notice any such door, thought Tyler.

  “Stay here for a moment, Valkyrie, while I show the mage to his room.”

  “By your leave, Sire,” said Jorund as he and Habrok quickly left the room.

  Tyler and Dionysus stepped into the hallway. The deity led the mage to another door beside his previous accommodation.

  “Dio, to tell you the truth, I didn’t notice any door or adjoining room before.”

  “There wasn’t. But I am a deity, remember? And this is my temple, anyway. My power is vastly increased within the inn.”r />
  Dionysus opened the door. Tyler walked in. It was an exact duplicate of his old room.

  “Well, I’ll be…” Tyler started to say. Dionysus looked at him. A very meaningful stare.

  Tyler revised his statement. “As I was going to say, I’ll be a donkey’s uncle!”

  The deity chortled, then guffawed.

  “Got you there, didn’t I?” Dionysus said.

  “You did. I was going to say something else.”

  He laughed again and went to the door.

  “Good night, High Mage. Don't worry. Sleep well. While I am around, nobody’s going to disturb you violently. And if Jorund forgets to wake you up, then I will. I would hate to miss all that action you’re planning.”

  In his bed, Tyler tried to sleep. He found it very difficult. Bleak scenarios of death played through his mind. His death. In numerous and imaginative means. Roughly in the same number as the ways his plan could go wrong.

  It became so upsetting that he changed the course of his thoughts, trying to find an oasis of peace in the troubled recesses of his mind.

  Then, unbidden, the memories of his time back in Fossegrim Forest came to the fore. Not the incident with the nightmarish misty creatures, though surprisingly details of that encounter were kept locked away by a Pavlovian guardian.

  What came to mind was the beauty of the forest. Its buoyant and simple celebration of life. The sunlight, the uncomplicated beauty of trees in bloom, the fresh air, and Eira. The memory chased away the dark and fearful whispers of failure and death. He fell asleep.

  A loud knock on the door brought him up. He opened it. It was Jorund. He bade the huskarl come in and wait. He freshened up, having taken a bath before sleeping. The thought of the ignominy of dying looking like a filthy and mad hermit made him try to clean up his appearance. He tied his long hair at the back with a piece of leather. The shave would have to wait. The risks of nicking himself all over the place with a knife were too high.

  Well, I guess that handsome, unshaven mage with eye bags and stressed features will have to do, he thought as he looked in the mirror. Though I distinctly remember a television special about Japanese samurai being picky about their appearance immediately before a battle. Something to do with looking their best when their heads are displayed before the winning daimyo. Oh shit. I hope that’s not it.

  He looked at his armor. It seemed cleaned. But the torn portion was still there. I don’t think anybody, except Rumpr or Hrun, could fix that. I hope I don’t run into Old Stoneskin. There's a chance he'll be mad at what happened to his scales.

  He put on the armor, activated his shields and made sure his AIs were online. They had proven themselves to be vital trump cards more than once.

  “You guys ready?” he asked Hal and X.

  “Yes, Elder. We have already made the appropriate precautions. Don’t forget your staff.”

  Tyler's curiosity was aroused. It was the first time the AIs reminded him about the staff.

  “Did you guys do something to the staff?”

  “Minor improvements, Elder. We increased its durability, the molecular density of the wood, improved its capability to channel energies, and some minor tweaks. You will now find it a formidable weapon.”

  “How were you able to tinker with it?”

  “Every time you held it in your hands, Elder. But we have found some strange energy combinations in the staff,” said Hal.

  “Dangerous?” Tyler immediately asked.

  “Unique but not dangerous. We assume it’s the result of the staff's original configuration enhanced by the Lady of Fossegrim and the earth elemental's energies. The most powerful energy so far appeared to be that of the earth elemental. We believe you can crack open any magical armor with it,” commented X.

  “Thanks, guys. Though cracking open magical tin cans may be difficult. I have an aversion to sword-wielding tin cans.”

  “Do note that the energy is still evolving, Elder. But as the energy is on the staff, it will be yours to command. Now and when it reaches the apex of its evolution. We have locked the use of the staff to your DNA. Anybody else trying to use it will be in for an unpleasant surprise or demise, depending on the entity.”

  “Well, what can say except thanks again. Be alert guys. Let’s try to survive again.”

  The AIs were quiet. Tyler left the bathroom. The waiting Jorund stood up.

  “Showtime, Jorund.”

  “Showtime, Sire?”

  “It's something my people say before a performance.”

  Jorund smiled. “Showtime. Indeed, an appropriate description. Do you mind if I use it sometimes, Sire?”

  “No, my man. Use it all you want,” replied Tyler. They were already walking out of the inn's doors.

  “Where are they?” asked Tyler.

  “The main city gates, Sire. There’s a square there. Right after the gates. The King is giving his inspirational talk. His general is with him.”

  As they made their way to the gates, Tyler noticed warriors already gathered in the streets. In ordered ranks. The closer they got to the gate, it became harder to pass through the arrayed formations which had become a common sight.

  Finally, they were able to reach their companions who were standing in front of an organized mass of warriors. The warriors were outfitted in a manner different from the usual Greek hoplite. They also had great swords, battle axes, and a host of other weapons. Each had at least two short spears slung over the shoulder. Their round shields, painted in different designs and colors, were smaller than the usual hoplon.

  “Who are these warriors?" he whispered to Jorund.

  “ Pelasgoi , Sire. Experienced warriors. See how they're not listening to the King’s oratory. They've already been there. Knowing them, facing the enemy now would be their preference. Hacking limbs and slitting throats. They know what’s going to happen if the Dorians win."

  “What's with the javelins? Or short spears? They look like a combination of both.”

  “Some adaptation from the Romans. I heard a Roman trader introduced it to them. It’s called a pilum . Soft iron shanks. Pyramidal head. Bends when it hits a shield, forcing the opponent to drop his shield or carry on with the extra weight. But it also has good armor-piercing qualities. Difficult for a warrior to move when one has a bent spear sticking out of a cuirass. They had experience using it against the Dorians. Effective, I heard.”

  Inter-cultural adaptations? Must be more pervasive than I thought.

  He turned his attention to the King’s pep talk. Beside him was his general. In the middle of the harangue, the King stopped, turned and looked at them. He waved, a grin on his face. Tyler waved back.

  Pappo is really enjoying his role as King, he thought.

  He turned his attention to his companions and saw four horses waiting for them. Dionysus, Habrok, and Astrid were there. They went and joined them. Tyler took Dionysus aside.

  “Dio, you do know I don’t know how to ride horses,” he said.

  “I forgot! I am sorry. Though a mage arriving on a battlefield riding a carriage doesn't seem right.”

  “I can’t ride one! How do we do this?”

  “You can ride with Jorund. It’s not that far anyway.”

  “I guess that would have to do. I just hope I don’t fall off.”

  “You want me to cast a spell for that?”

  “No, no. With my luck, I'll probably get stuck on the horse. A mage who couldn’t get down from his horse would look even more ludicrous.”

  Dionysus sniggered.

  "Wait," the deity momentarily held Tyler's staff in his right hand. The mage could feel a surge of energy flowing through it.

  "What was that all about?" he asked Dionysus.

  "A little pick-me-up. Some divine energy to increase your staff's damage and while you're holding it, also the effect of your spells."

  "Thanks, Dio." But at the back of his mind he was apprehensive about the effects of adding Dionysus' energy to the staff.

 
"Just go out there and crack some heads! So be off with you! Don’t worry. I'll make sure these guys follow the plan!”

  Shortly after that, three riders went through the main gate. With a figure tightly holding on to the back of one.

  As they raced forward, the mage could see the numerous campfires and tents of the enemy.

  “There appears to be more of them, Sire. I guess a quarter of the entire force had arrived.”

  Tyler kept silent. His concentration was on hanging on and not falling off. Finally, they stopped about five hundred feet from the enemy lines. As Tyler started to dismount, he slipped and nearly fell off. Jorund’s steady hand caught him.

  “Easy, Sire.”

  Gingerly, Tyler continued his dismount and had solid ground under his feet again. His companions gathered around him. He could see the sentries of the enemy had been alert. Two phalanx formations were already facing them in organized files, dorata lowered. More were being formed. Silhouetted against the campfires and the hoplites was a giant of an armored figure.

  That must be the Champion. The visitor, he thought.

  “Keep beyond arrow distance," he instructed his companions. "The night sight of their archers shouldn't have adjusted yet. But as I always say, precautions are excellent defenses against surprises. Keep my back and flanks covered. Jorund, try to ensure Akrotiri’s army is following us and keeping to the plan.”

  “They are following us, Sire. In complete silence. One can barely see them. The lights on the battlements have been extinguished or dimmed. Even I have difficulty finding them in this dark soup. Fortunately. the dim moon is cooperating, hiding behind the clouds.”

  “Good. I'll go forward and greet our new neighbor. Don’t worry. My shields are up.”

  As he moved forward, the giant silhouette also marched towards him. Tyler stopped thirty feet from the man. The Champion also ceased moving. The mage’s enhanced eyesight showed him an armored figure seven foot tall. His dark red armor was a variant of the hoplite armor, with a lot of embellishments on the metal, and unnecessary decorative protrusions. He wore a closed-face Corinthian helmet with a transverse plume crest. It was a masked helmet with spikes on its large check covers. And the plume was a fashion atrocity. Black with white threads, it was bigger than the helmet, at least when viewed from the front. Completing his war gear was a red large round shield and an unsheathed greatsword, wielded with one arm. Even that stupid sword is reddish in hue, noted the fascinated yet appalled mage.