The Accidental Archmage - Book Five: Loki's Gambit

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “No, no. No fighting. We’re guests here! Spilling blood in the jarl’s throne room would be the ultimate insult to our host! Let me handle it,” said the horrified Tyler.

  The mage moved to the front, passing the three companions, and strengthened his barriers as he waited. The two dwarves stood just beyond quarterstaff distance. The mage and the dwarven duo warily eyed each other.

  The mage saw the one with the darker armor was paler in countenance, as were all of his kind. But in other respects, they looked the same. Even the general style of the armor and its engravings was similar, except the symbols of the darker dwarf’s armor were rougher in design as if copied from an ancient language unchanged by the mellowing of time and new ideas.

  “By the darkest and stinkiest dokkalfr outhouse, just who do you think you are?” shouted the one with the gleaming though dented armor.

  “And who gave you the right to disturb our sacred merriment?” asked the other.

  “Havard, High Mage,” answered Tyler in a calm voice. “And it was quite disrespectful for you to conduct yourselves in such a fashion in the throne room of our host.”

  The two looked at each other and then bowed toward the jarl.

  “Our apologies, Jarl Geir. We forget ourselves sometimes,” said Mr. Shining.

  “You attacked us first!” accused the other, looking at the dwarf who just spoke. “It’s your fault!”

  Here we go again, thought Tyler. The other dwarves had all recovered, their wounded tucked away in separate corners of the room, attended to by their companions. But each group had organized into their separate assemblies, separated by a gap of four feet from each other. Belligerent and insulting looks were on the faces of those confronting the front ranks of the opposing side. Small hammers and mattocks were again gripped in hands ready for more of their sacred merriment. Mercifully, the name-calling and verbal expletives had stopped. There was no telling what flying insults would do.

  “Stop right there,” Tyler calmly told the dark-armored dwarf. “Let’s not escalate matters again.”

  “Escalate? Escalate? I’ll escalate your butt with this!” shouted the dwarf, holding up his mattock.

  Good thing Tyler had been warned about the ornery side of the dwarves, otherwise he would have encased them all in a force bubble and let them batter and throttle each other to their hearts’ content.

  “Behave yourself, both of you,” said the mage, still in a calm voice. “You don’t want me to get mad.”

  “And what are going to do about it, you mangy, undersexed, flea-bitten, farter of a mage?” yelled the other one.

  Oh, my Lord. They’re trying my patience!

  He noticed the jarl and his men were quiet, but those nearest to him had unlocked the clasps holding their weapons in their sheaths. His companions had moved abreast of him, weapons now casually held in hand.

  “I’ll get Hrun and Rumpr to play with your underground cities.”

  Tyler didn’t mean it, but it was the best threat he could think of. With their preference for underground cities and stone, he had a feeling the dwarves knew of the two elementals. He didn’t believe a counter-threat mentioning violence would work. It would probably immediately induce a free-for-all, this time with fatal results.

  At his words, the two looked stunned as were the other dwarves.

  “You know of them?” asked the pale one — this time, with a low, quivering voice.

  “Know them? They gave us our armor and some of our weapons!”

  The eyes of all the dwarves fell on the dragon scale and drake armor of Tyler and Habrok.

  “I see. Our utmost apologies for our behavior then,” said the one with the gleaming armor, tone almost respectful, though the words sounded like they were painfully drawn from his throat. He returned his ceremonial hammer to its holder at his back. The other dwarf had clipped to a belt the mattock held in his right hand. The rest were already following suit, sheathing their own weapons.

  “Our apologies too, High Mage. It’s just that there has been no High Mage in these parts for so long and we failed to notice your presence,” said the other one.

  The two looked at each other and at a guttural command voiced collectively, bowed to Tyler, together with all the dwarves in the room.

  “We further apologize that we cannot, at this time, exchange names and titles. Our customs dictate that it be made on another occasion. Otherwise, it would be an insult to the Jarl of Hedmark,” said the gleaming one.

  “Thank you for your apologies. On our names, let us introduce ourselves to each other on another occasion, as your custom demands,” said the mage. “I guess now, protocol could continue. No more fighting.”

  Tyler turned to the jarl.

  “By your leave, Jarl Geir. We’ll go and wait in the meeting room.”

  The jarl merely nodded, looking dazed and confused by the quick turn of events.

  ***

  On the way back to their original destination, the mage hastily checked with his guides. As expected, the two were ecstatic about having forms even if it was just in an energy world, a reaction making the mage curious about the figures they adopted. The duo had also shared notes with Birki and met the young energy beings who were delighted with meeting new energy entities.

  “They called us their uncle and aunt,” said Hal. “Is that acceptable to you, sire?”

  “Of course, it is,” replied Tyler. “How about their growth?”

  “They depend on magical energy to develop, sire, the kind which have passed through a powerful magical medium, such as deities. They are, after all, patterned after or offshoots of gods and similar beings.”

  “I thought so. We have to do this the hard way then. But I believe it’s a better way. It would enable them to properly grow into their abilities and learn how to handle what they are capable of,” replied Tyler.

  “It is an extremely powerful group you have in your staff, sire. The way they are molded as they gain power and experience will determine who and what they are.”

  “And I expect the two of you to help,” said the mage. “Any news about H?”

  “He’s on his way back. We just received a short communication from him. He’ll be here in a day,” answered X.

  The answer of the guide made the mage breathe easier. He was worried about the third guide, though he avoided telling the pair his concern. Passing through the Barrens and then proceeding to the valley near the Void Lands was a perilous journey, even for one cloaked in an invisibility field. With the mutations the Barrens had given birth to, there was no telling what were the abilities of those bizarre monsters, and it was not an implausible notion that one such ability would be seeing past cloaking energies.

  “Can he handle the task of watching Sutr’s borders? The one facing south toward the Dual Monarchy,” asked Tyler. “I need to have an idea of what’s happening on that side.”

  “Of course, sire. All we need is to send him a map of the area. We do need to advise him to keep to normal ground and avoid the Barrens. That way, we could communicate with him from time to time through a single powerful burst, enough to reach Skaney,” X explained.

  “Do it. Things are moving fast, and we need to know what’s happening now on the borders of the lands of fire and ice,” said Tyler.

  I never thought H could be so invaluable. But should I tell them about my encounter with the avatar?

  Tyler finally decided to put off updating his guides about his experience. There were plenty of concerns facing them already. The group entered the room and took their seats. Aage shooed off Habrok from a particularly beautiful high-backed chair. It was the jarl’s seat.

  “They’re intellectually brilliant, you know. I am not talking about the forging, metalcraft, stonework, and other arts they're renowned for,” Tyndur suddenly commented.

  “And by that, you mean what? I have never seen such a testy people in my entire life. That comparison includes the spiteful human form of an ulfhednar my band hunted in Viken. That
cantankerous old man got us running around in circles until we got wise to him,” replied Habrok.

  “My dear ranger, it takes innate intelligence and incredible imagination to come up with truly unique insults while leaping upon an enemy. Or it could be just sheer cussedness,” said the einherjar.

  “I think it's the latter,” volunteered Tyler.

  Byggvir spake:

  43. "Had I birth so famous | as Ingunar-Freyr,

  And sat in so lofty a seat,

  I would crush to marrow | this croaker of ill,

  And beat all his body to bits."

  Loki spake:

  44. "What little creature | goes crawling there,

  Snuffling and snapping about?

  At Freyr's ears ever | wilt thou be found,

  Or muttering hard at the mill."

  Chapter Twenty

  Après Nous

  Aage took leave of the group, saying he had to find servants to bring refreshments. When asked how long the audience of the dwarves would take, the mage mentioned around thirty minutes.

  “Ha! I seriously doubt that,” remarked Tyndur with a grin. Unseen by Aage, the warrior winked at Tyler. “Formal occasions require a recitation of the lineage of the representatives. And you’ve got two! No doubt each one will try to outdo each other in the greatness of their family lines.”

  “How long do you think the audience would take, Tyndur?” asked Habrok, preempting Tyler who had the same question.

  “It would depend on how hurt their ranks are. They do have to attend to the injured. In this instance, I guess Aage would be right in his estimate, give or take a few minutes. It would be distracting reciting the names and deeds of your forebears while your men are bleeding to death. My worst experience was three hours,” replied the einherjar.

  “Three hours?” exclaimed Aage.

  “They got carried away. So, the damned presentation included a reenactment, artistically, mind you, of some of the highlights. It was a blasted nightmare. And don’t let them start with their music! It’s designed to accompany such litanies and has a sonorous, monotonous tone. By Odin’s beard, I’d pay good money just to avoid another experience like that!”

  Aage shook his head and left the room, muttering something about three hours of boring music accompanying a tedious recital of names.

  “I believe you put the fright of dwarves in the battle mage, Tyndur,” said Kobu.

  “I was kind. I didn’t mention the dancing,” replied the einherjar. “Though I really don’t understand the recital part. They also do that in set-piece battles between them, you know. It just provides more ammunition for the inevitable insults.”

  “There are some serious matters you should know,” declared Tyler, breaking the flow of the ongoing conversation. “I’ll take advantage of Aage’s absence.”

  The mage then told them of the strange cessation of fighting between the forces of Sutr and Ymir right after Loki was sent to mediate a truce, about the fact that the two jotunn were now amassing additional strong forces, Loki’s absence in the north, and the scenario of the two elementals dividing the continent between themselves.

  Tyler still didn’t mention Asem’s condition, figuring he’d break the bad news one at a time. Asem’s malaise now took secondary importance in light of the threat of Adar being covered by fire and ice.

  If the two jotunn lords won, the party would be beyond caring about everything. The fighting he’d witnessed in the south, and the progress of the army of Kemet, he kept to himself. Revealing what he had learned would only raise more questions, especially about the source of information, diverting the men’s attention from the task at hand.

  “So, in short, we have to deal with a veritable tide of undead with their mortal abilities and skills intact, and then fight Ymir. For the second time, for you and Habrok. After that, we’ve got Sutr to worry about. And above everything is Loki’s grinning face,” said Tyndur.

  “Succinctly put,” remarked Tyler with a laugh.

  “Nothing to it then,” replied Tyndur. “But we’re all going to die.”

  “I don’t intend to die, Tyndur. Nor should any in our company,” replied Tyler. “I just need to figure out how to break the spell which gave rise to this undead blight. We can’t win in a conventional battle. There are too many of them. All we can do is delay them until I can unravel the spell. We’ll worry about Ymir and Sutr after Hedmark. And if we fail here, Skaney is gone, together with Hellas and Kemet. But I don’t think it will stop there. The rest of human and other realms will fall in short order. Those lucky to escape the mainland will be hunted down. No pressure.”

  “Well, the practice would be welcome. How about you, Kobu? Any ideas yet?” asked Tyndur.

  The exile’s reply went unsaid as the door opened and the jarl came in, with Aage in tow. Following them were servants bringing food and drink.

  The jarl sank heavily to his seat.

  “I never thought dwarven protocol could be so punishing,” said the ruler of Hedmark.

  “If they didn’t include dancing, then you’re a lucky man, jarl,” commented Tyndur.

  “They include that?” exclaimed the jarl. “It must be my lucky day then.”

  “Excuse me, Jarl Geir. But you sound like Hedmark has never been visited by the dwarves,” asked Tyler.

  “Not in recent memory. I was informed that the last visit was by a svartalfar delegation during my grandfather’s time. He requested their aid in finalizing the defenses of the trelleborg. But the dvergar had never been seen in Hedmark before.”

  “And now, Hedmark finds itself with a delegation from each race seeking an audience. Times must be desperate,” remarked Kobu.

  “They are. They gave me some bad news about the strength of the undead forces. Their watchers have seen undead streaming toward the undead armies in front of us. Amassing their strength is the only reason for such an occurrence. The dwarves themselves had been bothered by a few, but since they ceremoniously burn their dead, the plague had not yet affected them that much. But they fear what would happen if Hedmark fell,” explained the jarl.

  The young jarl looked at Tyler.

  “There is another meeting set for tomorrow morning, but they have asked that the High Mage and his party be requested to attend. You must have impressed them,” said the man.

  “We’ll be there,” answered the mage. Aage then did the introductions. Tyler thought the jarl had the right idea about weighty matters being discussed in such an informal atmosphere. It freed up one’s balls from the rigid and castrating rules of protocol.

  “I have already given instructions to my chief lieutenant that the defense will be handled by you,” said the jarl. “His name is Skarde. He’s doing the rounds now, telling the various drottin about the new development.”

  The jarl paused, obviously waiting for the servants to leave the room. As soon as the room was closed, he sat back and looked at Tyler.

  “Scarburg. One of my drott went there as Hedmark’s contribution. But what my drottin reported to me when they returned was puzzling. What attacked Scarburg was a lot less than what their scouts initially reported. There were reports of large boulders from the mountainsides smashing enemy ranks, killing and injuring many. Dokkalfr reaching the walls in disorganized groups. Few enemy mages were in attendance. Their siege machines were devastated the night before the final assault. It was said that a great wave of destruction swept through the enemy’s camp; explosions and discharge of massive magical energies, according to the war-mage of Scarburg,” said the jarl. He paused, looked at Tyler, and then continued.

  “So great was the magic involved that he refused to go out and investigate. Of course, credit went to the gods. But even I know they rarely involve themselves in such battles. Especially when it involves Ymir’s legions. The risk of Ymir himself coming forth if those of Asgard appear on the battlefield is too great. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Tyler just smiled.

  “Then repor
ts of a battle near the city of Akrotiri in Hellas. A great mage fought Ares to a standstill and drove off his minotaur lieutenant. A broken siege, the Dorians defeated, and now I hear of a new Greek deity of war. Ares’s son, apparently. You don’t think you could also tell me about that?” resumed the jarl.

  Still smiling, the mage shook his head.

  “I thought so. I make it my business to know what I can, High Mage, especially in the matter of defending Hedmark. The All-Father might have his reasons, but I would also like to hedge my bets. Now I find myself betting my entire realm on a single throw of the dice in this deadly game of Mia we play against the undead. You have my blessing, High Mage. I am at your command. What do you wish us to do now?” concluded the man.

  “I thank you for your trust, jarl. Matters of warfare are better left to experienced hands. The defense preparations I leave to Kobu, with the assistance of Habrok and Tyndur. How many mages do you have?” asked Tyler.

  “Around ten as of today. I don’t know if more would be coming. But a moment, High Mage. Something about Tyndur makes me curious. I sense something different about him,” said the jarl as he stared at the einherjar.

  This jarl is sensitive to magical matters. He must have some innate though undiscovered ability. But I can’t have him following Tyndur around trying to determine what the man is, thought Tyler. I better to get it out in the open so he can focus on what he should be doing.

  “He’s an einherjar, Jarl Geir. A peculiar one. Gave Odin constipation during his stay in Valhaĺla. So he got sent down to assist me,” answered the mage.

  “An einherjar! I never thought I’d see one in the flesh. Tell me, Tyndur, is it everything the tales say?” asked the jarl eagerly.

  “Quite overrated, but more or less close to what the skalds sing. Which reminds me, are there any skalds about by any chance?” Tyndur asked the jarl.

  “I believe there are a few who insisted on remaining in town, demanding the right to stay and be inspired by stories from the coming struggle. New material, that’s how they described it. They better hope their new material doesn't bite or slash them to bloody pieces. They’re billeted in the Ogre’s Head Inn,” said the Jarl.