“Ready? You obstinate excuses for warriors? You lousy, thankless donkeys who got me up in the middle of the night to officiate this stupid duel? You happy now?” yelled Tyndur.
“Tyndur,” reproached the mage in a calm tone.
“My apologies, sire, but of all the stupid…” began the einherjar.
“I know. But it’s a matter of honor. You know how it is,” said Tyler, trying to mollify the irritated einherjar.
“I know, sire. Just letting off steam,” replied the warrior in a calmer voice. Tyndur then returned his attention to the pair.
“Now for the second time, ready? Raise a free hand if you are.” The two each raised a hand. Then Kobu bowed to Asag, who, in turn, looked at Tyndur.
“That’s just their way of saying he’ll kick your ass,” Tyndur explained as Tyler shook his head in resignation, though he could see the exile had already adopted a legs-apart stance, the short staff held with both hands while facing Asag. The daemon, for his part, just stood there, one hand on the slim, wooden pole.
“FIGHT!”
The duel
The match started with a sudden movement from Asag. One could barely see the blur as he moved, and even Tyler’s enhanced vision had difficulty following the actions of the daemon. Glancing at the exile, he saw an after-image after Kobu responded with his countermove. It was then he realized that determining who struck the winning blow might be well-nigh impossible. It was a conclusion aptly echoed by the curses he could hear from the einherjar. Colorful expletives poured from Tyndur, all related to how fast the combatants were, and the fact he could barely see anything.
“Damn it, sire. I don’t know what’s happening. They move too fast and all I could get are the sounds of their weapons!” complained Tyndur.
Tyler could hear them too, each sound signifying a blocked attack, and he reflected that at least the pair was using magical weapons. No ordinary staff could withstand the kinetic energy brought by a blocked attack, even if the strength behind it was controlled. He doubted Asag would cheat. As strangely as the demon might act, it also appeared that Asag had his own set of rules. Some of which could be vaguely termed honorable.
Suddenly, the two appeared on opposite sides of the field, each occupying his opponent’s previous position. Kobu was again in the stance the mage had observed at the beginning of the match, while Asag had now shifted to a similar position. Gone was the indifference the daemon had earlier displayed; he was now in battle mode. The mage smiled. Kobu might be mortal, but he had his own tricks, and a surfeit of experience.
The mage’s smile widened. He had to admit he was rooting for the mortal. Tyler had always been a sucker for the underdog. Kobu had forced his opponent to be warier, and evidently matched the battle tempo of the daemon. Tyler couldn’t help but compare their speed with that of Astrid. The Valkyrie’s speed was a lot faster, though it was an innate magical ability. Her body couldn’t help but pump energy into her movements. But the exile and the daemon had teleportation abilities, qualities which could negate Astrid’s superior speed. Then a shout caught his attention.
“Hah! Nearly got your balls squashed,” shouted Asag.
“Nearly is not enough,” replied the exile as he initiated another series of attacks, defense, and counterattacks.
Barely several seconds had elapsed, and Tyler could see the two were already engaged in their fifth encounter. Neither party looked tired, but from what he could observe, the two had distinct styles. Kobu was the master at evading attacks, avoiding blocks, and executing countermoves with fascinating acrobatic displays. His choice of the shorter jo was clearly a sound one. Its limited length allowed him to move and react faster, and yet adopt the swinging movements of the katana and the thrust of the spear. The mage did observe that the exile didn’t usually block Asag’s strikes; he relied more on avoiding them. A wise move, Tyler thought, given the strength of the daemon.
Asag, on the other hand, relied on sheer power to barrel through blocks and conduct attacks with frightening speed and precision. It didn’t have the style and elegance of Kobu’s movements, but reflected pure battle experience. The mage observed that at times, the daemon used his staff like a sword or battle hammer, though surprisingly, given its length, never as a spear.
“I give up, sire. My poor eyes have tears in them trying to see what they’re doing,” finally said Tyndur as he walked back and sat beside the mage.
“Let’s just hope they’re honorable enough to admit defeat when struck in the proper place,” laughed Tyler. “That’s their ninth? Or tenth skirmish? I lost count.”
“Me too,” said the einherjar wearily. “Since that daemon is busy, I guess this would be a good time to tell you that I pray he’s worth the trouble. Against those bastards in their holes, of that, I have no doubt. But it’s still a long way to the deep bowels of that cursed realm, and Asag’s past might be the death of us. That I fear.”
“He could hold his own, Tyndur. As he said, anything from his past, he’ll take responsibility for it. It would be up to us to involve ourselves or not, a guarantee which I find doubtful since he’s bound to me, and by extension, to the company,” replied Tyler. “But I have to admit that going against the crocodile god’s master; that dark exemplar of ancient evil shrivels my balls. The guy is older than the Greek and Norse pantheons.”
But the einherjar’s words struck a receptive chord in the suspicious corners of Tyler’s mind. Surely, the Ancients must have known about the consequences of releasing Asag into the world. Then Tyler suddenly realized he was the best candidate for the position of the daemon’s nanny.
Most of Asag’s transgressions happened in the lands of Hellas and Skaney, domains where the heads of the dominant pantheons held the mage in high regard. Tyler the First Mage was the perfect foil, the ideal shock absorber. But the question remained as to why Asag was released at this particular time. The Ancients could have continued his imprisonment for another thousand years. There must be a deeper reason than Tyler’s convenient presence. Then the einherjar’s reaction caught his attention.
“You mean…” Tyndur started to say the name but the mage shushed him.
“We’ve said the name too much already. Kemet might be far from us, but it’s never wise to call attention to our little group. Especially from the likes of him,” explained Tyler with a sigh.
Tyndur shook his head, mentioning he’d never expected to be involved in such colorful characters, like the one they were watching at the moment. The mage laughed, remarking it should add spice to the einherjar’s staid and monotonous diet of gods from the Norse pantheon.
Suddenly, Tyler saw Kobu’s terribly elegant and fluid winning blow. The exile started a series of sophisticated attacks, and then feinted one directed at Asag’s knees. As the daemon moved to block it, Kobu suddenly jumped into the air as if he was going to strike a blow against the left side of Asag’s head. As the daemon’s weapon moved up, the exile’s body effortlessly twisted mid-jump and struck a hit on the right side instead. Then he flipped away.
Ah, Kobu finally figured out Asag’s martial style, thought the mage immediately.
“Hit!” Kobu cried out.
Tyler nudged the einherjar who promptly whistled. Tyndur stood up, stretched, and then called out.
“That’s it! Now we can all go to bed!”
With that declaration, Tyndur immediately proceeded to his sleeping area, and without any further word, went to sleep.
But Tyler’s attention was on the two. Kobu stood still in front of the daemon, about ten feet away, and then gave Asag a formal bow.
“An excellent match, Asag. You are a worthy opponent. My honor is satisfied,” said the exile.
“Yes, I lost that one. But you’re saying you’re going to kick my ass again? We’ll fight once more?” asked Asag excitedly. “I don’t mind the insult as long as we get to do it again.”
At that point, the mage hurriedly roused himself and went to clarify matters to Asag. Sometimes, observed
the mage, the daemon could be so naive in thought and deed. Yet in some instances, he displayed craftiness worthy of Loki, an enigma that the mage knew he had to figure out by the time they entered Tartarus.
Chapter Nine:
The Journey Begins
Morning found the mage a late riser. Quite excusable, considering the events of the previous day. He could see Habrok already roasting their breakfast. Venison, from the looks of it, and such food would complement their provisions for the journey. Rising, he took a drink out of his water flask and surveyed the scene around him.
Nothing had changed – massive damage to the trees and the ground. It looked worse than what an army of lumberjacks armed with chainsaws and heavy equipment could do in one day. Utter devastation seemed too inadequate a phrase.
The mage hoped Vivindel, despite her young years, could indeed make a difference. He spotted Hrun nearby and asked where he could find brook or a creek. It was the day they were going to start on the main journey, and Tyler wanted something more than a quick wipe.
“There’s one nearby. Freed it was from the choking grip of earth and mud. My best I have tried, to recover what I could, but dust and life are both beyond the power granted me,” said Hrun sadly. It was evident the damage to the forest had affected him greatly. “Come, follow. A small spring it remains, and hidden behind these mounds cruelly torn.”
From what Tyler could understand, Hrun had been busy, trying his best to prevent more damage – recovering sources of water, preventing mudslides by erecting stone barriers, even creating tree supports from rock. At that point, Tyler was sorely tempted to let Birki help out, but he needed the guardian to protect the hidden world. There was too much danger of a dark influence getting inside the staff in the places where they were going.
“Shouldn’t you able to ask help from any of Rumpr’s kind?” asked Tyler as he brought out the small knife he used for shaving and impromptu haircuts.
“A lad is coming, yet he lacks the experience of his elder. But he would do. And a question, if I may?” ventured Hrun when he saw the mage squatting beside the rivulet, knife in hand. Tyler nodded, busy testing the edge of the blade. If it weren’t sharp enough, shaving would hurt.
“A knife you hold, yet that spring, no fish would call its home.”
“Ah, no, Hrun. The knife is for shaving and cutting some of my hair. I guess it had grown long again. Some pieces of venison may still be lodged in my beard,” joked Tyler, who then looked at his reflection in the water. “Oh, and I do look like a shit of a hermit. Damn.”
“Doesn’t magic suffice?” asked the clearly puzzled elemental.
At the comment, Tyler stopped what he was doing and slowly turned to face Hrun. “What do you mean?”
“Magic is a tool, young mage, even if its power is used through runes or other means,” replied Hrun.
“You mean I could have used it to shave? Or cut my hair?” said the flabbergasted Tyler, who now felt like an idiot. A Great Idiot.
“Among other uses, my friend. Get clean, start a fire. Simple things are not problems. Yet try to fix a rent in dragonscale armor, then magic greater than yours might prevent what you want to be done,” came the answer.
No wonder it took Gullin to fix my armor. Come to think of it, she cleaned it too! By magic! thought the mage. Tyler, you dumbass! That should have been an obvious clue to what you can do!
“I leave you to your morning ablutions, my friend. Your route, I still have to scout,” said Hrun as he walked away.
The mage sat there looking at his reflection for a minute or two, remembering the puzzled glance of Habrok when he asked the ranger to trim his hair, though he remembered Habrok accounting for every strand of removed hair and then solemnly burning it. It had happened twice already. Eira did cut his hair, but it must have been by her magic. Such simple things, and yet nobody told him he could do it magically.
He looked again at his reflection, then imagined how he would like to look – short hair, no beard. Tyler closed his eyes. Once he had the image in his mind, he released a miniscule amount of energy, willing it to follow the appearance he wanted. When he opened his eyes, gone was the hermit. Despite himself, the mage beamed at the image on the water. Now, to clean me, thought the young man happily.
It was a smiling Tyler who returned to camp. He had shaved, trimmed his hair, cleaned himself, and even fixed whatever holes were in his clothing. Yet he found out for himself what Hrun had said. When he fixed the cloth, he could sense the magic of the armor. It was as strong as any he had encountered, except for that wielded by Adar’s avatar, and the mage could sense something different about it. Tyler remembered something about dragons being the first to cross into this world, and conceivably have predated the Elders in the First World. If true, then they represented the primal magical energy of the First World, back when it had a magical field as powerful as found in this world.
Asag met him when he came in sight of the companions, all busy preparing for the journey. The daemon came close and whispered in his ear.
“I like this journey,” said a beaming Asag. “Not dull at all.”
***
Habrok finally came back from his scouting. According to him, the trail of the invading Titans clearly led northeast. Right along the direction Iapetus wanted them to take. Fortunately, most of the route to the village the Titan mentioned was also along the path to the dwarven kingdom. His guides also finally got a report from H and it revealed that no threat was around them. But the mage had to instruct Hal to tell the vagrant guide to catch up with them. It was a long journey for H to the far side of Skaney, but the mage didn’t doubt that the scout would make it. He only hoped H would make it just in time. Tartarus could be a vast domain and the presence of an invisible explorer would be invaluable.
A not so puzzling clue, thought Tyler as he reflected on the ranger’s report. The bastards could have left by whatever terrestrial portal or gate they used in coming to Fossegrim, and yet here, they made sure of a path to follow. Of course, they could have taken a gate somewhere ahead, but this? It’s so obvious that it’s insulting.
“Ideas, Habrok?” the mage asked.
“It’s strange, sire. It’s as if they wanted us to follow them. There’s even no attempt to hide their tracks,” mused the ranger.
“I agree. That means the gate to Tartarus is in that direction,” Tyler pointed to mountains in the distance. “And I guess the village would be along the way.”
“Leaving such tracks. What did they think? We’d get lost?” laughed Astrid.
“A trap?” Tyndur’s voice sounded from the back.
“Of course,” commented Asag.
“From here on, we have to be doubly careful. Remember, our enemy is interested in leaving me alive, but that doesn’t apply to the rest of you. If you see me pressed in a fight involving their forces, leave me be, and find another companion to help,” ordered Tyler.
“Indeed,” said Kobu. “They know the companions would try to prevent the mage’s death. That would be used against the rest of us.”
“Us? Including me?” Asag asked of Kobu.
“Yes, Asag. Including you,” the exile slowly answered, to the daemon’s appreciative grin.
“Now, lady and gents, before we start moving, here’s what I know of the dwarves hereabouts,” announced Tyndur. “The mountains we’re heading to are identified with the Northern Dvergar Range. But that’s not really accurate, it’s actually part of the Dreki Mountains, and its appellation is still as accurate today as it was when first given the name by mortals. Dreki. You know what that means.”
“Dragons again?” piped up Habrok.
“Yes, ranger. But I’ll bet they’re not bony ones, like those back in the Barrens. We’ll have healthy dreki of all sizes, of every stripe – acid-spewing, fire-breathing, poisonous, name it, chances are it’s there.”
Duck shit, thought Tyler. It was becoming a frequent philosophical statement.
“Assuming we make it throu
gh, then we’ll emerge into the full-scale war between the dwarves and Sutr’s forces. To put your minds at ease, I’ve heard the dwarven stronghold is an impressive one, designed with an invasion from the north in mind. I’ve heard it called many names, but Sterkstein stands out. From the stories, it does deserve the name. Strong stone. Nice ring to it,” said Tyndur.
Another fucking war, thought the mage resignedly.
***
As the party began to move forward, Tyler saw Astrid put an arm on Habrok’s shoulders and whisper something. The mage knew it was supposed to be private, but with his heightened senses, he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.
“Oh, don’t mind Tyndur. He’s just joking. Dreki are not dragons. Now, dragons, that’s a different matter altogether. Dragons would make me piss in my hunting trousers. Those in the Dreki Mountains are just drakes, at least from what I have heard. Ordinary beasts with not-so-ordinary abilities. We killed a lot of them already,” said Astrid, trying to reassure the ranger.
“Yeah, we did. But I agree with you about drakens. They’re as formidable as deities,” answered Habrok feebly.
“See? Nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t want to bring home bloody, mangled pieces of my brother-in-law to my sister and nephew, would I? And we have the First Mage with us, though I must admit being confused about that First Mage and Archmage thing. But never mind. Everything’s going to be fine, though keep your arrows ready, I’ve heard those dreki sometimes get to be as big as houses,” continued Astrid.
“They are?” replied Habrok with evident surprise and sudden nervousness. “We haven’t seen one that big yet.”
“That’s what I heard, brother-in-law. Could be another tall tale, like the one about some dreki having two or more heads.”
Hearing what the Valkyrie said, Tyler concluded if she wanted to reassure the man, she was doing a terrible job. But at least that dreki and draken difference was cleared up. Tyler never thought the ranger’s confidence needed propping up. Habrok had withstood and lived through a lot of things so far.
The Accidental Archmage: Book Seven (Dragons and Demons) Page 11