The Accidental Archmage: Book Seven (Dragons and Demons)

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “You! Mage!” called out Pythia to Tyler, who was busy examining the whorls in the planks of the wall beside him. Now, he had no choice but to look upon the arguably domestic argument before him.

  “This rascal has started telling you my story. Do you even know how I died back on the First World?” asked the Oracle, staring at Tyler. Strangely, the mage thought he could see a drop of liquid in an eye.

  “Uh, no?”

  “I died of grief,” disclosed Pythia casually. “Do you realize what it takes to die of despair, sadness, and sorrow? And my ever-loving mother thought wise to bring me back as a demi-goddess. But what’s the point of living again if one has experienced death already?”

  She loved you? And that’s the only way she thought she could help? thought Tyler, but the mage wisely kept his peace.

  “She brought me back. To a dying magical world, a reality where my death was again certain,” she added softly. Then the Oracle sat down on her chair and covered her face with her hands.

  Neither Asag nor Tyler said anything. The mage couldn’t even look at the daemon, he was that embarrassed. He knew he shouldn’t be there. It was a tempestuous and emotional scene that should have been private. He didn’t belong there.

  “I fled as far as I could from the lands of the Greeks,” Pythia’s quiet voice continued suddenly. “They had become too powerful, and I went south. I knew of the Migration. My gift easily warned me of that event. But to move to another realm would cost me my link with the magic of my dying mother. That’s where this rascal came in.”

  “Excuse me, but should I even be hearing this? I mean it’s too personal…” Tyler stammered his protest.

  “Shut up and listen, mortal, if you want my help,” said Pythia softly, though the faint menacing growl was there.

  After making his deal with Asag, and as a result, ensuring her survival through that magical link, Pythia then sought to find somebody who would allow her to cross over. The last wave of the Great Migration had begun, and she was forced to let herself to be the consort of a horrid, ugly entity of the Chaldean pantheon.

  The chaos of the wars and power struggles that erupted after the pantheons arrived on Adar resulted in Pythia being tossed from one owner to another like a plaything or as a trophy. But she bore the pain, degradation, humiliation, and suffering, learning what she could and adding to her repertoire of spells.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? The whoring, I mean. I would have been happy to take you on,” butted in Asag.

  “You? You crossed ahead of me, you buffoon, and were too busy playing games with your pantheon! And the Great Asag was raging mad that somebody got the secret to summoning him. Only terminal desperation forced me to try to summon you again. And you were too dangerous to be a companion! I had enough of dying and living again. Over and over. Does this mortal even know who’s after your neck?” snarled Pythia.

  “I do have some idea,” ventured Tyler in a low voice.

  “Who asked you? Stay there and keep quiet. This is between me and this piddling excuse for a fiend,” snapped the Oracle.

  Damn. It’s like watching a long-married couple fight on their tenth anniversary. This is starting to be embarrassing, thought the mage, who stood up surreptitiously and, in a backward crouch, made toward the door.

  “I said, stay where you are!” yelled Pythia without even looking at him. The incongruous and improbable atmosphere of domestic turmoil was stifling and embarrassing Tyler.

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am,” answered Tyler as he hurriedly went back to his seat. Just what have I gotten myself into?

  Surprisingly, Asag didn’t fight back or say anything. He just stood there with a silly grin on his face. Then another slap landed on his face, but that one only slightly staggered the daemon.

  “Hey! That’s too much! One slap is all you get. This handsome face needs to be at its best,” smirked Asag.

  Pythia furiously stared at him for a while and then slumped in her chair.

  “What’s the use? All these gifts. Born a Titan, reborn a human, then again, a deity. I can’t even die properly,” murmured Pythia.

  “Don’t blame me. You asked for it. I warned you, didn’t I?” reminded the daemon in an uncharacteristically gentle manner. “It was a rather lengthy discourse.”

  “You did.”

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Titan Rising

  An awkward silence followed. The mage noticed the daemon was looking at Pythia who had covered her face again with her hands. The mage didn’t know if she was crying, but Asag was evidently waiting for the Oracle to continue. Tyler thought at least the daemon showed some sense by keeping quiet.

  Pythia was clearly in a cathartic mood, and though the mage felt what he heard was but the tip of the proverbial iceberg, it was a start. Even deities needed to let off steam, and in the Oracle’s instance, there was a lot of pent-up anguish and suffering which needed to be expunged. It will take a long time for her to recover even a semblance of what she was before, but she had taken the vital first step. Tyler pitied her and wondered what mortal wouldn’t feel the same? Many deities probably wouldn’t even understand her angst-ridden situation, unless empathy was in their nature.

  She had been through a lot and was still going through her personal hell. The mage wondered what kept her going, given the kind of suffering she had experienced. But the willingness of Asag to stand by her side was surprising. Suddenly, Pythia looked at the mage.

  “A mortal, willing to assault Tartarus itself for his woman. Not even a hero or a demi-god. I’m envious,” said Pythia simply.

  “My wife,” replied Tyler.

  “Even so. Tartarus in its current state would give heroes and gods pause, but you? I can’t even discern reckless bravery in your actions. And with companions willing to follow you too, no matter the danger. An aura of loyalty, honor, and incredible latent power surrounds you, though infused with a great deal of naiveté. Quite a remarkable young man. Would you like another wife?” asked Pythia with a wan smile.

  Oh shit. Talk about being direct, reacted Tyler, shocked at the bluntness of the question. Fortunately, Asag came to his rescue.

  “I believe the lad is monogamous, Pythia. Unfortunate. A bevy of deities and spirits would throw themselves at him once they got to know his qualities, though that naive quality would be a problem. They’d twist him around their manipulative little fingers,” said Asag with a dismissive shrug.

  “But it wouldn’t be for Havard the human, but for the power he represents,” observed the mage.

  “Right. But what’s wrong with that?” asked the daemon curiously.

  “It would depend on the human, I guess,” replied the mage. “But I am not that kind of person.”

  Pythia merely smiled at Tyler’s answer, an enchanting little movement, innocent and alluring at the same time.

  “You do know our problem, Pythia,” Asag asked, “and you said you could help. So, what will it be? Don’t include me in your considerations; I am bound to him, so I don’t have any choice in the matter.”

  “Imagine! The Great Asag caught by a geas he couldn’t break. Now that’s a sight to see,” laughed the Oracle gaily.

  At least she’s now in a good mood, reflected Tyler.

  “I can solve your dilemma, but I have to go with you. Fortunately, that is also the price for my help,” Pythia smiled again. A gorgeous smile, similar to what a cat had when it ate the canary.

  Against the backdrop of Asag’s laughter, the stunned mage’s mind swirled through all the implications and possible consequences of Pythia going with them. He understood the Oracle’s purpose. It was vengeance, if one were to believe her story. But such a journey, with her nearby and the professed interest in him, might prove to be more dangerous than Tartarus itself. Eira herself was no pushover.

  “Why? For your vengeance, our quest itself is in your interest. There will be casualties, hopefully all on their side. Can’t you give us a spell, an artifact, or something to cov
er our tracks?” asked the mage.

  “Ah, such a young mage. You still don’t understand what real vengeance is all about. For me right now, I’d be satisfied with pulling their still-beating hearts out of their traitorous hides and shoving them down their choking throats, then bringing them back whole before tearing them apart piece by perfidious piece, watching each of them screaming as they returned to the ether. They won’t be back anyway. Nobody worships them in this new world,” said the Oracle with a smile and a mad glint.

  A perfect partner for Asag. They’re both ridiculously crazy, each in their way, immediately concluded Tyler.

  “And it’s not as if I could die permanently, I’ll just be reborn somewhere. But this is a singular opportunity for me. I couldn’t do it alone before, but with your company, I might just be able to feel a Titan’s blood in my hands. As for hiding your presence, it is a difficult task, especially with somebody like him,” said Pythia as she pointed to the daemon.

  What the Oracle intended was to project the aura of one or more of the deities who had her before, gods who thought they merely had a demi-goddess or even a minor spirit. Unknown to them, Pythia retained her abilities as a daughter of Gaia, and that included a comprehensive understanding of magic. It was only when Asag was summoned that she regained most of her strength, though still far below that of the Titan she once was. Gaia’s power was waning, and it reflected in her abilities before the daemon showed up. But with a renewed source of magic, she grew stronger and more powerful. Yet she still kept it secret.

  “You mean if Asag dies, you also die?” asked Tyler, trying to understand the relationship of Adar’s magic to the Oracle.

  “No. But I would be greatly reduced. Too many have used me, and each is a link to this world’s magic,” said Pythia though she didn’t look at Tyler when she answered.

  And an empowered Asag, fed through our link, would also result in a more powerful Pythia. Shit. Will wonders never cease? thought the mage. He was trapped again by circumstances.

  “There’s bound to be fighting, Pythia. Can you hold your own? Will you abide with the geas laid upon the company?” asked Tyler, but he already asked his guides to examine the Oracle.

  “Men! I already told you what I have been through, and yet you doubt my resolve. Your geas? I had been bound before, in cruel ways which would turn your stomach. As for my abilities, magic is my forte, and my suffering had increased my knowledge of it far beyond what Gaia taught me. Battle will show what I am capable of,” exclaimed the affronted Oracle.

  Tyler glanced at Asag. The daemon had an atrocious grin on his face as he nodded.

  Shit. Two psychos to be handled, and that grin clearly means more mayhem and destruction, concluded the mage.

  “Sire?” piped up X. “She is what she says she is. Pythia might not be aware, but there’s a powerful magical essence inside her. Hidden and protected. We doubt if she realizes its existence, otherwise what she told us wouldn’t have happened.”

  “What is it?” asked Tyler.

  “An ancient, powerful magical core from the First World, carried over to this reality. We believe it’s the Titan Gaia’s essence,” replied Hal.

  “She doesn’t know? Now that’s a complication. The Ancients of Adar have their own counterpart of Gaia, and if she manifests, I don’t know what would happen,” mused Tyler apprehensively. “It might be a good thing since the realities are twins, or it could lead to a freaking turf war. And there’s nothing like fighting between siblings. But I’ll bet on the Ancients; it seems like they’ve got their shit together.”

  “Your decision, mage?” Pythia asked softly.

  Still refuses to call me an Archmage, noticed Tyler as he nodded.

  “Welcome to a peculiar little group then, my lovely, lovely Pythia,” said Asag. “You can’t say I wasn’t at your side, and no pesky summons was even needed.”

  The Oracle just gave a faint smile at the unrestrained ebullience of the daemon who promptly asked the mage for permission to be the one to ask Pythia to consent to the geas. Tyler was taken aback. He didn’t expect Asag to know the terms of what bound the companions to the mage. When asked, the daemon freely admitted it was Tyndur who told him, but with the comment that if it were up to him, the terms would have been more specific, similar to what bound the daemon to the mage.

  “I am not like that, Asag. Every man’s will is his own. If anybody asked to be freed of their oath, I would grant it gladly. Except for you. That’s a totally different situation,” said Tyler. “But if I had the power, and with an oath not to inflict harm on the innocent, then I would free you too.”

  “That’s quite impossible. My natural sense of fun, sense of discovery, and justice, if I might add, usually involves what you call innocents. As far as I am concerned, there are no innocents. The mother and child killed by a falling building due to my actions could have been part of a mob stoning to death an innocent heretic yesterday,” replied the daemon. “No, chaos is the natural state of things.”

  Something about the way the daemon mentioned chaos unsettled the mage. It was as close to an emphatic philosophical statement from Asag, and somehow, it didn’t portend anything good. Yet it was frightening as it resonated with a thread hidden deep within him. Tyler shook off the feeling and with a wave, gestured for the daemon to lay the geas on Pythia.

  After the declarations and before the Oracle could answer, Tyler raised his hand. Fortunately, Pythia wasn’t about to say anything, being caught up in a giggling fit.

  “You may disregard that last part, Pythia. Yes, the one about being Asag’s slave and perpetual admirer,” Tyler instructed as he shook his head. Asag laughed long and loud.

  Then the question of the Oracle’s appearance had to be settled. The trio agreed Pythia would take on the appearance of a female mage, around fifty years of age, and disguise herself as best as she could. Asag also briefed her on the companions and the manner of addressing Tyler.

  “Such an interesting mix of heroes and demi-goddesses. It’s unfortunate Thaut’s daughter isn’t around even if she could see through any disguise. Her abilities sound interesting. But Asag would still see me as I truly am. It’s in the nature of the magic when I summoned him,” ventured the Oracle, who unexpectedly added in a sultry voice. “Would you like to have the same ability, sire?”

  Here we go again, thought Tyler, and I can’t directly tell her to stop flirting with me. Sounds too presumptuous. It’s flattering, but Eira is waiting.

  “That would be unwise,” advised the mage, hurriedly finding an excuse. “We three have to stay in character, and can’t afford any lapses. But we missed one detail. Your new name.”

  “Thyma.”

  Asag glared at her.

  “After everything, you want to be called by that name? A victim?” yelled Asag in sudden exasperation. Tyler could understand why the daemon was upset. Even he was disturbed by Pythia’s chosen alias.

  “Why not? Suits me. It will always remind me of what I was.”

  ***

  Tyler called over the party when the three of them emerged from the shack. Pythia was introduced as discussed, while the companions watched quietly as the mage presented each of them. He knew everyone was sizing up the new addition, knowing their lives and those of dear friends would, at any time in the future, be at the hands of the old mage known as Thyma. The first to react was the einherjar.

  “Sire, do we really need her? It’s still a long and dangerous journey, with speed a premium, and at her age, she would likely slow us down,” declared Tyndur. The einherjar was, as usual, blunt as ever, but the mage knew he had just voiced out what was on the companions’ thoughts.

  A long staff immediately whacked the einherjar’s armored head. The movement was so fast that Tyler barely saw it. The blow clearly stunned Tyndur for a quick second, an astonishing feat given the warrior’s thick skull. The mage had already seen the einherjar shrug off hits on his helm like they were but feeble taps.

  “Watch your mo
uth, youngling. Respect your elders. I can move as fast as any of you lot, except for the demi-goddess of the wind. How else would you be able to make it through the mountains without being noticed? That’s my task,” snapped Thyma crossly.

  She is older than Tyndur, come to think of it, considered the mage. At least, she’s now in character.

  “Sire, is this wise? An old woman might not be suited for battle, especially considering who we’re going to face,” Kobu said in a low voice as he stood beside the mage.

  “I heard that, exile. Worry not about me, for I have a gnawed bone to pick with your enemies. It has been a long time, and I intend to collect on debts owed me. Concern yourself about your past instead, for the test of the honor you hold so dear shall come on a land across a narrow sea,” retorted the Oracle.

  The mage saw Kobu’s face lose some of its pallor, and he quickly glanced at Tyler.

  “A mage and a diviner,” murmured the exile. “This is going to be a painful journey for my soul.”

  “Hah! Pain is but in your mind, warlord. Remove everything you don’t need, and what is left is you,” said Thyma.

  The rest of the company was stupefied by the comments they heard. Habrok was too respectful to say anything, and whatever question Astrid had was stymied by the kind of answers the exile and the einherjar received. Tyler also thought the passing reference to Astrid’s lineage, not mentioned during the introductions, left her speechless and wary.

  “Enough,” interrupted the mage. “Thyma has powers of her own, and can take care of herself. She will shield our movements from those who wish us harm. As you heard, her foes are also our enemies. And she will keep up with us.”

  ***

  With that admonition, the company turned west toward its actual destination. There was a brief interlude when Habrok asked about the shack they were going to leave behind, volunteering to close and bar the door.

  “Don’t,” said Thyma. “Let it be. I won’t be coming back to this glade, but that poor hovel of mine might yet provide shelter to a needy soul.”