“Why don’t you give me a name?” he demanded of the mage.
Tyler already knew the old man was extremely powerful, not only because of the painful backlash, but by the mere fact Thyma herself deferred to him, and add to that, the daemon’s mysterious silence.
“My utmost respects, honored one. But I believe one doesn’t just give out names. Such things must be grounded on what the person is,” said Tyler, opting for the safest way out.
“Well, kiss my butt and call me surprised. There might be some hope for you yet. And your pardon for being so grouchy. These noisy young ones with their war roused me from my meditations, and it was my favorite roost, too,” said the old man.
Roost? What the hell is this fellow? The query ran like an electrical current through his mind.
“Meditation, my lord? Sounds too philosophical of you. Don’t you mean sleep?” chided Thyma with amusement.
“Same thing, different approach. And just when I was going to meditate again in my next favorite place, away from those noisy bastards, I sensed something of mine enter these mountains. It must be interesting times once more. Then again, I can’t remember how many interesting periods I have experienced, and they all end up changing nothing, except disturbing me,” griped the entity. “Though I do have to complain about that armor you’re wearing, Havard. And you a mage of all things! Not even having the excuse of being a battle-mage.”
Armor? Something of mine? Roost? Noisy young ones? Old Grayskin? The parade of shocked thoughts goose-stepped their way through Tyler’s mind, ending with the stunned comprehension of who was standing before him.
Noticing the shocked countenance of the mage, the old man smiled wryly. He did look amused to a certain extent, but it didn’t relieve any of Tyler’s enormous tension. The stunned mage just stood there, and Tyler didn’t even realize he was holding his breath. All he could sense was the pressure of the sudden stress. Making things worse was the painful memory of what kind of response a simple scrying spell elicited from the ancient being. The mage didn’t even think that the reaction to his magical effort was intentional.
“Breathe, you blasted youngling, or you’ll suffocate yourself!” said the old man. He turned to Thyma. “What’s this young fellow? Stupid? I had even suppressed my natural aura.”
The Oracle laughed and touched the mage on his arm. A warm, comfortable feeling filled him, and suddenly, Tyler found he could move and think again.
Natural aura? Fuck. Dragon fear. Even I have heard of it. I didn’t think it was real, came another panicked thought the mage’s mind.
Then a distant memory came to the fore. A cavern and a large box in front of Tyler, Jorund, and Habrok. A long time ago, high above the Gap of Telemark.
“Uhm, Rumpr told me to tell you it’s Hrun’s fault,” stammered Tyler.
Chapter Eighteen:
The Dragon Houses
“That would be mighty difficult to prove considering what I’ve heard about the little fellow. He’ll be back after a millennium or so, but you’d be dead by then. Hrun, on the other hand, doesn’t like coming to this part of the world, and I can’t stand that skaldic habit of his,” glared the ancient draken.
At those words, the mage could see the companions, except for Thyma and Asag, stealthily move into attack positions. The old man rolled his eyes in resignation. The movements didn’t escape him.
A wave of uncontrollable terror suddenly swept through the clearing, driving the entire party to its knees. The daemon and Oracle apparently knew what was coming as they suddenly appeared behind the gigantic creature. It was pure, unadulterated fear. The invasive emotion felt like a sinuous physical substance which somehow burrowed into one’s body and soul, and then spread its cold tendrils through the bones. Even Kobu, protected by his amulet, wasn’t exempt from the deleterious wave.
Through the haze of fear which crashed through whatever psychic defenses out up by his guides, the mage heard the draken ask Thyma a question.
“Do you think it was too much? I let loose only a minute portion, but I do lack practice.”
That was a tiny bit of his aura? A little more and I’d be pissing in my trousers, thought the mage. At least, everybody’s on their knees. Nobody’s running off and blindly jumping off the cliff. But it looks terrible for Habrok. The ranger’s hugging himself in fright.
“Forgive their presumption, great one. Mortals have forgotten how to deal with ancient ones such as yourself,” implored Thyma.
“Well, it didn’t help that you and the rest were always meditating,” unhelpfully added the daemon.
The hermit looked at both speakers and chuckled. The wave of terror abruptly disappeared, but Tyler could still feel the chill it left in his bones. But the sudden attack made him angry.
“What was that for?” demanded the furious mage. “It should be obvious we didn’t come here to fight!”
The recovering companions stared at the mage. It was a response quite uncharacteristic of Tyler, especially given the power of the entity before him. But it didn’t matter to the mage, he felt insulted, and the debilitating terror made him worry about his companions. Habrok was on his knees, still struggling to stand.
To his mind, a simple warning would have been enough, not a terrible psychic assault such as what happened. To the mage, it was unjustly proportional to the degree of threat the companions represented. He wasn’t about to let such a wrong pass, and the mage didn’t care about how powerful the draken was.
The old man stared unbelievingly at the angry mage. Tyler was furious, but not to the point of losing all reason. Nor did he have any intention of attacking. Aside from the sense of self-preservation blaring in his mind, several reminders from his guides also kept him grounded. Right now, he just wanted to give vent to what he was feeling.
“At least you’ve got balls, boy,” replied the chuckling old man. “Quite a change from usual sniveling deity or mortal terrified out of his mind. No wonder those two elementals asked for my cast-off scales and an enchantment on what they produced. But that was a long time ago, and I wasn’t that powerful then. Use what I have now, and you’ll have armor that deities would give an arm and a leg for, in addition to their freely gifted wives.”
Tyler knew when to back down. He had been allowed to exit with grace and pride intact, so he grabbed it. But first, he had to be thankful.
“My utmost thanks for the gift, ancient lord. I have to admit the armor had saved my life a few times, and I believe I owe you a substantial debt,” Tyler said as he slightly bowed. Unfortunately, it was only after he had told his piece when Dionysius’s warning about making promises to deities and similar entities surfaced and slapped him.
“No need for payment, boy. Those two probably knew what they were doing. Fine company too. I just want to meditate again and let the world pass me by. My time has not yet come, and I prefer not being distracted as I wait,” said the draken. “Though you young races sometimes really get on our nerves.”
Their nerves? So, there’s more like him, noted Tyler. And what are they waiting for? Incredibly powerful entities patiently biding their time, for what?
“Now, what are you up to? I’d say something not good because of this pesky daemon, but Thyma’s presence tells me otherwise,” came the old man’s question. “And I do have a question for you later, young man.”
Tyler told him. He knew the ancient being would know if he was lying and told the story as truthfully as he could. But he tried to make the presentation as brief as possible, and his paralegal training came in handy. It was probably the first time a report in bullet format was ever made on Adar.
“I like your style, lad. Concise and complete. But another quest in the making? I’ve seen them come and go, and after the first few stories, I didn’t see the point of listening anymore. I’d rather have Hrun’s attempts at being a skald,” said the old man. “But you still haven’t given me a name.”
“A moment, ancient one,” immediately replied the mage. No way he wa
s going to use my ancient lord or something acknowledging suzerainty. Tyler knew he was still being used, knowingly or unwittingly, as a pawn in some grand game where he couldn’t see the players themselves, but at least he would still have his pride.
Smaug? Sauron? Dragonheart? Falkor? The names of dragons and dark entities from movies ran through his brain. Dracula? Shit. I didn’t know it would be this difficult. The wrong name and he’d be pissed off.
“Know I was once called the Scourge of the North, lad, and other such terrible names. I don’t care for such dark descriptions,” advised the grinning draken. “For once, I would like a name to bring with me while I… meditate.”
He’s not making this any easier, thought Tyler. I need something neutral. Everyone’s attention was now on him, all waiting for the name.
“How about Grastein? Gray Stone. It reflects the color of your robe and your immutability,” suggested Tyler, picking up from the daemon’s comments before the company went up the mountain, though the mage nearly said scales, instead of robe.
“Perfect!” gaily replied the draconic being. “In return, I’ll let you all pass in one piece despite bothering me. Let me guess. That besieged dvergar stronghold up north?”
Tyler nodded.
“At your pace, you’d either be just disturbing the crows or watching the flames. I’d say two days more of fighting, then that fiery youngling would have his way with the rest of the dvergar kingdoms. I can’t say that dark entity you’re searching for would still be there, but who knows?” remarked Grastein.
At the draken’s words, the sense of failure arising from the entire company was palpable. The old man was, in turn, puzzled.
“Well, you could pick up the pace. If you’re that accomplished a mage, then you could be there in a day,” the ancient being ventured. Then Asag whispered something to him.
“Really? A First Mage! I never thought I’d see one again! The last one had been of enormous help to us,” exclaimed Grastein. “But even so, this First Mage has not helped us yet, so I don’t owe him any favors. Yes, I know he has met Gullin, but she’s still a young one, barely out of her tender years.”
Damn. I had hoped Asag’s gambit worked. And Gullin merely a youngster? considered the mage, his sense of disappointment increasing by the second. What the fuck do I do? From what he just said, it’s evident he could help us, but what can I do to convince him? He sounds and acts like a stingy, grouchy miser.
The mage breathed heavily, closed his eyes, and tried to think of something, anything. He drew a blank and in frustration, tightly clenched both hands into fists. The metal of the rings on his fingers dug into the flesh. A sudden memory made him look at both hands, enclosed in dragonscale gauntlets. A name came into mind.
Anemothyella.
***
Tyler paused. Dragons, or drakens as they were called up north, from what he remembered, were of a primordial race. Yet, they were divided not only by the devolution of a great many subspecies, but also by elemental affinity and even intelligence. And from what he remembered of his mythology, dragons could be found in almost every ancient culture, and given the variances in their appearances, were a very diverse race even considering only those who had retained their ancient lineage. When one applied the Darwinian theory of the development of species, the numerous varieties could only mean they had been around for millennia. Even Kobu had admitted the existence of such beings in his homeland.
The Greeks did have the word drakon. But the mage wondered about the preference for draken instead of dreki in Skaney. People there preferred to use dreki to denote drakes, magical or not. Though it could be a practice encouraged by the dragons themselves. What draken in its right mind would like being compared to the much smaller and bestial drake?
Still, there wasn’t much to go on. Even the avatar he had met admitted trying to create Adar’s own version of the mighty beings. He might also end up making matters worse by summoning Anemothyella or any of her kind. Dragons were notoriously solitary, with the exception so far of what mortals erroneously knew as the Ismenian race.
What do I have to lose? seriously considered Tyler. No, that’s a fucking stupid question. If, and that’s a big if, Anemothyella decides to answer my call, and the two draken fight it out instead, then everyone could die, even Asag and Thyma. A gamble, and a deadly one, mused the mage as he continued to weigh the remaining option.
But against that choice, Tyler knew if he didn’t find a way to reach Sterkstein on time, then the dvergar would be gone, and his chance of finding that backdoor to Tartarus greatly lessened. Fighting his way through a victorious host of Sutr’s minions didn’t sound like a viable option either.
By that time, the hosts of the fire jotunn would have been significantly reinforced by reserves held back for the purpose of cutting a swathe of destruction throughout the northern kingdoms of the dwarves. Sterkstein was merely the key to opening the door to the destruction of the dvergar domains.
Damned if you do and damned if you don’t, thought Tyler. I hate this kind of choice.
The mage turned to his guides.
“What do you think?” he asked both after giving a brief statement of the dilemma facing him.
“You could ask the draken in front of you if he knows of the Ismenian race,” replied Hal. “Then base your subsequent decisions on the reaction of that grouch.”
“Or just mention the name of Anemothyella,” added X.
“What was I thinking?” exclaimed Tyler. “You’re both right. I didn’t have to bring any of that draken race here yet.”
“Stress and pressure, sire,” said X. “Sometimes, they slow down one’s analytical processes.”
“In short, they make one as dumb as I was,” concluded the mage, with no slight degree of mortified embarrassment. “Thanks, guys.”
Tyler looked at the trio in front of him and found Grastein looking at him with some amusement. The mage knew the ancient draken was curious as to what he was doing. It did look as if Tyler was doing some heavy thinking amidst a high degree of frustration. He had no doubt it showed, since the mage wasn’t egoistic enough to think he could present a poker face on call.
“Grastein, would you, by any chance, know somebody named Anemothy…” the mage started to say.
Then everything around them froze, suspended in time. The mage could see the shimmering field enclosing the clearing and with it, the company. Even Asag and Thyma were included in the spell.
“No names of my kin outside of proper company, mage,” growled the ancient draken, as the old man grew taller and gained a noticeable increase in bulk.
An aura of menace arose and swirled around Grastein. The mage could see it, and for the first time on Adar, he saw that kind of incredibly powerful aura on an entity outside of the avatar. Anemothyella might be as strong or even more powerful, but that white draken lord kept his strength carefully hidden.
“My apologies, but that’s the name he gave me,” replied the flustered mage.
“She gave you her name? That isn’t her real name, of course, but even that isn’t known, much less mentioned, among the younger races. Prove to me such a preposterous thing and do it fast. I know of nobody, mortal or so-called deity, ever seeing her, much less being granted the honor of learning her name. Be warned. My temper is starting to get the better of me,” came the threat tinged with the promise of something painfully nasty.
He’s a she? Funny, I never thought otherwise, reflected the mage, though he was now nervous as ever. He might have been excluded from the effects of Grastein’s spell. Still, the terrible scowl and the menace it portended wasn’t easy to ignore.
“A few minutes of your time, please,” he told the waiting dragon, holding up his hand.
Tyler focused as best as he could on the ring of Ares, and then called out the white dragon’s name to the ether. Nothing. He tried again. But it was an effort disturbed by a question from the daemon. Surprisingly, Asag was able to break free of the immobilizing spell.
“What are we doing?” the daemon whispered conspiratorially to the pair. He didn’t seem to notice the increase in size and height of Grastein or even the air of tension filling the air.
The mage didn’t answer, shook his head in consternation, and tried again. The old man grabbed Asag and pulled him back, gesturing at the daemon to keep quiet. The ancient draken didn’t seem surprised to find Asag free of his spell.
“Yes, my lord?” answered a voice which echoed in his mind. But it wasn’t the voice of the white dragon or even of Palirroia.
“Who are you?” inquired the mage. The speaker sounded familiar.
“It’s Nychta, my lord. The rest of my kin are engaged now. A major disturbance which needed all our strength,” said the voice.
Shit. Of all times to call them, realized the mage guiltily. He remembered Nychta. The dragon had been beside the lord of that race when the mage appeared before them. Though from what he recalled, that race preferred Greek names, probably because they first appeared in such lands.
“I apologize, Nychta, for the intrusion. But I need one of your race to vouch for me. I need the help of this grouchy old draken before me, and he does not believe we’ve met. But I do hope you’re not on bad terms with him,” hurriedly explained the mage.
“The ancient one of the north. We know of him, and he of us. To different houses we belong, but on good terms. Their watch is for a different threat, but no less important than what we fight for,” gravely replied Nychta. “You want me to appear before him?”
“Would that help?” asked the mage.
“It is difficult to predict his response, my lord. For one of his stature, only the lord of our kind would suffice. My appearance could be interpreted as an insult. Are you willing to risk that?” asked the drakon.
“I’m afraid I have no option, Nychta,” the mage answered.
“If it comes to battle, I will do you proud, my lord. But keep your company away from the cliff. The sight you’ll witness is one which this world has not seen for a long time,” warned the dragon.
The Accidental Archmage: Book Seven (Dragons and Demons) Page 21