The Accidental Archmage: Book Seven (Dragons and Demons)

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “How many?” asked Otr after catching his breath.

  “Around six to eight. Maybe more. The Reiði Elds tribe has always been a secretive one. I wonder what the jotunn lord promised the Wrath of Fire clan to bring them out of their holes?” said Gullin.

  Six to eight. That’s a tall order. Shit. I hope Gullin’s kin show up and soon, thought the dismayed mage.

  Gullin’s answer then resulted in the dwarven princes unceremoniously racing toward the command tent. The mage didn’t know whether it was to brief the others or stop them from getting drunk. He did see Otr already giving orders on the way to the large laager.

  “The supply of liquor has just been stopped,” grinned Tyndur. “And Otr just gave orders for the repositioning of some ballistae and other heavy weapons. He works fast. Now that’s a proper war leader.”

  The company gathered around Tyler, waiting for more details. The mage pointed to Gullin. They knew what she was, and respectfully stood waiting, including Thyma.

  Rogue dragons apparently were predominantly land-bound ones, though a few still had the ability to fly. But even with vestigial wings, such draken moved very fast, and in some instances, could have a rare ability, the result of environmental or forced mutation. The latter referred to changes made through magical experimentation in connivance with dark mages or entities, and such favors were usually paid in the form of services or enormous wealth. If successful. Otherwise, a quick meal would be the result.

  It was agreed that Gullin and whoever showed up from her House would be responsible for the rogues, backed up by Tyndur and Kobu, principally because of their ability to teleport. But the pair were to concentrate on land draken. Astrid and the ranger had support roles. Asag and Thyma had the jotnar army, while the mage would lend a hand where needed. Tyler kept quiet. He knew how battle plans go – they fall to pieces once actual fighting started. But at least some semblance of order could be imposed on the actions of the defenders.

  As they were going through the finer details of their plan, Otr came out of the command tent and joined them. The mage briefed him and informed the prince that one or two more dragon hunters, of the family of Gullin, would be arriving. Otr answered that he would tell Floki, the guard commander, to be on the watch for them.

  “We’ll need every bit of help. The drakens are bad enough, but they will attack with Sutr’s regrouped army. Some of those wimps inside are already pissing in their armor. But you should know our scouts have seen fire giants moving behind the enemy lines. I guess tomorrow’s the day when the fate of Sterkstein will be decided,” commented Otr morosely.

  “Then time to get some rest,” said the mage.

  “I’ll have food and drink brought to your quarters,” replied the dwarven prince. “It’s going to be a long night for us in that tent. We have to redeploy forces and prepare for draken and giants. I doubt if they’d try that flaming giant entity stunt again. Thankfully, the Archmage made short work of that headache.”

  A dwarf then stepped out of the shadows. Otr explained the young warrior was going to be their guide and would stay with them to see to their needs. With that, Otr left. The mage looked at the warrior. He was also bearded, but the color was untainted by white or gray hair. He gave his name as Hardur, a kinsman of the dvergar prince.

  “So, Hardur. Ready for the coming battle?” asked Tyndur as the party made their careful way toward their evening quarters.

  “No warrior is ever ready, my lord,” said Hardur. “But the battle for this place, known to all dvergar as Sterkstein’s Throat, will make or break the defense of the dwarven homelands, dvergar and svartálfar alike.”

  Columns of warriors were already on the march to the front lines. Whatever means of communications the dvergar had, it was fast and effective. The mage did feel sorry for the mobilized warriors. Even wearing cloaks against the cold, they were clearly going to spend the night in their fighting positions, arranged in the required battle array.

  All around them, the company could hear the various sounds of a vast armored multitude being roused and moved into position. The thump of marching boots and clatter of weapons and armor filled the night air. The dwarven lords were not taking any chances.

  Tyler did gain more insight into dwarven society that night. Two sentries guarded the main entrance to the warriors’ quarters. One was surprisingly clean-shaven. A whispered query to Tyndur got him the answer the sentry was a female dvergar. It was the first time the mage had seen one from the opposite sex of that race.

  It was an extreme itch of a curiosity that got him to ask their guide whether females were common in the front lines. Hardur shook his head.

  “They’re more valuable than us males,” explained the young warrior.

  Hardur held that the female dwarves could do everything the males could. But in addition, they were better at healing, they could smelt ore, and forge weapons and armor. The young warrior also said their females were more ferocious in the internal defense of the kingdom, and they took care of homes and children, and were much better cooks. Finally, the future of the dwarven race was in their hands. The young dvergar added that Otr’s father might be the king, but everybody knew that no major decision was taken without the queen’s consent.

  “A lot of warriors out here can’t cook past a roast even if their lives depended on it,” added Hardur with a loud snicker.

  ***

  The next day was an overcast one. A dreary day, a quality which added to the ominous atmosphere prevailing on the mountain. The plain itself was clear of enemies. But everybody knew it was but a matter of time before the assault of Sterkstein’s Throat began anew.

  Suddenly, a massive cloud of fog came rolling from the other end of the vast plain. It swiftly spread toward the dwarven massif and rose high in the sky. Tyler immediately cast an area scrying spell and was promptly deluged with innumerable hordes of magical sparks, all moving toward them. He turned to the gathered dwarven commanders beside the company and told them of what was happening. Otr nodded and glanced at the waiting leaders.

  “Wait.” It was Gullin.

  “That’s not fog. That’s steam. Quite hot too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  The Battle for Sterkstein's Throat

  “Steam? By the knotted beards of my forefathers! Steam? That retarded jotunn bastard wants to cook us? Not even roasted! It’s a blasted insult!” shouted one of the dwarven commanders.

  “Ingólfur the Red-Faced is right! It’s a damned insult to die by steaming. We’d all rather be roasted! Where are those twisted wyrms? I volunteer to face them instead!” agreed another vociferously.

  Tyler didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The words he heard were clearly mentioned in earnest. Dwarven psychology was simply beyond him. A glance at Gullin revealed an amused face. At least the dwarves knew the nuance between draken or wyrm. It was probably a necessity given the high probability of encountering such beings in their line of work.

  “This calls for a cold breeze, Archmage. I have to leave the magic to you as my concern would be those rogues,” Gullin said as she looked at the mage.

  Tyler couldn’t meet Gullin’s eyes. The draken stared at the mage once more, and disbelief emerged in her features. She suddenly grabbed his arms and virtually dragged Tyler some distance from the gathered crowd watching the field.

  “You do know cold spells, don’t you?” whispered Gullin hastily.

  “Uh, no?”

  “A mage. An Archmage. And no cold enchantments to speak of. Are you joking? Mind you, this is not the time nor the place for such frivolities,” warned Gullin severely.

  “Magely serious here. None. Fire spells, I do have in my list,” said Tyler meekly.

  “Lord Grastein must have assumed a lot. An ancient draken loot’s worth. Your title itself indicates a lot of things, but apparently, there are huge gaps in your knowledge. A cold spell. By all my ancestors! Even a journeyman mage would know of such a spell,” remarked the draken.

  “
Don’t rub it in. I didn’t volunteer for this job. A sentiment I have been telling people over and over again,” protested the mage.

  Gullin stared at him, her iris shifting to narrow golden slits. It was evident to Tyler that the draken was on the verge of making a decision. Her gauntleted hand swiftly rose, and her armored forefinger touched Tyler’s forehead.

  “The things I have to do. Ignorance of the knowledge needed for a cold spell! Your predecessors would now be laughing in whatever afterworld they have found themselves! Here! A gift. Make use of it and be thankful my House is of fire and ice,” muttered Gullin in a clearly irritated and frustrated tone.

  As soon as the tip of the cold armored finger touched his skin, the mage felt an icy spot. One which rapidly spread throughout his body, forcing him to shiver due to the sudden cold.

  But at the same time, a brief stream of knowledge flowed into his mind, and with it came the fundamental elements for a cold spell. It was a basic magical formulation, similar to fire. But within the mental construct, the core of the enchantment had been changed to a strange rune which the mage intuitively knew to be the draconic symbol for cold.

  “It’s vastly more powerful than the human version, sire,” came Hal’s comment. “And given your other abilities and knowledge, the possible permutations are endless.”

  “How do we use it?” asked Tyler, catching himself using the word we again. I seem to be using the word more and more, the thought arose in his mind.

  “Same as fire spells, sire. The principle is the same,” came X’s explanation.

  “Good. I assume I have to learn some new sequence again. I can’t even remember to use the others,” said the young man with relief.

  Then he carefully examined the billowing clouds of steam in the distance. Another scrying spell revealed the enemy had started to advance, but they kept to the cover afforded by the hot vapors. The mage noticed the swiftly spreading mist didn’t cover the entire plain, only areas the foe was using.

  “Otr, the approaching fog is limited to the avenues the enemy is employing. You might want your mangonels and other heavy equipment to start their songs,” the mage told the dvergar prince.

  Tyler noticed shocked glances being thrown his way at the informality. But somehow, he couldn’t imagine calling Otr, or even Dvalin, by their honorifics. He saw the einherjar giving him a quick grin.

  Tyndur had also noticed—and the mage could imagine—the amusement the incident gave the warrior. Dwarves were obsessed with protocol; the informality must have been giving apoplexy to those within hearing distance.

  But the prince didn’t even notice the break with custom. Immediately, he barked an order, and the sky was darkened by a deluge of large boulders. The mage was surprised at the number of projectiles. He didn’t think the dwarves had that many pieces of heavy artillery.

  “That’s a lot of rocks,” Tyler commented idly. The result of the massive bombardment wouldn’t be seen due to the fog. Still, given the continuous thundering he could hear and the shaking of the ground, there would be substantial casualties among the enemy vanguard. It wasn’t as if the dwarves would run out of rocks.

  “We brought out all our reserves and replacements. It’s time to throw everything into the battle. Time to test the ore, as our smelters would say,” the dvergar replied happily. A reaction that made the mage curious.

  “First time to use everything?” he guessed.

  “Everything! We repaired what we could and even brought out ancient models. We’ve got the brawn for it, thanks to the other lords. But that scalding mist worries me,” answered Otr.

  “I’ll try to do what I can,” Tyler said, already deep in concentration. Below them, flashes were already going off as dwarven mages began to work. It was a scintillating display as talismans, scrolls, and other magical items were brought into play.

  On-the-job training, reflected the mage as he released a tendril of energy toward the fog.

  If ever the searing mist reached the dwarven lines, there was a high probability of the wall of armor giving way. The dwarves might have an extraordinary level of tolerance to heat, but he doubted if they’d be able to withstand what Sutr had sent. Even Gullin said it was hot, and that was already from a draken’s perspective.

  His magical scrutiny confirmed his fear. The enchanted fog was very hot, not enough to melt iron or steel, but it could cook flesh within a few minutes. Sutr’s attention to the battle was marked by a strong magical pulse which could be felt leading all the way back to the rear of the advancing hordes, beyond the range of his spell.

  At the very edge of Tyler’s magical examination, large energy spots could be seen. Six of them, all heading toward Sterkstein’s Throat. For a minute, Tyler wondered why they didn’t lead the assault. Instead, they were kept far back and only appeared when the attack began. Then he realized they were purposely held in reserve for the mage who was powerful enough to eliminate Sutr’s giant flaming pet.

  ***

  The sudden realization shook Tyler. Fear, intimidation, and then a wave of slow-burning anger started to boil. He couldn’t help but be flattered, and it helped calm him down. After several seconds, he started to be amused.

  Six dragons. All for little ol’ me’? My threat level must have risen, speculated Tyler. Or Sutr asked Loki about what’s facing his forces. Still, if that’s what happened, I am flattered at what Loki thinks of me. That son of a bitch.

  But the drakens were still some distance away, and the mage judged they’d be thrown into the fray once he showed himself and affected the course of the battle. His magical display yesterday must also have revealed a massive surge of energy, one which Sutr, his commanders, or the drakens would be looking for.

  Shit. That also means I can’t show my hand this early. Does this mean my magical spells have a particular energy signature? I really haven’t considered that, thought the mage, who then asked his guides.

  The answer of the pair of AIs wasn’t to his liking. Minor enchantments, even if powerful, could not usually be distinguished against the magical atmosphere of Adar. It would be impossible to track such spells unless one was looking at a particular spot at the right time. The release of energy would be quick and would swiftly dissolve back to the ether. But major enchantments, like what Tyler did against the flaming entity or even the cloud lightning spell, were magical beacons, and the energy expended by the mage or entity could give away the particular matrix through which such power was released.

  “There are six of them. But far behind the jotnar army,” Tyler told Gullin.

  “I know. Four flying, and two land-bound,” replied the draken casually.

  “You could sense what kind they are?” went the instinctive query from the mage, followed by an immediate retraction.

  “Sorry. Of course, you could. That was a stupid question,” said the mage.

  “The first step toward genuine knowledge is realizing when a question is stupid. They’ll be here once you show your strength, but I don’t think they know I am here. But the odds seem unfavorable, and this mountaintop will be their next target if they can’t find their favorite mage,” commented Gullin. “But if I were you, I’d be concerned about the overlords of Sutr’s armies.”

  “Armies?” exclaimed Tyler. All this time, he had considered the attackers to be part of one colossal host led by one leader or even a powerful champion. Nothing he had observed indicated the contrary.

  “You need to arm yourself with knowledge about the ways of waging war, young mortal. I could see three distinct flows of jotnar. Three wings of a vast horde. And yet no sign appears of their leaders,” said Gullin.

  Fucking amateur, Tyler chastised himself. But another scrying didn’t reveal anything new.

  “I still can’t sense them,” the mage told Gullin.

  “Nor can I. My powers do not include the ability to search deep under the ground. You should talk to that rock monster,” answered the dragon.

  “You called, Master?” Asag’s teas
ing voice suddenly asked. Tyler found the daemon beside him.

  The joker has been listening all along, reflected the mage.

  “You know what the problem is, Asag. Do try to find them,” sighed Tyler.

  To his mind, at least what would be involved was the daemon’s energy, not his. Tyler turned his attention back to the approaching armies. He could now discern what Gullin mentioned – a central mass with flanking forces. The problem was, there was a lot of jotnar moving on the field and waiting at the rear.

  As he examined the closing enemy, Tyler found the vanguards of the three hosts were also shielded from the barrage being launched by the dwarves. Contrary to his expectations, casualties were limited. Even the magical attacks launched by dwarven mages were being thwarted by magical barriers.

  Shit, cursed the mage as he watched the methodical approach of the foe. The armies were advancing at a deliberate pace, making sure they kept within the hot, rolling cover and their magical shields. The only favorable circumstance was that the approaching enemies had not yet reached rushing distance, though it was evident the jotnar intended their scalding cloud to do their initial work.

  What to do? Use my abilities against the enemy now, and I’d be identified early. Nobody else is using the cloud lightning spell for one, and piecemeal attacks would be like using a cup to bail out water from a sinking boat, he considered. A cold spell? Freeze them? How? So many! I doubt if three days would be enough even if they meekly line up to be frozen.

  “Master Archmage, First Mage, or whatever is your pleasure for the day, I found them,” Asag’s voice abruptly disturbed his thoughts.

  “Where the fuck are they?” asked the mage loudly. Tyler again caught himself. The dismal situation was making him lose his temper.

  “Now, now. No need to be rude,” said the daemon with a wagging finger.

  “Sorry, Asag. Too many, too much. The usual,” apologized Tyler. His neck was starting to get warm again, a tell-tale mark of his rising temper.