He went on to clarify that even if Kemet manages to recover or free such regions, the damage had been done to its reputation. Its vassals and allies had seen its weaknesses. Rebellions would be in the future, and a weakened Kemet wouldn’t be able to do anything or succeed if it tries to do something about such uprisings or attempts at secession. For now, there was a chance of the empire recovering lost lands. A vast number of magical creatures had suddenly been withdrawn from the attacking armies.
Tartarus, concluded Tyler.
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” said the mage. Vassal states and empires were concepts he still couldn’t accept as existing in his immediate reality. They were in history books, though he had not been privy to the workings of such realms except for that bloody beheading of the boy-king in the Inkan kingdom. Tyler instinctively abhorred politics and, despite the difficulties, was thankful that his quests steered him clear of such Byzantine entanglements.
“If everyone just wants to live peacefully, yes, that would be a good thing. Unfortunately, bad habits persist. Nation against nation. Tribe against tribe. So, expect a long period of wars with all its resultant misery and death in that part of the world,” explained Se-Osiris. “Just because the name of another tribe is different is still sufficient excuse for blood and gore in this day and age.”
Then the ghost stopped and looked around. A disgusted expression slowly appeared on his face. It was apparent that Se-Osiris just had an epiphany of sorts.
“And to think I thought I was over those stupid earthly things when I died!” he cried out in an angry shout.
Tyler was puzzled. He understood what the dead mage said, but the reaction at the end was mystifying. He carefully looked at the furious Se-Osiris looking up the sky, waited for several seconds, and then asked what merited the outburst. The ghost was dead, after all, and was expected to return to the afterlife as soon as the company left for Fossegrim. No bolt of power came out from the sky to punish him for his blasphemy, so Tyler figured Thaut must be laughing his guts out instead.
“That’s just it! I am supposed to stay with you in place of the High Priestess! And get this! I can’t involve myself in any activity on this physical plane that would directly result in human deaths. By the gods! It was better when I was alive -I could defend myself! Now? It’s a mad camel of a situation! This world has enough monsters who would be happy to devour an errant soul!” cried out Se-Osiris.
“Why? Shouldn’t you be allowed to defend yourself?” asked Tyler, baffled about the prohibition. It was presumably another rule, and a stupid one to boot.
“Dangerous precedent for souls who aren’t damned, Archmage. Something about vengeance from beyond the grave having to pass through the heavenly council of approvals. That’s a lot of papyrus,” spat the ghost with derision. “When I died, I left everything behind. My hate, regrets, sorrows. And this is what I get.”
***
“I didn’t give you permission to join us,” announced Tyler, keeping his annoyance under control.
Eira immediately gripped his hand tighter, sensing the change in her husband’s mood. The mage had always kept membership in the company tightly under control. All were bound by oaths which could only be broken by death. Even during his early period on Adar, Tyler knew it was necessary. The games of the deities, their often-opposing perspectives, and their general untrustworthiness stoked the survival instincts of even a naive mage.
“I am already dead, so I could just hang around your group, following your tracks without you knowing about it. Declaring it was a better choice for me. And you,” replied Se-Osiris calmly.
“I’d know about it. Before you are magic practitioners with the ability to sense your haunting and even send you back to where you came from. Or even make sure you don’t return anywhere,” remarked Tyler, with a hint of steel in his voice.
“Come now, Archmage. It’s not as if I want to be here. But I am also a mage and blessed with the power of a deity. It won’t be easy,” grinned the phantasm. “I don’t intend harm to any of you. The god merely wishes me to be around and mayhap render a bit of advice or two.”
Even a deity’s power won’t protect you from me if you turn into another Asag, thought Tyler.
He glanced at the company. The mage had to admit they needed help. Terrible storms were on the horizon. With Tyndur gone and Asag revealing himself as another threat, more firepower – under his control – would have been welcome. But given his limitations, Se-Osiris was next to useless in a physical and magical battle, especially against the kind of opponents they would be facing. Tyler doubted if he needed a cheering squad of one, though the dead mage could be a source of knowledge. Se-Osiris didn’t mention any restrictions in that aspect.
“A spy,” concluded Tyler.
“A harsh word. I prefer observer, but a spy indeed in earnest,” laughed the ghost.
At least Se-Osiris wasn’t hiding anything as far as Tyler could see. The human spirit even appeared to give more information than what the young Archmage asked for. It could be intentional, he surmised—a way to render aid unobtrusively. The ghost also seemed to share Tyler’s dislike of the conceited attitude of the pantheons. Finally, he was sent by Thaut, the father of Asem. That by itself was a point in favor of the dead mage.
“I agree, then. But I hold you to what you said. As far as I am concerned, it’s a binding oath. Betray us, and I’ll find a way to make your afterlife a painful, living hell. Not your vision of hell, either,” conceded Tyler finally.
“I could also find more ways to add to that,” called out Thyma, who appeared to be listening.
“My thanks, Archmage,” bowed Se-Osiris. “Personally, I would have loved to see the conflict between Horus the Younger and his father’s nemesis. The last battle took eighty mortal years to resolve. This time, I believe it would be fast and extremely violent. There’s no arbiter around.”
“Clarify something for me. You mentioned somebody cutting up somebody. Isn’t one Osiris?” asked the puzzled Archmage. Even he knew that.
“As far as the Great Serpent is concerned, there’s no difference between father and son. He’ll cut both up if he’s able. He believes Horus is but an avatar of the father. You know, the god of the penis fame?” remarked Se-Osiris mischievously.
“What fame?” ventured Tyler, now quite curious. He knew nothing about that part, though judging from the giggles of Eira and Thyma, they’ve heard of it.
“You’re a visitor. No wonder. Such stories must have been relegated to the dusty, forgotten memories of mortals. Osiris wasn’t able to rule the pantheon because even if almost all the pieces of his body were recovered, his manhood wasn’t. Despite the desperate efforts of two goddesses. Two powerful ones, I might add. That itself makes one wonder what made it so… unique. So, he was sent to rule the Kemetian underworld as some sort of consolation prize. You could say that for the lack of a penis, Osiris lost his kingdom,” guffawed the irreverent ghost.
***
The retreating crowds were thinning, observed Tyler as he sat on the ground. Eira had insisted he rest as much as he could. It was good advice, considering he still felt weak after the massive exertion of willpower. Of the two battling monsters, he could see no sign. Even Se-Osiris wasn’t sure where they were. The mage had his theory, but he would have liked certainty in such an important matter. The dead mage disappeared, promising to find out what he could.
“I guess the jarls and the dwarven princes are already in town?” Tyler asked Kobu, who sat a few paces behind him.
“They are, sire. What we see are stragglers,” confirmed the exile.
“I should visit them then,” mused the mage.
“I believe they’d be extremely busy, sire. Recovering their men, reforming companies, controlling panic. Sigtuna is still rebel jarl territory. I wouldn’t be surprised if those species of men called end-of-worlders came out of the woodwork. Fearful times usually draw them out, and more often than not, create more panic than the threat i
tself. The lords know you’ve helped, and for warriors, that’s enough,” replied Kobu.
Suddenly, the horizon to the north exploded in a massive kaleidoscope of colors. It was an incredible surge of energy, and from what Tyler could sense, it didn’t come from either of the two monsters. It had a familiar sheen and feel to it, and the mage couldn’t tell if its unexpected appearance portended more conflict on a vastly higher level. Its appearance both startled and shocked him. If a struggle was going to be the result of the unforeseen participation of this world’s avatar, it was a battle way above and beyond him.
At least it didn’t give off an aggressive aura. It gave the sensation of being a barrier. An absurdly powerful one, but still a magical protective wall. Tyler stood up, following the example of the companions who all jumped to their feet at the spectacle. Then he heard the exile sigh.
“More fodder for the panic-mongers,” said Kobu resignedly. The man was unruffled as ever.
“It could very well be the end of the world, Kobu,” he commented.
“We’re not sure, sire. Humans are notoriously difficult to exterminate as a race. We’re fleshy beetles, but thinking, cruel, and bloodthirsty,” deadpanned the warrior.
“By that, I assume you don’t hold much with idealized human beliefs,” commented the young mage, looking at his shadow guardian.
“Ah, sire. I believe in them. Truly. It’s what makes us different from mindless beasts. Unfortunately, our race is infamous for its faults. You can remove ideals from humans, but not the human from mangling ideals,” grinned the exile sardonically.
Se-Osiris suddenly materialized between them, resulting in Kobu swiftly moving in front of the mage with his sword drawn. The specter glanced at the weapon being sheathed and then looked at Tyler.
“There’s a magical wall of unfamiliar energy enclosing the northern lands of fire and ice. Beyond that information, nobody really knows. But a power able to seal off an entire region is not to be trifled with, even by all the pantheons combined. Deities are fleeing the area. What one could see are placid lands, but it’s an illusion. Everybody in the vicinity could sense that a mammoth struggle is going on inside that field,” reported the dead mage.
Tyler didn’t answer. His suspicion proved correct, but he still didn’t know what it meant for the future. He stared north. The flashing colors on the horizon were still there.
“Oh, I also have to inform you that another mage, a live one, is looking for you. He’s in Sigtuna and possibly on his way here. He’s from the Imperii Romanii, and you can guess who guided him here,’ remarked Se-Osiris placidly.
Another mage. Imperii Romanii. The early Romans. That means Jupiter, otherwise known as Zeus, is involved. Damn. Watchdogs galore, fumed Tyler.
Chapter Eighteen:
Mage Emperor
“You recognize him?” inquired the young mage.
It seemed to be one of those really irritating days where everything conspires against you. The young Archmage didn’t know whether the isolation magic of Adar’s avatar would hold and keep the devastation limited to that region of the world. It was a question that didn’t even include dealing with the victor of the battle. Tyler himself had no idea of even how to begin to approach the problem, much less resolve it.
“Cassius Cornelius. A member of the patrician gens Cornelia, disowned and disregarded by family and friends alike. He could be carrying a different name now, but this one knows we have been given his cognomen. Called a charlatan, a confidence man, and a swindler back in the Imperii. If he were Greek, they’d call him a goetes. Make no mistake. He is a true magus, even if the pretentious rabble he left behind do have strange and impractical ideas about magic in that island of theirs. Yet, for some reason, he preferred being considered a fake,” advised the spectral mage.
“And you know this because?” asked the surprised Archmage. Se-Osiris clearly predated this Cassius, and yet he seemed to have a lot of information on the man.
The ghost merely chuckled, heartily at that, and explained most of it was given by the deity Thaut. Yet his curiosity made him visit the Roman and try to observe the mage. It was a venture which resulted in a spell cast at him. One intended to painfully capture an interloper of the ethereal kind. Yet Se-Osiris laughed off the encounter, saying it was an amateurish attempt at best.
Tyler nodded at the comment, though the young man believed he smelled professional jealousy in the offing, even if one was alive and the other dead. Not to mention they lived in totally different eras. It was something he could use. One could watch the other, though the young Archmage believed he could trust Se-Osiris more even if the word trust, when applied to representatives of deities, was a relative term. But that mention of a patrician, or noble, background raised his mental defenses. Believing that one’s shit smelled better than those born to ordinary families rankled within the Archmage. Then something about what Se-Osiris said came back and demanded his attention.
“What do you mean about strange and impractical ideas about magic? Greek or Roman, they all share the same beliefs about such energy, don’t they?” asked Tyler and, at that point, reflected that they also shared the same gods. Different names, but the same entities. Even Zeus confirmed it.
“Time for an education, then,” beamed the apparition.
Clearly, Se-Osiris enjoyed the role, making Tyler wonder if the man had students during his time. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the mage had disciples. His personality didn’t seem to be the type who hoarded all magical knowledge for himself. Important mysteries, high-level spells, and such secrets would be kept in confidence. If not for the danger they posed in untrained or unready hands, then for the genuine peril that such magic knowledge could be used against the teacher. But imparting the general principles of magic to those with the aptitude for it would have been an enjoyable diversion for the mage when he was alive. Somehow, right at that moment, Se-Osiris reminded him of his favorite teacher, the one who didn’t make high-school science a pain to learn.
The Romanii, the spirit narrated in an expansive mood, tend to invoke the assistance of gods in their magical rituals. Charms, amulets, potions, and emblems were utilized to curry favor. It was the rare mage who came to the conclusion that the energy could be directly manipulated. The Roman pantheon encouraged the practice as it generated further belief in their existence, adding more power to the deities subject of the invocation.
The Romanii culture itself contributed to such an outlook, and the constant threat of the barbarian tribes of the Terras Barbara, the region south of the island empire, made sure that the Roman gods would be busy. The hostile tribes themselves had their own gods and means of accessing magical power. As far as Se-Osiris knew, the conflict was at a stalemate. However, he conceded that a deadlock was perfect for maintaining dependence on the gods.
“A culture thing? Does it mean those in Hellas are more adept in magic?” inquired a baffled Archmage.
“A bizarre incident happened on the way to the magic market, Archmage. I really don’t know. It could be the food, the air, or something else. But that’s the situation. I do have to mention that the magical knowledge of the Greeks and Romans came from us, those in ancient Kemet. Whatever claims these upstarts might have, the fact is, we are better mages, and they didn’t learn all there was to discover,” beamed Se-Osiris broadly. A pause, and then he reflected that the Greeks were the first to learn from the sages of Kemet and from them, to the Romanii.
“Something got lost along the way to the imperial forum,” the ghost continued to muse, pondering for several seconds. “Could be the language.”
“But you say this fellow isn’t the same as the rest,” said Tyler, steering the discussion back to the Romanii mage.
“No. He would be called a High Mage in Skaney though he’s more accomplished than one. However, the empire doesn’t have those distinctions or ranks,” came the answer. “He’s here.”
***
A robed, beardless man about fifty or so year
s of age, sharp features, and an aquiline nose was walking towards the group. Unusually, his hair was long and reached down his back, tied with a leather string. The image smashed to bits Tyler’s notion that all Romans had short-cropped hair. But the hair on the sides was trimmed in a straight manner just above the ears. Tellingly, the blue robe looked of expensive make and material. The man might be a mage, but definitely not a hermit.
Mercifully, he didn’t put on the hood, observed the young Archmage. Up to now, I still couldn’t see the reason for the fascination with robes, except as possible cloaks for hiding small objects. But this particular mage doesn’t even carry a staff. Curious. His hands are full of rings, though.
The visitor’s severe and thoughtful eyes were, to the Archmage, was his most disturbing feature. Calmly analytical in the way they took in the waiting company, the quick and penetrating glances were admittedly unnerving. He turned to ask something of Se-Osiris and found the specter gone.
The Accidental Archmage: Book Eight (Where Titans Walk) Page 21