“I apologize, High Mage. I never expected Ivar could be an instrument of the dark power that’s coming,” said the jarl, voice still marked with shock.
“There’s no need, jarl. I should have expected the leader of the coming horde, being wise in matters of warfare – though I hoped not to the same degree as when he was still alive – would employ mortal means and strategies. Eliminating a key player at the start of the game would be your brother’s play, yes?”
“It sounds like him. Even the pausing of the advance party. He must have expected an excellent return from the drakes. Since that failed, he will be relying on a sudden rush against the walls and gate. It’s easy and quick enough to fashion battering rams from the trees around here.”
“Little things should also have warned me. I remember Ivar calling me High Mage even though I just arrived and he wasn’t here long enough either. I suggest you send a few men to check around where he stayed and where he went. Hopefully, the assassination attempt was the only surprise he had in store for us,” said Tyler. “Now we wait.”
“True. Now we wait,” repeated the jarl as he extended his right arm for the common Norse symbol of fellowship. Tyler gripped the forearm of the jarl and smiled.
“Fair winds and following seas,” the mage uttered. The jarl laughed.
“An apt blessing for one of Skaney. And here’s mine: may the Kraken never disturb thy seas.”
The mage wanly smiled.
Here’s to hoping it is but a myth here and that I don’t need to travel to Banna by boat.
***
The mage scrutinized the distant army. It was like watching a multitude of green dots flowing down a channel of water. But he noticed something abnormal about their progress – the steady stream of green points broke into numerous clumps at the end of the torrent.
The obstacle course from last night, remembered the mage. Well, at least, it will break up the mass and formations.
He didn’t update the jarl yet on the seemingly innumerable enemies coming toward them. Though for now, he was thankful for the night. The sight of the ocean of undead would have broken an ordinary warrior’s spirit.
A miscalculation on the leader’s part, he decided. He failed to grasp the vital psychological effect of the size of his army. That’s the typical warrior for you - attack on the brains.
The leading elements of the undead army now appeared to be bogged down in the maze of trenches and mounds. The mage could see the confusion and breaking up of formations as more and more attackers encountered the field or the crowded rear of those who went before them.
Despite the dire situation, Tyler couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. It looked like a mass production line gone wrong. After several minutes, the number of dots delayed by the broken ground had swelled massively, with more on the way to the field. Then from the back of the incoming mass, a vast number of green pinpricks suddenly rose to the air. The distant sky was full of them. It was as if the stars themselves had come down from the night sky, changed their color into the detestable greenish hue, and arrayed their numbers on the horizon. The snicker died in the mage’s throat.
I knew it! he thought despairingly. He glanced over to Kobu and the jarl.
“A moment please,” he asked. “Tyndur and Habrok too.”
The two came closer, the escort of the jarl keeping a respectful distance from them.
When they reached him, he broke the bad news in a brief whisper.
“How many?” asked the jarl. Tyler pointedly stared at the stars in the sky as his answer.
The jarl just smiled. “There always comes a time for a man to die anyway. Why not tonight?”
“Damned. Tonight is not a good time to die,” protested Tyndur in hushed tones.
“Why not?” asked Habrok.
“That’s the flying part. How are we going to deal with the walking ones if we’re dead?” came the answer. That response even got the mage struggling to understand what exactly Tyndur wanted to say.
Kobu just smiled and said nothing.
“You’ll come up with something, sire,” confidently declared Habrok. “We already fought and defeated two Aztecah armies with undead in their ranks, not to mention bearded Aztecah gods in their very own sanctums. And I am not even including the disaster you inflicted on Ymir back in Scarburg, and kicking Ares’s and his minions' arrogant behinds.”
“Oh, you forgot the battles in the Void Lands,” added Tyndur in a low voice.
The jarl kept quiet the entire time, but the stunned disbelief on his face was evident.
“This is a new battle. Let me think,” was all the mage could say. The rest went back to their positions.
Unfortunately, Tyler could clearly see the multitude of flying attackers now moving toward the fortress.
I can’t think of anything. Any solution I come up with involves the use of Elder energy, and I need whatever we have for unraveling the spell. I can delay, or even devastate parts of what’s flying toward us, but there are too many, and only one of me. Damn! Where are Windstorm and his kin when you need them!
The more he thought about it, the closer the flying specks became, and the higher his desperation mounted.
Can’t those Ismenian draken spare even ten minutes? What’s the use of being their lord when you can’t count on them! thought the mage furiously. He could feel his blood rise in response to his frustration. Fuck this. I use the Elder energy we collected and then we can’t unravel the spell.
He quickly double-checked with his guides. The answer was the same. They needed all that was produced, considering the unknown quality of the energy. A quantity was required to break through the dimensional veneer and the spell which held the main conjuration together, and then the rest to collapse the matrix of the ancient animating magical pattern. X added they needed to wait until the highest possible concentration of energy was before them to ensure the maximum probability of success. That meant the leader of the advancing army would have to be within hailing distance of the walls.
“The leader?” he asked. Tyler suspected the reason, but there’s nothing like a clear answer.
“The energy seemed to be focused in a moving part of the approaching horde. Its power emanates from it. The only conclusion we could arrive at is that such energy maintains the spell. There’s also no other vessel more appropriate for it than the leader of the undead army,” replied X. “Though it also means such a being would be quite powerful, with an unknown kind of energy at its disposal.”
Fuck me. I'm gonna get owned. The vulgar and slang response was all he could think of.
The new attackers were as fast as those involved in the probing attack. In ten minutes, details of their sizes and patterns were already apparent to Tyler.
And organized formations? Meaning they’ll be conducting an organized attack on the defenses? When it rains, it really pours!
Suddenly, the air in front of the mage curiously shimmered, slowly resolving into the form of a giant wyrm floating in the air.
It was Palirroia, the Ismenian drakon. Somehow, the being had sprouted massive and magnificent wings. Behind him were several others of his race, among them one he recognized – Nýchta, the night.
“You called, my lord?” asked the dragon in front of him, the voice low and deep enough to go echoing through one’s bones, leaving a trail of coldness wherever the rumbling susurrations reverberated. "We can spare ten minutes."
Tyler felt as if a tub full of cold relief had been poured over him. He stood for a while, looking at the wyrm. He could swear the being was amused.
“You did hear me,” was all he could say.
“Of course, my lord. The release of your peculiar energy was felt by Windstorm across the ether. Desperation marked it well.” The reply was made mentally. “What do you want us to do?”
“There's a deluge of undead converging on this fortress. I can’t manage them all, especially the flying ones. There’s just too many,” replied the mage.
�
��A game of all we can dispose of in ten minutes? That’s quite the challenge.”
“The flying ones first, please.”
“As you wish. They’re not a problem for us. There might be some strange energy in the air, animating them, but we are prepared for and faced worse things. And there’s nothing like purifying fire combined with lightning to light the darkness,” said the dragon with some amusement. The group vanished.
The entire platform was quiet. The defenders couldn’t see what’s happening, but Tyler could. Broad swathes of green dots were winking out, including many on the ground. But those below the flyers were being replaced as quickly as they disappeared.
Has it been ten minutes? That’s a lot of undead off the field. At least the flying ghouls have been dealt with, more or less. That group could have wiped clean the ramparts, us included, all by themselves. With or without my magic.
He examined the skies. A few flying dots remained, but the mage thought it was manageable. But the number of enemies on the ground was rapidly increasing again. Palirroia suddenly reappeared before the mage and transformed into a young man with blond hair and beard, wearing ordinary scale armor sans helm. He nimbly stepped into the platform, and the others involuntarily stepped back, crowding around the mangonel, except for members of the party. He bowed before the mage.
“A refreshing exercise, my lord, but it is now time for us to return to our vigilance,” the being stood up.
“Out of curiosity, how often do those entities on the other side attack?” asked the mage.
“A continuous and never-ending watch, my lord. Almost every fifteen minutes. Only, we don’t know if it’s a major threat or a mere testing skirmish every time they show up,” replied the wyrm. "My time with Ares was a trying one for my race. There are but a few of us, and my absence was sorely felt."
Then he glanced to the side and saw Habrok.
“Hail, ranger! Good to see you alive and at the service of our master. But where’s the warrior?” asked Palirroia.
“Fallen, great one. He’s in Valhalla now,” said Habrok.
“Ah. Nothing like a good death, fighting for what one believes. I pray when my time comes, I will be as fortunate as he was. Fare thee well. Your battle is upon you and the numbers of your opponents, though lessened, are still great.”
“Fare thee well, Palirroia. Our gratitude for the invaluable help,” said ranger.
The wyrm in a man’s shape turned to Tyler and gave a final bow, before disappearing with his kind.
The jarl walked forward.
“You are full of unimaginable surprises, High Mage. You do deserve your real title. Never in my imagination could I conceive of the idea that a wyrm would bow to a mortal. Even now, my mind refuses to accept what my eyes saw.”
“Even I could scarcely believe it, jarl. That race has weightier problems on its hands. Their assistance was a welcome, and crucial, one, but now the siege begins,” said the mage. “From his words, there are still a lot of them out there. But at least the flying monsters have been reduced to a mere nuisance. That kind worried me. In their numbers, and in the darkness of the night, they would have been enough to leave this fortress empty of men and dwarves in less than an hour.”
He gave the jarl a slight motion of his head and moved toward the end of the parapet. The jarl soon stood beside him, the guards having been signaled by the ruler to stay where they were.
“I have to admit the enemy's numbers are too great to be defeated, jarl. Even with our assistance. We’re all going to perish before morning comes, unless I can nullify the spell animating them. I believe you ought to know the reality of the situation. Good thing the attack is at night, otherwise, even the bravest hearts would fail at the sight of the vast numbers facing us. We do have a slim chance, a gamble which involves attempting to unravel the animating spell. That’s the reason for my sleepless night, but even then, what I was able to come up with might not work. Worse, it requires that the high concentration of the bizarre energy be close at hand, meaning that the corpse of your brother will have to be here, before the walls. Until that happens, we just have to weather whatever they throw at us,” whispered Tyler.
“I understand, First Mage. But whether we live or die, I am glad you ventured here, of all places, to fight at our side. Such an act by you and your companions will never be forgotten,” replied the jarl.
“Well, as we have both mentioned before, let’s make sure some people will be left to remember,” smiled Tyler.
The mage looked at the distant field again. Last night’s battle area was already overrun by green dots, and the flood of bright spots was coming closer, though they hadn’t reached mangonel or catapult range yet. That kill zone was also where Birki laid out his latest work. Tyler never thought watching glowing flecks would be such a chilling experience.
“Sire.” It was Tyndur.
“Yes?” The mage looked back.
“I searched the body of that rat. Nothing strange, except for this rune plate. I believe it was the bastard's means of communicating with the leader of the revenants,” said the warrior.
“Let me see that,” said Tyler. The germ of an idea was forming in his head.
Loki spake:
60. "That thou hast fared | on the East-road forth
To men shouldst thou say no more;
In the thumb of a glove | didst thou hide, thou great one,
And there forgot thou wast Thor."
Thor spake:
61. "Unmanly one, cease, | or the mighty hammer,
Mjollnir, shall close thy mouth;
My right hand shall smite thee | with Hrungnir's slayer,
Till all thy bones are broken."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Insults Matter
Tyler scrutinized the rune plate, and then turned to his guides.
“What do you think? Activated by energy?” he asked.
“Of course, sire. A surprisingly small amount. We believe it’s intended to reach one destination only, in both directions,” answered X.
“Thanks.” The mage walked to the jarl. What he planned had to be explained. It involved a lot of insults and might be misinterpreted; Jarls could be touchy about honor and the reputation of their line.
“With your permission, Jarl Geir, another private conversation? I do apologize for disturbing you this often,” voiced the mage.
“Nonsense, High Mage. As if I have anything better to do. Right now, I am hoping to be a jilted bride at her wedding. I really don't like the arriving groom.”
As soon as they were alone, the mage warned the jarl he would be asking personal questions.
“How was your relationship with your eldest brother?” Tyler asked.
“Bjarte? The eldest and heir to the throne. Arrogant as they come. He always wanted to be the best in everything – women, drinking, sword skills. Name it, and you’d find him there. I tended to avoid him. There’s only so much best you could swallow. He wasn’t as bad as other elder brothers who wanted to constantly rub your nose in their superiority, but he would be looking over our shoulders practically the whole time. You bring home a boar, he’ll go out and hunt a bigger one.”
“Fighting between the two of you? Any resentments?”
“Oh, we fought. Not to the death though. He always wanted to emphasize how good he was, and that nobody else was fit to be the jarl. Any resentment would revolve around that fact. It’s hard not to begrudge him when all you want is to be left alone with your own interests,” the jarl answered, clearly thinking about the past.
“I want to goad him into attacking with the first wave of his army. That way, I could try for the nullification of the spell. The earlier we face him, the sooner we can determine our course of action – a quick battle with fewer casualties or a timely decision to withdraw. Though the latter option is fraught with risks,” explained Tyler.
“I could try, but I am not that good with insults. I believe I missed that part of a warrior’s education,” laughed the
jarl.
Tyler thought quickly. He had to insult the undead leader as much as he could. The rune plate showed the revenant definitely knew how to talk. And that supported the assumption of the guides that the center of the concentration of power was with the entity once known as Bjarte.
“Fine. We’ll get you to talk with him, and then you brag about being the jarl, and he’s not. Then pass the rune to either Tyndur or Otr as your champions. If anybody can goad that being into prematurely attacking, it would be either of those two,” suggested the mage.
“Let’s use Tyndur and let the einherjar pretend to be a mortal. I don’t think insults coming from a dwarf would work well,” noted the jarl and then he laughed. “If I know my brother, he’ll be angrier than a bear with a toothache.”
***
Having briefed Tyndur and the men of the hird, Tyler, the jarl, and Tyndur stood inside a circle protected by the personal retainers of the jarl. Habrok maintained watch on the parapet, while Kobu stood close by, observing what was going to happen. The exile still had a role to play as the military commander of the defense and be readily available. Skarde had taken charge of directly overseeing the men on the ramparts.
Tyler activated the rune and gave it to the jarl. A low, sepulchral voice answered.
“Took you long enough to report, you blasted mortal! Is the mage done with?” asked a voice. It wasn’t a loud one, but vocal enough to be heard by the trio.
“I'm afraid he failed, Bjarte,” answered the jarl.
“Who is this?” demanded the speaker. “Answer, or I’ll rip you apart from limb to useless limb with my bare hands!”
“The Jarl of Hedmark, you useless corpse. Who else?”
“I am the rightful jarl, interloper! Wait a while, until I get there to feed your body to my men!”
“But Bjarte, don’t you recognize your own brother’s voice? I am now the jarl. You died, stupid moron.”
“Geir? You? You? A weakling is now the jarl? You won’t be jarl for much longer, brother of mine. I am coming!”
The Accidental Archmage - Book Five: Loki's Gambit Page 31