The Accidental Archmage: Book Nine: The Dragon Houses

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “Tom?” he asked and added jokingly, “Plotting?”

  “Studying this mess of an archive. Leave me alone,” came the curt answer.

  He remembered his twin offered to dig into the Elder knowledge – the parts accessible to the destructive entity. The effort had made him apprehensive, but Tyler knew he could do nothing. Without the guides to control access, the only limitation Tom had was his nature. Even assuming he could open the sections dealing with creation, the double was barred from using its secrets. Then the pensive Romanii mage turned to him.

  “Think of it this way. In the empire, we have a saying – all roads lead to Ruma. Everybody wants to go there. But the roads are many and some direct you to other cities. Picture viae Romanae, or Romanii roads, with no signs. At each junction, you make a choice. The gods may give you aid or lead you astray. You might end up in other cities. But no entity knows the route by heart. Divination would only light a small portion of what lies ahead,” said Cassius somberly.

  Se-Osiris chuckled, breaking the somber mood.

  “Even deities have to make their own path,” the Kemetian mage commented.

  “Where to after this?” he asked Eleos, deciding to end the discussion. He was weary, and the talk was skirting on the edges of dangerous philosophical questions. His wards awaited and a hatching dragon egg needed tending. The minor deity smiled in response, knowing what the Archmage was trying to do.

  “We don’t know. Our patrons are busy at the moment, and guidance is not readily available. We go where we’re needed, cleaning the realms of newly arisen foul creatures and those who wish you harm. Your allies want your mind clear and focused, for good or ill, and desire these… distractions out of the way. Surprisingly, a great many trust you, my friend. Not an easy thing for deities to do. For the nonce, we’ll stay the night,” said Eleos with evident amusement.

  Tyler was about to reply when a frigid wind swept through the group. The campfire sent an azure blaze skyward, and freezing cold radiated from the fire. Thyma suddenly stretched her arms toward it, her glowing eyes totally white. Words came slowly from the seer, attended by a deep, echoing tone.

  The past! The past!

  Broken lie the chains,

  War has freed the beast,

  Boon or bane, mark thy words.

  Then she collapsed. Astrid was quick enough to catch her as she fell back. A shocked silence followed, shortly broken by Habrok’s faltering words.

  “By the Allfather. Two prophecies in one day. That can’t be good.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A Different Dragon

  “The problem with prophecies is that they’re as clear as a Vestal Virgin’s chastity.”

  The irreverent comment broke the stunned silence following Thyma’s sudden divination. Eyes snapped to the sardonic Romanii mage. Tyler gave a quick glance to the unconscious seer being laid down by Astrid with the help of Ritona. The Keltoi deity had kept to herself. Whether out of caution, being the stranger in a group, or finding herself out of her depth, the Archmage couldn’t tell. She even sat outside the campfire circle.

  “I take that you have been earnest in your prayers at the Temple of Vesta?” grinned Se-Osiris.

  “I wouldn’t touch them even with a hasta caelibaris. They keep to themselves. Deadly with magic. More witches than maidens,” smirked the Romanii.

  “But I wouldn’t be overly concerned with the seer,” he continued, pointing at resting Thyma. “Foretelling, especially the involuntary kind, tires the body and soul, but it rarely damages the vessel. She just needs to rest.”

  “I agree, but she could do with some healing,” observed Eleos.

  Tyler immediately cast his healing spell on the seer. It may be of the light form, but it would help in her recovery. At least she should sleep better.

  “Prophecies. Two in a row. Not unheard of, but unusual still the same,” mused Se-Osiris. “For those in the higher magical arts, divination are given because of a request or directed to a group. More specifically, the most powerful in the audience. It could be a deity’s interference, seeking to influence the course of mortal events, or magic itself. Or Fate. A lot of mages have died over those philosophical discussions.”

  “Then nobody knows anything then,” observed Habrok. A round of laughter arise from the insight.

  “I believe it’s time to take our rest,” Tyler announced, stretching his arms. “It’s been a particularly long day and I pray this doesn’t become the norm.”

  An abrupt, loud exhalation came from the ranger at his side.

  “What was that?” he promptly asked Habrok. Strangely, it sounded like a choked gasp. The man’s air of resignation greeted him.

  “I believe that might be a jinx, Sire.”

  ***

  Tyler thankfully closed his eyes. He had the luxury of lying down on an extra cloak and a small tent. However, the young man suspected the shelter came courtesy of their attackers’ unsoiled robes and garments. Other humans among the assembly had to make do with their wraps on the hard ground, though Kobu ensconced himself in front of the tent’s entrance. Minor deities and the Kemetian mage had vanished. He assumed they had their own way of dealing with sleep and rest.

  Despite the two healing spells cast on himself, the youthful Archmage could still feel the tiredness in his body. His muscles need proper rest to recover, yet Tyler knew his day wasn’t over. He had to make time for his wards and the emerging dragon. Yet even before that, worry about Eira now pushed itself to the fore. He supposed he could send a message – a tendril of energy – in her direction.

  But the mere fact that he had received no communication from her worried him. His wife’s necklace, given by him back in Akrotiri, would have advised her that he had returned. Not that he wanted her to be around when the company arrived. She would have been right in the middle of the attack of those seeking his life. Tyler was about to send a burst of power toward Maljen forest when he caught himself. The cautionary words of Eleos and Andreas about the disruptive effects of the deceased Old One’s energies stopped him.

  A quick scry spell revealed a diminishing magical aura around Sigtuna. The creature may be gone, but it seemed its corruptive influence was still around, making him wonder just how powerful was the entity the Kemetian mage defeated. For such a pervasive effect to happen, the Old One must be in seclusion for a long time, silently gathering strength. Not that it mattered to the ghost of a legendary mage imbued with the power of a principal deity.

  He briefly considered asking Se-Osiris to send a sign to Maljen. It was an idea that led him to considerations that made the mage disregard the notion altogether. Creatures and spirits of unknown abilities and affinities were rising. A thread of magic leading to Eira might be the catalyst for deadly curiosity. It would have been fine if they manifested where the company departed. That was a location facing Maljen Forest, with Sigtuna at their rear. Now, the town was in front. He’d have to wait until they’ve put it behind on their way north.

  Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes, grasped the staff, and willed his consciousness into the world within.

  ***

  The guardian was waiting for him at the entryway, impatience marking his face. Birki’s scowling mug punctuated the elemental’s mood . The Archmage was swiftly and unceremoniously dragged through the main door and into a large room. He could feel the strength of the elemental through the dragon scales covering his arm. The surprised Tyler was speechless, his eyes on the hand firmly grasping his armored sleeve. Birki was clearly annoyed.

  His escort barged into the room, not deigning to knock. The surprised Archmage could only follow the guardian. The ample space was obviously a new one. It was off to the left side of the main door and at the end of a short hallway. Compared to what he could remember, even the layout of the foyer had changed. His wards had been busy. Yet it also showed their initiative and maturity.

  The problem was they all bowed when he ingloriously entered. A glance at Birki showed the guardian i
n his usual position beside him, and the insufferable creature had the air of a satisfied usurper who got his pound of flesh. The young mage inwardly laughed. Whatever Tyler’s excuses were, the giant obsidian egg streaked with gleaming flashes clearly warranted the alarmed reaction. Large cracks had formed, and a pulsating golden glow topped the shell. His enhanced senses saw thick black and gold energy streams swirling around the room, dancing their way through solid walls and the bodies of those present. If he was to guess, the waves extended beyond the confines of the space. Only the harsh abruptness of his arrival didn’t allow him to notice it before.

  “You see what I see?” he asked the elemental immediately.

  “Those bloody prancing things? Yes, I see them. There’s more now. They don’t seem dangerous, though.”

  Tyler turned his attention to his wards. They were still bowed. A flush of embarrassment rushed through him. He could see the spirits had grown. Almost adults as Birki described them, but his attention was on their manner of greeting him. The mage instantly blamed himself. He consciously took on the role of a father, yet Eira had spent more time with them. By such standard, he appeared more of a distant patriarch than a parent.

  “Guys, you know I don’t hold with that bowing. It might be tradition to others, but not with me,” groaned Tyler, his arms held up high. He forced a smile, painfully aware of his guilt.

  To his relief, they smiled back, with a giggle from the girls who huddled together. He wouldn’t have known what to say if those youthful faces remained formal. His entire being wanted to rush and embrace them. But the pulsing enigma in the middle of the chamber forced his attention.

  “I am sorry for not being able to come sooner or even visiting. No excuses,” said Tyler. Despite the elephant in the room, that shortcoming dominated his mind.

  “We understand, Sire…” began Apulli. The spirit stopped upon seeing the Archmage’s reaction.

  The answer had hit Tyler in the gut. He suddenly felt cold and sensed his face had gone pale. The use of Sire hurt him worse than any physical or mental attack. He had emphasized before that they call him father, not by any title. Apparently, they had forgotten what he told them. Constant absence was now demanding its payment in emotional toil. He knew his children didn’t mean it. Still, it hurt—a lot.

  The spirits gathered around the onyx orb started in his direction. He held out his hand. Tyler could sense their worry, but that would be the last thing he would want to inflict and add to his list of omissions.

  “I am fine. We’ll talk after we help the new member of our family,” forcing a smile on his face again. He doubted if his reassurance and strained appearance lifted the worries of his children.

  They returned to their places, but their furtive glances of concern further added to his guilt. He glanced at the eager faces scored by barely hidden distress and then turned to Birki.

  “Any idea on how to handle this? Never had been a midwife to a dragon birth,” he asked the guardian.

  “Beats me, lad. This isn’t even a normal birth. I doubt if even a dragon knows what to do,” snorted Birki, shaking his head. “But the cracks have widened, and my blasted intuition tells me the next step is up to you.”

  Tyler didn’t answer, scrutinizing the spherical enigma. The level of power of the room abruptly increased. He stepped back involuntarily, yet the sense of threat didn’t come. The coils of energy condensed and slowed down. A palpable air of expectancy emerged from the orb. He stared again at Birki.

  “No idea really, Archmage,” came the disappointing answer.

  He promptly thought about the situation, acutely feeling the absence of the guidance of Hal and X. His mind told him that this was not a birth as understood by any sentient or sapient race. It was an emergence. The dragon was formed from pure draconic energy. Grastein’s power might have been the seed, but the different forces the staff absorbed played a significant part in its growth. Then a faint voice called in his mind.

  “Father. Call me forth.”

  ***

  “How?” asked Tyler. It mystified him. The voice sounded as if it expected him to know the process.

  Still, as his mind considered the strange situation, something deep within awakened. A long-buried memory now wrapped in a feeling of certainty. Yet he couldn’t recall what it was or what it meant. He focused on the elusive thread even as it remained on the edges of his awareness. Twice it slipped away, only to return, tantalizing as ever. The failures only stoked his irritated stubbornness.

  But the more he tried to force himself to recall what gave birth to the feeling, the more it eluded him. Finally, the mage calmed himself down and slowly delved into his awareness. The recollection of a battle and an interrupted trip arose. Then it abruptly dawned on him. Anemothýella. The chief of that reclusive draconic race known to the Greeks as the Ismenian drakones. The gift of the white dragon. The artifact he took from Ares, the former god of war.

  He hadn’t made use of it, fearing his inability to handle the power and subsequent transformation. Not for nothing were dragons deemed apex creatures. The magic required to sustain them was incredibly demanding.

  Willingly, he dug deeper. An inky shape welcomed him, giving way to his thought and slowly laying bare the secrets within. Strange concepts entered his awareness, and strands of power subtly tested his mind. Somehow, he understood that Anemothýella’s gift was for an entity capable of handling it. His reticence to access it at the beginning and shelving of the ability at the back of his memories where it lay dormant, nearly forgotten, was an intuitive warning.

  Talk about luck. That race must have high expectations of my abilities. I would have survived the massive influx of magic, thanks to my altered bone structure, but my mind would have been another matter. Elder knowledge might have mitigated any damage, but that’s one likelihood I am happy to have avoided, reflected Tyler grimly as an involuntary shudder shot through him. The fact that it took another source of draconic energy to trigger it spoke volumes.

  The probing stopped. He could sense his consciousness cocooned in a silky, glimmering cloud. It tightly pressed itself upon his awareness, flared, and vanished. Just as quickly, Tyler found himself alone with his thoughts. He now knew what to do. The dragon needed a name. Its real name, hidden from all except the Archmage. His mind raced through the possibilities, exploring all the languages he had known. The mage consciously excluded the languages of Skaney and Hellas. Considering where they were, those would be the first guesses of anybody attempting to determine the dragon’s actual name. As with mortals, such knowledge enabled control over the powerful being.

  He examined the ball of energy before him. The swirling, glowing sentient mass didn’t have a form yet. Then he noticed substantial parts of it regularly disappeared and reappeared. The abnormality drew his curiosity. Tyler forced his enhanced senses into the peculiarity and found slight resistance to his scrutiny. Then it willingly gave way, as if it recognized the power studying it. Surprisingly, a warm feeling reached out to him. The mage smiled at the affectionate display. He really had another child in the family.

  It shifts to another dimension. Or other dimensions. Or a void. Damned if I know, Tyler realized after a few minutes. He could glimpse the opening of small rifts as questing wisps suddenly vanished. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. The conception of the dragon wasn’t normal to begin with. Like his staff, the influx of the myriad energies could only have lead to unexpected results. He wasn’t even sure if Elder energy wasn’t involved in its conception.

  As usual, questions for another time, the answers to which would lead to more inquiries. But being in the middle of a continental war and the focal point of murderous nuts doesn’t encourage shifting into the field of empirical research, mused the mage. First things first, the name. He had found the perfect words, hidden and declared. As soon as he made the decision, a powerful tug drew his mind to his child. Unbidden, the words sprang forth. All the Archmage could conclude was the process followed an ancient arcane fo
rmulation.

  “I give you your hidden name. Melam – that which creates the splendor of the gods. Among mortals, deities, and other beings, they shall know you as Rawa, the Twilight.”

  His world dimmed when the words left his mouth. A strange energy exploded within Tyler, its power rushing through every part of his body, surging like a river unleashed upon a waiting desert. He felt it wash over his bones and gain more strength from them. A flood of sensations overwhelmed his senses, forcing him to close his eyes as the light of the room became unbearable. The mage could hear cries of alarm, yet they sounded faint. His back erupted in sudden agony as his shoulder blades started expanding. Then something painfully struck his head, and everything faded away.

  ***

  His waking mind was greeted by a chaotic din. Tyler’s eyes were still closed, and a bump on the back of his head was throbbing painfully.

  “He’s stirring. Seier, another healing spell! Apulli, ready that dampening effect!”

  Birki, his mind told him. A warmth suffused his body and the pain disappeared. Seier. The spirit from Nike’s energy. The spell’s different. Stronger, but lacks the comforting embrace of Eira’s version.

  He forced his eyes open. Breathing wasn’t difficult, but he found himself deeply drawing air just the same. Tyler found himself lying on the floor, his head cradled by Nehua. The rest were gathered around him, worry and fear etched on their faces.

  That must be the dampening spell. What the hell is it? thought Tyler just as he saw Apulli holding an opaque ball of energy.

  His gaze moved to the dragon egg, but a familiar mass of energy had replaced it. What the mage saw within the orb had materialized into the physical plane. Immediate disappointment made itself felt. Tyler expected a draconic form. A young dragon. Not a bundle of magical wisps.

  “I am here, father. But my full emergence needs Vivindel’s presence,” a deep, happy voice sounded in his head.