The Accidental Archmage, Edmund Batara [read after TXT] 📗

THE ACCIDENTAL ARCHMAGE

Book One

Ragnarok Rising

A classical fantasy with a modern twist

By

Edmund A.M. Batara

@ soloflyte

The god kings sleep, dreams of

Power, magic; Torn veil,

Their watch denied; A ring

Of hiding, a clasp of

Silver, the Norns defied.

A mortal elder, worlds

Tremble; a book written,

A magical world, or

Where grinning vultures reign.

Man but a child, made flesh

With eternal bones; Thou

Deny him? Olympus?

Jupiter? Enlil? Ra?

Cernunnos? Arinna?

Wiraqucha? Mithra?

Powers of wind, fire and

Earth; Of ancient gray Rock,

of lightning; Avail you not.

Fie! All you gods, mind thy

Warning; A path faltered,

A child angered; A rage

Born; of love and despair.

Thy world is dust! Of Fire,

Ice, or Death! Or a world

Of light, if so desired!

Harken! Petty gods! Petty fools.

A wolf wind……

- Unfinished Prophecy of a Mad Volva.

Dokkaflr Mountains.

PROLOGUE

For Tyler West, it began, like so many journeys, with an ordinary day.

The prepper convention that Sunday was a good one. He had bought a few things

within his budget, packed the items in his backpack, took the bus, and started walking

home. His Aunt’s house was a good two hundred meters from the bus stop but the cool

late autumn afternoon made the walk a pleasant one. He had some chores waiting for

him but Tyler was confident he would be able to finish them before dinner.

After dinner, he planned to go over his new acquisitions. Then a good night’s sleep

before the Monday grind as a paralegal assistant. The pay was decent and he figured

he will have saved enough in a few years to start his college enrollment again. He had

the equivalent of two years left. His peer group would be ahead of him by that time in

the rat race but he didn’t care. To him, at twenty years old, a mere five to six years

advantage is negligible. He knew he was smart enough to catch up and surpass many

of his contemporaries.

He did have to contribute five hundred dollars a month to the house upkeep. But he

figured he was lucky for having an aunt caring enough to offer him a room and get him

his present job. Aunt Emily was a spinster, very strict, conservative but kind enough to

acknowledge him as family and offer him a place to stay after the accident which killed

his parents eighteen months ago. The estate proceedings afterward, with lawyers,

banks, taxes all exacting their pound of flesh, left him a mere 4,800 dollars.

As an only child, he abruptly found himself homeless, the house repossessed. He didn’t

expect his parents to be that deep in debt. Finishing his college degree had to be

placed on hold. But the grief, shock, and messy aftermath of his parents’ death made

him stronger in his resolve to succeed. In a way, being alone and responsible for himself was a maturing process.

He turned right at the next alley, a shortcut which would save him the distance of

walking to the main intersection crossing the main road. The neighborhood wasn’t so

bad with only a few gang members in the area. As there was still daylight left, he

figured using the isolated shortcut would be safe. He figured wrong.

As he neared the exit of the alley, two figures came out, blocking the way.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Tyler,” said one. This one was wearing a hoodie and though

Tyler couldn’t see his face, he recognized the voice.

“Bernie.”

“The usual, Tyler. You know the drill. Your wallet, your watch, and your backpack.”

Tyler knew it was useless negotiating with them. Begging for mercy was never on his

mind. He already got shaken down twice before. The first time was his wallet and a

cheap watch. The second time was only his wallet as he didn’t have the extra money to

buy a new watch then. He was fortunate his wallet was nearly empty during those

incidents and he had left his credit and social security cards at home. This time, he had

all his important cards in his wallet plus a good two hundred dollars. He really didn’t

spend that much back at the convention.

“Face the wall, asshole, and raise your hands,” said Bernie’s companion.

Tyler didn’t recognize him but surmised he must be a member of Bernie’s meth head

pack. He also knew there would be at least two more blocking the alley at his back. He

can’t fight four guys at the same time, who may have knives or worse, a Saturday Night

Special.

Tyler did as he was told. He faced the wall and raised his hands. He could taste his fear

but he could also feel the rising anger at his situation. He glanced left and saw two

more guys blocking the way. He could see the switchblade in one guy’s hand as they

approached him. He estimated them to be thirty feet away, having followed him when

he entered the alley. Bernie and his companion were a lot closer. Around ten to twelve

feet and walking towards him. Looking at them, he could see Bernie’s companion was

holding a steel pipe.

“No guns,” thought Tyler. He could feel his fear giving way to his anger. He hated the

feeling of helplessness and it fed his rising anger. His adrenaline rose as his rage at his situation started to cloud his vision.

Bernie finally reached his right side. He could see the sneer in the meth head’s face.

“Wimp,” whispered Bernie.

“Wussy wimp, boss,” his companion added as he laughed.

Tyler turned and punched Bernie’s face. He could hear the nose crack and felt the pain

in the bones of his left fist. It was like watching his body doing the act without his

consciousness taking an active part. He could see Bernie thrown back and hitting his

head on the opposite wall. Blood was already running from Bernie’s broken nose. At the

same time, Tyler’s right hand grabbed the raised arm of the pipe-wielding companion

and pushed it back against the guy’s head. As he heard the crack of the pipe hitting, a

spurt of blood from the man’s forehead colored the scene.

Without looking back, he ran for the exit