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

spells, he should focus

on increasing his capacity to cast spells and hone his handling of what he had. He knew

he had improved his spell handling. Unfortunately, fatigue and mental exhaustion

proved to be major hindrances in the battles he had fought.

With that on his mind, he fell asleep. A dreamless one for a change. A knock on the door woke him up. It was Jorund. Everything was ready.

The trip was unexpectedly free from unpleasant surprises. Bandits appeared to have

fled the area and the jotnar together with the dokkalfr also must have withdrawn due

to their defeat. Upon reaching the cutoff leading to the mountains, Tyler saw the road

inward was actually a trail. Rough, rocky, and uneven. He resigned himself to a bumpy

and bruising ride.

They made camp at a small clearing beside a rivulet running from somewhere above

the mountain. They had pushed on as far as the wagon could make it. Habrok went

ahead to scout for an appropriate site. He found an ideal one. It was above the tree line

and overlooked the grove where they left the wagon and horses. The rivulet was a

bonus. Tyler didn’t expect it. Habrok did have to do a bit of rock work to channel the

water in their direction.

Pitching their tents, the two warriors went back to their routine. Jorund kept watch and

explored the surrounding area, while Habrok concentrated on their campsite. Learning

from their experience, Habrok added makeshift barricades at strategic places around

the site. The two refused any help from Tyler so he was left to sit on the ledge

overlooking the trees below.

It was a strange feeling for him. A few days ago, this area was crawling

with jotnar and dokkalfr. Now it was quiet. Only the birds could be seen. He expected

the larger animals to have been driven away by the movements of war. It will take time

for them to return. Meal time was back to the rations of the road.

“Habrok, how far is the cave?” Jorund asked.

“It should be a mile up then a trail should appear. Then about two hundred feet inward

into the bottom of a deep chasm. There are a lot of openings in the mountain up there.

The mad hermit's cave is the one near a grove of old trees. It's the biggest opening on

that side."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING MAD!"

The loud voice boomed through the clearing. The three grabbed their weapons. But the

twilight made it difficult to see the source of the voice. Tyler looked around their

campsite. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared. The voice sounded as if it came from

everywhere.

"UP HERE, YOU BLIND DUMB NUTS!"

Tyler looked up. On a ledge above their campsite was a figure. Clad in some sort of cloak. He couldn’t make out the features and other details. The man was partially

covered by an abutment on the rock.

“GOOD EVENING, MY GOOD MAN! MAY WE HAVE THE PLEASURE OF KNOWING YOUR

NAME?” he called out.

“HAH! YOU KNOW MY NAME! YET YOU CALL ME WITH THAT DESPICABLE TERM! MAD,

AM I? DUMB NUTS!"

Starkad. Such a touchy hermit. Not mad. A bit unhinged maybe.

“We do apologize, my friend, but that was the name given us back in town,” lied Tyler.

“Those fools. But I am happy the town still stands. To see jotnar and dokkalfr ruling in

Scarburg is a sight mine eyes do not wish to see. Better to be blind. But you on the

other hand, are a different story altogether.”

“What do you mean, my friend?” asked Tyler in a friendly voice, trying to reassure the

temperamental hermit.

“Comes the man, of mortal race he may be. Brother to the wolf, I ask, or kin to the

guards, though deep and ancient they must be.”

Tyler could see the man was calming down. Though the hermit’s words were disturbing.

And he also guessed the man was hungry. No food from traders and the dearth of

game should have exhausted his supply.

“Would you grace us with your company for the evening meal? By way of recompense

for our ignorance. It’s but poor fare but we would be honored if you would join us.”

“You have a glib tongue, mage. But I accept your offer.”

How did he know I am a mage?

The man disappeared from the ledge. Habrok walked to the camp fire. The camp fire

was shielded on three sides by overlapping standing branches to minimize the

possibility of unfriendly eyes seeing the glow from a distance. Jorund stood where he

was, battleaxe in one hand.

“Good evening, mage. And to you both, the ranger in drake armor and the warrior

in svartalfar-forged plate.”

He was shocked. The man appeared in their campsite in a place where they weren't looking. He also didn’t expect the man to be so observant and knowledgeable. Whether

that makes him dangerous would be seen shortly, assessed Tyler.

“Come share our night-meal. I am Havard, the ranger is Habrok and that is Jorund.”

“You can call me Tyndur. I had other names before. But they don’t matter now. They

only serve as memories of a faded time.”

As they walked towards the camp fire, he saw the man's brown robe was in tatters but

relatively clean. He was bald and runic tattoos marked his face and other visible parts of

his body. He was tall, with a thin blond beard, blue eyes, and a lean muscled physique.

He walked as a seasoned warrior. Confident and sure of himself. In his right hand, he

held a long but heavily carved thick wooden staff.

“Come, mage and warriors, sit with me. Let us all start all over again as we share the

meal.”

Tyndur stared at the ranger and the warrior when he saw them. He slightly bowed his

head.

“Oi! A warrior bred and true. Odin’s own, now Havard’s guard. The path is danger,

death resides. A hero of the sagas, though none will be told. Thy story will be written

but not by mortal hands,” said the hermit to Jorund.

“How about me, master hermit,” asked Habrok.

“Wine, women, and more women, stalwart ranger.”

“Sounds good to me,” replied the man.

He doesn’t sound like a mad hermit. He can speak plainly when he wants to.

The four shared the meal in silence as the man tore into the food. Jorund looked at him

as their food ration for