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

side. He saw his blood running down his

shirt. Something wet and warm was also running down his back. He tried to continue

running but he was losing consciousness. He couldn’t stand up anymore and crashed to

the ground. Though he made sure to fall on his right side, the sudden pain of hitting

the ground was the last straw. His vision was narrowing as if he was looking at a fast

closing circular opening. It was a losing battle. Everything went black.

CHAPTER NOTES:

Mister Mxyzptlk - Pop culture reference. Superman's impish magical opponent who lives in the 5th dimension. More of a pest.

Occam's Razor - A problem-solving concept attributed to William of Ockham. Circa 13th century.

It prefers a solution whose hypothesis has the fewest assumptions. The scientific equal of the KISS principle.

CHAPTER II

Inside Joke

Tyler woke up. He found himself naked and lying on a bed, covered with a fur blanket

up to his chest. Some sort of dressing was on the area where the arrow struck him. He

could feel the poultice underneath the bandage. The wound was not as large as he

expected and though it hurt, it was negligible compared to the pain he remembered. He

felt weak and hungry.

Looking around, he saw he was in a small room, overlapping rough wooden planks

making up the walls. The door was closed. Large wooden beams hold up what

appeared to be a thatched roof. There were a narrow table and chair opposite the left

side of the bed which was beside a wall. A small window covered with a sort of

membrane was next to the table. Filtered sunlight brightened the room. A small

engraved wooden chest beside the table completed the bare décor of the chamber. All

in all, the furniture and the room appeared to be roughly made but functional.

The room smelled of cut wood and animal hide. He was surprised to find himself clean.

The cuts in his arms didn’t itch or hurt anymore. Pulling out his right arm, he could see

that the many wounds have closed and were treated with some kind of balm. He hoped

no permanent scarring would result. But his left hand couldn’t be moved as the slightest

attempt to lift it increased the pain.

For the third time since finding himself in this world, Tyler wondered why he was still

alive. Falling into a lake, chased by a pack of wolves and becoming an archery target.

Now he’s wounded, weak, miserable, hungry, still lost, and only God knows where. A

sense of crushing self-pity started to creep up and overwhelm him. He was tempted to

lose himself in its embrace if only to give vent to what he was feeling.

But as he started to give way to emotional misery, a sharp flash of anger stabbed the forming fog of self-pity. Anger at his bewildering and helpless situation. Anger at the

unfairness of it all. Anger at why him, of all people! His nascent depression fled before

his rising anger. Its red haze filled his mind and began to drive out all other thoughts.

Instinctively, his eyes closed and his fists clenched. He felt no pain, only the swirling

mass of rage in his mind. He knew he was losing control bit by bit as his fury kept on

rising. The door opened.

Surprised, the rising anger dissipated in his awareness. He looked at his visitor. It was a man, dressed in a monk’s robe of some sort, colored dark blue with red trim. A black

rope, knotted at the edges, made up its belt. The man was smiling. He appeared to be

a white man of around forty to forty-five years old. A short beard and shoulder-length

hair, both with streaks of gray, gave him an aura of authority.

The man called out to somebody in the corridor and entered the room. Another man

and a woman, the latter with a nervous smile on her face, followed him. Compared to

the woman, the male newcomer had a taciturn expression. The woman’s light blue

dress was a simple one and from a rough fabric, with some ethnic embroidery on the

shoulders and along the waistline. The man’s attire looked to be Slavic in style, brown

peasant garb with what looked to be sturdy leather boots.

The robed man looked at him and then talked, the accent making the statement a

question. But the language was unfamiliar.

“I am sorry but I can’t understand you,” Tyler answered.

The man again talked to him, using another set of unfamiliar words different in tone

and guttural accents.

“Sorry, still no hablo,” he replied.

The man again spoke for the third time. Another set of distinctly different words. It was

clear it was an attempt to communicate using a language different from the first two.

Strangely, the man’s eyes were twinkling in merriment, though the rest of his face

maintained its serious mien. It was as if the speaker knew an inside joke about the

whole situation.

“Guy, that still sounds Greek to me.” Considering the language barrier, Tyler saw no

point of seriously answering.

The man looked at the couple and spoke to them, shaking his head. The two went out

of the room and closed the door. For a few moments, Tyler and the man looked at each

other. He could see that the man was trying to contain a smile. That puzzled Tyler.

“What the hell does this guy find funny?” thought Tyler, feeling a little insulted.

Finally, the man broke into a wide grin and extended his right hand.

“Hello. I am Andreas Hahn. University of Uppsala. Nice to meet you.” In English.

Speechless, Tyler could only shake Andreas’ hand. The man had moved closer to the

bed.

“W..h..oo? W…haa..t?”

The stupefied Tyler could only stare at the man. The expression on his face only adding

to the man’s obvious merriment.

“Please don’t get up. You’re still weak and need to lie down for now. The wound has

not yet healed. I know this has been a great shock to you but all things in good time,”

said Andreas, motioning with his hands for Tyler to lie down. The confused and

surprised Tyler was trying to sit up. He stopped his attempt and obeyed the request.

“I am Tyler. Tyler West. Penwick, New Jersey.”

“Thanks for trusting me with your name, Tyler. In the