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

to his front. He was sweating. Too many details were demanding his attention.

He knew they were being overwhelmed. Jorund had dispatched the vargyr but was fighting its ice elf rider. He saw two more mounted ice elves jump the ditch. Habrok

was now facing the side, trying to evade javelins and return fire with his bow.

In front, he could see that giants have already arrived and were running towards them.

They must have been diverted from the town assault. He didn’t see any of the massive

hunks when their skirmish started. One, a two-headed brute was clearly directing the

pack. Swinging his enormous but crude war hammer with one hand, the other hand

was pointing out deployments to the others. He got the thug with two sharp spearhead-

sized blades. The giant was messily cut in half.

Raising a barrier again, this time an angled one on top of them, he moved back a bit to

the mound’s rear and willed three successive chain lightning spells. One in front and the

other two on Jorund’s and Habrok’s sides. The number of enemies on the flanks was

increasing. Immediately after the three spells, a sharp pain erupted above the nape of

his neck. His muscles felt rubbery. Fatigue returned with a vengeance.

Then he saw Habrok hit by a javelin on his side. The man was thrown back a few feet

and was on his back, unmoving. Jorund had dispensed with the elf on foot but was

being cornered by three mounted ice elves. He could see the desperate body

movements of the man as he tried to avoid the lunges of the spear-like weapons.

Jorund’s helm was already gone. Must have been knocked off. He let fly several small

blades at the elves. One elf and its vargyr dropped, pierced by the arrow-sided blades,

the blood of elf and giant wolf mixing on the ground. But he could see that the rest of

the blades shattering on the armor of the remaining two though their mounts died. The

two jumped from their dying mounts and continued their assault on the huskarl.

Looking at his front, he could now see that the wave of enemies had parted. An

armored ice elf was walking towards them, with elf guards on both sides. Their black

full armor was more ornate, with lots of sharp angles. He knew he was facing the

leader of the rear contingent and judging from the staff the being carried, the mage

who had broken several of his attacks.

Gathering his strength, he let loose a fusillade of fiery blades in two waves of three

spear blades each. The first three smashed into the barriers, exploding in expanding

bursts of flame. The next three were deflected to the far sides of the mage. WHAT THE

FREAK? The mage then returned the favor with a large fireball which hit Tyler directly.

He was engulfed by a huge ball of flame.

He found himself some distance from his original position. A few feet more and he

would have fallen into the ditch. His personal shield was gone. His skin felt burnt. He

could actually see wisps of smoke on his body, not to mention the smell of singed hair.

Wearily, he stood up, balancing himself on his staff. He activated its shield again. It

came into being but he could feel it was a weaker version. On his left, he saw Jorund

had won but had dropped his axe. He was now carrying the elf spear-like weapon, using it to prop himself up.

More enemies were coming. Surprisingly, nobody was taking action against them. They

were all concentrating on surrounding the mound. Looking at his front, he could see the

mage still walking towards them. Then he realized that the leader wanted to dispose of

them by himself.

They were going to die. Habrok may already be dead. He was totally pissed off. Or as

pissed off a very tired man could be. His vision was blurry, his body in pain, and his

mind starting to be confused. He could still sense the magical energy around him. But

his capability to make use of it appeared to have weakened. He didn’t know if it’s

magical exhaustion or not. Or maybe it’s that, together with his currently overwhelmed

physical and mental condition.

That asshole must be smirking by now. He could barely see the enemy, his vision was

getting worse. But he could sense that the encirclement was complete. Their foes have

started chanting, one which was steadily increasing in volume. He didn't understand the

language. Despite his staff, his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. That was

greeted by a great shout from the throats of the thousands surrounding them. Then the

chanting resumed.

He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the irritatingly loud chanting. He was beyond

caring. His mind was in a solitary place of darkness. He didn’t feel or sense anything

anymore. He was in a dark cocoon. Everything within him was fixated on not hearing

his enemies. Suddenly, he felt a warm glow deep inside him. It suffused his being. And

he imagined his enemies being swept away by a dark wind, as dark as the place where

his mind was.

A light sprang into his consciousness, catching his focus. Around it was a whirlwind of

darkness, growing in size and power. No sound accompanied it. It felt like a primordial

force of nature. Savage, hungry, powerful and alive. It rapidly grew in strength, now

nearly encompassing the corners of his mind. But the brightness remained. It was like

the solitary light of a candle but unaffected by the maelstrom around it. It kept the

escalating dark tempest at bay, an eye of a destructive storm of nature. He was

fascinated by the soundless gale around the light. That it was alive, he had no doubt.

Rational? He didn’t think so. It was like a child throwing the biggest tantrum it could

make. He let its irrational anger grow. And grow some more. He could feel its

exultation.

Then he felt a slap on his face. A hard one.

Surprised, he opened his eyes. His left cheek stung like mad.

He saw Eira in front of him. A terrified look on her amazingly gorgeous green eyes,

though he could also see her body trembling with fear. He discovered he had stood up

already.