The Accidental Archmage: Book Nine: The Dragon Houses Read online

  The ACCIDENTAL ARCHMAGE Series

  Arc Five

  BOOK NINE

  The DRAGON HOUSES

  EDMUND A.M. BATARA

  2021

  eBook ASIN: B08XJHX4NB

  Independent Imprint. 2021.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, interactions, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, unless otherwise indicated. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All Rights Reserved by the Author. 2021.

  To my family.

  My wife, Julette-Marie, and my daughters, Amina Francesca, Katrina Fai, and Ana Bettina – For all the support and joy you have given me.

  To my sisters – For being so supportive.

  To readers of the series and those at the website where the first drafts of this continuing epic were posted – For the encouragement and constructive feedback.

  CREDITS/ATTRIBUTIONS

  Cover images and other images licensed from Shutterstock.com. Alterations and design elements by the author.

  Illustrations commissioned from artist Marvin Dulay for eBook and print. All other rights to the artist ([email protected])

  Contents

  List of Illustrations

  Exemplum Perses

  The Sleeping Isle

  Prologue Players Awaken

  Chapter One: Trapped

  Chapter Two The Followers of Zin

  Chapter Three Janus

  Chapter Four Mayhem

  Chapter Five A Mirror to One's Soul

  Chapter Six Native Son

  Chapter Seven Let There be Dragons

  Chapter Eight Changes

  Chapter Nine Skrymir

  Chapter Ten Abomination

  Chapter Eleven A Different Dragon

  Chapter Twelve Family Issues

  Chapter Thirteen Stealing a Pantheon

  Chapter Fourteen Burning Smoke

  Chapter Fifteen Petty Vengeance

  Epilogue Tribulation

  Lore and Definitions by Chapter

  About the Author

  Next in the Series

  Also Available: The ACCIDENTAL ARCHMAGE Collection

  List of Illustrations

  Aftermath The Great Inn of the House of Long Let There be Drakes Skrymir Dark Cloud Coming A Titan Comes Visiting The Dragon Houses

  Exemplum

  Perses

  The Sleeping Isle

  Northern Adar

  The weary figure looked at what was a battleground a few minutes ago. Torn carcasses of numerous dragons of all shapes and sizes provided grisly decorations for blasted earth and splintered rocks. Yet among the dead were several familiar figures. The remains of Kýklōpes and Gígantes mingled with the enormous serpents. Another set of reductions to his forces.

  He glanced at the resting survivors, not surprised that each kind kept to their own. The Gígantes with him were of the Laestrygonians, that man-eating tribe that survived the Gigantomachy – the war between Olympus and the offsprings of Uranus and Gaia. They looked like enormous versions of hoplites, a stark contrast to the larger Kýklōpes who wore crude hides and armed with roughly fashioned clubs. Not that the makeshift weapons were their selling point as warriors. Ferocity and sheer strength made them extremely dangerous opponents.

  But the observer was concerned about their casualties. Despite the size and martial power represented by the force he led, too many had already died. The island was more dangerous than expected. One serious and unforeseen problem was that the mysterious isle seemed to drain intruders of power. That posed a passive yet deadly threat to him.

  Perses, the Titan God of Destruction, exhaled heavily. Calling the cursed territory the Sleeping Isle was a misnomer. It was awake and hungry. Even now, he felt the debilitating effects of the land. If it affected him, then his small army was undoubtedly similarly afflicted. A nearly unstoppable mass of killers on the mainland was now reduced to a few levels above mortals in their abilities, despite their giant proportions. Whatever magic he had left was carefully husbanded to treat injuries. The repair of armor and weaponry was, except for his own, secondary.

  His gaze fell on one of the draken carcasses. It was a horned one, with four spikes jutting out of the mass of cartilage protecting its head and neck. Previous encounters had been with similar and dissimilar versions of the creature. What was common was their savagery and hate of unwelcome guests.

  Damned drakon, he swore, then corrected himself. Draken, or drakene, as they call them up here in the North.

  If he didn’t know any better, Perses could have sworn they were acting in packs, mayhap even tribes. Their attacks were purposeful and canny. Not the ordinary stalking traits of normal predators. If they only talked, then he’d know he was dealing with sentient opponents. But he surmised that it would be the height of absurdity if these savage drakene were indeed intelligent creatures.

  Looking over what remained of his followers, Perses reckoned they still had the strength to achieve what they came to do. The strange ground might greatly diminish his magical powers, but he sensed that the site they sought was nearby. Only a few miles more of admittedly difficult terrain and they’d reach it.

  The Titan again swore, bemoaning his luck. It was a nasty habit some said wasn’t fit for a deity, but it was a warrior’s last recourse. He believed avoiding contact with the soil would prevent the magical drain on his power. Yet Persis couldn’t even lift himself on the chilly winds that whipped through gullies and gorges, adding to the miseries of the company.

  Iapetus didn’t warn him that the Sleeping Isle could be so dangerous to deities. Instructions were given to Perses when the entire contingent was assembled before their stronghold in the bowels of Tartarus. Surprisingly, the Norse God of mischief was there. A favor for a favor, remarked his chieftain, raising a metal tablet as Perses looked at Iapetus with an inquiring stare. Loki had been to the Sleeping Isle and left a runic token there. The connection between the tablet and the token would provide the link of transference.

  The rogue northern deity said little, aside from the usual greetings to the two Titans. Loki merely gave the artifact to Iapetus, and with a bow, vanished from their sight. It would have been the usual encounter between gods, except that Perses didn’t like the meaningful grin and knowing wink the departing Loki gave him as he disappeared. The Titan of Destruction now assumed the Norse knew about the bizarre character of the region.

  And he didn’t warn me, reflected Perses with anger, tightening his grip on his dory. The Titan knew what he would do if the smirking face was before him.

  After Loki left, the watching Titan’s gaze met Iapetus who was observing him. Perses thought it was because of the presence of the visiting deity. He had questions about the Norse god’s presence, but the Titan had a critical matter to raise with his leader. The assembled army was large. He knew it was impossible for even the most powerful among them to magically transport such a sizeable force.

  He guessed the rune Loki brought had something to do with their departure. The Norse god was known far and wide to be an inveterate explorer. But the symbol, even if magical, merely created a connection. It wasn’t a terrestrial portal. An artifact of transport required a lot of energy, much more than a proper gate. The latter had the advantage of being created to make use of the magic of the s
urrounding area and merely needed a boost to activate it at the point of entry or exit. It also had captured ambient magic on the other side, stored in its paired portal.

  Iapetus clearly knew what Perses was thinking and smirked as he brought out a shimmering, bluish globe. The other hand threw a purse to him. As he quickly put it away, the other Titan told him it was a ward to remove the chains of the prisoner they were to set free. Then, with a wave of a hand, he motioned for Perses to take his place among the assembled troops. They were all gathered inside a large circle prepared beforehand by the rebel Titan.

  Perses assumed the concentrated energy of the sphere was meant to power their transfer through the object Loki provided. He didn’t doubt that Iapetus knew what he was doing. The Titan had seen too much of the god’s expertise and knowledge, not to mention power, to think otherwise. Incarceration in infernal Tartarus only gave Iapetus many opportunities to use his vast knowledge of lore and magic.

  Yet the glowing sphere disturbed him. It was not of Hellas or of Skaney. Not even Kemet. He believed it exuded an oppressed and broken aura, though he couldn’t account for such a phenomenon. Perses had never seen such an object. Then Iapetus smashed the globe on the ground on top of Loki’s rune. His surroundings changed.

  As his mind ended its recollection of their journey, a hand instinctively reached down. It touched the small pouch hidden inside his armor. The item felt peculiar to the touch. A characteristic he attributed to its origin as a Norse artifact. It was also a token of recognizance and freedom meant for the entity they were to rescue – Fenrir, the Bane of Odin.

  Yet Persis was still mystified why he was chosen for the task. The deity believed he was better suited to the divine wars that should be raging across Adar by now. But the energy-draining feature they encountered raised the suspicion that Iapetus knew more than what he told the Titan of Destruction. The quest usually would have required a Titan of magical prowess, not one meant for battle.

  Or was that cunning bastard trying to avoid raising Typhoeus’s resentment? I know that arrogant prick wouldn’t want to see me on the same battlefield, mused Persis with amusement. Olympians be damned. Enough of this! Fenrir is waiting and that Odin upstart needs his surprise.

  ***

  The much-reduced force snaked its way through defiles and gorges. Perses ordered a column formation of three lines with the armored Laestrygonians on the flanks and the Kýklōpes in the middle. The latter’s numbers had been much-reduced by the frequent attacks.

  The deity wasn’t surprised. Protection made from hides and crude clubs made poor defense against opponents of a similar size, strength, and ferocity. Some drakene they fought even had vestigial magical abilities – spitting fire, ice, and poison among his troops. And the creatures usually fought to the death. He didn’t doubt there were more of them.

  He looked at the sky and the telltale specks of the flying lizards greeted him. They were following the progress of the expedition. Persis cussed silently as he bemoaned the loss of his magical powers. The leaching effect didn’t strip them of their core essences. Still, it was enough to render inutile his own formidable spellcasting abilities.

  Thankfully, the deity could still sense magical sources. That single trait saved the force from outright annihilation from furious and continued attacks the moment they stepped onto the island. From bizarre creatures to familiar yet murderous forms, the entire trek had been a gauntlet so far. The drakene were the worst of an eclectic and deadly assembly.

  Almost a mortal, albeit a giant one, reflected the Titan about his current state. He scrutinized the airborne marauders, searching for signs of attack. Uncanny how creatures of this isle retained their abilities.

  The Titan stood up, and watchful eyes among the resting assembly barked or growled commands. The dispersed throng shook itself into its usual arrangement. Three of the one-eyed giants moved forward, acting as scouts, their affinity to the wilderness serving them well in the alien land. Given all they had seen and experienced, Perses had long held that they might as well be on another world.

  Suddenly, he sensed an identifiable sensation. An eruption of magical energy in the ether. He quickly raised an arm, and the alerted contingent immediately shifted into a circular formation, with the giant dorata and massive aspides of the Laestrygonians in front. The Titan readied himself and he waited for the arriving entity to materialize. The Sleeping Isle had been full of surprises, all hostile, and it wouldn’t surprise Perses if the newcomer was of the same ilk.

  A final surge of power and a figure appeared several feet away. What the deity didn’t expect was the familiar. It was Lumeri, the Undying Scribe. The immortal looked the same despite the long years. Still the same robe and staff. A melancholy air. Yet now, the accursed human had an unsettling though faint smile on his face.

  ***

  The Titan relaxed. He knew of the geas – the punishment – imposed on the man. A curse with the power of pantheons behind it. Not even the Titans had the skill to unravel the intertwined magic of disparate magical disciplines. The visitor gradually morphed into a giant almost the same size as Perses.

  It was a courtesy and an illusion. A terribly comical distortion in communication would result if one speaker was shouting, and the other was trying to talk in hushed tones. For some reason, the Scribe wasn’t inclined to mental discourse with any god. But the deity could still see the actual man behind the magical façade.

  He gave his force the signal to relax and glanced at the Scribe. Lumeri had business with him, and it would be related to the compulsion to record events. Perses didn’t know where the approaching human got the information about the Titan’s whereabouts. Still, he was confident that such knowledge was held in confidence by the Scribe.

  “Hail, Mighty Perses, Titan of Destruction, The Ravager, Bringer of Peace!” called out the Scribe as the man genuflected.

  “Come now, Lumeri. We’ve known each long enough to dispense with pleasantries. What brings you here?” asked the Titan, though he suspected what the answer would be.

  “A quest worthy of recording. An event world-shaking in its audacity. What else would bring me to this forsaken domain?”

  “I thought so,” said the Titan, enviously watching the floating Scribe though his giant illusion had its feet on the ground. His guest clearly knew about the magic-sapping trait of the island.

  “But it’s too early in the day, Scribe. We haven’t reached our destination yet,” continued Perses.

  “Ah. It doesn’t hurt to see your progress, Great Titan. I have to admit your former leader chose well,” voiced Lumeri.

  Former? The word struck Perses like a bolt of lightning.

  “What do you mean, former?” he asked, his raised voice colored by curiosity and anger.

  Lumeri drew back, as if shaken by the Titan’s reaction. Then he looked at Perses and shook his head.

  “My apologies. I forgot you were in the dark about the unfolding events on the mainland,” sighed the Scribe. “Typhoeus overthrew Iapetus. He now leads the Titans though Tartarus itself had been roused. A prison it was and a prison it is again.”

  Wrathful fury raced through Perses. The grip on his weapon tightened. Backstabbing was a staple among deities, Titans included. But not in the middle of a war. Yet the emotion was bitter anger held in check. He, of all Titans, knew the stupidity of an uncontrolled temper.

  “When did this happen?” he asked Lumeri in a decidedly normal tone.

  “A few weeks ago, as time is reckoned on the continent,” said the Scribe.

  “A few weeks? We’ve been here for only three days!”

  “They call this land the Sleeping Isle for a reason. Life passes you by in this land. Different areas on it have varying effects on such suspension of time. Surely you knew that?” came the puzzled reply to the dumbfounded Titan’s remark.

  Perses didn’t reply. Another accursed surprise, he concluded. Time passes differently on this infernal island. After a few seconds, he stared at the S
cribe. There was news he needed to hear, provided the geas of Lumeri allowed it.

  “We’ve lost?” he inquired slowly.

  “Giving such a conclusion is not within my remit. Suffice it to say that Iapetus has been defeated, yet fighting continues. You know the Titans are not the only players on the board. A mortal Archmage rises, the Norse jotunn Lords have stirred themselves, a bizarre Void dances in their lands, a new power rises in the South, and war rages among men and kingdoms,” advised the smiling Lumeri.

  A cry of alarm from the waiting ranks behind him disturbed further discussion. He looked skyward, just in time to see a pack of drakene diving toward them, yet the angle of descent showed that Lumeri was their target.

  “Ah. The debased, or rather devolved, aspect of the race,” calmly remarked the Scribe as he followed Perses’s gaze. “Unfortunately, they tend to be belligerent against intruders, especially those reeking of magical power. And I believe that would be me.”

  Debased? Devolved? The implications of such a crucial bit of knowledge casually mentioned further added to the churning thoughts in the Titan’s mind.

  The mass of drakene, or drakontes as called in Hellas, were already close. Perses could make out the slitted eyes and huge wings of the flying predators. Yet Lumeri wasn’t concerned at all as the man idly watched the clawed and fanged cloud approach their position. The Titan raised his shield and prepared to receive the attack. A quick glance to the rear revealed that the circular formation had shifted to a defensive line.

  An incandescent glow engulfed Lumeri. An enormous cloud of wispy, ethereal shapes flowing from his entire body followed. Perses saw a multitude of figures and forms, not all humanoid, comprising the surging wave. As they left the Scribe, some shifted into dark hues. Their menacing features and malevolent aura left no doubt as to their affinity.