At the sounds the mage was making, Kobu was concerned enough to ask him if everything was all right. Tyler lied in reply.
But no, he wasn’t all right, the thought immediately arose after he gave Kobu the misleading answer.
“Do we have enough?” he finally asked.
“We hope so, sire. Your body can’t handle any more energy conversions for now,” replied Hal.
“Good. I think I have reached my limit for the day too. Let me get some rest.”
Though X was careful in the periodic releases of its control of Tyler’s nerve endings, sudden agonizing pinpricks accompanied each stage of switching such processes back to his body, a situation resulting in a sleepless night on top of his suffering. Only the ominous specter of a vast ocean of undead closing in on the fortress kept him from regretting the entire experience.
Damn. I really should find the proper way of doing this, the mantra kept on repeating itself in his thoughts every time a cloud of pain arose from his arms.
***
“Sire, sire.”
Kobu’s voice penetrated the hazy fog of his sleep-deprived brain. Tyler opened his eyes. The mage realized he’d fallen asleep around dawn, and a severe headache greeted him. He tried to focus on the standing figure beside the bed, but it took several seconds before the image became clearer.
“Good morning, Kobu. What is it?”
“I apologize for disturbing you, sire. But a mounted company of the High King’s personal guard has arrived. Heavily armored and armed. The leader is demanding your presence.”
Demanding?
The extreme discomfort of the weary mage was quickly replaced by a growing irritation.
“Demanding?” he voiced what he thought he’d heard, making sure his ears got it right.
“Yes, sire. Demanding,” grinned the exile.
An abrupt double dose of healing spells gave the greatly annoyed mage enough energy to stand up and furiously storm out of the room. Kobu followed. As Tyler swiftly walked through the hallways, full of people going about the morning’s preparations, he was so focused on meeting the early, though annoying guests, that he didn’t notice his way was being cleared. People were being forced back, pressed against the walls and ceiling of the corridor, or thrown aside. The mage didn’t notice the chaos he was creating and leaving behind. Kobu did tell him afterward that he saw a gray eddy, streaked with red flashes, around the mage as he strode toward the door of the keep.
The closed doors slammed open as he walked out. In front of the keep was a force of dismounted warriors, defensively arrayed in a shield wall. Beside the keep’s entrance were Habrok, his bow in hand, and Tyndur whose weapon was already covered with flames. Surprisingly, a number of dwarves were grouped in battle formation facing the shield wall, the svartalfar led by Dvalin on the right flank and the dvergar on the left, with Otr in front twirling a warhammer. The jarl and a large number of his warriors were off to the left side, several meters from Otr’s band.
Tyler took the scenic view in as he walked forward. A voice at the back of his mind was shouting at him that the situation was dangerously tense.
Shut the fuck up, the mage inwardly shouted down the errant voice.
He looked at Tyndur. The einherjar closed the few meters separating them.
“Men of the hird of the High King. They have just arrived and the leader, that snotnose over there, wanted to go to your room and drag you back to Hirdburg. Of course, we dissuaded him, and I personally reminded them all of the error of their arrogant ways. The dwarves already up and awake overheard the exhibition of phonological skills and quickly set up their formations on the sides of the keep. The jarl couldn’t interfere as it involved the High King’s order, though he told me he couldn’t care less if we wiped our asses with these naughty boys,” the einherjar quickly updated the mage.
“This stupid strutting of their High King on top of a looming siege?” asked Tyler with cold fury.
“Mr. Snotnose did mention something about Hirdburg and Ahrensburg, the region where the city was located, being under threat and swarming with undead. So, the minute the High King heard about a High Mage in Hedmark, he sent these men. Quite the leader. He couldn’t care less about the possibility of Hedmark being at the forefront of the real invasion. But that’s politicians for you,” said Tyndur.
“Only a company? This is insulting,” said Tyler. “Anyway, go to the dwarves and tell them not to get involved. We can’t afford a war between Skaney and the combined might of the two dwarven races on top of everything. I’ll take care of this matter.”
Tyler walked forward, clad only in tunic and pants, though he had the staff in hand.
“Who demanded the High Mage’s presence?” he coldly called out.
A bulky warrior standing in front of the shield wall stepped forward.
“Don’t tell me you’re him? Such a young, thin mage. Probably a seidr mage too. Where’s the High Mage?” demanded the warrior in a haughty shout.
“The High Mage is not of Skaney, nor of any realm in this world. The arrogance of your king will fail you. Be careful. Otherwise, Skaney will find itself without a ruler,” replied Tyler. He felt weird. Cold anger and hot fury alternated deep inside him.
“You’re making threats?” laughed the warrior, loudly. At the words, the vast number of onlookers quickly withdrew a good distance from the scene, a fact which didn’t escape the attention of the warriors in the shield wall. A good many were craning their heads around, curious as to the reason for the mystifying reaction.
Something rapidly boiled from within Tyler, a strength which only made its appearance when Astrid had lunged at Habrok a long time ago. It rose and hovered on the outskirts of his consciousness, waiting for the expression to give it form and
