The Accidental Archmage - Book Five by Edmund Batara (best e ink reader for manga .txt) 📕

in the maze of trenches and mounds. The mage could see the confusion and breakup of formations as more and more attackers encountered the field or the crowded rear of those who went before them. Despite the dire situation, Tyler couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. It looked like a production line gone wrong. After several minutes, the number of dots delayed by the broken ground had swelled massively, with more on the way to the field. Then from the back of the incoming mass, a vast number of green pinpricks suddenly rose to the air. The distant sky was full of them. It was as if the stars themselves had come down from the night sky, changed their color into the detestable greenish hue, and arrayed their numbers on the horizon. The snicker died in the mage’s throat.

I knew it! he thought despairingly. He glanced over to Kobu and the jarl.

“A moment please,” he asked. “Tyndur and Habrok too.”

The two came closer, the escort of the jarl keeping a respectful distance from them.

When they reached him, he broke the bad news in a brief whisper.

“How many?” asked the jarl. Tyler pointedly stared at the stars in the sky as his answer.

The jarl just smiled. “There always comes a time for a man to die anyway. Why not tonight?”

“Damned. Tonight is not a good time to die,” protested Tyndur in hushed tones.

“Why not?” asked Habrok.

“That’s the flying part. How are we going to deal with the walking ones if we’re dead?” came the answer. That response even got the mage struggling to understand what exactly Tyndur wanted to say.

Kobu just smiled and said nothing.

“You’ll come up with something, sire,” confidently declared Habrok. “We already fought and defeated two Aztecah armies with undead in their ranks, not to mention bearded Aztecah gods in their very own sanctums. I am not even including the disaster you inflicted on Ymir back in Scarburg, and kicking Ares’s and his minions’ arrogant behinds.”

“Oh, you forgot the battles in the Void Lands,” added the einherjar in a low voice.

The jarl kept quiet the entire time, but the shocked disbelief on his face was evident.

“This is a new battle. Let me think,” was all the mage could say. The rest went back to their positions.

Unfortunately, Tyler could clearly see the multitude of flying attackers now moving toward the fortress.

I can’t think of anything. Any solution I come up with involves the use of Elder energy, and I need whatever we have for unraveling the spell. I can delay, or even devastate parts of what’s flying toward us, but there are too many, and only one of me. Damn! Where are Windstorm and his kin when you need them!

The more he thought about it, the closer the flying specks became, and the higher his desperation mounted.

Can’t those Ismenian draken spare even ten minutes? What’s the use of being their lord when you can’t count on them! thought the mage furiously. He could feel his blood rise in response to his frustration. Fuck this. I use the Elder energy we collected and then we can’t unravel the spell.

He quickly double-checked with his guides. The answer was the same. They needed all that was produced, considering the unknown quality of the energy. A quantity was required to break through the dimensional veneer and the spell which held the main conjuration together, and then the rest to collapse the matrix of the ancient animating magical pattern. X added they needed to wait until the highest possible concentration of energy was before them to ensure the maximum probability of success. That meant the leader of the advancing army would have to be within hailing distance of the walls.

Fuck me. I’m gonna get owned. The vulgar and slang responses were all he could think of.

The assailants were as fast as those involved in the probing attack. In ten minutes, details of their sizes and formations were already apparent to Tyler.

And organized formations? Meaning they’ll be conducting an organized attack on the defenses? When it rains, it really pours!

Suddenly, the air in front of the mage curiously shimmered, slowly resolving into the form of a giant wyrm floating in the air.

It was Palirroia, the Ismenian drakon. Somehow, the being had sprouted massive and magnificent wings. Behind him were several other draken of his race, among them one he recognized – Nýchta, the night.

***

“You called, my lord?” asked the drakon in front of him, the voice low and deep enough to go echoing through one’s bones, leaving a trail of coldness wherever the rumbling susurrations reverberated. “We can spare ten minutes.”

Tyler felt as if a tub full of cold relief had been poured over him. He stood for a while, looking at the wyrm. The mage could swear the being was amused.

“You did hear me,” was all he could say.

“Of course, my lord. The release of your peculiar energy was felt by Windstorm across the ether. Desperation marked it well.” The reply was made mentally. “What do you want us to do?”

“There’s a deluge of undead converging on this fortress. I can’t manage them all, especially the flying ones. There’s just too many,” replied the mage.

“A game of all we can dispose of in ten minutes? That’s quite the challenge.”

“The flying ones first, please.”

“As you wish. They’re not a problem for us. There might be some strange energy in the air, animating them, but we are prepared for and faced worse things. And there’s nothing like purifying fire combined with lightning to light the darkness,” said the draken with some amusement. The group vanished.

The entire platform was quiet. The defenders couldn’t see what’s happening, but Tyler could. Broad swathes of green dots were winking out, including many on the ground. But those below the flyers were being replaced as quickly as they disappeared.

Has it been ten minutes? That’s a lot of undead off the field. At least the flying ghouls have been dealt with, more or less. That group could have wiped clean the ramparts, us included, all by themselves. With