Wizard Dawning (The Battle Wizard Saga, No. 1) (4 page)

Sig sat on the bed, elbows on knees, his forehead in his hands, dark brown hair hanging forward over his face. He massaged his temples then looked up. "Wow, I don't know where to start. Zombies attacking … your magic … you say I have magic."

"I'm not surprised you're feeling overwhelmed. I talked to your Mom about the zombies. She said they've been around since the farm across the road sold. She noticed that their numbers had been growing, but had no idea that is was that many."

"She noticed too?" Sig asked and nodded.

"She doesn't like them. They were in dreams she had before your father died and more recently she had a nightmare about them falling apart on your farm."

"That is the first time she ever said anything about dreams before Dad died. She dreamed about them falling apart? Wow."

"She didn't want you to worry and didn't know you sensed their presence. You never said anything to her either", he said drily. "It's very rare in our family for women to have magic, but given her dreams, it's possible that your mother might. It's good you both have sensitivities for the zombies. That's my biggest concern now."

"Do you think they attacked today because you arrived or is it a lucky coincidence that they picked today since their numbers have grown?"

"I wondered about that. I could leave, but if I'm not the reason and they attacked because their time was right, I'd leave you two unprotected."

"I'm glad you were here. You knew what to do. Do you think they'll attack again?"

"Not right away, at least not zombies. From what I know about black magic, it takes a long time to raise that many, particularly zombies that appeared to operate independently like these did. We'll have to watch for other kinds of attacks too."

"Should we leave?"

"It's not in my nature to run from trouble. I'm a Battle Wizard. As you saw, I do wield magic. That's why I could make Bjørn speak to you."

Sig's eyes grew wider as his great–grandfather talked.

Grampa waved his hand dismissively "Don't worry, Bjørn won't keep on speaking. He wouldn't be much of a conversationalist if he did." He chuckled.

Sig's mind felt numb as questions piled up. "What's a Battle Wizard?" He finally asked.

"We fight black magic. In fact, we lead the war against black magic."

"I've never heard of a Battle Wizard. Are there more of them?"

Grampa smiled wryly. "A few more, but not enough. I have greater magic in my battle form, in addition to being impervious to most magic—or so I thought."

Grampa's face took on a sad expression. "I got careless. I knew magic had grown more powerful, after the world changed, but I was arrogant. Magic couldn't hurt me…"

"Why didn't you use magic on the zombies?"

Grampa's face took on a pained look. "That's my big problem right now. Whenever I use magic, it makes me sicker. I figured between the two of us, we could fight them off without resorting to magic. Plan B was to try to use whatever power I have left."

"Then I'm glad the two of us … I guess there were actually three of us … could do it without magic. What's wrong with you?"

"Never believe your own press clippings. There's always someone out there more powerful. Do I look old to you?"

"You look older than you used to. You look like Grandfather Edward now."

"I've been old for a long time, Sigurd. I turned 94 before Edward was born. However, that's not much; my great–grandfather lived to be 340."

Sig did the math. "When you said 193 years old this morning, you weren't kidding, or are you kidding now?"

"I'm deadly serious. I ran across someone with tricks I never encountered before. The earth's changes have done more than just increase natural magic. It has also made access to dark magic easier; portals between dimensions are more open."

"Grampa, that sounds bad."

"Good. Fear of black magic is healthy. Dark Mages face a terrible ending if they draw on it; but of course, they think they'll live forever. Dark magic is addictive. Many begin by dabbling in it; confident they'll be able to stop. They begin with the idea of seeking just a little more power, but a little never seems to be enough and it sucks them in and then warps them."

"You're scaring me."

Grampa Thor nodded his head. "Good, fear of Black magic is smart. I didn't have enough fear. I began to feel I was invincible. That's why I don't have much time left. I went up against a Dark Sorcerer who used a trick I'd never seen. He invoked a demon, made it invisible, and cast it into me. I should have shielded against it and didn't. Now the demon feeds off my magic. Every time I use magic, he sucks more out of me, even the normally insignificant part I use to stay young. My reservoir empties faster than I can replenish it. You're looking at the result."

The thought of losing Grampa so soon after Dad and Grandfather Edward, rocked Sig to his core. "There must be something that can be done!"

"I've found nothing where the cure isn't worse than the disease. Google doesn't have much on magic yet; maybe I'll find something before I die of early old age." His face twisted into a smile.

"My biggest concern now is for you, Sigurd. I must pass the sword to you as my grandfather did to me so you can take up the fight. I hope I'll have time to train you as he did for me when he passed it along. Of course, after he trained me, he lived for another one hundred years and managed his investments. It's the Battle Wizard retirement plan."

"Grampa I don't want the sword if it means you're going to die. Isn't there something I can do?"

Grampa nodded his head firmly. "Yes. Pay attention. Do everything I tell you. Make the transition as easy as possible."

"But… I don't have any magic."

"I've always sensed magic in you; deep and powerful. Edward didn't have it, but you do."

"You can sense magic? If it's in me, it has to be very deep. You're kidding aren't you?"

"In some it takes longer to mature. I keep expecting yours to blossom, but I can't wait any longer. There are things I must show you."

"Maybe if you don't show me, you can last longer."

"Not enough to make a difference. I wanted the privacy of your room, so I can show you. I didn't want to do it in the barn. It might scare the horses."

Sig frowned. "What makes you think that I'll be any less scared than the horses?"

"You may be scared, but you won't cause as much trouble because you don't weigh over 500 pounds like they do, yet."

Sig's forehead creased. Yet?

"You asked what a Battle Wizard is. I'll show you first, and then I'll explain."

Grampa Thor reached into his shirt collar, took a gold chain from around his neck, and handed it to Sig. "Have you seen the medallion I wear? It is Aðalbrandr." It sounded like he said A-dul-bronder.

"It focuses my magic. Aðalbrandr means noble sword or first sword. Family legend says it's the very first battle talisman. It's what makes me a Battle Wizard."

Sig held it up by the chain and peered closely at a perfectly formed miniature long sword hanging from it. The hilt, pommel, and curved cross-guard were golden. The silver double-edged blade with a single groove down the center sparkled in the light. A blue stone gleamed, at the cross guard. A link attached the pommel to the gold chain.

"Notice that I didn't say its name until you were holding it. You'll see why."

Grampa took it back, gripped the miniature sword in his fist, the chain trailing down his forearm, and looked at Sig. "I can't do many more of these, so watch and listen carefully."

He closed his eyes and said Aðalbrandr." The air around Grampa Thor coruscated and he blurred. The blur expanded. In a moment, it cleared and a huge Viking warrior stood in place of Grampa.

The tips of the horns on his battle helm almost touched the ceiling. Brown hair salted with gray, the same color as Grampa's, flowed thickly to his shoulders. Wolf pelts draped his muscular torso, and he held an immense double-edged two-handed sword that looked just like the one on Grampa's necklace ― but this sword was four feet long. The warrior carried it easily in one hand. Much broader than a regular human, his massive body, legs, and arms were sheathed in muscle.

The sword extended almost to the wall when he spread his arms. "This is what a Battle Wizard looks like", he growled. Lowering the sword, he turned around. "How tall do I appear?" The floor creaked as he pivoted.

Sig realizing his mouth hung open snapped it shut. He stood, stretched to look up to him, and said, "Well over seven feet, not counting the horns. They almost touch the roof."

The warrior frowned. "I was afraid of that. My magic is decreasing. I used to be almost eight feet tall. I'll change back. You get the idea." He held the sword in front of him with two hands, tip on the ground and said "Koma aftur."

The air shimmered; the warrior blurred and shrank until Grampa Thor stood in front of Sig, holding the talisman in his hand. Grampa slumped back into the chair, chain dangling.

He sat for a moment; eyes clenched shut by a frown, breathing heavily. His eyelids cracked open and his deep blue eyes peered out at Sig. "What is a Battle Wizard? Thousands of years ago, long before the first Vikings raided Ireland, the forces of black magic were on the rise, pressing for domination. A group came together in the Northland to fight back; sorcerers, druids, dwarfs, wizards, witches and other fae to fight back. All swore never to touch the Dark and combine their knowledge and powers to find a weapon against its evil."

"Is that the weapon?"

Grampa glanced at the hand holding Aðalbrandr. "Yes, this is the weapon. The universe is composed of multiple dimensions. Some filled with evil. Dark Mages draw on those. The group opposed to them combined other magic to make this. Legend is they called it the Dragon Sword."

Sig's eyes grew wider. "Dragon Sword? Why?"

"Dragons have the most powerful magic; able to transit between dimensions, and resistant to most other magic, but their ways are not the ways of men. The group somehow drew on Dragon magic. What they did is lost to us. However, they bequeathed the first sword to your great, great, umpty-great grandsire. It's been said that he was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, or quarrelsome enough to take it. There are lots of opinions about him, but they all conclude that he was one of the most powerful wizards of that time. Since then our line has passed it down and each has lead the fight against black magic. I am the twelfth Battle Wizard in our line and now I must pass it on,"

He lifted and extended the chain toward Sig. "Here this is yours." He sounded tired.

Sig stared numbly at it. Grampa shook the chain at him "Take it. It won't bite."

Sig eased his hand forward, but stopped. It was too much. This morning he didn't have magic. Now he's supposed to lead the fight against black magic?

"Grampa I'm not ready for this. I don't have any magic. Besides, if you're the twelfth, that would make me the unlucky thirteenth."

Grampa leaned forward and draped it across Sig's hand. "Take it!"

Sig clenched the chain and raised the dangling medallion to a level with his eyes, looking for secrets, fearing they wouldn't reveal themselves to him.

"Go ahead, hold the medallion." Thor said.

Sig reached up with his left hand, grasped the amulet, and jerked his hand back.

As if startled by Sig's reaction, Thor peered at the hand that had touched the amulet. "What happened?"

"It felt warm, and tingly; like it's humming."

"Warm and tingly? Interesting. So far, other than sensing the zombies, you haven't show signs of magic. I'm supposed to make a speech about leading the fight against the forces of darkness before I give this to you … yada yada, but I don't know if I can give it to you since you haven't exhibited any magic. Grasp the amulet and say Aðalbrandr. See if the feeling in your hand changes at all."

"Are you sure?"

"What's the worst that could happen—you turn into a midget warrior? Aðalbrandr focuses and strengthens your power. With no magic, I don't expect anything to happen. Go ahead. I don't know what to expect, but we have to try and see what happens."

Skeptical, Sig shrugged, stood up, and muttered, "Aðalbrandr."

The room blurred and shrank. He started to drop the amulet but something slammed into his head with a thunderous boom followed by the sound of wood breaking. The blow knocked him to his knees. He threw his hands up and the sword now in his hand, stabbed deep into the ceiling.

Grampa hollered, "Holy Crap!" as he stepped away from Sig. Feet pounded up the stairs and the bedroom door swung open.

"What in the world is going…?" Mom said. She looked Sig in the eye then backed out of the room. How can she look me in the eye? I'm on my knees.

Grampa stepped in front of him, hands up, also looking him in the eyes. "Don't move. Don't get up. Lower the sword. Slowly."

Sig looked up to where it pierced the ceiling, tugged it out, and set it on the bed. It stretched almost as long as his bed—longer than when Grampa held it. Plaster dust drifted downward from another hole in the ceiling. An exposed, fractured ceiling beam had a bowl shaped dent in it.