Book One in The Battle Wizard Saga
“You asked what a Battle Wizard is. I’ll show you first, and then I’ll explain.”
Grampa Thor reached into his shirt collar with both hands, lifted 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 dangling 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 heavily 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.”