“How do the runes work, Varnar?” Tartum asked.
Varnar grinned; he shifted his gaze from his axe to Tartum, “Magic!” he said. Laughing, he continued, “Runic magic isn’t much different than the magic ye use, lad. I open myself to the source, just as ye do. Instead of channeling the power into a component, dwarves channel magic into ancient markings you know as runes. Some of the eldest dwarves say that our runes are the written language of the gods!”
Tartum committed every word Varnar said to memory. The way he understood it, Dwarven runes worked alot like his enchantment spells. The difference being, dwarves used special markings, while he used materials.
Tartum licked his lips in excitement, before he asked his next question, “Can you show me how to cast runes of my own?”
Varnar shook his head. “Ach, lad…I can show you the secrets of my family’s metal and gem working. With time, I could mould you into one of the finest smiths the land of the humans have ever seen…but I can not teach you how to use runic magic. It has been forbidden to teach anyone other than pureblooded dwarves this craft since it was first handed down to us by the Gods. If it were to be discovered that you had learned even a pebble’s worth of this knowledge, your death would be swift, as would the deaths of any dwarf you had come into contact with in your entire life. There would be no where to run, no where to hide where the dwarves wouldn’t find you.” Varnar said. His tone had become deathly serious and sent chills down Tartum’s spine.
He found it unlikely the dwarves would discover him using runic magic. The world was a big place, and there were plenty of places to hide from the prying eyes of society. “Varnar, I find it difficult to believe the dwarves would ever find out you told me anything. I do have some skill in staying hidden…I swear to never tell a soul any knowledge you might teach me this night. Your people will never discover the truth!” he said earnestly. For a moment, he thought he had gotten through to Varnar. He face lightened, and he gave him an approving look. Tartum was about to celebrate this victory when he saw a change come over Varnar. The look on his face hardened, and he shook his head. Tartum’s heart sank.
“The very stone talks to us, lad. Or did ye think me seeing you watch us from afar was dumb luck? The first time you tried your hand at our magic, master rune smiths would hear of it from the earth itself. They would be upon ye in days. They have magic capable of gleaning answers from you even against your will. They would discover me and our fates would be sealed. No, lad…I cannot teach ye. No dwarf can.” As he said this, his grin returned to his face, and he began to chuckle.
“Don’t be disappointed, lad! If ye ever find yourself in need of some runic work or any kind of metal working, feel free to visit me at Windswept Keep. It’s only a few weeks journey to the north from Rebirth, and there are plenty of towns and villages along the way. When ye arrive, just mention me name, and they’ll bring ye straight to me. Just make sure you bring enough gold to pay for me services. The greatest smithy guild in the kingdom does not work cheap!” he finished with a chuckle.
Tartum took another drink from his wineskin. Having a dwarven friend in a position of authority might be useful later on. He couldn’t think of anything he would need runic magic for at the moment, but perhaps later in life, he would find a need. If nothing else, visiting Varnar was an excellent excuse to travel north and explore the lands of the dwarves. He still hadn’t given up on the idea of finding a dwarf that would teach him runic magic.
“I thank you for the invitation, Varnar! Don’t be surprised if I take you up on it soon.” Tartum said with a smile.
Varnar nodded as he drank from his own wineskin. “Oi! Enough of this idle chit-chat…We must set up watches for the night. Thorn…you can take first watch.” he said. Tartum noticed the dwarf seemed to be very intoxicated. The sun wasn’t even completely set, and the dwarf was swaying in his seat. Whatever was in his skin must have been very potent. The mention of setting watches for the night caught his attention.
“We don’t need to set a watch, Varnar. I’ll set up a barrier that will warn us of intruders.” Tartum said. Standing up, he realized he was feeling a little light headed from the dwarven brew. Using his will to focus his mind, Tartum opened himself to the magic and pulled a few glass shards out of his pouches. Infusing them with his magic, he tossed them around the camp a few feet from the fire.
“Bratka-ratack! Deruno-yutheth! Soro-ket!” he commanded. The glass shards began to expand up and around the camp until an uneven shell had formed encompassing them. Thorn jumped to his feet. Varnar whistled and began applauding as Tartum’s spell solidified around them.
Thorn cautiously approached the wall and tapped on it. The sound it made reminded Tartum of how it sounded when someone knocked on a window. With a doubtful look, Thorn reared back and put his fist through one of the barriers. It shattered with the impact and disintegrated into nothingness. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the forest and sent birds racing out of the trees squawking their disapproval.
With a grin, Tartum nodded to Thorn. “That should get our attention if anything tries to interrupt our sleep. Between my barriers and Varnar’s rock talking ability, I think we can consider our camp secure.” he said.
The look Thorn gave Tartum let him know he very much doubted it, but he said nothing and walked over to his spot near the fire. Varnar laid back and was snoring loudly within minutes. As Tartum finished replacing the destroyed barrier, Thorn spoke up.
“He’s a good man, you know, and he seems to have taken’ a liking to you,” he grumbled. “I’ve never seen him offer his services to a human before. Let alone invite one to Windswept for a tour.”
Tartum detected jealousy in Thorn’s voice. Rolling his eyes, he replied, “Relax, Thorn. I have no intention of coming between you and your master. I do intend to take him up on his offer to use his services if I ever have the need, but currently, I do not. It may be years before I make it to Windswept, if ever. So don’t start acting like a jealous child. I’m no threat.” he retorted. He was more than a little irritated with Thorn’s attitude.
Thorn was taken aback by his words, “Me, a child?!? ME!? You know, the wineskin he gave you has the brew they give to children in it? You’re drinking a child’s swill, and I’m the kid in this conversation.” he said. Tartum could tell he had struck a nerve.
Retrieving his wineskin, Tartum took another pull from it. The sweet, smooth taste flowed down his throat and left him feeling satisfied. He remembered how the brew from Thorn’s wineskin had tasted and how much more potent it had been. Looking over at the passed out dwarf, he could imagine just how terribly strong the brew in his wineskin must have been. He realized that Thorn was telling the truth.
“How old are dwarven children when they are given this to drink?” Tartum asked taking another swig from his wineskin.
Thorn looked confused by Tartum’s question. He gave him an questioning look and then shrugged, “I don’t know. No older than thirty, I think.” he said.
Tartum smirked and took another long drag from his skin. “Well, then, to Varnar I’m not much more than a child. This is the perfect brew for me. What is it called?” Tartum responded.
The look on Thorn’s face was priceless. He had been rendered speechless by his retort, and Tartum could tell he hadn’t expected it. After a moment, he regained use of his tongue and answered, “Ummm, in dwarven I think it’s Paiste Grúdaigh. In common it translates roughly into child’s brew.” he said. Tartum saw that Thorn was compeltely at a loss; he assumed this conversation wasn’t going the way he had planned.
Tartum smiled, “Those dwarven kids sure know how to drink!” he said with a laugh as he laid down next to the fire. The sun was now set and Tartum was ready to sleep. The sound of Thorn bursting into laughter caused him to sit up and look at him.
“Tartum, you are a unique individual, and I’m glad to have met you. I apologize for how I spoke to you earlier.” he said.
Tartum grinned and rolled ove
r once again to go to sleep. “No need to apologize. Just be quiet so I can go to sleep. That paiste grúdaigh has made me very sleepy. Good night, Thorn.” he said.
Thorn laughed, “Yes, it will do that. Good night, Tartum Fuin. Sleep well.”
Within moments, they were all snoring soundly.
Tartum was awoken roughly by a strong hand shaking him. Opening his eyes, he saw Varnar looking down at him; a lazy smile on his face.
“Ach! Good, ye be awake, then. You could sleep through an avalanche, lad! Thorn and I are heading off. I just wanted to say our goodbyes before being on our way.” Varnar held out his hand for Tartum to shake. “We are well met, Tartum Fuin of Saroth. I look forward to the next time our paths cross.”
Tartum’s mind was still groggy from being awoken so unexpectedly. Before he could give his reply, Varnar was walking to join Thorn. Thorn had a large chest strapped to his back and Varnar shouldered a large pack of his own, as they began walking in the direction that would lead them to the ruins of Rebirth. Tartum watched as Thorn put a fist through his magical barrier that had protected them as they slept. As the barrier shattered, Thorn waved his goodbye to Tartum. Neither of them looked back. Tartum watched them walk away until they disappeared into the forest. He was saddened to see them go but found their departure left him with a strong urge to return to his own home.
Sitting up, Tartum dusted off his robes and gathered up his possessions. He found the wineskin Varnar had given him last night had been refilled. Smiling, Tartum took a drink from it and savored the taste as it flowed into his belly. Attaching the skin to his belt, Tartum picked up his staff and continued on his journey towards Saroth. His night with Varnar and Thorn had improved his mood greatly, and he found his pace was quickened by it. He figured at this rate he’d be home by midday. He was looking forward to getting back to his magic.
CHAPTER 32
After almost four days of constant travel, Tartum arrived at the gates of Saroth. Nodding at the guards as he passed into the city, he noticed they seemed very young and nervous. The little voice in the back of his head was trying to tell him something, but Tartum was too tired from traveling and too relieved to be home to care. As he walked through the city, he found it to be oddly quiet for midday. No vendors were hawking their wares; no patrols marched through the streets. Parents seemed to have corralled their children inside, even though the sun was shining brightly and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Tartum felt there was something wrong in the city today and hastened his pace.
As he came upon the alleyway that harbored the entrance to his guild Tartum saw something he hadn’t expected. Blocking his way into the compound were two city guards. They were fully armed and seemed to be trying to look in every direction at once. Tartum wasn’t sure what their presence foretold, but the voice in the back of his head told him it wasn’t anything good. Pulling out two spider legs, Tartum opened himself to the magic and began casting his entanglement spell. He wasn’t sure if the guards’ presence meant trouble or not, so he decided to err on the side of caution. Better to disable the men and circumvent a misunderstanding than to kill them and start a war. The way he saw it, he had better not kill anyone until he knew what the hells was going on.
“Swa-swa-swyth. La-lateedo! Swa-swa-swyth. La-lateedo!” he commanded, as he infused the spider legs with his magic. Two blobs of web fired from Tartum’s hands and slammed into the men guarding the alleyway. Tartum cautiously walked past their cocooned forms and made his way down the alley. As he peaked around the corner that lead to the entrance of the compound, he came face to face with Sasha; only it wasn’t all of Sasha. Her head now sat on a spike just outside of the wide-open doorway into the guild. A sign with the crudely written message “THIEF” was tacked onto the spike. Sasha’s body lay on the ground below the spike. The blood was still warm; she hadn’t been dead long.
Tartum didn’t fully understand what was happening, but seeing Sasha’s mutilated corpse now serving as a warning sign, he put enough of the facts together to get a grasp on the situation. Clearly their plan to overthrow the bishop had taken a nasty turn for the worse, and if he had to guess, Sasha had been made to show the guards where the thieves responsible for the robbery were hiding. Judging by her current state, her reward for betraying them had been fitting.
With his senses enhanced by magic, Tartum clearly heard the sounds of fighting coming from inside. It sounded like the entire army was down there and that the fighting wasn’t going well for his side. Pulling a copper rod from his pack, Tartum looked down at his green tinted skin and took a moment to steady his nerves. He didn’t want to go inside the compound, but he couldn’t leave his spell book behind any more than he could leave Buddy to this fate. With one last contemptuous look at Sasha’s severed head, Tartum infused his copper rod with magic and stepped inside the compound.
The hallway that led to the stairs was thankfully unguarded although the sounds of fighting got louder, the further inside he walked. As he got to the stairs, he heard a man screaming in pain. The sound of metal on flesh cut the scream off unnaturally, and Tartum heard the sound of a body hitting the floor above him. Judging by the sound, it hadn’t been an armored guard that had just died. Swallowing hard, Tartum made his way down the spiraling staircase towards his room. He descended slowly, listening for any sound of the enemy rushing towards him, the further down he got, the more worried about being ambushed he became. As he reached the kitchens level, the sounds of battle because very intense. Peering down the hallway, Tartum saw Jeth fighting four guards at once in a desperate battle for his life. He was bleeding from a dozen cuts all over his body. There were two guards lying motionless on the floor near him. Large pools of blood had formed under their inert forms, and Tartum knew they no longer posed a threat. The guards had their backs to Tartum and it seemed their attention was completely focused on Jeth. The remaining guards advanced on him, and Jeth fell back further down the hallway towards the kitchens. The guards were laughing at him, the fear on his face was as obvious as the fact the guards were toying with him. Anger began to build up inside of Tartum. Jeth was a bastard, of that there was no doubt, but he was still a fellow guild member, and he didn’t like how the guards were playing with him. Tartum was about to step out to fry the guards, when he saw Jeth fall back enough to put him in front of the entryway to the kitchen area. A very large guard that had been lying in wait, jumped out from behind Jeth and wrapped his arms around him pinning him against his muscular body. Jeth screamed in terror and struggled in vain to escape his captor’s grasp.
“NO! PLEASE! STOP! I’ll show you to his rooms! I’ll give you anything you want! Please! Don’t kill me!!!” Jeth begged. Tartum could see tears running down his face, none of his usual sarcastic demeanor or poised cockiness could be detected from him now. Tartum would have felt pity for the man if he hadn’t just offered to betray someone in the guild in what was shaping up to be his final moments. Tartum wasn’t sure who Jeth was referring to, but he assumed it was Savall he had just tried to betray. It was the final straw, Tartum kept himself hidden and watched to see what happened next.
One of the guards laughed sinisterly at Jeth’s offer, “We don’t need anything from you, thief! The bishop will find your caster’s room and recover his belongings; meanwhile me and my friends here are going to kill every single one of you sons of bitches! So try and have a little dignity before we run you through, you pathetic, one-eyed bitch!” the guard spat at Jeth.
The guards advanced upon him immediately and plunged their swords simultaneously into his body. The scream of fear and pain that bellowed out of him set Tartum’s teeth on edge. The guard that had spoken to Jeth pulled his sword free and used it to savagely tear through Jeth’s neck silencing his screams and ending his life. The big man holding Jeth’s limp form dropped him to the floor with a shout. The guard’s finishing blow surprised the big man and now he looked like he might attack the man responsible for Jeth’s decapitation. Tartum refused to give him the pleasu
re. Jeth deserved to die for his attempted betrayal, Tartum knew, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t avenge the death of a former guild member.
Stepping out of his hiding spot on the stairs, Tartum targeted the cluster of guards and spoke the words of power, “Yuik-rena toem-urthma!” The copper rod burst into a ball of energy in his hands. The sudden sound and light from behind them startled the guards. They spun around to face the new threat. Tartum felt great satisfaction, as he watched them comprehend the fact they were about to die.
“Za-Tan!” Tartum yelled. The ball of lightning fired from his hands, heading straight for the middle of the guards. The large one was standing in the middle of the group and had just enough time to point at Tartum and utter a few words, before the lightning bolt hit him and exploded amongst the group. The force of the blast caused the hallway to cave in; Tartum didn’t care; he was already making his way further down the stairs. Jeth’s death had been avenged, but he had no time to marvel over his work. He had to get to his room and gather up his possessions before the guards breeched his defenses and destroyed everything he had worked his entire life to obtain.
The cave in he had caused with his last spell had unnerved him slightly. As he descended, he decided to long longer rely on his lightning bolt spell out of fear he would cause another cave in. Reaching into his pouches, Tartum grabbed a handful of rose petals and infused them with magic as he continued down. There were more sounds of fighting coming from below, and he knew he would have to fight his way to his room if he was going to have any hope of recovering his possessions. He was almost to the bottom floor, when there was an unexpected explosion. The force of the blast sent a wave of heat and dust up the stairs, knocking Tartum to the ground. The sounds of fighting were silenced for a moment, as the explosion reverberated throughout the compound. Tartum picked himself up and reopened himself to the magic. The blast had distracted him badly enough that he had lost his connection. Infusing the rose petals once again, Tartum uttered the words of command for his spell, as he released the petals into the air in front of him.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 2 Page 24
