The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 2

by William D. Latoria

  “Who are you!?” he asked, not bothering to hide the hatred in his voice.

  The old man sneered at him. “My name is Wyndall Argonak, but you may refer to me as the Bishop of Saroth.”

  Tartum’s stomach sank into his feet as he began putting the pieces together. He was about to curse the man when the wind was violently kicked out of him. Doubling over in pain, Tartum struggled to breathe as he rocked back and forth on the ground.

  “You’ve already met Keves, I’m sorry to say. His manners leave much to be desired, but he is useful to have around, especially on dangerous encounters like these.” the Bishop said condescendingly, “He was supposed to kill you shortly after retrieveing the troll’s blood, but I pulled him away from you when I discovered the map was a fake. You were supposed to go back to Yucoke and brood over your failure while I found a more reliable source that would lead you to the component you seeked. I was pleasantly surprised when you returned months later with three waterskins full of blood you procured from a village of half trolls. Very impressive indeed, Jade Mage.” the man said. There was no insincerity in his voice, but Tartum could see the disgust still present in the man’s eyes.

  “Anyway, I used you to do the leg work and gather the ingredients for my ring. How you ever convinced that old man to sacrifice his soul is beyond me, but most impressive, my dear, Tartum! I must say it is a shame you had to make an enemy of me, together we could have done some incredible things. You’re as ruthless as you are powerful, it seems.” As the Bishop told him this, he patted him on the head like he was a favored dog. Rage filled Tartum’s mind at the disrespect the man was showing him.

  “Keves and I debated for days after you had acquired all of the ingredients for the spell on whether or not to kill you. Keves believed you had the strength to cast the enchantment, where as I did not. I owe the man quite a bit of money now that you’ve proven me wrong, which I must admit angers me.” he said, as Keves kicked Tartum again. Tartum was more prepared for it this time, but the blow still hurt him, all the same.

  “Thank you, Keves. Well then, shall we conclude our business then?” he said as he bent down to retrieve the ring. Tartum watched helplessly, as the man tried to put the ring on his finger. One finger after the other the ring resized itself, so that it wouldn’t fit on the Bishop. Tartum couldn’t help but laugh, as the Bishop became more and more frustrated with every failed attempt. His laughter earned him another kick in the ribs from Keves. He felt his ribs flex as the blow struck, and he spit out a mouth full of blood.

  The Bishop turned on him now no longer trying to disguise his contempt. “Your usefulness is at its end, Tartum Fuin! The soul you bound to the ring may still be loyal to you, but in the end that will change, and I will possess the power it contains! Die, knowing that ever since our paths crossed you’ve done nothing but aid me and furthered my own power. Die, knowing that you are nothing more than a pawn in the grand design that is my life!” he shrieked at him.

  Keves kicked Tartum two more times hard, as the Bishop reached for something in the sleeve of his robe. Tartum felt Keves’ toes break on his body as he kicked him for the last time. The pain forced Tartum to curl into a ball, still too weak to defend himself. He cursed himself a fool for not seeing that he was nothing more than an errand boy all along. To allow such boyish indulgences as assuming it was Isidor assisting him all along without first finding proof. It had all been too convenient now that he thought about it, too perfectly orchestrated to have been luck. He cursed himself for being so blind, so foolish.

  Looking up, he saw the Bishop had something in the palm of his hand. He knew the man was about to cast a spell that would end his life and part of him was grateful. After how stupid he had been, thinking himself so clever and lucky to have had everything handed to him from the start. How blind he had been to his enemies, and how quickly he had jumped at the chance to aid them. Part of him wanted to die so that he wouldn’t have to live with the shame of what he had done. Part of him knew he deserved it.

  The other part of him, the bigger part, wanted to kill this man. He wanted to reach out and rip the man’s heart out to show him before he died. The fact that they were a lot alike meant nothing to him. The man had used him, mocked him, and was now going to kil him and the knowledged sickened him. He was still wracked in pain by Keves’s kicks and was still recovering from casting his spell. He knew he would be able to move soon and defend himself but seeing a fireball appear in the Bishop’s hand told Tartum he wouldn’t have the time. His one regret was that he wouldn’t be able to exact his revenge on the Bishop or his toade, Keves.

  The Bishop did not hesistate to launch his fireball at Tartum, and the impact flattened him on the ground. The blast engulfed him in orange and red flames that greedily ate at his clothes. Screaming, Tartum tore at the flames as they turned his enchanted robes and pouches full of components into ash. He clawed and batted at the flames, trying desperately to put them out before they killed him. Even now, completely doomed, Tartum fought to survive. It was then the guiding voice in the back of his head brought a very curious fact to his attention.

  The flames weren’t burning him.

  Forcing himself to lay still, Tartum watched as the fire from the Bishop’s spell reduced his clothing to ash and yet his skin never so much as felt hot to the touch. He felt the warmth of the fire seeping into him but not the burning pain he would have expected. Laying naked now on his stomach surrounded by the flames, Tartum tried to make sense of all of this. The voice brought forth the memory of a conversation he had with Calimsha where she had first called him a half-breed. Tartum guessed that the other half of his heritage had something to do with the fact that the fire didn’t burn him. At the moment, however, he had more pressing concerns. Looking through the fire, Tartum saw the Bishop and Keves had their backs to him and were discussing something near his wagon. The Bishop was still trying to get the ring on his finger and the sight brought new found fury to Tartum.

  He tried to push himself up but he was still too weak from the casting. Once again the guiding voice brought the memory of the Bottombarrel oath to his mind. He recited it, but it did nothing to help his situation. Still the voice pressed the memory, and Tartum got the feeling he wasn’t looking deep enough. Slowly he spoke the words, as he did so he opened himself to the magic.

  My Family, he thought. Images of Vaund popped into his head as he played with Buddy back in the thieves guild. Isidor handing him his staff shortly after his father died. The proud look Savall would get on his face when he successfully finished a mission. Buddy looking up at him with intelligence, love, and admiration in his eyes. Tartum felt something stirring inside of his chest and slowly he began to push himself up with his hands.

  My Honor, he thought. Memories of his time with the dwarves, about promises kept and friendships forged. Saving Buddy from the street gang in the alley in Saroth. Choosing his magic over Elizabeth and knowing it was the right decision. Honoring Vaund’s decision to use his soul for the ring. Protecting Betty and destroying the Boggs. The feeling in his chest became a blaze of power that flowed strength back into his limbs.

  My Pride, he thought. Unlocking spells, defeating Lord Zahut, passing the over exam and becoming a full member of the thieves guild, surviving his fear when coming face to face with a dragon, killing Gurth, succeeding when all hope seemed lost. The power in his chest grew and his body no longer felt weak, it felt stronger than it had ever been, and he brought his knees up as he began to stand.

  My Life, he thought. Meeting Isidor when he was five, burying his father and moving in with Isidor when he was sixteen, his time in Saroth, Elizabeth, his mission in Rebirth, Yucoke, Windswept, the the future he had when he reclaimed his ring all swirled around in his mind. Standing up surrounded by the flames of the Bishop’s spell, Tartum strode over to his staff and pulled it from the ground.

  Hefting it like it was a spear and bolstered by this new found strength, Tartum hurled it at the men that still had not noti
ced his recovery. As he released the staff, he sprinted at the Bishop, his only thoughts were of vengeance and the ring. His staff sailed through the air soundlessly and as it struck Keves in the back, it pierced his shoulder. The force of the impact drove the staff through the man and pinned him into the dirt. The shocked look on the Bishop’s face increased Tartum’s fury, and he sprinted even faster to close the gap between them. The Bishop was just beginning to turn, when Tartum lunged at him, driving him into the ground.

  Tartum was surprised at how accurate he had been with his assessment of the man’s physical form. The collision broke many of the Bishop’s ribs and shattered his hips. As Tartum picked himself up, he looked down at the man that was now broken and screaming in agony. Tartum relished in the man’s pain, his shrieks were the sounds of victory to his fury drunk mind. In his spasms, Tartum saw his ring still clutched in the Bishop’s hand. Reaching down, Tartum pried the Bishop’s fingers off of it, breaking many of them in the process. With the ring finally in his possession, Tartum was overjoyed. His elation further increased when the ring began to glow green, and a serene feeling passed over him. Kneeling down so that he could face the bishop, Tartum slowly slipped the ring onto the third finger of his left hand. The hatred and disdain Tartum had seen in his eyes before was gone. Now only terror and panic could bee seen in the withered man’s eyes. Thru the haze of his anger, Tartum realized the man was saying something. Forcing himself to calm down, the roar in his ears silenced enough for him to make out what he was saying.

  “Anything! Anything you want it’s yours! I’m sorry for trying to kill you! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” Tears and snot ran down the Bishop’s face, unchecked, as he begged for his life. His pleas fell on deaf ears, as he grabbed the man by his throat and drug him to where Keves was still pinned to the ground. Throwing the man’s body down next to him, an evil grin formed on Tartum’s face. Holding his hand, palm out, towards Keves’ foot, the one with the broken toes, Tartum opened himself fully to the magic. As the power bolstered him, he couldn’t help but laugh. The sound was as sinister and foreboding as he felt, and as he looked down at the men, he saw they were both crying like children and begging for his mercy.

  “You men should be proud! You are going to be witness to the first time I’ve ever attempted to cast two new spells!” he said to the men. His voice dripped with acid, and he watched as they began to shake with fear. The Bishop tried to run, but the bones in his shattered hip ground together, and he fell screaming to the ground not two inches from where he started.

  Evily, Tartum smiled as the Bishop looked up at him. “Don’t leave yet, Wyndall…you really don’t want to miss this!”

  Focusing on his palm, Tartum spoke the words to his newest spell, “Rag-gio So-teth!” he commanded.

  A green ball of energy formed in his outstretched palm just for a second before shooting out and destroying Keves’s foot in a mess of blood and gore. The man’s bloodcurdling cries of pain ended only when he passed out from the shock.

  Tartum’s grin was now a full blown smile that was so sinister the Bishop pissed himself. Kneeling down, Tartum grabbed the man by his robes and pulled him up against Keves. The movement caused the Bishop to cry out in pain once again. Tartum laughed at the sound.

  When the man stopped screaming, Tartum spoke, “Wyndall, Wyndall, Wyndall…why are you making such a racket? It is not dignified for a man of your status to be so uncouth.” Tartum said sarcastically. Looking into the man’s eyes again, he could clearly see his mind was beginning to fall apart with the pain and terror he was experianceing.

  “It…” the Bishop tried to say as he clenched his teeth through another wave of agony, “It hurts so much! The pain…!” was all he could get out before the pain became too much.

  The man’s weakness disgusted Tartum, “Pain!? PAIN!? LET ME GIVE YOU A LESSON IN PAIN!!!” Tartum bellowed into his face as he pressed him into the ground.

  Placing his right hand on the Bishop’s chest and his left hand on Keves’ back Tartum cast his spell.

  “Na-ben tareth nyeth vren-pah. Tu-vreck zen hwow leck! Vor cala nekkcal! Brette fer-fer bon Vreck! Kakla-mero hen-yetii reckma sven Tzuse!” he commanded. Standing up Tartum watched as Keves’ soul was removed from his body and a look of shocked understanding came over the Bishop. There was a moment where Tartum thought time had stopped as they simply looked at each other, Tartum in triumph and the Bishop in utter horror. Then, in a time it took for the old man to take a breath, he filled the night with his screams as Tartum’s black Death spell did it’s work. Slowly, layer by layer the Bishop’s body began to dissolve. Tartum remembered seeing Lord Zahut die the same way when Rashlarr had cast the spell and at the time he hadn’t felt the same about it as he did watching the Bishop die.

  He felt avenged.

  As the Bishop thrashed around, and his body dissolved, Tartum felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Holding up his ring so he could better see it, he admired what he had been able to accomplish even with his enemy’s help. As each new layer of flesh, bone, and sinew was dissolved away from the tortured Bishop, it sent wave after wave of serenity through Tartum. He had gotten vengeance before but never had it felt so good, or so justified, as it did in this case. Pulling his staff from Keves’ now lifeless body, Tartum wiped the gore off on his back. Leaving the Bishop to gurgle away his final moment, Tartum picked up Vaund’s old clothes and wrapped them around his body. They were a poor fit, but would do until he was able to get new ones back in Yucoke.

  He began to return to his wagon when the bishop’s staff caught his attention. It had been knocked away from the man after Tartum had tackled him and now lay in the grass of the clearing like a discarded branch. Picking it up, Tartum admired the craftmanship of the weapon and decided he would keep it. It was a suiting reminder of his day of triumph. Placing the staff inside his wagon, Tartum secured the door. Climbing onto the driver’s seat, he whipped his horse into a trot and began guiding him back home as the last few bits of the Bishop dissolved into the air. Content, avenged, and with his prize on his finger, Tartum sat back and let the horse do most of the steering. A strange vibration came from the ring just a moment before he heard Vaund’s voice clearly in his head.

  “Not bad, Tartum! Not bad at all!” Vaund said.

  Tartum knew he would be able to communicate with Vaund at some point but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. “Vaund? Can you hear me?” he asked.

  The sound of laughter filled his head and made him feel a little disoriented, “Yes, but you don’t need to speak, just think the words. Otherwise people are going to think you’re crazy.” Vaund told him.

  Tartum couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s comment. “So, you don’t regret your decision, then?”

  “Not in the slightest! Its not like a prison at all! I see everything you do for the most part, it can get a little blurry but it’s like watching through a dirty window. I’m pure energy, Tartum, and anything I think of appears! When you cast a spell, I innately know what component to infuse the ring with, and as you can see the spell works! How you killed the Bishop was fitting. Thanks for not leaving me in his possession.” Vaund said in his usual excited tone. His voice was getting harder to hear as they spoke. Tartum wondered if that was how all their conversations would be from now on.

  “I’m having trouble hearing you, Vaund. Are you still there?” he asked in his head. There was no response. Shrugging, Tartum patted his ring as he sat back and went over the day’s events. There were many unanswered questions that still bugged him. Why didn’t the fire kill him, or so much as burn him? How did the Bishop keep such close tabs on him and where the hells was Isidor?

  Of all the questions that plagued him about the night’s events, one of the most curious of all was the empowering effect the Bottombarrel Oath had over him when he truly felt the words.

  “My family, my honor, my pride, my life.” he said, sampling each syllable as it rolled off his tongue. “Gods bless the dwa
rves!” he said as he shook his head and laughed.

  As he rode laughing into the night, his new regent ring flickered on his hand as if it was laughing along with him.

  …

  THE END of Book 1!

  Table of Contents

  The Jade Mage

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42