The sound that came from the creature closely resembled its name. A faint green cloud rose up from it, and before Tartum could form his question about what the hells was happening, he was floored by one of the worst scents he had ever smelled in his life.
“Oh by the Gods, that’s revolting!” he said, throwing his shirt over his nose and mouth as Isidor had done. “That’s the most disgusting creature I’ve ever seen. How is it so FOUL!?”
Isidor’s laughter at Tartum’s discomfort echoed throughout the landscape as he whipped the horses into a trot to get them out of the area fast. Tartum was gagging, and his eyes were watering. He was trying hard not to lose his breakfast over the smell, but it was difficult. He didn’t think he would ever be able to eat anything again.
“Ugh! That was terrible. How does such a creature exist! Why does it smell THAT bad!?” Tartum asked, when he felt himself capable of talking again.
Smiling at Tartum, Isidor got himself under control and answered, “Well what did you expect to come out of the most efficient scavenger in the world? That was pure methane gas, my boy. If you can believe it, some people have tried to harvest it for its flammable properties. Just goes to show you the Gods have a sense of humor, doesn’t it?” Clasping Tartum’s shoulder, they both laughed.
Despite everything that had occured, it felt good to the both of them to share a light hearted moment. Tartum began to feel like things might be getting back to normal. Although he had no idea why his friend had been so distant since they escaped Zerous, he felt that he was slowly beginning to act like his old self again. Ignoring the thought, he lost himself in the joy of the moment. He was all too glad to put as much distance between them and the Nissassa as fast as possible.
...
It had been almost a month and a half of constant traveling and discovery since their flight from Zerous. Tartum had learned alot about the world, or so he thought, and ever since the nissassa incident, Isidor had been acting normal again, with the exception of his lessons in magic. Isidor didn’t flat out refuse to teach him but would change the subject or point out something in the area that would give Tartum the impression he wasn’t in the mood to discuss the topic. The snubbing of his magic was beginning to irritate him, but he didn’t want his friend to go back to brooding like he had been when they started their journey. He decided to leave the subject alone for now. Besides, he could still study on his own, and he was no stranger to teaching himself.
It was midmorning when Tartum caught his first glimpse of Saroth. Just over the horizon, he saw what he thought was a flag. He couldn’t make out the design that was emblazoned on it, but he could see it was a bold blue, rimmed in yellow or gold. He was squinting to see when they reached the summit of the hill and the full magnificence of Saroth was laid out before him.
The forest fell away to an open field, three hundred yards from the walls of the city. There was no shelter or shade in the fields surrounding the city, which made it look all the more grand. Thirty foot solid, white, stone walls surrounded Saroth. They extended for miles from the large, black steel gate that served as the only entrance and exit to the city. A line of wagons and people swarmed around the gate, waiting their turn to be allowed entrance to the city. Tartum counted over sixty towers extending from the walls, every twenty feet or so, before losing count. It was an amazing sight to see such foritifications. Zerous had used a wooden fence and the surrounding forest to protect its borders. They had never been attacked as far as Tartum could remember. This city looked like it was not only ready for an attack, but had weathered many before. The guards that walked at the top of the walls looked alert. They kept their crossbows close and watched the people coming through the gates with a scrutinizing eye. More than once, a guard pointed at a person waiting for entry, and the guards would move to arrest them. No one tried to resist them, and the people they pulled from the masses weren’t missed. One less person in line meant less waiting for the others shuffling through the gate.
After an hour, Isidor pulled the wagon up to the gate enterance. The guard took one look at the wagon and began his questioning.
“What is your purpose in Saroth?” the guard asked.
“We’re here to restock our supplies and perform a few shows. I’m Isidor the Magician, master of magic! Maybe you’ve heard of me?” Isidor responded.
“Never heard of you.” The guard grunted, writing something down. “The market is in the center of the city. Look for the square. Move along, Trevor.”
“It’s Isidor! Isidor the Magician!” he said indignantly. All the fame he had aquired in Zerous had clearly not followed him to Saroth. Isidor wasn’t used to being brushed off.
“I don’t care what your name is, old man! Move along!” The guard barked. Isidor got the wagon moving again with a huff.
“The nerve of that guy! If I see him at my show, I’ll have one of my pidgeons shit on him. Unbelievable, his lack of respect! He called me Trevor...Trevor!” Isidor ranted. Tartum chuckled at Isidor’s wounded pride. It was rare to see him so off balance. Tartum was enjoying his tantrum.
If the outside of the city had been impressive, the inside was unbelievable. More people than Tartum could count crowded the city streets and made getting the wagon through almost impossible. Never had Tartum seen so many people gathered in one area. Any semblance of order was dissolved by the sheer mass of humanity surging through the city. Vendors were screaming their wares to be heard over the noise of the crowd, and as people would gather around to see what they were selling, another vendor would run over promising better goods at cheaper prices. This would, in turn, cause an argument between the vendors that usually ended up in one knocking out the other, or the guards coming and arresting both. How commerce was accomplished on the streets of Saroth was beyond Tartum’s comprehension, but he assumed, judging by the amount of vendors lining the street, that there must be a profit to be made regardless of the danger.
Isidor guided the wagon through the throng and into the center of the city. He found an empty lot to park the wagon in and shooed the squatters out of the way. The throng of people looking to buy and sell their wares and services were alot more organized in this square, mostly due to the sophistication of the clientele, and the generous population of guards and hired muscle watching over the people. If someone got out of hand, started an argument, or acted in an undesirable manner, it was just a matter of whether the guards or the muscle would get to them first, to knock some manners into them. Tartum enjoyed watching the fiasco when he felt someone pulling at his arm.
When he looked down, he saw a grubby little girl smiling up at him. She held up a dandelion for him to take. Tartum was confused. Who was this girl? Where were her parents? Why, out of the hundreds of people around was she offering him this weed? Not wanting to be rude to the child, Tartum took the dandelion and thanked her. She simply laughed and ran off, instantly disappearing into the crowd. When he looked up, Isidor was just finishing bedding down the horses and locking down the wagon. He was laughing at him.
“What are you laughing at, old man!?” Tartum yelled, to be heard over the crowd.
“Look at your belt.” was all Isidor offered in response.
Tartum looked down as Isidor had suggested. He saw that his coin purse was missing! Looking up, he tried to find the girl that gave him the flower. There was no sign that she had ever existed in the throng of people that were mulling around him. Tartum became enraged! How dare the child steal from him! Tartum opened himself to the magic. He would make someone pay for making a fool out of him. Pulling a handful of rose petals from his pouch, he raised his hand above his head and began to chant the words to his spell. Suddenly, Tartum was face down on the street. His head was fuzzy, and he was having trouble thinking. Isidor was helping him to his feet roughly and saying something harsh. Tartum couldn’t understand him. His entire head was ringing.
“Next time you say thank you to the lady! Damnit son, I raised you better than that!” Isidor yelled at him.
“What’s going on here! Why did you strike this man?” the guard demanded to know.
“Bah! My idiot, good for nothing son here, bought a flower from that little girl and didn’t say thank you! I’ll be cold in the ground before I’ll allow that kind of rudeness to come from one born of my loins!” Isidor said, loudly.
The guard seemed a little annoyed by this, but decided it was beneath him to investigate much further.
“You there! You ok? Is this man your father?” The guard asked Tartum.
“Hmm? Yea...Isidor...Father...Ugh!” Tartum said, barely able to think over his aching head.
“Get some ice on his head, old man. You clunked him pretty hard. You mind your father from now on boy!” The guard said. Finished with them, he walked back to his post. Isidor took Tartum over to the wagon and brought him inside. Setting him down in his bed, he went to make some of the headache medicine he used to make when they were still sparring.
After Tartum drank the concoction, Isidor sat down on the floor next to him and began his lecture.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Isidor hissed.
“I’m sorry, Isidor. I was angry and wanted to make that little bitch pay! She stole all my money! What was I supposed to do!?” Tartum asked. He was becoming irate again.
“How about you don’t lash out, like a spoiled child, everytime something doesn’t go your way? You can’t just kill people because you’re angry at them. There are enough guards in this city that even if you killed fifty of them, there are a hundred more that would fill you so full of bolts, you’d be dead before you hit the ground! Learn to think a few steps ahead of your actions, you stupid bastard! You’re gonna get yourself killed, all because you’re a brat! Stop embarrassing me and start acting your Gods damn age! You’re nineteen! Not eight!” Isidor finished.
Tartum felt very ashamed of himself. Isidor was right. He knew Isidor was right. The problem was, he knew all this before he began casting the spell. He just got so caught up in his anger, it hadn’t mattered.
“I promise to try harder to control my anger, Master. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. Thank you for stopping me.” Tartum said. He was fully cowed now and even reverted to calling Isidor master again.
Isidor noticed the change in attitude and knew he was sincere. He wanted to hug him and tell him he forgave him. He wanted so badly to forget the past, forget his plan, and go back to the way things were, but he knew he couldn’t. If he gave in now, Tartum would get himself killed before the week was over.
“Well not only did you embarrass me, you could have gotten me killed. And besides, you blind fool, they didn’t steal your coins. I took them off you after we got here. All they got was a purse full of rocks. That’s how oblivious to your surroundings you are, Tartum.” Isidor tossed Tartum’s real coin purse to him. He caught it with disbelief and looked up at Isidor.
“How did?...Thank you Master.” Tartum said. He was completely in awe of his mentor once again.
“Don’t thank me. I’m humiliated to know you right now. Get up. We’re staying at an inn while were here. I’m sick of being in this wagon!” without waiting, Isidor walked outside.
Tartum felt ridiculous. He felt like he was a child again and had just thrown a tantrum that hadn’t worked. He was disgusted with himself and swore he wouldn’t act like that again. He hated that Isidor was upset with him, especially after things were just starting to go back to normal. Putting his pouch of coins back on his belt, Tartum prepared himself to face his friend. He still had alot to learn, and magic wasn’t the only thing Isidor could teach him. Tartum wanted that wisdom!
Taking a deep breath, he walked outside to try his luck at city living once again. With one hand on his purse, and the other holding his staff, he set out to start this new chapter in his life.
CHAPTER 9
Isidor and Tartum made their way through the street. The going wasn’t as bad on foot, mainly because they could move people out of their way by prying through them with their staves. The people were conditioned to get out of the way of people that could bludgeon them. Tartum silently thanked the guards for that. He found it entertaining, how the people of the city would shrink back, almost without noticing, whenever Tartum interjected his staff between himself and them. Isidor noticed the way they were flinching as well.
“I think it would be best if we keep a low profile. Judging by the way these people are reacting, we really don’t want to cause any trouble. No casting! Understood?” Isidor warned.
“Yes, Master” Tartum said. He was enjoying toying with the people too much to give Isidor any argument. The way he figured it, there wouldn’t be much need for magic if a simple stick was all he needed to control the population.
They arrived at the inn and tavern district of the city. There were so many to choose from,Tartum didn’t know where to begin. Isidor told him a man chose an inn based on two things. The quality of the sign and the sounds coming from inside. If the inn’s sign was weathered and poorly kept, the rooms, food, and service were, more than likely, in the same condition. If the sign was in good repair, freshly painted, and well kept, then the owner of the inn probably kept the establishment in good condition as well. An inn keeper with an impressive sign was one that took pride in his job and therefore was worth your coin. Once you found an inn with a good sign, you listened to the people that are inside. If the sounds from the patrons were joyous, if they were singing or laughing, it was a good indication that the Inn was a place you where would enjoy your stay. If there was no laughter, or if the mood seemed sour, it was likely something was wrong, or was about to be wrong, and it was best to find lodging else where.
Isidor wondered if Tartum had paid attention to his lesson, and told him to pick out an Inn for them to stay at. Tartum was honored at the trust his master put in him and was determined to impress him. He wanted desperatly to get back into his good graces. He studied the signs of the inns, as Isidor had instructed him to.
There was the Legless Lady. The sign had a massive crack in the middle of it, and Tartum was shocked it was still in one piece. The sounds coming from inside sounded rough and angry. He decided to avoid the place. The next sign he saw was for an inn named The Four Walls. The sign was in pretty good repair. It was a bit faded due exposure to the sun so Tartum listened to the sounds coming from inside. It sounded like a war was taking place, and just as they reached the entrance, four guards rushed past them and started breaking skulls. Tartum decided to skip this inn as well.
Tartum was beginning to worry. They were nearing the end of the road, and he was going to have to pick an inn soon. Isidor was watching him closely, but his face gave no sign of approval or disappointment. Tartum didn’t expect to get a hint from his friend. That gaze was something he was very accustomed to seeing during the little tests Isidor had given him over the years. He was determined not to fail this one.
He was looking over the few remaining signs, but none of them looked promising. The Jiggly Bear was falling apart. The Moo Cow was coated in mold. The Star looked ok, but there were no sounds coming from inside. Tartum was beginning to think there was no inn worth staying at in the entire city, when he spotted a sign that looked brand new. The sign was simple. It was painted dark green and had a man in the center, leaning against nothing. T
he painting looked amature at best, but gave the impression of an easy going man who was confident and comfortable in who he was. Under the man was the name of the inn, The Crenshaw. It was an impressive structure. Made almost completely of wood, it towered over the other buildings. There were three stories to the inn, and they all looked to be in good repair. The entire inn was painted with the dark green paint just like the sign, and there was the sound of a flute coming from inside.
“What the hells is a Crenshaw?” Tartum wondered.
Approaching the entrance, Tartum was about to walk in when the door flew open, and a fat, dark skinned, jovial man burst forth grinning warmly. He grabbed up Tartum’s hand and vigourously shook it, like they were old friends. The man was easily three hundred pounds, but his handshake was powerful and firm. The man had the look of someone that had once been a strong man, but through a relaxed lifestyle, the muscle had turned to fat. Much of his strength seemed to have stayed with him, however. Tartum found himself liking the man immediately. His attitude was infectious.
“Welcome to The Crenshaw, good sirs! Glad to have you with us. I’m the owner of this, the finest Inn in Saroth, and will be happy to provide you with anything you need! The name is Crenshaw and yes, I named the Inn after myself. I don’t see any reason to not take as much pride in my inn as I take in myself! If you need anything during your stay, don’t hesistate to call my name!” The man gushed. He was guiding Tartum inside, the entire time he was talking Tartum allowed the man to guide him inside. This wasn’t what he expected, but the man’s charisma had Tartum trusting him completely.
The interior of the Inn was very well kept. The floors were a little sticky, but other than that it was very clean. The serving girls were all beautiful and had friendly smiles on their faces. The people sitting inside were listening to a bard, who played a piercing, but enjoyable, tune on his flute. There was a large fireplace in the center of the room, and the stairs spiraled up around the chimney. The interior was circular in design, and the rooms branched off from the stairwell. The patrons seemed happy and well mannered. There was no laughter or singing, but there was no arguing or fighting either. Tartum felt comfortable here and looked up at his master to seek approval.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 Page 13
