The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1

by Latoria, William D.

  The man handed the him the vial, and the king moved fast to pour its contents into his queen’s mouth. Calling for his guards, the king turned to fight the man, but he was already gone. There was no trace of him anywhere in the castle and the ensuing search found no hidden passages or escape routes. The man had simply vanished as suddenly as he appeared.

  The next day the king made his promised decrees. His queen stood next to him, looking worried and skittish. The king also decreed that a one thousand gold reward would be paid to anyone that caught a a thief and brought them to the guards to be hung. Ever since that day, the thieves guild has been a respected, feared, and hunted organization, that worked the city outside the boundaries of the law. Whenever there was a murder, people said the thieves guild had a hand in it. Whenever there was a kidnapping, people would drop gold in the sewers, hoping the thieves would return their loved ones to them. When the guards went into the sewers to flush them out, they either found nothing, or were never heard from again.

  The guild leader kept his side of the bargain, and the people were never robbed too harshly, and the same building was never hit more than once a year. Not too many of them anyway. In time, the people of Saroth accepted the guild as a necessary evil. They cut back on crime by controlling it, and they began to think of what the thieves took as just another tax. An uneasy truce was struck between the people of Saroth, the law, and the guild. People rumored that if the truce was ever broken it would portend the fall of Saroth.

  ...

  All manner of thoughts raced through Tartum’s head. “If I don’t join, they’ll kill me. If I do join, they’ll get me killed! Do I want this? Do I need this?” Tartum couldn’t talk, couldn’t respond. It was too much to absorb. Without thinking, Tartum sat down on the floor; his dog coming up next to him and scooting under his arm comfortingly, in front of him was his spell book, opened to a page that still meant nothing to him. Even now, with everything going on, the thought of not understanding the pages of his book disgusted him. Tartum hated not knowing what was on that page, hated not understanding, he wanted the power in that book and damn being patient. He had tried all his life to do things the right way, but only when he broke the rules, did he ever feel truly successful. When he enchanted his staff, when he killed the villagers in Zerous, when he healed this dog. Those were the only times he felt true power, the only time he felt true success with magic. What better people to learn from than those that made a living on breaking the rules?

  The Thieves Guild; there he could learn many secrets, dark to be certain...but powerful! More powerful than anything he’d accomplished while under the tutelage of Isidor.

  “Why not?” he thought, “Why shouldn’t I join them, learn, and become strong? If I become strong enough, they won’t be able to harm me at all, in fact, I could destroy them if it was required...and the power I could gain! The MAGIC!” Tartum grinned at the thought.

  Whimpering slighty, the dog licked Tartum’s face, bringing him back to his senses. “Rashlarr, if I agree to this, what is expected of me? You’re not going to teach me your craft without wanting something just as substantial in return.” Tartum said, without looking up from his spellbook.

  “Does it matter kid?” was all Rashlarr said in response.

  Tartum knew Rashlarr was right. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was the magic, the ecstacy, the success, and the power!

  “You’re right, Rashlarr, I’m in.” Tartum agreed.

  “Excellent! Come, we have to get going soon, before the inn keeper finds that extra gold was just painted copper coins.” chuckled Rashlarr.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tartum went up to his room on the third floor. When Rashlarr told him he was inside The Crenshaw, he was stunned. He told him he was staying in a room here and asked if he could quickly run and fetch his belongings. Rashlarr had nodded to him and told him to hurry up. He would meet him outside.

  Tartum gathered up what little he had and threw it into his pack. His book, his money, some of his components, and traveling gear, all went into the pack. Recasting the ward spell, he gathered up his pouches and made sure they all contained the spell components he might require for this new chapter in his life. He was excited! He was going to become a thief! He was going to be trained in magic so strong it was forbidden! His mind raced with tales of dark magic and limitless power. His eyes began to blaze as he reached for his staff. Holding his possessions close and giving the room one more quick look before leaving, his eyes fell on Isidor’s letter.

  His fantasies of power and magic were cut short in his mind, as he saw the letter and remembered its words. Picking it up, he read it one more time. He didn’t have to, he knew every word by heart. Isidor wanted him to become a good man and make him proud. Tartum felt slightly ashamed that he was going to join the thieves guild in order to accomplish this. He knew Isidor wouldn’t approve. Well, maybe he would. Hadn’t Isidor deceived everyone about who he was, ever since he took on the persona of Isidor the Magician? Wasn’t that what the thieves did as well? They just made a better profit off their lies.

  “Sorry, old man, I’ve got to do things my own way from now on.” Tartum said to himself.

  He walked over to one of the candles in the room and watched the flame dance on the wick. Then, his mind made up, Tartum placed Isidor’s letter in the flame. The fire licked at the sides and enveloped the paper quickly. When Tartum couldn’t tolerate the heat anymore, he dropped it to the floor. It landed on the plush carpeting, and the fire began to catch. Tartum watched the carpet burn. There was something comforting about fire, the way it cleansed everything it touched. It was so absolute in its nature. Pure, fierce, consuming, it made no alliances and offered no apologies. It simply consumed until everything was ash. Tartum hoped that one day he would be as strong as fire. Opening himself to the magic, Tartum said a word, and the flames went out. All that was left of Isidor’s farewell was a patch of blackened carpet.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tartum walked outside The Crenshaw and found Rashlarr waiting for him across the street. He had decided not to say goodbye to Crenshaw or check out of the room. It was still paid up for a while, and there was no point in telling him he would be leaving. Tartum really didn’t know where he was going or if he would need the room again. It annoyed him that he knew so little about what he was getting into. He felt it was still the correct course of action, though, and greatly desired a new master and resumed training. Shaking his head at the situation, he made his way to Rashlarr.

  “So, my boy, are you ready?” Rashlarr asked.

  “Yea, where are we heading?” replied Tartum.

  “Ahhhhh, that’s just it, my boy...that’s just it. You dont know do you? Come follow me.” Rashlarr responded and headed down the street.

  Patting his dog on the head, Tartum followed Rashlarr. They did not speak, and any questions Tartum asked went unanswered. When they got to a building no more than a block from where he had killed those kids earlier, Rashlarr ducked under a sheet that hid the entrance to an alley. Tartum looked at the house and thought there was nothing remarkable about it. The sheet looked like it had recently been washed and was hanging up to dry. It was odd that it was hung up facing the busy street, but not so odd as to draw attention. Following Rashlarr past the sheet, Tartum and his dog made their way down a narrow alley. Rashlarr was two buildings down, motioning for Tartum to join him. He quickened his pace to catch up.

  Rashlarr stopped him at the doorway.

  “I’m going to need your pack. Don’t worry. You’ll get it back after the boss accepts your application.” Rashlarr said.

  “What if he doesn’t accept me?” Tartum countered.

  “Well, then you won’t need anything ever again.” Rashlarr said with a grin.

  Tartum was reluctant to hand over his pack, especially since it contained his spell book. Seeing a dangerous look forming in Rashlarr’s eyes, Tartum decided he had little choice and slid his pack off his shoulder. He hesitated for just a mom
ent and then handed it to Rashlarr.

  “Thank you, my boy!” Rashlarr said excitedly. Then in a hushed tone, he leaned close, “Don’t worry about the contents. The ward will stop most of them from getting what’s inside.” With a wink, Rashlarr walked into the building.

  Tartum was dumbfounded. How in the hell did he know so much? He knew what spells he had already cast. Did he know about the staff? Could Rashlarr read his mind? Was it some form of magical ability? Tartum wanted to know his secret so he could duplicate it. He wondered just how much Rashlarr was hiding from him. Taking a deep breath, Tartum entered the building.

  The room he found himself in was small. There was nothing inside, save for a single ball of light, hovering three feet off the ground in the center of the room. Four dangerous looking people stood across from him, watching him intently. Three were men. One was a beautiful woman. Rashlarr walked over to join the four and took his place next to a man wearing black, full plate armor. Now all five of them were scrutinizing him and his dog. Tartum was determined not to look weak in front of these people and kept his gaze leveled with theirs.

  After a few moments, the man in the plate armor spoke.

  “You are Tartum Fuin. You’re a caster with vast potential but no real ability. You come from the town of Zerous and have only been in Saroth for a few months. Your companion, Isidor, left you on your own a few weeks after your arrival, and you’ve been doing little since. Mostly walking around in the woods outside the walls and spending time with Tarishu. You’re a child killer, and this animal has only been your companion for a few hours. I believe that’s all the relevant information, yes?” The man’s voice was strong, deep, and had an aged quality to it. He spoke like a man that was used to knowing the truth, and his outward confidence was readily apparent in his tone.

  He was shorter than Tartum. Only about five foot ten, but he was built like an ox. He wore a full platemail suit of black armor and a huge two handed sword was slung to his back. The armor looked brand new, but Tartum saw evidence of old scratches and dents under the polish. The pommel of the sword was decorated with three emeralds that looked like they were worth more than all the wealth Tartum had stowed in his pack. The three pronged pommel was wrapped in supple brown leather and looked worn from a lifetime of use. He was a very imposing man, and the armor made him look incredibly dangerous. Tartum fought down his apprehension with all the courage he could muster. He knew he could not afford to be perceived as weak by this group. He almost opened himself to the magic but was worried his fear would be intensified by the energy, so opted not to.

  “How...how do you know all of this?” Tartum asked.

  The man shrugged. “I’m Savall, leader of the thieves guild. Knowing pertinent information on everyone in Saroth is what keeps me in this position.” he said, exasperation creeping into his voice. “Now that you know who I am, you have a choice to make. Join us, learn from us, serve us loyaly, or we can slit your throat and end all this posturing. Make your choice.” he finished, not seeming to care how he decided one way or the other.

  Tartum knew it was not a choice. Join us, or die. He didn’t like the way Savall was toying with him. What kind of game was this? He was standing here, wasn’t he? He had blindly followed Rashlarr to this meeting, hadn’t he? Shouldn’t that be evidence enough that he was willing to join? No, here he was, on a chopping block, being assessed by a man that wore full plate in the middle of the day, with no battle to fight. He wasn’t impressed with this so-called leader. Tartum decided that he would have some answers, the worst they could do is kill him.

  “If I do choose to join you, I know what you’ll gain, but what’s in it for me, Savall? You seem to know alot about me, yet I know nothing about you. I was promised many things by Rashlarr, but he isn’t the one in charge is he?” Tartum tried very hard to sound nonchalant, he prepared to open himself to the magic, just in case. If he was to die this day, he was determined to take as many of them with him as he could.

  Rashlarr leaned over and whispered something to Savall. The other four members that stood before him looked very uncomfortable all of the sudden. The woman was looking at his dog, smiling as the men shifted and coughed. Tartum hoped his bluff paid off. He was beginning to regret his choice of words.

  Without warning, Savall began to laugh. It was a dry, wheezing laugh but he was definitely laughing. It was surreal to watch a man as big as Savall in his armor, laughing, but the sound appeared to be a good thing, Tartum watched as the other men in the room visibly relaxed.

  “Good question, Tartum! I was beginning to think you were just another peasent with delusions of grandeur. Finally Rashlarr, you’ve brought us someone worthy!” Savall slapped Rashlarr on the back and gave him a shake. He got himself under control and removed his helmet. Tartum almost dropped his jaw, Savall was as old as Isidor!

  He had a round face with more wrinkles than hair. He had just a wisp of silver hair on his head and a closely cropped goatee that was very grey. His eyes were his most amazing feature. They were so clear and full of intelligence, it was frightening. Yet, there was something else in them that made Tartum want to gain his respect. He felt ashamed for questioning this man. He reminded him a lot of Isidor.

  Savall smiled at him the same way Isidor used to when he was exceptionally proud of him. Tartum expected all old wise men knew that look. The old pain in his heart returned, and Tartum rubbed at his chest to get rid of it. He wanted to be lead by this man. If only because he reminded him of his old friend in so many ways. It shocked Tartum to realize how much he actually missed Isidor.

  Savall seemed to sense something had changed in Tartum, and his voice took on the tone of a sage grandfather. It demanded respect, yet at the same time, comforted him.

  “I will not promise you anything, Tartum. I will offer you the truth. If you decide to join us, these people that stand before you will train you in their respective arts. The training will be hard and inglorious. There will be times where you will want to quit, and there is every possibility that you will die. However, if you master what these people have to offer, the power you will wield and the skills you will possess, will open the world to your whims. You will know things that only those like us can ever know. You will see things from a perspective that you could never get anywhere else in the world. There will be no challenge you cannot conquer, no riddle you can’t answer. We offer you the key to the world. What say you?” Savall was grinning, fully expecting a favorable answer.

  Savall’s words struck a chord inside Tartum that sang for him to accept. The offer he made was too good to be true! Training that would make him powerful, lessons that would make him wiser than those twice his age. He would be taught how the underworld worked. It was the stuff of dreams! Yet, it was all to convenient. Tartum wasn’t convinced. “You offer me the world. What could I possibly possess, for you to take such interest in nothing more than a child killer with potential?” Tartum was determined to gain this man’s respect and believed intelligent questions would be a good way to earn it. He hoped where ever the line was, he didn’t overstep it.

  Savall’s look never changed. His eyes and tone stayed the same. His demeanor, and the demeanor of the others in the room, let Tartum know that he was flirting with that line. His questioning wouldn’t be tolerated much longer, it seemed.

  “You’re wise to ask, but stupid to not figure it out. You’re a caster, a caster that hasn’t been molded yet. We want to use you to increase our own power. Each one of us is a powerful person in our own right. You have the potential to out-shine us all. Only the strong survive, and you could become the strongest. You just don’t realize it yet. Rashlarr has a nose for these things and says you could be quite powerful. So we will mould you, we will shape you, we will give you life, and increase your power. In return, we want you to work for us. To help us expand our empire. We are content for now, living in the shadows. However, humans aren’t meant to live in darkness, we miss the light. With you, we could take over, little by litt
le, until one day, we will not only live in the light. We will rule in it!” Savall’s eyes blazed with a lust that Tartum was very familiar with. He liked this man! He was absolutely fine with all of this. He wanted to make that clear to this man. He hadn’t been this excited since he was five years old, when Isidor had first offered to become his master.

  Dropping to his knees Tartum spoke, “I will do whatever you tell me to do, if it allows me to understand the secrets I want from this world.” Without realizing it, Tartum had spoken almost the exact same oath he pledged to Isidor when he took him on as an apprentice.

  The look on Savall’s face was one of triumph. “Excellent, Tartum! Excellent! We will begin your training immediately! Please stand up. You are officially a recruit. Your life is now forfeit. If you betray our secrets, our trade, or anything you are shown while here to anyone, we will kill you, without hesitation. This is your first and most important lesson. Do you understand?” Savall asked. His tone was deadly serious; suddenly, he was all business.

  “Yes, Master.” was all Tartum said. He was very used to his role as pupil.

  “Call me Boss. It’s what I prefer. Now let me introduce to you, your trainers. They will become closer to you than your mother or father ever were. Listen to them, trust them, learn everything you can from them. Your life will depend on it. Often.” he said.

  Gesturing to the man next to him, Savall continued; “This is Jeth. He is known as The Appraiser, and he is very good at his job.”