It took Rashlarr and Calimsha some time to come to an agreement about how to work out the situation. Calimsha was a very minor demon in her own realm. Still ancient by mortal standards, she possessed incredible wisdom. Her desire to explore the mortal realm stopped her from tearing Rashlarr apart from the inside, and instead she made contact with her new, albiet unwilling, host. In the end, their deal was struck. She wouldn’t rip him to pieces, and occasionally she would share her knowledge with him as she saw fit. In return, he would take her wherever she wanted to go and do, without hesitation, whatever it was she wanted him to do. Rashlarr agreed, not seeing what choice he had, and together they lived a semi-comfortable lifestyle. Rashlarr learned about magic at a much faster pace with his demonic tutor, and Calimsha got to explore our realm, while conducting experiments vicariously through Rashlarr. As an added bonus, Calimsha was becoming fond of her host, or at least as fond as a demon can be of a mortal. She would warn him when someone was about to cast a spell, if it would effect him, and what spell it was. Very useful for self preservaion and to give him an edge in almost any magical fight.
They talked amongst themselves quite often. Calimsha was extremely inquisitive and plagued Rashlarr with questions throughout the day. At first all the incessant questions threatened to drive Rashlarr crazy, but now, he actually preferred to talk internally to Calimsha than talk to those outside of his head. As it was now, Rashlarr had questions for Calimsha.
“Glowing red eyes, scary, what kind of human caster could do such a thing? For what purpose?” He asked mentally to his demon.
He felt something shift inside him. He got the distinct impression that Calmisha shrugged. “Sounds to me like just another half-breed of some sort. There are plenty of animals in this realm whose eyes glow when a potent emotion is being experienced. Werewolves, Dust tusks, the great feathered dogs of the desert plains, dragons, all these beasts’ eyes glow when angered or aroused. The Kritchet even vibrate when they are in the heat of battle. You felt his power just before we found him in that alley. We knew there was something different about him. Taste his blood. I’ll know more.”
Obediently, Rashlarr retreived the vial and downed the contents. After a moment, he heard laughter inside his head. It made him shudder, the feeling was alot like being violated. Rashlarr hated when Calmisha laughed. It made him feel like he was being spun around, and his stomach lurched. A demon’s laughter is not something mortals were meant to endure, and it set Rashlarr’s teeth on edge.
“Oh my, Rashy, we have found a most interesting mortal. You will say nothing. When the time comes this, Tar-tum, will be quite useful. Finish eating, and continue your studies. You will need to know many more spells and write many more scrolls before it is our turn to train the half-breed.” With that, the laugher continued. Rashlarr no longer ate and simply concentrated on not purging what breakfast he had gotten down. He wished she’d stop laughing.
...
Tartum was on the attack. Jeth’s combat lessons had been going on every day for three weeks now, and Tartum thought of nothing else. Fighting against Jeth was the only thought worth having. Anything he could think of, any new move, any turn of his body, anything that would stop Jeth’s sinister daggers from tasting his flesh was worth the effort. He was enveloped by his magic as they fought. There was no need to hold back. Tartum fought every fight against Jeth as if it was his last. Today was no exception.
The smile was still gone from Jeth’s face while they sparred. It hadn’t shown itself since their second match. Rashlarr was now present at almost every match but never said a word. He watched them fight as if expecting something. Whatever that was, Tartum never learned, for when he tried to inquire why he suddenly felt the need to watch them fight, Rashlarr would turn his back and leave the room. After the third shunned attempt, Tartum had given up trying to talk to the man. He would just stand in the corner with Vaund and watch. Even now, he stood there absorbing every move they made with the same expectant look on his face. Tartum had stopped caring about either of them; their presence was only acknowledged on the fringes of Tartum’s mind. The majority of his focus was on Jeth and the blur that was their battle.
Tartum went low and then thrust high, trying to feign for a solid hit. Unfortunately, Jeth saw the bluff for what it was and was able to roll his shoulder at just the right angle that his staff simply glanced off the meat of his chest. If Tartum was lucky, it would become a bruise by tomorrow. Anger at his failed ruse fueled his increasing rage. Tartum was tired of all this and wanted to finish Jeth already. Their battles almost always ended in Tartum on the ground, bleeding from where ever Jeth had planted his dagger. He didn’t even bother crying out anymore, unless the pain was too much. His disappointment and shame from losing, hurt more than the daggers now. As it stood today, he was bleeding from several small cuts all over his body, where Jeth had scored minor hits.
Tartum tried a new move he had been thinking about. He thrust out with his staff, aiming for Jeth’s face. When Jeth fell back to dodge the blow, Tartum whirled around in an attempt to kick him in the stomach with Jeth’s return lunge. Jeth almost fell for it, but his hands were fast and pushed Tartum’s leg out of the way. The impact jarred them both, and they spun away from each other instinctually to recover. Breathing heavily, they kept an exhausted eye on each other. Neither man willing to lower his guard for even a moment while he recovered, fearing the other would exploit the momentary lapse.
Jeth’s face was bruised and swollen where a weak blow had caught him in his right cheekbone. Tartum realized the swelling had half shut his right eye. Tartum made a mental note that perhaps his eye sight on that side was compromised. Tartum noticed how Jeth also seemed to be favoring his right shoulder, where his last hit had possibly done more damage than he thought. Jeth was definitely favoring his right side, and the possible opening gave Tartum a plan of attack. Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Tartum threw himself at Jeth once again. The look he saw in his eyes, told him his assumption hadn’t been wrong.
Jeth was still an able fighter and parried Tartum’s initial attack, but he was falling back fast. Tartum pressed his advantage, working Jeth from his weakened right side. Jeth’s instincts and reflexes were the only thing keeping Tartum from landing a finishing blow, and the thought gave him hope. Seeing his victory at hand, Tartum redoubled his efforts. He did not want to miss the opportunity to finally defeat the man that had been pummeling him for weeks. For almost a month, Tartum had fought this man and lost. This man was standing in the way of the next step in his training. He was stopping him from progressing, and Tartum had enough. He didn’t join this guild to learn what stab wounds felt like. He joined to increase his power in magic! This son of a bitch would pay!
He saw that Jeth was nearing the wall, and suddenly Tartum knew how he could defeat him. If he could just keep himself calm enough to spring his trap, this could all be over in the next minute. Fighting down his excitement over the thought that victory was close at hand, Tartum focused on enacting his plan. He could not allow this oppurtunity to slip past him! Throwing all caution to the wind, he opened himself to as much of the source as he could, allowing much of the magic to flow into him. The sensation was as exquisit as it always was. The pain from his injuries and fatigued muscles was amplified tenfold, but the excitement of impending victory held equal sway. It was a queer sensation having the conflicting emotions swirling around inside him, but it was an old story to him and he shut the feelings out of his mind. Focusing his magic on the task at hand, Tartum pressed harder in order to force Jeth into his trap.
Swinging low, he forced Jeth to jump backwards in order to dodge his follow up swing. Jeth fell back even further and was now only inches from the wall. Tartum held back for a moment, giving Jeth time to assess his situation and realize his predicament. Tartum wanted him to notice the wall. His trap required Jeth to think he had an escape route. Lunging forward, Tartum aimed the mushroomed top of his staff directly for the center of Jeth’s chest. T
artum smiled when Jeth did exactly what he hoped he would do.
Throwing himself against the wall, Jeth nimbly used his momentum to, once again, take a few steps up the wall and jump over Tartum. It was exactly what Tartum had hoped he would do. Stopping his thrust short, Tartum reversed the direction of his blow, and without looking, thrust the blunted tip of his staff in the air above him where he guessed Jeth’s body should be. The feel of his staff hitting something solid was all Tartum needed, to know his plan had worked. The magic flowing inside him, allowed him to feel the bone snap and the muscles tear, as Tartum drove his staff up as hard as he could. He felt something give but never looked up to see, he was completely dedicated to his manuver and couldn’t spare the focus to admire his aim.
Jeth’s pain filled scream was cut unnaturally short, and Tartum felt the weight on his staff increase as Jeth lost consciousness, and his body went limp. Through the magic, Tartum vaguely registered a stunned inhale from Vaund and a gasp from Rashlarr. Tartum felt something wet splash onto his head and shoulder. Shifting his weight, Tartum allowed Jeth’s unconscious body to continue in its path over him, and using the momentum, threw his body to the floor. Tartum felt an odd suction as he pulled his staff away but thought nothing of it. Hearing Jeth’s body hit the ground behind him was all the confirmation he needed. He had finally beaten Jeth.
The glory of his victory was too much. With the magic still flowing inside him it felt like he had just single handedly broken a siege. This victory over Jeth was more rewarding than his victory over Isidor had been. Raising his hands over his head, Tartum roared a magically enhanced victory scream that shook the room. The world felt like it was spinning, but he didn’t care. Finally being able to look down on Jeth’s broken form was an experience Tartum had been fantasizing about for weeks. Turning around with a wide grin of satisfaction, Tartum gazed upon his victim.
What he saw made him lose his concentraion, and the magic left him immediately.
Vaund was cradling Jeth’s head in his lap. His hands were on either side of his face, and he was chanting his odd healing words faster than Tartum had ever heard him speak before. There was an urgency in his voice that confirmed what he had assumed. Jeth was dying. Tartum’s final blow hadn’t hit Jeth in the chest or stomach, like he thought. He had hit him in the face. From the looks of the wound, his staff had contacted him directly in his swollen cheekbone, just below his right eye. The force burst open the flesh and shattered the cheekbone underneath. The following thrust had embedded the blunted tip of his staff directly into Jeth’s right eye. The socket where his eye had once been was a gory mess. Now, the odd suction he felt, as he’d pulled his staff free, made sense. Looking at his shoulder, Tartum saw a white fluid that was mixed with blood. Tartum tried to wipe it off, but was momentarily stunned by the texture. It was a thick, almost gooey liquid, that peeled off him like a paste, rather than a fluid. Feeling the top of his head, Tartum peeled more of the pasty fluid off of his head. His finishing move had pulverized Jeth’s right eye, and it had rained down on him.
The room stopped spinning. Everything around him stopped moving. Tartum was staring at the scene before him, waiting for his brain to make sense of everything. He waited, staring at Vaund. He looked scared, Tartum wondered if it was because he truly cared about Jeth, or if it was because he was worried he’d get in trouble if Jeth died. Tartum looked up at Rashlarr, he was looking down at Jeth’s ruined face but showed no emotion. It was as if Rashlarr knew the outcome of this fight before it started. Tartum looked down at Jeth’s ruined face and waited for the guilt and the shame to overwhelm him like he knew it should. The feelings never came.
Tartum hadn’t been this proud of himself since the day he enchanted his staff. He realized, he didn’t care if Jeth lived or died. In fact, he found himself hoping for the latter. This arrogant, irritating, compassionless asshole had been a cancer to him ever since he joined this guild. He had never shown any sign of human decency and had humiliated him every chance he got. In fact, he had brought Tartum to the brink of death on numerous occasions and would have left him to die had it not been for Vaund.
“Let the man die.” Tartum thought. “I dont need anything else from him.”
With his peace made with the reality around him, Tartum sat down to watch Vaund work. Time began to move forward again, and Tartum was filled with an odd detached feeling. It was like the whole scene was being played out for him on a stage. He watched, as Vaund’s magic stopped the flow of blood coming out of Jeth’s face. He marveled when Vaund cast a spell that mended Jeth’s shattered cheekbone right in front of him and gasped in wonder as the flesh grew back at an unnatural speed. Tartum wondered if his wounds had looked like that when Vaund healed him. After a few minutes, Jeth’s face looked perfectly healthy, with the exception of the gaping hole where his eye used to be. Tartum waited for Vaund to regrow the eye. He was curious to see how that was done and leaned forward to watch. He assumed it was the next step, because the color of Jeth’s flesh was healthy again, and his breathing was regular and strong. Tartum felt a slight twinge of regret that Jeth was going to survive this. He worried about the repercussions. Seeing Vaund tear a piece of his shirt off and fashion a crude bandage over Jeth’s eye, Tartum was confused.
“Aren’t you going to repair his eye, Vaund?” Tartum asked.
Vaund gave Tartum a look like he had forgotten he was there. He looked at Tartum and sighed sadly. “I can stop the bleeding and mend the flesh, I can regrow shattered bones and mend cartiledge, I can even bring a drown man back to life, if he hasn’t stopped breathing for long, but, I cannot regrow complicated body parts, like eyes or brains. Healing magic like that is beyond me. There are few in the world that could manage anything like it, and those that can would never grant this man his sight again. You’ve taken Jeth’s eye and with it, half his vision.” Vaund looked disgusted. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.” Without waiting for a reply, Vaund picked up Jeth’s unconscious form and carried him out of the room.
Tartum sat there, going over what Vaund had said. He couldn’t heal Jeth’s injury. He would forever be blind on his right side. Everytime he looked in the mirror, he would remember Tartum’s name and the pain he had caused him. Jeth was forever scarred by him and would be reminded of it every time he looked in the mirror. Tartum wondered how many people in the world were reminded of Jeth when they looked in the mirror. How many men and women he had scarred for life. Then Tartum thought of Vaund’s parting words. I hope you’re proud of yourself.
Tartum couldn’t think of a time in his life when he had felt more proud of himself! It felt great to know that there was at least some justice left in the world. Grinning, Tartum stood up. He looked up at Rashlarr to find him looking at him, studying him. He seemed to still be waiting for him to do something. Tartum shrugged.
“I guess I’ll take tomorrow off.” He said to Rashlarr happily. Rashlarr looked at him and only nodded. Whatever was going on in his head, Tartum could only guess. He didn’t appear upset with him, but he didn’t appear happy or impressed with him either. Rashlarr was a complete blank at the moment. He didn’t care. Tartum wasn’t going to allow anything to sour his hard won victory.
Wiping the blood and gore off his beloved staff, Tartum walked out of the combat room and headed for his quarters. It had been almost a month since he’d had the energy to spend any time with his spellbook. He’d had to spend every waking moment planning how to defeat Jeth. Now that goal was accomplished, Tartum found he couldn’t wait to get back to his studies. He decided that spending the rest of the day with his spell book was just the reprieve he needed.
...
The next morning Tartum was relaxing in his room, reading his spell book. Vaund never came by to heal his wounds, so Tartum had done his best to bandage himself. It had been a while since he’d had to tend his own injuries, and he looked like a piecemeal mummy. Numerous bloodsoaked bandages around his arms and torso gave the impression he had been in a fight in which he
had lost, rather than won. He awoke feeling stiff and sore from head to toe. He never realized just how much better Vaund’s magical healing was compared to natural healing.
He had his feet up on the table and was reading over his spells. He wanted to refresh his memory over the pronunciation of each one. He was worried that being a month out of practice would make him rusty, and that was the last thing he wanted to be in this place. Tartum was so focused with his studies that he never heard Savall enter his room.
“I see you find your room to your liking.” Savall said.
Jumping at the unexpected sound, Tartum stood up somewhat stiffly and faced him. Tartum had been worried he might get in trouble with Savall after almost killing Jeth. He had planned his explanation last night as he lay in bed. Now that he was face to face with the man, he found the explanation slipping from his mind. He couldn’t figure out why he felt so nervous. Jeth had been torturing him for a month. Had almost killed him numerous times. He finally gets the upper hand, and Savall is going to punish him? Tartum’s anger began to rise.
Regaining his confidence, Tartum stood in front of Savall ready to defend himself and his actions. If he was to be punished for his victory then so be it. Just because they were playing favorites was no reason for him to feel ashamed of what he had done. Let it be a lesson to his next instructor for all he cared. Looking Savall directly in the eyes, Tartum responded.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 Page 25
