“Moro-yet krat-tu-veyin doro-peth!” he commanded. The petals burst into tiny orbs of white hot flame and danced around him, awaiting his final word of command that would send them hurtling toward their prey. He counted eight orbs circling around him and decided that would have to be enough. Determined to get to his spells before the bishop could, Tartum descended the rest of his way down the stairs. He had almost reached the bottom floor when he heard armored footsteps ascending towards him quickly. Prepared, Tartum waited until he could see the men he knew were coming. It wasn’t long before they appeared; the guards seemed panicked by something and were looking behind them, more than watching where they were going. Tartum didn’t hesitate.
“Torroth! Torroth!” he commanded. As he said the wordsl, two orbs shot towards the men and burned through their faces. They were dead before they hit the ground. Tartum waited a moment to see if anyone else came running up the stairs. After a few moments, Tartum decided it was safe and made his way past the dead guards. Something glinted off of one of the bodies that caught his attention. Buried inside of one of the men’s legs was a small black knife. Tartum knew instantly that it belonged to Elizabeth. He found it curious she was downstairs fighting the guards, when she should have been trying to make her escape. Conflicting emotions began to swirl around in his head regarding his feeling towards her, and he felt his grip on the magic begin to waiver. The voice in the back of his head screamed for him to focus, and angrily, Tartum forced his thoughts away from Elizabeth. He reminded himself he had made his decision about her, and this was no time to be having second thoughts!
Furious with himself, Tartum focused on his task and finally reached the bottom floor of the compound. He emerged into the intersecting hallways that connected the different rooms on this floor to each other. There were several bodies on the floor, most had been riddled with Elizabeth’s knives, but some were badly burned and looked like they had been thrown where they now lay. Looking down the hallway towards Rashlarr’s room, Tartum saw it was ablaze. There was no way to get down the hall to check on Rashlarr, and Tartum had to assume he was either trapped or dead. It saddened him to know his friend might be gone, but he quickly banished the thought from his mind. He had no time for mourning now, he had to get to his magic and escape before he shared their fate. A muffled cry coming from behind him had him spinning around on his heels.
Standing ten feet away from him at the entryway of the hallway that lead to his room, was Elizabeth. Her left arm was badly burned and hung useless at her side. Her other arm was being held behind her back by a guard that was using her as a human shield. He had a very sharp looking knife held to her neck, and he appeared terrified by Tartum’s presence. He barely noticed, behind the man, he watched as five guards kicked in the door to his room. The man unlucky enough to deliver the final kick was blasted against the wall by the warding spell he had cast to keep unwanted people out of his room. Unfortunately, the door had given in as the man kicked it and even though he paid with his life the four surviving guards surged into his room. Tartum heard Buddy barking and attacking the guards. The man holding Elizabeth was yelling something at him, but Tartum didn’t hear him, he listened to the sounds of Buddy mauling one of the guards. The man’s screams drowned out everything else. There was the sound of a mailed foot hitting flesh, and Buddy yelped out in pain.
“This is the room we were looking for! Kill that damned dog, and gather up everything! The bishop wants his scrolls back, and we’ll be rewarded well for being the ones that bring them back! Hurry! Before the flames reach the room!” Tartum heard one of the guards inside his room yell.
His body went cold at the knowledge those men were robbing him of his belongings. The voice in his head practically bellowed for him to stop them. As usual, Tartum agreed with the voice whole heartedly. For the first time since arriving on his floor, Tartum focused his attention on the guard holding Elizabeth hostage. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he had wrenched Elizabeth’s hand so violently she was crying.
She looked at him with more hope and fear than he had ever seen in her eyes. “Tartum…Please! Help me!” she begged. The guard jerked on her arm again, and with his enhanced hearing Tartum could heard her shoulder pop out of the socket. She cried out in pain, and her crying increased in its intensity.
“Quiet, bitch! Your little boyfriend isn’t going to do anything stupid, are you, hero!?” the guard said. Tartum could hear the desperation in the man’s voice and knew he was close to panic. The sounds of armored feet pounding their way down the stairs behind him let him know that the guard’s reinforcements would be here soon. He had to deal with this situation fast, if he was to have any hope of stopping the guards in his room and escaping with his life.
Time seemed to slow down as Tartum evaluated his options. Judging by the speed the sounds of footsteps were heading down the stairs, he only had enough time to save either his magic, or Elizabeth. If the guards reached him before he dealt with this situation, he would be overwhelmed, and they would all die inside this room. The memory of his pseudo life with Elizabeth flashed through his mind, as well as the vision of his life without her.
His final decision wasn’t difficult for him to make.
Looking at Elizabeth, Tartum raised up his hand and targeted both her and the guard. “TORROTH! TORROTH, TORROTH, TORROTH, TORROTH, TORROTH!!!” he yelled. His remaining six fire orbs blazed the short distance between them and passed through both Elizabeth and the guard, like a hot knife through butter.
Both Elizabeth and the guard fell to the ground in a heap. The guard died instantly. Perhaps some small part of him hadn’t wanted to kill Elizabeth, maybe he had tried to resist his decision at the last moment, or perhaps she had simply been unlucky, and his orbs hadn’t passed through her correctly; Tartum wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Elizabeth didn’t die instantly. She had two petal sized holes burned into her chest and a trickle of blood was flowing from her mouth. He knew she would be dead soon, but at the moment she lay on her side on the floor reaching out to him. She had stopped crying, and a serene look was on her face now. Tartum felt a small pang of guilt for what he had done.
“It’s…it’s ok, Sweetheart…I…I understand why you did this. I forgive you…Please…please…Just hold me for a moment. I’m so cold…” she said. Her voice was weak, and he knew she wouldn’t last much longer. Looking at her helpless, dying form, Tartum remembered the love they had shared and took a step towards her. A crash from his room dispelled the guilt he was feeling, and his anger flared as he heard the men inside his room tearing it apart. Looking back at Elizabeth, he found he felt nothing but resentment towards her now for distracting him, once again, from his magic. He felt himself go numb as he turned his back on her and headed towards his room.
“…please!…” Elizabeth called after him.
Tartum’s pace never slowed, “There’s no time, Elizabeth. I must save my magic.”
A single tear ran down Elizabeth’s face, as Tartum walked out of her sight. Her heart stopped just as the tear reached the floor he left her to die on.
The sounds of furniture being broken and his possessions being tossed around increased as Tartum rushed towards his room. He heard the men gloating about what they were finding and bragging about who the bishop would be more impressed with. Reaching into his pouches, Tartum’s hand found a snake skin, and he infused it with his magic.
He reached his doorway and looked inside to assess the situation. What he saw inside set his mind ablaze with hate. The guards had trashed his room; his bed was torn to pieces and had been tossed upside down. His table had been smashed in half, and his chair had been torn to pieces. The shelves that lined his room had been stripped bare, and all of his belongings were now in the middle of the room in a pile on top of a blanket that used to sit on his bed. They had stockpiled his possessions on the blanket to use as a makeshift bag and were now turning his room upside down to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. So intent on their search, the
y hadn’t noticed him in the doorway. Three of the men were tearing through what was left of his dresser, while the fourth man stood over Buddy with his boot on his neck. He had a bandage made of Tartum’s bed sheets on his hand and was slowly pressing his boot into Buddy’s ribs causing him to whimper in pain. Seeing the fear in Buddy’s eyes set off something primal inside of him. His vision went red, as he was overcome by his fury.
“Shrid-uro niquid ma-ta-dwego. Vajawa heck mono!” he yelled. The snake skin melted into his hand until his fingertips glowed green. The guards jumped at the sound of his voice; through his rage, Tartum barely registered the looks of dread on their faces. He didn’t care about how they felt; they had trespassed upon his room, pilfered his most prized possessions and hurt Buddy. The only thought that registered in Tartum’s mind was that these men must die…horribly!
Four green lines shot out of his fingers and slammed into the men; one line for each man. The moment his line of pain touched one of the guards, he began screaming in pain. The men tried to fall to the ground, instinctually, trying to fall into the fetal position. Tartum refused to give them an ounce of relief. Channeling more and more magic into his spell, he was able to keep the men upright until each of them had nothing but their toes touching the floor. Tartum’s wrath was not sated by their cries of agony. Using the fifth line that ran from his thumb, Tartum manipulated it by pure instinct. Using his desire to hurt these men, he used the final line of pain to wrap around the four men and bring them together in the center of his room. He saw the men screaming, the ragged suffering his spell was causing them was systematically destroying their sanity, but Tartum wouldn’t allow them to pass out. Forcing an enormous amount of magic into the men, he kept them aware as he channeled pure misery into their souls. As the men were brought together by his spell, Tartum focused the lines into all four of the men together, instead of individually. He wanted to channel as much woe into them as he possibly could; something deep down inside of him took over, and the power he felt was unlike anything he had ever known. The entire universe was at his disposal, and he used its vastness to focus agony into the men foolish enough to cross him.
The men screamed until their vocal cords snapped; even after that their mouths continued to contort into the forms of screams, even though they could no longer make sound. The magic Tartum was channeling into them caused their armor to melt off their bodies and where their flesh touched, they began to meld together. Tartum continued to squeeze the men together into a tight ball of mangled suffering flesh; the tortured looks on their faces slowly beginning to sate his hatred and desire to punish. The voice in the back of his head was alive inside him now, and to Tartum, it felt like a long lost and trusted friend. The voice was telling him his revenge was complete, and it was time to flee before it was too late. Something about the voice seemed familiar to Tartum, and he trusted it without question. Releasing the men from his spell, Tartum saw what he had done and was very impressed with himself. The four men had been magically compressed into one disgusting mass of flesh and bone. The interlopers now existed only as a disfigured and grotesque monument to the perils of crossing Tartum Fuin.
Tartum could hear the guards on the stairwell. He debated fighting them but decided against it. The guild was lost, there was no longer any reason to fight; now was the time to escape. He found himself at a loss on how to do that. Looking down the hallway, he could still hear the men coming down the stairs. The screams from the guards had hastened their descent, and Tartum knew they would be upon him in moments. The flames from Rashlarr’s hallway had grown and now threatened to overwhelm the entire compound if something wasn’t done soon. Tartum was trapped; the only way out of the compound was currently flooded with guards, hell bent on killing everyone here. He couldn’t get out! He was doomed! The voice in the back of his head began acting up again. Forcing down his rising panic, Tartum forced himself to concentrate on whatever it was it was trying to tell him. He found himself remembering his mission in Rebirth and his final battle with Lord Zahut. The realization of what the voice was trying to tell him hit Tartum like a brick.
“Gods! I’m an idiot!” Tartum said in frustration. He had the queerest feeling that the little voice agreed.
Pulling out a handful of glass, Tartum quickly infused them and threw them down the hallway leading to his room. “Bratka-ratack! Deruno-yutheth! Soro-ket!” he said.
He watched as the shards became layer after layer of barriers that sealed off his hallway. He knew it wouldn’t keep the guards out long, but it would buy him some time.
Rushing to Buddy’s side, Tartum saw he was hurt but his life wasn’t in danger. When he knelt down to examine Buddy’s wounds, he saw his tail wag slightly and a pang of hurt stung his heart.
“Easy now, Bud. You did well, boy. Don’t worry. I’m going to get us out of here.” he said soothingly. As if he had understood every word, Buddy’s tail began to wag a little faster. Tartum gently lifted him off the ground. Buddy’s ribs had been broken where the guards had kicked him, and he whimpered as Tartum moved him. Setting his pet on the blanket that contained his possessions, Tartum carefully placed his hands on Buddy just as he had done long ago in that fateful alley.
Slowly, he began channeling magic into Buddy focusing his thoughts on repairing his damaged body. Immediately, Tartum felt the magic begin to knit his bones and heal his flesh. After a few moments, Buddy was on his feet and licking Tartum’s face, as if he had never been hurt. Tartum was very pleased to see his favorite companion was better; his joy was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass coming from the hallway. The hackles on Buddy’s neck went up as he began to growl viciously at the doorway. Tartum was momentarily shocked at the shift in Buddy’s demeanor. One second he was a loving pet, the next he was a white, hot ball of canine terror. Shaking the thought out of his head, Tartum leapt to his feet and gathered up the corners of the blanket. Lifting the impromptu bag over his shoulder, Tartum grabbed Buddy and wrapped his arm around him. The sounds of shattering glass were getting closer, and Tartum could vaguely hear the sounds of men yelling just a few feet from his doorway.
Reaching for his ring, Tartum prayed to any God that might be listening that it had enough magic left in it for one more transport. Pushing the triangular stone down, he was elated to see the red lines appear on its surface. Quickly, he spun the stone to the left, right, and center. As he moved the stone into its final position, he saw guards flood into his room with their swords drawn. Closing his eyes, Tartum felt the ring click, just as he was sure he was about to be run through. There was a moment of perfect silence, and then Tartum did feel something. It wasn’t the bite of a sword that he felt, but the cool kiss of the afternoon breeze that crossed his skin.
Opening his eyes, Tartum saw the charred remains of Rebirth and winced as his nose was attacked by the gruesome scent of decay. Releasing his hold on the magic helped to weaken the potency of the smell but left him feeling weak and useless. Tartum fought through the weakness and began checking to make sure his belongings had made the journey with him. Buddy was at his side, his tail wagging as he sniffed the air around him. Tartum was surprised he had handled the transportation as well as he was, let alone the scent of death that surrounded them. He had to remind himself that Buddy was a stray and that there was every possibility that death was a common scent to him. Not to mention, the fact that magic had never seemed to bother him. Not sharing his companion’s comfort with the smell, Tartum shifted his focus to the bundle he had inside the blanket. To his relief, everything had made it. His spell books and scroll cases were all there, as well as, his spell components, gems, coins, and random treasures he had collected during his missions.
Picking up his pack, Tartum placed his spell books and components inside, cramming as much into it as he possibly could. Slinging his now full pack over his shoulder, he looked at the remainder of his possessions. His collection of gems, he placed in pouches that he attached to his belt. The mugs and other small treasures from his mi
ssions went into his spare pack that the guards had been kind enough to add to the pile as they plundered his room. Some items, like a jewel encrusted sword and a rather large copper bowl he had used to hold fruit, he decided to leave behind. Rolling up his blanket, he wedged it between his packs and his body. The case that contained the scroll with instructions to create the regent ring, he picked up and slung over his shoulder. Standing up, Tartum looked around at the area he had just left less than a week ago. He felt lost, everyone and everything he had known was in Saroth. He thought about lying low in the forest for a few weeks and letting the whole thing blow over. Then he would return in the night and try to link up with one of the other guild cells. He liked the thought of returning to Saroth and had almost made up his mind to begin heading back when he remembered something. The large guard that had grabbed Jeth from behind had said something just before his lightning bolt spell had blasted the life out of him.
“That’s him!” he had said.
Any thoughts of going back to Saroth were immediately banished from his mind and left him feeling alone and directionless. Buddy looked up at him and barked reassuringly. Having Buddy with him dispelled his loneliness, and Tartum knelt down to pet his friend. The thought of Buddy as a friend brought the memory of Varnar and Thorn rushing into his mind. In that moment Tartum knew where he could go. They had told him the Windswept Mountains were a few weeks north of Rebirth. They had also said that there were numerous towns and villages along the way.
A plan of action quickly formed in Tartum’s mind. He would head north and stop off in the villages and towns he passed to resupply and maybe even buy a horse to ease his travels. He would head towards the mountains and take Varnar up on his offer of hospitality. If he found Windswept Keep to his liking, maybe he would even take up residence there. Over time who knew, maybe he’d even be able to convince Varnar to teach him a few things about runic magic. When no dwarf was looking of course. It was far past time for him to strike out on his own anyway. He had always meant to travel the world; this was as good of a time as any to start. The raid on the thieves guild had been the perfect catalyst for such a change as it was turning out.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 2 Page 25