The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 2

by William D. Latoria

  Now that the wagon was in front of him, Tartum marveled at its magnificence. The wagon was easily twenty feet long from front to back. Just as he assumed, it had been chiseled from a single solid stone and had dwarven runes etched all over its surface. There were four windows on the side he could see and it rose twelve feet into the air. There was a door in the center, and as it opened, a small flight of stairs was lowered down on ropes made of spun metal. The dwarf whom Tartum had seen poke his head out the window when they had first spotted him, walked out and smiled brightly as he looked up at him.

  “Pardon the rudeness, lad, but are ye by chance Tartum Fuin?” he asked. His voice was as gruff, and his accent as thick as Varnar’s, but this dwarf was much younger and far more refined than Varnar had been. He wore a heavily padded cotton tunic and leggings that served to emphasize the impressive definition of his muscles. He wasn’t as physically dominating as Varnar had been, but Tartum dreaded the thought of a physical confrontation with him. Pushing these dark thoughts aside, Tartum focused on the fact that this dwarf knew his name and apparently had been looking for him.

  Quickly checking the surrounding area, Tartum saw no signs of an ambush and could detect no deception from the dwarf that now patiently awaited his response. Tartum nodded to confirm that he was indeed the man the dwarf was looking for.

  The regally dressed dwarf jumped into the air with a cheer. He made a strange gesture with his hands towards the wagon that made Tartum very nervous. The moment his hands stopped, Tartum saw movement coming from the walls of the wagon. He watched as no less than ten crossbows were uncocked and raised from their perfectly hidden portholes that had been expertly designed to avoid detection. Tartum was dumbfounded by the fact that he had missed them, even with his heightened senses. His shock was quickly broken as the dwarf that knew his name began to make his way towards him with his hand out. He was smiling from ear to ear from under a bushy red beard that only barely reached his chest. As he got closer Tartum could tell this dwarf was indeed much younger than Varnar, and far more devious.

  “Well met we be, Tartum Fuin! I be known as Oldrake Bottombarrel! A mutual friend of ours told me ye could be found on this road and instructed me and me boys to pick ye up if we were to happen upon ye. As fortune would have it, here ye is, and we be grateful, too!” he said, as he caught Tartum’s hand up in his vice-like grip and shook it vigorously.

  Tartum looked down at the dwarf trying to rip his arm off with his enthusiastic greeting. “A mutual friend? Who might that be?” he asked. Tartum couldn’t think of anyone, other than Dannurn, that knew of his whereabouts. He wondered if the man had felt guilty after his departure and sent this Oldrake to find him. It all seemed very convenient.

  Oldrake practically giggled into his beard. “Sorry, lad! I canna tell ye that. Swore me to secrecy, and a dwarf never breaks his word!” motioning towards his wagon he continued, “Me wagon has more than enough space for ye and yer dog, if ye be wantin a ride to Windswept Keep. What say ye, lad?” he asked. He suddenly seemed to be in a hurry. Tartum debated his offer for a moment, he wasn’t positive if he could trust this dwarf, but he was positive that he had had enough walking to last him a lifetime. Seeing Oldrake growing impatient, Tartum decided he should take him up on his offer while it was still available. If worse came to worse, he could always fight his way out.

  “I believe I will take you up on your offer. Be sure to thank our friend for sending you when you see him again.” he replied. Motioning to Buddy, Tartum sent him into the wagon first. Buddy was a good judge of character, and he figured if there was anyone inside wanting to do them harm, he would warn him of it. After hearing nothing from his companion, Tartum walked up the steps and entered the wagon.

  The interior of the wagon was as impressive as the exterior. The runes that had decorated the outside of the wagon also lined the walls of the inside. The wagon was lit by grapefruit sized balls of light that Tartum mistakenly assumed were magic. Upon closer inspection, he saw large hand-sized insects moving around inside, whose bodies gave off the soft white light. The bugs looked like large beetles with clear exoskeletons that allowed the light from their soft underbodies to escape and illuminate the surrounding area. The balls seemed to be set up as small habitats for the bugs that catered specifically to their needs. He couldn’t tell if the dwarves kept them as pets, or if this was just an extravagant light source. Oldrake climbed up next to him and peered into the balls.

  “We call them bright beetles, lad. They live deep underground where no sunlight can reach. They be relatively easy to catch but can give ye a nasty pinch if their pincers get ahold of ye.” To accentuate his point, he imitated the act of cutting off one of his fingers. His point was not lost on Tartum. “They are incredibly clever escape artists, which is why we make these orbs as suited to their needs as possible. As long as they be happy, they don’t try to escape and provide a bright, heatless, smokeless source of light.” Oldrake explained.

  Tartum was amazed. He had never heard of an insect like this, and observing them now, inside their enclosures was enough to make him believe his journey had been worth it. He tapped on the glass, and one of the bigger beetles looked up and hissed at him. Oldrake laughed, “They hate it when ye do that, lad. Try not to piss them off, they be our friends in the darkness, ye know.” Oldrake warned. Tartum watched as the beetle looked directly at him and slowly opened and closed his pincers. The little voice in the back of his head advised caution, and as always, Tartum heeded the warning.

  Oldrake laughed, “Come, lad! Have a seat, me men will see to the journey. Ye should give thanks to the mountains that we found ye when we did! Yer close to the territory of a vicious gang called the Blurs. They hunt lonely travelers and poorly defended merchants that travel this route. Alone, ye wouldn’t have stood a chance against them.” he said. His tone was matter of fact, and Tartum didn’t doubt that he was being sincere. Tartum figured their mutual friend must not have told him much about his skill with magic. He wondered if it had been Dannurn that had sent Oldrake. After all, he had only seen Tartum cast a few spells over the past six months. To him, he must seem like a conjurer of cheap tricks, rather than a powerful caster of the thieves guild. He was surprised how offended the idea made him.

  Tartum joined Oldrake at one of the booths that lined the walls of the wagon. There were eight in total, four along each wall, with nets used for storage above each one. There were dwarves packed into five of the booths, and they all seemed to be pointedly ignoring him. That suited Tartum fine, as he passed by them without so much as a glance. Placing his packs into the storage area, Tartum sat down across from Oldrake. Buddy waited for Tartum to finish scooting over and then jumped up next to him. Once he saw there was no food on the table, he lay down on the bench and put his head in Tartum’s lap. A large bearded dwarven woman brought them a mug of ale and looked to Oldrake for further instruction.

  Tartum had never seen a dwarven woman before and was stunned by just how different and ugly he found them. The males of the race were solid, made of muscle and confidence, tempered by honor and tradition. Their beards were usually braided or bushy, almost like their hair embodied their personality. The females however were just as large, only not with muscle, they were disgustingly fat! The enormity of the woman, Tartum could have stomached, but it was the facial hair that appalled him the most. Course blonde hair grew out from her cheeks, chin, and ears flowing down it merged into a braid that rested on top of her large rotund belly. The hair that grew on her head was pulled back into a long ponytail that had been tucked into the back of her shirt. Her beard hair was not bushy or unkempt like that of a dwarven male. Tartum could see that it had been combed and femininely braided with multicolored ribbons holding it together. He also saw gemstones had been tied into her beard, that he assumed was the dwarven version of necklaces that human women were fond of wearing. Tartum hoped all dwarven women didn’t look like this one. He held on to the hope that the other females of the race were more a
esthetically pleasing than this one was.

  Tartum could feel Oldrake’s eyes on him; he didn’t want to appear rude, so he picked up his mug of ale and drank deeply. The taste of berries and hops was as strong as the fire that burned down his throat as he swallowed. He sputtered and choked as he remembered just how strong dwarven brews could be. The dwarves sitting at the other tables laughed heartily at his discomfort, and even Oldrake began to chuckle. Returning his mug to the table, Tartum gasped and waited until the burning stopped. Looking up at the female dwarf, Tartum cleared his throat.

  “Thank…Thank you for that. A little strong for me, though.” he conceded. The woman looked at him contemptuously. She seemed to be waiting for him to get to his point. Focusing, Tartum tried to remember his conversation with Thorn back in the forest just outside of Saroth.

  “You don’t happen to have any Paiste Grúdaigh, would you?” he asked. Even with all her facial hair her amazement at his request, or possibly his use of their language, was blatantly obvious. Looking over at Oldrake, she waited for his permission. Oldrake took one look at Tartum and began to laugh.

  “Ye do know that be a child’s brew, don’t ya lad?” he asked, between bouts of laughter.

  Tartum smiled, “By dwarven thinking, I am a child.” he said plainly. “Besides, I like it and might as well drink as much of it as I can before I outgrow it!” he finished with a wink.

  This got the entire wagon roaring with laughter, which prompted Oldrake to send the serving woman scuttling off to bring him his drink. His answer seemed to have garnered him a modicum of respect from some of the dwarves he shared the wagon with. Some of them held their drinks up to him before drinking, while others simply nodded to him before returning to their own conversations. He was happy that they were at least acknowledging his existence now. He hoped that by the time they reached Windswept, he would be able to count some of them as friends. Getting what he needed from Varnar might be easier if he had other dwarven allies to back him up.

  The female dwarf was back quickly with his mug of Paiste Grúdaigh, and he thanked her for her haste. Taking a sip from the mug, Tartum savored the sweet and smooth flavor that now thrilled his taste buds. Sighing, he leaned back on the bench and began petting Buddy’s head. He was enjoying this form of travel much more than his previous method. The thought of traveling caused him to take notice that the wagon was not bouncing or swaying on the uneven road. In fact, if he hadn’t been able to see the world passing them by through the windows of the wagon, he would have had no idea they were moving at all. He also noticed the temperature inside the wagon was much more comfortable than the temperature had been outside. Looking up at Oldrake, he saw the dwarf was watching him with a superior look on his face.

  “It be rune magic, lad. There is no magic finer!” There was no lack of pride in his voice as he gave his explanation. Tartum swallowed his retort with another drink from his mug. It wasn’t so much that he disagreed with Oldrake, he found runic magic fascinating, it was the fact that the dwarves wouldn’t teach it to him that got his dander up. Rather than start an argument with his host, Tartum decided to change the subject.

  “So, Oldrake, what is it you do for a living?” he asked.

  Oldrake puffed out his chest and leaned forward before he answered, “I be the eldest son of the Bottombarrel clan. We be the top brew masters of Windswept Keep! None be our equal when it comes to the brew, and people come from all over the land to sample our brews. We’ve catered to kings and emperors, farmers and paupers. As we say in the Bottom Barrel back home, All men are equal when drinking with likeminded people!” as he recited his rhyme, the rest of the dwarves in the wagon yelled out at the top of their lungs, “HERE HERE!!” and then pounded there mugs on the table before downing the contents. Tartum was impressed by the camaraderie the dwarves shared. He also found he rather liked Oldrake’s saying; even if he did disagree with it.

  Waiting for Oldrake to finish drinking, Tartum asked his next question, ”The Bottom Barrel is your last name as well as the name of your pub, then?”

  Oldrake nodded as he barked the order for the serving women to refill their mugs. “Aye, lad, we be the largest pub in all of Windswept! When we get there I will treat ye to brew so delicious, so potent, so perfectly aged that ye’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven!”

  “I’ll definitely take you up on that offer, my friend!” Tartum replied.

  Laughing, Oldrake held up his mug, “Of course ye will, lad! Only a fool would turn down an offer such as mine!” he said. Tartum picked up his own mug and joined him in his toast. The rest of the day was spent sharing stories, drinking, and singing as the wagon made its way towards Windswept. The sun was almost completely set when Tartum saw Oldrake pull a gold coin from his pocket and begin twirling it around his fingers as deftly as Isidor had once done.

  The sudden connection hit Tartum like a lightning bolt. Isidor! He must have chanced upon Yucoke and heard about him from the people watching his show. Dannurn would have invited him to dinner, and that’s when he would have found out about him staying there and of his journey to the north. Of course, he would have sent Oldrake to pick him up and get him to Windswept safely! The crass old man was still looking out for him, even after all this time. Smiling, Tartum watched as Oldrake sent the coin racing faster and faster across his fingers until it was nothing more than a blur in his hand. Holding up his mug, Tartum gave a toast.

  “To mutual friends!” he called out. The dwarves needed little reason to drink, and Tartum’s toast was met with enthusiasm. As one, they held up their mugs and echoed his toast. Oldrake made a point to raise his mug towards Tartum before downing the contents.

  “So, Isidor, are you coming back into my life, or is this just an act of charity?” he said to himself. Lying back on the bench, he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake him.

  …

  Much to Tartum’s delight, the rest of the journey mainly consisted of eating, drinking, and sleeping. He was introduced to many different dwarven beverages made of everything, from honey to potatoes. He found most of them to be delicious, but there were a few that would haunt his nightmares for years to come. In the end, he still preferred Paiste Grúdaigh over the others, and even though the other dwarves laughed when he asked for it, they allowed him his vice.

  While traveling with the dwarves, Tartum discovered just how seriously they took their drinking. The strength of the brew, combined with the quantity they could consume before passing out was a testament to their manhood. Over the next few weeks, he watched as barrel after barrel was drained dry, as each dwarf tried to out drink another. Every night there was another drinking competition that inevitably led to the last dwarf standing elevating himself above his peers. It didn’t seem to matter who won, as long as one of them remembered enough to brag about to the others the following morning. As far as Tartum was concerned, the entire thing was an exercise in futility, until he realized that the act of participating in the competition did nothing more than gave them a reason to drink. Once he made the connection, he found the whole thing quite entertaining.

  He learned much about the dwarves by paying close attention to the stories they told. It seemed that every dwarf in the wagon was the descendant of a great warrior that had saved the kingdom through some incredible feat or by defeating a terrible foe. If not the descendant of a reknown warrior, the dwarf was inevitably related to a legendary craftsman that created a legendary item that changed the course of history or gave the great warriors the others boasted about the ability to emerge victorious in their battles. On more than one occasion, when one of the more intoxicated dwarves was boasting rather loudly about his ancestors, another dwarf would speak up discrediting their claim. Without fail, a fight between the two dwarves would break out that resulted in the remaining dwarves circling the combatants too cheer on their favorite. The only thing more fierce than the fighting was the betting on who would win or lose. Tartum watched small fortunes pass between the dwarves,
only to be won back the following night when another fight broke out under similar circumstances. The fighting was always brutal but never lethal, and in the end, both participants could be found sitting together nursing their wounds and lavishing each other with how impressed they were with their fighting prowess. Tartum found it all fascinating but was very careful when commenting on one of their stories. The last thing he wanted was to end up in a fist fight with one of these men.

  He spent much of his time sitting with Oldrake, exchanging stories of his own. Oldrake told him about how his great, great, great, great grandfather discovered a new distilling method that streamlined the brewing process that elevated his family above the other brew masters of his clan. Now his guild was known as “the top of the rock” when it came to anything involving alcoholic beverages. Not to be outdone, Tartum told him about his fight against Lord Zahut and about his purging of the Boggs from Yucoke. Tartum thought Oldrake was more impressed with how he killed off the Bogg family than his battle with Zahut. Oldrake claimed to know of the Boggs and that they wouldn’t be missed by the dwarven traders that passed through Yucoke on their way to Saroth.

  They quickly became friends and eventually the subject of why Tartum was heading to Windswept was brought up. Hesitating for only a moment, Tartum told him the same story he had given Dannurn just before his journey began. He told him about his encounter with Varnar and Thorn. He told him he wanted a ring made by a process called unioning. When Oldrake asked him why, Tartum replied that it was for a woman he had taken an interest in. He had considered how he would answer this question if Varnar had asked him. He was glad for the opportunity to test out his lie on Oldrake. Unfortunately, he didn’t think the dwarf believed him. Oldrake looked insulted by his response, and he had warned Tartum to not try and feed Varnar his lies. Tartum wisely became silent, and Oldrake never brought up the subject again.