The final pieces of weaponry the dwarves showed him were called firearms. They resembled hand-held cannons; much like the ones he had seen along the walls of Saroth. With a little black powder and a tiny metal ball stuffed into the barrel, Quaray lit a fuse and pulled on a trigger much like he would with a crossbow. The result was a horrendous noise and an acrid smoke that left Tartum choking for air long after the weapon had been fired. The hole the weapon left was unimpressive, but the projectile had gone through two layers of plate steel before embedding itself deep into the stone wall of the target range that dwarven sharpshooters practiced at. While Tartum did admit it was an amazing achievement of engineering, he was shocked to discover no runic magic was involved with its creation or function. As carefully crafted as the weapon was, its true wonder was that it was completely mundane. Due to the noise and smoke that was caused by its use, and the painstaking amount of maintenance required to clean the barrel of the firearm after use, Tartum thought of them as impractical and more of a novelty rather than as an efficent offensive weapon. Quaray had offered him one to try out, but he declined the offer. The way he saw it, magic was cleaner and more effective that dwarven firearms would ever be. Quaray had looked surprised but pushed the subject no further.
After almost a month of exploring, learning, and being completely immersed in the dwarven society, Tartum had picked up a little of the dwarven language. He now knew that Leanna meant ale, Bia meant food, Cara meant friend, Namhaid meant enemy, Mhionn meant oath, and Peatai meant pet. He also had picked up the dwarven names for dozens of metals and stones, as well as all the names of precious stones such as diamonds and emeralds. He found most of the dwarves he encountered knew his language, and it was usually easy enough for him to have a conversation with one. Oldrake explained that dwarves were taught human speech as young because the human race was one of the dwarf’s best customers. They were also taught elven dialect, not because they were friends or that they were good customers, but because they were sworn enemies. When Tartum asked about the elves he had seen walking around in the city, Oldrake told him they were either ambassadors with special permissions to be in Windswept, prisoners being exchanged or released, or traitors that were allowed to live as slaves in the dwarven city due to a deal they made with the Grand King. Oldrake explained to him that any elf he saw in Windswept was not to be trusted and generally they didn’t live very long once they arrived. Elves, he said, couldn’t live underground anymore than a fish could survive out of water. Eventually the elf lost their will to live, when that happened they went to sleep one night, never to awaken. Once again, Tartum was fascinated by his friend’s revelation. He personally found living underground to be to his liking. He had been a bit disorientated by the lack of sunlight, but he had adjusted quickly, and now, the fact he was underground barely registered to him. This new information showed him he still had a lot to learn about his world, and he promised himself that once his ring was finished, he would continue his journey, no matter how much it pained him to leave.
As it was, a month came and went faster than he would have liked, and on his thirty-first day after making his deal with Varnar, the old dwarf showed up at the Bottom Barrel with a small metal box in his hands. He looked exhausted and was covered in soot. Escorting Varnar to a quiet room inside the pub, they sat down as one of the serving women brought them each a tankard. Varnar downed his immediately, and Tartum offered him his. Varnar drank half of Tartum’s as well before pushing the metal box across the stone table.
“Ach! Here it be, lad. Your ring, made with the unioning like you paid for. I must admit, it has been a while since I crafted such a difficult work of art. I’m exhausted, filthy, and ready for a long break, but I must thank you for giving this old dwarf a challenge as worthy as this.” he said with a smile.
Reverently, Tartum opened the box Varnar had brought him. Inside was a perfect solid diamond ring. He gasped as he held it in his palm, it was heavy! The ring had to weigh at least three or four pounds, which, for its size, was unbelievable. The ring had been crafted into a simple, yet elegant band that gleamed with all the luster a diamond could offer. It was thick for a ring, but Tartum didn’t mind, somehow the thickness and the weight felt right in his hand. There were no creases, no cracks, no discoloarations or imperfections. The ring was a physical representation of perfection that caused Tartum to shudder as he placed it on the third finger of his left hand. It fit effortlessly; he couldn’t be sure, but as he placed the ring on his finger, he could have sworn it resized itself to fit. Looking up at Varnar, Tartum was about to thank him, when the exhausted look on his face gave him pause. His friend looked ready to sleep for a month; Tartum wondered what kept him awake now.
“Varnar, the ring is impeccable! Thank you so much! I have never seen such perfect craftsmanship! Thank you again!” Tartum said quickly, with concern he continued, “But my friend, you are exhausted. Let me get someone to take you to your home so you can rest.”
Tartum called out to one of the serving women that were running around the pub. “You, there! Girl!” He pointed at a chubby female whose looks reminded him a lot of the first dwarven woman he had seen in Oldrake’s wagon. Tossing a small emerald to the girl, Tartum called out his instructions, “Fetch a wagon for my friend here, instruct the driver to bring him where he needs to go immediately.” he ordered. The female took one look at the stone he had tossed her before she left in a flash to carry out his instructions.
Varnar had laid his head on the table and was weakly trying to wave off Tartum’s help. “Bah! No, lad…I’m fine…I just be needin’ a bath and a bed…Bath first, I’m disgusting.” Varnar said into his sleeve. Tartum could see his friend was very filthy but that at least, was something he could fix. Reaching into his pouches, he gathered a small amount of aloe as he opened himself to the magic. Reaching across the table, Tartum used his thumb to smear some of it across Varnar’s forehead. The old dwarf raised his head when he felt Tartum’s thumb wipe something on him. Looking at Tartum bewildered, Varnar questioned him.
“What in the Mountain’s name are ye doing, boy!” he said, confused.
Tartum smiled, “Trust me, my friend, this won’t hurt you a bit.” Concentrating, Tartum uttered the words of power, “Eth-bereth yee-oond.” he commanded. No sooner had he spoken the words than the grime that covered Varnar’s skin and clothes jumped off of him and dissipated into the air. The surprised look Varnar gave him brought a smile to Tartum’s face. He watched as the befuddled dwarf looked at his arms and clothing trying to make sense of what just happened.
“Relax, Varnar, it was just a cleansing spell that took care of that bath you needed. Now you can go straight to sleep instead of drowning in your tub.” Tartum laughed. Varnar took another look at himself and chuckled.
“You be just full of surprises, ain’t ya, lad? Thank ye for cleaning me off!” Yawning, Varnar looked around and saw the serving girl Tartum had sent to fetch him a wagon, returning. “It looks as if me ride be here, I hate to leave ye so quickly, but I do be needing a rest.” Standing up, Varnar stretched before continuing, “Perhaps when I finish mah nap we can meet up for a drink?” he offered. Tartum was tempted, but now that his business was concluded, he wanted to be on his way. He hadn’t expected to be gone for so long, and now that he had his ring, he couldn’t wait to return to Yucoke to find out if Dannurn had any luck finding the location of a troll or a dragon.
“I’m sorry, my friend, with my business done I must be on my way. Feel free to stop by Yucoke on your next run to Saroth. Maybe we can have that drink then.” Tartum said.
Varnar smiled, “Aye, lad. I may just do that! Have a safe journey and watch yourself on the road. Not everyone you meet will be as hospitable as the Bottombarrels.” Varnar replied.
“I will, my friend. Thank you again for crafting my ring. I look forward to seeing you in Yucoke.” Tartum finished.
With a tired nod, Varnar allowed the serving girl to guide him towards the door. Tartum was sad t
o see him go but did not allow himself the luxury of feeling sorry for himself. Standing up as soon as Varnar was gone, Tartum went to retrieve his possessions, round up Buddy, and say his goodbyes to his Bottom Barrel friends.
As he came down the stairs with his gear on his back and Buddy at his side, he was surprised to see the Bottombarrel clan gathered around the bar holding their mugs up to him. Oldrake and Quaray met him at the bottom of the stairs. Both of them looked sad, and Tartum knew immediately that they had figured out he was leaving. He assumed one of the serving girls must have overheard his conversation with Varnar.
Quaray smiled sadly at him, “So, lad, it’s time for you to be on your way, is it?” he asked. Tartum knew the old dwarf already knew the answer. Tartum nodded; suddenly he didn’t want to leave.
Quaray nodded his understanding; holding his mug in the air, he looked back at the gathered clansmen. “Friends, one of our blood is leaving to continue on his journey. We bid him farewell and safe journey!” Quaray announced before turning to face Tartum once again.
“It has done mah heart good to have met you, Tartum Fuin of Yucoke. Your leaving will sadden the clan, and we look forward to the next time your path brings you back home.” He raised his mug high before finishing.
“Mo theaghlach, mo onoir, mo brod, mo shoal!” he said with a thundering voice that echoed along the walls. The gatherd clansmen repeated the words, causing a lump to form in Tartum’s throat. He swallowed hard to get rid of it; he refused to allow his emotions to get the better of him in front of his peers. As the crowd finished speaking the oath, they all drained their mugs dry and now looked to Tartum. He had no mug to hold up to his friends, so instead, he unholstered his staff and held it up before him in salute.
“My family, my honor, my pride, my life!” he replied. He was proud of himself for not allowing his voice to crack as he spoke the oath. Saying the words made him feel more confident about his decision to leave and lessened the sense of loss he was feeling. With the farewell finished, the crowd dissipated quickly as his clansmen went back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. Oldrake approached him somberly.
“Tartum, I have arranged for you, transportation back to Yucoke. I hope you do not mind.” he said. Tartum was surprised at how sad his leaving made Oldrake. He knew better than to mention it, dwarves were nothing if not proud.
What Oldrake said to him registered, and now Tartum was very intrigued. He had to admit he was dreading the long walk back to Yucoke. He had planned to hasten his pace for the next week to get the coldest parts out of the way as quickly as he could. He had replaced his old blanket with a thick bedroll, as well as a much thicker blanket made from the hide of an indigenous creature the dwarves called a yeti. He had never seen one before, but the tailor that sold the bedroll and blanket to him said it was a huminoid beast that was completely immune to the deep cold of the mountains. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but the thick white hair that covered inside of his bedroll and his blanket gave some credibility to the merchant’s story.
“What kind of transportation, my friend?” Tarutm asked.
Smiling, Oldrake motioned for him to follow, “I’ll show you!” he said.
As they left the Bottom Barrel, Tartum was surprised to see a small stone wagon, just big enough for two, with a large black horse attached to it. It was a simple, cheap structure, as far as dwarven craftmenship went, but to Tartum’s eyes it was a luxury suite on wheels.
“I…I don’t know how to thank you, Oldrake! This is too much, my friend!” he said.
Oldrake smiled, “Bah! Think nothing of it. Just one more thing our mutual friend asked meh to provide for you. By doing this, I am free of a rather large debt, mah friend. You are doing me a huge service by providing meh this opportunity. It is I that should be thanking you!” Oldrake replied.
Tartum knew his friend was telling him the truth, but he also knew the wagon was a bit much. The horse, alone, would have been more than enough as transportation back to Yucoke. Overcome by gratitude, Tartum picked up a large stone from the ground and covered it with both hands. Opening himself to the magic, he focused his thoughts. Infusing the stone with his magic, he began to cast his spell.
“Grenkith-tu-rekith Don-elu Ir Grink-yha Nyth.” he commanded. Dust fell from between his fingers as his magic carved the stone into the form he desired. Shaking the dust from the stone, Tartum inspected it. He had wanted to give Oldrake a token of his appreciation for all he had done to help him. Paying a debt or not, Oldrake had made his journey markedly better, and without him, he doubted very much his experience in Windswept Keep would have been as outstanding as it was. He had used his magic to carve the stone into an exact replica of the Bottom Barrel. At the bottom, he had inscribed it to read; To Oldrake, You are the truest friend I’ve ever made. Thank you for everything.—Tartum Fuin.
Handing it to Oldrake, Tartum clasped the dwarf’s shoulder and smiled. “I will miss you the most, my friend. Farewell.” he said. The lump in his throat returned, and he had to swallow multiple times to force it away.
Oldrake stood in front of him, staring at the gift he had given him. The young dwarf said nothing, and Tartum could tell he was touched by his gift. Not wanting to sour the moment with unnecessary words, Tarutm turned and began putting his pack into the wagon. As he shoved his pack under the seat, he heard the bag of gold, that was intended for Thorn, shift around inside. Retrieving the bag, he ordered Buddy into the wagon and closed the door behind him. Turning to Oldrake, he saw the dwarf was still overcome by emotion. Not seeing any other way of ridding himelf of the bag, he approached his friend one last time. Placing the bag at his feet, Tartum began to explain.
“Oldrake, I’m sorry to burden you with this, but this bag is meant for Varnar’s apprentice, Thorn. See that it gets to him, ok?” Tartum said. If Oldrake heard him, he gave no sign. Tears were forming in his eyes that were still fixed on the gift Tartum had given him. Grinning, Tartum shook his head as he returned to the wagon and situated himself in the driver’s seat. He chuckled to himself at just how two-sided the dwarven race was. They tried to exude this alpha male exterior that encouraged drinking, brawling, and boasting, yet deep down inside they were as sensitive and emotional as any human, maybe even more so. He found that he truly liked the dwarven people and promised himself he would return for a visit after he was done creating his ring.
As he cracked the reigns, the horse began to move, and the wagon began to make its way towards the gates of the keep. It was early yet, so the traffic on the road was sparse. The pub was almost out of sight when he heard Oldrake’s voice boom from behind him.
“Mo theaghlach, mo onoir, mo brod, mo shoal!” Tartum heard him shout. The lump in his throat returned when he heard the sentiment in his friend’s voice echo off the walls of the mountain. This time, as the horse pulled the wagon closer to the exit, Tartum made no attempt to swallow the lump. By the time he made his way through the gate, a trail of tears marked his face.
CHAPTER 37
For a week, Tartum had driven his wagon south down the road towards Yucoke. He had quickly discovered that, unlike Oldrake’s wagon, his was not warded against the elements. The days had been cold and miserable as he sat on the stone driver’s seat, wrapped up in his yeti hide blanket with nothing to do but wish the cold away. A miserable drizzling rain had fallen on him for the first few days of his journey that slowly seeped into his blanket and made him feel constantly damp and cold. Buddy spent all of his time inside the wagon, only getting out to relieve himself or to make camp. Tartum was pretty sure that he was just as bored and miserable as he was.
The horse Oldrake had given him seemed to know where it was going, which made driving the wagon almost child’s play. Only occasionally would Tartum have to steer him away from a patch of tempting flowers or a particularly luscious field of grass. If it wasn’t for his desire to be out of the wretched cold, he might have let the horse stop and graze, but due to the weather, he was in no mood to be char
itable. His mood was terrible, and he found his thoughts were as dark and dreary as the weather.
At night, he would make the biggest fire he could, gathering Buddy and his horse around it. He would position the wagon to block as much of the wind as possible. For some reason it would pick up at night, making the cold that much worse. He discovered sleeping in the wagon was almost impossible, the wagon had been made to sit in, not lie down and the stone interior was as comfortable as sleeping on razorblades. The bedroll he had bought in Windswept was his most cherished possession thus far. Positioning himself as close to the fire as he could, he curled up inside the yeti hide bag and would finally find some warmth and comfort wrapped up inside it. He would awaken in the morning to a cold breakfast and even colder temperatures, thanks to a heartless mother nature that did nothing to improve his mood. His body shivered almost constantly, and on more than one occasion, he was ready to use his magic to set the surrounding landscape on fire in the off chance the heat created would provide him some relief from the cold. Only the guiding voice in his head stayed his hand in those moments of weakness.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 2 Page 36