Taragon Stein: The Search For The Soul Crystal

by Jason L Crocker

  “Indeed,” I nodded.

  Baram sneezed a great sneeze and what water that was trapped in his fur cloak spattered free.

  “It’s a shame we’ve nothing to light a fire with,” he sighed.

  “Yes, that wouldn’t go amiss at present,” I returned.

  At that moment I briefly caught sight of Jaramel’s outstretched arm before a sudden and unexpected firey flame appeared on the ground by our feet.

  “By the Gods!” I yelled, whilst backing quickly away from the startling phenomena. Baram seemed to have a similar reaction to this occurrence as he pulled his feet quickly away from the flame and stood in an instant.

  “I’m sorry to have alarmed you, it was not intended to be so,” Jaramel’s voice spoke softly and was full of apology.

  I regained enough of my former composure as so to reply to the young magic user.

  “Your flame is appreciated young wizard, if somewhat unexpected.” My words were edged as I held Jaramel’s gaze within my own, he then turned to stare at the rain once more.

  Baram resettled himself humbly back on the ground.

  “By Thundar’s Hammer that’s a good trick, my lad,” commented the weaponsmith excitedly.” However, did you do that?”

  Jaramel shrugged, “It’s here simply by the will of my being,” he replied.

  “How so?” asked Baram, whilst not sounding happy with the first explanation.

  I tried to listen, whilst trying not to show my interest.

  “I have summoned the flame by using the power and force that abounds in all life around us,” answered Jaramel.

  “Oh,” said Baram, sounding none the wiser.

  Baram scratched at his head whilst staring at the flame. I was not sure if it was because of the reply he had just received or the fur on his helmet that bothered him so.

  “But how?” Baram pressed.

  The young magic user knowing that he was not easily going to escape Baram’s questioning, cast his gaze in the weaponsmiths direction.

  “All I can say is, that to summon the flame or any magic for that matter…is like building a house.”

  “A house?” Baram baffled, with an inquiring look in my direction.

  Jaramel confirmed with a hooded nod.

  “First, to build a house you need stone, wood, clay and holding mud, then you place the materials together in the right sequence to slowly form the basis of a house. Such is the way with all magic.”

  Baram scratched his head yet again. And I did not know what he was talking about either.

  Jaramel sighed.

  “Magic is like this, because you first have to summon the different elements of the spell in your mind, and then hold them in your thoughts. Once you have all the necessary elements of the magic together in one place, and in the correct sequence, you are ready to cast the spell. It also helps if you make a motion with your hand like this.”

  Jaramel extended his arm with his palm raised upwards, and the flame disappeared.

  “And so.” Once again the fire returned, but this time I noticed his hand was held flat.

  “Amazing!” commented Baram.

  “It is what I’ve studied for,” replied the mage.

  “And what is the cost of this magic?” I asked whilst searching for more answers than the magic user seemed willing to give.

  “Yes there is a cost,” Jaramel motioned to the brightly burning magical fire, “a flame such as this has little effect on me, and I can sustain it for several hours if I wish. But magic drains the stamina of your spirit, depending on the size and amount of magical energy used.”

  “So you the more you use, the more you tire?” Baram questioned.

  “Just so,” returned Jaramel. “It’s a bit like physical work. After the job is completed, I must rest or sleep to regain my strength.”

  “Ah, I know how you feel then,” replied Baram “There’s nothing more tiring than hammering by a forge for most of the day I can tell you.”

  I already knew this about magic users, but I wanted to see what answer the young mage would give. The few battles I had been in with Wizards proved to be dangerous, to say the least. The last one I had encountered was near to Jubon. A feuding family had hired an adept magic user to assassinate the noble I was protecting at the time. When after being ambushed on the road and dodging numerous projectiles of what could only be described as green glowing globules, the magic user suddenly fell exhausted to the ground. This allowed me ample time to introduce him to the point of my sword. I never did trust in anything you could not see, and magic was one of those things. For me, there was nothing more reliable in this world than the cold steel by my side.

  “Magic has its place, yet I see you carry a blade as well.” I motioned to the scabbard at Jaramel’s side.

  He touched the casing and nodded as if suddenly remembering something.

  “Oh yes, this, it was a gift from master Luka, I’ve never carried a blade before, but he insisted on it.”

  “Perhaps he was concerned that you would tire too quickly?” I mocked.

  Jaramel lowered his gaze.

  “Bah, don’t you mind Taragon, he can be like this sometimes,” said Baram to my surprise.

  “Here young master, your fire deserves another cake.” Baram passed the bag of oatmeal cakes to Jaramel who accepted with a courteous nod, the bag was then handed to me, which I politely declined.

  As I rested my back against Strom’s saddle, I watched the hypnotic dancing flames of the magically created fire at my feet. The flames seemed to burn from nothing and were suspended slightly from the ground for the benefit of our warmth.

  I must admit that it was a rare sight to behold, and I found myself spellbound by its attraction. That was until the sound of a rider could be heard fast approaching from along the road.

  “Quick the flame.” I turned to Jaramel, but he had already extended his hand and made the flame diminish back to nothingness.

  Even without the light cast by the spell, the rider, whoever it was, would have little trouble in spotting us from the road. Not that I was overly worried, but what was the price of caution.

  With ours eyes fixed upon the road ahead, we watched in silence as a lone rider suddenly appeared moving fast in the direction of Galma. It was hard to see anything much as the landscape was filled with gloom, but I am sure I caught sight of the rider’s hooded head turn once in our direction just before disappearing from view.

  “He was in a hurry,” commented Baram. “foolish to be riding so hard in weather like this.”

  “As we should be,” I replied. “If this rain hasn’t abated soon we shall have to make a move, rain or not.”

  I turned to Jaramel, the young magic user was sat with his arms around his knees, and his cloak of brown cloth wrapped tightly about himself. His hood was drawn over his head as it had been since we left Ranak-Lore, I had to wonder to myself what the rest of his features looked like. Why did magic users always have to pretend to be so mysterious?

  “Young master Jaramel, your flame if you will,” I motioned.

  By the apprentices will the flame reappeared once more by our feet.

  “Amazing!” remarked Baram in awe.

  The rain continued for a little longer until it finally subsided enough to allow us to travel. I was now very conscious of the time. If we did not leave now, we would not reach Galma before nightfall. I looked up at the dark clouds hanging ominously overhead and suggested we moved. After re-saddling the horses we were soon once again on the northern road.

  The journey took the rest of that afternoon under the constant threat of further rain which fortunately failed to materialise. Through slow progress, we finally reached Galma just as dusk was approaching. I was happy to find that it had not changed much since the early days of my youth. A few more buildings had arisen here and there, but it still generally felt the same. Galma was a small settlement that was situated in the centre of a small wooded area. The buildings of Galma, for some reason that was neve
r quite established, were built in ever expanding circles around a small stone obelisk that stood at its centre. The result of this was that the entire township of Galma if viewed from above, would represent one large circle with all the buildings concentrated within this circle. Uncle Darack had offered me an explanation for this upon my first visit to the town. He had explained that it was like this because the fairy folk had told the first inhabitant to build a stone obelisk in their honour, and then make sure all future constructions were built around this obelisk. If they did this, then no harm would befall this haven. I never believed him for a second, but to my knowledge, no great misfortune has ever befallen Galma.

  Galma was not large in size at all. In scale, it was probably one-quarter of that of Ranak-Lore. But I was glad to see that the stone and wood constructions of the big City had not yet enticed any of the inhabitants of this small town to try their hand at these new designs. The buildings were generally low, and all made from good solid timbers, some of which I personally had had a hand in making with my woodcutting uncle of years past. Smoke from many of the fires within the houses rose from the chimney stacks to fill the air with the familiar fragrant smell of wolf’s bane, a local herb that had been added to the fires of Galma for generations past. Supposedly it held properties to keep any roaming Wolvern from your door. It seemed to work too, as Wolvern attacks within the area of Galma were a rarity. We made our way three abreast through the hard earth streets towards the stables.

  “We shall stay here for the night,” I suggested. “The horses could do with the rest, and the lodgings are of acceptable quality.”

  “Sounds good for me Taragon,” said Baram, “my bones ache from all this riding.”

  As we rode through the streets, we began to acquire all sorts of unwanted attention. Some people looked hard and stared, others cocked their heads to better their view of us, and one woman even ran to pull a small boy from our path. I was not too sure if it was our general appearance of being fully armoured and armed to the teeth that bothered them so or the fact that one of our company had glowing eyes! I settled for the latter explanation for their behaviour.

  “I guess these good people haven’t seen many magic users in these parts,” I offered.

  I saw Jaramel look to his left at two young boys who were staring opened mouth at the strange phenomenon that was himself.

  “I think that you are right Mr Stein. It is a reason many of my kind has sought seclusion in the past.”

  I said no more on the matter, and we stabled our horses for the night for the very reasonable price of two silver coins each. We then weaved our way through the streets towards the inn with Baram rubbing his posterior with both hands as we went.

  “Ahhh, that’s better,” sighed Baram with some relief, “ I’m beginning to get some of the feeling back again.”

  “You ride well young master Jaramel,” continued Baram, “ have you spent much time on a horse?”

  “No, not really. The horse belongs to master Luka, a gift from the King I think. His name is Udos. To be honest with you, I was a little worried about riding him for such a distance.”

  Baram snorted as he heard Jaramel’s words.

  “Bah! You had no fear there, you can ride better than I.”

  Jaramel shook his head.

  “I doubt that Mr Oakengood.”

  “Call me Baram.”

  “Baram,” accepted Jaramel in return. “ You see the horse is doing all the work, I’m just holding on really. I think master Luka had a word with him before we left.”

  Baram and I turned our heads at the same time upon hearing this news.

  Baram started chuckling to himself just as a huge grin spread across my face.

  “You’re telling me that Luka can talk to the animals?” enquired a sceptically sounding Baram.

  “No,” snapped the mage quickly back whilst turning to see our mirth, “just to this one, you see he has had Udos a long time, and I think he may have tried some enchantments on him in the past.” Jaramel looked at us again.

  Try as I might, I could not shake the image of Luka sitting there chatting to a horse from my mind. My mirth joined with Baram’s, and I erupted into bouts of uncontrollable laughter.

  Jaramel cast me a look with his fiery eyes that seemed to be glowing more fiercely.

  “He doesn’t actually speak to the horse as such,” implored the mage, “it’s just an understanding they have.”

  Jaramel turned dejectedly away, as I detected the rising anger in his voice.

  “Relax young master, we meant no harm,” I said feeling a little guilty, “It’s just ignorant people such as us, have no understanding of these powers you wield. Will you forgive us this jest?” I added a small bow to my speech to show my sincerity.

  I think it was enough, as the light from a passing lantern illuminated enough of Jaramel’s pale looking face to reveal a small smile, he then returned the gesture with an accepting nod.

  “You’ll like this place,” I said aloud to my two companions.“I used to stay here in my youth with my uncle. For good food and good ale there’s no finer place in all of Galma than the Inn of The Rising Star.... here we are now.”

  We turned the corner of a building to view in front of us the Inn of Good Hope. I looked to my left and right to gather my bearings. We were in the right place I was sure, and the building ahead resembled The Rising Star, but the name had changed. The more I looked, the more changes I noticed. A balcony had been added on the second floor which overlooked the street below. The roof was now made from thatched straw instead of the solid wooden planks remembered, and an extra extension of the building had been added to the right.

  Baram read the confusion on my face. “Just how long has it been since you were last here Taragon?”

  I stared at the building ahead whilst realising that a little piece of my history had gone forever.

  “Too long,” I Replied.

  We entered the Inn of Good Hope, and I was dismayed to see the interior I remembered had all but gone as well. Gone were the old wooden tables with all their fine imperfections, gone were the chairs that used to creak under your weight when you sat upon them and gone were all manner of armour and weapons that used to adorn the tavern’s walls donated from the tavern’s former adventurous patrons. Everything now had been updated. The overall effect had a much newer, more structured air to the place and one with which I felt slightly uncomfortable.

  Walking up to the serving bar, we were promptly greeted by a middle aged gaunt looking man.

  “Evening to you sirs, and what can I be getting for you?” The man’s gaze stopped cold upon viewing Jaramel, his face betrayed his unhidden surprise as his eyebrows rose and mouth opened at the sight of the young apprentice.

  I feigned a cough, and the man’s attention returned somewhat unsteadily back to me.

  “I require a room for myself and my companions here, what do you have available to us.”

  The man managed an uneasy smile.

  “It just so happens that we have a room available on the second floor, it will be large enough to accommodate all of your needs I’m sure. It costs ten silver each for the night if you please, but that includes an evening meal and your first mug of ale.”

  “That will be fine.” I threw the necessary coins upon the table and took the large iron key that was being offered in return. The key had a number five embossed onto it.

  “Tell me, is there anywhere we can store our weapons safely?”

  “The key will open a lock to the door of your room, you may stow them there.” The man read the concern upon my face before answering again.

  “They will be quite safe I can assure you, the locks were fitted by our very own blacksmith here in Galma, there are only two keys to each door. You hold one now, the other is held by the owner here.”

  “Would that still be Ternguard?” I enquired.

  “Ternguard….” The man looked lost in thought before a flame of recognition appeared upon his face
. “Ahh, you mean the previous owner. No Innkeeper Ternguard sold up and moved to Cappras, I believe to live with relatives there. The new owner is Cendarr. He has been Innkeeper here for the past year now.”

  I nodded my head in understanding. I was sorry that I was not going to see Ternguard again. He and my uncle had become good friends years past, ever since my uncle helped him repair damage on the inn’s roof one year caused by bad storms. After that, we had always received a warm welcome in The Rising Star. I silently wished Ternguard well wherever he was.

  “You can use the stairs on your left to reach your room,” announced the barman. I noticed him cast another uneasy glance towards Jaramel before retreating back along the bar.

  The room was adequate enough, spacious, clean, and with four beds, two along each wall. It also held facilities for washing and toileting enclosed in a small adjoining room to the right. I knew that we would not always have such luxury, but I was never one to miss an opportunity of comfort if the situation provided itself. I chose a bed and laid upon it allowing myself to slowly sink into its comfortable embrace.

  Baram removed his battleaxe with a subtle sigh of relief before positioning the weapon against the wall next to his chosen bed. I looked to Jaramel, the young wizard was sitting on the end of his bed whilst reading a small leather bound book that he had produced from some unseen place. His fiery eyes darted carefully over its scripted pages, only to stop occasionally from his thoughts to mouth some silent word before returning once more to his reading.

  His eyes I thought. They are going to be of some concern. I contemplated the evening ahead. Taverns like this could normally get quite rowdy at times, and the last thing I wanted was to get in any fights with people who would know no better than to take offence at this young mage. I decided to address the situation carefully.

  “Jaramel.” The young mage looked up from his studying.

  I rose from the bed and paced to the centre of the room whilst searching for the right words to use.

  “I was wondering if there is anything you could do….about your eyes?” I decided the direct approach would be best suited.