Taragon Stein: The Search For The Soul Crystal

by Jason L Crocker

  “But no more!” I gestured with my hands to put more emphasis on my words.

  “I cannot understand when myself and my companions have journeyed here whilst passing through, do I find that we cannot enjoy one night’s hospitality without assailment and conflict.”

  “And why is it when one of our number seems a little strange to your eyes, do the people of Galma react in such a way?” I pointed to Jaramel standing beside Baram.

  “Has Galma’s hearts hardened so much? It saddens me to think that they have.” Shaking my head, I tossed the blade of the thug I killed onto the floor, hopefully in a gesture that signalled the end of our troubles.

  It seemed to be working too. Some of the men in the crowd hung their heads low as if it was their fault for the fight. Others started mumbling words of encouragement to us, but it was a large man with a big round belly behind the bar that first spoke aloud.

  “We hold no grudge against you sirs,” boomed a voice from across the room.

  “I am Cendarr and innkeeper here. Although I haven’t lived in Galma for long, I know the people here to be just and fair. Those that you fought do not speak for us all. Indeed I don’t even recognise them. Do not hastily judge us by what you have seen, and hold true to your memories of Galma for they serve you no wrong. Come now, one and all,” continued the man, “and let us forget this incident, for the next brew is on Cendarr.”

  A great cheer went up from those in the tavern as Cendarr finished his speech. Most of the men headed straight for the bar, whilst others congratulated us on such a fight. Several of the crowd shook Jaramel by the hand, and one even brought him ale.

  After several moments four guards turned up. I recognised two of them from before as the ones we had passed when we had first entered into the tavern. They must have run to get help at the fight’s start I thought. After speaking with Cendarr, the guards cast a quick glance at our party before collecting the bodies of the slain attackers and departing with them.

  Leaving the crowd to forget any misgivings they may have had with us, I moved to speak with the Cendarr as the bard started playing anew.

  “Thank you, my friend, for your kind words.” I gave a slight bow as I addressed the stout innkeeper.

  Cendarr beamed a broad smile on his chubby face.

  “Taragon Stein was it? I seemed to recall hearing that name somewhere before but the moment escapes me for now.” He poured large ale and placed it before me.

  “Know this Taragon, that you will always receive a warm welcome at the Inn of Good Hope. As innkeeper here, I see myself as a good judge of character, and you seem to be a fair and honourable man.”

  “There are some women who would dispute that with you,” I smiled in return.

  Cendarr gave another broad smile as he slapped my shoulder and laughed.

  The rest of that evening passed quickly. With the taste of the ale in their veins, the tavern’s patrons slowly dispersed amongst words of good cheer to us.

  I did not want to stay too long in the tavern, as the open road and an early start was called for. Jaramel sat with Baram next to a group of men who had found keen interest in listening to Baram’s inebriated account of his fight with the axe man. After several attempts at convincing Baram to retire, we headed for our room.

  The weaponsmith collapsed upon his bed in a heap. Taking his cloak in hand, I covered my friend with its fur before turning to Jaramel. The mage had laid upon his bed and was asleep almost as fast as Baram was. The combination of ale and magic must have tired him completely, as after the fight he had sat in silence and only moved when someone addressed him. With his eyes now closed he looked as normal as any young man would do in his sleep, peaceful and innocent in his rest but try as I might I could not get the image of the burning man from my mind.

  The voices inside my head returned as they debated upon the happenings of the night's activities.

  “No man should have to die like that, did you see he held him there while he burned him. A dog would have deserved better. It would have been kinder to slit his throat than let this mage use him the way that he did.”

  “Nonsense,” commented another conflicting voice, “you said it yourself. He did what he had to do. You use your blade; he uses his magic. You would have done the same if you were him.”

  I turned away tired from the day’s events. Reaching my bed, I closed my mind to any further thoughts and slept…

  Despite the night before I slept soundly, and awoke to the new day with renewed strength and vigour. Baram was up already. Sitting on the edge of his bed the big man was slumped over with his hands on his head whilst quietly groaning to himself.

  I sprang out of my bed on purpose and gleefully opened the window. The sounds and smells of the outside world rushed in to assault the room. Baram groaned again.

  “Morning to you my stalwart companion,” I said in the cheeriest tones I could muster.

  “And how is Baram conqueror of the axe man today?”

  Baram glared at me with eyes as red as Jaramel’s. Then standing somewhat unsteadily, he walked towards the washroom without saying a word. I allowed myself a smile as I watched him cross the room.

  The mage stirred in his sleep and awoke with a yawn to a sitting position.

  “Ahhh, the other of our trio has awoken, and how is the mighty Jaramel feeling?”

  The apprentice rubbed his hand over his eyes before focusing them on me, which seemed to entail some difficulty.

  “I think someone may have placed an enchantment on me,” said the mage weakly,

  “for my head is pounding and my body feels unsteady.”

  Jaramel looked about as if unsure of his surroundings.

  “Also I do not remember much of the day before.” He suddenly looked alarmed as

  I smiled inwardly to myself at his discomfort.

  “Fear not, you have not been bewitched. This is quite normal for one who still has the magic of ale in his blood.”

  Baram made a loud, unpleasant noise from adjoining room.

  “If you have any doubt on this matter then ask the weaponsmith, as he is practically an expert regarding your condition.”

  Baram re-emerged from the adjoining room resembling some lifeless walking corpse. He slowly shuffled across the floor to his bed, collected his helmet from his pillow, and then proceeded to place it upon his head the wrong way around! The RazorBear cloak that had been his bedclothes was then wrapped loosely about his shoulders before he finally reached for his Battleaxe.

  “I am ready,” he announced somewhat unconvincingly.

  “Good. Then let us be on our way,” I smiled.

  On Baram’s advice, Jaramel first used the washroom before we collected our things and left the room. Cendarr, the innkeeper, greeted us unexpectedly near the inn’s entrance and graciously provided us with food packs for that day’s travel. He had explained that it was his way of compensating for the previous night’s troubles we had experienced. After our thanks and farewells, we were once again on our way.

  I planned our route to continue north heading for Governor Talak’s residence. This was just over a day’s ride away, and in respect of Baram and Jaramel’s current condition, I did not expect to arrive there until tomorrow’s midmorning. Hopefully though, once we were there I would be able to gather what information I could about northern Kantaria, before journeying onto the next stage of our travel which would see us arrive at the Great Divide itself.

  The Divide, the forts across the divide would signal the end of the southern domain and the relative safety that it held. It would also open the way into the much uncharted and warring realm of northern Kantaria. From there on, who knows? I didn’t know what to expect or what I would find. All I knew was that this Soul Crystal was there somewhere and I was the one who had been given the job of finding it.

  My thoughts returned to the present as I noticed Jaramel’s and Baram’s pace somewhat lacking in momentum. I decide a rest would heal their speed even though we had only ri
dden several miles from Galma.

  I raised my hand in a gesture to slow as Anvil came alongside Storm.

  “What’s wrong Taragon?” enquired Baram, his eyes were studying the road for signs of danger.

  “Nothing. It’s just I believe the road ahead will be hard on the horses. It would be better to rest them here where there is fresh grass to be had before continuing on.” I thought I sounded convincing enough.

  Baram yawned and nodded.

  “Well, if you think it’s best then.” Before he had hardly finished his words, Baram was leading Anvil from the road and into the grassy field to our left. Jaramel silently followed the big man's lead upon Udos as I brought up the rear with Storm and the packhorse.

  The colour in Baram’s cheeks quickly returned once he had helped himself to his second helping of Cendarr’s food packs. There were fresh bread, chicken and jars of sealed milk to be had. All provided for by the kindness of the innkeeper. Baram had even recovered enough of his strength to engage a much livelier looking Jaramel in conversation.

  “So what you are saying is that I will never be able to use this magic?” asked the sad sounding Smith as we sat.

  Jaramel looked up from his book for the third time.

  “Correct,” replied the young mage.

  “That’s a pity, I was hoping to show Kendra a thing or two on my return,” he said whilst moving his hand in strange motions in front of him as if a flame would suddenly appear.

  “Unfortunately you have to be born into the arts,” explained Jaramel.

  “To wield magic, you have to have a certain amount of ability at birth. Other magic users can recognise this talent in others upon sight. You see there’s a sort of energy radiance that emanates from all people with magical abilities, and I’m afraid you or Mr Stein do not radiate such an ability.”

  “But we do radiate other abilities,” I offered to Baram who smiled at my jest.

  “Although I do recognise a magical radiance from items that you carry Mr Stein,”

  Baram nodded. “He has a shield and a magical glowing stick.”

  “It’s a Glowball staff,” I corrected.

  “I have noticed this shield of yours, I would very much like to see it and this Glowball staff if I may.”

  I did not see the harm in it, so I removed the buckler from the comfort on my arm and retrieved the Glowball staff from my saddle packs for Jaramel’s inspection.

  “Fascinating,” commented Jaramel as he turned the shield over in his thin bony hands.

  I crouched nearer with interest as he examined its surface more closely.

  “You see it bears the mark of an air protection rune at its centre. It’s quite remarkable to find one in such good condition as this.”

  “Air protection?” I asked confused.

  Jaramel nodded.

  “Master Luka would tell you more about its origins. But basically, it should provide you with some protection against air harm. I believe it to mean things that fly through the air.”

  “You mean birds and such,” intervened Baram.

  “No, what I meant to say was from items that are projected through the air, such as arrows or stones. I may also help your parrying speed. At any rate, it is a valuable artefact.”

  I knew it would fetch a good coin I thought whilst smiling happily to myself.

  “And what of this?” I asked eagerly as I handed over the Glowball staff.

  Jaramel grasped the staff, and immediately began to concentrate on its shaft whilst ignoring the globe end completely.

  “Valuable?” I enquired with curiosity.

  Jaramel said nothing. His fiery eyes were fixed intently upon the staff. It was then that I saw the faint white light that radiated from between his fingers as he ran them along its length.

  I cast a look to Baram who just shrugged his shoulders in return.

  “JARAMEL!” I called in the hope of returning him from wherever he was.

  Jaramel looked as if he had suddenly awoken from a dream.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it valuable?” I asked again whilst indicating towards the staff.

  The fiery-eyed wizard looked down at the artefact his hands as if he were seeing it for the first time.

  “Oh, not very,” he said unconvincingly. “The globe holds little power of its own. The magic is contained within the staff itself.” As Jaramel handed me the item back, I noticed his eyes follow its every move.

  “Oh well, at least you have one valuable artefact,” said Baram in commiseration.

  I did not know why Jaramel was lying to me. But I knew he was not telling me everything he knew about the staff. I decided to leave this matter for now and question him further on a different subject.

  “Tell me of this Vorgannon.”

  Jaramel’s eyes left the staff and returned to me.

  “Why does he hate the south so, and what was his crime to be banished?”

  “I’m not sure of all the details,” started Jaramel. “But I can tell you of what I know. Vorgannon was caught practising magic requiring the black arts.”

  “Black arts?” enquired Baram.

  “Yes,” nodded Jaramel. “As I have said before the magic I wield is used through me from the power in all living things. But the magic that is required to cast spells within the black arts can usually only be obtained through sacrifice and death.”

  “You mean like the souls this Crystal we seek needs in order to summon forth this Bane Demon?”

  “Correct Mr Stein. The demon cannot be summoned into this realm without the use of the departed souls that the Crystal holds captive. This is the part of its black art.”

  “So what was Vorgannon’s crime?” asked Baram.

  “All I know of the details is that Vorgannon was found with the blood of a slain virgin girl upon his hands whilst in the process of an incarnation of a black arts spell. The body of a young child girl was found nearby. I believed her to be the daughter of a serving girl at the castle. He never once denied the incident even when he was brought before the King.”

  “Who found him in this act?” I asked.

  “His brother, Master Luka.”

  I stood in surprise of this news.

  “You mean to say Luka is Vorgannon’s brother!”

  Jaramel nodded as if it were common knowledge.

  “No wonder he spits at the mentioning of Vorgannon’s name,” said Baram.

  “Vorgannon Barail,” I said to myself in thought.

  “His main intention is not to conquer the south!” I said in sudden realisation. “He wants revenge on his brother! The man that found him out and took his place by the King’s side!”

  Jaramel and Baram both looked to each other.

  “Don’t you see?” I added. “He cannot enter the south because he has been banished.”

  “So he needs an army to help him do it,” replied Baram

  “And where better to find a warring army than the north,” I finished.

  I stroked my chin in thought about my better understanding of the situation.

  “I would advise not talking about Vorgannon too much in front of master Luka,” said Jaramel whilst looking at us both in turn.

  “Master Luka can get quite.... upset at the mere mentioning of his name.”

  “I bet he does,” I acknowledged.

  “He sees him as a brother no longer. Indeed they are at great odds with each other.”

  Jaramel bowed his head. “He has brought much shame upon my master.”

  Obviously, the young mage had taken the weight of Luka’s humiliation to heart

  “Fear not young master,” I replied, “we’ll hold our tongues.”

  The thought of angering Luka was not at the top of my list of things to do anyway.

  The rest of that day’s travel went swiftly. The roads were well travelled, and there was no reason to take any overland routes, so we made good progress. Jaramel and Baram both held the pace I had set after their earlier rest, and by early night
fall, we were ready to stop for the night. I estimated that we would reach Governor Talak’s residence by around noon of the next day. Camp was made in a derelict farmhouse that was spotted a short distance from the road. Half the roof had collapsed in on its self, and all of the windows and doors were missing, but the nearest room to the road still had all of its surrounding walls and seemed structurally sound enough to offer protection from the elements. Jaramel had offered to set a magical watch for the night that would alert us of any intruding creatures or foes with hostile intent. At first, I was wary of placing my trust in something that I could not see, especially if my life might be forfeit if anything went amiss. But Baram had taken side with Jaramel and persuaded me to let the young mage try his hand.

  I must admit that I had a growing concern of Baram’s regular interest of Jaramel’s magical abilities, as I am sure if Baram had been born a beast, he would have been a Fangore!

  Happy with the decision, Jaramel proceeded to walk around the outside of the building, only stopping every couple of feet or so to place what looked like small pebbles upon the ground. Once he had completely encircled the derelict farmhouse with the strange stones, he then returned to stand within its doorway only to mutter something unintelligible and declare that all was set. Uneasy of the wards, I rested my hand upon my sword as I settled in a corner for an apprehensive nights rest. Twice that night we were woken by a blinding light which was accompanied by a high-pitched noise of alarm, only to leap from our beds to discover that some small rodent had been out hunting for its nightly meal and inadvertently wandered into Jaramel’s magical barrier. After Baram’s third curse of the night, and on my insistence, the magical sentry was removed, and a watch was set. The morning came all too quickly, and after breakfasting on some dried fruits, we made ready to leave our camp.

  Baram’s lack of sleep had made him irritable and awoke to this new day like a Razorbear with a sore head. First he complained about the cold morning’s air. Then it was about the stone he had slept upon. Finally, he grumbled about a sour piece of fruit he had just eaten. Jaramel tried to engage the weaponsmith in idle conversation, but every time he did Baram just found something new to complain about. I knew better.