Taragon Stein: The Search For The Soul Crystal

by Jason L Crocker

  Drawing my sword, I moved swiftly and silently across the street towards the unexpecting Gant. He was still preoccupied when a blow from the hilt of my sword struck forcibly to the base of his neck sent him sprawling towards the earth with a thump. My attack and Gant’s fall had been so quiet that I did not even bother to check if anybody had heard. Instead, I quickly set about removing the light coloured coat from his person.

  An immediate, nasty, and unpleasant stench fouled my nostrils; a quick sniff of the clothing in my hands revealed the source. Oh well, I had never heard of anybody dying from a bad odour before. With the coat fastened loosely around my shoulder so as not to get in the way of sword and shield, I pulled Gant’s unconscious body further into the night. Once hidden I then moved cautiously along the back of the buildings until I came to rest with my back against the rear of the tavern’s walls. Now all I needed to do was to remain concealed and await Jaramel’s distraction.

  I did not have to wait long.

  Thirty seconds later and Jaramel had the whole place in utter chaos. It had started with a bright light that grew steadily in its intensity. A light which made the street glow brighter and brighter as if the dawn had suddenly decided to arrive early and drive away the night. I had been worried that if it continued, I soon would not have any shadows in which to hide! Then the shouting began. Quiet at first, coming from the direction of the stables, but then quickly spread like wildfire into full blown hysteria.

  Now the thuds of many heavy footsteps could be felt pounding through the timbers of the tavern as they headed towards the door. More shouts then joined the first, and soon the air was filled with a chorus of shouting, swearing, and the wild neighing of terrified horses. The smell of burning was also heavy in the air. Now was the time to act!

  With the hilt of my sword clutched firmly under the fur of the cloak, I quickly rose to my feet and turned the corner of the tavern which led into the main street. The bright sight that greeted me stopped me unintentionally in my tracks. Jaramel had outdone himself.

  The roaring blaze that was the stables looked as if it had been burning for an hour rather than a couple of minutes. Bright flames licked everywhere about the building but especially on the roof. There it looked like someone had painted it with a bed of red flames. The southeastern wall was burning well too. This was awash with a wall of intense heat that curled blazing fire upwards to add to the inferno. Dark outlined shadows of men silhouetted against the burning light ran everywhere about the stables. Some scrambled in a panic to rescue their horses from a heated death, whilst others tried in vain to fight the flames using blankets and buckets of water taken from drinking troughs at the stable’s front, but most seemed unsure of what they should do as a myriad of man-shaped shadows ran back and forth in panic. I allowed myself a brief smile as my eyes unsuccessfully tried to pick out the one chaotic shadow belonging to Olaf. I could just picture him now physically throwing his men into the scorching fire whilst shouting at them to rescue his beloved horse! Time enough to retrieve Artemis’s orb I think.

  A movement to my left turned my head in an instant. The inquisitive local residents of Vingard were beginning to emerge from their dwellings. Some made a running move towards the stables, whilst others seemed happy enough to watch from their lighted doorways with arms folded. Even though these people had no love for Olaf they probably had less for southerner thieves, it was time for me to move on.

  With one last fleeting look towards the stables, I turned fully around the corner and entered quickly through the main double doors that led into the tavern.

  As soon as I had entered the tavern, I almost stepped out again, as I realised I was not alone. Two men were still seated here. One of them a mercenary by the looks of it had his eyes closed, and was more off his chair than on it! The other, who wore a big black shaggy fur coat, was faceless. He had his head cradled down between his arms whilst resting both of them upon a table. Drunk or dead, it mattered not to me. I ignored them equally and searched for the door that would take me to the sleeping quarters. Making my way past a multitude of upturned tables and chairs I imagined how the scene must have looked five minutes earlier, a rushing mob of men all hurrying for the door whilst being goaded on by the screaming commands of Olaf. The black-coated warrior raised his head from the table as I neared. A fist to the side of his head saved him any further trouble of standing. Leaving the main room of the tavern behind, I passed through a rear door and into a corridor that took me into the individual sleeping rooms. I had spent enough of my time in such places to feel confident enough to successfully navigate my way around this one.

  The corridor where I now stood was lined with six doors set along its length. I thanked the Gods that Vingard was not a large settlement. Some of these newer taverns were built with thirty rooms or more stacked upon three levels, a nightmare if I was searching there for any one object!

  The glowing red light filtering in from the hallway’s window combined with the muffled cries from outside told me that Olaf and his men still had plenty to keep them busy. Although I knew that I still had to be swift. Olaf might be big, and he might be meaner than a Reskillin water snake on land, but the one thing that he was not, was stupid. You did not rise to be the leader of your own criminal organisation by brawn alone. Some of the things he had thought up were bordering on the brink of genius, but with all honesty, these thoughts were few and far between. Sooner or later though he would realise that fires like that one do not start on their own accord. I was just gambling with the hope that he was keeping busy enough not to think about other such things.

  I tried the first door. It opened allowing me entry into a small room with the basic necessities that were expected to be found in a tavern such as this. The next few rooms were as equally uninviting, but messier than the first, nothing but beds, cabinets, and washing facilities, along with a carefree attitude to cleanliness. These were more than likely used by some of Olaf’s more favourable men. The last door I came to in the corridor was locked. I smiled inwardly to myself as I rammed my shoulder forcibly against the timber panels that made up its construction. They shuddered upon my impact but held fast. I could have probably have picked such a simple lock but time was not my friend. Placing my back as far as I could against the opposite wall I kicked at the door with all of my might...it gave in pleasingly accompanied along with the sound of splitting wood. Forcing open the rest of the door, I entered Olaf’s room. I knew it was Olaf’s room straight away from the assortment of jewels and money pouches that were lying piled upon the bed along with the three sacks of valuables that lay open on the floor. He had not even bothered concealing them, and why should he, I thought? The fear of Olaf just being Olaf was generally enough to dissuade the most persistent of thieves from ever contemplating the idea of stealing from him. But since I had done it once before, it did not really bother me that I was about to do it once again.

  My eyes stopped to linger over the scattered jewels positioned at the end of the bed. Taking my time, in particular, to lovingly admire one single large red ruby before another yell from outside quickly brought me back to reality.

  Shaking my head free from the hypnotic call of the gems, I reached for the first sack and shook its contents all over the bed. A wide assortment of necklaces, chains, and finely carved artefacts, along with all manner of other strange, and unusual objects came flowing out of it for the delight of my eyes…no orb. I reached for the second sack and again a rich assortment of valuables were laid bare before me. I had to wonder looking at the riches, how much of it was intended for Vorgannon’s cause, and how much of it for Olaf’s? I was about to reach for the third sack when I spotted an orb-sized shaped purple silk bag concealed within the mix of the other items. Taking the bag in hand, I opened the tie strings and emptied its contents onto the bed. Out dropped a single white cloudy coloured orb looking like the biggest pearl ever! From Artemis’s description, this had to be it.

  I placed the orb back into its bag and tied it secure
ly around my waist. Then before moving to the door, I absentmindedly reached for a large red ruby and placed it in my boot. It alone would fetch a King’s ransom, and it would have been a shame to leave such a marvellous gem in the hands of Olaf.

  Once at the doorway I looked back towards the bed for the last time. An evil thought of ending my search for the Soul Crystal here and now entered into my mind. All my dreams, all my goals, and all of my wishes could have been made possible with all that was lying on that bed. But there are some things money cannot buy. The life of Baram was one of them. Without another thought for the horde, I made my way back through the tavern, and carefully out into the noisy night of the street beyond.

  The fire still blazed, and the men still fought hopelessly against it. That was the only trouble with magical fire, it usually only ever died out when IT wanted to.

  Although the entire thievery of the orb had taken only minutes, I noticed that some of the men were not fighting the flames around the stables, they more spread out than before…almost as if they were searching for something…or someone!

  Pulling the rotten smelling coat further around my body, I turned my back quickly to the inferno and headed for the relative safety of the darkness that was offered further along the street. Moving swiftly, but not so swiftly as to draw attention to myself, I passed another one of the log dwellings. I was now almost back to the spot where I had entered the village in the first place. I just hoped Jaramel had sense enough not to sit around and view his handiwork.

  Just as thoughts of my success on this mission were dancing around in my head, two arrows simultaneously whistled their way through the night and impaled themselves with a thud either side of my step!

  I halted my progress, disturbed by this occurrence. Then for some reason unknown to me, I moved forwards once again. I know not why. I guess I decided that if I were to keep going, then the arrows that I had seen might somehow not have been real, and I still might not have been spotted.

  But a second whistle from behind signalled the impending arrival of another two deadly shafts of wood that came to bear either side of my tread, only this time they were a lot closer. I stopped again. It could only be the brothers grim, Chandor and Dorran, the master bowmen.

  Gripping my magical shield tightly beneath my coat, I was slightly concerned as to why it had not reacted to the arrows’ flight. Then I realised that their intention was not to kill me, but instead to stop me where I stood… For the time being at least.

  “See Olaf, I told you Gant looked a little shorter than normal.” The voice sounded like Chandor’s, but I could not be sure with my back still to them.

  “Yeah… he seems to have sobered up a heck of a lot too,” this deep, gruff voice sounded about as welcoming as cold steel, it was the type of voice that was Olaf’s alone, “Molak, throw a little light over our guest.” Damn the mage!

  No sooner had Olaf spoken it when I was suddenly bathed in a soft, luminous glow not too dissimilar from that of my own Glowball’s staff.

  Great, now I had been spotted, stopped, and illuminated by magic! I did not count on things getting much better either.

  “Well dog, turn around. I want to see the face of a dead man.” What else was there left for me to do but to comply? At least then I would be able to see how many of them there were and look for any possible escape routes.

  I counted five in total, no less than ten paces away. Dorran and Chandor were there smaller than most men; they were positioned at either end of the group and dressed in their favoured black capes accompanied by lightweight armour to match. Each one I noted had another arrow notched ready in the strings of their longbows. The two mighty warriors either side of Olaf I did not recognise, although the one on his left looked not too dissimilar from the thug who had attacked us in Galma. This warrior was also tall and bald, and the light that illuminated the area around me clearly showed off the distinctive markings of his tattooed head. And then there was Olaf…

  As broad a man of his stature could be, squat in size, yet powerfully built. The girth around his stomach was smaller than I remembered, but this was probably due to his recent exodus from the south and the busy schedule looting the towns of the north. His dress suggested that he had not been expecting visitors, as he wore a simple large white shirt that exposed much of his chest, overlaid with a waistcoat of brown leather. Black fabric trousers adorned his legs, and his brown leather boots were mud covered. In his left hand, he held a one-handed battle-axe, but my eyes were drawn to the infamously spiked mail gauntlet that he wore upon his right. His scarred and evil face was squinting in my direction with only a vague look of recollection about it. Then the laughter started.

  “HA! HA! HA! Well, well, I never would have guessed that when Molak here warned me I had an unwelcome visitor, I never envisioned it to turn out to be the mighty Taragon Stein himself!”

  Molak? I did not see any sign of the mage until a small head peeked out from behind the back of Olaf.

  “Hello Taragon,” he called weakly.

  “Molak,” I acknowledged with a small nod.

  I had always had a soft spot for Molak and had never treated the scrawny mage with anything other than courtesy, especially when the others in Olaf’s group had seen fit to make sport of him. Molak had become one of the reasons why I had fallen out with Olaf’s number two, Lando. Speaking of which, I saw no sign of the huge brute who never usually strayed far from his master’s side. I checked the darkness either side of me just in case the tall warrior was trying out one of his infamous sneak attacks.

  I turned back to Olaf.

  “Olaf, always a pleasure,” I said in a cheery greeting whilst adding a small bow for effect, “but tell me, no Lando? Or is he still fighting the flames?” I grinned.

  Olaf grinned back and chuckled an evil laugh, although his face wore a smile his eyes were filled with dark hatred.

  “Oh, Lando is the least of your troubles Taragon. He, unfortunately, decided to go for a drunken walk in the woods near to Jubon three months ago, and there took it upon himself to fight a Razorbear with his bare hands. It was a messy affair, to say the least.”

  “A shame, I will miss him.” I mused.

  “Oh don’t be upset. You’ll soon be joining him.” Olaf’s last comment got a snigger of approval from the rest of his group. I shrugged my shoulders at the remark and said nothing.

  Now there were six of them. Five still, if I did not count Molak amongst their number. My eyes glanced past Olaf’s band towards the rest of his men who were still pre-occupied at the far end of the street. If I did not think of something fast, then there would soon be five times their number to contend with.

  Olaf raised his steel covered hand near to his chest and clenched the spiked mail gauntlet into a balled fist and back again.

  “Tell me something before you die Taragon,” he looked up menacingly, “and you ARE going to die.” Another bout of sniggering laughter ensued.

  “If I can,” I mused. My eyes searched for a way out of this mess. Anything? But nothing as yet came to mind. The only thing I did have going for me was that Olaf’s men would wait until he gave the order before they acted. So I still had some time, but for what I did not know.

  “You’ve stolen my gold,” Olaf began, “you took my woman,” he snarled “and now you’ve tried to burn my horse.” The latter seemed to anger him the most.

  “Why! and after we were such good friends?”

  “I thought it was the best way to slow you down. You known the bounty on your head is rather high now.”

  “So that’s it! You’re a bounty hunter now are you? No wonder you’re so far from home.”

  “Everybody’s got to make a living,” I replied with a grin.

  “Indeed they have. So tell me, how much am I worth?”

  “Three hundred gold coins and a royal pardon to anyone who presents your head to the King.” It was a lie, but it probably was not that far from the truth anyway. My mind worked overtime as I tried to formu
late the beginnings of a plan. Olaf spat on the ground narrowly missing Dorran’s foot.

  “Bah! By the time I’m finished in the north, I’m going to be worth five times that amount.”

  “Should I come back later then?” I knew it was not a good idea to goad the big man with my words, but my mouth seemed to be having trouble listening to my brain.

  Olaf grinned and shook his head, then raised his battleaxe towards his mouth so he could lick the blade.

  “Now’s just fine Taragon,” he said menacingly “now’s just fine.” This was it!

  “Well if I am to die,” I added hastily, my eyes upon the movements of all the men, “Then why not by your hands alone. Or has picking on these peasants dulled your thirst for fighting?” My idea was simple enough. If I could somehow defeat Olaf on a one to one basis, then I might be able to persuade the others to leave me alone for the horde of wealth that Olaf had hidden in his room. A long shot to be sure, but I knew that Molak would not be a problem, Dorran and Chandor might, as for the rest of Olaf’s men they were probably all hired mercenaries selling their souls to the highest bidders, and once they saw his stash of wealth...

  Olaf’s men looked to him for direction as he contemplated my suggestion. He then shook his head and snarled through gritted teeth.

  “Do you take me for a fool Taragon. I have enough men here to beat you even you, and besides, as you can see, I am not exactly dressed for the occasion.” He nodded towards the two warriors who stood by his side, they, in turn, grinned like maniacs and slowly started to advance. Meanwhile, Chandor and Dorran had both pulled back on their bowstrings, but held their fire. I knew that if I were to run, they would let loose their volley, and this time I doubted if their aim was intended for the ground.

  Shrugging off Gant’s putrid smelling coat, I let it fall to the earth. The object that was supposed to conceal me from my enemies had done nothing but aid my discovery.

  With grim resolve, I took on a defensive fighting stance to await the inevitable attack of the first warrior. The odds did not look good, but then they suddenly got a whole lot better!