Taragon Stein: The Search For The Soul Crystal

by Jason L Crocker

  With my task completed I started to move away, but after only a few steps I turned once more to confront the two.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” I said aloud as silent heads turned to listen, “about what you said of Vorgannon and the north,” I shook my head, “not if I can help it!”

  Turning my back to them for the last time, I slung the old man’s fur around my shoulders and headed back towards Baram. My friend was waiting patiently near to the rear of the wagon, whilst holding on to what looked like a leg of pork.

  “Taragon,” mumbled the weaponsmith as I neared, his mouth still full of the cooked meat he held in a large gauntleted fist, “it’s stacked full of food.” He grinned whilst waving towards the wagon, “and three barrels of red wine,” he added happily. I looked at him sternly upon hearing this, but he feigned a look of shocked disbelief.

  “Taragon! I haven’t touched a drop,” he declared hurtfully.

  “Here, help yourself,” he offered as the half eaten leg of pork was thrust under my nose. The smell of the meat was indeed appetizing, but the mess around Baram’s facial hair had made the sight of the food a little less appealing.

  “Thanks,” I declined, “but I shall fill my belly once we are on the road again.”

  “Please yourself,” shrugged Baram as his mouth opened wide in anticipation of his next mouthful. Not that I could really blame him, living for nearly three days on nothing but a measly rabbit and forest roots was enough to awaken anybody’s appetite.

  “What did our friends have to say?” slurred Baram as the remaining meat was thrust in the direction of our tree bound friends.

  “Oh them…” I replied as I searched for an answer, “they said that you were too fat, and Jaramel has the look of a girl about him.”

  “THEY SAID WHAT!” Baram’s anger exploded so that his last mouthful flew from his mouth and fell to the earth.

  “Relax my large angry friend,” I soothed, “they said nothing that we did not know already.”

  “Huh, you jest,” huffed Baram, “one-day Taragon Stein you are going to take one of your jests too far, you mark my words.”

  “You mean I haven’t done so already?” I grinned.

  Baram beamed a smile to match my own, and all was well once more.

  “By the way where is our sparkly eyed friend?” I enquired.

  “Sitting up front,” Baram returned.

  “Oh is he indeed,” I answered back and headed purposefully towards the wagon’s front.

  Jaramel was quietly eating an apple on the driver’s seat when I approached. The wooden plank that he sat upon could have easily accommodated three grown men across its width. He apparently had mistakenly thought that is where he would be sitting.

  “I heard your remark about my appearance Mr Stein, and I am not amused,” I smiled to myself and casually rested my arms upon the wagon’s side panelling upon hearing Jaramel’s complaint.

  “Well then young master mage, there is something else that is not going to amuse you, and that is that you are going to have to remain hidden in the back.” I jerked my thumb indicating to wagon’s rear just to make sure my intentions were understood.

  “In the…” began Jaramel in disbelief.

  I nodded my head, and grinned satisfyingly.

  “I’ll do no such thing,” snapped the young mage stubbornly.

  “Master Jaramel,” I began with a sigh, “in a few short hours we will arrive at Hillstone Pass. I’m expecting it to be heavily guarded. But hopefully, and if the Gods are willing, we will be able to bluff our way through with some small miracle. But since our red-cloaked friend rode in this direction, do you not think it wise that we keep you hidden from sight.”

  Jaramel lowered his head as the truth of my words struck home.

  “But if he is there, he will still be able to sense my presence,” warned the apprentice gloomily.

  I nodded my head knowing full well the risks. “We are out of options master Jaramel. I am counting that he is not there, he knows the pass to be heavily guarded, but even so the guards would have still had word of you by now, and besides,” I cheered, “I’m sure he said something about it not bothering him that we were fleeing to the south. Perhaps he has misplaced the faith that Luka has placed in his young apprentice?”

  Jaramel nodded upon hearing my words, and sighed.

  “You are of course right Mr Stein, I shall remain hidden in the back and do what I can to conceal myself.”

  “Good!” I replied enthusiastically, “I think I see some grain sacks stacked behind you, we shall hide you under those until we make it through the pass.”

  As Jaramel jumped down from the wagon, Baram appeared from its rear holding onto yet another portion of meat. With an outstretched arm I quickly stopped the young apprentice from going any further.

  “There is just one more thing I would ask of you,” I requested as I pulled the apprentice aside.

  “Oh?” Jaramel enquired.

  I nodded my head revealing the black paint stick I had taken from the young northern warrior.

  “Would you be so kind as to colour one half of my face with this, and do the same for my hungry friend here?” Baram was in the process of wiping the back of his sleeve across his grimy mouth. “It’s just that I would ask Baram here to do it, but I fear with the amount of grease he has upon his hands I am not sure he would be up for the task!”

  A short while later and Jaramel’s steady hand had coloured one-half of our faces to resemble that of an Ashar-Khan warrior. Then after safely securing our mage under several grain sacks, a grinning Baram took his place beside me on the driver’s platform.

  “Something amuses you, my old friend?” I asked as I encouraged Storm and Anvil to a start. Under a sniggering of laughter our large powerful horses caused the wagon’s wheels to turn once more as we jerked slowly forwards.

  “I’m sorry Taragon,” said Baram amidst a fit of giggles, “it’s just that I would gladly give everything I own for the price of a mirror right now.” I turned to the large weaponsmith and frowned but this only caused another fit of laughter to ensue.

  “You do look ridiculous!” he offered.

  “A necessary evil,” I quickly answered back, “and one that will hopefully aid us through the Pass.”

  “Well,” sniggered Baram, “at least if the worst does come to the worst you could always find some work as a warrior of the north.” Ignoring the comment I gave another crack of the reins as we continued along the road to the sounds of Baram’s merriment. But the moment did not last long, and Baram’s joyous mood soon left him as we caught our first proper ominous look at fortified Pass on the road ahead.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  If the South had the Great Divide, then the North had Hillstone Pass. Like some abomination of nature, the stone and wood fortifications that jutted out of the natural valley that made up the Pass could now clearly be seen at our approach. The north had been busy. Not content to just sit idly by and watch the building of the forts along the Divide, the northerner’s fortification rivalled that of their neighbours, and they had the advantage of being able to concentrate their defences into one small area.

  The first fortification that had come into view was a massive stone wall that crossed the width of the Pass. Tall and grey, it towered over the tiny northern warriors below like a wave about to smother all in its wake. My first impressions of the barrier reminded me of the stonework gate that I had passed through on the southern entrance to Ranak-Lore. Like that, this one also touched the mountainous sides on either side of it and looked to be some hundred paces wide, but unlike the gate there, this one was twice as high and looked twice as thick, and three times as foreboding.

  Baram shifted uneasily in his seat as we approached the first group of northern warriors.

  “Relax my friend,” I whispered in concern over his anxiety, “for now, just imagine that these are our friends.”

  As we came up upon the troop, I saw from the corner of my eye Ba
ram return a nod of greeting to one before we passed them by to continue our slow but resolute wagon ride.

  Up ahead stood our goal. An enormous open gate was housed in the wall’s centre some two hundred paces away. This was our salvation. This would hopefully be the gate that would see us through to the Nazoran Battle Plains and to the south, and all we had to do was keep on this road until we were through it. But before that, our way led between many low wooden buildings that had the makings of a village and about two hundred northern warriors of varying clans that had gathered for the defence of the Pass. However, this was something of an advantage, as what would two more armed men be in two hundred?

  As I eyed the multitude of people that milled around in their own concerns, I looked for the one red-cloaked figure among them that would signal our doom.

  So far our fortunes held.

  As we reached the edge of the fortified village and to the first of the buildings, I looked across and noticed a similar building on the opposite side of the road. Both were stables, each one large enough to house around three hundred horses. It was then that I realised just how undermanned Hillstone Pass actually was. I had estimated two hundred warriors from what I could see, and that did not include the twenty or so figures that were watching from on top of the wall’s battlements. But in reality, the pass could easily accommodate ten times that number! The long rows of wooden buildings would have easily supported a good couple of thousand troops. Obviously, the north was not expecting an aggressive attack to come from the south, not since they were the ones doing all the aggression! Still, judging by that wall, once the gates were closed, an army on its opposing side would be hard pressed to take it even with the diminished force on this side.

  Halfway through the encamped village and a sudden violent cry to my right turned my head in that direction, and sent my hand to my crossbow. Two warriors stood there fighting in the mud outside what appeared to be a tavern. One looked to be from the Ashar-Khan tribe as his face was coloured like mine. The other was taller and bald, his face marked by the blue paint that I had seen on several occasions before. Each warrior attacked the other viciously, each intent on the other’s demise. One wielded a curved sword, the other a spiked mace. Just as I was straining my neck to see the outcome of the fight, several other armed warriors from each representative’s clan came running from all directions to join the fray. It seems that at best, the union of the northern tribes was a frail one.

  Leaving the unresolved commotion behind, we continued on past many other buildings forever inching our way closer to the gate that would signal our passageway into homeward lands. We travelled in silence, not willing, or maybe not able to talk, as we passed yet another northern warrior for fear of being discovered.

  I took an opportunity to casually glance across to Baram to see how he fared. The big man was sitting wrapped within his Razorbear furs, his huge arms were folded across his chest and he wore a blank expression whilst glaring forwards. I had noticed that while some of the northerners had offered him a greeting, others had gone out of their way to avoid his eye. To them he must have looked like a barbarian warlord, a chieftain, a man not to be trifled with, and in another life, it may have been so. But to me, he was simply Baram.

  As we were finally approaching the end of the buildings, something new came into view. There were two of them, and they sat either side of the path we travelled, between the last of the buildings and the great wall itself. From this distance, I could not make them out too clearly, but as we neared, I saw them for what they were.

  Catapults! Two of the largest that I had ever seen were angled upon stone ramps and positioned to face the wall. They were easily three times bigger than any anything I had ever witnessed before. Huge amounts of timber and a colossal effort must have gone into their construction. You could have built an entire house from the wood of just one of them! Their firing arms alone were as long as a fully-grown Elderwood tree, and their bowl-like scooped ends intended for the missiles would have easily allowed several large horses to stand within its confines! Looking at the monstrosities I could hardly believe that men could make such things, and as I eyed the immense sized boulders that stood nearby to a complex array of pulleys and ramps that led to each of the catapults, a sudden dark doubt concerning the stability of the Ring of Steel clouded my mind.

  “Well, would you look at those!” said Baram in awe, just as a passing tattooed warrior looked up in casual interest.

  “Yes, and let us be glad that they are too large to fit through these gates,” I said in hushed tones as I looked behind to check on the northerner’s passing, “and also let us not forgot where we are master weaponsmith,” I added in cautious warning.

  With a discreet cough, Baram returned to his old demeanour, whilst I set my sights on the gate that now lay ahead.

  As we approached the guarded gateway, I could clearly see through its open archway to the Nazoran Battle Plains which lay on its opposite side. Looking longingly at the brown unfertile soil of the Plains stretching off far to the glorious south, I began to feel a strange sensation stirring within me. It was a sense of …happiness…of joy…and felt similar to the experience I would get when I would win large amounts of gold from eager fools too willing to part with it. I believe that in those few moments, I experienced the unexpected sensation of what I could only call… pride. But when a burly armoured gate captain stepped out in front of several other armed men to bar our passage, I quickly put aside all such foolish notions.

  As our wagon slowed in accordance with the tall warrior’s signalled wishes, I tried to gauge the measure of this man who denied our progress. His outward appearance gave no clues to his mood, and the only thing that set him apart from the men around him was the full chain-mail coat he wore, tied by an oversized belt about the waist. Apart from that, he looked like every other man around here, large, brutish, and extremely ugly.

  With one hand supporting a hefty spiked mace that was carried casually over the shoulder he approached to take hold of Storm’s harness. Then with a scrutinising glare over Baram and myself, he walked slowly towards us along my side of the wagon.

  With a subtle nod of acknowledgement, I greeted the man without trying to give too much away. If we were going to get through this, I would have to try and convince him that I was a northerner without upsetting him too much in the process. As I placed the image of a proud Ashar-Khan warrior in my mind, I suddenly realised that I knew nothing of Ashar-Khan diplomacies concerning their relationships to others.

  “Well, it was too late for that now,” and as the large gate keeper drew level to my seat, the last thought in my head was, “five hundred gold!”

  “Nice looking horse,” commented the man in a voice as rough as the rest of him.

  “My own,” I replied in a tone thought befitting of Ashar-Khan warrior.

  “And the one to the rear,” he enquired looking to Udos.

  “Also my own,” I replied again, “should I leave him here, then I would have none to return to!”

  “Huh! You’re probably right there,” snorted the warrior as his eyes fell on Baram.

  “And you!” I turned to see Baram’s stony face look meet the man's challenge, “I see you wear the chainmail too!”

  Baram said nothing in return but replied instead only with a small nod before returning to stare blankly forwards once more. Shocked at his lack of respect given our current situation, I turned backed to face an instant look of disapproval as the northerner’s gaze met mine. If I did not think of something fast, then we could be in serious trouble.

  “You must forgive my friend,” I whispered quietly whilst leaning over for the benefit of the gatekeeper’s ear, “he has spent much time by himself in the mountains, and he is not one much for talking. He also hasn’t the capabilities for understanding if you know what I mean,” I tapped my finger on my head in the hope to emphasise this. “But I have seen him strangle two Wolvern with his bare hands, and he is eager to have the blood of South
erners stain his axe.”

  The northerner’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Baram with new eyes, and then grinned to reveal three missing teeth, it seemed that now he met with his approval.

  “Good! And he shall have his chance,” sneered the warrior. “This food is intended for the rear guard. Take the wagon six miles south of the road you will find behind their central fort. There you will be joined by warriors that will escort you to the rear supply camp.”

  Keeping my emotions within me and praying that Baram would do the same, I nodded as if I had been given a job to do.

  “One more thing, keep away from the eastern edge of the Plains ahead, their central and western forts have fallen, but the dogs still hold sway over the eastern one.”

  “It has not fallen yet?” I asked casually, but with concealed genuine interest.

  “No, but it will. That apprentice of Vorgannon’s…what’s his name, Menon, that was it, Menon, he leads the Malikans, Ikeeans, and some of your lot against them now. They won’t last long.” It felt as if a weight had suddenly lifted from my neck upon hearing this good news, our red-robed wearing friend now had a name, and was thankfully preoccupied elsewhere. But this was no time to relax, although Jaramel probably did!

  “Be off with you then,” barked the gate guard as he stepped back a pace and jerked his head in the direction of the gate, “this food won’t get there by itself.”

  Without another word, I gave a final nod, and happily set the wagon in motion through the gates of Hillstone Pass. Ten yards later and with a sigh of relief we had passed through the gate and emerged out near to the southern defences of the wall. Here we found hundreds of sharpened stakes in the ground angled to face south, just as the south’s were angled to face north. Here we found archers positioned high up on wooden platforms that clung to the rock face either side of us, some of whom were walking on precarious looking planks of wood that connected each of the platforms together. Here we also found deep pits cut from the earth, designed to slow the charge of any approaching army. But for me, and above all, here I found a false sense of security to be finally free from the northern domain.