The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1

by Latoria, William D.

  He walked down the road as quietly as he could. The silence of this world made everything he did echo, and now that he knew the enemies he would face were living, he preferred not to alert anyone to his presence. He peaked around the corner where the road cut right. The street was completely walled in by pseudo buildings, which gave Tartum a slight case of claustrophobia. The road way looked clear and seemed to only go another ten yards, before it dropped off where he couldn’t see anything. The road seemed to open up into a larger area, so Tartum slinked his way down the remaining distance.

  As he came up to the end of the road, he was shocked by what he saw. He was looking out a window of a tower attached to a castle. Looking behind him, Tartum saw the road had disappeared, and he was stuck inside this small room with only the window offering a way in or out.

  “Not bad at all, Rashlarr!” Tartum said again. He really was impressed by this magic; he made a mental note to have Rashlarr show him how to do this once he finished his test.

  He looked out the window and saw he was at least thirty feet above the ground, he took this to be a sign he wasn’t supposed to exit from this window. Below him, he could see a small courtyard. It was square in shape, with towers similar to his in each corner. Only one of the towers had a window in it, but it looked empty, and he couldn’t see anyone inside. The courtyard itself was all stone, with large bales of black and white hay stacked up in the corners. Tartum thought if he could get down there, those bales of hay would provide good cover. Circling the courtyard was a wall about eight feet tall and wide enough to provide a walkway for sentries. Unfortunately, the walkway portion was roofed, and Tartum couldn’t see if there was anyone patrolling the area. He figured it was safe to assume there would be.

  In the middle of the courtyard there was a throne of stone and sitting in that throne was a man in a blue shirt. He was wearing a blue crown and long, flowing blue robes. Tartum didn’t think they could make it any more obvious whom it was he was supposed to capture. It was the blatant obviousness of it all that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. These tests were nothing, if not twisted, so Tartum looked around the courtyard once more, seeking hidden dangers.

  The blue robed man was very tense, almost to the point of panic. Tartum could see him shaking, and his hands were gripping the armrests of his throne so tightly his knuckles were white. Movement caught his attention and Tartum counted four men with red shirts hiding behind the far stacks of hay. Upon closer inspection, there were about fifteen men that he could see in red shirts hiding in and around the hay bales. They were equipped with crossbows, swords, and chainmail, as far as Tartum could tell. They were garbed to look like guards, but the look of fear in their eyes and the thinness of their frames gave Tartum the impression they were anything but.

  “So that’s your game, is it?” Tartum said to himself. He still didn’t know if his friends could hear, but it helped him feel in control to talk out loud to himself, so he did it. At least fifteen guards laying in ambush for him, all armed with short and long range weapons, possibly more guards on the walkway or in that far window. He couldn’t simply destroy everything down there with a gigantic fireball, because he’d kill the blue shirt he was supposed to capture. And to add to all of that, he had no idea how he was going to get out of this room he was stuck in. As he finished his analysis of his situation, a dim glow came from behind him. Looking back, Tartum saw a trap door that wasn’t there before.

  “Nice, Rashlarr.” Tartum said.

  Opening the trap door, Tartum saw a spiraling staircase that led, he assumed, all the way down to the ground floor. Now with a way out, he had an idea. Reaching into his pouch of ash Tartum opened himself up to the magic. Taking a handful of ash he infused it with his magic and began casting his darkness spell, “Krekat-sijuwith!” he said as he threw the ash out the window. A large misshapen orb of perfect darkness formed five feet away from the window and a few feet below. It obstructed enough of his view that he could only see one corner of the courtyard and the hay where the guards laid in wait and the head of the blue shirted man. Grabbing a sapphire Tartum quickly cast his dome spell, only this time he targeted the blue shirted man.

  “Esotlie bon-bon-ytei. Duun-fwalyte katai romo-wei. Tun-turu vet-jerwat lei!” he spoke and the green dome of protection shot down and enveloped the blue shirted man. The magic must have scared him because he shouted, and from what little Tartum could see, there was movement in the courtyard.

  “Well, they know I’m here now.” He said to himself.

  Grabbing a bit of sulfur, Tartum began casting his fireball spell, “Doctay-von-we!” he spoke as the sulfur came alive in his hand and formed into a green flame the size of a melon. He couldn’t decide which blur of movement to target, so instead, he chose to blast the bales of hay they were hiding behind.

  “Beath!” he called out, and the fireball flew through his darkness spell and into the bale he was focused on. It erupted in flames, and the courtyard was bathed in green light. Tartum surveyed his handiwork; it looked like there were a few more men hiding in the hay that Tartum didn’t see before. Not that it mattered for those caught in the blast; they were running around covered in green flame that burned through them faster than any natural fire would have. Some of the men that weren’t caught in the blast were trying to put the flames out, succeeding in only catching themselves on fire in the process. Tartum saw that a few of them were running dangerously close to the blue shirted man and decided it was too much of a risk to allow the fire to continue burning.

  “Uush!” He commanded and the fires went out. The men that had been on fire fell to the ground a charred mess. The hay went out, and the men that Tartum could still see were standing around stupefied at what they had just witnessed. Some were cursing loudly, one was yelling for him to show himself and fight like a man, a few were crying. Tartum was happy with the way this was playing out, when something zipped past his head as he was slammed into the wall behind him. Momentarily dazed by the sudden movement and pain, Tartum felt something choking him. Reaching up to his neck, he felt nothing there and realized it was the collar of his cloak that was biting into his neck. He looked up and saw a crossbow bolt sticking through the hood of his cloak and staking him to the wall. Reaching up, he yanked the bolt out and fell to the ground just as another bolt sunk into the wall where his chest had just been.

  Tartum looked at the second bolt and knew from the angle it hit the wall, that the shooter was in the other tower with a window. Cursing himself a fool for forgetting about that damned window, Tartum drew out a copper rod, “Yuik-rena toem-urthma!” he said; his anger was beginning to surface. He knew he had killed some of the men in the courtyard, and he knew that the man that shot the bolts at him was just trying to survive, but none of that mattered. The son of a bitch had shot at him, twice, and he was going to pay.

  Peaking his head out, his window he saw the courtyard was still a mess of smoke and bodies. His darkness spell had dissipated and his view was now unobstructed. He saw that a lot of the red shirted men were out from cover and surrounding the blue shirted man. They were looking all around the courtyard trying to find him, and Tartum knew it was just a matter of time before they figured out he was in the window. The blue shirted man was still sitting in his throne, but it looked like he was trying to get up. Something he couldn’t see was restraining him and stopped him from escaping. Tartum squinted to see if he was magically or mundanely restrained when another bolt shot past his head. He looked up at the window across the yard and saw a red shirted man reloading his crossbow. He was a very fat man, and Tartum couldn’t believe he didn’t see him the first time he saw the window. Targeting his assailant, Tartum gave the command, “Za-tan!” and the bolt of lightning flew through the air and shot into the window, obliterating the fat man and the room he was in. It was a good shot, but before Tartum had a chance to admire his skill, a volley of bolts shot into the ceiling above his head. One caught him under the chin and would have exited through hi
s skull if it wasn’t for his dome spell. As it was, the momentum from the bolt snapped his head back and knocked him down. Tartum couldn’t help himself and started laughing. He knew he was going to hear about this from Elizabeth later on.

  More crossbow bolts fired in through the window, but only sank into the ceiling harmlessly. Seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to do anything more from the window, Tartum picked himself up and took a few steps down the stairs. He quickly recast his dome spell when he was sure no lucky shot was going to catch him while he was vulnerable. Seeing his skin take on the reassuring jade green hue, Tartum picked out a few rose petals from his pouch and headed down the stairs. It was time for these fake guards to learn what happens when you shoot at Tartum Fuin!

  As he walked down the stairs, he heard a crash and the sound of armored feet running up the stairs. Taking this as his queue, Tartum stopped and said the first verse to his fire orb spell as the released three petals from his hand, “Moro-yet krat-tu-veyin doro-peth!” he said and the petals turned into three small, white hot balls of flame. Tartum waited for the men to get closer; judging by all the racket they were making, it wouldn’t be long before he would be able to see them.

  Crouching down so he could better see, he waited with his three orbs of fire rotating around his hand. As the first man’s head came around the corner of the spiral staircase Tartum didn’t hesitate.

  “Torroth!” he hissed. One of his orbs flew at the man’s head; he had just enough time to register his life was over as the orb bored through his skull. Three more men came flying up the stairs; they were all clad in the chain link armor and red shirts he had seen from the window. The man in the back pointed at Tartum and bellowed an order; “There he is! Kill him, and we’ll be free! Kill him, and we’ll be rich! GO!”

  Tartum assumed the talkative man was their leader; he decided to leave him for last. “Torroth!” “Torroth!” Tartum said, and the two men that hadn’t issued orders fell to the ground with smoking holes where their faces used to be.

  The man with the big mouth wasn’t a coward like Tartum had thought. Jumping over the corpses of his allies, he drew his sword and attacked Tartum with expert skill. The man wasn’t as starved or desperate as the other men had looked. He attacked with precise blows and seemed to be testing Tartum’s defenses. Tartum didn’t want this battle to be prolonged any longer than necessary. Adjusting his grip on his staff, he felt the tug on his magic, closed his eyes, and yelled; “LIGHT!”

  As before, his staff burst into light, and the man screamed as his eyes were blinded by the sudden intensity. As he had done before, Tartum extinguished the light and finished the man off by bashing his skull in. Standing over the man’s corpse, Tartum smiled. That little trick had saved him quite a few times now. He allowed himself a moment to be proud of his enchantment. He also took a moment to gather up a small bit of wax and put it in his teeth like Rashlarr had shown him. The light trick was great, but he felt it was smart to have a backup. His leg still hurt when he thought about how the staff light trick hadn’t worked against Jeth.

  Looking down the stairs, he could see that the sounds he heard were exactly what he had thought they were. The door was completely smashed in and laying on the floor. The men that he had killed must have been the only ones to come through. There was nowhere to hide inside, and he was positive there were men on the other side of the doorway ready to fire bolts into anything that came out. Tartum had planned for this and gathered up some more ash from his pouch. He made his way the rest of the way down the stairs and infused the ash with magic. Throwing it out the door as fast as he could, he said the words, “Krekat-sijuwith!” and ran into the darkness.

  The spell worked for the most part, and Tartum ran through the void as bolts zipped past his head. He emerged from the darkness in the midst of a dozen men; all of them had their crossbows out. They froze as he came bursting forth, and Tartum granted them no time to recover. His staff moved as fast as lightning and was twice as deadly. With a swing, two men fell, both had their skulls crushed by the might of his blow. With a thrust, he pulverized a man’s ribs and with the counter thrust crushed the windpipe of another. Spinning around, he saw two men charging him with their crossbows held like swords, and Tartum dispatched them with ease, putting one of their own crossbows into their head. The final half dozen grouped up and drew their swords.

  Tartum backed away as he saw the other red shirted men begin to take notice and run to join their allies. Seeing there were at least twenty men left, Tartum looked for an escape route. He thought about running back inside the tower, but he knew he would be just as trapped in there as he was out here. Taking stock of his surroundings, Tartum saw he was near the hay bales he had decimated with his fireball spell. About twenty yards from him was another stack to the north and west of where he was. The men were coming from the western side of the courtyard and so running to those bales was a bad idea. The man in blue was still in the center of the courtyard and seemed to be either unconscious or dead. Tartum couldn’t tell which but hoped it wasn’t the latter. He didn’t have much time to consider it, because there were now at least twenty-five men trying to surround him with their swords drawn. He didn’t have a choice any longer, he decided to make a break for the hay bales, but as he took his first few steps towards them he saw more red shirted men pop out from behind them and level their crossbows his direction. Tartum couldn’t believe how many of these men were here lying in wait!

  His anger took him now, he could take his fight to the twenty-five or so men that were surrounding him and probably be killed, run for cover behind one of the un-fireballed hay bales and probably be killed, or wait for the men with crossbows to fire and probably be killed. The lack of options was infuriating! To come this far, only to be brought down by impossible odds!

  “NO!” he screamed. He thrust his hand into his pouch and pulled out a hand full of sulfur. His vision went red and the men that were advancing on him looked terrified. Tartum didn’t care why they were so scared; he saw their hesitation as an opportunity.

  “Doctay-von-we!” he bellowed at the men, and his sulfur burst into a large ball of green flame. Tartum watched as some of the men dropped their swords and ran. The men behind the hay bales loosed their shots, but Tartum’s magically enhanced senses allowed him to see them coming and he moved to put the fireball in between him and the bolts. The missiles flew into the fireball and came out the other side as bits of ash harmlessly falling to the ground. Tartum looked at the men that had fired the shots and shook his head. The men began to panic and flee, but before they could get far, Tartum gave the command.

  “BEATH!” and the fireball slammed into the center of their group. Most were incinerated in the initial blast; others ran a few more steps before becoming fully engulfed in bright green flames and falling down dead. Tartum looked at the men that still surrounded him, more had fled, but there were still a dozen that held their ground. Yet still none attacked; Tartum reached into his pouch and drew another handful of rose petals and cast his next spell.

  “Moro-yet krat-tu-veyin doro-peth!” he called out as ten small orbs of white flame burst from the falling rose petals. Tartum found his vision returning to normal as he vented his rage through his magic. His voice lost its intensity, and the men that still stood were emboldened by the fact.

  “See boys? He weakens! CHARGE!” one of the men said. His words gave the rest of the men courage, and they attacked at once. Tartum even saw a few of the fleeing men stop and turn upon hearing the brave man’s words. Tartum smiled as he targeted one man after the next.

  “TORROTH!” he commanded, and each time he did another man fell with a fresh hole in his face or chest. The last two men reached Tartum just as he sent off his last orb. They attacked him as a team, and Tartum found himself defending against two reasonably skilled fighters. Their attacks were individually predictable, but countering both of them was proving to be a challenge. Still, he wasn’t worried; the men were fatiguing and would hav
e been dead already if it hadn’t been for their teamwork. Tartum decided to use it against them. Ignoring the man behind him, Tartum threw himself at the man facing him. Such was his ferocity that the man was quickly overcome and Tartum crushed his throat and jaw with an upper thrust that would have made Isidor proud. His killing blow left him completely open to attack, and the dead man’s ally took full advantage slicing his sword across Tartum’s back. The dome spell did its job yet again, and the man was knocked to the ground by the same spongy effect that had once unbalanced Tartum. Knocking away the prone man’s sword, he looked up at Tartum with hate in his eyes.

  “No fair!” he said, as Tartum crushed the life out of him.

  “No...it’s not.” Tartum agreed as he reached into his pouch for his copper rods. The remaining men were clawing at the walls in a futile attempt to escape. The magic Rashlarr unleashed that had created this world was very precise, and any way out had been removed. Not wanting to take any chance of killing the blue man, Tartum held out one copper rod after another and picked the remaining red shirts off two or three at a time. In the end, the only person left standing was him, and he leaned heavily on his staff. Taking stock of the massacre, he looked towards where he thought Savall might be standing.

  “Gods damn, I’m good!” He said, as he reached into his pouch to pick out another sapphire.

  ...

  “Uush!” he commanded, and the roaring inferno in the corner of the courtyard went out. Tartum walked over to where the blue man was and saw that he was unconscious; Tartum guessed it was due to his panic overwhelming him, as he had no wounds, and the dome spell was still active. Tartum was about to grab the man and carry him out of the courtyard when he remembered how the man struggled and couldn’t seem to get away. Looking over the throne Tartum saw the cause. Thin strings were wrapped all over his arms and legs that tied him to the throne. A few of the strands seemed to run into something he was sitting on.