The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 (33 page)

Flexing his right arm, Tartum felt some stiffness in the muscle, but other than that he felt good, just tired from the exertion. Looking through his torn sleeve, Tartum saw a jagged scar that seemed like a wider, uglier version of the one on his leg.

Tartum let his head sink down and sighed. “Damn it.” he swore.

“Damn it indeed, recruit. Aww, don’t feel too bad, you might just beat me yet.” Laughing, Jeth stood up and walked out of the room. Just before he was out of ear shot, he yelled, “See you same time tomorrow!”

...

Jeth found Rashlarr in the kitchen. He found that convenient, because it was exactly where he wanted to be. He always felt very hungry after Vaund healed him. Rashlarr was sitting at one of the tables, absently eating an apple while reading one of his tomes. Jeth didn’t like to disturb him while he was reading, Rashlarr never took interruptions well, but he needed to talk to someone that might understand what just happened, and right now he was the only one available.

“Rashlarr, you got a minute?” Jeth asked.

Without looking up from his book, Rashlarr nodded his head.

“Our new recruit, Tartum, has got something wrong with him.” Jeth said. He wasn’t really sure how to approach the subject. His mind suddenly seemed to be muddled. This always happened when he talked to Rashlarr, which was probably one of the reasons he avoided it.

Rashlarr shrugged. “Go tell Vaund.” he replied. Clearly, this conversation wasn’t as interesting to him as whatever was in that book.

Jeth was annoyed. “No, you damned fool! It’s not his health, I’m talking about. He’s got eyes that glow red when he’s angry! It’s terrifying! He almost beat me in our second sparring match because of it, and I want you to explain to me what the hells it is! Is he human? Is that some kind of caster trick? It’s the second time I’ve seen his eyes do that! The first time was in the Box. Then today. What the hells does it mean?” Jeth’s frustration was growing with each word. By the time he was done with his explanation, Rashlarr had looked up from his book.

“His eyes glow red? Like fire?” he asked, looking interested in the conversation for the first time.

“No, not like fire.” Jeth said, relieved that Rashlarr was taking him seriously now. “Like rubies. A deep, bold red. Both of his eyes radiate the glow, and he goes almost primal. I still beat him, but it was just barely. What do you think? Is he some kind of half breed?” Jeth asked.

Rashlarr seemed to be having a conversation in his head. After a moment, he nodded and looked back at Jeth. “Sounds like it’s really no big deal. So what? His eyes glow red, and it makes him scary. As long as he doesn’t sprout wings and open the gates to hell, I’m pretty sure we’ll be alright.” Seeing this answer didn’t satisfy Jeth, Rashlarr sighed in irritation.”Ok, if you’re still concerned, bring me some of his blood. I’m sure you can sop some off the floor of the combat room. From what I remember, your lessons were never gentle.”

Jeth removed a dagger from its sheath. It was still coated in blood. In his shock, he had forgotten to clean them before leaving. “Will this be enough?” he asked. The look of concern still on his face.

Taking a small vial from his pouch, Rashlarr scraped some of the thick, drying blood off the dagger and placed it inside. When it was full, he replaced the stopper and returned the vial to his pouch. “I’ll do what I can with this tonight, and if he turns out to be a demon, I’ll let you know.” Rashlarr said. His tone indicated he was done with the conversation.

Not knowing what else to say, Jeth resheathed his dagger and left. His appetite was suddenly gone.

Rashlarr watched him leave. He looked completely lost and confused. Whatever he had seen Tartum do, it had shaken a man that had never been shaken. Rashlarr had seen Jeth stare down a half dozen guards that had him at spear point. He’d seen him mouth off to Savall, in front of a conclave of the highest ranking thieves, without flinching. He’d heard that while he was in the Null Box, only a bit of advice given to him at the last minute saved him from starving to death, all the while taunting his appraiser. To see such a man shaken up now, after all he’d been through, was enough to let him know this was something serious.

“What do you think, Calimsha?” Rashlarr asked, in his head. Calimsha was the demon that shared his body. Years ago, Rashlarr had discovered a scroll that would allow him to summon demons. In his ignorance and greed, Rashlarr saw this as an oppurtunity to increase his power and stake a bigger claim in the guild, perhaps even take it over. He had cast the spell, and as promised, a demon appeared. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear as Rashlarr had thought it would. The circle he thought he was supposed to stand in, was the circle that contained the demon and stopped it from entering our realm. Rashlarr had accidentally summoned the demon into his own body, as an extra twist of fate, however, the binding circle was warped by the magic flux of the two realms, and infused itself into Rashlarr’s body. The result was that now the demon was trapped inside his body, and the binding ring gave his skin the appearance of him having a tattoo. Some people have told him it looks like the tattoo is moving. In reality, it’s Calimsha trying to find a way out.

It took Rashlarr and Calimsha some time to come to an agreement about how to work out the situation. Calimsha was a very minor demon in her own realm. Still ancient by mortal standards, she possessed incredible wisdom. Her desire to explore the mortal realm stopped her from tearing Rashlarr apart from the inside, and instead she made contact with her new, albiet unwilling, host. In the end, their deal was struck. She wouldn’t rip him to pieces, and occasionally she would share her knowledge with him as she saw fit. In return, he would take her wherever she wanted to go and do, without hesitation, whatever it was she wanted him to do. Rashlarr agreed, not seeing what choice he had, and together they lived a semi-comfortable lifestyle. Rashlarr learned about magic at a much faster pace with his demonic tutor, and Calimsha got to explore our realm, while conducting experiments vicariously through Rashlarr. As an added bonus, Calimsha was becoming fond of her host, or at least as fond as a demon can be of a mortal. She would warn him when someone was about to cast a spell, if it would effect him, and what spell it was. Very useful for self preservaion and to give him an edge in almost any magical fight.

They talked amongst themselves quite often. Calimsha was extremely inquisitive and plagued Rashlarr with questions throughout the day. At first all the incessant questions threatened to drive Rashlarr crazy, but now, he actually preferred to talk internally to Calimsha than talk to those outside of his head. As it was now, Rashlarr had questions for Calimsha.

“Glowing red eyes, scary, what kind of human caster could do such a thing? For what purpose?” He asked mentally to his demon.

He felt something shift inside him. He got the distinct impression that Calmisha shrugged. “Sounds to me like just another half-breed of some sort. There are plenty of animals in this realm whose eyes glow when a potent emotion is being experienced. Werewolves, Dust tusks, the great feathered dogs of the desert plains, dragons, all these beasts’ eyes glow when angered or aroused. The Kritchet even vibrate when they are in the heat of battle. You felt his power just before we found him in that alley. We knew there was something different about him. Taste his blood. I’ll know more.”

Obediently, Rashlarr retreived the vial and downed the contents. After a moment, he heard laughter inside his head. It made him shudder, the feeling was alot like being violated. Rashlarr hated when Calmisha laughed. It made him feel like he was being spun around, and his stomach lurched. A demon’s laughter is not something mortals were meant to endure, and it set Rashlarr’s teeth on edge.

“Oh my, Rashy, we have found a most interesting mortal. You will say nothing. When the time comes this, Tar-tum, will be quite useful. Finish eating, and continue your studies. You will need to know many more spells and write many more scrolls before it is our turn to train the half-breed.” With that, the laugher continued. Rashlarr no longer ate and simply concentrated on not purging what breakfast he had gotten down. He wished she’d stop laughing.

...

Tartum was on the attack. Jeth’s combat lessons had been going on every day for three weeks now, and Tartum thought of nothing else. Fighting against Jeth was the only thought worth having. Anything he could think of, any new move, any turn of his body, anything that would stop Jeth’s sinister daggers from tasting his flesh was worth the effort. He was enveloped by his magic as they fought. There was no need to hold back. Tartum fought every fight against Jeth as if it was his last. Today was no exception.

The smile was still gone from Jeth’s face while they sparred. It hadn’t shown itself since their second match. Rashlarr was now present at almost every match but never said a word. He watched them fight as if expecting something. Whatever that was, Tartum never learned, for when he tried to inquire why he suddenly felt the need to watch them fight, Rashlarr would turn his back and leave the room. After the third shunned attempt, Tartum had given up trying to talk to the man. He would just stand in the corner with Vaund and watch. Even now, he stood there absorbing every move they made with the same expectant look on his face. Tartum had stopped caring about either of them; their presence was only acknowledged on the fringes of Tartum’s mind. The majority of his focus was on Jeth and the blur that was their battle.

Tartum went low and then thrust high, trying to feign for a solid hit. Unfortunately, Jeth saw the bluff for what it was and was able to roll his shoulder at just the right angle that his staff simply glanced off the meat of his chest. If Tartum was lucky, it would become a bruise by tomorrow. Anger at his failed ruse fueled his increasing rage. Tartum was tired of all this and wanted to finish Jeth already. Their battles almost always ended in Tartum on the ground, bleeding from where ever Jeth had planted his dagger. He didn’t even bother crying out anymore, unless the pain was too much. His disappointment and shame from losing, hurt more than the daggers now. As it stood today, he was bleeding from several small cuts all over his body, where Jeth had scored minor hits.

Tartum tried a new move he had been thinking about. He thrust out with his staff, aiming for Jeth’s face. When Jeth fell back to dodge the blow, Tartum whirled around in an attempt to kick him in the stomach with Jeth’s return lunge. Jeth almost fell for it, but his hands were fast and pushed Tartum’s leg out of the way. The impact jarred them both, and they spun away from each other instinctually to recover. Breathing heavily, they kept an exhausted eye on each other. Neither man willing to lower his guard for even a moment while he recovered, fearing the other would exploit the momentary lapse.

Jeth’s face was bruised and swollen where a weak blow had caught him in his right cheekbone. Tartum realized the swelling had half shut his right eye. Tartum made a mental note that perhaps his eye sight on that side was compromised. Tartum noticed how Jeth also seemed to be favoring his right shoulder, where his last hit had possibly done more damage than he thought. Jeth was definitely favoring his right side, and the possible opening gave Tartum a plan of attack. Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Tartum threw himself at Jeth once again. The look he saw in his eyes, told him his assumption hadn’t been wrong.

Jeth was still an able fighter and parried Tartum’s initial attack, but he was falling back fast. Tartum pressed his advantage, working Jeth from his weakened right side. Jeth’s instincts and reflexes were the only thing keeping Tartum from landing a finishing blow, and the thought gave him hope. Seeing his victory at hand, Tartum redoubled his efforts. He did not want to miss the opportunity to finally defeat the man that had been pummeling him for weeks. For almost a month, Tartum had fought this man and lost. This man was standing in the way of the next step in his training. He was stopping him from progressing, and Tartum had enough. He didn’t join this guild to learn what stab wounds felt like. He joined to increase his power in magic! This son of a bitch would pay!

He saw that Jeth was nearing the wall, and suddenly Tartum knew how he could defeat him. If he could just keep himself calm enough to spring his trap, this could all be over in the next minute. Fighting down his excitement over the thought that victory was close at hand, Tartum focused on enacting his plan. He could not allow this oppurtunity to slip past him! Throwing all caution to the wind, he opened himself to as much of the source as he could, allowing much of the magic to flow into him. The sensation was as exquisit as it always was. The pain from his injuries and fatigued muscles was amplified tenfold, but the excitement of impending victory held equal sway. It was a queer sensation having the conflicting emotions swirling around inside him, but it was an old story to him and he shut the feelings out of his mind. Focusing his magic on the task at hand, Tartum pressed harder in order to force Jeth into his trap.

Swinging low, he forced Jeth to jump backwards in order to dodge his follow up swing. Jeth fell back even further and was now only inches from the wall. Tartum held back for a moment, giving Jeth time to assess his situation and realize his predicament. Tartum wanted him to notice the wall. His trap required Jeth to think he had an escape route. Lunging forward, Tartum aimed the mushroomed top of his staff directly for the center of Jeth’s chest. Tartum smiled when Jeth did exactly what he hoped he would do.

Throwing himself against the wall, Jeth nimbly used his momentum to, once again, take a few steps up the wall and jump over Tartum. It was exactly what Tartum had hoped he would do. Stopping his thrust short, Tartum reversed the direction of his blow, and without looking, thrust the blunted tip of his staff in the air above him where he guessed Jeth’s body should be. The feel of his staff hitting something solid was all Tartum needed, to know his plan had worked. The magic flowing inside him, allowed him to feel the bone snap and the muscles tear, as Tartum drove his staff up as hard as he could. He felt something give but never looked up to see, he was completely dedicated to his manuver and couldn’t spare the focus to admire his aim.