Shadowlord (Chapter III)

Be sure to read "Shadowlord (Chapter II)"  first!

Chapter III

         Taken aback by this unexpected comment, Taalg did not speak, though it seemed that the visiting trio expected him to. All of this came at him much to fast and left him bewildered. After living his whole life asking questions about his father and getting lies from a drunk, these strangers just show up one day and claim that his father banished the Demon Lord over two hundred years ago. That his father was the mysterious Bearer of the First ring. He waited long, silent minutes before breaking the silence.
         “That’s impossible,” he managed to say in a shrill whisper. His voice sounded strange to himself, and he felt as if he was watching himself from outside his body. He felt lightheaded and dizzy, trying to sort through all of this information. “It can’t be.”
         “The math, it doesn’t work, does it? Just ’cause it was two hundred years back doesn’t mean that it’s impossible though,” Falthos spoke harshly, then snarled out, “Damn magic.” Even though he trusted Que-Mora, he still distrusted magic terribly.
         “What?” Taalg spoke softly; all of this information still didn’t register.
         “Magic,” Tranth’s voice was soft and patient, “You see, your father was a very powerful mage, as you are, and he-”
         “As I am? I know nothing about magic, and I would care not to.”
         “You should be able to harvest the power of magic. You see, magic is one large mass that you cannot see, but is waiting to be tapped into and controlled. You should be able to fathom its powers and harvest its core. You cannot see magic, but must feel it in your blood. Call it forth and let it surround you. Once you have called all of the magic you require, you shape it, with a spell. Not everyone can use magic, not even I can use its true power. But you should be able to.” Que-Mora fell silent, letting Taalg reflect on what she had just proposed.
         After long moments of silence, besides for the noise of the drunks around him, Taalg spoke. “And you are proposing to teach me this?”
         “No, magic itself cannot be taught. It is differently controlled by each person. The various schools of magic only teach the simplest of spells. If one cannot find how to control magic by themself, then they are not fit to be a mage. It takes long study of spell books to find new spells. They are not written in plain print so it not is easy to read. Only the most talented of the magi are able to create spells. If one becomes talented enough, you may customize a spell book with their own spells. Your father had created his own spell book.”
         “But how do I figure it out by my self if I haven’t the faintest how?” Taalg was starting to get frustrated, what they were asking of was impossible. How could he use something he had no idea how to control?
         “If you are meant to be a mage, then you will not have to try and figure it out. It will come to you when you least expect it.
         “Okay, so why do you even want me to become a mage?” He was still confuse as to why they had come for him and asked him of this.
         “We are afraid that if the servants of the Demon Lord got to you and killed you, all hope would be lost for this world if he was set free. That is why we came here; to protect you and prepare you.”
         “What! Let me get this straight, all of a sudden someone is trying to kill me and the fate of the world rests on my shoulders, and I don’t even know why! What are you here to prepare me for?” This was ridiculous!
         “While I was meditating, not only did I sense a great force of evil, but I also sensed a powerful force of good. We believe this force is you. I will not lie to you Taalg; we want you to imprison the Demon Lord in the Crystal Ring if he is freed. We will try to stop any from reaching the ring, but if it comes to a battle with him, you must be prepared.”
         “So what do you want me to do? Drop my life to go on a suicide mission searching for a presumed dead mage with some strangers that I’ve known for only a few minutes?”
         “We are not asking of you to begin a suicide mission, we are simply asking you to join us on our travels. If you stay here, you will die. We will protect you and if necessary, although we hope it will not come to this, we hope you will protect the world by defeating the Demon Lord.”
         “So now if I stay here I will die? If you put it that way then, well, continue.”
         “What would your foster-father say if you told him this?” Her voice was cold and without feeling, like if she were asking only to know, not caring about how Taalg felt.
         “You want to know what he’d say! He’d say, ‘Good riddance!’ He’d only care if I took a keg of ale with me. Then he’d try to stop me.”
         “Then that is what we must do.” The white of Que-Mora’s eyes was all that Taalg could seem to stare at, for that was the only color within. She blinked and held her eyes shut for a moment, and when she released them from their temporary dark prison, the iris flared with a bright crimson. This sent a shiver down his spine. For some reason seeing her eyes as white as a cloud or as green as the bright, swaying grass on a warm summer day didn’t disturb Taalg as this did. It seemed as if an eternal fire burned within her soul and was making an appearance through the now present iris of the eye.
         “What, are you crazy? Do you know what would happen if you tried to smuggle a keg of ale out of here?”
         A grin formed upon Falthos’ dry and cracked lips, “All to well, my boy,” he said in a low murmur, “we know exactly what will happen.” He cracked each of his individual knuckles one by one.
         “There is no way he is going to let you get away taking his ale. Right now he may even be drunken enough that he would have you killed! These men in the inn will do anything for him if he offers them a little ale!” no matter how Taalg tried to make any sense of how anyone could benefit from this besides for drunken men looking for ale, he couldn’t.
         Taalg glanced uneasily at the unsteady intoxicated figure behind the bar that was his foster-father prying open the top of a new keg of ale. Apparently Taalg wasn’t the only one eyeing Kenth, because at a slight nod from Que-Mora, Tranth stood up and started walking towards the bar. Que-Mora leaned over to Falthos and said in a loud whisper so Taalg could hear, “Remember, no one dies.”
         “Yeah, yeah. Remember, I’m a knight; I stand for justice, chivalry, righteousness, and all that good stuff. ’One shall not shed the blood of an innocent. One such penalty which will result in death unless the claim of self-defense is granted.’ I quote that from the Code, and I don’t plan on dying for a while.”
         “What! No one dies! You can’t do this!” Taalg couldn’t imagine what was about to happen.
         “Loosen up, little buddy, you stay here, we’ll take care of this.” Falthos turned his gaze to Tranth. “Almost time.”
         “Now.” Que-Mora ordered.
         Falthos stood and walked to where he had seen Kenth store the ale. While Tranth was busily distracting Kenth, Falthos grabbed a keg of ale. Try as Tranth may, he could not keep Kenth from seeing someone steal his ale. As he tried to dash off to catch this thief, Tranth grabbed his arm and pulled him down. Kenth, having consumed too much ale himself, stumbled and fell. As he fell, Tranth dashed off to help Falthos.
         Falthos, struggling to carry the heavy keg, finally managed to set it upon the bar. He stepped up next to it and roared, “Free ale to all!”
         There was a cry from the crowed as they surged towards Falthos and the ’free’ ale. Jumping down from the bar and trying to flee, he was caught in the rush of drunkards. This setback was only a temporary one though, as it only took a few flying fists and connected heads to find a path back to the table. Seeing his companion free from the now all out brawl, it only took Tranth a few maneuvers and dodging a few fists to make it back to the peaceful table in the corner seemingly unaffected by the struggle.
         Taalg could only stare at the sight before his eyes. He couldn’t believe that the inn that he had seen for the better days of his life was now being torn apart by this roomful of drunks. Sure, he had seen his share of brawls here, but none of this ferocity. All of the other fights had been resolved quickly with Kenth threatening burn them all alive with his unbelievably strong magical powers. Any sober person could tell that in fact this man was no more of a magi then themselves (only if they were no a mage, of course), but to the drunkards this was enough to end the battle.
         Kenth stood upon the bar desperately yelling that they would all be turned into some horrific animal if this madness was not stopped, but he could not be heard over the thunder of the storm outside and the roar of the brawl before him. There was no way to calm down the crowd, as he could not sample the powers he boasted to get the attention of the crowd. He gave one final shout to stop or else before some crazed men inevitably carried him off the bar to the rumble below.
         The last thing Taalg could remember was hearing Que-Mora’s distant voice chanting something, a lightheaded, tingling sensation, and then black.

Don't miss "Shadowlord (Chapter IV)" !

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