Chapter 7

The city of Tor was alot like home.

Tarrin and the others stood at the rail, looking at the port city as they approached. The city's architecture was dominated by wood, cut from the thick forests surrounding the city's stone walls and farms. Wood houses with thatch or tiled roofs covered the visible city skyline, with the occasional stone house, tower, or turret breaking up the wooden monotony. Very few of the houses were painted, the vast majority of them either whitewashed or covered with wattle and daub to protect the wood against the corrosive salt air. The result was a city of white and brown, the white of the walls with the brown of the thatch or the slaty grayish color of those houses with either tiled or flat roofs. Tor was a very large city, sitting in a very wide basin, almost like a teacup saucer, a depression in the land around the mouth of the River Tor, which bisected the city. The buildings they could see on the waterfront were all warehouses. Tor was a merchant city, dealing exclusively with the food grown in the breadbasket lands of the Free Duchies and sent down the river by barge. It was the sole reason the city thrived.

That wasn't the only thing to look at. There were many ships in the city's wide, undefended harbor, and most of them were military in nature. Tor maintained a decently sized navy to protect ships in its waters, but Keritanima remarked that they were rarely concentrated as they were now. Cargo ships, fishing boats, and flatbottomed barges being ferried out to a wide sand bar to the left of the city had to carefully wind their way through anchored naval vessels.

"I wonder what's got Tor all stirred up," Faalken asked absently as they looked out at the city.

"What do you mean?" Dar asked.

"They have an army camped just outside their walls," he replied, pointing to the where the wall of the city descended right into the water. "They're flying Torian banners. It's a friendly army."

"And they've called in their entire navy," Keritanima added. "They're definitely worked up about something."

"We are certain to find out soon enough," Dolanna said dismissively. "Renoit said we would be here for nearly ten days."

The performers were somewhat puzzled, and not a little worried, as the ship slid into port, its ropes being caught by dock workers. Tarrin was in his human shape, using the meditative techniques that Allia had taught him to shunt the pain away to the side, to make it something not worth holding his attention. Because he looked that way, the other performers had forgotten who he was, or perhaps didn't consider him to be dangerous, and had gathered around his group of friends. "What's the matter?" Dar asked one of the gymnasts, a small, lithe young girl whose name Tarrin did not know.

"There's nobody here to greet us," she said pensively. "Usually the Dancer attracts a crowd at the dock, and we greet them. But there's nobody here."

"Maybe they have something else to worry about," Faalken predicted. "An army, a navy, and I don't see a whole lot of people moving around. Something's definitely going on."

Keritanima blew out her breath, then immediately looked at Miranda. "Don't start," the mink Wikuni said immediately.

"I'm certainly going to start," she said threateningly. "You still haven't recovered from your injury yet. You're going to take it easy, do you hear me?"

"I'm not a china doll, Kerri," she said dismissively. "If I've been well enough to dance, I'm well enough to do some of my real duties."

"Come come, my friends, just because there is no crowd to meet us does not mean we are going to just sail away!" Renoit's voice boomed over the deck. "We have a tent to raise! Let us begin making ready!"

Tarrin's position in the troupe had been redifined after the incident with the other gymnasts. Now he was nothing more than a deckhand, hired help to aid the circus in setting up and breaking down their carnival. He was confined to his human form when working in the public eye. He moved with the others towards the hold, but Miranda took him by the arm and pulled him aside. "I'm going to need someone to go with me," she said. "Sisska will be busy with the carnival, and you're the only one she'll trust to take her place. What do you say, Tarrin, want to be my escort?"

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm going to visit the Wikuni mission here in Tor," she replied. "I happen to know the current lead diplomat personally. We're old adversaries. I'm sure he'd tell us what's going on."

"What about Keritanima's little situation? Won't he turn us in?"

"No, not this Wikuni," she grinned. "He owes me a favor. I'll just call it on him."

"That must be some favor."

"Let's say that he owes me his ability to father children. I don't know about Were-cats, but Wikuni men treasure that particular part of their anatomy more than life itself."

"That must be quite a tale."

"Not really. I'm the one that was about to deprive him of it."

"Then it must really be quite a tale."

She laughed. "So, interested?"

"I guess. It beats dragging canvas around, but we'd better get permission first."

"Permission? If I asked permission for half the things I did, I'd never get anything done," she said with a cheeky grin. "The only permission I need is from Sisska. We'll leave Kerri a note."

"We'll hear her screaming in town."

"So?"

Tarrin gave her a look, at the mischievious glint in her eyes, and he had to laugh. "Alright. There's no fun in getting in trouble unless you have company."

"That's the spirit," she said with a wink and a light poke in his ribs.

After getting permission from Sisska and leaving the others a note, Tarrin and Miranda walked along the streets of Tor. Very quiet streets. For a city its size, the streets should have been absolutely packed with pedestrians. But the number of people on the streets looked more like it was midnight than daytime. Every few blocks, a large party of armed men marched by, wearing the axe and crescent moons standard of Tor and looking very wary and grim. Tarrin saw that the other pedestrians gave the soldiers a wide berth, but did not shrink away from them as if they were occupiers. It seemed that the army's presence had at least some approval from the citizens. But the soldiers didn't impede anyone or interrogate anyone. They were merely asserting their presence within the city. For what reason evaded Tarrin, but then again, they were on their way to find out.

The Wikuni mission in Tor was a large stone building overlooking the city's main market square. It was staffed exclusively by Wikuni, few of which paid Miranda much attention. Tarrin, however, attracted more than a few glances, looks, and more than a couple of scornful glares. They spoke to each other in Wikuna, and they were probably unaware that Tarrin could understand parts of it. Keritanima had been teaching it to him, and he was a very fast learner when languages were concerned. What he could understand wasn't very flattering, and he had to resist the urge to change form and smack some people around for their unflattering remarks. They didn't challenge Miranda, however, nor did they challenge him, who was obviously in her company. They moved along dark hallways lit by candles, with old wood panelling put there to give the stone structure some feeling of more than stone. Miranda approached a desk on the second floor confidently, behind which sat a rather ugly-looking warthog Wikuni with a huge snout and tusks. He lacked the humanization of his facial features common in most other Wikuni. "What business you got here, missy?" he asked in a grating voice.

"I'm here to see Jander," she replied calmly. "I'm an old friend."

"Alright. Who should I say is callin'?"

"Tell him it's the crazy lady with the scissors. He'll know who that is."

The warthog nodded and got up, then went into a plain brass-bound door behind him. Almost immediately, a tall, lanky wolf Wikuni that looked shockingly similar to Haley's hybrid form appeared in the doorway. He looked just like Haley, down to the gray fur and piercing eyes, but Haley's snout was a bit wider, and Haley was a bit taller and little more stocky than this thin Wikuni. This Jander had no human-like hair like some Wikuni did, just a wild mane of wolf fur on his head that poofed out and made it look like hair. "I never thought to see you here, my lady," he said in the doorway, with a wide grin. "Come in, come in. It's been years since we talked."

Miranda led Tarrin into a spartan office about the size of his room back home. It had a large stone-topped desk near the room's only window, which looked out over the market, and a leather-covered cushioned chair behind it. The walls were the same wood panelling as downstairs, but his walls were decorated with a few wooden engraved plaques, a parchment framed and hanging on the wall, a portrait of an austere lion-Wikuni in a very elaborately decorated frame, and a sword and shield with a coat of arms enamelled to its metal surface on the wall opposite the portrait. The man's slate-topped desk was clean, immaculately clean, with only a sheaf of papers sitting before where one would sit, and a pair of small wooden trays sitting on the opposite corner, beside an inkwell that was capped off. Two upholstered chairs sat before the desk for whatever guests this Wikuni had in his office, one of which Miranda occupied after letting Jander take her hand in greeting.

"Miranda," he said fondly, sitting in his chair facing them. Tarrin sat down as Jander smiled at her. "How have you been?"

"Oh, same as always, Jander," she replied. "Jander, I'd like you to meet Tarrin, a friend of mine. Tarrin, this is Jander, one of my most favorite adversaries."

Jander laughed. "Was I. Did she tell you that she once tried to cut off my--"

"I told him about that," Miranda cut him off with a wink.

"And she was only sixteen! I never expected such ruthlessness out of a stripling maid."

"It did get your attention, Jander," she grinned.

"It did at that," he chuckled in agreement. "Whatever happened to Duran and Lassiter?"

"Duran was killed last year," she said with a little sigh. "Lassiter works for the House Artep now."

"Pity," he said. "From what I heard, your employer hasn't changed. And if you're here, then she's here."

"Ah, but I was never here," Miranda told him with one of her devastatingly cute grins.

"You see what I had to fight against," Jander said to Tarrin. "The woman is a terror. And she was even worse when she was a young girl."

"I don't find her that terrorizing," Tarrin said absently. "Just scratch her behind the ears from time to time, and she'll follow you around like a puppy."

Miranda smacked him on the arm, and Jander laughed. "You don't have to hide in here, Tarrin," he said. "I'm sure you realize that I know who and what you are. But you'd better stay hidden outside."

"Why is that, Jander?" Miranda asked seriously.

"It's just one of the things going on around here," he said soberly, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sure you noticed the military presence."

"King Rathbonne is flexing his muscles?" Miranda asked.

"Hardly. The southern Free Duchies have entered into a military alliance, and Tor is their target. Rathbonne is mustering his army to fend them off."

"An alliance? They'd attack each other as soon as their armies came onto the same field," Miranda scoffed.

"Believe it or not, they're working together," Jander said grimly. "And it's all over a rumor that the Firestaff was hidden somewhere in the ruins of Old Tor. Rathbonne has half his army here, and the other half is turning his kingdom upside-down and shaking it to see if it falls out."

"A war, over a rumor?" Miranda asked incredulously.

"This particular rumor had some basis in old historical documents," he replied. "I think the Firestaff was probably kept in ancient Tor at one time, but it was moved long ago."

"That's ludicrous," Miranda grunted. "You don't start a war over a rumor."

"When it's anything about the Firestaff, rumor is usually enough," Jander said. "Right now, Sulasia and Daltochan are fighting it out south of the forests over the rumor that the Firestaff is being secretly held in the Tower of Six Spires. Draconia joined Daltochan against Sulasia, and that immediately brought Tykarthia into it on Sulasia's side."

"South of the forests?" Tarrin asked intently. "Where exactly?"

"From what I've heard so far, Daltochan owns all of northeast Sulasia," he replied. "They were trying to capture Ultern, the last my reports said. Marta's Ford, Two Forks, Arrigon, Torrian, they're all occupied by Dal forces. What makes that so bad is that the Dals seem to have entered pacts with some Goblinoid tribes," he said grimly. "There are Bruga, Waern, and Dargu running around up there wearing Dal livery, and you know how they are. I'm glad I don't live in occupied Sulasia right now."

Miranda put a hand on Tarrin's elbow, and he jumped slightly. The very thought of Dargu or Waern occupying Aldreth made him want to jump up and ride home to kick them out. They were his friends, his people, and they were probably suffering terribly under the cruel yoke of the Dal invaders and their Goblinoid allies. He had no idea he had lost his concentration, and Miranda's touch brought a throbbing ache through his body as the pain of holding the human form reasserted itself in his mind. Breathing a few times to center himself again, he forced the pain away from him, back into the depths of his consciousness, where it couldn't distract him from the situation at hand.

"Have the Sorcerers stepped in yet?" Miranda asked.

"They can't yet," he replied. "They can't intervene, or they won't, until the invaders threaten Suld. But right now there's chaos in Suld."

"Why is that?"

"King Erick Aralon is dead," he said bluntly. "He died last month of a fever. His wife, Amerine, gave birth to an heir about two days before he died, and she's declared herself regent until he's old enough to assume the throne."

"Did the Sulasian houses accept that?" Miranda asked.

"It looks like they have," he replied. "Erick was an incompetent dolt, but Amerine is sharp and very skilled. She's already made the very smart move of appointing Duke Arren of Torrian as general of her armies, and that made the Dal army grind to a halt at Ultern. Appointing Arren was the smartest thing she could have done. The noble houses realize that they need some stability right now, and Amerine can supply it, so they've thrown their lots in with her."

"Ugly," Miranda sighed. "What is the Wikuni position in the war?"

"We have none, as usual," he replied. "Damon Eram doesn't support either side."

"Typical," she said critically. "What else is going on?"

"Just the usual degeneration of the world into unbridled chaos," he grunted. "Wars have flared up all over the world, and it's all over the Firestaff. Even the most wildly insubstantiated belief that it rests in one kingdom gives all its neighbors enough motivation to invade it. Even Sharadar was invaded, believe it or not. Stygia tried to invade across the Inner Sea, but it ended as disastrously as every other Stygian attempt to invade Sharadar."

"Why is that?" Tarrin asked curiously, trying to shunt aside his fears for Sulasia.

"The Sulasian Tower doesn't work with the kingdom," Jander told him. "The Sharadite Tower is the kingdom. Sharadar is ruled by a Sorceress, Alexis Firehair. Stygia got their usual butt-stomping by the Sharadite Tower when they landed their marines on Sharadar's northern coast."

"How could they do that?" he asked.

"Tarrin, the Sulasian Tower has a thousand Sorcerers at the most," Miranda told him. "The Tower in Sharadar has tens of thousands of Sorcerers among its number, and that doesn't even count the priests and arcane mages also living in the kingdom, attracted there by the receptive nature of Sharadar to magic and learning. They have a literal army of magicians. Few armies can stand up to that for long."

"I guess not," he agreed after a moment.

"So, the world has become a keg of gunpowder with a lit fuse," Miranda summed up.

"More or less. As to local matters, I suggest you keep a low profile, and I heavily suggest you don't go out alone, Tarrin."

"Why is that, Jander?"

"There's been a rash of pet murders, Miranda," Jander said seriously. "Someone's been going around and killing cats with silver-tipped arrows."

The importance of that wasn't lost on Tarrin. Someone thought he was here, and they were trying to kill him. It wasn't much of a surprise, but it seemed a little bit of a surprise in that it was the first time in a long while he was certain that people were out to get him, people who knew exactly who and what he was, and how to best eliminate him.

"You can't find a cat anywhere in Tor, and the rat population has absolutely exploded as a result," Jander said sourly. "I even found one in my bed a few days ago. The people who own the cats that are still alive won't let them out. There's been no absolute proof, but it looks like the kii'zadun is behind it. A group of men arrived here last month and hired every cutthroat and thief they could find, with orders to kill any cat- like Wikuni they found. Needless to say, tensions among our own people are very high right now, because they're still out there. The idea of killing cats seems like a logical next step, and is probably being done by the same group."

"Maybe. Whoever ordered it certainly knows Tarrin," Miranda said thoughtfully. "Or knows about him."

"Half the world knows about you now, kid," Jander told him seriously. "Your description has been floated around for nearly four months."

"What do they say about him?"

"Only that he's the Tower's horse," Jander replied. "Since they know so much about the Firestaff, half the world wants to kill you to keep you from finding it, and the other half wants to either capture you or follow you so you can lead them to it."

Tarrin was quiet and very sober. It was nothing really new, just confirmation of what he and Dolanna had quietly feared would happen.

"The kii'zadun has gotten maniacal about killing him, though," Jander added, looking at Tarrin. "I think they hold you personally responsible for what happened in Suld. There's a ten thousand crown price on your head." He leaned back in his chair. "They've hired most of the thugs and murderers in Tor, and they're all looking for you, the Selani, and the Princess. I suggest all of you stay out of sight."

"I'll see to that, Jander," Miranda said professionally. "Is Damon Eram still chasing us?"

He nodded. "That hasn't changed. He's even ordered the private ships of the nobles to hunt for her, but they don't know where she is now. They caught the Star of Jerod and searched it, but she wasn't there. The captain told them he'd put you all off in Dayisè, so they're back at the beginning. With all the ships that leave Dayisè, you could be anywhere." He chuckled. "And now she's in my backyard. I'm sure you realize how much trouble I can get into if they find out I know she's here, but didn't tell anyone."

"You enjoy the danger," Miranda said with a cheeky grin. "Besides, you'll be in even more danger if you blab. I still have those scissors."

Jander chuckled and winked at the mink Wikuni.

"They didn't hurt Kern, did they?" Tarrin asked in concern.

"The captain? Of course not," he replied. "They have orders to find the Princess, not sink every ship they cross. I'm sure the King isn't too happy that this Kern transported her, but then again, he probably had no idea who he had on board until it was too late. I certainly wouldn't take on such a dangerous passenger willingly."

"That's a relief," Tarrin sighed. Kern wasn't exactly a friend, but he had been a solid man, and Tarrin respected him. He didn't want to see anything bad befall him because of the fact that he had taken them to Dayisè.

"I think that's about it," Miranda said. "How is life behind a desk suiting you, Jander?" she asked curiously.

"It's not as exciting as the Service, but it has its moments," he replied. "Instead of skulking around with a dagger, now I play wordgames and diplomatic chess with Torian lackeys."

"Sounds safer."

"It is, but it's still not quite as fun as the Service. Before, we kept score by staying alive. Here, it's more a contest of reputation, rumor, and hearsay."

"You can keep it," Miranda said calmly.

"Why don't you come join me?" he asked. "I still have a place open in my staff for you."

"I'm sure it also includes a place in your bed," Miranda winked.

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't find the idea to be repulsive," he said calmly.

"I was never meant to settle down, Jander," she told him with a gentle smile. "In a way, I'm already married. It's just to my job."

"Ah well, one can always try," he sighed, then he stood up. "I think the two of you had best get back to where you belong. If I stay in closed doors with strangers too long, certain people may get curious, and I'm sure that's something you'd prefer to avoid."

"No doubt there," Miranda said as she stood. Jander escorted them to the door, where he took Miranda's hands and gave her a lick on the cheek. "You keep yourself well, Miranda."

"I always do, Jander," she replied, patting him on the cheek.

"What was that all about?" Tarrin finally asked after they had left the building.

"Jander has a crush on me," she replied matter- offactly, almost as if she were discussing the weather. "I used to use that against him, back when he worked for Damon Eram."

"That's mean, Miranda, playing with his affection like that."

"I told you once before, Tarrin, I'm not a nice girl," she told him with a wink. "In my line of work, love is a weakness to be exploited. I'm not about to ignore such an available opportunity."

"Sounds lonely."

"It can be, but the rewards do occasionally make up for it," she told him.

"How far did you have to go to do your job?" he asked in a hesitant curiosity.

"Are you working around to asking me if I had to flip my skirt?" she asked, then she laughed. "Sometimes I forget how naive you are, Tarrin. I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking. Sometimes luring a mark into bed was part of what had to be done to get information. And it's not an entirely unpleasant thing to do, you know. The right mark can make it very entertaining."

Tarrin blushed, and looked away from her. That made her laugh harder.

"Come on, admit it. I know you're not as pure as you're trying to make me believe. That Were-cat blood of yours runs even hotter than ours. I've heard yours and Allia's little discussions about that."

"You're impossible."

"No, I'm just not embarassed," she retorted, jabbing him in the ribs. "I heard you and Jesmind had quite the emphatic relationship. When you weren't trying to kill each other, you were--"

Tarrin poked her in the belly, just hard enough to make her cut her statement short. "What me and Jesmind did is no concern of yours," he said primly.

"True," she admitted, "but neither of us are the angels you want to make of us. I'll promise not to be shocked that you're not pristine, if you promise not to be shocked that I'm not either."

Tarrin looked at her, then he laughed helplessly. "I'm not used to this from you," he said.

"You've never asked before."

"You've just totally destroyed my vision of you," Tarrin teased.

"Sure I did," she said scathingly.

Tarrin laughed again. "Well, I guess I can agree to that. But I don't think I want to know any of the details."

"Come now, Tarrin, I'm not about to spend days going over my numerous affairs and conquests with you," she grinned. "I demand reciprocation when I do that, so you only have enough stock for one lurid tale. And I just gave that one to you."

"Lurid? There was nothing lurid in that."

"I'll just have to give you lurid, then," she winked. "A garment by garment account of the first time I seduced Jander."

"I think I'll pass."

"Too late," she teased. "Now you're going to hear it, whether you want to or not."

"Not today," he said, then he lunged forward and started running away from her.

"Tarrin!" she called in surprise, picking up her skirts and running after him. "This is not funny! My big sister will kill you if you leave me alone!"

That was about the only thing that reminded him of where they were and what their position was. He slowed to a stop and let her catch up to him. Being playful was all well and good, but they were in a town which was full of potential enemies. And what was worse, he just made Miranda shout out his name, which was probably heard by half the other people on the street. He berated himself for his carelessness as she reached him, giving her a pained look.

"I just messed up," he said with sincere chagrin. "I'm sorry."

"I did too," she said with a wince. "I called for you out of surprise. I know better than that. A first mission rookie wouldn't have made such a stupid blunder. Right now, we need to get back to the ship without attracting any attention to ourselves, and making damn good and sure nobody is following us."

"I think that's a really, really good idea," he said, taking her arm after she offered it to him.

Miranda didn't know the streets of Tor very well, and neither did Tarrin. They meandered almost aimlessly while keeping the docks in view, which sat at the bottom of the shallow depression in which the city sat and were visible from almost anywhere in the city, to mark their progress as they moved towards them in their roundabout pattern. Tarrin didn't really feel all that much fear or trepidation at what they were doing, but his mind was clearly focused on the task at hand, and his eyes searched the other pedestrians to see if they seemed hostile, or seemed to recognize the pair. Miranda was the one who kept watch for anyone that may be following them.

After nearly half an hour of zigzagging through the streets of Tor, Miranda pulled them into a narrow alley between two warehouses near the docks. The alley was strewn with empty wooden crates and other refuse, some of it not smelling very pleasant. "Come on, now we hide and see if someone comes looking for us," she whispered to him as they retreated down the alley. Miranda silently cursed as they reached a corner of it, and found a stone wall blocking the alley some paces away. The alley only had one entrance. "Hide," she said, ducking behind a stack of crates near that corner. The crates were old and rickety, and they had wide areas between the slats that would let someone look through them to see what was inside. In this case, they let Tarrin and Miranda look up the alley with them blocking anyone from seeing them, for the alley's gloom made the crates' interiors dark.

They waited in tense silence for nearly ten minutes, until a single lean man appeared at the end of the alley and stopped. He was thin and wiry, rather tall, with greasy black hair and olive-colored skin that marked him as Torian. He had a shortsword in his hand. Another man appeared, then another, then another, and they kept appearing at the end of the alley, until nearly twenty men, all armed, blocked off the entrance to the alleyway. From the lighting and the way the swords reflected it, Tarrin figured that they were either highly polished, or they were silvered. He doubted such ruffians would take such care of their weapons, so he decided grimly that the weapons were silvered.

Twenty men blocked off their escape, all of them holding weapons that could deal him real injury, and Tarrin was unarmed. But the alley was very narrow, only about eight spans wide, and it would prevent any more than two of them from threatening them at any one time. Tarrin weighed the options quickly. Sorcery was an option, but the Goddess' warning reminded him that he'd have to change form to try that. He may have his regeneration in human form, but not his Were-cat body's power and resistance. Just like when Sheba attacked, he thought if he could use it quickly, maintain contact for an absolute bare minimum of time, he may be able to get them out without endangering himself.

That seemed to be the best course of action. There were too many to fight, even for him. He may have his Were- cat speed and power, but those were silvered weapons, and he could take no chances that a lucky stroke would put him down. He had to protect Miranda. Stepping back from her, he closed his eyes and changed form, feeling the ache vanish as his body returned to its natural state. Staying behind the crates, as Miranda looked on, Tarrin reached out for the Weave--

--and was suddenly assaulted by it! Power flooded into him at a rate that shocked him to the core, a rate that defied the magical balance of the area. There just weren't enough strands to support the amount of power he was drawing. He didn't have time to think about where it was coming from, because he was almost immediately struggling against it. It was too much, too fast! Control was out the window in a heartbeat, and Tarrin's mind floated within a realm of pure magical energy. But the Cat reacted where Tarrin's mind was incapable of doing so, beating back the magical onslaught to the point where his rational mind could respond to the crisis. He had to sever himself, and he had to do it now, or he was going to die.

It was the hardest thing he ever did in his life. It was like trying to chop down a tree with a butter knife. But he managed to turn the power flooding him against itself, using the power to choke off the rampaging inundation trying to fill him, until he cut the connection. The backlash defied description, a blasting wave of pain that started in his soul and lashed out through his body, extending past his body to generate a short blast wind that stirred up the dust around him, knocked Miranda from her feet, and toppled the stack of crates behind which they were crouching.

Panting, disoriented, Tarrin sagged towards the ground, trying to clear the cobwebs. What had just happened?

He recovered his wits just in time to see the point of a sword trying to stab him through the eye.

Moving with a speed that startled his attackers, Tarrin smacked the sword aside by hitting the flat of the blade with his paw. He felt the burning sting in that touch. The weapon was silvered. He was on his feet in an instant, hulking over the men filling the alley, eyes radiating that greenish aura that so clearly marked his anger. He struck again at the man that tried to kill him before he could recover, slashing his paw down with all five claws out. The savage blow hit the man in the forehead, claws shearing into bone as his inhuman power slammed down through the man's skull. Tarrin's claws literally ripped the man's face off as they travelled down through the face, then ripped huge lines in the man's chest before his claws came free of flesh just below the breastbone. The man went down, smashed down to the place where he had been standing. Tarrin shook the tatters of flesh, hair, and bits of bone out of the hooks of his claws and gave the remaining men an evil look, and that made the others hesitate a moment.

Tarrin extended the claws on his other paw and hunkered down into a wide-pawed stance, eyes blazing in his anger and a savage snarl twisting his expression. Ears back, tail straight out behind him, fangs bared, he dared them to come within his reach by growling deep in his throat.

"What are ye waitin' fer!" a man near the back called. "Ye got the swords, an' he knows it! Kill 'im!"

The two in the front rushed forward as Miranda quickly crawled behind Tarrin, swords leading. They slashed at him and stabbed at him at the same time, but Tarrin's paws whipped out to intercept them. The manacles on his wrists suddenly became more than decorations, as he used them to parry the deadly silvered swords, letting their killing edges strike the black steel of the heavy manacles and using his strength to push them out of danger. The two men were good, very good, using their weapons in a complementary fashion that didn't give Tarrin the time to strike back with his paws, and kept both his feet solidly on the ground to keep his balance. The chiming sound of steel on steel rang through the alley as the Were-cat feverishly kept those killing swords at bay, blocking them with the manacles, smacking at the flats of blades with open paws, and evading whenever he could. The two men worked in conjunction to keep him off balance, prevent him from using his power, forcing him to rely on his speed to keep himself out of harm's way. But the two men began to show clear frustration that they couldn't reach the unarmed adversary, that no matter how clever or intricate they were with their feints and stabs, he could always intercept the blades before they reached his skin. They didn't understand that Tarrin had been specifically trained for unarmed combat by Allia, Binter, and Sisska, that he had a keen understanding of how to use his Were gifts to be the equal of an armed opponent. Humans that were well trained to fight were dangerous, as these two men admittedly were, but their fatal flaw against him was that they could not match his speed. Tarrin fell back on the training he received, keeping their weapons away from him, making them get impatient or angry and make that fatal mistake that would let him turn the tables on them.

And it came. The man on the left stabbed at him as the man on the right raised his sword over his head in preparation of a vicious overhanded blow that Tarrin could not hope to parry with only one arm. But Tarrin had one more limb, a limb longer than all his others. As he parried a savage overhanded chop from the man on his left with both paws crossed to catch its edge in a V formed by the manacles, Tarrin's tail lashed out from between his own legs and swept up between the legs of the man on his left, who was pulling his sword back to stab at him again. His tail slammed into the crotch of the man on the right, who immediately winced, cried out, and sagged towards the ground with his knees locked together and both hands cupping his injured groin. Tarrin used that space to wrest the sword caught between his wrists to the right, then brought up his left foot and planted it in the man's belly with enough force to rupture internal organs, sending him flying back into the men behind him and giving Tarrin a precious few seconds to prepare for the next wave. The sword dropped, but Tarrin caught it by the hilt even as his tail wrapped around the hilt of the sword the other man dropped, pulling it up into his paw. The swords' hilts were almost too small for his oversized paws to hold, but he had enough space with which to work.

These were not opponents he could fight hand to paw without taking a wound. They were very well trained, very good fighters, and he afforded them the respect they deserved. He needed the cushion of space a weapon would provide.

An armed Tarrin advanced slightly, so that anyone trying to step over the bodies of the men in front would have to dodge his swords while they did it.

"Who's next?" he asked in a cold voice.

They rushed forward immediately, coming over the two bodies by stepping on them, and Tarrin met them. They found out, to their shock and dismay, that Tarrin was more than competent with swords, even wielding two at once, and his inhuman power made trying to fence with him a deadly proposition. Single parries and killing blows felled the first two to come over the bodies, as the power in the parry knocked each man out of position and set him up for the killing stroke. Allia was a master of two-weapon combat, and she had taught some of that technique to her brother. He now used that, falling back on forms she had taught him on how to move with and use the two swords to maximize the confusion and uncertainty of his opponents. They never knew which would strike first, or how or when the second sword would strike like a viper at them while they were still engaged with the first.

Tarrin cut down four more men in a fast, furious flurry of striking swords, cutting flesh, and agonized screams, until a kneehigh knot of bloody bodies separated him from them. The two men in front suddenly lunged towards the walls, opening a space between them right in the middle of the alley. That was when he saw the crossbow. He desperately slashed across his body even as the weapon discharged at him, hitting the heavy quarrel in midair as it buzzed angrily right for his heart and deflecting it to the side. The edged head of the quarrel sliced across his upper left arm, leaving a bloodly line across it and creating a burning, stinging wound that he could feel was quite different from anything he had ever had before. He reared back and threw the sword in his right paw back down that line, between the front men that had moved aside to let the crossbowman get a clear shot. It hit the man pommel first, but it struck him right between the eyes, caving in the skull and making both of his eyes pop out of their sockets.

The man to the right, that had moved out of the way, suddenly sprouted a dagger in his neck. It was a little thing with a handle designed for throwing, but it was good enough. The man gurgled once before sagging to the ground, trying to hold in his lifeblood with his hands. Tarrin glanced back to see Miranda, back on her feet and with two more of those little daggers in her left hand, and a third coiled back in her right, ready to be thrown.

"He'll kill any man who comes over the bodies, and I'll kill anyone who stands around," Miranda warned in a loud voice.

"She's only got three daggers!" one of the men bolstered the others.

"Yes, but which three of you want to die?" she challenged in a calm voice, rearing the dagger back just a little more.

It hung there for a moment. The alley was too narrow for them to rush in all at once, and the bodies piled up between them and the Were-cat made trying to get close enough to use their swords suicidal. They were a little taken aback that the Werecat had deflected a quarrel shot at point blank range from a heavy crossbow, one of the most powerful missle weapons made. And they couldn't just stand there, or the Wikuni would kill three more of them with her daggers.

That made the men in front turn and flee, but the men behind, shielded from the daggers and hungry for the reward, refused to give ground. They pushed at each other until one man screamed and went down with a sword in his belly, and that started a short, nasty fight between the former allies as the men in danger actually attacked the men keeping them from retreating. Tarrin and Miranda wisely ducked around the corner of the alley and peeked around it, watching the short melee from the safety of cover. Five more men died at the hands of their own, until they finally managed to move their brawl to the mouth of the alley, where they simply scattered.

Tarrin blew out his breath, then winced when Miranda placed a torn piece of her dress over the bleeding cut in his arm. "That was nervous," she said calmly, putting pressure on the wound to control the bleeding.

"That was fast thinking," he complemented.

"I'm paid to think fast, Tarrin," she replied calmly. "It's something of a job requirement. Is this alright?"

"It burns like fury, but it's not deep," he replied, putting his paw over the cloth.

"Let me get my dagger, and we'll get out of here," she said. "I don't think we want to go out the same way they did. You think you can jump us over that wall?" she asked, pointing to the wall blocking the alley.

He looked at it. It was only fifteen spans high. He groaned audibly. "I could have done that in the first place," he said contritely. "We never had to get mixed up with them."

"We didn't have time to do it before," she assured him. "And I wanted to get a look at them. What happened with, whatever it was you did?" she asked.

He blew out his breath. "Something I have to talk to Dolanna about," he said. "I tried to use Sorcery, but-" he shuddered. "I never had a chance. I was completely overwhelmed, almost immediately. That's never happened like that before."

"Let's talk about it later. Let me get my dagger, and let's get out of here."

"Where were you hiding those?" he asked curiously. The light, rather revealing dress she was wearing didn't exactly support little folds and gaps where daggers could be hidden.

"You don't want to know," she winked as she approached the dead man with her dagger sticking out of his neck.

Shirt off, Tarrin held very still while Dolanna sewed up the cut on his upper arm by the light of the lantern sitting by his bed. It had missed his brand by a few fingers, fortunately, but he was more worried about Dolanna. She sewed up the cut with no regard for her own safety, and he was keenly aware that a single pinprick could turn her Were. That needle had his blood all over it, and it only took the tiniest drop to begin the change. Tarrin marvelled at how fearless Dolanna tended to be around him, fully aware of the incredible danger he posed to her, and that never failed to endear her to him more and more. That she could be so selfless, so confident that he wouldn't do anything to hurt her touched him deeply, and reminded him again and again how important the small, dark-haired Sorceress was in his life.

She hadn't been as angry as he thought she would. Keritanima was another story. She had all but exploded when she found the note, and even now he could hear her berating Miranda in the next cabin, shouting at the top of her lungs.

"I did not see anything wrong with you going out alone, Tarrin," Dolanna said calmly in a lull of Keritanima howling. "You are a grown man, after all, and Miranda has the sense to not lead you astray. I trust your judgement."

"I appreciate that, Dolanna. You think you can explain that to Kerri?"

Dolanna gave him a light smile, then went back to her work. "Probably not. She is blinded by her love for both of you. How did they track you down?"

"By my stupidity," he said with a grimace. "I was playing with Miranda, and I forced her to shout my name. I guess someone that's not friendly overheard it. When we ducked into an alley to see if we were being followed, we had no idea it was a dead end. We had to fight."

"An honest mistake," she said calmly, cutting the thread and tying it off. "After so long on the ship, and after all that has happened, I cannot fault you for not being more careful in the city. Just let this remind you to be careful in the future."

"There's no problem with that," he grunted.

The door opened, and Allia entered. She looked a little annoyed for some reason. She stopped when she saw Dolanna patting blood away from the sutured cut in Tarrin's arm. "What happened?"

"Me and Miranda got bushwhacked in the city, by men with silvered swords," he said.

"Are you and Miranda well?"

"We're fine. I got this little cut. Miranda came back without a scratch."

"How many did you defeat?"

"Six or seven," he said. "I wasn't exactly counting. I didn't kill all of them. I left two of them alive."

"You must count," she chided. "You cannot sing of your honor without knowing exactly how much honor you have accrued, and leaving a defeated opponent alive is more honorable than killing. Any child can kill, but a true warrior of honor can defeat foes without killing."

Dolanna snorted slightly.

"Why are you back? Aren't you supposed to be raising the tent?" Tarrin asked her.

"They will not permit the circus to set up," Allia announced. "Renoit tried to get them to change their minds, but they did not. They said that the circus would distract the soldiers from their duty."

"A silly choice," Dolanna said an absent voice as she started wrapping a bandage around Tarrin's arm. "The circus would put the citizens in better morale."

"Guess they're worried more about the soldiers than the civilians," Tarrin said. "What are we going to do now, then?"

"I do not know. I will have to talk to Renoit," Dolanna replied.

"I know Kerri's happy about that," Tarrin chuckled. "I saw the costume she was wearing. If she were human, she'd be beet red from head to foot. I think I saw less fur when she was naked."

Allia giggled. "I think Renoit put her in it just to annoy her," she said in a conspiratorial tone. "I thought she was going to bite his nose off when he handed it to her."

"We need to talk, Dolanna," he said calmly. "About a few things."

"Such as?"

"Well, for starters, they've got people looking for me and my sisters," he said. "Jander, the Wikuni at the mission, was really helpful. He said there are armed men hunting for all three of us, and if this is any indication of what kind of reception we'll get," he said, patting the bandage on his arm, "I think it'd be a good idea for all three of us to stay out of sight."

"Truly. Allia, bring Keritanima to us, if you do not mind."

"At once, Dolanna," Allia answered, and scurried out the door.

"I think they also know about me," he said. "About what I can do. Jander said that men have been going around the city, killing cats with silvered arrows. I think they're trying to pick me off, but that says that they know I'm a shapeshifter."

"Certainly it does," she agreed. "Because there are enemy agents in the Tower, we must assume that they know as much about the three of you as the Council did. That means that they have access to a great deal of sensitive information. But this is not critically damaging information. There is little they can do with it aside from try to find us."

"True, but if they know about Kerri, then they know about Miranda, Binter, and Sisska," he argued. "That means we have to hide them too."

"We must hide all of us," she said calmly. "They no doubt know about Azakar, myself and Faalken, and Dar as well. We are a rather unique group, my dear one. I think it may be time for disguises again."

"You don't think our carnival disguises are good enough?"

"No. They do not hide who we are, they just place us in a place that our enemies may not think to look for us," she replied. "Of us all, only Dar does not stand out. He is the only one that could probably move about without being hindered."

Tarrin mulled that over, and found her to be right. Faalken was too long a warrior. The very way he moved gave away his training to anyone who knew what to look for. Dolanna too stuck out like a sore thumb, because of her Sharadite features and the way she carried herself. Azakar was simply too huge, too unique to not attract attention. Dar was the only one that hadn't been trained to the point where the very sense of him seemed unusual or attracted the attention of a trained observer. With a costume and a bit of coaching, Dar alone could travel through the city without enemies singling him out.

"What good does that do us now?"

"For now, little," she replied. "But it is something important for us to know, in case we have need for an inobtrusive companion."

The door opened, and Keritanima came in with Allia. She was wearing a simple red robe, obviously over her costume, belted at the waist tightly. Her face was tight. She was obviously angry. "The other problem is with Sorcery," he continued after nodding to his sisters. "I, tried to use Sorcery to defend me and Miranda, and it was an absolute disaster."

"What happened?" Dolanna asked.

"I can't say I lost control because I never had control," he grunted. "The absolute instant I touched the Weave, I was drowned by power. I don't have any idea where it was coming from, because the strands around here couldn't support such a heavy draw. I mean it was instant, Dolanna. Usually when I use Sorcery, I can get away with it because it takes me time to charge up to that level, and I can weave together my spell and let go before I cross over into High Sorcery. But this time, it was just there."

Dolanna pursed her lips. "Perhaps it was a freak occurance," she said. "I cannot see how that could happen. But with Keritanima and Allia here, I believe that we have enough power to counter you if you were to try again."

"That's a good idea," he agreed. "If this is going to keep happening, I want to know before my life depends on using it."

"Alright, Keritanima, Allia, circle with me. I will be the lead."

He felt them join into a circle, then took a few deep, cleansing breaths. If it was going to happen again, he wanted to be ready for it. "Go ahead, Tarrin," Dolanna urged. "We are ready."

Closing his eyes, he reached out and touched the Weave, and it happened again. The instant he opened that link between him and the Weave, the power poured into him like water down a wellshaft. But this time, he was ready for it. He managed to maintain control enough to channel that power back at itself, an attempt to sever himself from the Weave, and then he felt Dolanna and his sisters push at the connection from the other side, aiding him in getting away from it.

And it worked. Their efforts met in the middle, cutting him off from the Weave, but creating a painful backlash that felt like a Giant had stepped on him. Tarrin gasped as the backlash washed through him, then he panted to regain his breath, flexing the fingers on his right paw absently. "Just like that," he managed to say.

"Strange," Dolanna said curiously. "The instant you touched the Weave, the strands you tapped expanded, becoming like miniature conduits."

"Isn't that supposed to be impossible?" he asked.

"Yes, but you are a Weavespinner, my dear one," she replied calmly. "There is no telling how your power affects things, because we do not understand completely how it works. Since you have the power to directly affect the Weave, we must assume that this expansion of strands is an aspect of your capability. If you can create and destroy strands, logic only assumes that you could also have the power to alter existing strands in just such a way."

"But that would have to come from him, Dolanna," Keritanima objected. "The strands are expanding when he touches the Weave. I think it's the Weave reacting to him, not him affecting the Weave."

"Perhaps," Dolanna pondered, tapping her chin. "Either way, this is something that must be studied before we can make solid conclusions. And I heavily suggest that you refrain from using any Sorcery until we come up with answers, dear one," she said sternly to Tarrin.

"I don't think there's a problem with that," he agreed.

"We will talk about this more in a while. Right now, I must go see Renoit and find out what we are going to do next. Until then, the three of you should stay out of sight. Do not go on deck."

Tarrin took her hand before she left, glad that she was there. Dolanna always knew what to do. After she left, he turned to Keritanima with a grin on his face. "I hear you had a conniption today," he teased.

"I'm about to have another one, Tarrin," she fumed. "What possessed you to go running off-- "

"She asked, I agreed, because neither of us had anything to do. Sisska felt we were safe enough to go alone, so I think you can cut us some slack, Kerri," he cut her off. "And don't be so hard on her. She's trying to help."

"I know that," she snapped, "but I don't like seeing her put herself in danger like that."

"She used to do it all the time for you back in Wikuna," he countered. "Why worry so much about her now?"

"Because we had the upper hand in Wikuna," she almost shouted in reply. "Her risks were well known and calculated. Out here, it's alot riskier, and the risk is unknown. That makes it much more dangerous." She grabbed him by the shirt. "And I resent the implication that I just sent her out into danger without worrying about her," she seethed. "I never sent her anywhere without Sisska and others nearby to help in case she got into trouble."

"I never meant to imply that," he said calmly.

"I think Tarrin is saying that you should let Miranda stand on her own feet, sister," Allia said sagely. "That you worry for her is good, but you don't need to act like her mother."

"I do no such thing!" she snapped at Allia. "Miranda is my oldest friend. I'd yell at any friend for doing something that stupid! And you're next, boy," she pointed imperiously at Tarrin. "What possessed you to take on a small army of armed men! You should have grabbed Miranda and ran! Those legs of yours let you jump onto just about any roof you please, even with Miranda weighing you down!"

"I would have done that if I hadn't have tried Sorcery first," he replied calmly. "I tried it first because I wanted to end it quickly. But you saw what happened. While I was recovering from the backlash, they engaged us."

Keritanima seemed to analyze it, looking for any holes that would give her an excuse to rail on him, but she could find none. Snorting, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a flinty look. "Well, just don't do it again," she huffed.

"I don't plan to," he agreed.

"Fine."

"Fine," he said calmly, sitting down on his bed and patting the cut absently. It still burned. He'd never been hurt by silver before, and it was certainly something he'd prefer to avoid in the future. The wound buzzed, stinging and tingling, and it wouldn't let him put it out of his mind. Even Triana's claws in his belly hadn't left such an unpleasant aftereffect.

"Is it alright?" Allia asked.

"It stings, but it'll be alright," he said. "I've never been hurt by silver before. It's not very pleasant."

"Why didn't Dolanna heal it?" Keritanima asked.

"She can't," he replied. "She tried. It seems that silver does me harm that even magic can't heal. It'll just have to heal on its own." Keritanima sat down in a chair as Tarrin sat down on the bed. "Did Miranda tell you about what Jander said?"

Keritanima nodded. "It's nothing that we didn't expect, Tarrin," she told him. "We'll just have to be more careful. All three of us."

"That goes double for you, sister," Allia said. "You are too headstrong. If we must stay hidden, so must you."

"I don't take risks, deshaida," Keritanima said absently.

"This from Kerri the Plunderer," Tarrin said to Allia with a slight grin. "I remember a stranger in Kerri's body when we ransacked the temple in Suld."

"Yes, that must have been someone else," Allia agreed with a staight face.

"You two," Keritanima said, slapping Tarrin's leg. "They left the cards. Good. Let's play King's Crown until Dolanna has some news for us."

Things were all confused.

Tarrin stood at the rail, looking out over the lights of Tor as members of the circus played instruments and danced on the deck behind him, illuminated in the dark night by torches and lanterns. His presence didn't upset them, mainly because they didn't really see him come up on deck. He was still under restriction, but Dolanna wasn't on deck, and he felt the need to be out of cat form. To reduce tension on the ship he was in human form, tolerating the pain for the benefit of the others. They weren't quite so afraid of him when he looked more normal. The moons and Skybands were obscured behind heavy clouds, and there was an unseasonably cool quality to the wind that promised a heavy spring rain was coming. That was very much needed, for the lack of rain had begun to take its toll on the crops in the fields surrounding the city.

They were leaving tomorrow. The Torians had absolutely refused to allow Renoit to set up the circus, even for one night. The best that Renoit had managed was a small, spontaneous performance in the market square that afternoon, with only ten of his forty performers. Dancing, juggling, and entertaining market goers for whatever coins they would scatter. Renoit had found it humiliating, saying that it was like being a gypsy all over again, but his performers, itchy after so much time off season and on board ship, had jumped at the chance. Now they would travel to Shoran's Fork, the westernmost port city of Arkis, some ten days travel east. The music and dancing was the troupe's way to prepare for ten more days of sailing and practice, and hopes that the next stop would be better than this one. It was also a time to remember the two men killed by the Zakkites, to honor their memories and remember their lives. Tarrin had never seen anything quite like it before, he didn't even know their names, but his distance from the others had caused that. The only names he could match to people aboard ship were Renoit, Phandebrass, and Henri. He'd heard other names, but he didn't know who owned which name, and he really didn't much care to know. The less he knew about them, the better, as far as he was concerned.

He looked back out over the city, his human eyes making everything look dark and mysterious. Only the lights of lamps and torches were discernable along the slope on which the city stood. He never felt quite right in his human body anymore, despite the pain that it caused. It just seemed to confining. He didn't have his senses, and that left him feeling curiously vulnerable. Not being able to scent or hear people as they approached made him wary and nervous when he was alone.

The lights from behind were blocked, and Tarrin looked back to see Sisska approaching him. The massive Vendari came up and stood by him at the rail quietly, her massive tail swishing behind her absently. In human form, Tarrin barely came up to Sisska's chest, and he could appreciate how intimidated people were by the Vendari. She and Binter both almost seemed mute sometimes. They almost never talked, and their activity always centered around their charges. But nobody ever failed to notice them when they were in sight.

"Tarrin," she said in her deep voice. Even when they spoke, it wasn't for very long. Directness was a Vendari trait, almost as if it were a competition to see who could say the most with the fewest words.

"Sisska. Is Miranda alright?"

"Fine," she assured him.

"I'm, sorry I got her in trouble," he apologized. "I should have done things differently."

"If I did not trust you, I would not allow you to watch her," she said directly. "That means that I trust her life to you. You are more than capable of defending her."

"I should have ran," he sighed. "I shouldn't have tried to fight."

"There is no honor in cowardice," Sisska said.

"But there's no honor in fighting when you're responsible for more than your own life."

"Wise. Binter has been teaching you our ways."

"No, it's just common sense, Sisska," he sighed. "Something I seem to be lacking here lately."

"You underestimate yourself," she said, looking down at him. She put her hand on his shoulder, and his shoulder was too small to accommodate it. "Did you do as you saw best at the time?"

He stared up at her, at her boxy muzzle and her dead- black eyes, and blew out his breath. "At the time, yes," he admitted.

"Then there is no fault," she declared. "The greatest fault comes when you do not believe in yourself, and trust in your own decisions."

He looked up at Sisska again. Her words were powerful, and he had no doubt that she believed them. Vendari were absolutely incapable of lying. Tarrin had been challenging his own selfconfidence, and her words took him to task for it.

"I must go. Binter will be angry with me if I stay up too long. He still believes me to be weak from my injury."

"There's no need for that," Tarrin said, her words still whirling in his mind. "You're fully recovered."

"Tell that to a worried mate," she said, looking down at him with a rather frightening Vendari smile. It was all teeth. "Binter coddles me too much."

"I think it's called love, Sisska."

"Sometimes it can be a nuisance," she said in a level voice. Tarrin looked up at her, and then he realized she was making a joke. Sisska, making a joke! He was quite bowled over by it.

"Kerri would agree with you, but Allia says that a person is richer to have known love than one who hasn't."

"Which do you believe?" she asked.

"Sometimes I don't know," he answered honestly. "I guess in my position, it's both a blessing and a curse."

"Do not give much weight to the Princess. Much of the time, it is her childhood talking. She treasures you and Allia as the family she could never have, and her devotion to Miranda is unquestioned."

"I know. We don't pay much attention to her when she's ranting, Sisska. We know she's just putting up fronts."

"I have never thanked you for that, Tarrin," she said. "Keritanima was a lonely girl before she came to the Tower. All she had was Miranda and us. Now she is happy."

"No need for thanks, Sisska," he replied. "I should be thanking you for helping to keep her alive so she could come into my life."

"It is our duty."

"I'd hope it would also be a privilege."

Sisska looked down at him. "At times, yes. At times, it was a burden. Her Highness was not what you would not call an easy assignment when she was younger. She was filled with anger and hate, and that made her unmanagable."

"I know."

"I must go now, Tarrin. Be well."

"Be well, Sisska," he returned, and she quietly left him at the rail.

That was an interesting talk. Sisska was even more quiet than Binter, and people thought Binter was mute. But in just a few words, she proved she was much more than just a towering wall of intimidation. There was some profound wisdom lurking behind that monstrous facade.

There was a smell in the wind, wind that was blowing in from the city. Though his sense of smell in human form was nothing compared to his normal senses, it was nevertheless noticable. A strange smell of decay, like someone had left a body sitting out for a month. There was also a twinge of other smells wrapped up in it, like the dirt of an open grave. He had smelled that before, and his mind searched for exactly what it was that smelled like that, but it wasn't easy. The same thing smelled differently to him when he was human than it did when he was in his natural form, because of the differences in how his nose worked in the two forms.

A shiver ran up his back. Could it be another Doomwalker? That was how that Doomwalker, Jegojah, had smelled, and that ran a shock of fear through him. Jegojah had beaten him like a practice dummy the last time they fought. Mindless of the gasps behind him, Tarrin returned to his natural form and tested the wind with his more acute senses, sifting through the unpleasant smells of a human city to isolate the scents he had smelled in human form. And that made his ears go back. It wasn't just another Doomwalker. That was Jegojah. The scent was exactly the same, right down to the slightest texture or nuance.

How could he be back? Tarrin had reduced him to ash with Sorcery the last time they fought. He had no body left. But Tarrin's nose wasn't lying. That was Jegojah, and he was coming this way.

Memories of their first battle whirled up in him, making him rub his shoulder absently. It had been a brutal fight, with no mercy shown on either side. It had ended when Jegojah made the mistake of pushing him into the Heart, but before that, Jagojah had been clearly winning. Tarrin had given back some of what he had received, but Tarrin was the one in much worse shape when he got bulled into the Conduit.

In any case, there were more lives at stake this time. Jegojah had killed people at his parents' home when it tried to kill Jenna, then it killed people in the Tower when it came for him. It would kill anyone between it and him, and the lives of his family, friends, and the performers of the carnival were now in very real danger. He didn't doubt that it knew where was. If the kii'zadun had been behind the men he'd fought earlier, they could have called the Doomwalker in to deal with him. Right now, keeping it away from the garish ship, to hide the fact that the rest of his friends and family were nearby, was the most important thing to do.

Ignoring the stares of the performers and the questioning look of Dar and Azakar, Tarrin rushed back down to his cabin and got his staff. It had been totally useless against it the first time, but it had been a weapon nonetheless, something to use against the undead warrior's sword. Tarrin could hurt it with his claws, and that would have to be how he would fight it this time. Use the staff to deal with the sword, and strike with his free paw and feet.

He went over what he remembered the Goddess saying about it. That he absolutely had to fight it on ground of his own choosing. That it had to have metal or stone under its feet to prevent it from drawing power from the earth. But he remembered that the Doomwalker was rather unusual. It wasn't mindless. It had a personality, and it believed in honor, alot like Allia and the Vendari did.

Perhaps he could use that against it.

But now it was time to go, to find ground suitable for dealing with the Doomwalker's ability. Ground of his own choosing. Or in this case, ground that wasn't ground.

Racing on deck, he dropped down to the stone wharf below soundlessly, with the performers, Azakar, and Dar looking on in confusion, just before Azakar rushed below to find his armor and sword.

He remembered it from before, a stone quay leading out into the sea that had no ships docked to it. The entrance was barred off by a wooden sawhorse gate, and the signs said that the quay was closed for repairs. It was the perfect place. There was nothing on the quay other than two stacks of old crates, and the wharf was a good twenty paces across and some hundred paces long, more than large enough to handle what was coming. No people to get in the way, nowhere for the Doomwalker to go to draw him onto natural earth other than into the sea. That was something Tarrin considered, but it was a risk that he was going to have to take. There was no way he'd fight the Doomwalker in the city. It would be much too easy for it to pry up stones and get to natural earth, and there was the fact that many innocent lives would be at risk. The wharf was the best of his choices for ground of his own choosing.

He stood at the very end of the quay, looking out into the sea, at the ships anchored out in the harbor. There was no fear in him. He was so used to fighting for his life, he had become numb to it. But this was an opponent unlike any other, and he fully understood the risks. This was an opponent that could very well kill him. But he accepted that, because to reject the possibility you'd die in a fight was the quickest way to have it happen.

He could smell it clearly now. The cool breeze blowing in from the land carried its foul stench to him clearly, and he could hear its metal-shod boots rapping on the stone as it marched up the quay. He didn't turn around. He kept staring out into the sea, marvelling at the simple beauty that could be found in the sea and the ships that sailed upon it. Maybe for the last time. When it was about ten paces from him, his tail stopped swishing rhythmically, as it tended to do, and he lowered the paw holding his staff.

"Clever," it said in that rasping, dusty voice. "Twice have ye sensed my coming, and twice have ye brought me to your own battlefield, yes. Clever Were-cat ye be."

"I destroyed you."

"My body, ye destroyed. My spirit lives on, in this new body. Never can ye defeat me, boy. Destroy me, and again I will come back, yes. Over and over, until ye finally fall."

Tarrin turned around. It didn't look any different. It had the exact same taut skin-over-bone face, the same armor, the same sword and circular shield. It even had the same scent. Perhaps that was a function of what made it come back. The wind pulled at his braid as he looked at the Doomwalker grimly. "I'm not the boy you fought before." He raised a paw, and it exploded into the ghostly limned radiance of High Sorcery. This was a calculated risk, but it was absolutely necessary. Tarrin fought to control himself, to not show the strain as the Weave tried to drown him with its power. He could feel the Weave expand around him, saturating with magical energy, energy that he sensed the Doomwalker could feel. "I don't even have to fight you to destroy you," he said in a tight voice. "You can't get close enough to defeat me, Jegojah, because I could annihilate you where you stand. But I don't want to risk destroying this city to deal with you. So I offer a bargain."

"Speak on," it said after a moment of silence.

"I'll fight you, right here and now. But neither of us use magic. You know that if we use magic, you'll lose. You can't even hope to match my power."

"A strange bargain ye offer," it said warily. "What proof that ye will honor it?"

"Nothing more than my word," he said, severing himself from the Weave, and managing not to flinch when the shockwave of pain blasted through him. It had been all he could to do cover his weakness. Jegojah had to believe that Tarrin could wipe him out right then and there, and he couldn't suspect that Tarrin no longer had control of his own powers. "The word of a man of honor."

The Doomwalker gave Tarrin a long, searching look, then he stood up straight and drew its sword from its scabbard. "Jegojah thinks the Were-cat would have done it already, if he could, yes. Clever ye be to try to limit Jegojah to equal the battlefield." It regarded him with those eerie red eyes. "Clever ploy, Werecat, clever indeed, but Jegojah does not fear defeat. Jegojah will simply come back again and again." It pointed its sword at Tarrin, and the Were-cat hunched down and held out his staff, preparing to dodge. He remembed the last time Jegojah pointed his sword at him like that. But this time, nothing happened. "Jegojah respects ye, yes, ye be a worthy opponent, and no easy victory will be won over ye. With pride will Jegojah remember this victory."

"Fine," Tarrin hissed, laying his ears back. There wasn't time to be disappointed. It just meant that if Jegojah used magic, Tarrin would have to risk using his own in return. "But you have to beat me first."

Jegojah saluted Tarrin with his sword as the Were-cat hunched down, feeling the Cat rise up in his mind. He accepted it, allowed it to merge with his human half to form a unified whole against such a dangerous threat. Fangs bared, Tarrin hissed menacingly as his eyes lighted from within with the greenish radiance that marked his anger. He lunged forward with inhuman speed, staff leading, but the Doomwalker moved with equal inhuman speed to intercept it. The sound of wood on steel, a hollow thuk, rang loudly in Tarrin's ears as a furious battle rage welled up in him. Holding his staff at one end and wielding it like a two- handed sword, Tarrin assaulted Jegojah furiously, mindlessly, smashing at it with all the strength he could muster. Tarrin attacked it like an unthinking animal, and that was exactly what he wanted Jegojah to believe. The last time they fought, Tarrin had lost control, and he had paid for it. He was hoping that the Doomwalker would take the bait and think that he'd snapped almost immediately. Sword and shield kept the staff away from its body, but the effort to maintain its defense against such savage power was clear in its movements. With viper-like speed it retaliated, stabbing at Tarrin's belly after a broad stroke with the staff, but the Were-cat twisted aside easily, spun into the turn as he brought up his foot, and smashed it into the rotting face of the undead creature with claws leading.

Jegojah staggered back, touching its face with the gauntleted back of its sword hand, then gave a raspy cackle. "Clever, clever Were-cat. Ye be full of surprises."

"I'm just a surprise a minute," Tarrin hissed, hunkering down with his staff in the middle-grip. "I'm not the half-trained boy you fought before. I've been taught by the best."

"Jegojah will enjoy the challenge, then," it cackled, then it waded back in.

There was no feeling out this battle. They had faced one another before, and Tarrin already knew the Doomwalker's strengths and weaknesses. The fact that he had no weaknesses was the problem. He was fast, agile, powerful, and impeccably trained in fighting. He came in with a complicated series of slashes and thrusts that Tarrin remembered from the first battle, parrying or evading each one as it came in, but the Doomwalker turned and smashed Tarrin with his shield when he was expecting a high shallow slash in from the weak side. Tarrin was pushed back a few paces, then snapped his head back just out of range as Jegojah's sword came for his nose in a powerful swipe. He felt the very tip of it ghost against the tip of his nose as it whizzed by. Tarrin pivoted from his off-balance position to the side, letting the momentum balance him as he brought up a foot to kick Jegojah's shield. The move drove the Doomwalker back out and out of position for a backswing, but Tarrin's tail came around behind his leg and went low, the tip of it just hitting the undead creature in the ankle. It was enough to take the foot out from under it, spilling the Doomwalker to the side, making it stagger to recover its balance. Tarrin had his staff in an end-grip to take advantage of the distance between them, pointing the tip at Jegojah as it regained itself.

It was unfazed by the strike, coming right at him with no fear of the weapon. Tarrin blocked a series of powerful strokes, coming at him from every angle and with so much speed that he couldn't organize himself to strike back. He lunged aside as it tried to stab him in the chest, then he hissed in pain when the Doomalker stopped the thrust and slashed him across the torso. The slash wasn't deep, but it went from his ribs on the right all the way to his left hip, over the white lines left by Triana's claws. The cut burned angrily, telling him that as before, it would not heal immediately.

The last fight came back to him, and he realized that Jegojah was going to fight the same strategy. Wear him down with a multitude of weak hits and nicks, whittle away his endurance bit by bit until he was either weak enough to finish off, or he snapped and lost control, which would make him easier to kill. The sword. It was everything in this fight. He absolutely had to get that sword out of the Doomwalker's hands, because without it, it was at a serious disadvantage. Unarmed, Tarrin could easily overwhelm the undead monster.

Tarrin bided his time, defending and blocking, keeping himself out of harm's way with training and speed. He fell back on Allia's training, becoming a reed in the wind, supple and flexible. Jegojah's sword couldn't find him, for he was always just outside of its range, just to the side of it, always very close but never quite close enough to touch. He waited until Jegojah tried to stab him again, stepping back and using his staff's length to make the Doomwalker back off, to force him to thrust.

And it came. At the end of another complicated and admittedly exceptional series of complex slashes and movements designed to confuse an opponent into defending high, then come in with a stab at the belly. Tarrin slithered aside again as the thrust sought his belly, but this time he snapped his staff up across his twisting direction, a powerful underhanded parry to the thrust that hit the Doomwalker right in the wrist. The hand was smashed upwards, the sword going with it, and Tarrin instantly reversed the direction of his move, going from a strong underhanded motion to a wickedly powerful overhanded chop, smashing the wrist again on the other side. The power in the blow would have taken the hand right off a human, but the Doomwalker's skeletal hand remained affixed to its wrist. But even its inhuman strength was not enough to keep hold of the sword's hilt as it was jarred in one direction, then the other. The wire-bound hilt came out of its hand, skittering a few times on the stone before coming to rest at the edge of the wharf.

Jegojah's answer to that was to grab the staff and drag Tarrin forward, then slam its helmeted head right into Tarrin's face. His ears rang and his vision blurred as he staggered back, and he put a paw to his face and shook his head to clear the ringing and the cobwebs. He cleared his vision in time to see the Doomwalker pick up its sword, then point it at him across the distance.

He knew it was coming. His legs coiled and then exploded, carrying him up and out of the path of the lightning bolt as it erupted from the tip of the sword. He landed on the top of a stack of old crates, hearing them groan and shift under his weight, looking down the ten spans at the Doomwalker as its red eyes tracked his movement. "Jegojah be impressed," it said in its raspy voice. "Better ye are since the last time, yes. Better, but not smarter."

Jegojah raised his foot. Tarrin remembered that one too, so he jumped again, well into the air and well clear as the Doomwalker's foot hit the ground and created a powerful shockwave that raced towards him at blinding speed. It hit the stack of crates and smashed them off the wharf, crushing them and scattering shards of wood into the wide bay. High in the air, thirty spans over the Doomwalker, Tarrin coiled up like a spring, then exploded into motion. He came around in the air and whipped an arm out, the arm holding the staff, and he threw it like a spear. His innate understanding of where he was in the air relative to the ground gave him deadly aim, and the tip of the staff shot down at the Doomwalker like a quarrel shot from a crossbow.

It hit the Doomwalker squarely in the breastplate, and punched through. It drove through its body and out at a very steep angle, exiting just above the buttocks, then drove fingers deep into the stone surface of the wharf beneath the undead creature's feet. The end of the staff came to a rest just outside the Doomwalker's breastplate, the rest of its length jutting out of its back and into the stone beneath. The undead creature was pinned to the wharf, bent back slightly by the force of the blow, left in a very precarious, unbalanced position where it could not stand up straight.

Tarrin landed some spans from it, coming down on all fours to absorb the shock of such a long drop, then rose up to his height. The Doomwalker had not moved, but it clearly was not dead. Or whatever it would be, considering that it was already dead. Then it cackled. "Your staff, it can't hurt Jegojah," it cackled again.

"I know it can't," Tarrin said in a deadly voice, extending his claws on both paws and laying his ears back. "But it can keep you from moving."

The Doomwalker gave him a strange look, then tried to step forward. But it couldn't. The staff was driven into the stone, deeply into the stone, and it discovered to its shock and dismay that the staff would not break. It could easily pull itself free, if it had a few extra seconds. But that was time that it did not have.

Then Tarrin was on it. The fact that it was pinned down like a seamstress's lace made it almost completely helpless, and Tarrin had little trouble swatting aside its sword almost negligently. It was bent backwards, at an awkward angle, and all Tarrin had to do to get out of the reach of the sword was stay on the creature's left. He ripped the shield off its arm, then he made an inarticulate cry as he went for its head. Claws slashed, ripped, tore bone as Tarrin felt the Cat rise up even more, smell the chance of victory, give him more strength, and he began to lose himself to its instinctive urges. Jegojah tried to fend him off with his arm, but he grabbed the limb with both hands, put a foot against the Doomwalker's breastplate, then pulled with all his might. The sound of snapping bone and twisting metal heralded the removal of its left arm, which came off in Tarrin's paws.

And then there was pain. He hunched around the sword that had been stabbed into his right side, almost a span into him, just under the ribs. When Tarrin ripped off its arm, its body had turned with the force of it, and brought the sword within reach of him. He felt the steel, the angry pain drive under and behind his ribs, up at an angle, driving up and through his lung. He staggered back with a paw against the deep wound, hunched over, then he coughed up a large amount of blood. He could feel it filling his lung. Laboring to breathe, he saw Jegojah power itself off the end of his staff, which was still embedded into the wharf solidly, pulling itself off its length with its remaining hand. Its sword was laying on the wharf where it had dropped it to grab the staff's shaft. Tarrin felt the pain, felt the blood in his lungs. He was no longer capable of fighting against that sword, and in his weakened condition, he would have absolutely no chance to control Sorcery. If Jegojah picked it back up, he was going to die.

With a blood-flecked cry of effort, Tarrin threw the skeletal arm in his paw, hunching around the deep, dreadful wound after he let go of it. The arm turned over and over in the air, flying across the space between them, and then hit the sword squarely just as the Doomwalker reached down for it. It and the sword both slid across the stone, and then both dropped over the side and into the water below. Heaving for breath, on his knees because of the blinding pain that throwing the arm had caused him, Tarrin gave the Doomwalker a vicious look, then struggled back to his feet. Blood saturated his trousers and shirt, poured streaming from the corner of his mouth every time he exhaled, and the pain burned in him like a bonfire, but he was not going to give up. He would fight to his last breath, and then spit in Jegojah's eyes just before he died.

Jegojah didn't look much better. Its breastplate was punctured and bent from its attempts to pull free of the stake which had been Tarrin's staff, and its face was mangled severely by the Were-cat's claws. The entire right side of its face below the eye socket was just gone, showing the nasal passages inside the skull and the grisly gray ichor that had once been the body's brain, ichor that oozed over the torn and ripped bone. The jawbone was torn off, laying on the wharf under it, and its left arm was ripped away, mangling the armor around the shoulder. It moved with a curious gait, as if drunk, shuffling towards him and then coming to a stop.

Left in a dreamy haze by the pain raging through the wound, along his body, Tarrin wondered what it was doing. Then he remembered its magic. It raised its remaining arm to point at him as Tarrin desperately fought to find the strength in himself to touch the Weave, to fend off the inevitable attack--

--and then the Doomwalker crumpled to a heap when it was struck from behind. Tarrin looked at it laying still on the wharf, its skull shattered. The body began to steam, then smoke, then it simply disintegrated into dust. Tarrin looked up, and if it not for the fact that his lungs were full of his own blood, he would have gasped.

Holding his staff in her paws, Triana gave Tarrin a grim look. He staggered back and away from her. Not this, not now! He was helpless against her, completely unable to defend himself, and her vehement proclomation the last time he saw her left little doubt in his mind as to what she was going to do now. He tried to stand up straight, but it sent a blast of pain through him that nearly sent him to his knees. Arm pressed tightly against the dreadful wound in his side, he spat out a mouthful of blood, laid his ears back, and extended the claws on his left paw. Be it Jegojah or Triana, he still wouldn't go down without a fight.

She just stood there, staff leaning lightly on her shoulder, regarding him in total silence. "This would be too easy," she said conversationally as Tarrin's knees began to wobble. "Then again, after what I just saw, maybe it'd be best to deal with you now."

He could feel the blood pooling around his foot. It was a strange warmth, when the rest of him was growing colder and colder. His mind began to drift, as images of Jesmind looking at him the very same way began to merge with Triana, that same look of reluctant duty. She didn't want to kill him. She just felt it was her duty. But it wasn't Jesmind. It was Triana. And at that moment, his life was in her hands. There was no way he could stand against her. Every beat of his heart poured more of his own blood on the wharf, and he knew he wouldn't even be conscious much longer. Jegojah had dealt him a mortal wound, and if he didn't get help, he was going to die.

Tarrin began to wilt like a dying flower. His arms drooped, and his knees bent more and more, until he was hunched over on his knees, getting nothing but blood in his lungs as he tried desperately to breathe. Triana fearlessly squatted before him, looking at him with those penetrating eyes, her face an emotionless mask. He imagined that same expression on her face when she killed her parents, when she helped wipe out the elders of their kind. An expression that gave no hint as to what she was thinking. Was it how she dealt with the pain, the knowledge that she had been forced to kill her own people? It seemed a bit cold- blooded to him that she could stand there and watch him die, but it was just the same as if she had struck the killing blow herself. It was something that a part of him could understand.

Her face began to look hazy to him, and his mind drifted. He spit out enough blood to take in a partial breath, then he looked directly into her eyes. "I guess you were right," he said with a weak chuckle, then he bent over, racked with spamsic coughs. Each cough sent a shockwave through him, until it had subsided and left him enough lung to breathe. "I guess one of us won't live through this."

"You brought this on yourself."

"I know," he said in a whisper. "But sometimes...we all...have to make...hard choices." He began panting shallowly, feeling the blood rise and fall in his throat. "I'm sure...you know...all about that."

He coughed again, and the pain was simply too much. Eyes rolling back in his head, he sagged to the wharf.

Triana looked at him in shock, paw half-reaching for him. But then her fingers closed into a fist, and her eyes hardened. "Hard choices," she said in a whisper to herself, putting her fist to her forehead and closing her eyes, an expression of tremendous pain and loss clear on her lovely features.

Then they opened. "Cub, you drive me crazy," she said in a clear voice, reaching down and touching him gently on the back of the neck with two fingers. There was a visible light in that touch, as Triana used her Druidic power to enact Druidic healing on Tarrin's damaged body. Under her ministration, Tarrin's body was urged to heal itself, and supplied the energy it would need to do it faster than was normal. But the amount of energy she supplied was very small, allowing his body only to heal to the point where it was stable.

To where he would live.

"Your Sorceress can finish the job," she said to Azakar, who had tried to approach quickly yet quietly. He was wearing his breastplate and helmet, and was carrying a sword. "I just want you to know, I didn't do this. It was a Doomwalker."

"I saw it," Azakar said, coming to a halt well out of her reach and lowering his sword. "Why?"

She gave him a penetrating look. "Because we all have to make hard choices," she said in a level tone, then she stalked up to him and wordless handed him Tarrin's staff. There was no emotion in her expression, a face of stone, like a sculpture of beauty with no warmth. She stared directly up into his eyes for a long moment, then she walked past him, back towards the city. Azakar wasted no time in gathering up Tarrin's limp form, and rushing back to the Dancer, back to Dolanna.

©2000, James Galloway. All Rights Reserved.