The Tower of Sorcery f-1

by James Galloway

  "I didn't know it was still alive," Tarrin said in surprise, going over and picking up the staff. He inspected it, and realized that it had been cut, right at the very end. He grounded it, and saw that the man had shaved about a quarter of a finger off its length. "You cut it."

  The man gave him a surprised look. "Well, yes, I took a sliver off the end. I'm surprised you noticed."

  "It pays to know a weapon that may save your life some day," he said sagely.

  The man chuckled. "Oh, yes, that's right. They said you're half Ungardt. I'll fix that right now. I'll put the length back."

  "How can you do that?"

  "Inititate, Sorcery can very easily affect plants," he said with a smile. "I'll just urge it to grow back out to its old length. Give me the staff. I have to be touching it to do this."

  Tarrin watched curiously as the little man touched the Weave. He could almost see the intricate and complex spell the man wove, from all six Spheres. The flows gathered inside the staff, going through the Sorcerer rather than gathering from strands, tangling themselves in a seemingly chaotic mass of confusion, but Tarrin could tell that the rotund Sorcerer knew what he was doing. Then the chaotic mess snapped, and it turned into a very orderly and sensible weave. Once he was done, he released it into the staff, and Tarrin saw it grow that lost bit of length back, and even fill in some of the nicks and scratches that had been inflicted upon it.

  "There we are, good as new," he said, handing Tarrin the staff. "I took a bit off of it so I can get an ironwood tree to grow," he explained. "I've always wanted to study it in a controlled environment. And not have to trudge through the forest for a month to find a tree," he added, patting his wide belly. "I'm not built for field work."

  "How did you yank on it like that?" Tarrin asked curiously.

  "Yank on what?"

  "You wove the spell strangely, then it was like you grabbed it by the ends and snapped it into shape."

  The Sorcerer gave him a very strange, penetrating look. "It's a common trick when dealing with a very complicated weave," he replied. "Since it's hard to weave them tightly at a distance, we weave them in something that we're touching in a wide pattern, bringing the flows through us rather than pulling them from strands. Once we have all the flows in place, we just tighten it down into a working weave. I didn't notice that you were touching the Weave."

  "I'm not," he said absently. "I can sense weaving around me without having to touch the Weave."

  "Interesting. That's not supposed to be possible. But you're Were. It's very possible that your enhanced senses can sense something that ours cannot."

  "Maybe," Tarrin said carefully.

  "Well, studies on Sorcery aren't my areas of expertise. I'll leave that for others." He tapped the staff. "You should be very proud to have this, Inititate," he said. "You take good care of it, and it takes good care of you."

  "You talk like it's alive."

  "It is alive," he reminded him. "It has needs, and you provide for them. In return for that, the staff remains literally unbreakable, and it will always be something that you can depend on." He smiled. "Ironwood isn't a completely natural wood. There's a bit of magic hiding inside the staff, a natural magic that gives the wood its unusual properties. That's a part of what I want to study."

  Tarrin looked at the staff curiously. He was right, it was alive. Ironwood never dried out, it always remained vibrant and strong. It was almost totally unbreakable, and would bend rather than break even if enough force was exerted on it to make it give. Only rigorous sawing could cut the wood. It made the best bows and staves, and the bark could be carefully stripped and shaped into poweful bowstrings that would never break. When he learned about the rare and prized wood from his father, he took its properties to be simply natural. Now he understood why it had properties that no other wood had. Maybe there was a bit of old magic in the wood, placed inside it by some forgotten Mage or Sorcerer, or perhaps even a Druid. A magic that changed the wood forever, and also passed on its properties into the trees spawned from it.

  "Well, I have to be going," Tarrin told the Sorcerer. "Thanks for taking care of it for me."

  "It was my pleasure," the rotund man smiled. "Oh, here it is," he said suddenly, turning and pointing to a huge earth-filled jar in the center of the room, surrounded by several tables holding glass beakers and tubes. There was a very young Ironwood sapling in the pot, only a span tall, with but a few twigs and leaves. "That's your staff's baby," he said with a chuckle. "I've been helping it grow with Sorcery. It's a very stubborn tree," he said with a laugh. "It doesn't want to grow faster. I guess that goes along with its nature."

  "Maybe it does," Tarrin agreed. "I have to go. Thank you again."

  "Any time," the little man said with a smile.

  Tarrin reached the field during a scheduled break, where the cadets were sitting on the ground, panting and sweating in the cool air, while the Knights stood in groups and talked with each other. Binter stood with Ulgen, Darron, and Faalken, showing them a very large, ornate warhammer with a double head and a spike on the top. Faalken looked a trifle uncomfortable holding it, and he handled it with a slowness that told Tarrin how heavy that hammer was.

  "Tarrin," they all greeted as he joined them. "You're looking well after Allia kicked you all over the field yesterday," Faalken added with a grin.

  "You're just jealous that I can last that long, Faalken," Tarrin retorted calmly.

  "Tarrin, this is Captain Binter, commander of the High Princess' personal guard. Binter, this is Tarrin, one of the Tower's Initiates that is partly owned by the Knights."

  "Her Highness speaks about you often," the massive Vendari said in a curiously deep, hollow voice. The Vendari had a squared snout and black, dead eyes, eyes that would chill anyone who squared off against him in combat. His crest looked like a mohawk, riding high over his green-scaled head, and Tarrin could see that those scales were small but very compact and tightly organized. They looked to be a very effective natural armor. That close to him, Binter's raw size was incredibly intimidating. He loomed like a mountain, a massive mountain of a Vendari that was nothing but sleek muscle and raw power. He wore only a pair leather straps crossing his chest, connected to a wide belt holding a shortsword, and a furred clout over a pair of black trousers. Like Tarrin, he wore no shoes, letting his clawed feet touch the earth. He had similar short, wicked-looking claws on his hands. Tarrin was eight spans tall, towering over most humans but Azakar, who averaged about six spans in height. Tarrin only came up to Binter's chest. He had to be ten spans tall, almost as tall as an Ogre, but not as wide or plodding. He was sleek, powerfully built but not at the expense of his agility, and he was all warrior. Binter would be an absolute terror in battle. Now Tarrin appreciated why he was chosen to be Keritnima's personal bodyguard. Nobody would dare attack something like that. "It is an honor to meet you," he continued.

  "The honor is mine," Tarrin replied cordially. Exposure to Allia and her culture, which placed honor in very high regard, would help him in dealing with the Vendari. To the average Vendari, honor was life. To lose honor was to lose life, and they were known to kill themselves after being dishonored. Killing one's self was an acceptable path to regaining honor. "Being the personal guard of the Princess is a station deserving great honor."

  The Vendari's maw curled up in the most curious way. Almost like a smile. "Honor and Blood," he said.

  Tarrin gave him a curious look. That was something Allia said occasionally, and its meaning was obscure. It was a Selani term for duty that brought honor, but often also brought hardship. It was a task, an ordeal, to be endured. But once it was done, great honor came to those who managed it. She often called her being sent to the Tower a trial of Honor and Blood.

  "Then look for the honor at the end of the task," he said formally.

  "Always," he said. "You have the bearing of a warrior, and your features cast you as Ungardt. Or partly. Do you know the Ways?"

  "I was taught by my mother. This,"
he said, holding up his paws, "is something that happened a bit later."

  "I have never faced an adept of the Ways," he said. "I would be honored to take the field against you."

  "I don't fight purely in the Ways as much anymore," he chuckled ruefully. "My best friend is Selani, and she trained me in the Dance."

  "Then you have received some of the best training there is," the Vendari said. "The entire world respects the fighting prowess of the Ungardt and the Selani. My honor would double to face you."

  "I came out here to challenge you anyway, Captain," Tarrin said with a grin. "I've never faced an adversary your size before. I thought it would be a good learning experience for me."

  "Then we will both profit from an exercise," he said sagely. "Would you prefer unarmed combat, or armed?"

  "Both," he smiled. "Full contact."

  "I would not want to hurt you," he said in concern. That drew some laughter from the Knights.

  "You're not going to hurt him, Captain," Faalken promised. "Tarrin's alot tougher than he looks, and he packs quite a wallop. He could probably pick you up and throw you."

  "I don't doubt it," Binter replied. "I have never faced one like you before, so it is best to expect anything. That way you do not suffer a nasty surprise." He took his hammer back from Faalken. "But if you want a full contact exercise, then I would be honored to give it to you."

  "Just watch that stick of his, Captain," Faalken said as the pair moved into the sand-filled area used for sparring. "He's very nasty with it. And be careful. He's got alot of nasty little tricks."

  "The staff is a very effective weapon, Sir Knight," Binter said calmly. "It is not often used because it can be ineffective against a heavily armored opponent. But when both men are unarmored, it is a very dangerous weapon."

  "I'm glad someone appreciates my taste," Tarrin said with a laugh. "The Knights have been badgering me to give up my staff and take up a sword."

  "Tarrin, if you used a two-handed sword, you'd be an absolute nightmare," Ulgen told him. "With your strength and speed, nobody would even want to get within ten spans of you."

  "I have had so much trouble with that," Binter grunted. "Hold on."

  "What?" Tarrin asked.

  "We do not use 'spans' in Wikuna," he said. "We have a different system of measures. Ten spans is roughly a quarter over eight feet."

  "Feet? What a strange term," Tarrin said. "What is a foot?"

  "It's a bit longer than a span," he replied. "A foot has twelve inches, where a span has ten fingers. A finger and an inch are almost exactly the same length, so we use them as the base to convert from one system to another," he said, holding two of his huge fingers apart at the length of a finger. "You use finger, span, longspan, and league. Those terms in our system are inch, foot, mile, and also league. One of your leagues is four longspans. One of ours is three miles, and oddly enough, they're precisely the same distance. So we try to use leagues when dealing with Sennadites."

  "I thought everyone used the same system," Tarrin mused. "Even the Selani use spans and longspans."

  "Probably because they learned it through contact with you and the Empire of Arak," he replied. "The Arkisians brought that system from Arak when they broke away from the Empire, and it spread through Sennadar. The Wikuni and many kingdoms on the continents of Sharadar and Godan-Nyr use the same system, and there's another that's widely used on the continent of Valkar."

  "You're very learned, Captain," Tarrin said in appreciation.

  "The wise soldier learns as much as he can," he said, almost chanting from a learned passage. "The wise warrior will survive much longer than the strong one."

  Tarrin had to give the Vendari a great deal of respect. Their ways of fighting mirrored the Ungardt and the Selani. Perhaps the three cultures had all stumbled upon the true secrets of the ways of the warrior. Both the Ways and the Dance preached self defense over starting fights. Both held high the ideal that their forms were learned not to create aggression, but as self defense against aggression. Despite their serious ability, the Ungardt were not aggressively expansionistic. They colonized islands in the northern reaches of the Sea of Storms, but didn't make war on their neighbors.

  "Very true," Tarrin agreed. "Where do you want to begin?"

  "Armed," he said with a smile, hefting his hammer.

  They squared off against each other, Tarrin holding his staff in the end grip, and Binter holding his hammer by the very end of its handle. "Are you ready?" he asked.

  "I'm ready," he replied. "Let's go."

  As the Knights looking on expected, the first few minutes were nothing but the pair feeling each other out. Tarrin tested Binter with light jabs and swings, keeping the massive Vendari out of reach and on guard with his longer weapon. He showed to be smooth and deceptively slow, but the ease of his movements told Tarrin that he could move much faster than he appeared. He was trying to bait Tarrin into thinking he was slow, a tactic Tarrin had used himself a time or two.

  Binter was the first to give over feeling Tarrin out. He lunged in with shocking speed, hammer leading, but Tarrin had been expecting such a move. He twisted out of the path of the hammer easily, turning in a way that a human wouldn't be able to duplicate, almost with his shoulders facing behind him as he ducked and weaved himself around the hammer's carved head. He turned to the side, and his tail lashed out like a whip, striking the Vendari in the backs of his ankles. Tarrin's tail wasn't as strong as the rest of him, but his inhuman strength gave the limb enough power to easily beat a Knight in arm-tail wrestling. That power swept the very heavy Vendari's feet out from under him, and his shoulder slammed into the ground with a thud that Tarrin felt under his feet.

  Binter laughed as he sat up, snaking his own heavily muscled tail out from under him. "I was about to do the same thing," he said. "I didn't think that such a small, dainty tail could do something like that."

  Tarrin swished that tail back and forth behind him, giving Binter a smile. "It's the longest limb I have, so it would silly of me not to learn how to use it," he said, reaching down with a paw and helping the Vendari back to his feet. He flicked his tail over his shoulder and halfway down his chest, until the tip came to rest just above his navel. "It gives me alot of reach at my flanks, and makes sure anyone coming up from behind has something to worry about."

  "You learn well," Binter said respectfully. "Always know yourself. Now, let us continue, and this time I won't underestimate your snake of a tail."

  Binter didn't try anything dramatic again. They engaged in a good, heavy workout, sparring against one another at a furious pace that made the observing Knights a bit dizzy. Binter was powerful, but just like Allia, he was fast. Tarrin was awed that someone so huge, so massive, could move with such viper-like speed. But unlike Allia, Binter's blows from his hammer packed an incredible punch, driven by his huge, heavily muscled frame. Tarrin was bleeding from two hits from that hammer after about five minutes, strikes heavy enough to tear his skin, while Binter had some blood coming from his snout from where Tarrin had whacked him across the muzzle. He was very big, and Tarrin found that he had to adjust many of the forms he used to deal with someone that had such a long, long reach, and the speed to close the distance in a hearbeat if he tried to back out of reach of Binter's weapon.

  But most of all, Binter was very, very skilled. Tarrin was hard pressed to keep that hammer away from him as the Vendari used incredibly complicated thrusts, parries, and feints, confusing the young Were-cat in a dazzling display of control of his weapon. Tarrin had no idea where it was going to come from next, and he relied on his Were-cat speed and agility to make up for his disadvantage in training. Tarrin switched to a middle grip and engaged the Vendari at close range, using the two ends to do the same thing to Binter that Binter was doing to him. That put the Vendari back on his heels, as he tried to fend off the two jabbing, slapping ends of Tarrin's staff that came from impossible angles and in places that it seemed the staff couldn't reach. Binter's black eyes seemed to
shimmer, and a smile lined with blood graced that toothy maw as he regained his center and pushed Tarrin back, then re-engaged. Binter used his free hand like a shield, expertly smacking away or blocking the staff while using his hammer in harmonious motions to the defense of his free hand, blocking and attacking in the same movements. Tarrin too could attack and defend with the same weapon at the same time, and it turned into a subtle contest of who could attack and defend in the most interesting manner. Binter rushed forward and locked the smaller Were-cat down, making Tarrin push against the hammer to keep from being driven to the ground, and they both attacked with their tails. Without even seeing what they were doing, Tarrin's tail engaged Binter's heavier, muscled tail in a quick contest of agility, as Tarrin kept that heavy tail from wrapping around his ankle as Binter did the same.

  But Binter didn't count on Tarrin's flexibility. Unlocking his back, he simply bent backwards, causing the Vendari to rush over him as Tarrin's resistance to his pushing simply vanished. Tarrin's head hit the sand just behind his ankles as the Vendari soared over him, but Tarrin reached out and grabbed the Vendari's wrist just as he went over. Tarrin pulled on that wrist to arrest Binter's forward motion, and then he walked over his head even as he pushed off with the hand holding the staff, and he curved through the air gracefully and put his feet against the Vendari's belly. Binter's breath whooshed out of his lungs as the Were-cat punched all of his weight down on the green scaled belly, exactly in time with Binter's impact with the ground, driving his feet into the Vendari's stomach and pinning him between the unforgiving ground and Tarrin's crushing feet.

  Tarrin squatted down on top of the Vendari, paws on his shoulders, but Binter was clearly out of it. He was gasping for breath, Tarrin could feel his chest try to rise under his feet, and he was sprawled out on the ground like a passed out drunken sailor. The tip of his muscled tail was twitching uncontrollably.

  "Now that was something you don't see every day," Ulgen said with a chuckle. "I swear, it looked like Tarrin bent himself in half."