Honor and Blood

by James Galloway

  "By Karas!" Wylan managed to squeal, rising up from behind the bar and looking at the destruction wrought in his common room. "Tarrin, are you alright?"

  "I'm fine, Wylan," Tarrin said in an emotionless tone. "Sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up. I promise."

  "Eron said you--he never said anything about this!"

  "Does it surprise you that he didn't?" Tarrin asked calmly, standing fully erect and feeling himself fully in control. "I can see it now. 'By the way, Wylan, did I mention that my son is now a homicidal maniac?'"

  Wylan gave him a strangled look, then actually laughed. "Well, if you say it that way, I can see why," he admitted. "Are you feeling--"

  The door to the inn opened, and four more Dal soldiers were standing there, looking in with sudden horror and revulsion. One of them actually turned and vomited. "Good gods!" another called. "That thing killed them all!"

  "Get it!" another called, an officer by the looks of him, raising his sword to attack.

  These four lasted little longer than the first twelve, but the only difference was that Tarrin attacked them with a rational mind. He swatted aside a sword and then casually decapitated the leading attacker, the officer, with a twist of the paw and then a wicked backhanded swipe of his claws. Before the dead body fell, he had the man behind the first in his clutches, with his claws sank into the man's chest, then picked him up as if he weighed no more then a small dog and hurled him head first into the wall. The other two men, who had not rushed in to the attack, turned to flee, but Tarrin grabbed both of them by the backs of their chain jacks and hauled them into the inn, picked them up, then smashed their heads together with enough force to break their necks and shatter their skulls.

  That was sixteen. There could only be four or five more left, and Tarrin wasn't going to leave them around to cause trouble. "Excuse me a moment, Wylan," Tarrin said politely, then he ducked under the door and left the inn. He saw that the guards at the door of the barracks were gone, so he let himself in and then stalked through the barracks quietly and deliberately, hunting down the others. Three he found in their beds, and were dispatched without arousing them from slumber. Another was found in an office, who looked to be the barracks commander, and he too died without much fuss, though Tarrin had to drag him back in through a window while he screamed and begged for mercy. The last one was a challenge, for he had been in an outhouse behind the barracks, and had seen the the man Tarrin killed in the office try to escape out the window, so he ran.

  He didn't make it to the edge of the forest. Tarrin caught up with him, then killed him with a single claw to the back of the neck in mid-stride.

  Using Sorcery to clean the blood off of himself and repair the holes in his clothes, Tarrin returned to the inn and stepped into the carnage. Wylan still crouched behind the bar, only his eyes and the top of his head visible. "Sorry about that, Wylan," Tarrin said calmly as the rain began again. "Let me take care of this."

  Weaving together a flow of Air and Water, Tarrin stripped the bloody mess off the floor and the walls, even the ceiling, then caused it to drift out the door. He used a weave of Earth to dig out a suitable hole for the mangled refuse, then it was placed inside and buried neatly. Then he reached within, touching the core of his Druidic power, and Created tables and chairs that resembled the old ones, though they had the look of new furniture rather than the scratched, pitted appearance of the old ones.

  Wylan rose up uncertainly, looking at Tarrin with just a little fear in his eyes. That stung Tarrin a bit, but he couldn't help it. It was part of what he was. "I hope you know that you just made things very uncertain for us, lad," Wylan said soberly.

  "I'll take care of it, Wylan," Tarrin told him. "Before I leave, I guarantee you that you won't have to worry about another Dal garrison marching up the road."

  "I certainly hope so." Tarrin turned and walked back out the door. "Where are you going, lad?"

  "To evict someone," he answered in a very ugly tone, a red haze building up behind his eyes.

  The villagers were coming out of their houses. He recognized all of them, but he didn't reply to their calls, didn't wave to them as he marched resolutely towards the overgrown road that would take him to his farm, his home. He was going to deal with Jesmind, one way or another. The idea that she had usurped his home violated him to the core, even more so with the thought that she had brought with her a child that had no more of a place there than she did. He wasn't jealous of that--not too jealous, anyway--but the thought of his home being violated by an outsider overwhelmed any logical reasons as to why she chose that place to live.

  The villagers recognized him, but instead of following after him, they approached the inn, where Wylan had come out and was calling to the others, keeping them from following the outraged Were-cat.

  They didn't want to see what could very well happen on the old Kael farm.

  Step, step step.

  The sound of his footsteps mixed with the sound of the halting rain, sounds of raindrops hitting newly grown leaves, hitting the ground, hitting him. He'd lost the cloak somewhere--he couldn't remember where or how--and he was too mad to think to summon it back, so he had marched off in the rain. He was more or less soaked now, which made him that much more angry at being wet. Those sounds seemed distant to him as he made the last turn and found himself looking on the land he had called home all his life, still called home, a land that no longer looked as he remembered it.

  The house was still there, but the large barn and the brewhouse were collapsing in on themselves. The house had been recently painted, a dark brown color much like wood itself, and the smaller barn showed signs of recent repair. There was a hoed patch of ground where the chickens used to scratch in the farmyard, what looked to be a garden. The place looked empty, somehow, without animals or sounds or activity. It almost looked abandoned. But there was smoke rising from the chimney, a sure sign that the house was occupied.

  That caused him to come up short. Jesmind was in that house. He was very angry with the thought of her living there, of her bringing a child into his home, but fonder memories of Jesmind competed with those angry mentations and reminded him that he still cared for her. He was mad at her, but he still cared for her. Maybe instead of breaking down the door and proceeding to chastise his old flame, he should give her the chance to explain.

  I've tried to kill my own mother, and I meant it at the time, Jesmind had told him once, long ago. He knew exactly how she had felt right at that moment. Part of him wanted to strangle her, and the other part wanted to find out why she was here.

  Either way, he wasn't getting any answers standing in a soggy barnyard staring at the house. Taking a cleansing breath, trying to calm down to the point where he'd give Jesmind a chance to explain, he started towards the house again.

  He reached the inner edge of what he had always called the yard, about fifty spans from the porch, when the front door opened. He couldn't see inside because the front of the house faced to his left, but he did see someone come out. He kept coming forward as a small figure exited the house holding a small basket in its hands, but as the figure turned, he saw that it had a tail.

  The figure was that of a little girl, probably about six, who skipped down the steps of the porch lightly. She had the white fur of her mother, but had strawberry blond hair instead of red, tied into a single tail behind her. She wore a little half-shirt that left her belly bare and a pair of rugged leather breeches, undyed, with shredded cuffs around her ankles from her claws. "Five minutes!" Jesmind's booming voice called from inside. "If you're not back by then, I'll tan your hide, young lady!"

  "I'll hurry, mama!" the little girl called back.

  Who was this? This was no baby! This was a six year old girl! Had Jesmind had this girl before she met him, and had broken off from raising this baby girl to take care of him? Was she the reason Jesmind had left him? Tarrin stopped where he was and tried to make sense of it all. Why hadn't she told him about this? She would have. She should have.
There was no reason to keep this girl a secret from him. It made no sense!

  The little girl looked in his direction, then stopped dead in her tracks. She was an adorably lovely little girl, with her mother's beauty written all over her face. She had pattern green eyes, common for a Were-cat, a cute little nose and high cheeks that made her absolutely adorable. She looked at him for a long moment, her expression serious and sober, and then she smiled at him, showing tiny little fangs. She dropped the basket and ambled towards him with surprising speed and dexterity for such a young child, holding out her arms to him.

  He didn't quite know what to do. Why was she running towards him? She didn't know him. Jesmind should have taught her that it was a very bad idea to be so friendly to strangers, even other Were-cats.

  She got closer and closer, and as she did so, the sense of her assaulted him, smashed at him with its force, almost overwhelmed him. Such power! This little girl, untapped, had the potential to be a Sorcerer that would even eclipse him! Her power was unbelievable!

  The gift of Sorcery has been introduced into the Were-cat line, the Goddess had told him. Through you. Your children will have the gift.

  Your children.

  Children. Not child, but children.

  Tarrin felt his knees give out from under him, and he dropped to them in the soggy ground as the little girl rushed towards him exuberantly, crying out a single word that seemed to drown out all sound throughout the world.

  "Papa!"

  She hugged him happily around his neck, holding onto him and laughing, but he did not respond. He couldn't understand it. It was true, it was true; this little girl was his daughter. But she was too old! She had to be five or six, yet he'd only met Jesmind two years ago! His mind reeled from it, couldn't rationalize it, couldn't understand what had happened, make sense of it all.

  He grabbed the little girl and pushed her away, looked into her eyes. There was no denying it. This girl was his daughter. She was his child. She looked at him with adoring eyes, smiling brightly. "Aren't you happy to see me, papa?" she asked in a bubbling voice. "Mama said if we waited long enough, you'd come home!"

  Mama. Jesmind. Tarrin's eyes turned flat, startling the little girl, and he pushed her away just enough to return to his feet, towering over the little girl. "Jesmind," Tarrin hissed seethingly. "Jezzzz-MIND!" he rose to a shout, his ears laying back.

  She appeared on the porch, and his entire world seemed to spin at the sight of her. She looked just as he remembered. She wore a plain cotton shirt and a pair of those canvas breeches she favored, and her expression both happy and fearful. She saw the girl standing in front of him, and that made her eyes very worried. Obviously, it looked that she would have preferred breaking this herself.

  Passing the little girl by, Tarrin marched deliberately towards the house, claws flexing and murder twisting his features. He had passed angry some ten paces ago. He was absolutely, utterly, and thoroughly furious. But it wasn't the hot, blinding rage of the Cat, it was the cold, calculating anger of the Human, a Human that could not fathom what was going on, and was intent on getting answers. And getting them right now. Jesmind gripped the door nervously, waiting for him to reach her, and not looking too happy to see him. He came up the steps, marched right across the porch, then grabbed her by the arms and stared down at her with righteous indignation.

  "Would you mind telling me what in the nine hells is going on around here?" he demanded hotly, gripping her so hard that his claws drew blood.

  "I'd think that it's fairly obvious," she said weakly, trying to look bold, but Tarrin's newfound size and height seemed to have her off guard. She looked up at him with the questions dancing in her eyes, but he would have none of her distractions. "Tarrin, I'd like you to meet your daughter, Jasana."

  "Daughter? Daughter? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you have Triana tell me!"

  "I told Mother to keep it secret," she replied with a calm that pure bravado. "I didn't want you to get distracted from what you were doing. I didn't want to put you in danger."

  "I wasn't doing anything when you left me!" His eyes widened. "You left me because you were pregnant!" he gasped in understanding. "You knew, and you wouldn't tell me!" He picked her up off the porch by her arms and pulled her up nose to nose with him. "Why? For the Goddess' sake, why?"

  "Because of this!" she snapped at him, pushing him away enough to put her feet back on the porch. "I knew you'd overreact! That you wouldn't understand! I didn't know if you'd survive, or what would happen to you! I didn't want you to worry about me or our child, because I knew the Human in you wouldn't allow you to let me go if you knew!"

  Her logic assaulted his anger. That much made sense. When she left him, he was still a Rogue, and his future was very much in question. And she was right again. If he'd have known she was with child back then, he would have put both paws on her and made her stay with him. That would have endangered the baby.

  But logic had little to do with anger. He felt betrayed by her leaving him without telling him, no matter what her reasoning was. He was about to go off on her, but a small paw grabbed him by the end of his lashing tail and held firm. Tarrin turned and looked down, to see Jasana, her eyes teary, staring up at him with a heartbreaking expression. "You're not happy to see me?" she asked in a small voice.

  Tarrin had experienced any number of raw emotions in his lifetime, but the emotions that flared up in him at seeing that little girl looking up at him with those heartbreaking eyes was simply too much for his anger to bear, and was some of the most intense and soul-piercing emotions he had ever felt in his life. His anger was shattered by those eyes, causing him to remember that this was his child, this was his daughter, and he had been inhumanly cruel not to acknowledge her, not to even say hello to her. She had greeted him with such exuberant love, and he had tossed her aside like so much garbage. Guilt over his actions rocked him to his foundations, and it was suddenly replaced by the instinctive needs that went along with being a parent. He felt the need to comfort the girl, to make her feel better, and the acknowledgement inside him that this was indeed his little girl caused the same powerful feelings of love to arise in him as existed for the rest of his family. This little girl was his family, his child, and he would not deny her.

  He knelt down and put his paw on her shoulder gently, though it was too large to fit. "I'm very happy to see you, Jasana," he told her with exquisite tenderness. "I was just very surprised to see you, that's all. I'm afraid I don't take surprises very well."

  "Papa!" the little girl said quickly, then threw her arms around his neck and hugged him with surprising strength. Tarrin stood up with the little girl in his arms, nuzzling her, taking in her scent and branding it forever in his memory, the knowledge that he had another child, a daughter, threatening to make his knees unlock again.

  Too much. It had all been too much. This was the last thing he ever expected to see when he came home!

  Jesmind looked at him with unwavering eyes, and then she smiled slightly. "Welcome home, Tarrin," she said to him, putting a paw on Jasana's back.

  Tarrin knew manipulation when he saw it, though it took him a while to see it for what it was.

  Tarrin's cute little daughter, that sweet-looking little girl, had manipulated him like he was a puppet.

  But he had no defense against it. She had seen that he was very angry, so she got his attention and assaulted him in every manner in which she could, attacking him through guilt and instinct and love to batter down all the barriers to his anger he had erected. That sweet little girl was a cunning little sneak.

  Tarrin wasn't quite sure how long he had sat at the table, with Jasana sitting happily in his lap, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Jesmind had made him some dinner, but he didn't remember what it tasted like, or even what it was. Or even if he ate at all. The shock of this radical shift in his life had yet to run its course, and he was still stunned by the immensity of it.

  Jesmind had born his daughter! A
little girl, a little girl with powers of Sorcery that would be incredible! He still reeled whenever he thought of that, but there she sat in his lap, happy as could be, playing with the end of his tail as the two adults sat in uncomfortable silence.

  But there were things he just had to know, and that meant that he had to ask. "Jesmind," he finally said. "How--"

  "She's a Were-cat, Tarrin," Jesmind smiled, as if predicting the question. "She's normal for her age. Remember, she'll be a fully grown adult by the time she's ten. We're not like humans."

  "How old is she?"

  "About a year and a half," Jesmind replied. "But she has the mind of a six year old. We mature just as fast mentally as we grow." She gazed into his eyes for a long moment, then blinked and looked away. "My turn. What happened to you?"

  "This?" he asked, holding up an arm, with the fetlock dangling from his outer wrist and forearm. "I came out second best in a fight with a Succubus. This was the result."

  "I'd like to hear that story."

  "There's not a whole lot to tell," he grunted. "Why here, Jesmind? Why did you bring her here?"

  "Because this is your home," she said seriously. "This is where I wanted her to be. I didn't want her to grow up without knowing her father. If you wouldn't have come back, at least this place would have told her all about you."

  "Mama likes it here," Jasana said. "We fish and we hunt and we make things, Mama teaches me all about the forest and the humans and things, and sometimes the Drew-weed and the funny humans comes from the forest and visits with us."

  "Druid, dear," Jesmind corrected absently. "You call him a drew-weed, and he's likely to smack your bottom."

  "Funny humans?"

  "That old man, Garyth," Jesmind answered. "He's holed up in the Frontier with some of the villagers."