– -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 knee-high 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 l
ifeblood 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 Were-cat 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. Bu
t 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."
The Questing Game f-2 Page 33
