It had been quite a trap. Even in his anger, he could appreciate that. She had lured him out, taken his staff, incited him into an explosion of rage to tire him, then had her brood there to challenge him after he felt he was safe, to attack him after he had tired himself. She had to know that he always felt tired after a rage, after expending such energy on his heightened emotional state, and that controlling High Sorcery was a task that quickly drained him, whether he wove spells or not. Just holding it was an effort, holding it without letting it overwhelm him. She wouldn't even fight him herself. She sent her sycophants to fight him, forcing him to wear himself out against them if he wanted to get a piece of her. She was making him run a gauntlet. She was very clever. Very, very clever.
Weaving together that chaotic mess of Air, Fire, Water, and Divine flows, with only token flows from the other spheres to give the weave the power of High Sorcery, Tarrin turned in his sprint and levelled his palm at the closest of the flying females, the brunette. A blinding bolt of incandescent white power exploded from his paw, lancing across the sky like the glowing spear of a god, slamming directly into her pretty little face. It picked her up and carried her along with it, sending her flying away from him, knocking her temporarily out of the chase. They could fly faster than he could run. He knew that. He had to keep those flyers away from him.
He couldn't run fast enough. He saw one of them dive at him as he made a jump to another roof, whizzing by him as an icy cold line of sudden pain sliced across his back and shoulder. He saw his own blood spatter onto the roof as he landed heavily on his side, bouncing once and skidding to a stop, and he felt the blazing fire of pain lash through him. She had slashed him with her sword as she passed, like a raptor's claws tearing apart a pigeon.
Trembling, Tarrin lifted himself off the roof with a paw, his teeth clenched in pain. It was like the sword left behind a line of fire! He'd never felt anything like that, not since--
--magic!
The wound wasn't healing. Their weapons were enchanted, they just had to be. He could see another one lining up for a dive at him, and he ignored the pain despite the explosion of agony along his back, ignored it and drew himself up to his feet. She was diving at him with incredible speed, an evil smile on her face, her slender sword leading her assault. He stood his ground, paws out, feet wide, sizing her up. He could play chicken with the best of them.
In a blur, Tarrin shifted aside at absolutely the last moment, causing the sword to plunge just aside of his face. He glanced his own reflection in the black blade of the sword as it whizzed by. A paw locked on her wrist with blinding speed, twisting it even as he wheeled around on one paw, dragging her out of her path of flight. She suddenly curved around as he pulled her to the side, causing her to crash loudly into the roof behind him, causing the stone under his feet to shudder horribly as the loud sound of her striking the stone reached his ears. She seemed dazed by the impact, and Tarrin used that precious second to pick up her own sword from the roof, then raise it up and drive it down at her unprotected back.
It was harmlessly turned aside.
Tarrin gaped in surprise, forgetting his foe's fundamental advantage. Not even their own weapons could harm them! He glanced the third female out of the corner of his eye, and ducked under a flying slash of her weapon, a slash that would have decapitated him. He dropped the sword nervelessly and simply turned and darted away, jumping to another rooftop. The six males were approaching, getting closer. He had cut the females down to one, only one that could chase him immediately. The slash across his back was on fire, and he could feel his blood flowing down the back of his leg, down his tail.
He had to get away from them. Not just run away, but get away. He had to hide. He was wounded, and he would get weaker and weaker as his lifeblood seeped out of his injured back. He knew now that he was too tired, too weakened to use any more Sorcery. Even the attempt to touch it would kill him, destroy him from within in a blazing pyre. That would be his way out, should there be no other hope, but he wouldn't take that step until there were no other steps to take.
From out of nowhere, the brunette suddenly appeared in front of him, and she struck him dead-on, flying at full speed with her arms folded over her head, like a flying battering ram.
He felt his ribs break from the intense power of the blow, picking him up and carrying him with her. He struck the stone ledge of the roofside, broke through it and tumbled away from her. Dazed, hurting, he could only feel that he was somewhere in the air, and then suddenly he was crashing heavily into the ground of an unpaved alley, breaking an arm and his tail as he came down on top of them, on his side, driving the jagged ends of his broken ribs into his insides. For a long moment, seeming like forever, he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe, and he could barely think. There was only a gray haze filming over his eyes, and it was like he was trying to hear with cloth stuffed in his ears.
He found a way to breathe, and it was like fire inside him. He gave a shuddering, gurgling groan, then coughed a copious amount of blood from his mouth. He could barely move, shifting aimlessly on the ground, trying to find a way to get back onto his feet. The impact with the ground hurt him more than the ramming from the Demon ever could have, for he had been struck by an object of nature. Hitting the ground caused him true injury, injury he couldn't regenerate, and it had all but incapacitated him. There was nothing but pain. He couldn't even remember what had happened to him, why he was there. The pain was everything, burning into him, through him, searing his body and causing his mind to recoil from the massive shock he had suffered.
He was only dimly aware of something grabbing him by the back of the head, then physically pulling him off the ground. Blood poured from his mouth as he was lifted, clotting the dirt on the dry ground, and he found his eyes being pulled level with a tall, shapely redhead. A redhead with small horns and wings, holding a staff. In his daze, he couldn't identify her. He could only stare blankly at her.
He didn't put up much of a fight, mother, he seemed to hear this strange voice, a voice with no sound.
"I made sure to prepare him for you, child," the redhead said calmly, giving him an evil smile. "Well, Tarrin, it looks like you came out on the losing end of this little dispute. They always do when they challenge me," she said with a light chuckle. "I considered keeping you, Tarrin. I really did. I don't have a Sorcerer of your caliber among my brood, and you could be very useful to me. But I think you'd be too much of a handful. You have an extremely stubborn mind, you can block my own magic, and your power is uncontrollable, even for you, and it would only be a matter of time before you destroyed yourself. No, I like assets that aren't expendable, or more dangerous to me than necessary."
She gave him a malicious smile. "Now that delicate little child of yours. That's another story."
That instantly snapped his mind back to awareness. His protective instincts over his bond-child roared to life in his mind, and despite the pain, he tried to reach up and grab the hand holding him by the hair. But someone punched him in his broken stomach, and he nearly lost consciousness as a firestorm of intense agony roared through him. "Temper, temper," she said, wagging a finger with an amused look. "I thought you'd be happy, Tarrin. I'm not going to kill Jula. I'm just going to make her mine. I could use someone like her. Oh, yes, she'll be very handy. A strong Sorcerer, a Were-cat, and very intelligent. And unlike you, she has a will that can be easily subdued."
"If...you touch her," he wheezed, barely a whisper. "I'll...do more...than kill you."
"Without this, you're not all that much of a threat," she smiled, holding out his staff. To his shock, shock that registered over his pain, his staff suddenly flared with a bright light, and in a span of two heartbeats, was incinerated by some magical fire. It crumbled to dust by the Demoness' sturdy boot, a pile of ash that had once been one of Tarrin's most treasured possessions. "And now you are neutralized. You don't stand a chance against me, Tarrin," she purred. "You never did. I kind of like you, that's why I let you liv
e. And I still will, all you have to do is pack up your little friends and leave. Without Jula, of couse. She's mine now. You lost her when you killed one of my brood. Now she's going to replace him."
In a surge of mindless anger, enough to override the pain, Tarrin lunged at the Demoness with his claws leading. But the hold on his hair snapped his head back, caused him to collapse to his knees as the sudden motion wracked his injured ribs.
"Oh, she'll be very happy, Tarrin, don't you worry about that," she taunted on. "You see, Tarrin, I'm what your friend Phandebrass would call a Succubus. My power is to seduce and enslave the wills of mortals, and I feed off of them like a Vampire does. Except where Vampires drink blood, I drain away the life energy of my victim. It's what I do, and I'm very good at it. Trust me. She'll be very happy in my service, because I'll fix her so her only pleasure in life is making me happy. That's something I could even do to you. Would you like to be my faithful pet, Tarrin? To wish for nothing other than to see me smile?"
The manacles on his wrists weighed on him suddenly, reminding him of why they were there. Never again. He would never be a slave again! With a power borne of utter, mindless fury, Tarrin snapped up from his knees, slamming the manacle on his wrist into the face of the Cambion male that was holding him by the base of his braid. Freed from his grip as he let go and tumbled aside, Tarrin whirled on the Demoness Shiika and pounced at her, with such speed that the brood around the startled Demon could not intercept him. He crashed into her, drove her to the ground, and all he could desire in the world was to sink his claws into the soulless blue eyes of hers. She had a grip on his paws with her own hands, struggling under him to keep his claws away from her face, but she had a knowing smile on her lips.
"So you do want to be my pet," she said in a purring tone She pushed his paws just wide enough to free her face, and she lunged up and kissed him.
And then it was like her lips had become ice.
He could feel it, feel the essence of her invade him. And when it did, it took from him, it drained him of the energy inside him, sought to pull out his soul. There was an intense cold feeling, like Sorcerer's Healing, a cold that attempted to drain away all this strength, his very life force. He could not stop it. And in his rage, his fury at her threats to his bond-child and his mindless panic at being threatened with enslavement, he would not relent. He kept on her, kept trying to dig out her eyes, a look of absolute concentration laying under his mask of fury. Even if she killed him, he would take out those eyes.
But the draining kiss of her was robbing him of his strength. She began to push him away, thrust his claws wider to the sides as the strength powering his muscles faltered. Her kiss began to paralyze, to drain him so heavily that he lacked the strength to move. He felt her could touch reach all the way inside him, reach right to his soul, and he felt it plunge into his core.
His body paled and shuddered when her draining kiss struck at his very soul, attempted to literally tear it from him. But then something else inside him responded to that attack, flooding him with a strange warmth, replacing what she had taken, preventing her from gripping his soul well enough to take it from him, isolating it from her.
Shiika's eyes widened as she pushed him off of her, taking her hands off as he collapsed to the ground beside her. "By the pit!" Shiika gasped, stunned. "He's immortal!"
Mother?
"He's immortal!" she said again, just as shocked. "I can't take his soul! I could never take his soul! He can be drained, but his soul is protected from my power, and some part of him regenerates the life energy I take!" She sat up, licking her lips. "Jula must be the same way. By the pit, my brood, I'll never go hungry again! She'll be an endless supply of life energy!"
He couldn't move. He was cold inside, cold and in tremendous pain, unable to do anything but lay there and hover between consciousness and blissful oblivion.
What of him? he heard inside his mind.
"Leave him," Shiika said brusquely, accepting a hand of one of her male brood and standing up. "He's of no more consequence. Let's go get your new sister, my brood. Oh, wait a minute. Tarrin," she called sweetly. "I know what you're looking for. And just to make you feel like you've accomplished something tonight, I'll tell you who has it."
She laughed wickedly. "I do," she said bluntly. "I have your precious book. So if you want it, you have to face me to get it. I hope that makes you feel better," she laughed scathingly.
Why admit to such a thing, mother? It will surely fuel his desire to attack us again.
"Let him," she laughed. "He's harmless now. I want him to stew over it for the rest of his life. That's what he gets for killing one of your brothers. And if he is stupid enough to try, well, I'll have two new Were-cat vessels to drain whenever I'm hungry now, won't I?"
Her voice drifted away, and he heard the fluttering of wings. He was alone. Alone, with the terrible knowledge inside him. They were going to try to take Jula. And Shiika had the Book of Ages. Shiika, who had so easily defeated him before, had destroyed his treasured staff and robbed him of the only weapon he could use against her.
He was alone. And that terrified him, for some strange reason.
Groaning in pain, Tarrin managed to bring a paw up to his chest, grabbing his amulet. Every breath brought a new jagged wrack of pain, but he had to speak. He had to.
"A-Allia," he wheezed, willing to speak with his sister. "Allia!"
"Tarrin? Where are you? What is happening!" she demanded immediately.
"Not-Not much time," he said in a shallow whisper. "Get out of there! The Demoness--" he paused to cough uncontrollably, sending nearly overwhelming pain through him. "She's coming...after Jula! Protect Jula...hide her! Don't...don't let....her take her!"
"Tarrin! You're hurt! Where are you!"
"I...don't matter," he wheezed. "The Demoness has...the Book of Ages," he told her. "Must...get it." His vision began to dim; he could tell he was about to pass out. Speaking was too much. He mustered up one more burst of strength. "Go, sister! Save Jula, get out of there! And get the book!"
"Sarraya is coming, brother!" Allia's voice reached him, though his hearing was fading. "She knows where you are, and she's coming! Hold on til she gets there! We'll protect your child, just don't give up yet! Sarraya is coming!"
That was all he cared about. Letting go of the amulet, Tarrin collapsed to the dirt of the alley. He had done what he needed to do. His dimming thoughts were only on protecting his child, on furthering the mission. He closed his eyes, seeking out in his desperation the only thing there was left for him to cling to, his faith and trust in his Goddess, and her promise that she would always watch over him. Nobody else could help him now. And even if she couldn't, then that was alright. At least he would know that he wasn't alone.
He didn't want to be alone.
He looked within himself, and found his love for his Goddess. And it comforted him. He was not alone.
"Mother," he whispered deleriously. "Help...me."
And then he knew no more.
In a dark alley deep in Dala Yar Arak, laying among shattered fragments of masonry, a solitary figure lay on the cold, unforgiving ground. It was a inhuman body, unnaturally tall, with a tail and fur and cat's ears, and it was a broken one. The exposed bone of a rib had punched through his side, and blood bubbled from the figure's mouth with every exhalation.
Around the figure's neck was a curious amulet of black steel, a four-pointed star within a six-sided star within a circle. It was a strange symbol, symmetrical and abstract, not easily recognizable to any who did not study magic or theology.
In that dark alley, a soft, milky radiance began to illuminate the walls. It issued forth from the amulet itself, a gentle white light emanating from the black steel, making it look like silver in the soft glow. Two other small points of light also seemed to appear within that glow, one a gentle golden hue, like the sun, and the other the same color as the glow of the amulet itself, all but invisible within that radiance.
Half a world away, in a large courtyard in the center of a hedge maze, on the grounds of the Tower of Six Spires, a similar confrontation arose. One was a formless body masked in a golden aura, and the second was the statue standing at the center of a happily bubbling fountain, a statue glowing with a milky radiance.
This is forbidden, my daughter, a strange sort of communication issued forth from the golden glow.
He begged me for aid, Mother, the statue replied. I no longer must ignore his pleas. It came from his heart, spoken with true faith and love. He has given, and now I must be allowed to give in return. Or everything that we stand for will be meaningless.
But think of what we will be unleashing on the world, my daughter, the first answered her plea.
What is the world compared to his suffering? the second challenged. What is the world compared to his need? What will the world be without him? I promised I would always watch over him. He has given to me everything I could ever ask, everything and more, and never has he asked for anything in return! Do not deny me now, when he needs me. I beg you!
Your devotion becomes you, the first acceded. Let me not deny what is given in pure heart, and let me not deny what is deserved in return. But know that for good or ill, what befalls us all is now set at your feet, my daughter.
It is as it always has been, Mother, the statue said simply. It is as it must be.
In the alley in the center of Dala Yar Arak, the golden spot of light vanished. The milky radiance issuing forth from the amulet around the injured figure's neck suddenly flared to brilliant life, flowing over the broken body like water, a soft, gentle glow that healed with delicate, painless care wherever it touched.
The sound of Sarraya's wings awakened him.
Tarrin's eyes fluttered open. He...he was whole. Healed. He sat up as Sarraya buzzed angrily towards him, at the end of the alley and approaching fast, looking at his paw in confusion. Had he regenerated? He couldn't remember. Maybe he could regenerate from a fall. Maybe the dirt wasn't unworked, and that broke the condition that would cause the ground to do him true harm. It was the only thing he could think of. Sarraya hadn't reached him yet, and he didn't have a mark on him. Even the slash in his back was healed. Only his torn and bloody clothes left behind any evidence that he'd been hurt in the first place.
Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 2 - The Questing Game by Fel © Page 114
