The Questing Game

by James Galloway

  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 Zak
kites, 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 self-confidence, 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.