"The Tower of Sorcery" - читать интересную книгу автора (Galloway James)

Chapter 4

It had been the longest night Tarrin had ever had.

It was an eternity there, alone, in the dark, with nothing between him and the Cat but his willpower. Time had seemed to stop, and he had felt every second go by. He spent the night jumping at every little noise, huddled in that corner like a trapped mouse, so desperately wanting to talk to someone that he very nearly went to wake them up. But that would be giving in, and he knew that he had to learn how to fight it now, quickly, before it had the chance to overwhelm him. There wouldn't always be someone to talk to.

He'd finally managed to fall asleep sometime during the night, but it was no relief. As soon as he fell into slumber, he would have dreams. Terrifying dreams, vivid dreams, conveying a message and a set of sensations so base, so raw, so animalistic that even the surrealistic touch of the dream was enough to make him sit bolt upright and start a cold sweat. And the instant he awoke, the song of the Cat would be there, trying to lull him into complacency. He was glad of such an uncomfortable position, since it made it so easy for him to be awakened out of the dreams. The song of the Cat was much preferable to facing the dreams. He could fight the song, but the dreams, he had no defense against them. They touched him on a level that the song could not, and he could do nothing but wake up once they started. He was amazed that Walten had slept through it.

He'd been having one of those dreams, then was shocked awake by a combination of the dream and a sound in the next room. He'd never been so glad to hear a sound in his life. When he joined Faalken in the other room, neither of them said much of anything. Faalken could see just by looking at Tarrin's haggard face that it had been an easy night. The burly knight simply offered him a cup of water and let him sit quietly at the table. Faalken gently rapped at Dolanna's door, then sat down at the table with him.

Dolanna opened the door a few minutes later, stepping out wearing a simple brown silk dress. With one look, she seemed to take in the entire situation. She sat down in the chair to his right and put a cool hand to his forehead. "I can understand what it was like," she told him. "But it was necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"You had to be alone," she told him with compassion in her voice. "It may seem cruel to you, but you will end up alone at some point in your life. It was best for it to be now, while my spell holds the animal inside you in check."

He could understand her reasoning. Although it did seem a bit cold-blooded. She'd left him to face his fear alone, and while the logical part of his mind understood her reasoning, part of him was rather slighted by the callous treatment. He'd respected her before, but in a strange way, he realized that he absolutely depended on Dolanna now. Her calm demeanor and seemingly intuitive understanding of what he was going through gave him a source of strength from which to draw support.

"How do you know so much about what happened to me?" he asked impulsively.

"I, have studied this condition before. There are other Were-kin out there," she told him. "Were-wolves, Were-boars, Were-lions, Were-foxes, Were-bears, and many others that are more rare. Like Were-wolverines, Were-dogs, Were-rats, and your own kin, the Were-cats. I once studied the progression of the condition, which is called Lycanthropy, in an infected man who had been bitten by a Were-wolf. It was much different in his case, but I have seen enough parallels to understand in a general way what is happening to you."

"What causes it?" Tarrin asked. "Is it a disease?"

"No, young one, it is not," she told him gently. "The Were-kin are creatures of magic, Tarrin. There is a natural magic inside of you now that is linked to the cat. While it may not seem like much, it is this magical nature that gives you many of your powers, and it is also what makes you immune to the wounds of non-magical weapons, or ones not made of silver. The only non-magical things that can harm you are falls from heights, fire, and acid."

"Powers?" Tarrin asked.

"Were-kin can change their shape," she told him. "They can assume the form of the animal to which they are bonded. But I do recall hearing or reading that the Were-cats are different than the other Were-kin in that respect. There is something limited to you or makes you different than other Were-kin, so I will not even attempt to try to teach you to shapeshift until I am certain of what that difference is. The fact that your base, natural form, the one into which you transformed at the onset of the bite, was not a fully human form lends me to believe that it is a limitation more than a difference."

Tarrin swallowed that. Shapeshifting?

"There are other powers," she told him. "Inhuman strength like yours is a gift of your magical nature. And if I remember, you can regenerate wounds received from magic, falls, acid, and fire at an accelerated rate, and that you can even regenerate lost limbs. Only the injuries made from silver counter the magic that gives you power.

"But I digress. It is this inherent magic that causes the condition, Tarrin. The only thing missing from a human is that magical touch, that essense of magical energy and animal instincts. That is what is passed on through contact with body fluids. Once it is introduced into a human, he becomes a Were-creature of the same type that passed it to him. He gains all of the powers and vulnerabilities of the Were-kin, and he is Were in every aspect. He is as much Were as the one who bit him; there is no difference between a Were-kin who was born into it and one who was bitten."

"What would happen if that magic was taken away?" he asked.

"Nothing could take it away," she told him. "It is infused into every fiber of your being, and it is now as integral and necessary as your blood, or heart, or bones. If it truly was removed from you, you would die."

"I've heard stories about Were-wolves," Tarrin said thoughtfully. "They all say that they change into beasts at the full moon, but father always scoffed at them. He said he'd met one or two in his life, and they were nothing like that."

"He is correct. Were-wolves are urbane, polite fellows with a highly defined sense of propriety. Being part animal, Tarrin, Were-creatures tend to act much as their animal counterparts act, just in a human way. Were-rats are rapacious, greedy, and unreliable. Were-bears are methodical and careful, and Were-wolves are very organized and structured."

"What about, the Were-cats?" he forced himself to say the word.

"There is very little written or known about them," she said, pursing her lips. "They are the rarest of all the Were-kin, and I have never heard of a Sorcerer or scholar finding one to learn about them. The other Were-kin hold a rather low opinion of them, for some reason," she said, giving him a curious look. "Those that know of them at all, that is."

"It seems like the hand of Karas was at work when you were chosen for this assignment," Faalken noted to Dolanna. "Blind luck put the boy in the hands of someone that could help him."

"Yes, it does seem fortunate that I was sent," she mused. "To think that I nearly rejected the request. I am glad that I did not."

"I am too," Tarrin said sincerely and fervently.

Dolanna smiled and put a hand on the back of his. "With luck and hope, tonight will not be as bad," she told him. "You must still spend it alone, but as we travel, I will teach you ways to center your thinking so that you can put the instincts aside in your mind enough to rest. They are the same techniques we teach our novices in order to wield the power of Sorcery," she told him. "As you become accustomed to the cat inside your mind and as you become skilled with the centering and concentration skills I will teach you, let us hope that it solves your problem. And it will give you a head start in your studies at the Tower."

"Dolanna, I've been meaning to ask," Faalken said, "what are we going to do about travelling? Tarrin kind of stands out now."

"I have already taken that into account," she said. "I cannot create an illusion that will last all day, so I instructed Arren to have a robe made for Tarrin that will cover him. It will have a hood on it and oversized sleeves, so that he may hide his most striking features. I also had him alter Tarrin's saddle so that his feet will fit in the stirrups."

"I'll get the young pups out of bed," Faalken said. "We have a long way to go today."

Tarrin looked at his hand, more like a hand-paw than a hand, wondering at Dolanna's words. He could only really be hurt by fire, acid, magic, silver, or falling from a height. But that didn't make much sense. "Why can I be hurt from falling?" he asked.

"There is a simple concept behind it, Tarrin, one that I should explain. Now that I think of it, it is something of which you should definitely be aware. To put it more specifically, you can only be harmed by magic, silver, or weapons of nature."

"Weapons of nature?"

"Is fire not a part of nature?" she asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Does it not injure?"

"Yes."

"Acid may be made by man, but it is still a natural compound, existing in nature. Does it not also burn when touched?"

He started to understand. "So falling off a cliff results in a very natural impact with the ground," he concluded.

"Exactly. You should also be wary of true weapons of nature. A falling tree will hurt you just as quickly as it would me, and if someone hit you with a rock picked up off the ground, then it would result in a real injury. But of these lesser forms, none can kill you. You regenerate too quickly for that to happen. The only weapons of nature that can kill you are fire, acid, falling…or maybe getting impaled on a tree branch., or getting caught in an avalanche or rockslide."

"I'll remember that," he told her. "You said that I have magic inside me," he said, his mind starting to explore the possibilities.

"Yes."

"Doesn't that make me a magical weapon?" he asked, holding up his hand-paw and extending his claws. "I do have these, you know, and they are weapons."

She smiled broadly at him. "You are most clever, Tarrin. Yes, it does. Being a magical creature, you have the power to injure those creatures like yourself that can only be harmed by magic. But, there is a drawback to that," she warned. "You are a magical creature, and that lends itself to certain…vulnerabilities concerning magic. The largest is that a ward set up to repel magic will not allow you to cross it," she told him. "You cannot very well just leave your magic on the other side."

"That makes sense," he reasoned.

"Well, we must be getting ready to leave," she told him. "We can continue our discussion on the road. Let me lower the ward protecting the room. You should go get your things together, and make sure that nothing was left behind."

"Alright," Tarrin said.

Walten was getting dressed when Tarrin came back into the room. He was sandy-eyed and bleary; Walten was not a morning person. Tarrin checked his packs, and realized that all of his trousers had been altered already, and also that his boots were not here. Just as well, he reasoned. He couldn't wear them now anyway. He took that opportunity to put on clean clothes and wash up a bit, fighting a bit with the trousers to get his fingers on that little button in the back that sealed his tail into that little hole made for it. This was the second time he'd done it, and it took less than half the time the second time around. He pulled a clean shirt over his head and laced it up, then packed all his things away as he made sure that he had it all. His bow and staff were in the corner. He picked up the bow, then looked at his hands. There was no way he could shoot it like this. The tips of his claws were right there, and they could hit and cut the bowstring. "Walten, I…I can't use this anymore," he said, holding up the bow. "Would you like to have it?"

"I, guess," he said slowly. "I'll just keep it for you, in case you want it back, alright?"

"Alright," Tarrin said.

Tiella was sitting at the table when they left the room, and the door outside was open. Tarrin could see one guard standing at the door, but he could smell three others. Faalken's scent was still strong in the room, but it was obvious that he'd left. Dolanna was in the other room; he could hear her moving around. Not long after Walten came out of the room, three servents brought in large platters with breakfast, and that lured Dolanna and Tiella out of the bedroom. Tarrin had learned from yesterday how careful he had to be, else he would bite his tongue while he ate. And with teeth like his, that was not a pleasant experience. He managed to work through breakfast, then was handed a plain brown robe by Dolanna when he pushed his plate away. Although if fit, it was not comfortable. The hood pressed down on his ears in an irritating manner, and he had to keep his tail tucked in to keep it from bulging out the back of the robe.

"It won't look half as bad when you're on the horse," Faalken assured him.

"I hope not. I look deformed like this."

"Tuck your hands in," Dolanna told him, and he pushed his hands into the sleeves. They totally concealed them. "The only problem is your feet, but they will be partially in the stirrups. With the black fur on them, they will appear as boots. It will do." She sat back down at the desk, writing something on a piece of parchment. "I doubt that Duke Arren is awake, so I will write him a letter of gratitude, and when I am done, we will depart. I wish to reach Skeleton Rock by sunset, so we have a day of hard travel ahead of us."

Outside for the first time since the change, Tarrin was assaulted on all sides by sounds and smells that almost overwhelmed him. What was merely unpleasant before was a powerful stench now, the smell of man, his waste, and his sweat assaulting Tarrin's nose like a hammer. He realized that it was the background from inside the castle magnified a thousand fold. He choked briefly after stepping out the door of the keep, then went into a fit of coughing and sneezing.

"What's the matter?" Walten asked in sincere concern.

"Do all cities smell like this?" he demanded indignantly. "I think I'm going to vomit!"

"It should lessen after a while," Dolanna told him.

"I hope so," he said, putting the back of his hand over his nose and letting the smell of his fur cover the stink of the city.

Hands brought the horses around, and Tarrin realized that they may have a problem. Horses could smell too, and he wasn't sure if they'd take him as a predator or not. His scent was not the same as a human.

He approached his horse slowly and gently, letting it get his scent a little at a time. The horse began to whinny slightly and started to fidget. Reaching out one hand, Tarrin placed it on the bridge of the horse's nose, stroking it reassuringly. The horse looked at him curiously, realizing that he was the one that had the strange smell, but Tarrin's careful gentle touch had eased the horse's primary fear. "Yes, it's me," he told the horse with a smile as it suddenly nuzzled him.

"I see that that will not be a problem," Dolanna said.

"Not with this horse," he corrected. "They don't know my smell, so how they see me depends on how I act when I come up to them." Tarrin packed his saddle with his gear, sliding his staff into the saddleskirt, then carefully mounted the horse. The horse was still a bit nervous, and the other horses were beginning to get skittish, but a gentle pat on the neck and a few soothing words calmed the horse down again.

"Put up your hood, Tarrin," Dolanna ordered as she climbed into the saddle. Walten was ordered to take the pack horses, and Tiella pulled herself up with Faalken's assistance.

"Have a safe journey, milady," one of the hands said, letting go of her horse's bridle.

"May the Goddess make it so," she said quietly.

Torrian didn't seem any different when they had arrived, when Tarrin was human, but it smelled differently. The powerful smell of the city was indeed starting to dull, and Tarrin could begin to make out other scents, those of horses and wood and metal, out on the streets. The streets were sparsely populated, mainly merchants and shopkeepers and their servants beginning the ritual of opening their businesses for the day's custom. He could also catch faint odors drifting out of open doors, those of leather, spices, and the smell of baking bread of roasting meat. He looked around actively, trying to put a name or sight to a particular smell, for there were many that he couldn't readily identify. The ones that he knew were simply the smells he'd known when he was human, only sharper, but there were a myriad of other smells out there that he'd never smelled before.

They crossed the White River at the Old Bridge, and then left Torrian through the eastern gate, on what was known as Skeleton Road, because of the natural formation called Skeleton Rock that was visible from the road. Once they were outside the walls, the powerful smell of the city ebbed with every step, until there was nothing left but the smells of the forest.

It was just as powerful, but for different reasons. The Cat seemed to roar up in his mind at the smells and sounds and sights of the wilderness, reacting to the scents of the forest. His ears began to search and seek out every little sound, his nose testing the air for every possible scent. The smells of man and horses were still strong along the road, but the smell of trees and earth and animals washed away that unnatural intrusion. Tarrin pulled down his hood and breathed deeply as the smells of the forest, letting them clear his nose of the city-smell and clear his mind of his worries.

There was one other smell, faint, but he could just barely make it out. A familiar smell, though he'd never smelled it before. Familiar because it was close to his own. "The other one was here," he told Dolanna. "The one that bit me. I can still smell her."

"How long ago?"

"Probably yesterday," he told her. "I'm not sure, though. I'm still getting used to this." He pointed to the woods. "Her smell goes that way. I think she went for the trees almost right after she cleared the hill that hid her from the city wall."

"Just let her go, Tarrin," Dolanna warned. "You will not find her."

"I don't want to," he grunted. "I know that this wasn't her fault, but she's still the one that did it to me."

"I understand," she said. "Let us pick up the pace. Skeleton Rock is quite a distance from here."

They rode hard throughout the entire morning, stopping only to rest the horses. The morning was warm and sunny, and the weather pleasant enough to make the ride almost enjoyable, as Tarrin experienced such a sensation of freedom and pleasure that it made him wonder at himself. He knew it was coming from the Cat, but that didn't change how he felt. The Cat considered the trackless winderness to be home, but he could also sense that it didn't mind the cities, either. It was a creature of adaptability, capable of making it almost anywhere its paws were touching the ground.

They did not stop for lunch, they ate in the saddle during a walking period to rest the horses, a meal consisting of dried fruit, cheese, and bread, then they were off again at a brisk canter. The shape of the land was slowly changing, becoming less hilly but just as forested, and there were more and more small streams and brooks to traverse as they continued in the south-of-east direction in which they were moving. There were no villages or settlements in the region, which Tarrin considered to be curious. "Why aren't there any villages?" he called to Dolanna as they rode.

"Because this region is considered to be bad luck," she replied. "Skeleton Rock breeds such tales. You will understand when you see it."

Tarrin considered that, then decided to wait until he saw this Skeleton Rock before he made any judgements.

About an hour after eating, they slowed to a walk to rest the horses. The wind shifted into Tarrin's face, and that brought to him the smell of man. Several of them, just up ahead. Faalken was at the rear, riding up from a scout of their trail and possibly moving on up ahead to scout the front. "Dolanna, there are men and horses in front of us," he warned her.

"How many?"

He sniffed at the air. "I can make out at least six different men," he told her, "but it seems like there are more than that." Up ahead, the road turned sharply to the left to avoid a deep streambed.

Dolanna called for them to stop by raising her hand and reining in. "This road is known for bandits, because of the lack of population along it," she told Tarrin. "Let us make sure it is a trade caravan before rounding the corner. Put up your hood, young one. Walten, Tiella, come closer."

He lifted the hood in place as Faalken reached them. "What is it?" he asked.

"Tarrin smells men up ahead," Dolanna told him. "We will wait to see if they show themselves."

"That's not all of it," he said. "There are several men riding up from behind, hard," he told her. "I could just make out their dust. They'll be up to here in just a little while."

Tarrin scented a change in the attitude of the scents, getting stronger. They were moving, and it wasn't up the road. "Dolanna, the men are moving, but they're not coming up the road."

"Which direction?" Faalken asked.

"Towards us," he replied.

"That tears it," Faalken said grimly, clapping down the visor of his helmet. "Caravans don't sneak through the woods."

Walten drew out Tarrin's bow and nocked an arrow. Surprisingly, Tiella drew out a sling from her belt pouch and slipped a stone into the cup. "No, take the pack horses," Walten told her. "I need both my hands. You can still get off one shot holding the horse's reins."

"Tiella, take the pack horses off the road," Faalken told her.

Tarrin could hear them now, rustling the brush ahead of them, near the curve. He could make out a startled oath of disappointment, then there was the sound of swords sliding out of scabbards. Tarrin laid back his ears and snarled wordlessly as the Cat in him prepared to beat back the attackers. "They're coming," Tarrin said, pulling his staff out from the saddleskirt. Now that they were closer, more and more scents were becoming clear to him. "Dolanna, I can smell at least fifteen now, maybe more."

"Listen!" Dolanna said sharply. "Stay together, and do not advance past me," she warned. "I will have to use sorcery, and I do not want to hurt one of you by accident. Faalken, with me. Tarrin, stay with Walten and Tiella and defend our pack animals."

In a rush, at least ten men erupted from the brush ahead, shouting and brandishing weapons. Five men on horses rounded the corner ahead and charged, and a single man stood back by the brush. Tarrin could hear him shouting in oddly discordant, unintelligible words that made Dolanna's eyes widen like saucers. He could feel her do her magic, then he felt a sensation of enclosure. The shouting man pointed his hands at them, and Tarrin almost jumped when a ball of fire erupted from his hands and streaked right at them. It struck something in front of them, something invisible, and exploded. Tiella screamed and Tarrin had to supress the sudden urge to run away when an inferno of angry fire surrounded them, licking at the invisible something that prevented it from reaching them. Dolanna's magic had created some sort of shield that was defending them from the enemy's magical attack. "Walten, take out that mage!" Faalken demanded instantly. Walten raised the longbow instinctively, pulled back, aimed, and fired. Tarrin could see from the instant it left the bow that it would hit the mark. It arced over the small field separating them, homing in on the chanting man, then simply bounced away harmlessly.

He had something protecting him too.

"I cannot divide my attention," Dolanna said in a strained voice as the men reached her shield and started beating on it with their swords. "It is all I can do to hold a shield this size!"

Tarrin pulled off the robe and dropped off the horse, understanding instinctively that if the mage wasn't killed, he would bring down Dolanna's shield, and they would be hopelessly outnumbered by the attacking bandits. He dropped his staff and waited for the right instant, right when the middle-most man was rearing back his arm. Then he exploded forward like an arrow from a bow. His shoulder caught the man squarely in the chest, picking him up and carrying him into the man behind him, exploding him off his feet and carrying him for several spans before Tarrin threw both of them aside almost negigently. Then he put his ears back and ran flat out right at the mage. Tarrin's inhuman strength gave him inhuman speed in that sprint, faster than a horse, and the chanting man's eyes' bulged and he nearly mis-spoke himself as he saw the Were-cat bearing down on him, his face full of mindless fury. The mage simply redirected his spell, pointing at Tarrin instead of Dolanna. A bolt of brilliant white lightning lashed out from the man's hands, arcing across the meadow.

But Tarrin wasn't there.

The man blinked a second, then a shadow on the ground made him look up.

It was the last thing he would ever see.

Tarrin had sprung into the air at the last instant, jumping clear of the magical attack, jumping impossibly high, nearly twenty spans into the air. He could have jumped onto the roof of a two story bulding with his vaulting leap. It wasn't that hard for him to adjust his trajectory so that he would land right on the unfortunate man His hand-paws leading, Tarrin slammed directly into the man's chest, and he was already slashing and tearing before his opponent hit the ground. They both rolled several times backwards as Tarrin's momentum blew them both back towards the trees, as Tarrin got a grip on the man's shoulder with one hand, his claws sinking deep into flesh, and he brought up a foot and put it against the man's ribcage. He drove his claws into the man's belly as they rolled, then kicked out and down even as his hand pulled the man into it. It was an instinctive move, the same as a cat raking with its back claws, and it was devastating. Tarrin ripped the man open from the base of his ribcage to his hips, and all his internal organs flew out of him in a stinking, bloody spray, their rolling making them fly all about. The man managed to make a gurgling croak before he came down hard on his back, Tarrin on top of him. His eyes registered shock as Tarrin lifted a paw while hunched over the man, his other paw holding him down by the chest and his face twisted into an animalistic snarl of pure hatred, and then struck with it. The blow was aimed at the throat, but the sheer force of it, and Tarrin's inhuman strength, ripped the man's head right off his body. That head was swiped aside by the raw power of the blow, bouncing in the bloody grass like a ball before coming to rest at the base of a tree.

Tarrin was almost overwhelmed by the smell of the blood, and for a horrifying moment, he had to stop himself from ripping the man apart. He put a blood-saturated hand-paw to his head, trying to shake off the loud song of the Cat trying to get him to do as it willed, urging him not just to kill, but to savage the victim. But his human reason prevailed; his friends needed him. Tarrin got up and turned around, looking at the men beating against the shield Dolanna created with their weapons. Dolanna made a pushing motion, and the shield suddenly exploded outward, sending the men flying in all directions. Faalken charged into the fray with his sword drawn, having his warhorse stomp and grind enemies into the ground under his hooves. Tarrin sprinted back towards them, chagrined at throwing away his staff like he did. Walten put an arrow into a man's belly as Dolanna seemingly grabbed small balls of fire from the air, hurling them with deadly accuracy into the chests and backs of the attackers. Tarrin hit the back of the regrouping men like an avalanche, grabbing one by the back of his mail armor, picking him up, and hurling him into three others with enough force to tumble them three paces down the road. He raised a bloodstained paw, the claws with small bits of ripped flesh stuck to them, and ripped the face off one attacker with it, then backhanded another with enough power to rip through his chain mail. One man desperately tried to spear him from the side, but Tarrin twisted, grabbed the spear with a free paw, and swung the man around, throwing him to the ground. Tarrin used the spear shaft to block a sword, then an axe, then stepped into an overswing and delivered a short kick to the knee. It snapped the man's leg like a twig. Tarrin almost instinctively fell into the Ungardt forms of fighting, and found a center, a focus that kept the Cat in check and let him concentrate on the matter at hand. Killing enough of them to make the survivors break and flee.

Tarrin went to rake a man across the chest, but an arrow appeared in his side, and Faalken cut him down from behind an instant later. Tarrin darted to the horse's side and grabbed the haft of an axe that was aimed at the horse's leg, then yanked it out of the man's hand and buried it up to the handle in the back of the man's head as he was turned by the strength of Tarrin's yank. Tarrin saw out of the corner of his eye a man trying to stab him in the side with a sword, then grabbed the brained man and dragged him into the sword's path. The man lost his sword as the dead man fell, then he fell himself with an arrow right in the temple. Tarrin had to admit, Walten was a very good shot with his bow.

The remaning five men, two wounded by Faalken's sword and Walten's arrows, turned and fled, screaming in panic. "Let them go!" Dolanna said wearily as Tarrin moved to chase them down.

"Are you alright?" Faalken asked. "You're covered with blood."

"It's not mine," Tarrin said through clenched teeth. He'd killed. Not just one, but several men; he couldn't even remember how many. Although it was a case of kill or die, he'd never taken a human life before, and he found the taste of it to be very bitter.

"Tarrin," Dolanna said in a tightly controlled voice. "The next time you decide to do something like that, let me know. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I didn't know I was doing it myself," he muttered quietly, looking away from the carnage and trying not to smell the blood, or listen to the Cat sing to him in his mind.

"This was no group of bandits," Faalken said with a grunt. "Not with equipment like this."

"And not with a Wizard leading them," Dolanna agreed.

"This is too much, too fast," Faalken continued in a sober voice. "There was the fire at Watch Hill, and then the attack on Tarrin, and now this. Somebody doesn't want us to get back to Suld real bad."

Tarrin could hear the pounding of horses' hooves, and feel the vibration of it in the pads of his feet, coming from the road under him. "Dolanna, those horses are coming up fast," Tarrin said urgently.

By the time Dolanna had turned to look up the road, the first of them appeared. The man behind the leader was carrying the banner of Torrian and Duke Arren. They were dressed in the blue surcoats that were the uniform of the armored, mounted warriors under Arren's control. They slowed to a stop at the battlefield, and the lead man advanced. "Lady Dolanna, Duke Arren sends these twenty men to be your escorts and guards on your journey," he announced. "I am Captain Daran." He looked around. "I see we didn't ride hard enough," he said in a grating voice. "Are there any wounded?"

"Not among us, captain," Dolanna said warily.

The captain reached under his surcoat and produced a letter. "The Duke asked me to give you this, to prove our identity," he said. "Jarax, take two men and see if the survivors of this are still lurking around. Kardon, take three men and pull these bodies off the road. Let's not litter the King's Highway."

The two men, one slim and wiry and the other massively built, saluted and took men to carry out their orders. Dolanna accepted the letter from the captain, broke the seal, and read it quickly. "These are the Duke's men," she affirmed. "Noboby but Arren would know what is written here. Considering what just happened, captain, we will be very glad to have you along."

Daran looked around professionally. "Quite a rumble," he noted. "Looks like the Were-cat did some serious damage. Good work, Master Kael," he said, bowing in his saddle. "It looks like you saved one of my Duke's favorite people."

"It was nothing," Tarrin said weakly. The smell of the blood was getting to him, and it was getting very hard to control the instincts.

Dolanna looked at him sharply. "Tarrin, there is a stream just at the bend up ahead," she told him. "Take a clean change of clothing and go wash up."

"I think I will," he said gratefully.

After scrubbing the blood and bits of flesh off his paws and getting himself clean and into clean clothes, he rejoined them. The bodies had been pulled off the road and placed in a line in the meadow. The bodies had been carefully searched, nearly stripped, much of their equipment now on the pack horses serving the Duke's men. Dolanna was with Walten and Tiella, talking to them as Faalken helped the captain throw the last body into line with the others. The three men sent to look for the survivors had returned. Tarrin joined Dolanna with the others as she finished telling them about something. Tiella, Tarrin noticed, was a bit pale, but had a determined look on her face. "You alright, Tiella?" he asked.

"I'm alright," she told him. "I almost got pulled off my horse by one of the bandits, but Sir Faalken saved me."

"Not before you put that sling stone in his eye, then kicked him in the face," Faalken chuckled as he rejoined them. "That had to hurt."

"It was supposed to," she said primly.

"I imagine it would," Faalken grinned. "For a trio of farm children, you three are rather nasty fighters."

"It's from working all day, Sir Faalken, and having nothing else to do but shoot things," Walten replied dryly.

"Just Faalken, please," he corrected. "And I think I'd rather have you three farm villagers in a fight over a pack of knights. Are we ready to leave, Dolanna?"

"Yes, we are ready now," she said. "Tarrin, pick up your staff and put the robe back on, and we will be off."

Tarrin rode with Dolanna and Tiella as they got under way, encircled protectively by the Duke's alert men, wrapped in a layer of steel and trained warriors against another attack. Faalken and Jarax were scouting ahead, and the captain had a man riding behind as rear guard. Tarrin had a grim expression on his face as he broached a subject he wanted to continue talking about. "Back there, Dolanna, you said that you didn't think that they were bandits," he said.

"They were not," she said gruffly. "A pack of bandits would not have a Wizard leading them."

"And then Faalken brought up the fire, and, and what happened to me."

"Yes, and I do not think that they were mere coincidence. Not now. Tarrin, someone sent the female Were-cat after you on purpose. The collar that she was wearing was a device that was controlling her. And now the attack on us, after you and Faalken had noticed the Wraith. And before that, the fire that started so mysteriously, and raged out of control faster than even my magic could control it. No, someone is trying to stop us from reaching Suld. Someone with considerable resources at his disposal."

"But why?" he asked. "It makes no sense. We're three villagers being brought to the Tower by a Sorceress and a knight. What possible reason could someone have to try to stop us? We're not worth the effort."

"I know, that is a part of the puzzle," she said thoughtfully, a finger tapping her chin as she thought. "Obviously, these people know something that we do not. Or believe that they do."

"I think-" Tiella said, then she quickly hushed herself.

"Go ahead, child," Dolanna prompted. "Do not think that you cannot speak your mind to me."

"I think that maybe it's not just one person," she said.

Dolanna raised an eyebrow. "An intriguing concept," she said with sincere interest. "Why do you believe so?"

"Well, there was the fire, then what happened to Tarrin, and now this," she said. "And the Wraith, but it didn't attack us. Well, aren't they just a bit too different?" she asked. "Why not try another fire? That almost worked, and they had to know that. Why send that woman after Tarrin, when she could have attacked you? If they got you, Dolanna, the rest of us would probably just turn around and run home. Then there was this, where they tried to kill all of us, but they used brute force and not magic or a slave, like before. They just don't add up."

"I think that you have a point," Dolanna said. "They may be from the same group, but I think you are right in believing that this was not the work of an individual. This was either a group or several individuals working independently."

"The question is still why," Tarrin maintained.

"That, I cannot answer," Dolanna said, rubbing her delicate jaw.

"So we'd best plan our moves carefully," Tarrin said.

"I have already mapped out our plan of action," she said. "At Marta's Ford, we will take a riverboat to Ultern. That, I hope, will leave behind any spies that are watching us. From Ultern, it is but a bit over three days to Suld. Two days to Jerinhold and one day from there to Suld itself. Plus, the Ultern Road is packed at most all times with caravans and travellers," she added. "The congestion on the road will help to conceal us from sight, and dissuade another such direct attack."

"So the worst of it will be getting to Marta's Ford," Tiella said.

Dolanna nodded. "It is still three days to Marta's Ford, even if we travel hard," she told them. "This is a wide expanse of unsettled territory, where most anything can hide and wait in ambush. I must admit, I am relieved beyond measure that Arren had the foresight to send a guard detachment after us. Daran and his men are highly skilled, and are extremely familiar with this terrain. They will get us to Marta's Ford. That is our main objective at the moment."

"And from there, a boat ride," Tiella said.

Dolanna nodded. "Rennee should still be at Marta's Ford," she said. "He is an old friend of mine. He told me that he would not be leaving for a while, so that his crew can conduct minor repairs to his ship. Perhaps, if he is there and seaworthy, he will agree to take us downriver. His ship is fast, and his crew skilled. They will put us far ahead of any pursuers."

"I like the sound of that," Tarrin said sincerely.

"As do I," she said. "Now then, let us pick up the pace a bit. We still must make Skeleton Rock before we may stop."

Skeleton Rock was literally self-explanatory. They reached the formation right at nightfall, and all four moons rose early and full, washing the land with enough light to see by for a human. The others couldn't see that far into the distance, but Tarrin's eyes could easily see to the cliff face that towered over the road some distance away. In the side of it, there was the head and partial skeleton of a monstrous animal so huge that Tarrin doubted it was ever alive. The skull was long and vaguely reptillian, and it looked like the teeth were as long as Tarrin's foot, all of them coming to sharp points.

Tarrin peered at the formation for several moments, then stopped Dolanna as she walked by. "What kind of beast is that?" he asked.

"Nobody knows," she replied. "The bones are actually stone, but I have been told that bones turning to stone is a natural process. It means that the bones are beyond ancient. They are so old that all the Tower's attempts to study them through magic have failed. It is just too far back for our magic to reach. There are reports of much smaller creatures resembling that one that live in the Desert of Swirling Sands, to the west."

"Much smaller? How small?"

"About the size of a house," she replied calmly.

"Yeek," he said under his breath. "I wouldn't want to see one of those up close. It looks like it's nothing but an eating machine."

"That is a fairly accurate description," she said with a light chuckle.

Tarrin was given his own tent, and it was another night of dreams. The fear wasn't as bad this second night, but the dreams were even worse, because more than once he simply could not wake from it. They were also mixed with human-like dreams of the men that he had killed, rising up from their resting places and following him around, demanding to know what gave him the right to take their lives. That scared him more than the Cat dreams. Tarrin had suppressed the shock, fear, and horror at what he had done, but when he was asleep, they all rushed back at him in a flood.

Hours before dawn, he found the idea of going back to sleep to be too frightening to contemplate, so he dressed and left the tent. Three men were standing guard around the camp, and the fire was low. He spent the hours before dawn reading one of the books Dolanna gave him, a book about the sources, uses, and practioners of magic. The book was confusing, obviously written for someone that already had a basic understanding of magic and the people who use it, but he did learn several things that he thought were important.

There were four distinct types of magic-users, and each one drew magic from a different source. The Sorcerers, who were born the ability inside them. Where anyone with sufficient intelligence could learn another type of magic, only people born with the ability inside them could be Sorcerers. They manipulated the existing pattern-web of magic that laid over the world, twisting and changing it into the magical effect they wanted. This magical matrix was called the Weave, and it was from this web of magical energy that Sorcerers drew their power. Sorcerers were the only magic-users that could generate Illusions, it said, and a Sorcerer could interfere with the flow of magic through the Weave that would disrupt and block the powers of a Wizard. There were also Wizards, or Mages, who drew on their magical power from an elsewhere, a place that nobody really understood. They did this with their arcane chants of special words of power and precise gestures, and the presence of certain materials that were vital for the magic to operate. Wizards were the only ones that could Conjure creatures up from other worlds and command them to do their bidding. Much like the Wraith that he had seen. Priests, or Clerics, were the worshippers of Gods, and it was the Gods that supplied these faithful with the magical power. Tarrin was already familiar with Priests, for one from the temple to Karas in Torrian visited Aldreth every two months to check in on them and see if they were doing alright. Abram preached alot about the goodness and power of his God when he was there, and though the villagers politely ignored his ranting, they were always happy to see him, because he could perform healing on the sick or injured. The main powers of a Priest were healing, supportive, and defensive, the book said, meaning more to aid than to hurt, but Priests did have formidable offensive magic at their command. Mending broken bones, breaking fevers, that sort of thing was what Abram did for the village. Sorcerers could heal too, but a Sorcerer's healing worked differently. Sorcerers could heal injuries, but not illnesses. The last type of magic-user was also a type that was born with the ability. They were called Druids, and little was known about them or their magical power. What was known was that their power seemed to come directly from nature itself, almost like the magical energy of life that was theirs to command. Druids were rare and exceptionally powerful, because a Druid could disrupt and block the magical attempts of any other type of magic-user. But Druids were as rare as they were powerful, living far from human settlements and doing their obscure work in the wildest of the wilderness.

Tarrin digested that during the dark hours, wondering at the why of it. Why could Sorcerers block a Wizard's attempt to cast a spell? And why didn't Dolanna do that to the Wizard when they were fighting? How did Priests call on the Gods for their magic? Could anyone? The book didn't say. What other place did Wizards get their magic, and how did they learn of the creatures from beyond that they could summon up into the world? And just what did the Druids do? Why could only Sorcerers create Illusions? Why could Wizards only summon creatures from beyond? Just what magic did the Druids draw on for their power?

Many questions, questions that he doubted the book was going to answer.

The wiry man, Jarax, came out of a tent and sat near him by the fire. He was a thin man, seemingly too thin to wear the heavy armor, with wiry muscles and a long, narrow face. His black hair was short and slicked back off his face, and he had a scraggly beard and moustache. "I see I'm not the only one that can't sleep," he said.

Tarrin had not talked to any of these men, and he was a bit afraid to do so. They knew what he was, and it was their companions, their friends, that the female killed in her escape. He was almost certain that most of them probably blamed him in some way for what had happened. Besides, he was a bit nervous about talking to strangers. He couldn't see past his own transformation in order to communicate with people he didn't know, so self-conscious was he about what had happened to himself. Tarrin just nodded vaguely, hoping the man would just sit down and be quiet. He wasn't sure if the man was talking out of simple courtesy, or friendliness, or out of fear of him. All in all, he rather preferred it if there was no talk at all.

"What are you reading?" he asked politely.

"A book on magic," Tarrin replied quietly.

"Don't think I ever read that," he mused, leaning back against a log. "I prefer stories and poetry myself." Tarrin went back to his book, and after a few moments, the man spoke again. "Is that what you always read?" he asked curiously.

"Do you mind?" he asked. "I'm trying to understand this."

"Sorry," he said a bit tartly, leaning back against the log again. Tarrin looked at the book, not really reading it, turning a page every few minutes. It was worth it to avoid talking. "Could I interest you in a game of stones?" the man asked.

Tarrin snarled at him, his ears laying back slightly. The man gave him a startled look, then hastily stood up. "I think you'd rather be alone," he said, stating the obvious. Then he turned and walked away.

Tarrin put the book down, putting his palm to his forehead. Where did that come from? It wasn't like him to react like that, but the man had irritated him. What scared him was that it came without thought, and he reacted on it just as mindlessly. Were the instincts changing him so much? Like what had happened earlier, with the mage. He'd torn the man apart, literally, and he had reveled in it for one horrifying moment. It wasn't a perverse joy, it more like a deep satisfaction that came with killing an enemy. But it frightened him just the same. He was changing, he knew it, he could feel it. And there was nothing he could do about it. He could only hope that he could temper it. So that there would be some part of Tarrin left once the mental alterations were complete.

"Would you like to talk about it?" asked a voice. It was Tiella. She sat down beside him on the log, fearlessly taking his hand-paw into her hand and stroking it reassuringly. That simple act was devastating in its simplicity, and he was about to surrender completely to her and let her scratch him behind the ears. Tiella turned his hand up and looked at his palm, with its large, tough pad and the smaller pads on his fingertips, marvelling at the paw-like qualities of his hand, which truly made it a hybrid of the two, and not one or the other.

"I'm…doing things, Tiella," he said uncertainly. "I'm not thinking about them…it's like I can't think about them. They just happen, and I'm afraid of it."

"Why?" she asked.

Tarrin blinked and looked at her. "Why? Because it's not what I would do," he told her.

"That's to be expected, Tarrin. This," she said, holding up his hand-paw, "this is not what you were a few days ago. It's different now. You have to let yourself get used to it, but that doesn't have to mean that you have to be afraid of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when something like that happens, ask yourself why it happened," she told him. "What happened?"

"That man kept talking to me, and I wanted to be left alone," he said, shuddering a bit. "So I snarled at him."

"Alright, now why did it happen?" she asked.

"I don't know, because he was irritating me, I guess," he said.

"No," she said. "That's what you think happened," she said. "What about the other mind in there? Why did it do it?"

"To make him leave me alone," he floundered.

"No," she said again. "Because you wouldn't do anything about it," she told him. "It let you try first. When you either gave up or failed, it decided to do something about it. And it worked."

Tarrin stared at her for quite a while. It was a bit crazy, but in its own way, it was perfectly logical. The Cat in him had its own way of doing things, that was true…but it was also true that that didn't happen until after then man repeatedly bothered him. Had the Cat sensed his human desires, and acted upon them? If that were so, then didn't that put the Cat under his control as much as it put him under its control?

"You're going to have to start asking yourself why you do the things you do," she told him. "There has to be reasons for every single thing. And if you can understand those reasons, well, then maybe it won't be so scary. So the next time it happens, don't be afraid of it. Explore it, try to understand it. Experience it. If you try to just ignore it, then you'll never be able to stop it."

He chuckled ruefully. "Tiella, I don't think you know how much better I feel now," he said sincerely. "I think you may be right. Dolanna told me not to ignore what I was feeling and the instincts in my head, but if she'd have said it the same way you just did, I don't think I'd have been afraid. Well, I'm still going to be afraid, but I'll try to understand the why of what I do as well as the what. There has to be reasons the Cat does the things it does. It's not a creature of whim."

"That's where you're messing up, Tarrin," she told him. "Don't keep thinking about it as it and you. There is no it and you. It's just you. What you have in here," she said, tapping his forehead, "it's a part of you. If you treat it like something that's not, then it's going to seem like it's not, and that's not good for you. You may call it the Cat, or the instincts, or the other mind, but it's not. It's just a different part of you, of your own mind. It's not what the Cat does, it's what you do."

He gave her a steady look, and he could see her blush slightly. Tiella was usually a quiet girl, headstrong, but talking wasn't her way. He knew she was smart, but she'd just laid out what he was feeling, and solutions to those problems, like it was something that even a child would have realized. He looked at her with a budding new respect. He reached up and put his paw on her cheek, his huge paw swallowing up half her face, and she smiled at him and put her hand against his paw. "That tickles," she giggled. "That pad is soft and rough at the same time, and the fur on your fingers is smooth. Now, it's my turn," she said, holding out a hand imperiously. Tarrin seemed to understand what she wanted. Without much thought, he brought his tail around and placed it into her waiting hand. She grabbed hold of it, feeling the thickness of it, then probed the fur with her fingers meticulously. He felt her fingertip touch the skin under the fur, then she grabbed it both hands and bent it. She bent it until it was touching itself, and kept doing it until he sucked in his breath. "Sorry," she apologized. "Is the fur hot?"

"I don't think so," he replied. "It just seems normal."

"What's it like, having the tail?"

"Different. Interesting," he replied. "It does its own thing most of the time, but it does help with balance, and it helps me run faster. It's longer than my legs, so I have to keep it off the ground, but that's not too hard. The muscles that move it are pretty strong."

"How does it help you run?"

"It's like a counterbalance," he told her. "I can lean farther down, and that lets me run faster. I don't fall over because of the weight pushing out behind me. It seems to just know when and where to move to keep me balanced too. It's almost eerie."

She yawned. "I think I'll go back to bed," she told him. "Think about what I said, Tarrin. And try to get some sleep. You're starting to get circles under your eyes."

She slipped back into the tent she shared with Dolanna, leaving Tarrin to his own thoughts. She had come very, very close to the mark, he realized. He did tend to think of the Cat as an invader, an alien, something that was not him taking up residence in his mind. That wasn't true. Though it hadn't been there before, it was there now, and it was as much a part of him as his right arm. Perhaps the Cat considered him to be much the same, an usurper out to overthrow it. It did things, things that happend without his rational thought, but that was only logical. They were instinctive reactions, response to stimulus, reflexes. They happened first because he didn't have to think about them. Analyzing his actions also was very sensible. If he could identify what was making him do things, and why they were happening, he would come into a greater understanding about himself, and that would make it easier when it was necessary for him to prevent that particular thing from happening again, or to minimize its effect if it was something either unavoidable or uncontrollable.

It wouldn't be easy. He knew that. It may be instincts and impulses, but it carried with it a greater intelligence that made what he called the Cat a very complex creature. But it was a start. And that was something that he hadn't had when they left Torrian yesterday. It did make him afraid, but at least now he felt that there was something that he could do in order to make peace inside himself.

After a suitable gawk at Skeleton Rock and a hot breakfast, the group was off again, riding hard in the cloudy morning. Captain Daran kept two men in the lead at all times, scouting out the conditions ahead as two men drifted behind them to ensure there were no followers. They passed one caravan train in the morning, and a brief stop to talk to them told them that the way ahead was all but deserted, and that they were making better time than they thought. At the pace they were going, they would reach Marta's Ford before noon tomorrow.

Tarrin spent the riding thinking about what Tiella had said to him, and thinking about Dolanna's instruction that morning, in concentration exercises. They were a bit like the aiming exercise that his father taught him, about emptying the mind of all thought and concentrating all of your attention onto a single thing, ignoring everything else. In archery, that one thing was the target. Dolanna was teaching him to center himself on himself. She told him that that was the first step to using Sorcery, to look within, and then without, then draw what was out within, then use what was within to change what was without. It sounded a bit confusing, but he was certain that it would make sense eventually. He couldn't do it riding the horse as hard as he was, but he could think about how what Dolanna had told him would fit in with the insights that Tiella had revealed to him early that morning.

They stopped for lunch near a small river which they had just forded. Lunch was going to be a simple affair of bread and cheese and some dried fruit, but Tarrin was more thankful for the time out of the saddle. His back didn't agree with all the bouncing around. He put his paws on his back and stretched it, bending backwards so deeply that his head nearly brushed the ground. His backbone was different now, he knew, with more bones in it that were a bit smaller, which let him bend like that. Playing around, he put one paw on the ground and walked over himself, bringing his legs up and over until he was balanced on that one paw perfectly. He'd never considered that he would inherit the cat's agility as well as the fur. Such a move was no strain on him at all to maintain. He bent his elbow and brought his nose down to tickle the grass, then pushed himself back out, then swung down into a hunched, all-fours position much akin to a cat sitting. "Having fun?" Walten asked him as he walked by.

"Just testing something," he replied. He sprang straight up, high into the air, then tucked in and began to roll backwards. The sky and ground traded places wildly, but Tarrin just knew exactly where the ground was, and he also just knew precisely how he was oriented to the ground at all times. He snapped out his arms, and his paws made perfect contact with the grass. He arched back and pushed off with his arms, coming to a perfect stop, bent like a bow, at a very shallow angle to the ground, using raw strength to keep from toppling over. It was incredible, and he wondered at it for long moments as he generally just jumped around, performing acrobatic feats that would had made the most grizzled veteran performer gawk.

"Impressive," Dolanna remarked. "Now, if you are done playing, we need to eat and move on."

"Sorry," he said, sitting down beside the Sorceress as Faalken grinned at him. "What?"

"You should tour," he said with a laugh. "Tarrin Kael, acrobat extraordinaire. I can see you pack them in."

"Oh, please," Tarrin scoffed.

"We can get you one of those tight-fitting costumes," he went on.

Jarax laughed, and Tarrin scowled at the knight.

"Dolanna can open for you, doing a magic act with things stuffed up her sleeves and ribbons hidden in her hair."

"That will do," Dolanna said frostily.

Faalken gave Dolanna an imupdent grin, then took a drink of water innocently.

"You can be the strongman," Tarrin told him with a calm voice. "Faalken, the half-brained strongman, so muscular because his body didn't want to waste the effort on his mind, so dumb we don't even pay him. I figure that should attract the baser audience."

Faalken gave him a look, then laughed jovially. "I guess I deserved that," he chuckled.

"You deserved worse," Dolanna said in an icy voice.

"Your dinner is getting warm," Faalken told her with a wink.

They camped that night in a clearing well off the road, and it was another sleepless night for Tarrin as the dreams invaded his mind. He awoke the next morning sandy-eyed and feeling like his head was stuffed in wool. Dolanna put them out on a pace even harder than the day before, and it wasn't long until the first farms surrounding Marta's Ford were laid out to the sides of the Skeleton Road. Dolanna slowed them to a walk, and as Walten and Tiella listened to the wiry Jarax tell some old tale, Tarrin rode up to Dolanna and listened as she talked with the captain of Arren's men and Faalken.

"We intend to take ship here, Daran, and there are too many of your men to make it feasible," she told the captain.

"I intend to see you to Suld, Mistress Dolanna," he said adamantly. "Arren ordered me to escort you through the front door of the Tower, and I mean to do just that. I'll bring five men with you."

"That is still too many. We have to board the horses."

"Four."

"Three," Faalken said. "That's about all the room that we'll have."

"Three then," he said. "Jarax and Orgal."

"Good choices," Faalken agreed.

"Jarax?" Tarrin asked. "Why?"

"There's more to worth than a man's arm, Tarrin," Daran told him. "Jarax is a good fighter, but he's also a talkative man that keeps the villagers entertained, and keeps their mind off what's going on. That makes him more than worth it."

Tarrin hadn't considered that. And it made sense.

"Orgal is the monster of a man that usually rides rear guard," Daran told Dolanna. "He's quiet and seems slower than he is, and he's got a good eye. Not much gets past him."

"Then arrange your packs so that your gear is with us," she said. "But I do not want any more than one extra pack animal in our train. Space is becoming a problem."

"I'll see to it, Mistress Dolanna," Daran said.

"Tarrin, go back to Tiella and Walten for a time," Dolanna told him. "And pull up your hood."

"Yes ma'am," he said, pulling back and letting the knight and Sorceress speak privately. He didn't even try to eavesdrop on them, which would have been easy because of his keen hearing. He settled the hood over his ears carefully, patting on it to feel if they were bulging, then joined the trio in the middle of the column.

Jarax was spinning a tale about history, about the civil war that had raged between Draconia and Tykarthia for the last seven hundred years. They were the two kingdoms north of Sulasia, which had once been one kingdom, and had fought a war so bloody for so long that victory wasn't even a goal any more. They lived only to completely eradicate the other off the face of Sennadar. "So," Jarax was saying, "the western nobles of Draconia were getting more and more displeased with King Dawon. They considered the weighted tithe system the king used to be unfair, seeing as how the western nobles were paying nearly four times as much as the eastern ones. The nobles of the east, led by the crafty Earl Winold, kept flattering the king with gifts and very carefully arranged plots to continue to discredit the western nobles and keep them out of the king's favor. Winold, you see, hated Duke Tykan with a passion, and he considered the more moderate practices going on in the western parts of the kingdom to be almost sacreligious. Winold was a man that would have banned the use of fire if the thought he could get away with it. Some men are like that.

"Winold was a crafty one, but he made one fatal error. He arranged a border atrocity, sending a large complement of soldiers to attack an isolated, small village in southern Ungardt, then arranged it to look like the leader of the western nobles, Duke Tykan, was the one that ordered the attack. The attackers carried out their mission, and did manage to convince the Ungardt that it was Tykan who was responsible, but they didn't count on the Ungardt response. Instead of punishing just Tykan, the Ungardt invaded the entire kingdom of Draconia. That was the War of Seven Roses, and it lasted only six months. It ended with the Ungardt invaders taking King Dawon back to Dusgaard in chains, dragged by a horse the entire way. The stories say that he even managed to live long enough to get to Dusgaard, where he was stoned to death in a public square by children. Dawon's heir was Elon."

"Elon the Sunderer?" Tarrin asked.

"That's how he's known, yes," Jarax said with a smile. "Elon wasn't a very smart man. He relied on Winold's counsel, not realizing that Winold only cared about putting Tykan in his place. Tykan and the western nobles had fought well in the war, but the western lands had been relatively untouched. The Ungardt had invaded from the north and east, ravaging the eastern duchies on their way to Draconis. Winold convinced Elon to raise the taxes and thithes even more on the western nobles, to equalize the suffering, so Elon had been told.

"Needless to say, Tykan and the western nobles went up in flames. Tykan demanded an audience with the king, which was denied. Tykan knew that it was Winold behind all the scheming, so he decided that he had to talk to the King without Winold's oily voice there to cloud the issues. When he tried to get into the king's bedroom to talk to him personally, Winold had him thrown in the dungeon. The western nobles, loyal to Tykan, attacked Dracon Keep in a surprise attack and freed Duke Tykan. They were careful not to hurt anyone, but their goal of just freeing the Duke wasn't really noticed. Tykan fled back to his duchy with Winold's private army on his tail, then they barred themselves in Tykar's Hold and endured a month-long siege. The armies of the west rose up and chased out the invaders.

"That was when Elon made a fateful mistake. He declared Tykan an outlaw, and levied fines on all the nobles of the west that had participated in the routing of Winold's army, so steep that they would never be able to pay them. The western nobles, in an absolute rage over the continual injustice, simply seceeded from Draconia as a block. They decided that wise Tykan would be their king, and named their new kingdom after him. The nobles of the central duchies were suddenly caught between two nations, and they declared their allegiances in a random order that left pockets of one kingdom inside another.

"By then, Elon had died under mysterious circumstances, and with no heir, Winold assumed the throne. His hatred of Tykan had totally consumed him, so he raised an army to march into the rebelling western lands and kill anything that moved. The western lords, already mobilized, marched east and met the hastily assembled army at Long Staff River, and totally crushed them. Winold pulled back and regrouped as Tykan rallied for support from Ungardt and Sulasia, his bordering neighbors. The Ungardt were still in a tiff over the war, and the Sulasians recognized their independence but wouldn't form any sort of military alliance. "And that was how the war started. Tykan controlled the commerce coming in from the western harbors and ports, but Winold controlled the iron mines in the mountains around the Petal Lakes. The two kingdoms started a war that still hasn't ended, to this day. The lands between Draconia and Tykarthia, once fertile farmland, are nothing but a barren wasteland now, the grass trampled into mud by hundreds of battles and all the towns and keeps crushed by one side or the other. The border changed by the day at the beginning of the war, but as time went by and more and more was destroyed by the boots of soldiers, the wheels of siege engines, and by fire. They're more or less separated now, and there are few if any major battles, but not a day goes by when one baron or earl rides across that wasteland to raid on the border of the other. They say that there are enough bones littering Elon's Waste to make a mountain."

"Wouldn't it have grown back by now?" Tiella asked.

"Yes, it has, but it's still called a wasteland because nobody can live there," Jarax replied. "Even the rudest hut is burned and all its inhabitants killed, because there are raiders from both sides prowling the no-man's land constantly. That brutal practice has actually helped to keep the two kingdoms separate."

"I'm glad I don't live there," Walten said, shuddering.

"It's an unhappy place, all right," he said. "I've been there a few times. Children are taught that the people on the other side of the border are murderous animals and have to be completely exterminated. They live in cities behind walls, and the people out on the farms jump at every shadow. The funny thing is, they both worship the same God. They're the same people, but they're too busy hating each other to notice it."

"Eww," Tiella sounded. "I'm glad I don't live there too."

"Why does it go on?" Tarrin asked.

"Who knows?" Jarax shrugged. "I guess because by now, there's nothing left but hate. The minds of fanatics are hard to fathom. You'd be better off trying to walk to the sun." He scratched at his beard absently. "Now that we got the unpleasant story out of the way, how would you like to hear about the Islands of Amazar?"

"Where?" Tiella asked.

There was a gleam in Jarax's eye. "A wondrous place that I myself have visited. A place of women, where women rule, women fight, and women do all the things that men do here, and men are the property of the women."

"There's no such place," Walten scoffed. "My father told me that the tales about Amazar are a bunch of baloo. There's no Amazar, no Sha'Kari, and there's no such things as dragons."

"Sha'Kari, I don't know about," Jarax admitted, "but Amazar is a real enough place, thousands of leagues to the south of Shace. Amazar is actually a series of islands off the coast of the continent of Sharadar, home of that wondrous and ancient land of magic. The Wikuni visit it often, because the furs and silk the Amazons make are in high demand, and they are the only ones that go to the islands. I was there myself, so I know."

"If they don't let humans go there, how did you get there?" Tiella asked, a bit accusingly.

"Ah, that's a long tale," he said. "Let's just say that I was a young man with a wanderlust. It's not that humans aren't allowed. Women are free to come and go as they will, but any man that sets foot on the lands of Amazar becomes a woman's property, and he's not allowed to leave. I happened to Amazar quite by accident, and spent nearly a year there, owned by a tall, regal lady named Sulina Dar. She was quite a woman," he said, his eyes distant. Then he cleared his throat and continued. "I decided that being a slave wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and snuck onto a Wikuni galleon and returned to Sennadar. I even have something to remember it by," he said. He rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, displaying a strange tatoo. "This was the mark of my mistress," he told them. "That's how they know who owns which man."

"What happens when he's sold?" Tarrin asked.

"He's tatooed again underneath the first one. Some men have tatoos all the way down one arm and halfway down the other, but they're usually older men. Being sold too often hurts a man's reputation."

"Reputation?" Walten asked. "How can a slave have a reputation?"

"It's slavery, yes, but it's almost an institution now," he said. "Full-blooded Amazon men may be owned, but they're not exactly slaves either. They have to do what the woman tells them to do, but there's a certain amount of leeway in the matter. It's very difficult to explain."

"Kind of like marriage," Tiella injected.

"Something like that, yes, but not quite," Jarax agreed.

They could see the edge of the town of Marta's Ford, and Tarrin pulled up the hood a bit more to make sure of it, especially since there were children playing in the field off to one side of the road. Dolanna called the column to a stop, then turned her horse to face them. "Faalken and I are going ahead to secure passage on a ship. Daran, keep everyone together and off the road, and perhaps this would be a good time to check the horses. We should be back soon."

The two of them trotted into the town as Daran and his men walked the horses to a small field by the road across from the playing children, then they all dismounted. Daran's men started checking over their horses, and Tarrin did the same, urging his horse to give him a hoof at a time, as he checked them to make sure the shoes were in good shape and there were no stones or bruises. All of the horses had more or less grown used to Tarrin's unusual smell, and he could pass among them like anyone else. They actually paid him no mind; although his smell was obviously one of a predator, they either understood or came to realize that he didn't eat horses, and that they were safe with him among them.

A wooden ball came to a stop near Tarrin, and he froze at the sight of the two small children running across the road to fetch the toy. It was two little boys, both of them about eight years old, gangly but well fed, with the taller of the two having reddish hair and the shorter brown hair. Their features were similar; they were either brothers or cousins. Tarrin let the rear hoof of the horse down slowly as the two boys looked at him curiously. "Why do you have such big hands?" one of them asked boldly.

"And why are they all black?" the other one continued.

Tarrin put his hands inside his sleeves slowly as if it was something he was used to doing, not drawing any undue attention to them.

"They're just my hands," he said calmly. "Just like any other hands."

"My hands aren't black," one boy said, holding them out to show him.

"No, but you're not me either," Tarrin replied with a smile.

"You have funny eyes, mister," the other boy noticed.

"They're not funny to me," Tarrin told him. "I could say that your eyes are funny."

"You're one of those wi-koos, aren't you?" the taller boy asked. "Those animal-people that sail on the ships."

"No," Tarrin said, "but you can think of me as one of their cousins."

One of the boys across the road shouted for them to bring back the ball. "Well, we have to go. Goodbye, wi-koo cousin," the taller boy said.

"Bye," the other said, and they ran back across the road to rejoin their friends.

They hadn't shown any fear of him, even when it was obvious to them that he wasn't human. But then again, children were like that sometimes. He went around the horse and picked up the other rear hoof, checking it carefully for signs of injury or damage, noting that it would have to be trimmed down soon.

The horses all started fidgeting. Tarrin looked up and sniffed deeply at the air, then his hackles rose. He had no idea what that smell was, but it was not human, and it didn't smell very friendly either. Judging from the way the horses reacted to it, it could be said that it was definitely a bad smell. The wind was blowing from the north, from the trees and across the field on the other side of the road, and then to them. Whatever it was was up there in those trees past the field. Tarrin listened to his instincts for the first time, actively seeking them out and seeing how they reacted to that smell. The Cat didn't like that smell. And that was what he wanted to know.

"Jarax," Tarrin said calmly, peering over the children at the trees on the far side.

"What is it?" he asked.

"How quietly do you think you could get the attention of those kids and get them to move?" he asked in a quiet, intent voice. "There's a smell in the air that's upsetting the horses, and it doesn't smell friendly. Whatever it is, its in those trees on the far side of that field."

Jarax gave him a sober look. "I think I can get their attention," he said. "I'll get Orgal and Nyllin and we'll let them look at our swords. That always fascinates young boys."

"I'll drift up to the road over there," he said, pointing towards the town with a clawed finger. "If whatever it is sees that the kids are being watched, maybe it will give up and go away."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but it has the smell of blood on it," Tarrin replied. "That means its a predator."

Jarax nodded, and he walked over to where Daran was talking to Orgal and a few other of his men. Daran looked at Tarrin curiously, who nodded and started to move, so he quietly issued a few orders to his men, and they all started to drift apart in seemingly random directions. Jarax, Orgal, and Nyllin, the second in command of the men, approached the boys with light voices and offers to let them hold their swords. That made the young boys instantly forget their game and rush over to where the men were standing, which was on Tarrin's side of the road. That drew the boys out from between Arren's men and whatever it was on the other side of the field.

Tarrin reached the road a few paces from the leading horse, ignoring the curious looks from Tiella and Walten. He looked back at Walten quickly, and made a drawing motion with his hands, then nudged at the far woods with a jerk of his head. Walten understood his action, then quickly pulled Tarrin's longbow out of his saddleskirt and started stringing it. Tiella pulled her leather sling out of her belt pouch and kept it wadded up in her hand, a bullet stone fitted into the sleeve, as she pulled out Walten's quiver of arrows for him. Tarrin untied the robe belt in front of him; the robe was too full, and he couldn't run very fast or very well while wearing it. He stood on the side of the road, seemingly with his head bowed, watching the edge of the woods from the edge of the hood.

There was a movement at the edge of the woods. It was just too high up. Tarrin looked up and saw a face, nearly fifteen spans off the ground, impossibly wide. Tarrin gave a gape at the face that materialized in the greenish cast of the woods, probably invisible to any eyes but his, then he saw the yellowed tusks at the edges of its mouth. It was a Troll! He'd never seen one, but he'd heard enough about them from his father. Trolls were the largest of the Goblin races, twice as big as a man and ten times meaner. They ate humans whenever they got the chance. The Cat in him welled up loudly when he recognized that face; obviously the Cat had no love for Trolls either. It wanted to kill it, and Tarrin found himself in agreement. Trolls this close to human lands were only there for one reason, and that was to catch someone to eat. But he wouldn't go running after it. The smell of it was too strange to him to discern if there was more than one, and he wasn't about to run into a snake pit. Too strange, and too horrid. Now that the smell was clearer, he decided that he'd never smelled anything so vile in his life. Not even the city-smell that hung about Torrian was that bad. It smelled like rotting flesh floating in a month-old cesspool. Tarrin made a motion to Daran, who approached him casually. "It's a Troll," Tarrin told him.

"You're sure?"

Tarrin nodded. "I saw it. The face was about fifteen spans off the ground, and it had tusks."

"That was a Troll, alright," he said grimly. "How many?"

"I'm not sure," Tarrin said quietly. "I don't know their scent well enough to figure out if there's more than one. Besides, the smell is so awful I doubt I could if I tried," he said, wrinkling his nose.

"We can't let a Troll run around loose," Daran said. "It will kill someone."

"Walten may be able to put an arrow into it," Tarrin said. "It's right at the edge of bow range."

"No, then it'll just get mad," Daran said, thinking. "We have to lure it out, so we can kill it."

"Trolls may not be smart, but they aren't stupid," Tarrin said, falling back on what his father had taught him about them. "It's not going to come out here when it can see twenty armed men."

"We can have some of the men trot off," Daran said to himself."

Tarrin looked up, seeing more disturbances in the foliage. "I don't think that it's going to matter," Tarrin said quickly. Tarrin could see another Troll, and then another, and one more, gathering at the edge of the trees. "I see four of them now."

"They'll attack with that many," Daran told him, turning around and putting a hand on his sword. "I can see them," he said.

The Trolls hovered at the edge of the clearing, then they simply turned and walked away. Tarrin could smell their scents getting fainter; a smell that pungent was easy to keep track of. "They're leaving," Tarrin said. The taste of disappointment was hot in his mouth, and he had to quell the Cat's desire to go chase them down. Now he was glad that he hadn't chased off after that thing in the first place. He'd have had a nasty shock by the time he got there.

"That's not like them," Daran said curiously. "Twenty to four are odds that Trolls would have accepted, and it's not like a Troll to give up on a fight. They like killing as much as they like eating."

"All in all, with those children here, I'm glad we didn't have to fight," Tarrin said, tying his robe belt again and trying to calm down from the adrenaline-rushed high he'd worked himself up to in preparation for the fight.

"It may not be over yet," Daran said. "They may have decided to turn around, or maybe even try to come at us from another direction. We're moving into town, and we're bringing the children in with us," he announced. "I don't want to be left out in the open like this with four Trolls prowling the woods."

"Good idea," he agreed.

They all got into a loose formation around the children, who were lured into coming with them by Jarax's easy manner and promise that they could sit on the horses, then walked into town. Marta's Ford was a large village, with no outer wall, and it was surprisingly clean by the standards of Tarrin's nose. The buildings were vaguely similar to the ones of Aldreth, except for the thatched roofs where Aldreth used slate tiles, but they were laid out in rectangular patterns following the streets instead of facing the village green. This town didn't have a green. The masts of three or four ships were visible over the rooftops, near the large warehouse buildings. It was that commerce that made Marta's Ford larger than Aldreth, for much of the city seemed to revolve around its modest docks and the goods that were loaded onto and off of the ships. Daran sent Nyllin to find the mayor and warn him of the Trolls lurking in the surrounding woods, and the rest of them stood in a vacant lot between two houses near the road leading towards Torrian.

Dolanna and Faalken returned not too long after the kids had run out of things to see and drifted away. Dolanna was smiling slightly as she approached, and Tiella, Walten, Daran, and Tarrin met the pair. "Rennee is still here," she told them. "He awaits us at the dock."

"Lady Dolanna, there were Trolls in the woods while we were waiting," Daran said quietly.

"Trolls?" she asked.

The captain nodded. "I sent Nyllin to quietly warn the mayor. I've ordered my men to stay in the town for a couple of days to dissuade them from attacking anyone."

"Tell me what happened."

Daran and Tarrin quickly recanted the events that had happened not long ago. When it was over, Dolanna pursed her lips worriedly. "That's not normal behavior for Trolls," Faalken grunted. "They should have attacked."

"I know," Daran agreed.

"At this point, I am not going to take any chances," Dolanna said. "Let us get to the ship now. I will convince Rennee that leaving immediately would be a good idea."

They walked the horses through town, reaching the docks. The river was deep towards the southern end of town, but shallowed dramatically towards the north, until it resembled little more than a stream, forming the ford from which the town took its name. It was a natural headwater that made it a logical place for a town to be. The town sported three wooden docks stretching out into the narrow river, and all three were occupied by three different types of ship. The farthest one away was a two-masted vessel with a narrow beam and a graceful look. The middle ship was an oared scow with a single, small mast, little more than a barge. The third ship was a single-masted fishing vessel of some kind, heavy with nets and rigging and smelling like fish even from this distance. Dolanna led them to the farthest ship, which was painted a dull brown. Men and women both moved along the decks, performing the repetitve chores that made up sailing, and one man, wearing a white silk shirt and with a wide, flat hat with an outrageously long feather in it, was standing at the rail. He was a thin man with a narrow face and long, wavy black hair spilling out from under his cap, and he wore a thin, long moustache and a goatee. It was obvious that he was Shacean, if not from his graceful features, then from his frilly shirt and black trousers with its red sash, or maybe the light rapier he wore in his sash. Shaceans were about the only people who used the light fencing weapons.

"Ah, Madam Dolanna, you return already," he called in a thickly accented voice. "Andevouz."

"Andevouz," Dolanna repeated in a calm voice. "We must leave immediately. As soon as our gear is brought aboard."

"Ai, madam, you hurry me, no?," he said, "but I am done with my loading, yes. Come, come, I will have your horses loaded, yes, and we will talk as my Lady begins her journey." He barked out a series of commands in a flowing, musical language, and a heavy plank was quickly lowered for the horses. They carefully led the horses up the narrow walkway, holding tightly to the reins, allowing canvas-shirted sailors to take the reins from them once they got the horses on board. The tall captain gave them all a cursory look, then he retreated to the raised sterncastle and grabbed hold of the wheel that moved the rudder. He barked out a few more commands, and another man started shouting a series of instructions. Dolanna and the others went up to the captain's sterncastle deck as the sailors hurriedly started untying ropes, slipping hawsers, and climbing up into the impressive rigging to lower the sails. Shaceans built very good ships, almost as good as Wikuni vessels.

"A dangerous group, yes," Rennee noted as he watched his sailors free the ship from the dock. The vessel started drifting with the current, sliding away from shore. "But not without its flowers and jewels," he added, giving Tiella a look that made her blush suddenly. "Mon am, what manner of creature do you bring to Rennee?" he asked soberly, looking at Tarrin.

"This is Tarrin," she said calmly. "He is my guest."

"Ah, then he is my guest as well. Andevouz, Tarrin."

"Tarrin, take off your robe," Dolanna instructed.

Tarrin hesitated a bit, but did as she commanded. He never felt so self-conscious in his life. It was almost as if he was stripping in front of them. Rennee's eyes widened slightly at Tarrin's appearance, but he said nothing untowards. "Ai, I thought for a moment, you bring a Wikuni aboard my Lady," he said with a snort. "I have three cabins open for you, madam Dolanna. I have two other passengers as well, so it will be crowded at the dinner table, no?" He spun the rudder wheel a bit as they entered a shallow bend in the river. "It will be crowded, yes, but I know you will make do."

"I appreciate your aid, Rennee, and that you do not ask too many questions," Dolanna told him.

The Shacean smiled at her roguishly. "No, madam, it is I who must thank you. Rennee would be sleeping at the bottom of the river, yes, if had not been for you. If this little thing pleases you, then it is with an open hand that I give it to you, yes." He sniffed a bit. "And only a fool demands to know the mind of a katzh-dashi, yes. And I am no fool."

Faalken stifled a laugh, and Dolanna pinned him with an icy stare. "Who are your passengers?" she asked.

"A merchant, yes, whose cargo we carry, and who is most likely very happy I left early. The other is a traveller, yes, who paid Rennee enough to sail for a year, and asked only for a cabin, meals, and not to be bothered."

"I see," she said. "I thank you again for your help, Rennee."

"De'cest," he said with a smile.

Their cabins were cramped, but on a ship, everything was cramped. There were three beds packed into a room a bit larger than a closet, with cabinets and a small stand for a washbasin and lamp. A single small porthole served as a window to the outside. Dolanna stepped into the door and regarded Walten and Tarrin calmly as Faalken stowed his armor into a tiny locker bolted to the floor at the base of his bed. "Feel free to move about as you wish," Dolanna told them. "Just be careful of the crew. Many of them do not speak our language, and Shaceans are known for their quick tempers. And do not, under any circumstance, allow one of their women to lead you off alone," she warned.

"Dolanna, you're ruining the trip for them," Faalken jibed, grinning at her.

Dolanna cowed the jovial knight with an unholy stare, and then continued. "The women will be friendly enough, but the men aboard will look upon it with jealousy. Shacean women adore playing one man against another, so, for my own sanity, please refrain from getting involved."

"Women sailors," Walten said with a bit of a laugh, after Dolanna had left. Walten wasn't crazy enough to say something like that in front of her. "What's next?"

"The Ungardt do it," Tarrin told him, a bit waspishly. "I don't understand this Sulasian hang-up about gender. Women aren't little china dolls, Walten. My mother should have shown you that by now."

"Yes, but your mother is, well, your mother."

"She's just your average Ungardt woman, Walten," Tarrin told him bluntly. "Ungardt ships have as many women on them as they do men, and it seems like the Shaceans are much the same."

"They are," Faalken said. "And you do what Dolanna said, Walten. The women here will try to get you alone, just to make their current beau jealous, and he'll carve his mark into your cheek if he finds out. And the woman will make sure he finds out."

"That's a bit silly," Walten grunted.

"Of course it is, but we're talking about women here," Faalken said, giving Tarrin an impudent grin.

"I just said they're not helpless," Tarrin said. "I never said they weren't strange."

All three of them laughed, and Tarrin went back to putting his clothes in the tiny chest at the foot of the bed he'd chosen for himself. "Never try to understand a woman," Faalken said with a chuckle. "It's like trying to make water flow uphill."

Tarrin lingered in the cabin for a bit, then went out on deck for a while to enjoy the warm summer afternoon. The ship was sliding through the river waters like a knife, making excellent time with both the current and the wind helping them along. The ship bobbed slightly in the water, creating a rocking motion that he rather liked. He looked up at the complicated rigging guiding the billowed sails, making sense out the seemling chaotic criss-cross of ropes and lines that held the two large sails at a precise position relative to the wind. Sailors crawled around up in the ropes constantly, because every turn of the river changed the ship's orientation to the wind, and that demanded a change in the position of the sails. Tarrin decided that running rigging for a riverboat had to be much harder than rigging a ship on open water, where it moved more or less in a straight line.

It was going to rain tonight, he predicted, staring back at the clouds gather in the west through a break in the trees. It would be the first real rain since they left, and that was unusual. This was usually a rainy part of the summer. It had been much warmer than usual too. Maybe the two were related. Maybe the heat was making the rain dwindle down. But, on the other hand, it had been a very wet spring, so maybe the lack of rain in the early summer was just things evening out. He was no weather-watcher, like some in the village.

"The fur, it is handsome on you," a woman's voice called. Tarrin looked up, and he found himself staring back into a rather pretty face. Her cheekbones were high, her chin sharp, and her nose thin and straight. She had deep green eyes, like emeralds, and she had red hair spilling out from under a kerchief tied around her head. She was partially laying across a spar in the rigging above. Her face conjured up a remembrance, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He felt like he was supposed to know her, even though he'd never seen her before. "I like the ears too," she remarked with a grin. Her voice was deep, strong, not delicate like a face like hers would suggest, but the Shacean accent was strong in it. He saw that she was wearing a simple white cloth shirt with trousers made of sailcloth canvas. Her feet were bare, like most of the sailors, and he noticed that unlike the other sailors, she wore no jewelry at all, not even earrings. Her ears weren't even pierced. "How are you called, furry one?"

"Tarrin," he replied shortly.

"Tarrin," she said, trying the word out for size. "I like your name. Do you play angecen?"

"No, I'm afraid not," he said, starting to get a bit edgy.

"That is a shame, yes," she said, smiling at him. "Perhaps I will teach you, later. But for now, I have work to attend. We will see each other again, no?"

"Probably," he said non-commitally.

"We will, Tarrin," she promised, and Tarrin's ears picked up. Her voice had no trace of the Shacean accent.

He watched her gracefully climb higher into the rigging, helping to shift the sail to match the new angle of the wind. It was odd, but he dismissed it. His mother had gotten rid of her Ungardt accent, but she could easily pick it back up whenever she wanted. That woman had probably done the same.

They ate dinner with the captain and his merchant passenger in the small officer's mess. Dinner consisted of a very savory fish stew that all but melted in Tarrin's mouth, and he liked it so much he nearly emptied the pot by himself. The merchant kept giving Tarrin wild looks, and barely spoke two words together throughout the entire meal. And as soon as he was done, he got up and left quickly. Tarrin sighed as he left, but there was nothing that he could do about it.

"Dolanna, what is angecen?" he asked curiously.

Rennee laughed richly. "Angecen?" he repeated, then laughed again. "Angecen means Maiden's Kiss. It is a game that women play to tease men."

Tarrin blushed furiously. "I didn't know," he muttered.

"What woman said this to you?" the captain asked.

"The redhead," he replied.

"Ah, her," he said. "She is new to the Lady. I hired her this morning. Stubborn as a rock, but she is a good sailor, yes, very good." He gave Tarrin a look. "I am surprised she said this to you, yes. She has not been on the Lady long enough to find a beau. And, I am sorry to say, you are not what most ladies would look for in a man."

"That's true enough," Tarrin agreed, looking at the palm of his paw soberly. Not indeed.

Dolanna put her hand on his shoulder. "Tomorrow morning, I will start teaching you," she said. "Tiella, Walten, it would behoove you to sit with us, for what I will teach Tarrin will do both of you good as well. It is seven days to Ultern, so we will have plenty of spare time."

And we're leaving behind those that were following us, Tarrin added silently.

After dinner, Tarrin stood on the deck of the ship as it coasted to a stop and anchored in the river on the gentle side of a bend, anchoring for the night. The ship was well enough away from shore in the wide section of river to ensure that getting aboard would be very difficult, but there were sentries posted regardless. Tarrin looked up at the sky, up at the silvery darkness where the clouds concealed the moons and the Skybands, and felt the cool wind on his face. Wind carrying the green smells of the forest, smells that always seemed to soothe him, even back when he was human. He opened his eyes and looked down at his paws, studying the backs of them, marvelling at them.

It was as if he'd never been anything else.

It was a calm revelation, he admitted, but he couldn't even remember what it was like not to have a tail. What he felt, and smelled, and heard, it was as if they were things that had always been there, and the didn't seem so unusual or new to him now. He knew that that was just him getting adjusted to his new condition, but he never expected to forget what it was like to be human. The Cat had taken up its now-familiar place in his mind, singing to him the song of the instincts, supplying him with information that transcended human comprehension and thought, that which truly made him neither human nor animal, but both. He felt the cool wind blow, felt the first drop of rain touch his cheek, marvelling once again at himself.

How alive he felt.

He knew there was no going back. But he couldn't help but feel that this was how he was always meant to be. Over the last few days, such a short time, he had fallen into more than a mere acceptance of what he was, he had found true joy in it. There was just something incredibly pleasing about how the way the grass smelled in the morning dew, or the smell of a thousand kinds of flowers blowing in the wind, or the scritch scritch sound a squirrel's claws made on the bark as it moved. He began to find pleasure in his body as well, at its strength and agility, at his tail, and ears, and fur, and claws. It was no longer an alien thing to him, but his body, the body that was more of a home to him now that his human one had ever been.

He also knew that in a time of anxiety he would feel much differently than he did now, when the dark part of his condition reared its head and made him afraid, but that would be then, and this was now. It would happen very soon, when he closed his eyes and went to sleep, and the dreams returned to him, the nameless dreams that he could never remember, yet never failed to startle him stone cold awake and in a cold sweat.

He stood at the rail a moment longer before going below decks, smelling the rain, listening to the sharp staccato pattering of drops hitting the wooden deck, the ropes, the water, even the leaves and branches of the trees along the riverbank. Feeling it against his skin, feeling it in his fur.

Feeling alive.

To: Title EoF