The Tower of Sorcery

by James Galloway

  Tarrin struggled with the Cat for control as it tried to get him to fight, to fight as any cornered animal would when threatened with death. But the Cat didn't understand that this was not an enemy that could be battled with teeth and claws. Tarrin had seen the creature put its hand through a man's chest. It was a body without substance, which used its deathly cold as its weapon. If he tried to rake it, his paw would pass through it, and he would probably lose his paw. The Wraith seemed to understand this, and it was taking its sweet time to close the distance, almost allowing Tarrin to contemplate his fate. Then it struck at him again. Tarrin dodged it easily, dancing away, putting his back to the barrier, then rolling to side as it took yet another swing, staying out of its reach. It staggered forward, then it too struck the barrier and rebounded.

  It was trapped in here with him.

  It rushed on him with sudden, shocking speed, a single arm lashing out from the side. It struck Tarrin high in the side, and Tarrin screamed in pain as the shadowy hand raked its insubstantial fingers against his ribs. Pain blazed along his side as he lurched away from that hand, and he staggered forward as the Wraith seemed to stop in confusion. Tarrin, however was not confused. It made perfect sense to him, as the words of Dolanna came back to him, spoken so long ago. You are a creature of magic, she had told him. You can only be harmed by fire, magic, acid, silver, other creatures of magic, and weapons of nature.

  Other creatures of magic.

  The Wraith's hand had not passed through his body, as it had done so with the man before, and it was what the Wraith had obviously expected to happen. It had struck him, made actual contact. The cold of the grave was still there, but it struck his skin, and while it had frozen the flesh and muscles around his ribs, it did not go deep enough to reach his vital internal organs. And Tarrin realized one other truth in that physical contact.

  If it could touch him, then he could touch it.

  His eyes lighting from within with their green fire, Tarrin snarled at the creature once more and spread his paws wide, claws out. He embraced the Cat in that instant, becoming one with his animal half, and he felt it shunt his human awareness off the side to let the Cat deal with the situation. He was going to need every advantage he could muster to kill the Wraith without getting his face frozen off. His united whole squared off against a now tentative Wraith, but the Wraith was compelled into its action by the magic that had created it. It was there to kill Tarrin Kael, and that was what it had to do. It rushed forward with its hands out, but Tarrin slithered to the side and raked his claws against its exposed flank. Icy pain blasted up his paw as the cold conducted through his claws, but he ignored it in his animalistic rage, doubling every second as he fought for his life. His claws ripped through the shadow that made up the Wraith's side, peeling some of it off to evaporate like mist exposed to the heat of the sun. Tarrin backed away, shaking his paw vigorously as it turned around, a grim smile on his face.

  He could hurt it. If he could hurt it, then he could kill it.

  And it seemed to understand that as well, for it came at him like a raging beast. It punched and kicked at him, but Tarrin avoided contact with those lethal shadowy limbs as much as possible. He could not avoid forever, and soon he was blocking them with his forearms, feeling pain blast through his arms every time the blocked a fist or foot. His paws became numb, but his claws were frozen in place out of their sheaths, and his muscles were locked in their raking positions. He was struck again on his hip, making Tarrin howl in pain and sending a deadly numb wave down his right leg. Tarrin jumped back from a wide sweep, almost collapsing around his numbed leg. Some semblance of human awareness came back to him. The Cat seemed to realize that brute force wasn't going to win this, so it seemed to draw on Tarrin's knowledge, on his experience and skills, and on his intellect. His human consciousness began guiding the Cat's instincts.

  The Wraith attacked with amazing speed, but Tarrin was suddenly a ghost himself. The creature struggled to reach the Were-cat, but Tarrin was always just out of reach. His tall, supple body flowed around the Wraith like water, weaving like a blade of grass in the wind, bending but not breaking, always close to hand but evaporating like mist when it went to touch. Tarrin danced around the undead creation thusly for several frenzied moments, flowing away from its viperlike strikes, and retaliating with rakes of his claws into the monster's shadowy body. But where the Wrath found nothing but empty air, Tarrin's claws found purchase, stripping away puffs of its insubstantial body. The Wraith moved faster and faster, became more and more desperate to find Tarrin with its hands, but the Were-cat was always just out of reach. It scored several minor hits, touches on Tarrin's blocking arms, and it also managed to get a grip on Tarrin's braid. He felt the cold conduct right through his hair, freezing his scalp, but when the Wraith went to jerk the Were-cat's braid, it broke off from his head, then shattered on the floor when the Wraith tossed the frozen braid aside.

  Tarrin was in worse shape than he led the creature to believe. Warm blood soothed the agonizing frozen flesh on his side and hip, where his skin and muscle had torn around the unbending frozen places where the Wraith had touched him. Each strike on him, each forced block, stole more and more of this warmth, and he could feel the chill of the grave settling into his bones, slowing him down and causing biting pain to flow through him like blood. Tarrin was growing weary as his energy was literally sucked away with each glancing strike, and he was panting heavily. He had to end it, and end it fast, or the Wraith would kill him. There was no help from outside, but Tarrin didn't blame any of them. Even Allia would be no help to him against this creature. He knew that dancing any more would weaken him too much. It was time to attack the Wraith head-on, injury be damned. It was a choice between risking a swift death and ensuring a slow one.

  He turned on the Wraith with no warning, and he attacked it with such savagery that the Wraith was taken aback. Claws ripped considerable wisps of shadow away from its body, taking out its right eye, as Tarrin struck at it again and again and again, driving it backwards. Tarrin felt its hands strike him in the side and chest and shoulder, but he ignored the Wraith's blows and concentrated on ripping it to shreds as quickly as possible. The Wraith actually backed up to get away from him as Tarrin assaulted it furiously, ignoring dreadful wounds to his shoulder and chest and neck, not feeling the side of his chest rupture around a frozen expanse of flesh and send blood pouring from him in such a rush that it fell to the floor in rivulets. Tarrin was beyond pain, beyond feeling, beyond thought. There was only the Wraith, and his mind had focused down to the single goal of destroying it. Tarrin did sidestep when the Wraith reached for his face, slamming his claws down on its right arm with enough force to tear the shadowy limb from its body at the elbow, a limb that fell to the floor and evaporated like mist. The Wraith fell to the ground, and Tarrin jumped on top of it, ignoring the instant freezing of his knee and foot, holding the Wraith down with one paw on its chest as his other paw rose up over his head, then drove down like a striking snake. The claws drove right into the shadowy head, right through it, driving the tips of his claws into the stone beneath. The Wraith made a curious keening wail, then its entire body simply evaporated like smoke before the wind.

  In his rage, Tarrin started looking around for his enemy, but it was nowhere to be seen. Then the pain hit him. He arched his back and howled in agony, as if a thousand red-hot lances drove into him, and then he mercifully passed out, falling into a half-frozen pool of his own blood.

  Outside, Sevren held tightly onto Allia with both hands, ignoring the struggling Selani's desperate cries and savage oaths and promises to kill him. Sevren knew no weaves to affect a Wraith, and they had been moving about inside with such ferocity that no other weaves would have been useful. To allow Allia to rush in there would have killed her, and maybe Tarrin too. Sevren didn't like standing helpless outside, but under the circumstances, there was nothing else he could do. He'd had the presence of mind to send another Initiate out to find a Sorcerer, any
Sorcerer, with healing ability. Sevren himself could barely ease the pain of a scratch, let alone seal it.

  With the Wraith vanished and Tarrin passed out, Sevren released the Selani and followed her as she rushed towards the Were-cat, who was laying in a pool of blood that was expanding at an alarming rate. Then the Selani rebounded off the ward with enough force to knock her down. Sevren paid her little mind, reaching out his hands to test for an invisible barrier, but there was none. He passed into the circle and instantly felt the biting cold against his skin. He almost knelt in that pool of blood, but he remembered at the last instant what a danger Tarrin's blood posed to him. He wove a weave instead, freezing it solid, then used another weave to drag Tarrin's body out of the red circle. Kneeling, he put his hands on Tarrin's chest and wove yet again, thawing the frozen flesh of Tarrin's body and restoring his body's warmth, heat that had been bled out by his blood loss and the touch of the cold of the grave that came with the Wraith's shadowy hands. He worked quickly and carefully, else his warmth actually cook the flesh of his patient rather than thaw and warm. Tarrin's body began to shudder violently, and his teeth chattered with such force that blood started flowing from his mouth. Sevren saw with some horror three of Tarrin's fingers, claws driven into the stone, broken off from the hand that had driven through the Wraith's head. Tarrin's arms were almost frozen solid from the repeated touches of the Wraith. Tarrin's shirt was soaked with blood, plastered to his chest and sides, and it was starting another pool of crimson around his torso.

  Then another was beside him. It was Koran Dar, the Divine Seat, and one of the most powerful healers in the Tower. Koran Dar put his hands on Tarrin's chest, and the Were-cat's shuddering instantly stopped. Sevren stood after Koran Dar nodded to him, his hands covered in Were-cat blood, and then he stepped outside the ward. A strange feeling on his hands made him look down, and he saw that the blood on his hands had been stopped by the ward's power. Two small spots of red were on the floor over where his hands had pass through the ward. The Initiates were gone, even the Selani, and in their stead stood the Keeper and her secretary, Duncan, as well as Ahiriya and Amelyn, two of the Council. "Tell me what happened," the Keeper said in a hissing voice, through clenched teeth. Her features were tightly controlled. She looked about as mad as a bear with a hornet in its mouth.

  Consicely and quickly, Sevren related to her the events. "I was trying to see the runes of the warding circle when the Wraith appeared," he said quickly. "Tarrin pushed me out of the circle, and before I could put together any kind of spell, they were moving around too fast for me to try anything. Then the Selani tried to rush into the circle with a dagger," he sighed. "It was all I could do to keep her outside. If she'd have gone in there, it would have killed both her and Tarrin. Tarrin actually managed to kill the Wraith, and when he did, I rushed in to help him as best I could."

  The Keeper was silent for an agonizing moment, a moment where Sevren saw his life pass before his eyes. "You did what you could," she said in a grim voice, one that made Sevren take an involuntary breath. "I can't even see the runes."

  "I know," he said quietly, not wanting to press his luck. "I've never seen its like. Will Tarrin be alright?"

  "We'll know as soon as Koran Dar works with him. For now, link with us and help us break the Ward holding him in."

  Sevren nodded, and in seconds, the runes that made up the Ward flared into brilliant light, then winked out of existence as the combined power of the Keeper's circle destroyed it. The ward's walls shimmered, then vanished, and a wave of cold air that carried the smell of death and blood washed over them. The Keeper broke the circle, her eyes furious, but her voice tightly controlled. "Ahiriya. Amelyn. We raise the Ward immediately. I'll not have one more attempt on Tarrin. Not one." She grunted. "Amelyn, gather the others, and as soon as Koran Dar stabilizes Tarrin, we'll raise the Ward."

  "Yes, Keeper," the dark-haired woman replied.

  "Ahiriya."

  "Yes, Keeper?"

  "I want every Mage in Suld driven out of the city. I don't care what it takes. I want the Priests too afraid to leave their churches. I want them to know that when the Tower is displeased, the consequences are not worth the risks."

  "It will be done, Keeper," she said quietly. The look on her face made it clear where she thought the blame was.

  "I want whoever did this found. Alive," she grated. "I'm going to kill him myself."

  "It will be done, Keeper," the fiery-haired woman repeated. Sevren knew that it was one of the jobs of the Fire seat. Hers was the task of running and arranging the things that were not exactly within the bounds of law and propriety. She ran the Tower's spy networks, and it was her responsibility to make those who made too much trouble for the Tower "disappear". It was a job for which she was well suited. Ahiriya was born to a noble family in Draconia, where policital intrigue, betrayal, and assassinations were as common as livestock and clouds. She performed her unusual duties with a savage efficiency that made the others in here rather unique profession very nervous and wary. Nobody crossed the Tower, and Ahiriya was one of the reasons for it. No doubt Ahiriya blamed herself for this attack; it was her responsiblity to know what was going on, both in the Tower and out in the world. The attacks on Tarrin had probably driven the woman crazy with their subtlety and cunning. This one, by far, had to be the most cunning yet.

  Two Tower guards had arrived with a litter, and they were carrying the limp form of the Were-cat away, with the Selani walking beside him, holding his huge hand in hers. Sevren noticed that the hand again had five fingers, and looked for all the world like no damage had been done to it. Concern for the young man in his eyes, Sevren followed the litter out of the chamber.

  He missed seeing the Keeper order the Were-cat's blood put into jars and stored in a safe place.

  Tarrin drifted in darkness for quite a while before he finally managed to claw himself back into awareness. All of the pain was gone, pain that he didn't really remember that well, but he still felt cold in his bones. The scents in the room were both familiar and unknown, as Allia's coppery scent mingled with the scents of Sevren and three or four others that he didn't know, and those scents mingled with the very familiar scents of his own room. The bedsheets were freshly laundered, and one of the scents was thick with food, as if the person had just come from the kitchens or from dining. The new pillow's goosefeathers were old enough to give up most of their goose smell, but had not been used, so the pillow had not taken on the combined miasma-scent of the people who had laid their heads on it. And underneath it all was the stony smell of age that the Tower itself exuded, a smell of stone exposed to air for thousands of years, a smell that he didn't even notice anymore unless he was paying close attention to his nose. He felt strangely weak and very tired, and the voices he heard sounded curiously distant. But he was awake, and didn't quite feel like going back to sleep, so he stirred and opened his eyes.

  Allia was there immediately, smiling down at him and patting his paw. "Welcome back, deshida," she said in a warm voice, cupping his cheek in her other four-fingered hand. "How do you feel?"

  "A little cold, but otherwise alright," he replied as he sat up in the bed, then scooted back so his back was against the headboard. His clothes were folded and piled his desk chair, on the far side of the room, sitting in an upholstered chair that wasn't part of the furniture of his room, held some middle-aged woman he did not know--no, she was one of the Council members. He recognized her dark hair and heart-shaped face. Sevren was standing on the other side of the bed, along with a plump older woman wearing a gray dress of coarse wool. Beside Allia's stool stood a very, very tall dark-haired man that Tarrin recognized as another of the Council. "What happened?"

  "You were attacked by a Wraith," Sevren told him calmly. "I'm sorry that I didn't help, Tarrin, but I don't know any weaves to affect a monster like that, and you were moving around too much to try anything else."

  "It's alright, Sevren," he waved him off. It was coming back to him quickly, as
the Cat gave up the memories of the nightmarish, whirlwind fight. He reached up and put a paw on the side of his head, and felt short hair. Very short. "What happened to my braid?"

  "It broke off," Allia told him. "You look slightly funny like that."

  "I imagine I do," he replied with a smile. "It'll grow back by tomorrow," he told her. "That's why I keep it long in the first place."

  The dark-haired man sat down on the edge of the bed and took Tarrin's face in both his hands abruptly. Tarrin felt fingers of Sorcery flow into his body, searching, reaching, examining that which could not be seen. This man was a powerful healer, Tarrin realized. Probably one of the Tower's strongest. "There's no permanent damage," he said in a deep voice, a very strong one. Tarrin looked up at him, seeing high-boned features that were very strong and somewhat handsome. He had no beard, and his skin was a strange dark bronze, almost coppery in color. His black hair was done up in a single tail that flowed down his back to peek out from behind his right arm. "I still don't see how you survived."

  "I agree," Sevren said ruefully. "No offense, Tarrin, but that Wraith should have killed you with the first blow."

  "It can't," Tarrin said absently. "At least, not without hitting me in the right place."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Dolanna explained it to me," he replied. "It's a magical creature. Well, so am I. Because of that, we can hurt each other. That means that I can touch it, and it can't help but touch me."