"I think they'll make it in time," Tarrin pondered. "They can move nearly as fast as I can. So long as Sarraya clears the way for them through the Frontier, they'll be able to get to Suld unmolested."
Sarraya thought about that, the Goddess said to him. She intends to join Var and Denai after meeting with the Druids, to serve as a guide for them.
"She's doing the right thing," Tarrin agreed. "Wait a minute. How did the Selani get through the mountains so fast?" Tarrin asked. "It took me three days, and I was flying. And they were days behind me before I left."
They didn't go over them, kitten, they went under them, she replied. There are caves and passages through the mountains that most common Selani don't know about, caves that they wouldn't even show you, which make it very easy for them to pass into Arkis. They keep them secret in case they have to invade and attack Arkis. And as to why they're catching up, it may have to do with the fact that they're running about eighteen to twenty hours a day. Kitten, even you have underestimated the endurance and the mobility of the Selani. They can move faster over land than any other race. When you left the desert, they were only four days behind you. While you've been walking and hiding and wandering around, they've been steadily running forwards, in very nearly a straight line. They will run until they reach Suld, almost nonstop.
Tarrin had to agree with her on that one.
And, might I add, that those three days you took through the mountains were mostly spent just flying in circles, the Goddess said with an amused edge of accusation in her voice. You could have gotten over the mountains in one day, if you'd not kept flying back and forth looking for passes. Why didn't you just go up and over them? If you'd have done that, you'd have been over the mountains by sunset.
Tarrin had no good answer for that.
I know, kitten. You were just having too much fun, weren't you? You dragged it out, just for the excuse to fly.
Tarrin bowed his head in embarassed shame. Had he been in another form, he would have blushed.
No need to feel that way, kitten, the Goddess laughed. I'm glad you took your time. You needed some quiet time to yourself, a few days of rest. Even you need a day off now and then.
"Well, now it's costing me. If I'd have gone faster in the desert, if I would have flown straight over the mountains, I'd be in the Frontier right now, maybe even just outside Sulasia."
As long as you get there first, it doesn't matter how long it took to get there, she told him confidently. I have to go now, kitten. I've delivered Keritanima's message and served my children for today, but I do have other things to do.
"Thank you, Mother."
Any time, my kitten. Good journey.
And then she withdrew from him.
Tarrin looked down at the farmstead, knowing that he didn't have time to sit here and wait anymore. The news that the passes were melting was a thorn in his tail now, a constant reminder that the time he'd frivilously wasted both in the Sandshield and moving across Arkis mattered. He had to push himself as hard as the Selani now, or they'd actually pass him.
He had no more time to play or watch or rest. Now came the serious business of getting himself to Suld as quickly as possible, because now that the passes were melting, he knew that he had a solid line drawn in the sand ahead. He had to reach that line before his enemies did, and he had no more time to dawdle.
It was time to move.
Tarrin stood up, looking down into the farmstead, then he turned away to get down out of the hayloft. He would have enjoyed more time with this nameless family, watching them and sharing in their togetherness, at least from the fringes of it, but he simply had no more time. A few short jumps brought him down to the ground, and he padded quickly past several other cats towards the door. The other cats rose up to a sitting position as he went by, a signal of respect, but they didn't bother him. They could tell that he was in no mood for pleasantries or introductions. They knew what he was, and that made them obey his wishes.
By the time he got outside, however, everything was different. Crazy. The family was running around, and a few of the women and children were screaming. The men were running into the houses, and two of them were already outside holding a pitchfork and an old, slightly rusty sword. Tarrin stopped to try to figure out what was going on, but one of the older men answered him.
"Get the women and children into the storm cellar!" he called authoritatively. "Those monsters can't be more than a few minutes behind us!"
Monsters? The Trolls. He remembered, they didn't know their names, so they called them monsters. The Trolls were attacking this farmstead?
Tarrin looked around, then he saw them. Just between the barn and the stable, a goodly distance off, about twenty of them lumbering along in that deceptively fast gait, clubs and old axes and a few polearms in hands.
Tarrin paused. He had told himself that he didn't care about the fires burning in the distance...and in a way, he didn't. He didn't know those people, didn't see them, didn't really care what happened to nameless strangers. But this family, this family he knew. He didn't know their names or their personalities or their histories, but he had seen enough to know that they were a family, they were people that had accepted him into their farm, if only for a day, if only because they didn't understand what he was. He wasn't about to let those Trolls destroy this place.
Twenty. Too many to fight paw to hand, even for him. But there weren't enough of them to get past his Sorcery.
Loping out to the outside edge of the compound of buildings, Tarrin sat down and centered himself. He had never tried to use Sorcery in cat form before--at least not consciously--but he knew that it could be done. He didn't want to change form and alert them to his presence. He wanted them to keep coming, thinking that they were about to sack a farm full of defenseless humans. He wanted them to keep that overconfidence going until it was too late.
It wasn't easy. There was a fundamental difference when using Sorcery in cat form, having to do with the body he was occupying. Cats were not blessed with a potential to use Sorcery, and since he was using a cat body, that body resisted the Sorcery, made it more difficult to use and exacted a higher price of strength to use it. It was still connected to the Weave, but the manner in which it affected the Weave was diminished, since he was literally trying to reach through an inhibiting barrier. It took him a moment to sort through that difference, then learn how to circumvent it and bring his will to bear against the magic of the Weave. It took him just slightly longer to realize that he couldn't use High Sorcery in cat form; his connection to the Weave was strong enough in his cat form to be able to cross that boundary, diluted by the qualities of his cat form, for cats were not blessed with the innate ability to use Sorcery. But he could still use Sorcery, even use Weavespinner magic. It was the same as other Weavespinner magic, but he had to exert his will in a slightly different manner.
The end result was the same. The eyes of that solitary cat, sitting sedately between two buildings as the humans behind it all milled about to prepare to defend the farm's inner courtyard, suddenly blazed with an unholy greenish radiance, so bright that it became apparent to the charging Trolls. None of them stopped, however, since the concept that the cat was a danger to them had yet to reach their slow minds.
All the better.
It was a spell that showed no signs of effect until it was too late. In front of the charging Trolls, the ground suddenly erupted, dust and dirt flying and startling the dim beasts, dirt and soil displaced as multiple spires of solid rock suddenly erupted from the ground. They formed a bristling barrier of lethally sharp points, angled in such a way that their points were presented at about belly height to the Trolls, and they had erupted into being not five paces ahead of the charging monsters. At such a close distance, the Trolls had no time, no chance to stop.
At full speed, the twenty Trolls slammed into that deadly barricade. The lead Trolls were impaled on the lances of rock, and the fellows behind them drove them fully onto the barbs, even drove
them through their bodies to drive into the bodies of those who had struck them from behind. The magic of their creation still charged those rock lances, making them unbreakable, but it also allowed Tarrin to maintain control of their shape and mass. With a sudden slap of his tail on the ground, Tarrin caused those rock lances to extend forth, thrust from the ground with sudden speed and force, ripping through the lead Trolls and slamming into the bodies of those behind them, making their bloody points erupt from the backs of his enemies with tatters of flesh shivering from their irregular, slightly serrated shafts.
Only one Troll managed to survive that attack unharmed, and only because it had had the presence of mind to fall to the ground and roll into the legs of those in front of him. Only it had had the reflexes to save itself from that deadly trap. It got up and started fleeing the other way, but it got no more than ten steps before a bolt of lightning flashed from the clear, sunny sky, striking it right on the top of the head. The intense heat of the bolt made the Troll's head literally explode, sending blood and brains and bits of skull, hair, and tissue sailing in every direction. It collapsed on itself, then tumbled to the ground in a head of lifeless limbs and wafting smoke.
Closing his eyes, Tarrin recovered from the effort of using Sorcery in cat form. It caused immediate, yet only temporary, exhaustion, like running at full speed for a short distance. By the time the menfolk had come out from the barnyard to stare in confusion at the suddenly dead monsters littering their field, Tarrin was fully recovered.
"What in the name of the golden coin of Mikaras happened here?" one of the men whispered, referring to the patron god of Arkis, Mikaras. He was the god of money, merchants, and trade. He was a suitable god for the materialistic Arkisians.
"I don't know, father," one of the others said after a moment of silence. "It looks like the earth itself attacked the monsters."
Without turning around, Tarrin changed form. He heard their gasps and startled shouts and sudden retreat from what had to be to them to be another monster, and this one looked almost as frightening as the big greenish-skinned brutes.
Ignoring the humans, Tarrin's paws suddenly began to limn over as he reached out and drew in the power of High Sorcery. He needed it to do what he was about to do. He raised those paws over his head as he wove together a Ward, a Ward that would do the Ward circling the Tower proud, a Ward that slowly wove together in a circle around the entire farm, with the compound forming its center. He set the Ward to kill any Goblinoid that attempted to cross its boundary. He heard the humans gasp as the Ward shimmered into visibility for only a moment before fading out of sight, but he wasn't done yet. He all but saturated the structure of its weave with magical power to make it last for a long time--then in a moment of brilliance, he spun out a single new strand and attached it to the core of the Ward's woven form, the heart of the spell. He had no idea why he had done that, but the effect of it was immediate and apparent.
By attaching the Ward to the Weave, he had made it as permanent as the Weave was. It would take another Weavespinner to unravel what he had just done, and it would last until one did so.
Tarrin blew out his breath, a little startled by what he had just done. Was it another echo-memory of the Weave itself, showing him how to make the Ward last forever? Charging the Ward was a manner to make it last a very long time. By overcharging the weave and weaving it very tightly, a Ward could last days, even rides. But what he had just done was make the Ward permanent. It would last until another Weavespinner removed it.
"Who-Who are you?" one of the older men suddenly asked.
"No one of consequence," Tarrin said in a low voice, turning around and facing the twelve men and boys, all holding a variety of farm implements as weapons. Aside from the two holding swords and another wielding a wood axe. "Tell your neighbors that this farm is now safe," he told them. "That shimmering you saw was a magical spell of protection. The monsters can't enter your land. If they try, they'll die at the boundary of that protection. Your friends and neighbors can find refuge here, until the army comes to drive away the monsters."
Reaching within, Tarrin came into communion with the All, and formed his image and intent. A chest appeared in front of him, open, and it was filled with twisted golden nuggets. Tarrin carefully weighed the value of that gold against what this family would lose in case their farm became a refugee camp. "I'll leave you this, so long as you use it to help your neighbors as well as yourselves. You can use it to buy food for everyone, and it will replace what you'll lose when they trample over your fields and ruin your harvest."
"You're a Sorcerer!" one of the younger men declared.
Tarrin nodded simply. "Among other things," he admitted. "The safety of your neighbors is now your responsibility, men. I watched you, I saw that you're men of decency and courage, who care about family, so I'm sure that you'll do what's right and proper. Take good care of them. Your neighbors need you right now."
Tarrin felt a resonance among the men. He reached out with his senses, and focused them on the youngest of them, a boy of no more than twelve, holding a hoe tightly in his nervous hands. "And in a few years, when he's old enough, send that one to Suld," Tarrin told the oldest of them, pointing to the boy. "He's a Sorcerer. Or at least he will be. The gold I gave you will cover the cost of the schooling."
That done, feeling a bit foolish for some reason, Tarrin turned west and started walking, a path that would cause him to skirt the stable and go out over a planted field.
"Wait a minute! Who are you? What are you?" the oldest called.
"A memory," Tarrin said, just loudly enough for them to hear, then he opened his stride and carried himself out of their sight, around the stable, before they could respond.
He really didn't know what else to do. He wasn't about to let the Trolls wreak havoc in the area, threaten that family, but he couldn't stay to hunt them down. So he created a safe place for the people to go, a place safe from the Trolls, where they could wait until it was safe to go home again. And he protected that nameless family that had made him feel better.
Of the two, the latter was definitely the most important to him.
Chapter 22
Miserable conditions.
Tarrin growled a bit as a rivuletof cold water funneled out of his hood and chilled his shoulder and upper arm, feeling it sink into the cloth of his shirt. The rain had been heavy, cold, and very unpleasant for nearly four days, and it was something which he'd hoped to avoid. He'd gotten a bit tired of rain, making it dark and oppressive despite the fact that it was well after noon, making his homecoming seem strangely ominous. Spring rains were a yearly occurrance in Aldreth, the chilling rains lasting for days, even rides, but they were an event much anticipated by the people of Aldreth. The ends of the rains heralded the beginning of the planting season, and two rides after the rains ended, the festival of Summer's Dawn was held on the village green. Those two rides were spent feverishly planting for the summer, and the fesitval marked a respite from the heavy work, a holiday to celebrate the end of the heavy labor.
Aldreth. He had yearned for the place, dreamed about it, thought of it, for many months now, and finally, he had come back. He stood on the road to Watch Hill, shaking some of the water off of his large cloak, trying to figure out how he had gotten lost and ended up so far south of his home village. He had been aiming for his old farm, to pass through it on the way to Aldreth, to see what was left and remember good times gone by. It had to be the rain. It made him a bit listless, a bit unwatchful. He had been on the meadow path leading to the farm, but he must have accidentally turned onto the blackrock path instead of staying on the meadow path. The blackrock path led to a large black rock--hence its name--that rested about a longspan south of the village. His mind was so occupied with seeing things, he never noticed that he had made a wrong turn. He hoped his father never found out about this, he'd never hear the end of it.
It had to be the expectation of it. He had been looking forward to this for a long time now,
and it had been the main motivation for crossing the Frontier as quickly as he did. He travelled in ten days what he thought would have taken him fifteen, because any time he was not sleeping, he was running. He had been so excited to come back to Aldreth, to see it on his way to Suld, that it made his attention wander off what he was doing much of the time. That wandering attention had gotten him into trouble on two separate occasions, proving that the Frontier was not a place to be if one couldn't keep his mind on what he was doing. The first altercation had been when he had crossed the territory of a Were-boar without stopping the required three days to let him know that he was passing through. He had seen the signs, but he had been in too much of a hurry to stop and wait. The Were-boar had caught up with him while he was taking a nap, and he had been very, very unpleasant. So unpleasant, in fact, that he had had the gall--perhaps the stupidity--to attack Tarrin. Tarrin did not take kindly to being attacked over something as silly as not saying hello, and reacted accordingly.
The next time he killed a Were-boar, he had told himself, he wasn't going to make the mistake of biting it. Were-boars tasted horrible.
The second altercation was probably the more dangerous of the two. He had been moving in a straight line, using Sorcery to keep him on the path to Aldreth, and he had blundered into the home range of a pack of Were-wolves. Were-wolves hated Were-cats with a passion, and Tarrin's presence in their territory was noticed almost immediately. That pack of fifteen Were-wolves was on Tarrin's trail immediately, and it was only by good fortune that he realized that he had wandered where he shouldn't have been, and turned away so he could get out of their range as quickly as possible. Tarrin wasn't going to tangle with an entire pack of Were-wolves, not if he could help it, and certainly not on their home ground.
What made it dangerous and a bit annoying was that the Were-wolves continued to pursue him even after he left their range. That annoyed Tarrin, for he had done what he was told to do, and yet they still weren't going to let him go. It annoyed him and offended him, for his pride was too much to continue running away from them. So he stopped in a clearing and waited for them. If they wanted him, he was going to oblige them.
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