Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 3 - Honor and Blood by Fel ©
Page 15
Tarrin grimaced slightly when one of the seated men suddenly stood, looking in his direction. It certainly hadn't taken him long. He was an Arakite, big and broud-shouldered, wearing a rust-spotted tunic that told him that this was a mercenary. He was used to having armor over that tunic. He had strangely wide features for an Arakite, with a scar puckering the right side of his nose. He had his head shaved, but days without access to a razor had put black stubble over his forehead. The man blocked Tarrin's path into the inn with hands folded before him, staring into Tarrin's eyes with an ugly look.
"There's a tax for entering this inn," the man said in Arakite, in a dangerous tone and an ugly smile, which made some of his friends laugh harshly. But that dangerous tone and ugly look became uncertain when Tarrin again rose up to his full height, suddenly towering over the man by half a head, looking down at him with a stony face that threatened violence should the man not tread carefully.
"I'll only say this once," Tarrin said in Arakite, in an ominously quiet manner. "The first man to put a finger on me dies."
"Oh, what are ya gonna do, use nasty words?" the man before him asked, then he laughed at his own joke. "Curse at me til I die? You couldn't carry my shield, old man."
"There's one way for you to find out," Tarrin proposed in an emotionless voice, his eyes narrowing.
The man grinned nastily and held out a single finger, then purposefully reached over and poked it into Tarrin's chest.
Tarrin lashed out with his left hand, grabbing that finger and breaking it, twisting it back over the man's hand and turning with it. The man screamed in pain as his hand and arm followed Tarrin's pressure, until it was turned around with the palm up. Muscles sore and aching for days became suddenly fluid and loose as Tarrin's other hand snapped forward, three fingertips striking the man squarely in the throat, crushing his trachea. It was a Selani move, and it was a killing move. And Tarrin had performed it perfectly.
Tarrin let go and watched with distant, cold eyes as the man grasped at his neck with both hands, then sagged to the floor while making gurgling sounds. Then he toppled over and fell to the floor with a crash.
"Anyone else?" Tarrin asked with a brutal tone, looking around the room, at all the startled faces.
There was silence.
Giving the room a deadly look, Tarrin collected himself, stalking across the quiet room and taking the dead man's chair. The other three men at the chair's table jumped up and abandoned their seats when he grabbed the back of the chair, and then sat down to an empty table with the rest of the room's complement staring at him and whispering in hushed tones.
"My, we're testy today," Sarraya whispered impishly in his ear, but he ignored her comment, propping his chin with his hand, elbow on the table, waiting in sober silence for nightfall. The rest of the people in the room began talking again in hushed tones, and a few of the more adventurous of them stripped the body of the man clean of anything useful, leaving it literally in its shortclothes. Then it was carried back into the inn's kitchen, probably to be disposed. He certainly hoped they didn't intend to cook it.
He reflected momentarily on what he saw. The ki'zadun was probably his very first enemy, the first ones to identify him and try to kill him. He'd thought of them what he'd been told, as a secretive shadow organization that worked behind the scenes with spies, informants, and magicians. He never dreamed that they had a standing army, not like the one he'd seen outside. Certainly he knew that they had some sway with Goblinoids, but he never dreamed they could assemble a standing army. An army that looked disciplined, well supplied, and well trained. Now he saw a different side to his old enemy, a militaristic side. They were more than a secret society that used intrigue and politics to gain power. It seemed that they knew when the application of direct force was more appropriate, and kept that force on hand when it was required. He wondered what kind of man could be part of that army, to know that he was working for the wrong side, to ally himself with Trolls and Waern and Dargu. But that was something of a silly question. Humans were humans, and a great deal of them had morals that only went as far as the money they were paid. That was just they way they were. He knew that for some men, if they were paid enough, they'd do just about anything.
He had to admit, they also had a good idea and a good plan. They couldn't find him, and any patrol that did find him out on the plains would be wiped out. So instead of trying to hunt him down, they had set up so that they made him come to them. They never intended to hunt him on the plains, not when they knew where he was going. It was much easier and more sensible to assemble their forces along his path, to stop him before he could reach his objective, and bring along enough force to give them a reasonable chance to do it. He could appreciate the strategy, even if it inconvenienced him.
He didn't have to wait very long before things started to happen. Not long after killing the bully, the door to the inn opened. Tarrin turned to look, and saw himself staring at four ki'zadun soldiers, with the massive body of a Troll blotting out the view of the area behind them. Behind the soldiers was a woman dressed in a black robe, a woman that looked young and vibrant, with honey colored hair and a tall, thin frame. She was Shacèan by her features, a swallow-necked beauty with cold, dead blue eyes.
That one was a magician.
"It is in here," she reported in a serene tone, holding up one of her hands. Tarrin looked at it, and his heart moved about two spans behind him when he saw what she was holding.
A small shard of something that looked like thin stained glass. Tarrin recognized it immediately as a piece of a Faerie's wing.
The woman looked directly at him, and then those cold blue eyes turned hungry, and she gave him an evil smile.
They couldn't find him, so they were magically tracking Sarraya!
That Troll behind her told him everything he needed to know in one quick moment of lucidity. They had set up before coming in. They knew Sarraya was inside, and they knew she travelled with him, so that told them that he was also inside. And he didn't doubt that the building was surrounded by Trolls, to stop him when he tried to run.
There wasn't really any fear, just a relief that he didn't have to wait in suspense any longer. If they wanted a fight, he'd be glad to give them one.
He did it so quickly that it took the armed men by surprise. He stood even as he changed form, shedding his darkened Arakite skin and expanding to his full height. Before they could register that, register that he was acting, Tarrin grabbed the top of the square table before him and hefted it like it was a stick. By the time the first scream of surprise was issued, he turned and swept the table around his body, throwing it like a dinner plate at the group of soldiers and the magician they were protecting. It hit the lead man squarely, blasting him back and impacting those behind, knocking all five of them to the floor by the doorway in a spray of blood and a cacophony of shocked and pained cries.
Conscious thought yielded to the animalistic power of the Cat. Tarrin jumped up on another table and extended his claws as the Troll outside smashed its way through the door, breaking away the frame and a good portion of the wall to make a hole big enough to fit its massive bulk. Crouching, Tarrin roared at the Troll in challenge, claws out and held low, eyes blazing with their unholy greenish fire. The display made the Troll hesitate, then it brought up a huge wooden club and advanced on the ready Were-cat. Tarrin darted aside just as the club shattered the table, landing on the side of his foot and immediately turning on the Troll. But Trolls were deceptively fast and agile despite their bulk, and it managed to turn its club to meet the charge. It raised it and tried to smash the Were-cat into the floor--
--but a loud smack heralded the impact of the club on Tarrin's open palms. The Were-cat caught the club and held it back, pushing it away as he rose up to his full height, a height that put his eyes at the Troll's collarbones. In that fleeting moment, despite the fact that he was engaged in a life and death battle with a Troll, he finally understood just how tall he had become.
It did not understand. It could not see, until it was too late.
Tarrin's tail whipped up in the blink of an eye, and the tip of it wrapped around the hilt of the sword strapped under the pack holding the Book of Ages. The member was more than twice as long as his arm, nearly as long as his body. The tail pulled up on the hilt, then snaked around the blade in a manner that allowed his tail to draw the weapon. It slithered down through the coil in Tarrin's tail, until the tip again wrapped around the hilt.
The Troll's eyes widened in shock and sudden terror as Tarrin shifted under its relentless press, shifted so the tail could come around his body and hit the Troll without obstacle. It tried to pull away, but the claws dug into the club prevented it from withdrawing the weapon when Tarrin shifted from pushing to pulling, and it stubbornly, dimly refused to let go. The shift allowed him to turn sideways, and the sword sliced around his body, sweeping up from the floor and digging into the underside of both of the Troll's forearms. The Troll released the club with a howl of agony, blood spraying from the bone-deep slashes in both forearms. It staggered back a step, and focused on the Were-cat just in time to see its own club driving towards its head. It saw a white flash, and then it saw no more.
Tarrin threw the club aside and pulled his sword from his tail, thanking everyone available that his tail was so flexible. He became aware of the frightened screams and chaos of the humans around him, then tuned it out as his conscious mind reasserted itself and dealt with the situation. The ki'zadun soldidrs and mage were either dead or unconscious. Blood pooled around the soldiers, and the mage, who had been behind them and not struck by the table, laid on her stomach and did not move. They were not a threat to him at the moment. They probably had the building surrounded, so he couldn't go out. He had to either get above them or below them, out of the reach of the Trolls. Below was out of the question with a dirt floor, so above was the only option. The inn had two floors, and it was a pattern Arakite structure, with a flat stone roof and most likely a trap door or staircase that led to it.
The buildings were not that far apart. He could easily jump from building to building, until he was close enough to the wall to come down to the ground, and race the Trolls to the escarpment. Tarrin claw's snapped out, and he picked up the closest human, a dirty-faced young woman too terrified to run. "Where are the stairs to the roof?" he demanded in a hot voice, glaring at the woman in a manner that told her that her life depended on her ability to answer.
She pointed dumbly to a door on the back wall.
Tarrin dropped her, let her fall the nearly two spans to the floor, and was out that door before her rump hit the ground.
He could hear them. He could smell them. Troll voices were suddenly barking, calling, outside the inn, as well as excited shouts and calls from others. But the others didn't concern him, it was the Trolls he had to worry about. Beyond the door was a kitchen, a kitchen almost stripped bare of anything edible. In the near corner was a steep staircase leading upstairs.
"Tarrin, what are you doing?" Sarraya demanded. He'd completely forgotten about her. He could hear her wings come up behind him; she must have gotten dislodged in his short exchange with the people in the common room.
"The roof," he replied in a hasty voice, moving towards the stairs. "I can get to the edge of the compound from the roof."
"Good idea," she agreed.
It took him a very short time to go up the stairs, see another set of stairs at the end of the hallway at the top, and then climb up onto the roof. The setting sun was just on the edge of the horizon of the desert, and there were Trolls everywhere. Trolls, men in black hauberks, men screamin and shouting and staying out from under the feet of the Trolls as they moved to encircle the compound. There were several shouts from them when Tarrin appeared a the top, looking towards the west, to see how far away the next roof was, and the Were-cat had to duck when a few arrows came after him, but not before he saw that the roof of the warehouse beside the inn was very close. It was just higher than the inn, making the jump a tricky one.
"I think they want us to stay for dinner," Sarraya said archly as she zipped down under the ledge of the roof. The angry buzzing of several more arrows followed.
"The roof's in my range, but I need a running start," he told her, sheathing his sword, then scampering back to the center of the roof on all fours. He rose up and accelerated nearly to full speed in two steps, and his foot hit the ledge and pushed off as he suddenly appeared over the rooftop. Tarrin sailed through the air as if flying, paws leading as he rose up and moved over the heads of Trolls and men, until his paws hit the outer ledge of the warehouse's roof. He used his inhuman strength to literally haul himself up and over before the archers could draw a bead on him, sliding over the ledge seconds before several arrows struck the space where he had been.
"I think they like you," Sarraya teased as she zipped over herself, her form hidden from sight by her veil of magical invisibility.
"Think you could stop making jokes and give me some help here?" Tarrin demanded hotly, swatting an arrow down that had come over the far side of the roof, fired at a trajectory. He got up as Sarraya held her arms out, something she tended to do when using Druidic magic, and a glimmering field of soft glowing light appeared around his body, then winked out of sight.
"There, arrows can't get through that," she told him. "And since they can't see it, it'll give you several hits before they realize it's not working."
Tarrin growled in his throat. He'd been hoping for something a bit more substantial, but it was better than nothing.
A quick glance over the far side of the roof showed that the Trolls were swarming out onto the rocky flat between the post and the escarpment, blocking his escape route. Trolls, and more importantly, wizards, were rushing towards the warehouse, trying to surround it. There were also men running into the warehouse on the far side of the alley, the warehouse to which he needed to jump to get to the edge of the compound.
They were cutting him off!
Swearing, Tarrin leaned back from sight of the archers and considered his options. And just about every option he could think of involved Sorcery in one way or another.
"Sarraya, I need some ideas here!" Tarrin said urgently. "I'm going to have to use Sorcery!"
"Tarrin, look out!" Sarraya suddenly screamed.
But it was too late. Something struck him in the back, struck him like a Giant's hammer, bowing him and knocking the breath from his lungs. The sky blurred slightly, and he could feel himself hurtling forward, over the ledge of the roof and out into empty space.
But there was no stomach-lifting sense of falling. The force was still behind him, around him. Something had hold of him! And whatever it was, it was either thirty spans tall or able to walk on air!
Greetings, came a highly amused voice, a voice that spoke directly inside his mind.
It was feminine.
Tarrin recovered his breath and his wits enough to look around and above him. What he saw was the sleek outline of a female torso, and a large bat-like wing appeared over her back, swept down, and then rose back out of sight.
Shiika!
For a moment, he panicked. Shiika probably wanted to take his head off and mount it on her wall. He grabbed the hands locked around his chest and tried to pry them apart, writhing and struggling to get free of her.
Stop, or you'll fall! she protested.
Tarrin got a sense of that voice,
and he realized that it didn't sound like Shiika. He managed to get her scent, and was sure of it. She was one of the Cambisi, one of Shiika's half-Demon offspring. One of the females. He looked down, and saw them soaring over the startled Trolls, out over the rocky flat towards the escarpment. The Cambisi had him in a powerful grip around the chest, carrying him towards the desert.
She was helping him!
"What are you doing?" Tarrin demanded in confusion.
What does it look like, you silly Were-cat? she replied mentally, her amusement obvious in her tone. It looked like you needed a wing. Just be glad I was in the neighborhood.
Tarrin's mind raced as she crossed over the escarpment, then started descending towards the sandy ground. Why was she helping him? Shiika probably wanted him dead for what he did to her. And Shiika's offspring didn't do anything without their mother ordering them to do it. So Shiika had sent this one, but to help him? That didn't make any sense!
Her wings catching the air gently, the halfbreed carried him well out of arrow range from the escarpment, and for a moment Tarrin got caught up in the sensation of flight. To see the ground flow underneath him so quickly, to feel the pull of gravity, yet not be a slave to it. It was a feeling of exhilaration that overwhelmed his shock and confusion, caused him to look down with wide eyes and feel like a child again.
And then it was over. The Demoness pulled up, and then she set him gently on the sand of the desert. They were nearly two longspans away from the escarpment, so far that no foot party could ever catch up to him.
With a calm sigh, he realized that he made it. He was now beyond their reach. They weren't insane enough to come into the desert after him.
I think that little bug will catch up in a few minutes, the halfbreed remarked mentally. Tarrin turned around and got a good look at her. It was the blond one, the tallest of the females. She had her mother's beautiful face, but her features were a bit narrower, and she wasn't quite so busty as Shiika. She wore a half-shirt that left her midriff bare, that was tied onto her so it didn't foul her wings, and a pair of undyed leather breeches tucked into soft doeskin knee-boots. She carried one of those black-bladed swords in a scabbard on her belt, and three daggers were sheathed on the other side. Surprised to see me? she asked with a disarming smile.