by Fel
Tarrin squatted down on top of the Vendari, paws on his shoulders, but Binter was clearly out of it. He was gasping for breath, Tarrin could feel his chest try to rise under his feet, and he was sprawled out on the ground like a passed out drunken sailor. The tip of his muscled tail was twitching uncontrollably.
"Now that was something you don't see every day," Ulgen said with a chuckle. "I swear, it looked like Tarrin bent himself in half."
"Tarrin, you can get off of him," Faalken called. "He can't breathe with you standing on him."
"Oh, sorry," Tarrin said, stepping down off of the Vendari and standing beside him, staff held loosely in his paw, waiting to see if he was going to be alright.
Binter finally got his wind back, and the first thing he did was laugh. It was a grating, hollow sound that sent a chill up Tarrin's spine. "I have never in all my years encountered such a devious trick," he said with a rueful chuckle. "You must have bent yourself completely backwards."
"I can do it," Tarrin shrugged. "It doesn't exactly feel good, but I can touch the backs of my ankles with my head if I have to."
"How did you end up on top of me?"
"I'm part cat, Binter," he said with a wolfish smile. "We always land on our feet."
"I just hope not to be what you land upon next time," Binter said. "You are truly a warrior of honor. You are a worthy opponent."
"I'm honored you feel so," Tarrin said.
"I see much of your own style in the staff. I would like to see you in the forms," he said, getting back to his feet, and then setting down his hammer.
"Are you ready?"
"Vendari recover quickly," he said dismissively. "You only knocked the breath from me. I am quite able to continue."
Binter proved even deadlier in unarmed combat, but Tarrin too also had a natural aptitude for it. His Cat instincts were familiar with hand to paw combat, and they surfaced in him as he and Binter traded quick, jabbing blows as they felt each other out yet again. Tarrin let himself to join with the Cat, entering that serene, trancelike state where there was no thought, no fear, no emotion, only him and his enemy. The Cat gave him even sharper reflexes and instinctive senses of danger and threat, his conscious mind drew on Tarrin's knowledge of the martial arts, and they combined to create a lethal adversary. Binter found himself hard pressed to lay a finger on the sleek Were-cat, who used his speed and his ability to move in ways that exceeded human capability to confound his larger opponent. He was the blade of grass in the wind, the smoke rising from the campfire, twisting, weaving, always just within reach, but never where he could be touched. Tarrin didn't strike back, allowing Binter to lose his temper and start making mistakes, but Binter proved that he was no fool. He was extremely disciplined, and no matter how many times he missed, he simply tried another tactic without losing control.
Binter managed to make the first point, finally catching the Were-cat high in the side with a backhand. Tarrin's paw flashed and grabbed that hand as it tried to withdraw, then he twisted around to put his back to the Vendari and executed an Ungardt hand throw. Binter sailed over Tarrin's body in a high arc and slammed into the ground on his back, but the Vendari showed no signs of feeling it. He simply swept Tarrin's feet out from under him with his other hand, knocking him to the ground. They both rolled to their feet, and Binter smiled and glanced at Faalken. "You were right," he said. "He can pick me up and throw me."
"He's alot stronger than he looks."
"I noticed," he said, wiping a line of blood from his maw. "Those were not just the Ways. I saw a great deal of the Dance in your style. You have done well to combine them into a single form. With your speed and power, I'm surprised that you rely so much on defense."
"I just prefer defense," Tarrin shrugged. "I was trained to fluster an opponent, then take him down when he loses his temper."
"An acceptable style," he said with a nod. "But you should also learn to know when to use more aggressive techniques. Some opponents won't lose their tempers."
Tarrin nodded. Jegojah had been almost icy in his control, and it was he that goaded Tarrin into losing his temper. And Tarrin paid for it, dearly. "I usually don't have to go that far," Tarrin said. "If I get too aggressive, I--" he cut off, looking at the Knights. "Let's just say that I'm Ungardt enough."
Binter nodded. "Berzerker," he said. "We have them in our own race."
Tarrin gave him a curious look, but said nothing. "Let's work on that," Binter said. "Come at me with a more aggressive technique. Don't worry about hurting me."
"Alright. Are you ready?"
"Let's begin."
Binter turned out to be an excellent teacher. After working with Tarrin for about an hour, he began to break down the Were-cat's technique and style, and began working with him to perfect it. Tarrin also realized that, though he got in some lucky shots because Binter was unfamiliar with Tarrin's unique abilities, Binter was by far the better warrior. He taught Tarrin several Vendari moves that relied on raw physical power, power that Tarrin possessed. He helped Tarrin improve his style when fighting with his claws, developing Tarrin into using a flowing, sweeping form that allowed him to rake and slash with impressive speed and precision. Binter had his own claws, and he knew how to use them. And Tarrin gained alot of experience in fighting a much larger opponent. He knew that the larger the opponent, the more of a target his knees became. Binter reinforced that, literally teaching Tarrin how to take down members of his own race. "The larger they are, the more dependent they are on their knees," he preached. "We have had alot of experience against Ogres and Giants, and attacking their knees and hamstrings is the most effective technique."
"Ogres? Why would you need to fight Ogres? They're rather peaceful for Goblinoids."
"They are over here. In Wikuna, they are very, very agressive. The Giants aren't quite so aggressive, but sometimes a rogue Giant or two comes down from their lands to raid." He looked up at the cloudy sky. "It's getting late. Her Highness is nearly finished with her classes, and I have duties to perform." He approached Tarrin and then touched his chest, his muzzle, and then reached out with his huge hand. "You are a warrior of honor," he said formally. "I greet you as a man of respect."
Tarrin wasn't quite sure if it was proper, but he mimicked the Vendari's movements, and then he clasped Tarrin's paw when he offered it. "And you are a warrior of greater honor," he said in reply. "Any who ask of you will hear that I hold the utmost respect for you."
"You have proven yourself to be worthy of honor, Tarrin of the Were-cats," Binter told him. "You will be accepted by our fire if you ever ask for hospitality."
"How did you know I was a Were-cat?" he asked curiously.
"You forget who I am tasked to defend," he said with a smile, a smile that seemed cold with those dead black, expressionless eyes.
"Oh. I didn't realize she talked about me."
"She talks a great deal about you," he told him. "She is quite taken with you and your Selani sister. I have never seen her so genuinely fond of others."
"I'm very fond of her. Though I have no idea why," he added in a slightly rueful voice. "She can be very obnoxious sometimes."
"Yes, but you see what is inside, not what she shows to the world," Binter said with a steady look. Tarrin stared at him. Did he know Keritanima's secret? "I must be going. I enjoyed our match."
"So did I," he said. "Be well."
"Honor to you," he said in farewell, picking up his hammer and then striding away on his long, powerful legs. Leaving Tarrin to wonder at how much he really knew. Binter seemed a very intelligent Vendari. Maybe he had penetrated Keritanima's disguise, and merely said nothing, because it was against his honor to do so. Bodyguards had be as discreet as they were capable of defending their employer, because they saw a great deal of their employer's private life. If Binter felt it against honor to speak about Keritanima's private life, he simply would not do so. Even if ordered to by Keritanima's father. And he would gladly die before speaking what he felt honor bound to withhol
d. That was the Vendari way.
Keritanima surely knew how to pick effective companions, Tarrin mused. With Miranda to act as her decoy, and Binter to act as her champion, she was very deeply entrenched.
He wondered idly what was taking the Council so long. His demands weren't that complicated. They should have at least sent someone to talk to him by now.
"Allia should be getting out soon too," Tarrin said to Ulgen and Faalken. Darran had wandered off to help as the cadets practiced thrusting with wooden replicas of swords. "I'd better go."
"Don't mind me asking, but why aren't you in class?" Faalken asked.
"I'm on strike," he said calmly.
"You're what?"
"I'm on strike," he repeated calmly. "I won't start going to classes again until they meet some of my demands."
Faalken gave him a wild look, then both he and Ulgen began to laugh. "I've never heard of that!" Ulgen snorted between bouts of laughter.
"Tarrin, I knew you had guts, but to make demands of the Council! That takes serious--"
"That will do," Darvon said bluntly as he approached.
"Yes, Lord General," Faalken said with an outrageous smile. Tarrin saw that Faalken was feeling plucky. Why he was crazy enough to pick on Darvon was quite beyond him. Tarrin bowed as the aged leader of the Knights reached them.
"You're looking good, Tarrin. You ready to give up on the Tower and take your rightful place over here?"
Tarrin chuckled. "I may not be far from it, my Lord General," Tarrin said. "I've grown tired of the way they treat me, so I'm on strike. I'm not going to another class until they treat me with more respect and consideration."
Darvon gave him a wild look. "You are serious?" he asked.
Tarrin nodded. "I want the same treatment as all the other Initiates. They were so serious about that when I was a Novice, and now they pin me in here with that Ward and treat me like a prisoner. Well, I'm tired of it."
"It's a dangerous game you play, Tarrin," Darvon said seriously.
"I can handle it, my Lord General," Tarrin replied. "They really can't do anything to me. What are they going to do, ground me? Put me in chains?"
"They'll give you serious punishment."
"Who's going to deliver it?" Tarrin asked pugnaciously. "They'll have to do it when I'm being very unfriendly. I don't think there's a Sorcerer in the Tower that doubts how physical I can get if they upset me, and whoever tries to exact that punishment runs a serious risk of losing his guts."
Darvon gave him a serious look. "You walk down a dangerous path, cadet," he warned. "The Council can get very nasty when they put down insubordination."
"It's no more dangerous than their path. They can't handle me like other Initiates, my Lord General. I'm alot more dangerous than the average Initiate. I'm not asking for anything outrageous, and my ability to inflict damage on the Tower is already very much understood. The choice of how things happen after this is theirs."
"That's blackmail, Tarrin," Faalken said with a chuckle.
"That's an ugly word for it, Faalken," Tarrin said with a very slight smile. "True, but ugly. I prefer to call it standing up for my rights as an Initiate."
"I can commend your resolve, but not your methods, Tarrin," Darvon said. "To threaten violence to get your way is unseemly. It's not the Knightly way."
"It's all I have, my Lord General," he shrugged. "It's not what I wanted to do either, but it's already clear that the Council won't listen to me, and they don't care about what I want or need. My father was injured the other day, and I don't know if he's alright, because I can't leave the grounds. I want to see him. I want off these grounds. Them pinning me in here upsets the Cat within me, and that makes it alot harder for me to keep my inner balance. Eventually, I'm going to lose control of myself and snap, and someone is going to get hurt. But they don't understand that. My kind can't stand being caged," he said with his eyes igniting from within with their unholy greenish radiance, the clear sign that a Were-cat was getting angry.
"Tarrin, son, calm down," Darvon said soothingly, putting his toughened hand on Tarrin's shoulder. "I'll go have a talk with the Council. They'll listen to me. They'd better listen to me," he said in a dangerous voice. "I'll make sure they understand that you're doing it for your own well being and the safety of everyone around you, not because you're feeling snippish."
Tarrin blew out his breath. "Thanks, my Lord General," he said gratefully. "I need someone to stick up for me. I've been feeling abused."
"You're one of us, Tarrin," Darvon said bluntly. "We are all One Under Karas. You have the entire Order of Karas behind you, and they will listen when I make that clear to them." He smiled grimly. "I don't think they want the Order to walk out on strike as well. What is good for you, is good for us. If you strike, then so shall we."
Tarrin gave him a strangled look, then he burst out laughing. "You'd do that for me?" he asked between peals of laughter.
"We wear brands, don't we?" Darvon replied with a smile. "You forget what being One Under Karas means, my boy. We are all one, and what affects one affects us all. What one does, if he acts in the Knightly way, is done by all. I find honor in your strike, my boy. You're trying a non-violent means to reach a much needed goal. That's very chivilrous, because you're thinking more of the well being of those around you than you are of yourself. That's very commendable." He gave Tarrin an evil grin. "If they don't treat you as they treat other Initiates, and allow you off the grounds, then all Knights will be recalled to the chapterhouse, and no Knight will accompany any katzh-dashi until our demands are met."
Faalken was actually rolling around on the ground, lost to gales of howling mirth. "They'll have a cow!" Faalken gasped. "Oh, take me with you, Lord General!" he wheezed. "I have to see the look on the Keeper's face!"
"Not if you're going to roll around in the mud like a pig," Darvon said to him bluntly.
"Isn't that violating the covenant that binds the Knights to the Tower?" Tarrin asked seriously.
"Not at all," he replied with that same evil grin. "There are clear strictures that say that no Knight will be sacrificed, left for dead, or abused by the actions of the Tower. Well, they're abusing you with this treatment, and the Knights call you one of their own."
"But I'm not a true Knight," Tarrin protested. "That's a sticking point, my Lord General."
Darvon drew his sword. "Kneel!" he said in a thundering voice, a voice that made Tarrin instantly and unthinkingly go down on one knee. "By the power vested in my by Karas, god of Law, god of Duty, patron god of Sulasia, as is my right as the Lord General of the Holy Militant Order of the Knights of Karas, I decree that Tarrin Kael has proven his worth to Sulasia, to the Knights, and to Karas. I knight thee, Sir Tarrin Kael, Baron of Aldreth, keeper of the codes of the Covenant, Knight of the Order, defender of the faith, and hammer of Karas." The sword touched him on each shoulder. "Rise, and know that you are One Under Karas."
Tarrin stood up slowly, staring at Darvon in shock.
"And keep in mind that I never made you swear any oaths of obedience," Darvon winked. "You're officially a Knight, but remember that you can break our rules any time you see fit. I think I'll give you a new title. I think your official position will be as Knight Champion, a lone Knight who serves nobody but the Lord General. And as Lord General, I hereby order you to do whatever you want."
Tarrin gaped at Darvon. Faalken got up off the ground, brushing sand out of his mail shirt, his merry eyes literally dancing with mirth. "Well, let me be the first to welcome you, brother Tarrin," Faalken grinned. "Does this mean he outranks me?" he asked of Darvon.
"Yes!" Darvon replied vehemently.
"Well, you don't have to get snippy," Faalken teased his superior.
"Bring that she-devil here, Tarrin," Darvon said. "Let's make her a Knight Champion as well. She's already one of us, so let's make it an official title."
"Yes, my Lord General," Tarrin said woodenly, rushing off to do his bidding.
Knight Champ
ion. When Tarrin was back home, before the festival, all he ever dreamed of was becoming a Knight. Of enduring the grueling training, of showing he was worth the title, of proving that he could be one of the elite, the best of the best. The standards of promotion to the spurs weren't about piety, or even about theological ground. The Knights were warriors, and their prime requirement was fighting ability. Only the best fighters in Sulasia, or the ones with the most potential, lasted long enough to reach the point where they could be considered, and not all of them won spurs. Because of this, the Order looked the other way when it came to which god the Knight worshipped. The Knights were a militant arm of the church of Karas, but their decreed position as defenders of the katzh-dashi made it a less pious order than other militant arms of the church. They had services and went through the motions of being a holy order of Karas, but over half of the Knights never showed up for services. And this was allowed. Being a Knight only meant that if Karas ordered them to go somewhere, they had to obey, no matter which god they truly worshipped, because Karas was the sponsor of the order. And that was it.
Tarrin was a Knight. The dream that had occupied so many of his afternoons, teased him in his dreams, caused his mind to drift from the daily chores on the farm, it had come true. Not in the way he thought it would but had come to pass. Tarrin had knelt before the Lord General, and had been touched by the sword. Darvon had named him Baron of Aldreth, and that was expected. All Knights were instantly given titles of aristocracy. Tarrin was a Baron, a noble, the instant Darvon decreed it to be so. Darvon had that power, usually a power only available to the King. But Tarrin's title brought with it no land, no revenues. It was a title in title only. That was the tradeoff for Darvon's ability to grant titles, he could grant no land and no money. Tarrin's name would be entered into the rolls of the Knights, and would thus be officially recognized as aristocracy. The only advantage that would give him would be that he was exempt from taxes. He would never have to pay a brass bit in taxes in the kingdom of Sulasia. It was a dream come true, a dream he had all but forgotten in the chaos that had become his life after leaving Aldreth. Knight. He was a Knight. He was what he had always wanted to be, and for some strange reason, despite his situation, he found tremendous comfort and a sense of accomplishment in it.