Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 2 - The Questing Game by Fel ©

by James Galloway (aka Fel)

  But with those advantages came a trade-off, and it was one which Tarrin agonized over. With his animal gifts came the instincts of that animal, and his mind was a battleground between his human thoughts, morals, and traits against the powerful instincts of the Cat. There had been a long stretch when he thought he had achieved a balance between his human and animal halves, but it turned out that he was in balance only because he was never exposed to a situation where he would lose control. That moment had come when he was captured by traitors within the Tower, traitors that worked for a rival organization that meant to use him for their own ends. He had gone berzerk after being freed from their magical control, gone so totally mad that he had went on a killing rampage. The deaths of hundreds of men and women were on his shoulders, stained his soul, darkened his every thought. The memories of his actions had been slow to come to him after he had finally come out of his rage, and they had hurt him deeply. Tarrin was not a violent or savage man, but he had done things while in his rage that he felt he could never reconcile. He had killed helpless men and women, killed people trying to run away from him, people that had never been a threat to him. His Were-cat gifts had proven to be totally deadly when used indiscriminately, as guards and warriors used ineffective weapons against him, weapons that only made him angrier. The gifts that had saved his life so many times had turned into a killing tool, a tool which the Cat had used to their utmost potential.

  Just thinking about it made him shudder. It was a raw wound, fresh, and it ran deep. He had once almost killed his own mother in rage, and that had nearly driven him permanently mad. Now the deaths of hundreds weighed on his mind, men and women who had had lives, loves, dreams, desires. And he had destroyed them brutally, uncaringly, with a single swipe of his wickedly clawed paw. The destruction he had sown under the Cathedral of Karas had opened a rift inside his own soul, a deep wound of chagrin, pain, and self-fear that refused to close. He had turned into what he had always dreaded becoming, an unthinking, savage monster. It was what he was, and it was something that he could become again if he felt that threatened. There would be no stopping it. That he was certain of. When he felt threatened, the Cat would be there to try to take control, and the Cat was merciless.

  That was the source of his fear, almost his terror, at his situation. He had been charged by the Goddess of the Sorcerers herself to a task, a mission on her behalf, and it was a mission with danger. There was no way he could avoid putting himself into a situation where he may go into another rage. She had asked him to find an old artifact called the Firestaff, a device that could grant someone the power of a god. She wanted him to find it and keep it away from anyone who would use it for that end, and she had already warned that it would be a dangerous task. That meant that he would have to face turning into a monster again. He wasn't sure if his sanity could withstand it. Already he was given to black moods, moods that consumed him, caused him to stare blankly into space for hours at a time. He was very touchy, and he had developed a very quick and very dangerous temper. The sailors on the ship avoided him, and though a part of him understood the need for it, it still hurt. He didn't mean to be the way he was. If he could change it, he could. But he just couldn't help it.

  And that was the core of his problem. What was happening was out of his hands. It was extension of the Cat within him, and that was something inside himself that he couldn't hope to control. All his life, he had always felt like he had had at least a partial control of his life. His parents were very moderate and understanding, and they had always trusted in his judgement and given him alot more freedom than other kids. He had never felt so out of control of his own life before, even after he was initially turned Were. Even then he had a feeling that he had some control over his life. But not now. He was changing. He could sense it, but no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted it to stop, he simply couldn't. And that frightened him almost as much as the rages.

  Looking through half-closed eyes, he turned his gaze downward, to the deck, where his friends were. Dolanna sat with Allia, Keritanima, and Dar, teaching them about the Weave. She wore only a light cloak, fully enjoying the unseasonably warm weather of the winter day, weather that had progressively turned warmer and warmer as they sailed south. Azakar was being trained in more subtle sword parries by Faalken, as Binter and Sisska looked on. Miranda sat somewhat off from the others, an embroidery hoop in her lap and her hands busy. The sailors had long grown accustomed to their passengers, and moved around them and among them with little concern for their activities. Allia was sighing alot, giving Faalken a long, almost wistful look, until Dolanna's sharp retort got her attention back where it was supposed to be.

  That made Tarrin smile slightly. Allia was a Selani, a race of proud warriors with a highly refined sense of honor. She didn't look like a warrior. She was very tall, taller than most men, and she was so incredibly beautiful that no human woman could dare compare to her. That ethereal beauty was what made so many discount her fighting ability. Trained in the Dance, a Selani system of fighting arts, Allia was more than a match for almost anyone trained to pick up a weapon. Few could challenge her in a fight, and even fewer could hope to win. Allia was Tarrin's sister in all but blood, she was sister to him in all ways, and the bond between them sometimes defied even his explanations. He loved Allia so deeply that he didn't think it would be possible to love her any more, a profound connection between them that transcended their differences in race and mentality. He would die for Allia, if she needed it of him. Allia's powerful presence had served to calm him after the horror of what he had done threatened to drive him mad, and he spent many nights in cat form, curled up against her in her bed. Allia and Dolanna were the only ones that could exert that kind of an influence on him, and they always made sure that at least one of them were near him at all times. They tried not to make an issue of it, but Tarrin had noticed it long ago, and in a way, it made him feel more secure. She sat on a coil of rope with her back to the rail, wearing a pair of dark leather trousers and a sleeveless vest-like tunic under a loose cotton shirt not unlike her native dress, of the same sand color. She was keeping her eyes on Dolanna as the woman moved a small ball of fire about in the palm of her hand.

  Dolanna. The small, dark-haired Sorceress held a rather unique position in Tarrin's life. She was katzh-dashi, a Sorceress, and she had been the one to take him in after he was initially turned Were. Her knowledge of Were-kin had helped him survive the initial shock of it, helped him find a way to adapt to the new instincts and feelings that were present in his mind. She had helped him feel more comfortable about himself, and because of that, Tarrin held a powerful attachment to her. He respected her deeply, and she was one of the few living beings that could face him in all his fury and not have to worry about her own life. She was a very dear, respected friend, a surrogate mother-figure to both him and the Cat, and neither of them would harm her in any way. With her near him, Tarrin always felt very confident for some reason. She was beautiful and wise, calm and gentle, and her educated, intelligent decisions and gentle smiles had unswervingly won her the loyalty of all of the group, and the position as their leader. With Dolanna leading them to Dala Yar Arak, Tarrin had no doubt that they would arrive safely. This day she wore a wool dress of dark blue, which matched her black hair, and she had her cloak around her. Dolanna was from Sharadar, the kingdom far to the south, and she was used to a warmer climate than what the north presented.

  Dolanna said something and raised her hands, and Tarrin could feel her touch the Weave. A small ball of fire appeared in her hand, and she raised it up to one finger while looking at Keritanima. The Wikuni gave her a steady look, then crossed her arms beneath the bodice of her russet silk dress, a dress that matched the reddish color of her fox fur, and said something in retort. He felt Keritanima touch the Weave herself, then draw a circle in the air with fire, which compacted down into a small fiery ball. The look she gave Dolanna was challenging, which only made Dolanna smile knowingly.

  It
was like her to be contrary, but Keritanima had alot to put behind her. She was a High Princess, the direct heir to the throne of Wikuna, one of the larger and more prosperous kingdoms in the world. The Wikuni, or the Animal People as many called them, were from a large land across the Sea of Storms, where they practiced their arts of shipbuilding, and their powerful ships roamed the twenty seas of Sennadar in pursuit of trade. Keritanima was born a princess, but she had rejected her title and her family, and had managed to hide her true intelligence and abilities behind the Brat, a conjured personality that she presented to the world, that of an empty-headed little nuisance with a serious attitude problem and about as much mental capacity as a doorknob. But underneath that obnoxious facade lay the true Keritanima, who used coming to the Tower to learn as a front for running away. She was Tarrin's very dear friend, another sister in all but blood, and he loved her. She had been so helpful to all of them back in the Tower, where she turned her astounding intellect and knowledge of intrigue, maneuvings, and all things underhanded to help extricate themselves from the Tower's clutches. She was very, very smart, too smart for her age, with an absolutely frightening ability to remember almost anything she heard or read. She tended to be hot-headed though, and not a little impulsive, and she still felt herself to be royalty, though she had given up her title. She laughed when she admitted that learning how not to give orders would take her some time. That towering attitude had served them well in the Tower, and Tarrin felt that Keritanima was just a tiny bit jealous of Dolanna's role as their leader.

  Sometimes Tarrin felt sorry for Dar. He was a young man, not even sixteen, who hailed from Arkis as the son of merchants. Dar's swarthy skin made him look something like Allia, but the similarities stopped there. Dar was a thin young man of medium height, with a handsome face and a powerful ability to accept others for who and what they were that made absolutely everyone like him. His charisma seemed to be completely unconcsious, just as he accepted the warm smiles and friendship from othes without condition or even thought. He was thoughtful and considerate, he was very well educated and quite smart, and he had made Tarrin feel much more comfortable when they were in the Noviate. Dar had been his roommate, and he was also Tarrin's only friend outside of Allia and the others who had come to the Tower with him. Dar was a very good friend, always there when one needed him, and always knowing exactly what to say to make one feel better. He knew that Dar was considerably intimidated by his company. Keritanima was such a blazing star that he felt lost beside her, and Allia's incredible beauty never ceased to tangle his tongue. All he wanted to do was learn Sorcery, and it wasn't easy when he had to do it with Tarrin's two sisters, who could so utterly dominate the scene without even trying. He sat between them, his eyes riveted on Dolanna, pulling at the new brown doublet that he had bought in Dineval. It was the first time he'd worn it, since Keritanima had somehow managed to get him to buy just about a whole wardrobe. He wore the shaeram Dolanna had given him proudly, outside his doublet, and his hands were always either very close to it or holding it. Dar was fascinated by Sorcery, and there was nothing more in the world he wanted than to learn all about it he could.

  He turned his gaze to the other training going on. Faalken was having trouble teaching Azakar, but it was Binter who was now giving the young man some instruction. Faalken was a cherubic troublemaker, Dolanna's friend and Knight, the warrior charged with escorting and protecting her. He had a raucous sense of humor and a love for jokes and pranks, but all smiles stopped when he drew his sword. Faalken was a formidable warrior, a Knight with many years of experience under his belt, and he was a considerable threat to any who crossed weapons with him. His love of jokes and pranks had already caused some friction with the crew, for Faalken was wise enough not to harass anyone in his company. Tarrin rather liked Faalken. His irreverence and zest for life had cheered him up many times, and he was a solid, dependable man when the cards were laid on the table. It was hard to think of a journey without Faalken riding at Dolanna's side, just as it was hard to imagine travelling without Dolanna. The Knight was watching on as Binter showed Azakar the proper grips to hold on an axe to take his height into full advantage. Faalken was wearing a light mail shirt under a surcoat of plain, featureless brown wool, to help keep the chill off the metal. It was only wise to wear some sort of protection when working with weapons. Even an accident in training was potentially deadly.

  Tarrin didn't know Azakar very well, but he had already been wearing the Were-cat thin. Azakar was a Mahuut, one of the dark-skinned races from Valkar, who had been in Yar Arak serving as a slave. He had escaped from that and journeyed west, and was now a newly-spurred Knight. Azakar was the the biggest, strongest, most intimidating human being Tarrin had ever seen in his life. He was a head taller than Tarrin, who was himself a head taller than most men, and his body was a study of the purity of muscle. But he was also a sober, rather bright young man with a quiet way about him and a very delicate touch. Fingers that could break bones could handle silk and crystal with almost amazing gentleness, and he always knew exactly how strong he was, and how strong he needed to be. Tarrin would like him very much, if not for his need to take his job so seriously. Azakar had been personally assigned by Darvon, Lord General of the Knights of Karas, to look out for Tarrin's well being. Just as Faalken was Dolanna's Knight, Azakar was supposed to be Tarrin's. But Tarrin didn't need a Knight. He was probably better suited to protecting himself than Azakar was to protecting him. But Azakar, or Zak as they had started to call him, took his job seriously. He even had the nerve to demand things of Tarrin, something that got more than a few other people's arms broken. But something about Azakar intimidated Tarrin, and that annoyed him to no end. He had no reason to fear Azakar, or any human for that matter, but something in how he would look at him seemed to cause Tarrin to want to obey. Azakar was the one that made Tarrin eat, even when he didn't feel like it, kept him from walking around on deck without a warm cloak, and kept him from sinking deeper into self-isolation.

  Binter and Sisska would be well suited to train the Arakite youth. They were Vendari, incredibly huge lizard-men from far away. They were more than a head taller than Azakar, and they absolutely towered over everyone on the ship. Dolanna's head barely came over Binter's belt. They were massive, both in height and in build, and their society was remarkably similar to Allia's people. They lived for combat, but they had such a powerful sense of honor that they would willingly kill themselves before they said something they knew was a lie. Honor was life to the Vendari, and life was honor. Binter and Sisska were Keritanima's personal bodyguards, incredibly powerful and effective warriors to protect someone as important as the Royal Person. They couldn't have found anyone better for the job. Binter alone was an absolute monster in a fight, and when his lifemate Sisska joined in, they became a harmonious mobile natural disaster. They were both huge, inhumanly powerful, and very intelligent and well trained. They didn't rely on brute force, except when the situation favored such crude actions. They knew how to fight at what time, and that was the mark of an excellent warrior. Tarrin was still trying to figure those two out. They had definite personality, but they were so utterly devoted to their roles that it was hard to get them to open up. Binter commonly protected Keritanima, and Sisska protected Miranda, who was Keritanima's maid and a member of her tight-knitted inner circle.

  Miranda. Tarrin's gaze wandered to her, where she sat alone, and he again puzzled over her. She was a mink Wikuni, and she was so incredibly cute that it seemed almost criminal. It wasn't the beauty of Allia or the dignified presence of Dolanna, it was just sheer cuteness that disarmed absolutely everyone. Keritanima had trained her as a spy and player of intrigue, so she used her appearance like a weapon. A single cheeky smile was usually enough to make someone start spilling their life story. Something about her sang to him, on a level that he couldn't comprehend, and he had an almost unconscious need to be around her for some reason. It wasn't a romantic attraction, it was merely an interest in her that see
med almost compulsive. She was a serious young woman, soft-spoken and not given to chitchat, but very wise and with a large capacity for others. She was devoted to Keritanima, and it was a friendship, a bond, that Tarrin didn't quite understand. Tarrin's own ties to Miranda were just as confusing to him. He liked her, alot, but he didn't quite know why.

  And she sat there, alone, seemingly very comfortable with her position. She wasn't a Sorcerer like Keritanima, Dolanna, Allia, and Dar. She wasn't a warrior like Faalken, Azakar, Binter, and Sisska. She was just Miranda, easy to overlook, but quick to make enemies suffer for overlooking her. Just thinking about her made him feel lonely himself, which was a rare thing for him. More and more, he had been withdrawing from the others. They just didn't understand his pain, no matter how hard they tried to help.

  With an ease that stupidified the sailors in the rigging, Tarrin slipped off the yardarm and danced down booms and lines, hopping to the deck using a series of ropes and wooden beams to control his descent. It was an unconscious display of his inhuman grace and agility, a gift from his animal nature. He landed on the deck on all fours, then smoothly rose up to his impressive height and padded over to the little white-furred Wikuni maid without a word. She looked up at him, then she gave him that cheeky smile and moved her embroidery hoop, then patted her lap.

  That was the other thing that always sent the sailors around him into fits. With only a thought, Tarrin changed his shape, his body quickly melting and flowing down into the form of a large black housecat. It was another aspect of his Were nature, the ability to assume the form of the animal to which he had been irrevocably bonded. He then jumped up onto Miranda's lap and laid down, kneading at her wool dress with his front paws as she set her hoop beside him and continued her embroidery. Tarrin spent alot of time on the ship in cat form, where his favorite pasttime was to chase the rats in the hold. Captain Kern didn't mind that, but he did mind Tarrin leaving the half-eaten bodies strewn about the ship. The fact that he would eat the rats always made Kern's face turn green, but he didn't understand. Tarrin was a cat when in cat form, and the idea of eating prey was as natural to him as downing a tankard of ale would be to Kern. Besides, rat was rather tasty. Not as good as squirrel, though.