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

by James Galloway (aka Fel)

  "Sounds like he wasn't quite so enthusiastic," Sarraya teased.

  "I guess he wasn't at that," she grunted. "Koran doesn't hate me, he just wanted more out of life than being a house-husband. He was cursed with an adventurous spirit. That's a bad trait in an Amazon man."

  "So why did you take him?" Tarrin asked curiously.

  "I happen to like bad traits in men," she replied honestly. "If you'll excuse me, I want something to drink."

  "Huf-fy," Sarraya chimed after the Amazon left.

  "I think you hit a nerve there, Sarraya," Tarrin said as the sprite landed on his shoulder and sat down. "Camara Tal has some very serious feelings for Koran Dar."

  "I know. She loves him, but that Amazon pride won't let her admit it. No wonder he ran away. If my husband never heard me say 'I love you,' I think he'd run away too."

  "You're married?" he asked, looking down at her.

  She nodded with a smile. "A hundred years next summer solstice," she replied. "Aldio is a sweetie."

  "I didn't think Faeries married. I thought you were too erratic for that kind of commitment."

  "Erratic?" she huffed. "Excuse me! You think someone who likes new things can't settle down with one person? That's ludicrous!"

  "Sometimes I wonder," Tarrin replied. "Faeries seem too flighty to concentrate on one idea for more than a few moments, let alone a hundred years."

  She smacked her heel into his upper chest. "You rat!"

  Tarrin ignored her, concentrating on Dar and Phandebrass. He didn't know that the two of them talked all that much, but then again, since Dar was so charismatic and he was so pursued by the ladies on the ship, it was no wonder he sought refuge by talking with Phandebrass. "I wonder what they're talking about."

  "No doubt the mage is describing the physical process of making a rainbow," Sarraya said with distaste. "Why can't humans just see the beauty in something without having to classify or quantify it?"

  "You've been hanging around Dolanna again."

  "She does have a vocabulary," Sarraya giggled. "Impressive for someone who's speaking a language that's not native."

  "Dolanna's an impressive woman," Tarrin said respectfully.

  "In what way?"

  "What way would you like to hear first?" he challenged, looking down at her.

  "Uh, nevermind," she said. "Looks like her mistressness is coming back."

  Tarrin turned and saw Camara Tal returning. She was wearing her sword belt, and was carrying one of Faalken's older weapons, the sword he stopped using when Tarrin gave him the magical blade. "I need something to keep me busy," she said, tossing the sword to the deck in front of him.

  "What is this?" Tarrin asked.

  "That's a stupid question. Pick it up. I want to see how well you can handle yourself."

  It was a bad idea. She didn't understand that she wasn't like Allia. Tarrin trusted Allia, and if she hurt him, he wouldn't turn on her. There wasn't any such prohibition with her. But then again, in his humanoid form, she couldn't pose any threat to him. Her weapon couldn't hurt him, and he could easily overmatch her. Besides, he needed to learn how to trust her, and maybe crossing swords with her would help break down his distrust.

  "Give us some space, Sarraya," he said as the sprite flittered from his shoulder. Tarrin reached down and picked up the sword, feeling its light balance, gripping the pommel, made so the user could wield it with either one or two hands, and feeling his paw take up its entirety. He placed the blade in the palm of his other paw and looked at the sword, then looked at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "I'm not a human, Camara Tal. I'm way out of your league."

  "No, you're way out of mine," she replied. "I watched you fight, boy. That was pathetic."

  "Excuse me?" he asked in surprise.

  "I saw a half-grown kid flailing around a stick in the midst of a bunch of toddlers," she berated him. "You showed no form, no poise, no skill. You just went in there and bashed on people, relying on your inhuman gifts. That may work against a pack of untrained scrags, but you'll get your tail chopped off if you do that against someone that actually knows what she's doing. Dolanna and Allia say you're trained. That you're trained by the best. If that's true, they must be really embarassed."

  Her words were starting to work under his skin. "I can take you anywhere, anytime, and with any weapon," he said threateningly.

  "Like that, maybe," she admitted. "Not many humans could face one of your kind in a one on one battle and come out on top. But you're not going to face me like that. You're going to do it in your human form."

  Tarrin stared at her.

  "You've gotten too used to being the big kid on the block, boy," she told him. "It's time for some reality. Now change form and face me, and show me what you really know."

  Her admonishment stung at his pride, but all of him wanted to smack that smirk off of her face. He was trained by the best. Nobody, not even him, could defeat Allia in fair combat. Even in his humanoid form, with his huge strength advantage, he couldn't beat her. She and his mother and the Knights and the Vendari had trained him, had taught him the true secrets of fighting. His form may occasionally be sloppy, mainly because he tended to fight up or down to the level of his opposition, but it didn't change the fact that he was convinced he could beat her. Even in human form, he could beat her.

  Tarrin changed form, feeling the shoes appear around his feet, felt the weight of the manacles disappear as they went into the elsewhere, felt the painful constriction of his form into a mold which was no longer suitable for it. The sword suddenly felt heavy to him, sagging in his hand, but he gripped it in both hands and bolstered himself. It wasn't really that heavy, it was just an effect of losing the majority of his inhuman strength in the shapeshifting. His human form was much stronger than it looked, but it wasn't even a fifth of the strength he enjoyed in his natural form. In his human form, he was restricted by his human body, and was diminished with human senses. But those restrictions and senses were still greater than a true human's, for he was Were-cat, and it bled into him no matter what form he held.

  Her words had angered him, but not enough to make him lose his composure. But she didn't know that. Sword in both hands, he snarled at her and rushed to the attack, furiously, clumsily, looking to do nothing more than just hack at her wildly. She set herself to accept his wild rush, but at the last possible instant he pulled up and swept the flat of the weapon low, under her unprepared defense of such a cunning maneuver, and cracked the flat of the blade against her ankle and shin. The power behind the blow as enough to pin her in place for a vital second, long enough to grab her by her halter with one hand, turn his side to her, then drag her over his presented hip in an Ungardt hip-throw. Her backside slammed into the deck first, followed quickly by the rest of her, and she bounced once before coming to a rest in front of him.

  He pointed the tip of the sword at her nose, staring down the length of the blade with a flat, unfriendly look in his eyes. "Cute," she said in a bored tone. "You're a sneaky one, boy. I'll remember that."

  "You do that," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

  "I think you ticked him off, Camara," Sarraya said impishly from nearby. "Someone's gonna get a whipping."

  "Before you go congratulating yourself, boy, why don't you put your hand on your belly." He did so, and felt the cold steel of her sword. She was holding it against his stomach from the deck, the angle of his stance keeping him from seeing it or the hand holding it. "I could have gutted you the instant I hit the floor, if I wanted. You may be sneaky, but not sneaky enough."

  "I don't think you had that there the whole time," he challenged.

  "Think whatever you want, it won't help you when someone decorates your hide with a swordblade." She rolled out from under his weapon, pulling hers with her, and regained her feet. "Now then, show me this touted skill you're said to have."

  It had been too long since he'd fought in human form. He felt slow, clumsy, heavy, working through the sword forms his
mother and Allia had taught him, the moves he learned from the Knights. The sword seemed to move too slowly, and though it moved with great skill and competence, he couldn't penetrate the Amazon's considerable defense. She was a master swordsman, moving the weapon with a fluid grace that made it seem that the weapon was a part of her. It moved like it was a natural extension of her arm, as a weapon should move, and he had to grudgingly admit that the Amazon was indeed a rare example of a master swordsman. Tarrin struggled through feeling her out, getting an idea of her speed and her strength, but he felt too strangely out of sync with himself to capitalize on what he felt were her weak points.

  Blade struck blade, sometimes sending out a short burst of sparks, sending the chiming rings along the deck of the ship. Tarrin worked himself, sweating visibly as he defended himself from a dizzyingly complicated series of shallow slashes and jabs, peppered liberally with many feints and fakes to make him unsure of where the sword would go next. The Amazon seemed to be moving through her own forms, flowing from one attack or move to the next with the calm grace of the lightest dancer. The tip of that weapon got closer and closer to him with every passing moment, forcing him to commit what his mother felt was the cardinal sin of fighting, retreating. He backed away from that weapon as it overwhelmed his ability to follow it, gaining precious distance from her to give him enough time to get a feel for the unusual style she used. He blocked a slash at his flank easily, but out of nowhere something hit his hands, and it jarred the sword out loose. It clattered to the deck, and he realized that she had kicked him in the wrists. He had never seen it coming. She leveled the point of her sword at his nose, staring down the blade with a serious expression.

  "If I were an enemy, you would be dead," she declared.

  "If you were an enemy, Tarrin would never have picked up a sword," Allia's voice came from the side. Tarrin looked at her, and he saw that she was holding his staff. "He may fight you in human form to even the field, but if you wish to see him fight, let him fight with his own weapon. With this in his hands, you will lose," she announced, holding up the staff. "Or perhaps he will keep the sword, and I will give you the staff. That way you will both fight with weapons you do not prefer."

  "Give him the stick," Camara Tal said confidently. "I've never seen a piece of wood defeat a sword. That's why we gave up on spears in close fighting a long time ago."

  "Then your people have a very narrow view of combat," Allia snorted. "No weapon is greater than any other. It is the skill of the hand wielding that weapon that will give it greatness. In the proper hands, a spear is a deadly weapon."

  Tarrin threw down the sword willingly and caught his precious staff when Allia lobbed it to him. He took one step back and settled into an end-grip, holding the staff almost like a sword, settling his feet into the deck as the feel of the staff in his hands caused his confidence to soar. Allia was right. He had fought against swordwielders for a very long time, and his staff gave him all the advantages he needed to stuff that sword down Camara Tal's throat.

  The Amazon waded right in, not even bothering to size up his new weapon. She had seen him use it before, and probably thought that that was how he used the weapon all the time. He had used it that way because the men he was fighting didn't force him to raise his skills up to their full potential. Simple "bashing" was all that was necessary to beat the pirates. Tarrin deflected several quick jabs and slashes, then twisted inside the arc of another slash, which turned out to be a feint. That close, she brought the sword back and adjusted to stab at him, getting inside the arc of his own staff, but he simply shifted to the center-grip and parried the thrust, turned his side to her, and cracked the other end of the staff against her knee. She staggered to the side, and was helped along when he put the sole of his boot in her belly. He whipped the staff around and let go with one hand, holding that hand out towards her as she staggered back, putting his staff behind him and sideways. She stopped moving backwards and reached down to rub at her knee, glaring at him a bit as he pulled his staff into a center-grip and brandished it at her.

  She was much more tentative the second time, but that didn't last long. It was her that was rocked back on her heels as Tarrin unleashed the true fury of a center held staff on the Amazon, the two ends of the staff coming at her from every conceivable angle, the middle butting against her and deflecting her weapon, every square inch of her body in danger from the whirling staff's ends. Feet and ankles began to move quickly as Tarrin attacked them just as often as he went for her head, sides, and torso, forcing her to protect her entire body from attack that could materialize out of thin air and strike faster than a coiled snake. Every attack, move, feint, or parry seemed to fuel Tarrin's resolve, and it also increased his displeasure with Camara Tal. That displeasure evolved into anger as he systematically destroyed her defenses, forced her to back away from him to get enough space to regroup herself, which he did not permit her. Think he was an untrained lackey? He'd show her! He was more than capable of beating her down with his staff, and he was going to prove it to her! He waited until the Amazon tried to stab at him again, then he struck the weapon aside with one end of his staff, then instantly reversed his direction and hit the sword from the bottom, near the hilt, in a classic staff disarm. The double-jolt on the weapon from two directions, so closely together, was enough to shake it loose from her grip and send it lobbing over her head, to clatter to the deck behind her. Tarrin grounded his staff calmly, standing there and staring at her with not a little hostility.

  "Keep bruising me, boy, and you're liable to make me mad," she taunted as she turned and picked up her sword. Tarrin was about to make a scathing reply, but Keritanima's sweet voice emanated from his amulet, instantly taking all of his attention.

  Tarrin put the Amazon out of his mind and concentrated on Keritanima's information. She had reached Wikuna, and was preparing to deal with her father in the way that only she could. In a strange way, he felt sorry for her father. Keritanima was a wonderful woman, a sweet girl, and one of his closest, deepest friends, but even he had to admit that she could be quite petty at times, and had a vicious streak in her about as wide as the Sandshield Mountains. Damon Eram had really made her mad, and now she was going to go take care of him. He had little doubt that the King of Wikuna wouldn't survive that experience.

  It would be strange addressing Keritanima as her Majesty, but he'd get used to it. With Damon Eram dead, the crown would fall to her. She probably hadn't thought that far ahead. He just hoped she'd be ready for it when it happened.

  All that work to avoid taking the throne, and she'd back herself into it as a by-product of getting revenge on her father. Life was full of little ironies.

  "Get your head out of the clouds, boy," Camara Tal said gruffly. "We're not done yet."

  "Don't call me that," Tarrin said flatly. "And if you want to get beat up some more, that's alright with me."

  "As I recall, you've only given back what I gave you, boy," she challenged. "Now shut up and get on with it, or are you too frightened to go on?"

  Her taunting and words were starting to build on the anger he'd felt from before. He could feel it seething inside him, stirring the Cat, which was at its most subdued state when he was in human form. She had to be crazy! Why would she insult him? She knew that he didn't take that very well. Why she was doing it made no sense to him, but it was having a very immediate effect. Her status as a stranger rose up in his mind, and the sword she held in her hand stirred the Cat within him more and more as she brandished it at him. He glared at her viciously and raised his staff to a guard stance, which caused her to rush in.

  It was much different. His anger, his seething, it distracted him from the forms and from the fight, and it robbed him of his concept of their fighting. He concentrated less and less on sparring with Camara Tal, and more and more on hurting her. What she probably felt was nothing but sparring had turned very real in his mind, and he wasn't just playing anymore. His distraction degraded his ability to press her, to do
her harm, causing her to rise up with her sword and battle him to a standstill. "Oh, so it's not just for play anymore," Camara Tal hissed in his ear when he locked her sword against her shoulder and leaned in. "Want to bash my head in, do you? Well here it is, boy. But you're too blinded by your own anger to hit it, aren't you? Can't fight a whit now that you've lost your temper, can you?"

  That was just too much. With a growl and an explosion of fury, Tarrin pushed her back and threw the staff aside, then changed form. Long, wickedly curved, sharp claws extended from their sheaths, and the Were-cat's glowing green eyes fixed on the Amazon and promised her ugly and brutal demise. Tarrin was pushed aside as the Cat joined with his mind, joined with his anger, and his temper was unleashed fully on the Amazon. He took a swipe at her head, which she quickly ducked under.

  It was a good thing. Had he hit her, his claws would have ripped off half of her face. Tarrin had lost his temper, had gone into a rage, and it was brutally apparent to the stunned spectators that he meant to kill her. He tried to drive his claws into her chest, which she evaded, but she couldn't avoid the first paw coming back and ripping four bloody lines across her side and stomach as she twisted away from him. Spatters of blood sailed away from her abdmonen as his claws ripped through her skin and flesh, claws driven with such power that the four slashes were as neatly cut as if they were made by a razor. Claws that would have gutted her had she not twisted to present less belly to them as they came at her. He put so much into the blow that he had to recover himself, giving her a precious half-second to back up and grab hold of her amulet. She raised her amulet towards him and uttered a single word. "Eshok!" she called in a commanding voice, and some magical thing seemed to settle around him like a wet blanket. It tightened around him, hindering him, placing such a weight on him that not even his powerful legs could support it. It was like having a mountain put on his back. Every part of his body was coated with that magical weight, making his movements slow and erratic as he struggled against the magical effect.