After a quick move into the large compound, he located the proper building. It was a large, oblong construction with large windows, but the windows were barred. It also had a large, ornate set of doors, bound in brass and with a large wolf or jackal crest etched upon them. They looked to be bolted from the inside.
It only took one hit. Tarrin struck one of the doors with his shoulder, using his inhuman strength to break whatever lock was keeping the door closed. He heard that bar snap in a squeal of protesting metal, and then he pushed open the door and looked inside. Beyond was a large receiving foyer, and four shocked guards holding pikes. One of them brandished his weapon towards Tarrin.
That sealed their fates.
Like a pouncing lion, Tarrin literally flew into the room with his bloody paw leading, ripping the throat out of the nearest guard with a blazing swipe of his paw, a swipe that sent flesh and blood flying in a wide arc as his paw came around. He grabbed the dead man's pike with his other and immediately brought it to bear against the second guard, smashing his own weapon out of Tarrin's direction of movement and letting his claws get to the man unhindered, shearing through his throat in a calculated slash of a single claw over his neck, a slash that opened the major artery and vein in the neck and caused blood to pump from the wound in a ghastly fashion. The dying man clutched at his throat and gurgled out the last of his breath as he sank to the stone. The other two men just started to react to the Were-cat's blindingly fast attack by the time he reached them, bringing the pike around and spinning into it, putting both paws on it to give it more force, then bringing it around his side and slamming it into the side of the nearer guard. The impact shattered the pike and sent the man flying, a ragged scream coming out of his mouth just before a fountain of blood replaced it. Before he landed on the carpeted foyer floor, Tarrin threw aside the broken handle of the pike and rose up over the last of the guards, who was paralyzed with terror, staring blankly into Tarrin's glowing green eyes. Tarrin showed no mercy, rending four finger-deep slashes into the man from his left shoulder to his right belly, running off his body as Tarrin's power drove his claws through leather, flesh, and bone like a sword through snow. He struck the man across the face with his other paw, ripping most of it away and sending the body tumbling aside in a bloody, limp heap.
He left the four dead men splayed all over the foyer, with blood and gore dripping from the tapestries on the walls, and pools of blood widening on the floor.
With a single-minded drive that caused him to ignore those who fled screaming from his path, Tarrin stalked up the hall as he followed the medallion's directing glow. Several manacled men and women saw him coming and wisely turned and ran the other way, or ducked into doorways and slammed them as quickly as the could. Tarrin didn't perceive them as a threat, so he left them alone. Only someone who stood between him and his goal would be killed. A few guards also saw him. Two moved to block him as the third ran the other way, screaming loudly to raise an alarm. Tarrin killed the two blockers with nearly contemptuous ease, parrying stabs from their pikes with the manacles on his wrists to let him get inside their weapons, then ripping the life out of them once he was within claw's reach. More and more slaves and servants fled from his inexorable advance up the hallway, and the next trio of guards he met took one look at his blood-spattered body and immediately gave room to get on the far side of a four-way intersection, raising weapons to prevent him from advancing. But Tarrin stopped in the intersection and looked at the medallion, and he saw that it was leading him to the left. So he turned left and passed the three guards over, leaving them nearly slackjawed in disbelief that he not only would not attack them, but turn his back to them and walk away. Backing out of the intersection had saved their lives, but one of them was more than willing to squander it. With a quick flurry of feet, the tallest of them levelled his pike and charged at the Were-cat's back, trying to kill him before he could turn around. But much to his shock, Tarrin not only was aware of the charge, he also simply smacked the pike's head aside with his tail, making it go wide of his back as the man charged headling into his killing embrace. The guard couldn't arrest his forward momentum in time to keep out of the Were-cat's long reach. The man staggered right into Tarrin's outreached paw, who killed him by driving a clawed finger into each of the man's eyes.
The two survivors seemed to fathom that so long as they didn't try to impede the Were-cat or attack him, the invader wouldn't even give them notice. So they started following after him as he moved along the hall, following the medallion, stopping other guards from attacking him as they arrived and creating something of a macabre procession that filed up the long, decorated hallway towards the passage's end. Tarrin did finally stop at a door, and when he opened it, he found himself looking into the bedchamber of a child. A very large bedchamber, full of expensive antique furniture and very large tapestries on the walls. The room was illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a barred window on the other side. To his left was a large feather bed covered with a diaphanous drape of sheer silk that hung from the four posts at the corners, a net to keep insects from feasting on the bed's occupant. There was a large dressing table with a silvered mirror across from the bed, with a cushioned chair before it, and a small chest at the foot of the bed. Several bureaus stood in the room, probably where the girl kept her clothes, and a box that showed signs of heavy use sat under the window, which had the arm of a doll hanging out from under the lid. It was a toy box.
Tarrin absently brained one adventurous guard with a club of a fist, as the man tried to attack him while his attention was focused on the room. He then stepped inside, scenting the little female that was sleeping in the bed, seemingly oblivious to the shouting and commotion going on outside her door. He gave her no notice, focusing on the medallion in his hand, its light and pull leading him to the dressing table. He padded up to it and looked down, holding the medallion out, and seeing with considerable disappointment that it was pointing to a gold barette that was studded with tiny rubies. An old piece of heirloom jewelry. Then again, he should have realized that the Book of Ages probably wouldn't be in a child's bedchamber. He reached down and touched the medallion to the barette, watching its reddish glow and tugging cease immediately. It was dormant a moment, then a faint light appeared within it once more, and he felt it pulling him somewhere towards the southwest.
"Imari! Imari!" a male voice gasped. Tarrin glanced to see a portly Arakite man wearing a nightrobe. He was balding slightly, had fat jowls, and his fingers and ears dripped with gem-encrusted jewelry. From the look of him, he had to be the house's owner. The man started to run into the room, but Tarrin's eyes narrowed, and he growled at the man in an ominous manner, a growl that could not have issued from a human throat. That stopped the human cold. "How did that creature get inside!" the man demanded quickly in Arakite.
"He's not human, master!" one guard replied in a terrified tone. "He killed three men I saw, and we couldn't put a blade on him!"
"It's looking for something," another guard said. "As long as we didn't get in its way, it ignored us!"
"Get away from my daughter, you monster!" the man screamed hysterically.
It wasn't the Book of Ages. He had no more reason to be there. He put the medallion inside his shirt and turned towards the men, then padded towards them with a calm, steady pace that told them beyond doubt that he meant to walk by them, or through them, whichever way they chose.
"Mmm, Papa? Papa, who's the man with the tail?" a bleary voice asked from behind.
The little girl. He wouldn't hurt her, nor would he allow her to come to harm. That meant that he wouldn't fight with her in the same room. But the guards backed off quickly and with frightened whispers as he advanced on them, but the master of the house refused to get out of the way. Whether it was from fear or some instinct to defend his child, Tarrin had no idea, but the situation caused him to consider what to do. He wouldn't hurt the girl, and this man was obviously her father. To kill him in front of her would trauma
tize her, and he wouldn't do that to a child either. He was still very angry, and the man was blocking him from what he wanted. He felt the impulse to kill, but an equally strong impulse not to bring harm to the child struggled against it, making him falter in his steps and come to a halt within reach of the human man. A man that just stared up at him in a kind of terrified wonder, who dared to challenge him without so much as a letter opener for a weapon. Just himself and his resolve not to let his child be harmed.
Tarrin could respect that. The man flinched when Tarrin reached out and grabbed him by the front of his robe, then twisted it enough to get a pawhold and gently lifted the man off his feet. He moved him aside, out to arm's length to his side, and then put him back down just as carefully as he picked him up. He walked right by the stupified man and out the door, then growled at the guards to make them give him a very wide berth. Then he simply walked down the hall the way he came, moving back towards the door. The guards did not follow him, and the servants and slaves were smart enough not to come back out until someone told them it was safe. He left the house without so much as a mouse to stand in his way.
He left behind him a scene of unbridled carnage. At least fifteen men lay dead on the grounds and in the house. He didn't know exactly how many, because he didn't deem it important enough of a fact to remember. And he felt not a whit of remorse about it. There was no guilt in him anymore. Only the mission mattered now, a mission that had gotten Faalken killed, a mission that had separated him from his dear sister and his friends. A mission that had done nothing but cause him misery and pain.
A mission he would accomplish, no matter what.
He could see it all over Sarraya's face.
She was furious.
He didn't care. It was that simple. He didn't give a damn about how she felt about him, or what he'd been up to. He'd met up with her just before dawn. She had come back to the Fountain of Life at about the same time as him, and he'd taken a few moments to wash off the majority of the dried blood and bits of tattered flesh that were still stuck in inaccessible places. He had been in human form, and that left his bare forearms and shins eerily clean while the rest of him was spattered with the rust-colored spots and flaking streaks of dried blood. She'd seen the blood on him, and she had to know that he'd gotten into a fight. She didn't say anything to him, but the displeasure and disapproval was obvious all over her tiny face.
There had been no other fatalities after that fight in the compound. He'd tracked down twelve ancient artifacts over the night, none of which were the book. Fortunately, they'd been in places where he wouldn't have to face an army, and he had calmed down considerably by the time he reached the next objective. He'd calmed down enough to forgo assaulting the place and sneaking in. He was a Were-cat, sneaking was second nature to him, and he could do it with a stealthy ease that would make any master thief jealous of his ability. That agent's threats to hurt Allia had been what had put him in the mood to go into the compound like a rampaging Troll, but he still felt absolutely no remorse or trepidation over his actions.
And so, Sarraya followed along as Tarrin walked back to the circus compound, mixing with the Arakites on the street as they came from their houses to start their days. She was totally silent, and that was a good indication that she wasn't very happy. But he didn't give it a second thought. He just walked back to the circus, stepped into the performing tent and changed to his cat form, and then curled up against the tent canvas near the entrance and went to sleep.
But Sarraya did no such thing. The first thing she did was flit through the tents as they performers began to awaken, moving quickly and urgently, until she found Dolanna. The Sorceress was sitting at Renoit's small table in his tent, enjoying a breakfast with the portly circus master and engaging him in light conversation. But Sarraya's abrupt appearance beside her cup of tea gave her pause. She looked down at the small Faerie, noting the serious, angry look on her face. "Let's take a walk," Sarraya said in a tight voice.
"I will be back shortly, Renoit," Dolanna said, putting her napkin on the table and standing up, then filing out of the small tent as the Faerie flitted along beside her.
"We've got to do something about Tarrin," Sarraya said as soon as they were out of earshot of the tents. Dolanna was walking away from the large grassy field, and when she reached the edge of the street, she began a course that would take them around the field's edge. "When I saw him before we came back, he was covered in blood. Lots of blood. He went out and killed people, Dolanna, when we told him not to do it."
"There may be a valid reasoning for it."
"Not that much blood, Dolanna. He looked like he took a bath in it."
"I will talk to him, little one," Dolanna promised.
"There's more," she said with a hesitant voice. "I was, visited, during the night by a human wearing a black cloak. He knew all about us. He told us to leave with the carnival, or the weaker members of our group would be killed to motivate us. I have no doubt who he was talking about."
"Dar," Dolanna said seriously.
"Sending that Amazon with him may have saved his life, Dolanna. There's someone out there looking for us, looking for him, and it's someone I don't think we want to cross. That human--" she shuddered. "There was something about him, something about how he looked at me. He was evil, totally and utterly evil. It was almost a pall that hung over him."
"If Tarrin received a similar visitor, it may explain his, activity," Dolanna said. "Threatening Dar would no doubt incite him to violence."
"We'd better talk to him."
"We will, but we must do it later," Dolanna said. "If he was threatened, he may still be angry. Let us let him sleep off his anger. He will be more amenable this afternoon."
"Good point," Sarraya agreed. "Let's go back to Renoit's. I'm starving. Share your roll with me?"
"Of course, little one," Dolanna smiled.
The carnival didn't perform that day, but it was a momentous day in its own way.
Tarrin slept most of the morning and afternoon in the performing tent, laying in dark cubby holes, but commotion outside roused him from his slumber and caught his attention. He padded to the entrance curiously, and found the performers lined up away from the tents, literally surrounded by military men wearing burnished steel breastplates and helmets with horsehair crests of black affixed atop them. There was an elaborate carriage nearby, pulled by six black horses, and it was surrounded by guards and men and women wearing extravagant robes of every color imaginable.
Curiosity got the better of him. What was going on? Were the performers being questioned, or arrested? That man said he knew who he was, and he mentioned the circus. Did he send the military men to the pavillion to arrest them? He stalked out of the tent carefully, slinking towards the knot of people, listening intently. Their conversation was light, excited. The military men weren't trying to arrest them, it seemed. They were too happy to be under arrest. So what else was going on?
It didn't take him long to find Allia. He meowed plaintively at her feet to get her attention, and she reached down and picked him up, cradling him in her arm. "What's going on, Allia?" he asked in the unspoken manner of the Cat.
"The Emperor and Empress have come," she replied in a low tone. "They have come to meet the performers."
"Renoit said it may happen," Tarrin said without much more interest. He didn't really care about the rulers of this diseased empire. "Put me down, I'm going back to sleep."
"It is odd that they have come before we mean to perform," she noted critically. "Why come when they can do nothing more than talk? From what I have heard, that is not like this Emperor."
"Who knows? Who cares?" he responded. He was about to tell her to put him down, but the door to the carriage opened, which caused the guards to form up in a protective pair of lines to each side of the carriage, and made the robed people scurry about. When they were in position, a man and woman exited.
Tarrin was not impressed. Emperor Zarthas Arakis, ruler of the lar
gest empire in the world, was a tall, lanky man in his middle years. He had the swarthy skin of an Arakite, but his black hair was streaked with gray at the temples. His face was a bit sunken and his eyes seemed a bit hollow, but Tarrin could tell that it had been a very handsome face when he was a younger man. He wore a very simple robe of deep purple, trimmed with black sable, and held a small gold rod in his left hand. Empress Lika, Zarthas' wife, was a woman slightly more than average height. What set her apart from any Arakite he had ever seen was her flaming red hair, hair that immediately reminded him of Jesmind. It was long, elegantly done up with gold chains woven into it, and it framed a face that looked like a mask of feminine perfection. She had the same swarthy brown skin as all Arakites, but her red eyebrows gave her a very exotic appearance. She was lovely, as lovely as Allia, but with human features beneath that perfect face rather than exotic Selani features. Her body measured up to the promise her face made, full of sleek lines and curves that would make any man's eye follow them. Tarrin took in her beauty, and he again was not impressed. He was usually surrounded by very pretty women most of the time, so the appearance of a woman--especially a human one--couldn't move him as it could a human man. She wore a robe of red, slightly darker than her hair, that gave her coloring an even darker cast than if she were wearing a different color.
Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 2 - The Questing Game by Fel © Page 96