She was chained to the wall of his lab by a special chain and neck manacle that were magically strengthened. He kept her around to study her condition, and she made a marvelous motivational tool for keeping his minions and agents in line. It was amusing to watch her rip apart those he had thrown into the perimiter of her leash, and such object lessons motivated the others to perform up to his expectations.
Such a delicious situation. Send her to Dala Yar Arak and simply let her loose, let her killing and rampaging destroy any chance the Were-cat would have of moving around unhindered. And perhaps he would meet her out there on the streets, would see the one who had chained him up. He would love to see that. Jula's madness would probably be a match for the Were-cat's fury. She may even kill him.
Either way, she would serve his purposes.
"I have a job for you, my pet," he told the insane Were-cat in a purring voice. She recoiled from him, learning even in her madness to fear the pain that the cold mage dished out. "A job I'm sure you will enjoy."
He gave the Were-cat a hauntingly eager look, one that made her press up against the wall with a terrified look in her mad eyes. "You have to go meet your maker."
They were under way.
Dancer was surrounded by water under a favorable wind. The sky was cloudless with a bright sun, bright enough to completely hide the Skybands. Tarrin flinched from that light as he exited the stairway from the cabins, stepping out onto the deck for the first time since Faalken was killed. He hadn't talked with anyone else or even seen anyone else. Dolanna had probably kept everyone out of his room, even Allia, because of his state. He couldn't blame her for that. She had no idea what he was capable of doing, after all. Dolanna probably just had everyone leave him alone, letting him come out when he was ready.
Poor Dolanna. She and Faalken had been travelling companions and friends for a very long time. She was probably crushed over his death. It made him feel a pang of severe guilt, and for a moment he worried that she would blame him. That caused an irrational terror to rise up in him. Dolanna was a close friend, and he loved her in a very special way. If she rejected him, he wouldn't know what would happen.
She should blame him. He was responsible. But part of him didn't want her to.
The sight of the performers, faces to which he had grown accustomed a while ago, suddenly seemed threatening, intimidating. They were strangers, unknown, dangerous, and the sight of them caused a powerful impulse to rise up in him, almost like fear. He knew they were harmless, he knew that some of them were actually rather nice, but he just couldn't help it. Faalken's death had left him uncertain, emotional, and that triggered something deep inside that made him fear the strangers--the enemies--around him. He looked at them and felt anger for some reason, a towering anger that was hard to control.
Allia saw him first. She literally bowled an acrobat over running to him, screaming his name. When she reached him, however, she came up short in the act of throwing her arms around him, staring up into his face. She looked him directly in the eyes, and then her eyes seemed to soften. A tear formed in the corner of those glorious eyes, and she hugged him in a fierce embrace. "I'm so relieved to see you, brother!" she said with a sob, in Selani. "We were all worried about you!"
He held her at arm's length, looking at her flawless beauty, a beauty that seemed to soothe his anger and pain. "I guess I'm alright, sister," he said in a quiet voice. "Starving, but alright."
"You've been in your room for three days!" she said emphatically. "I wanted to be with you, but Dolanna said you were better off to be alone, without me there to distract you. I have no idea what she meant by that."
"I think I do," he said emotionlessly. "She was right."
She gave him a long, searching look. "Tarrin, Faalken--it wasn't your fault," she said gently. "He died in combat, with honor. He saved Dolanna and Dar. Don't dishonor his memory by torturing yourself. There was nothing you could do."
"There was plenty I could do, Allia," he replied. "But I didn't do it. That's my burden to bear. But I'm not going to dishonor his memory, and I'm not going to torture myself. The Cat wouldn't let me do that even if I wanted to. I'm just going to go on. It's what he would have wanted me to do."
She gazed at him lovlingly, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "I don't think you know, so I'll tell you. Sarraya is well. We found her after the battle, unconscious. The shield broke both her arms and most of her ribs. Camara Tal healed her, and she healed me too."
For some strange reason, he felt towering relief over that. "That's very good to hear," he said sincerely. "She's a pain, but she's kinda grown on me. How is Dolanna?"
"Grieving, but she'll be alright," she replied compassionately. "Faalken was a very old friend. She needs time to heal."
"We all do," he said, mainly to himself.
One of the acrobats approached, someone whose face he knew but her name eluded him. The sight of her advancing on them provoked an immediate reaction. He laid his ears back and growled at her, a growl that made her stop in her tracks and give him a fearful look. She took a couple of steps back, glancing at Allia, who motioned for her to go back. When she did so, Tarrin returned to normal.
Allia stared at him disapprovingly for more than a moment. "What's your problem?" she finally demanded. "Threatening Lila was uncalled for!"
"I'm sorry," he said without much sincerity. "But I'm not letting anyone get anywhere near me right now. For their sake more than mine."
"If that's how you feel, let's go to the galley and get you something to eat. Unless you're going to growl at Deward."
"Not if he gets out of the galley," he replied bluntly.
"Tarrin!" Allia scolded. "I thought you liked Deward!"
"I do," he replied. "I'm just not ready to deal with strangers right now, sister. I don't want that stress."
She gazed into his eyes, then took his paw. "Alright. Let's get you something to eat. Have you slept at all?"
"No, not really."
"Then after you eat, you're taking a nap," she declared. "You need to rest. I'll sleep with you, if you want, and after you wake up we'll talk."
"I'd appreciate that, sister," he replied with a grateful expression.
After visiting the galley and putting some desperately needed food in his belly, Allia took him back to his room. She laid down on the bed and patted it, and he shifted into his cat form and jumped up with her. The smell of her, the feel of her presence, subdued his raging mind with gentle speed, soothing his fears and his worries, replacing them with a sensation of Cat-induced contentment. Allia never failed to calm him, and against her side he found the peace to close his eyes and forget everything, if only for a while. Forget Faalken, forget his failure, forget his guilt. Her presence simply let him be, gave him the security to fall into a dreamless slumber, exerting that same gentle influence on him that Janette did, the same feeling of security. Allia would make everything all better, she would chase away the monsters in his mind and the bad memories. For a while, she would bring peace to his racing mind.
He woke up some time later. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but it was obviously long enough to lure Allia into sleeping as well. She was still laying on her side, with him curled up against her chest, an arm draped protectively over him. Her breath washed over him, a smell that was pleasant to him, and he basked in the sensation of her closeness while she slept. And he to admit, he felt a little better now. The time in cat form had reinforced that part of him, as always happened as he spent time in a particular form, and the pragmatic outlook of the cat had dulled the pain of what had happened before somewhat.
She awoke quickly after he did, and she sat him down and made him talk. Allia was the only person to whom he would share his darkest personal secrets, and they spilled out of him like a flood. He told her all about the battle from his perspective, about his rage, and about what Jegojah had said to him. He left nothing out. For the first time in a very long while, he felt an overpowering need to share hims
elf with someone else, to expose his pain in the hope that Allia could make it better, to ease the heavy burden he felt. Allia understood him better than anyone, even Triana, and she listened quietly and calmly as he bared his soul to her. And when he was done, sitting on the bed and picking at the end of his tail nervously, she just looked at him and laughed.
That confused him more than a little bit. Why would she do that? He knew she wasn't being scornful or mean, it just wasn't her nature. She found sincere humor in something he said, or something he did. But what?
"Deshida," she said with a chuckle. "That is the worst case of self-blame I have ever heard."
He gave her a strange look.
"Think about it a moment," she told him, holding out her hand. "First off, what do you really think you could have done to help Faalken?" she asked. "At that time, Dolanna and Dar were incapable of using Sorcery, Camara Tal was down, I was too hurt to concentrate, and Sarraya was out. You were the only one of us left with any magical ability. If you'd have turned your back on that Doomwalker to help Faalken, it would have fried you in an instant. It wanted you to do exactly that, so it could get in a quick, easy kill. You may have had a choice, but if you would have tried to help Faalken, he would have smacked you himself for doing something so stupid."
"Allia!" he said in shock.
"You would have gotten both of you killed, brother," she explained. "Faalken was beyond your help. He was beyond anyone's help," she said gently. "That you didn't get yourself killed along with him was a good thing."
He considered her words for a long moment. The logical part of his mind had to agree with Allia. She was right. If he had tried to heal Faalken, Jegojah would have had a huge opening to come at him. He would have had to kill Jegojah first, and that was no easy task. He did the only thing he could do, try to take the Doomwalker down. Faalken would have probably agreed with Allia there. If he'd been conscious at that point, he would have waved Tarrin off.
But the emotional part of his mind wouldn't completely accept the argument. After the battle, after he severed himself from the Weave, he could have tried to heal Faalken. He had brought people back from the brink before, but he hadn't. He could have tried.
"Just accept it, deshida," she said, taking his paw in her hands. "If you would have helped Faalken, the Doomwalker would have killed you. And without you, it would have killed the rest of us soon after. Do you really think Faalken would have wanted that? To die knowing that he had gotten the rest of us killed as well?"
Tarrin averted his eyes from her guiltily. He didn't want to answer that.
"You did the only thing you could do. The only thing you should have done. You did what Faalken himself would have told you to do, Tarrin! He was a Knight. Dying wasn't something he feared. He faced it with bravery and honor, he faced it like a warrior. Don't dishonor that by beating yourself over it, brother. Faalken gave up his own life to save the rest of ours, and he did it with courage. That's something that I'll never forget, and I'll ask the Holy Mother to send my thanks to his spirit every time I pray to her."
"But I never made that choice, Allia," he said quietly. "I was in a rage. I responded out of anger. I never had the chance to choose, and that's what kills me over it. I did have the chance to save Faalken, but I never had the chance to make that choice. I was swept aside by my own rage, and he was killed because of it."
"Brother," she said chidingly. "How you were doesn't matter. It's the facts that speak here. The Cat in you did what was right, even if your mind and heart didn't agree. Dolanna and Triana both have told you to listen to that, to understand it."
"It just hurts, Allia," he admitted. "No matter how I try to rationalize it, I still feel like I could have done something."
"It's alright to feel that way," she said with a loving touch to his face. "But don't let it consume you. You have to mourn, and then to heal. In time, you'll realize that what I'm telling you is what your heart already knows. And until then, I'll always be here to help you look into your heart. It's much easier for me to see what is there than it is for you, because your heart is always open to me."
He gave her a wan smile. "What did I ever do to deserve a sister like you?" he asked her.
"You must have done something horrible," she said with a quirky smile, then she laughed and buried herself in his arms. "I love you, my brother," she said in a whisper. "No matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."
Sometimes Allia surprised him. She was always so quiet, so misunderstood, and even Tarrin underestimated her sometimes. She was so wise, and she had a knack for always knowing exactly what to say. Allia could with two words say more than some people could say with two speeches. He loved her, loved her so deeply that it defied rational explanation, and she had done exactly what he hoped she could do.
She had eased his pain, even convinced him that it was alright to feel the way he felt. She had done what only she could do.
He closed his eyes and silently thanked every god that was listening that Allia had come into his life. Without her, he'd feel lost.
"I love you, Allia," he said quietly, deeply, from the heart.
"And I love you, Tarrin," she replied immediately. "No matter what happens, we will always have each other. And I will always love you, no matter what."
He didn't come back out until morning.
Allia brought him his meal that night, and he stayed in his cabin. She was right, he needed time to mourn, time to think, time to himself in peace. Time spent other than staring blankly at a wall. And he had to move on. The others were depending on him, their lives hinged on how well he did what he was there to do. That sobered him, focused him, made him set aside Faalken's death and pay more attention to the tasks at hand. He'd lost one friend, he was determined not to lose another.
The next morning, he came up on deck. The ship was moving swiftly in front of a stiff wind, and the sky was cloudy. The smell of rain was heavy in the air. Seeing rain in such an arid, hot climate seemed strange to him, but he figured that it had to rain there eventually. The moisture in the air made it heavy, muggy, and sweltering in the tropical heat, but Tarrin didn't much mind heat. He guessed it was part of being a Were-cat, for the climate in Aldreth was much more temperate. It rarely got half as hot there as it did down in the southern regions.
Things looked normal, but there was also a tension in the air, and it had little to do with him. Allia had told him that morning that they were only one day from Dala Yar Arak. The city sat on the western edge of the vast empire, on a peninsula reaching out from the arid steppes that was more habitable than the dry grassy plains from which it was extended. From what Allia told him, the city took up the entire peninsula, transforming it into a sea of buildings and people corrupting the land. The tension going on around him had to do with preparedness. Acrobats refined their moves during their practice turns, jugglers stood close to each other and conferred in serious tones about which acts they were going to perform. Dancers finalized their dancing steps as Dar conjured forth his Illusions that would be his part of the show with the drakes and Phandebrass' Wizard magic. Strongmen prepared their props, Deward was polishing his throwing daggers, and the highwire performers were inspecting the ropes they walked upon during their performances. There were men down in the hold readying the tents to be pulled from storage, and parading costumes were being touched up. The performers wore special costumes as they paraded through town on the way to where they performed, trying to rouse interest in their circus and entertaining the spectators.
He'd have little of that. He was going to spend that time in cat form, riding in the cowl of Allia's mesalla, the desert garb she would wear out in the desert. Instead of trying to hide her, Renoit had decided to display her as Selani, to pique the curiosity of the Arakites about the mysterious desert dwellers that they were taught to hate and fear as children. Camara Tal would be similarly displayed in her Amazon dress.
Dolanna and Phandebrass were absent from the deck, but the Amazon was sittin
g on a rope coil near the bow. She had Faalken's sword in her hands, holding onto it absently, with a pensive look on her face. Seeing that sword filled him with a sudden irrational anger. How dare she take that! It was Faalken's! He had given it to the Knight, and it belonged with him! But the look on her face quelled that anger as quickly as it erupted. She didn't look very happy to have it. Sarraya hovered near her, curiously silent. Usually she would be harassing or teasing the Amazon, but she looked more concerned than amused.
They both looked up at him when he stopped in front of them, looking down with his penetrating stare. She said nothing, her expression barely changed, but there was something behind her eyes that caught his attention. "Tarrin," she said finally.
"What are you doing with that?" he demanded in a low, quiet voice. "It doesn't belong to you."
"It does now," Sarraya said tartly.
"By what right?" he challenged.
"Don't blame me," Camara Tal said dully, looking out into the sea. "But the bug's right. Dolanna told me to keep it. But I'm not to happy about it. This was Faalken's sword. It should have been buried with him, as a gesture of respect and honor, but the Sorceress insisted because it's a magical weapon. She said we may need it if that bag of bones comes back."
The Questing Game Page 91