Chapter 19

 It felt strange to hold his bow again.

 Tarrin stood at the bow of the ship in human form, holding the bow in his hands and letting his mind wander over memories of what seemed to him to be long ago.  Back when he was human.  He would range through the Frontier with his bow in search of deer, going alot further than he was supposed to go.  It was a very good bow, made by his father's careful hands, and with a pull so strong that not many men could draw it, and fewer could hold it pulled for very long.  That draw was customized for his strength, at least back then, giving the bow power.  His father's careful craftmanship had ensured the bow had deadly accuracy, depending only on the condition of the arrow used with it.  He had owned the bow for only a year before leaving Aldreth.  He had given his old bow to Jenna, which had been made for him when he was fifteen, and his father had made him a new bow, a much larger one more suited for his size and strength.  Jenna still hadn't grown into his old bow, and now that she could use Sorcery, he doubted she ever would use it.  A pity, it was a very good bow.

 The pain of holding the human shape gnawing at him, he pulled the string back and sighted down an imaginary arrow shaft.  It felt lighter to him now, easier.  His human form was human, but because he was Were, his human shape was stronger than it had been before being turned.  Not a whole lot, but it was enough for him to feel the difference in pulling the bow.  Of course, compared to his inhuman strength he enjoyed in his natural form, he felt like a little kitten.  Just pulling back the bow flooded him with memories of lessons from his father, memories of bucks he'd had in his sights, memories of how to shoot his bow with proper aim.  The memories were enough to drown out the pain and the nagging unease he felt with the Amazon and the Faerie so close to him.  Camara Tal sat on a short barrel, whittling knife still worrying at a piece of wood, as Sarraya hovered in the air with her wings buzzing just beside her.  The two of them were quiet, for a change.  All that morning, they had been sniping at each other.  Camara Tal didn't like Sarraya, and Sarraya wasn't too fond of Camara Tal.  Their fighting had upset him, upset him so much that he didn't want to practice the bow.  It was nearly enough to make him abandon them to their arguing.  They'd settled into an uneasy silence now, probably because they'd run out of bad things to say to each other.

 He looked out over the expanse of ocean, feeling very relieved.  They had left the Tears that morning, and had not been challenged by anyone else.  Odds were that the pirates they let go had warned everyone else that trying to attack the garish ship was suicide.  The average pirate was just like any mercenary or hireling.  They were interested in getting as much as they could with as little danger as possible.  A little deckfight was normal in the pirating business, and it was something the average pirate would risk for some booty.  But a pirate would not tangle with a ship that carried a pack of dangerous magic-users.  That was just too much risk for only the chance of some booty.  The raw power they were carrying was as much a security blanket as the fact that their ship was so distinguishable.   They wouldn't even be attacked by accident.  Only a blind man could mistake Renoit's ship for some other.

 Sometimes Tarrin thought he could learn to love the ghastly pink ship.

 Free of the Tears, the performers had gone back to their practicing.  Allia helped one of the acrobats learn a new move near the stern, and Dar was practicing his Illusions near the mainmast, conjuring up portait-like Illusions of people and landscapes.  The strongmen and jugglers were taking their turn as the ship's sailors, handling the sails and rigging to catch the erratic wind as it wavered from the southwest to the northwest.  Faalken was with Dolanna on the steering deck, with Renoit.  He knew Dolanna was watching him.  She knew he was having trouble with Camara Tal and Sarraya, and he bet that she wanted to see what he would do when he was exposed to both of them at the same time.

 "Alright, here's an arrow," Sarraya piped, holding her hands out from her tiny body.  A wooden arrow simply appeared in front of her, with gray fletching and a wooden head, and it clattered to the deck.  "Tell me what you think."

 Tarrin picked it up and inspected it.  It was straight and rugged, but its balance was off.  "It's too front-heavy," he replied.  "A steel head doesn't weigh that much."

 "How much lighter?"

 Tarrin measured the arrow and set his finger under the effective centerpoint of the arrow's center of gravity.  "It should be balanced at this point," he said, holding the arrow up for her to see that point, some fingers forward of the shaft's middle.  When he removed his steadying hand, the arrow sagged at the front until it began sliding off his finger.

 "I love it when I have visual aid," Sarraya grinned.  She pointed at the arrow in his hand, and it simply disappeared.  A second later, a new one was in its place.  "How's that?"

 Tarrin weighed it, and nodded.  "Perfect."

 "Well, you can't be shooting down the ship's deck, for obvious reasons," Sarraya said.  "I thought I'd make a small target made of light for you off the rail, and let you shoot into the sea instead."

 "That's a pretty good idea," he agreed.  "Can you control the light?"

 Sarraya nodded.  "I know you'll be shooting into a crosswind.  At least if we do this from the side.  We could go up to the bow, or up on the steering deck instead."

 "The bow would be better.  Tailwinds don't affect an arrow's flight as much as a headwind."

 "Why is that?" the sprite asked curiously.

 "A tailwind pushes the arrow ahead," Camara Tal answered for him.  "A headwind slows it down.  Shooting into a headwind means you have to raise the bow and fire at a trajectory.  That's not easy to calculate."

 "I didn't ask you," Sarraya said shortly.

 "You didn't not ask me either."

 "Hmph," Sarraya snorted, flitting away from the Amazon.

 "Pardon my opinion, but you look strange like that," Camara Tal told him, pointing at his human form.

 "It feels as strange to me as it looks to you," he replied.  "This isn't very comfortable for me."

 "I know, Triana told me about that," Camara Tal assured him.  "You going to be alright?"

 "Allia taught me ways to ignore the pain, at least until it gets too bad," he replied.  "I'll be alright for a few hours."

 "Good.  But if it starts bothering you, let me know," she said.  "I know a spell that deadens pain.  It could help."

 The idea of letting her use magic on him made his heart seize in his chest.  That required trust, and he wouldn't let her get that close to him.  Goddess only knew what spell she'd really cast if he allowed her to use magic on him.  "No thanks," he said curtly, turning and nocking the arrow on his bow, then smoothly drawing it to get a feel for the conjured missle.  He tried to empty his mind of stray thoughts as he was taught, to prepare to fire the arrow with accuracy.

 But as soon as he tried to center on the arrow, he got the strangest feeling, like a phantom collar had been snapped around his neck.  That was enough to throw him into an absolute panic, making his heart lurch and his breath catch in his throat.  He let go of the bowstring immediately, causing the arrow to fly off the bow in a wobbly arc and making him whirl around quickly to see where they were.  Camara Tal was still sitting on the barrel, looking up at him, and the Faerie was hovering some distance from her on his other side.  The Amazon gave him a calm look and put away her whittling knife, then stood up.  "That was pathetic," she said calmly.  "Let me see that bow."

 What she didn't seem to sense was the momentary sense of panic Tarrin was suffering.  He had turned his back on them, and when he did, just for that fleeting instant he thought one of them had done something.  The feeling of that collar around his neck was something that he would never forget, and it still had a tremendous power over his behavior, even though it was long ago destroyed.  Seeing the Amazon, the stranger, approach, Tarrin threw down the bow and changed form, returning to his more powerful humanoid shape, and he put his ears back in warning of her approach.

 That got her attention.  "Don't raise your hackles at me, boy," she said in a commanding voice.  "I'm not going to bother you.  I just want to see if the bow is damaged."

 "Just get away from me," Tarrin hissed threateningly, settling into that slouching posture that served as his fighting form and extending all of his claws.

 "I told you not to take that tone with me, Tarrin," Camara Tal said ominously.  "I'm not going to hurt you."  She didn't stop, though, continuing to approach him.

 "Uh, Camara, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sarraya said in a very serious voice.

 "Do what?" she asked, turning to look at the Faerie--

 --and found herself laying flat on her back, frantically grabbing at the clawed paw that was clutching her by the neck, holding her down.  Those claws were driving into her neck and shoulders, drawing blood, penetrating past skin and digging into flesh as the pressure behind them increased.  "I said get away from me!" Tarrin shouted at her with a vicious glare, picking her back up by the neck, then tossing her across the deck like a rag doll.  She landed on her side, sliding a few spans on the scrubbed wood, then coming to a stop.  She raised up on one arm and looked back at him, blood flowing from her neck and shoulders.

 "Do that," Sarraya told her.  "When a Were-cat shows claws, you don't take another step towards him."

 "I see," she said ruefully, wiping the blood away from her chest and looking at him calmly.  Tarrin's eyes were lit from within with their greenish aura that marked his anger, and he glared at her flatly, eyes and body posture promising something worse should she try again.

 Red haze clouded Tarrin's judgement.  The panic over the feel of that collar allowed the Cat to overwhelm him, and he no longer saw Camara Tal as an associate.  She was a stranger, and that made her an enemy.  Work and practice on the deck stopped as everyone turned to look at the disturbance, but Tarrin didn't see or even register their presence.  His entire attention was affixed on the Amazon, and should she rise and invade his personal space again, he wouldn't be so gentle with her the next time.

 Then Allia was there.  With quick, soothing words and hands on his shoulders, the Selani quickly and efficiently talked him down.  Sanity returned to his mind, the Cat retreated back to its place in his mind as her reassuring presence and scent washed over him.  He put a bloodstained paw to his forehead and shook it as if to throw off cobwebs, then looked at Allia with a little uncertainty.

 What had caused that?

 "Allia," he said in a shaken voice.

 "What happened, my brother?" she asked soothingly.

 "I turned to shoot the bow, and all I could feel was like something snapping around my neck.  I just couldn't help myself.  I thought Camara Tal tried to collar me."

 "She didn't do anything at all," she assured him.  "She was sitting there the whole time."

 "I know, but I couldn't help it," he said with a sigh.  "I'm going to go lay down a while."

 "Go ahead, I'll be there in a few minutes," she told him, and Tarrin rushed away, one paw's claws still dripping Camara Tal's blood onto the deck.  It had been powerful and completely uncontrollable, and he knew that what he needed was some time away from everyone else, some time to calm down and try to make sense of what had happened.  Well, he knew what had happened, but he needed some time to understand what had caused him to remember that feeling at just that time.

 Her magic.  He was thinking about her using her magic on him, and it made him afraid.  Maybe that's what provoked it.

 Scurrying quickly to the stairs, he moved to get himself away from the gazes of the performers, of his friends, seeking a place of quiet and solitude where he could get his nerves untangled.

 "That was stupid, Camara," Sarraya teased the Amazon from a safe distance.

 "I've dealt with him in that mood before," she said with not a little uncertainty.  "He's knuckled under to me.  What set him off?"

 "If you wish to deal with my brother, learn to respect my brother," Allia told the Amazon stiffly.  "You did not respect his wish, and you paid for it.  He does not trust you.  He will kill you if you press him too far, and he will not even bat an eye over it."

 "I'm trying to win his trust, Selani.  Sometimes that means I have to take chances.  He won't respect me if he thinks he can push me around."

 "It is your life," Allia shrugged.  "I suggest you care for it more.  And if you wish to live long enough to stand on dry land again, I suggest you listen to the Faerie.  She knows much more about the Were-cats than you, and she can warn you off if you do something so foolish again."  She gave the Amazon a steady, unwavering look, then she rushed off after Tarrin.

 Camara Tal glanced at the grinning Faerie, then snorted.  "Shut up," she said gruffly, getting back to her feet.

 After spending an afternoon and evening curled up in a little ball against Allia's stomach, allowing her to spoil him a little bit, he returned to what Renoit asked of him.  Camara Tal and Sarraya were there, but they gave him a large breathing space, large enough so he could turn his back on them and not be unsettled by their proximity.  That had to be what it was.  He knew them, but that was the first time he had turned his back on them and tried to concentrate on something other than them.  He had lowered his guard, and the fact that he did caused his mind to conjure up a memory of what had happened the last time he turned his back on someone he thought was trustworthy.

 And in a strange way, it gave him a little hope. That he would in fact drop his guard with his back to them, even for a fleeting moment, gave him hope that he could do overwhelm his fear of them and accept them both.  After all, he did like them.  Sarraya was funny, and Camara Tal was a staunch, dependable woman with a personality he could understand.

 He made no apologies to Camara Tal, and she didn't bring it up.  She had pressured him beyond his breaking point, and she paid the price.  If anything, he saw it as a learning experience for her.  He could tolerate her presence, he even liked her a little bit, but she had to respect his personal space, and also give ground to him when he was adamant about being left alone.  It was little to ask of her, and if she couldn't follow those simple rules, maybe it was better if he killed her now, just to get the inevitable overwith.  He knew what she wanted from him, and it was something he was trying to give, but she had to just back off and let him try to sort through it on his own.  Trying to push him into things only triggered his defensive instincts, and she'd already learned what his defensive instincts did.

 It set up a pattern for Tarrin that continued for nearly a ride.  He would practice with his bow during the morning, shooting at little target balls of light that Sarraya created for him out over the open water, then he would spend time with Camara Tal after lunch and let her teach him her language.  After that, he would eat dinner with his friends, and then spend the rest of the evening with Allia, playing stones or chess, reading, or just dozing on her lap or against her side.  Sometimes Faalken, Dolanna, or Dar spent the evening with them, talking, playing King's Castle or betting games like Tall Man's Bluff.  The time of quiet normalcy eased Tarrin through the episode with Camara Tal, and got him back to a point where he could stay in close proximity with her for extended periods of time.

 Sarraya was another matter.  He often stood as host for her as she sat on his shoulder or on top of his head, and he often forgot that she was there.  She knew many interesting stories, and entertained Tarrrin and Allia more than a few nights with her old folk tales as they played chess or stones.  She knew as many stories as Phandebrass, but hers were stories of the Fae-da'Nar, so they were much more original and unique than the doddering wizard's tales from around the world.  Since the misadventure with Turnkey, she had stopped being such a pain, and that had made her much more accepted both by Tarrin and by the rest of the ship's population.  She still played a few pranks, but they were very mild and nothing that would make anyone angry.  And he had to admit, she was a rather funny person.  She had a sharp tongue, a razor wit, and a flare for the melodramatic.  Tarrin was alot closer to accepting her than Camara Tal, though he didn't entirely trust her yet.  She didn't impose on him or push him or make him feel uncomfortable anymore.  She simply talked, made jokes, and quietly worked herself back into Tarrin and Allia's good graces.

 Eleven days after leaving the Tears, the Dancer found itself coming out of a light shower.  A strong tailwind pushed the ship along, emanating from the gentle rainstorm, sending them faster and faster towards their goal.  Tarrin was at the rail with his bow, shooting arrows in long, arcing trajectories towards small targets that hovered some three hundred paces away.  Each shot took time, because of the winds and the distance involved, but he was always very close.  He hit four shots out of every five.  It didn't take him long to get back into form with his bow, but he still didn't feel as comfortable with it as he had at one time.  The annoying pain of holding the human form was one thing that distracted him, as well as the twinge he felt at turning his back to Camara Tal to shoot over the rail.  She was too far away to make him feel threatened, but that thought was always in the back of his mind.

 "Look, a rainbow!" Sarraya said in wonder, flitting up to his side and pointing back to the stern.  "Isn't it pretty?"

 "They say that the woman who can find the end of the rainbow will have her heart's wish granted," Camara Tal mused as she came up beside the human-shaped Tarrin and looked at the rainbow.

 "I know what you'd wish for," the Faerie said in a wicked tone.  "A man that never gets tired."

 "I'd settle for just getting my husband back," she sighed, a bit forlornly.

 "Which one?"

 "I may have more than one husband, but only one counts, bug," she replied.  "The others are political marriages.  I barely see them.  They all have their own concubines, so they don't really need me."

 Tarrin saw Phandebrass and Dar on the other side.  Phandebrass was pointing at the rainbow, his arms making gestures as he prattled on to the young Arkisian.  Dar seemed fascinated with whatever he was saying.

 "A man is a man," Sarraya dug.  "Especially when it's multiple choice.  Do you line them up at night, or is it first come, first serve?"

 "You're very close to getting your wings ripped off," Camara Tal snapped at the Faerie, putting a finger the size of the sprite's leg in her face.

 "I thought you said marrying Koran Dar was political," Tarrin said.  He had no doubt which husband to which she was referring.  He was the only one beyond her reach.

 "It was arranged, it wasn't a political marriage.  We were married when we reached the age of adulthood.  I really liked Koran, so I had my mother get him for me."

 "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.

 He couldn't resist it.  He fell to the deck on his stomach, heaving to draw breath against that great weight placed over his back, driving him into the deck.  His mind whirled with anger and bloodlust, but that red haze dulled as the lack of air affected his ability to think.  He started feeling faint, wheezing for breath.

 "Anger is only a weapon for your opponent, Tarrin," Camara Tal said bluntly.  "You lost your temper, and you paid for it.  You can't afford to do that.  Not once, not twice, not ever.  No matter how good you are, if you don't think, you won't live.  You're beaten.  If I were an enemy, you would be dead."

 Tarrin's mind boiled at that one statement, achieving a level of rage that caused all rational thought to evaporate like smoke.  The animal within reached without, coming into communion with the Weave, grabbing the strands and yanking them towards himself to fill himself with their power.  Tarrin's eyes turned from that glowing green to a blazing incandescent white as an avalanche of power flooded into him, infused him, brought under control by the raging beast and focused to a single point.  With a primal scream, Tarrin's paws exploded into Magelight, and he rose from the deck like a revenant, like an elemental force which no man, no power, could hinder.  Muscles ripped and one of his legs broke from the strain of rising against the magical spell, but in his enraged state he felt no pain, would not stop no matter what tried to prevent him from regaining his feet.  He attacked the spell placing the weight on him at its source, striking like a viper against the energy that fed the spell, gave it its power.  He severed that link immediately, breaking the spell, then turned on the stunned Amazon with blazing paws upraised, then levelled them at her like an archer raising his bow to a foe.  At the last second, she seemed to understand that she was literally looking Death in the face, and she dove to the side.

 A bolt of pure magical energy, so bright that it hurt to look at it, erupted from his paws, that same primal weave he had used before, one of the few ways in which the Cat knew how to use magic.  It roared down the deck, missing the Amazon by fingers as she dove aside, then hit the sterncastle and caused he wooden wall to explode violently, sending flaming shrapnel back across the stern section of the deck.  The bolt blew out the stern of the ship, splitting the water as it streamed across the surface for nearly a longspan, then hitting the water and causing it to explode.  That detonation sent a shockwave of hot air back at the ship, making it rock, and sending a spray of water hundreds of spans into the air.

 Seeing his antagonist still alive, the Cat within changed tactics.  Energy hazed around him, an aura of Magelight, as he collected the power to weave together another spell, sucking it from the Weave faster than it could flow into him, causing the Weave around him to shudder and vibrate in a eerie harmony that only a Sorcerer could hear.  He wove together that spell, consisting primarily of Divine energies, with token flows of the other Spheres to give the weave the power of High Sorcery, and a small ball of infathomable blackness coalesced over his left paw.  Electrical energy crackled around it, against his paw and manacle, increasing in birghtness and frequency as the black ball expanded, swallowing up the light.  The Cat knew that against this weave, there was no defense.  Without so much as a thought, he released it, hurling it at her in a broad sidearmed toss.  It hurtled towards her, and her almond eyes widened in shock and fear as it sought to utterly destroy her.

 Then it simply stopped.  Both Tarrin and Camara Tal stared at the magical orb in stunned shock, and then Sarraya appeared directly in front of it, her tiny hands held out as if to push it away.  She somehow brought it to a halt, then pushed up with both arms, and the ball sailed into the sky, barely avoiding the ropes of the rigging.  An image of something similar touched the Cat within him, an image of Triana turning his spell into the sky, taking control of its direction.  Sarraya had done the same thing.  Her tiny hands pointed at him, and he felt the Weave simply disappear, draining away from him as if it had never been.  The power within had nowhere to go, so it generated a backlash that put him on his knees, a backlash that generated a physical blast of wind that radiated from him and struck everyone and everything around him, knocking people back and making the masts and rigging sway in the sudden wind.  The Magelight winked out from around him, the incadescent white light faded from his eyes as he felt the Weave abandon him.

 Even that was not enough.  His rage was focused on Camara Tal, and he would not stop until she was dead.  The Faerie had opposed him, so she was now also his enemy.  His leg still broken, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning grotesquely against his broken leg, eyes still blazing with the greenish aura that made them so striking.  Someone grabbed him by the wrist, and he pulled on his arm, dragging that someone towards him.  Paw grabbing the figure by the neck, he lifted it up, then slammed it against the deck with impressive force, claws on his other paw rearing back to kill the interloper.  But a flash of silver hair and a brown-skinned face struck his mind harder than a giant's fist, and eyes bluer than the sky locked onto his calmly.

 It was Allia!

 The sight of her was all it took.  If there was one person in the entire world that Tarrin could not harm, could not injure, no matter what his mental state, it was his Selani sister.  Her visage soothed his fury, the security he felt when he looked at her defused his explosion, allowing him to regain control of himself.  Tarrin wilted visibly as his rage drained away, drained out of him by the blue of her beautiful eyes, eyes that bored into his and did not waver.  He let go of her neck and knelt beside her, confused and scattered, unable to link together two coherent thoughts.  That was somewhat normal after coming out of a rage, and he knew in the back of his mind that he only had to wait out the disorientation.  He had very little memory of what he did while in that state, lost in the swirling fury that had dominated his mind.  With the loss of his rage, the pain of a leg that had healed wrong struck him, pain of muscles only partially mended hit him like a thousand sticks all over his body.

 He looked up just enough to see Sarraya.  The tiny Faerie looked at him with concern, compassion, and mercy, and he could only stare at her.  "Sleep," she whispered to him sweetly, touching him on the forehead gently.  "Let the pain go through sleep."

 It had to be magical.  Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a weariness that flowed into him, through him, settled into his bones, dulled his pain, calmed the chaos of his mind.  Eyes rolling back into his head, Tarrin sagged to the deck, lost in a dreamless oblivion of sleep.

 There was a moment of stunned, awed, horrified silence.  Everyone who had witnessed the entire episode stared at the inert Were-cat, worry showing on their faces that he would wake up and continue his rampage.  The Amazon half-sat, half-lay nearby, watching the Were- cat carefully, wiping a line of blood from her chin, as the Faerie landed just in front of the Were-cat's head, putting her hands on his forehead and cheek.

 The moment was ended by the Selani.  She rose quickly from where she lay on the deck, blood smearing her back and flowing down the backs of her legs.  The deck was split where the Were-cat had rammed her into it, but she showed no signs that she even realized she was wounded.  Hot eyes locked on the Amazon, and only one word was uttered, a word that made it clear how she felt.

 "Fool!"

 The word echoed through the silence, issuing through the ship, ringing in the ears of nearly everyone who was looking on.  The Selania balled a four-fingered hand up into a fist and shook it at the Amazon, who still looked a little dazed from the assault.

 "You set him off deliberately!" The Selani raged at the Amazon.  "You did that on purpose!  Fool, Tarrin is not a dog that you can beat so long as it is kept on a leash!  When he is enraged, everyone and everything around him is in danger!  Had he chosen to use another weave, rather than concentrating on just you, he would have destroyed this ship!  You nearly killed us all!"

 "I meant to make him angry, not to make him go off," Camara Tal replied woozily.

 "There is no difference when it comes to him!" Allia screamed back at her furiously.  "Shebaka!" she cursed sulfurously, then she went on a long string of Selani curses that lasted for quite a while, more than long enough for Dolanna and Dar to arrive from below decks.

 "What happened here?" Dolanna demanded.  "Dar, tend  Camara Tal.  Sarraya, what is going on?"

 "Not much, Dolanna," the sprite said grimly as Dar helped the Amazon get back on her feet.  "Camara the Genius over there just ruffled Tarrin's fur deliberately.  He went into a snit and nearly killed all of us while trying to wipe her off the face of Sennadar."

 "She did what?" Dolanna demanded, flabbergasted.  "Camara Tal, surely you have more sense than that!"

 "I didn't mean to enrage him, only to anger him," she defended herself.

 "Oija!" Dolanna sighed in her own language.  "Amazon, that is a line so faint that no one aside from Tarrin himself can distinguish it!  Tarrin is not dangerous so long as you do not provoke him!" she said with impressive power in her voice.  "What insanity possessed you to do such a thing?"

 "They were playfighting," Sarraya told her.  "Tarrin was handling it pretty well until Brainchild over there started taunting him.  He snapped and tried to take her head off, and she used magic to subdue him. That managed to just really tick him off."

 "No wonder," Dolanna snorted.  "To use magic against him is the same in his mind as attacking him.  When you did that, you drew his wrath as surely as the sun rises in the morning."

 Camara Tal wiped some blood off her leg, the four neat slashes in her abdomen already healed over.  "I'll remember that next time," she said calmly.

 "There will be no next time," she replied.  "If Tarrin even allows you near him again, it will be a miracle.  You have probably just permanently poisoned him against you, Camara Tal.  I suggest you keep your distance, if you wish to live.  If he is too violently opposed to you, we will let you off at Saranam.  That will be the only way to save you."

 "Come on, one little spat won't--"

 "We shall see," Dolanna interrupted.  "Tarrin is not a forgiving person, Camara Tal.  If he blames you for what happened, he will not forgive you.  And if he will not forgive you, then he will probably try to kill you.  Tarrin's mentality is very much aligned by thinking of everyone as friend or foe.  We will have to see where you stand when he awakens."

 The Amazon was silent, crossing her arms under her breasts and staring at the small Sharadi Sorceress with unblinking eyes.  Then she turned and walked away.

 The night was warm and breezy.  The rain line that had dampened the ship had passed long before the sunset, but behind it was cooler, dryer air that was unsettled now that the sun had gone down.  It blew from the east fitfully, bringing along with it the smell of more rain to come, hidden behind the horizon.  The ship's masts and ropes creaked in the breeze, the sails still down and tended by a handful of men as the ship made up time by sailing at night.  Those men ignored Tarrin for the most part as he stood at the bow, looking at the dark seas ahead.

 Sarraya had helped fix the damage he caused.  She had conjured forth boards to replace the walls of the sterncastle he had destroyed, and an afternoon's work while still moving had sealed up the holes.  The smell of the scorched wood was still heavy aboard the ship, as was the faint scents of blood from the few people that had been hit by shards of flying wood.  There had been no deaths, not even a serious injury from the flying shrapnel, but there had been enough bleeding to leave traces of its smell in the deck.

 He could smell their fear, and he couldn't blame them.  They had seen him at his worst, and they couldn't forget it.  The smell of their fear roused the Cat within him, response to prey-fear, but it was nothing he couldn't control.  Their fear was justified.  They should be afraid of him.  The memory of what had happened had eased back to him faster than usual for a rage, probably because he was enraged only for a short time.  Camara Tal had sent him into a rage, and she had done it deliberately.  Well, maybe not deliberately, but she was definitely trying to make him angry.  Trying to teach him a lesson, he guessed, a lesson about anger.  But she was the one who learned the lesson.  Tarrin's anger was a weapon, a powerful weapon when unleashed, a weapon that did not discriminate.  It was a double- edged sword, giving him the power to destroy what he normally couldn't destroy, but also representing the greatest danger to himself.  He couldn't control his Sorcery, unless he was in a rage.  Only then did he have the power, for the Cat had the primal drive, the will, to control what his conscious mind could not.  But when he had the power, he had no morals, no compunction to use it responsibly.  When enraged, he did not care, not about enemies, not about friends, not even about himself.  He would gladly destroy himself, if it would destroy his enemies at the same time. He eventually would destroy himself, the one time Sarraya or Allia was not there to prevent him from doing so.

 He was his own worst enemy.

 He was still somewhat mad at Camara Tal.  He didn't like going into a rage.  It was dangerous for him, and for everyone around him.  He always had to deal with what evil he committed afterward, when the memories returned and haunted him, drove him to distance himself from his guilt, driving him more and more feral.  If Allia hadn't snapped him out of it, he would have killed someone.  And the thought of killing someone didn't really bother him, unless it was someone he knew and trusted.  It didn't bother him, but he knew deep inside that the human in him would cringe at the act, would make him feel remorse and guilt, emotions that would only make his feral nature more solid.  The more evil he committed, the more he would detach himself from the feelings associated with it, and the worse he would get.  Not a year ago, he would have been mortified to kill innocent people, but now it wouldn't make him bat an eye.  He was becoming more and more violent, less concerned about the suffering he was inflicting on others.  What he truly feared was the day when he found pleasure in it.  That would be the point of no return, when he would truly become the monster that lurked within.

 What price his power had cost him.

 Feeling the breeze against his back, smelling the wood and the people and the fear behind him, he put it out of his mind and looked up at the stars.  There was only one thing good of what had happened.  He hadn't hurt Allia.  Even in his blind rage, he recognized her, and the sight of her was enough to instantly melt away the icy rage around his mind and bring him back to himself.  Triana had told him once that the key to surviving rage was learning how not to hurt the ones he loved, even when in the throes of it.  And that had happened.  For the first time, that had happened.  In the middle of a rage, intoxicated with fury and looking to kill, he had come out of it at the sight of his sister.  He had nearly killed her.  He would have killed her, but he had recognized her, and something deep in his soul had risen up and screamed no.  That had been enough.  He felt comfort knowing that he couldn't bring himself to hurt Allia, no matter what state of mind he was in at the time.  The horror, the nightmare of killing his sister in the middle of a rage had lost its impact.  It was still possible, if he couldn't recognize her, but now he knew that if he could see her, could know who she was, he could not bring himself to deliver a killing blow.  He'd broken a few of her ribs when he smashed her into the deck, but that had been before he recognized her.  That was the important thing.

 He didn't hate Camara Tal.  Something told him that she never meant to do what she did.  He doubted that she would intentionally risk the lives of everyone on the ship.  Despite not trusting her, the Goddess told him that she was there to help him, and that weighted how he felt about her in his mind.  He didn't trust her, but he was willing to give her more latitude than he would anyone else, if only to satisfy the Goddess.  He wouldn't have her accusing him of rejecting her outright.  He would give her the chance to either befriend him or alienate him.  The decision was hers to make.  He was mad at her, and would be for a while, but there was no hatred there.  She had made a mistake, and he could forgive her for that.  But he would not forget.

 The moons were out.  Dommammon, the great white moon, was full, shining its brightness down upon the sea.  This far south, so close to the equator, the Skybands were little more than a knife- edge in the sky, and the night seemed darker because of it.  The White Moon took up some of that void with its milky light.  The Twin Moons, Vala and Duva, were just cresting the horizon, each half full, and the Red Moon, Kava, was descending towards its setpoint, which was little more than a curved sliver.  They all had their own cycles of waning and waxing, and were rarely either full or new at the same time.  But it did happen.  About every five or six months, they would become full or new for a couple of days, either filling the sky with light or descending it into an eerie darkness that was unusual.  The moons had a mysterious allure for him, probably something deep within his Were nature that responded to them.  It may be why so many myths about Lycanthropes changing only during the fullness of the White Moon were so rampant.  It sang to him, sang to his soul, singing a sweet melody that he could neither hear nor sense, yet stirred his soul with a haunting melody of union.  It was something the others couldn't understand, it was why he would stand on the deck for hours on end and stare up into the sky, almost every night that Dommammon was full.  The song was strongest during the full phase of the moons, strongest with the largest moon, and it sang to him of peace and serenity, of the fullness and perfection of life uncluttered by human whims and wants.  The purity of instinct, unfettered by the human taint that infected the Were- kin.  Part human, part animal, both yet neither, the light of the White Moon washed away the turmoil that upset his life, made him feel harmony.

 At least sometimes.  He couldn't hear the song unless he was calm and at peace, but when life made little sense to him, it was there to provide a little comfort, to help him find his path by easing his fears.

 Strange.  Now that he thought of it, the moons sang to him the same way that Miranda did.  How could she have such an effect on him?  After all, she was just a Wikuni, a person.  What could she have to do with the song of the moons?  He blinked and leaned down against the rail, putting his chin on his furred forearms, staring out into the sea.  It was fainter from her, but it was there, that same sweet song that lulled him, placated him, made him want to be near her.  He could remember it clearly, and it felt the same way as it did when he looked at the moons.  He had always wondered at it, why he had such an infatuation with her.  He had never associated her with the moons before, but now that he did, it was a perfect match.  It was strange.  It was unnatural.

 He remembered when he thought she was dead, when he touched her and felt the spark of life inside.  He had healed her, nearly killing himself in the process.  He had touched her soul then, and though he had very vague memory of it, he could remember the blazing purity he had found within her.  A power of tremendous magnitude, a power untapped.  A power that seemed out of place in a Wikuni, a power of soul that transcended mortal constraints.

 Tarrin's ears picked up, and he stood straight up.  No!  It couldn't be!

 "Goddess!" he gasped.  "Miranda's not a Wikuni!"

 Miranda was an Avatar!

 An Avatar, a direct mortal manifestation of the power of a god!

 That's right, the Goddess' voice spoke to his mind, filling him with the sweet feeling of her presence and making his soul reach out to her.  Miranda is more than she seems.  I have told you that before, kitten.  I'm a bit disappointed that it took you this long to figure it out.

 Tarrin was stunned.  He stood there for a moment.  "Why didn't she tell me?" he demanded.

 Because she doesn't know, the Goddess replied.  Miranda is a Wikuni, my kitten.  She has parents, and a childhood, and a life.  But where her mother is the bearer of her body, Kikkali is the bearer, the mother, of her soul.  Kikkali could see where the fates would take Keritanima, so she prepared a special companion for her, a woman of exceptional gifts to complement your sister and provide her with a stabilizing influence.  Miranda doesn't have any supernatural powers.  She's as frail and fragile as any mortal, and in time, she will grow old and die.  Probably without ever knowing just what she is.  But the breath of Kikkali is inside her, and it's something that you could sense.  Kikkali is one of the gods that control the skies, my kitten.  She's one of Shellar's servants.  That's why Miranda sings to you, because within her is a fragment of the allure that the moons hold for Were-kin.  That Miranda soothed and benefitted you as well as Keritanima was simply a fortunate happenstance.

 He was a bit overwhelmed.  All that time, he was begging for attention from a goddess!

 Miranda is not a goddess, kitten, the Goddess chided.  She is mortal, just as mortal as you.  Even if Kikkali had not touched her soul, she would have been born.  The only thing that makes her different is that she has the mark of the gods on her, a mark that helped her develop just a bit more than those around her.  It's why she's so intelligent for someone so young.  Had Miranda not been blessed by Kikkali, she would have developed much differently than she did.  Don't define her as an Avatar, kitten, because you don't understand its true meaning.  Think of her as touched by the gods instead.

 "Then what is its true meaning?" he asked.

 I don't give answers to questions when you already know the answer, came the cryptic reply.

 He swallowed.  "Am, am I an Avatar?"

 No, she replied.  People like you are not Avatars.  We are not allowed to interfere with the development of the world, and it would be interference if we placed agents in the world in a position like yours.  Everything you have done has been of your own free will, unfettered by a touch from beyond that could have influenced your actions.  You, Allia, Keritanima, you are as you are, and you are as you would have been no matter what.  Your actions are what defines the world, and we may not interfere with them.  We may only try to influence them through wisdom, deception, intimidation, or chicanery.

 Tarrin had to laugh.  "Chicanery?"

 Some gods use that, she admitted.  I've had to trick you into doing some things, kitten.  You're very stubborn.

 "Like what?" he asked curiously.

 Oh, no, she laughed in a silvery cascade.  I'm not tipping my hand.  I may need to use it again if you start drifting off the path.

 He'd allow her that.  Sometimes he was too stubborn for his own good.  Her definition of Miranda eased him a little.  If Miranda didn't know what she was, then it seemed to meld a little better to him.  He looked at her as someone who wasn't different, only blessed.  Miranda was Miranda.  That she'd been blessed by one of the Wikuni gods shouldn't matter.  Everyone had to have been blessed at some point in their lives, Miranda was different only because she was blessed before she was born.  He realized that it wouldn't change things.  He wouldn't tell her what he knew, because he wouldn't confuse her.  She would always be his friend.  He loved her.  But at least now he understood why she was so interesting to him.

 Feel better now? the Goddess asked sweetly.

 "I guess," he replied.  "It's a little much to take to find out that one of your best friends is so special."

 We are all special in one way or another, kitten.  It is what makes us all individuals.  Have you made your peace with yourself over Camara Tal?

 "She really made me mad, Goddess, but I don't think she did it on purpose."  He leaned on the rail again, looking out over the sea.  "I still don't understand what made her do that."

 Well, kitten, she has talked to the others about you, and she understands you.  You have been injured many times in the past, and if you stop to think about it, every single time that happened, you lost your temper.  She was trying to teach you that losing your temper is more dangerous to you than it is to your opponent.  Even more so now than it was before, because of your penchant to use Sorcery when enraged.

 "I know that.  I'm more interested in that Allia snapped me out of it.  That's never happened before."

 It has, but you don't remember it.  Allia was the one who brought you back in the Cathedral of Karas.  She holds a special place in your heart, kitten, and that gives her the power to control your rage.

 "I realized that."  He sighed.  "Well?"

 Well what?

 "Isn't this when you say something that makes me think for three days and then leave?"

 Tarrin was surprised when he heard her long cascading laughter emanate through him, shivering his soul in the strangest way.  It's time like these that make me treasure you so much, my sweet kitten, she said jubilantly.  But I do need to go.  And if you don't want to suffer through learning, then stop calling me, she added winsomely.

 "I never did."

 You did so.  You said, and I quote, "Goddess, Miranda's not a Wikuni!"

 "You answered to that?"

 Of course I did, silly, she chuckled in reply.  I always keep an ear out for you, my kitten.  If you call me, I will hear.  I may not respond, but I will hear it.  I am never more than a call away from you.

 "You make it sound like I have you on a leash."

 She laughed again.  In a strange way, you do, she replied.  But I don't do tricks.

 "We'll see."

 That made her laugh again.  Be well, my sweet one.  We'll speak again later.

 And then she was gone, taking a little piece of his soul with her, making him feel peculiarly empty inside.

 Tarrin looked up at the sky, at the moons.  He could hear the song, feel it in his soul, but now he associated it with Miranda, and that made him think about his friends in Wikuna.  It conjured up images and memories of Keritanima and Miranda, of Azakar and Kerri's indomitable protectors, Binter and Sisska.  Good friends, dear friends, far far away.  He missed them.  He missed Keritanima's sharp wit and quick smiles.  He missed Miranda's calm, unruffled ways and her soothing presence.  He missed Azakar's quiet curiosity, how the big man would silently watch and learn.  He missed the powerful security of Binter and Sisska, ever present and always making them all feel safer.  He yearned for the time before, when it was him and Allia and Keritanima, siblings by bonds of soul and brand, sealed to one another.  Those were good times, and he had squandered so much of it with his quiet brooding.  So much time lost, because he was so afraid of himself that he wouldn't open up to his sisters.  But there would be more good times.  Keritanima wouldn't be in Wikuna forever, and she could find them easily when she was ready to return.  He just had to hang on until she arrived, keep from killing himself and keeping enemies like Kravon and Jegojah off his back until she could find her way back to him.

 He held his amulet gingerly, wanting to call out to Keritanima, wanting to hear her voice, but worried that others would hear.  Worried that she would be asleep, worried that him bothering her would interrupt whatever dishonest deeds she was perpetrating there.  No, it would be best if she contacted him, because he wasn't in quite such a position of danger, should a voice suddenly issue forth from his amulet.  He could wait.  Tarrin was a very patient person when it came to some things.

 He looked up at the moons, his soul surrendering to the song it sang to him, staring up at its white perfection.  But now an image of Miranda seemed to lay over the surface of the White Moon, an image of a dear friend, smiling down on him with her cheeky grin and making him feel wonderfully secure.

 And giving him hope for the future.

 They spotted the first strip of desert two days later, off the port bow.  It was what Renoit said was the Sand Fingers, extensions of sand-covered rock that extended from the shoreline like the fingers of a titanic hand.  That geographical landmark was vital to most ships, because it meant that Saranam, the capital city of the small kingdom of the same name, was only half a day out.  Saranam was the kingdom created to put a buffer between Arak and the Selani, a narrow strip of kingdom that separated the two distrustful groups.  It had evolved into a miniature Wikuna, a small nation of sharp traders that had made a name for itself in the few hundred years it had been in existence.

 The two days had been uneventful.  He was still too angry to deal with Camara Tal, so Dolanna made sure that the Amazon was nowhere near him at all times.  She stayed on the sterncastle or off the deck when he was above, and stayed out of his room when he was below.  It was a cooling-off time for him, something with which Dolanna was all too familiar, and she knew exactly how to arrange it so he wasn't tempted.  He spent nearly all that time either with Allia or Dar, finding solace in the presence of his sister or passing time with the only other person close to his own age.  Dar was younger than him, and only came up to his ribcage, but he was a good solid friend that always made the time go by quickly with conversation or games.  Tarrin usually had alot on his mind, but just as he did with Allia, he didn't let Dar forget that they were friends.  Just as he set aside special time each evening to devote to his sister, he started putting aside the time between Dar's lesson and his practice for the circus to spend with him.

 Tarrin and Dar stood at the rail, watching the longest- reaching finger go by as the performers went about their daily routines of practice and sailing.  He had learned to tune them out some time ago, making him feel that he was alone on deck.  And that helped his mood, because he didn't like people staring at him or flinching from him when he approached.  The young Arkisian had just come from another long discussion with Phandebrass, and he had one of the drakes with him.  Tarrin could finally tell them apart, if only by scent, so he knew that it was Chopstick that stood on the back of the young man's neck, forepaws on the top of his head, looking out with them.  Tarrin and the drakes had reached a mutual understanding.  He wouldn't attack them so long as they didn't bother him.  They didn't pester him for attention as they did Allia, but they wouldn't flee from him anymore.  Turnkey, the one he saved, would even land on his shoulder and let him pet it from time to time.

 "So what did that mage have to say this time?" Tarrin asked.  Dar had been going to Phandebrass after his instruction with Dolanna for a while now, learning things about science that they didn't teach in the Tower.  Phandebrass was a mage, but he was also a scholar, and his scope of knowledge was impressive.

 "We talked about light," he replied.  "I didn't know it could be so complicated."

 "With Phandebrass, everything is complicated," Tarrin replied.  "I think he goes out of his way to murk things up, so they can fit into his idea of the way things should be."

 "Who knows?" Dar chuckled.  "He showed me a piece of glass called a prism.  When you hold it at the right angle to the sun, it refracts the sunlight and breaks it up into its components.  Did you know that light is made up of seven different colors?  And that they're the same colors as what's on the shaeram?"

 "No, I didn't.  And they probably just used the colors of light when they created the order."

 "That doesn't explain why the Spheres show up as the same colors," he challenged.  "Maybe Sorcery and light are related somehow, for them to break down in the exact same manner."

 "Now you sound like Phandebrass," Tarrin noted dryly.  "If light is seven colors, why can't we see them?"

 "Because they mix together, and that makes it look white," he replied.

 "Then why is the sky blue instead of white?"

 "I asked the same thing.  He said that the sunlight hits the air at an angle that makes the air absorb or reflect away most of the other colors, making the sky appear to be blue.  And when it's sunrise or sunset, the sun strikes the air at a different angle, which makes it look a different color."

 "Strange.  That sounds like it almost makes sense.  But if the sky absorbs everything but blue, why doesn't everything look blue?"

 "He said that the sky's color is just the light that got affected.  We can't see all the other light, because it never reaches our eyes.  Who knows what color the sky would be if we could see all the light at once?"

 "He knows how to cover all the angles," Tarrin chuckled.

 "It does make sense," Dar said defensively.

 "Sorta, but I don't see why you'd be so curious about light.  After all, it's just here.  What good does it do to know how it works?"

 "Because I like to know how things work," he stated.  "I don't just accept everything the way you do."

 "Call it a cat thing," he replied blandly.

 "You still mad at Camara Tal?" he asked curiously.

 "A little, but I'll get over it," he replied.

 "I think she tries too hard," he noted.  "She wants to be your friend, but she keeps trying to make it happen.  Maybe she should just step back and let it happen."

 "That would be good advice," Tarrin said with a nod.  He looked at Dar closely.  "I think it's about time for you to start shaving, Dar.  You're getting fuzzy."

 "I know," he replied, rubbing his cheek.  "Phandebrass promised he'd show me how to do it.  I can't ask you.  I don't think you can grow a beard.  Did you shave before it happened?"

 "No, I can't," he replied.  "I guess it's not in a Were-cat.  And I did for about six months, but I was never very good at it.  I guess it's a good thing I don't have a beard, because it would probably grow as fast as my hair.  I'd have a braid on both sides."

 Dar laughed.  "That would look strange."

 "No doubt there.  Why not ask Faalken to show you instead of Phandebrass?  The mage'll probably make it a four hour lecture."

 "Trust Faalken with something like that?  Are you crazy?  He'd put ink in my washwater!"

 Tarrin laughed.  "He probably would," he agreed.  "Maybe you should ask him, then make him use your washwater first."

 Dar grinned.  "He's too cagey for that, Tarrin.  I'd never get him."

 "Never hurts to try."

 "It would when he'd get impatient and just dump it over my head.  Faalken cheats."

 "True."  He looked at the sand of the finger, knowing that they'd be in Saranam by sunset.  Saranam.  Dry land, and if Phandebrass had been good for one thing, it was that Tarrin now had a better understanding of the Doomwalker.  He had the nagging feeling that Jegojah would be in Saranam waiting for him.  It seemed to be able to track him down, knowing where he was or where he was going, so it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that the Doomwalker would be there to greet him when he arrived.  Triana hadn't destroyed it, only defeated it.  So it was still out there.

 But thanks to Phandebrass, now Tarrin knew what had to be done to make it go away for a long time.  It had to be destroyed, utterly destroyed, just as he had done to it in Suld so long ago.  But using Sorcery was out of the question now, and Dolanna or the others didn't have the power.  But he'd seen exactly what he needed to see to come up with a plan to get rid of Jegojah for a while, and that was what Sarraya did to that man during the fight.  If she could decay him to dust, he thought that she could attack the Doomwalker in exactly the same manner.  Since it was already dead, it may go even faster than that man did.  He hadn't asked her yet, but that was something he was going to do.  Tarrin didn't trust Sarraya, so the idea of asking her for help seemed wrong.  The idea of turning his back on the sprite while she was using magic made his fur shimmy, but this was one situation where his misgivings had to step back.  His survival was on the line, for Jegojah was one opponent that Tarrin afforded tremendous respect.  The Doomwalker was more than capable of killing him, because it was stronger than him, faster than him, more experienced than him, and it could use powerful magic where Tarrin could not.  Against Jegojah, no advantage would be thrown aside, no matter how it made him feel.

 "What's got you all quiet?" Dar asked.

 "Thinking of Saranam," he replied.  "Odds are, that Doomwalker is going to be there waiting for us."

 "You don't know that, Tarrin.  Triana killed it."

 "She killed it, but she didn't destroy it.  Phandebrass said that it has to be completely destroyed to make it stop."

 "We should talk to Dolanna then."

 "I already intend to, Dar.  I have a plan."

 "Why don't we go do that now?"

 "Because Dolanna is up on the steering deck with Renoit and the Amazon," he replied with a grunt.  "I don't think I'm quite ready to get that close to her yet."

 The buzzing of Sarraya's wings heralded her approach.  She landed lightly on Tarrin's shoulder and sat down sedately.  "I heard the tail end of that, Tarrin.  Why don't you go ask Dolanna to come here, Dar?"

 "I think that would be a good idea," Dar agreed.  "Be right back."

 "Afternoon," the sprite said , patting him on the shoulder.  "Feeling better?"

 "A little," he replied.  "I need to ask a favor of you, Sarraya."

 "A favor, from me?  Merciful Forestmaster, keep my heart beating!  What is it?"

 "In the fight with the pirates, you killed a man and turned him to dust.  Can you do that to things that are already dead?"

 She was quiet a moment.  "Sure, but why would I want to?" she asked.  "The average corpse isn't much of a safety threat, unless you count diseases."

 "Because the dead man you're going to use it against isn't completely dead," he replied.

 "The Doomwalker?"

 "Yes," he affirmed.  "I have the feeling that it's going to be in Saranam waiting for us.  I'd like to have a plan ready to destroy it, like Phandebrass told me.  That'll give us some time without worrying about it following us around."

 "Now you're thinking straight!" Sarraya beamed.  "It's about time you realized that we're a team, cub.  We're stronger as a whole than the sum of our individual parts."

 "Teamwork is against a Were-cat's instinct."

 "I know.  That's why it's so much more impressive that you thought about it all by yourself," she said impishly.  "Don't you worry, cub.  Together, there's nothing that we can't beat."

 Dolanna arrived, with Faalken and Phandebrass trailing along behind her.  Phandebrass was engaged in a deep debate with the Knight over some kind of weird talk about metal, but he fell silent when Dolanna spoke.  "You wished to see me, dear one?" she asked, looking up at him.  Sometimes Tarrin forgot how diminutive Dolanna was.  She was a bit short, even for a human woman.  It was her manner and bearing that made her seem ten spans tall.

 "Tarrin here finally opened his eyes," Sarraya said with a laugh.

 "Sarraya," Tarrin cut her off.  "I have the feeling that the Doomwalker is going to be in Saranam waiting for us, Dolanna.  I really don't want to face it by myself again, so I was thinking that maybe we could make up a plan to deal with it if it does show up."  He reached up and nudged the tiny sprite on his shoulder.  "This little pain in my neck knows a spell that decays flesh and bone.  I was thinking maybe we could work a way so she could use it against Jegojah without putting her in too much danger."

 "Danger?" Sarraya scoffed.  "I think you underestimate me, cub."

 "A Doomwalker is nothing to take lightly, Faerie," Dolanna said seriously.  "Saranam is a city with few stone buildings, and the streets are unpaved.  There is little chance to trick the Doomwalker onto stone a third time, so we will have to face it when it stands upon the earth.  So caution is only wise."

 "What difference does that make?" Sarraya asked.

 "Doomwalkers can draw energy from the earth," Phandebrass answered.  "They use it to heal their injuries, and it increases the power of their magical attacks.  I say, fighting a Doomwalker that stands on the earth is a very dangerous undertaking.  And since the only way to be rid of it is to completely destroy it, that means that we have to be very careful.  Very careful indeed.  I say, I know a few spells that may help.  I really need to go study them."

 Phandebrass turned to walk away, but Faalken grabbed him by the arm.  "I think studying your spells would be a good idea after you hear what we're going to do, wizard," he remarked.

 "True, true," he said with a slightly befuddled smile.  "I say, maybe I should wait a bit."

 "And get the others.  This will be a team effort, so we must all be present to understand the plan," Dolanna said.  "Dar, go get Allia and Camara Tal."

 "Certainly, Dolanna," the young Arkisian said, then he scurried off.

 Tarrin felt his temper rise as the Amazon approached him, but he quelled it in the interest of survival.  They would need everyone to do this.  Tarrin had fought the Doomwalker twice before, and it had nearly killed him both times.  This time, he would be facing it on ground of its choosing, where it would be even stronger.  That was something that he didn't want to face by himself.  Though it would put his friends in danger, they stood a better chance of defeating Jegojah if they worked together, rather than Tarrin running off to face it alone.  Allia arrived with Dar a moment later, the Selani carrying the other drake in her arms.  Dar had obviously told her what was going on, and Dolanna quickly explained to Camara Tal why they were meeting, repeating Tarrin's idea of using the Faerie's powerful Druidic spell to try to destroy the Doomwalker.

 Phandebrass picked up Chopstick absently as Faalken leaned against the rail beside Tarrin.  "I say, your idea to use the Faerie's decaying attack is a good idea, but it may not work," the mage announced.  "When the Doomwalker stands on the earth, its magical powers are amplified by a huge degree.  It may have the power to resist the magic."

 "So, you have an idea," Tarrin noted.

 "If you're facing a strong opponent, you weaken him before you go for the kill," Faalken said simply.  "Simply put, we wear Jegojah out.  When he's tired, then Sarraya attacks him with that spell."

 "You're talking about engaging a Doomwalker in a protracted battle, Knight," Camara Tal said bluntly.  "How many of us does it have to kill before it gets tired?"

 "That is a good point," Dolanna sighed.  "This Doomwalker is a powerful foe.  Even together, it is still a very deadly opponent for us to face."

 "What do you suggest, Amazon?" Faalken retorted.  "If Sarraya gets whacked, then it's all out the window.  We have one chance, so we have to make sure it works."

 "I don't whack easily, Faalken," Sarraya objected.  "I may be small, but I'm tough."

 "He's not saying you're incapable of it, he's saying that the caliber of the opponent makes such an attack a very risky proposition," Phandebrass said thoughtfully, all hints of the fuddled confusion gone from his voice.  "We have to weaken the Doomwalker, but in such a way that it minimizes our own danger."  Phandebrass rubbed his chin, looking down at the deck.  "What we have to do is figure out how to go about this."

 "That seems pretty straightforward, mage," Camara Tal said.  "Even if it can draw energy from the earth, it can't do it forever.  Especially if we're giving it something else to think about."

 "Yes yes yes, but we must decide how we are going to weaken him," Phandebrass said.

 "The most effective way would be to deny it the earth," Dolanna said.  "A large patch of sand would block its powers, and we could conceivably lure it to one of them."

 "You think we can lure it that far from the city?" Camara Tal asked.  "From what I remember, Saranam is on grassland, not desert."

 "Yes, but there is more to the city than the grass on which it stands," Dolanna said.

 "Not quite, Dolanna," Phandebrass mused.  "Camara Tal raises a valid point.  There isn't any sand to use to do that, so we must ask ourselves what the best alternative is."

 "What do you mean?" Dolanna asked.

 "What is it about stone that makes the Doomwalker incapable of drawing energy through it?" he asked.  "Dar, my boy, you should know the answer to this."

 "Me?  Why do you think that?"

 "Remember when we talked about trees?  Trees don't live just on sunshine and water, my boy.  Why do they need soil?"

 "Oh, I remember!" he said.  "There's organic material in soil that the trees use as food!"

 "Exactly.  Doomwalkers draw energy from the earth because they're tapping into the life energy of the land.  They are literally draining the land of its life energy.  They can even drain living beings of their energy, if they can hold onto them long enough.  They need that organic spark in the earth to provide them with a conduit to that energy source.  That's why they can't draw through stone.  It lacks that organic catalyst."

 "That's why the Goddess told me it had to be on stone," Tarrin said, mainly to himself.  "She specifically told me that it couldn't be wood, and now I understand why."

 "Wood is organic, even if it is dead," Phandebrass answered for him.  "So, if we can't lure it onto stone, we bring the stone to it."

 "What are you talking about?"

 "Sarraya, my dear, you're a Druid.  Do you think you can completely leech all the organic material out of a patch of clear ground?"

 Sarraya laughed.  "Phandebrass, you're not half as zany as I thought you were!" she complemented.  "Of course I can!  We have spells to make barren ground fertile.  I can just reverse that.  It should suck all the life-giving qualities out of the soil.  It'll be as barren as dust."

 "So, we lure it into an open area.  Tarrin, my boy, you make the perfect bait for that.  It's after you, so it will come after you first.  If we discover it to be in the area, Tarrin finds a good place away from the city, a place where we can hide nearby but the Doomwalker can't detect us.  Tarrin draws it to him, then we allow them to start a fight."

 "What?" Camara Tal said hotly.  "I forbid it!  You're not risking Tarrin's neck over this, mage!"

 "You didn't let me finish," he said indignantly.  "I said we allow them to start a fight.  The Doomwalker's already been beaten twice, so it's not going to commit unless it thinks that it's got an overwhelming advantage."

 "That's a good tactic," Faalken agreed reluctantly.  "If it thinks it has the advantage, it's going to fight.  We make it commit, then Sarraya destroys the soil and bars it from drawing energy.  Since it will be committed, it should be a little disorganized over losing its advantage, and Tarrin can keep it pinned until we can have it surrounded.  Then it'll be a matter of wearing it down to where Sarraya can decay it."

 "Carefully.  Even without a link to the earth, a Doomwalker is a very dangerous foe," Dolanna said.  "Just ask Tarrin."

 Tarrin nodded emphatically.

 "It won't be easy, but it'll be better than just laying waste to half of Saranam trying to destroy it," Faalken said.  "Can anyone think of anything else?"

 "My brother will not face it alone," Allia said adamantly.  "I will stand with him."

 "Sister--"

 "Enough!" she said.  "You have dishonored me by denying my place at your side one time too many, brother," she said with steel in her voice.  "We are brother and sister in all but blood.  You are of the Clan, and one of the Clan does not face danger alone.  We are one.  You will not go alone."

 "Maybe they don't need us after all," Camara Tal snorted with a slight smile.

 "Why do you say that?" Faalken asked.

 "I've seen them fight seperately.  I wouldn't fight them together for all the money in the world."  She tossed her raven tail of hair back over her shoulder.  "They may have the Doomwalker down before the Faerie can get over there to destroy it."

 "Not quite," Dolanna said.  "Doomwalkers can only be harmed by magical weapons.  Faalken is the only one of us fortunate to own one."

 "That's no problem, Dolanna," Phandebrass said with a smile. "I know a spell that places a temporary enchantment into a weapon.  It'll make it just as good as a magical weapon, but the effect only lasts about fifteen minutes."

 "I know a spell that will extend the effect of another spell," Camara Tal added.  "I can stretch that fifteen minutes into nearly an hour."

 "It'll work on a wizard spell?" Phandebrass asked.

 "If it didn't, I wouldn't have mentioned it," she replied.

 "That'll give us real weapons against it," Faalken said approvingly.

 "Then that is what we will do," Dolanna said.  "If we find the Doomwalker is indeed there, we will withdraw to an appropriate area.  Phandebrass and Camara Tal will prepare the weapons, and we will wait for it.  Once it arrives, Tarrin and Allia will commit it to battle.  When they do, Sarraya cuts it off, we surround it, then we weaken it to the point where Sarraya can destroy it.  She must do this on the first try.  If she fails, the Doomwalker will certainly flee, and attempt to ambush us later."

 "Sounds like a plan," Faalken agreed.  "A pretty hairy one, but a plan all the same."

 "Hairy?  How?" Camara Tal asked.

 "You'll understand when we get there," Faalken chuckled.  "I've seen that Doomwalker fight.  It's not going to just lay down and die."

 "It sounds like the Knights are not as brave as their reputation."

 "The Knights are trained to avoid stupidity, Camara Tal," Faalken grinned at her.  "Stupid Knights tend to die, so to prevent continual training of replacements, we train them to avoid stupidity whenever possible.  Never fight a Troll without at least four Knights, because the average Troll will kill at least one Knight if they don't have four.  It's a simple rule, one there to teach Knights that they're not invincible war machines.  Well, we don't have a rule for Doomwalkers, but if we did, that number would be around fifty.  Minimum."

 "Well said," Dolanna agreed.  "There is little more that we can do about this now.  Now we simply wait, and hope that the Doomwalker has not reached Saranam."

 "I'd rather face it now," Camara Tal grunted.  "At least then we know it won't be following us to Dala Yar Arak.  We'll have enough to worry about when we get there."

 "We'll have enough to worry about in Saranam," Faalken grunted.  "Thanks to the Wikuni, I don't doubt that every port city knows who we are and what that means.  We may be fighting off a horde of other Questers."

 "We'll see," Dolanna remarked, looking out over the ocean.  "There is little else that we can do."

 Tarrin looked out, and they all did one by one, staring into the sea, towards Saranam.  Towards dangers both possible and certain.

©2000, James Galloway. All Rights Reserved.