The Questing Game Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Time stood still.

It was the best way to explain it. For some amount of time, he had no idea, he had sat there, on the edge of his bed, staring at a blank wall. He had retreated into himself, far beyond the timeless existence of the Cat, into an unthinking void in which no sensation could reach. And there he had stayed willingly, for there was nothing but anguish awaiting him outside that safe area. He had no idea how he had returned to the Dancer. He had no idea if his sister, Camara Tal, and Sarraya were well. There was nothing, nothing but that blissful emptiness where he could hide from the sorrow.

But physical needs drove him out of his unthinking daze, a powerful hunger that was so strong that it reached into his safe place and ripped him from it. And in the return to time, so returned the pain of the memories from which he was hiding.

Faalken was dead.

Faalken was dead, and he had caused it to happen. He hadn't delivered the killing blow, but Faalken was there on his behalf, fighting for him, protecting him from the Doomwalker. He didn't have to be there. He didn't have to die. And what was worse, at one point he knew Faalken was mortally wounded, he knew that Faalken was going to die. Jegojah had even taunted him about it, that Faalken was dying, and only healing could save him. And instead of throwing the Doomwalker aside and saving his friend, he had gone even deeper into rage, abandoning Faalken to death just so he could destroy Jegojah. Regardless of how out of his mind he was at the time, that simple, stark, agonizing truth stared him in the eye and refused to let him forget. He had killed Faalken twice over, once by letting him fight, and again by not healing him when he had the chance.

Faalken had been such a good friend. Honest and sincere, but his sense of humor had been what had defined him. Cherubic, always seeing the laughter in things, even playing childish pranks and tricks, the Knight's immaturity was something of an uplifting thing for Tarrin, who was always so weighed down by his personal problems. Faalken could always make him smile, and could often bring him to laugh. He knew when to put it aside and be serious, but his way of looking at the world had bolstered the Were-cat in his times of need for companionship, even understanding. Faalken had been there from the start of it, had been there to escort the villager from Aldreth and start him on his journey. Though he didn't broadcast it, Faalken had known Tarrin very well. He understood his nature, and could always deal with him, even soothe him with wise words that were so much out of his character, and a mark of how wise the Knight had really been. It felt so wrong to be travelling without the Knight, it left a huge hole in him to think that his good friend, one of his oldest friends in the madness of his life, wouldn't be there anymore. He just couldn't be gone, but Tarrin knew that he was.

And it was his fault.

Drawing his legs up to his chest, he wrapped his tail around his ankles and rested his chin on his knees. It was so unfair. Jegojah was there to kill him. Why did the Knight have to be so brave? Why did he challenge the Doomwalker instead of backing away? But he already knew the answer. The Doomwalker was coming after Dolanna, and Faalken's training, his mission, his duty, was to defend her. To the death, if need be. He had faced the Doomwalker and defended Dolanna. It cost him his life, but in what was the only small thing that gave Tarrin comfort, he had succeeded. Dolanna had been saved, as had Dar and Phandebrass, saved because Faalken had put their lives over his own and blocked the Doomwalker's path to them. In that respect, Faalken was a hero, a mighty hero whose brave deed should never be forgotten.

He didn't have to be gone. Tarrin could have saved him, but he did not. Lost in the mindless fury of rage, Tarrin had cast aside his friendship and love for the Knight and had selfishly sought to satisfy his own primal need, to kill Jegojah. In his rage, he had no care for himself, no concept of the idea of self- preservation, and now he knew that he had no care for anyone else either. The rage was all, the primitive drive to kill, and it was both master and slave. It was something that he would have to live with for the rest of his life, something that he neither could forget, nor would allow himself to forget.

He wore his manacles to remind him of the price of trusting strangers. Now they also would remind him of the price that could come with his rage.

His rage had destroyed enemies before, it gave him a power against which few could stand, and it was something that he had no longer feared. But now it represented the terrible reality that in his rage, he wasn't the only one in danger. He didn't care about himself, but the anguish that his rage had killed a friend was almost too much for him to take.

He had become a monster, at that moment. He had abandoned a cherished friend in his moment of need to pursue his own petty needs. It was done. No amount of wishing could bring Faalken back, could allow him to change that truth. He felt a cold disassociation to that epiphany, a feeling of emptiness that tried to swallow the pain. That was the Cat in him, he realized. Powerful emotions like sorrow were something alien to it, and it sought to overwhelm them with the seductive allure in living in the moment, living in the now, where the past and the future were things that had no meaning. He had lived like that before, after he had nearly killed his mother. But he could not retreat into that blissful state again, not with Allia and Dolanna and Dar in danger, in danger because of him.

For the first time in a very long while, he had managed to overpower the Cat within, and forced it to accept his desires over its own.

The Cat in him was a pragmatic creature. It could understand the pain of loss, but it was the past, and the past had no meaning. The now was all. And in the now, he had other friends, other treasured companions that would need protection. From others, from himself if need be, but they were there. He would not lose another friend. He would not. He would not allow himself to kill another friend, but he would be there to prevent anyone else from killing them either. That single thought overwhelmed him, dominated him, swept aside any objection from his human morality. No matter what it took, no matter who or how many he had to kill, he would defend the friends that he had left.

Tarrin closed his eyes, felt them burn after being open for such a long time. The physical sensation amplified his mourning of Faalken, amplified the vow he made to himself to protect the rest. He felt the burning, the pain, and he welcomed it. It would be part of him, part of him forever, a dark stain on his soul that could never be erased.

His lack of control had finally done what he, what they all, had feared. It had gotten someone killed.

Eyes closed, a single tear formed in the corner of his eye, rolled down his cheek. The death of Faalken had left a hollowness inside him, a wrenching gape in his soul that could never be filled, could never be made whole. But he had to go on. He had no choice. He had a duty to perform, a mission to accomplish, something that was larger than Faalken, larger than him. He had to protect the world. If he just stopped, if he allowed himself to be drowned by his own pain, then Faalken's death would have been in vain.

And that single thought filled him with a searing resolve, a resolve that overwhelmed his pain.

Faalken would not die in vain. His death would be remembered, it would be honored, and he would never be forgotten.

He would not forget. He would never forget.

The wind was particularly lamentful that day.

The thin, emaciated, dead-eyed mage stood on the balcony, looking over a scene of bleak gray. A stone valley, barren and void, but a valley filled with the smoke and light of campfires. The smell of it reached all the way up the mountain, reached the vaulted walls of Castle Keening, reached Kravon's thin nose. The smell of Trolls and Dargu, Waern and Bruga. Foul odors, rank odors, the smell of unwashed Goblinoids as they feasted, fought, and waited in the inhospitable valley below. The Petal Lakes were barely visible at the end of that valley, opening to the rich mining region that Draconia and Daltochan occasionally fought to possess.

Soon now, soon the Goblinoids would march down that valley and create a new world. Soon now, Val would be reborn.

It was such a disappointment. The diamond amulet around Kravon's neck was pulsating with a heat and radiance that signalled the Doomwalker's failure. It had been banished to the amulet once again, destroyed by the Were-cat a second time. Momentarily, he would interrogate the shade and come to discover what had gone wrong. He entertained the idea of destroying Jegojah, but Doomwalkers were frightfully difficult to create. Even in failure, the Doomwalker still had uses. To press the Were-cat if nothing else.

Reports coming in from agents were favorable. The Were-cat seemed to be more and more disjointed. He was increasingly violent, and his raging was becoming more and more destructive. Their tactic to drive the Were-cat mad seemingly was not working, but it was still successful in that it was keeping the Were-cat dangerous, where local populations and laws would work against him, slow him down, aggravate him even more. They now knew where the fat circus master was taking him, and it made good sense. Dala Yar Arak. Home to one of the most impressive libraries in the world. They obviously were looking for the Book of Ages, the tome that was reputed to hold the location of the Firestaff within its pages. Kravon had agents in Dala Yar Arak that were already looking for the book, but it was a daunting task. He understood their failure so far, and could accept it, albeit a bit grudgingly. It was just such a large city, finding a single book was nearly an impossible task. Even using magic to find it had not succeeded thus far. Attempts to divine the book's location were being blocked, actively blocked. That meant that the book was being guarded in some manner. His agents were using indirect magical methods to find the book, methods that lacked in exactness. They would find the book. It would just take time.

Time was something that they had in short supply.

The Were-cat was coming, and Kravon had little doubt that it would also use magic to try to find the book. The Were- cat was the Mi'Shara, and that fact may work in its favor in its own attempt to find the Book of Ages. Kravon feared that it would find the book in a matter of days, without having to struggle through endless dead ends and misidentified leads. It could very well walk into Dala Yar Arak, get the book, then walk back out before his minions had followed up on a single new lead. That was an unacceptable situation.

Turning from the balcony, Kravon walked back into the large room that served as his lab and receiving room. Several black- robed apprentices and fellow wizards were also present, going about the tasks of preparing the material components they would need for their magical spells. Held in cages and in irons against the wall were several test subjects and experimental creations, from a hawk- headed human that was quite insane to a vacant-eyed Bruga that had been the victim of a new spell that his mages were researching. Kravon dismissed their suffering as easily as a cat dismisses the suffering of the mouse. They were but things to him, things of flesh, there to submit themselves to his mastery and the power of him and his fellows.

"Clear the summoning circle," he said in his dead, quiet voice. "We will raise the image of Jegojah."

His minions moved with quiet efficiency, which Kravon expected. Slothful or undutiful minions tended to become the next experiment. In moments, the inlaid summoning area was clear, the candles were lit, the doors closed, and they had formed around it in readiness to do their master's bidding.

Holding the amulet in his hand, Kravon began the spell. His voice began softly, but the power of it rose slowly and steadily as the mystical words flowed from him. The candles began to flare or dim in cadence with the words he spoke, a sign of the power they contained. The words reached a mighty crescendo, causing the candles to roar up with the brightness of torches, then die out as quickly as the wind could extinguish them. That wind blew into the circle as a ghostly light emanated from the diamond amulet Kravon wore outside his black robes, a ghostly radiance that separated itself from the amulet and entered the circle. It expanded and intensified, until a phantasmic image of the Doomwalker as it had appeared in life appeared within.

Jegojah had been a handsome man, with dark brown hair and skin browned by exposure to sun and wind. He had the graceful features of a Shacèan, and penetrating violet eyes under heavy brows. His image was garbed in what he had worn at his demise, a rugged suit of plate armor with a blue surcoat, holding the Shacèan crest upon it.

"Why do you summon Jegojah?" the shade demanded, in a hollow, distant voice that seemed to saturate the laboratory and raise the hair on the back of Kravon's neck.

"You failed," Kravon said calmly.

"Failure, it was inevitable, yes," it replied in that unearthly voice. "The Were-cat, his power is without equal. An army, it could not stand against that power, no."

"No Sorcerer is that powerful," the mage protested.

"Sorcerer?" Jegojah scoffed. "Weavespinner, that is what he is, yes. No chance Jegojah had against that. Without magic, he fought, yes, until Jegojah made him angry. In anger, the Were-cat, he can control that power."

"So, you admit to me that you are no longer any use to me," the mage said dangerously, tapping the amulet which bound Jegojah's soul.

"Threats, they mean nothing now," Jegojah snorted disdainfully. "Destroy Jegojah if ye must, but be done with it. Jegojah's time, ye waste with idle threats, yes." Jegojah crossed his arms.

"Then make your report. What happened?"

Emotionlessly, the soul of the Doomwalker described the two battles he had with the Were-cat, from Triana's intervention and her training of him, to the battle in Saranam. "The human Knight, he is dead, yes," Jegojah reported. "A pity. With honor, he fought, and with his life did he buy three others by blocking my attack long enough for the Were-cat to reach me. Respect, Jegojah affords such a man. With honor will Jegojah remember his sacrifice, yes."

"Spare me your trivial feelings," Kravon snapped coldly. "I have no more questions for you. Be gone."

Soundlessly, Jegojah's image dissolved into nothingness.

Kravon turned from the summoning circle, tapping his chin in thought. Obviously, trying to drive the Were-cat insane wasn't going to work. He was too solidly entrenched in his Were-cat nature. But there were other ways to get at the Were-cat, ways other than trying to drive him crazy.

If driving him mad wasn't going to work, then he'd have to make sure that the Were-cat's movements in Dala Yar Arak would be hindered at all times, to delay it and give his own agents more time to find the Book of Ages. That would be easy enough. He was a Were-cat, after all, and it would only take a few well-placed atrocities to poison the city against him.

And he had the perfect tool for such a plan.

He turned and glanced at his favorite decoration, giving her a cold, thin smile. There wasn't much left of Jula now. What had once been a clever, careful, intelligent asset to the Shadow Network was now nothing more than a mindless animal. She wore no clothing, hunched against the wall with utterly mad eyes. She was dirty and bedraggled, her hair long and tangled, smeared with rotting bits of flesh, dirt, and excrement. Her face was still hauntingly pretty, with large green eyes, but the black fur and massive clawed paws told any onlooker that her beauty was a deadly one. And the madness in her eyes was just as apparent, an utter madness that made her attractive face eerie to behold. Kravon had to admit that he could look into those eyes and feel fear. She was nothing like what she had been when she arrived. She had been in her right mind then, just as cunning and manipulative as ever, convincing Kravon that now she was a Mi'Shara, and that she still had great worth to the organization. That she could be the one to find the Firestaff, to procure it, and hand it over to restore Val to his rightful place in the pantheon of gods. He had discovered that she had drank the Were-cat's blood after he caught up with her and mauled her for what she did to him, then left her to die. She had done it to save her own life, but in the end, it had destroyed her. He had watched her descent into madness with a clinical curiosity to observe the process, after it was apparent that her mind could not withstand the instincts that had been fused with it. He had watched her degenerate from the clever Sorceress to a mindless animal that would kill anything she could get her claws on.

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 himself 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 sitting 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."

He turned it over in his mind. If she would have said that she just took it, he probably would have thrashed her. But if Dolanna told her to do it, then she was best served by just doing it. Nobody could stand up to the small Sorceress in a battle of wills.

"Well, if Dolanna told you to do it, I guess it's alright," he said with a snort. "You, buried Faalken?"

She nodded. "It wasn't much of a grave, but there was no way we could bring his body, or take it back to Sulasia. We did the best we could."

"I even blessed it," Sarraya said quietly. "So it will never get cold, and there will always be flowers growing there to remind the world of what we gave up for it."

If there was anything the sprite could have done to secure Tarrin's trust, what she said had to be the most effective thing she could possibly say. Looking down at them, he realized that he no longer felt the nagging fear he felt in their presence, especially when he was alone with both of them. They had fought with him against the Doomwalker. They had fought for him, put their own lives in jeopardy for his benefit, and the distrustful part of him had finally ceded that these two could not possibly be a threat.

Tarrin looked down at them with a stony expression much like Triana's, and then he reached down towards Camara Tal. She seemed uncertain of what he intended to do, until he grabbed the hilt of the sword at her hip and drew it out of the scabbard. It was a well made weapon, a bit heavier than Faalken's magical blade, but it was utilitarian in appearance. It was an old weapon, heavily used and well maintained.

With a flick of his arm, he sent it sailing out over the rail. Camara Tal watched in stunned disbelief as it splashed into the sea. She made a quick move to resist when he reached down again, but he grabbed her wrist in one huge paw and stopped it as the other paw took the magical sword from her hand, then pointedly pushed the tip into the scabbard, then slid it home.

"Just don't dishonor it, or its memory," he told her. "Make Faalken proud." She stared up at him in quiet wonder, but he absently changed form, and before she could react, he jumped up into her lap and laid down. Her bronzed scent filled his nose, and he found that it no longer triggered a defensive instinct within him. It was a comforting smell now. He could accept it as friendly, accept her as an ally. He closed his eyes and put his chin on her thigh, then fell off into a dozing sleep.

"Well. Well, well, well," Sarraya chuckled quietly, landing on Camara Tal's knee and looking at his head carefully. "He's asleep. I didn't think I'd see this happen so fast."

"What does that mean?" Camara Tal asked. "He's never done this before. What does it mean?"

"It means that you can stop trying to be his friend," Sarraya grinned. "If he trusts you enough to sleep on your lap, then he accepts you. Both of us, it seems, or he'd never have taken his eyes off of me."

Camara Tal's wan expression took on a relieved look, and she reached down and stroked Tarrin's fur lingeringly. "Thank Neme," she breathed.

"No, thank Tarrin," Sarraya said impishly, landing on Camara Tal's lap and sitting down against Tarrin's flank, using him for a backrest.

Tarrin spent the afternoon on Camara Tal's lap, either dozing or watching the performers prepare for tomorrow. Allia and Dar seemed to be kept very busy, for every time the young Arkisian tried to approach him, someone would grab his arm and pull him aside to talk to him. Dolanna was still missing. Tarrin couldn't blame her for that.

Dar finally did manage to get free of the others, coming up to Camara Tal as he watched the hustle around them. Sarraya was sitting between him and Camara Tal's stomach, her arms folded on his back and leaning up against him, digging her tiny hands into his fur absently. "Tarrin?" Dar asked uncertainly.

"Dar," Tarrin asked in the manner of the Cat. "Are you alright?"

"He can't understand you, Tarrin," Sarraya said. "He asked if you're feeling alright, Dar," the sprite translated for him.

"I'm alright, but I'm more worried about you, Tarrin. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Dar. I'm just fine," he replied, which Sarraya translated. "They're keeping you busy enough."

Dar chuckled after Sarraya relayed that. "Yeah, well, they want me to use my Illusions through the entire performance. I'm not sure if I can last that long. Everyone and his brother wants me to do something for them."

Tarrin looked up at him. "Have you seen Dolanna? Is she alright?"

"Well, she hasn't come out of her cabin since we got back on the ship, Tarrin," he replied after Sarraya translated. "Phandebrass has gone in to see her a couple of times, but he won't tell me what they talked about."

As if speaking about her made her appear, Dolanna came out of the doorway that led below. She wore a simple black dress, a mourning color, that made her pale skin seem even whiter than usual. Her face had no traces of grief or crying, however. Her face was cool, businesslike, much like Triana's stony expression that Tarrin had begun to favor himself. But he could see her pain in her eyes. She was Faalken's oldest friend, and his loss had struck her the hardest. But Dolanna being Dolanna, she was putting her grief aside to deal with the business at hand. She saw Tarrin, Camara Tal, and Dar, and she immediately came over to them. When she spoke, her voice was tightly controlled. "Tarrin, I see you are well. Sarraya, Dar, go fetch Phandebrass and Allia. We need to talk."

"What about?" Camara Tal asked.

"About what we will do in Dala Yar Arak," she replied.

Tarrin shifted back to his natural form as they waited for Phandebrass. Sarraya sat sedately on his shoulder, playing with his hair, as Allia leaned up against his side. It was times like this he missed Keritanima. Especially now since Faalken was dead, he wanted his friends near him, around him, where he could see them and protect them. He wasn't going to lose another friend. He just wasn't. And he couldn't protect them if they weren't near to him.

Phandebrass arrived with his drakes with Dar a few moments later. He was carrying four small medallions hanging on golden chains, medallions of a strange crystal shaped in a triangle. Instead of having the chain run through a corner, it ran through the center of a base, making the triangle point down instead of up. "I say, Dolanna, I'm finished with them," he said immediately.

"Finished with what?" Allia asked.

"Our way to find the Book of Ages, my dear," he replied with a smile. "Dolanna asked me to make these. It was bloody hard enough to do in just three days, but they work." He held up one of the amulets. "I enchanted these so they point to any object smaller than a large dog that's more than two thousand years old," he announced. "I figured that the Book of Ages may be a full sized codex, but it still can't be larger than a mastiff, and two thousand years was the oldest I was willing to risk. I say, I don't know how old the book really is, but I'm certain it's older than two thousand."

"How do these work?" Camara Tal asked, taking one from the mage and holding it up.

"It's easy, Camara," he replied. "Just hold it up. It'll point to the nearest ancient object to its current location, but they only have a range of about five longspans. They'll glow with light, and the brighter the light, the closer you are to the item. The beauty of their design is that if they're touched to an object they point to, they won't point to it again. That way, we can prevent ourselves from locking in on the same item over and over. But what one amulet rules out isn't ruled out by the others, so an amulet has to be used systematically."

Camara Tal held up the medallion in her hands, and it alit from within with a very soft reddish glow, and turned and pointed straight down and to her side. She looked down, and saw the dragon- sculpted hilt of the magical sword. "I guess it works," she said. "It's pointing at the sword."

"Now touch the medallion to the sword, and do it again," Phandebrass instructed. She did so, and when she held it up again, it didn't do anything.

"Clever," Sarraya said appreciatively.

"Thank you, my dear," Phandebrass smiled at the Faerie. "Just be lucky I had a spell that did something close to the same thing. I used to use it to locate relics when I used to search old ruins for knowledge. Ever since Dolanna told me what we're looking for, I've been altering the spell to hunt down the book."

"We?" Camara Tal asked pointedly. "You're with the circus, wizard."

"True, true, but I can't deny that what you're doing is much more important," he replied. "I've already told Renoit, and packed up my lab. When you leave, I'm going with you. You may need my magic and my library. After all, I don't think any of you other than dear Dolanna is much of a scholar."

"You don't have to do that, Phandebrass," Dolanna said gently. "You have helped us enough, and you cannot deny that what we are doing is very dangerous. It may be safer for you with Renoit."

"My dear, I'm not foolish enough to turn my back on this," he grinned. "This is a marvelous chance to learn, and not only will I learn, I can put my magic to a very good use. I know what's going on, my dear, much more than what you've told me. I'm not a fool. I know the legends, and I know what's at stake. And I must say, I do, that I'd much rather see Tarrin get his hands on the prize than some other people I know. Most people don't have the temperament for that kind of a promotion."

"It is not my place to invite you, Phandebrass," Dolanna said. "This is something to which we must all agree."

"I don't mind," Dar said. "Phandebrass has proved he can help. We may need his help again later."

"He has proven his right to stand with us," Allia agreed.

"If you try to cut off my hair again, I'll thrash you, wizard," Camara Tal warned.

"When did that happen?" Dar asked.

"A few rides ago. And he wasn't trying to cut off the hair on my head."

"It was for an experiment," Phandebrass said dismissively. "I was comparing the magical potential of different types of hair from different races. It was done in the name of learning."

"Sticking your hand up my skirt is a fast way to learn about the afterlife," Camara Tal said in an ugly tone, shaking a fist at the thin wizard.

Allia looked at the Amazon, then broke out into nearly girlish giggling behind a hiding hand. Sarraya didn't try to be diginified about it, she simply broke out laughing. "Well, that makes up my mind," Sarraya chuckled. "Phandebrass is just too amusing to leave behind."

"Tarrin?" Dolanna asked pointedly, looking at him.

Tarrin glanced at the mage. He was thin, and though his narrow face looked somewhat youthful, his white hair and the spectacles he was fond of wearing made him look so much older. It was hard to figure out just how old he was. Phandebrass had been there against the Doomwalker, had used his magic in Tarrin's support, had tried to help them defeat it. He had even turned himself into steel and leaped to Tarrin's defense, putting himself in the direct path of danger on Tarrin's behalf. Just as it had with Sarraya and Camara Tal, that one battle seemed to make up Tarrin's mind about those people he didn't call friend, helped convince him that they were worth his trust. If Phandebrass was willing to face death with him in such a direct and dangerous manner, he deserved Tarrin's respect.

"He can come," Tarrin said finally, looking at the mage.

Phandebrass gave him a broad smile. "I say, you won't regret it, my boy," he promised.

"I already do," Camara Tal grumbled.

"Oh come on, Camara, if you minded, you'd wear something underneath that skirt," Sarraya teased.

"Looking isn't touching, sprite," Camara Tal shot back. "And I do wear something under my skirt."

"Not when I looked," Sarraya pressed with a huge grin.

"How would you like a mouthful of steel?" Camara Tal threatened.

"Anything but that! Please, Camara Tal, accept my most humble apologies," Sarraya replied with complete insincerity.

"What were you doing looking underneath Camara Tal's skirt?" Dar asked curiously. "I mean, at least Phandebrass is a man. He'd have alot more reason than you to look under a woman's skirt."

Sarraya suddenly became quiet. Tarrin looked down at her, and saw she was blushing, her blue skin taking on a purplish hue.

Dolanna cleared her throat. "We digress, my friends," she said brusquely. "We have four of these amulets, so we will use them as well as we can by dividing the city into quadrants. We will start at the center of the city. Tarrin, Sarraya, Allia, and Dar, you will fan out from there, each going in one direction. You will search your designated sector as quickly and thoroughly as you can. Remember that we are not the only people looking for the book. We must find it first."

"Why them?" Camara Tal asked.

"They have skills uniquely suited to breaking into people's houses and searching them without raising an alarm, priestess," Dolanna replied.

"Tarrin, the bug, and Allia I can understand, but why Dar?"

"Dar speaks Arakite and looks Arakite, which gives him a distinct advantage. Besides, his affinity for Illusion will allow him to evade detection in someone's home, much better than any of us could."

"I've never done anything like that before, Dolanna," Dar said uncertainly. "I hope I can do it."

"It's not all that hard, Dar," Tarrin assured him. "The biggest thing will be locked doors. I think Phandebrass should lend you and Allia a drake. They know how to get into windows and unlock doors from the inside."

"I say, that's a capital idea," Phandebrass agreed. "I can tell them what to do, and tell them to obey you two. They could be a big help for you, they could."

"I can deal with a locked door, brother," Allia told him.

"I'm sure you can, sister, but this way you won't have to climb up walls," he replied. "Sarraya can fly, and if there aren't many buildings I can't find a way into. We have easy ways to get into places, and remember, Dolanna told us we have to do this fast. We just have to hope that they leave their windows open."

"In this heat, I seriously doubt that," Camara Tal said. "This isn't much off our own climate, and I think I can count the number of times I've closed my windows at night on one hand. It's the only way to get the cool night air into the house."

"We don't close them in Arkisia," Dar said, "but we usually have bars on the windows to discourage thieves. Odds are, it'll be the same in the richer buildings in Dala Yar Arak."

"Probably, but I'm small enough to get into any barred window, and Tarrin can just shapeshift once he climbs up," Sarraya said. "And the drakes should be small enough to squeeze between bars. At least this way, each of us has a way to get into a house with barred windows."

"Good point, my dear," Phandebrass nodded. "I say, that just about covers all the bases, it does. We just need to get lucky."

"I doubt we'll be that lucky, mage," Camara Tal grunted. "Where is the circus going to set up in the city? We may have to move away from it if it's too far from the center of the city. Remember, this is the biggest city in the world."

"It sets up just outside of the Imperial Palace," Phandebrass replied. "At least that's where we've set up the last two years. It's pretty close to the center of the city. It's in the northern section of the city."

"Who gets which direction?" Allia asked.

"That's going to depend on demographics," Dolanna replied, looking at Phandebrass. "You have been to the city. Which parts of the city hold the larger, richer buildings?"

"I say, definitely the northern reaches of the city, definitely," he said immediately. "Most of the rich Arakites live close to the Imperial Palace. Status and all that."

"Naturally. Then that will be Sarraya's sector. She can fly and she can render herself invisible at will, so that will give her the most access to the largest and most heavily guarded buildings. But Sarraya, avoid the Imperial Palace. There is no doubt that it is magically defended. Leave it alone."

"Good sense," Camara Tal nodded in agreement.

"I'll do that, but that medallion's a bit too big for me," Sarraya said with distaste, looking at the crystal. It was half as large as she was. "I don't think I could even pick it up, let alone fly with it."

"I say, I can shrink it down for you, my dear," Phandebrass assured her. "I know a spell to do that."

"Which has the next largest buildings of the remaining three directions?" Dolanna asked the mage.

He rubbed his chin. "I'd have to say the west," he replied. "A good many well-off merchants live in that section of the city, they do."

"Then that will be Tarrin's section," Dolanna announced. "He is better suited for entering buildings that are guarded than Allia or Dar. But I warn you, dear one, no unnecessary fatalities. Do not get the people nervous. It could make it harder for us to function."

"I'll try," he replied. "No promises."

"Try very hard, dear one," Dolanna said. "We do not have time to take any unnecessary risks." She looked to Phandebrass. "Any suggestion as to how the other two sections should be divided?"

"The southern section is the rough side of town, it is," he replied after a moment. "Mainly docks, and some of the nastier slums. I say, Dar is too young to try to navigate that. Allia would be much better suited for dealing with that kind of crowd, she would. The eastern section of the city is also poor, but it's not as rough as the south."

"Sounds like it won't be fun," Dar grunted.

"Dala Yar Arak is a huge city, but the misery that lives there is ten times the human population," Phandebrass said seriously. "For every silk-clad merchant you see, there will be a hundred beggars, homeless scavengers, and runaway slaves. Dala Yar Arak is a city set on the shoulders of pain, and built on the backs of slaves. I never liked going there, and I doubt it's improved much since last year. For a city that professes to be so civilized, it's the most barbaric cesspool I've ever seen." He motioned absently with a hand. "Every part of the city has its share of poor neighborhoods and squatters. You'll find starving children huddled in the gateways of the richest palaces, because there are just so many of them they don't have anywhere else to go. You all should be ready to see that kind of thing. I know it left me shaken the first time I came here."

Allia frowned, Dar looked uncertain, and Camara Tal grunted under her breath. Tarrin couldn't accept what Phandebrass was saying. How could people be so cruel to each other? He just couldn't believe it. Especially to children. He may not trust humans, but children were children, no matter what race they were. They were innocents, they needed protection. The very thought of someone starving a child filled him with a sudden seething fury that he found hard to control.

Allia reached up and grabbed his clenched fist, placing her slender four-fingered hand atop it, then pulled it back down to his side slowly. She gave him a knowing look, understanding his anger. She knew him so well, there was nothing he could hide from her. She could see the outrage in his eyes, but there was no reassurance within her own.

"We are not here to overthrow Arak, my friends," Dolanna said seriously. "We are here for only one reason. And when we find the Book of Ages, we will leave. Remember, it is not our place to pass judgement on the culture the Arakites have created for themselves. We are visitors, nothing more. Now, I believe that Renoit would be appreciative if we helped the circus prepare to disembark. And Phandebrass needs to prepare Sarraya's medallion. So, everyone, do what you can to help, and then get some rest. We will have little time for it once we are in Dala Yar Arak."

They broke up at that point, but Tarrin chased down Dolanna before she could get too far away. He put a paw on her shoulder and stopped her, then turned her around to face him. She looked up at him with those pretty eyes, but he could see the pain she was hiding behind them. "What is it, dear one?" she asked with a slight smile. A feigned smile.

"Why no questions about how I feel?" he asked.

"I spoke with Allia. She told me everything I needed to know."

"How do you feel, Dolanna?" he asked pointedly. "I've known you and Faalken longer than any of the others. You were the ones that started all this mess with me. I know you knew him much longer than I did. So, for once, you tell me how you feel."

Wordlessly, she leaned against him and put her arms up against his chest, putting her cheek against him. He enfolded her in his large arms, swallowing up the small woman. She was so small, so frail looking. She barely came up to his chest. But she was a woman he thought at times was absolutely invincible, a powerful Sorceress with an exceptional wisdom that had helped him grow and mature, had guided them in ways that no other could. It was strange, nearly bizarre, to see her upset. She had comforted him many times when he was upset, uncertain, afraid. It was only fair to return some of her kindness.

"Me too, Dolanna. Me too," he said quietly.

This was it.

Tarrin stood at the bow of Dancer a short time before dawn, as light just began to stain the horizon to herald the approach of the sun, staring out at what had to be the strangest sight he had ever seen.

To the few sailors and lookouts on duty, it was probably murky, indistinct, but his night-sighted eyes revealed the terrible splendor of Dala Yar Arak, the largest city in the world.

To say it dominated the land was an understatement. It was the land, much like Dayisè had expanded to cover all of its islands, stretching from the left to the right, horizon to horizon. Nothing but buildings, buildings, and more buildings, as far as he could see. The peninsula upon which the city was situated rose up gently from the sea, showing more than the warehouses and larger buildings surrounding the docks. The city was dominated by curious squared, flat-roofed houses and other buildings, and from them rose the larger, grander constructions. There were many odd bulbous towers, towers with large radish- shaped domes atop them. Every large building had at least one or two of those shaped towers attached to them somewhere. And anywhere he looked, there were more of them, more flat-topped houses and buildings, more and more and more as the steely light of pre-dawn prepared to give way to the sun. They were still too far away from him to make out much detail, but it was obvious from the torches and lights he could see that there was quite a bit of activity around the waterfront. He didn't know if it was revelers or workers, but the movements of those lights, and their occasional extinguishing, said people were tending them, or putting them out as the light increased.

Dala Yar Arak. The largest city in the world, and a place that Phandebrass and a few others had said wasn't a very nice place. This was the destination that started them off so many months ago. This was where the Goddess told him to go, and just getting here was not in any way, shape, or form the end of it. It was the largest city in the world, and he was there to find a single book. A book that other people were also trying to find.

Seeing it brought mixed emotions within him. He was relieved to finally be here, but he was anxious about the momentous task that awaited them. Seeing the city made him a little afraid, but it also filled him with a terrible resolve, a nearly holy fervor to find the Book of Ages. He had changed so much since they left Suld. He wasn't the same person anymore. He had hardened, turned feral, become something that he used to fear. But not anymore. He had left with Faalken, and now the Knight was buried on foreign ground, buried in Saranam, killed on his behalf. The loss of Faalken had taught him a few hard lessons. That he was not there to be nice. That he would not let another friend die. That this was not a game.

He would find that book. And if had to kill half the people in Dala Yar Arak to get his paws on it, then so be it. Killing half the population would be a far lesser evil than letting someone else discover the location of the Firestaff, because if that happened, the people he did care about would be in danger.

Tarrin didn't give a damn about the world. All he cared about was the few people in the world he loved. He would find the Book of Ages, and then find the Firestaff, if for any other reason than to protect his mother and father and sister, to protect Keritanima and Allia, to protect Dolanna, Dar, Miranda, Zak, and the Vendari. To protect Camara Tal, Sarraya, and Phandebrass. To protect Triana and Jesmind, to protect Mist and his unborn son. He would find it to honor the loss of Faalken, to give closure to the mission for which the Knight paid with his life.

He would find it for Janette, the sweet little girl to whom he owed so much. He wouldn't allow her future to be cut short. He didn't care what it took, or who he had to kill, he would find that book. Even if he had to pry it out of the dead hands of the Emperor of Arak himself.

Allia's scent touched him over the wind, and he looked back in time to see her come up to him. He put his arm around her, feeling a pang that Keritanima wasn't nestled up under his other arm, sharing a silent moment at the bow, staring at the city ahead.

"That's it," she finally said in Selani.

"That's it," he agreed. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready, deshida. It has been a very long time coming. Are you ready?"

"I am now," he said grimly, looking out over the alien skyline of the capital of the Empire of Yar Arak. He looked out over the city, and he could see was the lovely little face of Janette in the blur of the buildings, looking out at him with that serious little smile that made her look so cute.

Whatever it took.

"I am now," he said again, clenching a paw into a fist.

The peaceful city of Dala Yar Arak was just waking to start another day, as merchants rose to open shops, servants went about the morning chores in the service of their masters, and the predators of the night began to give up the streets to the people who lived under the sun. It was the start of a standard day, nothing of great consequence that would make that day more memorable than any other. But they were oblivious to the fact that their city was now under siege. The first day of a siege, in a war that would threaten to tear the Empire apart.