Chapter 27

 The walk wasn't doing him any good at all.

 He was still fuming, seething, calm on the outside but utterly furious within.  How dare she do that to him?  What was inside him was his own, and she had no right to look into his dreams!  It was bad enough that they were dreams denied to him, but to show him what could be, then strip it away from him...it was enough to make him want to kill people.

 Underneath that anger was a confusion, and not a little concern.  Why did she do that?  Why take his staff?  It made no sense.  All that accomplished was to make him furious and deprive him of a weapon capable of hurting her.  It wouldn't stop him in any way.  It really wouldn't even dissuade him from coming after her.  He would find a way to make her pay for what she did.  Her actions only managed to focus his attention on her, and put her and her position in danger.  She should have killed him.  She could have killed him, easily, yet she did not.  So why take his staff?

 It just didn't make any sense.

 Padding through dust-choked air, passing people who stood at doorways and looked out in fright and uncertainty, Tarrin marched straight back towards the house, following his own scent through the dust, dust that made him cough and sneeze every few seconds.  It filled his nose, it got into his windpipe, it even coated the inside of his mouth, but he needed to be able to smell.  He couldn't see to the end of the block, and since he hadn't seen how he got there, he needed to be able to scent-track his way back.  The dust was a pall in the night, reflecting back the lights of the street lamps, giving it an eerie reddish glow that made the night seem ominous, menacing.  The dust was still, showing that there was no wind.

 And the dust restricted his ability to scent those nearby.

 They appeared first as indistinct, hazy shapes in the ruddy light, but as he approached them absently, more intent on his own anger than on his surroundings, he took notice of them.  Nine shapes, human in form.  But as he neared, he realized that three of them had non-human attributes.  Large membranous wings silhouetted against the light, shadows he had thought were signs hanging behind them.  He got close enough to see them through the dust, and his heart froze in his chest.

 Nine of them.  Six males, three females.  The males had bluish-black skin, black hair, and glowing yellow eyes, but despite those inhuman traits, their faces were very handsome.  They all wore archaic plate armor, much like what Jegojah wore, and seeing it reminded him of the Doomwalker.  The three females were about the same size, with blond hair, black hair, and brown hair, and were voluptuous and toned.  All three had large bat-like wings, but that was the only thing that set them apart from a human.  They were all very pretty, and in their faces he could see their mother.  All nine were armed with those black-bladed swords, and all nine had them drawn.

 They were all Demons.  Cambisi, these were Shiika's brood.

 And she had set them here.  It had all been an elaborate trap.

 No wonder she didn't kill him.  She only took his staff, taking away the only thing that could hurt them.  Then she gave him to them, probably because he killed one of their number.

 Welcome to the family, a female voice seemed to speak into his mind.  He had no idea which one had done that.

 Forgetting everything but the threat before him, Tarrin reached out and touched the Weave.  He'd fought them before.  He knew what to do.

 "What in the world was that?" Camara Tal asked blearily as she came down stairs.  She had only a sheet wrapped around her, and she looked down at the others with the sandy-eyed condition of someone who had just been awakened.  The others were all there.  Dolanna and Allia sat on chairs facing the fireplace.  Dolanna wore a nightrobe of dark cloth, but Allia was fully dressed in her baggy desert garb, one of the drakes in her lap accepting her gentle petting enthusiastically.  The other drake was on Phandebrass' shoulder, who had thrown on his own brown robes quickly.  Jula sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, and a very uncertain, frightened look on her face.  Dar stood by Allia's chair, leaning down and scratching the drake's head lightly as she stroked its scaly back.  He wore only a pair of breeches, his shirt still in his hands.  Sarraya stood on Dolanna's shoulder easily.

 "That was Tarrin," Dolanna said grimly, looking into the just-set fire, a fire set to ward off the night's chill in the room.

 "He slipped away in the night," Jula said quietly.  "And he's furious.  Absolutely furious.  I hope he's not mad at me," she said fearfully, wrapping her tail around her ankles.

 "How do you know that?" the Amazon asked.

 "Tarrin has used his Sorcery," Dolanna told her.  "It shuddered the Weave.  Whatever he has done, its power was monumental.  Tarrin can only control that kind of power when he is enraged.  The explosion worries me that he has destroyed a portion of the city in his rage."

 "This is exactly what Triana told me to stop," Sarraya grunted.  "She's going to pull off my wings when she hears about this."  She sighed forlornly.

 "So why are we sitting around here?" Camara Tal demanded hotly, taking a hand off her sheet.  It slipped down to expose parts of her usually covered by her halter, but she made not even a sign that she cared about what she was showing.  "If he's gone off the cliff, then we'd better get out there and find him before-- "

 Another earth-shattering boom shook the house like a child's rattle.  Camara Tal stumbled and toppled backwards, and Sarraya joined the drakes when they suddenly jumped into the air.  The Amazon sat up and looked as Jula, Dar, Dolanna, and Allia all went completely pale, Dolanna putting a hand to her chest quickly.

 "Goddess!" the Sorceress gasped.  "Tarrin, oh, Tarrin!  Stop this, stop it now!"

 "Dolanna!  What's going on?" Camara Tal asked as she got back on her feet, sneezing as dust shaken from the ceiling went up her nose with her breath.

 "Can you feel that?" Jula asked in awe.  "He's going to tear the Weave!"

 "What is happening, woman?" Camara Tal snapped, rushing over quickly.  She let go of her sheet, leaving it behind, but she gave her unclad condition not a moment's thought as she grabbed Dolanna by the robe, then hauled her out of her chair to look her in the eyes.

 "Tarrin is going out of control!" she replied instantly.  "He is--we must find him now and stop him, or he will destroy himself!"

 They were all around him, mocking him, taunting him.

 Join our family, they chanted in strange voices, over and over, an endless, mind-warping whisper of evil invitation, a voice that caused the Cat to go totally and utterly out of control.  He had already tried using Sorcery on them, but they had seen that, and had evaded his air-shockwave attack easily.  Join us, join our family, feel our love, the females seemed to whisper, closing in on the enraged Were-cat slowly, easily, like a pack of dogs surrounding its next meal.  Tarrin's entire body was limned over in Magelight as he demanded power from the Weave, sought to fill himself to the brink with its power and then turn it against his opponents.

 The first attempt had failed.  He had destroyed everything around him in a vast area, a circle of devastation that went for nearly five blocks before ending in a shattered zone of debris-damaged buildings.  They had fled when they saw him start the Weave, then had returned while he was trying to recover, fleeing outside the weave's area of effect.  He had to admit, that was very clever.

 Despite his utter rage at their attack, his mind was still joined to the Cat, and it understood the situation.  These were enemies he could not harm.  He could only drive them away from him, push them back, buy himself time, and even then, they had an understanding of how long it took for him to weave the spells, and how much it took out of him.  He couldn't do that more than one more time.  There was no way to hurt them now, not without his staff.  They would keep coming, and keep coming, and keep coming, until he had no more strength to keep them away.

 He could not fight.  So he had to flee.  But he was surrounded, and they were all armed.  He would certainly be wounded if he attempted to go through them, and if he became injured, he would be an easy target.  He could not risk any injury, no matter how minor.

 Spreading his arms out, Tarrin tried a desperate gamble.  They could only see the physical effects of his weaves.  He was praying that they couldn't feel the real weaves.  He spread his arms and allowed a faint reddish aura to overtake him, a ruddy glow that shuddered and pulsated erratically.  They had seen this before.  It was the buildup effect of his shockwave, a weave that had a visible sign of formation.  He could not bring to bear the power to generate a real weave so soon after the last, so he bluffed them, seeking to make them back off as he wove the real weave beneath his misdirection, a weave that required much less power to create.

 They bit.  All nine of them started moving backwards, giving themselves room to flee should that erratic red glow become bright and coherent, the imminent sign that another magical attack was about to be unleashed.  But instead of pushing his arms out,  Tarrin suddenly jumped into the air, jumped high and lowered his paws towards the ground and released his weave.  A weave of pure Air, creating an intense blast of wind to issue forth from the ground and strike him.  The force of the magical wind picked him up, literally hurled him into the sky, soaring him well away from his attackers.  Cursing loudly, the three winged females suddenly unfurled their wings and vaulted into the sky after him, as the six males scrambled to follow along the rooftops and streets.

 He'd never done that before, so he had a great deal of trouble trying to control his descent.  The wind was a very strong force, but it did like to be shifted quickly or a great deal.  It moved sluggishly as he continued to maintain the weave, too slowly for his trajectory to keep him aloft, causing him to topple out of the invisible funnel of air that was driving him against gravity.  Tarrin plummeted nearly forty spans to the top of a roof, landing hard and rolling to absorb the shock of the impact.  He was up before the weave began to unravel when he let go of it, vaulting to another roof and scrambling away from this assailants.

 It had been quite a trap.  Even in his anger, he could appreciate that.  She had lured him out, taken his staff, incited him into an explosion of rage to tire him, then had her brood there to challenge him after he felt he was safe, to attack him after he had tired himself.  She had to know that he always felt tired after a rage, after expending such energy on his heightened emotional state, and that controlling High Sorcery was a task that quickly drained him, whether he wove spells or not.  Just holding it was an effort, holding it without letting it overwhelm him.  She wouldn't even fight him herself.  She sent her sycophants to fight him, forcing him to wear himself out against them if he wanted to get a piece of her.  She was making him run a gauntlet.  She was very clever.  Very, very clever.

 Weaving together that chaotic mess of Air, Fire, Water, and Divine flows, with only token flows from the other spheres to give the weave the power of High Sorcery, Tarrin turned in his sprint and levelled his palm at the closest of the flying females, the brunette.  A blinding bolt of incandescent white power exploded from his paw, lancing across the sky like the glowing spear of a god, slamming directly into her pretty little face.  It picked her up and carried her along with it, sending her flying away from him, knocking her temporarily out of the chase.  They could fly faster than he could run.  He knew that.  He had to keep those flyers away from him.

 He couldn't run fast enough.  He saw one of them dive at him as he made a jump to another roof, whizzing by him as an icy cold line of sudden pain sliced across his back and shoulder.  He saw his own blood spatter onto the roof as he landed heavily on his side, bouncing once and skidding to a stop, and he felt the blazing fire of pain lash through him.  She had slashed him with her sword as she passed, like a raptor's claws tearing apart a pigeon.

 Trembling, Tarrin lifted himself off the roof with a paw, his teeth clenched in pain.  It was like the sword left behind a line of fire!  He'd never felt anything like that, not since--

 --magic!

 The wound wasn't healing.  Their weapons were enchanted, they just had to be.  He could see another one lining up for a dive at him, and he ignored the pain despite the explosion of agony along his back, ignored it and drew himself up to his feet.  She was diving at him with incredible speed, an evil smile on her face, her slender sword leading her assault.  He stood his ground, paws out, feet wide, sizing her up.  He could play chicken with the best of them.

 In a blur, Tarrin shifted aside at absolutely the last moment, causing the sword to plunge just aside of his face.  He glanced his own reflection in the black blade of the sword as it whizzed by.  A paw locked on her wrist with blinding speed, twisting it even as he wheeled around on one paw, dragging her out of her path of flight.  She suddenly curved around as he pulled her to the side, causing her to crash loudly into the roof behind him, causing the stone under his feet to shudder horribly as the loud sound of her striking the stone reached his ears.  She seemed dazed by the impact, and Tarrin used that precious second to pick up her own sword from the roof, then raise it up and drive it down at her unprotected back.

 It was harmlessly turned aside.

 Tarrin gaped in surprise, forgetting his foe's fundamental advantage.  Not even their own weapons could harm them!  He glanced the third female out of the corner of his eye, and ducked under a flying slash of her weapon, a slash that would have decapitated him.  He dropped the sword nervelessly and simply turned and darted away, jumping to another rooftop.  The six males were approaching, getting closer.  He had cut the females down to one, only one that could chase him immediately.  The slash across his back was on fire, and he could feel his blood flowing down the back of his leg, down his tail.

 He had to get away from them.  Not just run away, but get away.  He had to hide.  He was wounded, and he would get weaker and weaker as his lifeblood seeped out of his injured back.  He knew now that he was too tired, too weakened to use any more Sorcery.  Even the attempt to touch it would kill him, destroy him from within in a blazing pyre.  That would be his way out, should there be no other hope, but he wouldn't take that step until there were no other steps to take.

 From out of nowhere, the brunette suddenly appeared in front of him, and she struck him dead-on, flying at full speed with her arms folded over her head, like a flying battering ram.

 He felt his ribs break from the intense power of the blow, picking him up and carrying him with her.  He struck the stone ledge of the roofside, broke through it and tumbled away from her.  Dazed, hurting, he could only feel that he was somewhere in the air, and then suddenly he was crashing heavily into the ground of an unpaved alley, breaking an arm and his tail as he came down on top of them, on his side, driving the jagged ends of his broken ribs into his insides.  For a long moment, seeming like forever, he couldn't move.  He couldn't breathe, and he could barely think.  There was only a gray haze filming over his eyes, and it was like he was trying to hear with cloth stuffed in his ears.

 He found a way to breathe, and it was like fire inside him.  He gave a shuddering, gurgling groan, then coughed a copious amount of blood from his mouth.  He could barely move, shifting aimlessly on the ground, trying to find a way to get back onto his feet.  The impact with the ground hurt him more than the ramming from the Demon ever could have, for he had been struck by an object of nature.  Hitting the ground caused him true injury, injury he couldn't regenerate, and it had all but incapacitated him.  There was nothing but pain.  He couldn't even remember what had happened to him, why he was there.  The pain was everything, burning into him, through him, searing his body and causing his mind to recoil from the massive shock he had suffered.

 He was only dimly aware of something grabbing him by the back of the head, then physically pulling him off the ground.  Blood poured from his mouth as he was lifted, clotting the dirt on the dry ground, and he found his eyes being pulled level with a tall, shapely redhead.  A redhead with small horns and wings, holding a staff.  In his daze, he couldn't identify her.  He could only stare blankly at her.

 He didn't put up much of a fight, mother, he seemed to hear this strange voice, a voice with no sound.

 "I made sure to prepare him for you, child," the redhead said calmly, giving him an evil smile.  "Well, Tarrin, it looks like you came out on the losing end of this little dispute.  They always do when they challenge me," she said with a light chuckle.  "I considered keeping you, Tarrin.  I really did.  I don't have a Sorcerer of your caliber among my brood, and you could be very useful to me.  But I think you'd be too much of a handful.  You have an extremely stubborn mind, you can block my own magic, and your power is uncontrollable, even for you, and it would only be a matter of time before you destroyed yourself.  No, I like assets that aren't expendable, or more dangerous to me than necessary."

 She gave him a malicious smile.  "Now that delicate little child of yours.  That's another story."

 That instantly snapped his mind back to awareness.  His protective instincts over his bond-child roared to life in his mind, and despite the pain, he tried to reach up and grab the hand holding him by the hair.  But someone punched him in his broken stomach, and he nearly lost consciousness as a firestorm of intense agony roared through him.  "Temper, temper," she said, wagging a finger with an amused look.  "I thought you'd be happy, Tarrin.  I'm not going to kill Jula.  I'm just going to make her mine.  I could use someone like her.  Oh, yes, she'll be very handy.  A strong Sorcerer, a Were-cat, and very intelligent.  And unlike you, she has a will that can be easily subdued."

 "If...you touch her," he wheezed, barely a whisper.  "I'll...do more...than kill you."

 "Without this, you're not all that much of a threat," she smiled, holding out his staff.  To his shock, shock that registered over his pain, his staff suddenly flared with a bright light, and in a span of two heartbeats, was incinerated by some magical fire.  It crumbled to dust by the Demoness' sturdy boot, a pile of ash that had once been one of Tarrin's most treasured possessions.  "And now you are neutralized.  You don't stand a chance against me, Tarrin," she purred.  "You never did.  I kind of like you, that's why I let you live.  And I still will, all you have to do is pack up your little friends and leave.  Without Jula, of couse.  She's mine now.  You lost her when you killed one of my brood.  Now she's going to replace him."

 In a surge of mindless anger, enough to override the pain, Tarrin lunged at the Demoness with his claws leading.  But the hold on his hair snapped his head back, caused him to collapse to his knees as the sudden motion wracked his injured ribs.

 "Oh, she'll be very happy, Tarrin, don't you worry about that," she taunted on.  "You see, Tarrin, I'm what your friend Phandebrass would call a Succubus.  My power is to seduce and enslave the wills of mortals, and I feed off of them like a Vampire does.  Except where Vampires drink blood, I drain away the life energy of my victim.  It's what I do, and I'm very good at it.  Trust me.  She'll be very happy in my service, because I'll fix her so her only pleasure in life is making me happy.  That's something I could even do to you.  Would you like to be my faithful pet, Tarrin?  To wish for nothing other than to see me smile?"

 The manacles on his wrists weighed on him suddenly, reminding him of why they were there.  Never again.  He would never be a slave again!  With a power borne of utter, mindless fury, Tarrin snapped up from his knees, slamming the manacle on his wrist into the face of the Cambion male that was holding him by the base of his braid.  Freed from his grip as he let go and tumbled aside, Tarrin whirled on the Demoness Shiika and pounced at her, with such speed that the brood around the startled Demon could not intercept him.  He crashed into her, drove her to the ground, and all he could desire in the world was to sink his claws into the soulless blue eyes of hers.  She had a grip on his paws with her own hands, struggling under him to keep his claws away from her face, but she had a knowing smile on her lips.

 "So you do want to be my pet," she said in a purring tone  She pushed his paws just wide enough to free her face, and she lunged up and kissed him.

 And then it was like her lips had become ice.

 He could feel it, feel the essence of her invade him.  And when it did, it took from him, it drained him of the energy inside him, sought to pull out his soul.  There was an intense cold feeling, like Sorcerer's Healing, a cold that attempted to drain away all this strength, his very life force.  He could not stop it.  And in his rage, his fury at her threats to his bond-child and his mindless panic at being threatened with enslavement, he would not relent.  He kept on her, kept trying to dig out her eyes, a look of absolute concentration laying under his mask of fury.  Even if she killed him, he would take out those eyes.

 But the draining kiss of her was robbing him of his strength.  She began to push him away, thrust his claws wider to the sides as the strength powering his muscles faltered.  Her kiss began to paralyze, to drain him so heavily that he lacked the strength to move.  He felt her could touch reach all the way inside him, reach right to his soul, and he felt it plunge into his core.

 His body paled and shuddered when her draining kiss struck at his very soul, attempted to literally tear it from him.  But then something else inside him responded to that attack, flooding him with a strange warmth, replacing what she had taken, preventing her from gripping his soul well enough to take it from him, isolating it from her.

 Shiika's eyes widened as she pushed him off of her, taking her hands off as he collapsed to the ground beside her.  "By the pit!" Shiika gasped, stunned.  "He's immortal!"

 Mother?

 "He's immortal!" she said again, just as shocked.  "I can't take his soul!  I could never take his soul!  He can be drained, but his soul is protected from my power, and some part of him regenerates the life energy I take!"  She sat up, licking her lips.  "Jula must be the same way.  By the pit, my brood, I'll never go hungry again!  She'll be an endless supply of life energy!"

 He couldn't move.  He was cold inside, cold and in tremendous pain, unable to do anything but lay there and hover between consciousness and blissful oblivion.

 What of him? he heard inside his mind.

 "Leave him," Shiika said brusquely, accepting a hand of one of her male brood and standing up.  "He's of no more consequence.  Let's go get your new sister, my brood.  Oh, wait a minute.  Tarrin," she called sweetly.  "I know what you're looking for.  And just to make you feel like you've accomplished something tonight, I'll tell you who has it."

 She laughed wickedly.  "I do," she said bluntly.  "I have your precious book.  So if you want it, you have to face me to get it.  I hope that makes you feel better," she laughed scathingly.

 Why admit to such a thing, mother?  It will surely fuel his desire to attack us again.

 "Let him," she laughed.  "He's harmless now.  I want him to stew over it for the rest of his life.  That's what he gets for killing one of your brothers.  And if he is stupid enough to try, well, I'll have two new Were-cat vessels to drain whenever I'm hungry now, won't I?"

 Her voice drifted away, and he heard the fluttering of wings.  He was alone.  Alone, with the terrible knowledge inside him.  They were going to try to take Jula.  And Shiika had the Book of Ages.  Shiika, who had so easily defeated him before, had destroyed his treasured staff and robbed him of the only weapon he could use against her.

 He was alone.  And that terrified him, for some strange reason.

 Groaning in pain, Tarrin managed to bring a paw up to his chest, grabbing his amulet.  Every breath brought a new jagged wrack of pain, but he had to speak.  He had to.

 "A-Allia," he wheezed, willing to speak with his sister.  "Allia!"

 "Tarrin?  Where are you?  What is happening!" she demanded immediately.

 "Not-Not much time," he said in a shallow whisper.  "Get out of there!  The Demoness--" he paused to cough uncontrollably, sending nearly overwhelming pain through him.  "She's coming...after Jula!  Protect Jula...hide her!  Don't...don't let....her take her!"

 "Tarrin!  You're hurt!  Where are you!"

 "I...don't matter," he wheezed.  "The Demoness has...the Book of Ages," he told her.  "Must...get it."  His vision began to dim; he could tell he was about to pass out.  Speaking was too much.  He mustered up one more burst of strength.  "Go, sister!  Save Jula, get out of there!  And get the book!"

 "Sarraya is coming, brother!" Allia's voice reached him, though his hearing was fading.  "She knows where you are, and she's coming!  Hold on til she gets there!  We'll protect your child, just don't give up yet!  Sarraya is coming!"

 That was all he cared about.  Letting go of the amulet, Tarrin collapsed to the dirt of the alley.  He had done what he needed to do.  His dimming thoughts were only on protecting his child, on furthering the mission.  He closed his eyes, seeking out in his desperation the only thing there was left for him to cling to, his faith and trust in his Goddess, and her promise that she would always watch over him.  Nobody else could help him now.  And even if she couldn't, then that was alright.  At least he would know that he wasn't alone.

 He didn't want to be alone.

 He looked within himself, and found his love for his Goddess.  And it comforted him.  He was not alone.

 "Mother," he whispered deleriously.  "Help...me."

 And then he knew no more.

 In a dark alley deep in Dala Yar Arak, laying among shattered fragments of masonry, a solitary figure lay on the cold, unforgiving ground.  It was a inhuman body, unnaturally tall, with a tail and fur and cat's ears, and it was a broken one.  The exposed bone of a rib had punched through his side, and blood bubbled from the figure's mouth with every exhalation.

 Around the figure's neck was a curious amulet of black steel, a four-pointed star within a six-sided star within a circle.  It was a strange symbol, symmetrical and abstract, not easily recognizable to any who did not study magic or theology.

 In that dark alley, a soft, milky radiance began to illuminate the walls.  It issued forth from the amulet itself, a gentle white light emanating from the black steel, making it look like silver in the soft glow.  Two other small points of light also seemed to appear within that glow, one a gentle golden hue, like the sun, and the other the same color as the glow of the amulet itself, all but invisible within that radiance.

 Half a world away, in a large courtyard in the center of a hedge maze, on the grounds of the Tower of Six Spires, a similar confrontation arose.  One was a formless body masked in a golden aura, and the second was the statue standing at the center of a happily bubbling fountain, a statue glowing with a milky radiance.

 This is forbidden, my daughter, a strange sort of communication issued forth from the golden glow.

 He begged me for aid, Mother, the statue replied.  I no longer must ignore his pleas.  It came from his heart, spoken with true faith and love.  He has given, and now I must be allowed to give in return.  Or everything that we stand for will be meaningless.

 But think of what we will be unleashing on the world, my daughter, the first answered her plea.

 What is the world compared to his suffering? the second challenged.  What is the world compared to his need?  What will the world be without him?  I promised I would always watch over him.  He has given to me everything I could ever ask, everything and more, and never has he asked for anything in return!  Do not deny me now, when he needs me.  I beg you!

 Your devotion becomes you, the first acceded.  Let me not deny what is given in pure heart, and let me not deny what is deserved in return.  But know that for good or ill, what befalls us all is now set at your feet, my daughter.

 It is as it always has been, Mother, the statue said simply.  It is as it must be.

 In the alley in the center of Dala Yar Arak, the golden spot of light vanished.  The milky radiance issuing forth from the amulet around the injured figure's neck suddenly flared to brilliant life, flowing over the broken body like water, a soft, gentle glow that healed with delicate, painless care wherever it touched.

 The sound of Sarraya's wings awakened him.

 Tarrin's eyes fluttered open.  He...he was whole.  Healed.  He sat up as Sarraya buzzed angrily towards him, at the end of the alley and approaching fast, looking at his paw in confusion.  Had he regenerated?  He couldn't remember.  Maybe he could regenerate from a fall.  Maybe the dirt wasn't unworked, and that broke the condition that would cause the ground to do him true harm.  It was the only thing he could think of.  Sarraya hadn't reached him yet, and he didn't have a mark on him.  Even the slash in his back was healed.  Only his torn and bloody clothes left behind any evidence that he'd been hurt in the first place.

 What had happened?

 "Tarrin!" Sarraya shouted, landing on his knee and bending over, panting heavily.  "Tarrin!" she wheezed.  "Allia made it sound like you'd been torn in half!"

 "I, I was pretty banged up," he replied uncertainly.  "I have no idea what happened.  I passed out, and when I woke up, I wasn't hurt anymore.  It's eerie."

 Sarraya gave a wheezing laugh.  "Cub, around you, nothing ever ends up normal," she told him.  "What happened?"

 "Shiika," Tarrin said with sudden heat.  "The Demoness pretending to be the Empress.  She's going to try to abduct Jula, to use her in her little pack of Demon children in place of the one I killed.  And she has the book, Sarraya!  She told me flat out that she has it!  She did it just to rub salt in my wounds!"

 "You think she's lying?"

 "No," he said after a moment.  "She was telling the truth.  I know she was."

 "Then we'd better find the others, Tarrin," she replied.  "Fast."

 He nodded, putting his paw to the amulet again.  "Allia," he called.  "Allia, answer me."

 There was no response.

 A little fear showing in his look at Sarraya, Tarrin stood up quickly. "Allia!  Answer me!"

 "Allia's indisposed," the voice of Shiika came through the amulet.  "I got here, and decided that I could use a Selani, and an Amazon, and even another couple of Sorcerers and a Wizard.  And what do you know, there were some here.  Isn't that nice?"

 Absolute rage exploded from him in that moment, but it was a rage tightly focused by the situation.  He could do nothing immediately to help his sister, his friends.  But he would.  Oh, would he.  "You are dead, Demon," Tarrin hissed savagely.  "I'm coming for you, do you hear?  I'm coming for you!"

 "And you'll be mine as well, Tarrin," she purred.  And then he felt that the link between him and Allia was broken.

 He was quiet a long moment, as Sarraya looked on fearfully.  She had heard it all, and she had no idea what he intended to do, what the news would do to his sanity.  Then he turned his back to her.  "Sarraya," he growled.  "Contact Triana."

 "Why?"

 "Because I told you to do it!" he snapped in reply.  "She seems to be able to move around very quickly.  Have her come here, as fast as she can.  I'm going to need her."

 "She can be here by sunset," Sarraya said uneasily.  "But using that kind of magic is really going to take it out of her.  She won't be any good to you."

 "She doesn't have to fight," he growled under his breath, his rage giving him tight focus, a clear purpose.  An objective.  "She just has to be here.  For Jula."

 Sarraya gave his back a very long, uncertain look.  Then she bowed her head.  "You're going to kill yourself, Tarrin," she said softly.

 "I don't care," he snapped.  "The only thing that matters to me is the lives that bitch Shiika is holding in her hand.  I'll burn this city to the ground to get them back, and my own safety be damned."  He looked down.  "I...I don't want you to see what I'm about to do, Sarraya.  I'm about to break about every law there is in Fae-da'Nar."

 "What are you going to do, Tarrin?"

 "The only thing I can do, Sarraya," he replied grimly.  "Attack Shiika through her throne."  He turned and looked at her.  "When Triana gets here, tell her to stay out of the city," he said.  "It won't be safe here.  There won't be anywhere safe in this city until Shiika frees the others.  And the gods help her if she hurts any of them," he said with an ominous undertone.  "Now get out of the city, Sarraya.  Stay out of my way."

 "Tarrin," Sarraya called as Tarrin started walking away.  "Tarrin!  Don't leave me like this!  You're going to get yourself killed!  Tarrin!  Tarrin!!!" she screamed as he left the alley, then turned out of her sight.

 But he didn't hear her.  He didn't want to.  He knew he was going to die trying to free the others before Shiika could enslave them, but he wouldn't let that stop him.

 Some things were worth more than a single life.

 "Mother," he called aloud, under his breath.  "Mother....I need your help."

 I am here for you, but I do not agree with what you have in mind, kitten, she said stiffly.  It is wrong.  The deaths of innocents will not balance the lives that Shiika threatens.

 "There are no innocents anymore," Tarrin said in a tight hiss.  "I don't care if you agree or not.  I won't stop.  The only thing that will stop me is if Shiika hands over the others and the book.  Nothing else."

 I'm sorry you feel that way, my kitten, she said sadly.  I truly am.

 "I'm not exactly happy, Mother," he admitted.  "I know what this is going to mean.  I know that even if I do live through it, I may not be able to live with it.  But I don't care.  Allia--she means more to me than my own life or sanity does.  I won't abandon her, no matter what I have to do to get her back.  I owe it to her."

 But, kitten...surely there is another way.

 "I'm listening."

 There was momentary silence.  Shiika is the Empress.  Attacking her through her throne is a wise idea, but slaughtering thousands and destroying entire blocks of the city will not bring her to you.  You have seen the condition of the city, kitten.  You know that the lives of her subjects will not affect her, especially since her Empire's population is numbered in the tens of millions. If you really wish to confront her, do so by being where she will be, not where you try to lure her.  Every ten days, Shiika attends the gladitorial games with her husband, the Emperor.  It is the highlight of the ride, and this next occasion will mark the end of the Festival of the Sun.  Perhaps if you could reach her box in the arena, you could force a negotiation?

 "Not weaponless," he grunted.  "That's what I need help with, Mother.  Shiika destroyed my staff.  Is there another weapon in this city I can use against her?  If I can't prove that I can kill her, she won't take me seriously."

 I can't give you direct help with such a request, kitten, she sighed.  It impugns on the restrictions under which I operate.  But, as always, I may give you a hint, and affirm it if you guess correctly.  Tarrin, such a weapon does exist.  And you have seen it.

 Tarrin stopped.  Seen it?  He'd seen lots of weapons since coming to Dala Yar Arak.  But the way she said it, she meant that this weapon was something out of the ordinary...something that he would have remembered.  He thought back to the weapons he had seen, the ones that had caught his attention.  The sword the Emperor wore was striking...but Shiika would be insane to equip her puppet with a weapon that could harm her.  There were those black swords the Demons had...but they didn't hurt their own.  It couldn't be them.  Shiika herself carried no weapon.  She didn't need one, she had the magical powers of a pureblooded Demon to be her weapon.

 Black sword.  There was that one sword, the one hanging in the inn.  The Eastern weapon, the one with the black metal blade, a metal that was too light to be steel.

 That was it!  It wasn't steel!  And it was a weapon of battle, no ceremonial piece!  It had to be that sword!

 That is the one, the Goddess told him with a heavy voice.  It was forged of a metal not of this world, and that gives it the power to harm a Demon.

 Tarrin nearly bounced in his step.  "I remember where that inn is," he said fiercely.  "I know where it is!"

 Tarrin went from a slow, methodical walk to a full- out sprint in the blink of an eye.  It was late night, approaching morning.  He could be there by sunrise, and he could be at the stadium by midmorning.  He'd have to all but run all the way across the vast city and back...but he would make it.  And he only hoped that Shiika hadn't started in on his friends already.

 "Mother...are they alright?"

 Shiika has imprisoned them, she replied, in her Palace.  I protect the Sorcerers and Phandebrass with my power, Allia is also protected by Fara'Nae, and Neme protects Camara Tal.  Shiika can feel this, so she must break our protections before she can reach our subjects.  That will take time, and as you know, she must be at the games this day.  It is expected of her, and she must attend.

 "So that gives me time," he said.  "No wonder you were against my plan."

 Among other reasons, she replied.  Just be careful, my kitten, and remember that my power is here for you.  All you need to do is call upon it.

 And then she was gone, leaving him with an empty feeling, as if she took a part of him with her.

 But she left behind a feeling of hope in a desperate situation.  He knew where Shiika was going to be, a place not in her Palace, a virtual fortress that not even he could invade, where he would have to face an unopposable force to reach her.  And he could face her armed with a weapon she would have to take seriously.

 He was going to make her pay for what she did to him, to all his friends.  One way or another.

 She was going to pay.

 He reached the inn about an hour after sunrise.  He knew where it was, generally, and it had taken him nearly two hours to find its exact location, tracing his own faint scent trail on the rooftops.  It had been two hours of frenetic, nearly frenzied searching, as he constantly looked at the sun to figure out how much time he was wasting.  He had no time to waste; every moment counted.  He had to reach the stadium before Shiika left, and he had no idea when the gladitorial games would begin.

 Games.  It was nothing but an organized battle on sand, fighting and dying for nothing more than the pleasure of the spectators.  While thousands of decadent sadists watched on and bet on the lives of the men that fought them.  Barbarism.

 After finding the place, he dropped down to the streets and threw the door open, threw it so hard that it broke it off the hinges.  There was all of six people inside, the barkeep, one serving woman, and four drunken patrons sitting at the bar.  They all looked at him, and the barkeep, that same youngish man, paled visibly when he realized who it was.  The last time Tarrin was there, he killed three men right in the middle of the bar.  The sword was still hanging on the wall, right where the man had left it.

 He stalked in, hooking a table with his claws and flinging it out of the way negligently, making it absolutely clear that he was there on business, and he would not be denied.  The barkeep gawked at him fearfully as he approached, then knocked one of the half-stupidified men off his barstool and onto the floor, for no reason other than he was sitting between Tarrin and the barkeeper.  He pointed right at the sword.  "I want that, and I won't take no for an answer," he stated adamantly in Arakite.  "Give it to me, and I'll leave here without killing you."

 The barkeeper stared at him numbly, then nodded so hard his teeth looked about to fall out.  "T-T-Take it," he stuttered, backing out of Tarrin's reach.

 Tarrin jumped up onto the bar and pulled the weapon down.  It felt cool in his paws, and a great deal of his immediate anxiety faded when he had it in his paws.  It was light, long...for him, it was about as perfect as a sword was going to get.  It was the means by which he would get his sister and friends back from that Demoness.

 "Whatcha want that old thing fer?" one of the drunken patrons asked in a slurring tone.

 "I'm going to kill your Emperor with it," Tarrin said flatly to him, staring him right in the eyes.  "And I may kill your Empress too."

 That sobered him up instantly.  He gazed at Tarrin woodenly, then slid backwards off his stool onto the floor.

 The thong they'd used to hang it behind the bar was too short.  The weapon would have to be worn on his back.  "Barkeep, give me a rope long enough to sling this, and I'll be out of your hair," he said calmly to the man.

 "You-You didn't mean it, d-did you?" he stammered.

 "Do I look like I'm joking to you?" he asked in reply.

 He turned absolutely white--quite a feat, given his dark coloring--and reached under the bar jerkingly.  He pulled up a bit of leather thong, used to tie small cider casks together.  Tarrin snatched it out of his hand, then snipped the existing thong with his claws and tied on the new on in its place.  He adjusted its length until it fit on his back comfortably, hilt just over his right shoulder.

 That was all he wanted.  He drew the sword once, to get a feel for it, putting both paws on its oversized hilt.  Nearly seven spans of blade and three spans of hilt, but for his very tall body and oversized paws, it fit him as well as a bastard sword.  Perfectly.  It was only sharp on one edge, and had a very gentle, nearly delicate curve along its blade, with that curious chisel tip instead of a sharp point.  It was alot like the long-saber his mother had in her armory, a weapon he'd practiced with a few times before.

 It would do.

 He sheathed the weapon and left the inn at a dead run, vaulting up onto the rooftops and turning towards the great Imperial Palace.  The stadium wasn't far from it.  It would guide him to Shiika, it would guide him to the confrontation that would get his friends back.  It would give him the chance to avenge himself against that witch Shiika, to make her pay for her treachery.

 Tarrin had a plan.  It was a very simple one.

 He would crush the head of the snake.

 He still moved in the tight focus of his rage confined, a clarity of purpose that transcended fear, anxiety, worry.  He knew what was wrong, and he knew what to do to fix it.  Self- preservation was not an issue.  Allia was the only one that mattered, Allia and his other dear friends.  His only friends.

 He vowed not to lose another friend after Faalken died, and he would not.  He didn't care if he had to fight the King of Hell with a soup spoon, he would protect the others.  He wouldn't let them down the way he did Faalken.  He wouldn't abandon them to his own rage, to his own impulses, to his own wants.  They came first.  They would be first in his mind, even if it meant falling in the course of getting them back.  Their freedom was all that mattered to him, and it made him completely unafraid.  Nearly calm.

 Shiika picked the wrong Were-cat to play with.  Tarrin did not play.  And he would prove it to her.

 By whatever means necessary.

 She would surrender his friends.  She would give him the Book of Ages.  Or he'd pry them from her cold, dead fingers.

 Whichever way she wanted it, it still worked for him.

 The roar of the crowd.  The sound of the trumpets.  They loved it so.

 The Emperor and Empress of Yar Arak sat at the top level of a grand box suite built in their honor, looking down at the games below.  The box was huge, filled with the servants, slaves, and the bodyguards of the Imperial couple, from fierce-looking mastiff hounds to grim-looking, ever observent men-at-arms who held their pikes with absolute precision as their eyes sought out any tiny danger to the Royal couple.  Around them and below them were this day's spectators of the grand Games, the games that marked the end of the Festival of the Sun.  The stadium was filled to capacity, some twenty thousand spectators screaming and cheering as ten sets of gladiators sparred on the sandy floor below.  This was an opening match, fought by apprentice gladiators and only to first blood, a display of the martial prowess of the Gladiators that were kept in the arena of Dala Yar Arak.  The best there were.  Those apprentices had been champions in the gladitorial arenas of other Arakite cities, but here they were but cadets, trainees.  There were also gladiators from other cities, just as the gladiators of Dala Yar Arak belonged to different noblemen.  It was a matter of prestige to own a very skilled gladiator, just as it was prestige to have a great deal of money.  Noblemen scoured the smaller cities of Yar Arak, searching for the best among the smaller stables, to bring them to the Arena and see if they had the mettle to be counted among the best in the world.  Fortunes were made or lost on the performance of a nobleman's gladiator, and the outcome of a battle on the sand had changed the course of Arakite history more than once.

 Empress Lika placed a light hand on the Emperor's elbow, pointing out one of her favorites to him and remarking that he would soon be fighting in real matches.  He was a tall one, tall and muscular, a Mahuut warrior brought in from the city of Dala Zaduna.  He was owned by the Tresk noble house, and they had found themselves a very good investment.  The man was huge, monstrous, and he fought with incredible power.  He reminded Lika of the Mahuut monster known as Azakar, who had fought in the arena some years ago before managing to escape.  He had been a true champion.  And he proved it by killing some thirty guards making his escape.

 As they watched, one by one, the individual matches ended. Each sign of submission brought a roar from the crowd, and much money changed hands as each match was decided.  Lika leaned back in her plush chair, ignoring the matches below or the roaring of the crowd, her mind on other matters.  She had fulfilled whatever needs for activity were required for now.  Perhaps taking the Selani was not wise.  She understood the powerful bond that existed between her and Tarrin.  But she needed him out of Dala Yar Arak, and taking her prisoner in exchange for his cooperation certainly seemed like a good idea at the time.  She had expected to see plumes of dust on the horizon, signs that the Were- cat's rage got the best of him, and possibly destroyed himself with his own power.  But they never appeared.  And that was what worried her.

 Not a peep.  Not even a sighting of him.  It was as if he either died in that alley, or was still laying there, but she doubted that.  The Faerie was also missing, and she could use her Druidic abilities to locate him, which was something that none of her Wizards could do.  He had some kind of defeating magic about him that prevented attempts to locate him by magic.  Only a Druid's earth- magic could ferret him out, and unfortunately, she'd never so much as crossed paths with a Druid before.  If she had, she certainly would have enslaved him to her will.  Druidic power was formidable.

 Given the Were-cat's nearly supernatural ability to extricate himself from tight situations, she had started to worry.  Perhaps she should have killed him when she had the chance.  She liked her status and her position, she liked her security.  She liked not being in the Abyss, where she would be struggling just to survive.  She actually enjoyed being among humans, and had started to take a sincere interest in the idea of ruling her Empire.  An Empire she had left to whatever petty Emperor she had enslaved at the time, most of which weren't terribly bright.  No, she was very happy right where she was, and she wasn't about to jeopardize her position.  She had certainly given him ample reason to come after her.  She was holding his sister, and she had told him bluntly that she had the Book of Ages.  For all the good it would do him.

 She'd read the book.  And the location of the Firestaff was not in its pages.

 But she liked him.  He was clever, intense, amusing.  He had fire, he had passion.  That appealed to her, in a strange way.  She wasn't romatically inclined towards him, but she had to admit that she was impressed by his zeal and his strength.  It would be a shame to kill a man like that.  She would so much prefer it if he would just leave.  She would even release his friends unharmed...except for Jula.  Jula was hers now, to replace the broodling that Tarrin killed.  It was only fair, after all.  But not the book.  He couldn't have that.  Releasing the book would threaten her position...because though the location of the Firestaff was not directly in its pages, she had the feeling that with the book, someone could find out where it was.  There were many things in the book, a great many things.

 Despite what he thought, they were both trying to do the same thing.  Neither of them wanted anyone to find the Firestaff.  It would destroy her comfortable life if someone used it and spurred another war of the same scale as the Blood War, a war she had seen personally, some five thousand years before.  She would not let that happen again.  She may be a Demon, but her own personal comfort mattered more to her than the power of her kind.  He was trying to find the Firestaff to keep it away from everyone else.  Well, she was trying to keep anyone from finding it in the first place.  That was another reason she didn't want to kill him.  If she failed, if someone did find the Firestaff, she'd trust him with it much more than she would anyone else.  At least he had the willpower to resist the temptation the Firestaff presented, a willpower she feared was going to come back to haunt her.

 It was unwise to take Allia.  It had been a hasty decision, and she had learned over the years that the mistakes caused by a hasty decision often took ten times longer to correct than it took to make the decision.  She understood that now.  Tarrin was out there.  He was not out of control, and he'd been out of sight for quite a while.   She was holding everything that mattered to the Were-cat, and there was no telling what he would do now that he'd been stripped of his family.  The only thing she was sure that he wouldn't do would be to go stark raving mad and start destroying the local geography.  The man had an infuriating knack for coming out on top, and she was worried that he'd found that same edge to use on her that had caused him to defeat stronger enemies before.

 Shiika hadn't survived as long as she had because she was a fool.

 Anayi, she sent out her thought.  Demons were telepathic by nature, and allowed her to communicate with all of her brood wherever they were.  She sent out her thought to Anayi, her blond daughter.

 Mother?

 Move the Selani and her friends, she ordered.  Get them out of the Palace.  Send them to the south wharf, free them, and then put them on a ship bound for anywhere but here.

 What about the female Were-cat, mother?

 She goes as well, daughter.  He's just as fanatical over her as he is over the others.  I have a bad feeling that Tarrin is coming for them.  I want leverage against him, and it won't work if we have even one of them.

 If I free them, you can't use them, mother, she pointed out respectfully.

 He won't know that, daughter, Shiika replied calmly.  Just make sure you keep the Selani gagged until you free her.  That should give your brothers enough time to midirect him when he arrives.

 You believe he is crazy enough to attack the Palace?

 Daughter, I've studied this one for a long time, and I've learned that he's not afraid of anything, she replied.  I was probably foolish for letting him live, but I just can't bring myself to kill him.  I admire him too much.

 I will do what you command, mother, Anayi replied.  Immediately.

 She broke her contact, satisfied.  If he tried anything, his friends could be used to delay him, to bribe his good conduct.

 She turned her attentions back to the games.  Perhaps there would be something good to see today.  She watched with little interest as the first of the matches began, two Arakite gladiators fighting in a singles match.  They were both well trained, and the spectacle didn't hold her attention.

 Her interest exploded when she saw a flash of yellow in the crowd facing her private box.  She saw it again, moving through the crowd, and her heart started thumping in her chest when she saw the spectators on the far side suddenly beginning to scatter, scattering in the path of something they did not want anything to do with.

 Impossible!  It couldn't be him!  How would he know where she was?  She stood up quickly, hands on the arms of her throne, and then she saw him.  Even from such a distance, he could see the fury in his stance, the abject hatred burning in his radiant green eyes.

 "What is it, my dear?" the Emperor asked her curiously.

 For the first time in nearly five thousand years, Shiika felt fear.

 He felt nearly outside of himself.

 Tarrin moved into the huge arena quickly after reaching it, not bothering to hide himself in his human form, moving with a fast, determined gait that caused anyone to look at him melt from his path.  He was angry, very, very, angry, and every step made it worse.  Shiika was in there, somewhere, and when he found her, he would make her regret what she did to his sister, to his friends.  He had plans.  Yes, he had a very simple plan to deal with her, and another to retrieve his friends and family from her Palace without getting them killed.

 Moving through the robed Arakites quickly and steadily, he found his way to the stands.  She had to be in a private area of the arena, a special seat that overlooked the floor, a place with a good view.  He needed to see the arena, see how it was laid out, to know where she would be.  She was the Empress, so her place would be exalted, and it would be obvious.  Once he found her, he would make her pay for what she did.

 Outside, Tarrin walked along a ledge on the stands leading down to the floor of the arena, looking out at its construction.  Immediately, he knew where she was, a very impressive filled area on the far side, which had only one small balcony which held several figures.  One of them he could immediately recognize as Shiika, in her human disguise.  And the sight of her all but sent him flying to a violent rage.  Seeing her relax, seeing her lounge about while the Goddess only knew what was happening to his friends--at her hands!--was nearly too much.  His eyes igniting from within with their unholy glow, a visible mark of his rage, he snarled wordlessly in her direction and started quickly down the steps, to the ledge marking the end of the stands.

 He needed an unobstructed path to the Demon's balcony.

 Throwing people out of his way, people who had just begun to look in his direction rather than down at the barbaric activity occurring on the arena's floor, Tarrin stalked through them with his pulse pounding in his ears, a reddish haze filming over his eyes.  He was absolutely furious, and he welcomed it.  He was intentionally trying to work himself up, to find that plateau of pure fury that gave him the ability to control his Sorcery with absolute precision.  He would need it to get to the Demon, to reach her in her high, lofty perch.  The people in front of him began screaming in fear and scattering before him, and that was good enough for him.  He started moving towards the waist-high ledge that ended the seats, a wall that was twenty spans high when looking at it from the floor, a wall that ended on each side of the flat surface that supported the Emperor's private seats.  He reached that ledge, jumping atop it directly facing the Emperor and Empress of Yar Arak, staring at the Demoness Shiika with every bit as much hatred and rage as he felt inside.

 He knew exactly what to do.

 Raising his paws as she started out of her throne, Tarrin touched the Weave.  The power of the Goddess flooded into him, but it met a dam, a controlling force in his anger, a power that forced it to conform to his will.  Conscious mind and the Cat joined to a common purpose, Tarrin raised his paws as they exploded with Magelight, raised them over his head as his entire body limned over, and then he quickly levelled them in Shiika's general direction.  A sudden, awed hush fell over the thousands of people around him, around them, but he didn't even notice them.  He levelled his paws at the Imperial couple, and wove together that chaotic mix of Fire, Water, Air, and Divine flows, with only token flows of the other Spheres to give his weave the power of High Sorcery.  He wove it together with a stunning speed, knowing it so well, and then released it from his paws.

 A white-hot bar of pure, raw magical power issued forth from his outstretched paws in time with a sudden fierce scream from his mouth, and it sizzled across the empty air that separated him from them.  Shiika saw it coming, flinching away from its magical power.  But she was not its target.

 Zarthas Arakis, Emperor of Arak, never saw it coming.   So intent was he on the gladitorial match below, he only looked up in time to stare his own demise in the face.  Tarrin's magical attack struck him dead in the face, and it incinerated everying from the chest up.  The blast of magical fury lasted but a heartbeat, but when it faded, there was a hole in the back of Emperor Arakis' throne big enough for a child to crawl through.  There was a hole in the wall leading all the way to the exterior of the arena behind it, and the blast of magical power had extended nearly two longspans from the arena before dissipating, flying into the sky at an angle that did not bring it into contact with any other buildings.  His severed forearms, the rest of the arms vaporized by the intense magical attack, still laid upon the arms of his throne, twitching spasmodically, and the remaining parts of his body quivered for just a moment before slumping slowly to the side.  The bodies of two of his guards, each missing portions of their heads, dropped to the floor behind the throne, simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 Now she couldn't command the Legions.  They only listened to the Emperor.  The Empress was nothing but a pretty plaything hanging on his arm.  Without her puppet, she could no longer command the official aspects of her Empire.

 You bastard! he heard her voice, but inside his own mind.  Just like the Goddess!  Do you have any idea what you've done?

 "It's called revenge, Shiika!" he shouted, in a voice magically augmented so she could clearly hear it over the sudden loud din, as the spectators realized that this strange inhuman creature had just assassinated the Emperor of Yar Arak.  Tarrin reached away from him as the power within suddenly issued forth from him in the form of pure flows, twisting together into groups of seven as they left him.  Those that made contact with strands held fast, and he yanked on them to form new strands.  They shuddered into existence, and he suddenly sat within a spider's web of power, a web that would fuel his weaves until he no longer had the strength to control them.  "Now let your subjects see what you really are!"

 Clapping his paws together, Tarrin quickly wove together the weave of pure Air of which he was so fond, the shockwave that had proven so devastating.  The reddish glow formed in front of him immediately, and in his rage, he all but ripped the power from the Weave to create it.  It solidified in a shocking amount of time, the disorganized reddish aura turning solid before him, before Shiika could even completely step away from her throne.  He knew what he was about to do.  He knew what it would do, and what it would mean.  But he did not care.  A million Arakites weren't worth even one of his friends.  And if had to raze the city to the ground to get them back, then so be it.  They were all that mattered.

 With a cold, ugly snarl of hatred, Tarrin released it with a sharp snapping motion of his paws.

 The coherent reddish glow shuddered, then suddenly exploded with unimaginable force.  It raced in a straight line away from him, expanding in all four directions as it moved, lancing through the air at supersonic speed.  In the blink of an eye, the shockwave was nearly forty spans across and sixty spans high, just barely going over the heads of the two astounded gladiators on the sand below, scouring away the sand of the arena floor when it made contact with it.  When it impacted the far side of the arena, it was nearly twenty spans wider than the Imperial balcony, and those spectators sitting in proximity to the Emperor were caught in the power of the spell.

 The entire back section of the stadium shuddered only once, and then was destroyed by the power of Tarrin's weave.  Hundreds-- thousands--of hapless spectators simply vanished in the titanic force generated by the weave, rending their bodies into pieces so tiny that they were all but annihilated.  The stone of the arena shattered, and was sent flying away from him, forming a killing hail of debris that rained down on the buildings, streets, and citizens that had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  A BOOM, louder than anything those lucky enough to survive the weave had ever heard before, thundered across the city, knocking nearly everyone still alive from their feet as if the sound had substance and force.  A sudden wind whipped across the half- scoured field, drawing the dust of the destruction away from Tarrin, air that rushed in to replace what was sucked out as the shockwave passed by.

 And now those that survived had seen the Empress wiped out.  If she appeared again, they would know that she could not possibly be human.

 Tarrin lowered his paws, his expression an emotionless, stony mask.  He had just crossed a line that he hoped he would never have to cross.  He had just slaughtered innocents.  Children.  People whose lives never had to cross his own.  People who did not deserve to be sacrificed in the name of his own rage.

 And he did not care.

 They meant nothing to him when compared to the lives and safety of his sister, of his friends, of his bond- child.  If it would forever blacken his soul, then so be it.  At least his family and friends would be alive.

 And that was all that mattered.

 Shiika was certainly either buried in the rubble, or seriously at a disadvantage.  He had stripped her of her ability to bring the Empire down on him, and he had seriously undermined her position in Dala Yar Arak, with one simple attack on the Imperial family.  She wouldn't be able to interfere with him until he was well inside her Palace.  He would find his friends, even if he had to bring her Palace to the ground in the process.

 For a moment, there was an eerie silence.  There was only the sound of rocks raining down on the city beyond the gaping hole that had been ripped into the arena, a hole that had destroyed an entire end of its oval construction.  The remaining sections of the arena creaked and crumbled ominously under the stunned crowd, the entire building threatening to collapse after the loss of its back end.  The spectators did not run.  Most of them did not make a sound.  They just stared at the Were-cat in stupified awe.  And when he finally moved, they all came to their senses.

 In a sudden roar, the crowd began to stampede for the exits, to escape the crumbling arena before the rest of it collapsed.

 Weaving together another spell of pure Air, Tarrin formed a bridge of solid air before him, weaving it with High Sorcery so it would last several moments after he stopped maintaining it.  It extended from just before him all the way over the mangled stone ruin that had been the back wall of the arena, touching the ground nearly five hundred spans into the grassy park that surrounded the shattered stadium.  A park strewn with large pieces of torn stone.  That done, he cut himself off from the Weave, barely feeling the powerful backlash it caused within him, so utterly was he still consumed by his anger and his need to pay Shiika back for what she did to him.

 He wasn't done yet.  He had one more challenge ahead, Shiika's Imperial Palace.  His friends, his sister, his bond-child, they were being held there.  And he would get them back.

 He had to.  He had already gone past the point of no return.  There could be no stopping now.

 Scrambling onto his bridge of Air, Tarrin raced over the devastation he had wrought, nearly looking to those who looked that he was flying, his mind focused on one thing, one goal.

 The Imperial Palace.

 He had to get there before Shiika did, get there and get in, then find his friends and his family.  And find the Book of Ages.

 Tarrin, you fool!  Shiika's voice echoed in his mind once again.  Do you have any idea what you have done?  Do you?  You may have just killed us all!  I know you can hear me, Were-cat! she thundered at him.  Answer me!

 Tarrin ran on, ignoring her mental voice.

 I don't have your Allia or your friends! she said hotly.  I had them put on a ship out of Dala Yar Arak!  You just destroyed fifty years of careful planning for nothing!

 That caused him to falter, then come up short.  "Liar!" he challenged.

 I wouldn't lie to you over this, she snapped in reply.  I know you know that.  I never dreamed you'd do something so stupid!  You may have just plunged Arak into civil war!

 Tarrin ignored her, running again, trying to race across before the bridge dissolved under his feet and sent him crashing into the debris below.  What if it was true?  Could she have freed his family and friends before hand?  It was certainly possible.  But even if that were true, it didn't change the fact that she had the book, and he needed it.  So his goal was the same, except now he had to find out just where his family and friends were.  If Allia could have spoken to him with her amulet, she would have by now.  So either the Demoness was lying, or she had Allia tied up so she couldn't put her hand on the amulet.

 Answer me, damn you!  I don't have your precious family!  Don't force me to have my brood attack you, Tarrin!  You know you can't win against them!

 He ignored her, setting his feet on solid ground and racing towards the commanding structure that was the Imperial Palace of Dala Yar Arak.  He could win against them now.  He was not afraid of them.

 Damn you, Tarrin, if you touch that book, the magic that keeps it hidden is going to be disrupted!  Every two copper mage and priest from here to Saranam is going to know exactly where it is!  You won't get it out of Dala Yar Arak alive!  The ki'zadun will converge on you like a school of sharks!  You fool, don't you realize that I've been protecting the book?  I don't want the Firestaff found any more than you do!  Give up this madness and let me keep the book protected!  Nobody will take it from me, despite what you've done here today!

 He ignored her.  That didn't matter.  He needed that book, his Goddess commanded him to find it, and he was going to do just that.  It didn't matter that their goals were generally similar, and part of him wanted to strip her of the book to spite her for her cruel disruption of his life, her attempts to kill him, for kidnapping his friends and family.  He would do what he was commanded to do, and it was just a fortunate bonus that it would hurt her in the process.

 He raced on, ignoring the long tirade of colorful curses issuing from Shiika's strange mental voice within his mind.  His goal was the Imperial Palace, and the prize he had sought for so many months, the prize that Faalken had sacrificed himself for them to reach, the prize that had caused him so much anguish and pain, was visible before him.  He would not be denied now.  His rage had become focus, an awareness of mission that allowed him to execute his plans with a curious detachment.  There was no emotion now.  There was only the plan, the mission, a task that must be completed.

 He would take the Book of Ages from Shiika.  At any cost.

 It was maddenly confusing.

 Allia leaned back against the wall of the covered wagon in which they'd been loaded, one of the black-skinned Cambions sitting at the far end with his sword drawn.  It made no sense for them to load them into a wagon and send them rumbling through the streets of Dala Yar Arak.  They were all there, except for Tarrin and Sarraya, and all of them had their hands tied and mouths gagged.  Phandebrass' pet drakes were there too, held in a cage that sat under the bench against the wall just behind the driver's seat, looking just as frightened as Jula.  Jula strained against the heavy chains they'd used to bind her, a wild look in her eyes, and she was the one the Cambion watched the most.  Jula seemed to share Tarrin's hatred and phobic fear of being imprisoned, and it was showing in her more and more as the wagon ambled along.

 Everything that had happened had been....strange.  First the Demons had attacked them in their new house, attacked them and subdued them with almost shameful ease.  The females, the ones with wings, they had some sort of strange effect on the others.  Allia had been ready to fight until she looked one of them in the eye, and then it was like a wool blanket had been laid over her will.  The magical subdual of them was universal, none of them escaped it.  The memory of what happened next was hazy, but she did remember being placed in some sort of bedchamber for a while, alone.  Not a prison cell, not a torture chamber, but a rather nicely appointed bedchamber with a single door, whose only obvious magical defense was that she could not speak so long as she was within.  There was absolutely no sound at all, a deafening silence that quite effectively prevented her from using her amulet to contact her brother or sister.  They had even thought to provide food and drink, very well prepared food and chilled wine.  That confused her more than anything else.  The Demoness had captured them, but treated them like anything but prisoners.  They had not even bothered to take their weapons.

 And then after spending a night in those gilded cells, they were tied up, put on a wagon, and now they were rolling along the streets of the city.  She had no idea why they were being moved.  It seemed illogical to run that risk.  Tarrin was still out there, still free, and bringing them out of the Demoness' fortified Palace was a terrible risk.  Tarrin commanded powerful magic, magic that he could use to locate his friends.  At any moment, she expected him to explode through the canvas roof of the wagon, appear and do battle with the Cambion holding them.

 But he didn't appear.

 That worried her.  After an entire night and morning, he should have managed to locate them.  Why was he not coming to their rescue?  They had been on the slow-moving wagon for nearly an hour.  They had all heard the explosion, a sure sign that Tarrin was still alive, well, and present within the city, but there was no contact from him, no appearance to help them.  Why?  Surely he had not abandoned them.  He had to know where she was, where they were, and he should be coming to aid them.

 Where was he?

 The wagon rambled to a stop.  The Cambion looked out the flap in the canvas that hid the wagon's interior, then popped his head back in.  Right before them, his features shifted, flowed, changed, going from an inhuman creature to a rather attractive Arakite man.  "This is as far as we go," he announced.  "I'm going to unload you, and you're going to do what I say.  You're going to get onto a ship, and you're not going to argue about it.  Understand?" he said, holding up his sword.  He threw aside the flap of the wagon's canvas, and what was outside sent Jula into a fit of thrashing, screaming "no!" over and over again.

 It was a low-prowed scow, propelled by oars.  And through one of those oarlocks she could see a man chained, holding onto his oar.

 It was a slaver.

 Jula thrashed and pulled, snapping the chains that held her, and then a low growl began to rise in her throat.  Allia scrambled back fearfully.  She had seen this happen before.  The fear was getting the best of her, and she was just about to snap, go into a rage.  And if that happened, none of them would be safe.  But the Cambion advanced quickly and easily on her, slamming her on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword to quell her outburst.  Her head snapped to the side, and she sagged slightly in her seat.  But then she looked up at him, looked at him with eyes that were totally devoid of rational thought.

 His attempt to subdue her only succeeded in setting her off.

 With the sound of breaking chains, Jula exploded from her seat, grabbing the Cambion by the neck and catapulting both of them through the side of the wagon, making Phandebrass and Camara Tal duck wildly to avoid getting smashed between the pair and the side of the wagon.  With the Cambion's eyes off of her, Allia squirmed her hands through the ropes that bound them with almost ridiculous ease, then drew a small, sharp knife and lunged for Dolanna.  She cut the bonds that held her even as she pulled off her gag, as the sounds of Jula's frenzied assault on the Cambion raged just outside the wagon.  Dolanna tore off her gag and drew her own small dagger, then worked on Dar's bonds as Allia moved to free Camara Tal.  "We have to get Jula!" Dolanna ordered quickly as she snipped the leather cords holding Dar's hands.  "Tarrin will not leave without her!"

 "How do you expect to calm her down, Dolanna?" Camara Tal asked acidly, turning to cut Phandebrass free as Allia opened the cage holding the mage's two drakes.  They scrambled to Phandebrass immediately, huddling against him for comfort and reassurance after their harrowing captivity.  "The only one that can calm her down is Tarrin!"

 There was a sudden commotion outside, and then things went eerily quiet.  Dar jumped across the wagon to look out the hole made by their exit, and he suddenly began to laugh.

 "What is it, Dar?  Is it Tarrin?" Dolanna asked.

 "I think you wouldn't confuse me with that cub if you could see me, Dolanna!" the voice of Triana replied to her question.

 They all stared in surprise.  Triana!  What was she doing here!  And how did she find them?

 They piled out of the wagon quickly, looking around.  They were on a large quay facing the sea, and the smell of it blew over the land.  There were dock workers and sailors, but they had fled when Jula erupted out of the wagon with the Cambion.  He was nowhere to be seen, but Triana had Jula by the scruff of her neck, holding tight to her as the smaller Were-cat squirmed helplessly against her, her shoulders heaving as she panted heavily.  The men on the slaving ship stared in shock and surprise, then four of them made a mad scramble to raise their gangplank.  Triana was just as tall, just as majestic, just as powerful as Allia remembered, the physical embodiment of strength and confidence, her handsome face looking down at the smaller friends with a slight smile disrupting the usual stony mask that she wore on her features.  "Sarraya told me to get here fast.  I never dreamed I'd see this."

 "Sarraya called you?"

 She shook her head.  "Tarrin did, but Sarraya sent the message," she replied.  "I wouldn't have burned so much magic getting here if it had been anyone else.  Judging by what I was feeling from him through his bond, I realized that it was no game he was playing."

 "Where is my brother, brother's-mother Triana?" Allia asked immediately, concern in her eyes.

 "Right now, I don't know exactly," she replied soberly, pointing into the city with a clawed finger.  "He's in that direction, and he's fuming mad.  He's been brewing all night.  Now I can see what got him all twisted up.  Is this his mistake?" she asked, holding Jula up for them to see.

 "She is...a complication," Dolanna replied.  "It is a very long story."

 "So this is what he wanted me to protect," she said to herself, holding the squirming Jula up to look at her.  "She's a scrawny little thing, and she's just about half mad.  Why should I bother?"

 "Protect?" Camara Tal asked.  "What do you mean, old friend?"

 "Tarrin had Sarraya tell me to come, but this is why," she said, holding Jula up a bit more.  "He wanted me to take care of her.  Sarraya told me that she got the feeling that he didn't think he'd live to finish her training."

 They stared ather in silence for a moment, and Jula stopped fighting against Triana.  "Umm....where am I?" she asked blearily, putting a paw delicately to the side of her head.  "Tarrin?"

 "No, not Tarrin," Triana answered, letting her go.  Jula stumbled slightly, then turned and whirled on Triana.  But when she did, she came up short, staring at the majestically tall Were-cat matriarch with awe.

 "That's right, I'm nobody you want to upset," Triana said flatly.  "Tarrin called me here to take care of you, if he doesn't make it back.  And I'm nowhere near as gentle as him."  She gave her a steady look.  "You're weak-willed, female," she said shortly.  "If you wish to survive, you must learn better control.  What is your name?"

 "J-Jula," she said uncertainly, fidgeting under that powerful stare.

 For the first time ever, Allia saw anger creep into Triana's expression.  She snapped her paw out and grabbed Jula by the neck, hauling her off the wharf and bringing her up to her eye level.  Jula grabbed at the powerful paw holding her with sudden terror in her eyes, but could not budge Triana's vice-like hold on her.  "Dolanna, she's the same one?" she asked hotly, looking at the Sorceress.

 "She is, Triana, but Tarrin has forgiven her for what she did to him," Dolanna replied.  "He took her as his bond- child instead of killing her."

 Triana looked at her for a long moment, then she actually laughed.  "He did?  I swear, Dolanna, I never thought he'd do something like that.  First Mist opens up, now Tarrin is forgiving hated enemies?  What is happening to us?" she laughed, letting Jula go abruptly.  "But if he could do something like that, then there's more hope for him than I first thought," she said seriously.  "It shows he finally realizes he doesn't have to be as hard as he thought he had to be to stave off the madness."

 She looked down at Jula with hard eyes.  "Until Tarrin comes back for you, cub, you are mine," she said fiercely.  "Tarrin is my son, so that makes you something of my grandchild.  You will only disobey me once.  I am not half as soft as he is.  Do you understand me?"

 Jula could not face the power that Triana brought to bear against her, a power of stance, of expression, a near aura of unshakable strength that Triana gave off at all times, a sense that she was absolutely invulnerable.  It had the power to shake nearly anyone, and the soft- willed Jula caved in instantly to that demonstration of force.  Jula averted her eyes and lowered her head, something of a sign of submission among Were-cats, Allia had noticed.  Triana brushed her tawny hair out of her face absently, then looked at Camara Tal.  "Sarraya is trying to find Tarrin," she said.  "Until then, we have to get out of the city."

 "Why?" Allia demanded.  "I am not leaving my brother alone!"

 "You'll do it because I told you to do it," Triana snapped at her, and even Allia could not face her overwhelming power with steady eyes.  "Tarrin told Sarraya to have me get all of you out of the city.  I think he doesn't want you underfoot for now, and I agree.  She told me that he's got some kind of plan to get you all back, and it involves mass destruction.  He doesn't want you getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.  If he starts worrying about you, then it may cost him when his mind is supposed to be on something else.  But you'd better contact him, Selani.  At least let him know you're all safe."

 She nodded, grabbing her ivory amulet immediately.  "Tarrin," she called.  "Tarrin, answer me.  Answer!  Tarrin!"  There was silence.  "Tarrin!  Answer!"

 They all stared at Allia's amulet.  "He's still alive," Triana grunted.  "And he's still hopping mad.  Allia, tell him you're alright and where we are."

 Allia nodded.  "My brother, we are all safe!  Triana has come, and we are all safe!  We are on the city's docks.  Tarrin, you do not have to rescue us!"

 There was no reply.

 "Stop this, my brother!" Allia snapped.  "We are safe!  Answer me, let me know you are well!"

 "Maybe he's not answering because he can't," Dar offered.  "Maybe he's busy."

 "The book," Dolanna breathed.  "Allia, he is after the Book of Ages!  He will not leave this city without it!"

 "Then don't do it again," Triana grunted.  "If he's trying to sneak around, you just gave him away.  He most likely heard you.  Let him contact you."  She glanced at Jula, who couldn't take her eyes off of the tall Were-cat matriarch.  "Is that fat circus master still in port, Dolanna?" she asked.  "I don't want this cub around people who don't have experience with edgy Were-cats.  At least Renoit's people know what to do."

 "He should be, Triana," Dolanna replied.  "Today is the last day of the festival, so it is his last day to perform.  He will perform this morning and afternoon, then pack his tents and be gone by the morning tides."

 "Then let's go hitch a ride," she ordered.

 "His ship is berthed on the west side of the city," Dolanna told her.  "I remember where it is."

 "Then lead on," she ordered.

 Allia fell in beside Dar, her mind on her brother.  He was out there, alone, and he was in a rage.  The explosion was him, she knew it, unleashing his fury on the unaware.  It was why he did not come for them.  He had been trying to reach them, and did not have the rational mind to use his magic to locate them.  That, she could understand.  But why the rejection?  Why would he not answer her!  It tore at her to know that he was out there, alone, facing opponents against which he had no chance.  But he was doing it anyway, doing it for his mission, doing it in obedience to the Goddess of the Sorcerers.  He was here for the Book of Ages, and it had cost him too much to abandon it now.  Faalken's death, the trials and pains he had suffered in pursuit of that book, it would all be meaningless if he gave over on his goal now.  And knowing her brother, revenge was also high in the order of things.  He would not allow the Demoness to get away with what she did.  It chafed at her that she was not with him, at her rightful place at his side, facing the danger together.

 But he was alone, facing beings against which he had no power to harm.  It was insane for him to take them on, but he was going to do it.  He was doing it.

 Sighing, Allia gave out two little silent prayers.  One to Fara'Nae, the Holy Mother, goddess of the Selani, a prayer that her grace be upon him.  And the second was to the other goddess that influenced her life, the enigmatic Goddess of the Weave, praying that she would watch over Tarrin and protect him in his dangerous undertaking.

 There was little more she could do.

©2000, James Galloway. All Rights Reserved.