James Galloway - The Tower of Sorcery

"Azakar, Tarrin's about twice as strong as you," Darvon told him with a grin. "This was a lesson, boy. A lesson about underestimating your enemy."

"A…wise lesson, it seems," he panted as the breath returned to his lungs. "You certainly…don't look…that strong."

"It's handy sometimes," Tarrin shrugged.

Azakar wobbled to his feet, then leaned over with hands on knees until he had his breath back. Then he picked up his wooden sword. "Now that I know what to expect, we can try again," he smiled.

"Don't fall into the same trap, boy," Darvon warned. "Tarrin's a very nasty opponent. When you fight him, you damn well better expect the impossible."

"I think my Lord General is getting a bit far afield," Tarrin told him with a smile.

"I think not. Now shut up and fight."

Tarrin bowed, and then engaged the massive young man. After about ten minutes, Tarrin had to admit that he was impressed. The big man was fast, he was strong, and he was smart . He was well trained. He never fell for the same feint twice, and he was excellent at guessing out the actions of his enemy. The problem was, Azakar had never seen many of the moves and forms that Tarrin used, so those guesses just barely managed to save his backside. He spent almost all of that time on a defensive footing, trying to puzzle out the Were-cat's quick, precise thrusts and strikes that seemed to come from impossible angles, all the while suffering from stinging slaps and jabs from Tarrin's staff, or light rakes of his claws, or impact from Tarrin's feet and paws. To his credit, he managed to protect himself very, very well. From the way he reacted, Tarrin was pretty sure that he'd sparred against Allia a few times. But that was Allia. Tarrin may have been trained by his sister, but his size and power meant that his own use of those forms was somewhat different. And many of his moves had roots in his Ungardt training. He slipped backwards a bit, then baited the young warrior into a classic trap, then a quick strike to the inside of the ankle from the staff knocked his foot out from under him. Azakar tumbled to the ground in a heap, collapsing over his lost foundation. He ended up on his back, with the tip of Tarrin's staff about a finger's width from his nose.

"Consider yourself educated, cadet," Darvon told him in a gruff voice. "No matter how good you are, there's always someone out there who's better. Never forget that you may end up facing a backwater yokel with a little stick, and he is capable of beating you."

"Yokel?" Tarrin demanded.

"I'm not talking about you, Tarrin," Darvon assured him, "I'm talking about anyone Azakar may end up fighting as a Knight. It's also good for him to learn that there are more weapons than just swords and axes."

"He is good with that little toothpick, isn't he?" Faalken remarked with a cherubic grin.

That toothpick whistled through the air like an arrow, until the point of it was about a span from Faalken's grin. To his credit, Faalken didn't flich. Tarrin was holding the Ironwood staff by the very end, straight out, and the sandy wood didn't so much as quiver as it pointed at the curly-haired Knight. "Why don't you draw your sword, Faalken, and show me just what kind of toothpick I'm holding?" Azakar, not being a fool, made an attempt to scramble out of the way, but Tarrin put a foot down on his back as he rolled, pinning him to the ground.

A whiff of scent and a flash at the edge of his vision was all Tarrin received by way of warning, but it was enough. With a swift twist and lunge, he slipped underneath a foot that was flying towards the back of his head. Allia landed on the far side of the prone giant young man, her short swords in her hands an an expectant smile on her face. "If I would have struck you, you would have deserved it," she teased, waggling the tip of a sword at him. "I thought at first that you were hopelessly out of form, letting me get so close to you."

It was a very important return for Tarrin, and for Allia. A return to the field, to the familiar surroundings and routines of sparring and training with his blood-sister, gave Tarrin a sensation of normalcy. He had two months of rust to shake off, but he was surprised at how well he did against her. They danced in the sand-filled pit of the training area for the entire afternoon, getting a new feel for one another. Tarrin's staff fended off Allia's two short swords for hours, as they shuffled and wove and slipped around, by, and through one another. Selani fighting was as much unarmed combat with a weapon as it was weapons fighting with an occasional kick. Allia could kick a man about fifty different ways, and her legs were as much weapons as her swords. But Tarrin had learned well from his sister, and his own feet struck out at her about as often as they touched the ground.

Allia's best trick of the day was to jump up and above a stright thrust from his staff, then land lightly along its length. Her weight didn't make the staff's tip dip very much, as Tarrin adjusted. He didn't want to spill her to the ground. She was showing off for Darvon's benefit, no more, and he knew it. But when she gave him that look, he simply let go of the staff and let her drop. He sidestepped around a sword thrust aimed at his ear, and his tail swished out and hooked her foot as she landed. His tail wasn't that strong, but it was strong enough. It yanked her foot out and dropped her on her backside onto the ground.

"I still cannot get used to that," she grumbled as he helped her up. "I do not have a tail, so I keep forgetting how you use it."

"It's the longest limb I have," Tarrin told her with a grin. "Are we done for today? I'm hungry."

"Yes, I think so," she said. "You have not forgotten what I taught you. I am content with that."

"Good. Let's go eat, and then I need to wash all this sand out of my hair."

"Stop putting your head on the ground, and you won't have that problem," she said impishly in Selani.

"Stop knocking me down, and I won't have to worry about it," he replied pugnaciously, winking at her.

"Picky picky," she grinned. "Let's eat. You worked me to starvation."

Later that evening, as Tarrin and Allia sat in his room playing stones, there was a knock at the door. Before he could even ask who it was, the door opened. It was Keritanima. She didn't say a word, she simply pointed towards the outside, then closed the door and walked away.

It took about an hour for Allia and Tarrin to drift into the courtyard at the center of the maze. Keritanima arrived a few moments after Allia entered. She looked somewhat unsettled. "What's wrong?" Tarrin asked.

"I need to talk to you two," she said brusquely, walking into the courtyard, pausing to stare at the statue, then sitting down on a bench. "We need to arrange things."

"What do you mean?" Allia asked.

"I was thinking," she started. "If we're going to work together, it's going to be bloody hard for us to communicate outside of this place unless we come to an arrangement."

"Sounds like you already have a plan," Tarrin said.

She nodded. "I'm a brat, but I do have acquaintances. Do either of you think you could be fond of the brat? If she was nice to you?"

Tarrin thought about it a minute. "As long as you didn't try to pull any stunts with me, probably," he answered honestly. "I put up with Allia, after all."

He got a smack in the back of the head in payment for his remark. Keritanima laughed richly as he gave Allia a cold look, and she stuck her tongue out at him. As he thought many times before, Allia was a completely different person when they were alone.

"As long as you are cordial to me, I would not have that much trouble being nice to the brat," Allia answered.

Keritanima clasped her furry hands together and sighed. "Thank Misha," she exclaimed in relief. "I've already worked out how I'll cunningly work myself into your good graces. I won't tell you, so it'll be a surprise," she said winsomely, giving them a toothy grin.