James Galloway - The Tower of Sorcery

His respect for his bond-mother grew more and more. To think up such an unbelievably clever way to circumvent a barrier did her tremendous credit. The only reason he figured it out was because he'd seen a Ward once before, and he remembered the explanation that a Ward like that would only prevent a magical creature from crossing it. But when he surrounded his magic with nonmagical material, it acted to insulate him from the power of the ward.

The simple fact that Tarrin knew that he could leave the Tower grounds whenever he wished lifted a tremendous weight off of his shoulders. The gnawing fear that had been sitting in his belly since they raised the Ward disappeared, and he actually felt himself relax a great deal. The Cat now felt secure in the fact that it was not caged. This cage could be opened whenever he wished, and until he wished to do so, it served to keep his enemies out. So both he and the Cat were more than content to allow it to remain, because it no longer affected him personally.

Purring for the first time since returning to the Tower, the large black cat turned and bounded back towards the Tower proper, a spring in his step and his mind high with thoughts of the future.

He missed seeing a large skeletal figure with glowing red eyes step from the shadows on the far side of the boulevard across the fence, cackling in a raspy, dusty voice. It was a tall, gaunt figure, wearing ancient, battered armor of an archaic design, and with an old broadsword belted to its hip and a shield strapped onto its back. A large burgonet helmet concealed a grayish skull-like visage, but did nothing to conceal the lipless gray flesh that ended abruptly in yellowed teeth. It was obvious that the form was not a living one.

"Clever you are, Were-cat, yes," it said in a voice like the grave, cackling again. "Clever indeed to show Jegojah the way in. Time comes, it comes, when sword and claw will cross, yes. We will test your blood, we will, and see if it is as sweet as it is hot. Yes."

Jegojah, Doomwalker, the most powerful creature the mages could summon short of a Demon itself, stepped back into the shadows, and its iron-shod boots rang in harmony with its inhuman cackle as it stalked away. It had things to do, places to be.

And people to kill.

To: Title EoF

Tail swishing back and forth, eyes closed, Tarrin kept his paws on the table and tried to remain in a meditative state. It wasn't easy, because he was still internally celebrating what he felt to be his independence from the Tower. He kept wanting to jump up and down, but he knew that it was imperative that he keep his elation to himself. Keritanima's plan depended on him looking unhappy, and it would ruin it. It was a good plan, and he wasn't about to destroy it. Dolanna's breathing kept anchoring him to reality, and her scent of ivory and lavender and silk soothed his jittery consciousness. Her scent had slowly begun to have that effect on him; her very presence was usually enough to take the raw edge off his nerves. Tarrin noticed it after Jesmind left, and he had the growing suspicion that his subconscious, his immature Cat mind-he was only a cub, after all-was seeking a replacement for a mother figure. With his own mother out in the city, temporarily distanced from him, Dolanna came the closest to that role. So he was starting to react to her differently than before.

He was much calmer now. A night spent in sleepless joy had mellowed into a simple feeling of contentment, though if he thought about it too long he would get worked up again. That helped him focus on what he was doing a bit more, and the Weave was out there. He could feel it. He raised his chin and reached out with all his senses, reaching to make contact with the Weave. Thoughts and memories were centered on the Weave. Memories of the feeling of drawing in , and the fragmented memory of the only time he had ever managed to use Sorcery, were working with his active attempts, trying to shape his reaching out to seem to fit in with the memories of Sorcery he held inside. There had to be a middle ground there, and that was where he thought he'd finally manage to make a touch on the Weave. He had to push out and draw in at the same time, he reasoned. That seemed illogical, but he had noticed that logic rarely had a leg to stand on where magic was concerned.

Realigning his thinking, he bowed his head and emptied out his mind, then took a crack at it. At first, it made him seem further away from the Weave, but then he began to feel it on the edges of his awareness. He tried to reach out and draw in at the same time, directing his attempts at the feeling of warmth and pulsating, heart-beat like throbbing that surrounded him. It tantalized him, staying right where he could sense it but just out of reach, and his serenity slowly began to erode into aggravation. He began to rise up out of his chair, eyes opening and lit from within with that almost glowing radiance that meant he was angry.

"Calmly," Dolanna said in a soothing voice. "Do not work yourself up, Tarrin."

Blowing out his breath, Tarrin sat back down. Waiting for something to happen was getting to him, and his good mood quickly disintigrated into something more unfriendly.

"I could feel you more active with the Weave before you lost yourself," Dolanna told him in a calming voice. "Whatever you were doing, continue. Maybe it will be what you need to succeed."

Nodding, panting a bit, Tarrin bowed his head and closed his eyes-

– closing his eyes. No wonder. Smacking himself on the head with a paw, he groaned in dismay.

"What is it, dear one?" Dolanna asked curiously.

Opening his eyes, Tarrin reached out while trying to draw in, focusing his eyes where he could sense the energy of the Weave. The strand slowly wavered into a phantasmic form before his eyes, and he felt himself make contact with it. The sudden influx of power into him felt like the glory of a god. It was warm, tingling, and it filled him like a vessel, saturating his body with a feeling that came close to rapture.

"Tarrin!" Dolanna gasped. "You did it!"

"I did it," he said, trying to both ignore and revel in the sensation at the same time. The strands in the room became visible to him as wavering, ghostly tendrils, and he could feel the pulsating power of the Weave, almost like a heartbeat, roaring through him. And it was building up. He wasn't drawing it in anymore, but it was still flooding into him, and that pleasure was starting to turn into pain. "Now how do I let go of it?"

"Cut yourself off, dear one!" she said quickly. "You are building up too much power!"

"I'm not doing anything!" he objected, feeling the pulsating like a hammer to the back of his skull.

Dolanna's body seemed to shimmer, and then he realized that she had touched the Weave. He felt something sever his connection to the Weave like a knife, and then the power inside simply bled away, leaving him feeling cold and strangely empty. It also left a sharp headache, but the pain in his head began to fade almost as quickly as the power had.

"Tarrin, when you make contact with the Weave, you must resist it," she told him. "It will try to fill you, for it will see you as a part of the Weave, and as I said, the magical energy always follows the path of least resistance."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Because most students are not so in tune with the Weave," she said, pursing her lips. "Your raw power must make me change my methods, I see. You are so strong, the Weave tried to fill you in a flood. For most Initiates, it takes hours to build up so much magic. It will trickle into them, usually without them noticing it. But your power gives you the ability to instantly gather up enough energy to work. That is something that we usually have to teach to our students."