James Galloway - The Tower of Sorcery

Leaning forward, he put his paw to his cheek and rested his elbow on his knee, freeing his tail and feeling an angry buzz flow down it with the restoration of blood into the appendage. He didn't remember much of what happened after being freed of the collar, but he remembered everything before that with perfect clarity. Was this Firestaff what the katzh-dashi wanted from him? Jula had mentioned it. That Tarrin had the power to defeat the Guardian and claim it, and that it would bring back someone named Val. He had never heard of it before. What was it, anyway? It seemed logical that this Firestaff thing was what everything was about. But why keep it a secret?

He just didn't know enough about it to really know what to think. He had only heard that one reference. But he did remember her talking about some group named the ki'zadun . The Black Network. The name, Tarrin had not heard, but the title was somewhat common knowledge. They were a large organization of men and women devoted to ruling the entire world. They were rumored to be supported by the Black Kingdom, Stygia, one of Sharadar's closest neighbors and oldest enemies. It was reputed that the Witch-King of Stygia was the ultimate leader of the organization, using them as a covert army to spread his influence throughout the world. But whether that was true or not, Tarrin did not know. It was, after all, only rumor and gossip, tales told around the parlor on stormy winter nights.

Could Kravon be a member of that network? That was the only name that Tarrin had ever gleaned out of his would-be assassins.

Tarrin winced slightly, and a growl issued from the back of his throat. Jula . He didn't know if he got her, but she was going to pay . He trusted her! He trusted her enough to turn his back on her, and she drove the proverbial dagger into it! It was a betrayal at a high level in his mind, and a part of him had been permanently hardened against trusting others. He knew the term for it. Feral. But he didn't care. He would never trust anyone like that again unless they proved themselves to him beyond absolutely any shadow of a doubt. He would not let that happen again, no matter what. Even if it meant sleeping with his back to the wall for the rest of his life. Nobody would imprison him again! Just the thought of it sent a cold chill through him, and he felt the Cat rouse from its corner in his mind and assess possible threat to its freedom. The Cat was still active, still vigilant so soon after it had taken control, sezied his body to do what his conscious mind could not, or was not doing fast enough.

As soon as he was well enough, he was going to find her, and make her pay for what she did to him.

Looking down at his left paw, he flexed it a few times. It felt…odd. It was fully functional, just like his right paw, but there was a strange fuzzy sensation about it, and it felt curiously weak. He spotted the problem. The manacle on his left wrist was slightly bent, and it was pressing against an artery. He clutched the heavy steel cuff in his other paw and squeezed carefully, bending it back into a more comfortable position.

He stopped and looked at the manacles, his eyes distant. They had bound him with those manacles. Chained him to a wall and taken away his freedom. They represented the one thing that he feared over all others, the physical manifestation of his greatest fear. And it was something that he was terrified that he may forget some day. There was nothing that Tarrin desired more than freedom, nothing that he would not do to keep it, preserve it, or reclaim it. His freedom represented everything that he was, both as a person and as a Were-cat. The manacles represented everything that he could become. He had killed. Killed many people. Not even he knew how many, but he had the feeling that his memories of his actions would indeed slowly return to him. He had become the one thing he had always feared he would become. He had turned into a monster even worse than any Troll that ever lived, and it was all because they had taken away his freedom.

Never again. It would never happen again. And every day, those manacles would be there, on his wrists, their weight reminding him what price his freedom cost him, and they would never let him forget.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the headboard, feeling his ears bend a bit between his skull and the rough wood.

Never again.

The door opened, and the light from beyond touched his eyes. He opened them and found Allia entering quietly, holding a cup of some steaming liquid. She was alone. She wore a pair of leather breeches and a cottons shirt, and her shaeram hung visible about her neck, resting on the soft gray cloth. She didn't say anything at first, she only smiled at him warmly and sat down at the edge of the roughly made yet solidly constructed bed. She looked directly into his eyes, her own serious and searching, and then she handed the cup to him wordlessly. It smelled of chicken and salt.

"Where is everyone?" he asked weakly.

"Waiting outside," she replied, putting a hand against his forehead. "We thought it best for me to come in first."

"Why?"

"Because we weren't sure who we would find when you woke up," she said gently, but her words were blunt. It wasn't Allia's nature to evade things. "You were completely out of control, my brother. We didn't know if passing out would return your mind to you. But I see it did."

He nodded, taking a sip of the hot broth. It tasted sweeter than the rarest wine to him. "Not too quickly," she warned as he started to gulp it down, ignoring the burning of his tongue and throat.

"What happened?" he asked in a small voice. "I don't really remember anything."

"You fought your way back to us, deshida ," she told him, patting his shoulder. "You-" she closed her eyes. "You used Sorcery the likes of which has not been seen in eons. You very nearly killed me with it."

He gave her a stricken look, but she only smiled at him. "There is no blame anywhere, brother," she assured him. "You gave us plenty of warning to get out of the way."

"I don't remember any of it," he said in a frightened tone.

"There wasn't much to remember," she said. "You blew a hole up to the Nave, then you rose up and killed the high priest with Sorcery. I think he had a special meaning to you. Your choice of death for him was…exotic."

"Irvon," he spat, trying to sit up. "He had me thrown in a dungeon cell! He had to pay for that!"

"He paid, brother, he paid dearly," she assured him.

"Where are we, sister? I've never seen a room in the Tower like this." Not even the Novices' rooms were quite that small. It only had room for the bed and a single washstand, which had a tiny chest tucked underneath it. There was just the door, with no windows, and the walls were a featureless, ragged gray stone with no decorations to break up their monotony.

"We are not at the Tower," she hissed. That surprised him. "We will never go back there!"

"What's the matter? Didn't they send the Knights to get me back?"

"No, we arranged that," she said hotly. "The Tower has no honor!"

That was serious. "What happened?" he asked.

"Dolanna discovered a terrible truth about the Tower, my brother. It is something that you may not want to know."

"Allia."

"I would think twice, my brother. In your current condition, it may send you back into a rage."

"Right now, Allia, I couldn't rage myself out of this bed," he told her. "Better get it overwith now, while I can't do anything about it."

She sighed. "Dolanna discovered that it was not your enemies that sent Jesmind to kill you. It was the Tower, and they sent her to infect you. Deshida , the Tower deliberately turned you Were."