James Galloway - The Tower of Sorcery

"Good," she said. "That's all I wanted to hear. And if anyone asks, you'll tell them that. Understood?"

"Understood, Mistress," he told her. Then she led them into the Hall.

"What was that all about?" he asked in a hushed voice. Elsa was only a bit ahead of them.

"We're not allowed to have weapons, except for a personal knife. I didn't think it was a weapon," he shrugged.

"It's very much one, if you know how to use it that way," he told him in an equally hushed voice. "I could teach you, if you want."

"I may take you up on that. It's always handy how to know how to fight with something so ordinary."

"That's the idea," he said. "My mother could whip your tail with nothing but her hands and feet. My father could do it with a leather belt."

"A belt?"

Tarrin nodded. "I've never seen one used quite that way, and I doubt I ever will. He could even block a sword blow with it. He said he learned it because even if you lose everything else, you'll always have your belt."

Dar chuckled. "That's a very smart idea." They entered the Hall and took the closest available seats, but they didn't touch any food. That came after the blessing. "Your mother knows the Ungaardt Ways?" he asked in a whisper.

Tarrin nodded. "She taught them to me, but I'm still not as good as she is."

"I heard that they don't often teach them to women," he said.

"You heard wrong," Tarrin told him. "Even a village grandmother has some training in the Ways. It's a custom."

Many more Novices poured in, many of them still damp from the baths. After the hall was more or less full, Elsa stood up and delivered the blessing in a booming voice. When she was done, the Novices started in on breakfast. Now that he was mended, he didnt' have a quarter of the appetite he'd had the day before, so his breakfast plate was much more reasonable. He did like scrambled eggs, so he put more on his plate than was good for him, then added some bacon and fried ham to it. He didn't touch the porridge, but did have an apple after cleaning his plate.

As he'd discovered the day before, he wasn't required to sit and wait for everyone else to finish. Once a Novice was done with the meal, they were permitted to leave and get about their affairs. Tarrin bid good day to Dar and left the Hall, going straight to the Quartermaster's. The wiry man greeted him warmly when he entered. "Ah, I see you got my clothes," he said.

"Thank you, sir. They were very handy. I don't like wearing robes."

"With that tail, I can understand why. I have your clothes ready for you. Come with me and we'll get them."

The wiry man led him to a shelf some ways back into the huge room. "Those are the same size as the ones you have on now," he said. "Hmm, maybe I should have made them looser. They're already snug on you."

"No, sir, this size is perfect," he assured him. "I'm as thick as I'm going to get."

"But you were thin as a stick yesterday."

"I got better," he said with a mischievous grin.

"I don't think I want to know, so spare me the details," he said dryly. "With all the magical things that go on around here, I should know better than to ask anymore."

"Oh, what do you want me to do with the old robe?" he asked.

"Keep it," he said. "It'll make good rags if anything else. That's what I was about to do with it."

"I'll find something to do with it, sir," he assured him.

"Well, I won't keep you. I know they keep you Novices busier than a frog on a griddle. Have a good day, young man."

"You too, sir," he mirrored.

Tarrin took his clothes back to his room and put them away neatly in the chest. He took off the ones he was wearing and put on a set of his old leathers out of his pack, then picked up his staff and went outside. He debated where to do his practicing for several moments. It had to be an open area out of the way. But a moment of thought told him that the perfect place was that sand-strewn area he'd crossed the night he arrived. It even had several large posts driven into the ground, and was obviously a training field for someone, most likely the Tower guards. If nobody was using it, it would be perfect for his needs.

But it was indeed being used. A squad of young men wearing leather pseudo-armor labored on the field, swinging lathe-bundled practice swords to the barking command of a burly man wearing the plate armor of a Knight. Farther down the line, young men swung their practice swords at the wooden posts, and in another place they sparred against each other. About seven or eight other Knights prowled the field, correcting stances and giving instruction as they moved, or they supervised the sparring matches with a keen eye. Tarrin also noticed three robed Sorcerers standing to one side. They were obviously there in case of an accidental injury.

As Tarrin approached, he recognized one of the prowling Knights. It was Faalken. Dolanna had said that he trained students when not out with her. Faalken noticed him and trotted out quickly to greet him, his plate armor jingling as he moved. "Tarrin!" he said joyfully, clapping the Were-cat's paw in his strong hand. "Dolanna told me you were back. You look very well."

"I do now," he said ruefully. "I wasn't in very good shape when I got here."

"Yes, she told me. She said it wasn't easy on you."

"Not by a measure," he grunted.

He took notice of his staff. "Here to practice a bit?"

"I remembered seeing the field, but I didn't know if it would be used," he said apologetically. "I'll go find someplace else."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're more than welcome here. It's not often that we get to see someone other than Elsa use the Ways, anyway."

"Is she any good?" he asked.

"Let's just say that I've never seen a Sorceress thump so many heads without magic," he said with a grin.

"I'm not surprised," he said back. "She's from the Emden clan, and they've always been very good at the Ways. It's a matter of pride with them."

"Yes, well, just find yourself an open spot," he invited. "I hope you won't mind if some of us watch."

"Not really," he said.

Tarrin picked a small corner of the soft sand practice field and turned the staff over in paws several times, getting a feel for the changes. The staff seemed a little smaller to him now, and he'd have to adjust his grip on it. He started going through forms, very slowly, sliding from one to the next with a fluid grace and feeling the changes in leverage, the shifts in the grip he'd have to make, the adjustments to take his new height into account. His wide feet gave him more stability than before, and his Were-cat sense of balance and equilibrium was a definite asset. He worked through the same forms again several times, going faster and faster each time, until he whirled through the routine at blazing full speed. He almost dropped the staff three times, but his inhuman agility and speed allowed him to snatch it back before it got out of control. His huge paws made walking the staff over the back of his paw harder than it had been before, which meant he'd have to be more careful with grip-shift moves.

Tarrin began to sweat as he started practicing with some of the more difficult forms, slowly working himself into the changes the bite had brought about and adapting to them. He knew it would take more than just one day, but he was pleased at the amount of progress he'd already made after a few short hours of work.

He then started with the mixed move forms, staff moves that were accented with punches or kicks, even headbutts and several throws. He began to experiment, changing a punch into a claw rake or a stab with the pointed ends of his claws, changing a foot sweep into a tail-sweep. All in all, making such minor changes wasn't much of a problem, just very subtle changes to his stances or sets to take a broader swipe into account and such.