James Galloway - The Tower of Sorcery

"I hope so," he sighed.

"Come, let us go someplace quiet, so that you may practice."

"Not the garden," he said. "There are people watching me right now, I think. If I disappear in there, they may send people in to find us."

"Then we will not practice the hand-language today," she said. "Let us simply talk. You need to work the edge off of your accent."

"I can speak the language almost as well as you can," he said tartly, in Selani.

"Maybe, but if you're going to do something, do it right," she shrugged, speaking in Selani as well. "You don't sound Selani, and that's what matters."

"Whatever," he said. "We need to talk anyway. Let's go out and walk around the outer garden a while. I have some things to tell you."

"Alright."

Outside, they walked the paved paths along the gardens, and Tarrin noticed that they were a bit busier than usual. More than one Sorcerer, and more than one guard, walked along the paths. At least two kept him in sight at all times. He was definitely right about that. "Allia, they want something from me," he told her in Selani.

"What?"

"I don't know, yet," he said. "I looked into the Keeper's eyes today, and I could see things there. She knows who's trying to kill me, and why. But she won't tell me who it is or why they're doing it. And they want something."

"Well, since you're not dead, they obviously don't want your body," she said. "They're going to teach you magic, and they've been having me train you to fight. That means that it's not you they want. Perhaps they want something that you can do for them."

"You said a Sorcerer came and asked for you, right?" She nodded. "Well, it seems I'm not the only one they want."

"Maybe they asked for me because of what I could teach you," she said.

"They had to do that long before they ever knew of me," he protested. "You know how long it takes to get to the desert from Suld?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she said primly. "And you're right. They had to send that Sorcerer months before I left my people, and we've been here only about three months."

"And I was still human at that time," he added. "Maybe they wanted you ," he said, "and since I'm here, they decided I'd do a better job of it. Whatever it is."

"It's all just sand blowing in the wind," she sighed, bending down to look at a particularly lovely rose. "We can't prove anything."

"Maybe not, but I can start looking for answers," he said.

"How so?"

"I'm a Were-cat, dear one," he said with a smile. "I can go places that humans wouldn't even dream about."

Her look sobered instantly. "What you're thinking about is one step from suicide," she warned. "The Keeper is a Sorcerer. I'll guarantee that she and her office have magical protection."

"Hmm," he said, rubbing his chin with the side of a finger. "You're right. But Tiella cleans the Keeper's office. I think I'll ask her to start remembering any scrap notes she happens to see. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Just be careful, deshida ," she warned.

"I will," he promised.

It was a large problem, but the thought of his family coming quickly drowned out such heavy thoughts, and replaced them with a mixture of joy and terror that put him on edge for several days, and put him so out of sorts he did not one thing to start unraveling the veil of mystery surrounding his place in the Tower. He wanted desperately to see his parents, his sister, to put himself in the arms of his mother and father and know that they would accept him as he was. But the very thought that they would reject him made his heart lurch. He'd had a nightmare that made him sleepless for three days, a nightmare that his mother looked on him for the first time, and a look of horror overwhelmed her. Mere words or actions could hold nothing on that one dream, that one image, that had shaken him to the very core. It seemed the embodiment of all the gnawing fears, the self doubts. He'd thought he'd achieved an equilibrium with his animal instincts, but the fight with Jesmind showed him how pitifully wrong he was. They only seemed abated because he was in a very controlled, safe environment. He knew, then, that every time his life was in danger, or he was angry, that he would fight that same fight, a fight for control. And he knew that he could lose.

Of Jesmind, there was no sign. She had simply vanished again, most likely waiting for another chance. Tarrin still had mixed feelings about the fight, and about her. She wanted to kill him, but he knew he could not kill her. It just seemed wrong . When they were apart, the Jesmind he remembered was the incisive, light-hearted woman whom he'd met in that treetop, who had a quirky sense of humor and those glorious green eyes. But it was like she was another person now. He saw it in her eyes right before that fight. She absolutely despised him, hated him with every fiber of her being. In a way, that hurt him, because he didn't feel the same way. She had cared about him in some way before he left her, that he knew. Be it compassion, or responsibility, or even the beginnings of friendship, he wasn't sure. But not anymore. He could see the lust for revenge in her eyes.

It was a hot summer day, and Tarrin sat panting on the sand-pit practice field, nursing a broken tail. Allia stood calmly in front of him, hand on her hip, with a distant expression he knew only too well. Allia was nearly sadistic when she was training. She'd told him that a respect for pain was one of the lessons learned. It was the way she had been taught. She had the scars to prove it. "Don't lead with your foot like that again," she told him absently, checking her fingernails for any sign of damage as Tarrin took his broken tail in his paws. There was a visible kink it in, and he winced as he pulled the bones apart and gently let them come back together in the right way, so they could heal. Despite a month of training, he'd yet to even lay a paw on her. He was starting to get frustrated. No matter how well he thought he was doing, she would simply seem to grow an extra arm or leg, and that phantom limb would hit him in some very sensitive area. The Troll-skin gloves she wore gave her strength proportional to his, and without that strength advantage, it was clear who the better fighter was.

"I'll try not to," Tarrin grunted as he got to his feet. he spread his legs wide, in a ready stance, and waited for her. She didn't disappoint him, wading back into the fray confidently. What amazed him about her was her fluid suppleness. She seemed to be capable of moving in ways even a rope wouldn't dream of. She was like a candle flame, contorting in the wind, bending herself in almost impossible angles to avoid blows, and then springing back to the attack. That agility coupled with her speed made her almost impossible to hit. Tarrin was no novice, but even his own training couldn't find a hole in her defenses. He gritted his teeth as she flowed around several more darting attacks, then she kicked him right in the backside with the inside of her foot. He stumbled forward as she laughed lightly, and that just seemed to set off something inside him. He was going to get her, no matter what it took. He'd give her a reason to laugh.

He set his feet wide again, putting his clawed paws out over his feet, spreading his weight. She'd warned him against doing just that, because it would slow him down. And when she saw him do it again, she rushed in to chastise him. She feinted a jab, then spun around, bringing her foot up, performing one of her circle-kicks. Her foot whistled through the air as it sped towards its target, his cheek.

And passed through empty air.

She almost spun to the ground, and had to wildly catch herself before falling down. She'd been counting on hitting him to stop her momentum, and he'd simply disappeared. All she saw were his pants laying on the ground. She gasped as the significance of that hit her.