"Come on, come on, come on, this is not what we do here, yes!" Renoit boomed from the steering deck.
It was just past dawn. Dancer had docked only twenty minutes before, and the forty-two performers, workers, and guards were assembling on deck, preparing for the parading march to where they would pitch their large circus tent and perform during the Festival of the Sun. Tarrin sat sedately in Allia's hooded cowl the entire time, staying in cat form so as not to give away who he was to any of the dock workers or spectators looking on. He didn't blend in with her sand-colored clothing, but he was deep enough into her hood to keep from being seen. Allia looked much different in her desert clothing than she did in the trousers and vests she had favored on the ship. The clothing was baggy and loose, hiding her form, and within the folds of that clothing the Selani hid her weapons. She looked every bit as intimidating now as he remembered the very first day he saw her, which was in the Tower. She had been wearing her desert clothes then as well, and he remembered how impressive she had looked.
Tarrin found that by putting his back paws against the bottom of the hood, he could lean over her shoulder and see what was going on without spilling out of his pouch. He had to contend with her mane of silver-white hair, because she had unbound it as she commonly did when at home, letting it come out of her hood and protect her face from the sting of blowing sand. He found out that the Selani favored hoods over the turbans the Saranites and Arakites favored because they kept loose sand from getting under the shirts. Allia's hood had a string sewn into it that she could pull taut, to keep the hood over her head in strong wind. She also had a long, wide scarf wrapped around her neck, which was pulled up to protect the face and reinforce the hood when a Selani had to put her face into the wind. Over that, she would wear a crysathi, a borrowed word from the Arakite crystach, which meant glass. It was a curious crystal visor made by the Selani, something akin to the spectacles that Phandebrass and Sevren wore, but Allia's crysathi was a large single piece of shaped quartz crystal that fit over the eyes and protected them from the blowing sand. He had never seen them before, because Allia's crysathi had been broken during her journey to the Tower, and she didn't have a spare. Allia had made the crysathi she had on the night before using Sorcery, and a large chunk of quartz crystal Phandebrass gave to her.
"I feel very out of place," Allia muttered.
"Remember, you're just a showpiece, sister," Tarrin told her in the unspoken manner of the Cat. "I seriously doubt Renoit is going to make you perform. We have more important things to do."
"Which I can only do at night," she grunted. "That is not what concerns me, brother. It is being surrounded by Arakites that will bother me. We do not get along with them."
"I've heard," he replied.
Tarrin watched with Allia as they got organized. The dancers would be first, followed by the roving acrobats. The three jugglers lined up behind them, and strongmen came up behind them. Those performers that couldn't perform while on the move were behind the strongmen, just in front of the men carrying the tent, ropes, and poles. Renoit himself would be a the very front. They were all wearing bright, colorful costumes, attire that would draw every eye to them, even over the colorful robes that Arakites favored. Most had empty hands, but one juggler carried balls, the second carried pins, and Deward had his favorite juggling knives in hand. They chattered at one another excitedly, preening themselves to make sure they looked the best they could, adjusting necklines or feathers in hair for maximum effect. All of the dancers, he noticed, were wearing makeup, and they had on costumes more suited for a whorehouse than a dancing troupe. Eye candy, Renoit had called it. Lure in the customers with scanty costumes during the parade, a tease to bring their money into the circus' coffers.
From what he understood, the parade was a very important thing for the circus. It did more than let the performers warm up a little and get rid of their sea legs. Dolanna had said that it also allowed the people to get a look at the circus, to see them parade through town and whet their appetites with what they performed while on the move. Eye candy. Get their attention with dancing and tumbling, get them to come to the circus and pay to see the same thing, and a little bit more besides. All of them certainly seemed to be looking forward to the ritual, from the excitement in their voices and the impatience on their faces.
Camara Tal came up on deck, and she looked very angry. She had nothing on but a robe, which had been hastily tied at the waist and left most of her bosom bare. "Renoit!" she thundered, in a voice so loud they probably heard it on the other side of the city. "Get in front of me right now, you fat sneak, or I'll nail you to the mast!"
"Whatever is your problem, Mistress Tal?" Renoit asked smoothly as he approached.
"You are!" she snapped. "If you don't give me back my clothes right now, you'll find yourself living out a life so horrible that beggars will give you money!"
"A costume, I left one for you, Mistress Tal."
"That wasn't a costume, that was a handkerchief!" she blasted at the round circus master, her face turning an ugly red. "I am not here to play for you, mainlander! If you don't give me back my proper clothes, I'll fix it so you won't have a need to wear yours!"
He had no idea what she meant by that, but it certainly turned Renoit pale. He gaped at her for a second, then hurriedly turned and chattered out a quick command in Shacean to one of his aides. Tarrin knew just enough Shacean to realize that he sent the younger man off to get Camara Tal's clothes.
"Strange that a woman who shows so much skin isn't willing to show a little more," Allia mused in Selani to Tarrin.
"I think it's the principle of the matter, sister," he replied. "From the way it sounds, Renoit didn't give her a choice."
Allia chuckled quietly. "Is it just me, or does Camara Tal seem to go around in a perpetual state of annoyance?"
"It's not you, Allia," Tarrin answered.
"I think she needs to get bedded. That would take that edge right off of her."
"Probably, but she's not receptive. From what I've managed to piece together, an Amazon wouldn't bed a non-Amazon. They think it thins their bloodline."
"It probably does. She's larger than most human men. Amazons are a very burly strain of human."
"True."
Phandebrass came up with Dolanna and Dar, and Tarrin had to stifle a silent laugh. The mage was wearing a white robe, upon which was embroidered numberous mystical symbols, suns, stars, crescent moons, and other strange icons. The long, pointy hat he wore on his head, a narrow cone of red, clashed with his grayish-white hair, and made him look sallow and unhealthy. Phandebrass' age was something of a mystery to Tarrin, a man with the hair of an old man yet with a youthful face, but the hat made him look more silly than old. The hat as well was decorated with what Tarrin guessed were mystical symbols. Dar and Dolanna wore simple robes much akin to what they wore in the Tower, simple garb of a pleasing blue. The blue didn't look good with Dar's dark coloring, but the young man's charismatic handsomeness overcame that. Dolanna, on the other hand, looked absolutely radiant in her blue robe, with a white sash tied around her slim waist, and it reminded him how beautiful the slim, slight Sorceress really was.
"That will never do," Sarraya said disdainfully as she flitted up to the two Sorcerers, looking at Dar with a critical eye. She motioned at him, and his blue robe suddenly turned a very soft shade of brown, a color that much better blended with his dark skin and black hair. Dar looked down at himself curiously, holding out his robe to inspect its new color. "Much better," the sprite said with a grin, then she flitted over to Allia and landed on the shoulder that Tarrin wasn't occupying. "You should be wearing a little bow, Tarrin," the Faerie jibed at him with a grin and a sly wink.
"How would you like to wear a necklace of your own guts, Sarraya?" Tarrin retorted with an ugly look.
"Touchy touchy," she teased with a laugh. "Where are the mage's little dragons? I figured they'd be part of this demonstration."
"They're probably around," Tarrin replied.
"I hope the fat man knows where we're going," Sarraya said.
"An official-looking person came on board right after we lowered the plank," Allia told her. "I think he told Renoit where we are going."
"It's good to know someone knows where we're going," Sarraya smiled.
Renoit clapped his hands up on the steering deck to get everyone's attention. "Alright, we will start in a moment, yes!" he boomed. "Remember, energy and smiles, my friends! We are here to entertain, so let us entertain!"
"I thought he was here to get rich," Sarraya grinned.
"To some, money is only what supports one while they seek their heart's desire, Sarraya," Allia noted soberly. "Renoit may be a businessman, but look at him. He enjoys what he does. For him, it is the greatest thing that people will pay for him to do what he loves to do." She crossed her arms. "I think Renoit enjoys making people smile. There is a great heart beneath that layer of fat."
"Can't argue with that," Sarraya ceded.
"At least you said one intelligent thing so far today," Tarrin noted dryly.
Sarraya leaned back so Allia's neck wasn't in the way, then stuck her tongue out at the Were-cat with all the indignancy she could put behind it.
"You'd better fade out," Tarrin warned. "I don't think we should give ourselves away."
"At least you said something smart," she returned with a wink, then her form faded from view as she enacted her natural magical ability to turn invisible.
Tarrin looked out at the warehouses as the wind changed, carrying the smell beyond them onto the docks, and the smell of the largest city in the world was realized. In reality, Dala Yar Arak didn't smell as bad as some cities, but the press of so many people in one place was unmistakable in the smell of the city. The overpowering smell of people permeated everything, seeped down into the very cobblestones, covered every finger of ever wall. Layered over that singular smell were the smells of human living, waste and excrement, the rats and insects that found a living with humans, the smell of dust and animal dung, the smell of that sand-colored stone. The air was tinged by the salty smell of the sea, and the smell of dead fish that always invaded cities that made a living from fishing was present, but in no way as predominant as it was in other port cities.
And so they began. After filing off the ship and forming up, the circus was on the move. Pipers and musicians heralded their approach as they marched down the street. And there was energy. Dancers swayed along the street as the crowds formed at the sides, catching the eyes of dark-robed, turban-wearing men, acrobats tumbled and somersaulted to the cadence of the pipes, and the rest of them marched along behind them, doing their best to catch the interest of the onlookers. Some, however, didn't look very happy. Allia moved along with a calm, almost arrogant expression, letting the Arakites stare at her and gasp and point as she went by. Camara Tal, who was right behind the Selani, got no fewer points and whispered comments, for Tarrin doubted they had ever seen an Amazon before. To his surprise, some of the spectators threw small coins in their direction, which were adeptly scooped up by the acrobats as they performed in front and to the sides of the main party. And in front of it all was Renoit, the megaphone in his hand, barking to the crowd in an enthusiastic voice. He spoke the West's common language, Sulasian, but Tarrin didn't doubt that many people in the crowd could understand it. An Arakite that wanted to do business in the West had better understand Sulasian. Tarrin looked at the spectators, and saw immediately the fundamental difference between Arakite society and the West.
They stood with the Arakites. Men and women wearing old clothes, sometimes ragged, wearing steel cuffs on their wrists or around their necks. That was how a slave was identified. Most were swarthy-skinned themselves, but some of them had the fair hair or skin of a Westerner, or even a curious yellowish skin and very narrow eyes and coal-black hair that absolutely had to be Easterners. Many of the older ones had wrinkles and lines around those collars or cuffs, a sign of the many years they had been there, and some of them had scars from when they were put on, when a red-hot steel rivet was hammered into the steel cuff or manacle, burning the skin of the slave as it heated the metal it then secured. Because there was no way to easily take a cuff or collar off, it made it easy to find runaway slaves. And if that didn't work, the scars they left behind marked them forever. He could see them, with their hopeless eyes, staring on in a kind of sad reverie, seeking to lose themselves in the moment that the joy of the circus might provide them. Tarrin didn't really care about them, but his own memories of what it was like to be a slave gave him a fury-tinged compassion for those poor souls, doomed to a lifetime of servitude. He remembered what it was like to have no control, no choice. The manacles he wore on his wrists reminded him of that every day, reminded him so he never put himself in a position to have it happen again.
The morning marched on, and so did the performers. They didn't flag in the slightest in their exuberant displays of acrobatics or dancing. Deward's knives still moved with as much zeal as they did when he began the march, even after an hour of constant performance. They moved up from the warehouses and older buildings of the waterfront and into the heart of Dala Yar Arak, along wide avenues paved with ancient cobblestones. They stayed on that wide track, but Tarrin's eyes sought out the other streets, streets that were much narrower and unpaved, streets were less maintained buildings and houses resided. It was there that he saw the other side of Dala Yar Arak, the side not represented by the well dressed, groomed Arakites that lined the streets to watch them go by. He could see the poor, in their tattered clothing. He could see the slaves, with the metal collars locked around their necks or wrists, a sight that caused a powerful surge of anger to build up inside him, forcing him to close his eyes and struggle to retain control. The homeless, the beggars, and the children. There were so very many of them, children that looked debilitated by disease, bellies swollen in hunger, most of them naked and dirty.
Tarrin didn't care about adults, but children were another matter. Even his independent Cat side went out of its way to protect children. It was probably something of a reflex action, since there were so few Were-cats, a conditioned response to perpetuate the species by making even the uninvolved males protective of the young. Tarrin had started his life as a human, so that Were reflex had probably expanded within his dual mind to include the children of humans. That side of him sought to protect the young, any young, until such time that they could take care of themselves. Phandebrass said it would be bad, but that was almost unbearable. How could these Arakites turn a blind eye to the suffering of children? It was barbaric! But from what he knew of the Arakite society, barbarism was the standard. They were a people who paid money to watch men battle each other to the death in gladitorial combat. They were a people who had turned the enforced servitude and suffering of their fellows into a lucrative financial instution. They were a people totally subverted by greed and decadence, filled with a destructive need to reign over others, where only the advancement of self or family mattered, preferably at the detriment of his neighbors.
And people called him a monster.
In that moment of icy reflection, he decided that there would be no constraint. Not against these monsters. That he had already decided to do whatever it took to find the Book of Ages seemed totally justified to him now. He wouldn't so much as bat an eye over killing any of these people. They deserved it, as far as he was concerned.
"Calmly, my brother," Allia breathed to him. "You're drawing my blood."
Tarrin realized that he was flexing his claws, and they had driven into Allia's skin. He retracted them immediately and hunkered down in her hood, hiding his eyes from the sights beyond.
And on they went. The morning began to turn hot as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky, but the indomitable performers continued with the same exuberance and energy they possessed when they first began. The city seemed to go on and on and on, a nearly endless procession of buildings made of a sand-colored stone, some of the larger and richer ones whitewashed or painted. People lined the streets, they looked out windows, and many of them stood on roofs and looked down at the spirited parade as Renoit led them deeper and deeper into the vast maze that was the streets of Dala Yar Arak. Tarrin looked up into the sky and realized that it was approaching noontime, and still the parade continued, moving towards some unseen goal that could be around the next corner, or ten longspans up a major avenue. Despite moving the majority of the morning, Renoit's performers proved their athletic endurance during the long, hot march, a march filled with strenuous activity. They were all sweating visibly now, but they showed no signs of slowing down. The dancers still sought to seduce the eyes of the men, and the acrobats and jugglers continued to awe and amaze the passing crowds with their displays of skill. Tarrin hunkered down in Allia's hood with Sarraya, the Faerie seeking relief from the heat and Tarrin hiding his eyes as they moved through what could only be a slum, a part where the buildings were decayed and the streets were littered with broken stone, waste, and rats that were brave enough to mill about on the open street in broad daylight. The people standing to watch were desperately poor, wearing dirty, ragged clothing and carrying the stark thinness of malnutrition. They stared on with their hopeless eyes, eyes that burned into Tarrin's mind and forced him to get away from them. He was already outraged enough, he needed no more goading.
It was confusing. Why should he care about these people? They were human, they were strangers. He had killed people he had never even known before over the slightest provocation and not felt a whit of guilt, but these poor people generated the strangest feeling of shame in him, shame that his life had been generally good while they were left to suffer in a prison without walls. They didn't deserve this. Nobody did. He saw defeated people, slaves even if they wore no collar or cuff, people who had been cast into a yoke and had no control over it. He could identify with that feeling of helplessness. He had no idea who they were, and to be honest with himself, he felt no need to help them, because he could fathom the futility of such crusading. There were just so many of them. He just felt angry that they had been reduced to this, driven down into the depths, had their hopes and dreams crushed by the brutal fist of reality.
Brooding over that for a while, he felt Allia stop. He rose up with Sarraya and peeked over her shoulder, and he found his breath catching in his throat. They were on a lush, beautiful field of grass, five times the size of Aldreth, and beyond it stood a compound of such opulent magnificence that it took his breath away. A gate that looked to be gilded with gold, protected by an army of men carrying pikes and wearing extravagant uniforms. To the sides of the gate was a wall painted cloud white, a wall some thirty spans high and with men standing at regular intervals atop it to keep out the unwanted. Beyond the gate was a huge open garden of every type of flower and tree imaginable, with several small buildings to the sides of them, and at the far end of it was a massive, towering castle with those bulbed towers rising like a forest over a facade made of brilliantly sparkling crystal. It shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight, dazzling and overpowering all onlookers with its tremendous beauty and majesty. The building itself rested upon more land than Aldreth did, and it rose story over story, a hundred spans into the sky before its walls began to give way to the towers that went on for another few hundred spans. It overshadowed everything around it, dominated the massive, sculpted compound in which it rested, towered over everything else in the entire city with its ostentatious grandeur. One tower rose above all others, a formidable tower seemingly made of pure gold, upon which rested one of those bulbous domes that definitely was either plated or gilded with gold. From the top of that tower, Tarrin thought that one could see all the way into the desert. It rose to a dizzying height, higher than the Tower of Sorcery, higher than anything he had ever seen in his life. To stand on a mountaintop and look down on the land had to be the same thing as standing at the top of that tower and look down upon the city. The building truly was a mountain, a manmade mountain of crystal and gold, standing proudly in the middle of a city of paradox and suffering.
"My gods," Sarraya breathed, gaping up at the monstrous building.
"Unbelievable," Tarrin said in the manner of the Cat.
"What is that place?" Allia asked in consternation to Phandebrass.
"That, my dear, is the Imperial Palace," he replied. "We set up here three years ago. I say, at least when the tent is up, you can't see that blasted thing. It unnerves me, it does."
"A palace? You mean the Emperor lives there?"
" Only the Emperor and his Empress," he nodded. "I say, there's an army of servants, slaves, and guards, but it's not like other palaces or castles of monarchs. Only the Emperor and Empress and their marked servants may enter that palace. It is death to so much as be caught on the grounds without invitation."
"Then where does the Emperor conduct business?"
"He doesn't," Phandebrass replied. "I say, the empire is run by a million beaurocrats and lackeys. The Emperor only handles the largest issues. He leaves the details of running Yar Arak to his sycophants, who do a terrible job, if I may say so. For every day of real work done around here, there's fifty days wasted to plotting, scheming, and backstabbing against other ministries, departments, or co-workers, there are."
"Ridiculous," Allia grunted. "How can one rule a nation and have no care for its needs?"
"My dear, you just summed up everything that's wrong with Yar Arak," Phandebrass smiled. "Now then, let's help get the tents set up, so we can get some rest."
Tarrin lounged off to the side with the drakes and Sarraya, forming a relaxed knot of scales, fur, and blue skin as the others went about the business of setting up the five tents that would serve the circus. The largest was the performing tent. There were four small tents as well; two of them served as the quarters for the performers, the third was a storage tent, and the fourth was Renoit's personal tent. Like Tarrin, the drakes enjoyed the dry heat, rolling on their bellies to soak up the sun's warmth, but Sarraya spent her time huddled against Tarrin's side, using him as a shade against the sun as it began to creep down towards the western horizon. He didn't remember seeing the drakes join the procession, but they obviously must have done so. Then again, Phandebrass was marching towards the rear of the group, since he wasn't actively performing, and the drakes were notorious about riding along with others. Odds were, they were sitting on the tents as they were carried behind the performers. Tarrin accepted Chopstick's nuzzling absently, letting the drake lick him behind the cheek before the little dragon plopped down against him and settled in to take a nap. It draped a wing over his back, which Sarraya immediately pulled over herself to form a protective cover against the sun beating down on her.
"I hate all three of you," the Faerie growled vociferously as she hunkered deeper in the shade of Chopstick's wing. "It's not fair that I'm burning up while you lie there like a bunch of lizards basking on a rock."
"Suffer," Tarrin replied drowzily, leaning a bit more into Chopstick.
They finished raising the tents right at sunset. During the construction, robed Arakites stopped to talk with Renoit several times. They weren't there for very long, and all of them looked like they were officials of some kind. Sarraya had abandoned them as soon as the first tent was raised, flitting into it to enjoy the shade. By the time they were done, and some fires were set between the tents so meals could be cooked, the drakes abandoned the waning sun and moved in to where the food was. Tarrin yawned and stood up, then padded along behind them. He joined a large group of performers, along with all of his friends, as they sat around a large campfire and ate a thick stew Deward had stirred up in a large kettle by the fire. The conversation was light, expectant, merry, the sound of people tired from a long day of work, but happy that they were doing what they wanted to do. Someone played a flute sweetly, filling the campfire and the large group of people around it with light background music to accompany the meal. There were so many there that not everyone could sit near the fire, forming a loose circle of people sitting around it to use its light to see by. Tarrin and the drakes threaded through them absently, ignoring them for the most part, as they sought out specific people. The drakes took to the air and landed on Phandebrass' shoulders, and Tarrin jumped up into Allia's lap as she ate. The smell of the stew reminded him that he'd slept through lunch, and a skillfully raised paw pulled the wooden bowl closer to his mouth to get Allia's attention.
"Why should you be hungry, my brother?" Allia teased. "You did nothing but sleep all day."
"Sleeping can be hard work, Allia," Deward chuckled, picking up a small wooden plate and scooping a portion of stewed meat, carrots, potatos, and peas onto it, then coming over and setting it down beside her. "There you go," he grinned.
He jumped down to eat, but found himself besieged by the two drakes, looking to share in his bounty. He may accept them and like them, but when it came to food, it was every small animal for itself. Tarrin put his ears back and hissed at them threateningly, a sign they immediately understood. They accepted him as well, but both of them knew exactly who and what he was, and knew better than to challenge him in any manner. They backed away from him cautiously as he settled down in front of the meal.
"Let's not be nasty, brother," Allia chided. "Deward, would you please?" she asked him in the common tongue.
"Of course, there is plenty for all this night," Deward said grandly, going to fetch two more plates.
After another of Deward's excellent meals, Tarrin licked his chops and laid down in Allia's lap quietly. He had to start tonight. There was no time to waste. He doubted the others would be ready to start, and that was something that he could understand. They'd spent the day setting up the tents, and they were expected to perform. He'd done nothing but sleep. He needed to get one of those amulets from Phandebrass and have someone give him a map of the city, so he'd know where he was going and how to get back. If they could fit a map of the massive city on one page, anyway.
Renoit stood, and the piper stopped playing. "Our hosts, I have spoken to them, yes," he began in a clear voice. "We are to begin our performing in two days. I had to explain why we are late, but they understood, yes. The sea, she can often be a dangerous mistress." He blew out his breath. "We will be performing once or twice a day up to the Festival of the Sun, and after that, we will perform for ten more days before departing. The agents, they have warned us that there is a chance that the Emperor and Empress may attend one of our performances. During the Festival, they are known to do this, yes. If that happens, I do not think I have to tell you to do your absolute best. And trust me, if they come, you will know it.
"Now then, let us eat and drink and celebrate our arrival," he said with a broad smile. "Tomorrow, no work will be done. It is our day of thanks for arriving safely, yes, and a day to prepare for the performances ahead."
Tarrin put his head down on Allia's leg. Time enough for bothering the others after they ate and relaxed a while. Besides, the warmth of the fire and the nearness of Allia was making him decidedly content. He closed his eyes and dozed, silently preparing himself for the night to come.
They gathered as the performers began to drift off to bed. Tarrin sat on a small table in Renoit's tent, a simple affair with only a cot, a small table with two small chairs, a lantern hanging from the ceiling canvas to provide light, and a small footlocker in which he kept his clothes. Allia sat in one of the chairs, Dolanna sat in the other, and his other friends, Deward, and Renoit were gathered around the table. Sarraya stood on the other side of the table, and between them were the four amulets, one of them shrunk down, and four rolls of parchment. The mood in the tent was quiet, a bit grim. They knew what they had to do. They knew how hard it was going to be. It was nothing to look forward to, that was for certain. They were about to go out and look for a single pearl on a mountain.
"I know that you are anxious to begin," Dolanna announced, "but there are some things you should know, and some changes." She picked up one of the amulets. "The first is that Camara Tal is going to accompany Dar. Dar may be able to take care of himself, but his youth may get him into trouble. Camara Tal is going to help keep Dar out of that kind of trouble, and cover for him if he must break into a home."
"I'd rather go with Tarrin to keep an eye on him, but I think he'll just leave me behind," the Amazon grunted.
Dolanna smiled slightly and nodded. "On the table are maps. Each of you should take a map, and use it to mark off where you have already been. I will study the maps each day, and ensure that we are covering all of the available areas. Renoit expects the three of you to perform," she said in a strong tone, "so do not stay out until dawn. Leave that to Tarrin and Sarraya.
"And to you two," she turned on them, "I expect you to do this quietly. There will be no bringing down houses, no pausing to torture residents with pranks, and no unnecessary killing. I do hope I am making myself clear." She gave them a flinty look. "And above all, you must keep yourselves hidden. Rich Arakites would spend an absolute fortune attempting to capture either of you as a showpiece to use to impress their friends. This applies to you as well, Allia. Be very careful, and remember that your swords do not have to extricate you from every situation. You are a Sorcerer. You tend to forget or overlook that fact. Do not abandon your power when it can help you escape a bad situation."
Allia nodded soberly as the two drakes landed on the table with Tarrin and Sarraya. "Phandebrass, have you instructed your drakes?"
"I say, they're ready, Dolanna," he replied. "Turnkey will go with Dar, and Chopstick will go with Allia. If you need their help, just point to the door in your way, point to an open window, and tell them to unlock the door," he instructed the others. "They will enter the house, find the door, and unlock it from the inside. I also told them to keep a nose out to keep any brigands from sneaking up on you. If you need them for defense, simply point at your agressor and tell them to attack."
Dolanna nodded. "This is a huge city, my friends," she warned. "This first night, I do not expect you to go out. Use this night to familiarize yourselves with the maps and the major streets. Save your searching for tomorrow."
"Just show us where to start," Sarraya said in a voice that was uncharacteristically serious for her.
Phandebrass unrolled one of the maps, then pointed to a large circle near the middle of the large page. "Right here," he said. "I say, this place is called the Fountain of Life. It's nearly the exact center of the city. Just take the Street of Sand to the Street of Gold, turn left, and that will take you right to the fountain," he guided, tracing a finger along the route that led from the tents to the fountain. "I say, you should be ready for traffic. Dala Yar Arak never sleeps. You'll see many merchants, nobles, and well-to-dos out on the street. Many of them only come out at night, when it's cool, they do. Especially this early. The streets get taken over by the nightstalkers well after midnight."
Tarrin studied the map, but found his cat eyes had trouble making out the fine details written onto it. His cat eyes sacrificed some clarity and focus for enhanced ability to see light. In cat form, he couldn't read or make out fine detail, but he could see in the dark as well as any human could see at noon. He jumped down off the table. He shapeshifted directly into his human form, feeling the all-too-familiar nagging ache settle into his bones at holding the unnatural shape, and reached down and picked up one of the medallions. Then he looked at the map again, seeing exactly where Phandebrass was indicating on the map. He picked up one of the other maps silently and stuck it in his belt pouch after folding it down, and then put the medallion in his pouch as well.
His face an emotionless mask, he looked down at Sarraya. "Are you ready?" he asked her.
"Yup," she grinned and nodded. "Let's go."
Without a single word to anyone else, Tarrin stalked out of the tent, with Sarraya buzzing along behind him. He felt no real anticipation at finally getting started, no excitement, no happiness. There was only the mission in his mind, and it overwhelmed any emotion he may be feeling. He didn't want to get emotional right now. With all the things wrong with Dala Yar Arak, if he got emotional, he may go on a moralistic rampage and kill a whole lot of people he felt had no right to live. Focus on the job, ignore how the city made him feel. He had to find the Book of Ages, and that was what he was going to do.
No matter what it took.
The streets of Dala Yar Arak were alive.
Not literally, but more than any other city he had seen, the streets of this city were busy, well into the night. And they weren't just homeless vagabonds and street urchins, either. They were wealthy merchants with their bodyguards, slaves, and entourages. They were singing sailors staggering down streets, they were shady thieves stalking a target. There were a good share of homeless and the hopeless, wandering along the Street of Sand looking for anything of value. Some sat under lit lanterns hung at regular intervals along the street and pandered to those who passed by, begging for whatever they could get.
Tarrin moved through them boldly, almost imperiously, keeping his chin high and his eyes firmly in front of him. He wore no hood or cape or cloak to hide his difference from them. His blond hair stood out like a beacon, his wrist-thick braid swaggeringly like his tail would have if he had it, attracting eyes to him as easily as if he were a Troll. He was keenly aware of their eyes, of the attention, but there was nothing to be done for it. So long as they didn't get in his way, they wouldn't get hurt. It was that simple. He still wore the simple leather vest over the half-sleeved white shirt that Dolanna had given to him, a shirt ripped a little bit around the forearms from where he would cross his arms, and his claws would snag on the material. He also wore leather breeches that were tattered around his shins, breeches that were getting a little worn in the seat and knees. He'd had them for a long time. He looked something like a street urchin, but only to the casual observer. His shirt and trousers may be a bit ragged, but his vest was clean and well made, and he was bathed and had clean, well kept hair.
"Did you know that there's a hole in the back of your pants?" Sarraya asked playfully. "When you move the right way, I can see all sorts of interesting things."
That was the slit he'd cut for his tail. Unfortunately, he either had to make a neat, controlled slit for the tail, or have it rip a hole when he shapeshifted.
"Then stop looking," Tarrin said bluntly, reaching another major avenue. That had to be the Street of Gold. He knew to turn left there, so he did, with Sarraya's invisible wings buzzing slightly as she changed her direction to keep at his side.
"Come on, Tarrin, give us a smile," the Faerie bantered. "I know you're itching to get going, but you're being way too morose. I haven't seen you smile in days."
"There's nothing to smile about, Sarraya," he said in an emotionless tone. "Not anymore."
"Being gloomy's not going to help your state of mind," she warned. "Come on. As a friend, humor me. Think of something funny, and tell me what it is."
"Drop it," he warned, glancing in her direction, even though he couldn't see her. "When we do what we came here to do, I'll have a reason to smile. Not until then."
They moved on in silence for several minutes, until they found themselves staring at the Fountain of Life. As fountains go, it wasn't very impressive. The Fountain of Swans in Suld was breathtaking. This was nothing more than a pool of tepid water, with a small egg-like stone formation in the center, from which poured a trickle of water. But in the arid climate of southern Yar Arak, Tarrin could understand how it got its name. Water was life in the arid lands, and this simple pool of water represented a place where people could drink. It probably supported a large number of homeless people and street urchins. There was nobody around the fountain, the pedestrians all walked around it, and there were alot of them. The Fountain of Life was the intersection of two major avenues through the huge city, according to the map, and a goodly number of people moved around the fountain as they went on their way.
"You know, I haven't seen a single watch or patrol since we got here," Sarraya noted. "That's weird."
"It's a big city, Sarraya," he replied calmly, folding his map and putting it away. A glance up at the brilliant sky and the Skybands told him which direction was which, and he walked around the fountain to stare down the other major avenue that crossed the Street of Gold. That was west. That was his direction.
Staring down the street, he realized that months of hard work, pain, suffering, sacrifice, and decdication had culminated itself into that one moment. He and the others had strove for months to get right where he was, to begin the possibly long and exhausting search for the Book of Ages. So much had gone wrong, but then again, some things had gone well. They'd left Suld in the first marches of winter, with ice clinging to the sails of the Star of Jerod. It was nearly midsummer now, a mere ride from the Festival of the Sun, which marked the midpoint of the summer and the summer solstice. Some six months or so. They had lost Faalken, and Keritanima and those with her had been separated from them. But, on the positive side, he had gained new friends in Camara Tal, Sarraya, Phandebrass, and even his drakes. He had made peace with the Were-cats, and had earned the respect of Triana, Jesmind's mother. He had changed greatly since the Tower. He had grown hard, grim, feral, had faced himself at his worst and embraced it. And he could live with that. So much had happened since the night they left Suld. It had seemed like a strange adventure at the time, but it felt nothing like that now. It was a chore, a mission, an unpleasant assignment he wished to finish as quickly as possible, so he could move on and do something he wanted to do.
Looking down at the crystal medallion, he stared into its depths as it sparkled with the reflections of the lights of the lanterns around them. Everything depended on those four little hunks of quartz.
Closing his eyes, he released himself from the painful constraints of his human form. He felt himself flow into his taller humanoid body, felt his tail and ears and claws and paws all take up their rightful, natural places. He ignored the startled gasps and exclamations from the people around the Fountain of Life. He had shapeshifted in front of them, and he did not care. They couldn't do anything to catch him. They couldn't stop him. They were, after all, only human. He didn't care if they knew what he was, he didn't care if it made them afraid of him. His only concern was to find the Book of Ages.
Whipping his tail back and forth a few times to settle it comfortably in the slit in his breeches, he looked down at the medallion, cupped in the palm of his paw, laying against the thick, triangular pad, and then held it up to the west. "Work," he breathed quietly, ignoring the people who had stopped and were staring at him. "Find the Book of Ages, little crystal."
"Tarrin, are you nuts?" Sarraya hissed in a strangled tone. "You just announced to the city that we're here!"
"So what," he said bluntly. "They always seem to know where we are, so let them come. Let them try and stop me. It'll be alot easier for me if they come to me so I can kill them, rather than hunt them down."
"You're getting too big for your breeches, cub," Sarraya sighed. "I go that way. Just do what Dolanna told us to do, Tarrin. Don't get melodramatic out there."
"You're a fine one to talk," he drawled as the crystal began to glow with a faint reddish light. By a little moving around, he realized that it was pointing him in a specific direction, just as Phandebrass said it would. "I'll see you in the morning. Be careful."
"You're the one who'd better be careful," she returned, then she flitted away.
He gave her not a thought more. His eyes focused on the medallion, then he looked towards the northwest, where it was telling him to go.
The hunt was on.
To the surprise of the people on the street, Tarrin took a few bounding strides, then vaulted twenty five spans up onto the flat roof of one of the dwellings near the fountain. Without the slightest pause, he raced along the rooftops towards the northwest, jumping from roof to roof as easily as a human would walk down the street, moving directly towards his goal. He felt his worries and fears melt away in the simple ritual of the hunt. His prey wasn't food or enemies, it was a thing, an object that he had to possess, the one thing that would release him from his self-imposed servitude and set him free.
It was the first target, and it proved to Tarrin that this wasn't going to be easy. In many ways.
The medallion had led him to a large compound about fifteen blocks away from the Fountain of Life, a very large compound indeed, and the medallion was pointing directly inside it. He circumnavigated the large, ornate iron fence surrounding the place and had confirmed it was in there. Beyond that fence patrolled a good number of guards, armed with swords, crossbows, and polearms, and they had trained dogs with them on their rounds. The guards were no problem, but the dogs were another matter entirely. Behind that formidable barrier stood a cluster of buildings, obviously belonging to some rich merchant or important person, and he had no idea which building the medallion was telling him to check. He'd have to get closer, so it could point him towards one specific buildings.
What had annoyed him more than anything else was what happened while he squatted on the roof of a nearby dwelling and planned how he was going to infiltrate. Light footsteps behind had warned him of the approach of someone else, and he caught the scent as he turned his head and looked. It was a figure clad in a dark cloak and black trousers, male by scent, an Arakite that had the look of a thief. He had jumped from another roof, much like Tarrin had travelled, and it proved the notion that the rooftops were another highway in the massive city, for those daring enough to attempt it. What got Tarrin immediately riled up was the smell of silver that exuded from the thief, a smell that Tarrin recognized and immediately took as threatening. Narrowing his eyes, he turned on the man with claws out, daring him to approach. But the man only looked at him and laughed.
"I think we can do business without the display," he said in Arakite, chuckling a bit more.
"Business? What business would I have with you?" Tarrin demanded, quickly adjusting his Arakite to remove the majority of his bad accent.
"We know who you are," he said simply. "We know why you're here. I'm here to tell you to do your business and leave. There are people in this city that don't like you being here. When the circus leaves, we expect you to be with it. If you're not, well, then we won't be very nice."
"Who is we?"
"Call us the concerned citizens of Dala Yar Arak," he smirked.
"And who will throw me out? You? Five of you? Ten? Fifty? If I want to stay, there's not a damned thing you can do about it, human. Stay out of my way, and you won't be bothered."
"We may not be able to do much to you. But there are other factors you should consider. Like that sweet Selani face that paraded in with you. I'd hate to see it cut off."
That was the wrong thing to say. Putting his ears back, Tarrin's eyes exploded into the green aura that marked his anger, a greenish radiance that was pronounced in the darkness, and he immediately pounced on the man, claws leading. He drove the startled man to the stone floor of the roof, holding him down by the neck with one paw as the other rose up. "Take this back to your leader, dog!" he hissed in a brutal tone, then he deliberately drove his palm into the man's face with such force that it caused the man's head to explode, showering Tarrin with brains, bits of bone, and a spray of blood, and cracking the stone beneath where his head had once been.
Heaving with icy fury, he picked up the headless corpse and threw it off the roof, into a narrow alley. He was focused on his anger, his rage, and it threatened to overwhelm him in a way that he hadn't felt in a long time. He could feel it just under the surface of his mind, a mindless bloodlust that yearned to break free, to rampage and destroy as it had done under the Cathedral of Karas so long ago. The smell of the blood sprayed on him only intensified his frenzy, but the rational part of his mind managed to retain a tenuous hold on his rage. He turned that fury on the one thing that mattered to him more than going on a rampage, and that was finding the Book of Ages.
Any concept of a plan went out the window as Tarrin lept from the roof and rushed towards the compound, then vaulted over the fence. He attacked a small knot of guards and their two dogs mere steps inside the grounds, striking from the shadows, falling on them with a savage fury that took them completely by surprise. Tarrin killed the dogs first, then turned on the guards and killed them in a lightning fast explosion of claws, killing three of them before they even registered that they were under attack. One was smart enough to run, to try to get help, but Tarrin was on him seconds after killing nine men, driving a single claw into the back of his neck, severing the spine and making the body tumble lifelessly to the ground in midstride.
It wasn't enough. His protective instincts over his sister were fully exposed, completely aroused within him, and that gave his anger a fuel that wasn't about to run out any time soon. But the need to seek out and destroy abated with the killing of the guard unit, mellowing into a seething, clear-minded objective. Find whatever the medallion indicated was in the compound. That overrode his desire to hunt down the rest of the guards, to completely eradicate any challenge to his progress, to kill the men one by one and feel the twisted satisfaction that came from the act. He recovered enough of his sanity to hold up the medallion and have it point the way for him. He wouldn't hunt them down, but he wasn't about to hide. Anyone who got in his way was going to die. It was just that simple.
After a quick move into the large compound, he located the proper building. It was a large, oblong construction with large windows, but the windows were barred. It also had a large, ornate set of doors, bound in brass and with a large wolf or jackal crest etched upon them. They looked to be bolted from the inside.
It only took one hit. Tarrin struck one of the doors with his shoulder, using his inhuman strength to break whatever lock was keeping the door closed. He heard that bar snap in a squeal of protesting metal, and then he pushed open the door and looked inside. Beyond was a large receiving foyer, and four shocked guards holding pikes. One of them brandished his weapon towards Tarrin.
That sealed their fates.
Like a pouncing lion, Tarrin literally flew into the room with his bloody paw leading, ripping the throat out of the nearest guard with a blazing swipe of his paw, a swipe that sent flesh and blood flying in a wide arc as his paw came around. He grabbed the dead man's pike with his other and immediately brought it to bear against the second guard, smashing his own weapon out of Tarrin's direction of movement and letting his claws get to the man unhindered, shearing through his throat in a calculated slash of a single claw over his neck, a slash that opened the major artery and vein in the neck and caused blood to pump from the wound in a ghastly fashion. The dying man clutched at his throat and gurgled out the last of his breath as he sank to the stone. The other two men just started to react to the Were-cat's blindingly fast attack by the time he reached them, bringing the pike around and spinning into it, putting both paws on it to give it more force, then bringing it around his side and slamming it into the side of the nearer guard. The impact shattered the pike and sent the man flying, a ragged scream coming out of his mouth just before a fountain of blood replaced it. Before he landed on the carpeted foyer floor, Tarrin threw aside the broken handle of the pike and rose up over the last of the guards, who was paralyzed with terror, staring blankly into Tarrin's glowing green eyes. Tarrin showed no mercy, rending four finger-deep slashes into the man from his left shoulder to his right belly, running off his body as Tarrin's power drove his claws through leather, flesh, and bone like a sword through snow. He struck the man across the face with his other paw, ripping most of it away and sending the body tumbling aside in a bloody, limp heap.
He left the four dead men splayed all over the foyer, with blood and gore dripping from the tapestries on the walls, and pools of blood widening on the floor.
With a single-minded drive that caused him to ignore those who fled screaming from his path, Tarrin stalked up the hall as he followed the medallion's directing glow. Several manacled men and women saw him coming and wisely turned and ran the other way, or ducked into doorways and slammed them as quickly as the could. Tarrin didn't perceive them as a threat, so he left them alone. Only someone who stood between him and his goal would be killed. A few guards also saw him. Two moved to block him as the third ran the other way, screaming loudly to raise an alarm. Tarrin killed the two blockers with nearly contemptuous ease, parrying stabs from their pikes with the manacles on his wrists to let him get inside their weapons, then ripping the life out of them once he was within claw's reach. More and more slaves and servants fled from his inexorable advance up the hallway, and the next trio of guards he met took one look at his blood-spattered body and immediately gave room to get on the far side of a four-way intersection, raising weapons to prevent him from advancing. But Tarrin stopped in the intersection and looked at the medallion, and he saw that it was leading him to the left. So he turned left and passed the three guards over, leaving them nearly slackjawed in disbelief that he not only would not attack them, but turn his back to them and walk away. Backing out of the intersection had saved their lives, but one of them was more than willing to squander it. With a quick flurry of feet, the tallest of them levelled his pike and charged at the Were-cat's back, trying to kill him before he could turn around. But much to his shock, Tarrin not only was aware of the charge, he also simply smacked the pike's head aside with his tail, making it go wide of his back as the man charged headling into his killing embrace. The guard couldn't arrest his forward momentum in time to keep out of the Were-cat's long reach. The man staggered right into Tarrin's outreached paw, who killed him by driving a clawed finger into each of the man's eyes.
The two survivors seemed to fathom that so long as they didn't try to impede the Were-cat or attack him, the invader wouldn't even give them notice. So they started following after him as he moved along the hall, following the medallion, stopping other guards from attacking him as they arrived and creating something of a macabre procession that filed up the long, decorated hallway towards the passage's end. Tarrin did finally stop at a door, and when he opened it, he found himself looking into the bedchamber of a child. A very large bedchamber, full of expensive antique furniture and very large tapestries on the walls. The room was illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a barred window on the other side. To his left was a large feather bed covered with a diaphanous drape of sheer silk that hung from the four posts at the corners, a net to keep insects from feasting on the bed's occupant. There was a large dressing table with a silvered mirror across from the bed, with a cushioned chair before it, and a small chest at the foot of the bed. Several bureaus stood in the room, probably where the girl kept her clothes, and a box that showed signs of heavy use sat under the window, which had the arm of a doll hanging out from under the lid. It was a toy box.
Tarrin absently brained one adventurous guard with a club of a fist, as the man tried to attack him while his attention was focused on the room. He then stepped inside, scenting the little female that was sleeping in the bed, seemingly oblivious to the shouting and commotion going on outside her door. He gave her no notice, focusing on the medallion in his hand, its light and pull leading him to the dressing table. He padded up to it and looked down, holding the medallion out, and seeing with considerable disappointment that it was pointing to a gold barette that was studded with tiny rubies. An old piece of heirloom jewelry. Then again, he should have realized that the Book of Ages probably wouldn't be in a child's bedchamber. He reached down and touched the medallion to the barette, watching its reddish glow and tugging cease immediately. It was dormant a moment, then a faint light appeared within it once more, and he felt it pulling him somewhere towards the southwest.
"Imari! Imari!" a male voice gasped. Tarrin glanced to see a portly Arakite man wearing a nightrobe. He was balding slightly, had fat jowls, and his fingers and ears dripped with gem-encrusted jewelry. From the look of him, he had to be the house's owner. The man started to run into the room, but Tarrin's eyes narrowed, and he growled at the man in an ominous manner, a growl that could not have issued from a human throat. That stopped the human cold. "How did that creature get inside!" the man demanded quickly in Arakite.
"He's not human, master!" one guard replied in a terrified tone. "He killed three men I saw, and we couldn't put a blade on him!"
"It's looking for something," another guard said. "As long as we didn't get in its way, it ignored us!"
"Get away from my daughter, you monster!" the man screamed hysterically.
It wasn't the Book of Ages. He had no more reason to be there. He put the medallion inside his shirt and turned towards the men, then padded towards them with a calm, steady pace that told them beyond doubt that he meant to walk by them, or through them, whichever way they chose.
"Mmm, Papa? Papa, who's the man with the tail?" a bleary voice asked from behind.
The little girl. He wouldn't hurt her, nor would he allow her to come to harm. That meant that he wouldn't fight with her in the same room. But the guards backed off quickly and with frightened whispers as he advanced on them, but the master of the house refused to get out of the way. Whether it was from fear or some instinct to defend his child, Tarrin had no idea, but the situation caused him to consider what to do. He wouldn't hurt the girl, and this man was obviously her father. To kill him in front of her would traumatize her, and he wouldn't do that to a child either. He was still very angry, and the man was blocking him from what he wanted. He felt the impulse to kill, but an equally strong impulse not to bring harm to the child struggled against it, making him falter in his steps and come to a halt within reach of the human man. A man that just stared up at him in a kind of terrified wonder, who dared to challenge him without so much as a letter opener for a weapon. Just himself and his resolve not to let his child be harmed.
Tarrin could respect that. The man flinched when Tarrin reached out and grabbed him by the front of his robe, then twisted it enough to get a pawhold and gently lifted the man off his feet. He moved him aside, out to arm's length to his side, and then put him back down just as carefully as he picked him up. He walked right by the stupified man and out the door, then growled at the guards to make them give him a very wide berth. Then he simply walked down the hall the way he came, moving back towards the door. The guards did not follow him, and the servants and slaves were smart enough not to come back out until someone told them it was safe. He left the house without so much as a mouse to stand in his way.
He left behind him a scene of unbridled carnage. At least fifteen men lay dead on the grounds and in the house. He didn't know exactly how many, because he didn't deem it important enough of a fact to remember. And he felt not a whit of remorse about it. There was no guilt in him anymore. Only the mission mattered now, a mission that had gotten Faalken killed, a mission that had separated him from his dear sister and his friends. A mission that had done nothing but cause him misery and pain.
A mission he would accomplish, no matter what.
He could see it all over Sarraya's face.
She was furious.
He didn't care. It was that simple. He didn't give a damn about how she felt about him, or what he'd been up to. He'd met up with her just before dawn. She had come back to the Fountain of Life at about the same time as him, and he'd taken a few moments to wash off the majority of the dried blood and bits of tattered flesh that were still stuck in inaccessible places. He had been in human form, and that left his bare forearms and shins eerily clean while the rest of him was spattered with the rust-colored spots and flaking streaks of dried blood. She'd seen the blood on him, and she had to know that he'd gotten into a fight. She didn't say anything to him, but the displeasure and disapproval was obvious all over her tiny face.
There had been no other fatalities after that fight in the compound. He'd tracked down twelve ancient artifacts over the night, none of which were the book. Fortunately, they'd been in places where he wouldn't have to face an army, and he had calmed down considerably by the time he reached the next objective. He'd calmed down enough to forgo assaulting the place and sneaking in. He was a Were-cat, sneaking was second nature to him, and he could do it with a stealthy ease that would make any master thief jealous of his ability. That agent's threats to hurt Allia had been what had put him in the mood to go into the compound like a rampaging Troll, but he still felt absolutely no remorse or trepidation over his actions.
And so, Sarraya followed along as Tarrin walked back to the circus compound, mixing with the Arakites on the street as they came from their houses to start their days. She was totally silent, and that was a good indication that she wasn't very happy. But he didn't give it a second thought. He just walked back to the circus, stepped into the performing tent and changed to his cat form, and then curled up against the tent canvas near the entrance and went to sleep.
But Sarraya did no such thing. The first thing she did was flit through the tents as they performers began to awaken, moving quickly and urgently, until she found Dolanna. The Sorceress was sitting at Renoit's small table in his tent, enjoying a breakfast with the portly circus master and engaging him in light conversation. But Sarraya's abrupt appearance beside her cup of tea gave her pause. She looked down at the small Faerie, noting the serious, angry look on her face. "Let's take a walk," Sarraya said in a tight voice.
"I will be back shortly, Renoit," Dolanna said, putting her napkin on the table and standing up, then filing out of the small tent as the Faerie flitted along beside her.
"We've got to do something about Tarrin," Sarraya said as soon as they were out of earshot of the tents. Dolanna was walking away from the large grassy field, and when she reached the edge of the street, she began a course that would take them around the field's edge. "When I saw him before we came back, he was covered in blood. Lots of blood. He went out and killed people, Dolanna, when we told him not to do it."
"There may be a valid reasoning for it."
"Not that much blood, Dolanna. He looked like he took a bath in it."
"I will talk to him, little one," Dolanna promised.
"There's more," she said with a hesitant voice. "I was, visited, during the night by a human wearing a black cloak. He knew all about us. He told us to leave with the carnival, or the weaker members of our group would be killed to motivate us. I have no doubt who he was talking about."
"Dar," Dolanna said seriously.
"Sending that Amazon with him may have saved his life, Dolanna. There's someone out there looking for us, looking for him, and it's someone I don't think we want to cross. That human-" she shuddered. "There was something about him, something about how he looked at me. He was evil, totally and utterly evil. It was almost a pall that hung over him."
"If Tarrin received a similar visitor, it may explain his, activity," Dolanna said. "Threatening Dar would no doubt incite him to violence."
"We'd better talk to him."
"We will, but we must do it later," Dolanna said. "If he was threatened, he may still be angry. Let us let him sleep off his anger. He will be more amenable this afternoon."
"Good point," Sarraya agreed. "Let's go back to Renoit's. I'm starving. Share your roll with me?"
"Of course, little one," Dolanna smiled.
The carnival didn't perform that day, but it was a momentous day in its own way.
Tarrin slept most of the morning and afternoon in the performing tent, laying in dark cubby holes, but commotion outside roused him from his slumber and caught his attention. He padded to the entrance curiously, and found the performers lined up away from the tents, literally surrounded by military men wearing burnished steel breastplates and helmets with horsehair crests of black affixed atop them. There was an elaborate carriage nearby, pulled by six black horses, and it was surrounded by guards and men and women wearing extravagant robes of every color imaginable.
Curiosity got the better of him. What was going on? Were the performers being questioned, or arrested? That man said he knew who he was, and he mentioned the circus. Did he send the military men to the pavillion to arrest them? He stalked out of the tent carefully, slinking towards the knot of people, listening intently. Their conversation was light, excited. The military men weren't trying to arrest them, it seemed. They were too happy to be under arrest. So what else was going on?
It didn't take him long to find Allia. He meowed plaintively at her feet to get her attention, and she reached down and picked him up, cradling him in her arm. "What's going on, Allia?" he asked in the unspoken manner of the Cat.
"The Emperor and Empress have come," she replied in a low tone. "They have come to meet the performers."
"Renoit said it may happen," Tarrin said without much more interest. He didn't really care about the rulers of this diseased empire. "Put me down, I'm going back to sleep."
"It is odd that they have come before we mean to perform," she noted critically. "Why come when they can do nothing more than talk? From what I have heard, that is not like this Emperor."
"Who knows? Who cares?" he responded. He was about to tell her to put him down, but the door to the carriage opened, which caused the guards to form up in a protective pair of lines to each side of the carriage, and made the robed people scurry about. When they were in position, a man and woman exited.
Tarrin was not impressed. Emperor Zarthas Arakis, ruler of the largest empire in the world, was a tall, lanky man in his middle years. He had the swarthy skin of an Arakite, but his black hair was streaked with gray at the temples. His face was a bit sunken and his eyes seemed a bit hollow, but Tarrin could tell that it had been a very handsome face when he was a younger man. He wore a very simple robe of deep purple, trimmed with black sable, and held a small gold rod in his left hand. Empress Lika, Zarthas' wife, was a woman slightly more than average height. What set her apart from any Arakite he had ever seen was her flaming red hair, hair that immediately reminded him of Jesmind. It was long, elegantly done up with gold chains woven into it, and it framed a face that looked like a mask of feminine perfection. She had the same swarthy brown skin as all Arakites, but her red eyebrows gave her a very exotic appearance. She was lovely, as lovely as Allia, but with human features beneath that perfect face rather than exotic Selani features. Her body measured up to the promise her face made, full of sleek lines and curves that would make any man's eye follow them. Tarrin took in her beauty, and he again was not impressed. He was usually surrounded by very pretty women most of the time, so the appearance of a woman-especially a human one-couldn't move him as it could a human man. She wore a robe of red, slightly darker than her hair, that gave her coloring an even darker cast than if she were wearing a different color.
Tarrin was surprised at one thing. These were the rulers of the largest, richest kingdom in the world, but they wore no jewelry. No rings, no necklaces that he could see, not even earrings. Their garments were richly made, but they were not extravagant, opulent, as most rich people's clothes tended to be. Were they not surrounded by an army of guards and servants, one wouldn't be able to pick them out of a crowd-well, except for the Empress' red hair. It was strange that the most politically powerful man in the world would be so unassuming.
Perhaps there was more to Zarthas Arakis than he first thought.
Curiosity getting the better of him again, Tarrin settled himself into Allia's arms and watched the procession. The Emperor and Empress greeted Renoit, who bowed to them grandly, and then motioned for them to accompany him to where the performers were lined up. Renoit would introduce each performer by name, who would bow or curtsy, and the Imperial couple would simply nod their heads and move on. The Emperor of Arak did speak when Renoit introduced Camara Tal as an Amazon, however.
"An Amazon?" he asked in a wooden-sounding voice, speaking perfect Sulasian. "Will you demonstrate the sword skills your people are famous for possessing? I do enjoy displays of martial skill."
"I will for you, Your Imperial Majesty," Camara Tal said with eloquent politeness.
"Excellent. I very much look forward to watching your performance, good Renoit. Again you manage to bring such interesting sights to my city."
"I seek only your pleasure, your Imperial Majesty," Renoit said with a flourishing bow.
They moved down the line, until they reached Allia. The Emperor's hollow eyes widened a bit when he looked up into the Selani's face. She was nearly half a head taller than the man, and it again reminded Tarrin how unnaturally tall Allia was compared to human men. "A Selani!" he said before Renoit could introduce her. "You amaze me, Renoit. However did you lure her from the desert?"
"She sought wisdom and experience with humans, your Imperial Majesty," Renoit replied. "I convinced her that she could find such things by seeing many human cultures."
"Amazing, good Renoit," he said appreciatively. "Despite the animosity between Arak and the Selani, I would be very happy if you would perform your famous dance for me, desert flower."
"I will do as you ask, Emperor of Arak," she replied calmly, looking him directly in the eye and not bowing to him. "If it pleases you."
"It will please me greatly," he smiled.
Then he went by. The Empress of Arak was trailing along behind him silently, and she paused to look at Allia while the Emperor was being introduced to Deward. "My, what a cute little cat," she remarked in an odd accent. She moved a little closer, and Tarrin caught her scent.
He had never smelled anything like it before. It turned his stomach, it nearly made him ill. Her scent was the distilled scent of pure and utter corruption, a dark taint of foulness that permeated the air between them. It was horrid, and the very whiff of it filled him with a complete and nearly hysterical need to get away from it. But he was firmly held in Allia's arms, and he was held captive to the instinctual terror that the scent incited within him. This was an inhuman smell. It was an unearthly smell, a scent that did not belong in the natural world. Much as the dark, decaying scent of a Wraith triggered something deep inside him, a reaction to the imbalance of nature's workings, this woman's scent triggered something a thousand times more intense inside him. She was reaching out to pet him, but he would have none of that.
Laying his ears back, he bared his fangs and hissed at her for everything he was worth, a primal threat display in response to something that terrified the Cat within him. If Allia wasn't holding him, he would have shapeshifted right then and there, and probably would have attacked her immediately, but to do so would harm Allia, and he would never hurt his sister. He got his free paw out and extended his claws, taking a swipe at that hand as it reached for him, threatened him, and he tried to back out of Allia's arms so he could get down and flee.
"My goodness!" the Empress of Arak said in surprise, flinching away from him with surprise in her green eyes. Eyes that seemed to burn into his, eyes that had nothing but pure and unadulterated evil within them. Tarrin looked into those eyes, and he simply knew the truth about the Empress of Arak.
She wasn't human! he had no idea what she really was, but she wasn't human, she was no part of Fae-da'Nar, and she probably had no natural place on the face of Sennadar. That made her either an Outworlder or a Demon. By the total unnatural content of her scent, he thought her to be a Demon.
Tarrin growled at her, hissing again and holding out his paw to dissuade another attempt to touch him. "F-Forgive him, Empress of Arak," Allia said in total surprise. "He does not favor strangers, but I have never seen him do that before. You must have surprised him."
"Oh, goodness!" she said in a slightly vapid tone. "I hope I didn't scare the little dear. That simply wouldn't do."
"Many apologies."
"Oh, you don't have to do that," she said with a thin smile. "Accidents do happen." She looked down at him, and that lightheartedness evaporated from those eyes like smoke, and the penetrating power of her stare bored into his eyes. "Don't they, little kitty?"
It was almost hypnotic, her gaze was. It insinuated itself into his consciousness, laid itself over his will, seeking to smother it in a strange sort of need to please her. It was almost as if she had penetrated herself into his mind, whispering soundless words to him to woo him, to subvert his fear and his instinctual distrust of her. He felt his will corrupting, felt it loosen against her, but then his human mind realized that something outside of him was causing that strange sensation. That caused the Cat to roar back into his mind and attack that strange sense of lassitude like an enemy, exactly as it did when he attempted to Circle with other Sorcerers. Tarrin's dual mind joined in a common cause, lending him the power to eject the strange feeling, to eject her from his consciousness.
Tarrin shook his head to clear the disorientation, but more surprisingly, Empress Lika recoiled as if someone had stuck a live snake in her face. She looked at Tarrin with eyes that were filled with shock, with inconceivable surprise, and then she laughed. It was a hollow sound, a wicked little chuckle that made Tarrin's fur crawl. He put his ears back and growled at her again, a deep rumbling sound in his throat that was too deep to come from the throat a housecat.
"I think your little cat doesn't like me, Selani," Empress Lika said with a light laugh. "No matter. He'll learn to love me. Everyone does, sooner or later."
The strange undertone of her words made Tarrin look at her in surprise. She knew! She knew he had thwarted whatever it was she did, and she was telling him that she knew! And she was promising that it wouldn't be the last time she tried!
What was she?
She moved to catch up with her husband, but she left in her wake a very shaken Were-cat. She introduced something into this game that he never expected. The Empress of Arak was not what she appeared to be, and she knew that he was not what he appeared to be either. He was sure of it. Her will was so powerful, no normal cat could have resisted it.
He watched her walk away, and it made him cold. Somehow, he was sure that that wouldn't be the last time he and the Empress of Arak faced off against one another.
He was sure of it.
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