In any case, there were more lives at stake this time. Jegojah had killed people at his parents' home when it tried to kill Jenna, then it killed people in the Tower when it came for him. It would kill anyone between it and him, and the lives of his family, friends, and the performers of the carnival were now in very real danger. He didn't doubt that it knew where was. If the kii'zadun had been behind the men he'd fought earlier, they could have called the Doomwalker in to deal with him. Right now, keeping it away from the garish ship, to hide the fact that the rest of his friends and family were nearby, was the most important thing to do.
Ignoring the stares of the performers and the questioning look of Dar and Azakar, Tarrin rushed back down to his cabin and got his staff. It had been totally useless against it the first time, but it had been a weapon nonetheless, something to use against the undead warrior's sword. Tarrin could hurt it with his claws, and that would have to be how he would fight it this time. Use the staff to deal with the sword, and strike with his free paw and feet.
He went over what he remembered the Goddess saying about it. That he absolutely had to fight it on ground of his own choosing. That it had to have metal or stone under its feet to prevent it from drawing power from the earth. But he remembered that the Doomwalker was rather unusual. It wasn't mindless. It had a personality, and it believed in honor, alot like Allia and the Vendari did.
Perhaps he could use that against it.
But now it was time to go, to find ground suitable for dealing with the Doomwalker's ability. Ground of his own choosing. Or in this case, ground that wasn't ground.
Racing on deck, he dropped down to the stone wharf below soundlessly, with the performers, Azakar, and Dar looking on in confusion, just before Azakar rushed below to find his armor and sword.
He remembered it from before, a stone quay leading out into the sea that had no ships docked to it. The entrance was barred off by a wooden sawhorse gate, and the signs said that the quay was closed for repairs. It was the perfect place. There was nothing on the quay other than two stacks of old crates, and the wharf was a good twenty paces across and some hundred paces long, more than large enough to handle what was coming. No people to get in the way, nowhere for the Doomwalker to go to draw him onto natural earth other than into the sea. That was something Tarrin considered, but it was a risk that he was going to have to take. There was no way he'd fight the Doomwalker in the city. It would be much too easy for it to pry up stones and get to natural earth, and there was the fact that many innocent lives would be at risk. The wharf was the best of his choices for ground of his own choosing.
He stood at the very end of the quay, looking out into the sea, at the ships anchored out in the harbor. There was no fear in him. He was so used to fighting for his life, he had become numb to it. But this was an opponent unlike any other, and he fully understood the risks. This was an opponent that could very well kill him. But he accepted that, because to reject the possibility you'd die in a fight was the quickest way to have it happen.
He could smell it clearly now. The cool breeze blowing in from the land carried its foul stench to him clearly, and he could hear its metal-shod boots rapping on the stone as it marched up the quay. He didn't turn around. He kept staring out into the sea, marvelling at the simple beauty that could be found in the sea and the ships that sailed upon it. Maybe for the last time. When it was about ten paces from him, his tail stopped swishing rhythmically, as it tended to do, and he lowered the paw holding his staff.
"Clever," it said in that rasping, dusty voice. "Twice have ye sensed my coming, and twice have ye brought me to your own battlefield, yes. Clever Were-cat ye be."
"I destroyed you."
"My body, ye destroyed. My spirit lives on, in this new body. Never can ye defeat me, boy. Destroy me, and again I will come back, yes. Over and over, until ye finally fall."
Tarrin turned around. It didn't look any different. It had the exact same taut skin-over-bone face, the same armor, the same sword and circular shield. It even had the same scent. Perhaps that was a function of what made it come back. The wind pulled at his braid as he looked at the Doomwalker grimly. "I'm not the boy you fought before." He raised a paw, and it exploded into the ghostly limned radiance of High Sorcery. This was a calculated risk, but it was absolutely necessary. Tarrin fought to control himself, to not show the strain as the Weave tried to drown him with its power. He could feel the Weave expand around him, saturating with magical energy, energy that he sensed the Doomwalker could feel. "I don't even have to fight you to destroy you," he said in a tight voice. "You can't get close enough to defeat me, Jegojah, because I could annihilate you where you stand. But I don't want to risk destroying this city to deal with you. So I offer a bargain."
"Speak on," it said after a moment of silence.
"I'll fight you, right here and now. But neither of us use magic. You know that if we use magic, you'll lose. You can't even hope to match my power."
"A strange bargain ye offer," it said warily. "What proof that ye will honor it?"
"Nothing more than my word," he said, severing himself from the Weave, and managing not to flinch when the shockwave of pain blasted through him. It had been all he could to do cover his weakness. Jegojah had to believe that Tarrin could wipe him out right then and there, and he couldn't suspect that Tarrin no longer had control of his own powers. "The word of a man of honor."
The Doomwalker gave Tarrin a long, searching look, then he stood up straight and drew its sword from its scabbard. "Jegojah thinks the Were-cat would have done it already, if he could, yes. Clever ye be to try to limit Jegojah to equal the battlefield." It regarded him with those eerie red eyes. "Clever ploy, Were-cat, clever indeed, but Jegojah does not fear defeat. Jegojah will simply come back again and again." It pointed its sword at Tarrin, and the Were-cat hunched down and held out his staff, preparing to dodge. He remembed the last time Jegojah pointed his sword at him like that. But this time, nothing happened. "Jegojah respects ye, yes, ye be a worthy opponent, and no easy victory will be won over ye. With pride will Jegojah remember this victory."
"Fine," Tarrin hissed, laying his ears back. There wasn't time to be disappointed. It just meant that if Jegojah used magic, Tarrin would have to risk using his own in return. "But you have to beat me first."
Jegojah saluted Tarrin with his sword as the Were-cat hunched down, feeling the Cat rise up in his mind. He accepted it, allowed it to merge with his human half to form a unified whole against such a dangerous threat. Fangs bared, Tarrin hissed menacingly as his eyes lighted from within with the greenish radiance that marked his anger. He lunged forward with inhuman speed, staff leading, but the Doomwalker moved with equal inhuman speed to intercept it. The sound of wood on steel, a hollow thuk, rang loudly in Tarrin's ears as a furious battle rage welled up in him. Holding his staff at one end and wielding it like a two-handed sword, Tarrin assaulted Jegojah furiously, mindlessly, smashing at it with all the strength he could muster. Tarrin attacked it like an unthinking animal, and that was exactly what he wanted Jegojah to believe. The last time they fought, Tarrin had lost control, and he had paid for it. He was hoping that the Doomwalker would take the bait and think that he'd snapped almost immediately. Sword and shield kept the staff away from its body, but the effort to maintain its defense against such savage power was clear in its movements. With viper-like speed it retaliated, stabbing at Tarrin's belly after a broad stroke with the staff, but the Were-cat twisted aside easily, spun into the turn as he brought up his foot, and smashed it into the rotting face of the undead creature with claws leading.