"I told you before, Dolanna," he said calmly, "I won't put you in danger because of me. That was Jegajoh. A Doomwalker. If I'd have told you about it, and you and the others came to help fight it, it would have killed some of us. I've fought it before, and to be honest, anyone else would have gotten in my way."
"You assume much," she sniffed. "We are a group, Tarrin. We must act like a group. We cannot help each other if you keep shouldering all your burdens alone."
"I know, Dolanna, and I'm sorry. If it would have been anyone or anything else, I would have told you. But not a Doomwalker."
"It sounds personal."
"I guess it is," he said gruffly. "He beat me the last time. I guess the fighter in me wanted a rematch."
"Pride is a dangerous emotion, my young one. It can bring confidence, but it can also make one make foolish decisions."
"May be, but I still wasn't going to put all of you in danger over me. You're more important than I am."
"And who made this decision?"
"I did," he said pugnaciously, giving Dolanna a stern look.
Dolanna gave him a long look, then she actually laughed. "I am flattered, dear one," she said with a smile. "I was also impressed. You made all the correct decisions. Allia and Binter have taught you well."
"What do you mean?"
"Dear one, that wharf was in plain view of most of the harbor. There had to be hundreds of people watching. We saw the entire thing."
Tarrin gaped at her.
"King Rathbonne sent you this, as a thank-you," she said, picking up double-bladed longsword with an elaborately jeweled hilt, the hilt resembling a dragon. Wings formed the crosspiece, the body was cleverly wrapped in wire to make it look scaled, forming the handle, and the pommel was sculpted to look like a dragon's head.
It was Jegojah's sword.
Tarrin recognized it immediately, and it sent a pang through him. "The Doomwalker killed a great many people when it came into the city. That you had a hand in destroying it was not lost on him."
"You mean people were watching?"
"Of course. Azakar had a jump on us all. He saw you leave and followed you, but he did not get there in time to help. Rathbonne's men fished this out of the sea. He felt it only right that you should receive it."
Tarrin took it from her, holding it out before him. Just the touch of it made his fur itch. He could feel the magic that made up part of its craftsmanship, an ancient weapon from time long past, that had only survived the Breaking because it was probably wherever the Doomwalker went when not stalking across the world. It felt odd holding the sword that had spilled so much of his own blood.
"I don't deserve this," he said, holding it back out. "Triana finished it off, not me."
"Triana is not here. She did not fight it to that point, and she struck it from behind. Besides, this is less than suitable compensation for what it has put you through. I would say that you have much more of a claim on it than anyone else."
"It's not cursed, is it?"
"No, dear one," she smiled. "It is merely an object, nothing more. The good or evil it can cause depends solely on the hand wielding it."
Tarrin looked at her, then looked at the sword. It was truly an exquisite weapon, both in its forging and in its beauty. The blade was etched with flowing dragons along both sides, something he hadn't noticed before, and it was much too light to be made of steel. It almost felt made of wood, but Tarrin could personally attest to the strength of the blade, and its lethal cutting edges. It would be the treasured possession of any warrior, a sword of paramount workmanship. The fact that it carried a magical enchantment, something that was exceedingly rare, was only the icing on the cake.
"Jegojah will come back for it," Tarrin said quietly. "It told me itself that it can't be destroyed. It will find a new body and come back, and I'm sure it'll be looking for this."
"Perhaps. But tell me, was it using the same weapons as before? I remember the first battle you had with it, and it left its sword behind. The Tower still has the sword it used in that fight. This one is not the same."
"It's not?"
"No. I saw it. It was not this sword."
"Huh," he mused, holding it up. "It's too bad I don't really like swords. This one is very nice."
"Yes. I pity the one the Doomwalker attacked to gain it."
"I guess so," he agreed. "Azakar uses a bastard sword, and it's a bit too small for him. I think I'll give it to Faalken."
"He will kiss your feet and wash your clothes for a year," Dolanna laughed.
"He can do whatever he wants. It doesn't really do me any good. Best to give it to someone that can use it."
"He will be thrilled," she assured him, taking it from him when he offered it and leaning it against the squat night stand. "Now then, you are free to get up. You were not injured as badly as I first thought."
"It got me in the lung. I thought I was going to die."
"Your internal injuries were not that severe. Perhaps Triana healed you before she allowed Azakar to take you."
"Druids can heal?"
"Yes. Their healing is crude by a Sorcerer's standards, but they do have some ability."
"What's the difference?"
"A Sorcerer returns the body to its original condition," she explained. "We cannot heal diseases as Priests can, nor can we heal those who are so weak that their body cannot withstand the healing, but any type of injury or wounding can be healed. Druids only accelerate the body's natural healing process. If an injury does not set or heal correctly, there is nothing more they can do. Their healing also leaves scars, where ours does not."
"I guess that makes sense. Sevren once told me that Druidic magic is the magic of nature, so their healing would depend on the natural healing of the one being healed."
"Correct," she smiled. "I see you paid more attention in class than I previously believed."
"I tried," he said with a small smile.
"You may get up and move about, but do not exert yourself. You may also go up on deck, but I do not have to-"
"I'll be careful," he promised.
"Renoit left you these," she said, patting a set of leathers sitting on the nightstand. "He noticed that your other clothes are all getting a bit shaggy."
"It's the claws," he said casually, throwing the covers aside. He was nude beneath them, but he had no reservations about it. Dolanna had seen him without his clothes more times than he could count, and it didn't bother him in the slightest to appear before others unclad.
Dolanna stood up. "I will see you on deck, dear one. If you feel up to it, join us for our daily lesson in Sorcery. At least after I drag my students away from Renoit's performers."
Tarrin tested the fit of the leathers after putting them on. There hadn't been a hole for his tail, but a claw fixed that problem. They fit rather well, a pair of brown leather trousers and a simple brown sleeveless vest that left his torso, upper arms, and chest bare, and showed his brands to the world. They were usually hidden beneath the cotton shirts he preferred to wear.
Going up on deck, he ignored the looks and the stares from the performers, breathing in the fresh air. Miranda and Keritanima seemed to excuse themselves from their dancing and start towards him. Allia, much closer to him, rushed over and hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Dolanna said you were well," she said in Selani. "She told us to come up and train. I nearly spit her on my sword."