His prison was now his sanctuary, and every time he set foot on land, he would be in danger.
It almost seemed ironic. He leaned on the rail, looking down into the water where the gray fish that someone called dolphins swam alongside, breaking the water occasionally. They moved in a group, swimming effortlessy at a speed faster than a fit man could run on land. He wondered fleetingly what it would be like to be like that, to not have a care in the world, and have the entire world as your playground. Even when he tried to not have a care in the world, they always seemed to seep back into him. They had been what had brought him out of his instincts after he nearly killed his mother, that nagging knowledge that there were serious things out there that needed his attention. He didn't much like knowing that so much had been set on his shoulders, but life was hardly fair.
Holding up a paw, he absently ordered it to change, and it flowed and melted down into his human hand. He could change into his hands, or his feet, could also get rid of the fur on his arms or his legs, but that was as far as he could go. Doing anything else meant a full change. He couldn't even change both hands and feet at the same time, or get rid of the fur on both arms and legs. It still hurt, but Allia's concentration techniques allowed him to simply ignore the pain, shunt it away into a corner of his mind where it didn't distract him. What amazed him was how quickly he had learned them, over the course of only two days. The concept of meditation wasn't new to him, and it had been relatively easy for him to apply his prior training to what Allia was teaching him.
He stared at the hand. It looked so alien. It looked as it had before he was changed, but it didn't change the fact that it looked like someone had stuck someone else's hand on the end of his arm. He wiggled his fingers at himself, trying to remember what it had been like to see it every day, to never notice the hand because it was so normal. Just something he saw every day, day in day out. Just a hand. Not anymore. Now it was special, unique, probably the same way people thought of his paws and feet and tail. What was normal to him was unusual for them, and the tables were turned. What was normal for them was now unusual for him.
Yet another way his life had been twisted all around. Everything seemed as backwards as that anymore, but at least he could find ways to tolerate it. He could tolerate being trapped on a moving prison surrounded by strangers. He found that if he worked at it, he could even tolerate conversation with them, or being in close proximity for long periods of time. He even found that he liked Phandebrass. Why, he had no idea. The man was a scatterbrained danderhead who just had a penchant for telling a good story, and his two pet drakes were very unfriendly to him. Strange that not six months ago, being on a ship full of interesting people would have been wildly fascinating to him.
It seemed like a lifetime ago, and his human, younger self seemed like a different person. He had been so, sociable. He'd liked people, and could talk to them. He'd been curious about the world, absorbed in learning the arts of warcraft. He'd wanted to be a Knight, riding out and doing grand deeds in the name of Karas and Sulasia. He'd wanted to learn every language there was, since he'd found that he was so good at learning them. It had been, and to be fair to himself, still was, one of his real talents. But then Dolanna and Faalken came, and turned his life on its ear. It really wasn't her fault, and he didn't blame her for it, but that had been the beginning of the end of his first life. It started with Dolanna, and it ended with Jesmind.
Jesmind. Just thinking about her conjured an image of her, with her fiery red hair and powerful, determined look. She was so much her mother's daughter, he'd come to find out. He missed her, and part of him hoped that she'd be standing on the dock the next time they came into port. Well, if he saw her again, first he'd throttle her, then he'd kiss her. She left him, left him alone, and that still stung. He'd had no idea how much he depended on her nearness until after she was gone. Even when she was an enemy, a part of him took comfort in the fact that she was always nearby. It was probably an aspect of Were that he still didn't completely understand, but it was there nonetheless. Even now, a part of him yearned for her to be near to him. It was related to the part that just wanted her. She was the only female he'd ever been intimate with, and he wasn't so out of touch not to realize that he still had strong feelings for her, both emotionally and physically. His feelings for Jesmind were a jumble of love, hate, anger, regret, frustration, and sexual attraction, and it certainly never made thinking about her boring.
But seeing her again probably wasn't meant to be. She'd left him, and he doubted he'd ever see her again. If he even lived long enough for it to happen.
Next on Renoit's schedule was the city of Shoran 's Fork, the westernmost coastal city in Arkis. He remembered the maps he'd seen of the area. On the east bank of the River Ar, there was Shoran's Fork. On the west bank of the river laid the city of Var Denom, an independent city not part of the Arkisian kingdom. The two cities were supposedly friendly yet vigorous rivals, always competing with each other for ships to dock and trade with them, yet never coming to blows over their competition. Like two friends who competed against one another. Tarrin wondered fleetingly what made Renoit choose Shoran's Fork over Var Denom for his location. Maybe Shoran's Fork had a large marketplace or empty area where the circus could set up its large tent. Maybe Shoran's Fork offered Renoit money to come there rather than Var Denom. Maybe Renoit liked things on the right rather than the left. Maybe the ship couldn't make left turns. He didn't know, and any of them were equally good reasons until he found out.
It was one step closer to Arak. He knew he wouldn't like going there. Just saying that word made Azakar shudder. The Mahuut had been a slave there, first working in the mines, then fighting in the gladitorial arena, a place where men killed each other to entertain the crowd. Tarrin thought it was barbaric, and that was only the good things he'd heard about the place. Arakites had nasty reputations outside their empire, well known to be egocentric, effete snobs who thought everyone else wasn't even human because they weren't Arakite. A vast empire where slavery and barbarity were cultural requirements, where a man was only as good as the money he was worth. A brutal society full of ruthless people, his father has told him a long time ago. He knew that his father had been right on the mark. Tarrin knew the Arakite language, and it was as harsh as the people who spoke it were reputed to be. Full of hard sounds and gutteral pronunciations. The Arakites and their language supported the idea that a language was a good indication of the cultural disposition of the people who spoke it.
And getting there was just a part of their problem. They had to look through the largest city in the world to find a single book. It was an impossible task, and it was made harder by the fact that there were sure to be others doing the same thing. If one of them found it first and got it out of the city without Tarrin knowing it, he could be there for the rest of his life undertaking a futile search. That didn't sit well with him. There had to be an easier way.
If there was one, it wasn't presenting itself to him.
He looked out towards the land again. The sea was a brilliant blue, the wind was steady and cool, and the sun was warm. The sky had only a few small clouds, puffy and well away from the sun, which were being pushed along by the steady westerly wind. It was certainly pretty from so far away. He glanced to his side, where a Wikuni acrobat was practicing handstands. He wondered idly if they had any idea that Keritanima, their Crown Princess, was sharing the ship with them. Nobody called her by her full name. She was Kerri to the people on board, and they probably didn't identify her as who she really was. They probably thought the Princess was some silk-clad figure escorted by armies wherever she went. They probably had no inkling that the foul-tempered dancer was the woman that had once been destined to rule them. Imagining their reaction if they found out never failed to make him chuckle.