"How so?"
"I'm a Were-cat, dear one," he said with a smile. "I can go places that humans wouldn't even dream about."
Her look sobered instantly. "What you're thinking about is one step from suicide," she warned. "The Keeper is a Sorcerer. I'll guarantee that she and her office have magical protection."
"Hmm," he said, rubbing his chin with the side of a finger. "You're right. But Tiella cleans the Keeper's office. I think I'll ask her to start remembering any scrap notes she happens to see. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Just be careful, deshida," she warned.
"I will," he promised.
It was a large problem, but the thought of his family coming quickly drowned out such heavy thoughts, and replaced them with a mixture of joy and terror that put him on edge for several days, and put him so out of sorts he did not one thing to start unraveling the veil of mystery surrounding his place in the Tower. He wanted desperately to see his parents, his sister, to put himself in the arms of his mother and father and know that they would accept him as he was. But the very thought that they would reject him made his heart lurch. He'd had a nightmare that made him sleepless for three days, a nightmare that his mother looked on him for the first time, and a look of horror overwhelmed her. Mere words or actions could hold nothing on that one dream, that one image, that had shaken him to the very core. It seemed the embodiment of all the gnawing fears, the self doubts. He'd thought he'd achieved an equilibrium with his animal instincts, but the fight with Jesmind showed him how pitifully wrong he was. They only seemed abated because he was in a very controlled, safe environment. He knew, then, that every time his life was in danger, or he was angry, that he would fight that same fight, a fight for control. And he knew that he could lose.
Of Jesmind, there was no sign. She had simply vanished again, most likely waiting for another chance. Tarrin still had mixed feelings about the fight, and about her. She wanted to kill him, but he knew he could not kill her. It just seemed wrong. When they were apart, the Jesmind he remembered was the incisive, light-hearted woman whom he'd met in that treetop, who had a quirky sense of humor and those glorious green eyes. But it was like she was another person now. He saw it in her eyes right before that fight. She absolutely despised him, hated him with every fiber of her being. In a way, that hurt him, because he didn't feel the same way. She had cared about him in some way before he left her, that he knew. Be it compassion, or responsibility, or even the beginnings of friendship, he wasn't sure. But not anymore. He could see the lust for revenge in her eyes.
It was a hot summer day, and Tarrin sat panting on the sand-pit practice field, nursing a broken tail. Allia stood calmly in front of him, hand on her hip, with a distant expression he knew only too well. Allia was nearly sadistic when she was training. She'd told him that a respect for pain was one of the lessons learned. It was the way she had been taught. She had the scars to prove it. "Don't lead with your foot like that again," she told him absently, checking her fingernails for any sign of damage as Tarrin took his broken tail in his paws. There was a visible kink it in, and he winced as he pulled the bones apart and gently let them come back together in the right way, so they could heal. Despite a month of training, he'd yet to even lay a paw on her. He was starting to get frustrated. No matter how well he thought he was doing, she would simply seem to grow an extra arm or leg, and that phantom limb would hit him in some very sensitive area. The Troll-skin gloves she wore gave her strength proportional to his, and without that strength advantage, it was clear who the better fighter was.
"I'll try not to," Tarrin grunted as he got to his feet. he spread his legs wide, in a ready stance, and waited for her. She didn't disappoint him, wading back into the fray confidently. What amazed him about her was her fluid suppleness. She seemed to be capable of moving in ways even a rope wouldn't dream of. She was like a candle flame, contorting in the wind, bending herself in almost impossible angles to avoid blows, and then springing back to the attack. That agility coupled with her speed made her almost impossible to hit. Tarrin was no novice, but even his own training couldn't find a hole in her defenses. He gritted his teeth as she flowed around several more darting attacks, then she kicked him right in the backside with the inside of her foot. He stumbled forward as she laughed lightly, and that just seemed to set off something inside him. He was going to get her, no matter what it took. He'd give her a reason to laugh.
He set his feet wide again, putting his clawed paws out over his feet, spreading his weight. She'd warned him against doing just that, because it would slow him down. And when she saw him do it again, she rushed in to chastise him. She feinted a jab, then spun around, bringing her foot up, performing one of her circle-kicks. Her foot whistled through the air as it sped towards its target, his cheek.
And passed through empty air.
She almost spun to the ground, and had to wildly catch herself before falling down. She'd been counting on hitting him to stop her momentum, and he'd simply disappeared. All she saw were his pants laying on the ground. She gasped as the significance of that hit her.
Just as the pad of his paw struck her right on the back of the head. She catapulted forward, head first, and her face dug a furrow in the sand as she hit the ground.
Tarrin pulled his hand back, enormously pleased with himself. She'd preached and preached about the advantage of surprise in combat. She never even dreamed that he would change form on her. That put him right out of harm's way, and after slipping out of his clothes, he changed back right behind her and literally slapped her on the back of the head.
Allia turned over and sat down, spitting sand out of her mouth. Her sweat had made the sand stick to her face, and it looked like she painted her face. Tarrin took one look at her and started laughing. "I believe you made your point," she said icily, as the instructors and cadets stopped to look at them. The fact that Tarrin had no clothes on didn't catch everyone's eye nearly as much as the sight of the nigh-invincible Allia with her backside on the ground and her face caked with sand.
Faalken and Valden walked over from where they and their six cadets had been watching the two spar. They always watched them, because there was much to learn from watching two such as them. From time to time, Allia and Tarrin sparred with the cadets, to give them some exposure to fighting against Non-humans. Tarrin and Allia both used tactics that relied on their natural abilities; Allia's speed, and Tarrin's strength and natural weaponry. In that way, Tarrin and Allia were more cadets than Novitiates. They were even more involved with the Knights than most cadets were, since they too sparred with the Knights. To give the Knights some basics of unarmed combat, and too to fight against unconventional foes to broaden their experience. Allia had approached the idea with trepidation at first, but the tremendous respect the Knights had for her had worn away that reluctance. She often called to them by their names, which was amazing, considering she would not so much as speak to a Novice, and wasn't quite cordial to Sorcerers that talked to her.
Allia gave him a wry smile, and offered her hand. "Very well done," she complemented. "You changed form on me. I didn't think of that."
"I hope you're not talking about me," Faalken said dryly. Tarrin blinked. She spoke in Selani. Tarrin often forgot that he was the only one who could understand her when she did.
"No, Faalken," she said as Tarrin helped her to her feet. She pulled up the tail of her shirt and started wiping off the sand. "I was telling Tarrin that he did very well."
"That was a pretty clever move," Faalken agreed. "Uh, Tarrin, you can put your pants back on now," he said pointedly.
Tarrin chuckled. "The clothes don't change with me, Faalken," he said, reaching down and collecting his pants, and then putting them back on. "Why do you think I didn't do that before? I'd be losing clothes left and right."