The first attempt had failed. He had destroyed everything around him in a vast area, a circle of devastation that went for nearly five blocks before ending in a shattered zone of debris-damaged buildings. They had fled when they saw him start the Weave, then had returned while he was trying to recover, fleeing outside the weave's area of effect. He had to admit, that was very clever.
Despite his utter rage at their attack, his mind was still joined to the Cat, and it understood the situation. These were enemies he could not harm. He could only drive them away from him, push them back, buy himself time, and even then, they had an understanding of how long it took for him to weave the spells, and how much it took out of him. He couldn't do that more than one more time. There was no way to hurt them now, not without his staff. They would keep coming, and keep coming, and keep coming, until he had no more strength to keep them away.
He could not fight. So he had to flee. But he was surrounded, and they were all armed. He would certainly be wounded if he attempted to go through them, and if he became injured, he would be an easy target. He could not risk any injury, no matter how minor.
Spreading his arms out, Tarrin tried a desperate gamble. They could only see the physical effects of his weaves. He was praying that they couldn't feel the real weaves. He spread his arms and allowed a faint reddish aura to overtake him, a ruddy glow that shuddered and pulsated erratically. They had seen this before. It was the buildup effect of his shockwave, a weave that had a visible sign of formation. He could not bring to bear the power to generate a real weave so soon after the last, so he bluffed them, seeking to make them back off as he wove the real weave beneath his misdirection, a weave that required much less power to create.
They bit. All nine of them started moving backwards, giving themselves room to flee should that erratic red glow become bright and coherent, the imminent sign that another magical attack was about to be unleashed. But instead of pushing his arms out, Tarrin suddenly jumped into the air, jumped high and lowered his paws towards the ground and released his weave. A weave of pure Air, creating an intense blast of wind to issue forth from the ground and strike him. The force of the magical wind picked him up, literally hurled him into the sky, soaring him well away from his attackers. Cursing loudly, the three winged females suddenly unfurled their wings and vaulted into the sky after him, as the six males scrambled to follow along the rooftops and streets.
He'd never done that before, so he had a great deal of trouble trying to control his descent. The wind was a very strong force, but it did like to be shifted quickly or a great deal. It moved sluggishly as he continued to maintain the weave, too slowly for his trajectory to keep him aloft, causing him to topple out of the invisible funnel of air that was driving him against gravity. Tarrin plummeted nearly forty spans to the top of a roof, landing hard and rolling to absorb the shock of the impact. He was up before the weave began to unravel when he let go of it, vaulting to another roof and scrambling away from this assailants.
It had been quite a trap. Even in his anger, he could appreciate that. She had lured him out, taken his staff, incited him into an explosion of rage to tire him, then had her brood there to challenge him after he felt he was safe, to attack him after he had tired himself. She had to know that he always felt tired after a rage, after expending such energy on his heightened emotional state, and that controlling High Sorcery was a task that quickly drained him, whether he wove spells or not. Just holding it was an effort, holding it without letting it overwhelm him. She wouldn't even fight him herself. She sent her sycophants to fight him, forcing him to wear himself out against them if he wanted to get a piece of her. She was making him run a gauntlet. She was very clever. Very, very clever.
Weaving together that chaotic mess of Air, Fire, Water, and Divine flows, with only token flows from the other spheres to give the weave the power of High Sorcery, Tarrin turned in his sprint and levelled his palm at the closest of the flying females, the brunette. A blinding bolt of incandescent white power exploded from his paw, lancing across the sky like the glowing spear of a god, slamming directly into her pretty little face. It picked her up and carried her along with it, sending her flying away from him, knocking her temporarily out of the chase. They could fly faster than he could run. He knew that. He had to keep those flyers away from him.
He couldn't run fast enough. He saw one of them dive at him as he made a jump to another roof, whizzing by him as an icy cold line of sudden pain sliced across his back and shoulder. He saw his own blood spatter onto the roof as he landed heavily on his side, bouncing once and skidding to a stop, and he felt the blazing fire of pain lash through him. She had slashed him with her sword as she passed, like a raptor's claws tearing apart a pigeon.
Trembling, Tarrin lifted himself off the roof with a paw, his teeth clenched in pain. It was like the sword left behind a line of fire! He'd never felt anything like that, not since-
– -magic!
The wound wasn't healing. Their weapons were enchanted, they just had to be. He could see another one lining up for a dive at him, and he ignored the pain despite the explosion of agony along his back, ignored it and drew himself up to his feet. She was diving at him with incredible speed, an evil smile on her face, her slender sword leading her assault. He stood his ground, paws out, feet wide, sizing her up. He could play chicken with the best of them.
In a blur, Tarrin shifted aside at absolutely the last moment, causing the sword to plunge just aside of his face. He glanced his own reflection in the black blade of the sword as it whizzed by. A paw locked on her wrist with blinding speed, twisting it even as he wheeled around on one paw, dragging her out of her path of flight. She suddenly curved around as he pulled her to the side, causing her to crash loudly into the roof behind him, causing the stone under his feet to shudder horribly as the loud sound of her striking the stone reached his ears. She seemed dazed by the impact, and Tarrin used that precious second to pick up her own sword from the roof, then raise it up and drive it down at her unprotected back.
It was harmlessly turned aside.
Tarrin gaped in surprise, forgetting his foe's fundamental advantage. Not even their own weapons could harm them! He glanced the third female out of the corner of his eye, and ducked under a flying slash of her weapon, a slash that would have decapitated him. He dropped the sword nervelessly and simply turned and darted away, jumping to another rooftop. The six males were approaching, getting closer. He had cut the females down to one, only one that could chase him immediately. The slash across his back was on fire, and he could feel his blood flowing down the back of his leg, down his tail.
He had to get away from them. Not just run away, but get away. He had to hide. He was wounded, and he would get weaker and weaker as his lifeblood seeped out of his injured back. He knew now that he was too tired, too weakened to use any more Sorcery. Even the attempt to touch it would kill him, destroy him from within in a blazing pyre. That would be his way out, should there be no other hope, but he wouldn't take that step until there were no other steps to take.
From out of nowhere, the brunette suddenly appeared in front of him, and she struck him dead-on, flying at full speed with her arms folded over her head, like a flying battering ram.
He felt his ribs break from the intense power of the blow, picking him up and carrying him with her. He struck the stone ledge of the roofside, broke through it and tumbled away from her. Dazed, hurting, he could only feel that he was somewhere in the air, and then suddenly he was crashing heavily into the ground of an unpaved alley, breaking an arm and his tail as he came down on top of them, on his side, driving the jagged ends of his broken ribs into his insides. For a long moment, seeming like forever, he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe, and he could barely think. There was only a gray haze filming over his eyes, and it was like he was trying to hear with cloth stuffed in his ears.