"You brought this on yourself."

"I know," he said in a whisper. "But sometimes… we all… have to make… hard choices." He began panting shallowly, feeling the blood rise and fall in his throat. "I'm sure… you know… all about that."

He coughed again, and the pain was simply too much. Eyes rolling back in his head, he sagged to the wharf.

Triana looked at him in shock, paw half-reaching for him. But then her fingers closed into a fist, and her eyes hardened. "Hard choices," she said in a whisper to herself, putting her fist to her forehead and closing her eyes, an expression of tremendous pain and loss clear on her lovely features.

Then they opened. "Cub, you drive me crazy," she said in a clear voice, reaching down and touching him gently on the back of the neck with two fingers. There was a visible light in that touch, as Triana used her Druidic power to enact Druidic healing on Tarrin's damaged body. Under her ministration, Tarrin's body was urged to heal itself, and supplied the energy it would need to do it faster than was normal. But the amount of energy she supplied was very small, allowing his body only to heal to the point where it was stable.

To where he would live.

"Your Sorceress can finish the job," she said to Azakar, who had tried to approach quickly yet quietly. He was wearing his breastplate and helmet, and was carrying a sword. "I just want you to know, I didn't do this. It was a Doomwalker."

"I saw it," Azakar said, coming to a halt well out of her reach and lowering his sword. "Why?"

She gave him a penetrating look. "Because we all have to make hard choices," she said in a level tone, then she stalked up to him and wordless handed him Tarrin's staff. There was no emotion in her expression, a face of stone, like a sculpture of beauty with no warmth. She stared directly up into his eyes for a long moment, then she walked past him, back towards the city. Azakar wasted no time in gathering up Tarrin's limp form, and rushing back to the Dancer, back to Dolanna.

GoTo: Title EoF

Chapter 8

"This is getting tiresome, Tarrin," Dolanna admonished him sternly as she put her hand to his forehead.

He'd woken up in his bed. Again. But then again, he didn't think he'd be waking up at all. For some reason, Triana had spared him.

Maybe the Goddess' words about what him saying to her had made a difference. She had spared his life.

He felt remarkably well for someone who had had a span of steel shoved into his gut. There was no pain, just the weak feeling that always accompanied a Sorcerer's healing. He'd woken up to find Dolanna hovering over his bed, and feeling the ship rocking in a way that told him that they were back out at sea. He'd slept through the night and half the morning, recovering his strength. He was a little worried that Keritanima and Allia weren't there, but Renoit had them up on deck practicing, and Dolanna had ensured them that Tarrin's injuries weren't life-threatening.

"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."