It wasn't easy. There was a fundamental difference when using Sorcery in cat form, having to do with the body he was occupying. Cats were not blessed with a potential to use Sorcery, and since he was using a cat body, that body resisted the Sorcery, made it more difficult to use and exacted a higher price of strength to use it. It was still connected to the Weave, but the manner in which it affected the Weave was diminished, since he was literally trying to reach through an inhibiting barrier. It took him a moment to sort through that difference, then learn how to circumvent it and bring his will to bear against the magic of the Weave. It took him just slightly longer to realize that he couldn't use High Sorcery in cat form; his connection to the Weave was strong enough in his cat form to be able to cross that boundary, diluted by the qualities of his cat form, for cats were not blessed with the innate ability to use Sorcery. But he could still use Sorcery, even use Weavespinner magic. It was the same as other Weavespinner magic, but he had to exert his will in a slightly different manner.

The end result was the same. The eyes of that solitary cat, sitting sedately between two buildings as the humans behind it all milled about to prepare to defend the farm's inner courtyard, suddenly blazed with an unholy greenish radiance, so bright that it became apparent to the charging Trolls. None of them stopped, however, since the concept that the cat was a danger to them had yet to reach their slow minds.

All the better.

It was a spell that showed no signs of effect until it was too late. In front of the charging Trolls, the ground suddenly erupted, dust and dirt flying and startling the dim beasts, dirt and soil displaced as multiple spires of solid rock suddenly erupted from the ground. They formed a bristling barrier of lethally sharp points, angled in such a way that their points were presented at about belly height to the Trolls, and they had erupted into being not five paces ahead of the charging monsters. At such a close distance, the Trolls had no time, no chance to stop.

At full speed, the twenty Trolls slammed into that deadly barricade. The lead Trolls were impaled on the lances of rock, and the fellows behind them drove them fully onto the barbs, even drove them through their bodies to drive into the bodies of those who had struck them from behind. The magic of their creation still charged those rock lances, making them unbreakable, but it also allowed Tarrin to maintain control of their shape and mass. With a sudden slap of his tail on the ground, Tarrin caused those rock lances to extend forth, thrust from the ground with sudden speed and force, ripping through the lead Trolls and slamming into the bodies of those behind them, making their bloody points erupt from the backs of his enemies with tatters of flesh shivering from their irregular, slightly serrated shafts.

Only one Troll managed to survive that attack unharmed, and only because it had had the presence of mind to fall to the ground and roll into the legs of those in front of him. Only it had had the reflexes to save itself from that deadly trap. It got up and started fleeing the other way, but it got no more than ten steps before a bolt of lightning flashed from the clear, sunny sky, striking it right on the top of the head. The intense heat of the bolt made the Troll's head literally explode, sending blood and brains and bits of skull, hair, and tissue sailing in every direction. It collapsed on itself, then tumbled to the ground in a head of lifeless limbs and wafting smoke.

Closing his eyes, Tarrin recovered from the effort of using Sorcery in cat form. It caused immediate, yet only temporary, exhaustion, like running at full speed for a short distance. By the time the menfolk had come out from the barnyard to stare in confusion at the suddenly dead monsters littering their field, Tarrin was fully recovered.

"What in the name of the golden coin of Mikaras happened here?" one of the men whispered, referring to the patron god of Arkis, Mikaras. He was the god of money, merchants, and trade. He was a suitable god for the materialistic Arkisians.

"I don't know, father," one of the others said after a moment of silence. "It looks like the earth itself attacked the monsters."

Without turning around, Tarrin changed form. He heard their gasps and startled shouts and sudden retreat from what had to be to them to be another monster, and this one looked almost as frightening as the big greenish-skinned brutes.

Ignoring the humans, Tarrin's paws suddenly began to limn over as he reached out and drew in the power of High Sorcery. He needed it to do what he was about to do. He raised those paws over his head as he wove together a Ward, a Ward that would do the Ward circling the Tower proud, a Ward that slowly wove together in a circle around the entire farm, with the compound forming its center. He set the Ward to kill any Goblinoid that attempted to cross its boundary. He heard the humans gasp as the Ward shimmered into visibility for only a moment before fading out of sight, but he wasn't done yet. He all but saturated the structure of its weave with magical power to make it last for a long time-then in a moment of brilliance, he spun out a single new strand and attached it to the core of the Ward's woven form, the heart of the spell. He had no idea why he had done that, but the effect of it was immediate and apparent.

By attaching the Ward to the Weave, he had made it as permanent as the Weave was. It would take another Weavespinner to unravel what he had just done, and it would last until one did so.

Tarrin blew out his breath, a little startled by what he had just done. Was it another echo-memory of the Weave itself, showing him how to make the Ward last forever? Charging the Ward was a manner to make it last a very long time. By overcharging the weave and weaving it very tightly, a Ward could last days, even rides. But what he had just done was make the Ward permanent. It would last until another Weavespinner removed it.

"Who-Who are you?" one of the older men suddenly asked.

"No one of consequence," Tarrin said in a low voice, turning around and facing the twelve men and boys, all holding a variety of farm implements as weapons. Aside from the two holding swords and another wielding a wood axe. "Tell your neighbors that this farm is now safe," he told them. "That shimmering you saw was a magical spell of protection. The monsters can't enter your land. If they try, they'll die at the boundary of that protection. Your friends and neighbors can find refuge here, until the army comes to drive away the monsters."

Reaching within, Tarrin came into communion with the All, and formed his image and intent. A chest appeared in front of him, open, and it was filled with twisted golden nuggets. Tarrin carefully weighed the value of that gold against what this family would lose in case their farm became a refugee camp. "I'll leave you this, so long as you use it to help your neighbors as well as yourselves. You can use it to buy food for everyone, and it will replace what you'll lose when they trample over your fields and ruin your harvest."

"You're a Sorcerer!" one of the younger men declared.

Tarrin nodded simply. "Among other things," he admitted. "The safety of your neighbors is now your responsibility, men. I watched you, I saw that you're men of decency and courage, who care about family, so I'm sure that you'll do what's right and proper. Take good care of them. Your neighbors need you right now."

Tarrin felt a resonance among the men. He reached out with his senses, and focused them on the youngest of them, a boy of no more than twelve, holding a hoe tightly in his nervous hands. "And in a few years, when he's old enough, send that one to Suld," Tarrin told the oldest of them, pointing to the boy. "He's a Sorcerer. Or at least he will be. The gold I gave you will cover the cost of the schooling."