"Alright, I guess," he said. "Where did you find them?"
"Drakes inhabit the southern areas of Nyr and northern Sharadar. I found them as babies while I was searching for certain rare mosses that only grow in the forested regions of Telluria, after their mother was killed by an eagle. I raised them myself," he said proudly. "Chopstick, Turnkey, go out and play," the mage ordered the two green scaly reptiles. "Go on now," he shooed at them. "I'll be out in a while."
"They understand you?"
"Sometimes, they seem to," he replied. "Drakes are very intelligent. Some say as smart as people, but I haven't gotten around to studying them yet. They're relatives of dragons, you know."
"Dragons? I thought they were just fairy tales."
"They were very real, my boy," he replied. "Legend says they died in the Breaking, since they were so magical. I've seen some skeletons of dragons. They have one on display in the Cathedral of Knowledge in Sharadar, and I stumbled on another in a cave some ten years ago."
"Huh," Tarrin mused. "I'd love to see that."
"It was most impressive. Its legbone is taller than a man. It was hundreds of longspans long, with a wingspan longer than this ship. A truly magnificent creature."
"That's big," Tarrin agreed. "It must have preyed on Rocs."
"Probably," Phandebrass agreed. "See you later, my boy. I have to do this today, and I can't stand around and jabber anymore. We'll talk again later."
The talk with Phandebrass had been productive. The doddering mage was very intelligent, and if anything, having a better understanding about Jegojah made it worth his while. So, the Doomwalker was being forced to do what it was doing. That only made sense, going on what he knew of it. It spoke of honor and fought bravely, and that didn't seem right for someone who was enjoying what it was doing. It was doing what it was being forced to do, and that was something that Tarrin with which could identify. He actually felt a little sorry for it. Having one's soul dragged from the Final Rest and being forced to do the bidding of another, that was slavery at its ultimate and most vile level. It made it no less dangerous, but Tarrin could sympathize with it. By now, Jegojah was probably taking his defeats personally.
He sheparded the drakes outside, where they began to fly around the rigging, and found himself staring at Camara Tal. The Amazon had her back to him, and a bare back told him that she had her haltar off on the middle of the deck. The men around her were having a hard time not staring as she seemed to be fixing the garment, then shrugged it back on. Tarrin himself was rather indifferent about nudity because of who and what he was, and it seemed that the Amazons were much the same. She was lacing up the front of it as she turned and nodded to him. "It's about time, boy," she told him. "I'm ready to start the lessons again."
"Begging your pardon, Mistress Tal, but I need to talk to the lad, yes," Renoit broke in as he came down off the steering deck.
"What about, Renoit?" Tarrin asked.
"Tarrin, I hoped to sneak you through without making you perform with the troupe, yes, but I think that maybe you should have a skill, just in case," he explained. "I talked with Faalken about you, and he said that your marksmanship with a bow is exceptional. I have seen you take the human shape, yes, so you could handle a bow. Do you think you could turn this skill into an act? I assure you, I will not use it unless we are forced to," he said quickly. "But if demands to see you perform are made, you must be ready to carry out, yes."
"I'm no sharpshooter, Renoit, and it's been nearly a year since I've so much as picked up a bow," Tarrin protested.
"Give yourself some credit, Tarrin," Faalken said as he came over from the other strongmen. "I've seen you shoot. Any man that can peg a bull's-eye from two hundred paces is a sharpshooter."
"But I can't do it every time," he protested anew. "If you make me shoot, I'll have to do tricks, and I was never taught anything like that."
"You have seen my dancers, lad, yes," Renoit soothed. "They are demonstrators, nothing more. I have my strongmen who also demonstrate fighting styles of the world. You will demonstrate the use of the bow. As long as you are consistent, then it is all I need, yes."
"The lad's competent in the Ungardt Ways, Renoit," Faalken mentioned. "Could he do that instead?"
"Uh, no," Tarrin said. "I'd have to work with someone else, and I'd rather not risked getting punched in the mouth and losing my temper."
"Good point," Faalken grunted.
"Well, lad, can you hit a target from long distances?" Renoit asked.
"Yes, I can."
"Can you hit a moving target from short or medium range?"
"I used the bow to hunt, Renoit, I'd better be able to hit a moving target."
"Then that's all I need, yes. Just humor me and practice with the bow while we travel. I will not use you unless we have no choice in the matter, but this way we will be ready, yes. Best safe than sorry."
Tarrin couldn't really refute the man's logic. Just in case, it was a good idea for Tarrin to have a skill to fall back on. The bow would let him work alone, removing the risk of him losing control of himself, and he was a pretty good shot with a bow. He doubted that he had the skill to be a circus performer, but if all Renoit wanted was someone that could shoot straight, that was something that he could do. He was fairly certain that Renoit would see his practice and realize that he wouldn't be a good performer, and after all, if he wanted to avoid performing, all he had to do was change into a cat and not be seen in his humanoid form. That was a solution that Renoit hadn't considered, most likely.
"It's going to be tricky practicing on the deck of a ship," Tarrin said dubiously. "The ship moves, there's people in the way, and I'll lose too many arrows. I don't have a good bow, either."
"Where is your bow?" Faalken asked.
"Walten still has it," Tarrin replied. "After this happened, I didn't see much need to keep it."
"That's not a problem," Sarraya piped in, flitting up and landing lightly on Tarrin's shoulder. "How long did you have the bow, Tarrin?"
"Years," he replied. "My father made it for me."
"Easy enough. Hold out your hands."
"What?"
"Just do it, Tarrin," Sarraya said winsomely. "Trust me."
Tarrin wasn't sure what Sarraya wanted, so he held his paws out. The Faerie left his shoulder and hovered just in front of his paws, and he felt her reach out with her power in a peculiar way. She held her arms out to the sides of her body, and she actually began to glow with a very faint light. Then she pointed at him, and to his surprise, his bow simply appeared in his hands. It was his bow; its every curve and faint scratch were still intimately known to him.
"Impressive," Faalken said appreciatively. "How'd you do that, Sarraya?"
"Magic, Faalken," the sprite teased with a grin. "Druidic magic lets us conjure things. We can also use it to summon an object intimately connected with someone, so long as it's not that large. Tarrin's father made his bow, he owned it for a long time, and it's small enough to fit in his hands. That connected it to him, and let me summon it to him."
"Neat trick," he commended.
"I've learned a few useful little tricks here and there," she said grandly. "Here's another trick for you. Hold it still, Tarrin," she commanded. Tarrin did so, and the Faerie reached out and touched the bowstring. His bow shimmered for just a second, then faded. "There. Now the bow and the bowstring can't break or be cut. Just in case you want to use it with your paws," she told him with a smile.
"That could be useful," Faalken chuckled.
"Just trying to be more than a paperweight, Faalken," Sarraya told him. Tarrin could sense the underlying need to make amends in her voice, one of her ways for atoning for what she did. Tarrin could accept that. Sarraya had started off on the wrong foot, but she was steadily working herself back into the good graces of those around her. Just like Camara Tal and Phandebrass, Tarrin rather liked the little sprite. She had gotten on his nerves, but he'd felt that way about nearly all his friends here and there. It was part of his nature. He still didn't trust her, though. He pulled on the bowstring tentatively, feeling its familiar pull, a pull that felt much weaker now that he was so much stronger. He extended a claw and put its cutting edges right on the bowstring and tried to sever it, but true to her word, the bowstring would not cut.