And it responded.
Holding out his paw, Tarrin did exactly what he had seen Sarraya do so many times. With barely a thought, only an image, a desire, of what he needed to do, he Summoned the sword to his paw.
And it appeared.
The Demon's eyes widened in absolute shock as that black sword simply appeared his its quarry's hand. Tarrin turned that weapon against the Demon instantly, driving it point-first right into the monster's face, hitting it right in the eye. Only the very tip of the sword could reach, but it was enough to sink it into the Demon's eye and put it out. With a tremenous howl, it flinched away from the deadly sword and let go of him, staggering back with one of its small hands over its wounded face. Tarrin dropped to the ground, chest hurting, belly quaking from the pain of being in its clutches, but he ignored it as he drove forward to the attack. He slashed the monster in the side of the leg with the weapon, sending black blood flying as the deadly edge severed its hamstrings, causing it to howl again and collapse around its lamed leg. That brought its head within his reach.
With a quick slice, Tarrin sent the undamaged pincer sailing away from its wrist, turned and sliced the other away, then jumped into the air once again. It looked up at him with its remaining good eye, a look of stunned disbelief on its face as Tarrin raised the sword over his head, a look of hatred in his eyes as he met the Demon's gaze. It sought to fend him off with its pincers, but only bloody stumps rose to block the Were-cat's path to victory. And they were not enough. Tarrin reared back with a ragged cry, coiling his body like a spring.
And then cleaved its head in half with a massive overhanded blow.
Tarrin landed beside it as its destroyed body slumped to the floor, taking a few steps back as the stench of its blood assaulted him, blowing out his breath.
He had beaten it. He had won.
The game was over.
But there was little sense of victory in it. He was hurt, bloody, wounded. He had seen his dear friend Sarraya nearly get killed. He had felt the ecstacy of the Weave, had discovered newfound power within. He had vanquished an unnatural monster whose power had been incredible. But it all seemed to pale to his bone weariness, to the sober memory of what he had done to get there. And pale to the knowledge that though this game was over, another would soon begin.
Getting the book was not enough. He remembered Shiika's warning. That if he touched it, the magic that kept it hidden would be gone, and every mage and Wizard in Arak would come after him. Now he had to get the book out of there alive, get it to where they could open it, read it, find out where the Firestaff was. And then go get it.
Still holding the sword, he rushed over to Sarraya, picking her up tenderly. He couldn't heal her without Sorcery. He was too weary to even try if he could. But she seemed to be alright. Unconscious, wingless, and with a few broken bones. But she would be alright.
She had saved his life. This victory was also hers, healing him of his hideous wound, giving him the strength to continue the fight. She was something special.
Cradling her in his paw, he sheathed his sword and walked wearily up to the stand. This was it. This was what he had spent more than half a year trying to find. A large book, bound in black leather, with the ultimate secret within. It seemed so anticlimatic to him now, to be done with all obstacles, to be standing before it. He had won the game, but to him, there was little satisfaction in it now. Maybe later, but not now. The elation he thought he'd feel at standing where he was now had evaporated. Lost in his bone weariness.
With little fanfare, Tarrin reached down and picked up the Book of Ages. He held it before him, looking at its featureless black leather binding, wondering tiredly that this could be one of the most precious artifacts in the world. That countless men, men he didn't even know about, had fought, killed, or died to gain possession of it. That entire kingdoms were fighting wars over the slightest rumor of its location. That the entire world had gone mad over what was rumored to exist within it.
Funny sometimes, how things turned out.
The Questing Game was over. And Tarrin had won.
For what it was worth.
Now came a new game, a new goal. Survival. They would come for him, come after him. He had to get the book out of the Palace, out of Dala Yar Arak, and he had to do it fast. It wouldn't take them long to get on his trail, he was sure of it. Now that he had what he came for, he had to live long enough to take advantage of it.
He turned his back on the bookstand, walking towards the door. It was time to go, before Shiika managed to get there. He was in no condition to fight with her now, not with his weariness and Sarraya to protect.
There would be time enough to deal with Shiika some other day. For now, he had more important things to do.
Survive.
Getting out of the Palace turned out to be a great deal harder than getting in.
People were running everywhere now, running around and screaming, moving in large groups. He was too tired to fight now, too worried about Sarraya to push things. Cradling her in one paw and holding the Book of Ages in the other, the Were-cat had come up from the stairs and started creeping about immediately, seeking nothing other than to avoid all contact with others. But that wasn't easy. He often had to slide into doors, turn corners before they reached the intersection. A few times, he simply had to just run, outrun them and blindly hope that another batch of armed opponents wasn't waiting around the next corner. He couldn't just sit tight and wait. He had the Book of Ages, and they could use it to find him. Just as Shiika warned. So he couldn't stop, he had to get out of the Palace, get out of Dala Yar Arak, and in his condition, he also couldn't afford to fight.
The place was just so huge. He never passed a window, never so much as had an idea if he was fleeing into the Palace's depths or towards the outer wall. He was utterly lost, and there was nothing, no breeze, no scent, no light, to tell him which way to go.
He felt helpless. "Goddess, if you want to give me a hand, this would be a very good time," Tarrin grunted under his breath, hiding behind a tapestry as a large force of armed guards raced by.
You had to but ask, my kitten, came the glowing, glorious response. She certainly seemed happy about his success. Turn right at the next intersection, then left, then right. That hallway will lead to a window. I think you can manage things from there.
"I think so."
You have done well, my kitten, she beamed in his mind. I can't begin to tell you how proud I am. You have done well.
"Save the congratulations for when we're all safe," he breathed, darting out from behind the tapestry and turning right at the intersection.
"This way!" a voice shouted from behind him. Tarrin could hear another group of men behind him, armored men. He looked to and fro for a doorway, a passage, anything to use to hide, but he was trapped in an open area. And they were close.
"Ummmmmm," Sarraya said blearily in his paw. "Tarrin, where are we?"
"Sarraya, listen to me!" he said in a harsh whisper. "You have to turn invisible! Can you do that?"
"Ummm, yes, I can," she said groggily. "Where's that big monster at?"
" Just do it!" he whispered fiercely, carefully setting her down against the wall, then he shapeshifted into cat form and stood right over her, keeping anyone from accidentally stepping on her. Sarraya gasped in pain when she moved, but her form did fade from view. Tarrin sighed in relief and remained over her, anxiously awaiting the guard party.
If they hadn't been warned about what he was, they'd probably pass him right up. Readying to either fight or run, Tarrin's heart lurched when the men turned the corner, seven human guards being led by a man in yellow robes. The man looked a bit confused. "What is it, Watchwizard?" one of the guards asked in Arakite.