"I'll try, and you're welcome," he told her, then he watched her saunter away.
He chuckled again. Keritanima was quite a woman.
I told you so, the Goddess' voice echoed in the depths of his mind, her tone amused and teasing, and then it was gone just as quickly as it came to him.
"You stay out of this," he said aloud, in a playful banter. But there was no response.
Tarrin glanced at Binter again. Oh, yes, he'd like a match against that monster of a Vendari. He had the feeling that he may need some experience fighting larger opponents. The Gods only knew what would jump out of the wall to attack him next.
Tracking down his staff wasn't easy. They'd taken it from the battleground, and he had to ask around for almost an hour until he found out who had taken it. It ended up in the laboratory of a katzh-dashi, a small, plump little man with a balding pate and a rotund face. He smelled heavily of spices and garlic, and the lingering traces of the smells of many, many types of plants were trapped in his brown robe. His laboratory was in the Northeast Tower, a small area that was dominated by a row of huge glass windows that ran along the right wall. Lining that entire side of the room were rows and rows of plants, flowers, and vegetables, all growing in long wooden troughs filled with sod. The entire room smelled of earth and plants and life, and it twinged the animal within him in the most curious way.
"Ah, I wondered when you would show up," the little man said in a gentle voice from where he was pruning an amazingly little tree in a brazed brass pot. "You want your staff back?"
"Please," Tarrin replied directly. "Why did they bring it here?"
"I wanted to study the wood," he replied. "I specialize in plants and botany. Ironwood is exceedingly rare. It only grows in the northeast corner of Sulasia. Do you know that it's so bouyant that a staff like that one can support the weight of a grown man?" he asked, pointing to Tarrin's staff. It was laying on a long table near the door, an open book with scribbled notes sitting beside it. "And it doesn't die. The wood in that staff is still alive, even after being cut away from its parent tree. If you planted that staff in the ground and left it, it would grow into another tree."
"I didn't know it was still alive," Tarrin said in surprise, going over and picking up the staff. He inspected it, and realized that it had been cut, right at the very end. He grounded it, and saw that the man had shaved about a quarter of a finger off its length. "You cut it."
The man gave him a surprised look. "Well, yes, I took a sliver off the end. I'm surprised you noticed."
"It pays to know a weapon that may save your life some day," he said sagely.
The man chuckled. "Oh, yes, that's right. They said you're half Ungardt. I'll fix that right now. I'll put the length back."
"How can you do that?"
"Inititate, Sorcery can very easily affect plants," he said with a smile. "I'll just urge it to grow back out to its old length. Give me the staff. I have to be touching it to do this."
Tarrin watched curiously as the little man touched the Weave. He could almost see the intricate and complex spell the man wove, from all six Spheres. The flows gathered inside the staff, going through the Sorcerer rather than gathering from strands, tangling themselves in a seemingly chaotic mass of confusion, but Tarrin could tell that the rotund Sorcerer knew what he was doing. Then the chaotic mess snapped, and it turned into a very orderly and sensible weave. Once he was done, he released it into the staff, and Tarrin saw it grow that lost bit of length back, and even fill in some of the nicks and scratches that had been inflicted upon it.
"There we are, good as new," he said, handing Tarrin the staff. "I took a bit off of it so I can get an ironwood tree to grow," he explained. "I've always wanted to study it in a controlled environment. And not have to trudge through the forest for a month to find a tree," he added, patting his wide belly. "I'm not built for field work."
"How did you yank on it like that?" Tarrin asked curiously.
"Yank on what?"
"You wove the spell strangely, then it was like you grabbed it by the ends and snapped it into shape."
The Sorcerer gave him a very strange, penetrating look. "It's a common trick when dealing with a very complicated weave," he replied. "Since it's hard to weave them tightly at a distance, we weave them in something that we're touching in a wide pattern, bringing the flows through us rather than pulling them from strands. Once we have all the flows in place, we just tighten it down into a working weave. I didn't notice that you were touching the Weave."
"I'm not," he said absently. "I can sense weaving around me without having to touch the Weave."
"Interesting. That's not supposed to be possible. But you're Were. It's very possible that your enhanced senses can sense something that ours cannot."
"Maybe," Tarrin said carefully.
"Well, studies on Sorcery aren't my areas of expertise. I'll leave that for others." He tapped the staff. "You should be very proud to have this, Inititate," he said. "You take good care of it, and it takes good care of you."
"You talk like it's alive."
"It is alive," he reminded him. "It has needs, and you provide for them. In return for that, the staff remains literally unbreakable, and it will always be something that you can depend on." He smiled. "Ironwood isn't a completely natural wood. There's a bit of magic hiding inside the staff, a natural magic that gives the wood its unusual properties. That's a part of what I want to study."
Tarrin looked at the staff curiously. He was right, it was alive. Ironwood never dried out, it always remained vibrant and strong. It was almost totally unbreakable, and would bend rather than break even if enough force was exerted on it to make it give. Only rigorous sawing could cut the wood. It made the best bows and staves, and the bark could be carefully stripped and shaped into poweful bowstrings that would never break. When he learned about the rare and prized wood from his father, he took its properties to be simply natural. Now he understood why it had properties that no other wood had. Maybe there was a bit of old magic in the wood, placed inside it by some forgotten Mage or Sorcerer, or perhaps even a Druid. A magic that changed the wood forever, and also passed on its properties into the trees spawned from it.
"Well, I have to be going," Tarrin told the Sorcerer. "Thanks for taking care of it for me."
"It was my pleasure," the rotund man smiled. "Oh, here it is," he said suddenly, turning and pointing to a huge earth-filled jar in the center of the room, surrounded by several tables holding glass beakers and tubes. There was a very young Ironwood sapling in the pot, only a span tall, with but a few twigs and leaves. "That's your staff's baby," he said with a chuckle. "I've been helping it grow with Sorcery. It's a very stubborn tree," he said with a laugh. "It doesn't want to grow faster. I guess that goes along with its nature."
"Maybe it does," Tarrin agreed. "I have to go. Thank you again."
"Any time," the little man said with a smile.
Tarrin reached the field during a scheduled break, where the cadets were sitting on the ground, panting and sweating in the cool air, while the Knights stood in groups and talked with each other. Binter stood with Ulgen, Darron, and Faalken, showing them a very large, ornate warhammer with a double head and a spike on the top. Faalken looked a trifle uncomfortable holding it, and he handled it with a slowness that told Tarrin how heavy that hammer was.
"Tarrin," they all greeted as he joined them. "You're looking well after Allia kicked you all over the field yesterday," Faalken added with a grin.
"You're just jealous that I can last that long, Faalken," Tarrin retorted calmly.