"I can't outrun the Knights, Irvon," she said calmly. "When they find out he's missing, they'll take Suld apart stone by stone looking for him. This is the last place they'd think to look."
"I don't care," he snorted. "What you have to do doesn't concern me. You bringing that thing here is endangering the Black Network's operations in Suld."
"I think it's funny that you're worried about it," she smiled. "Tarrin's amulet prevents anyone from finding him with magic, and nobody is left alive that saw me bring him off the grounds or into the cathedral." Irvon glared at her. That she killed four acolytes and a priest, the ones from above that had no contact with, or even knowledge of, the dark tunnels under the Cathedral, was going to be hard enough to explain. Irvon was High Priest of Karas, but he was also a ranking member of the Black Network. Irvon's position made the Cathedral the perfect and ultimate base of operations for the ki'zadun, their name in the Old Tongue. Nobody would expect a bastion of law and goodness to be the base of an organization that sought to subvert such things.
"I thought you had orders to kill him."
"They changed their minds," she shrugged. "He's a Weavespinner, Irvon. That alone makes him a valuable asset. We can find ways to use him."
"I'm glad you think so."
"Trust me, the collar controls him utterly," she smiled. "Tarrin, come down here and give me a kiss," she ordered. He bent down and kissed her gently on her upraised cheek, then raised back up. "Now be a dear and break Irvon's desk in half."
Irvon gave a strangled cry as the Were-cat raised its clasped paws and stepped forward, and just barely managed to get his legs out from under the desk as the creature's paws slammed into it, shattering the polished wooden desk into splinters. Irvon was dumped to the floor, falling backwards out of his chair, and he came up spluttering, with his fat, narrow-eyed face spotched red with anger.
"As you can see, he's completely subservient," she said with a light laugh. "And he will only obey me, Irvon. Keep that in mind. If something were to happen to me, he'd stand there until someone took off the collar. And you really wouldn't want to be here when that happens. Trust me." She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him. "Tarrin, come back over here," she commanded, and the Were-cat returned to its place beside her, paw resting lightly on her shoulder.
"I still don't have to like it, witch," Irvon snapped. "I want you and it out of here."
"I'm afraid you'll have to live with it for a day or two," she told him. "Unless you'd like to explain to my Mistress why the ki'zadun refused to harbor a fellow member, especially one operating under direct orders from her superiors. She would have a very long talk with you about that."
Irvon paled, and swallowed. Nobody crossed the Black Mistress, the ranking katzh-dashi in the Tower. She had a very ugly reputation. "Alright, but I want it in a dungeon cell, and in chains," he snapped.
"Why?" she asked. "Tarrin is just as obedient as a little puppy. Aren't you, my dear?" she asked with a laugh, patting his paw. "He's just as good here as there."
"I want to keep it out from underfoot," he said bluntly, "and keep you from getting any ideas."
"Oh come now, Irvon," she sighed. "I do despise you, but I've been ordered to let you live. I think we can be civil to one another. Yes, well, I do have to let you live. Now there's an idea. Tarrin, be a dear, and go over there and bite Irvon."
When Tarrin took a step forward, Irvon gave out a squealing cry and backed into the corner, preparing to call on the magic of Karas to defend him from the attack. That only made Jula laugh. "Tarrin, stop," she commanded, and he stopped moving forward. She stood up and smoothed her silk dress, giving Irvon a horrifically evil smile. "Tarrin, come here," she said lightly. Tarrin returned to her side, and Jula gave Irvon a smug look. "With him, we will win, Irvon," she said triumphantly. "He has the power to defeat the Guardian, and he has the power to get the Firestaff. And once we have it, then Val will be reborn, and we will rule. I'm certain that your part in that glory will be remembered. If you're not too much a nuisance, that is," she said with a cold smile.
"H-how? He's mindless!"
"Ah, yes. You see, the collar only subverts will, not intelligence, memory, or ability. If we give him instructions, he will carry them out. He won't have any choice. He'll know he's being controlled, and rage against it in the tunnels of his own mind, but he will have to obey. He knows what we're talking about right now. He can hear us, and he'll remember it. But he can't do anything about it. I'm sure that he'd just love to take me and strangle me with my own intestines. Wouldn't you, my dearest pet?" she asked of him, patting him on the cheek, but there was no outward reaction. "Yes, I know you would. But he can't," she told him with that same cold smile. "The collar makes him mine, and I am the only one he'll obey."
"You are deranged," Irvon told her seriously. "I have a service to conduct. Get that animal out of my office."
"Yes, go mouth your platitudes and demean yourself to replenish your pitiful power," Jula sneered. "If only Karas knew what kind of bootlicking sycophant he was granting his magic to."
"Yes, well, that's something between me and Karas, isn't it? Now take him to the dungeon. That's an order."
"Only because it pleases me to do so," she said. "I need to change my dress, and I don't relish the idea of baring myself in front of him. Why, the shock of my beauty may snap him free, and I'd have to fight off his advances. I've seen him naked, you know. I must admit, he's, impressive. If not that our lovemaking would change me into a Were-cat, I may be tempted."
"Sick," Irvon growled, stomping out of his office. "Just get rid of it."
"Indeed," she said. "Come, Tarrin. We have something to do."
The entire city of Suld knew that there was about to be war.
The entire order of the Knights of Karas, both from the Tower and from the chapterhouse, trotted in perfect rows along the streets of the old city, sweeping everything out of their way. They were resplendent in their black armor and snapping pennons, row after row of lances held at perfect angles, and visors lowered for battle. Among them rode two hundred Wikuni in mail shirts and carrying heavy broadswords, as well as perhaps a dozen Sorcerers. They were followed by rank after rank of smartly marching cadets, keeping a perfect cadence with the striking of armor-shod boots upon the centuries-old cobblestones. They had the grim demeanor of men about to do battle, and those expressions did not change. Two thousand armored warriors, human, Knight, and Wikuni, sent civilians scattering before them, crushing carts and wagons out of their way, and causing total confusion that spread along and before them like a wave crashing on the beach.
Leading the column was a rather unusual commander, a slight, slender fox Wikuni wearing an Inititate's dress, the indigo color marking her as a middle-grade Initiate. But her expression was hard, stony, and she was attended by the commanders of that host who made all who looked upon them realize that the slender little Wikuni was defitely in command. She looked infuriated, and her tail writhed behind her like a living thing of its own free will, like a dancing flame with a black tip caught in a stiff wind. She gave sharp, incisive commands, and they were relayed and carried out by Wikuni and Knight alike with the smooth, precise coordination that marked good military units.