just yet."
	"Such a waste," he said with mock disappointment.  "Where's that pretty little she-demon?  You two are usually together."
	"I think she's still in class, Lord General," he replied.  "I left her a note to come out here when she's done."
	"Good.  I miss seeing you two try to kill each other.  It was very entertaining."
	"I think my Lord General is just glad that Allia won't single him out with Tarrin on the field."
	Tarrin laughed, and Darvon fixed Faalken with an icy stare.  "I do very well for my age.  Allia said so herself."
	"Still, though, it looks very bad for the Lord General of the Knights to have his face planted in the sand."
	"I seem to recall seeing you in that same position," Darvon said stiffly.
	"Yes, but I'm not carrying the honor of the Knights on my back either," Faalken said airily, waving a hand negligibly before him.
	"Let's see how the honor of the Knights weighs on your shoulders, Sir Knight," Darvon warned in a voice promising death, drawing his sword.
	Tarrin scrambled out of the way, then he got a very nice view of watching Darvon systematically beat Faalken into the ground.  The curly-haired knight fought well, which was to be expected, but Darvon proved quite succintly just who the better man was with a broadsword.  It ended when Darvon struck Faalken on the arm with the flat of his sword, with enough force to knock the man down.  Then Darvon grinned at him evilly as he slid his sword home.  "It looks like the honor of the Knights is intact," he rubbed it in.  "You need more practice, Faalken.  A one-armed baby could have bested you."
	"I was just being nice to my Lord General's advanced age," Faalken retorted with an outrageous grin as he regained his feet.
	"Keep talking like that, and you'll never make it to my age," Darvon warned.  "Tarrin, I want to you spar with Azakar.  The boy gets a bit smug with himself sometimes, and I want him to learn a lesson.  Make sure you surprise him early on.  I want him to learn how to size up an enemy."
	"Yes, Lord General," Tarrin said with a bow.
	"What keeps him from getting smug?" Faalken demanded.
	"Allia," Tarrin and Darvon replied in unison.
	Darvon called the massive young man over, and Tarrin was again impressed with his size. He was very tall, true, but he was also exceptionally well developed.  Muscle rippled through his arms and along his bare chest and stomach, and he moved with a belying grace that warned Tarrin that he was much faster than he looked.  The young man stared at Tarrin for a moment, but to his credit, he was not obvious about it, nor did he seem put off by Tarrin's obvious nonhuman nature.  "Azakar, I want you to spar with Tarrin here," the Lord General said.  "Full contact."
	"Yes, Lord General," the young man boomed in a deep bass voice, bowing gracefully to him.  He looked at Tarrin, looked at Tarrin's staff, then he raised his wooden practice sword.  "I'll be careful, Sir Tarrin," he said calmly.  His voice was not boastful, though his words said much about who he thought was going to win.  And for that reason, Tarrin took no offense.  Thinking one was going to win was very important when it came to fighting.  If you didn't think positively to win, then you'd almost certainly lose.  "I will do my best not to hurt you."
	Faalken and Darvon broke up laughing, and Tarrin had to supress a grin.  Azakar obviously had no idea what he was about to get into.  The young man gave his two superiors a curious look, then he turned his attention on Tarrin and assumed a ready stance.
	"You're not going to hurt me," Tarrin promised him in a casual voice, as he assumed a ready stance with the staff held in an end-grip.
	"Begin!"
	It took only two swipes.  The first blasted the wooden sword aside, knocking the big man off balance, and the second took him full in the side.  The breath wooshed from Azakar's lungs as he was carried off of his feet, to land heavily on his back in the sand nearly ten spans away.  He slid another five spans, rolling over a few times until he came to a full stop.  He didn't move for several seconds.  Tarrin grounded his staff and calmly waited.  He knew that he hadn't hurt the young man seriously, just bruised his ribs.  Tarrin had struck rather carefully to ensure no bones were broken.  The young man groaned and rolled over, then he sat up clutching his side.  He gave Tarrin a wild look of shock.  "H--H--How?" he managed to wheeze.
	"Azakar, Tarrin's about twice as strong as you," Darvon told him with a grin.  "This was a lesson, boy.  A lesson about underestimating your enemy."
	"A...wise lesson, it seems," he panted as the breath returned to his lungs.  "You certainly...don't look...that strong."
	"It's handy sometimes," Tarrin shrugged.
	Azakar wobbled to his feet, then leaned over with hands on knees until he had his breath back.  Then he picked up his wooden sword.  "Now that I know what to expect, we can try again," he smiled.
	"Don't fall into the same trap, boy," Darvon warned.  "Tarrin's a very nasty opponent.  When you fight him, you damn well better expect the impossible."
	"I think my Lord General is getting a bit far afield," Tarrin told him with a smile.
	"I think not.  Now shut up and fight."
	Tarrin bowed, and then engaged the massive young man.  After about ten minutes, Tarrin had to admit that he was impressed.  The big man was fast, he was strong, and he was smart.  He was well trained.  He never fell for the same feint twice, and he was excellent at guessing out the actions of his enemy.  The problem was, Azakar had never seen many of the moves and forms that Tarrin used, so those guesses just barely managed to save his backside.  He spent almost all of that time on a defensive footing, trying to puzzle out the Were-cat's quick, precise thrusts and strikes that seemed to come from impossible angles, all the while suffering from stinging slaps and jabs from Tarrin's staff, or light rakes of his claws, or impact from Tarrin's feet and paws.  To his credit, he managed to protect himself very, very well.  From the way he reacted, Tarrin was pretty sure that he'd sparred against Allia a few times.  But that was Allia.  Tarrin may have been trained by his sister, but his size and power meant that his own use of those forms was somewhat different.  And many of his moves had roots in his Ungardt training.  He slipped backwards a bit, then baited the young warrior into a classic trap, then a quick strike to the inside of the ankle from the staff knocked his foot out from under him.  Azakar tumbled to the ground in a heap, collapsing over his lost foundation.  He ended up on his back, with the tip of Tarrin's staff about a finger's width from his nose.
	"Consider yourself educated, cadet," Darvon told him in a gruff voice.  "No matter how good you are, there's always someone out there who's better.  Never forget that you may end up facing a backwater yokel with a little stick, and he is capable of beating you."
	"Yokel?" Tarrin demanded.
	"I'm not talking about you, Tarrin," Darvon assured him, "I'm talking about anyone Azakar may end up fighting as a Knight.  It's also good for him to learn that there are more weapons than just swords and axes."
	"He is good with that little toothpick, isn't he?" Faalken remarked with a cherubic grin.
	That toothpick whistled through the air like an arrow, until the point of it was about a span from Faalken's grin.  To his credit, Faalken didn't flich.  Tarrin was holding the Ironwood staff by the very end, straight out, and the sandy wood didn't so much as quiver as it pointed at the curly-haired Knight.  "Why don't you draw your sword, Faalken, and show me just what kind of toothpick I'm holding?"  Azakar, not being a fool, made an attempt to scramble out of the way, but Tarrin put a foot down on his back as he rolled, pinning him to the ground.
	A whiff of scent and a flash at the edge of his vision was all Tarrin received by way of warning, but it was enough.  With a swift twist and lunge, he slipped underneath a foot that was flying towards the back of his head.  Allia landed on the far side of the prone giant young man, her short swords in her hands an an expectant smile on her face.  "If I would have struck you, you would have deserved it," she teased, waggling the tip of a sword at him.  "I thought at first that you were hopelessly out of form, letting me get so close to you."
	It was a very important return for Tarrin, and for Allia.  A return to the field, to the familiar surroundings and routines of sparring and training with his blood-sister, gave Tarrin a sensation of normalcy.  He had two months of rust to shake off, but he was surprised at how well he did against her.  They danced in the sand-filled pit of the training area for the entire afternoon, getting a new feel for one another.  Tarrin's staff fended off Allia's two short swords for hours, as they shuffled and wove and slipped around, by, and through one another.  Selani fighting was as much unarmed combat with a weapon as it was weapons fighting with an occasional kick.  Allia could kick a man about fifty different ways, and her legs were as much weapons as her swords.  But Tarrin had learned well from his sister, and his own feet struck out at her about as often as they touched the ground.
	Allia's best trick of the day was to jump up and above a stright thrust from his staff, then land lightly along its length.  Her weight didn't make the staff's tip dip very much, as Tarrin adjusted.  He didn't want to spill her to the ground.  She was showing off for Darvon's benefit, no more, and he knew it.  But when she gave him that look, he simply let go of the staff and let her drop.  He sidestepped around a sword thrust aimed at his ear, and his tail swished out and hooked her foot as she landed.  His tail wasn't that strong, but it was strong enough.  It yanked her foot out and dropped her on her backside onto the ground.
	"I still cannot get used to that," she grumbled as he helped her up.  "I do not have a tail, so I keep forgetting how you use it."
	"It's the longest limb I have," Tarrin told her with a grin.  "Are we done for today?  I'm hungry."
	"Yes, I think so," she said.  "You have not forgotten what I taught you.  I am content with that."
	"Good.  Let's go eat, and then I need to wash all this sand out of my hair."
	"Stop putting your head on the ground, and you won't have that problem," she said impishly in Selani.
	"Stop knocking me down, and I won't have to worry about it," he replied pugnaciously, winking at her.
	"Picky picky," she grinned.  "Let's eat.  You worked me to starvation."
	Later that evening, as Tarrin and Allia sat in his room playing stones, there was a knock at the door.  Before he could even ask who it was, the door opened.   It was Keritanima.  She didn't say a word, she simply pointed towards the outside, then closed the door and walked away.
	It took about an hour for Allia and Tarrin to drift into the courtyard at the center of the maze.  Keritanima arrived a few moments after Allia entered.  She looked somewhat unsettled.  "What's wrong?" Tarrin asked.
	"I need to talk to you two," she said brusquely, walking into the courtyard, pausing to stare at the statue, then sitting down on a bench.  "We need to arrange things."
	"What do you mean?" Allia asked.
	"I was thinking," she started.  "If we're going to work together, it's going to be bloody hard for us to communicate outside of this place unless we come to an arrangement."
	"Sounds like you already have a plan," Tarrin said.
	She nodded.  "I'm a brat, but I do have acquaintances.  Do either of you think you could be fond of the brat?  If she was nice to you?"
	Tarrin thought about it a minute.  "As long as you didn't try to pull any stunts with me, probably," he answered honestly.  "I put up with Allia, after all."
	He got a smack in the back of the head in payment for his remark.  Keritanima laughed richly as he gave Allia a cold look, and she stuck her tongue out at him.  As he thought many times before, Allia was a completely different person when they were alone.
	"As long as you are cordial to me, I would not have that much trouble being nice to the brat," Allia answered.
	Keritanima clasped her furry hands together and sighed.  "Thank Misha," she exclaimed in relief.  "I've already worked out how I'll cunningly work myself into your good graces.  I won't tell you, so it'll be a surprise," she said winsomely, giving them a toothy grin.
	"Whether we can talk to each other, we still can't really say anything," Tarrin reasoned.  "They could be listening with magic."
	"True, but Jervis won't think it unusual if he sees me talking with you," she said.
	"Who's Jervis?" Tarrin asked.
	"The man my father sent to watch me," she replied.  "He looks like a completely ridiculous fop, but Jervis is one of my father's best spies and diplomats.  When I found out it was Jervis, I couldn't help but start coming up with new plans.  And looking forward to it," she said eagerly.  "Jervis is the best.  And to be the best, you have to beat the best."
	"The best what?" Allia asked.
	"The best liar," she replied with a grin.  "If I can lead Jervis around by the nose, everyone back home will realize that I was never the spoiled princess they thought me to be.  That's my own measure of revenge in all this."
	"I thought the idea was to keep yourself secret," Tarrin said.
	"When I leave here, I'm not going back," she said bluntly.  "And I want them to know just who I am."
	"Fair enough," Tarrin shrugged.
	"And, of course, I'll appreciate the company," Keritanima admitted.  "My maid and bodyguards know about who I am, but she's only one girl and they always kept my rooms under surveillance, and it gets tiring being nobody but the brat for months on end.  Back home, I had two or three people that knew who I was.  They worked for me, so I could always talk to them.  But here, I'm alone."
	"Worked for you?  As in, did your sneaky work?" Tarrin asked.
	She nodded.  "Kalina looks just like me, so she worked as my double.  Ulfan is a high-level member of the thieves' guild, so he could always arrange to have people disappear.  He's the one who taught me all my tricks."
	"You do tricks?" Allia said with a smile.  "Like rolling over and begging?"
	Keritanima snorted, stepping up to her.  She patted her on the shoulder, then stepped away.  Then she turned back around and held up Allia's ivory symbol necklace, dangling from its gold chain from between two of Keritanima's fingers.  "Tricks," she said with a impish grin.  "Ulfan thought I was Kalina one day when I'd snuck out of the palace, and dragged me off to the guild.  That happened when I was about twelve.  That's how we met.  After he realized I was the princess, he let me go.  But I went back the next week and started harassing him into teaching me all about thieving things.  Like picking pockets and other dirty tricks.  I figured that they'd be very handy later on."  She handed the necklace back to Allia, then sat back down on the bench.
	"What else can you do?" Tarrin asked curiously.
	"Oh, pick about any lock made," she said grandly, polishing her claws on the front of her dress.  "Take anything from anyone without them knowing about it.  I'm also very good at signing my father's name.  I learned that right after I stole one of the royal seals."
	Tarrin laughed.  "What more could a girl ask for?" he chuckled.  "The royal seal and being able to forge the king's name?  That's like being able to make your own decrees."
	"It has been unbelievably useful," she said modestly.  "I pestered my father for such important lessons such as juggling and tumbling when I was younger.  They were good fronts for learning how to control my hands, and sneaking about without making alot of noise.  And I can still juggle," she winked.
	"Have you been taught to defend yourself?" Allia asked curiously.
	Keritanima laughed.  "I'm a princess, Allia," she said.  "I'm not expected to be able to protect myself."
	"Which means that you can," Tarrin reasoned with a sly look.
	Keritanima reached under the hem of her dress modestly, then produced an eight finger long poinard, a thin bladed, needle-pointed dagger.  Then she dipped a pair of fingers into the bodice of her dress and showed them a small, thin-bladed throwing dagger.  "I keep another one as a hair barette," she told them with a smile.  "Ulfan showed me how to use these.  They're small and easy to hide in my royal dresses, and he didn't fancy me being alone and unable to fend for myself."
	"Well, you need more than that," Allia said bluntly.  "No friend of mine goes without being able to fight.  I will teach you how to protect yourself the right way."
	Keritanima gave her a curious look.  "Truly?" she said.  "I'm not much of a warrior, Allia."
	"Tarrin?" Allia prompted.
	Tarrin speculated a moment.  He'd seen Keritanima move.  She was graceful and well coordinated.  She wasn't very strong, but that was beside the point.  There were many ways one could fight without muscle.  "We could do it," he said.  "She has good hands, she's fast, and from the way she moves, she's pretty agile."
	"Not all fighting is strength, shaida," Allia told her.  "I fear that you will never be Selani, but you could easily learn some basic techniques for close-quarters fighting.  I can teach you how to use an opponent's strength against him."
	"Now that sounds fun," she laughed.  "I hate to say it, but I can't stay any longer," she said, getting up.  "I'll talk to you later."
	As she slipped out of the opening, Tarrin leaned back.  In a way, he understood what all that was about.  It was nothing more than a social call.  Here, so far away from what was comfortable for her, she felt more vulnerable, and that made her very insecure.  She just needed someone to talk with.  Really talk with.  Even if it was for only a few moments.
	"I see that she's starting to feel closed in," Allia remarked.
	"You can't really blame her, sister," Tarrin replied.  "All alone with nobody to talk to, when everyone hates you?  I'd be looking for companionship myself."
	"We'd best wander back, before they start looking," she said.
	Tarrin nodded.  "I'll see you back in the rooms," he said, standing up.  Then he changed shape and slunk out a small hole in the hedge.
 
Chapter 12

	Sweating with effort, Tarrin sat straight up in the chair, his tail lashing behind him.  His eyes were closed, and he struggled to reach out and grab nothing.
	That was about the best explanation he could come up with.  He could feel it out there, just begging to be touched, but it slipped out of his grasp like smoke.  It was maddening, but Dolanna did very little by way of suggestion or instruction.  She told him that each Sorcerer touched the weave in a different way, and he had to learn it on his own.  She also told him that all it took was one successful attempt.  Conscious attempt, that is, for he'd already used Sorcery before.  Now, his conscious mind was struggling to learn the trick that his subconscious one had already picked up.  She would give him very basic help, but there was nothing more she could do.
	"Relax, Tarrin," her voice soothed.  "You cannot yank at it.  You must reach, but you must also bring it to you at the same time.  You are trying to reach out and grab it."
	"That's what you told me to do," he protested.
	"I said to reach out for what is there," she elaborated.  "Part of the trick is drawing it in, the other part is reaching out to meet it.  Once you make the connection, you will be able to charge."
	Blowing out his breath, he tried again.  He reached out with himself, something that he was used to doing with his senses.  Now he was doing it with that something, that thing inside him that made him a Sorcerer.  He could feel it within him, reaching out to complete the circuit that would make him a part of the Weave.  But it couldn't find anything to connect with.
	"Gently," Dolanna urged.  "Gently.  Do not force it.  It is not something to seize, it is something to greet."
	Closing his eyes again, he tried to visualize the strands in the room, from what he remembered of the day before.  Then he reached out to them, the way flowers reach out to the rising sun, trying to draw in its warmth.  He could feel them around him, but they would not respond to his call.  He physically reached out with a paw, claws extending, as if to hook the elusive magical energy, but there was nothing upon which for his claws to gain a purchase.
	He had been doing this for three straight days.  Despite doing nothing physical, he left the training room drained, and could think of nothing but sleep.  Allia and Keritanima had been much the same.  It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd actually managed to accomplish something.  But for three days, he'd done nothing but flounder around aimlessly, reaching out in vain for something that simply was not there.
	Blowing out his breath in frustration, he opened his eyes and stood up.  His tail hooked on the back of the chair, picking it up.  "Tarrin," Dolanna said calmly, putting her hands on his arms.  "Relax."
	"It's frustrating!" he growled in exasperation.
	"It took me almost a month," she told him.  "You have plenty of time.  Now sit back down."
	Growling in his throat, Tarrin righted the chair and sat back down.  He closed his eyes and started all over again, reaching out.    And he failed, over and over, as minutes stretched into an hour.  Dolanna put her hands over his paws gently as his claws dug deeply into the table, and he relaxed.  "I must seem silly," he said, but the frustration was evident in his voice.
	"I would go back to my room and throw chairs," she confided with a smile.  "I went through ten desk chairs over that month.  It is not easy, Tarrin.  Even after you succeed, you will struggle, both to touch the Weave, and then to let it go.  But as most things, it requires practice.  Even though you fail, you are learning.  Eventually, your trial will not result in error, and you will succeed.  Do not dwell on your failures, look towards your success."
	"You're so optomistic it makes me sick," he said with a smile.
	"That is my job," she said with a gentle smile, patting the backs of his paws.  "Now, let us start again, from the beginning.  Breathe deeply and calm yourself."
	Tarrin left that day drained, tired, out of sorts, and aggravated.  He had failed again.  Tarrin was not used to failing.  Not like that.  His parents had always taught him that failure was not bad so long as one tried one's hardest.  Tarrin was trying his hardest, but when he did do his best, he almost never failed so utterly has he had done so for the past four days.  It seemed unnatural to him to fail so miserably, even after he'd put so much effort and dedication into his task.  He stalked back to the main Tower to get something to eat and fret over his failure to produce results, and he could feel the weight of the sand pouring from the hourglass, and right over his head.  He had to learn how to touch the Weave.  He had to learn how to use Sorcery.  He didn't have a choice.  He needed to protect himself against whoever was trying to kill him.  And, if his hunches were right, he'd need it to protect him from the katzh-dashi.
	That was one good reason.  Allia and Keritanima couldn't see it, but he could.  The faint glow of the Ward that blocked magic from passing through it, and also worked to seal him inside the Tower grounds.  It was as good as the bars on his cage.  Tarrin had a hatred and irrational fear of being imprisoned--it was integral in his nature as a Were-cat--and just looking at the Ward caused the Cat to rise up in him and try to take control.  The other good reason was slinking around the Tower grounds like a rat.  Jesmind was inside the Tower grounds.  She was trapped inside with him, and he knew that she had more plans for trying to take off his head.  She would play all light and sunshine as long as the Keeper or Sorcerers were around, but he knew that she was just biding her time.  She was still trying to kill him, and she wasn't about to stop now.
	After a quick meal, he went out and sat in the garden for a while.  The smell of flowers and growing things always soothed him, and the relative isolation let him forget for a while that he was trapped on the grounds.  Tarrin was a creature of the forest.  He couldn't deny that.  He was born and raised in one, and his transformation into a Were-cat had only intensified his attachment to the woods.  The gardens were no forest, but the green and the lighter human scents made it possible for him to imagine it.  If only for a little while.
	"You're getting soft."
	Tarrin was up and whirled around in a flash, claws out and his eyes locked on the green eyes of Jesmind.  She was standing not a paw's reach from him, paws behind her back, her stance and demeanor obviously nonthreatening.  She had approached from downwind, which was why he hadn't scented her, and she was light enough on her feet to walk the crushed gravel path without making any noise.
	"What do you want?" he demanded.
	"To talk," she said mildly.  He continued to glare at her, and she blew out her breath in exasperation.  "By the moons, cub, if I wanted to fight, do you think I would have given myself away?"
	"Don't call me that," he said, sheathing his claws.
	"It's what you are," she said.  "Sit down."
	"I don't have--"
	"I said sit!" she commanded in an imperious tone.  Tarrin found himself obeying it before he even thought about what he was doing.  "That's better," she said in a calm tone, sitting down on the stone bench beside him.  Her scent was carefully neutral.  She was keeping herself tightly under control, he could tell.  She wasn't about to give anything away.  "Now then, we have to talk."
	"About what?" he asked gruffly.
	"Put away the attitude, cub," she said frostily.  "I see no reason why you can't be civil."
	"Maybe because you're trying to kill me?"
	"Let's not quibble over details," she said quickly.  "I'm, leaving, Tarrin," she said quietly.  "So consider yourself free.  At least for now."
	"What's wrong?"
	"Do you really care?" she asked sharply.  "I have to return to my den.  I don't have any choice.  But the offer stands still, my cub.  Come with me, and we won't have any trouble."
	"You know I can't do that," he said bluntly.  "I'm even more dangerous to you now than I was a month ago.  If the Sorcerers don't teach me how to control my power, I'll end up killing both of us by accident.  I won't put you in that kind of risk."  He glanced at her.  "It's not that I don't want to," he added.  "But this is something that I have to do."
	"Why?" she demanded suddenly.  "My mother is a Druid, Tarrin.  She can teach you about magic."
	"She could teach me about Druidic magic, but not Sorcery," he replied calmly.  "It's oil and water, Jesmind.  It won't do me any good."
	"You!" she flared.  "You you you!  What about me?  Do you have any idea how much I hate having to do what I do?  I like you, Tarrin.  A lot.  But you make me--"
	"Make you what?" he countered.  "Where did you ever say that things had to be now?  I told you once before that if you would just wait, I'd be happy to go with you.  This isn't about me, woman!  This is about making sure I don't accidentally barbecue the both of us one day!"
	"You have no idea what you're talking about!" she snapped.  "My mother can control your power until you learn how to control it yourself!  I know you need training, but my mother can help you!  You don't have to be here!"
	"There, you see?" he said, standing up.  "You never told me that before."
	"That's because you never gave me a chance!" she challenged, standing to face him.  "If you were such a pig-faced stubborn mule-headed lump of dirt, you'd have given me a chance!"
	"You never listened!  You didn't care about what I needed, just what you wanted!"
	"What I wanted?  I did what I had to do!  If you would have gone mad, it would have destroyed the reputation of our kind!  We have laws, Tarrin!  I was doing what I had to do!"
	"You knew I was a Sorcerer, woman!  You should have laid it out at the beginning!  But no, you had to play your little game--"
	"And you lied to me!" she said in sudden fury.  "I still want to wring your little neck for that!"
	"You can try any time you feel like it," he hissed, his eyes narrowing.
	"Don't tempt me, boy," she snapped.  "You may be bigger than me, but you know I can kick your tail all over this garden."
	With an animal growl in his throat, he hunkered down into his slouch-like stalking stance, claws out and paws wide.  "Bring it on," he said in a low hiss.
	Jesmind's eyes flared from within with that unholy greenish radiance, and her claws slid out of their sheaths.  "Don't push me, cub," she growled.  "I'll kill you right here and now."
	"Children," Keritanima's calm voice called from right beside them.  The little fox Wikuni stepped slowly and ever-so-calmly between them, and she put one hand on Tarrin's chest and the other hand on Jesmind's shoulder.  "This is no place to play.  If you want to kill each other, go out onto the training field.  I don't want your blood sprayed all over the flowers."  She gave Tarrin a look, a look of such calm confidence, her amber eyes so clear and penetrating, that it made him blink.  She turned that level gaze on Jesmind, and the Were-cat female gave the small, slight, slender little Wikuni a startled look.  Keritanima wasn't that large, but she was a princess, and she knew how to exert her authority.  She used that authority like a club, beating both Were-cats over the head with it until they obeyed her.  "Now then, can the two of you ever talk to each other without using death threats?" she continued in that same calm, level voice that all but vibrated with power.
	"She started it," Tarrin said lamely.
	Keritanima grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and jerked him down to her level.  "If you get yourself killed because you don't know how to keep your claws in their sheaths, I'll never forgive you," she hissed at him.  "Now you will stop acting like a barkat with its tail cut off."  Jesmind laughed, but the little Wikuni grabbed her shirt and yanked her down too.  "And you will learn that not everyone obeys your every wish and whim," she told her in a low voice.  "If you want to talk to him, you will do it politely, and you will respect Tarrin's decisions.  Do I make myself abundantly clear?"
	"Who are you, little doormouse?" Jesmind asked in o