lass 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.
	"Tarrin, this is Captain Binter, commander of the High Princess' personal guard.  Binter, this is Tarrin, one of the Tower's Initiates that is partly owned by the Knights."
	"Her Highness speaks about you often," the massive Vendari said in a curiously deep, hollow voice.  The Vendari had a squared snout and black, dead eyes, eyes that would chill anyone who squared off against him in combat.  His crest looked like a mohawk, riding high over his green-scaled head, and Tarrin could see that those scales were small but very compact and tightly organized.  They looked to be a very effective natural armor.  That close to him, Binter's raw size was incredibly intimidating.  He loomed like a mountain, a massive mountain of a Vendari that was nothing but sleek muscle and raw power.  He wore only a pair leather straps crossing his chest, connected to a wide belt holding a shortsword, and a furred clout over a pair of black trousers.  Like Tarrin, he wore no shoes, letting his clawed feet touch the earth.  He had similar short, wicked-looking claws on his hands.  Tarrin was eight spans tall, towering over most humans but Azakar, who averaged about six spans in height.  Tarrin only came up to Binter's chest.  He had to be ten spans tall, almost as tall as an Ogre, but not as wide or plodding.  He was sleek, powerfully built but not at the expense of his agility, and he was all warrior.  Binter would be an absolute terror in battle.  Now Tarrin appreciated why he was chosen to be Keritnima's personal bodyguard.  Nobody would dare attack something like that.  "It is an honor to meet you," he continued.
	"The honor is mine," Tarrin replied cordially.  Exposure to Allia and her culture, which placed honor in very high regard, would help him in dealing with the Vendari.  To the average Vendari, honor was life.  To lose honor was to lose life, and they were known to kill themselves after being dishonored.  Killing one's self was an acceptable path to regaining honor.  "Being the personal guard of the Princess is a station deserving great honor."
	The Vendari's maw curled up in the most curious way.  Almost like a smile.  "Honor and Blood," he said.
	Tarrin gave him a curious look.  That was something Allia said occasionally, and its meaning was obscure.  It was a Selani term for duty that brought honor, but often also brought hardship.  It was a task, an ordeal, to be endured.  But once it was done, great honor came to those who managed it.  She often called her being sent to the Tower a trial of Honor and Blood.
	"Then look for the honor at the end of the task," he said formally.
	"Always," he said.  "You have the bearing of a warrior, and your features cast you as Ungardt.  Or partly.  Do you know the Ways?"
	"I was taught by my mother.  This," he said, holding up his paws, "is something that happened a bit later."
	"I have never faced an adept of the Ways," he said.  "I would be honored to take the field against you."
	"I don't fight purely in the Ways as much anymore," he chuckled ruefully.  "My best friend is Selani, and she trained me in the Dance."
	"Then you have received some of the best training there is," the Vendari said.  "The entire world respects the fighting prowess of the Ungardt and the Selani.  My honor would double to face you."
	"I came out here to challenge you anyway, Captain," Tarrin said with a grin.  "I've never faced an adversary your size before.  I thought it would be a good learning experience for me."
	"Then we will both profit from an exercise," he said sagely.  "Would you prefer unarmed combat, or armed?"
	"Both," he smiled.  "Full contact."
	"I would not want to hurt you," he said in concern.  That drew some laughter from the Knights.
	"You're not going to hurt him, Captain," Faalken promised.  "Tarrin's alot tougher than he looks, and he packs quite a wallop.  He could probably pick you up and throw you."
	"I don't doubt it," Binter replied.  "I have never faced one like you before, so it is best to expect anything.  That way you do not suffer a nasty surprise."  He took his hammer back from Faalken.  "But if you want a full contact exercise, then I would be honored to give it to you."
	"Just watch that stick of his, Captain," Faalken said as the pair moved into the sand-filled area used for sparring.  "He's very nasty with it.  And be careful.  He's got alot of nasty little tricks."
	"The staff is a very effective weapon, Sir Knight," Binter said calmly.  "It is not often used because it can be ineffective against a heavily armored opponent.  But when both men are unarmored, it is a very dangerous weapon."
	"I'm glad someone appreciates my taste," Tarrin said with a laugh.  "The Knights have been badgering me to give up my staff and take up a sword."
	"Tarrin, if you used a two-handed sword, you'd be an absolute nightmare," Ulgen told him.  "With your strength and speed, nobody would even want to get within ten spans of you."
	"I have had so much trouble with that," Binter grunted.  "Hold on."
	"What?" Tarrin asked.
	"We do not use 'spans' in Wikuna," he said.  "We have a different system of measures.  Ten spans is roughly a quarter over eight feet."
	"Feet?  What a strange term," Tarrin said.  "What is a foot?"
	"It's a bit longer than a span," he replied.  "A foot has twelve inches, where a span has ten fingers.  A finger and an inch are almost exactly the same length, so we use them as the base to convert from one system to another," he said, holding two of his huge fingers apart at the length of a finger.  "You use finger, span, longspan, and league.  Those terms in our system are inch, foot, mile, and also league.  One of your leagues is four longspans.  One of ours is three miles, and oddly enough, they're precisely the same distance.  So we try to use leagues when dealing with Sennadites."
	"I thought everyone used the same system," Tarrin mused.  "Even the Selani use spans and longspans."
	"Probably because they learned it through contact with you and the Empire of Arak," he replied.  "The Arkisians brought that system from Arak when they broke away from the Empire, and it spread through Sennadar.  The Wikuni and many kingdoms on the continents of Sharadar and Godan-Nyr use the same system, and there's another that's widely used on the continent of Valkar."
	"You're very learned, Captain," Tarrin said in appreciation.
	"The wise soldier learns as much as he can," he said, almost chanting from a learned passage.  "The wise warrior will survive much longer than the strong one."
	Tarrin had to give the Vendari a great deal of respect.  Their ways of fighting mirrored the Ungardt and the Selani.  Perhaps the three cultures had all stumbled upon the true secrets of the ways of the warrior.  Both the Ways and the Dance preached self defense over starting fights.  Both held high the ideal that their forms were learned not to create aggression, but as self defense against aggression.  Despite their serious ability, the Ungardt were not aggressively expansionistic.  They colonized islands in the northern reaches of the Sea of Storms, but didn't make war on their neighbors.
	"Very true," Tarrin agreed.  "Where do you want to begin?"
	"Armed," he said with a smile, hefting his hammer.
	They squared off against each other, Tarrin holding his staff in the end grip, and Binter holding his hammer by the very end of its handle.  "Are you ready?" he asked.
	"I'm ready," he replied.  "Let's go."
	As the Knights looking on expected, the first few minutes were nothing but the pair feeling each other out.  Tarrin tested Binter with light jabs and swings, keeping the massive Vendari out of reach and on guard with his longer weapon.  He showed to be smooth and deceptively slow, but the ease of his movements told Tarrin that he could move much faster than he appeared.  He was trying to bait Tarrin into thinking he was slow, a tactic Tarrin had used himself a time or two.
	Binter was the first to give over feeling Tarrin out.  He lunged in with shocking speed, hammer leading, but Tarrin had been expecting such a move.  He twisted out of the path of the hammer easily, turning in a way that a human wouldn't be able to duplicate, almost with his shoulders facing behind him as he ducked and weaved himself around the hammer's carved head.  He turned to the side, and his tail lashed out like a whip, striking the Vendari in the backs of his ankles.  Tarrin's tail wasn't as strong as the rest of him, but his inhuman strength gave the limb enough power to easily beat a Knight in arm-tail wrestling.  That power swept the very heavy Vendari's feet out from under him, and his shoulder slammed into the ground with a thud that Tarrin felt under his feet.
	Binter laughed as he sat up, snaking his own heavily muscled tail out from under him.  "I was about to do the same thing," he said.  "I didn't think that such a small, dainty tail could do something like that."
	Tarrin swished that tail back and forth behind him, giving Binter a smile.  "It's the longest limb I have, so it would silly of me not to learn how to use it," he said, reaching down with a paw and helping the Vendari back to his feet.  He flicked his tail over his shoulder and halfway down his chest, until the tip came to rest just above his navel.  "It gives me alot of reach at my flanks, and makes sure anyone coming up from behind has something to worry about."
	"You learn well," Binter said respectfully.  "Always know yourself.  Now, let us continue, and this time I won't underestimate your snake of a tail."
	Binter didn't try anything dramatic again.  They engaged in a good, heavy workout, sparring against one another at a furious pace that made the observing Knights a bit dizzy.  Binter was powerful, but just like Allia, he was fast.  Tarrin was awed that someone so huge, so massive, could move with such viper-like speed.  But unlike Allia, Binter's blows from his hammer packed an incredible punch, driven by his huge, heavily muscled frame.  Tarrin was bleeding from two hits from that hammer after about five minutes, strikes heavy enough to tear his skin, while Binter had some blood coming from his snout from where Tarrin had whacked him across the muzzle.  He was very big, and Tarrin found that he had to adjust many of the forms he used to deal with someone that had such a long, long reach, and the speed to close the distance in a hearbeat if he tried to back out of reach of Binter's weapon.
	But most of all, Binter was very, very skilled.  Tarrin was hard pressed to keep that hammer away from him as the Vendari used incredibly complicated thrusts, parries, and feints, confusing the young Were-cat in a dazzling display of control of his weapon.  Tarrin had no idea where it was going to come from next, and he relied on his Were-cat speed and agility to make up for his disadvantage in training.  Tarrin switched to a middle grip and engaged the Vendari at close range, using the two ends to do the same thing to Binter that Binter was doing to him.  That put the Vendari back on his heels, as he tried to fend off the two jabbing, slapping ends of Tarrin's staff that came from impossible angles and in places that it seemed the staff couldn't reach.  Binter's black eyes seemed to shimmer, and a smile lined with blood graced that toothy maw as he regained his center and pushed Tarrin back, then re-engaged.  Binter used his free hand like a shield, expertly smacking away or blocking the staff while using his hammer in harmonious motions to the defense of his free hand, blocking and attacking in the same movements.  Tarrin too could attack and defend with the same weapon at the same time, and it turned into a subtle contest of who could attack and defend in the most interesting manner.  Binter rushed forward and locked the smaller Were-cat down, making Tarrin push against the hammer to keep from being driven to the ground, and they both attacked with their tails.  Without even seeing what they were doing, Tarrin's tail engaged Binter's heavier, muscled tail in a quick contest of agility, as Tarrin kept that heavy tail from wrapping around his ankle as Binter did the same.
	But Binter didn't count on Tarrin's flexibility.  Unlocking his back, he simply bent backwards, causing the Vendari to rush over him as Tarrin's resistance to his pushing simply vanished.  Tarrin's head hit the sand just behind his ankles as the Vendari soared over him, but Tarrin reached out and grabbed the Vendari's wrist just as he went over.  Tarrin pulled on that wrist to arrest Binter's forward motion, and then he walked over his head even as he pushed off with the hand holding the staff, and he curved through the air gracefully and put his feet against the Vendari's belly.  Binter's breath whooshed out of his lungs as the Were-cat punched all of his weight down on the green scaled belly, exactly in time with Binter's impact with the ground, driving his feet into the Vendari's stomach and pinning him between the unforgiving ground and Tarrin's crushing feet.
	Tarrin squatted down on top of the Vendari, paws on his shoulders, but Binter was clearly out of it.  He was gasping for breath, Tarrin could feel his chest try to rise under his feet, and he was sprawled out on the ground like a passed out drunken sailor.  The tip of his muscled tail was twitching uncontrollably.
	"Now that was something you don't see every day," Ulgen said with a chuckle.  "I swear, it looked like Tarrin bent himself in half."
	"Tarrin, you can get off of him," Faalken called.  "He can't breathe with you standing on him."
	"Oh, sorry," Tarrin said, stepping down off of the Vendari and standing beside him, staff held loosely in his paw, waiting to see if he was going to be alright.
	Binter finally got his wind back, and the first thing he did was laugh.  It was a grating, hollow sound that sent a chill up Tarrin's spine.  "I have never in all my years encountered such a devious trick," he said with a rueful chuckle.  "You must have bent yourself completely backwards."
	"I can do it," Tarrin shrugged.  "It doesn't exactly feel good, but I can touch the backs of my ankles with my head if I have to."
	"How did you end up on top of me?"
	"I'm part cat, Binter," he said with a wolfish smile.  "We always land on our feet."
	"I just hope not to be what you land upon next time," Binter said.  "You are truly a warrior of honor.  You are a worthy opponent."
	"I'm honored you feel so," Tarrin said.
	"I see much of your own style in the staff.  I would like to see you in the forms," he said, getting back to his feet, and then setting down his hammer.
	"Are you ready?"
	"Vendari recover quickly," he said dismissively.  "You only knocked the breath from me.  I am quite able to continue."
	Binter proved even deadlier in unarmed combat, but Tarrin too also had a natural aptitude for it.  His Cat instincts were familiar with hand to paw combat, and they surfaced in him as he and Binter traded quick, jabbing blows as they felt each other out yet again.  Tarrin let himself to join with the Cat, entering that serene, trancelike state where there was no thought, no fear, no emotion, only him and his enemy.  The Cat gave him even sharper reflexes and instinctive senses of danger and threat, his conscious mind drew on Tarrin's knowledge of the martial arts, and they combined to create a lethal adversary.  Binter found himself hard pressed to lay a finger on the sleek Were-cat, who used his speed and his ability to move in ways that exceeded human capability to confound his larger opponent.  He was the blade of grass in the wind, the smoke rising from the campfire, twisting, weaving, always just within reach, but never where he could be touched.  Tarrin didn't strike back, allowing Binter to lose his temper and start making mistakes, but Binter proved that he was no fool.  He was extremely disciplined, and no matter how many times he missed, he simply tried another tactic without losing control.
	Binter managed to make the first point, finally catching the Were-cat high in the side with a backhand.  Tarrin's paw flashed and grabbed that hand as it tried to withdraw, then he twisted around to put his back to the Vendari and executed an Ungardt hand throw.  Binter sailed over Tarrin's body in a high arc and slammed into the ground on his back, but the Vendari showed no signs of feeling it.  He simply swept Tarrin's feet out from under him with his other hand, knocking him to the ground.  They both rolled to their feet, and Binter smiled and glanced at Faalken.  "You were right," he said.  "He can pick me up and throw me."
	"He's alot stronger than he looks."
	"I noticed," he said, wiping a line of blood from his maw.  "Those were not just the Ways.  I saw a great deal of the Dance in your style.  You have done well to combine them into a single form.  With your speed and power, I'm surprised that you rely so much on defense."
	"I just prefer defense," Tarrin shrugged.  "I was trained to fluster an opponent, then take him down when he loses his temper."
	"An acceptable style," he said with a nod.  "But you should also learn to know when to use more aggressive techniques.  Some opponents won't lose their tempers."
	Tarrin nodded.  Jegojah had been almost icy in his control, and it was he that goaded Tarrin into losing his temper.  And Tarrin paid for it, dearly.  "I usually don't have to go that far," Tarrin said.  "If I get too aggressive, I--" he cut off, looking at the Knights.  "Let's just say that I'm Ungardt enough."
	Binter nodded.  "Berzerker," he said.  "We have them in our own race."
	Tarrin gave him a curious look, but said nothing.  "Let's work on that," Binter said. "Come at me with a more aggressive technique.  Don't worry about hurting me."
	"Alright.  Are you ready?"
	"Let's begin."
	Binter turned out to be an excellent teacher.  After working with Tarrin for about an hour, he began to break down the Were-cat's technique and style, and began working with him to perfect it.  Tarrin also realized that, though he got in some lucky shots because Binter was unfamiliar with Tarrin's unique abilities, Binter was by far the better warrior.  He taught Tarrin several Vendari moves that relied on raw physical power, power that Tarrin possessed.  He helped Tarrin improve his style when fighting with his claws, developing Tarrin into using a flowing, sweeping form that allowed him to rake and slash with impressive speed and precision.  Binter had his own claws, and he knew how to use them.  And Tarrin gained alot of experience in fighting a much larger opponent.  He knew that the larger the opponent, the more of a target his knees became.  Binter reinforced that, literally teaching Tarrin how to take down members of his own race.  "The larger they are, the more dependent they are on their knees," he preached.  "We have had alot of experience against Ogres and Giants, and attacking their knees and hamstrings is the most effective technique."
	"Ogres?  Why would you need to fight Ogres?  They're rather peaceful for Goblinoids."
	"They are over here.  In Wikuna, they are very, very agressive.  The Giants aren't quite so aggressive, but sometimes a rogue Giant or two comes down from their lands to raid."  He looked up at the cloudy sky.  "It's getting late.  Her Highness is nearly finished with her classes, and I have duties to perform."  He approached Tarrin and then touched his chest, his muzzle, and then reached out with his huge hand.  "You are a warrior of honor," he said formally.  "I greet you as a man of respect."
	Tarrin wasn't quite sure if it was proper, but he mimicked the Vendari's movements, and then he clasped Tarrin's paw when he offered it.  "And you are a warrior of greater honor," he said in reply.  "Any who ask of you will hear that I hold the utmost respect for you."
	"You have proven yourself to be worthy of honor, Tarrin of the Were-cats," Binter told him.  "You will be accepted by our fire if you ever ask for hospitality."
	"How did you know I was a Were-cat?" he asked curiously.
	"You forget who I am tasked to defend," he said with a smile, a smile that seemed cold with those dead black, expressionless eyes.
	"Oh.  I didn't realize she talked about me."
	"She talks a great deal about you," he told him.  "She is quite taken with you and your Selani sister.  I have never seen her so genuinely fond of others."
	"I'm very fond of her.  Though I have no idea why," he added in a slightly rueful voice.  "She can be very obnoxious sometimes."
	"Yes, but you see what is inside, not what she shows to the world," Binter said with a steady look.  Tarrin stared at him.  Did he know Keritanima's secret?  "I must be going.  I enjoyed our match."
	"So did I," he said.  "Be well."
	"Honor to you," he said in farewell, picking up his hammer and then striding away on his long, powerful legs.  Leaving Tarrin to wonder at how much he really knew.  Binter seemed a very intelligent Vendari.  Maybe he had penetrated Keritanima's disguise, and merely said nothing, because it was against his honor to do so.  Bodyguards had be as discreet as they were capable of defending their employer, because they saw a great deal of their employer's private life.  If Binter felt it against honor to speak about Keritanima's private life, he simply would not do so.  Even if ordered to by Keritanima's father.  And he would gladly die before speaking what he felt honor bound to withhold.  That was the Vendari way.
	Keritanima surely knew how to pick effective companions, Tarrin mused.  With Miranda to act as her decoy, and Binter to act as her champion, she was very deeply entrenched.
	He wondered idly what was taking the Council so long.  His demands weren't that complicated.  They should have at least sent someone to talk to him by now.
	"Allia should be getting out soon too," Tarrin said to Ulgen and Faalken.  Darran had wandered off to help as the cadets practiced thrusting with wooden replicas of swords.  "I'd better go."
	"Don't mind me asking, but why aren't you in class?" Faalken asked.
	"I'm on strike," he said calmly.
	"You're what?"
	"I'm on strike," he repeated calmly.  "I won't start going to classes again until they meet some of my demands."
	Faalken gave him a wild look, then both he and Ulgen began to laugh.  "I've never heard of that!" Ulgen snorted between bouts of laughter.
	"Tarrin, I knew you had guts, but to make demands of the Council!  That takes serious--"
	"That will do," Darvon said bluntly as he approached.
	"Yes, Lord General," Faalken said with an outrageous smile.  Tarrin saw that Faalken was feeling plucky.  Why he was crazy enough to pick on Darvon was quite beyond him.  Tarrin bowed as the aged leader of the Knights reached them.
	"You're looking good, Tarrin.  You ready to give up on the Tower and take your rightful place over here?"
	Tarrin chuckled.  "I may not be far from it, my Lord General," Tarrin said.  "I've grown tired of the way they treat me, so I'm on strike.  I'm not going to another class until they treat me with more respect and consideration."
	Darvon gave him a wild look.  "You are serious?" he asked.
	Tarrin nodded.  "I want the same treatment as all the other Initiates.  They were so serious about that when I was a Novice, and now they pin me in here with that Ward and treat me like a prisoner.  Well, I'm tired of it."
	"It's a dangerous game you play, Tarrin," Darvon said seriously.
	"I can handle it, my Lord General," Tarrin replied.  "They really can't do anything to me.  What are they going to do, ground me?  Put me in chains?"
	"They'll give you serious punishment."
	"Who's going to deliver it?" Tarrin asked pugnaciously.  "They'll have to do it when I'm being very unfriendly. 