ng out into a huge ball of angry, hellish fire, blackening the mast and the deck and setting fire to the ropes and rigging.
	Surrounded by magicians, the remaining pirates began to attempt to retreat, but they found themselves cut off by Tarrin and Camara Tal.  Not defending anyone, the pair moved freely through the battleground at will, striking and killing whenever the opportunity presented itself.  Tarrin's superior strength and speed felled his opponents quickly and efficiently, but the Amazon proved that she was more than a match for any two-copper pirate, wielding her bastard sword in her hands with a confidence that unnerved her opponents, then killing them when their eyes wandered over her body.  When she took one hand off that sword, however, the real fireworks went off, because that heralded another spell.  Camara Tal wielded her priest magic in conjunction with her sword, and it made her devastating.  Her spells were quick and they weren't destructive, usually aimed at only one man, but they never failed to cause him to either go down or be distracted until she got around to killing him.
	Tarrin smacked a sword aside and almost casually drove his claws through the man's throat, making him stagger back as his lifeblood poured onto the deck, but he was smashed down as the metallic Phandebrass clubbed him from behind.  "I say, lad, quite an experience!" he said with a strange excitement in his voice, turning and letting a man hit him with his sword.  It made a steely clang when it hit him, and the mage simply waggled his finger at the man and raised his arms, shouting "Booga booga booga!"  The man's eyes widened in horror, and he turned and tried to flee back to his own burning ship, but Camara Tal swung her sword into his belly as he tried to rush past Tarrin in terror of the mage.  He was literally picked up off his feet by the Amazon's power, flying to the deck some spans away, where his bowels spilled out onto the deck in a gory spray.
	"Stop playing, Wizard!" Camara Tal snapped.
	"Yes ma'am," Phandebrass said in a teasing voice, turning and sweeping the back of his fist into the face of a man that was rushing him from the side.  The man's head was stopped by the blow, but his body kept coming forward, sliding under the mage's arm and putting his flat on his back on the deck, out cold.  Tarrin stabbed a man in the chest with his staff as he approached, impaling him, the drug the body with him as he turned his weapon and crushed the skull of another man trying to flee from the battle around them.  One man ran in circles screaming as the two drakes harassed him, biting at his head and tearing out his hair.  They had put out the man's eyes, and were harrying him until he went down.  But the man got a lucky strike in with his sword, hitting one of the drakes with the flat of his blade and knocking it to the deck.  Without thinking, Tarrin charged through the melee, knocking terrified pirates out of his way as the man's boots kept coming closer and closer to the drake's stunned form.  The little reptile was shaking its head to clear away the aftereffects of landing on its head.  No matter how much he didn't like them, at that moment, they were on the same side, and wasn't about to let it get hurt.
	The other drake gave out a startled hiss when Tarrin's staff impacted its victim dead in the side, sweeping the human away like so much mown wheat, and the Were-cat reached down and picked up the woozy drake with his other paw.  He kicked a human in the back as he backed towards him, his attention on Faalken, breaking his spine and sending him down to the deck in agony.  One pirate had gotten around Faalken and was threatening Dolanna, who faced off against the larger man with her hands coated in fire.  But the man had a wild look in his eye, the look of a man desperate enough to attack even though he may die.  Tarrin reared back and threw his staff like a spear, whizzing it by Faalken and hitting the man high in the side.  It went right through him and drove into the sterncastle, skewering the man like a kabobed fish.  The sword fell from nerveless fingers, and he drooped on his impaling brace.  Another pirate rushed him desperately after he threw the staff, but Tarrin grabbed him by the neck before he could get close enough to use his axe and picked him up off the ground, then smashed him into the deck while still holding onto the drake with his other arm.
	A man fell just to the side of him, sword clattering to the deck, and Camara Tal came up beside him.  "Watch your back, boy," she said curtly, raising her sword against another pirate, a pirate who quickly turned and fled.  With Camara Tal, Tarrin, and Renoit's men in the middle of them, only Phandebrass stood between them and escape, and he couldn't get all of them.  They were harried from two sides, though, as Dolanna and Dar stepped up and used their Sorcery to begin throwing sheets of fire into the enemy ship, setting it on fire and making sure that the pirates returned to a doomed vessel.  "Cut the grapples!" Camara Tal boomed.  "Tarrin, get that harpoon out of the stern!"
	Tarrin nodded and darted away, running up the sterncastle and to the steering deck.  The other drake followed him intently, and when he got to the stern rail, he realized that he was still carrying the drake.  "Here," he said, setting the injured reptile on the deck.  "Go find a safe place to hide."  Then he went over the rail and used his claws to climb down to the large ballista bolt, which still had the chain running from it to the other ship.  Tarrin dug his claws into the wood and grabbed the bolt, then pulled on it with all his might.  But it wouldn't budge.  The head of the bolt was wedged into to the wood of the stern, penetrating to the cabin behind it.  Tarrin let go with both paws and grabbed the shaft, pushing with his legs.  He knew it would send him into the water when it gave way, but there wasn't much choice in the matter.  He pulled at it, straining against it as his legs pushed against the stern, and he heard the wood begin to crack.  A split second later, the bolt tore free, sending Tarrin catapulting away from the ship as he carried the bolt with him.
	The water was surprisingly warm.  He swam up to the surface and to the stern, then hooked his claws into it and climbed out of the sea.  The smell of the salt water clung to him as he ascended the stern, looking to see the burning pirate ship fall behind Dancer, those men remaining fighting to put out the fires.  When he got back to the sterncastle, Renoit was there again with a pilot, who was turning the ship away from the burning freebooter.  The two drakes sat near the rail calmly, one hovering protectively over the other, who still seemed to be a little dazed.  "Tarrin, lad, not a good time for a swim, no?" Renoit said with a broad grin.
	"It washed off the blood if nothing else," he replied.  "I got that harpoon out of the ship.  Are we clear?"
	"Clear, yes," he replied as his performers flooded into the rigging and quickly set the sails to get them away from the pirate.  "Your friends sent the pirates running away like rabbits.  Those that live are being put over on an old longboat we can afford to lose.  Quite a show, that was, yes.  I should carry more magic-users with me."
	"They do make things different," Tarrin agreed, shaking some of the water off of himself and throwing his braid back over his shoulder.  "Is everyone alright?"
	"I haven't had time to check, but by looking, I say yes," he replied.  "I see no friends laying on the deck.  I do see some bandages, though."
	Tarrin felt something up against his leg.  He looked down and saw the dazed drake huddled up against his leg as the other stayed close to it.  That surprised him, for he didn't like the drakes, and they weren't that fond of him either.  The poor thing was shaking; it must have been hurt more than Tarrin first thought.  He was silently impressed at the two little reptiles, who would so brazenly attack a human being, who would fight such huge opponents to help defend the ship.  Impulsively, he reached down and picked it up, cradling it in his arm, putting a paw over its winged back protectively to calm it.  The other one beat its wings against the air to take off, then landed lightly on his shoulder and looked down at its injured companion.
	"The war must be over," Renoit said with a chuckle, looking at the small reptile in his arms.
	"At least until it feels better," Tarrin grunted.
	"Funny.  You nearly killed it a few days ago, and now it clings to you."
	"I can't tell them apart," he said shortly.
	"The one you hold is Turnkey.  The one on your shoulder is Chopstick, yes."
	Tarrin and Renoit watched the burning pirate ship as their own vessel put some distance between them.  A rickety longboat holding the survivors was launched a short while later, and Tarrin watched as they rowed not towards the burning ship, but towards the southeast, probably towards some kind of base.  "That smoke will attract attention, Renoit," Dolanna told him as she, Faalken, and Camara Tal climbed up onto the steering deck.  "We should make all speed away from it."
	"We already are, Dolanna," the circus master replied calmly.
	"You're wet, boy," Camara Tal noted.
	"The ocean tends to be wet, Camara Tal," he replied cooly.  "Could someone go get Phandebrass?  I think this one needs him."
	"Let me see," Camara Tal said, coming over.  She grabbed her amulet with one hand and muttered under her breath, then placed her hand on the drake's small horned head.  Tarrin felt it shiver in his paws, and then it looked up at them with calm eyes, its shaking eased.  "All better now," Camara Tal said with surprising gentleness, considering that her deep bronze-colored body was spattered with blood.
	As if coming to its aid had broken the fear that they had for him, the drakes didn't immediately turn around and attack him.  The one in his arms was content to stay there, at least for the moment, and its companion sat easily on his shoulder.  Tarrin's hostility towards the drakes was centered mainly on the fact that they were hostile to him, so any animosity he felt for them drained away.
	Allia and Dar came up on the steering deck.  Dar looked a bit wild-eyed, but Allia's eyes were gloriously bright and energetic.  She hadn't had a chance to really exercise for a long time, and seeing her fight was like watching a master artisan sculpting a masterpiece.  The drake on his shoulder jumped off and flew over to her, landing in her hands and nearly cooing in delight when she began to pet it.
	"What happened, brother?" she asked curiously.
	"I had to pull that spear out of the ship," he replied.  "It was too deep to just pull out."
	"Ah.  Everyone is well, Renoit.  Only cuts and bruises."
	"Good," the portly circus master nodded.  "Now, let us run very fast."
	"That's a good idea," Camara Tal grunted.

	The battle with the pirates had opened Tarrin's eyes in two important ways.
	Firstly, he realized that all it would take was one act of faith.  The drakes taught him that.  Just once, he had to overcome his fear and reach out to those he wanted to call friend, just once he'd have to convince himself that his instincts were wrong.  The drakes had feared him because he was a predator, but his one act to protect them had convinced both of them that he wasn't an enemy.  They still weren't completely comfortable around him, but they no longer hissed at him or tried to bite him as they did before.  But knowing that was little comfort when he still had no way to overcome himself.  He still couldn't struggle with the fear, still had to retreat from it, every time he had it in his head to try to make that one success with Camara Tal, or with Phandebrass.  He was still too weak, but just knowing that it was only going to take one expression of faith bolstered him.  Trying to live through that kind of terror constantly would have driven him crazy.
	Secondly, he realized just how powerful magic really was.  Not just his own magic, any magic.  The five spellcasters on the ship had let a group of ten fighters overwhelm a force three times their number without a single fatality.  Granted, the inhuman abilities of Tarrin and Allia and the exceptional skill of Faalken and Camara Tal would have allowed them to win without magic, but some of the performers defending the ship would have been killed during the battle, if not one of them themselves.  Their magical power had overwhelmed the pirates from the beginning, had forced them to fight at a major disadvantage, if not culling down their numbers immediately to something the present warriors could manage.  Phandebrass pinning about half the pirates on their own ship had been critical to keep the defenders from being too seriously overwhelmed.  And the shock factor of the unusual magic both he and Camara Tal employed had confused and demoralized the opposition, throwing them into disarray and making it easier for them to be defeated.  The perfect example of the power of magic had been Dar, striking the first magical blow and immediately altering the flow of the battle in such a way that allowed Camara Tal to strike in the most devastating manner with her own magic.  Because of them, the battle had been won literally just as it began.
	Tarrin had been trying to ignore the power of magic because of his own unique situation.  His magic was incredibly powerful.  In fact, it was so powerful that he couldn't control it.  It was just as dangerous to him as it was to everyone around him, and that simple fact kept him as far away from it was possible.  It was literally the reason Sarraya was with them, to keep his power from overwhelming him and killing him.  His position made him want to stay away from magic, to stay away from the temptation to use it.  It was why he skipped the lessons that Dolanna taught to Allia and Dar.  He was a creature of impulse, and he knew that.  To put himself in an environment where he was constantly exposed to magic, his impulsive nature would overwhelm his common sense, and then he would die in a very painful manner.  Probably kill everyone within a longspan of him to boot.  Because he had some very dear friends and his sister closer than that to him, he would not take that risk.
	The battle with the pirates had intrigued him about magic once again, and not just his own.  He had never studied the other orders of magic as thoroughly as he should have, and that left a large void of understanding as to how they worked.  He may even be able to call on their magic in some minor way.  Tarrin knew that because he wasn't mortal, he could use more than just Sorcery, he just figured that his access to those other types of magic would be as restricted as the Priest magic granted to the katzh-dashi.  But he couldn't use Druidic magic, because that was an innate ability, just like Sorcery.  He couldn't use Priest magic, because his Goddess already told him she wouldn't give it to him.  That left Wizard magic, and so his attention had been affixed to Phandebrass.
	Phandebrass was an unusual person.  He had white hair and was very thin, making him look very old, but just one look at his face told the person that he was actually a man just going into middle age.  He was actually a rather attractive man, in Tarrin's opinion.  His doddering personality and infamous absent-mindedness reinforced the concept that he was old, maybe even senile, when it was just a simple matter of having too much on his mind to pay much attention to the real world.  Because the drakes no longer feared him, it allowed him to visit Phandebrass in his lab in the hold of the ship, a large room with tables bolted to the floor, and strange metal rails lining them and forming little areas where glass beakers and even stranger things stood on the tables, the rails keeping them from moving when the ship swayed.  Shelves had been built into the walls of the room for his many, many books, shelves with leather straps over the open areas to keep the books firmly secured.  Phandebrass had adapted well to the hold and the unique challenges working on a ship could pose.  He was working when Tarrin knocked and was bid to enter, carefully mixing a strange green liquid with what looked like water in a large glass beaker.  His two drakes were on a smaller table in the corner, eating from a pair of bowls.  "I say, come in, Tarrin," he said in his meandering voice, but his eyes were intent on the two beakers before him.  "Just be quiet a moment, if you please, and don't stomp around.  This is delicate."
	Tarrin stood in place and watched as the mage carefully mixed the two liquids, nearly drop by drop, until the liquid in the beaker on the table suddenly began to bubble and turn dark.  "There we are," Phandebrass said, mainly to himself, watching the bubbling reaction carefully.  The solution frothed violently, then seemed to stop with a suddenness that surprised him.  "Very good.  What did you want, my boy?" he asked, then he picked up the strange foamed mixture, and to Tarrin's shock, began to drink it.
	Whatever he was doing, he must know what he was doing, Tarrin decided after watching him imbibe the entire contents of the beaker.  "I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about your magic."
	"Oh?  And what did you want to know?" he asked, setting the beaker down.
	"Just how it works, I guess.  I've never seen wizard magic in use before until the battle, and I didn't realize it was so--"
	"Versatile?  Yes, that's the power of Wizardry, my boy.  Our spells are very wide-ranging.  There's a spell for nearly anything you can think of."
	"How does it work?"
	Phandebrass laughed.  "That, my boy, is something that takes years to learn," he replied.  "There's more to it than jabbering strange words and making pretzels of your fingers.  You have to have the concentration to control the power you create, or it will blow up in your face."
	"I learned a little about Wizard magic in the Tower.  That rod of steel you used, that was a material con-component?"
	Phandebrass nodded.  "Some spells need the presence of an item or material to act as a catalyst for the magic.  Most components are consumed in the casting of the spell."
	"Why?"
	Phandebrass stared at him, and then he laughed.  "You can't have something for nothing, my boy.  A mage sometimes has to give to receive his magic.  Every spell a mage casts requires that the mage give a little something, if only his breath and a little bit of his energy.  Most of the stronger spells demand something a bit more than that, though.  That means that for some spells, we have to find the right materials to make it work right.  Some of them can be very expensive."
	"Huh," Tarrin mused, looking at the beakers on the table.  "Dolanna told me that wizards receive their magic from an elsewhere, a place not of our world.  Is that what you learned?"
	"I know where my magic comes from, my boy," Phandebrass smiled.  "Wizards tap the energies of the Energy Realms for their magic.  All our power comes from those two dimensions.  There's the Realm of Light, which is positive energy, and the Realm of Darkness, which is negative energy.  A spell is just that raw energy shaped into a specific effect.  A great deal how your Sorcery works.  You take the raw energy of your spheres and shape it into a specific effect.  We do the same, just with one type of energy rather than several."
	"One?  You said you tapped two powers."
	"There are two powers, I say, but no spell taps them both at the same time.  They would cancel each other out, my boy.  A spell is made up of either positive energy or negative energy, depending on what the spell does."
	"What would a negative energy spell be?"
	"Well, let's see," he pondered.  "A spell of darkness is negative energy.  There's a spell to conjure the voices of the dead--any spell dealing with Necromancy is negative energy--and a spell to suck the energy right out of someone.  I say, generally any spell that takes away, drains, or reduces something is negative energy.  Battlemagic like fire and explosions, spells that grant the recepient of the spell limited magical abilities, things like that, that's positive energy.  You're not draining, you're adding.  The spell where I turned myself to steel is a positive energy spell.  It's a spell of Transmutation."
	"Trans-what?"
	"You have your spheres, my boy," Phandebrass chuckled.  "We mages divide up our spells into categories that define what they do.  There's Transmutation, changing one thing to another, there's Abjuration, spells of protection, there's Evocation, spells that summon energy in one form or another, which is the majority of wizard battlemagic, there's Charming, using spells to affect the mind or emotions of a subject, there's Enchantment, that imbues magical energy on mundane objects, and there's Necromancy, using magic to interact with the dead."
	"I heard about Necromancy.  It gives your group a bad reputation."
	"Some use it in ways I don't approve, my boy, but all power is as good or as bad as the reasons behind using it.  There are Necromancy spells that are very beneficial, but I must admit that even I know some that most people would consider ghastly."
	"Like what?"
	"Like a spell that imbues animate force in dead bodies, making them zombies," he replied.  "I say, I don't much like Necromancy, but I'll learn the spells even if I have no intent to use them.  It's knowledge, and a man can  never know enough."  He set his beaker down.  "That Doomwalker is the result of a Necromancy spell."
	Tarrin's ears picked up, and he regarded Phandebrass intently.  "How much do you know about that?"
	"Enough to know to stay out of its way, my boy," the mage replied.  "Doomwalkers are not to be tested."
	"Can I make it just die?"
	"I say, I'm afraid not, my boy," he replied.  "The wizard who summoned it has hold of the Doomwalker's soul, and it's doing what the summoner impels it to do, because its very soul hangs in the balance.  Destroy it, and the Doomwalker's bound soul can make it animate the nearest available suitable corpse.  If you totally destroy the current host body, it is forced back into its prison vessel, and has to be conjured again."
	"So that's why it took so long to come back," Tarrin mused.  "I totally destroyed it the first time with magic, but the last time, Triana just killed it.  That means that it's close to me again, right?"
	Phandebrass nodded.  "It probably took it about a tenday to find a new body suitable for its needs and re-animate.  Then it had to find suitable weapons to deal with you.  It can't just create magical weapons, it had to go find one.  You know how rare those are.  That explains why we didn't see it in Shoran's Fork.  It wasn't ready to tackle you again."
	"Do you know any spells to get rid of it?"
	Phandebrass shook his head.  "Doomwalkers are a creation of Wizard magic, so they can't be affected by Wizard magic.  Other orders of magic can affect them, but a Doomwalker's magical nature makes it very hard to affect with any type of magic.  The only way to permanently kill it is to take or destroy the soul prison the conjuring mage uses to trap its soul.  When you face it again, I highly suggest you destroy it, my boy.  Send it back to its creator.  That will give you more time before you have to face it again."
	"It's good, Phandebrass.  I usually don't have many options when I face it."
	"Then don't face it alone, my boy," the mage said calmly.  "You have a good many people around you that will help you deal with it, deal with anything.  Why you don't accept their aid boggles me sometimes."
	The simple effectiveness of his statement struck Tarrin hard, but it was something that he had faced himself long ago.  He wouldn't involve others in his personal battles because he wouldn't risk their lives.  Miranda had proved to him that if he lost someone close to him, he wouldn't survive the rage that would result.  Keeping his friends and sisters out of harm's way was as much an act of self-preservation as it was keeping them safe.
	"It's an act of preservation, Phandebrass," he replied quietly.  "Mine as well as theirs.  Remember what happened when Miranda and Sisska were hurt?"
	Phandebrass looked at him, then nodded in understanding.  "I say, I guess I should have just asked," he said with a wry smile.
	"That does work," Tarrin agreed.
	"I say, my boy, I need to do some mixing, and it's something of a delicate nature.  If you're willing to keep quiet, you're welcome to stay, but I can't afford any distractions.  A moment's distraction could cause it to explode."
	"That's alright.  If you're going to do something that serious, it'd be best if I leave."
	"I say, take Turnkey and Chopstick with you," he said.  "They sometimes don't understand that bothering me while I work is dangerous."
	"Alright, I guess," he said.  "Where did you find them?"
	"Drakes inhabit the southern areas of Nyr and northern Sharadar.  I found them as babies while I was searching for certain rare mosses that only grow in the forested regions of Telluria, after their mother was killed by an eagle.  I raised them myself," he said proudly.  "Chopstick, Turnkey, go out and play," the mage ordered the two green scaly reptiles.  "Go on now," he shooed at them.  "I'll be out in a while."
	"They understand you?"
	"Sometimes, they seem to," he replied.  "Drakes are very intelligent.  Some say as smart as people, but I haven't gotten around to studying them yet.  They're relatives of dragons, you know."
	"Dragons?  I thought they were just fairy tales."
	"They were very real, my boy," he replied.  "Legend says they died in the Breaking, since they were so magical.  I've seen some skeletons of dragons.  They have one on display in the Cathedral of Knowledge in Sharadar, and I stumbled on another in a cave some ten years ago."
	"Huh," Tarrin mused.  "I'd love to see that."
	"It was most impressive.  Its legbone is taller than a man.  It was hundreds of longspans long, with a wingspan longer than this ship.  A truly magnificent creature."
	"That's big," Tarrin agreed.  "It must have preyed on Rocs."
	"Probably," Phandebrass agreed.  "See you later, my boy.  I have to do this today, and I can't stand around and jabber anymore.  We'll talk again later."
	The talk with Phandebrass had been productive.  The doddering mage was very intelligent, and if anything, having a better understanding about Jegojah made it worth his while.  So, the Doomwalker was being forced to do what it was doing.  That only made sense, going on what he knew of it.  It spoke of honor and fought bravely, and that didn't seem right for someone who was enjoying what it was doing.  It was doing what it was being forced to do, and that was something that Tarrin with which could identify.  He actually felt a little sorry for it.  Having one's soul dragged from the Final Rest and being forced to do the bidding of another, that was slavery at its ultimate and most vile level.  It made it no less dangerous, but Tarrin could sympathize with it.  By now, Jegojah was probably taking his defeats personally.
	He sheparded the drakes outside, where they began to fly around the rigging, and found himself staring at Camara Tal.  The Amazon had her back to him, and a bare back told him that she had her haltar off on the middle of the deck.  The men around her were having a hard time not staring as she seemed to be fixing the garment, then shrugged it back on.  Tarrin himself was rather indifferent about nudity because of who and what he was, and it seemed that the Amazons were much the same.  She was lacing up the front of it as she turned and nodded to him.  "It's about time, boy," she told him.  "I'm ready to start the lessons again."
	"Begging your pardon, Mistress Tal, but I need to talk to the lad, yes," Renoit broke in as he came down off the steering deck.
	"What about, Renoit?" Tarrin asked.
	"Tarrin, I hoped to sneak you through without making you perform with the troupe, yes, but I think that maybe you should have a skill, just in case," he explained.  "I talked with Faalken about you, and he said that your marksmanship with a bow is exceptional.  I have seen you take the human shape, yes, so you could handle a bow.  Do you think you could turn this skill into an act?  I assure you, I will not use it unless we are forced to," he said quickly.  "But if demands to see you perform are made, you must be ready to carry out, yes."
	"I'm no sharpshooter, Renoit, and it's been nearly a year since I've so much as picked up a bow," Tarrin protested.
	"Give yourself some credit, Tarrin," Faalken said as he came over from the other strongmen.  "I've seen you shoot.  Any man that can peg a bull's-eye from two hundred paces is a sharpshooter."
	"But I can't do it every time," he protested anew.  "If you make me shoot, I'll have to do tricks, and I was never taught anything like that."
	"You have seen my dancers, lad, yes," Renoit soothed.  "They are demonstrators, nothing more.  I have my strongmen who also demonstrate fighting styles of the world.  You will demonstrate the use of the bow.  As long as you are consistent, then it is all I need, yes."
	"The lad's competent in the Ungardt Ways, Renoit," Faalken mentioned.  "Could he do that instead?"
	"Uh, no," Tarrin said.  "I'd have to work with someone else, and I'd rather not risked getting punched in the mouth and losing my temper."
	"Good point," Faalken grunted.
	"Well, lad, can you hit a target from long distances?" Renoit asked.
	"Yes, I can."
	"Can you hit a moving target from short or medium range?"
	"I used the bow to hunt, Renoit, I'd better be able to hit a moving target."
	"Then that's all I need, yes.  Just humor me and practice with the bow while we travel.  I will not use you unless we have no choice in the matter, but this way we will be ready, yes.  Best safe than sorry."
	Tarrin couldn't really refute the man's logic.  Just in case, it was a good idea for Tarrin to have a skill to fall back on.  The bow would let him work alone, removing the risk of him losing control of himself, and he was a pretty good shot with a bow.  He doubted that he had the skill to be a circus performer, but if all Renoit wanted was someone that could shoot straight, that was something that he could do.  He was fairly certain that Renoit would see his practice and realize that he wouldn't be a good performer, and after all, if he wanted to avoid performing, all he had to do was change into a cat a