The Grey Tower

Quick, hard thrusts bereft of wasted motion answered Valadin’s assault and the Song swelled with excitement. These he matched with little effort, his reach and size providing much needed advantages over the woman’s obvious skill. The Cat Dances on the Wall turned away Rain in High Wind forcing the two warriors to a stalemate as the ground beneath them grew soft and their steps began to sink into the mud. With the rain coming down in earnest the battlefield became as lethal as any enemy on the battlefield. Val knew that depending on how one used it, she would become greatest ally or worst foe.

The stalemate held as Val transitioned to the forms he knew well, the Void and Song folding the quickly growing battle crave into resilient focus that drew upon every fiber of his being to fight. The Cat Dances on the Wall quickening into The Cat on Hot Sand to match to speed of his opponent. While his practice sword danced meeting yet another form he did not recognize, he tried to sort his thoughts from the imperturbable detachment of the Void and the mad frenzied Song which contained equal measures of bloodlust as it did determination. He let his strikes slow when the sustained rapid motion continued on without an apparent end; his wrists and calves burned as the attacks blurred into one another. Finally the woman played her hand, aiming a precise strike at his arm.

Inwardly Val smiled.

Whether his ruse had worked or the attack had been intended from the onset, he was thankful. In the mud even the fleet footed would have difficulty moving, but he had no intention of charging forward or retreating; either would work to her favor. Instead he anchored himself to receive her blow. Poor footing was the only instance where the advantage of strength belonged solely to him. He outweighed by more than a hundred stones most likely and without momentum and her ability to move suspect; his victory was a matter of patience. No sign of his thoughts touched his features, the Void numbing him to the distraction of his feelings.

His feet spread wide as The Falling Leaf parried the woman’s final attack, knocking her weapon to the side with a blow with the flat wooden surface of his sword. Without hesitation Val fell to a knee, the moist sand wetting his skin through the trouser before slashing smoothly at what would be the woman’s exposed torso with The River Undercuts the Bank.

As the woman pedaled backwards, the blow's feedback rattled the length of the wooden sword and a savage excitement filled Valadin as he readied to leap back to his feet for another assault. The battle lust dimmed his senses to anything save the slick feel of the practice blade’s handle in his grasp and the rumbling drumbeat of the Song whispering the melody of combat to his soul. Lost in the chaos of violence he nearly missed the abrupt pause in action. Biting back a frustrated snarl, he rose silently against the downpour. The woman offered a smile and though age had taken the youthful luster from her cheeks there was feral beauty about her that might have captured Val any other time. When she spoke her words were those of a warrior, not some tavern maid to be toyed with. He returned a grin that was more the baring of teeth than anything else.

“Aye,” he managed to shout over the din. Stepping forward deliberately to warn of the impending assault he added, “Next point claims victory.”

Both of them understood that no other words needed to be shared. When Val raised his weapon he felt a very human pang of exhaustion and pain pull at the concentration of the Void; his body was finally feeling the effects of mortality. Stubbornly he took up The Lion on the Hill, flaunting his determination to win whether pyrrhic or not as his sword pointed to the sky, the hilt nearly resting upon his shoulder. The threadbare tunic stretched tightly over slabs of muscle as the rainwater added thrice his weight to carry—it would be the same for her he hoped.

A single moment hung between the two. Their egos clashing in the silence of the Oneness, they both refused to surrender. The thunderous boom signaled the resume of the fight and Val surged forward, rivulets cascading from his body with every motion. The Lion on the Hill became The Lion Springs, the sword thrusting at the woman’s torso before slashing upward and turning Val’s back to her as the momentum carried his weapon overhead. He didn’t stop there—he couldn’t—the drumbeat of the Song and the fire in his blood raged too hotly to be sated with just that.

Flourishing the blade with the same practiced grace he’d seen his opponent display Val’s sword flowed between forms. The Ribbon Dances on the Breeze compensated for the over-extension of his movements and brought Val to The Creeper Embraces the Oak . Sword low and sliding patiently between high and low guard he circled in search of an opening. The fatigue and pain he’d felt earlier was now forgotten as a raw strength kept his feet moving through the hampering slop that the Yard sands had become. Every step sucked his heels into the ground, the effort of pulling free leeching his strength while the cold, wet rain chilled him to the bone.

As the battle progressed his body was alive with the battle hunger, but his awareness gradually began to expand. The Void began to open more of itself to him. He became aware of rage boiling beneath the veneer of his detachment; a moment’s lapse would see him charging aimlessly towards defeat. Watching the woman he tried to mimic the near-perfect balance she maintained even in muddy conditions, her step barely making imprints on the unsteady ground. Noticing the slight tension of her muscle with each move he began to “see” the warnings the Song gave him and his battle rage roared for release through bloody carnage.

It frightened him. He was caught in a thin space between absolute control and madness. The only thing that could be likened to the feeling was Saidin’s wild euphoria.

For now he put these things from his thoughts as he circled around to her left rear making certain to keep just out of sword range while waiting to see her next move.

Unsure of the woman’s state, Valadin became increasingly aware of the exhaustion tugging at the Void’s security. The enveloping serenity was contradicted by the heightened focus and self-awareness that spoke of muscles that grew unresponsive to his commands. Worsening his condition was the driving rain which chilled to the bone and made each step a dreaded effort only undertaken out of pure necessity. Aching pain swept up the length of his arms, but in spite of everything his grip held firm on his sword; time in the Warder Yards had the effort as natural as walking to him—he’d relinquish his weapon on the pain of death. The wooden sword remained in constant motion, its cadence mimicking the sucking sounds the mud made each time he extricated a foot from its cold, slimy grasp. To stop moving would be to die a slow death; how the woman would overcome the atrophy of her limbs when the time for action called Val couldn’t imagine. Even so, more than a year’s worth of hard training had instilled in him an ever-roving eye to pick out weaknesses even when the mind was exhausted—she would be doing the same.

Noting the firm set of the female warrior’s feet, Val listened to the Battle Song to get a sense for the next attack’s flow. Thought the beats of the Dance still whirled about them, booming alongside the thunderclaps of the storm, it conveyed a sense of lurking…waiting that originated from the woman’s small frame. It sounded like danger.

The stiffness of his jaw was the only thing that stymied the hooting laugh that threatened to bubble up from his gut. Like a fool he’d believed that his size advantage would grant him victory in the battle early on.

Nothin’ fer it, he told himself when they were facing one another once more. He’d found no holes he could exploit. It was just as well—he yearned for an honorable conclusion to this fight. That was the only thing he was intuitively certain of: the battle would end in the next few moves.

During the spar, Val had felt himself growing. In watching the woman’s sinuous motions and cautiously chosen movements he was able to adapt some of her style into his own. Now there was a bit less wildness in his swings, the lesson of moderation punctuated by the score of blows that would blacken his skin in the morn. Nuff o’ that.

The Creeper Embraces the Oak fell away to Cutting the Clouds, a move he’d barely practiced, but immediately felt suited him. Taking a long, weighty step inside the woman’s guard Val made a short-armed cut at sidelong angle aiming for the torso.

He’d have to ask her name. In one spar she’d taught him as much as Fodhr and Master Silas combined.

As he struck his foot sank heavily into the mud as it bore the majority of his weight onto the lone leg. It had been to hasten the instep’s speed and increase blow’s power. A foolish mistake that even a novice swordsman knew to avoid making, yet Valadin made it here as his heart thumbed in his ears again and the Song boiled to a climax.

There was only one hand left to the both of them now. She’d set the bait first and he’d taken it. Now as the thunder cracked overhead, someone’s gambit would pay off…
And the other would be left in the mud.

Valadin had known the error in his hasty advance. Mud clamped around his ankles like dungeon chains and the woman’s riposte smoothly removed her from range of danger. The Song petered out on a sad note as it gave a final warning, the drumbeat of battle softening as the piercing pain emanated where her practice sword jabbed his torso.

The final point had gone to the woman.

Where the Song had faded and the Void rippled uncertainly, the Rage festered. Now blood thirst poured through his being, suffusing his fatigued and cold limbs with an unnatural vigor—not unlike Saidin. Though the last strike had staggered him, Val had already recovered. Suddenly he could feel the roughhewn grip of his practice weapon clenched tightly in his sword hand and when he controlled his momentum once again, he commanded his body forward without hesitation. His mind registered the woman’s imitation of Folding the Fan—of what that meant—but his blood was burning with the fires of combat.

He craved more battle. No longer could pain or cold touch him—slow him. Even the mud restrained him no more as his steeps were fleet and his mind frighteningly sharp despite the prolonged struggle.

They had each strained their minds and body for the sake of improvement. In the folds of the Void Val knew that, but he raised his blade to strike her down while she bowed to him gratefully. The image of her broken body prostrate before him nourishing a savage spirit that he’d never known.

“That was exactly what I needed today. Thank you for the sparring match. I do not believe we've met before…I am Riahana Ferria Gaidar.”

With his weight mostly on his back foot, it was difficult to halt the impetus of The Moon Rises Over the Lakes. The horizontal slash embodied the improvements he’d made to his form over the course of their fight: speed, power, balance, control. Valadin knew he’d improved all in the throes of the storm that washed down on them. Nothing more than proving himself and slaking the thirst for violence could’ve raised his spirits…but with great difficulty he let the practice sword fall to the mud.

Riahana…Gaidar he thought dimly as sense returned slowly to him. Taking the woman’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting, he gave her a respectful nod.

“Many thanks, Lady Gaidar. The lesson…I will…I will not soon forget it. I’m Dedicated Valadin Manelle. I come the Yards when most have retreated to their quarters for the night’s rest—dunt much like the noise of others whilst training.”

The words tasted bitter and gritty on his tongue. For the first time the penetrating chill of the air made a detectable impression. Glancing down at the torn tunic, he gestured sheepishly.

“If ya don’t mind,” he murmured, shaking his head to remove wet strands of hair from his brow. “I’d like to make meself decent. Got studies an’ the like to attend after. My thanks again, Lady Gaidar…Light…light shine on you.”

With that he made a hasty escape. The woman had been a Gaidar, one raised to the Fan cloak—and he’d nearly struck her out of turn. Even now as his long legs carried him through the halls, droplets of water spraying about with every motion, the embers of combat still churned beneath his skin. Maybe I should see…no, No. She can’t bloody see me like this.

Unknowingly he’d nearly turned for the Blue Ajah quarters. A pair of lounging Sisters observed him behind cool Aes Sedai masks, their eyes flashing with self-importance.

Again an itch for a practice sword in hand pulled against reason. Val kept the Void close to him that remainder of the day…even those days that followed. It scared him…this wild violence that could swiftly take control scared him, but...

…it also made him hunger for more.