The Grey Tower

Ravak stood near the back of the class, paying as much attention to Zulin as he was to the white dressed woman to his left-hand side. Half a hand shortly than the Ji'alantin, but with the same fiery red hair, the novice bore a hole in Rav's head before nodded towards Zulin. That look said pay attention. He returned a scowl, before facing forwards at her behest.

The Shienaran listened with interest at the Asha'man's different descriptions of the three blades. He knew quite a lot about the different weights of a weapon, and knew quite a lot about different weapons, but not daggers. Daggers weren't often seen in Shienar; you wanted a good length of steel between yourself and a Trolloc, when it came down to it. And shady types attracted far too much attention in a city ever vigilant for Myrddraal and other dark figures skulking in the night.

Rav approached the table, and lifted the first dagger he could reach. A few months ago, he would have called this dagger ornate, but the longsword resting in his room now was a work of art, albeit a functional one. The dagger had two large quillons that curved out from the blade by two inches. The pommel was triangular, with an engraving of a roaring lion's head. That same lion was engraved on the ricasso. The fact that a blade of this length had a ricasso was deplorable. It was clearly made as a gift or for decoration, even if the rest of the blade was sharp.

He put the dagger back on the table, and was handed a throwing knife by the novice. He took it without comment. This was clearly all of one piece, without a grip or crossguard. Rav balanced it on one finger, finding the tipping point near the middle of the weapon as Zulin had stated. The knife was clearly made for the purpose of throwing, with an angled blade that ended in a sharp point. It was sharp on both sides, and probably could be used for stabbing as well as throwing. Satisfied, Rav moved back into position in step with the novice.

"Well then," Zulin said, after everyone had chosen a weapon. "Now, set the dagger down on the floor in front of you. We're not ready to use it yet. First, just like in any other physical class, you need to stretch and get the blood flowing into your muscles. Roll your wrists, work your fingers, and prevent them from getting hurt by the strain you will submit them to."

Rav dropped the dagger to the floor, blade down. With a small thud, gravity impaled it upright in the floor board of the classroom. He heard a vexed hiss to his left, but ignored it, rolling his shoulder muscles to show he couldn't care less about the novice's opinion. He felt his tunic brushing up against the scar that ran the width of his back. Elia wouldn't stop at a hiss if she knew about that.

Rav extended his arms out straight, clad in the dark grey uniform of the Warder Yards. He had bulked up significantly since leaving Shienar. His arms had no distinct shape to them once, but now each set of muscles were clearly visible, even through the fabric.

He rotated his hands around the wrist, much as he had to for sword training. His fists clenched and relaxed, as he worked his fingers. The gold of his ring caught in the light from the windows, and an idle thought flickered past. I wonder if each finger comes into play. He was short one-third of his right ring finger, and this had yet to be a factor in his training. However, daggers were a much smaller weapon than the others he was used to.

Left hand gripped around the right, a reverse mirror to the Asha'man's instructions. He wrapped his dominant hand around his right, then exercised his wrist. Afterwards, he switched so that his right hand was now wrapped round his left.*

Despite the warnings, Rav doubted very much that even a sprain would stop him. He had the bit in his teeth when it came to his training now. He had a very clear focus and purpose in mind, and nothing was going to stop him - sprains or otherwise.

"I think we're ready to begin. Those of you in the front of each line should be standing on a line I've drawn on the floor. This line is seven feet from the dummy in front of you. At seven feet, a dagger will turn half way around. Since it leaves your hand with the hilt toward your opponent, at half a turn, the tip of the blade should hit the opponent. Distance is very important. The dagger spends little of it's time blade forward."

"Now you try. Those of you not throwing at the moment, watch the person in your line that is, so as to notice which part of their dagger strikes the dummy and where. Each of you should throw twenty times."

Seven feet. Not a terribly long distance. He was quietly confident he could cross that space and draw a sword in the same time as it took someone to throw a dagger. Still, he had come here to learn, not to belittle. Especially not to belittle an Asha'man.

Rav waiting for his opportunity in line patiently. Having Elia at his back was a comfort; knowing she was safe was a comfort. Eventually the line of people before him disappeared, and he was at the front. There was a mark on the ground, and the Ji positioned his boots against it.

Pinched between thumb and forefinger, Rav considered the target dummy. It was much the same as the dummies he used for sword fighting, but with less padding. That padding had been flattened from repeated strikes, stuffing surrounding the base in like a layer of snow. He ignored all of that now, focusing instead on his target. A technique of his training, Rav slipped into the ko'di. Nothing mattered beyond the blade in his hand and the dummy before him. The knife moved up to his left cheek, then in a fluid motion he straightened his arm and the knife soared. A moment later he heard the thunk as the knife embedded itself point-first into a wooden thigh.

"Keep your arm up," Zulin chastised, "and think about where you are aiming. I suspect you don't wildly slash with your sword, so don't recklessly fling the dagger either. Again."

Rav fetched the dagger, and reassumed his place behind the line. His second attempt landed in the target's abdomen, a little more to the left than he would have liked. Retrieving and adjusting his aim, this time the blade bounced off the dummy. A look from the Asha'man was all he needed.

Several more times Rav practiced the throw. One came off-target when he tried using his off-hand, and twice more the blade bounced off instead of puncturing wood. By the end of the twenty throws, he had a better feel for how to aim for specific organs, but not with enough familiarity or certainty as he would have liked. He stepped aside, and watched his sister make a much better show with her dagger. Pleasure in his sister's success covered up his own feeling of inadequacy.

Once everyone had completed their twenty throws, the class was concluded. "Same place, same time, on the morrow. Remember to do your stretches tomorrow morning." Leaving the room, Rav could hear Elia mimicking the Asha'man in a soft tone. He clapped a hand on her shoulder, and led her towards the library.