The Grey Tower

A wave of sand and mountain air rolled through the Yards. Men and women hailing from all nations struggled in pursuit of perfection in the Oneness. Walking and living in the Void was a way for some to achieve the focus needed to overcome the trials they would face in service of the Light. For some it was the only way they could manage such.

Valadin was meeting someone as he mused these things, but paused a moment to eye a contest between two Ji’alantin. A young man with a dagger held close to breast, blade angled downward, circled a lithe young woman who coolly observed her opposition with her quarterstaff—ashwood it looked like—twirling in anticipation. Assessing the footwork of each briefly, Val  judged the victor and continued on his way. Not long after he’d passed a frustrated cry caught his ear and from the harsh string of curses that cut through the din of training it appeared his estimation had been accurate.

It was hard picking out the woman he’d come to see out from the chaos of the Warder Yards. In general it was difficult discerning anything of substance about Lysira Gaidar making for a rather irksome time spent searching. Finding the pair of women—Lysira was rarely without her translator at her side—Val went to them, smoothing away the fading vestiges of irritation by the time he came upon them.

When she had approached him earlier about a particular training regimen she wished to experiment with, Val had taken to the idea quite quickly. Now that he’d become Asha’man his time was demanded by many and it had become necessary to ignore the chaff, focusing only on those of worth. Usually the meek and weak fell in this grouping; a harsh categorization, but being of the Green meant that strength ruled in the fight against the Shadow. The mousy woman had little meat on her, but recalling how her bow had made quick work of several Blight beasts dispelled any misgivings about the female warrior’s skill. Crossing the Yards, Val greeted the Gaidar with a respectful bow, favoring the young woman at her side with a brisk, yet courteous nod; this one was a fighter as well, a thing to be appreciated.

“Light shine on you both,” Val rasped. Calling drills in the gray hours of the day after a long evening of carousing the night before had done little good for his voice. “Is everything prepared?”

It was always a bit disconcerting to watch the pair work. One small, lean with whipcord strength while the other was rangy, neatly cut lines of muscle announcing the fighter’s blood in her. The young woman who accompanied the Gaidar had never bothered to give her name. It had never been a necessary thing, but observing her now Val wondered at who this girl, resigned to serving as the voice of another, was.

“I’ve no questions,” he answered gruffly. Every syllable was a pain to pronounce. “That being the case, I’ll take my place then.”

Without waiting for reply Val made his way to the indicated area. It had taken entering the forge which was open at the ground floor to let the acrid black smoke filter out. There men of size worked Tower steel, as ardent in their duty as any of those who wielded the weapons they made. Up the spiraling set of stairs to a place rarely used by any. The observation floor was indeed just that.

Cobwebs claimed corners of the room and as Weaves of Fire lit the candles it became apparent that even servants committed to cleaning the chamber infrequently. Air from outside came through the barred openings in the building’s side. The hotness of the furnace below was still strong, but heat had long fallen from concern. One of the first tricks an Asha’man learned was to ignore cold or heat. Now no sweat glistened on his brow despite wanting to remove his tunic. It wasn’t as if anyone would see him, but for now there were more important matters to attend.

Through the openings the entirety of the Training Yard was visible. Now Valadin would wait for the lessons to begin so that he would provide hardship when it was requested. Should’ve asked if there was a signal or something, he thought scratching at the growth on his chin. “Should find time to shave…” he muttered to himself, squinting to catch sight of Lysira and her mouthpiece.

Fine set of legs on that one. If he hadn’t planned on marrying…Marrying who?

Valadin studied the young man in the training grounds. He did have a swaggering look to him. A brazen confidence that his skills would see him through any challenge without fail. A slight curve of the lip was the only indication of the respect shown for that kind of foolhardy thinking.

“Let’s see how he fares on a harsh terrain.”

One moment the Ji’alantin was sure-footed and progressing through his tasks with the heady sense of purpose that the well-trained so often do, the next he was stumbling goose-footed across the course as a simple Weave of Earth softened the ground beneath him. The difficult progress hindered his efforts as the poor boy strained red-faced against forces of nature battling to weigh down his every step. Val had not been much good with Flows of Earth, but Earthsinging was something he’d made study of on a whim. Because of a certain Accepted. The thought went without follow-up as he focused his efforts on the storm of Saidin raging within. Now his edification provided someone else’s misery.

To the lad’s credit, there was never a moment where it appeared he would give in. Onward the Gaidin-in-training battled, teeth gritted and spittle flying with each belabored step. Eventually he collapsed onto all fours, chest heaving while the others continued on. Val could see clearly from his vantage point the fury building within as whatever gains he’d made were lost and others—his lesser in his mind to be sure—succeeded where he failed. Defeat’s a bitter pint for anyone to swallow, Val noted solemnly.

After watching a bit more of the courageous effort against an unwinnable powers against him, the Green Asha’man turned, mirth swimming in the dark orbs of his eyes while the rest of his features were cool stoicism.

“Next victim?” he asked evenly. His voice rang loudly in the oppressively secluded room. Even the sounds of the forge seemed thousands of leagues away; they may as well have been in another nation.  

Below the ground relented its harrying offensive and the rangy Ji’alantin staggered on exhausted, yet free to move as he was able. If it was the Gaidar’s will he would go unmolested for the remainder of the exercise. Judging from the mousy Warder’s thoughtful appearance Val doubted any one of the students below would be so fortunate.

Again the young woman spoke, the authority of the Gaidar backing her words, as the trainees met in an impressive flurry of parries, ripostes, and salvos. Valadin watched with earnest interest as some possessed skill enough to test even him. When next words were broken by Lysira through the voice of her aid, he’d only been half listening though his eyes had settled on the Drin’far’ji long before mention had been made of him.

“Indeed…” Val agreed, eyelids lowering in consideration. The heavy heat of the day was oppressive out on the sands of the training grounds, but the heat of the furnace below them made the room as arid as the Blight. “He’s timid even when he holds the advantage.”

It was true. The blond haired youth was lanky, yet quick. Each time the opponent’s blade was turned it was clear to the discerning eye that an opening had been creating, but each time the Drin retreated where assault should have been made. Once you stood as such, an inner voice whispered from the darkness. Yes, Valadin Manelle had been a fatherless coward who had lived most of his youth as a slave.

Now he stood as an Asha’man of the Green. He had fallen in love with an Aes Sedai…a woman that he would make his in both body and spirit. Soon.

Strength was born from this knowledge and Saidin roared afresh within his being. Every fiber stirred with the ice-fire of the One Power as Flows of Air and Fire came together in a smooth net that settled over the space where the young trainee-in-question struggled against a lesser enemy. Valadin felt little remorse as shortly the sheen of perspiration shone brightly on the faces of either sparring partners. A subtle alteration to the Flows would see both burned to cinders as would everything within ten paces of them, but the Void stilled his heart, buffered it against the Fury that lurked at the fringes of his awareness. In battle the anger was his ally, however peace among his brothers and sisters made the thing a nuisance to wrestle with.

Not much time had passed as the air continued to warm and the evident heaving of the trainees’ chest made it clear that each was nearing his limits. Now the blond Drin could no longer afford shyness. Exhaustion did wonders in breaking through the limitations of the mind. The Ji’alantin swung wildly with a poor form and the gleam in the Drin’far’ji’s eye made it clear that something had shifted. A blow under the chin with the pommel of the wooden practice sword dazed his opponent who staggered backward only to be swept from his feet by Bank Undercuts the River executed with acute precision.

The Weave faded shortly and Valadin studied the blond young man who hunched over, lungs hungering drinking in the air. Not long ago that had been him. Weak, something screamed through the serenity of the Void. “It’s not much, but at least he’s learned that backed into a corner he won’t go down easy.”

As the exercise continued Val became aware of a certain loathing in himself. He did not its origin nor its cause, only that it existed. Stilling his features into cool indifference, mimicked from those who were once his superiors and perfected in the throes of mortal combat, he turned to the mysterious women.

“We can continue at your pleasure.” At least his throat was no longer raw.

As Lysira Gaidar pointed out the two young women in question struggled while most of their peers progressed through the obstacle course.

Fighting women no longer held the surprise it once had in Valadin’s eyes. In his time at the Grey Tower many formidable women had made it evident that gender did not decide the strength of one’s soul or the depth of the one’s skill. His own Nykkolaia was a capable woman who still revealed unknown facets of her person when it was least expected.

Peering down and watching the trainees struggle, fight, and fail, irritation scraped against the smoothness of the Void. Both Ji’dar were so busy attempting to best one another that they failed to see the defeat resulting from their actions. Of course Val understood the need to be stronger…better than another—a lifetime of meekness and groveling cultivated a burning desire to rise to any occasion no matter the sacrifice. Yet that sacrifice would never be the Light’s victory for none could afford to gamble with the fate of every living thing regardless of pride or capability.

Something not quite fury churned Saidin into a row until the Power roared readily like a caged animal flexing its powerful muscles in preparation for the hunt. If the exercise was exhausting Val could not tell it; the Power always filled him with such life and clarity that it was often easy to spurn the limitations of the flesh. Every sense tingled with such verve that he was nearly compelled to leap down onto the course and compete alongside those who tested themselves on it now.

Focus on the task at hand.

As ever the thin line separating action and contemplation left Valadin pulled in different directions. In the end, the Dragon pin’s weight upon his chest reminded him of what was expected while in sight of the monolithic stronghold of the Light in Hama Valon. Lifting a hand with the barest sign of effort a simple Weave of Earth was cast into the ground. Not a great deal of Power had been used, but had another Asha’man been present…problems might have arisen.

The earth just ahead of two girls erupted with enough force to send a spray of sand washing over of them. They were startled out of their foolish rivalry as one tumbled onto her backside nearly dragging the other with her to the ground. If Lysira or her mouthpiece had anything to say of the choice in training regimen they weren’t given chance to intervene as more Weaves sent plumes of sand and the dry soil underneath billowing into the sky . Around the young women these explosions encircled and they were both paralyzed with what could only be fear. Imagine what the one holding this power must feel, Val thought somberly as he watched a few others on the obstacle course break from their pace to give aid. With Saidin trembling in his blood it was easy to make out the dots of perspiration on each brow or the short gasping breaths taken each time the ground shifted uncertainly with the tremors caused by each upsurge. It wasn’t long until the entire obstacle course was in disarray with many of the trainees stopping as if to lend help, yet Valadin drew more of the One Power and molded it with the crude simplicity that characterized Earth; one of his weakest affinities.

“If you wish I can relent, Lysira Gaidar,” he said calmly without looking at the women sharing the room with him. He’d been careful to keep emotion from his voice; they would think him mad—an easy thing to call a man who could channel even with the Dragon’s amnesty. Below the explosions occurred with greater frequency, none reaching higher than Valadin’s height, but most were strong enough to make any who thought to approach hesitate. Soon the two Ji’dar found themselves trapped within a ring of rising sand and rushing wind. “…it might do them well to learn focus on the field of battle though.”

Though he no longer felt heat or cold the way normal people did, Val felt a sweeping coldness beginning from his feet and crawling upward take hold. Naturally this much channeling in such a short period was showing its effects, but to relinquish this feeling…this power was difficult. Since ascending to the Green cord, there had been no reason to test edges of his strength and they had grown since his days as Dedicated. Part of him prayed for further opportunity to delve as far as he could into Saidin