The Grey Tower

Winter’s bite hadn’t yet reached its full strength as the evening breeze swept cross the night-darkened sea of tall grass. The plains of Hama Valon were peaceful by day, but any huntsmen knew that danger lurked beyond the meadow’s majestic beauty.

The musky stink of tabac leaf hung heavy above the camp. A low fire at the center mustered enough warmth that the men weren’t freezing those the shine of frost was visible for miles around; they were the Mountain guard. Cold wouldn’t be enough to stop them. Anrel strummed his lute with a slow, melancholy rhythm, eyelids low as the young Andoran tuned in to the spirit of his music. The others busied themselves with a sundry of other activities, but Valadin paid little mind to it so long as the sentries performed their task. Ale and spirits were passed about as some sought the embrace of lowered inhibitions to still the nerves of their campaign.

Two weeks they’d patrolled the causeways between Hama Valon, Baerlorn, and Taren Ferry. Vagrants, mountain lions, and even the occasional bear had cooled the early excitement of adventure that had plagued the virgin patrollers in their company, many now wore a mask of somber reflection; a veteran’s meditation.

Not all were lost in such revere Val noted, dark eyes casting towards the section of the camp where voices raised in anger and shouts encouraging a melee captured the attention of the entire camp. Better they work it out now than in the middle of a raid, he decided, setting down his mug and rising to investigate the matter.

Few nods of respect were given in his passage—those that didn’t know him likely had a low opinion of him; not without reason. Becoming an Asha’man had changed his perspective of what it meant to exist. Authority was a sham. Only weak people embraced it. The strong always forged their own path. His sigh misted the instant it touched the cold air. At the center of the disturbance stood two men. One Valadin knew rather well, the other was a newcomer.

Ahmlin Mazer had earned his keep within the guard by being the brutal and cruel. When punishment was to be doled out by the mountain guard the guardsman was always ready to bring down the switch. If a fight was brewing, Ahmlin would be in the heart of the tumult. No commander, not even Fodhr, had been able to truly corral the violent outbursts of the large man and eventually Ahm was regarded as a lost cause by many. Valadin usually brought the man along because he was a savage warrior and handled the sword with an veteran’s skill; crude, deadly, and efficient. Cutting a quick glance in the direction of the sullen clutch of prisoners taken after quelling more than band of vagrants Val pondered how many more would have sat with restraints had it not been for Ahmlin’s prodigious fury.  

Opposite the man was a Soldier, fresh to patrolling and had been kept mainly near Val’s side at the orders of Master Elonid. Scorn skittered across dull indifference at the thought of the Master of Soldiers. Fat, aged, and money-hungry, Valadin’s dislike for his superior had only grown over the years. Focusing on the Soldier, it was discovered that the lad’s name avoided recalling.

A pair of short swords clanged in the dust as the ring tightened around the two combatants. Ahmlin reached down with a gigantic hand and broke out in a feral grin. Whatever he shouted toward the young man was lost in the cries of the others.

“Best pick the sword, boy,” Val advised. His words hadn’t been uttered with any particular force, yet the others hushed as the unit commander moved between the two fighters. “If you’re not up for a fight you have only to say so and this lot’ll not lay a hand on you.”

Reaching down to take the sword, a tremor of excitement raced up the length of Val’s arm. The familiar feel of a sword in his hand was better than any spirit partaken on this night. For a moment the compulsion to fight in the Soldier’s stead nearly overcame him, but Valadin pressed the handle into the tall youth’s hand and took a step back to look the boy in the eye. Light, he’s tall. Like a bloody tree.

“Two silver moons on the boy to put Ahm on his backside! Who’ll bet with me?!” Val cried with a hysterical smile drawing up the corners of his lips.

Now the silence faded and the frenzy resumed as wagers were made. If there was one thing that remained consistent in his heading patrol units, it was the love of gambling and winning that inspired a modicum of unity seen few other times among men. Meeting the eye of the young man, the lad’s name came into fruition: Shadow. The boy’s name was Shadow. “Don’t’ worry about Ahm…he grunts like a stuck pig when he attacks. Shouldn’t have too much trouble spitting him like one,” Val said to Shadow while making sure Ahmlin heard every word.

Returning to the folds of the men, their excitement consumed Valadin. They jostled him with their waving arms and their shouts made his eardrums ring, but it was home. In the midst of their frenzy Val vaguely remembered the soaring feeling that claimed him whenever he took the field of battle. Only vaguely…

True to form Ahm bellowed like a beast on the hunt. “Seems the Wheel turns in my favor today! I get to best one who channels that Power of the Creator!”

Cheers went up with the battle cry, but Ahmlin paid them no heed as barely contained glee spread over his features. Shadow had taken up a fighting stance. The lad was actually going to fight. Braver than I was as a Soldier, Valadin thought to himself wistfully.
With thick of wood smoke warming the air around them Ahm, with predictable ferocity barreled towards Shadow, without form, but Valadin could tell his steps were those of a man used to war. Quick, short footsteps thumped on the hard packed earth with the measured beat of a soldier charging an infantry line.

Shadow was tall, but slightly built; he wouldn’t fare well if he let the larger man get in close. The price of going against an enemy stronger than you without a plan was certain death. Good sense always beat bravery in a fight.

Grunting while driving forward with a simple thrust Ahm’s opening salvo sent a roar through the men who believed the match would end with just that.

Val knew differently.

From the time that the Soldier had taken the blade in hand he’d never panicked. Maybe it was fury that dulled the sense of preservation that usually incited fear in the newest of recruits. That wasn’t necessarily good either. Anger would get a man killed every time. Would make him foolish and blind to what needed to be seen in the fight. Looking at those strangely colored eyes and the way they bore into Ahm, it was clear that what Shadow lacked in prowess he intended to make up for with ferocity.

“Turn the blade aside! Don’t take him head-on!” Val shouted from the crowd, his voice drawing angry glances. These could be forgiven for when coin was laid down in a wager even a commanding officer could invoke the ire of his men if he cheated them out of their winnings.

Returning those glares with a wolfish smile he calmly said to his disparagers, “If you like we can have a go at it when this is done. That is if you find me of a dishonest sort.”

More than few eyes chose to affix themselves on the fight once more though with a bit less zeal than had been present moments past. Valadin turned his attention back on the fight as well.

The glow of the campfire lit the space well despite the blanketing darkness of the night. The spectacle would not be stolen from the crowd by shadows this evening. “C’mon, boy, stay light on your feet! Don’t stop moving! Use your reach to keep him at a distance. Don’t get tangled with a beast like that!” he called, voice enlivened by the grumbling wisely spoken just beyond his hearing.

Pity. Tonight would have been a fine night to take up the sword again. For now seeing this Soldier triumph would have to do.

Fool! Wool-headed ox-brain! Val fumed as he saw through the Soldier’s gambit.

Always with the young and hot-blooded battle was something to be ended in a single, glamourous move that showcased some imagined virtue or genius. Bloody children didn’t understand the first thing about a fight, just what their mums nursed them to sleep with when they were babes.

Ahm knew this too and if the ox of a man had been happy before, the vicious grin he had now was more than enough to rouse victory howls from his supporters. Sparks jumped into the air as the two steel edges colliding, the illumination momentarily showing the ground in starlight. Ahmlin was the first to recover, pivoting and redirecting his momentum with a graceless The Ribbon Dances on the Breeze. In his mind, Valadin noted several openings that had it been he, the advantage would have been seized, but as it were Shadow lacked both experience and advantage in strength to make turn the tides in his favor.

Being the heavier of the two, Ahm had fared the better in the collision and the knowledge of Sword forms served to solidify the upper hand for him. It was the latter that allowed him to drive the pommel of his blade into Shadow’s midsection, doubling the lad over just in time to have his head smashed with a rising knee. The crack of bone striking against bone further stirred the cheering frenzy and not even Val’s heated stares could cool the men’s lust for blood. Ahm reveling in his dominance roared victoriously to his peers.

Enough of this. Pressing through the throng, Valadin broke free from the circle of guardsmen, making his way to where the Soldier was making slow time recovering his footing. Ahm voiced his annoyance at the interference with a growl, but stalked off all the same to give Val and the boy their due space. “You’re putting on a poor show, boy,” Val stated plainly, the edge removed from his voice. He needed the boy to listen, not feel antagonized. Why is this even important? Because of the coin? “If you like being flogged like some troubled child, I’ll leave you as you were. It seemed you had the intention of winning when I made that wager on you. Now I look weak for siding with you.”

Remember how you were taught. You were just as clumsy…worse you were a coward.

Sighing to keep the sarcasm from spilling forth he explained in a low voice,“You can’t face him head-on, Soldier. Winning proves your strength. For people like us, it’s the only thing that matters. Don’t be fool. Fight him at your range. Quick, sure thrusts and don’t tarry too long lest he closes in on you as he just did. Believe me, that’s not a man a straw-thin lad like you can take without training.”

“Asha’man! Do you plan on fightin’ fer the whelp?!” Ahm called, heady with the resumed cries of the crowd for him to win in bloody fashion. Of course he would; it was his specialty.

Valadin knew it was time to step out from the fight. He’d done as much as he could. Now it was up to Shadow to pay heed or wind up a bloodied mess they’d need to haul to Healer’s tent when they arrived at the Tower tomorrow eve. “Don’t make the mistake of being weak out of stubbornness. You have spirit; hone that into a weapon that will pave the way to victory,” Val said over his shoulder as he stood aside.

The fight resumed, this time with Ahmlin jeering, goading the Soldier to attack him. Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to win or if you’re just an angry child in a giant’s body.

The Soldier’s movements were calmer now. Not deft by any stretch, but the caution was enough to give Ahm pause and it was clear by the way the burly guardsman’s eyes took on a suspicious cut that confidence was not as overflowing as originally imagined. Inwardly Valadin found himself congratulating the lad on overcoming the impulse to deny any counsel, but his own as wise.

For all the good it did this Shadow, the other men didn’t like it. The evening was dragging on and the earlier fervor for blood had dulled as cold began to set in. Haranguing cries assailed both combatants now and Ahmlin had lost the support of his mates at the turn of a coin.

Impatience was the poison that stole away victory against a superior enemy. Gambling would have its due course, but timing was everything and wearing an enemy down made certain that a well-executed counter put an end to things. Valadin knew this from time spent upon the sands. It was not long ago that he rose to prominence in the sparring ring. Perhaps that was why it was important for the Soldier to win.

Too soon, Val scolded in silence, but said nothing as Shadow pressed his attack with a strike to the head. Ahm, was a veteran, too used to battle for such a trick to work. In short order his blade parried the blow, sending the weapon glancing away from his head without the faintest effort.

Another cheer tried to rally, but died down. No more easy knockdowns to feed the egos of the bet-holders . Shadow had at least learned enough not to give them that.

As quickly as he was in, the boy was out, mustering up a surprising amount of fleet footedness to move beyond Ahm’s sword range. Good. He’s not hopeless. “Good lad,” Val called from his lonely watching post. Now eyes regarded him with cold fury and there was a bit of satisfaction in making the lot of them bite their tongues. “Strike and retreat; make him come to you and the moment he advances you make ‘im pay!”

“Asha’man, yer advice might be good, but lookit, the boy ain’t even holdin’ the blade proper! Me mam knows more about handlin’ steel than this pup!” Ahm hooted, though it was less of a jest than it was a trap; a jibe to play on the hot-blooded temper seen earlier in the match. Looks like he’s rushing to put an end to things quickly…after all it is his pride at stake, Val noted.

“Never mind that, Soldier!” Val shouted over the grumbling cries for more blood. A few references even to the bestial birth origins of both men, but now all watched intently. More than a few looks said that the coin wasn’t the only thing that mattered anymore. Ahmlin, after all had made plenty enemies even amongst his brethren. “That there’s a short sword. Grip it firmly in your strong hand. Better you stick to thrusts til you get a feel for it. Don’t get distracted though, it’s your feet that matter most. Lose them and he will stick you good.”

Tight veiny ropes corded the length of Ahm’s neck and crept into his temples as he gave a frustrated huff. Now it was the veteran seeking an opening, throwing feints that drew Shadow’s attention down when it should be up or up when it should down. Val could have warned Shadow that winning a fight wasn’t always about skill, but about strength of will. He could have warned the boy that technicality wasn’t all-important, that it was enough to see the desperation in Ahm’s assaults or the way the man’s feet pressed too hard into the ground with every attack. There were many things to be seen, but the Soldier needed to see some of it with his own eyes.

“Watch him carefully…know the limits of your body and carefully judge that of his,” was all that was said.

Slowly a hush rolled through the clutch of men as they watched a lad no older than many of their sons begin to come into his own as a warrior before their very eyes.

Sparks scattered with each meeting of the two blades, revealing the concentrated looks on both Shadow and Ahm. What had begun as a mean spirited prank now held the promise of true competition.

Val looked on with bemused curiosity. In truth he hadn’t expected them to be so evenly matched. Much of it was due to Ahmlin’s uncertainty. Every motion made now screeched of a man who’d lost the confidence to win. This presented the unlikely Soldier with opportunity to grow with each crossing of their weapons.

He could actually win, wondered while watching Shadow in silence. His movements were crude, footing erratic, and every thrust was short-armed in an effort to be quick. Looking from the boy to Ahmlin, seeing the disbelief slowly transforming into thunderclouds, Val understood then that it was matter of time.

“You!” Ahm shouted, pressing forward even as Shadow leapt beyond his reach. The sheen of sweat shone in the firelight and every motion sent a spray light cascading between the two forms. “All ya’ can do is run!” shouted the proud Mountain Guard as he brought his blade to bear with true murderous intent only to have it hack clumsily through the cold air.

Now gentle calls for ‘Shadow’, ‘Soldier’, or just ‘boy’ could be heard as it became clear this youth was not going to give in without a fight. Those who reluctantly backed Ahmlin now chanted hopefully for the boy who stubbornly resisted his better. Each time a voice would call out for his opponent Ahm would redden further and his attacks became less restrained. Valadin knew he should stop them, but he’d grown curious about Shadow. How much more talent could be drawn out by the danger looming before him?

Finally Ahm stopped haplessly swinging, chest rising and falling both from exertion as well as the rage boiling over. No doubt his vision was red. This was to be the true test.

“Shadow, you must concentrate on avoiding the lethal blows and aim only to wound: be just a hair slow and you will perish. Listen to your body breath and let the knowledge of how it moves when you will it guide your step.”

No further words could be spoken for Ahmlin, the savage brute that had fought his whole life had truly come awake. Surging forward with Cutting the Wind, which aimed to open Shadow’s gut, the large man, flowed with such impossible smoothness into The Eel Among the Lily Pads that his blade became an endless river of steel meant to rend the flesh from the Soldier’s arms and legs.

Even Valadin nodded respectfully. This was what made Ahmlin Mazer so valuable; the combination of precision and wild abandon that allowed such a large body to move with astonishing ease.

“Sure footing!” Val called out as he watched the Sword Forms overwhelm what few defenses Shadow had managed to cling to. “Step solidly and then move, don’t rush to get out of the way! You’ll be wounded either way. Just avoid losing an arm or a leg” It took effort not to intervene…and not solely because Master Elonid would have a fit at the loss of another Soldier.