The Grey Tower

The cool of the Andoran midlands rode the winds as Valadin made his way to the appointing meeting place. It was a spot away from the camp’s heart, yet remained within distance to be accessible if the need arose. These thoughts were only faint concerns as buds of perspiration dotted neck and brow. By now the runner would have reached with the message’s intended recipient and if Val was any judge of character the evening would provide much needed exertion to prepare for the next day.

Fear jabbed at the veneer of outer calm; fear and excitement. The anticipation of combat always had the same effect whether it was an army or a routine patrol. Not knowing what thread of fate would lead to glory or demise made even the finest brew seem a cheap mug of mother’s milk. Funny since you never knew yours.

A clearing roughly the size of one of the Warder Yard’s sparring ring lay a little distance away from the main camp’s outskirts. The sands would have been better, but the crunch of grass and dead twigs underfoot had its own charm. Here there were no dissenting or haughty voices. Nature existed in the nighttime heralded by the sounds of creatures skirting just beyond the field of vision. Only one thing seemed appropriate for such scenery. “Tis an exercise, not a brawl,” Val scolded though his heart raced at the crackling instigated by a new presence in the clearing; the expected guest had finally arrived.

Finding it hard to keep the grin from his lips Valadin turned to face the Ji’alantin with a smile. “You received my invitation then?” he asked, but did not wait for an answer before drawing the long sword at waist the rasp of steel striking notes to challenge the beauty of a lyrist’s strumming. “No blood need be drawn. After all we’re here only to improve one another.”

A flash of amusement flickered ephemerally across the span of Val’s mind before the Void embalmed all…before the Fury could begin to fester. In the darkness he was certain Al’Sheen would not see, but the grin had deepened.

“Sir, the Captain had sent a message for you. I will await for your reply if you require,” said a young Andoran messenger as he snapped a hasty salute at the entrance to Danos’ tent. He had just recently finished setting up his tent at the camp, and had deposited his mount with the men responsible for the picket line when the messenger had found him.

As Danos turned, he could see the messenger was clearly trying hard to figure out how much deference a Ji’alantin from the Grey Tower should receive. He’s not the only one, that meeting blurred more lines for me than it cleared up, thought Danos to himself as he motioned for the message. As he opened the scroll, he recalled the confusion over how to proceed in the morning and the clear distate the woman from the White Tower had shown for Valadin Ashaman. He had been impressed with the man’s reserve and calm, and as he read the letter he realized the other man wanted to take his measure as well.

“I won’t need you to send a reply, thank you child,” Danos said, unconsciously using the address many of the older ranks had used with him as a Drin. He supposed if he was to be viewed as an officer to the men who would possibly bleed and die with the dawn, he should compose himself as one.

As he looked around the tent, he pondered the missive. It had said to bring the weapon he would bear to battle, but for much of Danos’ time at the Grey Tower he had focused on unarmed. It was the discipline he knew best, but he knew for battle he would prefer the sword. Still unarmed forged my body as much as anything else, the skill will be there whether I bear a sword or not, Danos thought as he slung his scabbard and belt over his uniform. He also grabbed his two throwing axes, almost without thought as he had taken to wearing them often after he had proven himself
capable with the target practice.

The invitation was well timed Danos had begun to grow anxious with the idea of tomorrow’s battle looming over him. He knew a measure of his mettle, but he knew he had not yet been truly tested in battle. Blood and steel brought out much of a man he had heard, and as he enjoyed the cool Andoran countryside he was glad for the chance to settle some nerves.

As he entered the clearing, he could see Valadin Ashaman and Danos cooly regarded his soon to be opponent, sizing the man up with his keen gaze. The man was nearly of height with Danos, and he knew they would have to take an axe haft to measure their shoulders to decide who had the advantage of build. But where Danos was a newly forged blade, this man was one who had been beaten and tempered many times. He wore his sword as if it was another limb, and Danos knew this was a man who possessed great strength.

Danos felt his nerves beginning to bubble up, the feeling similar to the one that had flooded over him when Terric had elevated their spar from a simple teaching moment, into a true struggle for victory. He saw the other man’s strength and part of him felt his hackles rising in response to the challenge. He longed to sink into the Void and banish all the emotions, but he knew that he also needed to figure this out.

Grabbing his two hatchets, he powerfully tossed them into a tree nearby, the hafts quivering as the steel heads sunk deep into the wood. He would not use them in the actual spar, but he had wanted to bring them in case the other man knew a trick or two with those as well. When he realized the force of the throw had been meant to intimidate and show the other man his strength, Danos flushed red in the cheeks. Light this man ranks above you, with years of experience which you have yet to gain. You’re acting like a stray cur that sees a strong farm dog, Danos admonished himself and breathed deep to try and dispel some of the tension.

“Greetings Ashaman Manelle, I was glad to receive your invitation and I am eager to learn what you can impart. As you said before, you and I will be in the thick of it, our steel our only recourse and I hope getting my measure will aid you in your planning,” Danos said politely as he met the other man in the center of the clearing, his feet brushing the twigs and dry brush out of his way. Part of him wished for the sands of the Warder Yard, but he knew that was a false comfort. No battle would take place amongst the smooth and level sands after all.

A good throw, Val observed silently. The Ji spoke true and concisely yet as the moment wore on irritation gave birth to the Fury’s first crackling embers. It seemed despite previous intentions this practice was destined to become a precarious affair.

Not yet raising his guard, Cat Crossing the Courtyard carried him within striking distance of Al’Sheen, the Warder-in-training’s words scarcely falling from his lips when the gleam of Val’s sword caught the moonlight from above and casted its reflection on the ground at the lad’s feet. Up close the young man was tall and powerfully built—that strength evident in the earlier toss of the axes. He carried himself with the air of one whose bravery would see them face any challenge without staggering which when coupled with the physical gifts afforded made for a potent combination. Let us know the make of this boy before we ride into battle with him, Val tried to tell himself, the Void alerting his every sense to the lay of the surroundings.

A nod was the only warning courtesy given to Ji’alantin Al’Sheen. This was neither a nobleman’s duel nor a friendly contest among comrades. Years of training and refining technique made turned a formless two-handed Courtier Taps his Fan into a curtain of silver that spelled the end for any without the courage or skill to meet it. Within the Void there was nothing, but the Fury writhed in joyful liberation as muscles left neglected for so long suddenly sung their deathly chorus.

Fodhr would have discouraged such large movement, the overextension making returning to a defensible guard difficult…however Valadin was beyond such teachings. Now the only barrier left to overcome was himself.

No sooner did the blade’s path bisect the Al’Sheen’s image was the momentum redirected, the Ji’alantin reacting instinctively to the danger with an accidental if not clumsy parry The Ribbon Dances on the Breeze brought Val blade low to ground while a culminating flourish brought the weapon with unnatural speed to Middle Guard where he stood waiting for the counter he knew to becoming.

Not yet , the Fury whispered, This is not enough to staunch the flames.