The Grey Tower

Once the set dressing of different types of architecture and different clothing was peeled away, one port city was much like any other. Large vessels bob in the harbor holds filled with cargo from far off lands. In their midst, customs boats and fishing skiffs and pleasure yachts dart about turning navigation into a deadly ballette. On the docks, porters bustle back and forth bowed under heavy loads, dock workers secured ropes, and customs officials check off manifests.

On land, fish merchants brothel workers hawk their wares. Off duty sailors look for a cheap taven to spend their pay while urchins darth between their legs looking for a loose purse to steal. As with any crowd, there are always a few who are more interested in creating their own fun.


In the white plastered port city of Tanchico, a young woman named Nasrin was part of that last group. She’d had a few drinks with some of her shipmates before going her own way. Being the captain’s daughter made making friends rather difficult, so she’d only sat off to the side nursing her drink. She wasn’t even sure if they’d seen her leave. With the entire city at her fingertips, she set off to explore. Feeling a little bold, she poked her head into a brothel she’d heard one of the sailors mention. Finally she was of an age that they wouldn’t send her packing on sight. She was feeling rather mature today, she’d even been able to drink at a tavern. It all changed inside the brothel. She’d seen naked people before. It was hard not to living on a ship. She’d just never seen flesh exposed in such, intriguing ways. When she was approached by a downright stunning attendant, Blood rushed to Nasrin’s coppery cheeks and she dashed back onto the street, heart pounding. Back against the brothel wall, she fought to get her breathing under control. Ignoring the calls of of scantily clad women, and men, hanging from upstairs windows, Nasrin made her way out of the Red Lantern District. Maybe she did feel mature and adventurous, but, not that mature and adventurous.


Back at the Docks, she bought an apple and settled down to watch as people passed on various errands. She watched pair of children playing with a small smile. A knot of top knotted men with swords on their back pushed their way through the crowds from the other direction. In their midst walked a pale willowy woman in a fine dress. She wore no jewels but a necklace of fire drops. To Nasrin’s practiced eye, that dress was status symbol enough. Even without touching the fabric, she could tell it was an extremely high thread count, and silk all the way from across the Aiel Waste. Whoever she was, she was somebody important.


She caught sight of a man, coming from the same direction as the playing children. He was shorter than her, but he carried himself like a man a head and a half taller. He wore fine clothes and carried a curved knife at his side and the crowed seemed to unconsciously part around him. He stopped to talk to a ship captain, and Nasrin found herself contemplating his thick curls.


A scream drew her attention away from the beautiful lord, or was he a Hunter for the Horn. She jumped to her feet to see one of the children, a young boy, sitting on the ground clutching his face and blubbering. The older girl stood between him and one of the topknotted soldiers glaring at the man.

“How dare you lay a hand on the Lady Takeshi, gutter rat,” the soldier said, raising a gauntleted hand as if to strike the girl.


“I, just wanted to give the lady a flower,” the boy blubbered.

Nasrin glared between the soldier and his mistress. She watched, face impassive. Nasrin wanted to punch her pretty face. Her guards would cut her to pieces though. “Blood and bloody ashes,” she grumbled jumping to her feet. She couldn’t let those kids get beat up. She rushed over to stand with the little girl, “Oy, tosser, leave ‘em alone!”

Grief had long since transformed into rage, his thirst for revenge as strong as his desire for death. Nothing really mattered to Jaryd beyond his quest for revenge. It wasn’t enough to simply kill Seanchan; he journeyed to the Caralain Grass, to Toman Head, to anywhere they had been seen or allowed to settle, and picked them off one by one. He found no true satisfaction in the deed, however. The Red wanted to destroy their culture from the heart out, to creep into where they felt safest and rip them apart the same way they had destroyed his lover.

Of course, doing that meant going to Seanchan itself...and that required crossing the Aryth Ocean if he wanted to avoid giving his enemy the Westlands on a silver platter. The idea of women like Her knowing how to Travel gave him the chills and stymied even his most impatient frustration. Therefore, his quest for a ship took him from city to coastal city. He had yet to find a captain who would even continue to speak to him past the phrase “Cross the Ocean.” Tanchico had been promising at first, but his temper frayed and his hope lessened as days passed with one refusal after another. There had to be someone willing. Perhaps the Sea Folk?

That was a ludicrous fool's errand.

Jaryd turned away from his last potential mark just in time to hear a scream, followed by youthful sobs. Something prickled up the Altaran’s spine and he turned on his heel, strolling with languid arrogance toward the source of the sound. His clothing had seen better days, but he held himself like one used to command; as he moved, the crowd parted before him with murmured apologies. A few moments later he paused, taking in the scene before him with cold black eyes.

A young woman a hand or two taller than he, with short brown hair and a freckled face stood near a pair of children. One of those cried on the ground while the other stood straight, trembling with fear as she faced a group of men in armor. Another woman stood beyond them, radiating indolent privilege as she waited for her guards to do their duty.

The Asha’man had seen such tableaus played out before; he didn’t need to know how it had begun to know how it would end if someone did not interfere. Even as he watched, the foremost guard scowled. “Get out of my way,” he snapped at the freckled woman, shoving her backward with the palm of his armored hand. She staggered, but seemed disinclined to obey his order.

The suppressed frustration the Altaran had been feeling all day abruptly boiled over and he crouched, pulling a dagger from his boot before slipping forward on cat-silent feet to join the small group. The guard had reached for the woman again, but stopped with a startled curse as Jaryd’s dagger intercepted his grasp. “They are children,” Red commented in an acidic tone, shoving the soldier’s hand away as he sized up the group. “Why don’t you all move about your business before there is more….trouble?”

It all happened too fast for Nasrin to truly see. The guard reached for her again. She ducked back. There was a metallic scraping as the guard’s mailed palm stuck a knife, inches from her face. Her eyes traveled to the hand olive skinned like many southerners, down the arm clad in familiar silk that she realized had seen better days, and up to the face surrounded by black curls. It was the Hunter for the Horn.

“They are children,” the man said in a tone that caused a shiver to run down her back. “Why don’t you all move about your business before there is more….trouble?”

She looked back at Shainarans and stepped back fumbling at her belt. The knife she drew was more of a work knife, but the steel was good and the edge sharp. She wished her hands didn’t shake as much, but she’d only ever drawn a knife on somebody once before. He’d simply taken the knife from her. She didn't want to contemplate what would have happened if Dinny hadn't come come down the into the hold when he had.

Knife hand still shaking slightly she moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with the new comer. Though her hand still shook, she set her jaw and held her ground. “Yeah, squid kisser. You're not such a big man when people stand up to you.”

Red supposed that if the young woman had been willing to face the guards on her own, it was no real surprise that she would be willing to face them with company. He glanced sideways, looking her over critically. Breeches, short hair, and a quirk to her lips that spoke of mischief. “Yeah, squid kisser. You're not such a big man when people stand up to you.” For the first time in a long while, the Asha’man found himself chuckling.

The guards were less than impressed, and the young woman beyond looked thoroughly bored with the entire affair. Wealth. Jaryd resisted the urge to spit. As an Asha’man, he had little room to judge..and yet he knew he had never looked at human beings the way that noblewoman looked at them.

The guard he had blocked made an irritated sound and stepped forward, his companion reaching past the Altaran for the girl Jaryd had mentally dubbed “Spitfire.” He sighed and ducked beneath the other man’s arm, the pommel of his dagger driving upward to strike into a mail-clad jaw. The bigger man yowled and staggered backward clutching at his throat.

“Back off,” the slender Asha’man snapped over his shoulder at Spitfire and the two children. “Run!” Then Red twisted free and ducked past the two disoriented guards, skirting around the whole group with single minded intent. The noblewoman. Where had that ridiculous woman gone?

Bloody, run? what was she some kind of child? No, she thought looking over her shoulder, But those kids need me. She turned, and scooped the crying boy up in arms used to hauling ropes and charged out into the crowd shouting for the the girl to follow.

They were met by angry shouts and shaken fists as they plowed through pedestrians and doing their best to put distance between themselves and the Shienarans.

The urchin girl overtook them, weaving between a pair of rickshaws. “This way,” she said panting and grabbing at Nasrin’s sleeve.

The girl probably knew these streets like the back of her hand, so Nasrin took off after her. She lead them down a side alley. Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she clambered up onto a stack of crates against a wall. “They won’t chase us onto the roofs,” she said reaching her hand out for the boy.

Nasrin helped him climb the boxes before following herself. The little girl clambered up a drain pipe to the roof. “You think you can make it?” she asked honestly.

“Don’t patronize me kid,” she said before lifting the little boy up. She made a playful wooshing noise as she hoisted him into the air and the girl reached down for him. Resilient as young boys tend to be, the giggled as he was passed from one person to another. Nasrin couldn’t help but smile as the the older girl hugged the little boy to her. Now, to prove that she didn’t need help climbing. She reached out for the pipe and began to climb. It wasn’t a ship's rigging, but it didn’t matter, climbing came as naturally as walking to the young Domani and she was pulling herself onto the roof in no time.

Once they were all sitting on the roof, the older girl turn to Nasrin with a solemn expression, “Thanks for helping my little bro, most people would just walk on by.”

“Most people did just that,” Nasrin said bitterly before reaching out and ruffling the little boy’s hair. Speaking of people who didn’t just walk on by. Her eyes went wide, “The Hunter! I need to go back for him.”

“That way, miss,” the girl said pointing, “You can make it along the roofs.”

“Look after your little bro, hon,” Nasrin said before sprinting off in the direction she’d been pointed. After another minute or so of shimmying up drain and vaulting gaps between white plastered buildings, she was on a rooftop overlooking the street where the altercation first started. Quickly, she stooped grabbing a loose roofing tile and peeked over the edge. When her eyes found the Hunter and the Shienarans, her jaw fell open and the tile almost slipped from her fingers.

There weren't that many guards, but they were armed and armored, and Jaryd wore only loose breeches and a faded red Altaran vest. Nimble feet and fast reflexes gave him a slight advantage, but if he actually had to face off with any of his opponents, he would not come out the better for it. He ducked and swerved around and between, his eyes never leaving their goal. Getting himself killed by guards would not end the guards’ bullying, and neither would running. There was one sure way to end this, he just needed to reach it.

The Asha’man abruptly felt a heavy hand clamp around his wrist, pulling him off balance, back and to the side.. He tried to tug away, but somehow the soldier moved with him and a moment later the bigger man had the Altaran’s arm twisted behind his back, hand pressing painfully into his spine. Fingers grappled with his opposite hand, digging into tendon until the dark man had no choice but to release his blade, and twisting that wrist to rest against his lower back.

“Blood and ashes!” Jaryd snarled, realizing how truly he had been trapped: without his hands, he couldn’t so much as light a candle with the One Power, and without channeling, he didn't stand a chance at all. He fought and struggled, but his captor’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything it tightened, pulling him up onto his toes where every movement put unbearable pressure on a shoulder that had never quite recovered from being broken. He felt tingles and flashes of fire traveling up his arms, his fingers gradually numbing completely. Eventually Red fell still, his eyes sliding shut.

I am sorry, Zeen, he thought, his breath rapid and shallow as he considered the very real possibility that he might die. Instead, his captor pushed him forward roughly, half guiding, half carrying him, until finally he was given a final shove and he fell to the ground. He rolled to his back, groaning, and found himself staring up at a slender woman in a dress fit for the Amyrlin Seat. Bloody hell. Once feeling returned to his hands he could act, but until then…his mind raced. Distraction. He needed distraction.

“Good day, my beautiful Lady Boredom,” he said in a cheerfully cocky voice. “If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked.” He expected the boot in his ribs for his impudence, and grunted as he felt oft-abused ribs protest the damage. His arms throbbed- he only needed another moment.

He’d stayed to fight, and he’d been roundly beaten. What had she expected? Him to do something, anything. He was a Hunter for the Horn wasn’t he? Well, she might have been jumping to conclusions with that label, but the curly haired stranger did have a look of danger about him. Even laying on the ground surrounded by guards, he didn’t look cowed.

Maybe I can distract them, Nasrin thought, hefting the roofing tile. She had a good arm, and at this angle she could land a solid hit on one of the guards. Which one though? Maybe the leader, big man who’d shoved her? Maybe the bully kicking her protector in the rib?

She threw. The tile sailed through the air, propelled by muscles honed from years of hauling rope. The heavy slab of baked clay shattered against the noblewoman’s skull and she collapsed with a shriek. Nasrin stooped, breaking off another piece of tile, and flung it at the the leader. It struck low, shattering across his mailed chest. One of the soldiers crouched over the fallen noblewoman. Blood was dripping onto her fine white dress.

It was time to run, one of the Shienarans was pointing in her direction. Without hesitation, she turned, and dashed across the roof. She could hear shouting from the streets below. Good, they were looking for a way up. She couldn’t run to far, or they’d simply return to beating up her mysterious protector. Wrenching free another tile she crept towards the side of the building she last heard their voices coming from. Three of the armored men were peering around in an alley below. She hurled the piece of terracotta. Her aim was better this time and it struck the lead man’s shaved head. Swearing he pointed up at her.

Taking a running jump, Nasrin leapt between the rooftops. Her stomach lurched as her feet met open air where she’d expected a roof. Her arms flailed for some sort of purchase as she began to fall. She came to a stop with a jolt as she managed to grab hold of something. She had managed to grab a gutter. Relieved, she hung from the gutter feet dangling in open air. Her hands were scraped and shoulders ached, but she was alive. The moment of relief was cut short by the angry shouts from below.

“Get that, rat”

“Get down here, trollup”

With a heave, she pulled herself up. Gasping, abdominals, aching from the effort, she willed herself back to the feet. She had to run before they found a way up. Hopefully they were more concerned with her by now.

A thud, a shriek; chaos ruled. Jaryd closed his eyes and curled in on himself protectively until he was certain he had been forgotten. A cautious glance showed two guards crouched over the crumpled figure of the young woman in white; a thread of vicious amusement wrapped through his thoughts before he pushed it away. By the sounds the others were running, shouting all too familiar imprecations at someone who had clearly taken to higher ground to escape.

Curiosity overcame discomfort. Jaryd pushed himself to his feet and sketched a sarcastic bow to the trio nearby. One of the guards reached for him, but he fled without looking back, trusting they would not leave their wounded liege lady. His gamble proved effective as he dodged startled onlookers and followed the sound of tramping feet and annoyed curses. Who had distracted them? Why? He couldn’t remember seeing the children or Spitfire; had it been one of them? No sooner had he thought of the freckled woman then he saw her scrambling across a roof several buildings ahead, looking back to make a rude gesture at her pursuers before disappearing behind the tiled peak.

The Red shrugged his shoulders, testing the muscle there. Feeling had returned, but his back would ache for days if he did not seek Healing. Small chance of finding that in Tanchico. With a weary sigh he fell into the Void, the emptiness granting distance from the pain. Then he kicked his shoes off and leapt, long fingers wrapping around the bottom edge of a balcony, screaming arms hoisting him upward. From there he hopped to the top of the railing, toes curling around the metal as his fingers scrambled for a good grip on the window sill above. Then up he went, scrambling from fixture to fixture with Void-aided agility until at last he pulled himself to the roof.

He circled ahead of his target, leaping from roof to roof, keeping a sharp ear for the sound of pursuit. Finally he dropped from an upper roof to a rooftop garden below- directly into the path of the running woman. She collided with him and fell with a startled yelp; he reached down to help her up, one ear fixed on the sound of raised voices within the house they stood on. The guards knew where the spitfire was, it seemed, and a quick glance around told Jaryd there were no easy routes away from where they stood.

“Let’s go,” he said, teeth flashing in a reckless grin as their eyes met. He turned from her and went to a window; a breath later he had pried it open and slipped inside. He pulled the young woman after him, then closed it again. From where they crouched they had a perfect view of the guards boiling into the perfectly arranged garden of potted plants and carvings where they had been a moment before. Laughing silently at his own nerve, the former M'Hael led his new friend through a complete stranger's house and out into the freedom of the street below.

"I'm Jaryd," he commented, handing her an apple from his pocket.

Nasrin felt a sort of giddy excitement as the curly haired adventure pulled her through a window into somebody’s house. As they ran, she looked around. The house was clean and the furniture well made without being fancy. Her foot came down on something hard, that she could feel through her boot. Looking down, she could see she’d stepped on a cast iron toy soldier. A child had left their toy soldiers scattered across the floor and she’d crashed into the midst of them. The adventurer had deftly leapt over them. She wasn’t sure if she admired the man or was jealous. Either way, they needed to get out of this house. This neighborhood seemed like the kind of place where the City Watch actually did their jobs.

Crashing out onto the streets, they did their best to blend into the crowed. The adventure introduced himself as “Jaryd” while stifling a laugh. It was an infectious laugh, and Nasrin began to laugh as well. Taking the apple he offered, she snaked her arm into his and said, “Call me Nasrin. Let’s get you somewhere those egg heads won’t beat you up again.” She watched as he winced slightly, “While we’re at it, we can probably get some of that looked at.”

She lead her new friend, Jaryd, back to the Wind’s Fortune. Her father might have something to say about it, but she would deal with it when the time came. She owed this man a debt. Without further delay, she hurried the man out onto the peers to where her father’s ship was birthed. Luckly, the big man didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Maybe he’d gone ashore. Most likely whoring or something, spreading even more basterd children around. She didn’t want to think about how many siblings she probably had. Bringing herself back to the present, she lead way up the gangplank.

“This way,” she said, ducking down and keeping her voice low, “We have an open cabbin we use for passengers.” She lead him in getting him situated on the bed before disapearing to find medical supplies. After digging through various storage areas, she came back with bandages, rags, a bucket of water, and a jar of some foul smelling cream. With her hands full, she tried to shoulder the door open.


“Nasrin,” a gruff man’s voice barked, freezing her in her tracks.

“Yes, Captain,” Nasrin said, standing up straight to face her father as he stalked towards her.

“What is this Ned do be tellingme,” he growled, freckled face like a thundercloud. “Do ye be sneakin men aboard the Wind’s Forturne?”

“No, Captain,” Nasrin said, willing her father to move on.

“Ye do be hiding something,” he said, trying to peek over his daughter’s shoulder.

“Not at all, Captain,” Nasrin said trying to block the door.

“Out of my way girl,” the burly ship’s captain said, shoving past her and pushing the door open.

Nasrin’s heart sunk. Her father would assume. No it wasn’t like that. Not this time. She braced herself for the explosion.

Spitfire had a name: Nasrin. Jaryd let her lead him away, hiding a smile at her authoritative manner. He did ache, but fiery energy coursed and surged through him that he had not felt in years. Not since before his second stint as M’Hael. Why had he ever agreed to that? Why hadn’t he gone through the motions and then stepped down? No. I won’t think about that.

Nasrin led him back to the docks, to a ship he had not approached with his bid for passage. A coast hugging merchant’s vessel would not take him far across the Aryth Ocean, after all. Once ensconced in a private room within, she pushed him into a bolted-down chair with a firm command to stay. He held his hands up in acquiescence, watching her depart with laughter in his eyes. What would the Hall of Sitters think if they saw me, the indomitable Jaryd Kosari, being ordered around by a slip of a girl? He couldn’t help but laugh.

He did not stay in the chair. Instead he went about the room, exploring its contents with eyes and fingers, feet, and occasionally nose. It was clearly a space meant for travelers; there was not much of value to be had, and the room itself was quite small. The exploration itself suited his curiosity, however, and therefore he took his time.

He discovered a sextant in one of the table drawers, and for a time his attention and curiosity were fully engaged. When the door opened, he still had the metal object in his hand. Hastily he put it back in the drawer and closed it, turning to face- Blood and ashes.

Jaryd had faced large men in his time; Zeen would have towered over the one who faced him now. However, he typically had room to move, he was on his own territory, and there were rules of propriety that could be observed to ensure his own safety. The man before him was big, grizzled, angry, and clearly used to authority. Nasrin peered around the big man, her face pale behind her freckles. For some reason, despite the captain’s anger, Jaryd found her expression endearing.

“I do be Captain Stanos Defeo,” the stranger said. “What do you be doing on my ship?"

Stay on target, Red. The Altaran shook his head and bowed with exaggerated care. “Light shine on you-”

“I do no bloody care about the bloody flaming Light, boy,” the man growled. “What do you be doing with my daughter?” Bloody flaming ashes, Jaryd amended his previous thought. That did complicate matters...but not that much.

“I fell and hurt my shoulder just up the dock,” he said with a flash of his teeth, shrugging his shoulder casually to indicate the injury. In truth, it barely hurt anymore. “Nasrin brought me here for some willow bark tea.”

“You fell.” Stanos gave him a suspicious look from head to toe that conveyed his disbelief. “I suppose you do be expecting more than the tea when you got here, fortune prick me if it do no be so,” the captain growled. “She be no wise enough to see the mischief in that pretty smile, but I do no be so blind. You be trouble, make no mistake.” Jaryd blinked, caught completely off guard.It had been so long since anyone had made such an accusation that the obvious objections failed him entirely. Instead, he opted for insolence.

“Mischief can be good fun on a fine summer’s day,” he commented airily, studying his fingernails nonchalantly. “So long as it harm none, what’s the trouble? Nasrin did not seem to mind my company all that much.” He gave the peering girl a cheerful grin, and she hastily ducked out of sight. “If anything, I’d say she was having more fun than usual.”

“She do be- blood and bloody ashes, boy, do you no have any respect?” A volley of curses followed as the captain took a threatening step forward, and Jaryd stepped back, remembering too late how small the cabin truly was. He came up short against the table and froze for only a moment before leaning against it as casually as if he stood in his own office.

When Stanos finally wound down, the Altaran held his hands up. “I hear you loud and clear, Captain,” he said with false cheer and even less genuine respect. “I am not welcome, I will leave.” He pushed himself away from the desk and sauntered around the Illianer, then paused at the door. “If you hold too tightly to your daughter, you may find she slips away like a ghost on the wind,” he said calmly. The burly man's response was explicit, and Jaryd shrugged. “You can’t blame me for trying,” he said with false cheer.

“Fire cannot exist in a vacuum, and lions do not like cages,” he added. “Free spirits love to land in silver trees; I enjoy them myself occasionally.” He winked at Nasrin and escaped, ignoring Stanos’ imprecations as he worked his way to the deck and off.

Why did I do that? What business did he have to interfere between a man and his daughter? He remembered Nasrin’s delighted laugh and the glower on Defeo’s face, and put his concern behind. Then he found his way to the rooftops and dashed away, eventually strolling into the Silver Tree Inn.

If Nasrin was half as smart as she had shown so far, he would have a companion soon enough.