The Grey Tower

Val fidgeted with the sleeve of his soft, white tunic…again. It was a simple garment made of sheep’s wool that he’d purchased from one of the few merchants allowed onto the Tower grounds. The man had been a fat, greasy Trolloc of a fellow with a thin mustache pasted over his lips; the thing looked entirely too neat to be genuine. Even so the number of garments supplied to Soldiers and Novices alike was extremely limited; likely because neither received any form of allowance. In this case, Valadin had promised future business as his price for the exchange and after much finagling managed to come away with his prize. As he strode hurriedly to the Warder Yards he felt sick as the sun’s heat engulfed him within seconds.

Outside the brightness of day brought the usual activity. Warders-in-training sparring or going over practiced movements with a determined focus while Novices hurried about at the commands of Accepted. The Gaidin rarely participated directly in the training activities, but their daunting presence and fixed stares as they stalked about ensured that no frivolity took away from the sacred intent of the training grounds. Carefully removing a lathe from a rack of practice weapons, Val examined the implement, his eyes moving over the shape of it and tried to imagine what wielding a real sword in an actual battle would feel like. Neither ambition nor curiosity spurred his recent interest in the way of the sword; it was an innate calling that beckoned him to walk the path that so many before had tread. This desire had been the reason he’d requested a mentor.

For his trouble he’d gotten the bloody Captain General of the Green Ajah to school him in the art of warfare.

Not for the first time since he’d gotten news of his honored circumstances Val considered simply returning to his room under the pretext of being ill, but already he could hear a commotion on the far side of the Yard. Peering into the distance he noticed a furtive gathering, the focus of their attention on a single man. That is…Silas Malkom? Val wondered as he made his way over to the scene.

Though he wasn’t exactly certain of his abilities when it came to combat, Valadin had learned a hard-earned lesson in approaching a warrior; never sneak up on them unless you meant to start a fight.

Lathe in hand as he approached the Captain General from a visible angle he announced himself formally, “Greetings Captain General, I am Valadin Manelle of The Four Kings. Light shine upon you for your help.”

The air chilled as Master and Student faced off. A rush of air swirled between their two forms, the charged atmosphere fueling the tension that closed in on Val. Suddenly the practice sword felt like a lump of iron, useless and clumsy in comparison to the lithely twirling staff that hummed a dangerous tune before preparing to strike.

So this is the Captain General’s true face… Val observed in awe.

Like the morning dew on a hot midsummer’s day all semblance of levity had evaporated, but for Val the feeling wasn’t alien. Fodhr had exuded the much the same sort of intensity. The scale of the sensation differed, but the crafted savagery at the heart of it was similar.

Val reined his thoughts in as everything was fed into the Void as he’d come to know it. For him it was diving deep into a black, bottomless lake where the light above was a distraction and the darkness that he struggled towards offered clarity and focus. Many times he found himself unable to make his way into the depths of the emptiness, however lately his embracing of the Void and immersing himself into its waters had gradually become easier. In a moment he felt its icy numbness spread through his muscles and ease away his anxieties. His body became loose and ready to move, yet each motion was unhurried as he took methodical steps straight towards his counterpart. Dueling was becoming an area of expertise has he gradually picked up certain tendencies in those unschooled to the ways of fighting; part of him relished at the opportunity to allow the roaring energy within to burst free.

The eagerness he felt sent ripples of disharmony through the Void, but it held. Taking only two steps before springing from the balls of feet Cat Crossing the Courtyard quickly became Cat Dances on the Wall as the point of his lathe feinted to and fro before thrusting at various points in Silas’s defense. Each time Val felt he struck at an opening he pressed the advantage though even in his advance there was no haste. Blinking away beads of sweat from his brow he was became acutely aware of the moisture at the collar of his tunic. He even sensed the heaviness of the summer air that precluded a storm’s arrival. Somehow these details blended with the darkness that awaited at the bottom of the Void.

As the loud crack of wood on wood resounded countless times in as many seconds Val felt weightless as he darted forward, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips with each parried strike. The Captain General was fast—so much so that the staff which was a continuous stream of motion in his hands seemed to be alive.

Still, he thought to himself, Looks like he wasn’t expecting me to have had any experience; I’ll can push him back before he notices!

Valadin entertained the thought for a moment before dismissing it as foolishness; he’d have to examine his opponent before playing his lone gambit. The purpose of the lesson had quickly shifted for him. No longer was he simply seeking education instead a powerful compulsion for victory gripped him and the speed of his strikes quickened as his concentration sharpened to a fine point. He tested the top, bottom and sides of Silas’s guard in rapid succession once more before relenting.

Finally as he danced backward, the lathe’s point dropped low to the earth and his grip of its handle relaxed as he assumed a low guard. Already his palm was slick with sweat, but the practice sword fit into his hands as readily as if he’d been born with it. That’s how he felt—born to wield a sword.

Val’s only response was a grunt as he began stepping sideways, his eyes never leaving those of Silas. He could feel his lips peeling back in a snarl, the deepness of the Void lengthening as he became even more aware of a cadence in the backdrop of everything. Shifting constantly from low to high guard and back, he circled the Captain General with The Creeper Embraces the Oak; each shift of his guard posing new threats while giving little ground for the staff to take purchase of. Even so Silas’s eyes were ablaze with an excited energy that was both intoxicating as it was frightening. In them, the easy-flowing calm which had present in their earlier exchanges raged into hurricane as the instincts of battle took over. With each footfall Val realized that the lesson had changed for the master as much as it had for the student; both were fully indulging in their most base desires…the call for domination, for victory.

Nothing less would satisfy either.

As he wheeled around Silas’s rear he waited for the Captain General to turn and face him as he moved, but like a rock planted firmly in the middle of stream the man remained fixed. Even so, Val never felt as though he was beyond the older warrior’s vision and it infuriated to be so casually underestimated. Stop waiting—he wants you to hit him; so hit him! Hard! Fast! If I can take him in one blow here, I’ll have him!

The peaceful calm that had encapsulated him before shuddered as his impatience warred with reason. Val was at Silas’s rear right when he shifted the lathe to his strong side and struck at the man’s exposed back with Low Wind Rising, a form he’d barely practiced. Exhaling explosively as he heaved upward, balance and concentration fell away as suddenly the Void was replaced by the violent power of Saidin. It filled him quickly and where precision once prevailed Val struck now with brute strength hoping to obliterate the small man in front of him.

For a moment, Valadin swam in the warm embrace of nothingness. Only peaceful numbness existed with worldly distractions removed from concern. In the distance, Asha’man Malkom’s voice droned with a tinny pitch though every word was clear and obviously angry. What have I done to make him upset?

Pain ignited his mind and his body was reborn into a world of fire as instinct drove him to his feet, lathe clutched in hand. Something shifted uncomfortably in his gut and each starved breath that passed through the crack of his lips sent a lance of agony shooting through his skull. With every ounce of concentration Val schooled his face and forced his back to remain straight to mask the nauseous suffering that made his senses swim; a gambler’s gambit. He knew his bluff was worth nothing to one such as the Captain General. Only foolish pride made the charade worth maintaining. “Yes, Asha’man,” he responded curtly, words slightly slurred for each syllable was labored and caused his jaw to click when he spoke.

Now understanding the folly of impatience, its lesson excruciatingly carved into his body, Val found himself respecting his enemy. Had I seized Saidin? he wondered. In lessons before the Power had only come with difficulty, its wild energy resisting the command of his will no matter the fervor. To be able draw upon it here was…Focus. Embrace the Void. It’s the only thing that matters. The only thing that exists…

Gathering himself, Val fought the swimming of his vision and the unease in his stomach. They were targets that would be struck if he gave in; his practice with Fodhr had taught him the importance of messages translated between warriors. What was his opponent telling him?

Examining Silas as if for the first time, there were hints of leftover anger as the man whirled his staff menacingly, but more noticeably was a playful confidence in his skill. A breeze rustled the tied tassel of reven hair held together by a single green band of cloth. Though the Captain General never moved his feet and posture were light—effortless—as if he were strolling atop a cloud or…Dancing.

Memory of his initial reaction to the instructor’s words made him frown, this time letting a wince of discomfort break through the impassive guise he’d set in place.

“Well…it’s worth a shot…” he murmured softly to himself.

Valadin stepped forward, his step’s weight off-balance and the footing heavy. The Void shuddered with discontent at his lack of concentration. Exhaling slowly, he allowed everything to flow out of him. All thought, worry, even pain he tried to force from thought. Impulsively a hum escaped him, its simple single note resonance rolling through his body in a gentle wave. His next step was to his right, this time his footfall less clumsy, but still the Void’s absolute control eluded him as he droned another note, the melody a nameless song he’d caught from just outside Saml’s common room at the end of a muggy, summer’s day.

Vivid imagery bloomed into creation as imaginings of him as a small boy leaning back against hardwood walls as a gleeman’s tune mesmerized his audience. This time the melody quickened as Val stepped toward Silas, his lips tightening as pain shortened his steps, but it didn’t quite shake the Void. Now the song he hummed mixed with the sounds of the Yard beyond them. The collisions of practice weapons, the shuffling of feet, the thickness of salty perspiration in the air all mixed as one to his senses as they attuned themselves to the formless undertone of the world around him. Soon Silas’s song blended into music, the world’s dulcet tones fading to the background in the wake of the complex cadence of the staff’s rotations.

Without thought Val’s body lowered into stance, feet spreading apart with one foot outstretched before the other. He vaguely remembered the form had a name as he sat his weight onto the rear leg and raised the hilt of his sword to the bridge of his nose. Agony pulsated in dull drumbeat against the flow of song that swirled around him and his opponent, but rather than ignoring it the song enveloped it, folding into the lines of music until even that pain became of a part of the Void. Angling his wooden lathe down towards Silas, Valadin opened his eyes to meet the ice-water blues of the man across from him as his body settled into The Ox Lowers His Horns.

His heart raced along with the quickening music and though the Void remained still, every muscle tensed with anticipation. Seat trickled from his brow, dotting the tan tunic which was now rumpled and speckled with dust.

Then he attacked.

His back leg hurled him forward, the song blaring in his ear until he heard nothing else—no thought could have squeezed past the noise to distract his mind. In a breath he was near Silas, the man’s foxy angled face appearing in great detail to him as the staff the hummed, its melody warning of an impending salvo. The Falcon Stoops struck quickly, but its effort hindered by a crippling tautness emanating from his stomach. He aimed for abdomen, but the feebleness of his attack was easily parried by the blackwood quarterstaff with a loud crack.

Even then the hum on his lips could be dissuaded, the breaks of its song matching every intake of air as Val retreated for an imperceptible second to The Lion on the Hill.

The pain in his jaw made it hard to drink in a full dose of air and though the Void kept the troubles from clouding his thoughts his lungs burned as he shifted his weight, driving a second thrust from his guard towards Silas’s neck. This time the Captain General danced back lithely to create space as the practice sword’s tip drew just short of its mark. Lightening of Three Prongs roared with the rhythm of the chorus Val heard in his heart and soul, the thrust quickly becoming an overhead slash to Silas’s right leg, another effort which was thwarted by a superb guard, but an opening appeared. Seeing through the Void and knowing the breach of defense by ‘listening’ to the battle’s song Val flowed, his second strike coming from below towards Silas’s left leg.

For the first time a hint of surprise materialized in the other man’s eyes. It wasn’t a look that felt comfortable or familiar for one so well-versed in battle and for a moment the two melodies of the two men were in perfect harmony; one overwhelming while the other yielding.

At the precipice of victory, Val faltered his stomach threatening to spew lunch on the ground. His balance, the Void, his ‘song’—everything left him as he hung between forms, defenses exposed.

By now, the prospect of victory had dimmed greatly. Pain blazed an fiery line through his chest with every breath that he drew. Already it took almost all his concentration to keep his fingers on the practice sword’s grip and the Yards tilted uncertainly whenever he blinked. The fight to remain conscious was a battle that was slowly being lost and usually the risk of total destruction was enough curtail any more resistance, but…

I had it! For a moment I was weightless. Everything so clear and…and the Void! I’ve never felt it like so strongly before. I’ve got to…do…more. I needmore…

“Yes, Cap—I mean, yes Master Silas. I will continue,” he answered while calmly patting the dust away from his damp tunic. Of course the Captain General knew of his injuries; no amount of bravado would mask the hurts now. It had become a matter of being unpredictable, something Valadin had never tested in his life. “Prepare yourself, sir.”

The interest in the sparring lesson had peaked as troves of Drin stood a safe distance away, their eyes watching hungrily with hope that Silas would dismantle yet another poor soul. Though stony faced and menacing in their admonishment of the recruits, even the Gaidin appeared to be drawn into the match, silently appraising the young man testing his skills against a worthy adversary. Accepted were the closest to the ring with furrowed brows counting the number of weeks the fool young man would need to spend in recovery after they examined him. Tension so thick it encased the two men at its center, but Silas seemed unaffected—even unaware—of the attention that he’d drawn. Fighting seemed his natural environment.

In the face of such confidence, Valadin nearly faltered. Years as a slave had taught him never to resist. Defying the master’s order would result in something terrible—a dear trinket taken from him, an associate who’d shared a kind word with him murdered, a blooming romance destroyed; Val did not take chances lightly.

A weak smile touched his face now as once again everything fell away. The suffering that weighed his body down. The stench of sweat, earth, and bloodlust mixing into a stifling combination. The wavering sights of people in the background, inspecting his every movement. The ramming of his heart against his ribcage. The sound of cheers and jeers assaulting the small ring. Everything was fed into the Void until nothing, but Silas, the quarterstaff, the practice sword, and Valadin remained.

As the hum rumbled through his innards a slight discomfort registered across his consciousness, but in the folds of the Void the pain lost its bite. Again the blood song came to him, the balls of his feet carrying him forward, in a swift dance. His first and second steps carried him smoothly into The Cat Crossing the Crossing the Courtyard, the balance in every motion unhurried and confident as he drew almost teasingly closer to the waiting Captain General.

The Green Ajah head’s guard was menacing, the tip of his staff high in the air, waiting to come down with wrathful vengeance. Its shadow touched Valadin long before he’d drawn within striking range, but no fear could penetrate the song and Void. All doubts were taken with the feeling of his sword in hand. When they were within two strides of one another Val stopped. Humming as he lowered his body once more to meet the challenge of his superior, The Lion on the Hill raised his sword high, the grip level with his shoulder and the tip leaning towards Silas.

For an eternity the two men faced one another. Rank and reputation falling to the wayside as only the hum existed between them. In their gazes, an unquenchable thirst burned; a question yearning to be answered.

Who would prevail?

It seemed the outcome was certain enough, but combat—true combat—was never certain and in that fact Valadin took solace.

No inkling of injury was obvious as he faced his enemy and the stillness of his stance was near-perfect, hours of practicing during his Free Hour paying dividends. The hum lulled on, its verses transferring into the mounting excitement that was harnessed for the final charge; Valadin knew he would fall with this exchange.

A rush of air was the only warning that Silas would have as Val retreated half a step before advancing forward with a one-handed thrust in the blink of an eye. As it had been before, the initial attempt at penetrating the quarterstaff’s guard with Lightening of Three Prongs was circumvented without compromising the Captain General’s form. The hum’s harmony wasn’t altered as its refrain mirrored the previous onslaught with Valadin’s momentum carrying him into a slash towards Silas’ right side then left side in rapid succession. Again these were defended as the form ended with similar success as its last try leaving Valadin hopelessly overexposed, his weight too far forward to recover from.

Through the Void Val sensed disappointment radiating from the Captain General’s person as a precious moment of transition took place. This time the song’s chorus took in the enemy’s movements; breathing, eye contact, center of gravity. All these were felt rather than seen as Val’s impetus carried him near to the ground.
He waited. Body falling, falling…falling. To most it would look as though he’d stopped moving and was about to crash face first into the ground. Instinct rippled through the Void, anxiety interposing itself into the song’s chorus before quickly being snuffed out. Wait…wait…
NOW! From an impossibly low position Val stepped forward with his right foot, his head nearly at his knee as he drew power from his sternum and pressed upwards with his hip as the coda of his song took the tail-end of Lightening of Three Prongs and flowed it into Low Wind Rising. Using two hands to facilitate all of his speed and might for the transition, Valadin burst upward from his feint, practice sword striking the Captain General’s torso in a blur from the man’s left thigh to his right shoulder. This time there was no crippling pain binding his movements as the song blared to its apex, thirst for victory and the euphoria of surpassing his limits taking him to a place beyond pain or fatigue.

In that moment, glorying in the Void and the song; Valadin was…weightless.