The Grey Tower

“I…need to share your bucket,” Val whispered, hoping to return to his chores before one of the Dedicated noticed his empty bucket and inquired as to what happened.

Again a lance of anger shot through him as he eyed two snickering Soldiers nearby, their heads bowed to conceal the mischievous smirks on their faces. Yurin and Morel were Soldiers who were among the few that found it pleasurable to pester Valadin with their pranks at every turn. Most others ignored him, believing him either a madman or a fool, but those two; they sought to make him out to be both on a daily basis.

“I’m not very popular with some of the other Soldiers, but you seem a good sort so I was hoping we could make like we’ve been scrubbing together the entire time?”

The question was pleading, but held a matter-of-factness in its tone that said the outcome of the exchange wasn’t important to him; by now Master Seth had enough punishments lined up for Val that it mattered little whether he experienced them sooner rather than later. As he waited for an answer, he studied this Soldier. It wasn’t someone he recognized from any training and Valadin had never been picked on by this slip of a lad either. Footsteps warned of the approach of one of the patrolling Dedicated and without a word Val fell on his knees beside the lad. Like his fellow recruit his coat sleeves were rolled up and the raven-dark hairs of his arms were slick with soap-water as he dipped his sponge into the wooden bucket just as a Dedicated walked by, forehead creased in an a permanent scowl.

“My name’s Valadin, a Soldier. Like you I take it?” he introduced himself in hushed tones, his eyes watchful for the other Dedicated. He wasn’t certain what made him so talkative with this stranger. Perhaps weariness had softened the walls he’d built between himself and the Tower dwellers

“I’m a few months new to the Tower myself so I haven’t seen many people, but you’re fresh, aren’t you? Figure you are else I would think you were just another goat-brain like that rest.”

Not far down the hall another Soldier had the misfortune of being bellowed at for doing shoddy work. The example was enough to quiet Valadin for the moment as he concentrated on scrubbing at the unyielding stone which never seemed any cleaner for all the effort he put into removing the dirt on its surface. As he scrubbed, a white Accepted’s skirt at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Peeking up furtively through a halo of hair, Val caught sight of Cara as she hurried down the hall with a determined set to her eyes. Since their encounter in the library the two had rarely spoken to each other and Cara had continued to perform all the tasks that Alshamz Sedai had wished him to do without ever saying that she’d done the work alone.

Burn it all, I’ll never understand women… Val sighed inwardly.

As the shrill whistle pierced the oppressive silence of the Tower at night, Valadin cringed. A timorous moment passed by as all the recruits cut glares in the direction of the both he and Daven. Before long the floor beneath them was darkened with the shadow of both Dedicated whose expressions were a horrid mixture of pleasure and wrathful vengeance. Sharing a look with Daven, Valadin bowed his head low, his forehead pressed against the moist ground and the repugnant scent of the cleaning solution burned at this nostrils.

“Dedicated, this here is Daven; he’s a Soldier fresh from the outside lands. He’s not even had his first meeting with Master Seth I’d reckon,” Val explained. Another wordless space of time passed and though he feared it, Val began to hope that this excuse would serve reason enough why Daven had broken the unspoken rule of silence during chores. “In fact, if anything I'm at fault for not explaining that each duty is to be performed with the utmost focus so that we as Soldiers, aspiring Guardians of the light, are taught concentration and steadfastness as we make our journey to Asha’man!”

It was a motif that every recruit learned upon his first day. During his admittance, Master Seth had explained that it was a traditional saying that the newer generation of Asha’man adopted. The silence was deafening and Val looked over to Daven for the first time, realizing only then that the other lad hadn’t bothered bowing instead was matching the Dedicated stare for stare. Bloody idiot… Val groaned silently. Another unspoken rule was that superiors were never to be treated as equal and even the most spirited of Soldiers learned that quickly…else they found themselves broken before being sent away.

“Rise, Soldiers!” barked one of the Dedicated, his words cracking like a whip in the air.

Months of training had attuned Val to the urgency with which each task was required to be performed. Without hesitation he sprung to his feet, his body rigid in salute as he stared into the darkness of the Tower’s winding hallways beyond. “Dedicated!” he responded, his voice strong and carrying into the distance.

Both seniors nodded in approval, “Well done. Now, Soldier Manelle, you and your…fresh recruit have the honor of mucking the horse stables and cleaning the pigeon cotes. I’ll inform Master Arcuraim that you're both excused from curfew.”

The other drew close to both Soldiers now, his face all hard angles as he glared deep into the faces of Val and Daven. “I expect that these tasks will be done to the best of your abilities—however small they might be. You will spend the entire night seeing to this if you have to and you will meet your morning duties as well. Is that understood, Soldiers?”

“Yes, sir!” Val cried in reply. His stomach knotted sickeningly as he considered foregoing another night’s sleep. Daven at least seemed to follow his lead in refraining from complaint; perhaps the fellow wasn't completely daft.

“Move, Soldiers! Go! Go! Go!”

With the cadence provided by their Dedicated's words, both Val and Daven marched, their steps out of rhythm, until they were no longer in view of the Dedicated though Val marched awhile longer until he was certain that no one had followed them. All the seething rage that had been stowed away erupted into violence as Val threw himself at Daven, grabbing a fistful of the Asha’man black coat that was still crisp to the touch,

“What in the Light-blinded name of the Creator, do you think you're doing?! We're not in some tavern! You know where you're at?! These are male channelers! Who knows what they could do to you for acting foolishly?!” he hissed.

“Indeed.” was only reply Val offered to Daven’s apology and gratitude.

The Grey Tower was a safe haven for channelers—one of the many that now existed thanks to the rise of the Dragon. Doesn’t mean that it’s completely safe for men like us. He needs to understand that. As they entered the night, Val relished at the sight of the moon and the cool mountain air that filled him as he took a deep breath. The pale luminescence of the moonlight warred with the light of the Tower below for dominance. The moment they emerged from the building two guards, both barrel chested men who carried themselves with the air of experienced warriors, stopped them.

Val explained their situation, choosing to handle the talking as the senior; odd thinking of himself that way. It seemed his word alone sufficed though the guards’ eyes lingered on the pair as they followed the sound of restless braying to the stable yards. Here the stable master awarded them with a hard glare, but waved them on. It was no secret that unfortunate Soldiers and Dedicated were given the task of mucking out the horse stalls. With a sigh Val and Daven trudged on, their expressions darkening as the powerful odor of dung hung over them like a dark cloud. As they drew nearer the stalls a chestnut roan poked its head from its stand and snorted. At the sight Val was taken back to days spent peacefully among the horses, “She’s probably thinking we’ve got a snack for her; she’ll be sore at us if we come next time without a treat,” he said softly.

“Well, we’d better be about our business. I certainly don’t want to be wading in horse droppings for a night only to deal with tomorrow’s problems.”

Wordlessly Val approached the nearest empty stall. A bucket of stagnant water sat near the entrance. Its order mixed with the scent of horseflesh, but strangely it smelled more like home than anything Val had been around lately. Grabbing the bucket in one hand and pulling the trough with other he set about the work of emptying the stall when he noticed that Daven stared blankly in his direction, confusion clouding his features. Right, I suppose there aren’t many at the Tower that would know much about horses or horse dung.

“First thing’s to clean out the stall. Take everything out: the hay, the water bucket, and even the open long-box with feed in it; it’s all got to go.” Val grunted as he dropped his own load with a thump. Removing his coat and hanging it on a pin reserved for slop buckets, he made a face as he noted the number of empty stalls that would need attending; they might really be here all night.

It appeared that the tenders emptied the stalls during the day so servants or stable-hands would be able to clean them out by night. “Once you’ve done that, let me know and I’ll show ya the fun part,” he said with a grin on his face.

Despite their predicament the mood had lightened as far as Val could tell. Escape from the imprisoning walls of the Tower was enough to smile about any day. As he grabbed a pitchfork to work on the hay he wondered about the lad whom he’d risked his neck for. Usually it was better to avoid others; there was too much uncertainty about people. They didn’t always act the way they were supposed to and some wronged others for the pure principle of it. To Val being alone was a trouble well worth taking. A life wondering whether one’s loved ones will hurt them is no life at all. Still, he’d gambled on this one for a reason. There was something…honest about Daven.

“I’m not still mad ya know,” he called out, his face already glistening with sweat. “T’wasn’t right of me to go at ya the way I did. After all yer new and you didn’t know the rules. It’s those that knew the rules that really sicken my stomach!”

He angrily jabbed at anther bale of hay and hurled it with a snarl into the center of the stable yard. More horses peeked from their stall at the commotion. These were the messenger and everyday mounts. The warhorses would have to be maintained by Gaidin and the like; they weren’t creatures one could hope to house with these fillies. A smile ghosted over his lips as he reminisced about the first time that Arlen, one of the stable boys back in the Four Kings, had tried to saddle a war steed one of the sellswords had brought to the Dancing Cartman. Poor Arlen had gone sailing like a sack of stones when the spirited stallion bucked wildly and the then child swore never to try to mount another horse for the rest of his life.

Digging out the last of the hay, Val was greeted by the fermented scent of horse dung, fresh from the strength of it. Wrinkling his nose he grabbed a shovel and set to work loading the larger chunks into a wheel barrow.

“Where ya from, Daven?” he asked between swings. “I come from a small village in Andor, the Four Kings. You’ve probably not heard of it.”

“Quit yer yappin’ back there ya blasted goat-fathered farmboys!” Ranen bellowed, his guttural accent a rough contrast to the velvet peacefulness of the evening.

The two Soldiers shared a look before stifling a laugh. To Val’s amazing the mood had lightened despite having to spend a night mired in horse dung. Waiting a moment for the Stable Master to drift off to sleep as was his wont, Val explained, “That’s old Ranen. He’s the one to sees to all the horses here in addition to helping the Gaidin with whatever needs they have in caring for their warhorses as well; he’s an ornery old mule, but a good man if you know what’s right.”

Work stifled the conversation between the two young men as sweat and refuse sullied their good moods marginally as hard, unpleasant work often did. By the time finished their unsavory duties it was several hours after Dark and the remnant dots of candlelight in the Tower windows above began to fade. Brushing straws of hay from his pants Valadin looked across the stable yard to find that Daven had finished as well; for a city-born he’d done well—finishing even ahead of Val.

“Not bad, milord,” he jested while making a leg. Daven managed a laugh, but exhaustion pulled at the edges of his lips making his grin taut. Feeling somewhat weary himself, Val groaned as a stretch alleviated some of the labor’s ache from his bone. Tomorrow if he could, he’d spend his entire free period practicing his sword skill. Nothing brought him peace like feeling the weight of a blade in his hand and flowing through the countless forms; nothing except studying the flora of the Tower Gardens or a good game of Stones, but lately he’d forsaken both activities for time spent in the Yards.

Since Cin died anyway…

The faint reminder of a friend lost sobered him as he waved Daven on, “All that needs doing now is cleaning them pigeon cotes,” he murmured, tossing his coat over his shoulder. “Keep a steady footing at the top of the Tower—rather easy to fall off ‘specially this late.”

With Val leading the way the two journeyed up the endlessly long flight of stairs which ascending to the Tower in an impressive stone spiral that seemed embossed into the face of the structure’s side. Had weariness not sapped away his curiosity he might have enjoyed the view of Hamma Valon below, the village sparkling beautifully against the backdrop of the night. Cold winds from the Mountains of Mist tore at the Soldiers’ clothing. Even the Asha’man’s black coat offered little comfort against the head wind’s wrath. Reaching the top battered, cold, and tired Val’s expression darkened as two figures stepped forth from the shadows of the bird lofts.

“Why if it isn’t Val and his new friend,” Yurin crowed, his words though laced in venom were sweetened by the lilting Murandian inflection. Morel emerged after his buck-toothed leer evident in the diminished moonlight. “I thought we were friends, Val. You aren’t going to drop us, are you? That’d hurt Morel and I—wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Morel grunted.

Amongst the Soldiers, Morel was one of the dullest minds though few dared speak of this. What the oaf lacked in brain he made of for in size matching Valadin in height and easily outweighing by a hundred stones. Val signaled for Daven not to act; confronting the two would do nothing except instigate them. Usually Morel and Yurin acted on impulse their pranks designed to please an audience. Their appearance here with no one to watch boded ill for all involved, “Yurin, just take Morel and get; no need for any problems here. Yer already late fer curfew if anyone’s checkin’ tonight. We’ve got an excuse; you don’t.”

“No need to worry, friend. A friend of ours is taking care of things for us. Sides we’ll be back before Early hour. Just wanted to see to our good friends stuck here without any help. Isn’t that nice of us, Mo?” Yurin cooed, his lithe frame seeming unaffected as he swaggered forth.

“Yeah…” came the automatic, barely intelligible rumble from the giant.

It was then that Val caught the flash of steel and heard the hiss of steel jumping free of its baldric, “Now then, let’s play a game,” Yurin suggested playfully as the tip of the dagger flipped end over end before falling into the palm of his hand. “We’ll call it…Truth or Fall—I’ll ask you a question, you tell the truth, or someone takes an accidental tumble down the side of the Tower. Sounds fun, right?”

Burn me… Val swore as he looked to Daven. Both were unarmed and while Val was a quick study with a sword, there was little he knew in the school of brawling; particularly when the enemy held weapons that could kill him in a stroke. “Any ideas?” he whispered to Daven.

The night’s cool air did nothing to soften the crazed glee that shone in Yurin’s eye. Val had seen that look in the eyes of another Murandian. The past is the past. Now you’re a Soldier; do what your duty and nothing else matters.

A burst of courage followed the statement. Valadin had never known the feeling before coming to the Grey Tower. Seeing it in others made him uncomfortable in the past, but somehow the feel of the black coat he wore to against the chill of the evening fostered a desire to do something foolish every now and then.

“Right then. Here goes nuthin’,” he replied to Daven. The firmness of his tone garnered a look of caution from the newer Soldier, but they were beyond such things. They couldn’t risk playing to Yurin’s amusement and have someone get hurt; better to stop things before they got out of hand. “You’ll know what to do—there’s no time to argue!” he snapped when Daven opened his mouth in protestation.

“Problem, gentlemen?” Yurin asked.

“None at all, friend. Your first question?” Val responded evenly. His weight already shifted forward as he tried to make out the distance between him and Yurin. The casted shadows of the night made it difficult to get a sure count, but with every flourish of his hands, the evil reflection of moonlight on the dagger tip gave menacing reminder of what could happen if the situation wasn’t quickly resolved.

Yurin took a step towards the pair. The lad was quite average looking for Murandian with few distinguishing features other than the accent marking him as such. More sinew and bone than meat, there wasn’t much intimidating either. Perhaps this was the reason for the venom housed in the heart of the black haired boy whose sole purpose seemed to harm and intimidate those around him. Well, Val would see to it that this time things would go differently.

When next Yurin’s lips parted he threw himself into the smaller man’s torso. Val heard as the force of his weight audibly drove the air from Yurin’s lungs and the two the ground in a mass of black cloth. Overhead the sound of lumbering boot heels on stone warned of Morel’s approach, “Daven! Help!” Val called as Yurin fought wildly. Arms as thick as tree trunks encircled him as Morel’s involvement in the tussle became apparent.

Before Val could shout for aid again, he and Morel were suddenly thrown into the air as the prickle of gooseflesh on the back of the skin notified any male channeler close enough of the use of Saidin. Hitting the hard stone floor Val watched in horror as Morel, arms flailing and mouth wide in fear, was sent sailing over the edge of the roof. Time seemed to slow as the breaths passed. Each boy paralyzed with the events playing before them. With Valadin staggering to his feet and Yurin dazed from what he’d done, Morel’s fate seemed sealed.

Would the Tower lose another Soldier this night?