Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

The World outside the Grey Tower is a vast place.
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Sean
"A Crown of Swords"
Posts: 577
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:09 pm
PC: Valadin Manelle
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Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

Post by Sean » March 25th, 2016, 10:00 am

Efficient.

It was the only way to describe the Aiel. Excessive lawlessness had led to the dispatching of a unit into the southern Andoran countryside—on the edges of the Murandian border. In the past this was the site of bloody clashes with bandit chieftains as well as the hub of illicit activity including slavery; a truth well known to Valadin. The Queen’s Guard always did its finest to subdue such nefarious enterprises, but Murandy had proven a hard neighbor to share boundaries with. In the lifetime of most officers none had ever seen the border shared with free of blackguards from all corners of darkness and many had known a friend or family that had given their lives to see it so.

Valadin watched as the Aielman casually handled a brigand party. There were an ill-trained lot. Flanked within the opening moments of the melee, but what impressed him the most was not that the outlaws were defeated rather that to a man none were killed. Even among elite companies, it was a rare occasion where the discipline and ability of two factions differed so greatly that one was completely subdued, yet before the men of Andor and the forces supplied by the Grey Tower, the Dragon Reborn’s Aiel was making sport of their foe.

Their movements are unified. There is none that seeks glory above their brothers, yet all relish the thrill of battle.

Dusk left an inferno painted upon the sky when finally the last of the defeated group had been captured. Some of the Guardsmen attempted to show appreciation for the effort, but found their cordiality met with guarded stares that stalled any friendliness between the two units. The Aiel took their quarry east over a ridge before vanishing from sight. Their leader was a tall fire-haired man with skin of leather and a face crisscrossed with scars. Respect was obvious in the manner which the other Aiel addressed the young man, but from the little Valadin knew it didn’t seem that the fellow was a clan leader.

Asha’man Manelle,” Ruck grunted, the urgency in the man’s voice breaking into Val’s thoughts. Few guardsmen did more than a few tours with him. It was rare that men were lost on his watch, but he was a harsh unit commander often times resorting to punishment as a means to instill order swiftly. Ruck hailed from Arad Doman. He’d been a thief despite a thick, squat build along with uncharacteristically blocky fingers. By his account he’d been a fine one. Of the men that served under Valadin, Ruck had proven the most hardy less prone to complaining. That made it easy to trust the man to voice reason when it needed hearing. “Asha’man, there’s more to catch in the woods. And…”

Now Valadin pulled his stare away from the retreating back of the Aiel, “And?”

“Don’t like that the Queen’s Guard have taken a liking to us.”

It was true. Their burnished mail shone even in the dulling light of the afternoon and whatever insult the Aiel had offered would need venting. Ruck was right. Better not to be nearby when impotent tempers flared. “We move!” Val barked signaling the unit westward.

Respect was one thing. Running into the Aiel on open ground wasn’t a gamble he was willing to take. As the men filed past him in two neat columns Val offered a parting smile with an officer seated upon a war steed, hand clasped upon the hilt of his sheathed blade. The Black Tower’s recent trysts hadn’t done much good to balm the concerns of channeling men running about so it was natural that even the Grey Tower was looked upon unfavorably.

“Best we catch something for the day’s over men. Wouldn’t want you all going back to your women without tales of heroic victory; I gather for most of you that’s all the poor lasses stick around for!” A holler went up at that and the company moved on for better hunting.

Sean
"A Crown of Swords"
Posts: 577
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:09 pm
PC: Valadin Manelle
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Re: Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

Post by Sean » April 1st, 2016, 6:03 pm

The men were already at ease in the forgotten hamlet. Evening had set in and with it the harsh cold of night brought chills that wearied even the hardiest of men. Most of the afternoon had been spent turning a blind ear to furtively voiced complaints each time an outpost or a farm was passed; harsh reputation did nothing to stall a soldier’s whining.

Stopping in the only inn in town—a leaning shack barely a story tall with whitewashed wooden boards forming its outsides—the soldiers had whatever meal could be given. This evening’s fare was soupy mutton with a few dry biscuits to stave off hunger. That these were absent of weevils was something at least.

As was the case with any small town, the folk had their ways. Most dressed after the Andoran fashion, making the Grey Tower patrol appear amongst kinsmen until their accents revealed them as foreignors. This close to the border, the lilting accent of Murandy was heard more often than not. The locals carried on about some lord Neelvi whom was late in providing the latest provisions from his stock. Griping aside it was clear that Neelvi had the favor of his people for while they gnashed their teeth, it took only the chiding of another to hush any voiced discontent. In all, Iyesgarth, as the people called their home, was a settling of little importance and little mind to concern itself with the rest of the world’s troubles; much like the rest of Murandy.

Valadin weathered another nibble of the mutton-soaked biscuit before setting it down upon his plate. The table shook as another form joined his table: the only one from the patrol to do so. Apparently being Asha’man dettered the mindless gnattering that plagued commanders who had the trust of their men; suitablely enough if Val had any say. Turning to find Ruck seated at his side, protecting his own helping of evening supper Val nodded once before returning his attention to the contents of the meal laid out in front of him. “Dun think these folks ‘ave much more’n this to offer,” the squat former thief grunted, reading Valadin’s mind as keenly as always. Even those closest to him failed to be right as often as Ruck…it was unnerving.

“Least the wine isn’t swill…,” Val offered before bringing the goblet placed in front of him to his lips. “Mostly,” he added once the overly sweet had wet his gullet.

Ruck stopped ravaging his meal long enough to offer an amused hoot then set his mind to task once again. All about the patrolmen were busy with various distractions, some were even plying the company of serving girls who didn’t look old enough to be mother them. That’s all this tour had been. March, listen to soldiers bicker, make an example of some, earn their scorn, and then find a place to set down until the next day’s sun-up demanded they repeat the cycle anew. Cold nights, hard-packed earth, and perservering in the company of irritating men was not the reason for Valadin’s foul mood though. It was that there had been little cause to draw his sword for days now. The Aiel skirmish had been two moons ago and before that they had met with nothing save for a long bandit in mid-flight crossing into a farmer’s fields.

This is the glory of being Asha’man?, he wondered as time dragged on. Sleep and boredom had almost claimed him when Ruck’s elbow roused him to wakefulness. “Asha’man, that ‘un dunt look like one o’ the townspeople. An’ seems he’s set his eye on ya.”

Ruck spoke of the well-dressed man, tall and poised in his carriage. His gait spoke of training, but not military—no officer was so light on their feet.

“Greetings Asha’man, may the Light and the Queen protect us,” the stranger greeted with a smooth bow. Courtier, then.

“Might be best to keep from mentioning the Queen in these parts,” Val advised, eyes studying the young face housed by tresses of shoulder length blond hair; too young to be overly famaliar with ways of the noble blood. That reminded him of the stubble and the straggles that sprouted from his own chin and head. How would Nykk take to his new appearance?

It seemed Valadin’s candid response dissolved the masquerade of congeniality as the gentleman’s eyes narrowed, shimmering with unspoken indignation. “This is the Queen’s land. By all rights these people who live on her land are her people. Why should her name be shunned by her subjects? Even you are bound by oath and honor to serve the Queen. Remember that.”

Ruck started to move, but Valadin was up first. For most people, his height and evident strength was disconcerting when the prospect of violence was on the horizon. Time well spent in the Yards had built him as thickly as an ox and the Void had further nourished him with the ability to see the world in a way that only Warders could possibly understand. These things were facts and not entirely unique to him…what people should have feared was the Fury. Howling at the edge of his awareness like a living thing that fed off blood and carnage it never left him nor did its shrieks for violence ever cease. Now it called him to Val as the edges of his vision reddened.

“I serve the Light and am loyal to the Grey Tower. I know nothing of your Queen nor she I. Careful how you speak your next words to an Asha’man.” The young man was likely only a few years his junior and however dainty his features, the shape of muscle beneath the red and gold filigreed doublet was noticeable to those who knew what to look for. “They say,” Val said now, voice softer as the tension mounted between them, “that most of us are secretly mad men waiting to bare our fangs.”

To his credit the messenger…or whatever he was did not flinch. The evening may yet prove itself entertaining, whispered a dark corner of Valadin’s mind. It took effort not answer that voice’s beckoning. “Begone with you. Better things to risk the hangman’s noose for than some whelp,” Val muttered, voice thick with barely restrained rage and murderouse intent.

“Forgive me…I misspoke, Asha’man. I…you have my apologizes. Take whatever price you will from me, but I need you to hear me out.”

The moment had passed and the attention of the inn faded as had the novelty of the spectacle. Finding his seat, Val itched to steal away and go through sword forms to rid himself of the excess energy now churning beneath the skin. It took great effort to steady his hand as he eased the wine cup to his lips. “Speak then. What would her Highness have from the Grey Tower?”

Sean
"A Crown of Swords"
Posts: 577
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:09 pm
PC: Valadin Manelle
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Re: Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

Post by Sean » April 13th, 2016, 5:00 pm

Menace clung to the air like a living thing as the site came into view. There was little beyond a patch of ashen gray dirt strangely devoid of the woodland growth that claimed the surrounding field to look at. No signs that anyone had lived in this place in ages marked the nature surrounding them. After deviating from the country causeways the messenger had led them deep into the woodlands.

“Lads dunt like this…”Ruck croaked with his usual familiarity. Valadin had scolded the man many times—even punished him once—but the concept of unit hierarchy never took hold. “… I dunt like this,” Ruck added, cutting a hard glare towards their illustrious escort who continued on as if nothing had been said.

That was how it had been since agreeing to investigate this ‘lost’ town. Whatever the question poised to him, the smartly dressed courtier simply insisted that it was best to see the problem rather than explain it. Skepticism was abounding, but Val had decided anything was better than lounging about in a tavern until time came to rouse the men back to continue their patrol, “How much further?”

The Queen’s man favored him with a withering look before quickly masking it with the practiced restraint of one used to dodging political catastrophes.

“We are here.”

“Here?”

“Yes, this was once the hamlet of Woodpine. Murandy and Andor shared claim to the wood supply harvested from the forests. The usual retinue was dispatched on the Queen’s behalf to collect on these claims months ago, yet none returned. Or rather one returned later than expected. Two fortnights past a survivor stumbled back to his post, half dead, and divulged a rather unnerving tale. Apparently the land has eaten Woodpine and its inhabitants.”

Perhaps it was the fuliginous film that had grown over everything, the daylight visibly dying, consumed by an eerie gloom that brought a chill to Valadin’s spine. For the sake of his men the only reply made to the courtier’s words was an order to Ruck that a scouting unit be arranged to survey the woods.

Having them do something keeps the idle thoughts from making them useless.

Those words belonged to the wizened Brown who had served as his military history instructor in the days before becoming Asha’man. On more than one occasion the old crone’s wisdom had proven the difference between being a effective commander and confused lout barely past his twenty-seventh winter.

What about your fear? What will you do to assuage that? whispered the darkest corner of his mind. I’ll quell it as I do with everything else. With my anger…and my desire; I won’t perish unless it’s in her arms.

“Jandran al’Myan, ward of House Calford.”

At the words Val turned to find that it was to him that this…Jandran spoke. Arching a brow he asked, “Ward…of House Calford? Is that supposed to mean something?”

Judging by the glow of pinkish-red spreading across the lad’s visage, an insult had just been given. Inwardly Valadin sighed and wondered if it was possible to ever completely escape the senseless dogma that pervaded elite society.

“No,” Jandran muttered through clenched teeth. “No, it means nothing here, Asha’man. What means something is that we discern what has happened to an entire town of people…subjects of the Queen.”


Ruck interrupted them with the announcement that scouts had been dispatched. The rest of the unit would remain close at hand, but it was clear few believed that whatever had wiped away an entire village—if that were indeed the truth—would fare any worse against a few men baring swords and lances.

“Perhaps it would be wise to assign you a g—”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Asha’man,” Jandran interjected eyes alight with a mysterious gleam. “I’m well equipped for the task at hand. Should the need arise, call upon me as though I were one of your men.” With that and a quick bow, the boy was striding off towards the heart of the clearing where the others made furtive search efforts.

Laying a hand on his sword Val stared after him while trying to put from his mind the foreboding sensation that some terrible fate was about to befall them.

Sean
"A Crown of Swords"
Posts: 577
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:09 pm
PC: Valadin Manelle
Location: The Four Kings, Illinois

Re: Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

Post by Sean » April 15th, 2016, 5:15 pm

The thick scent of farm soil was what woke him. There was no mistaking the rich odor born when livestock stink mingled with the musky smell of freshy tilled lands. Braying horses and cocking roosters enhanced the early countryside morning mien making it difficult to continue lying in bed.

Bed?

Strangely the thought of sleeping in bed felt out of place…wrong even. Opening a pair of eyes that ached from the radiance of the sun, Elias groaned. Last night he’d dreamt again. A man wearing a dark coat came with others. Not many, but enough and armed with weapons, but usually it was the man that was the focus. Young and of the same height as Elias himself, the dream felt so real even down to the concern flitting about in the depths of the young man’s eyes.

His name was Val…

“You’ve slept past dawn again, Eli,” a concerned, yet disapproving voice called from the door. “Been feverish for weeks now an’ las…”


“Lem…leave it be. I’m fine,” Elias grunted, disentangling himself from the woolskin with difficulty and then immediately regretting the decision to sleep in his small clothes. Bloody mornings on the farm were always cold.

Pulling over a faded shirt along with some breeches Lem had patched up a few days past, he made his way to the door where the stern face of his wife waited for him. She’d always been the severe one. They’d always agreed that if one was going to be a right ornery ox then the other needed to be able to smile; was the only way they’d stay together. “You’ll have a bit o’ porridge. Then out with you. Much to do an’ already the day’s gone.”

A smile and a kiss softened the scowl long enough to catch a glimpse of the girlish youth that was hidden most days. Only a few months and that face was enough to break the cycle of mistrust that come before Lemyena.

“I’ll have a bowl on the way out,” Elias replied softly when they were pulled away. The golden cast of sunlight on his wife’s face made kissing her again an enticing prospect, but the beginnings of another frown warned that it was best to be about his business.

Outside, the frost on the wind fogged the breath, but the stretches of field in every direction made admiring the solitude of a farmer’s life easy. Not far off one of the new hand plowed a plot of land to the east with a pair of yoked oxen on either side. Elias waved, but got no indication the boy had seen him. Or it may have been that he’d been seen and ignored. There was no reason to believe that the hireling Lem decided to bring on was in any way friendly. In the weeks since the lean, hard-eyed chap had come to them seeking a place to rest his head, they hadn’t so much as seen him eat. Lem had taken to leaving plates outside the barn and in the morning the boy would be about doing work while the plate remained in front of the barn door with the food untouched. At first it was worrying, but with no animals missing and not a soul for miles to steal from eventually the concern dimmed in light of the hard labor being done without the asking.

Simi, Lem’s shepherd dog for years came from around the back the instant Elias set foot outside. Smartest thing on this farm, Elias always said. “Time to start the day, eh girl.”

Rather than the happy bark that routinely came from her, Simi snarled and barked at something making Elias turned around.

Riders. Coming from the east. “Somethin’aint’ right, Sim,” Elias mumbled, uncertain whether to head back inside or see what the trouble was. Even after the choice had been made and he headed out to meet the unannounced visitors, there was the faint feeling that this might be the last time he’d ever kiss his wife in early morning.

Sean
"A Crown of Swords"
Posts: 577
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:09 pm
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Re: Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

Post by Sean » May 2nd, 2016, 2:12 am

“And the men sent to scout the surrounding area?” Valadin asked Ruck, eyes alight with impending wrath.

Ruck gave a terse shake of his head, the thick bulge of his neck barely allowing even that.

Whirling on Jandran, Val found the young man matching his glare bravely. “What is this?”

Night had fallen in the eerie clearing and their camp had been set up with the expediency afforded to veterans of the march. Many of the company had traversed the valleys and meadows leading up to the mountain pass—some had even journeyed beyond that. One thing Valadin had been grateful of in inheriting a routine command was that the men whatever their minds were on falling under his order were professionals. While on the march they rarely fell to distraction. Losses had come and gone, but even the new inductees took up the regimen of the old-timers thus preserving the uniformity of their unit.

Watches had been set up without the need for instruction and Ruck advised that he would oversee the first shift, waking Val somewhere after the second or third shift had been completed. That never happened. All it seemed had mysteriously fallen to slumber and woke babbling of dreams that felt so real the scent of it lingered in the noses even with morning’s waking light. What really had Val in a row was that some of the men were missing.

Ruck’s report of the scouts only cemented the fire boiling in Val’s gut as he loomed over the gallantly dressed nobleman…or ward…or whatever he bloody called himself. Jandran had urged that they needed to investigate this matter and in one night several of the mountain guard patrol had gone missing without signs of what had happened to them.

Handing falling to his sword, Valadin made it unmistakably clear the mood he was in. “You will speak,” he hissed.

“I know as much as you do. Isn’t this why we came out here? An entire town of people vanished as your men have. Your men will likely be found with them,” Jandran replied, tones even and groomed to supplicate better reasoning.

Only this wasn’t a place for better reasoning and Val could feel the Fury’s incessant renewed from the dulled whisper it had been back when taverns had served as resting points. Now it demanded that blood be shed for those lost. No, not only for those lost, but because of the incompetence of the others they should fall as well. Everyone should taste his blade.

Letting go of the sword at his hip was harder than he remembered, but the action was managed with forced facility. Time alone would be needed to cool the flares burning at his chest. “Maybe,” was the only response Val offered before turning back to Ruck. He paused to add over his shoulder, “…but should my men not return you will accompany me to the Tower and explain things.”

Not waiting for a reply Ruck was ordered to see to breaking camp. Moving was the most prudent action. The clearing was spacious and likely provided sumptuous opportunity to lay down an ambush. Their next camp would need to provide cover from such again. Better to take cover behind the strength in your blood than rely on the feeble succor of rocks and lees.

It was in their faces. Each time a man was lost a somber silence fellow over the unit. While part of a greater force, this particular group had seen much time together regardless of the commander at the helm. Many shared family and some had even married into those of the other. They were brothers figuratively and literally, “And for the sake of the Queen I’ve led their kin to demise.”

As with all things, time for rumination did not last long. No sooner had supplies been gathered and packs been set upon back a sentry returned just beyond the camp’s edges to report of incoming visitors. Valadin waved the men to formation though ordered none to bear arms. With a look Jandran was beckoned to his flank as trotted in the direction from whence these intruders came and Ruck without the asking fell in-step shortly after.

Thankfully the courtier had no tongue for questions instead keeping his silence in a warrior-like fashion again asserting that combat had not been completely removed from the young man’s experience.

“Aiel?” Ruck breathed as they came in view.

“Aiel,” Val answered, mind embracing the Oneness as his battle instincts took over readily after so long being shackled. Saidin also fought to break free, but there was no promise that while holding it, the Power would be completely held in check. The Fury’s influence seemed to have greater influence in these woods. Whether that was for the better or worse was still to be seen. “Ho, there!”

The brown and grey of their coats and breeches made the Aiel seem to blend into the woods making Valadin feel certain that it was only by their allowance that the sentry had noticed their approach at all. Eyes lighting on the scarf-like garment at their necks, Val remembered the only Aiel he’d met at the Grey Tower and took comfort in knowing that by and large it meant that battle would not ensue…yet. At the head of the group was the young man whom only a day past had made short work of the bandits. There was little mistaking the scars etched painfully into the flesh of the leader’s face. Finally both parties stopped their advance at a respectable distance though none of the Aiel had seen fit to return Val’s greeting. The seek blood. You seek it as well. What does your heart say? Follow it!

It was true. Even now, testing the vaunted prowess to which he’d bear witness to was the only thing occupying his thoughts. With difficulty the urge abated and called out again. “What is your purpose with us, Aiel?”

A series of grunts passed between those behind the leader, but the man himself trained his eyes on Valadin alone. That gaze seared the intensity of that look into him like few Val had known. Surprisingly a longing to have Miahala Sedai nearby came to him. The woman always had a way of seeing that things never got too far out of hand…and if they did she reined them in with a firm touch.

Finally the discussion—if it could be called such—died down and the leader spanned the neutral between the two groups with easy, loping strides. Up close he was at least a head and half taller than Val. Yet another rare detail…this fellow was quickly becoming unforgettable.

Careful not flinch under those eyes the color of pale stone, Valadin motioned for Ruck not to draw his weapon as he knew the soldier wanted to. For some reason Jandran was expected to know how to act in this case.

“This place is wrong, wetlander. You should not be here.” Hearing the smoothness with which each word was crafted was unexpected. It wasn’t a bad imitation of an Andoran accent. “We shall lead you from here so that you can return to your home.”

“For what reason?” Val asked.

“None, other than the Car’a’carn values those of you who wear the black coats.”

“Your…and the Car’a’carn’s concerns are appreciated, but I have men who have been taken and I intend to get them back.”

At this the leader’s eyes flashed, the promise of violence making them hard as steel. “We do not ask you to follow.”

Inwardly Valadin could almost feel the Fury grin and the Oneness trembled as rage began to overrun reason. Hand falling to his sword he bared his teeth in a feral smile.

“I’m sorry to insult your kindness, but never again will I fall to the command of another.”

Sean
"A Crown of Swords"
Posts: 577
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:09 pm
PC: Valadin Manelle
Location: The Four Kings, Illinois

Re: Betwixt and Between Loyalties [Closed]

Post by Sean » May 23rd, 2016, 8:57 pm

The rasp of steel rang true in the air, its timbre heralding an imminent clash. The swiftest of the blades much to Valadin’s surprise was the page, Jandran. Ruck had yet to draw his weapon when Val barked at the lieutenant to return to camp. Allowing the entire succession of command to fall in a single bout was the surest way to see a unit to demise.

Whether it was loyalty or indecision that made the squat second-in-command hesitant did not matter. When Val turned his baleful gaze upon his confidante and brother-in-arms it was the hard look of one who expected obedience mixed with the near-frenzy of a man on the point of committing bloodshed. “Go now.”

Needing little urging beyond that, Ruck was gone, his clanking weapons and heavy footsteps giving proof to the man’s safe exit. At least not everyone will perish on the fool’s errand.

“Save your words, Asha’man. I follow none, but the Queen’s order and my liege lord’s,” Jandran quipped at his side. Val’s only response was a grunt as his consciousness was steeped in the dark dye of the Fury. Malice pulsed like a living thing in his veins and the presence of Saidin glowed brightly to his mind’s eye as the two fought to touch one another. Was there anything more frightening than an Asha’man mad with Power?

Only the Oneness steadied Valadin enough to notice that the other Aiel stood back from their leader, their stone grey eyes watchful yet holding no sign of threat. Even the leader compared unprepared for the battle that he knew must come. Eager as he was to throw himself to the maddening pitch and energy that ensued in combat, Val could not bring himself to attack someone without provocation. “You do not stand ready.”


“I do not come to fight you, wetlander. You bare your fangs without cause,” the Aielman responded candidly. Val waited for the ruse to come to an end. Whether it was the smooth transition of weight that conveyed a readiness to fight or the flash in the eye preceding an assault, this talk of peace could be nothing other than a hoax.


It did not come. They Aiel kept their distance and the leader did not move to draw the short spear or lift the scarf about his neck. Those eyes however…the potential for violence was present even if dormant. “I ask again: what is your business with us?”

One of the leader’s men drew attention to himself and flashed a series of finger gestures too quick for Val to guess at. Bloody hand signs, he thought wishing that Lysira Gaidin could have offered clarity on the matter.

“You spend your men’s lives foolishly. You should leave this place.”

Frustrated and tense with the permeating Fury there was little chance for diplomacy, but Val took a first step by reading to sheath his weapon when the cries of battle could be heard behind from…The camp!

Thoughts racing, he broke into a run toward that direction without paying further mind to the Aiel. Jandran wasn’t long in following and in short order matched stride with Val.

Upon arriving at the camp grounds, battle erupted in every direction. Screams lifted into the canopy above only to be snatched by the watchful trees. The shapes of men collided and battered at each with crude forms, crimson fountains occasionally lighting upon ground, cloth, or skin. A thick, otherworldly mist snaked about the ankles of every man and those that fell beneath its surface never rose again. Of all the senses assailed at the moment, it was the scent that left the largest impression. The pungent heavy stench that only accompanied fields where much killing had occurred roused the Fury into a savage state and a cold sweat broke out over Val’s skin as he realized that the attackers were the lost men from the night before.

Only their faces were sunken and exposed flesh hung slackly from bones that were browned by decay. They were changed…different. When they fought there were no signs that they meant to survive the skirmish instead charging their enemy with a mindless determination unfathomable to a thinking man.

“What is this?” Jandran gasped as one of the scouts had his jaw unhinged by a fierce from a mattock. “Asha’man…what is this?!”

The courtier called after Valadin, but received no answer. The Fury had already consumed all thought. Only the desire to fight and win—to stand against his enemy dominated as Val charged forward.

Garrick screamed as a dagger repeatedly bit into the flesh of his shoulder, his attacker one of the first men to take watch the night before. Now this same man whose awkward laugh had been the inspiration of callow jests to pass bored hours groaned uncomprehendingly as the life oozed from his brother’s wounds.

The Lion on the Hill became The Lion Springs, the sword spitting and severing the mindless scout from collarbone to sternum in a bright bloom of red. Garric choked his last words at Valadin’s feet. Whether they were of gratitude or a final curse upon the commander whose orders had cost him his life made no impression on the Void which warned of the presence striking at his back. Low Wind Rising neatly the attacker’s hands at the wrist sending the separated appendages spinning into air shortly to be followed by the head of the same as The Ribbon Dances on the Breeze flashed into Arc of the Moon with mindless efficiency.

Asha’man!” Ruck cried out, but the lieutenant’s voice was distant. Saidin and the Fury washed over the banks of the Void providing both sharpness as well as dulling the impassive acuity of his senses. Blood pumped strongly, the drum of it nourishing his body as the colors of the battlefield glowed through the lens of the Power.

A roar sounded from somewhere nearby, but it was only as a cool breeze alerted Val to how closely death followed him in this fight did he realized that the below had been one of joy and savagery; it had come from him.

Someone bore him to the ground, their weight knocking the wind from his lungs. No fear touched his heart as blow after blow rained down on his temple. A line of warmness spilled down the space between his eyes and over his nose while he tasted metal in his mouth.

A moment later the encumbrance was gone and Val took to his feet, stumbling as the world righted itself. A hand grasped and his shoulder instinctively evoking an off-balance swipe that nearly took Jandran in the throat. The Queen’s man glared indignantly, mouth working as those of his ilk were prone to do, but now was not the time. There were still more men to fight…more enemies to slay.

Shoving his way past, Val charged into the thick of another melee, Boar Rushes Down the Mountain carving a bloody path as someone in gray-brown garments cried out and fell to the ground. A thrusting spear caught his coat sleeve, but worry never slowed his movements as the shaft was snatched in one hand while the other struck with force and speed that seemed to grow as the grip on reason lessened.

Soon he was surrounded, faces blurring as the reached out to pin him down. His limbs burned with fatigue even with the blessing of the One Power flowing in them, yet each time they him caught Val would rebuff them. Altering the path of his sword to invite the incoming attack rather than defend against it, Black Pebbles on the Snow bit deeply into the soft flesh of someone’s stomach. Keep fighting. Never stop moving. Never stop to think. Leave everything behind…leave it all to burn.

The press of the circle left him little room causing the long-sword, turned black by the viscous gore of the defeated, to slow in its ceaseless ripostes. Given no other path of escape, Val rammed into the line of bodies blocking the path to open space, his size serving to create an opening in the wall as he rolled to his feet faster than his pursuers could advance on him. Where is everyone? he wondered, eye catching sight of the spear point that narrowly avoided taking his eyes. Have they all been killed? Even Ruck…no. Fight. Don’t think of anything else.

Now only spears harassed him, the tips blurring with expert speed that did not resemble the sluggish movements of earlier. A line of burned across Val’s thigh as he gave as good as got, his thrust proving a successful feint as The Leopard’s Caress stumbled one of the faceless attackers. Air was thick in his chest, refusing to provide the necessary supply to sustain the laborious task of forcing them back.

A blow to his chin darkened the woods for a moment, but when the forest returned so did Val’s ferocity. For an instant the clearness with which he perceived his sword was indescribable. Throwing himself into the medley spear tips without reserve granted him greater speed. So much so that he found it astounding that it had never occurred to him to forsake the notion of defending and commit solely to attack. Two men were downed in successive strikes and the others stepped from his path. In the act a clear figure stood in opposition to him…tall with evident power in the stance of the enemy. Which among those lost possessed such skill? he wondered, but gave it no further consideration as he met his foe with as much bluster as he had ever managed before.

Then an explosion of light followed by darkness followed after…

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