Flesh met flesh with a satisfying thud before callused fingers wrapped roughly around a bare forearm and dug in. Dax felt his fingernails split skin and looked up, baring his teeth at his opponent before his grip tightened even more. Bone ground on bone and the stranger yelped a curse, throwing his entire weight at the sellsword. “Bad idea, mate,” the Tairen commented, shifting and twisting so the man’s own movement took him to the ground.
The Blademaster twisted to land atop his prey with a growl akin to a rabid dog, fingers wrapping around his throat. Shadows danced through the Gaidin’s vision as his knee crushed into the other man’s back, his hands reluctantly peeling away from soft flesh to wrap into sweat-damp blonde hair. Then he yanked the stranger’s head back and slammed it into the pavement. Once, twice- he felt something crack and the man went limp. The sellsword wasted no time on false sympathy; instead he pushed himself forward, rolling to face the ring.
The crowd had thought it great sport, six men with weapons against one without. The fighters themselves had laughed about it before agreeing, their eyes shining at the prospect of easy gold. Naive of them. Idiotic, even. In the circles of Tanchico it might have been an entertaining game of cat and mouse with little danger of surprise. However, the fools had chosen to fight in Hama Valon, where any drunken ragged beggar might be much more than he appeared. Such it had been in this case, and they were finally beginning to realize it.
Blood trickled down his upper arm; Dax wiped it, then scrubbed his fingers over his breeches as he watched the pair in front of him. The first three had fallen quickly, serving as little more than human shields for the Gaidin as he faced the others. The fourth had dealt some damage in his desperation, but retribution had been rapid and lethal; even now, Dax could sense the fallen warrior being pulled away to safety. Would he live? Do we care, little brother? Jem laughed. No. The last two were wary and fast; one carried daggers, the other a sword.
The Tairen bided his time, shifting every so often to keep both men in his vision as he tugged the bandages about his forearms a little tighter. His knuckles had already bled through the rough white cloth, but the wraps were not intended to protect his hands. No one in Hama Valon would face him if they knew what he had earned. Better for him to hide the dark ink on his forearms; then he could fight until his breath ran ragged and his body screamed for rest.
What he had earned? The thought drifted back unbidden. Dax scowled and spat a sour taste out of his mouth. All he had earned was death, though the common folk of the world remained unaware of that fact. Gaidin trained to die, after all; it was their entire purpose in life. Sacrificial lambs to the slaughter in the service of men and women who had more power and life than a normal man could dream of. They had so much, and yet somehow it was never enough to satisfy. There had been a time when the inevitable sacrifice seemed worthwhile, but that had proven to be as much a lie as everything else in his life.
As if sensing his thoughts, two more men pushed their way into the ring. They were larger than he and carried steel-studded cudgels. The Tairen cursed under his breath, his gaze raking the crowd that had gathered. He didn’t find the person he sought, but another face did jump out. Pale, beautiful, disdainfully distant… his head tilted despite himself as he met the woman’s green eyes. What are you doing here? A moment later he tore his attention away. She could not help him. He needed the woman who had arranged the fight.
At last he found her, dark-haired and sour faced, in sharp contrast to the beauty of the woman whose gaze he could still feel. The dark woman gave him a bland look as their eyes met. “Fight or you do lose your coin,” she called, her Illianer accent heavy. Dax bared his teeth at her, then shrugged acceptance of the change in rules. Everyone cheated, everyone lied; if he could count on anything, it was that. You’re learning. Dax growled in response.
His attention returned to his opponents. The four men had split, circling him like carrion eaters, their presumed victory evident in the way they carried themselves. Dax arched an eyebrow, spat again, and went to meet them. Where before he maintained an air of drunken shock at his success, now the heron spread its wings, shrouding him in darkness. A manic grin spread across his face as he ducked and wove, dodging weapons and blows as if made of water, hands and feet lashing out into every possible opening with inhuman speed.
Everyone cheated.
Everyone lied.
Everyone.
----
Cool air over wet skin paired with silence brought the sellsword back to himself. He blinked, shaking his head a little as he looked around. It felt as if an eternity had passed, and yet he could tell it had only been moments. Disgruntled people handed gold to those who looked both delighted and repulsed by their win. The woman who had arranged the fight knelt next to one of the larger men, seeming torn between cursing at him and cursing about him as her hands pressed a blood-stained cloth tight against his side. The scent of tabac and sweat and stale beer were heavy on the air, and lurid light from the lanterns cast long, jagged shadows across the circle.
Dax did not find what he sought in the milling mass of people, though he hardly dared admit he had been looking. After a moment of hesitation, he strode back to the edge of the open space, crouching to retrieve a cloth from the pile of things he had left there. Someone passed him a leather purse and a mug; Dax downed the beer without a word, counted the gold and shoved it in his pocket, then went about scrubbing himself clean of sweat and blood. There was little he could do for scrapes and cuts he had received, but he had had worse, and they would heal well enough in time. Then he tossed the rag aside and began to push himself back to his feet.
She stood not more than two spans away, her delicate scent reaching his nose even through the stench of the fight. The Gaidin’s look traveled up from the hem of her well-tailored dress, lingering appreciatively over the perfect curve of hip and waist. His lip caught between his teeth as his gaze took in the rise of her breasts, and by the time he came to a full stop on a familiar pale face, his blue eyes were smoldering. She regarded him with steady serenity, two elegant fingers pressed against a perfectly curved bottom lip that rested beneath breathtaking features that seemed both youthful and wise. The way her hair glowed like flames in the lamplight made up for her ageless face; Dax wet his lips, and tossed caution to the side.
Why settle for a barmaid who smelled like sour milk when there were so many better games to play? The Gaidin had little to lose, and much to gain. Without a trace of hesitation he took her free hand in his and bowed, his teeth flashing as he looked up at her. “Elia Sedai,” he said, his tone both respectful and warm. “You take a man’s breath away with your beauty.” His fingers were rough to the touch, but his grip on her hand gentle as his lips lightly brushed pale skin, then released her entirely. “To what do I owe-”
Someone in the crowd stumbled; someone else cursed and lashed out. A moment later a brawny figure stumbled and fell, his full weight crashing against an arm Dax had extended to shield the Indigo without thought. The Tairen wrenched his hand back, tossing the stranger away as if he weighed no more than a child’s toy. He snapped a curse when the man would have returned, then turned back to face Elia. “This place is about to get rowdy,” the Gaidin told the Aes Sedai, glancing around critically. “It would be my honor to take you somewhere less dangerous.”
The Blademaster twisted to land atop his prey with a growl akin to a rabid dog, fingers wrapping around his throat. Shadows danced through the Gaidin’s vision as his knee crushed into the other man’s back, his hands reluctantly peeling away from soft flesh to wrap into sweat-damp blonde hair. Then he yanked the stranger’s head back and slammed it into the pavement. Once, twice- he felt something crack and the man went limp. The sellsword wasted no time on false sympathy; instead he pushed himself forward, rolling to face the ring.
The crowd had thought it great sport, six men with weapons against one without. The fighters themselves had laughed about it before agreeing, their eyes shining at the prospect of easy gold. Naive of them. Idiotic, even. In the circles of Tanchico it might have been an entertaining game of cat and mouse with little danger of surprise. However, the fools had chosen to fight in Hama Valon, where any drunken ragged beggar might be much more than he appeared. Such it had been in this case, and they were finally beginning to realize it.
Blood trickled down his upper arm; Dax wiped it, then scrubbed his fingers over his breeches as he watched the pair in front of him. The first three had fallen quickly, serving as little more than human shields for the Gaidin as he faced the others. The fourth had dealt some damage in his desperation, but retribution had been rapid and lethal; even now, Dax could sense the fallen warrior being pulled away to safety. Would he live? Do we care, little brother? Jem laughed. No. The last two were wary and fast; one carried daggers, the other a sword.
The Tairen bided his time, shifting every so often to keep both men in his vision as he tugged the bandages about his forearms a little tighter. His knuckles had already bled through the rough white cloth, but the wraps were not intended to protect his hands. No one in Hama Valon would face him if they knew what he had earned. Better for him to hide the dark ink on his forearms; then he could fight until his breath ran ragged and his body screamed for rest.
What he had earned? The thought drifted back unbidden. Dax scowled and spat a sour taste out of his mouth. All he had earned was death, though the common folk of the world remained unaware of that fact. Gaidin trained to die, after all; it was their entire purpose in life. Sacrificial lambs to the slaughter in the service of men and women who had more power and life than a normal man could dream of. They had so much, and yet somehow it was never enough to satisfy. There had been a time when the inevitable sacrifice seemed worthwhile, but that had proven to be as much a lie as everything else in his life.
As if sensing his thoughts, two more men pushed their way into the ring. They were larger than he and carried steel-studded cudgels. The Tairen cursed under his breath, his gaze raking the crowd that had gathered. He didn’t find the person he sought, but another face did jump out. Pale, beautiful, disdainfully distant… his head tilted despite himself as he met the woman’s green eyes. What are you doing here? A moment later he tore his attention away. She could not help him. He needed the woman who had arranged the fight.
At last he found her, dark-haired and sour faced, in sharp contrast to the beauty of the woman whose gaze he could still feel. The dark woman gave him a bland look as their eyes met. “Fight or you do lose your coin,” she called, her Illianer accent heavy. Dax bared his teeth at her, then shrugged acceptance of the change in rules. Everyone cheated, everyone lied; if he could count on anything, it was that. You’re learning. Dax growled in response.
His attention returned to his opponents. The four men had split, circling him like carrion eaters, their presumed victory evident in the way they carried themselves. Dax arched an eyebrow, spat again, and went to meet them. Where before he maintained an air of drunken shock at his success, now the heron spread its wings, shrouding him in darkness. A manic grin spread across his face as he ducked and wove, dodging weapons and blows as if made of water, hands and feet lashing out into every possible opening with inhuman speed.
Everyone cheated.
Everyone lied.
Everyone.
----
Cool air over wet skin paired with silence brought the sellsword back to himself. He blinked, shaking his head a little as he looked around. It felt as if an eternity had passed, and yet he could tell it had only been moments. Disgruntled people handed gold to those who looked both delighted and repulsed by their win. The woman who had arranged the fight knelt next to one of the larger men, seeming torn between cursing at him and cursing about him as her hands pressed a blood-stained cloth tight against his side. The scent of tabac and sweat and stale beer were heavy on the air, and lurid light from the lanterns cast long, jagged shadows across the circle.
Dax did not find what he sought in the milling mass of people, though he hardly dared admit he had been looking. After a moment of hesitation, he strode back to the edge of the open space, crouching to retrieve a cloth from the pile of things he had left there. Someone passed him a leather purse and a mug; Dax downed the beer without a word, counted the gold and shoved it in his pocket, then went about scrubbing himself clean of sweat and blood. There was little he could do for scrapes and cuts he had received, but he had had worse, and they would heal well enough in time. Then he tossed the rag aside and began to push himself back to his feet.
She stood not more than two spans away, her delicate scent reaching his nose even through the stench of the fight. The Gaidin’s look traveled up from the hem of her well-tailored dress, lingering appreciatively over the perfect curve of hip and waist. His lip caught between his teeth as his gaze took in the rise of her breasts, and by the time he came to a full stop on a familiar pale face, his blue eyes were smoldering. She regarded him with steady serenity, two elegant fingers pressed against a perfectly curved bottom lip that rested beneath breathtaking features that seemed both youthful and wise. The way her hair glowed like flames in the lamplight made up for her ageless face; Dax wet his lips, and tossed caution to the side.
Why settle for a barmaid who smelled like sour milk when there were so many better games to play? The Gaidin had little to lose, and much to gain. Without a trace of hesitation he took her free hand in his and bowed, his teeth flashing as he looked up at her. “Elia Sedai,” he said, his tone both respectful and warm. “You take a man’s breath away with your beauty.” His fingers were rough to the touch, but his grip on her hand gentle as his lips lightly brushed pale skin, then released her entirely. “To what do I owe-”
Someone in the crowd stumbled; someone else cursed and lashed out. A moment later a brawny figure stumbled and fell, his full weight crashing against an arm Dax had extended to shield the Indigo without thought. The Tairen wrenched his hand back, tossing the stranger away as if he weighed no more than a child’s toy. He snapped a curse when the man would have returned, then turned back to face Elia. “This place is about to get rowdy,” the Gaidin told the Aes Sedai, glancing around critically. “It would be my honor to take you somewhere less dangerous.”