The Grey Tower

Johan wasn’t sure why he had admitted all that he just had, and he could feel his cheeks burning slightly with embarrassment. It was typical that this was happening with the Mistress of Arms. It couldn’t have been just another Ji’val, could it? Or he couldn’t possibly have had things go smoothly here.

Trying his best not to let it show just how much he was bothered by the whole thing, he unbuckled his sword belt and placed both sword and sheath to the side. He didn’t want the sword to hinder his movements, perhaps tangle in his legs, or anything like that. After all, you didn’t fight with your sword still sheaved. He wanted things to be as close to normal as possible.

He quickly tested the weight of the practice sword to try and get a feel for it. Some, he knew, were often weighted, made heavier than the actual sword to build strength in the muscle, but this one wasn’t any heavier than his own sword.

Finally, he looked back at Riahana, taking another deep breath. He didn’t try and feel calm, but he let his frustration come to the fore, let it drive him forward and give weight to his blows.

And then he was moving.

He thrust with his sword, the point aimed at Riahana’s throat, but already knowing that the strike would be blocked. He had test, to see, to assess her own reactions and formulate a plan from that. He pulled back, making sure to keep his sword raised, ready to block any incoming attack. He kept his balance central at all times, his knees slightly bent, one foot slightly in front of the other, even when he moved. It would make it harder for him to lose his balance or trip or fall. You could hardly defend if your stance, your whole body, wasn’t solid.

He sprang forward again, this time feinting to the left and then the right, following with a slashing, arcing blow, very similar to one of the forms she had shown him. That was followed by another strike, the moves bleeding and flowing into each other so that they were continuous, very like the steps in a dance.

There was a certain grace to his moves, a certain confidence. They weren’t completely polished, but they probably never would be. You couldn’t take the Rahad from him.

Not everyone who came through the Warder Yards embraced the Void. Some counted on using their emotions to drive them in a fight, and for many it worked. Ria long ago stopped judging those who chose another path, as theirs was not hers to walk. Johan seemed to let his emotions drive his actions. He moved forward and thrust, a move easy to read and easy to parry. She followed through with a thrust of her own, knowing he was testing her as much as she was testing him.

Riahana earned her fancloak perhaps about the time the boy in front of her was being born. She’d held a sword for as many years as he’d been alive. She earned the right to bare the title Blademaster, though wasn’t one to flaunt it. She did, though put her years of experience to work every time she crossed blades with someone, whether it was with practice lathes or steel.

The Ji’Val let his frustrations be known. He didn’t want to be treated like a novice, which Ria could understand. She told him not to hold back, and meant it. If he hoped to find a weakness, he’d have to work for it. No one was perfect with any weapon, not even a blademaster, but Johan would have to work hard if he intended to get a touch on her.

He feinted one way and then the other before bringing his blade around in an arc that flowed into another strike. Each of them were forms or variants of forms Ria knew. She stayed on the defensive, easily parrying one strike after another. He wasn’t as graceful as some with the sword, but he could hold his own, to be sure.

Ria parried a strike with a horizontal cross-parry and kept her blade engaged against Johan’s as she stepped around, using the movement to apply leverage on her blade in such a way as to bring the point to his neck. Her leg behind one of his, she applied pressure and pushed. It was a test to see how good his center of gravity was. The Lightning Strikes the Oak could be a finishing move if the opponent did fall.

Johan had a reputation of being a scrappy fighter, and his footwork seemed good, but this would test how good.

A horn sounded out, and Ria disengaged, looking towards the source of the sound. Three long bursts followed by a pause, then repeated. She could hear people yelling. “Seems our lesson may need to wait. . .someone’s raised the alarm. Grab your sword. . .I suspect our blades will be needed!”

Johan almost fell, his balance slightly off, but the horn sounded at just that moment and everything was forgotten. He stopped, turning, unease and dread filling him. There hadn’t been an alarm since he’d come here, and he didn’t want to think too much about just what such a thing meant. He only needed to add two and two together to get the likely answer given where they were, and that was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to contemplate. They’d always been a myth until now. Just stories.

His thoughts lasted barely a second before he was reacting, dropping the practice sword and grabbing his own sword, instantly drawing it an exact imitation of Unfolding the Fan, though he’d never admit to doing it. It wasn’t that. He left the belt and sheath behind. No doubt he wouldn’t need it. People were still shouting, and he glanced at Riahana once, debating whether or not to wait for her to tell him what to do, but soon decided against it. If he ever became a Warder, he would have to act on his own initiative. Warders weren’t just common soldiers, incapable of making decisions and acting on their own, and, right now, seeing what was going on and helping where he could was worth any amount of trouble he might later get into.

Sword in his hand, he left the courtyard behind and headed back to main, breaking into a run just in time to hear, “Trollocs!”

It didn’t take long for Ria and Johan to make it to the main courtyard. On the walls above them, archers were moving into position, bows at the ready. Near the gate were a group of men and women, mostly Citadel guards and some other Gaidin and Ji’Val. Their commander stepped over to Ria, “Mistress, we’ve spotted Trollocs heading this way. No estimate on numbers. Archers are at the ready, and we’ve got a group to intercept.”

Ria looked from the commander to the group of men and women behind him, then to Johan, “We’ll join them. The Citadel is yours, Commander. I’ll lead the group if you want to coordinate things here.”

“Thank you, Mistress. Your expertise would be welcome,” he replied before looking over his shoulder, “Darnay. . .you take your orders from the Mistress of Arms. All of you are to come back in one piece, ya hear?” He looked back to her, “I leave them in your hands.” He moved off and started barking orders to the archers.

Ria looked to Johan, and then the group, “Let’s go. Once outside the walls, form a line. We’ll intercept them thirty paces out.” Too close or too far, and the archers would be ineffective. Looking to those manning the gate, she gave one simple nod. The heavy gates to the Citadel swung open, and Ria’s group advanced.

As they marched out, she looked to Johan, “Have you faced Trollocs before?”

The Ji’Val shook his head, “No.”

For a brief moment, she wondered if she should tell him to return to the Citadel. Part of the reason he was here, though, was to gain experience. “They’re big, but not as slow as their size might suggest. They aren’t the brightest, but their size and strength makes up for their general lack of intelligence.

“Don’t try and be a hero, and by that, I mean don’t try and take on more than one at a time if you can help it,” she explained. “I’d rather not have anyone bite off more than they can chew out here. Hold the line, and don’t be afraid to call for help if you feel you are about to be overwhelmed.” She looked down the line, “That goes for all of you!”

The Trollocs closed distance, and she let the Void settle over her once again. Bringing her sword up into a horizontal guard, she took on The Leaf Floating on the Breeze which would allow her to take more of a defensive or offensive stance, depending on what the Trollocs threw at her. She looked down the line, “Stand ready!”

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and then speed up to double time all at once as the Trollocs collided with their line. Everyone was engaged, and in that moment, Ria couldn’t worry too much about those who stood with her, as she had one very angry Trolloc baring down on her with another one not far behind.

Johan had never even seen a Trolloc, let alone faced one. Before this, they had always been something out of a story, something told to keep the kids in bed. He hadn’t believed they were real, and never in a million years would he have guessed that he would end up fighting one. This was as far from the Rahad as you could get. His friends would be laughing.

He could feel his heart start to pound as he joined the line, straining to see them, even though they were only a dark blot against the horizon. Even so, there was the thought that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t made for this, and that he’d better off retreating, but he quickly suppressed them. In a way, this was easier. Trollocs weren’t human. He wasn’t facing people who had thoughts and feelings, who might have forced into this, or who, under difference circumstances, could have been his friends. Trollocs lived to kill. It was kill or be killed. They were creatures of the Shadow. They couldn’t be redeemed.

He tightened his grip on his sword, and then saw them. They truly were straight out of some nightmare, beasts and humans blended together. He didn’t want to think how they had come to be; what must have been done. Thankfully, he didn’t have the time as one came charging towards him. It had a beak, hoofed feet, but human hands, and it towered far, far above him.

Hold the line.

Determination swept through him, and he forgot all else and simply focused on the creature in front of him. He held his sword before him in a defensive stance, his feet braced. The Trolloc raised its own weapon and slashed at him, and Johan quickly sidestepped. The momentum carried the Trolloc forward, and Johan stepped forward and thrust his sword at the creature, throwing his weight behind it. The sword bit, slicing into its arm, but the move only seemed to enrage it, and it charged forward to attack again. This time the creature’s blade came flashing towards his face. He jerked his head back, twisted away again, spun, and then struck once more, his sword darting out in a sweeping arc. Again, it only grazed the creature, and, gritting his teeth, he darted forward once more. This time he drove the sword up towards the Trolloc’s stomach, using his own momentum to put weight behind the blow. He twisted the blade, flicking his wrist, even as he continued to push up with it, trying to cause as much internal damage as he could. The Trolloc let out an agonised roar as he ripped his sword free. Blood spilled from the wound, and the creature fell away.

And Johan only turned to face the next, sword already raised in a defensive position, guard up, feet braced, eyes searching.

Ready.