The Grey Tower

Johan didn’t need to be told about muscle memory. It was the one thing that was getting him through all his classes. Long after his fellow Drin were asleep, he was practicing, going through drills, repeating forms, working his way through the same steps over and over again until the next move became so natural that he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. It was a greater counter to the nerves that he so often felt; he stopped thinking, let his instincts kick in, and simply reacted to what he was giving.

It was that that had him twisting away, moving out of the Aiel’s reach as the spear came towards him. He gripped the spear with one hand.

He took a breath, forcing himself to keep moving, to make a harder target. And then he struck out, feinting high, towards the Aiel’s chest, and then low, towards his groin, hoping to draw the Aiel into the feint, and then he drove the spear high again, towards Terric’s chest, though this time he put all his weight behind it. The moves were a blur, taking mere seconds, one strike flowing into another, one after the other after the other. Clack, clack, clack.

He doubted he would hit the Aiel first time, but, even so, it was a good way of testing and probing for weakness.

They met with a clatter of wood against hide as Terric caught the blows on his buckler. His own spear flicked out stopping inches from his student’s face.

“Keep your buckler up, Johan Ablaer,” Terric said before pivoting away from the boy’s counter attack. “Good, keep the pressure up,” Terric encouraged, letting himself be driven back. There would be no point in simply overwhelming his student or beating him up. What would that prove? No, this exercise was as much about building Johan Ablaer’s confidence as it was about testing his skills. That said, he wouldn’t make it too easy on the boy. He stabbed out at about throat level, planning to stop short. The short Drin was already ducking and the practice spear split the air above his head. As Terric pulled his spear back to attack again, Johan Ablaer lunged forward releasing a handful of sand into Terric’s face.

By reflex, Terric closed his eyes and brought his buckler up as the tiny grains struck his eyes. Bad move. He grunted as the first blow struck his stomach. Blinking away sand, he lept free assuming an offensive posture to keep his opponent at bay. “Clever move, boy, just don’t think you’ll get away with that twice,” Terric said as he laughed and blinked away sand.

Johan took the momentary pause to brush the hair from his eyes, and he gave a grim smile as he carefully assessed his opponent. The Aiel was taller than him, stronger, too, but hopefully that meant that Johan was the quicker of the two. More muscle meant more weight, which usually meant less speed and agility. Johan was certainly younger, and hopefully that counted for something, too.

He gripped the buckler tightly in his hand, keeping the shield up (ha!), and then dove forward, driving it up even higher towards Terric’s face with the aim of smashing the Aiel’s nose. He had no intention of holding back, because the likelihood of those blows landing, he knew, was slim. Terric had years more experience. The spear followed the buckler, jabbing again at the Aiel’s chest, once, twice, in quick succession, and then, since there had been no negative reaction to the sand, he kicked out, using the momentum from that to push and duck away from any incoming strike. He felt the blow land, but didn’t check to see where it had actually struck, though he had aimed for the groin.

Putting a few feet between them, he circled, and then grinned, enjoying himself, lowering the buckler and giving the impression that he was relaxing his guard. “I should’ve brought a teapot along, old man.”

Eyes bulging, Terric let out a startles sound somewhere between a grunt and a squeek. The practice spear struck high on his thigh. If he hadn't twisted at the last second, things would have turned out in a fight ending manner.

He let out a deep belly laugh as he assumed a new stance. “That was quite a quite a sound wasn’t it? I did not even know I could make one like it,” he said, mirth evident in his tone. “Try not to do that in practice though, I need those.”

Launching himself forward in another series of attacks, he said, “In a real fight, don't hold back.”
The combatants separated again and Terric said, “I have a deal for you, a wager of sorts. Knock my spear from my hand and I buy you a tea pot. However, if I knock yours from your hands You will carry two sandbags for a week. Deal?” Terric settled into a slight crouch waiting for the next attack.

If this had been a real fight, Johan probably wouldn’t have stuck around. He knew when he was outclassed and when he stood no chance, and this, if it had been a real fight, would definitely have been such a case. There was no point in getting unnecessarily hurt when the outcome was inevitable and unlikely to change. No one stood a chance against an Aiel.

But this, as Terric had said, was practice, and so Johan gave it his all.

He managed to block all the attacks, bringing up his buckler and then his spear to catch each blow, before stepping away again, widening the gap once more.

He smiled. “How about a gold teapot? I’ve always fancied one.”

Not waiting for a response, he sprang forward again, feinting, blocking, attacking, the spear and buckler becoming almost a blur. The clack, clack, clacks rang out across the training ground, and Johan gritted his teeth, determined to be the one to win. There was the temptation to kick out again, to lash out with his knee or his foot, but he wanted to win on the merit of what he learned with the spear and the buckler.

Suddenly, using all his speed and agility, he aimed for the Aiel’s wrist, striking first with the spear, and then bringing the buckler down, using the edge to drive down. It would hurt far more.

Finally, he stepped back, still clutching his spear, though he was panting for breath and covered in sweat, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He was grinning, though, as he said, “I think you owe me a teapot, old man.”

“That was number three, good job,” Terric said, ruefully rubbing his knuckles. He slid his foot under his spear kicking it up into the air and snagging it. “I think a gold tea pot is a little excessive. Nor, can I afford one. Maybe a nice ceramic one or cast iron,” Terric said, leading the way back onto the path. They took off running again, spears and bucklers at the ready. Johan Ablaer liked to complain, but he was learning well. Terric’s bruised knuckles proved that. He had a long way to go, but Terric was determined to keep working him until any algaid’d’siswai would be happy to fight by his side.

A week later, when the Drin showed up for his training session, he found Terric waiting for him with a small parcel at his feet. The Aielman handed him the box. He opened it to reveal a small, green, cast iron tea pot. “Don’t lose that,” Terric said as he motioned his student to follow. It amused him to think the young man assumed he had been bluffing about the tea pot.