The Grey Tower

Liaran stepped though the gateway to see a green meadow dotted with huge trees. It looked like a wonderful place to spend a stolen afternoon, and as Liaran ate, seated on an oversized log, the Accepted began to relax. She made polite conversation with some of the others, though she focused on no one in particular. It seemed like a day of harmless fun until she stood and went to the food, looking for seconds. Holding a slice of pie, Liaran went back to the log where she'd been sitting, but the area seemed strangely empty, as if there were fewer of the others around than there had been when she'd left, only a moment ago. She would have ignored the feeling, reasoning that she must just be confused by the large group of strangers , until she heard the blond Accepted who'd brought them here ask where a couple of people had gone. Liaran's stomach flipped over as the Accepted realized that if the other girl was concerned, people must actually be gone. It wasn't just her after all.

It wasn't long after the blond girl spoke that others began asking questions of their own, naming people who seemed to have suddenly disappeared. One of the Dedicated suggested that they get to know each other, and though Liaran had no desire to do that at the moment, she did move closer to where most of the group seemed to have gathered, next to a small dark novice she also did not know. The Accepted reached for saidar, just to hold it. The familiar action made her feel a little calmer, until she heard the metallic sound of a sword being drawn. It startled her until she realized that the sound had come from the nearby Dedicated. What under the Light is he doing? Alarming as the situation was, Liaran couldn't see any reason for the man to be drawing his weapon until she caught sight of a hand and a foot sticking out from one of the trees.She turned slightly, and more of the body behind the tree came into view. The man was stuck to the tree in an awkward position, and Liaran realized than one of the men must be channeling, probably the Dedicated with the sword. The Dedicated yelled something about unwanted company, making her nervous. Are there more men out there? She couldn't see anyone, but with the amount of trees in the meadow, that didn't mean very much. If more are far enough away, we'll never be able to see them.

Instinctively, Liaran pulled threads of Fire, braiding them together. She added some Spirit and what little Earth she could manage to the weave, hoping it would work as she intended. If she were correct, the Spirit and Earth would stop the fire from burning the grass when she set it down, but she had never tried this before. Nervously, she pushed the weaves as far as she could get them from the group and laid the braid on the ground, hoping it would form a fiery barrier between them and anyone else who might be out there. She tied it off, but didn't release saidar. The flames were small, she hadn't been able to manage anything taller or more impressive, but Liaran still had hope that it might be enough to keep them protected for a short time.

Tristram didn’t particularly want to speak about his House, but he smiled and laughed and said all the right things, looking all the while for a chance to excuse himself. And when it came, he seized it, leaving the group behind, though he remained within hearing distance. Where was a roof when you needed it? At least he’d brought some tabac with him, and he’d snatched one of the bottles of oosquai as he went by the baskets, and so he smoked and drank straight from the bottle.

Fiona reminded him of his wife. Or, rather, she was nothing like his wife, and that was what made him miss his wife all the more. It hurt, and he didn’t want to hurt. He was supposed to be partying, having fun, relaxing, and generally enjoying the fact that he was away from the Tower. He should have been dancing a jig in regards to that one last fact alone. He should have been spinning in circles, jumping, leaping about. Instead, he felt like all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball, and all because of how fares House Baryn?

He took another swig oosquai, humming a wordless tune under his breath, when the sudden sound of a twig snapping had him spinning. Almost immediately, he seized saidin, fighting against its raging torrent. He found himself a face to face with a crossbow bolt. He grabbed strands of Air, weaved them together and lashed out with it. The Air struck the man, knocking him from his feet (and also knocking down the tree near him). Tristram didn’t pay attention to that, but wove strands of Fire next, creating a ball of fire, and threw it towards the man, even as he turned and ran, the bottle still in one hand. He didn’t wait to see if it hit.

It was then that the shouts started.

Kaira blinked at the air after the traveling gateway closed. Though the weave was gone, the ghosts of its threads hung in the air, like the afterglow of staring into a light too long. She had noticed that these images had recently appeared. She saw them everywhere in the Tower, little bundles of shimmering threads from the aftertouch of saidar. How annoying.

She turned away and settled down next to the others and was reaching for another slice of blueberry pie when Alric suddenly turned to her.

“Hey, Kaira,” he said, “Where’s your friend? The tall girl you’re always with.”

Kaira looked at him quizzically. Of course Nasrin was right here. Wait. Where was she? I’ll see you on the other side, her roommate had said, and then she had gone to talk to Jaren. She glanced around. It seemed that the group had become smaller. And where was Nasrin?

Then she heard the hiss of steel leaving its sheath as Alric drew his sword. She leapt to her feet and grasped reflexively for her hip before realizing that she no longer carried a sword - no, she had a far more effective weapon at her disposal. Kaira opened herself to saidar. Her eyes lit up with the fierce joy of surrendering to the Power.

Everything became clearer. The shadows of men peering from behind trees, the taunt bowstrings and flying arrows, the wild, wicked dance of chaos that had sudden erupted into action. Kaira was afraid, but her fear was outweighed by the rush of confidence that the Power brought. She drew deeply and grinned.

And then she wove. With a glance at a thin, dark-skinned Accepted and the shadows of her weave, Kaira created a rough imitation. Fire and Spirit and Earth, woven just so….

A small fire sputtered before her and then flickered out, leaving a pathetic wisp of smoke. Kaira stared, aghast, and then turned to search around the clearing for more weaves that she could see.

But there weren’t many other women channeling. Instead, what she saw was a very one-sided battle as fire blossomed from thin air, sending men falling to the ground, screaming in pain. Invisible restraints held others back against trees. A giant bird darted forward from Avyra’s arm, its talons ripping through a man, and retreated with blood dripping from its beak. The earth erupted, toppling trees and forcing a blinding cloud of dust into the air. Stupid bandits! Couldn’t they see that they were up against the Power, which was undefeatable?

Kaira grinned. It would be over in seconds.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around her neck and pulled her up from behind so that she dangled from the ground. How had he gotten behind her!? In her shock, she lost hold of saidar. Light! In the heat of battle, would anyone even notice through the dust and dirt and grime and blood? Kaira gasped and choked. She clawed at the man’s arm.

A raspy voice hissed in her ear. She froze.

“The blonde one. What’s her name?”

His arm loosened slightly, allowing her to suck in a deperate breath of air. Ha, like she would tell him! Kaira snarled and then kicked out. Immediately his arm tightened again and then something crashed into her head and she saw stars. She whimpered.

“Her name?”

She blinked blearily, hardly able to see through the dots in her vision. It was just a name. What’s the harm? She just wanted to live.

“Fiona,” she whispered.

The man leered down at her.

“Good girl,” he said. Then he smiled cruelly and twisted her arm behind her back. She winced. “Now scream it.”

Light forgive me, thought Kaira. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and screamed.

“FIONA!!!”

Fiona!

It was a terrified girls scream. Alric pivoted towards the sound sword at the ready. He hissed a course oath armed men rushing out of the trees. In their midst, Kaira struggled against large man’s grip. HIs armor seemed a little better than the others. Their leader maybe?

“Afanen, stay behind me,” Alric said in an authoritative voice before shouting, “Enemies to the rear!” Assuming Leopard in the High Grass, he attacked the first rader. Dodging past a battered short sword blade, Alric flowed into River of Light. There was a tug of resistance as his blade struck bone but he was past, the man’s sword arm spinning free in an arc of blood. Not stopping to finish the man, he attacked the next. Angry blue eyes glared from behind a big wooden shield as the man braced for Alric’s assault. Rain in High Winds hammered the shield leaving new scratches in the worn anvil sigel. Frustration tempered by the Void, Alric tried to hack his way past the man’s guard. He didn’t have time to play with this guy. He could feel a roiling anger growing within him as his blade struck wood again.

No, not anger… Saidin. He still wasn’t used to relying on the Power. No time like the present, Alric thought as he began to weave. Fire, lots of fire, was fortified with weaves of Air and Spirit. Alric didn’t weave them with his usual finesse, but he didn’t need to. His left hand darted out grabbing hold of the wooden shield and erupted in brilliant purple flame. Alric pulled his hand back unharmed as the man screamed and writhed as he tried to throw the shield down. The flame spread up his arm and began to engulf him.

He forged on, flinching away from the extreme heat of the writing, screaming, burning man. No time to feel anything: satisfaction, disgust, relief, nothing. Instead he searched. Where had Kaira’s captive gone? He should go after her. She was the Gaidin Captain’s daughter. Besides that, she was a good kid who didn’t deserve any of this. He could still hear fighting behind him. Those were good kids back there too. He couldn’t go running off to save a single Novice and leave the rest of them. They weren’t soldiers, just people. They needed his leadership and experience. “Grab a weapon, form up on me!” he shouted over the den, backing towards the center of the clearing. These kids needed a Captain.

Fiona was not prepared for how quickly the situation turned bad. Four were missing, and three of them relatively new to the Tower. Nate might be able to help them, but what if they weren’t together? The small woman fell silent and tried to gather her thoughts, but exhaustion had begun to creep through her bones. The One Power had no sympathy for those who overused it, and holding that Gateway had drained her.

My fault. Sort of. Fiona shook herself and pushed the metaphoric self-flagellation away. Blame did not matter, only action. She could not channel a significant amount, she had no bow. What would my mother do? There men -large, ugly men- attacking them, and chaos prevailed. When in doubt, fall back on the power of presence. Madene Trakand would lead, and thus the noblewoman's daughter straightened her shoulders and prepared to do the same.

She looked to Alric, but the Dedicated was fighting, truly fighting, sword flowing like a steel ribbon and fire blossoming wherever he pointed. No danger would approach them from the north - yet. The other three directions remained unguarded, however, and as she glanced around she realized that they had lost another of their number.

“Liaran,” Fiona said clearly, grabbing the Accepted's arm as she drew near. “I learned how to make lightning from Tia Sedai, but I am not strong enough to do anything worthwhile. You probably already know, but just in case-” She demonstrated, a spark of light appearing between her thumb and forefinger then diminishing. “It seems likely to work better for you than the Earth-based weaves," she explained. "Please defend us...I cannot." She hated to say those words. Light, she hated it.

“Avyra,” she called to the other Accepted as she turned away, “Link with Affie and make lightning and wind!” She turned toward Azil, intending on giving him and Kaira similar instructions, when she heard someone shrieking over the sound of the others fighting.

“Fiona!”

The Andoran ducked instinctively as she turned, but nothing approached. Only a few spans away a very large man in leather armor held a much smaller woman in white, the woman’s arm twisted up behind her in a way that made Fiona wince. “Good to have your attention, m’lady,” the man said mockingly, his speech slurred by broken teeth. “Unless you want your friend to die, you’ll be coming with me now.” A knife had appeared in his hand, the point pressed against Kaira’s throat.

Fiona’s hand lifted over her shoulder, remembering too late that she lacked a weapon. The man laughed. “You have five seconds, sugar plum. My men are dying because of your twinkle-fingered friends, and I’d as soon be off.”

Azil was too new to channeling to help, the others too busy defending themselves. After half a breath of hesitation, Fiona walked forward. “Release her, right now,” she said, putting her chin up, “and you can have me. I’m worth more to the lady of this land anyway.”

“I thought so.” The bandit shoved Kaira away so hard the novice fell on her face, then reached for the Andoran, a big hand wrapping around her wrist. “Fiona Trakand, is it? I’m Deen. I hope you like it rough, m’lady. My men ain’t seen the fairer sex since last Sunday.” His voice was mocking, his eyes leered; he hoisted her off the ground with barely a grimace, and turned to walk away.

Fiona closed her eyes and breathed, the warmth of saidar wrapping around her like a cloak. She had been in worse situations; she had survived the Seanchan, an explosion, even a Bubble of Evil and Shadowspawn, and still she lived. She would continue to do so, and this brute of a man would not stop her! The Accepted reached up with her free hand, her small fingers wrapping around his throat without effect. He chortled at her, amused by what he perceived as an effort to fight.

Fighting was not what the small Andoran had in mind. Not of the physical variety, anyway. She did need to touch him to do what she had in mind, however, and if he wanted to mock her rather than stop her from doing so, so much the better. The flows she wove felt alien, a bastardization of a weave that came to her as naturally as breathing, yet they, too, came easily. Spirit first. The net wrapped around and through the man’s throat and into his head. It swept through his brain, noting every twitch and pulse and shiver of movement there. There, and there, if touched just right… Air followed, then Fire, wrapping together and simply….cut...the places her instinct told her would be most effective.

The grip on her arm abruptly went limp.

Fiona dropped to the ground, stumbling and falling to her bottom with her hands palms down behind her as she stared up at her would-be captor in confusion. He stood blank-faced and still, staring straight ahead as if completely unaware of his surroundings. Even as she watched a bead of red liquid formed in his nostril and flowed down his face unchecked. A moment later he simply….collapsed, the expression on his face never shifting from its contemplation of nothing.

“What did I do?” The Accepted whimpered, scrambling backward as her vision swooped and dove from exhaustion. “What did I do?”

Liaran's rather inadequate weave of Fire had dissipated a long time ago, leaving the group with far too little protection. With the armed men attacking from all sides, she didn't dare take time to try again. Instead, the Accepted raised a hand, quickly forming, then throwing, a blazing ball of fire. It wasn't large, but if she could throw them with enough accuracy, they didn't need to be. She wove and threw, again and again, missing her targets far more often than not. In truth, the Accepted was having difficulty convincing herself that aiming for the men was the right thing to do, bandits or not, and what few of her targets she hit were trees and patches of grass, near enough to the men that Liaran hoped she'd be able to scare them off.

Unfortunately, her plans did not work out as the Accepted had hoped. She was quick with fireballs, the weaves springing to life in her hands almost without any effort from her, but she wasn't fast enough. The bandits stepped easily around the burning areas, closing in on them. She couldn't increase her speed, couldn't manage more than two balls at once, although she did try it, and though Liaran thought the fire was driving some of the men back, more were slipping around her, off to the side where she was not focusing her attentions. As she struggled to keep up, someone grabbed her sharply by the arm. Liaran whirled around, raising the other hand and weaving fire, but the face looking at her did not belong to any of the bandits. She sighed in relief, realizing it was only Fiona, suggesting that she switch over to lightning and demonstrating the weave. Contrary to the other Accepted's expectations, Liaran hadn't known how to call lightning before that moment. Tia Sedai had promised to teach her when Liaran's lessons under her were coming to an end, and since she had no reason not to believe the Green, Liaran had had no reason to go behind her instructor's back and seek the weave out for herself.

Or at least, that had been true, until now. Liaran watched Fiona's tiny weave carefully. It looked simple enough to her, using her stronger elements. She did not worry about what Tia Sedai would have to say. If she did not attempt the weave now, Liaran thought there was a good chance that she wouldn't live to see the Tower, or the Green, ever again. She pulled together the weaves of Air and Fire, hurling it towards one of the bandits nearest to her. It was easier to direct the larger weave than it had been to throw fireballs with accuracy, but her first attempt still failed to land on the attacker she had been aiming towards. Lightning fell, igniting the grass, but it failed to deter any of their attackers. Liaran rushed to reform the weave, and this time, the weaves struck her mark. Her intention had been to hit a leg or an arm, but she was slightly off, and lightning hit the bandit squarely in the chest. The man screamed, seeming to convulse before he fell to the ground and out of the Accepted's sight.

Liaran felt her stomach twist inside her. Is he dead? She picked up her skirts, freeing her legs, and ran to where she thought the man had fallen. Something smelled awful, and the Accepted wrinkled her nose. It smells...burnt. It reminded her of the large pans she'd washed many times as a novice after meals, but it wasn't quite the same. Looking down, Liaran saw the body of the bandit she'd struck, head twisted awkwardly to the side and dark eyes no longer seeing. A large black slash on his shirt, with smoke still rising from it, left no doubt in her mind that this was the man she'd hit, and that he was definitely dead. Her stomach heaved again, and Liaran fell to her knees in the grass and bent over, desperately trying not to be sick. She didn't have time for that! The part of her that wanted to lay down in the grass and be sick was horrified by what she had done, but a colder, more logical side of her told the Accepted that she didn't have much choice if she wanted to return to the Tower alive. When her stomach had settled, Liaran looked around her to see that the battle had not slowed down one bit. In fact, another bandit appeared to have spotted her in her moment of weakness and was racing towards her, wielding a rather large knife. Unarmed with physical weapons, Liaran knew what she had to do, and pulled threads of Fire and Air to her hands. Lightning flashed through the air, and this time, the Accepted had aimed to kill.

The bandit shook and fell, much like the first one had, but this time, Liaran only felt a cold sort of pride in herself. The sight of the body still bothered her, and while she wished she had not had to kill him, she knew her action had been necessary to preserve her own life, and unhappily acknowledged that this was probably not going to be the last life she had to take today. She forced herself to her feet, and began to scan the field for other attackers. As the battle continued, Liaran couldn't say how many of her weaves found their marks, and she didn't really want to know. Lightning, she had found, was significantly more draining than fireballs, and the last threads she'd drawn had been nearly painful. She knew that the first signs of pain were a warning, and that she risked burning herself out if she pushed too hard. Reluctantly, the Accepted let go of saidar, forcing herself to rest although it was the last thing she wanted to do. The battle continued around her, the flow of bandits from the woods showing no sign of slowing down. Light, will this ever end?

So much screaming. Too much noise. Too many people, all ordering and telling and saying what to do. Affie bristled at Alric’s words; was supposed to be trying to protect him, not the other way around! Seconds later, the small Novice realized how stupid that was. Didn’t know how to fight. Didn’t really know how to channel. Wanted to help... wanted desperately to help... could start by staying out of the way. Scarred fingers gripped onto the bottle, hanging onto it for dear life.

Had liked the idea of protecting him. Had liked the idea of keeping him safe. Had liked the idea of maybe even saving his life. Wasn’t doing that now - was scared and wanted somewhere quiet and safe to hide. Dark eyes were perfectly round as steel flashed, blood spurting and arcing through the air in front of her. Had wanted to be a Gaidin. The slight Altaran realized with a start that she was staring at Alric’s back. Had wanted to be his Warder. There. Said it. Her bottom lip mashed against her teeth, Affie creeping forward a little at a time on her hands and knees. Gaidin didn’t run. Warders didn’t hide.

Was a Novice now, but didn’t matter.

Affie fumbled for saidar again. Would actually become a flower if it meant she could hold onto the Power long enough to do something with it. Please... please... want to help... want to help him... please... Others needed help too. Nate was still missing. Warmth and joy leapt into her chest. Not really the time to be happy...? Several seconds ticked by before she realized what it was. She dropped the bottle, reaching instead for the glistening blue and shimmering silver that danced behind her eyes.

No idea what she was doing. Could be a very bad idea, but getting hurt or dying was an even worse one, so Affie began to weave. Slowly, clumsily, but whatever it was took the shape of a crooked bowl. A fine (if uneven) net of blue and silver, a lattice of silver and blue. Put it at the feet of one of the nearby bandits, beneath the ground. Had to shove it down, a sense of resistance pushing back against her. When it... felt settled, she pulled on the shiny strings, more a tug, and a shiver shot through her body. Was an odd... sucking sound, and then swirling water oozed up from the ground. An empty patch of grass churned oddly, becoming a bare brownish blob.

Took too long, however, the bandit clearing the area before the weave had finished taking shape.

She frowned, letting go of the flows before trying again. This time, her aim was better. Close enough to the bandit’s leading foot, enough so that he lost his balance and stumbled in the new patch of sticky mud. Affie didn’t hesitate, snatching up the bottle again, somehow steady on her feet as she darted over to the bad man. Without batting an eye, she lifted her arm and brought the bottle crashing down on his head as hard as she possibly could.

The man dropped.

“For ruining the picnic!” The small Novice cracked him over the head again for good measure before straightening. The look in her eyes was fierce, chin lifting almost challengingly as she turned back towards Alric. Had said to stay behind him, was still technically behind him... Something slammed into her side and she was thrown sideways. Eyes hurt. Ears ringing... body hurt. Breathing hurt. Shouldn’t hurt... why hurt? She blinked, sitting up groggily. Black uniform was sideways...? Sideways... She gasped, scrambling forward on all fours over the smoking ground. Why smoking? Alric’s uniform was wrinkled and patches were missing.

She patted at his chest, frantic, noting that he was still breathing. Left behind dark glistening handprints that blended into the dark fabric. Was bleeding? Affie blinked dazedly down at her hands. Large gash in one of her palms... half dozen cuts on fingers... the bottle... broke when she fell... how? How’d she fall? Something... hit her. Hit Alric too... Avyra. Was supposed to... link with Avyra... the Accepted with the bird? Could help. Had to protect him.

“Be back,” she whispered solemnly into the unconscious Dedicated’s ear before kissing his cheek. Affie bounded to her feet again, grabbing at the nearest person in uniform. She yanked them around and stared up at them. “Keep him,” a point at Alric, “safe or will hit you with something heavy when I get back.”

It did not take long to find the Accepted in question, the small Novice planting herself directly in Avyra’s path. “Supposed to link,’’ she began curtly. “Don’t know how. Teach me, then help fight. Alric’s unconscious, needs help too.”

Consciousness returned slowly and painfully. The ground lurched below him as he tried pushing himself into a sitting position. A few feet away another bandit was laboriously trying to pull himself up as well. His sword was no where to be found. Instead, Alric lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. He might not have been a brawler, but the Mayener knew how to throw a punch. A barrage of blows hammered down into the bandit’s face, propelled by Muscles honed by years fighting with swords and pikes. The man collapsed under the assault as he tried to shield his face. Straddling the bandit, he continued raining punches, bellowing in unrestrained aggression. Alric's hand shot towards the man's belt groping for his belt knife. It was gone too.

His head snapped to the side as the man managed to land a punch. Alric caught the next one and slammed a return fist into the man’s throat with a meaty crunch. Alric didn't pull the fist back, instead leaning into it. Pinning the man's arm under a boot, Alric leaned his entire weight onto that one point in his neck until he stopped moving.

Panting, Alric collapsed to the side trying to catch his breath. Battle still raged around him. He couldn't just lay here. Climbing to his feet, he searched for a way to help. Where was his bloody sword? He was woefully dependant on the thing.

His heart lurched, one of the bandits had Affie cornered. She backed away, with a determined look on her face, but she wasn't a match for him. Judging by his body language he knew that.
“No!” Alric shouted as he lunged forward, only to topple to his hands and knees. Something has his ankle! Turning, he could see the bandit he's just assaulted clutching his pant leg in an iron fist. I just killed you! Alric tugged trying to pull free. The bandit pulled himself to his feet kicking Alric in the ribs.

He suppressed the pain, glancing again towards Affie. She was still alive, but she was running out of time. Alric cloaked himself in the Void. He wouldn't make it in time, at least he could buffer himself against what would come next.

“No,” he growled. He wasn't beat yet. He would fight on, with his bare hands. With everything he had. He could feel it. For the first time, he could feel it without holding a weapon. He would fight them with the Power!

Reaching out physically and mentally, he grabbed it. Saidin was as good a sword as any. He swung, severing the bandits arm at the shoulder in a red orange flash. Extstic, Alric looked down at his One Power sw… Cook pot? Did that even make sense? The memory of once reaching for a cook pot as a weapon came to mind as he hurled a spear of flame to Affie’s attacker.

Standing, Alric grinned, flames swirling dancing in the air around him. He'd protect his friends without a sword. He was the sword now.