The Grey Tower

Although the exact nature of Dax’s sentence remained a mystery to those who manned the Citadel, everyone knew he had not been assigned there by choice. Those who had not seen him being escorted to the infirmary after his arrival found out soon enough. Gaidin were too honorable to gossip or treat him poorly, but their silent judgment turned out to be harsh enough.

The Armsmaster -a burly man named Oniko- set him to work as soon as his feet could support him, wholly ignoring Dax’s muttered imprecations. From the moment he could sit up unaided the next day, the Tairen ripped cotton for bandages, folded linens, and sorted herbs. The next morning he spent several hours in the kitchen learning to chop onions to the exact width required of the master of that cavernous pit.

The third day the Yellow on duty declared him fit for work, and he was put into the regular chores and patrol roster. Somehow he found himself on every undesirable chore and patrol, and knew better than to say anything about it. He kept his distance from those around him, not caring to answer their questions or see their sidelong glances. He discovered soon after his arrival that he had been summarily denied access to alcohol. “So long as you remain under my command, you will remain sober,” Oniko told him in a chilly tone. Dax’s hand rose to unclasp the brooch at his throat before he could take a breath, but Oniko stopped him with one large hand. “If you still want to give it to me at the end of the month, I will take it. Not until then. Go.”

That afternoon he poured his anger and frustration out in the practice courts. At first he worked with his sword, but the ritual movements of the forms reminded him of Riahana. She had treated him as an equal, something few other warriors had done without being shown the error of their ways first. She had taken the time to teach him the forms, knowing he did not like them. She had even trusted him enough to test him. And how had he repaid her? “Mother’s milk in a cup!” He scowled and tossed his sword aside, ignoring the clatter as it hit the stone floor of the courts.

“Afraid of sticking yourself, southerner?” He felt fingers on the back of his neck, sliding up into his hair. He jerked around to find Malina Gaidar standing there, one hand on her hip, the other within a finger’s breadth of his face. “You don’t seem to enjoy that sword all that much,” the small woman commented. She was clad in black breeches made of soft leather and a light cotton shirt that displayed her body to perfection. “Why do you carry it?”

The Tairen’s eyes traveled along the perfect curve of her body, admiring the sleek muscle he could see. When his eyes finally returned to her face, he saw the barest hint of a knowing smile on those ruby lips, and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said irritably, examining his fingernails.

“Well then, let me tell you.” Malina leaned down and picked his sword up. She tested the balance and made an appreciative sound, then studied the steel with a practiced eye as she spoke again. “This fancy bit of metal reminds you of the mistakes you’ve made, and every time you hold it, you remember a past you cannot change. Sound about right?”

He stared at her in unfeigned shock until she strode past him to place his sword on the rack against the wall. She returned a moment later, to look up at him with pursed lips. “What you need is distraction,” she told him. “Something new to focus on and knock the dust out of your brain. I’ve seen you beating at the practice dummies when you’re angry- there are better ways to go about that, you know.”

“I know,” Dax said dryly, “I’ve seen you fight.” He settled back on his heels, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “I throw everything I have at a fight, it’s the only way I know. I can’t imagine moving like you do.”

She leaned forward, quirking red lips, green eyes meeting his matter of factly. “That’s because you lack style, southerner,” she drawled, her face so close he could feel her breath. “All it takes is some guidance- and I can give you that. You know where to find me when you want to learn.” She pressed the tips of two slender fingers to his lips and walked away.

You know where to find me if you want me, peacock. The phantom figure of Katrie looked over her shoulder at him in his mind, then walked away into golden sunset. He covered his face with his hands, struggling to suppress the surge of feelings that the memory had caused. He did know where to find her...and he could not go.

A week passed before Dax decided to take Malina up on her offer. He found her in the courts, haranguing a group of Drin’far’ji through a series of wince-worthy movements. When she saw him, she moved to stand so close her shoulder brushed his side. “Meet me here at dawn tomorrow,” she told him without preamble. “Wear soft clothes.”

When he met her in the practice courts the next day, she wore very nearly the same outfit she had the first time, and she made no pretense about watching him as he stripped away coat, sword belt, and leather armor. “Your body has the flashy look of a Tinker’s cart,” she commented in that too-familiar tone, “but you move like a rusty wagon. We can fix that. Take your boots off.” He hesitated, and she raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. Finally he crouched to pull his laces loose, muttering imprecations under his breath.

When he stood, she flowed around him like water as she examined him. She stopped behind him and ran light fingers up his spine. “Good posture, but too heavy on the shoulders. That is common with those who favor a sword.” She put her fingers on either side of his shoulders, tugging until he straightened to his full height. “Much better. Practice holding it just so.”

Feeling a bit like a prize animal at a fair, Dax then followed her guidance through a series of arm and leg movements. Bending, stretching, and twisting, he felt muscles begin to burn that he had not known existed. Finally the tiny Saldaean stopped, once again facing him with hands on hips. He wiped his face with his arm and grinned at her. “Don’t get too cocky, you have your work cut out for you.”

“I’m stuck here for a long time, I may as well make good use of my time,” he responded, stretching to alleviate the tension that had built between his shoulders as they worked. Her eyes caught on his and then deliberately dropped to study his body. He froze with arms over his head, cheeks burning, until she finally looked away.

“I heard rumors about you,” Malina commented, walking over to peer up at him curiously. “You’re more reserved than I expected, and that blush is adorable.” She poked him hard in the chest. “Let’s hope you have more to show on the field. Hit me.” He shook his head at the echo of his own words to Katrie, balled up his fist, and punched her. He didn’t even see her move, but her hand knocked his fist aside with no apparent effort. “Try again.”

She tested the limits of his temper, his tolerance, and his knowledge of martial combat over the course of the next few hours. She made him demonstrate every punch, kick, jab, and street fighting trick he knew. She repositioned his feet and his arms again and again, and took to punching him between the shoulder blades with the side of her hand when he forgot to keep his back straight.

She also seemed to take fiendish delight in confusing him in other ways. One minute she slapped the back of his head for watching her and the next she made a great show of running her hands up her legs while showing him the proper posture for a high kick. She rippled around him, caressing, directing, and pummeling by turns, until the sun touched the western horizon.

She walked away without preamble, turning at the door to the court to say, “Run around the Citadel at least ten times before you sleep tonight, and again in the morning.” He yelped an indignant objection, and she gave him an irritated look. “For that, you run fifteen times- barefoot.” She paused, then added, “don’t forget you asked for this.”

“Pay attention,” the tiny Gaidar said sharply, leaning over to push her face within a hand’s breadth of his own. She pursed her lips, and he hastily jerked away. “I’ve heard you say honor gets a man killed. You know what else gets a man killed? Irrational, unfocused emotion. You’re a disaster waiting to happen, southerner.” Her finger drove into his shoulder with each word.

He sat back, scowling. “I don’t understand what the point of this…ko’di…is,” he told her, his annoyance getting the better of him. “I’ve been fighting for twenty years and I haven’t needed it so far. Why is it so bloody important now?”

The Saldaean didn’t answer him directly. Instead she ran a light finger along his arm, over his shoulder, and up his neck. She paused at the edge of his jaw, tugging him forward until her red lips pressed against his. He fell still, eyes wide, thoughts shattering in every direction. She pulled away, taking his chin between her fingers. The Gaidar’s eyes were huge and green, the small scar that interrupted her right brow playing a delicate counterpart to her perfectly curved lashes.

“You are such a pretty thing,” she said in a sultry tone, her fingers stroking his face. He stared at her, frozen in shock and guilty desire. “Why are you wasting your life?” He felt the chill of a blade press against his throat, and the spell broke. He cursed and tried to pull away, but the fingers on his chin held him in place, those eyes suddenly as cold as the steel that threatened his life.

“If I were a Darkfriend, you would be dead, southerner,” she told him in a frigid voice. “You would bleed out on these stones and you would return to the ether with no idea what had happened. Your mind was too busy with these,” she pursed her lips, “to watch what I did with the rest of me.” She pulled away, eyes still boring into him. “The ko’di would have given you distance and perspective. That would have at least been enough to remember that a woman has two hands.”

Malina let him go with a small shove, flipping her dagger in her hand and tucking it back into her sleeve. “We begin again, this time without foolishness.” Dax lifted a hand to his mouth where the touch of her lips still burned. “You are still distracted, southerner,” Malina said dryly. “If you have no time to do this right, there are plenty of Trollocs in the Blight looking for a tasty morsel to eat.”

“I get your point, Malina,” Dax snapped, letting his hand fall. “You think the ko’di is important? Fine. If it means you never touch me again, I’ll try it.” The Gaidar laughed, a low, amused sound. Instead of reacting, Dax closed his eyes and forced his mind to think of a spot of light in the darkness. Across that black playing field, Katrie’s eyes and Malina’s lips waged a merciless war.

One night he stood atop the southern wall of the Citadel, body angled to face toward Katrie so far to the south. It had been six and a half months since he had last seen the slender Accepted, and yet she still haunted his dreams at night and his thoughts during the day. No woman had ever consumed him as she did; even after so long, a momentary memory of her lips pressed against his could stop him in his tracks.

He heard someone approaching and spun, hands raised to chest level. Malina materialized out of the shadows, striding to join him in the same way she always did. “It’s a chilly night to be up here alone,” she commented, settling against the wall next to him. He raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture. “Have you thought much about what you will do once you have faced Riahana?”

Dax forced himself to respond in as natural a tone as possible, “Not specifically, no. I suppose I will return to the Tower. I’ve had enough of the Blight for five lifetimes.” A soft chuckle greeted that statement, and then silence fell for long minutes as they both stared out into the darkness.

He felt Malina’s fingers on his arm and turned to face her, expecting another sly comment. Instead, her fingers wound into his hair and she yanked him down, her lips pressed against his. Time stretched as he grappled with a dozen conflicting feelings. It had been so long,and he could feel Malina’s hands on his body, moving with the same lithe intensity she always did. He closed his eyes, following those fiery touches with his mind until finally he reached for her, intending on making good on the promise her kiss had given.

His fingers touched her body- and it felt wrong. There were hard muscles where curves should be. The smell of lilacs crossed his memory, followed quickly by brown eyes staring a question at him from hundreds of leagues away. He stiffened and his eyes flew open. The ko’di wrapped around him with nary a moment of hesitation, and he forcefully pushed the tiny Gaidar away. He stepped back until a full span separated them before speaking. “What in the bloody Light, Malina?”

Her brows snapped together and she drew herself to her full height, glaring at him. “Be in the court tomorrow morning,” she snapped. Then she walked away, for all the world as if he had kissed her. Perplexed, Dax settled himself against the wall to wait out the rest of his watch alone but for a confused mess of thoughts and the distant presence of an Accepted who owned his soul.

The next morning found him approaching the practice court with more concern than he normally did. Malina stood in the center, wearing normal clothing. They had worn padding since their very first spar; he did not know how he felt about lacking it on that day. She didn’t bother explaining, simply motioned for him to ready himself. He nodded and stripped down silently, then joined her at the center of the court.

She barely gave him time to collect himself before she attacked with a sharp punch up to his chin that would have shattered his jaw had he not twisted his arm just in time. He feinted with the other hand, then struck with the first. She jumped back to avoid the blow, caught his second strike with her shoulder, then wrapped her arm around his,yanking him forward. He let himself fall, using his own weight to pull free of her grip.

He rolled when he fell, scrambling back to his feet to her side. As he rose, her foot connected with his shoulder and he fell again. This time he caught himself with his hand and used that to bounce back to his feet. They circled cautiously, appraising one another. She moved like a snake, flowing around and through his blows, hands and feet finding their mark through every opening. Her blows hurt and he was thankful for his grasp of the ko’di that kept the pain at bay.

They circled, then fought on, testing each other’s limits. As he traded punches with her, it occurred to him that the woman was not holding back. What she had, she was giving him...and abruptly, he knew he could do better. He let her next blow push his body to the side, then twisted as if to strike back with his elbow, deliberately allowing his body to move too far.

As he had thought she would, Malina wrapped her arm around his neck. He shifted his shoulders, twisting his body around to pull free and drive a fist into her gut. She jumped out of range before she turned her entire torso down and around, her foot shooting straight for his face. The Gaidin brought his arm and shoulder up inside the kick to absorb the impact, then wrapped both arms around her leg and pulled.

She fell belly down and he instinctively dropped with her. He landed with knees straddling her waist, one forearm pressing her shoulders into the ground and the other grabbing her free arm and twisting it behind her back. She shoved up against him, but though she scrambled and heaved, she had no leverage. “Peace,” she grunted finally, and he sat back, letting the ko’di dissipate.

She turned over, rubbing at her neck. “That was exceptionally well done, Dax,” she said, lips quirking up. He had been examining his hand; as she spoke, his eyes snapped up to meet hers in shock. In all the time they had practiced together, she had never once used his name...not even the night before on the wall. “I haven’t been pinned in at least a year.” He felt heat rise in his cheeks at the unexpected praise.

She looked past him. “That’s how it’s done, children.” He realized abruptly that the group of Drin’far’ji that Malina typically trained in the morning had gathered to watch their exchange, solemn-faced in gray. He stared at them in surprise, struggling with competing feelings of shame and pride. Shame, for the reasons that had brought him to that courtyard on a gray morning. Pride, for what he had accomplished.

Abruptly he felt something warm well inside him, shoving the shame aside. In its place rose a kind of confidence he had not felt in so long he thought it gone for good. He grinned and gave the students a nonchalant flick of a salute. “I would be more than honored to teach you what Malina missed,” he told them.

The Gaidar stared at him in speechless shock, then started laughing; for the first time in months, Dax felt…like himself.