The Grey Tower

Johan had thought that he knew everything that he needed; that his life in the Rahad had taught him everything that he needed to know, but his days in the Tower were swiftly proving that he knew absolutely, positively nothing, at least when it came to combat. He knew how to use a knife, yes, but a knife was of very little use against a sword or a spear or a quarterstaff; he had no hope of getting in close enough to do any damage, and the odds of him throwing it and actually hitting his moving opponent were slim to none. He didn’t have the skill. At least not here. He had never known people could move so fast or so swift until he had come to the Tower. Oh, he was trying to learn, to learn how to wield a sword, but he was finding that he ended up on his arse in the dirt more often than not, with only bruises to show for his efforts.

It was where he found himself now after yet another bout, and he picked himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain of new sores. The teacher congratulated him for lasting as long as he had, and indicated that he give way so that another pair could practice. He had had ten minutes, if that. He wasn’t going to get anywhere fast if it continued like this. He spent half his time watching and observing instead of doing. What he needed was some private lessons; a chance to have it focused purely on him. He had heard that there were Aiel at the Tower. He’d never seen one before -they weren’t the norm in Altara. You didn’t exactly find them walking around on the streets - but he had most definitely heard of them. They were supposedly some of the best fighters in the Westlands. He needed the best if he was going to get anywhere anytime soon.

Decision made, he slipped away from his class, doubting very much that he would be missed, and headed out further into the training yards. It didn’t take him long to find his quarry, and he approached, not pausing, not slowing, not giving himself any chance to change his mind. He knew if he took a moment to really think about it, he would back out.

“I heard you were good at dancing,” he said, approaching the man – Terric, his name was, from what he had heard. “I’d like you to teach me.”

No hellos, no greetings – just straight to the point.

As a Ji’Val, the constant expectation to train Drin could become quite overwhelming. While Terric did enjoy watching his students grow as both warriors and individuals, sometimes he enjoyed training on his own. He could set his own pace that way and not worry about having to pause and answer questions. Today, he’d found an empty corner of the Warder Yards to practice unarmed stances in. Still as a stone sentinel, he would hold one stance until his muscles ached before flowing into the next. The stances had been second nature to him for about a decade and a half. This was more an exercise in balance and endurance and complete mastery of his body. Holding Koyn’obiyar, First Stance, Terric floated in the Void contemplating stillness.

Slowly, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, hands in a defensive position, the ache in his thighs distant in the Void. A corner of his attention was fixed on the Drin approaching him from across the yard. He probably had a message of some sort. From the look on his face, he had just finished psyching himself up to talk to the scary Aielman. He must have been new around, most people learned pretty quickly that he didn’t bite.

When the man stopped in front of him, Terric straightened from his combat stance and nodded to the man. “I see you,” he said probing for a name.

No names or greetings then, just a request for training. He wanted to learn to fight like an Aiel, did he? Terric looked at the short man with a bemused twinkle in his eye. Walking over to a pile of sandbags, he hefted one with a grunt and settled it onto his shoulders. “Grab a bag and follow me, Nameless Drin. We can discuss manners while we run.”

He took off at steady jog angling out of the Warder Yards. He didn’t want to leave the kid too far behind, but learning to truly dance the spears went much deeper than knowing how to fight. If he really wanted to learn, he would be doing his best to keep up.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really, because the Tower was proving to be one big shock after another, but Johan still couldn’t keep the look of astonishment off his face as he found himself facing. not a conversation, but the swiftly retreating back of the Aiel. Of all the ways he had thought it could go, this was most definitely not one of them. So what, exactly, was he supposed to do?

It had to be some kind of joke; he was going to be pranked for daring to disturb the man’s time. I mean, who went around caring bloody sandbags on their back? Oh, he knew that he could probably do it, because he’d always been fit, always been capable of running, always been strong for his size, because if you weren’t-? Well, your days as s thief in the Rahad were pretty much numbered. And, if anything, with the fact that he was now having three proper meals a day, he was even more fit, but still… How was running about with a sack on his back going to help him learn how fight? And when you added in that the Aiel had mentioned something about manners-? It had to be some kind of payback.

For a moment, Johan just stood there, debating what to do. He could easily just turn around and pretend that this had never happened, but then the opportunity would never come to him again, and he needed as many opportunities as he could get. If this did turn out to be some kind of payback, then so what? He’d have learnt a lesson, even if it was one that he hadn’t wanted or anticipated. He didn’t really care about being embarrassed. Pretty much being the first on the floor in every bout meant that he’d quickly learnt to let go of his pride.

He glanced once more at the Aiel and then back at the sandbags, and then heaved a sigh, swearing softly under his breath. It took more effort than he thought to pick one of the sandbags up and place it on his shoulders, but he eventually managed to do so without sounding too much like he was attempting to kill himself.

Soon, he was closing the gap between him and the Aiel, and, when he reached him, he slowed his pace to match the man’s jog.

“I suppose I should have said ‘please, wise one’?”

He supposed there was still a bit of pride there; he’d never liked having his attitude criticised. It was usually another excuse to tell him how he should’ve remained in the gutters.

“For that I apologise.”

The rapidly approaching sound of boots caused Terric to smile slightly. The nameless Drin knew how to obey orders. He seemed to want to learn. Terric didn’t check to see if the man had picked up his sandbag. His honor was his own, and if he insisted on taking short cuts, then he would only be hurting himself.


Terric angled off down a familiar garden trail stepping lightly around foliage and roots. “Lift,” he called, repeating the commands he’d been taught as a young boy hoping to become an Aethan Dor. “Left shoulder,” he called, settling the bag onto his left shoulder. The Drin would appreciate the relief on his shoulder. Terric knew he did.


Their path took them along the outer walls to the Tower grounds. Teric led them up the stairs to the battlements where he turned to wait for his new student, sandbag still on his shouder.


“Do you have a name?” he asked conversationally. “It’s usually polite to offer a name before you make a request. Gifts of food don’t hurt either, but a name is a bare minimum.”

By the time he got to the top of the stairs, Johan was struggling for breath. His face was red, both from embarrassment and the exertion of the climb. He still couldn’t see the point of carrying around a sandbag around, but he had learnt a long time ago not to question certain things; you did whatever it took to get to the end goal, and that meant no complaining.

For a moment, he did nothing but concentrate on making his breathing more even. His muscles already ached. He could climb stairs, run up and down them with very little effort, but throw in a sandbag-? He was surprised his legs weren’t shaking.

“It’s Johan,” he said when he’d finally caught his breath, all but having to force the words out. He should have thought beforehand and come to the Tower with a different name, but he couldn’t change that now. “Johan Albaer. If I’d known food would have helped, I would have brought some. Or,” and he gave a quick smile, “flowers. I always thought the way to win someone’s love was with flowers. Food, from what I’ve heard, makes people fat.”

He didn’t mean to say quite so much, but the words were a way of distracting from that fact that he had just been shown, in a matter of moments, that he wasn’t half as fit as he had first thought, and his pride didn’t much like that.

“Food makes you fat if you just sit around all day.” Terric said with a glimmer of amusement, “The more you exercise however, the more you can eat.” There was no disputing the fact that if Terric suddenly stopped training, but continued to eat the way he did, he would be as fat as Johan Ablaer joked within months.

“Put down your sandbag and join me,” Terric said, putting his bag down out of the way. He went to stand next to the high crenelations and waited for the Drin to join him. “Do you know anything about fighting? Knives, hands and feet, spears, swords maybe?” His distaste for swords was made evident by the way he wrinkled his nose.

The two men stood on the wall with Hama Valon sprawling out before them. “Before we go too far, I want to make sure you know basics. Footwork is one of the most important things you can learn. You’re not learning how to fight with a spear, you’re learning to fight like an Aiel. That means your entire body is a weapon. Anything you happen to be holding is a weapon too. That said, don’t tie your thinking to one weapon. Do you think you’re ready for this?” Terric asked leaning his back against the battlements. “I’m not in a hurry, you can learn at your speed. The training will be hard. You can back out whenever you want. Just remember, there’s honor in reaching your destination, but not everybody’s journey is the same.”

Johan couldn’t help but grin. Now this was more like it. Oh, he definitely knew how to fight with a knife or with his hands and feet. Duels were a common thing in Ebou Dar, especially in the Rahad. If you hadn’t fought a dozen by the time you were sixteen you were bloody lucky. Johan had quite a few scars, some already fading, from all the fights he had gotten into. Most, though, didn’t see that as fighting. There seemed to be an emphasis on being able to wield a sword. You didn’t know how to fight unless you knew how to use a sword.

Throw in the fact that he’d learnt years ago, from finding himself in more than one tricky situation, how to use anything around him as a weapon, Johan’s grin only grew. He must have looked like an idiot, but he didn’t care. It seemed, at least, that wasn’t going to make a complete fool of himself here as he did on a daily basis in the Yards.

He didn’t lean back against the battlements – it was a bit too high for that -, but stood up straight, trying not to show any of the exhaustion he felt from having to haul a sandbag about. His breathing had evened out, at least, and his face, he was sure, wasn’t quite so red.

“I’m not going to back out,” he said, letting a hint of stubbornness enter his voice. He very rarely gave up on anything, which was why being at the Tower was so infuriating. Everything told him he was never going to succeed no matter how hard he tried, so why try? “Of course I’m ready.”

And then he gave another one of his grins. “I’ve always thought a teapot makes a good weapon.”

Terric gave the young Drin a thoughtful nod, “Yes, splash the hot tea in your opponent's face first, though. You’ll disorient him and you won’t have to worry as much about scalding yourself.”

This Drin had the right attitude, better than many. Terric would rather a class of weak and uncoordinated students with the correct attitude over a single gifted student with a terrible attitude. He could work with this Johan Ablaer.

“Show me how you stand in a fight. I’d rather not sit here and teach you what you already know. That doesn’t mean I won’t drill you on it though. You’ll find yourself falling back on the boring basics far more often than you’ll find yourself doing the daring dos of gleeman’s tales.”

He settled down to do the boring yet crucial task of honing a new student’s fundamentals. Hopefully his student wouldn’t be too impatient and lose interest. If not, he could always find Kiris Jakes or one of his other senior students to give small demonstration. Better yet, if he could talk Jhanic into it, they could show the students how two fully traiend Algai’d’siswai fought. Light knew, the old Thunder Walker was probably itching for something to do with his spears.

Johan froze, his grin immediately falling. Stand? How did he stand in a fight? He didn’t. He kept moving, made sure that he never stopped, never paused, always twisted, always turned, always circled, always kept his distance, never once allowing his opponent a chance to land a blow. It was how he’d kept himself from ending up with a knife in his back all these years, and it was really the only way that he ever stood a chance. He wasn’t big or well muscled. He didn’t have the power or strength to throw behind each strike; he’d always relied on his agility. It had never crossed his mind how he stood. He’d always relied upon instinct. He’d never given it a second’s thought.

He frowned, trying to call up just what he did. He made himself imagine that Terric was an opponent, one that had cornered him, and that, if he wanted to get away, he was going to have to either fight his way out or be able to react and move in an instant.

Johan stood, then, with his feet shoulder wide, ensuring that his weight was balanced evenly over the whole of his body. Having your feet too close together meant that you’d easily be pushed over: that you weren’t stable enough. He made sure to breathe to keep his muscles from tensing, and to stop himself from becoming stiff. Too tense and your moves wouldn’t be smooth. He kept his back straight, but leant forward ever so slightly, again distributing his weight more evenly so that he wouldn’t easily lose his balance when he went to swing or strike out with his fist or whatever weapon he had to hand, so that the moves would be more fluid.

“Like this,” he said finally, looking at the Aiel, still making sure to keep his body relaxed. ”Although, technically,” and the slight grin was back, “if this was a fight I wouldn’t bother to stand like this for more than a few seconds before I’d be throwing that sandbag at your head and getting out of here.”

“That’s a good start,” Terric said, “But you think of stances as a rigid static thing. They aren’t.” He settled into a stance the Aiel called Koyn’obiyar, with his knees bent, left leg to the front and weight settled over his right leg. He brought his hands up, left extended slightly forward and right guarding his face. “Stances are about where you keep your balance, I can modify this stance for spear fighting, knife fighting, or using my hands and feet.” He pivoted throwing a series of punches at the air. From this he executed a stomp kick and a series of blocks. “Watch my balance, watch my feet,” Terric said as he spun delivering a high kick. “I am not stationary, but I am still maintaining various stances, in fact, all of my movements are basically transitions between stances. If you assume a stance is something you abandon as soon as the fight starts, you’re asking to get knocked on your back.” He said this as he finished the sequence of attacks and blocks and came to a rest facing the Drin in a basic Koyn’obiyar.

Straightening from the slight crouch, Terric said, “Your basic stance is good, but your balance is visibly off. Try to mimic my stance, I’ll correct some of the mistakes, then we’ll hold the stance. How long?” Terric gave a lazy shrug, “As long as we need to. Every fundamental I teach will be vastly more important than any fancy technique.” Held the younger man’s gaze for a moment. He remembered the hours upon hours he had spent practicing how to stand, how to move, how to even hold his spear and shield. Sweat dripping from his face as he trained in the unforgiving sun of the Threefold Land. None of the pain or the exhaustion mattered, it had all been worth it to become the warrior he was now. If Johan Ablaer could keep up, Terric would use whatever resources he had at his disposal to forge the man into a warrior worthy of running with the Spears.