The Grey Tower

Beron flowed across the sands of the Warder Yards, working on his forms as the daggers in his hands flashed in the morning sun. They were fine blades, well balanced and easy to hold as he shifted from form to form, his body moving with increasing fluidity as he warmed his muscles.

The dagger work had become a regular part of his routine, the style he had discovered in the journal helping him apply a flowing, almost liquid system of defences and attacks he hoped would help keep any attacker off guard. Almost without thinking he felt an opening in the pattern he was practicing, and smoothly snapped a kick outwards from his hip. Catching his footing on the return, he circled and moved throughout the ring as he waited for the young Soldier to arrive.

He had drilled many of the patterns into his muscles to the point that he no longer needed to concentrate, and with the upcoming training he was using the warm up as much as a way to settle his mind as anything. Gareth Ashaman had stopped him yesterday, the Yellow Ashaman taking a moment to ask Beron if he would be willing to aide him in a task. Of course Beron had said yes, Gareth had been more than welcoming to Beron’s occasional forays into the Infirmary to learn about Healing.

After that Gareth had sat with Beron, describing a young man who had been inflicted with some sickness as a youth. This left him with a weakness of breath that could not be Healed, but Gareth hoped that some exercise would help the Soldier improve his stamina and strength. Beron had thought it sounded like an interesting challenge, and as a Ji’val he knew training and working with students was often an expected duty for unbounded Gaidin.

And so he had grabbed a few daggers, the assortment a chance for the Soldier to choose a weapon he felt comfortable with, and Beron was laying out the weapons when he heard the shuffle of feet upon the pathway. Turning he saw the bone thin Cairhein before him, obviously his student. “Good Morning Maryn, I’m Beron Faim and did Gareth tell you anything about our goals for today?” Beron asked as he gestured for Maryn to move into the sands.

Maryn walked through the Warder Yards, his head darting back and forth as he nervously tried to spot the Ji’val he was supposed to meet with. He was glad the lesson was at first chime, he hoped to avoid making a fool of himself in front of a lot of Drin.

Gareth Ashaman had written him a letter, telling him he was going to try some exercises under the tutelage of a Ji’val, the thought of which had made Maryn groan. His father had written him off as having any strength or talent in the martial areas, that it had been years since he had tried to wield a weapon.

He eventually spotted the Ji’val, the Saldaean moving through a shifting blur of movements. It made little sense to Maryn’s untrained eye, but he could tell the man moved with confidence and practice. As he entered the square, the Ji’val introduced himself and asked Maryn if he knew what he was hoping to accomplish.

“Good Morning Ji’val. Thank you for making the time to help with my exercises, Gareth Ashaman had mentioned we would be working on strengthening. I have to warn you though, it has been a long time since I’ve held a sword.”

“Feel free to call me Beron, there’s little need to stand on formality when we will soon be sharing the blisters and sweat that comes with practice,” Beron said as he gestured for Maryn to remove his jacket. Beron followed suit, placing his jacket over the fence and took a moment to assess Maryn as the young Soldier stood there.

“Gareth Ashaman probably didn’t tell you because he wouldn’t have known exactly what we would work on. I am not surprised you haven’t held a sword, given your slight build and the cough it would be ill suited,”Beron frankly gave Maryn the truth, little reason in hiding it from the young man. Compared to the taller Saldaean who had benefitted from a lifetime on the farm, then military training, Maryn looked like a swallow finding itself in the mews.

“I thought we would try daggers, they will not require you to callous or beat your hands quite like Unarmed, and unlike a sword we can find the size that suits your build,” Beron said as he took Maryn over to the table where he had laid out the few sizes.

“Take your time selecting what feels right, and we will also be working on throwing daggers. Can you tell me anything about your attacks?” Beron asked delicately as he was trying to assess the young Cairheinen man.

“My cough is affected by cold and damp Ji’val, my pardons, Beron. It often comes on after I have been exerting myself for a period of time, although I can often feel a tightness in my chest before the attack begins. I will try to let you know before it gets to that point,” Maryn offered with an embarrassed mumble. Beron wondered if perhaps it was pride or embarrassment that caused him to talk to his feet as he ran his hands disinterestedly along the handles of the daggers.

“Here try this one, it’s got a small guard that will save your fingers from the edge, and the handle is smooth and well wrapped. Try a few slashes,” Beron said encouragingly as Maryn picked up the weapon.

Maryn could hardly think of something he would like less than learning the dagger, although he tried unsuccessfully to keep his sullen resistance from his face. He had come to the Grey Tower to learn to channel, not to flail around in the sand. Still he had heard that Ji’val ranked equal with a Dedicated, so he had little desire to incur extra duties. And as Beron laid out his considerations for choosing the dagger, Maryn had to admit it sounded logical.

Looking over the daggers half heartedly, he immediately spotted two options that would have appealed to his father. Gold filigree and other ornaments decorated the handle, and Maryn snorted in derision as he imagined the other man’s reaction if he picked an obvious noblemans blade. Seeing the blade Beron suggested, Maryn saw that it was sturdy, plain but clearly well made. Taking the blade in his hand, he twisted the handle as he noted the slightly oval shape.

At Beron’s encouragement he tried a few quick slashes, feeling awkward and storkish as his arms jerked back and forth. The knife was a weight in his hand, but not uncomfortable or unwieldy. Moving towards the target dummy, he stood in front and was about to begin when he paused for a moment.
No sense learning badly and having to redo it, he thought to himself as he asked, “Where would you like me to begin?”

Seeing his student stride over to the dummy, Beron was tempted to interrupt Maryn,!he had planned to work through the stances and such first. Still as the Soldier paused, asking for instruction, Beron thought to go with the one thing that had seemed to awaken Maryn.

And so with that in mind, Beron helped show Maryn the proper stance, his rough hands gently guiding the other man until he was in better form. At first Maryn protested the awkward feeling of the footwork, but knowing it was the basis Beron insisted.

After a few slashes against the wooden target dummy, Beron could tell Maryn was beginning to appreciate the power and mobility the stance gave him. “Good, now remember each strike will help settle you into the next one, so you should always try to be thinking a few moves ahead,” Beron instructed as he watched Maryn weave and bob around the dummy.

“Remember to keep moving, for many dagger fighters it’s our ability to get around and make small cuts that defeats the enemy,” Beron instructed as he mimed a series of darting sweeps and parries.

“But if I’m fighting someone stronger I’m done for, I’m so weak there’s little point,” snarled Maryn as he stumbled and missed striking the dummy. As Beron watched, he could see the youth was already bearing a sheen of sweat, his face flushed and tired.

“Come sit, let’s get some water quickly,” said Beron as he soon realized how little stamina the other man had. As they sat drinking, Beron considered the words said in misery and asked Maryn, “Tell me something. If I was to ask a Soldier to stop that enemy, many at the Grey Tower would bring forth lightening or a ball of flame. Now if what Gareth Ashaman told me is correct, you are not as strong as many of the male channellers here; so would you just give up and let the enemy win. Or could you use small threads of Air, tangling his feet and binding his hands. Like a spider wrapping a dragonfly,” Beron could see Maryn pause in thought for a moment, and so he continued.

“That’s how you would approach daggers. Enough small cuts will disable an enemy, although I think it best for you to learn defence and the ability to disengage quickly. But do not give up because you cannot slay the target in one blow. Water always flows, it circles and swirls and brings down even the mountains.”

Maryn was tempted to ignore the question, but when Beron presented it as a challenge, with the spider example included, Maryn could feel himself nodding despite himself. It made a certain amount of sense, when considered as just a logic problem. He was indeed a weaker channeler but he had been assured by his instructors that with enough time he would still accomplish much.

“I thank you for the lesson Beron. I am sorry for my angry words.”

“There’s no need to apologize, emotions run hot on the Warder Yard sands. What I will not
allow is quitting. Each strike will improve your muscles and skills, we just need to keep it up. And to sweeten the pot as it were, on the day I think you would stand with a Drin trainee, we will go to Hama Valon to celebrate,” Beron said simply, his smile infectious as he offered a prize that any learning rank would enjoy.

Nodding his assent, Maryn once more stood in front of the dummy and worked for a few more strikes and swaying footwork until sweat beaded on his forehead. And the tightness in his chest began. Signalling to Beron that his chest was feeling constricted, he was surprised when the other man immediately stopped their practice and began the stretches Gareth Ashaman had suggested might help keep his airways open.

After a few tense minutes, with a few minor coughs but no major attack Beron then suggested they try throwing daggers as it would be far less tiring. Maryn grabbed the throwing daggers off the table, noticing right away how the blade was shaped far differently. As they took their place in front of the dummy, Beron explained how to move the arm and wrist, waiting for the time to release that would allow the knife to spin and strike with the blade. “You will actually have an advantage in the Maryn, as a channeler you will be proficient in the Flame and Void. Use that now,” Beron finished with his instruction as he stepped back.

Maryn nodded and quickly assumed the Void, his senses heightened as he floated in the inky black space within his own mind. Ignoring the shining cord that was Saidin, he used the calm to allow his body to move through the motions of the throw. Three knives later, and two had struck true if wide. The third was in the sand, but Maryn felt a fierce pride at having accomplished two strikes.

Maryn soon settled into the rhythm of his class, the rumours soon flying that he was being trained by a Ji’val inspiring sympathy in many of his peers as they departed for chores or classes. Still as the days became weeks, Maryn had to admit that Beron was as patient a teacher as could be asked for.

He had no use for quitting, but on days when Maryn was too fatigued to continue as his classes with Saidin often drained him, Beron would spend time simply reading from a journal he had found. Maryn came to realize that the Gaidin trainees approached combat in much the same way they approached life, with a much deeper thought and consideration that he had first imagined. His strength never grew by leaps and bounds, but he did notice the fatigue was easier to push through, his mental toughness improved by having his body strengthened and stretched. Then after several moons of training, Beron announced that Maryn had earned a trip to Hama Valon, as long as he occasionally stopped in to let the Ji’val know how his studies were going, and to work the forms and strikes that formed a foundation in daggers.