Fanfic:Duty is Heavier Than a Mountain
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Ravak Darrow was grouchy.
Not that such an occurrence was rare and unheard of. It took very little to set the Gaidin's disposition out of kilter, and certain people thought of him as a bit of a miserable individual. He was painting a good picture of that now, frowning at anyone who came within view as he brooded over a bowl of porridge. It wasn't that anyone here had affronted him.
He was, however, affronted.
"Master Darrow." The chair next to Ravak's slid back soundlessly on the stone floor, before a figure took a seat beside him.
"Mistress Uki," he murmured in reply, "did you sleep well?"
"I did, considering the circumstances. I've never had a more restful night in the White Tower."
Rav turned in interest to his companion. Varistan Uki, Vari for short, was an Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah. She had the youthful face of an Aes Sedai unbound by the Three Oaths and had only worn the shawl for a scant few months. In spite of her actual youth, she had risen quickly in the esteem of her peers. The very fact she was outside of Hama Valon before her first year as a full sister was key evidence of that, even if her security had been planted in one of the Tower's most senior Gaidin. The notion that every aspiring Green had fifty Warders picked out hadn't seemed to have borne fruit in Vari's case. She lounged with one elbow propped on the table, twirling her long brown curls in between her fingers.
"The White Tower," Rav muttered. That was the source of his discontent. They had come to Kandor on a discreet fact-finding mission, and found themselves in the village of Ravinda. The similarities with his own name had not gone unnoticed, but that was hardly the worst of it. The village's only inn or tavern was called The White Tower, as a sign of respect to the Aes Sedai in Tar Valon. As if it were still the only Tower in existence. Ravak knew the depths of his own distaste ran deep, but he feared a little for the people of Ravinda should an emissary of the Black Tower come along.
Vari turned away as Ravak continued to mechanically eat his breakfast whilst studying the rest of the White Tower's common room. There were only two other guests, a merchant and her guard, but each of the servants and barmaids received the Gaidin's cold glares as well. It had the desired effect of keeping everyone else away from the table as Rav and Vari spoke.
Vari offered pleasant smiles to the room, in contrast to the Gaidin's glower. "You estimated two days to Chachin from Ravinda. Can we cut that down to one?" Her voice held a note of insistence, but Rav merely shook his head.
"Not on horseback. There's a limit to the distance and pace that mere mortals can travel at." Being at the Grey Tower, where Travelling was the norm, made everyone poor at judging the speed of mundane transportation methods, Rav included. He turned from the bowl to look Vari in the eye. "Is there a reason for the rush?"
Thin fingers continued to twist brown curls. "No, not particularly." She sounded unconvincing to the extreme, but Rav let it go. They could not change the distance from here to the capital, nor acquire faster mounts to get them there faster. The Green would have to simply settle.
The spoon fell into the wooden bowl as the last of the porridge was consumed. Rubbing his lips and beard, Rav pushed back the chair as he rose to his feet. Aside from Vari, everyone else pointedly ignored him.
"Pack your things, if you haven't already. We leave in ten minutes."
From Ravinda, the road to Chachin ran west and eastwards. If one followed it to its final destinations, they would ride through all four of the surviving Borderland nations, and even south into Arad Doman. As befitting a major trade route, the road was well maintained, and even occasionally patrolled. The latter was more likely as one got within half-a-day from a major settlement. Ravinda provided little in the way of protection from bandits, and even less so on the trade road.
Ravak inspected his swords and scabbards as he rode along, guiding the animal with his knees and calves. Varistan rode alongside, matching her mount's pace to Rav's. The sky was a murky grey with patches of blue seldom breaking the surface. In spite of the gloom, it didn't seem likely to rain, but it was still chilly. The thick wolf pelt that sat around the Shienaran's shoulders did a lot better at keeping the heat in than his fancloak. Other changes to his regular attire included the rough linen of his shirt, which bulged from the brigandine underneath. A mail hauberk would have been better protection, but it wouldn't have seemed appropriate for a rough-looking swordarm. It wasn't a hard disguise to maintain, what with his wind-swept hair and now unkempt beard.
Vari's pale mare moved closer in alongside Rav's gelding. "You seem concerned, Master Darrow."
The Shienaran didn't take his eyes from the horizon as he asked. "Just keeping an eye out," he sniffed. And a nose out.
"Do you always look so serious?"
That comment did pull Ravak's eyes from the road ahead. He bit his lower lip briefly as he turned to the Green sister. "What makes you think I'm always serious?" he asked with genuine confusion. "I'm just making sure we're safe. Which means I need to focus, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to have fun."
"Oh? You actually know what fun is, do you?" The question was asked an octave higher than usual.
"Indeed," Rav drawled as he turned back to his watch.
"And what does Ravak Darrow do for fun?" Vari smirked.
"I read. Sometimes I bake." He scratched his shaggy beard. "I like walks in the Tower gardens."
"Ah yes, fun," she commented disbelievingly.
That did make Ravak scowl. The dulled anger from Ravinda started to resurface, mixing in with this new indignation. "What gives you the right to question what I do?" he snarled. "You know nothing about me, nothing at all."
Vari sounded rattled. "I am sorry, Gaidin Captain."
"No," Rav growled again, this time addressing the Aes Sedai to her face. "This isn't about rank. This is about who I am as a person, and you do not know who I am as a person."
He took a moment to rein in his ire as he wiped spittle from his lips with the back of his glove. "I've been a soldier since the day I was born. One of my earliest toys was a wooden sword, and I played with it for years in the streets of Fal Dara when southerners would have wasted time with learning about kings and queens, and playing with silly dolls. I spent my childhood wanted to protect Shienar against the horrors of the Blight, and when I became an adult I joined the army."
"Now I wasn't a particularly good soldier. But I realised I didn't waste this life of mine fighting against a vastly superior foe, just to be struck down without landing a blow. What's the point of being yet another corpse, when I could be a sword against the Shadow, mm? So I travelled to the Grey Tower, and I learned about how to protect people, and how to kill Shadowspawn, and how to keep my life from being a waste."
"So maybe I seem serious to you, because I take my duty seriously, Varistan Uki. I spend almost all of the hours the Creator grants me in service to the Tower, and to the Light. And maybe I choose to spend my few free hours reading about battle tactics, or reminding myself of the food from my homeland that I foreswore, or looking at the natural beauties that lie further south than the Borderlands." The Shienaran turned his attention back to the road as he finished his sermon. "Who are you to question that? Who are you to question me?"
Ravak's tirade aside, there had actually been further friendlier conversation between the Gaidin and his charge later in the day. There had also been apologies from both parties concerning the rancous discussion from earlier.
Night came earlier this far north, but the Shienaran had scouted out a suitable camp site before darkness had completely consumed daylight. Vari sat near the small fire Ravak had prepared. The orange light was the only thing to be seen for miles, if one ignored the moon. It was a near perfect circle of silver light, but heavy cloud cover hid it more often than not from view.
Rav casually observed Vari from some distance away as he exercised. He moved silently in the darkness, his two swords in hand as he practiced forms within the peace of the ko'di. The reflection of flames occasionally flickered in and out of view as he moved. The Kingfisher Takes a Silverback. Kissing the Adder. Ribbon in the Air. All of them forms he was less familiar with, and thus needed to refine if he wanted to improve. There's always room for improvement. He'd said that to plenty of students, and he did try to follow his own advice. Usually.
The horses whickered, drawing both the attention of the Green sister and her bodyguard. Rav's larger mount seemed restless, dancing on the spot and shaking his head in irritation. The Gaidin's swords vanished into their scabbards as he started back towards the animals to calm them.
He got no more than fifteen feet towards the camp when something bright caught his eye. Torchlight danced in the pitch dark behind the tents in a repetitive motion. Rav knew it for what it was, but Vari stood and turned to purchase a better view. Whomever was approaching the camp would have full view of her silhouette.
Crouching low, Ravak moved towards the flank of the campsite. Stealth was his best weapon, and he still had to identify the bearer of the torches. Torches? Blood and ashes. He picked out three lights now, and they were all heading towards Varistan as a regular pace. That ruled out footpads, but not much else.
He slipped behind the screen of one of the tents, and hunched in wait. If the Green sister had a better view, she made no particular reaction to it. Which means we're in no danger, or she's clever enough not to run. She also bore a good deal of calm when she would have had no idea where her supposed bodyguard was. Unfortunately there was no bond to communicate his location and sense of purpose towards her.
At last one of the torchbearers stepped into view, and the world shrunk away. A tall man, well-built and holding himself up proudly, led a procession of twenty or so soldiers. They were from all over the place; pale of skin, dark of skin, tall, short, skinny, stocky. But their uniform unified them as a singular unit. A golden sunrise on a field of white covered each of their chests.
Children of the flaming Light.
Scenarios played out in the Gaidin's head. The luckiest would be if the Whitecloaks let Vari be, after doing an inspection of the camp site. That seemed less than likely, if for no other reason than there were two horses, and neither of them were a pack animal. So then they'll have questions, and the Whitecloaks love their questions.
That led onto the next thought, which was whether he could deal with twenty or so Whitecloaks. The answer was not a chance. With Vari's assistance it may be possible, but then that would ruin their mission. Word of an Aes Sedai obliterating a hundred Whitecloaks would be all over Chachin before the morrow's night.
Rav ground his teeth. The best plan, if it could even be called a plan, was to watch and keep out of sight. With a heavy heart, the Shienaran pushed himself up onto his feet, and slipped away from the campsite.
Things had gone more or less as anticipated. Thankfully Vari had kept her cool (or whatever it was that Aes Sedai mustered when they didn't wish for you to understand them) and had gone peacefully with the Children of the Light. The horses had been taken, as had all of the supplies they carried. Fortunately they did not take Vari for who she really was, and let her walk unchained. The six Children set to guard her was excessive for an unarmed noblewoman or merchant, but then Ravak had never known the Whitecloaks to use a mild touch when brute force would do.
Tracking them in the dark was easy; a simple matter of following the torches as they marched back to their encampment. They didn't keep a good watch on their flanks, protected as they were with the Creator's own personal blessing in their tiny minds. As foolish as it was, Ravak wished he had his bow on him. It was a stupid notion, but he had to keep his mind occupied with something as he followed behind the patrol.
The march back to the Whitecloaks' encampment seemed to take hours, although the sky was still pitch-black when it appeared. Situated on a clearing of flat and even land, it centred around a copse of willow trees. Tents extended in a good ten or fifteen rows, with cooking fires evenly distributed between them. Ravak estimated that there was a good two to three hundred men down there, all told, and at least two-thirds of them would be fighting fit.
Rav trailed off to the side as the patrol approached the camp's limits. With muted resignation, he watched Vari walk deeper into the rows of tents until she was out of sight.
Ravak spent the rest of the night scouting out the Whitecloaks' encampment from all sides. He pulled towards all of the advice from the treatises he had read. There was a benefit in patience, and a benefit in planning. Fortunately, there was no sign of them moving on any time soon, so he had time for planning and patience.
He spent the day away from the camp by necessity. The sight lines were too good from the camp to be any closer than a few miles. This was the point where patience mattered most. If they decided to take Vari to some other location, he would be none the wiser, but it would be no better if he was happened upon by twenty men like last night.
Instead he focused on foraging. It brought back bad memories of his survival test, which had almost been an unmitigated disaster. Whatever he had tried eating back then gave him the wildest dreams and nightmares. The specifics of those memories had faded, but he occasionally dreamt of those woods at night. In the time since, he'd given the practice more study. Not all of the wild foods of Kandor were familiar, but there was enough to keep himself going for a day. He only needed enough energy to make it through the night.
There was another smattering of trees about four miles distant from the Whitecloaks, to the west. By the time he found the leatherleaves, the sun had passed its zenith. Sleep was yet another necessary burden he had to consider. Unbuckling his sword belt, he piled his cloak up behind his head and settled in against the roots of the largest tree. True rest came only after a long time agonizing over what had occurred, and what had still to be achieved.
There was no discernible change to the Whitecloaks' camp since last night. Rav counted the same number of wagons and the same number of tents as before. If there was any change, it was in the number of horses or soldiers patrolling, but he hadn't expected those to remain static. It seemed likely, if not certain, that Vari Sedai was still a 'guest' of the Children of the Light.
Crouched in a slight dip in the fields, he stripped off the brigandine and the wolf pelt cloak. If he was caught in the midst of the camp, the armour wouldn't be much help against a couple of hundred swords. As for the cloak, it wasn't going to be the cold that killed him tonight. For similar reasons, he rid him of his coin purse and the remainder of his foraged supplies. He drew both of his swords and wiped each blade down with dirt from the ground. Gleaming metal was fine when you wanted to look good, but it did nothing to improve your sneakiness. Lastly, before slipping away, he made a prayer to the Mother. There would be no traditional burial if he was caught, so he made his peace with death now.
"Duty is heavier than a mountain. Death is lighter than a feather."
The catechism looped over and over in his mind as he approached the perimeter of the encampment. Even deep with the ko'di, he couldn't keep the fear of death at bay. Watching the patrols with an infinite patience, he slipped between two sets of guards when they were as separated as possible.
There were spots of darkness amongst the intermittent box of braziers lighting the outer reaches of the camp. Scrambling low he crossed between them and into the rows of tents. Cook fires lay just beyond. There was the din of men talking and arguing just beyond sight. Avoiding them completely, he slipped between the white canvas shelters towards the central cluster of willow trees. From the outside, he'd seen that there were two larger structures. One had to be the command tent, leaving the other for... prisoners? It was a guess, but as good a guess as any.
The nearest marquee was white, with a foot-wide rising sunrise depicted every so often along it. There wasn't much light coming from inside; no strong shadows were being cast against its walls. Rav darted across the gap between the tents and the marquee, praying to the Creator that no-one saw his quick movement. He slid his sword-breaker out from its sheath. Stabbing the canvas at shoulder-height, he then used the edge to slice open a large enough gap for him to move through.
Right first time. The ko'di vanished as he saw Vari. She was laying on the ground, arms and ankles tied together behind her back. For the Whitecloaks, it was quite a mild form of incarceration. They had certainly not realised who they were dealing with.
Rav positioned himself so that Vari was facing him, then clamped a firm hand over her mouth. She awoke with a start, brown eyes wide for a moment as she stared him down. When the panic faded, he released his hold on her. "How are you?" he asked in a whisper, as he crossed behind her back and started work on her bindings.
"Alive," she replied sharply.
He slid his sword against the rope around her wrists. "Can you walk? And can you channel?" The white cords fell away as his sword sliced through it.
"Yes and yes." Curt and to the point. Rav approved given the situation.
"Can you Travel? Even a short distance would suffice."
The Kandori looked dismayed for a moment. "No, I don't know how." Worry grew on her face. "That wasn't your plan to escape, was it?"
"No," he lied. "We'll leave the same way I came. So long as we aren't seen, we can get by without the horses." Vari goggled but Rav give her no time to voice a complaint. "Keep close, keep quiet, keep low."
The Gaidin Captain moved back to the hole in the tent and looked out. From this angle, he could see the cook fires with their white-clad huddles surrounding each one. Some of the faces were angled in his direction, but I got past them before. Luck had played a factor before undoubtedly, but looking at the situation from the other side, he couldn't fathom getting away with it again. Especially not with Vari, who was dressed in a mint-green dress, compared to his dark brown shirt and trousers.
"What is it?" she asked at his shoulder. The urgency in her voice was crisp even as a whisper.
Rav turned back towards the interior, giving Vari a frown. "Change of plans."
The actual entrance to this large tent opened up away from the milling throng of soldiers. It also opened up towards the other marquee, which had to be where the command of this patrol had their war table and briefing station. At this time of night, it was anyone's guess if it was occupied or not, but it would be guarded.
"What can you do?" he asked. In accordance with the glare received, Ravak adjusted the wording of his question. "Can you hide us from sight, or stop sounds around us from getting out? That's called a ward, right?"
"No, yes, and yes," she replied curtly. "I can keep a fairly large area warded against sound."
Ravak pictured the camp again in his mind. At the centre was the small grove of willow trees. Beside that was this marquee, then across from it was the second one. After that it was... pigeon coops, then the perimeter. There would be someone at the messenger pigeons all the time, but possibly not one of the soldiers. So it's just the guards outside this tent, the ones outside the next, and then whomever is left inside. Far from simple, far from easy, but a damned sight better than facing a small army.
"I need you to Ward this tent, the one opposite, and the space in between. Can you do that?"
Vari nodded, with a look of some confidence. "Yes, but not much else. That's quite a large space for me to Ward."
"We'll be fine," Rav asserted. He moved to the tent flap at the front of the tent, waited for Vari to join them, then bided until he got the nod from her that the Ward was up.
Ravak rose up from a crouch as he parted the tent's doors. One Whitecloak stood at either side of the entrance, stiff-backed and facing outwards. With a slight twist with each arm, the Shienaran drew out both of his swords in an arc that scored a deep laceration across each of the mens' backs. He followed Unfolding the Fan with a thrust at each of them. His longsword struck first as the blade sunk in between the bones in one guard's neck, then the sword-breaker landed between the second guard's shoulder blades, driving him forward as his knees gave out. Following the man's descent, Rav raised both blades up above his head before driving them through the golden sunburst on the Whitecloak's tabard. The guard jerked as the blades went in, but he was silent as they came back out again. Rav rose up from one knee with the two swords drenched in blood. He flicked them forwards, the blood spraying off in wild direction, before returning them to his scabbards. It was a perfect execution of Folding the Fan, even if he was judging it himself.
Noises came from the air in front of him. Looking up beyond his immediate vicinity, he saw the guards he had anticipated standing in front of the command tent. Swords were coming out of their sheaths even as Ravak's were going in. The one of the far right looked mortified out of his wits. Another's arm shook as he drew his weapon, but rallied when a third cried "Darkfriend! Darkfriend in the camp!" That was enough to get three of them moving, whilst the last started the process of emptying his stomach.
Once more the ko'di formed around Ravak like a mother's embrace, both intimate and reassuring. His mind narrowed its focus on just these three men, placing aside any concerns for his own safety, or whether Vari's Ward was holding back the sounds of retching. The world was reduced to five people and five swords.
The Child of the Light who had so vehemently proclaimed "Darkfriend" was the first one within Ravak's reach. He had strength and training, as his sword rattled against the Gaidin's blocking sword-breaker. He also had some guile, nimbly sidestepping Ravak's attempt to score a strike against his leg.
That was all the time it took for a second Whitecloak to join the fray. Lessons from the distant past came back into focus as he spun his two blades around in a full circle, clearing the space around himself. An invention of Kubotai Gaidin, The Cyclone on the Plain gave the Gaidin time to counter the next attack. Two swords came at him in horizontal cuts, and he blocked each. On his right, he caught the lead Whitecloak's sword in a notch of his sword-breaker. Even as he tried twisting the blade from the man's hand, Ravak moved into his reach and thrust his Tower-forged longsword through the man's gut. Not content with that, Ravak slammed his forehead into the other man's face, the sharp crack of cartilage distinct as the Whitecloak barrelled backwards.
Rav turned back to the second Whitecloak. In the space of twenty seconds, he'd seen three colleagues die. Instead of deterring him, his resolve was bolstered. Repeating the cry of "Darkfriend in the camp," he swung his sword in a figure-of-eight pattern. Instinctively the twin blades moved, countering The Eel Among the Lily Pads with The Lion Springs. With his sword high, the guard couldn't bring it down fast enough to block both the longsword's thrust and the sword-breaker's upward slash. Clutching at his mutilated chest, the fourth of six Whitecloaks hit the ground.
The world was just four people and four swords. The last of the brave guards was now standing like a tree fifteen feet away, his boots rooted to the spot. In the distance, the last Whitecloak was on his hands and knees as he kept glancing over at the carnage, and kept finding more of his stomach to spew onto the ground.
Ravak crossed the distance easily. With a powerful swing of his sword, the would-be tree become a head shorter. In a few more seconds, the last guard was at least relieved of his torment as Rav leaned over him and opened the man's throat.
Two people, two swords. Both swords vanished in another display of Folding the Fan, blood splattering against the canvas of the command tent. The razor-fine focus also dissipated as Ravak turned back towards Varistan, watchfully keeping his own eyes from looking down upon his freshly wrought butchery. With a poise and serenity that was only befitting a sister of the Battle Ajah, she strode from the entrance of one marquee to the Gaidin's side. Only a slight frown marred her dignity, which the Shienaran put down to the Ward she was invisibly maintaining. It had to be the Ward, for he heard nothing beyond the last pitiful groaning of one of his victims and his own breathing. "Are you alright, Vari Sedai?" He received only a terse nod in acknowledgement.
Ravak continued to lead the way, although the journey was almost at its end. He held aside one of the tent flaps and pushed in. All that lay between here and freedom was another piece of snowy-white canvas, some pigeons, and a seventh Whitecloak. "Peace!" His confidence wavered for a brief moment as he straightened inside the tent before reasserting himself. The figure in white was facing the back of the tent, seemingly unconcerned about the screaming he must have heard. So there's one more pig-headed fool in my way. For the third time tonight, Ravak drew his longsword from the scabbard on his hip. He give it a quick once-over, inspecting the streaks of blood that remained on it. When he got back to civilisation and a cleaning kit, he was going to burnish his blade until it was clean enough to eat off. But for now...
Vari's hand found purchase on his shoulder as she entered the tent. "Questioner," is all she whispered.
"Yes." The figure in white pivoted on the spot, revealing a face that was far older than Ravak had prepared for. There was more white than black streaking through his short beard, with the rest of his hair clipped short. A sword sat on his hip, with a fat ruby set in the pommel. On his right breast was the all-too prevalent symbol of the Children of the Light, but there was a red crook set behind it.
The Questioner gave Ravak a long considering look, giving his longsword a particular interest. Then he addressed Vari. "So, a Shadowtainted witch and her Warder lapdog. I knew I smelt the corruption on you."
A slow, easy grin brightened the Gaidin's face. "What I smell is pride, envy, and... torture?" Rav glanced at Vari with concern. "Torture?" She shook her head. Not her then. If the Whitecloaks which to torture their own, it was all the more reason to get rid of them.
"Shadow-given powers," the Questioner spat. "I'll be through with you and your witch soon enough." His hand went to his sword hilt, and he slowly revealed his own blade. It was polished until it shone like a mirror, the only blemish being a small marking above the rain-guard. Ravak's longsword had markings there: the Great Serpent on one side, and the Flame and Fang on the other. The Whitecloak's marking was, unsurprisingly, different: an argent sunburst.
The two men struck out in parallel. Cat Dances on the Wall countered The Boar Rushed Downhill. Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose met Cat on Hot Sand. Ravak parried with one blade as he angled a killing blow at the Questioner's neck. The Amadician's sword unerringly intercepted both attacks. Rav flowed from Plucking the Low-Hanging Apple into Leopard's Caress, but the Whitecloak broke through with Folding the Air. A coursing bar of pain swept against the edges of awareness as Ravak floated within the ko'di. The gash on his right leg was shallow, but everything counted.
What Ravak could achieve with two swords, the Whitecloak Questioner only needed one to match. The bar of glowing silver seemed alive, possessed with impossible speed and strength. Several times Rav caught the shining blade in the notches of his sword-breaker, but it was he that found himself resisting a disarmament.
Rav ducked under a swipe, rising in The Swallow Takes Flight. His longsword was aimed high, but the beam of light reflected it near the hilt even as the Questioner got the tip of his sword to meet the sword-breaker. Once more the sword got caught in a notch, and Ravak prepared to react to the disarm attempt. He pressed with all of his might against his opponent, the golden dragon on his arm seeming alive as his muscles strained. Then there was a release. Ravak's right fist flew into the Questioner's face, the shattered hilt of his sword-breaker stabbing deep into the leathery flesh. Both men were surprised, but the Gaidin reacted quicker. Letting the end of his broken blade go, Rav grappled with the Whitecloak's sword arm as he lay into the man's other flank with the edge of his longsword. Blood quickly seeped through the white fabric as Rav ran the blade over any piece of exposed flesh. It wasn't pretty, and even within the emotional bubble of the ko'di, Ravak could feel his own bile rising. It was butchery, pure and simple. No man deserved to be carved away piece by piece, but the rules of honour wouldn't prevent him from winning this duel, thus protecting Vari.
Rav could feel the Whitecloak's strength fading as his sword arm weakened against the Gaidin's grip. The Questioner's blade fell to the ground, then the man himself slumped forward into Ravak's chest. He coughed, spurting blood over Rav's shirt. Stepping aside, the old man crashed to the ground. Blood washed over the floor from dozens of incisions along his right hand side, most running bone-deep. The ko'di wavered and threatened to vanish. He pulled himself away, staggered to the back of the tent, and tore a hole through it with his bloodsoaked longsword. Rav didn't stop to look back, instead stumbling into the night beyond with his head swimming and his stomach churning. Duty is heavier than a mountain. Duty is heavier than a mountain. Duty is...
Suddenly Vari was there, pressing her hands against the side of his face. She said something in the silent night, but the sounds seemed all jumbled. Butchered like a pig. He choked as something tried to push itself out from his stomach. The pressure of someone's fingers against his temples strengthened and he shook his head against it. Slaughtered like an animal. Rav struggled against the heat and the cold that overwhelmed him. The heat was freezing; the cold like fire. He roared for an eternity, was breathless for an Age, then sweet air rushed into his lungs. Vari removed her hands and Ravak felt the rejuvenating effects of the Healing take hold.
"Move," Vari commanded, pushing him towards the pigeon coops. As expected there was someone in attendance. The boy, no more than eleven or twelve, took one look at the blood dripping off Ravak before he sprinted away. His screams faded in and out of hearing as he transversed the invisible edges of the Ward. Aes Sedai and Gaidin wasted no time in escaping, moving past the braziers at a dead run. Beyond lay an endless darkness, but so too did boundless freedom.
