Fanfic:Firredal Gaidin
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"Firredal Osiellin?"
Firredal turned, letting his fingers fall still on the strings of his lute; the sound of his playing faded immediately. He knew the man before him: Ethin din Tethamoor, formerly of the Sea Folk; the man who had taught Firredal to incorporate grabs, trips, throws, and disarms into his sword techniques. Ethin gave no sign of recognizing the younger man, though, so Firredal nodded. "Yes," he said.
The Gaidin handed him a note, and immediately moved away. Unfolding the note, Firredal scanned it quickly; then he set the lute back in its case and read through again, more slowly. The text was simple: Your presence is required at the south edge of the training yards. Please be prompt. At the bottom was a stamped seal, which he recognized as the sigil of the Mistress of Arms.
Deciding that 'being prompt' precluded a stop at his room, he gathered his instrument and checked the knife at his belt. He chose a path that would take him fairly directly to the Training Yards, remembering with amusement the time that he had managed to get lost in this garden. That had been during a snowstorm, shortly after his arrival; he knew his way around better now. He wondered, briefly, what this was about, but decided that it didn't really matter: if the Mistress of Arms summoned, he went.
Anotherr Gaidin awaited him at the edge of the practice yards, one he didn't recognize. The man greeted him with a nod, then led him wordlessly towards the channeling yard. Despite himself, Firredal was intrigued; discussing a new training technique or where to place a particular student was not accompanied by this sort of mystery. Even the meetings of the Privy Council, though not open to everyone, were conducted without this sort of secrecy. Nervous now, he wished he had stopped at his room. The lute is a poor trade for a sword, if this is something dangerous.
An Asha'man - tall, lean, and weathered, with a knot of green cord at his shoulder - was waiting in the channeling yard. As Firredal followed the Gaidin towards him, a streak of silver light cut the air and spun open, a window in the air that looked into a small stone chamber. Gateway, Firredal thought, thoroughly unnerved. He had been brought to the Grey Tower through one of these things, his first real contact with the One Power.
This one didn't make him any less nervous.
The Gaidin stopped in front of the Gateway and motioned him through. Firredal took a deep breath and released it, forcing himself to relax. Then he stepped through. The gate snapped shut behind him, almost immediately.
The room was stone, and chilly; the only noteworthy features were the single door and the small table against the far wall. So, he thought, recognizing the contents of the table: his weapons, the armor he had commissioned at Urikanu Gaidin's suggestion, both of his swords and two of his daggers, the small buckler whose use he had learned from Sigmund Gaidin. Something of his nervousness subsided: whatever came next would be dangerous, but at least he knew that for a certainty.
The armor was, in some ways, the least familiar part of his equipment, though he had put considerable effort into getting it made as he wanted it: the rounded angles of the helmet and breastplate, the shield-like squares that protected his upper arms and thighs, the chainmail that formed the joints and a sort of split skirt, and the protectors for his knees and shins. It would not give quite as much protection as full plate, but it was somewhat lighter - good if he would be moving around on foot. With everything in place, he tied his sash around his waist, and tucked his long and short swords into in. The daggers went into their sheaths, one on his boot and the other tucked into the sash at his right hip, opposite the swords; the buckler, he strapped on his left forearm. Leaving the lute behind on the table, he went through the door.
The room opened directly onto a courtyard, which made Firredal wonder if it had been designed for this sort of arrival. This must be the Citadel. I remember Saphire Sedai talking about it. His arrival was expected, it seemed; five figures stood facing him. He recognized four of them: the Warder Council. He bowed, a habit drilled into him over his time in the Yards.
Caden Ives, Gaidin Captain, the man who had helped Firredal overcome his inability to actually strike someone, stepped forward. The wind stirred his blond hair, but his eyes remained calm. "Who comes before the Warder Council?" he asked formally.
You should know, you summoned me. Firredal knew he had changed since coming to the Tower; it had not been so long ago that he would actually have spoken those words. "Firredal Osiellin," he said simply.
The Gaidin Captain stepped back, and the Master of Training stepped forward. Firredal recognized him as well; Sigmund von Danzig was a constant presence in the Warder Yards. The woman behind him - another Cairhienin, small-built and deceptively fragile in appearance - was the Mistress of Arms, Ellisande Allendar.
"You have trained in our ranks and have been deemed worthy of a final assignment," said the Master of Training. "Ji'alantin Firredal, you are called to prove yourself worthy of the fancloak in the wilds of the Blightborder. You have three chances to approach this task. If you choose to step down today, you may come before us twice more. Once you agree to continue your test, however, you may not turn back without immediate failure. Once you accept your test, you must complete the test or you will be put out of the Tower permanently. Do you wish to continue?"
Firredal suppressed a grin; it seemed inappropriate. So this is a final test. "I will continue, Gaidin."
The Master of Training stepped back, and the Mistress of Arms stepped forward. ""You are called to protect this Aes Sedai, the symbol of your desired duty," she said. "Return with some token of your struggle; do not return to this fortress until you can bring some proof of your protection before the Council." She studied Firredal for a brief moment, her expression solemn and unreadable. "If you return without such proof, or if you fail in your protection of this Aes Sedai-if she falls under your defense-you will be put out of the Tower permanently."
Firredal nodded. "I understand."
Saphire Sedai, Sitter for the Green Ajah and Warder-Channeler representative, stepped forward as Ellisande Gaidar stepped back. "May the light bless your sword," she said, "and may your test be one of enduring strength."
The Warder Council turned away, moving towards the heavy stone buildings at the far end of the courtyard, leaving Firredal alone with the Aes Sedai. Not for long, though. Already he could see grooms approaching, leading two mounts and a packhorse. "Firredal Osiellin," he introduced himself again, "at your service, Aes Sedai."
"Onima Sedai," she returned evenly, straightening the brown-fringed shawl on her shoulders. Her hair was long and dark brown, her features lightly-tanned color that he associated with Andorans. She was somewhat taller than he was, which helped to reinforce the impression. "I'll be retrieving some materials from an abandoned watchtower and bringing them back here."
Firredal frowned. "Abandoned?"
Onima shrugged. "Sacked," she said, "and then abandoned. Have you ever been into the Blight?"
Firredal shook his head. "I have heard stories, and I have some knowledge of shadowspawn, but I have never entered the Blight itself." Nor ever wanted to.
"Be cautious, then," she said. "Our destination is just outside the Blight proper, but it may be close enough to show signs of the Shadow. We eat only what we bring with us, and once we near the watchtower you should take care not to touch anything."
Firredal nodded. The grooms arrived with the horses then, and they mounted. Massive gates swung open as they rode forward, and Firredal glanced up as they passed through the gatehouse, taking in the murder holes and the opening for a portcullis. Soon after, they were riding out into the Borderlands.
High hills had been cleared of growth around the outside of the Citadel, to a distance that Firredal thought was excessive until he remembered that the One Power required a clear line of sight to use. Though he could not see anyone around - or anywhere that a man could hide - he stayed alert, letting his eyes pass over their surroundings without lingering in any one place.
Their road took them down into the shadows of a forest, its trees heavy and ancient. Firredal kept a hand near his sword, though Onima seemed relaxed enough. He could hear, and sometimes see, the movements of small animals and birds. Once a fox crossed their path, looking startled at their appearance. They made a simple camp soon after, and Onima told Firredal that she had set wards to turn the eye away from them.
He nodded. "We should have waited until morning to leave," he said.
Onima shook her head. "Perhaps, but there is some urgency to this. The documents we seek were kept in a small strongbox, concealed behind a false stone in the wall. They have information on troop movements - our own, and what our scouts have observed in the Blight. Should that information fall into the hands of the Shadow, many of our defenses might be compromised."
"How badly?" Firredal asked.
"Badly enough," said Onima. "It would not mean the fall of the Borderlands, but good soldiers would likely die - and anything that aids the Shadow must be avoided."
Firredal nodded, accepting that, and moved to get food from the pack horse. Dusk seemed to come later here - he wasn't sure why - and he was hungry again. Onima Sedai accepted an apple without comment, and they ate without speaking.
Firredal slept lightly, aware of the subtle changes in the sounds of the forest as the night passed. Though he did not consider himself much of a woodsman, he thought that any major change would have brought him awake - he was all too aware of the presence of the Blight, not so far away. Onima's wards should keep them unseen, but Firredal remained uneasy. He was awake with the first faint light of dawn, making sure that the ashes of their fire were out and gathering another meal from the pack horse. It was chilly, here; easier to keep moving than to wait.
This day seemed to pass slowly, the sun climbing through the branches overhead as they continued north and west. Firredal remained observant, talking little and trying to get enough feel for his surroundings that he would notice anything out of place. Onima Sedai seemed much more comfortable than he was in this environment, which was all to the good, but Firredal refused to lower his guard. This is what I have been training for, after all.
Late in the afternoon, they came to a gorge, some twenty feet across and perhaps twice that deep, which wound away for as far as he could see in either direction. A simple wooden bridge, built of stout beams and braced from beneath, provided passage. "Delin's Leap," said Onima Sedai. "We've made good time. With luck, we can make the watchtower before sundown."
"A moment, then," said Firredal, riding ahead. He crossed the bridge, alert for hidden movements, but saw nothing. The dirt on the far side showed no sign of hoofprints; the only tracks he saw probably belonged to some sort of dog. The Aes Sedai followed him across when he waved, studying him with a slight tilt of her head. "It would have been a good place for an ambush," he explained.
The land rose as they continued, their trail winding through hills and trees. The forest thinned somewhat, became interspersed with areas of high grass. Firredal found that he much preferred the trees; anything could be hiding in that grass.
"There," said Onima softly. Ahead of them, a dark shape was silhouetted against the setting sun.
Firredal squinted. "The top looks... shattered. What happened?" He kept his voice low, remembering that some trollocs were supposed to have extremely acute healing. The area around the tower was clear, and he didn't see anything moving, but he doubted he would have been sent here if there wasn't some danger.
"I don't know," answered the Aes Sedai, "but I don't like it. This tower was always a bit too close to the Blight for my taste, but there's little else in this area; the need for advance notice made it worth the risk of keeping it here."
Firredal considered a moment longer: to reach the tower, they would have to move uphill across open ground, an easy target for anyone who could strike at a distance. "I don't like it either," he agreed. "Can you do anything to keep us unseen?"
She shook her head. "Not without attracting the attention of any Myrdraal that are in the area."
Nodding, Firredal said, "Then we should probably pull back and wait for morning, or else go now."
"Now," said Onima Sedai. "There's reason to believe that the Shadow will be looking for the same things we've come here to get. There are Darkfriends even in the Borderlands, and we may have a spy."
"Very well," said Firredal, drawing his sword. "Stay beside me; if there are arrows, use me for cover." He hoped his armor would stand up to the heavy trolloc shafts; it should be able to.
They started forward, the horses picking their way carefully across the rocky ground. Firredal forced himself to relax and kept changing the direction of his gaze: the tower ahead, the woods around them, then the tower again. Nothing seemed to be moving, and the silence around them could be a combination of nightfall and the open landscape. Near the base of the tower, chunks of shattered stone littered the ground; now they could see that the top of the watchtower seemed to have exploded. They reined up beside the tower and dismounted.
A step ahead of Onima, Firredal rounded the wall to a doorway and slid into the interior, leading the way with his blade. Nothing moved within; not even rats or birds. All he could see was shattered furniture and ripped wall hangings; a fireplace to the right, and a stair to the left. The ceiling was supported with heavy wooden beams. "Where?" he asked quietly, and Onima Sedai motioned to the left, where the stair made its way up the inside of the Tower.
The stairs were stone, and worn; he moved up them as quietly as he could manage. The second floor looked as bad as the first; an interior wall had been broken, revealing something that had once been an office. The stairs continued up from the landing, but cut off - along with the wall - about seven steps up. What had been the ceiling for this level was now mostly resting on the floor. Firredal nodded to the Aes Sedai, and moved up the next staircase until he could see out over the top of the tower. From here, the pattern of fallen stone was clear; it looked as though the Tower had exploded. Equally clear were the three hulking figures making their way up the hillside.
Firredal slipped back down to the landing. "Trollocs," he said. "Best if you hurry. I'll go down and cover the door."
Halfway across the rubble-strewn floor, Onima Sedai nodded. "Try to keep them away from the horses, too." Firredal nodded back, and went down the stairs. He looked carefully out past the shattered door, noting with relief that these three didn't seem to be carrying bows or spears. Wolf-, hawk-, and boar-headed monstrosities carried broadsword, double-bladed axe, and some sort of spiked war-club. Their armor was incomplete, and had a cobbled-together look; even at a distance, he could see the vulnerabilities it left for them.
One of them broke away from the other two, angling towards the place where they had left the horses, and Firredal cursed to himself. The other two were nearing the door when he stepped out, a blade in each hand. The wolf-headed one snarled something, causing its hawk-headed companion to laugh. Firredal shrugged to loosen his shoulders, then starter forward, angling his approach to keep the wolf-headed one between him and its companions. It raised its blade at his approach, but Firredal twisted, sliding the attack past with his shorter blade and stabbing forward with the longer one. The point went in under its breastbone, and it gurgled and fell.
The boar-headed trolloc abandoned the animals immediately, and moved to support its companion. Its weapon worried Firredal; a club as large and heavy as that one looked would be devastating if it connected, and putting a blade in the way might not be enough to stop it. The hawk-headed beastman was moving sideways, trying to flank him; he moved to engage it, hoping to take it down before its companion reached them.
He caught a horizontal swing with a double-block, both his swords crossed to catch the axe just below the head. Twisting, he lunged away, leaving the trolloc staring stupidly at its empty hands. It jumped backwards as he swung at it, and then its companion was there, bringing that massive club around for a heavy overhand blow. Firredal reacted by reflex, bringing both hands up together to sweep the attack off to his right, while he dodged left. The club thudded into the ground, and he lunged in over it. Parting the Silk took the trolloc's right hand off at the wrist.
The hawk-headed one had picked up its friend's sword, though, and was moving to get behind him; Firredal pivoted and circled sideways, moving automatically into The Swallow Rides The Air. A clumsy strike fell short of him, and he feinted high before rolling his blade down to connect with the trolloc's knee. It screamed and fell, and Firredal followed through with a thrust to the throat.
Shaking the blood off the shorter blade, Firredal put it away and turned back to find the boar-faced trolloc trying to stanch the flow of blood from its wrist. It saw him looking and scrambled for its club, raising the weapon one-handed. Strong as it was, that big a weapon was clumsy in a one-handed grip; and its other wrist was still bleeding. Good, thought Firredal, hanging back and glancing around to be sure there were no other trollocs coming.
There weren't, but that moment of inattention would have been lethal if the trolloc had been any closer. He looked back just in time to dodge the club again; his counterstroke glanced off the worn and dented breastplate on the monster's chest. They circled, and Firredal caught a glimpse of Onima Sedai in the doorway of the broken tower; the trolloc did not seem to have noticed her. Good. It can go into shock any time now. He moved into The Wood Grouse Dances, staying at the edge of its range but forcing it to pay attention to him; he preferred not to give it another shot at him. It was hard to tell with its inhuman flesh, but it seemed to be growing pale, and its reactions were definitely slower. Finally, he feinted right with his longer blade and stepped in with the shorter, bringing it down across the trolloc's good wrist. It gave him a look of dull incomprehension as the club fell from its grip; then it fell over.
"Time to go," he called softly, delivering a finishing cut and then bending down to remove a clan badge from the shoulder of the trolloc's black mail armor.
Onima was already moving towards her horse, and had secured the strongbox and mounted by the time Firredal finished retrieving the other badges. Keeping the horses at a walk required an effort of will, but the sun was near to setting and the mounts would be no help at all if one of them broke a leg.
They didn't make camp this time; they were still too close to the watchtower, and whatever other shadowspawn might remain near it. Instead, they kept moving, catching glimpses of the rising moon through parts in the trees. The horses hooves clopped dully against the dirt, the sound clear in the night air.
An hour or more had passed by the time they reached the bridge; they paused while Firredal went to look, but it seemed as empty as it had when they first came this way. He made his way across, and Onima followed. Nothing moved to attack them; nothing moved at all. Relieved, they continued on their way.
The moon had peaked and begun to set when Firredal glanced back and saw another horseman behind them. He wasn't immediately certain what had alerted him, whether he had heard the sound of hooves or caught some flicker of movement, but he drew his sword as the figure edged its horse sideways, into the shadow of the trees. Onima had straightened at his apparent alarm, and was turning to speak to him when the cloaked figure appeared beside her, its sword coming around in a wide swing. Firredal's blade lanced out, overextended, but it caught the shadowman's blade as Onima tumbled from her horse - which shrieked, terrified, and galloped away up the road. Firredal edged his horse back, not daring to take his eyes off the Myrdraal long enough to see if the Aes Sedai was well, or even still alive. The Fade moved, faster than a striking snake; Firredal turned its blade aside by the barest of margins. Fighting on horseback was substantially different from fighti! ng on foot, and not something he had much practice at. The Halfman attacked again, and Firredal let it drive him back, felt the terror rise inside him. Panic was all that kept him moving, as he blocked and blocked again. The light-cursed thing is better than I am.
Abruptly, the Myrdraal began to burn, dropping its sword and howling. Firredal urged his horse back, though it needed little encouragement, and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden light even as he looked around again. No other shadowspawn were visible, and the Fade's horse bolted even as its rider fell. Onima was lying on the dirt road, partly shielded by the packhorse, which was lifting a forefoot and setting it down hesitantly. It's a wonder that horse hasn't run off too. It would be just my luck if it did. The Aes Sedai turned her gaze from the smoldering Myrdraal to Firredal. "Thank you," she said, and started to rise.
"It's mutual, I assure you," Firredal heard himself say. "A few more heartbeats, and it would have had me." He started to dismount, and heard Onima Sedai curse - loudly, and with surprising fluency.
"My ankle," she said. "I twisted it when I landed."
Firredal nodded and offered her an arm - his left; he still had his blade in the right. "Take my horse," he said. "I can walk until we catch up to yours."
Onima opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. "And if we don't find it?"
Firredal shrugged. "Then I walk the rest of the way." What choice do we have? "Unless you can heal yourself?"
The Aes Sedai shook her head. "I cannot."
Firredal shrugged again and sheathed his blade. "Then I walk."
The missing horse did not return - a sort of balance, Firredal supposed, for the pack horse's failure to flee - and the rest of the night passed in a blur of dusty footsteps, darkened trees, and the occasional open field. They were not set upon again, and it was shortly after dawn when Firredal, considerably relieved, caught sight of the massive stones of the Citadel.
The massive gates swung open as they approached, the Warder Council waiting patiently inside. Firredal's legs ached, and his feet had passed through pain into numbness, but he glanced around carefully in search of some final threat - the spy that Onima Sedai had mentioned, perhaps armed with a longbow. No. Foolishness, that. No spy would be that stupid.
The Master of Training stepped forward. "Welcome back, ji'alantin. Do you come bearing proof of your success?"
Blinking, Firredal jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "She is still alive," he said. Then his thoughts caught up with the question, and he remembered the badges he had taken from the trollocs. Fishing them out of his saddlebag, he handed them to Sigmund Gaidin. A servant led him away, to cleanse himself and return for the final ceremony.
