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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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Mave - Run away Accepted on a mission
The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long passed, a wind rose in the rocky hills of the World’s End. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings in the Wheel of Time. But it was A beginning.
The wind gusted down from the hills, redolent with the salt of the Dead Sea. It swept down over the great plains, passing prosperous towns and the isolated pockets of tithe forests. It swirled across the faubourg, past taverns, mills and the shops of small craftsmen. It soared over the ancient walls of Barsine, fluting through the golden spires that reflected the afternoon sun like aurite mirrors.
The wind fluttered the leaves from the cherry trees in the courtyard of the Library of Kelcis, ruffling the pages of a book being read by a woman on a stone bench. Lysabel Paeron, Aes Sedai of the White Ajah for less than a year, regarded the tome on celestial navigation carefully. It was strange to be outside of Tar Valon for the first time in most of a decade, almost as strange as the Oaths that still clung to her skin like a dress that should have been put aside a season ago. The older Sisters told her that the feeling passed with time and experience. Lysabel had been in Barsine for nearly three months as a guest of Lord Protector Malwin. Malwin’s son was in the early stages of outfitting an expedition to sail west beyond the seas explored by the Athan’mire. Lysabel had written to the prince when she had heard of the venture, describing what she thought the land masses south and west might be, based on analysis of maps from before the Breaking and the comparison with modern charts, such as they were. As a result she had been invited to come to Barsine to aid in the preparation, mostly by translating and updating what little literature survived that discussed navigation. Prince Kefin had been on the verge of asking her to join him in his endeavor, but she had forestalled him. The First Light probably wouldn’t approve of her sailing off the edge of the world, and she wanted to be able to claim she hadn’t been invited. That wasn’t the same as saying you weren't going after all. The ships were being built in the port cities along the coast. Kefin had taken her to see them. The craftsmen of Jaramide had out done themselves, they were great rakers in the Sea Folk tradition, but larger and three masted, built heavy for the deep sea. Lysabel herself had aided in fusing in place the copper plating on their hulls and talked with the ship masters over sail configuration and lading. Initially the craftsmen had been skeptical of a woman, and an Aes Sedai at that giving advice, but she had been born on the shores of the Arryth, down south on the Shadow Coast and was no stranger to the sea or seafaring. The fact she was excited to learn had taken her along way, that and the fact she was a pretty young woman always willing to buy a nice meal while discussing keel design and windage requirements.
The idea of the upcoming adventure tantalized her. There was so much yet to be discovered, or yet to be rediscovered. What relics of the Age of Legend might she recover? She had even given some thought to how she might use Saidar to see what lay beneath the ocean, though her drawings and sketches on the matter were a long way from being fleshed out. There would be time yet, as they couldn’t sail before the middle of spring with any hope of success. That meant perhaps another six months of study and preparation, a time that seemed at once too short and too long.
“Aes Sedai,” a man said in a tone that suggested this was not the first time he had said it. Lysabel looked up to see one of the Library Custodians standing before her with a frown. He was dressed in the emerald green coat of his office and had the heavy gold chased baton at his waist. These days the batons were ceremonial but in more turbulent times the Custodians had been expected to use them to defend the precious knowledge within their walls from mobs and looters.
“Yes…. Ynald is it?” she asked pulling his name for a brief introduction months in the past. A memory for faces and facts was a trait her White Ajah mentors had approved off. The Custodian seemed a little taken aback that she knew his name. Some of the officiousness went out of his eyes.
“Ah… Ynild Aes Sedai,” he replied, correcting her pronunciation slightly. Lysabel looked down at her book, noticed a leaf had blown in between the pages and brushed it away. She dearly wanted to return to her reading but the quickest way to deal with this interruption was to see what the man wanted. No Custodian would trouble an Aes Sedai without cause, no matter how many irritated looks they shot each other when they thought she wasn’t looking.
“What is it Ynild,” she prompted, feeling the flash of irritation at having been made to ask. The White Ajah valued logic and control above all things but that didn’t mean its Sisters lacked emotion. Lysabel was proof of the opposite, she valued the discipline because it helped her not to switch at a man simply because he interrupted her reading and then made her prompt him.
“There is a man who wants to see you,” he informed her. Lysabel repressed the urge to strike the man. Was it too much to ask for a prompt and succinct report. Who was this man? What did he want? From whom had he come? Why are you wasting my time by reporting it to me in the smallest increments possible?
“Is this all the information you have on this person? His gender and his desire to see me?” Lysabel asked. By the flinch she got from Ynild she hadn’t been quite as successful at keeping the chill from her voice as she had hoped.
“Uhhh… he says he needs to see an Aes Sedai. Should I send him away?” the Custodian’s words tumbled over each other in what was becoming a panic.
“Bring him too me, it seems easier than dragging every detail of the matter out of you,” she said, closing her book in irritation.
“But Aes Sedai, he dosen’t have an introduction I cant just bring him within the walls and…”
“Bring. Him. To. Me.” Lysabel enunciated with the exaggerated precision one uses when addressing a child, and the coolness one uses when a dinner guest has thrown up on ones shoes. The Custodian reeled back as though struck.
“At once Aes Sedai!”
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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Markus Flenbraik had been in Barsine only three times before. On Cauldigan street, he had broken up a fight with a woman and her pot-belly husband before daggers were drawn. On his second trip, he had won the favor of the gate captain by beating his honor-guard at dice, though he felt he had nearly lost his head from the exchange. Twice he had ascended the overbright golden towers the city was famous for, and no matter how often he trekked through the vast hill-country, he always loathed going up those spiral stairs. The walls were foreboding and he felt someone was going to offer him a southern drink with a pithy comment on his manner before he reached the top.
So far, he had not had to endure something troublesome as he rode through the multitudes of the city. The men and women wore the typical fashion of urban Jaramide, with loose breeches and earrings that threatened to be ostentatious, if not overtly so. The women were keen eyed and hard working and the bearded men had a knack for mercantilism, if the stories were true. Markus had seen enough interactions to testify the stereotypes had merit.
The light shined on him, as he needn't go up four thousand winding steps or butt heads with anyone unaccustomed to a member of the Dh'aeir'whod, known as the Stormbearers to some, and Outriders to others. Jaradine's light cavalry division did not see much action these days beyond the occasional trolloc raid or banditry. Trained to fight with the sword and the lance, and even the bow and the knife in some regard, though the latter two were less specialized now that the need for wilderness scouting less needed than it had been closer to the breaking. Most patrols stayed closer to the their garrisons and the townlets they shielded from ruffians and the like. Only twice a year did the Outriders stray further than a score of miles beyond the northern-most city, Barsine, and that was merely a tradition nowadays some did not even heed enough to attend. Yes, the light shined on Markus. Today, he would see an Aes Sedai.
He would rather be assaulted again by drunken street toughs or say, ascending one of the towers and then being thrown out of the top of one.
He did not think they were witches or true dangers as some folk did. Mostly because they did not have time to be dangerous, with their noses in the books and their cares in the stars above. Markus, through some form of contemptuous irony, had found the one thing he knew an Aes Sedai would be good at: knowledge. And so he went to the biggest and closest city he could, and true enough, he found one lounging in the Library of Kelcis. Word of an Aes Sedai traveled far, and it hadn't taken him long to learn of her whereabouts. He awaited her to admit him in, and thankfully he needn't wait long. The man Ynild approached him awaiting in the foyer, urging him to follow.
"You're lucky. She seems to have the time for you," He told Markus, who looked at the pretentiously dressed man and decided not to comment on his remark. Instead, the soldier thought it better to ask: "What is her name?"
"Lady Lysabel of the White Ajah. She has many titles but I don't think you'll need to know them all." Ynild said, and both of them knew Ynild did not know them all himself. The two walked for another dozen strides, and then he opened the grey-white door for Markus to step into the courtyard.
Had he been a different man, he might have been caught by the beauty of the scene. Cherry trees and blossoms shined in the sunlight, well cut and soft grass tickling the ankles as the lady in white sat on a long chair, looking up from her book to regard him. But he was not that sort of man.
Markus and her could not look more different. He could sort of tell she was a slim, pretty woman with blonde hair that shined like the sun and a white shawl with small aesthetic trimmings he couldn't see from the glare. Markus felt dirty in comparison, though he was cleaner now than he had been in some weeks. His travel clothes were dark shades of green and brown, and his thick, dark hair was unkempt, save for a rough knot tied at the center behind his head, making a small ponytail in the midst of the rest of his mane. Under his leather he was garbed in scaled armor of well-made steel. He was unshaven, a coarse goatee darkening his perhaps-handsome features. Though he looked almost like a bandit himself, bore weapons, and carried a bag of something unknown, she didn't look intimidated.
A few seconds of waiting, and Markus walked forward. He had the gait of someone used to crouching in silence and contrasting it with explosions of movement, like a large cat or some terror from far within blight.
"Lady Lysabel, I am Markus. One of the Jaradime Outriders." He explained, unused to formality to anyone but his commander. It felt strange on his tongue, but if he insulted her she might not give him what he sought. He sometimes paused in the story, never having been much of an orator. "Three days ago, four comrades and I came upon a small hunting party of Trollocs. We get them from time to time. If we catch them by surprise, we can usually route them without much problem. These ones seemed...different than the others. More sure of themselves... Only I survived."
Markus began to unwind the grey fabric he had brought. Something heavy tumbled inside as he dropped it to the ground and pulled on the weave. "When the last of my party was dead and I butchered the last monster, I saw something on its arm. Something I could not read, but felt was foul. On the hill above, I thought I saw a rider watching. Someone swathed in black, but when I looked again they were gone. I rode two nights to get here and ask for you to tell me what exactly this says."
Sure enough, the fabric was pulled away and a putrid, hairy arm that nearly matched Lysabel in size lay on the soft grass of the opulent courtyard. Its hands so human-like, but bent and clawed. On its arm were etchings that turned the stomach, and Markus could not begin to guess their meaning, save only it was a dark message.
So far, he had not had to endure something troublesome as he rode through the multitudes of the city. The men and women wore the typical fashion of urban Jaramide, with loose breeches and earrings that threatened to be ostentatious, if not overtly so. The women were keen eyed and hard working and the bearded men had a knack for mercantilism, if the stories were true. Markus had seen enough interactions to testify the stereotypes had merit.
The light shined on him, as he needn't go up four thousand winding steps or butt heads with anyone unaccustomed to a member of the Dh'aeir'whod, known as the Stormbearers to some, and Outriders to others. Jaradine's light cavalry division did not see much action these days beyond the occasional trolloc raid or banditry. Trained to fight with the sword and the lance, and even the bow and the knife in some regard, though the latter two were less specialized now that the need for wilderness scouting less needed than it had been closer to the breaking. Most patrols stayed closer to the their garrisons and the townlets they shielded from ruffians and the like. Only twice a year did the Outriders stray further than a score of miles beyond the northern-most city, Barsine, and that was merely a tradition nowadays some did not even heed enough to attend. Yes, the light shined on Markus. Today, he would see an Aes Sedai.
He would rather be assaulted again by drunken street toughs or say, ascending one of the towers and then being thrown out of the top of one.
He did not think they were witches or true dangers as some folk did. Mostly because they did not have time to be dangerous, with their noses in the books and their cares in the stars above. Markus, through some form of contemptuous irony, had found the one thing he knew an Aes Sedai would be good at: knowledge. And so he went to the biggest and closest city he could, and true enough, he found one lounging in the Library of Kelcis. Word of an Aes Sedai traveled far, and it hadn't taken him long to learn of her whereabouts. He awaited her to admit him in, and thankfully he needn't wait long. The man Ynild approached him awaiting in the foyer, urging him to follow.
"You're lucky. She seems to have the time for you," He told Markus, who looked at the pretentiously dressed man and decided not to comment on his remark. Instead, the soldier thought it better to ask: "What is her name?"
"Lady Lysabel of the White Ajah. She has many titles but I don't think you'll need to know them all." Ynild said, and both of them knew Ynild did not know them all himself. The two walked for another dozen strides, and then he opened the grey-white door for Markus to step into the courtyard.
Had he been a different man, he might have been caught by the beauty of the scene. Cherry trees and blossoms shined in the sunlight, well cut and soft grass tickling the ankles as the lady in white sat on a long chair, looking up from her book to regard him. But he was not that sort of man.
Markus and her could not look more different. He could sort of tell she was a slim, pretty woman with blonde hair that shined like the sun and a white shawl with small aesthetic trimmings he couldn't see from the glare. Markus felt dirty in comparison, though he was cleaner now than he had been in some weeks. His travel clothes were dark shades of green and brown, and his thick, dark hair was unkempt, save for a rough knot tied at the center behind his head, making a small ponytail in the midst of the rest of his mane. Under his leather he was garbed in scaled armor of well-made steel. He was unshaven, a coarse goatee darkening his perhaps-handsome features. Though he looked almost like a bandit himself, bore weapons, and carried a bag of something unknown, she didn't look intimidated.
A few seconds of waiting, and Markus walked forward. He had the gait of someone used to crouching in silence and contrasting it with explosions of movement, like a large cat or some terror from far within blight.
"Lady Lysabel, I am Markus. One of the Jaradime Outriders." He explained, unused to formality to anyone but his commander. It felt strange on his tongue, but if he insulted her she might not give him what he sought. He sometimes paused in the story, never having been much of an orator. "Three days ago, four comrades and I came upon a small hunting party of Trollocs. We get them from time to time. If we catch them by surprise, we can usually route them without much problem. These ones seemed...different than the others. More sure of themselves... Only I survived."
Markus began to unwind the grey fabric he had brought. Something heavy tumbled inside as he dropped it to the ground and pulled on the weave. "When the last of my party was dead and I butchered the last monster, I saw something on its arm. Something I could not read, but felt was foul. On the hill above, I thought I saw a rider watching. Someone swathed in black, but when I looked again they were gone. I rode two nights to get here and ask for you to tell me what exactly this says."
Sure enough, the fabric was pulled away and a putrid, hairy arm that nearly matched Lysabel in size lay on the soft grass of the opulent courtyard. Its hands so human-like, but bent and clawed. On its arm were etchings that turned the stomach, and Markus could not begin to guess their meaning, save only it was a dark message.
Ynild made a violent retching sound as he beheld the object that had thumped to the grass. The superior sneer on his face wiped completely away in the space of a few heartbeats. Lysabel felt a certain discomfort herself, but the discipline of the White Tower prevented her from showing anything beyond the slightest curl of her lip. The grim borderlander merely looked on expectantly.
“You may go,” she told Ynild bluntly. The Custodian straightened up with afronted pride somewhat spoiled by the shade of green his face was turning.
“My lady, I cannot allow…” Ynild began but he trailed off as she fixed him with her arctic blue eyes. There were many ways by which she might have cowed him but the simple stare was most effective, combining as it did the promise of unknown wrath and his own desire to be away from the grotesque thing that had been brought, so unexpectedly, into his world. The Custodian offered a stiffly affronted bow and then fled. Lysabel gave her attention to the arm. It was thick and muscular and covered with bristly hair perhaps similar to that of a boar but it was thin enough that it didn’t obscure the flesh beneath. Standing gracefully she sat her book down with care on the bench and knelt beside it peering intently at the markings. They had been carved into the flesh some time before death, perhaps weeks or even months, the symbols marked out in keloid scarring that puckered the flesh an angry red brown. Few, even among Aes Sedai, could have read the script, but Lysabel had studied long under the Brown Ajah before ultimately choosing the White.
“A strange thing Outrider,” she mused, leaning close and moving the arm slightly to reveal the script concealed by the curve of the limb. It wasn’t easy to dredge up the knowledge and it felt almost physically uncomfortable to do so. That things as vile as trollocs had a mockery of the written word was offensive on a level that only a dyed in the wool bibliophile could appreciate.
“These appear to be marching orders, or perhaps a map might be closer to the truth,” she began, her mind engaging and the icy veneer sliding away from her face as she became involved in the puzzle.
“Four nights march to reach a great lake, turn towards the sun, two days march to reach the… this might be fortress or watch tower. On the night of the dark moon. Kill,” she translated. She followed the script backwards in time and towards the elbow and she paused.
“They were heading south when we intercepted them, but there were hardly enough of them to threaten any fortress,” the gruff borderlander supplied. Lysabel barely noticed so engrossed in the translation.
“This is no trolloc symbol,” she said, pointing to a particularly contorted knot of flesh.
“If I didn’t know better…” she trailed off looking up at Markus. “I’d say its an Ogier symbol for a waygate.”@POOHEAD189
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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The borderlander listened intently, as if she were his commander barking out marching orders. He was at once both relieved his theory had been right, and unnerved of the same. This meant the Trollocs were planning something, perhaps a larger raid on one of the hamlets up north. He needed to go and tell his commander before something was done! But as the Aes Sedai spoke, Markus' expression changed without his face or stance moving a muscle.
"Ogier," he said flatly. He looked at her, and by the light she looked like she was telling the truth as she knew it. It still agitated him to no end.
"That..." He started, but let it trail away. He was going to say 'that doesn't help,' when she mentioned the Ogier. Fairy-tails and barroom legends had little to do with the very real threat of these trollocs. But he wasn't going to get angry with her, despite his prejudices. He had come here seeking answers and she had provided. At least he had an idea of where another band might attack next. The only lake in the region was easy to find, being the largest body of water connected to the river Arinelle.
"My thanks," He said, without any of the preamble most Aes Sedai were used to. He did not bow or even grant a smile. He was tired, hungry, and he had another two days ride left before he could really indulge in either. Markus bent down and retrieved the arm, wrapping it back up in the cloth. He would dispense with it outside the town when he first made camp. The winter had lasted long this year, and though it was finally starting to warm up, the nights were chilled, particularly in Jaradime.
He was halfway to the door with the pack slung across his strong back when she stopped him.
@Penny
"Ogier," he said flatly. He looked at her, and by the light she looked like she was telling the truth as she knew it. It still agitated him to no end.
"That..." He started, but let it trail away. He was going to say 'that doesn't help,' when she mentioned the Ogier. Fairy-tails and barroom legends had little to do with the very real threat of these trollocs. But he wasn't going to get angry with her, despite his prejudices. He had come here seeking answers and she had provided. At least he had an idea of where another band might attack next. The only lake in the region was easy to find, being the largest body of water connected to the river Arinelle.
"My thanks," He said, without any of the preamble most Aes Sedai were used to. He did not bow or even grant a smile. He was tired, hungry, and he had another two days ride left before he could really indulge in either. Markus bent down and retrieved the arm, wrapping it back up in the cloth. He would dispense with it outside the town when he first made camp. The winter had lasted long this year, and though it was finally starting to warm up, the nights were chilled, particularly in Jaradime.
He was halfway to the door with the pack slung across his strong back when she stopped him.
@Penny
Lysabel nearly let him go. The borderlander was curt to the point of rudeness, but she supposed she preferred that to the Custodian’s forcing her to extract each fact one by one. She turned and reached for her book but her mind was already processing the information she had been given, just as though Sarene Sedai had set it to her as a lesson. Four days march south, two days march east. Alot depended on where the march had began from. What had they hoped to accomplish. This was Jaramide, a handful of trollocs could never hope to overwhelm even a single fortified watchtower. That logic was proceeding from a false premise. Of course a single group could not hope to overwhelm a watchtower. Ergo there was more than one group, probably traveling dispersed in order to avoid detection, or if they were detected as this group had been, so they would be passed off as random raiders. Was this just trollocs bent on slaughter? Who was the black figure Markus had seen?
“Outrider, wait a moment,” Lysabel ordered, sighing inwardly as she picked up her book and crossed the garden towards him.
“I need to report,” Markus growled, not for the first time as he followed her through the streets. The city seemed unusually alive to Lysabel, though her experience beyond the library and the palace was minimal.
“And you shall, once you have escorted me to my destination,” she replied, striving for Aes Sedai serenity. In the tales, when an Aes Sedai asked a service of someone, they complied willingly and they certainly didn’t carp and complain the whole time. The destination she had in mind was the Choir Tree, a tavern on the edge of the city near the south gate.
“Besides, isn’t it better if you have a full report?” she coaxed. This extracted another sour grunt from her companion. Blood and Ashes, they did breed a maudlin sort this far north. The Choir Tree was and impressive building with a central structure flanked by two wings of white brick around a stone courtyard that was bright with blooming flowers in an elaborate series of stone planter beds. The interior of the tavern smelled pleasantly of baking bread and mulled cider, several barrels of which stood beside a fire over which hot irons hung on a metal grate. The innkeeper was a round looking man with a shiny bald pate and an impressive mustache. He polished at a glass with a rag brightening as she entered.
“You honor my establishment Aes Sedai,” he said with a florid bow, “do you and your warder require quarters?” Lysabel blinked, nonplussed for a moment, before realizing he was referring to Markus.
“Thank you but no,” she replied, failing to correct his misapprehension. “Can you tell me if Master Kadal is still in residence?” The innkeeper nodded vigorously.
“Indeed he is Aes Sedai, is he a friend of yours?” the innkeeper asked.
“I hope that he is, would you tell him that Lysabel Sedai has an urgent matter to discuss with him. We might speak in the tea room if it is available?” she arched an interrogatory eyebrow. The innkeeper nodded pleasantly.
“Of course Aes Sedai, Ill have tea set out and send for him,” the man promised.
“Send for him first if you will,” she corrected, “we are somewhat pushed for time.”
“Is this to do with the bandit raids Aes Sedai?” he asked unexpectedly. Lysabel frowned, shaking her head.
“The whole town is buzzing about it, they say that the King is sending men south to chase them back across the border,” the innkeeper informed them with a knowing smile.
“We will await Master Kadal in the tea room,” she told him. The innkeeper nodded and led them into a pleasantly appointed room with large glass windows that looked out over the courtyard and comfortable divans arranged around a low central table. Lysabel took a seat but Markus did not, his face was impassive but his anger was growing increasingly evident.
“I do not have time to take tea Aes Sedai, with all due respect…” the borderlander began.
“Don’t be so hasty young sir,” a voice like a small avalanche rumbled from the doorway. Markus turned to see a giant figure, nearly nine feet tall with great bushy eyebrows and a bright red coat and green breeches that would have served as a tent for a man on campaign.
“I find there is almost always time for tea,” he rumbled, stepping into the room and straightening almost to the tall roof beams.
“I am Kadal son of Mavaam,” he introduced himself with a slight bow and a rich chuckle.
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Markus did not know why he was following her, but clearly she felt it important, and he had come this far. He also did not want to make an enemy of an Aes Sedai or anyone associated with one, and so he followed her through the streets and entered the Choir Tree. He had never been in the building, but the Outrider had seen it from afar a few times. It was nice and lively. Next time Markus was in Barsine he might come here rather than his usual haunts.
The comment about the warder flummoxed him and had almost had him bark a warning at the inn keeper. You might as well have called him one of the loudly extravagant Tuatha'an and he would have had a similar incredulous reaction. He was so nonplussed he found himself whisked into a room awaiting tea before he knew it. Women had a way of making you do something before you even realized it. A pretty girl had a power few things could match, his older brother had always told him. But she was an Aes Sedai, and he wasn't going to fall for anything. She sat like for all the world she was in control of Barsine and its affairs. He wondered yet again why he was here. He truly did not want to offend, but damn, she was not taking a hint.
Markus was just turning around when what he could only describe as a monster stepped into his field of view. He was so wide and burly that he filled the borderlander's vision, and Markus himself wasn't the smallest man in Jaradime. Markus didn't hear the chuckle or the even the words. He heard speech, which some Trollocs were able to give. He heard the thing's breathing. He had heard all he needed to hear.
"No!" Lysabel cried with surprising authority, despite the clear despair in her voice. Markus had drawn his long knife so quickly, the Ogier, for indeed he would find out that was the creature, had barely blinked before his waistcoat had been pierced. Markus would have pierced him with the blade to the hilt if she had not cried out. Her voice alone stopped him, if only for it reminded him of someone else, long and far away. The Ogier, he supposed, looked down at him aghast.
Markus pulled the blade back slowly, and Lysabel let out a sigh of relief when she saw no blood on the steel tip. The rugged borderlander looked at her, and then at...Kadal. The Outrider felt two parts ashamed and three parts annoyed at this whole affair. Why wouldn't she bloody warn him of that? He walked passed Kadal and into the common room without another word, intent on leaving Barsine then and there. A big hand fell on his shoulder with surprising gentleness, and Markus turned to regard the new creature.
"No harm done, friend. Please, come sit." Kadal bade him. He gave an expression Markus guessed was a comforting smile.
A long moment rolled by them, and with clear apprehension, and to escape the wide-eyed onlookers of the inn who had heard the scream from within the tea room, Markus turned around and walked back into the room and let Kadal close the door to join them. The two males sat down, the borderlander unsure of how to proceed. The Ogier cleared his throat, and it sounded like a heavily laden cart rolling down hill.
"As I was saying, I am Kadal, son of Mavaam." He said once more.
"I am Markus. It's fortunate we can meet," was the Outrider's response, considering what Lysabel Sedai had said not an hour ago about the symbols on the Trolloc's arm. He still had the appendage tightly wound up, lumped on the floor.
@Penny
The comment about the warder flummoxed him and had almost had him bark a warning at the inn keeper. You might as well have called him one of the loudly extravagant Tuatha'an and he would have had a similar incredulous reaction. He was so nonplussed he found himself whisked into a room awaiting tea before he knew it. Women had a way of making you do something before you even realized it. A pretty girl had a power few things could match, his older brother had always told him. But she was an Aes Sedai, and he wasn't going to fall for anything. She sat like for all the world she was in control of Barsine and its affairs. He wondered yet again why he was here. He truly did not want to offend, but damn, she was not taking a hint.
Markus was just turning around when what he could only describe as a monster stepped into his field of view. He was so wide and burly that he filled the borderlander's vision, and Markus himself wasn't the smallest man in Jaradime. Markus didn't hear the chuckle or the even the words. He heard speech, which some Trollocs were able to give. He heard the thing's breathing. He had heard all he needed to hear.
"No!" Lysabel cried with surprising authority, despite the clear despair in her voice. Markus had drawn his long knife so quickly, the Ogier, for indeed he would find out that was the creature, had barely blinked before his waistcoat had been pierced. Markus would have pierced him with the blade to the hilt if she had not cried out. Her voice alone stopped him, if only for it reminded him of someone else, long and far away. The Ogier, he supposed, looked down at him aghast.
Markus pulled the blade back slowly, and Lysabel let out a sigh of relief when she saw no blood on the steel tip. The rugged borderlander looked at her, and then at...Kadal. The Outrider felt two parts ashamed and three parts annoyed at this whole affair. Why wouldn't she bloody warn him of that? He walked passed Kadal and into the common room without another word, intent on leaving Barsine then and there. A big hand fell on his shoulder with surprising gentleness, and Markus turned to regard the new creature.
"No harm done, friend. Please, come sit." Kadal bade him. He gave an expression Markus guessed was a comforting smile.
A long moment rolled by them, and with clear apprehension, and to escape the wide-eyed onlookers of the inn who had heard the scream from within the tea room, Markus turned around and walked back into the room and let Kadal close the door to join them. The two males sat down, the borderlander unsure of how to proceed. The Ogier cleared his throat, and it sounded like a heavily laden cart rolling down hill.
"As I was saying, I am Kadal, son of Mavaam." He said once more.
"I am Markus. It's fortunate we can meet," was the Outrider's response, considering what Lysabel Sedai had said not an hour ago about the symbols on the Trolloc's arm. He still had the appendage tightly wound up, lumped on the floor.
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It had not occurred to Lysabel that Markus might react in such a way to an ogier. That was foolish of course, even in Tar Valon the builders were rare. Most of the ogier built cities dated to shortly after the Breaking, and only in Tar Valon did they visit regularly maintaining the Tower and the city at the behest of the Aes Sedai. Lysabel didn’t mind being wrong, but she despised being foolish.
“Let us take tea Master Kadal,” Lysabel suggested and the ogier nodded, taking a seat on one of the divans. The furniture creaked beneath the ogier in protest and the overall effect was somewhat ridiculous, like an adult taking a seat on a child’s toy.
“You honor me Aes Sedai,” Kadal rumbled, “I had heard you were in the city and you had been given the run of the Library.” Further discussion was interrupted by a pair of serving girls entering carrying trays on which steaming pots of Tremalking black, cubes of sugar and pots of milk. One of the cups on the tray was very large, sized for the ogier, and it would take most of a pot just to fill it. At least the shock of actually meeting an ogier seemed to have stopped Markus’ carping for a time. Lysabel waved the servants away and poured the tea herself before the ogier could attempt the task. She added a little sugar and milk to hers and poured some for Markus which she left black.
“I’m afraid I have a matter I need to discuss with you Master Kadal,” Lysabel told the ogier as she sipped at her tea.
“I assumed as much,” the ogier rumbled, his big shovel like teeth baring in a smile. “I am not so interesting a conversationalist that Aes Sedai and great warriors seek me out.”
“Outrider, if you would,” Lysabel prompted, making a gesture to the Borderlander. Markus hesitated for only a moment before setting the severed limb on the table, as far from the tea set as it would go and unfolded its covering. Kadal made a sound like a flock of angry bees.
“Aes Sedai…” Kadal said in obvious shock.
“I’m sorry Master ogier, but I need you to look at this,” she stretched out a finger, not quite touching the arm. Kadal huffed out a breath that would have fluffed the sail of a ship and forced himself to look.
“It looks… it looks like the symbol of a waygate Aes Sedai, you must know of them?” the ogier asked. Lysabel nodded her head in agreement.
“Is there a waygate north of here, perhaps one or two hundred leagues?” she asked intently. The ogier made a rumbling sound that might have indicated he was thinking.
“I have never seen it Aes Sedai, but there are legends of a lost gate. My father told me that it was at the gate to the World’s end, in a valley marked by two white hills.” The ogier explained.
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The watchtower of Faltamilde was a burly fortress keep situated on a great hillock that oversaw countless miles in every direction. Markus had climbed the tower many times, and he fancied he could even see the Mountains of Mist four hundred miles away, if the skies were clear in springtime. He was not here to sight-see this time, nor did he feel like he would for a long time if what his commander was telling him was to be believed.
"Commander Ogdar, I am not the man for this. Please, send Fuldin, Haukdorn, light! Even Ingmak!" Markus begged fervently. He wasn't normally this impassioned over an order. In fact, he usually followed orders without a word, and if he ever had something to say, he was listened to for that fact. But Ogdar wasn't hearing it. Some of the Old Guard called him Ogdar One-Eye rather than commander. The old soldier had the use of both of his eyes, but a trolloc had cut at one and left a mild scar, and he was known for his single-minded stubbornness. He only had the focus for "one eye's worth" now, though no one said that to his face. He had forty years of service under his belt, and half of that was as commanding officer.
The squat, muscled warrior hit the arm of his chair, threatening to break it. Markus could see the white of his teeth past his grey beard as he spoke. "Question me again, boy, and you'll not live to regret it! Never have you been so bloody obstinate, don't start now!" He roared in a tone that could shatter stone if it dared stand before him in defiance. Markus watched him, and he felt all eyes of the guard on he or the commander, probably so they could claim that they were there when an experience Outrider was sentenced to stable duty for three months. "The Aes Sedai requests a guide, and since you're the one that felt that small band you found so frightening, you're going to serve the lady. You'll report back to me when she sees fit to release you."
"When must I leave?" Was all the swordsman could ask, defeated. Only the white of his knuckles betrayed his remaining feelings, gripping his sword hilt tightly.
"First light. And when you get back, if you get back and pleased the lady, you'll get a promotion. It's been a long time coming, but keep your lips closed and your eyes open. And clean yourself up." Commander Ogdar said, and he laughed when he saw Markus's expression. "Cut that beard and put on a new cloak, and get a clean uniform. Take a bath while you're at it. I'll get Myltoh to draw you one. You'll be entertaining an Aes Sedai and maybe someone more important. Use that Flenbraik charm."
Markus all but gaped. Not reallt at the order to get cleaned up. He wasn't a brute. But he was surprised Commander Ogdar had heard of his escapades before he made Outrider. When he was on ground patrol before he made the leap to the Dh'aeir'whod, the 'Flenbraik Charm' had been an inside joke amongst a few of his friends. Apparently the tavern girls had taken a fancy to him, looking past a few of his friends to him when he hadn't even given them the time of day. He never did understand why.
Markus could do nothing but salute, and make his way out of the officer's meeting room to get ready with a loathesome tiredness.
It had been a week since he had first lain eyes on Lysabel Sedai, and now he found her again awaiting him at the northern gate of Barsine. Markus's horse cantered forward in a controlled fashion, rider and horse moving with one mind and spirit. Markus wore a brown jerkin and a black cloak he kept unhooded. He had shaven and even had a small margin of his hair trimmed, showing his fine chin and dark eyes that seemed both cold and striking, and a nose that tied his face together into a daring look. He rode astride an approaching cart that a peddlar drove, giving a smile of crooked teeth to Markus and a tip of his hat to Lysabel as she sent his team of two donkeys past the gates into the city. The multitudes of travelers moved to and from the road, and the light woods outside seemed a small shield to the great blight beyond to Markus's eyes.
"Lysabel Sedai," Markus said with a polite albeit brusque nod. Aes Sedai or not, she hadn't been dishonest nor overly haughty so far. She deserved at least some respect. "Do we wait for anyone else? Is your big friend joining us?"
"Commander Ogdar, I am not the man for this. Please, send Fuldin, Haukdorn, light! Even Ingmak!" Markus begged fervently. He wasn't normally this impassioned over an order. In fact, he usually followed orders without a word, and if he ever had something to say, he was listened to for that fact. But Ogdar wasn't hearing it. Some of the Old Guard called him Ogdar One-Eye rather than commander. The old soldier had the use of both of his eyes, but a trolloc had cut at one and left a mild scar, and he was known for his single-minded stubbornness. He only had the focus for "one eye's worth" now, though no one said that to his face. He had forty years of service under his belt, and half of that was as commanding officer.
The squat, muscled warrior hit the arm of his chair, threatening to break it. Markus could see the white of his teeth past his grey beard as he spoke. "Question me again, boy, and you'll not live to regret it! Never have you been so bloody obstinate, don't start now!" He roared in a tone that could shatter stone if it dared stand before him in defiance. Markus watched him, and he felt all eyes of the guard on he or the commander, probably so they could claim that they were there when an experience Outrider was sentenced to stable duty for three months. "The Aes Sedai requests a guide, and since you're the one that felt that small band you found so frightening, you're going to serve the lady. You'll report back to me when she sees fit to release you."
"When must I leave?" Was all the swordsman could ask, defeated. Only the white of his knuckles betrayed his remaining feelings, gripping his sword hilt tightly.
"First light. And when you get back, if you get back and pleased the lady, you'll get a promotion. It's been a long time coming, but keep your lips closed and your eyes open. And clean yourself up." Commander Ogdar said, and he laughed when he saw Markus's expression. "Cut that beard and put on a new cloak, and get a clean uniform. Take a bath while you're at it. I'll get Myltoh to draw you one. You'll be entertaining an Aes Sedai and maybe someone more important. Use that Flenbraik charm."
Markus all but gaped. Not reallt at the order to get cleaned up. He wasn't a brute. But he was surprised Commander Ogdar had heard of his escapades before he made Outrider. When he was on ground patrol before he made the leap to the Dh'aeir'whod, the 'Flenbraik Charm' had been an inside joke amongst a few of his friends. Apparently the tavern girls had taken a fancy to him, looking past a few of his friends to him when he hadn't even given them the time of day. He never did understand why.
Markus could do nothing but salute, and make his way out of the officer's meeting room to get ready with a loathesome tiredness.
It had been a week since he had first lain eyes on Lysabel Sedai, and now he found her again awaiting him at the northern gate of Barsine. Markus's horse cantered forward in a controlled fashion, rider and horse moving with one mind and spirit. Markus wore a brown jerkin and a black cloak he kept unhooded. He had shaven and even had a small margin of his hair trimmed, showing his fine chin and dark eyes that seemed both cold and striking, and a nose that tied his face together into a daring look. He rode astride an approaching cart that a peddlar drove, giving a smile of crooked teeth to Markus and a tip of his hat to Lysabel as she sent his team of two donkeys past the gates into the city. The multitudes of travelers moved to and from the road, and the light woods outside seemed a small shield to the great blight beyond to Markus's eyes.
"Lysabel Sedai," Markus said with a polite albeit brusque nod. Aes Sedai or not, she hadn't been dishonest nor overly haughty so far. She deserved at least some respect. "Do we wait for anyone else? Is your big friend joining us?"
Lysabel smiled at Markus. It was a considered, practiced smile. Every initiate who gained the Shawl had long since come to appreciate the value of Aes Sedai mystique. She sat a fine gray mare of the stock Jaramide was famous for. Even laden down as it was with saddle bags and packs it all but frisked with energy and enthusiasm. Lysabel was dressed for travel in a white riding gown and wore a waterproof cloak of fine gray leather. The prince had been dismayed when she informed him that she was leaving and more dismayed when she had been evasive on her reasons, citing only unspecified Aes Sedai business. She wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t been forthcoming with him, perhaps because the reasons for her own interest seemed tenuous or perhaps it was because the Prince himself seemed in a mood. The campaign against the bandits in the south promised to draw the public’s interest away from his voyage for a time, though he assured her it would be over quickly once real soldiers got involved. Fortunately he had been more than willing to provide her with a fine horse and the service of one of his Outriders, especially if it meant her returning quickly to continue her work on navigation. The rationale behind the particular outrider she had picked was a little more convoluted. Markus had already ridden over the terrain they would need to cover, had survived where others had perished, and had been clever enough to find the arm, recognise it for what it was and bring it to her. Privately she had to admit that requesting him also gave her a certain amount of satisfaction as a repayment for his brusque if not exactly rude behavior.
“Unfortunately, he is already heading south,” Lysabel admitted. She had tried to prevail upon the ogier to join them but he had already been long away from the Stedding and was eager to be home. Lysabel suspected that having a severed trolloc arm dropped on the table during tea had not improved her odds of convincing him either.
“He did draw this for us,” she explained, producing a parchment map. It was in the ogier script, though it had several large towns marked in charcoal with their common names printed beneath them.
“It should get us close to the waygate, I am hopeful that the locals will be familiar with these white hills he told us about.” She handed him the map.
“I will rely on your local knowledge to find us the most efficacious route,” she told him, “If there are any supplies we need, we can pick them up before we leave.”
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They spent an two hours in the city, Markus bartering with peddlars and merchants for dried foods and fruits. Lysabel helped him in negotiations with her Aes Sedai diplomacy, but Markus had to keep her from grabbing certain foods she found delectable. They needed to go as light and efficiently as possible. They spoke little to one another between vendors except about the city in general and various landmarks. Lysabel had not explore Barsine much in her stay, but she had studied plenty of maps in her time here and knew where to go by the streets with a keen memory.
Once they were done, Markus and she found themselves at the gate again. Multiple waterskins and foodstuffs, cots and tents, flint, tinder, and an extra two knives, along with miscellaneous items to survive the border country.
"Ready to go?" Markus asked the Aes Sedai. He still couldn't believe he was serving as a guide for one, but he supposed it was a story to tell the grand children years from now. Even in times of peace, Aes Sedai and warriors had work to do. She gave a nod of her head, and he felt she looked very much like a queen acquiescing to his request. Markus kicked his stallion into a trot, and she followed for a few spans before she spoke up.
"We're going the wrong way." She reminded him.
"These lands have impassable gulleys and hills. We're go west, yes, but the road only goes to the east for now, unless we want to step into the true blight as a shortcut." Markus explained, guiding his horse with a casual flick of his wrist. He seemed born in the saddle.
"Have you ever been before?" She asked. He knew she meant the blight. He turned in the saddle and looked at her, his eyes severe.
"Yes," he said. "But never far. No one goes in far and lives."
Once they were done, Markus and she found themselves at the gate again. Multiple waterskins and foodstuffs, cots and tents, flint, tinder, and an extra two knives, along with miscellaneous items to survive the border country.
"Ready to go?" Markus asked the Aes Sedai. He still couldn't believe he was serving as a guide for one, but he supposed it was a story to tell the grand children years from now. Even in times of peace, Aes Sedai and warriors had work to do. She gave a nod of her head, and he felt she looked very much like a queen acquiescing to his request. Markus kicked his stallion into a trot, and she followed for a few spans before she spoke up.
"We're going the wrong way." She reminded him.
"These lands have impassable gulleys and hills. We're go west, yes, but the road only goes to the east for now, unless we want to step into the true blight as a shortcut." Markus explained, guiding his horse with a casual flick of his wrist. He seemed born in the saddle.
"Have you ever been before?" She asked. He knew she meant the blight. He turned in the saddle and looked at her, his eyes severe.
"Yes," he said. "But never far. No one goes in far and lives."
“How much time would we save if we went through the True Blight?” Lysabel asked as the road east, passing wagons laden with cotton that was destined for the weavers and lace shops for which Barsine was famous. She was not wearing her ring and she bore no sign of her affiliation with the Tower but still people made way for them, fine clothes and fine horses all the pass they needed.
“Maybe it would save us three days, might cost us the rest of our lives,” Markus responded. Lysabel chafed with impatience she couldn’t quite define. She had a sense that this was important, somehow more than just a few trollocs out to raid, but she had no idea why. Such leaps of intuition, without logical back up, would have earned her hard looks from her Sisters but Lysabel was of the opinion that if you trained your mind to be logical, your intuition was likely logic that you hadn’t yet been able to articulate. The dark of the moon, the time the trolloc writing had given for the attack, was still over two weeks away. A week to reach their goal, perhaps three days on horseback to cover what trollocs had managed on foot. Alot depended on whether they would be able to find the gate. She had asked for pigeons to be sent to the border fortresses to warn them to be on their guard, but that was the equivalent of telling a watch dog to be alert. Her fingers drummed her saddle pommel as she thought about it.
“We need to locate the gate within the next seven days,” she told him, “I don’t believe this is a single band of trollocs, and even if it is I want to know what is worth moving in such strength and such secrecy.”
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"We can just make seven days if we ride hard round the city and don't stop while we eat." Markus said. It sounded dreadful to the Aes Sedai, he imagined, and he wasn't relishing it either. Markus had barely had a full day's rest where he slept soundly just before the road to Barinse, if how a log 'rested' could be called such. Such was his life, days without sustenance and catching up when he could like a predator searching for days to find food.
"I really think we should-" She began, but her to amazement he cut her off.
"We are not going into the blight, Lysabel Sedai." Markus replied firmly. He realized as he said it that what he just did was brave but terribly foolish when dealing with an Aes Sedai. She did not completely have the ageless look he was told they had. Rather she looked like a girl with flowers in her hair, dancing as all the men look at her. But even so, she had the authority of her station and the personality to boot. Perhaps he had said it too harsh where sweeter words might have changed her mind, but the fish were out of the net now.
"You are my guide, sir, not my commander." She snapped, using a tone that played as a warning. He swore she made 'sir' sound like 'boy'. "Your own commander bade you aid me in my endeavor, and you are going to guide me where I see fit and how I see fit. If you are the enemy of the dark, then prove it and show me the way as quickly and efficiently as possible!"
They stared at one another for a couple of heartbeats. It was hard to tell what either of them were thinking. Markus, for his part, knew she had him. He wasn't afraid to die like some men, but he didn't want to waste his life either. If this was worth it, then he would. But... well, if an Aes Sedai said it was worth it, then who was he to argue?
"In the blight, flowers can kill, and leaves maim. A bite from an insect could spell your doom, Lysabel Sedai. And those are the least of your worries. It's not even wise to burn wood in the blight. So if we enter there, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it. No arguments. No rebuttals. Do you understand?" He asked her, and it was clear he was not speaking of any wounded pride. He seemed nervous, like someone who had just been told the rain this year would not yield the crop needed to live.
He waited for her response, and then he would turn west towards terrible danger.
"I really think we should-" She began, but her to amazement he cut her off.
"We are not going into the blight, Lysabel Sedai." Markus replied firmly. He realized as he said it that what he just did was brave but terribly foolish when dealing with an Aes Sedai. She did not completely have the ageless look he was told they had. Rather she looked like a girl with flowers in her hair, dancing as all the men look at her. But even so, she had the authority of her station and the personality to boot. Perhaps he had said it too harsh where sweeter words might have changed her mind, but the fish were out of the net now.
"You are my guide, sir, not my commander." She snapped, using a tone that played as a warning. He swore she made 'sir' sound like 'boy'. "Your own commander bade you aid me in my endeavor, and you are going to guide me where I see fit and how I see fit. If you are the enemy of the dark, then prove it and show me the way as quickly and efficiently as possible!"
They stared at one another for a couple of heartbeats. It was hard to tell what either of them were thinking. Markus, for his part, knew she had him. He wasn't afraid to die like some men, but he didn't want to waste his life either. If this was worth it, then he would. But... well, if an Aes Sedai said it was worth it, then who was he to argue?
"In the blight, flowers can kill, and leaves maim. A bite from an insect could spell your doom, Lysabel Sedai. And those are the least of your worries. It's not even wise to burn wood in the blight. So if we enter there, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it. No arguments. No rebuttals. Do you understand?" He asked her, and it was clear he was not speaking of any wounded pride. He seemed nervous, like someone who had just been told the rain this year would not yield the crop needed to live.
He waited for her response, and then he would turn west towards terrible danger.
Lysabel considered it. She was impatient to be on with the task but she couldn't ignore the risk. Could she really put herself and Markus in
such danger for what was only a theory? It was emotion she decided and thus not to be trusted.
"Very well, I'd be foolish to engage a local guide and then ignore his advice," she conceeded.
"I think we can make up some time, there are ways to keep the horses fresh," she told him. The weaves she knew could keep the horses moving but there were risks, and she couldn't use it on herself. Well it was her theory, it was just that she would be the one to suffer for it. Markus seemed relieved that she didn't intend to push the issue.
"As you say Aes Sedai," he responded and led the way east.
Two or three leauges east the road turned into one of the tithe forests. In Jaramide forests were rare and timber was precious. The solution was that all woodlands were owned by the crown, with various rights and priviliges extended to the locals who lived close by. Gathering dead timber for firewood was a common right and the result was that the forests tended to lack the thick underbrush one found further south where timber was more plentiful. There was a marked chill as the canopy above all but blotted out the sun. Lysabel wished she had a heavier cloak to hand, but it was a simple Aes Sedai trick to convince her body to ignore anything as crude as simple temperature. As they moved further along the road they came up upon a wagon by the side of the trail, a wheel showing signs of a broken spindle. Markus arched an eyebrow at her. She nodded reluctantly and they slowed their horses down. A paunchy man in a leather jerkin turned from the wheel with obvious relief.
"A little help friends, it will just take a moment to get this fixed," he wheedled. Markus' eyes flicked to the wheel and back to the man and then he drove the shoulder of his horse into Lysabel's. Her horse whickered in irritation.
"Go!" Markus shouted as something whistled through the space she had occupied a moment before. It wasn't till a second arrow burried itself in a tree on the far side of the road that the copper clattered. Lysabel spurred her horse forward, crouching low to present a smaller target. The horse screamed and staggered as an arrow hit it in the rump but she kept it upright and moving. Two men with long polearms stepped from behind trees and lifted the pikes to block her flight. Weaves of earth ripped out from her and rock exploded upwards around them, sending them staggering back and clearing the way. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced past, another arrow arcing over her shoulder as she drove the horse onward.
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such danger for what was only a theory? It was emotion she decided and thus not to be trusted.
"Very well, I'd be foolish to engage a local guide and then ignore his advice," she conceeded.
"I think we can make up some time, there are ways to keep the horses fresh," she told him. The weaves she knew could keep the horses moving but there were risks, and she couldn't use it on herself. Well it was her theory, it was just that she would be the one to suffer for it. Markus seemed relieved that she didn't intend to push the issue.
"As you say Aes Sedai," he responded and led the way east.
Two or three leauges east the road turned into one of the tithe forests. In Jaramide forests were rare and timber was precious. The solution was that all woodlands were owned by the crown, with various rights and priviliges extended to the locals who lived close by. Gathering dead timber for firewood was a common right and the result was that the forests tended to lack the thick underbrush one found further south where timber was more plentiful. There was a marked chill as the canopy above all but blotted out the sun. Lysabel wished she had a heavier cloak to hand, but it was a simple Aes Sedai trick to convince her body to ignore anything as crude as simple temperature. As they moved further along the road they came up upon a wagon by the side of the trail, a wheel showing signs of a broken spindle. Markus arched an eyebrow at her. She nodded reluctantly and they slowed their horses down. A paunchy man in a leather jerkin turned from the wheel with obvious relief.
"A little help friends, it will just take a moment to get this fixed," he wheedled. Markus' eyes flicked to the wheel and back to the man and then he drove the shoulder of his horse into Lysabel's. Her horse whickered in irritation.
"Go!" Markus shouted as something whistled through the space she had occupied a moment before. It wasn't till a second arrow burried itself in a tree on the far side of the road that the copper clattered. Lysabel spurred her horse forward, crouching low to present a smaller target. The horse screamed and staggered as an arrow hit it in the rump but she kept it upright and moving. Two men with long polearms stepped from behind trees and lifted the pikes to block her flight. Weaves of earth ripped out from her and rock exploded upwards around them, sending them staggering back and clearing the way. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced past, another arrow arcing over her shoulder as she drove the horse onward.
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Markus would have followed her, but he was just as surprised at the use of the one power as the men that attacked. His horse reared up and waved its hooves about, and it was all the Borderlander could do to keep it from sending him falling off. He gripped the reins, and when they set down again, Markus's sword was out, flashing a deadly arc. It cut the paunchy swindlers snarling visages, and he cried out in pain and horror as he grasped at his ruined face.
There was never any gauruntee of surviving combat, even with the most favorable conditions. An army of ten thousand attacking an army of one hundred still had casualties. Markus turned his horse about to follow Lysabel, and as his steed bucked and began a forward gallop, one of the bandits with he polearm thrust his weapon at the guide's hip. Markus saw the weapon head arcing towards him and moved even as his attacker did, battering the stabbing weapon aside with his blade and slashing at the man. He did not hit flesh or cloth, but it caused his already frustrated assailant to leap back.
By that point, Markus was already passed the downed wagon and careening down the road to catch up with the Aes Sedai. He saw a missile nearly skewer her, but she had the luck of the light. Another arrow arced toward's Markus, and he felt the wind of the shaft as it narrowly avoided his face. He lowered himself and whipped the reins, his horse needing no encouragement to ride out of there with all speed. The forest path was not a straight shot, but it did not wind like some did, and soon the two of them had passed a corner and only heard the dull thudding of an arrow hitting a tree about ten spans behind them.
They rode another mile, Markus catching up to Lysabel. Idly, he felt something wet on his face, and he reached up and found blood on his fingers. He supposed somehow he had been cut, but it didn't look like a deep wound.
"Are you alright, Aes Sedai?" He asked her as they cantered forward. He wiped his long blade by the hem of his cloak and sheathed it. He had the weird idea to make a quip. "This doesn't make our safer road look much better, does it?"
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There was never any gauruntee of surviving combat, even with the most favorable conditions. An army of ten thousand attacking an army of one hundred still had casualties. Markus turned his horse about to follow Lysabel, and as his steed bucked and began a forward gallop, one of the bandits with he polearm thrust his weapon at the guide's hip. Markus saw the weapon head arcing towards him and moved even as his attacker did, battering the stabbing weapon aside with his blade and slashing at the man. He did not hit flesh or cloth, but it caused his already frustrated assailant to leap back.
By that point, Markus was already passed the downed wagon and careening down the road to catch up with the Aes Sedai. He saw a missile nearly skewer her, but she had the luck of the light. Another arrow arced toward's Markus, and he felt the wind of the shaft as it narrowly avoided his face. He lowered himself and whipped the reins, his horse needing no encouragement to ride out of there with all speed. The forest path was not a straight shot, but it did not wind like some did, and soon the two of them had passed a corner and only heard the dull thudding of an arrow hitting a tree about ten spans behind them.
They rode another mile, Markus catching up to Lysabel. Idly, he felt something wet on his face, and he reached up and found blood on his fingers. He supposed somehow he had been cut, but it didn't look like a deep wound.
"Are you alright, Aes Sedai?" He asked her as they cantered forward. He wiped his long blade by the hem of his cloak and sheathed it. He had the weird idea to make a quip. "This doesn't make our safer road look much better, does it?"
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