Bread and Butter

A steady cloud of dust billowed behind, wafting to the drumbeat of hooves as the black stallion thundered down the dirt track, a second rider following close behind. Leading, the shadowy rider bent low, urging speed out of the large horse. Wind pulled at his hadori, sending the wisps of blond hair flicking across his face. Small particles slapped against his face as Talaban rode, guiding Shadow at a breakneck pace along the highways west of Tar Valon. The arms-man paid little attention to the road. He had ridden it so many times before that instinct alone would suffice, even after his exile. His mind raced through all that he had learnt of the girl. Rael was a veritable font of information. Elaryl M’Kasa. By all accounts, she was a good student, a quick study and able fighter. Kelindia Sedai had been keeping tabs on her recently. Was the girl destined to be one of her Warders? Thought strayed for a moment as the former thief wondered, idly, what it would be like to be bonded to a Sister, to hold her very life in his hands. A part of him longed for it… it was what they all trained for, their main purpose in forging themselves as the foremost weapons in the land. Yet, by nature, there were always more Gaidin then there were Sisters and those of suspect temperament, like him, were often those that were left behind to run the training yards and watch the younglings. There were times when he privately admitted to jealousy. Still, Talaban would wait and serve as he had sworn. A gentle push of his knee guided the Shadow off the track and into the woods. The stallion complied, slowing into a settled canter as it picked its way along the forest trail on a route that it had traversed hundreds of time before. The arms-man slid back into quiet thought, composing himself for the task ahead. It was no easy feat to take apart years of training and replace it with a style that was both unconventional and undocumented. Fighting with two independently functioning weapons was unlike any other discipline. The few who had tried it and given up halfway often found themselves worse off then they had been originally. The stallion slowed, the sudden change motion bringing Talaban out of his reverie. Rounding a corner, trees opened up, revealing a silent, watching mausoleum. Talaban dismounted, paying little heed to Elaryl’s bewilderment at finding such a structure in the middle of a forest. Weathered marble stared back at them, its white façade showed signs of age, more cracks than he remembered. The brass doors stood partially open, gleaming in the warm glow of lamplight from within. Rivvy was as reliable as clockwork. Dried leaves crunched underfoot as Talaban mounted the steps to the doors.

Entering the open brass portal, the arms-man strode across the marble hallway, creating another trail in the thick dust. Behind him, Elaryl followed, wide eyed, marvelling at the splendid architecture, the intricately carved balustrades and the frescoes which adorned the roof. The structure had three halls, the first being designed as a receiving area. Talaban paid no attention to the first hall, passing through without pause. He smiled as he heard Elaryl rushing to catch up. Once upon a time, he too had stared wide eyed.

Talaban stopped short as they entered the second. This one had the opulence of a lord's main hall. Old tapestries hung from roof to floor all along the walls, depicting victories of men against the Shadow. Twin curved stairways led to an upper level, shrouded in darkness. Talaban stopped in front of Rahien’s dark plate and the marble coffin behind it, waiting for Elaryl to catch up. He remembered that he had once thought Erevan’s coffin to be a well carved dais. Already he could feel the familiar, eerie air of watchfulness, as if his teacher and the master before him judged. He bowed slightly, before turning to face the trainee. “Elaryl, this is where I was trained. It is where I will teach you. What you will learn is rather different from anything the Tower teaches. Make no mistake, I teach with live blades. If you fight with one ounce less skill then you are able to muster, you will bleed.” The last hall was vast and empty, yet majestic in its lofty silence. There was no adornment, no furniture, not even pillars within, just a solitary, weathered wooden weapons rack along one wall. Walking up to it, the arms-man picked out a slim bamboo pole for himself, glanced at the trainee’s weapon and tossed her a matching piece from the available assortment. Talaban turned to face Elaryl, looking straight into the trainee’s eyes as he told her, “You will come each morning, four hours before dawn unless told otherwise. Now draw,” he told Elaryl as he motioned her into the middle of the hall. “What I will teach you, Elaryl, is rather different from what the Arafellin practice when they wield two swords. Their weapons function as one organism. Yours, Creator willing, will function as two.” Once Elaryl nodded, Talaban continued, “The first thing to correct is your stance. You are no longer fighting with a single weapon, but two long blades. Open your feet or your footwork will let you down. No more nonsense about defending with minimal movement. ” He tapped at the Trainee’s right foot impatiently, until she shifted it to where he wanted. It was the first of many corrections as Talaban refined her basic steps and stances. The first week would be one of an almighty lecture. “Grip the hilt lightly with your thumb and forefinger, with the middle finger neither tight nor slack, and with the last two fingers tight. It’s bad to leave slack in your hands. That’s good. Now, when you take up a blade, you must do it with the intent of cutting the enemy. As you cut an enemy you must not change your grip, and your hands must not flinch. When you dash the enemy's sword aside, or ward it off, or force it down, you may only shift your thumb and forefinger a little. Above all, you must grip the blade with the intent of cutting the enemy,” Talaban lectured as he watched Elaryl go through the forms, guiding her with the bamboo and demonstrating what she did not understand. “With the tips of your toes somewhat floating, tread firmly with your heels, stay still on the balls of your feet. Whether you move fast or slow, with large or small steps, your feet should always move naturally as in normal walking. Avoid jumping steps and stomping, you are wielding neither greatsword nor rapier. Always move your feet in complementary steps, left-right and right-left when cutting, withdrawing, or warding off a cut. You should never move on one foot alone. Perfect,” Talaban utilized the staff, parrying Elaryl’s forms as she practiced the unfamiliar movements, correcting her each time she lapsed back into old habits. “You must fight with passion, feelings. There must be no design, no conception, only instinct. Trust your sub-conscious. Reaction is faster than thought.” Back and forth they went like this for well nigh the whole day, slow but continuous sparring, Elaryl refining her movements and the subtleties of her technique, familiarising herself with the changes while Talaban lectured and filled the trainee's head to bursting with various movements and philosophies while demonstrating them.

“The art of swordplay calls for fluency, like floating clouds and flowing water – natural and smooth, coming and going freely,” there were more than three hundred philosophies and concepts that Rahien had taught Talaban in this hall and each once had shaped the arms-man’s eventual technique, in one way or another.

Finally, Talaban stopped studied the staggering trainee. He knew it was nearly High outside. “Enough, any more and you will collapse here on the floor of this mausoleum. You may leave for today. I shall expect you on the morrow.” Talaban walked Elaryl into the second hall where he sat before the coffin and meditated. He heard the curse of the exhausted Trainee as she struggled with her horse and the rustle as the animal moved off.

The Gaidin waited awhile before unfolding from the lotus position. Stepping outside, he mounted Shadow and followed behind Elaryl. For the first day at least, he would see her back safely. Once her horse knew the route it would be unnecessary but it was better to be safe for the first time. Talaban followed silently behind, watching the figure slumped over the horse. He felt a little guilty at pushing the girl so hard. Perhaps he ought not to use the way Rahien had trained him as a gauge?

---

OOC: I know, very narrative .Apologies. Brain doesn't want to function as required.