Shyne hurried quickly to his room. As usual, he’d spent the early morning in practice, but when the first bell had rung, he realized he’d left some of his teaching material in his room and needed to get it before going to class.
As it turned out, due to the time of morning, he was headed against the stream of traffic, slowing him down considerably. Even as close to the door as his room was, the Hall was virtually empty by the time he got there. He opened the door, however, to find a Gaidin standing behind it.
“Good morning, Gaidin,” Shyne offered courteously.
Without a word, the Gaidin handed him a small note and walked past him toward the stairs. Feeling a bit put off by the lack of response, especially by someone who’d been waiting in his room for him, Shyne idly opened the letter while stepping inside to get what he’d come for. He never made it far enough to find the papers he was in search of.
“Your presence is required at the south edge of the Training Yard. Please be prompt.” The words were simple, in an elegant script, and signed only with the seal of the Master of Arms. So it was important. Shyne knew enough to realize that “Please be prompt” was more than a suggestion when backed by the Master of Arms.
So without the papers he’d come for, he headed back out his door, out of the Warder Hall, and into the Yards. As directed, he moved quickly to the south end of the Training Yard, where he’d just come from. This time however, there was a Gaidar standing there. Trying once again, he greeted her with “Good morning, Gaidar. How can I be of service?”
Her stony face never changed. “Follow me,” was her only answer. Shyne scowled as she turned. Where was the respect and pleasantness of the Tower this morning? Why was everyone so down?
Still, he followed, and was led to the Channeling Yard of all places. The only Warders he’d ever seen in here were the ones that occasionally came to watch their bondmates. This was no place for a lowly bondless Sa’ji’alantin. But he’d been told to follow, and the note had been sealed by the Master of Arms.
Even stranger than him being there, however, was the eerie silence of the Yards this morning. It was as if no one were about. When he entered the Channeling Yard, there was only himself, the Gaidar who’d brought him, and a single Aes Sedai that he didn’t recognize, standing in the middle, apparently lost in thought. The Gaidar led him up to the Aes Sedai.
“Good morning, Aes Sedai,” he tried.
She nodded slightly, possibly at his greeting, possibly not, before opening a Gateway in the center of the Yard. Still wondering what was going on, Shyne felt the Gaidar push him through without warning and he stumbled into a small stone antechamber. Quickly he turned, but the Gateway was already snapping shut behind him.
The first thought to go through Shyne’s head was that they had finally decided to throw him out of the Tower and that he was in some prearranged building in Arafel where the authorities would be on him immediately.
Breathing quickly, he looked around for a way out, and in doing so noticed a table in the corner on which sat his cloak. Arranged atop the spread cloak were his heron-marked swords in their scabbards, his extra throwing daggers similarly sheathed, and even his scythesword, which he so rarely used.
He’d never carried so many weapons at once. He’d only come to the Tower with three, and he was leaving with what was on the table as well as his custom swords and the three throwing daggers he always wore. Apparently they hadn’t left him for the authorities, just left him elsewhere with an obvious message not to come back. He had everything he owned of any importance right in front of him and with haste he strapped straps and buckled buckles until they were all on him, as uncomfortable as it was.
It wasn’t moments after he clasped his woolen cloak around his neck that the door behind him opened. He spun quickly to see someone in livery. The man didn’t look familiar, but the livery struck a memory. It wasn’t until the man ushered him out the door and he got a chance to look around that he realized where he was. This was Shienar in early spring. He was at the Citadel. He smiled broadly. At least they’d taken him someplace he knew. They hadn’t just dumped him in the wilderness somewhere, or in some southern city he’d never been to. Leaving from here he had a chance.
Then he noticed where he was. He was at the edge of the courtyard, and standing not too far from him were four people. Three of them he immediately knew, for they were the Warder Council. Sigmund Von Danzig Gaidin, Master of Arms, Caden Ives Gaidin, Master of Training, and Saphire en’Damier Aes Sedai, Warder-Channeler Representative. The fourth was an Aes Sedai he vaguely recognized but didn’t actually know.
Completely confused, he bowed. Were they here to formally dismiss him?
“Who comes before the Warder Council?” Caden intoned.
“I, Shyne, Sa’ji’alantin of the Grey Tower, come before the Council,” he said, still confused about this. Was there need of ceremony when dismissing someone? He hadn’t realized this was a meeting of the Council anyway. Was he intruding? Why were they meeting here? Was it not they who’d planned his arrival? There were so many questions.
The Gaidin each nodded and Caden stepped forward. “You have trained in our ranks and have been deemed worthy of a final assignment.” Shyne’s eyes widened slightly. “You are called,” Caden continued, “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?”
He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I…” he paused. Thinking about the magnitude of this for a second, he took a deep breath and finished. “I do.”
For moments there was silence in the courtyard. He almost began to wonder if he’d said the wrong thing. Then Caden spoke again. “You are called upon to protect this Aes Sedai, the symbol of your desired duty. 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. If you return without 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.”
On the verge of smiling, Shyne managed to speak. “It will be as you say, Gaidin.”
“Light guide your sword, and may your test be one of enduring strength.”
Without a moment’s notice, they were surrounded. Shyne was ushered onto a horse and he and the Aes Sedai were placed in the middle of a ring of guards. They headed out of the Citadel, the heavy wooden doors shutting behind them, and within minutes were being left alone at the Blightborder.
As everyone else left, Shyne couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re in an awfully good mood for being stranded in the Blight with someone you don’t even know,” the Aes Sedai observed, wrapping her cloak tight around her. “And you’re an Arafellin, right, so tell me: is it always this cold in spring?”
“Yes, yes it is,” Shyne laughed, “and yes I am. I was sure they were kicking me out of the Tower. I never would have dreamed that this was coming…”
“Oh great,” she smiled. “I’m stuck in the Blight with a Warder reject with self-esteem issues.”
Shyne glanced at her and smiled. He knew they needed to start moving soon, but there were a few things that had to be done first. So he began by unbraiding the ends of his hair, just enough to take the small chimes out of his braids, then braiding them back up. As he was going about this, he started the introductions. “I’m Shyne, Sa’ji’alantin reject of the Warder Yard, at your service.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Shyne. I am Rosilind al’Kend of the White Ajah. What manner of Arafellin are you that you carry no surname?”
A White. He should have known. And an Andoran by the name, so she was stubborn to boot. “The kind that doesn’t feel himself worthy enough yet to carry his father’s name,” he replied, placing the chimes in the bag of foodstuffs and small supplies he’d been given. He began to rummage through it, taking a mental inventory of what they had.
“So you do have self-esteem issues.”
He looked up at her, studying him from the depths of her hooded cloak. “No, Aes Sedai, I’m afraid I don’t. If I didn’t believe in myself, I’d have let myself die long ago. More than anyone, I know my worth and what I’m capable of. I was, however, blessed and cursed by a father who is difficult to aspire to.”
“All fathers are.”
Nodding slightly, he went back to rummaging through the bag. It wasn’t obvious, but he liked her. She spoke her mind, not appearing to care what he thought of her. There was something to be said for openness.
“I think we should move along. We’ve still got most of the day to travel. Just so that I know, how do you hold up in battle, weapons or weaves?”
“I don’t,” she responded simply. Of course not. The Warder Council would have seen to that.
“Alright then. I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he said with a laugh of true amusement. She smiled deep in her cloak.
The Blight was a wasteland. Shyne was prepared for this, having been there before. Rosilind Sedai wasn’t. She’d spent most of her childhood not believing in trollocs. So Shyne did all the work.
There was little excitement most of the day. Not long before they stopped for lunch, Shyne no longer felt the presence of wolves far behind him. They’d come far and quickly, and the Aes Sedai was worn out. The journey had been almost completely silent, out of necessity. They were here to have a mishap, not bring a trolloc army down on their heads.
So as Rosilind Sedai settled down on a large rock, Shyne handed her the bag of food and kneeled down on the rock. He pressed his ear to it and listened, searching for vibrations. He remained that way for a few minutes.
“I’ve never actually seen anyone do that,” the Aes Sedai remarked in a quiet whisper. “I suppose that comes from growing up in the city.”
Shyne, confident that there was nothing nearby, looked up. She’d already set out a small meal, enough to tide them over and help them regain their strength. They ate in silence. When the meal was over, he quietly buried what scraps there were and sat back down while the Aes Sedai continued to rest.
“You, know, you’re an interesting man, Shyne. I’m sort of a people-watcher, so I’ve been watching you all day and you’re not really normal.” All of this came in the same soft whisper.
“I realize that,” he responded in a similar whisper.
“But why? Why do you continue to be different if you know you can change it?”
“Because I was born to be different and I would have it no other way. Perhaps some day I’ll be normal, and perhaps I’ll even be okay with it, but for now, I’m content being different, alone and outside.”
She nodded thoughtfully and stood. They moved on.
The adventure they sought came that night. They made camp in a copse of stunted, grotesque trees. They ate from the bag again, not making a fire, and once again Shyne listened to the ground for a few minutes before settling down. There was nothing.
The meal was spent in silence and they soon lay down to sleep. They were fairly hidden and Shyne didn’t think they would be found, but he still never fell asleep. He feigned sleep, even so far as closing his eyes. Eventually, he settled down enough to make his breathing believable too. But he remained conscious, listening.
And the sounds he was waiting for came not long after moonrise. Lying on his side as he was, one ear was pressed to the ground, so he heard the vibrations before anything else. Even as the first vibrations hit his ear, his eyes were open. Within moments, he was silently up and creeping over to Rosilind. With one finger over his mouth, he gently touched her own with his other hand. Her eyes came instantly open and her mouth opened as if to speak before realizing who had woken her. Once realization came, she picked her head up and looked around.
Silently, he motioned for her to stand up and follow him. As she was standing, he reached down to grab his heron-marked swords, lying beside where he had been not very long ago. Together, they crept out of the copse, away from where he’d judged the approaching enemies to be coming from. They huddled down not far away, near some rocks, but out of any shadow large enough to hide a myrddraal.
Soon he could hear them, and not much later she could hear them too. The two of the continued to lie huddled amongst the rocks as they listened to trollocs going through the camp. Somehow, they’d been found out. Obviously he still had something to learn. He just couldn’t think of what had given them away.
It didn’t take long for the trollocs to realize there was nothing of use to them at the camp except the weapons Shyne had left behind, and except for the scythesword, they wouldn’t really be able to use them anyway. So the trollocs left the copse of trees and came sniffing out into the moonlight.
Shyne knew that they were only barely hidden and would be spotted almost immediately, but it was the best he could do. Silently, he unclasped his cloak. Then a trolloc spotted them. Shyne glanced over at Rosilind, who was looking close to screaming, before jumping up, swords in hand, his cloak falling away behind him, allowing him to move unrestricted.
There were three of the monsters. He knew that together they could overwhelm him. Luckily, they didn’t attack together. Two squared off against Shyne, one for each sword, and the third edged around him toward the prone woman.
And thus was the weight of protection suddenly upon him. While the first two trollocs were sizing him up, Shyne struck at the third, distracted, one. It blocked his first strike reflexively, but found Shyne’s other sword lodged in its exposed underarm.
Without hesitation, Shyne yanked the sword out and used the momentum to strike at the closest of the remaining trollocs. They’d been surprised by his original strike, but were recovering enough to block his attempts this time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shyne knew that something strange was going on. These trollocs were too well disciplined. His instincts, long underused, were telling him that they were probably part of a larger force and linked to a myrddraal. That meant that he had to dispatch these two quickly and they needed to leave with all haste before reinforcements showed up.
Unfortunately, they were at an impasse. The two trollocs seemed to be augmented by whatever evil force was guiding them. Luckily, Shyne had a plan. “Light, Rosilind Sedai,” he called out, “I need bright light…”
Moments later there was a bright light shining from behind him. The trollocs were disoriented and in that split second Shyne struck, felling them both quickly. Sighing heavily, Shyne turned wiped the blood from his swords and turned to face the Aes Sedai, who let the light diminish, though he would have bet she still held the source.
“We need to be gone from here as quickly as possible.”
She nodded and stepped forward, toward the trees. All of a sudden she stopped. The look on her face could only mean one thing. Shyne turned to see a myrddraal striding out of the trees. That almost familiar sense of fear came over him, but he didn’t let it get to him. He had to protect the Aes Sedai. “Light, Rosilind! We need light!” he called out. Light wouldn’t help against this, but it would hopefully snap her out of her daze.
It did. As Shyne was walking toward the Fade a great light burst from behind him. If nothing else, it would keep whatever trollocs were close away from them. So with little choice, Shyne stood before the myrddraal, swords held at the ready, waiting for the inhuman fiend to strike.
The Halfman didn’t wait long. It flowed forward and Shyne countered, attacked with his second sword, but the myrddraal parried. The dance continued until the fifteen or so remaining trollocs gathered around, kept at bay only by the intense light, and that wouldn’t last them long.
“Are you skilled with Gateways?” Shyne asked as he was ducking the myrddraal’s swing and lunging.
“Unfortunately not. I’m a philosopher and none of that was ever very practical. SHYNE!” The last word was half shriek as the myrddraal’s counterslash connected with Shyne’s left arm, cutting deep. Fortunately, this gave Shyne just the room he needed to strike with his right and plunge his heron-marked sword deep into the shadowspawn’s chest.
It fell, hand still clutching the sword and subsequently ripping it out of Shyne’s arm. From all around them came the cries of dying trollocs, their minds being ripped apart. Rosilind rushed to Shyne’s side. One glance told her to just listen. “Gather what’s still at the camp. We have to get out of here, now.”
“But your arm—“
“—will be fine until we get that far.” She didn’t have to know he couldn’t move it. Not yet. They weren’t out of this yet.
With as much haste as she could muster, she did as he’d said. “I should Heal that. I can’t do much, but I can do something for it…”
“They can feel you channel. We’ve probably already drawn too much attention. It’s best you don’t channel until it’s imperative.” She looked skeptical, but didn’t argue.
They set out immediately, pausing only to wrap his arm up in a piece torn from his cloak. As she was tearing it, he carefully cut the sword hand off of the convulsing myrddraal and wrapped it in the rest of the cloak. “Hope this proof is good enough for you…” he muttered as he tied the knot on it.
The return trip was fairly uneventful. As the sun began to peak above the horizon, they stopped just long enough for Rosilind to try to Heal him. It deadened the pain a little, but he could feel himself getting weaker as he lost more blood. Wounds from a myrddraals blade didn’t heal normally, and he was learning that lesson firsthand.
So he didn’t feel very good when they arrived back at the Citadel the next morning, two days after they’d left. It was obvious that the guars of the fortress saw them coming long before they could make out any activity on the walls. As they approached, four guards, a Gaidin, and an Aes Sedai rushed out to meet them. The Gaidin went straight to Rosilind Sedai to make sure she was okay, while the Aes Sedai, who was wearing a yellow dress, placed her hands on Shyne’s head without preamble and closed the wound on his arm. Together, they all headed toward the open gates of the Citadel.
As they entered the courtyard, the Warder Council was once again there. “Welcome, Sa’ji’alantin,” Caden said. “Do you bring proof of your success?”
Shyne untied his cloak and dropped it to the ground, showing the severed hand of the myrddraal, still clutching its black blade. Caden nodded. One of the guards approached to take the gruesome trophy. A man in livery appeared at Shyne’s side and led him silently to a room with a tub. Shyne gratefully bathed, testing his arm, which still felt slightly sore and had a barely noticeable scar running across it. The One Power could do amazing things, but sometimes it couldn’t totally heal the damage that had been done. That was alright though. Shyne preferred having the scar. He’d fought a myrddraal and one with a mixture of skill and luck. He’d gone into the Blight and come out alive, and kept someone else alive as well. No reason to get a big head, but there was no better way to gain a scar.
Out of the bath, Shyne dressed in the black and white he was provided and was led back to the courtyard. He was astonished to see all the Gaidin and Gaidar of the tower arranged in a semicircle around him. The Warder Council again stood in the center, but this time the Master of Arms spoke.
“Come forward.” Shyne did as he was told. “Kneel."
“Do you come before your assembled brothers and sisters with a noble and just heart, wishing to join us as a Gaidin of the Tower?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to uphold the Light in all that you do, to live a life of duty, truth, and goodness?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to serve and guard the Grey Tower faithfully?”
“I do.”
“And finally, do you vow to devote your life to this cause, to swear yourself to the Light, the Tower, and the pursuit of justice?”
“Under the Light, and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I do.”
A man in livery handed Sigmund Shyne’s swords. “May the Light bless these blades and their bearer, and may the Light illume the path of this warrior.” Then he handed the swords to Shyne. “Rise.”
As he stood, Saphire Sedai, Warder-Channeler Representative stepped forward and handed Sigmund a bundle of cloth. Shyne knew it immediately for what it was. This was the fancloak he’d spent so many years questing to obtain, the fancloak that symbolized his Gaidinhood. Sigmund unfurled it. It was exactly like the one every other Gaidin in the courtyard wore.
“I grant you the title Gaidin; you are a Brother of Battle and a Warder under the banner of the Grey Tower.” Slowly and ceremoniously, Sigmund draped the cloth over Shyne’s shoulders and spoke again, one word. “Welcome.”
There’s a visible relaxation of the Warders as a whole, some of them showing more emotion in that brief second that Shyne had ever seen in them before. Then Saphire Sedai stepped forward again. “By the power vested in me by the Amyrlin Seat and M’Hael of the Grey Tower, I acknowledge and witness the raising of this Gaidin of the Grey Tower.”
And it was done. He’d finally made it, and it was an experience he’d never forget.