feeling affection for the girl himself. Most Warders knew better than to let themselves grow attached. Sleete had left in the night, after the girl and her family fell asleep—but in return for the village's mercy, he'd hunted down the bandits and seen to it that they would never plague the village again.
It was the marrow of stories and legends—at least, among regular, lesser men. For a Warder, Sleete's story was almost commonplace. Men like him attracted legends as ordinary men attracted fleas. In fact, Sleete hadn't wanted to share his tale; it had come out only owing to a vigorous campaign of questions from the Younglings. He still acted as if his survival were nothing to brag about. He was a Warder. Surviving against the odds, riding in delirium over miles of rough terrain, cutting down an entire band of thieves with wounds not fully healed—these were just the sorts of things you did when you were a Warder.
Gawyn respected them. Even the ones he had killed. Especially the ones he had killed. It took a unique kind of man to show this kind of dedication, this kind of vigilance. This kind of humility. While Aes Sedai manipulated the world and monsters like al'Thor got the glory, men like Sleete quietly did the work of heroes, each and every day. Without glory or recognition. If they were remembered, it was usually only by association with their Aes Sedai. Or it was by other Warders. You didn't forget your own.
Sleete attacked, sword lancing forward in a straight thrust delivered for maximum speed. The Viper Flicks Its Tongue, a bold strike, made more effective because Sleete fought in tandem with the narrow, short man rounding toward Gawyn's left. Marlesh was the only other Warder in Dorian—and his arrival had been far less dramatic than Sleete's. Marlesh had been with the original group of eleven Aes Sedai who had escaped Dumai's Wells, and he had stayed with them the entire time. His own Aes Sedai, a pretty young Domani Green named Vasha, watched idly from the side of the barn.
Gawyn countered The Viper Flicks Its Tongue with Cat Dances on the Wall, knocking aside the strike and going for the legs in one sweep. It wasn't intended to hit, however; it was a defensive move, meant to enable him to keep an eye on both opponents. Marlesh tried Leopard's Caress, but Gawyn moved into Folding the Air, carefully knocking aside the blow and waiting for another from Sleete, who was the more dangerous of the two. Sleete repositioned, taking smooth steps, his blade to the side as he set his back to the massive piles of hay at the rear of the stuffy barn.
Gawyn moved into Cat on Hot Sand as Marlesh tried Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. Hummingbird wasn't the right form to use in such an attack; it was rarely useful against someone on the defensive, but Marlesh was obviously tired of being parried. He was getting eager. Gawyn could use that. And would.
Sleete was advancing again. Gawyn brought his sword back in to guard as the Warders approached in tandem. Gawyn immediately moved into Apple Blossoms in the Wind. His blade flashed three times, pushing a wide-eyed Marlesh back. Marlesh cursed, throwing himself forward, but Gawyn brought his sword up from the previous form and moved flu-idly into Shake Dew from the Branch. He stepped forward into a series of six sharp blows, three at each opponent, knocking Marlesh back and to the ground—the man had stepped back into the fight too quickly—and forcing Sleete's blade aside twice, then ending with his blade against the man's neck.
The two Warders looked at Gawyn, shocked. They had borne similar expressions the last time Gawyn had defeated them, and the time before that. Sleete carried a heron-mark blade and was near-legendary in the White Tower for his prowess. He was said to have bested even Lan Man-dragoran twice out of seven bouts, back when Mandragoran had been known to spar with other Warders. Marlesh wasn't as renowned as his companion, but he was still a fully capable and trained Warder, no easy foe.
But Gawyn had won. Again. Things seemed so simple when he was sparring. The world contracted down— compressed like berries squeezed for their juice—into something smaller and easier to see from up close. All Gawyn had ever wanted was to protect Elayne. He wanted to defend Andor. Maybe learn to be a little more like Galad.
Why couldn't life be as simple as a sword match? Opponents clear and arranged before you. The prize obvious: survival. When men fought, they connected. You became brothers as you traded blows.
Gawyn removed his blade and stepped away, sheathing it. He offered a hand to Marlesh, who took it, shaking his head as he stood. 'You are remarkable, Gawyn Trakand. Like a creature of light, color and shadow when you move. I feel like a babe holding a stick when I face you.'
Sleete said nothing as he sheathed his own sword, but he did nod his head to Gawyn in respect—just as he had the last two times they'd fought. He was a man of few words. Gawyn appreciated that.
In the corner of the barn there was a half-barrel filled with water, and the men walked to it. Corbet, one of the Younglings, hurriedly dipped a ladleful and handed it to Gawyn. Gawyn gave it to Sleete. The older man nodded again and took a drink while Marlesh took a cup off the dusty windowsill and got himself a drink. 'I'm saying, Trakand,' the short man continued, 'we'll need to find you a blade with some herons on it. No one should have to face you without knowing what they're getting into!'
'I'm not a blademaster,' Gawyn said quietly, taking the ladle back from crook-nosed Sleete and having a drink. It was warm, which felt good. Less of a shock, more natural.
'You killed Hammar, didn't you?' Marlesh asked.
Gawyn hesitated. The simplicity he'd felt before, while fighting, was already crumbling. 'Yes.'
'Well, then you're a blademaster,' Marlesh said. 'Should have taken his sword when he fell.'
'It wasn't respectful,' Gawyn said. 'Besides, I didn't have time to claim prizes.'
Marlesh laughed, as if at a joke, though Gawyn hadn't intended one. He glanced over at Sleete, who was watching him with curious eyes.
A rustle of skirts announced the approach of Vasha. The Green had long black hair and striking green eyes that at times seemed almost catlike. 'Are you done playing, Marlesh?' she asked with a faintly Domani accent.
Marlesh chuckled. 'You should be happy to see me play, Vasha. I seem to recall my 'playing' saving your neck a couple of times on the battlefield.'
She sniffed and raised an eyebrow. Gawyn had rarely seen an Aes Sedai and Warder with as casual a relationship as these two. 'Come,' she said, turning on her heel and walking toward the open barn doors. 'I want to see what has been keeping Narenwin and the others so long indoors. It smells of decisions being made.'
Marlesh shrugged and tossed the cup to Corbet. 'Whatever they're deciding, I hope it involves moving. I don't like sitting around in this city with those soldiers creeping up on us. If it gets any more tense in camp, I'm likely to run off and join the Tinkers.'
Gawyn nodded at that comment. It had been weeks since he'd last dared send the Younglings to raid. Bryne's search parties were getting closer and closer to the city, and that allowed fewer and fewer rides out across the countryside.
Vasha passed out the doors, but Gawyn could still hear her say, 'You can sound like such a child at times.' Marlesh just shrugged, waving farewell to Gawyn and Sleete before stepping out of the barn.
Gawyn shook his head, refilling the ladle and taking another drink. 'Those two remind me of nothing so much as a brother and sister at times.'
Sleete smiled.
Gawyn replaced the ladle, nodded to Corbet, then moved to leave. He wanted to check on the Younglings' evening meal and make certain it was being distributed properly. Some of the youths had taken to sparring and practicing when they should have been eating.
As he left, however, Sleete reached out and took his arm. Gawyn looked back in surprise.
'Hattori only has one Warder,' the man said in his gravelly, soft voice.
Gawyn nodded. 'That's not unheard-of for a Green.'
'It isn't because she isn't open to having more,' Sleete said. 'Years ago, when she bonded me, she said that she would only take another if I judged him worthy. She asked me to search. She doesn't think much on these kinds of things. Too busy with other matters.'
Sleete turned, meeting Gawyn's eyes. 'It's been over ten years, but I've found someone worthy. She will bond you this hour, if you wish it.'
Gawyn blinked in surprise at Sleete. The lanky man was shrouded once more in his color-shifting cloak, wearing nondescript brown and green beneath. Others complained that because of his long hair and sideburns, Sleete looked more scruffy than a Warder should. But 'scruffy' was the wrong term for this man. Rough, perhaps, but natural. Like uncut stones or a gnarled—yet sturdy—oak.
'I'm honored, Sleete,' Gawyn said. 'But I came to the White Tower to study because of Andoran traditions, not
