The Familial Mutt

[Eidolon]

Kasimir Nevaren,
Tar Valon

Kasimir Nevaren spun on his heel, pulse thumping cool anger at his temples. The busy market square built up to a cacophony in his ears, fuelling that fragile temper to a climax. 

“WHAT did you say?”

Three months had passed since he’d left Ebou Dar; three long months of hitching rides that had inched him at a frustratingly slow pace towards Tar Valon. His body and blade were all he had to offer in return for those favours; muscle work, mostly, and occasionally as hired protection for those too poor to afford real mercenary help. They say all roads lead to Tar Valon and the White Tower, but it seemed everyone was going every other way but Tar Valon. Now, though - finally - he was here, and though all sensibilities told him to find an inn and bed down for the evening, lack of coin and lack of patience drove him on mercilessly.

Kaz was frustrated and tired, and he didn’t even know if the Tower would hold the answers he sought. The sooner he found the woman, the sooner this whole matter would be resolved and he could… could what? The thought of channelling women so close sent a chill through him; the vice grip of years of teaching. He thought about the invisible bonds that had held his hands rigid by his sides…

… No, don’t think about that.

Oblivious to the scruffy mess of his dark hair, to the stubble weaving across his cheeks and to the staleness of his clothes, Kasimir marched through the streets, single minded and ignorant to those around him. His brows were drawn over black eyes, his fists clenched. One foot followed the other; left, right, left, right.

Until this.

He longed for a bath, for a shave, and for some bloody sleep, and this little twerp of a man had just trodden all over his last fuse. Blood and ashes, could he not just make his way in peace? 

“I asked a question. What did you just say to me?”

“I…I said…” The man looked at him quite dumbly for a moment, rubbing his arm, and Kaz was about to turn away and ignore the whole thing. But then… “D...does Tar Valon just let any old riff-raff in nowadays?”

A crowd had gathered, apparently to watch this spectacle of the vagrant and the well-dressed man, and their presence and support appeared to lend the confidence for back-chat. Kaz frowned. Light, did the whole world outside of Altara lack any sort of manners!? You couldn’t get away with saying that to a perfect stranger in Ebou Dar. The young Ebou Dari flipped a dagger into the palm of his hand.

“That,” he said. “Is rude.”  A flick of the wrist and the dagger was pointing firmly at the man, who’s face had become very pale. Kasimir was about to offer the challenge, but apparently the sight of the bare blade did not go down so well.  The man screamed, loud and high as a woman, and before Kaz could so much as blink at the strange reaction someone had grabbed his arm and twisted it harshly behind his back.  He yelled, dagger clattering to the floor, and presently found his face pressed in the dirt.

“He bumped into that man,” someone cried above the sudden ruckus. “No apology, nothing.  And then he turned a knife on him!”

Kaz sighed. Or tried to; the knee pressed into his back made that difficult. “Malaika Sedai!” he shouted. “I came to see Malaika Sedai!” And Creator above let that be enough to save him…