Esy hesitated a moment, hand outstretched to take the paper. “If you take the paper, I take you along with me. I like you. I want to make sure you’re okay.” Something in her tone made him wary. Almost as if he needed her permission to go to Murandy. She wasn't trying to manipulate him ... was she? Her brown eyes felt friendly enough though ... light he was paranoid these days. Calmly reaching forward he plucked the note from her hand. "Thankyou," he said with a slight bow. "It will be a pleasure to accompany you to Murandy." With a smile he added, "I don't know the way anyway."

He looked down at the note in his hand. Resisting the urge to unfold it immediately, he stuffed it into his belt pouch. He would have plenty of time to look at it in the journey to come. And now he wouldn't have to face the road alone. For the next while anyway, he had a friend. A friend that looked at him like a wounded puppy, but a friend nonetheless. He wished that he had a way to repay her. Maybe he could repair the ragged sheath for her belt knife? He'd have plenty of time on the trip for that as well.

Standing up straight again he asked, "Do you need anything else done here? Anything at all? I'm in your debt." Immediately after the words left his mouth he fought to surpress a grin. His father had always said that those were the worst words you could say to a woman. She'd always find a way to make you pay her back. But Esy was willing to do so. Especially if this worked.

Esy's mind raced as he slid the food stuffs into the cupboards. In Murandy he'd have a chance to gather himself together, maybe find some sort of lead. But on the other hand, if he removed himself from the area he risked losing everything.

Losing everything ... what have I got to lose? When it came right down to it, there was nothing but an attachment to his home. An attachment that had been burned away a year ago. Slowly closing the cupboard door, Esy looked thoughfully at the floor for a long moment. "Murandy ..." He took a deep breath and nodded. "I have nothing to gain by staying here. At the very least I can start over again there." He looked up at Dilora. "Do you really think I can find out something there?" Not that it really mattered. With even the possiblity of a better life, or a hint of a lead in front of him, he had to take the opportunity.

Murandy? It was not something he had ever thought of before. He knew he would have to leave Caemlyn eventually, for a time anyway, but Murandy? Esyndor's knowledge of the country was limited. He knew that compared to Andor, the situation was more fragile.

“Now then, how about fetching me those provisions?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Esy nodded in agreement. In short order he was off with a list and a small quantity of coin. Beans, flour, meat... He reviewed the list of things he was supposed to pick up from just down the street. He paused for a moment when he saw the cheese on the list. Not because it was an odd item, but because the quantity had been scratched out several times, and in the end had been left off completely. Shaking his head he continued down the road. This shouldn't take long at all.

***

Half an hour later, Esy was rubbing his painful shoulder after depositing the last bags, one of beans and the other full of cured meat and a quarter of a cheese wheel, next to the wagon. Thoughts of leaving still tumbled around in his head. Murandy ... should I do it? With a sigh he picked up the bags again and with a quick knock, pushed open the door. "Where do you want me to put all of this?" He would have to ask her more about Murandy later.

Who do I need to talk to in order to get ahold of a ter'angreal for Arath? I want to get him into the Stone of Tear and start his ter'angreal studies so I can get along with making them. Who has to approve it, and what do I need to do?

Being hugged wasn't something Esyndor had been expecting. He tensed at first, unsure and uncomfortable. But he eventually relaxed. It felt ... good. Safe.

As he listened to Dilora's proposition, his heart fell a little. Make nails, needles, knives ... he'd need a forge and that was impossible for him now. He shook his head slowly. "I can do any chores you need done, but smithing ... I can't." Her raised eyebrow suggested that he explain himself quickly. "If I had any way at all to do it I wouldn't be living like I do. I have no forge, and no way to get one. There was nothing left of my father's. And I can't work with any of the smiths in the city. Several months ago I angered Lord Thailar, someone who did regular business with my father. I was sure he could help me but he insisted on not seeing me. I finally confronted him and now ... no smith within fifty miles of Caemlyn will take me on. No smith, no tanner, no merchant ... anywhere that I could find work."

Looking down at the floor he thought for a moment. "I do know where you can get a good price on those things though. I can't work with him, but I know someone who is willing to help me out at times." He shrugged. Until he could get out of Caemlyn and start his life over it was the best he could do. Light willing he could find out the truth quickly and move on.

Arath rather enjoyed the developments that had just occured. So this child was the Queen of Illian? He barely managed to contain a wry glance toward Kedyn. Yes, irrelevent indeed ... He didn't care so much for the Aes Sedai's small demonstration though. As the cold, prickly sensation had washed over him, his eyes shot toward her, and he had siezed Saidin, at the ready for anything. Relaxing somewhat after seeing the illusion disappear, he thought about the implications of this. A channeling imposter. A Forsaken? Light, not another one ... The battle with Aginor at the farm was still fresh in his memory.

He thought it interesting how Kedyn responded to Queen Sofia's remarks. Had they not attacked him for being too direct? And yet he demanded allegience from the person who, at least to Arath's mind, deserved the most respect in that courtyard. He could only imagine how the reaction would have been if he himself had made those comments.

As the Aes Sedai confirmed his fears, Ja'varan ... light help us, Arath began to listen intently, picking out the important information. One Forsaken, multiple Dreadlords. Attack soon ... "So if it would please you, do give us numbers... how many channelers and soldiers can you bring and how quickly?"

Taking advantage of the moment of silence, Arath stepped forward to give information the Band didn't have. "At the moment there are never more than a half dozen Asha'man within the city. However, we can have as many as your plan calls for, and more, within ... two hours. Delivered immediately to wherever you need them."

He listened, eyes to the floor as Dilora talked. A hint of a smile played upon his lips as he remembered his happier days. But it only compounded the hurt as his last memories of his parents came crashing back on him. "I need to find out what happened to them." Really that was a bad choice of words. He knew exactly what had happened, just not why, nor who had done it. "It wasn't an accident, no matter what everyone said." It didn't matter how inept a smith was, he wouldn't accidently fall into the forge . And his wife wouldn't accidently get molten silver all over her face.

Esy leaned back against a wall, eyes closed, fighting back tears of anger. That last image haunted his dreams too often. "I want to find out who did it, and why. They never did anything to deserve ... to be ..." He trailed off, not wanting to finish. "If you know anything about what happened, heard any rumors, anything that could point me in the right direction ... please ..." He hoped against all odds that she could help him. It was all he'd dreamed of since that awful day. When he didn't have nightmares, he dreamed about what he'd do to the person responsible for his ruined life. A dream that slipped further and further away each day.

"My name is Esyndor Renethil. I'm from ... I was from a small village north of here. My father had a smithie there, until about a year ago ..." Already one year ... and what did he have to show for it? Not sure how much to disclose to his new acquanitance, he fumbled for words. Stalling for time he took a bite of one of the meat strips Dilora had given him. He could barely taste the delicious flavor though as he played back the bitter memories in his mind.

"I don't know why, but ... someone ... I lost my family, and almost everything we had. And ever since I've been trying to figure out who ... and why. But I can't find anything. Know I just look for any connection I can to my parents. Anyone who knew them, or might have known them.

"Strange as it may be, this leads me to ... your dagger." Reaching through a slit in the side of his shirt, he pulled out his own blade. Not a thing one would expect a street thief to have. The blade was of very fine steel, and inlaid in silver in the pommel was a marking, identical to the one on Dilora's dagger. He held it forward for her to examine. "It's my fathers mark. Unique to his work. I would imagine you've passed through the village on the way to Tar Valon. My father made an effort to get to know the peddlers that came through. Could you have known him?"

He knew it was unlikely that Dilora had known either of his parents, and even less likely that she'd heard anything that he hadn't already. But he had to hope. He remembered the meat strips in his hand and looked down at them. To his surprise there was only one left. He didn’t even remembered eating them. He slowly began on the last one, intending to enjoy it.

Esy wasn't at all sure what to do. What kind of person would kindly invite some dirty kid from the street into their wagon? Different instincts started playing through him. His mind began racing for an excuse to leave quickly and quietly. At the same time he automatically examined her, searching for weapons and hidden intents in case he couldn't escape.

Eyes moveing quickly in all directions (and trying to avoid her breakfast sandwich), his gaze came to rest on her dagger, sitting in a scabbard that looked even more disheveled than he did. Years in his fathers forge automatically kicked in, as he evaluated the blade from afar. It looked very finely made from the little he could see, and engraved in the pommel was ... His mouth parted slightly as he recognized the engraving. He'd grown up around it. There was even a good chance that he had made it. He looked into her face again, trying to remember if he had ever met her before. No ... there was no familiarity, but then he had never paid much attention to the many peddlers that came through his home town. However, he did see something else in her eyes that he hadn't seen for a very long time. Something almost foreign to him now. Kindness? Concern?. Thoughts of leaving slowly melted away, and curiousity replaced them.

Collecting himself quickly, he opened his mouth to ask where she had bought the blade, but another sound from the hallway distracted him. Someone else coming down the hall. And judging by the girlish giggling, it really was Clara this time. Quickly changing gears, he decided to take this Dilora up on her offer. "Okay. I did want to ask you something. If it's no trouble."

*tips and hat and glass*

Change can be a good thing.

Unless you change the liquor cabinet keys as well . . . then change is bad.

Tear it up Covai!

Isha's words did indeed shock them into full awareness. Aginor? Here? Arath thought quickly. He didn't know much about Tamas, but Arath wasn't much of a socializer anyway.

There was dead silence in the room for what seemed an eternity, then everyone's thoughts all burst out at once. Arath waited a moment for the noisy confusion to lessen before raising his own voice. "How do you know this Isha? I don't doubt you, but how did you figure it out?" He paused for a moment, then added; "And how do we make sure he doesn't get away?"

Esyndor waited patiently out in the stables for the inn keeper to get back to him. She was busy harassing the cooks, and he'd been asked to wait outside. He was fine with that. His disheveled appearance didn't make him a wanted guest anywhere, much less in a common room. Plus he was far less likely to encounter Clara out here.

As he waited out in the stables, silent but for the occasional stirring of the few horses, his eyes drifted back to the peddlers wagon. Really it was a foolish thought that this peddler would know anything. His family hadn't even lived within Caemlyn, so their deaths had gone largely unnoticed. He was just growing desperate for any clues as to who had done it, and he knew it.

Esy didn't know how long he had been waiting there alone, letting his thoughts wander, but suddenly a light tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality with a jolt. Sure that it was Clara who had snuck up on him, he jumped and spun around so quickly that he almost lost his balance, stumbling backwards a step or two before steadying himself on the water barrels. Way to go fool, he thought to himself. Now she’ll think you’re cute and funny too …

"Clara!" he stammered. "I... what..." An odd mix of confusion and relief played quickly across his face as he realized that this woman, although she looked similar, was not the innkeeper’s daughter. Without thinking, he automatically asked, “Who are you?” then immediately regretted it. He was not in any position to be asking questions here. “Sorry,” he muttered, bowing slightly and taking a step back. “I was just waiting fo . . . you startled me.”

The last year had not been kind. Starving, twice imprisoned, and nowhere closer to finding out what he wanted, Esyndor was about to give up. Penniless, friendless, and apparently hopeless, he wanted only to curl up in a dark alley somewhere and die.

But he knew he wouldn't. The stubborn streak that was his family legacy wouldn't allow it. As long as there was any possibility of survival, he would cling to it. That was why he lived on the Caemlyn streets, among the people he had always feared. The dark lurkers, the thieves, the cutpurses. They had not welcomed him exactly, but they had not run him out like everyone else. Perhaps a proving period had been granted him?

He was not proud of his situation. He dispised it in fact, but he had no other options. His foolish antics with the powerful noble had assured him of that. No blacksmith within fifty miles of Caemlyn would accept him for even the basest of jobs now. Making his way on the purses of others was not something he enjoyed. Nor was he particularly good at it yet. His aching shoulder was a grim reminder of that. He was lucky that the merchant hadn't hit him in the head with that sling.

With a resigned sigh, Esy pulled himself to his feet, wincing as he banged his shoulder against a wall. Today would be a better day. It couldn't possibly be worse.

Wandering through the streets in the early morning sun light he considered his options. There weren't many people around at the moment. Certainly none that were carrying enough money to make them a worthwhile target. Looking down the street he spied an inn he often visited. The innkeeper there was a kindly woman, who had known his parents and sometimes allowed Esy to make small repairs around the place. He hadn't been there for a while because of one of her daughters, who had been trying to catch his eye. In more care free days, he would have enjoyed the game. But now, the last thing he wanted was to anger one of the few providers he had of respectable work.

As he made his way inside, he paused to consider the peddlers wagon along side the stables. A peddler was always a potential source of information which might point him in the right direction. And if not, the wagon was always a potential source of something valuable to sell. Pushing through the door, Esyndor looked for the innkeeper, praying that her daughter was nowhere in sight.

"You miss the entire point Aslan." Light, this man just refused to understand! "You have no idea what weapon you are fumbling around with, be it a bow, a mace, or a pitchfork. Strength in a certain element matters less than you think. I may not be able to duplicate the weave in its full strength, but I will likely understand it better than you do. Understanding is something that comes with experience. I have only an average ability for healing, even though my strengths are equal with many of the healers. But I can understand the weaves. I can see how they work. I just can't make them work. If it came down to it I could teach someone else how to do it.

"It can be the same with your weave. Perhaps few have the strength in air to make it, but that doesn't mean that they cannot help you. At the very least you can let us know what you're doing so that the next headstrong dedicated with the same talent doesn't die the same way you do."

Arath closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Our other option, is to simply not let you channel at all." His eyes snapped open and tendrils of spirit shot toward Aslan, cutting him off from the source. "Not an option that I would like to go with, but it does keep you from damaging anything or anyone. But its your choice. What will it be, dedicated?"

"It depends on the knowledge. Learning twenty ways to NOT do a weave at the cost of twenty soldiers is not worth the cost. The secret to the success of this place, is that we share knowledge. Absolutely everything learned is shared, so that it can be applied to other circumstances as well. Discovery is made a group effort, so that other points of view can influence the experiments. Problems can often be worked out before the weave is ever completed. And even if problems occur, survival rates are higher when others are already there to react."

Arath rubbed his forehead. "That is why I want to know what you are doing, and how. If you do it alone, odds are you will kill yourself, or burn yourself out. Not an acceptable cost for whatever it might teach us. When it's possible to avoid the risks, we do so. Channeling is dangerous enough, especially for us."

It was Arath's turn to shake his head. "Getting an idea is one thing, carrying it through is another. The Aes Sedai have always known about forming gateways but haven't done so for many, many years. They know what it does, and probably have some idea of how it works, but still can't do it on theory alone. Even if we describe the entire process to them, they can't figure out a duplication. Yes, theory can get you somewhere, but most likely not where you thought you'd end up."

It kind of seems to me like we aren't doing a whole lot around here. And I'm wondering why. So I just wanna see who is still around, posting or just lurking and waiting for an opportunity to jump on something.

So ... everyone post once, just because I said so :P

Coolness. When do we get this party started?

And out of curiosity, do any of these ladies have warders? What would this mean for them?

bah . . . Asha'man using sticks? have you learned nothing?

*pulls out the big fiery sword*

much more motivational wouldn't you agree?

Yay! Saldean huh? All sorts of interesting!

Arath didn't know which he would rather deal with anymore, Aslan or Jakar. Jakar at least was direct. Unstable, but direct. Aslan looked like he'd beat around the bush indefinitely until he got his way.

But when it came to stubbornness, Arath had no equal.

"You can fight me all you want on this dedicated," he said, stressing the rank, "but if you wish to continue learning on your own, you will be sharing what you know. You belong to the Black Tower, and your knowledge will be used for the benefit of all of us. It doesn't matter if most don't have the strength in air to replicate this weave. Most weaves can be adapted, and principles that make it work can be applied to other weaves. It is for that same reason that you take part in classes that lie outside your strength. You may not be able to duplicate the weaves, but you can still learn from them. In this particular weave of yours, there are very advanced things that I have never seen before. And I can already think of ways to adapt the form, if not the weave."

He let the words sink in for a moment before adding, "Plus with a slight amount of supervision you're less likely to hurt yourself ... again." He indicated the half healed cut that Aslan had been fingering. "You do realize how lucky you have been, experimenting based off of ... other mens memories?"

"Now if you would, duplicate the weave again, and tell me how you will control the rate of rain fall."

Arath was prepared to leave the man to his self studies if he would only cooperate a little. Once he learned that learning with the power was often easier, and almost always safer with someone else to lend a hand.

Eh? Someone speaketh my name?

Arath watched intently as the dedicated wove Saidin, mostly air and water, into an intricate web. It required quite a lot of strength in both elements, perhaps more than he himself would be able to muster, but he understood how it worked. He watched the web spin up into the sky and unfold into its finished form. Clouds rolled together as before in a great rush of wind. Realizing what was about to happen, Arath wove a small disc of air and water above his head to protect himself from the downpour.

And not a moment too soon. If not for that disc he'd have been drenched from head to toe in the short while it took to empty the clouds of their moisture.

"Weather is such a marvelous thing."

"Indeed. Quite the interesting weave you have here. I'm not sure I could quite duplicate it with the same results. I don't quite have that strength in air. But I think I can help you refine it a little. Though I'd still like to know where you learned this ..."

Bracing himself to stand, Arath's hand came down on Aslan's coat. He felt something hidden inside, a book maybe, but chose to ignore it for the time being. It was really more important to figure out control of a weave already learned then to figure out where it came from. For now.

Arath bit his lip to prevent a strained smile. Was he so hard to understand? "So am I to assume that Jakar was the one who was just channeling here? That seems awfully convenient. If thats the case, you'll want to be 'remembering' just how he did it soon. No more dodging the question."

Guessing that information about this still might not be forthcoming, Arath looked around for a place to relax and wait. Taking a seat on a large stone next to the other man's black coat, he looked up expectantly, waiting for a straight forward answer. This wasn't how he'd planned to spend his free day, but a good puzzle was never something he would turn down.

"Very interesting. You are not the first one here to have voices, or other people in your mind, but to my knowledge you would be the first to learn a new weave from it. So I'm guessing thats not the case here. We can deal with that later." It was disturbing that this Jakar could take full control, but it did explain a lot if it was true.

"But first, you need to explain a little of what you are doing. Self study and experimentation is encouraged, to a certain extent, but we like to know what is happening in case of ... unforeseen consequences. For example, if your little rain storm had also carried lightning, you probably wouldn't be here anymore. Even the Asha'man have to report what we're doing once in a while. I really wouldn't care so much if I'd seen something like this before, but you've sparked my interest here. Maybe we can learn something from eachother."

Aslan didn't seem very eager to explain himself, but Arath didn't plan on leaving him any other options.