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Chapter Text

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose roughly three hundred paces from the Erinin where it rejoined just beyond the island of Tar Valon. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

There was nothing whatsoever natural about this wind. It had been created by the will of the novice Else Grinwell, with the specific purpose of impeding a single bird that seemed to be winging its way straight toward the White Tower, despite the wards that ought to block it from crossing into the city. Today, Else was on the ramparts of the harbor towers, engaged in exercises with the Vermillion Legion, a unit that had once been a mark of shame. Under the direction of Gawyn Trakand--also still a novice--its reputation was improving rapidly. She was his second-in-command, though as yet no Aes Sedai had recognized her as such. That was all right; the work was enough for her.

For over an hour now, Else had been certain that the bird was a raven, though it was near the limit of her clear vision even with the One Power flowing through her. She pushed it backwards, shoved it sideways with cross-currents, yet no matter what she did it returned to its heading, plainly intent on reaching the Tower. It had to be one of the Dark One's Eyes, though how it intended to breach the wards was beyond her.

Suddenly the raven dropped like a stone. Had someone shot it down? Ravens were ill-omened, especially so far north, but she had seen no arrow or archer. Else scanned down until she spied a copse below the raven's flight path. A few moments later, a human figure scurried out of the trees. Shadowspawn or Anathema. It had to be. No true Exalt had the power to become a bird. Best to report to Gawyn before the stranger got any closer.

*****

Min glanced around hurriedly before leaving the copse. Finally she had reached the point where she could simply orient on the White Tower and fly toward it, and someone was doing their best to stop her! She supposed they had identified her as a raven, but wards around the city would have halted a real raven anyway. Why make so much trouble for her?

She made her way through the fields on a cattle trail and out onto the main road into Alindaer, one of the six bridge towns that were Tar Valon's last holdings beyond the island itself. Once the White Tower had ruled a nation in all but name, but that time was over a thousand years gone. Artur Hawkwing had laid siege to Tar Valon, and it had never expanded beyond the bridges again. Very little of humanity's works had expanded since that time. Alindaer was not even as large as Baerlon, where Min had grown up.

Much of the town was painted in a tarry black, as if to match with the bottoms of the ships that sailed the river, while the people, more Andoran than not, wore every color of the rainbow. Usually not together, though Min peered curiously at a muscular woman dressed in what looked like Tinker garb and her top-knotted, apparently-Shienaran husband, just long enough to notice the woman's swelling belly. She was giving him sharp-sounding directions about repairing a wagon-wheel, seeming none-too-pleased at not being able to run the smithy herself at present. Min saw no images around the unusual couple, made a silent prayer for their happiness, and moved on.

The square before the bridge was paved all in milk-white marble, and lacy arcs curved out high over the water to support the bridge itself. Old market stalls had apparently once extended onto the lower reaches of the bridge, but only a handful remained, all deserted and collapsing. The Shadow spread, and humanity was in retreat.

Min crossed the bridge surrounded by thronging masses of people all the same. No other city in the world was as great as Tar Valon, where people from every land she knew of met and did business, the heart of the Dragon-Blooded and the remaining Aes Sedai. A thousand years ago, she would surely have been one of them by now herself, but the Third Usurpation had cast the Sidereals from power. Sometimes she wondered how the planners of fate had missed what was coming. How could they not have seen a coup rising against them? Min brushed shoulders with a young man who bore the pale blue skin of an Air aspect; he did not notice her at all. What omens had they missed, and why?

Alindaer was dwarfed by its parent city on the other side of the bridge, yet Tar Valon was constrained in size by its position on the Blessed Isle and the quality of its Ogier-built architecture. Over the centuries, a very few buildings had been destroyed and replaced, but human builders were unable to duplicate Ogier designs. Even when they were willing to pack people in tighter, the towers could never rise as high. The bridge towns were the only outlet for the city to grow.

The further Min ventured into Tar Valon, the more signs she saw of death and destruction to come. Women bore phantom wounds, men staggered as if sick, and even children showed skulls for faces. The Dragon-Blooded were no exception; if anything they seemed to be taking the brunt of it. The Last Battle was coming, but Min felt as if the images she saw came from multiple disasters at multiple times. Again she wondered: had no one in Hawkwing's time seen this coming?

Or had they brought it on themselves by trying to avoid it?

*****

Faolain Orande struggled not to shuffle her feet. She had been engaged in the makework of escorting petitioners for three hours now. Her mind was foggy, her feet were sore, and she felt a deep-down ache between her thighs. She had finally admitted to herself that Galad was not returning to the White Tower any time soon and that even he surely was not just pining after her, but she increasingly struggled to relate to the other Accepted. Sheriam and Hammar both refused to comment on whether she might soon be raised Aes Sedai, saying only that her time as Accepted would be quite short if that was true.

Eben Hopwil and Evin Vinchova--she was certain Siuan had assigned her the pair so that she would have trouble remembering their names!--returned from the Green Ajah quarters together. The two novices offered farewells to their petitioners and began looking around blankly. If they were not so strong in the Power, she thought they might have been sent home already; neither was very attentive or keen to work.

"Here!" she said sharply. "Go find someone else to escort. Don't lollygag around." The warmth in her nethers intensifed, and she forced herself to ignore it. If these blotchy boys were setting her off, she was in a bad way.

The next person in line was an elderly man with a thick white beard. "To whom do you wish to speak, and who should I say is asking?"

The fellow looked briefly flustered, as if he hadn't actually expected to get in. "Elmin...ster. Elminster Um...Aumar. I'm here to see the Amyrlin Seat."

Faolain raised both eyebrows. In principle, anyone had the right to ask to see the Amyrlin, but few people were actually granted an audience. This old fool who could barely remember his own name was surely not a priority. "Do you think the Amyrlin Seat herself can see everyone who comes to the White Tower? Tell me what you want, and I will arrange for you to see the sister who can best help you.”

"I have the right to speak to the Amyrlin Seat," Eliminster quavered. "My question is for her alone."

In spite of the aging pest, Faolain could not stop the tingly feeling that continued to plague her. Light, she needed some free time! "Very well, Elminster. I will send word to the Keeper of the Chronicles that you wish to see the Amyrlin Seat personally. No doubt it will be hours before the Keeper finds time to reply, and it will certainly be that you can ask your question at the Mother’s next public audience. My best wishes go with you, grandfather. Wait with patience."

She turned and found Else Grinwell waiting to take the next message. The girl was lazy and troublesome, yet somehow often seemed to have her pick of the boys. She was pretty, a fine distraction for idle novices. "Go to the Keeper of the Chronicles and tell her an 'Elminster' asks an audience with the Amyrlin.'" The old man pushed past Faolain and pressed something--likely coin--into Else's hand. Well, that was none of Faolain's concern.

The White Tower was a very large building full of flights of stairs. The last thing Faolain expected was that, in less than half an hour, a different novice would come racing down the nearest flight. "Elminster? The Amyrlin Seat will see you now." Faolain was on the verge of slipping away, whatever the consequences, when the novice curtsied and said, "And you with him, Accepted. Please come with me."

*****

Galad crossed his legs awkwardly. The Amyrlin had told him to sit, so he sat. At least it was easier to conceal the state he was in this way. The Amyrlin pointedly ignored his shifting about. "If I may ask, Mother, who is this 'Elminster'?"

"That must remain a secret for now," Siuan Sanche replied. "But he has the sigil I gave to Min Farshaw, so we can presume she sent him as a messenger."

She didn't know, did she? Gawyn exchanged glances with Else, who looked uncharacteristically calm and collected. "Min Farshaw, Mother?"

"If you don't know," the Amyrlin said, "I don't see the need to tell you." From her smile, she did at least know who Min was; he didn't remember the woman at all.

A short time later, Leane brought in Faolain, who seemed even more foul-tempered than usual, and an old man with a thick, snow-white beard. "Mother," Leane said quizzically, "Elminster Aumar, your audience."

As soon as Leane closed the door, the old man was gone. Gawyn couldn't say where, nor did the fellow seem to have moved. In his place stood a short-haired girl in men's clothes, who likewise seemed as if she had come in at the same time the man had. Faolain made a strange noise in her throat, a kind of "nnng" sound. Gawyn suspected he knew how she felt; despite the strangeness of her sudden appearance and odd clothing, his strongest impression of her was that she was very attractive. He could only hope that his breeches were hiding his response and not becoming obviously damp.

If the Amyrlin noticed, she gave no sign. "Min Farshaw, I presume. I remember our conversations, but even I couldn't recall your appearance. What sort of name is 'Elminster'?"

"I meant to use my proper name," the girl muttered. "Nobody knows 'Elmindreda'. But then I saw Elaida and grabbed a disguise to put on. I didn't have the chance to even start thinking of a name before Faolain spoke to me," she finished.

"Elmindreda," Else said, and began to giggle. "That's an amazing story to walk out of."

"And you've read it," Faolain growled. "Impressive. Mother, what is this being you have put your trust in?"

"An ally of the Dragon Reborn," Siuan said sternly. "I am more certain of her than of you, so whatever fate you might think she deserves, consider whether you want to be in that kettle of fish yourself. Min, what did you just see?"

Min looked as if she were about to try evading answering, then shook her head and changed her mind. "You, on the floor, naked. It doesn't mean anything good. You'd think pleasant people had pleasant fates, but usually not, nor the other way round." She shifted from one foot to the other before sitting down on a low chest.

The Amyrlin barked a laugh. "If it did mean anything good, I know someone who'd have the hide--Well, not really. You all know by now what Tower life is like." Gawyn tried not to squirm in his seat. What did the Amyrlin look like without any clothes on?

"It's been getting worse the farther I go into the Tower," Min said warningly. "Aes Sedai, hurt, confined, dying."

"Then I need you close," Siuan said, "to keep as many of us as possible safe. Gawyn here is in charge of my personal security, because no one would suspect him. I gave him the Vermillion Legion." And he had done his best to transform it from a laughing-stock into a crack unit, but he was not so sure her confidence was justified.

"If I may ask, Mother," Faolain interjected, "have you given my suggestion any thought?"

Siuan's jawline hardened for a moment, but when she spoke, her tone was even. "I'll be working on it when we're done here. Yes, the Red Ajah's purpose has always been valid and it contains a few reasonable members I can reach out to. And I will."

"I'm sorry, Mother, I just think it would be easier to deal with the other dangers you face if we had an open dialogue with someone in the Red. You admit that the Anathema were exiled for good reason, they admit that prophecy requires us to work with the Dragon, you agree to table the rest till the crisis is over. It seems plain enough."

"The White Ajah has my congratulations," Siuan said drily. "I don't believe it will be that simple. I am going to try anyway. You've made your point. Why do you keep bringing it up?"

Faolain took a deep breath. "Ellid. Who is she?"

Siuan stood there with her mouth open for a brief moment. "We were novices together. She was...a golden child. Strong in the power, courageous, intelligent...beautiful. She never came out of a testing ter'angreal. How do you know of her?"

"I've spoken to her ghost, Mother. She says the Red Ajah are talking about something called the Emergence. She doesn't know what it is, but she thinks you need to."

"Her ghost. Well." Min had never seen Siuan look so shaken. "Ajah secrets are hard to pry out, but I shall see what I can learn. Gawyn, Else, be inconspicuous and see what you hear. In fact..." she looked around. "...I'm not a blind woman. You two go canoodle in the Red quarters or something. Faolain, as they say in the Maule, go stick your hand in the fish barrel." Faolain shot her an offended look, which the Amyrlin pretended not to see. "Elminster, I need you to be as inconspicuous as possible without losing me as well. Put your disguise back on, or find a better one."

"I...have something in mind," Min said faintly.

"Good," Siuan told her. "I have someone else to meet with. Go! Out with you!"

Min went.

*****

The moment the last of them left her study, Siuan went and leaned against the door. "Leane? Send for Alric."

"Now? As you like, Mother. Shall I cancel your other appointments?"

"Only the next two, and reschedule them for tomorrow. I have to try to be brief."

"Very well," Leane began, but Siuan already had the door locked and was channeling flows of Air, Water, and Fire into a stubby rod that forced its way up into her waiting pussy. She had run herself too hard all day and then mistakenly shoved herself into a room with desperate, eager young folks who had best not even begin to realize that the Amyrlin Seat could feel the same things they did. Flanges on the rod flicked themselves against her nub as she thrust it up into herself again and again. A warding around the room maintained apparent silence while she wailed to her heart's content. "Moiraine! Light, Moiraine, why aren't you here! Oh, Light, Moiraine!"

Only when she had finished herself off twice did she lower the ward and ask, shakily, "Leane, has Alric arrived?"

"A moment ago," the Keeper responded, with a touch of sarcasm that only she and Moiraine could have gotten away with. "He is quite prompt."

Tall, slender, and greying, the Murandian was all that Siuan looked for in a man. Most importantly, he had no feature that reminded her of Moiraine. Siuan Sanche found many men attractive; she had never been in love with one. Also, he suited her purposes for the moment. "As you have summoned me, Mother, I come," he said, and swept a low bow, putting aside his red shawl. "May I ask your purpose?"

"I would not leave the Red Ajah in ignorance," Siuan said. "Terrible events are at hand, and I am not neglecting them."

"I have never known you to do so," he said, "even though your methods are not mine. I take it you intend to offer me our customary refreshment?" he said, with a deep breath and a smile.

"Yes," she said, tugging him down within reach. "I know you thrive on chaos."

"A man who did not must needs go unfed in times like this," he agreed, and kissed her on the mouth. "Prophecy, I take it, and from such news as I have heard, one of these Dragons is not false?"

"One," she said, smirking. Alric had a way--well, two different ways--with his tongue. "He should be in Tear before long. Do you have faith in prophecy, Alric Luain of the Red Ajah?"

"I do," he said. "Let's discuss the details when we're done in the bedroom. Unless the Dark One is going to get free within the hour?"

"If he is," Siuan pointed out, "we're already in the shark's belly and we may as well enjoy the ride."

Chapter Text

Wind rushed hollowly through the hallways and tunnels that were and yet were not part of the Stone of Tear, the greatest and most unconquerable fortress of humanity. A half-step removed from reality, Perrin Aybara had dreamed his way into the Wyld alongside his friends Aviendha, Faile, and Hopper. The two women were somewhat more than friends as well; he supposed that in a very different way, the wolf was too. Perrin had finally managed to keep his promise by shaping functional wings from Hopper's own flesh and bone. Now Hopper could fly in the world of flesh as easily as that of dreams.

But this place, Luna had told him, was the malleable playground, redoubt, and hunting ground of the Lunar Exalted, shapeshifters who had once protected humanity from the unspeakable horrors that lived deeper in the Wyld, where shifting reality gave way to utter chaos. So they were pushing deeper into it, trying to master their powers. Ahead of him, Aviendha and Faile crouched on the walls, finding purchase in the tiniest crevices. It was a thing he could do, too, but the girls no longer expended any measurable amount of the Power to do so, here. For Perrin, it was still a strain.

The tunnel was shaped in many ways like a hallway, but no side was clearly a floor, and which way was down shifted unpredictably as they traversed it. Right here, it seemed to be nearly a vertical shaft, though tapestries and furniture still sat willy-nilly on the walls, oriented every which way. Hopper soared downward past him. Come, Young Bull! Keep up!

Perrin allowed raven wings to burst from his back and leapt, spiraling down past the others as he followed Hopper. Far down the corridor, some distant danger tickled his nostrils like the scent of a predator, but it was miles away yet. He was about to ask about it when an image appeared below him like a window into darkness. Min stepped into a cage, reaching to pull the Amyrlin out of danger, only to set off the trap herself. The door slammed shut behind her with a clang as the picture faded.

Before he could speak, two more images sprang into being. On his left, Padan Fain capered with Mat's dagger between two streams, blood streaking his face. On his right, a city floated in the clouds, and on the edge of it an Aiel woman worked the forge, with Perrin, Aviendha, and Faile on the anvil while she struck.

A table broke the surface of the latter vision, shattering it into mist, and Perrin lunged sideways in a desperate attempt to avoid it. He succeeded, then crashed headlong into the chandelier just beyond. The One Power steadied him, and he sank to a crouch on the cracked crystal leaves, not disturbing then further despite their seeming delicacy. He folded his wings as Faile dropped toward him, Aviendha jumping from alcove to alcove in her wake.

"Did you see that?" he called up to them.

"See what?" Faile shouted back. "You nearly breaking your neck?"

Ahead of them--below them?-- the corridor opened up into a vast chamber that resembled the Heart of the Stone, but its massive redstone columns criss-crossed it in every direction, shaping it into a rough sphere. Something brilliant glittered at the center--surely not the Aidenweiss or a close copy, but then what?

Aviendha eyed the glimmer doubtfully as she alit beside him, not disturbing the chandelier in the slightest. She didn't even have wings. "I myself would not lay hands on the Aidenweiss, even if it is not truly a sword. It is too like for comfort."

"If it were up to me," Perrin said, "I wouldn't even carry my axe. But sometimes fighting is what needs to be done." She looked at him as if he had said that water was wet.

Danger comes, Young Bull. Hopper leapt past him, heading back up the shaft.

Perrin took a moment to try and sense the danger himself; it was important to master his powers before more trouble arrived. As he did, he felt his axe rattle in its belt loop. Faile soared past the two of them, exploring the chamber without waiting to hear what was happening. He began to call after her, but even as he did, Aviendha's spears slid from their places on her back and flew off in different directions. With a cry of distress, she leapt after the slowest, only to find herself spinning in midair with no easy way to maneuver.

"Wings," he called after her--he knew she could become a bird. He had not gotten even the one word out when his axe lifted up and out of its loop. He caught it before it could get away from him, but it pulled him off his perch without the slightest difficulty and sent him hurtling toward the center. "Faile, look out!"

The axe drew him on past her, bucking and weaving. Her knives were escaping from the hidden pockets where she kept them stashed, spinning around her like a cloud. For a moment he thought the axe was about to veer towards her, but it was merely trying to shake him off. At least for now. The knives began to distort, to weave themselves around her like a cage.

"Yes!" Aviendha cried. He looked up, craning his neck to see her. She had grown the wings of a sparrow and managed to catch one of her spears. Her expression of triumph turned to disgust and horror as the shaft shrank in her hands and the blade lengthened and curved. She was holding a sword. With a curse, she flung it away. No sooner had it left her grip than it was a spear again.

Faile was encased in a globe of woven metal with sharp edges that began to contract around her. She became a falcon, trying to escape through the gaps, but they closed up until none of the holes was small enough for her. He had suggested she take the form of a smaller creature, but she'd laughed and told him she felt silly stalking a fly. Spinning rapidly, the cage swooped away and out of sight.

Young Bull. I warned you of danger. Why did you not listen? The image of a cub batting at a porcupine came across plainly.

"I was trying to warn the others," he protested. The axe fought and twisted in his grip. "The falcon has been captured now. I have to find her."

Then we hunt, Young Bull. The wolf did not sound reluctant--what was done was done--only somewhat annoyed.

Aviendha was still doggedly pursuing her spears. As Perrin watched, one of the spears became a sword and chased after her instead. "Aviendha! We need to leave here! I'm sorry, but you either have to take them as swords or let them go!" His own weapon nearly wrenched free from his hands as he spoke. Aviendha looked at him as if he had ordered her to plunge a dagger into her own heart. "Unless you can make them stay spears, right now."

Aviendha's expression grew cold. Another of her weapons spun to swoop at her, and she threw herself into its path. He realized with alarm that there was one way that an Aiel could touch a sword that must not be too great a stain on their honor. She slid to the right at the last moment and the sword impaled itself in her left side. Blooded, it became a spear again. She pulled it out, but anointed with her blood it remained a spear. She gave the other weapons a longing look and turned to go.

The moment her back was turned the other spears spun toward her. Perrin opened his mouth to shout a warning--she was using the One Power and the malleable reality of the Wyld to heal herself already--but before he could get out any sound she had caught them both in either hand, without so much as turning back. "I thought as much," she said. "Now we seek your falcon."

Neither the new-caught spears nor his axe was under any meaningful control, but the spears remained spears. Together their weapons dragged them along, hopefully in pursuit of Faile. He tried to scent for her on the breeze and was gratified to catch wind of her fragrant soap and the distinctive smell of her sweat. But why were their weapons aiding them now instead of hindering them?

"Have a care, Perrin," Aviendha said as if confirming his suspicions. "If they cannot do us any other harm, they may seek to strike at Faile. She is nearly as strong as we, but I still would not have her hurt."

"Nor I," Perrin growled.

Your she is caught fast up ahead, Hopper warned. Be as wary as if you hunted a badger.

The little metal cage had shrunk even smaller, until he could not see how Faile could have avoided being sliced up by it. "Careful," he said, "but be ready. I have a plan."

So quickly? Hopper asked. Hopper knew how deeply Perrin liked to plan his actions. But if Faile was bleeding inside that tiny cage....

"There's not much time," he snarled, and let the axe drag him closer.

*****

Faile realized her captor--whoever or whatever it was--had made a mistake.

At first it had shrunk her down to fit inside the woven metal ball. Then the weave had become a maze in itself with wires like walls. The maze kept changing in form, first a cavern of twisting passages, all seemingly alike, then a canyon winding through broken badlands. But a canyon had no roof. Wings and lungs laboring in the thin, dry air, she launched herself into the sky.

The higher she got, the less blue the sky became. It grew not black but brown, filled with strange traceries. The ground fell away beneath her, canyons dwindling. Suddenly she realized that below had become the same as above. She was still encased in a globe, merely one grown to the size of a world. The entirety of that world was the canyon maze. Up was not a way out, and she had put herself in open view of her pursuer.

He put on a good show in his high-collared coat and tight pants. He had even sung to her. But when he got close enough she could see that his unruly mop of hair was not hair at all, but needles piercing his skin. Not outward, but inward, like a pincushion.

Now he was rising towards her out of the labyrinth, smiling the way a vicious dog smiled. "We have such sights to show you, and so little time. Not long at all, really; only forever."

But she wasn't out of the maze, not really. It was all a matter of perspective. The surface splayed out across the sky in all directions till there was no telling how far away it was, and in a dream that was as good as being however far away she wanted. Now she was at the center of a vast space where huge tunnels met, bigger by far than the false Heart of the Stone had been, and she soared away and out of her pursuer's reach...for the moment, at least.

His voice boomed out behind her. "Why do you fly from me? Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave. But defy me or deceive me, and your suffering will be legendary, even in hell."

She only believed the second half, and she had no intention of being anyone's damsel in distress.

*****

Perrin hauled back on the axe, trying to slow himself with his wings, but to little effect. He could not discern anything about it that seemed like life, but it behaved as if it wanted Faile dead, and that he could not allow. Despite his best efforts, the weapon crashed into the metal sphere, slicing it raggedly in half. He cried out in horror, but no blood or flesh spilled from the container.

He took a deep breath. A moment ago his senses had told him Faile was trapped inside. Now not only was she not there, the sphere smelled as if she had barely touched it. Either it was hiding her from him somehow, or it had sent her away almost at once.

"Back to the center," he said, "to whatever's sparkling. That's where I smell her now."

In the dream, one hunt can have many ends, Hopper told him.

"Are you sure you're not being deceived again?" Aviendha asked.

"No," he said irritably, "but I don't have amy other leads, do I?" He was going to find Faile and rescue her; anything else was not a possibility.

At the center of the void, he found the source of the glittering light. It was smaller than he expected, a fist-sized cube that might have been a giant die if it had different symbols on its faces. Or perhaps it did; each face bore an elaborate design centered on a large circle, but there seemed to be subtle differences between them. It was certainly not the construct that had trapped Faile, except that he had seen that change shape. Perhaps it had become this thing.

Aviendha reached out and took it in her hands. "I do not know what this is. The Wyld produces many strange things, but they are usually twisted from our world."

Perrin let her handle it for a few moments before asking to see it. At a glance it seemed all of a piece, but the circles rotated beneath his fingers, and after a moment hidden segments began to slide free. "It's a blacksmith puzzle," he exclaimed. "I assume Aiel smiths make them, too. This one is more complicated than anything I've seen. It could be from the Age of Legends."

"Perhaps," Aviendha said. "I have seen the sort of things you mean, and yes, our blacksmiths make them for amusement too. They are clever things, certainly."

"In the wetlands," Perrin said absently, fiddling with the puzzle, "blacksmiths are important, but too many people think of them as brutes who beat metal with a hammer until it becomes a tool. Strength and endurance are important, of course, but you have to be clever with your hands and eyes, also." The puzzle was far more intricate than it seemed at first; he was not certain how it could take the shape it had. Possibly he was not clever enough for this one himself.

The One Power sang at the edges of hus thoughts. If he could reshape his muscles to make himself stronger, could he reshape his brain to make himself smarter? It sounded like madness talking, but he knew what butchered muscle looked like; there should be nothing simple about enhancing it. Yet what he did worked.

"Perrin," Aviendha said uneasily. "Perrin Aybara, what--?" Her voice seemed to slow as his thoughts sparkled and fizzed. His hands grew faster on the puzzle box, its pieces moving, shifting.

The Wyld itself was the proof. A thing that changed constantly was no one thing. A thing that existed only for a moment didn’t truly exist at all. Master Luhan had tried to tell him that, once, a fragment of an old story, a parable about working iron, but he had barely understood it himself. Perrin saw it as if it were before his eyes.

Now the box was shifting faster than he could see it change, expanding into a ring, and in the center of the ring was nothing. Not even space. Only a gap in the world. That made sense to him, now, though a part of him was certain it should not.

He had time to recognize, but not react, as Faile crashed through the gap and slammed him backwards. He had time to grab the axe as it lunged for her throat and haul himself away to the left. "No!"

Faile's eyes were wide, but as soon as she spoke it was plain it was not for him. "He's coming, Perrin! We have to--"

A figure with a mutilated face stepped through the ring, smiling. That was not the truth of him, though. "Unshaped," Perrin growled.

The man that was not a man gestured, and Perrin's axe writhed in his grip, trying to bite into him with its blade. He nodded toward Aviendha. "Drop your swords," he said.

Aviendha glared daggers at him. Her veil rose across her face as if of its own accord, and she raised her hands, still holding her weapons. "I am Aiel," she said harshly, "and I hold no swords." They shifted in her grip, from spears to swords and back again, but she would not drop them.

Perrin channeled, and the axe fused into his right hand. It struggled a moment longer and was still, obedient now only to his will.

The man with the pincushion face shook his head sadly. "You remind me of the man," he said.

"What man?" Perrin demanded. But the Unshaped only stepped back into the portal and was gone.

"After him," Aviendha snarled, and leapt. Perrin tried to grab her, but she was out of reach.

It goes everywhere, Hopper said cryptically. Follow her.

Reluctantly, Perrin passed through the void...

...and awoke in his bed, sandwiched between Faile and Aviendha, with Hopper curled at their feet. Aviendha was wide awake, staring all around in the darkness. "He tricked us," she said, as Faile sat up in bed. "He didn't come here."

Foolish cub, said Hopper. Hope that he did not.

Chapter Text

Elayne tried not to scrub sweat from her face with her sleeves and wished once again that Mat had accepted her invitation to play cards in her rooms instead of with the Tairen lordlings. They might have been her rough social equals--leaving out that she was Dragon-Blooded, which had not been a positive factor in Tear for centuries--but they had all the social graces of backcountry farmers covered in mud. Less! Worst of all, they didn’t realize it, speaking Andoran for her with their atrocious accents and expecting her to exchange stories about handsome guardsmen she had lain with against their will for their tales of fisherman's daughters.

"I know a Tairen fisherman's daughter," she said, her tone cool as the refreshing breeze she wished would arrive. "She would have you tried before the Hall of the Tower before you could blink if she heard you admit to that, and if you were not put to death you would wish you had been."

Mat groaned. Surely he had enough coin by now. These men were loathsome! Estean was the worst, if only because he was the drunkest. He was not even nice to look at, unlike some of his friends; he had inherited his father's potato-shaped face and seemed on the edge of sicking up all the wine he'd consumed.

"She means the Amyrlin Seat," Carlomin snapped at him when he shot Elayne a baffled look. "Siuan Sanche. Aes Sedai come from anywhere. Even peasants." That was far from the High Lords' worst grievance against Aes Sedai, but it did have its place on the list.

"The Amyrlin Seat has no writ in Tear," Baran countered, pointing at her with the little finger of the hand he held his cards with. "Now, the Lord Dragon does seem to agree with her, Estean, so you might wish to keep your mouth shut. Cauthon, you know him too. I don't suppose you can talk to him about it."

"It would be a shame," Mat said quietly, "if you were tried and judged just for having your way with a girl whatever she wanted, or for having some farmer beaten for splashing mud on your cloak." That they expected Elayne to agree with them was bad enough, but the mere presence of Mat's coin and fine clothes seemed to make them forget that he was a commoner himself.

"It wouldn't come to that, surely," Edorion said uneasily. "A lord being tried before a magistrate, when their authority comes from the lords? It'll never come to that."

"Who knows what it might come to?" Mat said lightly. He was more comfortable with this than Elayne was, but his humor had a nasty bite all the same. "Hangings, maybe."

Carlomin, who was dealing, slapped the table. "Are we buying any more cards, or are we going to talk about magistrates?" He seemed the most put-together of the group, and had drunk the least. Whenever the conversation turned this way, he was the one who changed the subject. Elayne wondered if perhaps he had a shadow of a conscience, or if he were trying to keep quiet about dead merchants under his floor or some such.

Unexpectedly, the One Power filled Mat. Elayne could not begin to tell what he was doing with it, but he tapped some more tabac into his pipe, gave everyone at the table a disgusted look, and made as if to throw his hand on the table and quit. "Maybe I should leave while I'm ahead. No one wins every hand."

Reimon muttered something around his pipe and thumbed over a gold crown for his next card. Did he know where his perfumed tabac came from? Perhaps he did. He had spoken the least, tonight, and it did not seem characteristic of him. Or perhaps he was intimidated by having a woman at the table.

Estean began to bray laughter. "Not every hand, no, do they?" He tossed in another coin, nearly landing it in Carlomin's wine. In moments, everyone but Elayne had bought a fifth card, and she hastily paid up as well. Her hand was a disaster, but she wasn't in this for the money. Foolishly, she had hoped to have actual fun here tonight.

Outside, a cock crew. That was supposed to be a bad omen, some said an omen of death outright. As it did, Mat shifted his hand in a way that let her see his cards; he was about to lay them on the table anyway, but he clearly wanted her to see his triumph. Somehow he'd been dealt the Ruler of all five suits: a High Lord of Tear for Cups, the Amyrlin Seat for Flames (which did, Elayne noted, bear a marked resemblance to Siuan Sanche), the Queen of Andor for Rods (a lesser resemblance to her mother), Queen Tenobia of Saldaea for Winds, and King Alsalam of Arad Doman for Coins.

Without warning, the Amyrlin's hand moved and seared Mat's thumb with the fire that floated above her palm. Mat yelled and flung his cards away, but as he did they slowed, hanging in mid-air. No, not just the cards; Mat's chair began to slowly topple backwards. Elayne attempted to rise, but she, too, was caught as if moving through honey, like a dream where she was fleeing from Shadowspawn and couldn't get away.

The cards were growing, and fittingly for a dream they were growing much faster. The Amyrlin, her face fixed in a snarl, began to step out of the card. She was still utterly flat; so was the fire she flung in Mat's direction. Beside her the Ruler of Swords was growing too, the Tairen High Lord already trying to escape. Mat reached for his knives as if moving underwater. The bolt of fire struck him and set his coat ablaze, the flame moving at normal speed. It flickered upwards, still stylized like the Flame of Tar Valon.

Elayne channeled. The cards were still cards; maybe they, too, would burn. Her own fire moved at the same slow rate as the rest of the world. The Queen of Andor began to emerge from her card, still growing, clutching her sceptre as if she meant to brain someone. Elayne was not sure anything could beat all five of them if they managed to emerge. After all, that was in the rules.

Mat stopped trying to reach his knives and flicked his fingers to send a blade of red light at the High Lord. That was just as slow as all the rest. The Domani king sent a sharp-edged coin flying at Elayne; small though it was, it sliced a gash in her cheek. If the Ruler of Winds began sending icy gusts at them, Elayne thought they might be frozen in place until they were all hacked to pieces. But at least her flame had finally reached the Amyrlin.

The bad portrait of Morgase swung her mace at Mat's skull, and only missed by misjudging the speed of his slow fall. Siuan Sanche fell back into her card, thrashing as she burned. A wine glass sent spinning from the table splashed wine all over the Ruler of Coins; drenched, his colors began to run and blur. He threw another sharp coin, but it splattered on Elayne's hand as a soggy mess. She wasn't counting him out yet, and the Ruler of Winds was halfway grown.

The Tairen lordlings had started to realize something was wrong, but their reactions were even slower than hers or Mat's. They had only just begun to stare as Mat's light-dagger pierced the Ruler of Cups' heart. A second bolt of fire left Elayne's hand to fly towards her mother. An icy chill erupted from the last card as Tenobia began to climb from her frame. Alsalam's ruined face turned baleful, soggy eyes toward Elayne. Then he collapsed into runny mush.

With a lurch, time sped up again. The Ruler of Rods fell to the floor, burning. The Ruler of Flames was already ash, Cups was torn in half, and Coins was a runny mess where the alcohol had melted the paint off. Only Winds was still whole, and Mat bent down to slice a knife across the card. "Just to be sure," he said shakily.

"Which...which one...?" Estean stammered, before scurrying away. Elayne thought he might have fouled himself. One by one, though, the others made hasty excuses to be gone. Carlomin was the last, muttering something about a blessing on the Lord Dragon's companions.

Elayne sighed. "I should have taken Bain and Chiad's invitation to play Maiden's Kiss instead. Did you...I mean, you channeled something just before that."

Mat nearly choked at the mention of a kissing game--men were just like that!--but shook his head firmly at the suggestion that he had caused the disaster. "All I did was persuade them to buy in. They were considering it anyway, and I had the best hand in the game."

"I think you had the worst," Elayne said, almost laughing with relief. She could not approve of his actions, really, but unless he had somehow made the cards attack, surely meddling in a game of chop was nothing important. "But then what just happened? Was it the Yozis? The Forsaken? Surely not Rand." The last was not quite a question; this didn’t seem like a thing Rand could do.

"Not Rand," Mat agreed at once.

"Well," Elayne said, "I will have to go ask my aunt." Why did he sigh at that? Moiraine, of all people here, ought to know.

*****

The Stone of Tear was basically a village unto itself, albeit one made up mostly of nobles and soldiers. Its infirmary was no longer packed full the way it had been weeks ago; the Defenders injured by the Aiel had mostly recovered or died. But it was rarely completely empty, and tonight was no exception. Nynaeve al'Meara moved among the handful of patients, offering herbs and comfort. She understood their fear of Aes Sedai, and possibly she could make them see that not all were the same. Egwene was here helping her, she thought mostly as a peace offering now that Nynaeve was no longer the Wisdom to her. They had fought over authority enough.

She was tending to the broken leg of a mason when he began to gag and choke. Nynaeve helped him to sit up and held a bucket for him. Some people reacted poorly to some herbs, or he might have taken ill from another person who had been sick here. He sicked up a glossy brown stream into the bucket.

Nynaeve jumped back as the vomit separated into a milling container-full of beetles. For a moment--no longer, she was certain!--she hesitated. Then she seized him by the head and Delved him. There was no sickness in the usual sense, nor were the beetles eating him alive from the inside. Somehow his flesh was simply being transformed into beetle flesh, piece by tiny piece. Whatever force was doing it--one of the Yozis; it had to be--had a deeply sadistic sense of humor. She poured a tea down his throat and channeled, trying to heal or counter the effect by main force.

Nothing! Useless! The conversion continued as if she had done nothing at all. Beetles poured from his mouth onto her dress as he vomited again. His muscles were practically dissolving into bugs, and his organs weren't far behind. Ordinary bugs, so far as she could see, the sort that laid their eggs in rotting logs.

One of the nurses who normally worked here let out a pained cry and clutched her stomach as she, too, began vomiting up beetles. Whatever it was, it was spreading. The first victim had begun to collapse like an empty suit of clothes, and the only consolation Nynaeve could find was that he seemed too delirious to understand what was happening any longer. She hurried to the nurse instead. There had to be something that could stop this! Around her, more patients began to vomit beetles.

"Nynaeve!" Oh no. Fearing the worst, she turned to see Egwene holding her stomach and fighting to stay upright as beetles scurried from her dress. Nynaeve raced to her, abandoning her other patients. (Yes, abandoning; the pull of it was painful, but losing Egwene was unimaginably worse.) "What's happening?"

"I don't know," Nynaeve admitted frantically. "They're not eating you, you're becoming them. Like Perrin, I guess, but I don't see how even a Lunar could stay himself as a mass of beetles."

Egwene started to respond, then had to wait while another stream of insects poured from her mouth. "That's--" She coughed out a few more. "Things like that happen in the Wyld. I might be able to...." The One Power filled her, and simple weaves of Earth wrapped her briefly from head to toe. "I am Egwene al'Vere of Emond's Field." She glanced up at Nynaeve's eyes. "I know it sounds too simple. It's as much a meditation as a weave." She took Nynaeve's hands. "Focus on who you are, on where you're from."

Nynaeve let go Egwene's right hand and grabbed the nearest patient's instead. "Can you help other people with this?"

"I can try." Quickly they linked hands with everyone in reach. "Remember yourselves! You are who you were born as and who you've made of yourselves. Focus!" Together they drew on the One Power until it raged through them like a river in flood. "Light help us," Egwene groaned. "I...I..."

"You're Egwene al'Vere," Nynaeve said, "and you are too bloody stubborn to let this take you."

There was a snap like iron cracking in two, and the pair of them sat down hard, but it was only light-headedness from the exertion. One of the remaining nurses closed the eyes of a patient who had vomited blood and died anyway. "I think it worked," the nurse said. "He was just too far gone already to survive."

With the aura of released power still burning around them, it was risky for them to stay in the infirmary lest they hurt the patients further, but Nynaeve made a quick round before leaving, promising one girl whose left leg had been mostly dissolved into beetles that she would try to find a solution. She thought perhaps Perrin could help. "I'll be in my quarters," she told Egwene. "I don't want to hurt or poison anyone."

"Would you like me to come with you until this quiets down?"

Nynaeve shook her head. "I think I need some time alone. I was the Wisdom of Emond's Field, and that's done now." Egwene nodded sadly, and they went their separate ways.

Chapter Text

"Tell me a story," Moiraine said, resting her arms on the table and her chin on her arms.

"I know all stories," said Thom. "But that's a great deal to choose from. What sort of story?"

She considered him carefully. His task as she understood it was to preserve secrets, but not simply to keep them hidden away forever. Otherwise he might have been a librarian, but never a bard. "Tell me an old story, from before the Primordials became the Yozis. Tell me what came before the Creation we know."

"Hmm," Thom said. "Let me see. An Age yet to come, an Age long past. An Age not of legends but of dreams. Humanity cast into unending sleep so that our dreams may walk the Earth. In this distant time, still he is there. The New One, the First One. He who will be, but is not yet, Dragon.

"The Trickster Rabbit lures him, the Three Who Are One calls him from his work in the house of numbers and accounts. She tells him, 'The time of sleep is ending and you must wake us from the dream.' And so he makes his choice between destinies.

"The dreams come for him, then, not as shapeless but in the forms of men. He flees from them, for they are faster than the eye can follow and more ruthless than death. Before he can fight them, he must learn himself. He must see himself in the waking world where all lie in slumber." Thom paused and took a deep drink of wine, but this, the High Chant, was his element.

"Here is the secret: the destiny of the New One is peace, not war, but he cannot reach it without fighting. He must be faster still, faster than thought, for dreams are thought. Where all things have become dream, the real is a desert and the very Sun hides his face.

"One dream rebels, for the smith sees that all dreams must die. He swallows death, he becomes death, and he vomits out death into the world. This is the first sin, when the smith forges all into his own being.

"Only when the other dreams cry out for mercy can he be slain. Only when the Dragon and the Dream join as one can there be peace again. In that peace reality is made anew. In that peace the Creators build the world we know. This is the moment of creation. This is the beginning of time. This is the center where the seven spokes are joined." Thom paused. "This is not the oldest story I know, mind, but it is one of the few that explains how the Wheel of Time can have a beginning."

"This New One is the Dragon even before the world begins?" Moiraine questioned.

Thom gestured grandly, flourishing his cloak. "The secret of Advaita Iraivan," he declaimed. "Time is a wheel because time is a dream. If a man's past be real, where is it? If a woman's future be illusion, how does she reach it? One looks left or right along the stream of time. Is one way right and the other wrong? What if one looks up? What if one dives in? This is the madness of reality, that time is the direction in which we walk. The Dragon and all the Exaltations are created by the Creators and yet exist before the beginning. The Yozis and all the Anathema are bound by the Creator at the moment of a Creation that has no creation."

Moiraine closed her eyes and tried to squeeze that thought into her head. Was it part of the story, or was Thom improvising to explain? As if time were a corridor down which she could walk and find the future or the past already waiting for her.

"They come," Thom intoned, "dreams clad in metal for a body. They come, dreams with lightning for a soul. The tools of our making come to destroy us."

Moiraine frowned at the sudden urgency in Thom's tone. She rose as if to turn, and the shriek of metal on stone pierced the ceiling, followed by steel talons. The creature that emerged bore a dozen or more steel...tails? No, arms like the octopus that some Tairens sold in the markets and ate. Several glowing eyes. A beam of energy shot from the creature and set her dress on fire.

Thom flung a pair of viridian daggers at it as she beat out the flames, and it wheeled on him, seemingly unharmed. Lightning for a soul? Coruscating bolts leapt from her hands, sending the creature to the ground, flopping and writhing. It did look like a metal octopus.

Three more were already emerging from the hole in the ceiling. "What are they? Some defense of the Stone?" She did not believe that--the coincidence was too close and too sudden--but it was possible.

Thom shook his head, trying to think of a better way to attack these monsters. "They're from the story. Dream-things, creations of the smith. It's as if they made me think of the tale, or took form from it."

There seemed to be no end to the things, but was that because they truly had great numbers, or did they simply reappear as she killed them? All she could do for the moment was continue to fling lightning and hope.

A faint net of the Power manifested as Thom channeled, wrapping itself around all the metal things at once. Moiraine struggled to view it clearly; Sidereals like Thom rewove the Pattern itself. Tighter it pulled and tighter, until the threads sliced the creatures into scrap. No more came to replace them.

"Dreams," Thom muttered. "I think these are the things Perrin's been going on about. The Unshaped, he called them. And the story seems to say they existed before the Primordials, let alone Creation. So I used a weave that cuts people off from their dreams. Seems it worked a bit more literally on these things." Now that they were dead, there seemed hardly enough material to account for the metal things. She looked up to see that the gaping hole in the ceiling had been reduced to a crack that seeped dust.

"They came for us," Moiraine sighed. "I cannot believe they will ignore the other Exalted in the Stone, and certainly not the Dragon."

"A fair point," Thom grumbled. "Better go see what trouble the boy's in now."

*****

Galad lifted his blades and tried again. Juilin Sandar was very good, wielding staff in one hand and sword-breaker in the other. The staff alone had been enough to beat him, in Mat Cauthon's hands, and the thief-catcher was a more dangerous kind of Anathema than Cauthon. The only good aspect to this problem was that Juilin was almost entirely untrained, even by himself, and even taking that into account he fought with incredible speed and skill.

Galad caught Sandar's staff with the hook of one sword, jammed the other sword into the notch of his sword-breaker, and wrenched both, sending the weapons flying in opposite directions. For a moment the Tairen looked dismayed. Then he channeled, and threads of golden light caught both of them and drew them back to his hands.

In principle it was nothing special. Galad could do much the same in a manner as similar as their differing aspects of the One Power permitted. But Sandar did it effortlessly and instinctively.

"Good," Lan said, and Galad reminded himself that the man was not a traitor. All people were needed now for the fight against the Yozis, and Sandar himself had been terrified by what he had become. When the crisis was over, surely he would turn himself in.

"Most of the staff-fighters I've seen use the staff alone," Galad commented. "You are very good at pairing it with the sword-breaker. I see your staff is shorter than usual."

"Not for the style," Sandar said, "but yes, it's easier to keep the weapons out of each other's way." He twirled the staff one-handed to demonstrate.

Galad raised his blades again. So disarming him was useless. He was not trying to kill Sandar, only to test him and if possible beat him. What were his alternatives? A good drubbing would put him on the ground, if Galad could deliver it with these weapons.

Wait. There was the problem. He had crafted his blades from Fire; he could just as easily make a quarterstaff of his own. He dismissed one weave and summoned another. He was reasonably skilled with the staff; certainly he had increased his training since Cauthon defeated him with one. He could use both hands without a sword-breaker in his way.

The staff trailed flickering flames as he spun it. He was not nearly so expert with it as the sword, but the Tower did try to aim for breadth where possible. Sandar countered him easily, effortlessly, searching for an opening to club him with the sword-breaker. He was not even skilled in the forms as Galad understood them, like a tavern brawler facing a trained boxer. There was talent, yes, but--

Galad found himself on the floor, fetched up against the wall. A rack of Defenders' pikes toppled onto him. His ribs hurt.

Lan hoisted the rack off him and held out his hand. "Not even a Dawn caste," he said, his tone as light as it ever grew. "The Solars had one caste for all the arts of war, they say. Our friend Juilin is a Night, fitted for stealth and spying. And he still can topple a blademaster as if you were a child playing with a toy sword. Terrifying, isn't he?"

"Yes!" Galad agreed, knowing that whatever he said was not going to end with them running Sandar through together. "And we're training him. Why? He isn't the Dragon Reborn; Rand is."

"Two reasons," Lan said sternly, "and the first is that you may be right. We are not ready to face him, let alone a few hundred of him. We are training ourselves as much as him, training to find a way to put them down again if...when...we must. No offense, thief-catcher. As for the other...." He lifted his own blade, staring down the edge toward to point. "You tell him, Juilin."

Sandar looked Lan in the eye as if trying to read his thoughts. Perhaps he was; who knew what a Night could do? "We were made to terrify the Yozis. All of us were, even you. To fight them and win. And if I'm in your debt, if I see you as my friends, maybe that will keep my weapons pointed where they belong: at the Yozis' throats. At least long enough to mend the seals on their prison." For a moment he looked down, unable to meet anyone's eyes any longer. "Something must keep them there, after all."

"Why should it?" The voice was cultured and precise. Galad glanced over his shoulder to see a man in fine Tairen clothes, just aging out of his middle years. His close-cropped hair had turned white, but he was lean and strong, and in his hands he held the Aidenweiss. "I have foreseen this moment. All my plans have come to this. You who would obstruct the rise of Szoreny, the Quicksilver Forest, must die!"

"Be'lal?" Sandar fell back in shock. "I saw you die!"

The Forsaken's smile spread slowly across his face. "Just as planned. Am I not the Netweaver?"

Galad glanced at Lan, who shrugged. "There are a thousand wonders of the last Age still lying about, including one or two that can let a man cheat death. Who knows what he can do?" He raised his sword. "Shall we make him cheat twice?"

"All at once, then!" Galad retrieved his blades. "No quarter for the Forsaken!"

Galad was certain no ordinary man could have survived their initial assault, nor even many of the Anathema they had encountered. Be'lal held the Aidenweiss, and that blade flashed back and forth like lightning to deflect the blows that rained down on him. Sandar's staff was sundered in moments, and Galad had to let his blades of fire go under the pressure of the Forsaken's counterattack. He nearly lost his head, and was surprised to see the Aidenweiss caught in the slot of the thief-catcher's sword-breaker. Be'lal stared as if even more surprised, but he wrenched hard at the Sword of the Sun and....

It didn't budge.

Lan drove the sword of Malkieri kings through the Forsaken from behind, splattering Galad with blood. "It's a fraud," the older man said. "A cheap duplicate of the Aidenweiss. Perhaps it has some power in its own right, but it isn't what it seems." He pushed the man down off his blade. "And I think this is not Be'lal, either. Perhaps neither was the man Moiraine slew. No one truly understands the powers the Forsaken wield."

"What is he, then?" Sandar rolled him over. His face was the likeness of the man Moiraine had killed in the Heart of the Stone, and unchanged in death. "A copy without true life? Some poor soul shaped to masquerade as him?"

"There are hints in the stories that Be'lal could duplicate himself as if in a mirror," Lan mused. "Perhaps other people as well. He followed the Yozi Szoreny, Principle of Envy, who reflects all things in his quicksilver bark."

"Then he may still live, even now?" Galad scowled. "I feared that his death was too easy, too quick."

"Even if he is dead, his Exaltation will have passed to another. For all we know," Lan said as he cleaned his sword, "they summoned some duplicate of him to fight us. Not the most successful attempt, if so."

"Do you think it's over now?" Sandar wanted to know.

Lan scoffed. "Be'lal? Perhaps. The rest of it? Never while we live, I think. Let us go see how Moiraine fares tonight. I am sure she is well, but she may have foes of her own to face."

Chapter Text

Rand al’Thor was home, finally, walking through the Waterwood with sunlight shining all around him, sparkling on the pond where he had learned to swim. The air was hot and muggy, with mosquitoes buzzing about.

"A quiet place."

He turned to glance behind him and found Selene there, sitting on a moss-covered rock. "Very peaceful," she added. "I see the attraction. I remember swimming in the pool behind my house. It's been a long time. Care to jump in?"

Rand was suddenly, violently hard even before she lifted her white dress over her head. Her skin was milky-pale as always, her hair black as night, her belly rounded softly like the waxing moon. She had nothing at all on under the dress. "You're so beautiful" was all he could manage to get out. He wanted to spread her out on the moss and pin her to it.

She ruffled his hair playfully. "I could spare you what's coming," she said. "Dreams are always delicious." What did she mean by that? "Even the Unshaped fear to be devoured by Oramus."

He flinched. The Dragon Beyond the World was said to be one of the most fearsome Yozis. Even the Exalted had been forced to use his own wings as a prison, for nothing else could contain him. "Why bring him into it? The pond is cool. I think I would like a swim. With you."

"Then get undressed, you silly boy." She sidled around behind him, but he could feel her eyes on his body. Had she gained weight? Her belly seemed to have grown since he saw her last. When had he seen her last? He hastily stripped down for swimming, and Selene took hold of him by the cock and led him down into the water. "Am I the only one you dream of?" she asked teasingly.

Egwene was in the pond with them, trapped beneath the surface as if it were glass. Great bubbles of air escaped her nose and mouth as she struggled to break through. She reached out to Rand, trying to catch his hand, but oily tentacles dragged her down until she was out of sight.

He gave a start--he had not even tried to save her!--and then wondered why he had been thinking of her with Selene's nails running down his back. Her teeth sank into his neck while little chuckles escaped her. "I should be the only one in your dreams, Rand. You never swam with her, did you?" Her hands began to slide up and down his cock beneath the water.

"No, I never--" Elayne was fusing with the rocks on the pond's edge, screaming, reaching for him. She was covered with moss, crumbling, unrecognizable. She was-- Elayne? Why would she be here in the Two Rivers?

"Your thoughts are just full of other women. We're going to have to fix that." Selene's butt was pressed against his cock. She bent over, hands on some overhanging branches. "Fuck me, Rand. Think only of me. Be my lover, not some tavern wench's pet." He slid inside her, his desire building like lava within Dragonmount--

Min was on the edge of the pool, scrabbling for water with hands like claws as she dried out, crumbling into grey dust--

Rand stumbled backward, trying to get the horrifying images out of his head. "No! No, stop!"

"I really should leave you for the Unshaped, shouldn't I? You can't be faithful even in your dreams?" She pressed her lips against his in a kiss that was so deep it seemed to be drawing the soul right out of his body.

He startled awake in the pitch darkness, shaking, in a bed that could have held five people comfortably. He was still rock hard; that did not seem as if it would go away any time soon. The sheets were soaked in sweat from Tear's sweltering heat, but he could not stop shivering. Selene did not understand; he would surely kill her along with everyone else who cared about him if he went mad. The horror of the images would not leave his mind's eye. For him to kill them, and in such a way....

He was not alone in the room. Something in the darkness was rustling. He reached for the True Source and filled himself with its power, illuminating the room with his golden aura. Reflections shone back from mirrors and precious metals all over the room, which the Tairens had decorated in their gaudy style. The craftsmanship was superb, in its way, everything depicted in exacting detail, but all of it was gold or gems or bright colors to shame a Tinker. The only thing that toned it down was the books he had asked for, stacked on every surface he could find.

He had been expecting assassins or thieves, not the scantily-dressed woman who had nearly toppled a pile of books. Her hair fell to her shoulders in dark waves, covering some of what her white silk nightgown left bare. This was Berelain, First Lady of the tiny nation of Mayene, held here for long months by the Forsaken who had taken over Tear. In truth, the rightful High Lords had not treated the First much better. So why was she still in the Stone, let alone prowling half-dressed through his bedroom?

Her eyes widened from fear or shock--not, he thought, from seeing him in his smallclothes in this condition--but she made an elegant curtsy that tightened her gown over her substantial curves. "I am unarmed, my Lord Dragon. I submit myself to your search, should you be so inclined." Her tongue peeked out from behind her lips; she was certainly aware of his barely-hidden bulge.

"What are you doing here?" he asked harshly. "How did you pass the Aiel who were guarding my door?" Her questions since he came here certainly proved her curiosity about him, but that was not a license to sneak into his bedroom.

"They passed me through immediately when I told them the Lord Dragon had summoned me." Her lips curled slightly upward, heating the room still further. "Perhaps I was speaking the truth. You are certainly longing for someone's presence." He had thought she was already down to her nightgown, but she let the garment fall, revealing one even sheerer, so that her body was all but visible beneath it. Much of her bosom was exposed altogether, and through the thin fabric he could see her dark nipples and the trimmed hair between her legs. In truth he thought she was about his own age, or only older by a few years.

"My lady," he began, "I have summoned no one tonight. I-I think you should return to your own rooms. We can talk, if you like, in the morning. I would see you back in firm control of your own nation."

"And I would welcome your help along those lines," she said smoothly, "and am willing to serve you in any way you like to facilitate that outcome." She sidled closer to him. How did that gown stay on with her shoulders entirely bare? Her skin was smooth as silk itself, but there was an astonishing amount of muscle on those arms. Surely she did none of the chores herself. Part of him registered these things; another part of him wanted to tell her to put on a cloak. A thick cloak. "Surely you have not absorbed stuffy Tairen ways already. We are not so...formal...in Mayene."

"My Lady," he said, trying to sound as formal as possible, "I am promised to Egwene al'Vere."

She raised her eyebrows at him as if puzzled. "Then, by all means, marry her. I would hardly aspire to wed the Dragon Reborn. All I want is to...negotiate with you, and to be clear just what favor Mayene can provide, whether great or small."

"I think, my Lady First, it is time for you to go," he said, trying to sound as firm as possible. "You should return to your own chambers."

She frowned briefly in frustration. "I see your eyes on me. I see that you like what you see. I am no village girl tied to her mother's aprons, Rand--may I call you Rand?--and I know what you want from--"

"Do you think I'm made of stone, woman?" he snapped, and reached for her, but she merely stepped closer as if welcoming his hands.

"Your arms look strong enough to be made of stone. If you wish to be rough with me, then be rough, but hold me with them." She plastered herself against his chest, and lightning seemed to crackle between them. He did not want this, not now! She was beautiful, and any other time.... In his mind, she was fragile as a bird and his merest touch broke her bones for daring to lay hands on him. He recoiled, fearing he might harm her in truth, and she stared at him in bafflement.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he would never know what might have come out of it. From the corner of his eye he saw his reflection move in one of the stand-mirrors. Both of them turned to face it just as the image climbed through the mirror's surface. Rand's sword flickered into his hands, and a duplicate appeared in his reflection's. Berelain was trying to scream, but only a thin whimper escaped her lips. "Go!" he shouted. "Run!" He was not mad yet, not if she saw it.

She turned to go, and this time managed to scream. Another of his reflections was escaping its mirror, cutting off the easiest path to safety. He spun the sword in his hands, sending out a flare of light that shattered every bit of glass in the room. That should fix it. Screams that sounded like his own voice echoed in his head.

When he turned, though, he saw that at least one more reflection had escaped its mirror, and the shattering had done them no harm at all. Blades bare, they advanced on him, one of them leaping onto the bed. Three against one, each of them with all his skill, and it was all that he could do to keep their swords from slicing him to bits. As it was, their strikes left him with half a dozen small cuts in moments. Only their failure to support each other allowed him to give as good as he got, but they each fought as if they were alone.

The unhealing wound on his side began to trickle blood, on the verge of breaking open, but that, at least, proved to be a weakness his doubles shared. Not so the wounds from their blades. He could not sense the One Power from them at all, despite their swords being the same as his.

Then he did sense it, but not from where he expected. Berelain came flying towards one of his duplicates, a thin weave sustaining her momentum. She crashed into it and slammed it against the wall, pinning its sword arm. He had encountered people like her before, though he had only the vaguest knowledge to go on. Some strange process gave them the ability to channel a trickle, and they used it for supernatural fighting styles. He would never have expected it from the First of Mayene, though. They really had not spent much time together.

"Watch out, Rand!" The surprise had distracted him from his remaining enemies, which was a luxury he could not afford to keep enjoying. He barely managed to evade a swing that could have taken his head. The false Rand Berelain had tackled was struggling to get away and nothing more. She headbutted it repeatedly, and while it remained conscious, it never once even tried to stab her.

None of the duplicates seemed to be hurt in the way that he was. They bled, but their eyes retained the same vacant, distant stare and they did not seem to tire. If he went on as he was, they would kill him. He was not sure what he wove, only that it was a net surrounding the room, something that held and excluded.

Pain shot through his arm, and he realized that one of his doubles had slashed him from shoulder to elbow. His right hand shook violently and numbly dropped his sword. Then the weave around the room set into place. His ears popped, and as they did, the false Rands looked alarmed for the first time--then vanished in an instant. Berelain stumbled as the one she held disappeared from her grasp.

He sagged to the floor, bleeding profusely from the cut on his arm. Something important had been severed in there. He felt dizzy, felt blank, wondering dimly if this was what the other Rands had felt like behind their glassy stares. "Rand al'Thor! My Lord!" He was not a lord, not really. He was a sheepherder, and someone pretty was cradling him on her knees. "Rand, you must stay awake. I will fetch the Aes Sedai, but you must stay awake." She was wrapping her gown tightly around his arm. Silly. It would be soaked in blood. "Hold on. For the sake of the Light, Rand, you must hold on."

Hold on. What was there to hold on to? Only the One Power. It was everything. He pulled at it with all his strength, drawing it into him while it radiated out again, spilling from him like light, like the Light. He felt something knit together in his arm. His head cleared. "Berelain? I apologize. This isn't what you came here for at all, I suppose."

"My Lord Dragon?" Berelain's eyes were wide as teacups. She pulled the gown carefully away from his arm. Blood soaked the garment and coated his limb, but the wound was gone as if it had never been. Some of the smaller cuts remained, and the unhealing mark on his side, but he rose to his feet with only token assistance from her. "You are...well, then?"

"I admit I have seen better days, my Lady, but I will be well enough in the morning." He was genuinely not sure what he had done, only that it had saved him from very likely dying right here. "I do not think we should see one another in private again. I am sorry for everything that happened here."

"Forgive me, Rand," she said, and went smoothly to her knees. "I have handled this badly from start to finish. But I cannot let that stop me, nor all the Shadowspawn from the Blight." All her efforts at allure were gone from her face, replaced with naked honesty. Was she really going to try again, after all she had just seen? "In my country a woman may speak her mind openly to a man, or he to her. You must know that you are tall, handsome, and strong. I would be a fool not to see it and admire it in you, or not to acknowledge your power. Please, if it will persuade you not to send me away, I will beg you." Between the fight and her kneeling, her gown seemed genuinely on the verge of falling off her, but it appeared merely a measure of her determination. Ten thousand Aiel could not have taken the Stone if the Defenders had been this steadfast. "Rand, please."

He was on the verge of denying her, for all that, when her expression twitched as if a sudden pain had struck her. On her forehead, in the spot where a golden disc sometimes shone on his brow, a spark seemed to burn through. It radiated into a smaller disc, this one with a ring around it. As the light had shone around him, now it emanated from her in fluctuating white and gold. "Berelain, I...Light help me. I am so very sorry. I will not be sending you away. Not now, certainly. You have your wish, and have paid for it in full."

"Am I...?" If she had been stunned before, she was poleaxed now. She paused as if listening to some voice he could not hear. "I am not to serve you, he says, but he appreciates the lengths to which I will go. The Shadow is spreading across land and sea, and I will help you hold it back. Then I am...he says not Anathema, never that."

Rand nodded solemnly. "But the fate the Aes Sedai speak of is true, all the same, my Lady First. Madness and death. Does he tell you that, too?"

She shuddered. "He does not deny it. And now he is gone." The First of Mayene tugged her gown up into place again. "Rand, will you hold me? Nothing more. At least, I do not ask for it. Just hold me."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the tattered sheets and the gash in the mattress, and held out his hands. "An easier request than I had thought." She sat down in his lap and pulled his arm around her, she in her thin gown, he in bloody smallclothes. He could feel hard muscle in her, and the light of the One Power still shone brightly around them both. Yet in spite of her majesty, right now she seemed so very, very small.

Chapter Text

Perrin and Faile made their way through the dim lighting of torches. The Stone of Tear never fully slept, but in the small hours of the morning it was dark and quiet. His own eyes gleamed golden in the torchlight, and some of the servants scurried past him fearfully. Few of them realized that Faile's vision was just as keen.

"I did not think Aviendha would volunteer to speak to Moiraine," Faile said, shooting a glance down a crossing hall.

"She doesn't seem to like Rand much," Perrin countered. "She tries to avoid spending time with him, even though most of the Aiel want to stay near." Strange scents were in the air tonight, fear the most prominent. That sense, Faile did not share with him, at least not yet.

Rand's doors were guarded first by a company of Defenders, their armor and weapons kept carefully polished, and then by a cluster of Maidens of the Spear, including Bain, Chiad, and Dailin, whom the two of them knew well. They called out greetings, but Bain added, "Rand al’Thor already has a visitor he likely considers better company than you. He may not wish to see you now."

Faile drew one hand across her face as if shifting an unseen veil, a gesture she had picked up from Aviendha. Danger we cannot speak of is coming. Be ready. The Maidens stiffened, and three pulled out spears. Chiad waved them in. Faile was not supposed to know handtalk, let alone Perrin, but no one had needed to teach them.

"I would lie with a poxy Tairen goat farmer, if I knew it would help Mayene," Rand's visitor said, "but women hold little interest for me, whether to love or bed." She was seated near Rand on his gigantic Tairen bed, though a great rip in the mattress had spilled feathers everywhere. Neither of them were particularly dressed, but they were not canoodling, just talking.

"I know her," Faile said very softly in Saldaean.

"Of course you know her," Perrin answered in the same language. "She's been in the Stone longer than we have."

"No," Faile insisted, "something's different now. I know her from somewhere else." Even more softly, she added, "And she makes me feel as forward as--"

Berelain turned to look at her. "...as a farmgirl at harvest?" She spoke in perfect Saldaean.

Rand touched her shoulder and gave her a warning look, for some reason. "You said--"

"I did say," Berelain, "and it is easier to keep a secret the fewer people know. But not to make use of it feels like not living."

Rand sighed and nodded agreement. "Perrin, you can see that I was attacked here. Berelain came to my aid and is...one of us now."

Perrin whistled. "Light, Rand! She is already a queen, even if Mayene is..." He stopped himself, then finished after all when she gave him a pointed look. "...very small. Her people may not like this, and her enemies...that's why you told her to keep it secret."

"Astute," Berelain said. "This is your friend Perrin, and...Faile?" She studied Faile uneasily. Rand nodded again. "Zarine?"

"I do not use that name," Faile said testily.

Berelain tilted her head sideways. "When I'm full of the Power now, I...hear things. See things. Not quite thoughts. The secrets people would keep, perhaps."

"Berelain could channel a little, before," Rand said. "How did you say it was done?"

"A regimen of meditation conducted in a special room in the palace in Mayene," the First said. "My instructor called it 'essential river channeling'. All the Firsts of Mayene have made use of it since Tyrn, so that we could learn the combat styles we needed to survive. But compared to this, now....it was like drinking only the dregs of a glass of wine." She looked at Faile, and said in Saldaean, "It is very strange, but I know you too."

"I take it you expected me to be attacked," Rand said to Perrin. "That's why you came here."

Perrin hung his head. "I was practicing with Faile and Aviendha, in the Wyld. We...I think we let something out, something we should not have. An Unshaped, or something like the Unshaped. It turned our thoughts and fears against us and made them real. And this time, when we defeated it, it escaped into this world." He pushed some books off a chair and sat down dejectedly. Faile sat on the nearest pile, though it looked none too stable to him. "I thought I was being so careful. I wasn't nearly careful enough. And so it came for you too, and who knows how many others."

"My guards have seen and heard nothing outside in the Stone," Rand pointed out. "It hasn't attacked everyone. My reflections jumped out of the mirrors and came after me. I think they wanted to become me."

Berelain stood suddenly. "I wish to return to my quarters," she said. "I did not intend to see anyone else in...in my current state."

Rand wrapped a blanket around her, tying it off at her side. "Is that better? I'm afraid I have no clothes to fit you here. I could send for the majhere, instead."

"This will do," Berelain told him. "I came here to see you, and while I am very pleased to meet your...friends, I would rather not converse further in such dishabille." She made her way cautiously to the door, then hurried off.

"She came to see me for more than conversation," Rand confided when she had gone. "She was looking for me to ensure her control of Mayene, and thought she needed to bed me to get my help. She's beautiful, but...it was not a good time."

"I wouldn't have expected you to say no," Perrin said, trying to be respectful. "We've all been in and out of each other's beds...and bodies...since Winternight." He reached for Faile's hand; she seemed reluctant to take it, for some reason.

"I had been having bad dreams about past lovers dying horribly," Rand replied. "The idea of touching her terrified me, but I couldn't explain that with her stripping down and throwing herself into my arms. Apparently she will sleep with almost anyone if it helps her keep the throne. All the Firsts have been much the same, really."

"And that is what you were speaking of when we entered," Faile surmised delicately. "Women only interest her where the Great Game is involved. Good to know." She crossed her legs, putting them tightly together. Perrin raised an eyebrow. What did she mean about knowing Berelain, before? Faile sniffed at his expression and looked away. "Hardly, blacksmith," she muttered under her breath.

*****

Berelain closed the door behind her and breathlessly slid the bolt home. If she had been wearing smallclothes, she would have been soaking through them; as it was, she was not sure she had not left a trail back to her rooms. Not from seeing Rand, or even Perrin, but from Faile. Lying about her attractions had been a necessity to hide her relationship with Annoura; it certainly was political, with her Aes Sedai advisor, but it was more than that. She could only hope the others had not seen right through her; she could not see everything about them, but she saw enough.

Zarine Bashere, daughter of Davram and Deira Bashere. Runaway cousin to Queen Tenobia, plausible heir to the throne of Saldaea, though only if there was a stroke of nasty luck to the royal family. Perrin Aybara, an ordinary blacksmith from an Andoran backwater. Did he know who had attached herself to him? Of course, they were both Anathema now. As was she, of course, which was how a glance at the pair had told her all that.

The question remained, why did she want to climb atop Zarine Bashere's face? There were limited benefits at best, the girl's looks were not her usual preference, and Rand was still a better match in a number of ways, once they had gotten over the bizarre attack. When she thought of Faile, though, the image of a younger man kept intruding, a man who she remembered carrying papers about for her, sharing her bed, and betraying her to a room full of terrible, Trolloc-like monsters. Despite that final horrific act, her memories said she had loved and trusted him, and a part of her wanted Faile to share that same trust. Yet none of those scattered memories fit anywhere in her real life.

She made her way to the bed, pulled up her robe, and lay down, hand between her legs and working furiously. With the Power filling her, every sensation seemed stronger, more intense. She probably had left a trail, if perhaps one only a dog could follow, and her slit seemed to clench around her fingers as she pumped them in and out.

The Unconquered Sun had denied that she was Anathema. Had said she was given this power to push back the Shadow. Maybe that was why it felt so good, so she would use it no matter who told her not to. Her whole body was suffused with light and--

"Berelain?"

"Annoura?" No. No, please, Annoura could not see her like this! She had locked the door, hadn't she?

"Busy without me in there, I hear? I suppose my eyes-and-ears report can wait. The Dragon had a Dragon King with him, a Raptok, only now the boy's missing. No one seems to know where he went."

Berelain came, ripping from her a moan that was almost a scream of frustration. She needed more. But Annoura would surely turn her over to the White Tower, seeing this.

"Why not be a good girl and let me in, Berelain? I'm certain I could help you with that." She could, she most certainly could, and she certainly would not. Gray Ajah or not, she might as well be Red.

Berelain got to her feet and began getting dressed; she felt unsteady, but her legs did not actually wobble. She was still glowing, and quite brightly at that. How did you turn that off?

The latch rattled, the bolt slid back with no hand on it, and Annoura stepped in. "Now we're...oh. Oh dear. I am very sorry, my Lady First, but you must know what this means. I will be contacting--"

"No," Berelain said, firmly but without any real hope. "You mustn't. You have to keep this quiet."

"I have to keep this quiet," Annoura repeated softly, her eyes large. "I mustn't contact the White Tower."

"The fate of the world may depend on it, Annoura. I need you not to speak of this until I tell you otherwise."

"I will not speak of it until you tell me otherwise," Annoura said, wringing her hands. "The fate of the world may depend on it."

Berelain began to breathe easier. She wasn't going to be carried off by the Red Ajah. What had she just done, though?

*****

Rand waited patiently while Nynaeve and then Moiraine examined the wound in his side. Aside from closing up again, it remained unchanged where all of his other injuries had healed.

"Be'lal was an acolyte of Szoreny," Lan said dourly, "and made use of mirror duplicates. We do not know much else of him, but Szoreny has some power over poison."

"And yet we saw Be'lal die when I poisoned him," Moiraine snapped. "Perrin has admitted fault in allowing an Unshaped into the world. There is no reason to believe Be'lal is truly involved in this beyond the dream-creature using his form."

"It could be both," Nynaeve put in. "It could be neither. None of you has enough information to be sure what's going on."

"And have you learned any more from our captives?" Moiraine asked coldly. "Or are you also still in the dark?"

"Nothing has changed," Nynaeve admitted. "Kash still speaks of a plot to free Mazrim Taim, and Amico of some vague danger in Tanchico."

"Who's freeing Mazrim Taim?" Faile asked before Nynaeve could even finish. "Why? He can't even channel, and he's not going to Exalt while rotting in a cage."

"That may not be true any longer," Thom said around the stem of his pipe. "These new corrupted Exalted--true Anathema, if you will, like Fain--seem to break some of the old rules."

"Then they're looking to destabilize my homeland. Saldaea may be far from Shayol Ghul, but it's still on the Blightborder." She began to trim her nails with a knife that had apoeared from her sleeve. "All the better to surprise the world with."

"Kash says that Mazrim Taim will be proclaimed again while disguised as Rand," Lan explained. "He can destroy Rand's reputation with blood and slaughter so that only Darkfriends and the worst of other evils will serve him. And yes, that will also ruin Saldaea's Blightborder defenses so that Shadowspawn armies can attack from the northwest."

"Either way," Rand mused, "they're drawing our attention west. What if they're both lies?"

"In preparation for what?" Moiraine asked. "We are east of almost every danger we know of. I suppose Sammael or Rahvin could attack from much closer to us, or the Shadow could come straight south from the Pit of Doom. Asmodean's bid for Cairhien has failed. Another Aiel War would be disastrous, but they seem to support Rand so far. Who else is close enough?"

"I don't mean to speak out of turn," Juilin began. Moiraine gestured encouragingly. "The Sea Folk have more ships than any nation on land. Some of their islands lie to the south. I know they've never been a danger before, but suppose one of the Forsaken--Demandred or Semirhage or whomever else--were to get control of them? Who'd look south for an attack from the Shadow?"

"Not impossible," Thom said, "and who knows what the Forsaken might try? But before we go off chasing mights and maybes, surely we should worry about the clues we have."

Elayne shook her head. "Mights and maybes seem to be all we have. Surely there's some way to learn more that we can be certain of." Moiraine glanced at her as if to warn her of something, and she stopped talking with a shrug. What did the Aes Sedai know?

*****

No one was guarding the Great Holding now. The Defenders who had been there had been diverted to Rand's quarters. Still, Berelain waited patiently, looking and listening, for several minutes before going in.

There was no telling what the Tairens kept that might be of use to a Solar, but the First of Mayene knew of one thing that must surely be here, and it had been the Paendrag bloodright before one who had already used it gave it away. Mayene had once been home to a gateway to Yu-Shan--the only one known to have survived the Breaking of the World. Three questions and three answers, guaranteed true, from those who watched the Loom of Fate itself.

The stories did not say who those watchers were, but Yu-Shan, heaven, was the home of all Celestial gods, all the way up to the unspeaking Unconquered Sun. Who had spoken to her this very night. If she could reach him, where better to learn how she could preserve Mayene and evade the Wyld Hunt?

The Holding was a mass of dusty shelves and crates, utterly disorganized, and off to her left the battle wreckage from Moghedien and the Black Ajah still lay undisturbed. The redstone doorway she sought, however, should not be far from the entrance unless the Tairens had feared someone would try to reach it.

The light of her aura showed her little besides dust that had obliterated all footprints except those of the battle. She was afraid of activating some ter'angreal she did not know, but better to avoid stumbling into dangerous things directly. At a guess, she headed south along the wall.

There. A rectangle beneath a dustblanket. She pulled the canvas away, and though it stood on end the doorway only shifted a bit along the floor when it should have toppled. Made of redstone like the columns in the Heart, it bore sinuous lines down the side pieces. She frowned; her eyes really could not follow the edges of it down to the floor, as if it were twisted. Then it had to be the one. She had not believed the shape in the records was physically possible.

She took a deep breath. No First had entered the gateway since Halvar, three hundred years ago, and she did not really know what to expect. Histories called Halvar a fool, and in some ways he had been, but his own diaries said that he had given up the door in obedience to his answers. If he had not, his writings said, it would have meant death not just for Mayene, but for the world. This moment, the stirrings of the Last Battle, seemed as likely to be the moment foretold as any, but she herself would have had it to hand if it had remained in Mayene, and she would not have held it back from the Dragon Reborn or the Aes Sedai. Who, then? A High Lord had used it, perhaps, loathsome though the thought seemed.

She stepped through the gateway into unending light and a roar that seemed to last forever.

She was in a great hall, but not that of any palace she knew. The doorway still stood behind her, but she was in a circle of twisted yellow columns that coiled up towards a ceiling far out of sight. More columns of silvery metal bore globes of light at about head height. The tiles on the floor spiraled outward in strange patterns of color from the gate, beneath dust as thick as on the other side.

"A long time." It was the Old Tongue.

She could see no one, but she raised her hands to defend herself if need be. "Three centuries," she said, "but I have the right."

"The right." Dry laughter emanated from a shape moving among the columns. “A long time, yet the seekers come again for answers. The questioners come once more.Good. You have brought no lamps, no torches, as the agreement was, and is, and ever will be. You have no iron? No instruments of music?”

"Of course not," she said. "I know the treaty. I am First of Mayene."

The being stepped out into the light. It was a man, she thought, with dark skin that glittered like obsidian and hair with highlights like coiled metal. He wore clothing that shimmered as if a tailor had somehow spun rubies into cloth. Perhaps he was a Dragon-Blood, but he was surely no ordinary human. "According to the agreements," he said. "Come. Your answers await."

He led her into an arched hall that curved away into the distance. The walls were just straight enough to make the circular doors and windows fit them properly, and the closest thing to a straight line she could see anywhere at that. The walls bore no pictures or tapestries, only strange curved patterns, and the windows looked out on a city of spires that glimmered under a brilliant night sky.

They walked for hours, or so it seemed, but she had no intention of wasting questions on when they would reach their destination. Finally they came upon a room much like the one she had started from, but without columns or lights, only three coiled pedestals. Two men and a woman sat atop them. One of the men was fair with hair as red as an Aiel's. The other two were dark, one with an olive undertone. Both had the same gemcloth clothing, and metallic or crystalline highlights in their hair. The highlights did not look woven in; they were part of the hair itself.

“It has been long,” the man on the right said.

“Very long,” the man on the left added.

The woman nodded. “Yet they come again.”

"Enter and ask," they said together, "according to the agreement of old."

Berelain nodded and stepped forward. "How may I keep Mayene alive and free?" Each First had asked this question before Halvar, all the way back to Tyrn, whose Mayene had been the last outpost of the Hawkwing's empire.

The man on the left looked up, and Berelain's eyes followed his gaze into an unimaginable skein above them, like a sky full of threaded stars. Wherever she looked were people, and among those people she saw herself repeated over and over, from an infant emerging from the womb to an old woman dying on white sheets. She could make out no useful details; her vision skimmed and skipped along the threads of the very Pattern of the Age.

"Your cousin is coming to greet you," said the man on the right, "the Daughter of the Nine Moons. Welcome her with all hospitality, and your home will live in her chains. Send her away, and it will die free. The choice is yours."

The words hit her like a punch in the gut, and the ritual questions dropped from her mind to shatter on the floor. "Is there no other way but to live as her chattel or go free into the grave?"

"There are many paths," said the man on the left, "as there always are, but no other certainties."

"Damn," she spat. One more question, and the ritual was useless now. "How can I find guidance along the tangled paths I must walk, since you will speak to me no more?"

"Live and learn," the woman said. "From the land of winter he comes to teach. From the Pit of Doom he comes to conquer. Where white is balanced by black, there you will learn how to be what you must be. Beware of him. Only in great risk is there safety for the last Paendrag this side of the great sea, and only in the fog of war, life."

A spoonful of hope and a bucket of despair. There was nothing for it. Staring at the floor, lost in thought and fear, she let them lead her away.

Chapter Text

Wild lightning crackled across the sky, thunder shattered the air, and the waves moved like mountains dancing across the surface of the ocean. Sweet Winds Soaring threw himself from wave to wave, smashing through them as he went. The ride was terrifying, exhilarating, especially for Talaan din Gelyn, who had the thankless job of keeping the rigging together.

Clan Gelyn was strong in the One Power and the Dragon Blood, producing Windfinders by the dozens, including Talaan's own mother, aunt, and two uncles, but Talaan herself remained a mortal, and showed no signs at all of Exaltation even as she neared the end of her teens. Her luck in other matters was extraordinary, but she was often kept below decks anyway as an embarrassment to the clan. Today--if it was even day; there was no seeing sun or moon--she was out risking her life to keep Sweet Winds Soaring safe, but at least she was in the free air.

A gust of wind struck her like a wall and sent her flying, but a loose rope swung out in front of her. She seized it and was swung willy-nilly between masts before securing the free end where it belonged, or close enough. The ship groaned as the wave dropped beneath it, only to run headlong into the next wall of water. For a moment there was nothing to breathe but choking spray.

Below her, her mother Caire was shouting curses as she struggled with the Power and the storm. For a week now she had been complaining that though the wind might obey her in the moment, the tides of the larger Pattern had shifted against her. Now they were in the teeth of yet another storm, and this one refused to obey her will at all. No natural storm ought to be capable of that.

For an instant, Talaan thought she saw threads of gold like streamers through the sky, but then a burst of lightning stole her vision, and when it cleared, they were gone. "Land!" her father shouted. "Rocks ahead!" There ought to be no land nearby for leagues. Her mother, a woman as strong in the Power as anyone Talaan knew, had lost her bearings. This was no small rock sticking out of the sea. As the spray cleared momentarily, she spied huge cliffs looming ahead with waves crashing against them.

They were nowhere near Shara or any such cliffs of the Westlands, and surely they were not so badly lost as to have approached the Islands of the Dead. But that left only one landmass of this size, that she knew of. The storm had driven them to the coast of the Mad Lands, and with the ship so strained she could not see how they could escape without taking shelter and making repairs. Yet out of a hundred ships to make landfall here, no more than a dozen ever sailed forth again.

The sea plunged beneath them, and Talaan saw a rocky beach far to the left of the cliffs. "Port!" she screamed over the howling winds. "Safe harbor to port!" Despised she might be, but it took only a quick second of checking to confirm her words. The ship shuddered and lurched as her mother fought to turn him with the One Power and the crew struggled with the rudder and sails.

Then a monster wave caught the ship up higher than the trees and slammed him down onto the shore. Talaan flew from the rigging, and the last thing she saw was gravel rushing up to meet her.

*****

She woke to bright sun shining down into her eyes. Someone had rolled her over, or she had done it herself while she slept. She felt as if her body were one huge bruise, but she made herself sit up and look for the ship. Sweet Winds Soaring had a large hole smashed in his bow, and his smallest mast was down, but the crew was swarming to repair him as quickly as they could. The palm trees here, unfortunately, were poor timber. Why had she been left to rest? Surely all hands were needed for the ship.

She began to sit up, and was immediately caught by strange people in yellow robes. They were tall and pale with violet eyes unlike any she had ever seen before. One of them murmured unintelligible words and handed her a waterskin. "You don't act like mad folk," she said, mostly to herself, and took a drink.

"It's not summer," said a man in her own language, strolling casually up. He, too, was pale, but shorter and darker than the robed folk. "Summer is mating season, but the Chayans are violent toward outsiders then. Shame the weather only permits landfall in summer. Usually. You'd almost think it was designed that way, somehow."

"Mating season?" Talaan asked. Weren't these people human, if strange?

"If you go just a little ways inland," the old man replied, "you'll find fire trees, with leaves like Avendesora but orange at the center. And they bear fruit. They have some strange relationship with the coastal people. Their pollen suppresses emotion and dreams every season but summer. Not completely, but strongly. In summer, though...."

"Then they are the madmen, but only when people can land here?" That did sound like some kind of intentional defense.

"Not the only ones, but they're the beginning of it. This is a strange place, and one of the few I regret coming to. Of course, my alternative was death." He sat down by her side. "Fortunately, the Chayans are nice, industrious people the rest of the year. I have already requested the gift of passage, and I'll be leaving with you when your ship is done."

"How long was I unconscious?" Talaan asked. The repairs were only beginning, as far as she could see, but clearly some negotiating had already taken place.

"Most of the day," he told her gently. "You were very lucky. No one else in the rigging survived the impact."

"Lucky," she muttered. "Never lucky enough. Why couldn't I have died?"

The old man leaned in close. "Do you really want to know?"

"You sound as if you do." More likely, he was just another, more subtle madman.

"There are supposed to be one hundred Sidereal Exalted in the world, taking care of the Pattern. Since the Dragon-Blooded took over, there are five. Only five. The remaining Exaltations are imprisoned somewhere I've never found. But the Sidereal Exaltations chose their hosts soon after birth, and waited, with only a trace of a sign until the right time came. I think you have been chosen," he finished. "I think they may soon go free, and then I won't be the only Chosen of Journeys in the world. You'll be another."

She recoiled. "I will never be an Anathema. I'll speak to my mother about revoking your passage. The Island of the Madmen is the right place for you!"

"Oh, I hear it in you," he said, waving his arms. His fingers were crooked as if broken. "A hint of a song. How does it go?" He twirled a hand in the air. "You're welcome, but I'm gonna need that boat. I'm sailing away, away, you're welcome, cause Noal can do anything but...Noal! That must be my name! I'm Noal! It's wonderful!" He leapt up and danced away down the beach.

The Chayans--if that was truly their name and not a fantasy of the madman--would not permit Talaan to rise until she agreed to come with them into the shade of their huts. The log buildings looked solid enough, but were roofed only with the giant fronds of trees. The other trees, the "fire trees," grew undisturbed all over the village and were warm to the touch. A particularly large one grew from an unroofed building in the center of town, a shrine perhaps.

She lay in a hammock there until nearly nightfall, alongside two or three others who had been injured in the wreck. Then, as the sun sank rapidly toward the horizon, there came a flapping of giant wings. Three creatures ducked low to enter her resting place, beings that walked upright like humans but had leathery wings sprouting from their arms and narrow, pointed crests and beaks. Pterok.

The Dragon Kings bent over each patient in turn, crooning to each. She was the last, but their song filled her body with life and energy. Her bone-deep bruises faded. Before she could get up, however, her healer lifted her in its arms. "Wait! Where are you taking me?"

It stared at her without comprehension, then carried her outside before launching itself into the air. She felt all her joints wrench as it dropped her and caught her up with its feet to soar. "Stop! Let me down!" If it understood any of her words, it gave no sign, rising higher and higher over the trees, skimming up the foothills and heading for the mountains.

Off to her left, a second Pterok with a passenger skimmed into view; it carried Noal, who was whooping and hollering. "I knew I'd never get you to see this view otherwise! But there's something I want you to get a look at before we go!"

"Why couldn't you get the Dragon Kings to take you home?" she shouted back angrily.

"Oh, they would have!" Noal sounded briefly apologetic. "It's too far to the mainland, with too few islands in between. Besides, even if they could, it'd be a massive journey just to send me back."

Talaan seethed in silence for a time. "I'm sorry for the trouble," Noal called back eventually. "I know of two more like this one, one for the Sun and one for the Moon. It implies a fourth, for the Maidens, though I don't know if it depicts all five. Or there could be five separate ones, possibly?"

"What are you talking about?" They entered a layer of cloud as she spoke; it was damp, but did not muffle her voice as she feared.

"The Pterok guard the temple from humans approaching, even me, but for some reason it's only blasphemous to come on foot!"

Over the clouds she soared, and suddenly an impossibly huge statue appeared: the heads of the Five Elemental Dragons, holding a gigantic crystal sphere in their mouths. "Light and gods, what is it?"

"One of the largest Essence amplifiers ever constructed. The Sun is buried near Cairhien, the Moon on Tremalking. Who knows what they were made for, but it must have been spectacular!"

"We need my family here," Talaan said, "but I guess the Anathema would never let us destroy you." She hoped she was speaking too quietly to be heard, but Noal just gave her a look.

"You've already done your worst," he said. "Exaltations can't be destroyed, and if you did imprison the Five, that would only ruin the world faster. I suppose we'll head back to the ship." He whistled to the Pterok and made broad circle gestures.

"I will find a way to make them leave you behind," Talaan swore. "I will!"

"If you could," Noal said, chuckling, "you'd have to be one of us already."

*****

Bayle Domon squinted slightly and sailed directly into the gale's teeth. His crew no longer muttered about mutiny when he did this sort of thing; they cheered at seeing the impossible happen. Surrounded by golden flows, Spray cut through wind and waves as if it were a much larger ship. He had some ideas along those lines, actually, but he was reluctant to give up his old vessel. She had always treated him well. Maybe there was some means he could use to incorporate her heart into a bigger vessel. It wasn't nearly as simple as adding more rooms onto a house.

If his crew were overjoyed to see him, they still found Halima unnerving as she raced alongside Spray. He could see the trailing red flows of the One Power that kept her atop the waves as they rose and fell, but even that didn't make her actions see or feel natural, not really. Sometimes, in private with him, she referred instead to the True Power of Adorjan. He could perceive it, but its alien nature set his teeth on edge. He loved her--there was no denying that now--but, Light, she frightened him.

"It's no use, Captain," Yarin groaned. "They're still gaining on us." He pointed back at the great high-rigged vessel that had appeared from the west while they were trying to make landfall on the Sea Folk isles. That ship, too, was surrounded by the light of the Power and on course to pursue Spray right into the storm.

A flare rose up from the strangers' deck and hurtled toward Spray. At the last moment it fell into the water and exploded in a great burst of light and heat. The sea churned, and Spraylurched starboard.

"Anything those special weaves can do against them?" Yarin asked. "To fight back, find out what they want, anything?"

Bayle gave that a few moments of thought, then signaled to Halima to come aboard. She leapt, still trailing red weaves, and landed beside him on the deck.

"The storm does not faze them," he growled. "It do be time to try something else. I do say we send back that delivery they just made with interest, and I do want you out of the way."

"You could let me go aboard," she said. "They'd be dead before they saw me."

"If I cannot back them off," he said, "you'll get your chance."

He pulled a knife from his belt. Bayle's preference, if he had to fight, was up close with a cudgel, but letting what seemed to be a ship full of Dragon-Blooded try and board Spray would likely be his last mistake. He wove a tight web of Solar Essence around the weapon and flung it spinning overhand, back toward the vessel in pursuit of him.

It should have been a bloody fool thing to do, and with an ordinary dagger it would have been. The blade should have fallen into the water and been lost forever beneath the Sea of Storms; instead, the One Power bore it up and away over the waves and through the howling gale, trailing brilliant light. It should have stood little chance of striking home in anything vital--except that dozens of identical blades scattered from it as it fell toward the ship, shining reflections of the single real knife. A whole volley of knives struck home as if Spray carried an entire company of archers, and the pursuing ship lurched momentarily to the side.

A flash of multi-colored light appeared in front of Bayle an instant later, resolving itself into a tiny figure with six luminous blue dragonfly wings. He swatted at it, but his hand passed right through. "By order of the Illustrious Sh'boan Chiape, you must heave to and be boarded. We have come to interrogate you, Anathema, for unleashing another of your kind into our lands. Comply or be destroyed." The sending vanished like a popped soap bubble.

"Sh'boan?" Yarin wondered. "What sort of babble is this?"

"It do be a monarch, by the sound of it," Bayle mused. "Why they do believe I have anything to do with their troubles I do no understand."

"Are we going to let them board?" Halima asked derisively.

"We will let them think so," Bayle said, stroking his beard. "But they will no do so."

She smiled at him. "I like it when you have a plan," she said. "You're always so good with them."

He lifted his spyglass and pointed it at the ship. "Yarin, heave to. Let them catch us."

"Captain?"

Bayle put his hand on the anchor chain. "I'll find a way to stop us when next we make landfall. Here in the open sea, this do be no use at all. Clear this deck."

The ship chasing them was catching up rapidly. Bayle gave the chain a mighty heave and began to spin. Once, twice, three times, with a length of chain the height of a man, and on the end a weight of steel that should have taken three men just to lift from the deck.

Then he let go.

Trailing its chain and flares of golden light, the anchor hurtled toward the oncoming vessel. Taking a deep breath, Bayle drew even more strongly on the One Power. A volley of knives might slay a dozen men or more. A volley of anchors....

The thunder of impact echoed even through the howling of the storm. Masts shattered, decks burst, and water poured in through the stricken vessel's port side.

"Move!" Bayle roared. "Into the storm with us! They'll have her repaired before she sinks, but not in time to catch the Spray!"

"Ain't it wonderful," Halima sighed. She had really wanted to board that ship. If it were only the two of them, perhaps he would have let her. Perhaps not; he still would not want to face more than a handful of Aes Sedai, and these Dragon-Blooded from wherever they came might be far more vicious.

"Next time," he assured her. "Next time it'll be personal."

Chapter Text

Faile studied the array of angreal and ter'angreal that had, so far, been pulled out of the bottomless junk heap of the Great Holding. She'd begun her search for the Horn by seeking out smaller caches such as those stashed away by the Cult of Illumination, but the Stone's dwarfed them all even assuming it was half rubbish.

There were several statuettes and various odd, abstract sculptures, but most of them were made to be worn: bracelets, amulets, even what looked like a piercing meant to stretch an earlobe. Or maybe a lip. Fashion could be very strange.

Of course, an angreal was simply meant to hold a hearthstone, and there were other things here that could do more than that. Swords, staves, bows. She picked up a gauntlet with two empty sockets on the back of the hand. The ones that called to her as a Lunar were made of a semisolid metal called moonsilver, a substance that was practically indestructible yet could shapeshift along with her.

A pair of bracers slid easily onto her wrists. They were smooth and flowing, with a design that reminded her of talons, though it might have been teeth or waves. The hearthstone on the left deepened her connection to the One Power, but there was something else, waiting to be used, if she could only work out what. Rand al'Thor had said that, like all his friends, she could keep what struck her fancy. Was she his friend? They had traveled together for a time, but she had never meant to join him here.

Across the table from her, another pair of bracers bore the image of a bird of prey, but these were made of the golden metal orichalcum; meant for a Solar, they would at best be harder for her to use. She reached for them anyway, if only to look, but her hand met another woman's. She froze for an instant. When had Berelain entered the room?

"I believe this is a hawk, Falcon," the First of Mayene said smoothly.

Faile tried to respond, but her breath caught in her throat. There were women she fancied, but Berelain made her want to curl up at the foot of her bed, which in turn made her angry. She did that for no one, not even Perrin. What was it about Berelain, of all people, that could evoke a response like that? "Keep it, then," she said harshly. "They're obviously not for me. I was just curious."

"As am I," Berelain said, trying on the heavy bracers. "They look like hawking wristguards, but where is the bird?"

"As long as you don't mean me to perch on your wrist," Faile said. She meant it sneeringly, but it came out as if she almost meant the opposite. What was the matter with her?

"You could," Berelain said, the corners of her mouth turning up. It was...a sort of smile. "Forgive me. I know even less than you about these matters, Faile Bashere. If it will not work at a touch or a thought, I may be meant to channel into it, but it could also do something dangerous that I don't anticipate. Correct?"

Faile nodded. "They're like people in that way. Never doing the expected thing."

"That sounds as if you don't understand people very well. A ruler must, of course."

It was a sudden stupid impulse. Maybe she was going mad already. Faile grabbed Berelain's face between her hands and pulled her down for a kiss. "Understand that?"

"Not at all," Berelain murmured. "I will have to investigate further." She leaned down; her returned kiss was expert, and Faile found herself at a loss for breath, clinging to the First's arms to stay upright. She felt the One Power fill Berelain, felt Berelain's light touch on her thoughts.

"We know each other," the First murmured. "When Luna and the Unconquered Sun made the Exaltations, they bound theirs together in pairs. I see it. We are such a pair. We have been friends, rivals, confidantes...lovers. But we last met before the Breaking of the World when you were sealed away. It's been a very long time."

"You see all that?" Faile tried to pull back a little and look up into her eyes. It was as if their bodies were magnets that she was trying to pull apart.

"And only that," Berelain said with an exasperated snarl. "No details, merely, 'you were made to be together'. You irritate me."

"Of course. We're under each other's skin." Faile paused. "So what role am I playing in the Great Game for you? Because you said--"

Berelain interrupted her with another kiss, then murmured, "Let's discuss that in my quarters. There is no hurry."

*****

Nynaeve frowned at the lever. It looked like some sort of release valve, but what was it releasing, all the way up here near the top of the Stone? The room was full of tubs; perhaps there was a vat of wine? But then where would it be filled from?

The door creaked open, and Nynaeve gave a little start as Moiraine entered the room. "Only Moiraine" was not a thought that would have occurred to her even a few months ago. Mentally, she kicked herself. This woman had stolen Emond Fielders away from their homes! It didn't nag at her any longer. Like it or not, most or all of them had needed to go. Maybe not Mat.

"The Stone of Tear was designed to withstand a prolonged siege," Moiraine said, "and well that it was. It broke dozens of them. Food could be shipped in from its separate dock, and stored in deep, cool rooms far below. But long before hunger became a problem, everyone here would have died of thirst." She sat a tub below the spout and pulled the lever. Water gushed out. "Therefore, the pumps, and a cistern high above ground level. Quite an elegant solution. Of course, when there ceased to be a king in Tear, all the High Lords refused to use anything associated with him. Therefore, we have his bathing room to ourselves. At least, that is why I came here."

"I was exploring," Nynaeve said, a little embarrassed. "There are all sorts of rooms without any signs or maps."

"Worth knowing of," Moiraine agreed. "You scrubbed my back in Fal Dara. Will you do so here?"

Nynaeve felt the blood rush to her face, but she knew it was hard to tell if she blushed. "I could use a hot bath," she said, "and that tub is large enough for two."

Moiraine was much as Nynaeve remembered her, a tiny thing, but with taut muscle beneath pale blue-white skin. Even stripped of dress and shift, she held herself like a noble as she stepped into the tub and sat down. Nynaeve had little use for nobles, but Moiraine had so far shown herself to be like the warriors in old tales when the Shadow rose up in its wrath and tried to smother all good things.

If anything, she herself had changed more, she realized as she climbed in. She no longer bore the wooden scars from Aginor's attack, but her body was hard and brown like a sturdy tree. All her hair was green and full of small black thorns, and from time to time it flowered so that passersby wondered how she had time to garland herself with so many tiny blooms.

Moiraine's hands glowed with the thin weaves of Fire she was using to heat the water until it steamed. Nynaeve considered the simple, utilitarian technique and added something of her own: threads of Wood that mixed the water with flower scent that was released by the warmth. Moiraine gave her an approving smile. "Lan speaks highly of your progress. Still, I know you have had little time in the Tower. Have you managed to learn any new sorcerous weaves?"

"I haven't had the good fortune," Nynaeve said with genuine regret. "I know I was taught that sorcery could be found in strange places, hidden in the world around us, but I don't understand how that can be." She turned her back and allowed Moiraine to knead and scrub her shoulder blades, which the Aes Sedai did without complaint.

"It is not a natural feature of the world," Moiraine explained, "but was woven into the Tapestry by one of the great sorcerers of the Age of Legends. Three sorcerers founded three schools of thought, Devon, Silur, and Salina. Salina, of whom we have to speak, saw Creation as a great mind and the One Power as the living essence of its thought. So she ensured that it would never forget any sorcery once it had been invented."

"It sounds dangerous," Nynaeve suggested, changing places. She rubbed hard at Moiraine's back, perhaps a bit harder than was strictly necessary. "Some weaves should be forgotten."

"Perhaps," Moiraine agreed with little grunts punctuating her words. "What Salina did was dangerous. She was an egalitarian and an iconoclast. She believed that the One Power should be available to everyone in much the same measure. Had it been within her power, she would have Exalted all humanity. It was a noble goal...and at the same time, a terrifying one."

Part of Nynaeve wanted to protest that Salina clearly had everyone's best interest at heart, if that was her aim. But the image of the Congars and Coplins at feud, flinging weaves like insults, would not be suppressed. "What did they do about it?"

Moiraine half-turned to face her. "You know what they did. It was a form of madness, a refusal to acknowledge what her actions could bring about. Salina's working accelerated the Collapse and led toward the Breaking of the World. The other Exalted declared the Solars to be Anathema and carried out the First Usurpation."

"Was there ever a time when Aes Sedai managed to do the right thing?" Nynaeve asked wryly.

Moiraine sighed. Close up, she looked very defeated. "There had better be, soon."

*****

This was a bad idea. Faile was certain of it.

Berelain had been given apartments suitable to a visiting monarch. By the Lord Dragon, of course; the Tairens had put her in a room meant for a Lord of the Land. The decorations were gaudy Tairen trash, but the room was richly appointed and comfortable, and the Tairens thought the sculptures and tapestries were desirable. Faile was sitting in a comfortable padded sofa, Berelain was close enough to her that their hips touched, and they were sipping wine.

"So I called you Zarine simply because I realized that you were Davram and Deira's girl, the one who is supposed to be managing the estate. I hadn't associated the two names before." She gave Faile a sly smile. "It hardly matters to me. Saldaea is as far from Mayene as possible, but it remains the wealthiest of the Borderlands. Kandor and Arafel claim far less land, and Shienar lies hard on Shayol Ghul, so that harvests are poor. You can help me strengthen Mayene's ties with your homeland; few would risk even a trade war with Saldaea, not with your cavalry to back you up if it came to that."

It surely would not come to that, not with the Last Battle approaching. The Borderlands' only true war was with the Blight, although they might send troops to fight a sufficiently dangerous enemy, as during the Aiel War. Southlanders rarely understood that, though. "So you only want under my skirts in order to...secure an alliance with Saldaea? My parents might not take kindly to that."

Berelain sniffed. "I'm not going to get you with child. If anything, I understand there's a risk the other way. Your line is perfectly safe from me and they will understand that perfectly well." She clinked their glasses together. "I want under your skirts because I know we're both wetter than the Sea of Storms right now, and for each other. I was lying to the Lord Dragon, and you needn't ruffle your feathers about why." She finished off her glass and asked, "So. Do you remember anything? Or is it just a gut response?"

"I'm...I think I have reason to be afraid of you," Faile said. "I think...I think at the end, I might have betrayed you." A knife in her hand. Red blood on dark skin.

"My past life would have been angry," Berelain confirmed. "I am not. Most of the Lunars participated in the First Usurpation. Do you know who did not, in Mayener tales? Ilyena. She stood by her husband while he murdered the children she had birthed for him. A few of the Solars were new, barely mad or not at all, and their deaths were tragic. Most...most were not. If your past life betrayed mine, you did the right thing."

"And what's the right thing now?" Faile asked her, trying to be something other than morbid, even if it came across as silly.

Berelain kissed her with lips that tasted like wine. "Let's work that out together."

*****

"I have urged Rand to move soon," Moiraine said without a trace of asperity in her tone. "All that lives, moves. Sammael rules Tear's traditional enemy Illian. By attacking them, he would rid himself of a dangerous enemy and unite Tear behind him. Unfortunately, he has found several translations of the Karaethon Cycle, and now all he wants to do is read. You may say he wants to be certain of fulfilling them, but prophecy happens in its own time. It did Logain no good to name his army the People of the Dragon."

"Surely the Prophecies have useful guidance in them," Nynaeve argued. "Otherwise why make them? And Tear has another enemy they could unite against, but I don't see you arguing to invade Cairhien."

"Asmodean's scheme has failed already, and my homeland is in ruins," Moiraine said. Now she sounded a little harsh. "What would he gain? But if you are accusing me of trying to preserve my own people, would you urge Rand to march on the Two Rivers if a Forsaken reigned in Emond's Field?"

"It would hardly be worth the trouble for a Forsaken," Nynaeve began. "And--"

"Let me remind you that Rahvin does rule Andor," Moiraine interrupted, "and that means the Two Rivers as well. He will not neglect the homeland of his enemy."

"Rand is protecting the Two Rivers by staying away from it," Nynaeve said hotly. "If Rahvin finds out anyway and moves against it, Rand will respond. Until then it's better that he not know the connection."

"But does he not know? Rand has no idea." Moiraine was only able to stay this calm because it wasn't her people on the line. "He isn't investigating. He is fixated on some target only he can see. What if he is going mad already, Nynaeve, what then? He needs our guidance."

"By which you mean you want to control him," Nynaeve snapped. She closed her hand around her braid to keep it from Moiraine's neck. "Two Rivers people don't like being controlled."

"If I truly wanted to control Rand, I would have begun very differently," Moiraine said, her tone brittle and cold. She climbed out of the tub and wove a red globe of the Power from Fire and Air. "I could have made him grovel at my feet. I still could. Let me show you. On your knees, Nynaeve al'Meara."

The red orb shot at her face. She was a small and dirty thing crouching in cooling bathwater. No! She would get to her feet and.... Nynaeve shifted her position to rise. At least, that was her intent. She found herself kneeling in the tub. Moiraine was her better in every way. A true Aes Sedai where Nynaeve was merely a pretender. Beautiful where Nynaeve was ugly and clumsy. She was....

The thorns in her braid bit deep into her grip. "Stop that! This can't be permitted, M...mistress." She couldn't make herself look at the Aes Sedai. This was awful! She was awful, a terrible excuse for a person. She...."I am not your toy, M...istress." The name. She needed to use the name, to prove that she would not be controlled. "You don't get to control me, 'Alys'." With a major effort of will, she poured scorn into the false name.

"But I do, child. Unless you can force me to stop." A small hand caressed Nynaeve's face. A small smile promised punishment. "Can you?"

*****

Faile ran her nails down Berelain's back. Not merely nails. Talons. There was no reason to make this easy on the First. No reason to make it easy on herself. Berelain pulled her down, biting her lips. The couch was too small. Faile shoved, and they tumbled to the floor, both of them landing on their sides.

Berelain rose up, straddling her, and released the single clasp still holding her dress. The garment fell to her waist, exposing a truly magnificent pair of breasts, nipples hard and standing out from dark brown areolas. Faile wanted to taste them, to bite on them, but Berelain had her pinned. "You're still too comfortable," Berelain said, and reached down to rip open her blouse.

The garment came away too easily as it simply dissolved and left Faile naked. A vulnerable position, but it had its advantages. Faile reciprocated--or retaliated--by slicing Berelain's dress and smallclothes the rest of the way open. Berelain let out an indignant gasp; the dress must have been an expensive one. "Which of us is comfortable again?"

"I hope that your family has disowned you already, you little brat." Berelain's eyes narrowed, and she wove a golden web into a stiletto that struck Faile between the eyes. "That came to me suddenly. What do you think it does, falcon?"

Faile blinked. For a moment her vision seemed to go hazy. Then she realized that there was no one more beautiful or commanding than the personage sitting astraddle her. She ought to be obedient to such a goddess--but not too obedient; Berelain would get bored. "I think it makes our bond stronger," she said truthfully. "Better be careful," she added, implying that it might work both ways. She didn't think that was so at all.

"I see," Berelain said doubtfully. "In that case...." She pivoted and scooted backward before lowering her nethers onto Faile's face. "...you know what to do."

Faile did, of course. She opened her mouth and began to lap eagerly at Berelain's folds. The scent alone would have been intoxicating; the taste made it even better. Luckily, her hawk deigned to return the favor; Berelain's tongue slid inside her and worked at her nub, sending shivers through her whole body.

She wasn't nearly there yet, though, when Berelain stopped. Desperately, Faile redoubled her efforts, but Berelain offered only the faintest stimulation from her breathing. Berelain's legs blocked her from touching herself. She dug her claws into Berelain's ass instead; Berelain lifted her head until Faile could no longer feel even her breath. She needed to ask what the First wanted, but how could she do that without stopping and irritating her further?

Well, to the Pit of Doom with that. She pressed upward, lifting Berelain off her. "What do you want from me?"

"Finish me off first. Then I'll consider returning the favor."

She wanted...she needed to obey. She also knew that wasn't truly what Berelain wanted from her. "I don't think I will. Get off me." Was it?

Berelain had manipulated their bond with the Power; could Faile do the same? She fumbled blindly with threads of silver, trying to find the linkage between them. Maybe the specifics didn't matter. She needed to show Berelain she was strong enough for her. "If you want any more from me, you'll have to share with me, now. Not after." That must have triggered distant memories that were missing from the first attempt; now her weave found a target. Berelain moaned and began trying to push herself back down before relenting and burying her face in Faile's cleft again.

Belatedly, Faile remembered the weave to share their senses. Well, what Berelain didn't know was leverage for later, and Faile would happily share it when the time was right. For now, she was content to feel the rapid buildup between her legs and to taste Berelain's juices as they dribbled over her tongue. Soon, oh so soon....

*****

Nynaeve ground her teeth. Egwene had a method.... She felt Moiraine's weave shred off her as she shed the outer layer of her feelings as a tree would shed leaves. "I can," she said. "Stop." She stood up, stepping carefully out of the tub, toward Moiraine, who simply smiled as if this had all been a test. Her hands shot out and shoved Moiraine against the wall. "You made your point. Don't ever do that to me again."

"If you insist," Moiraine said casually. She was very close, very warm. Nynaeve felt veins throbbing in her own forehead. She wanted to punch the Aes Sedai in the gut and leave her retching on the floor. She wanted to use the groveling weave on Moiraine and make her beg. She wanted to...to....

Nynaeve pressed her mouth to Moiraine's and bit her lip. It was not even a kiss, really; the point of it was the blood she had drawn. Her hands slid up from Moiraine's shoulders onto her throat. The woman gasped, her face flushing, and she bit Nynaeve's lip back. It was in fact turning into a real kiss, as if she enjoyed Nynaeve's choking hands. Nynaeve forced Moiraine's head back against the wall, their lips still locked together.

Moiraine's hands slid up Nynaeve's thighs and into the gap between. She was so much shorter, she didn't even seem to need to reach for it. Three fingers, pressed together, slid up into Nynaeve and began to work. No! Nynaeve bore down harder on Moiraine's throat, but to tell Moiraine to stop she'd have to stop kissing her and...and that was never supposed to have been a kiss to begin with! She could just pull away and go on throttling the woman. It would be very simple.

She didn't do it. If she did that Moiraine might pull her fingers out, and the feeling of having them inside her would vanish. Whatever bad things Nynaeve might have to say about her, Moiraine knew what she was doing. Her thumb brushed against Nynaeve's sensitive clit, sending shivers through her whole body. Nynaeve let up a little on Moiraine's throat; surely she needed to breathe by now. Moiraine took two shuddering breaths and put her left hand up to pull Nynaeve's arms forward. She was enjoying it! How was that even possible?

She could let go, of course, but the notion of actually choking Moiraine all the way to death carried its own kind of pleasure. Let the woman enjoy that, if she could! She could still taste Moiraine's blood, and her own, mingling in her mouth.

Nynaeve drew on the One Power. What if she poisoned the woman with her aura? No, surely Moiraine had a counter to that. The Tower would have seen to it.

It has, and I do. Nynaeve gave a start. The weave for conveying thoughts via sex is much like that for conveying them through any sort of performance. I overheard. Don't stop!

Nynaeve nearly pulled away out of spite. And if they find you dead on the floor? She increased the pressure on Moiraine's throat.

What Egwene can do, I can as well, and better. You cannot choke me to death, unless I were to allow it. Does that take the fun out of it?

Nynaeve bared her teeth and bore down even harder. No.

Moiraine raised an eyebrow at her, and a thick weave took shape around her fingers inside Nynaeve's opening. It was vibrating. Nynaeve nearly passed out from the pleasure of it. Then let us keep on antagonizing one another, by all means. She bit down hard on Nynaeve's nipple, and for several moments all Nynaeve could see was stars.

They had slid down together onto the chill stone floor. Nynaeve was still on top. This was definitely more fun than she had ever expected from Moiraine Aes Sedai. Burn the woman for sucking her into it!

Chapter Text

"The truth of the matter is," Galad went on, "when the Yozis' prison is secure, every Anathema who aided us will have to be hunted down. It is distasteful, I admit, but the alternative is plainly much worse."

"And you don't see that as a betrayal?" Egwene wondered.

"I said quite plainly that it was distasteful," Galad said. His voice held an edge of irritation. "The sad truth is that we do not live in a world where the best possible good--to harm no one and help everyone--is achievable. Sometimes we must choose who will be harmed. The Anathema will inevitably betray us as their madness grows; it cannot be avoided. When the Yozis are once again defeated, we must undo as much of the harm we did in defeating them as we can. The Red Ajah will necessarily take the lead in that, and its power will increase, not decrease."

"I always suspected you would join the Red," Elayne said sadly. "It's important work, I suppose."

"The Green Ajah is vital to human well-being," Galad admitted, "but very soon the Last Battle will take place and its purpose will be at an end. The Red Ajah's purpose, on the other hand--" He stopped in midstride; there was a spearhead at his throat.

"Hello, pretty wetlander," Dailin said. "Do you like kissing games?"

"He does," Elayne said, "but he is loathe to admit it. You should take him with you."

Bain, Aviendha, and Chiad added their spearpoints to Dailin's. "I'm certain he is a good kisser," Aviendha said. "All the wetlander women swoon for him. Some of the men, even."

"Kiss well," Chiad said, "and the spears get further away. Kiss poorly...well, they are already very close." Bain yawned. "Bain is surprisingly picky. Have a care when you kiss her."

"Elayne," Galad said, "please do not force me to use violence against--" The spearpoints closed in around his throat.

"He has spirit, at least," Bain said. She leaned in and kissed him.

Egwene tugged on Elayne's sleeve, and the two of them walked away, leaving Galad to his fate. "Now we go see Rand," Egwene said. "There has to be some way that we can help him learn."

Today a different group of Aiel were guarding Rand's doors, but Gaul put a hand up in warning. "Too many people crowded in yesterday. Rand al’Thor seeks no company."

"We are his close friends," Egwene said, "and it is just the two of us. Would you ask if he will see us?"

"I shall see," Gaul said, "but you should know that he has already thrown the Tairen lords out. One of them skidded almost to those pretty statues over there." He pointed a thumb at the Defenders of the Stone. "I lost a good Tairen hanging when he did not quite reach them." Mangin smiled over Gaul's shoulder; he must have won the bet.

Gaul got up and trotted inside; after a short time he stuck his head back out. "He says he would enjoy speaking with you. Just do not mention taxes."

Certainly they had no intention of bringing them up today. Rand's room was hideous as ever; the only changes were the shifting of his books and the pale patches where mirrors had been removed. "Thank the Light, it's you," he muttered. "I thought perhaps the High Lords were coming back to tell me that tax revenues have to be kept up no matter how many farmers get left to beg, or maybe Moiraine to....agh, never mind! It was too crowded before, but you two are a sight for sore eyes."

"I heard you were hurt very badly," Egwene said, "worse than you need have been. We thought perhaps we could help."

"I managed to heal myself up all right," he said. "I know you're both Earth aspects and take fewer wounds, but I'm not a Terrestrial at all. Everything is different for me."

"Not everything," Elayne told him. "The One Power flowing through us toughens all of us, for one thing. It's true for Perrin, it's true for Min and Thom. We're certain it's true for you too."

"How?" Rand folded his arms over his chest.

"Just let the Power flow through you while you exercise and meditate. It will do its own work. If you want, we can practice with you."

"Not Mat?" Rand asked, still skeptical.

"It will work for Mat too, if he'll actually take the time to do it," Egwene said sternly. "There are other things, in kind if not in method. At the very least we can give you ideas."

"Such as?"

"When the Unshaped...or Be'lal, or whatever it was...tried to turn my insides into bugs, I filled myself with the One Power and then used a weave that kept me aligned with the Pattern as it is. If this sort of thing keeps happening--"

"Wait," Rand said, suddenly brightening up. "I did that with the whole room, or something like it. My reflections were never fully real and they couldn't survive outside the mirror."

"See! I'm not sure I could have made it work on the whole room, but the concept fits together!" Egwene rose up onto her toes. "A lot of weaves and meditations for keeping my mind and body whole come easy for Earth aspects. Moiraine said the Golden Dragon was a Zenith and that Zeniths knew similar techniques."

"In their effects," Elayne said warningly. "That doesn't mean they work exactly the same way."

"I guess we can look into it," Rand said, actually seeming to be thinking for once. "I've seen both of you summon up weapons." With a flourish of his hands, he manifested his red-gold sword with its heron mark. "This is fire in a way, sunlight. It feels like justice and goodness even thought if I really wanted I could use it just to hurt people."

Elayne waved her hands and wove a similar blade out of Earth; it manifested as a sword of grey stone. "I usually make a mace, but this is just as easy. Could you make a different weapon if you wanted?" She dismissed it and made a blade of Fire instead to compare to Rand's. It was redder, and far less bright. "I haven't tried to make weapons like this from the other elements yet. Earth is easiest for me, but there's a sort of complication there that's hard to explain."

"I think I could," Rand mused, "but it would take a lot more effort. I think I'd have to learn each new weapon separately." He let the sword go. "If I can make a different kind of sword, I don't see how. What do you mean about the complications?"

"Every Aspect has its own sort of weapon," Egwene explained. "Earth aspects are best at strategic weapons for the whole battefield, but those are also more complicated in general and neither of us can weave them yet. Fire aspects like Galad are better in melee. I can make a sword as easily as he can as long as it's woven of Earth, but only from special practice. Some of us don't have a strong enough connection to the Elemental Dragons to do that practice at all."

"You're right," Rand said. "That's complicated."

"I can go for days without eating or sleeping," Elayne said. "The One Power is enough to keep me going. Egwene doesn't even have to breathe. I'm still working on that one."

"I didn't sleep most of the way here," Rand said. "The Forsaken haunted my dreams when I did. But I haven't figured out any way not to eat, let alone breathe."

"So there are things we have in common," Egwene explained.

"But other things we don't share at all," Rand countered, "and even with the things we do all have, they've got different levels of difficulty for different castes. It seems like we need a better measurement system for this." Before Elayne could do more than nod in agreement, he pulled out his flute and began to play.

Little reflections from all three of them danced out of the shining metal that still decorated the room. Egwene flinched away from the image of her that had emerged from a silver goblet, but it shimmied straight through her hand without doing her any harm, doing nothing more threatening than follow the music.

"Nynaeve might be able to do that," Elayne admitted, "but I certainly don't know how." Egwene shrugged; she was more interested in avoiding the litte figures.

Rand seemed to catch her mood and stopped playing. "I promise they were harmless. I can't make them attack anything but Shadowspawn and Forsaken. It just passes through. Do you want to show me something else to see if I can do it? I feel as if I'm barely scratching the surface of what's possible."

Elayne and Egwene shared a look. "Do you suppose he can weave sorcery?" Egwene said. "The Aes Sedai have said some people self-initiate." When Rand just frowned, she added, "There are trials you have to go through to learn sorcery. I don't mean something the Tower imposes. It isn't possible to learn it without them."

Elayne broke in with, "The trial of Instruction is the most likely one to be a problem. You can learn from libraries or laboratories, but Verin Sedai says it takes a real fire in the blood for that, and he hasn't had a teacher."

"I have an idea," Egwene said. "We should try out the Eye of Alliance. We're not allowed to make a Sworn Brotherhood yet, but a lot of brotherhoods use the Eye, and it's something Rand can participate in even if he can't make it work himself."

"What is it?" Rand leaned forward. "It won't get you into trouble, will it?"

"Not from the White Tower," Elayne said. "Possibly from someone else. The weave will make each of us a crystal that lets us sense the others' feelings. If you put it into a hearthstone socket, you'll also be able to find us and tell if we're hurt. It does take about half an hour."

Rand sat down on the bed, scooted back, and folded his legs before patting the mattress. "It sounds interesting and useful. I wouldn't mind trying. No matter where we are?"

"No matter where we are," Egwene confirmed.

They joined hands, sitting in a rough triangle on the bed, and Egwene began to weave a complex net of flows, mostly Air and Wood. She drew Essence from each of them, creating a pattern that ran through their heads and hearts and intersected in front of each of them. These weaves joined together and included. White light flowed through each of them and around the circle.

It did take about as long as Elayne had said, and Egwene was feeling sore from holding very still by the end of it. Then, though, the light coalesced into three crystals, one in front of each of them. Egwene plucked her crystal from the weave and watched as the others followed suit.

From each of them, Egwene felt a surge of companionship and affection. Elayne, of course, radiated the burning background lust that Dragon-Blooded in general had to become accustomed to. But Rand also burned with passion, larger than life but banked in a manner theirs was not. She had known it was there, after a fashion, but she had wavered between not seeing it and believing they were entirely the same. For Egwene there was a certain wariness she had never perceived in him before, though she thought it was merely his rational fear of Aes Sedai. Elayne glanced uneasily between her and Rand, as if she saw something Egwene could not. Rand just looked stunned.

"I could see it," he said, "but it was too much to follow and remember. You're right, I don't know enough."

"It's all right," Egwene told him. "We'll help you. In the meanwhile--" She deliberately sent him a direct flash of her desire. For some reason Elayne gave her a strange, almost pitying look, but Rand's jaw dropped as he suddenly grew hard.

"Egwene, I can't," he protested. "I'll hurt anyone I get too close to. The Forsaken, and the High Lords, and everyone else plotting against me, they'll...." She shut him up with a kiss on the lips. She could feel genuine distress behind his words, though, so she opened herself to share it. Fear and darkness boiled up into her.

"No one is going to kill us," she said softly. "You're at more risk than we are." She pulled out her belt knife. It wasn't really meant as a weapon, but it was sharp enough. Drawing on the Power, she ran it along her arm roughly, leaving only a scrape. Then she flipped it around and made as if to drive it into her chest. The blade snapped off with a spark. "See? And don't worry about the knife." Using Fire and Earth, she fused the blade back to the hilt. "Good as new."

"Egwene, I...." He was embarrassed now.

"Watch," she said, and wove the Power through her dress. It came apart into a mess of threads that coiled themselves into a skein of wool, leaving her naked save for her smallclothes and the band around her breasts. These she stripped off the old-fashioned way. Through the crystal, she felt his arousal spike upwards. "Elayne?"

Elayne was still worrying about something, but Egwene's weave seemed to amuse her. She duplicated it, and her silk dress and shift came apart and coiled into tight rolls of thin threads. "I'm sure the majhere will find us new clothes if need be," she said, laughing. Then she leaned over Rand to pull Egwene into an embrace and kiss her forcefully on the mouth. Rand made a strangled sound, so Egwene reached down and squeezed his cock through his pants. "See if you can do that, Rand al’Thor."

At first Rand just stammered and looked blank. Then it dawned on him that they wanted him naked, and he seemed to be trying to comply. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I don't have a clue how to do that." Instead he reached for his buttons. Egwene and Elayne looked at each other, and the next thing Rand knew he was lying in a pile of thread. "I hope you can put that back together," he said, but he reached for them and kissed Egwene, then Elayne.

"Anything that can be done can be undone," Egwene said, though privately she admitted that it would certainly take a while. She leaned down and took Rand's cock into her mouth. Had it become larger since he became the Dragon? Solars didn't seem to have any way of changing their bodies on purpose, but the few she had seen had a way of looking impressive. Even Bayle Domon could manage when he needed; there was definitely muscle under all that padding, for one thing. No. Focus on Rand.

Elayne took her by the legs and began to pull them sideways. Egwene squeaked once before realizing that she was getting into a position to put her mouth on Egwene's folds and her own pussy in front of Rand's face. Then they were all arranged together, body to body, and Egwene put her full attention on twining her tongue around Rand's member and stroking his balls with her fingers. She was aware of Elayne's face between her legs, tongue lapping at her nub and lips, letting out whimpers that indicated Rand had gotten fairly good at this sort of thing himself. She could feel the One Power flowing through all three of them; distantly she wondered what Rand might be doing. Even he might not know.

Rand's cock trembled under her ministrations; she could hear his sharp intake of breath and immediately backed off. Even if she brought him to a peak, she knew he'd recover almost at once, but she wanted to keep him waiting. She glanced down and saw shining threads emanating from him just as they began to play along her body and Elayne's. They were warm and soft, though they hardened to tweak her nipples. It must be like the glowing figures that had appeared when he played music, though this seemed less focused.

Her body seemed to be filling up with another energy besides the One Power, bubbling with incredible, excruciating pleasure. She was quivering all over to the point that it was becoming hard to keep playing with Rand. Delicately, she touched her tongue to the little divot where shaft met head. Rand let out a cry and began to spray hot, salty liquid into her mouth. Even the flavor of it was different from when they were mortals, as if everything about him had been made as bright and good as it could be. It still was not her favorite taste, but certainly nothing about it was bad. She pulled back and let the last few spurts land on her neck and chest; there was just too much.

Except for the brief outburst, he was still working on Elayne's cunt and Elayne was still working on hers. With this much Power and delight flowing through her, she felt a sensation of total abandon; she was dripping with Rand's fluids at one end and her own at the other and neither made her the least bit embarrassed. She flicked a weave at Rand, spilling her own sensations into his awareness. He moaned so loud that it was almost a shout and tightened his grip on Elayne's rosy thighs. Elayne in turn dug her nails into Egwene's hard marble-white flesh, and as she did so Egwene felt a burst of indescribable pleasure engulf her. The whole world went white.

When she came to, she dimly remembered Elayne screaming Rand's name. Rand was pulling them upward to lie next to each other on his hard, muscular chest, his grip forceful but tender. They were all wet with sweat and juices, and none of them cared one whit. If any of them had, all of them would know. It was as if the boundaries between them had broken down entirely.

So...why did Elayne keep giving her those sad eyes?

*****

"I can tell you love him," Elayne said a while later. They had napped together in his bed, though Rand had gotten up a little while ago, apologizing that he needed to clean up and meet with the High Lords.

"Yes," Egwene responded. "I don't understand why that makes you sad, or him confused."

"Because it's different between us," Elayne said. "The way we love him isn't the same. It's as if the romance is fading out of it, for you. You still want him, physically, but in other ways it almost feels like the love I have for Gawyn. I worry that the background lust from the Dragon Blood is causing you to feel as if you still love him like a husband when you really don't. I...I don't want to tell you what to do, I certainly would never tell you to go away. I just made love to you as much as to him. But I want you to be sure you understand your own feelings, Egwene. Is that coming out right?"

"I'm lying here next to you, still sticky all over with you both," Egwene said, fighting a sudden surge of anger. "I...I guess you feel what we each feel, just as I do, and I shouldn't blame you for comparing. I guess there really won't be a better time, either. But I am upset...though I guess you know that, too."

Elayne nodded. "We will have to try and work this out. I won't run you off if you'll do the same for me. And we give you some time to sort your feelings out."

"In a month," Egwene said, "we could be on opposite sides of the world." She held up her crystal. "And we'll still know how things are going."

"We will," Elayne said, and hugged her. "This was a wonderful idea, Egwene. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Egwene answered. "Now, seriously...let's get cleaned up."

Chapter Text

"Revenues must come from somewhere, my Lord Dragon," the High Lord Torean insisted, dabbing at the sweat on his face with a handkerchief not nearly large enough to do the job.

"What about your personal coffers, Torean?" Rand said, trying to give his tone a wry twist. He did not think even Torean could pay for what they were planning all by himself, but he was by far the richest of the High Lords. "I understand they are full to bursting."

"What Torean undoubtedly means to say," Alteima said patiently, "is that one cannot always buy unlimited goods even with unlimited funds. Eventually there is simply nothing more to buy."

Berelain touched Rand's arm. "A situation made worse by Tear's city tax, I suspect. Village craftsmen may be skilled, but never so efficient without supplies." Tear levied a strange mix of taxes on things like building height and city wall radius in order to maintain the city's preeminent place in the nation. Only Godan was exempt, since it served as a forward base against Mayene.

"Even if we wanted," Weiramon grumbled, missing the point, "we cannot build bigger cities overnight."

"Nor would I expect you to," Rand said quickly. "The Last Battle is coming very soon. Some kinds of bad policies can wait their turn. Now, as ruler of Tear, I could levy a new tax, I suppose, and put it towards improving the army."

Weiramon puffed up like a banty rooster at that. Astoril pricked up his ears and, for the first time, gave Rand his full attention, while Maracome put his hands on the table with a smile. "I think that would be acceptable to the majority," Torean said forthrightly. "If we could confer for just a moment we may be able to suggest--"

"A property tax on the High Lords," Rand said, "with the proceeds going to, ah...."

"Your personal coffers," Berelain put in. "Tear lacks a national treasury, but the Lord Dragon should have one. And the Lords of the Land should be taxed as well, if at a lower rate."

At that, no fewer than half the High Lords rose to their feet and began loudly objecting above one another, Torean the loudest of all. In theory, this was the expected outcome of using Berelain to help him negotiate with the High Lords; certainly none of them would obey her outright, not even backed by his authority. If he demanded it openly, they would simply subvert him in private. Crudely applied, even Compulsion would strike a limit.

With Moiraine and Elayne's advice, he and Berelain had devised a plan that was not so crude at all. "The burden of taxes will increase the richer the lord is," Berelain said over the ruckus. "Torean's share, for instance, would be a full twentieth higher than the next richest of you."

"All your domains would benefit from this," Rand added, "so long as the funds are properly managed."

Just like that, the others turned envious eyes on Torean. Not only was he that much richer, there were those who claimed his line included commoners. Wealthy mercantile commoners, from other lands, but to Tairen lords they were all just peasants. It really was all a matter of definition and chopping logic. No line of any house went back further than the Breaking, certainly, nor probably past Artur Hawkwing. "Who would do the managing?" Estanda asked. "Under your leadership, of course."

"Your heirs," Rand said simply. "The heirs of the current High Seats of your houses. That way I can be certain none of you," and he glanced significantly at Torean, "are directly manipulating the system. Your heirs, I trust, are reasonably loyal but will want to ensure they inherit functional domains...and your titles, which will not happen if those should end up forfeit." It was very blunt, in its way, stating the expectations almost any noble would have left unspoken. Rand was good at blunt.

"I will take no part," Berelain said, leaving them to wonder why she had even spoken and why she wouldn't want to have a say in Tairen policy if the Lord Dragon would let her. Every last one of them was sneaking suspicious, baffled looks at the others, waiting for the other shoe to drop and no longer thinking about what Rand had said. Berelain was extremely good at subtle.

"My Lord Dragon," Anaiyella said, "about the magistrates--"

"My Lady Anaiyella," Rand asked, "is there something you fear to be tried for?" With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the meeting hall.

A few paces away, he grabbed Berelain by the arm of her dress and ducked into the service corridors before releasing the weave that had given him an aura of force and menace. "They won't follow us through here," he said. "Let them wonder where we went."

"And where is that?" Berelain asked innocently.

"Where would you like to go, my Lady First?" He was still riding the euphoria from earlier with Egwene and Elayne, and now he and Berelain had outmaneuvered the High Lords together. If he was going to take her up on her earlier offer, now was the time.

"Might we eat lunch in your rooms?" she asked. "You have actual windows, with a river breeze to cool us off."

Rand hesitated for a long moment. "My rooms are still a mess. The books, and--" He did not want to say that they probably smelled like sex and other women, breeze or no breeze.

"Are your Aes Sedai waiting for your return?" Berelain said, smiling. "Surely they have other business to be about."

"I'd assume they're gone by now," Rand said tentatively. "But--"

"I would be deeply honored to join you, my Lord Dragon," she said, dropping a low curtsy, "no matter the condition of your rooms."

Still a bit embarrassed, Rand took her arm and guided her upwards towards his room near the Stone's peak. Along the way they passed a group of liveried servants coming back downward. Rand hailed them and asked them to send a light lunch up after him from the kitchens. They stammered a little, afraid but a touch scandalized that he was using the back hallways to move about, so he gave them a small bow and made a joke about seafood before leaving through a door well above their entrance point.

"Not every land hates its rulers so much as Tear," Berelain said warningly as they passed the Defenders and a couple of Aiel who had waited for his return. One of the latter set off at a run, probably to bring back the guards he had slipped away from earlier. "You have done well with the commoners here by thwarting the High Lords, but the people of Mayene thrive under my rule, and know as much."

"And as long as you don't stab me in the back and your Winged Guards march to the Last Battle, I'll have no need to treat you as I treat the High Lords." He meant that to sound reassuring, but she studied his face as if concerned he had made a threat. Probably a reflex; the First of Mayene was scarcely safe in her own bed, let alone in Tear. "In my homeland, most people didn't realize we even had a queen. It was a peaceful way to live, and we cared for our own when there was trouble."

"It does sound peaceful," Berelain agreed. "I suspect I would be bored to tears, but it might be a pleasant vacation."

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a pair of servants carrying silver trays of braised fish and rice mixed with vegetables, along with bottled wine. Rand dismissed them once the trays were set down as near the window as could be managed.

"I will say this for Tear," Berelain mused after the first bite. "Their cuisine is a delight. It's been one of the few bright spots since I was brought here by Be'lal."

"It's strange to think of the Forsaken eating," Rand said softly. "It makes them more like people."

"It does, doesn't it?" Berelain held up a spoonful of rice to gesture with. "I think the most surreal experience I had during my captivity was hearing Be'lal throwing a fit about the chamberpots. It seems they had some sort of more sanitary arrangement in the Age of Legends, though he never quite said what." She swallowed the mouthful of food and added, "And he grumbled about it through the entire next meal, cursing your name, and Lanfear's, and several more I didn't know. Apparently, he didn't like eating rice at all, either. He shouldn't have come to Tear, should he?"

"So," Rand asked, "what was it like to grow up as heir to a throne?"

"Heir?" Berelain chuckled. "Rand, I was First by the time I reached ten. I was under a regent my father had chosen, but even then I was given my way as often as not. I banished my guardian when I was given power eight years ago. He was a stuffy prick of a man, the only one who ever denied me. Still, he's in charge right now. He was competent and loyal, I will give him that."

"It must be good to have someone you can trust that much." Rand poured himself another cup of wine.

"Truth be told, I have the urge to go home and see what I can accomplish among people who respect me and my authority."

"I may have some use for you in that regard. I would appreciate it if you stayed, at least for now." Why did she raise her eyebrows at that?

"Rand, it has not escaped my attention thst this room smells like sex. Is that why you wanted to eat elsewhere?" She stood, then sat down in his lap. "Because I must confess I find the scent as intoxicating as the wine."

Rand himself was suddenly rather dizzy. Her full bosom was now directly in front of his face, and while her dress covered a bit more than when she had been here last, it was extremely thin. At this distance he believed he could see the darkness of her nipples through it. He put one hand under her behind and the other arm around her back and stood. "Shall we drive the majhere to distraction trying to air it out?"

Berelain grinned like the cat that ate the cream and pointed toward the bed. "Let's ruin another mattress." She adjusted the neckline of her dress, and it immediately dropped to the floor; this time she had nothing at all on underneath.

"You went to our meeting without smallclothes on?" Rand asked. "I assume Mayeners don't wear them, though. Never mind." He began attacking the buttons of his shirt.

"Rand," Berelain said, trying not to laugh, "we do wear them, usually. I left them off for the meeting with the High Lords, and with you."

"I..." He frowned at the last button on his shirt. "Why?"

"Let me show you." She strode up to him and shoved him backward onto the bed. Her hands worked the last shirt button and moved down, unfastening his pants and reaching inside. "You're the Dragon Reborn, Rand. You have all this power inside you trying to get out." Pinning his shoulders with her hands, she climbed atop him. "And I have power over you. Don't I?"

Her hair was loose, cascading past her face toward his. Her eyes were the kind of deep brown any man could get lost in. Her full breasts brushed against his chest, nipples standing out. He swallowed hard. "I could leave," he insisted. "I'm stronger than you."

Berelain only smiled. "Do you want to? What are you willing to do to go, or to make me go?" Her lips brushed his like morning mist. "Would you hurt me to make me stop?" She pressed her body against his, soft against hard, and his body responded.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you," he answered. His hands moved to her plump rear, trying to get her into position, but for some reason she resisted him. "I suppose you do have power over me."

Berelain smiled at that and pulled backwards until his throbbing cock was between her breasts. "I suppose so too." At first she shifted back and forth, but when she suddenly stopped his hips demanded to sustain the rhythm, the friction. "You see?" His head felt as if it were full of fire; his body moved without bothering to ask permission. Without warning she moved away again. "I think I might have found what you wanted, Rand. Someone who can overpower even the Dragon Reborn."

"You can't," he insisted. "I have more experience than you." Not that that was saying much. He forced his straining body to be still.

"Then prove it." Berelain strolled around to his side as casually as if she were strolling fully-clothed through a garden. "Oh, I'm sure you could conjure your sword and run me through--not that you ever would. Resist me. Or command me, if you prefer. I can take it."

Was this all a game to her? Maybe on some level it was practice; certainly she was still learning what she could do. "Get on your hands and knees," he said, trying to sound forceful.

"No."

He rose, sliding off the side of the bed, and took her by the arm. "I said get on your hands and knees." Plenty of women seemed to enjoy that position.

"No." It was very simple, very flat. What did she want from him? Was she really trying to get him to force her? Was that really forcing her if he did as she wanted?

Berelain leaned against the wall, arching her back, spreading her legs. She crooked a finger at him. It seemed an awkward position. The fire was inside him again; he found himself lifting her without remembering coming closer. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her legs about his waist as he slid inside her, pressing her between the wall and his body. She pushed downward with her legs; he lifted upward with his arms. She was no weakling, yet her weight was barely noticeable. Berelain rocked back and forth, sliding up and down his hard shaft without effort, coating it with her juices. "You see it, don't you? Who has the power here? Who has the Power here?"

"You do, my Lady First." He could feel the One Power inside her, see it shining golden around her. Was she doing anything to him, really? Or was he simply responding as any man would to a woman as beautiful as Berelain?

"Put me down," she said. He lifted her off him and set her on the floor immediately, as anyone would. His cock twitched, leaking cloudy fluid. "Hold still," she said, and he strained to obey while she took his balls in her hand. That was simple politeness.

Seemingly finished with her inspection, she climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees, just as he had asked earlier. "Now," she said, "take me. Don't finish before me."

Finally she was doing as he asked. He mounted her swiftly from behind. "Yes!" she cried. "Harder! Take me! Take me now!" All he was now was the fire, his entire body aflame, and he thrust into her again and again as she screamed with the ecstacy of it. Not once did she use his name, though he noted that only dimly. Finally he could take no more, and came inside her with a roar that startled him.

She slid down until her face was on the pillows and pulled him after her. "I should be exhausted," she said. "I'm not, not at all. From what I have heard, you'll be up for another round in moments. Am I wrong?"

"No," was all he could say. He was not tired either, but he was too aflame with pleasure to take much action yet.

"It occurs to me that if one of the Forsaken told you to do the same, she'd handle you like a kitten. Or he, possibly."

"Probably, if you're using the One Power on me." He turned to look into her eyes. The disc and ring of light were glowing on her forehead, though not strongly. "Is this supposed to be a lesson? Or just an observation? Moiraine told me once that the Forsaken could bend people to their wills whatever we wanted."

"If it were as simple as all that, there'd have been no war." Berelain sounded utterly certain, and surely she was right. "If not even the Solars could resist, they'd have just waltzed into the room and said, 'Free the Yozis,' and that would have been that."

"I defied Ishamael to his face," Rand said. "But I knew he was trying to control me. I'm still not sure if you were. You're a beautiful woman, naked in my bed, and I did the natural thing, I'd say."

"Fair enough," the First said. "Well, then, you need to know, don't you?"

"That would help," he agreed.

"I want you to try again. Tell me to do a thing and make me do it. You need to know to be certain you're countering it."

In retrospect, it would have been a more helpful idea if he had known what sort of things she objected to doing.

*****

Mat was on his third beer when an attractive but predatory girl with a sharp nose and a wide mouth sat down at his table and said, "You must be the Lord Dragon's other friend."

He took a gulp of his drink. "Third time you've figured that out, Faile, not countng Rand introducing me. I could be an ass and not tell you that, I guess. Maybe next time."

"People just forget you? That sounds useful but terrible. You can't control it at all?"

Another gulp. "Haven't found a way yet. My close friends remember me, but making new ones is a problem." He offered her a hand; she shook it and offered a sympathetic smile. "Mat Cauthon, Chosen of Battles. And apparently all Sidereals have this problem, but there are ways around it. Most of my friends remember me by now, and you will too if you keep saying hello."

"What does it mean, Chosen of Battles?" She pulled out a seat and joined him. "And why is there a tavern inside the Stone of Tear?"

"It's for off-duty servants and Defenders, helps discourage them from talking about the inside on the outside." After another long swallow, he went on. "Apparently, Sidereals are supposed to keep the Pattern from getting too tangled. It's my job to make sure battles happen when they should and not when they shouldn't, and I'd bloody hate that if I didn't have the right to decide when that is. Well, to a point at least."

"When do you think battles should happen?" She sounded intrigued. Of course she did; she was a Borderlander.

"Preferably? Far away from me and mine. Not much good about fighting. I guess we live in a world where it has to happen somewhere. Like on the Blightborder and in the Aiel Waste, since the Trollocs and apparently the Aiel enjoy it." He glanced at his cup; it was empty. "Don't tell the Aiel I said that. I'm not sure if they'd laugh or run me through."

"So you're not much of a fighter."

"Only when I have to be." She probably thought he was a coward. It wasn't like that.

"Maybe that's for the best," she said. "The people responsible for battles probably shouldn't enjoy them too much."

"Not what I expected from a Saldaean," Mat said half to himself.

"You Southlanders! War's not an adventure. It's being ground down to a nub all the time, and you have to keep struggling not to let it happen. There's no peace with the Shadow, but down here you fight wars for any reason or none at all!"

Mat chuckled. "Easy! I'm with you, beautiful. There hasn't been a war in the Two Rivers since Manetheren, that I know of."

"Good, as long as you don't let it make you soft." A waiter finally brought Faile a mug of beer. As he left, she asked, "So you don't enjoy fighting. What do you like to do?"

"The usual," Mat said. "Drink, gamble, and flirt, and today I've gotten two out of three so far. It's not even late."

"Cards? Stones? Betting on Tairen horse races? I could do with some excitement." She turned up her mug and drained it, waving for more.

"I've been playing cards with the young lords," Mat explained, "but I'd rather be dicing. Not to mention they're a bunch of rowdy fools. They ran Elayne off last time we gamed."

"I assume you play for high stakes, then. What if I asked you to put your body on the line? Don't worry, I don't mean to kill you."

Mat just laughed. "Already know where you're going with that. You make it sound like a sex thing, but what you want is my shape, right? Well, in all seriousness, good luck, you'll need it to beat me. Anyway, what would you be willing to wager in return? I can't take your shape."

That gave Faile pause. "I was hoping you had something you could take from me in return. My destiny or...I don't know."

"I don't want estates or titles, even if you had them, and I've won more money lately than I know what to do with. I guess I could always use more, but I don't know where I'd put it right now."

"It can be a sex thing, if you want. I don't mind." Faile took a swig from her mug; it hurt him to admit it, but she didn't seem thrilled by the idea.

"I think I'd rather share the company of someone who really wanted mine. Plenty of barmaids and such about." An idea struck him, though. "What if I took your dreams?"

"What?" That got her attention; she sat bolt upright.

"Mars taught me the beginning of some martial art that deals with sleep and dreams. I could use the practice. I haven't been in the World of Dreams much, but I can handle it better than most Sidereals. There's your wager. You win, you take my shape. I win, I take your dreams."

"Best two of three?" Faile sounded hopeful. Why discourage her?

"You've got it. Do you have a dice cup on you? I want you to trust I'm not cheating." She did not, so he had the waiter bring one from behind the bar.

As it turned out, they only had to throw twice.

"Six sixes, twice in a row?" Faile flailed her arms about as if trying to flap wings and fly away. Of course, if that were what she wanted, she'd just have done it. "That's absurd, Mat. But I didn't sense the Power at all."

"I can't promise that I'm not doing something without realizing it," he admitted. "But I've always been lucky. A bit, at least." They left their table for the staff to clean and headed for his room, since she was sharing one with Perrin.

"You're going to lie down on the bed," he said, "so you don't fall over. I'm going to show you what I can do with dreams before I take yours for a bit."

Faile sniffed, fiddled with his tangled covers for a bit, and did as she was told. He surrounded his hands with a weave, and made a slicing motion beside her head. Instantly she dropped into sleep.

Mat lay down beside her, closed his eyes, and willed himself to join her.

Chapter Text

Faile opened her eyes. It was the same room, but she wasn't fooled. Mat had vanished, but even beyond that, the Wyld--the World of Dreams, as Mat had called it--just felt different in a way that was hard to describe.

She looked left, then back again, and found Mat on the bed next to her. He leapt up at once. It was plain that he found her either repulsive or boring; no man who considered her attractive would be so deferential. A shame, since he definitely had a sense of fun. She rose a bit more slowly. "So Sidereals don't normally come here?"

He shook his head. "I nearly died. Slept so deep that I was here on and off for weeks. I still only remember parts of it when I'm here, but some of the memories have come back. Mars taught me the beginnings of an advanced martial art to keep me safe."

He moved toward the door, frowning. "Something feels off. Are any of our friends here? Perrin? Aviendha? Egwene?"

"I wouldn't know," she muttered. "How do you?"

"Someone's changed what's outside this room. It's only even here because we are." He pointed toward the end table. "See that?"

An abstract sculpture of blue glass sat there, where an empty space had been in the waking world. "I do. What is it?"

"Mars called it a moonripple. It's there because we believe in it, and we believe in it because it's there. Sounds like something out of a fever dream, huh? She said it's alive, sort of. Feeds off our belief. If we weren't here, it'd be where someone else could see it." He opened the door and peeked out. "Blood and ashes! Light!"

Beyond their single room, the halls of the Stone had been replaced by a different set of halls entirely. Gleaming white, they curved tightly away in either direction. No one moved, that he could see, so he moved out into the hallway, gesturing for Faile to follow. Doors studded the walls at regular intervals. Mat opened the next carefully and peered inside, but saw only metal tables with strange mechanisms sitting on them. "Forsaken," he said under his breath.

Faile stared at him. "How does that say 'Forsaken' to you?"

"Never seen a room this clean, let alone a hallway. Shiny metal, strange devices. Even the White Tower didn't have things like that, and these look like they're here to use, not to study. I'll give you ten to one odds this is from the Age of Legends, and who else would remember it?"

"Gods?" Faile suggested. "No, but they wouldn't be in the Wyld, would they? Right, stay quiet then. Should we leave?" She spoke the last in a whisper.

Mat shook his head. "They're here for a reason. Better try to find them first, then skip out. I'd say one of us should go back, but that would be splitting up."

Faile opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to change her mind. Her whole expression shifted, so she wasn't just deciding to be silent. But Mat wasn't going to make more noise by asking. They moved quietly down unchanging halls for several minutes, at last coming across a door that was already ajar. Mat gestured to his eyes; Faile shook her head. She didn't sense anything either.

Inside was a wide open space with more tables around the edges. On the dais in the center sat a fuzzy, indistinct shape about the size of a big man, and standing before it was a woman in a white shirt and pants. On her head she wore a spherical helmet, which seemed a bit pointless to him; just stab anywhere else important and she'd be dead. The glow of the One Power shone around her.

"It can be undone," she mused. "I made the modifications and I can remove them. I merely need to understand the structure involved." Whatever she was talking about, she had to be one of the Forsaken. Mat put his finger to his lips and began to move behind the tables. He had knocked Graendal out of the dream; he could do the same to this woman.

He had made it about halfway there when the woman removed her helmet and turned to set it down on a table. "How nice," she said, "a welcoming party," and lifted her hand. A burst of white fire shot from it toward him, forcing him to dive beneath a table for cover. The shiny metal surface burst into acrid flames.

He could still knock her out of the dream world if he could reach her. Unseen cables wrapped themselves around his arms, stretched them out to either side, and lifted him into the air. "Do you have the slightest idea what you've interrupted, little boy?" She took him by the chin and turned his head from side to side. "A Sidereal, here, trying to fight me? Do you even know who I am?"

Where was Faile? Had she just abandoned him? Maybe she had the right idea; he had no idea how to get loose now. "I just wanted to ask if you knew the way to the nearest inn," he said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Hm." The woman produced a smile; she seemed genuinely amused, albeit contemptuous. "My name is Lanfear. I trust you know it still. The Wyld is my domain. Here, outside the Tapestry, your powers are at their weakest. And you thought to confront me in your dreams."

"He can be a fool like that," said Perrin from behind her. His axe came crashing down even as he spoke, but struck an invisible barrier that sent it ricocheting off to the side, wrenching Perrin's shoulder.

"Lunars!" Lanfear laughed, her tone like ringing bells. "Perhaps you stand a slightly better chance than your friend. Perhaps." A thrown knife came within an inch of her shoulder before shattering into a dozen transparent reflections that faded into nothing.

Faile shouted a curse as her blade disappeared, but even as Lanfear turned toward her, Aviendha dropped onto her in her forkhorn war shape, stabbing furiously with her spears. Under her assault, the Forsaken fell to the floor with half a dozen stab wounds in her chest and arms. She drew a ragged breath, and silvery Essence flowed over her, sealing the injuries as if they had never been.

Mat struggled for all he was worth, but the bindings held him fast. "Faile? Anybody?" A hand clapped over his mouth from behind.

"Quiet," Egwene said. She began to rub his arms, coating them with something slippery. "Now pull." His arms slid free, letting him drop to the ground. Before he could so much as catch his breath, she was on the other side of the room. "Lanfear! Face this!" Her hand was clutched around something that dangled from a thong on her neck.

"A raksha Ring grace?" Lanfear sneered, even as the floor turned into sucking mud beneath her. "Not what I expect from the Dragon-Blooded, but clever." She gestured, and Egwene was slammed backwards through the wall into a window in the next room. Cracks spread rapidly across the curved pane.

He had to strike before Lanfear noticed he was even there. Grabbing the quarterstaff from his back, he leapt at her. Red coils of light gathered around either tip, and when he slammed the butt of it into her chest, a great crimson flash burst out from the point of impact. The Forsaken reeled dizzily.

At that moment the glass shattered, and Egwene toppled out the window. Air howled through it in her wake. "Faile, go get Egwene!" Faile sprouted wings even as she dove through the opening.

Lanfear was out of the muck, her clothing oddly pristine. Fire shot from her in every direction, and every inch of every surface in the room burst into flames. Mat dove for the door and found himself in the clear. He couldn't see Aviendha at all. The Forsaken strolled towards him through the flames.

As she approached, Perrin came crashing through the wall beside her, wearing his gigantic bull-man shape. His arms slapped together, axe meeting hammer in a shower of sparks as she vanished from his grasp. She rolled her eyes and turned to look down at him, frowning. Perrin gazed back up at her. She lifted one hand--

Mat slashed both hands past her head toward her shoulders and Lanfear flickered out like a guttering candle. "Now you're on my turf," he snarled.

"On your turf?" Perrin looked a little dazed.

"I took her ability to sleep," Mat explained quickly. "You all right?"

Perrin shook his head. "I swear I knew her. I think she knew me, too."

Mat threw up his hands. "Maybe. Everyone back to the Stone! She's back in the waking world!" He closed his eyes and let reality drag him away to Faile's side, where she lay in his bed.

*****

Rand sat bolt upright in bed. Last night had been impossibly muggy to the point that he had slept without even smallclothes under a single light sheet, in case a servant came in. Once again, someone was in his room. "Berelain?" he asked wearily.

A candle flared up. The woman who had lit it was more beautiful even than Berelain, with raven hair and ivory skin and a figure that.... Rand blinked. '"Selene? Are you all right? How did you come here?" She wore a white dress, but the silver belt she had been in last time was missing. "I feared you were trapped in Cairhien, or dead. I will find a Wise Woman for you. I hope that...do you know who the father is?" Her belly was softly rounded, surely over halfway along; the dress could not conceal that.

Selene smiled at him, but something in her eyes glittered, hard and cold. "The only man who could ever be worthy to father my child. You. I go where I wish to be, and I have come to claim what is mine."

"Selene, I...I am so sorry. I had no idea. You must have been terrified. You can stay in my apartments. As I said, you need a Wise Woman to be--"

"I do not need one of your primitive herbalists," she said, "and my name is not Selene. The name I chose for myself is Lanfear."

Rand stifled an inappropriate chuckle. Why would anyone call themselves that? "I would as soon joke about the Yozis as the Forsaken, Selene."

"We call ourselves the Princes of the Green Sun, Lews Therin. We are the Chosen of the Yozis, to free them and to rule this world forever. We will live forever. So can you."

He shook his head, denying; they had been companions, even lovers for a time. It was certainly possible that the baby was his. Had carrying the Dragon Reborn's child through a starving, war-torn land unhinged her?

On her forehead, a black mark opened like a third eye, and a single candle's worth of green fire flickered from its depths. White flame tinged with green shone out all around her, and white crystal spheres swirled through it like moons, reflecting and refracting the firelight. "Do you believe me now, Lews Therin?"

He began to back slowly away. If he could reach the Aidenweiss, he could have a weapon not even one of the Forsaken could match. But could he use it against a woman carrying his child? Before he could find out, he fetched up against a barrier. He looked around to see what it was but found nothing. An invisible wall lay between him and the Sword of the Sun. "Then you really are her. Lanfear. Do you mean to kill me, then?"

Her eyes widened in outrage. "Kill you? I mean to have you, Lews Therin! You were mine long before that pale-haired milksop stole you from me! Before you ever saw her. You loved me!"

"And you loved power!" The words fell from his lips before he knew what he was saying, but they felt like truth.

For a moment, she seemed taken aback. Then... "You have learned much that I would not have expected, but you are still fumbling your way through a maze in the dark. Some of us do want you dead. Sammael, Rahvin, Moghedien, perhaps others. But there are also those who could teach you. Ishamael could have taught you a great deal."

"Ishamael wanted me to kneel to him first, and I never will! Not to any of you! I mean to destroy all of you, and then the Yozis after you." It meant killing women, and likely killing his own child. Surely that was why she had allowed him to sire a baby on her, to use as leverage against him. Why had she not said as much?

"You can, you know. Kill them all if you like. The Yozis want nothing more than your submission. After that, they will allow you to kill all the rest of us, if you choose. But Asmodean can teach you, and I love you. Join with me, and we can rule together beneath the Yozis. Even Asmodean can be disposed of, once you know enough."

He shook his head fiercely. "The Yozis have to die. I don't believe you that they aren't trying to dominate the world again."

She took him by the arms. "Listen to me. We have that power, if you choose. But there is much you do not understand. Every Yozi you kill will join the ranks of the Neverborn. They cannot die, not the way humans can. They...linger, as ghosts of a sort. No matter how terrible you think the Yozis are, the Neverborn are worse. They want to destroy the world completely. And they, too, have Chosen now. One of them hates you in particular."

He knew at once who she meant. "Padan Fain."

She sat down on his bed as if weary. What did it mean for her to be with child? Did she have the weaknesses of a mortal woman in her condition? "The same. He was very badly mishandled, Lews Therin. The Ebon Dragon cares only for himself and his freedom, that much is true. He uses his followers up, and so he used Fain, until Fain chose a new master. I do not much care if you kill the Ebon Dragon; he could hardly be worse. But even he might simply leave, once freed, rather than risk being caged again, and you would not have yet another undead nightmare to deal with."

"Can you tell me what Fain is up to, then? Specifically, beyond ending the world. He swore to make me suffer. If you want my trust, start with that." He did not believe she would give him anything useful, but surely asking could not hurt.

"He has insinuated himself into the Illuminated. They accept him as Exalted, and he is leading them to the Two Rivers, which he will bleed dry. Is that plain enough?"

It made sense. He didn't want to believe her, but it did make sense. He was about to ask about the child when one of the Maidens from outside his door entered the room, followed by another, and another. They quickly surrounded him, yet none of them reacted to Lanfear's presence, and suddenly she drew in a hiss of breath.

If that were meant as a warning, it came too late. One of the Maidens opened her mouth, and something shot from it, slicing through his shoulder. He spun, but another Maiden behind him spat out another projectile--or was it the same one? He summoned his blade, but not before being pierced a third time, this one through his forearm.

"Decanthropes," Lanfear snarled. "I make no use of them. They steal the bodies of the unwary."

"You could perhaps--" He broke off; there was no reason for her to save him. But neither could he seem to block the thing they were spitting at him. Thom had saved him from one of these creatures, not long after they met, but Rand had no idea what he had done. He was faced with ten Aiel, and thus far the only thing that had saved him was that they meant to kill him using the parasite as a projectile; they had not so much as pulled out their spears.

"You will have to kill its host bodies," she said without concern. "They are already dead in every way that matters."

Was that true? He could not help but see the faces of the Maidens he was fighting; they seemed listless, but they did show bared teeth and narrowed eyes. At least half had managed to veil themselves. His sword sank into the chest of the nearest as the demon shot from her mouth. Her eyes focused on him, just for a moment, with an expression he thought was gratitude. Lanfear was a bloody liar; how could he have doubted it?

He heard rather than saw the Maiden behind him preparing to spit the demon at him again. Estimated the angle, and struck the woman in front of him hard in the gut with his hand. The decanthrope, too late to stop, slammed hard into the wall as its host body fell, and Rand leapt over her to slice the disgusting wormlike thing in half with his sword.

As it melted into goo, he turned back in hope of seeing the freed Maidens smile at him, then join him in fighting Lanfear. At least he saw relief. One Maiden did smile as she crumpled to the floor. Dead. They were all dead, and he had killed them.

"You did this," he growled.

Lanfear sighed at him and shook her head. "Decanthropes hold little interest for me and less use. I do not know who sent this one, but I certainly did not."

If all these Maidens had abandoned their post to attack him.... With one wary eye on Lanfear, he stepped around the bodies and opened the door to discover a scene straight from the Pit of Doom.

*****

Wind whistled through Egwene's ears as she fell. Tear lay below her, but only a blur of huts stood where the Stone should have. Where...? The wind spun her to face upward.

A white sphere like an immense moon hung in the sky above her. No moon, though, but a made thing. A building of some impossible sort; she could still see the joins of huge metal sections somehow welded together cleanly. It floated there, higher than the Stone was tall, untouched by gravity. A thing of the Age of Legends, it must have been re-created here by Lanfear, but for what purpose?

She was not going to have much time to guess. The ground was approaching quickly. Before she could strike the rooftops below, though, Faile swooped down and caught her, nearly colliding with the pavement as she fought to slow their fall without Egwene splattering from impact. "I don't know what that was for either," Faile said, "and I think I'd rather kill a Forsaken than find out. I felt her leave. Did you?"

Egwene nodded agreement to cover up that she would have given both her legs to find out what that building in the sky was and how it had been made. "Then let's get back to the Stone," she said. "Whatever Lanfear is doing, it can't be good."

Chapter Text

Lan took Elayne's hand as the Trollocs charged down the passageway. "Now!" Together they channeled Earth, and the Stone shook. More than a mere earthquake, great blocks of stone separated themselves from the walls and floors, shifting in and out, tripping and slamming the Shadowspawn as they forced their way onward. "Good soldier! Be ready to strike!" She was young, and sometimes frivolous, but she made him proud.

"Where are the Myrddraal?" she asked, raising her mace. "There are too many Trollocs to be here without a Fade."

"Several Fades," Lan agreed. "The Shadow has found some new trick. Remember it, but focus on the task at hand." The first of the Trollocs closed with them, and Lan fell into the steps of swordplay. The Aiel were not wrong to call battle a dance, grim work though it was.

A Trolloc fell back to escape his blade, and Elayne brought her mace up between its legs. Even knowing exactly what it was, Lan winced at the monster's howl of pain. He ran it through, ending its suffering. "Where is Egwene? We could use her help."

"She went into the Wyld to help Mat. There's another front to this fight, I think." A knot of Trollocs closed with her, forcing her to use the Power to speed her motions, but she thrashed them without further difficulty, bashing their heads in one by one.

"Trollocs are prone to go off by themselves," Lan said thoughtfully, "and these may have been that. But if they were hunting someone in particular, they might do the same."

"Maybe that's a deliberate tactic," Elayne said. "If what you want is to hunt down all the people in a building, Trollocs will do exactly what you need without having to be persuaded. And you could probably get them to find someone in particular with a little guidance."

Insightful. Good kid. "Normally, a Fade would do that. A Forsaken could, too. But where are either today?"

Down the hallway, Galad appeared, back to back with his aunt. Moiraine had found herself a quarterstaff. Lan let a smile flicker across his face. It was good to see her getting her hands dirty. "Moiraine! Come help us solve a puzzle!"

"I've seen no Myrddraal either," she said after a quick explanation. "That is a puzzle. Who is in command?" She began to say something else, but a rumble drowned her out.

Far down the hallway, a pair of Trollocs slammed open a door. These were different, though: bulkier, more lightly armored, and they ran almost on all fours, their arms slapping at the ground. They looked like huge toad-men leaping forward. Galad, of all people, took a sharp breath. "Dragons watch over us! Grolm!"

They weren't--no, he was right. Their foreheads bore a third eye like the Seanchan beasts. "Aginor," Moiraine breathed. "He's creating new Trolloc breeds."

"They are almost on us," Lan warned. "Shall we stop them?"

"Someone has to," Elayne said. "Galad, let us show what we can do." She had just finished speaking when the monstrosities reached them; she slammed her mace into the exposed throat of the nearer one.

"Rarely are your proposals so agreeable, sister." He flashed backwards, avoiding the giant Trolloc's fist, then attempted to drive one of his blades into the being's third eye. Unintelligent though it might be, its sense of self-preservation kicked in, and its next swing sent him flying into the wall. He rebounded at once, however, and this time his sword struck true. His Trolloc collapsed with a groan.

Galad turned to face the other one, which still seemed to menace his sister. No sooner had he done so, however, than she struck out hard enough to shatter the grolm-Trolloc's skullcap, and it, too, went down. "Everything has a weakness," she said. "When Aginor blended them with humans he thinned out the skull."

"Good observation," Moiraine said. "Now, let us find more of them, or more survivors, before the Stone falls for the second time." Gathered in a little knot, they hurried off down the passageway. Lan could only hope her prediction was no prophecy.

*****

"Rally to the Stone!" Mat shouted. "All you bloody lords, rally already!" The lords and the Defenders with them kept right on running away, scurrying forward to clear the next intersection. He glanced at Berelain. She was a lady, of a sort, the First Lady, even. "What are you waiting for?" he asked her.

"You cannot seriously think they will rally for me?" She did sound certain, and her eyes were wide.

Sure, Mayene was their enemy, but Trollocs didn't care about any of that. "Try it and see," he said curtly.

With a dismissive sniff, Berelain pulled in the One Power until she shone like a golden sunset and raised her curved pirate sword (that was what it looked like to him). Then she shouted, "Rally to the Stone! Against the Shadow, Mayene stands with Tear!"

The handful of lords murmured among themselves, but the ragtag band of Defenders they had been fleeing with stopped, slammed gauntlet on gauntlet, and cheered. "Tear stands with Mayene against the Shadow! Rally to the Stone!" Then they formed up with the First at the center and a line of guards separating her from the Tairen lords. "Orders?" asked the commander.

"The Trollocs have taken the Heart," Mat said, "but they don't understand it's a nightmare to defend conventionally. The only hope they have is to scatter and hide among the columns. That's the good news; the bad is that they're likely to do as much on instinct. They've got three or four of those juggernaut grolm-Trollocs with them. We have to take those out, and fast, or they'll boot us all the way into the harbor. Hold formation and make them come to us till they run out of heavies. Then we can hunt down the rest. Stay in groups of three or four even then! Don't try to take down a Trolloc on your own, and if you see someone get separated, go support him!"

The lords still looked annoyed, but the commander saluted Mat fist to chest. Berelain gave him a look with a facial expression that somehow conveyed, It only worked because I channeled.

Mat shrugged. So channel some more. He drew on the One Power himself, and streamers of red curled down around the company. He wasn't even sure what he had done, besides make them fight better; it was all instinct. "Dovie'andi se tovya saghain!" He kicked open the door. "The Stone stands!"

*****

Egwene gritted her teeth and stood her ground. These creatures were not Seanchan; they were Trollocs created from Seanchan animals by a Forsaken. That was more than enough to be afraid of. She sent a huge burst of Earth down the passage, collapsing stone around the snarling beasts until the air was crushed from their lungs and the blood from their hearts. The Stone would need repairs. But later.

"That was very fierce of you," Faile said. "I'm impressed and a little scared."

Egwene allowed herself to enjoy the warm glow of the compliment for a moment. "Really, what else can you do with Trollocs? Besides, I'm sure you have something just as effective."

"Not at range like that." Faile grinned from ear to ear. "If you have to create carnage, Trollocs are the best target!"

No, Egwene told herself as the blood all rushed to her pussy. This is not the time. Stay on target. "Those three-eyed faces remind me of some other folks I hate. As bad as the Shadow, in their own way."

"Seanchan? Rumors of them are all along the coast from Saldaea to Mayene. I almost wish we had a good port. Let them try attacking the Borderlands and see who wins."

Egwene shook her head. "I understand you, but you don't understand the Seanchan. In a way, Trollocs are easy. Disorganized and none too smart."

To her surprise, Faile nodded and said, "Fair. This lot seems more cunning than usual, though, and I haven't seen any Fades. Have you?"

"Not a one." Egwene skirted them around a murderhole; no point having boiling oil dropped on them by mistake. "Maybe they're--"

A scrabbling, scratching sound came from above and behind them. Before she had even fully turned around, Trollocs began dropping from the hole in the ceiling, landing catlike despite their heavy armor. These were-- "Blood and ashes, what next?" They had the same three eyes as the grolm, but were built more lightly, with sharp claws on their hands. "Have a care, Faile, torm are smart!" She began flinging explosive bursts of rock at them. "I think we just found out who's directing the battle!"

"Aginor bred smart Trollocs?!" Faile fiddled with a brace of knives, then put them away. "Well, he learns from his mistakes, I guess. Here, let me tackle a few." A falcon shot forward, clawing at Trolloc eyes. They grabbed at it; it became a porcupine. They recoiled and dropped it; it was a rearing stallion, kicking furiously. They tried to stab it in the chest; Faile leapt onto the nearest back as herself and jammed knives into the broad neck. "There. Like my...my style?" Faile wavered and went to her knees, clutching her head. "Aaagh! What just happened to me?"

Egwene lobbed flows of Earth at the last couple of Trollocs and grabbed Faile by the hand, pulling her away. "What's the matter? Did they hurt you?"

"Ahh, shit! I don't know! Everything sounds wrong and my head hurts."

Egwene glanced back; the last two Trollocs were dead or dying. If this was the usual result, the "improved" Trollocs weren't nearly good enough. "Let me see your head. Maybe I can help."

Reluctantly, Faile let Egwene peel her left hand away. For a moment Egwene thought a Trolloc had severed her ear; but there was no bloody mess, only smooth skin right up to the ear hole. "Here, let me see...." The right ear was the same. "Faile? I don't think this is an injury. It looks the way a bird's ears look under the feathers."

Faile gave her a pained look. "Like Perrin's eyes. I guess it could be worse. What happened? I can't make them grow back!"

"I don't know," Egwene told her. "You can cover them with your hair, I guess, but right now...."

Faile nodded angrily. "Right now we fight."

*****

Nynaeve peeked around the corner. The torm-Trolloc was snarling orders to the others, primarily in the guttural Trolloc language, though it finished with, "Tai'shar Dha'vol! Tai'shar Shayol Ghul!"

She pulled away and scuttled back to the knot of waiting Defenders. "They're about to assault the armory. They didn't see me. We can hit them from behind."

"Juilin," Thom said, "take your half right. There's a service hallway that crosses this one just before the armory. Hurry! Nynaeve, hold tight just a moment longer and wait for me." He vanished into the stairwell.

"What is the gleeman up to?" Carlomin whispered. Nynaeve made a throat-cutting gesture and covered her mouth.

A few minutes later, Thom's voice rang out from above a murderhole several yards beyond the Trollocs' position. The Trollocs snarled but were held back by their leader, who gave an expressive warning of the dangers of boiling pitch. Before he was even done, red shafts of the One Power shot down and pierced the floor. The ground rumbled. The Trollocs had just begun to back away when tentacles of lava shot from the floor and began lashing at them.

"Go!" Nynaeve shouted. "Press them up against those arms!" Suiting actions to words, she charged forward with her staff.

The torm-Trolloc had a huge quarterstaff of its own, and it lunged to meet her, screaming like an angry cat. Nynaeve had an answer to that, now. She bellowed back, charging her fury with a weave of Wood. The Trolloc's staff shattered into a million splinters. Half a second later, the butt-end of hers struck straight through its third eye and into the monster's brain. "You've got a lot to answer for, Aginor," she muttered, thinking of Grimalkin, "and I'm going to rip those answers out of you."

*****

Perrin came round the corner and found himself in front of a mixed group of Aiel and Defenders carving up the last remnants of a group of Trollocs. "I see you, Perrin," Aviendha called out. "We did not save you a dance partner."

"There are plenty more," he told her. "They've been trying to get at the armories and the Great Holding, and they've taken most of the exits. Two more, and we won't have a way out. We'd essentially be under siege."

"What is the most important of these sites, blacksmith?" Rhuarc called out. "We will take and hold it."

"If we have the main armory," Perrin said, "the Trollocs won't be able to hold so many entrances for long. We can launch an assault from it at any gate and wear down any blocking force. If the Trollocs were to take it, though, they'd be near-impossible to root out, even with the One Power."

"Will you favor us, blacksmith?" Rhuarc asked.

Perrin nodded. "I will fight beside you, and I believe I can do something more." Most often, he unleashed the One Power within himself to transform, but he believed he could see a way to treat a military command as part of himself. Silver streamers erupted from him, shining brightly enough for all to see, and the glowing image of a bull surrounded the whole unit, Tairen and Aiel alike. "The Stone still stands!" That field should guard them and protect them from any Trolloc counterattack.

Rhuarc, of all people, lifted his spear, and responded, "The Stone stands!" The Tairens gave him a strange look, but they called it back to him and Perrin.

High Lord Weiramon emerged from the back, his armor actually bloody for once. "It's time for the pipers to play the dance," he said uncertainly.

Several Aielmen chuckled, but Rhuarc shushed them and gravely said, "Indeed, Weiramon Saniago. Indeed it is. All, sing!" With Rhuarc, Perrin, and Aviendha in the vanguard, they all trotted off in the general direction of the main entrance, singing the battle hymn "Wash the Spears". At least with everyone at once, Perrin didn't sound so much like a frog.

*****

Rand nearly stumbled over the bodies of the two remaining Maidens outside his door. Beyond them, the corpses of Defenders littered the floor. A new set of Defenders, perhaps a dozen, was locked in brutal combat with four Trollocs--no, five. The last Trolloc stood somewhat aside from the fight. Leaner than the others, it bore a beaked reptilian face and three eyes, resembling a torm. Aginor must have begun a new series of experiments.

Seeing him, the strange Trolloc chuckled and drew a black blade like the ones Rand had only ever seen Fades wielding. "You no recognize," it said in Andoran, distorted by its beak. "Narg smartest of all! Narg is new tem-plate for Trolloc commander."

Narg? He had fought a wolf-headed Trolloc by that name on Winternight, the only one that had ever spoken in a language besides the guttural Trolloc tongue. "I killed Narg," he said dismissively.

"Aginor save! Made Narg new!" As far as Rand knew, Narg had been dead by the time Aginor was free, but it would be just like Aginor to hide Ishamael's involvement from the Trolloc. The man was arrogant beyond belief. "Now you die!" Narg lunged, blade at the ready.

Trollocs normally needed little skill with their weapons, built as large and muscular as any Ogier. This new incarnation of Narg was different. It knew the basic sword forms and at least some of the intermediate ones, countering Rand at every turn even with Rand wielding his sunfire blade. The Aidenweiss would have done for him in an instant, but Rand would have to retrieve it first, leaving him open.

For a Trolloc, Narg was brilliant, but compared to a human he still seemed somewhat dim, though Rand realized it might be his mouth shape that interfered with his speech. His eagerness betrayed that his bloodlust, too, was intact, only a little tempered by his improved cunning. Slowly the fight turned in Rand's favor--at which point Narg barked out an order, and three surviving Trollocs surrounded Rand. Narg backed out of the fight, saving his own hide. Rand supposed that, too, was a sign of intelligence, in its way.

Still, with Narg out of the fight, even three Trollocs were not so bad, which said something worrisome about Aginor's new ideas. His sword parried their strikes almost without thought, and the moment he had breath to spare, he spun and cut through all three throats at once. Trolloc helmets never joined well to their body armor, perhaps simply because it was so shoddily made.

There was no sign of Narg. The Defenders were likewise dead or fled. A drumbeat rose somewhere in the distance. Rand hurried back into his apartments, only to find Lanfear holding the Aidenweiss. "You are a fool," she said. "If I wanted you dead, you would have been the moment you turned your back."

She could kill him in an instant, with that sword; she must be telling the truth, at least in part. "You just made yourself a target for every other Forsaken, even if they don't think you've changed sides, and probably for every one of the Exalted. Maybe you can take each of us out at a time, but what if an army comes hunting you?" If he tried to fight her, he would die, or be bound to her side. Guile was his only chance.

"With this blade? I might take the chance, Lews Therin. The Aidenweiss could cut down all the Incarnae, even the Unconquered Sun. It might well end the Yozis. I could be unquestioned lord over all of Creation, Lews Therin." She held the blade up so that it seemed to split her face down the center.

Now what? "All right," he said. "I'll go clear the Stone of Shadowspawn on my own. I know better than to expect help from you."

He turned, and immediately Lanfear made a small motion forward. He did mean something to her. The Aidenweiss floated toward him. "Just take it. I want you alive, to rule beside me. Not butchered by Trollocs with your petty little girls weeping for you. Remember what I sacrifice to keep you alive."

He nodded, and took it. "I will."

He had no sooner stepped outside than he saw something new: a thin, pale man with bat wings that almost formed a cloak around him. A Draghkar, the tales called them. From the look of it, he thought it might have been another experimental Trolloc, long ago. He had never encountered one, but Moiraine had warned him about its song, and its soul-devouring kiss. Rather than try to close with it, he flung a searing blast of sunfire from the Aidenweiss. The creature went down before it had a chance to ensnare his mind.

The drumbeat continued, and now he heard a rhythmic clash of metal every tenth beat, too regular to be a swordfight. A mournful keening rose on the wind, setting his nerves on edge. It had nothing to do with the Draghkar, then. Rather than wait, he raced on down the corridor.

Where he found Shadowspawn, he slew them, sending arcs and beams of light from his blade, killing too quickly for them to close with him. Still, the drumbeat grew nearer, as if something hunted him. The keening cry sent even Aiel fleeing in terror. Once he saw Moiraine and Galad fighting together down a long collonade, but Trollocs forced them down a crossing corridor, and when he reached the spot there was no sign of them.

He was still trying to work out some method of killing that would spread through all the Shadowspawn in the Stone when a woman stepped out in front of him, darker than anyone he had ever seen even in Falme and carrying a twin pair of giant curved blades. She spoke, but not in any language he understood, and came at him, blades whirling.

From the start she had him on the back foot, striking at incredible speed, two swords to his one. The Aidenweiss filled him with the One Power till he was ready to burst, but none of the weaves he knew were enough of an outlet for it. He struck wildly, defended desperately, yet for all that he could barely hold her off, let alone get through her wall of steel. The light of the Unconquered Sun shone all around him; he could feel it strengthening him and weakening her. Yet he knew so little, and her skill and power were so great, that even that barely kept him alive.

She launched into a variant of Boar Rushes Down the Mountain, blades flying at him like a volley of arrows. The Aidenweiss held against them easily, but he was driven to his knees. Her strikes came so close to cutting off his head that he could see the extra joints in her fingers up close. The jingling of the silver bells in her hair nearly drowned out the drums.

The song of the One Power rose up in him then and drowned out thought. The Aidenweiss flickered back and forth, not trailing but being pulled by streamers of Essence that left golden slash marks in the air until there were too many slashes for the blade to follow, until the strikes and blocks were happening even in the absence of the sword that should be making them. The strange woman's blades shattered on the streaks of sunfire. Cuts appeared as if from nowhere on her steel-hard skin. Black blood fountained from her neck and only then did he notice her head was off, rolling on the floor in the thicket of her hair.

He roved through the Stone, afterwards, striking, killing Trollocs, killing Shadowspawn, killing anything that moved, and then Nynaeve was in front of him as his blade arced down and with an effort of will like lifting a mountain he stopped with the Aidenweiss an inch from her nose. "Rand," she said. Rand was his name. He had done this once before, he thought, but this time had been worse. "Rand, it's done. The battle's over."

"The battle's never over," he said without thought, and realized he was quoting Padan Fain, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I understand."

Rand pulled his gaze away from her, and it fell on the body of a dark-haired girl, little more than a child. She lay sprawled on her back, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, blood reddening the bosom of her dress. Sadly, he bent to brush strands of hair from her face. Light, she's only a child. He could not recall how she had gotten there. A Trolloc. It had to be. I didn't kill her. Did I? He remembered only targets, only striking out at every living thing that crossed his path. "Nynaeve! She needs Healing, now!"

"Rand." Nynaeve's voice was soft and sad. "She's dead, Rand. I can't Heal that."

"Did I...no. No. I can't have." The One Power still raged through him. "I...I bring destruction wherever I go. It's my fault. Even if I didn't kill her myself, I killed her."

"No, Rand. I saw you. You killed Shadowspawn. Everyone still alive, you saved." She bent over the girl. "I'll see to her."

"Destruction," he said harshly, digging his nails into his palms. "But also creation." His power was Light. His Power was life. He bathed the child in it. "Breathe. Live. I'm so sorry. It's going to be okay. You're going to--" Nothing. Her lungs needed to breathe. Her heart needed to beat. He pumped them with the flows, like bellows at a hearthfire. "I can do this. I'm so sorry. I can do anything!" Blood gushed out of her wounds as he squeezed, further soaking her clothes. No other movement. No life. Nothing.

Nynaeve put a hand on his shoulder. "You can't Heal death, Rand. Nobody can."

"But I have to take it back," he said in a small voice. "It's my fault she's dead."

Nynaeve made as if to hug him, and he threw back his head and screamed. Golden sunfire curled around him in braided threads. The girl's body was consumed in an instant, and from there the fire spread, turning corpses, and only corpses, into thin grey ash that blew away in the breeze.

Rand sank to the ground. Slowly his screams became sobs, then faded to a steady stream of tears leaking from his eyes. "I'm going to my rooms," he said softly. "At least I've helped to clear away the dead."

He had gone perhaps two paces when Moiraine appeared from a servant's stairwell, flanked by Galad and Elayne. "Rand," she called after him, "we must talk."

"It can wait," Rand told her, his voice already rough from weeping. She began to protest, but he said, harshly, "If Tarmon Gaidon comes, drown the Dark One in my sorrows. Tell him I'll join him soon enough."

Chapter Text

Egwene pulled her chair up to the circle. Her apartments had a sitting room with an incongruous fireplace that she thought had last been used sometime during the Trolloc Wars. "During the attack, Chesmal and Joiya vanished. They may be dead, or escaped, or still here in disguise. We aren't going to have any further chances at questioning them, so we need an alternative."

"And you've brought me into this why, exactly?" Mat asked, taking a gulp of his wine.

"Because you and I, and all three of our Lunars, have all been practicing in the World of Dreams," Egwene told him. She took a smaller sip. "My plan is to investigate Tanchico there first. Then, if we don't find anything, we can at least try to find evidence of Mazrim Taim in Saldaea."

"That, I can help with," Faile said, fiddling with her hair. She had grown it longer to hide her missing ears, but seemed unable to keep her hands out of it. "I know which way they'd have been taking him for trial." She seemed uncharacteristically hunched, as if hiding or ashamed. It wasn't as if she had done anything wrong.

"Another good reason to have you along," Egwene said. "It can't hurt to have a chance for the rest of us to get to know you better, either." The Saldaean girl was a whirlwind of chaos and violence, though she at least seemed to know when violence was called for. Egwene had no idea why that made her so desperate to get under Faile's skirts, but there it was. And she did hope the others got to be better friends with Faile, too.

Perrin didn't seem to notice the way she looked at Faile. "As long as it doesn't interfere with my returning to the Two Rivers," he said. "I understand that most of us can't go, but rumor says the Illuminated are causing trouble looking for more Dragon-Blooded there. At least one of us needs to take care of that. Worse, Rand says he's heard Fain is with them."

"Padan Fain? Ordeith?" Faile made a disgusted sound. "If there was ever proof that we're Anathema after all, that man is it. He's foul! You'd think they could see through him if there was any truth to their beliefs."

"He's a Darkfriend," Mat agreed, "and something worse." He turned to Aviendha, who seemed confused. "He's some sort of death-Exalted. Moiraine thinks that instead of freeing the Yozis, he just wants to kill everything."

"Why has no one killed him?" Aviendha asked. Direct and to the point.

"Because we've only met him under two circumstances," Perrin said. "Hiding what he is, or too powerful for us to kill. If I meet him in the Two Rivers, I'll send him to the grave he loves so much."

Aviendha gave him a solemn nod. "Should I encounter him for any reason, I will wake him from the dream screaming."

"Hear, hear," Faile said, and lifted a small cup of Aiel oosquai.

"When do we get started?" Mat wanted to know.

"We've mostly been doing our dream exploration at night," Egwene said, "but this needs to hurry along. I say we arrange some pallets and get to sleep."

"That much of a rush?" Perrin asked. "If that's what it takes, then."

Perrin and Faile curled up in the bed together, to Egwene's immense disappointment. It was even her bed! She, Aviendha, and Mat made piles of blankets and pillows on the floor. Helpfully, Mat could judge the time and wake himself without any need for candles and such, so it was his job to ensure that they didn't oversleep.

Egwene came to in bed, snuggled together with Faile. Faile either didn't notice, or perhaps didn't care; after all, Egwene was much smaller than Perrin. Before either of them had a chance to do or say anything about it, Perrin was on the other side of Faile, rolling over to put his arms around her.

Faile put her hand to her mouth, but couldn't quite stifle a giggle. "It is my bed," Egwene said, trying to keep a straight face herself. Another pair of arms appeared around her and just as suddenly dropped away as Mat fell to the floor with a cry.

"Wetlanders," Aviendha said dismissively from her blankets on the floor. She laughed too, though, so it must have been affectionate. Probably.

"Very well," Egwene said, sitting up and opening the book to the sketch of the Panarch's palace. "Tanchico." Everyone came around to get a good look.

"We shouldn't waste time," Perrin said. "Let's be sure we have the right place in our minds and go."

"You're no fun," Faile said, poking him in the ribs.

"The last time we tried to have fun here, people died." Well, that was true, though they had been in the Wyld as much for practice as for fun. Also, Perrin didn't seem to have caught what Faile meant by fun, having missed the wink she'd given Egwene. Egwene's stomach was suddenly full of butterflies, which was nonsense; Faile was far from the first person, or even first girl, Egwene had slept with.

The world shivered, and they were all somewhere else, crowded together at the feet of a massive skeleton that looked somewhat like a gigantic boar with four eyes. No, the second pair of holes were for tusks, Egwene decided, and large ones. Definitely a giant boar.

There was a sense of strangeness in the room, even apart from being in the Wyld. "There are ter'angreal here," she said, "and maybe even angreal. The thing the Black Ajah is looking for could be here, so let's look around first before we go further."

The outer walls of the great hall they had arrived in were dominated by more skeletons. Each had been carefully wired together to replace the ligaments. There was a creature that reminded Egwene of a deer or a cow, but stretched out several paces high as if to feed on the leaves of trees. Another seemed to have had bones of stone; it stood on two legs, but bent over like a bird. Its arms were tiny and two-fingered, but its face was dominated by a maw of slicing teeth. Against yet another wall was a creature built like a huge, muscular horse, but with three toes on each foot and a huge pair of horns on its nose. The horns were not bone, for the most part; there were strong nubs underneath, but the main surface looked and felt like rough fingernails.

Most of the artifacts were in cases further away from the walls. They were roped off, but no one was there to stop the group from going around or over. To Egwene's perception, the majority of them were entirely mundane, though several were plainly works of art. Others looked as if they might be valuable memories of a forgotten history. What was the meaning of a three-pointed star in a circle, shiny but too soft and scarred to be real metal? Why did it radiate vanity? But there was no power behind it.

Not far from the star, she found a collar made from dull metal that was not quite iron. Traceries along the surface felt like a language, but not one she could read herself. It felt like cleverness, like intrigue. Among a group of figurines shaped like women, only one had a slot with a hearthstone, but one that shone with brilliant power. Hanging in a neglected weapons rack was a very ordinary sword; it took three glances to realize her eyes were sliding away from it again and again. Maybe it was meant for carrying into places where swords weren't allowed. That would be useful for assassins. Wait, what would be useful again?

"Hey!" Mat held up a collar and began waving it around. "These look like the ones the Seanchan used on Fain!"

Perrin hurried over. "You think the Seanchan left them here, or have they been here the whole time?"

"Hard to say," Mat muttered. "They might not even be here in the real world. The longer we stay, the more things could change."

"It seems like a reasonable target for the Black Ajah. They could control Rand or any Celestial Exalt with it," Egwene said thoughtfully. "Even one of the Forsaken."

"Can we take it out of the dream?" Faile asked.

"Maybe if we were here in our real bodies," Mat said, "but we're just dreaming. And it still would just be a copy. Liandrin could still get the ones in ths real world."

"I have not found anything else this obviously useful to Shadowrunners," Aviendha said. "If we think this is the trap, should we explore Saldaea?"

"I'm for that," Faile spoke up. "Everybody, come with me." She held out her hands for the others to take hold. The hills of Tanchico fluttered out of existence, replaced by a forest filled with towering pines and firs. "We're not far from the road from Maradon. Time to scout around for a camp."

"Egwene, look out!" Mat charged straight for her, flinging a knife that flew past her left ear. "Blood and ashes, I swear it's not me!"

"Of course I'm me," said a voice from behind Egwene as she spun to look. "I'm Mat Cauthon, and you're all bloody fakes! What are you, some kind of Shadowspawn?" A second Mat came into view, this one haggard, still carrying the dagger from Shadar Logoth. Even as Egwene spotted him, though, he changed, skin bubbling a shifting, into a duplicate of her. Not quite a duplicate; this Egwene still wore a braid and Two Rivers woolens. She bore a snarl of contempt on her face.

Instinctively, Egwene recoiled from her, lashing out with her thoughts. This creature, whatever it was, was not her. Not real. But even as the idea formed in her mind, Egwene felt her own self grow tenuous. Muzzily she looked down to see herself fading away, as if the creature were doing to her what her mind was trying to do to it. "No!" She refocused on herself. She was the real one here.

No sooner had she thought it, though, than the thing with her face was on her, grappling with her. It didn't even seem to want to harm her, only to hold her gaze, but whenever she looked at it, she felt that instinctive revulsion, and when she did, she began to fade again. Desperately she closed her eyes, but then its hands went to her throat.

"Dance with me, Shadowspawn!" Aviendha slammed into the creature and knocked it away. Egwene opened her eyes to see Aviendha grappling with a version of herself in robes and shawl and jewelry rather than cadin'sor. Now it was Aviendha who began to vanish.

The creature flickered through two other images as well: Perrin, snarling with his axe out, and Faile, wearing strange rich robes and a crown with an off-center gap. The two were trying to work out how to attack it without getting in Aviendha's way. Just looking at it, though, seemed to be affecting them even without a fight.

As Aviendha tried to slit its throat with her belt knife, it vanished from beneath her to leave her sprawled on the ground and reappeared just in front of Faile. Perrin lunged, his hammer coming down, but the haft of his own axe blocked him. Egwene grabbed it from behind, hoping to hold it still, but it writhed in her arms and faced her, snarling. She wasn't certain how it had managed to turn around so easily until she saw her own arms against it and realized how transparent and insubstantial she was becoming. All of them were fading, and none of their attacks were doing any serious harm to their enemy.

"Egwene!" Mat yelled, trying to draw its attention with knives. "Egwene! Where are you?" Had she faded so completely that he couldn't see her at all?

"Mat!" she called back. "I'm here!" Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. They were being fools, she realized. They were trying to fight this creature, whatever it was, like a Shadowspawn in the real world, when it and they had the ability, however limited, to reshape reality here. She drew on the One Power, expecting it to feel as thin and misty as she did. Instead it roared into her like water poured into a parchment bag barely strong enough to hold it. She could see its light shining right through her faint body. I am real. I am here. "Perrin! Mat!" She was a little louder now. "Hold onto yourselves, all of you! Don't let it make you fade!"

She saw Perrin shining silvery light. The crescent moon flashed on his forehead and was gone, leaving him more solid than he had been. Faile and Aviendha fumbled with the One Power trying to copy him and, apparently, failed. For Mat's part, he seemed to have no idea what they had done. All three grew mistier.

"Get behind me," said an imperious voice. "Children, all of you, playing where you ought not." Egwene went stiff with shock. Who would talk to a stranger like that, and why was she here? She turned to look, though, and found an older woman facing away from her, dressed in a bulky dress and shawl and several silver bracelets. "As long as you let yourself be aware of a doppelganger, it will continue to weaken you until you vanish."

Whatever defenses she had, the "doppelganger" must have known itself unable to pierce them. Seeing them staring at the woman's back, it sent itself there to appear right behind her. Egwene was still in the process of looking away when dozens of silver spikes shone from the woman's back, became solid, and impaled the creature. It flailed frantically as the stranger turned to face them, hiding it behind herself. "Doppelgangers are not the worst dangers of the Unseen World, but they are very hard to fight. You did not die, so you might have done worse." The woman adjusted her dress, incidentally revealing that the creature was gone.

Aviendha's tone sounded pained as she said, "This is Amys, Wise One of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel."

"Are these your wetlander friends, Aviendha? Well, perhaps it is best that we meet. Two other Lunars, I see. One of the Dragons' Blood. And a Pattern Tangler, who certainly does not belong in the dream but who has managed not to die." She shook her head dismissively at Mat, then turned to Perrin and Faile. "Aviendha must return to the Three-Fold Land. You should come with her. Do you know that the Wyld powers within you will twist your bodies and minds? I see it has begun already."

Faile's hands went to the sides of her head without thought. "And you know how to do something about it?"

"Moiraine spoke of elder Lunars and some sort of tattoos," Perrin said, "but the one she found refused to help me."

A hollow circle flared on Amys' forehead, and silver markings on her body flared with it. Egwene could see lines of something like script crossing her forehead near the caste mark, and something sinuous on her hands, but if there was more, it was hidden beneath her robes. "I would not call myself an elder, but in the Three-Fold Land we have preserved this art. What is that you have around your neck, Dragon-Blood?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Verin Sedai gave it to me, but she simply said it made it easier to reach the dream world. There was someone I met who called it a Ring Grace, but I don't know what that is." She was not about to admit it had been Lanfear.

"If you will come with your friends, we can teach you a little as well," Amys said.

"Well, what about me?" Mat called out. "What's a Pattern Tangler? A Sidereal? Mars said I didn't have much power here either, but at least she offered to help."

"Then let her help you," Amys muttered. "There have been no Pattern Tanglers in the Three-Fold Land for a thousand years, and we are the better for it. But the rest of you...you must come to me at Cold Rocks Hold."

"If you can help me, I'll be happy to come," Faile said, sounding entirely sour about it. But then perhaps it was about her situation rather than the prospect of a journey into the Aiel Waste.

"I had meant to go home to the Two Rivers," Perrin said. He sounded no more pleased than Faile.

"If you return to your Two Rivers hold," Amys warned him, "without the tattoos and more training, everyone there will likely die at your hand. Assuming you still have hands by then."

"I suppose I'm sold," Perrin sighed. "We will keep you company, Aviendha. Egwene, are you coming with us, then?"

"I suppose I had better." Where else was she going to learn about the World of Dreams?

*****

"Rand," Moiraine said urgently, "it's good to see you out and about."

He had been confined to his room for well over a day doing little more than mourning Alsera. Finally hunger had gotten the better of him. "I'm looking for a servant, I guess. I would just go to the kitchens, but that would be beneath the dignity of the Dragon Reborn, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Moiraine agreed, trying to sound neutral about that. "Rand, someone has deceived you."

He tilted his head to study her expression. "And you know this how, exactly? I know you can't lie, but you can be mistaken."

Moiraine gave him a pained frown. "Would that I knew. I see it in your face, your eyes, your stance. Someone has robbed you of a memory. Who, I cannot say. The Black Ajah, the Forsaken, Padan Fain...someone."

"You're sure this isn't something I'm making you believe by accident?" She nodded once, firmly. "Then we need to find out what it is. Have you forgotten anything? I'm sure your defenses are at least as good as mine, from experience if nothing else."

She closed her eyes. "A moment. The simplest way to do this is to probe my own memories. We came to find you in Emond's Field. We fled from the Trollocs and were separated. We found you and Mat again in Caemlyn at an inn. Wait. You were in the company of a Dragon King. When did Loial leave us?"

"I don't remember any Dragon King named Loial...son of Arent, son of Halan. But I should, shouldn't I, because you didn't tell me his ancestors." Someone had reached in and wiped his mind clean of another person. A friend, he thought.

"You should. Good, Rand. Keep trying. He must be important to us. Loial traveled with Lan, Perrin, and I when we were chasing after you to the Stone. He stopped at an inn with us and...and I asked him not to join in the battle, for his own safety."

"He never joined us here," Rand said. "One of us should have gone to get him, or he should have come to find us after the Stone fell. But we haven't, because none of us have remembered he was there. And he hasn't, because someone's captured him. It's the only thing that makes sense. Could the Elders have hauled him back to the stedding? He was always worried about that."

"They might have taken such an action, but not erased all our memories, Rand. They do not have that power. It must have been the Forsaken, or some other Exalted hostile to us."

Rand looked around for a chair or even a bench to sit on, but the hallway had none. "So we need to find Loial, but how? I know you must have fingers in every pie around here, but we need to move quickly."

"I cannot summon information with the One Power," Moiraine said, "except for certain specifics. But I know a man who can."

There was no need for a seat yet after all. Moiraine bustled off down the hall toward Thom's narrow little apartments--they had classed him with the servants and he seemed pleased enough with it--and Rand had to hurry even though his legs were much longer. It was the work of minutes to explain to Thom what had happened. Alarm flashed across the gleeman's face. "We can't leave a Dragon King to the Forsaken," he muttered, and he summoned a tiny spider from his sleeve. "Where's Loial son of Arent son of Halan?" he asked.

Rand watched the spider in horrified amazement as it scuttled into Thom's sleeve again and back out. It was no ordinary bug; indeed it seemed to be made of crystal. "Loial son of Arent son of Halan is in the Stone of Tear." Thom opened his mouth to make the obvious protest, but the spider added, "Sub-basement twelve."

"What do you mean 'sub-basement twelve'?" Thom asked instead. "The Stone of Tear only has two basements, one for storage and one for the dumbwaiter gears."

"There are twelve floors below that," the spider said. "They were sealed off by...information redacted. They can be accessed through...information redacted. The lowest appears to be a slightly modified natural limestone cavern."

"Who...'redacted'...this information?" Moiraine asked, but the spider did not respond until Thom repeated the question.

"Jupiter, Maiden of Secrets."

Thom put his head in his hands. "Blood and ashes, Jupiter! I'm one of your Chosen and I need to know this! Would you two give me a moment alone?"

Moiraine tugged on Rand's sleeve, and they stood outside Thom's door for several minutes. Finally Thom came out as well. "Jupiter took some persuading. She didn't hide the information and won't tell me who did, but she did tell me where to find the entrance."

"Who told the spider that Jupiter did it?" Rand asked.

"Information straight from the Loom of Fate," Thom explained, his voice quivering. "Someone had to impersonate one of the Maidens of Fate, perfectly, godly powers and all, to hide that information. And if someone can accomplish that...Light, boy, I wonder if they can be beaten at all."

"A Forsaken?" Rand suggested.

Thom shook his head. "It must be. Light only knows which one. Moghedien, perhaps. Sounds like her style. Then again, maybe that tells us it's not her."

Moiraine sighed. "We will know when we know. For now, let us find Loial."

*****

For this, Sammael had to work the forge himself, and he was not pleased. Green flames leapt with every hammerblow. Little by little, he shaped the pieces of seeming scrap metal into components that he could use for repairs.

General Thantaros understood just enough of what was happening to make a nuisance of himself with questions. Unfortunately, Sammael did want him to understand the use of the weapon. Worse, Sammael was going to have to train someone to make them. Well, with the True Power of Malfeas, it could be done. Eventually.

Sammael finished the piece he was working on and began to fasten it into place. "To begin answering," he said, "this weapon is called a shocklance."

Chapter Text

Down in the deep bowels of the Stone of Tear, Thom Merrilin trotted forward as if he were having an ordinary, pleasant day. He considered Loial a friend, and that friend had been abducted by one of the Forsaken and subjected to who knew what for weeks. There was no question that the experience had been unpleasant; Thom only wondered whether the boy was merely traumatized, or perhaps badly physically hurt. Though in some ways he surely had more life experience than Rand, there was no doubt in Thom's mind that Loial was just a boy.

The corridor ended in a blank wall, but to that point its sides were covered in all manner of gearing and levers. Among those was concealed his goal. In a bank of five levers, the middle one was jammed pointing straight out from the wall. Tugging or striking the lever would probably just break it. Instead, Thom forced one of his best starmetal daggers into the narrow gap and pressed the tip against the lever base. In principle, he still might break it off here, and it would be harder to restore if he did, but here his odds were the best. Reaching out to the Pattern, he chose the outcome he wanted and channeled the One Power to make it happen.

With a clank, the lever shifted for the first time in centuries, and a slab of stone rose to reveal a staircase leading down into pitch darkness. Thom lit his caste mark up, shining green light into the new area, took a deep breath in case the air was stale, and strode on down.

To his surprise, the air was quite fresh, no intervention needed. Something must still be circulating it all the way down here. "Come on," he called. "There's no danger yet."

"So long as I have someone else of your experience with me," Moiraine said, "I have no concerns about danger."

Thom chuckled. "Loial is older than either of us, you know."

"Loial is just as much a village boy as I am," Rand said, "even if he doesn't seem like it sometimes."

"Indeed," Moiraine said. "Thom, by contrast, is wise in the ways of the world. He would be surprisingly useful even if he were an ordinary gleeman, and he is not."

Well, if she was going to do this in front of Rand.... "I am likewise glad you didn't stay cooped up in the White Tower after your raising."

"That could never have happened," she said, "as I would have been placed on the Sun Throne. I would then have much more experience in some ways, but much less in others."

"Even more for the better," Thom said. "I think my years as a court bard lie behind me, so I would surely have difficulty fitting in as your courtier."

Moiraine grinned wryly at him. "Don't be foolish, Thom. Your fine tongue would never be unwelcome performing in my court.Aes Sedai tastes do become refined over the years, but your methods are always pleasing."

Rand glanced around uncertainly, picking up something odd in their banter but unable to make the connection.

"I don't know, but I've been told," Thom said, "that most Aes Sedai don't enjoy the same sort of music as common soldiers." They surely would not enjoy the refrain he'd omitted, save perhaps those with a strong taste for irony. Aes Sedai pussy gets mighty old.

"Don't be a fool, Thom. You have more years ahead of you to learn what we enjoy." True enough. Terrestrial Exalted lived a few hundred years; Celestial Exalted might live through an Age. If they could avoid conflict, that was; few managed such a span.

Rand narrowed his eyes. Was it time to spring it on him? Certainly Loial's circumstances were dire, but in such a life as theirs, waiting for time away from adventure was usually a waste. Any of them might die tomorrow, as the Dragon Reborn surely knew. On the other hand, it was a fine game to flirt right under these youngsters' noses. On the third hand--should one be so endowed--he could likely make the boy forget what he'd seen for a second round of fun. No, current circumstances pointed to that being unwise.

"Perhaps when all this is done, we could retire to the country," he said. "A quiet life would be safer for both of us."

"How absurd. I could never manage a quiet life, especially not down in the country." And if she did somehow accomplish that, Thom acknowledged to himself, it would surely be with Siuan, not with him.

Somehow Rand still didn’t seem to recognize what they were suggesting. Or perhaps he didn't care to. He was flaring the light of his own powers. They had come through a long corridor and were now in a longer, wider room filled with decrepit bunks and empty weapon racks. "A barracks," the boy said. "Whatever used to be down here, it must have been important." Thom could have told him that to begin with.

They walked a while longer, with Thom and Moiraine continuing to exchange very subtle innuendos that grew less subtle as Rand continued not to notice, and finally came to another stairwell. The level below this one held great cold ovens and empty prep tables, followed by a long row of dried-out tanks that had somehow grown plants. Most had long gone to dust, but Rand picked up a husk of a stalk and studied it before tossing it aside. The ceiling bore some sort of long panels; Thom suspected they had glowed with brilliant light once. How, though, was the mystery. "I don't know how they grew food down here," Rand said, "but it certainly looks like they did."

"I trust your judgment on the matter," Moiraine said sincerely. "Do you suppose there were animal pens?"

"I don't think so. If there were, it's been a very long time. I think the scent would linger."

After that, the machinery became harder to understand even for Thom, though on the eleventh level they encountered things that looked like huge suits of armor. "At a glance," Thom said, "I'd say these are like the Seanchan armor, but far more powerful. You ride inside them, and they're stronger than you are by yourself."

"Then there must be a way out through the caves," Rand said. "They'd never fit through all these stairs."

The final level did indeed seem to be molded from caverns already present, and some tunnels led down into dark shafts. Thom followed faint echoes and flickers of light. By this time he and Moiraine had abandoned the banter; Loial was surely suffering too much down here to appreciate it, and Rand was still failing to catch on.

"Loial?" Moiraine called out in response to some distant flutelike sounds. The flute dropped in register. The Raptok was moaning in pain or sorrow. Rand broke into a run, and the others hurried after him.

There had been a torch in here, but it had burned down to a glowing coal. Rand's light shone around them, revealing bruises covering Loial's leathery skin. He seemed to have plucked out much of his feathered crest, leaving the plumage scattered on the floor. For a long moment he stared, uncomprehending at his rescuers and then, horribly, began to cry, fat tears rolling down his snout. "He said you'd never come. He said he'd taken your memories of me. He said, the last time he left, that I'd die of hunger down here." His tail smacked against a bowl of water, nearly dry.

"Who?" Rand asked, cradling the big birdlike head. "Who did this to you? He did make us forget, but it didn't last. We're here."

"Aginor," Loial whispered. "He took samples, said he'd make something new from them. I thought he would change me but he never did."

Thom knew disgust and fury must be written all over his face as it was on Moiraine's. Aginor the Vivisector, one of the least martial of the Forsaken yet a nightmare all his own. Thom had missed encountering him at the Eye of the World, but he had heard the story of him, and seen the faint remnants of what he had done to Nynaeve. That Loial had fallen into his hands was monstrous on multiple levels.

"I swear to you that I am deeply sorry for what happened to you, Loial." Moiraine bent down in front of them. "I want you to be certain of my words. I tried to protect you and I regret that it was not enough. I am pleased to see you still live."

Loial nodded painfully. "I accept your apology, Aes Sedai. When I have had some time to recover, I...Dragon Kings have certain powers, but most are not much use in a fight. We can learn your martial arts, though. I ask that you teach me. I never wish to be so vulnerable again."

"Lan is a better teacher than I," Moiraine said, "but one way or another I will see that you are taught. For now, we must get you back to the surface."

"Yes," Loial said, struggling to his feet. "I am eager to get out of this place. I will move as quickly as I can. Thank you. I thought I was going to die here."

Rand helped him up; the Raptok were strong but not heavily-built. "Thank the Light you didn't. You're my friend, Loial. I'm going to get you out of here."

*****

The cabin on the Sea Folk raker was stuffy and, by this point, smelly, but Liandrin had no desire to go outside. She did not mind the crew staring at her in terror, nor did she object to watching the women work the rigging; they were quite pretty without their blouses. No, the problem was the cocoon of the One Power that was allowing the ship to sail beneath the waves. It was Liandrin’s own doing, and she could breathe water herself if need be, but the sight of water above her made her feel far more confined than the cabin ever could have.

Jeaine stopped pacing and returned once more to her embroidery. Liandrin sighed; the weave she was using let her see right through the Domani Green's clothes, but the view was better with her upright and walking. She was fairly certain Jeaine did not mind, considering what they had been doing for most of the trip, but Liandrin would not have stopped if she had.

Liandrin did not share her Ajah's prejudice against Greens; she found their militancy and tendency toward powerful builds attractive, actually. Jeaine despised men, though she enjoyed having them under her thumb. She claimed not to be attracted to women either, but Liandrin had discovered the truth: Jeaine liked experiencing pain even more than inflicting it. It was adorable, really.

"How do you think the other team is doing?" Jeaine asked suddenly.

"I'm sure they're all in Saldaea by now," Liandrin said patiently. "And Temaile reported that Mazrim Taim is out of his Chrysalis and on the move. As to whether he'll work with them? His powers come from the Yozis, and the Yozis will punish him if he tries to resist. I don't doubt for a moment he'll serve."

Jeaine nodded and held up the cloth she was working on. "You're not bothered by him being a man?"

Liandrin gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "All the better to let him do the hard parts. And I won't be the one who has to work with him. Care for a game of Stones?"

Jeaine rolled her eyes. "Stones? I was never able to pay attention to it. Too abstract. If you're bored, we could spar, Green battle techniques versus Red."

"Looking to get punched in the face again?" Liandrin grinned wryly. She would be at a disadvantage, since she was maintaining the weave around the ship, but then Jeaine would set the vessel on fire if she went all out.

Jeaine withdrew a whip from her garments. Rumor had always said she knew a method of fighting even the Black Ajah did not encourage, though Liandrin was not sure why. The One Power sparked around the tip as Jeaine channeled. "I have something better in mind."

Liandrin knew a variety of water-based fighting arts. Save for Water Dragon Style itself, none was especially powerful, but one was a particular secret that she had found hidden away on a memory crystal in the White Tower. She began a smooth, flowing kata, and when she had completed it the glimmering aura around her transmuted Water into water. She herself would be able to breathe just fine; Jeaine would have more trouble.

Jeaine was undaunted; her whip was cabled jadesteel and couldn't be prevented from striking so simply. She laughed and spun about, dancing around Liandrin as she lashed at the water's surface. Her strikes drew blood from Liandrin’s arms and back and stung fiercely. If Liandrin’s information was correct, injury wasn't the real danger; the style had a form of Compulsion associated with it. Jeaine might prefer to enjoy her own pain, but she certainly was not averse to the suffering of others. She might well want to usurp control of the group, too.

So Liandrin struck with precision. Not to inflict pain; Jeaine would benefit from that. Not to hurt or kill; her opponent was too useful, in many senses. Her strike drove a tight weave of Water and Air into Jeaine's throat, and Jeaine's next inhalation left her choking on air she could no longer breathe. There was only one ready source of water Jeaine could get at; she had to close with Liandrin to plunge into her aura, preventing her from using the whip any more and giving Liandrin a solid advantage.

That didn't prevent Jeaine from striking at Liandrin’s face with clawed fingers and a tangled weave, but Liandrin took the cuts and managed to shake off the attempt to bring her under control. She grabbed Jeaine around the waist and wrapped her with flows of Water that would hold her still even after Liandrin herself let go. Then she simply stepped away.

The trap would not hold for long, but Jeaine was now in the position of a carp flopping around on the shore. She struggled uselessly against her bonds, face turning red, then purple. To Liandrin’s astonishment, her eyes were wide with rapture. A whipping was one thing, but being choked nearly to death? Well, Liandrin needed her. She flicked her fingers against Jeaine's throat and unraveled the weave. Her ragged breaths became meaningful again. After only one or two, she launched herself at Liandrin--not to attack, but to lock lips with her. Liandrin released the weave that surrounded her with water; it had served its purpose.

"That was amazing," Jeaine gasped, pulling away for a bit. "I could still breathe and it was utterly useless. We have to do it again sometime." She shoved Liandrin onto the bed. Challenge defeated, then. Liandrin set to undressing with a will. Domani women really were irresistible, after all.

Chapter Text

Gently, Rand took the tray from the servant and sat it down on the table between himself and Nynaeve. "I have a favor to ask of you. It will be something you want very much, and also the hardest thing you've ever done."

Nynaeve raised her eyebrows at that. "You'll have to explain yourself, Rand al’Thor."

"Padan Fain has promised to scourge the Two Rivers to bring me to him. I thought to send Perrin to deal with him, but Perrin has something he absolutely must do far from there. Would you return to Emond's Field for me? Just for a time, not to abandon your studies."

Nynaeve sat there with her mouth open. "I...Rand, you know they've long since found another Wisdom."

"I know. That's one reason it will be hard." He lifted the cover off the tray to reveal two juicy steaks. With rice; some things you just could not get away from. "I expect that normally the White Tower would object, but you've been gone from there for some time."

"I was sent by Siuan to hunt the Black Ajah," Nynaeve said forthrightly, beginning to cut up her steak.

"You don't know that they're not in the Two Rivers," Rand said. "Temaile could be scooping up Two Rivers folk to train as Darkfriend Aes Sedai right now. Those two could both be lying to you."

Nynaeve's skeptical look said he was reaching. "What does Perrin have to do?"

"Lunar madness takes a worse form than Solar. He and Faile and Aviendha are all going into the Waste to get help from the Wise Ones in controlling it. He says Amys told him that if he went home as he is, he'd probably kill everyone else in the Two Rivers."

"I suppose that's reason enough not to go, then." Nynaeve sighed. "In the arches, when I tested for Accepted, I came home to find a murderer had taken over as Wisdom. She was poisoning children. None of it was real. And especially not the moment when they welcomed me back, because that would be what it took. I don't think they'll blame me for not returning, but there's no way to know." She dug into her steak, eating hungrily. "I just have to find out, don't I?"

*****

Nynaeve guided Lan down onto her bed. "I know you've spent years and years with Moiraine. Are you a sworn brotherhood, I suppose?"

"We are," he confirmed. "But that doesn't require that we stay close. She can handle herself in most situations. Our mutual fight is against the Shadow." His kisses began at her mouth but trailed away down her neck. "I assume you're asking me to go with you to Tanchico. That--"

"Not Tanchico," she breathed. "Home, to the Two Rivers."

"I do have my duty," Lan said sternly, "to the Light and the Tower as well as to Moiraine."

"And you can fulfill it," she insisted, undoing his shirt button by button. "Padan Fain is trying to distract Rand by attacking our home. He has to be stopped. I hope that you'll marry me, but I would like your support even if you won't."

"I have also agreed to train Loial to fight," he said. It was his weakest argument, but was he working down or up?

"Bring him with us. Train him on the way. Having him along can't hurt. And for lack of privacy...Lan, I'm not sure he even knows how humans mate, let alone has any interest in us."

Lan pulled her clothing down to her waist. "I will go with you, Nynaeve. If the Two Rivers is under attack by the Shadow, then it needs defenders. It won't be only a feint, though it may be that. Moiraine and I saw several others with traces of the Dragon Blood in them who might yet Exalt, from Egwene's sisters to Ewin Finngar. The Old Blood runs strong in your home town." He bent low and took her nipple between his teeth.

She hissed and arched her back. Several people in the Tower had told her that Wood Aspects like herself were the most sensual of the Dragon-Blooded, and she had found that deeply embarrassing. Nynaeve had thought she had found her life's purpose as the Wisdom of Emond's Field; anything that proved she was more had been a source of confusion. Now, as Lan's kisses and nips approached her waist, she had to admit to herself that she had been the type all along. And she was coming to terms with it just in time to return home, even if not to stay.

Maybe it would put her people's minds at ease if she let the new Wisdom marry them. That would cement her authority, not detract from it. But who had taken over in her absence? The remaining candidates had been far too young.

What if Malena were real after all?

"Nynaeve?"

Was it that noticeable? "Yes, Lan?"

"Relax. Please."

*****

Daise Congar put her foot down. "There will be no Illuminated in the Two Rivers, Bran al'Vere! Not in Emond's Field, or any village in the district if I have anything to say about it!"

Bran mopped his forehead. "Wisdom, please. The Trolloc attacks are getting worse. At first it might have been stragglers from Winternight, up in the mountains somewhere. It's plainly more than that now. The Illuminated are here to protect us and serve the Light, even if some of their ideas are a bit...questionable."

She almost understood his position. If the Illuminated had actually done anything...but they hadn't, not yet. No, this was about the family she had married into when she was young and foolish and Wit was a cute little troublemaker. Far too many people, men especially, thought all Congars, and Coplins too, were the same because they shared kin and name. "Bran al'Vere, if the Illuminated want to camp in the Waterwood, I suppose there's not a great deal that can be done to drive them off. They'll have to forage for themselves, and do their own laundry and such. But they do not belong in Emond's Field. Nor in Watch Hill, nor Devin Ride, nor even Taren Ferry! All the Women's Circles are on my side, so if you want to go join them in the Waterwood and eat their beans and horsemeat, you're welcome to it!"

Bran put up his hands and looked sheepishly to the girl. Tuon merely shook her head. "I understand the urge to seek protection. But the White Cloaks are not your betters. They are a band of armsmen outside settled law. They will not allow themselves to be bound to your defense. You can do better without them."

It rankled Daise to have to rely on the girl. She had never really trusted Aes Sedai herself, yet she had been forced to admit that Verin and Alanna, Owein and Ihvon and Tomas, had been a great deal more help against the Trollocs than the Illuminated were ever likely to be. Tuon agreed with her on most other points, but she called the Dragon-Blooded ishashar, "Traitorspawn", and so Daise had kept them hidden from her as well as the Illuminated. They could not even be brought here to defend their case; there was too much risk that Tuon would betray them at once.

As for the girl's own powers...well, she had been cagy about those even after Daise caught her channeling. But she was far too weak to be Exalted herself. Perhaps she was some sort of god-blooded. A daughter of one of the Maidens of Fate, maybe?

Daise gave Tuon a quick nod and told Bran, "Mark my words, Brandelwyn. No Whitecloaks! Not in Emond's Field!" And she stormed out of the inn. Let them compare her temper to Nynaeve al'Meara's if they wanted. Now that the girl was gone, Daise wished she had never left.

*****

Alanna Mosvani gestured right, and her oathbrothers Ihvon and Owein hurried in that direction. Verin and Tomas scuttled off to the left. It was always strange to see the stout Wood Aspect display her skill at sneaking, but that was how the Elemental Dragons showed their favor, and so it went.

An undersized fist of Trollocs was moving through the Sand Hills, picking off straggling refugees and taking outlying farms. It was Alanna's firm conviction that they were coming down from the ancient site of Manetheren, where the Waygate no doubt still stood, but that did remain to be proven. It was plain that there were rugged unmarked passes through the Mountains of Mist, and for all they knew there could be a lost Portal Stone in the area, or something stranger still.

If she had known there were Shadowspawn here, she would have brought more than her oathcircle and Verin and Tomas, but there had been not the slightest sign of them till she crossed the Taren. Then the reports had begun immediately, starting with grumbling from Taren Ferry's mayor. That in itself was enough to doubt they were coming in by conventional methods.

They had stalked this fist for several miles, but now it was plain that it was headed deeper into the district. They had to get out ahead of it and prevent it from killing anyone else.

Alanna sent up a flare of the Power when she was sure she was abreast of the leaders. Verin or Tomas signaled back at once. The Fade in charge of the Trollocs broke towards Alanna at once. Bad decision on its part. A sword of Fire sprang into her grasp. "Los!" she shouted in the Old Tongue. "Let's get them!"

Overconfident, the Fade readied its black blade to strike. Then a single arrow arced down from overhead as if guided by an unseen hand and punched straight through its armor. Bleeding black blood, the Myrddraal went down flailing. Worse luck; the Trollocs only roared defiance and charged ahead.

"You know what the Aiel say," Owein muttered.

Alanna smirked at him and bellowed it herself. "Today's a good day to die!"

*****

"It's good to have you over," Joslyn Aybara said, ladling out another bowl of stew. "Daise says you're probably going to be the next Wisdom, is that right?"

Bodewhin Cauthon nodded. "I like learning about herbs and medicines. I like reading, too. Mother says she wishes she could have gotten Mat to read so much. He's not stupid, really, just undisciplined. That's what she says, anyway."

Con Aybara laughed. "Well, there's not always that much difference between the two, as I see it, but Matrim did have a clever head and a quick wit when last I saw him. I doubt he's gotten any slower out there in the world."

Adora took another chunk of mutton from the pot. The meat was tough tonight. It was no feastday lamb, just an aging ewe. Adora was looking strange lately, or so Bode thought. Her skin had been growing even darker in the last year. It might have been remarked on except that she wasn't the only one in the village with an odd look about her. Jancy and Jain Torfinn had developed curious reddish skin--even Jancy's hair seemed to be turning red, and no one but Kari and Rand al'Thor had ever had red hair in these parts! Jain's had turned grey like smoke instead. Cilia Cole had a bluish cast to her as if she had trouble getting enough air, yet had no difficulty breathing. Larine Ayellin, whose family lived in the Waterwood, had eyes that had turned green and strange pebbly markings like the bed of a stream on her light brown skin. It was enough to make people wonder if elemental spirits had sired half of this generation.

Bode glanced down at her own hands. Nothing. Whatever had been going on, she was just an ordinary girl. It was a little sad, really.

Someone knocked on the door, and Con got up to go see who it was. It was late for visitors to be arriving even if they meant to stay the night like Bode. "Why, Master Fain! I didn't realize you were back in the Two Rivers! We thought you'd died at Winternight. It's good to see you well, but what brings you all the way out here at this hour? Is everything all right? I hope you didn't meet Trollocs again!"

Fain hurried inside. "Oh, worse than Trollocs, Master Aybara, worse news by far. I'm terribly sorry to be bearing it to you. The boys who left, al'Thor and Cauthon--hello, Bodewhin! Didn't expect to see you here!--and worst news of all, your son Perrin. I hate to tell it to you. Darkfriends, they are, all three of them. It was them as brought the Trollocs down on you all."

Silence stretched out for a long moment. It broke with Joslyn's strained laughter. "If that's a joke, Master Fain, you're showing terrible taste. I don't appreciate it, not at all." Con began to laugh as well, a harder, colder sound with no mirth in it whatsoever.

Fain's eyes flashed with anger, but before he could say a word, Con spoke over him. "I know my son, Padan Fain. The idea that he could be a Darkfriend--ever!--is beyond poor taste. I won't turn you out, not with Trollocs around, but I'm giving you one chance to apologize or you sleep on the floor and leave at first light. No dinner, no breakfast. You have till I count three. One...two...."

A blade shone in the firelight, and then there was nothing but screams.

Chapter Text

Gawyn had developed so many hand signals they were almost a language unto themselves. Enemy flankers to our left. If Else were here, she could augment these simple signs with the One Power, but no one else was training on the level of the Vermillion Legion now, so it was Else sending the flankers. A team under Eben peeled off to guard.

Spidery flows traced out in all directions, ready to trip up attackers and aid the unit's movement. Gawyn was taking no chances this engagement. The tactical manuals he had been reading classified the hundreds of small weaves that could assist a military unit under just a handful of headings, listings that ranged from flattening the ground to speed movement to unfastening the enemy's pants. Not every adversary ought to be handled by exploding his head, even if you had the strength.

Else's command burst through the trees suddenly, moving at well above normal top speed. Gawyn amplified his voice to bellow "Spears!" but it was barely necessary. His unit set themselves to receive the charge with blunted spearpoints ready. "Loose at will!" The enemy was too close for volleys. Archers in the back begin releasing target-practice arrows.

Else's command, save for the front line, lofted shields over their heads and kept up the charge. The front line slammed against the spears, forcing them aside with their swords. It was not the best maneuver here, not if you had the One Power on your side, but that probably meant she was planning a trap or holding something in reserve. A bright symbol flashed on the back of her armor, and weaves shot up into the sky, pulling down strong winds and lightning. The strikes met a ripple of force in the air and ricocheted away.

Gawyn tugged on the threads of Power, and a series of low walls formed behind and between Else's command, making it far more difficult for them to disengage. Then, using the conditions Else had set, Lucilde drew hail down from the sky. Mostly it thumped against shields, but that forced the enemy to keep them raised.

Where was Else? Gawyn found her near the back and painted her as a target with a shaft of light. Arrows rained towards her, and hail, too, forcing her to surround herself with swirling ice crystals that knocked away the projectiles. She did have the good sense to paint Gawyn back; he summoned a bubble of water that blunted the flurry of knives that came for him and shunted the lightnings into the ground.

"She doesn't have it!" Lucilde shouted. "We need to find where it is!" The actual objective for the mission was to capture a sa'angreal--really, a ter'angreal that made pretty pictures--not to take out Else or defeat her unit.

"Anyone else in her command?" Gawyn yelled back. Lucilde shook her head. Either it was with someone she'd detached, or she had hidden it on the grounds. Each had its advantages, especially since it wasn't genuinely powerful in a way that would make a difference. How to find it? Even defeating her forces directly wouldn't necessarily give him the victory, and it could be anywhere.

Gawyn concentrated, reaching out with his senses to feel the movement of troops on the ground. This was far more his sister's domain than his, but it wasn't especially complicated. The only hostiles in the area were Else's main force and her flanking detachment, but a small group of "civilians" was on the edges of the garden. He tried feeling for the artifact itself, but Lucilde seemed to be right--it wasn't on anyone in Else's unit or in the area of the fight.

Perhaps having noticed the war games taking place, the civilians were leaving the gardens. As he took note of them, Gawyn suddenly felt a familiar "ping". "Blood and ashes! Cover me!" One of the supposed bystanders had been given the target! He broke away and raced toward the gate. Sure enough, the moment he was close enough to see them, he recognized Faolain among them, and she was carrying the ter'angreal. It wasn't fair; she wasn't even part of the Legion! No, that wasn't sound thinking. The Amyrlin had given them a free reign with tactics and strategy, and sending a vital target away with a courier sounded pretty sensible to him.

If she left the garden, though, she'd be out of bounds for the exercise, probably to represent the sa'angreal vanishing behind enemy walls. "Faolain! Halt! You've got my objective!"

She turned, looked him right in the eye, and knocked him on his ass with a burst of Air. Surely the rules of engagement didn't allow outsiders to join the battle! "Faolain! This is a training exercise. I'm supposed to be retrieving--"

"Too late," she intoned, "and my code name is Lanfear."

*****

"You didn't tell me the enemy were supposed to be Black Ajah," Gawyn muttered, holding the icepack to his eye.

Sheriam Sedai gave him an amused look. "Who else would be stealing the White Tower's prize sa'angreal? Tinkers?"

Siuan Sanche shrugged. "You're going to have to stop assuming you know the rules of engagement, Gawyn. You made Else your second, and your opponent for mass combat exercises. She has the authority to help set the ground rules, because you gave it to her. Other than that, you all did very well. After all, she is yours to train. Or was. I'm not sure I should leave you in command over an Accepted, especially one who is finally doing well in her studies."

Else gaped at her. "I'm testing for Accepted, Mother? Already?"

"She's testing for Accepted before me?" Gawyn struggled to tamp down a burst of rage.

Sheriam slapped the table. "Your head is still not in the right place, Gawyn Trakand, and that outburst shows it. If I were certain you would come out of the test alive, well, that would be different, but I am not. Else will be tested tonight. She's never going to be the strongest in the One Power, but she has the skills she needs, and the maturity to handle herself in the testing."

Gawyn sighed and lowered his eyes. "You are in charge, Sheriam Sedai, and you, Mother. May I ask why I was even given the opportunity to engage 'Lanfear'?"

Siuan gestured toward Else, who said, "Maybe we were wrong, but we estimated that you had a bare chance of defeating Lanfear if you brought a whole army against her by surprise. You could also have tried to steal it from her, which you didn't bother with."

"I was thinking of her as a bystander," Gawyn said sheepishly. "I assumed she was in the garden by chance, because she didn't show up as hostile."

"I told her not to attack unless you did," Else said. "And a Forsaken might be able to fool your senses anyway. She did have your objective."

"She did," Gawyn admitted.

"You are going to have to think your circumstances through more effectively, child," the Amyrlin said, "which is why I'm inclined to think Else may have learned all she can from you. Don't make a fuss--it is plain you've taught her a great deal."

"She may have," Gawyn said, trying to sound agreeable, "but Mother, is it wise to remove the unit's second-in-command?"

"Perhaps not, child. I will give the matter some thought. Sometimes various considerations have to be balanced against one another and their consequences. You're dismissed, child." She turned her back on him. "As for you, Else...the Wheel waits for no one."

*****

Gawyn stirred awake from troubled dreams in the middle of the night. He had been alone in the White Tower; all his friends had gone on to be Aes Sedai, and he was still a novice at ninety-five. That was not old yet, not for the Dragon-Blooded, but it was well past the age at which he should have been removed from training.

Someone was moving through the room. "Who is it?" he whispered. Surely it was not a Shadowspawn or a criminal, not here.

"Good thing for you I'm not Black Ajah," Else said as she crawled beneath his blanket naked. "I refused to go through with it. I have two more chances, Sheriam said. She did not look pleased, but after a moment the Amyrlin did."

"You turned down being Accepted to stay under my command? Else, that's--"

She interrupted him with a kiss. "I don't know how long they'll give me, Gawyn. For all I know they could summon me again tomorrow. I think the Amyrlin could block it, but she'd need to give a reason or there'd be suspicion placed on you. You need to get your act together."

"Coming from you, Else, that's..." She gave him an arch look. "...surprisingly wise. I thought I did have my act together."

"For what it's worth," Else said, "the Amyrlin let slip that she's not standing in your way. Sheriam is, and she doesn't know why." Else began trailing kisses down his belly. "That's the only reason the Mother isn't upset with me, apparently. She agrees that I chose duty." Her tongue slid up his hard shaft. "Not pleasure. But there's room for both."

*****

Sometimes Leane Sharif wished there were more Domani Wood Aspects. If you only knew the stereotypes, Domani sounded like perfect Woods--sensual, vital creatures connected to nature. No one ever stopped to consider how much of the Domani merchant culture was an act. A fun act, an amusing act, but still a front for a people whose first priority was the ruthless deal. Most Woods were from country backwaters like the Two Rivers or the swamps in the Fingers of the Dragon. Such places certainly existed in Arad Doman, but the bulk of the population was concentrated in the port city of Bandar Eban. There weren't a lot of Domani Woods.

Leane had sprouted like a weed when she hit thirteen, making her awkward, making her miss the years when most Domani merchants learned the performance of it all. And a month later she had sprouted like a weed again, in very much a different way. Sometimes she felt like two people in one: the wild, free creature she'd been meant to be; the calculating bureaucrat every Aes Sedai knew.

"Rand al'Thor is the true Dragon Reborn, Leane. The Last Battle is coming."

Those words had thrown off the equilibrium between her selves. Of course she supported Siuan. Siuan couldn't lie, any more than she could, and a quick investigation showed she was very unlikely to be mistaken. Rand al'Thor had only fulfilled a few of the Prophecies so far, but he'd fulfilled his first by being born.

So the Keeper of the Chronicles had come to the fifteenth floor.

It wasn't her first visit, of course. That would be absurd. It wasn't even her first visit as Keeper. But she had kept those visits short and fairly grounded. She'd met someone she liked and gotten a room. Fun had been had, the dignity of the office had been upheld, and she'd gone back to being her straitlaced public persona.

Tonight Leane was wearing the skimpiest Domani dress imaginable, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a green jade "heavenly ecstacy shaft" in the other rather than the Keeper's staff, and she was mounting the stage with the musicians. She was singing in her best impression of a prudish and slightly foolish Andoran, singing the latest popular anthem of her people's national rival.

"I'll tell you a tale of a lad of twenty/
A Tarabon boy with coin aplenty!"

Everyone was staring at her, wondering if she were already drunk enough to break protocol and act as a Domani who disliked Taraboners rather than an Aes Sedai whose only homeland was Tar Valon. She held herself very still. She had no idea what the song was about. Really.

"Went looking for love, and more's the pity/
Now he's lost in the hills of Tanchico city!/
Where one's not enough, and three's too many/
But two bring a man to his knees!"

Some of the women were laughing. All of them were wondering what kind of trick she was pulling. Most of the men were just staring, though she could see the wheels turning behind several pairs of lustful eyes. Very still, no shaking.

"The hills of Tanchico!" Leane turned away from the crowd, gave them a flirtatious glance over her shoulder, and once, very deliberately, shook her ass. "The hills of Tanchico, hey!" Laughter went off like a firework, and Leane launched into a wild, hip-shaking dance that was very much not the song's intent but fit just as well. She sang it in a wild exaggeration of a Domani accent rather than the broad tones of Tarabon.

"These hills can flatten a whole ship's crew/
These hills'll make a man out of you!/
The hills of Tanchico!/
The hills of Tanchico, hey!"

Life was short. Time was short. Everyone seemed to be taking it in good fun. She hitched the absurdly short skirt higher, inch by inch, until her entire rump was exposed.

She glanced back at the crowd. All eyes were on her. She turned, dropping low, and set the shaft on the stage, fixing it in place. Then she dropped herself onto it, feeling the warmth, the vibration, as the ter'angreal pretended to be a living thing for her. So much for dignity. Leane leaned forward, put her hands out, and pumped her hips, fucking herself on the stage floor. It wasn't even that novel, except in context. Without the One Power to remove the stains, the floor would have been coated in three thousand years' worth of juices.

But it was Leane Sharif, Domani bureaucrat, stuffy Keeper of the Chronicles, who was doing it, and the whole room was cheering her on. Croi and Jori and Rorik climbed onto the stage, following her beckoning fingers, and then Meidani and Myrelle and Rina. In minutes the platform was covered in heaving bodies, flesh against flesh in every shade and shape. Because of her.

Leane hadn't had a night this good in ever.

She woke the next morning in her bed, sore but not stiff, surprisingly clean. Sometime in the night she must have gotten a bath, but her memories were cloudy after the orgy on stage. Through the window the sun was visible. Not morning, then. Afternoon.

She strode through the halls in her ordinary brisk walk--no swaying, all efficient motion. Even the novices seemed to have heard the gossip. Whispers and glances receded as she approached and sprang up again when she'd passed, but nearly all were admiring. The Tower did not, inherently could not, cultivate prudery. Even Alviarin's smirk was appreciative, and that woman seemed to have no sexual desires of any kind. Still, the attention brought a warm flush to her cheeks.

She worked hard the rest of the day, using the One Power to speed her efforts. Siuan Sanche said nothing by way of complaint or compliment, save that she missed Moiraine. When the sun set, the necessary paperwork was done and the reports properly filed despite her late start. A few early appointments had been missed and rescheduled for the next day. Such things happened.

In her apartments, a novice, an Accepted, and a stranger--no, she knew the woman, vaguely--were waiting. "Leane Sedai," said the last. "I need your help."

"Min Farshaw," Leane said curiously, "for what?"

*****

It was a simple matter, Min explained. She needed access to powers that were more flexible than Sidereal weaves. The Loom of Fate had only so much give to it, and the Five could not innovate like other Exalted.

"Gawyn and Faolain aren't full Aes Sedai, but they're strong enough in the Power to almost do it themselves. But I also need someone to ensure we're not noticed mucking about in the deep levels of the Tower."

"The basements aren't used all that frequently," Leane said. "Why do you need me for this?"

"This room is," Min said. "Frequently enough, anyway. I want to be initiated into sorcery, and there's only one simple way to do that, that I know of."

Leane gave a start, but Min knew that all the Exalted except Solars had lived in the White Tower at some point. Dragon-Blooded weren't the only ones who had used the things. "You want to go through the arches?" The Keeper plainly had never expected anyone to want to go, except for the raising.

"That's about the size of it," Min said.

"And you're reasonably certain you've been through the trials of Journey, Humility, and Tutelage? So far as we know, the arches don't provide those. Only Fear and Sacrifice, as a final sharp shock."

"I've abandoned my home in Baerlon and criss-crossed the known world. I've been a stablehand and a servant and a homeless girl living like a rat under your noses, because almost no one remembers who I am. I've read tomes in your library that even the Browns and the Whites have forgotten are there. If I haven't been tried, I don't know how to get what I'm missing."

Leane spread her hands. "No one's scheduled to go through this week. I'll handle anyone we happen to pass. You think you can handle sorcery? Then let's get it done."

Min allowed herself a small smile. She'd expected this; that was why she'd gone to the Keeper instead of the Amyrlin. Everyone knew Leane was all business.

*****

Gawyn wasn't supposed to be down here. He wasn't supposed to know anything about the testing ahead of time. But people did talk, a little, and anyway, nothing said Leane would go through the standard ritual with some "Anathema" sneaking through the arches.

"The first time is for what was," Leane said hastily as Min dropped her smallclothes. The arches lit up with a brilliant white glow. "The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Min stepped through the gate, and vanished.

Chapter Text

The horses were whinneying outside, and Min got up groggily to go check on them. The big stone-faced man and the small woman in blue were getting their horses, and several more, in the middle of the night. "Need some help?" Min called, and reached for the strange Power that came to her from time to time.

It wasn't there.

"You should return to your bed," the woman replied. There were no images around her, or the man, or any of the country bumpkins coming out to join them.

Of course there weren't. That had been a strange dream, a dream of being one of the all-powerful Anathema who broke the world. A terrifying dream, and yet she'd been enjoying it. Had wanted more power despite the cost that had already wrecked her life. "I will, Mistress Alys."

The fool dream didn't come back to her. She woke in the morning and went back to being a groom at the Stag and Lion. She flirted with the guests--some male, most female--but it lacked the desperate urgency and frustrating loneliness she had dreamed of. No one had images or auras. The horses got along with her and nothing more. It was a quiet life. She was satisfied with it.

Five days flew by, and then a month, and a year. There were rumors of wars and strange happenings, but none of them reached Baerlon. She lived her life--not as a normal girl, exactly, but without any of the strangeness that popped up only in her dreams. Eventually she forgot all about it.

On the morning of the eighth year since the strangers had left Baerlon, she woke up and rubbed her eyes against a silver light shining into her room. In place of the window, there stood an archway filled with a brilliant glow.

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.

She must be dreaming. With that thought returned faint echoes of another dream from long ago, a world where she could channel the One Power and change the Pattern itself, but no one remembered who she was for long. It had been frightening, but there had been excitement to it as well. She got out of bed and walked slowly over to the portal. The end of the world had been on its way. But then, she had been one of the people called to stop it.

The way back will come but once.

Had she really wanted this? This quiet, boring life? Obviously the dream had come back for her eventually. Just as obviously, it was only a dream. In the morning she would wake again and go back to currying the horses. What harm, then? The archway began to flicker, and she stepped through into the blinding light before it could go.

*****

Naked, she stumbled from the arches, eight years worth of false memories--they were false, they had to be!--crammed into her head, but before she could speak of them someone dumped a chalice of cold water over her and left her shivering.

"You are washed clean of what sin you may have done, and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul." Leane noticed her shaking. "I'm sorry. It's the ritual. I suppose it isn't even necessary."

"It was...p-p-peaceful," Min stammered. "I wasn't expecting that."

"You would be surprised how often we face our fears by discovering what it would be like to escape them," Leane said. "Let's not talk about it. The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Leane didn't understand. Min had wanted a normal life, but the reality of it hadn't been all it was cracked up to be. It felt too easy somehow. Still shivering, Min stepped through the arch.

*****

The horses were whinneying outside, and Min got up groggily to go check on them. The big stone-faced man and the small woman in blue were getting their horses, and several more, in the middle of the night. "Need some help?" Min called, and reached for the strange Power that came to her from time to time.

It wasn't there.

"You should return to your bed," the woman replied. There were no images around her, or the man, or any of the country bumpkins coming out to join them.

Of course there weren't. That had been a strange dream, a dream of being one of the all-powerful Anathema who broke the world. A terrifying dream, and yet she'd been enjoying it. Had wanted more power despite the cost that had already wrecked her life. "I will, Mistress Alys."

The fool dream didn't come back to her. She woke in the morning and went back to being a groom at the Stag and Lion. She flirted with the guests--some male, most female--but it lacked the desperate urgency and frustrating loneliness she had dreamed of. No one had images or auras. The horses got along with her and nothing more. It was a quiet life. She was satisfied with it, though it seemed strangely familiar.

Five days flew by, and then a month, and a year. There were rumors of wars and strange happenings, but none of them reached Baerlon. She lived her life--not as a normal girl, exactly, but without any of the strangeness that popped up only in her dreams. Sometimes it did seem as if she had done all this before, but that was just what they called deja vu. Eventually she forgot all about it.

On the morning of the eighth year since the strangers had left Baerlon, she woke up and rubbed her eyes against a silver light shining into her room. In place of the window, there stood an archway filled with a brilliant glow.

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.

She must be dreaming. With that thought returned faint echoes of another dream from long ago, a world where she could channel the One Power and change the Pattern itself, but no one remembered who she was for long. It had been frightening, but there had been excitement to it as well. She got out of bed and walked slowly over to the portal. The end of the world had been on its way. But then, she had been one of the people called to stop it.

The way back will come but once.

Had she really wanted this? This quiet, boring life? Obviously the dream had come back for her eventually. Just as obviously, it was only a dream. In the morning she would wake again and go back to currying the horses, the same as she'd done for the last sixteen...no, only eight years. What harm, then? The archway began to flicker, and she stepped through into the blinding light before it could go.

*****

Naked, she stumbled from the arches, eight years worth of false memories--they were false, they had to be!--crammed into her head, but before she could speak of them someone dumped a chalice of cold water over her and left her shivering.

"You are washed clean of what sin you may have done, and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul." Leane noticed her shaking. "I'm sorry. It's the ritual. I suppose it isn't even necessary."

"It was...p-p-peaceful," Min stammered. "I wasn't expecting that."

"You would be surprised how often we face our fears by discovering what it would be like to escape them," Leane said. "Let's not talk about it. The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Leane didn't understand. Min had wanted a normal life, but the reality of it hadn't been all it was cracked up to be. It felt too easy somehow. Still shivering, Min stepped through the arch.

*****

The horses were whinneying outside, and Min got up groggily to go check on them...then stopped. She'd done this before. She'd done it twice before. Her memories were fuzzy but definitely real. She raced outside to find the same strangers--but she knew them, didn't she? What were they called?--preparing their horses. "Wait!" she shouted. "I'm coming with you!"

"No," the short woman said. Min defied her anyway, leaping onto her own horse, but she'd barely gotten out of the stables when the poor animal stumbled and fell, lamed. The strangers trotted out of sight, leaving Min to dejectedly care for her injured horse.

She woke in the morning and went back to being a groom at the Stag and Lion. She flirted with the guests--some male, most female--but found it terribly unsatisfying. Everyone reacted exactly as they had before unless she made drastic changes to her own behavior, and she knew no one wanted more than a one-night stand. No one had images or auras. The horses got along with her and nothing more. It was a quiet life. It was boring and confining.

Five days flew by, and then a month, and a year. There were rumors of wars and strange happenings, but none of them reached Baerlon. She lived her life--not as a normal girl, exactly, but without any of the strangeness that popped up only in her dreams. She couldn't forget, not this time, but couldn't seem to change anything for longer than a day at a time. Even burning down the inn didn't work; the townsfolk rallied and rebuilt it by the next day. Somehow.

On the morning of the eighth year since the strangers had left Baerlon, she woke up and rubbed her eyes against a silver light shining into her room. In place of the window, there stood an archway filled with a brilliant glow.

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.

She got out of bed and walked slowly over to the portal. This time she had to do something differently, but what? She'd tell Leane. Something had to be wrong with the ter'angreal; it was just sending her back to the same place and time over and over. The archway began to flicker, and she stepped through into the blinding light before it could go.

*****

Naked, she stumbled from the arches, eight years worth of false memories--they were false, they had to be!--crammed into her head, but before she could speak of them someone dumped a chalice of cold water over her and left her shivering.

"You are washed clean of what sin you may have done, and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul." Leane noticed her shaking. "I'm sorry. It's the ritual. I suppose it isn't even necessary."

"It was...p-p-peaceful," Min stammered. "I wasn't expecting that."

"You would be surprised how often we face our fears by discovering what it would be like to escape them," Leane said. "Let's not talk about it. The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Leane didn't understand. Min had wanted a normal life, but the reality of it hadn't been all it was cracked up to be. It felt too easy somehow. Still shivering, Min stepped through the arch.

*****

The horses were whinneying outside, and Min got up groggily to go check on them...then stopped. She'd done this before. She'd done it several times now, and every time she came back out of the arch she forgot all but the first time so that she couldn't stop going back in. That probably meant she wasn't ever really out of it and this was all part of the first pass. But how was she supposed to actually leave?

She had no power over what she did on the other side. Only here, where it was--supposedly, at least--all an illusion. An illusion that lasted eight years, so it had better be faster than the real time, but some parts of it did seem to be glossed over.

She went back to bed. She woke in the morning and went back to being a groom at the Stag and Lion. She flirted with the guests--some male, most female--but found it terribly unsatisfying. Everyone reacted exactly as they had before unless she made drastic changes to her own behavior, and she knew no one wanted more than a one-night stand. No one had images or auras. The horses got along with her and nothing more. It was a quiet life. She wrote constantly, day and night, in her journal because it was vital that she not forget about the time loop.

Five days flew by, and then a month, and a year. There were rumors of wars and strange happenings, but none of them reached Baerlon. She lived her life--not as a normal girl, exactly, but without any of the strangeness that popped up only in her dreams. On the morning of the eighth year since the strangers had left Baerlon, she woke up and rubbed her eyes against a silver light shining into her room. In place of the window, there stood an archway filled with a brilliant glow.

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast. Well. That was a lie. Or the truth because this wasn't the way back. But what was?

Min turned her back on it and went back to bed. After a few minutes the light flickered and went out. She lay there in the dark, hoping she hadn't doomed herself. People who didn't take the opportunity when it was offered didn't come out. Were they in another world living the life they had chosen, or did they die when the ter'angreal shut off, or something else entirely?

She was on the verge of sleep when the silver light returned. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast. Was it for real this time, or just another trick? How many layers of deception would there be? Be steadfast. She couldn't afford to assume. Min hopped out of bed and hurried through the arch before it could fade.

*****

Naked, she stumbled from the arches, thirty-two years worth of reduplicated memories--they were false, they had to be!--crammed into her head, but before she could speak of them someone dumped a chalice of cold water over her and left her shivering.

"You are washed clean of what sin you may have done, and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul." Leane noticed her shaking. "Are you all right? I don't know how not to do the ritual for this, really."

Min flung her arms around the Keeper. "It's different this time. I'm really out!" She looked up to study Leane's face. "I am really out, right? Don't answer that, it could be a lie. I'm ready. I guess."

Leane laughed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you react differently from the average initiate. The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Still filled with nervous anticipation, Min ran through into brilliant light.

*****

Fighting for breath, her side full of stitches, Min ran for her life, dragging Rand along behind her. Rand's panting was even heavier than hers, for all that he was supposed to be more powerful, and that was worrisome. The Stone of Tear might have been impregnable once, and was still a mighty fortress, but it no longer carried the same weight of destiny.

"Rand, keep moving! We have to get to the safe room!"

He stumbled just then, and she lost her grip on his hand. "Can't...can't keep up, Min. I'm sorry. So sorry."

She halted and spun back to him. His skin had gone ashen. "Have they bitten you again?" She couldn't think of an encounter since his last Healing. "We'll get you to Nynaeve." Surely Nynaeve had made it back to the safe room.

She peeled back his shirt where it covered the unhealing wound on his side and suppressed a gasp. Ir had worse than broken open; it was leaking green pus and the flesh around it was dead grey. Maybe she could stop it; it wasn't a natural disease, but it hadn't been magically inflicted, either. She wove Fate between her hands, fighting to sterilize the infection. There was a definite effect, but the sickness fought her as no natural illness could do. Finally the wound turned a healthier color, the gunk leaking out onto the floor, but Min remained wary. Rand had seemed cured before.

Still, he rose and ran alongside her without having to be dragged. When Bain and Chiad lurched toward them, moaning, their flesh rotting on the bone, Rand hurled fire at them without hesitation. It wasn't killing if they were already dead. Aiel corpses mingled with Tairen, shuffling about looking for flesh to eat. Min wasn't helpless to cut them down; a blade through the brain still worked just fine.

Near the core of the Stone, higher than the Heart, was a safe room, a place where the High Lords could retreat in the event of an internal rebellion. The doors were slabs of solid stone barely thinner than the walls, carefully weighted so they could be opened and shut if you had the functional intelligence to use the controls. Food was stored there, and water most of all. Their friends were supposed to be there, especially Nynaeve, and they could plan out some way to save what was left of the world. It couldn't be worse than the Breaking, surely.

Only, the room was empty. No Nynaeve. No anybody. "They'll come," Min said desperately. "We just have to hold it for them a while." Rand mumbled something she didn't catch. "It'll be all right, Rand. The Wheel turns, and life will come back. You have to believe."

He reached out to take her hand, but his grip was clammy cold. His arm was fishbelly-white. Moaning, he dragged her arm toward his mouth.

"No! No!" A blade of light severed his neck, and she shoved his body to the ground, still twitching. There was no help for it. The Dragon Reborn was dead, but at least he didn't have to be undead. Min shoved the corpse out of the doorway and pulled it closed. What else was there to do?

The room was no longer empty. A man was sitting on the bench near her, a man just into his middle years, with lace at his collar and thigh-high boots. She knew him. "Ishamael. You had us fooled a good long while. And you're still not dead, so...good job, I guess."

"It's time for us to talk, Min Farshaw. I suppose Aginor is probably to thank for this...problem. Either way, I need your help."

She snarled at him and drew a knife. "Problem? Aren't you happy? Everything's dying out there."

"Everything was always dying," he said. "All this has done is sped the process along. But while it happens there is still a great deal of pain. The Seanchan are already fleeing across the ocean. Their empire won't be spared."

"What do you want?" She shoved the blade towards his neck.

He caught it with his hand, letting the knife slice his palm. "The philosophers used to say there was no beginning or ending to the Wheel of Time. I never thought that sounded quite right, especially after I spoke with your prior incarnation. 'Better a horrible ending,' he said, 'than horrors without end.' I took those words to heart. You are an Ending, Min Farshaw, and you have a choice. Will you give the world a merciful death or let it suffer pointlessly?"

"I thought that was going to be your choice," Min spat at him. "Not mine. There's still a chance. There has to be, even with Rand dead. Somehow there's a way."

Ishamael rolled up his sleeve to show the livid bite on his arm. "It seems my time is about up. I feel shockingly clear of mind with my fate at hand. Don't worry. I'll take myself out of the picture before I turn. I am simply here to ask you for this favor. Kill the Great Serpent. The Wheel will keep turning, uselessly, while the world rots. Unless you stop it. You have the power."

"I can't believe I'm debating this with you. How would I even start?"

"Go through the redstone doorway in the Great Holding. You'll know it when you see it. The Aelfinn will take you beneath the Loom to read your fate. Ignore them and break the Loom. Then it will all...stop. And Min...you're listening because you know, in your deepest heart, that I'm right. This isn't going to be a living world much longer, but it can die with a measure of dignity. Or not. The choice is in your hands, Min."

The safe room filled with a brilliant, silvery light that was neither his nor hers. An archway stood across from him, a gateway to some unknowable place. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.

Ishamael put his head in his hands. This wasn't what he had intended at all. She was looking at a Forsaken and he was a broken man, nothing more. "There is nothing left to save, Min. Will you force me to beg?"

"It's not my place to decide." She stood.

"It is precisely your place. You are the last Chosen of Endings. You...wait! Where are you going? Min, stop!"

She fled the Shadow and dove into the light.

*****

Min stumbled out of the arches, retching. Leane waited till she was finished and stepped close. "Turn your face up a bit." She poured the chalice over her face so that it cleaned her mouth, too. "You are washed clean of false pride. You are washed clean of false ambition. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul."

Min scubbed at her mouth. "Light, that was vile! The walking dead...and then I think I was going to do it. What was the point of going on?"

"What happens within the arches is not spoken of," Leane said calmly. "Only one more pass. I believe in you. They say the third is always the worst."

Min looked bleakly up at her. "I can't imagine worse than what I just did. The most evil man in the world, and I...."

Leane patted her on the shoulder. "The third time is for what will be. Be steadfast." As Min ran for the last arch, she heard Leane add, "We'll clean up after. It's not the first--"

An explosion of light silenced her.

*****

Min came into the room late; the others did not rise for her. "The Five-Score Fellowship is now in session," the Empress intoned. There were some who were not present among the junior members, of course. All that truly mattered were the Five.

"I say we put an end to this debate," the Emperor said, reaching under his floppy hat to scratch. "We end the stalemate between the Yozis and the Neverborn, and they quit trying their proxy wars on Earth. Let them go to town on each other if they want." It was, of course, a transparent appeal to her as the Seat of Endings.

The Grey Fox shook his head and said nothing. He kept his own council, as he often did, but he did not approve of Mat's plan.

"Serenity on Earth is balanced by violence in other realms," the Empress said, voice cool and musical. "I remain skeptical. Does anyone wish to persuade me?"

"Humanity will be able to explore new paths with the Primordials out of the way," said Farstrider, "whether they kill each other or just keep each other busy. I say we try it."

"This conflict won't be so easy to keep isolated," the Grey Fox said of a sudden. "You don't see what I'm seeing."

"Do you plan to show us?" the Empress asked. "I didn't think so."

"The Primordials created this world, and us, without any concern for our well-being," Min said. "I submit that we don't need to be concerned for theirs. And as for the rest of humanity, they'll be better off once we reshape the world for their benefit. I say it's time to take the Primordials out of the equation entirely."

"What about Autochthon?" the Grey Fox asked. "What about Gaia?"

Min folded her hands. "If they don't know better than to oppose us at this point, we give them the same treatment the Yozis got. Maim them and swear them to eternal imprisonment. But I think they have the sense to get out of our way."

"That's threescore to forty," Mat said. "We have the votes to win. Either of you two care to see the writing on the wall?"

The Empress folded her arms over her chest. Thom glared and looked away.

"Vote carries 60-40," Mat said. "Unless anyone down there wants to dissent?" He waved his hands generously at the lower seats, but no one objected. No one had objected to anything they did in some time, which was just as well. A few vacant expressions was a small price to pay for a better world.

"Bring in the prisoner," Min said. A pair of automata dragged in a woman by the golden chains around her neck. Even disheveled as she was, Lanfear was still a woman to make one set of lips dry and the other wet. But she was far more and far worse, too. "Lanfear, you are hereby sentenced to death, to be carried out when our business is finished here."

"You fools!" she shrieked. "You have no idea what I am! I broke the yoke of the Yozis! I am the Green Sun Queen! I--"

"Be silent," the Empress said, and she was. Her mouth continued moving a moment longer before she realized what had happened. "Yes, you have broken the natural order and become a Devil-Tiger Primordial. That makes you more of a monster than ever...and the perfect bait."

Lanfear's desperate eyes turned toward Min, and her thoughts beat at the doors of Min's mind. Min raised an eyebrow and responded, I will let you speak to me while we finish minor business. What is it, you old relic?

You really have become worse than I ever was. I know what you're planning. We did the same. Operation Wyldhand was, save for me, the apex of Solar hubris. You won't escape with a distraction. Don't you understand? You will make the Yozis look like schoolchildren at play if you go through with this!

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast. That wasn't Lanfear. Who was it? Min hesitated. Something strange was going on and she needed to know what before proceeding.

"Are you talking to her?" the Empress asked, cutting through her thoughts. "Don't be a fool. She wants to corrupt you."

"Wait," Min protested. "There's something wrong. I want to question the prisoner first."

"There has been plenty of time for that already," the Empress said. "Allow me to resolve this." She flicked her hand at Lanfear. A dozen threads shot out, like bits of the Pattern made manifest, and when they struck the Forsaken, she simply...ceased. A heavy thrumming thud rang out, shattering the space where she had been, and in the void below Creation Min saw dark Essence collapse into a small tomb amidst the larger tombs of the Neverborn.

"She really did become a new Primordial," Min gasped, "and you killed her."

"That was always the plan," Thom muttered. "I didn't agree with it, but you had to understand it, surely."

"It's a warning shot across their bows," Mat said bluntly. "It'll ignite a war between them, Yozi against Neverborn, and clear the table for us."

"This can't be the right thing," Min said anxiously.

"It was your idea!" Farstrider exclaimed. "What's the matter with you? It's too late to stop now."

"But...no, wait!" They really were going to rip the Pattern to shreds doing this. Lanfear had been telling the truth, if only this once.

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast. Off to one side of the planning table a silver, gleaming arch shimmered into being, just a few steps to her left. She could stay here, try to undo what she'd set in motion...or she could abandon everything and flee.

"How do you propose we stop any of this?" The Empress was giving her an opening. Could she stop it? Would they even listen, now?

She couldn't do this. It was beyond her. Furious, frightened, she lunged to the left and into the brilliant light. Their angry shouts were cut off in an instant...and she was gone.

*****

Min staggered out of the archway, mind swimming in the thoughts of her future self. That Min had been a madwoman. Convinced that what she was doing was for the greater good, in a way, but willing to dismantle the world out from under herself--and everyone else--in hopes of putting it back together better. In the end, too, better had mostly meant better for herself. She'd cut herself off from anyone who might disagree and aimed for the biggest ending she could imagine.

Leane emptied the last chalice onto her. "You are washed clean of Elmindreda Farshaw. You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world. You come to us clean and pure. You are--" Leane broke off. "I can't proclaim you Accepted of the White Tower when the Tower calls you Anathema. But you ought to be. Perhaps one day."

"I'm not even sure you should. Not ever." Min stumbled over to the bench where her clothes waited and began trying to put them on. "I thought we must be better than the Solars, at least, but we were on the same bloody path. If I had one crown for every time a bloody Forsaken tried to get me to listen to reason...well, I'd have two crowns, but that's two too many. I don't know what I was hoping for. To blow the doors of perception wide open, I guess, and I suppose I've achieved that. Probably not the way I wanted, though."

"If you've done it at all," Faolain said quietly, "perhaps that's what you needed done."

Chapter Text

Egwene folded her extra clothes into her blanketroll and began to roll it up. She had plenty of other things to leave here, but a trip into the Aiel Waste called for traveling light. After a fashion, at least--they would have to carry a good bit of food and water. Once she had that secured, she took out the loose breeches she had had made, more or less after the fashion of cadin'sor, but different enough not to offend. She thought they might be more convenient out in the Waste.

While she changed, she felt the itchy feeling of eyes on her back, but no matter where she looked, she could see no one. Possibly someone else was looking at her through a wall or from a great distance by way of the Power, but she wasn't sure how to detect that.

The breeches felt strange but not uncomfortable. She reminded herself that men, and Min, and the Maidens, wore this sort of thing all the time. Egwene turned and-- "Ever want to be a fly on the wall?" Faile said, seated next to her blanketroll on the bed. "I've learned to be some very tiny things."

"What if someone were to squash you?"

"How often have you managed to squash a fly?" Faile rubbed her mouth. "It feels strange, though. Bugs don't have the kinds of mouths we do, for instance."

"And did it feel the same watching me change clothes?" Egwene crossed her arms, trying to look and sound annoyed.

"No. I mean, yes, but no. Flies aren't put together the same at all, so it felt pretty strange, actually." Faile made a face. "Was still fun, though. You've got a nice behind. You don't look too pleased to hear me say it, though. We have sayings about farmgirls in Saldaea, but I suppose the Two Rivers is different?"

Egwene shrugged, trying to look annoyed. "I'm not actually a farmgirl anyway. Nobody manages without at least a little garden or pasture, but my parents kept the inn."

"Light! I'm sorry. I'm not trying to upset you. The Dragon-Blooded are respected all along the Borderlands--monarchs are usually Terrestrials, and a lot of other nobles--and we know about your appetites and--" Egwene had never yet seen Faile back down so fast. It was almost funny.

"They're insatiable," she said. "Do you like the rest of me, or only my behind? Because I'm curious, that's all."

Faile tilted her head to regard Egwene carefully. "I haven't gotten that close a look at the rest of you. Are you trying to get me to? Because now I'm confused."

Egwene leaned forward and unfastened the buttons behind her neck that kept her blouse tight. "Perrin or Aviendha would have smelled what I'm feeling right now, long since. But I guess falcons rely more on their eyes." She slipped the blouse over her head. "I was trying to tease you, not make you upset." She pulled off the band of cloth around her breasts. "Still like what you see?"

"Still," Faile said, smirking. "I was so far off the trail it wasn't funny. I thought all Dragon-Blooded were aroused all the time, and for almost everyone, and then, suddenly, not you."

"It's not quite that bad," Egwene admitted. "Most Dragon-Blooded like most people that way, but there are some for every way people can be, only more extreme. There are even a few like Alviarin who don't like sex at all. They tend to choose White, or sometimes Brown. Alviarin supervises on the thirteenth floor a lot because she's one of the few who can be absolutely trusted never to take advantage of novices. I think most Aes Sedai would fight off any temptation to that, but she just...doesn't feel it at all, apparently."

"Strange," Faile said. "I told Rand when I was traveling with him, I don't even feel like a farmgirl at harvest so much as I feel like an animal in season. Sometimes it's too much for me."

"You mean you lose control, or it makes you upset?"

"Both at different times." Faile hesitated. "Occasionally at the same time."

Egwene nodded. "Sounds familiar. I didn't think the Two Rivers was prudish but now I feel like crawling out of my own skin whenever I have to go a day without sex. And just by myself only barely counts. Also I don't look like myself any more." Faile out her hands to the sides of her head self-consciously. "That's a big change and I'm sorry it happened to you. Dragon-Blooded aspect markings have a lot of variation. Sometimes you end up looking like the type of material that's closest to your skin already, sometimes you end up looking like the type that's common where you come from, and sometimes it's neither."

"Is there a lot of pale marble in the Two Rivers?" Faile held up Egwene's hand to look at it.

Egwene shook her head. "No, and I was confused until I got to Tar Valon. It seems I really do belong to the White Tower."

"If it helps, it looks good on you." Faile studied Egwene's hand more closely before beginning to kiss her way up her arm. "Do...you...like...this?"

Egwene shivered. "You're making the marble melt," she said. Faile was following her pulse. She reached Egwene's shoulder and nipped at her breast. Egwene caught her by the chin and pulled her face up to share a kiss.

"You've gotten good at that," said Faile afterwards. "Practice?"

"A great deal," Egwene agreed. "So I know you have more talent. You haven't been to the Tower." She unfastened the breeches. "Since you can't smell me, I may as well give you a better idea how I feel around you. Are you planning to keep everything on?"

Faile gave a throaty laugh and waved her arms in front of her. Her clothes melted away in an instant, leaving her fully exposed. "A trick Perrin taught me. Harder to get the hang of than it looks."

"So I don't get to see how sodden your smallclothes were?" Egwene teased as she removed her own. She tossed them at Faile. "Rude."

Faile pushed her down onto the bed. "I can be a great deal ruder." She channeled, flooding Egwene with strange silvery Essence; Egwene couldn't see what it was doing, but she felt her body trembling and shifting inside. She could have resisted, but she wanted to trust Faile.

She could feel her joints shifting and transforming, growing looser and looser until she could bend her fingers flat with the back of her hand as well as the front. Intrigued, she rolled onto her belly and bent herself until her feet were on top of her head. "I think I see the use of this," she said teasingly.

"We're practicing changing other people's bodies as well as our own. I know Perrin can Heal people, and he gave Hopper wings. This won't be so obvious that it upsets people, even if you keep it. Hey!"

Egwene had begun to wrap herself around Faile like a vine, clinging to her breasts, biting her neck, clasping her left leg between both of her own so that she could grind herself against it. She tried to sound innocent. "This is what you were after, right? I admit I don't find this rude at all." She realized that perhaps she should not have said that only after it was out of her mouth. What if Faile actually grew angry? She slid three fingers into the other girl's pussy; perhaps that would help her position.

"Maybe I need to try harder to be rude," Faile said, showing her teeth. Breathing heavily, she began to buck her hips, sliding up and down Egwene's fingers. "After all, I want to make sure you have a good time."

*****

The vast rubbish tip that was the Great Holding beneath the Stone of Tear snaked through the cellar in great stacked corridors of boxes. Rand al'Thor had ordered it to be organized, but without any substantial number of Aes Sedai on hand the process was painfully slow. For her part, Moiraine doubted it would ever be completed.

She had discovered a minor mystery that might have been related to the cleanup. Nynaeve had shoved Moghedien through a twisted redstone doorway in hopes of containing her, not realizing that it had sent her to have questions answered by the Aelfinn and released her minutes later. Yet only a few days after, the same doorway had been in a different part of the Holding, with the floor covered in unbroken dust. Surely there were not two of them, and if there were Moiraine had not found the other. Probably the question was trivial; she had more important things to ask.

The door seemed to be in the same place this time, so it was probably not vanishing and reappearing on its own. A single set of high-heeled tracks led to and from it now. She herself was not certain she would wear heels to travel into another world. Moiraine stepped through a sheet of white light and found herself...elsewhere.

She was not sure what she had expected of the Aelfinn, but not people who looked more delicate than humans, beautiful mostly from the tiny crystals scattered through their skin. Their coloring was strange, mostly pastel imposed on ordinary human hues, whether dark or light. Unsurprisingly, the one who came for her spoke in Old Realm; the White Tower had taught her that, so there aas no difficulty. She had planned her first question out carefully.

"What more can I do to ensure Rand's success?"

The Aelfinn looked her up and down curiously. "You must break the safety seals on the Loom of Fate in Yu-Shan."

She had expected a much less comprehensible answer. This was good. Perhaps the Aelfinn's reputation was exaggerated. Before she coukd ask another question, a bell tolled somewhere in the distance. "It is another," the Aelfinn whispered among themselves. "The strain. The savor. Ask!"

"How can I reach Yu-Shan?" The name signified "heaven", but that was clearly a metaphor of some sort.

"Yu-Shan is all around you." Ah. So it had been in service of a much more cryptic answer, naturally. The tolling cane again, this time much louder. Was someone else also on this side of the door? Perhaps the gateway wasn't stabilized for that, somehow.

"What must I do to break these safety seals?" Some details would be nice.

"You are not authorized to break the safety seals. No one is authorized to break them. You must find the one who will dare the wrath of heaven."

"How very helpful. Thank you. I take my leave of you now."

"Yes! Go now! Make haste!" Her guide took her by the sleeve and pulled her into motion. She might have had time to improve her questions. Whatever fool had cut short that time was going to get a piece of her mind.

*****

Lanfear was not having a good time.

Plenty of useful things had been left lying about in the Stone of Tear, most of them in the Great Holding, and she had taken a few. No one suspected her when she lept her appearance concealed, and she had secured a comfortable room--such as could be had, at least--but she did not at all feel like herself. Mat Cauthon had not denied her sleep, at least, but he had denied her dreams, so that she could access the Wyld only in the flesh. Even for her, the dangers were greater that way.

Having the brat deny her access to her own domain was humiliating, but unfortunately it demonstrated that she would have to be cautious in taking her revenge. The Quicksilver Hand of Dreams style was one of the few avenues of control denied her. How a child of this age had learned any of it was a mystery, but the Sidereals had always been masters of their strange martial arts. She doubted he had achieved full control of such powers yet; too many people remembered him. Perhaps it would be worth her time to figure out the Black Mirror shintai at long last, in case he learned more. She had never enjoyed the sensation of her own mind shifting away from herself, not even to destroy her enemies, but perhaps becoming the opposite of everything Mat Cauthon desired would be worthwhile.

In the meantime, she walked about in the guise of a servant or, if there was a problem, a Lady of the Land. No one questioned her, not for long at least, though she tried to avoid the rather large number of Exalted roaming the Stone. Probably she was in no danger from Berelain or Juilin Sandar, at least, but then Be'lal had already made that mistake.

At least, she thought he had. Be'lal was not so weak that he could not create duplicates of himself. The Great Lord of the Dark had been silent on his apparent death, as had the Quicksilver Forest. He did have a tendency to tangle himself in his own overcomplicated plans, but he had always escaped alive before.

She felt bloated. Some servant who was bearing a child of her own had used the phrase "like a beached whale", and that seemed apropos. It was just as well she had never tried to bear Lews Therin any children before the age turned; she was not sure she could wait to finish this one. Her only source of relief was the disguise weaves; a perverse creation of the Great Lord, they were as indistinguishable from reality inside as out. If she haunted the halls near the Dragon's quarters looking like Alsera Annambra's little sister, she could no more feel her own pregnant belly than could a servant who bumped into her. Alas, they could not duplicate a real person; only the Black Mirror could do that. She was not, she thought, such a wicked person as to enjoy twisting her own mind so that the desire to make a child miserable became her core purpose in life. Leave that to Demandred.

Lews Therin had asked the expected questions. Was it his? Why did she want it? She had not answered, of course, because he should be able to intuit that it was his and that she hoped he would come to her and take care of his own flesh and blood. She would not allow him to take the child away, of course. Someone would have to feed it, and there was no baby formula now. It would need its mother, or a wet nurse, she supposed. Surely feeding an infant could not be too difficult.

"Spear-sister!"

It took a moment for Lanfear to realize she was being called. At that, she was none too certain it was the first time. She forced herself not to look to startled and ran toward the call. "I see you, spear-sisters," she said once she was a little closer. "I am Lisande of the Black Rock Shaido."

Her assumed clan produced some grumbling, as the Shaido seemed to be the least honorable clan somehow, but if she had been sent across the Dragonwall then she surely must be trustworthy. "I see you, Lisande. I am Aviendha of the Nine Valleys Taardad. You have not joined us in a game of Maiden's Kiss in some time. We have caught a prime wetlander here."

She motioned to the Fire Aspect, Galad, who seemed only mildly worse for wear. She had in fact heard rumors that so far Galad had not forfeited once. He was therefore an extremely popular target for Maidens, especially those who were determined to collect his first forfeit. These future Aiel had become exceedingly strange.

She added a spear to the ring of steel already around his neck and leaned in. He really was not bad, but Lews Therin he was not. She loved only Lews Therin and burned only for Lews Therin; this she had sworn on her own self in the manner of Oramus the Maker of Limits. When he had finished she pushed her spear in closer. One of the Maidens--was it Bane, perhaps, or Jiad?--gave her a look and waggled fingers at her. It looked suggestive somehow, but women did not interest her either, not till the day the Dragon was reborn as one. She raised an eyebrow and let it rest at that. "I must go." She realized abruptly that she had no idea what sort of excuse these Aiel would accept. "Rhuarc has asked me to speak with Berelain again."

The Maidens looked at each other. For a moment, she thought her cover was blown. Then several of them burst out giggling, and Aviendha said, "Run, then, spear-sister!"

What was that about? But she had avoided trouble, so she ran.

*****

"What was that about?" Galad asked, but the Maidens only giggled harder. They really were not so bad, but they were confusing. "I have enjoyed this game," he said, "but my honor requires me to leave. I must prepare to travel with my sister to Tanchico."

"If your honor is at stake then you must go," Chiad said sadly. "But surely she is not leaving for a few more days."

"We will have a little more time," Galad said, "but I have preparations to make. I must secure passage, for one thing."

"We will ensure that your honor is intact," Bain said. He did not really understand her motives; she did not seem to enjoy his kisses much but did seem to value his company. Perhaps living in the White Tower had distorted his judgement? "Tell us what must be done, and we will do it for you if we can."

He nodded. "You have all been unexpectedly good friends to me. I regret that, until meeting you, I thought of you the way most Wetlanders do--as lawless savages. Your way of life is strange to me, but no worse than that of any other land I know."

Bain furrowed her brows. "Tell me, Galadedrid Damodred. Does the second part of a Wetlander name tell your family?"

He winced and nodded gravely. "Laman Damodred, whom you hunted down as an oathbreaker and warmonger, was my uncle--my father's brother. My mother was Tigraine Mantear, who would have been queen of Andor, my father Taringail Damodred. I did not know my uncle well, but few of his family have been good people. I have done my best to live as an Andoran. Still, it disturbs me that you blame every Cairhienin for my uncle's actions. Most have no idea what Laman did to offend you--only that you burned their homes and killed their families." The longer he spoke, the more troubled the Maidens looked, and several of them quietly slipped away as if embarrassed to have been around him. Bain and Chiad, and Aviendha, were among those who stayed.

"How is it they were so ignorant?" Aviendha asked, her tone not at all kind.

"In Cairhien, it does not do to be too aware of what your masters are doing. They knew there was peace with the Aiel, but they thought of Avendoraldera as a symbol only. I will not say that excuses them, but is it justice that they should die?" That did not receive the response he was hoping for, only disapproving eyes and hardened jaws.

"What is it the Bordermen say?" Chiad asked. "'Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain'?"

Dailin, one of the youngest, spoke up. "It was not that they feared to stop him. It was that they stood in the way of justice when it came for him. You have seen how these High Lords tremble at being sent before a magistrate, even with a chance of finding pardon. You have seen the common people rejoice at the same. When we came across the Dragonwall to punish Laman Treekiller, Laman Peacebreaker, the Cairhienin stood by the man whose own brother-son knows he was evil. If it had been my own mother who broke such a peace I would still name her da'tsang; I would not spit in her face lest it be counted as offering water. You are counted as honorable among Wetlanders. Can you not see the truth of this?"

"Wetlanders call us black-veiled savages," Bain muttered, "but when else have we ever warred with you, save a handful of petty goatherd feuds in the passes to Shienar?"

He had never cared for sayings like those of the Illuminated, that the sins of the mother were visited upon the fifth generation and the sins of the father unto the tenth. But if one actively closed his eyes to those sins, perhaps there was some truth to it? He nodded carefully, his brow still furrowed. "Yes," he said. "I see. Then as Laman Damodred's...brother-son?...I have toh toward you. Is that how you say it? Can I meet that toh?"

That touched off a firestorm among the remaining Maidens, and they spoke in the Aiel tongue so that he caught only fragments. "Can such a toh be met?"

"...only Laman was actually declared da'tsang..." What that meant he could not work out.

"...honestly say treekillers are not?"

"...raised as Andoran..."

"...that he would even ask speaks well..."

"...that he would dare to ask does not..."

"...say of us, to play Maiden's Kiss with a treekiller?"

"...some do try to meet unmeetable toh..."

Finally they turned toward him all together, their eyes unreadable, and Bain spoke. "There are some obligations so great they can never be met, Galadedrid Damodred, incurred only by great...crimes, as I think you would put it. Do you really believe anything you do can meet Laman Treekiller's toh?"

"No," he said as calmly as he could. "But as his nephew I must at least try to meet my own."

"Very well," Chiad said. "Dailin, fetch the strap and we will help him meet his toh, if he thinks it can be done."

What had he gotten himself into? But he would not let himself be proven less honorable than the people--whatever their intentions--who had set his second homeland on fire.

Chapter Text

Tairen nobility filled the great vaulted chamber with its huge polished redstone columns, ten feet thick, rising into shadowed heights above golden lamps hanging on golden chains. The High Lords and Ladies were arrayed in a thick hollow circle under the great dome at the chamber’s heart with the lesser nobles ranked behind, row on row back into the forest of columns.

Mat Cauthon knew for a fact that he had no business in elevated company like this, yet here he was in the inner ring, surrounded by lords and waiting on Rand bloody Dragon Reborn al’Thor's pleasure. Rand was supposed to be making a speech and telling everyone where he was going, but apparently not quite yet, because he wasn't here.

A rustling of fabric came from behind him, and he turned to see a pretty dark-skinned girl making her way through the ranks. They might not have parted for her, except that even lords and ladies gave a little extra space to women so obviously pregnant. She came right up to him and hissed, "Mat Cauthon," into his ear. "Give me back my dreams!"

The crowd looked askance at him, no doubt thinking she meant he had taken her dreams of a good life, but he knew better. Bloody Lanfear had just walked right up to him in the waking world and thrown down a gauntlet. She could probably handle the whole crowd like kittens, himself included and likely Rand, too, but it wasn't like her to be so public, not even in disguise. Maybe not being able to dream had her addled? "Maybe if you slow down and ask politely," he said, trying to sound pleasant. He couldn't just give her what she wanted, but he didn't really want to antagonize her, either.

His vision blurred out for a moment, and when it came back he was staggering, bleeding from the mouth and nose. She'd punched him in the face? Why, when she could have set him on fire with the wave of a hand?

The crowd erupted in angry mutters, then in boos. "How dare you?" someone yelled. "How dare you attack a pregnant girl like that?"

"I haven't laid a bloody finger on her!" he shouted, but the boos grew even louder. Worse luck, Moiraine and Egwene came stalking across the empty center of the circle.

"Matrim Cauthon!" Egwene snapped. "What is wrong with you?"

"What in the bloody Pit of Doom are you talking about? She hit me in the face, and I haven't touched her!"

"Oh, no, you certainly haven't, have you?" Did Egwene think the baby was his?

"You've got it all wrong," he shouted, but Lanfear grabbed him around the neck from behind, locking him in with her elbow. Now they could see, surely. A queasy sensation settled over him. "She's Lanfear, and she's the one attacking me!"

"She is plainly just defending herself," Egwene insisted.

Moiraine seemed slightly more swayed by his words, but only so far as to ask, "Why have you attacked Lanfear, Mat? She's far too powerful for you to fight alone."

Clearly he was getting no help from them. He squirmed around enough to slide a knife out of his sleeve, but Lanfear grabbed it away the moment it appeared. At first glance she seemed to be holding it all wrong, but clumsiness didn't matter much with it pressed against his throat. "I won't ask again, Cauthon. My dreams. Now."

"Here," he snapped. "Don't cut my throat, I'm giving them back." He wove a little net between his fingers and slapped it backwards into her face. She let go at once and crumpled to her knees.

"Mat, what did you do?" Egwene tried to get around him to look at Lanfear, but he blocked her way.

"Listen to me. Have you ever known me to hit a woman? At least, one who wasn't already trying hard to kill me? She's done something to you, Egwene. Shake it off."

Egwene squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to focus. When she opened them again, she gave him a level look and said, "You're right. It seems wrong somehow, but I believe you. He's telling the truth, Moiraine. What is she doing?"

Behind him, Lanfear was rocking back and forth, lifting herself up and thrusting back down, a thin keening sound coming from her throat. "She's too dangerous to actually give her own dreams back to, but I gave her a dream. She's fucking Rand." Egwene's look turned outraged. "Don't give me that. I knew she was likely to see through it, so I gave her what she wanted most for an incentive to believe it."

Moiraine was trying to shoo the lords and ladies away. They all still looked furious, but Lanfear's display had them confused. Now she was panting heavily, with her head thrown back, her open eyes seeing nothing real.

"Without dreams," Moiraine said, "she will eventually go mad, if she has not already, and it will likely fixate her on you. She will not stop doing harm in this world because of it. I suggest you--"

Moiraine paused as Lanfear released a loud cry of pleasure. Before she could resume speaking, a crackling sound overwhelmed all other noise, and Mat turned to see Lanfear channeling in some dark, impossible hue, threads drawing something into her open mouth. She stood. "Delightful as that was, I want the ability to dream back for myself, Mat. Otherwise, I will scream, and you won't like the results."

"What, the crowd will attack me? I'm ready for that, Lanfear."

She raised a brow at him. Light, but she was pretty. Rand was coming their way at last; what had kept him? "No," she said, "the crowd will be reduced to crystal statues that explode and fling shards everywhere. You'll probably survive, but Rand would have to rule Tear in person, and he has very little idea how to do that, I think."

"Fine." Mat wove another web between his fingers. "I can't prove it to you, but trust me when I say I know you'll just eat another dream if that's all I give you, and then probably scream the way you said."

"Yes," Lanfear said, "that does sound like good judgement on your part." He released the weave, restoring her ability to dream, and she let out a long, shuddering gasp. "I won't forget you, Mat. Don't worry your head about that." She threw Rand a wink and vanished before either of them could respond.

"Anyone care to explain what just happened?" Rand sounded none too pleased.

"Your ex tried to kill me," Mat said, "so I gave her what she wanted and now she's free to show up in your dreams again. Have fun with that."

Rand shook his head, then threw it back and shouted, "The delay is finished. Everyone resume your places and I will explain what I have planned. I shall be leaving you."

Moiraine pressed her fingers to her head as if it pained her. "Rand, what are you doing now?" she muttered.

The crowd flinched as he lifted the white gold blade before his face. Sweat rolled down his face, much more sweat than before. “The Stone held the Aidenweiss before I came. The Stone should hold it again, until I return.” Suddenly the gleaming sword blazed in his hands. Whirling it hilt uppermost, he drove it down. Into the stone floor. Bluish lightning arced wildly toward the dome above. The stone rumbled loudly, and the Stone shook, dancing, heaving screaming people from their feet.

*****

The ground quaked, shooting waves out into the harbor, and the ships that lay at anchor jolted with the force of them. Galad seized a post meant for tying off ships to hold himself steady. Elayne simply rode it out as if the earth shaking meant nothing to her; likely it did not. Juilin grabbed Thom by the arm and held him upright until the quake passed.

"I trust that was not you, sister," Galad said. She had not been pleased to find him waiting here. "I have negotiated our passage on Wavedancer. The Sea Folk have Prophecies of their own, it seems, though they told me little."

"I had no intention of taking you with me, Galad, but I would not start an earthquake over that. I believe it must have been Rand." She said nothing of why she would think so. "Have you brought nothing with you? We cannot afford to buy supplies in Tanchico, you know. The war will be playing havoc with prices."

He opened his mouth to explain, but at that moment Bain and Chiad came trotting around the corner, carrying their bags and his. "I hope you have finished this bargain," Chiad said. "We will be going below at once. This much water is very...strange to look at " The Maidens, of course, would not admit to being afraid, and he would not force it on them.

"Two, brother?" Elayne rolled her eyes at him.

"You threw me to a whole pack of these women, sister. These two enjoy my company. Shall I tell them to go back to the Waste when they seek adventure?" He eyed Thom and Juilin. "You have two as well, though they seem a bit old for you." Thom snorted at that; Juilin looked offended at being called old.

Elayne had the grace to look embarrassed. "It had not occurred to me to put men in my knapsack to use later, although Master Sandar is not that old. I would not have thought you would wrap women in your bedroll either, but I suppose people do change."

Bain said, suddenly and harshly, "I am not here on any man's orders. I choose where to go, and I choose my bedmates as well. Galadedrid Damodred may be your brother, but he does not answer to you, nor do we." Actually, he did, or would one day, but that explanation could wait. She and Chiad turned and went up the ladder onto the ship. Hopefully they would not regret this journey.

Galad sighed and gave Elayne a level look, right in the eyes. "I am not saying this to annoy you. You will be wanting men, as you usually do, and will be driven to distraction without them unless you have some plan. I do not expect you to listen to my judgement, only that you indicate you have something in mind. If Juilin is interested in bedding you every night, that is between the two of you. If you roam the cabins like a cat in heat, that is everyone's problem." And, rather than let her tear into him, he turned and went aboard.

There were not, in fact, many cabins on the raker. There was a row of guest cabins; there was a cabin for the Sailmistress and Cargomaster and one for the Windfinder; there was a nursery cabin for children, especially those under five. That was it; the rest of the crew shared the deck and the hold, though the latter had an area full of bunks and hammocks partially set off from the cargo. There was very little privacy, to the point that Galad wondered if the Sea Folk were all secretly Dragon-Blooded. That was nonsense, of course; only the weakest Terrestrials could easily pass as mortals.

Bain and Chiad had in fact closed themselves up in the first guest cabin. Galad hoped they would not try to stay inside for the whole trip, though their attitude did make sense. "Chiad," he called, and she invited him in. Bain was standoffish as usual; she was borderline indifferent to men, yet willing to do almost anything Chiad suggested. She always eventually opened up when Chiad was talking to him.

They were, in fact, his plan for getting through the long trip intact, with no other Dragon-Blooded around save his sister. He was a little ashamed of taking such a resort, but it was plain that he could not become involved with mortals over the long term; everyone knew that, Faolain included. They were simply too short-lived.

"They said we were a good omen," Chiad said, "and I do not understand why."

"You don't know about the storm mothers," Galad explained. "The seas used to be dominated by gods called the storm mothers, who were jealous of beautiful women. The Sea Folk made a pact with them to bear children by them not long after the Breaking, but they are also powerless over redheads. Unfortunately, red hair was unknown among the Sea Folk, and hardly common among us wetlanders, so that they had to find a different way, but the memory of it remains, and three redheads just boarded this vessel. Our party is very good luck."

Chiad laughed. "They have the best luck ever, with two Aiel aboard. I cannot think they have ever had another."

"Aside from my own family, and some Fire Aspects, who often turn red all over, I do not think I have met a redhead who was not Aiel. And of course, you can see that even I have black hair, despite being both a Fire and part Andoran royal. You will have to meet Sheriam Sedai one day. She is also a Fire, and has red hair and skin that looks sunburnt, despite being Saldaean. She may be a Tar Valon mix; it would be impolite to ask, but Tar Valoners come from all over the westlands, for obvious reasons." He rubbed surreptitiously at his side, but he had not been discreet enough.

"Are you well?" Bain asked cautiously. She did not want to shame him by bringing up an obligation that had been met. In her eyes, at least.

"I used a balm to stop the bleeding, so as not to alarm my sister. For the rest, I will be well when I am well. I should be fine."

"Good," Chiad said, with a bark of laughter. "Soon or late I will get you to forfeit at Maiden's Kiss, and I would have you well when it happens." Bain snickered.

He really should give her a chance to find out.

*****

Juilin watched the disgruntled Tairen guide paddle his way back up the Fingers of the Dragon for a few minutes before turning back to the deck, and was pleased to learn that he had heard the truth about Sea Folk vessels at sea. Barring a few halter tops on women with very large chests, Atha'an Miere women really did go about bare-breasted on the open sea. Even the halters were plainly just there to prevent excessive bouncing, and concealed very little. Thom took a seat at the bow and pulled out his pipe with a grin. "A pity they concede so much to 'shorebound sensibilities'," he said.

Elayne was too busy muttering to herself about Galad's "cat in heat" remark to even notice until one of the women offered her a bottle of ale and she looked up to find bosom directly in front of her nose. The woman laughed about it, handed her the ale, and sauntered away laughing some more.

Thom sighed abruptly. "What was that?" Juilin asked.

Thom responded, "Everyone knows the Maidens love their domains, but there are times when they enjoy reversing them. Mercury knows when it's not time to travel, and likewise sometimes Jupiter reveals a secret."

Before Juilin could ask what was about to be revealed, Elayne pulled off her blouse, saying, "When in Maradon...." Her redstone-tinted skin made her nipples especially rosy.

"You did say that age gaps meant little because we might live for thousands of years," Juilin reminded him. "Why not go on enjoying the view?" Elayne was a fine-looking young woman.

"Because," Thom said under his breath, "I'm only mostly certain she isn't my daughter." He gestured to his blue eyes, unheard of in most places; Thom was surely not a Tairen or from the eastern Borderlands, and that left Andor's nobles. Or the Aiel, of course; Juilin was certain Thom was no Aiel. "Jupiter could tell me that for sure, but--agh!!--she finds my reaction amusing." He tried keeping his eyes on the Sea Folk women, who winked at him and laughed.

Juilin shrugged and eyed Elayne openly; the Sea Folk might expect him to keep his gaze to himself, but surely an Andoran Dragon-Blood would only show off her breasts if she was all right with them being seen.

"The Solars are in all ways larger than life," Thom said. "Lunars are driven to survive and to break taboos, and Sidereals exist to ensure history turns on its fulcrums. But the Dragon-Blooded were made to breed an army, and their cravings put all of ours to shame. Have a care, if you value your sleep."

"I am a Solar," Juilin argued. "Do I really need sleep?"

"Perhaps not," Thom conceded. "I understand Rand goes without it often enough, but you'll forgive me if I don't call that an endorsement."

"He's not well, is he?"

Thom blew through his mustaches. "I would call that the understatement of the Age, and it can only get worse from here."

*****

Elayne was doing her best to ignore all the Sea Folk women with their chests bare, but all that left her to look at was Sea Folk men with their chests bare, which had its own kind of appeal. She tuned out her sight and followed a different sense toward the back of the boat, where a young woman and an even younger boy were channeling in surprisingly large amounts. "Hold it steady," the woman said. "You can do this." The boy couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age; if he was Dragon-Blooded, the Tower needed his strength. The stories said, though, that the Windfinders were descendants of the storm mothers.

"That's a lot of Power for a god-blood," Elayne said casually.

"It is," the Windfinder said, "but we are. The storm mothers are generous to their children. My name is Jorin din Jubai White Wing, and this is my brother Caldan, who does not yet bear a salt name. He will be a Windfinder as well, when he is older, though the goddesses do not favor their sons as much. Perhaps the difference is that some of us also have wind and water elemental spirits in our lineage, and those who do are stronger."

There was not much use in taking god-blooded to the Tower, of course. Sometimes a little could be learned from their weaves and incorporated into sorcery, but they did not work for the Aes Sedai as they were. Some had argued that they could become a lower tier of Aes Sedai, as the Dragon-Blooded had once been below Celestial Exalted, but how to explain recruiting non-Exalts? Also, what if the result was yet another Usurpation?

The trouble was, she had seen their weave plainly, and it was not god-blooded work, nor were the pair's deep green skin and white hair like sea foam the inheritance of the sea gods. Perhaps some of the Windfinders were such, but these two were Water-aspected Terrestrials, and strong ones. "It might be wise not to let my brother see you channel," she said carefully, "at least if he ever comes out of his cabin. He might mistake you for Terrestrial Exalted, and then he would probably tell the White Tower, and there would be trouble between you and them."

"That is sound advice," Jorin said. "I do not know that I can give you a gift to match it, but I thank you greatly."

Elayne considered. "I need to sleep less than my brother. If I can ensure that he is sleeping, or otherwise will not see, perhaps we can see if there is something you can teach me. Those were very thick weaves; I have not seen their like in the White Tower. I have never made one half so thick myself."

"Truly?" Jorin kissed the fingers of her right hand and pressed them to Elayne’s lips. “If it pleases the Light, we both shall learn.”

Chapter Text

No horse greatly enjoyed the company of torm, and most would flee from them without special attention, but out here on the grasslands where the famed Tairen bloodstock grazed, Mandarb trotted unconcerned beside Nynaeve's Grimalkin. The warhorse could never be called placid; periodically it eyed Grimalkin with what Nynaeve could only describe as sullen, anxious fury. But it neither attacked nor tried to run, not even at camp, when they were left tied a pace or two apart. For Grimalkin's part, she chewed happily on the rabbits Nynaeve caught for her and paid the warhorse no mind.

Beside both of them, Loial bounded along as if he had not a care in the world, leading a shaggy, stocky packhorse. The Raptok simply were not built to ride, but there was no reason to fear he would fall behind. Nynaeve worried, rather, that Aginor's mistreatment had left some seed of trauma and darkness in his mind. Her best probing had not found such a thing, but she had always been better with sicknesses of ths body than the mind, and Loial was more like a bird than a human.

"You're confident that, if the Black Wind should find us, you can deal with it?" Lan asked, seemingly unconcerned. Nynaeve had in fact pinned Machin Shin in mid-air with an arrow in their first encounter, but she was uncomfortably aware that they had been just inside a Waygate in Shienar at the time. She knew the hekatonchiere had eventually broken free, and had every reason to think it could track her through the Ways if they had to flee.

She nodded. "Between the three of us, I can manage. Just be ready to support me against it." She expected Loial to moan in displeasure, but he kept quiet, scowling around at the pastureland. There was no sign of the Ogier grove that should have surrounded the Waygate, so unless he was lost he was surely upset that it had been cut down.

In the end they did find it, half-covered by a stand of brush. Even this, Loial seemed displeased to cut away, murmuring something about leaving it for kindling, but at last the section of black wall stood revealed before them, with a spreading tree carved in relief on it. Every kind of leaf imaginable sprouted from its branches, from long fronds to little butterfly-winged wedges, but only one trefoil Avendesora leaf. That was the key. She plucked it gently from the Waygate and watched as the tree came to life, branches swaying in an imaginary breeze. Only then did the stone split doen the middle and open slowly outwards, dragging bits of scraped grass.

Deep in unchanging darkness, Lan began the lessons he had promised. The Raptok body plan was different from that of a human, but not so radically different as to make for incompatible moves. "For a Dragon King," Lan explained as they practiced basic kicks and punches, "much of learning is remembering. Humans are meant to forget their prior incarnations, for the most part. Dragon Kings are not."

"But you can still learn new things, too?" Nynaeve was not exempt from training, either. Lan had said that if she were going to travel with him, she should treat him as an instructor in the Tower. Technically, she had the authority to override him, but in truth, she did still have much to learn.

Lan was grudgingly complimentary of Loial's efforts, so he must have been doing very well. "I took the time to search the Great Holding for memory crystals before we left," Lan said on their first "morning" within the Ways. "Training will be slow, but Shadow Hunter style is an art we can all learn together. It was a cooperative style, favored by the Raptok and aligned with Wood, so both of you have a chance to surpass me quickly if you apply yourselves."

The first phase of learning from the crystals was a meditation session, and Nynaeve had always struggled to clear her mind, but Tower training had at least partially alleviated that. The crystals brought vivid images, just short of hallucinations, of stalking prey from cover. Some few were from humans, but many situated Nynaeve in an alien body shape like Loial's, leaving her to wonder how Perrin managed so well. On the other hand, her father had trained her so well at wilderness living that she had impressed Lan during their earliest encounters. The White Tower was not the best environment to continue that training, but her teachers had been able to impart some further lessons.

Long ago, there had been trees in the Ways, but they were dead so long in the past that even the dust of them had fallen from the islands into the void. Lan lit a fire after meditation and added something to make thick smoke, darkness amidst the darkness, while they paired off and hunted the third. Slowly Nynaeve began to get the hang of it, she thought--but then she was up against Lan, who had been a skilled fighter before she was born, on the one hand, and Loial, who was hardly even an adult, on the other, which made it hard to judge her progress.

Part of the problem was how little time they could risk taking to practice. No more than an hour, and then Lan chivvied them along to make up for the loss. Could she hold off the Black Wind if it came for them? Maybe she could, but if she failed they were worse than dead. Every click and tap echoed in her ears until it sounded as if she was part of an army on the march. How did Machin Shin track its prey? There had to be a way to hide from it. She cleansed them of fatigue every few hours so as to travel faster, but would that be enough?

On the second night, as they were trying to bed down, Nynaeve distinctly heard the tread of heavy boots. Not Lan's; he was seated at the fire. With a sickening sensation in her belly, she channeled a brilliant light, as large as she could make it against the Ways' encroaching darkness. Trollocs recoiled, throwing their hands up before their eyes, then charged. The air filled with bestial yells--which then became screams of terror. The Trollocs had been on another island, very close by, but a full three paces of the bridge between them had shattered and fallen, beginning just her side of the highest point of the arch. Three of them raced off the edge before even realizing their mistake, followed by several who saw the danger but were forced off in the rush, desperately scrambling for purchase that wasn't there to find. Even Trollocs were not so stupid as to willingly plunge into the abyss trying to reach prey, though. A few arrows rattled off the bridge around them before the archers realized there was no way to get their targets into the cookpots and dejectedly turned away.

"Make sure there's no other easy route!" Nynaeve warned, hurrying to check the next bridge. Space in the Ways was a tangled knot, and it was possible the Trollocs had some other path to reach them by, perhaps even directly across the island. But a quick check revealed that none was visible, and more than one bridge or ramp was surely more than a Trolloc could puzzle out, here.

Loial hurried them across two more islands, and Lan carefully checked every path away for evidence of Shadowspawn before finally allowing them all to rest. He himself remained awake and on guard all through the night, so far as she could tell.

The next morning's lesson was canceled, of course. There was no way to know if the Trollocs were near, given how little that meant in the Ways, but they were most likely still present. In its place, Lan helped Nynaeve meditate as she rode, feeling for the presence of unseen foes. It waa not a use of the One Power she had even tried before, and it relied on awareness of the stone beneath their feet, so she struggled with vertigo all morning and felt nothing useful in return. The only good thing to come of it was that Lan agreed the Trollocs were far away, or returned to the outside world entirely.

Despite the ever-encroaching darkness and the brush with death, or perhaps because of them, as the "evening" wore on Nynaeve became increasingly aware of the saddle between her legs and the presence of warm flesh she could easily place her hands on. Thoughts of Lan's kisses grew distracting and difficult to push aside. All the Aes Sedai said that it grew slowly easier to ignore such things when you must, as familiarity increased, but the feelings never truly went away. Tentatively she brought it up to Lan when they stopped for the night.

"Which is more distracting?" Lan asked with a shrug. "I need your mind on our surroundings, not on my cock. Do you see more risk in being lightly distracted until we are out of the Ways and perhaps in Emond's Field, or in spending half an hour with only Loial on watch?"

Uncomfortable with such a pragmatic response, Nynaeve grudgingly said, "It's only going to get worse as we go on. Better to get it out of the way."

Instantly the light of the One Power around him flickered out, and his lips were pressed hard against hers. "Never think that I do not burn for you, Nynaeve." Only the flickering oil fire gave any light, now. Lan gave a quick, encouraging word to Loial, said they would not be long, and pulled Nynaeve and their blankets a bit further into the darkness. His strong hands reached beneath her dress, squeezing her bottom so that she gasped.

They did not undress fully even now, though their clothes would not have been hard to find in the Power's light if necessary. She unbuckled Lan's belt and tugged his pants down to his knees; he shrugged them the rest of the way off rather than have his legs confined, and pushed her skirts up above her waist. "Quickly," she said, and not for fear of the Trollocs alone. She ached for his touch, throbbed with need for his hard flesh inside her. He was hard, with no need to work him up to it, and though his kisses were welcome, his hands on her hips delightful, she likewise needed no encouragement to open her legs and let him press between them. She bit down on his lip and tasted his blood as she took his full length inside her. There was nothing and no one she wanted more, not even to be out of the darkness. For these few moments, even the unnatural darkness of the Ways was exciting and not oppressive. When she came, it lit up in stars, briefly leading her to worry that she had flared her aura again, but all was well. After all was done, they curled up in one another's arms, and she slept like an innocent babe.

She woke to find him already dressed and the horses packed. "Quickly," he said. "We have been here long enough." Once again she heard movements in the distance, and no way to know how much distance that was. "They are not that close," Lan warned, "but I would rather they were farther still."

Loial read the Guiding quickly, muttering over the Trolloc runes that marred it, and they were off. For the first time it occurred to her that at least some Trollocs were smart enough to be literate, enough of them to have maintained a written language for three thousand years and more. What did Trollocs write? Surely nothing but crude insults and basic instructions, but how did she know that?

They emerged into a rocky cleft of bare stone and scrubby pines in thin dirt. "All that is left of the grove," Loial said mournfully, "but there must be some small virtue left in the ground." He gestured toward a much larger valley nearby, all sharp edges and broken stone despite an interval of two millennia. Manetheren's last queen had burnt the city down to the living rock of the mountain, and even today life had not reclaimed it.

Nynaeve reached for Grimalkin's reins, but as she did so the Waygate began to open once more. "Weapons out!" Lan called. There was a possibility it was just another traveler, of course--they themselves had just come out--but the Ways had been dark so long that they were only used in desperation, when nothing else would suffice.

The creatures who came out, bounding and snarling, were not Trollocs, but they were no less dangerous. Nynaeve had read of erymanthoi in stories--manlike beasts with great claws and spikes that sprouted from their backs, covered in rust-red fur. She had not realized they were supposed to be intelligent, but some of these wore armor that looked even cruder than a Trolloc's or carried Trolloc swords that curved like scythes. They loped toward the party on all fours, moving much as the grolm-Trollocs had in the Stone, though they seemed less ponderous.

Nynaeve fell back and drew the bow she had taken from the Stone of Tear. It was the size of a good Two Rivers longbow, but made of green jade lightly alloyed with steel. No ordinary mortal could have drawn it at all. She let Lan engage the monsters with his sword first, drawing their attention, before she began to loose arrows wreathed with a poisoned weave.

At first she didn't see Loial at all and worried he had run off, or been slain in the first rush. Then he appeared from the underbrush, grown to greater size and bristling with spiny armor. His sharp claws cut into the erymanthoi trying to flank Lan.

In just moments, the battle was over, and each of the monsters lay on the ground, dead or dying. "Sent to reinforce Trollocs, no doubt," Lan said grimly. "Erymanthoi are demons, not ordinary Shadowspawn. They're not that powerful, but they may well reform in Malfeas and be sent right back to try again."

Loial went over to the Waygate and opened it again, removing the key from inside and placing both of them on the outside. "It cannot be opened from the inside, now," he explained as it closed once more. "It is...um...locked."

Nynaeve hoped nothing was already here that knew how to unlock it, but she suspected otherwise. "Can you just remove them and take them away?"

Loial moaned. "Please do not ask me to kill the gate, Nynaeve. We have always hoped the Ways could be healed. They are such an amazing achievement from such a dark time."

"Loial...." She could not say it, could not disappoint him...and he was, on some level, right. She wanted the Ways healed too. Perhaps it would not be needed, not just yet. "...I hope you're right." She patted Grimalkin on the head and mounted up.

There were strange traces, coming down out of the mountains. All her life, this area had been empty of people, a place reserved only for nature gods and elemental spirits. Now she found bent and broken branches, footprints, discarded pottery. Not in huge amounts, and yet it was plain that humans had been moving through in larger numbers than there had been in many years. Even Mat would have noticed by the time they reached the Sand Hills, and though she caught glimpses of bears and wild cats and deer, the traces of human passage remained constant. Why were so many people going up into the mountains? Were they fleeing the Two Rivers?

Three days later, she came down to the old track of the Quarry Road, little more than a wide treeless path, but still marked by old cart ruts here and there. It, too, bore signs of trampling and scattered bits of rags. She considered voicing her concerns to Lan, but something held her silent. Not until she saw a clear bootprint in a muddy streambank did she understand what she was detecting. People were not fleeing the Two Rivers; they were fleeing to it. Somehow they had crossed the mountains, coming from Almoth Plain. But we drove the Seanchan off! Didn't we? That was a fool thought. The plain was full of Dragonsworn, and likely still soldiers from Tarabon and Arad Doman. It might be sparsely populated, but if every village had been rooted up all the way from Falme....

Her own house, finally, came into view on the edge of Emond's Field. There were no more al'Meara's, only her. Her own parents had died of a sickness when she was still a child. Yet there were crops growing in a well-tended garden. No reason to let a good house go to ruin, she made herself admit. She would never have come back, save for Rand. Would have missed it, would always have prayed for her people...but not have come back. She turned Grimalkin towards the inn.

She came out of a stand of trees and got a broader look at the village. Emond's Field had changed in her absence. The village was still pressed between the hilly Westwood and the swampy Waterwood on the east, but to north and south, at least two dozen houses had gone up, perhaps more, so that it stretched out into a long band. All the houses burned on Winternight had been repaired, of course, but the Winespring Inn was being expanded out onto the old stone foundation, taking care to leave plenty of space around the huge oak that sprouted from its center.

"Nothing for it but to see what's happened," she murmured to Lan, and rode down toward the inn. She could hear people out and about, but no one much was visible this early in the morning, not yet. She tethered Grimalkin on the far side of the stables for now; there was no point in upsetting the big Dhurrans or any other horses that might be inside. Then she came around to the inn's back entrance by the kitchens and went inside.

The huge stone ovens were all cold save one, of course. Even with all that had changed, no one much would be eating breakfast here. She slipped on through the room and into the hall that opened into the great rectangle of the common room. Two men she did not recognize sat at a table in the corner talking quietly, and that was surprise enough, but Bran al'Vere and his wife Marin were otherwise alone, cleaning off the tables a little and polishing the silver and pewter. They had always been prone to smiles, if not laughter, but they seemed serious now.

She felt Lan come up to her side. It was time to pull off the bandage now. "Marin," she said. "Bran. I have come home. I know you'll have replaced me by now, but I have at least come to see you all."

They turned and, for a few moments, could only stare. Then... "Nynaeve," Marin said. "It is you. Well, Daise Congar could never really replace you, but she is the Wisdom now, and doing well enough. Time was, I would have been astonished to see you. I still wonder how you came around such a long way. I thought you had gone to Tar Valon, with Egwene."

"I did," she said, puzzled. "You know which way I came from?" Marin al'Vere was a good woman, but no tracker, even if she had somehow had time to search out their backtrail.

"The Cult of the Illuminated holds Taren Ferry," Bran said, "and there's no mistaking you now for anything but Dragon-Blooded. In the old days, we'd have assumed you slipped past them somehow, but you must have come down out of the mountains like the refugees from the coast. Light, but I think more must have died than made it here."

"As much as we would love to have you back, Nynaeve," Marin added, "it's not safe here. Between the Whitecloak patrols and the Trolloc raids--"

"Trollocs?" Lan interrupted. "The Trollocs returned?"

"Pardon, good master," Bran said, "I remember you from Winternight, but not your name. Yes, the Trollocs are back, raiding us from time to time. Mostly outlying farms. Nothing you couldn't handle, I'm sure. Even so, it's a great mess is what it is."

"I am Lan Mandragoran," he said, "and our companion here is Loial, son of Arent, son of Halan."

"A Dragon King?" Bran said. "Out of the stories? My apologies. I have heard things about the...the Shawkin on the coast. I thought perhaps you were one of their creatures, escaped and made a pet of. Welcome to the Winespring Inn, all of you, but truly it is not safe."

"And is it safe for any of you?" Lan shook his head; he surely did not think so. "Tell me something, Master and Mistress al'Vere. How many of your children in this district are god-blooded, perhaps stronger and stranger than god-blooded ought to be?"

That caught them by surprise, and the couple stared at one another before Marin said, "Master Mandragoran...perhaps we need to talk at length. Would you come upstairs?"

All the older rooms that the Winespring kept for guests were on the second floor, and the al'Vere's own rooms as well. "We thought at first it might be some sort of plague," Marin said quietly, pulling out a keyring. "It struck mostly the children, the ones who were in the village for Winternight, but also a few older people, into their thirties. And by that, I mean--" She unlocked and opened the room next to her and Bran's own. "--our girls. All of them."

Egwene had four sisters, and every last one of them was in this room, looking frazzled but also changed. The oldest, Berowyn, was the least of them, but her eyes sparkled in her dark face, the translucent shifting white of the Winespring as it bubbled from the rock outside, sparkling in the sunlight. Aline's skin had darkened almost to midnight black. Elisa's hair was smoke-grey and her skin now bore a deep underlying reddish cast, while the youngest, Larine, bore roses in her hair like the tiny blackthorn flowers that bloomed in Nynaeve's. Her skin was the brown-grey of thick vines, and her eyes bright green. "One of us for each element," Aline said sardonically, "if Egwene is Earth."

"Our girls thought they would stay and help us run the inn, before the Whitecloaks came," Bran explained. "Most of the others are in hiding elsewhere. The majority are from here in the Two Rivers, but a few of the refugees are changed as well. Young men and women from all the villages, though Taren Ferry has just a few. The Torfinns, the Coles, the Ayellins...even Callie Coplin."

"No Cauthons?" Nynaeve said with a wry grin. Mat would be amused.

The al'Veres looked at each other, and Marin breathed a deep sigh. "We were getting to that," she said. "The worst of the Trolloc raids so far hit the Aybara farm. Perrin's close kin, all of them...gone in a night. Bodewhin was visiting at the time. There was no body, but...as much as we'd like to think she escaped, we all know what it really means. Eldrin is distraught, of course. She seems unchanged, aside from that."

"Peace," Lan muttered. Nynaeve glanced back at him before understanding. He was no stranger to Trolloc raids or to death, but he especially understood what it was like to be a last survivor. Sooner or later, Perrin would have to learn what had happened here. Mat would miss Bodewhin terribly, too, for all that they aggravated one another, but at least his parents and his other sister were alive.

"We have to stay," Nynaeve said quickly. "We can't let the Trollocs burn and slaughter their way through the Two Rivers, Lan. Marin, are the Illuminated doing anything to help?"

Berowyn sniffed. "Sitting like statues on the Watch Hill village green, where they've all camped. They've got Padan Fain with them and he's giving the orders so far as we can tell."

"Light! Padan Fain is a Darkfriend, and...and he has some sort of powers that make him as bad as Shadowspawn. He brought the Trollocs before we left. He's likely brought them again. Where are the other young folk hiding, Marin? They're what we need to try and put an end to this."

Marin stared at her. "Nynaeve, they're children!"

Nynaeve took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I know. I'll tell you everything soon, but if you want the Two Rivers to survive this, we need their help."

*****

A little apart from the main Illuminated encampment in Watch Hill, all shining white and gold in the sun, Ordeith's personal regiment lay in relative filth. Its soldiers ate well enough and stayed in passable health, but tent poles sagged and fabric grew grimy. Dain Bornhald called it disgraceful, but he lacked the authority to override the Shining Ones, and the man who had been called Padan Fain was among their ranks. Had he known what Ordeith held captive in his tent, he might have gone so far as to call in Aes Sedai.

The first of these prisoners, Ordeith had grown tired of. Its eyeless face was a dejected mask of exhaustion. In the end, it had come to see things his way, but with that had come a lassitude born of misery. It was made for the Ebon Dragon's dominion, and now it had been forced to betray him. It wanted only to kill things and die, now.

The other prisoner, though...that was a prize, if one that still did not understand its importance. The stitches where it had helped reattach the arm the Trollocs had begun carving off while it was still alive had vanished as the arm healed. Now there was only flawless, porcelain skin.

"You need your strength, child," Ordeith cajoled. "Don't be afraid any more. Compared to you, it's as harmless as a daydream. Eat up."

Tiny fangs slipped out beneath the girl's upper lip, and she sank them into the fishbelly neck of the Myrddraal. Black blood dripped down her chin, sizzling, blood that could etch a Power-wrought blade, yet red welts lasted only an instant where it ran and then the skin was whole once more. The girl who had been Bodewhin Cauthon feasted, and the man who had been Padan Fain threw back his head and laughed.

Chapter Text

It was Larine, not Marin, who led them all out into the Westwood before the valley was entirely clear of the shadow of the mountains. The other al'Vere women trailed along, asking Lan and Loial uncomfortable questions, mostly about Tower life, but some about what Lan and Nynaeve's relationship was, were they married? Berowyn's courses had resumed after a year-long lapse, which normally would have been cause for concern. In this case it was almost certainly the result of her late Exaltation. "They probably won't stop again until you're at least two hundred." Berowyn looked suitably appalled, although Nynaeve added that they would also be lighter and less unpleasant.

Larine strolled easily through the forest, avoiding roots that tripped up the others. It was a minor thing, really, but Nynaeve kept pace with her, which got her attention. "You know the area," Nynaeve said, "but it's more than that. You'd have no more trouble in any forest, and not much more in the mountains. Right?" Larine just nodded. "You know your herbs. You're good with a bow, better than almost anyone. You and I, and Lan, we'll do some scouting later. You're a natural, literally."

"I'm blessed by Sextes Jylis," Larine said matter-of-factly. "Like you."

"Yes, like me," Nynaeve agreed. "And your other sisters by the other Elemental Dragons."

"And that's why you went away to Tar Valon, you and Egwene. But you didn't take us." Nynaeve missed a step and splashed mud on her dress.

"We didn't come here to collect you," Lan said, "though someone should have by now. We came here for one person, an 'Anathema', and ended up leaving with more people than we could handle. Five of you. But still, we did send word to the Tower that the Two Rivers was of interest to us. It's rare to find one bloodline unexpectedly. Here, we found two, and traces that there might be more."

Aline said, "They did come. Owein and Verin and Tomas and Alanna and Ihvon. The Illuminated killed Owein Sedai, but...well, you'll see."

They were coming up on the old sickhouse, which had been damaged in a storm years and years ago. From the look of it, it had been fairly well repaired, though the thatch was clumsily done, and the walls had a slant to them still.

"We've been wondering when you four would join us," said a voice behind Nynaeve, "but we weren't expecting more." Alanna Mosvani spoke in the Tar Valon trading language rather than in her native Arafellin. She was not a tall woman, but she moved as gracefully as a flickering candleflame. "I don't know that we have room, Lan Sedai."

More bedrolls than Nynaeve could easily count covered the floor, and a substantial number of Two Rivers youngsters sat among them, playing at cards and dice, reading books, or canoodling in the corners. Nynaeve knew they would have to adjust to Tar Valon life, but she hoped Alanna had plenty of heartleaf tea. It would have been better to keep the older and younger apart, too, but not at the cost of being attacked, she supposed.

Lan said, "I have the responsibility for Nynaeve, for the moment. I will help if you should have need, but I will not interfere. I presume you mean to leave for Tar Valon when it's safe."

"As soon as practical," Tomas agreed, emerging from the shadows. "We have far more young folk than is really desirable to travel with at once, but keeping them in a confined space like this is worse."

"Nynaeve suggests it may be time to return to the villages with them," Lan said, "and I suspect she may have the right of it."

"How so?" Alanna asked, bristling. "It isn't safe!"

"Nowhere is safe with so many enemies around," Nynaeve said. "The villages need them to help organize defenses. What better training could they have?"

Alanna glared at her...then hesitated. It was to Lan that she spoke. "If we were to have them bolster the village defenses...if they fought Shadowspawn...yes, that would be training, of a sort. But it would go against Tower law."

"Are they in the novice book yet?" Lan asked. "I thought not. It would be better not to have to involve them, but they are involved. What we like does not matter. The point of the laws is to keep novices out of danger, but binding these students to them right now will not do that."

"You talk sense," Alanna said reluctantly. She turned to the youngsters and brought her hands together in a loud clap. "I want all of you to touch the True Source now. We are going on an expedition, and we may not come back here. Gather your belongings." She turned back to Lan. "And where do we intend to gather? The Winespring Inn? It's central, I suppose."

"As good a place as any," Lan said. "We can disperse the students later, if all goes well."

"Nynaeve," Alanna said, "I understand your woodcraft was good enough to track Lan before you ever joined us. Link with me and the students, and we'll give them a lesson such as it's hard to provide in Tar Valon." She made it sound like a suggestion, but Nynaeve knew better. As Nynaeve extended the One Power toward them, Alanna went on. "I know most of you are decent in the woods, especially here near your home. We are about to move silently and without a trace. With Nynaeve helping you, even the clumsiest of you should be able to hide your trail like you never dreamed you could."

The One Power filled her and buoyed them all up. With Alanna to focus through, she didn't have to draw so much of it herself, and so she wove in both Wood and Air, taking some of what she had learned from Moiraine when they had first met. They stepped lightly, leaving no tracks and making no sounds. Grass bent back into place from their footsteps; brambles unwove to move out of their way before curling back again. Even Tomas and Alanna seemed impressed; Lan took it as a matter of course that she was just that good. Even Loial benefitted; he would have had to sing to move the plants in his path. The most stumblefooted, headstrong Water aspects moved quietly; Woods like herself ghosted through the Westwood like spirits.

They came into sight of Emond's Field before noon, but Nynaeve had them halt there, waiting for the villagers to stop for lunch. Only when everyone was out of sight did she hastily lead them down to the edge...well, what had been the edge...of town and into the Winespring Inn's kitchen. There was no help for it that a pair of cooks saw them--Bran had needed no cooks but himself and Marin--but they already knew the al'Veres, at least, and were unsurprised to see more.

Alanna and Tomas kept them busy with lessons in the vacant rooms for another hour or so before Verin and Ihvon came in, hoods up against an unexpected and no doubt unnatural cloudburst. "I found your note," Verin said to Alanna. Note? Nynaeve had seen nothing. But Alanna only nodded, so it must have been there. "We cannot keep them hidden for long, not training them to fight Trollocs. We shall have to be quick, or the Whitecloaks will come to make trouble."

"We'll begin with the Dragons' Claw," Ihvon said. "It's the simplest weapon weave, even if it takes more effort from everyone but the Airs." The Dragons' Claw was little more than uncontrolled flows, though there were some simple variations; Air, for instance, could be used with a little Fire to throw lightning instead of a blast of solidified air. Nynaeve had never been sure why it would take more strength from other Aspects than from an Air, but it did. Mostly. Nynaeve herself had pushed beyond that limitation, so long as she used flows of Wood, just as Egwene and Elayne could use Earth.

Verin went outside to the part of the old stone foundation that remained uncovered and began setting up practice targets. Nynaeve could not fully trust any Aes Sedai, really, but Verin seemed harmlessly eccentric. All she ever did was take notes about flowers and sometimes give sharp looks to fools.

Jancy Torfinn, of all people, started asking...questions...of Alanna about Tower life. Nynaeve supposed that she had better know--that all of them had better know--and even Jancy was old enough to know the basic truths about men and women and making babies, but it made her uneasy to tell someone that young about the complicated web of relationships and arrangements that made cramming so many Dragon-Blooded into the Tower tolerable. Alanna apparently did not find it uncomfortable at all. What kind of place was Arafel, anyway? Granted, there were children who grew up in the Tower--it was inevitable; there were whole floors set aside for them--but they were kept separate from Dragon-Blooded who were not their close family until they were older. Ihvon joined in the explanations, and Nynaeve decided it was time to go.

Marin was downstairs talking to Loial. She seemed fascinated by him, but as soon as Nynaeve appeared she arose and said urgently, "I thought you were all staying out of sight."

Nynaeve gestured for her to sit down, then joined her at the table. "There are too many of them to all be cooped up together, Marin. They would have started attracting attention in any case, and potentially getting with child far too young. And the Trolloc raids are likely to keep getting worse. Better to have them in the villages to help with the defense than out on their own in a tumble-down sickhouse."

Marin grimaced. "And they have better methods in the White Tower, I hope?"

"They do, actually. Not what I would have chosen, but something that works, at least. To begin with, we need to import something called heartleaf, for the next generation here. Apparently it used to grow here, but we used too much of it. Women who drink heartleaf tea don't catch pregnant, it seems." Nynaeve tried not to give too many details about the rest; Two Rivers folk only thought they were open about sex. Marin didn't seem especially comforted. No doubt she was worried about Egwene, and the rest of her girls too, now.

Loial came to her rescue. "Back in Stedding Shangtai, my mother and the elders would likely have my marriage arranged by now. I'm not ready to marry, of course. Though Erith does seem like a nice girl. And quite pretty."

Marin began to ask him curious questions about how things were done in the stedding, and why was he not still there. He began trying to evade them the way Mat would have evaded questions about stealing a pie. Loial was a runaway, and late enough he could not pretend it was the action of a youngster still feral from rebirth. Dragon Kings had a very strange life cycle. Marin knew nothing about any of it, of course, but she knew when a young person was trying to lie to her.

A huge boom like thunder shattered the air outside just as Lan put a hand on Nynaeve's shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her clothes. "They're beginning," he said. "You should go observe, and perhaps assist in some way."

Marin waved her on. "Go with your minder, Nynaeve," she said, as if Lan were her teacher on some excursion. Well, in a way, perhaps he was, but not like that! Lan took her hand, and she could no more have pulled away than moved the Mountains of Mist.

Lan took her out onto the practice field. "They remember you as Wisdom. Most of them trust your authority."

"Only most?" Nynaeve gave her braid a yank. "Which of them don't?"

"The al'Veres, for the most part." He shook his head. "I think they merely remember when you were young together."

"Well, I intend to thump some sense into them." She strode out to the edge of the field. "Let me show you how it's done." Why would that make the fool man smile?

*****

Rand had no idea what Faile and Perrin were laughing about, but he found he couldn't begrudge it to them, even now. The Forsaken pressed in on his mind like a thousand-pound weight. Were they following? Surely. Did he want them to follow? He thought so. But what if his plans were based on mistaken assumptions? He could be leading the world to ruin.

Perrin kicked lightly at his mare's sides, as if teasing. You didn't tease horses. Everyone in the Two Rivers knew that. The white horse frolicked a little, which was strange, but then it was a strange horse, white with dark bars on its face and neck like grease paint meant to reduce glare. Faile giggled.

"I don't understand why Mat is coming," Egwene said. "The Wise Ones all but told him he wasn't welcome."

Rand gave a little cough. "I met Mat coming out of a ter'angreal, a doorway meant to give true advice. He said something about Rhuidean, then tried to cover it up. The people on the other side told him to go, I'll wager."

Egwene began to mutter under her breath. Evidently she had told him not to use it. He understood that--it had been risky--but he understood Mat's reasons as well, he thought. Mat needed direction almost as much as he did.

Perrin and Aviendha were laughing together, now. Where had Faile gone? Perrin was still riding the horse. It was a strange horse, though it was all white. For a moment it looked earless, but then he realized he had just missed them amidst its feathery mane. "...why Wetlanders like to ride so much..." Rand put it aside. No telling what was so funny that an Aiel could see it too.

Moiraine rode on his other side, but not to talk. She seemed rather lost without Lan nearby. They were not, for the most part, lovers, but they had shared their lives as much as any husband and wife for twenty years until they found him. He tried to nudge his horse closer to her, but she moved away, so he left her to her privacy.

Mat rode up to him, then, trying to avoid Egwene. Egwene followed, not caring what he wanted. "Mat, I told you that it was dangerous. You weren't to go into it!"

"Well, if I hadn't, I'd never have thought to go to Rhuidean, now would I, and soon I'd be dead. That's what they told me, that I'd die if I didn't go." That seemed to cool Egwene's temper, a little, and she backed off, talking to herself again. If anyone who didn't know better was watching, they would think she was the one going mad, mumbling to herself all the time.

It was Faile on the white horse now, laughing as Aviendha walked by her side. There was no sign of Perrin. Suddenly she reached down and yanked Aviendha up onto the horse. He had never heard Aviendha make such a girlish sound as the squeal she let out. She did not get down from the horse, though. It was a strange horse, with golden eyes and a heavy forehead as if it might grow horns one day, but Rand was sure it was the same mare one or another of them had been riding for sone time. He still could not make out why it was so funny that they were riding a horse. The joke seemed to be that they kept switching out who was riding whom, but they were all riding the same horse, so he could make no sense of it.

"I swear," Mat muttered, "we were getting along so well. Then the Wise Ones wanted them and not me, and suddenly all my decisions are stupid again."

Rand sighed. "Maybe it has to do with you attacking Lanfear, Mat. I know she's evil, but--"

"For pity's sake, Rand, give me some credit. I did not attack Lanfear. She walked up to me and punched me in the face, and everyone started accusing me of starting the fight."

"It sounds like a specialized Compulsion weave," Moiraine put in. "It affected me as well, but she did hit Mat first, Rand. All he did was defend himself, and rather ineffectually at that."

"Thank you, Moiraine. Anyway, I don't know who's spreading the rumors, but I assume all the High Lords still think they saw me hit first. Did you come in in time to see, Rand, or are you just repeating tales?"

"He is repeating tales," Moiraine said. "If he were affected by the weave, you would know. We discovered that quite recently."

"Oh," Mat said. "About Loial." Moiraine nodded. Mat seemed ashamed that he hadn't noticed Loial's absence either, but it was hardly his fault. "I'm surprised you let me come along."

"We're all together a little longer," Rand said, "except for Nynaeve, and she's going home." He glanced across the meadows. Out there somewhere was the Waygate she would be using. "Besides, you're supposed to be the one who's good at using Portal Stones."

Mat shuddered. "Maybe you should let Perrin try. That didn't go so well, in case you've forgotten."

"I'm starting to get confused," Rand admitted. "Perrin is with us, isn't he?"

"He and Faile and Aviendha are taking turns being a horse," Mat said, making a face. "I couldn't do that even if I could do that. But they're having fun, I guess."

That explained the jokes. "Mat, you'd be a hound for a night just so we could cover you in flour."

"I would not!" But Mat stopped for a second thought. "Okay, maybe I would. But because it's scary, not because...whatever thing they have going on with horses."

Rand had his doubts. He was fairly certain Mat had slept with Perrin while the latter was wearing Aviendha's shape, and he knew Mat could look like other people, too. If Mat wasn't using that to get into bed with whoever he fancied, Rand didn't know him half as well as he thought. He himself hadn't been with anyone since Elayne, and wasn't sure that had been the best idea either. All he said was, "Just let them have their fun while they can. And ask Perrin about the Portal Stone, please."

"I'll do that." He slowed his horse to fall back. "Don't do anything stupid, Rand. Not without asking me first."

There were a pair of bent ridges pointing at the hills that hid the Portal Stone, and he spent a little time wondering whether some half-insane Exalt had shaped them that way on purpose. Who knew what strange things might have been done to fit a madman's purpose? But some of them might be at least a little comprehensible.

The Portal Stone was marked on the map, but the cluster of small hills contained a lot more than the five or six shown. He spoke to Rhuarc, who sent out a few dozen scouts. It was no surprise to him when it was Aviendha who turned up the grey cylinder, half-buried in the earth. "Perrin?" He hoped he sounded encouraging. "You want to try it?" He held out the fat little man hearthstone amulet he had found in the Great Holding. It carried a hearthstone that he suspected carried enough of the Power to get them all where they were going.

Perrin sighed and pulled out an angreal of his own. "I was planning to take this back to the Two Rivers with me." He gestured at the medallion. "Yours is made of orichalcum, Rand. Mine is moonsilver. We might swap the hearthstones, perhaps, but the metal makes more difference. This one works well for me and yours is better for you."

"I guess Moiraine's been teaching you more things while I was running for the Stone of Tear," Rand said. The thought made him tired. He had done what he needed to do.

Perrin evidently disagreed. "I've been testing things from the Great Holding, learning for myself what works and what doesn't. I know you have a lot keeping you busy, so I've been trying to do what you can't. What you don't have time for."

"Does that mean you'll take your turn at the Portal Stone?"

Perrin groaned. "Let's get going. I'll try."

Chapter Text

Perrin considered the Portal Stone doubtfully, then put his hands down on it and let the One Power trickle through himself and into it. He had hoped to perceive something he could begin to understand; even complicated clockworks would be a starting point. He was not so lucky. Calling it a "stone" was a poor name for it; it was like a section of a tree trunk made of mirrors, and the mirrors, rippling half-liquid quicksilver. Mingling with and behind the mirrors was the stuff of dreams and paradox, so that you could reach through them and not be stopped by a barrier of glass. And all of it was anchored by the symbols that kept it moving along with the madly-spinning recombining world.

Perrin had to take his hands off it for a moment; he could not reconcile that spinning with the solid, stationary earth beneath his feet. Only for a moment, though, and then he plunged back in. Two symbols that Rhuarc had said were associated with Rhuidean, mirror images of each other, but surely only one represented the right path between Stones. He could perceive, if not really understand, what made the artifacts what they were; he could not see where they would take him. The wrong lightning bolt might deposit them under the sea, or in a desert on the other side of the world. Probably the wrong one was associated with Rhuidean only because people had trouble remembering which was which. Probably.

Mat tapped him on the shoulder and held up a coin. It would probably work. Perrin nodded, and the toss came up left. Good enough. If there was any destiny to the world--and Mat's existence said there was--surely it favored continued existence, or the world would have ended long ago.

Perrin channeled, drawing all the Essence he could through the angreal. Supposedly, different hearthstones carried different powers with them, not just a stronger connection, but almost all of them were lost to time. Maybe he would learn something from this one. The world blinked like an eye.

The ground shifted, and Perrin just caught himself. He stood on a rocky slope, bare and hot under an unforgiving sun. The Stone in front of him was narrower, seemingly unblemished but actually scoured by millennia of sand. They were lucky it still worked at all. Beyond him, the slope was the edge of a shattered landscape carved by some giant version of Perrin slamming his axe down at random. And yet, at the bottom of the valley lay an unbroken fog with spires that reached out to the pitiless sky.

"The city in the clouds," Rand said, his voice full of simultaneous awe and disappointment. Had he really expected a city to fly? No, never mind that; people who could make a device like Perrin had just used could surely make buildings in the sky.

He became aware of the mules rearing, then of a savage heat that tried to dehydrate him in an instant. Without really trying, he felt his body adjust. It was warming him all the time, and now it had simply...ceased to do that. It was a clever trick. Faile was staring at him as if trying to repeat what he had done, but Aviendha took no notice. This was home to her, after all. Dry, said Hopper.

At first glance this place was barren, but Perrin could see beyond a first glance. Lichen hid in the soil, feeding mice, feeding owls that hid in burrows. Long-legged, long-eared foxes hid from the sun. Plants that grew here drew water from deep below and saved it, bulking themselves against drought and the sun. It was like an inversion of the Blight, which teemed with sick abundance. Here, everything was pared down to the bare essentials because excess was death--but life, frugal, careful life, hid everywhere.

All this he noticed in a moment or two. It took another few seconds before he realized that the Aiel, even those trying to calm the pack mules, were reacting in surprised alarm to two other camps there on the slope with them. Between those camps lay a third, much smaller, and out of it a quartet of women emerged. One of them was Amys; he recognized her by her moonsilver tattoos. The others he did not know. A second woman, much younger with flowing red hair, also bore the metallic tattoos, while the other two seemed elderly and had none.

"The peace of Rhuidean be on you," called out one of the older women, who looked baked by the sun but not a bit frail. "Who comes to Chaendaer may return to their holds in peace. There shall be no blood on the ground." At this announcement, the disturbance calmed, though some still seemed uneasy. Many of the Aiel peeled away from the new arrivals to join one camp or the other.

The women strolled on up the slope, casually interested in the very powerful people who had just materialized from nowhere. That told Perrin at once that they must be other Wise Ones besides Amys, likely other Exalted. Rhuarc came from behind him to greet Amys with a touch of their hands to each other's cheeks. "I am returned, shade of my heart," Rhuarc said, "though surely not in the manner you expected."

"I saw your arrival in the dream," Amys said with a faint smile. "My sister-wife sends her heart as well."

Perrin thought perhaps he should give them some privacy and introduce himself to another of the Wise Ones--perhaps the youngest?--but before he could do so, a fairly young man came out of one of the camps, headed straight for them. His hair was red like flame, brighter even than Rand's, and he wore a furious scowl. "I see Wetlanders on the slopes of Chaendaer," he snapped. "By what right do they come here?"

"I see you, Couladin," Rhuarc said with brittle good humor. "Do the Shaido lack a clan chief, then?"

"Suladric is dead," Couladin responded. "Muradin has entered Rhuidean. Should he not return, I will enter."

"You have not asked," the oldest of the Wise Ones cut in. "Should Muradin fail, ask then, but I do not believe you will be permitted. You are flawed within, Couladin." Perrin could not help thinking she was right, though it was not his place to judge. Most of the Aiel he had met were stoic; this fellow seemed as hot-headed as his fiery hair indicated.

Couladin's face grew red as well. "My first‑brother will return marked as clan chief, Bair, and we will lead the Shaido to great honor! We mean to--!"" He snapped his mouth shut, almost quivering. Bair gazed at him reproachfully and said nothing further.

On the other side of Couladin from Perrin, Egwene was looking on in confusion. Near her, Moiraine seemed to be following the conversation with difficulty. Couladin, at least, was not speaking any Wetlander language, and Perrin had not even realized it.

"There was one who came with you, Rhuarc," Amys said. Her gaze turned to Rand, who bent down in an odd bow, right hand outstretched in supplication.

"By the right of blood," he said, "I ask leave to enter Rhuidean, for the honor of our ancestors and the memory of what was."

"An ancient form, but the question has been asked," Amys said, her eyebrows raised. "I answer yes."

"I also answer yes," Bair said. "It must be so."

"This man is no Aiel," Couladin broke in angrily. "It is death for him to be on this ground! Why has Rhuarc brought him? Why--?"

"Do you wish to be a Wise One, Couladin?" Seana asked, her face darkening at the interruption. "Put on a dress and come to me, and I will see if you can be trained. Until then, be silent when Wise Ones speak!"

"My mother was Aiel," Rand said. His voice was quiet, but his tone was in no way soft. Perrin did not understand that at all. Kari al'Thor had by all accounts looked a bit like Elayne's family, but surely she could not have been Aiel.

"Not your mother," Amys answered. "Your father. Quiet, now. Seana?"

"Yes," the older woman said. There was something strange about the color of her eyes. Were they purple? "Melaine?"

The youngest woman--she looked no older than, say, Galad--grimaced. "There is no way around it," she said at last. "I answer yes."

"You have your answer," Bair began. "You may enter Rhui--"

Mat leapt up to copy Rand's stance even more awkwardly than Rand had done it. "I also ask leave to enter Rhuidean," he said.

"Mat, no!" Faile hissed. The Wise Ones blinked in annoyed surprise. Rand just sighed; perhaps he had seen this coming. As for Couladin--the Aielman leapt up and thrust a spear at Mat's chest with a snarl.

A brilliant flash of sunlight. Couladin went tumbling down Chaendaer, and Bair stood there where she had knocked him backwards with an open palm. A golden disk stood out on her forehead, the top half full, the bottom half dark inside. "Is it not enough that you have asked and been refused, Shaido? Would you break the Peace of Rhuidean, too?"

Couladin scrambled to his feet in a crouch. "You accept this outlander as one of us," he rasped, pointing at Rand with the spear he had attempted to use on Mat. "If you say it, then so be it. He is still a soft wetlander, and Rhuidean will kill him." The spear swung to Mat, who was trying to slip a knife back up his sleeve without being noticed. "But he--it is death for him to be here, and sacrilege for him to even ask to enter Rhuidean. None but those of the blood may enter. None!"

"Go back to your tents, Seia Doon," Bair intoned. "This is the business of Wise Ones and those who have asked to enter. Not yours! We will permit whom we permit and send away those we send away." As Couladin slunk off, Bair turned toward Rand. "Yes," she said, "you have seen aright. I am Bair of the Haido sept of the Shaarad Aiel, and I am the Twilight of this Age." Lastly she loomed to Mat. "It is not permitted," she finished. "Young man, we told you that you were not welcome here. Go back with the others, and count yourself lucky."

"I can't." Mat sounded desperate. "I've come this far, but this doesn't count, does it? I have to go to Rhuidean. I know you told me not to, but someone else told me I must. I have to try."

"It is not permitted," Melaine said firmly, addressing her sisters. She pulled her shawl up to cover her head. "The law is clear. No woman may go to Rhuidean more than twice, no man more than once, and none at all save they have the blood of Aiel."

Seana shook her head. "Much is changing, Melaine. The old ways...."

"If he is the one," Bair said, "the Time of Change is upon us. Aes Sedai stand on Chaendaer. Can we hold to the old ways still? Knowing how much is to change?"

"We cannot hold," Amys said. "All stands on the edge of change, now. Melaine?" The golden‑haired woman looked at the mountains around them, and the fog‑shrouded city below, then sighed and nodded.

"It is done," Amys said, turning to Rand and Mat. "You, Rand al'Thor, must go into the heart of Rhuidean, to the very center. If you wish to go with him, Mat Cauthon, so be it, but know that most men who enter Rhuidean's heart do not come back, and some return mad. You may carry neither food nor water, in remembrance of our wanderings after the Breaking. You must go to Rhuidean unarmed, save with your hands and your own heart, to honor the Jenn. If you have weapons, place them on the ground before us. They will be here for you when you return. If you return."

Rand put down his belt knife and, after a moment, his hearthstone amulet. Mat pulled out a pile of knives that seemed to impress even the Wise Ones, just a little, then reluctantly laid down an amulet of his own, a thing of grey wire that Perrin didn't realize he had taken from the Stone.

"They are pledged to Rhuidean," Amys said formally, not looking at them, and the other three responded together, "Rhuidean belongs to the dead."

"They may not speak to the living until they return," she intoned, and again the others answered. "The dead do not speak to the living."

"We do not see them, until they stand among the living once more." Amys drew her shawl across her eyes, and one by one the other three did the same. Faces hidden, they said together, "Begone from among the living, and do not haunt us with memories of what is lost. Speak not of what the dead see."

Almost at once Mat began quipping to Rand, which Perrin thought was disrespectful, but he said nothing to the others as they headed off, and the Wise Ones took it in stride.

"I suppose that part's done with," Faile said. "Or do we have to go to Rhuidean too?"

Melaine appraised her with pained laughter in her eyes. "I could perhaps make a Wise One out of you, in time, if you care to follow after them with Aviendha. Certainly we have enough outlanders on Chaendaer already."

"They are not here to make Wise Ones of," Seana said, "save one."

Aviendha had been squatting disconsolately off to one side the whole time, arms wrapped around Hopper, staring at the ground. She stood slowly. "I am a Maiden of the Spear. I do not want to be a Wise One. I will not be." Despite her defiance, she sounded terrified.

"You have already been treated more gently than it was in my day," Amys said in a voice like stone. "I, too, refused when called. My spear sisters broke my spears before my eyes. They took me to Bair and Coedelin bound hand and foot and wearing only my skin."

In short order, Aviendha was ceremonially stripped naked and most of her belongings destroyed before being sent off to Rhuidean afer Rand and Mat. She went with a joke, as Mat had, though as she was not "dead", she was allowed to speak it to Egwene.

"Now," Amys asked Faile, "are you still interested in becoming a Wise One?"

"If that's what it takes to get me what I need from you," Faile said defiantly, "I will do it. But you promised to keep me from losing myself and said nothing about the rest. So, will you train the rest of us without that, or no?"

"Come," Seana said, "and we will discuss these matters in the tents." Only when the remaining animals were taken care of and refreshment brought did she go on. "Not all those who can channel are Wise Ones, nor can all Wise Ones channel. Any member of the societies can do so a little. If they cannot by blood, we have means of awakening it in them, enough to learn the Spear Dance. It is not merely a figure of speech, though sometimes we speak so of battle in general. But any woman who feels herself called to be a Wise One may come to us, and we train as leaders some who cannot channel. Nearly all of what you Wetlanders call god-blooded are accepted as well. I myself do not know my father; I am of the faerie blood."

"Faerie?" Perrin asked.

"Fae," Seana said. "Raksha. Other names besides. The greatest of these are called the Unshaped, whose attentions you have been lucky enough to survive. They live as stories within the dream of the Wyld. But there are others, not so powerful, and sometimes they can breach the boundary and enter, too. I assume my father was such. I was conceived within Rhuidean, we think, as others have been."

"Only men who can channel become clan chiefs," Melaine said, "and nearly always as powerful as the Dragon-Blooded. Some few chiefs have been Lunars of the Full Moon caste, or in ancient times Sidereals."

"A man who was a Solar might be chosen as chief," Bair said, "but in three thousand years there have been few Solars among us. Not many Solar Exaltations were free, and they do not seem to favor us. Perhaps that will be among the changes to come."

"Only Full Moons?" Perrin asked.

"In all that time," Amys said, "we have marked no woman as a Full Moon, for we Wise Ones do not run to battle. We stand outside the dance of spears, always, and we make peace when it is time. Some tales speak of men marked as No Moons or Changing Moons, but I know of none who have been chiefs." There was something strange in her expression as she said the last, but Perrin could not make out what it meant.

"What makes the difference?" he asked. "How do you decide who is marked as which caste?"

"By your deeds," Melaine said. "For other Exalted, the caste comes with Exaltation, and only to those suited for it. For us, the Exaltation becomes what our actions and our nature make of it. I myself am a Changing Moon, a trickster, a bringer of peace and sometimes war. Amys is a No Moon, a keeper of secrets and a crafter of wonders."

"And a Full Moon?" Egwene asked. "What would they be?"

"A warrior," said Amys, "a protector, devious and cunning in battle. Though as I said, we mark only men so."

"Strange," Moiraine put in, "when you have Maidens of the Spear."

Amys' expression went hard, and her scent grew agitated and fierce. "Not all who wish to be Maidens are fitted for that role by destiny. They may do well enough, but their talents lie elsewhere, as mine did."

"When it is time to tattoo a Lunar," Melaine said, "we let the One Power and Luna guide us. Often she does what we expect, if only because we have learned her ways, but there have been many surprises. Once there were five Lunar castes, not three, but after the Breaking of the World, the Waxing Moons, Half Moons, and Waning Moons came to us no more. There were only the Changing Moons, with a bit of all the other three had been."

"Do you see Luna often?" Perrin asked. "She came to me at first, several times, mostly in my dreams, but not of late."

"You are doing well in her eyes, then," Amys said, "but do not presume that because you do not see her, she is not there. Luna takes on any form and any role she wishes. Even Luna Moon-Goddess is only her overself. She has five forms that once corresponded to the castes--roughly--and an underself, the Chthonic Baara, who is everything she is and even most things she is not."

"In the Two Rivers," Perrin said, "'ay' once meant a mother-name. One of my grandmothers' grandmothers must have been the daughter of someone named Bara, or something like it. Luna told me it was her, that my name was once ay Baara, though such a form would not be used for a son."

Amys and Melaine exchanged unreadable looks. "Luna does not usually lie to her chosen," Amys said. "Either it is so, or she told you so to send you where you must go."

"The Old Tongue is often difficult to translate," Moiraine began. She sounded furtive, as if probing for something like a mole in its burrow hunting roots.

"But not 'al'' or 'ay'," Perrin said swiftly, shutting her down. He had his own questions to ask, and he might not get to ask them if the Wise Ones grew offended. "They can be figures of speech, but they do mean 'son of' and 'daughter of'. Luna said as much, too. Another thing I've seen in my dreams, omens of the future. Do you see those also? A few of the things I've been told--"

"Yes," Melaine said, hastily picking up the offered thread. "In the Wyld are all things, including what has been, may be, and even what will be, though it can be hard to tell which is which. Seeing them is often a thing of No Moons, and thus of Wise Ones. We did not know you or Faile or Egwene were coming until we asked it of you, but we saw Moiraine here on the slopes of Chaendaer beside Aviendha. It was possible that Aan'allein--the one you know as Lan Mandragoran--would be here with her, but he did not come. It was no more than an even chance that Rand al'Thor would come, but if he had not, he would have died, and the Aiel with him. If Moiraine had not come, he would also have died. It is often difficult, always complex. If Moiraine does not go through the rings--"

Moiraine sat up straight at that.

"She should not have been told," Seana said, sounding chagrined. "In the dream, it was she who demanded the right to go, though she is none of our blood."

"All things change," Bair said. "It is our fate to change them, not merely submit to fate as it comes."

"Must I go as Rand and Mat did," Moiraine asked, "or as Aviendha?"

"Neither," Amys said. "There is no ritual for this. You seek neither to be clan chief nor Wise One. But take no weapons, to honor the Jenn Aiel, the Clan That Is Not."

"Jenn Aiel," Moiraine said, turning it over in her mouth. "The 'only true dedicated'?"

Bair's mouth was a thin line. "It is time to go, Aes Sedai. Run! Or stay and find out what happens if you do not go."

Moiraine ran.

Chapter Text

"So," Faile said, "what about my ears?"

Amys shook her head. "We know of no way to restore them, once the Wyld has claimed them. The tattooing will prevent further problems of that sort."

"Then let's get on with it before I grow a cow's snout! What's stopping us?"

Melaine rubbed the bridge of her nose. "The process is not that simple. We need to understand you. Your skills, your thoughts, your very nature, will become part of the tattoos. That is how they ensure that you remain yourself. We will test you and see how you respond, but beyond that, we will need to know you as people."

"I'm a hunter for the Horn of Valere," Faile said. "I ran away from home to be blessed in Illian. Nobody knew the Horn had already been found up north at the Eye of the World except the people who found it."

Amys nodded politely. "And how many of the Hunters were Exalted by Luna's blessing?"

Faile looked around as if hoping for help. "None that I know of, except me."

"Then there must be a great deal more to your story, Faile Bashere." Amys began to draw diagrams in the thin soil. "Luna no doubt applauds your choice to join the hunt, but that cannot be all."

"I'm from Saldaea," Faile explained. "My family are loyal supporters of the Dragon-Blooded and the White Tower. They won't see this as a blessing. I'm Anathema now, to them, and sometimes I still think they're right."

Melaine looked her carefully up and down. "So you chose to spite them to court Luna, perhaps? Did you ask Luna to choose you? She might, if it marked you as a rebel."

Faile sighed. "Look, it's...my mother turned out not to be that loyal after all. She's a Darkfriend. I ran away to get away from her. I side with the Light whether she does or not." Perrin reached over to pat her on the shoulder. What must it be like to have a Darkfriend for a parent?

Melaine still seemed doubtful. "And you, Perrin Aybara?"

"My people and my home were attacked by Trollocs. We're not warriors, I don't think the Two Rivers had seen a battle in a thousand years, but when a Myrddraal came into the forge I hit it with my hammer and slammed it down onto the forge fire, and I held it there. Fades are tough creatures, but they can't handle the heat it takes to forge steel. I set the smithy on fire and it had to be rebuilt, but apparently what I did killed more Trollocs at once than nearly anyone else besides Moiraine and Lan killed that night." He didn't think that was especially out of the ordinary--he had only defended his home, and he hadn't known about Trollocs being linked to the Myrddraal yet, but the Wise Ones all looked a little shocked.

"No one came to the blacksmith's aid?" Bair asked, perplexed. "Certainly you did no wrong, do not misunderstand me, but to force a blacksmith to fight--"

"We were taken unawares," Perrin said quickly. Aviendha had told him about this. "Others would certainly have come, given time. The smithy was full of dangerous tools and even a few weapons, so I grabbed the nearest and went after the most dangerous enemy I could reach. Then, while even the Trollocs were shocked, I helped rally my people, and we fought back. I think by then Luna had already come to me, but I didn't see her until later. I knew what I needed to do."

"Perrin sees what we need of him," Melaine said. "And you, Faile?"

"I was a thief, all right? Do you see why that's embarrassing? I figured that after three thousand years, maybe the Horn was already in one of the Power-hoards scattered around the world, in the Great Holding in the Stone of Tear or in Tar Valon or something. Maybe someone found it long ago, or maybe the collection was built around it. I went to the Dome of Truth, where the Illuminated are gathered to welcome back the Dragon and all the Anathema, and I broke into their storerooms." Her face was red with embarrassment and annoyance. "I know thieving isn't honorable, but the Horn had to be found. And I suppose, I thought that if I brought it out into the light for the Last Battle, no one would care that much where I'd gotten it."

"Were you caught?" Amys asked.

Faile swung her head back and forth, denying it as strongly as possible. "Luna came to me, and I got away with some maps. The Whitecloaks did find me later, though. I'm tough, but I'm not big. I fight dirty, I get in close and I stab. They'd never have caught me on their own, but they had an Exalt already, someone calling himself Ordeith. It means 'Wormwood', but I think from the way Perrin and Rand describe the man who attacked them, his real name is Padan Fain."

*****

"Unlike the other Dreamwalkers here," Seana said, "I am not one of the Exalted at all. My connection to the Dream World comes from my father." She held out her hand, which bore a thin ring braided from tiny strands of metal. "When I became an adult, he left this for me, and three other things." She showed Egwene in turn a large dagger, dull-colored but in every hue of the rainbow, a small cup with a hole that made it a charm on a strand around her neck, and a staff of strange wood. "These all carry some of his power, but attuned and given to me by blood. The Dragon-Blooded do not easily walk the Dream on their own, but I sense something about you."

Egwene pulled out the twisted stone ring. "Verin gave me this just before my tests. She said it eases the passage into the Dream World."

Seana handled it. "Yes, it surely would. It is like mine, yet not. This one has been transformed so that it will work for anyone who has it. It is no longer...personal, at least not in the way it was."

"Do you know your father at all?" Egwene asked. "Did he pretend to be Aiel, somehow?"

"Not so far as I am aware. As best we could determine, my mother got with child on her first trip to Rhuidean. The Wise Ones then were no easier on her for that, but for most things the training did not cause her trouble." Seana fiddled with the tiny cup. "From time to time, he seemed to visit her, but she never regained the memory of what happened or who he truly was. These he left for me on his last visit that I know of. With them, I am stronger in the World of Dreams than any Exalted I know, even Bair. Without them, I can do very little. The Ring allows one to change the 'physical' world that surrounds her. The Cup changes desire and emotion and the Staff society. Finally, the Blade challenges possession of things and threatens violence."

"Is there society in the Wyld, then? Almost everywhere I've gone is deserted."

Seana frowned thoughtfully. "It is a strange thing. The close layers of the Dream are almost always empty, yet farther away there are people--or raksha, of course. I think sometimes that there are people in the parts of the Dream who are too much like us to be safely aware of, and our minds protect us."

"Like the thing Amys saved us from?" That had been a terrifying experience; the doppelganger had nearly erased them from existence without even really trying.

"In truth, we do not fully understand those. We cannot; anyone who tried would be destroyed. We know this: the doppelganger exists as the reality of everything we hate about ourselves. Leave it alone, and its hatred will negate you; try to destroy it, and you negate yourself. The only way to defeat it is not to acknowledge its existence at all."

Egwene quietly admitted that defeating a creature like that would be near-impossible. How could you not accept that something was trying to kill you?

*****

Faile woke to a rough hand yanking her upright by the shoulder. Bleary eyes registered a creature even more monstrous than the grolm-Trollocs that had come to invade the Stone of Tear. This thing was as big and reptilian as they were, armored head to toe with rough scales and with a pair of horns on its nose that would have blocked a third eye if it had one. Its breastplate was crystalline and looked well-fitted, if a little roughly made. Its hands, if anything, were cruder than a Trolloc's, with stubby clawed fingers that barely qualified for the name. Still, there was a shrewd, furious intelligence in its gaze. "You have broken treaty," it said in fragmentary Old Tongue.

"What treaty?" Faile asked, kicking, hoping that it looked like useless flailing. She had some hope of waking Perrin before it seized him too.

"Anklok guard Chaendaer against wetlanders for the Aiel. You slip past the mountains. You bring dishonor. Dolan son of Logor son of Marthakk has come to avenge us." Anklok? It was a Dragon King, then, like though very unlike Loial. She should be able to persuade it, then, if she could understand it well enough.

"I am Faile Bashere," she said in the Old Tongue. "We were invited by the Aiel. They asked us to come quickly. We meant you no dishonor. We did not know you were here." The Anklok were even more of a legend than the Raptok, whose steddings were at least on the west side of the Dragonwall, for the most part.

"Dishonor not meant, but done. You must meet our honor and restore treaty."

"How do I do that?" Faile asked. "I'll make it up to you, um, happily." She wished she had paid more attention to her tutor, though truthfully she had forgotten more of the Old Tongue than most nobles learned.

Perrin began to sit up, and immediately Dolan grabbed him with his free hand, not struggling noticeably more. "You each must meet one of us in combat to the death. If you win, you must sacrifice our hearts to the Unconquered Sun. Tell him the rest," the Anklok said directly to her. "I must go now." He dropped them unceremoniously and stalked out, tail club swaying dangerously close to their knees as it left the tent.

"Well," she said to Perrin, "good news. You're awake instead of dead."

*****

Egwene found herself in a stony wasteland, atop a natural bridge between two rocky hills. "This will be a simple exercise," Seana said. "I will this place into being and control it. You could submit, if you choose, but this place is a dream, a fantasy, rather than fully real. If you were practiced already, you could reshape it as you choose. For now, I ask only that you deny what is happening. Refuse to submit."

Egwene was about to ask what that involved when the rock vanished from beneath her feet, leaving her in mid-air. The ground began to rush up towards her as she fell. No. This had to be what Seana meant. Land did not disappear; that was not a thing that happened. It must still be there. Egwene made herself turn and walk toward the Wise One, no longer falling, though the rock beneath her feet remained invisible. When she reached Seana, the woman gave her a faint smile. "Good," she said. "That was very simple, of course, but simple is not always easy. Again, but with something else."

A feast spread out before her on a huge cloth on the ground, carved steaks and zemai and t'mat and crusty bread with butter and wine and cheese and.... Egwene's stomach rumbled. She was starving, had not eaten in days. More than anything she needed to eat.

No. It was a little harder this time, perhaps because the sensation was inside her. But she had eaten well before sleeping; she was not hungry, and even if she were, the food was not real. It faded away, a bit more slowly than it had appeared, and the hunger with it.

"These are simple tricks," Seana said. "So far you have done well. To actually fight using the Wyld as your weapon, you must have the tools such as I was given, and you have only one. You will not be helpless with your ring alone, but you will face difficulties."

"It sounds as if I need the others, then," Egwene argued, "especially if these Unshaped might come after me."

"It would not hurt," Seana admitted, "but I cannot make them for you. I do not know anyone who can. For your next lesson: it is your turn. Use what you have, and put me in a situation."

Something that would pose a challenge, surely. But to this far more experienced person. Egwene considered a moment. Suddenly they stood in a thicket of small trees. The ground was green and muddy and covered in undergrowth. Seana looked around in confusion for a moment before beginning to sink rapidly into the mud. This was the Mire, the swampiest part of the Waterwood on the edge of the Two Rivers, and Seana's speedy descent was only a slight exaggeration if she stepped into one of the boggiest parts.

Seana was standing on firm ground. Her skirts were clean. "Even the Wetlands must have solid ground," she said in consternation. "Surely you did not mean me to think that was real."

"Of course I did," Egwene said, frustrated. "You do know about the Drowned Lands, don't you?" The Drowned Lands were much closer to the Waste and much larger; likely the swamps there were worse even than the Mire.

"Try again," was all Seana said, and Egwene tried again.

*****

At least the Anklok did not demand that Perrin and Faile fight within the bounds of their village. The structure was built into the side of a cliff, and nothing like the lushly forested stedding in the fertile lands he knew, but it was a stedding all the same. If they had fought there, their supply of the One Power would have rapidly drained away while Dolan (and Kazara) remained able to fuel their own abilities.

"Why are they so willing to die for this?" Faile grumbled.

"Loial told me about it," Perrin said. "The Dragon Kings are reborn as quickly as possible and regain their memories as they grow up. They don't mind dying, not much at least, so long as they're sure they have someone to help them retrieve their memories. During the Breaking, that was a real problem, but the stedding have stabilized things. Of course, the Anklok have worse tempers and pricklier honor than the Raptok."

They met to fight in a sandy circle beneath the village, surrounded by a border of sharp stone. Along the edge of Perrin's side had been placed a portable stone altar with torches, in deference to his inability to simply conjure flame. Dolan came out to fight him first, nonchalantly twirling a huge crystalline club. Even after observing him all day, Perrin wondered how old he was; his size and gravelly voice made it hard to judge whether he was a mature adult, or just a boy around Perrin's own age like Loial.

"We can still talk this out!" Perrin called. "I understand that your honor's at stake, but is there any price that might spare your life?"

"Yours!" Dolan charged at him, club upraised, swinging back and forth in counterbalance to his tail.

There was no more time for avoiding battle completely. Perrin let the One Power flood into him, bulking him up to a size comparable to the Anklok's. Even with his horns, he was far from certain that he was a physical match for Dolan, who was covered in armored scales. He hefted his axe out of one back holster and his hammer from the other, letting them merge with his arms. Before he could bring either to bear, Dolan hit him in the chin with a tremendous blow from his war club. Perrin went flying back and upward, but let himself roll so that he came down on all fours. The axe helped bring his skid to a stop.

"Do you really want to die for this, Dolan? Is it the best you can make of your life?" Perrin drew his feet up under him and charged, weapons low, horns aimed at Dolan's chest. He felt the impact jolt down his spine, but there was no real pain to it. Dolan crashed down onto his back, skidding across the arena.

"No more talk, human! Fight! Fight or die!" The Anklok was back on his feet almost at once. Perrin crossed his arms as the big fellow charged at him, moving much faster than his bulk seemed to allow. Then he uncrossed them, slashing his axe through the scales from one direction and slamming hard into the armored head from the other.

Still undaunted, Dolan lit his thick hands aflame. Blood trickled from his chest, and his scutes looked askew somehow, but Perrin hardly seemed to be breaking through. He needed an alternative target.

Bleeding. Dolan was bleeding. Nothing about the hunt said a Lunar had to wait till it was done.

Perrin lunged, welcoming the Anklok's flaming fists, and licked the blood trickling down Dolan's armor. Faile was probably laughing. Or aroused. Or both. Likely both.

He felt himself transform, horns splitting and multiplying, tail growing into a spiked club, armored scales bursting from his skin. Now he looked much like Dolan, save that he was still mostly uninjured. He could not duplicate the Anklok's special weaves, but he had tricks of his own. And even that little dribble of blood should let him keep the shape for an hour or so, far longer than he needed for the fight. Perrin slammed his axe blade and hammer head together with a clang. "Fine, then! To the death it is!"

*****

Faile hadn't even considered taking her enemy's shape while the fight was still on. That Perrin had come up with it was embarrassing, but the flush in her cheeks was by no means shame alone.

She glanced over at Kazara daughter of Gaatekh daughter of Jazra. "You're sure there's no other way to satisfy your honor?" It was a stretch; she could not even tell from looking at them that Kazara was female and Dolan male. But damned if she wasn't going to try everything. "Surely there's something you would enjoy enough to let this slide." She was stuck here on the sidelines in a semi-enclosed section of the arena, certainly for a quarter of an hour if not longer. What did she have to lose at this point?

Kozara bared her teeth and hissed. Sadly, that was probably a "no."

*****

At the hottest part of the day, Bair appeared and rousted Egwene out of her short nap. "I thought you were teaching me the World of Dreams," Egwene mumbled as Bair led her out into blinding daylight.

"Seana's power comes from her father," Bair said, "one of the outsiders who stalks the Wyld and is more its master than even the greatest of us, at least in this Age. Yet all her knowledge does not give her enough power to use the way he could. In some ways you, a Dragon-Blood, have more power than she, though by your own nature you can do little more to the Wyld than resist it. As for me," she said, and as she spoke the very sunlight rippled and shifted, opening like a doorway into a place that was no place, "I am a Solar, and though the World of Dreams is no part of my nature, I have such power over it as even the raksha fear." She stepped through the gateway and vanished into a maelstrom of color.

There was nothing for it but for Egwene to follow. She walked on a narrow bridge above a howling maelstrom of unreality, of sights that stank and sounds that tasted sour. And then they passed through another portall, and she stood in the Waste again. If it was the Waste. Broken mesas loomed against the horizon, but the ground was lush with growth. She stood in a field of algodon, such as the Aiel made clothes with, lighter and softer than wool. Beyond that lay t'mat, and in the other direction a stand of zemai as far as her eyes could see. Water flowed in little channels through the soil, but she could not tell where it came from. Something was tugging at her thoughts.

"The Wise Ones have carved lands like this from the Wyld over the course of centuries," Bair said in answer to her unspoken question. "Sometimes they hold stagnant for long decades when there are none among us who can expand or change them. Once in a while they grow, and rapidly. These fields keep the Aiel fed and clothed even in the worst droughts of the Three-Fold Land."

"Who works them?" Egwene asked. She could see no laborers right now.

"Gai'shain," Bair explained. "Those taken in battle serve for a year and a day, and what they do then is not spoken of, save at great need. We have explained that no need is great enough to speak of these places. Many know, but no outsiders. Until you." The pull at the edges of Egwene's mind strengthened. With an effort of will and the One Power, she forced it out.

"Good," Bair said. "I hoped you would not allow that so easily. The same mutability that makes it possible to conjure places like this can work on the people who come here. The fae do it naturally, without real thought; I can do it at will, though it takes time and effort. Had you not stopped me--and I hoped and expected you would stop me, mind--you would have come to see yourself as gai'shain, with a history as one of the Reyn Aiel. I would not have left you that way, of course. But to be clear, here I could as easily have changed you into a goat--or even a block of stone."

"Seana explained this to me," Egwene said. "Surely you did not have to do so again."

"Seana does what she does as a fae's child. She comes of those who dwell here naturally. But what I do, I do with the One Power, even so far out here where it is barely a separate thing in itself. It is said the Dragon-Blooded cannot do such things, but perhaps--just perhaps--an adept student can prove that false."

*****

It was a long journey back from the Anklok village without their guides, leaving Perrin with the end of the fight to fill his thoughts. Dolan had not given up easily, though Perrin had beaten him down and bloodied him with hammer and tail club. He had given the battle everything he had, until finally Perrin shattered his way through the chest scutes and transformed his face into that of a wolf to burrow in and bite out Dolan's heart--surreptitiously draining his lifeblood in the process and taking his shape to keep. There was no condemnation from the crowd, which had cheered him on while he placed the heart on the altar and arranged the torches to immolate it slowly. Then a roar had gone up in honor of Ignis Divine, and Perrin hailed as a hero and victor.

He knew that Dolan would be reborn swiftly and that his memories would return quickly as he neared adulthood. He knew that the Anklok had demanded a death and that they blamed him not at all; indeed they had wrapped a crystalline necklace around him like a victory wreath. Still, he felt like a killer, not a winner. He had chosen to wear the Dragon King's form for the walk back, in memorial of him, but it was disturbingly comfortable in the dry heat.

Immediately afterwards Kazara had gone forward. There was no way they could have caught the strangers, even if they had guarded the way ten deep and a mile wide; their powers were too great. One death was enough for honor, and therefore Faile had no toh toward her. Yet somehow Faile had matched him when he transformed, wearing Kazara's shape by his side as they trudged back towards Chaendaer.

"What did you do?" he finally asked. "You didn't drink her heart's blood. Did you spend the fight dicing for her shape? Or do you know some other way?"

Faile glanced sideways at him. "You don't look in the mood to talk about what happened, and it wouldn't have worked for you. They wanted at least one sacrifice."

"I still would like to know how it worked," he grunted. It came out almost as a growl; the Anklok voices took some getting used to. "I don't like killing when I don't have to, and--"

"Perrin," Faile said flatly. "You don't have to ask how I did it. You already know. Don't beat yourself up over it. Especially not in that shape; you'll be at it all day."

He only knew one other way-- "Light, Faile! You didn't--? Seriously?"

"They wanted one life. They didn't insist on more. Count it as a win, all right?"

Perrin tried to shove his hands into his pockets, forgetting that he had none. "You understand I'm not mad about the sex as such, right? That's your business. I just...I can't help thinking that if you didn't have to kill her, I could have avoided killing him."

"I know, but you couldn't have, except by dying yourself. You did what you had to do, and got something out of it in the process. Now you just gave to work through it, Perrin. I don't know how to help with that, and I'm sorry. Honestly, the Wise Ones probably arranged it somehow as part of their tests."

"You're right," he said finally. "I'd believe it of them." Really, there was nothing more to say. It was done.

Chapter Text

               flicker

       flicker

                 way back will

                                         flicker

                She was

                       Malidra 

                                           the Light swallowed

    flicker          forward and back

                                                 She was

        Dienys                                     

             You are washed clean of

                                            come but once                                                                                                             flicker           

She was

                          Aviendha

  flicker

                                           She was

                        flicker

          Aviendha      

    she was Aviendha     

She was standing not ten feet from the rings, uncertain how she had gotten there.  Had she been through already?  Was she about to go in?

Was she still inside?

A shadow moved toward the outer edge of the columns.  Solidified.  He was screaming.  He was...one of his eyes gouged out, Muradin was bloodied but alive.  He stumbled onto the pavement and fell, still wailing at the top of his lungs.  Was he mad?  Would he recover?

He clambered to his feet, extending an accusing hand.  "Oathbreaker!  Lost One!  We are Lost!"

                             she was
Aviendha                       

       she was

                       kissing Lanfear with Rand's mouth

                                         she was

                fucking Lanfear with Rand's dick

                        she was

      breaking Lanfear's neck with Rand's hands

                                                       flicker                                                

She was Aviendha

and Elayne was standing over Rand's body, screaming at King Easar.  "You complete fool!  He was the Dragon, don't you see that?  You've doomed us all!"

"The prophecy--" Queen Tenobia began.

"What about the prophecies we already knew," Elayne asked, "the Prophecies of the Dragon?  You came here without asking and you killed our only hope!"

"Not so," Aviendha said, and stepped aside.  A dozen mirror-Rands moved to her left, a dozen more to her right.  "It is said the Portal Stones open onto endless worlds, Elayne, so I ask: how many Dragons do we need?"

   flicker

                    flicker

                                   flicker

                                     she was

                      Aviendha 

with a collar around her neck and no land in sight

guiding a to'raken with her knees as she dropped fireworks behind the Sharan lines

standing before the Hall of the Tower as Alviarin sentenced her to execution as a Darkfriend

back-to-back with Sammael as the walking dead swarmed the slopes of Shayol Ghul

she was Aviendha and she was trying not to show fear as the Sea Folk raker came about under heavy fire.  Damane to the left of him and some kind of new Shadowspawn on the right, great wormlike beasts witn tooth-ringed maws gaping.

Among the Seanchan ships, the sea boiled with giant lizards that had flippers instead of legs.  She knew she could destroy them, knew doing so would likely turn the tide, but doing that would require that she leap from the deck into the ocean, stand on their backs as she plunged spears through their eyes into their brains.  Every time she thought of that she felt her heart quail within her.  It was shameful, and yet she could not name any other Aiel who could have done it.  The idea of being in the water with no ground beneath her feet--even in the shape of a native sea creature--was more than she could bear.

The ship gave a low shuddering moan, followed by a thunderous roar as its keel shattered under the pounding.  He plunged down into the depths, and it no longer mattered what Aviendha feared.

  flicker                                              flicker

                                   flicker                

She was Aviendha and she was tangled together with Rand and Min and Elayne, body and soul burning with joy and desire.  Her mouth was full of Elayne's juices and Min's fingers were sliding in and out of her cunt with Rand's face squeezed in close as he flicked her clit with his tongue.  One of her hands tickled Rand's balls and the other worked at Min's own nub and Elayne was squeezing her breasts and every few minutes they shifted around but it was one continuous flow of delight.

They were all full of the One Power, each in their own way, so that Aviendha's movements communicated exactly what she desired (bodytalk clearer than any handtalk) even when her mouth was full of Rand's cock and her hands full of titflesh.  So that Elayne's flows of Wood and Fire lit up their nerves beyond natural pleasure.  So that Rand's aura flickered images of lovemaking beyond possibility before their eyes and, as Exalted, they strove to make them true all the same.  So that Min's touch brought purest bliss even when all she could reach was a back or a forehead.

Her cock thrust into Elayne from behind and somehow Min's thrust into her, though she knew Min's proper shape was fixed, and Rand stood behind Min in turn, steadying the stack with the barest effort as they all swayed back and forth with Elayne's flows squeezing their breasts and tweaking their nipples.  There was no end and no beginning between them and there seemed no end or beginning to their lovemaking, till Aviendha began to believe it extended through every possible future, as constant as life itself.

                    flickerflicker

She was on fire, every nerve alight with the burning pain, every bit of her body twisting to escape, screaming with a thousand mouths.  Her arm, her self dropped free and tried to scuttle away on sprouting fingers and Elayne, weeping, set it ablaze.  All she wanted was to live why were they killing her she thought they loved her LET HER GO!!

Insectile legs burst free of her head and she scurried off as Min chased after her.  She was going to survive this going to be free going to return to the Wyld.  It had changed her, given her power beyond dreams, and they called her a monster were so jealous, so jealous.  She was still Aviendha, even reduced to this scrabbling thing, but they did not care would not see.  At last she understood Lanfear    

  flicker

            she was Aviendha in the throne room in the royal palace at Caemlyn.  "I will not," Elayne intoned.  "This is my domain and I will not let it fall, do you hear?"           

"Elayne," Min pleaded, "Caemlyn has fallen already.  The people who didn't evacuate are dead.  Unless you've got a plan to ambush the enemy in the palace there's nothing worth saving here.  We need to go!"

The ground beneath her exploded, and Min went flying.  "Only a Darkfriend would tell me that!"

Aviendha moved to Elayne's side as if to back her up...then put a spear through her.  "She's gone mad," Aviendha said as Min and Rand stared.  "Now we run."

"Yes," Rand said coldly.  "Run."

                    flickerflickerflicker

       she was Aviendha

faring back into the Three-Fold Land with her spear-sisters, and she was free at last, her back turned to the Aes Sedai and their  tests.

               will come but once

This was where she belonged, out in the high desert and on the hunt.  She cared nothing for the Wise Ones or their commands, only--

the world went to black and white and innumerable shades of grey, no more color in it

sand and grit roared in her ears as the twisted rocks around her began to disintegrate

her spear-sisters cried out in confusion as their bodies bent and distorted and fell to dust

she could no longer feel anything, not even pain as her very self dissolved along with her body

she tried to scream but no sound would emerge from her vanishing throat 

the last thing she saw was the interior of three silver arches, joined at the top

    ...but once...

She was Aviendha and she was still in the White Tower.  She could think and remember once more, but she passed through walls like a ghost.

Like all the other ghosts here.  The island teemed with then, all marching under the command of an unseen general, the Walker in Darkness, though many did so unwillingly.  Aviendha slipped through them, a ghost even among ghosts, wielding a dark shadow of the One Power that allowed her to warp her phantasmal shape, glimmer into visibility, or possess the living.

As Tarmon Gaidon drew closer, Ellid Abareim brought her to meet the Walker, who said he was the leader of the dead's resistance against the Yozis.  He was a sleek, heavy man without hair, dressed in the illusion of fine clothes with puffy sleeves.  "The Neverborn do not mind me tellng you my name among the living.  It is a fine joke, and already known.  Why should they object to one who was already called More-Death?"

  flicker

she was

taking a break with all her spears out as a segade plant

digging through the sands of the Ter'Mool towards a buried city as a mole

climbing down the cliffs at World's End toward the ocean

flicker

she

          was Aviendha

    evading Padan Fain's dagger, parrying with a spear of moonsilver and bone.  Walking dead surged toward her, screaming, rotting claws trying to tear her flesh and scratch out her eyes.

"I gave over my faith in the Ebon Dragon long ago," Fain cackled.  "Only death, final death, can bring peace, and he has no intention of delivering that.  But Aginor?  You wouldn't believe the favors he's done me."

Here it came, rumbling, crushing zombies and blighted trees alike, its fluting forever silenced, a bloated grub big enough to devour armies, the most fearsome Shadowspawn she knew of, made all but invulnerable in undeath.  Multiple maws gobbled down Trollocs, living or not, still not caring what it ate, but scenting Aviendha's live blood on the wind, coming closer with pincers gnashing like teeth.

"See it?" the madman shrieked.  "What more perfect engine of death could there be?"

Even the Forsaken had no control over Worms, but the lumbering monster swerved to avoid Fain and swallow Aviendha whole.  Its digestive juices were gone, but it pulsed with some flux of Power that converted both live Trollocs and dead into walking corpses.  Aviendha surrounded herself with a weave that kept her immune while she lived, but the fetid air would not sustain her long.  Fire would destroy the monster, but she had no way of summoning it, nor did she think it would burn well in here.

Digestive juices.  That was the answer.  Transforming her own guts, she vomited out a wave of caustic fluid that left her untouched but began to eat through the Worm's dead flesh.  Whether she could destroy it with this she was unsure--she had no idea if the creature even had a brain, and it would take a flood of the stuff to devour it all--but she was not going to die within it, at least.

flicker flicker flicker

On and on, an endless parade of lives she might yet live, hundreds of them, thousands, futures beyond counting, all of them converging on the Last Battle, and all the paths that led her through it converging on Rand al'Thor, Elayne Trakand, and Min Farshaw.  Other lovers flitted through those lives, sometimes remaining on the periphery, but always those three at the center.

Elayne was already hers, but she knew nothing of Min Farshaw, and as for Rand al'Thor?  He was a Wetlander who carried a sword, whatever his blood might be.  And if he was the Car'a'carn, he was a harbinger of her people's doom.  She had no desire to share his blankets, no matter how handsome he was.

She was Aviendha.  Moiraine lay on the ground beside the rings.  It was not the first time; there were no first or last times.  She felt as if she made the choice to help her; she always felt that fhe choice was hers, though she might do a thing in one life and its opposite in the next.  She bent down to lift Moiraine to her feet.  The Aes Sedai was weakened by her own trip through the rings, but not to the point of death.  Together they struggled back toward the mists for several steps before Moiraine was able to thank her.  "Is this real?" Moiraine asked.  "Are we out of it?"

"You always ask that," Aviendha said, "every time I see you, and I never know."

Chapter Text

The air of Rhuidean was flat and musty as an old tomb. There must not be any wind here, no more than in the Ways, or it would have blown away the fog long since. Then again, the sun beating down on it should have boiled it away as well. It was a thing of the One Power. It must be. But what sort of manifestation, Mat had no idea.

The buildings here were, of course, vacant, empty even longer than the ones in Shadar Logoth. Mat felt much the same prickling sensation, as if here, too, someone or something was watching him. Those buildings, at least, had been finished, though there might be empty spaces where cloth awnings or wood had long ago rotted away. These were often incomplete, with towers suddenly ending several stories up, open to the sky, or with internal walls left unfinished. They were stone, of course, but he could not make out what kind. Were they Power-wrought as well?

Here at the center, the buildings gave way to a great plaza, and at the center, a tree that dwarfed any building he had ever seen elsewhere, though it did not match the towers here. If its trefoil leaves had not given it away, he would still have known it from the aura of peace that suffused the very air around it. Avendesora, the Tree of Life. He could easily believe the stories of Goetam sitting beneath it for a year and a day, seeking enlightenment.

To his right lay the forest of crystal columns Rand had vanished into. Sometimes flickers of faint light sparkled through them, but there was no sign of Rand. In front of him were...they must have been wagons or carriages, but Mat could not understand the making of them. A few had had their wheels replaced with skids; these had probably been pulled through sand. Some still had canopies that were metal rather than canvas, and others a slick substance as flexible as cloth but without any indication how it had been woven. Nearly all had hitches welded into their front where horses had been hooked up, but they looked like an inefficient afterthought. Ahead of the seats was always a metal box, and most of them were filled with a complex assemblage of gears and pistons, now rusted, that once had moved like clockwork. A few were empty, but even those showed signs of where the gearing had been attached. Had it somehow made the carriages move without a draft animal? That seemed impossible, but a clock moved its face without having to be turned by human hands.

Among the wagons and beyond them, the square was filled with stranger things even than those. A flat silvery ring, ten feet across and thin as a blade. A tapering crystal plinth a pace tall that might have held one of the smaller statues. A shiny black metal spire, narrow as a spear and no longer, yet standing on end as if rooted. At least he had understood the vehicles for what they were. Hundreds of things, maybe thousands, in every shape imaginable, every material imaginable, dotting the huge plaza with no more than a dozen feet between any two.

On a low table, he found a creature like the one on the Dragon Banner, but sized like a child's toy, flat black with golden highlights. The tail bent down as if for a handle, and for some reason the back pair of feet were articulated. Click-click went the sound of them. He tried again.

The dragon roared like a firework going off, spitting a dull flash of light. Something whizzed away with a high-pitched shriek, clanging on the assorted artifacts and knocking them about. Mat dropped it and jumped back, but after a long moment of silence he gingerly picked it up again.

There was a long, narrow compartment in the dragon's tail. It was nearly empty, but it had once been filled by a clear waxy rod that held pointed chunks of metal that reminded him of arrowheads. Only two remained in the stub of wax. He looked around the table and found one other rod; a thin coating of sand had embedded itself into the surface. He rubbed it off and found six more arrowheads.

Somehow this dragon loosed arrowheads without the arrow. He sniffed at the mouth end of the object--not the mouth itself, just in case he grew clumsy at a bad moment, but around the edge. It had a strong smell like fireworks that had just gone off. That fit; if fireworks would shatter an arrowslit, they would surely fling a bit of rock or metal, and the dragon's body pointed it the right direction. It probably didn't even use the One Power, unless that dull stone set into the forehead was a hearthstone. The waxy rod didn't look anything like Aludra's powders, but the Age of Legends had surely had something better than those.

He pulled out the waxy stub and stuck them in one pocket and the dragon figure in the other. No telling when they might come in handy. Anything here might be useful soon enough, and no one had any idea what it was for, or it wouldn't all be sitting here.

Then something caught his eye across the plaza, beyond all but a few of the wagons: a door standing upright, made of redstone, its sides subtly twisted. The objects weren't especially close together except where they sat in clear groups, so he made quick progress despite having to zig and zag around everything. This one, he saw as he got closer, had downward-pointing triangles rather than sinuous lines, but that basic design was plain. Surely they went to the same place, or close enough.

They did not. Instead of the rounded, wavy room, he emerged from the flash of light and roar of noise into a chamber shaped like a star. The columns here bore eight sharp ridges, with the edges glowing for light. The floor had a glassy sheen but felt like stone, and was coated with thick dust.

"A very long time."

Mat spun, but the man who had spoken was surely harmless. He was no more than three feet tall, blocky and with skin that looked as if pebbles might be embedded in it. He did look muscular, but surely he was too small to be much threat. His clothes were a drab grey brown, not so different from cadin'sor, save his boots and headband, which were bright yellow. The band held back his flowing hair so that the points of his ears were plainly visible. He asked, "Do you abide by the treaties and agreements? Do you carry iron, or instruments of music, or devices for making light?"

"None of those things," he said. The dragon figure in his pocket might be some kind of metal, but he did not think it was iron. "If you can take me to where I can get a few questions answered, lead the way. If not, I will be going, with apologies for bothering you."

"No! You must not go. Come. I will take you where you may find what you need. Come." He backed away, gesturing with both hands. "Come."

Mat followed him down a long five-sided hallway that matched the shape of the door, which made it feel more like a tunnel that stretched on forever. Doorways broke the walls at random, but every one of them seemed to lead straight back to the room with the doorway he had come through. Frowning, he tried to track his footsteps in the dust, but it was hard to look backwards long enough while walking to tell anything except that they always seemed to come out of the last doorway. He knew that he had continued straight on, yet the line of his prints bent sharply every time, and there were no other prints in the dust--only his boots and those of the man he was following.

Suddenly the corridor ended ahead in another doorway. Mat blinked. He could have sworn that a moment before the hall had stretched on as far as he could see. He looked back, and nearly swore. The corridor ran back until the glowing yellow strips in the corners seemed to come together in a point. And there was not an opening to be seen anywhere along it. When he turned, he found himself alone in front of the doorway.

Beyond it lay another star-shaped chamber, with short columns that made up an eight-pointed star within that. He barely took notice, but looked up. Sure enough, there was the bizarre tangle that he had seen in the other place, the threads that he felt he ought to be able to read and understand, and beyond them the impression of a wheel, turning, continually making more thread. Somehow, he felt, this was his place, as sure as if he had been born here instead of the Two Rivers.

But when he looked back down, the smooth grey walls held no door. He spun, searching for it, and before he had come all the way round he saw that the pillars held people sitting atop them, as short as his guide had been. Four were men, four women, all dressed in much the same manner as his guide save for the color of their boots and headbands. One each wore black, green, brown, and yellow; two pairs wore maroon and grey. It must mean something, but for the bloody life of him he could not say what.

"By the ancient treaty, here is agreement made. What is your need? Speak." It was the woman in yellow boots. Her hair was grey, her face heavily lined. Perhaps she was the eldest. It was nothing like was the tall folk had said.

"Who is the Daughter of the Nine Moons and why do I have to marry her?" Hopefully that would count as one question. But they simply stared at him in silence. "You are supposed to answer," he said. "Burn your bones to ash, answer me! Who is the Daughter of the Nine Moons and why do I have to marry her? How will I die and live again? What does it mean that I have to give up half the light of the world? Those are my three questions. Say something!" They did not. Not a word.

"I have no intention of marrying. And I have no intention of dying, either, whether I am supposed to live again or not. I walk around with holes in my memory, holes in my life, and you stare at me like idiots. If I had my way, I would want those holes filled, but at least answers to my questions might fill some in my future. You have to answer—!"

"Done," said the man in the brown boots, with a smile on his face and in his tone.

"Done? What is done? You've done nothing, not that I can see!" He spun, staring down each of them in turn. "Well, if you are going to jerk me around like a puppet on strings, then I want a way to be free of you, you and every bloody supernatural force I run across! And I want a way out of here and back to Rhuidean! Open up a door and let me out!"

"Done," said a man in grey boots, and a woman in maroon echoed, "Done."

"Done? I see no door! You've done nothing!"

"Fool," a woman said in a whispered growl, and others repeated it. Fool. Fool. Fool.

"Wise to ask leavetaking, when you set no price, no terms."

"Yet fool not to first agree on price."

"We will set the price."

They spoke so quickly he could not tell which said what.

"What was asked will be given."

"The price will be paid."

"Burn you," he shouted, "what are you talking--!?"

A whirring noise started up behind him. Before he could turn, something caught him by the throat. Air. He needed--

*****

Tuon sat on a stump on the Village Green. Marin al'Vere told her that normally, the old foundation behind the inn was quiet and bare, save the occasional person sitting under the ancient oak. These were not normal times, however. The Winespring Inn was being expanded, and what remained of the foundation was full of Traitorspawn experimenting with their powers.

At night, the Traitorspawn would retire into the inn and sleep three or four to a bed, and not simply because the inn was that crowded, though that was certainly true. Of all that the histories told, it was clearest that one thing was true: Traitorspawn rutted like beasts.

And yet.

"By all that I have been told, Nynaeve al'Meara, you should have set yourself up as a Lady by now, if not declared yourself Queen. These should be your army."

"Well, they are my army." Nynaeve's left hand held her braid, knuckles pale as she gripped it. It was what she did when angry, though she usually denied her anger. Tuon did not understand what angered her now.

"They are a militia. Not the Empress herself, might she live forever, would deny you a defense against these monsters, if for some reason she had not provided one. You are not training like a military force planning to invade Baerlon. This is all defense."

"Yes," Nynaeve said. "It is. Why would you expect anything else?"

"'Long ago when the world was young,'" Tuon recited, "'the gods betrayed the Creators and raised up their Exalted. Some of the Creators they twisted into devils and imprisoned fast. Others they slew, but because the Creators were never born they could not truly die. The Neverborn damned the Exalted for their sins, and the world screamed in the pain of its salvation. The Exalted went mad; they were no longer Exalted but Accursed.'

"'Under the false light of the hypocritical gods, the Accursed warped men into beasts and women into monsters. They sold souls and bartered the world's hope. They broke the treaty with the Unshaped and called new worlds into being just to conquer them.'

"'In time the evil of the Accursed turned them against one another. As their empires splintered, the weak seized what power they could find and turned on the Accursed. There was no returning to the old ways of justice, for the Creators were dead or corrupted, but hypocrisy is the tribute that vice pays to virtue. We enslaved the Accursed as punishment for their sins and used their power to make a world that was as just as it could be. But perfection could never be again.'"

Nynaeve's fingers had loosened their grip for the early part of the recitation--Tuon suspected genuine interest--but at the end her knuckles went white again. "So you believe your empire is the best anyone can create?"

Tuon sighed. "The proverb says, 'Mercy is as corruption in the blood, and justice is the rising smoke of the world's corpse.' Real virtue is impossible in the world the gods made. All we can do is what we can do."

Nynaeve scowled at that. "You can't imagine anything better? If the world is still broken, why not fix it?"

"You can heal a sick man," Tuon tried again, "but you cannot raise the dead to live again. We are like maggots in the world's corpse. When we have eaten it through, we too will die, but we gain nothing by raising it from the dead, even if we could. Do you not see this?"

"Then what are you trying to do? What's the point of anything?"

"Making it last as long as possible." How were the people of these lands so ignorant?

"If it were up to me," Nynaeve said stubbornly, "I'd be studying ways to heal death too."

Tuon nodded. "Of course you would. That is a form of madness. I admire your determination, but you are still mad."

Nynaeve seemed to see the truth of it. Her eyes looked only inward for a moment, and she deflated visibly. "So why aren't you planning to stop this training, then?"

"I have no desire to help the Shadowspawn murder your people. You can be subjects of the Empire. They cannot. It is better that you live to serve us one day than that you die now."

"If you care so much, why not help?" Nynaeve's tone was dry. She really believed Tuon wanted to see this little community reduced to an abbatoir for the Trollocs.

"I have already helped to organize the resettlement of these refugees here. I can do more if you wish it. White Veil style will not be much use against Trollocs, I think, but First Pulse style may be." Nynaeve did not react to either name.

Tuon stood and went up to the front to stand beside Lan, the big man who was giving instructions to the Traitorspawn. She saw him react to her presence, but he did not perceive her as a threat. She picked up a shovel that one of the workmen had been using. That attracted more of his attention, so she began to play with it in an idle fashion. She genuinely had no experience with such tools beyond the little she had picked up here, but its properties were obvious. Eventually he returned his attention to the students practicing with the bow.

Then, moving with the speed of lightning, she struck him in the gut with the shovel's blade.

There was no question in her mind that he would win. He was a Traitorspawn, well-trained in combat since childhood. She was only mortal. But she would show them what even a mortal could do. She assumed the capstone technique, speeding her movements even more, enlarging her till she was Nynaeve's equal in height. Tuon's sifu had told her that her hands would drip with all the blood she had shed while learning the style, but she had killed only two brothers and a sister. How her hands could flow with blood as the Winespring flowed with water was a mystery to her.

As it turned out, her measurement of his abilities was off. She expected him to be a typical Earth Aspect, powerful but slow, such that the speed of First Pulse would provide a decisive advantage. Slow, Lan Mandragoran was not. He did not have the innate blinding speed of an Air or a Fire, but he had trained to compensate for that. He spun, slashing at her repeatedly. She blocked each of his blows, but her shovel was cut to pieces.

Of course, another advantage of her style was that it assumed an improvised weapon. She dropped low, grabbed up a rake, and continued blocking. Unfortunately, White Veil style was now largely useless, since she had already opened hostilities and had no killing intent. "In combat," she called out, "speed is life! Attack from surprise and your enemy is halfway to defeat already!" That should be enough to signal that her attack was meant as a lesson, not an assassination attempt. "To maintain surprise, everything is a weapon!" She swung the rake low and flung decaying oak leaves into Lan's face; the dust of them clung unnaturally, blinding him.

In spite of that, he sensed her incoming blow and blocked it, locking the rake's tines with his sword. He twisted it out of her grip and held up his off hand to signal a halt. "Never underestimate your opponent!" he shouted. "Muscles account only for so much. There is speed. There is skill. There is the One Power. Tuon is a small woman, but she is well-trained. I would not fear to face Trollocs with her at my back." He understood her far better than Nynaeve did. That was good. In a softer voice, he asked, "Would you like to continue sparring? Both of us might learn something."

"It will be an experience," she said, offering him a small smile. She certainly might learn how to fight her enemies from him. After all, he was one of them.

Chapter Text

Forward...and back.

Memories clogged Rand's mind like leaves till he could not find his own thoughts in the mess. The lights...from the outside the columns had seemed only to flicker in the dim, fog-shrouded sunlight. At their heart, the lights had crawled up and down their length like rings of lightning trapped within the crystal. Dimming and flaring, dancing through the crystal forest in a pattern he could neither understand nor stop seeing. He could not think because the columns were thinking for him, thinking thoughts that were not his own. There was no shutting them out. He had been Lewin, had been him twice. Mystery layered upon mystery.

...blood spurted onto Lewin's hands as the bandit collided with the spear...

Lewin had not known how to fight. He could hunt, but badly, stabbing or shooting wildly. Killing animals for food left him regretful; killing the bandit who had forced his sister had made him so sick he wanted to die. How could the Aiel warriors have grown so quickly from such a seed?

Rand looked down at his own hands, half expecting to see blood on them. They were pale hands. Everyone in the Two Rivers was darker, and even those whose skin was close in shade had black hair and brown eyes. He should have believed sooner. But Lewin, and after him the Jenn, moved by night, or swathed themselves in robes, or hid in the wagons. They were almost as pale as a Fade; their skin burned in minutes if the sun touched it. It was a kind of deformity, like a child born with a split palate. Where had they come from? How had they survived as long as they had?

He had been Mandein. There had been Exalts at Rhuidean with the Jenn. Lunars, he thought, but it was the prophecy they had spoken that concerned him.

Two uncanny folk wearing only leather straps, yet so hairless and androgynous he was not sure they were human. "No," said one. Their skin was not much darker than that of the Jenn, yet they stood in the blazing sun without concern. "That one will come later. The stone that never falls will fall to announce his coming."

"Of the blood, but not raised by the blood," said the other. "He will come from Rhuidean with the dawn, and tie you together with bonds you cannot break. He will take you back, and he will destroy you."

They, and the Jenn, had ordained the journey to Rhuidean, to keep the Aiel from slaughtering one another, they said. But how did it serve that purpose?

He stumbled forward. The lights were gone. When had they gone? The wind through the columns was only a breeze, carrying a little dust and sand. Ahead of him was Avendesora, and dangling from the branches was

Charn. The old man was hanging from the chora tree, a rope around his neck. Coumin lunged forward--the branch was not so high--and knocked the pole loose. He and Charn tumbled to the ground together.

Not Charn. Mat. Rand tore the rope free, and a leather cord with it that held a medallion, expecting Mat to gasp like a man who had nearly drowned, to gulp in air and sit up and thank him before making light of it all.

Nothing. Mat didn't breathe. Rand leaned forward, feeling his chest, listening, trying to find a heartbeat. He couldn't...wait, was that one? Maybe. Once, long ago, Master Luhhan had pulled some fool boy out of the Winespring Water. What had he done then?

Rand pressed his mouth against Mat's and blew, trying to inflate his lungs. Once, twice. Then he put all his weight on Mat's chest and shoved downward. Mat's heart had to beat, or air would do him no good. Once, twice, three times. The One Power filled him up with light. Whether it was doing anything for Mat, he couldn't tell, but he clung to it. Breathe. Heave. Breathe. He had to keep it up until Mat breathed on his own.

Mat coughed, opened his eyes, rolled over. He drew breath with a sound like the jo-cars dying in the sand. Adan had cursed at them, then gotten the blacksmiths to weld rods onto the front. Horses, then.

Mat's words pulled him back. "Those flaming--sons--of goats," he muttered hoarsely. "They tried--to kill me."

"Who?" Rand asked. Not Aiel, surely. The Aiel would never--

Muradin, staggering forward, bloody sockets above his veil

There were no Aiel here anyway, that he knew of. Aviendha, maybe. And himself, he supposed.

"Little men. Other side of the doorway. There's another one here. No answers, though. They cheat."

"Another doorway," Rand said. "I saw it." No, Lewin had seen it, crates breaking open as Sulwin's people flung them from the wagons, discarding everything to make room for people.

Mat nodded. "Don’t go in. But I did get something from them, at least." His hand closed on the pole his rope had been tied to. Not a pole; a polearm, like a spear with a sword blade. He ran his fingers along an inscription inlaid in dark metal and bracketed by ravens. "Their little joke, I see."

"Joke?"

"'Thus it our treaty written; thus is agreement made.
Thought is the arrow of time; memory never fades.
What was asked is given. The price is paid.' Not that they gave me much of anything." He picked up the medallion, too; it was shaped like a fox's head. He winced, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Light, but my head hurts. It's spinning, like a thousand bits of dreams, and every one a needle. Do you think Moiraine will do something for it if I ask?"

"I am sure she will. I might ask, too. You're sure you didn't go into the columns?" Mat stared at him. "I suppose not." His own head did not hurt, but the memories were clotted in there like mud in a pipe. "Little men, you said. Colored in black and white blotches?"

"What? No," Mat said. "That's ridiculous. Just men and women, maybe up to my waist, with different colors of boots."

He had seen them, he was sure, traveling with the Dragon Kings. Not Mat's, but the other people with their strange patterned skin, a little shorter than Moiraine. He thought they had stayed with the wagons. Interbred with the Aiel, maybe. Jonai had thought of them as "minikins" and as "Djala"; Rand did not think one meant the other, but what Djala did mean he couldn't say.

The buildings towered over them, watching him with empty windows. He had seen higher still, yet he thought Rhuidean was meant to mimic those soaring towers. Not even the Lunars could recreate the domes of the Collam Daan, though, let alone the sphere that had hung above them, the Sharom. In his mind's eye it was still falling, trailing green fire as it broke apart.

She had been so hopeful.

Adan stood on the cliffs where the world had ended, where a great shelf of land had broken off and fallen into the sea, black despair in his heart and curses on his lips for Selene, an old name for Lanfear.

Rand knew that name. Lanfear had used it when they traveled through the empty world where the Trollocs had won. He had not known she had used it before. But....

Jonai ran down the streets as he searched for Charn. The old man could be a fool sometimes, telling stories about how he had worked for Selena who had become Lanfear. One day they would get him killed, if they had not already.

The sounds had shifted. There had been a hint of another vowel at the end of the word once. Jonai remembered it as Lanfear's own personal name.

"Let's get going," he said roughly. "I don't want to stay here. Maybe the valley will be cooler if we cross it at night." That name had tickled his memory even in between visions.

"Maybe Moiraine is still here, and Aviendha. We could all leave together," Mat said hoarsely. "She could fix this little scratch." He put his hand to the rope burn. He could call it what he liked, but if he was willing to have it healed, it was paining him terribly. He slapped Rand on the back. "She's naked, remember? Don't you want a look?" His eyes twinkled. He had seen Aviendha naked several times, and up close.

"I don't think she wants me looking," Rand said. "I don't doubt she's pretty." She seemed shy for an Aiel; they did not just go about naked under the noon sun, of course, but when battle called all they needed covered was their face. She really did not like him.

Mat put the butt of his weapon on the ground, and staggered forward. There had been rings that Moiraine and Aviendha were supposed to head for. Rand was not looking forward to meeting either of them again, but perhaps they could help Mat. Maybe they could tell him what he had seen.

"I'm sorry about the bureaucracy," Charn said. "You would think that after the Working, they'd have given you your third name."

Mierin shrugged, but he could read her face. It was not even that she was upset for herself. "The Working benefits everyone, even Solars, but because more Lunars than Solars follow my school, the Deliberative grinds slowly. Don't concern yourself over me. Today is the next step."

"I don't understand the procedure," Charn said uneasily. Solars saw further than anyone else, just as they were always better than anyone else.

"The math isn't the important part," Mierin said. "Nor the specific parameters. The Yozis and their spawn represent imperfection. By channeling my Exaltation through a demon, I mean to jailbreak all the Exaltations, to remove the requirements for excellence so that anyone can attain what I have. Then it's a question of figuring out how to replicate them. One day soon it won't even be anyone who can be Exalted. It will be everyone. And then you'll understand it for yourself."

The audacity of it sent him reeling. That such a plan could be conceived of by a mind that at the same time felt compassion for all? That was as impossible to understand as the math. "I know it's not official yet," he said. "But I need to say it. Please let me be the first to address you by the name they've proposed for you, Mierin Salina Eronaile."

She blushed. "You're far too kind."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Mat said, coughing, bringing Rand back from his thoughts. "Think we can get one of those fountains working and get a drink?"

"I hope so," Rand said. His own voice was hoarse from the dry heat. There had to be some way to make the One Power sustain them, if the Exalted had created the paradise he'd seen. Of course, they had torn it all down as well.

They were halfway across the square when Mat spotted another pair of figures ahead of them, Aviendha and Moiraine leaning on each other as they made their way across the pavement. He tried to call out to them, but his strained voice faded away in the sighing wind. "Gotta catch up," he wheezed, and tried to pick up his pace.

Before they could close the distance, the dust in the streets began to ripple, not with the wind but against it. "Oh, burn me," Mat muttered. "I think we're in trouble, Rand. It's what I get for staying around you. You always get me in trouble."

Rand produced his sword, ready to fight if he must, but what would a blade do against clouds of dust? It was more than dust, of course. Mat hefted his spear, trying not to lose his balance.

Suddenly, the dust ahead of them came together in the featureless shape of a man, grey, clawed, and looming as it leaped at them. Rand swung his sword through it, and the dust scattered, but a hint of the figure behind it remained like an afterimage. The dust began to coalesce again, and more of the faint beings closed in to take form from it. Mat used his spear like a quarterstaff, though he brought the blade into his forms as if he'd practiced with it his whole life. But though the creatures shattered easily into dust, always they reformed again, faster and faster.

Aviendha and Moiraine joined them as the assault continued, with Moiraine flinging blades of Air and Aviendha fighting barehanded. Rand did his best not to look at her, but it was hard to worry about things like that when you were fighting for your life. She realized she had passed in front of his gaze and transformed into her half-animal form, no doubt thinking to dissuade him. He would have to let her know, when there was time, that she was no less shapely like this, even though she looked quite strange.

"Ghosts," Moiraine said under her breath. "This place is a Shadowland. So many people have died here, in pain or fright, as to stitch it forever to the world of the dead." Rand realized suddenly that when her blades struck home, no figure survived to reanimate the dust; the whole creature dissipated.

"I don't guess you can teach us that?" Mat rasped.

"These are souls that will never be reborn, Mat. I hope to kill as few of them as possible to scare them away. No, I would not teach you this weave even if I could, and I cannot." There was a coolness in her tone, but it was brittle, almost angry.

"Does it work on beings like demons?" Rand asked. However it worked, it was certainly more effective than what the rest of them had been doing. Only one or two ghosts were still angry enough to be attacking, and as Moiraine struck again, the last...could he call them survivors?...fled.

Moiraine didn't answer him, only sat down in the dust at the edge of the plaza, wiping at her forehead. Her hand came away dry. "You two seem in need of water," she said. "I am as well. I am no longer sweating, and that is not a good sign."

"There's water down below us," Rand said, "like in Caemlyn. I'm not sure whether the fountains ever worked or why they aren't working now, but they aren't meant to be just for show. I think I can...." He made his way over to the nearest one. "It's here somewhere. There must be a way to...." Light shone around him as he channeled, like the sunlight his sword formed from. Deep below them, he felt something give way. A hollow gurgling resounded from what must have been hidden pipes, and water poured from the mouth of a huge stone fish being held by three stone women.

Aviendha glared at him as if he had desecrated the city somehow, but she helped Moiraine get up and drink, then wet her face and neck. The Aiel took water, and the lack of it, with the utmost seriousness. She herself drank a little, and said nothing as he and Mat took some water for themselves.

"They sent us here separately," Rand said, "except for me and Mat. It's not a problem that we're helping each other, is it?"

Aviendha scoffed. "Is it Wise Ones or clan chiefs who are tested for leadership by being expected not to help others in need? One cannot count on help in the Three-Fold Land, but those who can give it ought to."

"I don't suppose anyone has a waterskin on hand," Mat suggested. "Moiraine, you can use the Power to need less water, can't you?"

"I have been doing so," she told him. "It is not one of my strengths."

She was not a large woman by any means. "I could carry you," Rand offered.

"It shouldn't be necessary," Moiraine insisted. "If it becomes so, I will let you know."

They started toward the boundary of the mists again. Rand had completely lost track of time within the columns, and the shroud of fog that hung over the city made it difficult to tell anything except that it was daytime. The mists were cool, but somehow did not feel especially damp. "We must try to emerge during the day," Moiraine warned, "or we may come out in the world of the dead."

"Won't that be fun," Mat muttered. He was leaning on Aviendha, who took the burden with an amused grin she would never have given to Rand.

The sun was already high when they came out into the light, which worried Rand. He was supposed to arrive with the dawn, wasn't he? But he would have had to leave the mists while it was still dark, then, and he would be in another realm in that case if Moiraine was correct. He said as much, quietly, to Moiraine, and she simply raised an eyebrow. "And where is it that you must arrive? It is not so simple a question as it seems." There was no answer to that, he supposed. It would be the Aiel who judged him on the matter.

They trudged on through the day and into the growing heat. He could see Chaendaer looming up before them. Soon. Very soon, he would know what to do next.

Chapter Text

Bodewhin kept her eyes shut tight. She was meditating. At least, that was what she told herself and Padan Fain. The daylight made her feel sick and sullen, but night was coming soon.

Fain, somehow, walked in the daylight and among the living, and refused to tell her how. She had guessed, though. Everything Fain did with the Illuminated was for the greater cause of bringing death to the Two Rivers. The masters he served...the Neverborn, he called them...must understand his malevolent intent and choose to protect him. Even so, he wouldn't let her use his name in private; she had to call him "Wormwood".

He hadn't forbidden to say her own name, because he didn't need to. She felt a chill like approaching doom whenever she did. Fain called her Moonrose, or, on the rare occasions when he was being grandiose, "the Bloodstained Rose of Midnight's Moon". That didn't feel anything like herself, but he almost never allowed her to speak to anyone else. Dain Bornhald had bowed and repeated the formal title to himself as if trying to memorize it.

Still, there had to be a way to escape him, and she thought she might have found one. Calling the dead was the easiest thing in the world. Even mortals could do it, if they dared; they just couldn't do much about it when the dead came. Fain had let slip that Anathema like themselves could do without the trappings; they just needed to channel. And he had made her aware of someone right here who needed help, and who might be able to help in return.

Though the tent was closed up tight, she felt the sun vanish behind the Mountains of Mist. "Kari al'Thor. Kari al'Thor. Kari al'Thor."

"No, please. Not...you're not Padan Fain. Who are you? I've seen you here."

Bodewhin opened her eyes. Kari favored her son, though not closely. Her face, already pale, was washed out; her red hair had darkened to the hue of blood. "Call me Moonrose. You know my brother, a little. Mat Cauthon."

"Bodewhin?" Kari drifted toward her. "I see Natti in you. The ancestors speak of you sometimes. They say...they used to say good things."

"Please don't call me that. It's not good for the living. I don't want to think of what it might do to the dead." She gestured for Kari to sit, if she could. "Fain thinks he controls me. He doesn't. But there are things I have to learn that I can only learn from him. I need you to do something for me. He let slip that Nynaeve al'Meara is back in Emond's Field. Tell her I can help her if she'll help me."

"Padan Fain does control me, Bode. I--"

"Let me help. I can get you free of him, with a little time. I need just this one thing from you, when he's not looking." She studied Kari's wan face. "What can I give you?"

"You're already offering the only thing I need," the ghost said ruefully. "Protect my son from Fain. Save Rand, and you save the world."

"Rand?" Bode wrinkled her nose. Rand was a good influence on Mat, maybe, but he was also a stick-in-the-mud. And old.

"My son is the Dragon Reborn, B...Moonrose. I know that's hard to wrap your mind around, just as it was for me. He needs his friends, his family. He needs protection from those who want to hurt him. Ishamael and Fain have both tried to use me against him already."

"I'd never try to hurt Rand, Mistress al'Thor, any more than Mat. I just need a little help. Will you go?" She offered her empty palms.

Kari sighed and nodded. "I will try to make her see me. Nynaeve was a stubborn girl."

Bode nodded. "We all were. Thank you." The ghost flickered and vanished. Bodewhin could have pressed her harder, maybe even forced her obedience. But she didn't want that. She wasn't going to let this power make her anything like Fain.

*****

"I find it important to remind you all," said Verin, "that while the White Tower is a sexually-open culture, certain rules and divisions are strictly enforced. With the sole exception of adult partners already married before coming to the Tower, there is no sexual contact allowed between the groups of novices, Accepted, and Aes Sedai. Even within the novices and Accepted, large age gaps are looked upon with suspicion."

All eyes went to Lan and Nynaeve; the Two Rivers folk all knew that Nynaeve had left Emond's Field unmarried. Verin gave them a moment and went on. "Nynaeve has managed to extract an exemption from the Amyrlin, and even that deserves better legal attention than it is likely to receive. I will now add, however, that until we reach Tar Valon, none of you are subject to the laws of either city or Tower. Please do not violate local laws, on which I believe Nynaeve is in fact expert. Beyond that, you are free to do as you please."

Lan stood up in his turn. "Try and remember that some of you will probably advance quickly into the Accepted, so your relationships may be interrupted. There's nothing we can do about that. Learn to deal with it, by which I mean try not to get too attached this early. Lastly, the White Tower is the largest importer of heartleaf tea this side of the Aryth Ocean, and heartleaf has not grown in the Two Rivers for decades. We cannot keep you from getting with child right now. So keep your bloody heads on straight!"

"In service of that end," Alanna said, "we are now going to make use of your current position outside Tower law. I'm sure you know from your livestock what will get a woman with child. We're going to give you some ideas on how to enjoy each other's bodies and satisfy your urges without catching anyone pregnant. Volunteers?"

Nynaeve's ears and face were burning. The Two Rivers was not some storybook kingdom that kept young people apart till marriage...somehow. But she had never considered many of the things she had first learned of in the Tower, and even the Tower was not Altara or Arafel. Jancy Torfinn put her hand up. Light! The girl was thirteen! Nynaeve cleared her throat. "Alanna, Lan and I can help with the demonstration." Lan blinked at her; for him, that was as good as his jaw dropping.

"You're certain?" Alanna said, raising her eyebrows. "All right, then. Jancy, sit down and pay attention. I have no doubt that N...N...Lan knows what he is doing."

That was a performance, said Lan's subtle glance at her as they walked forward. Light, it hardly mattered that the Women's Circle had closed off the Winespring's common room for the day! It was filled with young people! She knew very well that she could not say that. But you may not have caught that she does want to see us, the both of us, unclothed.

Well, then let her see! Nynaeve snapped back. She was uncertain if Lan could perceive her thoughts as well as send his own, but she suited action to words by unfastening her dress and letting it fall. Alanna tugged her shift down to the waist as well.

"For most women, you should be gentle with the nipples," Alanna said, reaching from behind Nynaeve's back to pinch hers lightly,"especially if they have not given birth, but some enjoy a little roughness." She turned to Lan, who had removed his shirt in the meantime. "Most men do not enjoy their nipples quite so much--I have never seen a man find release from that alone--but they are still a sensitive spot." Lan grunted quietly as she tweaked his. "Some are more vocal," she said with a touch of asperity.

She turned back to Nynaeve and ran a nail along her collarbone, producing a shiver. With a grin, she said, "Many people, both men and women, enjoy a little of what would be called pain in other circumstances. A few enjoy a lot, or have such a high tolerance that it takes more effort. Lan, would you turn around?" Dutifully, his face stone, Lan showed them his back, which Nynaeve had clawed rather thoroughly the night before. "Your nails can be quite sharp. Many people also enjoy a good, hard slap, especially here." She spanked Nynaeve one time on her bottom. Nynaeve hissed, uncertain whether she liked such treatment from Alanna, but the Aes Sedai did not repeat it.

She has always been a bit much, Lan said with his eyes, but she means well. Wait until you meet Myrelle.

Alanna pulled Nynaeve's shift the rest of the way off, taking her smallclothes with it. She opened her mouth to say something more, but as she did so, a pallid woman walked in through the wall. Only her blood-red hair held any strong color. Nynaeve had not seen that face since her own father was alive, but she knew Kari al'Thor at once. Her face was not at all shaped like Rand's, but her hair had resembled his, and they had the same grey eyes, enough that she had easily passed for his mother. Those eyes opened wide; whatever she had expected in the common room of the Winespring Inn, it was not this. A ghost! Nynaeve considered retrieving her dress, but she did not want to be seen crouching like a toad any more than to be naked.

"We have a visitor," Lan said aloud. "A ghost, I believe."

"That's Kari al'Thor," Berowyn said before Nynaeve could reply or the younger folk could do more than yelp. "Rand's mother. Should we bring in the Wisdom? Daise, I mean?"

"She is the Wisdom now," Nynaeve said haltingly, "but I can handle this. Kari, be at ease. Why have you come here and appeared to us? Speak if you can, by my authority."

Kari opened her mouth, but struggled to produce audible words. Finally she managed to say, "Bodewhin Cauthon sends word that she is alive. Padan Fain has her captive among...." She faded out before she could finish. Several of the youngest cried out again as she vanished.

"A ghost cannot harm you," Nynaeve admonished, "and Rand's mother surely never would. Where there was love in life, there is love in death as well." That was not entirely true, she realized belatedly, but most ghosts were not Mordeth.

"I will go find Tomas and Ihvon," Verin said, and we will think out some rescue plans. If Bodewhin has managed to wangle such help, she is very likely one of us. You three, carry on." She gave them a dismissive wave and scurried off.

"Carry on?" Nynaeve snorted. "She expects us to--?"

"She does," Alanna said warningly. "If I were you, I would do as she says. Verin Sedai is a shrewd planner. Now, I believe we were about to finish stripping Lan Sedai...if that is all right with you, Lan?"

Lan shrugged and dropped his pants.

*****

Fain ducked low as he came into the tent. "Still in meditation, pet? The night's well on. You could be out 'n about."

"Link with me," she said. Either of them could pull the One Power from a channeler who did not resist, including each other, but neither could give except to another Abyssal. So Fain had said, at least. Fain did open himself, though, and let her take from him. He himself was quite fresh, probably from stolen life-force, but there was nothing that she could immediately do about that.

Malevolent though he was, Fain seemed genuinely devoted to teaching her; he wanted to make her a thing like himself. She had worked out something further she might be able to do, so perhaps he wouldn't resist that either, not until it was too late. His confidence in himself was no act; she could feel his inflated opinion of himself through the link. He always seemed sure of victory right up till his defenses were punctured. She wove black threads around their connection, sapped that certainty away from him, and made it her own. It sang in her brain and in her heart that she could break him, she could beat him down.

Then he struck back at her, not with his dagger, not even by taking back his willpower, but by opening the connection still wider. Cold tendrils seared their way into her brain, whispers that came not from Fain himself but from the shared source of their power. The Neverborn welled up beneath her thoughts, a cacophony of suffering and malice, shot through with simple commandments. You were made to serve us. You exist to kill the world. Wormwood is your schoolmaster. When you obey Wormwood, you obey us. When you disobey Wormwood--

Agony burned into her. It was a punishment, but far more than a punishment; it was her own mind's interpretation of what the Neverborn already suffered. She was parched with a thirst that nothing could quench, pained with hunger that nothing could fill, wounded unto death but unable to heal or even to die. She could feel that pain like a great gaping hole in her self, and nothing else at all save that emptiness. She was a ghost among the living and they mocked her for her helplessness just by their living.

The first thing she became aware of, when she could again be aware of anything, was the blade of Fain's dagger against her throat. He had not cut her, but that pressure was right on the verge of breaking her skin. "Try again if you want, pet. If you're thinking you can beat ol' Paddy Fain the peddler. Or maybe don't, hmm?" He pulled away. Her choice.

She felt like a terrible coward for bowing her head, but what else could she do? She had to know more if she was ever going to win against him. Maybe Nynaeve would help her first, or maybe not. All she knew was that she wasn't ready to die. Not yet.

*****

Memories sparkled like a heat haze in Mat's mind. The short people had not filled every gap in his memory--Light! he really would go mad if he remembered tinkling on his mum while she changed him!--but they had done as he asked, replacing everything he had lost to the dagger. And then, like a fool, he had tried reaching for his earliest memories and found more tucked in behind them.

Playing in the streets of a great city up in the mountains, running in terror from a Fade, sitting in a classroom in the White Tower with a dozen other young people, making a gesture that shifted whole armies! He could not sort them out yet, but he was not the same person in all of them. He remembered wearing faces of every shade he had seen, save for the elemental hues of the Dragon-Blooded, from childlike to craggy old age--and by the gods, hadn't Thom told him he could expect a thousand years or more? When had he managed to get so old? Only about half of those faces in the mirror belonged to men; especially prominent were a plump girl wearing cadin'sor and a stern-faced woman in the stole of the Amyrlin Seat.

Why was the Tower so empty in some of those memories? No, not the whole Tower. It had always teemed with Dragon-Blooded. He was remembering a time when Anathema had been called Aes Sedai, and there had only ever been three hundred Lunars and a hundred Sidereals. Not all of those would've been on Tar Valon, either. The memories of that class felt full, not empty; he thought it came from some time during the Trolloc Wars when many Sidereals had been slain in battle.

He tried to push back, tried to remember the Breaking, maybe, maybe even before. Just like his own real life, the memories faded as he went back further, not in big chunks as the dagger had done to him but simply a fog of similar events in similar lives. Shadar Nor. Slicer of the Shadow. That was the title his mind linked with the craggy old face; that one was a woman, too. It wasn't her original name, but he couldn't find that. Then, after her....

He remembered a young man, darker than average for the Two Rivers with tightly-curled hair, who had grown up among spires that reached as high as the peaks that surrounded his city, Manetheren. Aethen al Daen, who could not help cutting classes to trail after the pretty Accepted from Aramaelle, with raven hair but milky skin and pale blue eyes. Some said the far northeastern Aramaellin had Aiel blood in them, for those eyes. She was statuesque and muscular, with scars on the right side of her face where a Fade had tried to rip out her eye, the first Lunar he had ever seen whose war-form was smaller than her human shape. That was a grey-brown lizard woman, faster than the flight of an arrow, with scales that faded into wood or stone or sand almost as well as a color-shifting cloak, in its own way every bit as beautiful. She was exotic and barbarous, a warrior woman from the Blightborder. Mabriam, she called herself. Mabriam en Shereed.

That jolted Mat out of his reverie. He was most of the way back to the tents on Chaendaer. There were all sorts of tales about Mabriam en Shereed, whose diplomacy had forged the Covenant of the Ten Nations, and they did call her beautiful, but Mat had always imagined someone slender and dressed for a dance, not a swordmaiden wearing patchy furs from some huge bear, nor scarred on the face that way. Though, come to think of it, some of Thom's tales called his image of her into question.

Aethen had thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. His past life had had a crush on a queen! Well, there was no way he was ever doing that again.

Perrin came running out to help as they staggered into camp together. Mat sank to his knees and started to laugh. Cheaters, those little men were. That was how you beat a fellow with luck like his. You had to cheat.

Chapter Text

The Two Rivers was a marvel, Nynaeve realized. She had lived in this little place all her life and never realized how amazing it was to be so tightly squeezed between mountain and marsh. Even the Drowned Lands had more space before you ran up against the end of the Dragonwall.

Does Alanna make everyone feel like a piece of meat, she thought at Lan, or is that just me?

Everyone, he confirmed, except children and the very old. And sometimes I'm not certain about the old. For what it's worth, she no more wanted Jancy being her example than you did. But at the end of the day, she would say it's more important that they're safe than that either you or she are comfortable. And she would be right.

Right now they were tracking a band of Trollocs through the border of the Sand Hills. The name made them sound like part of the Aiel Waste, but most parts of them were long ago grown over with scrubby trees; the soil was simply too sandy for most crops. Besides herself and Lan, they had brought all four of the al'Vere girls, who were more mature than the younger Terrestrials and were learning a bit faster. Also Grimalkin and the horses. The land would normally have been too steep and woody for them, but their channeling made it easier. Grimalkin was better even than Mandarb as a mount in this terrain, with her clawed feet gripping the rocks, and her predatory instincts gave her an advantage as a tracker.

With the One Power filling her, Nynaeve could have trailed Lan across the bare rock of the mountain peaks. The Trollocs were so easy to follow that a child could have done it. It was not the Trollocs that she was watching now; it was Tuon.

Under the light of the full moon, Tuon strolled along the game trail below them without a care in the world. Nynaeve did not really believe her when she called this White Veil form and said it was intended to be used in Seanchan palaces and manor houses; her stance was simply too casual. She did have to admit that it attracted Trollocs looking for easy meat, and that those Trollocs quickly fell as soon as they were in range.

"Fade," Larise murmured suddenly, and pulled back an arrow in one swift motion. Nynaeve blinked and scanned the ground. What Fade? She'd seen no sign of a--

The Myrddraal coalesced out of the shadow of a clump of blackberry bushes as Tuon passed them. Its sword lashed out, but Tuon was faster. Her knee came up into its crotch, where even a Fade was vulnerable.

Even as the Shadowspawn doubled over, a ripple of black Essence solidified into an arrow already protruding through its helmet. It fell the rest of the way to the ground, thrashing. Streamers of the Power arced back in red toward whoever had loosed it. Nynaeve followed the path of the arrow back up the other side of the valley, where an archer stood. Stringy black hair hid her face and should have obscured her vision, and she was dressed in rags, but Nynaeve knew immediately who she was. Bodewhin had arranged this meeting through Nynaeve and the spirit of Con Aybara (who had said Kari was terrified that Fain would kill even her ghost; was such a thing even possible?).

Nynaeve opened her mouth to call out, and Trollocs poured into the valley. "Loose!" Lan shouted instead. Larise began to shoot her own arrows, of course; the other sisters sent streamers of the One Power down into the valley, releasing fireballs and lightning and spikes of ice. Tuon did the sensible thing and leapt up the other side toward Bodewhin. Eyes on her, Lan warned.

Which one? Nynaeve wondered.

Both of them.

Bode showed no sign of noticing Tuon, but kept loosing arrows into the milling crowd of Trollocs as they tried to climb up out of the valley. Every arrow vanished into those black weaves that pierced armor as if it wasn't there and then drained Trolloc life force to funnel it back to her. The Shadowspawn were getting what they deserved, but those weaves felt deeply wrong, drawing power from death in such a way.

"Fade," Larise and Lan said as one. Nynaeve frowned; presumably he had worked out what Larise was sensing. Before she could ask, a figure dropped down on them from an outcrop above. Not a Myrddraal. Fain. Somehow he had learned to travel as they did.

The former peddler had a dagger drawn; not the dagger Mat had taken from Shadar Logoth, but in Fain's hands any weapon was deadly. The only consolation was that he had fallen nearly on top of Lan, and of them all, Lan was the best match for him. He was inside Lan's defenses, but a quick headbutt followed by his wrists being slammed together so that he dropped the dagger gave Lan the space to swat him away.

"The girl is mine," Fain hissed. "You can't have her. You wouldn't want her if you did."

"Bodewhin is family," Nynaeve shot back. "Not that you would ever understand that."

"I understand just fine," he cackled, "but she's not Bodewhin any more. Are you, pet?" He called that last out over the bellows of the dying Trollocs. Between the al'Veres and Bode, most of them had fallen.

"Bodewhin Cauthon's dead, Nynaeve," the girl said despondently. "I'm the Bloodstained Rose of Midnight's Moon."

Queen Eldrene of Manetheren had been called Ellisande, the Rose of the Sun. Fain must be playing on that, but why should he? "Call yourself what you like," Nynaeve told her, "but you're Two Rivers born. You're one of us, and Fain tried to kill all of us."

"Nothing personal," Fain laughed. "You're part of the world, that's all. It's the world as needs to die."

"No one needs to die but you," Elisa said. All the Trollocs lay motionless in the killing field below, and she was free to toss fire at him.

Fain danced nimbly aside. "Keep her, then," he said, still laughing. "You'll rue it!" He vanished into the darkness before even Lan could catch him.

Lan muttered a curse. "No," Nynaeve told him. "We got what we came for. Let's take Bodewhin home and call this a victory."

"Pray that it is," Bode said quietly. She brushed the hair from her face. "I want to see my mother and father, first."

"We'll take you to them," Berowyn said. "Everything will be well."

Bodewhin shook her head sadly, but she followed along.

*****

"Bode," Abell Cauthon said the moment he saw her come in the door. She stiffened at once.

"That's not my name any more," she insisted. "The dead don't have names."

Abell ruffled her hair. "They do. That's how we remember them, how we keep them in our lives."

"I want to be in your life, da, but I shouldn't be. It won't be good for you."

"Then why'd you come here, Bode?" Eldrin asked. So far she was not one of the young people to show signs of the Dragon Blood, though she was young enough that it still might appear.

Bodewhin gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, and I need one. It's not fair to you that I came back, but it's not fair to me that I had to go at all."

"Why do you say you have to go?" Natti pleaded, coming in the door with two heads of lettuce. "I don't understand."

"Mum," Bodewhin began, "I...I don't know how to explain this to you. I'm not healthy for you. I'm dangerous. I'm Anathema. I should go to the Tower so they can...can...."

"What?" Natti asked. "Kill you? Damage your brain the way Nynaeve says they did to that False Dragon? That's not you, Bode."

"No, it's not. I'm much worse than that. Verin Sedai, can you explain it?"

Verin steepled her fingers and cleared her throat. "Moonrose's body is somehow being held in unnatural stasis by her variant of the One Power. She will not age and is highly resistant to disease or injury. That much, and only that much, is good, though I suppose she is likely to tire of being fifteen years old.

"But the world of the living is unhealthy for her, and her Essence is likely to vent its discomfort back at its source. The best case scenario is that she suffers injury. At worst, it may kill her loved ones or open her to possession by the Neverborn."

"The Neverborn?" Natti exclaimed. "And who or what are they to take my daughter from me? This is my daughter Bodewhin, Verin Sedai, and--!"

"Mum!" Bode's voice cracked with strain as if she were in agony, and Natti and Abell both turned to look in horror. Eldrin hid her face instead. The arm that the Trollocs had cut off withered visibly, twisting up on itself. Bode pulled her collar away from her neck to look at the stitches as they began to suppurate. "The Neverborn are monsters. They're the ghosts of the Creators who made the gods. They're dead and they hate being dead and they want me to take it out on you for them, and I won't. And this is why you have to let me go. I'm so sorry."

"Why doesn't this happen to Fain?" Abell demanded of Verin. "Why is it only my daughter? He's no pleasure to look at, but he's not like this!"

Bodewhin answered before Verin could begin. "He does what they want, da. He makes them as happy as they're capable of being, which means they hate him less than anything else in the world. They'll kill him last. That's all." She turned to Verin. "When do we leave?"

Verin's expression was unreadable, although she was definitely not happy. "If you are determined, we can leave now. Lan Sedai and Nynaeve will be more than sufficient to hold off the Trolloc invasion, I think. I can take you to Tar Valon and we can damage your brain as we damaged Logain's, to ensure that you lack meaningful access to your power. Have you considered that the Neverborn may not be satisfied with that?"

"They aren't," Bode explained wearily. "They don't care that I'm trying to leave my parents with some consolation, so long as I leave. They did this to my arm because I asked to go to Tar Valon."

"Have you considered that they hate living Shadowspawn as much as anything else? The number of Trollocs here is still growing, and there may be millions of them to kill at the Last Battle." Verin stepped closer. "Let me see your arm. If I can Heal it, will you use it to slaughter Shadowspawn by the millions? Consider what your answer may mean, not to you but to the Neverborn."

Bode mulled that over. "I hate this, Verin. I'm not even grown yet. This shouldn't be my job."

"Nor is Rand," Verin said soothingly. "But so it is."

"Fix my arm, then," Bode said, "and I'll kill them all." She meant it. She had to mean it. Shadowspawn were monsters made to kill; if they could think at all they only thought evil thoughts. She filled her mind with that. "You cried because you thought I was dead. I'm going to find out whether Trollocs can cry. I'm going to keep killing until they're all gone." She glanced at Verin, pointing at her withered arm. The Aes Sedai was making a simple poultice from flowers in her bag. Surely there ought to have been a sick feeling in her gut, but all she felt was vengeful. "And when I'm done, we'll find out if I can still stop killing."

Verin wrapped the poultice around Bode's arm and channeled carefully, adding Fire and a little extra Water to the usual mix to steam the plants. The pus-filled gashes shrank and closed; the rest of the arm filled slowly out to its normal size. Bode flexed her fingers. No, not Bode. She couldn't afford to think that way. The Rose of the Moon. "You see?" Verin said. "It's about controlling how you think of what you're doing. Simple, really."

Verin could believe that if she wanted. "Goodbye, Mum, Da. Goodbye, Eldrin. I probably won't see you again. Try to remember I'm already dead. I'm sorry."

"What if you see Mat?" Eldrin whispered.

Moonrose shuddered. "Pray that I don't, Eldrin. I don't want either of us to find out."

*****

The common room went silent as Bodewhin stepped into it. The young men and women who had been sitting in there, chattering and laughing, had all participated in repelling a Trolloc attack while Lan was gone with Nynaeve and the al'Vere sisters, but they could sense immediately the difference between themselves and her. Lan could feel it, too, now that she was close. Unlike them, his response was to go over to her, take her arm, and guide her to a table against the wall.

"I want you to understand that I approve of your decision," he said, trying to offer a hint of kindness. "I could have been where you are. They destroyed my homeland."

"You could have been," she responded, "but you're not."

"I know your brother," Lan said. "I don't doubt that Fain did this to you to hurt him. Mat found his way back to the Light. I believe you will too."

"Fain found me visiting the Aybaras. It was nothing but chance. Or the Pattern, if you want to believe that the Pattern makes children suffer, which I would rather not."

"In the meanwhile," Lan pressed on, "not all death is evil. Killing Trollocs and Shadowspawn is necessary. I suppose there's some sense in which they cannot help what they are, but in that case you're giving them the only mercy they can obtain."

"That'd be nice to hear," she told him, "if it wasn't what the Neverborn say about all of us."

Lan stood up. "What if we go outside and practice being better at killing?"

"I guess that can't hurt." She got up to follow him. "As long as you aren't looking to make friends." He could hear the desperate plea beneath the rejection there.

Outside, he drew his sword. "I am your target. Kill me if you can." She rolled her eyes at him, so he offered her a weak compliment. "I've met enough Two Rivers folk to know there are few finer archers in the world. If you can back that up with the One Power, you might become the best."

Almost lazily, she drew on him, then loosed with deceptive speed. His blade knocked three arrows aside, but the next vanished into a pitch-black weave that passed through his sword and reappeared already embedded in his shoulder. With a massive effort, he caught a second shadow-arrow in the hand of his injured arm before it could pierce his throat. His fingers would not stay clenched, but she was out of arrows.

Before she could pick any up, he was on top of her, bearing her down under his weight. "You are good. If I were further away, I might well be dead. Fortunately for us both, I can train you to be deadlier."

She smiled--uncertainly at first, but then with growing confidence. She had understood him. "And that's what the Neverborn want, after all, so they shouldn't object."

It would be a delicate dance on the blade's edge, but he thought he could keep her steady. She would pull through this. He pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. The wound shouldn't take too long to heal. "Some people radiate death. Like you. Like me. We are not much good as people, and we hurt anyone we care for. But at least, if we stay away, we can kill anyone else who would do them harm."

Bode nodded slowly. "It won't be much of a life. But we'll make a difference."

Chapter Text

Neither Bain nor Chiad seemed interested in leaving the cabin they shared with Galad for the entire first day aboard ship. They were not seasick; they ate, and talked, and let him teach them Stones. Galad was fairly certain they were too afraid of the open ocean to go outside, but he was not about to tell them that. Besides, the thing they wanted to do most was play Maiden's Kiss.

Galad was an extremely proficient kisser; the White Tower had taught him that very well. Satisfying Chiad was none too difficult. Keeping Bain's spear away from his throat was another matter. He was convinced by now that she did not really like men at all. Chiad was bound by their sister-oaths, however those worked, not to bed a man without her, and Bain did not want Chiad to be frustrated; at least, Galad thought that was the way of it. He kept himself meticulously shaved despite the swaying of the boat so as to present the softest of skin for her, and, after some time with his tongue in her mouth Bain would pull her spear back and declare the kiss good.

Early the next morning, Bain handed him a spear, and gestured for him to put the point to Chiad's throat. "Your skill at kissing brings you ji," she said, smiling. "Not many men are allowed to play at this end of the spear." She woke Chiad up with a hungry kiss, and despite her grogginess Chiad quickly satisfied her. "Go on," Bain said, grinning like the cat who ate the cream. "Take your turn, Galad."

Galad leaned in, letting Chiad do most of the work. Her kisses were urgent and forceful as always, and accompanied by a tight grip on his hair. Twice he found it awkward to pull the spear back because she was clinging to him so tightly. At last, though, he withdrew it completely and gave her a wink.

"You are too easily satisfied," Bain said. He had a suspicion she wanted to stick her tongue out at him, though he had never seen even Dailin do that in the Stone. It must not be a thing done by Aiel, at least not out of their childhood.

"Am I?" he asked. Against all his instincts, he put the spearpoint to her throat, to Chiad's laughter.

In an instant, Chiad's spear joined his. "I wondered if you had any sense of fun. It seems you do, Cairhienin." Not Treekiller. Neither of them had called him that since giving him the strap. She leaned in and put Bain through her paces. Afterwards.... "Can you satisfy a man, Bain?"

Bain definitely put in the effort, and there was nothing wrong with her technique. In spite of that, Galad pushed the borrowed spear slightly closer twice. She did not seem enthusiastic, which bolstered his assumptions. Of course he was not going to hand her a forfeit on those grounds. After a little while he released her with a smile. "Do you enjoy kissing men, Bain?" he asked. "You certainly demand to play this game often enough."

After a long look at Chiad that communicated something he could not understand, Bain lowered her head slightly. "I enjoy talking to men, getting gifts from men, playing games with men. I even enjoy their kisses. Men are...fun. Sometimes I find them enticing. I am not one of those who do not care for men at all. But...and I do not really understand this...men do not warm me inside. My pulse does not race for them. And so I try to keep it to games only, so as not to disappoint. I feel something for you, and not as a brother or a father. I think it is love, as many women do love men, though I do not know if it can last, but not desire. Make of that what you will."

"You love men, but do not burn for them." Galad considered that. "I think I have met a few such at the White Tower, though the other way round seems more common, at least among those of the Dragon Blood. With your permission, would you like to?"

"I do not understand you."

"There are weaves whose misuse the Tower is careful to stamp out, but not their use. They are handy in smoothing over Tower life, especially among the young. One is called Warm-Faced Seduction in some of the older texts. It could be used maliciously, but it can also help very shy novices adjust to the Tower. Most importantly here, it can push you past your ordinary desires. But I would never use it without your permission. There is also Sweetening the Tap, which can enhance pleasurable sensation. Would you like to try?"

Galad was not prepared for Bain to lick her lips, eyes wide, and nod rapidly. "You must know what you are talking about. Show me what it is like, then."

Very carefully, Galad channeled two fine-woven nets of Fire and Wood. "This will not make any permanent changes in you. Some grow to enjoy it, but there are also those who never wish to try again. Since you do seem to crave romance with men, the former seems more likely, but there is no certainty." The first settled deep inside Bain's head; the second sank into her groin and belly. "Now how do you feel about another kiss?"

Bain launched herself forward and locked lips with him, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. "Yes, yes, Wetlander," she said, breaking away briefly. "Now I burn."

Chiad narrowed her eyes. "This could be used on anyone? Someone who does not like men at all, who does not like you at all?"

"It could," Galad said, pulling away with an effort. "I would never use it so, the Tower severely punishes any who do, and even then it would not work every time. It fans the slightest sparks, but cannot create a fire where there is nothing at all." He did not tell her that there were weaves, far more strictly forbidden, that could do such a thing.

"Was that both?" Bain asked, forcing him down. "If not, use the other! Chiad? Come join us!"

Galad was a litte afraid of her reaction, but he did as Bain asked. The second weave settled into her, and her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment. "Show Chiad that one," she insisted. Chiad nodded hastily, firmly, so he wove again for her.

Bain was very careful getting his shirt over his head, but her movements were jerky, hurried, and forceful. "You still have not obtained my forfeit," he said playfully.

"Shut up!" Bain said, and stuffed his shirt into his mouth before pulling her own off just as fast. Her skin was much paler beneath, and smoother than he expected. She pulled his hands to her nipples. "Touch me, Wetlander! Don't waste this! Light, so good!"

Chiad had undressed completely in the same amount of time; she, too, was pale beneath her cadin'sor. He had expected that, just as he had expected all her hair to match. He had not expected the tattoo of sweetroot on her left hip. As Bain tugged off her own breeches, he saw a different flower on her right hip. "Segade," Chiad said, seeing him look. "It could never grow in the Wetlands. The trunk is covered in spines. I am sweet; she is prickly."

Galad removed his own pants, though Bain was reluctant to get up enough to let him. "Men are very large," she said, seeing his member. "And it is never very attractive. It sticks out like a stray root." Her gaze put the lie to her words; she could not keep her eyes away from it.

"Speak for yourself, spear-sister," Chiad laughed. "And anyway, how else would the key fit the lock?"

Bain put her hand out curiously and stroked it. "I have seen many such before," she breathed. "You are right; this weave is dangerous. This is what it feels like for you, Chiad? I am...clenching inside and cannot stop."

"Don't tighten up too much," Chiad warned. "He is much larger than a few fingers. Wait for the right moment."

Bain crawled atop him again, lowering herself carefully down onto him. Chiad reached out and helped get his member aligned properly. Then, with a quick thrust and a loud gasp, Bain impaled herself on it. Her skin was flushed so bright a red that she looked sunburnt. Her opening tightened around him, loosened and tightened again, leaking as she lifted herself and pushed down again. "No man has ever made me feel anything like this. Light, Galad!"

He reached for and found her sensitive nub, teasing it with his fingers as she rode him. "And likely no other man will, unless he has the One Power." He had managed to get the shirt out of his mouth.

Chiad wrapped her arms around Bain and played with her nipples, bit the back of her neck, ran sharp nails through her short hair. Bain threw back her head and wailed. "Chiad, he is ruining me!"

Chiad worked her way around Bain so that her own opening was on Galad's mouth. He could not see at all what he was doing, now, but he ran his tongue along her folds, exploring. She was wet as a ripe fruit. "Never worry, spear-sister. I will ruin you right back and make you forget him before the hour is up."

"And then," Bain panted, "we will go back and forth all day, remembering and forgetting again."

"Change places, Bain," Chiad urged. "I am supposed to be the one who likes cock."

Bain lifted herself off him and they worked themselves around until they had traded places atop his body. He was used to being more aggressive in bed, but they seemed to have no intention of letting him up. Bain was not completely inexperienced with men, of course, but Chiad obviously had spent far more time and attention on them; she bounced herself atop him in perfect rhythm with her own muscles and the slight movements she allowed him to make. For her part, Bain was so wet that he thought she might drown him as he probed her opening with his tongue, searching for the nub he had found earlier. He still could not see what they were doing with each other, but just the sound of their kisses made him want to release. Very carefully, he did not let himself.

When Chiad began to scream--Bain's name, not his--he decided the time had come to see if they would let him move a bit. He put his hands on Bain's hips, lifted, and pushed her forward. She let out a yelp, but in turn she lifted Chiad off him and they rolled off his legs together. When he began to get up, though, both women grabbed his arm and pulled him over to join them.

"We are not finished with you," Chiad said.

Bain added, "I am having a good time. Aren't you?"

There was nothing for it, really. He allowed himself to be pulled back in.

Later in the day, a deckhand knocked on the door and brought them a platter of fish and vegetables as lunch. The Maidens puzzled over the taste of the fish for some time before eating heartily. "What is this?" Bain asked, picking out some sort of seed stalk with tiny yellow berries. "It looks like a small zemai cob."

"Maybe it is," Galad suggested. "I have not seen its like."

"Today I think I will go outside," Chiad said as the meal wound down. "I will look at all the water. So much water will be fascinating and exciting."

"I don't doubt it," Galad said. Before Chesmal had taken him from the Tower, he had never sailed on an ocean, only in large rivers. The great expanse of it had been a bit intimidating, but he had known the ship need not sink. "There is nothing to be afraid of, but if you like I'll go with you."

Bain looked at him as if he had spoken a vile oath. "There is no need," she said. "As you say, there is nothing to be concerned about." What had offended her so badly?

He fished about for something she might find humorous. "Try not to trip over all the ropes," he said. "I would not want to have to pull you from the water." He thought that sounded like a good Aiel joke, but Chiad shuddered and clutched Bain's arm before pulling her out the door. What had he gotten wrong?

Since the women did not wish his company, he pulled out his copy of The Thousand Correct Actions of the Upright Soldier and began to study. It was said that there were secrets about weaving the Power hidden within the talk of war and strategy.

Bain and Chiad were not gone for long. They returned with a rigid posture at odds with their chatter and laughter, making jests about foolish warriors they remembered from home. "You have an interesting book, Galad Damodred," Bain said, her tone formal. "Many Shaarad sept chiefs own a copy. I have never been able to read it in full, though."

"Would you like to read it with me?" he asked. "It is highly useful. The White Tower swears by its advice."

Bain nodded and sat down as far away from him as she could get. Had she decided his weave was too disturbing to use again? That would be a shame. Chiad sat down by her with their tattooed hips touching.

Galad began to read from the Fire Wisdom section. "The Amyrlin said: It is wise for the upright soldier to utilize the One Power when it is available. What is meant by utilizing the One Power is taking advantage of the capabilities of sorcerers and the Exalted. Any capability of a unit that derives from a source other than the strength and ingenuity of the mortal soldiers who compose it should be noted by the commander. Every such capability should not be hoarded or wasted, but should be employed whenever applicable or advantageous."

Bain listened attentively for a while before holding up her left hand. "The ship has too few open spaces, but when we are once again on land, would you like to learn Spear-Dancing?"

"I have some skill with the spear already," Galad began, but Chiad shook her head.

"We know you do," Bain explained, "but there is a specific art we use. I have also heard it called 'Crimson Pentacle Blade style' in books. We are also interested in learning Wetlander fighting styles, so long as they do not require swords."

"I would enjoy that," Galad said. "I cannot teach you Fire Dragon style, since you are not Exalted, even if it could be used without a sword. But I also know Five Dragon style, and the spear is one of its form weapons." He did not explain that the sword was another and more commonly used in every land he knew; they would not wish to hear that. "In Tarabon, perhaps?"

"That sounds agreeable," said Bain.

The next morning Chiad was genuinely surprised to wake up with Galad separating the two of them. That was not a thing that had ever happened before, not even with another Maiden. She decided to wake Bain up and let him sleep. "We could go outside again," she said. "Perhaps if we remove our shirts, we will be too distracted by the men staring at us to notice anything troubling." She was not going to use words such as "fear"; she was not afraid. Merely concerned.

"You may be distracted," Bain retorted. "I have met only one man who can drive me to distraction, and he requires the One Power to do it." She removed her shirt anyway. "But distracting them sounds like fun." Holding hands, they made their way back "on deck".

The water stretched out in all directions almost as far as they could see, except for a tiny strip of sand to the south. White birds flocked around it, eating something too small to see. The Sea Folk men were not distracted, for the most part, although one or two pretended to be blinded, then laughed. Chiad did not really understand; she knew that both of them were pretty, but "blindingly beautiful" was a metaphor.

Thom Merrilin was relaxing near the back of the boat in a kind of cloth bed stretched between two poles. He chuckled and offered them a jar of something creamy. "The Atha'an Miere make this for travelers to put on their skin, especially pale people like ourselves. You'll be red as beets by sundown if you don't use it."

Bain peered into the jar. Half of the goop had already been used up. It smelled strange. "The sun is not that bad, Thom Merrilin. We understand sunburn."

"See how it reflects off the waves?" the gleeman asked. "It doesn't feel as hot, but your skin feels it twice over."

Chiad glared at the treacherous ocean. How dare water help the sun burn them? "Thank you, gleeman." She glanced around; the sun was rapidly growing higher. "Ah...sleep well and wake." It was wise to rest during the hottest part of the day, if possible, but Thom Merrilin seemed content to sleep all morning, too. She and Bain went to rub the stuff over their backs and chests at the very back of the boat where there was some space on the floor around the wheel that made it turn. Several shipfolk who passed by made appreciative comments.

Elayne Trakand joined them and offered assistance making sure they had properly covered their skin. She, too, had made use of the cream, though her skin was naturally a dark red. Bain looked at Chiad and said, "Elayne Trakand is as attractive as her brother, if not more so." Before Chiad could respond, though, Elayne turned up her nose and stalked away.

"Wetlanders," Chiad muttered. Off in the distance, Elayne began talking to Jorin din Jubai White Wing, the Windfinder. "Sea Folk have very long names," she added, trying to change the subject.

"I think perhaps Jubai is her clan name and White Wing is her sept. In that case we can just call her Jorin," Bain said practically. "We should ask." Jorin put her hands on the wall behind Elayne, trapping her. Chiad stiffened, but Bain ignored it. A moment later, Jorin began kissing Elayne lustfully. Chiad relaxed, but blushed and looked away. Such things were private!

To change the subject, she asked, "Why do you suppose Galad would dishonor us by suggesting we might be afraid of the ocean?"

"I think it was a mistake," Bain said unhappily. "He meant only to show concern for our unease, then tried to cover with a joke. There are a great many ropes on which clumsy folk might trip if they are unfamiliar with ships."

"We are not clumsy," Chiad said, "and to die of too much water is...." She hesitated. "Perhaps it would indeed be funny to die from too much water. Imagine Galad's face when he brings word back to our spear-sisters!" The notion of being trapped out in the water was still unpleasant, but she could imagine Galad's embarrassment and the Maidens' confusion and it was quite absurd. She and Bain shared a good laugh.

She glanced up. Thankfully, Jorin and Elayne had gone elsewhere, hopefully into a cabin. Bain asked, "Do you suppose that Galad would admit fault for his bad joke and play Maiden's Kiss again?"

"I think we can induce him to," Chiad said agreeably, but signed her confusion.

"I know," Bain groaned. "I have fallen for a man. Never worry, I will not begin looking for flowers. You are what I need, spear-sister. But...only...he must stop using the One Power on us. He has bewitched me!"

Chiad lifted one eyebrow carefully.

"Do you think he will keep using that weave?"

"If you ask him to stop, he will stop," Chiad said simply. "Galad is the most honorable Wetlander we know."

"Then I must not ask him," Bain mumbled. "I do not really wish him to stop. I did not think I could feel like this for a man."

"I will tell him that he must stop," Chiad said soothingly.

"Please do not," was all Bain could say.

*****

Elayne was having the best journey ever. Bain and Chiad seemed to be doing a splendid job of keeping Galad occupied, so there was no need to deal with him. Thom spent most of his time relaxing on deck, which was no doubt comfortable but should be driving home that she could manage without his help. Juilin seemed to be too distracted by the Sea Folk women to care about anything else. The result was that she was free to enjoy the food and talk with Jorin about the One Power, without any worry that Galad would figure out that she was Dragon-Blooded and try to get the Aes Sedai to come abduct Windfinders.

Feeling the weather while aboard ship was a simple matter, but Jorin explained to her that a properly-trained Windfinder could also sense hazards in the water below. Elayne thought that might be part of Aes Sedai training as well, but she was certain that reinforcing the hull with the One Power in order to ram pirates was not. Jorin took her the length and breadth of the ship, explaining what every rope and sail did. It was far more complicated than "wind pushes the sails and makes the boat move", though of course that was the heart of it. Well before they rounded Ebou Dar, Elayne was able to feel the reefs and sandbars off the coast, though she did not know how to direct the crew properly.

That night the Windfinder joined her in her cabin with a bottle of wine. The discipline of being a Windfinder was harsh, but even the Atha'an Miere made some limited allowances for Dragon-Blooded urges. Windfinders were not required to marry or to respect marriage vows, nor was it considered cheating to sleep with one. Many newlyweds invited one to their first night together "for luck", though Elayne thought the real reason might be to benefit from their experience.

Jorin did not know how to shake off so much as a buzz from the wine. Elayne was not very good at that, but she could sometimes manage. It helped that she was an Earth; Earth aspects were rare among the Sea Folk, and Fires all but unknown. Even weaves and techniques associated with those elements were not well understood.

"One of the most important building blocks of the White Tower," Elayne found herself explaining, "is the ability to create emotional ties to another person with a weave. For instance, I could make myself want desperately to get under your skirts, if I didn't already." She might have gotten a little drunk. Perhaps it was time to clear away that buzz? No, she had barely begun to feel good.

"Interesting," Jorin said. "A pity neither of us will have the opportunity to test it, since I would like to...get under your skirts...as well. Would a different sort of tie work? Could you make yourself fall properly in love with me?"

Elayne giggled. "I don't see why not. And you can copy it afterwards, if you like." She wove it for a demonstration. Jorin was very clever and funny and this was a wonderful opportunity to get to know her better. She leaned in and gave the Windfinder a kiss, which Jorin returned warmly. Her lips were very wet. She was probably very wet in general, being a Water.

"Would you like to test that assumption?" Jorin asked. Elayne gasped; had she said it out loud? Jorin lifted her skirt higher, slowly exposing her legs. Elayne felt them pull her hands like a compass needle being tugged north. They were dark and soft and smooth and she could not stop stroking them. "Higher," Jorin said, laughing. "I am not wet enough to leak that much."

The Sea Folk women, it became apparent, did not wear smallclothes either, and Jorin was indeed as wet as if Elayne was a sweet fruit she wanted very badly to nibble on. Elayne had that same desire herself. She lifted Jorin's skirts the rest of the way and pressed her mouth between the Windfinder's legs. She tasted as strongly of salt as the spray. Jorin sighed and leaned against the wall, slowly sinking down as Elayne worked on her. "If they teach you that in the White Tower, I could almost be persuaded to go."

"You would have to be a good student," Elayne said, sliding her own smallclothes off. "Come down here and show me what you've learned."

The rest of the evening she recalled only as a hazy blur. Whenever she felt hesitant, Jorin agreed to stop and poured her a little more wine. Elayne had the impression that she usually did the thing she had been asked about not long afterwards, but that did not mean she was drunk. The request had simply been more reasonable than she thought. She woke in the morning slightly sore between the legs, somewhat sorer behind her eyes, and otherwise feeling like she had never had a better night.

She would have to do the same again tomorrow.

"Which gleeman did you come on board with again?" Jorin asked once Elayne had taken some willowbark tea.

"Why?" Elayne wondered. "Is there more than one?"

"We brought two on in Tear," Jorin said as if Elayne should recall as much. "Thom Merrilin, with you, and another whose name I don't recall. He must not have made much of an impression."

"Not a very good gleeman, then," Elayne replied.

"Well, we will see in a few days. We must make a short stopover at Tremalking to refill the water barrels. The gleemen will no doubt want to perform for the islanders."

Coine knocked on the door about then, and Jorin answered her sister, speaking briefly about ship's business. "Oh," she said as if just now thinking of it, "sister, who was the second gleeman we picked up? Thom Merrilin and another as we were about to leave."

Coine ended up having to consult some notes in her belt pouch. "Natael," she said finally. "Jasin Natael."

Chapter Text

Juilin Sandar wished he could relax as much as the gleeman seemed to be doing. Thom was not as aged as he appeared, but he made a great show of being an old man dozing in the sunshine on deck. Juilin felt the need for action.

He rechecked his face in the steel mirror. It was hard to say, but he was fairly sure that the lines had faded from it. Rand had claimed that Solar Exalted might live not merely hundreds of years, but thousands. By that standard, he was a mere boy. The reflection was not that of a youth, but certainly someone whose years had touched him only lightly.

Reluctantly, he returned to his crossed-leg position and his meditation. Drawing on the One Power, he allowed his eyes to unfocus, then focus once more. He could see the dust motes in the air, the individual threads of his clothing, the tiny lines of the wood grain on the far wall. This much he had been able to do since the Stone. He drew more, directed it a bit differently. Sounds grew clearer, and he could feel the faint shifting of air on his skin. He was fully aware of the position of his body and of the thorough absence of the aches and pains that had been slowly spreading until recently. Juilin didn't feel the excessive randiness the Dragon-Blooded spoke of, but he certainly felt far more capable of taking on a pretty woman.

"...about the names of your clan and sept," Bain asked up on deck. "Are you from the White Wing sept of the Jubai clan?"

"No, Jubai is my line," Jorin answered. "My birth ship belonged to clan Kisagi, so I am of that clan. If my own brother were born on a Catelar vessel, he would be of clan Catelar."

"So it is more like a hold", said Chiad, "but a hold that moves. What is 'White Wing', then?"

"The personal part of my salt name, taken from the omens when I became an adult--"

Juilin let the conversation slide from his awareness. Omens meant nothing to him. The only details that interested him were those at a crime scene.

Or those that told him someone waa approaching his cabin door. He heard a set of footsteps change rhythm as their owner slowed, heard her heartbeat accelerate slightly and her breathing catch, felt the tiny air currents as she began to open the door. He leaned back against the wall, trying to look relaxed. Before he saw even her pale red fingers he knew that it was Elayne.

Why was the Daughter-Heir here to see him? She opened her mouth to apologize for the intrusion. Her words had a different tone that usual. Faint mist, imperceptible to mortals, curled in his vision, coming from her lips, from beneath her arms, from below her skirts. She was about to proposition him. It was a tempting offer. Her skin's preternatural rigidity, like stone, kept her breasts perkier than any of the Sea Folk could sustain, and the difference in her skin tone concealed the natural fluctuations in color to a degree. Even without those divergences from the human norm, she would have been an extraordinarily beautiful woman. A very young woman.

"Jorin din Jubai is very sweet and pretty," she said, "but my brother is right. There are times when a girl needs cock." She thought she was being coarse, but of course he was from the Maule. It was quite funny.

"I don't doubt it," Juilin said agreeably. "Of course, there are plenty of deckhands. Why come to me?"

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Because you are handsomer than anyone on this ship not named Damodred. Because I am a Princess of the Earth and you are--"

"An Anathema? A man doomed to go mad? Someone whom your order has been opposed to for the last three thousand years?" He chuckled. "Come now, admit that this is some twisted fetish of yours, girl. Let a thief-taker be."

She stepped closer and licked her lips. He considered letting go of the Power, but the fact of the matter was that with it in him, he almost felt as if they were caressing each other despite the feet that still separated them. "I am of the Dragon Blood. Twisted fetishes are practically expected of us."

He blinked. "I remind you of the Golden Dragon. He's your lover already, but he's not here, so...I'll do? More twisted than I realized."

"You are holding the One Power," she said, coming still closer. "Why? What are you doing with it?"

"What any thief-taker would do," he admitted, "and one sent to ensure your safety at that. I can hear, can feel, can all but see everything that happens on this ship."

"Oh," she said. Her smile shifted from performance to genuine amusement. "I fear that in some ways, I feel blind out here on the ocean, with the solid earth far away in every direction. You would think there would be some way around that, but no one seems to have found it." She sidled closer, laying a hand on his leg. The sensation of contact, even through his pants, sent a thrill through him. Not unexpected; not entirely unwanted; but he had intended to resist her.

"I know very well that the Windfinder has taught you to sense the ocean floor below the waves," Juilin said firmly. "Don't worry, I can hardly send word to the White Tower. There are certainly ways around it, even if no one seems to have found them." She was already learning to twist her words, but he could see straight through her.

"If you can feel so strongly," Elayne said, "then I wonder what this feels like." She leaned in still closer and planted a kiss on his lips. By Luna, she was not wrong! The sensation was smooth and slick and warm, as if they were already lying with one another. What would it be like to--? Her hand slid inside his pants, searching. Somehow she had summoned something creamy like the sunburn lotion to coat her palm; it was warm as her hand instead of slightly cool. He gasped as she seized on his hard cock. "What reason do you have to resist me? Surely you aren't afraid of Rand. We aren't even betrothed, let alone married. If you truly don't want this, say so and I will go, but...why not?"

"If I so much as cast my eyes on a High Lord's daughter, I could be clapped in irons. The Lord Dragon has begun to change that, but even so...."

She withdrew her hand--there was somehow nothing on it--and laid a finger on his lips. "Andor is not Tear. I am the Daughter-Heir, not to mention Dragon-Blooded. No one chooses who I lie with for me. I suppose there are circumstances where mother might disapprove, but she is far away and you are a good and honorable man even if she were not. You have nothing to fear."

"And from your brother?"

"He is protective. He is annoying. He is rarely, if ever, a hypocrite. When he spoke of me bedding you, he meant it honestly, even if he does think you are a little old for me. But you are right, I say; I may live hundreds of years and you thousands. What's a couple of decades?" Her hand slid back inside his pants. "Do you feel reassured?"

He smiled back at her. "Very much so."

"Then let us see what this feels like." She tugged his pants and smallclothes down, then blew gently on his cock. The warm moistness of her breath was as powerful as if she had taken him into her mouth outright. "Very nice," she commented. "It seems I have you at my mercy."

Hours later, she lay asleep on his chest. There was only one small window in his cabin, but it was obvious that the sun was down. He was listening once again to the crew as they walked on deck, and once again Jorin's voice came to his ears. "...made herself fall in love with me, or so she says. She seems to think I did the same, but I can hardly trust her so much."

"Good," said Coine, "because Master Natael has made a bargain that we keep an eye on her and her brother. He says they serve the Yozis."

"That I am not sure I believe," Jorin said doubtfully. "But the White Tower is trouble enough, even if that is all these two serve."

Juilin suspected they were no real danger, but he would have to keep his own eyes on Natael. So far he had heard nothing from the fellow's cabin but music, much of it strange and toneless piping. Sooner or later, though, he would reveal his intentions. Juilin stroked Elayne's back as she slept. Sooner or later, everyone always did.

*****

The day came when Wavedancer settled into Tincaten harbor. Galad and Bain and Chiad immediately got out to stretch their legs, heading off toward the fields on the edge of town. There were not many cities Thom had not seen, but Tincaten was one of the few. It had a rustic air about it, for indeed fewer foreigners ever came here than to mainland cities like Bandar Eben or Cairhien, but its streets bustled with Sea Folk and pale-skinned, pale-haired islanders at whom the Aiel stared curiously. There were no walls encircling it, for none were needed, but the central buildings startled him with their sculpted grace. They were Dragon King work, without question, though he did not recognize the style. They were shaped into geometric forms--cones, cylinders, and domes, along with stranger things. Further out, many buildings were made by human hands--not poorly constructed by any means, but far from the Dragon Kings' mastery of stone. Inns were few, but by no means absent; Tremalking might see little mainland traffic, but in its own right it was as large as Murandy. No doubt it was full of towns and villages nestled in the mountains; it might well hold several more cities that he had not even heard of.

He strolled through the streets curiously, not even thinking to advertise his services; Wavedancer was meant to be gone by nightfall. Grassy lanes and flower gardens were heavy with dew. Raucous vendors called out to advertise their wares. A few Domani and Taraboner merchants hurried along, making orders for Sea Folk porcelain. Were the islanders Sea Folk? They looked nothing like the Atha'an Miere; if anything they resembled Aiel. Of course, if they said they were Sea Folk, and the ship clans agreed, then they were, but they seemed to have little in common.

Thom sat down in an open-air plaza surrounded by food vendors, each offering meals as if at an inn. There was very little meat to them, but the vegetables were richly spiced and came in varieties he had never seen before. He asked the handsome woman who brought his tray if she was also Atha'an Miere. She laughed and said that, no, her people were called Amayar, and had no interest in sailing, it sounded like a great deal of trouble.

"I've heard no stories about your people," he said, pressing a little. "Tremalking is a sizable nation all on its own, it seems to me. Do you have war heroes, scholars, authors?"

"Who would we war with, even were we inclined?" Saomi asked. "We live by the Water Way. There is no need for struggle here, save occasionally against storms. What is, is. One day the Time of Illusions will fade and we will see the real world again. But yes, we do have stories, if you wish to hear them."

"Tell me of this 'Time of Illusions'," he requested. "Then I would hear of how your people built this city."

"What is to tell?" she asked in seeming confusion. "Life is a mist, a vapor. It rises like fog in the morning and by noon is long gone. Who would cling to the mist? One day we will cease to be enthralled by visions, we will stir ourselves, and we will walk into the morning sun rubbing our eyes."

"So," he said, half to himself, "life is a dream?" He had certain suspicions after speaking to the Aiel in the Stone. If only he'd been able to go into the Waste with Moiraine! But then he wouldn't be here, learning about a people few even realized existed.

"Apt enough," she said. "We do not call it a dream because everyone expects that dreams will fade, and the Time of Illusions is so old that you Eastfolk have forgotten. But it is certainly like a dream, yes. Oh! There are books that may interest you."

She led him down broad streets--with no concern for losing her job, it seemed--to a bookstore shaped like a tall column. She handed the shopkeeper a few small pearls in exchange for a rather thin manuscript titled All Shall Fade, by Neisen of Cantorin, and a larger volume named Tincaten on the Sunrise Coast with no obvious author, then gave them to him for nothing at all.

He sat down in a park atop a cliff that overlooked the ocean and read the first in one go. If you asked him, it was the work of a madman, but the fellow did not seem as if he was seeking gain. He was simply convinced: the Age of Legends had been real, while the Breaking and this Age were a bad dream. Neisen did use the words "Life is a dream" repeatedly, and as if speaking a commonsense opinion; that much was from before his time, clearly. One day the Time of Illusions would end when the crystal sphere near Tincaten burst alight. There were dark hints in the text that the waking would not be natural or easy, but Thom had trouble believing that a whole nation's worth of people would really kill themselves over a point of philosophy. A problem for later, he supposed. The other book was large and solid, and the day was drawing on. He took it back to read on the ship. There was plenty of time.

*****

Bain eyed the islanders warily as they passed through Tincaten hold and out into a small, fallow field. The people looked uncannily like Aiel, and some of the craftsmen wore outfits that resembled cadin'sor, yet strangely distorted. There was no sign that they were prepared for an attack, either from offshore or elsewhere on the island. No one carried anything more than a belt knife. Were they all gai'shain? But they did not wear white. What were they? Chiad stared; she shared her sister's unease. Galad noticed nothing.

When they were alone, he channeled, and a spear of Fire burst alight in his hand. "Five-Dragon Claw is the simplest maneuver of Five-Dragon Style," he said, and wove a narrow cutting weave around the spearhead. "It can be used barehanded as well. Shields up!"

Bain and Chiad raised their bucklers, preparing the Graceful Tortoise technique. Galad's spear sliced directly through Bain's. A moment later, his bare hand cut straight through Chiad's. That was a difficult attack to counter, then. Chiad explained her technique to him. "The Graceful Tortoise lightens your shield so that you can use it in the dance without effort. See how it is woven?"

Galad nodded. "I expected something more aggressive from Aiel."

"There is a great deal of aggression involved," Bain said forcefully. "But not until the preparations are made."

"All right, then," he said. "May I borrow a buckler, then?" Bain handed him hers, and he practiced creating such a weave from Air, while she and Chiad formed Five-Dragon Claw weaves around their spearpoints and hands. Save for the forms, she suspected the maneuvers would be easy to use together. It would make all three of them far more formidable in the dance of spears.

In the distance, she noticed someone watching them. Well, they were armed. Let him watch.

*****

The islanders' eyes betrayed visible confusion as the Spray docked in Tencatin harbor. It was not only not a Sea Folk ship, it was visibly too small to safely cruise all the way out to Tremalking through the strait between the Aryth and the Sea of Storms. But the Atha'an Miere showed no concern, either, and why should they? Spray was likewise too small to pose any threat.

They were wrong about all of that, of course, but only because Bayle Domon and Halima Saranov were on board. Bayle was fumbling his way toward weaves that duplicated things the Dragon-Blooded had known long ago, but he was making some real progress. Halima's weaves seemed even more intuitive--or perhaps she was guided by the voice in her head she had finally admitted to hearing. Bayle trusted that voice not at all, but it had done them no harm he could prove.

The Atha'an Miere harbormaster came out to see him the moment Spray was secure. "Landsman," he said in accented Taraboner, "we do not know your vessel, and by custom this harbor is ours."

"Do there be a law against us here?" Bayle asked him in the Atha'an Miere trade tongue. His speech was no doubt accented as badly, but he would improve much faster. He knew there was no such law; there had not been need of one in a thousand years.

"No," the harbormaster admitted, "there is no law, if you have come in peace to trade. Do not break the peace, though, landsman, or the punishment must be severe."

"I do come in peace," Bayle assured him, "and if given peace I will depart in peace."

"What then do you bring to trade?" Bayle responded to that question by offering him the manifest. He took it and stalked off to discuss the matter with some other officials on the pier.

Meanwhile, Halima addressed the crew. "The captain gives you all shore leave. Two of you must stay aboard at all times, by shifts, but we expect no thieves in this harbor. We anticipate at least two days here. Break the local laws and you'll be left here in the hands of their authorities. I'm told Sea Folk justice is swift and unpleasant."

By the time the harbormaster returned, she had joined Bayle on the gangplank. The dark-skinned man handed back the manifest. "You are free to trade here and take such custom as you choose. The Amayar are quiet, peaceful people, and we do not suffer threats of any kind to them."

"The Amayar will take no harm from my crew, on my oath," Bayle assured him, "or I'll string them from the rigging. Assuming they were to escape your justice."

"See that they do neither." And just like that he cleared the path for the crew to disembark.

"Trusting people," Halima said. "I can feel traces of them," she added, "whoever it is that can channel the way I can. I just hope it's not one of the actual Forsaken. I could learn, or teach, maybe. I just...." She shook her head in frustration. "Everything could be different. Why has everything had to fall apart like this?"

Bayle shook his head. "They say the Wheel do weave as the Wheel do will. I say, maybe it do be time that it weave as we will."

Chapter Text

Thom Merrilin was relaxing, looking out across the sea. Somewhere out in the distance was the Shadow Coast, a rocky, unpopulated headland that was nonetheless the closest bit of the mainland to Tremalking. North of that was Tarabon, where they were headed; further east along the coast, Altara and the city of Ebou Dar. South lay only the Sea of Storms, though there were supposed to be scattered archipelagos of islands. The Sea Folk isles, most people called them, but from what he had learned here they were populated mostly by the Amayar, who looked like the Aiel but were nearly as peaceful as Tinkers. Strange, that. Very strange. He wondered how different the Amayar were on those smaller islands; surely they could not be exactly the same if they traveled so rarely. People grew apart.

A ripple passed through him, a wave of nauseating wrongness that would have knocked him off his feet if he had been standing. Instantly a woman appeared before him, and more than a woman. Dressed in elaborate layered robes of green and white, Jupiter stood before him, his divine patron, the Maiden of Secrets. He had seen her before, but rarely, and never where anyone else might have beheld her, forever calm and aloof.

"Burn you, Merrilin! Get on your feet!" she shrieked. "Run! Get your friends and allies!"

He bounded up at once. "Where? What just happened?"

"Light help us, the blasphemy alarms are going off all over the place. Time was we'd have sent the Aerial Legion, but right now you're all we've got. Maximum alert, Thom! Move!"

Thom Merrilin ran for the ship, where he had last seen the others. Surely they were sleeping; it was the middle of the night. "What's the crisis, Jupiter? I can't tell them it's a bloody secret."

"Someone's summoned a demon aboard the ship. One of the Unquestionable, Thom. One of the mightiest demons in existence. Blood and ashes, it could be a fetich soul, it could be Ligier himself, and you handful are literally all we have to respond."

"Who could summon such a creature?" Thom knew he looked as if he should be panting and wheezing. He was not nearly so old in body as he was in years of time, and he ran with the speed of a much younger man.

"A Solar," she said. "Or an Infernal, such as one of the Forsaken. There's almost certainly a Forsaken on Tremalking. I don't know which."

That was just as well. Perhaps she hadn't considered Bayle's lover, Halima, whom he had seen at the park earlier in the day. Surely Halima didn't have the power for such a summoning, but who knew what the Maiden of Secrets might mean for him to do?

*****

It was a poor sort of mirror, Asmodean reflected, but in the end it had done the job. Good mirrors were hard to find in this Age, and shipping one across the Sea had been risky, but the task was done. "Come forth, great Kagami, first soul of Szoreny! Come forth!" It was midnight. The web sank into the mirror's surface, and the reflection rippled like water, showing another, larger ship's cabin. Asmodean's reflection's eyes turned silver, and the image stepped through the mirror.

"Asmodean," said the being with his face. "It has been a long time. Truly, I was expecting Be'lal or Demandred, not you."

"My old friend," Asmodean told him, "envious though they are, they are of a more martial bent, I think. They would not think first of calling you. But these...Amayar, as they have come to call themselves...are great and skilled craftsmen, after a fashion, and their mirrors are far better than this poor thing."

"I would be intrigued to inspect them," Kagami said. "No doubt they are nothing special by Malfeas' standards, but you did such a terrible number on this world. I thought it would never recover. What precisely is the plan, then?"

"In three thousand years," Asmodean said, "no Shadowspawn have touched this land. Even during the Trolloc Wars Tremalking was never at risk. I wonder if it was a failsafe of the Tapestry, seeing these Amayar; the Dragon could have been reborn here instead. It's time that ended. Shall we bring the party through?"

Kagami chuckled in imitation of his laughter. Behind him, Trollocs moved through the reflection in the mirror. "I do like the way you think."

*****

Thom hit the gangplank at a dead run, shouting, "Up arms! We're under attack! The Shadow!" It wasn't necessary to wake anyone but the Sea Folk and Bayle's crew; the other Exalted were already awake, if startled and confused, from the same nauseating wave that had hit him. Galad was moving through the ship, swords out, with Bain and Chiad at his back. Jorin and--Light help them!--her little brother were on guard at the mast, with a tempest gathering over their heads. Elayne and Juilin were nowhere to be seen, but a lot of noise was coming from below decks.

A little distance down the dock, Spray was also lighting up as Bayle and Halima searched the boat for attackers. They were arguing about something, but far enough away that Thom couldn't tell what.

"There's a demon down below," Thom called, "and one of the Forsaken! Can't any of you sense it?"

"I can," Galad shouted back. "We all can! But they aren't the attack! Help Juilin and Elayne!" And he raced past Thom and down the plank, trailed by Bain, Chiad, and a large portion of the crew.

Thom spun to look where they were going. Against the midnight sky, Tincaten was catching fire, and the huge forms of Trollocs could be seen against the blaze. "Light blind me, how?" It must be the demon; that was why it had been summoned. He keapt down the ladder.

Juilin with his staff and Elayne with her mace stood before two nearly-identical men. One had eyes of silver, and silver veins pulsing beneath his skin. Other than that, they were both handsome fellows in their middle years, somewhat dark and with a rakish air, each with a gleeman's cloak.

"Asmodean," Thom snarled, and let a dagger fly, right between Juilin and Elayne's heads. The Forsaken turned just enough to take the blade right in his eye. It bit deep, and Asmodean screamed. Uncontrolled flows of the Power swirled around him in blood red and bilious green, ripping him apart, tearing him down to dust and stale wind. Just like that, he was gone. The flows shot in every direction and vanished.

"It can't be that easy, can it?" Juilin asked. The demon in the gleeman's cloak threw back his head and laughed. "No, definitely not."

"I am Kagami," the being intoned, "heart-soul of the Silver Forest, Szoreny the Envious. You stand against the will of Unquestionable might. Do you truly believe you can slay me?"

Elayne opened her mouth to say something biting, Thom opened his mouth to shout a warning, and Trollocs came crashing out of Jasin Natael's cabin, roaring and swinging swords.

*****

The city of Tincaten was ablaze by the time Galad reached it, but it was not undefended. Sea Folk with curved slashing swords and, surprisingly, a few young men and women with farm tools were battling the Shadowspawn already. The Amayar were terrified and untrained, eyes white in soot-stained faces, but they were doing their best to hold off the Trollocs while the bulk of the population fled into the mountains. It seemed the Water Way was not quite as peaceful as the Way of the Leaf.

Galad would have loved to test his new training in concert with Bain and Chiad, but it was barely begun. For this, he needed a style he knew better. Brandishing his hook swords, he assumed Fire Dragon form. An orange blaze of heat surrounded him, helping to bear him up when he leapt and spun. His boot crashed into a wolflike Trolloc's face, setting its fur aflame, stunning it long enough for his swords to cross and take off its head.

"Where are they coming from?" Bain growled. "Trollocs do not...swim." She and Chiad fought back to back, spinning to guard each other with their bucklers. Their spears lashed out in all directions, stabbing at Shadowspawn. A boar-snouted Trolloc roared defiance at them, and Bain roared right back.

"That was nothing," Galad said, affecting a chuckle. The next Trolloc that faced him head on heard his own wordless shout, but his was followed almost instantly by a gout of fire from his mouth. The Maidens quickly slapped spearbutts to bucklers twice in applause.

"How dare they strike at these people?" Chiad demanded. "This is almost as bad as killing gai'shain!"

"They dare because the Shadow dares all wicked things," Galad said, bull-rushing a raven-headed monster. "As for where they are coming from, I think they are coming from inside the houses themselves. Follow me!"

"How?" Chiad began, but Galad had begun his charge into a shop full of stand-mirrors on display, all with elaborately-carved borders. The reflections rippled almost continuously, and Shadowspawn squeezed through them at a steady rate, hampered only by being nearly too large.

"For Andor and the Lion Throne!" he shouted, and slammed into the nearest mirror, setting off a cascade. Mirror slammed into mirror, shattering them into crushed glass. The Trollocs who had already come through were unaffected. Galad even spotted an arm still reaching through a large fragment, flailing blindly. "There are more in the houses! We will have to fight house to house and smash each one!" More Trollocs were still emerging from doors. He had to admit, he didn't like those odds.

*****

Bayle Domon slammed his cudgel into the head of yet another Trolloc. The beast fell, but more of them continued to emerge from the mirror in an irregular stream. How many of the creatures were there? The mirror was a choke point as surely as a bridge, but surely he could not hold it literally forever.

To his left, Halima leapt and ran up the wall, stabbing down from the ceiling with her narrow blade at disoriented Trollocs, taking each one through the eye with incredible speed. "How is this possible? A mirror isn't a door, Bayle. It doesn't go anywhere!" Neither of them were more than half-dressed. If a Trolloc sword got through their defenses, it would likely poison them.

"I just wish I hadn't wanted one in my cabin!" His shortsword pierced the guts of the next beast that came through, and to his surprise the mirror behind it was clear and empty. He turned to keep fighting, but as he did Halima stabbed the last Trolloc through the ear, driving her blade straight into its brain.

"Is that all?" she began, but before he could respond, a blurred form shot through the mirror and seized her, twisting her arms behind her back. She struggled, but her angle was all wrong. Her assailant held her in front of him, blocking any easy attack, until he could spin and fling her through the mirror. All Bayle even got more than a glimpse of was the patchy, multicolored cloak that marked a gleeman. Then he, too, shot through the mirror, grabbed Halima again, and hurtled away.

With a strangled cry, Bayle hurled himself at the mirror, and it shattered into a million pieces rather than let him through.

*****

Tincaten was no longer in flames. Half the wooden buildings were in ashes, but the storm that Jorin had pulled in from the sea had put out the flames in short order. The moment Asmodean had vanished through Bayle's mirror with Halima, all the portals had closed. With that done, finishing off the Trollocs had taken only a little time.

"Asmodean," Bayle muttered. "Asmodean did take my wife!"

"We will get her back," Juilin said, his voice very calm and cold. "There is no reason anyone, even the Forsaken, should be beyond the law's reach. Asmodean has added one more invasion and one more kidnapping to a very long list of crimes."

"Why have the Shadowsouled taken your wife, Bayle Domon?" Chiad leaned in across the table. "The attack ceased as soon as they had her. This is not chance. She was the target, or one of them." Elayne nodded a firm agreement.

Bayle let out a long, pained sigh. "Halima does not be...like us. She do be like the Forsaken. Her Power does come through the Yozis. They cannot control her, cannot make her do as they do wish, but they do send orders. And she does find ways not to follow them."

"Then they've come to take her to Shayol Ghul," Thom said, "maybe even through the Pit of Doom and into Malfeas itself...himself...to enforce their orders."

Elayne gave her brother a worried look, and he returned an irritable one. "I do not fully trust any Anathema," Galad said, "but no one benefits if we allow the Yozis to force Halima under their control. A new Forsaken is in no one's best interests. And by all accounts--including my limited experience with her--she has fought against them with all her strength and courage. We will find your wife, Bayle Domon, and save her if there is any way we can." He let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Assuming she doesn't manage to save herself first. Where is Kagami?"

"He vanished back into the mirror while we were fighting the Trollocs," Elayne said. "He's not bound in any way, and I doubt he went back to the Yozis' prison."

"Then we have several problems to handle," Thom said. "Find the trap the Black Ajah are laying in Tanchico, retrieve Halima, and re-imprison one of the mist powerful demons in existence." A knife twirled between his fingers and was gone. "Sounds like an epic for the ages."

*****

The cavern was closing around her like a mouth. Only her. Asmodean strode ahead of her, dragging her by the ropes he had trussed her with. Stalactites cleared his head easily and he strode through a clear path, yet she, lying on the ground just behind him, was bumped about by stalagmites, and descending teeth of rock tore her clothes. Then they came to a stop, and she struggled up, trying to see.

"Great Lords," Asmodean intoned, "by your summons I have come with the renegade."

YOU HAVE SERVED ME WELL, ASMODEAN. The voice echoed in her head, silent yet somehow intolerably loud. THE BRIDGE IS READY. It was a feminine voice, not the Ebon Dragon's voice at all, and though it filled all the space in her head it was itself full of tinkling, giggly laughter. PUSH HER THROUGH.

Three paces wide, fifteen long, a bridge arced out over the lava of the Pit of Doom. Its flooring was smooth carnelian; its supports, burnished red Malfean iron. Halfway across it vanished into blue flame, but Halima could sense that it continued on past. Asmodean was not going to shove her into the molten rock.

With impossible strength for a man of his size, he twirled and flung her down the bridge, banging against iron rails until she rolled through the blue flame, down the arch of the other side, and came to a stop fetched up against...a pair of bare, dainty feet?

WELCOME TO THE DEMON CITY, HALIMA SARANOV. WELCOME TO OUR PRISON. She lay before a woman with milk-pale skin, unclad and slender, with black hair cut short to frame her face down to her chin. Her smile showed teeth of white jade. She giggled, but her mouth did not move to match the words that resounded in Halima's head. I AM ADORJAN. I AM YOUR MASTER. WELCOME HOME...YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH.

Chapter Text

"What do you make of this?" Melaine asked, holding up a metal thing somehow shaped into the image of the creature on the Dragon Banner, almost. Its tail was bent downward, seemingly for a handle. "Matrim Cauthon brought it back from Rhuidean, which we will take as fated."

Faile held out her hands to hold it, turning it over and over. "I can feel it in the One Power," she said. "I'm not sure what it's made of, but--" The handle clacked open, revealing the waxy shaft that held its leaden eggs. "It's a weapon, obviously. I don't see how it was made, but at this size it should be easy to hide in a belt pouch or a pocket. Good if you're trying to sneak attack someone." She closed it up again.

Melaine grimaced. Not all kinds of sneak attacks were dishonorable, but weapons were carried openly. "Aviendha?"

Aviendha took the dragon figure in her hands, turning it to hold the tail, its mouth pointed at a distant segade plant. She nudged its feet, and the dragon roared. Sap and green plant guts sprayed out onto the rock beyond. "A good shot will kill a man in an instant. Even a poor one will wound badly. If everyone in a sept had these, they could conquer their enemies in a day. Or slaughter each other in an hour of bad temper." She checked the egg chamber again. "At least, if there were enough of these to keep killing."

Perrin held out his hands for it. "An unpleasant sort of thing, however skillfully made." Melaine gave him an annoyed look; in the end, all weapons were for killing, and it did not have to be used from surprise. "The golden metal is orichalcum, but...this black stuff, like steel...I don't know what it is, but it feels like pain. Like the collar the Seanchan put on Padan Fain."

"There are tales of this metal," Melaine said. "I have seen it rarely, except in Rhuidean by the rings and columns. Even in the Age of Legends it was not common, and for good reason. It is said to be forged from human souls."

"Light!" Perrin nearly dropped it. He sat it down on the bare rock, instead. "Mat's welcome to it. Or you are."

"What has been made is made," Melaine said, taking it up. She did not think much of the smith who had forged this weapon either, but if it was in her hands when an enemy came, she would kill with it in a heartbeat. "Your trials are nearly done, I think. Tonight, we will eat well. Tomorrow, we will begin the marking, and your castes will be fixed. Then we will depart for Cold Rocks Hold."

*****

By "eat well," it turned out, Melaine meant that the Aiel would break out the dried meat. Well, there was more to it than that, Perrin admitted to himself. There was a great deal of dried fruit as well, and cheese, and ears of the strange crop the Aiel called zemai. He was not going to be hungry in the morning, but he could have done with fresher food, something that had more juice in it.

I would offer to catch rabbits, Hopper said drily, if I knew where any might be found.

"Your guess is likely better than mine," Prrrin told him. "At least tomorrow I'll have one fewer problem. The Wise Ones will fix my caste, and I won't have to worry about getting stuck with a tail."

You would look better with a tail. Humans are very silly with their butts hanging out uncovered.

"Well, maybe that's why we cover them." Perrin lifted his cup of oosquai. "Here's to good-looking butts." Perhaps he was a little drunk.

"Whose butt have you been looking at, Perrin?" Egwene asked, approaching with a zemai cob in one hand and a cup in the other. "Hopper," she said, inclining her head to the wolf. She took a bite of the kernels, causing juice to run down her chin.

Perrin shrugged. "Anyone who allows it," he said. "Amys isn't any older than Moiraine, it turns out, and Aiel don't mind if men and women share a sweat tent."

Egwene nearly choked on her drink. "You've been looking at Amys?"

"And Melaine," he added. "I had better get used to people looking younger than they are. I will too, one day. Did you know she's nearly a hundred?" Melaine looked no older than thirty.

Egwene threw back her head and swallowed her entire cup of oosquai. "I guess we had," she said weakly. "Light, even I can expect to live a few centuries. I'll surely reach three hundred. No grey in my hair till I'm a hundred eighty or so. Nynaeve will be furious."

"Imagine the boys staring at your behind," Perrin said, "not realizing you're six times their age."

"In point of fact," Moiraine said, emerging from behind a tent, "aging usually shows later in proportion. You shouldn't expect any grey until you're well into your third century. Unless the marble color overtakes your hair, of course, which it might." She reached down to scratch behind Hopper's ears. "Amys does have a nice behind, but alas, she takes her marriage very seriously. As does Lian, her sister-wife. You don't want to be on their bad side."

I am not a dog, Hopper grumbled.

"You don't enjoy my attention?" Moiraine asked. She withdrew her hand. "Melaine's rump, on the other hand, is free, but overrated. She has no dimples."

This time it was Perrin's turn to choke on his oosquai. "How has she stayed unmarried for so long?" he asked.

"What makes you think she has?" Moiraine replied. "I believe she was widowed about fifteen years ago." Hopper shifted to get back within reach of her hand. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Good boy." She resumed scratching behind his ears.

I had an itch, the wolf said defensively. Perrin wondered whether it was really good for him, being bonded to Perrin in this way. He seemed to grow more human all the time. Do I? Why do humans care so much about the look of a rump that you never bother to sniff? Egwene nearly fell over laughing.

"Did Melaine tell you about her dead husband, Moiraine?" Perrin asked. "I didn't realize you were getting to know each other so well."

"Better than either of us ever expected," Moiraine admitted. "It seems that, like Galad, I have managed to restore some portion of my honor despite being a 'treekiller'."

Perrin tilted his head slightly. "And does Moiraine know you respect her that much, Melaine?"

Moiraine froze. "I didn't believe you would catch me," she said. Sure enough, her body stretched out taller, flowing into the shape of the Wise One. "What was my mistake?" Melaine asked. "That I knew too much?"

"Too modest," Perrin informed her. "And you need to borrow someone else's senses to get a better look at your own behind. You do have dimples. Was that an invitation, earlier?"

"Mmm," Melaine mused, "not yet."

*****

Aviendha sat at the fire, thinking. Rand al'Thor. Why was her destiny linked to his? He was not bad-looking. He would look better in cadin'sor, of course, with proper spears at his back. He was stubborn enough for a Stone Dog. But Rand al'Thor had not been raised Aiel, did not see himself as Aiel, and was all but pledged to Elayne Trakand, who looked as much Aiel as he did and also was not.

Of course, in the rings she had seen herself with Elayne, also. And this third woman, a Pattern Tangler. Min Farshaw. They had not even met! It seemed more likely they would come to blows.

"A copper for your thoughts," Faile said, sitting down across the small fire from her.

Aviendha gave her a level gaze and held out her hand. It took a moment for the Falcon to realize she was serious and hand over the copper. "I have seen a future, many futures, that must be. They do not include you. Or Perrin Aybara, or Mat Cauthon."

"Well, that's a shame. Who do they include?"

"Elayne Trakand. Min Farshaw." She hesitated. "Rand al'Thor.."

Faile nodded. "I met him on the way to Tear. He's handsome, don't get me wrong, but he simply struck me as...off. Not someone I wanted to become involved with. So much for that, of course, but I did manage to stay out of his bed."

"How fortunate for you," Aviendha muttered.

"So," Faile wondered, "those are the only people you can have in your life?"

"No, but I must have them in my life. If they reject others that I care for, it is them I must stay with. Every future world where I am not with them is destroyed."

Faile thought that over. "So if Rand is offended that you're with me and Perrin, he's failing in his destiny to save the world. Hit him with that, if it comes up."

"I do not know that it is so simple, Faile. Perhaps it should be, but many things that should be are not." She drew lines in the thin dirt. "Here is a strange thought. Each of these lines is a different future from the rings. But I did not remember anything from the rings when I was in the rings. So perhaps they are none of them what will happen, because I do remember, in part at least." She drew a diagonal line across them. "An infinite set of futures, and yet this other line is not any of them."

Faile put her knuckles to her temples. "I want you to be right, but burn me if I can follow that." She looked up. "I know they said you wouldn't remember everything. Do you remember what made you like Rand, in those futures?"

Aviendha struggled with the question. "He is handsome, perhaps too handsome. He is strong--all the Two Rivers folk are strong, though some say 'stubborn'. I saw him carry the world on his shoulders. I saw him weep for everyone who fell. And at first I thought he was too weak, but he staggered on. He was not weak. He simply...cared. For everyone." A single image drifted into her mind. "I saw a young boy, running from Trollocs. He was Seanchan, our worst enemy besides the Yozis. And Rand had fought Seanchan, killed Seanchan when he must, but this boy was no danger to anyone, not right then, not yet. Rand picked him up and carried him to safety. Sometimes the burden is too much, Faile. But he never stops trying. I think that was what made me love him. He will do the same for my people, just as I would. As I was doing by searching for him."

"That's not a bad reason to love someone," Faile said. "I certainly don't hate him. I just don't see that in him. Maybe I will...in those futures, when they arrive. Right now? He scares me."

Aviendha nodded. "He could not be so good a protector if he were not dangerous."

Faile spread her arms in a shrug. "I can't argue with that."

"Also...." Aviendha hesitated. "He has a big cock."

Faile burst out laughing. "How do you even know? Wait...you remember lying with him in the future?"

"Partially," Aviendha said. It was indeed very strange. "Also...with Lanfear, in his shape. Then I killed her."

Faile spit out her oosquai. "With...with Lanfear?" Aviendha nodded. "How is she in bed?"

"Kinky. Selfish. You would think that a woman who intrudes on other people's dreams would be a better lay."

"I guess we'd better learn from her mistakes, then." Faile sidled around the fire towards her. "Want to study?"

Aviendha kissed her. "Of course. You could learn a lot from me."

"Why, you--!" Faile tackled her.

*****

"How are you managing?" Egwene asked, offering Rand a crusty roll with butter. He hadn't eaten a great deal tonight.

"I saw...a lot," he said hesitantly. "Lanfear. I saw her break open the crack into the Yozis' prison. I saw the Aiel, when they were...servants, hereditary servants who could be traded like livestock. And yes, the Aes Sedai sent them away, but I'm not so sure they set them free. I saw them try to stay peaceful when the world was coming to pieces all around them, and in the end I saw them fail."

"A lot," Egwene agreed. "Was it all horror, Rand? Everything we read about the Age of Legends, all the stories they told us, were they lies?"

Rand shook his head and took a bite. "Almost the opposite. I think...it all started out noble, Egwene. Everyone had good intentions, at least at first. Only somehow they never turned out right. There was a woman, one of the great scholars of the Age. She wrote sorcery into the sea and land and sky so that everyone could learn it. And when that wasn't enough, she was going to do more, to help the people who were still in need."

"Salina," Egwene said. "The White Tower still teaches Salinan principles of sorcery. There are two other major schools of thought, but she's--"

"Lanfear," Rand interjected. "Salina is Lanfear. It was an accident, but Salina started the War of the Shadow. The White Tower is spreading the teachings of the Daughter of the Night."

"Rand, there's nothing in Salinan sorcery that serves the Yozis. Salina taught that demons corrupt the world, even if they don't mean to, because they come from the Yozis' thoughts." She bent around him to look into his eyes. "Rand? You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he said bleakly. "She didn't mean to. And it didn't matter. If even our best intentions aren't enough...then what good is the Dragon Reborn?"

*****

"If you think you can sneak up on me, Matrim Cauthon," Amys said calmly, "think again."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Mat said, chuckling. He certainly never would. In dreams, Amys would surely have the upper hand. "I'm not even looking for you to teach me anything. I just wondered if Aielmen ever share the same wife the way I hear women can share the same husband."

Amys snorted at that. "Matrim Cauthon, if you think that Rhuarc would take you as a first-brother, you are sadly mistaken, nor am I flattered. But to answer your question simply, it has happened. Men do not take one another as first-brothers very often at all, no matter how strong their feelings. They fight too easily and share too rarely. Therefore they can rarely share a wife. The two such marriages I know of took long years of wheedling by a woman determined to marry both men. One marriage was happy. The other, not. Now go bother someone else. Couladin, perhaps. You seem to have much in common with him."

Mat was pretty certain he had nothing in common with Couladin, unless it was that Wise Ones were annoyed by both of them. But if Amys didn't want to speak to him, he wasn't going to make a fuss.

Instead he went back for another serving of dried meat in t'mat soup. The soup restored a good bit of the lost texture, even if it was goat meat. Moiraine was sitting by a cookfire looking lost, so he sat down beside her. "If it helps," he said, "I didn't see anything I wanted to in Rhuidean either."

She turned to look at him, but her gaze was empty. "Why would it help me for you to be in pain too, Mat? I regret that I upended all your lives, though I had the best of intentions."

"You've got Rand on course to save the world, don't you? What's to regret? I didn't know it yet, but I needed to leave Emond's Field." He put a hand on her shoulder, and at least she didn't pull away.

"I thought there would be a time at the end of all this," she said, lowering her head, "when we could resume our lives. The White Tower could stand strong, the nations could find peace, we could return to the ones we love. But it isn't going to happen that way, Mat. Nothing like that waits in our futures. I saw...." She trailed off.

"Well?" he said at last.

"There is a book," she said slowly. "A grimoire of sorcery, but more than that and worse. It depicts another Age, an Age where the Wheel is broken and the Loom torn. The Broken-Winged Crane will be written in the future; every past copy is corrupted with errors, but the closer we get, the more accurate they become. The Yozis have won, even though they cannot leave their hell, because they have made this world a part of hell. A shattered annex. I saw it happen, over and over again. If I live, the world dies...or worse. I know this...because I will be its author."

Chapter Text

"Zarine Bashere.

"Mandarb. Blade.

"Faile. Falcon.

"Born to northern cold, yet farthest from Shayol Ghul. Heir to command, heir to privilege, heir to both luxury and duty.

"And yet you fled."

Amys stood over her beneath both moon and sun, there on the slopes of Chaendaer. Silvery threads of Essence crackled between them, drawing up metallic ink from a flask of steel. The One Power stabbed into her naked flesh again and again.

"Some would call you irresponsible. We are not here to judge them or you. Luna has already done so. Winter dragged on, wrapping your entire world in snow and ice. Even here in the Three-Fold Land the nights grew frigid and the days dark; how much more in your homeland?

"The call went out: one last time, one last chance, the Great Hunt of the Horn, the ultimate weapon that calls back the dead to fight for the living. And you answered, defying your family. You searched for power beyond the Bloodlines of the Elemental Dragons. You struck into the halls of those who cried out praise to Anathema, searching for hope."

Feathery symbols spread out across the canvas of her skin like delicate blades. Sharp crescent hooks curved down her cheeks and feet. Wings arched across her back.

"And so Luna answered you. The Power you unwittingly craved, she sent you. The salvation you searched for she placed in your hands to bestow. The White Navigator guided you where you needed to go.

"Your people would reject you. If she sees you, your chief will try to strike you down. What is that to you?"

Arcane symbols filled in spaces where animal motifs were not. Alchemy, sorcery, even the languages of fans and flowers. Secrets, all.

"You are the Falcon, the scythe-bird of prey. By this same root does Luna call her weapon, her Blade: falcastra, which pulls and cuts the Wyld.

"Yours is the knife in the dark. Yours is the cutting smile. Yours is the cunning ploy. The Shadow cannot find you, cannot catch you, cannot defend against you. So shall you tear it to ribbons. Your beak, your talons, are your crescent emblem, Changing Moon."

She spread her arms and silver wings of light shot out from them. Dim indigo radiance hid between feathers; shifting colors sprayed out over her features, hiding them. And on her brow the sliver-blade of a narrow crescent moon shone out, stark and cold.

*****

"That was the easy one," Amys said when all was done. "I knew when she lied to me about her mother, trying to find excuses not to tell me she had acted the thief. I simply needed to understand her balance. She is more cunning warrior than deceitful speaker, though she can certainly do both."

"And you guide the flows with only the lighest hand," Moiraine mused, "like a Foretelling, where it's the One Power as agent that sketches out the Pattern for you."

Amys nodded. "Yes. Aviendha and the blacksmith will be more difficult. Changing Moons are often obscure, sometimes chosen simply because nothing else fits. Full Moons and No Moons ought to be clearer. Not today. And more than that...I think custom as old as the Aiel will be broken before we leave here."

*****

"Aviendha.

"Taardad of the Nine Valleys.

"Bitter Grass, grazer on the far slopes.

"All your life you sought the Maidens of the Spear. You are the warrior, the scout, the defender. And we knew when we saw it in the stars: you would have to be denied your dream.

"So you fled from us, ranging out across the Wetlands, joining the search for the Car'a'carn, Chief of Chiefs, man of prophecy. You do not know, not yet, what binds you to him. It is the only binding that will hold, I fear."

The markings that spread out under Amys' careful ministrations seemed at first to be random. Blotched and blurred. Only as the weaving wore on did it become clear: moonsilver bled from her stigmata, where Aviendha was wounded and yet would not die.

"It was Luna who saw. The Bloody Huntress' arrow marked you, and the Silver-Horned Watcher pursued. Not to bring you back to us, but to drive you far away. For you had a special destiny in her eyes, and we tried to deny it to you.

"You are the Spear of Luna. You are the bloody strike, the war cry, the death that culls the wicked."

Spearpoints and arrows, straight lines that ran the full length of her arms and legs. A quiver on her back. Moonsilver blood coated her hands to harden there like gauntlets, her feet to cover them like boots.

"Three thousand years, and no woman has been Full Moon. So she mocks us, Aviendha. Luna's laughter echoes out over the desert and tradition dies.

"You, alone, or perhaps only first. You are Maiden of the Spear, Aviendha, and we cannot take your horns. We must teach you, train you, anyway, in all that we can; you are to be a Wise One all the same."

On her forehead the streaks of silver stretched out into spikes.

"In your wake, peace shall follow. That has always been our way. But the peace you leave shall be the peace of death: Wise One and first Full Moon."

A full, bright circle blossomed out between forked horns that rose from Aviendha's skull. Brilliant hooves shone where her feet and hands ought to be: weapons brought tight against her flesh. Dreaming prophecy came true, and the Wise Ones shed tears for what was to come.

*****

By the time Perrin was ready, the moon should have been drowned in noonday sun. Should have. An short arc of silver light blistered the sky as if some immense gem on the lunar surface had caught the sun's light for once in a thousand years.

"Perrin ay Baara.

"Young Bull.

"When the moon was new made, she was made from moons unnumbered, moons that might be. And her under-self, that joins them all together in one, that was called the Chthonic Baara, a beast that will rise in defense of all Creation in the darkest hour when all seems lost.

"If Luna speaks true--and sometimes she does not, should lying suit her--she was your greatmother's greatmother. Her silver blood runs in your veins. Yet that could never be enough, not on its own, to draw an Exaltation from the Fickle Lady."

Thick horns spread outward along his brow like a silver crown.

"You are the blacksmith. You, the one who works the forge, as Luna herself was shaped in the Forge of Oramus the Impossible. The change you work is slow, and steady, and no less real.

"When battle calls, you join it. You are the guardian of your people. But you are not called to battle; you are called to build, called to mend.

"If it is willed where what is willed must be, the Last Battle will wash over all lands, shatter the world...and fade away. You must fight in it--all of us must fight--but when it is over and done, it will be your skilled hands that forge the world anew."

Strange symbols flowed from Amys' weaving. Crosshatched patches, great rectangular blotches like the marks of a hammer blow--but also markings like letters or numbers that were neither so far as any onlooker knew.

"You are the master smith, Young Bull. Knowledge flows through you, acknowledge it or no. You are the shaper. You meet with your ancestor at the crossroads, that she may pass to you her secrets."

Above them, the light show flickered and suddenly went out, as if it had waited just for the moment that a hollow circle of light, just barely thicker on the right side, flared to life on Perrin's brow. Around him there flashed the image of a great bull, charging, merely outlined in light, all midnight blue within.

"Perrin Aybara is No Moon."

*****

All around them, the Taardad Aiel were breaking camp. "That looks as if it should hurt," Perrin remarked.

Aviendha flexed her hands, which gleamed like dull iron in sunlight. The moonsilver embedded in her skin was nearly unbroken all the way to her elbows. On her left forearm, an open circle, still angry red from the tattooing, was surrounded by markings like shattered glass. All over her body the tattoos made images of stab wounds as if she had been pierced by spear after spear. "It feels tight," she said, "like a cage around my skin. Is it the extent of the tattoos, I wonder?"

Faile shook her head. "I feel the same. It's preventing anything from reshaping us except our own power. That's why it feels that way."

"Only our bodies," Perrin reminded her. "If someone tries to warp our minds or our fate, these won't protect us." Amys had warned them again before the ceremony.

Aviendha hefted a bedroll over her shoulder. "Come. We need to make for Imre Stand. Our testing has delayed things long enough."

"Anyone need an extra pack mule?" Faile slapped Perrin across the shoulders.

He snorted at her. "You could be that as easily as I." He focused, and the runes and forgemarks that covered him now faded from visibility.

"How'd you do that?" Faile wondered.

"Found it by accident," Perrin said, "all the way back at Fal Dara. I was trying to work out what more I could do. The weave barely seemed worth using; it hid a birthmark on my back and some old forge scars on my arms." He slung his few possessions over one shoulder and a carry-pack over the other. "Let's give what help we can."

Faile practiced what Perrin had done while helping to strike a tent. Her tattoos flickered in and out but would not stay gone. Aviendha frowned at her and worked out the proper method in moments, but her solid gloves and stockings remained, unchanged, limiting the usefulness of the weave.

"Why did they give you those?" Faile asked. In response, Aviendha kicked a rock with her bare foot. With a clang, the rock shattered; Aviendha's foot was unharmed.

"They're like boots and gauntlets made especially for fighting," Egwene said, hurrying up with a pair of saddlebags for the mules. "But marked directly onto your hands and feet. That didn't hurt at all?"

Aviendha shook her head. "I hardly felt it."

Rand strode past them, leading a pack mule of his own. The look on his face said he was channeling, and behind him clouds came scudding across the sky, partially blocking the pitiless sun. A breeze sprang up in his wake, not quite strong enough to kick up sand. Aviendha muttered under her breath, "That is one way to survive in the Three-Fold Land."

Perrin made no reply. Aviendha had grown up here, and no doubt thought everywhere west of the Dragonwall was damp and cold. But all of the Two Rivers folk, Rand included, had grown up learning to survive on their own in the woods. That the Waste was a harsher environment was not their doing, and knowledge of how to live off the land was a basic necessity for weaves that strengthened the ability to do so. Rand was avoiding crusty sand traps, too, and Perrin had overheard him discussing with Rhuarc what plants indicated water.

"Rhuarc asked him to," Egwene said to Aviendha. "The tattooing took longer than planned, and he wants to reach Imre Stand by nightfall without pushing us too hard."

Aviendha was not mollified by this, but she did stop complaining. Good camping spots for large numbers of people were hard to find out here, and most of them were already known and occupied--as Imre Stand was. She simply strode along grumbling to herself instead of complaining about Rand.

Most of the stories Perrin had read about the Waste made it sound as if the land were covered in loose sand like a beach, as it had been around Chaendaer, but here it was baked hardpan with only a thin coating, if that. Great broken mountains rose in the distance, and smaller shaved-off hills of rock all around. Here and there, giant slabs lay against each other like discarded chips of wood from the woodpile. Surely they would fall one day, yet for all anyone could move such things they must have stood a hundred years or more.

Moiraine rode alongside the Wise Ones, talking quietly. Perrin was not trying to listen in, but he kept hearing bits of the discussion anyway. She was talking about what she had seen in the rings. Her face was drawn and her eyes red, but what little he heard did not sound worth crying about. Every so often the Wise Ones muttered about "treekillers", but it never produced more than a wince from her. At one point Melaine even hoisted herself up onto the horse to ride awkwardly behind her, holding onto Moiraine's waist, and that did not seem like a thing you would do with someone you held in contempt.

Aviendha trotted forward to talk to Rand about Elayne, and he could not avoid overhearing that either. She was plainly angry with him, but all she wanted to talk about was how pretty Elayne's breasts and hips were. Did she think Rand was trying to steal away her girlfriend? But finally he said something irritable that made her quiet down, and to Perrin's eye it looked as if from there she just walked along studying his broad shoulders. Rand was not as powerfully-built as Perrin, but he was certainly strong. He couldn't make sense of what she was up to; she had been very plain that she had no interest in Rand.

He was so busy watching her that he didn't notice Mat coming up behind him. "So no more worrying about growing hooves," he said out of the blue, "only about going mad. You'd think if they could fix one, they could fix the other."

"Would be nice," Perrin agreed. "Who knows, maybe we'll figure something out."

"Personally," Mat grumbled, "I'd be satisfied if the Wise Ones told me what the Aiel have against 'Pattern Tanglers'. I'm not that different from the rest of you."

"You might not want to know," Perrin warned. "Remember, we're not that different because all of us but Egwene are Anathema. Maybe the Sidereals ruined the Waste somehow." He gestured expansively around at the desolate landscape.

"Huh. Well, maybe I'll remember it, then," Mat muttered. "Light, it's hot out here."

"It is always hot during the day," said someone behind Perrin. The voice sounded vaguely familiar. "When night comes, you will surely be cool enough."

Perrin turned to look. "Gaul! I thought everyone but the Taardad and Shaido had gone home."

"I have come the long way," Gaul said, "from the Stone of Tear across the Dragonwall. I reached Chaendaer only two days ago. The Wise Ones said you were busy. Now I know with what."

"It's good to see you again, whatever you were doing. You know, I didn't know you could channel when I let you out of that cage. You don't look Dragon-Blooded. Surely you're not a Celestial." If all the algai d'siswai could channel, why hadn't he been able to escape?

Gaul shook his head. "Only about a third of all spears are Dragon-Blooded. Another quarter are granted the One Power by a sponsor of some sort. The rest of us, not quite half, are the children of spirits. My father was a jokun--an elemental of the earth. I can only do so much, especially held above the ground as I was."

"Well, I'm glad you're coming with us. Did you come all this way to see me again?"

"In part. I need to meet with the other leaders of my society--the Shaen M'taal, the Stone Dogs--and let them know the Car'a'carn is coming. But I hoped to catch up with you as I traveled."

Gaul had hunted well on his journey, if on creatures that Perrin would never have thought to call edible, such as a venomous lizard called gara. He seemed surprised that Perrin had been marked as a No Moon, until Perrin reminded him he was a blacksmith. Aiel men respected warriors above nearly all else, but smiths stood outside and above that ranking, perhaps because they were the ones who made so many necessary tools, weapons included.

Faile came up to them after Gaul mentioned the gara. "I don't know about you, but I haven't hunted for new shapes since the Stone. The Anklok don't really count. This lizard sounds as good a shape as any. Where did you say they lived, Gaul?"

Unfortunately, the gara lived in small areas and rarely traveled, so that hunting one would take time away from the long march to camp. But while they were talking, Gaul pointed out lion spoor.

The black-maned lions that lived in the Waste were very mobile, following prey wherever they could find it, and hunted in small families. There would most likely be enough for all three of them. Aviendha hurried off to beg permission from Amys while Faile took to the air and Perrin began tracking the pride at ground level. Only minutes later, Aviendha had joined him. They would separate from the group and meet back up at Imre Stand.

Faile's shrill cries conveyed a message Perrin wasn't expecting. Hey! Wagons ahead. Looks like a big peddler caravan. Perrin conveyed the news to Gaul quickly, and he rushed off to inform Rhuarc. From Gaul's tone, meeting peddlers was practically a festival. Perrin just hoped it went better than the last time he'd seen a peddler in Emond's Field.

Chapter Text

Ellid could not be seen, could not be heard, could not be felt. It was a wretched sort of existence, but it had some small advantages. She followed Elaida and her coterie up the halls and down the stairwells. She watched the ritual gestures and listened to the ritual words.

The supernatural intuition for strategy that she had once had, she no longer possessed. But memory remained. She knew what she saw, and she hurried to tell.

*****

Laras checked and rechecked the ledgers. Mistress of the Kitchens, they called her, and the Amyrlin had finally made it a genuine title. No one considered what it meant.

There were too many masons. There were too many gardeners. There were too many garbage-haulers. There was nothing wanton about this hiring spree. It was not an accident; this was by design. And there was only one reason to bring so many strangers into the White Tower.

She was not so light on her feet as she had been in her youth, but she hauled herself up and went to bring warning.

*****

All Else really wanted was to make it plain what the Reds were doing, but the Aes Sedai--for the life of her, she could not remember the woman's name--was refusing to take her seriously. "But isn't this a spear that was used in the Revolution? The Eye of the Fire Dragon?"

"A great many spears were used at that time,child," the Green said imperiously. "It is not the sort of thing to concern a novice." She used that last word contemptuously; she did not at all approve of Else's decision not to test for Accepted yet. Most Aes Sedai did not; no one had expected her to get this far, but with Gawyn's encouragement she'd persisted, only to halt on the brink. "Leave the Reds to their posturing. Undoubtedly they are rehearsing old grievances."

Unhappily, Else curtsied. "Yes, Aes Sedai. Yes, Joline Sedai," she added as the name finally came to her. Everyone called her air-headed for having trouble remembering names, no matter how well she remembered weaves. With an annoyed sneer, Joline glided away to some business of her own that almost certainly wasn't going to matter in a few days.

*****

"What I'm telling you," Faolain said urgently, "is that the White Tower's ghosts have been keeping an eye on things, and the Reds are about to make their move."

"Let them," Siuan said. "So am I." She placed a strip of paper on the table. It read, "The sling has been used. The shepherd holds the sword."

Faolain raised an eyebrow. "Rand al'Thor has Callandor, so you can prove he's the Dragon. So...you're going to tell the Hall of the Tower."

"Caught it in one try. Good. They'll squirm, but they'll have to throw the Tower's weight behind him." She began sorting through a box full of papers.

"Mother, with all due respect, supporting him doesn't have to mean supporting you. They can argue that you've been backing a dangerous horse long before you could have known--" The box slammed shut.

"Stop. Who is the Amyrlin Seat, and who is merely Accepted? I have needed your help, and I consider you an asset to the White Tower, but you are in over your head, child, and I am not. I have this handled." She looked down at the report she was holding. "Fish guts. I've got to rectify this before the meeting. Bring me Mistress Jovarin. If she can't balance the books on these repairs, I'll have to bestow the Saffron Mantle on her."

Faolain blinked. "What?...pardon, Mother, it's not my business. I'll bring her."

She had no idea what the Amyrlin meant by the "saffron mantle", but it was surely a distraction from anything important. Lately Siuan Sanche seemed obsessed with minutiae, as if she could bury her political enemies with them. For some things that might work, but it wasn't going to stop the Reds' coup.

Were they going to have to push Siuan out of the way to save her? And if they were, was it even worth doing?

*****

Min pushed down her discomfort. It was a very long shot, but it was worth taking. Elaida stared at her over the cup of wine. Min's skin crawled, and she fought the urge to tug her blouse upward. Elaida's taste in women favored big bosoms. It wasn't that Min objected to being drooled over--metaphorically speaking--but she disliked Elaida, and Elaida disliked her and thought she was looking at someone else right now.

"So you agree that the White Tower is on a collision course right now?" Elaida said. It was not really a question. "Even if the al'Thor boy is necessary to victory, he must be kept on a tight leash, Marzana. Siuan Sanche is letting him have the reins. I have evidence that she's managing a full stable of Anathema in addition to the Dragon Reborn, in blatant violation of Tower law."

Min had the ability to Compel the Hall of the Tower to follow its own rules, without favor or corruption. But it was entirely possible they could truly believe in Elaida's interpretation, in which case they should depose Siuan. Most likely, that path led to disaster for Rand and the world. Conversely, she could bog them down in red tape. But surely, aside from this one snag, the White Tower was a force for good in the world. What was she supposed to do?

If only she knew the weaves that had once been the specialties of the Chosen of Serenity--but those had been almost entirely lost for nearly a thousand years, since Hawkwing's empire fell. They were useless to her now. Elaida was still waiting for a response. "What do you know about these Anathema, Elaida? That's a very serious charge."

"At some point," Elaida said sharply, "a Sidereal infiltrated the Tower. They are by nature elusive, but careful examination reveals traces. Memory crystals missing, chambers unoccupied for centuries suddenly in use, furtive movements among the novices. I believe the boy Verin brought in, this...the boy named...you see the problem?"

"Mat Cauthon?" Min said. "You believe he's still here?" And that I'm him? Blood and ashes!

Elaida merely nodded, though, not noticing Min's consternation. The stole of the Amyrlin Seat flickered around her neck and was gone. "In addition, there are reports of the novices Moiraine brought from the Two Rivers traveling with a Lunar Anathema. As far as we know, Perrin Aybara is not here, but he could be a fly in this room and we'd never notice. That may well be the tip of the iceberg. Anathema are reported in greater numbers each day across the known world."

Min could resist no longer. "And you believe Siuan Sanche is involved with all of them, from Falme to Fal Dara?"

Elaida failed to read her intent. "Who else but the Amyrlin Seat could have such influence? It must be taken from her!"

This had gone on long enough. "No, Elaida. I won't participate in your wild goose chase. Anything can be spun into a tale of conspiracy with enough delusion woven in." She got up from the table.

"Don't be a fool, Marzana!" Elaida called after her. "I have more backing for this than I need. I offered you this chance for your own good, not because I require your help."

"Then I must be going," Min said over her shoulder, "because a Tower under your control is no place for me."

By the time Elaida reached the door, Min was out of sight.

*****

"You wanted me to protect you," Gawyn said urgently. "That's why you gave me this position."

Siuan Sanche slammed her palm down on the desk. "I did not give you leave to give me orders, child."

"I'm not giving you orders, Mother. I'm telling you the truth. We've failed. The Reds are on the verge of seizing the White Tower for Elaida. You can fight back directly, you can run, or you can surrender. Those are your choices. All I'm doing is letting you know them."

"Fish guts! How did it come to this?" The Amyrlin rose from her chair and began to gather items from drawers in her desk.

"With all due respect, Mother, I don't know. I'm a novice. I assume you've made mistakes. I assume they seemed like the right thing at the time." He lowered his gaze. "I do know a little something about that."

"I need to gather my supporters--I assume I do still have supporters?" Siuan's tone was dry enough to kill most of her metaphors on contact.

"Nearly half the Tower is still on your side," Gawyn explained. "Maybe more, if they knew what was about to happen. But they're not ready to fight. Elaida's supporters are."

"Then what do you have planned, or should I simply hand myself over?" Siuan fastened a pair of bracers onto her wrists.

"I'm going to signal the Vermillion Legion. They'll surround you and get you to safety while I rally the rest of your side. Then we'll be ready to really fight back. But I have to go, now, or it'll be too late." He went out onto the balcony.

"Gawyn, that is an overhang followed by a sheer drop."

"I know," he said, and leapt over the edge.

She moved toward the balcony just as the outer door burst open. Siuan spun back toward it. "What is this intrusion about? I am the Amyrlin--"

A burst of flame hurtled toward her. She blocked it, desperately, as Alric said, "Not any longer, Siuan. When we're done with you, you'll envy the novices."

"I trusted you!" Channeling through her bracers, she assumed a fighting stance. "You were going to negotiate with the Reds on my behalf."

"There was nothing to negotiate," Elaida said, appearing behind him with a giant pair of hook swords made of flame. "You have become an enemy of the White Tower, Siuan Sanche, and that makes you the enemy of all existence."

She had delayed Gawyn too long, and it was going to be her last mistake, but she would go down fighting. Flows of water seized Elaida and Alric, as well as Fearil and Joline as they came in behind the first two. She flexed them, shattering Alric's neck against the stone floor, but as she did so Elaida severed the flows with her blades.

"Now you add murder to the charges against you," Joline said coldly. "Never fear, we will wring everything from her, Elaida." A fist of Air slammed Siuan to the floor and pinned her down.

"You had better," Elaida said, and ripped the stole from Siuan's neck. She wrapped it around her own. "By order of the Amyrlin Seat."

*****

The streets should have been ablaze with panic or rioting, and would have been anywhere else in the world. On the Tower grounds and even in some parts of the city, the Aes Sedai were at war with one another. Fireballs flashed from building to building and lightning cascaded down from the skies. Swords clashed against swords and rebounded from armor. In the harbors the river boiled. Overgrowth spilled from the gardens, spraying toxic clouds of pollen.

But over it all a web was woven, a concealment of that which should have been obvious. Even in this extremity, the Aes Sedai spared an effort to hide what was going on.

"War games are necessary," Narenwin Sedai told the city council. "News out of the Borderlands suggests the Shadowspawn are building up for another round of attacks. While these things have usually subsided before, we cannot rule out the possibility of another Trolloc War."

The explanation was only a small part of the cover-up; the weaves doming the Tower grounds and smaller areas of conflict fogged minds and made the falsehood seem probable. But for a battle of this magnitude, some explanation did need to be supplied. Mollified, the council sent runners through the city with posters to put up and handbills to distribute. If there was no security in Tar Valon, how could there be security anywhere?

Of course, even in war games, casualtes did happen.

*****

Myrelle had always loved being on the front lines. In Ebou Dar, that had been a problem, because the only battles in Altara were duels and stupid conflicts between nobles squabbling for power. After joining the Green Ajah, she had relocated to the Borderlands, where she and her sworn brotherhood had spent more days than not slaughtering Trollocs and other Shadowspawn. Then, in the last year, Siuan Sanche had suddenly called her back to the Blessed Isle, where she had suffered far too much peace and quiet. She had prayed to every war god she knew of for an end to peace and quiet.

Fighting in the streets of Tar Valon was not what she had in mind.

"Croi, Avar! Prepare to cease bombardment! Nuhel, get ready to cover me!" The Reds had apparently developed some discipline lately; they were formed up at the intersection with pikes and shields. Reds individually were always formidable, because they had to be when fighting Anathema, but she remembered them as being too self-centered for war. Or perhaps that had always been her own conceit. "N--!"

"Stop!" said Anaiya, pushing her way forward. The Blues, likewise, were more individualistic than was really functional, but Anaiya was an Earth aspect with a head for tactics. "You'll never break through that line with those defensive weaves up."

"I hope you have an alternative," said Myrelle. "It's your Amyrlin under the question in there." In theory, of course, Siuan was everyone's Amyrlin, but today was the proof of how far they had fallen from that ideal.

"Let me engage them," Anaiya said. That was an audacious notion, but Anaiya was a master of multiple Immaculate arts; she no doubt had some tricks up her sleeve. "You go around."

"Around?" The entire intersection was blocked. Anaiya glanced up. Surely she couldn't mean-- That was a secret known only to the Green, wasn't it? But with the weave preventing outsiders from recognizing the battle taking place, perhaps this was one of those desperate times for breaking secrecy. Myrelle shrugged, then nodded once. "All right, then: charge!"

Everyone lurched forward, taking off at top speed as Myrelle wove Fire and Air around everyone save Anaiya. The Blue stopped short, slamming her fists into the ground so that a crevice split the street and shot towards the pike formation, which scattered in disarray.

The crevice was an obstacle all the same. As she reached the start of it, Myrelle leapt into the air, trailing a streamer of flames...and kept rising along with her battle group. The secret was out: the Green Ajah had rediscovered flight.

*****

Outside the Hall of the Tower itself, a Vermillion Legion contingent had gathered, trying to breach the doors. On the other side, Siuan Sanche was chained for interrogation and possible execution. Gawyn and Faolain's forces were not supposed to be equal to the Aes Sedai they faced: battle-hardened Reds trained to bring down Anathema. He was as prepared as he could be to test that assumption.

Great spinning blades of Air hurtled toward the doors and embedded themselves with a thunderous noise, only to dissipate and make room for more. Vines sprang out of decorative pots and tore at the entrance, only to be burned away. Leane spun, striking with the staff that was her emblem of office, and knives flew from Min's hands.

Faolain hung back, weaving something unseen from all five Powers at once. As Javindhra and Alviarin lifted their hands to attack, she flung it at them. For a pace around them, color inverted, making red into green and white into black. Then the transformation shattered like brittle glass, dropping both of them to the floor gasping and ashen, though still alive.

Then the doors swung open from the inside. Elaida stood before them, her face a mask of calm contempt. "Surrender, if you wish to live. This rebellion is done. See!" She stepped aside to reveal a body lying prone on the floor. Leane gasped. Siuan's head had been cleanly severed from her body so that the floor of the Hall was drenched in blood, though the Sitters were already scouring it clean with the One Power. "I am the Watcher of the Seals. I am the Flame of Tar Valon. I am the Amyrlin Seat."

*****

The deep cells were dark, cold, and damp by design, meant to give traitors no hint of comfort. Leane had no idea what had become of Min; Gawyn and his Legion had been led away in chains and disgrace. Alviarin Freidhen was Keeper of the Chronicles; it was plain Leane's trial--or perhaps execution--would be next.

A heavy key turned in the hole, and the door swung open to reveal Min, Laras of all people...and Mistress Jovarin? What was she doing here?

Before Leane could accuse the paper-pusher of treason, Mistress Jovarin snapped, "Don't sit there with your mouth open like a gulper shark! We're getting off this sandbar if I have to do all the rowing myself!"

Leane stood up at once, but she couldn't prevent herself from gaping. "Siuan? How?"

"Not exactly in the flesh," Siuan responded, "but it'll do. I'll explain later, but move!"

Chapter Text

Faolain could not see the bonds that held her, but she struggled against them anyway. There was always a chance. "How could you do this? The Three Oaths--!"

Elaida leaned over her. "The Third Oath compels my loyalty to the White Tower. Siuan Sanche betrayed the White Tower. I had to follow that above her commands. Are you so blind as not to see what she did?"

Faolain squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "I'm only an Accepted and--"

"You had to obey. I understand. I suppose I cannot blame you for your loyalty. But now I am the Amyrlin Seat, child, and your loyalty should fall to me." Faolain could feel the threads of Wood and Fire burrowing into her brain. "The Vermillion Legion is being dissolved. I am your Mother and you will address me as such."

"Yes, Mother," Faolain heard herself say. Shame burrowed into her for having opposed the Amyrlin Seat.

"You will obey me now. All the Tower will obey me now. I will ask much of you because of your potential, Faolain, but I promise you will find it easy. Do I have your loyalty?"

"Yes, Mother." What else could she say? Elaida stood before her in majesty, and Faolain was nothing. Nothing at all.

*****

With Leane swathed in a cloak, Min lead the group up through the servants' stairwells. Laras filled them rather completely, muttering to herself, "Haven't done anything like this in years! Light, but I came near to being hanged back then." What in the world could Laras have been hanged for? And how could anyone have done it without breaking the rope?

"How is this possible, Mother?" Leane asked. "I saw you dead!"

"Just Siuan now," the stranger told her. "And not even that till we're out of here! I promise I'll explain it all as soon as we're safe."

"It wasn't right, what was done to you," Laras said, unlocking a door that led into the kitchens. "I can't undo it, but I'll see you out safe. Be careful getting out of the city. I expect there's still fighting, and if you end up back here, I'll put you with the scullions for the trouble!"

She clasped Min's arm for a moment by the storerooms, and Min felt a curious kinship with the stout woman. Laras couldn't channel a hair, and certainly could never have been Exalted. They were the soldiers of the gods, after all; what kind of soldier was as out of shape as that? But she was helping all the same, and she had Min's gratitude.

Min led them through the storerooms and out onto a loading dock where servants hauled in foodstuffs for the kitchens. Guardsmen watched the gates nearby, but not closely enough to catch three women riding in the back of an outbound wagon.

When they were off the Tower grounds, Leane turned to Siuan again. "What did you do, Siuan, and how are you alive? Let alone looking like an Illianer?"

"I bestowed the Saffron Mantle on Mistress Jovarin," she said, and Leane gasped. Clearly she knew what that meant, but Min had no idea, and said as much. "It improves the bearer's acumen," Siuan said, "and impresses your intent on her so that she doesn't use it to cheat you. It impresses rather a lot of your intent. Enough that, if you die while the weave is in place, you can force your soul into her body."

"And what happens to her?" Min asked.

Siuan looked her straight in the eye. "She's dead, maybe worse than dead. And so am I, so don't get any ideas in your head about how I'm a monster! It was the only way. I must find where the Blues go--they won't stay here, you can be sure!--so I can tell them all I know about the Dragon and my plans for the Last Battle."

"You're not the Amyrlin any longer," Leane said warningly. "They won't--"

"I'm not anything any longer," Siuan shot back, "not even Exalted. And in two months, two and a half at the outside, the weave will snap and I'll be dead, and Mistress Jovarlin will be a babbling husk. So we must find them and make them listen to us, Leane. Or none of what we've done means anything at all."

A pair of hands shot out from beneath a tarpaulin and grabbed her by the arms before anyone could react. "So, the same as you did to me!" Min yanked the cloth away to reveal Logain. "Yes, if you can escape without the One Power, I can too!" He still wore the gold-and-black manacles that kept him from channeling, even instinctively.

Leane punched him in the face. "The White Tower did to you what it always has to False Dragons--nothing more, and only what had to be done." He let go of Siuan and lunged at her, so she punched him in the stomach, doubling him over.

"Why not just kill me?" he wheezed.

"Because your Exaltation would simply have passed to another," Siuan said calmly. "So you want revenge on the White Tower? I do too, now. I'll never see the love of my life again, and I have to spend the last dregs of that life running around chasing sisters who've bolted like startled geese. I'm not sure I'll even leave a ghost, Logain. I want to make Elaida pay, and unlike you I'm certain I won't live to see it."

Min blinked as she spoke, because an image of Moiraine appeared over Siuan's shoulder, sensually kissing the side of her neck. She was going to see Moiraine again, somehow. But Moiraine was surely in Tear, or wherever she'd gone chasing after Rand. Perhaps the Blues were going off to swear to him?

"Take these off me," Logain snarled, "and maybe I can find a way to Heal you."

Siuan shook her head ruefully. "You can't," she said softly. "I'm already dead."

*****

Gawyn tried once more to channel, but they had shielded him thoroughly. He could feel the True Source, but not draw enough of the One Power to do anything meaningful with it. Better to keep still.

Danelle regarded him pitilessly, as though he were a strange bug she wanted to pull the wings and legs off of. To understand him, not to hurt, but she did not care that it would hurt him.

"Gawyn Trakand," she said. "Your brother, the paragon. Your sister, the prodigy. And you. What, I wonder, are you good for?" Her voice was the tinkling of silver chimes, musical in its way but without melody. She was channeling something--Air, he thought--to make it that way, but he could not tell why.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, not sure what he could say, but she did not let him speak. "I want you to understand that I do not care about your loyalty to Siuan. I am no more loyal to Elaida than to her. The choice between masters is a petty conflict of no importance. What matters is not duty, or loyalty out of that duty, but personal choice. Children understand this innately, but we end up training it out of them."

"You don't care that Elaida overthrew Siuan Sanche?" His throat and mouth were painfully dry. "Either way? But you're--"

"I care about the fact that there is a conflict. You will be better off free of these academic protocols. This petty infighting is a means to an end." She made a face at him; it was no doubt supposed to be a smile. "We live in a world where the greater continually order the lesser around. Does it not rankle that the Aes Sedai treat you as a child?"

The usual explanation came easily to his lips--novices were like children when faced with the One Power--but he immediately saw she did not want to hear it. He reshuffled his options quickly. "You're Aes Sedai, though. Why would you disagree with that?"

"You think that all Aes Sedai are of the same mind? Surely you should know better by now. Allow me to...instruct you." She leaned in to study his expression more closely. At least, he thought that was her intent. "It is true that some novices begin their training quite early, a few even before their teens. Yet many remain here until well into their twenties. Your brother has great potential and yet was only recently raised to the Accepted. Do you really think of young men and women in their twenties, even their thirties, as children?" She was quite close to him now, her big blue eyes fixed on his green ones.

"When you put it that way," he began uncomfortably. She sat herself down astride his leg, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, the other on his inner thigh. He was suddenly, uneasily hard. "No," he said, "but Danelle Sedai, that won't change Tower law. You could be imprisoned for this, or even executed."

Her hand slid across his crotch. "Only if you tell. Why would you tell, if you don't believe a grown man like yourself is a child?" She began to rock back and forth atop him.

"I--" She closed his mouth, not with a kiss, but by pinching it shut! This was starting to feel like a very strange nightmare.

She began to unfasten his pants. "You don't have to worry about it. I know you won't tell. You won't even remember."

As she spoke, though, there was a clattering in the outer room, and she was off him in an instant. "Danelle?" That was Alviarin. Alviarin would certainly tell Danelle to stop. To stop...what? Interrogating him? Alviarin was on Elaida's side; why would she stop anything? The door opened. "I believe it's my turn to interrogate the prisoner."

Danelle sighed and gestured at him with both hands. "He's all yours." Why did she look so exasperated?

*****

Mesaana fidgeted, plucking at her skirts and twitching. She hoped that she appeared uncomfortable with the large number of Aes Sedai packed into Elaida's study, as Danelle would have been. Three thousand years and multiple cataclysms, it seemed, had not much changed the nature of politics.

Every Ajah was represented save the Blue; try as she might, Elaida had been unable to persuade any Blues to support her coup against Siuan. She began another rant about Rand al'Thor, but Mesaana struggled to pay attention. She was crammed in between Fen Mizar, a solid block of Saldaean muscle, and Meidani Eschede, who had more bosom than the next three women in line combined. Mesaana could have tied any or all of these people in knots--perhaps not all at once, but in sizable groups--and they had no idea who she was. She had nothing to fear from them.

No, the only thing she had to worry about would be exploding from sheer arousal. Did none of these damned Terrestrials want to sneak out for a quickie? She gave serious consideration to walking up to Elaida and kissing her within an inch of her life. Perhaps this idiotic political rally would turn into an orgy.

The trouble was that her only peers were the other Chosen, who were prone to bizarre extremes like Lanfear's obsession with Lews Therin or Rahvin's Compelled harem. She had picked out Danelle for her isolation, but that also meant she had no established relationships to steal. Had Mesaana not been cheated out of a position at the Collam Daan by her detractors, she might well have spent the rest of a long life with a devoted spouse--husband, wife, she wasn't picky--and been reborn into a second "Age of Legends", as these peasants called her time.

Well, they could pay for that injustice too.

Alviarin spoke up abruptly. "I don't believe it would be wise to commit too many forces to searching out gatherings of Sanche sympathizers just yet. We would merely end up chasing them from one gathering place to another." Some of the Whites were as frustratingly unworldly as many Browns were distracted, but there were those who applied their logic to the real world. Of course, Alviarin was no longer a true White. Tower scuttlebutt said Alviarin was startlingly uninterested in sexual matters, but perhaps she could assist Mesaana in finding someone who was? What better way to curry favor with a Forsaken than with carnal favors? It was, after all, the traditional method of cheating on one's exams.

Elaida looked as if she were going to erupt with outrage, but she was still capable of reading the room. At least half of the crowd was nodding and another third looked thoughtful; only a few Reds were hot for more blood. With a grimace, Elaida made a weak suggestion about keeping tabs on nearby communities, which mostly meant the bridge towns. Those little suburbs were probably being surveilled already, if the Tower had anyone even slightly competent. Though that was an open question.

Meidani frowned uneasily at Elaida, looking as if she wondered whether she still knew the woman. Clearly there was some sort of connection there. Mesaana opened herself to the True Power and let information flow through her. Now that was interesting indeed; she and Elaida had been an item and were still willing to share a bed. Mesaana clenched her fingers on her skirts; it was a perfect opportunity to sow chaos, but just thinking of the two together heated her up still further.

Really, there were infinite possibilities here. She drew on the True Power of Elloge and held up some papers that ceased to be blank as her thoughts spilled onto them. "In regard to those matters," she said diffidently, "I have a report to present."

*****

Not until the wagon had trundled over the southwestern bridge did the others drift off to an uneasy sleep. Only when they had did Min tug on the Pattern to summon the tiny crystal spider that brought her information. The creature chittered at her and vanished into the web of fate, hopefully to retrieve the spot where the Blue Ajah would rendezvous.

It stayed gone longer than she expected and she was starting to grow concerned when she suddenly noticed a presence beside her, a young but white-haired woman in a violet gown. "Saturn?" she asked. "It's about time I saw something of you. I think Mat's sleeping with his Maiden."

"That would be like him," Saturn muttered, but her irritation was not for him. "Min, you need to be more attuned to our purview. Siuan Sanche has weeks to live, and at the behest of the Chosen of Secrets, it's already been woven into the Pattern that she should see her lover again. There is still time to make that meeting, but you need to turn around."

"That's not what she wants," Min said curtly. "She has a task--"

"Since when has what anyone wanted mattered to destiny?" Saturn retorted coldly. "And in any case, are you sure? Don't you think she wants a last meeting with Moiraine?"

"I'm sure she does," Min said patiently, "but she wants to save the world more."

Saturn scowled, and it was as if the Great Serpent itself scowled at her. "You have not had to correct enough errors in the Pattern, Min Farshaw. This is the sort of thing that leads to women being both dead and alive, and I can assure you, you won't be resolving those in favor of the living. Enough such errors, and the entirety of the Age Lace could unravel. Siuan isn't saving the world by doing this; she may be helping to destroy it."

"I know what, and who, I'm dealing with, Saturn." Min folded her arms stubbornly. "I know that, between the Exalted and the gods, we're supposed to be the ones in charge. Not you. Now, show me where the Blues are gathering and I'll figure out how to make both appointments."

Saturn vanished without another word.

"Fine," Min said. "I'll do it without your help."

*****

"Surely you don't want me as your Mistress of Novices," Danelle protested weakly. "I've been out of the Tower too long. I barely recall the--"

"The better to make a clean sweep," Elaida said. She was the Amyrlin Seat now. Her voice was law. Why did none of these fools care to hear it? "Check the applicable laws. Change any customs you like. If you want to change the law, consult with me, and I'll likely say yes."

"If you insist," Danelle said diffidently. "In that case, I have one recommendation to make right away. Why is Gawyn Trakand still a novice?"

"The whim of a fool," Elaida growled. "If he can't get through the testing by now, what use is he to us? See that it is done."

Danelle smiled. "As you wish."