Endless Reflections of the Wheel of Time
Fiction of Fiction
As told by Nowun
"What could have been is the hidden fear in all men's hearts, and the deepest desires of their souls."
The Man Who Dared
Egwene had succeeded in escaping Sheriam, and her overwhelmingly endless petitions. In her hurry to get away from Sheriam, she had forgotten to drape a cloak around herself to fight off the winter coldness. Egwene felt goose bumps rising off her bare arms, as she briskly worked to put distance between herself and her tent. She could see her breath as she stalked through walkways made by the continuous rows of tents housed by Aes Sedai and their attendants. The sky was dismal, concealing, and gray. It had not broken since the rightful White Tower had arrived at Dragonmount. She stalked past Aes Sedai and Accepted alike. The Aes Sedai peered at her through the corner of their eyes, and the Accepted hurried to do chores or the bidding of their Aes Sedai mentors. It made Egwene walk even faster. It was not good to see the Amyrlin leisurely passing the time as others worked to prepare for the siege on Tar Valon. Her soft slippers sent a flurry of snow into the air to mark her path. In reaching the edge of Aes Sedai camp, she finally relented in running from Sheriam.
I wasn't exactly running, not really, she thought. I was merely getting far enough away to catch some fresh air, she assured herself. The last few days had been tiring on Egwene. Now that the siege was surely underway an impossible avalanche of paperwork had seem to make its way to Egwene. From what to do about the bridge cities, to how to mount defenses for their temporary settlement, and the imminent problem of the army's pay, these were the problems faced by Egwene. She sighed, and gazed at the tree line. From her view on the slopes of Dragonmount she could vaguely see the shape of the White Tower. All that stood between the Aes Sedai camp and Tar Valon was a large forest that looked like patch of stunted brown hair. The White Tower, a symbol of Aes Sedai mystery, power, and unwavering stability, and she was planning to lay siege to it. It was public knowledge that every siege laid upon Tar Valon had proven futile and failed under dramatic proportions. The secret recorded history locked away in the White Tower told otherwise; it could be done. Her eyes skimmed the tree line, trying not to stare at the ominous white column that was the White Tower. It seemed to stand defiantly in her face, as if daring to do her worst. As if proudly laying its head for the ax man.
"It's my head or Elaida's", Egwene said quietly. The sound of her voice rang in her ears; her statement sounded almost an excuse. Her eyes pleaded for anything else to look at except for that gleaming monument to Aes Sedai. This far out from the camp, the tents were those of servants. The tents themselves were small, waist high to an average sized man. The tents were unsurprisingly abandoned because of the time of day. The servants were elsewhere, bustling around the Aes Sedai. Finding her efforts fruitless, she turned around to see two men talking quietly amidst empty tents. One of the men could be described by having a bluff, almost uncaring face. As if the man endured much, and will do so in the future. It was none other than Gareth Bryne, general of her army. What surprised her was that the man usually made no efforts to visit the Aes Sedai camp, and often avoided it unless it was dire to enter. When he usually came it was either for meetings with Egwene or to fetch Siuan. The man who he was talking to had quick deceivingly cheerful deep green eyes, eyes with the potential for coldness. The man wore his raven black hair cut short all around, but wore it in protruding spikes moving straight up on his crown. He seemed a handsome man, however odd his hair was. Egwene could not place a nationality to him. He wore the drab clothes of a hard traveler, with a long sword at his hip, and a weirdly thin curved sword strapped to his back. His way of standing was not the bottled ferocity and violence of Warders but a whips coil. Easily relaxed, but also quick to lash out. Something about the strange man tugged at her. She decided to listen in through a construction of saidar. The joy of saidar filled her, and her senses became minutely sharper, considering the small amount of saidar needed. It was made of Air and should go undetected this far away from the concentration of Aes Sedai tents.
".sure she is doing the right thing by laying siege to Tar Valon?" came a wispy cautious voice that could only be the strange man. It seemed he was giving a thoughtful suggestion rather than a question. "I'm not truly sure why you're asking me when the only one who can answer is the Amyrlin herself. But I think she's taken a sword she can't pickup, when she can't hold a knife right. She believes the Tower must be whole before Tarmon Gaidon.", said Bryne quietly. Bryne sounded defensive. "I don't know Bryne." said the green eyed man. There was a pause. "It seems she's picked a fight with Elaida Do Avinry A Roihan, Amyrlin Seat, Watcher of the Seals, Flame of Bloody Tar Valon and the whole world is watching out of the corner of their eyes praying they kill each other. To blood and bloody ashes to how important they'll be in the Last Battle. And Rand above it all dancing to his own music, trying to do what he wants as fast as he can because they aren't watching him." A chuckle emerged, but from which man Egwene did not know. "Elaida with the strength and advantage of holding Tar Valon but the lack of support from the Hall. The Sitters are waiting to see her fall so they can have a turn at the reins. The rebel child Amyrlin, who would have guessed it, trying to bring the Tower together again as the rebel Sitters try to fit her leash." Another chuckle, and this time she could make out the strange man clearly. Through all this, Egwene's hands between to clench into fists that grew whiter and whiter by the second. She had half a mind to turn towards the men and march over to them, to smack the man purple and heel Bryne for not coming to her support. "We have quite a mess here don't we Bryne?" the boy, she considered him now a boy, with green eyes and black hair said. "Women with never fading threatening stares and unquenchable tempers sending us to clean out the privy." The boy tutted. He actually tutted! After some silence Bryne said quietly,
"Are you going to meet her? She's more formidable than you think even if young and headstrong." The last seemed a warning of imminent danger to the green eyed.boy. The boy seemed to think about it, and then said, "Young and headstrong, one and the same as you well know. She wouldn't have gotten under her thumb the rebel Aes Sedai if she was one whisker less headstrong than you say. The worst type to deal with, young and headstrong, but the most attractive. Not that I would.you don't have to go for your sword, Gareth." After a considerable silence he then said more seriously, "But no, I think that would be the worst thing. Her confidence is fragile at best, and her fear for what is to come cannot overcome her now. I will not enhance it by explaining the consequences of failure. The Tower must be whole. Let her learn to walk the path of daggers as they say in the land of Seanchan, where the women are wondrous." He said that last bit with a little humor in his voice. "Anyway, I must go see the taveren Aybara. Splendid chap, I bet. I just stopped to say support your Amyrlin and help her display masterful competence in the face of upcoming events, and watch for the Borderland lords coming south." He said this as if it was very important that this was done. He didn't sound as if ordering. He sounded as if saying to watch out for that crumbling cliff. He seemed to jump to another subject by saying, "Why don't you tell Siuan how you feel? You might be surprised at her reaction. You never can tell with women. Oh! And your Amyrlin is eavesdropping on us, and I bet she is dying to talk to you. Farewell, Gareth. As they say in Shienar, may peace favor your sword." The strange man said that last with a tinge of sadness. He clasped Bryne's shoulder for a moment before walking off with a bit of a spring in his step out into the forest.
Egwene thought of catching up to the man, but she could not think of what she could have said to him. After eavesdropping on your private conversation with my general, Gareth Bryne, I'm seriously considering taking you into custody.that would not do at all, she thought sullenly. Instead, she turned to pour her wrath onto Gareth Bryne.
"Meeting with scouts fresh in from Tar Valon, Lord Bryne? What news of Tar Valon and the supposed Borderland lords coming south." she said with a placid, icy, tone. She seemed to make the message clear that she would excuse him of any disrespect towards Aes Sedai and the Amyrlin Seat if he told her what she wanted to know.
"Very little, mother. They seemed to be drawing themselves for our inevitable attack. They are too penned up in the city to take up the bridge cities, so it would be considerably easier to contain the Aes Sedai in the city. I believe they mean to be well prepared for the coming siege, in fact -", just when Bryne was picking up speed to try to spirit the Amyrlin into the notions and key points of the coming siege, Egwene interrupted him abruptly.
"I want to know everything you know on the man you have just spoken to. I also demand you apprehend him and detain him from leaving the Aes Sedai camp, so as to wait for Aes Sedai interrogation.", she said coldly and firmly, and with all the will of a racing avalanche. She had learned some things from the Wise Ones.
"Mother, I really think that detaining him is not such a- ." he said quickly, but again Egwene interrupted him.
"I want to know how he is manipulating my own army's general in the midst of the Aes Sedai camp, without a single Aes Sedai knowing." she said. Well.maybe with a few knowing. Those few to near sighted to share such information with the Amyrlin Seat. Those few could actually be many, she thought ironically. "I also want to know why he is spreading rumors to seed ill ease and under confidence in not only my abilities, but also the abilities of the rightful Tower and the false Tower. You will answer now, here at the edge of a camp filled with Aes Sedai, or in a tent filled with tens of Aes Sedai. Choose Bryne, and choose quickly." Well she's on a roll isn't she, she thought. For a few seconds Bryne merely stared at her, then quickly looked towards the center of camp, and said.
"He is a.wanderer with many connections and networks all across the kingdoms on this side of the Spine of the World. He has the best interests of all nations at heart, whether the best interests of the country stated is what it wants or not. He advises many key players in the game of the pattern, such as I, in times of war and evil. He only appears in times of trouble and when evil freely runs amok. He comes in times where a single Trolloc can walk the Borderlands unharmed and unchallenged. Desperate times, evil times. All information I gain from him is used for the good of the rebel Aes Sedai, of course." he added earnestly.
For some time Egwene maintained silence, and then with a sudden outburst she commanded, "Whatever 'connections and networks' this man may have is insignificant compared to those of Aes Sedai. Whatever information you may need to govern your army will come from us, with no need of additional help from.wanderers. Do I make myself clear, lord Gareth Bryne?" she said in a dismissal like tone. Bryne looked faintly skeptic and almost seemed to object when, he suddenly bowed with a curt respective "As you command, Mother." He quickly walked out into the forest towards the army camp.
Egwene fumed as she saw him walk off into the forest. Her eyes lifted upward to the White Tower concealed in a dense passing fog. She turned around abruptly, feeling the eyes of the tower at her back, and headed towards her tent. She thought sickly, where Sheriam waited and those bloody petitions.
The Man Who Talked
It had been days since the rescue of Marigan and her party. Perrin was not quite used to the quiet shuffling of servant's feet as they moved about the tent to do their menial chores. They walked around taking up dirty clothes, and waiting to pick up the finished cup as he set it down.
The sun was almost setting and Perrin was still mulling over the information about the whereabouts of the Prophet. The cold air was mostly kept at bay by the thick tent walls, thought it was almost sultry hot inside. Sweat rolled down his forehead blurring his vision, as he looked at the roaring fire in the center of the tent. His yellow eyes reflected the light of the fire, making strange shadows dance across the walls. His beard itched but there was nothing he could do about it. Perrin slouched in a chair resembling the hollow shape of a tombstone, and it was filled with plush cushions. His every move chanced the possibility of falling.
There was a quiet tap at the flap entrance, and a male servant walked in with black downcast eyes. "A strange gentleman asked me where he might find you, Lord Perrin. I believe he said he wants to talk of things of utmost importance. Should I let him in, sir?" the servant asked quickly and somberly. Perrin long ago resigned his efforts to stop them from naming him a lord. He tried to steel himself every time they titled him, but it still sometimes caught him off guard.
"Send him in.", Perrin said. The servant darted out to motion for the man to come. Perrin saw the silhouette of a strange man bowing to peer at the servant patiently. He was tall for a man this side of the Dragonwall, and held a long sword at his hip, and he could make out the hilt of another on his back. As the man ducked in, his first impression of the man was one of supreme patience. He also sensed a man who thought he knew everything, and showed such on his face. In the way he looked at things, it was almost as if he knew a secret everyone would soon find out. The way he looked at people was as if he knew the man's past, present, and future, and chose not to tell them their future for the sake of their well being. A man with many secrets. The man had deep green eyes, with a hint of that sense of all knowing in them. His hair was worn strangely in spikes that shot straight up from his crown. He held his hands behind his back, with a small smile on his face as he walked into the tent. He sat down at the opposite side of the fire. He sat in a slouched manner, one arm resting on the arm of the chair with his head resting on the adjoining hand. For one full minute they sat in silence. Then finally the man spoke, in a rather wispy tone.
"That was really something, what you did back in Manetheren." He commented, with a faint tone of mocking admiration. "It was nothing. I was just helping the people I grew up with. Any good man would have done the same. What do you want?" he said kindly, a tone suitable for a welcomed stranger. "I just came to see how your campaign to uproot the Prophet out of Ghealdan was doing. That is why the Dragon sent you here, right?" the stranger said casually. "We are here to resurrect the country of Manetheren, and secure its borders for the restoration of its state. What makes you think we are here for the Prophet?" Perrin said carefully. Perrin thought he handled this well, considering he wasn't a very good liar. The man changed position from relaxed and curious, to a business like manner. He was leaning out from the chair instead of slouching into it. He sat at the edge of his seat, his elbows on knees and his hands clasped. He said quietly, and quickly, "If I had the time to be playing this game where we run around in circles spewing bloody lies at each other before we actually get to business, I would. I find it rather enjoyable, but I have no time. Before I came to your tent, my bad luck brought me to encounter three Aiel Wise Ones and their Aes Sedai apprentices.", As he said this his scent told Perrin the man was irritated on the surface, but genuinely amused. He chuckled rather bitterly. "I believe they were a tad curious, considering my behavior towards them, of why I was here to talk to you.", he said this so quietly, even Perrin's ears strained to hear the musical voice.
His behavior towards them?, Perrin thought curiously. "I think it best if we talk outside the camp, to leave no opportunity of eavesdropping." "What makes you so sure they can't eavesdrop while we're at the edge of the camp, when you know they can use the One Power?", Perrin said skeptically. "Besides, for all I know you might be here to kill me. I don't even know your name." As Perrin said this, the man had come to his feet and was starting for the tent flap. "I will explain everything, once we are at the edge of your curious camp. We both know I could have killed you the moment I stepped into the room. Just hear me out, Aybara." The man sounded slightly irritated, and almost impatient. "I have already asked one of your Ashaman to accompany us to the edge of camp, for your safety. I knew this would happen, but I didn't think you were this squeamish about safety." The man stepped aside to open the tent flap for Perrin. Slowly, Perrin got to his feet. Outside, there was a soft red glow on the horizon, passing of the sun over the hills. Neald silently joined them as they stepped out into the cold night air. The man did not talk much or even looked at people as often as he should. Aram also sidled up to walk by Perrin. The cast out Tuathan was not so different from Neald. He had the same stony expression on his face as Lan. He had taken for the past couple of months to following Perrin, almost as a shadow. He only relented in coming into the tent because Perrin insisted on it. They were halfway out of the camp when the stranger nudged him on the shoulder and motioned to two Wise Ones no less than 15 paces away. The Wise Ones were openly staring at them as they passed. "Neald, when we get to the edge of camp you mind making a sound barrier around us?", the man said quietly, giving a sidelong glance at the brooding young man. Neald simply looked the stranger's way and nodded. They had reached the edge and the man abruptly turned to face Perrin. Perrin forced himself not to flinch or back up. In his mind, he had already showed enough weakness to satisfy a pig. The man did not speak until Neald said, "It is done, the barrier is formed, and the Aiel are beating against the barrier to listen in." There was a moment of silence, and then Neald said once more "I can hold them, but not all night." Neald sounded faintly surprised that the Wise Ones would resort to such measures. Perrin was also surprised. He knew if he asked the Wise Ones about this they would give him no answer but that stern stony face. They used this face each time they saw him. "Speak quickly, stranger. First tell me your name.", Perrin said in a confident manner.
"Certainly, Lord Perrin.", he mocked the servant that had brought him into Perrin's tent. "I am Cellorin Sobe Anasta'God, Last of Many, Eighth of Sword Bards. You are Lord Perrin of House Aybara, King of Wolves, Savior of Manetheren, and one of the few unlucky taveren of this age. I have come, as I have said before to check on your campaign to uproot the Prophet in Ghealdean. Is it true that Queen Alliandre Maithrin has sworn fealty to you and the Dragon Reborn?"
Before Perrin can bring the words back into his mouth he said, "Where did you hear that Alliandre has sworn fealty to me? And why do you insist I am here to uproot the Prophet?", His hand almost raised up to cover his mouth when he was done. The strange man who called himself Cellorin looked at him resignedly, and said.
"I can not help you taveren Aybara if you insist on such semantics. So it is true that she has sworn fealty. My best guess is she is still here in the camp. Her fear of the Prophet is dismaying. You must protect her if you are to gain Ghealdan for the Dragon Reborn. I don't know whether you are unlucky or just burdened with so many nobles and rulers in your camp. Nobles from Mayene, Saldaea, Ghealdean, and surprisingly Andor itself." The strange man meant to say more, but Perrin interrupted him.
"I am no bloody noble, whatever your name is.", Perrin said heatedly. Andor?
"Well in the minds of your people you are a noble, but I was not speaking of you when I said Andor.", the man said reassuringly. Then his eyes widened. "You don't know do you? This does change things. I cannot tell you because it is not my secret to reveal. Very well. Anyway, you must protect all the nobles. As if you didn't know that already." The man said all this rather quickly.
"The Wise Ones will not listen to you when you talk of dealing with the Prophet. You must give them a reason they understand for keeping the Prophet alive. A reason they can touch and feel. Something even the Aiel can relate to this side of the Dragonwall.", he said this earnestly.
"How do you know -", Perrin began but the man interrupted him.
"Listen to Balwer, he knows what he's about. He's got a good head on his shoulders, but also be wary. I do not know whether he is here because he is advantageous, or for more genuine reason. Faile is working to help you, however covertly and behind your back. She is using her little group Cha Faile to gain intelligence from the countryside. Don't be mad at her, but warn her that she might get those poor children hurt." The man was pacing as he talked. Stopping only to hit key points on what he was saying. "The Shaido are in the Mountains of Mists, and they are getting closer, but there is nothing you can do about that. I just thought you should know. You can't do anything about the Seanchan right now. Just stay clear of them. Rand is dealing with them in his own way.
"I said I would hear you out.Cellorin. Not listen to you babble on and on about what I should do. I take orders from no man.", Perrin said dangerously. "I have enough people trying to tell me what to do, and I don't need you to start. I am leaving."
"Listen to me you bearded bloody goat of a man, Aybara. What I am telling you and the way in which you use such information will affect all the lives around you tenfold, just because you are taveren. If you do not listen it will spell disaster. Once a man called Laman Damodred did not listen to me, and I need not explain further the repercussions that still rock the world today.", the man said with a bit of frustration in his voice. Cellorin had outstretched an arm to stop Perrin, when Perrin had turned his back on him. Perrin turned his head to peer over his shoulder at the man standing before him. Cellorin's eyes held a look of mixed frustration and concern, and his outstretched hand was faintly shaking. Perrin did not have to sniff the scent of his feelings to see that the man was desperate. Cellorin finally put his arm to his side, and seemed to gain some kind of hold on his thoughts. The smell of the man was weary and resigned. Perrin looked back towards the center of camp. His gaze passed back towards the Wise Ones, who were still watching him. They were too far away to smell, but he would have given a pretty to know their feelings. There was complete silence around the four men. Aram had not uttered a word throughout this entire conversation. He stood off to the side eyeing both Cellorin and Perrin, waiting to see what would happen next. Aram's scent had gone from indifferent to curious, and finally faintly surprised. There were still some of each emotion in his scent, a mix. Neald's emotions were pure sharp concentration, but also curious. Perrin saw his wife, Faile, walking towards the Wise Ones. She walked with a purpose. She stopped to speak a word to the Wise Ones and looked towards their little group. She walked briskly towards them, obviously to see what this was all about, and possibly relay what she learned from Perrin. Her scent told him she was prepared to walk through a brick wall.
"Please keep what was said here private Aybara. And you Neald, and Aram. Remember the possibility of repercussions with every breath you take, that breath can cause raging storms on the other side of the world. Or not so far away.", that last he added as a polite warning. "Say hello to Elyas Machera for me Aybara, if you ever see him again. I must leave you now, I don't think I can survive an interrogation with your wife, and I don't care to try it." It brought a faint smile to Perrin's lips. His back was still turned. Perrin felt he had been silent to long.
"I will use your information Cellorin. This won't be the last time we meet, I expect.", Perrin said somberly.
"Sadly this won't be the last time. I come precisely when I mean to. Not a moment sooner or later, and only when most needed. Such as now. You are stirring off the path. I just came to nudge you back. I am not a Dark friend.", the man said earnestly. That last sentence was almost a vehement denial, but Perrin believed him. His smell had become a mix of feelings of remorse and stone cold seriousness.
"As they say in Saldaea and all the borderlands, the watch is not done.", the man said somberly. Abruptly he turned to walk out towards the forest. Perrin turned to get a last look at the man, but he had slipped into the shadows of the forest. He did not hear Neald's voice saying that he had lifted the barrier, or Faile saying hello until a full minute had passed. He still looked out to the forest. It took Faile tugging at his arm to bring him out of the apparent stupor.
"Who was that, husband?", she asked innocently, as they were walking back towards the tent. Aram and Neald went their separate ways off to unknown destinations. Aram left only because he respected the privacy of their marriage, and Neald left because he was Neald. Perrin was not fooled by her tone of voice, but the sound of the word husband was almost a caress.
"A strange man, Faile. Nothing more, nothing less.", he said distantly. Faile was obviously not satisfied with such a short answer. Her scent had gone from pleasant to impatient and back.
"Tell me husband," she said sweetly, as she playfully brought a dagger out of her sleeve to press against his side gently. Perrin winced and tried to avoid the dagger until he was trapped against the side of a wagon.
"Can we leave the playing until we're relaxing in our bed.", Perrin said. He hoped to stir her from where their conversation was turning to.
"I.can't. It's best if you didn't know. Just as it's best I don't know about the doings of your Cha Faile group. Light, wife, you could get those children hurt with the orders you are making them fulfill. Let us leave it at that. A man's life is at stake in keeping the man's association with me a secret. The Wise Ones will get no information from me. It's in all our best interests, Faile. Please understand this.", he pleaded as she gently applied pressure on the dagger until it almost pierced his skin. She cocked her head to one side, thoughtfully brooding. Then she released the pressure on the dagger and slid it up her sleeve. She stood away from him, her arms crossed and her stance named her stubborn. Her smell told him that she was hurt that he would suspect of her being a spy for the Wise Ones, but other than that amused. Perrin succeeded in putting an arm around her as they walked back to the tent. The smell of her changed into a growing curiosity and anger at being left out. It tickled his nose, but he could endure it.
The Man Who Fought Reflections of the Robert Jordan book Winter's Heart Chapter12 A Lily in Winter
"Just things that men talk about," Lan replied. "You wouldn't understand," Rand said. She sniffed at that. Gossip and idle chatter that was what men's talk was, nine times in ten. At best. Wearily, she let go of saidar. Reluctantly. She did need to protect herself against Rand, certainly, but she would have liked to hold on a little longer, just to touch it, tired or not.
."You'd be surprised what my Asha'man would dare," he said dryly after a minute. "I suppose Mat is with Egwene's army?" Putting a hand to his head, he staggered.
"Use them?" she said suspiciously. Why did killing anyone have to come first? That was hardly the important question though. "For what? Are they ter'angreal?"
He nodded. "With this you can touch the greatest sa'angreal ever made for a woman. It's buried on Tremalking, I understand, but that doesn't matter.".
Nynaeve bit her lower lip. She supposed Rand made this a public occasion - shifting from public to private, deciding which was which, made her dizzy sometimes - but she did not care that Lan had spoken out of turn.
As the three of them entered the empty room where they could talk privately, Cellorin slouched in a seat at the end of the long table, with one foot resting on another seat. He peered at the three of them as they came in.
So this is Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn, Wielder of the Nine Rods of Dominion, the Light personified. A little taller than I thought he was, but nonetheless lanky, he thought. It's amazing how well you can go unnoticed by simply sitting still, he thought to himself as he watched them move to sit down at the far end of the table.
Choosing his words wisely he said just loud enough to be heard from across the room, "Using the Choedan Kal is dangerous, Dragon. What gives you the right to risk the world on a half thought out plan?"
Suddenly Rand stood up, clearly surprised, and his hand shot towards Cellorin streaming with half made weaves of fire. Lan was quicker. His chair kicked behind him as he jumped with sword outstretched towards Cellorin. Lan held his sword as if to stab him in his chair. Cellorin ducked out of his chair, unsheathing his Nagasaki as he rolled across the room.
"I just want to talk, Dragon.", but they didn't seem to hear him. Lan darted left, towards him, ready to strike. He hesitated for one second, and that was all Cellorin needed. He brought his Nagasaki up to guard just as the sword came crashing down. Using his legs he forced himself up to face Lan. The man's eyes were uncanny, the coldest depths of a freezing planet wouldn't come close to the ice in that man's eyes. Desperate Fox into the Bushes met Three Women on the Hilltop. Bending Tree to Three Fish in a River. On and on they fought down the long winding room. Birds in Flight met Three Pronged Spear which met Boar Charging down Hill. On and on they fought, slicing through chairs and parts of the long table. Cellorin could vaguely feel Rand's eyes on him, trying to find an opening to wield saidin on him. Through strokes and stabs, Cellorin breathlessly said,
"I am not here to hurt Nynaeve, Lan." The man did not seemed fazed at all by Cellorin's words. He didn't seem to hear either. "Did you hear me?", he screamed desperately. "Will you just listen?", but the man would not stop swiping that bloody sword. Cellorin did not want to destroy the confidence the other man had in his own skills with a sword, but their was no other choice left to him. Cellorin deftly picked up the pace of the fight. His strokes and stabs came faster two fold. He had Lan retreating . Lan was weaving his sword as if it was only an extension of his arm. He brought up the challenge, by again raising the speed twice fold. The two of them were only a blur now. Guard, block, slash, parry, slash, parry, slash, riposte -guar-bloc-slash-par-par-slash-stab-guar. Finally he had Lan against the wall, but the man would not let up, finally Rand jumped into the fray with his own heron marked sword. Cellorin saw his shadow as the man came for a sneak attack. Cellorin pulled out his long sword at his hip and twisted around to dodge Rand's swipe. He somersaulted backwards, landing halfway to the other side of the room.
"Please hear me out?", he said calmly, between breaths. "I'm not hear to kill anyone. Just.talk." With that said he plopped down in a chair, his swords touching the ground in a sign of surrender. Seeing their cold eyes, unwavering, he dropped them to the ground and rounded the table, and sat in a different chair. His arms crossed. Through all this, Nynaeve sat in her chair, mouth open wide in silent awe at the display of sword work she had just witnessed. She promptly closed her mouth, hard enough that her teeth clicked together.
"You almost scared me to death with that first strike, al'Lan Mandragoran, Diadem Warlord, Uncrowned King of Malkier, home of the fabled Seven Towers. You gave me a good workout, but next time give me fair warning, huh?" Cellorin took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket of his purple vest and dabbed his head. Instead of Lan who spoke, it was Rand.
"Who are you and why did you sneak up on us?" Rand said with that trademark cold expressionless tone. His face was fit for a dead person. Cellorin decided to give him no nonsense.
"Cellorin Sobe Anasta'God, Last of Many, Eighth of Sword Bards, at your service milord Dragon," he couldn't help but add that last bit mockingly. Rand was not amused. "And you are Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn of the Third Age, Car' a Carn of the ferocious Aiel, whose women are wondrously ferocious, and Coramoor of the revealing women of the Athan' Miere, wielder of Callandor, and a few other things. Glad to meet you, milord Dragon. Did that servant bring any punch in here? It's swelteringly hot." Rand channeled the pitcher of melon juice over towards Cellorin. Cellorin caught it and channeled a glass towards him. As he poured the melon juice, he said "As I was saying, using the Choedan Kal is dangerous. What gives you the right to risking the world on a half thought out plan?"
"What reasons there may or may not be, are none of your concern.Sword Bard." Rand replied with a bit of amusement in the choice of naming him. Rand moved from standing next to Lan to sitting across the table from Cellorin. Rand channeled a seat to himself, the chair came violently, one of its legs landing in his outstretched hand. His eyes did not come off of Cellorin. Those cold dead eyes, of a man who was deathly tired and had still more to do.
I guess he's trying to intimidate me, Cellorin thought. I'm going to play with his mind a little before getting to business. Lan, seeing Rand at ease, or at least sitting down, took a chair equally distanced between Nynaeve and Cellorin. The move was obvious, only reinforced by the fact that Lan still had his sword in his hand. Nynaeve still had not spoken. She was eyeing Rand as if she had never seen him before. Cellorin assessed the situation and said, "You know that everyone on this side of the world will know that you are wielding an unimaginably immense amount of power in your hands. The rumor or fact that you are insane will not help your chances of people not interfering in what you are about to do. Noble cause it is, but is it worth the world, and the one chance it has for sealing away the Dark One?" The comment of insanity made Nynaeve tense, as to see what Rand would do because of the utterance of his lack of sanity. Lan just seemed to wield his sword in a tighter grip. "We can sit here all day if you want Rand al'Thor. That stare will not intimidate me. I have looked into the eyes of the Dark One himself and have known his anger. I am no more intimidated than Cadsuane Melaidhrin. I would like to take that women down a peg or two hundred, and some other women I could name." Rand's eyes did not change one iota but his lips unmistakably twitched upwards.
"I have heard of a man who traveled the land, lending help and information where needed. Single handedly trying to keep a boat from sinking when it has a dozen holes. Darting from one hole to another stopping the water, just as another hole appeared. Is this man you?", again the expressionless tone of voice. "Yes, I am just like yourself, single handedly trying to keep a boat from sinking. Only difference is that I do this on a smaller scale, and you do it with crew members who fight amongst each other rather than helping you try to save them all. I have met your friend Aybara, and he is quite a nice fellow. Although always has this hunted look on his face, likely looking over his shoulder to see if his wife is there to beat him to a pulp." He said this in a friendly tone, with a chuckle at the end. "I know you'll never come to trust me al'Thor but just listen for a moment. I am here to be your advisor, even though I may slip in and out of the circle of fate spun by you taveren to do some field work, I mean to help you on the way to Shayol Ghul." A look of pity crossed Cellorin's face. It sounded as if he was leading the man to his coffin. "I know that there have been an endless line of Aes Sedai all fighting to be at your side to advise you, ever since the supposed death of Moiraine Sedai. A nice woman, however fanatically focused, as you well know, Lan. Think of me as men's answer to Cadsuane Melaidhrin and her numerous competitors to be your right hand lady." There was another slight twitch of Rand's lips. Nynaeve snorted and finally turned to Cellorin saying,
"Only Aes Sedai have the prestige and intelligence of advising the Dragon Reborn. He does not need intruding sniveling men such as yourself to tell him what the hair on his chest says to do.", Nynaeve retorted rather a matter of factly.
"Aes Sedai pride and womanish stubbornness will not win Tarmon Gaidon, Nynaeve al'Meara, Wisdom of the town of Emond's Field, false Aes Sedai. Aes Sedai pride will only try to push itself into where it does not belong, and make a mess of everything just as they think they can take over the situation. And just as they make a mess of things they'll blame it all on the men. Remember meeting the Prophet, Nynaeve? Merillin and Juilin came back all bloodied up because you decided to storm off into a village filled with cutthroats and pad foots. Remember? A fine example of prestige and intelligence is it not? Now be quiet." Nynaeve's face became redder and redder until she looked as if she would faint. Lan's eyes grew colder and colder, and he seemed to edge out of his seat, threateningly. Cellorin paid him no mind. If Rand could not intimidate him, what chance did Lan have? Cellorin turned back to Rand in a business like tone he said,
"Now, your three lover girls will come bursting through the door any moment now, and I believe you would like to see them with no interference from me. I will await your decision on the advising job. Tomorrow. I expect you'll be busy tonight, with other matters." Cellorin pursed his lips into a smile. "You don't have to be so hard on yourself Rand, those three do not love you for your coldness and demeanor of being hard as stone. Stay human. If you get any harder we'll all die for it. Be strong, not hard. Strong endures, hard shatters." With that he turned to round the table and grab his swords and returned them to its sheaths. "That was quite a match al'Lan Mandragoran. With practice you might be a great swordsman." Lan finally couldn't take it anymore and stood, his chair falling with a loud clack.
"I'm just kidding, Lan. I only meant that you put up a fabulous fight. I haven't had one like that in years. Usually I can take ten at a time, but when Rand went for me as well I don't think I could have held up. I would like to practice with you after the girls come in and spirit Rand away. How about it, Malkieri?" Cellorin said lightly and with a friendly tone. Lan only nodded.
"I know an empty room where we can practice.", he said quietly. Nynaeve stood eye Lan and put hands on her hips. She would see that he did no such thing. Obviously, because it wasn't her idea.
"What do you mean they are going to spirit me away?", Rand said. It was uncharacteristic of him to sound as if he was squealing. "Oh, light. What will I do?"
"Don't make a gateway. What will happen here will be important for years to come, and is also crucial to your victory over the Dark One. It will also help fulfill part of the Prophecies of the Dragon.I shouldn't have told you that. I really shouldn't, but it's too important for you not to know.Lan will I see you in the hallway after this little bit?" he asked the tall cold eyed man. The Malkieri only nodded.
Cellorin nodded as well. He went for the door just to find it slam into his face. He let out a moan as he staggered backwards into the table. Nynaeve gave a giddy laugh as he fell onto the table top, blood streaming everywhere.
"That's only what you deserve Sword Bard.", she said in jubilation. He gave her a withering look and stood to see three women crowding into the room. He tried to dodge past them through the door, but they simply looked at him unmoving, blocking the door with their presence.
"You're the one Egwene has been talking about. You are the one who told Bryne all those things about the Borderland forces coming south. You were right. I will talk to you very soon.Sword Bard is it?" the one called Elayne said.
"I will talk with no Aes Sedai unless I have to, and never under interrogation. If you will excuse me, I must get through." He said curtly and politely. Blood was still streaming down his nose. They simply looked at him with enough emotion for a stone. Cellorin looked at Rand pleadingly.
"Let him go," Rand said without a hint of coldness. They made just enough of a way to let him through sideways. He staggered out and down the hallway. Nynaeve was still laughing.
The Man Who Sang
Cellorin waited patiently outside the door to the room occupied by Rand and his friends. He had his head cocked to one side as he sat cross legged on top of a long hall table. The table held vases of flowers to both sides of him. He held his head in one hand, staring at the door not three paces away.
The man is in for it now, Cellorin thought. A mirthful smile crossed his face. Three women confess their love for him, and they herd him to where they can skin him alive in peace, he thought sardonically. Or maybe he'll get lucky this time. Just as he thought this, the door swung open to admit a repulsive middle aged man who had warts liberally dotted all over his face. This could only be Rand's disguise, Cellorin thought.
"Dragon," Cellorin said quietly in welcome. He knew that only Rand could hear him, considering that Rand held saidin and his senses were predictably acute. Rand only looked at him coldly as he passed into the hallway, trailing three women behind him. Aviendha gave him a murderous glare, without a hint of curiosity in those fiery eyes. Min glanced at him with a mix of curiosity and mirth, but then her face turned blank as she saw visions and symbols storming around his head. Cellorin guessed what she saw, and gave her a small wave with his hand. She shuddered and walked faster down the hallway. Elayne, seeing Min, looked at him down her nose. She brought every scrap of dignity and pride into the way she walked elegantly down the hallway, as if she was commanding respect and total acquiescence to her every whim because she simply existed. Cellorin chose to act as if she didn't exist, and only two women had trailed Rand as he left the room. This obviously got her into a temper and she stalked after Rand down the hallway.
Nynaeve came slowly out of the room, hands clasped in front of her. She looked like a calm mother who had found her son doing something wrong. How long will it take these people to learn that they will never manipulate me, Cellorin thought tiredly. He simply looked at her with a hint of expectance.
"I command where my warder goes, and I command him not to converse with you in anyway or engage in any activities with the likes of you." she said haughtily with a light of satisfaction in her eyes.
For a long moment Cellorin simply looked her in the eye until the light of satisfaction faded considerably. "Just because it is not your idea does not mean it is a bad one, Nynaeve. You know. you can be a moldy old hag when you want to be. Lan swore to defend you with his life, and you reward him by yanking his chain every time you want to cause other people stress. You are no true Aes Sedai, and if you were I would expect nothing less from a haughty woman who thought she knew better than others just because she can channel. The man wants to become more capable at defending your life, that's fine. As he once said himself you can't tell him to stop defending you anyway he could. You can come and watch if you like, but you cannot break his oaths as a Warder." he said firmly with a hint of disappointment on Nynaeve's part. What do you say to that? HAH! he thought. Yet, his face remained a perfect example of seriousness in its purest form.
"I will only come because I choose to, and not because of your endless efforts to manipulate all those around you, Sword Bard.", she said less haughtily than before. Cellorin only gave his best all knowing smile in response. It infuriated her.
"Lead the way, Lan." suggested Cellorin with a mocking flourish of his hand. Nynaeve and Lan filed out of the room, and Lan took the lead as they walked the opposite way Rand had gone, down the hallway.
The practice room Lan had picked was monstrously huge. The practice floor was a soft quilt of a strange very fine thatch. Silk embroidery ran borders between the tiles of the woven fine thatch squares. The practice area was immense, the size of the common room of a large inn. When they first stepped into the room there was a slim hollow rectangular lower floor, lower then the practice area. It encompassed the entire practice mat. It was made of dark wood. Cellorin guessed that it was to put your shoes so as not to damage the fine thatch mat. After their shoes were taken off, Lan and Cellorin stepped up onto the practice area. All along the walls different weapons were lying on hooks and shelves jutting out from the walls. Their was every conceivable type of sword, dagger, axe, spear, halberd, mace, bow, and javelin laying flat along the walls. The ceiling was a sea of lamps dangling from chains, spreading its light eerily onto the practice ground.
"It's a fitting place to teach you, al'Lan Mandragoran." Cellorin said as he explored the room with his eyes. He could feel Lan tense; even though Cellorin had his back turned.
"First blood or disarming, and then we'll see who teaches who Sword Bard.", Lan said in quiet challenge. Cellorin could hear Lan slowly unsheathing his sword, the sword wielded by the kings of Malkier.
"Wait. First blood and disarming, how about that, Borderlander?" said Cellorin as he unsheathed his slightly curved broadsword. He hefted it as if it was made of wood. Cellorin turned to face towards Lan, but Lan had already made his move.
Lan had thrust his sword at Cellorin's heart. Cellorin jumped back landing in the One Legged Frog stance. They stood poised on the mat, for a full minute. Nynaeve made an impatient noise, standing over by the door. Cellorin settled into the void, his face going from complete focus to a blank slate. He floated in the void, free from thought, free from emotion. He settled into the Cat's Prowl stance, and struck. He unleashed a barrage of stab and slash combinations that would dazzle the spectator's mind. His moves were fluid, his body fluid, his mind fluid. Everything was as fluid as running water, and just as fast. Cellorin danced across the practice ground, unaware of the world, unaware of Lan Mandragoran. Unaware that Lan Mandragoran was struggling for his life, as everything he would have expected from his opponent, everything that he had learned, was useless in this fight. Cellorin's eyes fell closed as he danced. At times, he danced slower, letting Lan catch his breath as Cellorin delivered strike after strike, always unpredictable, always on the edge. Other times, he picked up the tempo, releasing deadly combinations that would kill a man a mite less skillful than Lan. He did all this with a face devoid of passion, anger, or even a blank coldness. He did it with a passive almost sleeping face. Cellorin danced in a way purer than the sword dancing of this day. He did not move from strike to strike, stance to stance, block to block. Everything was just one motion. The positioning of his feet was one with the swinging of his sword. The alignment of his shoulders changed with the position of his waist. It was all fluid motion, and it never stopped. To Cellorin, this was not a fight, this was not a skirmish, a school house brawl. This was Cellorin, alone in a room, devoid of life other than himself, dancing to a tune that sang from his sword. Finally, a thought crossed the wide, vast sea of emptiness.
First blood, and disarm, the thought conveyed before losing intensity. Without pause, Cellorin deftly flicked his sword under Lan's sword grip and the sword flew into the air. In one motion, Cellorin caught the sword as the other nicked Lan's ear. Then he stopped, with his hands to his sides. His eyes were still closed. The passivity on his face faded as his consciousness arose. His eyes flew open to see Nynaeve between Cellorin and Lan. Her arms were outstretched, to protect Lan. Her eyes were a strange mix of determination and.could it be?...fear? Lan was transfixed by a drop of blood on his hand. His ear was dripping blood onto his shoulder.
Cellorin lowered the two swords in a sign of acquiescence, or ending of the fight.
"Step away, Nynaeve. I will not hurt Lan. If I had wanted to, there would be nothing you can do to stop me.", Cellorin said calmly. His voice echoed along the walls of the vast fighting room. Suddenly, Cellorin felt the tingling sensation on his back that told him she was wielding saidar. He flung intricate webs of defense around himself, blocking a swarm of weaves of air trying to ensnare him and hold him. Lan knew nothing of what was going on around him, and neither Nynaeve or Cellorin gave any hint that anything was happening. Slowly, Nynaeve's face grew into a mask of determination. The flurry of weaves grew into a storm. Yet, Cellorin never blinked as he brought up the intensity of his defense. Then suddenly and decisively, Cellorin destroyed her weaves with one swipe, shielded her, and lay his weaves gently enclosing her in a cocoon of air. "Please, step away Nynaeve. I will not hurt Lan.", he repeated earnestly. He let go of the filthy sweetness of saidin and motioned a hand towards the door.
"Go, please Nynaeve", Lan said gently. "No harm will come to me." He put a hand on her shoulder, almost in caress. Nynaeve's arms fell to her sides, she seemed to quiver under his touch. Nynaeve was angry at herself at how a man could manipulate her so, but there was a touch of blush in her face as she walked off the practice floor.
"Some wife you have there Lan.", he said good naturedly, as he tossed Lan his sword. Lan's lips quirked into the beginning of a smile, but his eyes never left its coldness. Cellorin drew himself up and regained seriousness. "The reason you lost, Lan, is that you had met with a technique not known to man since the Age of Legends. It is a higher form of sword dancing. A purer form. It was created in the days where sword fighting was not a necessity, but a sport. The people of today remember and teach what pieces that had not been swept away on the winds of time. The pure form of sword dancing cannot be taught to someone who does not have a considerably great knack for concentration. When you are fighting you become one with your surroundings, one with your opponent. In the purer form, you become the surroundings. You can manipulate everything that is happening around you to a small degree. That is why I knew exactly how the blade would arc out of your hand and into mine. When you become the surroundings around you, you leave your body. It becomes a vessel, a puppet manipulated by yourself outside your body. In the purest form of sword dancing you lose a degree of awareness. You will not notice if a servant walked in to clean this practice room. You will not notice if Nynaeve here was trying to get your attention. You would only understand living things in two ways. Threat and non threat. The practice of this kind of sword dancing is addictive. Especially, to people coming out of depression or the death of someone very close to them. It is a way to escape their own feelings of loss and self blame. It is most addictive to people who feel no self worth, because usually they do not want to go back to their body thinking they do not deserve to live. When fighting in the purest form, your soul leaves your body, leaving only animal instinct and training that was branded into you. Not so different from people who leave the ways encountering Machin Shin. Not so different from the Gray Men. Yet through this form of fighting, you can become near invincible. Even to people who can channel." Cellorin explained.
"What about the music?", Nynaeve asked. Her voice came faintly from the other side of the room.
Cellorin smiled. "That is one of the more lighter finer points of this kind of sword dancing. This is why it was so popular in the Age of Legends. An oddity, really. The music is how you compel your body into doing what you want. Each note, chord, and tone controls the way you move your body. Often the song conveys what is on your mind, or expresses the intensity of your emotions. That is why they called me Sword Bard. I play music through my sword. I was once a performer."
"The music was so sad.", Nynaeve whispered to herself, and flinched. She was bewildered that she spoke her thoughts. Cellorin looked at her with an expressionless stare that would shame any Aes Sedai. He promptly turned to Lan and said.
"I will teach you the Song , Lan, but in turn I wish you to promise me something. I want you to swear to never teach the Dragon the Song. He is already near invincible, and the way he is going, teaching him the Song will only make him move faster down the wrong path. Whatever said or done here will not leave this room. I must have your word on this, before we go any further." As he said this he sheathed his sword and gave a meaningful glance at Nynaeve. Nynaeve simply thrust her chin out, and gave him that irritating stubborn glare. Cellorin sighed and looked back to Lan. "I do not relish teaching a man a quicker better way to kill people, so it is great reluctance that I am teaching you this."
"I will keep my word, as long as it does not benefit the shadow. But under one condition. I will not kill Rand for you, even if he gets out of hand, Sword Bard.", Lan said firmly.
"The cold is seeping into him, and he is welcoming it with open arms Diadem Battle Lord. The world will break worse than it should if he continues on his path of destruction. He will become as Aridhol and die of his own evil, if he is not brought back from the cold. Don't teach him until Cadsuane says he is ready. That is all I ask.", Cellorin said cryptically.
To be continued..be patient.
As told by Nowun
"What could have been is the hidden fear in all men's hearts, and the deepest desires of their souls."
The Man Who Dared
Egwene had succeeded in escaping Sheriam, and her overwhelmingly endless petitions. In her hurry to get away from Sheriam, she had forgotten to drape a cloak around herself to fight off the winter coldness. Egwene felt goose bumps rising off her bare arms, as she briskly worked to put distance between herself and her tent. She could see her breath as she stalked through walkways made by the continuous rows of tents housed by Aes Sedai and their attendants. The sky was dismal, concealing, and gray. It had not broken since the rightful White Tower had arrived at Dragonmount. She stalked past Aes Sedai and Accepted alike. The Aes Sedai peered at her through the corner of their eyes, and the Accepted hurried to do chores or the bidding of their Aes Sedai mentors. It made Egwene walk even faster. It was not good to see the Amyrlin leisurely passing the time as others worked to prepare for the siege on Tar Valon. Her soft slippers sent a flurry of snow into the air to mark her path. In reaching the edge of Aes Sedai camp, she finally relented in running from Sheriam.
I wasn't exactly running, not really, she thought. I was merely getting far enough away to catch some fresh air, she assured herself. The last few days had been tiring on Egwene. Now that the siege was surely underway an impossible avalanche of paperwork had seem to make its way to Egwene. From what to do about the bridge cities, to how to mount defenses for their temporary settlement, and the imminent problem of the army's pay, these were the problems faced by Egwene. She sighed, and gazed at the tree line. From her view on the slopes of Dragonmount she could vaguely see the shape of the White Tower. All that stood between the Aes Sedai camp and Tar Valon was a large forest that looked like patch of stunted brown hair. The White Tower, a symbol of Aes Sedai mystery, power, and unwavering stability, and she was planning to lay siege to it. It was public knowledge that every siege laid upon Tar Valon had proven futile and failed under dramatic proportions. The secret recorded history locked away in the White Tower told otherwise; it could be done. Her eyes skimmed the tree line, trying not to stare at the ominous white column that was the White Tower. It seemed to stand defiantly in her face, as if daring to do her worst. As if proudly laying its head for the ax man.
"It's my head or Elaida's", Egwene said quietly. The sound of her voice rang in her ears; her statement sounded almost an excuse. Her eyes pleaded for anything else to look at except for that gleaming monument to Aes Sedai. This far out from the camp, the tents were those of servants. The tents themselves were small, waist high to an average sized man. The tents were unsurprisingly abandoned because of the time of day. The servants were elsewhere, bustling around the Aes Sedai. Finding her efforts fruitless, she turned around to see two men talking quietly amidst empty tents. One of the men could be described by having a bluff, almost uncaring face. As if the man endured much, and will do so in the future. It was none other than Gareth Bryne, general of her army. What surprised her was that the man usually made no efforts to visit the Aes Sedai camp, and often avoided it unless it was dire to enter. When he usually came it was either for meetings with Egwene or to fetch Siuan. The man who he was talking to had quick deceivingly cheerful deep green eyes, eyes with the potential for coldness. The man wore his raven black hair cut short all around, but wore it in protruding spikes moving straight up on his crown. He seemed a handsome man, however odd his hair was. Egwene could not place a nationality to him. He wore the drab clothes of a hard traveler, with a long sword at his hip, and a weirdly thin curved sword strapped to his back. His way of standing was not the bottled ferocity and violence of Warders but a whips coil. Easily relaxed, but also quick to lash out. Something about the strange man tugged at her. She decided to listen in through a construction of saidar. The joy of saidar filled her, and her senses became minutely sharper, considering the small amount of saidar needed. It was made of Air and should go undetected this far away from the concentration of Aes Sedai tents.
".sure she is doing the right thing by laying siege to Tar Valon?" came a wispy cautious voice that could only be the strange man. It seemed he was giving a thoughtful suggestion rather than a question. "I'm not truly sure why you're asking me when the only one who can answer is the Amyrlin herself. But I think she's taken a sword she can't pickup, when she can't hold a knife right. She believes the Tower must be whole before Tarmon Gaidon.", said Bryne quietly. Bryne sounded defensive. "I don't know Bryne." said the green eyed man. There was a pause. "It seems she's picked a fight with Elaida Do Avinry A Roihan, Amyrlin Seat, Watcher of the Seals, Flame of Bloody Tar Valon and the whole world is watching out of the corner of their eyes praying they kill each other. To blood and bloody ashes to how important they'll be in the Last Battle. And Rand above it all dancing to his own music, trying to do what he wants as fast as he can because they aren't watching him." A chuckle emerged, but from which man Egwene did not know. "Elaida with the strength and advantage of holding Tar Valon but the lack of support from the Hall. The Sitters are waiting to see her fall so they can have a turn at the reins. The rebel child Amyrlin, who would have guessed it, trying to bring the Tower together again as the rebel Sitters try to fit her leash." Another chuckle, and this time she could make out the strange man clearly. Through all this, Egwene's hands between to clench into fists that grew whiter and whiter by the second. She had half a mind to turn towards the men and march over to them, to smack the man purple and heel Bryne for not coming to her support. "We have quite a mess here don't we Bryne?" the boy, she considered him now a boy, with green eyes and black hair said. "Women with never fading threatening stares and unquenchable tempers sending us to clean out the privy." The boy tutted. He actually tutted! After some silence Bryne said quietly,
"Are you going to meet her? She's more formidable than you think even if young and headstrong." The last seemed a warning of imminent danger to the green eyed.boy. The boy seemed to think about it, and then said, "Young and headstrong, one and the same as you well know. She wouldn't have gotten under her thumb the rebel Aes Sedai if she was one whisker less headstrong than you say. The worst type to deal with, young and headstrong, but the most attractive. Not that I would.you don't have to go for your sword, Gareth." After a considerable silence he then said more seriously, "But no, I think that would be the worst thing. Her confidence is fragile at best, and her fear for what is to come cannot overcome her now. I will not enhance it by explaining the consequences of failure. The Tower must be whole. Let her learn to walk the path of daggers as they say in the land of Seanchan, where the women are wondrous." He said that last bit with a little humor in his voice. "Anyway, I must go see the taveren Aybara. Splendid chap, I bet. I just stopped to say support your Amyrlin and help her display masterful competence in the face of upcoming events, and watch for the Borderland lords coming south." He said this as if it was very important that this was done. He didn't sound as if ordering. He sounded as if saying to watch out for that crumbling cliff. He seemed to jump to another subject by saying, "Why don't you tell Siuan how you feel? You might be surprised at her reaction. You never can tell with women. Oh! And your Amyrlin is eavesdropping on us, and I bet she is dying to talk to you. Farewell, Gareth. As they say in Shienar, may peace favor your sword." The strange man said that last with a tinge of sadness. He clasped Bryne's shoulder for a moment before walking off with a bit of a spring in his step out into the forest.
Egwene thought of catching up to the man, but she could not think of what she could have said to him. After eavesdropping on your private conversation with my general, Gareth Bryne, I'm seriously considering taking you into custody.that would not do at all, she thought sullenly. Instead, she turned to pour her wrath onto Gareth Bryne.
"Meeting with scouts fresh in from Tar Valon, Lord Bryne? What news of Tar Valon and the supposed Borderland lords coming south." she said with a placid, icy, tone. She seemed to make the message clear that she would excuse him of any disrespect towards Aes Sedai and the Amyrlin Seat if he told her what she wanted to know.
"Very little, mother. They seemed to be drawing themselves for our inevitable attack. They are too penned up in the city to take up the bridge cities, so it would be considerably easier to contain the Aes Sedai in the city. I believe they mean to be well prepared for the coming siege, in fact -", just when Bryne was picking up speed to try to spirit the Amyrlin into the notions and key points of the coming siege, Egwene interrupted him abruptly.
"I want to know everything you know on the man you have just spoken to. I also demand you apprehend him and detain him from leaving the Aes Sedai camp, so as to wait for Aes Sedai interrogation.", she said coldly and firmly, and with all the will of a racing avalanche. She had learned some things from the Wise Ones.
"Mother, I really think that detaining him is not such a- ." he said quickly, but again Egwene interrupted him.
"I want to know how he is manipulating my own army's general in the midst of the Aes Sedai camp, without a single Aes Sedai knowing." she said. Well.maybe with a few knowing. Those few to near sighted to share such information with the Amyrlin Seat. Those few could actually be many, she thought ironically. "I also want to know why he is spreading rumors to seed ill ease and under confidence in not only my abilities, but also the abilities of the rightful Tower and the false Tower. You will answer now, here at the edge of a camp filled with Aes Sedai, or in a tent filled with tens of Aes Sedai. Choose Bryne, and choose quickly." Well she's on a roll isn't she, she thought. For a few seconds Bryne merely stared at her, then quickly looked towards the center of camp, and said.
"He is a.wanderer with many connections and networks all across the kingdoms on this side of the Spine of the World. He has the best interests of all nations at heart, whether the best interests of the country stated is what it wants or not. He advises many key players in the game of the pattern, such as I, in times of war and evil. He only appears in times of trouble and when evil freely runs amok. He comes in times where a single Trolloc can walk the Borderlands unharmed and unchallenged. Desperate times, evil times. All information I gain from him is used for the good of the rebel Aes Sedai, of course." he added earnestly.
For some time Egwene maintained silence, and then with a sudden outburst she commanded, "Whatever 'connections and networks' this man may have is insignificant compared to those of Aes Sedai. Whatever information you may need to govern your army will come from us, with no need of additional help from.wanderers. Do I make myself clear, lord Gareth Bryne?" she said in a dismissal like tone. Bryne looked faintly skeptic and almost seemed to object when, he suddenly bowed with a curt respective "As you command, Mother." He quickly walked out into the forest towards the army camp.
Egwene fumed as she saw him walk off into the forest. Her eyes lifted upward to the White Tower concealed in a dense passing fog. She turned around abruptly, feeling the eyes of the tower at her back, and headed towards her tent. She thought sickly, where Sheriam waited and those bloody petitions.
The Man Who Talked
It had been days since the rescue of Marigan and her party. Perrin was not quite used to the quiet shuffling of servant's feet as they moved about the tent to do their menial chores. They walked around taking up dirty clothes, and waiting to pick up the finished cup as he set it down.
The sun was almost setting and Perrin was still mulling over the information about the whereabouts of the Prophet. The cold air was mostly kept at bay by the thick tent walls, thought it was almost sultry hot inside. Sweat rolled down his forehead blurring his vision, as he looked at the roaring fire in the center of the tent. His yellow eyes reflected the light of the fire, making strange shadows dance across the walls. His beard itched but there was nothing he could do about it. Perrin slouched in a chair resembling the hollow shape of a tombstone, and it was filled with plush cushions. His every move chanced the possibility of falling.
There was a quiet tap at the flap entrance, and a male servant walked in with black downcast eyes. "A strange gentleman asked me where he might find you, Lord Perrin. I believe he said he wants to talk of things of utmost importance. Should I let him in, sir?" the servant asked quickly and somberly. Perrin long ago resigned his efforts to stop them from naming him a lord. He tried to steel himself every time they titled him, but it still sometimes caught him off guard.
"Send him in.", Perrin said. The servant darted out to motion for the man to come. Perrin saw the silhouette of a strange man bowing to peer at the servant patiently. He was tall for a man this side of the Dragonwall, and held a long sword at his hip, and he could make out the hilt of another on his back. As the man ducked in, his first impression of the man was one of supreme patience. He also sensed a man who thought he knew everything, and showed such on his face. In the way he looked at things, it was almost as if he knew a secret everyone would soon find out. The way he looked at people was as if he knew the man's past, present, and future, and chose not to tell them their future for the sake of their well being. A man with many secrets. The man had deep green eyes, with a hint of that sense of all knowing in them. His hair was worn strangely in spikes that shot straight up from his crown. He held his hands behind his back, with a small smile on his face as he walked into the tent. He sat down at the opposite side of the fire. He sat in a slouched manner, one arm resting on the arm of the chair with his head resting on the adjoining hand. For one full minute they sat in silence. Then finally the man spoke, in a rather wispy tone.
"That was really something, what you did back in Manetheren." He commented, with a faint tone of mocking admiration. "It was nothing. I was just helping the people I grew up with. Any good man would have done the same. What do you want?" he said kindly, a tone suitable for a welcomed stranger. "I just came to see how your campaign to uproot the Prophet out of Ghealdan was doing. That is why the Dragon sent you here, right?" the stranger said casually. "We are here to resurrect the country of Manetheren, and secure its borders for the restoration of its state. What makes you think we are here for the Prophet?" Perrin said carefully. Perrin thought he handled this well, considering he wasn't a very good liar. The man changed position from relaxed and curious, to a business like manner. He was leaning out from the chair instead of slouching into it. He sat at the edge of his seat, his elbows on knees and his hands clasped. He said quietly, and quickly, "If I had the time to be playing this game where we run around in circles spewing bloody lies at each other before we actually get to business, I would. I find it rather enjoyable, but I have no time. Before I came to your tent, my bad luck brought me to encounter three Aiel Wise Ones and their Aes Sedai apprentices.", As he said this his scent told Perrin the man was irritated on the surface, but genuinely amused. He chuckled rather bitterly. "I believe they were a tad curious, considering my behavior towards them, of why I was here to talk to you.", he said this so quietly, even Perrin's ears strained to hear the musical voice.
His behavior towards them?, Perrin thought curiously. "I think it best if we talk outside the camp, to leave no opportunity of eavesdropping." "What makes you so sure they can't eavesdrop while we're at the edge of the camp, when you know they can use the One Power?", Perrin said skeptically. "Besides, for all I know you might be here to kill me. I don't even know your name." As Perrin said this, the man had come to his feet and was starting for the tent flap. "I will explain everything, once we are at the edge of your curious camp. We both know I could have killed you the moment I stepped into the room. Just hear me out, Aybara." The man sounded slightly irritated, and almost impatient. "I have already asked one of your Ashaman to accompany us to the edge of camp, for your safety. I knew this would happen, but I didn't think you were this squeamish about safety." The man stepped aside to open the tent flap for Perrin. Slowly, Perrin got to his feet. Outside, there was a soft red glow on the horizon, passing of the sun over the hills. Neald silently joined them as they stepped out into the cold night air. The man did not talk much or even looked at people as often as he should. Aram also sidled up to walk by Perrin. The cast out Tuathan was not so different from Neald. He had the same stony expression on his face as Lan. He had taken for the past couple of months to following Perrin, almost as a shadow. He only relented in coming into the tent because Perrin insisted on it. They were halfway out of the camp when the stranger nudged him on the shoulder and motioned to two Wise Ones no less than 15 paces away. The Wise Ones were openly staring at them as they passed. "Neald, when we get to the edge of camp you mind making a sound barrier around us?", the man said quietly, giving a sidelong glance at the brooding young man. Neald simply looked the stranger's way and nodded. They had reached the edge and the man abruptly turned to face Perrin. Perrin forced himself not to flinch or back up. In his mind, he had already showed enough weakness to satisfy a pig. The man did not speak until Neald said, "It is done, the barrier is formed, and the Aiel are beating against the barrier to listen in." There was a moment of silence, and then Neald said once more "I can hold them, but not all night." Neald sounded faintly surprised that the Wise Ones would resort to such measures. Perrin was also surprised. He knew if he asked the Wise Ones about this they would give him no answer but that stern stony face. They used this face each time they saw him. "Speak quickly, stranger. First tell me your name.", Perrin said in a confident manner.
"Certainly, Lord Perrin.", he mocked the servant that had brought him into Perrin's tent. "I am Cellorin Sobe Anasta'God, Last of Many, Eighth of Sword Bards. You are Lord Perrin of House Aybara, King of Wolves, Savior of Manetheren, and one of the few unlucky taveren of this age. I have come, as I have said before to check on your campaign to uproot the Prophet in Ghealdean. Is it true that Queen Alliandre Maithrin has sworn fealty to you and the Dragon Reborn?"
Before Perrin can bring the words back into his mouth he said, "Where did you hear that Alliandre has sworn fealty to me? And why do you insist I am here to uproot the Prophet?", His hand almost raised up to cover his mouth when he was done. The strange man who called himself Cellorin looked at him resignedly, and said.
"I can not help you taveren Aybara if you insist on such semantics. So it is true that she has sworn fealty. My best guess is she is still here in the camp. Her fear of the Prophet is dismaying. You must protect her if you are to gain Ghealdan for the Dragon Reborn. I don't know whether you are unlucky or just burdened with so many nobles and rulers in your camp. Nobles from Mayene, Saldaea, Ghealdean, and surprisingly Andor itself." The strange man meant to say more, but Perrin interrupted him.
"I am no bloody noble, whatever your name is.", Perrin said heatedly. Andor?
"Well in the minds of your people you are a noble, but I was not speaking of you when I said Andor.", the man said reassuringly. Then his eyes widened. "You don't know do you? This does change things. I cannot tell you because it is not my secret to reveal. Very well. Anyway, you must protect all the nobles. As if you didn't know that already." The man said all this rather quickly.
"The Wise Ones will not listen to you when you talk of dealing with the Prophet. You must give them a reason they understand for keeping the Prophet alive. A reason they can touch and feel. Something even the Aiel can relate to this side of the Dragonwall.", he said this earnestly.
"How do you know -", Perrin began but the man interrupted him.
"Listen to Balwer, he knows what he's about. He's got a good head on his shoulders, but also be wary. I do not know whether he is here because he is advantageous, or for more genuine reason. Faile is working to help you, however covertly and behind your back. She is using her little group Cha Faile to gain intelligence from the countryside. Don't be mad at her, but warn her that she might get those poor children hurt." The man was pacing as he talked. Stopping only to hit key points on what he was saying. "The Shaido are in the Mountains of Mists, and they are getting closer, but there is nothing you can do about that. I just thought you should know. You can't do anything about the Seanchan right now. Just stay clear of them. Rand is dealing with them in his own way.
"I said I would hear you out.Cellorin. Not listen to you babble on and on about what I should do. I take orders from no man.", Perrin said dangerously. "I have enough people trying to tell me what to do, and I don't need you to start. I am leaving."
"Listen to me you bearded bloody goat of a man, Aybara. What I am telling you and the way in which you use such information will affect all the lives around you tenfold, just because you are taveren. If you do not listen it will spell disaster. Once a man called Laman Damodred did not listen to me, and I need not explain further the repercussions that still rock the world today.", the man said with a bit of frustration in his voice. Cellorin had outstretched an arm to stop Perrin, when Perrin had turned his back on him. Perrin turned his head to peer over his shoulder at the man standing before him. Cellorin's eyes held a look of mixed frustration and concern, and his outstretched hand was faintly shaking. Perrin did not have to sniff the scent of his feelings to see that the man was desperate. Cellorin finally put his arm to his side, and seemed to gain some kind of hold on his thoughts. The smell of the man was weary and resigned. Perrin looked back towards the center of camp. His gaze passed back towards the Wise Ones, who were still watching him. They were too far away to smell, but he would have given a pretty to know their feelings. There was complete silence around the four men. Aram had not uttered a word throughout this entire conversation. He stood off to the side eyeing both Cellorin and Perrin, waiting to see what would happen next. Aram's scent had gone from indifferent to curious, and finally faintly surprised. There were still some of each emotion in his scent, a mix. Neald's emotions were pure sharp concentration, but also curious. Perrin saw his wife, Faile, walking towards the Wise Ones. She walked with a purpose. She stopped to speak a word to the Wise Ones and looked towards their little group. She walked briskly towards them, obviously to see what this was all about, and possibly relay what she learned from Perrin. Her scent told him she was prepared to walk through a brick wall.
"Please keep what was said here private Aybara. And you Neald, and Aram. Remember the possibility of repercussions with every breath you take, that breath can cause raging storms on the other side of the world. Or not so far away.", that last he added as a polite warning. "Say hello to Elyas Machera for me Aybara, if you ever see him again. I must leave you now, I don't think I can survive an interrogation with your wife, and I don't care to try it." It brought a faint smile to Perrin's lips. His back was still turned. Perrin felt he had been silent to long.
"I will use your information Cellorin. This won't be the last time we meet, I expect.", Perrin said somberly.
"Sadly this won't be the last time. I come precisely when I mean to. Not a moment sooner or later, and only when most needed. Such as now. You are stirring off the path. I just came to nudge you back. I am not a Dark friend.", the man said earnestly. That last sentence was almost a vehement denial, but Perrin believed him. His smell had become a mix of feelings of remorse and stone cold seriousness.
"As they say in Saldaea and all the borderlands, the watch is not done.", the man said somberly. Abruptly he turned to walk out towards the forest. Perrin turned to get a last look at the man, but he had slipped into the shadows of the forest. He did not hear Neald's voice saying that he had lifted the barrier, or Faile saying hello until a full minute had passed. He still looked out to the forest. It took Faile tugging at his arm to bring him out of the apparent stupor.
"Who was that, husband?", she asked innocently, as they were walking back towards the tent. Aram and Neald went their separate ways off to unknown destinations. Aram left only because he respected the privacy of their marriage, and Neald left because he was Neald. Perrin was not fooled by her tone of voice, but the sound of the word husband was almost a caress.
"A strange man, Faile. Nothing more, nothing less.", he said distantly. Faile was obviously not satisfied with such a short answer. Her scent had gone from pleasant to impatient and back.
"Tell me husband," she said sweetly, as she playfully brought a dagger out of her sleeve to press against his side gently. Perrin winced and tried to avoid the dagger until he was trapped against the side of a wagon.
"Can we leave the playing until we're relaxing in our bed.", Perrin said. He hoped to stir her from where their conversation was turning to.
"I.can't. It's best if you didn't know. Just as it's best I don't know about the doings of your Cha Faile group. Light, wife, you could get those children hurt with the orders you are making them fulfill. Let us leave it at that. A man's life is at stake in keeping the man's association with me a secret. The Wise Ones will get no information from me. It's in all our best interests, Faile. Please understand this.", he pleaded as she gently applied pressure on the dagger until it almost pierced his skin. She cocked her head to one side, thoughtfully brooding. Then she released the pressure on the dagger and slid it up her sleeve. She stood away from him, her arms crossed and her stance named her stubborn. Her smell told him that she was hurt that he would suspect of her being a spy for the Wise Ones, but other than that amused. Perrin succeeded in putting an arm around her as they walked back to the tent. The smell of her changed into a growing curiosity and anger at being left out. It tickled his nose, but he could endure it.
The Man Who Fought Reflections of the Robert Jordan book Winter's Heart Chapter12 A Lily in Winter
"Just things that men talk about," Lan replied. "You wouldn't understand," Rand said. She sniffed at that. Gossip and idle chatter that was what men's talk was, nine times in ten. At best. Wearily, she let go of saidar. Reluctantly. She did need to protect herself against Rand, certainly, but she would have liked to hold on a little longer, just to touch it, tired or not.
."You'd be surprised what my Asha'man would dare," he said dryly after a minute. "I suppose Mat is with Egwene's army?" Putting a hand to his head, he staggered.
"Use them?" she said suspiciously. Why did killing anyone have to come first? That was hardly the important question though. "For what? Are they ter'angreal?"
He nodded. "With this you can touch the greatest sa'angreal ever made for a woman. It's buried on Tremalking, I understand, but that doesn't matter.".
Nynaeve bit her lower lip. She supposed Rand made this a public occasion - shifting from public to private, deciding which was which, made her dizzy sometimes - but she did not care that Lan had spoken out of turn.
As the three of them entered the empty room where they could talk privately, Cellorin slouched in a seat at the end of the long table, with one foot resting on another seat. He peered at the three of them as they came in.
So this is Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn, Wielder of the Nine Rods of Dominion, the Light personified. A little taller than I thought he was, but nonetheless lanky, he thought. It's amazing how well you can go unnoticed by simply sitting still, he thought to himself as he watched them move to sit down at the far end of the table.
Choosing his words wisely he said just loud enough to be heard from across the room, "Using the Choedan Kal is dangerous, Dragon. What gives you the right to risk the world on a half thought out plan?"
Suddenly Rand stood up, clearly surprised, and his hand shot towards Cellorin streaming with half made weaves of fire. Lan was quicker. His chair kicked behind him as he jumped with sword outstretched towards Cellorin. Lan held his sword as if to stab him in his chair. Cellorin ducked out of his chair, unsheathing his Nagasaki as he rolled across the room.
"I just want to talk, Dragon.", but they didn't seem to hear him. Lan darted left, towards him, ready to strike. He hesitated for one second, and that was all Cellorin needed. He brought his Nagasaki up to guard just as the sword came crashing down. Using his legs he forced himself up to face Lan. The man's eyes were uncanny, the coldest depths of a freezing planet wouldn't come close to the ice in that man's eyes. Desperate Fox into the Bushes met Three Women on the Hilltop. Bending Tree to Three Fish in a River. On and on they fought down the long winding room. Birds in Flight met Three Pronged Spear which met Boar Charging down Hill. On and on they fought, slicing through chairs and parts of the long table. Cellorin could vaguely feel Rand's eyes on him, trying to find an opening to wield saidin on him. Through strokes and stabs, Cellorin breathlessly said,
"I am not here to hurt Nynaeve, Lan." The man did not seemed fazed at all by Cellorin's words. He didn't seem to hear either. "Did you hear me?", he screamed desperately. "Will you just listen?", but the man would not stop swiping that bloody sword. Cellorin did not want to destroy the confidence the other man had in his own skills with a sword, but their was no other choice left to him. Cellorin deftly picked up the pace of the fight. His strokes and stabs came faster two fold. He had Lan retreating . Lan was weaving his sword as if it was only an extension of his arm. He brought up the challenge, by again raising the speed twice fold. The two of them were only a blur now. Guard, block, slash, parry, slash, parry, slash, riposte -guar-bloc-slash-par-par-slash-stab-guar. Finally he had Lan against the wall, but the man would not let up, finally Rand jumped into the fray with his own heron marked sword. Cellorin saw his shadow as the man came for a sneak attack. Cellorin pulled out his long sword at his hip and twisted around to dodge Rand's swipe. He somersaulted backwards, landing halfway to the other side of the room.
"Please hear me out?", he said calmly, between breaths. "I'm not hear to kill anyone. Just.talk." With that said he plopped down in a chair, his swords touching the ground in a sign of surrender. Seeing their cold eyes, unwavering, he dropped them to the ground and rounded the table, and sat in a different chair. His arms crossed. Through all this, Nynaeve sat in her chair, mouth open wide in silent awe at the display of sword work she had just witnessed. She promptly closed her mouth, hard enough that her teeth clicked together.
"You almost scared me to death with that first strike, al'Lan Mandragoran, Diadem Warlord, Uncrowned King of Malkier, home of the fabled Seven Towers. You gave me a good workout, but next time give me fair warning, huh?" Cellorin took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket of his purple vest and dabbed his head. Instead of Lan who spoke, it was Rand.
"Who are you and why did you sneak up on us?" Rand said with that trademark cold expressionless tone. His face was fit for a dead person. Cellorin decided to give him no nonsense.
"Cellorin Sobe Anasta'God, Last of Many, Eighth of Sword Bards, at your service milord Dragon," he couldn't help but add that last bit mockingly. Rand was not amused. "And you are Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn of the Third Age, Car' a Carn of the ferocious Aiel, whose women are wondrously ferocious, and Coramoor of the revealing women of the Athan' Miere, wielder of Callandor, and a few other things. Glad to meet you, milord Dragon. Did that servant bring any punch in here? It's swelteringly hot." Rand channeled the pitcher of melon juice over towards Cellorin. Cellorin caught it and channeled a glass towards him. As he poured the melon juice, he said "As I was saying, using the Choedan Kal is dangerous. What gives you the right to risking the world on a half thought out plan?"
"What reasons there may or may not be, are none of your concern.Sword Bard." Rand replied with a bit of amusement in the choice of naming him. Rand moved from standing next to Lan to sitting across the table from Cellorin. Rand channeled a seat to himself, the chair came violently, one of its legs landing in his outstretched hand. His eyes did not come off of Cellorin. Those cold dead eyes, of a man who was deathly tired and had still more to do.
I guess he's trying to intimidate me, Cellorin thought. I'm going to play with his mind a little before getting to business. Lan, seeing Rand at ease, or at least sitting down, took a chair equally distanced between Nynaeve and Cellorin. The move was obvious, only reinforced by the fact that Lan still had his sword in his hand. Nynaeve still had not spoken. She was eyeing Rand as if she had never seen him before. Cellorin assessed the situation and said, "You know that everyone on this side of the world will know that you are wielding an unimaginably immense amount of power in your hands. The rumor or fact that you are insane will not help your chances of people not interfering in what you are about to do. Noble cause it is, but is it worth the world, and the one chance it has for sealing away the Dark One?" The comment of insanity made Nynaeve tense, as to see what Rand would do because of the utterance of his lack of sanity. Lan just seemed to wield his sword in a tighter grip. "We can sit here all day if you want Rand al'Thor. That stare will not intimidate me. I have looked into the eyes of the Dark One himself and have known his anger. I am no more intimidated than Cadsuane Melaidhrin. I would like to take that women down a peg or two hundred, and some other women I could name." Rand's eyes did not change one iota but his lips unmistakably twitched upwards.
"I have heard of a man who traveled the land, lending help and information where needed. Single handedly trying to keep a boat from sinking when it has a dozen holes. Darting from one hole to another stopping the water, just as another hole appeared. Is this man you?", again the expressionless tone of voice. "Yes, I am just like yourself, single handedly trying to keep a boat from sinking. Only difference is that I do this on a smaller scale, and you do it with crew members who fight amongst each other rather than helping you try to save them all. I have met your friend Aybara, and he is quite a nice fellow. Although always has this hunted look on his face, likely looking over his shoulder to see if his wife is there to beat him to a pulp." He said this in a friendly tone, with a chuckle at the end. "I know you'll never come to trust me al'Thor but just listen for a moment. I am here to be your advisor, even though I may slip in and out of the circle of fate spun by you taveren to do some field work, I mean to help you on the way to Shayol Ghul." A look of pity crossed Cellorin's face. It sounded as if he was leading the man to his coffin. "I know that there have been an endless line of Aes Sedai all fighting to be at your side to advise you, ever since the supposed death of Moiraine Sedai. A nice woman, however fanatically focused, as you well know, Lan. Think of me as men's answer to Cadsuane Melaidhrin and her numerous competitors to be your right hand lady." There was another slight twitch of Rand's lips. Nynaeve snorted and finally turned to Cellorin saying,
"Only Aes Sedai have the prestige and intelligence of advising the Dragon Reborn. He does not need intruding sniveling men such as yourself to tell him what the hair on his chest says to do.", Nynaeve retorted rather a matter of factly.
"Aes Sedai pride and womanish stubbornness will not win Tarmon Gaidon, Nynaeve al'Meara, Wisdom of the town of Emond's Field, false Aes Sedai. Aes Sedai pride will only try to push itself into where it does not belong, and make a mess of everything just as they think they can take over the situation. And just as they make a mess of things they'll blame it all on the men. Remember meeting the Prophet, Nynaeve? Merillin and Juilin came back all bloodied up because you decided to storm off into a village filled with cutthroats and pad foots. Remember? A fine example of prestige and intelligence is it not? Now be quiet." Nynaeve's face became redder and redder until she looked as if she would faint. Lan's eyes grew colder and colder, and he seemed to edge out of his seat, threateningly. Cellorin paid him no mind. If Rand could not intimidate him, what chance did Lan have? Cellorin turned back to Rand in a business like tone he said,
"Now, your three lover girls will come bursting through the door any moment now, and I believe you would like to see them with no interference from me. I will await your decision on the advising job. Tomorrow. I expect you'll be busy tonight, with other matters." Cellorin pursed his lips into a smile. "You don't have to be so hard on yourself Rand, those three do not love you for your coldness and demeanor of being hard as stone. Stay human. If you get any harder we'll all die for it. Be strong, not hard. Strong endures, hard shatters." With that he turned to round the table and grab his swords and returned them to its sheaths. "That was quite a match al'Lan Mandragoran. With practice you might be a great swordsman." Lan finally couldn't take it anymore and stood, his chair falling with a loud clack.
"I'm just kidding, Lan. I only meant that you put up a fabulous fight. I haven't had one like that in years. Usually I can take ten at a time, but when Rand went for me as well I don't think I could have held up. I would like to practice with you after the girls come in and spirit Rand away. How about it, Malkieri?" Cellorin said lightly and with a friendly tone. Lan only nodded.
"I know an empty room where we can practice.", he said quietly. Nynaeve stood eye Lan and put hands on her hips. She would see that he did no such thing. Obviously, because it wasn't her idea.
"What do you mean they are going to spirit me away?", Rand said. It was uncharacteristic of him to sound as if he was squealing. "Oh, light. What will I do?"
"Don't make a gateway. What will happen here will be important for years to come, and is also crucial to your victory over the Dark One. It will also help fulfill part of the Prophecies of the Dragon.I shouldn't have told you that. I really shouldn't, but it's too important for you not to know.Lan will I see you in the hallway after this little bit?" he asked the tall cold eyed man. The Malkieri only nodded.
Cellorin nodded as well. He went for the door just to find it slam into his face. He let out a moan as he staggered backwards into the table. Nynaeve gave a giddy laugh as he fell onto the table top, blood streaming everywhere.
"That's only what you deserve Sword Bard.", she said in jubilation. He gave her a withering look and stood to see three women crowding into the room. He tried to dodge past them through the door, but they simply looked at him unmoving, blocking the door with their presence.
"You're the one Egwene has been talking about. You are the one who told Bryne all those things about the Borderland forces coming south. You were right. I will talk to you very soon.Sword Bard is it?" the one called Elayne said.
"I will talk with no Aes Sedai unless I have to, and never under interrogation. If you will excuse me, I must get through." He said curtly and politely. Blood was still streaming down his nose. They simply looked at him with enough emotion for a stone. Cellorin looked at Rand pleadingly.
"Let him go," Rand said without a hint of coldness. They made just enough of a way to let him through sideways. He staggered out and down the hallway. Nynaeve was still laughing.
The Man Who Sang
Cellorin waited patiently outside the door to the room occupied by Rand and his friends. He had his head cocked to one side as he sat cross legged on top of a long hall table. The table held vases of flowers to both sides of him. He held his head in one hand, staring at the door not three paces away.
The man is in for it now, Cellorin thought. A mirthful smile crossed his face. Three women confess their love for him, and they herd him to where they can skin him alive in peace, he thought sardonically. Or maybe he'll get lucky this time. Just as he thought this, the door swung open to admit a repulsive middle aged man who had warts liberally dotted all over his face. This could only be Rand's disguise, Cellorin thought.
"Dragon," Cellorin said quietly in welcome. He knew that only Rand could hear him, considering that Rand held saidin and his senses were predictably acute. Rand only looked at him coldly as he passed into the hallway, trailing three women behind him. Aviendha gave him a murderous glare, without a hint of curiosity in those fiery eyes. Min glanced at him with a mix of curiosity and mirth, but then her face turned blank as she saw visions and symbols storming around his head. Cellorin guessed what she saw, and gave her a small wave with his hand. She shuddered and walked faster down the hallway. Elayne, seeing Min, looked at him down her nose. She brought every scrap of dignity and pride into the way she walked elegantly down the hallway, as if she was commanding respect and total acquiescence to her every whim because she simply existed. Cellorin chose to act as if she didn't exist, and only two women had trailed Rand as he left the room. This obviously got her into a temper and she stalked after Rand down the hallway.
Nynaeve came slowly out of the room, hands clasped in front of her. She looked like a calm mother who had found her son doing something wrong. How long will it take these people to learn that they will never manipulate me, Cellorin thought tiredly. He simply looked at her with a hint of expectance.
"I command where my warder goes, and I command him not to converse with you in anyway or engage in any activities with the likes of you." she said haughtily with a light of satisfaction in her eyes.
For a long moment Cellorin simply looked her in the eye until the light of satisfaction faded considerably. "Just because it is not your idea does not mean it is a bad one, Nynaeve. You know. you can be a moldy old hag when you want to be. Lan swore to defend you with his life, and you reward him by yanking his chain every time you want to cause other people stress. You are no true Aes Sedai, and if you were I would expect nothing less from a haughty woman who thought she knew better than others just because she can channel. The man wants to become more capable at defending your life, that's fine. As he once said himself you can't tell him to stop defending you anyway he could. You can come and watch if you like, but you cannot break his oaths as a Warder." he said firmly with a hint of disappointment on Nynaeve's part. What do you say to that? HAH! he thought. Yet, his face remained a perfect example of seriousness in its purest form.
"I will only come because I choose to, and not because of your endless efforts to manipulate all those around you, Sword Bard.", she said less haughtily than before. Cellorin only gave his best all knowing smile in response. It infuriated her.
"Lead the way, Lan." suggested Cellorin with a mocking flourish of his hand. Nynaeve and Lan filed out of the room, and Lan took the lead as they walked the opposite way Rand had gone, down the hallway.
The practice room Lan had picked was monstrously huge. The practice floor was a soft quilt of a strange very fine thatch. Silk embroidery ran borders between the tiles of the woven fine thatch squares. The practice area was immense, the size of the common room of a large inn. When they first stepped into the room there was a slim hollow rectangular lower floor, lower then the practice area. It encompassed the entire practice mat. It was made of dark wood. Cellorin guessed that it was to put your shoes so as not to damage the fine thatch mat. After their shoes were taken off, Lan and Cellorin stepped up onto the practice area. All along the walls different weapons were lying on hooks and shelves jutting out from the walls. Their was every conceivable type of sword, dagger, axe, spear, halberd, mace, bow, and javelin laying flat along the walls. The ceiling was a sea of lamps dangling from chains, spreading its light eerily onto the practice ground.
"It's a fitting place to teach you, al'Lan Mandragoran." Cellorin said as he explored the room with his eyes. He could feel Lan tense; even though Cellorin had his back turned.
"First blood or disarming, and then we'll see who teaches who Sword Bard.", Lan said in quiet challenge. Cellorin could hear Lan slowly unsheathing his sword, the sword wielded by the kings of Malkier.
"Wait. First blood and disarming, how about that, Borderlander?" said Cellorin as he unsheathed his slightly curved broadsword. He hefted it as if it was made of wood. Cellorin turned to face towards Lan, but Lan had already made his move.
Lan had thrust his sword at Cellorin's heart. Cellorin jumped back landing in the One Legged Frog stance. They stood poised on the mat, for a full minute. Nynaeve made an impatient noise, standing over by the door. Cellorin settled into the void, his face going from complete focus to a blank slate. He floated in the void, free from thought, free from emotion. He settled into the Cat's Prowl stance, and struck. He unleashed a barrage of stab and slash combinations that would dazzle the spectator's mind. His moves were fluid, his body fluid, his mind fluid. Everything was as fluid as running water, and just as fast. Cellorin danced across the practice ground, unaware of the world, unaware of Lan Mandragoran. Unaware that Lan Mandragoran was struggling for his life, as everything he would have expected from his opponent, everything that he had learned, was useless in this fight. Cellorin's eyes fell closed as he danced. At times, he danced slower, letting Lan catch his breath as Cellorin delivered strike after strike, always unpredictable, always on the edge. Other times, he picked up the tempo, releasing deadly combinations that would kill a man a mite less skillful than Lan. He did all this with a face devoid of passion, anger, or even a blank coldness. He did it with a passive almost sleeping face. Cellorin danced in a way purer than the sword dancing of this day. He did not move from strike to strike, stance to stance, block to block. Everything was just one motion. The positioning of his feet was one with the swinging of his sword. The alignment of his shoulders changed with the position of his waist. It was all fluid motion, and it never stopped. To Cellorin, this was not a fight, this was not a skirmish, a school house brawl. This was Cellorin, alone in a room, devoid of life other than himself, dancing to a tune that sang from his sword. Finally, a thought crossed the wide, vast sea of emptiness.
First blood, and disarm, the thought conveyed before losing intensity. Without pause, Cellorin deftly flicked his sword under Lan's sword grip and the sword flew into the air. In one motion, Cellorin caught the sword as the other nicked Lan's ear. Then he stopped, with his hands to his sides. His eyes were still closed. The passivity on his face faded as his consciousness arose. His eyes flew open to see Nynaeve between Cellorin and Lan. Her arms were outstretched, to protect Lan. Her eyes were a strange mix of determination and.could it be?...fear? Lan was transfixed by a drop of blood on his hand. His ear was dripping blood onto his shoulder.
Cellorin lowered the two swords in a sign of acquiescence, or ending of the fight.
"Step away, Nynaeve. I will not hurt Lan. If I had wanted to, there would be nothing you can do to stop me.", Cellorin said calmly. His voice echoed along the walls of the vast fighting room. Suddenly, Cellorin felt the tingling sensation on his back that told him she was wielding saidar. He flung intricate webs of defense around himself, blocking a swarm of weaves of air trying to ensnare him and hold him. Lan knew nothing of what was going on around him, and neither Nynaeve or Cellorin gave any hint that anything was happening. Slowly, Nynaeve's face grew into a mask of determination. The flurry of weaves grew into a storm. Yet, Cellorin never blinked as he brought up the intensity of his defense. Then suddenly and decisively, Cellorin destroyed her weaves with one swipe, shielded her, and lay his weaves gently enclosing her in a cocoon of air. "Please, step away Nynaeve. I will not hurt Lan.", he repeated earnestly. He let go of the filthy sweetness of saidin and motioned a hand towards the door.
"Go, please Nynaeve", Lan said gently. "No harm will come to me." He put a hand on her shoulder, almost in caress. Nynaeve's arms fell to her sides, she seemed to quiver under his touch. Nynaeve was angry at herself at how a man could manipulate her so, but there was a touch of blush in her face as she walked off the practice floor.
"Some wife you have there Lan.", he said good naturedly, as he tossed Lan his sword. Lan's lips quirked into the beginning of a smile, but his eyes never left its coldness. Cellorin drew himself up and regained seriousness. "The reason you lost, Lan, is that you had met with a technique not known to man since the Age of Legends. It is a higher form of sword dancing. A purer form. It was created in the days where sword fighting was not a necessity, but a sport. The people of today remember and teach what pieces that had not been swept away on the winds of time. The pure form of sword dancing cannot be taught to someone who does not have a considerably great knack for concentration. When you are fighting you become one with your surroundings, one with your opponent. In the purer form, you become the surroundings. You can manipulate everything that is happening around you to a small degree. That is why I knew exactly how the blade would arc out of your hand and into mine. When you become the surroundings around you, you leave your body. It becomes a vessel, a puppet manipulated by yourself outside your body. In the purest form of sword dancing you lose a degree of awareness. You will not notice if a servant walked in to clean this practice room. You will not notice if Nynaeve here was trying to get your attention. You would only understand living things in two ways. Threat and non threat. The practice of this kind of sword dancing is addictive. Especially, to people coming out of depression or the death of someone very close to them. It is a way to escape their own feelings of loss and self blame. It is most addictive to people who feel no self worth, because usually they do not want to go back to their body thinking they do not deserve to live. When fighting in the purest form, your soul leaves your body, leaving only animal instinct and training that was branded into you. Not so different from people who leave the ways encountering Machin Shin. Not so different from the Gray Men. Yet through this form of fighting, you can become near invincible. Even to people who can channel." Cellorin explained.
"What about the music?", Nynaeve asked. Her voice came faintly from the other side of the room.
Cellorin smiled. "That is one of the more lighter finer points of this kind of sword dancing. This is why it was so popular in the Age of Legends. An oddity, really. The music is how you compel your body into doing what you want. Each note, chord, and tone controls the way you move your body. Often the song conveys what is on your mind, or expresses the intensity of your emotions. That is why they called me Sword Bard. I play music through my sword. I was once a performer."
"The music was so sad.", Nynaeve whispered to herself, and flinched. She was bewildered that she spoke her thoughts. Cellorin looked at her with an expressionless stare that would shame any Aes Sedai. He promptly turned to Lan and said.
"I will teach you the Song , Lan, but in turn I wish you to promise me something. I want you to swear to never teach the Dragon the Song. He is already near invincible, and the way he is going, teaching him the Song will only make him move faster down the wrong path. Whatever said or done here will not leave this room. I must have your word on this, before we go any further." As he said this he sheathed his sword and gave a meaningful glance at Nynaeve. Nynaeve simply thrust her chin out, and gave him that irritating stubborn glare. Cellorin sighed and looked back to Lan. "I do not relish teaching a man a quicker better way to kill people, so it is great reluctance that I am teaching you this."
"I will keep my word, as long as it does not benefit the shadow. But under one condition. I will not kill Rand for you, even if he gets out of hand, Sword Bard.", Lan said firmly.
"The cold is seeping into him, and he is welcoming it with open arms Diadem Battle Lord. The world will break worse than it should if he continues on his path of destruction. He will become as Aridhol and die of his own evil, if he is not brought back from the cold. Don't teach him until Cadsuane says he is ready. That is all I ask.", Cellorin said cryptically.
To be continued..be patient.