A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot of a few thousand words and it sort of... escalated. At the moment, I think there will be three chapters in total. Anyway. I understand that this is a somewhat controversial topic and I know many people don't agree with me (hi, Abbie! :D among others) but I don't believe Taim was a Darkfriend when he first met Rand.
Logain arrived with the winter. Half-starved and freezing in clothes that had been more than sufficient for the weather as it had been when he had started his journey, he rode into the Black Tower on a stolen horse that was in an even worse condition than its rider. Unshaven, dirty and on the brink of collapsing, his commanding presence was still enough to make the soldiers on guard duty recognise that he was not an ordinary recruit come to learn channelling.
He was brought to the Palace, as the men called it, while Taim was giving last orders to Asha'man Gedwyn and Rochaid for their mission in Illian. Gedwyn scowled openly as the soldier barged in and saluted fist-to-heart. Rochaid merely observed, the ever-present sardonic smile on his lips. Taim ignored both and focused on the soldier, who didn't quite manage to hide his discomfort under the undivided attention of the M'Hael.
"M'Hael, there is someone maybe you should see," the soldier said.
Intrigued in spite of himself, Taim dismissed Gedwyn and Rochaid and nodded at the soldier. "Bring him in."
On the first glance, Logain was hardly an impressive sight, worn as he was from his journey. A closer look, however, revealed that all the evident hardship had not broken him but instead forged him into something hard and enduring. Something Taim could use. If that steel could just be… directed. Reforged, perhaps, into a blade that would cut where Taim pointed. The fever-bright brown eyes regarded Taim with a steady, calculating look that held none of the deference a new recruit should be showing any full-ranked Asha'man, let alone the M'Hael himself.
The soldier noticed this as well. "You are in the presence of the M'Hael of the Black Tower," he barked. "You will show proper respect."
"That will be enough, Soldier," Taim said and casually sliced through the weaves of Air that the soldier had woven to strike Logain across the shoulders. "Return to your post. Unless you would rather report yourself to Asha'man Marle for a lesson in discipline?"
The soldier blinked confusedly but didn't waste time; without a word he saluted again and nearly scurried out. Taim had dismissed him from his mind before the door closed behind him. His attention was on Logain. He stood up and walked around the desk to close the distance between them. "I assume you know who I am," he said. "Aside from my title."
Broad shoulders twitched in something that might have been a shrug. "The rumour is all over the continent by now," he said. "Mazrim Taim, training an army of channelling men for the Dragon Reborn. Not sure I fully believed it until now." If he didn't have much respect for the M'Hael, neither did his voice display much for the Dragon Reborn himself. Taim allowed a fleeting almost-smile to touch his lips. Perhaps this man could be worked with.
"Believe it or not," Taim said wryly. "Do you have a name?"
Something that might have been a dark mix of bitterness and humour flashed in the man's eyes. "Logain Ablar," he said. "You may have heard of me."
Taim arched his eyebrows in startled disbelief before he caught himself; only a second, then the thin almost-smile was back. "Logain? Risen from the grave to serve the real Dragon Reborn?" he enquired, voice fair dripping with sarcasm. Another man might have chuckled; not Taim. He merely held Logain's gaze for a moment longer before continuing, "If you are him, so much the better. We can certainly use a man who doesn't need to be taught everything from the beginning."
The other man smiled wryly. "I'm sure we can find a way to convince you," he said. "However…" He spread his hands and gestured at himself, his clothes filthy and dripping snow-melted water onto the floor.
"Of course," Taim replied, with a frown. He raised his voice a fraction, weaving the flows that allowed his voice to penetrate through the wards that protected his office from outside ears. "Mishraile!" The door opened and a tall, young Dedicated appeared, saluting smartly. Taim gestured at Logain. "Get him cleaned up and see that he gets something to eat…" A quick, evaluating glance at the man, and he added, "Healing may be needed, too." Mishraile saluted again and led Logain away.
Taim had Logain brought to him again, later. The man looked a lot better, if still a trifle pale. For a wonder, the black coat fit him perfectly, where ever had they found one big enough on such a short notice. The collar held neither of the pins yet, of course, but Taim was sure that would change quickly. If the man truly was who he claimed to be. Taim realised that he didn't really doubt, only an utter idiot would claim that name if it wasn't his, but the claim did seem impossible. Logain had been gentled, and most rumours had him dead in the battle when the White Tower had divided. Yet, here the man stood, self-possessed enough for a king, watching Taim with a calm sort of wariness. There was nothing gentle about Logain.
Taim tilted his head slightly and gestured at the chairs by the fireplace. "Sit," he said, not quite an order, and took one of the chairs himself. He channelled Fire to heat the spiced wine in the pitcher on the table across the room, then Air to pour two cups and float the cups across the room. He picked up one of the cups and floated the other one towards Logain, who frowned at it before accepting it and taking a deliberately casual sip. Taim allowed himself a brief not-quite-a-smile before he brought his own cup to his lips. The wine was quite safe. The time might come when he would have to dispose of Logain, but as of yet he had no reason to, and he did nothing without a reason.
If Logain saw the almost-smile, he gave no indication. "Did you have a reason for summoning me," he asked, "or were you just lonely?" There was a pointed pause before he added, "M'Hael."
The absurdity of the joke helped smother the flare of anger and when Taim spoke, his voice reflected only amusement, dry as dust. "I was hoping to hear how come you're no longer… gentled."
Logain shrugged. "I was Healed." As if that hadn't been glaringly obvious. Taim arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. "An Accepted called Nynaeve al'Meara. She had apparently made some remarkable discoveries, her and Elayne Trakand. Nobody would actually tell me much, but neither did they bother hiding such things form me. I was, after all, harmless." Try as he might for nonchalance, there was no mistaking the bitterness that shaded his voice and clouded his eyes at the last bit. "She was obsessed with Healing. Nynaeve. Couldn't accept that something couldn't be Healed. And she was given permission to… study me. And she Healed me. By accident; I don't think she really intended to restore my ability. I was right where they wanted me, unable to channel…" A brief grimace. "They weren't cruel enough to gentle me again. At least right away. They might have reached that decision eventually, though."
"And so you escaped," Taim concluded. "From a camp full of Aes Sedai. No small feat."
"I had help." There was no evasion in the other man's voice or deep brown eyes, but he very clearly wasn't going to name whoever had helped him. "They are not all monsters."
Taim made a dismissive gesture. "They are as much monsters as we are." Logain shot him a questioning look, but he ignored it, letting the man interpret the statement as he would. He changed the subject. "Now, we can't exactly put you into a class with other new recruits. You probably know more about the Power than the Dedicated teaching them. But I'm sure there's much I can teach you."
Logain gave a small shrug and drained his cup. Without asking for permission, he channelled the pitcher of wine across the room to refill the cup. Taim arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Logain smiled thinly, then raised the pitcher questioningly. Taim gave a fraction of a nod and the other man filled his cup as well. Silence reigned for a while longer, during which time Taim studied his guest and Logain did his best to appear unaffected by the regard, trying to ignore Taim altogether. One did not just ignore Mazrim Taim, however, and after not too long Logain gave up the pretence. "It's impressive," he said at length. "To have built this…" He made a vague gesture around. "In such a short time."
Taim inclined his head slightly as if accepting a compliment. "There's still much to do," he said. "And I need every man I can find to get ready in time for the Last Battle. Tarmon Gai'don is coming, Logain, and we may be running out of time."
The other man looked thoughtful. "Yes," he agreed finally. "I suppose it is."
They talked for a while longer, of largely inconsequential things. Taim told Logain about the training and recruiting, Logain spoke of the situation in the lands he had travelled through on his way to the Black Tower, although of course Taim already knew most of what the other man had to tell. He couldn't make Logain say much about the Aes Sedai he had been with, their numbers or the names of the people in charge. Stubbornness or some strange sense of loyalty for the allies of the woman who had Healed him? Either way, it mattered little; Taim could always find out what he needed to know from other sources.
When he at last dismissed Logain, it was late evening. "I will see you tomorrow for your first lesson," he said. "Then we'll find out exactly how much you know."
The training grounds were cleared of snow, something the soldiers far enough in their studies to be trusted with the task did every morning before the first classes began. Taim stood at the edge of the slightly muddy clearing, watching as a group of seven men practised shields of Air. The young Dedicated teaching the class, Atal Mishraile, was throwing bolts of fire at the shields, testing their strength and focus. Many of the soldiers' uniforms were already singed in places and one, an older fellow, had an angry red burn mark on his left cheek. Mishraile could be a vicious one when in the right mood, but careful enough to not cause any damage that was beyond repair to any student worth keeping. Those were good qualities in a man; perhaps Mishraile was due a chat regarding career advancement, especially now that al'Thor's little operation in the south had effectively taken away everyone Taim could trust to get anything done.
"M'Hael," a deep voice said behind him.
Taim turned to see Logain; how had the man managed to sneak up on him like that? He looked too big to be moving so quietly. "Logain," he said, not quite a greeting, more like an acknowledgement that he had noticed the man.
Logain came up to stand beside him, his attention seemingly on the soldiers. One of them failed to block a bolt of fire to his right shoulder, but managed to dodge it instead. Mishraile's mouth twitched in a fleeting, cruel smirk before he launched another bolt at the poor fellow. This one the soldier blocked, which didn't improve the Dedicated's mood in the least. "How long have those men been training with the Power?" Logain asked.
"A week or two," Taim replied casually. "The short one a bit longer. He's slow to learn. Can't see him making full Asha'man this side of Tarmon Gai'don."
"A week or two." Logain let out a low whistle. "You're pushing them hard."
Taim shrugged. "The Lord Dragon's orders." He glanced sideways at the other man - who, he noted again with mild annoyance, was somewhat taller than him. "I wasn't kidding when I said we may be running out of time," he added, a wry note to his voice.
Logain nodded grimly. "Do you lose many to the harsh pace?"
"Some." There was something immensely satisfying about talking to an individual who instantly recognised the dangers but wasn't intimidated by them. "A score burnt out. Perhaps twice that dead where they stood." He paused for a moment, not exactly hesitating but wondering how the other man would react to the next part. "And some succumbed to the madness."
If he had thought Logain's expression was grim before, now it was doubly so. "Already?" he asked, but before Taim could reply, he added, "How many?"
"Ten so far, out of a total of five hundred men." Taim watched the other man's reaction; Logain considered the information for a while in silence, not completely unaffected by the thought of madness, but more determined than fearful.
Finally Logain nodded. "Could be worse, I suppose."
That was certainly a unique way of putting it; pragmatic and to the point, without false bravado or trying to belittle the issue. Taim had to look away to hide the brief not-quite-a-smile that touched his lips. "It could be worse," he agreed.
"And…" Logain continued, "I suppose you have a system in place, to deal with those who snap?"
"I do." He didn't have the chance to elaborate because then one of the soldiers let his shield drop just as Mishraile sent another bolt at him and it hit the soldier square in the chest. The poor man's screams and startled shouts from the other soldiers filled the crisp morning air. Taim grimaced slightly as he watched Mishraile barking orders for everyone to calm down and be still while he set about to Heal the unfortunate student. His orders went largely unheeded, however, with the soldiers paying more attention to their burned-and-already-Healed fellow's sobs. When Mishraile seized saidin again, Taim decided to step in. "That will be enough," he said, raising his voice only slightly but amplifying it with the Power to carry easily over the general confusion.
The effect was instant; the soldiers fell into line faster than Taim would have even thought possible and stood at attention, even the injured one scrambled to his feet to take his place between two of his fellows. Mishraile whirled around to face Taim, beautiful face flushed with either embarrassment or anger, but he was no slower to salute than the soldiers. "M'Hael!" Then his gaze took in Logain at Taim's side and a sullen look flashed in his sky-blue eyes. Perhaps the idea of promotion had been slightly premature…
"Class dismissed," Taim said to the soldiers, who didn't need to be told twice to get lost. Sparing barely a glance at the men scurrying away, Taim addressed Mishraile. "You've met Logain, of course. I need to assess his skills. You'll do for training target."
Logain gave him an alarmed look. "You sure that's wise?"
If looks could kill, Logain Ablar would have been a dead man; Mishraile's glare was frankly murderous. But, Taim noted with some satisfaction, the young Dedicated had enough sense to keep his mouth shut for once in his life. "Quite," Taim replied dryly. "I don't mean you should try to kill each other. Just give me a demonstration. Go on," he added when Logain still didn't seem convinced. "You won't hurt him without some real effort. Mishraile here is more than just a pretty face."
That earned a grin from the former false Dragon. "Very well then, sir."
Mishraile was among the strongest Dedicated currently in the Black Tower, rivalling many full-ranked Asha'man, and for some reason had always been exceptionally good at defensive weaves. Even so, Logain's attacks soon had him working harder than he probably had since coming to the Black Tower. Logain was simply stronger; even if he wasn't using his full strength, he was using more than Mishraile could safely hold. Taim suspected that Logain was probably as strong as he was himself. The thought wasn't a comfortable one; so far, only al'Thor himself had surpassed Taim in sheer strength in the One Power.
Logain gradually increased the intensity of his attacks, and Taim noted with mild amusement that as he did so, he began to aim slightly off, so that if by accident any given attack landed through Mishraile's defences, the damage caused wouldn't be extensive. That was surprising in a man of Logain's reputation. Surprising, and surprisingly intriguing. Taim realised he was looking forward to seeing Logain in real action.
Mishraile, unsurprisingly, tired first; he had after all been channelling already for half the morning and Logain had truly given him a run for his money. "That will do," Taim said finally, again amplifying his voice to carry over the sounds of the duel. Logain ceased his attacks immediately, but held on to saidin for a moment longer, watching the young Dedicated warily. But Mishraile was too spent to exact petty revenge; wavering on his feet, he merely released the Source and wiped sweat-plastered golden hair from his face before saluting.
"So," Logain said once they were alone again, walking through the snowy streets of the Black Tower. "Did I pass?"
Taim ignored the wry amusement in the other man's voice; it wasn't a tone he would normally have put up with from a new recruit, but Logain obviously wasn't your average new recruit. No, Logain was special and potentially worth bending a couple of rules for. He made a dismissive gesture and said, "It wasn't about passing or failing. It was simply to find out what you're capable of."
"You won't." The tone in which the words were said was so matter-of-fact that Taim wasn't sure at first that he'd heard right, and before he could think of anything to say, Logain went on, "Not until you find a real battle to test my skills in. I'm good at killing, Taim. I'm good at destruction. Just ask the Aes Sedai; I killed several of them before they captured me. You don't want to play with me."
Worth bending a couple of rules for… "Was that a threat?" Taim asked softly, glancing sideways at the other man walking beside him.
Logain stopped walking and rounded on him. "Do I have a reason to threaten you?"
Taim stopped as well, tilting his head slightly to look Logain in the eye and replied, "I don't know. You tell me." When Logain didn't answer for a few moments, Taim continued walking, briefly laying his hand on the other man's shoulder as he brushed past him. "Pity you didn't show up until now, though. I must admit I would have liked to see you in action."
It took a few moments longer until Logain hurried to catch up with him again. "Have the Asha'man seen many battles already, then?" he asked.
"Have you heard of what happened at Dumai's Wells?" Taim asked in turn. Logain shook his head. Taim opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of a bell striking the hour. He grimaced. "I have appointments to keep, and we need to have someone fill you in on the daily routines, anyway." He gestured at a Dedicated who didn't seem to be going about anything too important, a fellow whose blunt face was set in a perpetually surly expression. "Coteren here will show you around and answer any questions you might have about life in the Black Tower. I'll see you for dinner and we'll talk more then."
"Very well," Logain said, wry amusement and curiosity tinging his voice. Somewhat belatedly he added, "M'Hael," as Coteren gave him an ugly glare. Logain didn't seem in the least concerned about the possible consequences of breaching the etiquette and even less so - if that was possible - about what the Dedicated thought of him. That might become a problem unless Taim promoted him on the spot to spare him from having to try to be civil towards the Dedicated who technically held a higher rank than him. No, he decided; he would promote Logain when he saw him again in the evening. For now, the man would just have to try and not get into too much trouble with his behaviour.
With a final warning glare at the two men - he wasn't entirely sure whether he meant it for Logain or Coteren, probably both - Taim took his leave.
The dinner was set in the dining room of Taim's private apartment in the Palace. A small, mischievous part of him that Taim hadn't known even existed wanted to light the room with candles just to see the look on Logain's face… But he decided that the amusement wasn't worth potentially giving him the wrong idea.
Logain arrived promptly at the appointed hour. He took a look around the room, glanced at the immaculately set dinner table, before settling his attention on Taim. The brown eyes sparkled with amusement. "Should I have brought flowers?"
Taim almost laughed at that. Almost. Then he saw that the door was only just closing behind Logain - and knew that the Dedicated who had escorted him had heard the comment. Rage burned away the amusement and he had to focus to relax his hands which wanted to curl into fists. "I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless," he said dryly once he could be sure he could keep the anger from his voice; it wasn't, after all, aimed at Logain. Logain, of course, noticed that something went on beneath the surface and his demeanour turned wary. Taim mentally cursed the curious idiot - whoever it was; he almost hoped he'd never find out because he wasn't sure what he might do - to the Pit of Doom. He gestured at the table. "Sit."
Logain did as told and the dinner commenced in silence. After a while, however, Logain seemed to decide that there was no impending disaster lurking just around the corner, and spoke again. "So what exactly did happen at Dumai's Wells?" he asked between pieces of steak. "I've heard rumours, each wilder than the last, but most were focused on the Lord Dragon, Aiel and Aes Sedai. The Asha'man were there, too?"
"The Asha'man," Taim began with a slight grimace, "won the battle for him." There was no need to elaborate on the 'him'; Taim could see that Logain knew exactly whom he meant. He picked up his wineglass and swirled dark red liquid for a moment before bringing the glass to his lips. "And as for what happened," he continued once he set the glass down again. "We rescued the Lord Dragon, who had somehow managed to get himself captured by Aes Sedai. We killed more Aiel than I'd known even existed."
"Sounds… messy," Logain said. Despite the carefully neutral tone of his voice, Taim could see that he knew exactly how messy a full-scale battle with the One Power could get. Logain had, after all, fought battles with the Power himself.
Taim nodded. "It was," he agreed. "And pointless. Aiel were killing Aiel - what do we care? We could have got al'Thor out of there without anyone the wiser. But the Lord Dragon wanted to see what the Asha'man were capable of…" He gave a small, eloquent shrug and watched Logain's expression darken. "For many of the men it was the first battle of any kind they had ever seen. Of course they need to get used to it, I know that. But something of smaller scale might have been a better way to do the first blooding, something… cleaner."
That earned a snort from Logain. "No such thing as a clean battle," he said.
Taim gave him a wry look. "Yes, I've seen enough battles to be aware of that, in case you forgot," he said. "But everything is relative. And that particular… battle… was butchery, mindless, messy butchery."
A moment of silence. Then, "Surprised you'd care." It was not a question, but a searching look accompanied the words.
Taim allowed himself a thin almost-smile. "I don't. Not in any personal sense," he replied. "But I'd rather not lose men to mental trauma when I already have the taint and training accidents to worry about."
It was impossible to tell whether Logain was impressed in the least, but eventually he nodded. "Men…" he said after a while, choosing a tangent. "Many of the lads can barely be called that. The barrack I was housed in, Light, I felt old in that company."
"That may not be entirely because of age, you know," Taim said before he could think; he wasn't yet thirty himself but there were days when he felt ancient. He instantly cursed the wine for loosening his tongue - the comment was somewhat more personal than he had intended - but the startled look that passed across Logain's face was immensely satisfying and the following look of recognition even more so. Of course Logain would know exactly what he was talking about.
"Yes. I suppose you have a point."
The conversation ground to a halt there. Taim made a couple of halfhearted attempts at reviving it throughout the rest of the evening, but Logain clearly wasn't in the mood, and neither was he, especially after a few more glasses of wine.
When Logain stood to leave, Taim remembered that he had been planning to promote him. "Wait," he said as he searched his pockets for the silver Sword pin he was sure he had there somewhere. He found it after a moment and walked over to Logain, who gave him a questioning look with an edge of wariness. Taim almost-smiled as he leaned in slightly to attach the the pin onto the high collar of Logain's black coat. This close he caught the faint scent of soap on the other man, the wine in his breath. Taim was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the sheer size of him; there weren't many people at the Black Tower taller than Taim, but Logain was, and more broad-shouldered besides, radiating gruff masculinity and physical competence.
Taim took a step back, drew a slightly unsteady breath. Logain was watching him with an unreadable look. "Dedicated, to what, precisely?" the other man said after a while, not really a question.
"To the Black Tower," Taim replied nonetheless, almost surprised to hear that his voice was perfectly steady. "Without the Black Tower, we are just a group of men on the path to becoming potentially the greatest disaster since the Breaking, and amnesty or no amnesty, the White Tower will always loom over us like a noose just waiting to settle around our necks…" He paused for a moment to let the words sink in. He was satisfied and not a little relieved to see that Logain was listening attentively; whatever had just happened was clearly put aside already. Taim continued, "The Black Tower is… greater than the sum of its parts, more than the stone wall surrounding the compound. A symbol. The Black Tower can stand up to the White Tower and fight for its right to exist. The Black Tower is strength not only in numbers but through unity, order, discipline, and strong leadership."
"You mean the Lord Dragon, of course." Logain's voice was carefully bland, carefully not making the sentence sound like a question.
The Lord Dragon hasn't set foot into the Black Tower in months. The Lord Dragon doesn't care what goes on here, as long as I send men to fight for him when he so requires. But Taim didn't say that out loud. "The Lord Dragon, of course," he repeated.
Logain fixed him with a long, hard look, but in the end decided not to challenge his words. "Good night, Taim."
Taim stared at the door for a while after it had closed behind Logain. He felt drunk, and it had only a little to do with the amount of wine he had consumed. He had a feeling that working with Logain wasn't going to be easy; Logain wasn't afraid of him. That could be inconvenient… But on the other hand, it was also extremely refreshing. There was something immensely satisfying about being able to talk to someone he might even consider his intellectual equal. This was not the case with most of the rabble that found their way to the Black Tower, not by a long shot. The best of them were good at following orders, but conversation? Not a chance. Logain, however… Logain.
Logain knew about leadership, Logain knew about battle, Logain had no reason to love the Aes Sedai and Logain didn't seem eager to run off to polish al'Thor's boots. Logain was exactly what Taim hadn't known he needed. If Taim could play his cards right and make him into an ally, that is.
He returned to the sitting room, planning to pen a couple of letters before going to sleep. He was surprised to see that, according to the clock on the mantelpiece, it was past midnight already. He took a step towards the writing desk at the other end of the room, then froze, breath catching in his throat. One of the wards he had set throughout his apartment to warn against intruders had gone off. Someone was in his bedroom.
Cold rage filled him. His apartment was restricted area; even the servants had strictly specified hours when they were allowed in to do the cleaning and it was not in the middle of the night. He seized saidin and strode through the door. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded before his eyes took in the intruder.
Approximately of a height with Taim himself, the stranger was clad in a dark grey coat with lace at the cuffs. He had black hair, his features could have passed for a Saldaean. His eyes were hard, like cold, black gemstones, and his mouth was set in a small, contemptuous sneer. "I suggest you release the Source," the stranger said, his accent definitely not that of a Saldaean.
Not inclined to follow a suggestion like that under circumstances like these, Taim crossed his arms across his chest. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked calmly, more so than he felt.
The stranger's expression grew dark. "I said, release saidin," he repeated sharply, and suddenly saidin filled him, more than Taim would have imagined a man could hold unaided. A weave of Spirit and Fire took form before Taim's eyes, and a fraction of a moment later the world exploded in pain. Taim clenched his teeth against a scream even as his knees folded and he landed hard on the floor. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain was gone. "My name is Demandred," the stranger said dispassionately. "And I suggest that you follow my suggestions in the future."
Demandred. One of the Forsaken. After the showdown, Taim was ready to believe that. He pushed himself up to his knees, hesitated, darted a look at the man looking down at him - both literally and figuratively - then stood up all the way. He couldn't be sure but he thought something like approval flickered in the black eyes as he straightened to face the Forsaken. "Very well," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture more careless than he felt. "What does the…" He caught himself just short of saying 'the Dark One'. "…the Lord of the Dark want with me?"
The black eyes glimmered dangerously, but otherwise the man's expression never changed. "The Great Lord could use the services of someone like you," Demandred said.
Taim resisted the urge to shrug; there was a fine line between pride and idiocy, and while he wasn't currently entirely sure where the line stood, he was fairly sure he didn't want to cross it. "How much choice do I have?" he asked.
"That depends entirely on how much you value your life," Demandred replied. The Forsaken didn't wait for him to think of an answer, however. "I suggest you think about that and have your mind made up by the time I return."
"How long do I have?" Taim managed.
"Do you think I'm going to tell you exactly when I will be coming back, so that you can set up some pathetic trap? Perhaps have al'Thor here waiting for me?" The sneer was audible in the Forsaken's voice even though his face showed nothing. "Not that either would save you if you even thought of betraying me. No." He shook his head sharply. "Just have your answer ready." Then he was gone.
Taim closed his eyes briefly, for a moment afraid he might faint. Then he staggered across the room to the wash stand and leaned over the ceramic basin, fighting the urge to be sick, while the room spun dizzily around him. Once he was relatively sure that his dinner was going to stay where it was supposed to, he sank to the floor and rubbed at his temples with shaking hands. His choices were not really choices at all; he was not going to die for al'Thor when the man barely acknowledged his existence. But how long was he going to survive working for one of the Forsaken? How long was he going to survive if he did betray the Dragon Reborn?