There is a King beneath a Hill who slumbers sound and deep

He waits until the Wheel comes 'round to waken from his sleep

For he has sworn to live again and make the Dark One weep.

The Sleeping King

Ancient verse; attributed to Kiam Lopiang, Aes Sedai

Vulgar translation by Roth Blucha, Gleeman


Chapter 7 * Under the Hill

Part I : Morning

N'aethan opened his large eyes and blinked them slowly. He could hear the Box powering-down, which meant that in perhaps one hundred and twenty chimes, it would open. He thought so, anyway, though he had never been inside a Stasis Box before. They were usually used for storing other things… they certainly were not comfortable. N'aethan shifted position, the back of his head pressing into the rolled fancloth poncho he was using as a pillow. His upper arms were held rigidly at his sides by the confines of the thick-walled Box, hands resting on his chest. He raised them awkwardly, slid his palms beneath his skull, cushioning it further… and then whistled a rising scale. The acoustics in here were a little strange. N'aethan cleared his throat, then sang a phrase from Ottakasi's Carlinyi Sama'drova, the amusing bit from the middle aria of the Second Act, where stupid old Phra er'Tilion complains so bitterly about all three of his unfaithful wives… it did not sound too bad, considering.

N'aethan frowned. Why was the Box deactivating again, so soon after its activation? Perhaps it was malfunctioning. But if it was, he would not be engaged in idle speculation… he would be dead. Or worse.

N'aethan raised his head and glanced cautiously down at his booted feet. His soft exhalation held a note of relief. At least his legs (and some other things that were important to him) were still there. He had once heard of a failed experiment with one of these Boxes, where only the top half of the test-subject had remained in Stasis while the rest… no… no, he did not want to think about that. Besides, this was not just any Stasis Box, old Ledrin had told him, this was a Jorlen Corbesan design. He felt privileged to even be inside the damned thing, he was going to tell people about it, perhaps even boast of the experience. He was perfectly safe. Hopefully…

N'aethan did not fear death, as such… if he died, then he died. But he did not wish to die in a meaningless way. No, the deactivation of the Box must be deliberate.

N'aethan sighed resignedly, wondering if Father had forgotten to tell him something, or had changed his mind about all of this. It would be typical if he had! In which case, he supposed that he might as well go upstairs and await the arrival of the once-Companion to the Dragon, Haindar Javagd. And hopefully, kill the madman. Though he did not think that he would survive that battle. Haindar was not like the others. He, Jaric, Lorrs, perhaps Samatael… they were all almost as strong in the Power as Lews Therin Telamon had been himself.

Even when just thinking about him, N'aethan always respectfully used the Dragon's full name, when most others merely called him 'Kinslayer.' Or worse. But he had met the Tamyrlin once, when he was only a young child. Lews Therin Telamon had been nice to him. He had liked the man very much. Yes, he might as well at least try to kill Haindar. He had little else to do with himself, since Latra Sedai was gone now.

N'aethan winced. It had been more than six months, but the pain was still there, throbbing away like a broken tooth. It often felt as though there was a hole in his being, from whence something important to him had been wrenched. It was aggravating – he wasn't supposed to feel things, that was the whole point of Father's Design! Well, part of it, at least. He had never had feelings in the early days, certainly, when he went back up north to the wars…everyone in the military-camps scared of him, though hiding their fear behind bravado and censure. He had not needed feelings then, they had only got in the way of some of the things he had been required to do.

N'aethan supposed he had learnt how to feel from others, over the years… but that would not stop him from killing Haindar, if he could. It would be good to kill Haindar Javagd, the madman was a menace. It would also mean that he was no longer only level, but back in the lead…

N'aethan had neglected to tell Father something, though of course he would have if the ancient Aes Sedai had thought to ask. Fortunately, he had not. It was a little dishonest of him to omit the information, perhaps, but he had not wanted to worry Father. Since Shadar Nor's death – he winced again – N'aethan had set himself a grim task. If he did manage to kill Haindar, that would make the third Companion he had slain. If they yet had any claim to that title. Did they still count as Companions to the Dragon, long after the Taint had reduced them to rotting psychotics? Incredibly dangerous, enormously powerful, rotting psychotics? He was not sure. He would have to ask Kiam Sedai… if he ever saw her again.

N'aethan had killed Auldre Choal first, which had been far from easy. Though less difficult than he had anticipated – it seemed that, at the end, the poor fellow had just wanted to die anyway. When he thought about it later, he recalled that there had been a strange look on Auldre's face when he approached cautiously to deliver the death blow, a look of almost… relief.

Then, a time after, N'aethan had killed Goaeur Rantoel… eventually. Goaeur had been a lot harder – he had certainly not wished to have his tortured existence put to an end. Quite the opposite. It had taken a long while to recover from his injuries after Goaeur, though not so long as it did as after when he fought with the Gholam. But it had been worth the risk, well worth the pain. Killing a Companion was tantamount to saving a hundred thousand lives. More, probably.

N'aethan did not hate the Companions, for they were neither Friends of the Dark nor Shadow-wrought and he knew (or thought he knew) that the Dark One's Taint had been no more their fault than it had been the Dragon's… the closest he had ever come to actually arguing with Latra Sedai had been on that subject. No, he felt not hatred for these former Heroes of the Light, whom he had always quietly idolised, but pity… he would not let that stop him from killing them all, though. Every last one. If he could. But probably, he could not. He had been made for another purpose, after all, a purpose fulfilled. A long time ago, now. This provided small comfort.

Auldre and Goaeur had both been relatively minor Companions, as these things were reckoned. But with the addition of Haindar… three Companions to his score, instead of just two! That would be good. It would put him in the lead again. Strange, to find himself competing with a War-Sister to kill madmen who would once have been her Brothers, but there it was. These were very strange times…

During their last game, Kiam Lopiang, Aes Sedai, had wasted no time in mentioning that she had recently tracked-down her second Companion, Veic Shuul Savoran, Flagservant – he who had once boldly carried the Dragon Banner for Lews Therin Telamon and had later roamed aimlessly, destroying everything that moved and much which did not. That new coastline, out to the west, was reportedly Veic's doing… but it was absolutely typical of Kiam Sedai to have hunted and slain one of the surviving famous Companions, one of those who had songs and plays written about him. Kiam was always trying to outdo him… N'aethan would not have minded so much, had she not succeeded in this with such frequency!

The new coast… strange, to see the World Sea so much nearer than it had been. N'aethan had not been back to this place for many years, not since that last argument with Father, but the area had looked very different when he arrived. He wondered if Elder Brother's Tomb was still out there… but he did not think that Haindar, or even Jaric Mondoran, could destroy that. Veic-called-Flagservant, at least, would not be destroying anything else ever again. He almost felt sorry for the fellow – he would not like to have Kiam chasing him!

"What else is there to say, Lightborn?" Kiam Lopiang, Aes Sedai, commented levelly, "I put the madman out of his misery." The young War-Sister made this statement with that glittering, feral smile of hers, so at odds with her dispassionate nature, then moved her Spire decisively onto his High-Counsellor's rank, setting the cuendillar piece down with the usual depressing finality.

"Rie-mordero. I win again. The King is dead – long-live Queen Kiam!"

Damnation! He had seen that coming, of course, but had not been able to prevent it, since the few defensive pieces left to him after Kiam's customary depravations had all been pinned-down. As damned usual! Damn-it!

"Another match, Lightborn?" Kiam Sedai suggested evenly, "if you would care to take your revenge of me?" She always said that, though he had never taken that revenge but once… even when she played with only one Spire! Honestly!

"Have you not humiliated me enough for one day, your Royal Majesty?"

Kiam Sedai's delicate laughter was always reminiscent of silvered bells, tinkling in the far distance. "Set the pieces again, Lightborn. Perhaps I shall play with neither Spire on this occasion… hmm?" Kiam smirked.

"Patronise me no further, Anointed Highness – is it not enough for you that I cannot prevail, even when you use but one?"

Kiam Sedai's silvery mirth sounded again, though this time slightly muffled behind a pale, slender-fingered hand swiftly raised to her mouth, over which her dark, tilted eyes twinkled with momentary merriment. Kiam never laughed usually, only during their infrequent games, and then, only at him. Never with, always at! Kiam lowered her hand, one of those slim digits decorated with the golden ouroboros ring, become fashionable amongst the younger Sisters. She resumed her composure. And her smirk.

"One Spire for the army of the Empress Lopiang, then," Kiam conceded, "and not none." The smirk became a slight sneer. "You may make the first move this time, Lightborn, though I shall retain the white."

Kiam Sedai invariably played with the white pieces, he the black… white tooth matched against black claw… it always seemed appropriate, somehow. These games of tcheran were somewhat excruciating, but it was less about the play – he had long-ago despaired of actually winning a game from Kiam – and more the conversation. What there was of it... but it was better than nothing. A Shieldman who served the War Ajah did not have much opportunity for a social-life, after all.

N'aethan respected the Warmen, but did not relish their company. They were not really like people anymore, he considered – though he was a fine one to talk! – but, since the age of ten, raised and trained as grim dealers of death. N'aethan had been bred and taught to do much the same things – though with different weapons – and from a much earlier age than that, but had never seen the point of such grimness. Life was to be enjoyed, where possible, was it not? Even his. Besides, the Warmen tended to regard him with a level of awe that he found uncomfortable, whereas he had certainly never received that kind of regard from Kiam – far from it!

Kiam Sedai was rude, even when compared with some of the other War-Sisters! She always called him 'Lightborn' to his face, though she was well aware of his proper title – accorded him by Vora Samm Raijan, Aes Sedai, the War Ajah General herself. Kiam of all people should have known this, since she had stood Apprentice to Vora Aes Sedai, up until her death.

N'aethan might have said something, it was certainly his right… but Kiam Sedai was a War-Sister, if a rather junior, low-ranking one, so he accepted her addressing him as 'Lightborn' with the equanimity of a Da'shain. He did not really mind, in any case – if there had been a time when she had used the name primarily as an insult, there was at least a touch of respect in the way she said it now. Though not affection… never that.

Though he could not be entirely sure, N'aethan suspected that Kiam Sedai probably disliked him. She did not seem to much care for males in general (and in particular, when they could channel and were insane, which he supposed was understandable) so perhaps it was not entirely personal… the very occasional lovers she took into her bed were always female, he had noticed. But aversion aside, Kiam had come to respect his abilities, his devotion to duty. Eventually. And you did not necessarily have to be friends with someone in order to engage in friendly rivalry with them. Indeed, it was – oddly enough – more enjoyable when you were enemies! So, he did not mind it so much, when she called him 'Lightborn' to his face. It was certainly a substantial improvement on 'monster' or 'freak' or 'abomination.'

N'aethan sighed, gustily. Though he did mind that Kiam had two notches on her belt now, the same amount as him… it would be sweet indeed, to be able to tell her that he had killed Haindar. If Father had changed his mind, then he would return to the Northborder and eliminate twice the Companions she did! At least, until one of them eliminated him back, he supposed. Most of them were up there still, in the Mountains of Dhoom or the Blasted Lands, if more were making their slow and catastrophic way south every day… though the second wave of the Taint was spreading rapidly through the remaining ranks of the male Aes Sedai, and a lot of them were down here. The Time of Madness was truly upon them, it seemed, and these days, the Great Blight was much closer to the Black College than it had been.

It might not be possible to halt this Breaking of the World via the mere act of killing… but it was better than doing nothing at all. This was one of the very few things that he and Kiam Sedai saw eye-to-eye on. Not many others did. Things were falling apart in earnest, now. The driving of the Shadow-wrought from the southern territories and the series of small, vicious wars with the Renegades along (and sometimes, within) the Blight had kept the remnants of the Northern Armies at least whole and cohesive. Now that the Renegades were dealt with, discipline was breaking down, Warmen and even War-Sisters abandoning their posts and fleeing south.

N'aethan did not particularly care. It was a big problem, but it was not his problem. He was no high-ranking War Ajah Sitter to have to concern himself with such large issues, thank the Light! No, as long as he killed more of the remaining Companions than Kiam Sedai did, then he would be content. He would defeat her in this at least, for all that he had never won a game of tcheran from the woman in his life! He was merely an adequate player, much as he enjoyed it and worked hard at it, he just did not seem to have the mental discipline to properly master the game. Kiam did.

Though their competing efforts to defeat the Breaking hardly comprised a fair contest either. Kiam Sedai had the twisted sa'angreal wand that Vora Aes Sedai placed in her hand when she was yet dying from a Darkhound's venom. N'aethan had noticed poor Vora do it himself, whilst disposing of the last of the foul Shadowdogs, and had later stood witness to the fact that the sa'angreal was Vora's testament to her Apprentice, the only reason the War Ajah Council had even allowed Kiam to keep it… a Sister as young as Kiam Lopiang with a sa'angreal, instead of the usual soldier's angreal, was utterly unheard of! Kiam could tear down the Heavens with that thing! What did he have to compare with it? The same old weapons as ever. And his Shield, of course, but you had to get damned close to the madman before it took effect – and the madman might not wish to let you get that close… Goaeur Rantoel certainly had not.

N'aethan retrieved a hand from behind his head and idly ran a thick fingertip over the smooth, metallic chevron he wore on his chest, tracing the symbol of the Servants in the centre, the sinuous line, white tooth and black claw, merged together. He always found his Shield reassuring, it was part of him. As he was part of it, also.

Abruptly, N'aethan grinned what an observer (had there been one) might have described as an extremely mischievous grin. He wondered if Kiam Sedai yet realised that he had sabotaged her grid-map whilst she slept and led her through the ruined lands in meandering circles all morning, before slipping away to the Collam Doon. Which location, her grid-map was doubtless informing her, lay some twenty leagues to the west of its actual position, where the churning waves of the much-closer ocean rolled over what had once been the heartlands of the Rorn M'doi! That was the trouble with grid-maps, with their neat little points of light and glowing, circled objectives – one became over-reliant on the things. All Kiam had really needed to do was discard the malfunctioning ter'angreal and use her eyes to search for a heartstone bunker-dome set into the side of the dark-faced cliff that had given the Black College its name – there was only one like it in the vicinity, after all!

Did young Kiam, swathed in the fancloth so frowned-upon by the older Sisters (stately and resplendent in their antique streith gowns and shimmerweave robes) really think that he had not noticed that she was following him? Probably. She was confident of her abilities, and had a right to be, but was prone to overconfidence also, he had noted. And these abilities did not include the level of stealth he had been required to employ on occasion, particularly within the Blight. Kiam could thrash him at tcheran as many times as she liked, but when it came to moving through broken country, silent and unseen… then he was the Master, she merely adequate!

N'aethan was still not sure why Kiam Sedai had been dogging his trail, tracking him so ineptly to the Black College. Perhaps she wanted to add Father to her score? That would not count, Father had never been a Companion – he would not have wanted to be one and in any case, they wouldn't have had him! It would be typical of her if Kiam tried to cheat like that… besides, Father was not insane yet (well, no more insane than he had ever been, at least) or if he was, then he had seemed surprisingly lucid to N'aethan… Good luck to Kiam, if another hunt was her intent, for she would need it – Chaime Kufer Mors, Aes Sedai, was a fox she would not be catching anytime soon. Father had successfully avoided the anger of the Dark One for nearly a century – he had little enough to fear from young Kiam!

N'aethan yawned, exposing teeth that, while not very sharp, still looked somehow sharper than a person's teeth should have looked. Was the damned thing ever going to open and let him out, or was he trapped in here until he suffocated? He had always visualised a much more violent demise for himself than that! Fortunate that he was not prone to claustrophobia. Though he might become so, soon enough…

When Father had indicated that he should get into this accursed Stasis Box, he had done so without hesitation. He had obedience to the Master sunk deep into his bones. When he had first gone north to join the fighting, he had done so against the express wishes of Father. The conflicting loyalties of the situation had been like a sick, gnawing sensation within him for an entire year… there were times when he had just wanted to end it all. Transferring his allegiance to Latra Sedai had saved him. He sighed. Without her, he felt lost. A redundant weapon. Useless.

Ah, something seems to be happening now… finally…

A line appeared in the smooth white surface that had dully filled N'aethan's vision since he opened his eyes… come to think of it, why would he have needed to open them? He did not recall even closing them in the first place. Maybe he had slept awhile, or perhaps the Stasis Box had fulfilled its function? He could not recall exactly what had happened when it activated… perhaps a brief, very bright flash of light? The line spread rapidly down the length of the box, then split with a loud crack, slowly dividing, the heartstone lid melting into the walls. And the Box opened.

Something was different. The light, that was it. The light had changed. It seemed much gloomier in the antechamber, now… strange.

N'aethan inhaled slowly, then sat up and stretched. That felt better. A loud gasp. He turned his head to look, though other senses had already told him that he was not alone. A slender girl was staring at him, with large, dark eyes. She was very pretty, he considered, pale and delicate, with arched, feathery eyebrows and a determined set to her small chin. Though those wide eyes were red-rimmed, and tears had left trails down her dusty face. She also had a cut on her cheek, a thin trickle of blood running to her jaw.

Automatically, N'aethan moved his hand to the physic-pack at his belt… he was glad that he did, in any case, for it reminded him that he had removed his gloves. Since only Father had been present, he had taken the opportunity to do so. He pulled the reinforced gauntlets from his belt and slipped them back on over his fingers. He did not think that she had seen anything…

N'aethan took a quick glance at the girl, taking care to keep his eyes hooded. She was presumably a Citizen. A Civilian. Her chestnut hair was arranged in a curled, antique style and she wore an unusual, embroidered silken gown, like the costume in a History-play. The girl took a careful step closer, dark, liquid eyes fixed on him, her hands slightly raised. Yes, she did seem like a Thespian, this slim young damsel, she had… presence.

N'aethan had never much cared for the Histories, though more so than for the base, musical-comedies that Father favoured, the dialogue and songs delivered in the vulgar Low Chant – his preference had always been for Tragedy. He liked the old tales of vengeance and retribution and doomed love. Doomed love, especially.

Of course, Thespians performing in Tragedy also wore the ancient costume of the Histories, since the events these stories were supposedly based on had always taken place long ago, at the very beginning of the Age, or perhaps even engendered by the myths of the Age before that. Unless they were performed in modern-dress, of course, but N'aethan disliked such innovations. He thought that it looked silly…

Her silk robe was torn and besmirched in places, she reminded him a little of Mercassa in Talameia's Fredolo and Mercassa… no, she was more like Alandra at the end of the Final Act of Selemi's Donitius and Alandra, where Alandra delivers the epilogue whilst holding poor dead Donitius to her breast, the youth slain with poison by her cruel mother!

Thespians were rarely to be found anymore, but in the early days at least, troupes of them had sometimes toured the vast military camps of the Northborder, and over the years, N'aethan had managed to see seven different presentations of Donitius and Alandra, perhaps his favourite play of all. As well as numerous other Tragedies. Always Tragedies. Though his various duties and obligations had caused him to miss several more…

A Warman Intelligence-Officer whom N'aethan was on friendly terms with had once recorded a production of Alessandro's Horum and Kallista on a surveillance crystal for him to enjoy later, since at the time he was otherwise engaged protecting Latra Sedai when she had to go south to the Big Hall to meet with the War-Sitters. But viewing it had just not been the same. You needed to be there, to feel the raw emotion of live performance, to hear the ancient, dead, dusty words revivified and made to live again by the Thespian's craft.

Some Donitius and Alandra productions had been good, others indifferent, but whatever the quality, he usually found himself, by the end of that Final Act, weeping quietly in the dark … if only foolish Cuthbart had got there in time to warn Alandra about the poison, she could have switched the Pledge Cups so that it was her horrible mother and not her lover who ended up drinking it! Oh well…

The pretty girl in the antique garb was still staring at him with wary confusion. This was ridiculous – was she unaware that he might not address her unless she addressed him first? Could she not see the Warman's uniform he wore? His cadin'gai of shattercloth? There were protocols to be observed, between Warman and Civilian! Though he was not a Warman, in the strictest sense, even if he often went guised as one… N'aethan was no Warman any more than a lion was a lynx. She did not have to know this, though.

That was not stage-blood trickling down her cheek, but real, he could smell that it was… clearly she was not a costumed Thespian. Perhaps this old-fashioned garb was what she habitually wore? Peculiar. Though her oddly-cut, overlarge cape was of fancloth, a familiar material at least… to the Pit with the protocols! If he got into trouble then they could take one of his silly honour plaques away from him! Or all of them, he did not even care. He assumed the various gold and silver shields were still back at the camp in the box beneath his bed, if the camp was even still there. If not, then he did not really mind what had happened to them. The only honour plaque he had ever been proud to receive was currently affixed firmly to his chest.

N'aethan took a breath and spoke, using inferior-to-superior inflection, in case the girl proved to be more important than him. He was long-inured to being in the company of people who were much more important than he was.

"Hello," N'aethan said softly, "and who might you be, young miss?"

Is she perhaps one of Father's fancy-women? She is attractive enough to be a Courtesan, certainly... though Ledrin told me Father does not do that sort of thing anymore…no, she really does not seem like the type…

The girl blinked, still staring at him. Her brow furrowed. N'aethan was well accustomed to being stared at, but not in this fashion. Most of the staring people whose eyes he had so badly wished to avoid had known who he was, even if they did not quite know what he was… this strangely-dressed Civilian seemed aware of neither. He made a motion as though to stand, and she flinched away, pressing against the wall. N'aethan sat back down, raising his gloved hands meekly. She was a nervous little thing! It was very dusty in here, and… N'aethan took his first really good look at his surroundings, which definitely were not as he remembered them. The pile of rubble spilling into the antechamber, for example. That had not been there. The shattered, partially-collapsed archway. Same. Perhaps Haindar had done it? No… Haindar would have done worse than that. Much worse.

At which, for the first time, it occurred to N'aethan that a great many years might have passed since the Stasis Box had reopened. He felt a bit like Gwilim beneath the Hill! Except that it might have been more than only a century for him – perhaps two? Stupid of him not to have thought of it sooner, but then, he was unprepared for so odd a situation as this. His tuition in the arts of war and death had not encompassed such experiences, certainly…

Father had said he would wake when needed… something about the Dragon's rebirth? The end of the Age? How long was an Age, anyway? Much longer than two or three centuries… or was there no set figure? How long is an Age? How long is a piece of binding-web? Father said he would be needed… but then, Father said a lot of things that turned out to be wrong. What if the Snakes had tricked him? They liked to play tricks on people, just as much as the Foxes did… but no, Father was too smart for them. If he had proved anything, he had proved that.

The girl was still watching him, warily. That was a deep cut on her cheek. It needed tending to. N'aethan took a small field-dressing out of his physic-pack and, without moving the rest of himself, extended it towards her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Though a veteran Warman Sergeant had once told him that the scariest thing about him was his smile! And it must have been true, and not a joke, because the Warmen never made jokes. Ever. The scariest thing… except for his stare… so, N'aethan did his best to keep his lids hooded, eyes demurely lowered (she would think him shy!) whilst proffering the thin, pale rectangle. The girl did not move. She looked as though she had been through some horrible experiences recently. He was all-too accustomed to seeing people who looked like that.

N'aethan withdrew his arm, mimed pressing the field-dressing to his cheek. He made a reassuring sound. This time, the girl took the dressing, snatching it away from him before retreating back to the wall. It did not take her long to figure out how to use it, tearing off the outer layer and pressing it to her cheek. Her look of surprise as the field-dressing adhered to her skin and shaped itself to the wound was comical! Who was this strange girl? And what was she doing in Father's laboratory? Was she supposed to be here?

N'aethan made to stand again, but the girl tensed, so he sat down once more, repressing the urge to sigh. It was tiresome here, in this stupid Stasis Box. He wanted to go outside and stand beneath the sun, if it was not night-time. He wanted to walk in the Light. So, N'aethan attempted further communication, though he wished she would instead. Was the girl a mute?

"It is quite alright, miss, I will not harm you – do you know the date?"

More brow furrowing! Perhaps she had taken the Oath of Silence? There were some who still did, he had heard… though, as Father had once dryly observed, there were a great many more who ought to!

"What… date… please?"

The girl licked her pale lips with a small pink tongue, then responded hesitantly, with an extremely strange accent.

"You… not hurtings I! Me Servant, am. You listen, must… of All, Servant."

N'aethan blinked. "I… I beg your pardon, miss?"

"Shadow! There… dark mans… is comings! Servant-of-All!"

Was there something wrong with her? Two-year-olds had a better grasp of syntax than that! And her inflections! One moment addressing him as though he were the Dragon himself, the next like he were some lowly servitor! Not that he outranked servitors by much, but still… and her, an Allservant? Ridiculous! How could this young girl possibly be a…

"Servant-of-All… obey, you now! Obey!"

N'aethan gaped. Obey? Could she not see the symbol on his Shield? That meant he belonged to the Hall, he was theirs to command! If she were truly what she claimed, would she not know it was unnecessary to order him to obey? Not to mention slightly insulting… A Shieldman was the same as a Warman in this respect, he had obedience to the Servants written into his very soul… or in his case, at least, set into the core of his being (since N'aethan had always rather glumly suspected that he did not have a soul) though this was, of course, beside the point. But… obedience? Why, if an Allservant told him to jump off a cliff, he would go and do it!

(Though he would not be very happy about it, admittedly. It would have to be quite a tall cliff to kill him anyway, and perhaps on the way to the top he might just happen to pass by another Allservant and mention casually that he was on his way to throw himself off the precipice because the first Allservant had told him to… in case he could get the order countermanded… rescinded… but that was only fair, was it not? Let a Warman volunteer for the cliff-jumping suicide-mission, there were lots and lots of Warmen – but there was only one of him! Only one Shieldman!)

"Forgive-me miss, but I do not think…"

But it was then that N'aethan noticed the Ring. In tandem with her demand for obedience, the girl had raised a hand commandingly. Now, he thought that she looked a bit like Mercuria from Ptalamai's Dizendra and Mercuria, the beginning of the First Act when Mercuria is out on the balcony of the Palace, her eyes flashing angrily, shouting down at the enemy army below, telling them all to go back home! It was the hand that had not taken the dressing (or he would have noticed sooner) upon which she wore a small circlet of gold. And N'aethan found himself staring at a golden ouroboros ring – the eternal snake, biting its own tail. None but an Allservant would dare to wear this symbol! The older Sisters had scorned the Ring as an affectation, but many of the younger generation had worn it, he recalled… though none so young as her! N'aethan raised his gaze from the Ring, staring at the girl, and she jumped. Oh dear… she had just noticed his eyes…

"You are truly a Servant of All?" N'aethan asked, a little doubtfully. Well, perhaps more than a little… there was one way to be sure, he supposed. Quickly, he squinted, examining the girl in that special way he could, that Father had taught him. Well… there it was… she had the luminescent glow around her that meant she could touch the True Source… but he had never seen such a puny aura before, not even on a new Initiate! The girl was ridiculously weak in the Power! Even Father had been stronger than her (if only slightly) and he had the Drogue that the Big Hall put on him, which meant that he was less than a tenth-part his true strength! She had the shiny corona that told him she had a Talent also, but only one Talent and not much of one by the looks of it… most of the Sisters had at least three… Kiam Sedai had had seven!

The girl must have understood one of his words at least, since she was nodding emphatically. "Servant of All, yes, me," she confirmed. She looked at him for a long moment with that dark, liquid gaze, as though debating something with herself, then came to a decision and beckoned. "Stand-up, you… up to legs…"

So, despite his reservations, N'aethan obeyed the young Aes Sedai and exited the Stasis Box with relief. Obeying. It was what he had been made to do, after all.


The Myrddraal's eyeless stare held loathing as it looked down upon the dead Swordman. But it was a Myrddraal – it looked on everything with loathing. When it regarded its Trollocs, busily cutting the throats of the wounded, it did so with loathing too. Had it cast a recognisable reflection in a mirror, instead of just a dark, vaguely man-shaped blur, then it would doubtless have looked upon itself with loathing also.

The Swordman had taken a deep wound in his arm in addition to that in his side which the first Myrddraal he killed had given him earlier, and two large arrows stood upright from his chest, but even that had not finished him. The Swordmen who served the Firewomen took a lot of killing. They should have taken him together, but the other had not waited. The Myrddraal snarled. Its Brother had been stupid – there it lay, the Swordman's blade embedded deep in its abdomen, legs still twitching. It would not fully die until sundown. Though the loss of the human's weapon had given the Myrddraal the opportunity it needed… and even then, with his life's blood running from his ruined throat, the Swordman had still not given up. The Myrddraal glanced carelessly at the slim throwing-blade that was still embedded in its shoulder. It pulled it out and tossed it away, before turning a hungry stare on the ravine below.

The Firewoman was down there… the Aes Sedai. Earlier, it had thought it felt an… itching. The Myrddraal very badly wanted to go down there, not to kill the Aes Sedai (she was to be taken alive) but to do worse than kill her. But it could not. Not yet. Once again, the Myrddraal scanned the sky, impatient. Still nothing.

The Myrddraal returned its attention to the Trollocs. They were hungry, busy butchering the dead. Including the Swordman's war-steed. And its own dark horse, as well as that of its Brother. The big stallion had killed them both, as well as several Trollocs also – not all of the dead had fallen to the Swordman's blade, though he had accounted for most. The Myrddraal snarled again. Half the Fist – dead! Killed by one human, and his horse!

The wildcat Trolloc approached its Myrddraal cautiously. It stood highest amongst those left. It turned its slitted pupils on the Swordman's corpse and stroked the handle of its vicious, curved blade. The Myrddraal shook its head.

"Not to be touched."

The Myrddraal's voice sounded like rotten leather being torn asunder. The wildcat Trolloc nodded, and moved away. The Myrddraal knew that it would kill any Trolloc that attempted to disobey the order regarding the Swordman. The rare wildcat Trollocs of the Ghraem'lan Band were noted for their savagery, but also, their obedience. The Myrddraal would not have objected usually, would have let its Trollocs mutilate or devour the Swordman, but it had orders. Orders regarding the Aes Sedai, also. Baring its teeth in anger at the thought of where those orders had originated, the Myrddraal turned back to scanning the sky.

There it was. Finally. The Draghkar in the distance approached rapidly, a small dot at first, swiftly enlarging. It swept down, landing on a boulder, gripping with its claws and crouching, wings extended and beating slowly a few times, before it folded them. The feeding Trollocs eyed it with a mixture of fear and hatred. Sometimes, an insubordinate Trolloc would be given to the Draghkar, to play with. There were worse punishments, but not by much.

The Myrddraal, naturally, gazed on the Draghkar with loathing. The Draghkar stared back with its large, dark eyes, its red lips curved around its fangs in a goading smile. While not particularly intelligent, it at least knew that the Myrddraal would not kill it, for it was the only Draghkar left, and was therefore necessary. There was a Firewoman about! The one it had been watching earlier. It would sing to her…

"Come," hissed the Myrddraal, turning and starting down the ravine. The Draghkar leapt from the boulder, straightened itself, and followed. The Trollocs remained, as ordered, since the Myrddraal would not need them now that it had the Draghkar… they would only get in the way. They both walked past the dead Swordman without a second glance, though the Myrddraal did vaguely wonder about the human's words. It understood their speech well enough, it was necessary, in order to communicate with the maggots that squirmed before the Great Lord and did His bidding. But what had the Swordman meant? Even as the light went out of his eyes, he had bared his teeth in a final, savage, blood-stained grin, and growled;

"… your Brother was right, Lurk…"


Ellythia Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, watched warily as the strange Age of Legends man responded to her last, probably very poorly-phrased instruction. He rose and slipped out of the cuendillar box – it looked disturbingly like a coffin – a smooth fluidity to his movements. It was not quite the way that the Warders moved, but there was that same element of restrained power and dangerous grace. He stood in the corner of the antechamber, shadows falling over his face. His eyes seemed to glow a little in the gloom, until he looked down at his feet. Though he seemed ordinary enough, there was definitely something about those eyes…

Ellyth was cursing herself for not paying better attention to Serafelle's interminable, rambling lectures… she could barely read the Old Tongue, but that negligible ability was magnified to scholarly proportions when compared with how ineptly she spoke it! She was not one of those Brown Sisters who conversed fluently in the language with each other – not by a long way!

Though born into an old and distinguished House, in Amadicia, only the sons of the Nobility were taught the Old Tongue. Ellyth had not minded at the time, certainly, either reading her favourite books in the library or riding her pony in broad circles around the manor-house, occasionally sticking her tongue out at her scowling younger brother, trapped on the other side of a window with his grave old tutor droning away at him – and poor Thaeus had never learnt to speak the Old Tongue particularly adeptly either! They might just as well have let him go outside and ride his pony too!

Ellyth sighed and left her lingual shortcomings for another day. Her dark eyes examined the contents of the ter'angreal box closely. The man seemed fairly young, perhaps approaching his third decade, was of average height, with a broad chest and powerful limbs. He wore an unusual, dark garment, that seemed to be of one piece, cut off at the elbows and knees, with a v-shaped collar. The material shimmered like snake scales as he moved, she had no idea what it was. A thick belt of the same substance was buckled about his waist, and seemed to hold various odd-looking pouches and implements. A thick, black band was wound about his head, just above his brow and over the tops of his ears, whilst gauntlets of the same hue covered his hands to the wrist, studded with some dark metal at the knuckles and fingertips.

The narrow confines of the chamber required him to stand closer to her than she would have liked, but he seemed to be trying to keep a respectful distance. Soft black boots were laced halfway up his bulging calves, his biceps strained at the short sleeves of his garment. His skin had the bronzed look of someone of a fair complexion who spends a deal of time outdoors.

A large, chevron badge was affixed over the centre of his chest, a heavy, metallic plaque decorated with a silver, sixteen-pointed star, the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai set in the centre. She found this oddly reassuring. The star looked a little like the golden sunburst in shape, she considered, but with the obvious exception of the central disc – the Children would not be adding that to their cloaks anytime soon.

This shield-shaped badge was also a ter'angreal – a very powerful ter'angreal, by the feel of it. And it was… new. New! When they always felt old – ter'angreal had all been made in the Age of Legends, after all, so were old by definition. This Shield-ter'angreal was… different. Puzzling. And why had she thought of it as a shield? As opposed to a badge, or a plaque? But somehow, she knew that that was exactly what it was. A Shield-ter'angreal. Equally puzzling.

There was also a sense of another ter'angreal about his person… perhaps more than one, it was hard to tell, the strength of the Shield-ter'angreal seemed to be blotting them out.

Ellyth beckoned again and got a better look at the man as he took a careful step into the low light. His thin stubble of hair was extremely pale… pure white, in fact, if his thick, expressive eyebrows, just visible beneath the headband, were any indication. Though he only looked a little older than she. The hair was cropped very short, close to his skull… and his eyes…

His eyes were cobalt! The deep, cobalt-blue of the sky, just prior to a storm, seeming to shine a little, as though lightning flickered fitfully beyond the clouds of each iris. She had never seen eyes of that colour before, on anyone, or anything, for that matter. Apart from the large eyes, he was rather ordinary looking… well, he was quite attractive, really, though not in the square-jawed, bold-featured way that some women seemed to favour, his chin was quite small, as was his straight, unbridged nose, but he had high cheekbones and a wide, generous mouth that seemed made for smiling. In fact, there was even something oddly mischievous about him, she imagined, though in a dangerous sort of way. And those shining, cobalt eyes, slightly hooded beneath the pale brows… they were very distinctive… Why was she staring at his eyes? There was no time for this. The Shadowspawn were surely coming…

Ellyth shivered, and touched the odd, pale bandage on her cheek. It felt slick and rough at the same time, somehow, and she had been surprised at the stinging, shrinking sensation when it had affixed itself to her skin. It seemed to work well though, the bleeding had stopped immediately.

The Age of Legends man raised a gloved fist to his mouth and coughed politely to presumably get her attention – as though it were likely to have drifted elsewhere! – then lowered his strange eyes rather demurely and spoke softly once more, his words melodious and oddly accented. It did not sound like any Old Tongue Ellyth had ever heard spoken, but clearly was. He seemed to be asking her about a calendar again. At least, she thought that was his meaning. His voice was husky and had an odd, throaty quality to it. Oh well… time to mangle the Old Tongue some more. She hoped he would not keep wincing while she spoke, this time.

"Ye ca… inde duente a'… a' maral?" She couldn't remember any of the right words, what she wouldn't give for Renn's interpreting skills! "Ye inde nosane… domorakoshi…" I'm not even sure if it's a calendar you're after, it could be a burning colander for all I know! Though that seemed unlikely. She had to try to tell him about the Shadowspawn – if this didn't work she was going to have to draw a bloody picture! "Ye misain sa… shadar cour?" He wasn't just wincing now, he was actually flinching while she spoke! "Shaidar-drin… um… lyet?" He was shaking his head slowly, looking a little apologetic. "Ye… rhadiem… um… oh, bloody ashes!"

The Age of Legends man blinked his large, strangely coloured eyes slowly, then grinned alarmingly. His teeth were very white, and looked rather… sharp.

"Bloody," he announced, in the same melodious accents, pronouncing the words very oddly, so that she could barely understand him, "bloody ashes!"

Ellyth stared at him. Her mouth dropped open. The man spoke further;

"Blood and bloody ashes! Yea?" He seemed to be enjoying himself…

"You understand me?"

"Burn-me! Yea? Burn bleeding soul!" He was definitely enjoying himself!

"You understand me!"

"I under… stand… thee." He blinked, then corrected himself. "Nay, you."

"Thank the Creator!"

"Yea, thank Him. Praise Creator who spins Wheel of Fate and shines His Light down on me." He frowned a little, seeming oddly hesitant, then enquired; "forgiveness for ask again, but… thou art… Allservant?"

He spoke with the same doubtful tones in which he had said the only two recognisable Old Tongue words that had flowed so fluidly from his lips, 'Aes' and 'Sedai.' His speech in her own language seemed stilted and oddly antique. Though he clearly spoke her tongue far better than she spoke his!

"You mean, an Aes Sedai?" Ellyth qualified.

"Thou… nay, youAes Sedai?" Still sounding somewhat doubtful…

"Yes, of the Blue Ajah!" At which, the man nodded, touching both gloved hands to that odd Shield-ter'angreal and bowed low, leaning forward with precision before straightening, his booted feet together, his arms at his sides. "Who are you?"

"Who art..?" He blinked again, confusedly. "Nay, are… I? Me?"

"Yes! You!"

"Shieldman!" He said the word with great pride, but also a sense of… amusement. He was peculiar! "Verily! Shieldman serve… Servants. As Dedicated, loyal unto Servant of All. Service 'til death!"

"Dedicated? You mean… like an Aiel?"

"Da'shain Aiel. Yea. Also, as well, nay. Never Covenant for Shieldman! Way of Thorn, not Leaf!"

What does he mean by that?

The Age of Legends man – no, the Shieldman's brow furrowed, his odd eyes squinting a little. "Forgiveness once more… I may ask of you question, Allservant?"

I have more than a few questions of my own…

"Of course you may." He was polite, at least… if incredibly confusing!

"Allservant of ajah that is… blue… pray tell, why speakest ye Low?"

"The… low?"

"These words we use, twixt us now, Allservant – Low Chant, it is!"

"We… we call it the Vulgar Speech. I cannot speak the Old Tongue…" Ellyth blushed. Why even tell him that? She had no-doubt made it painfully obvious that she could not!

"Ye olde… tongue… meanest ye... nay, the... the High? Excuse, but… why is it that you do not, Allservant?"

"What we are speaking… it is the language which everyone uses now, yes? No-one converses in the Old Tongue anymore… at least, not widely."

"Now? Please… when is now, Allservant?"

Of course! Not a calendar, he had wanted to know the date… should she tell him? "I am uncertain of the exact day, but it is the month of Amadaine, or perhaps we are in Tammaz now…" But should she tell him the next part? He was watching her closely. He had the right to know. "…in the nine hundred and ninety-eighth year of the New Era." The man blinked his strange eyes slowly. She could not tell if he was shocked, or angry, or sad, or… well, anything. He seemed inscrutable as a cat!

"This many year since War with Dark One?" the Shieldman asked, gravely.

"The War of the Shadow?"

Ellyth stared. For the first time, the realisation that she was talking with a living being who came from the Age of Legends fully struck her… he seemed to be taking it all very well. But it was hard to tell, he was so… mercurial, one moment seeming to evince a full gamut of emotions, the next making even an Aielman seem expressive, by comparison! Now he was nodding, enthusiastically.

"Yea, One Power War! A'sag Aman. Time of Dragon…" Abruptly, he became sombre again. "Allservant, near one-thousand year since, say you?"

"Considerably more, in fact…" This was no good, they would have time for history lessons later, if they were still alive – there were more immediate concerns!

"Consider… ably? Allservant, forgiveness, but… how many m-"

Abruptly, the Shieldman lifted his head, gazing upwards as though staring through the ceiling. He made a jerking motion, like a sniff, and scowled darkly.

"Shadarrr..." His voice was a low growl. Though only one, brief word, he managed to fit a great deal of hatred into it.


The Myrddraal paused at the top of the ramp. She was down there, the Aes Sedai. She must be. There was no other way out of this place. She was trapped. It would… play with her, before it gave her to the Kirikil woman, the Myrddraal had decided. The Draghkar lingered behind, back by the carved slab of stone. The Myrddraal looked on it with an eyeless gaze.

"Sing," the Myrddraal commanded, voice rustling like dead leaves.

The Myrddraal paused when it reached the foot of the ramp, dark blade held loosely in its corpse-pale hand. From above, the Draghkar's crooning song drifted down, swelling and pitching, inescapably filling the underground chamber. The Myrddraal was, of course, immune to that hypnotic sound. The human that waited below clearly was not. The man stood squarely in front of a broken aperture in the smooth wall that bounded this underground chamber, face slack and expressionless, eyes half-closed, swaying gently. A pile of rubble spilled about his booted feet.

The human was not the Aes Sedai, clearly… so who was he, then? The Myrddraal moved closer, examining with senses other than sight. The man was draped in a loose garment made out of the colour-shifting stuff the Swordmen used for their cloaks, his hands tucked out of sight beneath… perhaps there had been more than one Swordman, as there sometimes was, with certain Firewomen? Though the Draghkar and ravens had not reported it...

The Friend of the Dark who stood high in their pathetic counsels had demanded the Aes Sedai be taken alive and brought to her… the Myrddraal was angered to have to obey the commands of a hag who channelled, however deep she had plunged her miserable soul into the Shadow… The Firewoman must be down here, somewhere. It would find her and have its fun, and if she was still sane afterwards, then she would no-doubt be taken somewhere to answer questions. As for this human, this Swordman, who seemed to have mislaid his sword… The Myrddraal drew back its blade.

At which, the human ceased his swaying, blinked his oddly coloured eyes, returning the Myrddraal's blind gaze without any sign of disquiet… and smiled warmly, as though meeting an old friend. He spoke softly, almost purring.

"Shadowman…"

The Myrddraal stabbed with serpentine speed, but somehow, the human was no longer there. The Myrddraal sensed a blur of movement to its right, whirled to face it, and a boot took it full in the face. It snarled, slashing viciously, but the human slipped beneath the dark blade and leapt, spinning, his other boot connecting with the side of the Myrddraal's head. A final, powerful kick knocked the sword from its hand, and the Myrddraal hurled itself onto the human – who set his feet and raised his hands to receive it (there was something strange, about those hands.) When the Myrddraal struck, the human seized it by the shoulders, falling back and helping it on its way with a booted foot. The Myrddraal sailed overhead and into the wall behind, hitting hard, breaking bones. It scrambled up, teeth bared – and the human rolled smoothly to his feet, turned and stood, looking at it calmly. He smiled again, though not warmly at all this time, and began to stalk toward the Myrddraal, moving with a lithe, animal grace. The Myrddraal crouched – its sword was behind the human – and watched the man approach, uncertainly. The human spoke again, this time not in its own language but in that of the Myrddraal – the Shadow Tongue. Harsh, ugly words, hissed tauntingly over the song of the Draghkar.

"Slow, Shadow-filth… slow-slow-slow… so slow…"

When the human lunged, a hand stretched out (there was something very strange about those spread fingers) the Myrddraal was unable to even avoid the vicious blow that came to its chest, let alone retaliate. It had never seen anything move that fast, not even in the Blight. A violent, wrenching sensation immediately followed this impact. The Myrddraal staggered back a step, the heels of its boots hitting the wall, feeling suddenly weakened. The man was watching it, a small smile on his lips. As it slowly slid down the wall into a seated posture, the Myrddraal touched a wondering, pale finger to the gaping, ragged wound in the left side of its chest, its eyeless vision dimming, then returned its attention to the human, now crouching just opposite, watching it die, the smile slowly spreading, large eyes wide open and staring, drinking it all in.

The human (though the Myrddraal no longer thought that it was human) seemed to be holding something, dark and dripping, in one of those strange hands. He held it up helpfully, so that the Myrddraal could get a good look before death came.


After N'aethan had shown the Shadowman its heart and ensured that it was thoroughly dead (the particular thing he did to them usually took care of that faster than any other method, even beheading, but you never knew with a Myrddraal) he tore off a piece of its reassuringly mutable cloak and went to kill the Draghkar.

N'aethan paced briskly up the ramp, carefully wiping his hand clean on the dark rag before discarding it and putting his gloves back on, loudly whistling a snatch of Veragosi's Fifth Shama Quintet as he did so, trying to drown-out the horrible noise the Draghkar was making. He could sense it up there, through his Shield, as well as hear it… Light, they could probably hear it in Larcheen! If the Midnight City was even still down there... probably gone now. One thousand years! Or was it more? And everyone speaking the Low – how Father would have laughed!

Ah, there you are, you nasty noisy brute…

The Draghkar was crouched atop Father's frieze, bat-wings spread, still crooning its vile song, a hypnotic dirge that redoubled and intensified at the sight of him. If he didn't dispose of it soon, the filthy thing would likely give him a head-ache…

"Your unpleasant song does not affect me," N'aethan explained impatiently in the High (using superior-to-inferior this time, since he definitely outranked Draghkars) "it never has. Do you know any other ballads, Siren? I like not the sound of this…"

The Draghkar obviously did not speak the… what had the girl-Sedai called it? The old tongue...? It snarled, baring its sharp teeth – then, claws ready to tear skin and rend flesh, it threw itself at the unarmed human with an ear-splitting screech.

N'aethan killed the Draghkar quickly, resisted the urge to go outside and stand in the pale sunlight, then trotted back down the ramp. It was quiet down here… dark also, most of the glowbulbs appeared to be broken. No matter. He could see fine.

The Shadowman sat against the wall where it had fallen, legs stretched out and head bowed forward over its chest. Its odd posture almost hid the gaping wound, which might be just as well. Even some of the Warmen had occasionally felt sick at the things he did to Shadow-wrought – much as they approved – and he did not think that girl-Sedai had as strong a stomach as they!

The Myrddraal's black heart, N'aethan had left sitting in its left hand, carefully curling the dead fingers around it. It made it look a little as though the Shadowman had torn out its own heart! He did not know exactly why he did this sometimes – was it supposed to be a joke? no, even his sense of humour wasn't that bad! – but in his experience, when some Shadowmen found another Shadowman with its heart ripped out of its chest and left in its hand… well, it gave them pause. Upstairs, N'aethan had distantly sensed more Myrddraal, further to the east… if they came this way, it might be good to… give them pause.

So, there was the Shadowman, rendered harmless in the best way possible. It had looked pleasingly surprised at the end, though not scared – nothing scared them, and the Creator-knew he had tried, just to see if it could be done. Myrddraal simply had no fear. Well, that was not strictly true… there was one thing that had once terrified Shadowmen, but Middle Brother was long dead now, unfortunately.

N'aethan missed Middle Brother, he had looked after him when he first went north to the final, horrific days of the War… had shown him around the camps, introducing him to people, always telling those blackly comic jokes he thought-up, breathing the sarcastic words that made you want to laugh and be shocked at the same time in that strange, whispery voice of his. He had had a fine - if rather dark - sense of humour, and lots of friends in the Lifeband, which he led… a pity Shen an Sora all died at Shayol Ghul, or they could have been his friends too... he could have even joined the famous Band and had songs written about him! Well, maybe not a whole song… but a verse, at least.

N'aethan stopped and stood for a moment, head bowed, strange eyes closed.

wherever you are now, Middle Brother, I hope that the Hand is sheltering you… and you also, Elder Brother, though we never met… and Father as well, I suppose... but not you, Grandfather, you can go and burn in the Black Pit, in the unlikely event that you aren't already there!

N'aethan raised his head, opened his eyes, and grinned. It was an unusual family he came from, and no mistake! Oh well. Just him left, now.

The Myrddraal was not the only thing leaning against the wall. There was the shocklance also. It was the same one that had been left in this bare chamber when he had come down to speak with Father for the last time. A short while ago. More than a thousand years ago. He had wondered why it was there at the time…

N'aethan had noticed the shocklance earlier and retrieved it from the corner where it had rolled. He checked it, but there was no charge left. It looked as though the residual power had leached away over a very long time, and what remained had been expended recently in a full burst, though it would have been extremely dangerous to discharge the thing under such circumstances. It did not matter – even had there been a full charge, he would have scorned using it. He did not like shocklances, never had, they were clumsy, destructive things. His way was better.

Though such dangerous weaponry should not be left lying around… they had best take it with them, it might prove useful for something, at least. There was a weapon clip on the left side of his belt, though it rarely held a weapon. N'aethan attached the shocklance so that it swung heavily against his hip as he walked. Just like a Warman's blade... He sighed. If only…

N'aethan had learnt the art of the sword up in the camps, studying under an old Warman blade-tutor who had served with Middle Brother, so knew a little of what to anticipate from a Lightborn. But though he had expected N'aethan to learn quickly, he had still been shocked by the ease with which the Last Lightborn picked it all up. N'aethan achieved his Heron in less than three months, by which point he had been unable to find anyone in the entire main-camp who was still willing to spar with him! Warmen, and their Officers, all declined politely – even those who hadn't faced him with practice swords at some point had heard about what a waste of time it was trying to touch the Lightborn with a blade, and refused also. Even when he rather desperately offered to take on eight opponents at a time! Still no!

Warmen were boring, their Officers little better, they never wanted to play. It was not his fault he was so fast, they should have blamed Father, if anyone… Still, he had his Heron, and was very proud of it too. But N'aethan was not a Warman, though he often went uniformed as one, and did not have the right to wear a blade at his side. This was one of his few regrets. Well, more than just a few, perhaps… at least he had his Shield, though. No Warman had ever been given anything that good!

N'aethan wondered vaguely where girl-Sedai would lead them, clearly they could not stay here, at the Black College… he had never much cared for the place, anyway. Most of the memories it held for him were bad ones. There were Beastmen about too, apparently, though he had never been able to sense them the way he could Shadowmen and other Shadow-wrought. They were beneath the notice of his instincts, he supposed. Though not the notice of his sense of smell, unfortunately. Trollocs! His lip curled with disgust. Worse than dogs! Big, stupid, brutal things that made too much noise and betrayed their presence in more ways than he cared to number… avoiding them would not be difficult, killing them scarcely more so.

N'aethan frowned at the Myrddraal's dark Thakan'dar-forged blade, still lying where it had fallen. He did not like those things, the wounds they caused were always more painful and took longer to heal than the regular kind. Still frowning at it, he turned his head slightly and called, toward the ante-chamber;

"Safe to emerge from your place of concealment, Servant of the Hall."

N'aethan used inferior-to-superior inflection, since that question had been settled by a snake biting its own tail! He still could not quite believe the girl wore the Ring – if she was indicative of these 'thousand-years-later' Aes Sedai, then things had become very strange indeed… she seemed little more than an Apprentice, and an extremely junior one at that! Kiam Sedai had been very young for a War-Servant, especially for one who used a sa'angreal… and Kiam had been eighty years old! This girl Aes Sedai looked barely a quarter that age!

Kiam Sedai had been self-conscious about her youth and always represented to him that she had reached her century (the senior War-Sisters did not seem to consider anyone beneath that age worthy of their notice) suggesting it in that round-about way the Sisters used to avoid their Truth-Oath, but he had sneaked into the logistics-dome one night and accessed her records, finding out her birth-date…

It had then amused N'aethan for some years afterwards to leave flowers on Kiam's bed on each of her birth-anniversaries, carefully circumventing the wards (and later, traps) that the suspicious young Aes Sedai left in her private dome, to catch the mystery person who habitually sneaked-in to deliver the unwanted felicitous blossoms! For some reason, Kiam hated flowers, it was one of the few things about her that defied logic – and that had been the whole point of the joke! Though as usual with his jokes, he was the only one who seemed to find it amusing. Kiam had not, but had never caught him at it either, though she had certainly suspected...

N'aethan supposed he would miss Kiam Sedai a little… though he doubted she had missed him after he went into the Black College and never came out. But he would not miss the excruciating games of tcheran where the ease with which she saw through his every ruse and stratagem always made him feel like a witless child… he had the last laugh on her, though, she would have been furious to discover she had been walking in circles all day! He wondered if she had found the note he left..?

He would miss Father too, of course… Uncle Gwili as well... but perhaps Someshta was still alive? If anyone was, it would be him, after all. He would find out later. But that was it. Everyone else he had ever cared about was already dead by the time he went into the Stasis Box… well, except for Ledrin, who he would probably miss slightly more than Father… the old Da'shain had probably not lived much longer in any case. It was sickening, the way the Dedicated were treated now. Or then

N'aethan sighed. A thousand years. Hard to believe. Though girl-Sedai had said something about it being more, had she not? Why was she not answering? Oh… he had forgotten, he had been speaking the High. The excitement of killing things of the Shadow sometimes left him feeling confused afterwards. He switched to the Low;

"Allservant! Canst come out now!"

N'aethan stalked over to the Myrddraal's sword and, grimacing with distaste at having to touch the vile thing – even with gloves on – picked it up and broke the dark blade neatly over his knee. As he dropped the shards to the floor, he said a silent prayer for whichever victim had been used to quench the thing at the Dread Forge.

N'aethan had never been there, or closer than one hundred miles to Shayol Ghul – he might not be Aes Sedai and just a lowly Shieldman, but he wasn't stupid! Thakan'dar was where Middle Brother took Shen an Sora to try and rescue his wife and some other poor people awaiting their turn to quench the foul blades. N'aethan had wanted to go too, but Middle Brother wouldn't let him (it was the only time he ever heard him shout) because he was too young. Middle Brother never came back. N'aethan didn't know what happened to him. No-one did. A wise soldier knew his limitations…

Still no sign of girl-Sedai… "Allservant?" What was wrong with her? Could she not hear-? Oh… of course! N'aethan slapped himself on the forehead. Fool! Maybe his time in the Box had turned him forgetful? He trotted over to the antechamber, shaking his head.


The wildcat Trolloc sniffed the air. For a moment, it had imagined it had smelled… no, there was nothing. It returned its attention to the ravine, down which its Myrddraal and the Draghkar had disappeared earlier. Where were they? They had been gone too long… the Fist was safe up here, now that the Swordman was dead, but… the Trolloc paused its slow thought-processes and sniffed some more. Again, it thought it caught a trace of something particularly troublesome. But dismissed it, when its animal senses hinted at what it might be. Djevik K'Shar! There could not possibly be any of the hated Spear-Demons here! Why, they were more than one hundred marches from the Dying Ground! But there it was again, stronger – it could smell Spear-Demon! Vlja daeg roghda!

The wildcat Trolloc turned rapidly, opening its bestial maw to yowl a warning to the others. The arrow entered its gaping mouth smoothly, slamming into the back of its throat. As the Trolloc fell, more arrows followed, with swift deliberation.

The Sovin Nai hit the Trollocs like a small whirlwind, a dusty vortex of black veiled faces and stabbing spears that carved a path deep into the Shadowspawn, leaving torn and gutted corpses in their wake. But there were many of the Shadow-twisted, and the Dance was not soon over…

Cohradin kicked the curved, scythe-like sword out of the snarling, wolf-muzzled Trolloc's hands and rammed his spear into its belly. He pulled, giving the spearhead a good twist on the way out, disembowelling the creature. He pivoted smoothly, shifting his grip on the haft and thrusting the spear into the chest of a Trolloc with large yellow tusks on either side of its snout – it dropped its heavy axe and clutched at the weapon, snapping the spear-shaft near the end as it twisted away, taking his spearhead with it. That had been his last spear! And the Dance not yet quite done, by the looks of it…

The others were giving a good account of themselves, it seemed the Maidens had used-up all of the arrows and had joined-in with their spears. They had been angry when Cohradin gave them the archer's duty, but as he had been wearing his serious face when he did so, they had kept their protests to themselves, while no-doubt using their fingers to say rude things about him… It had been necessary, but it was true that there was little honour in killing from a distance. But that applied less to a Maiden than a Knife Hand, so let them fire the arrows of others as well as their own!

A goatish Trolloc leapt at him so Cohradin, who was still holding the broken-off spear-haft, caught its ugly, barbed blade on his buckler and punched the jagged length of wood through its eye. The Trolloc fell back, twitching, taking the haft with it. Now he did not even have half a spear to dance with! And a huge, bear-faced Trolloc came stomping toward him, a massive, spike-encrusted mace raised overhead in its hairy paws. While Cohradin considered his best options – borrow a spear from Chassin? he usually carries more than he needs – he leapt straight up and slammed his ox-hide buckler into the Trolloc's face as hard as he could, breaking several of its fangs.

The Trolloc bellowed, staggering back a few steps, weapon still raised. Cohradin took a quick look around – no, Chassin was clearly out of spears himself, or why else would he have climbed up onto that Shadow-twisted's back and be using his daggers to cut its throat? – then back at the bear-muzzled monster, advancing on him again slowly, spitting out blood and teeth. Cohradin almost reached for the sheath in his belt, before recalling that it was empty.

Cohradin shrugged. Too bad a Trolloc was wearing his knife between its eyes, but it had been a fine throw all the same – twenty paces, easily! – and had kept young Tevin from being waked from the Dream. The youth should guard his back better, Cohradin meant to have words with him on that subject. No spears! No knife! What did that leave? Cohradin glanced swiftly in the other direction. Gerom was clearly in the same fix, though since he was using his massive hands to strangle a struggling Trolloc, it did not seem to concern him. But then, they were Sovin Nai. It was well to be armed with the spear – for were they not algai'd'siswai also? – but as long as they had hands and feet (as well as elbows and knees, foreheads and teeth) hardly necessary.

"Have I upset you, my friend?" Cohradin enquired of the bearish Trolloc as it loomed over him. It roared angrily, the mace sweeping down to crash into the rock where Cohradin would have still been standing, had he not neatly side-stepped an instant before. Tensing his fingers, Cohradin swarmed up the Trolloc, gaining handholds on its greasy coat and hairy face with his right hand, drawing his striking-hand back as far as his ear. He had not done this for a while, but it was one of the first things a Sovin Nai was taught, and it was not likely that he would have forgotten!

The bear-faced Trolloc snarled when he planted a foot on its chest, straightening and letting go of the mace, clutching at him with hairy, thick-nailed hands. At which point, Cohradin energetically stabbed his fingers straight through its throat. The Trolloc fell back, clutching at the gaping wound, dark blood gushing from its ruined neck. Cohradin rolled to his feet and stood over the creature as the life faded from its bloodshot eyes. He raised his left hand, fingers rigidly extended, dark with sticky blood.

"There, twisted-one! That is why they call us Knife Hands!"

Waving his striking-hand a little to loosen it up before making it rigid again, Cohradin looked around for his next Trolloc… but unfortunately, there were none left.


Ellyth lay in the odd cuendillar box, swathed in her dead Warder's cloak, only her eyes showing. The Age of Legends man had certainly not wasted any time after saying 'Shadow' in the Old Tongue (she understood what that word meant, at least) but had shot forward alarmingly and scooped her up into his arms! She would have remonstrated but by the time she had summoned the words, he was already lowering her carefully into this disturbingly coffin-like container! He was very fast…

"Stay here, Allservant! Safe! Heartstone, yea?"

"There are Myrddraal and Trollocs!"

"Yea, yea…" He sounded impatient.

"It is not 'yea' it is yes!"

A ripping sound – he was tearing a length of silk from the hem of her dress! It was already badly torn, of course, but even so…

"What are you doing down there? Stop that!"

"Yes, Allservant. Sorry, Allservant. Here, use – there is Draghkar! It will sing!"

There was a tube of fancloth in the box which the Shieldman grabbed before turning away. Ellyth sat up, suddenly scared. Which made her realise that, after the initial wariness, from about the time the odd fellow bowed to her, the constant fear of the last days had eased. Or perhaps it was just seeing that symbol on his chest? When she had felt Atual die, she had known that she was utterly alone, here at the End of the World. Then, for a time, she had not been…it had felt almost like safety. Now, she was alone again… Where was he going? Too late, he was gone

"Be careful!" Ellyth called, "Shadowspawn are extremely dangerous!"

The Shieldman reappeared briefly, glancing back at her from the broken archway. With amusement! Curse him, did he think that this was all some sort of a game?

"Yes Allservant… but Shieldman more dangerous!"

And then, he was gone again. So, not really seeing what else she could do, Ellyth took the two neatly rolled plugs of silk he had pressed into her hand and stuffed them in her ears. She lay back down, covering herself as best she could with the fancloth, which swiftly shifted its colour to that of the pale heartstone.

Ellyth lay there awhile, her head aching dully, just on the verge of embracing the Source but without actually embracing it. After the strain she had put herself through recently – she had nearly stilled herself! – doing so and attempting to channel would almost certainly burn her out. Literally, with any luck. She stood ready to fill the small chamber with the hottest flames she could summon, burning everything in it to ash. Including herself. Shrina had told her grim Battle Ajah horror-stories of what happened to Aes Sedai who were captured by the Myrddraal. Self-immolation would be a better way to die. Anything would.

And then, nothing happened for a time. She glanced at the confines of the thick-walled box. It was strange… so this was where the – what had he called himself? – where the Shieldman had slept, all those long years. It was very clean, considering that it had comprised a man's bed for three-and-a-half millennia! What was going on out there? She couldn't hear anything. Well, of course she couldn't bloody hear anything! Then, slowly so as not to alarm her, a black gloved hand appeared cautiously over the edge of the box, waved, and, forming itself into a fist, extended the thumb slowly. It was obviously some sort of sign, but what did it mean?

Ellyth sat up and the Shieldman took a respectful step back. He did not seem to have been injured… what had happened? His lips were moving and he was pointing to his ears, miming taking something out. Ellyth reached up and removed the rolled-up wads of silk. The Shieldman smiled, and nodded encouragingly.

"Is clear, Allservant. Safe to go, it is now."

The Shieldman tried to help her out of the box but Ellyth waved him away, scrambling down, further tearing her skirts in the process. He followed her out into the main chamber. There was a dead Myrddraal sitting slumped against the wall. Its dark blade, snapped in half, lay across from it. She noticed that the Shieldman now had the destructive tube-shaped device attached to his belt at one side, hanging a little like a sword.

Ellyth gazed at the Shieldman. He shifted, seeming to find her eyes on him uncomfortable, though he was a fine one to talk! But he had saved her life from a Myrddraal that she would have been too drained to kill herself, without the effort taking her own life, so she supposed that thanks were in order. And introductions.

"Thank-you for killing the Fade."

"I thank-you also as well, for wakening me, Allservant." The Shieldman pointed at the Crystal, still embedded in the ter'angreal-box's side. "It was you?"

"It was. You need not say both 'also' and 'as well' but merely choose one or the other. I am Ellythia of House Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah. May I know your name, sir?"

The Shieldman blinked. Ellyth was not sure why, but she got the impression that he was running through a long list of names in order to choose one…

It would have been a simple question for most to answer, but N'aethan (who had thought of himself as this ever since the War-Sisters had given him the full version of that title) had many names. Of course, Father had always called him 'my Son' except when he was exasperated with him, and then it had been 'Tro!' – his original designation. Kiam Sedai had always called him 'Lightborn' to his face, whereas to the other Sisters he was 'the Lightborn' behind his back, or perhaps 'Last Lightborn' though he did not relish the reminder that his Brothers were dead. Then, there was the name his friend Someshta had given him, a very long Tree-name that he had never been able to properly pronounce. It translated loosely as 'Black Thorn' apparently… and they said the Nym had no sense of humour! Come to think of it, one of Father's Gardeners had once told him that his people had a name for the Last Lightborn too, but even after the grinning Ogier had carefully repeated it to him three times, he still had not been able to say it back. The speech of the Treebrothers was less communication, more discombobulation! Oh, and if that was not enough, the Da'shain had altered and abbreviated his title to 'Vron'Cor' after that business with the Aiel children. He supposed there was also that stupid name the Warmen always called him, he knew they were just trying to be respectful but it always made him recall something he did not like to think about. And then… then there was the rude term which had been accorded him by the Shadow, far from complimentary, though he took pride in it, since it indicated that he was feared by his enemy. Well, disliked at least. But anything to do with the Shadow still came at the end of the list, naturally.

Of course, the word 'Shadow' featured in his favourite name, but then again, it did in Latra Sedai's least-favourite also. (She had told him once that she hated being called 'Cutter-of-the-Shadow' by the Warmen who had given her that name.)

"Allservant, my title is Sin'aethan Shadar Cor." The Shieldman said these last words fluidly and fast, with great pride. Ellyth blinked.

"But long it takes, to say! So I am named 'N'aethan' in part of this."

"Naythan?"

"Not Naythan, Allservant. N'aethan."

Ellyth considered. There was something subtly different about the way he said it, but then, there would be… 'Naythan' was a rather old-fashioned name, one did not hear it very often… it had something to do with shields, she thought… but this man was from the Age of Legends, after all, so was entitled to be old-fashioned!

"I cannot pronounce that quite the way you do. Would it be acceptable for me to refer to you as 'Naythan?' " The Shieldman's eyes widened – in addition to the strange hue of his iris, there was something about the pupil that was rather odd also, but she did not wish to stare too obviously.

"Accept… able..? You are Allservant, Allservant! You may do as you wish!"

"I may? Well, that would certainly make for a fine change. Hmm… you will need a suffix, since I do not address strangers by their familial name… when I first enquired as to your identity, you said that you were a… 'Shieldman.' " The Shieldman nodded proudly. But there it was again – that hint of amusement! "Would it be acceptable to you to be called 'Naythan Shieldman?' "

"As spoke, Allservant, not question of acceptable. You are Allservant – if say you my name is 'Naythan Shieldman' then name is Naythan Shieldman. That is all."

Was he being ironic? Ellyth narrowed her eyes a little. She did not care for irony… unless it emerged from her lips! She was starting to think that this Shieldman might be one of those maddening people who always seemed to be laughing at some inner joke, who found certain odd things amusing, but could never quite say why!

N'aethan flinched as girl-Sedai's eyes narrowed a bit. Perhaps she thought that he was trying to be ironic? He was not! He was being obedient! That was what she wanted, was it not? His obedience! She had said so, had she not? You could not win, with females – whatever you did or said, it was always wrong! And what in the Black Pit did 'acceptable' mean anyway? It was not one of the words Father taught...

"Though fine name it is, I will use with pride," added the Shieldman, hastily.

N'aethan was fairly certain that the two words practically meant the same thing… did girl-Sedai realise that? Probably best not to point it out, she might see it as insubordination and take his Shield away from him! It had happened before. Latra Sedai had always made the offending Sister give it back later, and sometimes even apologise to him, which had been embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as to the Sister, though! Being made to apologise to the Lightborn, in front of all the other Sisters! Made to by Latra Posae Decume, Aes Sedai... Shadar Nor herself. The War-Sisters were funny! Pecking away at each other like disgruntled hens… but Latra Sedai had always been the biggest chicken, with the sharpest beak! And he? Her little chick!

"Very-well, Master Shieldman, let us depart this place…"

Following-on meekly after girl-Sedai, N'aethan thought that perhaps now might not be a good time to ask her what 'acceptable' meant, though he had repeated the word back to her as though he knew, which was perhaps a little dishonest of him. He could make an educated guess, certainly, but some of these longer words that she used were a bit beyond his rudimentary vocabulary, since he had only ever soaked-up enough of this vulgar speech to make Father happy… the Low Chant certainly seemed to have changed in however long it had been, it seemed to have become more complicated, to have evolved…he suspected that it might now contain many more words than it had, and some of them might even be quite long words..? Perhaps girl-Sedai would teach them to him, if she had time?

N'aethan liked languages. He read and spoke five fluently, and was at least conversant with another seven. Four of those first five languages had already been dead when he learnt them. Long dead. Father spoke them, so he had learnt them too. Apart from the fact that he enjoyed it, it had also been useful for them to be able to talk to each other in a tongue that others did not understand, sometimes. And now, the High was a dead language also – five out of five! He doubted anyone spoke any of the more modern languages he was familiar with either, anymore – except for one of those seven, clearly – the Low. Everyone spoke it now, girl-Sedai had said. When had that happened?

N'aethan also spoke the Dark Tongue of the Shadow, the only language he had not enjoyed learning. It was less speech, he considered, more a sort of verbal vileness. But it was useful to know what the Shadow-wrought were saying to each other sometimes – and enjoyable, also, to be able to talk to them before you killed them, tell them what you were going to do to them before you did it. N'aethan did not have a particularly sadistic temperament (though he did have a wild streak and occasionally felt an almost overpowering urge to chase things) but he had seen the terror of the Shadow too often to not relish terrorising its Spawn, in-turn. He considered it… appropriate, to so do. Another part of Father's Design, he supposed.

Ellyth glanced down at the Myrddraal as they walked past. She wondered how the Shieldman had killed it without a weapon, though he had the strange, dangerous tube-thing hanging from his belt, so perhaps he had used that… but why was there a gaping hole in the Fade's chest? And what was that in its hand? That was disgusting, had he done what she thought he had..? Suddenly, Ellyth very badly wanted to depart this forbidding place – she reached the ramp – to get out of here so that she could find Atual and give him a decent burial- and a loud moan escaped from wherever she had been keeping it imprisoned. Ellyth fell to her knees, doubled-over and, head bowed, began to release a succession of deep, wracking sobs.

N'aethan watched with surprise as girl-Sedai, previously so cool and calm, suddenly broke down in tears, right in front of him! She had been crying earlier, and he knew the signs of grief when he saw them. He had seen them a lot. Had she lost someone? Presumably. This was going to make him start thinking about Latra Sedai, and then he might start crying too! He wondered what she would make of that? Her big, strong Shieldman, who was going to tear to shreds any Shadow-wrought that looked at her sideways, sitting down beside her and bawling like a baby!

N'aethan reached into the sub-pack at the back of his belt and drew out a white square. He hoped girl-Sedai would not want to be physically comforted, since close-contact with strangers always made him nervous… not as nervous as it would have made them when they found out who he was, though! Well… what he was. But he also vaguely hoped that she would want to be comforted… it was all rather contradictory. Perhaps he should at least put his arm around her? Though it might be seen as an over-familiarity… he did not wish to appear cold, though. He thought of himself as quite a warm person (in as much as he thought of himself as a person at all) and hoped that others did too.

Ellyth accepted the square of pale, shiny cloth from the gloved hand – he seemed to be making a habit of passing her useful things from those strange pouches in his belt – opened it up, wiped away the tears, frowning at the dark smudges (her face must be filthy!) and blew her nose delicately before pushing the wadded kerchief into her sleeve. She rose, glanced up at the Shieldman with gratitude. He was not overly tall, but taller than she. He had moved closer, his arms held out from his sides a little, but clearly was not sure whether to hug her or not! Men were so… useless, when it came to these things, if Shrina or Renn had been here, there would be none of this hesitation, she would be currently resting her head on the rather wet shoulder of a friend, whilst sympathetic hands held her tight and smoothed her hair... no matter.

"Forgive me," Ellyth sighed, "I have recently lost my Warder. It causes pronounced physical effects for a time after, due to the severing of the bond that existed between us." Curse the bond, that had nothing to do with it…

The Shieldman just nodded, clearly relieved that she had stopped crying! The feelings of loss, pain and guilt were still there, raging within. Ellyth took a deep, calming breath, and firmly pushed the sensations to the back of her mind. There would be time for that later, if she yet survived, and if she did not… just as well.

"Attend me, Master Shieldman. We should leave before more Shadowspawn arrive to trap us here."

"Honour to obey, Allservant."

The Shieldman bowed to her in that odd way again, crossing his gloved hands and touching them to his chest over where that strange Shield-ter'angreal was affixed. She assumed that it was, anyway, it was currently hidden beneath a layer of fancloth. The Warder's cloaks were always of the same rigid cut and design that had changed little since the founding of the White Tower. This garment was decidedly different, a long diamond of fancloth with a hole for his head in the middle – he currently wore it draped over his shoulders like a tabard, the pointed ends tapering down to his knees in front and back. She had to admit that it looked practical. And she was wearing fancloth herself, after all… Ellyth rearranged her dead Warder's cloak a little, it was not a woman's cloak and was far too big for her, but it was comforting to wear it.

"I first will go, Allservant."

"You will go first."

"Yes, Allservant. I… will… go… first."

There was a fluidity to his movements as he ascended the ramp that hinted at some wild beast that lived for the hunt. Though when he was still, there was a sense of powerful immovability to him. Ellyth followed the Shieldman slowly, but her head began to spin even so, the dull throbbing in her temples increasing. Once again, the realisation that she had nearly burnt herself out, nearly stilled herself, hit home. She should not so much as attempt to touch the Source for at least a day… unless she had to, of course. Feeling faint, she paused to lean against the curving balustrade a moment, her head hanging, breathing deep. It was close in here, rock-dust drifting about, she would feel better when they were outside in the open air.

The Shieldman noticed that she was not following and paused also, looking back at her. She waved him onwards. Instead, he took two of his quick, lithe steps down the ramp and unceremoniously scooped her up in his arms! Again!

"Put me down! I am not a doll, Master Shieldman!"

"Forgiveness, Allservant," the Shieldman muttered, pacing swiftly up the ramp and utterly ignoring her instruction. So much for obedience! He set her gently on her feet beside the big slab of marble, then slipped out into the air. "Please to wait, Allservant, will see if safe…" he said, as he did so. Ellyth glared after him. She was not a rolled-up carpet, to be toted about in the arms of some muscle-bound oaf!

Then, Ellyth noticed the Draghkar. Leathery wings providing its own shroud, it was staring sightlessly up at the ceiling… though lying on its front. It looked as though its head had been wrenched right the way around, so that it was facing backwards via the medium of a thoroughly well-broken neck! Ellyth blinked… and found herself swallowing the angry words that she had been about to deliver after… the Shieldman. He must have done it. He was fast… he must be very strong, also…

Ellyth was exhausted, in pain and drowning emotionally in a mixture of regret and misery. But she had not lost her wits. She was starting to think that this odd Age of Legends fellow might not be entirely… human.

"Allservant?"

"Aaa!" Ellyth leaned back against the frieze after her feet had resumed the ground. The Shieldman, having abruptly and soundlessly reappeared behind her, was staring curiously. "Do not do that – you gave me a fright!"

"Forgiveness, Allservant."

"Yes, well… you move very quietly, I must say, Master Shieldman."

"So that Shadow does not hear me coming, Allservant!"

Ellyth frowned at the fellow. He was glancing past her at something, with those strange eyes… his pupils seemed more elongated than they should be, they were not perfectly round, more like ovals… she leant a little closer. The Shieldman noticed, glanced at her and grinned. His very white teeth were very sharp! Ellyth leant back and the Shieldman's gaze returned to the marble slab behind her…

"There is way up, Allservant. Saw no thing movement," he muttered, absently.

"Nothing moving. Did you search the sky, in case of-"

"Draghkar and Shadow-eyes, yes, Allservant. Nothing moving."

N'aethan had a note of patience in his voice. Did he tell girl-Sedai how to spin her webs? It had been good to be out in the sun again, even though it had only been sixty bells since he last stood in the Light. A 'candle' it was called, in the Low, he believed. One candle… and more than a millennia… he had lost the impulse to ask exactly how long. What difference would it make, if it was even as many as two thousand years? He was here now, in this future world. He wondered what it would be like? So far he had only seen a ravine between two jagged crags, neither of which had been there that morning… it was not a promising beginning.

Father's frieze had faded, he supposed that wind and rain had got into here from time to time and weathered the marble, blackening it… but his keen eyes could still discern the features on the head, the prissy mouth set in an irritating half-smile.

(Hello, Grandfather! I see that your head is still stuck onto the body of a lion! You look very stupid, as usual! And I am also glad to know that you are dead again – this time, please try to stay dead!)

Though the sun above shone weak and fitful through grey clouds, an overcast day never made any difference. Just a chime of standing beneath the Light was all N'aethan ever needed, to do his… other thing. The thing Father had never understood, about him or his Brothers. N'aethan had left the Collam Doon knowing little about this new world he found himself in. He had at least returned with the knowledge that, while the Forsaken seemed to be awake again, two of them were dead. And would stay that way, hopefully. Though that might be wishful thinking. The Dark One was not known as the 'Lord of the Grave' for nothing, Father had once told him, bitterly. But for the time being, it was the other eleven that he was worried about, Ishamael particularly.

Though the Betrayer of Hope had felt weak, as though he had taken a bad hurt not long since. But he would be back, he always was… N'aethan hoped that the Aes Sedai of this time would know how to deal with the Forsaken, would not be tricked by their illusions. It was worrying, though. Why were they abroad again? He was not sure, but he thought the seals had weakened. He would have to go right up to the Bore to know for certain, but if he did, he would surely not be coming back to tell of it! Middle Brother had been way tougher than him, and ten times the fighter – and his bones still lay somewhere on the slopes of Shayol Ghul… as did his Elder Brother's, presumably, though he had died there many years earlier, in the fifth year of the War, when he had taken it upon himself to go to that dread place alone… and kill the Dark One. Big Brother had certainly never believed in doing things by half-measures! The Shadow Mountain was clearly not a propitious place for a Lightborn.

So, eleven Forsaken for the forces of Light to deal with. That was not good. But at least death had come (and come quite recently, by the feel of it) to Eval Ramman and Ishar Morrad Chuain, who the world had come to know as Balthamel and Aginor. This pleased N'aethan greatly, and put him in a much better mood. Particularly the second name on this too-short list. A very long time ago, Father had stood 'prentice to Ishar Morrad, Aes Sedai, as he then was, before he earned his third name… before he turned to the Shadow. As Apprenticeships go, it had all ended rather badly…

"Why do you stare at the carving of the lion and smile?"

"Oh, nay reason, Allservant."

"No, not 'nay.' Come along, Master Shieldman. We must away. Be on your guard, there may well be Trollocs in the vicinity."

"No, Allservant. I mean yes, Allservant. Coming, Allservant."

"Must you keep calling me that? Aes Sedai will do, Master Shieldman."

"Yes, Aes Sedai. Coming Aes Sedai."

"Master Shieldman, perhaps you might restrict yourself to using my title only once every other sentence! And stop dawdling!"

"Yes, Aes Sedai. Sorry about that, I am." Pause. "Aes Sedai."

"Oh, mother's milk in a bloody beaker!" Ellyth snarled, and stalked away.

Yes, girl-Sedai! No, girl-Sedai! Three bags filled with wool, girl-Sedai! Though to be honest, N'aethan did not mind so much the imperiousness, the being ordered around and snapped-at – it was, after all, exactly what he was used to! It was nice to know that, while the Aes Sedai of now might seem like children in comparison to the ones he had served, if girl-Sedai was any indication, they at least still had every ounce of the arrogance he recalled so fondly… that expectation that each command be instantly obeyed, even that cool look and raised eyebrow thing she did, which reminded him a little of Kiam Sedai! Everything else might have changed, but it was reassuring, even comforting, to know that some things were still the same.

Giving Aginor a last smile, N'aethan turned and followed girl-Sedai up the ravine, running a little to catch up, the shocklance bumping annoyingly against his hip. How he wished it were a sword! She seemed to be feeling better, to have got her breath back… this was good. But he would have to find a way to interpose himself between her and these Beastmen without arousing her anger, if he could.

N'aethan was not sure how many of them there might be, but he hoped it would not take too long to kill them all. It might even be enjoyable, though Trollocs moved pitifully slow, since there was always that moment right at the end, when the last Beastman, the one he had deliberately avoided killing, stared around itself and realised that it was alone… he always smiled at it, waiting for it to do what they always did… his favourite kind of Beastman was that one, turning and running away from him… requiring him to pursue. 'Where do you think you are going, sorda? Come back here!'

He would have to do it without taking off his gloves, of course, which would make things a bit more difficult. But he did not want girl-Sedai to know certain things about him, not yet at least. So she thought his eyes were strange, did she? She had no idea!

Resting his hidden hand on the cold, murderous length of the shocklance as though it were a sword hilt (it held no charge, but perhaps he could hit the Beastmen with it? like Elder Brother, with his Howling-Axe!) N'aethan hurried in her footsteps, obediently following girl-Sedai toward probable danger. Though it should really have been the other way around. He was the Shield, not her.


"He was a brave man," stated Cohradin, looking down at the dead Warder.

"He was," agreed Gerom. "The wetlanders should sing songs of him. What he did here, it is like what Tarwin the Bannerman did, in Aramaelle."

"If we meet the Gleeman again, perhaps he would sing such a song," suggested Chassin. "I thought that we might see Roth Blucha in the wetlands, since this is where he said that he lived, but I did not realise how big these lands are, and how many people live here, swarming like many flies."

Flies were starting to swarm on the Gaidin, Cohradin noted. A small, pale garment lay on the ground nearby. He thought it might be the Aes Sedai's cloak… he picked it up and draped it respectfully over the Warder's face.

"Should we go back down there?" Tevin wondered. He loitered at the mouth of the ravine, looking down the slope, literally hopping from foot to foot with excitement. Earlier, he and Chassin had scouted down there far enough to see what looked like a cave with strangely shining white walls in the side of a hill, then returned with the news that the Aes Sedai's near-indiscernible tracks (indiscernible to any but Chassin, at least) led inside. And perhaps two other sets of tracks, also. "Should we not seek the Aes Sedai, Cohradin?"

Cohradin sighed. "She went into the special white cave for reasons of her own, to do Aes Sedai things," he explained, "she will not thank us for disturbing her."

"But an Eyeless may have gone in there also – it was not here for us to dance with," protested Tevin, "the Draghkar as well, since I do not see it flying up there!"

The older Knife Hands were watching him with confused disapproval.

"What is your point, young-one?" demanded Cohradin.

"That the Aes Sedai could be in danger – surely we should go and-"

This was as far as Tevin got, before the three older Knife Hands dissolved into laughter, slapping their thighs and leaning against each other.

"She is Aes Sedai, Tevin," spluttered Cohradin, "what is a Myrddraal or a Draghkar to her? She will laugh at them!"

"She will burn them with her fires!" wheezed Chassin.

"She will make them take off their skins and dance for her!" snorted Gerom.

Tevin sighed. Perhaps he needed to get a new scar?

At which point, the Maidens returned from their own scouting.

"The other Fists of the Shadow hold back," reported Jahdi.

"It is as though they wait for something," speculated Manda.

"They wait fearfully for us to come and dance with them!" was Cohradin's opinion of this cowardly tactic.

The Trolloc horns up in the peaks had gradually moved away and quieted. Bravado aside, the Neverborn and Shadow-twisted were probably just regrouping and reinforcing, before returning with greater numbers – that was ever their way. Literally, according to Gerom. Once again, Cohradin wondered about the strange stone thing that he had seen the Spawn of the Shadow trooping out of. Gerom had told him something of these 'waygates' of the Treebrothers, but he had understood little, beyond the fact that something lived inside these 'Ways' that was even more dangerous than them. He grinned at Jahdi and Manda.

"Maidens, Tevin says that the Aes Sedai may be in danger from the Eyeless, and perhaps a Draghkar…" Tevin flushed as Cohradin spoke. "What say you?"

The Maidens eyed Tevin with cold disgust, making the youth wonder uncertainly if he might have just vomited onto himself…

"But she is Aes Sedai," stressed Jahdi, as though Tevin did not realise this.

"If they anger her, she will boil their bones inside them!" added Manda.

Cohradin nodded firmly. "Excepting any of that, young Tevin, do you imagine that the Aes Sedai wishes to see us looking like this?"

Cohradin gestured down at himself, then at the other Knife Hands. They had already added a new shade to the brown and grey of their cadin'sor, for these wetlands were very green, but now their garb had acquired another hue – the dark, reddish-brown of dried Shadow-blood liberally streaked their coats and britches. It was all over their hands and faces also, particularly Cohradin, whose left hand was still dark to the wrist. And it stank. Dancing the spears with Trollocs could be a messy business, especially for a Knife Hand. The twisted-ones were big, and had a lot of blood in them which, when released by spear-thrusts or other means, tended to go everywhere.

The Maidens eyed the Knife Hands disparagingly. Though they were rather besmirched themselves, if not nearly so much. It had been a hard fight.

"Stupid Sovin Nai think they have hands in place of spears," Jahdi declared, "so they wash them in their enemy's blood!"

Manda dutifully sniggered, though it was not that good a joke. Cohradin wiggled his gore-stained fingers, in imitation of a Maiden's flickering signs.

"If foolish Far Dareis Mai had spears in place of hands," Cohradin retorted, "then they would, in all probability, have a lot less to say to each other!"

The Knife Hands particularly enjoyed this, guffawing and indulging in further thigh-slapping, and even Manda briefly rattled her spear against her buckler in approbation, though Jahdi crossed her arms and scowled.

"We passed a thing on the way to here, it has given me an idea…" Cohradin glanced down at the shrouded shape of Atual Aendwyn of the Far Madding Clan, and nodded thoughtfully. "But first… algai'd'siswai of Wet Sands! Collect ten rocks each! There is something that we will do."


"Tell me, Master Shieldman, how is it that you came to speak the… the low?"

"'Twas Father, Aes Sedai. Taught to me the Low Chant, didst he. To my Brothers, also..."

"Why-ever did he teach you all the Vulgar speech?"

"So that we couldst enjoy… songs."

"There is no need to end so many of your words with a 'st' sound, Master Shieldman, you will find that this is a defunct practice, yes?" He just blinked at her. Ellyth sighed. "Songs?" she prompted. The Shieldman grinned his disconcerting grin.

"Yes, Aes Sedai… vulgar songs!"

As he slipped swiftly past, the Shieldman made a strange, mewling sound in the back of his throat, whilst continuing to grin at her – it took Ellyth a moment to realise that he was laughing! And had taken the opportunity to push in front of her again, just like the Gaidin always did… did he think that he was her Warder? He was not. She had no Warder now, her Warder was dead and it was her fault – so who did he think he was? More to the point, who did she think he was? She had absolutely no idea, the fellow was a walking enigma – and the enigma was walking away from her right now, still making the odd noise and shaking his head a little…

Ellyth followed the Shieldman up the ravine, scowling. Impossible man! Though it must be hard for him – what would it be like for her, if she climbed into a ter'angreal box and woke after more than three millennia had passed, woke to a world that she did not know? Where all she had known was dust? If Shrina and Renn, Lord Guye and Thaeus and everyone else she loved had… Ellyth winced. Someone she had loved had died recently, after all… but no, it could not be easy for him, to leave people he cared for behind, in the full knowledge that he would never see them again. Poor man assuming that he even was a man…

"Did you have any family left in the time that you departed, Master Shieldman? You mentioned a father, and brothers?"

"Oh no, Aes Sedai. Brothers both lost in War."

"I am sorry to hear that…"

"Thank-you Aes Sedai. Was sorry to hear also or as well… misfortunate ides. But proud of Brothers, Aes Sedai. Heroes, were they… Heroes of the Light."

What in the Wheel are 'ides?' If only Renn were here!

Ellyth frowned slightly. Brothers, but he did not mention his father. "So your father had passed away before you got into the… the ter'angreal box?" Ellyth was still not sure what that thing had been. It had felt like an enormously powerful, ancient ter'angreal right up until the point it opened. Then it had felt like… nothing. A ter'angreal that somehow ceased to be a ter'angreal? It did not make sense. She had tried asking the Shieldman about it but he had just shrugged and said 'can use only once, Aes Sedai.' He kept calling her that! Clearly the Sisters of his times had been somewhat rigid when it came to formality… though with the Shieldman, they might well have needed to be!

The Shieldman did not seem to have heard, he was just pacing ahead of her, doing what he had been doing the whole way, his head constantly moving, his strange eyes scanning the land around them and the sky above, as they travelled up the ravine. In addition to the fancloth tabard, he had pulled a loose mantle of the same fabric from one of his pouches and now wore it draped over his shoulders, a hood raised to cover his head. A fancloth veil seemed to hang from it, in addition.

"I asked if your father had passed before you went to sleep, Master Shieldman," Ellyth reiterated. Was he hiding something?

The Shieldman glanced at her, his fancloth-framed face disconcertingly disembodied. "Father?" Something about the way he said the word gave it a different meaning. He shrugged. "We said farewells. Was old." She sensed that he was avoiding her question. "Was very old. Near eight-hundred year…"

Eight hundred?

"Years, Master Shieldman. That is… very old, certainly. Your father was Aes Sedai?" At that age, Ellyth certainly hoped he was! Though more than twice the age of any Aes Sedai she had ever heard of! Ellyth moved alongside him, studying his face closely.

"Yes indeed." The Shieldman sounded proud. "Father very powerful Aes Sedai. Wise. Respected. Earned third name, too! 'Til Big Hall took from him…" He scowled very briefly, before his features returned to the placidly good-humoured mask she was becoming accustomed to. Had his strange pupils just equally briefly narrowed to slits? She was not sure. She hoped that they had not… what was he? A man or a weapon? It did not make sense…

"Third name…" Ellyth repeated absently, still wondering about the eyes.

"Yes, Aes Sedai. Name of Honour, not given to all. Three names had Father… before..." He sighed, then muttered something under his breath in the Old Tongue that sounded like 'bajad drovja!' An expletive, doubtless.

"Goodness. Three names. Like Lews Therin Telamon."

"The Dragon, yes. Was good man, Lews Therin Telamon. Nice to me…"

Ellyth stared. "Nice to..? You knew him? You met the Dragon?"

"Only once, Aes Sedai, when was just little small ki- boy, mean I. We played game!" The Shieldman chuckled, shaking his head in fond reminiscence. "Game where you throw the count-cubes… the Dragon won – Ta'veren!"

Ellyth continued to stare at him. She was speaking to someone… who had spoken with the Kinslayer himself! It defied belief… Renn would be so envious!

For some reason it did not occur to Ellyth to doubt what he had said. It was strange, but while much else about the Shieldman seemed uncertain, she somehow sensed that he was very honest, was long-accustomed to telling the truth, as though bound to the First Oath… which meant that he might not be above attempting to skirt around it a little, or omit certain things, as Sisters often did. She wondered again about his father… a male Aes Sedai… the 'madman' who brought the Crystal to the stedding? She thought of the skull they had found buried there… perhaps it would be best to keep that to herself for the time being. If he could omit things, so could she.

"Wait, Aes Sedai…"

The Shieldman had gone into a sudden crouch, was holding a gloved hand out towards her, fingers spread. Ellyth crouched too, as much as her torn silk gown would allow, and tried to look over his shoulder. She thought she could smell something bad wafting down from the top of the ravine, just ahead.

"Many dead Beastmen, Aes Sedai…" Was he sniffing? Yes, he was sniffing the air, like a dog! He lowered his voice. "We go careful."

The Shieldman began to move forward but Ellyth grabbed the back of his fancloth tabard or whatever it was – he had told her it was called a 'po'ncho…' She yanked hard, bringing him up short. He glanced back at her curiously.

"Wait," Ellyth hissed, "there were at least a dozen Trolloc horns being sounded up in the peaks earlier…" Hard to believe that had only been at dawn, while now the sun would soon be overhead. "…that means at least that many Fists led by three Myrddraal each, with Draghkar scouts also, yes? It is too dangerous to go out into the valley until nightfall."

The Shieldman was shaking his head with slow persistence. He pointed east.

"Shadow-wrought all over there, Aes Sedai. More than two league distant. Myrddraal…" he blinked a couple of times. "…and Draghkar too, now. Will tell you if come more closer."

Ellyth stared at him. "More close. Or closer, without the more. How do you know this?" How did you know earlier?

Of course, Aes Sedai could sense Shadowspawn when nearby, as could their Warders, usually when so close as to merely give the options of either fight or flight, depending on their numbers – but not when nearly ten miles distant…

The Shieldman shrugged, as though it were obvious. "How, Aes Sedai? Ter'angreal. You would like to see?" he slipped a gloved hand beneath his fancloth tabard, gripping the chevron-plaque he wore on his chest – he swivelled it slightly, there was a muted clicking sound, and his hand reappeared holding the Shield. He held it out to her.

Ellyth blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Take, take…"

The Shield-ter'angreal was lighter than it looked. She had no idea what kind of metal it was made out of – it felt strange in her hands, smooth as silk. Also, she could sense that the Shieldman might still have a smaller, weaker ter'angreal about his person, perhaps in one of those strange pouches on his belt… or perhaps two, it was uncertain… Ellyth shook her head, and looked down at the ter'angreal, held in her cupped palms, much as she had once held the Crystal that had brought her to this place. The familiar itching sensation was stronger than ever and, even more powerfully, that other sensation of the sheer newness of it…

"How old is this ter'angreal, Master Shieldman?"

"Not very, Aes Sedai. Was made for me… near fifty years back." He shrugged, clearly not troubling to mention that it had been a much longer time ago than that, subjectively.

"It was made for you?" Fifty? He does not look old enough… how old is he? A worrying thought occurred to Ellyth. There was a good reason why someone might not look their age… his father had been Aes Sedai, after all… what if..?

"Yes, Aes Sedai." He sounded proud. "Made by War-Sisters. Reward."

"What was the reward for?"

"Saved life, Aes Sedai. Life of Shadar Nor… Latra Posae Decume, Aes Sedai…" He sighed, sadly, at mention of that name, but his unusual eyes had a far-away look in them, and he was smiling slightly, as though at some pleasant memory.

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

That morning, Tro had finally been given permission to leave the infirmary-dome, and though his legs were unsteady and he had to lean heavily on the crutches, it felt good to be out beneath the sunlight again. He had not been expecting the large formation of chanting Warmen, however…

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

Tro ducked his head shyly and raised a white-gloved hand in cautious acknowledgement. At this, the ranks of stony-faced Warmen ceased their chant long enough to cheer savagely, before resuming it. They each had one hand resting on the hilts of the Power-wrought blades at their belts, the other formed into a fist and punching the air in time with the chanted words.

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

It was by far the most expressive thing that Tro had ever seen the Warmen doing. And they were doing it for him! That wasn't bad! He just wished that they were doing it a bit more quietly, though… he was on a lot of medication at the moment and his ears were feeling rather sensitive... suddenly, Tro scowled.

Vora Aes Sedai was gliding towards him, at the head of a mob of the other chickens (as well as their chicks.) You always had to call her 'Vora Aes Sedai' because she was so senior, and insisted upon it. Latra Sedai was way more important that Vora Aes Sedai, but had told him on the day they met to just append 'Sedai' to her name and leave it at that.

The War-Sisters, attended by their Apprentices, swiftly surrounded him. Tro eyed them carefully. They always made him feel a bit nervous. Some of them, like Vora Aes Sedai, had stood in the Big Hall, stood for Father's execution… and his own destruction.

(Well, bad luck War-Sisters… because the Dragon said no! Father and Tro – two! War-Sitters – zero! We win! We're still here! We're not dead! Nya-nya!)

Tro felt that he really had to stop doing that, talking to people in a hostile way in his head, it was not as though they could actually hear him. It was just as well they could not! But it was better than actually saying it… it was more diplomatic, this way. Besides, if he did not let off steam in one direction, it was only going to come out in another and then… someone might get scalded.

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

Vora Aes Sedai, cast her cool gaze over him. Silver-haired and formidable, clad in a shimmering streith-gown, wearing, in addition to her golden paralis-net, all of her finest ter'angreal jewellery by the looks of it… that fluted sa'angreal stuck through her belt… there were few Sisters who dressed in that fashion anymore, only the very old ones… Tro had heard that the Senior Sitter for the War Ajah was nearly as old as Father! There were few Aes Sedai left of that age. This must be why the other War-Sisters deferred to her so much… that and her strength in the Power, combined with a rather forceful personality!

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

"Are you well, Tro?" enquired Vora Aes Sedai. Tro could not help noticing that Vora Aes Sedai had used his name, which she had certainly never done before, any more than she had ever deigned to address him, usually referring to him as 'the Lightborn' within his hearing, as though he were not there. If she did not use one of the more objectionable terms that existed for him. There were several to choose from.

(Am I well, Vora Sedai? No, I am not well – I have recently been used as a melee-dummy by an angry Gholam! You try it, Vora Sedai, you try fighting a Gholam with nothing but a little silver stabby thing that does not work very well – thank-you for that by the way, Father, in future stick to making Lightborn like me which you are very good at and leave armaments to the Ordinance Ajah! – yes, you fight with a Gholam until you are nearly dead also Vora Sedai and then go without Healing because it doesn't work on you and when they finally let you out of the infirmary-dome that smells like death Vora Sedai I will come and ask you if you are well in front of a crowd of chanting Warmen who are making your head hurt!)

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

"I am well, Vora Aes Sedai," Tro responded, diplomatically, having to raise his voice somewhat. Though he did feel a bit better than he had – he could not have felt any worse without being dead – but still wished that all of these people had not been out here waiting for him. He also wished that Latra Sedai, the only one out of the whole lot of them that he actually liked, had been here to see him, but she had apologised (Shadar Nor, apologising to Tro!) to him last night when she brought him the grapes and the book, as she had been called away down south to the Big Hall and wouldn't be back for days. Those stupid Warmen had better do a good job of looking after Latra Sedai while he could not, the Shadow was always trying to kill her… though each time they did, Tro made a careful point of killing the killers first – Grey Men, Myrddraal, Draghkar, even Dreadlords… he had wiped the floor with them all!

Which was why the Renegades had sent the Gholam in the end, even though it was their last one. At least he hoped it was, fighting a Gholam was ideally a once-only experience as far as Tro was concerned, having now done so. They sent the Gholam to get around Shadar Nor's notorious Lightborn bodyguard, who slept curled at the foot of her bed every night – well, they had taken what was left of the Gholam away in a bucket in the end, so he hoped Ishamael was upset about that!

Vora Aes Sedai gazed at Tro for a long moment, her dark, mesmeric eyes piercing him to the core. Tro fidgeted restlessly. His head was spinning and he wanted to sit down, but not back in the infirmary-dome – he was not going in there ever again. He would die first, quite happily. Finally, Vora Aes Sedai spoke. She was doing something with the Power so that her voice cut through all of the-

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

-all of the background noise, her words resonating around him, as though she were a Diva and he a tuning-fork! He didn't think anyone else heard…

"You know, it has been more than four hundred years since I was wrong about something," Vora Aes Sedai's voice echoed, "but in light of your most recent efforts, I cannot help but think that I was wrong about you... Tro."

(…well … that was surprising … I was not expecting that … Vora Sedai used my name again …not that I really like my name, not since I found out what it means … she still used it though … is something wrong with her? … perhaps the Taint has begun to affect women too? … I certainly hope not … like Father always says, that would be truly frightening!)

Vora Aes Sedai took something out of the pocket of her robe while the other War Ajah Sisters watched, approvingly. Even Vora's young Apprentice, Kiam, who seemed to view Tro as some kind of lesser spawn of the Dark One, seemed to approve. She was not exactly smiling, like some of the others were, but at least she was not scowling for a change.

"Here, Tro," said Vora Aes Sedai in her usual voice, "we made this for you."

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

(shut-up, Warmen! I know you're only trying to be respectful… but I just came out of the infirmary-dome covered in bandages! leave me alone!)

Tro eyed the stupid honour plaque that Vora Aes Sedai had handed him. Another one! And not even gold or silver by the looks of it… How many had they given him now? Six? Seven? Then, Tro's eyes slowly widened. This one wasn't like the others… wait a moment, Vora Aes Sedai said they made it, so it must be a ter'angreal… he wondered what it did…

In his hands, Tro held a shield-shaped badge, depicting a sixteen-pointed silver star, with the symbol of the Servants set in the middle. He ran his white gloved fingers over its surface, his eyes wide. Father had never given him anything this good! Just that thing he kept in the back of his belt that was supposed to kill Gholams… when all it really seemed to do was make them more angry with you! Though to be fair, it had worked on the Gholam eventually, it had just taken him a long time to kill it… all a matter of attrition… and meanwhile, it had been busily killing him… strange, how you could wait all your life to meet the monster you had been made to destroy, bred to protect against… and in finally doing so, truly know what fear meant for the first time. In a way, he had felt an odd sense of kinship with the Gholam… it had been a little like facing a dark reflection of himself… and all the more horrifying for it.

"This is the Honour Plaque of He Who Shields from the Night Shadows… it is yours now, as is that title, if you wish it." Vora Aes Sedai nodded, firmly.

Tro did not trust himself to speak. So, he attached the Shield to the front of his hospital-smock instead. More cheering amidst the chanting, even some Da'shain from the infirmary-dome had come out to observe the ceremony and were clapping politely, though usually they avoided the Warmen.

"Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer! Gholam-Killer!"

"Wear it with pride, and use that name with honour…" Vora Aes Sedai's thin lips quirked in what might have been a smile – but Vora Aes Sedai never smiled! "Though it would seem that the Warmen have already given you another name to add to the others…" – yes, Vora Aes Sedai was definitely smiling! – "…Gholam-Killer."

At the head of the ravine, where it opened out into the broad, low valley, waited over a hundred dead Trollocs. And one live Raven. It watched them from the branch of a low, twisted tree, ready to launch itself into the sky at a moment's notice. The Shieldman did not give it that long. With alarming speed, he threw himself toward a chunk of jagged flint that lay before him, seizing, rolling and coming up on one knee, his arm flung out. The flint whistled through the air and struck the raven in the chest with a crunching sound – it fell from its perch, dead before it hit the ground. He rose to his feet, dusting himself off.

"Seia Shadar," the Shieldman muttered, disapprovingly.

Ellyth gazed at the piled Trolloc corpses. She thought that Atual must have killed some of them – the more the better – but surely he could not have accomplished all of this on his own? "I am uncertain about our next course…" She spoke aloud without thinking, but the Shieldman seemed to take it as a request for suggestions.

"Could find those who killed Beastmen, Aes Sedai?"

"How?"

"Six, there were. Aes Sedai. They went that away."

The Shieldman pointed north. Ellyth glanced in that direction, then back at him. The ground was hard, cracked rock – there could not possibly be any tracks!

"How do you know?"

"I see, Aes Sedai."

N'aethan didn't mention it to girl-Sedai (though for some reason he was starting to feel guilty for thinking of her as that, maybe he should stop doing it?) but he was using his eyes to look at the ground in that special way he had taught himself. He could see the hot residues of the half-dozen sets of tracks, slowly fading. Whoever had made them was good, barely a pebble dislodged or a tuft of coarse grass displaced… and they clearly had no love for Beastmen, which was encouraging. Perhaps they were Warmen scouts? He had always felt more of an affinity with them, and usually wore the distinctive Scout-uniform and poncho as opposed to the less abbreviated cadin'gai and battle-cape worn by the line-Warmen.

Though N'aethan had other senses at his disposal. The mind-sensing of Shadow-wrought only worked when he was in contact with his Shield – he was glad that girl-Sed- glad that the Aes Sedai had given it back without a fuss… eventually. But then again, there was always his nose. In fact, there was something just over there…

"There is some things here. Aes Sedai, these are yours?"

N'aethan turned away from the culvert and held up the strange, double leather bags, but the Aes Sedai did not seem to have heard, she was staring at something else… He had detected her distinctive scent on the clothes in some of these bags, it had led him to them, as well as another scent on clothing in the other bags… in fact, he could smell that same scent, intermingled with blood, much stronger, coming from… from the small pile of rocks. With the sword sticking out of the top. That the Aes Sedai had gone to kneel in front of. Oh dear. She was crying again. He was definitely going to have to put his arm around her this time…

Ellyth walked slowly over to the low cairn, piled rocks fit snugly together, that lay in the shadow of the broken crag. There could be little doubt who lay beneath it. Atual's power-wrought blade was thrust into the top of the meagre monument, the black veil he had taken from the Aielman bound to the hilt, fluttering in the wind. She knelt before it.

Ellyth had not thought she had any tears left. She was wrong. Though this time, after a moment, the Shieldman knelt down beside her and she felt a powerful arm draped carefully around her shoulders. She tensed, then relaxed and leant into him a little, her head resting lightly against a broad shoulder. They said nothing for a time, looking at the cairn. When the Shieldman eventually spoke, in that odd, throaty voice, he sounded almost as sad as she felt!

"Aes Sedai… those who fall in War with Shadow, War that never ends… they are the beloved of the Creator." The Shieldman glanced down at her, smiled that strange smile. "It is true. It is what Father told to me, when asked him what became of Elder Brother…"


Part II : Afternoon

Cohradin sat, submerged up to his chest in… water! It was easily the strangest thing that he had ever done. And he had done some very strange things in his time, enough strangeness for any ten ordinary men. But one-eyed Cohradin of the Sovin Nai was no ordinary man – there was nothing ordinary about him! Why, he had once eaten several live scorpions, popping the small black creatures into his mouth one by one, chewing briskly before they could sting him. He had done it because a loud-mouthed Thunder Walker had said that he would not. They had not been that bad, all things considered… but even so, were probably better when cooked and glazed with honey.

In addition to honour, Cohradin's bold feat had won him a fine book that the Sha'mad Conde had foolishly wagered, a very old volume, the last part of the story of an ancient wetlander Lord's life. He had been a Borderlands Warrior-Society Leader, a man who kept using his own name as though he were speaking of somebody else, the rueful (and slightly sickened-looking) Thunder Walker had told him. Apparently, it was all about the times when the Neverborn and Shadow-twisted stupidly came south to the Dying Ground, which made the book about two thousand years old… books tended to last longer in the dry climate of the Three-fold Land. But it had all been written in the Old Tongue, and there were no pictures, just a few maps. Cohradin did not know how to read the Old Tongue, so he gave the book to Gerom, who did.

But now, Cohradin was doing something that made the scorpions he had munched to death in front of a crowd of alternately cheering, groaning and scowling algai'd'siswai look like nothing – he was bathing himself, like a wetlander… in water!

The pool at the far end of the valley lay between two hills where the water had collected, surrounded by a small area of low woodland. It was not large by wetlander standards, he supposed, but he had taken part in violent battles over half this amount of water. In the Three-fold Land, water was worth shedding blood over – sometimes, as much blood as the water itself.

The Maidens of the Spear sat across from him, perched up on a rock, their long tails of hair un-braided. Cohradin watched Jahdi and Manda with his one eye. They appeared to be washing each other's hair. Perhaps they would even become near-sisters? Cohradin nodded approvingly. At least they were not trying to kill each other anymore. It had been very irritating, the way they had kept trying to do that, when they were all still back in Shienar…

Tevin popped to the surface at the end of the pool, gasping, his bright red hair plastered wetly to his skull, eyes tightly shut. He blinked them open. "How long was it, Cohradin?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Huh? Oh, at least twenty-four hand counts…"

"Twenty-four! That is six more than last time!"

"Yes… yes it is."

"When I have got my breath back, I will try again!" enthused Tevin. "Perhaps I can even stay beneath this water for thirty hand counts!"

Cohradin sighed. "In stead of behaving like a 'fish' why do you not just sit still, young-one? Or better yet, find us something to eat?" Since he considered that he had been given a choice in the matter, Tevin elected to sit still. Cohradin shrugged. At least young Tevin did not seem afraid of this water, like some.

Tevin glanced at the Maidens to see if they were looking at him. They were not – no, now one was. Manda stared a moment, then whispered something into Jahdi's ear. They giggled. Tevin looked away, blushing. The Maidens noticed.

"Come over here, pretty young man, and we will wash your hair also!" Manda called, cheerfully.

"We will get it nice and clean for you, handsome boy," added Jahdi salaciously, "come and sit down beside us!"

Tevin flushed. "My hair is already clean, Far Dareis Mai," he muttered.

"What did he say? He has such a quiet voice, like a little dove…"

"Yes, perhaps he will sing for us if we ask him to nicely. I think he warbled that his hair is clean, which it most certainly is not…"

"I said I am algai'd'siswai and Sovin Nai and I do not need a silly girl who carries a man's spear to wash my hair for me!" announced Tevin.

"Then perhaps we can think of something else to do with you in stead?"

The Maidens cackled, slapping each other on the back.

Tevin scowled. "I have my first scar now," he declared, pointing to the small red crescent on his cheek, yet to whiten, "you may not treat me as a boy anymore!"

"Oh, is that a scar, little bird?"

"We thought that you had been bitten by a flea!"

Jahdi and Manda's laughter increased as Tevin rose from the pool. "I have no time for a Maiden's foolishness," he told Cohradin loudly, "I will find firewood."

"The Maidens can do that, since they have finished washing their hair," Cohradin replied, equally loudly, but without much hope of them actually doing it. "Take your bow, see if you can find some 'rabbits.' Or… what are those other things called, that we have seen in these parts? Like the rabbits, only swifter, and with the longer ears and legs?"

"Hares."

"Hairs? They do not seem particularly hairy… such strange names, these wetlanders have, for their food."

"It is spelt differently, Cohradin. Also, the wetlanders say that to 'hare' means to run fast."

"It is? They do? How do you know this, young Tevin?"

"Because in a wetland book I once read, one of the characters was… Hare." She had been the main character, Tevin recalled, and there had also been Mouse and Vole and Hedgehog… various others… the creatures all lived in the middle of a 'briar-patch' whatever that was, and had adventures together, that mostly seemed to involve avoiding and outwitting a Bear, a Wolf, a Wildcat and a Fox, that wished to devour them. Quite a good book, really… fine pictures…

Cohradin smiled his twisted smile. Tevin blinked at him. He looked a bit like the picture of the Wolf in the book, come to think of it. Wolf had always been smiling like that, when he tried to trick Hare into leaving the safety of the briar-patch.

"You have a strange taste in literature, young-one. Was it perhaps meant as an allegory?"

"I do not know what-"

"Never mind! In any event, get some of these… 'hares' if you can."

Tevin nodded and exited the pool, stalking off to fetch his bow. The Maidens watched him go with open lechery. Jahdi's fingers flickered.

he has a very nice bottom…

we should play Maidens Kiss with him…

can you play it when there are just two Maidens?

there is but one way to find out!

Cohradin leant back, trying to relax, but a scuffing sound continued to disturb him and he turned his head. Chassin still squatted up on the bank, grimly rubbing his back with coarse sand. He had flatly refused to go in the water. Cohradin sighed.

"Will you not just try it, my friend?"

Chassin glared at him, grabbing another handful of sand and rubbing it briskly into his hair, where there were still traces of Shadow-blood. Behind him, one of Manda's climbing ropes had been strung between two stunted trees and a row of drying cadin'sor hung along it. Gerom stood in front of the washing, rubbing at a persistent stain with a small piece of soap. He could be very fastidious about his clothing. But at least Gerom was dripping wet, he had had the courage to immerse himself once. The Shaido were meant to embrace change, it was their strength. Not to shun something, just because it was new and different.

"What is the matter, Chassin, do you fear the water?" Cohradin enquired.

Chassin continued to sit there, cleaning himself with sand, since there was no sweat-lodge available, but his pale green eyes narrowed alarmingly.

"Cohradin, you are my near-brother and the Leader of my Society at Wet Sands but if you say that I am scared of anything (besides the sky falling down and squashing me, naturally) then I would take it as the gravest insult, worthy of blood!"

Cohradin raised his hands, peaceably, before lowering them into the water. "Very well, Chassin. I apologise. Let there be no blood shed between us."

"I accept your apology. You have a fine sense of humour, Cohradin, but you should not make jokes like that. It goes against- wubb!"

The double handful of water hit Chassin in the face and before he could get out of the way, Cohradin hurled another which splashed over his back. He leapt to his feet, muddy streaks of wet sand – appropriate, for they were of Wet Sands Hold! – making him look not unlike a Sharan striped-cat.

This similarity had already occurred to Cohradin. "There, now you will have to come in to the water, or go about looking like a Sharan striped-cat!"

The Maidens cackled loudly and Gerom bellowed with laughter, doubling over. Tevin came back, clutching his bow, pointed and sniggered. Chassin glared at them all, then, setting his features in a mask of grim determination, took a running leap into the middle of the pool, curling into a ball just before hitting the water. After the large splash, there was no sign of him for a time. The Maidens watched the surface of the pool with disinterest. Tevin yawned, then walked away. Eventually, Cohradin waded over to where Chassin had disappeared and reached down, locating the tail of hair of an algai'd'siswai. He pulled and Chassin came to the surface, struggling and gasping.

"You are not supposed to stay down there, my friend," Cohradin chided, trying to remember what the slippery snake creatures that lived in the rivers were called – ah, yes! "You are not an 'eel'. Here, sit upon this rock and get your breath back. There, do you not see how pleasant this 'bathing' is now?"

Chassin glared at Cohradin, coughed up some water, then glared at Cohradin further. "This is worse than the rain," he spluttered, before glumly beginning to un-braid his tail of hair.

Cohradin nodded with satisfaction – the mighty Shaido Aiel would not be seen to fear bathing themselves in water, which even craven wetlanders did not! – and sat down again. He winked at Jahdi and Manda, making them disappear momentarily.

"Come and sit beside me and wash my hair, Maidens..." he suggested. "I promise that I will not ask you to give up the spear for me if you do!"

The Maidens eyed Cohradin consideringly for a moment, then glanced at each other. Manda pouted a little, Jahdi shrugged. Smiling slow smiles, they slipped down from the stone and waded towards him, a pleasing sight – before each seized a shoulder and, laughing, began forcing Cohradin's head beneath the surface! He was just beginning to enjoy the struggle to prevent the Maidens from drowning him, even though he seemed to be losing that struggle, when Tevin came racing back and whistled, a low warning note.

Instantly, the Shaido were all out of the pool, reaching for veils and spears. There was someone coming. Someone with terrible timing!


Gross immodesty! Flagrant indecency! Ellyth did not know where to look, she really didn't. Her face must be as red as a beetroot… No-doubt Shrina would be thoroughly enjoying this alarming experience in her place, as she liked looking at naked men! She had said so, often enough! Ellyth, on the other hand, would rather have been attacked by clothed enemies than… than not attacked by four Aielmen who, but for their black veils, wore not a stitch!

And there were two naked Aiel women also, equally unashamed to parade themselves so brazenly! Their nudity did not bother her so much as the men's, she was not so prim as to fear to bathe or go swimming with other females – but how could these Aielwomen run around like that, with everyone looking at them? Well, no-one appeared to be looking at them, she supposed, the Aiel were all looking at her.

Ellyth turned to the Shieldman – no doubt as shocked as she – but no, he was looking at the Aielwomen, an appreciative smile curling his lips! Ellyth sniffed, loudly and pointedly. The Shieldman glanced at her, and blinked. Before resuming his aesthetic appraisal! She noted that the red-headed Aiel girl was smiling back at him!

The Aielmen were eyeing her respectfully enough, she supposed, but… they were not wearing any clothes at all! Naked! Apart from the veils. Not that they had worn their sole garments for long. The moment they had seen her, the Aiel had immediately lowered both spears and the strips of black cloth, draping them around their shoulders – when draping them about their hips might have been some improvement on the situation, at least!

The Aiel had come charging out of the bushes – though she did not wish to dwell on that particular image – their spears raised, eleven fierce eyes glaring above black veils. By which point, the Shieldman had already informed her that they were coming. How had he known? Aiel were not Shadowspawn… He had not seemed overly concerned at their sudden appearance, had simply dropped the saddlebags and sheathed sword he was carrying and taken a neat step in front of her, standing poised on his toes, gloved hands raised, bunched into fists.

Ellyth had put a hand on the Shieldman's back, perhaps to restrain him, perhaps not, she was unsure… and had felt the thick muscles around his shoulders bunch suddenly beneath her touch. They had not felt like the muscles of a man, even a very strong man like Atual, but more like the denser musculature of Eradore, tensing beneath her as the mare braced for a leap. There was the sense of a great deal of power in his compactly muscular frame – perhaps even too much power… for a man.

Though the restraining hand and the fact that the Aiel had lowered their spears and veils so suddenly had prevented him from doing… whatever it was he did. What he had done to the Myrddraal. Not to mention the Draghkar.

"They are friends, Aes Sedai?" the Shieldman had wanted to know.

"Yes, I think so." Ellyth gazed at the one-eyed Aielman she recognised – he was a little difficult to mistake for anyone else! – being careful to keep her eyes firmly on his face... though she had not been able to stop herself from staring downwards in alarm a little earlier, as they came leaping energetically into sight. These Aielmen were… big indeed… especially the short, pale-haired one… her eyes drifted a moment, then snapped up again, even more blood rushing to her cheeks – beetroot? If only! She must look as red as a strawberry!

"Well?" Ellyth demanded, "are you friends?" Her voice choked a little.

"I see you, Ellythia Desiama of the Blue Ajah," Cohradin stated formally – though she could certainly see a lot more of him than he of her, a lot more than she wanted to! – and then the scarred, one-eyed warrior grinned that disturbing grin she recalled from the Saldaean border. Had it really only been three months ago?

"As for 'friends…' I do not know – but we have no wish to be enemies of an Aes Sedai, I can assure you, so I suppose that we must be!" At which, Cohradin and the other Aielmen bowed that odd bow with the cupped hand stuck out, their spears twirled swiftly, the points stuck down into the ground… she was being bowed to by naked savages! It was like something out of The Travels of Jain Farstrider! Ellyth tried to look elsewhere. The Aiel women were not bowing, she noticed, seeming to only have eyes for the Shieldman… who was certainly enjoying looking at them too… men!

These Aiel were even worse than Shienarans at bathtime! Though it would be good to bathe herself also, as they had clearly been doing, since their skin glistened wetly, damp strands of hair hanging about their shoulders – but why would they not at least have partially-clothed themselves after, instead of sprinting down here like… like young children, yet to learn modesty, who think it no shame to run about nude?

Now the blonde Aielwoman was smiling at the Shieldman also – and he was smiling back! Ellyth sniffed again, and the Shieldman glanced at her. She leant closer to his ear, partially covered by the thick black band he wore about his head.

"Do not look, Master Shieldman," Ellyth hissed, under her breath, "you will only encourage then to further lewd displays, baser even than that which we are currently being forced to witness…" Again, he blinked at her confusedly – she was becoming all-too accustomed to that blink!

"This is… custom? Aes Sedai?"

"Custom..?"

"We should take clothes off also?" He made as though to remove his fancloth.

"No!"

The Shieldman shrugged and eyed the Aielmen instead. Who were now eyeing him, as though unsure what he was. She was not sure either.

Ellyth strongly wished to suggest – well, more than merely suggest – that the Aiel clothe themselves. But Lord Guye had always told her that only a fool expected someone who lived somewhere very far away to share their customs. Best not to say anything about it – much as she wished to!

Ellyth could feel a crick starting to form in the back of her neck. This Cohradin fellow was too bloody tall and standing too bloody close to her, but she would not retreat – just as she would not let her eyes go any further down than his collar-bone again!

Ellyth glared at the Shieldman… who did not seem to be disturbed in the slightest by this shocking situation! Presumably, he had as little concept of modesty as the savages – why, he was as bad as the Aiel were! If not worse…

Shieldmen!


Cohradin eyed the Aes Sedai cautiously, as well as with some confusion. Her face, where it was not covered with the small, pale bandage, was bright red. Was she sunburnt? There was hardly any sun to speak of, even by the standards of the wetlands, a far from sunny place it seemed… Her pale complexion would certainly not react well to the fierce glare he was accustomed to in the Three-fold Land… but why was she so flushed, her cheeks the colour of the red tomato-fruit of Shara? It was odd.

Cohradin's attention shifted to the compact, broad-chested man accompanying the Aes Sedai. Whoever he was, he had rather strange eyes. But Cohradin had only seen the Borderlands so far, where most people's eyes were dark… except for Saldaea, where they were even darker, and of an odd shape also. Doubtless, there were other parts of the Wetlands where such eyes were commonplace. He was wearing a garment woven from the colour-shifting cloth. As was the Aes Sedai, now. So, by the looks of it, she had found herself a new Warder to take the place of Sin'val Vadin.

On their way to bathe in water like wetlanders (though only Cohradin had known that this was what they were going to do, as he had wished it to be a surprise) the Shaido had mutually agreed to call Atual Aendwyn by this Honour Name. The Aes Sedai was wise indeed! Doubtless, she had prophecied – as it was said the Dreamwalkers could – that Sin'val Vadin would fall in battle, so had arranged for another Gaidin to be waiting to meet her at the special Aes Sedai white cave. Or Allen'mokol, the 'Hill of Milk' as they had decided to call it. Chassin had reported that the walls of the cave were white and gleaming, like freshly-squeezed goat's milk, so Gerom had invented this name – as he had also come-up with the title of honour for the Aes Sedai's dead Warder. Gerom could not speak the Old Tongue at all well, he found its words too difficult to pronounce, but he read it adeptly enough and was good at making up names for things in this ancient language.

Cohradin turned back to the Aes Sedai as she addressed him, head tilted back, her cheeks still very red, dark eyes fixed securely on his face.

"I thank you for making a small tomb for my Gaidin. The sword with the black veil tied to it was a fine touch. It was very good of you to go to the trouble."

"We were honoured to do such a thing for Sin'val Vadin," Cohradin responded smoothly.

The Aes Sedai blinked. "Excuse me?" Her new Warder leant forward and in an odd, throaty voice, with a strange, melodic accent, supplied the translation.

"Aes Sedai, he say; 'He who Guards Gate.' "

"Oh…"

Cohradin wondered if the Aes Sedai was going to weep, her eyes were rather large and liquid anyway, but he thought that he could see unshed tears glistening in them.

Gerom glanced at the Gaidin thoughtfully, lips pursed. The fellow clearly spoke the Old Tongue – and he must speak it well indeed to have divined meaning from that, for Cohradin's pronunciation was even worse than his own!

The Aes Sedai blinked a few times, composing herself. "It is very kind of you, to honour him in that way."

"It is well to remember the courageous dead," stated Cohradin, "he slew an Eyeless as well as many of the Shadow-twisted, and we waked the rest, washing our spears and hands in their blood, as is only proper. A brave man."

The Aes Sedai nodded, seemingly blinking back further tears. Why did she not just weep? There was no shame in doing so...

"My Warder would have been proud to have such a name given him by you and your men…" the Aes Sedai murmured, "...and your women also." She glanced at the Maidens, then back at him, her eyes drifting down for a moment before she looked up again, very fast. Aes Sedai were strange indeed! Was there something bothering her? The skin of her face had almost faded to its customary pallor as she spoke, but now it coloured again. "Atual Gaidin often spoke of the courage of your people," she added, quickly.

"Did he dance with those who slew the Treekiller?" Cohradin enquired.

"Yes… yes he fought the ones who came to… to execute King Laman."

Cohradin nodded, pleased. That was a politer way of putting it than he had ever heard before from a wetlander. Could it be that Aes Sedai were more polite when their faces were red? Perhaps that was a sign of it? Aes Sedai were unusual, they were like Wise Ones, no longer merely human but something more than human… but then, Cohradin frowned, remembering who had done the executing.

"Ah, but they were just the tricksome Taardad!"

"And the stinking Shaarad," Gerom added.

"Not to mention the noisome Nakai," Chassin pointed-out.

"As well as the… the Reyn," young Tevin chimed-in, uncertainly. He was not sure if there even was a rude term beginning with 'r' for the Reyn Aiel, he had certainly never heard of one… he would have to ask somebody.

The other Sovin Nai had moved closer to add these bits of information. They felt that Cohradin had kept the Aes Sedai to himself so far, monopolised her even… and they wished to speak with her also. One did not get the opportunity to provide helpful information to a creature of legend very often!

As they crowded around her, Cohradin wondered why the Aes Sedai was flinching back a little, her face still tomato-hued… was she blushing? Why was she blushing? Was it because the foolish Maidens of the Spear were overtly making eyes at her new Warder? And smiling at him? Yes, that must be it. The improvident Maidens had managed to… to embarrass the Aes Sedai, with their wanton behaviour! Far Dareis Mai!

"Yes, Ellythia Sedai," Cohradin continued, hoping that she would not be angry with him for not better controlling the poorly-behaved Maidens of the Spear, "they were just the lesser Clans who waked the wetland King and all of the other wetlanders – the Treekillers were fortunate that the mighty Shaido were not there also!"

Cohradin always regretted that they were not. He would only have been eight years old at the time, but he would not have let that stop him from going! There were many fine things in the Wetlands that he would have been only too glad to take as part of his fifth… as well as much honour to be gained… it was a shame. But there it was.

The Aes Sedai still had her head tilted back as she examined their faces. Even Chassin was taller than her, and as for Gerom – she was going to hurt her neck if she kept doing that! "Well, in any case, my Warder was not one of the 'wetlanders' that those other, lesser clans 'waked' as you put it... quite the opposite in fact…" she muttered, somewhat distractedly, Cohradin thought. "Atual did not oft speak of it, but I believe that he accounted for scores of the enemy… oh… I suppose I should not say that…"

"Why not? I am sure that Sin'val Vadin slew a great many of the Taardad and the other creeping crawlers who followed after them like obedient goats, and I wish his spirit well of it! The more the better!"

"What was that name again?" the Aes Sedai enquired.

"Sin'val Vadin, Aes Sedai," muttered her new Gaidin helpfully, " 'He Who-' "

"-Guards the Gate, yes, thank-you Master Shieldman. That is a fine title, I will ensure that it is added to the name of Atual- of my Warder, on his memorial stone in the Hall of Gaidin, when I return to the White Tower."

The Aes Sedai turned, regarding her Warder, who stood up straighter. Strange, Cohradin considered, that he did not have the other Warder's dishonourable sword buckled to his belt or back, where wetlanders often carried them, it just lay at his feet with the large leather bags that the horses carried. He appeared to be unarmed, but for the odd metal tube that hung at his hip. What was it? He had something draped about his neck that was also of the colour-shifting cloth, it looked a little like a shoufa… there even seemed to be a veil hanging down from it, though of course it was not black. Were there wetlanders who veiled their faces for the Dance also? Perhaps Gerom would know... if only he had read more books!

"The Tower… where I mean to return as soon and as fast as possible," the Aes Sedai added. Her Warder nodded, and picked up the bags and sword.

"Honour to Obey, Aes Sedai," he acknowledged, huskily.

The Warder had a very strange way of speaking. Cohradin had not met any wetlanders who spoke as he did, though he had not met many wetlanders, for that matter. Perhaps he was from the part of the wetlands known as 'Andor?' Where it was said (by the Gleeman, Roth Blucha, at least) that a ravenous Witch Queen ruled, who ate a man for her dinner each and every day! But this seemed unlikely – doubtless another of the Gleeman's foolish (if entertaining) falsehoods!

Cohradin fiddled with the veil hanging about his shoulders, while he considered. It seemed the Aes Sedai had not found He Who Comes With the Dawn waiting in the Allen'mokol, just her new Warder… although… he did not look quite like Sin'val Vadin or the other Gaidin they had seen in Shienar. There was definitely something different about this fellow that set him apart… with his very short, pale hair above the odd black band… his rather pointy teeth flashing as he spoke his strange speech… his eyes were unusual, certainly… there could not be that many wetlanders with eyes like that..? And his 'cloak' seemed more like two cloaks joined together… it was not at all like the other colour-shifting garments of the Warders, like the one the Aes Sedai currently wore draped over her own shoulders. The garb he wore beneath it was strange also, glistening like the skin of a bloodsnake, from what little he could see. And what was that metal tube hanging at his hip? Yes, there was something about this short, muscular wetlander… even for a Gaidin, he did not seem as ordinary men. Cohradin started to become suspicious...

"Tell me, what are the dispositions of the enemy?" the Aes Sedai asked.

"Maidens of the Spear – cease batting your eyelashes! Tell to the Aes Sedai what you know of the whereabouts of the remaining Spawn of the Shadow!"

The Knife Hands clustered a little closer to give the scowling Maidens room to speak to the Aes Sedai, though they did not wish to. Cohradin noted that she had gone an even brighter shade of red now. Would this mean she would be even more polite to the Far Dareis Mai? He hoped that she would not, after they had made eyes at her Warder right in front of her. Why did they not just hold his hand, or kiss him upon the lips, for all to see? No understanding of public propriety at all!

Maidens!


N'aethan studied the natives carefully, though taking care not to stare too obviously. Perhaps they were from some local, feral tribe? Some had resumed the ancient ways of their ancestors in the face of the Time of Madness – they had been called 'Atavists' he seemed to recall. But the sudden appearance of these warriors was confusing to him. When the naked spear-people whose footsteps he had been following first came rushing out of the bushes, though he had sensed them coming shortly before they did (they were still very stealthy though, these natives) he had, of course, immediately prepared himself to kill them all. That was what a Shieldman did, after all, when unidentified assailants came rushing toward his Aes Sedai.

But then, the natives had abruptly faltered, stopped, lowered their long-bladed spears and strange black veils both, and stood there. They even looked a little respectful! So, N'aethan had not killed them, which was good, for he did not like to slay humans, with the exception of Dreadlords and Friends of the Dark, and these nude warriors were clearly neither. Well, they could be Shadow-sworn he supposed, there were Dark-Friends everywhere, but none of these natives had ever been to Shayol Ghul or he would have known it, so they could not be very important ones… Besides, it was unlikely. He had seen many different Friends of the Dark over the years, spies and assassins mostly, though they had rarely seen him until it was much too late for them to do anything except scream. But for Grey Men, of course, they never screamed, just looked slightly startled that he could see them... and in any case, with them it was like killing something that was already dead. But that was beside the point, for they had all been clothed, often very fine clothes at that… he had never encountered a Friend of the Dark who was naked and brandishing a spear! It did not seem like the sort of thing one of their ignoble number would be interested in doing…

N'aethan always knew if someone had been to Shayol Ghul, as had his Brothers. No one knew why, not even Father, which had made him angry. Not angry with his Sons, he was never angry with them, seldom moving much beyond irritation ('Tro!') if one of them managed to break something in one of his many 'special laboratories' which only they or Ledrin were permitted to enter. No, never actually angry with them – which had made for a very strange argument the day after Middle Brother's memorial service, when he had defied Father and gone back north to the wars – but just angry with not knowing. Father had never liked to not know things.

Whilst relaxing his muscles that had become bunched-up at the prospect of doing what he did to Shield an Aes Sedai, N'aethan considered the natives. They had killed the Beastmen, an impressive feat given that there was barely a squad of them. Of course, this did not automatically make them servants of the Light – the Trollocs who served the Renegades and those who served the Shadow had often fought each other. The two fine-looking females were pointing east and giving the same information about the Shadow-wrought that he had already provided, the men glowering at them. And they were all naked! Perhaps they were like the Ffyanna?

The mythical Ffyanna-Ffynn of the First Age had been the finest fighters in the whole world, it was said, divided into the four Tribes of Ffyann-Ffyane, who usually fought only with each other, scorning all other, lesser opponents. They were chiefly remembered for their odd custom of going into battle wearing nothing but a thin coat of sky-blue paint… these warriors seemed to have forgotten to paint themselves, if that was the case!

But no, these tall natives were wet and glistening, their hair hanging damply around their shoulders in loose strands. They had clearly just been bathing themselves and had not wasted the time to dress when they heard a possible enemy approach. Very sensible, he would have done the same thing in their place.

N'aethan had ceased his clandestine appreciation of the native girls as he suspected that the Aes Sedai might disapprove – he sensed that there was much about him of which she might disapprove! – and glanced at her. He blinked in surprise – the Aes Sedai's face was bright red! Was she alright? His eyes moved from her to the naked, one-eyed native she was talking to… she had her head craned right back, was staring up at the tall fellow's face, seeming to not want to look any further down than his neck. Why was she so flushed, this dispassionate young Aes Sedai? She was only surrounded by native folk who had been bathing, by the looks of it… bathing? Now what did that make him think of? And then, realisation struck N'aethan – of course! It was obvious! She was blushing – the Aes Sedai was a prude!

Kiam Sedai had been something of a prude also, N'aethan recalled… really, this young Aes Sedai rather reminded him of Kiam, in certain ways at least. He remembered how Kiam had never bathed in the large, communal Bath-Circle located in the ground level of The Keystone, the massive fortress that formed the centre of the Northborder defences, about which the Main Camp was emplaced. At least a thousand bathers could be accommodated in the central pool and the concentric rings of circular baths that radiated out from it. War-Sisters and Warmen Officers and Da'shain, all bathing together, the low murmur of a hundred different conversations echoing up to the cuendillar tiles above… Da'shain… now why did that make him think of these natives? No matter, he expected that the Da'shain Aiel were all long since dead and dust, like nearly everything else he had known, it seemed.

The Bath-Circle... N'aethan had never bathed there either, but that was more a question of rank – he was only a Shieldman and was not permitted to, whereas Kiam Sedai, as a War-Sister, certainly was. N'aethan usually bathed with the Warmen Sergeants in their bath in the Main Barracks, wearing his headband and waterproof gloves and slippers, but nothing else. It was boring, bathing with the Sergeants, big, hard-eyed men with faces like stone who always just sat there in the steaming water saying nothing to each other beyond 'pass the soap, Warman' or 'here is the soap, Warman.' His attempts to start conversations were usually along the lines of;

'That was a big Trolloc you slew earlier, Sergeant Hurey...'

'It was, Gholam-Killer.'

That was it! You could not really go much further from there, conversationally. Saying; 'yes, very big' or 'it had big tusks too' or a hundred other banalities would usually just be greeted with impassive silence. The Warmen did not know how to do anything but make war and did not want to, they had no wish to converse, even had they any conception how… bathing with the Sergeants was boring!

N'aethan wished he could have used the main Bath-Circle or even just the one on the level above that was for the Warman Officer's use, since they were usually a bit more affable and knowledgeable about things other than war, the Intelligence Officers particularly. They had all been picked-out from the other Warmen at the age of twelve and given different, initiative-based training that resulted in them being more individualistic, at least. But it was a question of rank again, he was not permitted to use the Officer's Baths either – they only started letting him bathe with the Sergeants after he killed the Gholam! Before that, he had had to use the soldier's baths in the Barracks with all the other Warmen, which had been even more dull, if anything!

Of course, a word with Latra Sedai would have given him immediate admittance to the Officer's Baths in a split-chime, the right to wear a sword at his side too, even… but he would not have liked to bother her with such small, trivial issues, not when she had so much on her mind. Besides, he was too proud. Middle Brother (who had, of course, held an Officer's rank) had once told him that honours should always be received unasked-for, never sought-after – so when it came to bath-privileges, let the War-Sisters extend such an invitation to him of their own volition. He had his pride. He would not go crawling on the floor, rubbing himself against their legs for favours!

So, much as N'aethan would have liked to have bathed with the War-Sisters and Officers and Da'shain in the Bath-Circle (though he doubted even Shadar Nor's command would have got him admitted there) and perhaps speak of opera or theatre whilst he bathed, or enjoy a game of tcheran or no'ri with a fellow bather, it was not permitted. Whereas for Kiam Sedai, it was – but she never did!

And N'aethan knew why! Because there were men there! That was why Kiam always used the baths that were reserved for the War-Sisters only, when she did not bathe alone in her quarters – she did not wish to be in the same bath as males, or even see a naked man for that matter. Or be seen by one either, he supposed. And it was not just because she did not like men in 'that' way, there were other War-Sisters who shared her preference yet did not seem to mind being around Warmen Officers or Da'shain'allein in the shared ritual of communal bathing that was part of the glue that bound together the odd, warlike society of the Northborder garrisons. No, it was because Kiam was a prude – just like this young Aes Sedai!

N'aethan was well-aware that Kiam Sedai was from N'zoar, the City that had once floated amongst the clouds, though long-gone now, destroyed in the first year of the War after its Citizens refused to swear to the Shadow. The part that had not been eradicated with balefire had crashed into the World Sea somewhere to the north of the Black College, he believed… and the people of N'zoar had always been noted for their prim and prudish ways. Sometimes, he thought that Kiam hated Father so much because he was N'zoarese also. She often loudly referred to Chaime Sedai as 'The Defector' in N'aethan's hearing – though she knew he did not like the term – and had even been disciplined by Latra Sedai for doing so. Certainly, Father had always used a private bathing room but sometimes, whilst padding past it, young Tro had heard muffled women's voices on the other side of the door, often giggling at one of Father's rude jokes, told in the Low, which did not seem to be prudish behaviour?

It did not take long for this recollection and realisation to run through N'aethan's mind and with it, as always, came decision. He took a quick step between the Aes Sedai – his Aes Sedai, he supposed, since her Warman was now dead and there did not seem to be any of his Brother Warmen about these parts, enlivening the proceedings with their sunny personalities – and the one-eyed native. Who he then reappraised.

The tall fellow just looked at him with that cold blue eye and N'aethan decided that the man was dangerous. Not very dangerous, at least not to him, but not just quite dangerous either. N'aethan had earlier dismissed these unclothed natives as merely quite dangerous, the women also – they were an attractive pair, despite the scars! Did they not have Restorers, or Healing now? Still, perhaps this thousand-years-later world might not be quite so bad after all! But this one-eyed native, who appeared to be their leader or 'Chieftain' he supposed, who was observing him coldly, was not like his quite dangerous comrades, he was clearly more… dangerous.

N'aethan prided himself on his manners, so he bowed to the Chieftain, who blinked in surprise. He was well-adapted for blinking. And that was an impressive scar, he had never seen a scar like that before! Someone who took a wound of that magnitude should be either Healed or dead – this man was neither!

"Hello," said N'aethan.

"Do not push in front of me, Master Shieldman!" snapped the young Aes Sedai from behind his back, "I was speaking with Cohradin Shaido!"

One-Eye winced a little, gave N'aethan a warning stare, then glanced over his shoulder - he was easily tall enough to do so - and muttered, "your pardon, Ellythia Sedai, but you need only use my name, Shaido is my Clan, you do not need to say this also!"

"I did not realise," muttered the Aes Sedai.

N'aethan did not flinch as a small fist punched him in the back. Shaido… so that was what these tall, light-eyed natives were called. They were Shaidos. What an odd name! It sounded a bit like the Low word for Shadar.

N'aethan smiled his politest smile. "Excuse," he said, "you perhaps have garments, Shaido? Not good to appear before Aes Sedai thus."

One-Eye seemed to consider this, even though it obviously confused him, then made some swift hand-signs to the youngest native, who nodded and trotted off into the stand of low, twisted trees from which they had all so swiftly emerged. N'aethan turned to bow to the Aes Sedai… she blinked, seeming to understand his intent.

"Thank-you, Master Shieldman," she murmured, sounding grateful.

N'aethan beamed at her. It always pleased him to anticipate an Aes Sedai's wishes – he thought he would have made a fine Da'shain Aiel (were it not for the shocking levels of violence he often perpetrated on Shadow-wrought) since he excelled at such service. He also had a good singing voice, various Da'shain had told him over the years… not that he really saw the point of performing to an audience that comprised primarily of seeds! It was better to try to please people with song, to keep the darkness at bay with it… Latra Sedai had always liked his singing… N'aethan sighed. When her name popped into his head, he felt bad. Was that ever going to ease, or would he feel that way for the rest of his life, however long that was?

One-Eye was eyeing him (literally!) closely.

"You have a strange way of speaking, Brother of Battles…"

N'aethan blinked. The fellow thought he was one of these Gaidin? Should he correct him? But no, the Aes Sedai was giving his arm a hard squeeze, before interposing herself into the introductions.

"He answers to Naythan Shieldman. You might say he stands ward to me, now."

One-Eye nodded sagely. "Ah, so he is your new Warderman, Aes Sedai, I thought that he must be…" the native turned back to N'aethan; "I see you, Naythan Shieldman. You have an odd sound to your speech... you are not from the Borderlands, I take it?"

N'aethan frowned. This native spoke rather strangely himself, to his ears, quite differently than the Aes Sedai...

"The Northborder, Shaido? Has spent a lot of time there, many years, but hail from the far South, do I… 'twas where I was born in the Light!"

"Oh… the southern wetlands… you are Tairen, perhaps?"

"Tyreen?" N'aethan's brow furrowed. What was that? He began to ask… but the young Aes Sedai squeezed his arm harder, so N'aethan closed his mouth with a snap. He could take a hint!

"I believe that Naythan Gaidin might possibly come from somewhere in that region… attend me, Master Shieldman!" She half-led, half-dragged N'aethan some distance away, beyond earshot of the Shaidos. Unless they had ears that were better than his, at least. But he thought that they probably did not. He made his apologies for the interrupted conversation over a fancloth-draped shoulder.

"Excuses, Shaido, but Aes Sedai call and Shieldman answer!"

"Master Shieldman… shut-up!"

"Yes, Aes Sedai. Forgiveness, Aes Sedai."

N'aethan shrugged as he followed the Aes Sedai away from the Shaido, who would now clothe themselves and confound her prudery thus! Well, it seemed he was a Warderman after all… whatever that was. Was it like a Warman? Did that mean he would get to wear the sword? The scabbarded weapon was currently bumping against his back alongside what he had been told were called 'saddle-bags,' the black cloth still wrapped around the hilt. It was the same as the black cloths these Shaidos had been wearing over their mouths and noses when they came leaping out of the bushes – how loudly the Aes Sedai had squealed!

The cloths were a little like his scout-veil, N'aethan considered, though not camouflaged. He would have been content to leave the sword in the cairn, it was only an infantry-man's blade and not one of the nice ones, marked with the Heron, that Warmen Officers often carried… or the really nice ones that the Companions were presented with, when they became Companions… but the Aes Sedai had told him to bring it. She had not wanted her dead Warder's sword ('dear Atual' she called him) to be stolen by Shadowspawn, she had said, she would see it returned to this 'White Tower' for another to use, as he would have wished. Though it was just an ordinary Warman's blade and it had seen better days, to have that bumping on his hip instead of this stupid shocklance…

"Might I have your undivided attention?" N'aethan gave it. The Aes Sedai's eyes had narrowed. "It would be best, Master Shieldman, were you to not tell anyone who is not Aes Sedai anything about yourself," she advised, with slow emphasis.

N'aethan nodded. "Like intelligences, Aes Sedai."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Like intelligences officers, Aes Sedai, Warman Officers of intelligences, I mean… they must be quiet, Aes Sedai, and not talk, and use differents name when under the Shadow!"

"Different names. Yes, I do not know quite what you mean with your 'intelligences' though the work of spies is not unknown in these times…" The Aes Sedai sniffed, and muttered something that sounded like 'pigeons' under her breath… "but I believe you take my point. Merely tell the Shaido that you are my Warder, and answer to the name of 'Naythan Shieldman' only… if they ask for any information about where you were born, or what you did before… before you went to sleep, decline to answer. If they press you, direct them to me!"

"And you will shouts at them, Aes Sedai!" N'aethan grinned. The Aes Sedai frowned. N'aethan ceased grinning and did his best to look solemn.

"Shout, not shouts. And I shall not shout at them in any event, regardless of what you may imagine the methodology of the Aes Sedai of these times to comprise, though perhaps I will consider setting their boots afire in stead of this, yes?"

N'aethan nodded sagely. He had noticed that the Aes Sedai often ended her sentences with that particular word, so he responded by saying "yes!" as he thought that this might please her. It did not seem to, however.

The Aes Sedai sighed, her feathery brows drawing down slightly. "That was intended as a witticism, Master Shieldman," she muttered.

N'aethan blinked, then did his best to simper, though he was not very good at it. The Aes Sedai frowned further, and he repressed the urge to sigh himself. It was not his fault – he was unused to Aes Sedai making jokes, Kiam Sedai had certainly never done so... well, he supposed she had, but it had usually been a very rare – not to mention disconcerting – occurrence.

"And above all – do not tell them how old you are!" the Aes Sedai hissed.

That had been an odd moment, on their way here... the Aes Sedai's casually asked question, the way she had eyed him closely with that dark, penetrating gaze when she asked it – she had actually thought that he, of all things, might be..!

"Master Shieldman... you mentioned that you received your ter'angreal... your Shield, some fifty years ago..." N'aethan nodded, continuing to scan the ground ahead of them for the tell-tale heat marks. They were getting close now...

"Yes Aes Sedai, remember like it was yesterday..." he commented, absently.

"You... you certainly do not look your age..." A note of disbelief.

"Ah, but war and fighting take its toll, Aes Sedai... Shieldman doubtless look older than he should, from having seen so many bad and terrible things..."

"I did not mean it that way – you look much younger than your... that is to say, you do not... oh, curse it!" The Aes Sedai made an irritated 'tutting' sound, then simply resorted to demanding; "how old are you, Master Shieldman?"

"Since was born in the Light? Has seen eight and seventy years, Aes Sedai."

The Aes Sedai was gaping at him. N'aethan grinned.

"Though mayhap am now three thousand and-"

"Seventy-eight? But you look less than half that age! Much less!"

"Thank-you, Aes Sedai!"

"I am not attempting to compliment you! I am attempting to understand... that is..." N'aethan raised his eyes from the hot footprints leading up the valley and glanced at the Aes Sedai curiously. She was looking suspicious, not to mention... cautious. He stopped walking, as did she, clearly wondering how best to phrase something.

"Master Shieldman... I am aware that this might be a delicate subject to raise, but it is important to establish, if not for my own safety then for your own, since there are those of the Red Ajah who might... well..." She trailed-off.

"Aes Sedai?" N'aethan found himself feeling confused – there was another ajah that was... red? The ajah were all of different colours now, it would seem. Presumably the thirteen Great Ajah, created to wage war, were all gone...

"Do stop blinking at me like that, Master Shieldman! It becomes most irritating after a while!"

"Forgiveness, Aes Sedai."

"What I am trying to ascertain, given that your father was Aes Sedai and you claim an advanced age certainly not reflected in your appearance is... can you channel? That is to say, do you touch the True Source?"

N'aethan stared for a moment, then began to laugh softly, shaking his head back and forth.

The Aes Sedai glared. "I am not a painted court-fool, sent to this miserable, barren place for your entertainment and amusement!" she snapped.

"Forgiveness, Aes Sedai, do not laugh at you but at me! At... Pattern!"

"Explain yourself, Master Shieldman!"

"You ask if I can channel, like I might have Taint and be a madman? Not! Quite opposite of this, in fact..." N'aethan forced himself to stop laughing, though with some effort. When he could bring himself to speak, there was a note of bitterness that he could not fully expunge from his tones. "Aes Sedai... I tell you true, Fate has been unkind to Sin'aethan Shadar Cor, unkind in many ways... but touching saidin and rotting and going insane? Not near so unkind as that!"

The Aes Sedai was staring at him rather frostily, N'aethan considered. Perhaps she did not believe he was as old as he claimed? It was not that old, barely into middle-age... Besides, he might not have the longevity of a Nym (though who would want to?) but he shared other things with them, it was why he and Someshta had always got along, he thought, a certain fellow-feeling... and Father had made his Lightborn to last, after all! Though given their extremely dangerous duties and what had befallen his Brothers... well, it was unlikely he would die in his bed at a ripe old age! Not that he had ever had much use for a bed beyond keeping things underneath it, or the occasional pleasant liaison with one of the more adventurous War-Sisters or a Da'shain'mai... when he slept, he had usually preferred to curl up on the floor... often at the foot of Latra Sedai's bed... yes, definite frost in those dark, liquid eyes!

"Will not say age to them, Aes Sedai," N'aethan reassured her, meekly.

"See that you do not. But above all, be discrete, Master Shieldman. Discretion is important, in light of recent events. I was betrayed, possibly from within the White Tower itself… there have been betrayals in the past, certainly…"

"White Tower, Aes Sedai? You say this before – the Tower is where we will go to, now?"

"Yes. Tar Valon, and the White Tower, at its heart. That is from where the Aes Sedai of these times… rule."

"Ah, like Big Hall in Paaran Disen, Aes Sedai!"

"Yes… I suppose… the Hall part is familiar to me at least, irregardless of its… bigness. Now, pay careful heed, Master Shieldman. There are Darkfriends everywhere, treat all you encounter as though they have sold their souls to the Shadow, at least until they have proved otherwise, even the Shaido over there… anyone at all. Even Aes Sedai, for that matter, though it pains me to entertain the possibility. Say nothing of your life apart from to myself. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Aes Sedai. Friends of the Dark everywhere – as ever! My name is Naythan Shieldman the Warderman and I serve Aes Sedai who is named…" N'aethan squinted, trying to recall the strange name she had given. The one the Shaido had used – very familiar of him! – though difficult to pronounce. "Helathia?"

"Ellythia. Of House Desiama."

"Yes, that, she my Aes Sedai is and if wish to knows anything else you must ask it of her."

"Know. Yes, that will do. I am glad that you understand the meaning of the word 'discrete.' I was beginning to become rather concerned that you did not, Master Shieldman… that is to say, Naythan Gaidin."

N'aethan nodded. Though he had absolutely no idea what 'discrete' meant! But he had divined her meaning well enough from the other words. It would not take long for his speech to improve, he always picked up languages fast. Just several more days of the Aes Sedai constantly correcting him and he would speak the Low well indeed! He found himself quite looking forward to speaking it better. He wondered what sort of cultural entertainments these Third Agers had… though things seemed to have gone downhill somewhat, broken rocky terrain, girl Aes Sedai who were very weak in the power (if with the same rather strong personalities he recalled so dearly) and naked Shaido spear-people also…

Ah, the youth was back with a big bundle of grey and brown and green clothing, now these natives would get dressed and the Aes Sedai could cease her blushes… which he found rather endearing in her! Just like Kiam! But this Third Age – the Aes Sedai had told him that was what it was still called – did not seem promising at all… perhaps there was no opera, though of course there would always be theatre, of one sort or another. She had also told him that he had been locked away in the damned Stasis Box for more than three-and-one-half millennia. He was still not sure what to make of that, it seemed like a ridiculously long period and for the time being, he was doing his best to avoid thinking about it. In a way, it was rather as though he had died and been reborn – though with his memories intact, at least.

Strange, there was something rather familiar about the garb the Shaidos were sorting through… quite substantial garments really, he had anticipated loincloths or kilts, perhaps even feathers decorating their hair! But come to think of it, the Shaidos themselves, tall and light-eyed, with fair and reddish hair, cut short, except at the nape... they reminded him strongly of something too… but what? A nagging sensation he had felt, ever since they first appeared…

"Master Shieldman!" The snap was back in the Aes Sedai's voice, she was scowling, her feathery eyebrows drawn down in a sharp 'v'… "I have certain important matters to impart! Perhaps if you could bring yourself to tear your gaze away from the unclothed females for a scant instant, you might better be able to attend to my words, yes?"

N'aethan turned his back on the Shaidos, feeling wounded. Typical! Why, he had not even been looking at the women, at least not any more – it was always the same with the War-Sisters, whatever you damned-well did, you were always in the wrong – it was not fair!

Allservants!


Ellyth frowned at the Shieldman. Did he know what discrete meant? He had looked a little uncertain… though his rudimentary vocabulary seemed to have improved already, in the short time they had been together, the long trek up the valley… She repressed a sigh, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Her boots were better-adapted for riding, she was feeling somewhat footsore…

"Master Shieldman, after I have communicated one or two things to you, I intend to go up to whichever pool of water the Shaido have now finished using, one would hope, and bathe… alone… as I am in a sad state with regard to dust and grime. Please wait here until I call for you…" – Ellyth added a certain significance to her voice – "…and do bear in mind what we discussed earlier, concerning discretion."

The Shieldman was looking contrite. Or at least, doing a creditable job of pretending so. Well, perhaps she had been a little hard on him, a man could not help being a man, and the two Aiel women were rather attractive, but for the scar-tissue. You could not exactly blame the fellow for staring at what had, after all, been presented to him on a platter! The redhead, particularly, had a fine, athletic body, she was formed a little like Shrina, though taller… the golden-haired Aielwoman, Ellyth had noted (with a slight scowl) had a large, proud bosom… her own breasts were certainly not so impressive – though Renn's were! – but of course, even had they been, she would have kept them decently cov-

Ellyth flushed a little, recalling the pitching deck of a Sea Folk ship, she and the odd girl from Falme who shared her cabin grinning at each other, shivering, hands lodged beneath their armpits… the Atha'an Miere ignoring them, especially this 'Shrinalla' who they did not seem to like, which she did not understand, for the girl was likeable (if loud!) and clearly had a warm, generous nature. The Sea Folk treated the 'Whitecloak' – as 'Shrina' kept calling her, though not unkindly, saying to call her 'Hunter' back for some reason – respectfully enough, but did not seem to care for any of the Do Miere A'vron, for some reason… Then, a small cabin-girl had come up to Ellyth and asked her if she wanted her ears pierced! 'I'll do it for her if she does!' Shrina had snapped, scowling, and the cabin-girl had scowled back and swayed away, leaving them to scramble back into their brightly coloured blouses, a gift from the Sailmistress… but that had been different, like a Winternight jest!

Still, quite apart from this one incidence of immodesty that had taken place nearly a decade ago, Ellyth felt that she might even have evinced a trace of hypocrisy, since she had found herself casting a momentary glance at the youth – he had a very pretty rump! – as he trotted away to fetch their distinctive clothing… cadin'sor, it was called, she believed. But that was different, of course. The parts of these Aiel that were normally clothed were much paler than the rest of them, certainly… Ellyth shook her head. What was she thinking of? She was getting as bad as Rashiel!

The Shieldman was staring at her. Ellyth gathered herself, concentrating on the present. She seated herself on a boulder to rest her weary feet, rubbing at a sore ankle, sitting with her back to the Aiel, who were – thank the Light! – getting dressed, she noted. The Shieldman moved to stand respectfully before her.

"Yes, well… I wish others in the Tower had your discretion, or your seeming good intent, for that matter. Thank-you for killing the Draghkar also, by the way, I neglected to mention it at the time." Ellyth scowled. "We were betrayed. Again. As in Haddon Mirk, possibly Arafel and other places also… we do seem to encounter Shadowspawn and Darkfriends a little too frequently. No-one should have known that my Warder and I were on our way to World's End, but I think that someone, somewhere, did. And these soon-to-be dead traitors who have sold their rotten souls to Shai'tan arranged for Shadowspawn to be brought here, by some means… the Shadowspawn that murdered my Warder…" (she could feel tears gathering in her eyes again, but felt more angry than sad, much more) "…and would have murdered myself also, had you not… Master Shieldman? Are you listening to me?"

The Shieldman was staring past her, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Master Shieldman, I am not speaking to you of the weather! These are rather important life-or-death issues, life for us, death for that filthy old hag who I suspect is behind this and seems to have finally made good on her threat to kill Atual, though lacking the gumption to attain that dark end herself, preferring to… to use her vile tools of the Shadow to… to accomplish this… so I would therefore appreciate…"

Ellyth trailed-off. It was no good, the Shieldman was clearly preoccupied. And, by the looks of him, angry. Very angry. As angry as she, in fact! He spoke quietly;

"Aes Sedai…"

"Yes? What?"

"Why do Shaidos dress themselves with cadin'sor?"

For a moment, the Shieldman's normally pleasant features became very grim – and there could be no doubt about it, his disconcerting pupils had equally briefly narrowed, the ovals assuming slit-like dimensions, just like a… what was he?

"If Shaidos have hurt Da'shain, taken clothes from Aiel… bad. Very bad. For them." His voice was a low growl. Ellyth blinked. Black veils, spears… tall, light eyes and reddish hair… what had he thought they were? Tinkers?

"But Master Shieldman… the Shaido are Aiel!"


After the young Aes Sedai departed, gliding away with one of the saddlebags, N'aethan's gaze moved to the Shaido and for a moment he felt unbearably sad, before recovering himself. It was the first sadness he had experienced in months that was not directly associated with the death of Latra Sedai… unbelievable sorrow (he swiftly blinked back a tear before it could escape) because the Da'shain had broken the Covenant. But there it was.

Da'shain Aiel. Tall, green or blue eyes, red or gold hair… they had braided the loose strands back into the long tail now, he noted. Clad in the cadin'sor – even the women! – but then, any trace of the familiar ended rather abruptly. Aiel. Carrying weapons – short-hafted, sharp-bladed spears that (from the way they held them) they clearly knew how to use. Marred with the scars of a hundred battles that they had somehow managed to survive. Bows on their backs, long knives at their belts...

An image popped into N'aethan's head – old Ledrin, at his desk, slowly opening Father's mail for him… using his short, neatly-trimmed fingernails to awkwardly tear the thick covers of the reports open, even though it took ages that way… because Ledrin could not even bring himself to pick up a letter-knife! (Though young Tro had sometimes sneaked down beforehand and opened all the covers for Ledrin, doing it his way, which took even less time than using the letter-opener, then pretending he did not know what the old Da'shain was talking about when he gravely thanked the young Master for his assistance…) So, not even a blunt blade for slicing paper, for him. And Ledrin was Da'shain Aiel. These Shaidos were… had been… Aiel… they wore the cadin'sor, did they not? Their hair in the distinctive style that marked them out from all others. At least that was the same. That alone.

Of course, N'aethan knew exactly what must have happened… he thought about it while he walked toward the Shaido.

The World had been Broken – presumably, it all looked as this place did, barren and sere – and the War had never ended, as Father had said that it would not. And clearly, was as close to being lost as it ever had, as in the darkest days of the Two Traitors, or when the Hall itself was razed… but for things to have got so bad that the few remaining Aes Sedai (reduced to just one Warman each, instead of a whole squad) had been forced to order their Da'shain attendants to break the Covenant and take up arms in their defence? He could not imagine anything more compelling than that, to make them do so. It defied belief… but on another level, if a purely objective, cold, unemotional one – it made sense.

The Da'shain were so brave – they feared nothing! N'aethan knew that he was courageous also, or at least that the fear he had often noted in others seemed oddly absent in him – Father's damned Design, again! Or perhaps it was just that fear had always been outweighed by the far more powerful devotion to duty that had been instilled in him from an early age? Even the terror he had felt when fighting the Gholam had been more due to the conviction that it would kill him, causing him to fail in his duty of protecting Latra Sedai. But the Da'shain... the way their Field-Medics would venture out onto the battlefield in search of wounded Warmen, with only the ability to run fast to protect them – why, compared with them he was little more than a trembling craven! A mere cowardy-cat!

Certainly, N'aethan had not been the only one to quietly consider that the Da'shain would have made excellent soldiers, under different circumstances. Circumstances that did not involve the Covenant! Though he had kept this to himself of course, since such an idea (in addition to being in extremely poor taste) would have angered the Aes Sedai a great deal!

N'aethan halted his steady pace in front of the Da'shain who were not Da'shain… they called themselves Shaido, so he decided to think of them as that instead. They could not be Aiel as he understood the word. Not any more. They watched him closely, cautiously, perhaps wondering why he did not seem to be uncomfortable surrounded by them. N'aethan had never been uncomfortable around Da'shain – only everybody else! But never them. Not even now.

Distantly, N'aethan wondered if he might have to fight them. If so, he would try not to injure them too badly. It could be necessary, in order to establish the chain of command… dominance… he flushed. He was actually considering fighting some Da'shain! Latra Sedai would have been so angry with him! As would any Sister…

With this in mind, N'aethan glanced towards the pool to make sure the young Aes Sedai was out of sight… yes, there she was, disappearing into the low stand of trees, back straight, head up. It should not have been possible to limp gracefully, but somehow, she managed to! N'aethan smiled proudly.

When he turned back to the Shaido, their one-eyed leader was looking at him curiously. "Why do you smile, Naythan Shieldman?" he asked.

"Why smile?" N'aethan responded. He pointed toward the trees. "I smile because of her, Shaido. Because she is tired and stretched so she cannot channel and she has lost her Warman and has come through terrible danger… and because she wear stupid boots!"

The Shaido considered this. N'aethan could see he would have to elaborate.

"I smile with pride, because I serve Aes Sedai! Because no matter what may befall her, she will not give up! Because she wear silly, uncomfortable boots that is for riding horses only, but walked all the way here even so, when she could have ridden on my back!" At which, N'aethan produced a very accurate imitation of a neighing horse in the back of his throat! The Shaido blinked, and looked at him suspiciously.

N'aethan still had the sword hanging over his back, the other set of saddlebags that had belonged to He Who Guards the Gate also, and noted that the Shaido were eyeing the blade in a disapproving way, which he thought only fair, since he was looking at their spears with great disapproval also. The young Shaido pointed.

"What is that?" He was indicating the shocklance.

N'aethan's brow furrowed. This was not going to translate very well.

"It is… I think you would say… spear of many lightnings..?"

The Shaido looked suitably impressed. Their leader spoke again.

"If you have a spear, Naythan Shieldman, why, then, do you need the sword?"

"Was told to carry, though not my blade. Even so, prefer to spear… better."

A mutter of discontent rose from the Shaido. By 'spear' he had meant the shocklance, but they had taken him to mean spears in general. Their spears – he had offended them! They might not be Da'shain anymore, and only Shaido, but that was no excuse for rudeness…

"But spear good too," added N'aethan, "Middle Brother always used spear."

The big Shaido – the fellow was almost the size of a Treebrother! – blinked. "Your first-brother carried the spear."

N'aethan was not sure if it was a question, but he treated it as though it were. "Yes. Screaming-spear! Made scary noise when Shadowmen about! Power-wrought, made by wife. Good weapon. Used to kill many Myrddraal, and other things also, things of the Blight."

The Shaido considered this.

"Power-wrought," said the short one, with the symmetrical scars, "how so?"

"Made with One Power by Aes Sedai, of course! Like this sword. Never break, nor need to sharpen." The Shaido nodded thoughtfully. This clearly seemed like a good idea, to them. "Brother used to throw it at foe when too far away to stab – never missed! Even though…" N'aethan trailed-off. Best not to tell them too much about Middle Brother. They might not understand. There were not many who had!

The Shaido leader frowned. "It is not well to cast your spear," he commented, "for it leaves you without weapons." He grinned. "But for your hands!"

N'aethan nodded. This was something he could certainly agree on! Oddly enough, he was starting to warm to these Shaido… despite the Covenant, which he supposed was not really their fault, he felt that he might even have things in common with them. Strange! But he felt the need to say more, in Middle Brother's defence.

"Not ordinary spear, though, like these you use…" he gestured at their weapons – Aiel, with weapons! – a little disparagingly. "Spear always returned to his hand. So he could throw again, or do other things to Myrddraal with it, that they would not like!"

N'aethan grinned at the pleasant recollection – Middle Brother amongst the Shadowmen… a wolf in the fold! Especially when he rode on the back of… but that was a less pleasant recollection. N'aethan had always been nice to his Brother's steed – but the Hound of Light had never cared for him, for some reason… it would growl at him and make him feel distinctly nervous, sometimes.

"Was it an enchanted spear that came back to his hand, as in a Gleeman's tale?" asked the young Shaido, excitedly. The others snorted, shaking their heads, but waited on his answer even so.

"En… chanted? Do not know what this means… nor 'glee-man' neither… no, Screaming-spear attached to chain – Middle Brother would throw – crunch! Dead Myrddraal! Then, jerk chain, catch, throw again! More dead Myrddraal! Brother really hated Shadowmen, even more than hated everything else of the Shadow!"

The Shaido nodded approvingly.

"Does your first-brother's wife still make these spears?" asked the redheaded Shaido woman, hopefully. The blonde was just staring, silently.

N'aethan shook his head sadly. "No, she could Forge well but Arietta Sedai dead now, taken and severed in plot of the Shadow... died at Thakan'dar. Middle Brother also." He sighed. "May the Hand shelter them both."

The Shaido men glared at the redhead, who scowled back at them.

"It is neither fitting nor seemly, to remind Naythan Shieldman of his woken kin!" snapped One-Eye. N'aethan shrugged.

"Oh, do not mind… you were not to know… happened long time ago."

"What were you doing down in the Allen'tuadhe, in the Aes Sedai's cave, Naythan Shieldman?" enquired the one-eyed Shaido, casually. The fellow was definitely fishing for information of some kind, but it could not hurt to tell him?

"Sleeping. Aes Sedai woke me up." A mutter of excitement amongst the Shaido. "Not milky hill or cave, though… Collam Doon… it is heartstone…" – no, there was no word in the Low for 'bunker' or 'research-station' it seemed, certainly no applicable term for 'advanced field-test facility!' – "…thing."

There was a momentary silence whilst the Shaido further considered this. N'aethan wondered if he was being discrete enough… well, he was not speaking about himself, after all, or had not been until that last question… they did not have to know that his 'sleep' had lasted longer than a night! Though he rarely needed to sleep, compared with most, and usually did so at brief intervals, during the day. The nights had always been a busy time for him. But this 'discretion' if that was what it was, was difficult, he had always done his best to be honest with people, up until now! Curse it, he was not a damned Intelligence Officer, but a Shieldman! He was unused to prevarication…

Still, if they asked him any more of these questions, N'aethan would just have to direct them to his Aes Sedai. After she had finished bathing, presumably… but then, the young Shaido abruptly and eagerly spoke-up;

"Are you He Who Comes With the Dawn?" blurted the youth, sounding excited. N'aethan watched with surprise as the other Shaido angrily shushed him, beating the young fellow about his head and shoulders with their odd, leathern shield-things.

Strange behaviour! And who in the Pit was this He Who Comes With the Dawn, anyway? Father had certainly not troubled to mention him!


The Shaido watched Naythan Shieldman carefully, as the Aes Sedai's strange new Warder looked at them with his unusual eyes for a long moment. He had walked toward them, smiling pleasantly, moving with some of the grace that they themselves employed, though nothing about him was particularly Aiel-like. Apart from anything else, he was too short – even Chassin was taller than he! Though there was something very formidable about him, even so… when he approached, there had been none of the caution they were accustomed to from other wetlanders. Not exactly threateningly, but more like a wolf coming over to inspect some bees whose dying stings would probably not even penetrate his thick fur.

Cohradin, certainly, was unused to such unconcern, back in the Three-fold Land, let alone here – even Sin'val Vadin had been at least wary of him, making him give-up his veil before he could approach the Aes Sedai.

Naythan Shieldman seemed affable, however, answering their questions without quibble – the idea of spears that did not need to be sharpened was of particular interest to them, as they had had to do a great deal of spear-sharpening in the last few days. Currently, the algai'd'siswai all had but one siswai each, since Cohradin had demanded that the Maidens contribute two of their three remaining spears to a Knife Hand, as the Sovin Nai had boldly managed to break all of theirs. They had recovered their spear-heads along with most of the arrows, of course, but there was a shortage of straight wood in this area to make new hafts with. It was a problem.

A bigger problem, however, was foolish young Tevin! Stupidly springing the question that they had all been wondering how to work their way towards in some subtle fashion, so as not to alarm He Who Comes With the Dawn – if it was he…

Cohradin certainly thought that it was.

"I can see that he is not Aiel!" he had hissed to the others, earlier, whilst the Aes Sedai seemed to be berating Naythan Shieldman for some infraction or other, "though I may have but one eye, it does not make me blind! Even so… mayhap the 'ancient blood' does not refer to we? It has been a long time since the Prophecy was spoken, and these things can become confused with each telling – what if the Car'a'carn is, in stead, born of some ancient race of… of funny-eyed wetlanders?"

The Shaido had looked at each other rather doubtfully. But the fact remained that He Who Comes With the Dawn was not said to be as other men – and Naythan Shieldman certainly seemed to fit the bill in that regard! So the question, however incautiously asked, seemed to hang in the air, amidst an atmosphere of expectancy.

Tevin nursed his bruises, sulking. Someone had had to ask! He knew he should have kept silent, but had not been able to restrain himself – could it be that they had finally found the Chief of Chiefs? That they would be permitted to return to Wet Sands Hold with all due honour? And not in fear of the wrath of Sadora the Wise One? The Shaido watched Naythan Shieldman closely. What would his answer be?

Naythan Shieldman stared at them. His eyes were very odd. Then, he spoke, addressing Cohradin in that strange, throaty voice, his face solemn. There was something about his tones that seemed very… familiar to them – was the fellow imitating Cohradin? He was!

"I am not He Who Comes With Dawn. I am He Who Shields from Night Shadows. But if I see He Who Comes With Dawn then I will tell him that He Who Has One Eye and Big Scar is looking for him!" At which, Naythan Shieldman abruptly grinned and made a peculiar noise in the back of his throat. A bit like the muted cry of the Sharan striped… Cohradin scowled, then assumed his serious face.

"Is that supposed to be a jest, wetlander?" Cohradin demanded, dangerously.

"Yes!" Naythan Shieldman replied, still grinning, shaking his head a little.

Cohradin's eye narrowed alarmingly. Gerom and Chassin noticed his serious face, and sighed. It would be typical if, despite the denial, they had found He Who Comes with the Dawn – and Cohradin foolishly lost his temper with the Car'a'carn and waked him from the Dream! That would start the blood-feud to end all blood-feuds… and then they could never go home. Why, Sadora would be so angry with Cohradin, she would probably come to the wetlands looking for him! But this Naythan Shieldman, exercising his strange sense of humour... he was clearly not scared or wary, or even cautious of them! It was discomforting…

Cohradin blinked at the grinning Naythan Shieldman, then surprised his near-brothers by grinning back. Even after all these years, Cohradin could still surprise them… this was why he was so dangerous in the Dance, his enemy never knew what he was going to do until after he had done it, and neither did he, presumably!

"It is a good joke, Gaidin!" shouted Cohradin exuberantly, slapping Naythan Shieldman on the shoulder. "One Eye? Big Scar? A fine jest, for a humourless wetlander to make!"

"Thank-you… what are these wet lands, of which you speak?"

"You do not know what the wetlands are, Naythan Shieldman?"

"No, I do not know, Shaido."

"The wetlands are where we stand now, unfortunately."

"Thought these lands called 'End-of-the-World.' They does not seem very wet…"

"Oh, but they are!" Cohradin hesitated a moment. "I call no lie upon your words, Naythan Shieldman, but… are you sure… sure that you are not the Chief-of-Chiefs? You seem like the type, and the Aes Sedai sought for you, after all… we presumed to look for someone raised by others, not of his people, a man who was… different. Different than other men."

"Sin'aethan Shadar Cor different than man, yes, of a certainty! But not He Who Comes With Dawn… honest! What your name again, Shaido?"

"Cohradin, of the Wet Sands Shaido."

"So you are a wetsander! 'Cohra-din?' Hmm. Funny name…"

"Cohradin means Brother of the Dance," Cohradin stated proudly, sticking his chest out a bit. "The Dance is what we refer to as battle," he added, importantly.

"Yes, mayhap… like 'Gaidin...' but Shaido, cohra not man's dance!"

"What?" Cohradin said, flatly.

"Cohra-dance always done by ladies – very pretty ladies!" Cohradin stared as Naythan Shieldman moved his gloved hands expressively over his hips and upper chest, "they wears little silky thing here… and here also… you see? Saw them dance once, eyes near pop out of head! Some of Father's friends. Kept smiling at me while danced… and later… very nice! Never seen done on battlefield, although…"

Cohradin's mouth fell open slightly. The Maidens sniggered nastily.

At which, the Aes Sedai's voice called imperiously from the trees.

"Master Shieldman! I can hear you down there, speaking of 'pretty ladies' with the Aielmen! If you are quite finished, perhaps you would attend me?"

Naythan Shieldman sighed, gustily. "Oh, must go now, seems has finished bath – Allservant call, Shieldman run… please to wait here, Shaido… and when night come, if Aes Sedai say we may, we go east and have fun with Shadow-wrought, put fear of Light into them!" He grinned savagely with his pointy teeth, then glanced at their spears again, frowning and looking contrite. He sighed, then bowed formally, putting his gloved hands over his chest. "Honour to Shaido for their sacrifice," he added, sounding regretful.

The Shaido were not entirely sure what Naythan Shieldman meant by this, but reversed their spears and returned his bow, cupped hands held out. If the strange Warder could behave in a mannerly fashion, then so could they! Why did he look at them with sadness, though? Wetlanders (if he was a wetlander) could be confusing, true – but no Peddler or Gleeman or even Aes Sedai had ever seemed this confusing!

Again, the Aes Sedai's voice echoed down to them, sounding more strident.

"Master Shieldman? Are you coming or not?"

"Forgiveness, Aes Sedai! Coming!" Naythan Shieldman licked his lips nervously and began to back away, hastily adding; "we talk more later… oh, and verily, tell you truth! Car'a'carn, say you? Not me! Not never heard of him before this! He is not I, would tell you if was…" He made the odd noise in the back of his throat again, blinking his large eyes, "…unless owed to you much coin!" Shaking his head and still chuckling strangely, he turned and trotted away, up to the trees that bordered the pool.

Cohradin stood there, watching Naythan Shieldman go. So, they had not found the Chief of Chiefs after all… and for a time there, he had been sure that they had. He supposed that the Aes Sedai had not been seeking He Who Comes With the Dawn after all, but looking for something else… some strange, unknowable, One Power thing that was beyond his ken.

Well, presuming that they were able to leave this place, bounded by the vast pool of water that the wetlanders called 'ocean' and sneak (for they were sneaking Shaido, were they not?) past the Shadow-twisted, since there were too many to wake, unfortunately... then the search would just have to continue, elsewhere. Cohradin sighed. Disappointing, though… but life was full of disappointments. And on top of all of this, it seemed that he had a very foolish name!

Tevin snorted and, without a word to the others, went to resume his interrupted hare-hunt. The rest of the Shaido squatted easily, leaning on their spears. Then, as one, they turned to stare at Cohradin; the Maidens accusingly, Gerom and Chassin with more of a righteous 'I told you so' manner.

Cohradin noticed, and scowled.

"Alright! I admit it – I was wrong! Just like I was wrong about the goat and... and all of the other things..."

The Shaido continued to stare, with a note of expectancy.

"You want me to say it? Very well – I have toh to you!"


Part III : Evening

The sun was beginning to sink in the west, the shadows lengthening across the pool of water. Seeing that the Shieldman was – finally! – making his way up to the low stand of trees, Ellyth turned away, feeling troubled. There were certain things she would undoubtedly need to ask him about himself, but how best to broach such topics? She was not sure if she even wished to – but she was of the Blue Ajah, and her own wishes were secondary to her Cause. If he was a weapon with which to fight the Last Battle, which might well begin any day now, then she would have to know… to know, what exactly he was.

Ellyth's head was beginning to ache more fiercely, so with reluctance, she released the One Power. Embracing the Source had not been so problematic as she had feared, though she had taken care to allow only the barest trickle of saidar to flow into her... but clearly, channelling an actual weave would be beyond her for several days. Were the Shadowspawn to move west in force, she would evidently have to rely further on the Shieldman for her protection, as well as the Aiel also, she supposed. They had served the Aes Sedai once, Cohradin had claimed – perhaps they would do so again? For a time, at least.

As the warm aura of the Power drained from Ellyth, the sharp pain in her temples diminished somewhat, but she regretted it even so. One always felt more vital, more attuned to everything, when holding saidar... she deplored its loss, even when the only tangible benefit had been the sharpening of her ears, enabling her to overhear the Shieldman telling the Aielmen about 'very pretty ladies' wearing 'little silky things.' Really! As if they did not have more serious concerns!

Ellyth smoothed the divided skirts of the dark blue silk she was now wearing and, despite the cold, declined to add her shawl embroidered with vines to the ensemble, since the article in question was rather damp, currently hanging to dry from the rope the Aiel had left strung between two trees. After bathing – briefly, since the water in the pool was scarcely any warmer than the chill air – she had used her shawl as a towel. Moving to her saddlebags for fresh clothing, the blue-fringed symbol of her station draped over her shoulders as her sole garment, she had been somewhat reminded of her procession through the Tower after being Raised.

The Test for the Shawl had been truly horrific, she had required a deal of Healing after finally stumbling from the accursed oval ter'angreal. Ellyth was certain that all of the Sisters present – even Lelaine Sedai, of the Ajah she intended to choose! – had done their very best to make her fail. Especially Adelorna bloody Bastine, who had once had a Warder killed by Whitecloaks and seemed to hold the young Amadici Accepted personally responsible, though it had happened long before Ellyth was even born! She suspected the frequent and distracting appearances of Witch-finders and Inquisitors of the Hand (whom she had always detested) whilst she had been attempting to cast the hundred required weaves, had been Adelorna's doing. Well, she had won the right to call herself Aes Sedai, even so.

Then, yet weary from a sleepless night of 'quiet contemplation,' the weaves from the Oath Rod still making her skin smart... the walk to receive the kiss of welcome from the assembled Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah. A proud moment – but embarrassing, also! Curse Rafela for seeming to suggest it was a standing tradition for a newly-raised Sister to proceed to the quarters of her chosen Ajah clad only in her Shawl and the Light! Ellyth had not realised it was a matter of choice rather than obligation, certainly… Shrina (Raised the week before) had had no right to linger outside the quarters of the Green Ajah as she passed, grinning and cat-calling! That bloody girl had a sense of humour as subtle as a rock-fall!

As she draped the fancloth cloak over her shoulders once more, Ellyth's dull head-ache began to ease somewhat, though a hollow feeling reminded her that she had not eaten all day, and would not be likely to, either. The provisions she and Atual had brought to World's End had been all-but used up a week since and they had been reduced to what little they could hunt, as well as the emergency dried-fruit trail-rations each had carried.

Atual… at least she could think of his name now without an embarrassing emotional reaction that must render her weak in the eyes of others… she had wept again, whilst bathing, her tears merging with the water in which she was immersed. Would it ever ease? Well, it was early days yet. She would see.

The Shieldman appeared, drifting soundlessly through the scrub. He paused before her, and bowed low. He glanced at Ellyth's discarded riding-boots, then at her feet, now clad in slippers – scarcely any more practical for walking, but more comfortable, at least. Once again, a gloved hand moved to one of the square pouches in the side of his belt.

"Need salve, Aes Sedai?" the Shieldman enquired, "if have…" he squinted, seemingly trying to recall a word... "blusters?"

"Blisters. I thank you, Master Shieldman, perhaps I shall avail myself of this opportunity later, if further walking is required." Ellyth touched the strange bandage that still adhered to her cheek. In the absence of another Sister to give her Healing, she supposed that she would be left with a scar, a prospect that did not please her. She was not Ebou Dari!

"The Shadowspawn have not come any closer?" Ellyth enquired, though presumably he would have told her if they had.

The Shieldman patted his chest over where he wore the Shield-ter'angreal and shook his head. "Still distant, Aes Sedai. I will go and look at them later, with Aes Sedai's permission? If Shadow-wrought think to approach, I will... give them pause."

"Well, please be careful if you do so." Ellyth was not sure what he meant by 'pause' but assumed that whatever he did, it would be something that the Spawn of the Shadow would not care for, so all to the good. She indicated the secluded pool. "If you wish to bathe also, you may, though be quick – I shall wait with the Aiel whilst you do."

The Shieldman winced slightly at the word 'Aiel' Ellyth noted – when she had told him what they were, what they obviously were, for a moment he had looked as shocked as she had when they first came running out of the bushes, bare as babes! But then, his features had assumed extreme… sadness. Dejection, even, as though receiving the worst news possible. But why? Nothing else about this world he found himself in had seemed to trouble him in any way – he had taken the news of the more than three thousand years with remarkable equanimity, she thought. So why, then, had he been so shaken by the Aiel, of all things? Had there been Aiel in the Age of Legends? Perhaps that was when they had served the Aes Sedai, as they claimed. She would have to find out… and this was not all she would have to find out.

The Shieldman glanced at the water and shook his head, somewhat fastidiously, Ellyth thought. "Do not like cold water, Aes Sedai," he muttered, "had bath yesterday – many thousand years ago, but still yesterday!"

Ellyth shrugged, and examined his garb critically. "I think it would be prudent for you to wear the garments of these times, so as to attract less notice…" She indicated the saddlebags he carried. "Some of the clothes therein should fit, though you may need to roll up the sleeves and legs a little…"

The Shieldman's enthusiasm at this suggestion surprised Ellyth - he nodded and immediately doffed his fancloth and belt, kneeling and opening the saddlebags. He grinned like a small boy as he began to root out shirts and coats. "Like costume in play!" he commented cheerfully, selecting a pair of dark trews and rising, removing the Shield-ter'angreal and slipping his odd shimmering garment off one wide shoulder, then the other. There was a large, blue tattoo on the left side of his broad chest.

Ellyth turned her back hastily as the Shieldman immediately set about getting changed, though not quite hastily enough, since the strange one-piece garment was down around his booted feet in an instant… he wore rather odd smallclothes, she could not help but note, made of some black, shiny substance, fitting snugly about his thickly-muscled waist and cut off at the tops of his thighs, which were wide and powerful-looking… his body was not as hairy as that of most men, by the looks of it… she blushed. The fellow clearly had as little conception of modesty as the Aiel!

When she thought it was safe to, Ellyth glanced over her shoulder, frowning. The Shieldman was in less a state of undress now, he had not yet laced-up the linen shirt he had chosen, but at least his lower half was no longer bare. He was leaning down, rolling up the legs of the trews around his ankles, as they were too long for him. Atual had been a good head taller than he… Ellyth sighed.

The Shieldman noticed the sound and glanced up at her with polite curiosity. "Forgiveness, but you are still sad, Aes Sedai? Because of Warderman?"

"Warder. Yes, the severance of the bond affects me yet. It will pass in time."

The Shieldman straightened, tucking in his shirt, though it was still unlaced and fell open. There, etched into the skin over his heart, something that looked like an inverted blue triangle, tiny circles at each point. What was it? He spoke without looking at her, an odd sense of delicacy to his words. "You should take as much time to mourn as need, Aes Sedai. No more and no less. It is honourable to do so, there is no shame in tears." He looked up, smiling. "Proud to wear costume… clothes… of your Warder. Of He Who Guards the Gate. Will try to serve you as well as he."

Ellyth tried not to stare too obviously at the blue tattoo, though she had never seen anything quite like it, it was obviously not a decoration of ink such as the Atha'an Miere sported, it seemed part of his skin somehow, shimmering faintly. And the shade of blue – it was the exact hue as the fringe on her shawl, she noted. Ellyth did not believe in omens as such, but found this oddly reassuring, even so.

"Yes, well… thank you for your consideration… and your understanding, also." He had laced the shirt with some difficulty, but now, was having trouble with the olive green coat he had chosen. "Here, let me help you with that." Her nimble fingers swiftly did-up the brass buttons that he had fumbled with. Why did he not remove his thick, metal-studded gauntlets?

"Strange garments, Aes Sedai. Old-fashioned!"

"If you like. Though I believe that you are the one with a claim to that title, since you come from the Age of Legends, yes?"

The Shieldman looked confused. "What is age of legends, Aes Sedai?"

"The Second Age, of course! The time in which you… went to sleep."

"Oh, Age of Wonders! Utopia... it ended when War began, Aes Sedai, or maybe even before, during the fall into Shadow, Father say... Shieldman not even born then! Born in the Light at the beginning of this Age, was I!"

Ellyth eyed him. The Shieldman eyed her back. "Then I suppose that we are both of the Third Age," she murmured, "though that may well be ending soon, also."

"Soon? Has Dragon been reborn yet, Aes Sedai?"

"He has indeed… at least, I would presume so. A tall, redheaded youth, if such visions are to be believed… what do you know of this? Of the Dragon?"

"Father told to me, Aes Sedai. Rebirth of Dragon would herald end of Age… Tarmon Gai'don. And I would be there, would be needed. He said so!"

"It would seem that your father was a wise man." The Shieldman nodded, looking pleased. Ellyth took a step back, though could not restrain herself from pulling his coat a little straighter, beforehand. She examined him critically. "You look well in those clothes, Master Shieldman. Less out-of-the-ordinary, certainly."

The Shieldman grinned and struck a pose, looking a little like a Bard or a Gleeman for a moment. He re-attached the Shield-ter'angreal to the front of the coat, over his heart since the buttons precluded a more central position, before sweeping his fancloth garment back over his head. Well, he was never going to look that ordinary… at least his boots did not seem entirely out of place, though that black cloth wound about his closely-cropped skull certainly did. She should try to find him some sort of a hat, when they left World's End and started back to civilisation... were they able to. Numerous fists of Trollocs led by Myrddraal lay in their path, after all. She hoped Eradore at least, would escape them... the thought of her graceful mare ending up in a Shadowspawn cauldron, butchered like poor Caba... well, if they were to die, they would do so fighting, just as Atual undoubtedly had.

With this in mind, Ellyth stooped and picked up the sheathed, Power-wrought blade that lay beside the saddle-bags, looking at it sadly. It would have been fitting to leave it in the cairn marking Atual's grave, but she had not wanted the vile Shadowspawn, or some filthy Darkfriend skulking at their heels, to steal it. She presented the sword to the Shieldman, who flinched, looking startled.

"Though if you are to wear Atual's garb, you may as well honour him by wearing his sword also…" Ellyth suggested.

The Shieldman's mouth fell open, his strange eyes widening. He raised his gloved hands, which trembled slightly. He blinked rapidly several times, his oddly-hued eyes seeming to glisten a little. Had she done something wrong? Was he… crying? He was!

"You are… sure, Aes Sedai? I may wear the blade?" His already husky voice choked as he whispered these words, sounding as though he did not quite believe it…

"Well, yes. Of course. I do not know how to use it and the Aiel would certainly not be interested! Is… is something wrong, Master Shieldman?"

"Nothing wrong! Proudest moment of life, Aes Sedai!" He blinked back some tears, then touched his fancloth-swathed chest, over the portion where he kept his Shield-ter'angreal. "Well, second proudest, mayhap…" With alarming speed, he took the proffered sword – as though fearful she would change her mind! – swept it neatly out of the scabbard and knelt at her feet, the blade reversed, hilt extended towards her. "Sin'aethan Shadar Cor pledges sword-service to Aes Sedai, from now 'til death!" he promised, his voice cracking. He spoilt the effect somewhat by sniffing, and rubbing at his nose.

Ellyth hesitated. What was she supposed to do? Touch the hilt? Say something? Bond him? But then, he was standing again, the bared blade tucked under one arm, awkwardly buckling the scabbard to his belt with thick-fingered hands, hampered by the heavy gauntlets he wore. He was still blinking away tears – of joy, presumably! – and made further snuffling sounds as he did so.

"You might find that easier were you to remove your gloves," Ellyth suggested, evenly.

The Shieldman looked at her. "Do not mind," he commented. And resumed fiddling with the buckles.

He was definitely hiding something, under those gloves... an injury or burns, perhaps. Perhaps not.

"I am presuming that you know how to use a sword, Master Shieldman?"

The Shieldman grinned, and sheathed the blade with a deft movement. He went over to a twisted tree above the pool, plucking a small crab-apple from it, before returning to stand before her, resting a gloved hand on the hilt. He then tossed the apple over his shoulder, high into the air. Behind him, the crab-apple reached the top of its arc and began to descend. He cocked his head, listening. Then, the ancient, power-wrought blade hissed from the scabbard and the Shieldman seemed to blur as he spun, the sword sweeping upwards to neatly bisect the descending apple. With the same alarming speed, he somersaulted between the two pieces as they flew apart, the blade flicking out to quarter one of the halves before he landed, turning, dropping to one knee and slicing the remaining segment in two before it could hit the ground.

It was an impressive display. Ellyth might not have loitered in the vicinity of the Tower practice-yard as much as Shrina, but she did not think she had ever seen Atual, or any other Warder for that matter, move so fast, with such precision. The Shieldman rose and turned to face her, returning the blade to its sheath. He bowed formally, one hand on the hilt, the other over his heart.

"Have earned Heron, Aes Sedai, long time ago," he explained, "and can be dangerous to more than just apples, I so assure you!"

"I believe that you can... you are certainly very dangerous to Shadowspawn… much more dangerous than they, as you claimed." Ellyth eyed him closely, spoke in casual tones that certainly did not reflect her true feelings. "Tell me, Master Shieldman, how did you kill the Myrddraal?" He blinked uncertainly, then sighed.

"With… weapons, Aes Sedai." The Shieldman held up his large hands, still covered by the gauntlets, shirt and coat sleeves rolled partway up his thick forearms. He curled his fingers slightly. "Weapons I was... born with."

"Oh…"

"You would like to see?"

The Shieldman made as though to remove his gauntlets, if with slow reluctance, but paused when Ellyth shook her head. It was not as though she did not wish to know, exactly, but it had been a very trying day, the headache was still there, throbbing away… and she was not sure how much more she could take. Besides, there was that marked reticence. She recalled how when she first saw him, sitting upright in the ter'angreal box – had it only been that morning? – he had seemed to make a swift, surreptitious movement. Pulling on his gloves, before she could see his hands, she realised now. He clearly did not wish for her to see these... weapons. So, she would respect his wishes. For the time being.

"I think, Master Shieldman, that perhaps you have certain differences from other men… differences that make you a man who is also a weapon, yes?"

The Shieldman did not answer, just stood in that rigid pose, legs braced apart, one gloved hand at his side, the other resting on the sword-hilt... but the habitual placidity faded from his features, replaced with something almost like... astonishment. Had she offended him?

"Forgive me if I have caused offence by referring to you as a 'weapon' but..." well, Ellyth supposed he had a right to know, since the vision had been about him, after all; "you see, I was given certain information about you... rather vague, but undoubtedly true... there is a very special girl from Baerlon by the name of Elmin-"

"No-one ever called me that before!" Undoubtedly, he was perturbed.

"I was told that you were a weapon who was also a-"

"No, not that!" A second interruption! Ellyth opened her mouth angrily, but the Shieldman forestalled any objection, practically bouncing on his toes with his eagerness to correct her! "Am a weapon, made to destroy Shadow-wrought, particularly the Gholamin – the other thing you call me, mean I!"

What in the Wheel is a 'golamin?'

"What is a-?"

"Forgiveness, Aes Sedai, but... never called that to my face before!" The Shieldman blinked, considering. "Except Kiam Sedai sometimes, when she did not call me 'Lightborn' but just when she was saying 'stupid bloody man!' of some Warman Officer she did not like, and then because he was not there, she would glare at me instead! Like Warman my Brother! Not! Only ever had two Brothers and they were not men either, though they at least were more than man while I-"

"You are babbling, Master Shieldman! I did not think you the type to be nervous. Compose yourself... and kindly tell me what you are."

The Shieldman composed himself with the same disconcerting rapidity he altered his other emotions. He regarded her solemnly for a moment. "You came to wake me, Aes Sedai, true… but you do not know what I am."

It was clearly not a question, but Ellyth chose to treat it as one.

"I do not. Beyond the fact that you are, in some ways at least, a weapon against the Shadow…" She sighed. "Which you have yourself confirmed, I suppose. But the question remains... what manner of man are you, Naythan Shieldman?"

The Shieldman shook his head slowly. "Not man, Aes Sedai." He grinned briefly. "This is why it amuse me, to name myself 'Shieldman' which is rank I was given, like 'Warman,' " he confided, before his demeanour became solemn again. He considered a moment, then crouched and scratched in the dirt with a stick. A circle… then, a double-circle, like a slim figure-eight… and then, a triangle, with loops at each point. The same symbol etched into the skin over his heart. He put a hand on his chest, touching his Shield, glanced up at her enquiringly.

"You saw my Light-mark, Aes Sedai?"

"The blue tattoo? I… did. You gave me scant opportunity to avoid seeing it! Incidentally, Master Shieldman, I should prefer it were you to not remove your clothing in front of me – whatever immodest behaviour was customary in your day, in mine there are certain proprieties to be observed!"

"Yes Aes Sedai. Forgiveness Aes Sedai." He grinned and lowered his eyes, softly muttering something in the Old Tongue that sounded like 'sar isain sene Kiam Sedai!' Ellyth's eyes narrowed, but the Shieldman did not seem to notice, returning his attention to the shapes scratched into the sand. He pointed the stick at the circle.

"In the… I do not know what you would say, Father called it the 'Root-Speech…' very old tongue, older than the High, long-dead even in his day… in this speech, this is how you write number, this is wan." The stick moved to tap the double-circle. "This; taw." He indicated the triangle, seeming to hesitate a moment. "And this… this is tro."

Ellyth blinked. "One, two, three… I see. So, in this ancient script, you have the third number marked on your chest, yes?"

"Yes! Aes Sedai. Light-mark, not given to all, to Lightborn only! I was… am… thirdborn in the Light, my Brothers... firstborn, secondborn… 'Tro' was my birth-name." He scowled slightly, eyes narrowing. "Never liked, being called after number, was glad when received another name. Proud." He ran a loving hand over the hilt at his belt, smiling down at the Power-wrought blade. "Proud to wear sword, too. And have Shield. But even better to have real name. Like person, not thing."

"Naythan. He Who Shields…"

"…from the Shadows of the Night." He nodded, pridefully, then sighed, seeming hesitant. "Aes Sedai… do you know what is… a chu'mira?"

"I do not."

"Oh…" The Shieldman glanced up at Ellyth uncertainly for a moment, then swiftly, as though to get it over with, slipped off the black headband and turned his head from side to side, slow and reluctant. Showing her his ears.

Which were oddly elongated, resting flatly against his skull, rising to blunt points, decorated with abbreviated tufts of white hair, matching that which thinly covered his scalp. Ellyth could not help but stare… it was clearly not a deformity of some kind, but the ears, along with the eyes… there was something about the Shieldman that was clearly not human. He was watching her cautiously with those large eyes, eyes that for the first time, she realised, were more akin to those of a beast than a man.

"I think I understand, now… what a 'chumira' might be," Ellyth stated, doing her best to remain serene. She found herself thinking of the sigil of House Desiama. A silver wildcat. With blue eyes, usually inlaid sapphires. The Will of the Pattern? But she almost imagined that behind it, she could hear the Dark One's laughter.

The Shieldman nodded. "I think that you do. It is a forbidden thing, Aes Sedai, not like when the Masters of the Collam Avende made the Nym but more like what evil old Grandf- that is to say, like what Aginor," – he grimaced with distaste as he spoke the name of one of the Forsaken – "what Ishar Morrad Chuain (may he burn in the Pit!) did, when he made the… the Beastmen. The Trollocs." He sighed, and glanced up at her, seeming to shiver a little. "Shadow-wrought... I hate them, I fight and kill them, what I was made to do, but... I am like them, at least a little, Aes Sedai. Man? No. Not human, not all at least… I am... less than that."

Ellyth could tell when someone was ashamed and was a more than accurate judge of whether or not they ought to be. In her estimation, the Shieldman certainly had no cause for shame. Even so, she surprised herself by going to kneel in front of him, since he was still crouching before the ancient numerals in the dust, as though he did not intend to rise, as though he felt he belonged down there… and surprised herself further when she ran a finger over one of his pointed ears, which twitched a little. His eyes – which were really rather beautiful, she considered, if in a disconcerting way – widened.

"There is nothing remotely objectionable about your ears. A little like those of an Ogier, though not near so hairy, fortunately. You are certainly no Trolloc, Naythan Shieldman, not in any way that I can see, and regardless of your heritage, should not think of yourself so, as it does both you and your father a disservice. You are quite evidently a good and decent servant of the Light and have nothing in common with such as they. In fact, despite certain… singularities of appearance and ability, you are, quite clearly, a man."

The Shieldman gaped.

Ellyth rose, smoothing her skirts, stood with hands on hips, looking down at the Shieldman. She smiled thinly. "Would you care to know why?"

"Wh- why, Aes Sedai?" His cobalt-blue eyes were wide with shock.

"Because only a man could manage to be quite so infuriating as you have been, on occasion! That is why!"

The Shieldman stared for a moment, then smiled uncertainly as he slowly pulled the black band back on, over his strange ears, covering them up with every sign of relief. "Aes Sedai… is making jest?" he wondered.

"If you need to ask, then presumably, it was not a very good jest, yes?"

"Yes… I mean, no… I…" The Shieldman grinned, and opted for saying, "Honour to Serve, Aes Sedai," as he rose and bowed to Ellyth yet again – a prevarication if she had ever seen one! Still, it was nice to see that the boot was on the other foot for a change – she had clearly just managed to confuse him, instead of the other way around! Though oddly, she felt that she was beginning to almost... understand him.

"This was all the doing of your father," Ellyth speculated.

The Shieldman nodded. "Father… he was not my father, like with people who have mother and father… He was Father because he created me, my Brothers also… he made us… though said that there was some of his essence in us, as well as what he took from Da'shain woman who wished to help him, wanted to serve the Light... though he did not know I knew this… do you know what ovum is, Aes Sedai?"

"I do not…"

"Me neither! Shieldman only a… 'constructed-one' you might say… made for to war on Shadow, but not smart, like Father! He was like the Creator, though for Lightborn only! There were those who did not like him, Aes Sedai of Big Hall and others, said Father was evil and... blas-famous?"

"Blasphemous?"

"Yes, that, said Father thought that he was Creator… but Middle Brother used to say to me that this is wrong, that Father thought he was better than the Creator! Because he did not just create us and then leave to own devices, because he… he interfered!"

"As a good parent should."

"Yes, I suppose..." There was an almost companionable silence for a moment, then the Shieldman blinked and, with a note of apology, added; "...Aes Sedai."

Ellyth sighed. "I think that you might dispense with the constant Aes Sedai-ing, since we seem to know each other a little better now, Master Sh- that is to say, Naythan Gaidin."

Odd that the First Oath permitted her to use this honorific, as it had before, for all that he was not a Warder in the strictest sense. But he had obviously served the Aes Sedai much as they did, and she could not help but think of him as one of their number. If with a markedly different demeanour than the average Gaidin of the White Tower, certainly! But clearly, his duties long ago had been much akin to those of the Gaidin... why, as far as she could tell, he appeared to have been the first Warder, though long before the bond had ever been created!

"If you say so, then I obey, uh..." Naythan was clearly unsure what to call her.

"Ellythia Sedai." His eyes widened.

"Cannot use name, Aes Sedai! Only just met! Not proper, so to do!"

"They were certainly overtly formal in your time, were they not?"

"Not sure what is 'overtly' but knew Kiam Sedai for years before she let me call her by birth-name, to her face! Only called her 'Kiam' when she was still just Apprentice... even though she always called me 'Lightborn' back..."

"Who is this 'Kiam Sedai' whom you keep mentioning? Who I appear to remind you of?" Ellyth's meagre knowledge of the Old Tongue had been equal to that translation, at least!

"Kiam Lopiang, very powerful Aes Sedai. Very arrogant, also!" The Shieldman muttered something that sounded like 'tcheran' though Ellyth had no idea what that word meant. "You have heard of?"

"Possibly... though I would have to ask R- ask a friend, to be sure. Lopiang... the name is familiar to me, from the very early histories... I believe that she may have been one of the Sisters who founded the White Tower, perhaps the White Ajah also, if I recall correctly."

The Shieldman grinned. "Kiam Sedai once told me that white was her favourite colour, Aes Sed- ulp!" He blinked and looked apologetic. Ellyth frowned.

"Yes, well, given that if you call me 'Aes Sedai' once more I shall no-doubt go mad as a male channeller and set you aflame, stilling myself in the process... might I suggest that you use the honorific 'Mistress' since the prospect of saying my name seems to fill you with horror! I should like that in any event, as it is what... what dear Atual always called me."

Ellyth sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. For half a decade, ever since she had been Raised, Atual had been there, her strong right arm. She could not even recall the amount of times her Warder had saved her life, put himself between her and danger without hesitation. He had seemed... indestructible. A world without him boded as an impossibility.

The Shieldman was looking at her with commiseration, but also... she thought that she could detect a certain fellow-feeling, even empathy. "I lost someone also... Mistress," he confided, sadly. "Feel bad whenever I think of her."

"It is the very worst feeling that there is, Naythan Gaidin. Who was she?"

The Shieldman – Naythan – smiled sadly. For a moment, his large, strange eyes seemed to glisten a little, before he blinked them rapidly.

"Who? She was…" He sighed.

"You do not have to tell me if it pains you, Naythan."

Ellyth blinked, realising that this was the first time she had used his name without the Gaidin, at least. Atual had served her nearly a year before she did that! His name... her version of it at least, she could not seem to pronounce it the way he did, with that odd vowel sound… Well, 'Master Shieldman' was a bit of a mouthful, after all...

"Oh, do not mind… it pains me, true, but it is well to speak of those who have gone into the Light, to remember them… she was good person, Latra Sedai. Wise, like Father. But also... kind... warm... not like Father!" He sighed again, then grinned. "Not disloyal to Father's memory, am I! Loved Father, treated me, my Brothers, like we were his Sons, thought it important to, right from the start. Father always did his best, he could not help being way he was... being Father! But Latra Posae Decume, Aes Sedai... loved her too. Will ever remember her. Always honour her memory..."

Tro stood at the very top of the Keystone, three-hundred spans above the sprawling encampment below. The vast fortress loomed over the domes and barracks and blockhouses, an artificial mountain. On a clear day, from up here you could see the jagged silhouettes of the Mountains of Dhoom in the far distance... but it was not a clear day. Tro had discarded one of the crutches, but still felt the need to use the other while he waited. The wind was strong this high up, riffling his long, white hair about his strange eyes, as he stared at nothing in particular, whilst waiting for Latra Sedai's armoured Hover-sho to return from the south. From Paaran Disen.

Tro had never been there, and did not particularly wish to go, since the Capital (despite having many places of interest) was presumably full of Citizens who would stare at him. It was better here, in the camps. He supposed. He did not have a particularly wide experience of the world, or what was left of it after the War – apart from the Collam Aman, where he had been born, and later, the Collam Doon, the Northborder was all he had ever known.

Tro had been awaiting Latra Sedai's return all morning, but did not mind, the air up here was clean, there were few if any people about and he had no duties as such – his sole duty was to protect the Tamyrlin from harm, and he was anxious to resume it. So, while he waited, he wondered… or perhaps 'worried' better described it… what was his name, now?

Tro sighed. It was confusing, and he did not like to be confused. He preferred things to be simple, like in battle, where you either killed or got killed. Not like this confusion over who (or what) he was, now. The Warmen were all calling him 'Gholam Killer' as were those of their Officers who had not begun the practice of referring to him as Aethan'allein, Shieldman… this last was not too bad a name, but though he might be a Shield, he was certainly no man! He was a Construct, Father had said so on the day he first told him what he was. So had Someshta, for that matter, and who better than he to know? Besides, 'Shieldman' did not really seem like a name, it was more of a rank.

The War-Sisters who were not also calling him 'Aethan'allein' were still naming him 'Tro' which he couldn't help thinking of himself as, even though he had never cared for his stupid number-name. The Da'shain were all referring to him as 'He Who Shields us from the Night Shadows' which was taking them a long time to say… they, having the fabled 'patience of an Aiel,' did not seem to mind, but he was starting to! As for the Ogier soldiers of the garrison... well, they were continuing to call him what they had always called him, and he still had no idea what it even meant! It was presumably politer than the various names the humans had come up with for him over the years, as the Treebrothers were very mannerly, but this provided small comfort.

What it came down to was that Tro was not entirely certain what his name was anymore. In short, Sin'aethan Shadar Cor was feeling more than a little confused about what he was supposed to be called! It was disconcerting, to be between names... Oddly, the only person in the entire garrison who was continuing as before, his sole source of stability, name-wise, was Vora Sedai's Apprentice, Kiam, who still hated him and was stubbornly persisting with a resolute insistence on calling him-

"Lightborn!"

Tro jumped, looked above, and scowled. It was not often he was taken by surprise. He had not noticed Kiam up there – she was very difficult to see, admittedly, but that was no excuse. He would not have missed her scent, faint though it was in the strong wind, but had been preoccupied. With wondering who he was.

"Hello down there, Lightborn! Are you waiting for your mummy?"

Tro kept silent, lowered his gaze and stared straight ahead, refusing to answer. Apprentice Kiam persisted;

"What is the matter? Has... something got a hold of your tongue? Hmm?"

Ignoring her would clearly not answer, so Tro eyed Apprentice Kiam with disfavour, having to crane his neck a little to do so. Behind Kiam, a large cargo-jumper rose from one of the auxiliary pads, but they were standing (well, he was) on the main pad which had been kept clear, since the personal flight of Latra Posae Decume, Aes Sedai, Shadar Nor, Tamyrlin of the Grand Hall of Servants, was expected to arrive shortly.

Tro was still feeling somewhat dizzy, having to lean on the crutch a little, though not as much as he had a week before, when he left the infirmary-dome, got chanted at by the Warmen and was given a new title by Vora Aes Sedai…

"Lightborn..?"

"You are making my neck hurt, and it is one of the only parts of me yet uninjured! Why do you not just stand on the pad down here, or swoop off to somewhere else, Kiam Apprentice?"

"Ooh! The Lightborn is touchy this morning! Hasn't had his bowl of milk yet, I would expect…"

"Go play with some pigeons," Tro muttered, under his breath. He did not even like milk! Well, not that much... Always with the stupid gibes, just because… he shook his head and scowled again, though he knew it made his pupils go all slitty.

"What was that, Lightborn? Your mumbling is difficult to understand."

"Nothing, Kiam Apprentice."

Tro always respectfully called Kiam that, though she was not yet Raised, so he could have got away with simply 'prentice-Lopiang' or just plain 'Apprentice.' But then, Kiam was the strongest Initiate in a century, and had an absurd amount of Talents… He would see the shining, seven-layered corona around the bright beacon that was her Power, if he cared to squint (though that made his eyes look even stranger!) He did not care to, however. Seven Talents… one of which was an incredibly rare Talent.

"It is very distracting when you float up there like that, saying silly things to me," Tro complained further, "and I do not drink my milk from a bowl, but a cup!"

Kiam smirked and drifted downwards, her small, bare feet settling onto the surface of the landing pad. She was wearing one of those silly fancloth gowns that no other Sister or Apprentice wore, the cowl raised, a pale, disembodied face seeming to float disconcertingly against the sky. Though they had no actual uniform, of course, most of the War-Sisters wore practical garb when in combat, best suited to their requirements – robes and tabards of shattercloth were not unheard of. But Kiam took it further, actually aping the Warmen with her preference for fancloth! All of her gowns and robes were made out of the stuff, as well as her leggings, even! She did look odd – when you could even see her!

The other War-Sisters did not approve, but Vora Aes Sedai found it amusing – she always let her gifted Apprentice do whatever she wanted, within reason, or sometimes even without it. Kiam Lopiang was a prodigy, after all. And she knew it! There was merely arrogant – and then there was Kiam! But the fancloth garments… did she make them herself, out of old battle-capes? He should ask her, perhaps, repay her for the insult. Kiam moved to stand beside him, eyed Tro with mock innocence.

"Am I distracting you, Lightborn? Distracting the little boy who is waiting for his mummy to return?" Tro had ignored it the first time, but it was insulting! Not to him, he did not care, but to Latra Sedai!

"I did not have a mummy, Kiam Apprentice," Tro snapped, "I mean, a mother… you know that!"

Kiam just stood there, her pale hands folded in front of her, the soldier's angreal-brooch pinned to her left breast in the shape of the white tooth, curling downwards, though usually Apprentices were not issued with them. Kiam was a special case, however. She smirked again.

"I stand corrected, Lightborn."

"Yes, you do! Tell me, Kiam Apprentice, do you make your clothes out of-"

"Old battle capes? I have heard that one already, Lightborn, hardly original. I commission them myself, from a couturier in Tzora, if you must know... and before you ask, as various of my fellow Apprentices also boringly have, my undergarments are certainly not made out of fancloth!"

Tro gaped, scandalised. "Kiam Apprentice, I would never ask that of you!"

Kiam sniffed, and disparagingly eyed the Warman-scout uniform Tro was now wearing. He had the right to wear it, the General himself had said so, even though he was something called a 'Shieldman' instead, apparently.

"Though it would seem I am not the only one to impersonate a Warman."

"I am not a Warman! I am a Shieldman, now! Vora Aes Sedai said so!"

"Oh? Well, fair enough, I suppose, that you wear the cadin'gai. But a Shieldman? And I thought that you were a guard-dog?"

This truly incensed Tro. He had never been able to stand dogs, for some reason that he did not wish to investigate too closely. "Dog?" he spluttered, "not a drooling, unhygienic, smelly dog! Though you are half-correct in that I am a guard, who guards Latra Posae Decume, Aes Sedai – guards the Tamyrlin from stupid Grey Men and nasty Myrddraal and… and other things besides!" He did not wish to mention the Gholam… he was still having nightmares about it, ill dreams in which it won the fight and… and while he lay there dying, he had to watch while it killed the… no, it was too horrible to contemplate.

Kiam nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that you do protect the Tamyrlin very well from the monsters that lurk in the night…" Kiam hesitated. (was she going to call him Sin'aethan Shadar Cor? Tro knew that it was a bit of a mouthful, but it would be fine indeed if still-only-an-Apprentice Kiam were to call him-) "…Lightborn."

Tro sighed, still trying not to think of that innocuous, blank-eyed face, smiling at him from its place of concealment… the monster that had been hiding, without much originality, where monsters are often said to hide. Who would have thought that the Gholam should have looked so… ordinary?

"It is well that you saved our War-leader from the Shadow's... spawn." Something about Kiam's hesitation suggested that she still considered him little different from that which he fought. Well, perhaps he was not – but if one was born a monster, it was well to at least be a monster that served the Light. Middle Brother had told him that, with one of his rare smiles. "And took grievous injuries in so doing. You are looking a little less damaged today, incidentally... your convalescence almost complete." Kiam smiled coldly. "I hope that you enjoyed the chu-fruit, Lightborn."

Tro blinked his large eyes. The grapes and apples and other things had been from Latra Sedai, but she had denied all knowledge of the rare, blue chu-fruit, which neither of them had imagined was even being cultivated anymore... the chu plantations were all thought to have been destroyed in the War. So it was Kiam who had sent the mystery-fruit! Where had she even found it? That was nice of her, though. Even if she was still calling him 'Lightborn' to his face!

"Thank you for the chu-fruit, Kiam Apprentice. It was very nice… fruit."

"Yes, well, you need to get your strength back, Lightborn. There being no horse-meat available." Damn! Was she ever going to forget about that? Females! They never forgot a Light-damned thing!

Tro well-remembered when Kiam revealed that she did not like him, by shouting the words 'I hate you!' shortly after they first met. He supposed she had cause… but her mount was as good as dead (it had been too badly wounded with shrapnel for Healing) so he had put it out of its misery. Besides, he had been hungry!

Kiam reached into a fancloth pocket. "Here, I brought you a gift also, to commemorate your triumph." Tro took the small, square box wrapped in golden ribbon carefully from Kiam's dainty hand and held it, feeling blood rushing to his face. "To reward you, for slaying the… Construct."

"Th- thank you a- again, Kiam Apprentice," Tro managed to stutter, holding the box gingerly. Was this some kind of a trick – would the box explode and shower him with shrapnel, so that he suffered the fate of her much-lamented steed? Was she feeling alright? This was Kiam, after all – she loathed him! Giving him rare blue chu-fruit and what looked like an expensive present, almost complimenting him... Tro was starting to feel rather worried for her – perhaps it was combat-fatigue? Should he fetch a Restorer who specialised in complaints of the mind?

"No need for thanks, Lightborn. It was very dutiful of you to save the life of Shadar Nor. And at such cost to yourself." Kiam glanced at his crutch a moment. "You certainly heal fast, I must say – why, you looked all-but dead when they carried you from the bedroom. Another part of the Def- of your 'Father's' famous Design, I would suppose..." She frowned. "Though I might have intervened against the Gholam had I been permitted to – I had the idea of using a Deathgate to… well, no matter. You did well, Lightborn. I do hope that you like your gift."

"I am... sure that I will, Kiam Apprentice," Tro stammered.

Kiam nodded, with a small, brittle smile. "It is well that the Gholam was prevented from assassinating the First among the Servants. You have performed a goodly service in Shielding her…" Again, a hesitation. (would she call him by his rank, at least? would she call him Aethan'allein?) "…Lightborn."

Tro sighed. Was there a trace of Kiam's more-usual, patronising, superior smirk in that smile? Possibly... but no, he was just being overly suspicious. And rude, in not acknowledging Kiam's mannerly – if incredibly confusing! – conduct.

Tro was not entirely sure what to do, so he stuffed the gift-box into a pocket, touched his gloved hands to his Shield and bowed formally. Naturally, he was wearing the Honour Plaque on the front of his fancloth scout-cape – for the past week, he had not removed it, even when he slept! The Shield-ter'angreal gave him a strange feeling... it should not have, but it did.

Kiam inclined her head, gravely. "I must go. I have duties to perform. As do you." She did not leave immediately, though, but eyed him speculatively, with those dark, tilted eyes that seemed to belong to a much older woman.

"Kiam Apprentice? There is something you wish to say?" Was she going to apologise to him for calling him 'Lightborn' to his face so much, like he had once apologised to her for attempting to eat some of her dead horse? It seemed unlikely, but...

"Lightborn… these wars shall not end for a long time, methinks, and then, there are the other dangers from the insane-ones, that will only worsen, despite the Hall's insistence on burying its head in the sand regarding these mad... men."

This was easily the most Apprentice Kiam had ever said to him! And not yet done, by the looks of it… her tone became more hesitant, if anything.

"I feel that we got off to a bad start, you and I. In future, if there is a future, I should like us to be… well, if not friends, exactly – I do not really go-in for 'friends' as most would understand the word, have never much cared for the company of my giggling fellow Apprentices, as you may have noticed. But in any case, I should like us to at least be something other than enemies. Comrades, if you will. We both have certain skills that may be used advantageously against the Shadow – were we to, on occasion, combine our inherent gifts and Talents…" Kiam left it hanging in the air.

So Tro put his gloved hands over the shiny new Shield he wore on the front of his cadin'gai and bowed again, as though to an Aes Sedai. Which Kiam was not, yet.

"Honour to Serve, Kiam Apprentice – when you have been Raised and not one moment before."

Kiam frowned slightly. "Well, at least that is not a 'no' I suppose."

"It is a 'we shall see.' Kiam… Sedai." Well, she had been respectful... sort of... there was no harm in reciprocating, he supposed.

"Very well." Kiam smirked. "Incidentally, I am to be Raised to full Sisterhood next week – Vora said so!"

Tro squinted at Kiam in that special way he could and saw the glow of the Power around her intensify as she rose smoothly into the air. She glanced thoughtfully down at him from where she floated, light as gossamer.

"Oh, one other thing, Lightborn… do you know how to play tcheran?"

"Yes… though I am not very good..."

"Well, you cannot be good at everything, Lightborn. Even I cannot be that!" Kiam chuckled as she turned, rising, her speed increasing. "Enjoy your gift!" she called, over her shoulder.

Tro watched Kiam as she flew gracefully away, her fancloth robe fluttering around her in the wind, even her slim legs encased in leggings made of the substance, the whole ensemble shifting its colour to that of the grey-blue sky around her. She had best be careful, the pilots of a low-flying cargo-jumper might not see her until it was too late and then… smack!

'Oh-no, Warman-pilot, Kiam Apprentice is stuck to our front view-screen!'

'So she is! Quick, Warman-co-pilot, turn on the rain-wipers!'

Tro grinned at the thought, then remembered that Kiam Apprentice, soon to be Kiam Sedai, had been almost nice to him and had given him a gift, so felt slightly guilty. A present! He took it out of his pocket, curiously. It was a small, ornate box, of the kind that often contained jewellery… that would be odd, Kiam giving him such – perhaps a fashionable, platinum call-ring? He had always wanted one of those, though call-box technology rarely worked anymore, unless of a hardened, military design. He doubted it would fit on his finger over the gloves, but even so, it would be nice to have one…

Tro eagerly tore open the box. And all traces of residual guilt concerning Kiam vanished as he held up the grey, fluffy mouse-toy by its stringy tail, staring at it. It was… like something that you gave to a pet, to… to play with!

Tro scowled. Kiam no-doubt thought that she was being clever and ironic with her calculated insult – but he was going to damned-well play with it anyway! That would show her! He squeezed the ridiculous thing and it made a squeaking sound. He sighed. But then squeezed it again. The squeak… it did sound a bit like a sorda… Tro's eyes slitted for a moment and he hissed softly. Yes… but not near so good as playing with the real thing!

There was a big, black rat that lived beneath Grain-Storage Bunker-C that he had had his eye on for some time, though it was an old and cunning beast and had eluded him thus far… after he had welcomed Latra Sedai back, if his duties allowed, then perhaps he would go there and… yes, the damned thing was probably spying for the Shadow, in addition to stealing Aes Sedai food… it was clearly his duty to eliminate this Rodent of the Dark! Though it would be fun, too, of course. More fun than this… this insulting… thing!

Tro was still standing there, bemusedly looking at his stupid fluffy mouse when Latra Sedai's flight finally arrived, necessitating him to move very fast to avoid being squashed. Fortunately, even with the crutch, he could move very fast. He supposed the Pilots had not seen him - he was wearing his fancloth too, after all.

Engines roaring, the grey bulk of the armoured Hover-sho descended onto the main pad, squatting on its landing gear. After a moment, a hatch opened and steps telescoped down. Tro approached, barely bothering to use the crutch in his eagerness. A squad of Warmen exited, taking up positions on each side of the steps, facing outwards, each shocklance held tilted against a flak-armoured chest at the exact same angle, dark eyes sweeping the pad from behind the shockvisors of their mandibled helmets. Their gaze swept over Tro as though he were part of the scenery – the Warmen were long-accustomed to the Lightborn's presence within the vicinity of the Tamyrlin, in her quarters he was practically part of the furnishings, in their estimation! Though a very dangerous item of furniture, for all of that.

Tro examined the Warmen critically. They were good enough guards for what they were, but had he been an assassin, he could have carved his way through them in two chimes and been up inside the craft, killing everything that moved. Fortunate, then, that he was not an assassin. Well, not any more. Before taking service with Latra Sedai, he had been sent north a few times, to kill Dreadlords. He had been very good at it, of course, but had never liked being given such tasks. He thought of himself as a guard, or perhaps a Shield, now... not a killer.

An Officer descended the steps in the Warmen's wake, one hand resting on his sword-hilt. He nodded politely to Tro. Word must have got around, then.

"Gholam-Killer," the Officer acknowledged, then added, "Shieldman," for good measure. Tro sighed. Both! Why did they not just toss a coin and choose one?

But his ire diminished at the sight of the small, slight woman who appeared in the hatchway, her tall Da'shain attendants clustered solicitously behind her.

The Tamyrlin saw him, and smiled. Latra Sedai had a very warm smile, a snub nose and large, brown eyes, a little lined at the corners – for she was older than Vora Aes Sedai even, and almost as old as Father – but her hair was still jet-black, decorated with her glittering silver paralis net, the thirteen signs of the zodiac emblazoned on tiny discs connected with thin chains, nestling amongst her tresses. They were all there; the Ram, the Bull, the Crab... the Dragon. Tro knew that one was a powerful angreal, almost a sa'angreal... the ter'angreal of the rest of the net would not work properly without it, but even so... it was always strange to see that particular symbol in Latra Sedai's hair. She and Lews Therin Telamon had hardly been friends, though she had respected the Dragon a great deal, as most had, before the Strike. Why, even Father had!

Latra Sedai was wearing a long, flowing hologown of ancient design, grape vines seeming to move and sway in an artificial breeze across its surface as she stood looking down at Tro. Her smile widened. He smiled back.

"Hello there, young man," Latra Posae Decume called out, cheerfully.

Tro moved to stand at the foot of the steps. "Mother!" he answered, happily.

Latra Sedai descended gracefully and, as Tro leant down to kiss the ornate ring on her hand, affectionately ruffled the white hair of the young bodyguard who had long-protected her from numerous assassins of the Shadow – Myrddraal and Draghkar, Grey Men and Dreadlords and other Friends of the Dark… as well as one Gholam. They spoke, as they often did in public, in Mino'tan, an ancient and thoroughly dead language that both, oddly enough, had been taught by the same person. Though the tuition had taken place hundreds of years apart and the tutor had been merely Chaime Apprentice when he taught it to his then-lover, Latra Apprentice, and had been Father when he taught it to young Tro. They were, perhaps, the only three people alive who still spoke it. And one of those people was not even people!

"It is fine to see you out of your blankets and walking about, dear boy. You may discard your crutch and use my arm instead. I insist upon it!"

Tro grinned, snapped the metal crutch in half and tossed the shards into an open maintenance-hatch. Latra Sedai chuckled as he slipped a gloved hand through her proffered arm. "It is good to have you back with us, Mother."

"It is good to be back. It is always good to be back, when the place from whence I have returned is Paaran Disen and the Grand Hall of the Servants, not to mention the Hall's many aggravating and infuriating Sitters…"

"Yes. It is very nice to see you once more, Mother. The Sisters and Officers of your choir and orchestra have arranged a recital in your honour tonight… various amongst your favourite pieces to be performed, some soloists also…"

"Ah, music. Life would not be worth living without it, I think. I much prefer the musicians of the Northborder to those of the Capital, the music is truer somehow, more vital, for it is played and sung by those who live day-to-day in danger, not inculcated with affectation and subterfuge. And will you favour us with a song, my boy?"

"Perhaps, Mother, if my duties permit."

"I shall see to it that they do permit – though your duties will now alter, since you are no longer solely a bodyguard, but a Shieldman. You will require training in the use of the ter'angreal, or rather, its uses. I am sorry I missed that ceremony, but I note that you are wearing your Shield so all must have gone as planned. It is well to see that dear old Vora is still capable of changing her mind, even at her age! A miraculous occurrence!"

"I believe that it took one dead Gholam and one nearly-dead Tro to accomplish that miracle, Mother."

"I believe that you might be correct, young man. But hold – who is this 'Tro' of whom you speak? I know no-one of that name."

Tro blinked at Latra Sedai.

"Since Vora and her Sisters have given you a new title… oh, and the Warmen have come up with a name for you also, I hear… so, we must not speak of this 'Tro' ever again, it would seem…"

Latra Sedai knew that he disliked his number-name.

"Call me what you will, Mother," murmured Tro softly as he paced arm-in-arm with Latra Sedai, her Warmen guards falling back a little to give the Lightborn room in case an attack came, as unlikely as that might seem on the roof of the great Keystone. Though the Warmen had heard from their brothers that the Lightborn was now to be addressed as 'Gholam Killer.'

The Da'shain moved ahead, giving the Warmen a wide berth, but they smiled approvingly at Tro as they drifted gracefully past. Despite his uniform, he was unarmed. Though he was always armed.

"I will still be me, Last Lightborn, no matter the label I am stuck with."

"Do not worry, I shall not call you by your Warman-name, for I know your recollections of that night are far less pleasant even than my own." Latra Sedai sighed. "I wish the Warmen would not invent these names… well, I suppose it must be their Officers who do the invention, since with the valuable and laudable exception of inventive new ways to slaughter Shadow-wrought, the Warmen do not tend to invent anything." Latra Sedai lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though none of the non-Mino'tan speaking Warmen guards pacing behind could possibly be Father in disguise, for he was not a tall man. "As you know, I have always utterly detested being named 'Shadow-Cutter' to my face."

"Yes Mother, I know."

Latra Sedai halted her progress as ahead of them, the doors of the 'vator slid open. The Da'shain stood to either side of the capsule, waiting. Patiently. Tro sighed. He could not expect Latra Sedai to call him 'Sin'aethan Shadar Cor' all the time… he did not wish to be 'Tro'… nor did he care for 'Gholam-Killer…' perhaps it would be best if everybody just went back to calling him 'Lightborn,' or worse, 'Last Lightborn.' At least that would take the sting of it away from Kiam Sedai… no! Kiam Apprentice and her damned fluffy mouse! He was going to tag her back for that... and he knew how! After the recital he would go and kill the rat, and then... he could get around the wards on her private dome easily enough… yes, Kiam was going to discover something rather unpleasant, not to mention flea-ridden, in her bed!

Latra Sedai still had not moved, staring straight ahead into the 'vator-capsule that would take them down to the control-deck and thence, to her heartstone-shielded quarters, deep beneath the earth… though he supposed that he was a Shield now, also. Tro coughed politely, and when the Tamyrlin did not seem to have heard him, the Warmen guards waiting stolidly behind, he murmured, "after you, Mother."

Latra Sedai turned her head. "Oh, I do not think so… there might well be a Gholam lurking in there, as there was beneath the bed… Angels step-in where mere Tamyrlins of the Grand Hall fear to tread…" And then, the Mother turned to gaze on Tro with those ancient, infinitely wise and kind eyes, and she smiled that warm, human smile, one human to another, though she was much more than human and he, if not much less then at least, less – the smile that always told him that there was at least one person in the World of the Wheel who did not regard him merely as a weapon of the Light with which to claw the Shadow.

"…no, after you… N'aethan."