A/N; First story: reviews and constructive criticism encouraged. Flames used to cook dinner.

Fain sniffed the air. He was so close to al'Thor he could almost taste him. And this time, it would be different. This time he would have the blood that was rightfully his.
"Master Ordeith, are you sure this is the right place?" said the heavyset darkfriend. Tall and blocky, Dylaer's huge body combined with his relatively small head gave him a look of stupidity, although many had made the mistake of trying to take advantage of him and had found either a knife between the ribs or a trip to the bottom of a river in a sack. Fain had picked him specially for his able, calculating mind and excellent physical abilities. However, he seemed unable to accept that Fain could sense the presence of the one they were seeking.
"Quiet, fool. Haven't I told you already, I know he's here!" snapped Fain. "You have, but I still don't think that the Dragon Reborn would hide in such a place," replied Dylaer.
Fain had to admit he was right there. This place – a manor house nonetheless – was deep in disrepair. Yet Fain could point to al'Thor no matter where he was, and he knew al'Thor resided in that manor. Suddenly, Fain felt something approaching. Trollocs. He jumped up.
"What is it?" asked Dylaer.
"Trollocs!" Fain spat. They mustn't kill al'Thor! Al'Thor was his!
"Should we go?"
"No! Al'Thor is almost within my grasp! We stay!" Fain raged.

They sat and watched the Trollocs advance. Lightning began to strike amidst the Trolloc ranks, and Fain began to snarl. Aes Sedai! Al'Thor was going to be almost impossible to catch surrounded by those witches! Many fell, but still they advanced. Some red columns appeared among the Trollocs, and blossomed into great discs of fire, destroying hundreds of Trollocs. The battle raged on and on, with every Trolloc that died seeming to be replaced with two others. After an hour, the last Trolloc died, and Fain knew it was time to strike...