Faile's column had just been ambushed. Sevanna's Shaido leapt out of the snow and hacked apart their escort. Those who were not killed were taken prisoner. Playing in with the rules of mandatory nudity, Faile had her clothes ripped off and was now tied up with her own socks.

"How am I not freezing to death?" Faile wondered aloud as the Shaido manhandled her towards the other prisoners. Her friends Chiad and Bain stood with them, also naked.

"Wait!" Chiad protested, "Shaido! She doesn't follow Ji'eh'toe!" The Shaido warriors paused to listen.

"You can't enslave her," added Bain. "Because she is a wetlander. You can't make her wear white!" There was a pause as the Shaido realized their predicament.

"Okay," replied the Shaido who was behind Faile.

JAB!

The tip of the Shaido's spear burst through Faile's chest. Faile looked down at her death-wound, then gave Bain and Chiad an annoyed look.

"Oops, my bad," grinned Chiad sheepishly.

"You two are f*****g idiots," Faile as she died. Bain felt so uneasy, she had to make a joke to lighten the mood.

"Well, that was a big fail," she said, elbowing Chiad, who did not get the pun. "Fail, you know, because her name is Faile."

"It's pronounced "Fa-Yeel," Chiad replied with a sideways glance.

"Oh light, is it? I've been calling her 'Fail' this whole time," Bain replied awkwardly.

"It's alright. I used to call Egwene 'Eh-Gwen-Ee'. And it wasn't until that bloody video game came out that I stopped calling Shai'tan 'Sh-I-Tan.' "

Mat knew Nyaneve was around here somewhere. Either she was in Tar Valon or she was in the surrounding country. Mat stood on a hill overlooking the city and the island it sat on. Dragonmount threw a tall shadow in the distance.

Mat stopped Tuon's gallop as a herd of horses stampeded past. Mat admired the beautiful herd (inadvertently dodging a crossbow shot as he leaned in to look at the beasts.)

"Look at that," Mat said, patting Tuon's mane. "Not everyday you see such a fine herd of animals." Tuon snorted, chomping down on her bit. She rocked Mat, causing him to move, thus dodging the thrown spear of the same assassin who's bolt had just missed. "Wait, those horses, something's wrong." They were moving slower than they should and their necks were tied together. Mat looked to the rear of the herd and saw, near a cluster of trees, was Nyaneve and Lan.

"Harder Lan!" Nyaneve yelled. "Yes! Harder Lan! HARDER! HARDER!" Mat galloped up to the two.

"Am I interrupting something?" Mat asked.

Nyaneve was suspended in the air. Her hands were holding onto the nearest tree while her braid was tied to the herd of horses. Lan was cracking a whip to spur the horses to move faster and pull Nyaneve's braid more.

"Harder Lan!" Nyaneve cried, "make them run faster. The horses aren't pulling hard enough, and that makes me MAD!"

"Dude," Lan said, pointing at Mat.

A few minutes later, the herd of horses had been let loose. Tuon was fastened by her reins to a tree and was grazing peacefully.

'I hate horses,' thought Mat as Tuon raised her tail.

"So you want to join me, huh?" Nyaneve smiled, "tired of your destiny too?" She shook her head. "You can't join until you give me something." Mat dug into his pockets and surrendered his two photographs of the Aes Sedai coronation.

"Now you got to be punished. A good caning should do."

Minutes later…

"I understand the caning, but why do I have to be dressed in a baby bonnet and a bib?"

THWACK!

"AHHHH!"

Minutes later…

"Okay, so why haven't you broken into Tar Valon and the White Tower?" asked Mat, sitting uncomfortably. "I mean, duh, Wheel of Time?" In his head, Mat imagined himself striding through the streets of Tar Valon as Aes Sedai and soldiers alike dropped dead at his feet when they moved to stop him. For some reason, everyone favourite pretty boy, Galad, was there too.

'Get out of my fantasy, I'm not gay,' Mat told Galad. Light! Since he discovered his fate with Tuon, he'd been getting worse and worse. Mat beat the unwelcome image from his head, thus dodging the assassin who was now trying his longbow, having put aside his crossbow and spears.

"Because!" Nyaneve stammered (pulling her braid with her hands, feet, and teeth) "we…BWAH!" Nyaneve was consumed in fiery light that sent a shockwave of Saidar out, flattening the trees and blowing back the arrow that almost hit Mat and killing its shooter.

DO NOT TOUCH CALLANDOR read the sign. Rand, who had stopped by the Stone to pick up Callandor, had just touched it. Without meaning to (or trying to) he had partially cleaned Saidin, which was still dirty from the Dark One's touch ever since he had used it as an ashtray. He sheathed the weapon and gated back to his friends, who were on the road to Tar Valon.

"I…feel…dizzy," Nyaneve said. An angreal, which she had forgotten about, fell out of her pocket. Mat put it back in. It was a statuette of a woman giving its viewer the finger. Little did she know of its connection to Rand's fat man angreal and the huge statue of a woman with a glass orb, which lay buried in a far off land. With Callandor, Rand was cleansing Saidin with every touch he laid on the sword. Of course, the effort required the energy of the bearer of the angreal Nyaneve had.

"Hey guys," Rand said to his friends as he tightened his belt. His hand went near Callandor.

"Uh!" Mat drew back in alarm as the figure glowed with power.

Rand's hand moved away from Callandor.

The figure's glow vanished.

Mat, Lan and Nyaneve stood untouched amidst the ruin. "Now, what did you say?"

"Those defenses," Nyaneve pointed to the walls of Tar Valon. Mat felt afraid.

The walls were held by rows and rows of cannon, which were designed to look like seashells, rolling waves and the like. Rows of soldiers stood on the ramparts, clutching spears that looked like stone trees. Here and there, stood an Aes Sedai and each was continuously and violently spewing misandrist slogans. Over their heads rose watchtowers, manned by machine gunners, anti-air missiles and all sorts of radar equipment. The bridge to Tar Valon was defended by a band of red-faced warriors who swore to die, rather than give up, every time someone came to cross the bridge. The gratings that led to the sewers were watched by mice in armour. Tiny mouse warships patrolled the waters, on the lookout for invaders.

"I don't think the Wheel can save us here," Mat sighed in fear. In stories, heroes got lucky breaks. In real life, the heroes never got any lucky breaks. Things never just appeared. They had to fight their way through all dangers with what they had, and sometimes, it wasn't always glorious. Mat thought in frustration at how easy heroes who dwelt in stories had it, in contrast to him, who had to earn his lucky breaks. In real life, no godlike waves of state-of-the-art attack helicopters came out of nowhere, firing rockets at your enemies. No columns of tanks in blitzkrieg formation grumbled across the plains to give unexpected aid when you needed it most, like in stories. In real life, things had to be done realistically.

"Do you hear that?" asked Nyaneve. The three of them turned to look south, where the sound was coming from.

In the sky was a godlike wave of state-of-the-art attack helicopters (relics from the Age of Legends), their missile pods loaded and ready. Below them, in blitzkrieg formation, was a column of battle tanks. They roared past Lan and Nyaneve, firing furiously at the walls.

"DUDE!" Lan roared in alarm, dodging a passing tank. One of them ran over Tuon, miraculously making her less ugly. She got back up, unhurt.

"Si-si-silver-si-si-silver-si-si-silver-si-silverpike!" sang Siuan's voice on a loudspeaker from the helicopter fleet in tune with "Ride of the Valkyries," which was blaring from the lead helicopter. Mat could see the panicked defenders vanishing in explosions while the high-tech ordnance blew them apart. Smart bombs (relics from the Age of Legends) slammed with precision into the watch towers while, overhead UAVs (relics from the Age…you know the drill,) got recon photos of the city.

"Hey you Red Ajah biyatches, I'm tossing you to the lionfish!" taunted Siuan as her helicopter swept over the ramparts, raking the defenders with fire from its door gun.

"YA!" Mat yelled, drawing his glaive and rushing down the hill (not even he knew where he'd been carrying it.) Lan chased him and dove at the band of fearless warriors guarding the bridge.

"Ho! Prepare to fight!" yelled the leader, looking as a farmer as he rolled his cart onto the bridge. "No," the leader said, "another false alarm…"

Lan carved into him. Mat followed, slashing and stabbing men with his glaive/spear/halberd/stick-thing. Nyaneve followed, paddle in hand. She dropped enemy warriors by paddling their butts.

All three were cast back though, landing in a painful heap. Weaves of Saidar filled the air as a Red Ajah Aes Sedai crawled over the side of the bridge. She wore a low cut dress and had eyes like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. The last defending man was dead, but they were, all together, not worth this one Aes Sedai.

"Kill all men, kill all men," snarled the woman, pulling out a pair of shears. She looked at Mat's pants. "You first, stripling!" Looking at his pants? Shears? Kill all men?

Mat cried and begged her to spare his jewels, but Nyaneve came to his rescue. She dove in at the woman, hands outstretched. She dodged a cut from those shears and took hold of the Aes Sedai's swooping neckline on the red dress she wore. With a furious pull, she pulled the bottom of the low neck up and up and up, until red fabric was touching the Aes Sedai's chin. With a few safety pins, Nyaneve pinned the woman's dress in place and stepped back.

"My bosom!" the Red Ajah sank to her knees as she looked at her well-covered chest. Not a single bump of cleavage showed. "AHHHHH!" The Red Ajah melted like a wax sculpture and her empty clothes burned with blue fire until they were ashes.

"What the hell?" Mat asked.

"Tell no one of what you have seen," Nyaneve murmured ominously.

As the battle ended and the tanks and helicopters returned the way they came. A single person came parachuting down from the sky. It was Siuan. So that's where she went, she was summoning aid. It wasn't because the Creator forgot she went with Rand's group.

"Fish," Siuan said. She looked at the three. "Hello Nyaneve," she said. Nyaneve exploded with fire and magical energy.

"So the entrance to the Ways would be somewhere here," Rand said as he used Callandor to etch a crude map into the dust of Far Madding. "We can make it to Tar Valon in a heartbeat."

"What if we're too late?" asked Elayne. "Nyaneve might say another prejudiced comment. She could offend, Light forbid, the muslims." A cold wind blew and uncomfortable thoughts formed.

"We have to hurry," Rand said. "But if we move, we can nail her in Tar Valon." He drove Callandor forcefully into the etching that represented the city. "Come on."

"What in the name of silverpike?" asked Siuan as the fire and energy disappeared, showing Nyaneve and her belongings had turned black. They crumbled to ash, leaving her eyes cartoonishly unhurt. The Wheel of Time repaired her.

"Who were they?" Nyaneve asked, brushing ash off her clothes.

"They were my father's old war buddies," Siaun said. "They fight like lionfish."

"Hey, you know a lionfish is an itty-bitty, brilliantly-coloured, tropical fish that eats shrimp?" Nyaneve pointed out. "BWAH!" she exploded with light and fire.

Rand had sheathed Callandor, but had put his hand on its sheath to lift it so it didn't drag on a rock as he stepped over it.

"So what now?" Siuan asked.

"We invade the tower," Nyaneve began. "We…BWAH!"

A fly had landed on Callandor. Rand had brushed it off.

"In through the gates. The defenders are down, so the way's clear to the tower," Siuan said. Nyaneve didn't finish her nod.

"BWAH!"

Rand and his group had settled down. Rand was listening to his music player. He had Callandor laid out across his lap and was rocking his head to the beat of the song.

"Here comes the drum solo," Perrin said as he did air guitar in tune with the song. The drum solo came.

"Pat-patta-patta-pat-pat!" Rand beat different parts of Callandor with his hands.

Nyaneve, Siuan, Lan and Mat stepped in through the open gates to the city,

"I…"

"BWAH!"

"…think…"

"BWAH!"

"…I…"

"BWAH!"

"…see…"

"BWAH!"

"…the…"

"BWAH!"

"…tower," Mat said as energy from Nyaneve's repeated explosions whooshed around him.

"BWAH!"

"Dude," Lan looked up at the mighty structure in awe.

"You got that right," Mat said as another one of Nyaneve's explosions cleared the way for them. By now, the streets were nicely depopulated, the blast killing all except the people who mattered. Looking up, the party could see multi-coloured lights in the topmost windows on the tower.

"Is someone being stilled, or gentled?" whispered Nyaneve. "BWAH!"

"No, that light is not Saidar," whispered Siaun. "But something far worse." Mat wasn't interested.

"We're not leaving the White Tower without visiting the gift shop first," he said, eyeing the entrance.

"BWAH!"

"Right," Siuan said, still not looking away from the lights. Mat asked her what was wrong. "Those lights, it's Ajahfest." A cold wind blew.

"The Ajahrest? What's that?"

"It's where Elaida will be and Elaida is it's our best bet that if anyone knows how to destroy the Wheel of Time, it'd be her," replied Nyaneve, "and we won't be able to get to her if she's in Ajahfest. She'll be surrounded by scores of Red Ajah. Our only hope to get to her is to blast through them." Lan's eyes widened and Siuan looked uncomfortable.

"Dude?" asked Lan.

"Yeah, what Lan said," replied Siaun.

"I AM referring to those," replied Nyaneve, "we must break into the White Tower and steal the turtle cannons…BWAH!"

The glittering sign read one word:

"AJAHFEST."

Elaida had turned her throne room into a dance floor. Bright lights flashed, music played as loud as it could and hundreds of Aes Sedai danced on the floor. In the center, a circle of women formed. In the middle, the novices were squaring off against their seniors. Though the younger women were supple and swift on their toes, the seasoned Aes Sedai used Saidar to help them bust moves.

Elaida twirled through the air, held on flows of Saidar, and landed on her feet. The novices shrank back as the circle cheered for Elaida and the Red Ajah group at her back.

"Alright bitches!" she looked at the yellow and green Ajahs. "Who's gonna challenge the funkiest Ajah of them all? Go red!"

"RED! RED! RED!" all the Red Ajah present chanted. The other Ajahs booed them. It was so loud, no one heard someone yell "black, FTW!"

"Uh, no," Elaida stopped and pointed through the crowd, "there is no Hello Kitty Ajah." One woman, in a pink shawl with Hello Kitty stickers stuck over the coloured bands of her real Ajah, slunk away. "Now," Elaida laughed, "anyone up to challenge the red?"

"WE WILL!"

The music skipped and all talking stopped. The room turned as one to regard the challengers. Gasps rose and hands covered mouths. Not…the Black Tower.

In military ranks, two-dozen Asha'man, led by Mazrim, marched in on the dance. They wore black tuxedos and sword-shaped cufflinks.

"Humph, men," grumbled Elaida as the Asha'man joined her Red Ajah in the middle of the circle. The two groups stared each other down.

"Asha'MAN, baby," whispered Mazrim.

The contest began.