Chapter 7

Blood and Fire


"The Tower has been breached."

The words were not ones Dugyn Lazare wished to hear, but they did not surprise him. What other explanation could there be for the thunderous sounds that shook the walls of his room? The men knew better than to practice the destructive weaves Taim had taught them within the palace walls. Still, he had dismissed the noise—what sort of fool would dare attack the Black Tower? "The entire Tower, or just the palace?"

The bald man in the doorway fixed him with a wry glare. "Try looking out a window instead of hiding down here like a coward and you might see for yourself."

Dugyn growled at the man's insolence. Though he had never liked the man who darkened his doorway, and liked him even less at the moment, he was far stronger in the One Power than Dugyn so he knew it was unwise to press the matter. Taim had left Dugyn in charge, however, and he was not about to shirk that duty. "Gather as many men as you can find and divide them into strike teams. Two or three men each should do it. I—"

"Two or three men each?" The other Asha'man snorted disdainfully and gestured to the ceiling above. "Do you feel that? Do you have any idea how much saidin is being channeled for us to feel it this strongly? This isn't a trickle, you old fool." He shook his head and snorted again. "You want strike teams? Go form them yourself. I've already set a counterattack in motion with my men." His men. Not Taim's. Did Taim not see how dangerous this man was? Or did he merely not care? "I'll do what I must. You can sit here and wait to be slaughtered like chattel. Bloody coward."

"I'm in charge here!" Dugyn shouted, though the target of his righteous anger was already gone from sight. Burn it all!

Another rumble shook the ceiling above, causing several stones to dislodge and fall to the floor. Dugyn was no coward, but neither was he a fool. Directly confronting the source of this madness would only get him killed. There were, however, alternatives to bring down an enemy than in a face to face battle.

His jaw set determinedly, Dugyn went to his weapons chest and removed his old bow, the very same bow he had brought to the Tower when he joined months before. Taim had claimed conventional weapons were no longer needed, but Dugyn had always felt there was a place for them. A channeler could as easily die by an arrow as anyone else, especially if he never saw it coming.

With a slight smirk, he grasped saidin and forced it to his will, quickly weaving Spirit around himself and the bow. The weave was one he worked to master more than any other, a weave that rendered him invisible. Other Asha'man scoffed at it, believing it worthless, but Dugyn knew the truth. He knew just how useful this weave was. Using it allowed him to listen to conversations when no one suspected his presence. It allowed him to come and go without an eye ever having settled upon him. And now, during this attack, none would see him coming until it was too late.

When he moved into the hallway, he moved carefully. The soft-soled boots he wore neither creaked nor tapped on the marble floor as he made his way toward the fray. Up the stairs he went, unsurprised to see dead bodies littering his path. Whoever had brought this war to the Black Tower was taking no prisoners. Was it the Aes Sedai? Certainly not. Aes Sedai were no match for an Asha'man, especially those trained by Mazrim Taim. Well, it was of no matter. Whoever was responsible would meet their doom. Dugyn would see to it.

It did not take him long to find the trio responsible for the explosions and lightning peals within the palace, and when he saw the red-haired boy carrying the glowing crystal sword—Callandor—Dugyn knew the other two with him were hardly needed. But he had an advantage, one he intended to press.

A thousand questions bloomed in his mind, warring for supremacy, yet only one seemed to matter: what had caused al'Thor to come here? What had prompted this attack? Dugyn buried the thought. Truly, his curiosity aside, the reasons did not matter. All that mattered was stopping the fool boy. The M'Hael had wanted al'Thor dead for some time now; though Taim had relented on that plan somewhat, Dugyn knew the truth. The boy must die.

Slipping into a small corridor, he silently nocked the arrow he had ready and drew the bowstring back until it was so taut it felt as though it would snap. He had spent most of his early years in the woods hunting dinner for his mother and younger sister. This was no different. It was kill or be killed, and he would not die this day.

He waited patiently, shadowing al'Thor as he moved stoically down the long hallway. Those in his path did not resist long. Most died screaming. Eloy. Voon. Barall. They all fell and Dugyn watched. Some, however, begged for mercy and dropped to their knees before the boy to swear their unending fealty. Those, al'Thor let live. It sickened Dugyn to watch it. He had waited long enough. It was time for al'Thor to meet his fate.

So, after drawing a silent breath, he took aim at the boy's back and loosed the arrow.


The ground trembled beneath Algar Teel as he put one foot in front of the other. Following his example, the three Soldiers at his heels never slowed their progress and, instead, continued directing weaves of Earth and Fire at the enemy. Thankfully, at the moment, identifying the enemy—a group of five full-fledged Asha'man who seemed intent on killing Algar and his three companions—was not a problem. That had not been so when this battle had begun.

Algar grimaced, directing a particularly nasty weave of Fire and Spirit at one of the Asha'man. The man sliced through it just in time, but was not quick enough to defend against the thick flows of Fire that consumed him. Algar sighed as the Asha'man died screaming. He knew he should have stayed in bed, but for some reason he had chosen today, of all days, for an evening stroll around the Tower grounds. That had been an unwise decision on his part. His worst choice of the day, though, by far, was his attempt to find the source of the commotion in the Palace.

Shouts and curses had filled the air as hordes of men ran wild and nearly trampled each other in the process. Some ran from the Palace, some to it, but almost all possessed the same bewildered and confused expressions. Those fleeing the Palace were in so much of a hurry to get away that they refused to stop and answer even the simplest of questions. Whatever they were running from, whatever terrors lurked inside the Palace, had struck the fear of the Light into them.

With a curse of his own, Algar quickened his pace. Instead of going inside the building, he had chosen to make his way around the perimeter. Until he knew for certain what enemy he was facing, he preferred to battle out in the open space of the Tower grounds rather than rushing into a trap set in the labyrinth of passages in Taim's palace. He did wonder, though, what had prompted all of this. Had Taim finally gone mad? Despite the fact that saidin had been cleansed, it seemed to Algar that Taim grew a bit more insane with each passing day. The M'Hael had always been harsh—it was not unheard of for him to injure those in his private classes for speaking out of turn, then refusing them Healing—but his fits of anger had become more frequent of late. And he had killed two of his own men in the past week for minor transgressions.

Though he expected chaos to await him once he reached the grounds on the other side of the Palace, he found only a handful of men there. The atmosphere seemed almost peaceful when compared to what he had just left behind, or so he thought until he rounded a corner and saw them—two groups of Asha'man, the larger of which was Taim's. The other group, outnumbered by two men to one, was unfamiliar save the man that stood in front. Androl Genhold was one of Logain Ablar's followers, and one of the Dedicated that Taim had recently labeled a traitor. As far as Algar knew, the only crime Androl had committed was following Logain, but that was apparently enough reason for Taim to call for the man's head.

"You've been named a deserter, Androl," Algar said casually as he approached the two groups. Androl seemed oblivious to the fact that he was lucky to be drawing breath; it was a good thing for him that Taim's men took great joy in bullying those weaker than they. After a brief moment, Algar let his hard gaze fall on one of Taim's men, a pale worm of a man named Baret. The man dropped his eyes, wilting under Algar's glare. The others were not as weak-willed and returned his fierce look with a mixture of defiance, fear, hatred, and grudging respect. Androl and the group of men with him merely looked defiant. And very determined.

"A deserter in name, not in truth." Androl's tone was filled with barely contained rage as he regarded all of them. "The same cannot be said of any of you however. The Lord Dragon is within Taim's…palace"—he sneered at the word, and Algar found himself agreeing, as it seemed there were no limits to Taim's arrogance or stupidity—"and he has come to seize control of the Tower, by force if necessary. Taim has been on his own for far too long. His corruption ends today."

Algar gave no indication of his feelings on the matter, though he knew every man there was holding saidin. Androl and his men were well aware they were outnumbered, judging by their defensive stances. Taim's men were well aware they had the advantage; that was the only explanation as to why they had not finished this.

"You call Taim by his name and not his title," Algar continued idly, as though unaware of the unspoken threat of violence in the air. "Has al'Thor deposed him, then?"

"The Lord Dragon," one of the men at Androl's side growled, stepping forward. There was no fear in his gaze, and he holding nearly as much saidin as Algar himself could hold. The man was ready for a fight. All of them were. Things were getting interesting at last, and not for the last time Algar wished he had stayed in bed today. When things got 'interesting', people usually died. For his part, Algar was partial to keeping his head attached to his shoulders, so he tended to try to avoid any 'interesting' situations. Unfortunately, it was too late now.

"Logain is the M'Hael now," Androl replied calmly, holding an arm out as though he expected his companion might try to physically attack Algar and the rest of Taim's men. "All those who refuse to follow him and the Lord Dragon are to be executed."

Turning his head, Algar regarded the three Soldiers he had brought with him before letting his gaze fall on Baret and the others. Androl and his men were sorely outnumbered, but clearly intended to fight to the death regardless. Their loyalty to al'Thor, and willingness to carry out his orders despite the odds, was obvious. They were either very brave, or very foolish. Either one could get them killed. "Should we do as they say?" Algar asked his men softly, his cold gaze giving no sign of his feelings on the matter.

"No, Tsorovan'm'hael," they replied as one, the title making Androl gasp in shock. Storm Leader. It was an accurate title given what was about to happen. Algar nearly smiled—he had waited months for this, for al'Thor to finally make a move.

"No one who follows Taim will listen to you, Androl," Algar announced dryly, bringing his hand up to rest lightly on the hilt of his sword. He took a step backward, moving so that he was standing only a short distance in front of the nearest two Asha'man. With a wolfish grin, he added, "I, however, never liked the man." In one smooth motion he pulled his sword from its sheath, twisted on his heel and sliced down in a deadly arc. The head of the nearest Asha'man bounced unceremoniously to the ground, but before anyone had a chance to react Algar thrust his sword into the next Asha'man's gut even as he weaved Fire and Air. Tiny burning projectiles seemed to shoot from his body, easily piercing flesh and dropping the third man lifelessly to the ground.

Screams and shouts erupted as Algar's weaves and sword brought death to Taim's Asha'man. His sword was a blur, severing limbs and heads as he used his other hand to hurl darts of Fire into the few who remained standing.

Lightning fell among the Asha'man as well, fires dancing between them as Androl's men joined the battle. It was hardly necessary at this point, though. Surprise was the key to victory it was said, and what greater surprise could there be than one of Taim's highest ranking Asha'man turning on his supposed leader?

Those who were not dead lay dying, including the three Soldiers who had chosen to join the wrong side of the battle, and as Algar eyed the fresh corpses he abruptly became aware of Androl at his side. The other man was still holding saidin and glaring at him warily. "Why?" he demanded.

Not releasing the One Power, Algar replied coolly, "They had to die, just like you said, Androl. Don't let guilt plague you now. Or, if you meant why I helped you, I already gave you my reason. I never liked Taim, and al'Thor is the Dragon Reborn. For Asha'man his word is law." Taking a step back he released saidin. "What next?"

Androl seemed taken aback by this change of subject, as well as Algar's answer. Looking at the former Storm Leader with the beginnings of respect, he said gruffly, "Take three of my men with you. I'm to hold the Tower grounds, and reinforcements will be arriving soon to help. You go into the Palace and help the Lord Dragon deal with Taim and his men there. Whatever is left of them."

Shrugging, Algar gestured for three of the Dedicated with Androl to follow him and made his way towards the nearest entrance of the Palace. As soon as they stepped inside the Palace, they were immediately attacked by a small group of Taim's men. Had it not been for the three Dedicated with him, Algar knew he would not have survived. Unfortunately, the short battle that ensued left him with one fewer Dedicated.

Unable to see his enemies due to the clouds of dust and smoke that filled the corridors, he snarled and indiscriminately flung deadly weaves in front of him, adding to the piles of debris that already blocked his path. While he kept Taim's men on the defensive, the two remaining Dedicated were working to clear the halls of the obstacles. Even with the halls clearer, Algar could not spot Taim's men, likely because they were using the weave to block detection. Not many of Taim's men knew that weave, only ones that had learned it before swearing themselves to him and his cause; Taim himself had declared it pointless.

Algar drew in a deep breath, allowing his saidin enhanced senses to guide him. He heard the enemy only dimly, and barely sensed the weaves they formed. In the end, it was of no consequence. Despite them being fully fledged Asha'man, they were still amateurs, at best. Lately Taim had taken to advancing many of his pets to Asha'man status whether they deserved it or not, all in an effort to give him more power against Logain. Against al'Thor. How ironic that none of it had helped him. Given the massive amounts of saidin Algar sensed being channeled in other parts of the Palace, the Lord Dragon truly was here, and not alone it seemed. Either that or he had brought a sa'angreal with him.

Truth be told, although he didn't show it, the amounts of the One Power being wielded frightened him. It was nothing like the seemingly impossible beacon from a few weeks earlier, but it was too close for comfort, and more than enough to destroy him, the palace, and everything else as far as the eye could see. If not farther.

Gritting his teeth, Algar dropped to the floor as a bar of liquid fire flew over his head. Balefire. Had he been a second slower, he would have been dead. No, worse. Burned from the Pattern. More blasts followed the first, the bars of white-hot flame fanning out as the Light-blinded fools flung Balefire everywhere in their effort to destroy him and his companions. He had to end this. Quickly.

A cracking sound drew Algar's attention above, where the ceiling looked ready to cave in on them. The massive stone walls, which now had holes in them longer than he was tall, did not appear to be in much better shape. They would be lucky if the whole bloody building didn't fall in on their heads!

"Move, you bloody fools!" he roared at the two Dedicated as he leapt to his feet and broke into a run, weaving thick flows of Air to hold the walls and ceiling in place. "And help keep the bloody ceiling up until we get out of here!"

They did as he said, but even their combined strength was not enough. The massive weight was more than they could hold, and with a sickening creak Algar felt both the ceiling and walls give way. Shouting wordlessly he launched himself forward, practically flying through the air as the entire corridor caved in, leaving naught but an enormous pile of rubble behind.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked shakily, casting a nervous glance around for any sign of Taim's men. Nods were the only answers he received to his question, though he could see that one of the Dedicated was bleeding while the other's arm was twisted at a strange angle. He wished he knew how to Heal, but anything more than a bruise was more than he could manage. As long as they didn't whine about their injuries they were likely not too bad. All that mattered was that they survived.

Rising to his feet, he turned to the men under his command. "Spread out and follow me. Taim's men are still here, and I want you to loose everything you have when the goat-kissers show themselves. Use weaves of Fire and Earth, but do your best to keep the Palace in one piece. We don't want to end up like that." He gestured to a hand sticking up from the debris behind them. It was a blessing that not all of Taim's men had been quick enough to escape their own destruction. Anything that saved Algar a bit of work was welcome.

Without another word, he cautiously moved down the next corridor. He placed defensive weaves around him and his companions, but readied a mix of much more dangerous weaves that could be loosed at any moment. As it turned out, he did not have to wait very long.

As they drew near a corner, he felt a sudden influx of saidin around him. The air itself rippled, exploding outward. The defenses he had erected protected him, as well as the Dedicated behind him, but they also kept him from launching his own attack. That would not do.

Forcing himself to draw deeper on the One Power until it was almost unbearable, he opened a small hole in the shield of Air that surrounded him and released thin bars of Balefire, thanking the Light he had remembered the weave. No corpses fell—the weave of Invisibility Taim's men had surrounding them never faltered—but the air stopped shimmering wherever the bar of molten fire struck, and Algar felt the assaults on his protective shield lessen. Smiling grimly, he channeled again, using the bars of light to clear the area. Instead of meeting flesh, however, the Balefire merely destroyed another part of the wall. At least the structure held. For that much he was grateful.

All at once, the attacks stopped. Not one weave battered against his defenses as he started to move forward again. He knew it wouldn't last, and within mere seconds Taim's men dropped the weaves that had been hiding them and slowly retreated, striking yet again with deadly precision.

Algar never slowed. Once you had the enemy retreating, you pressed your attack. It was a simple rule of battle, one he had learned at a young age. Intentionally widening the hole in his defenses, he did his best to block the deadly weaves as the Dedicated behind him flung weaves of Fire and Earth at Taim's men. Grunting from the strain, Algar weaved pure Fire, a weave so thick that holding it was nearly too much for him, and released the raging inferno at the enemy. Drawing his sword again, he quickly spun Air and Spirit. The air around him shimmered, then settled and hid him from sight.

Without pause, he followed behind the wall of fire he had created. Saidin sliced through his inferno, dampening it, then causing it to disappear altogether. By the time it was gone, he was only an arm's length away from the remaining Asha'man. There were two of them. That they did not sense him gave him a small advantage. That their attention was on the two Dedicated, who were still attacking with all their might gave him an even greater advantage.

Springing into motion, Algar flowed through the forms effortlessly, his blade taking down the enemy with ease. Cries of rage and triumph turned to cries of pain as they fell to the floor, the one with his head still remaining on his shoulders clutching the bloody stump where his arm had once been. Though he doubted the man deserved it, Algar decided to show him mercy. Fire laced from his fingertips, stilling the man's heart. With a deep breath, he released the weave that hid him from sight.

Algar was splattered in blood, he realized—thankfully none of it his own—but now was not the time to deal with it. Appearances were unimportant at the moment. The two Dedicated, who were staring at him with something akin to fear or disgust, seemed to disagree, though he paid no mind to that either. If what he had done today made them realize that battles were neither pretty nor pleasant, then it was only for the best. They had to take those lessons to heart before Tarmon Gai'don began.

"There are more of these bloody fools here," he growled. "Let's find them."


Logain felt his blood pumping energy and life through him, his heartbeat surprisingly steady considering what he was doing. Fighting for my life is one thing I'm not doing today, he thought with a wry smile, which was likely one reason for his inner calm.

No, with al'Thor—the Lord Dragon—carrying the legendary sa'angreal Callandor, defeating Taim's men was proving to be a task any child could accomplish without difficulty. Those who refused to bend knee were killed like the traitors they were, and those that did turn their backs on Taim were dispersed throughout the palace to keep the situation under control. All in all it was almost too easy.

That thought bothered him—surely Taim had more and better trained men than this!—but he had no time to dwell on it as another wave of assailants appeared. He recognized them immediately, some of Taim's most trusted and loyal supporters. They would do their best to kill what they saw as three intruders, and Logain could not allow that to happen, not even to the strange little woman, Elnore, who fought so fiercely at al'Thor's other side. Perhaps especially not to her, as she was, after all, a woman. That al'Thor had allowed her to take part in what had to be done was both surprising and disturbing given his well-known attitude about placing women in danger. Elnore had an air of danger all her own, however. Perhaps that had something to do with al'Thor's decision…

He let his gaze rest on her briefly. She had so many of Nynaeve's features that they could pass for identical twins were it not for her blue eyes. And the way she dressed. But why? His mother had told him, when he was but a boy, that everyone had a twin somewhere in the world. He had always dismissed it as an ridiculous woman's tale—women almost always seemed to have some sort of absurd tale to tell that served no purpose other than to either force you into doing whatever they wished or to convince you of some half witted theory they had—but, looking at Elnore, he wondered if his mother had been right. Whatever the reason for her appearance, and presence, it would have to wait until this fight was over.

Leaving the defenses to Rand and Elnore, Logain channeled pure flows of Fire and watched as it engulfed their opponents. He allowed it to rage on, only forcing it to dissipate when he and the others continued their journey down the hallway. Of Taim's men there was no sign, save several piles of ash that quickly began to scatter as they passed. With a frown, Logain averted his gaze. How many men would pass through these piles before the day was done, never realizing that they were coated in human remains rather than simple dust? So many were dying this day; he prayed to the Creator the Tower could survive it.

Al'Thor gave him a hard and disapproving look. "Next time wait to see if they bend the knee before killing them," was all he said before continuing onward, callously stepping through the ash.

Twisting his mouth Logain followed, speaking quietly. "They would not have knelt. There was murder in their eyes." He allowed his eyes to scan the area, once again searching for the next potential threat. The sound of a bowstring snapping was the only warning he had, however, and even that came too late. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something streak by him, flying directly at Rand and giving him no time to do anything to prevent it.

An arrow he realized, his eyes widening as time seemed to slow to a crawl. Before he could so much as raise his hand to begin a weave, the arrow struck something a short distance from al'Thor's back and plummeted to the floor with a dull thump. Under normal circumstances, Logain would have wondered what sort of defenses al'Thor had weaved around him since they were undetectable and worked even when outside al'Thor's field of vision, but such rational thought was elusive in the midst of the battle.

Instead, he spun quickly, one arm already outstretched and weaves ready to obliterate the enemy, but Elnore was even faster. Before he could even blink, the entire hallway behind them erupted into a maelstrom of flame so hot that Logain could feel its searing heat even from a distance. The marble walls melted like butter on a hot pan, layers of the normally solid stone dripping to the floor.

Even al'Thor looked taken aback by the ferocity of Elnore's attack, though that was the only similarity in their reactions. Where Logain scowled at Elnore—if the girl destroyed the bloody palace, it would mean a great deal of work to make it habitable again—the bloody Dragon Reborn apparently found the situation amusing and smiled at the girl instead.

For a moment, Logain could do nothing but stare at the other two as they kept moving away. Blood and ashes, it was probably the first time Logain had seen al'Thor show so much emotion, but that was a drop of rain in a torrential downpour when compared with the way Elnore beamed upon seeing al'Thor's smile. Vowing to learn what was going on with those two later, Logain quickened his pace to catch up with them as they neared the end of the corridor. Rumbling echoed from elsewhere in the Palace, but he paid it no mind. Battles much fiercer than the ones he had faced so far were raging all around the Tower, where his men fought without the protection offered by Callandor; he could do nothing for them now, but if he could make Rand and Elnore pick up the pace…

All thought fled Logain's mind when he caught sight of more of Taim's men rounding the corner and he began fighting for his life. He could feel the torrents of saidin al'Thor was wielding at his side, as well as the familiar chill of saidar, signifying that Elnore was channeling as well, but he could see neither of them through the smoke and the deadly confusion.

Earlier, he had believed securing the palace was too easy. It seemed the Dark One had just given him a response.


"For the Lord Dragon!"

The battle cry echoed in the air, mixing with the smoke and drowning the angry shouts of Taim's men. As Declan Alagoran pulled his sword free from yet another of Taim's followers, he repeated the sentiment himself, though his voice was lost amidst the sea of noise. The sound of an explosion to his left made him glad he had erected the shield of Air around himself, protecting him from the enormous burst of flame that swallowed one of the nearby buildings. It was too close for comfort, despite the shield. A smaller rumble followed, signifying impending doom, yet he charged forward anyway, intent on dealing with whatever fate would meet him. The chunks of flesh that rained down upon him, filling the air like big red snowflakes, would have normally turned his stomach, but he remained emotionally detached. It was the only way to survive this battle.

Still, for just a moment, he feared that it was one of the Lord Dragon's followers that had suffered such a gruesome fate, but it was then that he caught sight of Evin Vinchova. The boy's proud smile said it all: more of Taim's men had fallen.

Declan was normally not one to take glee in causing death—being raised in the Borderlands, death always stayed too close for comfort—but he had been at the Black Tower for nearly a month, and in that time he had seen more of Taim's corruption than he could bear. Though in some people's eyes he was killing his brothers-in-arms, he knew the truth of the matter was that he was killing men who served the Shadow. He was just happy that the Lord Dragon had finally come to see that truth as well. More importantly, he had chosen to do something about it. It renewed Declan's faith in the man, faith he had been beginning to lose after a short time at the Tower. After all, how could one man defeat the very source of evil if he could not, or would not, obliterate the evil that had sprung up in an organization he himself had founded? Others had voiced the same concerns, believing that the Dragon Reborn cared nothing about them as long as they killed at his whim. But now the Asha'man would have hope. They would know that the man the Creator had chosen to save the world truly wanted to do so. Just as importantly, the world's savior valued the Asha'man as more than mere weapons. Though a great many would die at Tarmon Gai'don, Declan had to believe that some would survive. It would be nice if those men had a future that did not revolve around the ability to kill. Some had embraced their fate as walking weapons, but most wanted to have lives. Families. They wanted the ability and right to live as they chose and love as they chose. After all, wasn't that what they were fighting for?

"The rest of Taim's men have fled," Evin announced loudly. The boy's left hand was wrapped around the hilt of his sword like a vise, although his arm was shaking. It was that, rather than the steady stream of blood flowing down his arm, that indicated injury. Given the amount of blood on the boy's clothes, it could have easily belonged to their enemies. Chances were most of it did, but most was not all. "And the Soldiers are still with the women and children. Defending them, just in case. Only a few were killed. Some were injured, though, before they could be taken to the safe house. We should—"

"The first thing we should do is take care of that wound," Declan interrupted calmly. He was already holding saidin, battling that river of pleasure in an effort to control it. Now that it was clean, it was tempting to hold it as long as he could. The lack of taint, however, did not make it any gentler. Truthfully, he would not have had it any other way.

Wielding all five Powers, Declan let a complex weave fall over the boy. Evin's body lurched, but in the time it took to draw another breath, his wound was closed. Declan was not arrogant enough to think himself as good at Healing as Damer Flinn—he had heard stories of the man's miraculous discoveries, and even more of the Lord Dragon's boyhood friend, Nynaeve al'Meara—but he had learned enough through experimentation and well-placed questions to handle most wounds with ease. One day he hoped to at least rival Flinn, but for now he was happy with his newfound skills. He was quickly gaining enough confidence to name himself a Healer. The world would need many of them soon, he suspected. And using his skills to save life rather than to take it was all too appealing.

Evin flashed him a grateful grin. It made him look even younger than his years. Light, the boy should not be forced to go to war! But, truth be told, Declan had been even younger than Evin when he had been sent to guard the Blightborder with his blade. The difference was that now the stakes were higher. Much higher. And the enemies were far more fearsome than Trollocs or Fades. "Thanks. What now, Dec? Like I said, I think the rest of Taim's men, however many survived, have fled, but I can't see a bloody thing with all this smoke."

"We clear the smoke, put out the fires, and, if we see any more of Taim's men, we kill them." Capture had been discussed when Androl had arrived, but Declan had argued the point. Capturing evil men and expecting them to change their ways was folly. You did not throw a snake in your hen house and expect things to work out well. Not unless you were a total fool, of course.

"You sound like Logain."

Logain. Now the man was the M'Hael, according to Androl. Calling him that would take a bit of getting used to, but it was no matter. At least Logain was a good man. He'd seen and heard enough to recognize that truth. Hopefully Logain would be able to turn things around. And maybe, with some help, he could finally make the Black Tower a more pleasant place to live. "Come on, let's gather the others and get this place cleaned up and locked down. Then we can go into the palace and help the Lord Dragon and the M'Hael."


Stepping over the body of a young flaxen-haired boy with a wide-eyed lifeless stare, Rand frowned, if only inwardly. Too many were dead already, yet he had little choice in adding to that number, especially when they attacked as ferociously as the boy at his feet had done. Despite their young age, as well as the vileness of their cause, Taim's men were well trained. Rand feared they were better trained than any in the Black Tower, save Logain and those who followed him, which made them dangerous foes. Dangerous or not, though, they fell like any other.

Though the initial surprise of the attack sent them reeling, Taim's followers had recovered quickly and attempted to form a defensive front. Their efforts, however, were insufficient. Filled to near bursting with saidin, Rand let the burning light of Callandor lead him as he left a torrent of destruction in his wake. All who channeled against him were destroyed.

It took all of his self-control to hold back and give Taim's men a chance to ally with those loyal to the Dragon Reborn. Initially, very few men defected; most men met swift deaths from Fire, falling stone, or the crushing force of Air. However, as Rand's party moved away from the throne room, the heart of Taim's power, more Asha'man answered the call of the Lord Dragon and fell to one knee before him to offer their subservience. Whether it was his ta'veren influence or the men's desire to live, Rand did not know. Nor did he care, as long as their turn of heart proved true.

Determined to put an end to the chaos that had spread throughout the Black Tower, he continued his inexorable progress through the keep. At times Logain or Elnore would temporarily disappear down a side corridor or into a room to sweep up pockets of resistance. Lost in the rush of the One Power, Rand was not sure when Elnore last disappeared, yet she had been gone for some time now. Somehow he knew she was still alive, though. The Pattern had not sent her to him only to take her away in this battle.

We mustn't allow the Forsaken to get her. Lews Therin's voice was a knife cutting through Rand's thoughts. He was right, of course, but he could not afford to be distracted by the man's ranting right now. Bait. We can use her as bait. If we are cautious.

Doing his best to silence the unwelcome voice, Rand served waves of death to those who stood in his way. Yet not all the casualties in the battle were loyal to Taim. Rand glanced at a fallen Dedicated nearby and absently noted a face he knew well from his home in the Two Rivers. The sight drove him onward, and any sorrow he may have felt over the boy's death quickly turned to cold rage. Rage could be used against his enemies; other emotions merely diverted him from his goal.

Harnessing the power of Callandor, he pressed on through the palace until he found himself standing atop the rubble that littered an entryway of the keep. Resistance was waning, or perhaps dead already, but the courtyard was bathed in blood. Fires rose in the darkness only to be quickly extinguished. Even so, he did not release saidin. It felt too good coursing through him, washing away emotion and mortal weakness. Now that it was clean, it was nearly enjoyable. If only the sickness he felt would end. Only by surrounding himself with the Void could he handle the trouble he had with saidin. Only through the Void did he find the control he needed. So easy to let go and wash away with it. But there is still too much to do. Taim must die.

Yes, Taim must die. He turned, finally, and addressed Logain. His voice was cold and distant from within the Void, "Have your men collect any prisoners. Sever them and bring them to the throne room. They will tell me where Taim is or they will join their cohorts in death." He paused, if only momentarily. "Also, have them search for Elnore. She has been missing from sight for too long now. I fear she may have run into some trouble." He just hoped it was not more trouble than she could handle.