פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Chapter Thirty-Six: Marshall General Lawe Cathon
Somewhere, a massive explosion belched a tower of flames and a column of thick, black smoke into the air. Even at a distance, its shockwaves rippled through Cathon, until he had to take a knee to keep from toppling. But at its dying boom, the General turned his attention back to the last remnant of what once was the Band of Red Hand. Rallying to King Aemon's wolf banner before the South Gate, they were the last of the greatest standing army of the Covenant. All other traces of the sons of Manetheren were wiped away by the Trollocs swamping the skeleton forces at the crumpled Gates.
Aemon was the only force that stood between the survivors and utter rout. Flanked by his remaining contingent of Heart Guards and Handmaidens, his presence grounded his men around him. He was the last of the chain of command. The line captains were all dead or lost in chaos, and the only commands still obeyed were the ones issued forth from the King's mouth.
"Hold them! Rally for the stand!" His voice was utterly without trepidation, and his greatsword Sanction raised as if to draw all eyes on him. Indeed, all manners of beasts roared towards him, but all broke before the rally.
Cathon fought at the King's side, the standard of the Red Hand gripped hard in his off-hand, where he had picked from the fallen bannersman. Men poured around them in a torrent, a knot of resistance in the flagging man.
A hand yanked Cathon back. The General spun his sword hard, but the man ducked and raised his hand in peace. It was the Royal Vizier, Ilak Didam. Who should be protecting Eldrene.
"You shouldn't be here!" Cathon shouted. "Where's the queen!"
"YOU MUST COME WITH ME!" Ilak shouted back.
"The King--"
"He is the only thing keeping the hammer back. Eldrene is going to attempt something foolhardy! I have no time to explain."
With that, the Vizier dragged Cathon from the boil of battle, "Come. She will not listen to me. She will listen to you."
They drew away, slipping through the soldiers, and into the fierce fighting within the Inner Gate. A squad of mounted soldiers appeared, leading two unmounted horses. They formed a perimeter around the two as they mounted.
"Listen." Vizier called as they broke away from the fighting into the city, four soldiers trailing their flanks. "She is going to try something that will endanger everyone and herself. I cannot convince her, and by her right, I cannot stop her. I should not be even talk to you about this. But, you must convince her off this quest of hers. The Queen is the Sword of Manetheren—as long as the sword remains whole, Manetheren cannot fall. You must convince her to leave with you."
"I do not understand."
"You do not have to. But, you do not want her to stay here in the city when it falls either."
Cathon kicked his horse, and they galloped hard through the cobblestone thoroughfare. He passed by houses where generations upon generations dwelled, but now were dark and empty. Furniture and belongings littered the ground, where they proved to heavy for the fleeing families and their wagons and animals. No matter how fast or far they rode, the din of battle followed them, the whispers of weapons and shields rolled leisurely down the abandoned road.
They galloped across Kae Boulevard, once the most majestic street of the modern world. Glamorous stores and the height of fashion, it now hung in bitter disarray. But, his eyes only found the rising towers and garrets of the Manetheren Palace. Ilak stopped his horse on the lawn, and dismounted with surprising gracefulness. Cathon stopped his horse within the gaping gates, and leaped off, his sword instantly in hand.
The front door was barred, but he kicked it down with no hesitation. The massive halls were as empty as the city, the echoes of his boots thundering through the massive vaults. Ilak took the lead, rushing through the resounding halls deep into the heart. The Vizier suddenly skidded to a stop in a high-vaulted atrium and pressed his hand against a large closed door.
"She is not here yet. She will be with the last refugees at the North Gate, but she will turn her eyes here soon. Find her and stop her before it's too late."
"And you?"
"I will faithfully perform my last duties as Vizier." Didam motioned the four soldiers beside him. "I will protect that which she seeks from falling into the hands of the Traitor to my last breath. Caldazar speed your horse."
Cathon dashed out, leaping over banisters. Time was against him now. He whistled as he skidded out the gate, and leaped on his approaching horse. Sweat sheaned through the stallion's manes, but he drove it hard.
They cut across the palatial lawn, leaping over hedges, and galloping hard towards the north. The curve of the North Gate twisted into view, along with the last refugees moving hurriedly through it. The sight of Queen Eldrene was unmistakable, her brilliant hair was instantly recognizable, and her familiar voice of command drifted towards Cathon as he neared.
"Hurry! We will not hold much longer." The queen picked up a little girl and handed her to her mother sitting at the back of a packed wagon.
"Eldrene!" Cathon called.
She turned and stared at him, "What are you doing here, Lawe?"
"I'm to be your escort." Cathon neared her. He pointed at the receding wagons. "Come, we need to go."
"No, I can't." She frowned. "He asked you, didn't he? There's something I need to do. And I will not leave without Aemon."
"No, Eldrene." Cathon leaped down. "We're leaving. Get on the horse."
She watched him carefully, sighing and pressing her hand over the steed's forehead. "Of course. I understand."
Cathon's guard suddenly rose. He knew her too well. "My Queen…"
She jumped up on the horse, nudged the horse to lumber away.
"Come on, we must—ELDRENE!" Cathon reached for the suddenly galloping horse, managing to snag onto the back of the saddle. He was dragged through the cobblestone, until he managed to grab hold with his other hand.
"Sorry, Lawe. But I have to do this." Eldrene kept the horse galloping deeper into the city.
With a grunt, Cathon pulled himself up to an unwieldy perch at the back of the saddle.
"Let me explain. Please." Her words whipped past his ears.
"Talk fast." The General finally relented. She had earned at least that much.
"Don't get too comfortable back there…Thank you. I need to get to the Palace."
"The place would be over-run back now." They leaped over an overturned wagon, blocking the road.
"Listen, I do not have time to explain. On top of Sappron Tower is the most powerful sa'angreal that we possess. If I could reach it, I could delay the Horde long enough for the survivors to escape."
The Sappron Tower. Cathon has not been up there often. But in the face of an invasion it seemed to be ludicrous. There was only one way in. One had to climb the Europo Tower, cross a long, open walkway to a five-inch thick Cuendillar-plated door that was locked, wherein one person in all of Manetheren had the key. The only times Cathon was up in the towers, he could not see what justified such security. Some ornate chairs sat in a circle around a glass table. The only notable parts of the room were the portraits of all the Queens of Manetheren on the walls of the room, and a single sheathed sword hanging between the portraits of Ieca and Sirsi. It dawned on him.
"The sword. Like Callandar?"
"You would be surprised how many things come in pairs."
"This is crazy. I cannot allow you to do this. Didam knew you would—"
"Have you ever been in love, Lawe?"
"I loved you. You might remember."
She stiffened in his grip, "Draw your sword now."
"What?" His sword cleared his sheath came in time to cut down a lunging Trolloc. Shadowspawn now dotted the streets, looting what had been left behind. Seeing the riders, they immediately converged on their position. Cathon dissuaded them of their pursuits permanently.
They broke through upon the main road, and instantly Trollocs clogged the road thick in battle with the last survivors, rallying around the figure of Aemon before the great Pool of Reflections at the steps of the Palace. Directly above were the towers of Sappron and Europo, the walkway a hundred stories above the fighting men.
"Hold the reigns on course. I need my hands free." Eldrene commanded, freeing both hands. Cathon snatched up the reigns with his free hand, his arm crooked tight around her waist. The queen had sent them barreling on a straight course towards the Palace, except for a thousand Trollocs that blocked the way, turning towards the noise of the galloping horse.
He brought his sword to bear to a cavalier's charge. A futile gesture considering the numbers turning to meet them.
Elderene circled her hands, and the air above them seem to twist and shrink with a crackle. A wall-like construct of bluish hue formed before their horse. Her hands pushed forward, and the wall lumbered ahead with unbelievable speed. It smashed through the Trollocs, crushing any who stood in the way, and sending the rest tumbling back. It chewed a path for the horse, which leaped over broken bodies.
The King's voice suddenly shouted, "Eldrene! No!"
"The window!" Eldrene ignored the shout. "There are too many at the gates."
They charged through the disappearing blue shield, cut down the last of the Trollocs in the way. Cathon braced himself and Eldrene and gave a hard yank on the reign. The stallion leaped above the embankment, its hooves smashing through the glass. Shards flew in a spray, and they landed hard. The horse stumbled on its landing, upending Cathon and Eldrene.
He rolled across the marble floor, glass crunching beneath his weight. He twisted to his feet, seeing Eldrene already beside him. The Hall of Triumph was in disarray, the murals and statuettes shattered. The ground was littered with debris and shattered chandeliers. The looting Trollocs had already turned their attention on the two. Behind them, Trollocs were smashing through the glasses to follow.
"Move!" Eldrene shouted, her hands flew apart. Trollocs smashed into walls as if they were toys, with splintering cracks of wood and bones. Through the gap Elderene raced, one hand lifting up her dress. Cathon followed immediately behind him, swinging at any Trollocs bearing too close.
The marble hallway broke way into the large Atrium Forsa, fortunately empty of any shadowspawn. Elderen turned towards the Trollocs charging from the hallway, and brought the entire ceiling down on their heads with a single gesture. A thick cloud of dust and mortar filled the atrium.
Cathon was already at the now open entrance towards the Europa Stairway. The door was clogged with red-cloaked bodies, and he climbed over with increasing alarm. He glanced up at the long circular stairway, and called out, "It's clear."
Eldrene was instantly behind him, her eyes sweeping up across the tower. "They're here."
"My queen…I had hoped you would not…" A soft murmur called. Eldrene kneeled down towards a body easily distinguishable among the red-cloaked bodies. It was the Vizier, Ilak Didam, blood seeping from his mouth and wounds across his chest. The Vizier turned a baleful eye towards Cathon and back to Eldrene. "The key…" He reached towards his chest, and unsteadily pulled out a single silver key.
"You have done well, my friend." Her voice cracked. She had her back to Cathon, but he could tell she was shaking. The Vizier was her tutor and a confidante, and had stood by her side longer than even Aemon.
Cathon grimaced, but placed a hand on her shoulder, "We must go."
When she stood up, Ilak's eyes were closed and the key-and-chain was wrapped tightly around her fist. Her eyes were slightly red, but a mask has set over her face once more. She nodded.
They glided up the finely crafted stairs, their footsteps echoing up through the curved tower. Cathon suddenly reached and grabbed Eldrene, pulling her back as an arrow stabbed into the wall ahead. More arrows etched through the air, but none hit close.
Cathon crouched and stared up, looking for the assailants. He could only catch flashes of red in the shadows of the dimly lit stairway. "Lost Company. You think Vanigan…"
"No. He's not here yet." Eldrene replied. "Not yet. His men are delaying us. Shut up and close your eyes."
Cathon immediately reacted, turning away as a column of brilliant light flashed through the center of the stairwell. Even with closed eyes, he could feel the light searing through his eyelids. Then it was gone, and there was a cloud of black dots in his eyes. Eldrene pulled on his shoulder and they were dashing up the stairs once more. No more arrows flew down.
As the ascended they passed huddled men, their eyes burned out. Hearing their footsteps, the blinded men lunged out, but were instantly dispatched by the general's merciless sword. Red-cloaked traitors smashed through the balconies, their screams bouncing erratically off the vaulted walls.
They came upon the final landing, with Eldrene taking the lead. An open door led towards the bridge that spanned Europa and Sappron.
Just as they approached the doorway, a flash of explosion shivered the walls. Eldrene pushed Cathon aside and dashed through. The general immediately recovered and followed two steps after.
A single Dreadlord stood on the bridge, his cloak rippling through the air. Not Vanigan, but one of his Lieutenants. Fire lanced through the air, but they unraveled into nothingness inches before meeting the smooth skin of Eldrene. Ominous blue rings coalesced around Eldrene, but she simply moved her hands, smashing them into crystalline motes that hung for a second in the air.
She never stopped moving, one hand reaching out. The Dreadlord was yanked into the air like a ragdoll, his eyes suddenly displaying fear. Cathon felt the anger rippling from Eldrene and was prepared for what she did.
Seized as if in giant arms, the Dreadlord gave a shrilling scream, then he was no longer one piece. Cathon felt chills running up his spines, but a look from Eldrene silenced him instantly.
Cathon looked down from the heights at the last rally of Manetheren. Directly below he could see the circle of red amongst the masses of black that clogged the squares and streets of the city.
"Lawe, we must do this." Eldrene bit her bottom lips, "You must hold them. Trust me. We will survive this."
And then she was dashing across the bridge towards the opposite tower. The doors opened, and she turned to give him a look, "He is coming." The doors descended close behind her, leaving the Marshall General standing alone over the heights, swaying in the winds.
Cathon gazed across the walkway, his steps slowly bringing him towards the middle. He glanced down at a shred of black cloth caught on the rough stone, dancing in the wind as if seeking escape. The wind wrapped around him, sending his cloaks flaring from his necks. He glanced down at the beleaguered men fighting in the Pool of Reflections. The once clear pool was blurred by growing blood. He glanced up at the Sappron Tower, towards the spherical dome, wondering.
There was suddenly a hum in the air, a vibration that Cathon felt in his mind. Whatever Eldrene was doing, it was beginning. The tower itself appeared to glow faintly.
It was also drawing attention. Not a full minute after, a Trolloc appeared in the doorway. It hesitated for a moment at the walkway, but charged Cathon. The General killed him with a single blow, sending him plummeting off the edge.
"Akeros di se'gar." He quoted the beginning passage of the Akrosian Cycle. So guards Akeros. The greatest warrior of history was not Jearom the Lord of Blades, nor was it Biruk the Wielder. It was Akeros, who had bested both Jearom and Biruk. For Akeros is the gatekeeper of the veil of death, and no mortal warrior could beat him. The Reaper himself.
"Akeros di se'gar." He repeated, as Trollocs ascended the towers, falling upon him in a never-ending flood. But he was Death incarnate and he cast them down from the heights, until Trollocs were falling from the sky like a thin hail. He briefly wondered what the defenders below would think of that.
Then it began. Pillars of brilliant, clear light cracked through the ground all around him, instantly incinerating Trollocs within their area. Rocks and debris fountained up to almost the height of the bridge. But the gaps left by these devastations were almost instantly filled by more Trollocs rushing into the city.
A fade took the bridge against him, its ebony sword snaking towards him. Cathon blocked thrice, took its hand off, and sent it clawing off the side.
Plumes of light began to multiply across the city, leaving trails of shredded bodies wherever it ascended. Buildings shattered into dust and Trollocs to bone.
There was a pause on the bridge. No more spawns exited the doorway, but the general did not stand easy. He simply gazed down at the dwindling circle of men, watching as it crumpled, soldier by soldier.
A motion at the door drew his attention. It was a familiar man.
"Nathen! Why are you doing here?" Cathon lowered his sword, as his adjutant approached in a staggered manner. "Where is Airene? WHAT HAPPENED!"
"Sir. General, I'm sorry." Austern walked towards the general in an awkward manner. "I am terribly sorry."
The adjutant lunged, a hidden dagger flashing. Cathon twisted, and felt the cold of steel cutting into his sides. Pain flashed through the back of his head, but he backhanded Nathen hard. He followed with a smash to the face, throwing the adjutant off the walkway, where he barely caught to the edge with his fingers.
"Why?" Cathon groaned as he pulled the dagger from his side and tossed it spinning away. Was there something on the blade? He was feeling dizzy. "WHY?"
Austern lost his grip, but Cathon grabbed his arm.
"Please!" Austern pleaded.
Cathon looked down at the dangling adjutant, feeling the sting of the pulsing wound. This was the man that had saved his life more times than he could count. The man that he had trusted more intimately than even himself.
Cathon let him drop. The parting cry was that of anguish.
"Well done." A smooth baritone voice flowed from the opposite side. Cathon did not need to look up to know it belonged to one Piotor Vanigan. The Traitor.
There he stood, inky cloak twirling dramatically in the breeze, face utterly unperturbed by the explosions shaking the city.
"You can not pass, Dreadlord." Cathon stood, Austern's scream still echoing in his mind.
"Lawe…" Vanigan gave him a sad smile. "Stand down, for I do not want to hurt you."
Cathon raised his sword in reply.
"I am not an unreasonable man, Lawe." Vanigan called. "You were the only one who voted in my defense at the Circle of Judgment. I owe you for that."
"Look where that got us." Cathon gestured at the Trollocs swarming through the city, and the pillars of white fire cutting through them.
Vanigan gazed up at the glowing sphere of Sappron Tower. "I have your Aes Sedai. Your adjutant brought her right to my steps."
Cathon clamped his teeth shut. Impossible! He was bluffing.
"Stand aside, and you and your little witch can pass safely. This is as lenient as I will be."
The Marshall-General knew the Dreadlord was sincere. Vanigan was good at lying, but he was even better at the truth. The latter was always infinitely more appealing. Vanigan was a traitor, but he was fiercely protective of his perceived honor. He would kill a person at a whim, but if he had owed him money, he would stick his dues in the corpse's pocket.
"DECIDE!" Vanigan shouted, his voice slicing through the din of explosions.
"I choose Manetheren." Cathon bowed his head in a calmness that shielded his internal fury.
"YIELD!"
"No." A fireball instantly punctuated Cathon's reply, washing across the bridge in a wave of heat. Then, it twisted and imploded into a tiny stream of fire that flowed into the fox-head medallion on the General's chest. A chill soaked through his shirt.
Vanigan's eyes burned with hate. "That won't save you." A darkly gloved hand reached into a pouch and tossed three glimmering items across the bridge. Three foxheads on shattered chains stared up at Cathon. Every one of them was etched with blood.
Vanigan raised his blade, a Lord's Sword that could be a twin to Cathon's. Both swords were of the finest steel breed, folded and smithed to only Manetheren perfection. Both were given as the final mark of a First Lord, the final reward for passing of the Lord's Trials. Only two men in the history of the nation had passed the Trials with perfection—two of them stood facing each other upon a windy bridge. There were no marks upon either swords—no heron marks nor sigils of honor—for the sword itself was proof enough of their caliber.
In unison, they detached their cloaks, letting the wind whip them from their hands. Red and black cloaks flew through the air, for a moment, twisting together in an embrace before separating and carried away into the distance.
"Hie, First Lord of Manetheren." Vanigan saluted with his sword in tradition. Cathon did not reply, his blade unmoving. Vanigan's eyes flashed at the insult, and his faced tightened.
The Dreadlord charged.
Vanigan did not have the speed of a Fade, nor the power of a Trolloc, but he moved like a blur of liquid that was nigh unstoppable. He was not a man, but a force of nature.
Two Lord's Swords collided with a flash of blue sparks and a ringing clang that shivered through the air. They met again in a forbidden practice. Never could one Lord's Sword be drawn against another, an anathema second only to raising a hand against one's King.
Nothing mattered now to Cathon. The wound at his side was a numbness and the wind in his face was a dull whisper. He did not feel nor care about the flashing explosions of light that was smashing the Trollocs to pieces. He no longer remembered the bedraggled soldiers below, dropping one by one. Only the man Vanigan mattered. Him and his sword.
Vanigan and Cathon were almost equal in the swords. Vanigan had earned his Lord's Sword earlier, but that slight advantage has long been overcome. The Dreadlord favored fast strikes and hard pushes, while Cathon favored gambles and feints.
To a soldier glancing up below, the battle above seemed frantic but almost insignificant. Upon the bridge, swords crossed in a whirlwind of sparks, both pressing forward and back with no gain. And both would be almost completely forgotten in the blazing light emanating from Sappron Tower.
"You are a fool, Lawe." Vanigan sliced a groove through the bridge as Cathon dodged away. "She will not leave until the King has left. And he will not leave until she has. An idiot's gambit."
Cathon did not reply, beating at Vanigan's defense with stone demeanor. He would not be baited.
"I will enjoy breaking Ellisende as much as I enjoyed breaking the witch." Vanigan hissed into Cathon's face as they forced their swords together. "You have very good taste."
Cathon threw him back and hammered at his sword, but the Dreadlord deflected each hit with casual snaps of his blade.
The bridge lurched as the blazing sphere above Sappron Tower increased its tempo. The city was almost encased in a blazing pillar of blue light that began to chew through Trollocs faster than they could fill. Vanigan glanced up at the tower, worry finally setting on his face.
"Enough of this!" The Dreadlord pushed at Cathon with hard blows. And then Cathon's sword began to glow red. Heat poured instantly through the hilt, digging with pain into the general's palms. Vanigan couldn't channel on Cathon, but his sword was not immune. The Marshall-General held desperately to his sword as he warded off blows, but every inch of his skin and brain shouted at him to let go of the excruciating object.
Pain overloaded his system. He did not remember the sword flying from his hand, nor the fist slamming into his face, knocking him to the ground. But, in his fog of pain, he looked up and felt new pain slicing through his guts. Vanigan stared down with hard eyes and drew his sword up again. Cathon tried to move, but his arms were failing him. The sword came down through his chest, cutting through his lungs, and he felt blood flowing in.
Vanigan cut through the chains on his Shell of Caldazar and snapped the medallion away. As soon as it left, he could feel vibrations in his head, deep resonance emanating from Sappron Tower. Vanigan raised his sword again, and his foggy state, Cathon felt time seem to slip away slowly.
And then a blast of anguish and emotions stabbed into his head. He recognized the very essence of his Queen. Vanigan himself lurched. Cathon swam against the sea of darkness, pulling at the strands of power flowing from the One Power.
He saw it. He felt it. And he knew her anguish. He felt the death as if he was there. The undeniable face of Aemon finally falling hard into the waters of the Pool. Fades flowed over him, and swords came down in a blitzkrieg of fire. Pain coursed through the bond between Airene shattering their link. Fragments of red and black crackled from Sappron Tower.
"NO!" Vanigan's voice was a soft murmur against the roar in Cathon's mind. The Dreadlord stumbled towards the Sappron Tower.
Cathon tugged at the cords of power in his mind, his burnt hand finding the shape of an obsidian dagger on his belt. An obsidian dagger that bore a tiny red hand. Through the black veil of death, he grasped the black dagger. Excruciating pain stabbed through his nerve-shattered palm, pain that yanked him briefly from the cloudy embrace of unconsciousness.
He struck at the back of Vanigan, slicing into his kidneys, bringing the Dreadlord to his knees. Feeling the drain of blood and oxygen, he launched himself at Vanigan with a silent roar. He smashed into his nemesis, his last weight and energy carrying them both over the brink of the bridge.
As he fell, his vision darkened and his senses dulled away towards nothingness. He did not hear the shriek of Vanigan. He no longer felt the uncontrolled anguish of Airene. He was too far gone. His lungs filled with blood and shock locked his muscles.
Two falling bodies crashed into the red waters of the Pool of Reflections.
There was peace.
There was a pause.
For a single heart beat.
The city erupted into a single pillar of white light.
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ