Barid Bel Medar
The almost handsome Chosen
So terrifying
Demandred took a step forward, his tall, muscular frame filling the doorway. He looked imposing and menacing without even trying. Another shudder ran through Natael. He had only briefly encountered the other Chosen since awakening from the Bore. Demandred looked swarthier than he remembered, which caused Natael to wonder where he'd settled. Somewhere sunny, apparently, but that could be many places, especially given the current, unnatural heatwave.
Natael was tempted to go with a casual "long-time-no-see" phrase when Taim spoke up. Natael had almost forgotten that he was there. "You certainly didn't waste any time," he remarked coolly.
Natael glanced at him in surprise. Did they know each other? "I beg your pardon?" Demandred said. For a mass-murdering psychopath, he had always been quite polite.
In any case, they apparently did not know each other. Demandred's almost-handsome face was a mask, but it was clear that he had no inkling what Taim was going on about. "Why," the Saldaean went on, "I've been here for less than a day and you're already trying to recruit me." Demandred did scowl at that. So did Natael. "You're one of them, aren't you?" Taim asked with affected carelessness. "A Forsaken."
Demandred regained his composure, smoothing his features. "Kneeling is usually considered appropriate, when one is in the presence of one of the Great Lord's Chosen."
Taim, of course, did no such thing. "Which one are you?" he mused. "I want to say…Demandred? Sammael is supposed to be much shorter than any of us here, and the other men are all dead, according to al'Thor." That was mostly accurate, as far as Natael knew, except for one obvious exception.
If Taim didn't shut up soon, Natael realised, Demandred would disintegrate him where he stood. The Chosen had no patience for witty banter. "Yes, well, you hit the mark, Taim," Natael broke in. He did his best to smile dazzlingly at the intruder. "Barid Bel. How good of you to visit." Natael had a feeling that, if Demandred had been sent to kill him, he would be dead already. This simple fact boosted his confidence. "You should have sent word ahead. I would have had some poisoned wine prepared, as is customary."
Demandred rolled his eyes. "This is no courtesy call, Nessosin." Taim started at that, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. "I could have killed you thrice since I arrived," he said without inflection whatsoever. Was that supposed to be a threat? Natael almost snorted. The man hardly needed to spell out threats to be menacing.
"There are two of us," Taim pointed out. Natael was tempted to knock him out cold, but it was too late. "And only one of you." Natael slapped his forehead as Taim embraced saidin. Great Lord, Light, Creator help him. Didn't the man possess any instinct of self-preservation?
Taim weaved Air and Fire, but Demandred was faster. He'd likely been holding the Source from the start and masking the fact, something of which Taim seemed blithely unaware. Demandred dodged easily and sent him sprawling with a nonchalant thread of Earth intertwined with Fire. "Too slow, boy. Too clumsy. You have much to learn." He didn't sound angry. Vaguely irritated, perhaps, as though Taim were a persistent mosquito he couldn't quite get rid of. "I can teach you. Everything you've always wanted to know, and more besides."
So Taim was right; Demandred had come to recruit him. If so, why not wait for the man to be alone? Was he going to kill Natael in a gruesome fashion, as a demonstration of his might, in an attempt to entice Taim with the appeal of power? Demandred turned his eyes on Natael after fastening threads of Air around Taim and shielding him. "As for you…Natael, it seems you have been given a second chance."
"I…I have?" The nearly-imperceptible grimace of contempt told Natael that it hadn't been Demandred's idea. A second chance. Could it truly be? Natael dared not hope. The Great Lord was not known for his forgiving and merciful nature.
Demandred nodded absently. "For reasons unknown to me," he went on, "I am told that, if you prove yourself worthy in this endeavour, the Great Lord shall welcome you back amongst us. He shall restore you to your former strength and…status."
"Endeavour?" Natael repeated. He didn't like the sound of that.
"It is nothing more than what Lews Therin has demanded of you, really. You are to assemble an army of male channelers and train them in the martial arts. Then you are to Turn them to the Great Lord's will. Whether they agree to it or not is irrelevant."
Turning? He wanted Natael to Turn every single man who would join al'Thor's army? It was impossible. The Dragon was bound to notice, for one thing and, for another, they didn't have the resources, far from it. Where were they supposed to find thirteen Black Ajah Aes Sedai and how were they supposed to smuggle them-
Was he really considering it? Well, he'd be a fool to refuse such an unexpected boon, but… He glanced at Taim. His dark eyes flashed with humiliation and rage. He appeared to be gagged as well as bound.
"The same offer goes for you, Taim," Demandred went on when Natael remained silent. "Become a Dreadlord now and earn your chance to be promoted in the future. You have great potential, I can tell. In due time, you could be one of us." He took another step forward and crouched gracefully to level his eyes with Taim's. "Immortality. Limitless power. Everlasting sanity. You would never have to struggle against the taint again, Taim," he murmured engagingly.
As Demandred unfastened the saidin-woven gag, Natael expected Taim to fly into a furious rant. Instead, the younger man took a deep breath before speaking. "And if I refuse?" he asked quietly.
Demandred stood, unfurling his long limbs to better stare down at Taim's immobile form. "You shall die," he replied simply. He was a man of few words. "And then you shall rise again, and serve the Great Lord nonetheless. It would be a shame to waste that quick wit of yours, but if you should choose to live on as a mindless lackey, so be it."
Natael's brow furrowed deeply. Rise again? That was new. Was he really implying…resurrection? Had the Great Lord recuperated sufficient strength to affect the Pattern so markedly?
"Very well," Taim said unconcernedly. "I take the deal. Now would you please be so kind, Great Master, as to release me from this uncomfortable position? My back hurts."
Natael stared at him. Just like that, he'd agreed to it? To forsake the Light, to give his soul to the Great Lord? Natael had pondered on it for years before taking Ishamael up on his offer. Well, to be fair, he'd had the luxury to ponder for years. That was not Taim's case.
Nor his, not this time, he realised as Demandred turned to face him once more. Taim stumbled to his feet like a drunkard and massaged the small of his back, cursing under his breath. He wouldn't quite meet Natael's eyes.
Well, what had he expected of a False Dragon, of a man who had ravaged his native land? He'd known the man for just a few hours but he already knew that Taim was ambitious and prideful. He'd expected more resistance, though, he had to admit. Perhaps Natael wasn't such a good judge of character after all.
Demandred's stony gaze was fixed upon him. Natael cleared his throat, which felt dry as dust. He would most certainly need wine, when this unfortunate episode was over. "I… Of course, yes. I'll do anything. I live to serve," he stammered meekly.
Demandred smirked, as if he'd expected nothing else. "We shall speak again of Turning, once you have gathered enough candidates. I give you six months, but I will be back before that, rest assured." He eyed Taim appraisingly. "You must swear an oath." Taim acquiesced. Demandred handed him a Binding Rod and told him what to say, and Taim diligently parroted him. The Saldaean's face was impassive.
Demandred finally nodded in satisfaction. "It is done. Well, you have your orders. I expect results," he told them sternly. Without another word, he wove a gateway and stepped into a white room. Natael stretched his neck, trying to get a better look, but all he glimpsed was an impeccably organised desk. Then the gateway closed.
Natael looked at the spot where Demandred had just vanished in wonder. "He didn't make me swear the oath," he marvelled. Demandred couldn't be that oblivious, surely. Was this a trick?
Taim regarded him strangely. "Why would he? You're already one of them, aren't you? I mean, you are Asmodean, correct? Nessosin, that was your former name."
Natael nodded. "Correct indeed, but al'Thor severed my link to the Great Lord," he explained. "I doubt that my oath still holds. I've given away many secrets to the boy, which shouldn't be possible."
Taim was silent for a moment. Then, against all odds, he laughed. "Then we have a major advantage over your old pal, Barid Bel…Whatever. We can still turn this around."
"But… You barely hesitated! I assumed…"
"That I would serve the Dark One and its incompetent minions?" Taim sniggered. "I think not."
"But you took the oath, Taim. You can never take it back." If there was a way, he didn't know it, save what had happened to Natael – but that wouldn't work with Taim. He was a mere Dreadlord, not one of the Chosen. Not yet.
"Of course I can take it back. We just need to obtain one of those…rod thingies and reverse the process." Oh. Natael had not considered that option. Still, it was easier said than done. Binding Rods did not grow on trees, especially those attuned to men. "Anyway, what was I supposed to do?" Taim asked with an air of supreme annoyance. "He had me shielded and bound. I picked the option that wouldn't get me killed, that's all. It's common sense."
"So…you don't want to become one of the Chosen? To live forever? To retain your sanity? To-"
"No, no and no. I mean, yes, I do want to remain sane, but not at all costs." He levelled his gaze with Natael. They were almost the same height; Taim was perhaps half an inch taller. "Do you?"
Natael hesitated. He thought he did…up until the very moment Demandred had stepped out of the shadows. Seeing his arrogant face had brought up a bitter resentment he didn't know he felt. For years Natael had been the black sheep, mocked at every turn by his peers. He was a coward, he was useless. He had no special talent except for his music. He was no general, no mastermind. Was this his chance to show them who he truly was?
On the other hand… Did al'Thor deserve his faith and trust? The boy was going mad already. But that was just the point, wasn't it?
"We have to make certain that the Dragon Reborn triumphs," Natael murmured. "If he dies, or loses his mind… We're all doomed. The Light has to prevail." Natael didn't care much about either the Light or the Shadow; he never had. But if the Shadow – if the Great Lord – had the upper hand in the battle to come, He would break the world.
Although al'Thor was supposed to do that, too. It was quite the conundrum.
"I couldn't agree more," Taim said. "How you could ever be so foolish, I'll never understand."
Natael's head snapped up. "What?"
"How could you believe in promises made by an entity known as 'The Dark One'? Or the Great Lord, it hardly matters. Does that really inspire trust and mindless devotion?" He seemed genuinely puzzled.
Well, when he put it like that… "I didn't… I cared little about the Great Lord. I was in for the everlasting life and fame. And I got it, didn't I?"
Taim snorted. "You're infamous, certainly, but no one remembers your music, if that's what you were hoping for. Look at you now. Demoted to nothing, forced to prove yourself all over again. And for what? There is only one place at the Dark One's side. Only one of the Forsaken will make it, in the end. Did you really expect to be that person?"
He'd never really thought about that, but it was true that the Chosen were meant to be rivals just as they were supposed to be allies. He had never trusted any of them and they reciprocated the feeling. Some of them he quite frankly despised. His brief partnership with Lanfear had not been his idea, obviously. But for a chance to get the access key, he had agreed to put up with the blasted woman, though her personality was as rotten as her face was beautiful.
Natael's head was beginning to hurt. Too much happening at once. He got up to pour himself another glass of wine. He badly needed one. His hands shook slightly as he lifted the pitcher.
He heard Taim exhale heavily behind him. "You've made several wrong decisions in your life, Natael. But we can still turn this to our advantage. This is your chance at redemption. Our chance."
"What do you have to redeem yourself for?" Natael asked as he turned around.
Taim gave him a blank stare. "The destruction of a large part of Saldaea and the death of hundreds of innocents in my futile campaign to become the Dragon Reborn?" he suggested. "The cold-blooded murder of four Red Ajah Aes Sedai as I escaped?"
"How did you escape?" Natael wondered.
Taim waved the question aside. "A moment of inattention on their part."
Right. Simple as that, eh? There had to be more to it, but Natael decided not to press the matter. "What do we do, then? Warn al'Thor?"
Taim frowned darkly. "No, I don't think that would be wise, given his…delicate mental health." He started pacing, arms behind his back. "The boy gave us two months, and Demandred gave us six. I suggest that we go on as planned – recruit and train the men. Then we hope that al'Thor somehow comes up with something to counter the effects of the taint, and if he doesn't…" He stopped in his tracks and glanced at Natael. His eyes shone brightly. He looked like someone who'd just had an epiphany. "We should gather our own army."
"To protect ourselves against the Chosen, or against al'Thor?"
"Both," Taim said. "Why pick a side now? The Forsaken are currently overwhelmed. Al'Thor has offed…what, six of them? And he's tamed you."
Tamed? Tamed! Natael could feel his face burn with anger – and perhaps humiliation. "I'm not…!" He huffed in exasperation. "Now that you know who I am, do you really feel it's safe for you to say things like that where I can hear them?"
Taim's face never changed, except for that thrice-cursed half-smile, which chose that moment to resurface. "You're here, aren't you?" He shrugged. "Forget about that. What I meant to say was that we should gather the army, as planned, and only decide what to do with them…later. Say, six months from now. If al'Thor goes berserk, we hunt him down and kill him, before he can break the world. Then we go after the Forsaken. Save those who can be saved. If the Dragon somehow pulls through… Then we come clean and stand with him against the Forsaken in the Last Battle."
"You make it sound so easy," Natael muttered.
"It won't be easy. It will be bloody hard. You can bet we'll have spies crawling in every nook and cranny and Darkfriends disguised as allies all over the place. It will be the most difficult thing either of us has ever done, and it might kill us."
He fixed Natael with ominous eyes. "But it'll be worth it, if no one ends up breaking the world."
