We're all gonna die

This time it's for real, for sure

No, wait, what's this now?

"Release the Source and your precious lackey will live," the repulsive woman said. The blade of her knife had already nicked the sensitive skin on Gorman's neck, but though there was a bead of blood, the wound seemed shallow.

"He's not our lackey," Natael growled. "Leave him alone. It's me you want."

Taim took a step sideways, to place himself between Natael and the intruder. "Which one are you?" he demanded. "Is it you again, Last Chance?"

Natael wasn't certain who the hag was but, if he had to guess… Graendal. They had received no report of her death, but it would make so much sense… Given the Great Lord's twisted sense of humour, it would indeed. Graendal was vain, shallow, obsessed with her own looks and that of others. She kept the most aesthetically-pleasing specimens as mind-wiped pets, sometimes merely as decorative objects. Giving her the body of the most horrid-looking woman on the planet was a fitting punishment – if that was what it was, but the odds were in favour of that explanation. She must have screwed up spectacularly.

The words she'd spoken to him a moment earlier were another clue: there will be no chance escape this time, Nessosin. If not for Mat Cauthon's preternatural luck, Natael would have died months ago, after being ambushed in that accursed pantry. His love of wine would have been the death of him.

Of course, that hadn't stopped him from drinking.

"It's not Lanfear," Natael murmured to Taim. "It's-"

"I am Hessalam," the woman announced.

Without forgiveness, Natael translated automatically. Yes, that weighed heavily in favour of some sort of reincarnation punishment. He wondered what she'd done that was so terrible to justify…this. Even by the Great Lord's standards, it was nasty. Had she murdered another of the Chosen? So close to the Last Battle, it was to be expected – she was taking out the competition, but perhaps she'd acted too soon. After all, they still needed to win the war. With their numbers so reduced…

But the other side was equally crippled, was it not? If al'Thor had truly gone insane, if he was beyond saving…

Mm. Perhaps the battle would be relatively fair, then.

"Can't imagine what you did to earn that name, but it must have been bad," Taim said wryly.

"I fully intend to make up for my mistakes," Hessalam said. She smiled again, partly displaying a few rotted teeth. "I think I'll start with Logain. He's the prettiest by far… Maybe I'll keep him for myself, when the battle is won."

"You'll have to go through us first," Taim warned her. Natael frowned at his beloved. Us? Then Taim moved again, until he stood between Logain and Hessalam. Natael sighed. Bloody hero complex. He took two steps in their direction, so that he was in front of Logain, but still slightly behind Taim.

Hessalam tightened her grip on Gorman. A trickle of blood ran down the Asha'man's neck. His eyes reflected his fear, but he didn't falter. He didn't plead for his life, didn't panic. He waited for the situation to resolve itself, one way or another. There was nothing he could do, and he accepted that. It was beyond his control, but he trusted them to save him, loyal fool that he was.

What a pickle. Well, not really. It was pretty straightforward, in truth: they were doomed. Even if they surrendered to spare Gorman, there was no guarantee that Hessalam would let him live and, once shielded, they would all be at her mercy, of which she had none. If they assumed that Hessalam was lying and would kill Gorman regardless of what they did, which was likely, they would still have to contend with Hessalam, her thirteen gal friends and the Myrddraal. Not to mention that the three of them couldn't link, but the women could.

The fight was lost in advance. Gorman's life, all in all, seemed to be the only thing they could actually salvage, if they played their cards right.

"It's me you want," Natael repeated. He forced himself to take a step forward, placing himself in front of Taim and Logain both. At least one of them had to survive, he reminded himself. Otherwise all would be lost. The Asha'man would be leaderless to face the Last Battle. "Let the lad go and take me instead."

"I don't need a bloody human shield, burn you," Logain muttered. He stomped ahead of Natael. "If you want me, witch, come and get me."

Abruptly, Natael realised that Taim had released saidin. Hopefully Hessalam had not noticed. "What are you doing?" he asked in a low voice.

Taim shrugged fatalistically. "She's going to kill us all anyway. At least let us give Gorman a chance."

"So you're going to let her win, without even putting up a fight?" Logain barked. "I thought Nate was the cowardly one."

"Oi!" the so-called coward protested.

"Are you quite done?" Hessalam said with much annoyance. "By the blood falls, it used to be simpler than this," she complained. "Threaten Nessosin and he'd do virtually anything to save his sorry hide. What's changed, Musician?"

Everything.

He sought Taim's face: the look in his eyes was not one of defeat, let alone surrender. There was fierceness, anger. Did he have a plan? As always, Natael decided to trust in Taim's instincts. They didn't have much choice, anyway. If they fought, Natael wasn't even sure they could kill Hessalam before they were overwhelmed by the enemy. They would likely die for nothing.

Then again, if they let themselves be taken alive and be Turned…

Yes, that would be unfortunate…but Natael didn't feel like dying right now. "We surrender," he murmured, relinquishing his hold on saidin. Logain grunted, but imitated him. "Let Gorman go."

Hessalam removed the knife from the Asha'man's throat and addressed her minions: "Shield them and take them to the basement. All four of them."

Natael huffed in outrage, though he'd known it was a long shot. "You said you'd-"

"I said I'd let him live…and I fully intend to honour that promise," she said with a malicious smile.

Gorman was eyeing Natael with a blank stare. There were tiny droplets of blood on his forehead.

"Hit him again," Hessalam commanded. The Asha'man did so without hesitation. Natael's head swivelled under the force of the blow, his face burning from the repeated assaults. His nose was very likely broken, and one of his teeth was loose. There was a metallic taste in his mouth.

"Mm-mm!" Taim said – or tried to say, despite his gag.

Natael spat some blood and turned to face Gorman again. Gorman's husk. The mindless body that used to be their most trusted and loyal Asha'man. Their friend.

What a waste. A real tragedy.

All things considered, it was a miracle that Demandred had not noticed earlier that they'd only pretended to Turn their men, because Gorman, though a passable actor, had never once come close to looking so…inert. Empty. Devoid of human emotion.

Hessalam had not dawdled: in less than a day – in Natael's estimation, though it was difficult to tell, in the windowless basement – the Forsaken's black-clad squad had Turned Gorman, then a dozen more Asha'man of all ranks selected apparently at random. The poor sods who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Natael guessed. Of course, Hessalam had made them watch everything.

"Alright, that's enough for now, my pet," Hessalam crooned. "Let's get down to business." She signalled to one of her flunkeys and pointed to Logain. "Strap him to the chair." The woman hastened to comply. Logain trashed about, but two Myrddraal and another Dreadlady joined forces to subdue him.

"Mm-MM!" Taim insisted.

"Leave him alone," Natael translated in a weak, twangy voice. "Take me instead."

Taim turned his face to him, one of the few movements he could manage, bound as he was. They were both shackled to a wall, side by side. Instead of mm-mming, Taim growled to show his disapproval.

"I was merely conveying your thoughts, darling," Natael said. "I assumed you'd wish to offer to trade your own life for Logain's. I wasn't suggesting that she should take me." Taim rolled his eyes.

"Now there's the Nessosin I remember," Hessalam commented idly.

Of course she would think he was being serious. She would never expect him – Asmodean, the Cowardly Musician – to sacrifice himself for anyone.

He would, though. For Logain, for Taim… He had been willing to give his life for Gorman, earlier. But no one was taking him seriously. He had changed, deeply so, but the rest of his peers had not. They continued to mock him, despise him and, hopefully, underestimate him.

But what if Hessalam did underestimate him? He was bound and shielded, just like Taim. In mere minutes, the Logain they knew would be gone. And then it would be Taim's turn to be Turned…

Natael couldn't bear the thought.

And he would have to watch, powerless, utterly helpless, as the love of his new life became a puppet with no mind of his own and a servant of the Shadow.

"Shall we begin, Great Mistress?" the woman who had strapped Logain to the chair asked. The thirteen ladies stood on one side of Logain, the Myrddraal on the other. The Turned Asha'man awaited orders, lined up against the far wall.

Hessalam considered for a moment. "Let our new recruits do it," she said eventually.

The woman's eyes widened. "But, Great One-"

"Don't you dare contradict me!" Hessalam shouted. The hapless minion shrivelled under her glare. Her shady friends were doing their best to ignore the scene, so as not to draw the Forsaken's ire on them. Hessalam spoke to the creature that wore Gorman's skin. "Do it. Turn him for me."

"Your wish is my command, Great Mistress."

Natael shuddered to hear him speak like this – and then some more when he realised what this meant. Not only was Logain going to be Turned under their eyes, but the torture was going to take an excruciatingly long time, if the men had to do it instead of the women. Light, it could take hours. He turned to Taim. "Do you have a plan?" he murmured. "Because now would be a good time to implement it." Taim shook his head. "Then why did we surrender?" Natael exclaimed. Fighting would have meant losing, with the same result they were now facing, but still… "I was very consciously trying not to be a coward today, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Mm-mm," Taim said with as much of a shrug as he could manage with his restraints.

Natael must have misread – or misinterpreted – the look in his eyes, earlier. Had he given up? So close to the end?

Granted, the odds were not in their favour at the moment. But all wasn't lost, not yet. It couldn't be. After everything they'd accomplished, everything they'd sacrificed to give their men a chance to at least live to fight in the Last Battle… Was this how it would end? In yet another dark space, with bloody Graendal intent on killing him?

How galling.

Gorman raised his hand to signal to his men. They all seized saidin as one and, three seconds later, Logain started screaming, his face distorted, his body writhing in agony.

Natael's eyes were closed, but that did nothing to muffle the sounds Logain was making. How could a human being make such animal noises? Natael could almost feel his pain, which, instead of decreasing as he lost his strength, only seemed to intensify.

How long had it been? It felt like two weeks, but it couldn't have been more than two hours, perhaps only one. He was feeling the first pangs of thirst since Hessalam had last deigned to quench it, so that sounded about right.

At least an hour of this. Without a single break. They were going to kill Logain before they could Turn him.

It would not be the worst outcome…but hardly the best one, either.

"You're killing him," he said, without opening his eyes. "He'll be no use to you if you-"

"Uh?" someone said sleepily. "Oh, right. Enough, my pets. We'll resume this session in…" Hessalam yawned loudly. "Ugh. Half an hour or so."

Had she been asleep? Natael's eyelids opened a fraction, just as silence fell in the room. After such a long period of guttural screaming, the sudden absence of sound felt almost unnatural. Logain must have fallen unconscious as soon as the Turned Asha'man had obeyed their mistress's orders. There was not a mark on him, but his hair was in disarray, and his nose was bleeding. Natael had to concentrate to make sure he was still breathing; his chest rose and fell, but almost imperceptibly.

"Half an hour is not enough," he protested, opening his eyes wide and glaring at Hessalam. "He needs rest. You need to feed him, so he can recuperate."

She raised her monobrow mockingly. "Recuperate? The point is to Turn him, as I'm sure you've divined by now. The weaker he is, the easier it will be."

By then, all they could hope for was an end to Logain's suffering. "It would be even easier if the women-"

"They've done their share for today, Nessosin. Look at the poor things, they're exhausted."

Natael glanced reflexively where Hessalam was pointing. Some of the Dreadladies were having a game of cards, while others were napping peacefully or even eating. The poor things indeed.

"At least give him some water," Natael pleaded, though even if she agreed, it would do little to no good. Logain was already dead. Natael had to accept that. He could only hope to ease his friend's passing.

Hessalam scratched her wart-riddled cheek. "Mm. You know what? You're right. You're absolutely right. This will not do, not at all. Esme, get Logain out of the chair." One of the women who were playing cards stood to obey.

Well. Small victory…or terrible mistake? Natael had a bad feeling about this.

"Mm-mm," Taim said, sighing against his gag.

Natael turned to him. "At least he'll be hydrated when he becomes a mindless puppet for the Dark One?" he said, trying for a light tone, although he felt more like crying. He had to cheer Taim up, somehow. They couldn't just give up. They were still alive. For the hundredth time, he checked his shield, but there was no breach, not a single crack.

Taim didn't even look at him. He was watching Hessalam and he seemed…resigned.

As if he'd known all along what she was going to say next. "Your turn, M'Hael."

Natael froze in his binds. "What? No! What about Logain?" That was a horrible thing to say, he realised it as soon as he said it, but he didn't care. Better Logain than Taim. "You can't!" he yelled when Esme approached Taim. "Moridin will have your bloody ugly head for this!" he threatened Hessalam. "You'll be reincarnated as a pig-faced Trolloc next time, you flaming hag!"

Taim followed Esme without a struggle and let her strap him to the chair. He still wouldn't look at Natael.

"Hessalam, don't do this." Natael choked on the words. "You can't." Oh well. He was crying now. "Take me instead." This time he whole-heartedly meant it, and Hessalam heard it. She frowned at him, but she ignored his plea. "Graendal, please."

This time Taim did look at him. "Mm-mm?" he said, his face thunderous. Then he glared at Hessalam.

Natael was hard-pressed to interpret what he was trying to convey, but it didn't matter. "Don't do this. He's more useful to you as himself. He'll help you willingly. We both will, I swear it." He suppressed a sob. "I'll Turn Logain myself if you let Taim live, Kamarile," he murmured. "I'll Turn the entire Black Tower."

Just as expected, he was being his disappointing self again, in the face of adversity. To be fair, Hessalam was doing what Natael feared most: she was threatening Taim.

"Mm-mm," Taim said, shaking his head. His eyes were full of sadness, but he didn't seem disappointed in him. He blinked once, hard. Natael got the message: close your eyes. Don't watch.

But he couldn't. His eyelids refused to cooperate. He saw Hessalam give the signal, which was immediately relayed by Gorman. In three seconds…

…Natael would die.

One.

"I love you," he said softly. Taim nodded. I love you, too.

Two.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice so low that no one could have heard him, though Taim nodded again.

Thr-

"What do you think you're doing?" a male voice thundered. "We have orders, G… Hessalam."

Natael didn't think that this day could get any worse – how could it possibly? – but now Demandred was here.

Who would come next, Moridin?

"I believe I told you to Turn Logain and the Asha'man," a deeper voice said quietly. "I made no mention of Taim."

Ah. Apparently, yes, Moridin.

The two male Forsaken stood at the base of the stairs. "Do you intend to kill every single one of us before the Last Battle, you blasted idiot?" Demandred demanded.

Hessalam didn't seem fazed by their sudden appearance. "They're not with us, you fool. They are very actively against us. Do you know how many men they've Turned since you commanded them to begin the process?" She didn't wait for an answer. "None! They were play-acting, you blind oaf. And you never noticed." She turned to Moridin, half-raising her hands as if to say, why wasn't he turned into a hideous monster instead of me? I'm the smart one here.

Well, Natael had to give her that: she had accomplished more for the Shadow in the few hours she'd been here than Demandred had in the months since he'd forced Taim to become a Dreadlord.

Moving forward, Hessalam extracted something from one of her pockets and waved it under the Forsaken's noses. "Did you know that they had this in their possession?" Natael squinted and realised she was holding Shendla's Binding Rod. Well, Demandred's Binding Rod, really.

Moridin glanced at Demandred, but the latter's face was impassive, as it so often was. "They didn't get it from me," he stated in a flat tone.

True, but did he know that it was his? Had he realised that it was missing yet? According to Shendla, he had spent the previous day in the place the Sharans called the Hearttomb. Was he aware of what had happened? Had Shendla and Mintel dared talk to him yet?

And if they had…were they still alive?

Moridin pushed Hessalam away impatiently and moved toward Taim. "You disobeyed my orders, Hessalam. How many times do you think that your impudence will be tolerated?"

"You can't afford to lose me now," Hessalam said dryly. "There are too few of us."

"Oh, that's quite true," Moridin said as he unfastened Taim's bindings. "That is why these two nimrods are being promoted, and why you needn't Turn them."

"You must be joking," Hessalam said. "Surely you're not considering-"

"It is not my decision," Moridin barked.

"But-"

"You will take them to Shayol Ghul, Hessalam, and you will not question the Great Lord's will." He was done with the straps that were restraining Taim. He even helped him stand up.

Natael felt as confused as Hessalam. What was going on? Why would the Great Lord repay their (multiple attempts at) betrayal with a reward such as this? Or was it a trap? Perhaps the Great Lord wanted to kill them Himself, and needed them to go to Shayol Ghul to do so.

Then he realised that he didn't care. "Little help here?" He longed to be freed, so that he could hold Taim in his arms. He was alive! They both were.

"Do it soon," Moridin said briskly. "Then return here and finish what you started. The Black Tower must be ours, and Logain, though he didn't make the cut, remains a priority. Stop toying with him. Demandred, I'm counting on you to enforce my orders."

Without another word, he walked past Demandred and up the stairs.

"I cannot believe-" Hessalam began to pace as she spoke. She exhaled sharply and threw her hands in the air. "Honestly! After everything they've done, with the Musician's treachery, they're still going to-" This time she stopped talking because there was a knife in her throat.

Natael stared at it, baffled. He'd seen Taim move, had seen him swipe the knife at her belt, but he had no idea that he was going to do…that.

Oh, bother. How could Demandred let this pass? They would have to fight him now, there would be no choice. And they were still shielded! Not to mention that he was still physically bound. What had Taim been thinking?

When he turned toward the Forsaken, however, Natael saw that Demandred had unsheathed his longsword and was hacking and slashing at the female channelers that held their shields. He did so almost nonchalantly, never breaking a sweat, though he was assaulting them with saidin and his fearsome blade at the same time. "Attack the women!" he ordered the Turned Asha'man and the Myrddraal, which they did, without hesitation. Hessalam's groupies were either too startled to react, or too slow. The carnage was over in less than a minute.

Natael didn't know what to think. Had he fallen asleep at some point? He must have. He turned to Taim again, hoping that seeing his familiar, beloved face would coerce his brain to process what was happening more quickly, but as he watched, Taim seized saidin and weaved balefire at Hessalam, a fierce, satisfied smile on his lips. "That's for trying to kill him," he snarled, spitting where the body had lain a few seconds earlier.

Oh, that was why he was suddenly angry, before – he didn't know it was Graendal until Natael said her name aloud. Graendal, who had attempted murder on Natael, once upon a time. Before he even knew Taim.

Well, this was adorable.

Um, also very perturbing. Everything was. Natael didn't know where to look, let alone what to do. To be fair, he was still bound, and it was much easier to manipulate saidin with free hands. He cleared his throat. "Er, might I trouble someone to-"

Taim was already walking to him. "Sorry, darling. I had to make sure she was… Well, you know." He weaved a thread of Fire to cut through the binds.

Natael started to massage his wrists, but then remembered his earlier intention: to hug Taim as if his life depended on it. Which it very well might. "I'm sorry. Those things I said…" He breathed in deeply, taking comfort in Taim's scent and warmth.

"There's no need to apologise. I would have told her the same thing, if she'd decided to Turn you instead of me." His grip was strong, and Natael noted that he was trembling slightly. Well, no wonder. He had narrowly escaped a fate worse than death, after all. Thanks to…

Natael released Taim reluctantly to seek Demandred. The Forsaken was meticulously wiping the blood from his blade with a cloth. He paid them no attention. He must have given the Myrddraal some instructions, because they were exiting the basement one by one.

"I'm not complaining," he murmured to Taim, "but what in the Pit of Doom is going on?"

"Maybe Shendla…" Taim trailed off. "Well, you said it was impossible, but…" He shrugged. Then he slapped his forehead. "Logain!" He ran over to the other man, whose body lay pale and immobile on the hard stone floor. Taim pressed a hand at the base of his neck. "He's alive," he announced. "Thank the Light." He removed his coat, shaped it into a pillow and carefully placed it under Logain's head.

Natael hesitantly walked over to Demandred while Taim tried to nurse Logain back to health. "Why did you… I mean, are you…" Joining us? It did seem impossible. Demandred, returning to the Light? No, he must have another reason for killing these witches, and a better one still for allowing Taim to murder Hessalam. Maybe he wanted to steal her Myrddraal…or her pretty pets? "Did Shendla-"

"We need to go," the Forsaken said. "Can you revive him?" he asked Taim, indicating Logain.

Taim was trying to make Logain drink, but he shook his head. "He's unresponsive. I don't know if-"

"Then you'll have to carry him. Can't leave him here for Moghedien to find…or someone worse. Come on, hurry. Have your men hoist him up on that blanket over there."

Your men. They weren't their men anymore. They were-

"Nessosin, I can almost hear you debating my words in your head. Time is of the essence, yes? Chop-chop! We need to find…" He grimaced. "…al'Thor," he finished in a murmur.

"Al'Thor's insane," Taim notified him. He chuckled dryly. "Besides, I doubt he'll let you approach without trying to kill you."

"That's why I need you nincompoops to come with me," Demandred insisted. "And he's not insane. Not anymore," he amended. "Something happened to him… I've heard reports, and Shendla said she saw…" He shook his head. "Anyway, I need to see for myself, before I can…make an informed decision."

Taim and Natael shared a worried look. "So, if he's still insane, you're going to change your mind and kill us all?"

"No, just him," Demandred replied conversationally. "Then I'll take his place and defeat the Dark One, as is my destiny."

Natael almost laughed, then remembered that this was Demandred, still. It was dangerous to laugh in his face, even if he was on their side – something that was extremely debatable.

"And if he's not mad?" Taim enquired.

Demandred didn't answer right away. "Then…" he said eventually, his face sombre, his voice stony, "then he and I will join forces and defeat Him together." He exhaled slowly. "As seems to be our destiny."