Flinn, our long-lost pal!
The cat's out of the bag but
The magic stick's mine
Taim, Bao and Natael stood some distance away from the command tent, where a youthful soldier wearing an Andoran uniform had indicated they would find al'Thor. When Taim had tried to introduce himself to the soldier, he had been interrupted. "I know who you are, m'lord." The boy had sheepishly pointed to the dragons embroidered on the sleeves of Taim's coat. He looked absolutely terrified. His entire body quivered as he'd stammered the directions to al'Thor's location.
Natael hoped his fear was due to Taim's status as a former False Dragon and leader of a vast army of male channelers, rather than rumours of Aes Sedai mysteriously disappearing at the Black Tower.
"Lord Ghraem? M'Hael?"
Natael's face lit up. He knew that voice! Ah, such deference. It was sweet music to his ears. "Flinn, you old coot!"
Damer Flinn saluted them both and inclined his head toward Bao. The Asha'man had no idea who the man was, but Bao exuded authority and power and, as a former soldier, that was enough reason for Flinn to demonstrate some respect.
"How are you, Flinn? It's been a long time," Taim said.
"Well enough, m'lord. My Healing skills have much improved," he reported with no small amount of pride. "I have found a way to Heal stilling!"
Taim stared at him open-mouthed. Natael was no less surprised, but he hid it better. Perhaps Logain was right after all; perhaps the Turned could be Turned back. If Flinn and the mysterious al'Meara woman worked together…
But that was an issue for another day. They had more pressing matters to attend to. "That is wonderful news, Asha'man but, if you'll excuse us, we must-"
"Androl was anxious to see Logain," Flinn said. "Will he be joining us soon?"
"Logain is getting everyone ready at the Black Tower," Taim said. "Why is Androl so anxious to see him?"
"They've secured an alliance with the White Tower, Pevara and he did. Just as planned. Androl wanted to discuss the terms with Logain before they sealed the agreement, though."
Taim and Natael exchanged a look. Logain had mentioned this, but they had not really believed it could be achieved, especially on such short notice. They could only hope that Androl had not compromised the integrity of the Black Tower and had not let the Aes Sedai cheat or deceive them. It would have to be Logain's problem, however. Bao was growing impatient. "Logain will be here soon," Taim promised. "But we must go. We'll talk later, Flinn." The Asha'man saluted and left. Natael saw him walk up to an Aes Sedai wearing a yellow shawl. They greeted each other warmly. Another couple formed during what may very well be the last days of humankind? Natael hoped so. Flinn deserved to find love, especially if the world was about to end. Dying alone was even worse than dying among friends and loved ones.
"Let's not waste any more time," Bao said as he started toward the command tent.
Natael and Taim had to jog to catch up to him. "What's the plan?"
Bao rolled his eyes. "We have already established a plan. Try to keep up, Nessosin. Al'Thor is going to recognise me right away. Hopefully, he will be sensible enough not to alert anyone who might be with him, so that you may request a private audience with him before we expound on the situation." His tone more than implied that he doubted al'Thor's sense – or rather, Lews Therin's sense – and in any case it wasn't like Demandred to rely on a concept as abstract as "hope".
There was no time to ask more questions; the guards at the entrance of the command tent halted them. There were Maidens of the Spear here and there, but they were not veiled and casually observed the scene.
Natael noticed that both guards stole glances at Taim's sleeves. "Are you the one they call M'Hael?" the younger of the two interrogated Taim. He had a distinct Tairen accent.
Taim nodded. "And this is Jasin Natael, co-leader of the Black Tower." Of course, no one had recognised him. "We must speak with the Dragon Reborn forthwith."
The older guard, a bearded man well into his fifties, held up a hand as they took a step forward. He cocked his head toward Demandred. "And who's he?" Like his companion, he was a native of Tear.
Taim answered without hesitation. "This is Logain Ablar, one of our Asha'man." He was really good at lying through his teeth. Then again, what were the odds that this man knew what Logain looked like, or that he would realise that Demandred was shielded? "We must discuss matters pertaining to the Black Tower with the Dragon Reborn. It is of the utmost urgency and importance," Taim insisted.
The two guards spoke between them, but not low enough that Natael didn't catch a few words: "Odd that they weren't invited… Ought to be part of the decision-making process, you would think…"
"Well, if the world leaders are making battle plans, yes, the Black Tower ought to participate. Why have we not received an invitation?" Natael grumbled.
"I intercepted al'Thor's message before I left for the Hearttomb," Bao whispered. Of course he had. Natael briefly wondered how many messages from al'Thor had been intercepted by the Chosen, but it was irrelevant now. "But I don't think they're making plans for the battle; the missive mentioned an important document for you two to peruse and sign."
Now hardly seemed like an appropriate time to look at papers, but if they didn't gain entry into the tent, none of that would matter. "I hope you realise that attempting to block our path with two rusty swords is quite futile," Natael said aloud. The guards interrupted their hushed conversation to frown at him. "If we really want to get in, we will." Threatening them was probably not the best idea, but it turned out to be the most effective one. The guards moved aside, though they gave Natael the evil eye.
In truth, it was strange that the command tent was guarded by two non-channelers, and not the sharpest tools in the shed, at that. What if Demandred had showed up with murderous intentions? Even the Maidens would have been utterly defenceless against the Chosen – or even against any random Dreadlord or Black Ajah sister, for that matter.
But it didn't matter. They were inside the tent now. There was obviously a ward against eavesdropping in place, because the racket couldn't be heard from outside the tent.
A crowd of seemingly important people was gathered around a large table. Some were seated, others standing, and a few were pacing. Most of them were either talking, arguing, or almost yelling. Natael didn't recognise any of them, save the Queen of Andor and that short, pretty young woman who had accompanied al'Thor in the Waste, the Aiel apprentice. She was wearing the seven-striped shawl of the Amyrlin Seat, Natael noticed immediately. Odd.
He scanned the room, keen on finding al'Thor as quickly as possible, but al'Thor spotted them first. "Ah, Natael, Taim, there you are! I was just about to send for you, since you didn't bother to acknowledge my summons…" He barely looked at them as he shuffled some papers on the table. "You must read this and tell me what you think… Actually, you must sign it regardless of what you think," he amended. He stood and walked over to them with the documents bundled in his arms, and that was when he finally took a good look at the three of them. He froze in his tracks but, thankfully, few people noticed. "You." His voice was a bare whisper.
Natael noted that he didn't seize saidin. Was that a sign of his madness, or a sign that he was no longer utterly rash and unpredictable and that he was therefore relatively sane? It was impossible to tell. "Um, my Lord Dragon, we would like to request a private-"
Al'Thor ignored him. "This isn't like you, Barid Bel. What scheme have you contrived this time? You hide from me for months and now you just…waltz in?"
As the volume of his voice rose, more people took notice of their arrival. Several among them must be familiar with the name "Barid Bel", because they unsheathed swords or embraced the Source – saidar, to be more accurate. Natael's skin tingled as several women readied themselves for combat, but there was no other male channeler in the tent, save al'Thor himself.
Off to a great start, he thought derisively. What was Plan B again? Oh, right. There was no contingency plan. Demandred had simply assumed that his brilliant idea would pan out flawlessly.
To be fair, most of his plan depended on al'Thor's reactions.
"I was never hiding," Demandred said flatly, though Natael could tell he was miffed. Implying that Demandred was a coward… Not a sign in favour of the lad's recovered sanity. "You simply weren't paying attention, engrossed as you were in your own futile endeavours."
Al'Thor turned to Natael. "What is the meaning of this? Is he your captive? Or are you a part of this?"
"He's shielded!" Not the calmly argumentative point he intended to make, but really… Anyone would be on the defensive after such a derogatory accusation. Even one of the Chosen would be offended! To imply that he was allied with Demandred, of all people? Phaw!
"My Lord Dragon," Taim said, "I must insist that we discuss this matter in private." He gestured at all the battle-ready gawkers.
"Have you finally given in and betrayed me, Natael?" al'Thor pressed him, paying no mind to Taim. "How characteristic of you to seek the most powerful ally to keep you safe when the battle is-"
"Enough with your preposterous allegations!" Taim barked, losing his composure. "We are and always have been loyal to you, you boneheaded lummox." That was a bit of a stretch, but still true…in essence. (Not the boneheaded lummox part, the loyalty part. The former was irrevocably true.) "You have no idea of the sacrifices that were made in your name. We have risked our lives – and worse – at every turn. We have suffered heart-breaking losses because of you. Because you never deigned to pay us a visit. If you'd only bothered, even once, this one would have been dealt with ages ago," he added, indicating Demandred.
Al'Thor didn't react to Taim's rant. He stood there, immobile, with his sheaf of documents forgotten in his arms. The tent was eerily silent…for about three seconds.
"The Forsaken isolated us for months," Taim went on, eyes ablaze with righteous anger. "They tried to break us multiple times. They tried to Turn our men – and us. If not for Natael, they would have succeeded, so don't you dare accuse him of betraying you!"
Al'Thor finally acknowledged Taim, nodding imperceptibly. "I agree," he murmured. "I'm not sure what happened at the Black Tower, but whatever it is, I'm at least partly responsible, and I'm sorry."
Huh. Natael hadn't expected him to own up to his faults or to apologise. How very mature of him. "What's done is done," Natael said quietly. Whenever Taim was riled up, it was his duty to be the level-headed one.
And vice versa. This tactic worked wonders for them. They were a great team.
"We've all made mistakes," Natael went on. "But now is not the time to assign blame. The Last Battle has begun…and we've come bearing gifts. Well, a gift." He opened his palms and gestured at Demandred. He didn't say ta-daaa, but felt it was heavily implied. "A last-minute addition to our ranks, and a mighty one at that."
Al'Thor stared at him as though Natael was the one whose sanity was in doubt. "I thought you'd captured him. Are you saying that-"
Demandred scoffed. "Capture me? These buffoons? Please. They couldn't if they tried. Even if I were bound and shielded and comatose, I wouldn't bet on them."
Rude…but perhaps not entirely erroneous.
"But he is shielded, yes?" al'Thor insisted, looking at Natael.
"Of course, my Lord Dragon. He…allowed us to shield him. As a show of good faith. Demandred… Well, he goes by the name 'Bao' these days… He wishes to return to the Light and-"
Natael had almost forgotten that there was a bunch of people back there, but was reminded of that fact when they all started talking at the same time. "And I thought signing this bloody Dragon's Peace was the craziest thing that would happen today!" someone remarked loudly.
Dragon's Peace? That sounded ominous. But first things first. Natael cleared his throat and enhanced the volume of his own voice with the Power so that he wouldn't have to yell to make himself heard over the sudden cacophony. "Bao is willing to-"
"I can speak for myself," Bao growled at him. His green eyes met al'Thor's blue-grey ones and didn't falter.
At last, al'Thor seized saidin. "Then speak, Barid. It's just you and me. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't balefire you, or at least have you arrested. Why I should trust this ostentatious display of 'good faith', when my instincts tell me it must be a trap."
It wasn't just the two of them; on purpose or not, the lad had engulfed the four of them, Taim and Natael included, in a smaller ward against eavesdropping, to provide a modicum of privacy and quiet.
Bao didn't reply. Why not? He had just said that he could speak for himself! Natael decided to take matters into his own hands again…but al'Thor cut him off. "You betrayed the Light, Barid. You betrayed our friendship. A centuries-old friendship. And for what? What have you gained by betraying us?"
Ooh, Natael could answer that one: Immortality. Power beyond a mere mortal's imaginings. Two great incentives, one had to admit…
Not so in hindsight. Power had never interested Natael, and especially not the True Power, which was too dangerous to manipulate. Immortality was appealing, certainly…but if the small prints in the contract implied being dreamlessly asleep for three thousand years, it quickly lost its appeal. Besides, death was what made life so precious, wasn't it? Every minute counted. You never knew which breath would be your last. Natael had often been bored out of his mind, before Lews Therin imprisoned him and his twelve acolytes. Every day was routinely similar to the previous one, and there was little excitement to be found, even during the War of Power.
In any case, powerful channelers typically lived for centuries – wasn't that enough for any sane person?
Of course, in Demandred's case, none of that mattered. His only goal after forsaking the Light had been to prove that Lews Therin was the lesser general and to eventually kill him – but Lews Therin had had the gall to perish before Demandred's wish could come true. How grating that must have been…though it hadn't changed Demandred's mind. Upon his awakening, he had simply transferred his hatred for Lews Therin to al'Thor.
If Demandred had infiltrated the lad's retinue and actually spent some time with him, as Natael had done (albeit against his will), it would have rapidly become apparent that al'Thor was nothing like Lews Therin. Perhaps that would have changed his mind sooner…and perhaps not. After all, his love for Shendla had apparently been a decisive argument in Demandred's ultimate decision to return to the Light.
If "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans, there'd be no work for tinkers' hands. It was no use pondering on what might have been. Demandred – Bao – was here, now. That was all that mattered.
Al'Thor continued talking when Bao remained silent. "What have I ever done to you? You were like a brother to me, Barid."
The whole plan heavily depended on al'Thor not leaning in on the whole I'm-Lews-Therin-reincarnated thing, and here the boy talked as if he were not only the man's reincarnation, but Lews Therin himself. Peace, he was still mad.
"Regardless of your history, you should not balefire him because we need him," Taim said into the silence. "He has an enormous army, my Lord Dragon, and-"
"You betrayed me," Bao said at last. How could three words hold so much scorn? Not only that, but he actually sounded as if his feelings had been hurt. "I've always lived in your shadow…until eventually I became a shadow - a shadow of the man I used to be."
"Don't you dare blame this on me," al'Thor said, his voice colder than Taim's feet in the middle of the night, after the blankets slipped and he decided to stick them against Natael's legs for warmth. "You were my dearest friend. I would have given you command of our armies, if you'd only asked. Why did you never ask?" The coldness in his tone had shifted to sadness.
"Because I shouldn't have had to!" Bao shouted. The scorn had made place to anger, perhaps white-hot rage. "I was the superior general and strategist. You knew it. You knew it, and you still accepted the command when it was assigned to you. Given to you. You could have told them to hand it over to me, you could have passed it on to me yourself, because I deserved it more, but no, you played the falsely-reluctant hero and held on to it like it was yet another meaningless award." Oh, the resentment, the bitterness. How could anyone cling on to so many negative, destructive emotions and remain (relatively) sane? "Your arrogance would have been our downfall…" He smirked or, more accurately, twisted his mouth into a grimace that looked like an approximation of a human smirk. "It was your downfall. You doomed the world the day you refused to give me what was rightfully mine. Why should I have stayed loyal to you after that, knowing that you were willing to endanger mankind to give yourself the importance you thought you were due? Why should I have remained faithful to the Light, when I knew that everything was about to collapse because of you? I decided to save myself, and I pitied the hundred fools who pledged to follow you." His sort-of-smirk turned into a cruel smile. "Oh, and how I pitied sweet, naïve Ilyena."
Ouch, that was a low blow. This was not going to end well. Had they truly hoped that this would work? The very idea seemed like madness, in hindsight. What was Bao trying to accomplish here, anyway? He was shielded, and the Dragon Reborn was holding on to the Source. What was the secret ploy, what was the endgame?
Also, was he seriously calling Lews Therin self-important? Ha! Listen to the crow calling the raven black.
Al'Thor's face was unreadable. "I did break the world…but I also granted it a brief respite." The Breaking of the World, a respite? What an odd choice of word. "Ilyena…" He trailed off to clear his throat. "Ilyena suffered the consequences of my actions. Everyone did. But something had to be done, and someone had to do it. I rose to the occasion. Not perfectly, but to the best of my abilities. That is all anyone can ever do, in such circumstances."
"You were rash and you didn't even consider the potential repercussions. You used a grubby bandage to cover a grievous wound, instead of asking a Healer to competently clean and mend it."
"Do you believe you could have done better than I did?" al'Thor demanded.
Bao nodded without hesitation. "As it happens, I do. I will explain the proper approach to you on our way to Shayol Ghul. Don't worry, I'll use small words."
Mmph. He didn't want to share his brilliant idea with Taim and Natael? They'd trusted him enough to go along with his barmy plan, but the trust was not reciprocal.
Al'Thor scoffed. "You think you're coming with me to Shayol Ghul? I haven't even decided whether to arrest you or not! Besides, I thought you wanted to be in command of the armies of the Light. Wasn't that what you always wanted? Isn't it the very reason why you deserted in the first place?"
"Well, unlike most of our contemporaries, I've evolved. I've become a better person. Just like…Natael here." The off-handed compliment was so unexpected that Natael gaped at Bao in shock. "I know my path, now, and I know how to get to the end of the road. I have elected to be the bigger man and I will allow you to welcome me back to the Light."
Yeah...not self-important at all.
"And if I refuse to 'welcome you back'?" al'Thor wondered.
He had to ask, didn't he? But to be fair, Natael was curious to know what Bao had to say to that.
"Then you will once again break the world and ruin everyone's life," Bao said with forced patience – and a hearty helping of condescendence. "The cycle will begin all over again, and one can only hope that your next reincarnation won't be as stubborn and impetuous as you or Lews Therin."
Elan will be so annoyed if he has to do this all over again, Natael thought.
Al'Thor appeared hesitant. "Even if I was willing to consider it…"
"We don't have time for your ponderous considerations," Bao countered. "Time is of the essence. We ought to be in Shayol Ghul already. Moridin awaits."
Was Elan already aware of Bao's treason? Either way, Natael doubted that he would care. He just wanted it all to end – one way or another, and preferably once and for all.
Al'Thor shook his head. "It's not that simple! Don't you understand, Barid? They will never allow it!" He gestured at the people who stood outside their little bubble of approximate calm. "Even if we go to Shayol Ghul and you…help me, and we eventually save them, together, they won't welcome you back to the Light with open arms."
"Why not? They had no problem taking him back," Bao grunted, pointing at Natael.
"They have no idea who he really is!" al'Thor exclaimed. "If they knew, they would have greeted him with a noose." Huh. "You'll be executed, Barid. I'm not even sure they'll bother with a trial, fair or not."
"My Lord Dragon," Taim spoke up, "if I may?" His tone was even, but Natael had learned to read his face: the mention of the noose had him worried. Al'Thor nodded tersely. "Are you not…in charge of everything and everyone, at least for now? If you decree that Demandred – Bao – and Natael are to be pardoned and left alone… There'll be conditions, of course, but-"
"I would love nothing more than to settle this matter as quickly as possible, but let me tell you, ta'veren or not, there's no way that I can resolve this before the battle begins in earnest. It'll be miraculous enough if I can get them all to sign the treaty, or promise to do it…" He sighed. "And afterwards, well… It'll be too late. I won't be able to protect you, because I'll be dead."
"Now, now, there's no need to be so pessimistic…" Natael said with entirely faked optimism. "There's two of you, my Lord Dragon. Together, Bao and you can defeat the Dark One and survive!"
Al'Thor scowled. "The prophecies-"
"To the Pit of Doom with prophecies! You know as well as anybody – or possibly better than anybody – that they're cryptic and almost never mean what one thinks they mean. Was Bao mentioned in the Karaethon Cycle? No! That's proof that they're not always accurate, or that they occasionally leave things out, at the very least. The fate of the world doesn't depend on ancient words written on dusty parchment, it depends on you. You can survive, and you should try very hard to do so, my Lord Dragon."
"'Try'?" Bao repeated. "Trying is for losers, Natael. And if you have elected to join the Light…then it must be the side of the victors. We will defeat Ba'alzamon, once and for all, and we will return triumphantly alive. There is no other option."
He spoke with such unfaltering confidence that it was difficult not to believe him, not to be hopeful. The needless jab about Natael being some sort of vane that automatically turned to the side that was most likely to win was…well, a bit insulting, but not entirely wrong. They did have a chance to win. A good one, if al'Thor finally saw sense and accepted Bao's offer.
As for everyone else and how they would react…that would be a problem for later. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, as the saying went.
"I suppose…" al'Thor said softly. "Yes. Very well. But for the record, I already have a plan, and this time, it's the right thing to do, I can feel it. We must break the-"
Bao nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes. My people have the authentic items and they will do what needs to be done when the time comes. Will you take me back, or not?"
Apparently, the fact that Bao had immediately understood what he was talking about (though Natael had no clue what it could be) was enough to convince him. Before he replied, al'Thor removed the smaller ward against eavesdropping. He wanted everyone to hear his decision, Natael guessed.
He couldn't believe that it had worked out after all. Then again, if these two idiots had had an honest conversation before the Breaking…well, there might not have been a Breaking. One should never harbour and let fester such burdensome emotions. Communication was the key, not only to healthy relationships, but also to saving the world, apparently. He hoped that everyone else in the tent would understand that, too. Better to forgive the misguided Forsaken and allow him to redeem himself than to burn him at the stake, yes? Or to hang him. Natael reflexively massaged his neck, as though there was a rope attached to it.
"We have an agreement," al'Thor said loudly.
This provoked a chorus of protest and outrage…which grew louder after Bao spoke. "We do not have an agreement. I serve the Shadow no longer, but there are terms and conditions that we must define before I choose to come to your aid." He smirked. "Which you dearly need, by the looks of it."
Al'Thor gestured at the noisy, chaotic scene behind him. "What, this? Oh, it's fine. Everything is under control-"
"Really?" Bao tapped his chin pensively. "So you don't need my input at all, your people know everything there is to know? Like the fact that your so-called Great Captains are under Compulsion and therefore compromised?"
The tent fell silent. Several armoured men – Natael assumed they were the so-called "Great Captains" – moved forward. "I beg your pardon?"
"We're…what?"
Another used words that oughtn't be uttered in polite society.
"Oh, my mistake. You had not realised yet." Bao seemed quite smug about it. "Well, they're under Hessalam's influence."
"He's lying!" someone shouted. "My Lord Dragon, this is most certainly a distraction. It's a trap!"
Al'Thor shut them up with a sharp signal of his hand – um, handless forearm. "Whose influence?"
"Ugh, you witless-" Bao exhaled sharply. "Graendal was reincarnated as Hessalam after she played a part in Aran'gar's death. Balthamel's death," he clarified when he caught everyone's dead fish stare. "Taim balefired her last night, but the Compulsion is still effective."
Oh, good, Aran'gar was dead. The Forsaken were seriously reduced in numbers. Though Natael had to admit that this was slightly disappointing; he'd been very curious to meet the new Balthamel.
"Even if you have Healers competent enough to remove Hessalam's complex weaving," Bao went on, "it will take them hours and leave them depleted, and we cannot afford this now. The Captains must be replaced. They cannot be allowed to interfere with the battle."
"Is he suggesting that we should put him in command of our armies?" someone exclaimed.
"I warned you it was an evil scheme, my Lord Dragon!" another yelled.
Bao shook his head. "Not me. I won't be here. I'm going to Shayol Ghul…with al'Thor."
A nervous chuckle escaped the crowd. "Oh, are you now?" a woman said.
"It's my destiny," Bao said grimly.
"But if you both leave, my Lord Dragon, and if our Captains are truly compromised, then who will-"
"I will lead our armies into battle," the Queen of Andor said. Her haughty tone brooked no argument. "But for the record, Rand, I don't think that you should go alone with…him."
"They won't be alone," a weary female voice announced. Natael turned around slowly to see who had entered the tent; the voice was familiar. Could it be-?
Moiraine Damodred. Back from the dead and making a timely, theatrical reappearance, just like one of the Chosen.
Al'Thor looked like someone had punched him in the guts. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.
"I will accompany you to Shayol Ghul, Rand," Moiraine said. "You and…" Her brown eyes sought Demandred.
"Bao," Natael provided.
"Mm." Her gaze swivelled in his direction, and Natael gulped down reflexively. She may be tiny in stature, but he knew only too well how dangerous she could be. She had single-handedly defeated more than one of the Forsaken. If the Aes Sedai had served the other side, Natael mused, the Shadow would have won months ago. "Master Natael. Still here, are you? Interesting."
In other words, she'd expected him to die – or betray them; possibly both – a long time ago. To be fair, so had Natael.
"If she's going," another woman said, hands on her hips, "so am I." One of her hands reached up to her shoulder, as if to tug at her hair, but it was too short. She let it fall with an aggravated sigh and aggressively smoothed her yellow dress instead. "It's not a suggestion, Rand."
"Planning your little trip to Shayol Ghul is all well and good," someone else said, "but what about the actual battle?"
Ah, Cauthon was here, too, Natael noticed. He was missing an eye. How come everyone was losing body parts before the battle had even begun?
"You can devise plans and strategies, Mat," al'Thor said. "Elayne will coordinate our armies." He turned to Bao. "Are you sure about this, though? I think you'll be more useful-"
"It's my destiny," he repeated forcefully. "And one of the conditions of my…" He paused, searching for an appropriate term. "Surrender" wouldn't do.
"We're the ones who should be setting conditions, and plenty of them at that," someone in the crowd noted.
"Conditions? The man must be executed immediately!"
"There is no salvation for evildoers!" someone concurred. "Let him hang!"
"You would execute a man who knows of our enemies' plans? At the very least we ought to question him first. Who else is under Compulsion? Where are the other For-"
"The prophecies place me at Shayol Ghul during the battle. It was foretold," Bao went on, ignoring the peons.
Ugh, again with the prophecies?
Al'Thor frowned. "No, the Karaethon Cycle doesn't mention-"
"Our prophecies," Bao corrected him, impatience seeping into his voice.
"The prophecies of the Shadow?"
Bao closed his eyes for a moment and slowly massaged his temples. "Light grant me strength and restraint," he murmured in the Old Tongue. "The Sharan prophecies, you dolt," he went on in the Common Tongue.
"Sharan?"
Natael was loath to side with Bao, but al'Thor wasn't quick to catch on. He took pity on the Chosen and decided to spell it out for the lad. "Yes, that's where Demandred…er, Bao, has established himself. My Lord Dragon. In Shara," he enunciated, just to make sure it was clear to everyone.
Al'Thor's face suddenly brightened with understanding. "Oh, that's where you've been hiding! No wonder I didn't-"
"I have the entire Sharan nation at my back!" Bao shouted, finally losing all self-control. Some spit flew out of his mouth. Natael almost expected his hooked nose to expel smoke. He really should have been the one to be nicknamed Dragon. "I have assembled an army of tens of thousands, including enough channelers to make a full circle. I have in my possession the most powerful sa'angreal in the world. All of Shara is loyal to me, and chooses to be, not out of fear or necessity. I was not hiding, curse you. I was doing my job, and doing it extremely well at that."
"There's that fragile male ego Shendla warned us about," Taim said, just loud enough for Natael to hear. They shared a secret smile.
Bao wasn't done, but al'Thor cut him off. "What was that about a powerful sa'angreal?"
Bao rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed that this was all the lad had retained from his rant. "Sakarnen, D'jedt. It is a sa'angreal more potent than Callandor – more potent than any other artefact, now that you've obliterated the Choedan Kal."
Al'Thor nodded slowly. "The Sceptre. You found it."
Taim saw an opportunity. "My Lord Dragon, if I may be so bold, I think that we'll need it more than you, so you'd better leave it with us. You'll have the Sword, that should be enough. Please remember that we'll have entire armies to deal with, while you're only facing the Dark One."
Only the Dark One. Natael smirked at Taim's adorable euphemism. He had a point, though. Besides, Natael doubted that the battle at Shayol Ghul would be fought with fancy sa'angreal. It was more likely to be a…metaphysical confrontation.
Natael expected much protest from Bao – after all, he'd spent every minute since his awakening looking for the Sceptre. "It belongs to my people," was all he said.
Al'Thor and Bao were eyeing each other stonily. Whether or not they'd heard Taim was unclear. What was clear was that the two of them were dialoguing with their body language, and that nobody else was supposed to be involved in their silent conversation.
"There's no time to negotiate or debate," al'Thor said eventually. "We'll discuss the exact terms of your pardon when we return. Until then, we must both compromise."
When they returned. That was good; the lad did hope to return after all.
"But I will need you to sign the treaty before we go, Barid," al'Thor continued. "I mean…Bao." Such familiarity. It was odd, to witness such a polite exchange between these two. Bao had not even tried to reach for his sword, and Natael couldn't sense him feeling around for cracks in his shield. Until the very end, though, until the Last Battle's outcome, whatever it may be, he would be on edge, fearing that this was all a ploy and that Bao would turn on Lews Therin's latest incarnation when they least expected it. After all, Demandred had been famous among the Chosen for his convoluted, long-term schemes. "I'll also remove your connection to the Dark One," the Dragon Reborn added. "And you must surrender the sa'angreal, as Taim suggested. Natael will hold on to it."
Bao shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as we have Callandor, we-"
Cauthon stared at his friend in disbelief. "Rand, you can't be bloody serious. You're taking the magic stick from one of the Forsaken to give it to another Forsaken?"
Ensued an awkward moment of silence as every eye turned to Natael. So it was true: few people knew who he was. Al'Thor had not spilled the beans – or perhaps he'd forgotten about Natael entirely, or had not deemed the tidbit important enough to share. Moiraine, however, looked unfazed. Natael had always assumed that she knew, and there was his proof. It was a miracle that she had not balefired him when they were in the Waste, or later, in Cairhien.
The silence didn't last. Everyone started speaking at once.
Burn the brainless fools! Al'Thor had just said that they didn't have time to argue about such insignificant matters.
As was now customary, Taim hastened to defend Natael's honour. "Nate has redeemed himself a thousand times over. He is more than worthy of wielding the Sceptre."
Cauthon snorted. "'Nate'? Call him by his real name, why don't you? As-"
Al'Thor spoke over them all. "Natael gets the Sceptre. END OF DISCUSSION!"
Bao cleared his throat. "Yes, whatever." He pointed to the table. "That treaty? What is it?"
"A peace treaty," the Dragon Reborn explained with unconcealed pride. "As leader of Shara, you will be held accountable-"
"Rand," Her Snotty Annoyance of Andor interrupted them, "you can't possibly think that we'll allow him to remain in command of a nation that is practically an entire continent-"
"She's right, my Lord Dragon," some lord concurred. "If he signs, he'll be protected by the treaty, but we shan't stand for it."
Bao the Wyld, King of Shara, smirked at the people he considered to be inferior to him. That would be everyone in the tent. "Feel free to remove me. If you can."
Al'Thor groaned. "Well, no, see, that's the whole point of the-"
"Even if he signs the treaty, what good is the word of a Forsaken?" another random nobleman insisted. "He'll renege as soon as the Last Battle is over and invade us with his army of uncouth barbarians!"
That was hardly fair. They hadn't even met the Sharans yet. The Westerners knew almost nothing of Shara and its inhabitants, so why would this man assume that they were uncouth barbarians? Such prejudice!
Bao's eyes fixated on the idiot and, had they been able to produce balefire, the man would have been instantly wipe out of the Pattern. "Don't tempt me."
So many things happening at once, so many topics of discussion – and dissension – that ought to be debated at length. So many issues that ought to be resolved, most of them urgently. But there was simply no time.
"Enough of this!" al'Thor said. "Those who refuse to sign the treaty will be dealt with after the battle. The Aiel will see to it. In the meantime…" Without warning, he seized saidin and did something that Natael had only seen done once before – to himself. The Dragon Reborn severed Bao's connection to the Dark One without further ado, and Bao, once he realised what had happened, didn't complain. He merely nodded, acknowledging the first step on the long road that would eventually lead to his official pardon.
Bao almost knocked Natael over with the Sceptre, which had been strapped to his back. "There. The sa'angreal is yours. Take good care of it, because I'll be back for it. It belongs to the Sharans, and it will be returned to them." He glared at al'Thor, as if daring the lad to contradict him. He didn't. Satisfied, Bao moved toward the table, which caused almost everyone else to take several steps back, and he appended his signature at the bottom of the Dragon's Peace. Without reading a single word of it, apparently.
Some may think that this was a very un-Demandred-like move, but the man had always been a gambler at heart. He was trusting in his instincts, and they told him to sign – so he did it.
Or perhaps he didn't think he would survive to suffer the consequences of his signing the treaty.
Or perhaps Shendla had warned him about this beforehand and had told him to sign.
Either way, it was done.
Nobody stood on ceremony, though, least of all Bao. He addressed Taim, while pointing at Natael. "I trust you'll keep an eye on him." He probably meant it – the Sceptre. He extracted something else from one of his pockets: a pair of bracelets, two simple leather cords, each adorned with a single jade gemstone. The jade was carved with an intricate rune. "Take this, too. I have matching jade rings, which serve the same purpose. Shendla told me to pass these on to you."
Taim accepted the strange pieces of jewellery and carefully examined them. They had to be some sort of ter'angreal. Perhaps angreal? Natael had never seen the likes of it.
"It will allow you to link, just the two of you," Bao stated.
"Nate and I, together, without a woman?" Taim asked for confirmation.
"Yes. Don't use them to link with a woman, though," he warned them.
"We really should go," al'Thor urged him.
"Whoa, wait just a bloody minute," Cauthon exclaimed. "You're leaving now? Without…instructions?"
"I trust you, Mat. You don't need me for this part, and I'm needed elsewhere." He looked at Bao. "We are needed elsewhere."
"But what about…" The rest of the sentence died in Cauthon's throat as he vaguely gestured toward the Great Captains. Eloquent as ever, Natael noticed.
"Mat, you're in charge now. You and Elayne. I trust you to-"
"My Lord Dragon!" someone yelled from outside the tent. One of the Tairen guards, Natael thought. The younger one. "We have a situation here. Permission to come in, m'lord?"
"Well, I was about to leave anyway," al'Thor muttered as he did just that.
There was a mass exodus from the command tent. The guard, put on the spot and now under the scrutiny of a small army of expectant, important people, turned a dark shade of crimson. "Er…"
"Speak, man!" Bao barked at him.
"A foreign army, m'lord," the older guard mumbled.
That had to be the Sharans. Although Bao had forbidden them to Travel before someone returned to the camp to give them the all clear…
"Madmen, m'lord," the youthful Tairen added. "Screaming madmen. Hundreds of them. Channelers, m'lord."
Natael scowled at Demandred. "The male Ayyad?"
"There aren't hundreds of them, and I repeatedly explained to them that the screaming was unnecessary. Also, they're not mad, and they don't channel without my or Shendla's permission. Let's have a look," he told al'Thor. "Quickly."
Well, the guard wasn't lying; his succinct description was absolutely accurate. There was a horde of screaming male channelers on a distant field, all of them wielding saidin wildly, though they were only laying waste to the grass and muck around them, for now. None of them bore tattoos.
"Who are these flaming sons of Trollocs?" Cauthon grumbled.
He was scowling at Bao, suspicion marring his traits, but the (former) Chosen looked uncharacteristically baffled. "I have not the faintest clue," he admitted. There was not even a trace of reluctance in his admission – that was how baffled he was. For once, that did sound like the unaltered truth. His return to the Light had beneficial effects already.
Al'Thor looked worried, but he shook his head with forced determination. "Whoever they are, I'm sure you can handle them, and everything else. I have faith in you, Mat." He turned around. "I have faith in all of you. If you work together, you can do anything."
Bao grimaced at the touchy-feely speech, but he didn't comment on it. He turned to Natael, who was holding his shield. "Release me. It's about time we-"
"Don't you dare leave without me," the woman in the yellow dress said. Moiraine Sedai also took a step forward, to remind al'Thor that she was accompanying them, whether he liked it or not.
Al'Thor had not even had a chance to properly welcome her back to this plane of existence, with everything that was happening. "Moiraine, you've been through so much already. You sacrificed-" he began to say.
"LEWS THERIN!" an ear-splitting voice boomed, startling Natael (and other people, too, he was relieved to see). "I HAVE COME! FACE ME, IF YOU DARE! FIGHT ME MAN TO MAN, YOU WITLESS COWARD!" Everyone tried to figure out where it was coming from, but it was impossible to tell. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Yes, I believe that's our cue to leave," Bao said. "This is the crudest form of bait. Whoever this hysterical madman is, they're not worth our time. Are the ladies coming with us, or not? Shendla didn't mention them, and neither did our prophecies." For someone known for their pragmatism, he seemed to rely an awful lot on these prophecies. And on Shendla.
"Do you know where you can stuff your prophecies?" the "lady" in the yellow dress demanded.
They never did find out where he could stuff them – though Natael had a fairly good idea – because the world erupted in flames and the ground began to shake. Surrounded by acrid smoke, Natael lost his footing and, soon afterwards, consciousness.