Logain was pelted by hail as he rapped on the back door of Taim's mansion – or palace, or whatever this monstrous edifice was supposed to be. He could have gone to the front door, he supposed, but he knew that Taim's study was closest to the back entrance. He waited a minute before knocking again, more insistently. Logain was about to barge in when he heard light footsteps inside. He half-hoped that Neya would open the door, but Taim himself appeared in the doorway. That was a surprise. That the man could open a door all by himself… What was next? The great M'Hael would cook his own meals? Logain did his best to keep his face impassive.
"Yes?" Taim asked, his face giving away nothing, not even displaying the irritated expression Logain was getting used to whenever they met.
"Where's Neya?" Logain demanded without preamble. He had been looking for her for over an hour. Nobody seemed to know where she was, not even the girls. Karys was the one who'd told him to ask Taim – M'Hael, she'd called him, which was odd, because she usually referred to him as Mazrim. She'd appeared to be in a seriously bad mood. Ilawen hadn't even talked to him, which was even more bizarre. Something was definitely wrong.
Logain had only wanted to ask Neya something unimportant, but when he couldn't find her anywhere, he'd begun to worry. He wasn't sure why. The incident with Soldier Navolo had shaken him, he had to admit. He'd never seen a man go mad before. And the way Taim had done away with the boy, his face expressionless, as if it were nothing… The man raised Logain's hackles. There was something off about him, something wrong. Logain couldn't shake that feeling, even though Neya seemed to trust him.
"She's not here," Taim replied flatly. "Why?"
"No one's seen her this morning." In his brief experience, Neya was always one of the first people up and about in the morning. "I'm just… concerned." Unlike Taim, Neya had appeared distraught the previous day, when she came out of the barn to check on Navolo's victim. Logain had done his best to calm the girl, but she'd been attacked and had lost her brother in less than a minute. That was enough to perturb anyone.
"She's running errands for the Lord Dragon. Secret errands, none of which are your business." Taim started to close the door, as if that concluded their discussion.
That was an easy answer, and a vague one. Logain had no way to disprove it. He had never met the Dragon Reborn. "If anything's happened to her…" he began in a threatening voice.
Taim cut him off with the trace of a sneer. "Neya can take care of herself, I assure you." He went on before Logain could get another word out. "Dismissed, Asha'man." Then he slammed the door in Logain's face.
He wouldn't leave it at that. He promised himself he would come back in the evening, if Neya didn't reappear. And the day after that, and the next, until he learned exactly where she was. And if he found out that anything had happened to her, he would make certain Taim was held responsible.
Mazrim walked back to his study, shoulders slumping. It was an effort, to appear utterly indifferent, given the circumstances.
Ablar hadn't been the first to ask about Neya, and Mazrim suspected he wouldn't be the last. The girls had come barging in earlier that morning, ready for breakfast. Mazrim had recently been considering having a room made up for them in his house, and bugger the consequences. Everyone already knew about his relationship with Neya, so he doubted his men would give much interest to this latest development. Neya had assured him it gave him a better reputation among the men, to know he could care about people other than himself. Mazrim had been vaguely surprised to hear that this was what they thought of him, after everything he'd done for them. He was also concerned that it would undermine his authority somehow, but Neya had convinced him eventually. She always did.
The truth was that Mazrim wasn't prepared for questioning. Neya had vanished only a few hours ago, and his mind still couldn't fathom what had happened.
The most obvious explanation, no matter how unlikely, was that Neya was a Darkfriend, a spy sent to the Tower by one of the Forsaken – Demandred, in all likelihood. She had recognised the man on sight, had knelt without hesitation and called him Great Master. That was how Darkfriends were supposed to greet the Forsaken.
But if that were the case, why would Demandred still threaten her life to get Mazrim to do his bidding? The man was highly intelligent; he'd know Mazrim would feel betrayed and probably not care what happened to her.
Of course Mazrim did care, no matter what unlikely scenario his mind came up with. He simply couldn't picture Neya as a Darkfriend. She was gentleness incarnate, more caring than anyone he'd ever encountered, and… And Mazrim realised that each of these qualities could be faked. Darkfriends were known to be deceitful. But how could Neya bypass the bond? The same bond that had had him worried she would realise he was a Darkfriend? Could Neya truly fake her feelings for him when her soul was bared to him? He didn't think it was possible.
He didn't know what to make of it. And if Neya was a spy – a bloody good one, then – why would Demandred suddenly remove her from the Tower? As a spy, she had access to every scrap of information regarding the Tower; she might be more useful than Mazrim himself, considering how much the men trusted her and confided in her.
None of it made sense. Mazrim sought the bond once more. Nothing had changed; Neya was alive, and far to the east. That was all he could tell with the distance; she had to be half a world away for the bond to be this useless. Idly, he wondered if Demandred knew about the bond. If Neya was a Darkfriend, she wouldn't keep it from the Forsaken. Peace, she might even have suggested it at Demandred's order.
And still Mazrim refused to sever it. It was his only link to her. He couldn't feel much, but he knew she was alive. Unharmed, as far as he could make out. But of course, if she was Demandred's puppet, the Forsaken had no reason to hurt her.
And the way Neya had felt before she disappeared through the gateway… It only added to Mazrim's confusion. Regret? For what? For deceiving him? The worry was understandable, no matter the truth. Demandred could make anyone worry, Darkfriend or not. Even the other Forsaken had to be wary of him. The man made his skin crawl. He was as emotionless as a boulder. And hope… What could Neya possibly hope for? A promotion, perhaps. She'd certainly done a good job here at the Tower.
And love. Mazrim couldn't understand how anyone could fake that specific emotion. In his wildest moments, he imagined that Neya might have started out as a spy, had gotten close to him on the Forsaken's orders, and ended up falling in love with him for real. Which might explain why Demandred was taking her back now, and still expected Mazrim to do his bidding.
His mind was roiling with improbable thoughts and maddening possibilities. It could very well drive him insane, if he wasn't careful. It didn't help that he hadn't slept at all last night, though that was hardly surprising.
In his distress, he hadn't even thought about the consequences of Neya's sudden disappearance, not until Karys and Ilawen had shown up as if it were a perfectly normal day.
It seemed odd that Logain would come demanding answers so early, however. Neya could have been anywhere, even out of the Tower, at this hour. She sometimes made purchases herself, with an Asha'man as escort – she couldn't make gateways. It shouldn't be that distressing that she couldn't be found – not yet.
But Ablar was already suspicious of him, Mazrim could tell. It wasn't simple dislike he read in the man's expression. Mazrim would need to make an announcement before the end of the day, before rumours began spreading, otherwise Ablar would take this chance to attempt a mutiny. He would try to take over; Mazrim could tell the man wasn't satisfied with his own position at the Tower, although he'd only been here for a few days. Logain would readily accuse Mazrim of murder, no doubt. Mazrim had read the disapproval on his face the previous day, after he'd poisoned Navolo's wine. He would make his case, beginning with that. And Mazrim suspected that some men, possibly more than he cared to admit, would join Ablar's side. Mazrim may have most of the Asha'man on his side, but Ablar had gained most of the Dedicated and Soldiers' trust and respect in the short time he'd been here.
It was Ilawen who'd indirectly given him an idea earlier that morning. She was wearing a dragon pin – she had pestered him for days, and worn him out in the long run. "Neya was recalled by the Lord Dragon," he'd told the girls.
This was perfect. Al'Thor hadn't deigned to visit them in weeks, not even after Dumai's Wells. He rarely sent messages. No one else but Mazrim ever talked to him. The men couldn't possibly verify the information, and they knew Neya was tied to the Dragon Reborn – al'Thor had sent her to the Tower to see his little pet project through. It was entirely plausible.
"When will she be back?" Ilawen had asked with a pout.
Mazrim had done his best to smile reassuringly. "As soon as possible, I'm sure. She was sorry she couldn't say goodbye to you, but there was no time."
They would be sad for a few days, Mazrim judged, but it would pass. They were children. They would forget. Ilawen's span of attention was particularly short, although he suspected Karys was another matter. She was quite stubborn, for one so young, and smarter than most of his Asha'man.
As expected, Karys had frowned. "She promised she would look after us. Are you going to look after us while she's gone?"
Mazrim had hesitated. He hadn't thought of that. Neya – the Neya he thought he knew, who couldn't possibly be a Darkfriend – would want the girls to be safe. And they wouldn't be safe with him, not with Neya gone. The Tower could become a very dangerous place, Mazrim realised, with Neya gone. She was the glue that held everything together. And now that Ablar was here, with his willingness to sow distrust in the hearts of Mazrim's men…
"No, I'm afraid not," he'd admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "I'm too busy to do that. In fact…" He paused to take a deep breath and did his best to look stern. "You cannot come here any longer. It perturbs my schedule to have you around, and without Neya, it will only make it worse." He hated to say it, hated the look on their faces. But it had to be done. "You should stick with those Dedicated you like to bother so much." He struggled momentarily to find the men's names. "Genhald and Canler. The Two Rivers men – Dowtry and the rest. They come from Neya's native village. I'm sure they'll look after you." They were the least likely to be Darkfriends, in Mazrim's opinion. He wasn't keen on advising them to stay close to Logain, who spent much of his time with the Dedicated he had just named. He didn't trust the man. For all Mazrim knew, he was a Darkfriend, with orders from another Forsaken to dislodge Mazrim and take over.
He couldn't trust anybody. Peace, he wasn't even certain who among his recruits – the men to whom he gave 'special lessons' – was a Darkfriend. Most of them certainly fitted the description, but over the years, Mazrim had come to realise that appearances could be deceiving. He'd met Darkfriends who were little older than Karys, and others who were old enough to be grandparents, men and women alike, high and low. Of course, Darkfriends never revealed their true nature unless ordered to by their master or mistress – which explained, at least, why Neya hadn't told him anything, if she truly was a Darkfriend.
Mazrim was certain that every living Forsaken had spies at the Tower – as well as some Aes Sedai, rebels or not, al'Thor, and several kings and queen besides. Perhaps even the Whitecloaks and the Seanchan. So far, however, Mazrim had done nothing to tick them off – although Ablar had remarked upon the fact that several Dedicated should be allowed to become Asha'man. They weren't Dreadlord material, but Mazrim couldn't just tell him that.
Mazrim's orders, which had been relayed to him on his very first day at the Tower, were to recruit as many men as possible for the armies of the Shadow – a new generation of Dreadlords. So far, Mazrim hadn't been trying very hard to find such candidates, beyond the few who stood out, like Coteren or Torval. He certainly hadn't given in to orders to Turn students to the Shadow against their will. Now he knew that he didn't have much choice. The Last Battle was approaching, and he had Neya to consider. He doubted that Demandred – or Moridin – would simply remove him from his position, but they could make his life a lot more difficult. And painful. And if they knew about the girls – he had to assume they did, although Demandred hadn't mentioned them – he would be truly helpless to refuse them. Neya could take care of herself, to an extent, but Karys and Ilawen… He couldn't risk it.
Ilawen had looked crestfallen, but Karys was more angry than sad. Perhaps it was best if they were angry with him. If they hated him. Whatever he did in the weeks to come, it wouldn't matter to them, only comfort them in their opinion that he was a terrible person.
"Go now," he'd told them, "and don't come back here." He'd gazed pointedly at Ilawen. "I mean it. Under no circumstances are you to trespass here. Is that understood?" The Light knew what they might witness in the future, if they came here uninvited.
Karys was already on her feet, positioning herself in front of her sister as if she feared Mazrim might harm her. "Crystal clear. We won't be bothering you again, M'Hael." Her tone had been colder than he would have thought possible, coming from a child her age. Ilawen had tried to protest, but her sister was already hauling her away from him.
Well. Convincing the girls he'd tolerated them only because of Neya: check. Now all he had to do was turn every single one of his pupils into a mindless soldier for the Shadow.