"I know about you and Asmodean," Demandred announced bluntly, and with a faint trace of accusation. He addressed Moridin in what was now called the Old Tongue, as he always did. Moridin was grateful for it, because the barbaric language that was commonly used nowadays almost physically hurt his ears.
Moridin never expected much in the way of greetings from any of the Chosen, but this was a peculiar opening line indeed. It was all he could do not to laugh. He had just summoned Demandred here on important business, and the man wanted to discuss his love life? His bygone love life, might he add. What was Demandred's take on this? He'd never cared about that sort of things before. "I know about you and Semirhage," he countered with a crooked smile. He might as well humour him.
Demandred frowned. "Everyone knows about us. It was never a secret."
"Neither was my relationship with Nessosin. In fact, you may very well be the only one of the Chosen who was not aware of it. The man was never discreet, as you well know, and he was pettier than most. Perhaps it never reached you because he was ever afraid of you," Moridin added with a faint smile.
Demandred was obviously wroth. He didn't like not to know things, hated to be left out, although it hadn't been intentional. Moridin had never judged it relevant to share that particular titbit with him. "Is that why he still lives?" The accusatory tone was stronger now.
Oh. That was what troubled him. Demandred had offered several times to dispose of the Musician. Moridin chuckled. "I assure you, I harbour no feelings, good or bad, towards him. Nessosin lives because he may yet prove useful. Moreover, the Great Lord has not seen fit to let me know what He wanted done with the man. I therefore assume his fate is in our hands. In mine," he amended.
Demandred looked incredulous. He displayed his emotions much more often than he used to, Moridin reflected. Perhaps it was simply because he was cross. Once he lost his self-control, you could never predict what Demandred would do. It was only one of the many reasons why he was so dangerous. "You intend to take him back? After everything he's done? He betrayed us! He's been assisting Lews Therin for months, and probably gave away our plans, our secrets…"
"Plans and secrets?" Moridin sneered. "Nessosin didn't know anything useful. Lanfear was in charge of their unlikely duo, and he was little more than her handy man. If that." Moridin summoned a glass of wine out of the air. Summer rosé wine from the Western Islands, an exquisite vintage. It was just the right temperature. He didn't bother to offer Demandred a drink; the man never drank liquor. Or accept any food or beverage from one of the Chosen, which was probably wise. Moridin took a sip before continuing. "I doubt he was even able to teach much to al'Thor, with the shield Lanfear provided."
"Lanfear is dead," Demandred pointed out.
Interesting. Hadn't he yet figured out who Cyndane was? Or was he expecting Moridin to unwittingly reveal what he already suspected? Moridin decided to change the subject. "I haven't yet made a decision regarding Nessosin," he explained. "I'm simply waiting to see what he'll do, when Tarmon Gai'don begins."
Demandred snorted. "What he'll do? Hide and cower is what he'll do. It's what he always does. And when the dust settles, he'll go wherever is safest."
Moridin glanced up from his glass with curiosity. "The dust? Do you truly believe there'll be such a thing when it's all over?" he asked quietly.
"Whatever are you talking about?" Demandred demanded.
"Do you still believe that there'll be a world left for you to rule when the Great Lord reclaims what is rightfully His?" Moridin rephrased.
"You speak just like her," Demandred muttered with irritation. Moridin assumed he meant Neya. The two seemed quite…close, if his sources could be believed. Moridin had no reason not to believe it; he had expected it. "Of course there will be. That's what we're fighting for, is it not? If the endgame was utter and final annihilation, why would we help make it happen?"
"Well, in my case, that's precisely why. Utter and final annihilation is what I aim for."
Demandred shook his head. "You're insane," he commented matter-of-factly.
"I haven't been sane in a long time, my friend," Moridin confirmed. "But I'm perfectly lucid. You, on the other hand, are delusional." He sighed sadly. "You were always an idealist, Barid Bel."
"I refuse to believe it. After all these years… Why in the Pit of Doom would He destroy us, His faithful servants, especially after we win this war for Him? The Great Lord has no reason to forsake us, no reason to eradicate this world, not once Lews Therin, the champion of the Light, has been dealt with."
"The Great Lord does not need reasons to do anything. He has no feelings, no sense of need or want. His only purpose is to end us all, to revel in His own presence. The very concept of existence will cease to exist, when He is released from his prison." He realised that last bit must make little sense to anyone but himself, but it didn't matter. If even Demandred, one of the brightest minds alive, couldn't fathom this notion, no one ever would. "Neya has a point, you know," he went on. "You have become naive, obsessed as you are with Lews Therin. You fail to see the bigger picture, to take into account the consequences of allowing the Great Lord of the Dark to figuratively walk the earth." Of course the Great Lord didn't actually walk. He was an entity, not a person. People thought Him the incarnation of evil, but the very meaning of the word was lost on Him. The Great Lord simply was.
"You have been in contact with her." This was the part he chose to focus on? Moridin laughed internally. The man was smitten, and that was not a word he would have ever thought to apply to Demandred – or Barid Bel Medar, for that matter. Perhaps this…Bao he impersonated had become a different man altogether, thanks to Neya. The consequences of the girl's nature were so unpredictable, so bizarre, that it sometimes made Moridin dizzy.
Still, he didn't like Demandred's threatening tone. The man ought to remember his place. "I have not once talked to Neya since my initial demise." His voice was colder than the inside of the refrigerator he'd recently unearthed in a stasis box. "She does not know that I have been reincarnated. Unless you mentioned it to her?" he asked idly. He knew perfectly well that he hadn't. The girl was clueless – and she would likely be furious when she found out that Demandred had kept this from her. If she ever did.
Demandred was clearly fuming. "You had better stay away from her," he warned Moridin. "She is mine."
Moridin doubted that Neya would appreciate the comment. Besides, she truly didn't belong to anyone. Because of what she was, her life barely belonged to herself. He had no intention of being reunited with the girl, but Demandred ought to know that he wasn't the one who gave the orders. He would do well to remember who Moridin was – not an old colleague, but the Nae'blis. He accused Moridin of favouring Nessosin and then behaved as though they were two friends catching up over a drink at the local café. Too much familiarity had never suited Moridin – not in any of his past lives. "Do not, ever again, tell me what to do. You obey me, Demandred. I shall do what I deem necessary."
Demandred looked barely subdued. "As you say," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"Do you believe I wanted this?" Moridin went on. "I used to, you know. As Ishamael, I had long ago named myself Nae'blis, centuries before any of you were released."
Demandred's face didn't change. The man must have already guessed that Ishamael had roamed the world while the other Chosen slumbered inside the Bore. "If you do not want the title, I would be happy to relieve you of the burden," he said with a touch of sarcasm.
Sarcasm was so rare coming from Demandred that Moridin laughed aloud. "I do not want it, but none of you deserve it. You do not have what it takes to see this through. I was always meant to be the Shadow's champion. I knew it, and the Great Lord knew it. He's been deceiving you, making you compete for something you could never hope to attain. But if you insist… I'll gladly leave it to you. And leave you to deal with the consequences of your actions. A single thread of Balefire, my old friend. That is all I require." Several tiny bead-like saa danced across his eyes as he said the words. The sight appeared to unnerve Demandred.
"Are you really so intent on dying, Elan?" Demandred whispered.
"Of course," he replied with faint surprise, taking no offense in the fact that the other man had used only his first name – his former name. They had been well-acquainted enough to go on a first-name basis, once. "That's all I ever wanted. True death. A final, undisturbed rest." He looked down at his glass of wine and swirled the liquid around. It took a crimson tinge and thickened, making it look like freshly-harvested blood. Moridin took a sip. It tasted like blood, too. "You don't know what it was like," he murmured. "I was only partially sealed in the Bore, Barid Bel. Do you understand what that means?"
Demandred shook his head a fraction. He didn't look like he wanted to know. Moridin went on regardless. "In the beginning, I was stuck at the edge of the Bore for decades. Then I was released for a few days. I discovered a new world. A world on the brink of death, so moribund that I never thought I'd find human life again when I next stepped out of my prison."
The blood inside the goblet turned black and solidified. Moridin discarded it indifferently. "But humanity survived, somehow. As centuries went by, less and less time was required for me to be able to walk the earth. I cannot be certain, but I assume that, as the Great Lord's prison grew weaker, so did my own. I was able to stay out for months, then years, until I had to recuperate. But my time in the Bore…" He hesitated. "I was never asleep. Unlike you, there was no dreamless, timeless slumber for me. I was aware of my surroundings and perfectly lucid the entire time. Can you imagine that?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. No one could possibly imagine.
Demandred remained silent, so Moridin kept talking. "I don't remember going insane. It must have happened over the course of several decades, a process so slow I never noticed anything different. I cannot even pinpoint the moment when I realised I was mad. It's been so long… Everything is blurry. Memories fade or intertwine, they blend together until I cannot tell one from the other. I remember laughing at my own insanity on several different occasions, but when? A millennium ago? Last year?" He shrugged. "I've been out of the Bore for over thirty years now. I never again felt the need to return there to gather my strength, a certain proof that the seals of the Great Lord's prison had become brittle enough to break. I knew then that the time had come, and I wept, my friend. Out of sheer relief I wept, though I believed the very ability to shed tears had deserted me long ago." Sharing in weaknesses was uncommon between Chosen, but at this point, it hardly mattered.
Demandred was still quiet, and he looked uncharacteristically sympathetic. Moridin hoped he wouldn't act on it, however. That would be a mistake. An awkward one. Eventually, Demandred cleared his throat. "I assume you summoned me here for a reason?"
Moridin smirked. "You left me no chance to talk, accusing me as soon as you arrived." He waved a hand to fend off Demandred's protest. "That was quite rude of you," he added maliciously. Demandred abhorred rudeness and vulgarity, but Moridin didn't give him an opportunity to defend himself. "I wanted to discuss your plans for the Last Battle, as you must have surmised." Again, he cut off the other man before he could open his mouth. "I know you are loath to share in your activities, but I must know. Surely you understand."
Demandred likely did understand, but he still didn't look happy about it. He was used to being in charge, not to report to a higher authority.
"Be grateful that I summoned you alone," Moridin said. "We could have had a team meeting instead," he added with a derisive snigger. He knew perfectly well that Demandred would not let the others know of his plans – which was understandable, but it was past time Moridin had a clear idea of where matters stood in Shara. His spies hadn't relayed enough information for his taste. There weren't nearly enough Friends of the Dark in these blasted lands.
Of course, Moridin had no intention of remaining anywhere near the main battlefield during Tarmon Gai'don, which was why he needed to make sure that Demandred had everything well in hand. He would be the official leader of the Shadow's armies on the front. Moridin's place lay elsewhere.
"I thought it was evident," Demandred said crisply. "I will lead the Sharans in the Last Battle. Foot soldiers, light and heavy cavalry, archers, but most importantly, enough channelers to form a full circle." He appeared quite proud of that fact. Indeed, a full circle led by Demandred would devastate the enemy lines. Moridin doubted that the Light's puppets would retaliate with a circle of their own; they were too disorganised, too divided.
Demandred was holding back, however, Moridin could tell. "And that artefact you were supposed to recover?" he prompted him nonchalantly.
"I will have it soon," Demandred replied curtly. He sounded quite frustrated, and more than a little annoyed that Moridin knew about that ploy. His spies had managed to uncover that, at least. That Shendla woman 'Bao' associated with was no Friend of the Dark, but Moridin kept a close watch on her. In his opinion, Demandred was entirely too trusting of her, which was quite unlike him. Moridin could only hope she wouldn't crush Demandred's efforts at the last moment. Or assist Neya in doing so.
"I don't doubt it for a second," Moridin replied smoothly. That Demandred would recover the artefact wasn't in question. That the object would be whole, and functional, was. He didn't say that out loud. He'd bothered the man long enough for one day. He stood up, a clear sign that Demandred was being dismissed. The Chosen took the hint and was already weaving a gateway open when Moridin spoke again. That next sentence was a mistake, a potentially disastrous one, but he couldn't help himself. "Funny how bothered you are that I had a brief affair with Nessosin, millennia ago, but don't seem to mind at all that I shared a bed with Neya."
Demandred's eyes widened and he paled visibly. Then he turned a dark shade of crimson, fists tightening at his sides. He drew more of saidin.
Moridin didn't move. When one couldn't kill oneself, one had to be imaginative. Unless Demandred used Balefire, however, Moridin would only be brought back – the Great Lord would not let him go so easily. That was partly punishment for impersonating Him, but essentially because Moridin was necessary to the Last Battle. Besides, the Great Lord would take it out on Demandred if Moridin was burned out of the Pattern, and Moridin found no pleasure in that notion.
The True Power surged through him, the Great Lord's dark energy scorching his insides, saa swarming his vision.