Atal crawled a few paces behind the M'Hael, who was urging him forward, despite the heat and Atal's impending sense of dread. Shadowy figures, moaning and wailing, came out of the gloom and grabbed at him. He knew he ought to turn back, to run away, but he couldn't abandon the M'Hael to this infernal place, and Taim insisted that they should move on. He looked quite at ease, unlike Atal, whose heart was racing, fear rendering him near-hysterical. They finally reached their destination, a great burning lake of fire. Atal closed his eyes, terror overwhelming him, but little good did it do him. The Voice penetrated his mind, and it was deafening. Blood poured out of his ears, and Atal fell to his knees.
He didn't belong here. Taim had brought him to Shayol Ghul to die. Atal was meant to be sacrificed to the Great Lord of the Dark.
A pounding headache brought him out of his nightmarish, feverish sleep. He was drenched in sour-smelling sweat. He'd never been anywhere near the Pit of Doom, of course, but the dreams were always disturbingly vivid and realistic.
Bright sunlight filtered through the window. How long had he been asleep? He tried to sit up, but his effort was rewarded with nausea and dizziness. He fell back against his pillow, and only then noticed that Trygg had fallen asleep on a chair beside the bed. That was odd. Had Atal's nightmare caused him to chase his lover out of the bed? It seemed unlikely. Trygg usually shook him awake when his dreams became too…intense.
The blasted headache pulsed. It felt like his eyes were trying to escape their orbits, like his brain had suddenly become too large for his head and was about to explode. Atal involuntarily grunted in pain. The sound awoke Trygg.
Atal attempted a wan smile to greet his lover, but Trygg didn't return it. He looked quite cross, which was unlike him. The man was usually placid. Trygg did his best to conceal his anger, though his feelings were transparent to Atal – they would be to everyone, really. "How are you feeling?" he asked gruffly.
"Terrible," Atal admitted. Only then did he wonder why he was feeling that way. "What happened?"
"Taim did this to you," Trygg replied with indignation. "He could have killed you!" he exclaimed. "Davos spent all night trying to Heal you…" He cut off, too angry to speak. Davos was a Dedicated, and fairly apt at Healing. "I had to smuggle him here. Taim wouldn't let anyone near you. I had to wait until his meeting with the Aes Sedai was over to even bring you here."
It all came back to Atal now. The witches and their preposterous demands that Taim allow them to bond several Asha'man, in retribution for the Aes Sedai who'd been bonded against their will by Logain and his bunch. Atal had felt so offended by the very idea that he may have spoken out of turn. And then…darkness, and dreams. The M'Hael must have used that weave he reserved for the most severe cases of disobedience. If it wasn't Healed quickly, it could cause damage to the brain, or even kill. Taim had never used it on Atal before, however – and rarely on anyone else.
"Well, I'm fine now, aren't I?" Atal attempted another smile, to show the other man it was all behind them and forgotten already. There was no use dwelling on it. Taim's moodiness had gotten worse in recent weeks. He was often unnecessarily snappish, and then he would sometimes laugh at nothing in particular. It didn't make any sense to Atal. Saidin had been cleansed; the M'Hael's mental health should have been improving – or at least stabilising – instead of getting worse.
Ever since he'd received confirmation that Taim was a Dreadlord, put in charge of the Black Tower by one of the Forsaken – through al'Thor, but the result was the same – Atal had been rationalising. Taim couldn't possibly be willingly doing this. He wasn't evil. He was a good person, who genuinely cared about the men placed under his responsibility. And then it had all clicked together: Taim had only begun actively recruiting Dreadlords after Neya disappeared.
It seemed obvious now. The poor woman was being held hostage by the Forsaken, and Taim had to comply to their every whim if he wanted her to live.
Taim had been despondent and cantankerous after she was taken. That, Atal could understand. But for weeks now, the M'Hael had been behaving like a lunatic, as if something had snapped inside him and completely fractured his mind. Atal imagined the worst: Neya was dead, and Taim knew it. And he'd decided that, at this point, there was no use going back to the Light. The man had nothing to live for, no one to remain sane for. Because of this, Atal believed that his sudden plunge into madness may be unrelated to the effects of the taint. After all, regular people went mad all the time – whether from grief or love or despair.
Trygg was shaking his head, as if reading Atal's thoughts. "He'll be the death of you," he muttered. "He'll kill us all."
"Don't be like that," Atal chided him. "It's not his fault." Whatever Taim did, Atal held the Forsaken responsible.
"Will you stop defending him?" Trygg snarled. "You know exactly what he is. And perhaps you're right, perhaps Neya's life is at stake. But that doesn't give him the right to treat you like this." His cheeks burned a bright crimson. Atal had never seen him so angry.
"You're just jealous," Atal grumbled.
That was the wrong thing to say. "Of course I bloody well am! You spend your days watching over him, and most of your nights. I barely even see you. And this is how he shows appreciation for everything you do? I know how you feel about him," he went on. "Don't deny it. But you must realise that your affections are wasted on the man, burn you! Even if he was thus inclined, he doesn't deserve you, Atal."
This was ridiculous. Sure, Atal had had a bit of a crush on Taim when he first arrived at the Tower. But Taim had quickly put an end to that, and then Atal had met Trygg, and he'd never considered Taim that way again. Especially after Neya claimed his heart for herself.
Maybe Atal had entertained the possibility for a while, after Neya disappeared. But then the girls had barged into his life, and everything had changed.
"It's not like that," Atal said. "He needs me, Trygg. I'm the only one who cares what happens to him. Don't you see? The others want what he has, they want to be him. They want power. They follow him meekly because he can give it to them, because he has the Forsaken on his side, but they'd turn against him without a second's hesitation if someone else offered it to them. I don't care about power." Well, certainly he'd considered the opportunity. Power was a good thing to have. But the main interest in becoming a Dreadlord had resided in the fact that male channelers who sold their souls to the Dark One didn't suffer from the taint – or so the rumour went. In any case, the taint was gone now, and Atal had quickly reconsidered. Was it really worth it, to forsake the Light for promises of everlasting life and endless power? The Father of Lies was deceitful. Would he really make good on his promises, if he triumphed over the Light? Even Taim appeared doubtful, although he hadn't shared his opinion on the matter with Atal or his other followers.
Atal's opinion was that Taim no longer cared what happened to him. Perhaps his diseased mind longed for death.
Which was precisely why Atal had to look after him. Maybe it wasn't his responsibility, but who would do it, if not him? He owed Taim as much. Atal had had nothing when he'd arrived at the Tower. His only possessions had been the clothes on his back. Taim had given him a new chance at life, and Atal intended to return the favour.
"I love you, you lumbering oaf," Atal went on. He'd never said that out loud before, but he knew it was true the moment he said it. "I'm only doing my duty. I'm doing what's right."
"I can't do this anymore," Trygg whispered.
Atal frowned. "What are you saying?" He'd just told the man that he loved him! Surely he couldn't mean…
Trygg stood heavily and walked to the door. "I think you know," he replied sadly. He turned the knob. "I'll move to a different house, or go to the barracks for a while." He appeared to hesitate for a moment. "I'll take the girls with me," he added eventually. "They don't need that sort of influence. They've been through enough as it is. If they were to lose you, too…" He didn't finish. Before Atal could find his voice, Trygg opened the door and closed it firmly behind him.
Atal stared at it incredulously for a minute. What had just happened?
In the space of a few hours, Atal had lost his lover, Taim's recognition – or so it seemed – and his informal guardianship over Neya's girls. And his head was still killing him. Things couldn't possibly get worse.
He had to get out of bed, he decided. There was no use moping around. He had to apologise to the M'Hael for his interruption during the meeting with the Aes Sedai. Then he would find Trygg and they would talk this through. The man would see reason. When Atal's mind cleared somewhat, he'll be able to come up with the right arguments.
Getting out of bed proved more difficult than he'd imagined. Each time he tried, a wave of nausea engulfed him, and he nearly sprawled to the floor. Just when he'd finally managed to stand upright, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he called out hopefully. It had to be Trygg, back to apologise for his behaviour.
It was Davos. "Trygg asked me to Heal you," he announced without preamble, his face grim.
"I thought you already had," Atal said.
"I did what I could, but I'm not Neya," he said wistfully. "Let me take another look." He didn't wait for Atal's permission. He felt Davos seize saidin, but he had no idea what the other man was doing. Healing was not his cup of tea.
After half an hour, Davos finally allowed him to take a few careful steps. "Still wobbly," the man muttered glumly. "But I'm afraid it's the best I can do." He levelled his gaze with Atal's. "You tell your friend that my debt has been paid, now. No more bullying me into going anywhere near you." He said that last word as one might say cockroach or venereal disease.
Of course. Davos was one of Logain's cronies. Atal briefly wondered what favour Trygg had done him, but decided it didn't matter. Davos didn't wait around for Atal's assent, in any case. He slammed the door behind him.
Atal washed quickly and donned some fresh clothes before setting out for the palace. He felt better already – he felt clean, and his headache had dulled down to a faint throb. He'd always possessed an optimistic nature. Everything would be fine.
Coteren was guarding the main entrance. He sneered when he caught sight of Atal.
He couldn't stand the older man. He was crass, vulgar. He was always sweaty and greasy. He wasn't exactly bright, either. A perfect example of half of Taim's minions; the other half was cunningly cruel, ambitious and power-hungry. Atal considered himself an exception. "How's the head?" Coteren asked with a simian leer.
Atal didn't deign answer. Coteren wasn't worth his time. "Is the M'Hael available?" he demanded.
Coteren shrugged. "How would I know? I'm just keeping watch."
Atal rolled his eyes and gestured for the man to step aside, which Coteren did, though with bad grace.
He wound his way up the spiral staircase that led to Taim's study. If Taim was here, that's where Atal would find him. Probably with a glass of wine close at hand. He knocked on the door thrice, in rapid succession. He always knocked like that, so Taim would know it was him. There was no reply.
He hesitated. The M'Hael might have stepped out through a gateway to attend a matter outside the Tower. Or he might be lying dead on the floor. Coteren wasn't much of a sentry. Atal opened the door and peeked inside cautiously.
Taim was seated in his chair by the window, apparently asleep. He started awake when Atal walked in, embracing the Source and preparing a deadly weave of Fire and Air – not even something to bound a potential intruder; the man was ready to kill. He relaxed slightly when he realised who'd just stepped in, but Atal noticed that he didn't let go of saidin immediately.
"You're alive," Taim said evenly. "Good. I want you to oversee the bonding operation. You'll act as my intermediary with the Aes Sedai."
Atal was too stunned to speak. Taim couldn't possibly have agreed to the witches' demands…could he?
"Make sure they remember what I told them: they can't bond the Asha'man. Soldiers and Dedicated only. And they must be willing, not bullied into it. I'm quite familiar with their methods, but I'll have none of that here," he said with a grimace. Without sparing a glance to Atal, Taim stood not-quite-gracefully and poured himself a glass of wine.
Atal felt a wave of nausea, but he did his best to remain outwardly cool. He couldn't afford to be whacked a second time – another blow, so soon after the first, would kill him for certain. He tried to consider the matter reasonably, to see things from the M'Hael perspective. It made sense, now that he gave it some serious thought. Taim was killing two birds with one stone: he wasn't unnecessarily attracting al'Thor's attention by massacring a party of peaceful-appearing Aes Sedai, and he was giving them Logain's men as repayment for the witches who'd been bonded against their will.
And, of course, they still needed twelve more women to speed up the Turning procedure. Six would be a good start.
Still, Atal felt uneasy. The Aes Sedai made his skin crawl, even now, which was ridiculous: even without the Dragon's amnesty, the Red Ajah no longer had any reason to gentle male channelers. The taint was gone. They didn't represent a danger – well, they did, but for different reasons. But Aes Sedai were what they were, and always would be: deceitful, manipulative hags, who believed themselves the Creator made flesh.
But they were in enemy territory now, and vastly outnumbered. Besides, Taim must have a dozen men reporting to him every time any of the Aes Sedai so much as sneezed. They had walked straight into the lion's den. They were quite brave, Atal would give them that, but they would meet their end at the Black Tower, one way or another.
"As you command, M'Hael," he said. He was about to leave when Taim spoke again.
"Leave Trygg be," he said softly. "Let him go. It's safer for him. For them."
Atal made no reply. How did the man even know about…
"I should have advised you to join Logain a long time ago, but it's too late now. Logain is doomed. There's nothing I can do for him. He's survived two sessions, but he'll give in eventually. They all do," the M'Hael said sadly. "If he'd planned his coup a little better, if he'd come prepared... He underestimated me. Well, it's all Moridin's fault, really. If the bloody Forsaken hadn't been there…"
Atal shuddered. To speak of the Nae'blis out loud in such a fashion could have dire consequences, if the words fell in the wrong ear. Taim was clearly raving. And had he actually wanted Logain to take over the Tower?
"Perhaps things will change, with the Aes Sedai here. That's why I allowed them to remain and proceed with the bonding," the M'Hael explained candidly. Atal could only stare in horror. Had he gone utterly mad? Light, he wished Neya were here. She would know what to do. Then he realised that, if Neya'd been here, none of this would have happened in the first place. Logain wouldn't have rebelled against the M'Hael, they would have stood together against the Forsaken and…
Atal shook his head firmly. If ifs and buts were candies, we'd all have cavities, his grandpa used to say. When Atal had used the phrase at the Tower, everyone had given him an odd look. Apparently, it was a local saying, or perhaps his grandpa had made it up entirely. Atal wouldn't put it past the old codger.
"I won't have a choice but to Turn them." Taim seemed to be talking to himself – or perhaps to his glass of wine. He'd begun pacing. "But even Moridin will have to understand that I have to act without raising suspicion. One at a time, as discreetly as possible. They can still function afterward, though they won't fool their sisters for very long. We should keep them separate, if we can. I'd say we start with Tazanovni, she's clearly their leader, but that would be too obvious. The others might panic and try to escape, causing a scene." Atal wasn't sure if he should stay or go. Taim hadn't dismissed him yet, however, so he dared not leave. "Besides," the M'Hael went on, muttering under his breath, "Tazanovni might be our best chance. She might figure out what's going on, call for back-up…" He stopped abruptly, sloshing some wine on his sleeve, though he appeared not to notice. His eyes seemed to regain their focus and landed on Atal, who stood rigidly near the door. "They're bound to realise at some point, aren't they? What's happening down here. They're not that stupid, the lot of them, are they? They can't be."
Well, Atal couldn't speak for the Aes Sedai, but most of the men weren't exactly perceptive. Some were quite thick indeed. Logain seemed to have selected the smartest among them and stolen them away. Oh, there were exceptions, certainly, but Genhald, for example, could barely channel to start a fire, despite his so-called 'gift' with gateways.
Taim continued rambling without waiting for Atal to reply. "When they finally understand, they'll form an alliance. They'll be the resistance against my tyranny," he said with what sounded suspiciously like a giggle. He downed the remainder of his glass and appeared to – ironically – sober up. "You will make sure that they do. Figure it out, I mean. Integrate the resistance, Mishraile. Become one of them. We have to put an end to this."
"To…what?" Atal stammered. At some point, he'd lost the thread of Taim's half-drunken monologue. What was he trying to say?
"To all of this!" Taim cried, waving his hands frantically. His glass flew out of his hand and crashed against the bookshelf. Atal winced. Somewhere in Caemlyn, a glass-monger was getting richer by the day. "To the Turning, to the Forsaken's reign of terror, to their attempts at destroying everything I worked so hard to create! They're ruining the Black Tower. Moridin is ruining everything. If we keep this up, al'Thor will be overwhelmed by rogue Asha'man during the Last Battle. You do realise that, don't you?" Atal nodded uncertainly. Wasn't that precisely the point? "And the bloody farm boy doesn't even suspect a flaming thing! Peace," the M'Hael murmured. "I am surrounded by idiots." He pinched the bridge of his hooked nose, closing his eyes for a moment. "Mishraile, listen to me. You need to make certain that the Aes Sedai find out what's going on as quickly as possible, without incriminating yourself. They have to do something. The Black Tower's fate rests in your hands, Guardian," the M'Hael added ominously, dark eyes glittering with intensity. "You must save them. Save those who can still be saved."
Judging by his tone, that did not include himself.