"How could you let this happen?" Moridin thundered, blues eyes flashing like lightning, saa dancing wildly across the irises. "Three of your Asha'man, dead! The Black Tower, lost, and seized by Logain, of all people! And all of that because of that cursed, treacherous boy!" The Nae'blis sent another painful weave toward M'Hael, who was writhing on the ground.

That's hardly fair, M'Hael reflected. His body was wracked with agony, but he wouldn't let it touch his already damaged mind. Or perhaps said damaged mind was keeping the pain at bay, somehow. Being mad did have its perks.

In any case, Mishraile couldn't be blamed for this walloping. He had only acted on M'Hael's orders, after all, and it was Genhald who'd led the assault, with the help of his pet Aes Sedai. He had no idea who or what had enabled them to open gateways, with the Dreamspike in place. He didn't really care.

He wished Moridin would just get it over with. Either he killed M'Hael, or allowed him to resume his activities. This was a waste of time, for the both of them. The Dragon Reborn was gathering his forces for Tarmon Gai'don. They had to be ready, and there were yet many preparations to see to, especially since they'd had to relocate.

Now that Logain had assumed control of the Black Tower – well, once he recovered from his ordeal, he certainly would – and that Mishraile, Karys, Ilawen and whatever Dedicated and Soldiers had survived the skirmish were safely under his responsibility, M'Hael realised that he was eager to get to the battlefield. He was impatient, restless. He was looking forward to a chance to face al'Thor one-on-one. He was the person responsible for this bloody mess, after all. If the mighty Lord Dragon had deigned partake in the affairs of the Black Tower, none of this would have happened.

If not for al'Thor, Neya would still be here, with M'Hael. She wouldn't be doing Light-knew-what in flaming Shara – if that was where she was, as he suspected. He sensed her now, quite clearly. The mind barriers had collapsed at some point as he was being tortured. She was worried about him. Fat lot of good that does me, M'Hael thought bitterly.

Two weeks ago…something had happened. M'Hael wasn't sure what. Neya had been nervous and overexcited all day, so much that when M'Hael had taken down the mind-made barriers surrounding their bond, he'd felt jittery himself. She was quite busy that night, too, he remembered wistfully.

Abruptly, he realised that the pain was gone – or, at least, Moridin had released the weave that caused it. M'Hael hastened to erect the mind barriers once more, shutting Neya out of this merry mess.

M'Hael felt like every single nerve in his body was on fire, and his muscles were cramped. He lay there on the ground for some time with no notion of time. His breathing was laborious, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't see or hear clearly. Had he fainted?

Then he frowned, consciousness slowly resurfacing. Where was Moridin? M'Hael chanced a glance around, twisting his head with some difficulty.

The Nae'blis was still there, but he was not alone. M'Hael blinked twice, to dispel the fog of dizziness, and at last distinguished the other person's face – Demandred.

Trolloc balls! That was all he needed right now.

The two Chosen were apparently in the middle of an argument. "…thought I was supposed to take him to-" Demandred was saying.

"Given the circumstances, I'm not sure it's the best course of action," Moridin interrupted him.

"What choice do we have?" Demandred protested. "Ablar is out of our reach, unless you intend to mount an assault against the Black Tower to recover him." Moridin made no reply to that, but his glower ought to have burned through Demandred. "No one can replace Taim now. We need him to lead the Asha'man into battle. I cannot be everywhere at once, Moridin."

"Is that really your concern here? That it might interfere with the battle?" Moridin demanded scornfully. "Or are you worried about how she might react if he died?"

Demandred schooled his emotions quickly, but M'Hael caught the murderous glare before the Chosen replied. "Are you doubting me?" he asked in a dangerously soft tone. "I, alone, have successfully accomplished something of worth in this cursed Age. If not for me, you would have nothing. This pathetic, untrained lot, and nothing more," he added with a gesture encompassing the general area where M'Hael lay. The Black Tower, in other words. M'Hael grimaced involuntarily. How he wished he could punch the other man… Yes, punch. The raw, physical release of several months' worth of frustration, depression, anger and loathing. M'Hael might break his hand upon contact with the bloody man's stony face, but it would be worth it. Demandred hadn't even deigned give him news of Neya, not once since he'd taken her! By the Blight, if not for the bond, M'Hael wouldn't even know she was alive.

Speaking of Neya… Was she the implied she in Moridin's question? No, it didn't make any sense. Why would Demandred care what Neya thought?

But who else would care if Mazrim died?

M'Hael, he scolded himself. Mazrim Taim is dead. He died when Neya was taken away. He felt a wave of nausea, so sudden and implacable that he retched on the floor before he could stop himself, splattering his new coat. Both Chosen glanced in his direction. There was absolute, ominous silence, until Moridin let out a heavy sigh. "Fine," he stated with an air of fatality. "We go on as planned. We don't really have a choice, I suppose, though he hardly deserves the honour granted him." He snorted. "None of you deserve it," he muttered contemptuously. Without another word, he vanished into thin air.

M'Hael knew he should get up. He hated being sprawled on the floor, clothes mottled with vomit, while Demandred stood upright, not a hair out of place. But would he manage to stay on his feet? If he collapsed, he would look even more ridiculous. Why was the bloody Chosen even here? He hadn't showed his face since-

"For the record, I think this is a grave mistake," Demandred declared tonelessly.

"What is?" M'Hael asked curiously. "Me? I'm sure my mother would have agreed." He chuckled at his own self-deprecating jest. Light, he really ought to stand. He gingerly heaved himself to a sitting position, forearms resting on his knees. His head swam. He closed his eyes, inhaling shallow breaths, until it passed. Demandred remained silent while he recuperated. When he was certain he wouldn't pass out, M'Hael opened his eyes and glared at the Chosen. "What do you want, then? If you need more Asha'man, I'm afraid now is not the best-"

"Moridin wants me to take you to Shayol Ghul," Demandred announced without preamble, his face devoid of emotion.

That brought M'Hael up short. He'd never really thought… Moridin had hinted at it, certainly, but M'Hael had assumed it was just another empty promise. He swallowed hard. "If you think it's such a mistake, why did you argue in favour of it? Moridin was going to kill me," he remarked matter-of-factly. Demandred made no reply, his green gaze intense and unforthcoming. All of this was decidedly odd.

"Shall we?" Demandred enquired eventually. "I do not have all day."

"Wh-what, n-now?" M'Hael winced at his own stuttering. He wasn't even sure he could stand, let alone Travel to Shayol Ghul to pledge his soul to the Dark One.

Demandred scowled, eyes darkening. "I knew that you were not ready."

M'Hael allowed himself a brief moment to contemplate his options. Mm. What options? He repressed the mounting laughter in his throat and regained his composure with some effort. "Of course I'm ready. It's about bloody time."

Bao opened a gateway at the feet of Shayol Ghul. The great mountain loomed overhead like a colossal, menacing embodiment of the Great Lord Himself. They would have to walk the rest of the way. Channeling too close to the entrance of the Pit was sometimes…chancy.

Taim must have been in agony but, to his credit, it barely showed. If Bao had not assisted to Moridin's…disciplinary session, he might not have noticed that anything was amiss. The man was always stiff, so his present rigidness could have passed for his usual gait. After the initial shock, Taim's face had smoothed into a mask of resolute impassiveness.

Bao was not sure why he had protested against Moridin. Taim was better off dead – it would be preferable for everyone if he died, including Taim himself, most likely. It would certainly profit Bao.

But they did need new recruits. Semirhage had been blasted into inexistence, Mesaana's mind was broken beyond repair, and Aran'gar had been Balefired away in the destruction of Natrin's Barrow – an ill-advised mistake on Graendal's part, for which she had paid a heavy toll. This close to the end, it made sense to eliminate the competition, but few as they were… They still had to win the Last Battle, after all. The Shadowspawn alone could not assure the Shadow's triumph, no matter how numerous they may be, and Bao was only one man. Capable as he was, he was pragmatic enough to recognise that he could not lead the Shadow's armies on his own. He needed reliable lieutenants. Taim was the best suited for the task, given Graendal's – Hessalam's – propensity to backstab her so-called allies. Moghedien and Cyndane likely had hidden agendas, but they were both Mindtrapped, entirely at Moridin's mercy. As for Asmodean, he had had the nerve to reject Moridin's generous offer. Why he was still alive was a complete mystery to Bao. Despite his earlier assurance that he did not care for the man, Moridin did appear to have a soft spot for the Musician.

In any case, getting rid of Taim after the battle would be child's play. And Moridin would not survive; he obviously did not want to, and the Great Lord, upon being satisfied that his mission was completed, would finally award him the final rest he yearned for.

That left Bao as the last possible contender for the position of Nae'blis, when everything was played out. He alone had never failed the Great Lord. He had earned his reward a thousand times over.

As they began to ascend the rocky, uneven path along the side of the mountain, Bao was taken by an almost irresistible desire to break it to Taim that he had married Neya. Thankfully, he suppressed the urge before the words could tumble inadvertently out of his mouth. Why would he do that? Why did he want to do that? Bao was not a boastful man. He was not jealous. Not of the likes of Taim, certainly. In any case, Neya seemed to have forgotten about him. She had not mentioned him in weeks; she never enquired about his well-being, or about the Black Tower in general. She had moved on, and rightly so. Taim was a wreck, by all accounts. The madness had taken him. Of course, male Dreadlords had always been assured that they would be protected from the taint, but that was a mere incentive. They were given the illusion of channeling uncontaminated saidin, nothing more. Only the Chosen were truly shielded from the taint's effects – or they used to be, when the taint was still corrupting saidin.

Thunder boomed in the distance; lightning bolted upward from the harsh landscape below, in the desolate valley of Thakan'dar, where myriad Trollocs and Myrddraal were milling about, as well as various Shadowspawn and Friends of the Dark. The air was freezing cold, and yet too dry to allow for ice or snow.

Bao did not let the biting cold touch him, but he felt a shiver of trepidation at the idea of visiting the Pit of Doom. Thus it always was: Bao both dreaded and relished these audiences with the Great Lord. He liked to compare the experience with having sex; the arousing pain was always pleasurable to him, but he was fully aware that too much of it would kill him. Though he did not think he would even realise, let alone mind, were that to happen.

They walked in utter silence and eventually reached the entrance of the cave. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed. It might have been an hour or a day. Time was a fickle thing, this close to the Bore. Without a word, Bao entered the narrow stone corridor. He was pleased to notice that the height of the passage allowed him to advance without having to stoop. It rarely did.

He did not look back to see how Taim was faring, but when they reached the Pit itself, the man was covered with bloody scratches, clothes torn in multiple places. He looked outwardly collected, but it did not last. His eyes widened in dazed reverence, not at the sight of the great lava lake or multi-coloured clouds in the otherworldly sky above, but at the Voice that was undoubtedly speaking to him. Bao, of course, could not hear what was being said. He was only here to bear witness of Taim's Ascension.

With a bit of luck, the Great Lord would decide that Taim was not worthy after all and blast him out of the Pattern unceremoniously.

It was not so. After a moment, Taim nodded weakly, eyes glazed, and collapsed – but that was merely an effect of the Great Lord's blessing being bestowed upon him. He would come to in a minute, when his body had time to adjust. Bao was tempted to abandon him and leave him to find his own way out – there was only one way out; even a simpleton of this Age could not get lost. He had better things to do. Shadow only knew how much time he'd already wasted-

"WASTED?" the Voice resounded in his mind, startling him so badly that he fell to his knees. "IS IT A WASTE OF YOUR TIME, DEMANDRED, TO EXECUTE MY WILL?"

"No, Great Lord," Bao assured Him. He did not have to actually utter the words out loud, but in his shock he did so anyway. "Never. My eagerness to serve knows no bound. My deeds speak for themselves."

"YOU HAVE DONE WELL," the Voice crooned. Bao swelled with pride. Lews Therin had often complimented him on his achievements, but the man's words were empty, devoid of meaning. They were poisonous, mocking; just another way to underline the fact that, whatever Barid had accomplished, Lews had already done it at least twice, and better. But when the Great Lord praised him, Bao knew it was sincere approval. He had overtaken everyone else. He was the best, at long last. He had no equal. Not even Moridin. The Nae'blis was only a means to an end to the Great Lord. His sacrifice was required, and Bao was more than happy to let him do the honours. Bao would be there to glean the bountiful rewards.

"INDEED. YOU WERE ALWAYS MEANT TO RULE, DEMANDRED. AND RULE YOU SHALL. THE WORLD AS ONE WILL BOW DOWN TO YOU." Bao's eyes must have taken on the same glassy appearance as Taim's, but he was only barely aware of this. At the moment, his body was a mere receptacle. He floated on the edge of consciousness, his mind quavering with dreadful awe. Here were the words he had been waiting for, the promise for which he had forsaken his soul. "AND YOU SHALL KNEEL ONLY TO ME."

"Of course, Great Lord," he murmured. His voice sounded faint, as though coming from a great distance. "I live to serve." Moridin had been wrong all along. The Last Battle would not be the end. It was only a beginning, a new Turning of the Wheel. One over which Bao would forever preside.

With Neya at his side. He would make her immortal, and together they would-

"HARBINGER OF CHAOS," the Voice exploded, shattering Bao's almost peaceful stupor. There was a sharp pain, and blood trickled down his ears, but Bao sensed…uneasiness, which was so uncharacteristic, so alien in this place, that it took him a moment to recognise it for what it was. "SHE MUST BE DISPOSED OF, BEFORE THE END."

Bao blinked, somewhat dispelling his trance-like state. Disposed of? No, he must have misunderstood. "She is loyal to me, Great Lord. Entirely so. I made certain of that. She-"

"HEED AND OBEY, BLADE TWISTER." There was a long, ominous pause, during which the atmosphere in the cave became so oppressive that Bao felt his lungs struggle for air. "I COMMAND YOU."

The cave shook with the intensity of the Voice in Bao's head, flames erupting from the Pit, sky darkening with storm clouds of unnatural colours. "SLAY HER, DEMANDRED, OR FORFEIT YOUR REWARD."

Neya was terribly worried about Mazrim. She'd felt his pain, earlier. For a moment, the barriers he had erected between their minds had cracked, sending her reeling with sudden anguish. It had lasted too long, much too long. How could he stand it?

It had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The barriers had been forcefully slammed back into position. And then the bond had crumbled to nothing a few hours later.

She couldn't feel anything now, not even the faintest awareness of Mazrim's presence in the back of her mind. Was he dead? He couldn't be.

If Mazrim had died… She'd be hysterical, wouldn't she? That was how the process was always described – an acute sense of loss, a grief too appalling to contemplate, a thirst for revenge and a longing for death. That was not how she felt, though she did feel the loss of him, in a way.

She had never experienced the intentional severing of a bond before, but she thought it the most likely explanation. Mazrim must have broken their connection willingly – at last. She could hardly blame him, given the circumstances. In fact, she wondered why he hadn't done it before. If she had been forced to feel Mazrim entertaining other women… It would have driven her mad. And if he'd fallen in love with someone else... It would have crushed her. She realised she was being unfair, considering that that was precisely what she was doing to him, but she couldn't help it.

What worried her most, however, was that Bao had been gone all day, and Neya didn't know where he was or what he was up to. Was it mere coincidence? Should she question him, when he finally returned?

Did any of it really matter?

She should be focusing on making up her mind regarding more pressing issues. Should she attempt anything to prevent Bao from rallying the Last Battle when it began? What could she possibly do? She'd been desperate to change his mind, but it seemed hopeless. He'd dismissed her theory about the jumara being the dragon he was meant to slay without hesitation. It was ridiculous, he said. Lews Therin was the Dragon, period.

Neya always corrected him and called him Rand, but it was futile. The two men were one and the same, in Bao's mind, and he was quite intent on killing him. Nothing she said would change his mind – Light knew she'd tried every possible argument she could think of, even pleading that Rand was her friend, that they used to play together when they were children, that everyone in her tiny village was like extended family to her. Bao had briefly hesitated at that, at least, but then he'd shaken his head stubbornly. Neya was the one who was in the wrong; Lews Therin had been deceiving her, manipulating her feelings for him, as he had always done.

Shendla had proven remarkably useless. She pretended that it was up to Neya to make Bao see sense. She, on the other hand, would follow Bao regardless of the path he chose, in the end. Which made Neya wonder if the bloody woman hadn't been deceiving her all along and really just wanted Bao for herself. Bao had confirmed that she was not a Darkfriend, but unreciprocated love and jealousy could easily throw people over the edge. There was a fine line between Light and Shadow, Neya had discovered over the past two years, and she herself was tiptoeing on its very fringe.

Her task was made even more complicated by the fact that the Sharans, as a whole, had taken in stride the fact that Bao was their saviour and king. The cheering during the coronation had been deafening, and the festivities had lasted for four days – the number four was considered a good omen in these lands. They practically worshipped Bao – well, the masses did, in any case. Galbrait still resented him for his coup, and likely for cutting off her arm. Admittedly, that would induce bitterness and anger in anyone.

Neya couldn't be sure how the other Ayyad felt. They were bound to Galbrait by oath, but now that their leader had sworn fealty to Bao… Which of them had their loyalty? Taimaka seemed to appreciate Bao; she considered him a just ruler, and a man endowed with surprising amounts of common sense. Other Ayyad thought he was breaking millennial traditions and were outraged, but only some of them felt that way. All in all, they appeared quite divided and conflicted, especially about Neya herself. That an ulikar could become their queen, and was stronger in the Power than any of them besides… Neya didn't think she would receive any help from them.

The nobility was equally embittered. Bao had stolen their property, as they saw it, and had not offered any sort of compensation. But, by and large, they were cowards at heart. They wouldn't revolt against Bao's rule on their own – not without their slaves to use as shields and cannon fodder. Mercenaries were always happy to pledge their swords to the highest bidder, but Bao was the Wyld and, apparently, even mercenaries were reluctant to oppose him. He was, after all, a powerful channeler, a male channeler. Neya wasn't certain how things had changed in the West since the cleansing of the taint, but in Shara a male Ayyad was still considered a highly volatile element. Especially now that they were free to roam about as they pleased, thanks to gateways.

Bao had indeed freed them, along with the entire slave population – which, Neya had recently found out, represented almost half the total population of Shara – but she had a feeling that the male Ayyad felt more loyal to her than to the Wyld. Then again, now that they were married, the boys probably didn't differentiate. The king and queen were both worthy of their loyalty in equal measure. Asking them to choose between Bao and Neya would be like asking a child which parent they preferred.

Mintel wasn't concerned in the least. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. There is no good or evil…and so many other phrases were all he would offer as counsel. Things would turn out as they were supposed to; everything – their whole lives, the passing of Ages – was predetermined. They could not alter fate. They should just…go with the flow, as Mintel put it.

In the end, that left Kal – and Abrazo, and Torn, because the latter would likely follow his lover, if he had to pick a side, and Abe would follow Kal no matter what. Kal was the only person who'd ever decried Bao openly. Openly, and in front of Bao himself, the day after the coronation. That had earned him a dismissive scolding, not from the king but from Galbrait, of all people. The woman was Aes Sedai material, alright. Duplicitous and hypocritical to the core.

Neya felt a twinge of guilt for thinking that. Those were Mazrim's words, not hers. The only Aes Sedai she'd ever encountered was Moiraine, and the woman had sacrificed herself to save them all.

It was a conundrum. A very frustrating one. And it was not just the present situation; her whole life, since Elan had captured her, had become a bloody puzzle. And Neya had a feeling that it was not going to get easier in the days to come.