M'Hael was sprawled in an uncomfortable chair in his tent, a goblet of wine in hand, and looked outwardly collected. Inside, however, his mind was roiling. He'd hoped that becoming one of the Chosen would cleanse his diseased mind. As was common these days, he'd been painfully wrong. What was the point of being all-powerful and immortal if you were not sane enough to enjoy it?
He was fairly certain that Neya would persuade the others to take the deal. He had a clearer idea of how she felt, now that she was closer, though the bond was still dysfunctional. She was…conflicted. She was nervous and afraid, but determined. The sudden surge of intense caring he'd felt when he'd appeared inside the command tent had left him almost dizzy. How could she still feel that way, after everything that had happened in the past few months? She knew about the Turning now; she must be so disappointed in him. Peace, she ought to despise him, to hate him. And yet nothing of the like had transpired through the bond. Not yet, anyway. Her only reaction, upon hearing Logain's brief account earlier, had been an overwhelming sadness. But for whom did she feel sad? M'Hael, or his victims?
He still had no idea whose bed she was – had been – sharing. Was she with one of those…Ayyad? And if not, how had she Travelled here? If she'd had the ability to make gateways herself, surely she would have come back sooner. Why was she returning now? Why was she alone? Why had Demandred left her in Shara? Did Demandred know that they were bonded? Was this a trap, to test M'Hael's loyalty to the Great Lord?
He had a thousand questions, but no way to answer them.
Demandred had gone completely mad. Besides him, M'Hael was very likely the last remaining Chosen on the battlefield – he hadn't heard anything from Hessalam and Moghedien. He didn't know where Cyndane was. Or Moridin. He hadn't seen the Nae'blis in days, and no one had deemed useful to inform him of his whereabouts. It was an every-man-for-himself situation.
M'Hael had decided to gamble his life on a whim. What did he have to lose? He would die, whatever he did. Perhaps, this way, he would die after recovering his sanity; perhaps he would have the chance to hold Neya one last time before the end. That was the best he could hope for at this point.
The madness, in itself, was not so bad. If anything, it had helped him during the last few weeks, numbing his capacity for regret and fear, among other things. He'd become accustomed to it, to the maelstrom of emotions raging inside him. Whereas his compassion and remorse had been dulled down to nothing, other emotions were far more exacerbated. He was perpetually angry and dissatisfied, bolder and more confident than he had ever been. He had challenged Demandred for leadership, earlier – a senseless mistake, but that had been before Neya returned. Hopefully, he would never see Demandred again – though he'd love to watch him die, whether the Chosen perished in battle or was executed for his crimes in the aftermath. Well, provided that al'Thor didn't screw up, obviously. Otherwise Demandred would make mincemeat out of M'Hael and feed him to his pet channelers. Just before the Dark One destroyed the world.
In any case, M'Hael found that being mad, and being aware of it, didn't bother him nearly as much now as it used to. It was just that, this close to the end – he had no illusion as to his fate following the Last Battle; it would either be death at the hand of his enemies or annihilation as the Dark One took over the world – he was curious to know how many of his decisions had been made lucidly and how many had been the result of his insanity. There was a time when he could have sworn it had all been carefully considered, but he wasn't so certain anymore. He wasn't sure of anything, these days.
The hour was over. As he seized the True Power – or was seized by it, more accurately - M'Hael spared a moment to wonder whether he was walking into a trap, but quickly realised he didn't care, if it meant being close to Neya.
They were still discussing the matter, apparently. They all turned to face him as one when he appeared. "Time's up," he announced loudly. He couldn't see Neya anywhere, but the bond told him that she was just outside the tent. Elayne Trakand grimaced in disgust at the sight of him, and Logain growled audibly, but M'Hael ignored them both. He fixed his gaze on the child Amyrlin instead. She seemed to be making the calls.
Egwene al'Vere stared back at him levelly. She had some backbone, he would give her that. "We were just going over the details of your surrender, Master Taim," she informed him coolly.
"This isn't a surrender, Mother." The golden-haired boy at her side put a hand on his sword. Gawyn Trakand, M'Hael assumed. The lad looked incredibly pale and sickly, he noticed idly. "This is a transaction. My sanity and life against the seals. I never said anything about surrendering." He looked around the tent casually. "I would rather Neya was here to discuss the matter. She's part of the bargain, after all."
Al'Vere affected not to hear him. "We have modified the terms, Taim. You will be cleansed from the taint's corruption, and you will not be harmed or gentled, but you must join in the battle. Additionally, your link to the Dark One will be severed. We will not back down on that condition." The Amyrlin gave him a stern look, as if daring him to refuse.
What in the Pit of Doom was she going on about? Could the connection be broken? Nobody had ever said anything about that. "Fetch Neya, then we'll talk." He was stalling, considering her words and what they implied. Not being linked to the Dark One meant being mortal once more, but what did it matter? He was a dead man walking. They would never hold to their part of the bargain, he was sure of that. They would speak all the right words, of course, but there would be a loophole somewhere. There always was. Not that he cared, but Neya would – probably. Maybe. He really should have severed their bond the moment Demandred's gateway had closed behind her. He wasn't sure that he could bring himself to do it now, even tenuous as their connection was. It was such a relief to have her in his mind once again. Her presence was comforting, reassuring.
The Amyrlin had beckoned her bodyguard to fetch Neya, and they were both stepping back inside the tent, followed by a tall man holding a harp, of all things. M'Hael thought he'd seen him before. Nathaniel, Natael? He was al'Thor's personal bard, or something.
He didn't waste much thought on the harpist, instead focusing his attention on Neya. His heart began hammering against his ribs as she drew closer. Peace, how he had missed her.
Neya walked straight toward him, albeit hesitantly. Why had he pushed her away earlier, when all he wanted to do was to bury his head against her neck and forget about everything else? But he couldn't. He didn't deserve her. Not after what he'd done – which he could hardly forget, with Logain snarling at him, fists clenched at his sides.
Neya gave M'Hael a tentative smile as she approached him, and he felt her through the bond, a bright ray of sunlight in the omnipresent darkness. She was so beautiful, she practically glowed. Shara certainly agreed with her. He longed to touch her, but that was neither the time nor the place. In any case, she might not want him to. She kept a certain distance between them, though there was no trace of scorn or anger in the bond. She was scared, though. Was she afraid of him? No. For him.
Peace, he was rambling. He had to focus.
"Well, she's here. Will you talk now, you flaming whoreson?" That was Logain, eloquent as ever.
No, that wasn't fair. The man had a way with words, when he put his mind to it. He could turn a few short sentences into a vibrant speech and make everyone want to follow him to the Pit of Doom. At the moment, he was just a teensy bit angry with M'Hael. Something to do with those attempts to Turn the man to the Shadow, assuredly. "I see that you're trying to be insulting, Logain, and I appreciate the effort, but the only people who might be offended by this are those who are not, in fact, whoresons. Because if you were one, you'd know that it is nothing to be ashamed of. Whores are just trying to get by and provide for their families, just like anyone else." He delivered the lecture in a low, even tone. It wasn't the first time he'd been called that – though it'd been a while, admittedly. Neya was looking at him curiously. He'd never told her about this. Not because he was ashamed – it simply served no purpose. And she'd never asked.
As expected, Logain reddened in embarrassment. The man had a temper worthy of any Saldaean woman, but it usually cooled down as quickly as it flared. "Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth, you know," M'Hael went on wryly, knowing it would ignite Logain's temper once more. The nobleman scorned any reference to his past and former lordship. Indeed, Logain seemed almost ready to unsheathe his sword, but the hulking giant who stood beside him put a warning hand on his arm. He wore the hadori. Every Borderlander knew what that meant: he had to be al'Lan Mandragoran, the uncrowned king of…well, nothing, really. Malkier was long dead, the Seven Towers swallowed by the Blight decades ago.
"Master Taim," the Amyrlin went on with clear exasperation, "are you willing to forgo your link to the Dark One and join our ranks, in exchange for what you asked for and on the condition that you provide the authentic, unbroken seals?" she demanded imperiously.
"Why would you want me to join your ranks? Would you really trust me to fight at your side?" he asked sarcastically. Logain scoffed, and everyone else glared at him – except Neya. The harpist, oddly enough, was studying M'Hael attentively, a snide smirk playing on his lips. Why was a simple bard allowed to attend this particular negotiation? "I thought not. I give you the seals, you give me what I want. You may remove the Dark One's leash, if you know how…for all the good it will do now," he went on with a grimace. "But I will not fight. Not for you, not for anyone. As soon as we're done here, I'm leaving, and I don't intend to come back." He could tell that they didn't like that, not even Neya, judging by the sudden spike of distress through the bond. What else would she have him do?
Logain was shaking his head. "And you really think we'd let you wander wherever you want, unshielded, without supervision?"
"What about exiling him?" Neya said. "We discussed that earlier, didn't we?" M'Hael turned to her, frowning slightly. The bond was all fierce determination now, with a touch of annoyance. "I don't know what you agreed on, but you could simply exile him to…a place of your own choosing, when this is all done. If he agrees to fight." She glanced up at him. She was trying to show him that she would not let them cheat him, but that he had to compromise. How naïve she still was. Where could they exile him, anyway? To the Blight?
He was about to point that out when the Amyrlin spoke. "You would have us confine him in Shara. That was your idea, wasn't it?" Neya nodded. Shara? He hadn't considered that. It wasn't entirely stupid, actually. When the battle was over, if the Light somehow managed to win, Demandred would be dealt with, provided that he didn't die before the end. M'Hael could settle down in Shara. Neya might even agree to come with him. Could he really afford to hope? It was tempting. The Amyrlin's next words brought him out of his reverie, effectively shattering this briefly envisioned dream. "What about Demandred? You would have them both be banished to the same land?"
What? M'Hael thought incredulously. He was stunned speechless for a moment.
"Shara's bigger than you know," Neya told her matter-of-factly. "You could put all the Forsaken there and still have room to spare. In any case, when this is over, they won't be Forsaken anymore." The Amyrlin was nodding as if it made perfect sense.
"Wait a second," M'Hael broke in, peering down at Neya. "What in the Pit of Doom are you talking about? You want to bring Demandred to the Light?" She grinned at him. Grinned! Peace, she was the crazy one, not him. And why would she possibly want the Chosen on their side? Sure, he was a capable general, but… Ugh. Most likely, Neya was just being Neya, and trying to save everyone – including those who clearly didn't want to be saved. "Neya," he said patiently, "Demandred will never return to the Light. I don't know how he was when he left Shara, but he's insane, love. And it's not the taint. He's just a regular madman, but a madman nonetheless."
"Mazrim," Neya said lightly, "I know." He scowled at her. "I'm trying to cure him of that, same as I intend to do with you," she explained. He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke over him. Everyone else had fallen silent and was following their conversation. "I know it's not something I can pick out of his brain. But common madness is just another disease, whether or not you can see it. It's a work in progress," she concluded with a shrug. The words sounded crazy, but her voice radiated confidence. The bond was full of love and caring, the two emotions M'Hael was most used to receive from her. He could tell that part of it was not meant for him, however.
Oh, Trolloc balls.
No. It couldn't be. She was sleeping with Demandred? She must be mad. Was she under Compulsion? Light, what had he done to her? M'Hael reached out to Neya, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, gazing into her green eyes. She blushed slightly; she wouldn't meet his eyes. The bond was now a complicated mixture of embarrassment, defiance, worry and frustration.
Demandred.
Demandred!
M'Hael almost seized the True Source. He almost fled. He couldn't… After everything they'd been through… If it had been anyone else, he might have understood, but… He felt so betrayed. He felt like Neya had stuck a knife in his heart and twisted the blade – which was ironic, really. The one who twists the blade indeed.
He couldn't breathe. He felt nauseous.
The tent was eerily silent. Did they know? No, they wouldn't be listening to Neya if they did, and they didn't have the bond to sense her feelings. What lies had she fed them?
M'Hael had expected a trap, with Neya as possible bait, but he didn't expect her to lay the trap herself.
Blood and flaming ashes! What was he supposed to do now? This changed everything. He couldn't possibly agree to be exiled to Shara with flaming Demandred. He would rather die.
He resolutely turned away from Neya, feeling ill, and gazed at the rest of them. "You didn't actually agree to this madness, did you?"
"That's really none of your business, traitor," Logain told him sharply.
"Master Taim," the Amyrlin said crisply, after directing a withering glare at Logain, "as you pointed out earlier, time is a precious commodity. Do we have a deal, on these terms? Are you willing to be exiled to Shara, to live out your days there?"
It was too late to back down now. The other Forsaken – and that included Demandred; no matter what Neya thought, the man was devoted heart and soul to the Shadow – must have spies inside the command tent. Should M'Hael refuse the Light's offer, the Shadow would destroy him the moment he stepped out. As a matter of fact, he was surprised that nobody had come for him after his first visit. He turned to Neya once more, albeit reluctantly. She looked so earnest, so confident. She gave him a fond smile and the bond once more radiated with love – entirely directed at him, this time.
Light burn him! Now the only thing he could hope for was that Demandred threw their senseless offer in their faces. It would hurt Neya, but... It was M'Hael's only chance. He couldn't let Demandred have her.
M'Hael sighed heavily before speaking, dragging the words out with some difficulty. "We have a deal."