Mat frowned at Taim and Natael, who sat on the ground right next to his little sister. What did they think they were doing? Surely she didn't mean what she'd said earlier, about bedding them. All of them. That had been simple provocation on her part. It had to be. She wouldn't willingly share a Forsaken's bed. She'd likely had no idea who Natael was, at the time.
He couldn't quite believe she was here. Ta'veren or not, all these things that kept happening to her were highly improbable – and that was coming from him, Mat bloody Cauthon. First Neya had been taken by Ishamael, and she had survived that. Then she'd been captured by Lanfear and had somehow escaped with her life once again.
In Caemlyn, Mat had been furious when he'd come to announce his imminent departure and found only Natael – bloody Asmodean – in the room the false gleeman had shared with his sister at the palace. The man had been lofty and snappish, practically closing the door in Mat's face, before reluctantly explaining that Neya had been sent away by Rand to oversee this new insane project of his, namely the establishment of what was now the Black Tower. The bloody Dragon Reborn had sent his baby sister to look after a bunch of raving male channelers! Mat had been ready to pull her out of there before she got herself killed, but Rand told him that it was Neya's idea and that she'd insisted. And she hadn't even bothered to let Mat know! Obviously, she'd been perfectly aware that he would try to prevent her from going. Bloody stubborn woman!
And then, as Mat arrived at Merrilor and found out about Taim's betrayal, Logain told him that Neya had disappeared months ago. Months! He had no clue where she was; no one from the Black Tower had been able to provide a proper explanation. Only Taim knew, they claimed.
And now this. What had she been doing in Shara all this time? It was enough for Mat to tear his hair out in frustration. Blood and flaming ashes! He had to focus on the matter at hand.
The more he listened to Demandred's explanation, the more Mat realised that his sister might be right about Moghedien's potential course of action. If the sneaky Forsaken decided to make that particular move, or if she was already working on it… They had to act quickly.
"We need to deal with the rogue Asha'man before we do anything else," Mat muttered, interrupting Demandred. The man gave him a cold stare, but didn't speak. "If Moghedien or What's-Her-Name manage to organise them before we destroy them, we might still be in trouble. Do you know who's in charge of the Black Ajah?"
"We have to get Atal out of there before we attack, though," Neya called out before Demandred could answer. Who in the Pit of Doom was Atal?
"That's already been dealt with," Taim replied. "I told him – ordered him – to follow Logain. Weeks ago."
The Ghealdanin nodded in confirmation. "He got me out of the bloody dungeons, with Androl and the others."
"Good," Neya said. "Mat, I'd rather not fight against the Black Tower channelers, if it's all the same to you. I know these men. Even if they're not particularly good ones, I'd rather not have to kill them. As for the Turned…" She trailed off, glancing at Taim, who wouldn't quite meet her eyes. What was she going on about? Did she seriously believe that Mat was going to send her into bloody battle?
"You cannot join the battle," Demandred cut in sharply, without looking at her. Well, at least they agreed on that.
Neya gave the Forsaken a hard look and appeared ready to chew the man off, but Mat nodded hastily. "He's right, you know. You're our best Healer, we can't afford to lose you. We have to keep you safe, and that means you're staying behind." Neya shifted her wrathful gaze toward him, but he wouldn't budge. She could be bloody stubborn, but so could he. "I won't send you to Mayene, but you have to stay out of the battlefield, Neya."
Finally she nodded, although reluctantly. "Fine. I guess I should gather the Healers from the Ayyad camp and set up an emergency tent somewhere." She stood up, dusting off her brightly-coloured blouse, though it looked impeccable. It showed too much cleavage, in Mat's opinion. He would have a word or two about Neya's choice of clothes, when this was all over. And about her choice of men, while he was at it. "I'll get Taimaka. She can help with that."
"No," Demandred said firmly.
"Blood and ashes, Bao, are you going to argue over everything I say?" Neya retorted crisply. "She's as incompetent as I am with offensive weaves. She'll be more useful here, with me!"
"Neya…" Demandred took a deep breath. "Taimaka's dead," he muttered.
Neya's eyes widened. Demandred didn't elaborate, but he glanced briefly in Egwene's direction. There'd been a skirmish earlier, between the Green Aes Sedai and some of the Sharan female channelers. Burn my eye, we can't afford that, not now! There's no bloody time to lose!
An awkward silence fell inside the tent.
Mazrim practically jumped to his feet at the sudden stab of grief that echoed inside the bond. Astonishingly, Neya's face was blank. It seemed that she had learned a few tricks from Demandred during her time in Shara. Or maybe she was struck numb by the loss of her friend. At least, Mazrim assumed that the dead woman had been a friend. He wouldn't put it past Neya to feel devastated by the death of someone she'd barely known. She truly cared too much about everything and everyone.
She was looking at the Amyrlin, who spread her hands helplessly. "Neya…" she began, obviously at a loss for words.
"No, I know," Neya said flatly. "I know." She fell silent once more.
"Most of our Healers were killed, but you could bring the male Ayyad over," Demandred told her quietly. How could the man let that happen? Healers were always kept out of the fighting. And he was supposed to be such a grand general! "They are too few to be of use in battle anyway, if I am not allowed to link with them in a full circle. I will just keep Abrazo around." Does he ever use contractions? Mazrim wondered. It was oddly annoying. He was so bloody formal and rigid. How could Neya have fallen for him? The man couldn't even smile, for crying out loud!
"If I'm left alone with them, it won't be much use," Neya told him bitterly. "I can only link with one of them at a time."
"We could send some of the remaining Yellows to help. With them, you could expand the circle at need," the Amyrlin offered.
Neya nodded decisively. "Let's do that," she said firmly. "I'll go find Kalayaan." Kalayaan? Now who was that? Peace, let it not be yet another lover. Mazrim was having enough difficulties refraining from punching Demandred, when he was not considering blasting him with pure Fire. As for Asmodean... Well, that was different. Whatever their relationship, it had happened before Mazrim met Neya.
He started to follow as Neya walked out of the tent, but Logain called him back. "You stay right here, traitor. There's no evading the fighting for you. You're not essential enough to be left behind," he added with a sardonic smirk.
Well, he hadn't expected to be. With a last glance toward Neya, Mazrim joined the others at the map table.
Logain sneered at Taim. Had he really thought that they would let him stay behind with his precious Neya? The man truly was insane. Maybe they should have taken the time to Heal him, if the girl knew how. Taim had been dangerous enough when he was still sane – when Logain had thought him sane – but if he added the unpredictability factor to it, the bloody M'Hael could get out of control at any moment.
And Logain wasn't even taking Demandred and Asmodean into account. Light! Three Forsaken fighting on their side. If Taim could be counted as one, so short had his performance been.
How could al'Vere and Cauthon trust them with anything? They should be shielded and kept under guard, the whole lot of them, Neya included. Or better yet, gentled and executed. How could anyone agree to such terms? None of them deserved to live, let alone walk free. Well, maybe the girl could be spared; after all, it wasn't her fault that she'd been captured, brainwashed and otherwise subjected to her ta'veren nature – which at least explained why she glowed like that.
There was nothing Logain could do about the unfairness of it all, however. He wasn't in charge, and a good thing, too. Let the others deal with the wagonload of troubles those four would no doubt provide in the future – if they survived the battle. If anyone survived.
All Logain cared about now was to know who would wield the sa'angreal that Demandred had in his possession. Logain had felt it earlier, a power beyond his imagination. Surely the al'Vere girl wouldn't allow Demandred to retain the artefact, even under supervision. Logain was the most obvious choice: he was the only male channeler strong enough to wield it, the only trustworthy one, anyway.
Eventually, since no one seemed to be bringing it up, he decided to broach the topic, as subtly as he could. "Who will take care of the rogue Asha'man? Will you send all our channelers against them, even our latest acquisitions?" he asked Cauthon.
"Of course not. That'd be a flaming waste of resources," the commander of the forces of the Light replied colourfully. "We'll send your men and some of the Aes Sedai. The others can get started on the other Dreadlords. Plenty of those to go around, apparently," he muttered sourly.
Before Logain could ask about the sa'angreal, Demandred spoke. He had a soft, quiet voice, but it was commanding nonetheless. "Would it not be better to ally some of my people to some of yours? I expected that you would want to keep an eye on us." Cauthon looked up at him. "We could pair the female Ayyad with your untainted Asha'man, since they are so few," he went on, "and the...Aes Sedai with M'Hael, Nessosin and myself, as well as another powerful male channeler from my own army."
"Who's Nessosin?" Cauthon asked with a scowl. Light, but the man could be dense. Who in the Pit of Doom had put him in charge of all their armies?
"That would be me, my Prince," Asmodean replied with a smirk.
Cauthon eyed him suspiciously, as if wondering if he was being made fun of, before turning back to Demandred. "Alright, I suppose it's a good enough plan. The bloody Forsaken go with the Aes Sedai, while Logain and his men take your female channelers. Better if you deal with the rogue Asha'man," he added after a brief moment of consideration, cocking his head toward Demandred.
Logain was about to dispute him. He wanted to destroy those flaming traitors himself, and put the Turned out of their misery. Toveine would be among them. He'd severed their bond as soon as he'd been strong enough to channel, after his ordeal, but he knew that she was still out there, somewhere. She deserved better than this, to be used as an instrument of destruction for the Shadow. Demandred forestalled him, however. "With Sakarnen, their end will be swift, you can be assured."
"Sakarnen, is that your fancy Power-enhancer?" Cauthon asked stupidly. Natael chuckled, but Demandred's face remained impassive. Did the man even know how to smile? The Forsaken simply nodded. It was all Logain could do not to shake his head in despair. Cauthon, you Light-blinded fool, you can't let the bloody man keep the sa'angreal! Had he not witnessed the havoc the Forsaken had wreaked earlier? If Demandred decided to betray them – which was more than likely – it would be all but impossible to stop him.
"I'm afraid I must intrude," the Amyrlin said. They all looked at her expectantly. "We already have a sa'angreal. Surely one would be enough for us. Logain and his men should have the other one." Finally, someone with a smidge of common sense! Logain thought wryly.
He waited for Demandred to protest and was therefore surprised when the man nodded in approval. "Evidently. It is best to divide our resources evenly. Shall we?" he asked al'Vere.
"Yes, we have wasted enough time," the girl replied. Demandred bowed his head slightly in assent.
Taim, who'd remained silent throughout the conversation, started abruptly and twisted his head in the direction where Neya was, Logain assumed. Without warning, the Saldaean ran outside. The others all looked at each other in confusion, until they heard the girl cry out an instant later.
Mintel had known all along how things would play out. There had been no other possible outcome. Kongsidi would never allow the Sharans, His most devout servants, to aid the Shadow in the Last Battle. And yet the abrishi understood the sacrifices that had been made. The queen and Shendla had risked their lives to convert Bao, to make him see the error of his ways. The gamble had paid off, but at what cost? There was no telling what would happen, what the Wyld would do to them, when they returned to Shara, after the Light's inevitable victory.
Mintel's concentration didn't waver as the tent flap was lifted. He had lived eighty-three springs, and had been an abrishi for fifty-nine. When he sought the Oneness, when he became the Oneness, nothing could distract him.
Or so he had always believed.
"There has been a change of plans, Mintel," Shendla announced briskly. "I need your help to relay the new orders."
It was all there. The Sharan dialect spoken with the ease of a native, the sharp tone and clipped diction, the no-nonsense attitude. And yet Shendla would never have interrupted his meditation – no Sharan would have, no matter the urgency of the situation. The Oneness slipped away from him.
"You are not Shendla," Mintel stated. He opened his one good eye and fixed it on the creature that stood before him, hands on her slender hips. Mintel realised his mistake right away. Burn him for an old fool! He should have humoured it, to buy time to warn the others.
The creature chuckled darkly. It was a sound that Mintel feared would haunt his dreams, in the long night to come.