Mazrim peeked inside Neya's tent. "I told you, she's not there!" he barked at Natael. "Peace! I knew we shouldn't have left, even for a moment. Burn you, she could be anywhere now!"
The bard rolled his eyes. "Calm down, man. We'll find her. She can't have gone very far in her condition," he replied matter-of-factly.
Mazrim glared at him but didn't answer. Natael had insisted that they locate something to eat; Mazrim's stomach had been rumbling for over an hour and it apparently annoyed the older man. Besides, Natael had added, almost as an afterthought, you've just been Healed from death itself. You need to get your strength back.
They had wandered around the camp for a while and found several fires with ready pots of stew or broth, but someone always seemed to recognise Mazrim. Well, he was a tall Saldaean man in a fitted black coat with dragons embroidered on the cuffs; there weren't two like him. Nobody would share their food with him; several inebriated people had even threatened him, and Mazrim certainly wasn't in the mood to be diplomatic. Thankfully, Natael had somehow managed to defuse every tense situation before anyone could get hurt. Who'd have thought the bloody bard could prove useful?
He kept mentally cursing the former Forsaken, but then he usually felt bad about it. Natael had saved his life, and he'd burned himself out in the process. Mazrim couldn't remember feeling so guilty about anything; his feelings and emotions seemed incredibly exacerbated since he'd awakened. It was…disturbing. It was like he'd awakened as someone else, or perhaps as some new version of himself. He wasn't sure if he liked it.
In the end, after much arguing, they had Traveled to the Sharan camp. After all, Mazrim was supposed to live in Shara, from now on; he might as well get acquainted with the populace. They hadn't anticipated the fact that the foreigners could neither speak nor understand the Common Tongue, however, or even the Old Tongue, for that matter, but it didn't bother the Sharans. They clearly hadn't understood a single word Mazrim said, but they'd kindly invited them both to share their meal regardless – Natael had complained about the spiciness of the unidentified meat, but he'd eaten every scrap of food presented to him. He ate a lot, for such a skinny man – though perhaps it had to do with his current predicament.
The whole endeavour must have taken them two hours at most, but by the time they returned to Neya's tent, Mazrim had noticed that the canvas of the opening was partially open. And now Neya was gone.
"We should go to the command tent," Natael suggested. "Even if she's not there, they'll probably know where she is."
Mazrim nodded sharply. It made sense, he admitted begrudgingly, if only to himself.
They made their way to the command tent, walking quickly, trying not to draw attention to themselves – something made almost impossible by Natael's improbably radiant clothes. Who wore a fuchsia silk shirt to the Last Battle? And all that bloody lace! They could make a whole tent with it.
Something crashed into him.
Mazrim briefly struggled to keep his balance then glanced downward once he'd stabilised himself. Ilawen? What in the Pit of Doom was she doing here? The little girl looked up at him, raising her arms in a clear demand that he pick her up. After a brief hesitation, Mazrim complied. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her head against his collarbone. Natael was staring at them in puzzlement.
Karys approached them timidly a moment later. "Mazrim? Have you seen Neya? We can't find her," the girl said dismally.
He couldn't fathom why they were here, or how. Surely Logain had not taken the children who lived at the Black Tower with him when he'd joined the battle. But they were here, and on their own, apparently.
"We're looking for her, too," he told them. "Care to join us?" Karys nodded enthusiastically and Mazrim felt Ilawen do the same. She almost broke his jaw.
Mazrim hadn't talked to either child since he'd made it clear that they couldn't keep coming to the palace, with Neya gone. He'd expected resentment and much pouting, but judging by Ila's tight grip on his neck and the fact that Karys had addressed him like nothing had happened, they weren't angry with him. Light, they even appeared relieved to have run into him. Him, of all people.
They started up again, with Natael trailing after them uncertainly.
"Are you alright?" Mazrim asked the girls. He'd noticed that Karys's arm was heavily bandaged.
"Huh-uh," they both replied with exaggerated casualness.
He scowled suspiciously. "How did you get here?"
"Logain took us with him," Karys explained. Before Mazrim had time to feel outraged about that, she went on. "He said you were a Darkfriend."
Count on Logain flaming Ablar to traumatise two innocent children for no reason. "I was," Mazrim said softly.
"Why?" Ilawen wanted to know.
"Because…" He trailed off, searching for an answer to give her, preferably something that would make sense to her. "Because I was stupid," he said eventually.
"Aw, that's alright," the younger girl reassured him matter-of-factly. She patted his shoulder. "Boys are always stupid."
Mazrim heard Natael snigger behind them. "Boys may be stupid, but girls are evil," the bard countered.
"Peace, man. They're just kids," Mazrim scolded him.
"Oh, is that why they're so short?" Natael retorted.
"You're silly," Ilawen said, giggling.
"I am rubber, and you are glue. Whatever you say bounces off me, and sticks to you." Where did that come from? Mazrim thought incredulously. Both girls were laughing now. Natael truly was full of surprises.
As they approached the command tent, Mazrim told them all to wait outside while he looked for Neya. Ilawen protested grumpily, clutching his neck, but when he offered to hand her over to Natael, she squealed in delight, to the reformed Forsaken's horror. He held the little girl gingerly, as if she were a particularly dangerous type of venomous snake.
Chaos reigned inside the tent. There were Aes Sedai and Wise Ones, and they were apparently arguing, quite loudly. A few men were observing the women warily, shuffling their feet. Mazrim barely noticed them, however. He had spotted the person he was looking for.
Neya was sitting at a table with Demandred, just the two of them sitting side by side. They were talking animatedly, obviously discussing the documents that lay between them. At least, she was animated. Demandred was his usual stoic self. Mazrim felt a sharp spike of jealousy, felt it like a barbed arrow through his heart. Not content with taking Neya away from him in the dead of night, the blasted man had enthralled her somehow, and even had the gall to marry her. It wasn't fair! She belonged with Mazrim. She carried his child, for goodness' sake!
As though they still shared a bond, as though she'd sensed his presence, Neya looked in Mazrim's direction. A dazzling smile illuminated her face when she saw him. She got up, practically ran to him and hugged him fiercely. He returned the embrace as strongly as he dared. Light, but she smelled wonderful. How was it even possible, after the battle? He smelled like sweat and mud and worse. Come to think of it, he probably should have washed up before setting out to find her. It didn't appear to bother Neya, however. "You're alright," she murmured. "Thank the Light."
"I'm fairly certain that it's due more to you than to some divine intervention of the Light," he whispered back. Several people turned to glare at him, but Mazrim ignored them. Demandred hadn't moved from his chair; he wasn't even looking in their direction. "How are you feeling?" he asked Neya anxiously.
She disentangled herself from him and took a step back. Mazrim let her go reluctantly. "I'm fine. Where's Jasin? I mean…Asmodean? Is he alright? Have you seen him?"
Natael was the last thing on his mind at the moment, but he indulged her. "He's outside," he replied. "He's…" Mazrim hesitated. Natael wasn't exactly fine, was he? Neya was gazing at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "He's, um, unharmed. Don't fret." He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. Light, she was beautiful.
"I Healed you," she told him softly.
He snorted. "Yes, so I'm told. Though 'Healed' is a euphemism in this case, it seems."
Neya shook her head. "No, I mean I cleansed you from the taint," she clarified. Mazrim was speechless for a moment. He stared at her in utter shock. "I did it at the same time as I…well, you know." She shrugged sheepishly under his scrutiny.
Had she really Healed the madness in him? He didn't feel any different. Well, he did, but he'd assumed that was an after-effect of being…resuscitated. Everything seemed oddly bright and colourful. He didn't feel as…numb as he did before, either. Not that it was a particularly good thing, to be honest. It felt like every emotion he'd suppressed in the last few months was coming back with a vengeance.
He'd never quite realised before how much he considered Neya as a part of himself, or how much he had missed her. Suddenly, it was all he could do not to strangle Demandred with his bare hands. It would likely result in Mazrim's impromptu death, but did it really matter? He couldn't live without her. The bloody man had taken away everything he had.
He wasn't giving up quite yet, however. He did have an ace up his sleeve. Two, in fact. "Someone wants to see you," he told Neya with a faint smile, indicating the tent opening.
Karys was restless. She was fairly certain that Ilawen had fallen asleep in the fancy-dressed man's arms; she could hear her little sister snoring softly. The man himself – Natael, she thought Mazrim had called him – was standing rigidly next to her. He looked petrified, although Karys couldn't see why. Ila wasn't even moving, and she wasn't that heavy.
It had been a long day. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since they'd left the Black Tower with Logain. The new leader had been reluctant to allow them to come, but Karys had insisted. This was the Last Battle, and everyone's help would be needed. They could cook or help the wounded or even scavenge useful things on the battlefield, things the Asha'man would be too busy to attend to. There was no way she would be left behind. She had been training for this, practicing her sword forms daily with the short blade Neya had given her.
She hadn't understood what was happening at first. A commotion had started at Mazrim's palace, and Sora and the other women had gathered all the children and hidden in the old barn, one of the few original buildings. Then Logain had emerged from Mazrim's palace with some Dedicated and Soldiers, looking bedraggled. They claimed that Mazrim and his Asha'man had all turned to the Shadow, but that they had been driven out.
It had never occurred to Karys that Mazrim could be a Darkfriend. He didn't look like a bad person, or act like one. For that matter, she hadn't thought the rest of the Asha'man were evil, except maybe that bully Coteren and a few others. Mazrim had abandoned them, after Neya disappeared, but that alone didn't make him a Darkfriend, surely. He must have done something else, something worse. Logain had mentioned Turning, but she wasn't sure what that meant.
It was a good thing that Atal and Trygg had adopted them, after Mazrim's...change of heart – though they'd assured Karys that it was only temporary, and they'd promised that Neya would come back for them as soon as she was able. Trygg had left Atal for a while, though Karys didn't know why, and they'd stayed with the Dedicated while Atal lived at the palace, alone. But it hadn't lasted; Atal had returned a few weeks later, and Trygg and he had made their peace.
If not for Trygg and Atal, Karys would be dead, and her sister, too.
The monsters had appeared out of nowhere while they were tending to the wounded at the Black Tower camp – those with injuries that didn't warrant an evacuation to Mayene. There hadn't been many channelers around at the time, because most of them were engaged in battle somewhere else – against the Seanchan, Karys thought, or maybe assisting them, it wasn't clear to her. The few men who were there were already tired and weak from fighting earlier.
Karys should have been terrified when the big wolf creature had run toward Ilawen and her, but she knew what to do, and she was ready for it. This was what she'd been training for. When the wolf was almost upon them, she'd ducked, pushing a paralysed Ilawen out of the way. The monster had lost its balance, heavy and ungainly as it was, and Karys had tripped it with her sword. It had landed on the ground with a crash, growling, but before it could get back on its paws, Karys had jumped on its back and buried her blade in its neck. It had made an odd gurgling sound as blood spurted out of the wound, but it hadn't lasted very long. When she was satisfied that it was dead, Karys had gathered her sister and they'd run as fast as they could, hoping to put some distance between them and the rest of the creatures.
She'd almost run into another one of the beasts. There were fires everywhere, and the thickening smoke made it hard to see. This one's head looked like a distorted hawk, with a beak where its mouth should have been. It had been hacking at Sora and Gadren Grady, backing them into a large tent that had caught fire. Sora was already injured and bleeding badly, because she was obviously trying to shield Gadren with her body. Without a moment's hesitation, Karys had slashed the monster's hamstrings with a smooth gesture of her blade. That was one of the spots Neya said she should aim for when facing an enemy bigger than herself. The hawk had let out an ululating cry as it fell on its knees and then it had been a simple matter of seeking the neck once more. This one had made no sound as it died.
As Karys made her way to her friend and his mother, however, the tent had collapsed, the flames trapping them all inside. Ilawen was knocked out cold by a falling piece of wood and the fire was creeping closer rapidly. Karys had tried to lift the beam, but to no avail. She wasn't strong enough. The smoke was making her eyes water, and the heat left her dizzy. She was going to pass out, and they would die. They would be burned alive.
And then Atal had appeared, dispelling fire and smoke alike and lifting the beam with the Power. Trygg had followed a moment later, looking grimy but determined. By then Karys could barely breathe, let alone move. She felt exhausted. Her left arm was throbbing painfully. She was vaguely aware that she was being carried, and that was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the First's palace in Mayene.
The First herself, Berelain, had been attending to them, for a while anyway. She was very beautiful, like a princess from the fairytales Granny used to read to them when they were little. She was really nice, too.
Ilawen had been sound asleep in another bed, apparently unharmed, and Gadren was sitting in a chair in their overcrowded room, but Sora was nowhere to be seen. Gadren told Karys that she was dead. He looked very pale, but he wasn't crying. Maybe boys never cried. Boys were strange.
She'd wandered along the long corridors for a time while she waited for her sister to wake up. That was when she'd heard the rumours. The Light had won, but that was hardly the news that Karys had chosen to focus on. People whispered that Mazrim had come back to the Light, and another Forsaken as well, although Karys wasn't sure which one. No one seemed to know for certain, because the battle was very messy and complicated.
When she'd found Atal in a nearby room, Karys had learned that Neya was spotted at Merrilor, but Karys hadn't insisted on details. Atal had been badly injured when they'd made their way out of the camp. His left arm ended in a stump, and Trygg was still unconscious. Atal explained that he'd been hit on the head with a cudgel, and that the Healers didn't know if he would wake up. Atal looked worried and exhausted, so Karys hadn't bothered him too long.
When she'd walked back to her room, Ilawen was eating some broth with her customary appetite and Gadren was gone. Karys recounted what she'd heard and they'd decided to go back to Merrilor to find Neya and Mazrim - either or both. A kindly Brown Aes Sedai with a drawn face had opened a small gateway for them, but had urged Karys to return soon because her arm still required Healing.
They had walked around the camp for a long time, asking after Neya, but no one knew her or where she was. They'd quickly stopped asking after Mazrim; that only earned them suspicious glares and muttered curses.
And then they'd run into him. Of course, Ilawen had literally run into him, as she sometimes did, but this time he hadn't appeared to mind, not like the first time she'd done it. In fact, he seemed glad to see them. He didn't know where Neya was, but apparently she really was here, somewhere.
Karys was considering whether Mazrim would be angry if she stepped inside the tent to help him look when someone lifted the tent flap and Neya stepped out, shielding her eyes against the blazing sun. She froze when she saw Karys, her mouth hanging open. Then Neya strode toward her, fell to her knees and hugged her fiercely.
"I'm sorry, honey," Neya whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Karys thought Neya was crying, and then she realised that she was crying, too.