Neotar and the Haran, with the Gaidin close behind them, broke through the tree line to see the two hundred yards of cleared landscape; the great hill on which was mounted the proud capital of the Borderland Alliance. On the hill of Fal Dara, Neotar built an empire which was rivaled by none. On the hill of Fal Dara, Asmodean redeemed himself before the eyes of the Creator for all his sins of the past. On the hill of Fal Dara was the symbol of Asmodean's defiance, the symbol of Asmodean's freedom, the symbol of Asmodean's labor, the symbol of Asmodean's hope.
On that hill was a pile of rubble.
Neotar reared his horse to a violent stop and swayed perilously in the saddle, as though he was about to faint. More tears drew up in his face from the wicked wind, and they were whipped away as quickly as they came. For a long moment, the only sound in the air was the ear-splitting whistle of the winds as the riders emerged from the tree line to see the terrible sight.
"Fal Dara is taken!" roared the King to Adherbal, who stood like a rock. All the Haran did--as did the Gaidin, for that matter. It was quite a welcome to the Borderlands, to see it's capital reduced to ruins. Neotar slammed a gauntleted hand brutally against his own face and drew a deep breath. It was as though he was mesmerized by the sight of his capital destroyed, and couldn't take his eyes from it.
"Damn the Creator!" Neotar roared after a long, silent moment and blood trickled down his brow. "Damn him! And damn me! We are all damned! Doomed and damned are we!" He turned to Adherbal, his hoary brows soaking in the blood of his forehead where he had hit himself. "Fal Dara is taken!" repeated the King, and then under his breath he murmured hoarsely, "Surely this is the end..."
And with that Neotar reached up to his shoulder and drew Shai'tsorvonda in one smooth motion. The blade, forged with steel by the One Power on the slopes of Thakandar showered azure sparks in a long arc and then Neotar dug his heels into the flank of his stallion and lurched forward, galloping up the hill leaning low over his mount. The Haran too lunged after their King in an instinctive reaction, and the Gaidin followed closely.
This time, as opposed to being swept away, the King's shouts seemed to swirl on the wind, echoing with almost a mad laughter. Despite herself Rhys shivered; all the rumors they had heard in the south, and not the slightest hint of this.
Fal Dara looked like an earthquake had hit it, yet the continued existence of the trees they had emerged from spoke a different story. Clearly this destruction had been wrought with the One Power.
Unconsciously urging her horse to go faster, she stared at the city. Clearly it had been an impressive sight at one time. A day ago? A week? But where the city walls had once boldly stood, now only a pile of charred rubble remained. One watch tower yet stood in seeming defiance, but as she rode closer it was revealed for a hollow shell, only half its arch still standing. At its highest point, a carrion bird crouched. What was left of the Tower swayed under the weight of the bird; it would not last long.
Entering the city, the scene was much the same; piles of rubble or a burnt-out husk of a building the only sign that this was once a thriving city. Even the Warders appeared wide eyed, and not a few made a sign to ward off evil as they followed Neotar and the Haran deeper into the city.
By nature their course zigzagged, monstrous piles of rubble forcing them to backtrack in places. Yet still they pressed on; clearly Neotar had a reason to reach the citadel, and she only hoped it was a reason grounded in hope and not despair.
Forced to backtrack once again, Rhys attention was drawn to a single chair that stood unburnt amidst a pile of charred rubble. Somehow that sight seemed sadder then any other and she felt a pang of sympathy for the king. His capital was gone and his people scattered. How did you begin to rebuild from something like this?
In the middle of a small plaza the party came to an abrupt halt and almost without thinking she turned to backtrack once again, only be caught in mid-motion by a shout.
"Myrdraal," the voice screamed and in half a moment the metallic rasp of a hundred and fifty blades being drawn at once filled the plaza.
Rhys embraced Saidar without a moments thought, already weaving fire when another voice took up the cry. Spinning left another of the creatures identified itself, and another, and another. Her heart sank as one after another Myrdraal and Trollocs stepped from the shadows. They were surrounded in a matter of seconds, the men already moving in to attack when she realized the obvious. She couldn't sense them. She was less then twenty feet from Shadowspawn and she couldn't feel their evil. Her blood ran cold and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine; someone had masked their presence.
"Dreadlords," she screamed, in a vain effort to give the men some warning before it was too late.
The first of the Trollocs leapt into the fray wielding wicked blades curved the wrong way, and fell quickly against the steel blades. More took the place of those who were fallen, and in a moment the once mostly silent plaza was echoing with the clash of steel against steel, the guttural animal cries of the Trollocs as they were cut down, the screams of pain from the men as the enemy breached blade and armor to find flesh. Radal Gaidin was roaring out orders to get the Aes Sedai under protection, while Ashin Gaidin--no stranger to battle or the Borderlands--was valiantly wading out into the enemy, his blade working as an extension of his arm, a human weapon. Adherbal was fighting at the opposite side of the square, his blade spraying black blood in fountains. Neotar was being forcibly pulled out of the fray by two of the Haran much to his violent protest, and his mouth was opened wide in fierce cries that were swept away by the clashing of man against beast.
As Rhys was being hustled back by the Gaidin, she grabbed at her ear, fumbling for the charm Daedalus had given. It came away in her hand, looking for all the world like a silver ship sailing on a pleasant wind. With a quick prayer to the Creator that help would come in time, she snapped the piece in two. If this didn't count as an emergency, she didn't know what did.
In her hand the token reverted to its original appearance. An unlit torched, carved from a piece of wood, now broken in two. Shoving the pieces into her pocket she jolted her horse into motion, as the three Gaidin at her side cried out in unheard protest. She had to get to the King.
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Far away, on the other side of the Borderlands, Daedalus fought a desperate battle of survival against an enemy that he knew he could never defeat. The small band of Watchmen desperately wove shields and re-wove them as they collapsed beneath the relentless assault of the Dreadlords. Then the call came. Daedalus gasped as cold washed over him from head to toe as the warning from the Alarm he had given to Rhys swept over him. Daedalus' eyes met Kincaid's in near terror. There was only one possible reason for the Alarm to have been used: the King's life was in imminent danger.
"The King is in danger!" Daedalus roared to the Watchmen. "We must get through!"
All at once the Watchmen went from defensive tactics to an all-out assault borne by ferocity unequaled across the breadth of the world. Their King's life was in danger. They would win through; there was no other option. The sheer suddenness and fury of the Watchmen's attack took the Dreadlords completely by surprise. Daedalus wove the Skimming Gate so fast he nearly lost control of the pattern and killed them all, but it popped into existence and the Watchmen dove through onto the platform. Daedalus guided the platform along the trace of Saidin left by the Alarm on the desperate flight to the King. He spared enough attention to address the men.
"Dark days are ahead, no matter the outcome of the next hour. What you must all remember is that you are the Northern Watch: Bordermen with the power to destroy armies and nations, and to defend them as well. Our King is in danger, our homes are in danger, and the people we swore a sacred oath to defend are in danger. If this is the day that we die, let it at least have meaning; make our sacrifice worth it. The Borderlands shall never fall, to this we pledge our lives and our strength. May Peace someday favor our swords," The men listened in solemn silence, each to his own thoughts. After another moment, Daedalus lifted his hand and the Watchmen drew their blades, prepared to give death, and to receive it if need be.
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"Move! Move! Move!" screamed Neotar. The worst thing they could do was to hunker down, and if they didn't get some inertia immediately they'd be tied down and they would all die where they stood, in this little plaza in the city that was once Fal Dara. Shaking one of the Haran off his arm violently he stood up in his stirrups and raised Shai'tsorvonda high. Sapphire sparks shone tracing the blade's path, and the very air around the sword seemed to crackle with energy. He turned to see a band of Tar Valoners led by Ashin Gaidin breaking through on the other side, and the man's mouth was wide open shouting something that Neotar couldn't hear, and beckoning wildly for others to follow. Something snarled to the King's left, and without though the pulled back his blade and thrust it into the Trolloc at his side, which had somehow made it past the Haran.
Spurring his mount forward, the King ripped his sword roughly from the beast's chest, and after a brief but ferocious engagement, suddenly he and about fifteen or twenty of the Haran were out of the trap, hurdling down a thin street, the stallions the Haran rode leaping deftly over the rubble obscuring the path.
*********************************************
A fair number of Gaidin stayed in the plaza, the greatest swordsmen in the world flowing smoothly from one stance to another, cutting the enemy to pieces. Determined not to lose one Warder more then she had to, Rhys gave up throwing around fireballs fairly quickly, discovering instead that it was far more efficient to weave the flows directly around her target.
"Protect the King," she'd ordered, in the few seconds of calm she'd had before all chaos had broken loose. Protect the King, but for the most part the Warders seemed fairly focused on protecting her: a realization that had her frantically breaking away from the battle and pushing her mount through the broken city to reach Neotar's side.
***************************************************
Nearly a score of the Watchmen stood solemnly on the platform moving through motionless black in the nothingness of Skimming. Each man was absorbed in his own thoughts, hoping, praying they would be there soon enough to save their King. And as the exit Gate snapped open and the Watchmen flung themselves forward, Saidin was already being woven. In the instant that they came through the Gate all hell broke loose. But it was the Watchmen who did the dying. Wards had been set all around, and now men's bodies exploded in flames, or were ripped apart as threads of Air whipped at them, or they disappeared in bloody heaps as rocks ripped from the ground to pummel them. Shields went up as quick as possible, but for many it was not quick enough. Only five Watchmen remained alive, and two of them were injured. Not a moment was spared for wounds or grieving though, there was no time to spare.
Daedalus led the Watchmen in a foot charge into the depths of what had once been Fal Dara, the shock of finding it in such a state sliding emotionlessly outside the Void. The men fanned out behind him, forming a wedge, lashing out with Saidin as they came across small, scattered parties of Trollocs and Myrdraal. Far up ahead, he thought he caught sight of a woman riding hard--Rhys. Daedalus' heart leaped into his throat at the brief sight of her: he feared for her safety every bit as much as he feared for that of Neotar. He had not realized that before, but now he knew with crystallized certainty.
"For Shienar! For King Neotar! Forward the Watch!!" Daedalus roared, lifting his sword high and drawing so deeply on Saidin that his skin burned and the edges of his vision swam with black vileness from the Taint. Lightening crashed down from the sky at his command, sweeping down on the mass of Trollocs and Myrdraal unfolding from the shadows. Saidin attacks joined the lone source of Saidar with devastating effect. The Asha'man had started as weapons in and of themselves, but had evolved into something different, more civilized. The White Tower had never had that way of thinking. The Northern Watch had never strayed from that school of thought, and here and now they proved it. Five men swept through the Trolloc hordes, killing them not by tens or hundreds, but by the thousands. And still they came.
********************************************************
"The Gaidin! The Gaidin! We can't leave them!" roared Neotar, reining in his mount suddenly, arresting the mad flight through the back streets of a leveled Fal Dara.
"My King!" cried Adherbal. "Your life is in danger! The Gaidin can wait!"
Neotar's face twisted angrily. "The Borderlands cannot stand alone! We return for the Gaidin!"
And with those words echoing in the air, Neotar wheeled his mount and was flying back towards the plaza. There was lightening flashing down out of the sky--Dreadlords? Rhys? The Watch?
There wasn't a way in hell the Borderlands could recover from a catastrophe of this scale. If Fal Dara was taken and no one had discovered it yet-that meant all over Shienar--the heart and soul of the Borderland Alliance--strongholds were being destroyed. Where the hell was Eomad and the Army of Shienar? Were they destroyed too? If so, why hadn't he gotten word of it? And if not, how did the Shadowspawn get past them? Questions were raging along the surface of Neotar's mind, but deep in his heart he knew they were useless. This was the revenge of the Dark One. To take away everything Asmodean had and held high, to reduce his holdings to a decrepit pile of rocks belying hidden glory.
He nearly rode down a small rider on a mare which was hurdling towards him.
"Neotar!" she gasped, wavering in her saddle.
It was Rhys Sedai.
"Where's the Gaidin?" asked the King, looking forwards towards the plaza that had been the ambush.
Rhys opened her mouth as though to answer, but then her lips formed an 'o' in the picture expression of surprise, and Neotar turned, Shai'tsorvonda tracing a glimmering swathe of cobalt through the air as he did. An Eyeless stood in the shadows, his dark hood pulled low over his forehead. The Haran, ten paces behind it, let out a cry, and kicked their mounts forward.
The Myrdraal smiled thinly, and it's black lips parted. "Our master beckons," it said, with a voice like crackling leaves, "and he forgets nothing." Those terrible lips curled upwards into a mocking rictus of a smile. "You are his, Nesossin." The thick blade of Adherbal swung downward behind it, and with a slithering, snake-like motion, the Eyeless disappeared back into the shadow. The Captain of the Mordero Haran reined in his mount quickly, the great horse and its massive rider coming close to riding Neotar and Rhys down, his eyes wide.
Rhys looked up sharply, momentarily startled that a Myrdraal would take the time to speak to Neotar. Clearly the man was more important then she suspected, but as she studied his face she knew a moment of fear. His eyes weren't burning with defiance, they weren't full of fiery passion for the cause as one may have expected. They were hard, hard as stone, but there was something else there. Certainly she was no expert at reading emotion, and this man seemed more a puzzle than most. But it was his eyes that gave her pause, and caused an icy shiver to run down her spine.
The King of the Borderlands had a death wish.
The realization was chilling and unconsciously Rhys clutched her reins tighter. Was that indecision that flitted across his face? Was it possible that he didn't know what to do? Could it be that for once in his violent life he had come up against something he couldn't overcome? She suppressed a shiver of sudden fear. Surely not.
But Neotar *didn't* know what to do. The destruction wasn't limited to Fal Dara. This was the revenge of the Dark One, and it would destroy everything. No one had ever stood up against the Dark One as Asmodean had. But he wasn't even Asmodean anymore. Once, he had been Joar Addam Nesossin, but he forsook that life under the Light for one under the Dark One, and became Asmodean. Joar Addam Nesossin ceased to exist. And then Asmodean forsook the Dark One, to pursue a life as a free man. He was Asmodean no more, and he became King Neotar of the Borderlands. But now the Dark One was taking that from him. King Neotar was nothing without the Borderlands. By destroying the Borderlands, the Dark One was destroying the new identity of His unfaithful servant, taking away the one thing that made Neotar himself. Only the Dark One could manage to kill a man twice. Once, the Dark One killed Joar Addam Nesossin, and now he was killing Neotar, but the man that was both those men still lived, if an existence without purpose, without cause, could be called living.
The Haran looked at their King expectantly, waiting for orders from the man who could overcome any difficulty, from the man they saw as the Creator in flesh. But when he finally opened his mouth to speak, it wasn't in the secure, rigid voice of the leader of the most powerful alliance in the world. It wasn't in the solid voice of King Neotar. It seemed to them the voice of another man, a man resigned to death.
"All is lost," whispered King Neotar. "I have been killed once, yet I still live. How many times must a man be killed before he is dead? Where is my escape? Where is my warrior's death..." The Haran stood stock-still, blinking. Was this their King?
And then he stood in his stirrups, saying to them in a voice which begged for finality: "Soldiers, brave as you are to no end, if you crave to face the last fight with me, and no doubt of it, how matters stand for us each one can see. The God by whom this kingdom once stood has abandoned us." The King smiled fatalistically, and he paused, his eyes open but looking inward, rolling over his own words. The Dark One killed Joar Addam Nesossin, and try as He would to kill Neotar, the King would spit in His face one last time. Only by noble death could he cheat the Dark One of victory over His disloyal subject.
When he spoke again, it was with the brave, courageous voice of Neotar again; the voice of a warrior. "You defend a city lost in flames," he said, swinging an arm to show the ruin that was once Fal Dara. "Come, let us die." Shai'tsorvonda slashed upwards proudly into the air. "The conquered have one safety," cried the King with a renewed confidence as his blade shone with an azure glow, "and that is hope for none!" A mad smile cracked his face and the King began to laugh.
As one, seventeen Borderland-forged blades thrust into the air to echo Shai'tsorvonda as the Haran roared out their approval, their laughter, and in a flurry of motion and sound every man was rushing towards the fray, hooves pounding, sword clanging against shield, every voice raised up in a terrible cry--the cry of doomed men riding eagerly towards the final embrace.
Rhys was cursing by the time she finally got her bloody horse turned around and heading after the King Neotar and his men. Fortunately with the noise and dust the men's stallions threw up, there wasn't much chance she was going to loose them, but even so she pushed her horse to go faster.
By the time she caught up they were in the plaza where the ambush had originally occurred--a plaza that looked somewhat worse for wear, if such was possible. During the course of the original fighting another of the surrounding buildings had fallen inwards, scattering broken bits of rock over the bodies. Trollocs lay everywhere groaning terribly, and through all across the plaza the Haran were already leaning down off their mounts and slipping their swords into the wounded Shadowspawn. There were hundreds of the dead beasts, as well as four still thrashing Myrdraal. Neotar himself was standing in his stirrups, his head tilted back sniffing at the air.
Guiding her mount towards him, Rhys set her jaw set determinedly, in the process steering clear of one of the dying Fades. The creature just didn't want to die and every once in awhile its blindly flailing sword would actually manage a jab into one of the two black-armored corpses who had fallen to its blade; the first casualties of the Mordero Haran.
She knew she was making a mistake; she knew she was going to get herself killed, but she couldn't just let Neotar commit suicide. She'd sworn a vow to do what she could to protect his life, and at the moment protecting his life meant keeping him out of the fray.
Drawing a deep slow breath, the Gray's words echoing in her ears, Rhys maneuvered herself over to the King's side.
She leaned towards him and in a fit of daring placed a tattooed hand gently on his wide shoulder plates. She wanted to be sure he would acknowledge her. "King Neotar," she began in a quiet undertone meant only for his ear, she had no doubt he would carry through on his earlier threat and at the moment she needed him to be as reasonable as possible. Of course he gave no acknowledgement of her, and she resisted the urge to shake him. His nose wrinkled again, sniffing the air, like a hunting wolf. "Fal Dara is gone, and riding into another ambush isn't going to accomplish anything other than getting you well and truly killed. What happens then? You still have a kingdom, you still have people who love and respect you, and right now those people need you more than ever. If you get yourself killed, who is going to rally them? Who is going to drive away the Shadow? The Borderlands are more than Fal Dara, more than Shienar, and while the bricks that built it may lay broken, and its people bleeding, this is *still* the Borderlands."
Neotar cocked his head in another direction, sniffing sharply at the air again. Rhys continued on relentlessly in the same even tone, though at this point, retaining that even tone was a struggle. "I understand how badly you want vengeance, I see how desperate you are to ride into the dark and scour the city of Shadowspawn." The King still wasn't looking at her, but his head was motionless. He was listening. "That is exactly what the Shadow wants you to do. If you ride in there and never right out, what happens? You will have killed a few more Trollocs, but Trollocs breed. In the end, your life is a hundred times more valuable than the death of a thousand Trollocs." Beside her, one of the Haran leaned down off his mound and with a strong stroke jabbed his blade into a body lying on the ground near her. The Trolloc on the ground let out a weak snarl and spat out a gob of black blood before dying.
"The light needs you," Rhys urged quietly, very quietly, "your people need you, and whether you realize it or not, you are the heart of the Borderlands. If you die today, you hand the Shadow a victory of untold proportions. There is something to be said for living to fight another day."
Neotar said nothing for a long moment. Had she gotten through to him? Beneath all that miserable honor was there reason?
He turned his head slowly, looking her deep in the eye for a long moment, interrupted only by the dying growls of Trollocs. A face begging for hope looked back at him. It could have been the face of his people staring him back in the eye, pleading with him for a glimmer of light in the cold, dark barren days of their harsh and dark existence. The King's horse snorted quietly and shook his mane. Aes Sedai Rhys was, but so innocent, so naive. He was like that once.
When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice deep in the back of his throat, as if it were wringing itself out of his soul, twisting and writhing until it dripped up his throat and out of his mouth. "I have done my part for the people of these lands, child." Coming from any other man it would have been a sign of intense disrespect, but his words were like that of a battered old man telling his grandchildren of the hard days of his youth. "I challenged the scourge of the world and it has come."
A heavy gauntleted hand dropped on Rhys' shoulder and as her own hand slid from Neotar's shoulder plate she realized her words hadn't touched him. The King pressed his weathered forehead against that of the Aes Sedai. "I will spit in His eye one last time. My time is up, my thread bare." A detached smile touched his face as he pulled back and looked into her eyes. "It is a matter between the Dark One and myself now, at this late hour. The light of the Borderlands has drifted south."
The King spread his arms wide and kicked his horse gently, drawing him away from the stunned Aes Sedai. "Riddles and diddles, to ponder and puzzle!" he cried suddenly, spreading his arms wide and tossing his head backwards in a mad laugh.
The spell he had cast was broken, and he cried out to the Haran who were spread about the plaza, "Let us fight battles worthy of song! Let us win our seats next to Hawking and Eagle Eye! Come, we ride into the flames!"
And the King spurred his mount forward, drawing his sword and charging off into the darkness.
Cursing Rhys followed. She'd tried, she had. What else could she say to him? Nothing that would sway him, she was certain of that much. Why did he have to be so pig headed? Why did any of them have to be so pig headed? And how was she to keep him safe in the middle of crumbling city swarming with Trollocs, and worse.
Almost immediately their small group was set upon by Trollocs, the men jumping almost gleefully into the fray. Was there a particular reason why every Borderlander she'd met seemed to have a penchant for death? Perhaps it was men in general, as not a few of the Warder's had exhibited a similar glee. Men were so bloody stupid, she only hoped Daedalus had more sense. Where in the world was he? Would he be able to get Neotar to see reason? Or would he only encourage the man further?
Hurling a fireball at a Myrdraal that suddenly emerged from the shadow of a broken building, she reflected wryly that even if he did encourage Neotar, at least he would be there. At the moment another channeller would be more then welcome. At the moment a dozen Red sisters, with the worst of their lectures, would be welcome.
All around her the men were a whir of motion, though she hardly noticed. She would keep Neotar safe if she had to incinerate every Myrdraal in this cursed city. She just wished she was strong enough to do so. Strong enough to incinerate every Myrdraal, and every Trolloc, and every other danger that might threaten. Neotar was not going to die from her lack of trying.
Continuing to weave fire, a detached part of her mind couldn't help noticing just how simple the weave was, almost a repetitive motion but for every creature she burned and every one that lay gutted in the plaza, another appeared out of nowhere. Where the hell was Daedalus?
Across the plaza a shout went up. Rhys had never been so pleased to see a group of Warders riding towards her. Every man they could rally meant a little more help. Every man they could rally gave them a few more minutes in which a miracle could occur and at the moment she was not above wishing for miracles.
With a renewed burst of energy she flung fire at the Myrdraal that stood between the two groups, gratified when the creature's death reduced several of the Trollocs to writhing hulks on the ground. Ten, fifteen warders she counted. She would have preferred the entire Expeditionary Army with Jakope and all, but at least they would double their numbers. She *would* keep Neotar safe.
The Warders crossed the plaza in a matter of seconds and she was already formulating orders when one of them grabbed her reins.
The man, an older gruff faced Warder that she didn't recognize gestured the other men to encircle her and mercilessly began dragging her horse away from Neotar. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded brusquely.
"Getting you out of this city," he answered in a voice that brooked no nonsense. "What you may not have noticed is that this city has become a death trap and nobody is going to say that a hundred Warders couldn't keep one Sister safe. You are coming with us."
"I can't," she fairly screamed, yanking her reins out of the man's grasp. "Right now King Neotar's life is more important then mine, and if he doesn't leave the city alive, you'll have more to worry about then the death of one Sister. I am not leaving him."
Kicking her horse into motion she dove between the men's horses. She had no doubt they would try to stop her but at least she didn't have to worry about them trying to kill her. When she was free she kicked her horse into motion. Fear and worry certainly did wonders for her riding skills.
In the time she had been distracted, King Neotar and his men had made it to the far side of the plaza, a realization that made her want to curse. Damn them, she was right, Warders were more trouble then they were worth. Why in the world did Green Sisters bond so many of them? They had better not try to stop her again.
Halfway across the plaza three Myrdraal and two dozen Trollocs suddenly stepped into her path. She channeled frantically, she didn't have time for this. Why wouldn't the wretched creatures just die and be done with it. Did she have to hit each one with its own individual fireball? Damn it, King Neotar was getting further and further away.
It wasn't until a flurry of motion at her side indicated the Warders had caught up that she realized her own danger. One sister could not single handedly fight her way through this entire city. Like it or not she needed these men, a realization that made her want to grind her teeth in frustration.
"I'm going after King Neotar," she fairy growled. "If you want to protect me, then come. But don't think for a moment you can hustle me out of this city, like it or not I have a job to do."
It was then that a terrible swathe of destruction burst into them, and as the blood flew freely, suddenly leaping before her and the Gaidin were five men, each with a mad glint in his eye and looking more dangerous than any Gaidin ever had. Five blades were held in five experienced hands, blade and body dripping with black blood, but somehow she knew it wasn't just swordsmanship that made these men living weapons. But the face in the middle was familiar, and the fire in his eyes didn't soften, but changed somehow.
"Where is the King?!" Daedelus cried over the roar of battle without time for pleasantries.
"Up ahead," she shouted, pointing in the general direction of the Citadel where he had last been headed. "I tried to stop him. It's a trap, he knows it's a trap, but he didn't care. He gave up. He rode in there to die and not one of the Mordero Haran tried to stop him."
Daedalus felt cold sweep over him. His King had lost hope. But that coldness was quickly replaced by determination. He had been warned of this day by Neotar himself. Shortly after Neotar had commissioned the Watchmen, he had said to Daedalus: "The Northern Watch must bear the flame of hope no matter how dark the day. You and your men must be stronger than any of us, for we will someday need that strength. Someday even I may lose hope, that is the day when you must truly be the Torchbearer."
That time had come, Daedalus only hoped that he was equal to the task.
"Come," she said, shifting her reins slightly in order to offer him a hand up. "There is still time and he will listen to you. He is too important to die, the Borderlands need him, the Light needs him and I would imagine that you do too."
Daedalus wrapped his arm behind her stirrup and picked his feet off the ground, so that he could move as quickly as the White Tower soldiers, but not be hindered by being mounted. The other four men found horses to grip in the same manner as Daedalus.
Kicking her horse into motion, Rhys felt a moment of intense relief. Neotar would listen to Daedalus. They would get to him in time and they would pull him out. This terrible nightmare would be resolved.
She resisted the urge to laugh in relief, or terror, or any one of the thousand emotions that flitted through her. Hope. Perhaps Daedalus was the miracle she'd half prayed for. He'd brought hope and that in itself was a miracle. His presence beside her was rock solid and the relief it afforded her was palatable. For the briefest of moments she almost understood the Greens.
She was only vaguely aware of the Warders who followed them, her attention fixed firmly in the desperate need to reach Neotar's side. Even Daedalus's presence faded slightly from her mind. Between them they cut a path of destruction through the city and she didn't think she could have said where her channeling left off and his began.