Neotar and the Haran pushed deeper and deeper into the city,
fighting viciously. The desperate odds doubled their fighting spirit; from that
time on, like predatory wolves in fog and darkness, through thick spear-like
arrow flights and Shadowspawn at every turn, they ran for certain death, the
thick storm-clouds casting a cavernous black night over and around the city as
thick snowflakes began to fall. In
windows on the streets, in homes, on solemn porch of the citadel, Trollocs
stood and fell, paying the price to their Dark Lord with their very lives,
falling to the ferocious blades of the Mordero Haran. Manhood returns fire even
to the conquered, but everywhere the Haran went they saw in their minds faces
of men and women they knew, familiar inns of the city, now burnt out piles of
rubble housing not travelers, but the enemy. Grief everywhere, everywhere
terror, and all shapes of death.
Neotar himself rode in the front, and in the beginning few of the enemy could
stand their ground in the face of his wrath; those that could, died.
Shai'tsorvonda was at work, the lust and dark glory of battle was upon the King
of the Borderlands, and with every sword thrust, with every Trolloc that fell he
let out a mad cry--of anger? Of joy? None could tell, but as they sank deeper
and deeper into the city the resistance stiffened.
Soon the King and his men were wading through enemy troops, who were now
standing their ground rather than retreat as they had. Was it a trap? Or more
likely, what was behind them that they feared more than the terrible wrath of
the Bordermen? If these questions passed into the mind of Neotar and the
Mordero Haran, they gave no sign of it. They were intent on the killing, reveling
in it, splashing about in the dark Trolloc blood and laughing with the joy of
battle. They didn't notice the dense flakes pouring out of the sky, they didn't
notice the pain of their wounds, they only had their minds to search out more
dark flesh to hew.
As Neotar struck down a particularly large and vicious Trolloc, he found
suddenly behind it a tall, dark form with a pasty maggot-like complexion: an
Eyeless. The King's sturdy mount, by some devilry he didn't understand, reared
up suddenly--perhaps struck with fear at the gaze of the Eyeless--and as Neotar
struggled valiantly to stay in the saddle, the black steel of Thakandar whipped
out and slashed down across the loyal animal's throat. Neotar's horse fell, and
he with it, armor clanging loudly upon him. The Myrdraal stepped slowly towards
its fallen adversary, its blade wet with the blood of the Borderland stallion.
Thoughtlessly it raised its blade, and behind him the King heard the frantic
shouts of the Mordero Haran as they realized that the moment they had dread was
upon them.
As the Myrdraal looked down at its victim, it expected to see a cowering man
fearing death, but instead it found itself looking into a face more grim than
its own, and in that moment it knew fear. "Stay your blade, vile
creature," roared the King from the ground, and as if it were under
Neotar's command, its black blade halted in the air. The Mordero Haran stopped,
surprised beyond all hope, when they heard their lord cry out, "And now I
sent you to your maker!" The Myrdraal erupted in a violent burst of
flames, and as they stood amazed, the King pulled himself out from under his
mount and went leaping towards the citadel.
They dutifully followed, most of them unhorsed by this point. They broke
through a thin line of Trollocs before breaking through to the open space in
front of the gates of the citadel, which were closed, and surprisingly enough,
intact. Neotar turned before the great doors of the citadel, limping slightly,
a mad smile painted across his bloodstained face. It had been a trap. Trollocs
poured out of every entrance to the square, scores at a time, and reacting
admirably quickly in the face of ultimate doom, the last of the Haran retreated
into a loose circle around their King at the steps of his keep. The Trollocs
didn't attack at first, more and more of them emptying into the square like
cockroaches. And when there were at least ten score of them, they threw
themselves against the enemy, and so began the last stand of the greatest King
of All the Borderlands before the wrecked gates of his ruined capital.
************************************************
Daedalus slipped from where he hung from Rhys's saddle and brought his sword sweeping forward in a vicious arc as they slammed into the rear of the Trollocs and other Shadowspawn surrounding the gates of the Citadel. As he swung the blade through the underhand arc, the very tip of it scraped along the ground, sending up a high pitched grating, that resolved into a perfectly tuned ring as the tip came away from the ground. The ringing was silenced by the meaty thunk of the blade sinking into the Trolloc before him, cleaving the beast nearly in two.
"Shienar!!" Daedalus screamed as he seized Saidin yet again. "Forward the Northern Watch!" with that he released the weave he had prepared and the ground before him erupted as jagged shards of stone ripped themselves from the ground and hurtled forward into the ranks of the Shadowspawn. The four other Watchmen followed suite and it was like a tidal wave of death crashing down upon the Dark One's troops. Flame, rocks, lightening, mud heated to boiling, magma flowing up from the ground, other monsters simply exploded as their blood and bodily fluids were heated so quickly that they instantly turned to steam. When the initial assault of Saidin ended, then the White Tower troops slammed into the fray.
"Neotar! For King Neotar!" the Watchmen cried as they swept into the midst of the mounted Warders, blades darting to and fro, like shadows of death, flitting from one victim to the next. Their fanatical need to save their king propelling them to feats of swordsmanship and mastery of Saidin few had seen since the Age of Legends. And still the Shadow hordes kept them from Neotar and his beleaguered force. Daedalus once again found himself near Rhys, his back pressed to the barrel chest of her mount at times in the press of the fighting, other times, he stood next to her stirrup on one side or the other. He caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye, and his hand was a blur of motion as it darted beneath his cloak and flashed out again, flinging a throwing hatchet, sending it sailing millimeters behind Rhys's head and square in the middle of the face of the Trolloc that had been about to club her from her saddle from a blind spot.
"Watch your back," he said with a smile full of grim humor. Then it was back to the bloody business of war. The silk of his coat had long since been destroyed by the blood and gobbets of flesh clinging to it. A Fade came to face him, striking with its snake quick, fluid attacks. Daedalus slipped its guard with his sword and grabbed it by the throat. "Die you bloodless son of a bitch!" Daedalus hissed as Saidin coursed through him and the Fade simply exploded in a cloud of ash, so hot were the fires of its immolation.
*********************************************
As the terrible fight to reach their King ensued, Neotar himself stood on the
ruined steps as the Haran fought desperately against the surrounding foe, and
he watched, knowing that certain death was at his doorstep. Trollocs flooded the square, and their ranks
stretched back into the roads which fed into it. No hope would come. A
small explosion knocked four of the elite bodyguards forming the human barrier
unexpectedly off their feet, and as Trollocs surged up towards their goal,
Neotar saw a small twisted figure standing high on one of the buildings. Asha'shadar. Beneath him, the Haran were recovering--those who hadn't been
killed struggling back to their feet against the endless floods of Shadowspawn,
and the King laughed. Roaring laughter, echoing all about the square, over the
fierce din of battle his harsh laughter soared.
"Fists upon fists are not sufficient," he said between laughs in an
unnatural voice. He did not shout, he simply spoke yet by some unseen device
his voice pierced through to every ear. "Scores of Eyeless and their
terror cannot overcome me. But my city must first be destroyed, then I must be
ambushed, then led into another ambush with Dreadlord after Dreadlord ready to
secure my doom." He laughed again, and the sound was terrible to the ears
of the Asha'shadar.
"Yet I tell you, it is still not enough!" he snapped suddenly, the
laughter dying and burning embers glowing in his eyes, anger and hatred of the
enemy conquering all other emotion. "For I am no ordinary man!"
Beneath the King, a violent swing of a club to Adherbal's helmet caused him to
drop to his knees, and another Trolloc blade pierced into his side, pushing
through his armor into hard muscle.
Neotar drew Shai'tsorvonda and thrust it into the ground at the footsteps of
the citadel of Fal Dara. It dug into
the hard stone like no blade forged by man could. "I need no blade to
defeat you!" he cried, the sound of his livid voice drowning all other
sound. "For I not only am King of a fallen people, but am Asmodean the
Forsaken and I have seen more days and battles than you blasted children ever
will!"
And as Adherbal fell, bruised and bleeding, his eyes rolling up into his head
and wishing his King a silent apology for his failure, he saw a sight that
would burn itself on his mind.
The Borderland battle armor was whipped off of Neotar, and the King's very
features were changing. Wherever the armor was blown away, a ray of bright
light erupted as though it had been pushing against the armor and had finally
escaped, and where the King had once stood now was a blindly fierce light,
bright as the sun. The Shadowspawn who had been surging up the steps eagerly
now fell back, letting out a shout of terror and covering their eyes. And great
flames suddenly issued forth from the light, scorching fire which spread over
the enemy like water, and the light broke to reveal a proud figure with stern
and grim features--it was not the face of Neotar, but the face of Asmodean, a
man forsaken.
The hidden Asha'shadar began their wary attack as hundreds of their Trollocs
and Myrdraal writhed about on the ground burning and dying. At least eight
separate weaves flew at Neotar, and a familiar prickle in the back of his next
alerted him to the presence of women. The weaves of the Asha'shadar were cut to
pieces by the experienced flows of a man who had been channeling since before
his adversaries were born, and even the Sisters found to their dismay that he
had splintered their attacks as well. The hand of Asmodean thrust forward
towards the building where he had seen the first Dreadlord, and as though he
had tossed an invisible missile, the building collapsed inward upon itself.
More attacks came, staggered, and then dissipated individually under assault by
Asmodean. He laughed again. "The Great Lord did not warn you of my
prowess, did he?" he crowed as he leisurely stopped the very men that he
had trained. "Quite a pity that you cannot overcome a man who wants nothing
more than to die!"
****************************************************
Daedalus looked up from the fray, peering through the heat of battle hoping for a glimpse of his king, and suddenly there he was! Neotar stood at the center of the battle, along with a fluid barricade of Modero Haran, those who still lived. "Neotar!! The Northern Watch has come!" Daedalus screamed out. But it seemed that Neotar was unable to hear him. Daedalus watched in growing horror as he saw Neotar throw back his head in a mad cackle. What was going on!! No, this couldn't possible be happening. Then something happened that burned itself indelibly upon Daedalus' memory for all time. Daedalus felt a new surge of Saidin, but it came from Neotar himself. The stern, grandfatherly face that Daedalus had served unwaveringly for so long melted away and was replaced by one Daedalus had never seen before in his entire life. Then he heard the mad cackle again as Neotar declared his defiance. King Neotar had never been real?! That was Asmodean!? Daedalus was frozen in complete shock for an instant, and then his mind came to a conclusion. Neotar, Asmodean, whoever he was, he had served the Borderlands well for decades, guiding them, bringing peace and prosperity to them. It did not matter what his past was, only what his present was. And in the present, that man was Daedalus' King, and he needed Daedalus' help.
"Shiiieeeennnnnaaaaaaarrrr!!!!" Daedalus roared, the battle cry ripping once more from his throat, this time with more fury and determination than Daedalus had thought possible to be contained in a mere human voice. Daedalus set forth about him with his sword and Saidin, and he was Death incarnate. Nothing could possibly stand in his way as he fought desperately to join his King.
The battle raged, pulsating in the air, every now and then a spear of fire
materialized before dissipating rapidly, far before it reached Asmodean
himself. The square was a mass of
writhing threads of Saidin, straining against each other, bulging and stretching
vainly against the trained prowess of Asmodean. But as more and more attacks came, despair flooded over him, as
well as an inner peace. More Dreadlords were coming; he felt at least twelve
attacks raging at him from several directions. His lip curling in disdain, the
King closed his eyes and snaked a razor of Spirit after one of the attacks he
had shredded, and felt it snap satisfyingly through another attack, and then
through the connection itself. Stilled, one of them. A bolt of lightening struck
his back as he laughed again, and the force of it threw him from his feet, but
still he fought, secure in the Void as his flesh burned. Building upon building
crumbled, his weaves split ten, eleven ways, drawing on as much of the Power
and more than he ever had, the sickly sweet sensation burning him from the
inside as the flames burnt him from the outside. Laying on his back, the King
thrust his hands up to the sky, the pain hammering endlessly upon the weakening
Void, pain beating against his very being. Unendurable heat raged against his
back horribly, snow dropped onto his face in a bitter cold, and suddenly
lightening flew down from the sky in great mass at his bidding. It was as
though the dark clouds had parted to allow the sun to shine upon the fallen
city, so great was this final attack. A last gurgling, choking laugh was drawn
out of him, and then as he reached out for yet more of the Power. The Taint,
the Power, the Dark One overwhelmed him. Fire coursed through his veins for one
violent uncontrollable second and then it was gone, the Void fallen. He spent
his last moments in empty agony before a twisted, leering face leaned over him
and grinned with bloodstained teeth, "You are a fool, Asmodean."
A bright light shone, and as blood drained freely out of his ears and the
corners of his mouth, he embraced it.
And so Neotar fell. It seemed as though the entire world stopped and was held in crystalline stillness. Nothing moved in that endless, eternal moment, except for the dark figure that bent down over the prone body of the man that Daedalus called King. Then the blade went home and the crystal stillness shattered in a scream of agony and loss as Daedalus dropped to his knees in helpless grief. His King was dead. The Borderlands were dying around him. The Shadow's minions ran unchecked across a land that had never fallen in over a thousand years. There was no hope, it was all lost. There was no longer any need to wait for Tarmon Gaidon, for surely it had already arrived here this day, and the Dragon Reborn had not been there to win the day.
Through the heartache and loss, rage began to boil up deep within Daedalus' soul. It was all lost, and not even the Torchbearer of Shienar had the heart to carry this day. But if his King would pass from this world, then he would not go to the final rest alone. He would send as many foul abominations spiraling down into the abyss as he could before he went to his rest next to the body of his King. His cry of anguish changed to a wordless roar of rage and heartache, so terrible that even the Fade that had been charging directly at him faltered in its steps.
Saidin ripped through Daedalus' body with so much force that it seemed that he stood in the heart of a great forge-fire. Balefire leaped from Daedalus' hand in a six inch thick bar, sweeping across the endless sea of Shadowspawn. For several seconds the deadliest of weaves ever devised covered the field of battle in a terrifying display, and then it was gone, and Daedalus reverted to more conventional weaves, but in tremendous proportion. At the same time he charged forward, his sword sweeping forward in a steel blur of promised death. He knew that there were so many Shadowspawn and Dreadlords on the field that eventually he would be overwhelmed, but the Balefire had bought him enough time to inflict the maximum amount of damage possible in that short time he had left in this life. All those who had come with him, his fellow Watchmen, the Warders, the surviving Bordermen, and even Rhys faded from his mind in the mindless, burning, red fury that enveloped him. His only thought was to kill, kill as quickly, and in as much quantity as humanly possible. It was the only thing he had left to him, to exact some small measure of vengeance for the death of his King.
*****************************************************
Rhys sat bolt upright in her saddle her mind monetarily deprived of reason as she witnessed the stroke that marked the end of King Neotar, of Asmodean. Asmodean; the name twisted in her gut, had Neotar spoken truly?
She swallowed heavily. Had she really just risked her life for one of the Forsaken? Had she really liked a Forsaken? Was this truth made any less heinous by the fact that the Dark One had clearly been hell bent on destroying the man? Who was he? And why had he taken such care of the Borderlands? She'd known the man was a puzzle but this revelation surpassed her wildest imaginings. He'd played them all for fools--and she'd defended him.
It took Daedalus' roar of anger, anguish and loss to rouse her from her reverie. Now was not the time for introspection. She could beat herself up later, a process in which she was sure her Sisters in the White Tower would be more then happy to aid. Whoever Neotar was, whatever he'd done, and whatever he'd planned, the people of the Borderlands needed help now and she wasn't about to walk away from them simply because their King had been revealed as a fraud? An abomination? What was he, and why did it matter?
Shaking herself she zeroed her attention in on Daedalus; whoever/whatever the King had been, he was gone and Daedalus was the Borderlands' new hope.
"Daedalus, wait," she screamed, desperate to be heard over the roar of destruction. "He's gone, its too late, we have to get out of the city while we still can, we have to rally the people. We have lost here but the war continues."
He didn't turn, she didn't think he even heard her, so intent was he on his vengeance. "Please Daedalus, the Borderlands need you," she whispered, "I need you." But where a shouted plea did little good a whispered one did no better. He wouldn't stop, she knew that and while she had had no right to force Neotar to save himself, she had no such compulsions about Daedalus.
The Borderlands had lost one leader this day, she would not let them lose another.
All she had to do was make him stop, get him to pause for one moment, just long enough to see sense and as her thoughts raced frantically her mind flashed back to another scene, had it only been a few days ago? A night walk through a courtyard, a tree root arranged just so to make her fall and a grinning Daedalus the trickster behind it all. That moment seemed a distant time, another age and yet it gave her an idea.
Channeling Air, she created a root, dangling it just a few feet in front of him. How could two such completely different moments involve the same people and the same actions? She would not let him die.
"Forgive me," she whispered momentarily surprised to find a film of tears in her eyes. Why did the world seem to revert to slow motion? Why was it that when you were betraying someone who meant the world to you, their pain seemed to stretch on and on? How was it possible that the action of him falling seemed to last forever and why did she want to scream in anguish at the sickening noise his head made as he hit the ground?
She was off her horse and kneeling at his side without having to cross the intervening distance. Frantically she wove a Delving; he had to be alive; she couldn't have just killed him. The level of her relief was crushing when her weaves revealed the truth; he was unconscious, he had a simple concussion--a minor injury that she had no idea how to go about healing. Perhaps it was better this way.
"A concussion," she said aloud for the benefit of the assembled men, "I am not quite sure how to heal it, he will need to recover on his own."
"Bring him," she ordered tersely, waiting only long enough to see her orders carried out before brushing the mud from her clothes and mounting her horse. "We are not quite done," she declared in a tone that left no room for argument. "I need to be sure," she owed him that much at the very least and without a backwards glance she kicked her horse into motion.
Fortunately Daedalus' frenzied attacks had opened a path and she met only minor resistance as she threaded her way towards the site of Neotar's death.
His body was gone.
The putrid stench of death and roasting flesh filled the square, and the sight that greeted her was a terrible one; the ground was a foul mixture of bloody mud and bodies lay strewn all over, may charred and unrecognizable due to the frenzied nature of Neotar's last battle. In the middle of the carnage Neotar's sword stood haphazardly, its blue-black blade pushed roughly into the ground. The sight of it made her breath catch in her throat and she dismounted without a moments thought.
Whoever sought to rally the North would need that blade and Daedalus would never forgive her if she let it fall into enemy hands.
"Check them" she ordered, waving her hands in the general direction of the black-armored corpses of the Modero Haran who littered the ground as she approached the sword almost gingerly. She found the blade disquieting, a sensation of which she couldn't have named the source and despite her intentions to take the thing she found herself almost unwilling to touch it.
Perhaps there was good reason Neotar rarely bared the blade. Shrugging her shawl from her shoulders she approached the last few feet. She imagined her Sisters would have a few choice words about her choosing to use her shawl in this manner but at the moment she didn't care.
The sword was heavy but it came free of the ground quite easily, a trail of blue flame dancing in its wake as she moved it. Perhaps she was right to be cautious and without another thought she wrapped the sword tightly in her shawl. Why was it that he White Flame of Tar Valon seemed to stare at her in rebuke?
Turning quickly she was surprised to see the Warders lifting two of the bodies onto horses. Survivors? Somehow it seemed impossible.
"We're leaving," she called, "I want the safest possible way out of this city, we will cut our way free, but we will not engage the enemy any further then we have to. I want as many survivors as I can get."
She only looked back only once. Fal Dara was gone, Neotar was gone and the Borderlands teetered on the edge of the biggest disaster the world had ever seen. It must not topple.
Almost unconsciously she kept one eye trained on the horse that carried Daedalus. He was the important one now, she would need him to rally the people and salvage the land and if she was honest, she would need him for more than that. She couldn't do this alone and she suddenly wondered about the level of her fear on his behalf. Perhaps there was more than just a little self-interest there.
The trip back through the city seemed to take hours, her mind a disaster as she hurled fireballs and worried for Daedalus. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so helpless and as they passed body after body her dismay deepened. Did one ever grow immune to such carnage?
There were a few bright moments, when singly or in pairs a Warder or two would join them from the Shadows. How many men had lost their lives this day?
By the time they reached the city gates her frustration was at a boiling point and she spared no time for the creatures that bared their way. The Northern Watch weren't the only ones who could practice wanton destruction and she focused all her anger, worry and fear into one brief blast that cleared their way quite effectively. Perhaps that saying about an angry Aes Sedai was more accurate than many would admit.
Free of the city, she wasted no time kicking her horse into motion and issuing orders, allowing her horse to alternately drop back and surge ahead as she took a moment to speak to each of the Warders in turn.
"I want as much distance as possible between us and that city before nightfall, and I want the strongest most fortified and best hidden camp you can possibly devise," she told Radal Gaidin, more relieved than she cared to admit that the man was among the survivors. Khal Gaidin had put him in charge of the Tar Valoners for a reason and she found she trusted him almost implicitly. "I'll leave the details to you, but I have no intention of being slaughtered in my sleep and I don't dare make a Travel Gate."
"Magnus Thanson's men are out there somewhere," she told another man. "If there is a single man alive, I want him found. If they're all dead I want to know what happened, but I want every man who's still breathing rallied, I don't care if they're each missing an arm and both legs. I want them found."
"Civilians," she told another, "the people fled somewhere. I don't for a moment believe the Dark Friends managed to kill them all. Start putting out feelers. If there are people out there I want them brought to safety. I will not save the land to lose its people."
"Tar Valon," she told several others, "The White Tower needs to know what has happened here. Now more than ever the Borderlands cannot stand-alone. My Sisters need to know the truth. Rally the Tower, bring us hope and spread the word. I want every person between here and the Aryth Ocean to know what has happened this day."
Even when Radal finally called a halt in a small valley that could be described as nothing less than a tangle of trees, she didn't stop issuing orders, nor did she notice the two inches of snow already carpeting the ground and still falling.
"I want to know what we have in the way of supplies, horses, and weapons. How many casualties have we sustained and I want every man who is in any way injured lined up to be healed. Prioritize them, I want the most desperate cases taken care of first and anyone who is needed immediately."
She didn't give the Watchmen a chance. "If you know a thing about healing I need your assistance and if you don't report to Radal Gaidin this instance. Like it or not I am, I was King Neotar's Aes Sedai advisor and until Daedalus recovers consider yourself under my authority. There are half a hundred preparations to be taken care of, and more men then I care to count to be healed, now move."
She didn't even spare herself, pausing only long enough to see Daedalus entrenched in one of the few tents they still had in their possession before making her way to where the most serious of the wounded had been gathered.
She dealt with the two remaining members of the Modero Haran first, surprised to find that while burned to near ambiguity, Adherbal was one of the two men they had rescued. Perhaps some good would come out of this day after all.
When she was done she moved on to the Warders, surprised by the nature of the wounds many of the men had taken, how was it possible that so many of them still lived. And why hadn't Neotar had the foresight to find a Yellow to serve as his advisor? She'd never encountered such a myriad nature of wounds and as she wove what she knew of Healing, she prayed repeatedly that it would be enough, begged the creator to spare just one more life until the pattern of Delve and Heal settled into a regular rhythm and left her mind feeling numb and on the edge of anguish.
When she finally looked up it was full dark and one of the Warders was shaking her arm, a concerned expression flittering across what must otherwise be a stony face. Clearly the man had been shaking her for a while.
She stood slowly, or rather she tried, alarmed at the sudden inability of her legs to support her weight. She was exhausted and she knew with sudden certainty that she had reached her limit, she had been channeling all day and at this late hour whatever energy fear and anger had lent her was gone. If she tried to heal another man she would collapse. "Enough," she whispered in a voice that wavered with sudden desperation, "I can do no more. Please help me to Daedalus, I don't think I can walk."
How true those words were, even the act of rising made her dizzy and she clung to Saidar with a fierce desperation. If she let go of the source now, there would be no regaining it and she had to be sure of Daedalus before she could rest. "Please take me to Daedalus," she whispered once more and the man complied, lifting her into his arms to accomplish the task. It seemed she wasn't fooling anyone as to her condition but for the moment at least she was glad of that fact—relieved to be in a camp completely surrounded by Warders.
They reached Daedalus' tent in moments and when the man put her down it was all she could do to make her way to Daedalus' side and place a hand on his forehead. He looked so peaceful, sleeping calmly and gently she brushed his hair back from his eyes. He was beautiful and his well-being meant more to her than she could begin to describe.
Slowly, laboriously she Delved him, relieved to find him much improved from her initial inspection. He would live and the relief that flooded her was more than she could bear. Her sudden joy brought tears to her eyes, and with the tears Saidar fled.
Had she not been kneeling beside him she would have fallen. Though her exhaustion she realized that she would never convince the Warders of the necessity of awakening her the moment he awoke, and without the strength to put up a fight she did the only thing she could.
She curled up beside him and was fast asleep in a matter of moments.