A/N: read and review please, I hope u like. I do like writing long
stories, gives them body I think. Anyways just go with me on the language
thing, it saved a lot of time doing it that way and it wasn't important to
the story.
****** = new character POV
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all characters and storylines belong to R.J.
Chapter 2: Unwelcome visitors.
Ethan stepped out from behind the last line of trees and started towards the main gates of the city. The answers too many questions waited within, answers that would shape his life more than anything else has done so far. Grimly he thought of his life, it looked so small, as though nothing mattered anymore. After passing the test to become Aes Sedai at the early age of sixteen, that had seemed the greatest thing that would ever happen to him. As the fabric of society had crumbled around the world, the Aes Sedai maintained a peace within their ranks, his training had carried on regardless and still he thought that completing his training would be the panicle that the rest of his life surrounded. As if to slight him, he was named Aes Sedai mere days before the first Trolloc army made itself known in the world and the War of the Power began. The though came that then his thinking had changed again, defeating the shadow was the most important accomplishment that he would achieve.
A rueful laugh escaped his lips, strange how we always believe the future greater than the past. But then he was only thirty, and in terms of how long Aes Sedai lived, he was still a child. Most of his life was still ahead of him, around six hundred years if he died a natural death. The slowing had taken him early, at thirty he looked no older than nineteen and could still not shave properly, oh how he hated that. Child indeed.
Walking towards the city with a purposeful stride fueled by anger he barely noticed people in the camps surrounding the city pointing towards him. Always something new, something important he just had to do, that needed to be done. Having fought a war for the last ten years to ensure humanities freedom was not enough. Now he had a new life accomplishment to achieve, and this one would take much longer than the war of the power if he had to start from scratch as he feared he would have to do. All he wanted was to live a quiet life away from the public eye with no responsibilities other than what he chose and to do the things that he loved above all else, studying human nature in all its forms, past, present and future and the simple pleasure of creating things of beauty with his hands.
Sighing he forced the anger down, it would do him no good to complain about what he had to do. Most good men in power where only there because they had to 'do what had to be done'. Lews Therin was one such man, he spoke often of his life's plan's once the war was over, to return to his boyhood home with his family and live a quiet life as just another Aes Sedai doing what he could to serve the people. He had said often that he was only leading the war effort because he believed that he was the best man for the job. He had proved that statement right many times.
There was a lot of movement in the camp nearest to him, a group of men going for a ride? On the wall that was no more than five minutes walk away someone was waving frantically trying to get someone's attention. Lost in his own thoughts, Feeling shame for being fanciful, he chided himself, why waste time thinking about the impossible, you where never going to run from your responsibilities, you're a fool for even thinking that way, perhaps you are no more than the child people see you as! No, he answered himself, I was never going to run but everyone is allowed to get disgruntle at some point. Dimly he wondered if he was going mad.
Abruptly he came back to himself, something was wrong. The man on the wall was staring directly at him, both arms above his head moving so fast they seemed to blur. The men in the camps now on horse back still someway of riding towards him. What are they doing? What could they possibly be doi- .
The answer came to him leavings his mind feeling like a struck gong, what would a siege be like if there was no one power to open gateways directly into cities? Looking around, at the camps, at the high walls and the armed men on them, he had his answer. The sound of hooves came dimly to his ears. The horsemen, twenty now that he took notice, were cantering towards him at a pace that he couldn't outrun.
Saidin poured into him, like too much water been forced into a too small cup, and he smiled. The men on horseback stood no chance, no one would stop him form getting his answers. The flows formed that he needed without thought, so natural they where to him now, disturbingly natural. Thin cords of fire and air wove into a web that looked like a expanding wave of water rushed out towards his attackers. It would be invisible until it touched his prey, then before they knew what was happening it would consume them all.
It was with bitterness that he saw watched the weave race towards the soldiers, he could see them clearly now that saidin was coursing through his veins, like life itself returning. Their leader seemed to be a large yellow haired man at their centre. He looked important. But for the most part they all seemed to be normal people carrying out their orders, stopping anyone form entering the city. Light the city. If the man on the walls saw him destroy the horsemen, would they let him in? They would know he could channel, know that it had to have been him that killed them. Would they want such a person in their city? He didn't want to have to force his way in, no one would talk to him openly if they saw it. That fact that there was a siege at all confirmed his suspicions, these people where not used to people who could channel, in an instant he would turn into an outcast.
Desperately he channeled flows of spirit at his weave, slicing through the web just before it was about to hit the blond haired man. Turning towards the city he ran, as fast as he legs would carry him, he ran towards to gates. The sound of horses hooves became louder as shouts from the riders spurred the mounts into a gallop. Atop the wall he saw what looked to be bows being readied. If he judged right the horses would catch him well before he came into there range. He looked over his shoulder and saw the horsemen no more than two hundred paces behind and closing the gap with a speed that made his heart sink, they would catch him in a matter of moments, the bows, primitive as though they may, be had a range of around three hundred paces, maybe more from atop the walls and he was sure he was still six hundred paces from the gates. He would never make it. He had to do something, but what?
Glancing over his shoulder at the horseman riding through the snow an idea came to him, would the pack stop if the leader fell? Channeling discreetly, compressed the ground under the surface in front of the blond haired man, while supporting the snow with flows of air. It looked as though nothing changed. It only took a moment and no one would notice it. He felt more and heard the outcome more than he saw it. As they where intended, the flows of air collapsed as soon as pressure was placed on it from the lead animal, its front legs disappearing deep into the ground. The terrified horses scream filled the air as he continued to plow forward towards his destination. He hoped he hadn't injured the animal or the man but he feared both. They had gotten close enough that he heard the man hitting the ground, heard the grunt, then the snap of bones and the scream of pain that flowed.
Looking back he saw the blond haired man on the ground not fifty paces away clutching his right arm that hung in at an obviously broken angle. As he had hoped the group of man forgot about him on the instant and shouts of 'My Lord' or 'lord Jervil' came from the man who where frantically trying to stop their horses and turn their mounts towards the blond haired man. After all what was one man entering the city compared to their 'lord' dieing, something niggled at the back of his mind but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Sighing in relief as much as one could whilst running, he was glad the man was alive; no one should have to die just to stop him entering the city. Then shock took him at what he was hearing. The many shouts of 'are you ok, my lord' where spoken in old Veritism, a language long dead in his time. It was known for its absolute simple format of speech and many had believed that their language had evolved from it as much of their words seemed to be connected to it in some way. The proper way to phrase sentences was less complex and dull then in true Veritism. Little could be done with the language in the way of art and that was why with the evolving culture the language had been all but lost, lost to all except historians. And as an avid reader of histories he had been fascinated by humanity's past and to go as far back into history as he wanted he had had to learn it.
Hearing it again, the language wasn't exactly old Veritism, it had its own unique flavor, but it was close enough as to make no difference. He wasn't somehow in the past then. Strange it almost seemed as though it had come from true Veritism to some extant. As he came into the range of the bowmen that where now clearly lining the walls to watch him come he glanced back to get one last look to make sure that he was safe. The men where now a good hundred paces away, helping a groaning man back into a saddle that wasn't his. The man's arm still hung at a wrong angle and he clutched his ribs on his right side as if they where broken. The horse was unmoving on the ground; blood covered the snow around its head. Guilt reared throughout his body, but he stamped it down, hard. Things had to be done, if a horse died, well better than a man. It was an especially bitter thought.
Approaching the gate at a slower pace he was aware of the bowman dispersing back to what seemed to be ordinary posts and duties. The gate itself was of two pieces; two massive wood doors built into the stone and would open inward at the centre in peacetime allowing eight men to walk through abreast with room to spare. In the Gate on the left hand side there was another portal, big enough for a single man to squeeze through with a little difficulty.
At ten paces form the gate he had begun to think that they would not open, nothing had been said, no shouting off the walls as to who he was, and what his business was, nothing. The fear had begun again that he would have to channel to get in the city and he didn't want to open a gateway into a densely populated city where someone may be injured unnecessarily. At five paces he opened his mouth to shout to be let in only to have the portal open with a crash and a rough sounding voice say in a firm voice, "Enter, quickly now."
Stepping through the portal he was greeted by a big, heavy man with a completely shaved head who shut the gate as when he was through. He wore a breastplate that had a rearing white lion in its centre and white trimmings on his shoulders with a red tunic underneath and a white cape. His sword hung loosely in its scabbard and his right hand rested upon its hilt, not in a menacing manner, but with the look of a man standing at ease. Smiling he spoke identifying himself as the man that had told him to enter. "Welcome to Caemlyn stranger. You have to be one of the luckiest man I have seen lately, fancy the lords horse hitting a hole like that." He shook his head in a wondering manner and continued, "What brings you to Caemlyn? What need is so great that you would risk a beating from the soldiers outside?" he spat to the side to show what he though of the 'soldiers'.
"I come to Caemlyn", the words felt odd in his mouth, speaking them was different then reading them, "because I need information and I believe this is one place I can find it. It was worth the risk of the beating," why would they beat someone for just trying to enter a city? It wasn't important to know though, "how is the city? Is the siege taking a large toll on the people?"
"The city's as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. The succession is taking longer than it should. One I don't understand myself! House Tarkand had Morgase on the throne before she died and now the Daughter-heir has laid her claim, why do the other houses fight to keep her off the throne when she is the rightful heir? Who can know the mind of a lord, uhh?" and with a small grin he added, "Not even the lord himself I'd wager."
Ethan smiled a small smile, he didn't really understand what had just been said but it sounded as though the man though himself clever, as far as he knew he was. Something he heard troubled him though. The man had said 'throne' as in Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies. Monarchy styles of government had been none existent for centuries, not for the first time he wondered how long he had been in the stasis-box, the language had changed, channeling seemed something at the very least unusual and now a monarchy was functioning fully, creating a war of the succession, one of the many major drawbacks of monarchies. One of the many.
The guard continued as though his smile was in agreement. "Are the lords and Ladies the same where you come from? Crazy as boars and about as smart?" he paused waiting for a response with one eyebrow quirked, when none was forthcoming he continued, "Where are you from stranger?" he said eyeing his clothes.
Deciding not to answer truthfully but not with a complete lie, he muttered whilst surveying what he could see of the city. The streets where full of people, hurrying every which way, no chora trees. Where were they? "I'm from the west, far to the west. Can you tell me where I might find someone who might be able to tell me something of the past?"
Frowning, the man responded whilst looking at the ground, as if thinking to himself. "The past, ahh? Well you might be able to find someone who can tell you about the past at the stag and lion. It's an inn to the north of the city and it's where some of the people who have come for Morgase's school have gathered. If they can't tell you what you want to know they'll be able to tell you who can."
Thanking the man Ethan moved off into the city towards the north. It was all very, very troubling. Civil war, thousands of people in the city but the man didn't complain of hunger and that would be the first thing out of his mouth if it was present. How a city could be feed at such a time he didn't begin to guess.
It took the rest of the afternoon to find the Stag and Lion and by the time he got there it was completely dark. Many of the people who he asked for directions to the inn seemed to be foreigners and had as much of an idea as himself or if they knew they where reluctant to give directions and many seemed to be on the verge of saying more than thought better of it. A city without chora trees didn't even rate as true city in his life not three days ago, but now when he mentioned in passing that this city seemed barbaric without them he received an odd look as if he where somewhat deranged. How long had passed that people didn't even know what a chora tree was? The city was large, with no signs to guide the way and masses of humanity the swirled down the streets barely looking were they where going, many just looking directly in front of themselves as if not to offend the people they passed. It was the easiest environment to get lost in and the combination of bad directions and unfamiliar territory led to him completing a walk in five hours that should have taken one. The frustration at getting lost so often should have stopped as soon as he reached the inn but it only turned to anger.
He stood outside what had once been the doorway to the Stage and Lion, now the charred remains of the inn stood before him, the damaged seemed to have been awhile ago as dust and soot covered the area where the inn had collapsed. Standing on the deserted street his mind couldn't seem to grasp the situation, why had he been directed here, to this pile of rubble? Why had people been afraid to tell him it no longer stood?
The answer sprung into his head the same instant he moved and it saved his life. The sword that would have taken his head off flowed harmlessly over his rolling body putting its bearer of balance enough that it gave Ethan the time to regain his feet. As he turned to face his assailant a rough voice started laughing softly. "You should have stayed away stranger, you should never have come to Caemlyn. There is nothing for you here or anywhere, the Great Lord of the Grave wants you dead, I'm sure it is you. What took you so long to get here? I've being waiting for hours." When no answer was forthcoming he continued, "Look for an oddly dressed man I was ordered, a man that would be looking for information and would maybe seem to be lucky, a man that the cold didn't bother. You should have stayed away but I thank you, now we get to claim the prize of for killing you." As he said we four more man came into view, dim in the pale moonlight, all with swords drawn and began to surround him.
Killing normal people was one thing, killing Darkfriends was quiet another. Darkfriends where scum and dissevered to be treated as such. Smiling coldly at the bold haired guard he embraced saidin only letting the sweetness fill him in a small amount he channeled a small flow of air to pull the mans sword from his hands and float it across to his own waiting palms, none of the men looked very competent with the blades they carried and the less he channeled the better five dead bodies where going to cause problems and unwanted questions, if those bodies looked like they died by the power, well Ethan wasn't sure he wanted to know what their reaction would be.
As if on cue the moment they saw the sword land in his grasp they stiffened as much as their bodies would allow, they knew channeling when they saw it. "There's one problem with Darkfriends apart from forsaking the light, their stupid. Did you ever stop to think there just may be a reason why you where ordered to watch out for me, not watch and then kill? You can't kill me," Saying the words slowing as if to drive home each word like a nail in their coffin, "it would be a waste of breath to who ever is ordering you around to tell you to do so, now wouldn't it?" when the last word left his mouth he lunged towards the guardsman who had no weapon, the words of the Lord of Morning flashing through his head, 'no mercy for the shadow' and no mercy he gave.
The bold man fell still with a shocked expression on his face, hands clutching at his throat trying to make the blood stay in. Turning he faced the remaining four men who all had almost identical expressions on their faces, worry. The look of wolves who though they where hunting a rabbit only to find it was a lion, wolves that didn't expect to live. Not giving them time to think he rushed at the closest man, catching him by surprise and then the dance began in earnest. Some knew the steps well and others didn't know the dance at all, deadly grace flowed in amongst the group of men who danced to the beat of their swords clashing. First one man fell with his sword arm cut off with his head following. Then a second died, stabbed through the heart when he was to slow to block the oncoming blade. The more that died the quicker it became. The third fell with an unnatural rent across his chest and the forth with a plunging stab into his back as he tried to flee. No mercy for the shadow. He shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold.
With sword in hand he turned to face the six women standing not ten paces away. Five, he saw, had the face of those that had sworn on the binders for punishment, an ageless face but it was not at them he stared. At their centre was a tall woman who looked in the prime of her life, beautiful amongst almost all company, slightly fleshy but that only seemed to heighten the effect of her curves, well would have anyway had she not been wearing such a reveling gown. Her elaborately curled strawberry-blonde hair framed a beautiful face that held a tight small that didn't reach her dark eyes. Arms folded beneath her breast she regarded him silently. Filth filled his noise and no wonder. Graendal stood calmly ten paces away. Reaching out to saidin he knew what he would find, a shield of saidar blocked him of from the true source. He couldn't help a small smile playing on his lips, they though they had him or he would have been killed already. "Kamarile, so good to see you again how long has it being? Ahh, no matter I thought I was robbed of the chance to see your beautiful face again, I always wanted to see what it would look like dead." Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted one of the forsaken but he couldn't stop himself.
Rage contorted that beautiful face into ugliness with a snarl she shouted, "My name is Graendal!" There had been something strange, a ...surging inside her when he had called her by name. Having never felt anything like it before he couldn't begin to guess what it was. She continued, "I do wish I had time to make you bow and worship that name, like all my other pretties, but Moridin has commanded your death, it seems you are just to dangerous to leave walking around. You could be turned to the shadow, there are ways," again that surging flared within her though she showed no notice, "but again Moridin has commanded your death. At least now you'll learn the full price of defying the Great Lord of the Dark, as Lews Therin did." The last came out as a shout and all the women that where surrounding her gave of a small little laugh or a tight lipped smile and looked at him as if he where a fool. What did she mean about Lews Therin? He didn't have time to ask. Heads turned at the sound of heavy footfalls coming closer. One of the bounded women murmured, "Guardsmen, great Mistress. They must of heard these fool," indicating the dead men and himself, "having their little fight." Contempt was heavy in her voice, a person who thought herself far superior, and these matters far below herself.
Death had ordered his death? That made no sense, surely she had misspoken. The women had called her Great Mistress, she's been bound, she can channel. Coolly he faced the forsaken flanked by what must be five Dreadlords, perhaps bound to serve. In the pale moonlight he saw Graendal raze her right hand, distantly he noticed a little gold ring encircling her smallest finger. It was what he felt that that gave him his first doubt, the Goosebumps and shivering that was associated with a woman's channeling had just increased dramatically, they must be in a ring with Graendal at the head. The small smile had returned to her lips, "Time to die, Ethan Qullius." Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
That was what he had been waiting for, her attention to be taken up by her 'killing' weave. Surprise was the key. Desperately he flung himself at the shield, opened himself to saidin through the sa'angreal that rested on his left hand in the shape of five black rings. For a brief moment he though he had made a horrible mistake, the power of the rings had never been judged, never compared to any other sa'angreal, perhaps it wasn't enough. Then the shield bulged and snapped apart, like rags that had been trying to stop an avalanche. The power filled every pore, every crevice of his body, he had never held so much before. Wasting no time on celebrating at the sheer joy of what he was holding, he channeled instinctively.
Shock had just begun to paint every face before him when the weaves hit their targets. Not even aware of what he was doing until it was over, he tried to make sense of what he had done. The five Dreadlords lay sprawled on the ground in a semi circle surrounding the limp body of Graendal, holes burned through all their chests where their hearts had been, the liquid fire had made clean holes of black hearts. What troubled him most was Graendal, she was alive, shielded and a weave covered her head that made no sense until he though of it. Glad that his subconscious had been had been thinking whilst he had not, this was precisely what was needed or perhaps the pattern had taken a hand. Either way, he would take it. This would enable him to-. He never finished the thought.
Pain shot out through his body, from the centre of his back, like lightening along his veins. His sword fell from nerveless fingers, hitting the ground, closely followed by his knees. The dagger in his back burned, the burning spread out through his body at an alarming rate. His breathing was heavy in his own ears as he reached over his shoulder to remove the blade. Vaguely his was aware of the sound of footsteps coming closer, like they where running and the sound of someone screaming. Surely that wasn't himself, surely not. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flash from his left over his head, there was an odd thumping sound and a loud thud as a man dressed in grey hit the ground at his right, an arrow sticking out of his head. A Greyman. The though penetrated the dizziness that had surrounded his head, their blades where always poisoned. His right hand found the hilt of the blade in his back just before he toppled forward into the snow, his head turned to the left, forced to look he saw a group of men running towards where he was. At their head was a woman with a long blonde braid carrying a bow. She seemed to be in charge. For some reason the way she was dressed made him laugh. His last thought before darkness took him was that Teadra would hate that uniform, only this woman looked nothing like Teadra.
*******
Elayne stared down at two of the thirteen people that Birgitte had brought back from her patrol. The only two that where alive.. They lay side by side on the same bed as if sleeping, the Kins woman had not been happy to give up their room which was not far from her own. Sumeko had done her best to heal them. The young man who was surely no older than herself had had a Greymans dagger in his back and had almost died from poisoning. Now tender skin covered the area where the wound had been and Sumeko had done her best to rid him of the poison but said some of it was likely still in him and would require healing at a later date, she seemed to believe that his size had saved him. Looking at him she agreed, tall and tightly bound by muscles from head to foot he had the look of a fit warrior who had been in training for years. The same amount of poison in a smaller, unfit person might have killed than as their body couldn't last as long.
He was little more than a boy though, with light stubble covering his face in patches, a face that still had a boyishness about it but it was strange how his handsome face had a constant look. A look as if it had seen too much and wanted to shy away from it, even in sleep. He rested now, though Sumeko had said he may not wake for days, may not wake at all.
He was an Asha'man, surely he was, he had a red and gold tattoo of a dragon on his chest, the dragon. Rand's Dragon. Five of the bodies that Birgitte brought back had had their hearts burned clean through, clearly done with the power. Five Aes Sedai bodies, black Ajah, I must think of them as black Ajah, for that is what they where. Rianna Aundomeran, Chesmal Emry, Temaile Kinderode, Asne Zeramene and Eldrith Jhondar, all women who had fled the tower with Liandrin the night the Black Ajah had attacked the storerooms. They had been killed by this young man, Birgitte had seen it from a distance, liquid fire she called it. She had been unable to explain why the woman was not dead as well. The strawberry-blonde woman, who lay next to him, as if sleeping, was connected to it all. Sumeko said she was fine, nothing was wrong with her at all but she had been unable to explain why she was not awake. Nothing could be done to wake her but she lay still as if peacefully sleeping.
Anger boiled within her. Why where the Asha'man hunting Black Ajah? Or was the black Ajah hunting him? How had one man managed to kill five sisters? At once? What was an Asha'man doing in Caemlyn? The man was dressed oddly, obliviously the Asha'man's idea of a Disguise. If anyone noticed this man for what he was everyone would believe on the instant that the rumors where true. That Elayne Tarkand was a puppet of the Dragon Reborn. It would be her downfall. Bloody Rand, the wool brained idiot, whatever his orders or intentions where, surely he could see that an Asha'man in Caemlyn would be her undoing. He could ruin everything by being an idiot. But that was the problem with man, they never thought things through. He had no right hunting the Black Ajah, it was Aes Sedai business.
Aviendha would return from the Aeil tents in two days. She couldn't send a message to the Black Tower to come and get their man, for then the knowledge of this man would defiantly get out; it was too big a risk. If the man had not awoken by the time Aviendha returned, she would ask her to go to Rand, and get him to send someone secretly to come to collect his man. And make him firmly understand that no Asha'man was welcome within Caemlyn. She grimaced slightly at the thought. It should have been Andor, but she didn't have the power to enforce that, would she ever? It was a painful question.
Turning to the guardsmen at the door she gave her orders, "no one is to enter this room without my permission, my express permission. Two men are to guard inside the room and four outside. If one of them wakes I am to be informed immediately," part of the reason they where so close to her room, "no matter what time it is. Am I understood?" for an answer they all bowed to her. With a last glance over her shoulder at the sleeping forms she glided from the room and back to her bed, she had a long day tomorrow.
a/n well I hope you liked it. Starting to get into the swing of things now. Please review, even if you don't like it. Just so I know people are readying it. Thanks for your review Meletyohar, I hope this was up to standard.
****** = new character POV
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all characters and storylines belong to R.J.
Chapter 2: Unwelcome visitors.
Ethan stepped out from behind the last line of trees and started towards the main gates of the city. The answers too many questions waited within, answers that would shape his life more than anything else has done so far. Grimly he thought of his life, it looked so small, as though nothing mattered anymore. After passing the test to become Aes Sedai at the early age of sixteen, that had seemed the greatest thing that would ever happen to him. As the fabric of society had crumbled around the world, the Aes Sedai maintained a peace within their ranks, his training had carried on regardless and still he thought that completing his training would be the panicle that the rest of his life surrounded. As if to slight him, he was named Aes Sedai mere days before the first Trolloc army made itself known in the world and the War of the Power began. The though came that then his thinking had changed again, defeating the shadow was the most important accomplishment that he would achieve.
A rueful laugh escaped his lips, strange how we always believe the future greater than the past. But then he was only thirty, and in terms of how long Aes Sedai lived, he was still a child. Most of his life was still ahead of him, around six hundred years if he died a natural death. The slowing had taken him early, at thirty he looked no older than nineteen and could still not shave properly, oh how he hated that. Child indeed.
Walking towards the city with a purposeful stride fueled by anger he barely noticed people in the camps surrounding the city pointing towards him. Always something new, something important he just had to do, that needed to be done. Having fought a war for the last ten years to ensure humanities freedom was not enough. Now he had a new life accomplishment to achieve, and this one would take much longer than the war of the power if he had to start from scratch as he feared he would have to do. All he wanted was to live a quiet life away from the public eye with no responsibilities other than what he chose and to do the things that he loved above all else, studying human nature in all its forms, past, present and future and the simple pleasure of creating things of beauty with his hands.
Sighing he forced the anger down, it would do him no good to complain about what he had to do. Most good men in power where only there because they had to 'do what had to be done'. Lews Therin was one such man, he spoke often of his life's plan's once the war was over, to return to his boyhood home with his family and live a quiet life as just another Aes Sedai doing what he could to serve the people. He had said often that he was only leading the war effort because he believed that he was the best man for the job. He had proved that statement right many times.
There was a lot of movement in the camp nearest to him, a group of men going for a ride? On the wall that was no more than five minutes walk away someone was waving frantically trying to get someone's attention. Lost in his own thoughts, Feeling shame for being fanciful, he chided himself, why waste time thinking about the impossible, you where never going to run from your responsibilities, you're a fool for even thinking that way, perhaps you are no more than the child people see you as! No, he answered himself, I was never going to run but everyone is allowed to get disgruntle at some point. Dimly he wondered if he was going mad.
Abruptly he came back to himself, something was wrong. The man on the wall was staring directly at him, both arms above his head moving so fast they seemed to blur. The men in the camps now on horse back still someway of riding towards him. What are they doing? What could they possibly be doi- .
The answer came to him leavings his mind feeling like a struck gong, what would a siege be like if there was no one power to open gateways directly into cities? Looking around, at the camps, at the high walls and the armed men on them, he had his answer. The sound of hooves came dimly to his ears. The horsemen, twenty now that he took notice, were cantering towards him at a pace that he couldn't outrun.
Saidin poured into him, like too much water been forced into a too small cup, and he smiled. The men on horseback stood no chance, no one would stop him form getting his answers. The flows formed that he needed without thought, so natural they where to him now, disturbingly natural. Thin cords of fire and air wove into a web that looked like a expanding wave of water rushed out towards his attackers. It would be invisible until it touched his prey, then before they knew what was happening it would consume them all.
It was with bitterness that he saw watched the weave race towards the soldiers, he could see them clearly now that saidin was coursing through his veins, like life itself returning. Their leader seemed to be a large yellow haired man at their centre. He looked important. But for the most part they all seemed to be normal people carrying out their orders, stopping anyone form entering the city. Light the city. If the man on the walls saw him destroy the horsemen, would they let him in? They would know he could channel, know that it had to have been him that killed them. Would they want such a person in their city? He didn't want to have to force his way in, no one would talk to him openly if they saw it. That fact that there was a siege at all confirmed his suspicions, these people where not used to people who could channel, in an instant he would turn into an outcast.
Desperately he channeled flows of spirit at his weave, slicing through the web just before it was about to hit the blond haired man. Turning towards the city he ran, as fast as he legs would carry him, he ran towards to gates. The sound of horses hooves became louder as shouts from the riders spurred the mounts into a gallop. Atop the wall he saw what looked to be bows being readied. If he judged right the horses would catch him well before he came into there range. He looked over his shoulder and saw the horsemen no more than two hundred paces behind and closing the gap with a speed that made his heart sink, they would catch him in a matter of moments, the bows, primitive as though they may, be had a range of around three hundred paces, maybe more from atop the walls and he was sure he was still six hundred paces from the gates. He would never make it. He had to do something, but what?
Glancing over his shoulder at the horseman riding through the snow an idea came to him, would the pack stop if the leader fell? Channeling discreetly, compressed the ground under the surface in front of the blond haired man, while supporting the snow with flows of air. It looked as though nothing changed. It only took a moment and no one would notice it. He felt more and heard the outcome more than he saw it. As they where intended, the flows of air collapsed as soon as pressure was placed on it from the lead animal, its front legs disappearing deep into the ground. The terrified horses scream filled the air as he continued to plow forward towards his destination. He hoped he hadn't injured the animal or the man but he feared both. They had gotten close enough that he heard the man hitting the ground, heard the grunt, then the snap of bones and the scream of pain that flowed.
Looking back he saw the blond haired man on the ground not fifty paces away clutching his right arm that hung in at an obviously broken angle. As he had hoped the group of man forgot about him on the instant and shouts of 'My Lord' or 'lord Jervil' came from the man who where frantically trying to stop their horses and turn their mounts towards the blond haired man. After all what was one man entering the city compared to their 'lord' dieing, something niggled at the back of his mind but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Sighing in relief as much as one could whilst running, he was glad the man was alive; no one should have to die just to stop him entering the city. Then shock took him at what he was hearing. The many shouts of 'are you ok, my lord' where spoken in old Veritism, a language long dead in his time. It was known for its absolute simple format of speech and many had believed that their language had evolved from it as much of their words seemed to be connected to it in some way. The proper way to phrase sentences was less complex and dull then in true Veritism. Little could be done with the language in the way of art and that was why with the evolving culture the language had been all but lost, lost to all except historians. And as an avid reader of histories he had been fascinated by humanity's past and to go as far back into history as he wanted he had had to learn it.
Hearing it again, the language wasn't exactly old Veritism, it had its own unique flavor, but it was close enough as to make no difference. He wasn't somehow in the past then. Strange it almost seemed as though it had come from true Veritism to some extant. As he came into the range of the bowmen that where now clearly lining the walls to watch him come he glanced back to get one last look to make sure that he was safe. The men where now a good hundred paces away, helping a groaning man back into a saddle that wasn't his. The man's arm still hung at a wrong angle and he clutched his ribs on his right side as if they where broken. The horse was unmoving on the ground; blood covered the snow around its head. Guilt reared throughout his body, but he stamped it down, hard. Things had to be done, if a horse died, well better than a man. It was an especially bitter thought.
Approaching the gate at a slower pace he was aware of the bowman dispersing back to what seemed to be ordinary posts and duties. The gate itself was of two pieces; two massive wood doors built into the stone and would open inward at the centre in peacetime allowing eight men to walk through abreast with room to spare. In the Gate on the left hand side there was another portal, big enough for a single man to squeeze through with a little difficulty.
At ten paces form the gate he had begun to think that they would not open, nothing had been said, no shouting off the walls as to who he was, and what his business was, nothing. The fear had begun again that he would have to channel to get in the city and he didn't want to open a gateway into a densely populated city where someone may be injured unnecessarily. At five paces he opened his mouth to shout to be let in only to have the portal open with a crash and a rough sounding voice say in a firm voice, "Enter, quickly now."
Stepping through the portal he was greeted by a big, heavy man with a completely shaved head who shut the gate as when he was through. He wore a breastplate that had a rearing white lion in its centre and white trimmings on his shoulders with a red tunic underneath and a white cape. His sword hung loosely in its scabbard and his right hand rested upon its hilt, not in a menacing manner, but with the look of a man standing at ease. Smiling he spoke identifying himself as the man that had told him to enter. "Welcome to Caemlyn stranger. You have to be one of the luckiest man I have seen lately, fancy the lords horse hitting a hole like that." He shook his head in a wondering manner and continued, "What brings you to Caemlyn? What need is so great that you would risk a beating from the soldiers outside?" he spat to the side to show what he though of the 'soldiers'.
"I come to Caemlyn", the words felt odd in his mouth, speaking them was different then reading them, "because I need information and I believe this is one place I can find it. It was worth the risk of the beating," why would they beat someone for just trying to enter a city? It wasn't important to know though, "how is the city? Is the siege taking a large toll on the people?"
"The city's as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. The succession is taking longer than it should. One I don't understand myself! House Tarkand had Morgase on the throne before she died and now the Daughter-heir has laid her claim, why do the other houses fight to keep her off the throne when she is the rightful heir? Who can know the mind of a lord, uhh?" and with a small grin he added, "Not even the lord himself I'd wager."
Ethan smiled a small smile, he didn't really understand what had just been said but it sounded as though the man though himself clever, as far as he knew he was. Something he heard troubled him though. The man had said 'throne' as in Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies. Monarchy styles of government had been none existent for centuries, not for the first time he wondered how long he had been in the stasis-box, the language had changed, channeling seemed something at the very least unusual and now a monarchy was functioning fully, creating a war of the succession, one of the many major drawbacks of monarchies. One of the many.
The guard continued as though his smile was in agreement. "Are the lords and Ladies the same where you come from? Crazy as boars and about as smart?" he paused waiting for a response with one eyebrow quirked, when none was forthcoming he continued, "Where are you from stranger?" he said eyeing his clothes.
Deciding not to answer truthfully but not with a complete lie, he muttered whilst surveying what he could see of the city. The streets where full of people, hurrying every which way, no chora trees. Where were they? "I'm from the west, far to the west. Can you tell me where I might find someone who might be able to tell me something of the past?"
Frowning, the man responded whilst looking at the ground, as if thinking to himself. "The past, ahh? Well you might be able to find someone who can tell you about the past at the stag and lion. It's an inn to the north of the city and it's where some of the people who have come for Morgase's school have gathered. If they can't tell you what you want to know they'll be able to tell you who can."
Thanking the man Ethan moved off into the city towards the north. It was all very, very troubling. Civil war, thousands of people in the city but the man didn't complain of hunger and that would be the first thing out of his mouth if it was present. How a city could be feed at such a time he didn't begin to guess.
It took the rest of the afternoon to find the Stag and Lion and by the time he got there it was completely dark. Many of the people who he asked for directions to the inn seemed to be foreigners and had as much of an idea as himself or if they knew they where reluctant to give directions and many seemed to be on the verge of saying more than thought better of it. A city without chora trees didn't even rate as true city in his life not three days ago, but now when he mentioned in passing that this city seemed barbaric without them he received an odd look as if he where somewhat deranged. How long had passed that people didn't even know what a chora tree was? The city was large, with no signs to guide the way and masses of humanity the swirled down the streets barely looking were they where going, many just looking directly in front of themselves as if not to offend the people they passed. It was the easiest environment to get lost in and the combination of bad directions and unfamiliar territory led to him completing a walk in five hours that should have taken one. The frustration at getting lost so often should have stopped as soon as he reached the inn but it only turned to anger.
He stood outside what had once been the doorway to the Stage and Lion, now the charred remains of the inn stood before him, the damaged seemed to have been awhile ago as dust and soot covered the area where the inn had collapsed. Standing on the deserted street his mind couldn't seem to grasp the situation, why had he been directed here, to this pile of rubble? Why had people been afraid to tell him it no longer stood?
The answer sprung into his head the same instant he moved and it saved his life. The sword that would have taken his head off flowed harmlessly over his rolling body putting its bearer of balance enough that it gave Ethan the time to regain his feet. As he turned to face his assailant a rough voice started laughing softly. "You should have stayed away stranger, you should never have come to Caemlyn. There is nothing for you here or anywhere, the Great Lord of the Grave wants you dead, I'm sure it is you. What took you so long to get here? I've being waiting for hours." When no answer was forthcoming he continued, "Look for an oddly dressed man I was ordered, a man that would be looking for information and would maybe seem to be lucky, a man that the cold didn't bother. You should have stayed away but I thank you, now we get to claim the prize of for killing you." As he said we four more man came into view, dim in the pale moonlight, all with swords drawn and began to surround him.
Killing normal people was one thing, killing Darkfriends was quiet another. Darkfriends where scum and dissevered to be treated as such. Smiling coldly at the bold haired guard he embraced saidin only letting the sweetness fill him in a small amount he channeled a small flow of air to pull the mans sword from his hands and float it across to his own waiting palms, none of the men looked very competent with the blades they carried and the less he channeled the better five dead bodies where going to cause problems and unwanted questions, if those bodies looked like they died by the power, well Ethan wasn't sure he wanted to know what their reaction would be.
As if on cue the moment they saw the sword land in his grasp they stiffened as much as their bodies would allow, they knew channeling when they saw it. "There's one problem with Darkfriends apart from forsaking the light, their stupid. Did you ever stop to think there just may be a reason why you where ordered to watch out for me, not watch and then kill? You can't kill me," Saying the words slowing as if to drive home each word like a nail in their coffin, "it would be a waste of breath to who ever is ordering you around to tell you to do so, now wouldn't it?" when the last word left his mouth he lunged towards the guardsman who had no weapon, the words of the Lord of Morning flashing through his head, 'no mercy for the shadow' and no mercy he gave.
The bold man fell still with a shocked expression on his face, hands clutching at his throat trying to make the blood stay in. Turning he faced the remaining four men who all had almost identical expressions on their faces, worry. The look of wolves who though they where hunting a rabbit only to find it was a lion, wolves that didn't expect to live. Not giving them time to think he rushed at the closest man, catching him by surprise and then the dance began in earnest. Some knew the steps well and others didn't know the dance at all, deadly grace flowed in amongst the group of men who danced to the beat of their swords clashing. First one man fell with his sword arm cut off with his head following. Then a second died, stabbed through the heart when he was to slow to block the oncoming blade. The more that died the quicker it became. The third fell with an unnatural rent across his chest and the forth with a plunging stab into his back as he tried to flee. No mercy for the shadow. He shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold.
With sword in hand he turned to face the six women standing not ten paces away. Five, he saw, had the face of those that had sworn on the binders for punishment, an ageless face but it was not at them he stared. At their centre was a tall woman who looked in the prime of her life, beautiful amongst almost all company, slightly fleshy but that only seemed to heighten the effect of her curves, well would have anyway had she not been wearing such a reveling gown. Her elaborately curled strawberry-blonde hair framed a beautiful face that held a tight small that didn't reach her dark eyes. Arms folded beneath her breast she regarded him silently. Filth filled his noise and no wonder. Graendal stood calmly ten paces away. Reaching out to saidin he knew what he would find, a shield of saidar blocked him of from the true source. He couldn't help a small smile playing on his lips, they though they had him or he would have been killed already. "Kamarile, so good to see you again how long has it being? Ahh, no matter I thought I was robbed of the chance to see your beautiful face again, I always wanted to see what it would look like dead." Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted one of the forsaken but he couldn't stop himself.
Rage contorted that beautiful face into ugliness with a snarl she shouted, "My name is Graendal!" There had been something strange, a ...surging inside her when he had called her by name. Having never felt anything like it before he couldn't begin to guess what it was. She continued, "I do wish I had time to make you bow and worship that name, like all my other pretties, but Moridin has commanded your death, it seems you are just to dangerous to leave walking around. You could be turned to the shadow, there are ways," again that surging flared within her though she showed no notice, "but again Moridin has commanded your death. At least now you'll learn the full price of defying the Great Lord of the Dark, as Lews Therin did." The last came out as a shout and all the women that where surrounding her gave of a small little laugh or a tight lipped smile and looked at him as if he where a fool. What did she mean about Lews Therin? He didn't have time to ask. Heads turned at the sound of heavy footfalls coming closer. One of the bounded women murmured, "Guardsmen, great Mistress. They must of heard these fool," indicating the dead men and himself, "having their little fight." Contempt was heavy in her voice, a person who thought herself far superior, and these matters far below herself.
Death had ordered his death? That made no sense, surely she had misspoken. The women had called her Great Mistress, she's been bound, she can channel. Coolly he faced the forsaken flanked by what must be five Dreadlords, perhaps bound to serve. In the pale moonlight he saw Graendal raze her right hand, distantly he noticed a little gold ring encircling her smallest finger. It was what he felt that that gave him his first doubt, the Goosebumps and shivering that was associated with a woman's channeling had just increased dramatically, they must be in a ring with Graendal at the head. The small smile had returned to her lips, "Time to die, Ethan Qullius." Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
That was what he had been waiting for, her attention to be taken up by her 'killing' weave. Surprise was the key. Desperately he flung himself at the shield, opened himself to saidin through the sa'angreal that rested on his left hand in the shape of five black rings. For a brief moment he though he had made a horrible mistake, the power of the rings had never been judged, never compared to any other sa'angreal, perhaps it wasn't enough. Then the shield bulged and snapped apart, like rags that had been trying to stop an avalanche. The power filled every pore, every crevice of his body, he had never held so much before. Wasting no time on celebrating at the sheer joy of what he was holding, he channeled instinctively.
Shock had just begun to paint every face before him when the weaves hit their targets. Not even aware of what he was doing until it was over, he tried to make sense of what he had done. The five Dreadlords lay sprawled on the ground in a semi circle surrounding the limp body of Graendal, holes burned through all their chests where their hearts had been, the liquid fire had made clean holes of black hearts. What troubled him most was Graendal, she was alive, shielded and a weave covered her head that made no sense until he though of it. Glad that his subconscious had been had been thinking whilst he had not, this was precisely what was needed or perhaps the pattern had taken a hand. Either way, he would take it. This would enable him to-. He never finished the thought.
Pain shot out through his body, from the centre of his back, like lightening along his veins. His sword fell from nerveless fingers, hitting the ground, closely followed by his knees. The dagger in his back burned, the burning spread out through his body at an alarming rate. His breathing was heavy in his own ears as he reached over his shoulder to remove the blade. Vaguely his was aware of the sound of footsteps coming closer, like they where running and the sound of someone screaming. Surely that wasn't himself, surely not. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flash from his left over his head, there was an odd thumping sound and a loud thud as a man dressed in grey hit the ground at his right, an arrow sticking out of his head. A Greyman. The though penetrated the dizziness that had surrounded his head, their blades where always poisoned. His right hand found the hilt of the blade in his back just before he toppled forward into the snow, his head turned to the left, forced to look he saw a group of men running towards where he was. At their head was a woman with a long blonde braid carrying a bow. She seemed to be in charge. For some reason the way she was dressed made him laugh. His last thought before darkness took him was that Teadra would hate that uniform, only this woman looked nothing like Teadra.
*******
Elayne stared down at two of the thirteen people that Birgitte had brought back from her patrol. The only two that where alive.. They lay side by side on the same bed as if sleeping, the Kins woman had not been happy to give up their room which was not far from her own. Sumeko had done her best to heal them. The young man who was surely no older than herself had had a Greymans dagger in his back and had almost died from poisoning. Now tender skin covered the area where the wound had been and Sumeko had done her best to rid him of the poison but said some of it was likely still in him and would require healing at a later date, she seemed to believe that his size had saved him. Looking at him she agreed, tall and tightly bound by muscles from head to foot he had the look of a fit warrior who had been in training for years. The same amount of poison in a smaller, unfit person might have killed than as their body couldn't last as long.
He was little more than a boy though, with light stubble covering his face in patches, a face that still had a boyishness about it but it was strange how his handsome face had a constant look. A look as if it had seen too much and wanted to shy away from it, even in sleep. He rested now, though Sumeko had said he may not wake for days, may not wake at all.
He was an Asha'man, surely he was, he had a red and gold tattoo of a dragon on his chest, the dragon. Rand's Dragon. Five of the bodies that Birgitte brought back had had their hearts burned clean through, clearly done with the power. Five Aes Sedai bodies, black Ajah, I must think of them as black Ajah, for that is what they where. Rianna Aundomeran, Chesmal Emry, Temaile Kinderode, Asne Zeramene and Eldrith Jhondar, all women who had fled the tower with Liandrin the night the Black Ajah had attacked the storerooms. They had been killed by this young man, Birgitte had seen it from a distance, liquid fire she called it. She had been unable to explain why the woman was not dead as well. The strawberry-blonde woman, who lay next to him, as if sleeping, was connected to it all. Sumeko said she was fine, nothing was wrong with her at all but she had been unable to explain why she was not awake. Nothing could be done to wake her but she lay still as if peacefully sleeping.
Anger boiled within her. Why where the Asha'man hunting Black Ajah? Or was the black Ajah hunting him? How had one man managed to kill five sisters? At once? What was an Asha'man doing in Caemlyn? The man was dressed oddly, obliviously the Asha'man's idea of a Disguise. If anyone noticed this man for what he was everyone would believe on the instant that the rumors where true. That Elayne Tarkand was a puppet of the Dragon Reborn. It would be her downfall. Bloody Rand, the wool brained idiot, whatever his orders or intentions where, surely he could see that an Asha'man in Caemlyn would be her undoing. He could ruin everything by being an idiot. But that was the problem with man, they never thought things through. He had no right hunting the Black Ajah, it was Aes Sedai business.
Aviendha would return from the Aeil tents in two days. She couldn't send a message to the Black Tower to come and get their man, for then the knowledge of this man would defiantly get out; it was too big a risk. If the man had not awoken by the time Aviendha returned, she would ask her to go to Rand, and get him to send someone secretly to come to collect his man. And make him firmly understand that no Asha'man was welcome within Caemlyn. She grimaced slightly at the thought. It should have been Andor, but she didn't have the power to enforce that, would she ever? It was a painful question.
Turning to the guardsmen at the door she gave her orders, "no one is to enter this room without my permission, my express permission. Two men are to guard inside the room and four outside. If one of them wakes I am to be informed immediately," part of the reason they where so close to her room, "no matter what time it is. Am I understood?" for an answer they all bowed to her. With a last glance over her shoulder at the sleeping forms she glided from the room and back to her bed, she had a long day tomorrow.
a/n well I hope you liked it. Starting to get into the swing of things now. Please review, even if you don't like it. Just so I know people are readying it. Thanks for your review Meletyohar, I hope this was up to standard.