I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Finals, graduation, and vacation all took away from my play time. Not to mention that I had more trouble than expected with this chapter. Men, pah! I promise, I am making headway on the next chapter.
Thanks to Malarkay for trudging through my rough draft, and nudging me, sometimes rather hard, into the right direction. ;) Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Also, thanks to those who reviewed. Watcher Tale Neith, although I am not quite sure whether you liked the chapter or not (sarcasm is lost on me in this forum) I always appreciate your input. Spacing Out, I am a sucker for a compliment, thank you.
I almost forgot. I did borrow a thought from Moghedien. I liked it, and I thought that it fit nicely to Lan as he surely would have made the same observation.
...........................................................................................................Lan reigned Mandarb in short of the west gate. He tied the horse to a post, and had hardly moved before he was lost to the darkness, just one more shadow along the walls. He became the shadow, losing all tangibility.
There was a trap waiting for him, he could feel it. He moved from street to street, scanning every window, every ledge for signs of a threat.
The sun dipped lower, lighting the trees aflame as the red and orange rays danced across the bare branches, the deepening darkness taunting Lan, reminding him of the growing urgency. No time.
He continued his search, eyes piercing the darkness, ears straining for any noise.
Dusk did not settle over the land. It seemed to sag, drooping into place, claiming the land in fractions. Lan slipped soundlessly towards the gate, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His breathing and heartbeat were slow and regular. He was not afraid. He was ready.
The mist seemed to solidify before him as a lone figure stepped out of the shadows. Dressed all in black, the man was a part of the darkness. He wore it as a cloak. Yet Lan knew him for a man, not a Myrddraal; his cloak flapped faintly behind him in the evening breeze.
"Come, Warder." The voice called. It was a deep voice, firm and commanding. "There is no need to hide." Lan did not rise to the taunting. He was no hot-headed young man. His feet remained firmly planted, his hand still gripping his sword hilt. "I am very much alone, I assure you." The voice was not only commanding, but arrogant as well. "Will you not come out, or must I talk to myself all night?" Cocky, and arrogant, and was it touched with amusement as well?
"Do you truly think to hide from me al'Lan Mandoragan?" Hard as steel, his tone was cruel and mocking now. As he spoke, he turned, staring straight into the fog that consumed Lan. Lan felt the stranger's eyes bore through him. His hiding place compromised, Lan stepped into the open.
The young man was tall, nearly as tall as the al'Thor boy, with shoulders more broad, yet not nearly as broad as Lan's. The faint light hid the finer details of his face, though a strong chin was clearly evident. Lan thought him to be young, not far past twenty.
"Ahh," the man said, the amusement back in his voice. "Is this not better?"
"Who are you, and why do you summon me?" Lan asked, his voice reminiscent of the air, just before a storm broke, eerily quiet yet so electrically charged that it was palpable.
"Must we remain here? The air has teeth tonight." was the stranger's distracted reply. His tone did nothing to ease the tension. Lan did not relax. Distraction is easily feigned.
The sky seemed to rip before him. At first it was only a small hole, but the hole quickly rotated, elongating rapidly, spilling light into the courtyard. The gateway opened into a wood-paneled room, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Carpets of red and gold lined the floor. The furniture was heavy and squat, but lined with gold inlay.
Before the gateway had finished expanding, Lan's sword had left his scabbard. The man could channel. Be he Asha'man or Forsaken, Lan did not plan to be caught unarmed.
Before he had taken his second step Lan felt the air thicken around him. He could no more have taken another step than he could have stood on his head; which incidentally, happened to be the only part of his body that he could move.
"Oh come now," he spoke as if to a small child who had tracked mud on the freshly cleaned floors; a nuisance, and a small one at that. Lan could see his teeth glowing white in the pale moonlight. "There is no need for violence. I come to offer you your greatest desires."
Lan forced down the low growl that was rising in the back of his throat. "What do you know of my wishes? There is nothing for you to know."
"I know that the girl you parade around beside you is no more Aes Sedai than I am." The stranger's smile seemed to grow more if that was possible. "Now will you follow me willingly, or must I drag you behind?" Lan nodded his head slightly, and he felt his prison liquefy. "I would suggest you put that sword away." The stranger pronounced sword in the same way he would toy.
Lan sheathed his sword, albeit rather forcefully, before stepping through the gateway. Once the stranger had passed through, the gateway vanished. Lan fought the urge to rest his hand on his sword hilt. The blade would do no good here.
"Who are you, and why do you summon me?" Lan asked coldly.
The stranger settled into a large dark colored chair across from Lan, propping his foot up on the highly polished mahogany table. "You may call me Moridin." The stranger said. His tone and posture were designed to imply disinterest, but his brilliant blue eyes focused on Lan intently. Lan did not flinch under that gaze. Any fool could name himself Death. "And as for your summons, you must know."
Lan's face remained expressionless. He would not risk letting this man confirm any of his suspicions. "You claimed my companion to be false. You are mistaken."
Moridin smiled, but there was nothing friendly in his expression. "I know that Nynaeve al'Meara is dead. I know that you hunt Moghedien. I can give her to you." These words, delivered so calmly, struck Lan like a blow. He felt winded, as if his lungs were gripped in a vise. He was a Warder, and a Borderlander as well. He made no indication of his shock.
"As I said before, you are mistaken." Lan leaned casually against the hearth, but there was nothing casual about him.
Moridin loosened the laces of his shirt, reaching underneath. "Do you know what this is?" He removed a small golden cage woven of fine golden threads. Amidst those wires, a blood-red crystal was nestled. Moridin stroked the pendant tenderly between his thumb and index finger, and Lan thought he saw a faint trail of smoke wind its way through the inner surface of the gem.
When Lan made no indication of speaking, the younger man again took the lead. "It is called a cour'souvra, a mindtrap. You may think of Moghedien as...my pet." Moridin gave Lan a decidedly wicked grin. "You seek revenge on one of the Forsaken, and yet the only weapon you carry is bound at your hip. How did you expect to win?" At this he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh.
Lan's mind reeled. This man claimed to own one of the Forsaken. What type of man could actually own one of the Shadowsouled? He maintained a carefully neutral expression. "I make no admission." Lan said calmly, "if you could truly deliver Moghedien to me, what is the benefit to you?"
"Moghedien is a valuable asset." Moridin spoke as if he were describing a desk or at best a well-bred horse. "But recently, she has suffered a rather humiliating fall from grace. There are others that my Master prizes above her."
Rand al'Thor. Lan knew it before the man spoke the name. The Dragon Reborn, fated to fight the Dark Lord in the Last Battle. This man wanted Lan to lead Rand to his slaughter.
"And if I refuse?"
There was no tearing of the room, no gateway leading to another locale. The air shimmered, and before him stood Nynaeve. She wore a gown of green silk, the skirts slashed with yellow. Golden embroidery decorated the sleeves and bodice. Her hair was pulled back in a single thick braid, yellow opal pins piercing the plait. She was dressed just as she had been that day on the river.
"No!" Lan's voice was harsher than he intended. "Nynaeve al'Meara walked in the Light. You have no power over her."
"The Lord of the Grave grows stronger." Moridin seemed to hiss the words. Nynaeve gazed at Lan pleadingly, her brown eyes fixing him in place. "She belongs to Him now. But things can change. She can be given flesh anew. She can be yours again."
Realization seemed to strike home as Nynaeve's gaze firmed. "Lan no. The price is too..." Her plea was cut off as a scream was ripped from her throat. Her body writhed at impossible angles. Lan tried to cross the room to her, but found the air had once again thickened around him.
"Your refusal guarantees an eternity of torment for the girl." Moridin needed to raise his voice to be heard above Nynaeve's cries of anguish. Her hands grasped at her body, and Lan wondered that her skin did not tear, she screamed so. "Think hard before you decide. Rand al'Thor, or Nynaeve al'Meara. You can save only one." As rapidly as she had appeared, Nynaeve was gone. The ensuing silence was deafening.
"I will not give you long to decide. My Master grows impatient. I will be in contact soon. Choose wisely."
With Moridin's parting words fresh in his ears Lan stumbled through the newly opened gateway back into the streets of Caemlyn. His feet were heavy in his boots, his heart leaden in his chest. He had promised Nynaeve that he would keep her safe. It was a promise that he had been unable to fulfill. Now he was given a second chance. Nynaeve's shrieks dogged his steps all of the way back to the Horse and Buggy.