Chapter 2: The Best Laid Plans

You know my choices. I am clinging to that tuft of grass on the cliff's lip, praying for it to hold one more heartbeat. If you fail, I am worse than dead.

Asmodean

A frustrated Aran'gar paced up and down the room she shared with Osan'gar, cursing the Great Lord of the Dark and his bloody sense of humour. Osan'gar smiled mockingly every time he saw her. He tried to pretend that he wasn't laughing at her, but he didn't try very hard. He wasn't the sort to care that much if he offended someone else, unless he was afraid of them, and even Aran'gar had to admit that she probably wouldn't be able to defeat him in a battle with the Power; he was surprisingly strong at channelling, though his real skill lay in biology and genetics. The Trollocs were proof enough of that.

But Aran'gar knew that Osan'gar found the whole situation funny, while she didn't find it funny at all. Every day, it became harder and harder to remember what it had been like to have been a man. After only a week, it already felt like something that had happened to someone else that she had heard about or imagined. Enough memories had been lost when they had died. She wondered bitterly whether it would have been worse to remember exactly who she had always been, or being able to feel her identity slipping away every time she tried to remember something. And they found it funny. Well, it wasn't going any further. She had already made Osan'gar swear to keep their former Chosen names a secret, and he acquiesced, unwilling to make an enemy of her if the Great Lord was forcing them work together.

She remembered Osan'gar, at least, even as far back as the Age of Legends. They had worked together even then, although she had never liked the man. She had been in charge of breeding the humans for his horrible experiments, although sometimes she doubted he remembered. He had been all about himself them, but then, Aran'gar had been no different.

Then they had been sealed inside the Bore by Lews Therin Telamon, and his Hundred Companions (even after all this time, she couldn't repress a sneer) for a long time; Aran'gar was still not certain how long. They had been the last of those sealed, closest to the surface, for thousands of years of endless sleep. Aran'gar shivered at the memory of the nightmares they had endured, of emerging to find their bodies decayed. She had taken it worst; she had pledged herself to the Shadow in the hope of retaining her looks forever, and they had rotted away. It also meant that they had had the first chance to show the Dragon that the Chosen were not as dead as they had thought. That had been fun, until they were killed of course. They were certainly surprised to see the two of them alive and well, despite everything. Two of the Chosen, Aginor and Balthamel. Yes, Balthamel. Her eyes took on a reflecting look as she sat on the edge of her bed. Yes. That had been her name.

She suddenly became aware of her own thoughts, and mentally shook herself. His name. Balthamel had been his name. She was Aran'gar now, but she wouldn't forget who she had once been.

She was about to resume cursing the Great Lord, but decided against that and re-examined the room she was in to distract herself. It was a nice room, not as perfectly decorated as the room where she had first seen life again – wait. She realised she was getting drawn back in, and changed the mental subject. It was the best room in the inn. It wasn't difficult to get an extra bit of comfort when you knew the tricks the Chosen knew. Of course, if they were discovered as Darkfriends here in Kandor, they'd have a hard time fighting their way out. They were hard on the Shadow in the Borderlands, but they'd agreed they needed to stay near the Blight, in case they had to return quickly for whatever reason, and because their new bodies blended in better in the Borderlands.

She was about to curse herself for thinking about her new body again when the door opened and Osan'gar walked in. He chuckled to himself as if he had been privy to her thoughts, and stopped himself when he saw her expression. She scowled at him. "So, had any brilliant ideas yet? You're supposed to be the brains of the outfit."

"I have to have the brains since you've got the looks," he shot back, and grinned; he couldn't help it. He always prided himself on his sense of humour, and like most people who prided themselves on their sense of humour, he was the only one.

Aran'gar sniffed at him, and then wondered why she did it. It seemed to make sense at the time. "If you mock me again, I swear I'll tear your eyes out. I'm sick of you already! It's been ten days. Can we get on with what we're supposed to do already?"

"And why shouldn't I?" Osan'gar didn't even try to suppress the sneer on his face now. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You just wanted to be beautiful. I don't remember everything that's happened since we were freed, but I remember you, Balthamel. Crying like a babe because your wonderful looks were ruined. Trying to hide it. Worried the women wouldn't want someone whose face had rotted away, huh?"

"Shut up," Aran'gar whispered. Osan'gar pretended not to hear.

"You only became one of the Chosen because you wanted to be immortal. To look good forever. But nothing lasts forever, except the strong. If you had studied like I did when we were alive, if you hadn't wasted your life dealing with lowlifes, and if you hadn't given in to your temper whenever you had a problem, then you would have known these things. But you didn't. And even when you did apply yourself, you only studied useless, impractical things. I once met a man called Eval Ramman who could have been brilliant. And now, there's just a pathetic wretch called Aran'gar who can think of nothing but her looks."

Aran'gar screamed. Her old name had been the last straw. "SHUT UP!" She hurled herself at Osan'gar, hands outstretched – and felt herself being picked up and held by weaves of saidin. She could sense his channelling, and see the weaves, but she could do nothing about them. She shrieked, partly out of frustration and partly out of fear. At least she hadn't been gagged.

"A neat trick, isn't it? Not my specialty, of course, but you pick things up if you have an enquiring turn of mind." Osan'gar leaned his face in close to hers. "You listen to me. I don't like you, I never have liked you, I probably never will like you, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. I've just told you everything I think about you, and it doesn't matter whether you like it or not. As far as I'm concerned, we had better work together to get this job done, and then hopefully the Great Lord will reward me, preferably by making sure I never have to see you again. Are we clear?"

Aran'gar narrowed her eyes, but nodded stiffly, and landed back on her feet. It annoyed her no end, but he was right, for the time being at least – they had to do this, whether they liked it or not, so they might as well get it over with. She didn't have to like it, though, and she certainly didn't plan to forget some of those bits at the end.

"So, back to the plan. What do we know?" Osan'gar inquired as if nothing had happened.

Various bits of paper with roughly scribbled notes littered the table, where they had quickly written down the few scraps of information Shaidar Haran had allowed them to begin their investigation with. Aran'gar flicked through a couple of them before reaching the conclusion they both already knew. "We know where he was killed, and we know when he was killed. We know he was calling himself Jasin Natael, for whatever reason. That's about it."

"Are you sure that's everything? Did the Myrddraal give you anything else?" He still wouldn't refer to Shaidar Haran by its name, or any other Halfman for that matter.

Aran'gar sighed. "I've told you a dozen times, that's all we know. The rest we're going to have to work out ourselves."

Osan'gar didn't seem to hear her, despite having asked the question in the first place. A pensive look crossed his face. "I wonder why we were given this task? Why not one of the other Chosen? Surely they would have a better perspective on what happened that us. I mean, when it happened we were… you know. Indisposed."

"Precisely for that reason, then. We were the only ones who could not have killed Asmodean. All the other Chosen are suspects, but not us." She smiled, somewhat smugly. That would teach him to act as if he was more intelligent than her.

He shook his head as if waking up, and nodded. "That must be it, I suppose. Well, what's the plan then?"

She stared at him. "You said you had a plan."

"Well, I may have over exaggerated a little, I admit." He shuffled his feet, having the grace to look embarrassed. "I meant in a sort of general way. You know, think carefully and decide what we're going to do. That sort of plan."

"Well, here's what I suggest. With the amount of information we have right now, there's no way we can work this out, even if we sit here and think for a year, which is what it seems you plan to do. Knowing when and where he was killed isn't enough. Why was he in Caemlyn? Who else was there? We don't have enough information. We need to collect more." She frowned at herself. Obviously Osan'gar's taunts had made her more introspective, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Osan'gar was eyeing her warily. "What are you suggesting? Do you want us to question the other Chosen? I'd rather not bother them, myself."

"No." She agreed with him on that much, at least. "Not yet, at least. But we have to find something more than what we have now. Besides, I thought you were the one who was trying to gather information." They had an unspoken consensus agreement that she wouldn't have to go anywhere unless absolutely necessary.

"Well, there's only so much relevant information I can find, this far from Caemlyn. And I thought you were the one who knows her way around taverns and criminals." Aran'gar looked dangerous, so he coughed and quickly continued, "Although I did hear one thing. I was asking to see if anyone had heard of this Jasin Natael, and one fellow, Cairhienin I'd say from his accent, said he'd heard of a Jasin Natael was the personal gleeman of the Dragon Reborn." He grimaced uncomfortably. "This Rand al'Thor."

Aran'gar's expression mirrored his own. They knew Rand al'Thor, alright. He was the one who had killed them at the Eye of the World after they had been freed from the Dark One's prison. Well, she hadn't actually fought him – her death had been caused during a battle of mutual destruction with the Green Man – but she still held him responsible, and viewed him with the same mixture of fear, hatred and need for revenge. Him and one other. A woman – Aran'gar didn't know her name – who had charged at Aginor, like a fool, and he – she – Balthamel had seized her, and held her. Aran'gar had replayed that moment a thousand times in her head since her return, and every time it was the same. One moment, savouring the touch of her flesh, hearing Aginor make some joke, before tossing her away to fight, and die. Yes, the woman was responsible. Aran'gar would enjoy tracking her down.

She regained her composure, trying not to show how much the memory of the Eye of the World threw her off. She didn't plan to give in to Osan'gar any more than she already had. "So, Asmodean was working with al'Thor. We already knew he was a traitor. It certainly sounds like something he'd go along with. Plenty of opportunities to sit around playing that bloody harp. But I doubt that's all he was doing."

"Then what else was he doing?"

"I don't know. Let's find out. Where is al'Thor now?"

"In Caemlyn, apparently." He started clasping his hands together, as if washing them. "You're not suggesting we go there, are you?"

She felt rather apprehensive herself, but there was no chance that she'd act put off now. Not after what he'd said. "How else do you suggest we find out what happened to Asmodean? Or what al'Thor's up to, for that matter. I am sure the one must lead to the other."

Osan'gar frowned. "You think al'Thor killed him, then? It's not like you to jump to conclusions. Although I can't say I disagree."

"Me neither, but I'm not jumping to any conclusions yet. But even if he didn't kill Asmodean, I do think that if al'Thor has some kind of plan, it involved Asmodean in some way, and that's as good a reason as any for someone else to kill him. Perhaps he was plotting to use Asmodean against another of the Chosen." She was surprised at the level of calm in her own voice.

"But what will we do when we get there?" Osan'gar persisted. "Go up to al'Thor and say, 'We're two of the Chosen, we were just passing and we wondered if you had seen our old friend Asmodean lately'?"

Aran'gar shook her head wearily. "Don't be foolish. You'll have to be far more subtle than that."

"Well, it's a foolish idea to start – what do you mean, 'you'? Aren't you going too?" Osan'gar regarded her uncertainly.

Aran'gar saw his expression and smiled faintly. "Of course not. You don't honestly think we'll get very far if we both chase the same clue together like bloodhounds that have lost their master, do you? No, I'll be elsewhere. Following other clues. That way, we'll cover more ground, don't you think?"

"What other clues?" Osan'gar sounded exasperated now. "I thought we just agreed that we didn't know any more than what we've already been over."

"Think about it, Osan'gar. If Rand al'Thor claims to be the Dragon Reborn, he must be able to channel. And if he can channel, those Aes Sedai must have some plan for him, or else they would have captured and severed him already before he went mad and started destroying things." Her voice took on a distinct note of satisfaction at that. After all, as Chosen, she and Osan'gar were protected from the taint on the True Source that drove saidin channelers insane, and it would certainly please them both if Rand al'Thor went the same way as Lews Therin Kinslayer. "So I thought that while you went to Caemlyn and had a look around there, I could go to Tar Valon and see what they had planned. After all, we need to know as much as we can about our primary suspect, don't we?" And if I find out where that woman is while I'm there, then that's fine with me, she added in the privacy of her own head.

Osan'gar swallowed, realising she wouldn't be talked out of this plan unless he could think of a better one, and she doubted he could. "Fine," he muttered. "I suppose you want us to leave immediately." It wasn't a question.

"Of course," she said sweetly, and opened a Gateway. Muttering to himself, he turned and opened one of his own.