I command nothing save myself, and not always that.
– Asmodean
Osan'gar stepped through the Gateway and closed it behind him, looking around warily to make sure he wasn't seen. There was no one in sight, though, and he was confident no one except al'Thor would have been able to sense it anyway without seeing him. He could see Caemlyn, a mile or so up on the horizon, and muttered under his breath. He had always hated exercise, much preferring to stay inside and research his experiments, and he would have Travelled right outside the gates if he'd had things his way. That woman had almost chewed his ear off when he had even suggested it, though. She was right, he supposed, but that didn't make him feel any better. Sighing heavily, he started towards the city on foot, wishing he'd been given time to bring a horse, no matter how poor a rider he was.
He was already deeply regretting everything he had said to Aran'gar earlier that day. Well, not all of it; he was willing to admit that he had enjoyed while it had lasted, and he had wanted to say it since he had awakened, some of it for years. But at the same time, it hadn't really been worth it in the long run. He couldn't afford to have her as his enemy, not if he wanted to get out of this mess the Great Lord and left him in with his new skin intact. It had been a foolish thing to do, and he'd have to keep his emotions under better control in future.
He approached the city, his thoughts focused on Aran'gar. He had never liked her – him – her, not even in the Age of Legends. Osan'gar had meant every word he had said, in fact; Balthamel could have been brilliant, perhaps one of the best historians of the Age – he didn't like such foolishly impractical subjects, but everyone had their niche – and he had thrown his life away as far as he could see it. Osan'gar often appreciated intelligence in others, even if he didn't actually like it, but he loathed seeing it get wasted. Instead, the man had become so wrapped up in his own vanity that he could see little else. Well, it had been a fine joke fate had played on him, and a finer one the Great Lord had done, and that was an end to it.
He realised that he had already reached Caemlyn. No surprise, really, as he had a habit of losing track of time when he was stuck in his own thoughts. The area just outside the city seemed to be as busy as the inside, some sort of farmer's market going on apparently; carts were still arriving from all directions, complete with various wares for sale. A number of peddlers had set up stalls around the sides, and the air was loud with the sound of them selling their goods. Osan'gar avoided them. It wasn't anything he cared for, and he had a job to do.
He had managed to quickly tire himself out, walking without thinking, and the weather did not help things. The air was so hot he hardly dared breathe it in for fear he would burn his lungs. Upon reaching the gates, he was stopped by two guards armed with spears. "Identify yourself," one of them barked sternly, a tall, well-built man who managed to hold his weapon in a manner that was both relaxed and yet somehow threatening.
Osan'gar stopped himself from shaking his head. He had expected some changes to the world after three thousand years, but what had happened to the Aiel never ceased to amuse and amaze him. "My name is Dashiva, Corlan Dashiva," he answered breathlessly. Aran'gar insisted that they should give away their names, despite the fact that likely no one would recognize them. Osan'gar felt like contradicting her out of spite, but he had to agree. As far as he was concerned, identity was a horse to be ridden like any other, until it breaks a leg. "I came here to Caemlyn to speak with the Dragon Reborn. I have urgent news for him."
The other Aiel chuckled as if he had made a joke, but the first glared and said, "Very well. Follow me. I will take you to the palace."
Caemlyn seemed filled with Aiel. Osan'gar could not fail to notice them as he passed, swarming the streets, seeming to match the number of native Andorans. He had heard the rumours of an army of them who followed al'Thor, of course, but even back when he had first lived it was rare to see so many of them in one place, and he had been led to believe that they had gone into hiding since then. But things change. This Rand al'Thor must be as powerful a ta'veren as they all say, he mused, as they reached the centre of the city. It was not a long journey, as the southern gate he had arrived through was closest to the palace, but enough to leave him in a thoughtful mood as he prepared to meet this man again, for the second time.
If he had thought the streets filled with Aiel, then there was nothing to describe the palace. Indeed, it seemed that there were only Aiel in the palace, and it was rare that he spotted a servant who had clearly been born in the city. There also seemed to be far more women inside the palace than there had been outside. He had heard that the Aiel had become fearsome warriors in three thousand years, and he wondered exactly what al'Thor planned to do with them all.
The door to the Dragon's quarters was guarded by another two Aiel women, their spears crossed over it. They both wore dusty brown clothes from head to toe, with similar coloured scarves hanging loosely around their necks. Clearly the clothing was intended to disguise them, though in the palace it just made them stand out more. Osan'gar idly wondered what palace camouflage would look like; perhaps a coat of every colour? Only fancloth would do it, he suspected.
It was while Osan'gar was in this train of thought that one of the Aielmen that he had been following spoke. "This man is called Dashiva Corlan Dashiva," the man said, waking Osan'gar out of his daydream and making his frown. "He wishes to see the Car'a'carn, Somara."
Somara, a tall woman with the red hair that all the Aiel seemed to have, grinned as she turned to Osan'gar. "Does he know you?" she asked.
"No," he said, "but I must see him. It is quite urgent." Not strictly true, of course, but if it got him in quicker, so much the better. He was dry washing his hands again, he realised, and sweating. Well, he could hardly be blamed for that last. It was sweltering.
"Very well," the other Aiel woman told him, stepping aside as Somara did the same. "You can go in, but if he decides it wasn't as urgent as you thought, you may wish you hadn't." They both chuckled as if a joke had been made again as Osan'gar entered. He was beginning to dislike those Aiel.
Inside, he found a room dominated by a huge throne made of exquisitely carved dragons. Lounging on it calmly was a tall, broad shouldered man with a mess of reddish hair and oddly grey eyes. In one hand he held a short spear that looked as if it had been cut in half, and he seemed to be discussing a plan over a map with two other men, though he seemed unconcerned. The man could only be Rand al'Thor, Osan'gar decided, but he didn't recognize the other two. One was wiry, but he looked quite agile, almost like a compressed spring; he wore a wide brimmed hat over short brown hair and carried a staff with a short blade on the end that Osan'gar recognized as an ashanderei with a small shock. He also wore a medallion around his neck in the shape of a fox head, and looked annoyed that he was even there. The other was a serious looking man with grey streaking his dark hair and a hooked nose, and looking by far the most focused of the three. He did not look up when Osan'gar approached, although the other two did.
Osan'gar bowed, and presented himself. "Greetings to my Lord Dragon," he said, and hated himself for it. "I am Corlan Dashiva, your humble servant." It was a good job that his face was pointing towards the floor, masking his expression, and fortunately he was able to compose himself as he rose.
Rand regarded him somewhat curiously. Then he said, "Can you channel?"
The question caught Osan'gar off guard. He froze inside, but maintained control of his face, if not his hands. "No, my Lord Dragon," he answered as steadily as he could manage. "Should I?"
Rand shrugged, and looked away. "I suppose not," he muttered. "I was just hoping someone might have come…" He trailed off into silence, and Osan'gar suddenly remembered hearing about the amnesty he had declared for all male channelers. Well, that explained the question, and it appeared he had given the right answer, for now.
He managed not to let out a breath of relief he hardly realised he had been holding, and tried to get back on track. "No, I came here because I would like to ask you some questions."
"What about?" Rand looked puzzled, and so did the thin man, although the third man was still studying the map intently and had hardly noticed that Osan'gar had arrived.
"A man who I believe was in your employ not long ago. A gleeman called Jasin Natael. Do you know him?" The unnecessary extra question had been carefully added, part of his plan that he had carefully weighed over on the way there, more to see if it had any effect than out of a certainty that it would. It seemed to, as Rand frowned and gave him a hard look.
"Mat, Bashere, leave me. We'll sort all that out later," said Rand, and when the man called Mat looked ready to protest, added, "I want to talk to this man, alright? Sammael can wait." Grumbling, the other two men left, although Bashere took the map with him.
When the door closed, Osan'gar casually said, "Sammael, eh? You seem to have made as many powerful enemies as the rumours say." His smile was weak, however; for all his talk, he still wanted nothing to do with al'Thor.
Rand rounded on him. "Who are you? Who sent you? Why are you here?" Osan'gar trembled slightly as he realised that the man had taken hold of saidin. If he tried to touch saidin now, Rand would know he had lied and likely attack immediately; and, while Osan'gar was sure he would win easily, the Dark One's orders made it inconvenient, not to mention that it would attract the attention of the Aiel guards if the walls were blown to bits. He thought quickly.
"I am who I said I am, Corlan Dashiva. Who sent me is none of my business and none of yours, and I can't tell you because I do not know. And I am here for the reason I stated, to ask some questions regarding a man named Jasin Natael. I take it you do know him, then?"
Rand seemed to calm at his words; evidently he thought that 'Dashiva' did not know about Asmodean. "Well, there is very little I can tell you as to where he is now, I suspect. He ran from my service about three weeks ago, and I have not heard from him since."
Osan'gar looked at him oddly. Was he lying? "No, my Lord Dragon, he did not run away. He died. Here, in this very palace, I understand. He was murdered." Rand's face seemed overcome with surprise if not actual shock, so Osan'gar used the opportunity to keep talking. "Someone killed him in a corridor somewhere in this palace, and if my information is correct, it happened on the very night you believed him to have left. Did you not realise? Did you fail to notice that one of your servants had been killed? It seems you think little of those in your service."
Fortunately, Rand appeared not to notice the contempt in his voice. "Natael is dead?" he muttered, half to himself. "Really dead?" He looked at Osan'gar. "How do you know?"
"It's just what I've been told," Osan'gar said, truthfully enough after all; he hadn't seen Asmodean's body. "I don't see any reason to disbelieve it, though, given the circumstances. But I plan to find out who killed him and why, if you'll help me. Now then. When did you last see Natael?"
Rand seemed to be arguing with himself over something. Probably mad from the taint already, Osan'gar thought derisively; he always considered that proof of the Chosen's superiority over others. Finally the man said, "Yes, alright. I'll tell you what I know. I last saw him three weeks ago, on the same day that I liberated Andor from Lord Gaebril. I haven't seen him since then. Are you sure he's really dead?"
Ignoring the pointless question, Osan'gar asked, "Was this before or after you killed Rahvin?" and then he almost bit his tongue in half. He could tell from the way the man suddenly stared at him that he had lost his concentration and made a tactical error. He assumed that it wasn't common knowledge that Rahvin had been in control of Caemlyn, and the look on Rand's face was proof enough of that. Especially given the subject at hand, it wasn't a good idea to give anything away, especially regarding the other Chosen.
"After," Rand said, and then added, "How much do you know, exactly?"
He had to try and make sure he didn't look too nervous. Thinking quickly, he answered, "I have heard rumours. I take it that it was true, then?" The last thing he needed was for this conversation to turn to the subject of Asmodean rather than 'Jasin Natael'. If Rand took a risk and asked him straight out about it, he would be put on the spot; admitting he knew the truth could assist him, or it could make him attack right away. At the same time, if he lied the man might realise after that mistake with Rahvin, and that would make him attack. He rubbed his palms together anxiously; Demandred was the gambler, not him.
"Yes," Rand said finally, giving him a hard look. The man knew that he knew. Osan'gar could feel it. "I don't know where you heard that, but it is truth. I killed Rahvin, and a few hours later Natael was gone. But I didn't think you came here to talk about Rahvin."
Osan'gar nodded in agreement, and asked another question. "So, where exactly did you see him last?"
"By a fountain in the palace grounds."
"Can I see the spot?"
"Of course." At least Rand seemed more willing to cooperate now. He strode over to the door and opened it, telling one of the guards outside, "Master Dashiva and I are going down to the gardens," and then waited as the inevitable escort was arranged. Osan'gar looked at Rand curiously. He looked more put upon than happy that the Aiel were obeying him, despite his somewhat regal countenance. Certainly, Osan'gar wouldn't have complained if all those warriors were willing to serve him of their own free will, as the Aiel appeared to be.
It didn't take long to reach the spot Rand had meant, a fountain with ornamental fish that was the match of a half dozen others littered around the place. Osan'gar looked around, as if expecting to find a message from Asmodean telling them who did it. "Was anyone else here?" he asked.
"Mat, and Aviendha," Rand told him, and then pointed up to a high window in the palace. "I was up there. I looked out and saw them, and then turned away. I didn't see him after that."
"May I speak to them?"
"If they want to." Rand turned to one of the Aiel women, telling her to fetch the two he had just named.
Osan'gar continued to study the fountain, not really expecting to find anything important, but worried that he'd miss something if he wasn't thorough. With a sidelong look at Rand, he casually commented, "You don't seem particularly upset at learning that your gleeman is dead."
Rand looked at him sharply. "He wasn't exactly the best servant I could have hoped for," he answered. "I hope you aren't implying that I had anything to do with his death. I didn't even know he was dead until you told me."
"I was not implying that at all, my Lord Dragon," Osan'gar assured him. "I was inferring that, sir, from the fact that you didn't seem upset that he was dead. I haven't come to any conclusions yet, and I haven't ruled anything out yet either." Still, he had to admit that as much as he'd like to pin this on al'Thor, it didn't look like he had anything to do with it. He had seemed quite genuinely surprised to learn the news, which just increased Osan'gar's disdain for him; fancy not realising your own gleeman was dead!
Rand gave him a level look until an Aiel dressed in white arrived with two people. One, Mat, was the man who Osan'gar had seen earlier, the one with the wide brimmed hat. The other, who he assumed must be Aviendha, was an Aiel, tall for a woman, who glared at him as if he had done something to insult her personally, but he suspected she did that to everyone; she seemed the sort. Rand turned to them. "This man is Corlan Dashiva. He is here investigating the death of Jasin Natael… or so he tells me," he said, with a glance at Osan'gar. "He has some questions."
Osan'gar regarded them carefully. Mat's eyebrows went up when he heard the news, and he took a step back, but Aviendha just stared impassively. Osan'gar couldn't help noticing that Rand had repositioned himself so that Mat was between himself and the Aiel woman. "As far as I can make out so far, you two might have been the last people to see Natael alive, here, a few weeks ago. What do you remember?"
Mat looked from Osan'gar to Rand and back again. "Well, the three of us were resting here after the battle in the city. Natael was playing his harp, I think, although I wasn't really paying attention, and then he stopped suddenly and wandered off, muttering something about people being unappreciative. I think he went that way." He pointed towards the palace, and cleared his throat before continuing. "So… he's really dead, is he?" Osan'gar, who was tiring of the question, nodded. "Well, look, I wasn't really friends with him or anything, but… I mean, I didn't kill him," he added quickly, looking around worriedly, "but, well, we didn't really get along, but… Burn me, what I'm trying to say is, he was someone I knew, even if we weren't friends, and if there's anyway I can help find who killed him, I will." Rand shifted uncomfortably during this speech; evidently, he had kept Asmodean's existence a secret, even from his most trusted friends.
Osan'gar looked to Aviendha. "And you? What do you have to add?"
Aviendha gave him a long stare, and then said, "I saw him go that way. That's all I have to say."
Osan'gar gave her a suspicious look – had she known about Asmodean, or was she just being unfeeling? He wouldn't put it past her – but before he could say anything, Mat spoke up. "What do you want us to do, then?" The other two glared at him, but remained silent; apparently they had not planned to do anything.
Osan'gar quickly took charge of the situation. "If the last time anyone saw him was when he was heading to the palace, then chances are he was killed inside the palace. So I want the entire place searched. Every abandoned storeroom or cupboard where you could hide a body. I want one of you to get together a team of people to do it. Tell them to look for anything suspicious; I'd prefer it if we could find the corpse, but failing that, someone else important will be useful, like something that belonged to him. Tell them to keep their eyes open for anything suspicious. Will you do that?"
Rand nodded, and started giving instructions to a white haired, grizzled looking Aiel woman who had been standing behind him. Mat said, "We'll be happy to help in the search, won't we, Aviendha?" He grinned at the woman, who gave him a glare in return.
"Myself, I'll wait someone while the rest of you are looking. Otherwise, I'll be too difficult to reach should something be found," Osan'gar explained, "and I need to be on top of the investigation at all times."
This was how Osan'gar managed to spend the next half an hour sipping some rather nice melon punch and reading a fascinating discourse on the nature of Trollocs he had found in the Royal Library, which was almost totally incorrect. He was chuckling at a particular wildly inaccurate sentence when the door opened and a servant entered, saying, "Master Dashiva? You wished to be called as soon as something was found."
Five minutes later, he entered a storeroom on the ground floor of the palace. Already inside were several Aiel – they all looked similar to Osan'gar – and Rand, who looked at him wordlessly. In his hands, beautifully carved with dragons and inlaid with gold, was a harp.
