Saidin can easily kill, if the body is exhausted. Or so I have heard.
– Asmodean
Aran'gar confidently exited her Gateway, not even bothering to conceal it or invert the weave, despite being within the walls of Tar Valon. No one saw her, to be sure, and she knew that of the hundreds of Aes Sedai in the area, not one would have been able to detect her. She smiled as she thought of that, of her biggest advantage, even if it seemed like part of her curse at the time – even the most powerful Aes Sedai would assume she could not channel a spark, since they could not detect the saidin she still wielded, even in her new form. Certainly useful; she could kill them all, and they still would not even suspect. Of course, she would not – could not – if she wished to find out about al'Thor, or Asmodean, and she could no more defy the Great Lord than she could fly.
Asmodean. She remembered the name, of course, and could even put a face to it, though such things were becoming more difficult, especially when she had such trouble putting a face to her own name. He had been one of the Chosen, of course, swearing to the Shadow as she had. As they all had. But that was all in the village tales they still told three thousand years later; she smiled at that, as well. Past that, she did remember a man, tall and handsome, a rather quiet, introverted man, although he often displayed the self-confidence that was characteristic of the Chosen.
She remembered him, though. She remembered his habit of playing his harp in a corner whenever the Chosen met; the man had hardly seemed happy except when immersed in music. It had always annoyed her, though. She had not been friends with Asmodean, really; there were few friends within the Chosen, for understandable reasons, and alliances between them rarely lasted. Asmodean in particular had never been close with any of them, except Lanfear possibly, and that was not exactly friendship as Aran'gar recalled it. For the most part he had been content to keep to himself, and allow others to make plans. When he did speak, it was often earnest talk of the endless Ages of music he would make when the Shadow was victorious, of how he would bring music to the world forever. A strange man.
Aran'gar took in her surroundings. A stable, apparently; part of an inn, as likely as not. Well, at least she had got close enough to avoid the guards Shaidar Haran had told her about. It should not be difficult to enter the Tower itself from where she was now. Quickly exiting past a startled man who had sworn the place was empty only a moment ago, she walked out into the street, drawing little attention to herself. Well, no more attention than usual; in fact, she drew every male eye within a ten-foot radius. She would have laughed if the memory of being her old self were not so fresh in her mind; as it was, she cursed instead. Doubtless it was part of the Great Lord's marvellous joke. Sniffing, she headed towards the White Tower.
So Asmodean was dead. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. After all, whatever else he had been, he had been one of the Chosen, and if they were dying she did not plan to be next in line. On the other hand, one less Chosen meant one less to share power with when the Great Lord won Tarmon Gai'don, and certainly she couldn't say she cared enough about the man himself to be upset over his death. She doubted she could trust anyone save herself, and perhaps not even that. Perhaps Osan'gar least of all.
The square in front of the White Tower was filled with people, although they generally stayed away from the Tower itself; few wanted to associate too closely with Aes Sedai. Many of the people in this Age called Tar Valon the greatest city in the world, Aran'gar knew, and several of those in the square stopped to marvel at the massive towers and various other wonders of the city. Aran'gar herself regarded the Tower critically. She had been impressed by little she had seen in this Age, and Tar Valon was no exception. Unlike most of the rest of the Chosen, she was rarely surprised by the amount that had been lost since the time now known as the Age of Legends; it had been her field of expertise after all, back at M'Jinn. The city itself had been proof of her point. None of this could ever come close to what had come before, but it had been three thousand years.
Looking up at the massive steps that led into the Tower, she saw a woman climbing them with some trepidation, plainly nervous of what might be up there. Aran'gar almost laughed as she mounted the steps herself, confidently striding up them. She might have drawn even more attention to herself that way, but she did not care. What difference did it make? She had always preferred a more direct approach to problems, and scorned those who felt otherwise; she was not Moghedien, or Sammael. Or Asmodean either, now she came to think of it.
She reached the top before the other woman, striding right past her without so much as a glance, and headed inside. The rounded dome of the entry hall seemed far too large to be practical, and Aran'gar sneered again; these half-trained children hoped to match the likes of her with grandeur, overdoing it to the point of madness, and it still did not come close. She barely even noticed when one of the girls in white dresses came over to ask what it was she wanted, snapping her out of her thoughts and into reality.
"I'm here to see the Amyrlin Seat," she said, giving the girl a look that showed she would not be disobeyed. "I wish to ask her a question. It is my right."
The girl started to protest that the Amyrlin was busy, that she hadn't the time to see every woman who wished to, and Aran'gar sighed. From what Shaidar Haran told her, the current leader of the Aes Sedai was a fool who only heard what she wanted to hear. Aran'gar doubted this Elaida saw anyone who wished to see her, either, which she could understand, at least. Either way, she did not have time for this.
She quickly put together a complex weave of saidin – again, without worrying that she would be noticed; none of the Aes Sedai could know, and even if they did, they still wouldn't believe – and directed it at the girl, who fell silent at once. For all intents and purposes, there was no difference, but Aran'gar could see the look in her eyes that showed what had happened, a look of love and devotion. Compulsion. She had a fair talent for it, not as strong as Graendal or Rahvin, of course, but enough.
"Take me to the Amyrlin, then," she half-whispered, careful not to be heard, trying to allay suspicion. She doubted even logic could get her out if someone being Compelled was noticed. No one did, however, and Aran'gar allowed herself to be led down the corridors. She had to admit that she hadn't actually thought this far ahead, and wondered what to do next as she followed.
The corridors were filled with Aes Sedai, as well as the ones who wore white, who Aran'gar assumed were not full Aes Sedai, though they all seemed so weak that it made little difference either way to her. She kept her eyes open, mostly pretending to be looking at the various decorations and ornate furnishings of the place, but really keeping an eye out for the woman she had thought of. It was only a secondary objective, of course, and she had even less information to go on than she did for the Asmodean investigation, but she had learnt that it often paid to pay attention to your surroundings.
As it was, though, only one woman caught her eye, although Aran'gar wasn't quite sure why. She had had time only to glance at her before she disappeared around a corner, seeing little more than a pair of blue eyes, and yet the face had seemed familiar to her somehow, even if the woman didn't notice her. She couldn't quite place her, and it bothered her as she reached the office of the Amyrlin Seat.
With a quick command to the girl to return to her room, she let go of the Compulsion weave; the girl started and left. Aran'gar's attention was focused on the woman who now stood in front of her, oblivious to what had transpired. The woman gave her a cold, calculating look as Aran'gar explained that she wished to see the Amyrlin Seat, and then was covered with a broad smile. "The Amyrlin cannot see you at the moment, I am afraid," she said, "but perhaps I can help you. I am Alviarin, Keeper of the Chronicles to the Amyrlin Seat."
Aran'gar's own smile mirrored the other woman's when she heard that name. Alviarin. The woman that Ishamael had left in charge of the Black Ajah, according to Shaidar Haran, and someone who would not be difficult to manipulate. "Please, Alviarin Sedai," she said with a fair amount of mock servitude. "I must go into the Amyrlin's office, it's extremely important."
Alviarin's look could only be called condescending. "I am very sorry, child," she said, somewhat impatiently. "She really is far too busy to see anyone right now. The Amyrlin Seat has many duties. She isn't even in her office-"
"Good." Seeing the woman had taken her seriously, she dropped her tone and glared at her. "That suits my purposes fine. Now let me into her office."
As Alviarin started to raise outraged protest at this, Aran'gar casually wove some flows of Air and directed them at her. Suddenly the Keeper was silenced, and her arms slammed to her sides; her face was a picture of shock. She had not seen any channelling, of course. If she was as intelligent as Shaidar Haran had claimed, she would soon work it out. "Now do you see?" Aran'gar whispered. "We serve the same master, you and I."
The gag released, Alviarin did her best to compose herself, although she could not keep the shock out of her eyes. "You are one of the Chosen?" she asked, and barely waited for Aran'gar's nod before continuing. "You could have… How did you… Who are…?" She paused, and bowed her head, although the rest of her was still held. "I live to serve you, Great Mistress. I will help you enter." Shaidar Haran had been right, it seemed.
Alviarin opened the door of the office and Aran'gar walked in. She quickly went over to the desk and started looking through the various papers that littered it. There didn't seem to be much of importance, though, just orders and reports about various things, mostly trivial. Perhaps Alviarin would be a better source of information. "What are Elaida's intentions regarding Rand al'Thor?" she demanded, not looking up.
"She means to capture him, I understand, and keep him here until Tarmon Gai'don, for his own protection and that of others. A plan as foolish as it is futile, Great Mistress." Alviarin might have been able to keep the sneer of her face, had she been trying. "Besides which, it is plain that she means for him to kneel and submit to her. She is a vain woman, Great Mistress, proud and arrogant, and somewhat out of touch with reality."
Aran'gar idly wondered what this vain, proud, arrogant woman would do if she heard Alviarin talk about her like that. There was one point she needed to clarify, though. "So she didn't want to kill al'Thor?" Alviarin shook her head. "And what about the Chosen? What does she plan to do about us?"
This time Alviarin would have laughed if she had not remembered who she was talking to in time. "None. She does not believe that any of the Chosen are free. She often says that they – you – are all still trapped in Shayol Ghul, and that those who say otherwise are trying to spread panic." Taking advantage of Aran'gar's incredulous silence, she added, "If I may ask, Great Mistress… which of the Chosen are you?"
Aran'gar frowned, and started to channel saidin in anger – and then hesitated. It was a simple enough question, after all, and she hadn't finished yet; the woman's corpse would probably attract undue attention. Anyway, she knew that Osan'gar would be laughing at her if she lost her temper and ruined things, and she had had enough of him laughing at her. On the other hand, she certainly didn't plan to tell anyone of her… predicament… just yet. Or ever.
"I am called Aran'gar," she said finally, giving Alviarin a guarded look. "Once, I was known by a different name. Perhaps, if you serve loyally, you will learn what that name is. Someday." She looked down, and finished sorting through the reports. "Nothing useful, I would say. Is there anywhere else Elaida may be hiding something?"
Alviarin paused to think nervously, her former cool demeanour gone. "There is a place," she said eventually. "A room on this floor, where she goes sometimes. She thinks I don't see." A look of contempt passed across her face. "I don't think there is much in there, however. Just some ter'angreal that she keeps hidden, for whatever reason. If she were hiding something important, though, I'd look there."
It sounded as good a place to look for information as any. "Take me there," she told the Keeper. Alviarin led Aran'gar back out of the study and down more winding corridors, past more Aes Sedai. This time, Aran'gar tried to see the other woman, the one she had seen before, but realised how suspicious she must have looked, staring at the face of everyone who passed; she didn't want to miss it this time.
She was still looking when Alviarin stopped. "In here."
Turning, Aran'gar saw a wall like any other wall in the corridors, but noticed the way it was set further in than the rest of the wall. Was that to make it easier to enter without being noticed? Only one way to find out. "Open it."
Alviarin shrugged. She seemed to have lost some of her meekness already, which was good, Aran'gar supposed. Snivelling wrecks were no use, and she did not need to be constantly worshipped; she was not Graendal. "I don't know how, Great Mistress," she admitted reluctantly.
Aran'gar sighed as she wove a Gateway with saidin. Giving the confused Alviarin a sickly smile, she said, "You can go now," and stepped through, chuckling. The woman was probably still trying to work out how she had done it.
The room she had stepped into was dark, but she could make out a little. It wasn't a large room, perhaps spacious enough for a small person to lie down comfortably, but no more than that. She thought she could see a small desk and chair in one corner, and there seemed to be various random objects littered around the place. The ter'angreal Alviarin had mentioned, no doubt; she would examine them to see if they were of use later. She headed for the desk, but knocked over something in the dim light. Cursing, she wove herself a light from saidin and went to look through the desk when she heard a slight intake of breath behind her.
Whirling around, she instinctively fired a stream of balefire in the direction of the noise. A figure hurled itself out of the way. The missed attack had blown a hole through a wall and light flooded in, allowing Aran'gar to see more clearly; it was the woman she had seen earlier! She seemed ready to fight back, but Aran'gar had no intention of fighting in the tiny room. She wove herself a Skimming Gate and quickly stepped through, closing it only just in time to avoid getting burned by a ball of flame. Realising there was little left that she could do, Aran'gar headed back to Kandor, cursing the White Tower, Aes Sedai, the Dark One, Osan'gar and herself the whole way.
Mesaana pulled herself to her feet, staring at the space where the woman had just been. She had not sensed any of the woman's channelling, which was a somewhat disturbing thought. More importantly, she was sure the woman had recognized her. Who was she? How had she disguised her weaves? Did she reverse them? Was she using the True Power? Mesaana frowned. The woman, whoever she was, might as well have used saidin for all the difference it made. Lack of knowledge irritated Mesaana almost as much as a lack of logic.
Absently she channelled a flow of the Power to fix the destroyed wall. It was not hard to find a stone the right size in the grounds below and lift it up to the room Mesaana had thought only Elaida, Alviarin and herself had known existed. She put an Illusion on the wall and inverted the weave so that Elaida would not notice it, but her mind was elsewhere. Who was she? What had she wanted?
Sighing, Mesaana realised there was only one logical course of action. She would question Alviarin and then meet up with the other Chosen to decide what to do about it. There were so few of them left now that she had no choice but to rely on those that remained; it still amazed her just how many had fallen in the short time since they had been freed. Aginor and Balthamel and Be'lal, Lanfear and Rahvin and Moghedien. And Asmodean too, of course. She supposed al'Thor was responsible, but that was only more reason to stick together. She had seen Demandred, Semirhage and Graendal little more than a week ago, but she was sure they would not mind another meeting when they heard what she had to say. Mesaana let herself out.
