Chapter 10: Retaking Adanza
When Kiara returned, the battle at the camp was over. They had won, but at what price? Many men lay dead among the Trollocs, Myrddraal and Darkhounds, and only some of them were Friends of the Dark. Aes Sedai and Dreadlord alike lay dead over one another's corpses.
"What do we do with the dead?" the young captain she had saved earlier asked her respectfully.
"Bury ours," Kiara ordered, "and drag theirs behind warded horses in front of the city to rot. Do it."
The man looked shocked at her vehemence, then saluted and gave the order for his men to do as she had commanded. She would let Asmodean know she was no pushover to be toyed with, then left and expected to sit meekly and cry. Oh, no. Kiara Lisette Eronaile would defeat him yet.
"Tel Janin," she called. He came to her, avoiding her eyes. She knew there was anger burning in them. "See that the disposal of the dead is done properly. We will rest tonight. And tomorrow, we will retake Adanza. There will be no more truce. We attack when we can, whenever we can."
He nodded, but looked thoughtful. He was probably wondering what had occurred on the other side of her gateway that had made her change her mind about integrity so quickly. Not that he would have any idea. She turned away.
Morning dawned grey and cloudy. Weather to suit the mood of the day, thought Kiara. Her eyes stung, but no tears came. Her tears had dried when she was alone in her tent a few hours ago. But the wounds remained. They would always remain, and they would fester in her until the day she died.
Kiara's gaze hardened as she looked upon the spires of the palace rising above other buildings in Adanza. She hated Asmodean with all of her heart. What was left of it; mostly shattered ruins. She longed to eviscerate him with her bare hands and throw his entrails to the vultures. She longed to look upon his mangled corpse and smile. Yet she longed as well to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers. It was unexplainable. She still loved him.
"If he is dead," she whispered to herself, "he will trouble you no more."
"The dead do not cease to trouble the living even though they have expired," Tel Janin's voice advised quietly.
"Be silent," Kiara snapped, her voice more cutting than she had intended. "You know nothing about this."
"A lot more than you think," he retorted softly, but did not argue further. A display of his infinite wisdom.
Kiara channelled briefly, a weave of Fire setting the banners flying above the walls of Adanza ablaze. Asmodean's banner. The irony of it made her smile bitterly. The symbol on the red banners was a harp made of snowflakes. Kiara meant "snow" in Lireyya, the dialect known as the Scholar's Tongue. Kiara Lisette essentially meant "snowstorm" or "blizzard". A storm she would be, indeed.
The defenders began to assemble atop the walls. "Link with seven women and five other men," Kiara instructed Tel Janin. "Concentrate on taking out Dreadlords and Darkhounds. Use Callandor whenever is necessary. I trust your judgement."
Tel Janin inclined his head, both as acknowledgement to her order and as a polite response to her praise. "Will you form a similar circle?" he asked.
"No, Tel Janin," she replied, her lip curling. "I walk a different path. I am going to attempt to be the first person in this war to kill a Forsaken. I will try very, very hard. I am determined … to succeed."
"The Light go with you," he breathed, as much out of surprise as anything else. "You intend to enter the city unnoticed."
Kiara nodded silently, then held out her right hand, palm up. "It has been an honour," she said.
"An honour," Tel Janin repeated as he touched his palm to hers. "You do not intend to return." A line appeared between his brows.
Kiara snorted. "A precaution. I do intend to return if humanly possible."
He looked highly doubtful as he took her hand, turned it and brought her knuckles to his lips briefly. "You are a remarkable woman, Kiara. With you on our side, we may win this war yet. If I may go so far as to comment on this, I think you deserve better than … the one who holds this city."
Kiara turned and went for the patch of ground she had memorised in preparation for Travelling. Her mind was a jumbled mass of emotion. Behind her, projectiles of both the physical and Power-wrought type started to be exchanged between the two sides.
"You are a fool, Asmodean," Semirhage said contemptuously as she Restored his arm. He shuddered at the slight twinge of pain that passed though him.
"We the Chosen must not develop an attraction like you harbour for that girl. The Great Lord would not approve. You heard what she said to you. She will kill you the first opportunity she gets. Loving her will result in your own demise," she continued.
"I know," Asmodean answered miserably.
"The attack has begun," Semirhage advised. "You would do well to forget your feelings for the Aes Sedai and fight to keep your hold on the city. I have no intention of being caught in a battle, so fare you well." She was as good as her word, making a gateway and vanishing through it in the blink of an eye.
"All of you Forsaken being the cowards you are, I expected she would do that. I appreciate it, too. Now I have you all to myself," a very familiar voice said.
Asmodean felt goosebumps rise on his arms. The next moment, he was flung out of his seat on the throne with a powerful blast of Air. Kiara drew as much as she could through Cyrelaide, putting a shield between her once-beloved and holding him down with Air. A little Fire, too. He deserved it.
"Guess what?" she told the man on the floor. "I've changed my mind about balefire. I will draw this out, slowly and most unpleasantly. Don't try to resist—it only makes everything worse."
"I won't lift a finger against you and you know it," Asmodean responded angrily. "Do what you like, Kiara." Something hard, invisible and definitely hot snapped his face to a side.
"I have no such qualms," Kiara said harshly.
Asmodean glared at her steadily. He had never been brave, but this was different. Before any other he would beg for mercy as necessary, but the woman before him was a special case. "Then do it," he told her crisply. "Why am I not feeling tremendous amounts of pain right now? It doesn't matter to you. I don't matter to you. You implied as much the last time we spoke to each other."
Another slap with Air. The amount of Fire in it was larger, this time. Kiara was riled. Which was exactly what he wanted. She was riled because he was stating exactly the opposite of what she felt. The longer she stayed riled, the harder it would be for her to kill him.
"Is that it?" he asked casually, though his cheekbone felt fractured. "You will never find the heart, Kiara."
"Is that what you think?" Kiara asked. There was a dangerous glint in her eyes. She slammed Asmodean into the wall across the room from her. She spotted the dagger she had left in his arm the previous night lying on the armrest of the throne. So he thought she would go soft? A weave of Air deftly picked the thing up, activated the blade and thrust it straight into his abdomen. She saw his eyes widen before he let out a cry of pain.
"You're right, Asmodean," she said softly. "I still love you very, very much, and that is why I won't be able to find the heart to leave you as a creature dedicated to the Dark. Oh, yes, I love you very much." Her heart ached at the sight of the blood staining his white silk shirt.
She released every weave on him, including the shield. "Go on, Asmodean. Retaliate."
Without the weaves of Air supporting him, Asmodean crumpled into a bleeding heap on the floor. He still could not believe it. She had plunged a knife into his flesh. He had made her angrier than he himself had expected.
"Retaliate! You're Chosen, for goodness' sake, act like one. Think homicidal," Kiara taunted from her position beside the throne.
Against the pain, both in his wound and his chest, Asmodean raised his head. "Never," he said grimly as his blood began to pool on the floor tiles. "I love you, Kiara. It won't change until the last … drop … of blood … leaves my veins." His voice slurred at the end as a wave of dizziness swept over him.
Kiara shook where she stood as Asmodean lowered his head back against the floor. He was dying, and fast. Her knees threatened to give way. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over their rims. She did not want to see him die.
"I have … upset you," his voice said faintly. "Take my life as atonement. It was yours from the start."
Something snapped in Kiara then. She embraced saidar. Asmodean's body jerked upright. The knife was ripped from his stomach and flung away. The weaves of Healing went to work on the gaping wound. Even as she Restored him she was crossing the room at a near-run.
She flung herself on him the moment the wound was gone, hissing many, many uncomplimentary names into his ears. "I can't do this!" she gasped. "You are the single largest disaster in my life."
"And you count yourself a blessing to me, I suppose," Asmodean growled irately. "You are a catastrophe I cannot live without." He shoved her backwards one step, and he kissed her, not at all gently.
Kiara was suddenly very aware of what he was doing. What she was allowing herself to let him do. She bit down on his lower lip, hard and pushed him away with all the strength in her arms. He stumbled backwards, muttering under his breath and pressing fingers to a bleeding lip. "A catastrophe with a bad temper and sharp teeth," he revised his opinion of her, "that I still cannot live without."
"It's over between me and you, Asmodean," Kiara said, more in self-denial than anything else.
"Those who follow you have broken into the city," he said suddenly. "I congratulate you. But remember this, Kiara. It will never be over between us. You know this." He made a gateway and left her there. She had done absolutely nothing to stop him. She hated herself.
Kiara was still standing there, clutching Cyrelaide loosely when Tel Janin burst through the doors, Callandor blazing in his hands. It was a sign of their friendship that Lews Therin had lent the thing to him.
"Did you get him?" her second-in-command asked roughly as the light in his sa'angreal dimmed.
Kiara felt sick. "No. He … got away."
Something in her face made the colour drain from Tel Janin's. Callandor clattered to the floor as he crossed the room to her, worry creasing his face. They had grown as close as blood siblings during the long months of war with the Shadow, though he was generally too self-conscious to show much of it.
"Was there someone else here?" he asked as he shook her gently but firmly. "Did anyone use Compulsion on you? Try to remember."
Kiara laughed mirthlessly. Tel Janin and the Aes Sedai who had begun to assemble all took wary steps back. "No, Tel Janin. There was no Compulsion—my mind is clear as crystal. I have reason to believe Semirhage has been here in the recent past, but there was no sign of her when I arrived."
Tel Janin's face cleared for a moment. "You are certain, I hope," he said.
Kiara smiled a smile that never touched her eyes. "Positive."