In the Land of the Madmen

by Bob G. Leeman

the sequel to He Sleeps Under the Hill, featuring the continuing adventures of N'aethan, Ellyth and their companions after they are stranded... in the Land of the Madmen! Chapter 12 : Prisoners of Larcheen, in which; the Lightborn, Gen and Roth Blucha, Gleeman, reach the Midnight City / The Breaker is revealed to the captive Aes Sedai / Flashback: 'The Death of Lord Ingtar.' R&R

5. Chapter 4 : The Dream

Gleeman Bob writes : no flashbacks in this chapter! a couple of fights, some arguing and Cohradin being stupid, as usual! also; the return of an old enemy and the introduction of a new character. hope you like it, keep those reviews coming if you do, or even if you don't, and remember - I am just making it up as I go along! but we all do that... it is called 'life.'

Walk in the Light!

---

A small, plump girl watched with dark, owlish eyes as her father made his slow way up the rickety ladder, a bundle of thatch propped on his bony shoulder. In one hand the girl held a poorly-stitched rag-doll, which she treasured, since her mother had made it for her. Her mother; who the black fever had taken the year before. The other hand was raised to her face, thumb securely lodged in her mouth. Father had repeatedly told her that she was too old – nine – to suck her thumb, but she did it anyway. It comforted her.

The only thing that comforted her more, was books, and there were few enough of them to be had in this tiny, isolated village. She had learned to read at a much earlier age than most, had a capacity for retaining knowledge that amazed her father, but he was only a poor thatcher in the dying, swamp-bound nation of Mar Haddon and could not afford to provide her with the schooling that she needed. It didn't matter. They had each other. That was enough.

"Hello, Maigret."

The girl took her thumb out of her mouth and turned her head to see who had addressed her… she did not recognise the voice. A man stood on the other side of the fence that bordered the small cottage her father was busy thatching. A strange-looking man, swathed in a heavy, black cloak that concealed much about him. But strangest of all, he wore a mask of dull metal, shaped like a fox's face. Pale, blue eyes stared at her through the eye-holes.

"Who are you?" Maigret asked.

The strange man laughed softly, the sound of his mirth echoing within the confines of the mask. "All in good time, my dear," he replied, mysteriously. The mask turned this way and that as he glanced about the small, dingy village, taking in the tumbledown cots, the drably-dressed people moving about on various errands, the pigs and chickens roaming the dirt lanes. "You know, I grew up in a place not unlike this," the masked man remarked. "When I left, I never looked back. And neither will you."

Maigret opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the stranger shook his head, the odd fox mask moving from side to side. "We shall meet again, you and I… there is a bargain to be struck." The mask seemed to grow in size until it filled her vision, pale blue eyes staring straight into her soul, the strange man's voice echoing all about her; "you can wake up now, Maigret!"

The dark, bird-like eyes of Arachnae Kirikil, as she now called herself, snapped open. She sat upright on the small, uncomfortable camp-bed, repressing a groan. Her back ached fiercely, but she ignored it with long practice.

"Fox-mask," Arachnae muttered, considering the dream. She did not often think about the long-dead village of her birth, or her long-dead father either, though occasionally dreamt of them. But the presence of a mysterious stranger in a bronze mask shaped like a smiling fox's face – that had certainly never occurred before. And how had he known her true name? Only certain members of the accursed Black Ajah and the Great Lord himself knew this. Something else had been strange about the dream visitation… of course! The stranger had addressed her in the dark tongue of the Shadow! Presumably a Friend, then… and a powerful one at that, to walk at will in her dreams, which were closely warded. Not one of the Chosen certainly, they had no need for elaborate disguises, would have just identified themselves straight away. Then who? Something about the strange intruder filled her with disquiet, a feeling to which she was unused.

Arachnae shook her head angrily and reached for her sa'angreal, a bar of dark, multi-faceted crystal. It was very powerful, and she knew that she would need every bit of that power for the task that awaited her. Arachnae sighed. She was more than eight-hundred years old and longed not for death, as some of that age might, but for immortality, eternal youth, the banishment of persistent aches and pains… oh, to be young again! Well, it was in the Great Lord of the Dark's power to grant her this boon, but first she must deal with an ancient enemy of his... the Dragonspawn. And take her revenge on those callow Aes Sedai girls who had the temerity to defy her. They would pay dearly for their insolence!

"Ranim!" Arachnae called, in her ancient, reedy voice. The flap of the small tent she currently occupied was swept back and Ranim ducked inside. The former Tuatha'an youth put a hand over his heart and bowed formally.

"Good morning, Dread Mistress," Ranim greeted her softly, "did you sleep well?"

"Not particularly. My dreams were interrupted by a- well, let us just say that there has been a new development, my dear."

Ranim's cold, blue, unblinking gaze did not waver. He knew that to his Mistress, dreams were not mere dreams, but something more. But curiosity was not part of his nature, he merely awaited her next command with ineffable patience.

"Help me out of this confounded bed would you, my honey-bun..?"

Ranim stepped briskly forward and took Arachnae's arm gently, aiding her in rising to her feet. She noted that her personal assassin and bodyguard was wearing particularly garish shades today; an eye-wrenching combination of bright green coat, sky-blue britches and his customary crimson boots. Arachnae herself was less fully clad, but did not mind, it was hardly the first time that Ranim had seen her in her shift. She had once asked him why he continued to dress as one of the Travelling Folk after he was cast out, and he had promptly answered that it made his victims underestimate him, made them easier to kill. Fair enough.

Arachnae knew that Ranim had been awake all night, guarding her tent, but she did not sense any weariness in him, just the customary cold resolve. After all, the Warder Bond gave him the ability to do without sleep for long periods.

"Pass me my-" Arachnae began to say, but Ranim had already retrieved the dark purple gown from the back of the camp-chair and was holding it out to her. Arachnae smiled. The Bond worked both ways; through long practice, Ranim could anticipate her needs, sometimes supplying her with something before she even knew that she wanted it. "Thank you, sweetling. You would make a good Zomara! Is there any news?"

"Reinforcements arrived in the night, Mistress. A scurvy lot by the looks of them, sent from Circles in Maradon, Bandar Eban and Katar, as per your request."

Arachnae made a tutting sound. "It has been a long time since I requested anything, my caution. I think that you will find it was a command."

Ranim nodded curtly. "But of course, forgive my mistake, Dread Mistress."

Arachnae chuckled softly and pinched Ranim's cheek affectionately. "I'm just teasing, deary. Do try to develop a sense of humour!"

Ranim attempted to smirk, but failed miserably.

Arachnae sighed, took the gown from him and struggled into it. "Assist me with these confounded buttons, would you?" After buttoning up her dress, locating her shoes and kneeling to help lace them, Ranim led the way outside.

Arachnae blinked in the dawning light, taking in her bleak surroundings. Shattered rocks, barren cliffs and a shingle beach leading down to the turgid Dead Sea. Behind them; the damp and deadly forest of the Blight. To think that this desolate shore had once been the site of the fabled city of M'jinn! Ancient edifices and objects fascinated her, they always had, and none more so than the relics of the Age of Legends. But then, there were artefactss even older than that… such as Portal Stones.

Arachnae scowled. That dratted girl and her Dragonspawn protector and the rest of them… they had the Dark One's own luck, to escape her clutches via such a device! She realised what she had done and slapped herself chidingly on the wrist. The Great Lord of the Dark. Not the Dark One. She was going dotty, in her old age!

To the right of the tent waited three score of brutal-looking men, clad in dark woollens and cloaks, armed with a variety of blades. Arachnae ignored them, for now. They were presumably expendable, or their Circles would not so readily have sent them up to the Blight, from which few returned.

To the left stood a double-fist of Trollocs, a half-dozen Myrddraal at their fore, as well as a dozen Draghkar scouts. All that remained of her proud army; the rest had been dispersed elsewhere, at the orders of one of the Chosen. She did not know which one. Arachnae frowned. One could not argue with one's superiors about troop movements, but the decision still rankled. She suspected that it had been done to admonish her for her failure to kill or capture the Dragonspawn. Well, these few Shadowspawn would have to do. She had other weapons in her arsenal. Duadh and his people, what was left of them, at least. Irmilla, of course. And…

Arachnae glanced around. No sign of them. She turned to Ranim. "Where-?" she began to ask, but the way his eyes widened as he jerked the dark, Thakan'dar-forged blade from its sheath made her whirl around, sa'angreal raised, saidar flowing into her, danger anticipated…

Three tall figures had appeared from nowhere. They wore the cadin'sor and carried spears, but were no longer Aiel. The veils that partially covered their faces were not black, but red.

"Don't do that!" Arachnae snapped.

The middle one, their leader, lowered his veil and grinned. His teeth were sharp, filed to points. "Forgiveness, Wise One," he stated, in a clear voice, "but the Samma N'Sei walk softly – it is our custom." He glanced at Ranim with merciless green eyes. "Are you going to try to stab me with that little blade, Lost One?"

Ranim scowled dangerously. "Have a care, Shadowrunner – if I but cut you with this shard of darkness, you will not live to regret it," he warned.

The red-veiled killer was unperturbed by this, continued to grin. Arachnae suspected that he wasn't quite all there. These three Eye-Blinders, as they called themselves, were all tolerably powerful male channelers, supposedly protected from the Great Lord's taint… but that did not mean that they had not lost some of their sanity between the time that they discovered they could touch the Source and walked north to 'wake the Dark One' as the Aiel colourfully put it, and the time they were captured and Turned to the Shadow. Arachnae was unsure why Ishamael had sent the trio of Samma N'Sei – to spy on her, most probably – but she would make good use of them, even so.

"Put-up your knife, Ranim-dear," Arachnae murmured, "we're all Friends here." Still scowling, Ranim obeyed, reluctantly sheathing his dark blade. "And you, Zaradin," she added, addressing the Eye-Blinder leader, "don't call Ranim a 'Lost One.' He doesn't care to be reminded of his lowly origins."

Zaradin ceased grinning and raised his veil. "As you say, Wise One," he muttered, voice somewhat muffled. His green eyes flicked toward Ranim, narrowing slightly. Clearly, there was little love lost between them…

"Walk with us down to the beach," Arachnae suggested, though they all knew it was no suggestion. She set off, Ranim heeling her, a hand on his hilt. Zaradin hesitated, then made some hand signs to the other two Samma N'Sei, who turned and stalked silently back into the blighted forest, before following.

The Trollocs and Draghkar watched Arachnae fearfully as she paced slowly past them. The Myrddraal remained aloof. Nothing scared them, not even her. Arachnae ignored them all. They were just tools, and not particularly useful tools at that. And to ensure their loyalty, one had to set stern examples of the high price of failure…

With this in mind, Arachnae glanced up at the cliff that overlooked the bay. A dozen tall wooden stakes were set up there, pointing at the sky. On each, a dead Myrddraal was impaled. It had taken them a long time to die. They were the ones who had failed her back at the mysterious tomb, which had regrettably been destroyed before she could discover its secrets. They had not managed to kill the Dragonspawn, allowed it to escape and then had neglected their duty further by riding the shadows to safety, leaving Ranim and his men to die. So, she had made an object lesson out of them, for the encouragement of the others...

Shingles crunched beneath her shoes as Arachnae made her careful way down the beach, Ranim and Zaradin following.

"I did not think it possible, that there could be so much water in the world," Zaradin commented, his murderous green eyes wide and staring above his red veil.

The sea that held his rapt attention lapped fitfully at the rocks, which were less jagged down by the shore, some even resembling columns and arches. One rock in particular was of interest to Arachnae. Or rather, a stone. But the tide was not far enough out yet, she must wait. Her eyes scanned the horizon, but there was no sign of the Stormchaser, Duadh's ship. He and Irmilla had gone north, to meet a courier from the Shadow Library. There was information that Arachnae required, to adequately perform her task, ancient lore that could not be imparted in mere dreams. She did not expect them back for days yet… but looked anyway, just in case. In the meantime, she decided to tutor the boys a little, in antiquity…

"Do you see how smooth and shaped some of these rocks are?" Arachnae asked. Ranim and Zaradin glanced at the boulders, then at each other, and nodded, uncertainly. "That is because they are the remnants of an ancient city of the Age of Legends. 'M'Jinn,' it was called. It was the second largest city after the capital, Paaran Disen, the environs noted for uncertain and inclement weather. Azille Narof, founder of the pathetic Red Ajah, was born there, as was Goaeur Rantoel, insane Companion to the Dragon."

At mention of the Dragon, Zaradin raised his veil and spat upon the shingles.

Arachnae chuckled. "Its people were notorious for their foul mouths, chaotic natures and unusual behaviour," she continued. "M'Jinn went over to the Shadow in the early months of the War of Power. Ultimately, the forces of Light destroyed it, in a terrible battle that lasted for an entire year."

"How do you know all this, Dread Mistress?" enquired Ranim.

"Because I studied hard as a novice in the White Tower, instead of mooning over the handsome younglings in the practice yard!" Arachnae cackled loudly. Ranim and Zaradin eyed her, a touch cautiously. "But there remains one thing of interest about M'Jinn… it was the site of a Portal Stone. And there it is."

A dull-white, stone column became evident above the receding waves, its curved surface carved with faded symbols. On cue, a Myrddraal leading a dozen Trollocs and a Draghkar scout came marching down the beach. They came to a halt in front of Arachnae and stood, waiting. The Trollocs and Draghkar watched her with open fear, the Myrddraal with the usual loathing. It had a large raven perched upon its shoulder, which opened its cruel beak and cawed loudly. Ranim and Zaradin eyed the Shadowspawn with wary contempt, Arachnae with cold expectation.

"You know what you have to do, Halfman?" Arachnae asked the Myrddraal, speaking the Shadow Tongue.

The Myrddraal nodded curtly. "Observe and report back," it hissed, its voice like foul air escaping a grave.

"Good." Arachnae's dark, ancient eyes narrowed. She pointed a bony finger at the dead Myrddraal impaled on the stakes above them. "Fail in your task and I guarantee that you will come to envy them."

---

'As changeable as the weather in M'Jinn.'

- ancient saying of the Age of Legends

Chapter Four * The Dream

Ellythia Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, woke as the dawn light filtered through the barred window of her cell, and stretched luxuriantly. For the first time since her capture, she felt content, despite the fact that she was lying on a thin rush mat in a dingy prison chamber, awaiting an unknown fate… She wondered why? Then, she recalled the vivid dream… seeing Naythan again, and what had ensued from their meeting. She smiled, humming to herself softly, gazing up at the stone ceiling. That had been no ordinary dream! The first time with Naythan had hurt a little, for all that he had been extremely gentle and tender, the pleasure easily outweighing the pain. But this time… it had been perfect, passionate, like something out of the ancient romantic stories that Shrina was always reading.

Ellyth frowned, darker thoughts intruding upon her temporary happiness. Shrina… they had said that they were going to execute her, Jabal too, that horrid girl who ruled over these ignoble people had seemed quite intent on summary justice for her fallen armsmen, implacable in her resolve.

"Please come for us soon, Naythan," Ellyth whispered, "we need you, my love…"

"What was that, barbarian? Did you say something?"

Ellyth glanced to her right. The young Sharan woman, Dara, was sitting upright on her rush mat, regarding her with dark, knowing eyes. Yawning delicately behind a serpent-ringed hand, Ellyth sat up too. She was clad in her silk shift, somewhat rumpled, but Dara wore only a simple cotton loin-cloth, a band of the same fabric stretched tightly across her breasts. They did not seem to go in for shifts in Shara, or Co'dansin, rather. Well, it was a hot place, by all accounts.

"Good morning, Dara," Ellyth murmured to her cellmate, "did you sleep well?"

"Oh, I did. I am not so sure about you, Ellyth."

Ellyth's feathery brows drew down slightly. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Dara smiled slyly. "Why, you were sighing and moaning in your sleep, my dear barbarian; having a nice time, by the sound of it!" Dara rolled her eyes lewdly.

Ellyth blushed furiously.

Dara grinned. "So… who is he? What's his name?"

Ellyth opened her mouth, the words; 'I don't know what you mean!' forming on her lips, but the Oath she had sworn precluded her from saying them. Her mouth snapped shut.

"Not going to tell me, eh?" Dara winked.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Ellyth muttered.

"Like what?"

"Salaciously! Honestly, Dara, you are as bad as Shrina!" Ellyth sighed. "And if you must know, his name is 'Naythan.'"

"Your Warder? I had no idea. Then I envy you, barbarian, for dreaming of your man. And such a pleasant dream, too!" It was Dara's turn to sigh. "It is long since I dreamed of Hamadi, longer still since I saw him, was with him."

Ellyth leaned forward to pat Dara on the arm in commiseration. They had already swapped partial life-stories, there being little else to do in the cell. Hamadi was Dara's lover, also Ayyad, for all that he was a man. Apparently, amongst the channelers of Shara, in order to preserve their bloodlines the Ayyad lived apart from the general population in separate villages, and only bred with each other. The women were free to come and go, in service to the state which they clandestinely controlled, but the menfolk were kept cloistered and uneducated, used solely as breeding stock. Worst of all, when they began to channel or reached the age of twenty-one, they were killed.

Young Hamadi had avoided this fate with Dara's help, but only just. The two of them had been selected to breed together, but a strange, forbidden thing had happened – they had fallen in love. When Hamadi began to touch the Source at the age of nineteen, they had kept it a secret for as long as possible, but eventually had been found out. They had been forced to flee their village, a step ahead of pursuing, vengeful Ayyad women. Only Dara, in a panicked state, somehow managing to open a Travelling gate, had saved them. But the land they involuntarily came to and could not escape was far from a friendly place, as Ellyth herself had discovered. Some months ago, they had been captured by the Hawx, had been awaiting their fate ever since.

"Well, enough talk of men. They are pleasant enough company at times, and an enjoyable diversion in bed, but nothing but trouble otherwise!" Dara reached for something behind her mat and Ellyth's heart sunk. She repressed a groan. Dara then produced a stones board, the pieces all set out, ready for a game. "Come, barbarian Aes Sedai, let us play."

The gaoler, whilst brusque, was not as rude as most of the other Hawx, he never called Ellyth a 'witch' and when she had asked him for a stones board, surprisingly, he had one. Even more surprisingly, he had been willing to lend it to them. How Ellyth regretted it! Dara had never heard of the game, but had learnt to play with ease… and had soon mastered it. Now, she beat Ellyth four times out of five. Ellyth had always considered herself to be a skilful player of stones, father had taught her much about strategy, and to be beaten so consistently by someone who was essentially a beginner was aggravating in the extreme! Dara's enthusiasm for playing endless games of stones at all hours was beginning to wear on Ellyth's nerves… but there was little else to do in their drab cell.

As Dara set her first stone, Ellyth leaned forward, lowering her voice cautiously. You never knew who might be listening… "Dara?"

"Yes, Ellyth?"

"The dream, last night… it was more than just a dream, yes? My Naythan, he is not as ordinary men; he has certain… abilities. One is that he is able to walk in dreams." Dara raised a sceptical eyebrow. "It is true!" Ellyth exclaimed, "I would not be able to tell you this, were it not!"

Dara nodded sagely. "Ah yes, this binding oath that you Aes Sedai take, to speak no word that is not truth." She grinned, the tattoos on her face twisting. "Believe me, barbarian, were I not able to lie, I would be dead many times over!"

"Yes, well, Naythan visited me last night…"

"He most certainly did! His 'visit' woke me up!"

Ellyth blushed again. "Hush, Dara! I told him where we were, described this awful place." Ellyth gazed at Dara with her dark, perceptive eyes, feeling hope for the first time in days. "He will come for me, for all of us. We shall be rescued, ere long."

Ellyth's voice held conviction, but Dara did not seem to be convinced by it. "What can one man do against many?" demanded the Ayyad woman, fatalistically. "Do not think I should not like to be freed from this dire island, reunited with my Hamadi, but the Hawk-barbarians are many, well-armed and organised, unlike the other savages of this insane land… what can one man do against them?"

Ellyth smiled confidently. "I told you, Naythan is no ordinary man. He has saved my life on many an occasion. He will doubtless think of something."

"Well, I certainly hope so." Dara eyed Ellyth searchingly for a long moment, then shrugged. "It is your move," she pointed-out.

---

Thaeus and Feir made their stealthy way through what she had told him was called the 'Ghost Forest,' the Gholam trailing along behind. They were back-tracking the Madman that they had encountered, to his point of origin. Heading back towards the north, Thaeus thought, though was unsure. He was equally unsure how Feir was following the Madman's tracks, he could make out no sign of them himself. He accounted himself accomplished at woodcraft, father had taught him all of his considerable skill, but the trail was old, the grass and ferns held little clue as to the Madman's progress. This did not seem to bother Feir, she stalked along, pale eyes scanning the ground ahead, occasionally muttering to herself in the Old Tongue. At one point she paused, crouched smoothly and bent back the leaf of a bramble bush. There was a small, dark stain on it.

"See," Feir whispered, "Myrddraal blood. We're getting close."

Thaeus blinked. "How can you backtrack the Madman?" he whispered back, "I see no sign…"

"Oh, there are signs and there are signs, milord. My eyes aren't quite like yours, I can see all sorts of things with them… the fading heat of his footsteps, for example." Feir smiled crookedly. "I'm rather looking forward to this! I've never actually seen Shadowspawn before, except for the Gholam, and it doesn't really count…"

"I am spawn of the Shadow," hissed the Gholam, which had also crouched, to sniff at the blood, "though suborned by your accursed father…"

"Don't be rude about Father, Gholam! You were sent to kill him and he let you live, didn't he? Why, you're lucky he didn't dissect you!"

"Shh!" shushed Thaeus, "you said they were close; they might hear you!"

"Oh, I doubt they're capable of hearing anything anymore," Feir commented airily, though she did lower her voice, "those who encounter a Madman don't tend to survive the experience…"

They rose, and continued on their way. The surrounding forest was looking familiar to Thaeus; he wondered why. Then, they reached the clearing, and he understood.

"This is where we arrived!" Thaeus whispered. Feir glanced at him, wordlessly. Cautiously, they pushed the ferns aside and entered the clearing. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, and they could see why. The wrecked hull of the Little Watcher, the small ship transported here, had been burned, its charred ribs jutting upwards, black and skeletal. Thaeus eyed the wreck sadly; this fine craft had saved them from a storm, been their home for a while, but now it was no more. That was not all; the corpses of a dozen Trollocs lay scattered about the clearing in various attitudes of death, their skin and fur showing clear sign of fiery destruction.

Feir examined them with interest. "Look, this one has horns!" she exclaimed, "and the one over here, a beak! They certainly are ugly…"

Movement from one of the bodies and Thaeus drew his sword and leapt forward, putting a protective arm around Feir. His wounded shoulder protested, but was definitely getting better. It was the burned corpse of the Myrddraal, lying on its back, still twitching… and minus its head. Its Thakan'dar-forged sword was sunk point first into the ground nearby, had evidently been used to decapitate it.

Feir glanced up at Thaeus, amused. "Just what I need," she murmured, "a big, strong man to protect me!" She slipped out of his warding embrace and went to examine the Myrddraal.

Feeling a little foolish, knowing that it was more likely Feir protecting him in this dread place, Thaeus joined her. "Why would the Madman take its head?" he wondered.

Feir shrugged. "He was mad. Who knows what motivates the insane ones? Perhaps he wanted to keep it as some sort of gruesome trophy? Or have conversations with it... Gholam! Come here!" The Gholam had been lingering at the edge of the clearing, it came over and looked at them with its dark, soul-less eyes. "You may feed if you wish."

The Gholam pulled a disgusted face and shook its head. "The Beastmen have been dead too long, their blood sickening to me," it complained.

"Well, what about the Fade? It's still alive… sort of."

"The blood of Myrddraal is not to my taste," refused the Gholam, fastidiously. It eyed Thaeus hungrily. "Of course, if you have tired of the company of this human, I could always-"

"Hush, Gholam! Don't be churlish!" Thaeus regarded the Gholam warily, his grip tightening on his sword-hilt. Feir noticed. "Don't worry, Thaeus, even if I wasn't around, it can't harm you. Can you, Gholam?" The Gholam scowled and shook its head reluctantly.

"Why not?" Thaeus asked.

"Because Father reconditioned it, of course!" Feir smiled wickedly. "Say your Oath, Gholam!"

"Must I, Mistress?" whined the Gholam.

"Yes… do it!"

The Gholam sighed gustily, then spoke rapidly; "I may not harm a human or Ogier except in protection of the existence of my Mistress, or in protection of my own existence. All manner of Shadow-wrought and Friends of the Dark are to be exterminated whenever feasible. I am a silly Gholam. I am a stupid Djinn. I went to assassinate Chaime Kufer Mors, Aes Sedai, Constructor of the Lightborn, but became trapped in a bottle instead. Praise the Creator. Shai'tan is a fool." Feir laughed delightedly, the odd yipping sound echoing in the clearing. The Gholam scowled. "All hail the Great Lord of the Dark, down with the Creator, you are a harlot!" it added, glaring at Feir. Her laughter redoubled.

Thaeus blinked. He rather got the impression that these two strange companions had been out on their own together too long. Their relationship, the way they related to each other, was certainly unusual. But it was good to know that the Gholam couldn't harm him unless he tried to harm it. Which he certainly would not, he was well aware that it could tear him to pieces, if it so chose…

Thaeus opened his mouth to ask what they should do now, but the bushes nearby abruptly parted and a bat-winged, pale-skinned creature stepped out. A Draghkar! Thaeus recalled them attacking the ship, a whole flock of the vile creatures… He stepped forward, blade at the ready, but it was too late – the Draghkar opened its red-lipped, fanged mouth, and began to sing. The sound was all-encompassing, hypnotic… Thaeus was distantly aware that he had dropped his sword, that he was stumbling towards the foul creature's embrace, willing to have his soul sucked from him… and then Feir stepped smartly between them, and slapped the Draghkar hard across the face. Its song immediately ceased; it looked surprised.

"Shut-up, you! Are you alright, Thaeus?" Feir sounded concerned.

Shaking his head to clear it of the last vestiges of the Draghkar's deadly song, Thaeus retrieved his sword. "I'm fine!"

"Quick, Gholam, grab it before it flaps off!"

When next Thaeus looked, the Gholam was behind the Draghkar, gripping it in an inescapable embrace, its wings pressed to its back, arms pinned to its side. Feir regarded the captive with satisfaction. Then, she growled something to it in a harsh, crude language. She drew her bronze blade, waved it in front of the Draghkar's face, then said something else. The Draghkar blinked its large, pale eyes, and nodded hesitantly.

"What speech is that?" Thaeus asked Feir, "I don't recognise it."

"Oh, it is the Shadow Tongue, a nasty language. Father taught it to me, along with the Low and one or two others."

"What did you say to it?"

"I told it that its horrid singing doesn't affect me or the Gholam, but if it tries that again, I'll cut out its tongue."

"Oh."

Feir glanced hesitantly at Thaeus. "Um… the Gholam and I are going to take the Draghkar into the woods and ask it one or two questions; why it's here, are there any more Shadowfilth lurking about, that sort of thing… I may have to be rather persuasive so you probably won't want to participate…"

Thaeus frowned. "I used to be a Child of Light, I've seen Darkfriends tortured before," he pointed-out. Only once, though, and it had sickened him.

"I don't know what a Child of Light is, but I'll take your word for it…" Feir put a hand on Thaeus' shoulder, smiled at him. "Thaeus, if we're to be lovers, I'd like you to have a good opinion of me. You might not if you see what I do to the Draghkar. You understand?"

Thaeus thought about it, then nodded. They kissed. The Gholam made an impatient, vaguely disgusted sound.

Feir turned away and glared at it. "Damn-it, Gholam!"

At which, to Thaeus' surprise, the Gholam opened its mouth and in an entirely different voice from its habitual sinister tones, said; "you should not say that word, Young Mistress!" Feir laughed again. Thaeus stared. The Gholam had sounded a bit like one of the Aielmen, only in mature, more cultivated tones.

Feir patted the captured Draghkar on the head. "Come along, vile thing, let's find out how you got here…"

"Oh, I can answer that," Thaeus exclaimed, and pointed his sword at a greyish column covered in arcane symbols, half-hidden by vegetation, projecting from the ground next to the burned wreck of the ship.

Feir glanced at it, and nodded. "Mmm. The Portal Stone. The 'Everstone' the locals call it. That's how Father and I got here too." She grinned. "This is certainly a busy little clearing; someone should build an inn here, to cater to all the various creatures that are coming and going!"

Thaeus chuckled at the idea, then, sheathing his sword, paced over to the wreck and prized a blackened board from it. It would make a serviceable enough spade…

"What are you doing?" Feir wondered.

Thaeus smiled mysteriously. "While you are questioning the prisoner, I have something to occupy me." He nodded at the tree beneath which the Horn of T'oph was buried. "You do like surprises, don't you?"

---

Jabal lay, seemingly alone in the stockade, unable to rise… worrying about Renn. Something to do with this accursed place seemed to mask the Bond between his Aes Sedai wife and he, Jabal had not been able to sense her location ever since he awoke in this prison. Aebel and Blaek reported that they couldn't detect Shrina either… it was maddening, not knowing where they were, what was happening to them. These peculiar Shorebound who had taken him captive and stolen his sword, they did not seem to care for Aes Sedai. He had overheard them speaking of 'witches,' as the Whitecloaks did.

In the night outside; torchlight approaching. Jabal tensed, ignoring the pain of his wounds. This would be where they found out whether the young Sharan's plan held water. Strange, to encounter one of his kind, so far from their mutual homes. Jabal had been to Shara enough times to be well aware what a tattooed face meant – but had thought that only women channelers had them. He had never seen a male Ayyad before…

The torches were held by Kor and a dozen of his men. The Hawx Blood nobleman had shed his robes; all wore buckskins and war-paint, evidently they were preparing to go to the mainland on one of their patrols. Kor peered through a gap in the stout logs that made up the walls of the stockade, scowling. Clearly, he had expected to find four prisoners here, not one. "Where are the others?" he demanded.

"Your mother was a cheap dockside hussy!" Jabal responded, weakly.

Kor's scowl intensified. "Open the gate!" he shouted. One of his men pulled back a heavy iron bolt and the door of the stockade was swung open. Kor entered, crouching, Jabal's short, ivory-hilted sword held in one hand, a gold-pommelled knife in the other. "Where are they, Atha'an Miere?" he hissed, dangerously.

Jabal grinned insolently. "And your father was a one-legged Shorebound whelk-salesman!" he added.

Kor held the blade of his knife to Jabal's throat, thought about it, then reconsidered. He withdrew the knife, leaving a spot of blood on Jabal's neck. He smiled nastily. "The pale-haired witch, she claims to be your wife. Is this true?"

Jabal declined to answer, but his dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I think it is true. How would you like it if I had her brought here and put to the torment? She would die by inches, right before your eyes…"

It was Jabal's turn to scowl. "Very well," he growled, "the others have escaped."

"I can see that, Sea Folk scum! How did they escape?"

"One of our own let them out. We have infiltrated your island, my men are everywhere!"

Kor snorted contemptuously. "I seriously doubt that. Why did you not go with them?"

Jabal sighed. "I am injured, too weak to stand. They could not carry me, I would only have slowed them down. So, I remain here, to taunt you further! Your sister was-"

"Silence!" Kor turned to his men and barked some orders in the Old Tongue, which Jabal understood but poorly. Something about pursuit, perhaps? Several of the scouts hared off into the night. Kor turned back to Jabal, considering. Then, he gave another order in the same ancient language, and two of his men entered the stockade. Each took an end of Jabal's straw mat and lifted; he was unable to repress a groan as his wounds protested the movement. They carried him outside, Kor following. Jabal's eyes were on the gate of the stockade – would they close and lock it? The success or failure of the escape plan rather depended on this.

"Where are you taking me?" Jabal demanded.

"To the infirmary," Kor answered, "your wounds need seeing to."

"What is the point of nursing me back to health if you are just going to kill me?"

Kor smiled coldly. "We want you to be able to walk unaided to the scaffold, of course. Carrying a man to his execution is ignoble."

"Oh? And what of the sharks?" Jabal enquired, "you said you were going to feed us to them…"

"I was being figurative." Kor shrugged. "There are no sharks hereabouts… the lionfish ate them all!"

Jabal blinked. Lionfish… his name and his nemesis! "Just as well," he commented with some bravado, "I have encountered sharks before and they did not live to regret it! It would have ended with me eating them, not the other way around!"

Kor laughed harshly. "I almost like you, Atha'an Miere! You are a bold fellow!" Then his expression sobered, darkened. "But you killed one of my scouts and for that you must pay with your life."

"I was trying to kill you, remember?" Jabal muttered.

"I do. But I avoided your thrown blade with ease. Young Apat did not." Kor frowned. "He was a good tracker, but always was too slow on his feet."

As they carried him away, Jabal glanced back at the stockade, the door to which now hung open. "Good luck, Swordbrothers," he whispered.

---

Renn sat on a rush mat in her cell, worrying about Jabal. She couldn't sense him. That big metal tower on the hill clearly masked the Bond as well as blocking her off from the Source. It was maddening, not knowing where he was, if he was alright… and they were going to execute him! Shrina too. Renn did not have a particularly violent temperament, her temper was of the slow-burning kind… but she could feel herself getting angry now. If those nasty Hawx harmed her husband or her friend, then by the Hand of the Creator, she would find a way to pull their rotten castle down around their ears!

"Penny for your thoughts, deary?" asked her cellmate. Renn glanced up, looking at the old woman reclining on the mat opposite her. She had a lined, care-worn face, but with fine bone-structure that suggested she must have been quite a beauty in her youth. Her hair was long and silver, intricately plaited, her skin quite pale. Dark, knowing eyes peered at Renn. She wore a simple grey dress and sandals. Renn, in brown silks, was not looking forward to having to change into one of these. All of the prisoners wore them.

"You don't have a penny, Malissa," Renn commented levelly, "but I'll tell you for free if you like… I was thinking about my husband. Well, worrying about him…"

"Don't get yourself into a state, pigeon!" chided Malissa, the ancient Wilder. "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills." The old woman claimed to be Aes Sedai, but wasn't. She had never been tested, never held the Oath Rod. She lacked the ageless features that one associated with Sisters. "I've had a husband or two over the years," Malissa went on to comment, "about seven, now that I think of it… one loses count, after a while."

Renn stared. Malissa was unremarkable in some ways, but in others… why, she claimed to be over five-hundred years old! Renn had doubted her at first, but the old Wilder had no particular reason to lie to her… no Aes Sedai of the White Tower had ever lived that long, to the best of her knowledge, which was considerable. At least, not since the Trolloc Wars… when the Sisterhood had begun to swear on the Oath Rod. Renn was starting to have her suspicions about that particular ter'angreal…

"Which of them was your favourite husband?" Renn asked, not so much because she cared, but more to pass the time and take her mind off Jabal.

"Oh, number three, most definitely – Davith. He was just a little fellow, but with the ardour of a man twice his size. Oh, he was insatiable!" Malissa cackled.

Renn blushed. "Malissa! Really!"

"Don't be a prude, Renny. You're a married woman – you know perfectly well what men are good for!" Malissa made a lewd gesture.

Renn shifted uncomfortably on her mat. Their cell was small and rather cold, though the gaoler had at least supplied extra blankets, if grudgingly. "I am Aes Sedai," Renn pointed-out, "and of the Brown Ajah. My mind is meant to focus upon higher things." An image of she and Jabal on their wedding night popped unbidden into her head and she blushed again.

"Well, I'm Aes Sedai too," Malissa responded, "but it doesn't stop me from enjoying life's little consolations." She frowned. "Though I am a bit old for that sort of thing these days," she allowed.

"Are you really over five-hundred, Malissa?" Renn asked, "I don't mean to doubt you, but…"

"I was born in the Year without Sun," Malissa stated, definitively, "why, I'm so old that I even remember when the Sea Folk first started coming here, to trade. They didn't stay long, mind you – it's not easy, doing business with folk who only want to kill and eat you!" She sighed. "I'm not the oldest Sister, either. Not by a long shot. Nor the most powerful, at that. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve, they've kept me alive this long…" She glanced around at the bare stone walls of their cell, and sighed again. "A pity that it should all end like this…"

"What are they going to do with us?" Renn asked, fatalistically.

"The Hawx?" Malissa scowled. "What do ignorant savages usually do with witches?" She left it at that, neither wished to dwell on their probable fate. There was silence for a long moment, then; "tell me again about this White Tower of yours," Malissa requested, eagerly.

Renn groaned. "Again?"

---

Blaek lay buried in the sand that floored the stockade, a long, hollow straw gripped firmly between his teeth. He was breathing through it, with some difficulty. He didn't think that Ayyad's plan would work, but it had been better than doing nothing… his eyes were full of sand, as were his ears, but he had been able to make out the sound of voices earlier. Now, there was silence. Blaek could stand it no longer, lying there, helpless. Cautiously, he raised his head to the surface, blinking the sand out of his eyes. The stockade was empty… and the door was open! The Sharan youth's plan seemed to have succeeded, thus far…

Blaek freed himself from the shallow pit in which he had lain hidden, brushing sand from his ragged clothes. He spat the straw out, scanning the surroundings of the stockade. The night-time beach seemed deserted, no sign of any guards… this might actually work!

Blaek looked around until he located another straw, projecting up from the sand. Grinning mischievously, he put his finger over it. Nothing happened at first, then Aebel's head erupted form where it had been buried, followed by his shoulders. He coughed and spluttered.

"Not so loud, brother!" Blaek hissed warningly.

Aebel glared at him, whilst wiping sand from his face. "I couldn't breathe," he complained, "what did you do?"

"Nothing," replied Blaek, innocently.

Aebel eyed him suspiciously, then sat up, glancing around the otherwise empty stockade, brushing sand from himself. "Where is Jabal?" he asked.

"They must have taken him," Blaek answered.

The Twins frowned; an identical expression on identical faces. For the plan to work, one of them had to stay behind, to make their captors think that the others had escaped. It had to be Jabal, who was too weak to stand, much less walk… but they did not have to like it. In any case, Jabal had insisted that it be him over their objections, even ordering them to leave him. Since he was senior Warder, if only by a year, they had to obey.

"We will rescue him…" whispered Aebel.

"…along with Shrina and the others," whispered Blaek.

The Twins looked around. "Where is the Sharaman?" they asked, at the same time. At which, the sand over in the corner erupted and Ayyad emerged, sitting upright. He took the straw from his mouth and blinked at them. Then, he noticed the open door and grinned, white teeth flashing in his dark, tattooed face. He muttered something in his odd, liquid language, rose without bothering to dust himself off and slipped outside. Blaek helped Aebel to rise, his brother's broken arm hampering him somewhat, and they followed silently. Beyond the beach, the castle of the Hawx loomed against the night sky, numerous banners depicting gold and silver hawks in flight, fluttering.

The Twins looked at each other, thinking the same thing, as they so often did. First, they would need weapons. Hopefully, they could get their swords back… Ayyad too was looking at the castle, but then he turned and glanced down the beach toward the sea, where several of the big war-canoes were pulled up on the sand. Clearly, he was in two minds as to what to do next – escape to the mainland, or try to rescue the others?

The decision was made for them. An alarm bell began to ring up on the battlements, soldiers could be seen running along the parapets and a voice cried; "prisoner escape!" The three of them ran for the canoes.

Blaek cursed, not wanting to leave but knowing they would be no good to Shrina if recaptured… they would get help, return for her and exact their revenge on these accursed Hawx! They reached the canoes, a couple of which were smaller than the others – one of them would suitably accommodate the three escapees. Blaek and Ayyad pushed it down toward the waves, while Aebel stood watch.

"Danger!" Aebel shouted.

Blaek whirled around, reaching for a sword that was not there. A half-dozen of the hawk-masked soldiers were running down the beach towards them, swords drawn. The Twins looked at each other. There was no time to launch the small canoe, the enemy would be upon them before they could make their escape… they would have to stand and fight. Blaek smiled grimly, Aebel smiled back. After days of enforced inactivity, the prospect of imminent violence was a welcome one. The soldiers in the masks moved well, obviously had martial training, and were attacking unarmed opponents. But they were facing Warders of the White Tower…

The leader, a red plume bobbing at the top of his steel hawk mask, engaged Blaek – he chopped downwards, two-handed, intending to split the escaped prisoner's skull. Blaek slapped his hands together, either side of the blade, abruptly halting its descent, then twisted the sword from the surprised soldier's grip, flipping it and catching it neatly by the hilt. Now their positions were reversed; Blaek was armed and his foe was not. The leader gaped for a moment – then, with a grunt of effort, Blaek took his head off with a powerful, double-handed blow. Two more soldiers closed on him from either side; he kicked one hard in the solar-plexus, a killing blow, and neatly disarmed the other before stabbing her in the heart.

Blaek turned to see Aebel giving a good account of himself, despite the broken arm. One soldier lay dead at his feet with a broken neck and he had retrieved their fallen blade and was duelling another soldier, one-handed. Blaek wondered whether to intervene but there was no need, Aebel whirled and cut the throat from his opponent in a welter of blood. There remained but one soldier… they turned.

Ayyad was kneeling in the surf, busily drowning their final enemy in the sea. His victim gave a last kick, then lay still. The Sharan youth rose and turned, ignoring the Twins and looking up at the castle with regret. "Dara," he said softly.

Loud shouts and war-cries as more soldiers came pouring out of the castle gates, at least a score of them. Too many to fight, even though they now had swords. With this in mind, Blaek glanced down at the weapon he had purloined from the guardr's leader. His dark eyes widened with surprise and delight. There was no Heron on the hilt or blade, but even so…

"This is Power-wrought!" Blaek exclaimed. The long, curved blade had unmistakeably been made by an Aes Sedai, long ago.

Aebel glanced down at his own sword. "This isn't," he stated, sounding disappointed. None of the other swords were either. Aebel gave Blaek an envious stare.

"Don't look at me like that, brother!" Blaek exclaimed, "you can use it too – we'll share!"

"How does one share a sword?" Aebel demanded.

"You have it one day, I'll have it the next!"

"Fair enough."

Ayyad was eyeing them as though he thought they were mad. He made an impatient sound, pointed to the advancing enemy, then gestured at the canoe.

"I suppose we should go," suggested Aebel.

"Aye," agreed Blaek, "but we'll be back!"

They swiftly pushed the canoe out into the surf and leapt in, Blaek and Ayyad grabbing paddles. Digging the implements into the water, they set course for the mainland, a dark blur to the south, across a narrow strait. Aebel sat in the rear of the canoe, unable to paddle, and watched the enemy closely. "They're coming after us," he reported, "three of those war-canoes, crammed with soldiers."

Ayyad and Blaek redoubled their efforts, the canoe fairly flying through the water, but their pursuers, though in larger, heavier craft, had more men to paddle and began to gain on them. They clearly would not make it to safety before they were overhauled…

Abruptly, Ayyad sat upright and took a deep breath. He smiled. Blaek noted that he had stopped paddling and opened his mouth to object… but then, Ayyad turned, staring back at the pursuing war-canoes. Something in his black eyes gave Blaek pause. Something deadly. Ayyad stood, balancing easily in the rocking canoe. He stared at the closest war-canoe full of soldiers, which had drawn ahead of the other two. He muttered something that sounded threatening in his own, strange tongue, then raised a hand and pointed at the pursuing canoe. It promptly exploded, as did its unfortunate occupants, shattered wood and dismembered bodies flying high into the air. All that was left of the destroyed craft was boiling water and floating wreckage.

The Twins gaped, then eyed their canoe-mate warily. Ayyad ignored them, his attention on the other war-canoes, but they promptly abandoned their pursuit, turned and headed back to the Island with some speed. Ayyad grinned savagely, said something else in the Sharan language, then resumed his seat and began paddling again as though nothing untoward had happened.

Aebel and Blaek exchanged another wordless glance. They had a dangerous ally, it seemed… how long did they have before he went mad and killed them? But there were larger problems facing them. Their beloved Aes Sedai was yet a prisoner of savages, the dishonourable Hawx – what could they do about it? They were Gaidin, true; but even a Warder could accomplish little against overwhelming odds.

"Well?" enquired Aebel.

Blaek considered. "We need reinforcements," he stated, "and we don't know where Naythan Shieldman is…"

The Twins spoke reluctantly, at the same time; "we'd better find the Aiel."

---

Chassin squatted easily on the sand, leaning on one of his spears, watching Gerom build a hut. Gerom was an excellent scholar and binder of books, a deadly algai'd'siswai… at least, he had been, before he went mad – no doubt influenced by the atmosphere of this insane place as much as Ruon the Water Seeker's revelation – but when it came to hut-construction…

"You are doing it all wrong," Chassin pointed-out, "it will fall down."

Gerom glanced at him with his oddly meek eyes. He had added a cowl to his white robe, it was drawn down over his large head, shading his placid features. "It will not fall down, Chassin," he demurred softly, then swung the hammer inexpertly, missing the nail and hitting his thumb. He swore, and kicked the hut. The wooden wall collapsed under the impact, causing the other walls to also collapse. Fortunately there was not yet a roof, or this would have collapsed too.

"See?" commented Chassin, "it fell down."

Gerom surveyed the wreckage and sighed. "I will start again," he muttered.

"Cease this insanity, my brother!" cried Chassin, rising. He glared up at Gerom, having to crane his neck back some way in order to do so, as he usually did. "You are not sworn to peace in battle! Who took you Gai'shain? No-one! So what if our ancestors served the Aes Sedai and would not lift a finger to defend themselves or their kin against an enemy – that is their problem! What has it to do with us?"

Gerom smiled sadly. "Nothing," he answered, "and also… everything."

It was Chassin's turn to swear. "You are madder than that cheese-eating lunatic over there!" he shouted.

Gen was sitting nearby. He had been collecting sea-shells all morning, and was arranging them in piles, according to size and hue. He looked up, blinking. "Do you be referring to me?" he enquired.

Chassin ignored him, focused on Gerom. "Take up the spear again, Knife-Brother," he urged, holding out one of his weapons. "You may have one of mine – here! You are a mighty warrior and we have need of you…"

Gerom shook his head. "I cannot do violence, my brother… my honour will not allow it."

Chassin stared at Gerom for a long moment, then spoke curtly; "then call me not 'brother' again, Gerom. If you will not aid us against these Hawx, then you are no knife-kin of mine. We are no longer near-brothers."

Gerom frowned. "As you wish, Chassin," he answered in his deep voice, "but you should know that-"

"Chassin! Gerom!" It was Manda, her cadin'sor dusty, sweat coating her fine features. She had clearly been running, and quite fast at that.

"What?" snapped Chassin, "I am busy here, with this fool who thinks that-"

"It is Cohradin!" Manda interrupted breathlessly.

"What of him?" enquired Gerom.

"I cannot explain it! You must come and see!"

Curiously, Chassin and Gerom followed Manda out through the open gate and into the trees. Chassin glanced up at Gerom. Neither of them had ever been taken Gai'shain in battle, they were too skilled at the Dance for that… it was strange beyond understanding to see the hulking former Sovin Nai wearing the white. As they walked, Chassin tried one last time to talk sense into his friend.

"You were made for the Dance, Gerom, not for the carrying of water and the building of huts!" Chassin thought about it. "The building of poorly-constructed huts which fall down when you kick them!" he qualified. "You are a deadly fighter with spear, knife, and especially your hands! Do you not see how foolish you are being?"

At first, Chassin thought that Gerom would not answer, but then the big Aiel whispered; "I do not see my own foolishness, but I do see the faces."

"What faces?" Chassin demanded, glancing around. There were no faces amongst the trees… was Gerom being analogous? He often did that...

Gerom answered sadly; "the faces of everyone I have ever waked. They visit me in my sleep. They torment me. They look upon me with accusation in their dead eyes. 'Why did you kill me?' they seem to say. I can bear it no longer. I was glad to break my spears. I will do no more violence, I will harm no-one, ever again."

"But you are good at violence!" Chassin shouted, exasperated.

Gerom stopped walking, looming over Chassin, looking less placid now. Looking angry, even, an extremely rare occurrence for him. "I never wanted to be algai'd'siswai!" Gerom shouted back, "when you and Cohradin chose to be Knife Hands, I did too, because you were my friends and it was what honour dictated. But secretly, I longed to be a librarian!"

Manda had stopped walking too, turning to watch them. "A librarian?" she repeated. They ignored her.

Gerom continued in more even tones; "well, now my honour leads me in a different direction. Our ancestors, the Da'shain Aiel, broke the Covenant by taking up the spear in their own defence, and it falls to me to atone for it."

"And Cohradin," said Manda, flatly. They looked at her.

"What do you mean?" Chassin asked.

Manda shrugged. "He has gone mad too. Though I suspect that he was never particularly sane in the first place." She beckoned. "I really do not have the words to explain it. Best you see for yourselves. He is just up here. Come!"

The land rose, the trees giving way to bushes and patches of fern. Manda stopped at the base of a small but steep hill and pointed, wordlessly. Chassin and Gerom stared.

Cohradin was there, but they did not recognise him at first. For one thing, he was unarmed… they had never seen the leader of the Sovin Nai at Wet Sands unarmed before, it was said he even slept with a spear. For the other, he had shed his cadin'sor and was wearing a simple black robe, the mark of a Da'tsang, a despised-one! Cohradin was currently labouring his way to the top of the hill, a heavy rock held in his arms. Gerom and Chassin watched him, their mouths open, speechless. Cohradin reached the top, dropped the rock, picked up another, then began to make his way back down.

"What is he doing?" Chassin wondered.

Manda scowled. "What does it look like he is doing?" she muttered, "he is doing what he always does – he is being an idiot!"

Cohradin reached the bottom of the hill and dropped the rock. He looked sweaty and tired, was covered in dust, streaks of dirt on his heavily scarred face. He had clearly been engaged in the rock-carrying for some time. Cohradin grinned alarmingly at the other Shaido. "I see you, Chassin! I see you, Gerom! It seems that you are still sworn to peace in battle, my brother…" Cohradin eyed Gerom's white robe disparagingly, before turning to the Maiden; "I see you, Manda. You may cease curling your hair in the Wetlands fashion now, you have no more toh to me."

Manda sighed with relief, dropped her spears and began braiding her warrior's tail.

Gerom glared at Cohradin. "What is wrong with you, Cohradin?" he demanded, "what insanity is this?"

"And where are your spears and your knife?" Chassin added.

"I broke my spears, as did Gerom," Cohradin answered smugly. "My knife, I threw into the ocean, as did Gerom." His grin returned, twofold. "But unlike Gerom, I am no mere Gai'shain! I am no longer red-eyed Cohradin of the Sovin Nai," he proclaimed proudly, "now I am red-eyed Cohradin of the… of the Da'tsangs!"

Gerom and Chassin eyed each other. Even by Cohradin's lamentable standards, this was absurd!

"You cannot be Da'tsang, Cohradin!" Chassin cried, "to be a despised-one, a Wise One must declare you Da'tsang!"

Cohradin glanced around himself in exaggerated fashion. "Do you see any Wise Ones hereabouts, Chassin? Is old Sadora here? Thankfully not! In their absence, I have declared myself to be Da'tsang!" He eyed Gerom accusingly. "You thought that you could salvage your honour by putting on the white, Gerom? But see – my honour is greater than yours! Only by wearing the black robe of a despised-one and engaging in useless and debilitating labour for the rest of my short and miserable life can I make restitution for the enormous crime of our ancestors in breaking the Covenant! I have no more toh to the Aes Sedai, for I am now... Da'tsang!" Cohradin picked up another large rock, hefting it in his arms.

Gerom scowled darkly. Chassin had never seen him lose his temper, but he seemed on the verge of it now… "You speak with pride and arrogance, Cohradin!" growled Gerom, "as though this were some contest of honour, and you the winner! As if being Da'tsang were… were…" Words failed him, which they did not often. "I have no time for this foolishness," Gerom snarled, "I have chores!" With that, the large Aiel turned and strode back into the forest, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

"You are being ridiculous, Cohradin!" Chassin shouted, "you always take things too far!" The self-declared despised-one ignored him, turning away and lugging the heavy rock back up the hill. Chassin and Manda watched him awhile, then turned to each other.

"What do we do now?" demanded Manda, "this place is driving everyone mad! Are we to be next?"

Chassin shook his head. "I care not how my ancestors lived, or what crimes they committed. I will not give up my spears and knives for anybody, not even Aes Sedai!"

"Nor I!"

Chassin frowned. "We need the Nightwatcher. Only he can talk sense into Gerom, and possibly even Cohradin." He eyed Manda. "I have sworn to the Roofmistress, Ysmet Mitsobar, that I will go with the Gleeman and the others to investigate this Isle of the Spire, to try to discover where the Aes Sedai and their Warders are being held…"

The Bosun and some of his sailors had returned with the longboat that morning. It was a fairly large craft, bigger than the boat they had used at Vron'cor's Father's Hold to escape to the ship, but Chassin was not looking forward to travelling in it, voyaging over the disconcerting waves of the vast ocean. But he had given his word, and besides, he did not want to stay here, where Gerom had gone mad, and Cohradin had gone madder! It was all the fault of that troublesome Tomanelle, the Duadhe Mahdi'in Ruon – how Chassin wished that he had waked the fool before he could reveal the dark truth of their dishonour!

Manda was nodding. "You go with the sailormen and the foolish Gleeman, Chassin, I will find the Nightwatcher." She smiled crookedly. "I am a better tracker than you, in any case. You would only get lost amongst the trees, and then have to be rescued!"

"I would not!" Chassin snapped.

While they were making their plans, Cohradin had come back down the hill. He dropped his rock and picked up another. He looked exhausted.

Manda eyed Cohradin with contempt. "I have changed my mind about you, Cohradin," she called out, "you are not a pig. A pig has more sense than you do!"

Cohradin grinned. "I know I am not a pig, Maiden," he answered, before declaring pridefully; "I am Da'tsang!"

Chassin watched Cohradin begin to labour back up the hill with his heavy burden, and sighed. "You had best go," he told Manda.

Manda nodded, then surprised Chassin by leaning down and embracing him. "May you always find water and shade, Chassin," she whispered in his ear, before straightening, retrieving her spears and running swiftly into the forest to the south.

"May you always find water and shade, Manda," Chassin muttered, watching her go, wondering if he would see her again…

---

As the dawning sun intruded through the light-well above, N'aethan opened his cobalt eyes and smiled. There was perhaps a touch of smugness to the smile, a hint of self-satisfaction, but mostly it was a smile of pure contentment.

"Well… that was different," N'aethan muttered, in the High. Different… and undeniably pleasant. N'aethan was no stranger to sex, either with the more adventurous Aes Sedai or the Da'shain'mai, and sometimes that sex occurred in unusual locations. Beneath a waterfall, in the back of an armoured jo-car, up a tree. At her insistence, he had once made rather nervous love to Karella Sedai, in the cockpit of a speeding hoverfly! But never before had he experienced such pleasure in Tel'aran'rhiod. It had been wonderful, sensual, arousing… but the object of his affections was yet a prisoner of ruthless savages, it would seem.

N'aethan's smile faded. Well, he would have to do something about that… "I am coming for you, Ellythia Sedai," he growled, in the Vulgar. He rose from the floor and padded from his old bedroom, sword in one hand, boots in the other.

Mitsu glanced at him darkly as he entered the sitting room. She still occupied the same sung-wood armchair, small feet up on the sung-wood stool, bared blade resting across her knees. She didn't seem to have moved all night. "Why do you have your sword drawn, Chami?" she demanded. "Did I not say I would keep watch?"

N'aethan grinned, dropped the boots and assumed a two-handed duelling stance. "Defend yourself, Anchovy!" he shouted.

Mitsu's eyes narrowed; at once she was out of the chair, gliding towards him, blade sweeping for his neck. N'aethan parried, struck, blocked, parried again. She was good, very good – for a human. But he was Lightborn, and it was all over in seven passes.

Mitsu glared at him, wringing a stinging hand, from which her weapon had been wrenched by a skilful envelopment. Her Heron-mark blade lay amongst some cushions in the corner. The tip of N'aethan's Power-wrought sword rested lightly against her throat.

N'aethan inclined his head to her. "You are not bad," he allowed, then; "do you yield?"

"I yield to no man!" Mitsu snapped, but then surprised him by smiling wryly. "But you are not a man, you are a Chami, so yes I do!"

N'aethan removed his blade from Mitsu's neck and sheathed it with a deft motion, while she went to retrieve her weapon. Feren stumbled out of Big Brother's bedroom, yawning hugely. His shirt hung open, N'aethan noted that there was a deal of hair on his broad chest, which seemed to extend in a line down over his stomach…

"What was that noise?" Feren asked, "did someone drop some pots and pans?"

Mitsu sheathed her blade, holding it in her hands, and responded almost cheerfully; "yes, Gardener, there was an accident in the kitchen – the stupid Chami is to blame!"

Feren blinked at her uncertainly, then realised that he was half-dressed. Blushing, he hastily began to button his shirt.

N'aethan eyed him curiously. "Sleep well, Feren?"

"Yes thank you, honoured Lightborn."

"Dream about anything?"

"The Great Trees. Ogier always dream of the Great Trees."

"Oh. Anything else?"

"No, not really."

N'aethan turned to Mitsu. "And what about you, Anchovy? What do you dream of?"

Mitsu smiled coldly. "Those I have killed, in the course of my duty. In my dreams, I usually kill them again, just to make sure! I also dream of The Lady – she whom the Oathbreakers call 'Death.'" She shrugged. "And sometimes… my sister."

"You have a sister? So do I, it would seem. Where is she now? Back in Seanchan?"

"I know not. I have not seen her in a long time, not since we were children." Mitsu frowned. "In truth, Shimani - or whichever name she now answers to - is not really my sister anymore."

"Why not?" enquired Feren, who had been following the exchange with his customary curiosity.

"Because she is Damane!" Mitsu snapped, "a leashed-one!"

N'aethan blinked. "Shrina Sedai told me about them," he commented, "it seems like a poor way for one human to treat another…"

"What do you know of it, Chami?" Mitsu demanded angrily, "less than nothing! Those who channel, the Marath'damane, they are evil! They broke the world! It was to atone for the shame to my family that I joined the Fists of Heaven as soon as they would have me. Later, I was selected for training as a Bloodknife – a great honour. The Empress herself – might she live forever – presented me with my blood-ring… which your Aes Sedai stole!"

"Well," said N'aethan placatingly, "I suspect that these Hawk-folk have it now… perhaps if you ask them nicely-"

"Be silent, Chami! Aes Sedai cannot be trusted! When the High Prince and first Emperor, Luthair Paendrag Mondwin, brought his armies to Seanchan to impose order, he found an unhappy land where those calling themselves Aes Sedai ruled over the people as tyrants!"

"Isn't your precious Empress something of a tyrant?" N'aethan asked innocently, "and by all accounts, Artur Hawkwing was no stranger to tyranny either…"

"Hah!" shouted Mitsu, "you seek to anger me further by insulting those I revere! Well, it will not work, Chami… just wait until I take you back to Seanchan and present you at court, in chains – you will keep a civil tongue in your head then, or become fatally familiar with the Tower of Ravens!"

N'aethan was unimpressed by this and was thinking of some further choice insults for the rulers of Seanchan, past and present, when Feren intervened.

"Um… this is all very well, but hadn't we better go?" Feren suggested, thick fingers buttoning up his coat.

"Oh, alright then," N'aethan muttered, sitting on the floor and pulling his boots on. He nodded toward the door of Middle Brother's room. "Go in there," he told Mitsu.

Mitsu eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because Taw used a sword, when he didn't just tear Shadow-wrought apart with his bare hands! He had all sorts of straps and harnesses, I recall… there should be one in there that fits you. Or do you want to keep lugging that blade around in your dainty hands?"

Mitsu frowned, but went into the indicated room. Presently, she came out again, a broad baldric stretched diagonally across her small breasts, the Power-wrought blade sheathed at her back, Heron-marked hilt projecting above one shoulder. "There were unpleasant things in there," she complained, "the skulls of those beast-creatures we fought adorned the walls, and there was worse besides…"

N'aethan rose, stamping his feet in the boots to settle them. He had not removed his stockings, so neither Mitsu nor Feren had seen the claws on his toes. "I wouldn't know," he commented, "Middle Brother valued his privacy, he never would let me or anyone else go in his room. He said if he ever caught me in there, he would rip my head off and hang it on the wall!" He shrugged. "I think he was joking… it was always kind of hard to tell, with Taw."

Mitsu eyed him flatly. "You are a strange creature, Chami," she muttered, "and your monster-family sound equally peculiar!"

N'aethan grinned, his pointy teeth flashing. "You don't know the half of it, Anchovy! Come on, let's go."

This time, instead of descending the vines that draped the exterior of the Collam Aman, N'aethan led Feren and Mitsu unerringly down to the lowest levels, taking various steep ramps to a particular sub-basement. It was extremely gloomy in the barrel-vaulted chambers far beneath the Dragon College, the sar-light was utilised again, held up by Feren, and tall shadows flickered off the walls and ceiling.

"This is prime rat-territory," N'aethan commented at one point, his voice echoing in the enclosed environment, "but I detect none. It seems the rodent-wards are still functioning…"

"Aye, Rat-Catcher," agreed Feren, without thinking.

N'aethan scowled, his pupils slitting. "I thought I told you not to call me that?!"

"Forgiveness, honoured Lightborn, I spoke in haste!"

"Speak in haste, repent at leisure!" N'aethan hissed.

"Why are we down here, Chami?" Mitsu asked, "I feel as though I have walked every inch of this accursed place…"

"Don't be rude about my home, Anchovy! I am actually saving us some time, as well as a wearying descent. This leads to Middle Bro's secret tunnel, that Father probably did know about, though Taw always claimed he didn't… it extends out into the forest."

"So why didn't we come in this way?" Mitsu demanded.

"Because I couldn't remember exactly where the secret exit was!" N'aethan snapped. "Now be quiet, I need to concentrate."

The brick wall N'aethan had stopped in front of looked like any other wall, but wasn't. He counted up from the bottom, to the side from the left, then pushed a particular brick, seemingly identical to the rest. With a grinding sound, it slid into the wall. There was a rumbling of shifting counterweights and the whole section of brickwork slid to one side, revealing a dark aperture. There were numerous cobwebs, N'aethan brushed them aside and moved into the tunnel, Feren following, having to stoop somewhat, since the ancient designers of this hidden passage had not taken looming Ogier into account in their plans.

Mitsu hesitated, eyeing the webs. "Are there spiders in there?" she wondered.

"There might be. Why?"

"No reason."

"Do you fear spiders, Mitsu?" Feren asked curiously.

"I fear nothing, Ogier! I just do not want them to get in my hair, that is all."

The tunnel went on for some way, gradually rising, until they came to a round stone portal. "I hope it still opens," N'aethan muttered, placing his gloved hands flat against the stone and shoving with all of his considerable strength. With a groan, the portal slowly swung open, shimmering daylight intruding on the dark tunnel. The sound of rushing water was loudly evident. Though he detected no danger, either with his sharp senses or from his Shield-ter'angreal, N'aethan drew his blade before slipping through the opening. He stepped out onto a narrow, damp ledge, bordered in front by a curtain of falling water. He nodded, satisfied. It had been near four thousand years since he had last stood on this spot, but the course of the river had not changed, the exit was still hidden behind a waterfall.

Middle Brother had brought him here, on his first night of freedom, and he had walked in the woods, revelling in the sights and sounds and smells of the outside world. Later, whilst sneaking back into their quarters, old Ledrin had caught them, but he had just smiled understandingly and promised not to tell the Master.

Feren joined him on the ledge, then Mitsu, brushing cobwebs out of her hair and scowling.

"Be careful, it is slippery," N'aethan warned them. They emerged from behind the waterfall, descending rough-hewn stone steps, to stand beside the river. The bulk of the Collam Aman loomed through the trees.

"Now, there must be a parting of the ways," N'aethan announced, portentously. He had been rehearsing this speech in his head whilst making his way through the tunnel. Feren blinked large eyes at him, Mitsu just stared, expressionless. "I told you both about the Weapon, did I not?" N'aethan had shared certain parts of Father's message with them, after the fact. They both nodded, though Mitsu looked sceptical. "The Bhan'dhjin Samma is a hideous device, by all accounts, and it behoves us to prevent it from being used, or all life; human, Ogier, even Lightborn, will cease to exist." N'aethan addressed Feren; "good Treebrother, your people know much ancient lore – mayhap there is some scrap of evidence in your archives that might reveal the location of this Weapon?"

Feren shrugged his broad shoulders. "I suppose it is possible, honoured Lightborn, though I have never heard of any such thing as this 'Breaker.' I am only young, however, and have not studied the records to the extent that the Elders have."

"Be so good as to return to your stedding and initiate a search for such evidence. Tell Elder Hahal and Maram's mother that you do not have to get married just yet, tell them Sin'aethan Shadar Cor said so!"

Feren's ears had been drooping a little at the prospect of returning to Stedding Dashai; now, they perked up a bit and he smiled hesitantly.

"Anchovy!"

"Yes, Chami?"

"Go with Feren. Tell Balal and the other Ogier Guardians that Sin'aethan Shadar Cor requests that they not kill you, for all that you are allegedly human!"

Mitsu frowned. "Why must I go to the stedding? I do not wish to go to the stedding."

"You must accompany Feren so that if he discovers any information that is of use, you can bring it to me. I will await you on the beach where first we saw the Great Ocean."

"Once again, you seek to use me as a lowly messenger!"

"I do indeed. And I hold you to your oath, Mitsu!"

"Very well." Mitsu smiled snidely. "Chami Rat-Catcher!"

N'aethan growled angrily. How he loathed that foolish name!

"Where will you go, honoured Lightborn?" Feren enquired.

"I must go and rescue my Aes Sedai and the others, some of whom are marked for death. It is an urgent matter." He glanced at Mitsu. "I shall try to recover your precious ring-ter'angreal too," he added, in a probably futile attempt to mollify her. "I intend to go fast. Faster than either of you can hope to move, you would never be able to keep up with me. That is why there must be a parting of the-"

"My books!" cried Feren, "I almost forgot! I must go and retrieve them forthwith!"

N'aethan sighed. He hated being interrupted…

The heavy knapsack bulging with large, Ogier-sized, wood-bound books was still secreted beneath the holly bush. Feren dragged it out with every sign of relief. "I am glad it did not rain in the night," he mumbled.

N'aethan was on the verge of a pithy remark, but paused, his tufted ears pricking up, listening intently. At the edge of his audible range, he had thought he heard… yes, there it was again, slightly louder. Coming closer. N'aethan scowled, his oddly shaped pupils narrowing dangerously into slits. "If there is one noise I cannot stand," he growled, "but for the sound of Trolloc kettle-drums and war-horns, it is the barking of dogs!"

"Dogs?" repeated Feren, nervously.

"Yes! Drooling, unhygienic, foul-smelling dogs!"

"I like dogs, Chami," Mitsu protested, "they are loyal and trustworthy."

"They are stupid and craven!" snapped N'aethan. How he despised all dogs! He always had… The barking of the beasts continued in the distance, but was getting nearer, so that the others could now hear it too.

Feren made a low moaning sound, fumbling his sung-wood club from where it hung against his back.

"What is wrong, Gardener?" Mitsu asked.

Feren wasted no time in telling her. "The forces of the Laughing God – they use dogs to track their prey! They must have picked up our trail… it is them! They are coming for us!"

Mitsu scowled, reached over her right shoulder and swept the heavy, curved blade from its scabbard. N'aethan drew his sword also. They waited.

Then, N'aethan saw movement in the trees, approaching. The dogs were yet some distance off, by the sound of it, so it must be someone else…

"Somebody is coming," N'aethan warned the others. He squinted. "Two somebodies," he qualified. They tensed.

Then, a maiden ran from the trees, graceful as a deer. A large, white wolf ran beside her. They both came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the three strangers. The wolf growled at them warningly. Surprisingly, so did the girl. There was something rather wild about her… She was young, just shy of her twentieth Nameday by the looks of it, and very attractive, with short, ash-blonde hair and high cheekbones. Her sole garment was a brief doeskin tunic, her bare limbs lithe and tan, as though she spent a deal of time outdoors. She had an athletic figure, and held herself in a proudly defiant stance. There was a sharp-looking, obsidian-bladed knife tucked through the belt of her tunic, which she drew and waved at them threateningly.

But it was her eyes that drew N'aethan's attention – they were golden! They shone in the sunlight. The wolf was just a wolf. Its eyes were blue. The wild-looking maiden glared at them, then stared at Feren, her pretty mouth dropping open in amazement. She pointed at him with the obsidian blade. "What is that?" she demanded, in oddly-accented Vulgar.

"Do you not know, human?" enquired Feren, sounding offended.

"It talks!" exclaimed the girl.

Feren frowned, hairy ears flattening against the sides of his skull.

The maiden tore her gaze away from Feren, golden eyes looking Mitsu up and down, her full lips curving into a slight smile. Then, she turned her attention to N'aethan. Her unusual eyes widened. "It is you!" she cried.

"You know me?" enquired N'aethan, keeping an eye on the wolf, which was staring at them in hostile fashion.

"I know you not," answered the golden-eyed maid, "but I saw you… it was last night, while I walked in the Wolf Dream, that I beheld you; mating with a female!" Her blonde brows drew down, she added, curiously; "how is it that you have claws, black claws upon your hands and feet?"

N'aethan gaped, at something of a loss.

"I knew you had claws, Chami!" Mitsu muttered, sounding satisfied.

N'aethan ignored her. "The Wolf Dream?" he asked.

"Yes! Where else?" the girl answered impatiently.

"You mean the Dream World… Tel'aran'rhiod?"

"What a strange word. Is it Old Tongue? I do not speak that…" The wild maiden glanced over her shoulder. The barking had got closer while they stood there, confusing each other… She spoke again, as much to herself as to them; "they will be here soon, the evil ones. I will run no further, I will fight them, and so will Ice and the others. Won't you, Ice?" She was addressing the wolf, giving its ears an affectionate stroke. It may have been his imagination, but N'aethan thought that the wolf almost seemed to nod its shaggy head in response! The maiden fixed her golden gaze on them, challengingly; "will you stand with me, strangers?" she asked.

Surprisingly, Mitsu answered; "but of course."

The girl smiled at her. Mitsu smiled back.

"I am called Tamei," the maiden revealed. She nodded to the white wolf. "She is Ice, though her wolf-name is much longer. What are you called?"

"I am the Bloodknife, Mitsu," replied Mitsu. N'aethan noted that she was eyeing the golden-eyed girl – Tamei – admiringly, and her attention was being reciprocated. So Mitsu was like Kiam Sedai in her proclivities, was she? He had suspected as much…

"I am Feren," stated Feren, stiffly.

Tamei looked at the young Ogier uncertainly, as though surprised that he had a name, then moved her arresting gaze to N'aethan.

"My title is Sin'aethan Shadar Cor," N'aethan answered, "but the shortened form is 'N'aethan.'" He scowled, pupils slitting, "and just what do you mean; you saw me mating?!"

Tamei nodded. "Coupling with a woman, yes!" she affirmed, before frowning. "You should do that in private, not in the Wolf Dream! I mislike having to look upon such carnal behaviour!"

N'aethan took a deep breath, opened his mouth, but Tamei forestalled him; "here come the hounds!" she shouted, exuberantly. A dozen large, ferocious dogs burst into the clearing opposite them. They came to a halt at the sight of their prey and stood there, hackles raised, snarling menacingly, saliva dripping from between their bared, white teeth.

Dogs! Horrible, horrible dogs! N'aethan sheathed his blade, tore off his gloves and advanced on the hounds, ten black claws sliding from their sheaths, sharp teeth bared, growling ferociously. Dogs always brought out the beast in him, particularly Darkhounds, but in their absence, these vile curs would do – he was going to slice them to shreds! The hounds looked at him, looked at each other… then, yelping and whining, they turned and fled back into the trees!

N'aethan watched them go, repressing the urge to give chase, feeling a hint of anti-climax about the whole situation. He sheathed his claws and turned. Mitsu and Feren were watching him with a certain amount of wariness, Tamei with unabashed interest. The wolf, Ice, made a whuffing sound, turning her head to one side, blue eyes fixed on N'aethan.

"Ice says you smell a bit like one of the wildcats that live down south," Tamei declared, then; "what are you? Why, you're even stranger than that thing there!" She pointed at Feren again.

Feren scowled darkly. "I am not a thing, I am an Ogier!" he bellowed.

Tamei laughed. "An Ogier? A brother to the trees? Why, there's no such thing – tis a myth!"

"Do I look like a myth?" Feren demanded.

Tamei ignored him, her golden eyes fixed on N'aethan. "Well?"

"I am Lightborn," he said, simply. His eyes narrowed. "And what are you, might I ask? You have funny eyes, you talk to wolves and you can presumably visit the World of Dreams, where you snoop on people while they are-"

"Here come the evil ones!" Tamei shouted, interrupting him again!

A score of savage-looking men advanced into the clearing, stepping menacingly from the trees. They wore ill-cured furs and ragged britches, red symbols of an arcane nature tattooed on their bare chests and arms. They brandished crude weapons; flint-tipped spears for the most part, with some blades and hand-axes of the same sharp material. Their hair was long and unkempt, their faces covered by rough leather masks, each with a curved, smiling mouth carved into it.

The one in the centre leant on his spear and regarded them with dark eyes through the holes in his mask, which unlike the others, was painted red. In addition, he wore a bronze torc around his neck, perhaps a sign of authority, since he seemed to be the leader of this mob. "There you are," he called to Tamei, in rough Vulgar, "we have hunted you long, wolf-witch…"

"This is my territory!" Tamei shouted back, "mine and the pack's! You'd best leave now, or Ice and I will eat your heart!"

The red-masked brigand laughed loudly at this, his men joining in. There was something not quite right about their laughter, it had more than a hint of madness to it. Then, the leader glared belligerently at N'aethan, Feren and Mitsu. "Strangers aren't allowed here; this land, from the ocean to the ice-sea, is the province of the Laughing God, praise his name!"

"Praise him!" shouted the rest of the masked men.

"Do you want to die fast or slow?" the leader added, conversationally.

"Neither!" shouted N'aethan, raising his sword. "Run away, as your dirty dogs did, or we shall kill you all!" he warned.

The leader laughed harshly, his men echoing the cruel sound. "Can you count, stranger? We outnumber you, five to one!"

"Not quite!" cried Tamei, then threw back her head and howled. Ice howled too. Immediately, a pack of a dozen black and grey wolves burst from the trees on all sides, attacking the Laughing God's men. N'aethan ran forward to help, the others at his heels. The leader raised the hand that was not holding the spear. To N'aethan's special sight, a nimbus of light began to form around him.

"Have a care!" N'aethan shouted, "that red-masked one can channel!" He had to get close, and quickly, before the Souvraniene could do any damage to the others with his webs… N'aethan, of course, had nothing to fear from him.

"Burn!" shouted the channeling leader, pointing at him.

N'aethan grinned savagely. "I don't think so!" he snarled, his Shield-ter'angreal glowing brightly as it disrupted his opponent's flows.

"What..?" the leader had time to say, then N'aethan's Power-wrought blade cleaved his throat open. Dark blood gushed from the mortal wound and the male-channeler collapsed to the ground, thrashing.

N'aethan turned to survey the scene of battle… he was just in time to see Mitsu leap and spin in the air, performing an elegant Whirlwind in the Mountains, taking a big man's masked head clean off. Feren was apologising to his victims as he slew them, the massive club sweeping through the air in a blur to impact an enemy's skull with a sickening crunch. "Sorry about that!" Feren cried. The club smashed into a rib-cage, and stove it in. "Please forgive me!"

Tamei danced gracefully amongst the foe, a little like an Aiel but wilder, her obsidian blade slashing and stabbing. Ice stayed with her, guarding her back. The other wolves took care of the rest, tearing out throats and breaking necks with their powerful jaws. The surviving followers of the Laughing God, barely a half-dozen, broke and ran, the wolves pursuing them into the trees.

N'aethan doubted they would get far… then, an idea occurred to him and he sped into the forest himself, swiftly outpacing the wolves. Up ahead, a small man was running hard. N'aethan tackled him to the ground, tore the hand-axe from his grasp and slammed him up against a tree. The wolf pack raced past to either side, closing on the remaining enemy. Harsh screams and savage snarls resounded through the woods, indicating that none of the retreating foe had escaped…

Tamei appeared, her golden eyes wide with excitement, blood on her obsidian blade. The she-wolf, Ice, trotted at her heels, muzzle bloody. Tamei regarded N'aethan curiously. "What are you doing?" she asked, then nodded at the prisoner, "you should kill him. He is an evil one."

"I'm sending a message," N'aethan answered, then touched his blade to the small man's neck. "You! Take off that foolish mask!" Hastily, the prisoner obeyed, tearing the leather mask from his face. He was unremarkable to look at, unshaven, rather ugly, his dark eyes flicking about nervously. He was clearly terrified.

Mitsu and Feren joined them.

"You fought well," Tamei told Mitsu, admiringly.

"As did you," Mitsu responded, eyeing Tamei curiously with her dark, tilted eyes. "Can you truly speak to wolves?"

"Of course," Tamei answered, "I first began to hear them when I was younger. Then, my eyes changed colour and my people said I was a witch and banished me from the village." She shrugged. "Now I live in the forest with my friends. But even with Ice and the pack for company, it is a lonely life."

Mitsu smiled suggestively. "I can think of ways to make it less lonely."

Tamei smiled back at her and winked a golden eye.

"Would you two lovebirds cease cooing to each other, or take it elsewhere?" growled N'aethan, exasperated, "I am trying to question a prisoner over here!"

Mitsu scowled at him, Tamei simply eyed the man in question scathingly. "He won't tell you anything I don't already know, the nasty wolf-killer," she muttered. "You should just slay him and be done with it. If you don't want to do it, I will, or you could give him to the pack."

The prisoner moaned with fear.

"The humans who serve the Laughing God deserve to die," agreed Feren. His ears lay flat against his head, his wide mouth set in a grim line. "They have murdered Ogier, felled the Great Trees, despoiled stedding…"

N'aethan ignored them both. "Tell me what I want to know, or I shall start to cut bits off you, and feed them to the wolves," he told the prisoner.

"What… what do you wish to hear?" the small man asked, in the same rough dialect of the Vulgar that the channeling leader had used.

"Where are you from?" N'aethan demanded, "where do you call home?"

"Down… down south… a ruined city of the last Age…"

"He means Larcheen," explained Tamei, sounding bored, "what is left of it, anyway."

"The Midnight City! It still exists?"

"Some of it."

N'aethan turned back to the prisoner. "This Laughing God you serve – he can be found there?"

"I don't know, Lord!" wailed the prisoner, "I've never even seen him… he gives his orders to the ones with the Power, like Strummer, who you slew, and they orders us! I beg of you, please don't feed me to those savage beasts!"

"It is what you deserve," growled Tamei.

"Very well," growled N'aethan, seeing that he would get nothing further of use out of this snivelling wretch, "I shall let you live…" - the prisoner began to babble with gratitude - "…on one condition. Go back to Larcheen with a message for the Laughing God, to be conveyed to him by his Souvraniene. Tell him that I am coming for him. Tell this Laughing God that Sin'aethan Shadar Cor will end his reign of tyranny, his miserable existence also."

The prisoner stared at N'aethan as though he were mad, then stumbled away into the trees. N'aethan glanced at Tamei; "kindly tell your wolves to let him pass safely."

Tamei frowned, but addressed the she-wolf by her side. "Go with him, Ice. Don't let the pack eat him." Ice made a whining sound. "Yes, I know you want to bite him – so do I! But do as the clawed man who smells funny wishes!"

Ice stared at N'aethan for a moment, mouth open, tongue lolling against sharp teeth, then loped into the woods on the trail of the released prisoner, carrying his threatening message.

Tamei draped a bare arm companionably about Mitsu's shoulders, and the Seanchan assassin did not object. Tamei eyed Feren with a certain amount of confusion; he frowned at her. Then, she addressed N'aethan confidingly; "Ice quite likes you. So do I, though I'm not sure why. I don't particularly care for men, as a rule." She gave Mitsu a bold smile.

"Nor do I," murmured Mitsu, smiling back at her. "But he is no man," she added, "he is a Chami!"

"Oh. Whatever is that?" asked Tamei, curiously.

"A kind of monster," N'aethan answered wearily, before Mitsu could explain further. "But I don't know if I particularly like you, wolfgirl!" he then growled, "peeping-Tam! Spying on me while I make love to my Aes Sedai!"

"Oh, the pale-skinned girl, she was Aes Sedai? That's unusual." Tamei scowled. "But I wasn't spying on you, I was spying on him," she protested. "He was the one who was spying on you, actually!"

"Him? He? Who are you talking about?" N'aethan demanded.

"Who do you think? Why, the Laughing God, of course!"