Gleeman Bob writes : a shorter chapter than usual, but lots of exciting stuff happens and we find out who the Laughing God is... though some answers only lead to more questions! unfortunately, Gen does not appear in this week's narrative as he is otherwise engaged... eating cheese! the segment in the woods contains the word 'tribade.' this refers to someone who practices 'tribadism.' if you don't know what that means then look it up, I know I did! good job I'm rated T, if you are young and impressionable, read Harry Potter instead! or Fifty Shades of Grey, whatever rows your boat. isn't literature wonderful?! hope you enjoy the following, and even if you don't, keep those reviews coming... I do appreciate knowing that you fanfictioneers out there are critiquing my foolish prose. and as ever...
...Walk in the Light!
Davian the Dragon King, resplendent in velvet robes of an Imperial purple, turned away from the map and regarded his assembled courtiers with disturbing, violet-tinged eyes that shone in his handsome, dark-skinned face. He smiled his customary cruel smile.
"Tear next, methinks," Davian stated in the Old Tongue, his voice deep and sonorous. The court, dressed in their silk and satin finery, no few of the women veiled in damask, some of the men also, broke into loud, sycophantic applause; all but the prisoner. She contented herself with silence and a furious scowl. And Davian's young Court Bard raised his lute, waited for the noise to die down then, whilst accompanying himself with a jaunty melody, sang in the low, Vulgar speech:
"Oh, the People of the Dragon
shall be loaded in a wagon!
With our peerless leader driving
and no enemy surviving;
why, we'll take the town of Tear,
for in truth we have no fear!"
Davian's smile became a grin, somewhat savage, and he looked almost unhinged for a moment. The courtiers held their collective breaths; their ruler was known for his abrupt and often lethal alterations in mood; 'changeable as the weather in M'Jinn' as the ancient saying went… what would his reaction to the impromptu, irreverent song be?
The Court Bard – known to be even more mercurial than Davian himself – grinned back at his patron. "Well, my Liege? What think you of my muse this day?" This time, he formed his words in the Old Tongue, as was only proper. Only peasants spoke the Vulgar amongst themselves, though all present understood it. Its use had become much more widespread since the destruction of the Trolloc Wars, which had finally ended three hundred years before the present times. And such times they were; war had come again, though not from the Shadow, nor from the Blight. Davian had raised his banner, that of the Dragon Reborn, and vast armies had clashed as a result. Men had died in droves, and even Aes Sedai had been killed. Or captured…
Davian answered his Bard; "I think me that your much-abused muse has rolled over and died!" The court broke into fawning laughter at this witticism. "Be silent!" Davian roared. Aghast, the courtiers obeyed. Davian's dark brows drew down over his strange, hypnotic eyes. "I mislike songs in the Vulgar speech, rhyming 'wagon' with 'Dragon' is a tad tortuous, not to mention obvious, and Tear is no town, tis a city."
"Alliteration, Highness!"
"You are ever a fool, good Jeb! And I have never driven a wagon in the entirety of my misspent life – the very idea!" The courtiers laughed nervously, and this time, were permitted to do so.
The Court Bard – Jebedah – a short, fair-haired man swathed in rich blue velvets, opened his mouth to further rail his ruler, but then closed it, cocking his head to one side and glancing at the prisoner with pale, blue eyes. "The Aes Sedai is trying to break her Shield again," he commented, conversationally.
Davian nodded. "Aye, that she is." He addressed his courtiers commandingly; "leave our presence, all of you." As one, the assembled court bowed or curtsied, according to their gender, and filed hastily from the sumptuous audience chamber of the Royal Palace of Shiota. There were many Lords and Ladies amongst them; scions of proud and powerful Houses who had sworn fealty to the Dragon King rather than see their lands laid waste, their people slaughtered and themselves hung up in gibbets. Some of the courtiers darted nervous glances at the Aes Sedai prisoner as they hurried past her. A few of these glances were less nervous than sympathetic, but none dared raise a voice in her defence. Davian had sent more important people than they to the headsman's block for far less…
With the audience chamber empty, excepting the Dragon King, his Bard, the Aes Sedai and her two guards, silence reigned but briefly. Davian spoke; "come forward, Barashelle Sedai." Barashelle of the Green Ajah did not obey the summons immediately, but examined her guards; young, fanatical-looking men garbed in dark silks, seemingly unarmed, large embroidered badges on their chests depicting a fierce, lion-maned creature with five golden claws to each foot.
Barashelle herself was yet a handsome woman, for all that she had sworn her Oaths on the Binding Rod and was approaching her four hundredth year of life, the hair framing her pale, ageless features the same raven-black as ever. Green, silken, divided skirts swished together as she stepped forward, her guards moving with her. Dark, perceptive eyes glanced searchingly right and left at her unwanted escort, passed over the Bard without much in the way of interest and fixed on Davian. There were few who could meet his intense, violet-hued gaze without quailing, but Barashelle could. She had faced worse than the Dragon King, in her days…
Barashelle Sedai spoke, using the Old Tongue naturally, her voice precise and cold; "you can all channel. I sense it in you, I have that Talent. These beardless youths who hold my Shield in place, your silly Bard with his foolish songs-" Jeb the Court Bard bowed sarcastically at this, flourishing his cloak, "-and of course, you most of all, Davian."
"He is the Dragon King!" snapped one of the guards.
"You will address him as such!" added the other, angrily.
Barashelle ignored them. Davian stepped away from the large, detailed map of the Westlands that hung beside his throne, depicting numerous nations; two of which were currently under his sway, and moved forward in a predatory glide, approaching his Aes Sedai prisoner. He was a tall man, Aiel-tall even, and towered over Barashelle.
"Attempt to break your Shield again, and you shall be stilled," Davian promised the captive Sister.
Barashelle's full lips curved in a contemptuous smile. "Still me or kill me, it matters little. I have led a long life, I have few regrets." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Come to the White Tower and be gentled, for only madness and death await you!" Her hot-tempered gaze took in the guards, the Bard; "awaits all of you!"
The Court Bard laughed, an unsettling sound. He laughed often, he was known for it. "Oh, I'll not die for a goodly while!" he cried, "it has been promised me; why, the Great Lord said so!"
Barashelle's eyes narrowed. "A Friend of the Dark!" she hissed. "So it is true, what they say of you, Davian – you do keep low company!"
Davian shook his head impatiently, long, dark hair brushing his wide shoulders. "Jeb is no Darkfriend, Allservant witch!" He tapped his skull meaningfully with a richly be-ringed finger. "He is just a little far gone, more so than the rest of my adherents, that is all… he does not always know what he is saying."
"That is the fate that assuredly lies in store for you and your male-channeler subjects! Come to the Tower and be given surcease!" Barashelle implored.
Davian smiled grimly. "Do you truly imagine that I will come crawling to Tar Valon to be gentled and given an almost certain death-sentence," he demanded fiercely, "when I rule the powerful nations of Shiota and Fergansea, with Moreina the next to fall, the Stone of Tear and Callandor mine, when my loyal followers run amok in every city of the Westlands and it is my fated destiny to rule the World as the Dragon Reborn?"
Barashelle Sedai stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head sadly. "No," she answered, "no, I don't suppose that you will. You are as Yurian Stonebow, and Raolin Darksbane before him; a slave to your own vaunted ambition!"
"Ambition is a dangerous Mistress," commented Jeb the Bard, twanging his lute. He fixed his disturbing gaze on Barashelle. "You fought in the wars, did you not, my Lady?"
"The Trolloc Wars. I did indeed, under the tutelage of my old mentor, Tamasin Ridolphi, Aes Sedai. She is long dead. I am glad that she did not live to see this day. In those wars, I slew many a foul Dreadlord, some of whom closely resembled your good self!"
The Bard laughed loudly, then addressed his King; "you cannot kill her, my Liege. Why, she is a very Heroine of the Light! Not to mention a woman of fame, beauty and substance!"
Davian frowned, troubled. "Is this a viewing, Jeb? A foretelling? Do you prophecy?"
"Nay, my King Dragon; none of the above! Why, tis merely good manners!"
Davian made a disgusted sound, waved a dismissive hand at his unusual Court Bard and fixed his gaze on Barashelle. "You know what I must do?" he asked, quietly.
"I do." Barashelle smiled coldly. "You destroyed my Sisters in the heat of battle. Myself, you will dispose of in cold blood." She raised her voice angrily; "but know this; the end is coming for you, False Dragon! Mark my words, one of my Ajah shall be the death of you, ere long!"
Davian was seemingly unimpressed by this, he smiled his cruel smile once more. "How do you wish to die, Barashelle Sedai?" he enquired.
"I care not." Barashelle nodded at the Bard. "But have him do it. He disgusts me… but he also intrigues me."
"I do tend to have that effect on women!" laughed Jeb.
Davian sighed. "I would that you had joined my Cause," he muttered, sounding genuinely regretful. "Well, the Wheel weaves…" He turned to the two guards. "Come." They followed him from the chamber. Davian paused at the wide doorway, addressing his Court Bard; "make it quick, Jeb. She deserves that much."
"Oh, that I will, my Liege!"
"And don't make a mess, like last time!"
After Davian and the guards had gone, the Bard regarded the captive Aes Sedai. He was much more powerful than she, held her Shield in place with ease. Barashelle eyed him back, with a hint of curiosity, and absolutely no fear.
"What?" Jeb asked, in the Vulgar speech.
"Can you truly Foretell?" Barashelle enquired, in the same language.
Jeb shrugged, then nodded slowly. "Oh yes. In my dreams; twixt sleep and Tel'aran'rhiod. Why, the things I've seen! The places I've been!" Jeb lowered his voice conspiratorially; "I'm only telling you this because I'm going to end you presently, but it might cheer you to know that poor Davian is doomed! His days; numbered. He'll never take Tear, never touch the sword Callandor, never fulfil any Prophecies of the Karaethon Cycle. He's not the Dragon Reborn, just another pretender to the Kinslayer's cursed legacy… and naturally, he won't be the last. But it'll be a long while till Tarmon Gai'don, till the Lord of the Morning is truly reborn. Near two thousand years from now, there's a young chap of Aiel blood from what used to be Manetheren who… well, never mind." He sighed. "All things must end, but it would have been a fine thing, to be Court Bard to the True Dragon. Well, I suppose I'll just have to go back to being a Gleeman again…"
"You addled fool!" Barashelle spat, "do you imagine that you have any more of a future than Davian does? Why, you are clearly halfway gone already!"
Jeb threw back his head and laughed loudly, his mirth echoing in the all-but empty marble-roofed chamber. He wiped tears from his eyes. "You think my obscure manner is from the Taint?" he asked, when he could properly speak again, "nay! Tis more a matter of too many cousins marrying cousins; oh, we were an inbred lot in my little mountain village in Basharande, I can tell you!" Jeb tugged at his collar, leaning close to Barashelle. "See this?"
Barashelle Sedai looked, despite her revulsion at being close to the strange little man. He was wearing a gleaming, bronze torc of ancient design about his neck.
"This is a ter'angreal" Jeb confided. "Very old, very powerful. The Foxes gave it me, when I went to visit them, courtesy of Ghenjei's fine metal tower. Of course, I barely made it out alive, but that's the Eelfinn for you; damned poor hosts!" He laughed again, sounding more than a little insane.
Barashelle eyed him cautiously. "By the Hand of the Creator, you are mad," she whispered.
"Have it your own way, War Heroine! But my lovely torc protects me from the Great Lord's Taint and influence, just as well as if I still served him!" Jeb grinned wolfishly. "There are some Oaths that it is right dangerous to foreswear, and the one I took at Shayol Ghul is no exception!"
"So you are a filthy Darkfriend!" muttered Barashelle.
"Was a Friend. Was. But no more. I dislike having a Master, Davian being no exception. By the by, it won't be the Green Ajah that takes his life, as you hope, nor even the Red… one of his advisors is going to assassinate him, attempt to steal his title… they won't last long." Jeb frowned. "I wonder which one? The dreams are hardly specific. Lord Haavane most probably, he's an ambitious, treacherous swine, and can channel strongly." He shrugged. "Anyhow, if I manage to live through the next few months, and there are many that won't, then I plan to set up on my own, you see. Not as yet another False Dragon, but as something else, somewhere else, with my own followers to do my bidding. And I wish to live forever, not at the Dark One's behest, but at mine own."
"How will you do that, you poor, insane wretch?!" Barashelle demanded.
"Oh, there are ways and means. But enough talk! Any last requests?"
"Yes," answered Barashelle definitively. "After you have killed me, be so good as to do the World a favour by killing yourself!"
Jeb laughed again. "Oh, I like you, Barashelle Sedai! You have fire in your belly! Such a shame that it must end this way…"
"I care not," responded Barashelle, her words and meaning genuine. "It is my time, I grow weary of this life alone. I never took another Warder after dear Anselan. If the Creator is kind, then I shall be with him again, on the other side of the veil."
"Very poetic; are you sure you're not the Bard?" Jeb considered a moment, then; "tell you what, Aes Sedai; I've heard of you and Anselan Gaidin, as have we all here at court. Tis the sole reason the Dragon King spared you on the battlefield – curiosity! Everyone knows the story of the love you two bore for each other; 'Barashelle winning the adoration of Anselan' was always a popular tale told around the villages when I yet wore a patched cloak… before I began to channel and see into the future and so forth…" Jeb shrugged again. "I'm feeling rather guilty about doing Davian's dirty work in this instance, though I will anyway since the poor doomed fool has always done right by me… we're friends, sort of, I was the very first to follow him when he raised his standard… but… what if I were to offer some form of consolation, by composing an epic ballad; 'the Lay of Anselan and Barashelle?' Would that sentiment please you, my Lady?"
Barashelle thought about it. Even Shielded, she could sense the Power gathering within the peculiar and dangerous Court Bard's small frame, the mounting forces of saidin slowly filling him, the deadly weaves in preparation that would assuredly end her long life in but a few moments… and she smiled, sadly.
"Why not? Pen your lyrics, lunatic Bard. Though not in the Vulgar speech if you please, that is probably the one thing upon which I agree with the accursed False Dragon, Davian." Barashelle Sedai then spoke her final words in the Old Tongue; "after all, there is more than one manner of immortality…"
'For Anselan and Barashelle
in solitary splendour dwell;
beyond the veil of Tel'aran
art Barashelle and Anselan!'
extract; 'The Lay of Anselan & Barashelle' attributed to Jebedah Chul Simanon;
Court Bard to the False Dragon, Davian, circa : FY 352
[whereabouts unknown; presumed dead]
Chapter Five : The Laughing God
N'aethan ran. Ran fast, faster than the wind itself, the trees flashing past to either side. A fallen tree trunk blocked his path; he leapt over it, and continued running. His sword, he had strapped to his back, so that it would not bump against his leg as he moved and impede his progress. This reminded him of carrying the Howling Axe in the same place… he had left the ancient weapon-ter'angreal on the beach with the rest of his things when he had departed at Ellythia Sedai's command, to find her brother. Was it still there, or did these Hawx have it?
Feren had told N'aethan all about them; the Hawx did not bother the Ogier, as did the followers of the Laughing God, but they were apparently far from friendly towards anyone not of their particular persuasion. And they were descended from the armies of this Artur Hawkwing fellow, who had lived, reigned and died whilst N'aethan slept outside of time, inured from the turning of the Great Wheel.
Mitsu was a descendant of another of these armies, it would seem… N'aethan had warned Feren to keep quiet about the Hawx in her presence, for all that Ogier were far from competent when it came to dissimulation. He did not want Mitsu to face separate loyalties, since he needed her. For now. Then again, the Seanchan assassin currently had another preoccupation... N'aethan grinned. If he didn't know better, he would think that Mitsu the Bloodknife was somewhat taken with Tamei, the rather gauche wolfgirl whose acquaintance they had made, back in the woods surrounding the Collam Aman. Or even if he did know better. Lust was a strange thing; love also.
Who would have thought N'aethan would come to adore the prudish young girl-Sedai who had freed him from the confines of the Stasis Box? Well, one good turn deserved another; he would free Ellythia Sedai from her own prison, on the Isle of the Spire. The others, also. It was a worthy enough cause, for now.
Then, N'aethan must locate Lord Whitecloak, his lover's wayward kin, before the poor fellow succumbed to the inevitable madness that awaited men who began to channel. He might even be able to help him stave off the insanity, at least for a while. He had taken the bronze torc from the leader of the Laughing God's men, after slaying the dangerous Souvraniene, and if his suspicions about its efficacy were correct, then the artefact might well be of use.
And of course, there was his Sister, the fourth Lightborn. Where was she? Seeking him, presumably, as he must seek her. Hopefully, she knew by now where The Breaker, Bhan'dhjin Samma, was hid.
But first things first. This Laughing God could reportedly walk in dreams, as did N'aethan and the wolf-girl. A disquieting development. His enemy could enter Tel'aran'rhiod, where he had the temerity to spy on N'aethan whilst he indulged himself with his lover. It was too provoking! The insane tyrant would pay dearly for his voyeurism, Sin'aethan Shadar Cor would see to that! But the next time he visited the World of Dreams, he would clearly have to be more careful. It seemed that he had underestimated a powerful adversary…
The serried ranks of trees gradually gave way to low scrub and stunted bushes, the land rising. N'aethan could smell salt in the air, and the hill he climbed abruptly proved itself to be a cliff, falling away to the dunes below. N'aethan dropped to his hands and knees, breathing heavily from the exertion of his long run, then carefully crawled the rest of the way to the cliff-edge, keeping low in case of hidden observers. The ocean stretched out to the horizon and for once, it was not empty. A large island lay about a mile offshore, a looming granite castle dominating the southernmost end, and beyond, rising from a hill; a gleaming, three-sided metal tower. Just as Ellythia Sedai had described…
N'aethan smiled grimly, allowing himself a moment of self-congratulation at his orienteering skill, then began to look for a way down the cliff, to the beach beneath. A narrow path looked serviceable enough. N'aethan was wearing his fancloth poncho, naturally, but just to further foil any watchers, he drew his mantle of the same shade-shifting fabric from its pouch and draped it about his head and shoulders, raising the veil to cover his face. Thus camouflaged, he descended swiftly, senses alert for any enemy though the beach seemed deserted. But for the canoe.
A small craft, it was drawn up beyond the high-tide line, a pair of paddles lying nearby. Three sets of clear tracks in the sand led away from it, heading east. Two were boot-prints, the third; bare feet. N'aethan crouched, examining the trail more closely. There was no residual heat, indicating that it was not that recent; from the previous night, perhaps. The shoeless person he was unsure of, the prints too large to be made by Jabal Lionfish's feet, but the marks left by the boots were strangely similar, of the same size and shape, and he thought he recognised these tracks… they appeared to have been made by the twin Warders of Shrina Sedai.
"Garlic and onions!" N'aethan muttered. The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon. He would wait for cover of night, then infiltrate the isle of the enemy to rescue the prisoners; two of whom seemed to have already made their escape, without recourse to him. N'aethan's strange eyes came to rest on the canoe. "Well now," he commented, in the High, "at least I won't have to swim."
"I can't believe I'm carrying around a k'jasic musical instrument," Feir complained, "I absolutely hate musical instruments!"
"What does 'k'jasic' mean?" Thaeus asked, curiously.
"Oh, it's rather rude. I shan't tell. Old Ledrin would be most upset if he thought I knew words like that."
Thaeus was leading the way to the beach, he glanced over his shoulder at Feir, who was pacing along behind, the heavy golden, silver-chased chest that enclosed the Horn of T'oph held in her arms. He repressed the urge to ask who 'old Ledrin' was, someone from the Age of Legends presumably, now long-dead, and instead enquired; "are you sure I can't help you with that? It's very heavy."
"It is? I wouldn't know. I'm stronger than I look, so stop asking! Why don't you keep an eye out for enemies in stead, handsome lad!" Feir winked at him.
Thaeus grinned and turned back to scan the scenery ahead, in case of ambush. He didn't think that there were any more Shadowspawn about, the Madman seemed to have accounted for them all… apparently, the Draghkar had confessed that they were just a small patrol, sent to scout the area by the 'crone' who he presumed to be the Darkfriend Wilder who had made numerous attempts on his sister's life. He scowled, fingering his sword-hilt. One Desiama's enemy was every Desiama's enemy; he would take her head if he got the chance. Or burn her… No, the Draghkar had most probably been telling the truth. Thaeus tried not to dwell on what had been done to it by Feir and the Gholam to elicit that truth… numerous shrill screams had echoed from the forest whilst he was digging up the Horn. He had done his best to ignore them.
So, no Shadowspawn then, but there might be more of those cannibalistic savages, or worse, something called 'Hawx.' Feir had mentioned these folk in passing and Thaeus did not much like the sound of them…
"We could always leave the box and just carry the Horn," Thaeus suggested.
"But I like the box!" Feir objected, "it's pretty. Even if it does contain a k'jasic musical instrument!"
In time they reached the cliff from where Thaeus and his companions had first beheld the Great Ocean. It stretched out to the north, seemingly forever. They descended to the beach. Three corpses littered the sand, several more lay up amongst the dunes. Some strange-looking wild dogs were chewing at the tattered remains, they yelped and loped away at Thaeus' and Feir's approach.
"What are those?" Thaeus asked.
"In the Old Tongue, as you call it, they are named 'dingoes,'" Feir responded. She dropped the heavy golden chest and crouching, examined one of the dead men. He was somewhat the worse for wear; a young-looking individual wearing buckskins, a deep wound in his chest, the tattoo of a hawk in flight on one bared arm. "Hmm. Hawx. And no sign of your people, my Brother either. This is not good. Oh well…" Feir rose and turned to Thaeus, smiling brightly, her mood changing as rapidly as it ever did. "I know; let's go for a nice swim, and then make love on the sand!"
Thaeus blinked. "Well, I suppose…" he responded hesitantly.
"Don't you want to?" Feir asked, "we might as well, since the horrid Gholam isn't around to spoil our fun!"
At Feir's command, the Gholam had remained at the clearing of the Everstone, concealing itself in the bushes. It was to observe and report back if further Shadowspawn emerged from the Portal Stone. Feir had forbidden it from killing or feeding on any that it encountered, its mission was one of espionage only. The Gholam had not been pleased.
Feir slipped out of her dress, stepping lithely into the waves; she paused, eyeing Thaeus over her shoulder. "Well? Are you coming in or not?"
Though he felt that they had matters of more import to occupy them, Thaeus could not help but find Feir an enticing sight… and besides, it was hot. So, he removed his clothes and followed her into the water. They splashed about awhile, clung together and kissed enjoyably, then splashed about some more.
"Alright, that's enough of that!" declared Feir eventually, "go ahead and ravish me upon the beach, milord!"
Thaeus grinned. "As you command, my Lady…" He scooped Feir up in his arms and carried her out of the surf. She kicked her legs and rolled her pale eyes theatrically.
"Help, help, a dangerous Madman has me in his clutches!" Feir wailed, "my chastity is in peril!"
"You're damned right it is!" Thaeus growled menacingly.
Feir smiled up at Thaeus, trailing a long-nailed hand over his chest, but then her eyes flicked to something beyond him, further down the beach to the west, and she scowled. "Curses! There's someone coming." She squinted. "Three someones. Drat!" Feir promptly slid out of Thaeus' arms and went to retrieve her dress and bronze blade from where they lay on the sand.
Thaeus scanned the coastline, but could see no sign of anyone else. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes! My eyes see a good deal further than yours, you myopic human!" Feir rejoined him, clothed once more, the dress clinging to her damp skin in interesting ways. "Also, I think they're rather fine eyes, actually. Don't you agree?"
"They glisten like the winter frost of an everlasting dawn," Thaeus promptly answered.
Feir smiled again, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks. Nicely put." She raised an eyebrow. "Not that I object, of course, but are you planning on staying like that?"
Thaeus realised that he was still naked, blushed, and hurried to get dressed. By the time he had his shirt and britches on, he could make out three tiny figures in the far distance, slowly approaching.
Feir stood, hands on slim hips, watching them.
"Can you see who it is?" Thaeus asked, wondering whether to draw his sword.
"Sort of. I don't know them. One has dark skin… a handsome fellow, though with a tattooed face… peculiar. The other two are rather pretty… they're armed with swords, they look like they know how to use them… and they're identical... I can't tell one from the other!"
"The Twins!" Thaeus cried. "Perhaps they'll know what became of my sister and the others?"
"Including my Brother?" Feir eagerly reminded Thaeus.
"Yes, him too!" Thaeus shrugged into his coat and pulled on his boots.
"Well, let's go and meet them. They're not walking particularly fast, and I've better things to do than wait about on the beach all day. Damn it, why did they have to come along at so inopportune a time?" Feir grinned wickedly; "and I was so looking forward to having you k'jasic me, my love!"
"I think I know what that word means now," Thaeus observed sagely. He bowed to Feir formally; "and I promise faithfully to not disappoint you in that regard, when we have some privacy again…"
"Jolly good!" Feir strode toward the distant figures.
Thaeus hesitated. "What of the Horn?" he reminded her.
Feir glanced back at the heavy golden chest and shrugged. "It'll be alright here for now. Are you worried that the dingoes will try to eat it? There are tastier treats for them, hereabouts." She slipped sinuously back and slapped Thaeus on the bottom. "Come along, milord!"
With a sigh, Thaeus paced along beside his unusual lover, Heron-mark blade sheathed at his back, worrying about the fate of his sister and her companions. He should not have left them, it seemed… but had he not, he wouldn't have met Feir. Something about her improved Thaeus' dark mood, his premonition of being doomed that had arisen ever since he learned that he could channel… he was not sure exactly why, but Feir gave him hope. Something to do with being Lightborn, perhaps? Her brother, Naythan Shieldman, seemed to have a similar effect on others…
The three small figures soon resolved themselves into the familiar features of Shrina's twin Warders, Aebel and Blaek. But who was the third person, with the bizarrely tattooed face? As they drew nearer to each other, the dark-skinned youth in the ragged shirt and britches seemed to react warily to the two strangers, but Aebel… or perhaps Blaek… put a hand on his arm, and spoke reassuringly. They had clearly recognised Thaeus, as he had recognised them. They all looked tired, as though they had walked far, and Thaeus noted that Blaek… or perhaps Aebel… had his left arm in a make-shift sling. In addition, the twin Gaidin had swords tucked through their belts, though the weapons did not appear to be their habitual blades. The strangely tattooed youth was apparently unarmed…
"Have a care, Thaeus," Feir whispered, "the tattooed one can channel. I can always tell. He doesn't look particularly mad, but you never know…"
Thaeus didn't ask Feir how she knew this, since he was well aware that she had abilities that were beyond his comprehension, he merely took her word for it and watched the dark-skinned youth closely. The two sets of people stopped walking a few paces from each other. The Twins stared at Feir curiously, as though wondering what she was. She grinned, and winked at them. They blinked, simultaneously.
"Greetings, Aebel and Blaek," Thaeus declared, "how goes it with you?"
"Not well, Lord Whitecloak," answered one of the Twins, Thaeus was unsure which. The one with the broken arm.
"Shrina is held captive by a group of savages calling themselves the Hawx," added the other Twin.
"Your sister, Ellyth Sedai, also."
"And Renn Sedai too."
Thaeus' brow furrowed with worry. "This is ill news… and where is Jabal?"
"He was badly wounded in an escape attempt."
"We were forced to leave him behind when we gained our freedom."
The Twins scowled an identical scowl, then added, in unison; "he ordered us to leave him, in fact."
Feir laughed delightedly, clapping her hands together. The Twins turned their dark eyes on her, frowning. "They even say things at the same time!" Feir commented, "why, they're like a pair of peas in a pod!"
Thaeus made hasty introductions before a fight could break out. "Feir, these Warders are Aebel and Blaek Feruile, forgive me Gaidin, but I am yet unsure which is which…"
"I am Aebel," explained the Twin with the broken arm.
"And I, Blaek," added the uninjured Twin.
Feir smiled at them and lifted her skirts slightly, performing a graceful curtsy. The Twins hesitated a moment, then bowed, hands over hearts.
Thaeus continued with the introductions; "Twins, this is Feir… she is Naythan Shieldman's sister."
The Twins eyed Feir, then eyed each other.
"We did not know that…"
"…Naythan Gaidin had any kin," they commented.
"And they finish each other's sentences too!" laughed Feir, "it really is too entertaining!"
The Twins frowned again.
Feir composed herself. "You didn't know? That's quite alright, until quite recently, I doubt N'aethan knew he had a Sister either… he should have received Father's message by now, though."
The Twins clearly had little clue as to what Feir was talking about. Thaeus was unsure also. Feir glanced at the handsome, dark-skinned youth with the tattooed face, who was looking somewhat impatient, and obviously had no idea what was going on. "You pretty twins are aware that your companion can channel?" she enquired.
The Twins nodded.
"He destroyed an enemy boat with the One Power."
"The enemy in it, too."
Then, they once more spoke together; "his name is Ayyad."
The dark-skinned youth eyed them, then uttered a brief sentence in a liquid and incomprehensible tongue. Thaeus did not know what his words meant. Surprisingly, Feir did.
"He says his name is actually 'Hamadi' and that 'Ayyad' is just his title, what he is as opposed to who he is," Feir translated. She talked briefly to the channeling youth – Hamadi – in the same exotic tongue. With a delighted look on his tattooed face, Hamadi responded. The two spoke together at some length, then Feir turned to the others. "Hamadi says he wants to go back to the island of the barbarians and find someone called 'Dara.'"
"Dara, yes!" confirmed Hamadi, nodding vigorously.
Feir turned to Aebel. "He also apologises for not having been able to Heal your broken arm, but he only knows how to destroy things with the Holy Power, as he calls it, not how to mend them." She turned to Thaeus. "He asks if you know how to Heal wounds, since he senses that you can channel too…"
The Twins blinked at this revelation and eyed Thaeus cautiously.
"That is why I went away," Thaeus explained to them, "the Family Curse. I did not want to harm anyone, when I went insane."
"These are misfortunate tidings," muttered Aebel. Blaek shook his head sadly.
"I'm not mad yet!" Thaeus snapped, "I know that I'm doomed, I don't need your sympathy!"
Feir put an arm around Thaeus soothingly. "Be at peace, milord. We'll figure something out." She glanced at Hamadi. "Handsome over there doesn't seem to have gone funny in the head yet either…"
Hamadi spoke to her, Feir spoke back. He grinned and shook his head solemnly.
"How is it that you come to speak his language?" wondered Thaeus.
Feir shrugged. "Oh, it is the ancient speech of the Easterlings, a rather odd dialect of it, too. Father taught it to me. I was never entirely sure why, since hardly anyone spoke it in our day, but I'm glad it has finally come in handy…" She stared at the Twins with her pale eyes. "So… where in the Wheel is my Brother?"
"Naythan Gaidin was sent by Ellyth Sedai to locate and return her own brother," Aebel explained. He pointed at Thaeus, to illustrate who this was. Feir nodded patiently.
"Your kin, the Shieldman, went south," Blaek continued, "and I think that the Seanchan assassin followed him into the forest, since she disappeared around the same time."
"We have not seen either of them since," the Twins added, completing their explanation.
Feir frowned with confusion. "Seanchan assassin?" she muttered, "Ellyth Sedai? I feel like I've started reading a novel somewhere in the middle, and have no idea who anyone is!"
"The Seanchan is Mitsu," Thaeus explained, "her ship was wrecked, we found her floating in the Dead Sea. She has a bad temper and is rather dangerous. And Ellyth is my sister, an Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah. Naythan serves as her Warder."
"What's a Warder? Is it like a Warman? And it's pronounced 'N'aethan' by the way…"
The Twins shifted impatiently.
"We need reinforcements, to attempt a rescue of the Aes Sedai and Jabal Gaidin," explained Blaek.
"We seek the Aiel," Aebel added, "assuredly they will be of assistance."
Feir frowned again, with further confusion. "Aiel? Da'shain Aiel? What use are they going to be?"
"They are skilled fighters," announced the Twins.
Feir laughed, this time the odd yipping sound that made the newcomers eye her uncertainly. "Fighters? Da'shain? Don't be absurd, they follow the Way of the Leaf!"
Thaeus and the Twins stared at Feir. Hamadi, with no idea what was going on, was gazing out to sea.
"It is the Tinkers who follow the Leaf Way," Thaeus explained, "they call themselves the Tuatha'an."
"That means 'Travelling Folk,'" Feir muttered. "I have no idea who they are, but what of the Aiel?"
"They live in the Waste and seldom emerge, but for once, when they made war on Cairhein and subsequently the rest of the Westlands," revealed Aebel.
"They are accounted fierce warriors," added Blaek, "our Uncle Perel fought them with the Winged Guards, and said they were without peer on the battlefield."
"Perhaps the finest fighters that exist," Thaeus elucidated, "why, even the High King, Artur Hawkwing, could not defeat them!"
"I've heard of him at least," Feir acknowledged, "some old tyrant who the Hawx worship… so you are all telling me that in these benighted times, the Aiel… do violence?" She sounded as though she did not want to believe it.
"Aye!" answered Aebel, "a great deal of violence!"
"They use spears," Blaek added, "knives and arrows too, but mostly spears."
"My own uncle, Lord Captain Leol Desiama, lost half an ear to them at the Blood Snow!" Thaeus chimed-in, a little unnecessarily.
Feir shook her head, seemingly not wishing to admit it could be so. "The Da'shain Aiel broke the Covenant," she whispered, with great sadness.
"What is the-?" Thaeus began to ask, but Hamadi interrupted him, jabbering something and waving his arms to get their attention.
"He says he sees a boat," Feir translated.
They all stared out at the ocean. A distant speck was heading west.
"Can you make out anything?" Thaeus asked Feir.
Feir shaded her pale eyes from the sun, squinting. "Of course. It is a longboat, such as larger ships carry. I see some sailors; a big one with a hook and about a dozen smaller ones without. A stern-looking fellow with a Heron-mark blade… he has large red moustaches, they look silly… he's rather gorgeous though, in spite of them. Also, an attractive yet frail-looking chap wearing a strange, multi-coloured cloak, covered in fluttering patches…"
The Twins frowned at this. They did not care for-
"A Gleeman?" cried Thaeus, "what is he doing here?"
"I don't know, anymore than I know what a 'Gleeman' is… is it like a Troubadour? He carries a harp, in any case. He looks rather ill, as a matter of fact… oh dear, he is being sick over the side of the boat… the sailors are laughing at him…"
"Anything else?" enquired Thaeus.
Feir lowered her hand and scowled. She answered reluctantly; "yes… one other person. A little fellow with a scarred face, looking rather grim. He is fair-haired, green eyed, wears the cadin'sor, has his hair in a tail… and yet, he bears spears, has knives sheathed at his belt, a bow at his back." Feir regarded Thaeus solemnly. "It seems you and the twins were right, milord. The Da'shain have abandoned the Way of the Leaf."
Thaeus did not grasp the import of what Feir was saying. "That sounds like Chassin," he speculated.
The Twins nodded. "They must be going…"
"…to rescue the prisoners," they muttered.
"I wonder where the sailors and Blademaster and Gleeman came from?" mused Thaeus, "there must be others from the Westlands here. We should join forces with them…"
"We don't have time for that!" objected Aebel.
"They are going to execute Shrina!" Blaek cried.
"We could not sense her through the Bond!"
"She could already be dead, for all we know!"
"Something about the Island renders Aes Sedai powerless," the Twins added, as an afterthought.
Feir nodded sagely. "The Spire prevents channeling, I know that much… it is some kind of a big ter'angreal, like the ones the War Ajah used to guard the Souvraniene internment camps during the wars." Her brow furrowed. "What is this Bond you mentioned?"
"A link between Aes Sedai and their Warders," Thaeus explained, "amongst other things, it allows them to locate each other, even over great distances."
"Oh? Interesting. They didn't have anything like that when I was a girl." Feir eyed Thaeus. "This Shrina Sedai; you mentioned that she was the Hornsounder? Diynen'd'ma'purvene?"
"Why, yes."
"Then we have a sure way of telling if she's still alive." Feir scowled. "I'm going to bloody-well stick my fingers in my ears, though!"
After trudging back to the site of the battle, the five of them stood around the large, golden chest, chased with silver. Thaeus leaned over it, brushed some of the dirt away and prodded a couple of the whorls and ridges on its surface… but nothing happened. He glanced at Feir. "Um..?"
"Stand aside, milord!" Feir examined the box for a moment. "These were quite popular in Father's day, he even owned a couple," she muttered, then pushed some of the shapes in a certain order. The lid of the chest sprang open, the ancient bronze Horn of T'oph was revealed; a huntsman's instrument, narrow mouthpiece curling out to a wide bell. Feir backed away from it with a look of vague revulsion.
Thaeus picked the Horn up, held it reverently in his hands. The Twins, who were more than familiar with the troublesome Horn, which had turned out to be the wrong Horn and had inspired a great deal of ire on the part of their Aes Sedai, were unimpressed. But Hamadi gasped and muttered something in his illegible language.
"What did he say?" asked Thaeus.
Feir paraphrased; "it seems that the people of wherever he comes from-"
"Shara," supplied Aebel.
"Co'dansin," corrected Blaek.
"Co'dansin, yes!"
"-have a legend about the three Horns also."
Hamadi said something else in his own liquid tongue.
"When the Horns are sounded, the Last Battle cannot be far behind."
More words from Hamadi, directed at Feir, sounding vaguely interrogatory.
Feir chuckled. "Also, he wishes to know why I have pointed ears. He just asked me if I am an 'animal spirit' whatever that is." Feir rattled off a brief answer in the same, melodic speech that Hamadi used, and the Sharan youth's mouth dropped open.
"Ohhh…" Hamadi said.
Feir grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "I just told him I was," she explained. Then, she put her fingers in her ears, scowling, as Thaeus raised the mouthpiece of the Horn of T'oph to his lips, took a deep breath, and blew. A beautiful, brazen note sounded, seeming to hang in the air longer than it should. Thaeus and the Twins glanced around themselves cautiously, then with relief. No sign of any Sages… clearly, Shrina was yet the Hornsounder, and in order to be that, she had to still live.
Feir took her fingers out of her delicately pointed ears and nodded, satisfied. "Well… I think that answers that."
Feren sat on a log beside the small camp-fire, trying to read one of his books in the dim light. Attempting to concentrate, though it was difficult. The night was dark; just a sliver of new moon overhead and some distant stars. Several pairs of cold, lupine eyes were fixed on him from the edge of the clearing. Feren was glad that the wolves did not choose to come any closer, since he liked animals and did not wish to have to hit them with his club. But why were they watching him? He rather suspected that the irritating wolf-girl, Tamei, had told them to. She did not seem to trust Ogier, for all that she had finally accepted that the Brothers to the Trees actually existed! Really! Her territory was but two day's walk from a stedding full of Ogier, but she had been completely unaware of their existence… it seemed that the wolves had warned her to avoid that area. With good reason, Feren had to admit.
The Ogier youth realised that he had read the same passage over three times; it was part of Elder Barath's polemic on advanced tree-song, and he moved his large eyes further down the page. Then, from the forest behind, came a high-pitched yelp of delight. Feren blinked, his hairy ears twitching. Further cries of pleasure resounded from the trees, before fading away into the stillness of the night. Feren frowned. "Humans!" he muttered, disapprovingly. It had sounded like Tamei, clearly enjoying the attentions of the other female, Mitsu.
When the two of them had risen from the fire and declared their intention of going for a 'walk in the woods' their true intent had been quite clear. Feren just wished that they had gone further away before initiating their carnal activity, so that he did not have to hear such sounds; it was all-but impossible to read under such duress! Humans had no shame! Imagine carrying on like that in the civilised environs of the stedding! It would not be permitted, should never be tolerated…
Feren's ears flattened against the sides of his shaggy head. He was worried about Stedding Dashai, he wanted to get back there as soon as possible, but it was dangerous to travel the forest at night. He must report to Uncle Balal that a raiding party of the Laughing God's men had been encountered, too close to the stedding for comfort… and apologise to Elder Hahal for neglecting his duties and running away, he supposed. As for Maram… well, he had absolutely no idea what to do about her!
More lustful moans emerged from the woods, this time it sounded like Mitsu. Feren sighed, and put the book away. There was little point in trying to concentrate on the ancient writings whilst one's ears were being assaulted by human mating noises and whilst one was being stared at suspiciously by a pack of vicious wolves! Feren tossed another stick of fire-wood onto the blaze in a shower of sparks, and then became aware that the wolves were gone; the bestial eyes at the edge of the clearing had abruptly vanished. He wondered why…
A tall human maiden stepped soundlessly from the trees. She had red hair and blue eyes, moved with lithe grace as she approached. She wore a dusty brown coat and britches tucked into soft laced boots, carried three spears in one hand and a dead rabbit in the other. A bow was slung at her back, a long knife sheathed in her belt. Feren wondered whether to grip his club, leaning against the log next to him, but the human did not look like one of the savages, nor like any human he had ever encountered before, for that matter. Not that he had encountered many humans…
"I see you, Treebrother," the maiden called out formally in a high, clear voice, speaking the Vulgar, "may I share your fire?"
Feren blinked. "Of course you may," he answered, in the same language, gesturing with a large hand to the log opposite, the seat that his two human companions had vacated when they went for their 'walk.'
The maiden stepped silently over to the log and sat down, leaning her spears against it. She introduced herself; "I am Manda of the Wet Sands Sept of the Shaido Aiel."
"I am Feren of Stedding Dash-" Feren came to an abrupt halt. "Did you say 'Aiel,' human?"
"Yes. I am Aiel," Manda responded proudly, holding her head up.
"Da'shain Aiel?"
Manda shrugged. "Da'shain is what the Nightwatcher calls us, sometimes. I know not what it means, Old Tongue presumably. It is probably rude. I shall ask Gerom."
"The Nightwatcher?" Feren cried, "Vron'cor? You mean N'aethan, the honoured Lightborn?"
Manda nodded. "Yes, even he!" She looked at Feren, puzzled. "You know the Nightwatcher, then? Where is he? I seek him."
"The Rat-Catching Lightborn has left our company, he wished to go and rescue his Aes Sedai from the Isle of the Spire; he departed this morn."
Manda frowned. "Then I must-" A loud cry of unabashed pleasure came from the woods. Manda half-rose, reaching for a spear. "What was that?"
Feren blushed, his ears twitching. "It was… Mitsu. Or Tamei. The one being… diverted… by the other," he replied, diplomatically.
Manda sat down again. "Oh. So the Seanchan is with you. I wondered where she had gone. Who is Tamei?"
"A golden-eyed human maiden who can talk to wolves. We encountered her yesterday, shortly before the fight with the Laughing God's people." Feren frowned. "She is rather rude," he added, resentfully.
More shrieks of delight. Manda grinned. "I thought that the Seanchan Mitsu was a girl-lover!" she exclaimed, "she seemed like the type." She shrugged. "Not that I have not occasionally lain with other Maidens of the Spear, of course," Manda added, "but on the whole, I much prefer men. Like the foolish yet attractive Gleeman, though he is espoused now; I have bedded him on many an occasion in the past. Too bad that the handsome Vron'cor is spoken for by his Aes Sedai, those pretty twins by their Aes Sedai also… still, perhaps Ellythia Desiama's comely brother would be interested in some love-play, if we ever see him again? It has been a long while since I coupled with the Stone Dog, Sarien… I grow restless!" Feir frowned, but Manda went on, unashamedly; "why, I might even look to Cohradin, were he not Da'tsang and an idiot! Also, he is ugly, though one does not necessarily have to look at a man's face whilst one-"
"Please!" objected Feren, "we Ogier do not speak of such things so lightly!"
"Oh, was I embarrassing you, Feren of Stedding Dash? Forgive me. Would you like some of my rabbit?"
"I do not eat meat," Feren answered fastidiously, "but I thank you all the same."
Manda set to work, gutting and skinning the rabbit. Feren tried not to watch. "So, these wolves that observed me as I approached your fire; the gold-eyed maid named Tamei talks to them?" Manda enquired conversationally, whilst arranging the rabbit carcass on one of her arrows and positioning it over the flames.
"She claims to," Feren answered. "I have no reason to doubt her, for all that she doubts much about me… my very existence, for example!"
At which, Mitsu and Tamei emerged from the darkness, arm in arm. They were still in the process of putting their clothes back on. They stopped and hastily resumed their apparel. Manda glanced at Mitsu's companion. "You speak true, Treebrother," she commented, "her eyes are golden."
Mitsu scowled at Manda, and touched the Heron-marked hilt that projected above her shoulder. Tamei touched the obsidian knife at her belt. Manda touched one of her spears. Feren sighed, refusing to reach for his club. If some sort of a fight broke out, he supposed that he would have to intervene. Picking the human females up and shaking some sense into them might be a good idea?
"Who is she?" Tamei asked Mitsu.
"An Aiel," Mitsu responded, shortly.
"Oh. What is that?"
"A Maiden of the Spear!" Manda answered proudly, rising from the log. "Far Dareis Mai! Come, wolf-talking Madlander, Seanchan tribade, share my rabbit!"
Mitsu frowned at this blunt description, Tamei merely shrugged. "One small rabbit will not go very far," she observed, before calling; "Ice!" The large, snow-white she-wolf trotted from the night and gazed up at Tamei with her blue eyes. "More rabbits please, Ice!" The wolf made a whuffing sound and loped away. Tamei stepped over to the fire and sat cross-legged next to it, her curious golden gaze on Manda, who resumed her seat on the log. Mitsu hesitated, then sat down beside her.
"Did you or the Nightwatcher find Thaeus Desiama?" Manda asked the Seanchan assassin.
Mitsu shook her head disgustedly. "We have barely looked for him. In stead, the Chami made us go to a strange, enormous, nasty place where he was supposedly born," she complained.
"The Dragon College was an interesting edifice of the Age of Legends," Feren objected, in his deep voice, "though somewhat disconcerting…"
"You did not go into the monster-brother's room, Gardener! There were things in there that will give me nightmares, for all that I am a Bloodknife!"
Tamei patted Mitsu on the leg soothingly, the two lovers smiled at each other.
Manda smiled also, somewhat slyly. "I see that you have found a 'friend,' Seanchan," she observed, "perhaps your mood and manner will improve now?"
Mitsu scowled at Manda, declining to answer. She did seem less tense than usual, however.
"A rather noisy friend," Feren muttered.
Tamei had the good grace to blush. "Oh dear, could you hear us? Sorry about that!" Ice came out of the darkness, a smaller, black wolf at her side. Each had a dead rabbit gripped lightly in their jaws. They deposited these offerings before Tamei, and she gave their ears a grateful stroking. "Thank you, Ice. Thanks, Night."
"Your wolves, do they all have names?" Manda asked, curiously.
"Oh yes. Though they're not my wolves, they're just wolves. And they have very long names, for the most part. More concepts than names, really…"
"Concepts?" enquired Feren.
"Why, yes… Ice is really more; 'the sheen of frozen water on a still lake as the dawning sun touches it whilst a chill wind gusts past carrying the scent of deer.' And that only comes slightly close to describing it." Tamei eyed Feren. "Are there really more of you strange creatures living in the woods a day's travel from here?"
"Yes," growled Feren, "you shall see my stedding tomorrow, and I would advise you to keep the 'strange creatures' type remarks to yourself, Tamei!"
Tamei laughed. "How queer! The wolves always warned me not to go to that part of the forest, and when I tried to look at it in the Wolf Dream I couldn't, it was like it wasn't there… surely, the world is full of wonders!"
Mitsu smiled at Tamei fondly, whilst the wolf maid prepared the rabbits for cooking and Manda supplied two more arrows for use as spits.
Feren watched them. Humans were so disparate, he considered; these three strange females could not be more different from each other, and yet were of the same species. He longed to be back amongst his own people again. Ogier were reassuringly homogenous.
"So you go to this stedding tomorrow?" Manda asked, while they watched the rabbits slowly cooking.
"At the authoritarian Chami's behest," Mitsu muttered angrily.
"I must find information for him, concerning a dread weapon," added Feren.
"And I am just going because Mitsu is," Tamei commented, giving her Seanchan lover a sultry smile, "though it might be fun." She frowned slightly; "provided the tree-monsters don't kill us all!"
Feren scowled. "There you go again!" he complained, "that is just the sort of remark that will make you deeply unpopular at Stedding Dashai!"
Tamei grinned. "Sorry, Feren! I suppose I must have been amongst the wolves too long, I tend to speak before I think…"
"I find Tamei refreshingly honest," Mitsu stated, leaning down to kiss the golden-eyed maiden.
Feren looked elsewhere, his ears twitching. Manda grinned, rolling her eyes.
"Where will you go, Spear-Maiden?" Mitsu asked, once the lingering kiss was done, "do you come with us?"
Manda shook her head. "I must find the Nightwatcher. Two of my Sept have gone completely mad, the one even more insane than the other, and only Vron'cor can talk sense into them!" She considered. "Well, at least I hope he can…"
"I can find the clawed man for you, if you like," Tamei offered, "and tell him that you're looking for him…"
"How can you do that?" Manda wondered.
"Why, in the Wolf Dream, of course. The World of Dreams, as he calls it."
Manda raised her eyebrows. "You are a Dreamwalker? There are Wise Ones of other Clans than the mighty Shaido who can do this, I have heard; they are the same who told old Sadora of the Car'a'carn and began our miserable quest for us!"
Tamei blinked her golden eyes. "You Aiel are strange folk, by the sound of it!" she remarked.
Manda laughed. "I suppose we are, at that. Though you are strange also, wolf-maiden! But if you can tell the Nightwatcher that I seek him, then I would greatly appreciate it."
Tamei nodded. "I will try later, whilst the World sleeps. Though I must be careful, for the Laughing God walks abroad in the Wolf Dream much of late, and there is another, an old woman of evil aspect who I would be wise to avoid also."
"Be careful, chalinda," Mitsu cautioned Tamei, caressing her short, ash-blonde hair. "Do not fall afoul of the Armies of the Night, even in dreams…"
"I won't," Tamei assured her, tilting her head and brushing soft lips against Mitsu's hand.
Feren blushed on their behalf. Really, humans were shameless! What if he were to nose with Maram, right in front of them? What would they say then? He blushed even more at having imagined so intimate an activity with the beauteous Ogier maiden… what would his mother say, if she knew?
Manda was eyeing the two lovers, clearly amused.
Feren coughed pointedly. "I hate to interrupt, humans," he rumbled, "but I think that your rabbits are burning." He did, and they were.
Ellyth was shaken awake from a dreamless slumber by Dara. The Sharan woman was holding a finger to her lips, she could just about make out, though the cell was dark; lit only by a flickering torch on the battlements outside their barred window. Ellyth sat up, yawning. "What..?" she mumbled, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
"There is someone just outside the door!" Dara whispered, "they are moving quietly; I do not think it is the gaoler."
Ellyth arose, feeling relief that Dara had not awoken her for a midnight game of stones, and the pair of prisoners crept to the door of the cell. There was the muted sound of a key being turned in the lock, then the heavy oaken portal, braced with iron, swung slowly open. A small, shadowy figure stood framed in the doorway, holding a hooded lantern in one hand, a large ring of keys in the other. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but it certainly was not N'aethan… nor the gaoler, for that matter. Too short.
"Get dressed!" hissed the mysterious person in somewhat high-pitched tones, "or don't, it's up to you! But either way, we're leaving!" The voice seemed familiar to Ellyth also; where had she heard it before?
Ellyth and Dara glanced at each other in confusion, but then retrieved their dresses from where they hung over a chair, scrambling into them, turning this way and that to help each other with the buttons. When they looked back at the doorway, their short rescuer was gone and it stood empty and open. They cautiously ventured into the hallway outside. The cell door opposite was in the process of being pulled open by their mystery saviour; he had his back to them and by the light of a guttering candle in a wall bracket, Ellyth was startled to see that he wore the many-patched, colourful cloak of a Gleeman! The man spoke quietly to the occupants of the cell, then turned to look at them with pale, blue eyes. He had fair hair and a large nose… and Ellyth had seen him before, in the Throne Room. Her startlement increased.
"Rags?" Ellyth whispered. It was indeed the court fool who had sat at the feet of the High Princess during their audience.
Rags grinned. "That's not my real name," he confided softly, "it's just that the Princess is a simple child for the most part… she needed to call me something that was easy to remember!" He had shed his odd clothing sewn all over with silver bells, in favour of a dark coat and britches tucked into calf boots. The Gleeman's cloak was an incongruous addition to his wardrobe. Rags stood aside to allow Renn to exit the cell, followed by an old woman with silvery hair twined into long braids. Renn's eyes widened at the sight of Ellyth and she rushed forward to embrace her friend. Dara and the old woman regarded each other neutrally.
Ellyth glanced around the stone-flagged hallway; "but where is Shrina?" she wondered.
"This way. Come along," answered Rags, or whatever his name was, leading them further down the dark corridor, lined with heavy oak doors. The patches on his cloak fluttered as he moved; the colourful garment looked rather old and threadbare, Ellyth noted, unlike that of Roth Blucha, which the conceited young Gleeman always took pains to make as presentable as possible.
Rags certainly seemed to know his way around down here, he stopped at a particular, iron-bound door, selected a key from the ring he carried and unlocked it. Pulling the door open, he raised the lantern, unshielding it a little. Ellyth peered past his shoulder, and beheld Shrina, kneeling on all fours, in the process of feeding a morsel of bread to a large, black rat! The rat squeaked with alarm at the sight of them and scampered away into the shadows.
Shrina rose to her knees, shielding her eyes from the glare of the lantern. "Who's there?" she demanded.
"Shh! Not so loud!" hissed Rags.
"It is us," Ellyth whispered, as noisily as she dared, "Ellyth and Renn!"
Shrina got to her feet. She was wearing a rather brief shift of garish, crimson silk, that clung revealingly to her fine figure; Ellyth noticed that Rags was looking her up and down with every sign of approval. Men! She slipped past him and retrieved Shrina's green woollen gown from the sleeping mat, pushing it into her friend's arms.
"Get dressed!" Ellyth hissed.
Shrina did so. "Is this some kind of a rescue?" she enquired indistinctly, whilst pulling the gown down over her head.
"Yes, I think so," Ellyth answered, helping Shrina with her buttons. "What were you doing with that horrid rodent?" she added.
"Feeding him, of course! And Whiskers isn't horrid, he's rather friendly, and very intelligent… for a rat."
"You would like to stay here with him, yes?"
"No! But I shall certainly miss the cute little fellow. Where's Renn?"
"Here!" whispered Renn from the doorway, "come along, Shrina, stop dawdling!"
They filed out of the cell, Ellyth first, Shrina following. Shrina glanced back at the shadows where the large black rat was presumably lurking; "bye, Whiskers," she called, sadly.
"Whiskers?" Renn repeated.
"Well, I had to call him something."
Rags was eyeing them, expressionless. "Truly, the ways of Aes Sedai are passing strange," he commented quietly. Then, he turned and headed down the hall, leaving the three young Sisters little choice but to follow. Dara and the old woman brought up the rear.
The hallway opened out into a small stone chamber, lit by more candles, some kind of guard-room presumably. The gaoler was there, slumped in a chair, head thrown back, snoring. An overturned wooden flagon lay near one outstretched hand, the contents spilled onto the floor. The women regarded him cautiously, but Rags just grinned, declaring; "it's quite alright, I drugged his ale. Nothing lethal, mind you, just sleep-herb… when he wakes up, he'll have a headache and a deal of explaining to do… but he will wake."
Ellyth was glad of this, the gaoler had been tolerably kind to them whilst they were in captivity, though she did regret asking him for the stones board…
"Hold on," muttered Shrina, staring at their rescuer, "I know you; you're Rags!"
"That's not his real name," Renn informed her.
"So what is your real name, then?" Shrina demanded.
The short man bowed low, flourishing his cloak, the multi-hued patches fluttering. "Jeb Simanon, Master Gleeman, at your service," he announced, grandly.
"We're being rescued by a Gleeman?" Shrina muttered, as though not wishing to believe it.
"A Master Gleeman, if you please!" Jeb corrected her. "I wore my old cloak, as this is a special occasion!" he added.
Ellyth frowned, confused. "How did you come to be here, in this Land of the Madmen, Master Gleeman?" she enquired. Never mind what he was doing posing as a court fool in the castle of descendants of Artur Hawkwing's armies…
"Oh, I came to this insane place a long time ago," Jeb answered airily, "tis a rather protracted story and we simply don't have time for it now, though stories are my stock in trade, after all!" His expression sobered. "The guards will be by soon, on their rounds. Come." He started for the corner of the room, where a square wooden hatch was set amongst the flagstones, but Renn stopped him.
"Wait! What of Jabal? I'm not leaving without him!"
"Nor I, the Twins!"
"I must find my Hamadi!"
"Women!" Jebedah muttered under his breath, then smiled slyly. "Did you not know? Your Warders and whatnot have already made their escape! You assuredly heard the warning bells?"
Ellyth nodded, she had heard loud chimes and the sounds of a disturbance earlier that evening…
"Aebel and Blaek left without me?" Shrina muttered, in tones of disbelief.
"They had little choice; they got out of the stockade somehow, but the alarm was raised and they had to flee in one of the canoes or face recapture… death, even." Jeb glanced at Dara. "The young fellow with the face tattooed like yours took care of a pursuing war-canoe, and its crew. He used the Power to explode them!"
Dara smiled grimly. "Good. That pleases me. I taught him that battle-weave myself."
Ellyth was not sure why, but she did not entirely trust this odd Master Gleeman. Perhaps it was because he smiled too much… However, they had little choice but to follow him, for now. She watched as Jeb levered up the hatch with a grunt of effort, revealing a wooden ladder stretching down into the darkness. He looked at them expectantly. The old woman was the first to move, spry for her age, swiftly descending.
"That's Malissa," Renn explained to Ellyth and Shrina, "the ancient Wilder I tried to tell you about before… why, she claims to be-"
"Hush!" hissed Jeb, listening intently. In the distance, the tramp of boots could be heard, approaching. "We're out of time! Quick… move!"
The Aes Sedai and the lone Ayyad hastened into the hatchway and down the ladder. Jeb came last, shutting and bolting the hatch behind him. His unshielded lantern lit their way down into a large cellar, lined with enormous barrels, stacked on their sides. The rescued women stood on the rather dirty stone floor, wondering what to do next. The Master Gleeman showed them. Stepping away from the ladder, he moved swiftly to the massive cask at the end of the row. Putting the lantern down on the floor, he fiddled with something on the round surface of the barrel, which stood taller than his head. There was a muted clicking sound as a catch released and he swung the front of the barrel open on a hidden hinge, revealing that it was empty, and that the rear end of the barrel opened onto a rough-hewn tunnel, bored through the solid rock of the castle's foundations.
"In you go, my Ladies," Jeb prompted, with a reassuring smile that Ellyth did not find particularly reassuring. Still… they could not stay here, seemingly. By now, the guards would have discovered the empty cells and a new alarm would have been raised. It was only a matter of time before they were searched for, down here. Hitching up her skirts, Ellyth scrambled into the hollow barrel and thence into the narrow tunnel. The others followed, the Master Gleeman bringing up the rear, lantern raised. He swung the round, wooden barrel-top shut behind him, sealing them in. "It's a fair walk," Jeb told them, "but it brings us out at the extreme north of the island. You'll be able to channel there."
They stared at him. "We will?" Renn asked, doubtfully.
Jeb nodded. "Aye. The cursed Hawx think their Spire covers the whole Isle, but there's a blind spot at the far end."
"Why are you helping us?" Shrina demanded, "you're that spoilt Princesses' court fool!"
"A spy is what I am," Jeb corrected her, "amongst other things…"
"But why risk your life on our account?" Ellyth insisted, "were you caught doing this, you would be executed along with us, yes?"
"Oh, at the very least!" Jeb answered, grinning, then assumed an air of solemnity. "You are Aes Sedai," he said, simply. "I haven't been home in a long time, but I am a Borderlander. I know what is right; I cannot leave you in the hands of these savages, to face a dark fate!" He moved past them, leading the way along the tunnel. "Come. There will be a ship waiting, to take you to safety." Malissa followed, Renn trailing along behind. The others lingered for a moment.
"I don't trust him," Dara whispered to Ellyth, "he is too glib."
"He smiles too much," Ellyth agreed, "we must be cautious."
"Why have you got a tattooed face?" Shrina enquired of Dara, blithely ignoring their concerns.
"I am Ayyad," Dara responded proudly, then sighed. "You don't know what that is, do you, barbarian?"
Shrina frowned. "Did she just call me a 'barbarian?'" she asked Ellyth.
The Amadici Sister raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "She calls everyone that, do not take it personally, Shrina! Dara is a sort of Sharan Aes Sedai," she went on to explain, "they are called 'Ayyad' and they tattoo their faces to distinguish themselves from ordinary folk."
"Shara!" remarked Shrina, "where the silk comes from?"
"Yes!" snapped Dara, "where the bloody silk comes from!"
"Hurry up!" called Renn, from further down the tunnel, "you're getting left behind…"
The subterranean passageway went on forever, seemingly, and Ellyth, unused to walking long distances, was feeling somewhat winded and footsore by the time they reached the end of it. The tunnel emerged at the back of a long cave, floored with damp sand. Ellyth could hear pounding surf, smell salt in the air. She took a few steps towards the cave-mouth, then stopped, eyes widening.
For the first time in days, it was as though a great weight had been lifted from her… with the easy familiarity of long-practice, she opened herself to saidar, touched the True Source. A wave of sweetness flowed into her; it felt wonderful! Turning to the others, she saw that they too glowed with the One Power. Shrina and Renn were grinning, Dara smiling with satisfaction, the ancient Wilder Malissa chuckling with pleasure.
"It feels like being young again!" Malissa remarked.
Jeb Simanon, Master Gleeman, eyed them with perhaps a touch of regret. "Enjoy it while you can, ladies," he commented, softly.
Ellyth was on the verge of asking him what he meant by this… and then, something immensely strong slammed into place between her and the Source. The saidar disappeared as though it had never been, leaving her bereft and powerless once more. It was almost more than she could bear…
"We've been Shielded!" Shrina shouted, angrily.
"Yes, you all have," Jeb agreed, "by me, in point of fact."
"You can channel?" Ellyth gasped.
"Of course I can flaming channel!" Jeb revealed, "why, I can't remember a time when I couldn't!"
"But… you're a Gleeman!" Renn cried, with disbelief.
"Master Gleeman. What of it? I've lived a long time, I've been many things. I was even Court Bard to the False Dragon, Davian! That was probably my best job…" Jeb was ignoring them while he spoke, watching the mouth of the cave expectantly.
"But Davian lived more than seventeen hundred years ago!" Renn argued, "how could you possibly..?"
"Like I said, it's a long story… ah, here they are. Right on time."
Shadowy figures moved in the night, entering the mouth of the cave, approaching stealthily.
Ellyth strained against the Shield with all her might, but it would not budge. "How are you able to Shield all five of us?" she demanded. Jeb laughed. The mirth had an unhinged quality to it, that set Ellyth's teeth on edge.
"Because I'm immensely powerful!" Jeb answered, then shrugged. "Though this helps, admittedly…" He reached into a pocket of his patched cloak and pulled out a life-sized golden hand, index finger extended. He waved it at Ellyth. "A sa'angreal, made for male Aes Sedai to use in the Age of Legends. One of a pair, naturally! Nearly as powerful as Callandor itself. Any more questions? No?" Jeb glanced at Malissa, something almost like sympathy in his eyes. "I'm truly sorry about this, but I don't need you. You understand?"
Malissa regarded the dangerous male-channeler levelly and without fear. "I know who you are, now," she whispered. Jeb pointed the finger of the sa'angreal at her. "You're-" The ancient Wilder gasped, her eyes rolling up in her head and she collapsed bonelessly to the sand.
Renn cried out and rushed to her side, but there was nothing that she could do. "She's dead!" Renn wailed, "you killed her!"
Jeb nodded. "I did." He eyed Malissa's corpse with a touch of respect. "She was brave as Barashelle herself," he whispered.
Ellyth tensed as the approaching men came into the light of the lantern. There were a dozen of them, bare chests and arms tattooed with red symbols that she did not recognise, fur cloaks swathing their backs and shoulders, ragged britches cut off at the knees, feet bare. All wore crude leather masks, dyed red, with smiling mouths carved into them beneath the eye holes. None seemed to be carrying weapons, but each had a bronze torc about his neck. As one, they bowed low to Jeb. He laughed again, and bowed back, fluttering the patches on his cloak.
"Would you like a song or a story, boys?" Jeb enquired, sardonically.
The masked men laughed too, the sound carrying the same vaguely insane quality as that of the man who was clearly their Master.
"Assume their Shields," Jeb commanded them, "two to each Aes Sedai, just in case, the tattooed one as well. She interests me."
Eight of the men turned to stare with dark eyes at the captives. Ellyth felt her Shield slip slightly, then return, as strong as ever. These red-masked brigands could all channel powerfully too! She fought the panic that arose within her, at being surrounded by fearsome males who touched the Source.
Jeb addressed one of his men, a burly individual who was not one of those maintaining a Shield. "Take them back to the boat, Harper, then do exactly as I told you in the Dream last night. I must return before they notice I'm missing."
"Yes, Lord." Harper's voice was deep, he spoke the Vulgar with a rough accent.
Jeb glanced at his men. "Why are there only twelve of you? I specified thirteen; a nice, traditional number! Who is missing?"
"Strummer, Lord."
"Where is the fool?"
"Dead, Lord. The chumira slew him, near to the Collam Aman. All of Strummer's men too, but for one whom he spared, to bring you a message."
"Did he now?" Jeb tapped a finger against his lips, thoughtfully. "What message?"
Harper hesitated, then spoke with reluctance; "he will end your miserable existence, Lord, your reign of tyranny also."
Jeb laughed long and loud at this, madness evident in his mirth. Then, he took something out of another cloak pocket and slipped it over his face. He had his back to Ellyth, she could not see what it was…
"Ah, that is better," Jeb or whoever he was commented, "I can feel my aching head easing, the chaos draining away…"
"Who are you?" Ellyth demanded, desperation in her tones.
Jebedah Chul Simanon turned, revealing that he now wore an ancient-looking bronze mask, fashioned in the likeness of a smiling fox's face. Pale, blue eyes stared at her through the holes in the metal. He inclined his head mockingly.
"Don't you know, Aes Sedai?" Jeb's voice echoed within the confines of his mask. "Why, I am the Laughing God, of course!" And he threw back his head, and laughed.