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

9. Chapter 7 : The Eagle

Gleeman Jeb I mean Bob writes: now that the interminable Interlogue is over and done with, it is back to the main story... Chapter 7 of ItLotM, in addition to featuring the return of an important character who disappeared without explanation at the end of Chapter 8 of HSUtH, contains a Raab flashback proceeding from page 344 of The Dragon Reborn. I always wondered (as did Mat) what an Atha'an Miere sailor was doing so far from the sea, and have continued Raab's story, attempting to explain this mystery... gratitude to the Great Gleeman Robert Jordan for introducing this character for me to totally steal and invent stuff about! hooray for Raab! Raabtastic! let's keep on Raabing!

this Chapter, which is 1452 words longer than the previous Chapter, but is still shorter than the Interlogue, contains references to peas. I have never much cared for this small, green vegetable, neither the taste nor the consistency appeal to me. I suppose that I am pea-prejudiced. the word 'cucumber' appears only once. there are no other veg-allusions that I can think of. that is all I have to say about that...

as ever, a big thank you to those Wheel of Timers who are Viewing, Visiting, Following and even (gasp!) Reviewing my story...

...Walk in the Light!

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"Nice place you have here," observed Jebedah Chul Simanon, sometime Master Gleeman, once Court Bard to the False Dragon Davian and now, hunted fugitive. He smiled ingratiatingly and ran his fingers over the taut strings of his lute, producing a pleasing chord. A nervous habit; he really should not do it…

If the Ogier Elders sitting before Jeb were gratified by the strange, short man's compliment, they gave no sign. Very hard to read, the Treebrothers… Jeb had always found it so. The Elder at the centre of the assembled ancient Tia Avende Alantin regarded him with her large, knowing eyes for a long moment, eyes that seemed to see into his very soul. Presuming that he still had one… there was that unfortunate matter of swearing his oaths at Shayol Ghul, despite having later recanted them. Well, it was up for debate.

Jeb tried not to fidget beneath that penetrating stare, and almost succeeded. "Very beautiful," he added, unconvincingly, "fine trees… I have always delighted in nature…" In truth, he far preferred cities, especially these days… so much easier to lose oneself, in a crowd.

At this last remark, some of the Elders eyed each other, clearly sceptical. There were seven of them in large, sung-wood chairs of exquisite artisanry, arrayed against a panelled wall of polished redwood. Jeb stood before them, penitent. He had not been offered a chair of his own; this, he suspected, was a bad sign. Though all of the Elders radiated a wisdom and serenity that Jeb knew he could never match, not if he lived to be a thousand, it was the Ogier woman sitting in the middle who was the most impressive. She wore a heavily-embroidered green robe of an antique cut, her pale hair was very long and would have fallen almost to her feet, had she been standing, the tufts on her ears fine and silky, her lined face expressing uncounted years of existence. She was clearly old, very old.

Jeb wondered if he might live that long himself? Unlikely. Though he looked less than half that age, he had seen ninety-three summers all told, though rather doubted that he would see ninety-four, the way things were going. But the Ogier Elder… it was her huge, pale eyes that made Jeb feel distinctly uncomfortable; she seemed to be looking right inside him, divining every aspect of his personality and character… and almost certainly not liking what she saw. The other Elders; three male and three female, seemed equally disapproving. Their large ears lay flat against their skulls, which Jeb took for another bad sign.

Eventually, the Senior Elder broke the uncomfortable silence, her voice high and reedy with age. She spoke the Old Tongue, whereas Jeb had used the Vulgar, which was increasingly more prevalent in these uncivilised times.

"We know who you are, human."

Jeb glanced over each shoulder at the huge Ogier guards looming to either side. Their cold eyes did not stray from him, watching the unwelcome petitioner, unblinking. Though un-armoured, one guard leaned on a massive war-hammer, the other, a gigantic axe with a long handle. You could do a lot of damage with those things… Jeb licked his lips nervously and returned his attention to the Senior Elder. "You do?" he responded, using the Old Tongue also.

"We do," agreed the Elder, her eyes narrowing, hairy brows drawing down.

"You are no Gleeman." It was an ancient male Elder on the left who spoke, deep and sonorous.

"Master Gleeman!" Jeb corrected, and with the hand that was not holding the lute, gave his colourful cloak an emphatic twitch, causing the numerous multi-hued patches sewn upon it to flutter.

"You served the notorious Dragon King," accused a female Elder to the right.

Jeb opened his mouth to deny this, as all manner of falsehood had ever come to him with the same ease as music, but he was not afforded the opportunity.

"You are Jebedah Chul Simanon," stated the Senior Elder definitively, "posing as a Gleeman; an obvious disguise."

"Tis no pose!" Jeb objected, "Gleemanry was the first trade I ever followed…"

"But not the last," the Elder observed, "the trades of murderer, thief and mountebank have additionally been yours, I believe?"

Jeb sighed. It seemed the game was up. "You forgot that I have also been a Bard," he muttered, resentfully.

The Senior Elder nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. It would seem that you have led an eventful life, for a human. I suspect that you are older than you appear, possibly much older. And indeed, we know that you were also Court Bard to Davian, the False Dragon."

"Not for long though! And I didn't exactly want the job, the Dragon King insisted! He wasn't an easy man to refuse, by any means…" Jeb felt his concern growing, exponentially. His pursuers close on his trail, fleeing to the nearest stedding and requesting sanctuary had seemed like his only remaining option… but for all their presumed unworldly attitudes, the Ogier were no fools. They knew who he was, they had known all along… this was not good.

"You are wanted by the Aes Sedai," the ancient Elder continued, implacably, "the last of Davian's followers to escape justice. The White Tower circulated your description to every known stedding, warned us that you might seek sanctuary under false pretences."

"There is nothing false about my pretences!" Jeb argued, "if they catch me, the Tar Valon witches will sever me from the Power and then my head… you cannot refuse me refuge under those circumstances, surely?"

"Your crimes must be answered for," declared another of the female Elders.

The large male Elder at the end of the row spoke up; "you bring disharmony to Stedding Oradrin… you must leave. Now." He raised a cucumber-sized finger, signalling to the Ogier guards.

Jeb felt a large hand settle heavily and immovably upon each shoulder. It seemed that the fruitless interview was over. He sighed again. "Would you like to hear a song before I go?" he enquired of the Elders, a little desperately.

The ancient Tia Avende Alantin looked at each other, registering surprise and no little discomfort. The Senior Elder regarded Jeb with something that might almost have been sympathy. "You are an unusual man," she commented, "even for a human, your manner is most strange. But then, you are a male-channeler, after all. Does the Shadow's Taint affect you to the extent that you imagine we would wish to hear you play for us?"

"The Dark One's Curse holds no fear for me," Jeb claimed defiantly, with more confidence than he felt, then raised his lute. "Well?"

The Senior Elder glanced to left and right, receiving no signs of either assent or dissent from her peers, then shrugged her bony shoulders. "Very well. Despite what else you have become, I suppose that you were a Gleeman once. Play. Sing."

At another signal, the Ogier guards removed their hands from his person. Jeb grinned, twanging the C-string on his lute. "This one is called; 'The Lay of Anselan and Barashelle,'" he explained, adding conversationally; "at the Dragon King's behest, I must admit that I executed Barashelle Sedai, but I rather admired her courage, so I made it as quick and painless as possible…"

The Elders stirred, evincing disturbance and disapproval, but a tough audience had never deterred Jebedah Chul Simanon, Master Gleeman. He ran his fingers deftly over the strings, and began.

Afterwards, whilst being marched through the stedding by his grim guardians, taken back to the border where the outside world and blessed, accursed saidin awaited him, Jeb considered that the performance had gone quite well, given the strained circumstances. A couple of the female Ogier had seemed a little dewy-eyed at the ballad of true love, and even the big male Ogier who clearly liked him the least had appeared to approve of the sentiment of selfless sacrifice. Of course, this did not change the fact that the Elders knew of Jeb's dark reputation, and had flatly refused him sanctuary. He was back to square one, his desperate plan had failed and he was most probably not long for this earth. Which was a shame, since he had always loved life. In fact, he wanted to live forever.

His mind working furiously, Jeb disregarded the verdant perfection of the scenery around him, the curious eyes of the various Ogier folk who watched him being led past by the guards, but when a familiar itch in the back of his mind made itself felt, he abruptly stopped walking and stared at a collection of flower-bedecked stones set beneath an enormous yew tree. The guard behind nearly ran into him before stopping also, the guard in front turned and gazed down at their charge, dislike and suspicion colouring his stern features. Jeb ignored them, not taking his eyes off the flat stones, carved with florid, Alantin script, one in particular holding his attention.

"Why do you pause, human?" demanded the lead guard, using the Vulgar.

"You must depart the stedding, the Elders have spoken," added the other.

"What are those?" Jeb asked, pointing at the stones.

"Marker stones," the first Ogier answered, shortly.

His comrade was more talkative, and provided further information; "the mortal remains of male Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends lie beneath them."

"Really?"

"Yes. They were given sanctuary during the Breaking of the World."

"They never left this place."

Jeb frowned. "So you afforded refuge to a bunch of dangerously insane Aes Sedai, but not me? That makes perfect sense!"

The Ogier guards exchanged a wordless glance, then the one in front gave Jeb a withering look, his bushy brows drawing down over large, cold eyes. "They were not murderers and abetters of despotic tyrants! It pleased our forebears to shelter them, Jebedah Simanon."

"Chul Simanon, if you please."

The lead guard scowled. "Your full name does not concern me, human. Will you come with us willingly, or must we bind you with ropes and carry you from the stedding?"

"No need for that," Jeb answered equably, "I know when I'm not wanted." As they resumed their progress, he spared a last glance for the particular marker stone that held his interest, and that of his Talent for sensing ter'angreal. He could have told the guards that a powerful artefact of the Age of Legends lay buried beneath it, but did not choose to. The ter'angreal was beyond his reach in any case, perhaps another madman would one day disinter it? In fact, he thought he might have had a prophetic dream of such… a dark-haired youth with deep-set eyes, digging restlessly at the earth with a stick… and a voice, calling out his name. Guaire.

All thoughts of this future event passed from Jeb's mind as an idea occurred to him. "Does Stedding Oradrin have a Waygate?" he asked the guards.

After a delay, the Ogier before him answered reluctantly; "yes, of course."

"But no-one has risked using it since young Lovali disappeared," added the other Ogier.

"Disappeared?" Jeb prompted.

"He meant to travel to Stedding Shangtai, where a marriage had been arranged for him. After a time, their Elders sent a message saying that he never arrived."

"Perhaps he got cold feet about the enforced wedding and decided to go somewhere else?" Jeb suggested. The Blight, for example! he considered privately, shuddering at the prospect of Ogier nuptials.

"Unlikely."

"Lovali would not have disobeyed his mother."

They walked on in silence for a while, Jeb having to hurry a bit to keep up with the Ogier's long strides.

Clearly, the rearmost guard had been dwelling upon the mystery of the vanished Alantin ti Avende youth. "The Ways are changing," he mused mournfully, "they are decaying, and other stedding report disappearances also. It may be that there is something evil at work within those darkening paths, which-"

"Hush!" snapped the lead guard, "must the human criminal know our business?" The talkative Ogier blushed, ears twitching, and fell silent.

Jeb smiled. Dissention within the ranks of his enemy always appealed to his yen for chaos. But he did not like the sound of these Ways, for all that there appeared to be no other options open to him. It seemed that the choice was between Shai'tan and the deep blue sea… as bloody usual!

The path they followed ended abruptly at the edge of a stand of tall beech trees. Jeb recognised the place; it was where he had entered the stedding, earlier that morning. Sanctuary denied, he was back where he started. The two Ogier guards paused, and one gave him a slight shove, indicating that he should keep walking.

"Go, human," commanded the less verbose Ogier, "and do not trespass upon Stedding Oradrin again. This place is forbidden you."

Jeb turned, walking backwards, baring his teeth at the guards in something that was not quite a smile. "In which direction is the Waygate?" he enquired.

"South," answered the other Ogier reluctantly, "though you would be ill-advised to use it, human. As I said, there could be something-"

"I'll take my chances," Jeb interrupted, adding; "oh, and please tell your Elders that one day I shall return and utterly destroy them! You too! Your people will weep bitter tears before I am done with my vengeance…"

As Jeb passed over the bounds of the stedding and its mysterious aura vanished, he felt the familiar siren-call of saidin return to him. The urge to connect with the Source was almost overwhelming. He ignored it as best he could, raising a hand to his neck and touching the bronze torc that the Eelfinn had given him, for reassurance. Though the ancient ter'angreal that was supposed to protect him from the Taint seemed a little less effective with each passing day, as if its power was failing. Doubtless, the accursed Foxes had tricked him. Though he had tricked them also, requesting a way out and then putting them all to sleep with his singing before they could exact their heavy price. A pity that they had woken so soon… he had barely made it out of the Tower of Ghenjei in one piece.

Jeb then patted his belt-buckle, worked in a sinuous Eternal Serpent-shape, his second gift from the Eelfinn. He could have used the Power in the Well to teach those self-righteous Elders a fatal lesson, there and then… but more Treebrothers would have come, there was not enough saidin in the storage ter'angreal to kill them all, and it would have gone badly for him. 'As soon pull a mountain down on your head as anger the Ogier.' Truer words were never spoken.

As for his third gift from the Foxes, the most important request he had made… Jeb pulled the antique, jagged dagger from its sheath and glanced down at the curling script inscribed into the jet-black metal. He knew the ancient, High Chant words off by heart, as well as he recalled every line of every song and story he had ever performed…

'Thus Agreement made;

Our Compact now is writ

A Key within a Blade –

Luck in place of Wit.'

Jeb had always found that last line rather insulting… was it the Eelfinn's way of saying that he was merely a fortunate fool? Probably. However, deciphering the penultimate verse had proved to be his salvation; plunging the dark knife into that glowing wall, carving out a large triangle and etching a smaller, inverted triangle within it… leaping through the shining exit that had opened for him… escaping the claws of the vengeful, pursuing Foxes with but moments to spare… quite an adventure! But the Eelfinn had long memories, they would not soon forget that he had cheated them. Jeb expected that there would be a reckoning, one day. It was inevitable.

At the crest of the hill he was climbing, Jeb paused to look down at his campsite, noting with relief that his horse was still there. But so were a dozen riders swathed in crimson cloaks, cowls pulled down to hide their ageless features. His pursuers had caught up to him, as he had known they would.

"Tsag!" Jeb cursed, glancing back toward the towering trees of the stedding… but that place clearly offered no refuge. Curse the Ogier and their complacent attitudes! He would get even with them one day, if not these particular Tia Avende Alantin of Stedding Oradrin, hidden up in the foothills of World's End, then other Ogier, elsewhere. They were all the same, were they not? Tree-loving, pompous book-worms, good for nothing but singing wood and building ridiculous edifices!

When Jeb turned back to the campsite, the Aes Sedai below were now all looking up at him. Their eyes were cold but some of them were smiling predatory smiles. They were Red Ajah hounds, and he was the fox. "Never say die," Jeb whispered, then whistled shrilly. His horse, a coal-black stallion, reared, lashing out with iron-shod hooves at the closest riders, then promptly galloped up the hill toward him. "Good lad!" Jeb shouted approvingly, stowing his lute on his back and swinging deftly astride the racing stallion as his mount drew level with him. He had always been a skilled horseman, his people were renowned for it. He dug in his heels as they thundered down the slope, urging the horse to greater speed. "Faster, Shai'tan!" Jeb roared, and the stallion obeyed, kicking up clods of turf as he guided him south. Naming the Dark One was considered unlucky, giving one's horse that appellation must be even worse… but Jeb had never been particularly superstitious.

"Sene sovya caba'donde ain dovien ya!" Jeb quoted loudly, then laughed wildly. It was apt. Luck was a horse to ride, in this instance. A glance over his shoulder and the laughter died. The dozen Red Sisters were pursuing grimly and had drawn too close for comfort. Their mounts were fresher than Shai'tan, who had borne him far and fast for the last week's flight from the Abayan border. Jeb had been hiding-out in Falme, until the town got too hot for him. He had been hoping to take ship for somewhere far away, Aile Dashar perhaps, and then the fabled Islands of the Dead across the Aryth Ocean, even… but that had not worked out. Foolish to return to Basharande, he supposed, it was known in the White Tower that this was his birth-nation and they would be looking for him there, but he had not been home in a long time and it had seemed as good a place as any.

Jeb risked another look behind; the Aes Sedai chasing him had decreased his lead further, doubtless they had recently channeled strength back into their horses. This was a trick that he had never been able to master himself; whenever he tried, his efforts had usually just killed the unfortunate animal. Shai'tan was labouring now, his breathing heavy, foam on his flanks.

"Where in the Pit is that bloody Waygate?" Jeb fumed, but then he saw it, up ahead. A tall stone slab worked with intricate leaves and vines, half-hidden by overgrown brambles, set out at the southern edge of the stedding. A risk, by all accounts, but currently his only hope for escaping a slow gentling followed by a swift execution! Jeb reined Shai'tan in before the Waygate and slid down from the stallion, which stood stiff-legged and blowing hard.

"Well done, old fellow," Jeb commented, patting his horse affectionately on the neck as he turned to regard the Red Ajah riders approaching at speed. He concentrated, squinting at his enemy and seizing the raging torrent of saidin with the ease of long-use. Immediately, Jeb felt giddy and unhinged, as he often did of late when he touched the Source, but he needed to buy himself time, for which channeling would be necessary. With a strength of mental discipline entirely at odds with his demeanour and behaviour, Jeb wrenched the tumultuous forces within him into some semblance of control. "Fire, I think," he muttered.

Immediately, a high wall of fierce red flames sprang into existence in a circular formation about the Waygate. Shai'tan was not troubled by this, long inured to his master's channeling, but the Tower-trained mounts of the Aes Sedai reared and retreated, in many cases unseating their riders. The Red Sister at the fore remained in the saddle, however, skilfully keeping her horse tractable with deft movements of reins and knees. Her dark, tilted eyes were fixed on Jeb, her cowl had fallen back during the chase, revealing smooth, ageless features, a hawkish face with a bold nose.

"Good morrow, Natalin Sedai," Jeb called out, "good to be home, is it not?"

Like himself, the lead Aes Sedai was a native of Basharande. This was about all they had in common…

"Surrender, Master Simanon!" Natalin responded, "your flames shall not hold us back forever…"

"Long enough to suit my purposes," Jeb retorted, turning and scanning the surface of the Waygate for the distinctive trefoil leaf… there should be only one… He had never used a Waygate before, but Davian had, and had told him what to look for.

"Quickly, Sisters, link with me!" Natalin Sedai commanded, as the other Red Ajah picked themselves up and assembled about her on the far side of the flaming wall.

Had Jeb been watching, he might have noticed how angry they all looked and felt trepidation, but instead he spied the carved Avendesora leaf and plucked it eagerly from the Waygate. Immediately, the stone surface came to life, writhing as though in some strong breeze, though the air was still. A line appeared down the middle, bisecting the Waygate and the two halves opened outwards. Jeb beheld his wild-eyed reflection in what appeared to be a dirty, full-length mirror and blinked, rubbing his stubbled jaw. "I could use a shave," he mumbled.

"Stop him!" Natalin shouted, but it was too late.

Still holding the stone trefoil leaf in one hand, Shai'tan's bridle in the other, Jeb entered the Waygate without hesitation, calling over his shoulder; "do give my best wishes to the Amyrlin... and enjoy your penances, Red Witches!"

The sensation of passing through the mirrored portal was unpleasant and Shai'tan clearly agreed; Jeb had to tug with all his might to get the reluctant stallion to follow him inside. Once within the Ways, he watched through the dim aperture as the ring of flames vanished and the Aes Sedai surged forward. They moved slowly, like flies caught in honey, but still they moved. Jeb hastily placed the trefoil leaf on the inside of the closing gates, just above an identical stone Avendesora carving, locking the Waygate as Davian had advised him to, should he not wish to be followed.

"Safe at last," Jeb commented with satisfaction, though not liking the way his words echoed in the still darkness… well, he could do something about that, at least. He yet held saidin and it was but the work of a moment to summon three small globes of light into existence, glowing spheres that revolved about his head in a luminous dance. Not that there was much to see by the pale illumination, just a white line extending away from the Waygate and disappearing into the gloom ahead. Shai'tan whinnied softly, then fell silent. Jeb patted the black stallion soothingly on the nose. "There, there, old chap, we've been in worse places than this." The horse did not seem to agree, but rolled his eyes and snorted disparagingly. Jeb chuckled.

An uncertain time later, and Jeb was in no mood for mirth, which was extremely unusual for him. He was hopelessly lost, he had come to reluctantly acknowledge, and was correspondingly beginning to lose hope. He sat slumped astride Shai'tan as the exhausted stallion plodded slowly along yet another of the accursed crumbling bridges that hung in a seemingly infinite void, cursing fate and regretting, not for the first time, that he had never troubled to learn Ogier script. The occasional, pitted stone posts upon which the twining, silvery lettering appeared were as illegible to him as if he were illiterate. Had he been capable of deciphering what were presumably directions, he might have been able to select some sort of destination, but as it was, he could only wander at random in the hopes of finding another Waygate through which to escape this endless, gloomy maze. No luck, so far.

The effort of holding saidin had begun to make his head spin, so Jeb had taken to using his belt-buckle Well-ter'angreal to maintain a single light globe, refilling the device as and when was necessary. It was an added effort, but he did not particularly relish the prospect of being plunged into darkness, especially within the Ways.

Jeb frowned, dwelling upon the grim discovery he had made, back on one of the large island structures from which the bridges and ramps extended… the emaciated corpse of an Ogier youth. Presumably, it had been the unfortunate Lovali, whom the guards had mentioned. But what had killed him? There had been no marks of violence upon his large body, which had been somewhat skeletal, indicating that he had most likely died of hunger…

Jeb was not much given to sentiment and did not particularly care for Ogier, but had nonetheless used weaves of Fire to dispose of the pathetic remains, muttering a few words of empty blessing as he did so. He distantly hoped that someone might do the same for him, one day, if he shared young Lovali's dark fate, which was seeming more and more likely. "What a depressing place to die," Jeb muttered, looking about himself disapprovingly. As though seconding his opinion, Shai'tan whickered.

At first, Jeb thought that it was his imagination, much given to playing tricks on him of late, but as the sound increased in volume, he became certain that it was no illusion… wind. The noise of the wind in a place where such could not possibly exist, approaching from behind. And within the wind, distant voices, steadily growing louder, whispering horrific threats and dread promises. Jeb immediately realised that he was hearing the mysterious 'something' that the brooding Ogier guard had hinted at, the evil presence that now haunted these dilapidated Ways…

Without pausing to listen further, Jeb dug in his heels and spurred Shai'tan forward into a stumbling canter. He could feel the stallion's weariness in his halting movements, but had little choice except to flee. There was something coming for him that he could likely not resist with saidin, that was far worse than the Red Ajah, he instinctively knew... some horror that would do worse than merely kill him, but would mayhap steal his soul and leave him to wander the Ways until he perished, as had befallen the misfortunate Lovali.

Before long, the desperate horse and rider reached another of the islands, various disparate paths into darkness leading off along differing directions. The dread sound of the pursuing wind had swelled to gale-like proportions by this point, and Jeb did his best to not heed the horrid voices that rose and fell within it. He ignored the useless Ogier guiding post and instead frantically scanned the various routes that lay before him… mostly more of the ubiquitous bridges, but one path differed from the others, a spiralling ramp that descended into darkness. There was no reason why it should be any better than the other ways off the island, but something about it stirred Jeb's instincts, and he had learned long ago to trust such feelings. They had served him well in the past, and he could only hope that they would do so now…

Shai'tan was too spent to run any further so Jeb slipped down from the saddle, attempting to pull the stallion with him by the bridle. The horse flatly refused to move, four legs planted firmly, chest heaving, head hanging down. The wicked wind howled, the fell voices shrieked. Jeb knew that his exhausted mount would go no further.

"Sorry about this, old fellow," Jeb whispered sadly, "but I can't leave you for that thing, whatever it is…" he drew the jagged blade from his belt and swiftly stabbed Shai'tan in the neck, aiming for the large artery in the throat, "…this way is cleaner." Jeb jerked the arcane knife out and arterial blood spurted. Shai'tan sank to his knees, then rolled upon his side, lying still as a spreading pool of gore seeped from the deep wound. Jeb looked upon his faithful companion of many long leagues with regret, blinking back a single tear, then turned and ran down into the darkness, which swiftly swallowed him. At his back, the scream of the black wind rose to a crescendo, but now the terrible voices that rode upon it seemed to have changed. They sounded almost… disappointed.

A long time later, longer than he knew, Jeb woke, blinking bright sunlight out of his aching eyes… it would seem that he was no longer within the Ways. Then where was he? He appeared to be laying in sand, could hear the lap of waves upon the shore, the shrill calls of seabirds.

"I am on a beach," Jeb surmised, speaking to himself as he often did. Was this another of the dreams that plagued him, visions that often came true? Unlikely, it all seemed too real for that. Jeb sat upright, groaning and clutching his pounding head. He felt terrible; therefore, he must still be alive. Whatever that vile wind apparition had been, it had failed to catch him, as had the Red Ajah, despite their best efforts. Perhaps things were looking up? Shading his eyes from the fierce rays of a foreign sun, Jeb gazed out before him at the endless, azure ocean that seemingly stretched on forever, empty of ships. Perhaps not.

A week later, and Jeb knew that he was in deep trouble, a depressingly familiar state. The entirety of the tiny island that he had inexplicably awoken on could be traversed in less than ten minutes, by his reckoning. There were some palm trees, but no fresh water, so he had subsisted thus far on drinking the milk and eating the flesh of coconuts, plucked from branches with weaves of Air and split open with his jagged blade… but these providential fruits of the palm were getting scarce. His efforts to catch fish had met with little success and in any case, the dull grey flesh of these local creatures was practically inedible, and had sickened him when he consumed it. The few seabirds that nested here did not seem to be in the mood for laying eggs, and after he had killed and cooked the first with weaves of Fire, they had grown wary and were now keeping their distance, avoiding him assiduously. Jeb had heard that in the Age of Legends, Aes Sedai had been able to use the Power to produce water from thin air, possibly sustenance also, but he had no idea how to do it.

Jeb occupied his time by sleeping in the rude shelter that he had constructed from palm fronds and sitting on the beach, wondering how in the Wheel he had got here. The last thing he remembered, after giving mercy to poor Shai'tan, was racing down a spiralling ramp into pitch darkness… a path that had descended concurrently with the fading of his senses and consciousness, he seemed to recall. And then, he had awoken on a Light-forsaken desert island set in the middle of the bloody ocean! Which ocean he had no idea, but it was hot here, wherever here was, so presumably a long way from the Westlands. After all, had he not desired to voyage to a far-away land?

"Be careful what you wish for," Jeb mumbled, through dry, cracked lips, scratching fitfully at his ragged beard.

On the eighth day, having consumed the final coconut, Jeb resolved to kill himself. It beat starving slowly and painfully to death, he supposed. Sitting in his accustomed spot upon the beach, the place where he had first returned to his senses, or at least what remained of them, he stared glumly down at the dark blade gifted to him by the Foxes, trying to decide whether to stab himself in the chest or the throat… or perhaps he might just slash open his wrists?

Something instinctive made Jeb look up before he could arrive at a decision regarding his mode of suicide, and he blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating. A large, three-masted Atha'an Miere ship now lay anchored out beyond the breakers and a longboat was putting in toward the shore, rowed by several oarsmen… oarswomen also, naturally. A tall, Sea Folk female stood in the bow, staring at him. The bright sunlight flashed on the medallion-bedecked gold chain that linked her ear and nose rings.

Jeb stood unsteadily, brushing the sand from his patched cloak and trying to make himself look presentable, failing miserably in the process. The longboat reached the beach in due course and several Atha'an Miere crew leapt out, pulling the craft further up the shore. The woman, presumably the Sailmistress, stepped out of the boat and strode up the beach toward Jeb, followed by a slight Sea Folk youth, his eyes downcast. The Atha'an Miere Captain wore pale satin trews with a gaudy yellow sash and a light silk cloak, red in hue. That was it… Jeb tried to ignore her proud, bare bosom, without much success. He had long been a connoisseur of the undraped female form, an aesthetic indulgence that he had not had the opportunity to cultivate in quite some time, and found it difficult to avoid staring.

The Sailmistress halted her swaying progress before him, dark eyes drilling into his. "Stop looking at me like that, Gleeman!" she snapped, touching the curved, ivory-hilted dagger tucked into her sash.

"Sorry!" Jeb croaked, his mouth dry as the desert, adding; "do you have any water?"

The Sailmistress shook her head curtly, but the youth behind stepped meekly forward and offered Jeb his flask. The other Sea Folk waited by the longboat, watching silently. Jeb un-stoppered the leather bottle with a shaking hand and took a measured sip, which became an incautious gulp. He coughed, wiped his mouth and passed the flask back to the youth. "Thank you, friend." The young Atha'an Miere fellow did not respond or meet his eyes... there was something oddly familiar about him, Jeb sensed, though they had certainly never met.

"What do you here, Shorebound?" the Sailmistress demanded, "were you wrecked?"

"Yes," Jeb lied, "I shipped aboard a vessel outbound from Tear, but we were driven off course by a gale." He laughed. "I'm not even sure where I am, to be honest…"

"The Southern Ocean," the Sea Folk youth muttered, without looking up from his bare feet.

"Be silent, Jaro!" the Sailmistress shouted angrily, then turned back to Jeb. "Were there any other survivors?"

Jeb shook his head. "I do not think so… I clung to a piece of driftwood for a time, and was washed ashore here." Jeb glanced at the tattoos on the hands of the two Atha'an Miere. "Clan Takana, I believe?" he murmured.

The Sailmistress nodded. "I see that you know something of our ways, Gleeman," she commented, levelly.

Jeb shrugged. "I have taken passage with the Sea Folk before," he responded absently, his gaze drifting downwards.

"Cease staring at my breasts, fellow!"

"My apologies! Force of habit, I am afraid…"

Scowling, the Sailmistress arranged her cloak over her upper chest, muttering; "you Shorebound men are all alike… salacious and perverse!"

Jeb wisely chose not to answer, instead eyeing the anchored Atha'an Miere ship hopefully. "A fine craft, Sailmistress. I don't suppose I might..?"

"Take passage with us? Aye, I suppose so… with no gift given, since you are, after all, a Gleeman… a rather dirty, malodorous Gleeman, but a Gleeman even so." The Sailmistress drew herself up proudly. "I am Korena din Sudim Breaking Wave, Sailmistress of the Windrunner. What are you called?"

"Jeb."

Korena frowned. "Just Jeb?"

"Yes."

"Odd names you Shorebound have, but then, you are a Gleeman, and your fraternity are much inclined to strangeness, I have noticed."

"Master Gleeman, actually."

"Whatever."

Jeb glanced at the Windrunner again, an appropriate name he considered, since he had been running from the wind immediately prior to arriving in this desolate spot… "Might I enquire as to your destination, Sailmistress?"

"We voyage to the far south, to the great unknown continent that lies beyond the accursed smoking islands. We intend to commence trade negotiations with the inhabitants."

"Oh?"

"No ship of the Atha'an Miere has been there since the Hawkwing's day," the Sea Folk youth whispered, seemingly speaking to himself.

The Sailmistress scowled darkly and slapped him. "Do not speak, Jaro!"

Jeb winced, then frowned, confused. "The Hawkwing, you say? Who is that?"

Both the Sailmistress and the chastened youth, Jaro, looked at Jeb, disbelief in their dark eyes. "Is that supposed to be a joke, Gleeman Jeb?" Korena demanded.

"No! I have never heard of any Hawkwing…" Jeb considered, then hastily added; "though I hit my head when my ship foundered, I have been having trouble remembering things…"

Korena snorted contemptuously. "Well, you had best recall all your songs and stories to divert my people, Gleeman, or you can swim home in stead… I do not carry dead weight on my ship."

"Oh, I am mindful of those, as any Gleeman would be, it is just that I don't seem to have any memory of this Hawkwing you mention…"

Korena frowned. "Peculiar. Well, if you must know, he was the High King in the Westlands some five-hundred years ago. He ruled from the Aryth Ocean to the World's Spine, but then he died, as even Kings do, and the Shorebound fell to warring amongst themselves for a century or more… it was bad for trade…" Korena shook her head, impatient. "Why am I troubling to tell you this, Gleeman? I am a Sailmistress, not an historian!"

"Yes… I think that I am starting to remember these events," Jeb said carefully, "tell me if you please, do you know the date?"

"I grow weary of these questions, I came to this barren rock for another purpose than to elucidate tiresome Gleemen!" The Sailmistress glared at young Jaro, who blushed and hung his head, then she relented slightly. "I checked the log at dawn, as I always do… for your information, Gleeman Jeb, according to the Shorebound Farede calendar, it is the seventeenth day of Danu, in the five-hundred and thirteenth year of the New Era."

Jeb's brow furrowed. Farede, Danu, New Era? Like this King Hawkwing, he had never heard of any of them. "Not the Free Years, then?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

The Sailmistress reacted with disbelief, whilst young Jaro stared at Jeb in confusion. "May it please the Light, are you touched in the mind, Gleeman? Have you been drinking seawater? The Shorebound ceased accounting by the Free Year reckoning more than a half millennia ago, after the War of a Hundred Years!"

Jeb smiled in sickly fashion, his mind racing. "Oh yes… of course… it is all coming back to me now," he commented, distractedly. What had happened? After Davian's fall, he had been on the run for some thirteen months, it had been at the beginning of the three-hundred and fifty-fourth Free Year when he went into the Waygate… and yet, he had been deposited here, thousands of miles away and many hundreds of years later! Was it the Dark One's Taint? Had he gone mad? Well, madder…

"I am sick of this!" the Sailmistress complained, "I shall answer no more of your foolish questions, Gleeman… voyage with us or stay here, I care not!" Without another word, Korena turned and strode back down the beach. Jeb hastily retrieved his lute from the sand and hurried after her. The youth, Jaro, stayed where he was, disconsolate and alone.

"Isn't he coming?" Jeb wondered.

Korena shook her head. "My cursed nephew remains here."

"Oh. Why?"

"More questions! Because he did not have the courage to drown himself, that is why! Come!"

Jeb glanced back at Jaro. The unfortunate young man had sunk to his knees in the sand, head in his hands. Now Jeb knew what was familiar about the ill-omened Sea Folk fellow… he could channel! Amongst the Atha'an Miere, for a man, that was a death-sentence.

"I'm awfully sorry Jaro, but I ate all the coconuts!" Jeb shouted to the doomed youth, then turned and hastened down to the longboat that would take him away from this awful place. It seemed that, after all was said and done, luck was indeed a horse to ride, like any other…

---

I write now of the Bhan'dhjin Samma, the Breaker of Worlds, the Un-maker of Time's Great Wheel… and who better than I to tell of it? I am the one responsible for its construction. A prodigious effort. Let that fool Ishar Morrad Chuain brag of his crudely spawned armies, that conceited imbecile Mierin Eronaile boast of letting loose the Great Lord's touch upon the World of the Wheel… Aginor and Lanfear are mere puppets, like all of the childish Chosen, too blind to see the strings that make them dance to our Master's dark and devious tune. I could have joined their ranks, enjoyed a position of high status under the Shadow, but ever scorned this dubious honour. I far preferred to remain hidden, to concentrate upon my terminal task in conditions of the utmost secrecy. The scant few who were aware of my labours called me insane, but I cared not. No-one will ever know my name, nor who I once was… none but my patron, the Great Lord of the Dark. He alone. And with that knowledge, I am entirely content.

fragment of a private journal dating from the later years of the Collapse

Anonymous Author; presumed to be a former Aes Sedai and Friend of the Dark

[Note: while the description alluded to has been lost, see attached diagram for further erudition]

information compiled by Senior-Librarian Althar son of Soela son of Fernig

Chamber of Ancient Records, Stedding Dashai

---

Chapter Seven * The Eagle

The large galley rounded the forest-swathed headland, turning east to the slow beat of a drum, double lines of long oars dipping and sweeping the turgid water in solemn time with the steady percussion. Ellythia Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, was feeling a little better now. When their craft had headed south about the vast coast of the Land of the Madmen, they had encountered a heavy swell from the west… the resulting pitching and heaving of the deck beneath her had prompted a violent reaction in the young Amadici Noblewoman. Shrina and Renn had helpfully held her on either side whilst Ellyth leant over the rail and rid herself of what felt like every meal she had ever eaten… though it in fact proved to be just the simple gruel and hardtack that they had been given by their captors, the fare that everyone aboard the galley subsisted on. Well, it had all gone into the sea, and she had sunk to the deck in a state of profound misery that was only partly due to their unfortunate plight as prisoners.

Ellyth had always been a poor sailor, to put it mildly, though the current nautical conditions had paled in comparison to her travails during the great storm that had descended upon them in the Aryth Ocean. But Ellyth would have gladly given up her present circumstances in favour of the situation then; for one thing, they had not been the captives of masked fanatics, the male-channeler servants of the murderous, insane Master Gleeman who had led them into this trap in the first place!

Ellyth glanced up as one of these forbidding men walked past, their leader in fact; a burly, thick-set fellow, his bare, barrel-chest and powerful arms inked with ugly red tattoos of an arcane nature. He wore tattered britches and a fur cloak, a bronze torc about his bull neck, features hidden behind a rough, leather mask etched with a smiling mouth. Through the eye-holes, a dark, incurious gaze examined the four female prisoners briefly as he strode past, then the big man was gone, heading toward the tiller at the rear of the galley. This large steering-oar was manned by two of the sailors, similarly-garbed men, though their tattoos were black, their masks plain un-dyed leather, bereft of the smile design.

Ellyth suspected that the men without the red masks could not channel; whereas the eight individuals sitting cross-legged against the rail opposite certainly could. Through the holes in the masks, cold eyes watched their charges intently, unblinking, and it was clear that they were responsible for the fact that Ellyth and her companions were being kept from touching the True Source. In addition, the octet of male-channelers also wore the torcs about their necks. Ellyth's particular Talent had long-since revealed that these bronze artefacts were more than merely decorative, that they were in fact ter'angreal. New ter'angreal, made relatively recently, and every one identical. This was utterly unheard of! She had never encountered a ter'angreal that was exactly the same as another, it was like finding two matching snowflakes! There could be but one explanation for this, however incredible; someone amongst the enemy possessed the lost Talent for actually constructing and duplicating these devices that utilised the One Power.

Ellyth had communicated this discovery and the resulting theory to the others. Renn agreed with her whereas Shrina was habitually sceptical, despite the incontrovertible evidence. The Sharan Ayyad woman, Dara, did not have an opinion; since their capture, she had sat silent and incommunicative, rarely reacting to anything and refusing all offers of food, drinking only a little water. Ellyth was rather worried about her new-found friend, but had larger concerns to occupy her. Primarily; how in the Light were they to get out of this mess? They were being taken to somewhere far away, where she had absolutely no idea, and their captors had ignored all queries on the subject.

How was Naythan to find her now? While they shared much, this did not include a Bond, he would have no way of locating her… of course, Shrina and Renn both had Warders who would be able to sense the direction in which they travelled, but there was no indication that they were free to mount any rescues. Jabal was probably still a prisoner on the Island of the Hawx, and though the madman who called himself the Laughing God had claimed that the Twins had escaped captivity, every other word from out of his perpetually smiling mouth had proved to be a lie, so there was little reason to believe him in this instance. At least the three Gaidin yet lived, had they perished, Renn and Shrina would certainly have sensed that.

Ellyth looked at her friends. Renn was leaning back against the rail, eyes closed, unruly locks of pale hair obscuring her brow, a small smile curving her lips. She was most probably not sleeping, however, but was simply lost deep in thought, attempting to plan a way to improve their situation. Ellyth left her to it, she knew better than to try to rouse her Brown Ajah friend from one of her intense bouts of contemplation with anything less than a bucket of cold water tipped over Renn's head!

Beyond Renn, Dara was sat slumped on the deck, dejected, ignoring her companions and surroundings with a single-minded ability to blot out that which was unpleasant… Ellyth rather envied her this. She eyed Shrina, sitting to her other side. Her Green Ajah friend was yet engaged in glaring darkly at the pair of red-masked villains sat opposite her, the ones who were holding her Shield in place. Of all of them, Shrina had attempted to break the imposed block that prevented them from channeling the most often, but her efforts had all been in vain. Their masked captors were just too strong in the Power, and did not even become angry when the prisoners tried to free themselves from their Shields, but rather appeared to look on the exercise as a valuable opportunity to practice their skills… it really was too provoking! Men tended to be physically stronger than women, it seemed most unfair that this advantage should also apply to channeling. But there it was…

"It does little good to stare at them like that, yes?" Ellyth murmured to Shrina.

The fiery, red-headed young Aes Sedai did not look away from the objects of her ire. "I am not staring, I am glaring!" Shrina growled.

Ellyth sighed. "The two seem much alike."

"Well, they aren't! I'm letting those madmen know that I am certainly not scared of them…"

Ellyth smiled and patted her friend approvingly on the arm. "You are not scared of anything, Shrina!"

Shrina tore her gaze away from their guards and eyed Ellyth, smiling back at her, opening her mouth to perhaps return the compliment, but…

"That is one of Shrina's many problems!" Renn muttered, without opening her eyes, "she hasn't the sense to know when to feel fear!"

Shrina scowled. "She speaks!" she commented sarcastically, "and I thought our beloved Bookworm lost in deep introspection! Well?"

"Well what?" Renn enquired, opening her eyes and levelling a placid gaze at Shrina.

"What do you think? Have you managed to come up with some kind of an escape plan?" Shrina demanded, not troubling to lower her voice.

Ellyth flinched, and shot a surreptitious glance at their captors, but the masked male-channelers did not appear to be listening.

"No. Not yet," Renn answered softly, closing her eyes, "but I-"

"More speed!" the burly commander of the Laughing God's men bellowed. His name was Harper, Ellyth recalled, and the others did his bidding without question. In response to this shouted order, the tempo of the drum-beat below increased and the oars quickened their pace, churning the water to either side of the galley.

Peering down through a grating set into the centre of the deck, Ellyth could just glimpse the motion of pale arms in the darkness, chained to the long sweeps moving back and forth. The men down there were also prisoners, and she did not envy them their lot. They were clothed in brief rags, looked ill-used and malnourished, and the stench that occasionally rose from the oar-deck was indescribable. In a brief period of lucidity, Dara had referred to the manacled rowers as 'slaves,' a word with which Ellyth was unfamiliar. Apparently, they also kept human chattel in Shara, or Co'dansin as Dara called it, enslaved workers who laboured in plantations and foundries until they dropped dead and were replaced by further unfortunates. The very idea was anathema to Ellyth, it seemed an evil practice, reminiscent of something the Shadow might do.

Then again, these galley slaves that propelled their craft over the water at least had an assured place in the scheme of things… they knew their fate, however unenviable that might be. Ellyth was yet unsure as to what might befall she and her friends, and that unknown concern gnawed at her mind. What she would not give to see Naythan! The recollection of their last, dreamlike tryst warmed her soul, for all that she was no besotted maiden from a torrid romance of the kind that Shrina avidly read! Or perhaps she was, now? Ellyth found herself thinking of Naythan often, in terms that made her blush, when her thoughts should really have been devoted to more immediate, practical matters. Such as-

Suddenly, Dara stood, staring to port, the large, dark eyes set in her tattooed face fixed on the north. At the same time, Renn's own, pale eyes snapped open and she sat up straight. Shrina ceased her fruitless glaring and turned her head. And Ellyth felt it too, far away, in a northerly direction… something huge was taking place, involving an enormous quantity of saidar, more than she would have thought could possibly be channeled.

"What is that?" Shrina wondered, rising and helping her Blue Ajah friend up. Ellyth leaned on the rail, legs a little wobbly from the motion of the waves and the remnants of her debilitating sea-sickness.

Renn clambered to her feet also, gazing north. "It is some of our Sisters, I believe, linked in a Circle and channeling saidar on a scale that I would not have thought possible," she murmured, "why, it is like some magnificent working of the Age of Legends!"

"It feels as though it is far away," Ellyth conjectured, staring unblinkingly in the direction her senses revealed.

"A long way away," Shrina agreed.

"Imagine the power!" Renn enthused, "such that we can detect it from halfway across the world!"

"I cannot be certain, but I think that there is a ter'angreal involved, yes?" Ellyth added, "a very potent device…"

"Weather." The voice had a melodic, foreign accent, was somewhat cracked from disuse. It was Dara who spoke, not taking her eyes from the northerly direction indicated. "Whomever they are, I sense that they are weaving elemental webs, doing something to alter the climate with the Holy Power." The others looked at her, surprised. Dara eyed them and smiled crookedly.

Ellyth was glad to note that whatever the strange phenomena was, it had stirred the Sharan woman out of her dark mood, hopefully for good.

"It is not my people manipulating the weather," Dara went on, "the Ayyad – may they all rot! – know little of such wreaking. It must be Aes Sedai."

The three young Sisters considered this, but then a male voice with a pleasant tenor to it broke in on their speculation; "or Atha'an Miere! Windfinders know much of elemental channeling."

Alarmed, they turned and stared. One of the red-masked male-channelers had approached their group, bare feet silent on the wooden deck. He was slimly built, though with an athletic physique, his skin bronzed where it was not marked with the red tattoos… but this was all that could be discerned of his physical appearance. Very dark eyes, almost black, filled the holes in his mask, flicking towards them briefly before resuming their gaze northwards. The britches he wore were less ragged than those of his fellows, decorated with faded stripes, while the fur hung over his shoulders was cleaner, pure white, the pelt of some creature Ellyth did not recognise. The masked channeler continued conversationally, speaking the Vulgar with a musical tone; "I would say both. A combination of Sea Folk and Aes Sedai, channeling together to affect the climate. It has been unnaturally hot of late."

Dara turned away from him with a sniff of disapproval whilst Ellyth and the others exchanged glances that held a deal of surprise and confusion. Apart from telling them where to sit and sleep, none of their captors had spoken at such length to them so far. This particular red-masked madman, who seemed younger than most of the others, was a clear exception. Who was he?

"Windfinders?" Renn asked, after a pause to consider the fanatic's words, "they are Atha'an Miere navigators are they not? What have they to do with channeling?"

"Everything!" the youthful male-channeler responded, and laughed softly, the smiling mouth etched into his mask making his mirth seem macabre. The Laughing God's man jerked a thumb at Shrina, a thumb attached to a hand that Ellyth noted was unmistakeably tattooed with Sea Folk Clan sigils. Shrina noticed also; her green eyes widened with shock, then narrowed. "Ask her! She knows… tell them, cousin!" Still laughing, the young man turned and walked away, a swagger in his step. His eight comrades sitting opposite continued to stare at their charges silently, holding the Shields inescapably in place.

"Sit down!" roared the burly leader, Harper, up on the raised deck that held the tiller. His masked face turned, dark eyes fixed on the younger male-channeler who had spoken to them. Though his features could not be seen, Ellyth got the impression that he was frowning. They hesitated, their attention still held by the powerful emanations originating from far to the north, where some mighty working of the One Power was assuredly taking place. "The prisoners will resume their seats!" Harper added loudly, in his deep, harshly-accented voice, taking a warning step toward them.

Ellyth sighed and sat back down on the deck, tugging Shrina's arm to get the glaring young Aes Sedai to do likewise. Renn was already sitting and after a moment, Dara joined them. They could all still feel the enormous quantity of saidar being channeled half a world away, however, and presumably, so could the mysterious young madman who had so confusingly addressed them. The odd fellow with the Atha'an Miere tattoos was now up in the bow of the galley, leaning on the rail, his masked face turned toward the north.

"Who is that strange youth?" Renn wondered, "it seems that he can sense saidar… I never heard of such an ability in a male-channeler."

"And why did he call you 'cousin?'" Ellyth asked Shrina. The Green Sister scowled, and declined to answer, but Ellyth was persistent; "he had Sea Folk sigils tattooed onto his hands, in addition to those red ones on his arms and chest, yes?"

"He also seemed to think that Atha'an Miere Windfinders can channel," Renn chimed-in.

"Oh, they can." It was Dara who spoke. Ellyth and Renn looked at her curiously. Shrina sniffed, and made a point of looking elsewhere. The young Sharan woman shrugged. "From time to time, Sea Folk ships have been wrecked upon the coasts of Co'dansin. Of course, those survivors not enslaved are put to death, especially these Windfinders of theirs. They have proved themselves dangerous in the past, most of them channel strongly, but they are nothing that the Ayyad cannot deal with."

Shrina turned and scowled at Dara, clearly not liking what she was hearing… there seemed little love lost between the two.

"But the Atha'an Miere send their woman who can touch the Source to the White Tower!" Renn protested, "and they're not very strong in the Power…" She then frowned. "Bloody objectionable they are, too!" she muttered, clearly dwelling upon the behaviour of certain Library Sisters.

"Doubtless, that is what they wish you to think," Dara speculated, "but I would imagine that the Sea Folk keep their strongest channelers aboard their ships, where the Aes Sedai do not go."

"They do tend to refuse passage to the Sisterhood," Ellyth agreed, "which has always seemed a little strange to me… it is rare to find any unwilling to oblige Aes Sedai." She glanced back at Shrina, who seemed uncomfortable. "Well, Shrina? The young madman said that you would know, yes?"

Shrina frowned. "I can't tell… it's a secret!"

Ellyth raised her delicate eyebrows, surprised. "Really, Shrina, since when have we kept secrets from each other?" Shrina stared glumly at her boots, refusing to meet her friend's accusatory eyes.

"We were novices together!" Renn reminded Shrina, resorting to emotional blackmail.

Shrina was looking guilty, a rarity for her. "I'd tell you if I could, Ellyth, you too Renn, but I simply cannot… it's forbidden!"

"Why is it forbidden?" Renn demanded.

"Because neither of you are Watchers!"

---

N'aethan and Someshta stood beneath the huge, spreading oak in the aspect of the Green Man's realm that yet existed within the heart of Tel'aran'rhiod. They were speaking quietly to one another. All around them; small birds sang and colourful butterflies danced in the air, bees buzzed from flower to flower and essentially, all was well. Appearances could be deceptive…

"…and so, the Aes Sedai that could fly requested that after her demise, I inter her beneath this oak, though of course, it is but a reflection of the actual tree that existed in the World of the Wheel…" Someshta sighed gustily. "I would suppose that my favourite oak is lost to the Blight, by now."

N'aethan shook his head. "I will go there one day and find it," he promised, "I shall lay flowers upon the grave, though Kiam Sedai never much cared for them…" he stiffened with resolve; "but I will do it anyway! Such symbols are important."

"I sang a Tree Song for her," Someshta continued, not really listening to his fellow Construct, "a very long Tree Song… it went on for quite some time…"

"I can imagine!" N'aethan commented, secretly glad that he had missed that particular recital. The Tree Songs of the Nym, whilst impressive, could be extremely monotonous… Ogier singing was almost as tedious… He shook his head, feeling melancholy. "Of course, I knew that Kiam Lopiang must have passed away long ago, even Aes Sedai do not live forever, but these tidings sadden me nonetheless."

"Be not sad, Blackthorn!" Someshta boomed, slapping N'aethan comfortingly upon the shoulder, making him stagger, "this is a place for happiness, not…" Someshta trailed-off, staring at something.

"Not what, Someshta? Misery? Depression? Suicidal impulses?"

"Who is that, Blackthorn? Do you know her? She is waving at you…"

N'aethan turned in the direction Someshta was indicating with a large, green finger, and beheld Tamei approaching from the woodland, the she-wolf Ice trotting beside her. The slender girl was clad in her usual apparel, a brief doeskin tunic, her golden eyes fixed upon them.

"Hello, Claw-Monster!" Tamei called, cheerfully, "I have been looking everywhere for you…" She stared at Someshta, her pretty mouth falling open in amazement. "What is this?" she demanded, "I thought it was a strange-looking tree, but then it moved!"

N'aethan glanced up at Someshta, whose leafy brows had drawn down in a puzzled frown at this unwarranted intrusion upon his realm. "This is the wolf-girl I told you about," N'aethan explained.

"How did you come to be here, Wolfsister?" Someshta asked loudly, "my forest is open only to those whom I have invited…"

Tamei shrugged, looking about herself with interest. "Oh, I go where I will in the Wolf-Dream," she answered airily, "there are few places that I cannot walk."

"I have heard very ancient tales of your kind," Someshta muttered, "in an earlier Age, your people ran with wolves across the great ice tundra and lived as animals do." He looked at Ice, who stared back at him, head tilted to one side.

"Apart from the bit about the 'tundra,' whatever it may be, that is pretty much an accurate description of my day to day existence," Tamei agreed with a sigh, her curious gaze returning to Someshta, "but I have no people, there is just me… me and the pack."

"The old ways are returning, it would seem," Someshta mused.

"I suppose so. If you don't mind my asking, or even if you do, what exactly are you?" Tamei wanted to know, reaching out and giving Someshta's viny leg an exploratory poke.

"I am Someshta, last of the Nym," Someshta explained.

"He is also known as the Green Man," N'aethan added, scowling at Tamei, still brooding about being called a 'claw-monster.'

"The Green Man?!" Tamei cried, then laughed loudly, hands on her hips. "Why, that is just a children's story!"

"This is what the Shaido Aiel said of me, they thought the legend of the Nightwatcher but a bedtime tale, until I proved that I was real by beating them up!" N'aethan snarled, adding menacingly; "would you like Someshta to do similarly to you, to illustrate the same point?"

Tamei completely failed to respond to this not particularly well-veiled threat, instead exclaiming, "I must say, you look very smart, claw-man! Much better garbed than when last I saw you in the waking world…"

N'aethan temporarily forgot his ire and glanced down at himself… as often happened in Tel'aran'rhiod, wishful thinking had taken control over his dress sense and he was currently resplendent in the dress-uniform of a Warman Officer. Dark silk coat and trews, gold braid and matching epaulettes, a Heron-mark blade at his belt… he really had no right to wear any of it, but had never been particularly skilled at controlling his impulses within the Dream World. "It is but my cadin'gai," he muttered, slightly embarrassed. Concentrating, he made the gaudy apparel transform into his ordinary, Third Age clothes.

Tamei blinked, then made a sighing, disappointed sound. "What a shame! I don't particularly care for males, as you know, but there is something rather attractive about a man in a well-tailored uniform…"

"Never mind that!" N'aethan snapped, "what do you here, wolf-girl? Can I not have a moment's peace to talk with an old friend without you intruding?"

Now it was Tamei's turn to scowl. "Well, that's nice! Manda asked me to find you and tell you she is seeking you so I did and this is the thanks I get? You are a rude monster!"

"I am rude? You are gauche, wolf-girl, it is doubtless a result of co-habiting with stinky, flea-ridden wolves!" Ice growled softly. "You have ill-manners and…" N'aethan trailed-off, as Someshta had earlier, then queried; "wait, did you say; 'Manda?' The Spear-Maiden? You have seen her?"

"I shall not answer that until I receive an apology."

"I am sorry," said Someshta gravely, in his deep voice.

"Not you, Tree Man! The Claw-Monster must apologise for his insult, or I shan't say another word!" Tamei crossed her arms and glared at N'aethan.

"If only!" N'aethan muttered.

"And they don't have fleas, I regularly delouse them!"

N'aethan opened his mouth to do anything other than ask pardon, but at that point he was roughly shaken awake, fading rapidly from Tel'aran'rhiod and returning to confused consciousness. "What..?" he mumbled.

It was Chassin who was tugging industriously at his arm. "Arise, Vron'cor," insisted the short Shaido Knife-Hand.

N'aethan sat up, feeling disorientated. The memory of Ellythia Sedai being taken away from him in the galley came flooding back, and he groaned softly. A hideous retching noise became apparent, and N'aethan turned his head in time to see the Gleeman, Roth Blucha, vomiting noisily over the side of the longboat. "He is being sick again?" N'aethan muttered, wonderingly, "he must be the worst sailor I have ever seen…"

"I myself am growing accustomed to the motion of the waves, Nightwatcher," Chassin reported smugly, "it may be that I am even coming to approve of this travelling over the water that we do."

"Do you wish a medal, Chassin?" N'aethan snapped, not in the best of moods, "why did you awaken me? I was in the middle of something…"

In answer, Chassin pointed toward land with one of his spears.

N'aethan looked to his right, and with his sharp eyes, immediately spied a tall figure wearing the cadin'sor, standing on a promontory above the beach, waving a black veil back and forth to get their attention.

"See, Vron'cor?" stated Chassin, "Manda signals to us."

"So she does." N'aethan stood, balancing with ease on the pitching planks of the longboat, and yawning, made his way forward, past a double row of gaunt, dirty sailors, who were doing their best to not stare at him. Jabal and Dagnon were both taking a turn on the oars, sitting beside each other to better compare notes on their various doings since last they had met; the two Warders nodded to N'aethan as he slipped past, feet sure on the rocking strakes.

Up at the bow, the big, dark-skinned Bosun lowered his telescope, the end of which he had been steadying with his hook, turning away from the shore. "Another Aiel," he commented, without much in the way of pleasure, "an Aielmaid, in fact… you know her, Master Shieldman?"

"I do indeed, Bosun. Take us in."

"Aye-aye, sir!" the Bosun responded, touching a grimy finger to the front of his three-cornered hat.

N'aethan smiled sourly. These sailor-folk were taking his orders readily enough now, but the previous night, it had required a fair bit of rapid explanation to make them pick him up from the beach, when they had all escaped from the Isle of the Spire, their mission to rescue the Aes Sedai a dismal failure. Well, they had found Jabal Gaidin at least, but Ellyth and the others… N'aethan scowled, then swiftly glared over his broad shoulder. Sure enough, the sailors rowing the longboat were all half-turned on their benches, watching him curiously. At the sight of his disturbing, slit pupils, they rapidly looked away, attending to their duties, but a couple of pairs of oars collided as they caught crabs and it took a moment to sort themselves out.

"Watch what you're doing, you scurvy lubbers!" the Bosun roared, "else I'll feed you to the lionfish!"

"But I am not hungry!" jested Jabal. Dagnon grinned, his large moustache tilting upwards.

"Not you, Atha'an Miere," explained the Bosun, "I meant the-"

"I know!" Jabal din Sudim Lionfish shouted, exasperated, pulling on his oar with unconscious skill, as beside him, Dagnon mirrored his movements. "You Shorebound have no sense of humour," he added, disparagingly.

"Man the tiller, Gleeman," the Bosun commanded, but Roth was clearly in no condition to obey.

"I shall steer the ship-boat!" cried Chassin eagerly, grabbing the wooden handle and turning it the wrong way. It took but a short while to sort things out, however, and soon they were headed for land.

N'aethan turned away, gazing towards the shore, which was steadily creeping closer. Manda was descending to the beach, running lithely through the dunes. So she had met the wolf-girl, Tamei, it seemed… he pitied her! And the Seanchan assassin Mitsu, young Feren also, he assumed. They should all be back at Stedding Dashai by now… N'aethan hoped that the studious Ogier youth could find some pertinent information about the dread weapon of the Shadow, this Bhan'dhjin Samma, but other concerns occupied him at present. He had to free his Aes Sedai from the Laughing God's cruel clutches as a matter of great urgency, her safety was his primary duty and he had failed in ensuring it. True, she had sent him away against his advice, but Middle Brother had always had a rather rude saying concerning excuses, which he had been fond of quoting whenever his younger sibling had offered up a mitigating reason for not accomplishing something, and N'aethan had never forgotten it.

It was to try to find his beloved Ellyth that N'aethan had entered Tel'aran'rhiod in the first place, but prior to his visiting Someshta instead, there had been no sign of her particular life-spark within the dreaming world... so presumably, wherever she was, she was currently wide awake. Or worse, hidden from his search in some way. How he wished that Ellythia Sedai had been able to overcome his immunity to channeling somehow, and given him the Warder Bond! Jabal, who naturally had such a link with his Aes Sedai, said that Renn was now far to the south… well, they would find them both, Shrinalla Sedai also, and soon. They had to.

N'aethan noted that the Bosun was also eyeing him curiously, and he sighed. "What?" he growled.

The Bosun shrugged, the wide shoulders of his long, brass-buttoned coat lifting and falling with the motion. He smiled companionably, gold-teeth flashing in his dark face. "Just wondering where you are from in the Borderlands, Master Shieldman…"

"Who said I was from the Northborder?" N'aethan demanded.

"I've not heard it called that before, but I assumed you were a Borderman from the way you fight."

The previous night, whilst N'aethan had been trying to convince the sailors in the longboat that he was on their side, citing the fact that he had known the code for the lantern signal to summon them, that the Warder Dagnon had a large, reddish moustache, and that the Gleeman Roth Blucha was clearly a complete fool, a patrol of hawk-masked guards had come along. Though they attacked him promptly with bared blades, N'aethan had not particularly wished to kill them in this instance, so had used a variety of hand-blows, kicks and pressure-holds to incapacitate his opponents. When he had turned back to the longboat, the sailors had all been staring at him as though wondering what he was… and irritatingly, were continuing to do so the next day. All but the Bosun, who seemed to be made of sterner stuff. He had mutely applauded the brief confrontation, hand and hook sweeping silently together, then ordered that the boat put in to the beach and N'aethan be taken on board. After rowing around the island to collect the others, reuniting the Gleeman with his precious harp and patched-cloak, they had left the Isle of the Spire and the Hawx far behind, hopefully for good.

"I don't believe I've ever seen a warrior move that fast, and I was in the Aiel War," the Bosun went on to observe.

"But you are a sailor, and that was a land war, I believe?" N'aethan pointed-out, wishing to turn the subject away from himself.

"The Aielmen aren't much for naval engagements!" the Bosun agreed, grinning, then scowled. "But our fine and noble High Lords did not wish to risk their precious Defenders of the Stone in battle at first, the hard fighting might have besmirched their handsome uniforms, so in stead they swept the docks clean of any man who did not have a ship, pushed pikes into our hands and marched us north to face the black-veiled Aiel."

"How did you fare?" N'aethan enquired.

"Not well. Of my company of near two-hundred men, only seventeen of us ever came home to Tear. I lost a lot of good friends…"

"And your hand, by the looks of it."

"Nope. That happened later, a shark chewed it off. I don't much care for sharks." The Bosun eyed Chassin darkly, the short Knife Hand still inexpertly but enthusiastically tending the tiller in the stern of the longboat. "Can't say I much care for Aielmen either…" he glanced at the beach, where Manda awaited them, "…nor Aielwomen neither, for all that our new passenger is certainly a comely wench…"

"I would not say that to her, were I you," N'aethan commented, absently.

The Bosun nodded thoughtfully.

"I see you, Nightwatcher!" Manda called out when the longboat was but a span from the sandy shore, then glared at N'aethan accusingly. "You have toh to we Shaido for the lie you told concerning-"

"I am aware of that, Manda!" N'aethan interrupted impatiently, "I have already been over it with Chassin, and shall certainly meet the toh, but first-"

"Chassin?" Manda interrupted back, "you have seen him?"

"He is there," N'aethan said, pointing.

Manda blinked, and looked at Chassin, hunched self-consciously over the tiller. "Oh, indeed he is… I could not see him as he is so small…" Chassin scowled. "What are you doing there, Knife Hand?" Manda demanded.

"I am manning the tiller," Chassin revealed, importantly.

"What is a tiller?"

"It is-"

"Just get in the damn boat, Maiden!" N'aethan shouted, "we don't have time for nautical exposition! We needs must return to the camp the Gleeman told me of, collect the others, then rescue the Aes Sedai!"

Manda hesitated, eyeing the longboat with mistrust. "I must travel in this, Vron'cor? My legs shall take me there faster…"

Chassin sneered. "Does Far Dareis Mai fear to journey over the waves?"

Manda scowled. "Sovin Nai are too stupid to know the difference between sand and water," she grumbled, wading through the surf and clambering into the longboat, elbowing sailors out of the way in the process. The rowers backed oars and put out to sea again, Chassin managing to steer them east.

Manda joined N'aethan and the Bosun in the bow, swaying awkwardly on the rocking deck. "I hoped not to have to set foot in a ship again," she complained.

N'aethan ignored her, moodily.

The Bosun smiled winningly. "Tis no ship, miss… tis but a boat," he explained.

"That is even worse," Manda observed, then gave the Bosun an appraising look that moved over his broad shoulders and bare, muscular chest, before ending at his hook. "What happened to your hand, wetland sailorman?"

"It was bitten off by a bloody shark!" N'aethan snapped, then demanded; "why were you seeking me, Manda? The wolf-girl Tamei was sent by you to find me, and unfortunately, she did. I was awakened before she could say why, however."

Manda raised her auburn eyebrows, impressed. "So the stories are true… the Nightwatcher does walk in dreams!"

The Bosun blinked, then eyed N'aethan with increased curiosity.

N'aethan sighed. "Of course the stories are true… except for that rather weird one you told me about, with the talking snail in it, I certainly don't ever remember meeting one of those…" N'aethan's tone became speculative, "in fact, I am beginning to suspect that Kiam Sedai may have been responsible for disseminating these ridiculous myths, always liked to make up silly tales for the Da'shain children, did she…" he shook his head, "forget that! What is so damned urgent that I had to be interrupted whilst I was speaking with Someshta?"

"Who is Someshta, Vron'cor?"

"The Green Man!"

The Bosun's dark eyes widened and some of the sailors who were also shamelessly eavesdropping, made gasping noises. N'aethan sighed again.

"Oh, him!" Manda took this revelation in her stride, then revealed; "this is what has happened – Cohradin and Gerom have gone completely mad, as mad as the Dragon! They-"

"I know! Chassin told me."

Manda glared over her shoulder at the stern, where Chassin was smiling tauntingly at her. Roth lay curled at his feet, groaning and twitching.

"What is wrong with the Gleeman?" Manda wondered, "did he perchance eat some rancid goat-flesh?"

N'aethan ignored the question. "I shall restore Cohradin and Gerom to their sense of duty," he promised, decisively.

"How will you do this, Nightwatcher?"

N'aethan smiled grimly at Manda. "Last time, I lied to you about the Da'shain Aiel and their Covenant with the Aes Sedai, for which I am sorry, though it was necessary…" His strange eyes had a faraway look in them, as he thought of something Father had told him as a boy. "This time… I shall tell you all the truth."

---

From the cliffs above the beach, Kor Paendrag Athan watched closely, a dark eye peering through the lens of his prized, brass-barrelled telescope. This time, he had taken care to rub mud over the end tube, so that the polished metal would not reflect the sunlight and give away his position. He mentally chided himself for not doing this on the previous occasion, an unforgivable oversight that may have alerted the accursed Aiel savages to the presence of his hunters… but it would have made little difference, in any case. This redoubtable enemy killed as easily as they breathed, it would seem. Little wonder that the Great Hawkwing had not succeeded in his attempt to conquer the wild and ungovernable people of the wastelands beyond the eastern borders of his Empire. Even the High King had had limits to his conquests, and the Aiel had been one of them. Another, of course, had been the Aes Sedai, his twenty year siege of Tar Valon had ended in failure. And then, there were the accursed Sharans, whom Kor's ancestors had not been able to overcome. Though raised to revere the memory of Artur Paendrag Tanreall, Kor could not help but wonder if the man behind the myth had been quite so omnipotent as the legends claimed.

One of the captured witches, the pale-haired, talkative one who spoke the Old Tongue well, had hinted that the Hawkwing might have come to a bad end, that his glorious Empire had then fallen apart, riven asunder from within by generations of civil war. But when Kor had attempted to question her further, the witch had refused to co-operate unless she was permitted to see her husband, the Sea Folk Warder. And there was the dangerous fellow right there, in the bloody boat with the other interlopers, seemingly recovered from his wounds and plying a flaming oar without a care in the world!

Kor scowled, watching Jabal intently through the telescope as the longboat steadily receded into the distance. How had the Atha'an Miere prisoner got free? There were traitors within the castle, he was sure of it. And who had healed him? He had been close to death and was now clearly recovered, it must have been one of the witches using the forbidden One Power… Kor fingered the ivory hilt of the priceless blade he bore… when next he met the Sea Folk Gaidin, he would kill him with his own sword. It would be fitting.

Around Kor, a score of his hunters lay concealed in the bushes, awaiting orders. He could almost imagine that he sensed their impatience, their disappointment that he had not commanded them to attack. But the battle would likely not have gone well for them, as it had not before. Losing half of his hunters to the Aiel savages had lowered Kor's eyes at the Royal Court, despite the capture of the Aes Sedai witches. The Hawx numbers were few, they could not afford such losses. No, fighting against Aiel and Warders, when they were prepared for them this time, might have gone ill for his people. And then, there was the other one, he who seemed to be leading this party of intruders…

Kor shifted his telescope to the bow of the longboat, examining the muscular, white-haired man with the odd eyes. He bore a Power-wrought blade and wore fancloth, but Kor did not think that he was a Warder, as such. He was something of a mystery, like the black ship that had appeared in the middle of the Ghost Forest, beside the Everstone. Kor hated mysteries.

When the longboat was gone, vanished around the headland, Kor stood, carefully wiping the mud from his telescope before retracting the barrels and stowing it in the pouch at his belt. His hunters rose also, watching him expectantly, dark eyes staring from war-painted faces.

"Trisk. Imro." Two of the hunters stepped silently forward; a wiry female bearing a scalp-decorated lance and a squat male, clutching a shark's tooth-studded war-club. His two best scouts. "Go back to the clearing where lies the Everstone," Kor told them, "search the black ship thoroughly for clues of these strangers. If anyone else has been there, track them. Bring me answers."

The scouts nodded, and slipped soundlessly into the Ghost Forest. Kor watched them go, wondering if he would see them again… there were many dangers out there and they might well encounter them. Well, everyone met the Dark Lady sooner or later. Some sooner than others.

"We return to the war-canoes," Kor told his remaining hunters, "and thence, to the Isle of the Spire."

If they felt relief at the dangerous patrol being unexpectedly cut short, the hunters gave no sign, nor did they express any curiosity as to why they were returning to safe territory so soon. They simply obeyed, moving out in a loose double column, eyes scanning either side of their path for enemies, weapons held at the ready.

Stalking near the front of the line, Kor scowled darkly. He did not know what he would find back at the Castle, the only home he had ever known, but he suspected that it would be bad. There were many hostile opponents for the Hawx to face in this unforgiving land that their ancestors had fled to; from souvraniene to cannibals to the forces of the Laughing God… but Kor had always known, from an early age, that the most dangerous foe of all was undoubtedly the enemy within.

---

Mitsu the Bloodknife sat cross-legged in the meadow beyond the tall trees that marked the borders of Stedding Dashai, Tamei's head resting in her lap. She looked down at the girl's face fondly, golden eyes closed, a small smile curving her full lips… people always looked so much younger when they slept, the lines of care caused by the waking world diminished from their features. Nearby, the white she-wolf Ice lay comfortably in the long grass, also asleep. There might be more of the wolves about, Mitsu was unsure, or perhaps they were off hunting. They did not seem to wish to venture into the stedding and were not particularly welcome there, in any case. Neither were humans, less so if anything.

Tamei stirred, murmuring something indistinct, frowning slightly, but did not wake. Tenderly, Mitsu brushed a wayward lock of ash-blonde hair out of her eyes. She glanced at the heavy, curved blade that lay within easy reach, the ancient sword of the High Lord Turak whom she had personally served at Falme… her feelings confused her; ideally, that Power-wrought blade was the only lover she should have, but in the last few days, everything had changed. Mitsu could not be entirely sure, never having experienced this particular emotion before, but she believed that she might be in love… she felt disturbed and elated at the same time. She was experiencing difficulty thinking straight, for all that she had trained long and hard to make her mind as much of a weapon as her body. Her recent thoughts seemed solely fixed upon the young woman who had come into her life so recently, the wild girl who ran with wolves and spoke her mind without hesitation. The passion was certainly welcome, of course, but the companionship much more so.

Tamei did not seem to care that she was an assassin, that she had done dark deeds in service to the Empire of Seanchan… all the wolf-girl seemed concerned with was that in Mitsu, she had found a lover, and also a friend who did not run on four legs! But it went deeper than that… the pair of them had recognised something vital in each other from their first meeting, had fallen naturally into a state of existence that seemed to have always been. They thought the same things, finished each other's sentences, complimenting one another in more ways than could be counted. Mitsu suspected that she and Tamei had been connected with each other in some former existence, many turns of the Great Wheel ago, that they were bound together by fate. That was it, surely; they were soul-mates!

Abruptly, Tamei's golden eyes snapped open and she sat up, shaking her head. At the same time, Ice also woke, rising to her four paws and stretching. Tamei glanced over her shoulder at Mitsu and smiled, leaning back. They kissed.

"Welcome back to the waking world, chalinda," Mitsu murmured. Of a necessity, they had needed to go outside of the stedding in order for Tamei to be able to practice her particular ability for walking in dreams, since the aura of the Ogier realm precluded this. "Did you find the Chami?" she added.

Tamei made a face. "Unfortunately, yes! That rude monster owes me an apology! Doesn't he, Ice?" The white she-wolf was now sitting on her haunches, watching them approvingly. She made a whuffing noise of apparent agreement, then sniffed the air and rose, loping away into the long grass. "Good hunting!" Tame called after her friend, in encouragement.

"The Chami is ill-mannered," Mitsu commented in commiseration, "where was he, within this Dream World of yours?" She was yet unsure exactly what Tel'aran'rhiod was, though the Chami had attempted to explain it to her before he left to seek his marath'damane consort.

Tamei leant companionably against Mitsu and the Seanchan woman draped an affectionate arm about her young lover. "The Wolf-Dream? Well, I could not locate the clawed-man at first, I looked all over, so then I used need."

"Need?"

"Yes, you close your eyes and imagine what it is that you need to find, you think about it really hard in fact… so I did, and when I opened them, I was in this beautiful forest that I have never before seen in the Dream. After a moment, Ice joined me and we went exploring…"

Mitsu frowned. "I hope that you were careful, you said that there were many dangers in this dream realm?"

"Oh, there are… nightmares and deathtraps and such… but not in this place, wherever it was. There was something about it, I rather doubt that any violence has ever been done there. Anyway, after a bit, we came to a glade and beneath a big oak, the claw-monster was talking to the Green Man!"

Mitsu eyed Tamei doubtfully. "The Guardian of the Trees?" she queried, "the one from the myths?"

"Oh yes," Tamei affirmed, conversationally. "He was a funny-looking fellow! Even odder than the Ogier… all made out of vines and leaves and things… extremely tall…"

Mitsu blinked her dark, tilted eyes. "I do not mean to question what you saw, chalinda, but you are certain? It was the Green Man?"

"Why, yes!" Tamei shrugged. "Did you yourself not tell me that you heard the Horn of Valere sounded, beloved? That you have seen the Heroes of Legend, beheld the Dragon Reborn duelling with the Dark One, up in the sky?"

Mitsu winced slightly. She wished that she had not related these particular events to Tamei, but it was too late now. Her customary circumspection seemed to melt like ice in the sun, beneath the gaze of a pair of fine, golden eyes! But as for Falme, and what had ultimately happened there… it was a day that she did not like to think about, perhaps the worst day of her life, but for the one on which her cherished older sister had been made damane, collared and led away, never to be seen again.

"And the Chami is real too," Mitsu muttered, darkly, "another creature out of stories, come alive…"

Tamei nodded emphatically. "We are living in the end times, I think," she conjectured, soberly.

Mitsu nodded too. "Tarmon Gai'don is coming," she stated, with finality.

"Tarmon what?"

"The Last Battle, chalinda."

"Oh, that. The wolves call it the Final Hunt. Any day now, apparently!" Tamei did not seem overly concerned at this prospect, she held her head at the usual proud angle, no trace of fear evident in her shining eyes.

Mitsu smiled approvingly. "You have the heart of a warrior, Tamei," she murmured. Tamei smiled back. They kissed again, a lingering meeting of lips that went on for some time. When they finally broke this pleasurable contact, Tamei was looking flushed and Mitsu's heart was pounding. The wolf-girl tugged at the shoulder of her tunic.

"Do you want to..?"

Mitsu did not answer, she did not need to, but began to remove her loose shirt. Then, an unwelcome shadow fell over them.

"Forgive me, humans, am I interrupting something?" boomed a deep voice.

"Yes!" Tamei shouted.

Mitsu took her hand off the hilt of her sword, since it was only Feren the Ogier youth and stood, gazing up at him. "What do you here, Gardener?" she enquired, a little cross at being disturbed at such a moment. Still, one had to show courtesy and respect to Ogier, even those that did not serve in the Deathwatch Guard, it was deeply ingrained in her.

"I came to tell you both that I may have found some information about this 'Breaker' that the Rat-Catcher, I mean the Lightborn, asked me to look for." Feren glanced around the sunlit meadow, long grasses waving in the breeze, buzzing insects going about their business, wildflowers blooming here and there… "It is quite pleasant without the stedding," he mumbled, thoughtfully, "though it does feel strange."

Tamei made a rude noise, Mitsu repressed a smile. "The Bhan'dhjin Samma?" she prompted.

"Yes, I believe that I now know what it looks like!" Feren glanced at Tamei, who was glaring up at him. "Did you find the honoured Lightborn in the Dream Realm, Tamei?" he enquired, completely failing to notice her ire.

Tamei ceased glaring, sighed, then nodded, rising gracefully to her bare feet. "Yes, Feren," she answered, "I passed on the message that the Aielwoman seeks him. Then, the claw-man was rude to me and said nasty things about the wolves, but before I could extract an apology, he disappeared! Like in a magick trick! I talked to the Green Man for a while, but I got the impression that his mind was on other things and he sort of wanted me to leave, Ice too, so I said goodbye and made myself wake up."

Feren was gaping at Tamei, his huge eyes wide. "The Green Man?!" he spluttered, "you mean Treebrother?"

"I thought you were a Treebrother?" Tamei responded, confused.

"No! I mean, yes… it is complicated! But 'Treebrother' is what we Ogier call the fabled Green Man. You are fortunate to have met him, I would that I could do likewise… a great honour!"

Tamei shrugged. "I suppose…"

"Tell me, what is he like?" Feren demanded eagerly.

Tamei thought about it. "Well… he was very… green," was all she could come up with at short notice.

Feren's pointed ears drooped a little, disappointment evident in his blunt features. This time, Mitsu could not quite repress the smile.

In the distance, the wolf-pack howled, a note of warning in their voices. Tamei cocked her head to one side, listening intently, brow furrowing with concern.

"What is it?" Mitsu asked, gripping her sword hilt tighter.

The wolves howled again, closer now, an urgent tone to their calls.

Feren frowned, placing large hands over his hairy ears. "The Elders have received complaints about the noise," he reported, "it has been keeping people awake at night."

Mitsu ignored the Ogier youth, her attention on Tamei. The young wolf-girl had tensed, touching the obsidian-bladed knife sheathed at her belt, her golden-eyed gaze fixed on the forest to the south, from which more warning howls erupted, interspersed with the barking and snarling of dogs.

"The wolves say they are coming," Tamei whispered, "the enemy is here…"

---

"A good night to you, Matrim din Cauthon Golden Dice!"

The youthful Andorman did not respond, merely raised an absent hand in farewell as he strode away, hefting his pack and leaning on his long walking stick. Raab watched him fade into the Tar Valon night with amazement in his bleary eyes. "What a run of luck!" he exclaimed in wonderment, then turned and headed back to his lodgings, yawning and patting the full purse at his belt with satisfaction. It contained a deal of gold as well as just silver, an unusual state of monetary advantage for the more usually penniless Raab… and it was all down to young Mat. A strange fellow with a thick, west Andor accent that was difficult to decipher, though he occasionally muttered to himself in what sounded like the Old Tongue, angrily denying it if questioned about the habit… and the sort of good fortune with the dice that verged on the mystical.

Admittedly, Raab had not much cared for the Andorman at first, after losing several throws and more silver to him at Maiden's Ruin. Even when he changed the game and odds, deftly substituting his own, less than honest dice for his opponent's, Raab still lost! This Cauthon fellow somehow managed to throw the King five times in a row, when he should by rights have ended up with the Dark One's Eyes!

'If you cannot beat them then join them,' was an old adage that had always appealed to Raab, so he had abandoned play altogether and proceeded to follow the Shorebound Matrim around for the rest of the night, buying him drinks and suggesting likely new taverns hosting further games whenever the young man's interest in dicing seemed on the wane… and always, always wagering on him to win. The tactic had certainly paid-off, now Raab had more coin than he readily knew what to do with… doubtless, he would drink and gamble it all away in the next few days, a week at the most, but for the time being, despite his weariness and trepidation at being back in the City of the Witches, he felt on top of the world.

As Raab reached the rear door of his rooming house, not wishing to go in the front way as he owed his landlady a tidy sum, he sighed gustily. Games of chance had always been a great weakness of his, possibly the greatest, though he had quite a few bad habits and mild addictions to be honest. Not that Raab ever was particularly honest, of course. It was in his nature to be duplicitous, always had been… what could he do about it? Nothing.

"I am who I am," Raab muttered to himself as he made his careful way up the rickety back stairs to his room, bare feet silent on the pine boards which hardly creaked beneath his negligible weight. His wine-addled mind returned inexorably to the strange events of the evening. It yet puzzled him… young Mat had not seemed to even care whether he won or lost, it was as though his mind was on other things, matters of great import. His enormous gambling success seemed to bring him little pleasure...

Raab, who had mostly experienced the worst kind of luck in the course of his troubled life, particularly in the hard years since he had been declared outcast by his Clan, the Takana, could not understand this attitude. Well, the Shorebound were strange folk, after all, who could comprehend them? Not he.

Unlocking the door of his room after ensuring that the hair he had stretched between it and the frame was yet unbroken, Raab slipped into the small sleeping chamber with its hard, narrow bed and wobbly table. His dark eyes flicked over the wax-sealed letter lying on that table-top, where it had mostly languished ever since he had arrived in Tar Valon more than a month previously… but he walked quietly past it and rolled onto the bed, lying on his back, fingers laced behind his head, gazing up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. What to do?

The fearsome Aes Sedai with the dangerous twin Warders had charged him with delivering a letter to the White Tower Library, with dire consequences hinted at should he fail in this duty, or worse, abandon it. But after the first week on the Island, when Raab had finally summoned up the courage to venture onto Tower grounds, it was only to discover that the Brown Ajah Sister for whom the missive was intended had left Tar Valon some months before under mysterious circumstances, and had yet to return. Fortunately, as was only to be expected, the Aes Sedai's Warder had accompanied her on this clandestine journey away from the White Tower… Raab had no great desire to encounter his cousin Jabal, or Jabal Gaidin, as it seemed he was now known. On the last occasion that they had met, the deadly Lionfish had been vigorously attempting to kill him, and Raab had barely escaped with his life. He might not have been so fortunate the next time around.

Though the very experience of eliciting this information had proved something of an ordeal… after enduring the curses and hurled missiles of the Atha'an Miere Library Sisters, his lowly status as outclan making his continued existence anathema to them, Raab had been waylaid by an Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah, one Rashiel Tamor by name. Without the Library, the Ebou Dari Sister had seized Raab by a be-ringed ear and dragged him to a place of seclusion, where a scowling, moustachioed Warder loitered, touching his sword hilt threateningly whenever the Sea Folk renegade so much as breathed. Raab might have enquired what a Red Sister was doing with a Gaidin protector, but did not dare. In his experience, Aes Sedai asked plenty of questions, but rarely deigned to answer them.

Despite his Captain, the Lady Ysmet, swearing him to secrecy regarding his work on her behalf, Raab found himself telling his interrogator everything about the last few months and his activities in that time; his design of the Noblewoman's ship, the Queen Mab, his overseeing the construction of this sturdy vessel utilising purloined Atha'an Miere shipwright crafts, their maiden voyage from the dry-dock at the isolated fishing village on the Shadow Coast to Illian, to take on a full crew. Rashiel Sedai merely listened, pale eyes fixed on Raab, pinning him in place and eliciting the truth to a much greater degree than was usual, but her Murandian Warder did not seem to care for him, scowling darkly throughout the hurried explanation. This was probably due to the fact that he was yet another friend of Jabal's, like the ferocious twin Gaidin, Aebel and Blaek, they who had comprehensively threatened Raab in the Perfumed Quarter of what was fast becoming his least favourite Shorebound City… but for Tar Valon, of course. And what was worst, after questioning him thoroughly, Rashiel Sedai had not given Raab leave to depart, and had certainly not taken delivery of that storm-cursed letter on behalf of her Brown Ajah compatriot… no, she had told him to remain in the Island City until further notice, without troubling to state her reasons. She had then sent her Gaidin, the Lord Dagnon, back to the rooming house with Raab, to ascertain his location… and also, though this may have been at the stern Warder's own discretion, to provide dire threats about not going anywhere else. It seemed that Raab was needed by the Aes Sedai… presumably, should she require another ship built? But Raab did not think so.

Raab considered all of this whilst staring sightlessly up at the dilapidated ceiling, since he was much given to dwelling upon his uncertain circumstances, but before long, the deep sleep of the truly inebriated claimed him. In the morning, his recollection of Matrim Cauthon's amazing luck at dice had faded somewhat, but the full pouch of gold and silver Tar Valon marks was still there, proving that it had not all been a dream…

Raab din Sudim Black Squall stood alone upon the parapet, gazing morosely out to sea, brooding upon the past. Certainly, the night of the fortunate dice had been dream-like, but his existence since reaching this insane Land of Madmen had more resembled a nightmare, from which he had been unable to wake. What was he even doing here? He would never have agreed to come on this ill-omened voyage had he not been coerced by the Aes Sedai… truly, getting involved in the machinations of Tar Valon witches always led to tears! Or, in this case, Tear. That was where the manipulative Rashiel Sedai and the forbidding Dagnon Gaidin had gone after the trouble in the White Tower, when the old Amyrlin was deposed, and they had taken the unwilling Raab with them down the Erinin on the Rivershark, worse luck. Still… tears… Tear… Raab's thin-lipped mouth twisted in a sardonic smile as he appreciated the tautology. One day, he planned to write an account of his bizarre and eventful life, and coming up with a neat turn of phrase, albeit by accident, was pleasing to him. He should probably write that one down, before he misremembered it…

Raab froze in the action of reaching for his shabby notebook and pencil, appreciating that whilst he had been neglecting his lookout duty by gazing sightlessly upon the Great Southern Ocean and dwelling upon the ill fate that had brought him here, five figures had been steadily approaching the palisade of the camp and were now too close for comfort. In this dangerous locality, strangers were to be feared and mistrusted, something that Raab had little difficulty in doing. He hastily grabbed the crossbow that the previous lookout had given him, fumbled a bolt into the groove and raised the heavy weapon awkwardly, sighting along its length.

"That's far enough!" Raab shouted at the quintet of unknown personages, "identify yourselves!" He considered a moment, then added loudly; "no, actually, do not bother… I really don't care who you are! Just turn around and walk away, or there'll be trouble!"

The lead stranger lowered the silver-chased chest she was carrying to the sand and stood, hands on slim hips, regarding Raab with large, pale, almost colourless eyes. An amused smile twitched her full lips. "You haven't cocked that thing, sailor-boy," she called out in a high, clear voice, "and the bolt is loaded the wrong way round!" Raab cursed, fumbling with the crank. The tall, russet-haired woman went on, her voice an unhurried drawl; "what were you planning to do with the crossbow, hit us with it?"

The blonde swordsman beside her laughed, the dark, tattoo-faced youth behind did not, and the pair of brown-haired, raggedly dressed men to the side were scowling murderously up at Raab, certainly in no mood for mirth. Raab forgot about the crossbow and stared back at them, mouth falling open in consternation. The other three were still strangers, but looking closer, he definitely recognised them… it was those bloody Twins again!

"May it please the Light, what are they doing here?" Raab whispered. He had eavesdropped on the meeting in which it was decided to mount a rescue of the Aes Sedai held prisoner on the Isle of the Spire, but had not imagined that it would actually succeed. Presumably, these dangerous brothers had escaped captivity on their own recognisance, worse luck. Was Shrinalla Sedai free also? Would she punish him for not delivering her letter? Perhaps turn him into a-

"Raab!" spat the Warder on the left, whose arm was supported by a dirty sling.

"Thief!" added the other Warder, disapprovingly.

The woman turned her head, glancing at the twin Gaidin curiously. "You pair of pretty peas know this maladroit fellow?" she enquired, "is he mayhap a friend of yours?" Raab noted with distant confusion that the tall redhead's ears rose to abbreviated points, lying flat against her skull.

"He is the one called 'Raab,' a low Sea Folk renegade…"

"…expelled from Clan Takana for lying and cheating…"

"…he is Jabal's estranged cousin…"

"…and no friend of ours!"

The Twins fell silent, glanced wordlessly at each other, then added simultaneously; "and stop calling us peas!"

The strange woman grinned, her teeth rather sharp, then turned back to gaze up at Raab coolly. "Now that introductions are out of the way, good Raab, I strongly suggest that you open the gate and let us in. I wish to speak with the Da'shain who came here. The Aiel, as you call them."

Raab's dark eyes flicked nervously toward the scowling Twins. The tall woman frowned slightly, then muttered something indistinct to the tattooed youth in what sounded like the Sharan speech, though Raab could not make out exactly what was said. The young Sharan took a measured step toward the palisade and raised a hand. The blonde armsman watched him intently, blue eyes narrowed.

"Open the gate, I say, or Hamadi here will open it for you!"

Raab stared at the outlandish youth, whose skin was even darker than his own, taking note of the swirling tattoos that covered his face. He had seen those before, whilst ineptly trading for silk. "Ayyad?" Raab spluttered, "I… I didn't know they had male ones!"

The woman laughed, an odd, high-pitched, yipping sound. "Of course they do, fool! Hamadi told me all about it on the way here. They have both! Where do you think baby Ayyad come from?!" She conveyed a brief translation of this to the Ayyad youth and he grinned, white teeth flashing in his dusky, decorated face.

Raab hesitated, desperately wondering what to do. If he didn't let these dangerous folk into the camp, the Ayyad would doubtless tear him apart with the One Power after he had finished with the gate, either that or the Twins would violently make-good on their previous threats to his person. Then again, if he did let them in, Captain Ysmet would likely draw her rapier and use him as a pin-cushion! In any event, the decision was made for him… with a loud creaking sound, a section of the palisade began to descend, lowered upon ropes. Raab whirled around and glared down at where Gen was laboriously turning a windlass, the mechanism that operated the gate.

"What are you doing, Gen?" Raab demanded.

Gen did not look up, continued to turn the wooden wheel, singing loudly in a cracked voice; "there's birds that swim and fishes as fly, but don't ask me how, or where, or why!"

Raab blinked. He should have known better than to expect some sort of cogent answer, Gen made the local madmen look like paragons of perfect sanity!

The two big Aielmen standing beside Gen held large, empty buckets. The bigger of the two glanced up at Raab, his green eyes placid. "We go to fetch water, Atha'an Miere," he explained, in his deep voice.

"Gen opens the gate for us," added the other Aielman tonelessly, his eyes on the sand at his feet.

"There are dangerous strangers out there!" Raab warned, "close the burning gate, Gen, you raving idiot!"

Gen cackled and did not obey, continuing to turn the windlass whilst chanting; "danger stranger, danger stranger, danger stranger!"

Raab sighed. When he'd woken that morning, he'd had a feeling that it was going to be one of those days…

---

Feir the Fourthborn nodded with satisfaction as the drawbridge-like section of the rough, wooden palisade completed its descent to the sand, lowered on a rope to each side, revealing a passage into the rude camp of what she presumed to be shipwrecked mariners. Such were washed up on the shores of the Land from time to time, they usually did not last long. She directed a final warning stare at the one called Raab atop the parapet; a slight, dark fellow, wiry curls atop his head, golden rings in his ears and shifty eyes that darted about… he had a suspicious demeanour, and would probably bear watching. Or possibly, killing...

Feir started forward, stepping gracefully toward the gateway, leaving the chest that contained the Horn of T'oph where she had set it down.

The Twins noticed.

"What of the Horn, Mistress Feir?" asked one.

"Do we leave it here?" added the other.

Feir smiled, answered without turning around; "you bring it, you pair of peas! I have had more than enough of lugging the damned thing around… and I don't even like musical instruments!"

Thaeus fell in beside Feir, Hamadi following, while the grumbling Twins hefted the heavy chest between them and brought up the rear, Aebel using just one arm, the other being broken. The injury was beyond Feir's limited ability to treat, beyond the rough splint that she had fashioned earliet. But if there was a Healer of some kind in this camp, she intended to see to it that something was done about the break, for by the sound of things, they would need every able-bodied fighter they had to rescue the Aes Sedai and deal with the Laughing God. The latter was something that she had wanted to do for a very long time. Difficult though, she wasn't even sure what the notorious souvraniene looked like…

The vicinity of the camp was marked by numerous footprints and heat-blooms that Feir's keen eyes detected without difficulty, but it would have been much harder to track the Da'shain from the site of the battle with the Hawx to this place… had it not been for the fifth set of prints. The Aiel barely disturbed the ground with their progress, leaving hardly any trail to speak of, but they had had someone with them wearing pointed boots who just blundered along, kicking stones out of place and brushing up against plants, leaving tracks that Feir could have followed with her eyes closed. A trail that had brought them here, to a rough camp opposite an offshore reef upon which a large ship had foundered, its masts and part of the hull yet projecting from the restless waves.

As Feir and the others reached the gateway, two tall men stepped out, carrying empty buckets. Feir examined them curiously. One wore unfamiliar stained white robes, but his companion was clothed in what was unmistakeably the cadin'sor, though grubbier than any she had ever seen before. Even so… impressive height, reddish hair, light eyes… it had been long since Feir had beheld Da'shain, and she felt her heart swell within her chest. She had always held a particular affection for those who kept the Covenant, despite the extreme disparity between their character and hers. On closer inspection, Feir was pleased to note that, unlike the short Aiel fighter she had observed in the boat, neither of these Da'shain bore weapons, for all that they moved like warriors. Perhaps they yet followed the Leaf Way, as had their ancestors? She certainly hoped so…

The larger Da'shain, the one in the robe, lowered his buckets to the sand and gazed calmly at Feir and her companions as they stood before him. The Aiel wearing the cadin'sor simply stayed still, retaining his buckets, eyes downcast.

"Gerom!" Thaeus greeted him, "it is good to view a familiar face…"

The towering Da'shain inclined his head gravely. "I see you, Thaeus Desiama." He glanced at the Twins. "I see you also, Aebel Feruile and Blaek Feruile. It is well to know that you have escaped your captors. The Aes Sedai are free in addition?"

The Twins shook their heads, somewhat red-faced from their heavy, silver-chased burden, which they set down with evident relief.

Gerom's passive, dark-green eyes moved first to Hamadi, then returned to Feir. "A Sharaman, marked on the face like one of their fearsome Wise Ones, though male… and also…" he shrugged his massive shoulders, "I know you not, Lady… but you seem as Vron'cor, there is something of the Age of Legends about you."

Feir nodded approvingly. "Correct! Well met, good Da'shain! Do you and your fellow yet keep the Covenant?"

Gerom eyed the other Aiel, who raised his meek, light green gaze to examine Feir without curiosity. "Well, Ruon?" Gerom rumbled, "do we keep the Covenant, Duadhe Mahdi'in?"

Ruon shook his head slowly. "I do not. The Covenant was broken, long ago. It cannot be remade." His voice was flat, toneless, like that of someone who believed himself to be already dead. "All I know is that I am no longer Aiel, though I yet wear the cadin'sor to remind me of that which once was. I do not know what I am now. Life is merely a dream, after all… I would that I could wake from it, to some new existence." On that note of finality, Ruon turned away and paced slowly up toward the trees above the beach.

Gerom watched him go, then returned his attention to Feir. "Ignore him, he is depressed," he remarked. "For myself, I am self-sworn to peace in battle," he further explained, "but as for the Covenant, who can say? I would wish to see Vron'cor again, to ask him what I should do."

"Well, I'd rather like to see him too," Feir commented, adding; "you see, he's my Brother!"

Gerom blinked slowly. "I was not aware that the Nightwatcher had a sister… the stories do not tell of it. But then, I have heard Vron'cor speak of his two brothers, also Heroes of the Light; the big brother and the blind brother, I have seen a statue of the one and a portrait of the other… and the tales do not mention them either."

"I am his Sister, the Fourthborn, Feir by name!" Feir scowled. "Do you doubt my word?" she demanded, frostily.

Gerom shook his large head. "Not at all. Your eyes, your ears… your teeth, also… clearly, as the Nightwatcher, you are not quite human. Did you also sleep long since the Last Age?"

"Of course I did!" Feir snapped, "how old do you think I am? Foolish Da'shain!"

Gerom nodded sagely. "Yes, you do not much resemble Vron'cor, but you have his manner, his mode of speech… I shall take you to see our Society Leader as was, Cohradin. Perhaps he will know what to do." Gerom considered a moment. "Probably not, though."

Feir's arched russet brows furrowed. "Cohra... din..? There is another Da'shain Aiel named… 'Brother of the Erotic Dance?"

Gerom smiled faintly. "Indeed. Be sure to call him that when you meet… it will be amusing." The big Aiel glanced down at the empty wooden buckets at his feet, then gave one a kick, sending it sailing away across the sand. "I shall carry no more water," he muttered, "I grow weary of it." Gerom turned and started down the beach, skirting the palisade. "Come, Nightwatcher's Sister, Lord Whitecloak… this way."

Feir glanced at Thaeus, who shrugged. "I suppose that we had best go with him," he suggested.

Feir frowned. "What do you know of this Gerom fellow?" she hissed.

"Well, I do not really understand why he is wearing that strange gown, and I have never seen an unarmed Aielman before, but he has always seemed like the most sensible of the Shaido… surprisingly well-read, for a savage."

"Hmm…" Feir glanced at Hamadi. "Wait here, handsome!" she told him, in his own, liquid language, "do try not to go mad and kill everyone!"

Hamadi grinned and shook his head solemnly.

Feir and Thaeus turned and hurried after Gerom, whose long strides had taken him some distance away by this point.

"What of us?" the Twins demanded, at the same time.

Feir looked back at them over her shoulder, grinning her feral, sharp-toothed grin; "pick up that chest and go into the camp, pretty peas in a pod! I'll be back by bedtime to tuck you in and read you a story!"

The Twins frowned, glanced at each other, then sighed, stooped and hefted their burden once more. With Hamadi helping, they lugged the chest containing the fabled Horn of T'oph through the gate. In the west, the sun was beginning to sink below the distant horizon. Night was falling.

---

It was early evening and the air had turned chill. Ellyth pulled the blanket closer about her, all but lulled to sleep by the slow beat of the drum down on the oar-deck. Shrina was asleep, leaning against her shoulder, snoring softly. Ellyth sighed. She had shared quarters with her Green Ajah friend on numerous occasions over the years; inn bedrooms, private residences, tents, the occasional barn, as well as just plain sleeping under the stars when nothing better offered itself. For all that time, Shrina had flatly refused to accept that she snored! It had kept Ellyth awake countless nights, and was doing so now.

To the other side of Ellyth, Renn was conversing softly with Dara, mostly in the Vulgar, but occasionally the Old Tongue as well as the melodic speech of Shara could be heard. It seemed that some sort of a language lesson was going on, the studious young Brown Sister learning the spoken dialect of the Ayyad woman's strange land. Ellyth rather envied Renn her gift for gaining knowledge as easily as a sponge soaked up water. She herself had to forcibly apply every ounce of her intellect to acquire further wisdom, such as when she obtained the rudiments of navigation and trigonometry in order to locate upon a map the mysterious ter'angreal-box within which Naythan had slept his long sleep.

Waking the dormant Hero of the Age of Legends had easily been the most important action Ellyth had ever performed, a cause to end all causes, and her life had not been the same since. It had certainly become a lot more dangerous…

The galley was travelling slowly east, they had entered an enormous bay some time ago, which was gradually narrowing to an inlet, though still wide enough that the shores to either side could barely be made out. Ellyth glanced at the masked male-channelers sitting opposite, intent gazes fixed on the prisoners. They never seemed to blink, and they definitely never seemed to sleep, either. Carefully, Ellyth extended her senses, testing the edges of the Shield that kept her powerless. She pushed and probed at it with her mind, attempting to find some weakness that she could exploit to free herself…

"Stop that!"

Ellyth jumped, and glared up at the young man in the red mask who had approached silently on bare feet. He stood over her, and though she could not see his face, she got the impression that he was amused. She tore her gaze away from his smoothly-muscled bare chest and glanced at his hands, tattooed with Sea Folk sigils. Presumably, he was, or had been, Atha'an Miere… but did they not maroon their male-channelers upon barren islands? Shrina had mentioned something about this uncivilised practice, once. It would seem that he had escaped this cruel fate. Whatever his derivation, the masked youth at least seemed better disposed toward the prisoners than his fellows, and had provided them with blankets when Dara complained of the cold.

"How did you know?" Ellyth enquired, coolly.

"That you were trying to break your Shield, Aes Sedai?" The male-channeler shrugged. "I can sense saidar, and other things besides, tis a Talent of mine. The Laughing God uses my skills to hunt down witches, when he doesn't have other tasks for me."

Ellyth frowned. The local female-channelers might just be wilders erroneously claiming to be Aes Sedai, but they were still her Sisters, in a way. All women who touched the True Source were, Dara for example. Ellyth thought of Arachnae Kirikil and revised her opinion… with the exception of Darkfriends, naturally.

"So what do you think it was?" the Sea Folk madman enquired, seemingly in the mood for a discussion.

Ellyth considered ignoring him, but decided not to. She might be able to glean some useful information and besides, she was bored. "I presume that you are referring to the phenomena that occurred earlier today, yes?" The enormous channeling of saidar far to the north had continued for roughly an hour, then had abruptly ceased. It had not resumed. The Atha'an Miere youth nodded. Ellyth shrugged. "I truly have no idea what it might have been. But I suspect that Dara is correct, and you also, whatever your name is. It was undoubtedly something to do with the weather."

"In the Age of Legends, tis said there were powerful ter'angreal that could control the climate of the entire world…" The young male-channeler sounded speculative, but then a note of irony entered his voice. "Oh, and my name is Piper, by the way. Not my original prefix, of course, but the God gives us all new titles when we take service with him."

Ellyth inclined her head. "I am the Lady Ellythia of House Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah."

Piper performed a graceful yet mocking bow. "A member of the Shorebound Nobility breathing the same air as we poor madmen?! Truly, I am honoured…"

Ellyth chose not to react to the insolence, instead prompting; "you mentioned some sort of a weather ter'angreal? I have an interest in such artefacts…"

"I am sure that you do, your Ladyship. My people have a legend of something called 'the Bowl of Winds' that might fit the bill… though it was lost to us a long time ago. But such devices have a way of turning up in the most unlikely of places."

"They certainly do," Ellyth agreed, thinking of some of the unusual locations in which she had discovered ancient lost ter'angreal.

Piper gazed up at the sky for a long moment. When he spoke, he sounded thoughtful. "The weather has changed, the rains are finally coming. It may take a while, but nothing can stop it. Can you feel it?"

Ellyth shook her head. "I cannot."

"I can."

They both glanced at Dara, who had concluded her lesson with Renn for the time being. Both young women were staring at Piper. He stared back.

"Something untoward was adversely affecting the climate, I have been sensing it for some time," Dara continued, "that has been amended by whatever was done today. It is, I think, a good thing."

"The Dark One's touch," Piper commented, "that's what the God told us, anyway. The Last Battle is coming, the Forsaken walk abroad in the land, and the seals on the Father of Storm's prison are failing… the closer we get to Tarmon Gai'don, the more Shai'tan will be able to affect reality. Changing the weather was just the start."

"You seem to know a lot about the Dark One's plans," Renn observed.

Piper chuckled. "Oh, I don't. I know nothing! I merely repeat the words of the Laughing God. Praise him!"

"Praise him!" the other red-masked individuals within earshot echoed.

"I expect it was the Bowl of Winds that the Aes Sedai and Windfinders used," Piper mused, "that or some other similar ter'angreal…"

"Speaking of ter'angreal," Ellyth mentioned casually, "those bronze torcs that you and your fellows have..?"

Piper eyed her flatly. "Fishing for information, Aes Sedai? Be careful what you catch!" But then, he touched the metal neck ornament he wore reflexively. "They are all copies of one that the God had when first he came here, a long time ago. I don't know where he got it, he never speaks of his life before he arrived in Aile Souvraniene and we're all too scared to ask!" He shrugged. "The torcs are intended to keep the Taint at bay. Of course, they don't work quite so well as the original ter'angreal, and to be honest, that never functioned particularly effectively either…" Piper giggled, an unnerving sound. "Every now and then, one of the boys succumbs to the madness and the rest of us waste no time in dealing with him!"

Ellyth was not attending to this addendum, was focused on one word in particular… "Copies? There is one amongst you who can actually reproduce ter'angreal, duplicate them?"

Piper nodded. "Why, yes. Drummer, a friend of mine, does it in fact. A good friend." One of the eyes in the red-mask winked at Ellyth. "He's in Larcheen, perhaps you'll meet him, if he's not too busy. The God keeps him hard at work, constructing all sorts of devices."

Ellyth stared. "Your confederate can actually make various ter'angreal?" It beggared belief, no-one had possessed this arcane skill since the Age of Legends.

Piper nodded. "Of course, did I not say so? He's been making them for years. Drummer wasn't very good at it at first, they rarely worked properly, but with the right encouragement, he got better."

"That is an incredibly rare skill," Renn observed, "or rather, an extinct Talent."

"Not any more!" Piper responded, "you Aes Sedai would be most surprised at some of the things we can do, down here in the far south… perhaps we'll visit this White Tower of yours one day, provide a few demonstrations…" He glanced toward the bow of the galley. "Ah, here we are. Finally. The Bridge."

Ellyth looked and her eyes widened with disbelief. A gleaming, white span made up of lacy girders and struts stretched across the channel, linking either side of the wide inlet… it had to be more than a mile in length, she estimated. It grew in size as the galley approached, looming impossibly high as they passed beneath. Why, it made the one at Whitebridge look like a children's toy! And beyond the immense bridge structure, another relic of the Age of Legends awaited them; a vast, ruined city clustered on the hills above the bay. A myriad of fallen Palaces, toppled towers and riven domes, fashioned of dark, gleaming volcanic stone, half-tumbled into rubble but still retaining a decayed grandeur. Countless empty windows, like the eye sockets of an enormous assemblage of grinning skulls, stared malevolently at them as the galley was rowed steadily beyond the impossible Bridge.

"Larcheen," stated Piper, simply.

Ellyth, Renn and Dara rose to their feet, gazing upon the shattered metropolis.

"Home!" Piper added, and chuckled.

Shrina rose also, yawning, joining her fellow prisoners in viewing their grim destination. Her eyes widened at her first sight of the ancient ruins, though she did not notice the Bridge, which by now lay some way behind them. Renn tapped her on the shoulder and pointed; Shrina turned to stare at the enormous, gleaming span. She gasped.

"Ah, so you are awake, cousin," Piper commented, eyeing Shrina drolly.

Shrina scowled at him. "Stop calling me that, brigand!" she snarled, "I'll not take insults from a sneaking little coward who hides his face from the world!"

"I hide nothing!" Piper protested, sounding offended.

"Then take off that ugly mask! Show us who you are, Sea Folk renegade!"

Ellyth watched cautiously, wondering if the Atha'an Miere channeler would rise to the challenge.

"Have a care, Aes Sedai," Piper hissed, fixing Shrina with his dark gaze, "I could be hideously disfigured beneath this laughing, leathern face… noseless even, my rotting skin covered in lesions… do you really wish for me to reveal my true features to you?"

"Yes!" Shrina snapped, still scowling, "I'm sure I've seen worse!"

"Shrina…" Renn muttered warningly. Ellyth put a restraining hand on her friend's arm, but Shrina shrugged it off. Dara watched with interest.

Piper glanced toward the steering deck, but there was no sign of the leader, Harper, he had gone below some time ago. So, he raised a tattooed hand to his face and swiftly lifted the red, leather mask, perching it hat-like atop his curly head. The prisoners stared, surprised... Piper was hardly disfigured, quite the opposite, in fact.

Ellyth considered, not particularly objectively, that the strange young Sea Folk fellow could be the most beautiful youth she had ever seen, prettier than the Twins, even. Large, almost black eyes shone beneath finely arched brows and long lashes, an aquiline nose descending to full lips, chiselled cheekbones… he might be an obnoxious kidnapper and a dangerous male-channeler to boot, but this Piper was certainly easy on the eye! Shrina seemed to concur with this opinion, her mouth fell open as she beheld the stunning young man.

Piper smiled, perfect teeth flashing in his handsome, dark-skinned face. "Well, my Lady? Do my looks disgust you? Am I yet a coward, who conceals his face from his enemies?"

"Yes! I mean… no… that is to say…" Shrina fell silent, then pointed at the left side of Piper's face. "But why in the Waves are you wearing that?"

Ellyth peered at Piper more closely. He had numerous golden rings in his ears, and a thin chain worked of the same precious metal connected the largest ring in his left lobe to a similar ring that pierced the side of his nose. Several small, gold medallions hung from the chain, catching the failing light of the setting sun.

Piper pouted. "Why shouldn't I wear it? I happen to like jewellery!"

"Ohhh…" Shrina responded, colouring a little.

Ellyth exchanged a meaningful glance with Renn. Jabal had once told them that amongst the Atha'an Miere, men who preferred the intimate company of other men rather than that of women, often wore the distinctive ornaments of Sea Folk females, sometimes dressing in womanly apparel also. Dara laughed softly.

"What a waste…" Shrina muttered.

Piper put his tattooed hands on slim hips and regarded them challengingly. "I have several fine finger-rings also, but I'm not allowed to wear them whilst on duty!" he revealed, "what of it?" He adopted a pensive air. "Perhaps it is the reason why I can sense saidar… I have always had a certain affinity with the opposite sex."

Ellyth sighed. Truly, men were strange creatures! But then, to be fair, so were women… only less so, naturally.

"Piper!" roared a commanding voice, "put your bloody mask back on, now!" It was Harper, ascending the ladder from below. His eyes glared through the holes in his own red mask, his tone at odds with the smiling mouth etched into the leather.

Piper frowned sulkily, and covered his face once more. "There, see what you've done now, cousin?" he snarled at Shrina, "you've only gone and got me in trouble!" With that, Piper turned and stalked away. "At least you know that your virtue is safe from me, ladies!" he called snidely over his shoulder, as he made a dramatic exit.

They watched Piper flounce away, then sat back down on the deck before they could be rudely ordered to. Silence reigned for a long moment. As usual, Shrina broke it; "the most comely man I have ever seen and presumably, he doesn't even desire women!" she remarked, regretfully.

"Tragic!" Renn agreed.

Dara snorted, contemptuously. "We of Co'dansin do not distinguish so," she revealed, "we take our pleasure where we find it." She winked at Ellyth, who blushed.

"But why does the pretty fellow keep calling you 'cousin,' Shrina?" Renn demanded, "tell us! No more excuses, tell us now!"

"I can't!" Shrina wailed, "I wish that I could, I really do, but it isn't allowed. You lot aren't Watchers Over the Waves like me! It is a secret only for the Do Miere A'vron to know!"

Renn blinked. Dara sneered. Ellyth considered a moment, then spoke up. "Well, there is one solution to this dilemma, yes?"

After some intense arguing back and forth, it was finally decided…

"Raise your right hands!" Shrina commanded. Ellyth and Renn, after a moment's hesitation, did so. "You too, Dara!" Shrina ordered.

Dara frowned. "I really do not care about your silly secret," she protested, "could I not just put my fingers in my ears whilst you tell it to them?"

"No! You might read my lips, Sharan sneak! Do it!"

Scowling, the intricate tattoos that covered her face writhing slightly, Dara reluctantly raised her right hand, emulating Ellyth and Renn.

Shrina nodded, satisfied. "Alright then. Repeat after me: May it please the Light, I solemnly swear…"

"May it please the Light, I solemnly swear," they chanted dutifully.

"…to uphold the Law of the Hawkwing, faithfully Watching for his Return…"

"To uphold the law of the Hawkwing, faithfully watching for his return."

"…should I fail in this Duty, may I be given to the salt and never know Peace…"

"Should I fail in this duty, may I be given some salt and never know peas!" The three oath-takers grinned at each other.

Shrina scowled. "Peace, not peas! Take this seriously!"

"Peace!"

"That's better. Nearly done, this is the last bit: over the Waves, I cast my Eye…"

"Over the waves, I cast my eye."

"…World without end, World and Wheel without end."

"World without end, world and wheel without end." They sighed with relief, lowering their hands.

Shrina then made a squiggly sign in the air with her serpent-ringed finger. "There," she told them, "you are now all honorary Watchers Over the Waves, even you, Dara!"

"Wonderful," Dara drawled, "do I get to wear some sort of special badge?"

Shrina ignored the sarcasm and leant close, lowering her voice conspiratorially, much as she did when about to impart some particularly choice piece of gossip, Ellyth considered. Despite themselves, they moved nearer to Shrina, even Dara, to better hear her words, which were pitched low so that their male-channeler captors sitting opposite would not overhear. Not that the unblinking masked-men particularly seemed to care…

Shrina paused for effect, then began to speak; "the luscious flipskirt Piper calls me 'cousin' because he and I sort of are cousins, in a way. Those tattoos on his delicate hands are the sigils of the Tolaman, the only Atha'an Miere Clan to ever serve the Hawkwing." Shrina paused again, then added in revelatory tones; "my ancestors!" She sat back, evidently enjoying the looks of surprise on her two friend's faces and conveniently ignoring Dara's expression, which signified profound boredom.

"So, the Watchers..?" Renn began to say.

"Are descended from Clan Tolaman. The Do Miere A'vron are the ones who stayed behind when the rest of their Clan went with the Hawkwing's vast fleets to conquer distant lands."

"They conquered nothing when they trespassed upon the territory of Co'dansin," Dara pointed-out smugly.

"Shut-up, Dara! For the more than thousand years of their existence, the Watchers Over the Waves as they became known have slowly lost touch with their Sea Folk roots, becoming virtually Shorebound, remaining within the fortresses that the Hawkwing gifted to them, watching for his return. Eventually, only the Towers in Falme were left, the last bastion of the Do Miere A'vron. That is my heritage." Shrina drew herself up proudly.

"Thank you for that," Dara commented, "may I please cease being a Watcher now, barbarian?"

"Absolutely not! You swore an oath. And don't call me a barbarian!"

"Wait!" cried Ellyth, "Tolaman… Tolamani… your family name, Shrina!"

Shrina nodded complacently. "It means that I am a direct descendant of the lost Atha'an Miere Clan."

"If they are lost, how do you explain young Piper?" Renn enquired.

"I don't," Shrina responded, with a disapproving sniff. "That smirking pretty-boy is a great disappointment to me, and probably halfway mad into the bargain!"

Now, certain things finally made sense to Ellyth; the way that Shrina and Jabal had always seemed a little wary of each other, the Atha'an Miere accoutrements of the Little Watcher, the Do Miere A'vron vessel they had sailed aboard… and even earlier than that, on the first leg of her long voyage to Tar Valon as a girl, the hostile treatment Shrina had received from the Sea Folk crew of the Darter they travelled upon, hotly reciprocated by the young Falman maiden. Clearly, there was antipathy there, and a great secret had been kept for more than a millennia. And Shrina was terrible at keeping secrets!

"So you are actually Atha'an Miere?" Dara posited, stifling a yawn.

Shrina scowled and shook her head vehemently. "No, of course not! We Watchers no longer have anything in common with our forebears, our motives have become nobler and purer than merely sailing aimlessly about and trading for silk…"

"Silk!" Dara shouted unexpectedly, "always with the flaming silk! I am sick of hearing you barbarians blather on about-"

"I don't believe it!" Renn cried. The others looked at her in surprise. The young Brown Sister had risen to her feet and was gripping the rail of the galley, staring fixedly up at the louring sky. Ellyth rose too and looked; there was an avian speck up there, approaching rapidly. "It can't be!" Renn moaned.

"What is wrong, Renn?" Ellyth demanded, worried for her friend. Shrina and Dara had ceased arguing for the time being and also got to their feet, eyeing Renn curiously.

"How did it find me?" Renn wailed, "I'm on the other side of the burning ocean!"

The shape in the sky resolved itself into a big, predatory bird, homing-in on the galley purposefully. In due course, it landed on the rail beside Renn, gripping the wood with powerful talons, preening its feathers with a large, cruel beak. A yellow eye was fixed on the Brown Ajah Aes Sedai it had crossed the Sea of Storms and the Great Southern Ocean to find. It might have been her imagination, but Ellyth fancied that there was a hint of reproach in the stern gaze.

Renn turned to Ellyth, Shrina and Dara. "Look!" she exclaimed, gesturing at the large, self-important looking bird-of-prey, "it's him again! It's that bloody eagle!"