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"It could've been worse," Bashere said eventually, after taking a good look at the stump. "You got out relatively unscarthed, considering who she is. And who you are. Heh"-- he snorted hard enough to stir his thick moustaches --"I'm more concerned that I have underestimated the enemy. If I had known the Forsaken could disguise themselves to look like anyone… Doesn't matter now. We were woefully unprepared for an ambush, no excuses." He inclined his head, revealing a balding spot in his grey hair. "If you relieve me of my duty now, I'd understand."
Rand listened with half an ear, twirling a goblet of wine in his healthy hand and frowning into the sloshing liquid. The stump, or, rather, his missing hand, throbbed with a dull pain, but he forced himself to ignore it. How could an absent limb hurt? It wasn't fair. Nothing about his situation was fair. The wounds in his side made him curse the moment he opened his eyes in the morning. He could barely see past a few paces; his vision still hadn't recovered after Semirhage's attack. The crown of swords dug into his temples. The herons and dragons made his skin burn. Everything bloody hurt.
I am a wreck, Rand thought bitterly. An exhausted, pathetic, powerless wreck. Who knows, maybe my body will fall apart before I even set foot in Shayol Ghul? Elan would die from laughter.
The wine responded: a few bubbles floated to the surface from all the sloshing and formed an unmistakable smiling face. Rand giggled, then couldn't stop giggling, not even when Bashere shifted uncomfortably and Cadsuane stopped pretending to be engrossed in her embroidery. She set it aside -- Rand noticed an absolutely blank canvas -- and stood from her seat, heading towards him.
Rand raised the stump before he could stop himself, then quickly lowered it. "There is no need to… be alarmed. Bashere, stop this nonsense. You couldn't have known about the Mirror of Mists."
"You should've told us," came a gruff voice from the doorway.
Logain slammed the door behind him with more force than necessary, rattling the windows. The man still hadn't washed up after the ambush; dust and grime marred his face, and his dark curly locks were in disarray. Only his black coat was spotless, the Dragon and the Sword pins shining brightly in the candlelight.
"You keep concealing information, al'Thor. First the Deathgates, then those thin red rods shooting from your fingertips -- I don't even know what to call those -- and now the Mirror of Mists? Did you not think," he said, advancing towards Rand's desk, "for one second, that maybe, just maybe, we should've known about those weaves?" He let out a mirthless laugh, then shook his head. "I cannot believe you survived this long! No, it's probably some sort of a joke from the Pattern, or the Creator -- no way, no bloody way it didn't occur to you that, perhaps, you need to warn people what the Forsaken are capable of!" He shouted the last sentence off the top of his lungs.
"One," Cadsuane said calmly.
Rand barely paid her any attention. He rose from his desk, setting the goblet down with a shaking hand. In his veins coursed pure, blind rage. He tried to control his temper, but Logain was looking at him with such an infuriating expression that he found himself snarling like a rabid animal. "Did it not occur to you that, maybe, there would've been no need for any of that if you made contact with the real Daughter of the Nine Moons? You don't understand how much I need this bloody treaty. You don't understand anything. The Seanchan established a blockade from Tarabon to Tear; millions are starving right at this moment while you waste my time, whining about nothing!"
"Two." Cadsuane watched them, her face -- the picture of Aes Sedai serenity.
"Nothing?" Logain leaned forward, and Rand could see a vein on his forehead pulse in fury. "Nothing?! You almost died today, al'Thor, and don't you dare pin that on me, or anyone else. Don't. You. Dare! You've never taught me, or any Asha'man, what to expect from the Forsaken." All energy seemed to drain from Logain and he looked away, suddenly weary and tired. "Maybe if you'd trusted us, you'd still have your arm." He sighed. "And you're mad as a loon already. Inevitable, I suppose. But I find it mind-boggling that you're hearing the voice of Lews Therin and aren't doing anything about it. Burn you, at least tell us what he has taught you."
"Three."
The tell-tale goosebumps on Rand's skin was his only warning before a whip of Air slashed at his back. He couldn't see it, of course; the sharp pain blooming across his spine told him everything he needed to know in excruciating detail.
"Oh," he said, surprise momentarily cooling his temper before the rage returned ten-fold. He gritted his teeth. The only thing stopping him from exploding was a small, twisted satisfaction at seeing Logain's eyes widen in shock and hearing his strangled gasp.
Cadsuane decided to whip both of them, apparently.
"Manners," she clarified, after a prolonged silence. "I do hate it when people cannot carry a civil conversation without descending into a shouting match. Especially men." Her lips formed a thin line. "The yelling is… quite distasteful. I want you to promise me that you will behave, boy. Say it."
Bashere shifted his weight and cleared his throat; Great Captain or not, he didn't want to witness a standoff between an Aes Sedai and the Dragon Reborn. Logain looked like he couldn't quite decide if he should be offended at having been whipped. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but in the end, wisely chose to stay silent.
Cadsuane was still waiting for an answer, eyes deadly cold. The feeling of goosebumps never dissipated.
Reluctantly, with more effort than he wanted to admit, Rand closed his eyes and summoned the flame and the void. He fed it his rage, imagining the inferno gorge on the emotion, greedily devouring it and growing stronger, then waning, until nothing was left, nothing except the weak flicker of flame in the endless abyss. The pain became distant; it might as well have been someone else's. All emotions felt dull. It was almost soothing. Was that what it was like to be dead?
"I will behave," he said, eventually, opening his eyes. A few seconds of humiliation in front of his subordinates were nothing; the void wrapped around him like a cocoon, pushing the irrelevant aside.
Cadsuane searched his face for some time. At last, she seemed to find what she was looking for, because she turned her attention to Logain; an avalanche of boulders and ice descending from a mountaintop, merciless and unstoppable. "Now. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Logain sputtered in indignation. Ah, a show of weakness; a beginner's mistake when dealing with Cadsuane, Rand noted abscently. "If al'Thor had told us about the Mirror of Mists, maybe this whole mess could've been avoided! If he had demonstrated the bare minimum of effort dealing with the Black Tower and training the Asha'man--"
Cadsuane scoffed loudly. "Listen to yourself. 'If', 'maybe', 'could've' -- what's done is done, time to move on and face the consequences. I haven't heard this much whining since my days in the Borderlands."
"But the Black Tower--"
"I don't care a fig about your Black Tower. What matters now is preparing for Tarmon Gai'don, Logain, and that includes solving the Seanchan problem, first and foremost. We can't head to Shayol Ghul while expecting them to strike at our flanks at any moment."
Rand inclined his head in agreement. She was right.
The void filtered out the emotions, but not thoughts. Soon, Rand found himself replaying her words in his head, over and over, despite the apathy. When did Logain earn the right to be referred to by name, while he, the Dragon Reborn, was still getting called a 'boy'? Probably yet another one of Cadsuane's power games; she would enjoy nothing more than seeing him brought down a peg or two.
No one can betray you if you don't trust them in the first place , muttered Lews Therin. I told you. I told you a long time ago. Trust is death. We should kill them all and be done with it.
Rand was about to agree before the realization hit. The void wavered; a dome of safety crumbling all around him. He reached for the wine, not in a panic, exactly, but as fast as he could without making it seem like he was panicking. Some of it may have spilled on his sleeve -- Rand looked around the room out of the corner of his eyes -- luckily, no one seemed to notice. He hid his face in the goblet, thinking hard. The Kinslayer sounded saner by the day. What did it say about him? Nothing good. At all.
Lews Therin giggled, then disappeared into whatever shadows he lived in. Rand was left staring into the blood-red depths of the goblet, watching his own face get reflected in thousands of tiny pinkish bubbles that floated on the drink's surface; some burst, with barely any impact, others got absorbed by the larger ones, but all of the reflections kept moving, shifting, as if alive. There was a time -- Light, it felt so long ago -- when the same reflections climbed out of the mirrors and tried to kill him. A bubble of evil, Moiraine called it. What a nice, bland expression. He avoided mirrors for months after the episode, too afraid that the doubles would spring on him when he blinked. They moved when he wasn't looking, he knew it; they only pretended to follow his movements, but really it was only an act. The others wouldn't understand, but Rand knew he was right. One day he will catch the doubles and prove it to the others, but until then… He squinted at the wine, heart pounding in his chest. The reflection on one of the smaller bubbles that formed a thin layer of foam in the center of the goblet shifted ever so slightly, but he noticed it, Light knew he did.
Gripping the goblet so tight his knuckles turned white, Rand headed for the door.
"Al'Thor?" Bashere called sharply. Then, louder, "Al'Thor!"
Rand opened the door a notch with a stump, leaning his head in the corridor. The Maidens on duty that night nodded in greeting, but didn't acknowledge him beyond that. Lately, they started to keep their distance even in private; his stunts in Illian and Far Madding, when he decided not to involve the Aiel, weren't appreciated by the latter. He had toh now.
The Aiel could wait; there were more important things to do.
"Is there anything you require, my Lord Dragon?" A servant in demure grey and black livery approached him on trembling legs. Rand never bothered to learn his name.
"Yes." Rand thrust the goblet into the hands of a bewildered man. "Stop making mulled wine. Don't heat it up, don't mix it with spices, don't do anything to it that might create bubbles. Understood? It's a matter of life and death."
The servant grew bug-eyed. An audible whimper escaped his throat as his hand brushed Rand's when he tried to take the goblet. He held it as gingerly as if it was a snake. "Understood, my Lord Dragon." The servant bowed; rather, his upper body bowed, and his legs did some sort of a cross between a Cairhien genuflection and an Andoran curtsy. Rand watched the servant retreat -- backwards, still bent in a bow -- and closed the door with a sense of accomplishment.
He turned, and balked at Cadsuane, Logain, and Bashere's silent stares. Oh, if looks could kill. It wasn't unusual for Cadsuane to try and drill holes in him, but Bashere and Logain seemed to join her in the struggle. And here Rand thought they only taught such impenetrable stares at the White Tower.
Rubbing his temples, Rand returned to his desk and fell in the chair. Light, he was so tired. "Look, it's late, and it's been a strenuous day." Nynaeve excused herself to her rooms a while ago; she was still reeling from not being able to regrow his hand. Min… Min was awake, and he knew for a fact she blamed herself for what happened. He wouldn't be able to weasel out of a long talk with her. Light, focus! "Let's get to the point. You warned me, Bashere, that the meeting might be a trap, and I didn't listen. What happened, happened. The important thing is, the whereabouts of the Daughter of the Nine Moons are still unknown. I must meet with her. As soon as I can get her to agree to the truce, I can march the armies on Shaol Ghul." And all of this will be, finally, over.
Bashere grunted. "It took weeks to secure the first meeting. Might take even longer to ensure that you won't face another Forsaken in disguise. But what are you going to do in the meantime?"
Rest, Rand thought. I just need a little rest, from… everything. Would it be too much to ask?
"You could help the Black Tower," Logain said desperately. Cadsuane folded her arms, and he hurried to add, "Please, Cadsuane Sedai, let me finish. It won't take long." He frowned and fixed his gaze on the carpet, seemingly gathering his thoughts. "Listen, al'Thor" -- Logain briefly met Rand's eyes -- "I'm sorry for accusing you of abandoning the Asha'man. You have a lot on your plate as is, and probably the last thing you want is for me to dump another problem on your head."
Some balm to soothe my temper; the whip would come later. Was it Merisa or Gabrielle who advised him? "Go on," Rand said.
"The truth is, I can't deal with Taim on my own." Logain admitted it so reluctantly, one might've thought he was being held at a swordpoint. "There used to be a time when I thought I could simply rally the majority of the Black Tower and unite them, under my leadership. Well, in your name, of course," Logain backtracked upon seeing Rand's expression. "Anyway, that's not possible anymore. I don't know for sure what is happening, but the men who were previously loyal to me, the men I used to trust… They come back changed whenever Taim summons them."
Ah, so nothing of import. Thank the Light.
Rand yawned, covering his mouth, and willed himself to stay awake. This charade had no right to go on any longer, but, as much as he hated everyone present, he couldn't stand being in the same room with Min even more. Guilt permeated the bond whenever she laid eyes on the stump. Guilt, and self-loathing, and regret; Rand couldn't bear it, he just couldn't. So he kept his distance. For now.
"So what you're saying is, you're losing to Mazrim Taim and you want the boy to support you in your campaign?" asked Cadsuane, arching an eyebrow. "Are you dimwitted?"
Rand suppressed another yawn and leaned back in his chair. It all came down to a battle of wills; who would give up first: Min or him? The bond sang with her determination and stubbornness, but he knew she wouldn't be able to stay awake for long. It seemed that whatever sensation Min felt, the bond carried it over to him, and vice versa -- intriguing in bed, of course, although not so much during a lovers' quarrel.
"I agree with Cadsuane Sedai," Bashere said wryly. "It's not an issue that would require al'Thor's attention. And -- no offense -- you've got to be a pretty weak leader if your followers keep siding with Taim."
And why was she so upset about the stump, anyway? Rand brought it closer to his face to get a better look. Nynaeve did a fine job; where the arm was supposed to connect to a wrist and a hand, the area ended with a small rounded protrusion, skin as smooth as a calf's. No charred bones. Not one scar, even. It was almost as if he was born without an arm. Only the absent head of the dragon gave away the illusion.
"Bloody!-- That's not what I'm saying. Would you just listen? The men return completely changed, unlike themselves. As if someone -- or something -- replaced them."
All thoughts of torn limbs left Rand at once. Gripping the arm of the chair, he leaned forward slowly, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding. The doubles that tried to kill him back in Tear also wanted to take his place; get rid of the Dragon Reborn and replace him with the puppet of the Shadow. Light, he wanted to smack himself. He should've realized that the same bubble of evil could also happen anywhere else. It wasn't likely, per se. And yet…
Bashere and Cadsuane seemed to be stunned into silence, and Rand decided to make use of the lull in the conversation.
"You think that Taim replaces the Asha'man with their doubles," he said, wanting to confirm that he heard it right.
"Yes," Logain said simply.
"Can you describe what's different about those men, exactly? How can you tell that one was 'replaced'?"
Logain finally tore his eyes off the carpet and lifted his head. "It's difficult to describe. There is something about them that just seems… off. You could pass them on the street, and they'd greet you, ask you how was your day -- perfectly normal. On the surface. Many would be overly nice, even; constantly offering to help with the chores." Logain rolled his shoulders and frowned. "But when you look in their face, and I mean really look at it, you'd find that there is no emotion, no indication that they are even awake. Their body language is strange; the movements are stilted, jerky, and repetitive. Unnatural. Sometimes I catch them forgetting the most basic of things: how to unlock the door, for example. Androl -- or, rather, the thing that wears Androl's face now -- he just stood in front of his own house under the rain, twirling the key in his hands as if he'd never seen it before. I swear, he'd be still standing there if he didn't observe me open my own door. When I did, I turned to check on him, thinking maybe I should help the poor fellow, you know?" He swallowed hard. "I swear, whatever watched me that night, it wasn't Androl. The look in its eyes… Unfeeling and predatory at the same time. As if whatever crawled inside of him was cataloguing everything I did for future reference. It probably was, actually, because it copied my movements precisely. All of the replaced ones acted that way. As if the thing inside of them was studying us like bugs."
Not the doubles from the reflections, then . Those would've absorbed the memories of its victims. The thought wasn't comforting. If anything, the aspect of the unknown was making Rand's guts twist into knots.
"What are their numbers?" asked Bashere. If Logain's words unsettled him, Bashere hid it masterfully; no dancing around the topic, no wrist-wringing, just jumping straight to the tactics. Rand admired his ability to concentrate despite the pressure. "And how many Asha'man do you have on your side?"
"When I left, Taim had several hundreds. Now? Probably thousands." Logain smiled mirthlessly upon seeing everyone's expressions. "Yes, thousands. He doesn't discriminate. Asha'man and Aes Sedai, channelers and non-channelers -- he 'replaces' them all. Entire villages were already deserted by the time I gathered most of my men and left. We took the remaining Aes Sedai with us, too. I didn't want them to stay in that place."
As much as it pained Rand to admit, the issue sounded like something he would have to deal with before Shayol Ghul. 'Replaced ones', Light… He felt sick.
Lews Therin cackled madly. The arrogance! One moment, the Lord of the Morning, and a cowering worm -- the next!
I am no coward, Rand replied. The madman could rage all he wanted, but it didn't change the facts. I killed Rahvin, Sammael, Aginor. Ishamael, too, twice. Taim doesn't stand a chance against me.
Lews Therin ignored him. It was pride that killed me, pride that spread, and festered, and destroyed me from the inside, he muttered, notes of hysteria slipping in his voice. He lingered for some time, in some darker corners of Rand's mind. Only a distant weeping signified his presence. And then there was silence.
Light . Rand dragged a hand across his face. He was so, so tired. It was one disaster after another; the Seanchan, the Forsaken, the famine, the rotting of supplies, and now whatever that was going on in the Black Tower. He was stuck in a never-ending loop, and there was no way out. The box, all over again.
And then, Cadsuane stated exactly what he dreaded to hear.
"Seems like you'll have to change your plans after all, boy." She narrowed her eyes at Logain, who shrunk a little from the intensity of her gaze. "Assuming that he didn't go mad and made it all up. Although, believe it or not, I have the strangest feeling that he is telling the truth. The tale sounds too unbelievable to be anything but."