Gleeman Bob writes: this short-story takes place between the previous two tales; it is set after the War of Power, during the early years of the Breaking of the World. the Last Lightborn has defied his Father and returned to the wars... he has been assigned to the Tamyrlin, Latra Posae Decume, with a dangerous duty - personal bodyguard to Shadar Nor.

sorry about the confusing way my short-stories jump back and forth in time, but that is just how I wrote them...

Walk in the Light!

* the Director's Cut! I was never that happy with this version, so as of August 2018 it has been revised, with additional dialogue, description and events... M&T is now 2,000 words longer than it was... groan!

GB

Mother & Tro

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The quiet turn of a page in the dark. Latra Posae Decume, Tamyrlin, sat up straight in bed.

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Latra frowned.

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"What are you doing down there? I keep hearing the turning of pages."

A pause; then a soft, husky voice responded from the darkness. "Sorry, Mother. Should I put the book away?"

"Book? How can you possibly read? It is pitch black!"

No answer for a moment, then; "I can see fine, Mother."

Was that a slight sound, like a repressed chuckle? What a strange young fellow the Hall had sent to be her bodyguard this time! Latra lay back, head pressed to the pillows, trying to sleep. Though it was difficult to slumber soundly when the world was falling apart and everyone expected you to be able to do something about it. And how she fervently wished that her skill at doing something about it had not angered the remnants of the Shadow and the accursed Renegades, to the point where she could not even sleep safely, alone in her bedroom. Latra eventually began to drift off again…

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The page turning resumed, though much more quietly... flip... He was clearly doing it as silently as possible... flip... But Latra was concentrating… flip… on the sound now… flip… and could not help but hear... flip... Whatever her bodyguard was reading, he was reading it very fast!

Latra sighed and sat up once more, waving a hand over the glowlamp on the nightstand so that it pulsed to life, bathing the oak-panelled sleeping-chamber in soft, muted luminescence. She glanced toward the end of her bed. No sign of anyone...

"Tro?"

Down by her feet, a thin face with large, cobalt-coloured eyes appeared over the sung-wood bed-frame, a black skullcap tucked down over his ears, locks of white, silky hair poking out from beneath.

"Mother?"

He had a pleasant voice, this strange boy whose horrid Father had reportedly refused him permission to serve her. This was the main reason that Latra had accepted his offer of protection, over and above his reputed abilities, because his Father had not wished it. That had to count for something...

When Latra did not speak further, the Lightborn – the Last Lightborn, now that his Middle Brother was as dead as his Eldest – rose with feral grace. His slight form was clad in black silk pyjamas, as well as gloves and slippers of the same hue. He bowed low, one hand holding a large, wood-bound book, the other resting on his hip, touching the hilt of an imaginary sword that he was not entitled to wear – though Latra had heard he had earned his Heron – for he had no rank or title other than that of Shadar Nor's latest and no-doubt short-lived bodyguard. It was not an assignment that any Warman had ever lasted in for long, it was much more dangerous than patrolling the Blight. The assassins came every day, sometimes. There were so many of them… though often, it seemed that they were outnumbered by the spies, the enemy agents. The Shadow was so… insidious, there was seemingly nowhere that it could not reach.

"Sorry about the book, Mother," Tro apologised, "for disturbing you." He tossed the old volume carelessly into the corner, where there lay some other tomes in a haphazard pile. Latra frowned again. He really should take better care of his books, such were rare… though becoming less-so, since no-one seemed to be making Readers anymore, or constructing Tellers-of-Truth-and-Lies. These ter'angreal were becoming as scarce as books had once been.

Tro had a pleasant voice, did he sing? Latra had studied music, long ago, and applied this knowledge to her duties. She had even formed a small choir from some of the Warmen, though would have preferred to conduct music that came from less stony faces, to know that those making these pleasing sounds were actually enjoying the activity. Warmen enjoyed very few things, and these all involved fighting the Shadow, in whatever way it manifested itself. Music had naturally never featured in their training and indoctrination. Some of their Officers were a little more artistically inclined; Latra currently made up the fourth member of a string-quartet with two Lieutenants, as well as one of the War-Sisters.

But the Warman choir... they sang what Latra told them to in the way that she directed because she was Shadar Nor and if she had instead ordered them to draw their swords (which they were never without, even during rehearsals) and commanded that they fall upon their blades, they would most likely have done so just as readily.

"It is quite alright, Tro, I could not sleep anyway... but must you keep addressing me in that fashion?"

"Mother?"

"Do you not imagine that speaking to me with extremely-inferior to extremely-superior inflection will become a little tedious for you, after a while?"

"I do not mind, Mother. It seems appropriate. You are high above me."

"Well, it does not seem appropriate to me, young man! Do it again and I will put you over my knee! Ordinary inferior-to-superior will do." Did young Tro grin slightly before disappearing from sight again? A swift flash of his sharp teeth? Latra was unsure. But really, extremely-inferior inflection?! The practice was considered archaic... why, the only people who ever used that outmoded manner of address anymore were invariably doing so in order to be sarcastic! Was Tro? Even the Warmen did not go that far with their deference. Well, if it was not meant ironically, then it would seem that her bodyguard possessed true humility… this was a rarity. No-doubt his wicked Father had instilled it in him. Well, Latra expected that Tro would remember her wishes, as with her command that he not add the full 'Aes Sedai' honorific to her name, just 'Sedai'… he only seemed to need to be told something once.

Latra snuffed the glowlamp but remained sat upright in bed for a while. She really could not sleep. "Tro?"

Immediately; a pair of glowing, cobalt eyes appeared in the darkness at the end of her bed. Latra gasped.

"Mother? Is something amiss?"

"Goodness! I had quite forgotten that your eyes did that!" The strange, shining orbs disappeared for a moment as Tro blinked slowly, before reappearing. "Tell me, Tro... your book... what was it about?"

"Languages, Mother."

"You are interested in languages?"

"Yes indeed, Mother. Very much so."

Latra nodded thoughtfully. No-doubt because his Father was, also. She distantly recalled the Collam Cor, several lifetimes ago… Chaime Kufer had almost reached his first century then, she the younger by a score of years, the two Initiates barely considered adults according to the reckoning of long-lived Aes Sedai. They had shared a chamber in the Twilight Dome; his half of their room cluttered with texts on such varied topics as ancient syntax, mutable-biology, lesser and greater Construction… her half filled with a variety of musical instruments, haphazard piles of symphonic scores, untidily-scrawled notations for the opera that she had never completed. The large bed in the middle of it all had belonged to them both. It all seemed so intangible to her now, like the fading recollection of a dream. Latra yet remembered the passion for languages, though… back then, Chaime had known thirteen tongues, both ancient and modern. She wondered how many he knew now?

"What about music, Tro? Do you like music?"

The eyes that glowed in the gloom blinked again. It was rather surreal, having a conversation with the odd youth in the dark like this. Some might have found it disquieting, disturbing even. Latra did not. She was Shadar Nor, the Cutter-of-the-Shadow. She could not permit herself even the suggestion of fear.

"Music? I am not sure, Mother. Perhaps."

"You possess an interesting voice. Range. With training, you would sing well, I think."

Latra's unseen bodyguard made a small sound, as though swallowing the beginning of a sentence.

"Whatever you were about to say, say it. Be reassured... I do not bite!"

A low, chuckling sound. "But I do, Mother... I sink my teeth into the Shadow whensoever I am afforded the opportunity! I have received my training, I was going to report, and it had nothing to do with music… Mother."

With this, the eerie, glowing eyes disappeared from sight below the bed-frame. Latra smiled. Most people were scared of the monster beneath their bed, if it was not otherwise situated in the closet. Though Latra could admit it to no-one, she was scared of whoever was coming for her with shocklance or blade, bomb or angreal – and was relying on the monster under the bed to keep her safe! The irony of the situation was not lost on her... though she really should not think of young Tro in that way, even in jest. Latra had decided from the beginning to treat the Lightborn (as everyone else called him to his face) no differently than any of the youthful Warmen who had been sent to shield her from the Shadow. In other words; despite his appearance and abilities, to consider him a man. It was the only way that this arrangement would work. Latra sensed that Tro had anger in him, justified anger even, and he could use this to good effect, provided that it was channeled in the correct direction. Trained. Directed. Conducted.

The senior War-Sisters such as Vora Samm Raijin and the other sitters of the Great Ajah, back in the Grand Hall of Paaran Disen... they never seemed to comprehend exactly how Latra Posae Decume did it, to understand the way in which she could juggle so much responsibility, keeping all of her militaristic balls in the air at once… but it was quite simple, really. Latra was the Tamyrlin, and she had to do what she did to the best of her powers, because there was no-one else left alive who could do likewise. And as for the vast Forces of Light that Shadar Nor controlled in a thousand arenas… well, it was obvious. They were her orchestra. The wars with the Shadowsworn Renegades; a glorious and terrible symphony.

After Latra Sedai's breathing had slowed to that of deep sleep, Tro padded over to the corner, retrieved his book and lay back on his stomach upon the hard elstone tiles at the foot of her ornate, sung-wood bed. It was not particularly comfortable down here... perhaps the Mother would let him move his sleep-pad into her chamber? It would not get in the way, he could just push it underneath the bed during the day…

Tro was trying to concentrate. The Root-speech was an extremely difficult language to master, with its fifty-seven letter alphabet of odd symbols… not to mention its even odder numerals. Tro scratched an idle claw against the triangular Light-mark on his chest – when Latra Sedai extinguished the glowlamp he had removed his gloves – and scowled, oval pupils narrowing to slits. He hated being called 'Three.' He wanted a real name...

And then, Tro sniffed softly at the air… and smelt them. A slow and savage grin spread across his thin face. Finally! His first assassins! This was going to be fun… he hoped that at least one of them would try to run away from him. Then he could chase something that wasn't just a boring sorda or a slow, clumsy Beastman. Maybe he would give them more of a head-start than usual, count to twenty this time, instead of only ten?

When Latra came down to the kitchen the next morning, she discovered her young bodyguard sitting at the counter, eating breakfast cereal. Freia, one of her Da'shain, was pouring him some more milk, a fond smile lighting her beautiful face. Tro rose at Latra's approach and bowed. He had shed his pyjamas in favour of the cadin'gai, a dark Warman uniform, and wore shattercloth gauntlets, a black band about his brow concealing the points of his ears. Latra motioned Tro back to his stool.

"Mint tea please, Freia," Latra asked of the tall, golden-haired Da'shain maiden, who bowed her head, then moved gracefully to the canisters.

Latra took a seat on another stool, stifling a yawn. She had not slept well. Of necessity, she protected her sleep with extremely powerful wardings, but they did little to prevent the more commonly occurring sort of nightmare. Her ill dreams had been full of the corpse-pale faces of those she had sent to their deaths. They usually were. Latra became aware that her bodyguard was looking rather pleased with himself, though she was unsure why. Freia brought over a steaming teacup and Latra nodded her thanks, then sipped at the soothing brew, feeling herself revive somewhat.

A tap at the door and a Warman sergeant stepped into the kitchen, bowing with one hand over his heart, another resting upon the hilt of his Power-forged blade. "Captain Cabryis to see you, Shadar Nor," he stated gruffly.

Latra repressed a sigh. Not even time to drink a cup of tea before the responsibilities of her position intruded… such were the demands of rank. "Show him in, sergeant."

Captain Cabryis was a tall, angular man, dark of skin and hair, his eyes also, which never seemed to blink. There was something decidedly serpent-like about him. As the commander of the Tamyrlin's personal guard, he took his duties extremely seriously. The Captain was also tone-deaf and could barely carry a tune. Not a good enough reason to have him replaced, of course, but Latra would have preferred a more musical Officer in attendance. Cabryis entered the kitchen, more stalking than walking, his loose-limbed movements indicative of Bladesmaster status. He was wearing his dress-uniform, the Heron-marked hilt of his sword projecting above one shoulder. Cabryis bowed stiffly, before curtly refusing an offer of tea from Freia.

"Good morning, Tamyrlin." Cabryis' voice was clipped and precise, all-but devoid of intonation. "You will have been informed of the events of the night... I am here to discuss moving your sleeping quarters to a more secure area of the encampment."

"Events of the night?" Latra glanced at Tro. He was sitting with his spoon poised in front of his mouth, milk dripping down into the bowl. He eyed her neutrally.

"Forgive me, Mother, I did not wish to trouble you with my report until you had had your tea," Tro softly explained.

Cabryis gave Tro a sidelong glance, his lips thinning.

"What transpired?" Latra enquired, holding out her cup for Freia to pour fresh mint tea into it.

"Grey Men," stated Cabryis promptly, "seven of them, they-"

"Six-and-a-half," corrected Tro, interrupting the Captain with a slight smile.

Cabryis regarded the Lightborn coldly. Unfazed, Tro took up the story;

"The Soulless came through a Travelling Gate in the basement but it closed on the last one so I didn't have to worry about him… do not be concerned, Mother, I saw to it that none reached the top floor to trouble your sleep. The bodies have been removed." Tro related it all matter-of-factly, as though eliminating a half-dozen of the Shadow's best assassins were of no great moment.

"What of the Gateward?" demanded Latra, "how could they get past our defences?"

Cabryis and Tro exchanged a troubled glance.

"The Gateward was deactivated for ten chimes last night," Cabryis reluctantly informed Latra, "it was done by someone on the inside. The sentry was killed."

"They could only shut it down for a brief space of time to let the Grey Men Travel in before setting off the alarms. I suppose the last one didn't move fast enough." Tro frowned. "But we are looking for a traitor, Mother."

Latra sighed. The enemy within was the foe that concerned her most of all. And she almost certainly would have to move her sleeping quarters again. Captain Cabryis had made no secret of the fact that he wanted her shut up within the Keystone, the massive fortress that loomed over their camp, rather than the small, comfortable residence that she currently occupied.

Latra came to a decision and issued the appropriate orders, something that she was long-accustomed to doing. "Very well. Double the guards on the Gateward, Captain. I wish for you to work with Tro on discovering the identity of our hidden conspirator." The two exchanged looks that held little in the way of trust or amicability. Well, they would have to learn to co-operate, though Latra suspected that Cabryis resented the presence of her new bodyguard in his detail.

"What of moving your quarters, Shadar Nor?" Cabryis wanted to know, with his customary persistence.

Latra winced slightly. It was impossible to stop the rank and file Warmen from calling her 'Cutter of the Shadow' but usually the Officers contented themselves with her Aes Sedai title. Usually. Presumably, Cabryis was reminding her of how important she was to them all. She did not have to like the name, however...

"Since it seems that the Shadow knows where I sleep at night, I shall relocate to the Keystone." Captain Cabryis almost seemed to smile with satisfaction, though he never smiled. A trick of the light, perhaps. "For the time being. As for yourselves, you have work to do, gentlemen. You had best be about it."

Tro had to hurry to keep up with the long strides of Captain Cabryis. It irked him that he was shorter than the Warmen, for all that he was much more than their match on the battlefield. Around them, the busy encampment was coming to life; platoons of Warmen lining up for roll-call, War-Sisters riding past on thoroughbred steeds, Da'shain Aiel medics running with customary grace to their stations in the infirmary domes. There was no actual need for them to move at such a pace, but Tro had noted that the Da'shain just preferred to run than to walk.

Tro and the Warman Captain had to pause as a column of armoured jo-cars rolled across their route, a convoy patrol setting out through the gates. Tro wished that he was going with them, off to look for Renegades to fight and kill... but no, he was a bodyguard now, his place was with Latra Sedai. He should be with the Mother at present, in fact, the Shadow was always trying to assassinate her. Who would they send next time? Shadowmen? Draghkar? Dreadlords, even? He had never fought a Dreadlord, and eagerly anticipated doing so. They could channel the One Power at him all they liked, it would avail them little. Though of course, there was always the possibility of encountering that other kind of Shadow-wrought... the Gholamin. Tro was curious about these fearsome creatures, wished to face and defeat one in the course of his duties... but at the same time, felt a certain amount of trepidation at the prospect. Not so much with the possibility of his failing to survive, when matched against a Gholam... but the concern of a greater failure, in not preventing the assassination of Latra Sedai. Though now, instead of protecting the Tamyrlin, Tro had been given a mystery to solve. This was, at least, a break from the norm. As the last jo-car passed, Cabryis rapidly set off again, Tro trotting at his heels. Their destination lay ahead; a tall, metallic tower rising between a row of hab-domes used by the Aes Sedai. The Gateward.

The whole tower was a ter'angreal, Tro had been told. It was constructed of a lacy filament of shining power-steel strands, melded together and balanced upon three points. It loomed over them. At the Gateward's base was set a circular metallic ring, emblazoned about its circumference with arcane symbols, whereby the device could be controlled. Controlled by someone channeling.

"How was the sentry killed?" Tro enquired softly.

Cabryis eyed Tro flatly, considering, as though deciding whether to answer or not. Finally, he shrugged wide, bony shoulders. "We do not know. There was no mark upon him."

Tro nodded. Killed with the One Power, in other words. Given that the Gateward could only be deactivated by a channeler, it seemed that the traitor they sought almost certainly wore the Ring. This was troubling.

Tro crouched, sniffing the area beneath the Gateward, checking for tell-tale footprints or any other sign of whoever had been there, but there was nothing. The ground was damp; heavy dew or it could have rained in the night. Two Warmen stood nearby, shocklances precisely angled, guarding the Gateward. For what little good they would do…

Tro glanced at the Captain. "We should have one of the War-Sisters on watch, in case they try it again."

Cabryis shook his head. "You might as well announce that you suspect a Sister of being complicit in the death of the sentry, the attempt on the life of Shadar Nor. They would never agree to it." He sneered slightly. "If you are so worried, why do you not stand guard, Lightborn?"

Now it was Tro's turn to shake his head. "I would if I could. But my place is at the Tamyrlin's side, guarding her."

"True, I suppose." Cabryis eyed Tro with grudging curiosity. "How did you know about the Grey Men?"

"I sensed them, with my nose. The Soulless smell like something that's been dead awhile."

"And how were you able to see them? They can walk right past my guards."

"They did walk right past your guards. Whatever it is about them that defeats your eyes does not affect me. I see them. That is all."

Captain Cabryis frowned, evidently unhappy with this answer, but it was the only one Tro had to give. Other than the factor that they were both well aware of... the Captain, his Warmen, the Aes Sedai, even... they were all human. Tro was not. He was something more... but also, at the same time, less.

A neighing and stamping of hooves, and a tall, white mare was reigned up beside them. Its rider was a slender girl with dark, tilted eyes, wearing an enveloping robe of fancloth, making her very difficult to see. Only her pale and pretty face beneath the hood was entirely visible. These features wore a customarily haughty expression.

"Warman Captain," the camouflaged maiden commented coolly to Cabryis, before her eyes moved to Tro, narrowing. "Lightborn."

"Good morning Apprentice," responded Cabryis, nodding if not exactly bowing.

Tro did not say anything. He was well aware that Kiam Lopiang disliked him, and he returned the feeling in equal measure. What did she want here?

"I heard that there was trouble in the night." Kiam's eyes drilled into Tro's. "Vora Aes Sedai has sent me to enquire if any aid is required in your investigation."

Tro suspected that this was an enlargement of the truth. Doubtless, Kiam was just snooping around for her own ends, and had got old Vora to provide her with permission to do so, in absentia. He did not want Kiam's involvement… but still, she did have those seven Talents that were always being spoken of with awe. Flight was one of them, granted, but as for the other six…

"Can you read residues, Kiam Apprentice?"

Tro regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Kiam regarded him coldly, then nodded and slipped down from the saddle. Her mare continued to stamp and whicker, tossing its head, whilst she attempted to quiet it.

"She doesn't like the way you smell, Lightborn," Kiam informed Tro, scornfully.

Tro shrugged. Horses did not care for his scent, it was true. Well, too bad! He stood aside as Kiam cast about the area where the sentry had been killed. Squinting, he could see the aura around her flare brighter as she exerted her Talent for detecting and defining the remnants of channeling. After a while, she nodded, a note of concern in her dark eyes.

"Someone used an extremely nasty web here last night," Kiam murmured, "spun of saidar. It kills, instantaneously. I can't tell who it was, though."

"It could have been anyone amongst the Sisters," muttered the Captain.

Kiam gave Cabryis a level look. "Well, it wasn't me," she stated pointedly, before mounting her horse, seeming to flow fluidly up into the saddle. Nostrils flaring, the mare turned in a circle, but Kiam brought it swiftly under control with deft touches of her heels and the reins. She smiled coolly down at Tro. "Perhaps if you took more baths, Lightborn, then the horses would be less alarmed by you?"

Tro glared – he bathed every day! – but before he could retort or say anything in defence of his personal hygeine, Kiam was cantering away through the busy camp. Off to make her report to old Vora, or to meddle elsewhere. It wasn't his fault horses were scared of him! It was Father's.

Latra Posae Decume regarded her new quarters with distaste. That there were no windows was her main objection, though by no means the only one. But of course, there would not be any windows here, deep beneath the ground. She could feel the solid mass of the Keystone fortress weighing over her head, bearing down upon her; numerous levels of heartstone-shielded military emplacements and tactical areas. Latra felt like a fox, driven underground by the huntsmen.

The furnishings were familiar, at least. Around Latra, her Da'shain worked to move her belongings; sung-wood tables and chairs, her works of art and recreation ter'angreal, attempting to turn the chambers into something resembling a home. A large harp had been set in the corner; a gilded, many-stringed article that stood taller than she did, but there was no sign of any of her other instruments... Latra supposed that they had not been unpacked yet. A squad of Warmen lined the cold, cuendillar-tiled walls, extra vigilant in the absence of her bodyguard. He should be back soon… in fact, here he was now.

Tro descended on the lift-platform, standing beside Captain Cabryis and a trio of War Ajah Aes Sedai. He looked so diminutive alongside the tall Warman Officer and the statuesque Sisters, yet had slain six Grey Men by himself the previous night. Tro smiled shyly on seeing Latra, and moved quickly to stand at her side. He let Cabryis make the report;

"The sentry on the Gateward was slain with a web of saidar, Tamyrlin."

The War-Sisters frowned. In fact, Vora Sedai scowled darkly, a not unusual expression for her. Nabraam Sedai and Injira Sedai practically mirrored it, however. Clearly, they did not like to think of the traitor as being one of their own.

Cabryis shrugged broad shoulders. "It was a well co-ordinated plan. Whoever deactivated the Gateward did so with precision, to allow the Grey Men time to Travel to the basement below your old quarters. The Lightborn and I canvassed the area, but no-one saw anything out of the ordinary in the vicinity last night."

"It was not that precise," demurred Tro, "one of the Soulless was too slow, remember?"

Cabryis frowned. "It was precise enough."

Vora Sedai snorted. "Never mind that! We have a traitor amongst us, planted by the Renegades… I mean to discover who she is, and wring her filthy neck!"

Latra repressed a sigh. Vora could be so… wrathful. With her red face and powerful arms, she rather resembled a farmwife from some low comedy, more than she did an Aes Sedai.

Nabraam Sedai looked more the part, tall and graceful, her long hair so pale as to be almost silver. She spoke, softly; "this assumes that she is still within the encampment. Have we taken a tally, to see if anyone is missing?"

Injira Sedai, pallid-skinned and slender, with very dark eyes, shook her head. "I checked. Everyone is accounted for, with the exception of those Sisters who went out on dawn patrol with their Warmen."

Vora Sedai fingered the fluted ivory sa'angreal tucked through her belt. "We will find her," she promised grimly, before adding to Latra in terms that brooked no refusal; "in the meantime, Mother, it would be best for you to stay here, where you are safe." Vora eyed Tro dismissively. "Provided that your... bodyguard... is up to the task."

Tro shifted uncomfortably. Latra had noticed that Vora made him nervous. An effect that she had on most people, in fact, but it was more pronounced with Tro.

"I will not hide in a hole in the ground," Latra stated firmly, "the Creator knows, the Shadow has tried to kill me before. They will try again, that is the way of things. What cannot be overcome must be endured. Now, if you will excuse me Sisters, I have troop reports to look at and a hundred other things to do."

The Sisters took their leave, with marked poor grace on Vora's part, and Latra was left alone with her bodyguard, her Da'shain, and the constant presence of the Warmen. As alone as she would ever be, at least. Putting fears for the future from her mind, she turned her attention to the war. There was work to be done.

Tro stifled a yawn, did his best to control his boredom. They had been up here for several bells, but it felt like much longer. The main tactical chamber in the Keystone was a large, circular room near the top of the fortress. At its centre was the holo-map, projecting an image of the entire Northborder, with friendly and enemy strongholds marked out as differently coloured glowing spheres, small notations floating beside them.

Latra Sedai was conferring with the General, various Warmen Logistics and Intelligence Officers clustered around them. Tro kept a close eye on them all, just in case. They towered over the small, snub-nosed woman in the flowing streith gown, but there was no doubt who was in command. She was Shadar Nor, they lived to serve her. As did he.

Strange to think that when first given this assignment, Tro had not imagined that he would end up liking the Tamyrlin he had been set to protect. But he did. You could not help but like Latra Sedai, respond to her good nature. There were some who said the failure of the Strike on Shayol Ghul was her fault, but Tro was not one of them. The Mother had acted through wisdom, not caution, when she formed the Fateful Concord. The Dragon had led his Companions against the Dark One's prison without female Aes Sedai in their ranks, saidin had become Tainted, the War of Power had ended… and the wars with the Renegades had begun. The rest was history.

Tro chided himself for letting his mind drift and moved a little closer to Latra Sedai. Some of the Officers frowned at him, but he ignored them studiously. He knew that his presence here in the heart of the Keystone was not desirable to them, he did not have security clearance beyond that afforded to him as bodyguard to the Tamyrlin. The High Command did not know what to make of him… he was neither Warman nor War-Sister, he did not fit. Perhaps they objected to his overhearing their battle plans? Tro cast his eyes over the holo-map. As far as he could tell, they were losing this particular war; outnumbered, falling back on all fronts. The situation did not look particularly optimistic.

But these reverses were as nothing in comparison to a dreadful threat that few were willing to even consider, that none were prepared to contemplate, let alone debate... what of the surviving Companions to the Dragon? They were up there, in the Blasted Lands beyond the Great Blight; Culan Cuhan and the rest, approximately half of the most powerful male Aes Sedai in existence, the ones who had survived the Strike on Shayol Ghul... and they were all of them, every one, as insane as the Dragon had been when he committed the horrific crime that earnt him the name 'Kinslayer.' Tro frowned. Middle Brother, who had risked terrible danger to investigate the Companions at Father's behest, had told him that they were all gathered in seclusion, and seemed to be waiting for something... though for what exactly, none could say. Tro sighed softly, earning a curious glance from a nearby Intelligence Officer; the Last Lightborn stared coldly at the man until he looked away. It had been several moons now, but the pain of losing Taw was still very much with him... the death of his Brother in a Renegade plot comprised a heartache that would never fade, as well as yet another reason to hate the Shadow. And as for the once-Companions to the Dragon; if these enormously powerful psychotics ever decided to come south, to where the remnants of civilisation yet clung to existence... then this cataclysmic advent might well spell the end of the World.

Again, Tro realised that he had been dwelling on matters other than his present duties, his thoughts faraway rather than focused on the here and now, but before he could rectify the situation, the Tamyrlin spoke, a note of finality to her voice;

"My thanks, General Tulkas. Please commence implementing the strategic withdrawal directives." Latra Sedai inclined her head to the General and he bowed back. He was a grizzled, white-haired specimen with a faded flash-burn scar down the left side of his face, the glowing red orb of a seia'dor replacing his lost eye.

"It will be done as you say, Tamyrlin," the General stated gruffly. His Officers bowed also; Latra Sedai nodded in acknowledgement before turning and gliding away, Tro falling into step beside her. The Da'shain awaited them patiently by the elevator platform. Tro risked a quick sideways glance at the Mother. She looked troubled. It was a heavy weight crushing her, the vast responsibility of running the war, and he wished that he could alleviate the strain somehow. But he could not. All he could do was play his own small part in the grand scheme of things… keeping Latra Sedai alive. The next assassins might be preparing, even now. Well, they would not get past him. Not unless he was dead, at least...

Latra Posae Decume set her white stone down upon the board, wondering how to make the defeat not too embarrassing for her opponent. Young Tro really was not a very good player of no'ri. He was surrounded on all sides, trying to fight a losing position, and did not seem to know when to give up. Which boded well, in a way… she would not wish to be protected by a bodyguard who knew the meaning of the word 'quit.' Latra hid her smile behind long fingers. The way Tro was staring intently at the board, a look of ill-disguised discontent on his thin face, biting the tip of his tongue with sharp, white teeth… it was quite endearing, really. Clearly, he did not relish losing.

Tentatively, her young bodyguard placed one of his black stones, fumbling it a little. Latra could have him remove those thick, shattercloth gloves in her presence, but knew that Tro was self-conscious regarding what he kept under them. Freia approached with the decanter but Latra placed a hand over her spun-crystal goblet; she allowed herself no more than one glass of wine in the evenings. The Da'shain maiden lingered, glancing down at the board, then shook her head slightly and stepped away with silent grace. It seemed that Freia knew a losing position when she saw one, also.

Latra moved another stone. Tro had long-since fallen into her trap, she now possessed more than four fifths of the board. The youthful bodyguard sighed, noticed that the Tamyrlin was watching him with a hint of commiseration, and grinned. "You have me, Mother!" Tro exclaimed, "is it even worth me setting another stone?"

"Perhaps not."

"When you suggested a match, I warned you that I was not very good."

"Do not be so hard on yourself, Tro. You play well enough, shall certainly improve with practice and experience... I have just been allotted a few more years than you to properly master the game." Latra scowled with mock severity. "Just do not ask me how many more years. A woman is entitled to certain secrets."

Tro spread his hands wide in surrender. "I would not dream of it, Mother. The game is yours, I admit defeat. And congratulate you on your victory." He raised his beaker of milk and Latra clinked her goblet against it, sipping the last of her wine.

Latra leant back in her sung-wood chair, surveying the chamber. It had a more lived-in air to it, now that her furnishings had been arranged to her liking, but still felt like a windowless prison-cell when compared with her former quarters. In an alcove stood a triangular metallic construct; a small, portable Gateward. Nabraam Sedai sat cross-legged before it, her eyes closed, silently spinning the webs that kept the device active. The silver-haired Aes Sedai appeared to have entered a trance-like state, to better perform her vital duties. After the most recent attempt on the Tamyrlin's life, nothing was being left to chance. A stocky Warman corporal appeared in the archway that led out to the lift-platform. He bowed.

"Captain Cabryis to see you, Shadar Nor."

"Send him in." Latra sighed. What now?

The Captain entered, his helmet held under one arm. He approached and bowed. His dark eyes moved over the no'ri board and Tro shifted in his seat, his face reddening a little. Clearly, he did not like to have the extent of his defeat witnessed by others. Particularly Cabryis. The tall Warman Officer spoke;

"With your permission, Tamyrlin, I require the Lightborn's services."

"Indeed, Captain? Is this associated with your investigation?"

"It is. There has been a… development."

"Then by all means, both of you go and look into it."

Tro rose from his chair, but hesitated. "You are sure, Mother? My place is at your side…"

Latra frowned. "I am perfectly safe in the heart of the Keystone. If not, then I am vulnerable anywhere, anywhere at all. Go with Captain Cabryis, Tro, I yet have the Warmen to protect me."

Tro bowed, and with a last regretful glance at his losing position on the board, followed Cabryis from the room, moving with the loose, fluid gait that marked him out as something other than human. Latra watched him go. Tro was an excellent bodyguard, certainly, but he really was a truly terrible player of no'ri…

As before, Captain Cabryis led the way with long strides, through the main gates of the Keystone and out into the night. The encampment was largely deserted this late, lit only by glowbulbs strung at intervals between rows of domes and blockhouses.

"What has happened?" Tro enquired, hurrying to keep up with the tall Warman Officer, "you mentioned a development?"

"More dead sentries at the Gateward," Cabryis revealed, harshly. "The Apprentice we saw this morning, the one who can fly-"

"Kiam Lopiang!"

"Yes, her... she is at the scene, checking for further residues. I thought we might be able to use your nose, also."

Tro shrugged. It was possible, he supposed, though he had not been able to detect anything earlier. But if Cabryis wanted to use him as a sniffer-dog – much as he resented the insulting canine connotation! – then so be it...

The area beneath the Gateward was dark, shrouded in shadows, but Tro's sharp night-vision could easily discern a pair of prone corpses garbed in the cadin'gai. There was no sign of Kiam, however. And he could smell blood...

"These Warmen weren't killed with the One Pow-" Tro began to remark, but then a curved, Heron-marked blade was sweeping for his neck; a rapid, lethal strike. With a flash of agony, it cut deep before he could get a hand up in time to stop it, gripping the sword in his thick gauntlet and ducking back. Cabryis cursed angrily and wrenched the blade from Tro's grip, slicing though the shattercloth glove and further cutting his palm. The wound in his neck was worse though, it was bleeding heavily.

Tro leapt back as the sword swept viciously at him again. "Are you mad?" he snarled. No reply from that grimly set mouth, reptilian eyes fixed murderously upon him. Cabryis was good, he had earned that Heron, moved every bit like a Blademaster… and Tro was unarmed. And yet, he was always armed. Tro stripped off his gauntlets, dropping them to the ground, and extended his claws from their sheaths. Ten dark, shining weapons slid forth from thick, powerful fingers.

Cabryis came for him again, lunging with his Power-wrought sword, but this time Tro parried the blade with a sweep of sharp claws. Power-forged metal rang on Power-wrought nail, sparks flying.

"Die, freak!" Cabryis hissed, "accursed abomination!"

Tro grinned savagely. "You will have to do better than that!" He somersaulted past a diagonal slash, ducked beneath a forceful blow that attempted to take his head off, completing the intent behind that first, unexpected attack... then saw an opening and slashed with his left hand, black claws blurring past his opponent's guard. Cabryis screamed, stumbling back, clutching the right side of his face. When he took his hand away, a mask of gore was all that remained, the eye missing… but then, his bloody grip returned to the hilt and he took up a swordsman's stance again. Tro almost admired him.

"How long have you been a filthy Friend of the Dark, Cabryis?"

Cabryis did not deign to answer, but darted in again, determined. Tro was bleeding badly himself, knew he had to end this soon. So he did. He let the beast inside him assume control, and Bladesmaster or not, Cabryis never stood a chance. After it was done, Tro stood over the dismembered corpse of his opponent, breathing deep, a hand clasped against his neck to staunch the flow of blood, which was already diminishing. The hilt of the Heron-mark sword was still loosely clutched in the traitor Captain's cold hand... Tro eyed the prized blade enviously, wishing that he might take it for his own. But he could not... it was not allowed.

Why? Why had Cabryis attempted to kill him?

"Lightborn?"

Tro looked up. It was Kiam, floating down through the night air, her fancloth robes swirling about her. She alighted delicately beside him, examining the Warman Officer's torn body with disinterest. "I assume that there is some sort of explanation for this?"

"If there is, then I know not what it might be… yet. Do you have a field-dressing, Kiam Apprentice?"

"Yes, here." Tro took the gauzy rectangle that Kiam had dug out of her belt-pouch, stripped off the cover and pressed it to the deep wound in his neck, feeling the dressing mould itself to the shape of the cut and adhere. He winced. He healed fast, but that did not mean that being wounded did not hurt. It did. The whole left sleeve of his cadin'gai was drenched with blood, Tro felt dizzy, light-headed...

"Would you like this as well, Lightborn? I thought of you when I saw it..."

Tro focused blearily on the round object that Kiam was presenting to him, a wry smile curving her rosebud lips.

"What is that?" Tro mumbled, blinking.

"A ball of string."

"A ball of... string?"

"Is there an echo hereabouts? Yes, Lightborn, a ball of string... for you to play with!" Kiam's smile widened.

Tro glared at Kiam, then snatched the string from her and stuffed it into his pocket. "This is hardly the time for your silly jests, Kiam Apprentice!" he snapped.

Kiam shrugged. "I suppose... what happened here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Cabryis lured me away on false pretexts," Tro muttered, as much to himself as to Kiam. "He tried to slay me, but it was more than that… I am not the true target, assuredly the Tamyrlin is…" Tro's glowing eyes widened and he grabbed Kiam's sleeve, making her jump, "…there is to be another attempt on the Mother's life! There could be others trying to assassinate her, even now!"

Kiam's eyes narrowed, decisively. She moved behind Tro, grabbing him beneath the arms.

"What are you doing, Kiam Apprentice?" Tro demanded, surprised.

Kiam scowled. "What do you think, Lightborn?" And then, they were airborne.

The rapid flight up to the top of the Keystone was breathtaking, but more than a little disconcerting. It was over soon enough, but not soon enough to suit Tro. Kiam deposited him on a landing ramp unceremoniously so that he had to tuck and roll, feeling the wound in his neck opening again. Then, they were both running for the elevator. This took them down to the command deck, which was deserted. The lift-platform leading to the Tamyrlin's quarters below should have been guarded by Warmen, but was not. A bad sign.

The main chamber seemed empty, the no'ri board still set out on the sung-wood table… no, a slender figure wearing the cadin'sor lay curled in a small pool of blood beside the chair. It was Freia. She had been stabbed, a deep wound in her side. Tro turned the Aiel maiden over carefully but her eyes were glazed, a calm smile frozen on her lips. He snarled. He hated to see the Da'shain hurt, murdered. Who would have done such a thing?

"Lightborn!"

Tro turned to glance over at the small Gateward in the alcove; Kiam knelt beside the triangular device, cradling the still body of Nabraam Sedai in her arms.

Tro sighed. He had liked that particular War-Sister, she had always been pleasant and considerate to him, in marked contrast to most of her comrades. Mean old Vora Aes Sedai, particularly... "Was she-?"

Kiam nodded. "Despatched with the same web as the Warman sentry." She gently lowered the dead Aes Sedai to the tiles, smoothing long, silver tresses about her shoulders, then rose gracefully and glided over. "Which way are Shadar Nor's sleeping quarters, Lightborn?" Kiam wanted to know, frowning down at Freia's corpse and fingering her soldier's angreal, a brooch in the shape of the White Tooth, pinned to the breast of her gown.

"Through that arch… stand back, Kiam Apprentice, I will go first." Tro pushed past Kiam, ignoring her scowl, hoping that he was in time. Where were the damned Warmen guards? Were they too late, was the Mother already dead? He should never have left her side... he was a fool!

The archway opened onto a wide hallway. The door to Latra Sedai's sleeping-chamber stood at the end… and outside of it, Injira Sedai lingered. In one hand she held a short, black rod, in the other; a bloodstained knife of Thakan'dar-forged steel. The pale Aes Sedai saw Tro at the same time he saw her, and her dark eyes narrowed menacingly.

"So, Cabryis failed... you possess the Great Lord's own luck, Lightborn beast!" Injira spat, then pointed with the bloody blade. "Die!"

Squinting, Tro detected the aura around Injira flaring brightly, but the web that should have killed him had no more effect than any other web would have, the deadly weaving simply flowed over him like water off a duck's back. He smiled coldly.

Injira cursed. "So, you do stand immune to channeling! The reports were true... but are you immune to this?" She raised the black rod.

"Lightborn, that device casts Balefire!" Kiam warned.

Injira overheard. "True, as the guards discovered to their cost. I burnt them from the Pattern, just as I will burn you both, and then Shadar Nor. The Cutter of the Shadow shall be cut from the Age Lace itself!" She smiled cruelly, evidently pleased with her turn of phrase.

"No she won't," Tro growled. He could move extremely fast, it was part of his Design, but had never moved so swiftly as he did then. He had a strong incentive to do so. As he sprang forward, Tro discerned a bright nimbus of light forming around the short, black rod, time standing still as he charged down the corridor, boots pounding on the elstone tiles as he covered the intervening distance… and then he was upon Injira, her eyes wide with terror, her slender neck between his hands, spine snapping like a twig. He let the limp corpse of the traitor Aes Sedai fall to the floor and stood over it, breathing heavily. Kiam joined him. She regarded Tro; her dark, tilted eyes holding a certain… wariness.

"That was… impressive, Lightborn. I've never seen you kill anyone before."

"I hope that you won't have to again, Kiam Apprentice."

"Doubtful..."

The door to the sleeping quarters opened and Latra Sedai emerged, wearing a nightgown of ivory lace, her hair dishevelled, blinking the sleep from her light brown eyes. "What is all this commotion?" Her gaze took in the scene. "Injira? Oh dear. I would never have suspected her…"

Tro shrugged, then winced as the movement caused his neck-wound to protest. "She spoke of the 'Great Lord.' She was a Friend of the Dark, Mother. So was Cabryis. Please to stay here until I can summon Warmen reinforcements, there may be more assassins." Tro did not wish the Tamyrlin to know of her dead Da'shain, not yet. Freia had served Latra Sedai since girlhood, as had her mother and grandmother before her. Shadar Nor would grieve so...

Latra Sedai noticed the black rod that cast Balefire, lying beside the dead traitor's clawed fingers; she stooped to retrieve it, examining the device with distaste. "This is a weapon of the Shadow, certainly. A vile thing." She tucked it through the belt of her nightgown, then scrubbed her hands vigorously together.

"As is this, Mother." Kiam had picked up the fallen Thakan'dar blade, held the blood-stained knife up for the Tamyrlin's inspection. Tro noted that the young Apprentice displayed little concern at touching an evil Shadow-dagger, quenched with the life of an innocent. Knowing what he did of Kiam, this hardly surprised him...

Latra Sedai's melancholy gaze passed over the dark, assassin's blade without comment, and moved to Kiam. She raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here, Apprentice Lopiang?"

Kiam lowered the knife and curtsied, her face reddening a little. "I… followed the Lightborn."

"Kiam Apprentice flew me back to the Keystone," Tro explained, "we might not have arrived in time, else."

Latra Sedai nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I am gratified to see that you two young people could put aside your differences and combine your talents for long enough to preserve my existence..." she sighed, "...such as it is." Tro and Kiam exchanged a swift glance that held little warmth. The Tamyrlin noticed - there was little that she did not notice - and smiled, amused. "You know, rather than the True Source, tis said that the friction generated betwixt males and females disagreeing with each other is the real force that turns the Great Wheel, and lights the Heavens..."

"I am sure that it is, Mother," Kiam agreed, giving Tro a slight sneer. He sighed.

"Would either of you care to ask of me a boon?" Latra Sedai wondered absently, her sad eyes lingering on the still corpse of Injira Sedai, slumped at her slippered feet. "It would seem only appropriate... compromised as we are by traitors and collaborators, loyal service should be justly rewarded."

"I require no such incentive, Mother," Tro promptly answered, "my duty is to you, and being given the opportunity to perform it is reward enough."

Kiam made a disparaging, sniffing sound in response to this assertion, and both Tro and the Tamyrlin glanced at her censoriously. The young Apprentice coloured a little, but recovered her customary poise swiftly. "Since you ask, might I move my quarters, Mother?" she requested, before explaining; "I currently share a small dome with Apprentice Fanway, and the wall between our bed-chambers is rather thin... she often entertains her Warmen, sometimes all night, and the noise... well, it is very difficult to get any sleep! I have complained to Karela about it on numerous occasions, but to little avail, she is most inconsiderate... whilst the Quartermaster informs me that there are no other suitable accommodations available, which I am sure is a lie! I wondered if you might intercede, Mother?"

Latra Sedai considered this, then smiled gently. "What I would not give, to be a young Apprentice again!" she observed, drolly, before assuring Kiam that appropriate arrangements would be made. Then, she turned back to Tro. "Come now, my boy, there must be something that I can do for you?" she urged.

Tro hesitated, as one particular idea came to mind... "Well..."

"Yes?"

"Can I move my sleep-pad into your room, Mother? It is just that the tiles are uncomfortable, I could put it at the foot of your bed and tuck it underneath during the day so it won't get in the way..."

Latra Sedai blinked. "That is your request? Really?"

"...I shan't actually sleep on it of course, Mother, I would not be so remiss in my duties, but-"

"Enough! Of course you may keep your pad in my chamber, Tro, you did not even have to ask!"

Kiam smirked. "Alternatively, the Lightborn might curl up at the end of your mattress, Mother, and assist you further by keeping your toes warm?!"

Latra Sedai did not respond to this unwise gambit verbally, but regarded the irreverent Apprentice levelly, with every iota of her powerful personality and considerable authority. Kiam visibly quailed, the snide expression slipping from her icily attractive features, replaced with a sickly smile.

"I... I shall go and fetch the... the Warmen, Mother," Kiam stammered breathlessly, before hastening away down the corridor. Now it was Tro's turn to smirk. It was enjoyable to see Kiam chastened, something that did not happen nearly often enough, in his estimation...

"And dispose of the nasty, Shadow-tainted dagger!" Latra reminded the fleeing Apprentice, "if you accidentally cut yourself on that blade, then I shan't be answerable for the consequences!"

"Yes, Mother! I will, Mother!" Kiam called over her shoulder as she departed at speed.

Latra Sedai watched Kiam until she disappeared around the corner, shaking her head slightly. "Vora gives that arrogant girl altogether too much latitude, if you ask me." She shrugged. "Though I suppose that young Kiam has reason enough for her arrogance... despite her faults, I would that we had more Apprentices with her potential, striving for the Light. Then, I might have increased hope for the future." The Tamyrlin turned her head and smiled warmly at Tro. "Well, it seems that once more I have your skills to thank for my continued survival, Tro."

"Gratitude is not necessary, Mother. Protecting you is what I do. It is what I am, now."

"And you are wounded!" Latra touched the blood-soaked bandage on Tro's neck and he flinched, hissing. "Oh dear, does it hurt very much?"

"Not a great deal, Mother," Tro lied, feeling pleased with himself about how brave he was being, while wondering if one of the Da'shain medics would be likely to give him some pain-killers after he had awoken them in the middle of the night... even good-natured Aiel were inclined to be short-tempered when their sleep was disturbed, he had noticed.

Latra Sedai sighed regretfully. "I would that I could Restore you, young Tro. But of course, I cannot. Part of your... Father's Design."

An important part, Tro might have commented, given that without his immunity to channeling, he would be dead many times over. But he had never believed in stating the obvious, so confined himself to saying; "it will be healed soon enough, Mother. Another part of my Design." Tro then appreciated that he was practically covered in blood, mostly his own, though some was that of the treacherous Cabryis... and worse, he was un-gloved. His gauntlets were still lying on the ground back by the Gateward. His claws were soaked in gore. Blushing, Tro put his fearsome hands behind his back, and bowed his head.

"Honour to serve, Aes Sedai."

"No. Honour to be served, Last Lightborn."