He Sleeps Under the Hill Book III Chapter 12: On the Shores of the Blight, a wheel of time fanfic

I hear there's Islands 'cross the sea

(more than enough for even me)

so I'll send my armies westerly –

there's more land to be conquered!

from 'Hawkwing's Lament' by Roth Blucha, Gleeman

Chapter 12 * On the Shores of the Blight

Part I : Castaway

Mitsu had been drifting for days. She clung to a hatch-cover – all that remained of the wrecked great ship – and now that the waves had died down, her chief enemy was hunger. The day before she had managed to seize a gull from the air when it came to peck at her eyes, thinking her dead. The raw, rank flesh had sickened her though she had managed to keep it down, but the creature's salty blood only intensified her terrible thirst.

She had been having hallucinations, seeing things that were not there. A giant fish the like of which she had never heard tell had surfaced next to her, blowing water from the hole in the top of its head for a time, making deep puffing noises like a forge-bellows whilst it regarded her with its small eye, before sounding again… or had that been real? She had been hearing things too; laughter and distant shouting, drifting over the waves. She had heard her sister's voice also, saying the sort of things to her that Shimani had said when they were children, out in the gardens together; silly jokes and nonsense rhymes.

But no, she had no sister, not anymore. Shimani had been picked out at the selection, when Mitsu was only eight and had watched, uncomprehending, as her beloved sister was made damane, collared and taken away… she should not even think her name, let alone speak it. Service to the Empress, might she live forever, was all. She must focus on that. That was all there was.

Though the shame of it made her want to die. Well, she would have her wish soon enough, if several days later than the others on her foundered ship, damaged and fleeing from… no, she could not bear to even think of the name of that place, the terrible defeat they had suffered at the hands of the oath-breakers. Or had that been real either? The things she had seen there, it all seemed like a bad dream.

At first, Mitsu thought it was another hallucination, like the enormous fish, but the small ship drifted steadily nearer, resolving itself into a single-masted sail-craft with a black hull, faces lining the rail. A coiled rope was thrown and after debating within herself whether it would not be better to die than be rescued by what she presumed to be more of the oath-breakers, she gripped the end of it, managing to hold on as she was pulled aboard. Arms helped her over the rail and she lay on her back on the deck, blinking her salt-crusted eyes, examining and being examined in turn.

There were three young women kneeling about her, discussing her in their strangely accented voices, and Mitsu noted that they all wore the golden ring, the snake biting its own tail. Aes Sedai! That made the men standing behind them Warders. She had fought one of these men, and had barely survived the encounter. Marath'damane were bad enough, their fearsome Gaidin also, but there, beside them, looking down at her with its demonic eyes – it was a chami! An evil spirit! It could be nothing else, with its mane of white hair and blue beast's eyes, walking upright like a man, and yet not a man! Or was she hallucinating again?

"I'll do it," the marath'damane with the pale spikes of hair was saying in her oddly accented, too-fast speech, "I'm the best at it." The dark-skinned redhead shrugged whilst the brown-haired marath'damane was looking at her with a distracted expression on her pale face.

The blonde marath'damane leant forward to grip Mitsu on either side of her brow. She tried to flinch away but proved too weak.

"Wait!" The pale marath'damane was speaking excitedly. "That black ring, upon her finger – it is a ter'angreal!"

"It is?"

"Well, you would know, Ellyth…"

"It must be removed before the Healing – it might interfere with the weaves, yes?"

"Yes!" the other two muttered, grinning. She frowned at them.

Mitsu shuddered – had she heard aright? They were going to use their vile healing on her, to delve into her body with their filthy one power! She moaned softly.

"The poor girl is in pain – hurry up and take the ring off!"

Mitsu had but one poisoned needle left, tucked between gum and lip. She pretended to cough, seating it in her hand just-so and flicked off the cap with her tongue, leaving the pointed end bare and lethal. She prepared herself… one last service to the Empress – may she live forever – and one less unleashed-one loose to trouble and perhaps break the world again…

The pale marath'damane leaned closer to further examine her ring and Mitsu tensed. She was not certain exactly what happened next, a very fast blur of movement in the corner of her eye, but her wrist was 'prisoned within a powerful, immoveable grip which she could not displace, though she was very good at breaking holds… she had always been the best at hand-fighting in her group. Meanwhile, her ring was being slipped off the finger of her other hand by the marath'damane, who had not noticed the intercession of… Mitsu looked up. The chami was there, looming over her – it was real after all! The demon smiled at her with its pointy teeth, a sensation of sudden movement and then her wrist was released. Her hand was empty of the needle now, she must have dropped it…

"Stand aside, Naythan!"

The chami closed one of its strange eyes slowly – it had just winked at her! – and then stood and moved away with smooth and inhuman grace. What other monsters did these marath'damane have at their beck and call? She wished they would just throw her back into the sea… and then, the blonde marath'damane leant forward, laid hands upon her temples, and Mitsu was gripped with a very strange sensation, not unlike being too hot and too cold at the same time. She felt better than she had and when a water bottle was tipped to her lips, she drank thirstily.

But her ring was gone. She had not been without it since the day she had first won the enormous privilege, out of three dozen contenders hand-picked from the Fists of Heaven. Mitsu felt her eyes roll up in her head and then she knew no more.

When Mitsu awoke, she was occupying a narrow bunk in a cramped cabin. She felt weak as a day-old kitten, but the searing pain of her sunburns seemed to be gone – as were the burns themselves, she noted, looking at her arms which she barely had the strength to raise from beneath the blanket that tightly covered her. And she was ravenous.

As if on cue, the door opened and the chami walked in, carrying a steaming bowl of soup. Mitsu flinched back against the wooden bulkhead, watching it, wide-eyed. But there being nowhere to escape to, she was put in the surprising position of having a demon feed her vegetable soup! At one point she had begun to tense the fingers of the hand that lay beneath the covers, wondering if she could manage a hand-strike at its throat… but the chami had noticed the movement and simply set the soup aside for a moment and raised an eyebrow at her. So Mitsu had scowled, and continued to eat the soup, which to be fair, tasted wonderful. When the soup was eaten, the chami laid the empty bowl on the deck and regarded her wordlessly for a moment with its terrifying eyes.

"Do you think you could manage some fish stew?" it asked, speaking with a very strange accent, even in comparison with the other oath-breakers – though she was not sure if a chami counted as such… evil spirits did not swear oaths.

Mitsu made no reply, her dark, tilted eyes fixed on the demon… it then pulled something out of its glove. A tiny golden needle, the point stained black.

"I will throw this into the sea," the chami told her, "do you have any more of these?" It watched her, waiting expectantly for an answer.

Mitsu shook her head.

"Try to harm my Aes Sedai again, and I will throw you into the sea also – if you are lucky." For a moment, the chami's face became very grim, its pupils narrowing to slits as it bared its teeth, then it was placidly smiling again, its face a good-humoured mask.

Mitsu was not fooled – Shima had told her about what the chami were like, how they loved to play games with their victims… to toy with them, to hunt them, before they ate them and wore their skins.

"Do you understand?" the chami enquired.

Mitsu nodded. It smiled again, nodded back, then rose and left the cabin with smooth grace, giving her a last warning glance before it closed the door.

"How is our guest, Naythan?"

N'aethan held up the empty bowl and smiled at Ellythia Sedai, who was turning the black ring she had taken from the cast-away over in her hands.

"She is well, Mistress. Ate her soup, did she."

"I asked you to call me 'Ellyth,' " she stated frostily, before holding up the ring. "This is a ter'angreal…"

N'aethan repressed a sigh. He still recalled the kiss, and wondered what it had meant, if anything. Well, his Aes Sedai had thought that she was going to die, back there in Big Brother's Tomb. Things had changed now.

"It is a ter'angreal, Hellyth Sedai."

"Ellyth, without the 'h!' Do you know what it does, Naythan?"

N'aethan resisted the urge to say that he would pronounce his Aes Sedai's name correctly when she managed to do the same for his, instead squinting at the ring.

"I know not, Mistress. It is not a call-ring, though, like the other we found."

The small platinum ring that had been by the skeleton of whatever mysterious intruder had come to Father's place. The one who might have released the gholam. Ellythia Sedai took it from her belt pouch, examined both, then tucked them away. N'aethan had a feeling that the cast-away would be unlikely to get her ter'angreal back. He was lucky he had been allowed to keep his!

The ship drifted, the sail flapping with the occasional breeze, though not enough to move them. With effort, Shrinalla Sedai had weaved enough Air to carry them over to the floating hatch-cover and its ship-wrecked occupant, but all attempts to summon a northerly wind to send them south again had failed. It was as though the weather had been turned against them and they were, for the time being, becalmed. On the distant, eastern horizon, a grey smudge marked land, but N'aethan did not wish to think of which land. It was the Blight, it had to be. He had been there, many times, and if his fortunes led him to that dread place again he did not begrudge them… but he had no wish for his Aes Sedai to know such danger. She was too weak in the Power, too inexperienced (though he would not dare tell her so) the Blight was no place for her. Or her friends.

N'aethan wondered whether to mention the poisoned needle to Ellythia Sedai, but did not. Instead, he waited until she was not looking and flicked the offending item into the waves. So, they had an assassin aboard… a Friend of the Dark, perhaps? The ring-ter'angreal might be a device of the Shadow. He would find out, and take the appropriate action, though he disliked killing humans. Whoever she was, she was no danger to anyone at the moment, barely strong enough to eat soup unaided…

Ellythia Sedai lowered her voice; "Naythan… we have had no chance to talk, since…" she took a deep breath, flushing a little, began to speak again-

"What are you two whispering about?" It was Shrinalla Sedai. Ellythia Sedai frowned at her but she did not seem to notice, turning to N'aethan. "I see she ate her soup… did you find out who she is? What she's doing up this far north?"

N'aethan resented the interruption a little, but confined himself to saying; "no, Shrinalla Sedai. Wrecked in the same storm that nearly wrecked us, think I."

It had been a close call, the night of the storm, they had lost the sail again at one point and nearly the mast; only having Aes Sedai aboard had saved them from foundering. The weather had blown itself out with the dawn, the massive storm disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving them becalmed and drifting steadily further off course on the currents. And nearer to land, though there were no welcoming ports this far north. There was only the Blight.

"She was wearing very strange clothing," Shrinalla Sedai mused.

It was true, before being disrobed and having the salt sponged from her skin, the cast-away had been clad in loose black trews and matching shirt of an unusual, flowing design. Her hair was cropped quite short which along with her dark, narrow eyes and dusky skin gave her an exotic, foreign look, a little like one of the Sea Folk, though her lack of tattoos and ear-rings precluded her from being one of them.

N'aethan shrugged. "She is not from around here, methinks. Perhaps from that ship I saw, the night of the storm."

Ellythia Sedai took Shrinalla Sedai's arm. "We will leave her in the care of Naythan Gaidin, he will satisfy your curiosity I am sure. Not to mention his own." She gave him a wordless glance, then led Shrinalla Sedai up to the quarterdeck. N'aethan sighed and went to return the empty bowl to the galley. It was true that he was curious about the newcomer – he had a curious nature – but a good deal more curious about his Aes Sedai, and what she had been about to say.

One of the Twins was sitting on the edge of the hatchway that led down to the low galley before the mast, running a whetstone slowly along his unsheathed blade, checking carefully for signs of rust. N'aethan allowed himself a momentary complacence that his own sword was immune to both needing to be sharpened and the ravages of damp weather.

"Blaek Gaidin," he acknowledged politely as he went past.

The Twin eyed him narrowly and was still doing so when he emerged again. "How do you know?" he enquired.

"Know what?" N'aethan retorted. He was expecting trouble from these two, but didn't think it would come just yet.

"That I am Blaek!"

"Your brother, Aebel Gaidin, is up the mast," N'aethan explained patiently, pointing, "see, there he is, on lookout duty."

Blaek Gaidin nodded impatiently. "Yes, I see him also, but how do you know that I am not Aebel? That he is not Blaek? Our own Aes Sedai can barely tell us apart, let alone anyone else, but you seem to know, you have not guessed wrong yet!"

N'aethan thought about it, then grinned when he realised what it was. He inhaled a little, nostrils flaring. "You look much alike, it is true… but your brother smells a little of garlic whereas you… you smell a bit like onions!" He laughed his mewling laugh at the idea.

Blaek Gaidin blinked.

Thaeus lay on his back in the forecastle cabin, staring up at the bunk above, his brow slightly furrowed. He was alone.

The Oneness was upon him, that place where a Blademaster went when he became one with the sword in his hands, but there was something more to it, waiting just out of reach. He closed his eyes. There, on the edge of his perception, a glowing beacon of light, seeming to pulse faintly. He reached for it, ignoring the sickness in his belly at the contact, feeling something flow into him that made the sweetest nectar pale in comparison… it filled him, completed him, cold as a draught of fresh spring water, hot as the fires of-

The oil-lantern hanging overhead abruptly burst aflame, the blaze all but consuming the wick, the glass mantle darkening and cracking in the sudden heat. Hearing the sound, Thaeus' eyes snapped open and he rose swiftly to extinguish it, burning his fingers a little in so doing. The Oneness was gone, as was whatever it had been that had temporarily filled him. He knew what it was, of course, what it had to be. Saidin. The substance that had so fascinated him in the well beneath the tomb, that had so compelled him… had the Shieldman not been there to stop him he might have cast himself into that crystalline pool, might have attempted to drink deep of the heady draft of the One Power.

Thaeus sat down on the bunk, his head in his hands. He must not do that any more. Each time it seemed to come a little easier, and each time it became harder to resist doing it again. He should not be here, on this ship, he was a danger to the others, a danger to his sister… what if he set more ablaze than just a lamp? He cursed this weather that had stranded them so far north, off the coast of the Blight. He had been speaking with the leader of the Aiel and had heard that among them, men who started to channel went north to kill the Dark One. They did not return. Apparently, this Cohradin had often gone to the Blight to attempt this feat himself, which he was not supposed to do… the big Aielman had told him that, the short one nodding in agreement. They were quite personable, once you got to know them. But perhaps he should do the same? If the currents took them to the shores of the Blight, it would be a better fate to go ashore and start walking in the direction of Shayol Ghul.

A better fate than the other which surely awaited him… going insane and rotting, perhaps killing those who were dear to him, his family, his friends. Thaeus did not feel particularly mad at the moment, but nor did he feel entirely sane. Just the odd sense of calm that had taken him over from the moment he had realised what he was. Doomed.

Thaeus rose from the bunk, buckled his sword across his back and went up on deck.

Cohradin was bored. Being bored was a serious issue for him. For as long as he could remember, boredom had always been his chiefest foe, alleviated only by such diversions as the Dance of the Spears, illicit journeys to Forbidden Shara, the hunting of Eyeless and Shadow-twisted along the Blight-border, attempting to find and kill the Dark One; anything that he could think of…

Although he had not been bored during the terrible sea-storm and still felt slightly ashamed at his reaction to it… he only feared one thing and it was not terrible sea-storms, but he had certainly come close to nervousness at its worst. But now that the weather was calm again, he was definitely bored. Chassin was sleeping and Gerom was reading a book beneath the hanging lantern, the Maidens were playing cat's cradle… Cohradin decided to leave the hold and go up on deck.

"I see you, Nightwatcher," he said politely to Vron'cor, who was leaning on the rail, looking down into the water. Cohradin remained by the hatch, keeping equidistant from the sides of the ship and the unnerving expanse of saltwater that lay all around them. Though its flatness now was much preferable than to when there were angry, churning waves stirring the surface, he still did not think that he could ever accustom himself to that sight.

"I see you also, Cohradin," responded the Nightwatcher, as he turned away from the water.

"I am bored," Cohradin complained.

The Nightwatcher just looked at him.

"There is no-one to dance the spears with," Cohradin added, in case Vron'cor had not taken his meaning.

"You could try fishing," the Nightwatcher suggested. Cohradin glanced up at the raised section of deck that held the spoked wheel that turned this craft. The Sea Folk Warder stood at it, the blonde Aes Sedai next to him and beside them, the old man was propped against the rail holding a long, flexible piece of wood, a line extending from it down into the lapping waters beneath. He was puffing contentedly at his pipe, occasionally reeling the hooked and baited line in and casting it out again.

"It does not seem very exciting," Cohradin said, after a while.

"Oh, it is not. It is not supposed to be exciting, Cohradin. Fishing is a meditative past-time, it is about the enforced inactivity more than the catching of fish."

"That is foolish," Cohradin scoffed.

"You are foolish!" The Nightwatcher laughed his strange laugh, then turned as the Twin Warders approached him. They had been conferring with each other out of earshot prior to doing so and their faces were grim. Cohradin tensed a little, wondering if there was going to be trouble. Rather hoping that there would be, in truth.

"Naythan Shieldman," the Twins said, speaking at the same time. Just like Jassim and Yassim always did, back at Wet Sands.

"Garlic and onions!" the Nightwatcher responded, for some reason.

The Twin Warders frowned an identical frown, then gestured at the dishonourable blade the Nightwatcher wore buckled at his waist. Cohradin had offered to teach him the spear, but he had declined.

"You carry Atual Aendwyn's sword-"

"-and claim the title of 'Gaidin.' "

"I do."

"How do we know you are worthy of either?"

The Shieldman touched the hilt, then shrugged. "Perhaps I am not. Never met Atual Gaidin did I, only he could say."

"We mean to test if you are worthy." The Twins were each holding a wooden sword, Cohradin noted, made up of four thin wooden lathes bound together. They held them up. "Which of us would you like to try first?"

The Nightwatcher examined the blades. "You have another of these?"

"There is Shrina's practice-sword also."

"Would not be fair to spar with you one-at-a-time. Will take you both together…" The Twins scowled but the Nightwatcher did not seem to notice, considering further, "…no, still unfair…" He took one of the wooden blades, swished it through the air in a brisk circle, then held it up, waving it at the Sea Folk Warder. "Lionfish! Do you have one of these?"

"I have two," responded Jabal din Sudim Lionfish, "they are below with my saddlebags."

"That makes five… excellent!" The Nightwatcher appeared to be taking the idea seriously now. Cohradin watched curiously. He felt less bored now. It seemed that there was to be a fight of sorts and he wondered if he might be able to wager on the outcome…

"So… garlic, onions, fish, and…" N'aethan looked up as the young Lord Whitecloak put in an appearance, emerging from the forecastle cabin with an abstracted look on his face. Yes, he used a blade well enough, he would do for the fourth. "Hoy! Lightman! You also!" He had been told that Ellythia Sedai's brother was a 'Child of Light' or had been, whatever that was. The young fellow came over and took the practice sword from Jabal Gaidin with a bemused expression.

"Shieldman," he responded gravely, giving the wooden lathes a cut through the air, making a swishing sound, "there is to be a match? I have already defeated Aebel and Blaek, whose turn is it now?"

The Twin Warders frowned. Their Aes Sedai was frowning at them. His Aes Sedai was frowning at him, as was Jabal Gaidin's at him… there was a lot of frowning going on. Well, this had not been his idea, but having been put forward, he had decided to at least make a contest of it.

"My turn!" said N'aethan. He limbered his leg a little, except for some residual stiffness it was all but healed. Besides, he needed the exercise. It was not easy, being cooped-up on this tiny craft. "When you are ready, come at me, all at once!"

The Warders and Lord Thaeus eyed each other.

"You are that good, are you, Shieldman?"

"We shall see."

Ellythia Sedai attempted to intervene. "This is childish behaviour!" she said, crossly.

Shrinalla Sedai shrugged. "Warders will be Warders."

N'aethan hopped up onto the capstan and took up a stance, the practice blade held loosely before him in a two-handed grip. He had shed his coat and sword-belt and stood ready. "Please to stand aside, Mistress and Shrinalla Sedai," he suggested. Grumbling, they returned to the quarterdeck, watching with Rennetta Sedai and the Sailmaster, who had set aside his fishing rod and pipe to take the wheel. Cohradin observed with interest from the steps where he squatted, a hand shading his eyes. The rest of the Shaido had ventured up to join him and were viewing the events also.

The three Warders and Lord Thaeus spread out to either side of the mast, facing him. Jabal Gaidin was using Shrinalla Sedai's practice sword, which was the shortest, the others were all the same length as his. The deck was barely moving in the even swell and N'aethan waited, one with the wooden blade in his gauntleted hands.

Without warning, the Twins darted forward.

They were good, he had to give them that, but he was better. They split apart, taking him from two sides and he leapt over a practice blade that swiped at his knees whilst deflecting another, the clack of wood on wood loud in the expectant silence. A quick somersault and he was down between them, his wooden sword blurring in his hands, his feet steady on the deck.

Lion on the Hill.

"Oof!" Blaek Gaidin was down, clutching his midriff, whilst his brother moved in, executing a passable attempt at Parting the Silk which N'aethan ducked beneath. If he was slower and it had been a real sword, he might have lost his head, but neither was the case. Aebel Gaidin shifted to Milling the Corn so he rolled under his opponent's blade and countered with Lightning of Three Prongs, and the remaining Twin went down with a split scalp. This had all taken scant seconds and now Lord Thaeus and Jabal Gaidin joined the fight. They were better.

N'aethan concentrated, side-stepping the initial attack, letting them get in each other's way. He kept their blades at bay with a series of whirling parries, then Thunder in the Mountains countered The Smoke Ascends and the Sea Folk Warder was on his knees, nursing his ribs. Lord Thaeus tried Tapping the Fan and N'aethan slipped to one side, responding with Cleaving the Logs, letting the practice blade bounce off his opponent's collarbone, following through the movement to sweep his legs out from under him. Lord Thaeus tried to rise, but a wooden point rested against his throat, pressing slightly. "Yield!" he groaned.

N'aethan grinned and helped the young fellow to his feet. Blaek Gaidin was still attempting to breathe while his brother had a scarf pressed to the wound in his scalp; Jabal Gaidin was sitting with his back against the capstan, a hand pressed to his side. The Shaido beat their spears against their leathern bucklers and made ululating noises.

The Aes Sedai descended from the quarterdeck to survey the aftermath. Shrinalla Sedai gave him a grim look, then went to Heal the split in Aebel Gaidin's scalp whilst Rennetta Sedai gave him a grimmer whilst kneeling to tend to her husband's cracked ribs. N'aethan shrugged. He had gone easy on them!

"You move very fast," commented Lord Thaeus, rubbing at his collarbone and wincing.

"You should all have attacked at once," N'aethan chided, "why did you wait?"

Then Ellythia Sedai was there, pushing and probing at her brother's shoulder.

"It is not broken, just bruised, yes?" She frowned with concentration and Healed him anyway.

Blaek Gaidin struggled to his feet, sucking in a few breaths, and was joined by Aebel Gaidin, rubbing the traces of blood from his forehead. As one, they put their hands over their hearts and bowed.

"You are worthy of Atual's blade," they allowed, adding; "Naythan Gaidin."

Mitsu was woken from a dream of flying on a to'raken by the loud clack of wooden practice blades against each other. It was a sound with which she was more than familiar. What was going on?

Her clothes had been cleaned and mended and lay neatly folded beside the bunk. She rose, her head spinning a little, and dressed swiftly. Creeping on silent feet, she moved to the door of the small cabin. She eased it slightly ajar and through the crack, glimpsed the chami sparring with the Warders. He was very good, moving almost too fast to see. She had not known that chami used swordplay against their victims, she thought they relied on their teeth… their claws… did he have claws, as the old stories said? He wore gloves, it was hard to tell.

The final Warder was down, a wooden sword pressed to his throat, and Mitsu pulled the door closed again, returning to the bunk, feeling troubled. She was at the mercy of the enemy, she was unused to such situations. Usually, the enemy was at her mercy and in the name of the Empress – might she live forever – she had none. Regretting the loss of her poisoned needle more than ever, Mitsu the Bloodknife sat on the bunk and began to make her plans.

Part II : Renegades

Arachnae Kirikil made a tutting sound and used a dark needle to tug a length of errant yarn free from the knot before resuming her knitting. Her mind was on other things, she kept making mistakes. The needles continued to move deftly as she glanced up at her surroundings, dark, gimlet eyes slightly narrowed. A sight of the woman at the wheel and they narrowed further. Her back was bare, as was her front. The Darkfriend Atha'an Miere women had shed their blouses as soon as the Soarer had hoved out of sight of land, as was their custom. Arachnae considered it to be shameless behaviour, but there it was. The entirety of that bare back was tattooed with an odd fish that had a long, pointed beak projecting from its nose. All of the Storm Children sported such large, intricate tattoos, in addition to the ones on their hands. The tattoos of Clan Waketa, thought long extinct by their Sea Folk brethren. Well, there were a few of them left, the Waketa, enough to serve her purposes…

Abandoning her knitting for the time being, Arachnae let the needles woven of fire disappear and tucked the half-finished scarf she was making for young Ranim back into her bag, before smoothing the blanket down tighter over her bony knees. The chair she occupied was set up on the quarterdeck behind the wheel and the cold gusts of sea-air made her shiver, since she had never quite mastered the art of ignoring the elements… it required a certain detachment, whereas she had always attached herself firmly and fully to her surroundings. She would have been more comfortable below in her cabin, but needed to stay up on deck to observe the wind-weaves that young Irmilla was working. The girl was good enough at such channeling, but the storm Arachnae had summoned had left the weather in an uncertain state and it was best to keep an eye on things. A step wrong, and another storm could descend on them without warning, which would not be the desired effect.

Squinting, Arachnae could see the thick currents of Air that her Apprentice was using to bell the sails and drive them forward, summoned with the aid of her angreal. Arachnae herself had a sa'angreal so had not begrudged giving the less powerful device to Irmilla, a princely gift indeed. As if hearing her thoughts, the girl glanced in her direction, smiling.

"It feels wonderful, grandmama!" Irmilla Nadona called out from where she stood on the other side of the steerswoman, gesturing at the cables of Air she was weaving, that filled the sails of the two-masted ship.

"Be careful that you don't draw too much, honey-pie," Arachnae cautioned her. There was always that risk, with channeling, the urge to fill oneself with more saidar than one could hold, and in so doing, irrevocably burn-out the ability.

"I won't," Irmilla promised, clutching the dark, heart-shaped angreal to her breast and moderating her flows a little. "Your Tinker is waving to you," she added, disparagingly. Arachnae looked up. At the top of the nearest mast was a crow's nest arrangement from where a look-out could keep watch. Ranim and Duadh were both up there and her bonded assassin was indeed waving his hand back and forth to get her attention. He had made a point of climbing up there periodically, his eyes being sharper than those of the Storm Children and Arachnae suspected that he did it to combat his fear of heights as much as to spy out their surroundings. Ranim cupped his hands to his mouth, his distant voice drifting down to her;

"Sails, Dread Mistress. Three of them."

Arachnae waved back to indicate that she had heard and smiled with satisfaction. It had to be the rest of the ships. She had been a little concerned that they might have been caught in the storm she had summoned. It had been somewhat foolish of her to use that particular ter'angreal, but she had been in a rather vengeful mood at the time. And in any event, her plan to wreck the ship of her enemies had not succeeded, she had proof of that. Complacently, she reached into her knitting-bag and took out a small ring, made of a dark, shiny, surprisingly light metal. Again, she thought of the odd coincidence; surely it could only be the Great Lord of the Dark at work!

Arachnae widened her eyes in surprise. Her ring-ter'angreal was glowing! It had certainly never done that before. She slipped it onto her finger, an obsidian circlet that fit perfectly on the bony old digit and after a moment, she embraced the Source and cautiously wove a thin thread of Spirit into the device. Voices coming from out of thin air were the result of this weaving, when nothing had ever happened when she fiddled with it in the past…

"What are you doing, Mistress?"

"Ellyth!" Arachnae's ears pricked up. "I have repeatedly told you to call me by my name… and I am very carefully weaving Spirit into this ter'angreal to see if it does anything, if you must know…"

Arachnae listened intently. So the young chit had a ring-ter'angreal of her own, did she? And clearly had no idea what it did. She had herself read of these devices in very old manuscripts and knew that they were used for communication over great distances… and for spying also, as it turned out.

"I do not think that will do any good, Mist- Hellyth Sedai, mean I… not unless there is another call-ring nearby…"

"What were they used for?"

"For communicating. Talking. Calling someone."

Arachnae nodded. They were indeed. She recognised those husky, melodically accented tones from the Dream. The Dragonspawn. So they were still alive, were they? Well, not for much longer, if she had anything to do with it…

"It is glowing slightly, yes?"

"It should not do that, Mistress, unless you are linked with another call-ring."

Arachnae smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. They would sail north on the morrow and seek their prey where the winds had surely driven them. And she would finally have her revenge. Resisting the urge to say something, to answer the disembodied voices that filled her cabin, she ceased channeling and the call-ring became quiescent.

Arachnae rose from the sea-chair with difficulty and took a tottering, stiff-kneed step to the rail, looking down at the deck below. In a large iron cage amidships, her Draghkar crouched disconsolately. The eight that were left, the ones that more usually hauled her basket through the air. Arachnae gripped the rail tightly, swaying at the motion of the waves. Yes, since there were no Myrddraal available, she thought that she would give the young Blue Ajah scamp to her Draghkar to play with… but only after she had been stilled. Her Green friend also. And she would watch, and enjoy watching, as their souls were sucked from them. As for the Dragonspawn – she touched her arm where four long, parallel scars marred the skin – well, she would have to devise something suitably appropriate.

"By the Stormfather's beard, you have sharp eyes, Tinker. I can only just see the masts now."

Ranim eyed Duadh with disfavour. The Sea Folk brigand was smiling, his gold teeth flashing in his dark face. As usual.

"I do in truth have sharp eyes," Ranim agreed, "and if you call me 'Tinker' again, I will cut your throat." Ranim's flat-eyed gaze indicated that he meant what he said. Duadh continued to smile. He had left his axe below, but had a heavy, wide-bladed knife tucked into his sash. He touched the hilt. Ranim had his dark, Thakan'dar-forged dagger sheathed at his belt. The close confines of the crow's nest would have made a knife fight a difficult prospect, but by no means impossible. Not for the first time, Ranim found himself wishing that they were still back on land, that the Dread Mistress had not enlisted this brigand and his followers in her quest for vengeance. There was something about Duadh that he found vaguely disturbing, and he was not generally disturbed by anything. And then, there was his accursed bird…

The brightly plumaged creature occupying Duadh's shoulder cocked its head to one side. "Tinker!" it squawked. "Squaaa! Tinker!"

Ranim scowled. He suspected that Duadh had taught it to say that… he returned his attention to the sails in the distance. Three small, single-masted ships, travelling in a line, closing with them gradually. He could just make out the fluttering flags at their mastheads, a match for the one flying above his head; a crimson grinning skull with crossed daggers beneath, emblazoned on a black background.

"They are your people," he affirmed, ignoring the bird, though he would have liked to cut its throat too. "Brigands." He sneered.

"Aye, that they are," agreed Duadh, shading his eyes and peering at the approaching ships, "but not my people. Renegades. So the Father of Storms did not take them after all…"

Duadh did not sound particularly relieved that his fellow Atha'an Miere Darkfriends had not been caught in the huge storm that the Dread Mistress had summoned, he did not sound anything, for that matter… Ranim frowned. The irritating fellow was hard to read, and would be better off disposed of, but for the time being, the Dread Mistress needed him and his sea-brigands, so he would stay his hand. Besides, he did not know how to sail a ship and the only alternative method of travel north was the Mistress' basket hauled aloft by her Draghkar, and he had no wish to travel in that again.

Ignoring the dizzying drop below, Ranim rose from his precarious perch and swung a leg over a backstay, gripping the thick rope hard with his hands. He gave Duadh a last warning glance, then slid rapidly to the deck below. His boots thumped down and he stood aside as Duadh followed, bare feet splaying on the wooden planks as he dropped with agile assuredness to land beside him. The Sea Folk brigand's talking bird flapped down to join them, settling back onto the shoulder of its master, and began to preen its feathers with a large, hooked beak.

"Three points west," Duadh barked up at the steerswoman and she spun the wheel in compliance. He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head to Arachnae Kirikil. "Windfinder! We will join the others and may it please the Dark, our hunt shall begin."

Arachnae nodded graciously. "Excellent, Duadh." She beckoned to Ranim and he pushed through the Darkfriends crowding the deck to join her. The ones with large tattoos on their chests and backs – sharks, rays, creatures that he did not recognise, like the tentacled monstrosity on Duadh's chest – were Storm Children, the remnants of Clan Waketa. The others were renegades, with the sigils of different Sea Folk Clans tattooed on their hands, Clans from which they were outcast. These he considered less trustworthy, but less volatile also. He wished he could set an example amongst them, to remind them of their duty. It had been several days since he had been given the opportunity to kill anyone, and he much regretted it.

But Duadh had set his own example when he drowned the Atha'an Miere Sailmaster of this vessel and took his place, the renegades obeyed readily enough, as much through fear of him and his people as for the terror they felt for the Dread Mistress, She Who Summoned the Gales. It made Ranim feel superfluous though, and the grudging way they stepped aside for him, watched him suspiciously with their dark eyes, made him want to kill them all.

Taking the steps two-at-a-time, Ranim ascended to the quarterdeck and bowed gracefully to Arachnae, his feet sure on the sloping deck. "Dread Mistress."

"The sea-air agrees with you," Arachnae commented, "you have a healthy flush in your cheeks, Ranim-dear."

Ranim extended an arm and helped Arachnae back to the sea-chair, tucking the blanket back around her knees solicitously as she sat. He performed these actions unconsciously, not only was Arachnae his bond-holder, his Dread Mistress, but she was also the closest thing he had to family. Since he had left the wagons, at least. Sometimes he wondered if any of them were still alive, the Tuatha'an he had grown up with… but no, they had turned their backs on him, declared him Lost. They did not exist to him now, anymore than he did to them. The Great Lord of the Dark existed, and that was enough. He squatted against the rail, drew his Thakan'dar-forged knife and began to trim his fingernails.

"Be careful not to cut yourself, Tinker-boy," Irmilla drawled.

Ranim ignored her. His mind drifted. His thoughts were his own.

Irmilla Nadona frowned. She did not like to be ignored. Especially not by the thieving Tinker whelp her Dread Mistress used as an assassin. Who was he to ignore her? She smoothed the thin, silken skirts of her Domani gown and did her best to hide her irritation. She shivered a little. The weather was rather brisk, though not enough so for the cloak she had left in her cabin. She would have liked to at least add a shawl to her ensemble, but she never wore shawls. They reminded her too much of the prize that had been denied her, when she went to the White Tower. She cast a sidelong glance at the steerswoman. It looked quite liberating, to dress like that, but she did not know how the Atha'an Miere stood the cold…

"Have a care for what you are about, Milly-dear," the Dread Mistress chided her. Irmilla blushed. She had let the weaves grow too large again, too much Air and they would tear the sails apart. She corrected them, reducing the flows.

Soon, the three single-masted ships came in sight, sailing in a line, and Irmilla let her weavings dissipate as they hove-to within hailing distance of the craft. Duadh cupped his hands to his mouth and exchanged shouted words with a dark-skinned woman on the quarterdeck of the lead ship, a lot of nonsense about bearings and headings and other nautical jargon. Replete with invocations to the 'Stormfather' and the 'Siren' and the various other denizens of the deep in which he believed. Irmilla flushed slightly. She supposed that was blasphemy, since the Father of Storms was, after all, the Great Lord of the Dark, in whom she held her own most fervent belief. But Duadh's seafaring talk irritated her, as did everything else about him.

There appeared to be a problem. The exchange across the water had become somewhat heated and Duadh was giving orders for a rowing boat to be lowered. Irmilla shifted impatiently and eyed Ranim. His eyes were distant, far-away… she wondered what he was dwelling upon. Nothing pleasant, certainly. She swayed over to Arachnae, who had resumed her knitting.

"A penny for your thoughts, grandmama," Irmilla said, sweetly.

Arachnae smiled up at her. Not for the first time, Irmilla wondered how old her Mistress was. It might be impolitic, not to mention dangerous, to enquire. She still had all of her teeth, anyway. But the rumours hinted at a very great age indeed. Irmilla did not wonder if she would live that long… she would live forever, she had decided. A prize greater than some silly old shawl, in any event.

"My innermost thoughts will cost you more than a mere penny, sweetling," Arachnae responded, "but for the nonce, I think me that young Duadh has cause to exert his authority over the newcomers. We shall not intervene unless we must. Let the Sea Folk settle these disputes amongst themselves."

Irmilla nodded and stifled a yawn. Her cramped cabin had a very hard bunk and what with the constant pitching and tossing of the waves, it was impossible to get a decent night's sleep. She despised travelling by sea, always had. But their voyage north was preferable to having remained in World's End, to be spitted on some Saldaean soldier's lance or hung as a Darkfriend. Irmilla was confident in her abilities to defend herself, they had always served her well in the past, but all it took was one arrow, and that was that. Not a fate she was willing to accept. She was going to live forever, immortality would be hers. She was quite certain of it.

Gripping his axe in one hand, Duadh lowered himself down into the boat with the other, his feet sure on the sloping tumblehome of the ship. He took his position in the bow. His bosun was at the tiller, the best of his people at the oars. They were all armed. Syed yet perched on his shoulder and he gave the bird an affectionate scratch before shrugging it off, getting his ear pecked in the process.

"Return to the ship," he commanded his parrot and surprisingly, it obeyed, flapping upwards with a squawk, leaving a single moulted feather hanging in the air. "Cast off," Duadh ordered. His crew pulled strongly and the lead ship loomed closer. Dark faces at the rails watched them approach.

Duadh considered the position, and decided what he was going to do. He glanced back at the Stormchaser, as he had renamed his ship. And it was his ship now, he had seen to that. A new Sailmaster, and a new name for that on which he sailed. He could feel eyes on him, and knew it to be the gaze of She Who Called the Gales. He did not think of this ancient Windfinder of the Shadow as his superior, but she had walked in his dreams often enough to convince him that serving her, and serving her well at that, would be in his best interests. The implacable old woman was one of the few among the Shorebound for whom he had any respect, unlike her silly apprentice or her humourless assassin. He would walk small around her, and do as he was told. For now.

The rowing-boat bumped against the side of the ship, much lower than that of the Stormchaser, and Duadh seized a trailing rope end and hauled himself aboard, followed by his people. The crew were all renegades, from a half-dozen different Clans by their tattoos, and he ignored them, striding up to the low quarterdeck where the scowling Sailmistress awaited him, hands on hips. "Well?" she demanded, "where is my brother?"

"I gave him to the salt," Duadh replied, and killed her. The Sailmistress did not have time to draw her knife before his axe whirled through the air in a deadly arc to neatly split her skull. She collapsed to the deck, kicking, and Duadh whirled to face her crew. His people stood in a semicircle at the foot of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck, blades bared. The Atha'an Miere renegades bared their own and prepared to surge forward. Duadh shook his axe at them.

"I am Sailmaster now!" he roared, slamming his axe-blade down into the deck and drawing his dagger from his sash. "Let any who disagree face me!"

Three of them did, taking it in turns to come up to the quarterdeck and challenge his authority. Duadh killed them all.

"Goodness!" exclaimed Arachnae Kirikil, her eyes fixed on the action across the intervening waves, "young Duadh keeps a stern discipline amongst his people!"

"Savages," Ranim muttered, watching what was going on with as keen an interest. There was a note of almost-jealousy in his voice, Arachnae suspected he would have preferred to be over there amongst the mayhem himself. Strange that one born of the Tuatha'an could be so bloodthirsty.

"I think it looks rather exciting," Irmilla commented, observing the knife-fighting closely. "I'm just surprised that that awful Duadh isn't drowning them. He likes to drown people. He calls it 'giving them to the salt.' He's awful."

Arachnae laughed, a harsh, cackling sound and Ymilla joined-in, giggling girlishly. Ranim did not. Arachnae had never heard him laugh, not once. She eyed the steerswoman, who was also watching, a quiet satisfaction in her dark eyes.

"What is your name, my dear?" Arachnae asked her.

"Cirla din Rieta Swordfish," the steerswoman answered her, grudgingly.

"Tell me, Cirla, is this how disagreements are more usually settled amongst your people?"

"Aye, Windfinder. Though those over there are just renegades, outclan, for all that they serve the Father of Storms as do we. They are not my people, the Waketa, but they must learn to obey as though they are." Cirla scowled. "There are too few of us in the north to man these ships, which is why we need them. For now." Perhaps feeling that she had said too much, Cirla closed her mouth firmly, her eyes still on the fighting.

Arachnae sighed. "Perhaps I should intervene, after all. It would not do to let Duadh slay too many of them." She reached into her knitting-bag and took out her sa'angreal. It was a dark bar of many-faceted crystal, as long as her fore-arm. Her most prized possession. Arachnae stood and embraced the Source through the device, feeling saidar fill her to a greater extent than even she thought possible. It felt wonderful, like being young again. She spun the Mirror of the Mists with easy familiarity and heard the steerswoman, Cirla, gasp. Ranim and Irmilla were more used to her illusions, but she was aware of them each taking a step away from her, to give her room. To their eyes, she knew that she had grown in height to twice, then four times her size. She looked down at them, eyes burning with dark flames, then seemed to step over the rail of the ship and walk across the water to the ship where the fighting was going on. Her illusion continued to grow in size until her head was level with the mast-top. Her voice boomed;

"Cease!"

Duadh pulled his knife from between the ribs of an Atha'an Miere renegade and straightened, shading his eyes and gazing up at her. He looked suitably impressed, but it was the fear in the eyes of the crew that let Arachnae know her illusion was having the desired effect. She spoke again, her voice rivalling thunder;

"The Father of Storms speaks through me! You will obey!"

They obeyed.

Part III : Traitor

Ellythia Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, rose from the straw pallet and yawned, stretching. Clad in just her shift, she went to the water-bucket in the corner, washed her face and scrubbed her teeth with salt and soda, before selecting a fresh shift and one of her less wrinkled gowns from the chest. She dressed hurriedly, shivering. Shrina and Renn were still abed and looking at the tangled blankets and the cramped bunk, Ellyth was glad in a way that it had been her turn to sleep on the floor, for all that it was a colder and harder place of repose. She donned her slippers and went up on deck.

A wind had arisen in the night, but unfortunately it was westerly, serving only to carry them closer to land, the very place the currents had been taking them. Towards the Blight. She could see distant mountains now, grey and foreboding, and what looked like smudges of damp, green forest curling about their bases. The Aiel were up on deck, resolutely sharpening their spears. She wondered if they had even slept. They seemed eager to be back on land again, even if it was a particularly deadly land. Jahdi was not amongst them. She would be below in the hold, guarding the prisoner… one of them always was, since they had found out.

Found out that the shipwrecked castaway was Seanchan. She had admitted as much herself, even if her slurred, drawling accents when she finally deigned to speak had not given her away. Not to mention the fact that she had attacked Naythan. Ellyth was still not entirely sure what a 'Seanchan' was, but Shrina's anger at discovering the girl's provenance had more than hinted at something evil and wrong about her. They would try to question her again, later, though it would probably do them little more good than on the previous occasion. The castaway was scarcely cooperative. What was a marath'damane, anyway? It sounded like the Old Tongue. Renn would certainly know. She would ask.

"I see you, Ellythia Desiama," Cohradin called out unnecessarily, in his irritating way. Ellyth inclined her head coolly to him, turned, and mounted the steps to the quarterdeck.

Jabal was in his accustomed place at the wheel – he nodded politely – and Shrina's dreadful old grandfather stood behind him, staring fixedly up at the sky. He did not trouble to acknowledge her presence, Ellyth noted, seemed more concerned with the weather. He always referred to she and Renn as 'Aes Sedai' without using their names, and she suspected that – as with the Aiel – he considered their presence aboard to be bad luck. Though their luck had indeed been ill, of late.

Glancing forward, Ellyth saw Aebel and Blaek – or Blaek and Aebel, she was uncertain which was which – working the forms before the mast, their swords dipping and weaving as though in some smooth and deadly dance. There was no sign of Thaeus. She frowned, concerned. He had been keeping to his bunk too much of late. Something was wrong, she was convinced of it. Perhaps he was sickening for something. Jabal, Aebel and Blaek, that was the Warders accounted for. Which left only-

"Good morning, Mistress!"

Ellyth looked up. Naythan was aloft, standing easily atop the yardarm, his back against the mast, glancing back down at her over a broad shoulder. How he kept his balance was beyond her. He seemed to spend a deal of time up there, searching the horizon. For what, she was unsure. Surely they were the only ship this far north?

"A good morn to you, Naythan," Ellyth called back, deciding to let the 'Mistress' slide. He really did seem to prefer using it to her name. Well, Atual had always called her that as well, she should stop insisting, she supposed. But it was different. She had never kissed Atual, for one thing. She flushed slightly.

With a start, Ellyth realised that this was the first time she had thought of Atual's name without a pang of sorrow, tinged with guilt. It had been less than two months – though it felt like much longer – and the sense of loss was still there, throbbing away like a sore tooth… but she no longer wept when she recalled his death. It seemed that, with time, one could become accustomed to anything. Part of her did not wish to be acceptant of Atual's demise, it felt like a betrayal. But there it was. What was done was done, and the Wheel weaved as it willed.

"Fine weather, is it not?" Naythan shouted down to her.

"You atop the mast – cease caterwauling!" barked Master Tolamani. "Are there any ships in sight?"

"Nay, Sailmaster, would have told you if there were," Naythan responded, and suitably chastened, returned to scanning the horizon with his large eyes.

Ellyth frowned. She should be the one to reprimand her Warder, the odious fellow took his duties as 'Sailing Master' altogether too seriously, in her opinion. Not that Naythan was her Warder… not exactly… there was no bond in existence between them, and never would be given his unnatural immunity to weaves of the One Power. But, closing her eyes, she could have pointed exactly and unerringly to where he was. The ter'angreal secreted about his person, doubtless. But it was more than that…

There was a Bond between them, in a way, forged through shared adversity. He had made himself responsible for her safety with loyalty and devotion to duty, he had picked up from where Atual had left off… though she had never kissed Atual. Again, Ellyth flushed. She should not have done that. It had been a moment of weakness, she much regretted it… and yet also, she did not. It had been interesting, certainly, to finally kiss a man, for all that Naythan claimed to be something other than a man. The feel of his mouth on hers, so soon forgot in her waking hours, had come to fill her dreams. She hoped he did not expect more from her than that one, brief, meeting of lips. She was not sure if she could give it. She was Aes Sedai, of the Blue Ajah, and he was her Cause, not her lover. Pleasant, though. She finally understood what Shrina was always babbling about, with her talk of romance!

Speak of the Dark One… Shrina appeared from below, yawning and rubbing at red-rimmed eyes, her green, woollen gown crookedly buttoned at the back. Her Shawl hung from her arms, trailing on the deck. Ellyth suspected that she had taken to wearing it as much to reinforce her position with 'grandpa' as to combat the cold. Despite Shrina being Aes Sedai, the old man seemed to regard his grand-daughter as being barely out of short skirts!

"Good morning to you, little vixen!"

"Grandpa! Do stop calling me that!"

"Aye, Vixen Sedai. Did you sleep well?"

"No! That bunk is horrid. It's cramped and uncomfortable and Renn snores." Shrina regarded Ellyth blearily. "I don't care whose turn it is, I'm sleeping on the floor tonight."

"It is called the deck, yes?"

"I don't care what it's called, I really don't… oh!" Shrina gazed at the forbidding mountains in the distance. "We're a lot closer to land than we were."

"Regrettably so."

"Drat! Aebel and Blaek are always talking about 'testing their mettle in the Blight' or some such Gaidin foolishness, but I've never particularly desired to go there myself…" Shrina took Ellyth's arm with a decisive air. "Come. I have more questions for that accursed Seanchan prisoner of ours, the girl we should have left floating on her piece of wood. You can come too, perhaps she'll tell you about that mysterious ring she was wearing."

"I doubt it." Ellyth turned Shrina by her shoulders with an equally decisive air and began to redo the buttons up the back of her dress. "You look a sight. And our Seanchan guest was hardly communicative when we spoke to her last night."

Shrina sighed, and tried not to fidget whilst Ellyth fiddled with her buttons. It was true. Beyond condemning them as marath'damane, the Seanchan had hardly ventured a word. Wherever her mysterious and bloody-minded people came from – she thought the far side of the Aryth Ocean unlikely, 'the Isles of the Dead' Jabal darkly called them – they clearly had no love for Aes Sedai. "They are as bad as you Whitecloaks," she muttered, without thinking.

"What was that?"

"Oh… nothing."

Dress correctly buttoned, Shrina led the way down to the deck below, the Aiel stepping aside for them as they approached the hatch leading into the hold. A loud thump and Ellyth's odd new Warder was there, standing before them – he had fallen from the mast, turning a lazy somersault, landed neatly on his feet, just like a-

Shrina and Ellyth jumped. The Shieldman was barring the way, somewhat. There was something rather immovable about him, in any case.

Ellyth frowned. "Stand aside, Naythan Gaidin," she said, crossly.

"The Seanchan is dangerous, Mistress," he cautioned. "An assassin, is she."

"How do you know this?" The Aiel were watching with interest, Shrina noted. The Shieldman licked his lips, looking almost nervous for a moment, then shrugged. "Uses poison. Had a poisoned needle, did she," he muttered, blinking slightly. He looked vaguely guilty, Shrina thought.

Ellyth was angry, in that Noblewoman way of hers, nose raised and cheeks flushed out of their usual paleness. "When were you planning on telling me this?" she demanded.

"Telling you now, am I not? It slipped the mind of Sin'aethan Shadar Cor. Apologies, Mistress."

"I should think so – a poisoned needle indeed!"

"It was the only one she had, Mistress. Disposed of it, have I."

Aebel and Blaek were suddenly there, standing to either side of the Shieldman, blades still bared, obviously intending to precede them down into the hold also. Shrina glared at the Twins. She could sense their caution through the Bond. This was ridiculous! As if they could not look after themselves!

"She is a single, unarmed prisoner," Shrina haughtily informed the three of them, "we shall wrap her in flows of Air if she tries anything… now be off with you!" The Warders made grumbling sounds but stood aside as they descended the ladder down into the hold. Shrina and Ellyth exchanged a satisfied nod. It did not do, to let the Gaidin forget their place.

The hatred burning from the eyes of the Seanchan prisoner gave Shrina a certain amount of pause, however, for all that she would never admit it. Kneeling in the corner of the hold, her hands securely bound behind her, the Seanchan still managed to exude a strong sense of danger. Jahdi squatted nearby, a spear balanced in her hands, not removing her hawk-like gaze from the prisoner for one instant.

"Aes Sedai," the blonde Aielwoman acknowledged them, still watching the Seanchan closely.

"Has she attempted escape again?" Ellyth asked her.

"She requested water and tried to kick me in the head when I gave it to her," Jahdi responded. A bruise on her temple suggested that it had been more than a try. Shrina embraced the Source and wove a Healing weave, making the Aielwoman shiver slightly, though she never took her eyes from the prisoner. "She is good at the Dance," Jahdi grudgingly admitted, "were she not bound I might have had to kill her."

The Seanchan snorted disparagingly, her dark, slanted eyes still fixed on the two young Aes Sedai. "Were I not bound, you would be dead," she drawled, in her slurred speech. Jahdi scowled.

Shrina made a noise of disgust. "We saved you from a watery grave," she protested, "stop attempting to kill us! Do you call that gratitude?"

"Throw me back into the sea, marath'damane, I will not protest."

Ellyth sighed. "Let us start with something simple, yes? What is your name?"

The Seanchan prisoner regarded her contemptuously, then seemed to think about it, and shrugged, as much as her bound arms would allow. "Mitsu," she growled.

"Very well, Mitsu… now what can you tell me about this?" Ellyth held up her left hand. On one of her fingers she wore a platinum ring that was glowing faintly, on another the dark ring-ter'angreal she had taken from the prisoner. She extended the finger, moving her hand back and forth. "It is a ter'angreal, yes? How did you come by it? What does it do?" Stony silence was her only response.

Shrina tried a different tack. "Do your people really come from the Isles of the Dead?" she demanded.

"From the what?"

"Beyond the Aryth Ocean, the isles from which none return." Jabal had told her that much, but that was seemingly all he knew. He seemed reluctant to speak of some of the places his people did or did not voyage to. The Sea Folk could be secretive about such things… particularly with the Do Miere A'vron, for some reason.

"I know not of what you speak, marath'damane. Though there is a return, from those isles, the isles of the Seanchan… the Hailene! We come to take back what was ours, and punish the oath-breakers, and properly collar all such as you!" Mitsu turned her head, eyeing Jahdi. She smiled slyly. "May I have another drink of water?" she requested.

Jahdi scowled again.

Up on deck, Renn stared at Ellyth's new Warder with fascination. He seemed to find her regard uncomfortable. She did not realise it, but her stare was avid, as though she were a hedgehog gluttonously eyeing a nice fat slug. Renn still had a number of questions for him, to put it mildly, but was currently engaged in trying to work out how long he had slept in this mysterious 'ter'angreal-box' that Ellyth had mentioned…

"Now, Master Shieldman, you say that you went to sleep in the sixty-eighth year after the War of Power ended?"

"Yes, Rennetta Sedai," affirmed the Shieldman.

Renn frowned. "Just 'Renn' is fine." Then, suspiciously; "how do you know my full name?"

"Shrinalla Sedai told to me, Rennetta Sedai, said that I must address you so."

Renn scowled. "You are to ignore that command, and any others that emerge from the mouth of Shrina…" she blinked, "though in fact, she has no business commanding you at all, since you are not her Warder… and neither do I for that matter, come to think of it… oh, go your own way! But no more of this 'Rennetta!' "

"Went to sleep in the sixty-eighth year after the Strike, did I," reaffirmed the Shieldman, adding; "Renn Sedai," politely.

"Just 'Renn' will do…"

"Could not address you so, Aes Sedai!" he protested, eyes wide, "not proper, so to do!"

"Oh, have it your own way, Naythan Gaidin. Now, calculating roughly three-hundred and fifty years for the Breaking of the World, one-thousand three-hundred and forty-five for the After Breaking years – no, forty-six, given the date on that odd letter about the wine-thieving General – as well as one-thousand one-hundred and fifty Free Years and the nine-hundred and ninety-eight for the New Era of course… well, that comes to…"

"Three-thousand eight-hundred and forty-four years, Aes Sedai."

Renn blinked, thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, that is… correct. You even remembered to subtract the sixty-eight!" She squinted thoughtfully at the Shieldman. "Tell me… what is one-thousand four-hundred and sixty-nine minus seven-hundred and fifty-six multiplied by eight?"

"Five-thousand seven-hundred and four."

"Hold on a moment, I've just got to work it out myself on this piece of paper… hmm, correct again! You… certainly can do mental arithmetic very fast."

The Shieldman shrugged. "It is only numbers, Renn Sedai, not difficult, not like getting really good at tcheran…" he scowled, very briefly – Renn jumped – then whistled softly. "Near four-thousand years I slept… long time."

"Everything must have changed a great deal for you."

"I suppose… the cities are all gone, the land has changed." The Shieldman grinned. "But grew up in a world where nearly everything had been destroyed, did I. Where everyone you met had dead faces and scared eyes… anything is an improvement on that! Like it now, do I. It is all so refreshingly rustic." He thought about it some more. "Everything else changes… but people never do!"

Renn nodded thoughtfully, observing as Ellyth and Shrina came up from the hold, looking disgruntled. "I suppose they don't, at that."

N'aethan watched as the three young Aes Sedai went up to the quarterdeck, and put their heads together. He knew that they were discussing the prisoner. The assassin. She certainly moved fast, this Seanchan… that sudden, unexpected kick had nearly taken his head off, it had required much of his skill to incapacitate her without doing any serious damage. Again, he wondered what a 'chami' was, and why she seemed to think that he was one. Whatever it was. He had offered to question her himself, she seemed to be scared of him and he was sure he could have elicited some answers, but Ellythia Sedai had refused him permission. He eyed the hatch leading down to the hold, wondering whether to disobey, but decided against it. He was in poor enough odour over the poisoned needle already…

Cohradin was squatting on the deck nearby, running his whetstone down the blade of the ivory-hilted knife he had found in Big Brother's tomb. He had offered to question the Seanchan prisoner also, and been rebuffed. Probably just as well.

"That one is trouble, Nightwatcher," said Cohradin, as though reading the tenor of his thoughts, "she dances well and cannot be trusted. We should perhaps give her back to these 'waves' upon which we float."

"Perhaps." N'aethan still could not credit that Cohradin's people were descended from the Da'shain… a lot could change in near four-thousand years, but it seemed impossible. The Aiel had become so violent!

The Atha'an Miere Warder had left his station at the wheel, and after giving his Aes Sedai wife a demure peck on the cheek, had descended to the deck below, yawning. He paused on his way past, and stared. "Where did you get that knife, Aielman?" he demanded. His dark-skinned face bore surprise and suspicion in equal measure.

Cohradin blinked. "In the tomb of the Nightwatcher's brother, next to some old bones. You would like to see it, Sea Folk? Here." He flipped the knife in his hand and extended it hilt-first toward the Warder.

Jabal took the knife, studying the carved ivory handle intently.

"Something is wrong?" N'aethan asked.

"Yes! This is a blade of the accursed Waketa, the Clan that is not a Clan!" Jabal passed it back to Cohradin, vehemently wiping his hand on his oilcloth trews. "Only one of the salt-cursed Storm Children would carry such a knife!"

Cohradin's face reddened, his pale scars standing out. "I am not one of them!" he protested, sheathing the blade at his belt, "I took it from the body of one, perhaps… but he had released the monster of Vron'cor's father from his Roof, set free to trouble the world again, there was no dishonour in so doing!"

It was Jabal's turn to blink. "Monster?"

N'aethan intervened. "It is a long story," he said, in placating tones. "Who are these Storm Children?"

"They infest the Ghost Islands to the far south, they-" Jabal paused, taking a deep breath, adding, "it is not something we speak of." And he spoke no more, stomping away after a last dark look at Cohradin. They watched him go into the forecastle cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"They are strange, these Sea Folk," Cohradin opined, "as strange as a Sharaman… their women command them in all things, I hear." He shuddered, before adding; "and their behaviour in private is shameless indeed." Cohradin shook his head disapprovingly, his reddish-gold tail of hair bouncing against his broad shoulders. Gerom and Chassin nodded their agreement. Manda did not.

N'aethan sighed. Another bone of contention amongst their small and divided crew, it seemed. Shaking his head, he climbed up the mast and resumed his station. But this time, he divided his attention between the seas to the west and the Blight to the east. There would undoubtedly be Shadow-wrought there for him to kill. That was something, at least.

"Shrina! I don't know what you mean by 'keel-haul' but I don't think it is something that, in all conscience, we can do to our prisoner, no?"

Ellyth noted that Shrina had her lower lip stuck out in that way she did when she was insistent on being obdurate about something.

Renn's light brown eyes moved from Shrina to Ellyth and back again. She flicked some spiky locks of hair out of the way and cleared her throat. "Perhaps you are just not asking the right questions?" she suggested.

Shrina scowled. "Never mind the questions, we should just make the accursed Seanchan walk the plank and be done with her!" Her grandfather, standing at the wheel, nodded approvingly.

Ellyth sighed. The longer they were at sea, the more 'piratical' Shrina was becoming, it seemed. And Master Tolamani was no better… 'walk the plank' indeed!

"I want to know why she was wearing this ter'angreal-ring," Ellyth insisted, holding it up. "I am sure that she will tell us eventually, without recourse to torture or other violence… we should give her time to ponder on-"

"On what?" Shrina demanded. "The perils of flouting the will of a 'marithdaman' or whatever it is she thinks we are? That hardly seems likely."

"It's 'marath'damane' " Renn supplied helpfully, "it means 'they who must be leashed.' Well, sort-of, the Old Tongue doesn't translate very easily, as you know…"

"I don't know, and I have no desire to wear a Seanchan leash!" Shrina's face was flushed. "They put them round the necks of our Sisters in Falme, you know. Collaring Aes Sedai, for what purpose I can't imagine… those Seanchan are evil!"

"We don't know that they all are," Ellyth put in weakly, rubbing her temples. She could feel a head-ache forming behind her eyes. The usual consequence of an argument with Shrina…

"They're probably all Darkfriends! We took a viper into our bosom when we plucked her from the sea. A viper!"

"Then we must keep her fangs at bay and draw the poison from her, to continue with your somewhat dramatic analogy," Ellyth riposted. She turned away from the others, looking towards the Blight. They had entered an enormous bay, a towering headland to the north, the mountains looming higher to the east. "Are you sure you cannot do something about the weather?" she asked, changing the subject.

Shrina frowned. "No! I'll try again if you like, but the wind stays westerly no matter what weaves I cast… you know I'm good with this sort of thing, but there's something acting against me, I'm sure of it… and you have no call to go changing the subject, Ellyth! We were discussing the prisoner, and what we're going to do with her!"

"We will do nothing with her for now," Ellyth stated firmly, tilting her head back and fixing Shrina with an imperious gaze. "Any course of action we take would make us as bad as these Seanchan. We must prove that we are better than that, yes?"

Renn murmured her agreement and Shrina, finding herself outvoted, lapsed into sulky silence, her arms rigidly crossed, her expression dark. Ellyth suspected that part of the reason for her foul mood was to do less with the uncommunicative prisoner, and more with her failure to summon a wind to take them south. Weather channeling was Shrina's forte, after all. It was the very first thing she had taught herself to do after manifesting the ability, in quelling a gale that threatened to wreck the fishing-boat she was on, and she had subsequently found it difficult to sense the Source, much less embrace it, unless she felt the motion of waves beneath her. Her Block when it came to embracing saidar under controlled conditions in the Tower had involved the need for a pitching deck beneath her feet whilst she did so.

Ellyth did not smile when she thought of how her own Block had been broken – Anaiya Sedai's somewhat drastic tactics had scared the life out of her! – but could not keep her lips from twitching when she recalled how Shrina's had been overcome. Myrelle and Alanna had taken a hand in it…

The two young Green Sisters had made Shrina embrace and release the True Source whilst standing blind-folded on a table-top with the legs removed, balanced on a barrel turned on its side. They had knelt at either end, tipping the surface back and forth in imitation of the motion of a deck at sea. They had gradually reduced this motion until Shrina could channel whilst standing on a still surface – though without reducing the sarcasm commensurately. Alanna had continued to make nautical 'swishing' sounds, whilst Myrelle had still interjected the occasional seagull imitation!

Shrina had managed to fall off the 'deck' numerous times before her Block had been broken, and probably sustained as many bruises as that slinking fox Rashiel Tamor had, in the breaking of her own – though Shrina's bruises were spread fairly evenly over her body, whereas, courtesy of Galina Casban's slipper, the Trollop's were mostly concentrated in that one particular place!

"What are you smiling about, Whitecloak?" Shrina demanded, grumpily.

"I was just thinking about how Alanna and Myrelle broke your Block," Ellyth responded, perfectly truthfully.

"Huh! Don't remind me. But at least I did not squeal like a frightened piglet, like you did… I stood my trials with a stoic and quiet forbearance!"

"I did not squeal like a-"

"Ahoy the deck! Sails to the west! Four, there are!"

Whoever they were, N'aethan did not like the look of them. That flag, for example, the grinning skull above the crossed daggers, whipping back and forth atop all of the masts… it scarcely looked friendly. The four ships had sighted them also, he could see distant figures up there, watching. They were getting closer, their courses converging. No, he definitely didn't like the look of them.

The Sea Folk Warder joined him, balancing easily atop the yardarm, one hand gripping a halyard, the other shading his dark eyes. The last N'aethan had seen of him he had been on his way to get some sleep, but he seemed fresh enough for all that he had stood a watch for most of the night. The Warder Bond meant they could do with less sleep, of course, Ellythia Sedai had told him about that. He was frowning.

"What is that flag?" the Atha'an Miere muttered. "I can't make it out."

N'aethan described it to him, and the frown became a black scowl.

"Storm Children. Darkfriends. That shore-cursed knife was an ill-omen! Scum of the sands! What are they doing this far north?"

N'aethan presumed this to be a rhetorical question. "They are dangerous?" he enquired.

"Yes!"

That was all he needed to know. A possible source of danger, that might harm his Aes Sedai, not to mention the other Aes Sedai, whom he quite liked… well, they would have to get through him first. He wondered what the fighting would be like. He had never taken part in a sea-battle before. The shocklance might come in handy, though he had exhausted the charge on those rafts somewhat. While these thoughts went through his mind, N'aethan gripped the mast and slid down to the deck below.

The Shaido were on their feet, spears at the ready, practically bouncing on their toes with repressed excitement.

"Trouble, Nightwatcher?" Cohradin asked.

"Seemingly so, Cohradin."

"Good!"

Risking the Sailmaster's disapprobation, N'aethan ventured up to the quarterdeck to report the situation. "Storm Children, Sailmaster. Friends to the Darkness, apparently. Four ships, one of them a two-master, closing on our position."

"May the Storm-Father take them!" was the gnarled old man's opinion of this, and he spun the wheel, taking them in closer to the headland. "I'll try to lose them in the shallows," he growled past the pipe clenched in his teeth. "Little vixen, run below and fetch my sword!"

"Yes grampy," Shrinalla Sedai replied, darting down the steps. Ellythia Sedai and Rennetta Sedai eyed N'aethan with concern. He attempted a reassuring smile.

"Not to worry, Mistress and Renn Sedai, your Gaidin fight well, we will disperse them." He would tear their beating hearts from their chests if they tried to harm his Aes Sedai, in fact, but this was a little more information than they perhaps needed…

"I am not worried," Ellythia Sedai stated firmly, and N'aethan took pride in the steadiness of her gaze, the way her voice did not tremble. "We have been in worse situations than this, and survived." He smiled. She had the heart of a lion!

"Indeed," agreed Rennetta Sedai, "why, I didn't tell you, Ellyth, but I was stuck in the Ways with Jabal and had to fight Shadowspawn all on my own, not to mention our more recent confrontations with that hag of yours. This cannot be worse than that."

N'aethan hoped that it would not be. He really did.

The pursuing ships were close enough now that they could be seen from the deck. The three smaller, single-masted craft had surged ahead, the larger double-masted ship lumbering behind in the heavy swell. Dark, jagged rocks began to appear, rising from the waves. Jabal Gaidin returned to the wheel, steering a careful path past them, while Master Tolamani, his sword stuck through his sash, shouted instructions. The Shaido waited below, their feet sure on the pitching deck for all that they would never be at home on this element. The Twins and Lord Thaeus stood before the mast, their blades bared and at the ready.

N'aethan went down to the hold and searched briefly through his possessions, locating the shocklance rolled-up in a blanket. He felt eyes on him.

The Seanchan prisoner was watching him. She hid her fear well, very well, but it was there. He could smell it. He motioned for Jahdi to go up on deck and join the others, then checked the prisoner's bonds, before binding her ankles also.

"There is to be a fight with Friends of the Dark," he told her, "you are not unskilled and I would ask you to join us in defending this ship, but I am unconvinced that you are not one of their number yourself."

She glared up at him. "I do not fight for the Armies of Night!" she spat.

"I would that I could believe you."

"Filthy chami! Every word out of your mouth is a lie. Play your foul games with someone else!" The fear had given way to anger somewhat, but was still there.

N'aethan grinned, toothily. "You must tell me what this 'chami' is that I so remind you of," he said, "it would be nice to know." Silence was his only response. Hefting the shocklance, he went up on deck, feeling those dark, accusing eyes still on him. He was not sure why he found this troubling, but he did.

The enemy ships were closer now, sweeping into the bay in their wake. N'aethan went to the stern, taking the steps up to the quarterdeck two-at-a-time. Pushing his way carefully past the Aes Sedai, he moved to the rail above the rudder where Master Tolamani stood, his pipe still clenched between his teeth, one hand resting on his sword-hilt.

"Storm Children," the old man muttered, making the name sound like the vilest of curses, "they'll ask for no quarter and give none… we will have to kill them all." He smiled grimly. Clearly, the prospect pleased him.

N'aethan knelt at the rail, resting the shocklance on it, sighting along its length. The lead ship was almost close enough, its bow crowded with dark-skinned, bare-chested brigands, clutching long knives, short swords and wicked-bladed axes.

"What is that thing you're fooling with?" Master Tolamani wanted to know.

"It's a 'lightning-lance' grampy," Shrinalla Sedai explained, "I think it might be a kind of ter'angreal or something like that."

N'aethan shook his head. "Not a ter'angreal, Shrinalla Sedai, a weapon it is."

The lead ship was almost close enough, the other single-masters flanking it, the larger double-masted craft hanging back. More semi-submerged rocks swept past to either side, and risking a glance over his shoulder, N'aethan noted that they were closer to land than they had been, grey cliffs looming above a shingle beach to their lee. Jabal Gaidin spun the wheel and they turned into a narrow channel, the Twins racing aloft to reef sail at the Sailmaster's bellowed instructions. The closest ship turned with them, the others following. Now.

N'aethan twisted the ring to its maximum setting, sighted carefully and depressed the trigger. A harsh bolt of bright light flared from the end of the shocklance and shot over the waves to impact the bow of the enemy ship, just above the waterline. Jagged splinters flew, raking the crew, and a large hole appeared in the hull. Water rushed in and the craft began to sink. N'aethan nodded with cold satisfaction. That was one of them taken care of. The crew of the stricken craft leapt overboard, waving to their fellows on the other two ships, which swept past, ignoring them. N'aethan sighted again, but this time, only a fizzle of white light emerged from the barrel of the shocklance. The charge had been expended.

"Tsag!" N'aethan growled, discarding the useless weapon and touching his sword hilt. They would have to deal with the rest the old-fashioned way, it seemed. The two pursuing ships split apart, their clear intent to board from either side. "Now would be a good time for real lightning, Aes Sedai!"

Ellythia Sedai tugged at his arm. "We cannot intervene with the One Power unless they attack us personally," she explained, "the third of the Three Oaths forbids it."

"They are Darkfriends but they are not Shadowspawn," Rennetta Sedai added, apologetically.

N'aethan had never heard of these 'three oaths' but under the circumstances, considered them to be somewhat foolish. "There will be fighting, Mistress. You and the others should go down to the cabin."

"Hah!" Shrinalla Sedai had a sword buckled at her waist, its blade of an odd, forward-curved design. She touched the hilt. "There is more than one way to skin a cat!"

Rennetta Sedai pulled at her sleeve and drew the slim-bladed dagger from its sheath, while Ellythia Sedai impatiently requested his gholam-stabber. N'aethan passed her the small knife, wishing that they would all go below and stay out of the way. Master Tolamani sent Jabal Gaidin down to the deck, taking the wheel himself.

The enemy sail-craft drew level to either side, their rails crowded with more of the dark, weapon-brandishing brigands. There were at least a score in each. The big, double-masted ship still stood further out to sea, so at least they would not have to deal with them also, for the time being. N'aethan descended to the deck, drawing his sword. Cohradin met him, spears at the ready. He looked eager.

"You and the Shaido stand to port, the Warders and I will guard the starboard," N'aethan shouted, above the noise of pounding surf.

"Port, Nightwatcher?"

"The left side of the ship!"

"Why do you just not say 'left' Vron'cor?" Cohradin grumbled.

"Never mind! It is time to dance the spears, so dance them!"

With a crash, one of the enemy ships came into contact with their hull, followed by the other ship, sandwiching them between their opponents. Grappling irons attached to ropes were flung, drawing them close together, and the enemy began to leap over the rail, weapons raised, shouting savage war cries.

N'aethan did not like to kill humans, but these were Friends of the Dark so he swallowed his distaste and set to work. It was butchery. None of the long knives or curved axe-blades came close to him, he ducked and weaved, moving from form to form against the tide of dark-skinned, tattooed brigands, cutting them down whenever they came within range of his blade. The deck was soon awash with blood. To either side, the Warders and Lord Thaeus were giving a good account of themselves and glancing briefly back over his shoulder, he saw that the Shaido were slaughtering the enemy with equal facility, their flickering spear blades dark with gore. But they kept coming, as though they had no fear of death, as though there was something else that they feared more. He wondered what it could be…

N'aethan slipped to one side to avoid a descending axe blade that howled past his head and neatly opened his attacker's throat as two more brigands leapt forward, a dagger in each hand. He split the skull of one and turned to deal with the other, in time to see him stabbed through the heart with a curved-forward blade. Shrinalla Sedai twisted and withdrew, her teeth flashing in a savage smile, her cheeks flushed.

"Go back to the quarterdeck, Shrinalla Sedai!" N'aethan remonstrated, "there is danger here!" Behind her he could see Ellythia Sedai and Rennetta Sedai by the door to the cabin, each with a knife inexpertly clutched in a determined fist.

"That's the idea!" Shrinalla Sedai responded, pointing with her bloody sword blade, and lightning leapt from the sky to impact on the deck of the nearest enemy ship, scattering its remaining crew and causing flames to leap from the wooden planks. "If I'm not in danger then I can't do this sort of thing!" Instantly, her Warders were by her side, their slim blades discouraging attack. Shrugging, N'aethan turned back to the fight, making sure to place himself between his Aes Sedai and the enemy. He would not have her put herself in danger on his account, not for anything.

Ashoka Tolamani spun the wheel deftly, keeping one eye on the sea, the other on the carnage below. One of the enemy ships was aflame, dropping away to their lee, and the other had hit a rock and lost its mast. He watched as the Aielmen used their knives to cut away the last of the ropes attached to grappling irons, and it too fell away from them. The shallows were cluttered with rocks this close to the shore but they were committed now, there was no turning back. He flung the wheel hard over and they skirted a jagged boulder with barely a span to spare. They were almost out of the channel. Almost…

In the corner of his eye, Ashoka saw one of the Aielwomen leap lithely up the steps to the quarterdeck, blue-green eyes flashing above her black veil. He glanced over his shoulder – were there attackers boarding at the stern? – but saw no-one. It was then that he felt the spear go into his side. The fingers that gripped his sword-hilt felt robbed of all their strength and his last thought as he collapsed to the deck was that, however pretty her eyes, he had been a fool to turn his back on an Aiel.

Jahdi withdrew her spear from the wetlander ship-master, wondering whether to stab him again, but he did not move. She drew her black veil down from her face and smiled coldly. There was no-one else up here on the raised part of the deck, or she would have killed them also. Even the Aes Sedai, though she did not know whether that would have been possible. She would have liked to kill Manda, but she was still down there with the others, waking the last of the enemy. Jahdi had waked a few of them herself, for all that they were ostensibly on the same side. It did not matter, she knew what she had to do now. She had known all along. The old wetlander Wise One, the Friend who walked in her dreams, had instructed her in what to do… and by the Great Lord of the Dark, she had done it!

After she killed Tevin, swiftly cutting his throat before he could raise the alarm, Jahdi waited, and sure enough, the Shadowrunning Lost One she had been told would meet her came climbing up the cliff. He swung his legs over the parapet and sat there, regarding her with distaste.

"I see you, Lost One," Jahdi commented with equal distaste, stropping her knife against the side of her soft boot.

"I am not lost anymore," the Lost One pointed-out, coldly, "not since I found the Great Lord of the Dark…" a strange look of reverence flickered over his blank face for a moment, "not since first I heard his Song." He drew his dark-bladed dagger from its sheath and pointed it at her, warningly. "Call me that again, and I will kill you very slowly, Aiel savage."

Jahdi scowled, then smiled nastily. "Perhaps you could, Friend, perhaps you could… you seem to have left your cowardly 'leaf-way' far behind you, at least."

The Lost One frowned. Despite his threat, he would know that he was not allowed to kill her. Not yet, at least. She was of use to his Dread Mistress. He lowered the dark blade reluctantly. "Say what you have to say, then return before they notice that you are missing… Shadowrunner."

Jahdi's scowl resumed. But she told the Lost One what he needed to know. She did not fear him, or his crone, the ancient Wise One he served… but she did fear the man in the mask, the Dark Master, who had visited her dream once. Once had been enough. Strange, to know what fear was. The Lost One feared him as well, she knew that much. The two of them, along with a shared heritage that neither would have acknowledged, even had they known of it… well, they had this much in common.

And Jahdi had done her part. The night before, when Manda went to use the latrine, she had carefully shone a lantern at the cliffs until an answering light had flickered, as the Wetlander Friend of the Dark had told her to in the dream. Just as before, she had scratched certain secret signs upon a rock, then left it in the cairn Cohradin had insisted they build for the Aes Sedai's dead Warder. Too bad about young Tevin, she had not liked having to wake the youth, for all that it had been necessary, but when you ran with the Shadow, you obeyed your orders implicitly or paid the consequences. And the consequences of disobedience could be terrible indeed.

The Lost One dug an ivory statuette out of his pocket and left it standing on the parapet. He shaded his eyes and glanced up at the night, carefully ensuring that the Aielwoman was still in his peripheral vision. Jahdi took this as a compliment. She glanced up also. There; bat-like wings across the full moon, approaching.

"They come."

"Then I go."

Jahdi knew that she did not have long. She studied the large, spoked wheel set before her, gripping it cautiously. It turned the ship, she knew that much from careful observation, but which direction was which? There was but one way to find out…

As they came level with a large, jagged spur, Jahdi swung the wheel over as hard as she could, the craft responding, turning toward the source of danger. With a rending crash, the ship ground over rocks and came to an abrupt halt, the mast bending forward, then back, before snapping in two, the upper half tumbling to the deck. Jahdi picked herself up from where the impact had flung her and seized her spear and buckler, preparing herself.

It was time to wash the spears, and she did not fear to die.