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Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wolfking of ManetherenThe storm of ages raged against the Palace walls, lightning crackling in the high-set windows, painting stark shadows across the Hall. Thunder roared in the air, and the palace seemed to shudder as it felt the weight of great forces converging.
The sound of Cathon's heavy boots on the polished floor echoed and resounded through the hall, punctuated by the heavy drumbeats of the rain and the staccato thunder. He was flanked by Nathen, Airena Sedai and Warder as they marched through the massive hallway, the tapestries fluttering and the palace shivering. Even within the great halls, Warder remained armored with his face hidden perpetually behind his helmet. In contrast, the Aes Sedai wore a court-appropriate silk yellow dress, embroidered with hummingbirds around the neckline.
One man stood before them, a tall gangly man leaning on a staff and wrapped in a dark amethyst cloak. He waited until the four had stopped before them, and the echoes of their footsteps diminished. Lightning lit the halls, highlighting the old, wily visage of the Royal Vizier, Ilak Didam, advisor to the High King.
"I must apologize for the lack of lighting." The vizier shifted on his gnarled staff which creaked slightly on his weight. "Even the oil for the lanterns has been reserved for the army. Well, my Lord, you are expected. Come. If you will follow this old man."
Didam straightened and walked farther down the hallway, to Cathon's eyes appearing to be more fluid -and dangerous- than one would expect from an old man. The end of the hallway was marked by the solid shadow of a doorway, looming higher as they neared.
They were two wolfheads carved in that solid oak throne door, their citrine eyes gazing like fiery orbs onto all who walk into the presence of the King. But standing before the door were wolves of a greater and more dangerous breed. The legendary Heart Guards of Manetheren. Wearing their unique black-red cloaks with silver-trims, each was a woman with blazing predator eyes and a long sword-tipped spear over each silver-mailed arm. They were selected and trained and hardened for the one purpose of protecting the King. Cathon had crossed blades with a Heart Guard but twice-only once in the practice ring-and it was most definitely an event which he did want to relive.
As Cathon and Dadim approached, the two Heart Guards at the door did not even blink. But when the Royal Vizier had walked between them, they immediately crossed their ashenderai behind the Vizier, snapping the gleaming steel blades to block Cathon's way. Cathon may be a First Lord, but in all matters of the King, a Heart Guard can deny even anyone passage. They were Aemon's hand and voice, with all its trappings and power.
Dadim knocked light upon the door, and with a brief delay it began to open, swinging inwards as pulled by the two Heart Guards stationed inside. The Vizier cleared his throat and bowed smoothly into the room, "My liege the King, I present Lawe Cathon, First Lord of Manetheren and Marshall-General of the Grand Legion of Manetheren and the Band of Red Hand, who requests permission for an audience."
"Granted." A voice boomed down the throne room halls.
The Heart Guards uncrossed their Ashandarei, tapping the ends to the floor in recognition. Dadim nodded to Cathon, and bowed to the side.
Warder whispered to Airena and took station across the corridor from the Heart Guard. He matched stares with the two Guards, and Cathon would find it difficult to wager who would win in a fight, but he certainly wouldn't be anyway near if that happened. With this exchange over, Cathon strolled into the room, Airena and Nathen trailing closely behind him.
Upon entering, Cathon almost smiled at the feeling of familiarity and nostalgia. The throne room was a massive piece of art, carved from the heart of the mountain. Stained glass mounted at each side filtered in the colored lights to dance on the marble floor, although tonight, the colors were gray and subdued and the glass was beaded with raindrops. The vaulted ceiling drew each whisper like a shout, echoing it for the whole world to hear. Their steps resounded heavily as they crossed through, and the door closed behind them with a shuddering slam.
Standing before the Throne were four men and six women. The foremost was the tall, striking figure of Aemon al Caar al Thorin, Wolf King of Manetheren, Holder of the Red Chalice, and Stone Warden of the Mountain Home. A sheathed greatsword was belted to his waist, and a red cloak flowed from his broad shoulders. The red cloak of the Band of Red Hand.
"It has been a long time!" Aemon called, his voice thundered in their ears. It was very much like that of General Diest Arcanum's, except flavored by culture and aged like fine wine. And why not, for Aemon was Arcanum's second blood-cousin. The King strolled forth, extending his massive hand.
Cathon grasped the hard hand in his own and bent his knee, "As you call, we heed."
"A very long time indeed." Queen Eldrene glided over, drawing Cathon's breath away. She was like he remembered her, her sun-danced tresses flowing lightly to her silk-draped shoulders. The last time he saw her, she was just a blossoming beauty, with marigolds braided in her hair, and dancing carefree in the verdant fields that must now be blackened with death. But that time was long past. He could see the wisdom and experience in her eyes, and the sadness and worry that comes with it, like a mirror to his own.
"My queen." He bowed and kissed her offered hand. As he straightened, she extended the arm to touch the medallion on his chest with familiarity, a slim finger circling the design of the black-white circle cradled in the fox's eyes. Her crisp, blue eyes met his own for a long moment, and then both drew away.
"So you wear it." Aemon remarked, his eyes having also seen the Timari. "The last defense of Manetheren."
"So it is." Cauthon agreed. "And I return what was loaned to the Band."
He extended the red-gold box that was the cradle of Caldazar's shells, placing it firmly into the hands of its rightful owner. Then he lowered his head to remove his medallion but was stopped by Aemon's hand.
"So it be." Aemon opened the box with a light touch. The Cradle needed no blood from the King to attest his rightness. He gazed down at the remaining Shell then snapped the box shut once more.
Cathon continued, "My King, this is my Adjutant, Nathen Austern, and my Advisor, Airena Sedai."
"Yes, you recognize that this is to be a council of war." Aemon nodded at the two with Cathon, then the King turned to those who stood behind him. "These two gentlemen I am sure you recognize. First Lord Cysil and Second Lord Donahin, Generals of the Grand-Legions of Jara'Copan-no-more and the Tarendrelle - your compatriots. And my advisors, Kariline Sedai, Relari Sedai, Iaveline Sedai, Masotomi Sedi, and Surelli Sedai."
Lord Cysil was a gaunt man, pale complexioned with a severe scar that etched down the side of his face. Donahin was almost the opposite, a dark man with a bricklike jaw and short of stature.
The five Aes Sedai simply watched with their ageless faces. From a quick study of their shawls, Cathon counted two reds, two greens, and one yellow. They studied Cathon with a practiced eye, and then appeared to dismiss him, turning their attention to Airena.
"Surelli." Airena gave a small incline of her head to the leader of the Tower delegation - a Red - and did not approach them.
"The Nightingale. Why am I not surprised." Surelli gave a smile that did not touch her eyes. Cathon could read Surelli's icy glare from his experience with Airena. In the Red Sister's flashing eyes, he could see a mixture of surprise and contempt, but he thought he could sense a hint of fear as well. A current of cold animosity bridged between the two Sisters across the room.
Lord Cysil of the Grand-Legion of Jara'Copan-No-More coughed loudly and broke through the palpable tension. "It is good to have you and the Band back." Cysil said, "We've been harrying the invaders since they crossed the borders, cutting their numbers down. But now, their eyes are set on this city, and there is nothing left for us but a full confrontation."
"Today will perhaps be our last day of relative peace. The Horde are burning and pillaging the nearby villages, but have not put any organized attempts on the city, outside of the probe attacks. But, the Dreadlords are starting to mass them along the eastern Tarendrelle bank."
"How many?" Cathon immediately asked.
"Seven. We've sighted the banners of Ogrin Kai, the Fist of Chobok, Ingo Blade, the Black Fangu, the Riven Eye, Mordisiac Horadine." Donahin paused for a moment, "And, the seventh, the Traitor's army. Vanigan's...army."
"And that is not the worst part." Cysil added.
Donahin hesitated, "They have raised the standard of Ba'alzamon."
Cathon froze at this, his blood chilling in his veins. "Ba'alzamon?" His mind briefly flashed to the face of flames at Thakan'dar.
"Say true. And we estimate almost a million Trolloc."
Cathon whistled with his clenched teeth, "We have a chance I think. With six Aes Sedai, I believe…" Then he stopped as he suddenly realized there was a strained silence.
"We will not be staying." The Red Sister Surelli proclaimed. "We are leaving tonight."
"But we are surrounded by Shadowspawn-"
"We have our ways out." The Aes Sedai interrupted.
"Lord Cathon," Aemon said soothingly, "The Aes Sedai have promised us reinforcements. They need to coordinate the armies of the Compact of Nations."
"Is this true?" Cathon watched their eyes, but not a single brow flickered.
"Will two hundred thousand additional men save you, General?" Surelli remarked offhandedly.
"Do you usually answer a question with a question?"
Her eyes flared, "You have all you need to know. I do not have time to be interrogated by the likes of you. We have our orders. We leave, Sisters." Then her eyes moved to Airena, "And you too, Sister, if you know what is good for you."
The five Aes Sedai glided past. Surelli paused before Cathon as she passed and tapped him in the chest as if her fingernail was a dagger. "So this is who the Nightingale has her talons into now." Then without sparing another glance, the Aes Sedai continued past. The Yellow trailing her lingered briefly to whisper something to Airena before running after her sisters.
As the Heart Guards opened the door, Surelli turned around, "You must hold for three days. Until the dawn break of the third day." Then they were gone, the door slamming behind them.
"You shouldn't antagonize them, Lawe." Queen Eldrene scolded him, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.
"We are left without a shield against the greatest force that has ever been brought to bear against our soil." Cathon turned to Airena, "Can we trust them?"
"Can we trust them?" Her mouth was a straight line. "Do not forget that I'm an Aes Sedai, General. As is your Queen."
"Yes, and that is why I ask. Can we trust them? Is this reinforcing force real?"
"I refuse to answer that, General." She narrowed her eyes, "But if you care, I am staying with you. I mean, Manetheren. You as in Manetheren, not you you…Never mind." She stared back at Cathon, daring him to say anything.
Cathon looked questioningly up at Eldrene, whose eyes briefly flickered between the general and the Aes Sedai curiously.
"The Amyrlin Seat and I haven't been on the best of terms but we have no reason to believe otherwise, Lawe. The word of an Aes Sedai is truth." The Queen answered mildly.
"Three days." Cathon chewed on that idea. "We can hold for three days. We will meet them on the Tarendrelle with our forces. Pull everything off the Northern front. We must march by tomorrow if we must hope to keep the Horde out of sight of Manetheren."
"And the Dreadlords? And the...other?"
"As the Wheel wills." Cathon sighed.
"The night will be long, and the coming days longer. This will be the longest day of our lives, gentlemen. Take a seat and let us talk of men and generals." Aemon motioned to the Petitioners' table.
Each of the men took a chair, and began to pour over the order of battle for the coming days. The oil chandelier flickered and burned above, and the storm beat on the stained windows. A servant had come in-Cathon didn't know when-and left a tray of mulled wines, which Cathon drank more than his share.
Some time deep into the night, Cathon leaned back, his head swimming with figures and numbers. Aemon was arguing with Donahin on the best placement of the reserves while Cysil was rummaging through the latest scout reports on troop movements.
"Time is a river that heed no man." Eldrene took a seat beside him and turned her crystal eyes to his. She had been deep in conversation with Airena.
"...for Time is a woman." Cathon finished, a smile gracing his lips, memories rushing into his head.
"You remembered." She replied with a brief smile.
"You've changed, Ellisande."
"I've changed?" She plucked at his beard with her nimble fingers, "I like what you've done here. When last I saw you..." She trailed off.
"We did not leave on the best of terms, I'm afraid."
"That's quite an understatement. But let us leave the matters of the past lie. We are adults now." She glanced at the giant map spread over the table. "I have missed you. More than you might know." She touched his cheek lightly. "I gave you that scar, didn't I?"
Cathon chuckled and rubbed at the small smooth mark, "Perhaps."
"Well, I forgive you. Do I have your pardon as well?"
"You had but to ask. To think we were so foolish once. And now a nation rests at our feet." Cathon grew serious. Nostalgia drained away in the face of reality.
"General Cathon," Aemon called out, startling Cathon. "What is your opinion on the most recent Shadowspawn troop movement."
"Let me not take you from your work. I must take a break from this stuffy room." Eldrene spoke softly and stood up. She whispered some words to the King and quickly departed.
Cathon watched the Queen leave then took the creased papers from Aemon's proffered hand. "Looks like a direct three prong attack. No guile and secrecy on their part. They want a full engagement and we cannot help but be bullied into it if we are to hold them." But even as he spoke, his thoughts were somewhere else, somewhere fifteen years past.
"Yes, yes. I see..." The King murmured, but it seemed Aemon's attention had wandered off as well. He had removed the last Medallion from the cradle and was now rolling the medallion in his fingers, rubbing the smooth surface. When Cathon had finished, Aemon softly tapped its silvery edge on the table and turned his head slightly as if to listen. There was a slight awkward silence.
"Sir?" Cysil asked, coughing.
Aemon stirred slightly, "You know, this is not the first time that there was a Last Defense. These medallions are not unused. If you touch them, you can almost feel the essence of the previous holders." He traced the symbol of the fox's eyes. "I am sure you have heard of how Sorella forged it from the mountain of fire. And that is a likely truth as any." Aemon rapped the Timari on the table. Tap tap tap! In his eyes were a look that spoke of forbidden knowledge. Cathon did not understand what Aemon was leading to and was not certain that he wanted to. Tap tap tap. A smile touched the King's lips. "But perhaps it is older than we think. Perhaps it is not as human as we think."
Lord Donahin's jaws were slightly agape, and Cathon felt his own skin crawling. He felt as if his Shell was winking.
"And to listen to me talk, one would think me less than sane." Aemon sighed, "I speak but the words do not hold water. I apologize, but it is almost as if it is drawing something from me, like a pleading and haunting voice that cannot be silenced. That must be obeyed. Never the mind, it is not important. No, words are meaningless. I will speak with action."
With that, he bowed his head and slipped the medallion's chain over his head. Realization dawned on the generals.
Aemon folded his fingers over the Shell. "I have spent the last fifteen years sitting in this dusty hall, Sanction's honed edge lying wasted in its scabbard. I will ride tomorrow with my men." He waved off the protestations of the generals. "The Band of Red Hand is after all my army and I rode with them in Aridhol and Coremanda. I do not want to live history as the King who sat while the city burned. Let my people see me and know that their King is with them. Let my enemies see me and stir themselves into a frenzy. If I die, so be it. I am a King, but I am also a soldier, and that is our creed. I will hear no arguments."
"As you command, my King." Cathon acquiesced warily.
"Welcome to the flame." Tirium downed his wine.
"Merciful Caldazar." Donahin finished.
"I think this meeting is nigh over. We have some hours before we ride. Try to get some rest if you can." Aemon ran a hand through his hair.
Cathon stood and shook the hands of the generals and the King and stretched his cramped muscles. Austern collected the papers for Cathon and trailed after him. Airena was gazing at the storm beating against the stained windows, a finger twisting a lock of hair absentmindedly and an odd look on her face, as if in puzzlement.
He shrugged and exited the doors held open by the Heart Guards. Passing him was the Queen once more, and there was a brief exchange of glances, and then she was in, and he was out.
As he and Austern walked down the poorly-lit halls, Airena and Warder caught up smoothly.
"So it seems you are closely acquainted with Aemon." Airena asked.
"He is my King, no more and no less."
"And the Queen?" Her tone was nonchalant, but the way she said it caused Cathon to miss a step.
His adjutant took that hesitation to join in, a bemused grin on his face, "The Lord General was quite the romantic when he was young. His competition with the King for Elisende's heart is almost legendary, why you can-"
"That's enough, Nathen." Cathon interrupted, trying to hide his grimace. "I'm sure the Lady does not need to know my history or my long past youthful misadventures."
"Why, sir, you must have had a very long youth then." Nathen added.
"Are you feeling well, Airena?" Cathon asked the Aes Sedai, seeing her troubled expression. Most of his own personal demons had been locked away once he had set foot on Manetheren soil, where he had felt more like his old self, though sometimes in the late of night, he would wake, covered in sweat and reservations, cursing himself and all of creation.
"I'm fine. Just a headache. This storm makes me feel agitated for some reason. Something in the air. Like the calm before the storm. Except the storm is already here. But yet it's not. It's rather confusing." She frowned.
Cathon nodded unconsciously. He too felt the tension in the air, like an itch on the back of his neck that he just couldn't scratch. He's had hunches before, many times in his careers, so numerous that he had lost count. But now, he could swear something was about to happen. And he was probably right. They would be riding out to the final judgment very soon.
It didn't help that the storm was no doubt supernatural in origin. They were alone in the dark halls whose walls were embedded with dead and darkened torches. A man was walking towards them. The storm was still raging outside, lashing away at the men bunkered restlessly in their barracks. Their boots resonated, bouncing between the walls, but it was a lonely sound. A man was walking towards them. Somewhere a brood lark cried from its shelter, and the wind hissed its threats against the palace walls. A man was walking towards them. A small creature-perhaps a rat-scratched and scampered in the walls.
"It was a dark and stormy night." Cathon muttered under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Nathen's voice echoed oddly.
Cathon just shook his head, with a rueful grin.
His hand was a blur, almost disappearing in the dark light.
There was a crack of the sword pulling from the scabbard and the hiss of the blade arching up. Though it took barely a second, it was almost too late.
The assassin opened his mouth but no sound came out. Cathon's sword was thrust cleanly through his chest, barely a foot away.
Cathon stared into the man's eyes. There was nothing behind the eyes. This was not to say the man was dead. No, for behind those black orbs was sheer oblivion of the soulless. It was an emptiness that tugged at Cathon's soul, pulling him towards insanity.
The man moved closer, walking down the sword in his chest towards the wielder, as if he had not just been dealt a fatal wound. He raised his dagger, its curved edge catching Cathon's trapped eyes. Its name was Death.
Then the dagger fell along with the arm. The man slumped, held up only by the Cathon's blade. The general dipped the blade and the soulless' corporeal vessel slipped off, and crumpled to the ground.
There was the shimmer of steel as both Warder and Nathen drew their blades and Airena's sharp gasp. Perhaps a little too late, Cathon mused. By now he would've already been laid low by the phantom blade. Saved by reflex and something else? Intuition? Luck? A voice in the back of his head that wouldn't be stilled?
Warder had spun back to face the way they had, his keen eyes scanning for others like the slain. Once one was looking specifically for them, phantom blades are not terribly hard to see. But it was not the physical act that made these phantoms so hard to see. It was the fact that the soulless represented a madness-inspiring void that mortal eyes automatically avoid for desperate self preservation.
Cathon snapped his blade in a circular motion, returning the circulation to his hands, "What would one phantom want with us?"
"They shouldn't be able to enter the Palace. Karaline said that they had wards around the palace grounds." Airena carefully drew the slender blade from the pallid hand and swept down the hallway with an alert eye. "They don't usually come alone. If one could get in here-"
"The King." Cathon broke into a run. He did not need Airena to finish her sentence. He could hear them jogging behind until he skidded to a stop at the junction before the Throne room. Nathen stumbled into him from behind, but he didn't pay any attention.
"Airena, stay behind me." Cathon ordered, his sword poised at the ready. He stared at the carnage before him. Six Phantom Blades sprawled dead on the crimson carpet, but so were the two Heart Guards, their ashenderai blooded and still grasped in their dead hands.
There were two survivors. The first spun and raised his swords as the four arrived upon the scene, but quickly lowered his blade. The second was looking slightly worse for wear, leaning hard against the door, but his sword still gripped firmly in hand.
"Donahin! Cysil!" Cathon jumped over the corpses, sprinting towards the two generals.
"Light, are we glad to see you. Thought you were more of them." Cysil's eyes flickered past their shoulders. "We got attacked when we exited. Donahin was the first out and he took a nasty scratch. The Heart Guards were already dead, but they already took down most of the phantoms. They've barred the door from inside. I don't know who. There's sound of fighting. We tried to break down the door, but Donahin can barely lift his sword."
Donahin lifted his head and shook it. His eyes were sallow and his hair was damp with sweat. "I'm fine. We need to get to the King."
"Guard my back." Airena brushed past Cathon and placed her right hand on Donahin's chest. To Cathon, it seemed to be a light touch, but Donahin recoiled, sliding up on the door as if stung. She pulled her hand away with the ripping of his cloth, to expose his skin. There was barely a two-inch slash on the upper chest, but it was black and inflamed. Raised black veins extended from the puncture site, branching off in rivulets of ink.
"This has not reached his heart. Lie down, general." The Aes Sedai opened her left hand to reveal a wooden dog cradled in the palm. "Go to your King. I will try to heal him. If it is still possible." She placed her palm over the wound, hovering but not touching. Warder stood at the ready behind her, stone eyes scanning for more assassins. Then both the statuette and her hand began to glow a pure whiteness that seemed to suck the light from the hallway. Donahin shivered, all the muscles in his body clenched. His fingers stretched in a rigid pose, and his sword fell from his grasp, tumbling to the marble floor with a clatter that snapped Cathon from his trance.
The Wolfhead Door slid open.
The standing generals immediately cast their weapons up, to discover two blades at their own necks. There was a tense pause as the generals stared into the eyes of the Heart Guards, swords and ashenderai crossed in a frozen still.
"Enough. Stay your weapons." Aemon's voice boomed. "Let them through."
There was a shift of leather as the Heart Guards lowered their spears, but appeared ready to raise them at the slightest alarm.
Cathon snapped his blade, transferring his sword to a hilt-up grasp, but kept it unsheathed. The Heart Guards stood aside, allowing the generals their first view of the room.
The once-lit room was buried in darkness, the chandelier swinging darkened and the fireplace a murky pit. Wind immediately assailed the two men, the chill biting deep through their cloaks. Cathon looked up towards the source, the rows of stained glass windows were shattered, allowing the rain to flood down the walls in cascades. The floor was already wet with puddles and littered with the shards of once-beautiful glass images.
Aemon stood in the middle, the greatsword Sanction gleaming wetly in his grasp. Beside him, Queen Eldrene held a ball of glowing light that shed scattered beams across the room, throwing deep shadows over the dark figures lying motionless around them, as in a circle of death. Ilak Dadim was kneeling over one of the corpses, gingerly searching the assassins' forms. There were as many as ten of them-maybe more-a serious business.
"Are you hurt in any way, my King?" Cysil called forth.
"We are quite fine." Aemon straightened his cloak. "They came in through the windows. And that was their problem. Their masters created them for stealth, and it is quite difficult to conceal their entrance in this manner. Whoever sent them was obviously in a hurry or...Where's Lord Donahin?"
"He suffered a glancing wound from an ambush outside in the Hall." Cysil answered, "Cathon's Advisor is attending to him right now. We lost both Guards, my Lords."
Aemon nodded grimly, "I suspected as much. This is a daring move to destroy the chain of command, and we must expect more. Though I find it odd that they knew exactly when to strike, unless they had spies, which in this age of Darkfriends, is no surprise. It is also entirely possible that this wasn't the only action taken." Then he paused. "Did you hear that?"
Through the veil of rain pierced a distant and muffled horn, repeated and scattered, but its existence was undeniable.
"The City Gates have been breached." Cathon spoke what everyone had just realized.
"Impossible!" Cysil uttered, "Last scout report records no activity past the Manetherendrelle. They could not have struck without warning."
But there was the distant alarm again.
"They have made the first move." Aemon sighed. A dozen Heart Guards swept into the Throne Room, their Ashenderai bared, called by the alarm to protect their King.
"So it begins." Cathon felt a rising coldness deep within him. "Time to roll the dice."
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