פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

Chapter Thirty: Second Day

The sun's appearance across the eastern horizon did not see a halt or even a reduction in the fighting. Though the Trollocs had been pushed back across the river in the night's events, they had not given up, especially not when they had a bottomless source of bodies to draw from. And now, another sally surged into the front lines, a giant pseudopod extending from the amorphous Horde.

But the legionnaires did not draw back and absorb the hit, but braced and readied a wall of pikes. The Shadowspawn collided into the waiting spikes, driven on by their own bloodlust and their comrades. Tension rippled through the pike men as they stood their ground against the mounting pressure. It seemed for a moment the Trollocs would burst through, but with fast discipline, the soldiers held firm. Then down came the pikes and up the normal gladius, slicing heavily into the halted Trollocs.

"Enter the heavy cavalry." Cathon watched as the corps of armored horsemen stiffened with Heart Guards cut a swathe through between the sortie and the main body, severing the arm of the Horde. The trapped and separated Trollocs were quickly destroyed by focus fire.

"Now repeat ten thousand times." The general chuckled humorlessly to himself. He rubbed at the General's Map with black Marking Oil. He would have killed for a map like this in the North. It was a commander's dreams. Terrain contours and engineers' legacy of precise surveying. He marked off more battalion changes with oil, making a few notes on shatter points—areas of weakness that could fracture entire formations under heavy pressure.

"General!" Nathen tossed a leather pouch of the latest troop movements down beside the Map stand. "I have some news. The King has called a temporary ceasefire."

"What, why?" Cathon fumbled for his watch-glass, "That's insanity. We'd only be standing still as we got hacked to pieces."

"They have shown the white flag for talks." By the way Nathen stressed 'they', Cathon knew who he was talking about. "The King needs you and the other Marshall-Generals in his tent to await their representative."

The Horde indeed seemed to have drawn back reluctantly, and the Legions did not press at them. A small group of mounted creatures – humans! - detached itself from the main Horde, riding boldly across the river, a flash of white raised at the fore. No arrows rose to greet them, and the men of Manetheren parted quickly before the envoys. One peek through the watch-glass told Cathon all he needed to know.

"I'll be back! See that any deceit on their part does not go unpunished." Cathon grimly proclaimed, then mounted his waiting horse with growing displeasure. He issued a few last orders to the line captains and set off at a canter towards the King's Headquarters. It was located near the front of the stationed men, against the expressed disapproval of the generals. But Aemon was adamant and there it stood, a low-hanging canvas framework with a simple banner of Caldazar staked in front.

Cathon handed off the reins of his horse and strolled up to the Heart Guards that patrolled its perimeter. They did not move to stop him, so he ducked his head under the tent flap and entered.

It was a soldier's tent –although larger than most—but still austere in design and utilitarian in purpose. There were no lavish tapestries or silk carpets. The walls were stabled instead in maps and pieces of parchments. There was a table in the middle, with one oil lamp propped in the center. The pile of papers that usually covered the table was now piled in a corner. King Aemon was conferring quietly with Generals Cysil and Donahin when he looked up to Cathon's approach.

"He has not arrived yet. Have a seat." Aemon motioned, and he obeyed, pulling up to the table. "Check your sword."

"I hardly think it is wise, my King." Cathon protested, eyeing the sheathed weapons placed squarely on the table.

"Check your sword." Aemon simply repeated. Cathon sighed, removed his sword and set it with the others.

The tent flap shifted softly, heralding a moment of tension. But a woman's face peered in, followed by a woman's body. Cathon sighed. It was only Airena. Certainly as an Advisor –their only Tar Valon Advisor and the only check against him- she would be in attendance. He had not seen her for some time, for she was often pulled thin across the battlefield. But, he could not but feel that she had been avoiding him. They locked gaze for a second as she entered, but she shifted her eyes away and avoided returning his glances. She took a seat by Cysil, right across from Cathon. She did not have her customary knitting with her today. She checked no weapons. For she was a weapon in herself. But was she weapon enough for the meeting?

There was the noise of men and horses outside. A tendril of cold air slithered in through the tent's opening, swirling across the closed space. A man ducked in gracefully, his eyes shifting to adjust to the light. He was a tall man with smooth dark hair pulled behind in a warrior's tail. His eyes were a commander's eyes, dark pools that could see what was there and what could be used. He was a man that cannot be called anything less than handsome and charismatic.

Cathon could not prevent the reaction he felt. His mouth drew back in, and his teeth were clenched tight in preventing himself from launching himself violently at the beast that had entered.

"Hello, gentlemen. Mind if I take a seat?" The man opened his mouth to reveal straight, white teeth. Perfect white teeth that clicked together like the sound of a steel trap closing on its prey. Taking the silence as an affirmative, the Dark One's emissary took his seat, his eyes appearing to wink.

"It is like a meeting of old friends, is it not?" He smiled, his eyes roaming across them. He met Cathon's hatred with a look of amusement, and he lounged back as if it was his own tent, and they were the visitors. "Congratulations, Generals. Your astuteness and flexibility astounds me. Quite a magnificent display yesterday, I do confess. But then, again, what is the blood of Manetheren but that? I admit that I take a little pride in the fight you're putting up against the inevitable. Lord of Manetheren to fellow Lords, of course." He gave his sly wink.

"You are nothing of Manetheren, Vanigan." Cathon slammed the table with a fist, nearly upsetting the lamp. But he became silent at a look from Aemon.

"Ah, Lawe, is this the way you treat the one who taught you all you know?" Piotor Vanigan leaned forward as if divulging a valuable secret, "Perhaps a little too well."

"What is it you are here to say?" Aemon interrupted.

"You have fought well. But good leaders know when to cut their losses. My terms are simple. If you will yield to me, one who was once a First Lord of Manetheren, your land and people will be spared, and the armies of my Master will be withdrawn from your soil. Your people can live in peace and harmony. As long as they raise no hand against the standard of Ba'alzamon. " His words were smooth and mesmerizing.

"A fair bargain." Cathon interjected, "If we were willing to sell our soul. Like you."

The look on Vanigan's face was almost hurt. "Perhaps if circumstances were different, Lawe, our places would be switched. I did not sell my soul. I give my loyalty freely to those whom I serve."

"You cannot expect us to actually accept your offer." Aemon pronounced, "You know we would never accept such. Anything less than unconditional surrender from you."

"I understand." His eyes narrowed. "But remember that I gave you a choice. Something that I was denied. You created me and think of me as a monster. But I gave you the opportunity to choose."

"You created yourself." Cathon exclaimed. "All your crimes and betrayals."

"You forced me on that path with your bitter persecution. And why? Because I can Channel? The way I was born. Do you strip the titles and deeds of the blind or exile the crippled? You fear those who have power, who could wield it beyond what you could comprehend. Your damned hypocrites!" He spat the last word.

"You will leave now. This meeting is completed." Aemon ignored the outburst.

"So be it. Death you have chosen. Death I will grant." Vanigan stood, a storm growing in his eyes, his visage twisted. He waved his hand, and a hurricane wind poured into the tent, scattering papers and buffeting the seated generals. The tent was ripped instantly from its lines, shredded to pieces and scattered into the sky. His voice exploded like a rush of air, "Know that you are utterly alone in this pathetic stand. No Covenant army readies to your aid. Your Tar Valon whore has played you to your doom."

Cathon sprang for his blade, catching the hilt. Vanigan stabbed down with blinding speed and an obsidian dagger trapped the general's arm to the desk by the sleeve. "Oops, I seem to have forgotten to check my weapon."

Then the Dreadlord turned into the circle of Ashenderai spear points. He opened his lips in a sneer, "Oh please." He pushed aside the two spears at his throat and strolled casually to his waiting horse. The Heart Guard's spears followed his exit until he leaped onto his pure white steed. He stared back then he and his men rode away.

"Don't touch the dagger." Airena warned, but Cathon did anyways, tapping carefully at the hilt with a finger. His hand flinched back at the pain coursing up the through his arm like a lance of lightning. He twisted a handkerchief around the hilt and plucked up it by the corner. It was a one-piece dagger with hilt and blade forged of the same lightless material. There was a small red etch on the blade, a small red hand. He slid it onto his belt. "I'll be sure to return to this."

"He is just as I remembered." Aemon sighed warily, "But I expected it."

"He's unraveled." Cysil stood up, "He needs a quick end here. We held him for too long, and he has never had patience. Perhaps he is afraid of what could happen to his army if he is still trapped here in two days."

"He denied the Covenant Army." Cathon re-belted his sword.

"Bluff." Aemon stared into the distance. No one cared to think of the alternative. Aes Sedai cannot lie. An Aes Sedai's promise is reality.

Cathon watched Airena depart, then murmured his own dismissal, hurrying after her.

"We need to talk." He said as he caught up.

"So that was him. The infamous Piotor Vanigan." She halted and turned to him.

"The Traitor, yes." Cathon studied her eyes for a flicker of any emotion. "A First Lord of Manetheren. My teacher and one of Manetheren's greatest heroes. Now High Dreadlord and our greatest shame."

"In his mind lies madness of the Taint. But in madness truth. I touched his mind. He is an angry man, obsessed with past wrongs." She sighed. "He is arrogant and casts no shields. I know what he knows. And perhaps that's what he wanted."

"That's good. You can tell me all he has planned. We can—"

"Madness poisons and so can the truth. Both have the power to kill. We digress. You are not here to talk about Vanigan. Or His Master."

"You said you wanted time to think."

"Yes, and my mind is now clear on what I must do, of which we both know. There is no future down that path. We are very much the same, General. We have our walls. We cannot live without them. I will not pretend that there is nothing between us. But, I trust in your pragmatism. Anything else?" Airena crossed her arms.

It was all Cathon could do to utter, "As my Lady wills."

She stared hard at him for a long minute, then a soft smile graced her lips. Perhaps with a trace of relief, as if the entire matter was solved.

But it was not. As she turned to leave, Cathon stood pondering whether to pursue the subject. But, he felt a firm grasp on his shoulder. It was Warder, watching her departing back.

"Let it lie. Just my advice." The stoic man spoke more words than Cathon had ever heard him utter before. Cathon studied the shadow within the helmet that was Warder. Who was this man that stood ever in Airena's shadows? What has he learned and seen of the inner mettle of the woman that held his heart in a lock. The voice and demeanor was familiar, utterly familiar. And spoke now to the general like a known acquaintance.

"Who are you?"

Warder was silent, then he lifted the helmet from his head. It was the face of the King, down to the eyes that always shined in thought and knowledge. But his countenance was clearly older and the hair was grayed.

"Aemon?" Cathon mouthed in astonishment, before he realized his error.

"No." The helmet came down once more. "But he bears my name."

"Prince Caar?" Cathon whispered incredulously. The legendary figure of Manetheren's recent history. Beloved father to King Aemon Al'Caar. Abdicated the high seat for true love. But he was supposed to be dead. Slain in Mafal Dadaranell by Rhea. Everyone knew the Ballad of Caar One-Hand. This was impossible. The dead can not rise from their graves.

The late Caar tapped his left gauntlet. It made a hollow sound; there was no hand within. "The tale is not for you, Lawe Cathon. Never speak again of that name or title. I have paid a harsh price for existence. None must know I live and am here. Especially not my son. You and he are the only one who may recognize me, though you were but babes when you saw me last. Aemon already suspects me, even when I am armored as such."

"Why are you here—my Lord. Why are you her warder?"

"Her warder died in the north to my hands, and my penitence was to take his place. My story is over; yours is not. I have only my final debts to repay. Listen to her, Lawe. She is a Foreteller, rarest of the rarest of Aes Sedai, able to view flashes of the great Pattern of Ages. You have heard her foretellings, though you may not have believed it to be so. I am here because she knew I was to come and she broke the curse that kept me away. She knows my past, my future, and my destiny. Greater Forces have been working towards this moment for a very long time, and I am just as much a pawn as you. She can see much, but you cannot press her. The slightest change will destroy what she has worked long for. And I am here for the fate I must meet and to touch my soil once more. You are still to find yours.

"I have abdicated the throne and its trappings, but I ask you to heed my command. Let this matter with Airena die now. She and you have futures uncrossed. Learn your lesson from my tragedy. Will you lose everything for love? Do your job and she will do hers. And perhaps all will not be for naught." Then Caar was gone with a flutter of his borrowed color-shifting cloak, leaving the general silenced.

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ