She adjusted the bodice of her dress to cover a start. Competing that way was remarkably silly - she had told herself that ten thousand times, and never
listened once - remarkably silly, and now the dress felt as if it might fall off. Which had nothing to do with her start. He did not know Sevanna had taken
every Shaido woman who could channel with her. Was it finally time to abandon him? If she threw herself on Demandred's mercy...

As if reading her thoughts, he said: "You're tied to me as tightly as my belt, Graendal." A gateway opened, revealing his private rooms in Illian. "The
truth doesn't matter anymore, if it ever has. You rise with me, or fall with me. The Great Lord rewards success, and he's never cared how it was achieved."

"As you say," she told him. Demandred had no mercy. And Semirhage... "I rise or fall with you." Still, something would have to be worked out. The
Great Lord rewarded success, but she would not be pulled down if Sammael failed. She opened a gateway to her palace in Arad Doman, to the long
columned room where she could see her pets frolicking in the pool. "But what
if al'Thor comes after you himself? What then?"

"Al'Thor isn't going after anyone." Sammael laughed. "All I have to do is wait." Still laughing, he stepped into his gateway and let it close, and she did the same.

Then, he moved from the deeper shadows, becoming visible to all other thing. In his
eyes, the gateways had left a residue - three patches of glowing mist. He could not tell one flow from another, but could distinguish saidin from saidar by
the smell. Saidin smelled like the sharp edge of a knife, the point of a thorn. Saidar smelled soft, but like something that would grow harder the harder it
was pressed. No other Myrddraal could smell that difference. But he was like no other Myrddraal, after all. In truth, he was no Myrddraal at all. He did, however, sometimes find it funny how he still perceived things in a physical fashion.

Picking up a discarded spear, Shaidar Haran used it to upend the bag Sammael had discarded, and then to stir the bits of stone that fell out. He held that same spear a thousand times before and would hold it a thousand times again if the things had not gone according to the plan of his master. But they did.

Laughing black flames raced down the spear haft from his hand, the hand of the Hand of the Shadow. In an instant the wooden haft was charred and twisted; the spearhead dropped off. He looked at it, seeing the missing finger. That small thing...even after so many eons, he had to admit his power was not complete. It was great enough and he recovered enough, but still something was missing.

His greatest failure, apart from letting Padan Fain run rampant through the world. Yet, that was so similar to the first mistake he ever made, when he let that snivelling thing out of the cage. Maybe if he had kept Gollum in the deepest dungeons of Barad-dûr, none of this would have happened. He would have had It back, he would have had Elessar's and Olórin's head and, sooner or later would have conquered all of these lands. Then, he would have released the Great Lord. And as for the West? He had no doubt they would not intervene.

But, alas, we cannot discuss it now. It no longer matters.

He raised his hand and looked up, waiting to see if it will happen again. Before, he would have always felt the weakness through his limbs, as if he was one of them, and not above all creation. Whenever he was too long away from Shayol Ghul, the pain would come to haunt him.

But now, nothing happened. He made another step, then another, and again nothing. He thought of a different shape and then, his pale hands changed to one that resembled the Elda hand once. Once again, he could be the Lord of Gifts. And with a laughter, Sauron continued his way.

The day has come. It is here.

And so Sammael was met with his damned fate, after Rand al'Thor did come for him.

The stench of Shayol Ghul would have been deadly for someone else, but Padan Fain felt nowhere more at home than there. The broken walls and the whispers of the night were the only thing having him recognize the place now, though. Mashadar did not appear as of yet, nor did it seem it will any time soon.

Sammael's scream was still up in the air, along with that Aiel woman. He had to spit at that and laugh. The fool really thought himself a great general and warrior, especially in defeating the Dragon. To be honest, Padan Fain assumed Sammael was not lead by pride in fighting Rand al'Thor, but by the old grudge against Lews Therin in a previous Age. Sammael always kept denying that, but it was not like he would admit if it were true. And, to be fair towards him, he did not stand a chance against the Lady. Even Rand al'Thor escaped by accident.

Rand al'Thor. The mere memory of that name made his face twist in disgust. Whenever he would not dream of webs, he would dream of killing him in his sleep. He wanted to hear him scream, to see him crawl and beg for the sweet release od death. He wanted to see him curse both life and death, to hear his cries of anguish and pain. That was the promise given to him if he kept bringing new prey here whenever he could. Rand al'Thor is his and only his.

The dead Myrddraal and two of its Trollocs lay there before him, waiting for their final end. Cleaning his dagger and staring down at dead beasts, Padan Fain admired the feel of Mashadar that could be glimpsed through the air. Great Aridhol was once such a beautiful city, was it not? So much for its beauty now, at least from mortal perspective. After he learned from Mordeth of the true nature of things, he knew he will forever laugh at human conceptions and images. The Power of Shadar Logoth made it all feel like ants walking upon the sand of the beach.

Sometimes, however, he also feared his old master will come here to haunt him. The Old Grim never forgot anything and the knowledge of the true nature in Shadar Logoth informed him of his true nature as well - of all things he ever did, great and terrible. He feared him and respected him more now than when he was a Darkfriend.

However, Shadowspawn never dared to enter Shadar Logoth, unless forced by Myrddraal, who feared it little less than Trollocs. The Great Myrddraal, however, once approached the ruins. He stared at them, and, unless he was blind, Padan Fain could swear he saw him smile. Then, he turned and left. Of all servants of the Shadow, he felt he feared him alone. The Chosen were all fools, thinking themselves gods when they were not even close to that calling. The Great Lord, His Hand and the Mashadar, however...

Gods. They who are older than the Pattern, older than Time itself.

The tendrils approached, grabbing the three things and pulling it towards the mist, never to return. Once, as a Darkfriend, with superstitious beliefs, he feared this place, feared and was disgusted by all the darkness and violence in it. He feared this power, this evil older than the taint of saidin, older than the Forsaken. Commoners, the mortals believed people of Aridhol created it. Never in a thousand turnings. Mordeth did not create Mashadar - he merely awakened her from slumber in an effort to drive the Shadow of the Great Lord away from Aridhol. Back then, Mordeth was not aware what he was doing and could not grasp the beauty and power thay was released in the city - now that he thought lf it, Fain doubted he ever truly realized what ruled here, even after thousands of years spent here. The Lady revealed herself only to Fain, because Mordeth became an utter idiot, oblivous to any of her needs. Fain was now the only one she chose to bring this scum to her. She devoured everything, but devouring the servants of her former master satiated her cruelty as much as her hunger.

That was it, that was the truth no one knew about this city. The power reigns here as it always did, and it ever will - in every age and every turning of the Wheel, she was here, for time meant nothing to her. They called her Mashadar, but he knew her by a different name.

He pulled another corpse out of the graves behind the pillar, then looked at his dagger and bit his tongue.

"Let us do it then. We cannot let lady Ungoliant wait."