“What needed to be done,” Androl said, standing. “What took you so long?”
“I nearly started another confrontation with Coteren,” Emarin said, still staring at the two captive Asha’man. “I think our time is short, Androl. We didn’t let them goad us, but Coteren seemed annoyed—more so than normal. I don’t think they’re going to tolerate us much longer.”
“Well, these captives put us on a countdown anyway,” Pevara said, moving Dobser over to make room for Emarin. “You really think you can make this man talk? I’ve tried interrogating Darkfriends before. They can be tough to crack.”
“Ah,” Emarin said, “but this is not a Darkfriend. This is Dobser.”
“I don’t think it’s really him,” Androl said, studying the man floating in his bonds. “I can’t accept that someone can be made to serve the Dark One.” He could sense Pevara’s disagreement; she really did think that was how it happened. Anyone who could channel could be Turned, she’d explained. The old texts spoke of it.
The idea made Androl want to sick up. Forcing someone to be evil? That shouldn’t be possible. Fate moved people about, put them in terrible positions, cost them their lives, sometimes their sanity. But the choice to serve the Dark One or the Light . . . surely that one choice could not be taken from a person.
The shadow he saw behind Dobser’s eyes was enough proof for Androl. The man he’d known was gone, killed, and something else—something evil—had been put into his body. A new soul. It had to be that.
“Whatever he is,” Pevara said, “I’m still skeptical that you can force him to speak.”
“The best persuasions,” Emarin said, hands clasped behind his back, “are those that aren’t forced. Pevara Sedai, if you would be so kind as to remove the weaves blocking his ears so that he can start to hear—but only remove them in the most minor way, as if the weave has been tied off and is failing. I want him to overhear what I’m about to say.”
She complied. At least, Androl assumed she did. Being double-bonded didn’t mean they could see one another’s weaves. He could feel her anxiety, however. She was thinking of Darkfriends she’d interrogated, was wishing for . . . something. A tool she’d used against them?
“I do think we can hide at my estates,” Emarin said in a haughty voice.
Androl blinked. The man held himself taller, more proudly, more . . . authoritatively. His voice became powerful, dismissive. Just like that, he had become a nobleman.
“No one will think to look for us there,” Emarin continued. “I will accept you as my associates, and the lesser among us—young Evin, for instance— can enter my employ as servants. If we play our hand correctly, we can build up a rival Black Tower.”
“I . . . don’t know how wise that would be,” Androl said, playing along.
“Silence,” Emarin said. “I will ask your opinion when it is required. Aes Sedai, the only way we will rival the White and Black Towers is if we create a place where male and female channelers work together. A . . . Gray Tower, if you will.”
“It is an interesting proposal.”
“It is the only thing that makes sense,” Emarin said, then turned to their captive. “He cannot hear what we say?”
“No,” Pevara said.
“Release him, then. I would speak to him.”
Pevara hesitantly did as instructed. Dobser dropped to the floor, barely catching himself. He stumbled for a moment, unsteady on his feet, then immediately glanced toward the exit.
Emarin reached behind his back, pulled something from his belt and tossed it to the floor. A small sack. It clinked as it hit. “Master Dobser,” Emarin said.
“What’s this?” Dobser asked, tentatively crouching down, taking the sack. He peeked into it, and his eyes widened noticeably.
“Payment,” Emarin said.
Dobser narrowed his eyes. “To do what?”
“You mistake me, Master Dobser,” Emarin said. “I’m not asking you to do anything, I’m paying you in apology. I sent Androl here to request your aid, and he seems to have . . . overstepped the bounds of his instructions.
I merely wished to speak with you. I did not intend to see you wrapped up in Air and tormented.”
Dobser glanced about himself, suspicious. “Where’d you find money like this, Emarin? What makes you think you can start giving orders? You’re just a soldier . . .” He looked at the pouch’s contents again.
I see that we understand each other,” Emarin said, smiling. “You’ll maintain my front for me, then?”
“I . . .” Dobser frowned. He looked at Welyn and Leems, lying unconscious on the floor.
Yes, Emarin said. That is going to be a problem, isn’t it? You don’t suppose we could just give Androl to Taim and blame him for this?”
Androl? Dobser said, snorting. The pageboy? Taking down two Ashaman? Nobody would believe it. Nobody.”
‘A valid point, Master Dobser,” Emarin said.
Just give em the Aes Sedai, Dobser said, jerking a finger toward her.
‘Alas, I have need of her. A mess, this is. A pure mess.”
“Well,” Dobser said, “maybe I could talk to the M’Hael for you. You know, straighten it out.”
That would be much appreciated,” Emarin said, taking a chair from beside the wall and setting it down, then placing another before it. He sat, waving for Dobser to sit down. “Androl, make yourself useful. Find something for Master Dobser and me to drink. Tea. You like sugar?”
No, Dobser said. “Actually, I heard there was wine round here somewhere . . .”
“Wine, Androl,” Emarin said, snapping his fingers.
Well, Androl thought, best to play the part. He bowed, shooting Dobser a calculated glare, then fetched some cups and wine from the storeroom. When he returned, Dobser and Emarin were chatting amicably.
I understand,” Emarin said. “I have had such trouble finding proper help inside the Black Tower. You see, the need to preserve my identity is imperative.”
“I can see that, m’Lord,” Dobser said. “Why, if anyone else knew a High Lord of Tear was among our ranks, there’d be no end to the boot licking. That I can tell you! And the M’Hael, well, he wouldn’t like someone with so much authority being here. No, not at all!”
“You see why I had to maintain my distance,” Emarin explained, holding out a hand and accepting a cup of wine as Androl poured it.
A High Lord of Tear? Androl thought, amused. Dobser seemed to be drinking it in as he did strong liquor.
“And we all thought you were fawning over Logain because you was stupid!” Dobser said.
“Alas, the lot I’ve been given. Taim would see through me in a moment if I were to spend too much time around him. So I was forced to go with Logain. He and that Dragon fellow, both are obviously farmers and wouldn’t recognize a highborn man.”
“I’ll say, m’Lord,” Dobser said, “I was suspicious.”
“As I thought,” Emarin said, taking a sip of the wine. “To prove it’s not poisoned,” he explained, before passing the cup to Dobser.
“ ’S all right, m’Lord,” Dobser said. “I trust you.” He gulped down the wine. “If you can’t trust a High Lord himself, who can you trust, right?
Quite right,” Emarin said.
“I can tell you this,” Dobser said, holding out his cup and wagging it for Androl to refill, “you’ll need to find a better way of keeping away from Taim. Following Logain won’t work anymore.”
Emarin took a long, contemplative sip from his cup of wine. “Taim has him. I see. I did guess it would be so. Welyn and the others showing up tells the tale.”
“Yeah,” Dobser said, letting Androl refill his cup again. “Logain is a strong one, though. Takes a lot of work to Turn a man like him. Willpower, you know? It will be a day or two to Turn him. Anyway, you might as well come out to Taim, explain what you’re up to. He’ll understand, and he keeps saying men are more useful to him if he doesn’t have to Turn them. Don’t know why. No choice but to Turn Logain,
though. Awful process.” Dobser shivered.
“I’ll go and speak with him then, Master Dobser. Would you vouch for me, by chance? I’ll ... see you paid for the effort.”
“Sure, sure,” Dobser said. “Why not?” He downed his wine, then lurched to his feet. “He’ll be checking on Logain. Always does, this time of night.
And that would be where?” Emarin said.
“The hidden rooms,” Dobser said. “In the foundations we’re building. You know the eastern section, where the collapse made all of that extra digging? That was no collapse, just an excuse for covering up extra work being done. And . . .” Dobser hesitated.
“And that’s enough,” Pevara said, tying the man up in air again and stopping his ears. She folded her arms, looking at Emarin. “I’m impressed.” Emarin spread his hands apart in a gesture of humility. “I have always had a talent for making men feel at ease. In truth, I didn’t suggest picking Dobser because I thought he’d be easy to bribe. I picked him because of his . . . well, understated powers of cognitive expression.”
“Turning someone to the Shadow doesn’t make him any less stupid,” Androl said. “But if you could do this, why did we have to jump him in the first place?”
“It’s a matter of controlling the situation, Androl,” Emarin said. “A man like Dobser mustn’t be confronted in his element, surrounded by friends with more wits than he. We had to scare him, make him writhe, then offer him a way to wiggle out.” Emarin hesitated, glancing at Dobser. “Besides, I don’t think we wanted to risk him going to Taim, which he very well might have done if I’d approached him in private without the threat of violence.
And now?” Pevara asked.
“Now,” Androl said, “we douse these three with something that will keep them sleeping until Bel Tine. We gather Nalaam, Canler, Evin and Jonneth. We wait for Taim to finish his inspection of Logain; we break in, rescue him and seize the Tower back from the Shadow.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the room lit only by the single, flickering lamp. Rain sprayed the window.
Well, Pevara said, so long as it’s not a difficult task you’re proposing, Androl . . .”
Rand opened his eyes to the dream, somewhat surprised to find that he had fallen asleep. Aviendha had finally let him doze. In truth, she was probably letting herself doze as well. She’d seemed as tired as he had. More, perhaps.
He climbed to his feet in the meadow of dead grass. He had been able to sense her concern not only through the bond but in the way she had held him. Aviendha was a fighter, a warrior, but even a warrior needed something to hold on to once in a while. Light knew that he did.
He looked about. This didn't feel like Tel’aran’rhiod', not completely. The dead field extended into the distance on all sides, presumably into infinity. This wasn't the true World of Dreams; it was a dreamshard, a world created by a powerful Dreamer or dreamwalker.
Rand began walking, feet crunching on dead leaves, though there were no trees. He could probably have sent himself back to his own dreams; though he had never been as good as many of the Forsaken at walking dreams, he could manage that much. Curiosity drove him forward.
I shouldn’t be here, he thought. I set wards. How had he come to this place and who had created it? He had a suspicion. There was one person who had often made use of dreamshards.
Rand felt a presence nearby. He continued walking, not turning, but knew that someone was now walking beside him.
“Elan,” Rand said.
“Lews Therin.” Elan still wore his newest body, the tall, handsome man who wore red and black. “It dies, and the dust soon will rule. The dust . . . then nothing.”
“How did you pass my wards?”
“I don’t know,” Moridin said. “I knew that if I created this place, you would join me in it. You cant keep away from me. The Pattern won’t allow it. We are drawn together, you and I. Time after time after time. Two ships moored on the same beach, beating against one another with each new tide.
Poetic,” Rand said. “You’ve finally let Mierin off her leash, I’ve seen.” Moridin stopped, and Rand paused, looking at him. The man’s rage seemed to come off him in waves of heat.
“She came to you?” Moridin demanded.
Rand said nothing.
“Do not pretend that you knew she still lived. You didn’t know, you couldn’t have known.”
Rand kept still. His emotions regarding Lanfear—or whatever she called herself now—were complicated. Lews Therin had despised her, but Rand had known her primarily as Selene, and had been fond of her—until, at least, she tried to kill Egwene and Aviendha.
Thinking of her made him think of Moiraine, made him hope for things he shouldn’t hope for.
If Lanfear still lives . . . might Moiraine as well?
He faced Moridin with calm confidence. “Loosing her is pointless, now,” Rand said. “She no longer holds any power over me.”
“Yes,” Moridin said. “I believe you. She does not, but I do think she still harbors something of a . . . grievance with the woman you chose. What is her name again? The one who calls herself Aiel but carries weapons?”
Rand did not rise to the attempt to rile him.
“Mierin hates you now, anyway,” Moridin continued. “I think she blames you for what happened to her. You should call her Cyndane. She has been forbidden to use the name she took upon herself.”
“Cyndane . . .” Rand said, trying out the word. “ ‘Last Chance’? Your master has gained humor, I see.”
“It was not meant to be humorous,” Moridin said.
“No, I suppose that it was not.” Rand looked at the endless landscape of dead grass and leaves. “It is hard to think that I was so afraid of you during those early days. Did you invade my dreams then, or bring me into one of these dreamshards? I was never able to figure it out.”
Moridin said nothing.
“I remember one time . . .” Rand said. “Sitting up by the fire, surrounded by nightmares that felt like Tel’aran’rhiod. You would not have been able to pull someone fully into the World of Dreams, yet I’m no dream-walker, able to enter on my own.”
Moridin, like many of the Forsaken, had usually entered Tel’aran’rhiod in the flesh, which was dangerous. Some said that entering in the flesh was an evil thing, that it lost you a part of your humanity. It also made you more powerful.
Moridin gave no clue as to what had happened on that night. Rand remembered those days faintly, traveling toward Tear. He remembered visions in the night, visions of his friends or family that would try to kill him. Moridin . . . Ishamael . . . had been pulling him against his will into dreams intersecting Tel’aran’rhiod.
You were mad, during those days,” Rand said softly, looking into Moridin’s eyes. He could almost see the fires burning there. “You’re still mad, aren't you? You just have it contained. No one could serve him without being at least a little mad.”
Moridin stepped forward. “Taunt as you wish, Lews Therin. The ending dawns. All will be given to the great suffocation of the Shadow, to be stretched, ripped, strangled.”
Rand took a step forward as well, right up to Moridin. They were the same height. “You hate yourself,” Rand whispered. “I can feel it in you, Elan. Once you served him for power; now you do it because his victory—and an end to all things—is the only release you’ll ever know. You’d rather not exist than continue to be you. You must know that he will not release you. Not ever. Not you.”
Moridin sneered. “He’ll let me kill you before this ends, Lews Therin. You, and the golden-haired one, and the Aiel woman, and the little darkhaired—”
“You act as if this is a contest between you and me, Elan,” Rand interrupted.
Moridin laughed, throwing his head back. “Of course it is! Haven’t you seen that yeti By the blood falls, Lews Therin! It is about us two. Just as in Ages past, over and over, we fight one another. You and I.”
No, Rand said. “Not this time. I’m done with you. I have a great
er battle to fight.”
“Don’t try to—”
Sunlight exploded through the clouds above. There was often no sunlight in the World of Dreams, but now it bathed the area around Rand.
Moridin stumbled back. He looked up at the light, then gazed at Rand and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think . . . don’t think I will believe your simple tricks, Lews Therin. Weiramon was shaken by what you did to him, but it’s not such a difficult thing, holding saidin and listening for people’s heartbeats to speed up.”
Rand exerted his will. The crackling dead leaves began to transform at his feet, turning green again, and shoots of grass broke through the leaves.
The green spread from him like spilled paint, and clouds above boiled away.
Moridin’s eyes opened wider. He stumbled, staring at the sky as the clouds retreated . . . Rand could feel his shock. This was Moridin’s dream-shard.
However, to draw another in, he had had to place it close to Tel’aran’rhiod. Those rules applied. There was something else, too, something about the connection between the two of them . . .
Rand strode forward, lifting his arms out to the sides. Grass sprouted in waves, red blossoms burst from the ground like a blush upon the land. The storm stilled, the dark clouds burned away by light.
“Tell your master!” Rand commanded. “Tell him this fight is not like the others. Tell him I’ve tired of minions, that I’m finished with his petty movement of pawns. Tell him that I’m coming for HIM!”
“This is wrong,” Moridin said, visibly shaken. “This isn’t . . ” He looked at Rand for a moment, standing beneath the blazing sun, then vanished.
Rand let out a deep breath. The grass died around him, the clouds sprang back, the sunlight faded. Though Moridin was gone, holding on to that transformation of the landscape had been difficult. Rand sagged, panting, recovering from the exertion.
Here, willing something to be true could make it so. If only things were that simple in the real world.
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