Towers of Midnight by Robert Jordan and Robert Sanderson

by Unknown

  "We'll get out, Mat," Thom promised. "We can. Moiraine saw it."

  Mat nodded firmly. "Bloody right we will. They're playing a game, Thom. I win games." He pulled a handful of dice from his pocket. I win them most of the time, anyway.

  A voice whispered suddenly from behind them. "Welcome, son of battles."

  Mat spun, cursing, glancing about the chamber.

  "There," Noal said, pointing with his staff. There was a figure beside one of the pillars, half lit by the yellow light. Another Eelfinn. Taller, his face more angular. His eyes reflected torchlight. Orange.

  "I can take you where you wish to go," the Eelfinn said, voice rough and gravelly. He raised an arm against the glow of the torches. "For a price."

  "Thom, music."

  Thom began playing again.

  "One of you already tried to get us to leave our tools behind," Mat said. He pulled a torch from the pack over his arm, then thrust it to the side, lighting it on Noal's lantern. "It won't work."

  The Eelfinn shied away from the new light, snarling softly. "You come looking to bargain, yet you purposely antagonize? We have done nothing to earn this."

  Mat pulled the scarf free from his neck. "Nothing?"

  The creature made no response, though it did back away, stepping into the darker area between pillars. Its too-angular face was now only barely lit by the yellow lights.

  "Why do you wish to speak with us, son of battles," the whisperer said from the shadows, "if you are not willing to bargain?"

  "No," Mat said. "No bargaining until we reach the great hall, the Chamber of Bonds." That was the only place where they would be bound to the agreement. Is that not what Birgitte had said? Of course, she had seemed to be relying on stories and hearsay herself.

  Thom continued playing, eyes darting from side to side, trying to watch the shadows. Noal began to play the little cymbals he had tied to the legs of his trousers, tapping them in time with Thorn's music. The shadows continued to move out there, however.

  "Your . . . comforts will not slow us, son of battles," a voice said from behind. Mat spun, lowering his weapon. Another Eelfinn stood there, just inside the shadows. A female, with a crest of red running down her back, the leather straps crossing her breasts in an 'X' pattern. Her red lips smiled. "We are the near ancient, the warriors of final regret, the knowers of secrets."

  "Be proud, son of battles," another voice hissed. Mat spun again, sweat dampening his brow. The female vanished back into the shadows, but another Eelfinn strolled through the light. He carried a long, wicked bronze knife, with a crosswork pattern of roses along its length and thorns sticking out near the top of the crossguard. "You draw out our most skilled. You are to be . . . savored."

  "What " Mat began, but the lean, dangerous-looking Eelfinn stepped back into the shadows and vanished. Too quickly. As if the darkness had absorbed him.

  Other whispers began in the shadows, speaking in low voices, overlapping each other. Faces appeared from the darkness, inhuman eyes wide, lips curled in smiles. The creatures had pointed teeth.

  Light! There were dozens of Eelfinn in the room. Shifting, moving about, dancing into the light, then jumping back into the dark. Some were casual, others energetic. All looked dangerous.

  "Will you bargain?" one asked.

  "You come without treaty. Dangerous," said another.

  "Son of battles."

  "The savor!"

  "Feel his fear."

  "Come with us. Leave your terrible light." "A bargain must be made. We will wait." "Patient we are. Ever patient." "The savor!"

  "Stop it!" Mat bellowed. "No bargains! Not until we reach the center."

  At his side, Thom lowered the flute. "Mat. I don't think the music is working anymore."

  Mat nodded curtly. He needed Thom ready with weapons. The gleeman tucked away his flute, getting out knives. Mat ignored the whispering voices and tossed the dice onto the ground.

  As they rolled, a figure scuttled from the darkness beside the nearest pillar. Mat cursed, lowering his spear and striking at the Eelfinn, which moved across the ground on all fours. But his blade passed right through it, as if it were smoke.

  Was it an illusion? A trick of the eyes? Mat hesitated long enough for another creature to snatch the dice and leap back toward the shadows.

  Something sparkled in the air. Thorn's dagger found its made, striking the creature in the shoulder. This time the blade pierced and stayed, releasing a spray of dark blood.

  Iron, Mat thought, cursing his stupidity. He spun the ashandarei around, using the side banded with iron. He shivered as he saw the Eelfinn's blood on the ground begin to steam. White steam, as in the other chambers, but this had shapes in it. They looked like twisted faces, appearing briefly and yelling before vanishing.

  Burn them! He couldn't get distracted. He had other dice. He reached for his pocket, but an Eelfinn ducked from the shadows, as if to grab at his coat.

  Mat spun his weapon, striking the side of the fox male's face with the banded iron. He crushed bone, tossing the creature to the side like a bundle of sticks.

  Hisses and growls surrounded them. Eyes shifted in the darkness, reflecting torchlight. The Eelfinn moved, cloaked in blackness, surrounding Mat and the othets. Mat cursed, taking a step in the direction of the Eelfinn he had struck.

  "Mat!" Thom said, grabbing the cuff of his coat. "We can't wade into that."

  Mat hesitated. It seemed that the stink from before was strenget, the scent of beasts. Shadows moved all about, more frantic now, their whispers angry and mixed with yipping calls.

  "They control the darkness," Noal said. He stood with his back to Mat and Thom, wary. "Those yellow lights are to distract us; there are breaks in them and sheltered alcoves. It's all a trick."

  Mat felt his heart beating rapidly. A trick? No, not just a trick. There was something unnatural about the way those creatures moved in the shadow. "Burn them," Mat said, shaking Thorn's hand free but not chasing into the datkness.

  "Gentlemen," Noal said. "Gather arms. . . ."

  Mat glanced over his shoulder. There were Eelfinn stalking from the shadows behind them, a double wave, one group sliding on all fours before a second group. The second group carried those wicked-looking bronze knives.

  The shadows from the depths of the room seemed to be extending with the Eelfinn, closing on Mat and his group. His heart beat even faster.

  The Eelfinn eyes shone, and those on all fours began to lope forward. Mat swung as the Eelfinn reached his group, but they split, ducking to the sides. Distracting him.

  Behind! Mat thought with alarm. Another group of Eelfinn jumped out of the darkness there.

  Mat turned on them, swinging. They ducked back before he hit. Light! They were all around, seething out of the darkness, coming close enough to be dangerous, then backing away.

  Thom whipped out a pair of daggers, throwing, and Noal kept his shortsword at the ready, waving his torch with his other hand, his banded staff on the floor at his feet. One of Thorn's knives flashed, seeking flesh, but missed and passed into the darkness.

  "Don't waste knives!" Mat said. "Bloody sons of goats, they're trying to make you waste them, Thom!"

  "They're harrying us," Noal growled. "They'll overwhelm us eventually. We have to move!"

  "Which way?" Thom asked, urgent. He cursed as a pair of Eelfinn appeared from the shadows carrying bronze-ended lances. They thrust forward, forcing Mat, Thom, and Noal to back away.

  No time for dice. They would just snatch those anyway. Mat yanked open his pack and pulled out a nightflower. "Once this goes off, I'm going to close my eyes and spin about."

  "What?" Thom said.

  "It's worked before!" Mat said, lighting the nightflower and throwing it as hard as he could into the darkness. There was a count of five, and the boom that followed rattled the room. All three of them averted their eyes, but the colorful flash was bright enough to see through eyelids.

  Eelfinn screamed in pain, and Mat distinct
ly heard pings as weapons were dropped. No doubt hands were raised to eyes.

  "Here we go!" Mat said, spinning.

  "This is flaming insane," Thom said.

  Mat kept going, trying to feel for it. Where was that luck? "That way!" he said, pointing in a random direction.

  He opened his eyes in time to leap over the dark form of an Eelfinn huddling on the ground. Mat and Thom followed, and Mat led them straight into the darkness. He charged ahead until his friends were barely visible. All he could see were those lines of yellow.

  Oh, bloody ashes, he thought. If my luck fails me now. . . .

  They burst into a five-sided corridor, the darkness vanishing around them. They had not been able to see this corridor from the other room, but here it was.

  Thom let out a whoop. "Mat, you wood-headed shepherd! For this, I'll let you play my harp!"

  "I don't want to play your bloody harp," Mat said, glancing over his shoulder. "But you can buy me a mug or two when we're out."

  He heard screams and screeches from the dark room. That was one trick used up; they would be expecting nightflowers now. Birgitte, you were right, he thought. You probably walked past the corridor you needed several times, never knowing it was only a few feet away.

  Never choose the card a man wants you to. Mat should have realized that. It was one of the oldest cons in creation. They hastened fotward, passing five-sided doorways leading into large star-shaped caverns. Thom and Noal glanced into them, but Mat kept on. Straight forward. This was the way his luck had sent them.

  Something was different from when he had visited before. There was no dust on the floot to make footprints. Had they known he was coming, and used the dust to confuse him? Or had they cleaned the place this time, knowing that visitots might arrive? Who knew in a realm such as this?

  It had been a long walk before. Or had it been a short one? Time blended here. It seemed that they tan for many hours, yet it also felt like moments.

  And then the doorway was in front of them, appearing like a striking adder. It had not been there a moment before. The rim of the opening was intricately carved wood, with an impossible pattern of weaving vines that seemed to double back on one another and make no sense.

  All three pulled to a halt. "Mirrors," Noal said. "I've seen it before. That's how they do it, obscuring things with mirrors." He sounded unnerved. Where did one hide mirrors in a bloody straight tunnel?

  They were in the right place; Mat could smell it. The stink of the Eelfinn was strongest here. He set his jaw and stepped through the doorway.

  The room beyond was as he remembered it. No columns here, though the room was distinctly star-shaped. Eight tips and only the one doorway. Those glowing yellow strips ran up the shatp ends of the room, and eight empty pedestals stood, black and ominous, one at each point.

  It was exactly the same. Except for the woman floating at its center.

  She was clothed only in a fine white mist that shifted and shone around her, the details of her figure obfuscated but not hidden. Her eyes were closed, and her dark hair curly but no longer in perfect ringlets fluttered as if in a wind blowing up from beneath. Her hands rested atop her stomach, and there was a strange bracelet of something that looked like aged ivory on her left wrist.

  Moiraine.

  Mat felt a surge of emotions. Worry, frustration, concern, awe. She was the one who had started this all. He had hated her at times. He also owed her his life. She was the first one who had meddled, yanking him this way and that. Yet looking back he figured that she had been the most honest about it of anyone who had used him. Unapologetic, unyielding. And selfless.

  She had dedicated everything to protecting three foolish boys, all ignorant of what the world would demand of them. She had determined to take them to safety. Maybe train them a little, whether they wanted it or not.

  Because they needed it.

  Light, her motives seemed clear to him now. That did not make him any less angry with her, but it did make him grateful. Burn her, but this was a confusing set of emotions! Those bloody foxes how dare they keep her like this! Was she alive?

  Thom and Noal were staring Noal solemn, Thom disbelieving. So Mat stepped forward to pull Moiraine free. As soon as his hands touched the mist, however, he felt a blazing pain. He screamed, pulling back, shaking his hand.

  "It's bloody hot" Mat said. "It- "

  He cut off as Thom stepped forward.

  "Thom . . ." Mat said warningly.

  "I don't care," the gleeman said. He stepped up to the mist, reaching in, his clothing beginning to steam, his eyes watering from the pain. He did not flinch. He dug into that mist and took hold of her, then pulled her free. Her weight sank into his arms, but his aging limbs were strong, and she looked frail enough that she must not have weighed much.

  Light! Mat had forgotten how small she was. A good head shorter than he was. Thom knelt, pulling off his gleeman's cloak and wrapping her in it. Her eyes were still closed.

  "Is she . . ." Noal asked.

  "She lives," Thom said quietly. "I felt her heartbeat." He took the btacelet off her arm. It was in the shape of a man bent backward with his wrists bound to his ankles, clothed in a strange suit of clothing. "It looks like a ter'angreal of some sort," Thom said, tucking it into his cloak pocket. "I "

  "It is an angreal" a voice proclaimed. "Strong enough to be nearly sa'angreal. It can be part of her price, should you wish to pay it."

  Mat spun. The pedestals were now occupied by Eelfinn, four males, four females. All eight wore white instead of black white skirts with straps across the chests for the males and blouses for the females, made from that disturbing pale substance that looked like skin.

  "Mark your tongues," Mat said to Thom and Noal, trying to contain his worry. "Speak amiss, and they'll have you strung up, claiming it was your own desire. Ask nothing of them."

  The other two fell silent, Thom holding Moiraine close, Noal carrying his torch and staff warily, pack over his shoulder.

  "This is the great hall," Mat said to the Eelfinn. "The place called the Chamber of Bonds. You must abide by the pacts you make here."

  "The bargain has been arranged," one of the Eelfinn males said, smiling, showing pointed teeth.

  The other Eelfinn leaned in, breathing deeply, as if smelling something. Or ... as if drawing something from Mat and the others. Birgitte had said that they fed off emotion.

  "What bargain?" Mat snapped, glancing around at the pedestals. "Burn you, what bargain ?"

  "A price must be paid," one said.

  "The demands must be met," said another.

  "A sacrifice must be given." This from one of the females. She smiled more broadly than the others. Her teeth were pointed, too.

  "I want the way out restored as part of the bargain," Mat said. "I want it back where it was and open again. And I'm not bloody done negotiating, so don't assume that this is my only request, burn you."

  "It will be restored," an Eelfinn said. The others leaned forward. They could sense his desperation. Several of them seemed dissatisfied. They didn't expect us to make it here, Mat thought. They don't like to risk losing us.

  "I want you to leave that way out open until we get through," Mat continued. "No blocking it up or making it bloody vanish when we arrive. And I want the way to be direct, no changing rooms about. A straight pathway. And you bloody foxes can't knock us unconscious or try to kill us or anything like that."

  They did not like that. Mat caught several of them frowning. Good. They would see they were not negotiating with a child.

  "We take her," Mat said. "We get out."

  "These demands are expensive," one of the Eelfinn said. "What will you pay for these boons?"

  "The price has been set," another whispered from behind.

  And it had been. Somehow, Mat knew. A part of him had known from the first time he had read that note. If he had never spoken to the Aelfinn that first time, would any of this have happened? Likely, he would have died. They had to
tell the truth.

  They had warned him of a payment to come. For life. For Moiraine.

  And he would have to pay it. In that moment, he knew that he would. For he knew that if he did not, the cost would be too great. Not just to Thom, not just to Moiraine, and not just to Mat himself. By what he'd been told, the fate of the world itself depended on this moment.

  Well burn me for a fool, Mat thought. Maybe I am a hero after all. Didn't that beat all?

  "I'll pay it," Mat announced. "Half the light of the world." To save the world.

  "Done!" one of the male Eelfinn announced.

  The eight creatures leaped as if one from their pedestals. They enclosed him in a tightening circle, like a noose. Quick, supple and predatory.

  "Mat!" Thom cried, struggling to hold the unconscious Moiraine while reaching for one of his knives.

  Mat held up a hand toward Thom and Noal. "This must be done," he said, taking a few steps away from his friends. The Eelfinn passed them without sparing a glance. The gold studs on the straps crossing the male Eelfinn's chests glittered in the yellow light. All eight creatures were smiling wide.

  Noal raised his sword.

  "No!" Mat yelled. "Don't break this agreement. If you do, we all will die here!"

  The Eelfinn stepped up in a tight circle around Mat. He tried to look at them all at once, heart thudding louder and louder in his chest. They were sniffing at him again, drawing in deep breaths, enjoying whatever it was they drew from him.

  "Do it, burn you," Mat growled. "But know this is the last you'll get of me. I'll escape your tower, and I'll find a way to free my mind from you forever. You won't have me. Matrim Cauthon is not your bloody puppet."

  "We shall see," an Eelfinn male growled, eyes lustful. The creature's hand snapped forward, too-sharp nails glittering in the dim light. He drove them directly into the socket around Mat's left eye, then ripped the eye out with a snap.