The Gathering Storm

by Brandon Sanderson

Page 5

  It was distractingly hot on the other side of the gateway. She immediately wove Air and Water, cooling the air around her. She was in a black stone building, with ruddy light coming in the windows. They had no glass in them. That reddish tint implied a sunset, but it was barely midafternoon back in Arad Doman. Surely she hadnt traveled that far, had she?

  The room was furnished only with hard chairs of the deepest black wood. Moridin certainly was lacking in imagination lately. Everything of black and red, and all focused on killing those fool boys from the village of Rand alThor. Was she the only one who saw that alThor himself was the real threat? Why not just kill him and be done with it?

  The most obvious answer to that question—that none of them so far had proven strong enough to defeat him—was one she did not enjoy contemplating.

  She walked to the window and found the reason for the rust-colored light. Outside, the claylike ground was stained red from the iron in the soil. She was on the second level of a deep black tower, the stones drawing in the burning heat of the sky. Very little vegetation sprouted outside, and that which did was spotted with black. So, it was the deep northeastern Blight. It had been some time since shed been here. Moridin seemed to have located a fortress, of all things.

  A collection of shoddy huts stood in the shadow of the fortress, and a few patches of blightstrain crops marked fields in the distance. They were probably trying a new strain, coaxing it to grow in the area. Perhaps several different crops; that would explain the patches. Guards prowled the area, wearing black uniforms despite the heat. Soldiers were necessary to fight off attacks from the various Shadowspawn that inhabited the lands this deep within the Blight. Those creatures obeyed no master save for the Great Lord himself. What was Moridin doing all the way out here?

  Her speculation was cut short as footsteps announced other arrivals. Demandred entered through the doorway to the south, and he was accompanied by Mesaana. Had they arrived together, then? They assumed that Graendal did not know of their little alliance, a pact that included Semi-rhage. But honestly, if they wanted to keep that a secret, couldnt they see that they shouldnt answer a summons together?

  Graendal hid a smile as she nodded to the two of them, then selected the largest and most comfortable-looking of the rooms chairs to sit in. She ran a finger along the smooth, dark wood, feeling the grain beneath the lacquer. Demandred and Mesaana regarded her coldly, and she knew them well enough to pick out hints of their surprise at seeing her. So. They had anticipated this meeting, had they? But not Graendals presence at it? Best to pretend that she herself was not confused. She smiled knowingly at the two of them and caught a flash of anger in Demandreds eyes.

  That man frustrated her, though she would never admit it out loud. Mesaana was in the White Tower, pretending to be one of what passed for an Aes Sedai in this Age. She was obvious and easy to read; Graendals agents in the White Tower kept her well apprised of Mesaanas activities. And, of course, Graendals own newly minted association with Arangar was helpful as well. Arangar was playing with the rebel Aes Sedai, the ones who were besieging the White Tower.

  Yes, Mesaana did not confuse her, and the others were equally easy to track. Moridin was gathering the Great Lords forces for the Last Battle, and his war preparations left him very little time for the south—though his two minions, Cyndane and Moghedien, occasionally showed their faces there. They spent their time rallying the Darkfriends and occasionally trying to follow Moridins orders that the two taveren—Perrin Aybara and Matrim Cauthon—be killed.

  She was certain Sammael had fallen to Rand alThor during the struggle for Illian. In fact—now that Graendal had a clue that Semirhage had been pulling strings with the Seanchan—she was confident she knew the plans of every one of the other seven remaining Chosen.

  Except Demandred.

  What was that blasted man up to? Shed have traded all of her knowledge of Mesaanas and Arangars doings for even a hint of Demandreds plans. He stood there, handsome and hawk-nosed, his lips drawn in perpetual anger. Demandred never smiled, never seemed to enjoy anything. Though he was one of the foremost generals among the Chosen, warfare had never seemed to bring him joy. Once she had heard him say that he would laugh the day he could snap the neck of Lews Therin. And only then.

  He was a fool to bear that grudge. To think he might have been on the other side—might have become the Dragon himself, had things turned out differently. Still, fool or not, he was extremely dangerous, and Graen-dal did not like being ignorant of his plans. Where had he set up? Demandred liked having armies to command, but there were none left moving in the world.

  Save perhaps for those Borderlanders. Could he have managed to infiltrate them} That certainly would have been a coup. But surely shed have heard something; she had spies in that camp.

  She shook her head, wishing for a drink to wet her lips. This northern air was too dry; she much preferred the Domani humidity. Demandred folded his arms, remaining standing as Mesaana seated herself. She had chin-length dark hair and watery blue eyes. Her floor-length white dress bore no embroidery, and she wore no jewelry. A scholar to the core. Sometimes Graendal thought Mesaana had gone over to the Shadow because it offered a more interesting opportunity for research.

  Mesaana was fully dedicated to the Great Lord now, just like the rest of them, but she seemed a second-rate member of the Chosen. Making boasts she couldnt fulfill, allying herself to stronger parties but lacking the skill to manipulate them. Shed done evil works in the Great Lords name, but had never managed the grand achievements of Chosen like Semirhage and Demandred. Let alone Moridin.

  And, as Graendal began to think on Moridin, the man entered. Now, there was a handsome creature. Demandred looked like a knob-faced peasant compared with him. Yes, this body was much better than his previous one. He was almost pretty enough to be one of her pets, though that chin spoiled the face. Too prominent, too strong. Still, that stark black hair atop a tall, broad-shouldered body. . . . She smiled, thinking of him kneeling in a filmy outfit of white, looking at her adoringly, his mind wrapped in Compulsion to the point that he saw nobody—nothing— other than Graendal.

  Mesaana rose as soon as Moridin entered, and Graendal reluctantly did likewise. He wasnt her pet, not yet. He was Naeblis, and he had begun to demand more and more shows of obedience from them in recent days. The Great Lord gave him the authority. All three of the other Chosen reluctantly bowed their heads to him; only to him among all men would they show deference. He noted their obedience with stern eyes as he stalked to the front of the room, where the wall of charcoal black stones was set with a mantel. What had possessed someone to build a fortress out of black rock in the Blights heat?

  Graendal sat back down. Were the other Chosen coming? If not, what did it mean?

  Mesaana spoke before Moridin could say anything. "Moridin," she said, stepping forward, "we need to rescue her. "

  "You will speak when I give you leave, Mesaana," he replied coldly. "You are not yet forgiven. "

  She cringed, then obviously grew angry at herself for it. Moridin ignored her, glancing over at Graendal, eyes narrow. What was that look for?

  "You may continue," he finally said to Mesaana, "but remember your place. "

  Mesaanas lips formed a line, but she did not argue. "Moridin," she said, tone less demanding. "You saw the wisdom in agreeing to meet with us. Surely that was because you are as shocked as we are. We do not have the resources to help her ourselves; she is bound to be well guarded by Aes Sedai and those Ashaman. You need to help us free her. "

  "Semirhage deserves her imprisonment," Moridin said, resting his arm on the mantel, still turned away from Mesaana.

  Semirhage, captured? Graendal had just barely learned that the woman was impersonating an important Seanchan! What had she done to get herself captured? If there were Ashaman, then it seemed shed managed to be taken by alThor himself!

  Despite her startlement, Graendal maintained her knowing smil
e. Demandred glanced at her. If he and Mesaana had asked for this meeting, then why had Moridin sent for Graendal?

  "But think of what Semirhage might reveal!" Mesaana said, ignoring Graendal. "Beyond that, she is one of the Chosen. It is our duty to aid her. "

  And beyond that, Graendal thought, she is a member of the little alliance you two made. Perhaps the strongest member. Losing her will be a blow to your bid for control of the Chosen.

  "She disobeyed," Moridin said. "She was not to try to kill alThor. "

  "She didnt intend to," Mesaana said hastily. "Our woman there thinks that the bolt of Fire was a reaction of surprise, not an intention to kill. "

  "And what say you of this, Demandred?" Moridin said, glancing at the shorter man.

  "I want Lews Therin," Demandred said, his voice deep, his expression dark, as always. "Semirhage knows that. She also knows that if shed killed him, I would have found her and claimed her life in retribution. Nobody kills alThor. Nobody but me. "

  "You or the Great Lord, Demandred," Moridin said, voice dangerous. "His will dominates us all. "

  "Yes, yes, of course it does," Mesaana cut in, stepping forward, plain dress brushing the mirror-bright black marble floor. "Moridin, the fact remains that she didnt intend to kill him, just to capture him. I—"

  "Of course she intended to capture him!" Moridin roared, causing Mesaana to flinch. "That was what she was ordered to do. And she failed at it, Mesaana. Failed spectacularly, leaving him wounded despite my express command that he wasnt to be harmed! And for that incompetence, she will suffer. I will give you no aid in rescuing her. In fact, I forbid yon to send her aid. Do you understand?"

  Mesaana flinched again. Demandred did not; he met Moridins eyes, then nodded. Yes, he was a cold one. Perhaps Graendal underestimated him. He very well might be the most powerful of the three, more dangerous than Semirhage. She was emotionless and controlled, true, but sometimes emotion was appropriate. It could drive a man like Demandred to actions that a more coolheaded person couldnt even contemplate.

  Moridin looked down, flexing his left hand, as if it were stiff. Graendal caught a hint of pain in his expression.

  "Let Semirhage rot," Moridin growled. "Let her see what it is to be the one questioned. Perhaps the Great Lord will find some use for her in the coming weeks, but that is his to determine. Now. Tell me of your preparations. "

  Mesaana paled just slightly, glancing at Graendal. Demandreds face grew red, as if he was incredulous that they would be interrogated in front of another Chosen. Graendal smiled at them.

  "I am perfectly poised," Mesaana said, turning back to Moridin with a sweep of her head. "The White Tower and those fools who rule it will shortly be mine. I will deliver not just a broken White Tower to our Great Lord, but an entire brood of channelers who-—one way or another—will serve our cause in the Last Battle. This time, the Aes Sedai will fight for us!"

  "A bold claim," Moridin said.

  "I will make it happen," Mesaana said evenly. "My followers infest the Tower like an unseen plague, festering inside of a healthy-looking man at market. More and more join our cause. Some intentionally, others unwittingly. It is the same either way. "