2

Zhahn gasped for breath and pried desperately at the hand around his neck. His sword lying useless on the hallway floor, he fumbled for the dagger at his belt.

Abruptly he dropped to the floor, landing hard on his boots and coughing. Over his shoulder appeared Shaft Iron'nogarion, his leather whip wrapped several times around a Trolloc's throat. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" he asked, with a ferocious grin, stepping down on the beast's neck with his boot and yanking up hard with the whip, until with a sharp crack the animal twitched to stillness.

Zhahn picked up his sword. "I've seen better," he said dryly, and grimly sent an approaching Trolloc's head rolling down the hallway.

Shaft gave a wicked laugh. "These," he said, casually waving his nodachi and spearing another Trolloc through the eye, "are the ugliest newbies I've ever seen."

Amid the swelling ranks of Shadowspawn, slivers of light appeared and widened into gateways. "What's going on?" Zhahn called aloud, kicking a Trolloc off his sword. Rows of black-coated men with pins on their lapels stepped into the throng, and Trollocs began to explode where they stood, sending bits of flesh and armor flying.

Shaft shrugged. "I don't know. This way." Ducking low and hunching against a wall, the two Warders made their way down the corridor.

Up and down the halls of the White Tower, gateways popped open and men marched through in rows. The corridors became a sea of ominous midnight-black coats. Some were plain and undecorated; some carried a sword-shaped silver pin on the left lapel, and some wore a scaly dragon cast in gold opposite the sword. Whatever their rank, wherever these men went destruction came. Trollocs blew up with sharp popping sounds in such heat that not even armor was left as wreckage. Myrddraal blazed like torches, men went flying through the air, and walls tumbled to the floor in heaps of plaster and dust.

With Adiah and Diyann of the Green to her left and Kyira on her right, Syrennah Alspar strode through the halls, Amyrlin's stole trailing behind under her arm, batons of Air knocking aside Trollocs, the occasional Fade, servants, Warders, Aes Sedai, anything that blocked her path. "I want to know why they're here and what they intend by showing up in the middle of a Darkfriend rebellion," she said. "Who sent these men?"

"Some of the sisters and Gaidin have said," Kyira answered skeptically, "that the M'Hael himself is here."

"An official action, then," Syrennah said flatly.

"If the sisters speak the truth."

Rounding a corner, they came upon two sisters lying dead on the floor. Kareina. Charyne. Both had been Green, and known as the best of friends. The bodies were facing each other, and Syrennah realized with a chill that there was no way to know who had been loyal and who the traitor. She looked away after a glance and continued down the corridor. Where were the Sitters? This was no time to lament the dead. "See that they are buried properly. Both of them." Adiah nodded mechanically and scribbled something in a leatherbound notebook. Syrennah did not like surprises. The very thought of a Darkfriend attack in the Tower-on her first day as Amyrlin, no less-infuriated her. She was not going to let them win. And nobody-Darkfriend or Asha'man, sister or Gaidin-trampled her Tower without permission. "If the M'Hael does not give me a good reason for this," Syrennah said grimly, her voice softening, her tone transforming to ice, "the Dark One take him or I will send him to the Pit of Doom myself."

A Trolloc came at Grond and then fell away as Cadrien whipped it aside with a lash of Air. He barely noticed. Sweat-was there blood also? his own, or had it dripped from the great hammerhead?-sweat made the handle of his hammer slippery as he gripped it in readiness. Cautiously he circled, and the Myrddraal circled across from him, gliding smoothly, its cape sweeping the floor.

Cadrien opened her lips to speak softly. "The look of the Eyeless--"

"--is fear," Grond finished indifferently. When a man reached that point of balance between living and losing, what was fear, which only came with choice? It no longer mattered. A man did not think things, or feel things, in moments like these.

Grond raised his hammer, and the Myrddraal's dark blade clanged against the metal. Sparks dropped off and winked out as they hit the marble tiles. He raised his hammer once more and swung it. The Fade's sword rose up defensively, and the creature slid forward. Steel chimed like a gong as Grond knocked the blade away from his body.

"Have you ever thought about why that is? What the Browns would give to know. The power of a head with no eyes to awaken a specific emotional sensation."

An unexpected sweep of the Myrddraal's sword sent him diving to the floor, hammer clattering as it rolled from his hand. Swinging his legs around, Grond kicked with both feet, boots pressing into the Fade's dark cloak. It was surprisingly soft, as if he had kicked not a body but an empty curtain. Nevertheless, the thing sailed backward and slammed into the wall with a feathery thud. Rolling around and groping on the floor, Grond retrieved his hammer. One blow sent the Shayol Ghul-forged blade falling to the floor; another bashed the creature in the stomach. Brushing the dropped blade aside with his boot, Grond raised his hammer and smashed it down on the creature's head.

Flames burst out as the Myrddraal slumped to the floor. "Aaggh! Too late," Cadrien complained wryly, wrinkling her nose. "I may smell bad cooked, but that absolutely reeks."

Somewhere in the Tower, above or below, they heard a distant boom, and then another, and the walls rang in answer. Down the hall, a lone Trolloc sniffed the air apprehensively.

Cadrien looked nervously at the ceiling and spun around on her feet. Another boom sounded. "Something is happening," she said quietly.

Iliana stared at the hatchet the Darkfriend Rashid raised over his head. She could not see his flows. Surely he did not mean to hack her to pieces with that thing. He was not so stupid as that. But if he was channeling, if he was using saidin-- Panic slid over her whir of thoughts. If he was weaving saidin, she could not see it, and if she could not see--

Suddenly Davian slammed into Rashid with a force that sent both men hurtling. Pitchers of wine and punch spilled to the floor as Rashid slid across a table and landed hard against the wall. Rising cautiously, Davian pulled his swords from their scabbards across his back. "Behind you, Ili!" he snapped, not turning from the black-coated man.

Instinctively Iliana dove, and saidar exploded in a ball of fire where she had been standing.

Air hardened around her, holding her fast for a moment before she intuitively wove Spirit to cut the bindings. Astonishment slipped across Iliana's thoughts. Cierin Dhaubry had been brought from Caemlyn by a traveling Blue the same day Iliana had been entered in the novice book. She was a Violet of significant strength in saidar, but possessed little influence in her Ajah and a brief and unimpressive summary in ter'angreal research. As Accepted, they had been somewhat close. "Perhaps it is the Great Lord's wish," Cierin spat, breathing hard and circling Iliana. "But nothing will please me more than to run a knife across your throat and kill you myself."

Something punched at Iliana's connection to the Source, squeezing it down to a trickle. "Cierin. Cierin, tell me why." Desperately Iliana drank in saidar, pulling it through the bracelet she always wore. She did not like to use the thing. Fury played across the Andoran woman's face as the Power flooded Iliana in a torrent. Air tried to crush her where she stood. Earth tried to rupture the floor beneath her feet. Pain nearly shattered the current of saidar Iliana held onto as Cierin threw Spirit and Fire into a spiky mesh. What was that? Groping with Spirit, Iliana sliced the trap and threw it back at Cierin. The woman blanched and let out a scream, her connection to the Source jerking wildly before she sliced. Iliana recoiled as loose flows snapped back at her.

Across the room, Rashid snarled and made a vague motion with his hand, and Davian went flying over a table. Then the air seemed to pulsate like moving water, and the Darkfriend reeled and staggered. Rashid cried out painfully as a sword blade ripped through a coatsleeve. Saidin pouring through his angreal, Davian shoved the table aside with bindings of Air. Platters of fruit and cheese tumbled to the floor. The hatchet met his swords with sparks flying, and the two men's forms appeared to blur and ripple between blows.

A punch sent Iliana forcefully into the wall. Recovering, she grabbed a stool-somehow, those were always near at hand-and swung it hard, striking the woman across the stomach. The wood splintered and flew apart.

Hatchet ringing as it fell to the marble, Rashid screamed in rage and clutched with both hands at the sword that protruded from his chest. Flames ran down the blade. Smoke spilling out from beneath his clothes, Rashid slumped as Davian kicked him off.

With a cry of triumph, Cierin moved away from Iliana, the carved jade bracelet now in her hands, the glow of saidar intensifying around her as she went. Standing with her back to the window, the Black sister's silhouette made the cloudless sky seem dim. Grasping saidar to the threshold of pain, Iliana leaped forward and slammed into Cierin before she could strike with the Power. The blow sent both women careening. Glass shattered as they slammed through the window. The last Iliana perceived, before she fell out into the open air in a spray of glass, was Davian collapsing to his knees and toppling to the floor.

Sword in hand, his company of black-coated Valdar Cuebiyari marching behind, Jandair Mical Taragon walked briskly through the unfamiliar corridors of the White Tower. There had been battle here. Bodies, of men and women as well as Shadowspawn, lay scattered across the hallways. Scrawls of blood marked the walls, and scorches blackened the floors.

A door slammed and a woman in a Blue-fringed shawl entered the corridor. Behind Jandair, saidin built up.

Turning furiously, Jandair snatched the Power and slammed a blade of Spirit into the weaves building up, sending them snapping back into the soldier who had created them. His fist caught the smaller man's lapels and shoved him harshly against the wall. "What is the name of this company, Cormach?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

"Valdar Cuebiyari, Tsorovan'm'hael." The black-coated soldier swallowed nervously.

Jandair looked into the man's eyes for a moment before releasing him. "Good." Cormach was young. "Do not forget your purpose, soldier." They were Healers. Glancing into the eyes of each man in turn, Jandair raised his voice. "Shadowspawn only, unless we're attacked. Any man who does otherwise will be executed, by the M'Hael's orders." The Aes Sedai pushed through, her face blank as stone. Jandair gave her a curt nod. Telar was not forgiving of mistakes. "I will not counter him today."

Somewhere ahead, there was a surge of saidin, and then another. Jandair resumed his stride. The corridor widened into a hall, and then before him appeared a pair of immense double doors. They were closed. A cool tingling sensation raised goosebumps on his skin. "Something is happening here." There was enough of the Power being channeled inside those doors-enough of saidar as well as saidin, from the amount of tingling-to level a small mountain.

He sheathed his sword and put his hand to the doors, then inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Armed," he muttered. Saidin ran across the doors in a wide horizontal band. "Cormach. Keldin. Go to Navar and tell him to send men from Weapons." Probing delicately with hairlike flows of Spirit, Jandair moved slowly to the right of the double doors, running his hands along the walls. This was not a morning for risks. "Here." Inside, someone cried out. Abruptly the resonance of saidin melted away. A moment later, there was a loud crash.

Stepping back, Jandair motioned with a turn of his head, and two more black-coated men stepped forward. "Take us through the wall."

Mingar and Qirien faced Feyrwith, walking warily closer. Even with an angreal, he can't be that strong . . . But, then, the Dark One's servants were not known for having much care for their own life while fulfilling orders. Feyrwith took a step closer, smirk twisting his scraggly dark beard. With heightened senses Mingar thought he heard breathing as he passed the corridor entrance. As one, Aes Sedai and Warder stopped.

A hasty shield was all that prevented the lightning from engulfing the two. Shiralin stepped forward and attacked again, this time at Qirien's link to saidar. With a yell the former Amyrlin tried to block the weave, but she and her Warder were linked and Mingar had to lead. Even so, Shiralin was not strong enough to cut her off, linked as she was.

Mingar drew on the Power from saidin and saidar through Qirien to feint with a fireball to Feyrwith's left and then attack at his link to saidin. The man blocked the fireball easily, but when he tried to snip the weave that would cut him off from the Power, he could not. Mingar stepped forward as his weave wormed its way towards the Darkfriend's link. Feyrwith struggled, drawing in more of the Power, face contorting now not with a smirk, but with pain as he drew more of saidin to attempt to ward off Mingar's weave.

He noticed Mingar flying through the air to him, spears whirling, and drew his sword in an attempt to block. But at that very moment, he reached his threshold of the Power, and with a scream he realized he had drawn too much. Feyrwith scrabbled to take hold of saidin, but it was not there for him anymore. Coupled with this realization was that of his own mortality as Mingar's spear ran him through.

Meanwhile, Qirien watched saidar flow from her to Mingar, and felt helpless. She knew Feyrwith was a stronger opponent, but she was also uneasy knowing she had only her staff and her feet against Shiralin. Never underestimate the power of intimidation, she smirked to herself. Rushing forward, staff spinning patterns of death and destruction around her, Qirien gave a war cry. Dodging lightning and ignoring the trembling ground, Qirien leaped, landing a foot in front of the former Accepted. Fear and hatred laced Shiralin's face, and then surprise as her feet were swept out from under her. With a blow to the head, her surprise was gone.

She looked up, breathing heavily, to see Mingar straighten after finishing Feyrwith. They grinned at each other.

"Mingar," Qirien said, straightening her blouse, "remind me to make a ter'angreal to let me have some control when we link."

Head cocked and absently brushing her Gray fringe with her fingers, Jaimyn listened to the fading staccato of the Amyrlin and Keeper's heels. The thinnest needle in the clock turned a full circle, and then Mariah came aglow with the Power and leaned forward. A belt of Air caught at the door and swung it shut. Saidar surged as the Blue Sitter spun an eavesdropping ward around the antechamber.

With a cry of rage, Seianka leaped up and hurled the glass she'd been drinking from. A dark-cloaked Grond Sothron rose angrily to his feet as it missed Cadrien's head by about an inch. The tumbler smashed into the wall and cascaded to the floor in fragments. "Are you all mad?" Red slashed her skirts where wine had spilled. "The Amyrlin is to extend a formal welcome to the M'Hael? For what? For trespassing on Tower grounds-the Tower itself!-with armed men? Shall we also polish Asha'man boots with our tongues?"

Jaimyn gripped the armrest of her chair until her knuckles whitened. It had been her suggestion, with Jascha, Cadrien, and the Blues supporting. The Hall had split down the middle. The proposal had barely passed. It was not in protocol to discuss a decision after the vote. Fury hung over the room like a cloud. Warders stood ready at hand. That was not customary either. Jaimyn was the only Sitter without her Gaidin. Dawnrider was somewhere in the corridors. Where was Davian? The bond felt taut, like a strained wire.

With an effort, Jaimyn held her tongue. She would wait as the others argued. Advantage fell to the last speaker; any novice aspiring to the Gray would know that. She sipped from her glass and swallowed. Ice did not make the liquid cool enough. The bond tightened and strained. Sweat dewed her cheekbones and made her palms clammy.

Jascha's voice intruded into Jaimyn's thoughts, interrupting Cadrien from an attempt to define armed force as it applied to the Black Tower. "Trollocs walked our halls today." The Yellow Sitter's eyes were sharp as she looked at each of them. "Remember what the Asha'man have done. If not for the Black Tower, they might still be here, and we, perhaps, might not."

"The Black Tower," Elina broke in icily, pronouncing each word as if biting it, "has committed a hostile action. It cannot be tolerated." Surprise intruded into Jaimyn's thoughts. The Murandian woman was the last she would have expected to argue a decision after it had been made. Why would she speak now? Jaimyn's spirits sank as the White Sitter continued. "I stand with Seianka, and demand the Hall vote again."

The glass went clattering from Jaimyn's hand to the table as she leapt to her feet. Wine spilled onto the hastily gathered papers before her. Pain flashed through the bond as it seemed to reverberate. "Blood and bloody-" Astonishment came across the circle of faces around her as the Sitters stared.

"I-" Jaimyn began, and stopped as she fought the urge to buffer herself with saidar.

Mariah flashed an encouraging smile. Cadrien leaned forward in great interest, her eyes piercing. Directly across, Seianka, still standing, put both hands against the table and glared challengingly. Satisfaction crept over Elina's expression.

With a soft click, the door opened.

Dawnrider walked in without ceremony, red hair making a sharp contrast to his dark Gaidin's cloak. He did not kneel as was customary of Warders entering a meeting of Aes Sedai. To Jaimyn, he gave only a brief nod. The Sitters' mouths tightened; they did not like that.

Jaimyn watched as he reached over Jascha's head to pour himself a glass of wine. He had been running, though it did not appear so, right to the moment he had put his hand on the door. "The Amyrlin is with the M'Hael," he announced calmly to no one in particular, taking a sip.

"Now?" Sabryna pushed back her chair in outrage. Hers had been the deciding vote. "The meeting was not supposed to begin until an hour from now."

"What happened?" Shel'aura demanded. "Why have they gone early without informing the Hall?"

Paying no heed to the Sitters firing questions at him, Dawnrider made his way around the table to Jaimyn. "Where is he?" he asked under his breath, carefully standing his wine glass next to her pen. "I can go to look for him."

"The Amyrlin's reception," she murmured, her lips barely moving. "He never left."

Without a word, Dawnrider walked out, closing the door behind him.

Jaimyn exhaled in a long breath and fell back into her chair, swallowing wine from the glass Dawnrider had left her. "Sit," she said quietly. She did not know why Syrennah and Kyira had changed plans without consulting the Hall, but right now she was not going to ask. "There will be no second vote today."

Taking hold of saidar, she wove Water to take the spilled liquid from her papers. It left a purplish-red stain that matched the slash on Seianka's dress. "You want consequences." Something symbolic to show the White Tower would not be trampled on. A slap to the wrist. The last Gray to wear the Amyrlin's stole, Sierin Vayu, had believed firmly in outreach and friendship. "Let the Black Tower make its own. It is not our place." Jaimyn leaned forward. "We are not as strong as we pretend to be. They are here, and we cannot get rid of them." Mouths dropped open as she went on. She mercilessly did not stop. "The day we attempt to create consequences for those men is the day we break this Tower as though our hands dismantled it stone by stone. We needed them today, and they came." Outreach, and friendship. The last speaker had the advantage.

Slowly, Jaimyn placed her second wine glass upright on the table beside the fallen glass. "And for that, regardless of what our volumes of law say, we welcome them."

Cold air filled Iliana's lungs, and she gasped and clenched her teeth. A strong breeze made her skirt whip around her legs as she dangled on the exterior wall of the Tower. The gash at her waist sent sharp arrows of pain shooting through her body. Cierin had fallen screaming far below, and her aura of saidar had winked out as soon as she had hit the ground. Inside the window that was now empty of its glass, there was a loud rumble and then footsteps.

Her hands were wet. Dark blood smeared over the white-painted sill. The footsteps approached, and Iliana prayed it was a friend.

A man in a black coat with pins decorating the lapels appeared in the window. His hair was long, pale almost to whiteness, tied back with a cord of leather. A moment later another man appeared. This one was familiar, and wore the color-swirling cloak of a Gaidin. Dawnrider's eyes widened as he saw her.

Relief washed over Iliana like a wave of water. Then the muscles in her fingers and arms hardened into cramps. "Could you-" She took another deep breath and spoke the words as fast as she could. "Could you pull me up? Please?" She did not sound as though she were pleading. She did not, she repeated firmly to herself.

"Of course." A smile came over the Asha'man's features as he and the Warder grasped her wrists and lifted her back in the window. Then he brought his hands to her temples. "If I may, Aes Sedai?"

Iliana nodded her assent and took hold of saidar to brace herself for Healing. Nevertheless, she shuddered violently and would have fallen over had she not been standing between the black-coated man and Dawnrider. "Blood and fire!" she gasped. Light, but she hated asking for help, and she hated getting it too.

Davian was on his feet now, with two more black-coated men stepping nervously away from him. With a frown, the pale-haired Shienaran strode over to the smoldering body on the floor and turned it around with his boot. He gave a grunt as he saw the pale, angular face with its dark brows. "I should have let Telar execute him as he wished."

"Execution or not," Davian said smoothly, sheathing his swords, "he's dead now."

Iliana blinked and exchanged glances with Dawnrider, and then both of them looked at the Asha'man as if for the first time. "Who are you-- Tsorovan'm'hael?" she asked, glancing at the array of pins on the man's collars.

The Asha'man bowed. "Jandair Mical Taragon, Aes Sedai," he said simply.

Iliana laughed suddenly. "So you are he." Dawnrider looked at the other man and gave a thoughtful nod.

"I am honored, Iliana," replied Jandair calmly, without even a blink.

"Well then, Jandair." She picked up a glass of punch, from the only tray Davian had left standing, and channeled glasses to the others on flows of Air. "Welcome to the White Tower."

Written by Iliana, Qirien

Characters Adiah, Cadrien, Davian, Dawnrider, Diyann, Elina, Grond, Jaimyn, Jandair, Jascha, Iliana, Mariah, Mingar, Qirien, Sabryna, Seianka, Shaft, Shel'aura, Syrennah, Telar, Zhahn