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Jakob Mill glanced over his shoulder as he hurried down the corridor, suddenly very grateful that he was not a particularly diligent or noteworthy student. He was rarely afraid of anything, but the prospect of being stopped now chilled his blood. The message he carried - and the errand he was on - was bad enough, but the fact that he was doing it to support the most powerful female channeler in thousands of years...
Might as well march into the M'Hael's office wearing a white ajah cord. It would probably have the same effect.
The faint light before dawn streamed through narrow windows as he made his way down a spiraling stone staircase, keeping his balance by means of a hand on the wall. Staircase and wall were both gleaming white, as was the entire Tower; the black tapestries and muted rugs did nothing to hide that. Not many people knew that the A'sh'man occupied the halls that had once housed Ae'dai in the last Age. Not many people, Jakob suspected, would have been very happy about it.
The boy waiting at the bottom of the stairs tapped his foot as soon as he caught sight of Jakob, oblivious to the clouds of dust he was sending up. Ihvan Helios wore his golden hair long and kept it confined with a single cord, as was apparently the style in the less controlled provinces of Dicia. Jakob supposed he might have been handsome; he would have to ask Alwen about that when he managed to work up sufficient courage. Or Elza. He felt a pang of guilt that he was not in the Manifest with Jonaton, but if a normal boy could not get her freed, a member of the Black Tower would only make things worse.
With an effort, he returned his attention to Ihvan. What made the boy special was not his looks, but rather his strength in idan. Despite his age, the youngest heir to the Trahelion lands was much more powerful than Jakob and probably moreso than Quentin A'sh'man - perhaps as powerful as the M'Hael himself. He would likely be raised before anyone else in his group of Soldiers. And there was little doubt which ajah he would choose.
Or, rather, which ajah he would appear to choose. Ihvan had been one of the White - one of those few sworn to aide the women of the secret White Tower - from the moment he had set foot in Aravalon.
"About time. I think those women are ready to rip out my tongue just to make sure I don't talk." He shot a glare over his shoulder, directed at the murky, unlit corridor behind him. His hand rested loosely on his dagger as if he wanted to go cut out some tongues of his own. Given his temper, Ihvan would have chafed any other ajah but Green. The uptight Browns would have an apoplexy; the Blues would consider him too hot-headed for leadership; the Yellows would patiently point out that the boy's only real affinity was for Fire, next to useless in Healing of any kind; and the Reds would never admit him once they learned who he was working for.
"They won't rip your tongue out," Jakob said as patiently as he could. Ihvan took such a literal approach to things that it was amazing he had survived in the Tower this long. "And you promised not to talk."
"Doesn't mean they believe me." The boy held up his hand and channeled; a small, bobbing ball of flame appeared above his palm. Only the least of a great many things he was not supposed to know. "What's so important at this hour?"
Jakob frowned at him, wondering how much he should tell the young lord. Ihvan had to be trustworthy, though; otherwise neither Quentin A'sh'man nor Jakob himself would still be alive. "They need to be told about the Paladin."
Ihvan stopped dead, his fireball swelling in size before he managed to regain control over it. Even in the flickering, feeble light, his face was ashen. "What do you mean, they need to know about the Paladin. He's been reborn? And why do we need to tell the Ae'dai?"
"Could you not say that name?" Jakob sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he kept walking. Ihvan scurried to keep up with him. "Yes, the Paladin has been reborn."
"And?"
The boy was much too good at reading body language. "He's a she."
This time the fireball went out altogether, momentarily plunging the hallway back into darkness. When it finally reappeared, Ihvan stared up at him as if begging him to say something else. Anything else. "The Paladin's a she," he said slowly. "I heard you right. The Paladin's a woman."
"A girl. No older than you, from what I understand."
"But...but what about the oath? I mean, it's inscribed right over the M'Hael's door. 'To Uphold Justice, to Serve the Light, to Teach the Savior, to Protect the Nations.' How is the Black Tower going to teach a girl Paladin?"
"They aren't. It's impossible." The message weighed heavily in his hands. He would not have carried it, but Quentin said the...the Ae'dai needed written proof.
Ihvan frowned at him. "The Ae'dai are going to teach her?"
"Better than the Sisterhood. And what did I say about that name?"
"Sorry." Not looking the least bit apologetic, Ihvan turned his attention to the unremarkable door at the far end of the hallway. "Here we are." Taking a deep breath, he tugged at the door and stepped inside. Jakob followed him.
The plain room held nothing but six or seven mismatched chairs arranged in a semi-circle, dimly lit by a few candles set on a rickety table. Three of them were occupied - one by Alwen Asuwa, one by a tall, middle-aged man who Quentin assumed was her Guardian, and one by a pretty red-haired woman who smiled as they entered. Jakob stopped, suddenly unsure. Quentin had said the Amyrlin and her two Keepers were going to be there, but he did not recognize the woman or the man -
"Layla?" Ihvan stared at the pretty woman. "Layla, what are you doing here?"
"Visiting one of my good friends," Layla answered, turned her attention to Alwen. "She and I had things to discuss. Would you care to join us?"
Jakob looked at Alwen. The Amyrlin had a pleasant grin on her ageless face, but her eyes kept rolling toward Layla and the man. Almost as if she was trying to signal without moving her head...
"Ihvan. We have other things to do." Jakob grabbed the boy's arm and started toward the door. His back collided with something solid, as if the air had suddenly turned to stone. There were no weaves holding him in place, but he knew that the One Power prevented him from leaving. He fumbled for idan too late; an invisible shield slammed into place, cutting him off as surely as if he had been Severed. Ihvan cried out, and the room plunged into darkness.
Mostly out of instinct, Jakob dropped to the floor. Something fiery sizzled over his head. Where were the other Ae'dai? Why was no one coming to help them?A scream cut through the frantic noise; it did not sound like Ihvan. Light, he had to help the boy. He struck out blindly and had the satisfaction of hearing a man grunt in pain. Then something hit him hard upside the head. The message was pulled from his fingers. Someone else screamed and he thought he heard Alwen shouting for help.
Another blow made him lose his grip on conscienceness. Blinding light consumed everything.
***
Layla channeled and lit the lantern, flooding the room with yellow light. Spots were dancing in front of her eyes, although she would not have admitted it for anything. Her brother was not supposed to have put up that much of a fight. In fact, he should not have been down here in the first place. Trust the boy to stick his head where he was liable to get it cut off. Or possibly cut off something of hers, she corrected as she rubbed the cut on her arm. She had forgotten how attached he was to his knife.
She stared at the blank wall on the far side of the small room. Just a few moments before a rotating doorway had been in its place. Where in the Great Lord's domain had Ihvan learned to make that? Gateways were long lost, the knowledge to make them gone beyond retrieving. She had never heard of any A'sh'man being able to figure out the weaves, much less put them into practice. "I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to duplicate that?" she asked her companion.
"Yes, it would be. He unraveled the weave." Layla had no idea what her companion's name was, just as he had had no idea of hers. He was a grizzled warrior, whoever he was, and he carried himself as if he was used to carrying a sword. "I don't know how he bloody did it. Who was he, Layla?"
Trust Ihvan to blurt out her name. "One of my sister's nephews," she lied. "More trouble than he's worth. He will not get far without servants and attendants." Putting her obnoxious brother out of her mind, she turned her full attention to the two figures on the floor. The so-called Amyrlin of the so-called White Tower and a young man barely worthy of his black coat. "We should see to them," she said after a moment's thought. "I do not want them left here to be found."
"Neither have any power," the man pointed out. "Not like the boy."
"But they both must know what the message contained." The one Ihvan had gotten away with. "Leese will make them tell in time."
The man grimaced. "As long as I do not need to watch. It is...distasteful." As if to add to his point, a sob echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Layla smiled. She did not approve of Leese's sadism any more than her companion, but she had gotten as far as she had by never letting slip anything that might bother her. "It seems she has found the Keepers of the White Tower," she said pleasantly. "Take the man to her. The Amrylin will help me find the rest of the Ae'dai. We will know what was plotted here soon enough."
"I do not doubt it." The man closed his eyes as the sob became a shriek.
***
Dav stumbled on a log, barely catching himself with his scraped hands. He had no idea where he was, but he knew that he could get into a lot of trouble if he was not careful. Just because he was young did not mean that he was stupid. A less observant boy would not have noticed Jaia's eyes, for instance. All he had to do was be quiet and be careful. He always woke up eventually.
Leaves rustled behind him. Dav ducked and peered over the top of the log. Size mattered, too. He could hide himself where a lot of grown-ups would not think to look. And watch what others thought he could not see.
Moving furtively, a young woman emerged from behind a tree. She was pretty, Dav supposed - or she would have been pretty if he had thought icky girls were worth his time. Her long red-gold tresses were bound into a loose, flattering braid that kept stray wisps away from her bright eyes. She wore a red dress with divided skirts and golden lions marching down the arms and around the hem. From the way she held herself, he found himself expecting to see a crown on her head.
"They're not here tonight," she said to empty air. "I don't like it. There should be at least one of them here."
A woman appeared. That was the only way for Dav to describe it; one moment she was not there, the next she was facing the young woman in the red dress. She was older and probably prettier - Dav was really going to have to ask Wat about that - but he could not tell much else about her. Her simple dress was gray trimmed with silver ribbons, while her hair was covered by a dark shawl embroidered with silver thread. What he could see of her face made him wish he was elsewhere; this was not a woman to be near when she was angry.
"I'm well aware of that," the older woman snapped. "I don't like it, either. How did you get through the net?"
"I'm patient. I didn't even know she knew how to do that."
"She's the Dragon, girl. She has to be a fast learner."
"That doesn't mean she has to make my life any harder." The young woman crossed her arms and glared at nothing in particular. "I don't like the people she's traveling with. I don't even recognize some of them. How do I know they aren't Ishamael or Demandred or - "
The older woman shook her head. "Not Ishamael. I would know him in a moment. There's nothing you can do, anyway. Not in the waking world."
"I know that!" The young woman laughed bitterly. "I don't know who I really am when I am awake. I don't even like her then. If this is being tied to the Dragon, I don't want it. I don't like forgetting everything when I wake up."
"Who said you have a choice?"
The young woman glowered at her. "I just don't want a Dreadlord killing her, that's all. I don't want her going crazy."
Dav held his breath, suddenly terrified. He did not know what a Dreadlord was, but he knew who he was looking at. One of the Servants. She had to be one of the Servants. Which meant Merion might have been telling the truth. He had to let Jaia know.
Both women's heads snapped up, eyes flying to his hiding place. Dav's breath froze in his lungs. He must have made some sound. What was he going to do? What would a Servant do if she realized she was being spied on? He stood to run, desperate to be anywhere but here -
And was gone in a heartbeat. The world shifted and faded until he was surrounded by a million points of light. More than a million. He twisted around in midair, hunting for the Servant. "Jaia?" he called desperately. She had to come and help him. She had to. "Wat? I'm scared. I'm scared!" He was not crying, not really, but he was so close he might as well have been. "Jaia, I'm scared!"
Arms scooped him up and took him away from the darkness. He was being carried back home, although he could not have said how. All that mattered was that he was safe. He looked up into the face of a smiling girl just a few years older than he was, her black hair flying loose and her dark eyes warm and gentle.
"A little spy?" the older woman's voice asked. Dav twisted around to see her frowning at him. She made frowns look pretty. There was nothing around him but the girl and the woman. No stars, no forest, nothing. "He shouldn't be here."
"Dreamers walk where they want to," the girl answered. "You told me that."
"You shouldn't be here in the flesh, Amaresu."
The girl glared. "That isn't my name."
"No, I suppose it isn't." The older woman gave Dav a considering look. "He doesn't look important, does he?"
"He's more important than I am."
The woman sniffed. "That's debatable. Well? Take him out of here before he hurts himself. And leave this place yourself."
"As you command, I'm sure." The girl set Dav down with a quick smile. "Go on, now. Wake up."
"Wake up."
Dav cracked open an eye and almost wished he was still asleep. Jaia's yellow-brown eyes met his as her broad face scrunched into a worried frown. Behind her, he could see the light of a fire reflecting off of rocks and the faint light of morning. "Where are we?"
"We're in a cave with Master Merion." Jaia moved aside and let Dav sit up. He was stiff and sore and his head hurt like anything. And the dream would not go away. If it had been a dream. "You slept most of the way here."
"Oh." He thought about saying a word his father usually said when he hit his thumb, but decided against it. Vaguely he wondered if his father had even noticed he was gone by now. The matter was put aside almost immediately; his father never noticed much of anything except his work and the women he spent his money on. And being a Tashiri rat, of course. In any case, his growling stomach seemed more important. "Do we have any food?"
Jaia handed him a piece of coarse bread wordlessly. She seemed lost in her own thoughts.
That was fine with Dav. He had no real family except for Wat and his friends. Jaia was like a sister; he knew when to give her time to be by herself. Besides, he had other things to think about. Merion was probably telling the truth about being sent by one of the Servants, which surprised him. And he - him! Dav Gren! - was important, but not as important as the strange girl whose name was not Amaresu. Certainly not as important as Mai.
He shrugged inwardly as he chewed on the bread. A ten-year-old could not be very important. Everything would work out all right in the end, because that was what always happened in adventures.
***
Alwen walked slowly as she was led through the hallways under the Black Tower. It was the slightest act of defiance - the only way she was capable of fighting back. The gag in her mouth ensured that she could not even curse properly. The woman called Layla shoved her with Air and forced her along. Alwen glared at her and made herself not cry.
There are demons in the Tower, she thought helplessly. There are demons in Aravalon and I cannot even warn Quentin.
At least she was in this Layla's hands and not in the other woman's. She had seen what was being done to Amalis and Suriku, the women she trusted enough to be her Keepers. She could watch, but she could not hear; the screams were muffled by weaves folded so cleverly that no Ae'dai could see them. Not until it was too late. The Tower only had fifteen to its name, with perhaps four or five Novices and Accepted, but the fact that three demons had subdued them made her heart ache.
A flash of white caught her eye. A girl in a Novice's simple dress poked her head around a corridor, her eyes going wide as she spotted Layla. Alwen recognized her immediately: the most promising Novice the Tower had seen in many years, a girl as powerful as either of the female demons. One who could restore the Ae'dai if she only lived. Please, Elena, run. For the love of the Light, run!
The girl's jaw set and she started forward. Shielded though she was, Alwen could sense idar flowing into her. No! She would be killed like the other Novices, crushed with by Layla. She could sense the demon behind her smiling as she prepared a killing blow. Elena would not stand a chance.
Desperation lent her strength. Hammering against Layla's shield, she tore a few threads and bent the weave. Not a lot, but enough. Just enough. She could speak. "Elena, run! Run! Leave the Tow - " A blow rained down on her and she collapsed to her knees, blood pouring from her mouth. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Please, Light, please let her live! Run, Elena!
Finally, after an Age had passed, she was able to lift her head. The girl was nowhere in sight and Layla was tapping her foot impatiently. "I should send you to Leese for that," she muttered. "The girl would not have suffered." The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air. Elena might not have suffered, but the Amyrlin certainly would for warning the girl.
Alwen almost laughed out loud. One Ae'dai saved. One person to get the message to Quentin. Thank you, Light.
***
A gentle shake woke Mai from dreams of dancing - both with Wat and, strangely enough, with Darris. She scrambled to her feet and reached for her belt knife, half expecting to see Trocs all around them, but there was only the sun just above the horizon, far off in the east. She had managed to sleep through the night without any unpleasant dreams. It was a bit of a miracle.
"I don't suppose Quentin's come looking for us?" Wat asked the world in general. When no one answered, he sighed and stretched. "Fine. Be that way."
"Be happy for a good night's sleep." Mel gave the boy a warning look and started gathering up packs. He appeared to have shared the watch with Tamla, which meant he would not be fit to live with for quite a while. Mel without sleep was even more unpleasant than Mel awake and alert.
"And no strange dreams," Darris added. The Red Hand muttered something about forests and strange women while he settled his various weapons back into place. Mai made a pointed effort not to look at him. Admittedly she had only been up for a few minutes, but so far things were going quite well. Even the voices were quiet and she was not about to spoil anything by having thoughts of that obnoxious boy bouncing around in her head.
"Tem?" She made her way over to her friend, who was standing and staring at the rising sun, spear resting lightly in the crook of her arm. After a moment, she made her way over and stood beside her, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. "Quiet this morning?" she asked for lack of any other conversation.
Tem gave her a look that almost made Mai step back. It was not some stranger looking through those eyes, but the pain was back. And this time it did not go away. "Tem, are you okay?"
"I don't think so." Tem sighed and leaned on her spear. Now that Mai thought to look for it, she could see the puffiness around Tem's dull eyes. She had been crying. As if sensing Mai's gaze, she pulled the brim of her hat down to shade her face. "I don't know anymore."
"Tem, what happened?" Mai realized her hands were balled into fists; she unclenched them and kept them at her sides with an effort. She had no reason to be angry at anyone, least of all one of her closest friends. "Tem, please. You know you can trust me. We need each other. What's going on?"
Tem laughed harshly. "Trust is the color of death," she murmured.
Mai reached out and grabbed Tem's shoulder, truly alarmed now. "Temmene bloody E'Brell, you listen to me. Don't start talking like that. I don't know where you got that idea, but it's wrong. I would never hurt you." Except to save the world, she added silently before she could crush the thought. "Tem, I trust you with my life. Just like I trust everyone here. Do you hear me?"
Tem jerked away from her. "Don't trust anyone," she muttered. "Least of all me." She shook her head and stared off into the distance. "We'd better get going before the Trocs come looking for us." Before Mai could stop her, she turned and stalked off.
"Tem?" It was a whisper she did not expect her friend to hear. "Tem, what happened? What did I do?"
Wat came up to her slowly, a frown creasing his brow. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know." Mai hugged herself and stared after Tem. Wat started to put her arm around her, but she shrugged him off. She did not need comfort right now. She did not need protection. The words she had said last night came tumbling back to haunt her, the overlapping voices coming with them. And memories, flashes of a towering mountain and searing white light. Screams and shouts.
Balefire. The Teacher seemed to shudder inside her. Never balefire.
"Mai?" Wat gave her hand a gentle tug. "Mai, we need to reach the band's camp before the Trocs catch us. Tem'll be fine."
"I didn't have a choice." Mai sighed and shook her head. "I don't think any of us will be fine," she murmured. Then she made herself smile up at Wat. He did not seem quite as strong and tall as he used to be, somehow. This was taking its toll on him, too. Another person she had to protect. And destroy. "We'd better get going, huh?"
"Yeah." Wat's grin looked as shaky as her own. "Sure."
The little group made their way down the hillock and into the forest, listening for the dreaded Troc horns. Mai let Darris lift her over a couple of particularly thorny bushes; she was definitely getting breeches, no matter what Wat said about people looking at her bottom. Maybe Tem had an extra pair.
She grimaced. Assuming Tem will speak to me, of course. Light, what's wrong with her? I didn't do anything to her, but she's acting like I've got some sort of disease. I'm not even channeling!
A nearby stump got the full force of her anger. Burn her, anyway.
She was so caught up in thumping the shrubs that she did not notice the clearing until she stumbled into it.
It was not a clearing in any sense that she had ever heard of. The trees did not so much gradually disappear as stop abruptly. In some cases they had simply been sheared off. She had never seen anything like it. It was as if someone had reached in and cleared the area with a giant sword.
"Someone's been channeling here," Wat said slowly. Mai had heard Quentin say he could learn, of course, but seeing him doing it was not the same. "It feels strange."
"Like someone wove something and melted it," Darris added. The Red Hand was holding his spear at ready as he scanned the woods.
Tamla flicked her wrists and twin knives appeared in her hands; someday Mai would ask her where she kept them in a tunic that was so form-fitting that it bordered on indecent. "A demon?" she asked lightly. It was probably meant as a joke, but it brought a chill to the otherwise warm day. She seemed to sense the effect of her words, as her usual exuberence faded. "Sorry."
"Not a demon," Mai said immediately. Wat gave her a disconcerted look. Probably as unhappy with me channeling as I am with him, her inner cynic pointed out. But he's not going to go crazy and kill, now is he?
Death is better. Don't you wish for death?
Stuff it where the sunlight can't find it, Mai growled, using one of Mel's least colorful curses. She did not have time for the voices. Something had done this to the trees, which meant it could do it to anyone here.
Her eyes went wide suddenly. "Tem! Look out!"
Tem snapped her head around just as a fireball came soaring out of the bushes with deadly accuracy. She threw herself to one side with a growl and rolled away. Darris turned his attention to the source of the attack and Mai felt the air tingle around her. Air. She supposed that was what Darris was good at, since that was all he seemed to use.
A ragged, bloodstained boy in a black coat stumbled out of the brush as if kicked in the rump. He was holding a dagger and contrived to look dangerous despite his predicament. Mai felt one of the voices start to buzz in the back of her head, but squashed it before it could become audible.
"You're not demons." The boy sounded relieved.
"Bloody right we're not," Mel growled. He was holding his quarterstaff at ready. Tamla stalked forward and pinned the attacker with a stare that managed to suggest he was going to have a brief and unpleasant future and still made her look quite lovely. It was a skill Mai would never understand.
Then she stopped, frowning. "He's a Soldier."
"Lord Ihvan Helios at your service." The boy stoof up and glanced at everyone before his eyes fell on Mai. All the bluster seemed to go out of him as he caught sight of the mark on her face. "You're the Paladin, aren't you?"
Mai pulled her bonnet up to hide her face again. "I'm Mai DeShellay."
"Then don't go to Aravalon," he said quickly. "Whatever you hear, whatever anyone says, don't go to Aravalon. Demons are there." He lowered his eyes. "And my sister's one of them."
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