This time, Moghedien did laugh. A quiet laugh, but Graendal heard. The woman shot her a glare that could have set a section of the ocean aflame all on its own.
Moghedien returned a calm gaze, feeling more confident now. She resisted the urge to stroke the cour’souvra. Bring what you will, Graendal, she thought. We are on level footing now. We shall see who ends this race ahead.
A stronger wind blew past, and ripples started to rise around them, though the platform itself remained secure. Moridin let his fire die out, and nearby, waves rose. Moghedien could make out bodies, little more than dark shadows, inside those waves. Some were dead. Others struggled for the surface, their chains removed, but as they neared the open air, something always towed them back down again.
"We are few, now", Moridin said. "We four, and the one who is punished most, are all that remain. By definition, that makes us the strongest".
Some of us are, Moghedien thought. One of us was slain by al’Thor, Moridin, and required the Great Lord’s hand to return him. Why had Moridin never been punished for his failure? Well, it was best not to look too long for fairness in the Great Lord’s hand.
"Still, we are too few". Moridin waved a hand, and a stone doorway appeared on the side of the platform. Not a gateway, just a door. This was Moridin’s dreamshard; he could control it. The door opened, and a man strode through it and out onto the platform.
Dark-haired, the man had the features of a Saldaean—a nose that was faintly hooked, eyes that tilted. He was handsome and tall, and Moghedien recognized him. "The leader of those fledgling male Aes Sedai? I know this man, Mazri—"
"That name has been discarded", Moridin said. "Just as each of us, upon being Chosen, discarded what we were and the names men called us. From this moment on, this man shall be known only as M’Hael. One of the Chosen".
"Chosen?" Hessalam seemed to choke on the word. "This child? He—" She cut off.
It was not their place to debate if one was Chosen. They could argue among themselves, even plot, if they did so with care. But questioning the Great Lord . . . that was not allowed. Ever.
Hessalam said no more. Moridin would not dare call this man Chosen if the Great Lord had not decided it. There was no argument to be made. Still, Moghedien shivered. Taim . . . M’Hael . . . was said to be strong, perhaps as strong as the rest of them, but elevating one from this Age, with all of their ignorance. . . . It galled her to consider that this M’Hael would be regarded as her equal.
"I see the challenge in your eyes", Moridin said, looking at the three of them, "though only one of you was foolish enough to start voicing it. M’Hael has earned his reward. Too many of our number threw themselves into contests with al’Thor when he was presumed to be weak. M’Hael instead earned Lews Therin’s trust, then took charge of the training of his weapons. He has been raising a new generation of Dreadlords to the Shadow’s cause. What do the three of you have to show for your work since being released?"
"You will know the fruits I have harvested, Moridin", Demandred said, voice low. "You will know them in bushels and droves. Just remember my requirement: I face al’Thor on the field of battle. His blood is mine, and no one else’s". He met each of their eyes in turn, then finally those of M’Hael. There seemed to be a familiarity to them. The two had met before.
You will have competition with that one, Demandred, Moghedien thought. He wants al’Thor nearly as much as you do.
Demandred had been changing lately. Once, he wouldn’t have cared who killed Lews Therin—so long as the man died. What made Demandred insist on doing the deed himself?
"Moghedien", Moridin said. "Demandred has plans for the war to come. You are to assist him".
‘Assist him?" she said. "I—"
"Do you forget yourself so quickly, Moghedien?" Moridin’s voice was silky. "You will do as you are told. Demandred wants you watching over one of the armies that now lacks proper monitoring. Speak a single word of complaint, and you will realize that the pain you have known up to now is but a shadow of true agony".
Her hand went to the cour’souvra at her neck. Looking into his eyes, she felt her authority evaporate. I hate you, she thought. I hate you more for doing this to me in front of the others.
"The last days are upon us", Moridin said, turning his back on them. "In these hours, you will earn your final rewards. If you have grudges, put them behind you. If you have plots, bring them to completion. Make your final plays, for this . . . this is the end".
Talmanes lay on his back, staring up at a dark sky. The clouds above seemed to be reflecting light from below, the light of a dying city. That was wrong. Light came from above, didn’t it?
He’d fallen from the horse not long after starting for the city gate. He could remember that, most of the time. Pain made it hard to think. People yelled at one another.
I should have . . . I should have taunted Mat more, he thought, a hint of a smile cracking his lips. Stupid time to be thinking of such things. I have to . . . have to find the dragons. Or did we find them already . . . ?
"I’m telling you, the bloody things don’t work like that!" Dennel’s voice. "They’re not bloody Aes Sedai on wheels. We can’t make a wall of fire. We can send these balls of metal hurtling through the Trollocs".
"They explode". Guybon’s voice. "We could use the extras like I say".
Talmanes’ eyes drifted closed.
"The balls explode, yes", Dennel said. "But we have to launch them first. Setting them all in a row and letting the Trollocs run over them wont do much".
A hand shook Talmanes’ shoulder. "Lord Talmanes", Melten said. "There is no dishonor in letting it end now. I know the pain is great. May the last embrace of the mother shelter you".
A sword being drawn. Talmanes steeled himself.
Then he found that he really, really didn’t want to die.
He forced his eyes open and held up a hand to Melten, who stood over him. Jesamyn hovered nearby with arms folded, looking worried.
"Help me to my feet", Talmanes said.
Melten hesitated, then did so.
"You shouldn’t be standing", Jesamyn said.
"Better than being beheaded in honor", Talmanes grumbled, gritting his teeth against the pain. Light, was that his hand? It was so dark, it looked as if it had been charred in a fire. "What . .
