Shienar

Mura'shar looked at the gathering crowd with a heavy heart.  His orders have been confirmed. He was to lead a mission north to the Borderlands. And now, he never felt so alone in his life.
 Myiona had refused to come with him, or to retake the position stripped form her after her trial.  He could understand her reasons.  The lingering suspicion, the need to let tempers cool.  At least she's staying he thought to himself.  The newer Dragonsworn can still benefit from her knowledge and experience
 Drawing his mind back into eh present, he made his announcement:
 "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new mission.  Someone or something has been attacking farms along a region of Sheinar. here have even reports form survivors of men channeling. Some of these reports bear a strong resemblance to the Lord Dragon.  We're to investigate and put a stop to this
 "We will be traveling along the border of the Blight, and possibly into it as well.  Reports say Trollocs and Myrdraal are in these raiding parties.  Male channelers are also a strong possibility.  This is not going to be easy, so prepare well. We depart in three hours"
 Mura'shar finished his speech and stepped down.  He still wasn't used to giving orders like that to people he's worked so closely with before.  It was different, somehow, to instructing Soldiers he hurried back to his quarters to make sure he was prepared himself.

Jake
M'Hael

Mura'shar was seeing to the preparations to depart. People were busily scurrying about, securing weapons, food, and tents. He spotted one person that had him frowning in puzzlement.
 Talia seemed...different.  Was she letting her hair grow?  He had heard something about trouble with her last night.  Something concerning Nev. But now she seemed cautious, looking around nervously.  Mura'shar wondered what was the problem
 He approached her and put a hand on her arm "Talia, I'm glad I found you.  I'd like to talk to you about something"
 Faster tan his eye could follow, Talia spun around and had a knife in her hand.  Her eyes were wide with fear and anger. Mura'shar back away suddenly, startled at the change.  Just as quickly, Talia was back to normal, or almost back.
 Talia...what's wrong?  It's me, Mura'shar.  I heard there was some trouble last night" Mura'shar kept his distance, trying to figure out what happened here
  Almost as soon as it appeared, her rage was gone
 "I...I'm sorry, Mura'shar, I thought you were..." She took a breath.  "I am not the Talia yo have been seeing about the Tower lately"
 Briefly, Talia told him about Taria; how she captured and bonded her.  How she was given over to Mera'shar and his new bondmate Myiona to be their personal servant.  The pain and degradation she went through.  She was clearly skipping over some details, and Mura'shar hated to think of what those details might be.
 "And then Myiona decided she could control Mera'shar better without me around, so she let me go.  The stories around here pretty much take it from there"
 Mura'shar heard a few things.  Like how Talia appeared in a scandalous Domani dress and confronted her duplicate and Nev.  And how Taria was stilled when La'rece and Tareena burst in on them.  One thing tickled at his mind, though.  Then it came to him
 "If Taria's been severed, then the bond you have with her is broken, right?" Talia's eyes widened, but she didn't respond "Right?"
 Just then a crash could be heard from nearby. They hurried to the building, where two stunned Dedicated and a Dragonsworn were picking themselves up from the ground.  There was o sign of Taria, but Talia was facing north, the direction she had Traveled, apparently.
 There's no time for us to go after her" Mura'shar growled. The M'Hael will have to send a different Storm Team.  For now, we are heading for Shienar.
 Mura'shar got everyone's attention and opened a gateway to an area not far from the last known attack.  Maybe they will find a few clues as to the identity of the raiders.  Putting the Taria dilemma out of his mind for good, Mura'shar led the first group through the gateway.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Elois was the last member of the Black Tower to pass through the Gateway, the few workers that were handling pack animals on this mission gave her foul looks. She'd been desperately trying to think of an excuse to get out of having to go to the Blight. She couldn't claim she was sick, like she could when she was a child. Someone would Heal her.

Times like these she wondered what had prompted her to become an Aes Sedai.

She couldn't quell a reflexive shiver that passed up her spine, once she stepped through Mura'shar's Gateway. You pinhead! she scolded herself. This isn't even the bloody Blight. It's Shienar! She'd been helplessly jumpy since Seanchan. Not that she'd exactly been Aiel brave before she was... well.

The Dragonsworn and Asha'man were standing in small knots, chatting animatedly, or staring around contemplatively at the land they'd arrived at. Elois tugged the knit scarf she was wrapped in up over her nose and scurried toward Ariana. The Aes Sedai had never been effective at keeping the cold from touching herself.

"Light!" she breathed in annoyance as she stepped into the circle of a few men and women. "I'm already homesick, and the Gateway isn't even closed yet."

There was sympathetic laughter. One black coated man - who was obviously a closer confidant of their new M'Hael than she - pointed in the general directions of some of farms that had been attacked, giving out what few details he knew.

"Logically, the first step would be to go talk to the survivors," Elois suggested. Ariana nodded, and Elois grinned at her. They were both Whites.

Someone else put in that it would be wise for them to go in small groups, four was the number decided upon. Elois nodded vigorously. The larger the group, the better, to her mind. She pulled on her gloves, and went to see about a horse.

A fair number of the Tower had already headed off in various directions. She wondered what their plans were. Perhaps some of them were actually going to look for the hoardes. Well, they were welcome to that task. She was content to interview the survivors, it seemed a far safer chore.

The White reined her bay mare in alongside the other three people in her "taskforce." Two Asha'man and one more Dragonsworn. "Does anyone know how long it will take us to get to this farm?" she queried. They looked at each other. Elois laughed. "I hate going into this blind, is all. But, oh well, we haven't much choice, have we?"

"Well, we can stand around and talk or we can get a move on before we lose the light," one of the men supplied good-naturedly.

"If only we had more precise directions than 'westerly...'" the other Dragonsworn said mournfully. "We could be stuck wandering this dreary countryside for days, out of touch with the rest of the Tower, no help to anyone..." With a jolt the woman seemed to realize she was causing the others alarm. "But that probably won't happen." She added, a touch too hastily.

Elois had a premonition of doom.

Hannah
-I'll be back.

Sitting astride her horse, a large black warmblood, La'rece Barata'gan searched the surrounding terrain.  Though wearing a dark green cloak trimmed in sable, the cold still managed to penetrate the Dragonsworn's mental barricade.  *I've grown soft down south* the Arafellan thought ruefully.  They were here to investigate raids out of the blight reportedly led by men who could channel.  *Dreadlords* La'rece whispered in her mind.  To make matters
worse, at least one of these 'dreadlords' had led an attack on the Black Tower, striking unexpectedly with what may have been almost a quarter of a fist of trollocs.

Snugging her gloves tighter, the red-haired Dragonsworn glanced over at Tareena who favored her with a tight smile.  Well, La'rece did not expect more.  Both of them were exhausted having had quite a go around with Talia's Other, Taria and her fellow darkfriend, Nev.   Tossing her head with frustration at Taria's escape, La'rece comforted herself with the fact that the truth about Myiona's alleged cold-blooded murder of two Soldiers was brought to
light.  The former First had been set up in a scheme designed to bring about dissent and eventual ruin to the Black Tower.  It had almost worked.  Even now tensions still hung in the air.  Myiona herself had gone into retreat for an unspecified amount of time.  La'rece had left letters for her.  Time would tell how Myiona would come out of the whole mess.

Turning her attention back to Mura'shar who was giving orders, La'rece contented herself in being a soldier, merely awaiting her orders.  A screeching eagle caused her horse to snort.  The Arafellan patted the warhorse absently with one hand while the other gripped the hilt of her sword.  Her smile warmed as she listened to the details being set out by Mura'shar.  It was time to fight … again.

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Talia's brow wrinkled as the others proceeded through the Gateway.  Holding
the reigns of her horse, she looked toward the distant horizon.  It wasn't
Taria whom she was looking toward.  She sighed as she thought about Allan.
(~Light, man!  Why do you have to trouble my mind so...~)

The mission was not her focus.  She wanted to find Allan.. she wanted to
know where he was.. if he was safe.  Determined now, and her decision made,
Talia nudged her horse over to Mura'shar.. He still made her shiver with
fear, though she knew he was not his wicked double.

"Mura'shar.."  Talia stated as he watched others go into the Gateway.  "I
must leave."  She stated clearly but softly.  "I.. I have to go.."  She
looked at him finally, "I'm sorry."

~Talia Daimar
~Dragonsworn

Mura'shar approved of the way the Tower was splitting into groups to cover more ground.  A couple had already left to check surrounding areas.  Perhaps witnesses can be found.  Or survivors.  Who knows how many farms were ravaged by this band?
  He was about to step through himself when Talia approached him.  She still seemed ill at ease around him, but she was keeping it under tight control.
 "Mura'shar.."  Talia stated as he watched others go into the Gateway.  "I must leave."  She stated clearly but softly.  "I.. I have to go.."  She looked at him finally, "I'm sorry."
 "Leave the Tower?  Are you sure about this?"  Mura'shar was shocked.  First Myiona, now Talia.  This mission was not boding well for the Storm Team.
 Mura'shar frowned.  He thought he could guess why she wanted to leave, if not what she wanted to do.  She's undergone horrors he could only imagine.  Her bondmate was nowhere to be found, and a Darkfriend wearing her face was out there.  He couldn't in good conscience refuse her.
 "If that is what you truly want" he said slowly.  "I won't stand in your way.  Just remember you will always be welcome back here"
 He grasped her hand in a firm handshake  "I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for"

Jake
M'Hael

Andraia readjusted the hood of her cloak to better shade her eyes.  Even through the weak light that filtered through the cold air, her light grey eyes burned.  The lack of sleep hadn't helped either.  For days before this journey she had been sleepless, not knowing why and not really caring.  Sleep was something she had managed to go without before -- not
recently, but she had.
    She soothingly patted the neck of her white mare.  The nervous beast danced despite her assurances, obviously not having liked the sudden change in temperature and surroundings.  *I suppose we are both like that.  No matter how many times something is done to us, we still do not get used to it*  Her steady gaze took in the surroundings, weighing and considering.  The landscape was far too empty, even for this time of year.  *Odd.*
    They were split into a number of groups to investigate farms and see if they could find anyone with information, and Andraia ended up in Elois' group.  As the others rode away she turned to her fellow White.  "I suppose we should go and see what we can find."

~@~

Ariana rode calmly through the gate, patting her horse absently as they
emerged.  "Easy, Tai'dari."  The rangy paint snorted, as though to say it
wasn't he who was nervous.  Ariana sighed.  The breath hung in a cloud of
mist before her face for a moment before dissipating, and the Healer
shivered in reaction more to the thought than the actual cold.  She still
hated cold weather, a holdover from those times before she could block the
temperature from affecting her.  It had always made her crippled limb ache
fiercely.  She was distracted from her thoughts by the approach of her
roommate.
> Elois tugged the knit scarf she was wrapped in up over her nose and
scurried
> toward Ariana.
Together they went to see why everyone was forming a circle.  Ariana heard
her mutter something, and caught the word "homesick."  She sympathized.
The Asha'man at the center of the gathering ring of channelers was giving
out the little information known at the time.
> "Logically, the first step would be to go talk to the survivors," Elois
> suggested. Ariana nodded, and Elois grinned at her. The White's logic was,
naturally, imminently sensible.
> Someone else put in that it would be wise for them to go in small groups,
 four was the number decided upon. Elois nodded vigorously.  Ariana agreed,
smiling.  "Well, we make two," she said, and looked around.  A fair number
of the Tower had already headed off in various directions.

"Does anyone know how  long it will take us to get to this farm?" she
queried. They looked at each other. Elois laughed. "I hate going into this
blind, is all. But, oh well, we haven't much choice, have we?"
Ariana shook her head.  How she wished there could have been more
information before they went traipsing off into another venture.
> "Well, we can stand around and talk or we can get a move on before we lose
> the light," one of the men supplied good-naturedly.
>
> "If only we had more precise directions than 'westerly...'" the other
> Dragonsworn said mournfully. "We could be stuck wandering this dreary
> countryside for days, out of touch with the rest of the Tower, no help to
> anyone..." With a jolt the woman seemed to realize she was causing the
others
> alarm. "But that probably won't happen." She added, a touch too hastily.
Ariana looked at Elois, wondering why she had such an odd expression on her
face.  *She doesn't look happy.*  The Healer gave a mental shrug.  *Well, if
it comes to that, neither am I!  But we might as well get going.*

Elois and the other three were paused beneath a copse of trees that had all shed their leaves, sharing a small lunch of cheese and hard bread, when they were attacked. She had been in the process of recounting an amusing tale from her youth involving mice and pillow slip covers. She broke off with a startled yelp as a handful of rangy Trollocs appeared out of
nowhere - Light where oculd they have come from -  snarling and howling and scaring the living daylights out of her.
 The reflexive grasp of saidar no doubt saved her life as a falcon-beaked monster fell upon her; she plucked him up with a fist of air and flung him against one of the trees that sheleterd them. She sensed the other women boiling with saidar as well, but did not spare the time to ntoe how they were faring. She raised her hand and launched two fireballs at another Trolloc in rapid succession, burning him to a crisp as he charged her.
 She closed her eyes, repulsed and reminded of some of the fouler tactics the Seanchan employed in warfare, and when she opened them, all was still. The Tower members were all still, in shock.
 "Is everyone...alright?" Ariana asked, sounding shaken, but still a Healer.
 "I'm fine, I suppose, for being terrified out of my mind." Elois muttered, rubbing her damp palms on her riding habit. Andraia and Servalien echoed similar responses, though the new Soldier did look a bit pale.
 The White looked around. There couldn't have been more than six or seven Trollocs in the attack. No Myrdraal, no male channelers. "Odd..."
 "We should go, I think" Serv suggested, mounting his trembling cream-colored mare. "If this group somehow got seperated from  a larger group, than they may be far away from them, or the larger group may be over the next hill." Elois gave him an appraising look, she'd been thinking much the same thing.
 "Yes, let's go. I've lost my appetite, in any case." She mounted with alacrity, not glancing at the piece of cheese she'd dropped, or the broken Trolloc corpse lying beside it.

Hannah
and Elois
and Serv
~One big happy family

Tareena slowly looked around at the countryside, wondering what their journey had in store for them this time.  She was considered a seasoned veteran now, many missions and lifetimes stored under her belt.  Yet today, she felt like a novice again, fearful of the coming night and what it had in store for her.  Sensing her feelings through the bond, Darren reached over from his horse and squeezed her hand reassuringly.  On her left side, Darran
rode his monster (she couldn't think of it in any other terms).  He, too, reached over to squeeze her other hand.  It still amazed her that he could read her as easily as her bondmate, without the bond.  Riding between the two Ashaman, she felt her balance restore itself.  It was like being buffered by mirror images, each one as deadly as the other, yet each devoted to her in their own way.  She smiled at both of them in turn and then with a sigh,
she turned back towards the road.
     Rounding a bend in the road, the five of them stopped their horses in sight of a village to formulate their plan.  Alcina and Aramis had joined their group as well.  It was decided that they would enter and begin asking questions, hoping to find some answers.
 

Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
bondmate to Darren Sadke

Mura'shar's group approached the burnt-out shell of a farmhouse.  Trolloc graffiti covered the whatever portions of wall that wasn't smashed or destroyed.  Here and there a human or animal body lay on the ground.  Or parts of bodies.  The Trollocs had restocked on supplies, it seemed.
 As they passed a relatively intact body, Mura'shar noted something odd.  The body was burned almost beyond recognition, but the area around it showed little sign of fire.  It was like the man was the source of the fire.  Signs of a male channeler, maybe?
 "Rengar, check around back.  Stevan and I will look inside, Xyranthes, and Shea, check the wood shed and smokehouse.  I don't want any unpleasant surprises here"
 There wasn't much left in the house that was identifiable after the blaze got to it. Some smashed furniture and crockery, that was about it.  It was particularly troubling to see a couple of child-sized beds smashed to kindling.  Most of the roof had collapsed, adding to the destruction.  Everything pointed to little more than a particularly destructive Trolloc raid.
 Mura'shar was going to order a search for graves.  Graves would suggest survivors, when he heard Rengar call out "There's something moving in the root cellar!"
 That got everyone's attention.  Mura'shar drew his sword and rushed behind the farm, where Rengar was starting to move debris from the entrance to a cellar.
 With the aid of the One Power, they quickly removed the blockage and stood ready.  Maybe there were survivors.  Or maybe a Trolloc got trapped in there during the carnage.
 Rengar opened the door and stood back.  Someone created a small globe of light to see by.  They cautiously peered inside, and saw two set of eyes blinking up at the light.
 They were children. A girl of about ten and a boy maybe two years younger.  It was hard to be sure.  They were both filthy and pinched with hunger.  They stared up at the Black Tower team in terror.
 Keeping his tone friendly, Mura'shar calmly reached down to them
 "Don't worry. We're here to help.  You're safe now.  Come on, we'll get you cleaned up and some hot food..."
  Slowly, carefully, the lifted the two children out of the cellar and into the daylight.

Sitting her horse, La'rece kept a watch while Mura'shar and some of the others investigated the basement of the farmhouse.  There was an odd feel to the air here.  Having been born and raised, and having spent most of her life in the Borderlands, La'rece Barata'gan was well versed in the signs and spore of shadowspawn.  A Myrdraal's presence seemed to create almost a dry cold feel to the air, a sensation that was more than anything psychological, but
chilling … and telling, just the same.  Trollocs were foul and rank smelling and often left an unpleasant odor to mark their passing.  People of the Borderlands had almost an infinite number of "indications" that the Dark One's minions were around … or at least had been.  The feeling in the air around the farm was similar … and yet … not.  It was not so much a feeling of evil or malevolence as it was a feeling of … emptiness.  Akin to a
vacuum.

Keeping her eyes and ears open, the Arafellan waited to see what Mura'shar found.

The silent children were brought out of the cellar.  Shea examined them while others prepared some hot food.  At first they resisted being fed.  But soon hunger won out and they devoured everything placed before them.  Other Asha'man and Dragonsworn began drifting over to see what they had found.
 "They have some bumps and bruises.  And they have ad little to eat in the last few days. But otherwise they are fine.  In body at least" Shea reported.  She knew more about Healing than Mura'shar could hope to learn, so he trusted her judgment.
 Mura'shar peered into the eyes of the girl.  Now that she was cleaned up a little, he could see that she and her brother were both dark of hair and eye.  But those eyes were dull, blocking out the world and the horrors that sprang from it.
 "What is your name?" he asked softly. For a long time the girl said nothing.  Finally, her lips moved slightly
 "Bekka" she whispered.
 Still smiling, he turned to the boy "And you?" he asked.  But the boy shrank away, clutching his sister's arm.
 "Trin" Bekka said "His name is Trin"
 "Bekka.  We need to know what happened here.  Did Trollocs attack your farm?"  The girl said nothing, but nodded slightly. Tears were running down her face.
 Trin broke in abruptly "The man led them"
 Mura'shar was confused "Man?  You mean a Halfman was here too?"
 The boy shook his head.  "A man.  With hair the color of blood.  Uncle Jhon tried to fight him...but..." the boy stopped talking, withdrawn into himself again.
 Mura'shar looked about.  Red hair was not a common Borderlander coloration.  Could the rumors be true, that the Lord Dragon was involved?  No.  There had to be anther answer.  When they were done here, they will just have to track these Trollocs back to their lair and see if their answers could be found there.
 Mura'shar straightened up and looked about.  La'rece was approaching, curious to se what the commotion was about.  Mura'shar walked over, hoping to get her take on this new information source.

The cold was biting and bitter.  Even for the Borderlands.  La'rece Barata'gan glanced up at the steel gray sky which darkened with each passing minute.  *Snow* thought the Arafellan.  *And lots of it or I'm a Tairen harlot!*  The Dragonsworn was not adverse to snow or inclimate weather in general, but it would impede their progress and search, burying tracks and the like.  Though it could be argued that such weather would slow their quarry as well.

Seeing Mura'shar and Tareena emerge with two children, La'rece spurred her mount and cantered over to where the small group gathered.  Even from a distance, the Arafellan could see the haunted look in the childrens' eyes.  Combined with the odd sensation she herself could not seem to shake, the terrified expression on both the young girl and her brother were enough to make the Dragonsworn's imagination want to run wild.

As she approached, Mura'shar walked over to her.  Retelling the childrens' story, the Asha'man asked her what she made of the tale.  Looking hard at the children then glancing around the surrounding countryside, La'rece thought furiously.  *If it's them, then to what end? Why the raids?  To silence and secure a path out of the Borderlands, but for who …*  Her face growing harder as she puzzled out the clues, La'rece turned to the others, her voice
ice and steel.  "Aiel.  And darkfriends to boot if their running with trollocs."

The others were watching her as she continued, "The Aiel have often raided into the Borderlands, though seldom further north than Tarmen's Gap.  Shienar, for obvious reasons, has had the most contact with them historically, though any man or woman who has soldiered in the eastern marches has at least heard of fighting between Us and Them."  The tone in her voice made very clear which was which.  "It has even been observed that individuals and small
groups of Aiel have passed beyond the patrols' reach heading toward the Blight.  Rumor is all over the map as to what this might mean, though for myself I have always believed it to be something akin to seeking the Eye of the World.  As you know, young men from the Borderlands have always been drawn to the adventure of seeking the Eye and many … most of those who have ventured too far have not returned.  They fell victim to the Blight.  To the Dark
One."

Looking around at the faces watching her, La'rece added, "Long story short, it seems to me that at least some of these Aiel are, in fact, men who can channel, perhaps sent to the Blight to die.  It sounds, however, that rather than death, they've found something else … I would venture to guess that they've found the Dark One.  Or the Forsaken.  Either way, it would appear we are now searching for Aiel Dreadlords."

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Rengar had no idea what he was going to do.  He never did, in these kinds of situations.  On the one hand, he was glad that he was back at the Tower, instead of risking his life fighting in the harsh desert environment of the Aiel Waste and Rhuidean.  But at the same time he liked that kind of environment; he knew what he had to do, and he did it.
 Now that was no longer the case, as he struggled to think of what he could do know that he was safely back at the Tower.  He had heard that there was going to be some kind of soiree; perhaps he could go to that.  But with whom?
 Another thing that had been bothering him was the fact that he had not seen Odessa since they had come back to the Tower.  He could still sense her through the bond they shared with each other, but trying to pinpoint exactly where she was at the moment was difficult.  It was almost as if she...
 Suddenly, a thought struck Rengar.  If there was nothing really interesting to do here, then why not go somewhere else for the night?  He knew that the M'Hael did not really approve of Asha'men and Dragonsworn going into largely populated places, unless it was for a mission.  But that was more of an unwritten rule, and Rengar knew better than to do anything that would reveal what he was to anyone.
 The place that he had in mind was called the Women and Wine, for reasons that were fairly self-explanatory.  Rengar had not been to the place since before he had joined the Tower, and he figured that now would be a better time than ever to drop in and see if any of the regulars still hung around the place.
 He opened up a gateway into about two miles away from the town of Orleans, which had been given the nickname "The Big Easy", because of the lifestyle most of the residents enjoyed there.  It couldn't exactly be called a resort town, but there were certainly enough inns in the city to give each of the surrounding villages a few, if that were possible.  Back when Rengar had been younger he had enjoyed the kind of lifestyle enjoyed by the residents of
The Big Easy, but after all of the things that he had gone through at the Black Tower Rengar found that he no longer had the same craving for wine and women that he had once had.  Perhaps it was because of all the tragedy he had seen, the pain of his close friends either deserting or dying.
 Whatever it was, nothing was going to stop Rengar from trying to enjoy himself here.  Over the course of two years he had grown too accustomed to the quaint little parties and socials that the Black Tower held after each return from a mission.  Well, this time he was going to do something a little more different and, hopefully, a little more fun.
 He made his way towards the Women and Wine, and was surprised to here a fairly large amount of noise coming from the establishment, growing louder as he came closer.  For some reason he had expected the place to be quieter, but that certainly wasn't the case, as he found out when he entered.
 To describe the scene before his eyes as chaotic would be putting it mildly.  The entire room was filled with people that Rengar wouldn't want to be in close contact with for very long.  In fact, the entire room gave off a feeling of uncleanness that felt permeable as Rengar made his way to one of the tables.  A band of men sitting at the next table gave him a wary look over before returning to their business, and Rengar's guard was completely up as
he sat down and motioned to one of the wenches.  A particularly boisterous one came up to him, smiling.  She seemed a little too young to be in a place like this, Rengar thought, but serving wenches were always getting younger by the year.  It seemed to please the customers.
 The men who had given Rengar the look over before now grinned and gave the serving wench certain compliments after one of them had intentionally dropped their glass on the ground, forcing the girl to bend down and get it.  The men were certainly enjoying the view, and though Rengar didn't think much of it he had to admit that he had done worse in the past.
 After picking up the cup from the ground the serving girl went back to Rengar's table and smiled.
 "I'm sorry about that, sir.  What would you like?" she asked, blushing as the men gave her more compliments from behind.
 "Just a cup of ale, please.  A little watered," Rengar answered, and the serving girl left, giving him a chance to see what had changed in the years he had been away.  From the little he had seen it seemed that a great deal had changed, but perhaps there were still a few regulars or two somewhere around.
 But the serving wench returned before he could finish his search, leaving him wondering whether anyone he knew was still here at all.  He had certainly never seen this girl before, or the men who had been admiring her natural assets.  Where was everyone?

 "Excuse me, miss," Rengar asked the serving wench just as she was turning away to serve another table.  She had a surprised look when she turned to face him, and Rengar could understand why.  Few, if any, people ever called a serving wench by such a formal name, at least in here.  "But would you know if Sam Hayne still tends this tavern?  Or if Sheck and Tom still come in for a drink every once in a while?"
 "No sir, I haven't been here for very long, yet.  Although...," she paused, her expression thoughtful.  She seems a little to intelligent to be doing this kind of work, Rengar thought.  Or maybe I'm just not seeing past her nice face and nice...
 "What are you thinking about?" Rengar asked, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand.
 "Well, I have heard rumors that the current owner of this tavern, Mr. Wilson, acquired it from it's pervious owner just a few months ago, and that many people believe that Mr. Wilson cheated the other man out of this place.  Not that I believe that, of course, but that's just what I've heard...  If you'll excuse me, sir, there are other tables that I have to serve."
 "Of course.  Thank you," Rengar said.  What an interesting development this seems to be, Rengar thought to himself.  So, that explains what happened to Hayne, but what about the others?  Perhaps they left because of the fact the Hayne had left, or had been cheated into giving up his establishment?  I don't have to be back to the Tower in the foreseeable future, so perhaps I'll stick around a see what's going on in this town?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Rengar looked at the burned out shell of what seemed to have been a farm and wondered what the heck was going on.  The place seemed to be covered in something that Rengar had never seen before, and a few bodies could also be seen scattered about.
 Typical Trolloc work, but there's still something not right here, Rengar thought to himself, catching a glimpse of what appeared to be another body, only this one was burnt much more than the other objects around it.  Perhaps that body had been the source of the fire?  But how was that-
 "Rengar, check around back.  Stevan and I will look inside, Xyranthes, and Shea, check the wood shed and smokehouse.  I don't want any unpleasant surprises here, Mura'shar ordered, and Rengar made his way around the back of the shed.
 The back looked very much the same as the front, only there seemed to be a bit more debris.  Rengar was about to turn back and report to Mura'shar that there was nothing to note when suddenly he heard voices.  As he grasped saidin to enhance his hearing his enhanced vision picked up the slightest movement in the debris.  Rengar stared at the debris for a few seconds before he was certain that there was something alive in there.  At that point he
cried,
 "There's something moving in the root cellar!" which brought everyone to where he was now standing.  Once there were a few people there Rengar grabbed hold of the One Power, feeling it's foul residue as he used it to move the debris that now covered the cellar.
 After a few seconds worth of work Rengar saw that what they had found were not just more Trollocs, fortunately, but a rather large group of children!  Children...why does that suddenly bring back memories?  I've never had children before, though I was hoping for a while...with Odessa...but she's gone missing now.  Light, I miss her!  I haven't really given as much thought as I should to that, with everything happening so fast here.  Where could she
be?
 At that moment something changed in Rengar, and an epiphany suddenly shined upon him; he was going to survive this campaign, no matter what happened.  He was going to survive, so that he could look for his Odessa.  He couldn't die without seeing her again.

Mura'shar didn't like the sound of La'rece's hypothesis.  Aiel were formidable enough without the use of the One Power.  Dreadlords would be a true force to reckon with.  Or even channeling madmen.
 "It would appear that whatever answers we're looking for are in the Blight, then.  Very well.  We will finish our search of the area.  Maybe there are other survivors than these two.  Then we will follow their trail into the Blight."  The Blight.  The single most dangerous place in the world to be.  A land that can kill you ten times more easily than anywhere else.  Or twenty.
  "We will leave the children with a nearby village that hasn't been burned yet.  Maybe they will know of surviving kin."
 Mura'shar then went off to hear what other groups have had to report.  He missed his bondmate.  But at that particular moment, he was glad she was safe at the Black Tower.  If half the stories he had heard about the Blight were true, he wouldn't mind staying home himself.

Jake
M'Hael

Myiona Shallon, dragonsworn of the Black Tower, was unhappy.  She
stormed through the halls and both men and women scattered as she
approached.  Her body glowed as she embraced the source, wanting to use it
to deal with her problem though it would be unhealthy to do so.

     She had asked for a meeting with Taim, to request that he allow her to
join the others in the Blight.  He had refused to meet with her, sending a
soldier to tell her the request had been denied.  She was needed here to
teach the newer female members of the tower.

     Her own delicate position had caused her to refuse to go and now she
was being shunned by most of the ones who were still at the tower.  Her
friends and her bondmate were gone, leaving Myiona feeling more alone than
she had since the incident with the rogue Asha'men.

     Myiona's dreams were not helping her mood.  She had the gift of
dreaming and had used it to help the storm team on many occasions.  Now, she
knew that doom waited for her friends around every turn and she could not go
to them and warn them.

     The Domani stopped in the middle of the hallway.  She had been
forbidden to go to the Blight, but nothing had been said about seeking
Mura'shar out in his dreams.  It would be difficult over the miles
separating them, but she knew she could find him eventually.  Myiona only
hoped that she had enough time to find him before disaster struck.

Alcinia pace the streets of the village warily.  The people were sullen and distant, refusing to answer many questions before getting a defiant look on their face.  She had seen such behavior before among the ones who had already given up on life.  The Mayene thief wanted to shake one of the women who had slapped her child for crying.

"Light!" she said turning to Aramis, "I think we should send the children to safety and march the adults straight into the blight as a gift for the trollocs.  No, don't answer than.  I am just tired and worried."  She chewed her bottom lip nervously.

"This is not good," she said looking around at the deserted streets.  "They do not want to be saved.  I think we should move on.  Unless Tareena has better luck than we did in getting people to talk.  There aren't even any criminals that I could talk to here."

Alcinia

La'rece rode with the group in silence.  The only sound the howl of the wind racing down through the hills and mountain passes.  Everyone was alert to any sound or motion that might indicate a possible attack.  With the children safely entrusted to local villagers, the Black Tower force continued its journey deeper into the mountains of the Borderlands, moving closer and closer to the Blight.

An involuntary shiver ran down the Dragonsworn's back as memories of previous adventures in the Blight ran through her mind.  As an Arafellan and Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, La'rece Barata'gan was more than familiar with the sights and smells of the blasted lands claimed by the Dark One and his minions.  Two days they had traveled and still no sign of trollocs or Aiel men who could channel.  As the party continued on their way, the red-haired
Dragonsworn wondered, not entirely idly, if they would penetrate far enough into the Blight to reach one of the several swallowed Steddings … or Shayol Ghul itself.

As the terrain became steeper, thoughts of lost Ogier Steddings and the Dark One's prison were quickly replaced by attention to the path they followed, in an effort to avoid a broken leg on her mount.

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Mura'shar looked about nervously.  The Blight.  It was a symbol of everything the Asha'man stood against.  He felt a thrill of excitement with a healthy tinge of fear as they drew closer to it.
 The trail was easy to follow, even after several days had past. The Trolloc laziness and love of destruction made it plain where they had gone.  All they had to do was follow.  A pity the tracks obliterated any trace of any human companions.  The survivor's were quite clear there was at least one male channeler.  Aiel, it would seem.
 Gradually, the foliage around them took on a sickly quality.  Trees looked like they were dying even as they grew.  Shrubs took on a leprous appearance.  It grew warm.  Warm with decay, perhaps?  It might have been more pleasant after the cool Borderlander weather if the smell of rot didn't fill the air.
 "We must be extra careful, from here on" La'rece warned them.  Other Borderlanders in the Storm Team nodded.  They knew this land better than those who hailed from further south.
 "Stay together" Mura'shar commanded.  "Nobody leaves the group alone.  Nobody leaves at all, if it can be avoided"
 As they continued on, Mura'shar saw a face that seemed familiar.  Then he remembered.  The young Soldier, Serv, was it?  A student of his, just before the mission was announced.  Smiling, he rode up to him
 "How are you holding up?  I don't think you expected to be sent to the Blight on your first mission, did you?"

Jake
M'Hael

So. It seemed the leader of this attack was an Aiel. Aramis had known an Aielman, once. Not for the first time, Aramis wished Tor was with the Storm Team.
       "Light! I think we should send the children to safety and march the adults straight into the blight as a gift for the trollocs." Aramis opened his mouth to reply, but his bondmate flung a hand. "No, don't answer than.  I am just tired and worried."  She chewed her bottom lip nervously. She looked nervous. She felt nervous. Aramis couldn't blame her, this close to the Blight. The last time he had been in the Blight, he had been Captain of
Soldiers with the Haza. There was one scouting foray he remembered quite well. The trees came alive and ate one of the Soldiers, before the fellow had a chance to channel for protection. Lovely sight that had been.
       "This is not good," Alcinia said, looking around at the almost deserted streets.  "They do not want to be saved.  I think we should move on.  Unless Tareena has better luck than we did in getting people to talk.  There aren't even any criminals that I could talk to here." Aramis snorted. As he understood it, Asha'man were supposed to apprehend criminals or something of that nature, not chat with them about the weather, or the bumbling civil
guards, or even the whereabouts of the nearest channeling Stone Dog.
       Orders were given to mount up; following the Blight-bound stampede/riot trail of a half-fist of Trollocs. Behind them, the survivors of the nameless borderland backwater wandered about in some semblance of rebuilding their lives. It was a sorrowful sight.
       The trip north brought warming temperatures, an almost pleasant change. The borderlanders claimed that the stench of the place came from the rotting vegetation.
Aramis explained this to Alcinia, who turned right around and asked, "So if it's the trees and the grass that are rotten, then why does the air smell like a rotten side of beef?"
       "It's not the stench of vegetation, or rotten carcasses," said Stevan, riding up beside them, "it's the stench of the Dark One, of corruption to the core. At least, that's what we say in Fal Sion. But if you truly want to smell a stink, visit Tarwin's Gap a week after we've turned back the trollocs. You can smell that all the way to Fal Moran." He chuckled as he fell back. Alcinia looked at Aramis and wrinkled her nose.
       But Stevan was right. This place stank of the Dark One's corruption. Aramis shivered as he thought that if Saidin had a smell, this is what it would smell like...

Tareena wrinkled her nose at the smell, not for the first time or the last wishing that they were back at the Tower instead of entering the light forsaken blight.  She, herself, had never been here, only hearing stories from other members about previous excursions.  The thoughts she had conjured up in her mind about what it possibly must look like and feel like were nothing compared to the reality.  She knew from scouting reports that the blight
had been quiet for quite some time, little to no activity reported for some time.  She also knew that the borderlands were not as heavily guarded as they had been in the past, which could account for why someone or something felt the need to cause trouble up here.  Tareena wasn't entirely convinced that there was some "rogue" band of Aiel causing trouble, however there was evidence of channeling and that meant trouble.  She had listened to Stevan's
explanation that the smell was not rot but the dark one's taint.  Plausible...but right now it was just good old fashioned rot in her nose.
    Light!  What was wrong with her? She was as irritable as a turkey before feast day.  If Mura'shar said it was rogue Aiel then it probably was.  If Stevan said it was the Dark One, then so be it. Why did she feel the need to question everything and everyone?  It had to be the feel of the place.  It had a way of pressing down upon a person, not just physically but mentally.  Oppressive...barren...wrong...
     Not for the first time, Tareena glanced around, making sure everyone was present and accounted for.  For whatever reason, her back was up like an alley cat before a good fight.  Something was wrong...very wrong.  She edged her horse closer to Darren, seeking some small physical comfort from his presence.  She didn't like it.  Not one bit.  What she didn't like, she didn't know.

The Black Tower took a break at midday.  They had found a clearing large enough to hold them, and settled down for a quick meal.
 Helping himself to some dried meat and a loaf of bread, Mura'shar scanned the Blight as he ate.  This place made him nervous.  He could feel the taint of the Dark One every pace he took.  He could sense unseen things longing for his flesh and blood.  Like a hound that has spotted a rabbit, but restrained from giving chase by a leash.  Given a chance, this place would kill them all in a heartbeat.
 As Mura'shar stood and ate, wary of the trees, a tiny creature cam sniffing up to him.  It looked like a dark-furred squirrel, only bigger.  It hopped forward, testing the air with its nose.  It smelled food and gave a little chirp.
 Smiling, Mura'shar broke off a small piece of bread and tossed it at the creature.  It picked it up, sniffed it, and began to eagerly stuff its face.  Perhaps it looked more like a chipmunk with a long tail, the way its cheeks bulged.
 Soon others were gathered around, begging for food.  Mura'shar tossed a few more crumbs and a bit of meat.  The rodents scrambled eagerly for them.  Mura'shar wondered how such creatures survived in the Blight.  They seemed harmless enough.
 At that point, Mura'shar felt a weight drop onto his shoulder and claws sink into his flesh.  One of the "squirrels" had made an enormous leap from a tree branch onto his shoulder and was tearing at his flesh with tiny claws.  It's fanged mouth preparing to strike.
 With a gasp of revulsion, Mura'shar grabbed the creature and hurled it away.  The others, their charade penetrated, rushed at him hissing.
 A simple weave of Air pushed them back, and tiny weaves of fire scared off most of them.  One got too close to such a weave and burst into flame. A half dozen others promptly fell upon it and began devouring it even as the wounded creature continued to shriek.
 Once the last of them had been scattered, Mura'shar rejoined the others.  A few startled looks showed his little adventure had not gone totally unnoticed, and he gave an embarrassed grin.  He was lucky he only got away with a few scratches, he decided.

 "The Blight even preys on our sympathies" he muttered. We shall have to be doubly careful"

On the verge of falling asleep, Aramis snapped his eyes back open and jerked a quick look around. He wasn't standing sentry, but he didn't want to sleep until daylight, maybe three hours away. The screaming had stopped, meaning that Daved had finally died or someone found the good graces to put him out of his misery. That also meant they could bury Dailin's remains.
      The whole problem was that Aramis was getting too comfortable whenever he sat down. Maybe if he stood a while...
      ...he blinked again, and the sun shone low through the twisted trees. Alcinia sat across from him, hugging her knees. Aramis didn't think she had slept yet. He couldn't remember seeing her until after they found Daved.
      "Your bad dreams kept me awake," she explained. He tossed her a flask of brandy from his pocket.
      Bad dreams? Aramis could feel his hair going gray. He thought back to the preceding two days, and to the ambush that had started all of this...

**********************************************

      The Storm Team journeyed by horse north of the village, still on trail of the Trollocs and showing no signs of catching up. The Trollocs had mostly followed the old road that had once went into Malkier but now had grown over. They had scouts out, and they when they returned, they said the same thing: Trollocs to the north, moving hard. No word of any humans, Aiel or otherwise.
      That night, when they made camp, and after Mura'shar's adventure had been retold about fifteen times, Aramis sat down to play stones with the brothers Bandan, Daved and Dailin.
      They were an interesting pair. Originally from the farms on Toman Head, they left home three years ago to visit the Royal Library in Cairhien. Somewhere along the way they got swept up in the turmoil and then swept up by one of the M'Hael's recruiting parties. They claimed it shouldn't have surprised anyone that they both could channel, since they were twins, like mirrors. They had the same sandy blond hair and the same crooked grin and the
same opinion on politics. They only differed in that Daved played the lyranthe and Dailin played the flute.
      They were pretty decent at stones, as it turned out. They both beat Aramis twice. If not for the pleasant conversation, he would have been nursing damaged pride at losing four games in a row.
      The following morning, they broke camp before dawn, as usual. Aramis worked the sword forms with the brothers Bandan. They were the same age as Aramis, the first he had met since enlisting. Their scholarly demeanor reminded him of Xyranthes.
      "It's not like we're Brown Ajah or anything," Dailin said later as they regained the trail north.
      "We just like to read," Daved finished. "The Royal Library had so many good books-"
      "Not to mention all the first hand accounts of the Aiel War-"
      "It was just easy to get lost in them. Of course, we played stones when we weren't reading..." and on it went. They spent most of the morning bantering with Aramis about books and philosophy, until--
      An angry buzz zipped pat Aramis' face, and something slammed into his shoulder, unhorsing him. While he tried to understand what had happened he heard Alcinia scream and felt her turn frantic. He pushed himself up enough to realize that an arrow the size of a cattle goad stuck out from his good arm.
      Dailin had the arrow out of his arm and healed him before Alcinia got to him.
      "Trollocs!" she shouted to Aramis. The were still in the middle of the overgrown road, trees on both sides and little cover elsewhere. The arrows had surprised them, but there were very few casualties that Aramis could see. The trollocs weren't the immediate problem anymore. Someone was channeling saidin at them, in ways that Aramis hadn't seen before. The effects were the same, exploding ground, fireballs and such, but the weaves were
different. They were hard to counter, as well.
      "Head for the treeline!" someone shouted with a Power enhanced voice. It sounded like Mura'shar. One of the Bandans hauled Aramis up and shoved him towards the nearest side of the road. He stumbled and almost lost saidin, which he didn't remember seizing, and stumbled again as he penetrated the woods and almost lost his head to a Trolloc axe. He ripped the offending creature apart with a quick flow of Air, then hurried to take stock of the
situation. They were still surrounded, with no way to tell by how many and by what. There was at least two or three male channelers out there, judging by the different directions of attack. He had no idea where his bondmate was, except to his left, and moving fast. He needed to find her first, so he went that direction.
***
      Night fell. Alcinia was still somewhere out in the dark, but nearby. Aramis had killed the King's share of trollocs and one Fade, but had seen no sign of the Aiel. Creeping behind a twisted leatherleaf, he paused, listening. Something groaned, and a woman screamed. It sounded like his bondmate. Sprinting like a bat out of the Pit, he rounded a stand of shrub to find Alcinia crouched a few paces from a fallen Asha'man, weeping.
She looked up at him. "I can't help them, Aramis. I can't Heal much more than a scratch."
      Aramis looked at the form. It wasn't just one man. It was two. Daved crouched against the trunk of a tree clutching his brother to his chest. What was left of his brother, anyway. Dailin was gone from the waist down. Even his coat had been ripped at the bottom. Daved wasn't much better. He had a Trolloc spear through his belly, with about a pace of the haft sticking out. He was weeping and cursing in mumbled phrases. Aramis cursed.
      "Daved, can you hear me?"
      "Stay away from me! Get away!"
      "Daved, it's me, Aramis. You need help."
      Daved tried to shift back, away from Aramis' slow approach, but the movement twisted the spear, wrenching a jagged scream out of the wounded man. Dailin said nothing, just stared at Aramis with glassy eyes and a slack mouth. He had a smear of blood on his forehead. Aramis could smell entrails. Abruptly, Daved's voice change timbres. When spoke again, he sounded like a small boy.
      "They were picking on Dailin again, papa. That's why I was fighting." Daved grabbed at the spear without seeing it, screamed, and the tree above Aramis' head  flamed up.
      Berating himself for not thinking, Aramis quickly blocked the man from the Source and extinguished the blaze.
      "We need to find help, Aramis," said Alcinia. "He's going to die if we don't."
      "He may already be dead," Aramis told her. He wasn't sure, but he thought that Daved had finally given in to the Taint and gone mad. He'd seen it happen.
      He tried to approach his fallen friend once more, but Daved fumbled his sword out and flailed it around. "Stay away from him! Don't touch my brother!"
      From the other side of the tree, a Dragonsworn stepped out and held out her hand, warning Aramis away.
      "Stay back, as he says. If you continue, he'll bleed himself to death."
      "This man is my friend, Aes Sedai. We must do something!"
      She looked him with cool eyes. "You could club him over the head, if you wish, so that I might Heal him, but the shock of such violence could kill him anyway. And as you said, this man might have gone mad."
      Without further arguement, Aramis turned and left. The Aes Sedai was right. Behind him, Daved continued to yell for his father, and for everyone to stay away from his brother.
      The Storm Team had begun to regroup, centered around the only human left screaming. Wounded were being Healed, Shadow wrought were being disposed of. Aramis sat down and took a long draught from his flask of Telurian brandy, ready to wait out the night to keep from having the horrid nightmares he knew would come.
 

James aka Aramis Morwyn
The One-Handed Marked Asha'man from East Texas
Who's Also Bonded to Alcinia

Myiona ate a light dinner and then sent Skree off on some errands.  Then the
Domani dreamwalker stretched out on the bed and willed herself to sleep.
She searched through the world of dreams for Mura'shar.  Flashes of things
that had happened began mixing with the present and the future.  It was
confusing to sort through the jumbled images and try to find her bondmate's
dreams.

Pushing the images away, the Dragonsworn ran and the world blurred around
her.  She was soon near the border of the blight and the rot penetrated the
world of dreams.  She thought she might sick up here, but firmly held her
stomach under control.

Finally, a bright light seemed to call her and she peeked inside to his
dreams.  "Mura'shar," she called to him, "danger is all around you.  Be
careful, please.  There is one on your team who is a darkfriend, I saw that
in my dream and they will betray you all through a 'careless mistake' meant
to draw the trollocs and others upon you."

Myiona felt herself being pulled into Mura'shar's dreams.  Since she had
delivered her message, the Domani allowed herself to relax and enjoy what
was happening.  Smiling in her sleep, the Dragonsworn felt his arms wrap
around her.

Vicky
aka
Myiona, Dragonsworn
Bonded to Mura'shar

Mura'shar was giving an impromptu lesson to Serv when the attack came.
 They were passing a flame back and forth when Aramis pitched off his horse with an arrow bigger than an Aiel Spear sticking out of his arm.  Alicia cried out, and Mura'shar felt saidin being channeled, from the group's left.
 Mura'shar launched a bolt of lightning at the source of the channeling, though he couldn't tell if it did any damage. Trollocs burst from the rotting underbrush, only a couple of them snared by the predatory trees.
 Keeping Serv behind him, Mura'shar engaged two of the Trollocs.  A fist-sized fireball took care of one of them, and another that was following it. Mura'shar parried the enormous ax of the other Trolloc.
 Mura'shar countered with a two handed slash which the Trolloc blocked with the haft.  But there must have been a flaw, for the wood split apart beneath Mura'shar's blade.  He took the Trollocs head off before he could recover from his surprise.
 By now there were Trollocs ll around them.  Saidin was raging around him.  Then there was a burning, tearing pain in Mura'shar's shoulder.  A large, barbed spearhead tore through his shoulder.
 "Meat!"  The Trolloc bellowed and laughed.  Mura'shar struggled to hold onto the Void as the Trolloc tried t free its spear.  Mura'shar wove a single weave of Fire along the spear, burning the wooden shaft and blistering the Trollocs's palms.  It howled and let go.  Mura'shar Finished him with his own sword and staggered back.
 The rest of the battle grew hazy.  Pain, loss of blood, and the general confusion of battle made it hard to remember what happened exactly.  When his head finally cleared, it was evening, his shoulder was covered in bandages, and someone in the camp was screaming in pain.  He staggered to his feet and found Tareena.
 Her tired eyes sharpened when she saw him up "You should be resting" She told him.  You lost a lot of blood, and Healing took its toll on you as well."
 "I'll rest when I know what happened" he retorted.  "What losses have we suffered?  Did we overtake them without realizing?"
 "Tareena shook her head.  We have suffered losses, though not as many as we probably should have.  We were lucky.  They detected us somehow ad tried to ambush us.  But their numbers weren't enough to break us.  But if they get reinforcement, we will not be so fortunate next time.
 She steered him towards a tiny tent that had been set up for him and insisted he get some rest.  Even with Healing, his arm still throbbed.  He was lucky to still have an arm, he decided.
 Mura'shar closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.  In his dreams, he heard Myiona's voice calling to him from nowhere and everywhere.  Light, how he missed her
  "Mura'shar," she called to him, "danger is all around you.  Be careful, please.  There is one on your team who is a darkfriend, I saw that in my dream and they will betray you all through a 'careless mistake' meant to draw the trollocs and others upon you."
 Darkfriends?  That should somehow be troubling to him.  But asleep, he ignored the implications. Nothing mattered now that he was back with his bondmate.  His shoulder no longer throbbed.  The stink of the Blight no longer assaulted his nose.  He looked around.  The Blight was gone!  In its place was a rolling meadow, much like those of northern Andor.
 Then Myiona was there with him.  The dream took on a sharper quality.  It was like she was really there, in the dream. Mura'shar wrapped his arms around her, kissed her, and for a while was able to forget the chaos and death all around him in the waking world.

Jake
M'Hael

Alcinia had cried all of her tears out in the darkness so no one else would see her as weak.  Finding the twins was something she would never forget.   Battles were one thing, but a surprise ambush was the way of a coward.  If this darkfriend was Aiel, he was without honor.

Aramis was not handling it much better than she was.  His dreams kept the thief awake, staring out into the darkness at whatever waited for them out there.  She shivered as her thoughts were filled with images of death and despair.

"This is bad," Alcinia said taking a sip of the brandy.  "The ambush they set for us was too well planned to be an accident.  It is almost like they knew everything about us.  Light!  Do you think we have a . . . no, they were all exposed by the attack on Myiona.  They had to be.  If we cannot trust each other. . ."

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a scream off in the distance.  She was not sure it was a human.  There had been many noises that could not be explained since they entered the blight.  She closed her eyes for a moment and then jerked them back open.  "I am not going to sleep here," she said.  "I do not want to wake up in a trolloc cook pot."

Tareena walked around the camp, closely shadowed by her bondmate, Darren  and Arran.  While riding through the outskirts of the blight Tareena had turned to ask Darran a question and had been curtly asked to call him Arran from now on.  No explanation had been given and Tareena did not ask.  It was confusing to some members of the tower to see twin men walking beside her with the same name, just different spellings.  Maybe a name change will give
him a new sense of identity in an otherwise troubling environment.  Tareena knew it had not been easy for the former darkfriend to make the transition to the tower from the portal stone world of Rhuidean during their last mission, and harder yet to make friends.  Right now, her and Darren were the only allies he really had.
     The camp was laid out in tight, orderly fashion.  Sentries were posted and scouting reports were coming in from the surrounding area.  Flashes of light lit up the night in places where gateways were being woven.  Firelight lent a glow to the night as well.  Everywhere she went, she felt the same tension and apprehension.  The initial attack had been bloody and a total surprise.  Each subsequent attack had been better refuted, the tower more
prepared to handle it.  Yet..something just seemed off about the whole thing.  Tareena had overheard Alcina and Aramis speaking by their fire and something in the way Alcina spoke...something she almost said...it had sent a tingle of fear coursing down her spine.  At other fires, people were not as shy about talking about it.  The consensus agreed.  It almost seemed like the dark one knew exactly what moves they were going to make next.
     Tareena had briefly spoke with Mura'shar before he agreed to fall asleep.  she needed to touch base with him again.  Something was wrong.  Doing her best to put up a calm facade, she continued on.

Lisa~Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
Bondmate to Darren Sadke

Rengar had decided to spend the night at an inn near the tavern, so that he wouldn't have such a long way to walk tomorrow morning.  And he knew that he was in for a tough morning, if he wanted to make any headway here.  He just hoped that he wasn't missing anything to important back at the Tower.  Nothing had been planned when he had left, but he had enough experience to know that circumstances could change in a heartbeat there.  In any case, he
should be finished with his business here in a couple of days at most, and even if his Storm Team was missing when he returned he was sure that finding them would not be too difficult a task.  He had done the same thing years before, when he had still been a lowly Soldier during the mission on the Almoth Plain.
 Rengar was clad only in his small clothes as he laid down in his bed and prepared to go to sleep, but a soft knock at the door prevented him from doing so.  Hurriedly putting his black coat and trousers back on his made his way to the doorway, attempting to look as neat and composed as possible.  However, that posture soon faded when he saw whom had decided to call on him so late into the night.
 It was the same girl whom he had talked to the night before, only this time she was wearing clothes that covered her a bit better.  Is that the first thought that comes to your mind when you look at her?!  You're turning into a lecher, Rengar al'Tomount, he scolded himself, trying to keep what was on in his head from showing up on his face.
 "Hello, sir," the girl said, her eyes coming up to meet his, the moonlight making the color in them take on a luminescent tone.  A strangely attractive tone...stop it!  "Can I...can I come in?"
 "Uh...of course.  Please," Rengar said, leading her towards a small chair next to the only table in the room.  The room wasn't very large at all, but it was still better than the cheaper rooms the innkeeper had offered him.  Much better.  "Uh...how did you know I was here?  And why have you...ah, come?"
 "I came to tell you that I know more then I let on before.  As to how I found out you were here," the girl said, a sudden smile breaking through.  "I think that should be my little secret for now."
 "Very well...what's your name, by the way?" Rengar asked, wanting to hit himself for not asking earlier.  He could sense Odessa through the bond, and he thanked the Light that she could not see what was happening right now.  She got jealous when he simply looked at an attractive woman, and if she found out that one had actually come into his room at night then the Light only knew what she would do.  Thinking of Odessa suddenly caused Rengar a twinge
of pain at remembering how long it had been since he had seen her last.  Keep your mind focused here, he told himself.  You can worry about Odessa later.
 "My name...is Ariel.  I wanted to bring you to a friend of mine tonight.  He will probably be able to answer most of the questions you have, though you may not like the answers," Ariel said, rising from the chair just as quickly as she had sat down in it.  Very focused, this one, Rengar thought to himself, giving himself a moment to linger on her...fine qualities.  But his thoughts were quickly interrupted when she said, "Now come with me.  This is
not the time to be fantasizing about women, Rengar al'Tomount.  You had enough to do that earlier today."
 "How did you know my-" Rengar asked, but he stopped his question as he saw Ariel quickly disappear through his doorway.  He jogged briskly to catch up with her, and had to keep a quick pace as he followed her out into the streets.  She seemed to be taking him into the seedier parts of the city, farther away from the main streets towards the darker alleys.  The snow that had collected on the ground provided a little bit of light as the light of the
moon reflected off of it, but Rengar still felt as though there were things around him that bore the two lone travelers no good will.  The sooner Rengar found himself in a well lit house, with a good fireplace, the better, and warmer, he would feel.
 He did fins himself in a room eventually, but it was not like anything he had hoped for.  There was no fireplace, and barely any light.  But there was another man in the room, cloaked in the shadows; a man, if Ariel had told him correctly, would give him the answers he was looking for.  But that begged another question: how did he know the questions he would be giving answers to?  There was certainly a lot going through Rengar's mind at the moment,
and he intended to vent all of it out, albeit a little bit at a time.
 "I must admit, sir, that I did not expect to be woken up in the middle of the night by a beautiful young woman and then be brought halfway across town to meet with someone who hides himself in the shadows," Rengar said, trying to adjust his eyes to make out the face of the man he was sitting across from.  But there were only a few candles in the room, and with that small amount of light he eyes were not able to see much of anything in front of him.
Of course, he could use saidin, but he doubted that it would help much in this situation, and for some reason he felt a strange reluctance for touching the One Power.  A feeling that he could never remember encountering before, yet it seemed so natural.
 "You're first question is unimportant.  As for your second question, Rengar, I wished to surprise you.  Surely you recognize my voice, and do not need to see my face now, old friend," the man said, and instantly Rengar's eyes widened as he realized who was sitting in the room with him.
 "Sheck!  Sheck, how are things going?" Rengar asked, rushing over to the man and instant taking his arm and clasping it, in greeting.  It had been so long since he had seen the man, and though he recognized the voice now the face seemed totally different from the last time he had seen it that he thought, for a moment, that perhaps this was only another man trying to trick him.  Stranger and more deadly cons had been attempted and carried out in
Orleans before, but that thought was erased from his mind as soon as Sheck gave him one of those smiles that he had used so often at the Women and Wine to seemingly make anyone's problems go away, Rengar's included.  It has a similar effect on him now, though now it served more to assure him than to relieve him.  "So, how are things going?  Why didn't I see you at the Women and Wine earlier today?  In the old days you were always a cornerstone on
busy days like today."
 "Things have changed, Rengar.  They always seem to change when you least expect them to, at the worst times," Sheck said, the smile having disappeared from his face.  He slumped back in his chair, and his overall demeanor seemed to take on a more resigned tone than anything else.  "Wilson kicked me and old Tom out a few months ago.  He said that we were to "rowdy" and that, unlike Sam Hayne, he wouldn't tolerate drunks in his tavern.  We never hurt
anybody when we got drunk, but we were thrown out all the same, and now Wilson has hired street toughs as guards, to make sure that all the drunks he's thrown out do not come back.  It was a bad situation."
 "How are things now?" Rengar asked.  He was both amazed and shocked about what Sheck had told him so far.  The Women and Wine without Sheck and Tom, and banned from ever coming there again, no less!  Sheck had been right about things changing, but Rengar couldn't have imagined that things would change this much.
 What are you talking about?  Just because two of your friends get banned from going to a bar doesn't mean the Last Battle is going to come upon us tomorrow, Rengar told himself.
 "Well, Tom and I found a new bar to hang around: the Drunken Stallion.  Remember how much we used to hate that place.  The ale still isn't as good as the Women and Wine's, but at least they don't get me out after I've had a few drinks.  But enough about that.  You're probably wondering why I dragged you here so late at night, and you have good reason to wonder.  The thing is...I wanted to tell you to go back where you came from.  The sooner the
better."
 "Sheck...why?" Rengar asked.  To say that what Sheck had just said had thrown Rengar off a bit would have been an understatement.  He welcomed here with open arms, told him all of these sentimental stories, and now he never wanted to see his face again.  Maybe it's the world that's going mad, not me, Rengar thought to himself.
 "I've heard that you're a member of the Black Tower, Rengar.  Ariel confirmed that for me, when she saw the clothing you kept in your room at the inn.  It's not that I dislike what you've become; I'm not one of those people.  I just know that you have a tendency to...I don't know...makes things the way they were, even if they are better off now than they were before.  Sometimes you seemed to live in the past a lot; we saw that part of you a lot when
you had one too many drinks at the Women and Wine.  All I wanted to tell you was to let the past go here.  You might not remember, but things weren't always pretty once we had had a few drinks.  Just...go on your way, and forget the place.  Orleans and you will be better off for it, if what I've heard about you is true."
 "All, all right Sheck.  It was...nice seeing you again.  And you too, Ariel," Rengar said, leaving the room and making his way through the same streets that Ariel had taken him through.  It didn't take him long to realize where he was, and make his way back to the inn where he was staying.  But his thoughts weren't on trying to find his hotel quickly.  Instead, they were on what Sheck had told him in the room, particularly that final bit.
 Does he really think I'm dangerous?  Perhaps that dream I keep having is true, and I will go mad.  Oh, I don't care what Sheck says!  Right now, I wish I was back with him and Tom in the Women and Wine, before I joined the Black Tower.  If I had just lived the life I had been living, using the Power sparingly, perhaps I could have withstood the madness or even overcome it.  But after all of the battles, all of the situations that made using
saidin necessary I've sped the process along so much that people are already starting to think I've gone mad.  Light, I do want things to be the way they were before!
 But he had to continue on.  For his bondmate, if only to see her face again.  That long ebony hair, those green eyes that burned all of us problems into ash, with her soft breath blowing them all to the wind, leaving him feeling content.  Of course, the place where she would most likely be would be the Black Tower.  And, coincidentally, that was the place he was going to return to.
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 As the Trollocs descended on them Rengar was surprised to see that he felt...nothing.  After a while, even the spilling of blood, your friends' blood, didn't affect you if you saw it enough times.  And Rengar had certainly seen it enough times.  Mingar, Tor, and countless others had been lost to the Tower, either through battle or other circumstances.  But as Rengar saw the first Trolloc come charging towards him, it's gnarled face knotted even more
with the excitement of battle, Rengar knew that he would not be one those people lost to the Black Tower.  Not today, anyway.
 He was able to kill the Trolloc just using the motion of unsheathing his sword, a technique that he had been practicing for quite some time now.  He had heard that certain warriors used the technique in the East, and from what Rengar saw of the fallen Trolloc now, he had to appreciate the technique.  It was much faster than what most other swordsmen did, and it was just as effective in getting the job done.  And in a life of death situation like
this, that was all that mattered.
 He could see others battling the forces to darkness around him; Mura'shar, Aramis, and others whom he did not recognize.  Of course, to take the time use more than his peripheral vision to see these people would mean death for him.  Rengar was concentrating now on sneaking up on the Trollocs and finishing them quickly before they came to him, before any of his friends could be hurt.  Oddly, he did not touch the Power once throughout the entire
battle, something that he had not done since before he knew he had the ability to touch saidin.  Was it just a desire for him to test the new skills he had been teaching himself with Striker, or was there something; some kind of instinct (of self-preservation) that was telling him that now was not the time to use the Power.  He had not had the dreams of his life as a madman for a while now, but fragmented memories of them were beginning to float
through his mind once again, like an ocean.
 The battle with the Trollocs ended quickly enough, and afterwards it was up to him and a few of the others to bury the dead that had fallen here today.
 Such a wasteful way to die, Rengar thought to himself as he carried the body of a small woman; she looked like a Dragonsworn judging by her ageless face, though her plain dress and lack of the Serpent Ring had thrown him off at first.  He wondered who the woman's bondmate was, wondered what they had to be going through now.  I feel every pain that Odessa does, however small it may be.  What would it be like if one of us died?  Not that
he was going to make Odessa discovered what it felt like.  Not if he could help it.  Light, man, will you stop thinking about death?
 But it was hard not to think about it.  Even when the sun was shining at it's fullest, it's effect had no place in the Blight, where the stink of death was strong and the stink of the Taint even stronger.  He would have to deal with the atmosphere, though.  He was the Marked Asha'man Rengar al'Tomount, bonded to Odessa Jennar.  For all of it's power and prestige, however, the latter title concerned him more than the former.  It always had.
 Light, Odessa, I need you here!  I don't know if I can stand being in this place again, without you.  Where are you?

With a backward sweeping arc of the Power wrought blade, La'rece Barata'gan took the head off of the eagle-beaked trolloc that had tried unsuccessfully to unseat her from her horse.  Drawing Saidar through the more powerful of the two angreal she carried, the Dragonsworn sent out several balls of Fire and Air causing several of the shadowspawn to burst into flame.  As one particularly large trolloc ran off in flames crashing through the trees,
La'rece turned to find the rest of the party steadying their mounts and assessing the damage  While Mura'shar and Aramis were issuing orders to the Asha'man, the former Green cantored over to where Tareena stood shaking her head.  Too many had been beyond healing.

Keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area, La'rece pitched her voice for Tareena's ears only.  "From the look on your face, Tareena, I'd guess your suspicions are the same as mine.  It's no coincidence that our every move as been anticipated."

Tareena De'Haviland, Guardian of the Black Tower, met the Arafellan's eyes with a flat and steady gaze.

"The question is who" La'rece added.

"The question is who" Tareena replied softly.

Not looking at the other woman, La'rece asked softly, "Do you have an angreal?"

Tareena wondered how far trust could go when so many questions were left unanswered and no knowing if the person you were speaking to was a darkfriend.  How much did she dare reveal until she was certain.  "No" she replied as softly.

La'rece turned her gaze to scan those around them to as she removed a small bracelet from a pocket and handed it to Tareena.  The angreal was etched with the image of several blooming flowers.  "Watch your back.  We can talk later when it's … more quiet."  And with that, the Dragonsworn turned her horse and went to join Mura'shar and Aramis.
 

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Alan al Daren walked through the Blight.  He knew through the bond he
shared with the Dragonsworn Talia that he was close to members of the Black
Tower.  It had been so long since he had seen his brothers and sisters.  He
had left them so long ago.  He fingered the bulge in his saddle bags where
his black uniform was stored.  He could still feel the outline of the Dragon
and Sword on his collar through the coarse leather.  His horse had died
weeks ago in a mad pursuit.  Thinking over the reason why he had left from
the tower in the first place brought back memories he wished he could
forget.  If he could only scour his mind clean of the things he had seen and
done.  Pushing these images away from his minds eye he concentrated on the
bond.  He knew she was somewhere close.  Keeping his head on a swivel he
walked towards his bondmate.  The blight was familiar to him.  He had spent
many months here with Ivan Gregorian when he was a soldier and dedicated.
They had been hunters then.  And the blight had been stifled because of the
hunters wrath.  That was so long ago, and many things had changed.  Jerking
him out of his reveille, he sensed saidin being wielded nearby.  Starting a
controlled run, he headed towards the source of it.  Suddenly it stopped and
the Marked Ashaman slowed to a cautious walk.  Cresting a rise he saw
carnage that could only have been inflicted by members of the black tower.
The precision and gruesomeness(is that a word??) of the wounds on the
trollocs hinted at Ashaman and Dragonsworn.  Something wasnt right though.
Using his knowledge of the blight and the Dark One's minions he knew that
the men and women of the black tower had not escaped unharmed.  Several had
been wounded or killed.  This had been an ambush.  And a suprsingly
successfull one at that.  Thinking to himself, Alan thought it might not be
a good idea to announce his presence just yet.  He would follow his friends
and watch their backs.  Maybe, just maybe he could repay them the time he
was gone.  The aiel called it toh.  And the Marked Ashaman Alan al Daren
definately had toh towards his compatriots.

Ariana turned Tai'dari into the unnatural landscape ahead and tried not to
focus on any particular thing.  They were far from the center of the Blight,
but this sore upon the land was already nasty enough.  It tugged at the
Healer, making her uneasy, tense, and frustrated.  After all, it was a lot
like an illness, but no matter how much power she threw at it, she wouldn't
be able to heal it.  *Urgh.  How irritating.  This is going to be a long
trip.*
"Ariana, put your hackles down," she muttered to herself.  But the foulness,
the sense of something sick and dying, surrounded her.  It was like being
surrounded by death; it had the same vague "feel" to it as dead tissue in a
septic wound, empty and diseased.  Ugh.  The rest of their foursome didn't
look any happier, she thought.  That didn't make her feel much better, but
it helped a little.  At least she wasn't the only one who was disturbed by
this horrid place.
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        Elois drew rein on what passed for a hill in the Borderlands (there
were *real* hills in Amadicia) and shaded her eyes, squinting at the horizon.
Is that smoke?
        "Smoke," Servalien echoed her thoughts as he stopped beside her. Was
he holding saidin to be able to see so much better than she? Ah well, her
eyesight was not exactly on par with Rogosh Eagle-eye. "It looks like a
house, but what else could be."
        Elois shared a look with the other two Dragonsworn, and the groups
urged their horses forward in unison, setting a dangerous pace towards the
remains of the settlement. In her mind, the White figured the odds that
anyone had survived the attack, and she had no doubt it was the band that
they were hunting.
        But, as the Wheel wove, the foursome never made it to the barn. They
sprung the trap set for them  within a hundred paces of the smoking wreckage that was once a home. Someone tried to call out and warn the others that the
farm was not actually smoking, that there was a bonfire smoldering in what
was once the kitchen, but of course it was too late by then, and the Trolloc
hordes fell upon them.
        All right, perhaps not hordes. But as they came barreling out of the
trees making all brands of animal noises it seemed there were unending
numbers of them. Retreat seemed the wisest option, but there was no chance
for that. They backed their horses into each other and frantically set about
slaughtering half-man monsters. There were two Myrdraal - one Servalien
fended off with his sword before literally burning him into a pile of ashes.
Elois did not see what became of the other, but was infinitely grateful she
did not have to deal with it.
        The Trollocs, disastrously, did not fall with the Fades. But they
hesitated. And the companions fled. Pushing their mounts to their limit,
recklessly and necessarily perilous in the rocky soil, they quickly distanced
themselves from the screaming knot of Trollocs remaining.
        "No...channeling?" Elois managed to ask Serv as they slowed their
breakneck speed a fraction. He shook his head.
        Then, upon cresting one rise steeper than the last, they were given a
bird's eye view of what had to be the majority of the force the Tower was
sent here to disband. At least, Elois fervently hoped it was, because the
numbers were gut-wrenchingly huge.
        She gasped, and backed her mare back down the incline. Light, if we
were seen...
 
Oh, Light, I hope we weren't seen!  Ariana leaned over her horse's neck as they sped off.  Her mind was whirling, first from the attack out of nowhere, then the Myrdraal that had appeared out of the shadow beside her and nearly gutted her poor horse and removed one foolish Aes Sedai head, and now from the sight of
so many Trollocs.  "Who would have thought there would be so many?" she gasped over the wind.  "Did you see Serv?  Did he go ahead to warn them?"  To her relief, the answer was affirmative.  "Thank the Light!"  Something occurred to her.  "Where are we going?  Is this the right direction?"  Curse it, my lack of directional skill has kicked in again.  I don't know what direction the Tower is!  Usually I could just follow the feel of channelling,
but... no one would be channeling now, not here in the Blight.  She sincerely hoped Elois knew what direction they'd come from; the smushy ground didn't hold footprints well enough to track by- it just sort of oozed back together.  Ugh.  But the ground beneath her mount's hooves wasn't her greatest concern.  Where they were going was.  Obviously the camp couldn't be in the direction of the Trollocs, but that still left a wide range of
possibilities.

Stefan Al'morthan, born two years before the Aiel wars at WhiteBridge, where his father, a minor Noble, was a Lance Captain for the Queen's mounted guards. His father was killed in
Tar Valon during the Aiel war and his mother was welcomed by the mistress of Novices to serve as an account manager for the tailor shop. Since he was an only Child, he became an pseudo adopted child to the White Tower Guards and by the warders who affectionately called him Ferret. They used him as an errand boy, taught him how to use various weapons, and how to effectively avoid chores.

When he was twelve his mother entered him as a squire to a local lord who, she hoped, would teach him how to be a gentleman. At age nineteen he returned to the White Tower and under the tutelage of Farin Gaiden, a Blademaster, and famed for his mastery of two sword combat, learned how to fight using two weapons
.
Stefan excelled under Farin's teachings and was soon courted by Farin's Aes Sedai, Maria Sedai, yellow Ajah, to become her warder.
However, Stefan had listened to the comments of other warders, and had watched one warder waste away when his Aes Sedai had died of natural causes and decided that that option was not for him.
Stefan decided that the safest course was the Tower Guards, and so recieved a commission as a lieutenant to the Guards. He also was presented with his officers sword by his mentor Farin Gaidin.
It was at the age of twenty that Stefan finally figured out why he was not hurt when practicing with the lathes. He had unknowlingly embraced Saidin and had wrapped himself in flows of Fire, Air, Earth, and Spirit forming an armor suit out of the power. He realized that he could "see" how he did it and was afraid
that everyone else could see as well. The headaches and the stomach upsets that he got from embracing the source were attributed to "practicing." This led him to be able to limit his use and contact with Saidin. However, when he did sieze saidin, he realized that he seemed to "forget" where he was at, and often what
he had just been doing, which would end up with him injuring the other man in practice.
During this time, Stefan became withdrawn, and was in constant fear of when the Aes Sedai would realize that they had a male channeller underneath their noses.
The time came when the White Tower split and an insurrection occurred. Fulfilling his duty to protect the Amyrlin seat as an officer of the Guard, Stefan found himself fighting former friends in the courtyard of the Tower. Embracing Saidin, Stefan lost track of himself and everything around him, and he became a killing machine. He killed Farin who, with his Aes Sedai, had joined in the insurrection. Maria was screaming at him with eyes of horror for she had seen what he had done to Farin and had said those fate filled words, "you can channel". Stefan fled Tar Valon and is currently seeking a place to hide in the
borderlands.

Mura'shar awoke from his pleasant dream to the smells, sounds, and sights of the Blight.  Myiona's presence left him, and he felt a pang of separation as reality set in.  He sat up yawning, and realized that it was past dawn. He overslept!  And still felt tired.  Well, no wonder, given the amount of Healing he had gone through the day before.  By all rights, he shouldn't have an arm anymore. Now he just had a scar, some lingering pain, and a
large barbed spearhead as a souvenir of the experience.
 As he dressed, he thought about what his bondmate had told him before...he blushed a bit....before.  She had touched his dreams before, to give warning of Darkfriends.  But he wondered what to do about it.  He didn't think anyone else knew about her dreams, and he wasn't about to give away her secret.  It was hers to tell if he chose.
 After buckling on his sword, he paused for a moment in thought. He reached into his pack and drew out a large stone ring.  Too big to wear on a finger, too small for the wrist.  He slipped it into his pocket reluctantly.  An angeral, even one as minor as this one, may be handy if there were traitors in their midst.  But he had painful memories of this device, and did not enjoy keeping it so close to him.  He left the tent and pondered how to steer
people's thinking in the direction of Darkfriends in the campsite.  He grew up around Daes Daemar.  It should be easy enough for him.
 He found Tareena and Darren eating breakfast, with Darr...Arran not far off.  Just the people he wanted to see.  He helped himself to a bowl of whatever the sludge that passed for breakfast was, and sat down. His thoughts churned as he tried to broach the subject.  He came up with nothing, so he ate in silence and made preparations to continue their journey.  There were no more seriously injured members of the Black Tower.  By now they were all
either Healed or dead.  He wished there had been more of the former than the later.
 They had barely started moving again when another, smaller ambush cam upon them.  Drawing through his angreal, Mura'shar sent lightning shooting through the trees, frying anything that moved in front of them.  He felt other Asha'man wielding saidin as well.  Suspended in the Void, idly wondered if one of them would turn on them.  Or one of the Dragonsworn, perhaps, he thought as goosebumps played along his arms.
 The attack was quickly beaten off. A harassing attack, meant to keep them off balance and uncertain where or when the next attack would begin.  He and Aramis quickly got the line back in order and headed out.
 La'rece joined them shortly after the fight.  Mura'shar's thought for a moment.  Here were two he could trust as much as Tareena.  La'rece was of great help to himself and his bondmate in the past.  And has proven to be as loyal as they come.  If Alcinia trusts him enough to be bonded to him, there's no way he was a Darkfriend.
 As the rode along, Mura'shar finally decided to broach the subject. The attack convinced him that there was no time for subtlety "There are Darkfriends in the Storm Team" he whispered "I believe they have been reporting our position to our attackers.  Don't ask how I know.  That would be betraying a confidence.  But it's true.  Do either of you have an idea on how to deal with them?"

Stefan sat on the side of the road. His feet ached inside his boots, and his toes were numb. Adjusting the long single edged sword hanging from it's frog out of the way, he found a slightly more comfortable spot in the dead grass. His other sword, a quarter less the length of his primary sword, sought to topple him to his side. Lifting the blade end up off the grass settled the issue for his backside. The curved, chisel shaped, single edged dagger,
poked him in his side. Shifting that one forward allowed him to finally relax from the mornings travels. Checking the angle of the single edged short sword belted horizontally on the back of his belt assured him that there would be no interference from that one as well.
Exploring his green canvass sack he found an extra pair of cotton stockings. Changing his socks on the road was probably not the best idea, but fresh socks always made for happier feet. That done he nibbled on some hard bread and watched a column of Shienaran heavy cavalry go by. They ignored him like everyone else. The Waste was awake and all of the Bordermen were active, day and night. If you had eyes, and you didn't look like a Trolloc, you were
ignored.
Stomping his feet securely into his boots Stefan rose and readjusted his blades. Checking the ground for anything that might have dropped, he turned towards the direction the Shienaran lancers were going and moved on. The gray wool cloak flapping softly with each step he took.
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Stefan walked towards the other person. Blades swinging in unison to his stride. Breathing became easier, and the cold air did not bite his lips. His eyes blurred as Saidin pounded out a rythmic beat in his brain. Humming like the earth moving, vibrating his being like a stringed harp in a Bard's hands, pulsing with power that he only had to reach out and grab. His thoughts, his memories flowed together like a collage of indistinct shadows, nothing
in solid form, yet all discernable with a casual glance.
Embrace death.
He had heard that at one time. His body felt like flowing water.
Embrace death.
Where did he hear that before? He danced in the air and floated like a feather to the ground.
The shadowy face took form.
Embrace death!
The face belonged to a man in a mind boggling cloak. A man he....dismantled, without cause except that the woman behind the man threatened him. How? He twirled on the ground like a Domani dancer, circling dust around him like a tornado.
Embrace death! He felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he moved with Saidin.
The woman screamed something at him, and he left her alive. Crying.
Embrace death! All he had to do was spread his arms wide and embrace...

Stefan stopped in mid spin of his River Undercuts the Bank form. Both blades had cleared the body of the Myrddraal. The spin and the ceremonial blade cleaning on the first opponent was finished in one fluid motion.

Stumbling clear of the still twitching corpse of the halfman, Stefan beheld his grim artwork. The bodies were spread out over a full thirty paces in diameter, and none were intact.
Trying to swallow what little moisture his mouth held produced a choking cough. He had let go of Saidin when he had regained his consciousness. Shuddering he sought a way out of the circle of death. He tried to remember what had happened but he couldn't. All he could remember was trying to embrace...

The sound of retching made him turn to look up the small hillock above him to see the troop of Shienaran cavalry looking down at him. Several of the lancer's were on the ground heaving. The rest were moving down towards him, barred visors down. Stefan sheathed his swords and turned to run, but quick spurring of horses in barding told him the futility of the attempt. But try he did. Right up to the thump on the back of his head. Ending the chase with
his body crumpling to the ground. His last thought: Embrace death.

Stefan's mind swam in a dreamland that seemed bizarre and real all at the same time. He stood in the middle of the plains of Shienar with Shienaran heavy plate armor on his body. Heavy chains wrapped him about as he watched eagles flying over the hills and mountains. His heart ached to fly with them, to shed the chains and the armor that held him to the ground, to soar free with the eagles.

Daramar looked down at the bound and unconscious captive. His nerves still rattled at the memory of what he and his men had behold. This lone man running towards those trollocs and...his stomach lurched. Putting a hand to his mouth he turned from the prisoner.

"A sickening memory, without a doubt," Andumin muttered as he turned away too.
Daramar swallowed," We've fought in the blight and on the border, " a deep breath," and we've seen things no man should ever see. But this ma...he...how could he do that?"
Andumin turned and face Daramar, " I will not even pretend to know," shaking his head Andumin motioned Daramar over to his bedroll. Producing a flask, he opened it and handed it to Daramar.
Daramar took a long pull. Hard liquor slid down his throat and warmed his belly. Settling, in turn, his nerves as well. Andumin did the same and packed the flask away.
"what are we going to do with him?" Daramar pondered.
Andumin studied the bound man. Just looking at him one would immediately think  that this young man was a noble. He wasn't large in build, though weak looking he wasn't either. Medium length brown/auburn hair with dark brown eyes. The hands were calloused but not rough enough to distinguish him as a peasant. And he wasn't very tall at all. Average was all that came to mind about him, yet the way the man moved in his fighting, like a dancer, and the
serenity of his face. Even now the face wore an innocent expression. Nothing to explain how this man, who laid bound on the ground, butchered twenty trollocs, a darkfriend, and a Myrddraal.
"Captain?"Lancer Hursat was standing behind Daramar, holding the prisoners sword.
"Yes," Daramar turned to face the young Lancer.
"It's a standard issue officers sword for the White Tower Guard as is his other weapons, but..."
"But what?" Daramar pressed.
"Well, I'm not sure, I was just an apprentice to my father, but...if I didn't know better this is a...power wrought sword."
"What?" Andumin interjected," there's no markings to say it is one!"
Hursat's face dropped," I'm sorry."
Daramar flashed Andumin a frown," why do you think it's power wrought, there's nothing on the blade to distinguish it from any other?"
"I've only handled one power-wrought sword before, I know how they look and feel. Though this blade is a standard issue officers sword for the White Tower, it is, without a doubt, power-wrought."
"How can that be?" Andumin sounded stunned," the oaths?"
"Apparently, this young man must have stolen it, or...I don't know how he ended up with it, but when he comes too, we'll find out. Go get something to eat, Lancer" Daramar's face looked like stone.
Hursat hesitated.
"Is there something else?" Daramar asked
Hursat's face looked at the sword and sighed," His other swords and daggers are power-wrought as well."

The sky was gray and the air cold. A suitable atmosphere for the mystery that the Creator had dumped  in his lap. Daramar hadn't realized he had sat down until his second, Andumin, was holding his face and staring into his eyes. Andumin's lips were moving, but all Daramar could hear was the beating of his own heart.

Andumin sighed with relief when Daramar snapped out of his...Andumin felt weak knee'd as well, but Daramar was much older than him. Andumin motioned the others to set up a camp and let Daramar recover under his blankets.
Andumin saw to the sentry postings, though still midday, he felt that the days events and Daramar's collapse were a little too much excitement. Dimissing concern for Daramar's health as no more than exhaustion, Andumin saw to the prisoners bindings.
"Who are you?" Andumin whispered.

Stefan's body ached, but his head ached more. A whisper crossed his hearing, but he failed to catch the words. Slowly, his mind surfaced out of the unconsciousness that engulfed him. More words floated just beyond the buzz of his headache.

"See, his eyes are moving," a harsh voice spoke.
"Your seeing things...wait, wait, your right he's awake, go tell the captain that the prisoner is awake," another voice, lower but smoother, answered.
 

Stefan's eyes opened to a twilight around a camp ground. Unable to tell whether it was morning or evening. Looking up, he saw three men peering down at him. A forth was hurrying over to a campfire to where a larger group of men were sitting. The three in front of him, as well as the forth were in armor, but the men who came towards him were not in armor, though all had swords strapped on.
"So he's awake," a large bald headed man spoke.
"Maraem, go get a water bag," a smaller, stockier, man with a close cropped hair spoke to one of the men with armor. He knelt down by Stefans feet and with arms across his knees he focused on Stefan's eyes.
"I'm Lance Captain Daramar," Daramar indicated himself, then to the taller bald head man," and this is my 2nd, Andumin. You are?"
Stefan tried to speak but his lips seem to crack as he tried to speak. Maraem had the water bag, and when directed by Daramar, held the neck of the waterskin for Stefan to drink. Spilling a copious amount onto his shirt.
"I'm cold," Stefan stammered.
"You'll get alot colder if you don't answer the question," snapped Andumin.
"Stefan, Stefan al'morthan, I'm from Andor."
Nodding, Daramar stood up, made a hand gesture, and walked back over to the fire. The armored men grabbed him by armpits and legs and carried him over to the fire as well. Depositing him across from Daramar, Andumin draped Stefans cloak over him, and then stood behind Daramar.
"Am I a criminal?" Stefan asked, twisting slightly to indicate the bonds.
Daramar steepled his fingers under his lip and studied Stefan for a few moments.
"Stefan al'morthan? From Andor? In possession of an officers sword from the White Tower Guard, and power wrought as well," His hands dropping from his lips to overlap his knees, Daramar bore into Stefan," I don't know if your a criminal, or a darkfriend spy."
"I'm no darkfriend," Stefan barely contained his snarl. He caught the movement of hands to hilts among the men. What was going on here? Stefan could feel the mood, but what was it, anger, hatred, fear?
Smoothing his face, and taking a deep controlling breath, "I'm not a dark friend, I'm not a criminal, and I'm certainly not a spy for anyone."
"Then who are you, and why are you here?"
"I told you my name...."
"I don't want your name, I want to know who you are!" Daramar snapped.
Stefan swallowed," I'm a lieutenant to the Watch Captain for the White Tower."
"And the Watch Captain's name?"
"Marcara, Watch Captain Marcara."
Daramar looked at Andumin, but only got a shrug out of him.
"I guess will have to take your word for that until proven...true or false. Now, why are you here?"
"I've come to start a new life, if possible. Hopefully, here, or if not here, somewhere in the boderlands."
Daramar nodded," and how did you come in possession of power wrought blades?"
"They're mine. My name is on them. Below the trailing edge of the crossguard, on the hilt side," Memories of recieving the plain officer swords floated to his eyes. Given to him by the Warder he killed in the courtyard battle.
Andumin looked at the sword, then turned it over to peer on the underedge. Eyes going wide he handed the sword to Daramar who looked at it as well. Lips pursed, he checked all the other blades as well. Only the swords had his name.
"There are many oddities here on the border,"Daramar said," and though my feelings tell me to execute you, here and now, I will accept your claims for now. You will come with us to Morlan keep. There you can make your claims for...a new life."
Getting up he nodded to the guards. One started untying his legs, another his arms.
"My weapons?"Stefan asked rubbing his wrists.
"You may have them when we get to Morlan keep,"Daramar handed the sword to another lancer and sat back down," you might want to get some sleep. Tomorrow will come early."
Stefan huddled under his cloak, at least he now knew that it was evening.
"Thought it is was morning already," were the last words Stefan spoke before he fell to sleep.

Morning came and Stefan found himself being booted awake. His sack was by his head, being deposited sometime in the night. However, his blades were all wrapped up in a bundle and tied behind Daramar's saddle. The clinking of armor being donned by the men made the sound a ringing chorus for the quiet of the borderlands.
Approaching Daramar, Stefan decided to ask him how he was suppose to get to Morlan keep. Before he completed four steps, a lancer stepped up to him.
"Captain Daramar has instructed me to let you ride with me," the Lancer made it sound like he rather be cleaning out latrines.
Nodding, Stefan followed the man to his horse. Waiting while the Lancer mounted, Stefan noticed that the only weapon that the man had was a dagger.
"Where's your swords?" Stefan asked.
"With my comrades," the Lancer said defensively.
"Why?"
"Because no one wants you within arms reach of one."
For being a cold morning, sweat was beading on the man's face.
Fear, they're all afraid of me, Stefan thought, thats what it was last night.
The amusement of it all made Stefan smiled. No one back at the Tower ever thought of him as a threat. He was simply another face in a Guard's uniform, performing the usual duties of running the North gate while Marcara was off catching snuggles with one of the servants in the Tower. Shaking his head with the memory, he took the arm of the Lancer and sat behind him on the horse.
"You find something amusing about all this?" asked the lancer.
"What's your name?" Stefan asked
The Lancer stiffened," Hursat."
"Well Hursat, the world is a very cold place, and I can either laugh or cry about it. I chose to laugh."
Hursat nodded and spurred his horse up to behind Daramar in the lead.
______________________________________________________________________
Morlan keep was less a castle and more of an armed town. The walls were thick, tall, and pegged with wood spikes slanted down. The guards at the gate were three on each side of the road, and he could see a group of four lancer disapearing around the left side of the rounded wall. As he got closer the guards were not watching them, but rather focused on the road beside them.
"...your hood," muttered Hursat.
Stefan, used to Hursats unaccommodating nature, was taken by suprised his voice.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I said,"Hursat hissed" remove your bloody hood. Or your flaming cowl, whatever you southerners call it. Remove it now!"
Pulling back his hood," Why?" was all he muster to Hursat's insistence.
"Because, unlike your weak and soft ways in the south, we here have to take precautions." Hursat's nature for explaining things was imbued with impatience," everyone removes their hoods. That way we can see your eyes."
"Fade's have no eyes," Stefan realized that the men around them were removing their helms, as had Hursat. Hursat nodded. He really does not like me, thought Stefan.

The troop passed through the town, with inns crowded, and people mingling about the streets shopping, Stefan's only thoughts were how easily it would be for him to disappear here. There were southerners, a few who looked at him. For the most part the population was a mixed lot of northerners, southerners, rich and poor, soldier, mercenaries, and men who were there for their own reasons.
Oh yes, so easy to disappear. No Aes Sedai, no Warders, no one to remember that one guard, covered in the blood of boys and Warders, trying to protect the Amyrlin Seat. A very good place to start life over again.

The troop stopped in front of an old stone building with two guards in plate mail holding Halbreds. Daramar and Andumin dismounted and motioned for Stefan to follow. A few barked orders had the rest of the lancers trotting off down the street. Daramar held his swords in the bundle under arm. His helmet hanging by it's strap off the hilt of his sheathed sword.
All three walked inside, with Daramar in the lead, and Stefan in the middle. A clerk at a desk watched them approach.
"Captian Daramar," the clerk intoned," Lord Al'saran was not expecting you for two more days."
Captain Daramar motioned to Andumin who bowed, and then directed Stefan to a side room. The room was comfortable with a plain wooden table with six chairs arranged around it. The fire place was crackling with a good fire, and the room was warm compared to the clerks area. Walking over to the table, Stefan allowed his hands to caress the table top. Polished, and well used, the table could tell a mountain of tales for the time worn on it's surface.
Pushing back a chair, Stefan was about to sit when the door opened and Daramar walked in.
Andumin had stayed by the fire warming his hands, but facing Stefan the whole time. When Daramar walked in the stress seem to leech out of the Second's shoulders, and he sat on the stool by the fire. Adjusting his swords so that he was comfortable for the position.
Daramar strode over to the table and motioned for Stefan to sit. Standing the bundle of swords in the immediate corner to Stefans right, Daramar stripped off his own swords, belt and all, placed them on the table, and sat down as well.
"Might as well relax for awhile,"Daramar said, while removing his gauntlets," Lord Al'saran won't be here for a while."
Stefan, slouched in his chair, and stretched his legs out, "Can I have something to drink?"
"No." replied Daramar.
It was going to be a wait. That much he could tell when Andumin poured two goblets of wine, handing one to Daramar, and taking the other back to his stool. Stefan lips felt even more parched than before.
 

Steve

Time seem to slow for Stefan as he sat at one end of the table. Daramar, sitting directly across him, watched him much like a cat studying a mouse.
"What?" Stefan asked irratably, getting tired of the time that had elapsed.
Daramar, sipped his wine patiently, reclined back in his chair to study him some more.
"Your a puzzle," Daramar said slowly," and like I said before: My instincts say I should have executed you."
"I killed a bunch off Trollocs," Stefan said with some heat," and that qualifies me to be executed!"
"TWENTY TROLLOCS, BOY!" Daramar thundered, knocking his chair over backwards," One Myrddraal, and one dark friend!" Running his hand over his bald pate, Daramar sought control over his anger.
"Never," He turned back to Stefan," in my life have I seen one man, face so many and live. But you, I watched you run towards them...and...I swear, I saw arrows hit you...," he moved closer to him," no wounds." Touching Stefans chest where he saw two arrows hit the disbelief was evident in his eyes.
"I got lucky," Stefan mumbled as leaned back from the accusing finger.
"Luck?" Sitting by the fire, Andumin rolled the word as if it had a strange taste to it.
Daramar studiuosly walked over to the fire, "Do you think it was luck, Andumin?"
Andumin shook his head slowly and gulped the rest of his wine down. Daramar nodded  his agreement and stared into the fire with his second.

Stefan looked at them and then at the door as it opened to let in two men. One dark haired and swarthy looking, wearing 3/4 plate, with eyes to melt the heart of any stout man. The other was the clerk. Andumin snapped to attention quickly.
"My lord," Daramar bowed to the dark haired man," We have..."
The sentence died on his lips as Al'saran turned to him after a quick study of Stefan.
"Captain Daramar!" Al'saran snapped," What could be so bloody important that it couldn't wait till your troop was due back in!"
"I..." Daramar tried to begin, but never had a chance to finish.
"FORGET IT!" Al'saran was in a fury," I just got back from the north gate, and word has it the goat kissing Trollocs have just sacked the Indulmin hamlet. Get your lancers mounted and get out there!"
Al'saran then grabbed Daramar as he was about to follow Andumin out the door.
"This man here,"Al'saran indicated Stefan with a finger," did he commit a crime?"
"No, sir, but.." Daramar stammered out.
"Then he's not important. Those flaming Trollocs are, and their destroying our food stores!" Turning to the clerk," Turn him loose, and give him ten crowns for his trouble."
Al'saran snatched his helm from the clerk and stomped out the door cursing anyone who was in front of him to get moving. The clerk waited till all was quiet, and then motioned for Stefan to get his things together and come with him.
First thing he did was to retrieve his swords. Checking that all his blades were accounted for, which they were, he strapped them on and walked out to the clerk. Being handed a bag of coins, and signing his name to the reciept, Stefan walked out of Morlan Keep and headed back down the road he came in on.
That was too close, he thought.
Desiring to put as much distance between him and Daramar, Stefan walked into the wee hours of the evening. Seeing a farm building in the moonlight a ways off, Stefan curled up against a tree that was forty paces off the road, with lots of pine needles for bedding. Sleep, it was always good to get some sleep.

Steve(As directed by Jake, I'm out of the Keep.)

Alan woke up from his dreams.  He had warded his dreams long ago, yet
he still had nightmares that he could not keep out.  THey haunted his mind
as death haunts Shadar Logoth.  Taking out his mirror and his dirk he
started shave.  Looking through the mirror, he noticed the contours of his
face.  He had become older since his journey away from the tower.  His face
had lost that boyish look it once had.  He had more scars, and his blue eyes
carried a look of sheated danger beneath their lids.  Rubbing his face in
satisfaction he sheathed his dirk and started walking along the trail of the
Black Tower.  He was following his friends hoping he could help them out
unseen.  He did not want to make his presence known quite yet.  He had grown
accustom to wandering alone and by himself.  He missed only one thing, and
that was Sidarin.  His faithful companion had died long ago, and since there
had been a gap in his life.  Following the trail he noticed that the horse
prints and foot prints were quite fresh.  Keeping his steady pace, he walked
until he could see the party in front of him.  They were close.  Taking a
course that would bring him parallel to the party he increased his walk to a
jog.  Soon he was abreast the leaders of the black tower.  Looking
carefully, he saw that Murashar was in front talking with two others.  Not
quite knowing what to do, an idea formed in Alan's head.  Alan al Daren
embraced as much of the source as he could.  Bringing more and more into
him.  Reveling in the pain and ecstacy, he hoped his plan would work.  With
his enhanced vision, he saw Murashar reign his horse to a stop, pausing his
two friends.  Murashar then looked in his direction and bade the other two
be quiet.  Alan then let go of the source and stood there wondering if his
ruse would work.  Apparently it did, because Murashar started to ride
towards him.  The man with him moved as to follow the Marked Ashaman, but
Murashar kept him back with a wave of his hand.  Alan only had to wait.
       Within a few minutes Murashar came close to Alan's hiding spot.  With
a careful step, Alan stepped out of the copse of ground he was lying in.
Murashar reacted calmly but quickly embracing saidin and drawing his sword.
Alan held both of his hands up in a sign of peace and was rewarded with a
look of recognition on his old friends face.  Murashar jumped off of his
horse, while sheathing his sword, a move that alan hoped he could imitate
some day.  They met with clapsed hands.  When they parted Alan quickly wove
a sort of shield with spirit, air and water which would render them
invisible.  Murashar nodded.  "I do not have time to talk but i want you to
know that i have been following u for a couple of days.  I do not want to
make my presence known just yet, but i think it would benefit the mission if
i stayed behind and watched your back."  said alan in a hushed voice.

La'rece joined Mura'shar, Aramis and Tareena  shortly after yet another fight.  Their horses plodded over rough ground, the creaking of their saddles the only sound to break the stillness.  Tareena was certain that each of the four wanted to broach the subject of the attacks and yet each of them were strangely silent.
 As the rode along, Mura'shar finally decided to broach the subject. "There are Darkfriends in the Storm Team" he whispered "I believe they have been reporting our position to our attackers.  Don't ask how I know.  That would be betraying a confidence.  But it's true.  Do either of you have an idea on how to deal with them?"  Before any of them could answer, Mura'shar and Aramis' heads whipped up and they moved a little apart, conversing.  Tareena
saw Mura'shar wave Aramis back and he continued forward, riding towards a hill.  Now quite sure what it was all about, Tareena returned her gaze to the dragonsworn in front of her.  Listening to her speak, Tareena's mind began to whirl and her stomach churn.  There seemed to be certain people in one's life whom always ensnared you in their intrigues, be they friend or foe.  Lar'ece seemed to be one of those people for her.  If approached, neither
woman would claim friendship with the other and yet, circumstances always seemed to be forcing them to work and act together.  Tareena only hoped that it continued to be for the good of the tower.

 Do you have an angreal?"  La'rece asked softly.  "No," she replied, just as softly.

La'rece turned her gaze to scan those around them to as she removed a small bracelet from a pocket and handed it to Tareena.  The angreal was etched with the image of several blooming flowers.  "Watch your back.  We can talk later when it's  more quiet."  And with that, the Dragonsworn turned her horse and went to join  Aramis.

Tareena watched the Arafellan depart, idly twirling the angreal between her fingers.  Tareena had not been raised in the white tower and actually knew very little of their intrigues, their rules or their culture.  One thing she did know.  Angreals were not given away lightly.  Very few of the sisters possessed them.  Supposedly they were kept under tight watch.  So how did La'rece come by not only one to keep, but one to give away?  Narrowing her
eyes, she moved her gaze along the ranks, taking in their forces at a glance.  Each member of their group had fought their way through the attacks and yet...was their something she was missing?  One of their number had to be a darkfriend, she was sure of it.  But whom?  La'rece said that they would speak later.  Tareena intended to do a little information gathering on her own before then.  Just in case.

Lisa~Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
Bondmate to Darren Sadke

Halting her mount beside the tall Asha'man, La'rece glanced at Aramis and then turned her gaze to match his.  Mura'shar had ridden down the slope, but there was no sign of him.   The man next to her seemed to be staring a hole into the space just in front of a small stand of stunted trees.  An inability to see a man's weaves did not keep La'rece from knowing that Mura'shar … or the man he rode out to meet … had erected some sort of ward that
rendered them invisible.  Idly, the Arafellan wondered if Aramis was able to see the weaves … or the men themselves.

Thought raged through the Dragonsworn's mind.  Darkfriends in the Tower were nothing new.  La'rece had spent too many years chasing the Black Ajah to be surprised anymore.  The capacity seemed all but lost.  But now the stakes had been raised; instead of merely sowing dissent, the Dark One's followers were quite possibly leading the entire Storm Team to the slaughter.

*Well, we'll see about that* thought the red-haired former Aes Sedai, her fist gripping the hilt of her sword.
 

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

No one seemed particularly startled at his statement about Darkfriends among them.  They must have come to a similar conclusion themselves.  Good.  That meant they will be on guard as well.
 But before anyone could speak further, Mura'shar sensed someone holding saidin.  And a lot of it.  He bade everyone to be quiet and scanned the area, pinpointing the source.  The man was not channeling, merely holding saidin.  Mura'shar cautiously rode towards the man.
 As he neared the hidden man, he drew his sword and reached for saidin, preparing some nasty weaves for whoever was out there.
 When Alan stepped from behind a tree, Mura'shar almost fried him to a cinder in surprise.  It had been a long time since they had seen each other.  He certainly didn't expect to see him again here, of all places.  Not after his bondmate had left to go looking for him Mura'shar lowered his sword and shook hands with his old friend.
 After Alan wove a shield around them for privacy, he explained that he was following the group, and wanted to continue doing so, without revealing himself.  An idea suddenly popped into Mura'shar's head.
 "That would be a good idea" Mura'shar told his old friend "We have a problem in the Storm Team.  There is a Darkfriend.  Maybe more than one, among us.  They are signaling the Trollocs and whoever is leading them; telling them where we are and when to attack. "
 He quickly filled Alan in on what they had learned about the raids into the Shienar. About the descriptions they had gotten from survivors, including the suspicions that these male channelers are Aiel
 "What I would like you to do is to keep an eye on us from outside the group.  Watch for anyone who tries to sneak away or send a signal.  If we can just isolate and eliminate the Darkfriend, we would stand a much better chance at getting out of this alive.
 "I'd better go now, before La'rece and the others become convinced that I've fallen into an ambush" Mura'shar grinned "Besides, that tree you're hiding behind looks hungry"
 The tree Alan had stepped out from behind had somehow shifted its thorny branches so they were several inches closer to Alan.  Like they were reaching for him.  They laughed a bit as they stepped away from the tree.  Mura'shar stepped out of the shield and back toward the others.
 Aramis and Larece relaxed when he stepped back into view.  Tareena actually sighed in relief.  "What happened?" they all asked him
 "It was...nothing.  I'll tell you later.  But for now the immediate problem is the Darkfriend" He hoped they'd forgive him for not coming clean at the moment.  But what isn't said can't be overheard.  Besides, the Darkfriend problem really should be the first priority.

Jake
M'Hael

Alan shared his friends grin as the man walked away.  Mura'shar had
changed in the time Alan had been gone.  He seemed older, and carried
himself with a sense of command.  Smiling wistfully Alan remained hidden
until the rest of the Black Tower party had passed.  As soon as the cloud of
smoke from the hooves of their horses started to settle, Alan began to
follow behind them.  Making sure to be careful and trying not to leave to
many tracks Alan watched his friends and brethren.  Even though his head was
on a swivel, and his hand appeared to be calmly resting on his dirk, his
head was a whirl of thoughts.  There was a darkfriend in the tower.
Mura'shar had told him this himself!  There were many new faces in the tower
now...many that Alan al Daren did not recognize.  Ivan, Tor, Legolas, and
many others were no longer there.  It would not be hard to kill a darkfriend
if he did not know.  He continued to shadow the party....hoping a clue would
be dropped, or a mistake made.  Alan hated Shadowspawn more than most....yet
he hated darkfriends even more.

Morning came early, and Stefan gathered his belongings quickly about him. Shifting his swords and knives into their proper places he walked towards the farmhouse. There were three men in the front hitching a horse to a cart when one of them noticed Stefan walking towards them. Stefan, remembering Hursats explanation about cowls, removed his. Though he wasnt sure if he saw a relaxation of their shoulders, Stefan could tell they werent as anxious as
theyd seem before.
"What can I do for you?" asked the older one of the three in a tone that was less than friendly.
"I was wondering if I could purchase some food from you," answered Stefan.
"Youve got means to pay for it," asked the younger one with a dangeruos gleam in his eye.
Stefan jingled his coin purse, judiciously exposing the hilt of his sword from under the large cloak. They gave no response, but the atmosphere seemed to improve. Whether from the idea of coin, or the fact that he was armed, Stefan could not tell. But what he got was to round loaves of a sour dough bread, a small round of hard, smoked yellow cheese, and some dried meat. Giving them four of the gold coins he asked if they had an extra spear. The
younger one was off and running while the older one told the other man to finish loading the wagon.
"Well," the old man said in a friendly voice," you may be a southerner, but your generous."
"Where Im going," Stefan said between bites," I wont need it."
The young man returned with a two paced long spear, with a half-paced spear point. Definitely a thrusting weapon. Stefan smiled a large smile and handed over the rest of his coins to the old man. Bidding them fare-well, Stefan headed northward into the Blight.

Four days elapsed since he was at the farm house, and Stefan was already beginning to wonder if he should have just hanged himself off the road to Morlan keep. The Blight was worse than the tales he was told, and everything seemed set to kill him or eat him. Avoiding the local beasties was becoming a daily occurrence, and twice he fought off two creatures that seemed a cross between a lion and a horse. But the trees were what frightened him. When the
second cat had joined the chase, Stefan decided he had enough of this "cat and mouse" game. Running ahead of them for about forty paces he found some trees that formed a thicket on one side. The animals did not give him much time to settle in, but as soon as he set himself for the charge, a large tree that one of the animals got to close too snagged the animal with and started to rip it limb from limb. Horrified by the tree, Stefan was startled long
enough for the other cat like creature to get in close. Stefan barely managed to knock it into the thicket when the thicket seem to come alive and entangle the creature within its branches. Stefan ran from that area and avoided the trees all together.

Three days later Stefan found himself by a patch of very dead bushes. He confirmed their state by hacking them out of the ground. Resting there and eating the last of his meager rations, he heard what sounded like horses moving about fifty paces away. Moving slowly around he could hear the creaking saddles and snorts of the horses, but he could not see who it was. Holding his breath for what seemed like an eternity, the sound of the horse company
went away. Waiting patiently for awhile, Stefan walked over to where the company went by. They weren't Shienarian Lancers or else he would have been able to tell how many they were. This group traveled in a pack. Looking around and frowning as to what to do, Stefan heard a twig snap. His head snapped to where the sound came from, but he couldn't see very far in the brush. But his senses told him someone was there. He drew both swords out and siezed
Saidin, wrapping the flows Air, Earth, Water, Spirit, and Fire around him and his swords like a web.
He didn't know who or what it was, but today he would blend with the music of Saidin and embrace death.

Steve(I'm in the blight)

Alan al Daren was about two hundred yards from Black Tower group.  He
had been following them for days now and no one had shown even the slightest
inkling of being a dark friend.  Keeping his eyes on the trail ahead of him,
Alan quickly made his way through the brush.  Taking a short little break
Alan sat down on a patch of grass.  He was surrounded by bushes and small,
stunted trees.  He did not want to get to close to his old friends because
then they would be alerted to his presence.  Reaching into his pack to get
some of the hard biscuits that Murashar had kindly left behind one day Alan
paused.  Making his body perfectly still was no longer a chore for the
Marked Ashaman.  Something was not right.  There was something out there,
yet Alan had no idea what it was, or how he knew it was out there.  Waiting
calmly Alan soon saw someone in the brush.  The man moved with an easy
grace....and had an assortment of weapons on him.  He kept his eyes on a
swivel yet had no idea Alan was there.  He was Andoran and looked a little
like Alan.  There was something strange about this man, he moved as if he
did not care whether he lived or died, while cautious the man was still
uncaring.  Alan slowly moved to a crouch and picked up a smal twig.  The man
was about ten feet from the Ashaman when Alan broke the twig.  In a
suprisingly quick move the man turned drawing his swords (He had two!!) and
drawing something else as well.  The man was holding saidin.  In almost the
same moment as the man drew on the force he wove complicated flows of all
five of the powers.  They formed a cacoon around his body.  Alan stared with
a small smile on his face.  This man was surely dangerous, but Alan could
tell by the way the man wove saidin that he was a wilder and pretty new to
the Power.  Drawing his dirk and dagger, Alan started to walk towards the
man.  As soon as Alan made his first step the man's eyes lept to the
Ashaman.  Alan stared increduously as this stranger made to charge him. With
barely a conscious thought Alan embraced the man in flows of air.  The man
started to struggle and shout, so Alan put a gag of air in his mouth.
Walking over to him, Alan saw fear in his eyes.  It seemed that this man had
finally realized that Alan too could wield the power.  Alan could remember
when he was afraid of men channelers too, even though he knew he could touch
saidin.  Suddently the man was shouting again.  Looking at the stranger,
Alan for the first time in days felt some real mirth.  The man had somehow
untied the flow of air Alan had used to gag him.  Putting it back into place
and cutting the man off from the source....Alan sat him down.  They were
going to have a little talk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe

For a wonder the Blight seemed to settle down.  There was a lull in the sporatic thrashings and piercing cries that usually reverberated through the tainted land.  Creaking leather and the occasional snort of a horse were all that broke the stillness.  No one was fooled, least of all the red-haired Dragonsworn riding close behind the Asha'man called Aramis.  The former Aes Sedai had spent many years in the Borderlands and knew the Blight and its
wicked and wily ways.  Alert for a sign of the end to the precipitous peace, La'rece Barata'gan waited for the Blight to pounce …

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Somewhere in the distance a strange howl rose up into the night, caught upon the wind like a balloon.  Upward it rose, tossed this way and that, extending, reaching, haunting.  The hairs rose on the back of Tareena's arms as she stealthily made her way through the camp and out into the trees.  It wasn't so much that the mournful howl itself was intimidating...it was more that she had no real idea of exactly what kind of creature could make that kind
of noise.  Surprising things had jumped out of the ugliness of the blight and she knew without a doubt that it was only the beginning.
     How in the world did I ever think that this was a good idea?  Here I am, traipsing about the night by myself like a goat-headed idiot.  I am going to be lucky if I don't get myself killed.  Yet, I have to know what is going on.  The safety of our entire group is at stake.  If Mura'shar is right, not to mention all of the rest of us that have those suspicions, there is a darkfriend among us.  Everyone is together during the day, under the
close watch of their storm team leaders.  At night however, things become much more integrated.  People visit back and forth..much more opportunity for people to slip out of the camp.  I want to see who is doing it.
     Tareena reached out with the bond, feeling the location of her bondmate, Darren.  He had drawn watch duty tonight and would have her head on a platter if he knew what she was up to.  Still, some things could not be helped and she still was suffering from a huge lack of trust from the Myiona trial fiasco.  Tareena had taken the brunt of that whole situation and it had left her with not only a bad taste in her mouth but also a healthy fear of
putting her faith in too many people.  She knew she could trust a few...but even at that..who knew?
     A snapping twig and shifting movement caused her to simultaneously jerk her head around and drop to a crouched position, almost sniffing the air like a dog.  Her reaction time had improved since joining and training with the Black Tower.  She was no where near capable of totally defending herself without the one power but she knew far more survival skills than she had known as a Seanchan Damane.
Then all she had to worry about was pleasing her Sul'dam.  They worried about keeping her alive.  Or not.  A fierce feeling of pride and freedom shot through Tareena for just an instant before she stifled it and focused all of her attention on the surrounding night and the once heard noise that had become ominous silence.
    Tareena carefully began to move, almost in a duck like walk, keeping low to the ground.  She came to a thicket and gently and quietly separated the branches, wincing as wicked thorns tore into her flesh.  She shut her eyes for a time and then reopened then, hoping to improve her night vision.  She waited, hoping that whatever she heard would turn out to be nothing.  Time lasted for an eternity.  Just as she began to feel foolish and every cramp
became readily apparent in her legs, she silenced a small gasp.  Heading into the clearing was a man dressed in black, slouched down and moving slowly from shadow to shadow. As he drew closer, shock exploded down deep into her body, almost physically causing her to rock on her heels.  She must have made some small unknown sound at the back of her throat for the man whipped around, drawing his weapon, and stood facing her.  Tareena walked slowly into
the clearing, not wanting to see the face of her bondmate staring back at her.
     Light and salvation!  It cannot be.  What is he doing out here?  Doubts sprung from nowhere, doubts that she had not felt in many months.  Thoughts and words began to play through her mind, twisting and following one another faster and faster like a dog twirling to find his tail. Only these thoughts, these emotions were not so simple and ideal.  Could her bondmate indeed be a darkfriend?  Could she be wrong about him?
    Before Tareena could work herself up into a frenzy the moon came out from beneath its cloud covering, shining for an instant on the metal of the shaft her bondmate held tightly in his hands.  Wait...shaft?  Darren does not use a staff..he has two swords, not a staff.  Which would mean that the man staring at her was not her bondmate at all, but his twin, Arran, from the mirror world of Rhuidean.  Tareena and Darren had rescued him and he had
returned from the dark to the light..or had he?  Knew doubts sprung up in her mind.  Could he be the one alerting the dark to their presence?  Could his supposed attrition be simply another facade?  Could they have been that wrong about him?
     Tareena felt frozen to the ground, icy cold thoughts and emotions crashing through her head.  For an instant or a lifetime, they stared at one another, gauging the depths of the other's thoughts.  Before she had a chance to react, once again snapping twigs alerted her to the presence of someone else in these increasingly crowded woods.  Turning, she saw La'rece making her way into the clearing.  The look upon the Arafellan's face was chilling to
say the least.  Suddenly, Tareena wondered if the blade master may be having the same thoughts about her as she was about Arran. Or should Tareena be questioning why SHE was out in the woods alone tonight.  Or was she alone?  Who else might be lurking out there watching? Or maybe the question should be, WHAT else?

Raileine struggled to get into a comfortable position in her sleeping roll. She was sore everywhere and just wanted to scream out in pain, but she wouldn't. Rai was too stubborn to show anyone her discomfort. *To think, they only credit the woolheads of the Two Rivers for their stubborness. Sometimes I think it's just plainly all of Andorans.* Finally she found a position that wasn't agonizing to her sore muscles and closed her eyes.

Her thoughts drifted from her sore rump and legs to the group she was traveling with, and to where she was traveling. She had every reason to trust them, and evey reason to fear them. It had to have been in almost everyone's upbringing that male channelers were the work of the Dark One, but now that she was in their Tower and their group she didn't find them as scary as the nightmares had told. *Who said the Reds were the only one that had interest
in the male channelers, Mother was Green and she had her own interest in them, and her own fears.* Rai thought bitterly.

There was an uneasiness in the leaders and higher ranking members of the Tower that Rai could see around them at times. At first she thought she was imagining things, but then when she paid attention, instead of spacing off and wincing about her legs, she noticed that there was a chance she was correct about the uneasiness.

Clearing her thoughts Rai began to drift off into sleep, but then a sharp pain was sent up her right leg and she winced again. Shifting she laid on her stomach and pushed her face into her pillow to drown out the sounds of the evening.

Finding it almost impossible to sleep through the agony, Rai felt that a way to release herself of it was to walk it off. She got up, bitting her lip to keep herself from crying out in pain. *Pain influenced by yourself, fool. You're not as young as you once were, and you've never been as good on a hoarse as your father or sisters.* She accused herself. There was a metallic taste in the liquid that was flowing into her mouth and she knew exactly
where it had come from, from biting her lip. She started walking around the immediate area and then moved on.

She'd been wondering around the area for some time when she noticed a cluster of shadows where there should've been only one or two. Noticing in those shadows were people, Rai quickly -to her discomfort- moved away from that area and went directly back to her bedroll. There she burried her face and took the pain as it came until sleep came over here, one thing on her mind. Something was up.

"...so the Tairen returns from the sea to find that his wife has given birth to twin boys." Aramis tried not to laugh as he related an old Tairen fisherman's joke. Most of the Storm Team sat around the supper fires. "But when he asked his wife their names, she told him that they weren't named yet. One slept with his back to the sea, one slept facing the sea. When the fisherman heard this, he declared that the boys would be called Towards and Away.
When Towards and Away were of an age to start fishing, the man loaded his sons and his gear onto the boat and sailed off. He didn't return for a week, which made the wife almost mad from fear. After a week the man returns by himself. Frantic, the wife asked what happened. 'Well,' says the man, "We were about to come back in when Towards snagged a giant Red Stripe. This fish was so big and strong that it kept pulling us out farther and farther to sea.
Finally it pulled Towards out of the boat and swallowed him up.' His wife, amazed and shocked, said 'Wow! that's amazing!' The husband looked her in the eye and said 'Yeah, but you should have seen the one that got Away.'"
       Aramis waited for an explosion of laughter that never came. Instead, someone threw a boot at him. He was trying to salvage something of his pride when he noticed Mura'shar heading towards his tent. The Tsorovan'm'hael jerked his head in that direction, signaling Aramis to follow.
       "I think I'll go to find someone who appreciate a good joke," he said and trotted over to Mura'shar's pavilion of a tent.
       "I'll be blunt with you, Aramis," Mura'shar said, "We have at least one darkfriend spy in the Storm Team."
       Aramis cursed.
      "We have two problems. We still have the rogue channelers out there that must be dealt with. Now we also have Darkfriends."
       "Do you have any plans? Do you have any suspects?"
       Mura'shar smiled grimly. "None that I'm sharing with anybody here."
       "Then let me take a small party to track down these Aiel. You can ferret out the stinkning Dark Friend rat while we're gone and neutralize the problem. That way we wouldn't have to worry about him when we make our move against the Aiel channelers."

       Mura'shar was silent for a moment. "Do you have anyone in mind to go with you?"
       "Alcinia, Alan, La'rece, and Soldier Stefan. One of us could report back every night as long as you need us in the field."
       The Tsorovan'm'hael was quiet again. "I'l consider it and let you know later tonight. You're dismissed." Aramis turned to go, but stopped.
       "Can you do me one more favor, Mura'shar?" He nodded.
       "Laugh, loudly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James aka Aramis
Marked Asha'man
Bonded to Alcinia

Elois kept feeling the ground rocking beneath her blankets. After long long days in the saddle, she was unused to solid ground. Her sleep was disrupted, but not really because of flashbacks of hard galloping. She kept envisioning the smoldering remains of innocent farmhouses, homes, and sometimes the residents flashed into her mind. Smoldering. Oneovercast
day in Seanchan, perfecting a certain brand of lightning bolt designed for precise striking at a certain distance. She shuddered and jerked into a sitting position, wool blankets pooling around her waist.
       Her "tent" was little more than a tarp draped over rotting tree branches, and the glow from the campfire highlighted her profile as she stared out over the night shrouded hills. Elois and the two women had nearly raced their mounts into early graves, desperate to put distance between themselves and the Trolloc/Darkfriend army. They stumbled across their Black Tower comrades in an equally startling moment.
       She was disappointed at her own uselessness; she had been unable to provide Mura'shar with any useful details regarding the size of this particular band, or their intentions, or, pathetically, their exact location. Turn tail and run, Elois. Light, you're so very useless sometimes.
       Tired of scolding herself and of being scolded, she wrapped a blanket tightly around her thinly clad shoulders and waddled out of her tent, taking a seat on a log with others from the Tower whom sleep evaded. They were telling jokes - or what passed. She didn't really pay attention to the conversation, just let the fire and the voices warm her.
       Mura'shar, Alan, La'rece... something was wrong. There were... undercurrents passing between some in the Tower. And now Aramis and Mura'shar were whispering in corners. Elois sighed, certainly not because she felt left out of important goings-on, but just because it appeared their situation was now worse, for whatever reason. Well, she wasn't surprised.
       Elois eyed the tent the conspirators had disappeared into with White Ajah detatchment at its best. Laughter. She frowned. No. I know I'm right. Something is going on. Well... this once I swear I'm going to take charge of my destiny when It happens.

       She was frowning so intensely that someone asked if she was quite alright. "Oh... Oh, I just got the joke. 'The one that got Away.' Awful." She forced a smile. Well, it *was* a bad joke.

Hannah

Stefan could see the other man's weave, plucked it apart, and sought to move
his swords. But only the scream of frustration escaped from his mouth.
The gag appeared again, and Stefan sought to undo it again except several
other weaves came at him which he did not know what they were for, but he
sought to undo them as well. Instead he felt only the massive lurching need
to empty his stomach and the dizziness that came when he let go of Saidin.

Stefan found himself on the ground, kneeling, visually being supported by
nothing, and yet something solid still held him in place. He tentatively
sought out Saidin and found a... wall, a barrier
"I have you shielded," the other man said.
Stefan's eye's went wide. How can he know?
The other man smiled, "You promise not to yell anymore?"
Stefan tried to respond but found his mouth still filled with...nothingness.
air. Solid, like a gag, but still air. He nodded.
"Good," the air block disappeared," My name is Alan al'Daren. Yours is?"
"Stefan," still working his jaw muscles," Stefan al'Morthan."
"Well Stefan," Alan fingered the edge of one of his swords," I must say you
gave me quite a start there for moment."
Alan walked around Stefan as he let the sword blade rest on Stefan's
shoulder, blade towrds his neck. Stefan had never felt so helpless as he did
now.
"So do you usually charge people before you find out whether their friend or
foe?" Alan asked as he sat in front of Stefan. Laying the sword across his
lap
"I...no, normally I don't," Stefan felt foolish.
"Are you a darkfriend?"
"What?" Stefan felt a stab of indignation at the question.
"You know, a Darkfriend. A follower of the dark one. Bosom friends with the
Father of lies?" Alan seemed arrogant in his questioning.
"By the light, NO!" Stefan felt anger roiling inside him.
"'By the light' you say. You know I could kill you right now and you would
be
nothing more than another corpse in the blight." Alan said in a tone that
seemed to beg a different, yet dangerous, alternative.
"What do want?"
"Live and become a darkfriend, or die and feed whatever lives here." Alan
said as he laid the edge of the sword blade next to Stefan's neck, and
casually waved to the land around them.
Stefan's inner being howled. Here he was, helpless as a babe to a
Darkfriend.
Embrace death...the chant inside his skull boomed. Embrace death, no peace
with the shadow. Stefan pushed at the barrier. EMBRACE DEATH!
"What was that?" Alan's face showed some strain.
"I said I embrace death before I'll ever accept that offer, worm!" Stefan
spat.
"Good, for you!" Alan smiled and laughed. He relaxed and exhaled, slapped
his
knees then stood," because I was afraid that if you did accept that
sickening
offer I would have no other choice but to kill you."
Stefan's face seemed to register the shock that he felt running through his
body. His mind  whirled as he comprehended the conversation.
"You were testing me?" the dawning realization hit Stefan like a mace as he
felt the bonds on him loosen.
"If you hadn't noticed yet, we are in the blight. Land of the Dark one,
master of Shadows" Alan said as he handed the sword back to Stefan," Your
other sword is over there."
Stefan retrieved the other sword and sheathed it," My things are right over
there."
"Let's go get them and then you can tell me why you here in the blight?"
Alan
spoke as he followed Stefan backed to his.
Stefan stopped as he thought about the question," I came here to fight my
last battle with the dark one and maybe find redemption for the poor choices
I have made in my life."

Mura'shar was growing worried.  The attacks were continuing, but with fewer and fewer channelers among them.  He suspected they were splitting off from the body of Trollocs and vanishing into the Blight, or wherever they call home.  That was what they had to find.  Their base.  Killing Trollocs was all fine and good, but it was not why they were here
 What's worse, though was food.  They were starting to run low.  If they stayed in the Blight much longer, they would have to try their hands at hunting.  He would rather not try eating anything that lived in this Light-Forsaken jungle, though it must be possible.  Whole armies have campaigned here in the past.  Or so the stories say.  Something must be edible.  Or they had a supply train that ran from Shayol Ghul to Dal Dara.
 His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Aramis, who had just finished suffering the consequences of telling a bad joke.  Maybe he can help with his third problem.  Darkfriends.  He signaled Aramis to join him.
 At the news of Darkfriends in the camp, Aramis gave a rather impressive curse.
     "We have two problems. We still have the rogue channelers out there that must be dealt with. Now we also have Darkfriends."
  "Do you have any plans? Do you have any suspects?"
 Mura'shar winced inside at the question.  He had hoped the fiasco surrounding Myiona's trial had weeded out all the Darkfriends in the Storm Team.  But that obviously wasn't the case.  He had no suspects.
 As to plans.  Well, Alan was sort of a plan.  A pity he had to break his cover to bring in that young Soldier, Stefen.  What were Tareena and all those others doing out there that night?  They needed every channeler they could get nowadays, so maybe it wasn't all bad.  At least he didn't have to smuggle food out to him anymore.
 He kept his answer simple "None that I'm sharing with anybody here."  He wondered if Aes Sedai operated this way all the time, and how they kept their sanity, even without the taint
 Aramis responded with a rather bold plan to lead a small strike group to track down the Aiel while he pressed the search for the Darkfriend.  It had its appeal.  It would be dangerous, of course, but if the right people, trustworthy people, could be placed in it...
 He heard Aramis' list: Alcinia, Alan, La'rece, and Soldier Stefan.  All but the last were seasoned veterans, men and women he had fought alongside in the past and trusted implicitly.  Stefan would learn well from them, and they could keep an eye on him.  He didn't seriously think he was a Darkfriend, but they couldn't afford to take chances.
 Mura'shar promised he would think it over.  He also gave a hearty laugh at his request.  He didn't see the harm in it.  Who knows?  Maybe he really does know a funny joke?  Then he took a short nap, hoping for wisdom.
 Myiona did not always appear when he slept.  He didn't understand what her abilities were.  He suspected she did not know much about her own skills herself.  But sometimes, they met in his dreams.  He kept her up to date on what was happening in the Blight, and she told him of events in the Tower.  They were able to advise each other that way.  The hours they spent in this dream world were like an answered prayer to him when they happened.  But this
time, his sleep was dreamless.
 He awoke a couple of hours later, somewhat refreshed, but still on his own.  He came to a decision, and sought out Aramis. He found him desperately trying to coax a few laughs out of a group by the cookfire.
 "Aramis.  A word?"  He led the Asha'man away from the fire and spoke
 "If the people you mentioned are willing, you can have your team.  But do not stray too far from the main body.  This whole place is trying to kill us, not just a few channelers" he told him.  "We don't want you to be cut off form us.  And I want regular reports"
 Aramis appeared happy with Mura'shar's decision. Mura'shar hoped it was the right one.  This idea might just get his friends killed.  But it was out of his hands now.  Now he just had to figure out who in this camp is a Darkfriend.  Maybe Tareena will have some ideas...

Alan walked along side his new companion while he told the marked ashaman
his story.  Everyone had a story to tell.  Stefans was more interesting than
most.  Being trained in the White Tower was and still is a worthy
accomplishment.  Alan wondered if this man would survive the rigors of the
Black Tower.  He had inate skill and the will to fight.  But did he have the
will to live?  Thinking about these things, Alan made a decision.  He must
go back to the main group of the Black Tower.  Alan could not hope to track
a darkfriend with this man.  Whereas he was probably a good fighter, his
lack of training in the power would be a definate problem.  Keeping his head
on a swivel Alan walked out of the brush with Stefan close behind him.

   "Stefan, you are about to meet friends.  If you choose, they will become
your family.  You will fight and die for them.  Never forget that."  Stefan
nodded his head in solemn agreement.  They started to walk towards the
campfires.  Alan noticed that Stefan was still wary of his new surroundings.
  A small smile formed on Alan al Daren's lips.  This youngblood would do
well.  They walked into the light of the campfire amid gasps and the sound
of drawn swords.  Alan simply raised his right hand and said, "Is this how
you treat friends returned to the womb?"  Alan laughed and started to
embrace his brothers and sisters.  Stefan just stood there looking at people
that he knew would be friends, yet still hesitant to approach them.

Aramis wasted no time after Mura'shar's confirmation. First he had to find his bondmate, wherever she was. He found Alan, first, though. He was talking to Stefan on the outskirts of camp. It looked like one of those Wise-Asha'man-giving-advice-to-the-Soldiers talks. He pulled Alan aside.
       "Would you two be willing to take a quick trip out there?" he pointed into the unlit night beyond the sentries. "Mura'shar thinks it might be a good idea to run a scouting mission to see if we can't locate these Aiel. Couldn't hurt getting the Soldier some experience, as well. If you're up to it, meet me on the north side of camp in an hour. I'm going to see if La'rece will go, also."
       Alan nodded, and Aramis let the two men resume their discussion. La'rece was finishing her supper when Aramis found her. He made the same proposal. "If you're up to it, we could use your help." That was no lie. She was Aes Sedai, and Blademaster as well. "Meet us at the north side of camp in an hour."
       "How long will we be away from camp?" she asked.
       "A few days, most likely."
       "Good," she said, smiling. Aramis shivered. Rumor had it that this pretty little red-head had lost all three of her Warders at the same time. Just the thought of losing his own bondmate made Aramis want to go on a murderous rampage. How La'rece stood the pain of losing three was beyond Aramis' comprehension. Then he had to wonder where Ivan was. Maybe him and Tor were with the Lord Dragon. Who knew?
       Alcinia was in her tent, ready to turn in for the evening. Aramis grinned.
       "Are you ready to go?"
       She looked at Aramis like he'd lost his mind.
       "Come on. We've got someplace else to be in an hour."
       "Where? What's going on?"
       "Mura'shar wants us to see what we've got coming up. We might have some friends coming with us, too." He gave her the details, and left to gather his things. He hoped the others would be going with them.

In the Blight, people learn to move quietly and quickly. Or they die. But this was a special case. Aramis ran. His discovery wasn't earth shattering, but it could be rather important. He came crashing through the rotten vegetation like a half-lame horse to the spot where he had left his friends and bondmate.
       He found them, weapons at the ready, every last one of them probably holding the Source as much as they could.
       After many dirty looks and remarks, they calmed down enough to let Aramis breathlessly explain. "...Grove... There's an ogier stedding out there... We need to tell Mura'shar. I crossed into it without realizing it... I didn't go too far, but I heard voices and smelled smoke. Someone lives there."

Laughing hysterically, La'rece almost falling off the rock on which she was sitting.  Aramis had begun telling jokes the day before, and bad though some might be, the humor had turned out to be a welcome relief from the ever-present evil and tension that pervaded the Blight.  The young Dragonsworn who had just told the ribald joke about an old farmer, his wife, the mayor, a tinker, a whitecloak and a goat, looked absolutely gobsmacked that she had
actually spoken the words aloud thus making everyone laugh all the harder.

Movement at the edge of the clearing caught La'rece's eye and she turned hand reaching for the sword at her back.  Gasps filled the air as Alan al'Daren walked toward the group, a young man at his side.

"By Grapthar's hammer!" someone exclaimed.

"Well, that would be just about the greeting I might expect from this crew!" Alan responded with a wry grin  La'rece joined the throng gathering about the young Asha'man.  Alan was one of the first she had met in the Black Tower, the night that Ivan had given her a choice and a chance to fight the Dark One at his side.  An image of a large brave hound came to her mind as the Arafellan recalled the young man's companion during those early days.

Everyone wanted explanations as to where he had been and how he had found them, but Aramis had other plans for Alan leading him away for a conference.  Meanwhile, the young man Alan had brought with him, Stefan seemed a bit overwhelmed by the members of the Black Tower, each in their own right a fearsome fighter, some with the One Power, some with swords and knives … some with both.  Yet soon Stefan was swept into the conversation and found himself
answering a barrage of questions.  It was learned that the young man could channel and was therefore a prime candidate to join the Black Tower.  *As if he has a choice here in the Blight* thought La'rece sardonically.

Sitting by herself with her back to a particularly flat boulder, La'rece ate supper while listening to the continuing conversations around the campfire.  The Arafellan looked up as Aramis approached her.  Looking back at the Tower's members talking near the fire, the Asha'man spoke to her.

"Mura'shar thinks it might be a good idea to run a scouting mission to see if we can locate the Aiel.  If you're up to it, we could use your help."

When the Asha'man turned to look her in the eye, La'rece met his gaze for a long moment.  Both were warriors and both had a fair idea of the dangers that faced them out in the Blight … and within the Tower.  The Dragonsworn nodded once.

"Meet us at the north side of camp in an hour" Aramis said softly.

"How long will we be away from camp?" La'rece asked more from curriosity than any real desire to know.

"A few days, most likely."

"Good," the Dragonsworn said smiling.

Aramis hesitated and then turned and walked away leaving La'rece to finish her meal.

Not long after Aramis left her, things settled down and people went to their blankets or read or wandered about.  Feeling somewhat antsy, La'rece decided to quickly scope out the perimeter of the camp.  It was unnaturally warm; common in the Blight.  With practiced skill, the Arafellan almost managed to completely block out the foul smells that were a constant reminder of how degraded and corrupt the surrounding lands had become.  Moving away from
the camp, La'rece found herself moving toward a particular rock formation at the base of which seemed to be a relatively quiet cluster of trees and bushes.  Quiet being somewhat relative in the Blight.

As she neared the rocks, the soft whisk of leather moving across a dry branch caught her ear.  Moving carefully, La'rece made her way to a small clearing where she found herself facing Tareena and what appeared to be Darren, but was clearly not.  It did not take long for the Arafellan to assess the situation.  Gut instinct told her that Tareena was most likely out doing precisely what she herself had been subconsciously doing … hunting whatever
darkfriends had wormed their way into the Tower's ranks.  The same intuition told her that there was danger here.  Acute danger.  And it eminated from the man facing the two women …
 

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Once the scouting party had left, Mura'shar began making discreet inquiries about the remaining members of the Storm Team.  He wanted to know exactly where everyone was when the first attacks took place, to find out who could have sent a signal.  So far, the only people he could confirm were those he really didn't
think were Darkfriends anyway.  This was going to be a long, slow process, he could tell.
 Two days after the scouting team left, the group came rushing back to camp, trembling in excitement.
 "There's a stedding up ahead, just a couple hours away!" they exclaimed.  "And it's inhabited!"
 "Inhabited?  By what?"  Mura'shar's interest was piqued.  He stories all said steddings were havens against the Shadow.  But could even a stedding stand against the Blight for so long?  He had also heard stories of what Malkier was like, before its fall.

 As if in answer to his question, three figures stepped into the camp.  Two were tall, taller than a Trolloc, even.  The third was tall for a human, but still far shorter than his two companions.  He was also wearing an Aiel's cadin'sor.
 Mura'shar could sense the One Power being seized all around him.  He himself was holding as much saidin as he could.  He had never seen Ogier before.  And though these two matched the descriptions he had heard, it paid not to take chances.  And the man was clearly Aiel. He was a threat simply by living
 "Hmmm, peace!" said the older of the two Ogier "I am Elder Balor, son of Howlan, son of Gigas.  This is Brana, daughter of Devrith, daughter of Kupas.  And our young friend is..."
 ",,,I am Rhugin, and I claim no clan, sept, or society" he said quietly.  He stepped forward and smiled, a strange look on an Aiel "We startled you.  I apologize.  We come to offer you water and shade.  This is a dangerous place for you to be, even if you can channel"
 Everyone stood in stunned silence for a moment, until Alcinia finally said "How did you find us sop quickly?"
 "You did not hide your tracks very well coming back here" Rhugin said.  "And if you know how, you can move very fast even in this land.  It is necessary, sometimes.  But tell me, why are you here at all?"
 Mura'shar introduced himself and answered cautiously "We have been tracking a band of Trollocs.  They have been raiding along the Blightborder recently, and have been causing some unusually horrific acts, even for Shadowspawn.  We tracked them this far, but it has been growing difficult to tack them.  And there have been attacks by Shadowspawn.
 The Ogiers broke in for the first time "Hmm!  Then you must come with us!" Balor exclaimed We have managed to keep the Blight out since it first claimed this area.  You shall be most welcome.  The Blight and its inhabitants don't bother us, as Rhugin and his friends shall attest..."
 Brana cut him off "As Rhugin will attest, yes.  He has been our guest for a while.  Fifteen years, is it?  He will be most happy for some human company.  Yes.  Though there are some things that will probably surprise you.  We will have to ask for your discretion."
 Rhugin looked a bit uncomfortable.  Odd how expressive his face is, Mura'shar thought
 Mura'shar was grateful to accept their offer of sanctuary.  He had never heard of a Darkfriend Ogier.  And the plant life was looking distinctly healthier as they approached the stedding.  But he started having second thoughts as a cool breeze seemed to rush past him.  Then saidin was gone, like it never was.  Both the glory of its warmth and the sickening filth together.
 The loss spread across Asha'man and Dragonsworn alike as they passed across the barrier.  Fortunately the bond with Myiona was still there.  It was some comfort that he could still sense her presence, even if the One Power was gone for now.
 Rhugin gave them all a sympathetic look.  "Don't worry, the loss is great, but bearable.  Until today, I had not left the stedding in almost fifteen years.  It is hard, but necessary to resist saidin's call, is it not?
 

Alan caught Stefan's eye and gestured him away from the group of people he was talking to.  The young man made his apologies and started to walk towards the marked ashaman.  Alan bade him follow and started to walk towards the north side of camp.  "It seems that we are going on a little scouting mission.  We are
looking for aiel it seems.  From here on out you are a soldier in the Black Tower.  In case you didnt know.  Those with swords on their collars are dedicated and those with both the sword and dragon are full ashaman.  Pay them and the dragonsworn full respect.  Right now we are going to start your training in the one power."
    Alan had the young man sit down on the ground facing Alan.  "Now when you embrace the source it is a battle.  If you lose, you die or burn yourself out.  Now i want you to block all emotion from your mind.  Imagine a fire in your minds eye.  Its feeding off of all your emotion.  There is nothing but the fire."
    Alan continued the excercises with Stefan.  Now all they had to do was wait for the rest of the group to meet and they could head out.
 

Elois really didn't want to go into the stedding. At all. The inaccessibility of saidar would make her feel impossibly more vulnerable than she was now. The majority of the Black Tower strike team were experienced fighters, while she was a strong Healer. Without saidar, she wouldn't be able to defend herself
against most of what they were facing in the Blight. But under the Light, she wouldn't hide or ask for someone to protect her.
       The White tried to console herself with the peace of the ogier, and the high unlikeliness that any Darkfriend channelers or Trollocs would venture inside here. She was no Brown, but she knew as much (if not more than) any other Ajah about the lore of the steddings and ogier.
       However, she'd never seen one before, and nearly choked on the noon meal of stale bread and a bit of hard cheese. She was average height for a woman (from Amadicia) and these creatures literally towered over her. The Aiel were no help either. She didn't understand why they were here in the stedding, why they claimed no sept, no clan. There were rumors that they were Chanellers, but she didn't if she believed that. The world was becoming a
strange place, the Aiel weren't exempt, she supposed.
       While she hung back and considered the new situation, a raw-boned man clad in cadin'sor approached. "May you find water and shade this day, Aes Sedai." He carried a water pouch (she assumed it was water), which he offered her. "I am Jaek. (Author's note: ::falls over giggling::) I claim no clan, no sept," he explained while she took an obligatory sip of water. "The Ogier say you and yours are here to hunt Shadowrunners and Trolloc." He seemed
to expect an answer or an explanation.
       She blinked up - up! - at him. "Er, yes. As far as I know. You've probably heard of the attacks on the Blight border. There've been reports of male channelers, and we're here to put a stop to it. We hope." Jaek had pale grey eyes in a sun-ruddied complexion, capped by shaggy red-blond hair. But his gaze was almost Aes Sedai in its unreadability.
       "That is what we have heard." He frowned at the Aes Sedai. "You people serve the car'a'carn?"
       Elois blinked. "Why...yes. I serve the Dragon Reborn at least."
       He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Then, come. I will show you a place to bed down." He turned and walked away while the Dragonsworn gaped after him like a carp.
       "Under the Light, they are as odd as the stories say..." Elois picked up her saddle roll and ran after him, for lack of something better to do.

Hannah

Ariana looked around carefully, trying not to look like she was staring.  Light, Ogier.  In the Blight.  With Aiel.  What could be stranger?  Right now a three-headed purple donkey wouldn't surprise me.  A loud, braying snort made her twitch and look over her shoulder, but it was just one of the pack animals
making its discomfort known as they dismounted.  The Healer shivered as she felt saidar disappear from her senses, and tried to conceal the reaction- no point in looking more vulnerable than she already was.  She eyed their towering hosts curiously when they couldn't see her, for all her life she'd never actually seen an Ogier- for reasons of their own, which probably had much to do with Whitecloaks, they tended to shun her home country of Amadicia.
"My word, they're truly giants," she murmured very quietly to her horse as she loosened his saddle girth.  The rangy paint bumped his head against his shoulder as though to say, To you maybe.  She patted his shoulder and took a little comfort from the familiar warmth.  And once the saddle was off and set aside, she leaned against him for a moment, resting and trying to get used to the emptiness in her head.  It felt... odd, almost wrong, after so
long with the constant presence of the Source available to her reach.
       "Well, no use putting things off," she announced to the horse after a moment.  With that, the little Healer tethered him where she was shown and dropped awkwardly to clean the saddle- after all that riding they'd done, and all the nastiness of the Blight, the leather was due for a good soaping and oiling.  Last thing she wanted, after all, was for it to break while they were fleeing something awful!
       The familiar task also helped her get a little more acclimated to her surroundings, the sudden- very welcome- normalcy of the vegetation, the deep bass rumbles of the Ogier voices in the background, the accents of the Aiel who seemed to live here.  When the saddle was done, she cautiously joined the others to meet their hosts.  The first one she encountered was an Ogier, a woman who introduced herself in a voice like a distant waterfall's
rumble as "Magra, daughter of Magtha, daughter of Antha," and who promptly settled her with the other Tower members who had decided to begin setting up.  Ariana tried not to flinch away from the large woman's presence, but it was a little difficult at first- Magra was just so... tall.  Ariana felt like a pony trying to keep up with a draft horse, and her limp didn't help.
       Still, by the time they parted, she felt a little better.  Or so she told herself.  The loss of the Power still echoed in the back of her head like a strange sort of head cold, one she couldn't Heal.
       This was going to be an interesting stay.

Alcinia stepped into the stedding without looking back.  She had spent less time using the power than most of the others.  Its loss would not be so bad.  She could survive by her wits and her skill, if need be.

The thief shook her head to clear her thoughts and looked at the large trees.  She wondered what they would think if she climbed on of them.  It was a great temptation to the Mayener who had found climbing trees more fun that climbing the sides of buildings.  From one of those she could see a long way.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to wait and ask Aramis his opinion of the situation.  Alcinia did not want to anger the Ogier who looked fierce.

Mura'shar was a little uncomfortable at letting his Storm Team disperse within the stedding.  He absently fingered the small stone ring in his pocket.  Useless now, except as a reminder not to be too trusting, even to himself.  But even without the One Power, many of his team were formidable opponents.  And he trusted their judgment
 "...and that is why we are out here" Mura'shar finished his tale to the Elders of Stedding Shangri and Rhugin, who appeared to be the de facto leader of the Aiel here.  All wore expressions of grave concern.
 "Our stedding has been a refuge for men who could channel for a not inconsiderable period of time.  Perhaps five centuries.  We have seen no sign of betrayal on their part.  They come or go as they wish"
 "Most find living without the One Power too difficult Rhugin murmured, half to himself "And they continue their quest to slay the Dark One.  But I do not believe any became Shadowrunners"
 When the Blight first claimed this land, Shadowspawn tried to claim this stedding and its Waygate.  We have shown them that this place is more trouble than it is worth for them to conquer.  Now, when travelers enter the Blight seeking sanctuary, be give it.  Even to men who can channel like these Aiel.  For they need our help more than most."
 "Steddings are havens against the Shadow" another Ogier said.  Trollocs will not enter unless driven in by a greater force.  Myrdraal will only enter at great need.  And truly dedicated Darkfriends will feel uncomfortable and unwelcome here.
 "I myself feel uncomfortable, though quite welcome" Mura'shar replied dryly "As well as any channeler, I will warrant.  But how can you be certain that none of the Aiel in this stedding are Darkfriends"
 "The same way you can be sure none of the warriors in your society are" Rhugin replied Mura'shar winced inwardly.  He knows there's at least one Darkfriend in his group.  Was Rhugin saying he knows there are Darkfriends, but can't prove it?  Or that he's as sure of the individual Aiel as he is with his Asha'man and Dragonsworn?
 "The Ogier seemed to sense his discomfort "You have had a long and dangerous journey.  You need your rest.  Go see to your people.  They are being provided with whatever food and lodging they require.  We shall speak more of this later"
 Mura'shar bowed his way out and headed for the temporary quarters for his Storm Team.  He couldn't decide if his team was in greater danger for being here, or if they had brought danger to the stedding.

Jake
M'Hael

"What do you think about this?" Alcinia whispered as an Ogier behemoth offered to take their horses. The Ogier, somebody son of somebody son of no one in particular, flicked his ears like an uneasy cat as he left.
       Aramis cast a quick look at the stedding. As far as he could tell there was no sign off the Blight's rot, even at the peripheral edges. Just a clean line of perfect greenery, as if drawn by an artist.
       "You're asking me? I honestly don't know what to think. I hate to be cynical, but we've had someone channeling Saidin at us since we entered the Blight. One of my father's hired guards claimed that Aiel men who can channel come here to 'slay the Dark One'. But then again, perhaps these Aielmen have found a better solution to their situation than death."
       Alcinia frowned. "Just so long as they don't get spear-happy. They might be Aiel, but they'll find we're far from helpless."
       Aramis inspected his hook for a moment. He wondered if he should have something else instead, like a blade or some sort of trident, made for him when they returned to the Black Tower.
       "I suppose they will. Let's find Mura'shar to see what he has to say."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James aka Aramis Morwyn

Tareena walked briskly along the well worn path, looking up only occasionally to notice the beautiful sunshine filtering through the clouds.  It was still amazing to her that a few inches outside the stedding was filled with stench and decay but here, it was gorgeous.  The Ogier had been quite hospitable to the storm team, offering them not only lodging but friendship as well.  At another time, under different circumstances, she would love to spend
a lot of time here, studying their way of life.  Hmmm...maybe if I had grown up in the White Tower, I would have been a brown..
    Striding two paces behind her were both Darren and Arram.  Little had been said between Tareena and Arram since the night she had found him wandering in the woods.  When La'rece and the others had come upon them, Arram offered a hasty explanation and was gone.  La'rece had looked at Tareena with one raised eyebrow, letting her know that she didn't believe a word of it but would ask about it later.  Tareena had been grateful for the reprieve.
She didn't know why Arram had made untruthful excuses but she also did not want to believe that he had been involved in any wrong doing.  Darren could since the tension between the two of them but had seeming chose not to interfere.  Tareena made a mental note to corner him later and find out.  In the meantime, they had training to attend to and new friends to be with.
     Night had fallen and the stedding was once again a place of peace and quite.  She felt the night close around her, wrapping her in its blanket of darkness.  She had chosen to sleep outside, under the stars, rather than inside.  It was to beautiful a night.  As sleep began to overtake her a low noise caught her attention.  Slowly raising herself up she looked over and saw her bondmate asleep but not Arram.  Feeling her heart begin to beat slowly
she withdrew from under her blanket and began to quietly walk towards the sound.  As she made her way, two forms merged next to hers and began the journey with her.  Looking to her left she met La'rece's questioning eyes.  Looking to her right, she met Mura'shar's.  They must have been following the noise for far longer than she had.  Tareena had a bad feeling that they were about to finally find a link in the night to the mysterious happenings.  She
just hoped the fact that Arram was missing didn't have anything to do with it.

Lisa~Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
Bondmate to Darren Sadke

Aramis said, "Let's find Mura'shar to see what he has to say."
 
 "You go on ahead," Alcinia said as her eyes flickered around the steading.  "I want to do a little sneaking.  Besides, there are some incredible trees here.  I want to climb one of them.  I hope the big furry ones don't get all huffy about it."

 Aramis went looking for Mura'shar, giving Alcinia a warning about "not getting in over her head."  She rolled her eyes at his comment.  Men always seemed to think they knew better than women.  She had taken care of herself for years without help from anyone else.

 She moved through the shadows until she was away from the center of the stedding.  As she was about to climb into one of the trees, a voice broke through the darkness.  "I have watched you looking up at the trees.  What do you see?"  A large elderly Ogier shambled into her sight.

 "First, incredible beauty, of course.  Life, strong and pure, and . . . free from the fear we have.  Second, an incredible place to climb."  Alcinia looked at the male curiously.  "Would it be wrong to climb the trees?"

 "Do you intend harm to them?" he asked in a raspy voice.  "If not, it will not bother the trees.  I think they like you."

 The thief wanted to laugh at the comment, but his expression stopped her.  "When I lived in the city," she said, "I thought the best feeling was stealing from others.  Now, I realize that sitting in a tree surpasses that fleeting joy.  They are peaceful and such good listeners.  I like them as well."  She ran her hand along the bark of the tree as she looked up into the limbs.

 When she looked back, the old one had gone.  "Thank you," she whispered into the night as she climbed up into the comforting arms of an old friend.

Mura'shar and Aramis traded information.  As far as they could tell, the Ogier and the Aiel both were totally peaceful.
  "So the Aiel have shown no signs of aggression?" he asked "How odd" Mura'shar had known a few Aiel in the Tower, and even liked them.  But as a Cairheinin, he was still a bit uneasy around them"
 "None so far.  And I hope it stays that way.  I'd hate to have to shed blood here" Aramis replied.
 Mura'shar had to agree.  In addition to having to fight Aiel without the One Power, it would just seem wrong to destroy the tranquility of such a peaceful place.
 "I told the Ogier why we were here, and of our suspicions about the male channelers" he continued.  "They didn't believe me.  They are convinced that all the Aiel here are peaceful.  Maybe they're right. But I doubt it.  Their presence is simply too coincidental for my taste"
 Night had fallen by now, and they retired to their tents.  Mura'shar heard a sound...footsteps?  It was hard to tell, but it was moving away from him.  Curious, he followed the noise.
 Yes, someone was definitely moving through the forest.  Mura'shar quickened his pace.  He didn't want to lose his quarry.  Maybe this was finally the lead he needed to root out the Darkfriend in the team!  Whoever he or she was, she was sticking to an old trail.
 Others were joining the hunt.  La'rece and Tareena joined him, also attracted by the noise.  La'rece looked curious, but Tareena looked nervous, almost frightened.  But now wasn't the time for questions.  They had to be silent or risk being detected.
 They were near the edge of the stedding when they saw him.  Judging by the spear he was holding, it was Arran.  He was peering around one of the trunks of one of the huge trees that populated the stedding.  Beyond, he could hear faint voices.  Several men, and at least one woman.  They were holding some sort of meeting.
 Arran turned at their approach and beckoned them to join him.  But then something materialized out of the shadows.  An Aiel struck him in the back of the head.
 From then on it was chaos. The voices stopped and a half dozen Aielman charged out of the darkness, faces veiled.  Mura'shar reached for saidin, but of course, it wasn't there.  He tried to draw his sword, but hardly was it clear of its sheath when it was knocked out of his hand.
 He was thankful to the Asha'man Tor for teaching him some Aiel hand-to-hand combat.  But he was no expert, and these men were.  Plus they had them outnumbered.  Finally someone grabbed him from behind, pining his arms.  Bracing himself against his captor, he managed to leap and kick the opponent in front of him full in the chest with both feet.  He made a satisfying thud when he hit the ground.  But after that it was over for Mura'shar.
 When the beating finally stopped, he looked up to see a black veiled Aiel regarding him.  He couldn't see the others from where he lay, though he was sure they were about.  He heard a voice call out
 "This one is the da'tsang, the one who broke oath with the Great Lord.  Shall we kill him?"  Mura'shar readied himself to leap to his feet.  Though at the moment he didn't think he could handle more than a wobble.
 "No" came a woman's voice, not Tareena or La'rece's though familiar "If anyone here is killed, the rest will know you aren't what you appear to be.  They will tear this place apart to avenge them"
 A woman in a hooded robe stood in the shadows.  A glint of gold and silver peeked out of the cuffs of her robe.  A Dragonsworn was the Darkfriend?
 "Then a warning will have to suffice" the Aiel guarding Mura'shar said.  He looked down at him and spoke
 "Hear me well, oathbreaker.  Outside, you have the power to harm us.  But we can harm you just as badly. In this place, neither of us can channel, but we can still fight.  And the Ogier protect us.  You would do well to leave and forget you ever heard of us"
 
Jake
M'Hael

Tareena inhaled sharply when she saw Arram ahead of them in the clearing.  No!  Don't let it be true.  I believed in you, fought for you to be allowed to stay at the Black Tower, as did my bondmate.  Please don't turn back to the shadow!  Tareena exhaled when she saw Arram press a finger to his lips for them to be quiet, but it was too late.  Aiel busted out of the clearing from all sides.  Tareena struggled but knew it was futile.  Her
strengths lie within using the power and her mind, not in hand to hand combat.  Something exploded against the side of her head and she blacked out.
     Tareena came awake slowly, wondering where in the world she was. Movement set off sharp pain and clanging within her skull.  Moaning, she turned over and looked around.  La'rece, Mura'shar and Arram were all lying around her, eventually waking up as she did.  When Tareena could finally focus, she scanned the clearing around them.  All was peaceful.  Tareena knew that the others had experience fighting hand to hand so some of the Aiel had to have
at least been wounded.  Yet, there was no evidence.  It was if the Black Tower members had lain down in the grove to take a nap.  Tareena saw the same awareness filter into the other's eyes as they, too, looked around.  La'rece commented dryly that she wished she had the same maids cleaning up after her at the tower, which let Tareena know for certain that La'rece had done her fair share of damage.
     Mura'shar began to speak but was interrupted by movement in the bushes.  All scrambled to their feet, some with a groan.  An Ogier stepped through the bushes, oblivious to their presence until he almost stepped on Arram.  Apologizing profusely, he patted Arram and shook his hand.  Looking around, he asked what we were all doing here, so early in the morning.  No one spoke.  Everyone looked at someone else. Finally, Mura'shar stammered out that
they had had a desire to sleep under the stars last night and had chosen here.  The Ogier looked strangely at him but just shook his head at them and walked on.  The group breathed a sigh of relief.
     After he had left, Tareena looked at Mura'shar.  "Would you mind explaining why you didn't tell him why we were here?"  After Mura'shar told them what had been said, and of the Darkfriend Dragonsworn, the group understood.  La'rece and Tareena
shared long looks.  The Dragonsworn was there territory.  They would take care of it.

Lisa

La'rece shrugged and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relieve the tension that had wormed its way into her upper back and neck.  Looking about, she could see that the others were equally curious as to what had become of the Aiel who had attacked them.  Standing beside Tareena, La'rece listened to Mura'shar as he related the information regarding the presence of darkfriends amongst the Dragonsworn.

The Arafellan's jaw clenched as she thought about the infiltration of the Dragonsworns' ranks by those who followed the Dark One.  Somehow it had been easier when she had imagined that only the Asha'man had been … infected.  *I could almost pity the darkfriend I lay hands on* La'rece thought grimly.  Her country had a long tradition of dealing severely and mercilessly with friends of the dark.  The men and women who called the Borderlands their
home had paid dearly for being overly trustful in the past; friends and family betrayed … entire towns captured or killed by shadowspawn.  In this regard, La'rece was Arafellan to her bones  There would be no mercy.

La'rece and Tareena shared a long sober look.  "What shall we do?" La'rece asked the First Dragonsworn, deferring to her friend's rank.

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Ariana listened with stunned disbelief as the 'news' of Darkfriends was
given out to the Tower members.  *Is there nowhere untainted by the Shadow?
Why can't there be just one place of peace?  Surely the Ogier deserve it!*
She didn't realize she'd clenched her hands into fists until she noticed the
blood dripping onto the ground from the cuts her nails had made.  *Oops!*
She dabbed the cuts with her hankerchief absently, still finding it hard to
believe that there were Darkfriends using an Ogier stedding as a safehouse.
*I know there's nothing to keep them out- Mirna Sedai, the old Brown, told
me that once when I asked in that History class...  But didn't she say that
truly dedicated Darkfriends were uncomfortable in the stedding?  Maybe we
can use that.*  Quickly, she dropped such opportunistic thinking.  There
were just too many reasons for someone to be uneasy that had nothing to do
with the Shadow, and besides, if one of their 'guests' were consistently on
edge, wouldn't the Ogier have noticed it by now?  She sighed and turned
away, wishing that she had the Power to comfort her.  Or even a good staff!
*Think I'll start looking for one!*

La'rece and Tareena told the others what had happened with the Aiel and the Darkfriend Dragonsworn.  The ones they felt they could trust at least.  It wouldn't do to spill their plans to the enemy now, would it?
 Mura'shar leaned against a tree and looked glum.  Who can they trust anymore?  Tareena, La'rece, Aramis, Elois, and others of the Storm Team, of course.  But now someone in that Storm Team has indeed betrayed the others.  Not for the first time, he wished his bondmate Myiona was at his side.
 Some leader I am he thought to himself.  My first mission as tsorovan'm'hael, and I nearly get myself and others killed by the enemy.
 Now the topic turned to what should be done next.  They now knew for fact that one of the Dragonsworn is a Darkfriend, as are several Aiel.  Now they had to discover who they were.
 "We can't move against the Aiel without concrete proof to show the Ogier" Mura'shar spoke aloud for the first time since the discussion started "SO first we should deal with our own problem.  I don't think the Ogier will interfere in that.  And perhaps we could use our own Darkfriend to flush out the Aiel's
 An idea started forming in his mind "La'rece, Tareena, Darren, and Arran I want you to keep an eye on all the other Dragonsworn.  The rest of us will watch the Aiel.  I will begin to spread news among them that we know who our Darkfriend leak is and are getting ready to plug it.  You do the same among the Storm Team.  The Darkfriends will probably try to make contact again.  When that happens, we grab our traitor!"
It was a pretty rough plan. But it was a plan, at least

Jake
M'Hael

Alan al daren sat underneath a big tree in the stedding.  For some
reason he felt comforted here.  The absence of saidin bothered him, but he
felt it didnt bother him as much as the others.  Some were paranoid, feeling
weakened, others had never felt such a loss before.  This wasnt a new thing
to Alan.  In his travels with his mentor Ivan Gregorian he had visited
steddings several times.  It was a respite that Alan savored.  He felt
normal.  The deep, darkened part of his mind where the taint had taken a
viscious hold of was minimized.  It was almost as if he was just a simple
man again.  He trusted in himself to fight whatever rose up against him one
on one.  Himself against the enemy in fair combat.  Even though Alan would
not balk at using the One Power, he felt that he was cheating.  It was too
easy to kill using saidin.  There was a certain honor in killing ones
enemies with sword and dagger that could not be found in using saidin.
Contemplating these thoughts, Alan thought he could use some practice.
Taking his sword and dagger out of their respective sheaths, he began going
over the forms he had learned so long ago.  After about twenty minutes of
self absorbed work he sheathed his sword and dagger and started to walk back
towards the ancient tree.  Standing in front of it was an aiel.  He was tall
and had several scars on his face.  The man gave a disdainful glance at his
sword and dagger.  Alan walked up to him and they stood appraising one each
other for several minutes.  Finally the aiels face broke into a wide grin
and he introduced himself.  "My name is Shenian.  I see you use those
weapons well, but i was wondering if you would spar with me only using the
weapons the Creator gave us."  Alan smiled back and said, "I would love to,
i just hope you dont beat me to bad."  They clasped hands and tested each
others strength.  They both broke away and tossed there weapons to the
ground.  Each of them had considerable piles of dangerous equipment.  They
paced off a distance of several feet and set themselves.  This aiel seemed
like a good person, thought Alan to himself.  Yet Alan knew that the aiel
already thought it was going to be an easy victory.  Alan looked young, he
was only about 5'7, and his blond hair and blue eyes only added to that
image.  He wasnt thin, but had a slightly muscular build with wide
shoulders.  Without a word, both combatants launched themselves at
eachother.  The aiel lashed out with his right leg, and Alan ducked under it
and punched him in the hamstring. The aiel jumped back with a suprised
shout.  They squared off again and then closed.  What followed could barely
be seen by anyone except the two fighters.  Fists flew towards faces,
stomachs, and chests.  Eash was blocked before it could hit its target.
Kicks were thrown in for good measure.  Alan tried a sweep, yet Shenian
quickly jumped over it and bore in on Alan for an overhand chop to the neck.
  Alan rolled back and jumped to his feet.  With a smile on his face, Alan
dropped his hands.  Shenian did so as well.  They both clasped each other
hands one more and the aiel invited Alan to take a sip from his water flask.
  Alan asked the aiel to share the shade of his tree.  They both sat down
and started to talk.  "Where did you learn to fight so well?" asked the
aiel.  Alan replied "An aiel by the name of Tor taught me when i first found
out i could channel.  He was my mentor in the art of fighting with hands and
feet."  Shenian gave Alan an appraisingn look and they continued to talk
until someone made a soft coughing noise in their throat.  Both of the men
jumped up at once.

A string of suitable curses unreeled in Elois' mind, none of which she cared to voice aloud. Some of the other Dragonsworn looked as uncomfortable as she knew she must. It was probably her imagination, but the Amadician felt suspicious eyes on her. Truthfully, she didn't feel as comfortable in this Black Tower as
she had in the pre-Seanchan, pre-Damane Black Tower. Elois tried to go out of her way to be as innocuous and non-Darkfriend-ish as she could - without seeming too blatant about it.. She didn't want to seem like a Darkfriend, but she didn't want to seem like she was trying to *not* seem like a...
       "Oh, this is ridiculous." The Dragonsworn titled her head back, resting her crown against the massive tree whose exposed roots she perched on while mending some of the Storm Team's damaged garments and what-have-you.
       "Who are you speaking too, Elois (OOC: Dude... ::forgets her character's last name:: Well it would be here in any case.)?"
       "Merciful Light!" Elois breathed as she jabbed her thumb with the delicate sewing needle. "Why don't you Aiel make some noise when you walk?" She turned her head to give Jaek a withering (for her) look.
       "Forgive me, Dragonsworn." He dropped into a crouch with enviable balance. "I need to speak with you. There are rumors among the Aiel. Rumors that there is a shadowrunner among your people." He shot her a questioning look from the corner of his eye.
       She hesitated for a moment. She trusted this man, but trust was never enough for an Aes Sedai raised to the White Ajah. She didn't trust her emotions or gut instincts. Instead, noncommittally, she said, "Why did you need to speak to me?"
       "I believe..." He stalled, drawing a vague rune in the dusty dirt with his forefinger. Elois waited him out, wholly patient. Finally he looked up and met her eyes. "I believe that there are shadowrunners among my people too. You know this." She thought she'd kept her expression steady, but apparently not, or not enough.
       "..Yes." she finally admitted, shifting in discomfort. "There was an.. incident." She still didn't know how much she should admit. She hadn't known any of these Aiel long enough to make judgments regarding whether or not they walked in the Light. After all, a Dragonsworn among the Storm Team was a Darkfriend, and she never would have believed that.
       "How is your chieftain? He was not hurt too badly?"
       "No... I'm sure he was Healed, in any case."
       "You must come with me. I must tell you what I know. But not here; not in this place." Jaek turned his head, eyeing their surroundings carefully.
       Elois jerked her head in startlement at the request. She was suddenly aware of how sheltering the trees in the stedding were. Too sheltering. They were veritable walls, penning off members of the Tower from other members of the Tower. And none of the Storm Team were in sight, although she heard voices a brief distance away.
       She most definitely didn't want to wander off with this man alone - her former trust a moot point now. "Let me fetch Mura'shar. It's alright," she assured him as he straightened in protest, rising to his far superior height, "I trust him explicitly. I'll just be a moment."
       She bounced off the gnarled tree root but was caught short by an iron fist wrapped around her elbow. Her stomach iced over. "No, Elois (whatever-your-last-name-is). Let me tell you what I know. And then you can inform your friend." His expression was non-threatening, but his grip was unbreakable.
       "How did you know Mura'shar was injured? I only said there was an incident. I didn't tell you who was involved or that anyone was hurt." The accusation rang out before she even had time to frame it properly.
       The Aielman didn't respond. They locked eyes, hard grey like stone, and frightened storm cloud silver. The moment stretched on, neither of them speaking. But the Aes Sedai saw something unidentifiable in his eyes. Obviously, he was more than he let on. And Darkfriend or not, she wasn't taking any chances. She reached for saidar.
       And of course it wasn't there. Her eyes widened. Light, no! She opened her mouth to scream, pure reflex.
       Unfortunately, an Aiel's reflexes were inevitably faster than a former Amadician noblewoman's; training of the White Tower aside. He dragged her close and smothered her mouth - most of her face in fact - in the crook of his elbow, effectively silencing her cry for help. "No, Aes Sedai. Be still, for your life's sake."
       With little hope of reprieve, Elois nonetheless tried kicking his shins, and biting, clawing... any resource she had as a woman. One poke of some sharpened length of steel in the soft flesh of her side and one word, "Stop." was enough to arrest her struggles. With no fanfare he lifted her, braced her against his hip and carried her off, leaving a pile of half-mended clothing draped across a tree root, and a foreign songbird chirping
obliviously in the boughs.

Hannahkinsy

La'rece and Tareena shared a long sober look.  "What shall we do?" La'rece asked the First Dragonsworn, deferring to her friend's rank.
      "I have no idea La'rece. How is that for blunt honesty?  If we had been able to get a good look at her, some clue as to her identity, but no.  We are stuck looking for a needle in a haystack.  Why is it that we seem to find ourselves in this situation time and time again?  For a moment, the two women shared another long look but this time a smile went with it.  "It just seems to end up that way I suppose," La'rece commented, two strong women
who refuse to give in."  Tareena nodded.  "That's about all we can do right now.  Refuse to give in.  Now I know Mura'shar wants us to keep an eye on the Dragonsworn and also wants us to spread the word around.   The treesinging planned for this evening is the perfect time.  Mingle around, spread the word and keep your eyes open."  La'rece nodded and turned, beginning to make her way along the path and back towards camp.  Tareena stood and watched
her for some time, twirling the Angreal around her wrist that La'rece had given her, what seemed a lifetime ago, in the Black Tower.  Friend or Foe?  Will they ever really know?
     Tareena approached the grove with a sense of anticipation in her heart.  She had heard many stories of Ogier tree singing but had never thought to witness it for herself.  Clusters of people stood around, the air thick with excitement.  She worked her way around the perimeter, stopping to speak to this person or that person.  Deftly she manipulated the conversation, dropping hints there, planting a seed there.  Hopefully, the others were having
the same sort of success.  She felt a hand gently touch her elbow and she turned her head slightly to acknowledge her bondmates presence.  Seconds later she felt another touch, this time on her other side.  Arram had reached his place with her as well.  Both men had been following Mura'shar's orders and speaking with other Ashaman.  Now they were together and ready to find seats to watch the ceremony.

Lisa ~aka Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
Bondmate to Darren Sadke

Dusk settled onto Stedding Shangri with a brilliant honey-gold freshness, like a fine spring. There was no rotting stench, though a gentle breeze stirred. There were no twisted-nightmare shapes in sight, even though the Blight's taint lay not a single mile distant. It was simply a pleasant evening among the trees; too tall spires of timber above too tall figures of Ogier, outlined by the leaf-filtered sunlight and candle light from open windows.
       For the briefest moment, Aramis forgot who and where he was and allowed the winds of nostalgia turn him into a child once more. It was easy enough, being almost too short to see into windows and barely standing chest high to the people he met. He could remember looking up at his father the same way he had to look up to the Ogier.
       Oh yes. Ogier. The Ogier were hiding Darkfriends, whether they knew it or not. Then Aramis became a man again, the one who killed people, the one who would go mad one day, the one with only one hand and lots of bad memories to match.
       Sometimes Aramis wished he could take to heavy drinking, like Rengar, but Saidin was more fun than liquor. Liquor, on the other hand, didn't make people go raving mad and break worlds.
       And then there was the ever-present sensation of another person lodged in his head. His bondmate had scraped a palm and bruised a knee somewhere, which meant she had climbed a tree. Again. For someone who grew up in a city, the little thief certainly had a lot of squirrel blood in her.
       Aramis paused for a moment to take his pipe from his pocket and thumb it full of tabac. Holding his pipe between his teeth, he summoned the void and went to grasp the Source, and failed. Oh course. Damned Steddings.
       Turning about, he saw two elderly looking Ogier standing outside a smithy. The smithy itself was an oversized version of any that Aramis had seen in every small town. The wide front doors were thrown wide for air. Tongs, pincers and whatnot lined the walls. Two lamps hung from the ceiling beams on nails the size of handspikes, casting an orange glow on everything there, including the smith himself.
       Aramis guessed the blacksmith, swinging a hammer the size of Aramis' head that rattle the windows across the street with each hammerstroke, had more muscle in his right arm than Aramis had on his entire body.
       He looked at the grey-bearded Ogier that sat near the door. "Pardon, Uncle, do you have a light?" He held up his pipe for emphasis.
       "Of course," the Ogier rumbled politely. He stood. "I am Elor son of Alor son of Ulgor." Taking a small sliver of blunt wood from his pocket, Elor lumbered over to one of the lamps and, lighting the sliver, passed it to Aramis. As Aramis puffed his pipe alight he noted that he probably couldn't have reached the lamp by himself.
       "Thank you, Elor, son of Alor, son of Ulgor. I am Aramis, son of Dumir, son of Glenn," said Aramis. He blew out the sliver and handed it back. Elor took it between his first two fingers of both hands and began to... sing?... Either to or for the sliver of wood, Aramis could not tell. When Elor finished his low, booming, melodic and beautiful song the half-consumed sliver of wood was back to its original size and shape, but perhaps a bit
greener than before. Aramis was stunned.
       "Forgive me if I startled you, Aramis son of Dumir, son of Glenn. I forget that Treesinging is rare in the rest of the world. At least, that is what our brethren tell us when someone from Outside visits us, which was last about seventy-five years ago. It saddens me to think that we are unable to spread the blessing that is so prevalent among us here. But perhaps we are meant to sing life back into our blighted surroundings. That was what Atan,
son of Alan, son of Atan said when he chose to stay when it became obvious that Stedding Shangri would fall victim to the Blight. He chose to stay, as did most of our ancestors, though most everyone called them hasty and irrational. They obviously did not take the time to consider their actions, but they persevered and worked until we have everything you see today. The trees, especially the Great Trees, must be Sung occasionally, as we are doing
later this evening. You and your people are welcome to watch, and join in if you like. Some of the older Aiel join in with the Singing, but I fear they don't have the Voice."
       Aramis kept a straight face through the onslaught, but could not but wonder at what he had just heard. It was said that Ogiers usually rambled. That was an understatement.
       Shortly afterwards Arram wandered up. Aramis had never really met the man, but he seemed a good man.
       "The Guardian and T'sorovan'm'hael seem to trust you." He sounded like he might not agree. "There's something going down to flush our traitor during the Ogier's singing. Be ready." He made to leave.
       "Wait. Arram. Tell the Guardian to find me when she gets a chance. I'll be as close to the Ogier as I can get. I might have my bondmate with me, if I can find her before the Singing starts."
       If it wasn't one thing it was another. The peace of this place would be broken after all. Oh well. Considering the odds, the Aiel could probably kill them all at hand-to-hand fighting. The Power would even those odds.
       Aramis walked away, considering.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James aka Aramis Morwyn
Bonded to Alcinia
Marked Asha'man, Maelstrom Storm Command

Alan looked up at his old friend.  "No need to worry Murashar.  Just some
good old fashioned sparring practice.  Im trying to keep in shape."  Alan
said with a smile.  The aiel quietly laughed.  Murashar and the man he was
with glanced at each other with a look that plainly said that the young were
foolish.  Yet each had known the pleasure of friendly competition.  As they
walked away Alan remembered that a gathering was planned.  He made his
goodbyes to his new found friend and started to walk towards the gathering
place.  He admired the beauty of the stedding.  Each tree seemed like a
beautiful monument to the powers of good.  Surrounded by the death and doom
of the Blight, Alan knew that he could easily spend the may days here in
this sanctuary.  Finally reaching the place where the Treesinging was to be,
Alan stood under a huge elm waiting for the ceremony to commence.
 

Alcinia had spent quite a while in the tree.  She stared off into the blight for awhile, but that gave her a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She ended up sitting and looking down through the tree branches at the ground below.

At one time she thought she saw one of the dragonsworn going off with an aiel, but it happened so quickly that she was not sure of her own eyes.

A hum of voices was filling the center of the stedding when the Mayene thief finally rejoined Aramis.  "What is happening?" she asked looking around at the crowd gathered.

After a brief talk with Alan, Rhugin reminded Mura'shar about the treesinging ceremony.  He had nearly forgotten about it in all the recent excitement.  They would have to hurry to make it in time.
 Mura'shar was amazed at the number of Ogier gathering for the ceremony.  Most people went their entire lives without seeing a single Ogier, and here there where dozens of them.  And what looked to be nearly all the Aiel as well.
 Mura'shar looked about, picking out faces from his Storm Team.  There seemed to be a few missing.  He strolled over to Aramis as the gathered Ogier broke into a hum
 "Where has Alcinia disappeared to?" he asked just as the Mayener dropped out of a tree next to them.
 "What is happening?" she asked her bondmate.
 "It looks like the ceremony's beginning" Aramis replied.  And to Mura'shar's eyes, the surrounding trees were becoming healthier, like the voices of the Ogier were infusing them with more life.  It was an amazing sight, to watch something rejuvenated before your eyes.
 But he had to get back to business "Have either of you seen Elois?  I haven't seen her at the ceremony and I was sure she would want to see this"

Jake
M'Hael

You will refer to me as "Librarian," Sir-I am not a "Bookie"!

Mura'shar strode up to Aramis as though he owned the Stedding. Proper poise for the Storm Leader. "Where has Alcinia disappeared to?"
       Aramis pointed, straight up, but at the same time she dropped almost between the two taller men. Mura'shar missed the gesture. He was too busy looking at Alcinia like she had lost her mind. Aramis just looked.
       "What's happening?" She asked.
       Death.
       Destruction.
       Madness. Always madness.
       "Looks like the singing is about to start," he said. Indeed, as Aramis spoke those words, an Ogier, Somebody son of Somebody son of Nobody Cares stood out from the rest of the group and began babbling about the unexpected guests, etc. The Aiel had also put aside their tasks and were gathering off to one side, silently. No one among them whispered; they didn't even look at the mass of black-clad wetlanders swarming their refuge. All attention
was on the Treebrother, who was now quoting some woman-Ogier, daughter of Another Woman-Ogier, daughter of yet another Woman-Ogier about the labor of cleansing the Blight out of the trees outside of the Stedding. Wetlanders. Aiel. Treebrothers. Shadowrunners. Dead Men, all of whom could channel.
       Aramis hated them all. These gentle giants harbored the very opposite of themselves without knowing it. A Blight within a Stedding within a Blight. While you stand around and wonder who fights for Shadow, on of the long-legged devils is running to bring Trollocs and Fades and Draghkar, and all manner of evil.
       Hold still until we get ready to kill you. Listen to the pretty singing. Idiots.
       Asha'man. Guardian. Aes Sedai. Servant.
       Fool. Idiot. Ass.
       "Mura'shar, the longer we wait to do this, the longer the Darkfriends have to destroy us utterly."
       Mura'shar, with his taller-than-average Cairhienin height and those sad Saldean eyes. Mura'shar, with his melodious accents of aristocracy and his Aes Sedai bondmate. Mura'shar replied, "I know."
       Kill them. You don't know what monsters they bring to kill you, first. But you're a monster, too. Right? The first time you killed someone wasn't as bad as it could have been. You weren't a monster because of that. Someone shouting battle commands with a power-enhanced voice yells "Asha'man, KILL!" And you do. Some fat Darkfriend man, half clad in celebration attire in front of Lord Frey's estate splatters all over the paved walk. Your father
doesn't mind. He's dead. He's been dead, and that was the reason you became an Asha'man. The Seanchan kill your father, the Asha'man kill the Seanchan.
       If you take life wrongly, if you steal, if you take advantage of and mistreat and abuse the weaker peoples, the Asha'man will come for you.
       Let the Aes Sedai have the seats of power. Manipulators and thieves. The Asha'man will come for them, too, if things get out of hand. Guardians.
       The Watchmen, Guardians, Protectors, Enforcers of Law and killers of the Shadow so you can rest Asha'man.
       "If we draw the Aiel out of the Stedding, we'll be on equal terms. If we engage them hand-to-hand we'll be dead. Be we need to do something, soon."
       What *really* made you a monster was when you took those two Seanchan women, the Damane and Sul'dam, and practically cooked them, cold blooded. You stood there, with the two bodies at your feet, smelling like an Innkeeper's pot roast, and you realize what you've done. Monster. Trolloc. Aren't you proud?
       Look, Mom, I've learned to cook!
       Somewhere, Ogiers began to sing. Words and music rolled into one and blossomed. Springtime passed into melody. Finally, Somebody son of Somebody son of Nobody Cares shut up.
       Hold still until we get ready to kill you. Listen to the pretty singing. Idiots.
       La'rece was there, fiery and pretty, opposite of Elois, sane and logical. Aramis saw the new Soldier, Stefan, standing against a tree trunk. Hopefully he'd live long enough to bond one of our Dragonsworn. You end up knowing your bondmate better than your first lover, even without a shred of intimacy.
       Something needed to be done, and quickly. If the Storm Team left the Stedding, they could obliterate the forest for miles around, rendering trees and vegetation into hot slag and ash. Nothing hiding in that stuff.
       Nowhere to run when the Trollocs came. They have superior numbers and we can't channel inside the grove. Tareena, proud Guardian of the Black Tower, posed the question to Mura'shar.
       What do we do now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James aka Aramis

Aramis seemed to be in a foul mood.  The Treesinging seemed to fascinate the others.  But Aramis remained impatient, wanting to do something besides lkistening to the singing.  Mura'shar had to admit he was uneasy as well.  One of his Dragonsworn was unaccounted for.  He refused to believe Elois was the Darkfriend, though.  There had to be an explanation.
 "Mura'shar, the longer we wait to do this, the longer the Darkfriends have to destroy us utterly."
 "I know" Mura'shar knew what he meant.  But he also knew that not all in the stedding were Darkfriends.  He couldn't condone slaughtering the innocent with the guilty.  That would make them no better than Whitecloaks.  Or worse, Darkfriends themselves.
  "If we draw the Aiel out of the Stedding, we'll be on equal terms. If we engage them hand-to-hand we'll be dead. Be we need to do something, soon."
 "We will move as soon as we can prove the existence of Darkfriends in the stedding.  No sooner."  He hoped his firm tone would put an end to the discussion.  "Do either of you have any idea where Elois has disappeared to?"
 Alcinia seemed to have one "I thought I saw one of the Dragonsworn go off with an Aiel while I was up there" she indicated the tree she was in.  "Could that have been her?"
 "Probably, I think most of the Storm Team is here" Mura'shar looked around.  It was hard to tell if everyone was here. But there couldn't be more than one or two people missing.  How many Aiel were missing was impossible to say.  He had no idea how many of them there were.
 If that was Elois Alcinia saw, the Aielman must have been Jaek.  He didn't particularly care for the fellow.  He suspected he had less than pure motives towards Elois.  And something about him made Mura'shar's skin crawl.  He hated to think of One of his Dragonsworn alone with the man.
 "I'm going to go find her and remind her of the ceremony.  Don't do anything foolish until I get back, you two.  I shouldn't be long" With that, he faded into the forest, heading towards the direction Alcinia thought she saw someone.
 Mura'shar soon came across some scattered clothing and a needle and thread.  Signs of a struggle and tracks led away.  It looked like one person carrying another.  Even Aiel would have trouble concealing this, though Mura'shar still wished he had saidin-enhanced senses to track this.
 Silently, he slipped through the trees following what he was increasingly certain was a kidnapper's trail.  He was determined to rescue her this time.  The Storm Team would not fail her again.
 Behind him, Mura'shar did not notice the other figure following him, nor did he notice the glint of silver on one of the tracker's wrist and gold on the other.

OOC: Okay, I guess it's time to start wrapping this rp up.  We can now start to expose the darkfriends.  Let the bloodletting, begin:)

Jake
M'Hael

Myiona tossed and turned upon her bed.  It was nearly morning, but she could
not break the hold the dream had upon her.  Mura'shar walking in darkness,
creeping as though he were trying to sneak up on someone.  She knew that
there was another following him as well.

"Look out behind you," she tried to warn him, but he could not hear her.
This was just the dragonsworn's dream and her bondmate could not feel the
uneasiness through the bond at this distance.  "Please Mura'shar," she
murmured as the dream faded to haze, "be careful."

Myiona awoke to the sounds of loud voices in the courtyard below.  There was
arguing and and piercing scream.  Struggling from the drowsy state, the
Domani walked slowly to look out her window.  The courtyard was empty, but a
stain covered one of the paving stones.  Death right outside of her window,
and she knew not if it was friend or foe that died there.

Embracing the source, the dragonsworn stepped away from the small stream of
light and stood in the shadows.  Her door knob turned slowly, quietly, and a
figure stepped inside.  Myiona was relieved that it was just Skree bringing
her food to break her fast.

"What happened outside?" she asked the girl who heard the tower gossip more
quickly than Myiona.

"They caught someone trying to get into one of the rooms," Skree answered
with a shiver.  "Sometimes I think the people here are more insane than my
own people.  I wonder what else will happen today to prove that point?"

Myiona thought about the girl's words as she ate.  Something clicked in the
Domani's mind and she smiled.  "Skree," she asked, "has anyone tested you
for the ability to channel?  I think . . ."

Quickly, the dragonsworn reached out with spirit and felt the answer within
the girl.  "No . . ." Skree whispered taking a step back.  "I don't want it.
  Make it go away, please.  It makes people do horrible things."

The young girl ran from the room before Myiona could stop her.  "I will
speak with her later," she said to herself, "when she has had time to think
this through.  Not want to use the power?  Nonsense!"

A half-smile played across the Arafellan's lips as the deep resonance of the Ogier tree singers filled the air.  Many years before, as a young woman newly raised to the shawl, she had been fortunate enough to witness the phenomenon.  The experience had left quite an impression on the young borderland noble.

Ogier were well known and respected in the Borderlands and the more so in Arafel which enjoyed active trade with the nearest Steddings.  La'rece's grandfather had once received a sung-wood chair as a gift which he kept at one of the family's country estates. The chair's  beauty had been breathtaking.  With a grimace, the Dragonsworn remembered the year that the great hunting lodge had been destroyed, burned to the ground by raiding trollocs.  Her
heart momentarily stung, not in memory of the lost chair but in remembrance of the many servants at the house, many of them friends, who had been killed or worse.

Suddenly, La'rece attention returned to the present, drawn back by movement to her right.  A woman and a man (an Aiel?) moving through the trees.  Turning to see if Tareena had noticed the pair, she saw the First speaking with Mura'shar.  La'rece looked back to the surrounding woods but the couple had disappeared into the dark.

The tree singing had been finished a while and now people were milling about speaking in small groups.  All around the large area, clusters of Ogier, Aiel and Black Tower members spoke, some with laughter, but most in lower tones.  Tensions in the Stedding were reaching a fevered pitch though the Ogier seemed oblivious to the impending explosion.  It would take the merest spark to ignite.

The sensation of being watched made La'rece glance across the open space.  There watching her intently was Aramis.  Smiling at the Asha'man, La'rece continued to meet his gaze thinking he must have something he wished to share with her.  After only a few moments, the Dragonsworn was distracted by an itching in the back of her mind.  She was no sheltered flatlander nor was she an ignorant novice.  Enough years in the far north lands along the Blight
taught anyone who could channel to recognize that sensation.  Shadowspawn. Myrdraal.

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Alan took in the scene with a smile.  Ogier were truly beautiful
creatures when caught up in treesinging.  Maintaining a wary eye Alan
noticed several of the members tense up.  THere was no physical sign of them
being cautious, but by fighting beside these same people for such a long
time a person can pick up on silent cues.  Alan moved to the northwest side
of the little clearing.  He would cover his brothers and sisters from this
side.  Assuming a non chalance aura he leaned back against a tree, nodding
his head in tune with the Ogiers sweet music.  He loosened his sword and
dagger in their sheathes and waited.  No one would catch this marked ashaman
unawares.

"Please do not make me hurt you, Aes Sedai. I do not wish to, but believe that I will if I must."
       Elois did believe him, but she had her pride after all. And her pride wouldn't bend for any damsel-in-distress act. She wouldn't - couldn't - depend on the storm team to notice her absence and come to her rescue. Stop thinking irrationally.
       The Aielman dropped her on her feet and she tried digging in her heels. He dropped his hand from her mout for a split second and she tried screaming. She tried kicking, and squirming, and biting. When (If, whispered her mind) I get back to the Tower, I am *going* to lern to defend myself!
       "What have you done, Jaek? Do you want to bring the entire encampment of these warriors down on our heads?"
       Elois blinked through black hair fallen in her eyes and frustrated tears. More Aielman ahead. All as tall and imposing as -- all male channelers. All Darkfriends?
       "Yes. Bait." her captor said flatly.
       Elois bit the fleshy curve of his palm and he dropped her on the hard ground with a sharp oath. Sharp shale bit into her own hands.

Hannah
~ Gar, to be continuuuuuuued ::gets distracted::

Tareena excused herself from the group and began to make her way around the perimeter of the clearing.  Occasionally she would nod and graciously shake her head at an elder or at an Aiel but her mind and her heart just were not fully in it.  The tree singing had been beautiful and for a moment, peace and contentment had filled her soul, giving her a glimpse of what life could actually be like if things were just a little different.
      As with anything nowadays, peace was fleeting and time marched over contentment.  Tareena was deeply concerned about Eloise.  She knew that Mura'shar was too, although he had played it off well in front of the others.  She knew his concern had escalated when she saw him ghost off into the bushes, alone.  Tareena immediately began looking around, finding all those she thought she knew was loyal to the tower.  Aramis and La'rece each caught her
eye.  Alcina, Darren and Arram each gave her tight lipped looks.  All were prepared, all were ready to give their lives for their fellow Dragonsworn.  The question was, which one of them wasn't?
    The time had come.  Mura'shar had not returned to the clearing.  Oddly, the same amount of people were still in the clearing several minutes after the performance as when it had began.  Clumps and groups huddled, as if waiting for something.  Or some signal.  It was as if a fog had settled in around the participants on a quest and each one was waiting for it to lift so a direction could be seen.  It could be a trap yet if they waited much longer
in the clearing, Tareena feared a slaughter.  They needed a plan to lure the Aiel out of the Stedding..but first they needed more information.
    Tareena began to move with a purpose now.  She quietly spoke with Alcina who immediately disappeared up into a tree and began to move through the forest, nimble as a monkey.  She would scout ahead and bring back information on Mura'shar and hopefully Eloise.  She sent Alan, Stephen and several others to follow on the ground in case back up was needed by Mura'shar.  She quietly conversed with Aramis and La'rece.  If it were a trap, they were to be
the key to the black tower not being demolished.  She whispered feverishly with them, discarding ideas and making plans.  They finally agreed and split apart, each knowing how critical their duties were.  Finally, no more black tower members remained in the clearing.  The Aiel had disappeared as well, melting into the forest like mist as daybreak.  Tareena was left staring into the eyes of the Ogier elders.  She could not read their expressions but
they did not seem favorable.  She nodded once in respect and then turned to complete her own tasks.  Darran and Arram took their accustomed places on either side.  The trio left the clearing to face their unknown foes.  Let the singing begin.

Lisa~Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
Bondmate to Darran Sadke

"… you two will keep to the back.  If something goes amiss, you must carry word of what has occurred here back to the Tower …"

La'rece felt absolutely gobsmacked by Tareena's words.  The look on Aramis' face hinted that he perhaps felt the same, yet both the Asha'man and the Dragonsworn knew the what the First was about.  They could not allow the traitor in their midst any opportunity to succeed and continue feeding disinformation to the Black Tower.

A plan of her own developing in the back of her mind, La'rece nodded her assent to Tareena's instructions.  Chuckling to herself, the Arafellan headed out of view and then dashed to the left on a path that by her calculations should land her very near where she suspected Mura'shar and the others had made their way.

Pausing to listen, La'rece caught the barest whisper of a boot on the leafy forest floor behind her.  Before she could turn a gloved hand was placed firmly across her mouth while the other hand held her sword arm in a vise-like grip.  Panic rose quickly but was abruptly suffused when Aramis turned the Dragonsworn around.  The look that passed between the two would have been enough to start a brawl in any tavern anywhere.  Aramis simply raised both
his eyebrows as if asking the fiery redhead if she were finished.

For lack of any appropriate response, La'rece smirked then pulled the Asha'man's head down next to hers.  Her mouth very close to his ear, the Dragonsworn told him of her plan to provide backup to Mura'shar and the others.  Aramis pulled back and whispered, "You heard Tareena's orders, La'rece."  The Dragonsworn gave the Asha'man a look that could have whithered the Tree of Life.  Grabbing his head a little more firmly, La'rece brought the man's face
close to her own, their noses almost touching, their eyes locked.  "I'm not disobeying anything, Asha'man.  I will get both of us out of here alive.  By the Light, however, I will not leave the others behind.  Are you with me?"
 

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Alan and steven headed into the woods.  Others of the Black Tower
followed.  The marked ashaman drew his sword and dagger before he entered
the woods, hoping to he could use suprise to his advantage.  No one liked
fighting aiel hand to hand.  Alan looked forward to it tho.  A challenge
like this could not be passed up.  Honorable combat is a breath of fresh air
to one who is used to using the one power.  Creeping silently Alan and
Steven were ghosts on the forest floor.  Finally they heard a brief sound
and altered their course through the trees.  They saw men and a woman in the
distance facing an unseen foe.  Alan instinctively knew that time for battle
was near.  He tensed and at the last possible moment leaped into the fray.
Steven was right beside him.  Alan managed to throw his friend a quick wink
before the fighting began.  They both smiled and started the dance of death.
  Suprise was on the young ashaman's side.  The first aiel died quickly,
whereas the second turned around to do battle.  Time couldnt be wasted so
Alan threw everything at him that he could.  A flurry of swordstrokes and
dagger thrusts were calmly pushed aside by the aiel.  "this is gonna be fun"
thought alan.  He separated for a second and saw the aielman steady himself
for an attack.  He led with his short spear which alan delfected with his
dagger.  The aiel then made his first and last mistake.  Hoping to catch
alan offguard he crouched down low and tried to sweep out alan's feet from
underneath him.  Alan jumped up into the air while spinning.  His sword
followed his body and caught the aielman in his shoulder.  The hard steel
carved a path that ended at the aielmans neck.  He fell dead to the forest
floor.  Alan then rushed to help Murashar.  He was successfully fending off
Foli who was for some reason trying to stab Alan's friend.  They disarmed
her quickly and with little harm.  Alan then turned to his brother in arms,
"So what do we do now?  Some more killing i hope?"  Murashar just smiled and
paused in thought.

Mura'shar was gaining on them.  He could feel it.  From time to time he thought he could catch an occasional word or two spoken between them.  As he got closer, he could tell the tone was angry.  HE quickened his pace.
 A muttered oath and an audible "thud" drew him up short.  Mura'shar peered ahead, through some bushes.  Elois was there.  And Jaek, and several other Aielman.  The former White was picking herself up off the ground and Jaek was rubbing his hand, Elois looked ready to bite his hand clean off if he got too close.
 Mura'shar took a careless step to get a better view.  A dry branch snapped under his foot.  No one seemed to notice, but Mura'shar decided not to take any chances.  He knew where they were.  He could bring others.  It was suicide to try and fight that many Aiel on his own, especially not with saidin...
 Movement in the corner of his eyes made him leap backwards.  It was a clumsy move, done without conscious thought, and he ended up flat on his back.  He could see a booted foot passing through where his head was and an Aiel spear passing through where his heart was.  Two Aielmen now stood over him.
 Mura'shar slashed desperately with his sword, trying to regain his feet at the same time.  The blade bit into the lower leg of one of the Aielmen.  The leg collapsed under him, and he began to drag himself away.  The other continued to strike out with his spear, tickling Mura'shar's ribs with the blade as he tried to squirm away.
 A single careless mistake saved Mura'shar's life.  The Aiel got too close at one point, and Mura'shar's sword took him in the heart.  He then took a moment to catch his breath.
 He stood up and readied his sword when another figure stepped out from behind a tree.  One of the Dragonsworn.  Mura'shar tried to remember her name.
 "Foli" He whispered "Stay back.  There's Aiel around us.  Darkfriends.  Go back to the others and tell them I found Elois."
 "The rest of the Storm Team has their own problems, I'm afraid." She replied.  Four more Aiel rose seemingly out of nowhere "You are quite on your own"
 "Foli?"  Mura'shar half-questioned.  She was the Darkfriend?  He remembered Foli now.  She had been put out of the White Tower for failing some test or other, and saw the Black Tower as a kind of second chance. "Why are you doing this?  Why are you siding with the Shadow?"
 "Why?  Why?? Why?" She mocked.  "Because this way I can destroy the White Tower.  Those smug Aes Sedai" she spat the word out "who didn't think I was good enough to join their ranks.  Nobody should have to see what happens in those arches.  I couldn't go through that again.  Not after what the first two showed me" For a moment, she shivered and looked like she was going to burst into tears "And after all that work, all those years of
training, I was nothing to them!"  Rage took over again.
 "A pity your bondmate isn't here for me to kill.  That Green was such an easy focus for the hidden hatreds of the Tower, I came so close to killing her with those Soldiers..."
 Seeing his surprise, Foli laughed "Oh, I let Nev carry out the particulars.  He hated Myiona so much I let him do what he pleased to her.  But she was my target.  Now I'll have to wait to kill her.  Though your death will do as a beginning...then the others in the Storm Team.  Elois, La'rece, and the rest of you allies of Aes Sedai!"
 She was beyond reason, Mura'shar saw.  And she was commanding the Aiel, who were waiting patiently for the order to kill him, their veiled faces expressionless.  Mura'shar readied his sword, hoping to kill at least one of them before they overwhelmed him.  When more shapes appeared behind the Aiel and began cutting them down.
 Mura'shar recognized Alan and Stevan among a group of Asha'man striking the Aiel from behind.  Mura'shar leaped into the fray, slicing off the head of one of the Aiel and grabbing Foli before she could escape.  She pulled out a dagger and slashed at Mura'shar's arm.  But he held on until Alan grabbed her other hand and the two disarmed her.
 "Elois is just ahead, and probably guarded he told the others, gesturing towards where he saw Jaek holding her.  "After we make sure she's safe" he said, turning to Foli "You are going to tell us exactly what you and your friends had planned for us.  And how to stop them"
You will refer to me as "Librarian," Sir-I am not a "Bookie"!

Jake
M'Hael

"… more killing, I hope!" A'lan said causing Mura'shar to smile.  La'rece playfully thwapped the young Asha'man on the back of the head as she and Aramis made their way into the midst of the group.

Turning to see who had hit him, Alan found his gaze redirected by the red-haired Dragonsworn to the First, Tareena DeHaviland, who stood looking stern.  However, Tareena's attention was not focused on the Asha'man or his gleeful comments about killing, but rather on the woman held captive by the Storm Team. For her part, Foli looked as though she would rather face a fist of Trollocs than deal with the woman who stood staring daggers at her.

Mura'shar seemed to be contemplating what to do with the prisoner as La'rece moved to stand near the First pitching her voice for Tareena's ears alone.  "She must not be killed out of hand, and yet … these men may find themselves unable to deal appropriately with a … woman.  Even a darkfriend."

Tareena met La'rece's eyes for a long moment.  They both knew that this was a particularly delicate situation.  An opportunity to learn more about the Shadow's activities in the Black Tower.  Certainly if there was one traitor there could be others.  Both women were certain that the Black Tower would never be able to let down its internal vigil.

Just as Tareena was about to speak, all hell broke loose …
 

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Tareena stood gazing at Foli, internally working to withhold the rage boiling inside of her.  Tareena was second in charge of the black tower, that was true, but she took a personal interest in the Dragonsworn.  They were hers to train and hers to lead and she had failed.  She would deal with her own guilt and since of failure later, when time permitted.  For now, she knew that Mura'shar would not be able to order what needed to be done.
La'rece was right.  No matter how tough and brittle the Ashaman became, they still retained some since of the gentleman they were before they could channel.  The Dragonsworn would take care of their own.
    Just as she was about to speak, a great horn sounded and a roaring noise overcame the group in the clearing.  Trollocks and Fades poured through the forest, their numbers boggling the mind.  Tareena had one second to think that Alan would get to do more of the murder he was asking for before chaos erupted and blood began to pour.
    Months of experience allowed the Storm Team to work as a unit, forming up and facing their combatants.  Tareena knew that their situation was perilous.  They could not channel within the Stedding.  They had to get out or they would perish.  Darran and Arram had flanked her, each slicing and dicing.  Darran with his two swords and Arram with his staff and sword.  They were protecting her, for now.  A noise interrupted her throughts and she quickly
turned to see Foli, fists flying, trying to flee from the Dragonsworn who held her.  Rage flashed quick and bright once again within Tareena.  she strode over, her bondmate flanking her and swung, catching Foli in the back of the neck, hard.  Tareena had been studying hand to hand combat with Darran and knew the blow to be hurtful but not deadly.  For an instant, Darran admired her handiwork and then turned his head once more to the fighting.
Tareena stood over Foli, feeling a primal instinct to murder this woman for everything she had doen to the Tower.  Myiona flashed through her mind.  All of the hardship and sorrow that her friend had suffered.  Would the Storm Team live so that she could be revenged?
   Tareena feverishly thought of possible options, wishing beyond anything she could touch the source.  She silently cursed Aramis and La'rece for not following orders and returning to the Tower at the first sign of trouble to warn them yet she knew that without their help in this fight, they would perish.  The only possible hope she could think of was the Ogier.  At the treesinging had they noticed the tension?  Would they know that all was not
right within their Stedding?  Would they possibly come to help support the tower or would they continue to bury their heads in the sand?  They didn't have much time to find out.

Ariana was so caught up in the tree-singing that at first she didn't notice the disappearance of her fellow Tower members.  Where'd they go?  From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow of movement, and noticed that everyone was dissipating, ghost-like, out of the area.  Reluctantly, she began sidling away- noticing for the first time the way the crowd had congealed into little lumps.  Definitely not a good sign.  Something's rotten here.
She listened to the whispered instructions handed out, regretting that she couldn't go and scout, but it would be impossible for her to limp very quickly through the trees.  Instead, she took her own orders and went off- stopping only once to collect her healing implements.  She had a feeling they might be needed shortly.

What the - -?! Elois had a split second to gape like a trout as shouting and screaming and fighting erupted beyond the screen of tree foliage and brush. Attack! Elois feared for her friends, and then for herself. Many of them were better prepared to defend themselves than she herself was.
       Apparently the Aiel, Jaek, were as startled by the offensive strategy of the Shadowspawn as the Dragonsworn was. They hadn't been expecting it, but it wouldn't hinder their plans. She had a second before the Darkfriend Aiel recovered their equilibrium to think about...
       Well, Elois didn't think. She ran. She didn't *think* she headed towards the thick of the battle, but it was hard to be sure. Guilt and adrenaline flowed through her veins. She couldn't help her Storm Team one iota by trying to do battle with trollocs and myrdraal; what she could do was hope to sprint outside the stedding, fill herself to bursting with saidar and zap any unfriendly face that was foolish enough to emerge in
her line of sight.
       Flaming perdition! This is mostly my fault. Crashing footsteps behind her. Sounds of heated battle. How many of her Tower would die today?
       The Aes Sedai caught her toe on an exposed tree root and went flying. Hard hands caught her before she impacted. She screamed and kicked. Adrenaline again. Well, there was some small measure of fury, too. For a White...

Hannah

Blood seeped through the soft linen of her blouse from the gash inflicted by the Trolloc that lay twitching on the ground.  *Careless* thought La'rece as she wiped her bloody blade on the bear-like fur of the creature.  Reprimanding herself for not anticipating a simple flanking maneuver by Trollocs, the Dragonsworn tested her shoulder.  It was painful yet it would not prevent her from continuing the fight.

Turning to assist in the dispatch of a Myrdraal, its snake-like movements almost hypnotic, La'rece caught a glimpse of pale movement through the trees.  A break in the foliage revealed Elois running break-neck through the tangled woods.  The Arafellan could see that the Dragonsworn was headed directly toward a half dozen trollocs and the Fade controlling them.  *Beautiful and careless is no way to go through life, my dear* thought La'rece with a
grin.

Running swiftly through the trees, La'rece moved to intercept Elois but before she could reach her the young woman turned and headed deeper into the Stedding's woods  "Flaming … !" grumbled the Arafellan.  As the undergrowth become more dense, La'rece had to slow her progress.  Noise behind her made her start to turn around but she stopped when she heard a small cry from Elois up ahead.

Ignoring the sharp branches and brambles, La'rece tore through the woods toward the sound she had heard from Elois.  Bursting out of the bushes onto a small deer run, the Arafellan pulled up short and stopped panting, eyes wide, blood and sweat running down her face.

Standing holding Elois and surrounding the two women were at least 50 Ogier, each holding an axe or a club or a large branch.  Uncertain as to what the situation was, La'rece moved in to defend her fellow Dragonsworn.  "Let her go!" the redhead growled.
 

If it could be said that Ogier rolled their eyes, then the gray-haired giant holding Elois did a fair job of it as he grumbled, a sound reminiscent of large boulders rolling together down a hill.  Without another word the small army moved off heading toward the fight  Whether they were friend or foe La'rece could not say.  Checking to see if Elois was alright, La'rece discovered the sounds she had heard behind her.  There stood Aramis watching her
and the surrounding woods at same time, his weapon at the ready, his eyes sharp for any sign of danger.

Turning to the younger Dragonsworn, La'rece asked, "Are you alright?"

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Tareena ducked and dodged, trying to weave her way around and stay within the circle of the whirling blades provided by her bondmate and his twin.  Luck had so far been with the trio, only a few stabs had made it through.  To be surrounded and outnumbered as they were and with the two men trying to protect both Foli and herself, Tareena thought that was just fine.  any time a trolloc had managed to pierce through the defense, Tareena had used the
darkfriend as a shield.  Guilt had flashed for a brief moment the first time Tareena had watched a spear slash the forearm of Foli but then it was gone.  Better her than me, thought Tareena.  Being Seanchan trained had its advantages.  She did not have some of the basic social skills that other women had grown up with.  foli gasped and Tareena whirled, barely missing a blow to the head.  Something has to break, we can't keep this up
forever.
    They had made some progress towards the boundary of the Stedding but not nearly enough.  We aren't going to make it, she grimly thought.  We have too, she thought again.
    Tareena glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye.  A gap in the trees parted and out walked an ogier.  Then another.  And another.  Tareena's heart jumped and then slammed back into the pit of her stomach.  Were they here to help?  Or to hurt?

Lisa ~ Tareena De'Havilan
Guardian of the Black Tower
bondmate to Darren Sadke

Ariana did not like this one bit.  The diminutive Yellow was trying to make her way through the attackers without being noticed; after all, she had no weapon- her staff was back at the Tower- and there weren't even any dead branches lying around to improvise with.  Without the Source, without a weapon, she couldn't do anything...  "Light!  I should be slapped upside the head!"  She ceased her headlong dash and forced herself to think.  The only way
she could be of use now was channeling... which meant, of course, she should try to get out of the Stedding rather than running around aimlessly like a headless chicken!  Light, that's a disgusting metaphor.  Whoever thought it up anyway?  But before she could orient herself and begin seeking the Stedding's borders, she found that the Ogier had arrived... for good or ill, she couldn't tell.  They weren't fighting, despite the flurries of
battles that peppered the surrounding area.  Only once she was standing still to watch them did she become aware of her various aches, but they were a dull background whine to the thoughts and confusion that whirled round her skull.  The Ogier were now aware of their plight... obviously.  Or at least, they were aware of the battle, and surely they realized what the presence of the Shadowspawn meant.  We were right.  But- what will they do about
it?

Alan looked around at the fighting surrounding him.  Trollocs and
fades had joined the battle.  A grim smile touched upon his blood smeared
face.  Trollocs and fades were easy to kill compared to aiel.  Wiping his
blade and dagger on the cadinsor of a fallen dark friend he quickly jumped
into the fray.  The first trolloc he faced died quickly with a suprised look
on its beastly face.  The next was a little tougher.  The trolloc had goats
horns and hooved feet.  It looked around furtively and saw Alan running
towards it.  The first sword stroke swung by the Ashaman was caught on the
trollocs curved sword.  Alan disengaged and attacked again.  The trolloc had
more skill than most of its kind.  But seemed to forget that humans could
wield two weapons at once.  It did not take kindly to the dagger protruding
from its neck.  The next creature the marked ashaman faced was a fade.  Its
flowing black robes made all of the light and peacefullness of the stedding
seem to shrink away to nothing.  Alan was enraged.  How dare such a thing
invade a place of the purest tranquility.  Alan charged the lurk and made
the halfman take a step back from the pure tenacity of the young mans
attack.  Blade rang on blade as the two fought for life.  Alan knew he would
win.  His rage at the fade coupled with his skill with a sword was a
dangerous weapon.  The fade tried to stare the ashaman down, but Alan
replied with a smile.  This shocked the fade...it had never been smiled at
before.  The next moment a dagger entered the lurk's belly and a sword
neatly separated its head from its shoulders.  Alan looked around just in
time to see Jaek try to stab an elder ogier.  Alan was frozen with shock.
He ran over just in time to see Rhugin come up and talk to the Tsovoran
M'hael.  Things were definatley getting interesting.

The area was swarming with Shadowspawn.  Thankfully, they seemed far more reluctant to be in the stedding than the Black Tower.  The Myrdraal were spending most of their efforts driving the Trollocs into battle.  And the Trollocs were looking for almost any excuse to leave.  Numbers, however, were still on their side.
 This must be the "little problem" Foli mentioned Mura'shar thought to himself as he ran another Trollocs through.
 The flow of battle carried him further from the rest of the Storm Team.  Soon he was alone with his back to a gigantic tree.  Again and again he found himself trying to raise a protective barrier between himself and his foes.  Or trying to incinerate them, or tear them apart with the One Power.  But it never worked.  Saidin was still gone.  All he had was his sword and his wits.
 He dispatched the last Trolloc facing him and found a Myrdraal standing before him.  With no more Trollocs to steer it was free to lash out at him.
 "My blade thirsts" it hissed at him and struck at him again and again with its dead black blade.  Mura'shar parried blow after blow.  IT was too fast for him to strike back.  One prick with that blade, and he may be as good as dead.  Certainly nothing could be done while he was still in the stedding.  The Fade was hideously strong, almost as strong as the Trollocs were.  And faster.  Much faster.
 A blur of motion took the Fade's head off.  It went bouncing into the undergrowth as the thrashing body collapsed.  A gray-bearded Ogier stood before him holding an enormous ax in one hand.  Several other Ogier stood behind him.  Mura'shar couldn't tell how many.  Over a dozen, at least.
 THe elder fixed Mura'shar with a steady, calculating look "We do not know which group of humans brought the Shadowspawn, but for the first time in living memory, they are within the stedding"
 "Yes, and this Black Tower brought them" Jaek stepped from behind a tree, lowering his black veil.  He held no weapons, but he carried a long-bladed knife at his belt.  "The Aiel have used this place as sanctuary for generations, why would we violate that now? And for the Father of Lies?"
 "What evidence do you have of this, Mura'shar?" asked the Ogier "It is one thing to make such an accusation, quite another to prove it.  As Jaek said, we have sheltered Aiel for a not inconsiderable time"
 "Because we discovered Darkfriends among your group" Mura'shar retorted "And we know you kidnapped Elois.  Where is she?  Is she still alive?"
 "I do not know what you are talking about" Jaek replied.  I have seen no sign of Elois today"
 At some point, Rhugin joined the group.  His clothes were bloodied and he carried a bloody spear in his hand "Peace, tsorvan'm'hael, it is Trolloc blood.  But I would like to know how you come to accuse my people of being Shadowrunners"
 Some of the Ogier were in deep conversation.  One of them spoke up to the rest of the group "We came across one of the Aes Sedai a short time ago, alone and fleeing the battle.  She was unarmed and could not channel of course.  I believe it was the one you called Elois."
  That news cheered Mura'shar immensely.  With more confidence now, he spoke again "Then when she is found, she can verify who is telling the truth.  Also, we have found the Darkfriend among my own people.  A woman whom we have managed to capture alive.  She will be made to understand the error of her ways, and will reveal whom she has been in contact..."
 Faster than the eye could follow, Jaek veiled, drew his blade, and plunged it into the stomach of the elder.  He vanished into the trees before anyone could do more than blink.
 Tow other Ogier grabbed the elder and held him up, while a third stanched the flow of blood.  Mura'shar started to help, but was waved away.
 "Do not worry, Even an Aiel's blade cannot easily harm an Ogier.  Not with one thrust.  But we believe you now.  The only question that remains is how many Aiel are under Sightblinder's thrall?  I would be very interested in hearing what your prisoner has to say, Mura'shar"
 "And I as well" Rhugin replied.  "I am sorry, Mura'shar, I did not believe your warnings.  Now my people, and yours, and the Ogier suffer for it."
 "Apologies can wait, Rhugin.  For now, we need to deal with the Shadowspawn.  They are the immediate threat.  Afterwards, we can wed out the Darkfriends.  We have already captured one, and identified a second.  I'm sure the others will reveal themselves soon enough.  If only when they try to flee."

Jake
M'Hael

The Ogier were proving their reputation as implacable foes to the Shadowspawn.  That, and the unnerving effect the stedding had on the Shadowspawn made Mura'shar confident that the Shadow would fail this round.  He just hoped that the stedding won't be too badly damaged in the process.
 After his talk with Rhugin and the Ogier, Mura'shar took a moment to catch his breath.  The area was clear for the moment.  He caught sight of a blood-smeared Alan emerging from the trees.
 "Alan! Good to see you!" he called out to him.  "The Ogier and the Aiel finally believe there are Darkfriends among them.  But Elois is still missing.  The Ogier said they saw her in that direction..." he pointed "...and she was all right.  But that can still change.  We need to go after her!"
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Myiona snapped one of the bracelets on her arm and stared down at it with an
avid curiosity.  She had been working with the connected bracelets for over
a week and had no idea what they were meant to do.    If it had been up to
her, she would have tossed them into the ocean after suffering the first
headache from trying to work with them.  She could not do that since she had
been given the ter'angreal by one of the asha'men and told to find a use for
it.

The Domani gritted her teeth and channeled a thin tendril of spirit into the
bracelet and felt it slip into the other and then disappear within its
circle.  As Skree came into the room, she asked the girl to put on the other
bracelet.  The two began working together with the Dragonsworn channeling
and trying to see the affect on her young friend.

Hours later, they sat sipping a cup of tea.  Both were tired, but the
exhaustion had been well worth the trouble.  The linked bracelets seemed to
be keep the one passive in the connection from lying.  Skree had received a
strange jolt when she attempted even the tiniest lie.  Myiona could see the
use for such a device, but it still had to be tested upon a male.  Would it
work the same way upon a man?  Myiona decided to wait and discuss the
ter'angreal with Mura'shar, Tareena, and La'rece before telling anyone at
the Black Tower what she had discovered.

Overall, the fight wasn't nearly as intense as some Mura'shar had experienced.  The Trollocs and Fades simply didn't have the will to put up a serious fight.  After the Ogier and the Aiel joined in, there was little doubt the Black Tower would come through once again.
 Rhugin was now culling through his people, questioning them carefully about their whereabouts at key moments and verifying them.  With Black Tower and Ogier observers, hopefully no one would slip through the cracks.  Already three Aiel who were trapped in their lies admitted to being Friends of the Dark and were summarily executed by Rhugin himself.
 The Dragonsworn had all vanished.  Tareena simply said they were taking care of Foli the Darkfriend.  Mura'shar didn't know what she meant by that, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. But Tareena insisted she was her responsibility, so he acquiesced.
 Mura'shar, Alan, and other Asha'man were helping to drag Trolloc corpses out of the stedding.  The Ogier didn't want them buried in their sanctuary.  Especially the Myrdraal, whose blood is caustic.  So they dragged the bodies, using horses when they could to the edges of the stedding and let the Blight consume them.
 Mura'shar was just about to reach the Blight for his first trip when he saw a crowd standing just inside the Blight, staring at nothing.  They were all Asha'man and Aiel.  The Ogier were looking at them curiously, not seeing what they were seeing.
 Fearing a trap, Mura'shar, Alan, and the others hauling the Trolloc dropped their burden and drew weapons.  They cautiously crossed the threshold, feeling the same cool breeze they felt upon entering the stedding.
 Mura'shar felt an enormous wave of saidin.  There was more saidin being channeled than the entire Black Tower combined.  He could sense it was being channeled from a long way off, but the air here was still alive with the One Power.  Could the Last Battle have begun without them?  Were the Forsaken attacking the Black Tower?
 The sense of saidin was fading now.  Mura'shar was aware that he had unconsciously filled himself to the brink with saidin.  He had been expecting an attack, and it had been so long, it seemed, since he had channeled.  To touch the One Power again...the sensation made him feel truly alive.  Almost like there was ...
 Mura'shar felt saidin coursing through him.  It was as much as he could safely hold, even through the angreal he carried.  There had always been that feeling of slime-on-water.  That sense of burning acid with a cool salve whenever he channeled.  The more he drew in, the more intense both feelings.  Now though, it was different.
 "It's gone" he whispered.  He looked around at the others.  Rengar, Alan, Stevan, Darren, Aramis, they all had similar expressions of wonder on their face.  He could sense all of them filled with saidin, sensing the same thing he was.
 He decided to try a little experiment.  He wove Fire and Air into Illusion.  Mura'shar held up his hands and created a fiery Dragon.  It flew through the air above the Asha'man, spiraling higher and higher until he let it dissipate.  Nothing seemed to change.
 Mura'shar felt a desperate longing to go back to the Black Tower, to tell Myiona, to find out if the other Asha'man felt the same thing.  He didn't know how or why, but the cloud he had lived under for years...
 "...It's gone" he said again, louder this time.  "It's really gone.  The taint on saidin is GONE!!"

Jake
M'Hael
You will refer to me as "Librarian," Sir-I am not a "Bookie"!

Tareena stood just outside of the Stedding, watching one of the
Dragonsworn form a gateway that was to lead the women of the Black Tower out
of the blight. Each woman had immediately reached for saidar the moment that
brush of cool intensity had hit them upon leaving the Stedding boundaries.
It had been a long strange journey that was coming to an end. At least as
far as the men were concerned.  For the women, the end was as yet to be
found.  Tareena urged the women to pick up the pace, knowing that what faced
them was at the minimum unpleasant, at the maximum, downright horrible.
Tareena spared a cold, hard look for the darkfriend Foli, who used to carry
the honor of the title Dragonsworn. Dragonsworn, the title earned for
loyalty to the Black Tower and to the Ashaman who fought for the Dragon.
Blood, emotion, loss, all combined to forge the pride with which each
Dragonsworn wore their golden Dragon bracelet. To have had it sullied, spit
upon, to have had one of their own betray them, was unimaginable.  Tareena
felt not only a great sense of loss out of her loyalty and devotion to the
Tower but also a great sense of personal loss as well.  Her friendship with
Myiona had been torn apart by the conniving and manipulations of this
darkfriend.  It had only been recently that the two women had been able to
begin to rebuild something that both held very precious.  With a hardening
of her heart that took little effort, Tareena stepped through the gateway.
     Tareena looked out over the mass of faces in front of her.  She
deliberately met each woman's eye as she spoke.  Cold blue eyes, warm brown,
lively green, all stared back at her with the same expression of shock.  As
their leader, it was her responsibility to impress upon them the need to act
swiftly and decisively within their ranks.  Yet, they had never faced this
situation before.  They were blazing a trail through uncharted waters. Far
reaching unforeseen consequences could come back to haunt any decision they
made tonight.  Yet Tareena felt in her heart it was right. For it to work,
however, they needed the full agreement of all of the women and so far, the
squeamishness of some of them had surprised her.  She came to the end of her
speech. "Who will vote for instant death by execution?"
       Silence welled up and deepened, the calm before the storm.  Tareena
could tell that she had not totally convinced them.  Whether from fear or
distaste, some were balking. A slow murmur built to a dull roar as they
overcame shock and turned to their comrades to discuss the proposed
sentence. The babble became heated as each women fought to share her opinion
and have it heard.  Tareena could feel the momentum begin to shift and felt
a sense of desperation to stop it.  She turned her head slightly towards
La'rece, knowing she was her closet ally in this decision process.  La'rece
nodded her head and gathered herself to rise.  Before the blademaster could
reach her feet, Myiona stood and glided across the clearing as only a Domani
could manage.  She stood, beautiful and proud before her sisters and calmly
waited.  Slowly the din decreased until once again silence was absolute.
She turned her head slowly from right to left, ensuring that she had
everyone's full attention. Tareena felt a heaviness in her chest and it was
suddenly hard to breath. Myiona began to speak.

Myiona had stepped outside for a breath of fresh air when the
Dragonsworn returned.  She stood in the back of the large crowd listening to
what was said.  Tareena's question, "Who will vote for instant death by
execution?", was a surprise to the Domani.  She stood and listened to the
discussions going on around her, learning what had happened to make the
Guardian suggest such a thing.
 

     Her outrage became greater with each moment she heard someone beg for
mercy for the darkfriend.  When she could take no more, Myiona moved to
where Tareena was standing and waited for the right moment to speak.

     "Dragonsworn," Myiona began in a strong voice, "I too understand the
need to temper justice with mercy.  I stood accused of horrible things, for
which I had no defense.  I could have faced death for destroying the men who
sought to kill me.  Many of you may still feel that I deserved death."

     Her eyes scanned to women, pausing to look intently at some who she
knew still did not trust her.  "There is no doubt that this woman wanted to
lead you to your death.  Her actions caused the death of some of our group
though she was discovered before she could finish her vile betrayal.
Perhaps some of you still doubt Tareena's words.  I have a way of proving to
you what fills the mind of this creature."

     Quickly, the Domani pulled the linked bracelets from her pocket,
slipping one on her own wrist and one of the wrist of Foli.  She felt her
lips twist in distaste at having to touch someone who had sold themselves to
the Dark One.

     "This is a ter'angreal," Myiona said lifting her arms so all could see
the bracelets, "that I have been studying while you were away.  Though I
know not all of its uses, it seems to punish lying.  Foli did you seek to
lead your companions to their death?"

     "I did," the woman answered, "at the command of the Great Lord of the
Dark.  He seeks the destruction of your tower and the white tower as well."

     "Hmmmmmm," Myiona said looking around at the faces of her friends,
"have you repented of your ways and turned back to the light?  Will you join
forces with us again to fight for the lord dragon?"

     Foli licked her lips nervously before answering.  "Yes, I repent and
wish to rejoin the black tower."

     A bolt of energy flew up the bracelets and struck the darkfriend hard.
She screamed in pain and fell to the ground pulling Myiona's arm down as
well.

     "You have seen that she lies," the Domani said calmly.  "Foli, the
intensity of the pain increases with the type of lie.  You still seek the
death of these men and women of the tower.  If you lie again, you will be
punished again."

     Foli looked up at Myiona with tears in her eyes.  "I spit on you and
the dragon.  The Great Lord of the Dark has promised me eternal life.  He
has granted me revenge upon those that hurt me.  Your tower is a mockery for
darkfriends fill its halls to the brim."  Her laughter seemed to shake the
group.

     Myiona removed the bracelets from the wrist of the darkfriend and her
own arm, and turned to face the group.  "She has admitted her treachery.
Now, we will put all rumors of my loyalty to rest."  She handed the
bracelets to Tareena.  "You must question me, guardian, to prove to yourself
and everyone here that I am not in league with these vile followers of the
dark."

     The questioning was a simple thing.  First, Tareena asked again about
the deaths of the two men and then Myiona's capture by the rebel asha'men.
Unable to lie, held by her oaths at the White Tower, the domani answered
each question calmly and truthfully.  The final question asked was about her
loyalty to the Black Tower and the Lord Dragon.

     "This I say here in the presence of these witnesses, with the bracelets
and my oaths as Aes Sedai to prove the truth of my words," Myiona said
firmly, "I am not a darkfriend or allied with Foli or any others who seek to
destroy this tower.  My loyalty is to the Lord Dragon, the light, the Black
Tower, to my bondmate, and to all of my friends here."

     "Now, I will lie to prove the other was truth," the Domani said with a
smile.  "I think I am the ugliest woman alive."  The bolt hit her hard,
knocking her to her knees.  Myiona bit her lip causing blood to dribble down
her chin.  "I hate men!"  Another bolt that caused her to fall upon her
face.  She wanted there to be no doubt in anyone's mind.  She was about to
utter another lie when she heard Tareena snap the bracelet off of her wrist.

     Taking a deep breath, Myiona pushed the pain aside for now and, slowly,
stood to her feet.  "I vote for death for Foli," she said simply, "and if
any still doubt me I will vote for death for myself."

Laughing, La'rece ignored the prisoner as she walked over to Myiona to help her to her feet.  Taking her friend's face in her hand, the Arafellan examined her fellow Dragonsworn's face.  "Let's see … ugliest, eh?  Well, I just don't see it.  Sorry."

The smirk the redhaired Dragonsworn gave her friend made the jest abundantly clear.  Myiona was perhaps one of the most beautiful women in the Tower, and certainly one of the most gracious.

Shaking her head, La'rece turned to look at the prisoner.  Once her eyes fell on Foli they turned cold and hard.  A look of terror began to creep into the Darkfriend's eyes.  Walking decisively forward to stand before the fiend, La'rece delivered a full-armed slap to the woman's face.

"You will not speak again."  The finality to Dragonsworn's words sent a chill down the back of many of the women present.  Seizing Saidar, La'rece focused weaves of Spirit touched with Water and Air.  As the razor sharp weave hit home the look of abject horror swept over the prisoner.  She had been severed.

"Who here stands in defense of this … woman?" demanded La'rece.  "Who can find it in themselves to claim mercy on behalf of one of the Dark One's minions?!"

No one moved or spoke in defense of the prisoner.  The depth of her hatred had been made self-evident.  Through her own words she had sealed a fate already cast upon her.

Turning to face Tareena, La'rece spoke.  "It is the will of the majority.  It is unanimous.  Death to the traitor.  Death to the Dark One's creature.  Does the First agree?"

Meeting La'rece's eyes, Tareena nodded solemnly.   The Arafellan turned to face her friend.  Myiona nodded, without hesitation.

Channelling once again, La'rece drove the prisoner to her knees using ropes of Air to hold her upright.  Drawing her sword, the Blademaster circled the Darkfriend again and again, her sword arm testing the air as she wove in an intricate dance of sword forms, the blade humming through the air.  On the third pass,  the Blademaster changed her footing slightly and brought the sword in a full sweeping arc.  Foli's head rolled off her shoulders and lie
on the ground less than two feet from her body still held upright by the invisible flows.  A gasp arose from several of the women many of whom had never witnessed an execution.

It was done.
 

Lauren
La'rece Barata'gan
Marked Dragonsworn and Blademaster

Ariana stood straight within the congregation of Dragonsworn, one hand
absently touching the pin which proclaimed her status before setting both
hands back at her sides.  Part of her, the healer's heart she carried, did
not want to see this woman die.  *No one has been in the Shadow too long to
repent,* her conscience pointed out, prodding at her with a needle-tipped
sword.  She closed her eyes, debating within herself and seeking to resolve
her regrets.  She did not want to see Death gain another victory; as a
Healer, she fought Death every day, every time she embraced the Source to
fix and mend.  But she did not want to see the Shadow gain a victory,
either.  Leaving a known traitor alive and in their midst would be all but
leaving the door open with a doormat- "Welcome, Ba'alzamon."
When Foli was severed, she opened her eyes.  And when La'rece asked for
defense, she remained silent.  There was a time for a Healer's mercy, and a
time to remember the good of the Tower.  Now was the latter.
As the traitor's head rolled across the grass, mouth gaped and eyes wide and
sightless with the surprise of death, the diminutive Healer felt her stomach
clench.  Others around her were rustling, gasping, at the abruptness of the
execution, those who had probably never seen death so coldly calculated.
Ariana had seen executions.  Worse, far worse, than this; Whitecloaks had no
mercy even when dealing death.  Every time they had led their patrols
through her town, there had been at least one unfortunate example, one
Dragon's Fang scrawled on a door followed by a public death for the man or
woman so marked out.  And Ariana, with her mother the Lady of the lands, had
had no choice but to attend, to smile at the Whitecloak commander, and watch
as the corpse was disposed of.  And no matter what the villagers whispered,
it had been she and not her mother who sent the small bag of gold to the
victim's family.
Vaguely she heard the murmurs of shock die down around her, and wrenched her
mind into the present again.  Foli's decapitated corpse still stood upright,
supported by the flows that had held her.  It looked for all the world like
a broken marionnette, slumped against invisible strings.
 
 

 ~  Lisa

Tareena let the shock of the execution settle around the women like a cloak.  They had to understand.  This was not a game.  They were in a battle for their very existence.  Not just in the larger world with the last battle coming.  Their battle was more immediate.  Day after day the Ashaman became more suspicious of the women in the tower.  Loyalties were being questioned.  Soon, lives would be in question.  As the leader, Tareena could not stand
by and allow this to happen.  Of course, that did not make her next actions go down more smoothly.  In fact, she felt like she had a ball of acid bouncing around in her stomach.  They were not going to like this, not one bit.  But she had been chosen to lead and lead she would.
     "Women of the tower.  There have been many shocks this evening and more to come.  I have spoken to you of the need to unite and have no doubts as to who among us is loyal.  You have seen the effects of the bracelet.  Myiona has declared herself to be loyal to the Black Tower.  Now, each of you will come forth and do the same.  Anyone who declines this invitation will die.  We will have unity.  At whatever price.  Step forward and declare
yourself."
     With that decree Tareena moved regally aside and waited for the storm.

Lisa~aka Tareena De'Haviland
Guardian of the Black Tower
Bondmate to Darren Sadke

Alan stepped out of the stedding.  The warm glow of saidin welcomed him.
  As he crossed the invisible barrier he suddenly stopped dead in his
tracks.  The others with him had done the same thing.  An unbelievable
amount of saidin was being channeled.  Alan could not even fathom the sheer
size of it.  Tensing with anticipation he wondered what was going on.
Surely Tarmon Gaidon was not at their doorstep.  If so it would not be long
before Alan met the Creator.  Smiling a grim smile he loosened his sword and
his dagger from their sheathes.  He would not go gentle into the
night...Alan al Daren would rage against the dying of the light.  The huge
flow suddenly stopped and Alan embraced the source.  Readying himself for
the battle that he had become so accustomed to.  Instead saidin flowed
smoothly into him.  THere was no taint!  The foulness of the dark one was
gone.  He embraced as much as he could, daring himself to his ultimate
limit.  Alan fell to his knees and let go of the source.  Without the joy of
saidin coursing through him he noticed tears falling from his face.  This
seasoned warrior who had killed men and shadowspawn, who had walked by
unbelievable carnage without a second glance was as helpless as a new born
child.  He indeed felt like a new born child.  The taint was gone.  His life
was beggining anew.  Who knew what it held for him.  Standing up he walked
back to his comrades and shouted his joy.  He made no move to wipe the tears
from his scarred face.

Rengar awoke with a start, like so many other times
during the night, when the same dream haunted him
again and again.  But for the first time in what
seemed like an Age, he had been able to sleep a
peaceful sleep.  And that, perhaps, was more
frightening to him than the possbility that dream had
shown him time and time again.
"It must be because of what happened today," Rengar
thought to himself as he dragged himself out of the
cot he occupied in the Black Tower.  The sword with
the heron mark still stood from it's mantel piece on
the wall facing his bed, the moon casting the sword in
an luminously milky light.  It look so pure, as it
must have looked when it was first pulled out of the
water for the first time, when the metal was still hot
to the touch.
The comparsion between the sword and saidin came a few
moments later.  Rengar believed that the fact the
saidin was cleansed had not yet settled upon the other
members of the Black Tower.  And for him, that matter.
 It would certainly be interesting to see what would
happen once the fact did settle in.  Rengar had a bad
feeling that what had been a killing machine
restrained by the Taint would now be a killing machine
unleashed.
Rengar still hadn't come to terms with it.  In the
dream that had plagued him for months, he had seen
himself slowly detoriating as a result of the Taint.
Odessa had been his wife, or at least his companion,
as he began to feel the madness associated with long
term use of the male half of the One Power.  He had
always believed that dream was some kind of vision of
the future, but after everything that had happened
that was almost certainly not the case.  First of all,
the Taint had been cleansed from saidin; the same
Taint that was supposed to cause his detoriation.
Second, Odessa had been in his dream, but nowadays she
was nowhere to be found.  That had been occupying his
mind the entire time the Asha'man had been in the
Blight, but yesterday it had been temporarily pushed
out of his mind.
He could still feel her in the back of his mind, which
frustrated him to no end.  The fact that he could
still feel her meant that she was alive, but not being
able to see her, to touch her...
He had to put her out of his mind for the moment.  For
whatever reason he felt that he could not longer go
back to sleep now that he was awake.  Although he was
glad for the fact that he could now sleep peacefully,
something was pulling him outside towards the
courtyard.  After pulling his black Asha'man jacket on
to compensate for the cold outside he made his way to
the courtyard.
The courtyard was empty, the trees near the training
yards moving softly as a breeze passed through them
and Rengar, who gave a shiver before opening himself
to saidin.  It was still awkward for him to use saidin
this way, being able to simply let it flow through him
instead of having to wrestle with the Power in order
to get it to do what he wanted.  For so many years he
had battled that Taint when trying to use the One
Power, and even the simple task of using it to shield
himself against the cold gave him a greater bliss than
he had ever felt before in his life.
So great was the feeling that Rengar couldn't resist
opening himself to even more and more saidin.  Soon he
was holding more than he could ever remember having
held before, even with an angreal.  Saidin had become
addictive; without the Taint to foul it, there didn't
seem any reason to stop gathering more and more Power.
 
Soon, however, he started to feel a strange buzzing in
his head, disrupting the unadulterated bliss.  The
buzzing grew louder and louder, and somewhere in
Rengar's mind some kind of self-preservation instinct
told him to stop holding saidin.  But he couldn't.
The downpour had now spiraled out of his control, and
before he even knew what had happened Rengar had
blacked out.  Where his feelings of joy had once been
there was no nothing.  So it appeared that after all
of those years fighting with the Taint, the thing that
would kill Rengar al'Tomount was a cleansed saidin.

Elois wandered the shadow swathed grounds of the Black Tower, the wind stirring her skirt and the braided fringes of the moon white wrap tossed aorund her shoulders. The bowl shaped night sky, dotted with stars, usually served to calm the Dragonsworn, making her remember how small her personal problems were in the turnings of the wheel.
       But, tonight the vast sky only made *her* feel small and unimportant. Momentous changes were afoot. Elois had tried to apply the rules of logic earned at the White Tower to the issue to gauge possible effects, but there were very many variables to come into play.
       In the end, the former White tried empathy instead, something she earned in her year of slavery with the Seanchan, and tried to imagine how she would feel if she was a male channeler - once offered only madness in exchange for lyal service, but now given the chance for power and greatness. To go down in the history of the Ages. And not as part of a group of people who destroyed the world.
       It was a thrilling prospect. Elois shivered in anticipation, anxious to see what changes would be brought about.
       A stroll past the Traitor's Tree only served to remind the Amadician, however, that matters were not so spectacular among the Dragonsworn. Unbidden, memories of earlier today swarmed in on her.
       Unreasonably nervous, Elois knelt and allowed the bracelet to be slipped on her wrist. The metal was very cool, it felt like ice, and so did the lump in the Dragonsworn's stomach. Too many eyes were upon her. Since Seanchan, Elois was uncomfortable being the focus of attention, preferring to watch and listen then to lead the pack..
       Questions were asked of her, and each time, she panicked, wondering if she would be dealt the same pain that Myiona and Foli had displayed. But of course, that didn't happen. Elois walked in the Light, and her vows on the Oath Rods bound her. Still.
       "You disappeared for over a year, Elois. Where were you?"
       Elois frowned, glanced away. "Seanchan. I was taken prisoner and held there. Iwasn't holed up in Shayol Ghul plotting the downfall of the Black Tower." The Amadician glanced up at Tareena, trying to lighten that last comment into a jest.
       Elois had fled after her questioning, too emotionally tired to endure the trials of the few remaining Dragonsworn. That, on top of the harrowing experience in the stedding. Well, not quite harrowing, in hindsight, but it certainly seemed so at the time. Elois' resolve to learn some manner of self-defense was reinforced.
       It was the Dark One's own luck that she had escaped with nothing more than sore ribs, scraped palms and an ugly, uncoverable scratch under her eye and across the bridge of her nose where a vine of fine thorns had ripped at her skin as she was fleeing in blind terror from the Aiel.
      Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned in time to catch a shadowy form drop to the ground. What under the Light? It was too dark to be able to quite make out what had happened, but something in the same vein as a maternal instinct prodded Elois to cautiously approach the man shaped bundle, sprawled gracelessly under the dappled shadows of the trees.
       She recognized the face as one of the men in the Tower, but it was a moment before she attached a name to it. Rengar. She couldn't imagine why he was slumped unconscious in the middle of the Black Tower grounds in the dead of night. Elois looked up and around, carefully surveying the trees and buildings for sign of a possible attacker. There was none.
       She leaned close, smelling for alcohol on the breath, but there was none. At least, not enough to warrant passing out on account of it.
       Now, Elois was a better than average Healer, but there was a reason she wasn't a Yellow (lack of sufficient patience with teh human species aside). Regardless, she laid her hands on the man's shoulders, swiftly ascertaining that... there was not much wrong with him. Other than the fact that he was unconscious. And he would have a whale of a headache when he woke up. If he woke up...
       Elois reached out and pinched his cheek. Hard. "Rengar? Can you hear me? Are you alright?" If he could hear her, she had to assume he would live. She pinched again.

Talia reigned in her horse within sight of the wooded area that surrounded
the Black Tower.  Casually reaching down to calm her mount, Talia's hardened
eyes examined the area.  She felt him.  Alan.  For what seemed an eternity,
he had been but a distant 'feeling' in the back of her mind.  Now, he was
closer.. very close.  Her heart trembled at the possibility of seeing him
again.  However, a shadow was cast on her anticipation... The reason for her
departure.

Her evil double was still unfound.  She had traveled a long distance,
searching for Taria in order to give the woman exactly what she deserved,
but she could not find her.  Talia searched forever, and found not a trace
of the woman.  Then again, the woman was talented in Travelling and could
have easily had been leading Talia on some wild pointless chase.

Closing her eyes tightly, Talia took a deep breath.  It was time to go to
the only home she really had.  She was bounded to the Black Tower and to
service to the Dragon.. and a quest for personal vengeance was not exactly
the best way to serve.

(~Well, it's now or never, Talia.~)  Urging her horse forward, Talia set
about going back to the Black Tower.  Readjusting the golden Dragonsworn
bracelet, she commanded her horse to go faster.. into her home.

Directly toward the stables she went.  Once there, she dismounted and went
about finding her old acquaintances.. and ask their forgiveness for her
desertion.

Reality seemed to swirl around Rengar, images coming
and going at a speed that he could barely comprehend.
Part of himself was telling him that this was a dream,
but that voice didn't have the certainity it normally
did.
What if he was dead?  That certainly wasn't a prospect
he cared to contemplate, but then again he wasn't sure
how he had gotten into this situation in the first
place.  All he could remember was holding onto saidin
one moment, and the next moment holding onto nothing
at all.  Feeling himself falling into a black void,
one which he still felt like he was in, falling amidst
a swirl of images.  Some of them seemed to jog his
memory a little bit, but before he could focus on the
exact memory the image was gone, followed by something
else that did the same thing to his mind.
All of a sudden, though, the images seemed to slow
down, and Rengar felt as if he were standing in some
kind of room, although he couldn't perceive any walls,
around him and no floor beneath him.  There was an
image before him, playing itself out with Rengar
looking on.
It appeared to be some kind of ship; a Sea Folk raker,
perhaps.  Every other time that Rengar had been on one
of those ships, however, there had always been a very
large compliment of people moving around on the deck,
with even more within.  But what Rengar saw before him
were only a few people on the deck, and as he squinted
his eyes he could see that their health did not seem
to be supporting them.  It wasn't sea sickness; parts
of skin seemed to be peeling off the bodies right
before his eyes, and the extremeties seemed as though
they were fastened onto the peoples' body with a
hairpin, ready to fall off at the slightest wind
current.  If it hadn't been a dream, Rengar certainly
would have thrown up where he stood, even though he
had been hardened by years of fighting with the Black
Tower.  But he was dreaming, so all he could do was
look away and try to flush the image from his mind.
But seeing something like that, it was nearly always
impossible for it to be dismissed like that quickly.
Sometimes those kinds of images stuck forever, no
matter what you did.
Just as Rengar was trying to sort out what was
happening, however, something seemed to be changing
around him.  The room and the image of the Sea Folk
ship wavered before disappearing quickly.  Before he
really knew what had happened Rengar could feel a cold
wind blowing against his face, and a strange smell...
As he opened his eyes slowly he saw another person
leaning over him, a woman from the shape of her face.
But he couldn't recognize who it was; in his present
state, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell if
the woman was Odessa, even if she was his bondmate.
"Who are you?" Rengar asked, speaking the first words
that came to his mind.  How long had he been out?  Not
that long, it seemed, since it was still as cold as he
remembered it being when he had first come outside.
Why had he come outside in the first place?  But
before he could answer any of these meaningless
questions, the woman spoke...

The Asha'man seemed to be coming around. Seemed to, but then he started moving restlessly, grimacing at some image in his mind. Elois spoke louder, urging the man out of his unusual state of unconsciousness. She looked up and around, blew fallen bangs out of her eyes, to see if anyone was on hand to give assistance. Not a soul seemed alive this night, and trailers of fog were creeping
in.
       Elois returned her attention to Rengar, who had stilled in a false, fragile illusion of sleep. If he had been conscious she would have attributed his posture to the sort of stillness a person acquires when they're afraid the slightest little move will make them sick up.
       "Rengar Dashiva al'Tomount!" she said sharply, then blinked, amazed when his full name popped into her brain.
       Then even more amazed as the man opened his eyes, slowly, and fixed an unfocused gaze on her face. "Who are you?"
       The Amadician opened her mouth, then smiled. "I won't be insulted that you don't remember. I am Elois Daneen, a Dragonsworn. Do you know where you are or what happened to you? Why don't you try to sit up?" Elois knelt, and slipped an arm around his shoulders awkwardly, prepared to brace him, should he get dizzy and fall, or pass out again.

As soon as Rengar asked his question there came a
reply from the woman standing over him.  For some
reason his cheeks seemed a little different than they
had before he had blacked out, at least he thought
they did.  But before he could ponder that rather mute
point the woman spoke.
    "I won't be insulted if you don't remember.  I am
Elois Dannen, a Dragonsworn.  Do you know where you
are or what happened to you?  Why don't you try to
stand up?"
    Before Rengar tried to answer her questions he did
attempt to stand.  Unfortunately his first attempt at
doing this was unsuccessful, and he wound up falling
down on his posterior back to the ground.  Elois
started to giggle a little before stifling it, causing
Rengar's face to red slightly.  What a great way to
make a first impression, Rengar thought to himself as
he tried to stan up a second time, this time
successfully.  Of course, this wasn't the first time
he had seen the woman...now that she had given him her
name he remembered that he has seen her on several
occasions before.  But he could never remember having
been alone with her like this...back then he had had
Odessa.
    Where did that thought come from? he asked
himself, mentally slapping himself.  He had been
something of a womanizer in his earlier days, but he
had been sure that he had put that behind him, after
some unfortunate events had taken place.  He certainly
couldn't start thinking of this woman like that,
someone whom he had only met a few times during his
entire tenure in the Tower.  He didn't even know if
she had a bondmate!
    "Hello?  Have you slipped back to wherever you
were before?" Elois suddenly said, and Rengar
remembered that he had been going to answer the
questions she had posed.  What he would do after that,
though, was still an open question.  "I'm not going to
have to pinch your cheeks again, am I?"
    "Oh, no.  I'm alright.  I was just thinking about
something, but I'm fine.  Thanks for your help,
though," Rengar said, and saw somewhat of a look of
chagrin flash across the Elois's face.
    "Looks like you didn't need me here at all.  You
probably would have woken up in a couple of minutes,
no matter if I were here or not."
    "That may be true, Elois, but..." Rengar
hesitated, questioning which direction he should take
this conversation.  He didn't want to seem ungrateful
for her thoughtfulness, given the fact that he had not
expected someone else to come out in the middle of a
cold night to take a walk like he had.  At the same
time, he didn't want to give her the impression that
he was... "You didn't have to help me when you saw me
lying on the ground.  You could have just dismissed me
as an Asha'man who had had too much to drink or
something.  But you didn't."
    "I did check your breath, you know," Elois said,
her face suddenly turning red, much to Rengar's
surprise.  Could she be thinking the same things he
was?  No, that was impossible.  No other person beside
him could have that kind of personality.
    "Well, it's over with.  At least I came too.  I'm
sure that you were worried that I might not be able to
make it?" Rengar said, trying a little
self-depravation to change the mood a little bit.  He
certainly didn't want her to feel embarrassed because
she had helped him.
    "Of course I was," she said, her voice suddenly
carrying an edge to it, which surprised Rengar.
"Well, I'm sure that you want to get back to whatever
you were doing, and I want to get back to sleep.  Just
don't try to do whatever it was that knocked you out,
all right?"
    Rengar couldn't help grinning at her last comment.
 Her wit reminded him of Odessa a lot.  "Well, all
right then.  Thank you for your help.  By the way,"
Rengar said, a thought suddenly popping into his head,
one that demanded to be communicated immediately.  "Do
you want to get together again sometime?  I've been
meaning to get to know more of the Tower members, and
now seems like a good time, while there doesn't seem
any impending mission to be preparing for."

Elois tried, unsuccesfully, not to chuckle at the expression on Rengar's face as he fell on his tailbone. Chiding herself for rudeness, she smothered her impolite laughter behind a gloved hand. Before she could re-offer to assist him, he had risen gingerly, immediately donning a faraway, intospective look.
       She tried to wait patiently for the man to ponder what he was pondering, but it was getting cursedly cold out, and it was late, after all, so finally she spoke up. "Rengar? Hello? Have you slipped back to wherever you were before?" He blinked distractedly. "Am I going to have to pinch your cheeks again?" She certainly had no intention of carrying her chide through, but it served to get his attention, at least.
       "Oh, no. I'm alright. I was just thinking about something, but I'm fine. Thanks for your help, though."
       Yes, she had been of great assistance. Pinching cheeks and remembering names. In the safety of sliding shadows she rolled her eyes. "It looks like you didn't need me here at all. You probably would have woke up in a couple of minutes whether I was here or not."
       "That may be true, Elois, but..." The man trailed off again, looking contemplative. She certainly didn't remember him being so prone to mid-sentence reverie. The Amadician concealed wry amusement. "You didn't have to help me when you saw me lying on the ground. You could have just dismissed me as an Asha'man who had had too much to drink or something. But you didn't."
       At these words of praise, Elois colored a bit. In truth, that very thought had crossed her mind straight off. "I did check your breath, you know," she was forced to admit.
       "Well it's over with. At least I came to. I'm sure that you were worried I might not be able to make it." Regar made that last sound suitably questioning, and Elois bristled.
       "Of course I was." What did he take her for? Some man-hating Red, to just abandon him to his fate if he didn't wake up in an alloted amount of time? "Well, I'm sure that you want to get back to whatever you were doing -" What *had* he been doing? - "and I want to get back to sleep." Not that she had been there in the first place, or was likely to get much when she found her bed. "Just don't try to do whatever it was that knocked you out again,
all right?" She very nearly added that she wasn't going to crawl around in the leaves and dirt any more tonight to resuscitate him, but she didn't want to appear as too much of a shrew.
       "Well all right then. Thank you for your help." Rengar was grinning for some reason. Probably at the absurdity of the situation. If she wasn't freezing to her toes, maybe she could find the humor in it, as well. She hitched her wrap around her shoulders more tightly, and shifted to leave.
       "By the way, do you want to get together again sometime? I've been meaning to get to know more of the Tower members, and now seems like a good time, while there doesn't seem to be any impending mission."
       His words halted her exit. She couldn't find fault in his logic, and his invitation seemed innocent enough. A thought struck her suddenly. "Do you know how to fight? I mean, in combat?" she asked, peering up at him thoughtfully.
       "Doesn't every man in the Tower? Why do you ask?"
       Suddenly too embarrassed to be asking a veritable stranger to teach her self-defense, Elois forced a laugh and glanced aside. "Idle curiosity. I... imagine you're going to be at the festivities tomorrow night? Perhaps we'll run into each other? I'm not much for dancing and drinking, usually, but, I think we could all use it now."

The party was in full swing by the time Mura'shar reached it.  THe music, dancing, and more than a little drinking could be heard halfway across the "village" that the Black Tower was fast becoming.
 Mura'shar helped himself to some punch.  The M'Hael really put him through the wringer, with a seemingly endless supply of questions, both about the last mission and about Shara, of all things.  No one knew much about the place, and he suspected he knew why he was being asked.  Another mission.
 As the feast continued, Mura'shar danced with Myiona   He laughed as he hadn't in years, and took in the fun everyone was having.  His gaze went from face to face, recalling names and adventures they had shared.
   He came across one face that he hadn't expected to see.  Not in the near future anyway.  She was heading towards the group, drawn by the sounds as he was.
 "Talia?"  Mura'shar asked, stepping forward "Talia, is that really you?"

The outskirts of the 'village' were.. empty.  Talia wondered if she had
missed something.. which of course was probably very accurate.  Her ears
heared the sounds of festivity.. a party of some sort.  The Saldaean
Dragonsworn took a deep breath and headed toward the festive sounds.

As she should have probably guessed, everyone was in the center.. dancing..
celebrating some victory she knew nothing of.  Talia could FEEL Alan
nearby.. if only she could see him.. where was he in this crowd?

Preoccupied by her examination of the crowd elsewhere, Talia almost didn't
notice someone approaching her.  So focused on her search for Alan's face in
the crowd that she nearly jumped when she heard a very familiar voice.

"Talia?"  The voice (which still send shudders of fear down her spine)
asked.  Quelling the surge of horror that went straight to her mind, Talia
tried to ignore how weak her knees seemed to be. "Talia, is that really
you?"

"Mer-- Mura'shar.."  Talia said as she turned around.. She knew better than
to think that this was Mera'shar.. his dark duplicate of an alternate world.
  His face was cheerful, and he even looked happy to see her - mingled with
surprise.  (~Light, girl, you're becoming as jumpy as a man among Reds.~)

"I suppose it's me..  I'll have to make sure, though."  Her dry humor
surfaced past her rapidly beating heart.  In her mind, she had to keep
reminding herself.. this is Mura'shar.. this is Mura'shar.  "I guess this is
as good a time as any to.. report back to you, M'Hael..  I am here.. where I
belong."

Her eyes drifted from Mura'shar.. and she thought she caught sight of Alan,
but.. no.  She was seeing things, most likely.  "I hope I've returned at a
good time.."  She said to Mura'shar.

Talia seemed almost afraid of him.  For a moment, the smile on his face flickered. He recalled that she had spent some time trapped in that other world, the one where everyone had a duplicate, a Darkfriend duplicate of themselves.  It appears whatever "Mera'shar" had done to her still left painful memories.  HE never asked, and he didn't really want to know.
 Mura'shar tried to reassure her she was among friends.  "Indeed you are back where you belong.  And you have returned at an excellent time, as I'm sure any Asha'man can tell you"  Mura'shar's enormous grin returned "Now why don't you get cleaned up and join us in the festivities.  You probably already know a certain someone has returned to us as well"

Raileine was hardly the party type, it had always been her sisters that had run off in search of dresses. Rai on the other hand had allowd herself to become facinated with books. And as she was a book type, one lay open on her lap. Sighing she looked outside at the sun hanging low in the sky.
 With a sigh of regret Raileine closed the book in her lap, and stood up. Her muscles ached as she came to the realization that she'd been sitting down most of the afternoon. Not always in one place, but sitting none the less. With gentle care - like a mother laying down a newborn baby - Raileine placed the book on top of heer bed.
 Raileine opened her closet and found it as she always had in the past; plain cloths with nothing suited for any type of party. So Raileine got the most elaborite of them and changed out of what she was wearing. It wasn't much in the way of elegant of formal, not that Rai had ever in her life owned anything along those lines, but it would do for tonight, that she knew.

~*~

 *I really, truly, need to get out more often.* Raileine thought sourly to herself as she looked around the vicinity. Of course she knew most of the Dragonsworn, but the Asha'men she only knew one or two of.
 She spent a good deal of her time sitting on ground or a lone seat she could find. Time came when she could no longer sit anymore, and she got up to walk around the area. Raileine had her arms folded across her chest, and was hardly watching where she was going.
 "But it's true. I'm not looking for anyone-" Raileine heard the voice a little too late as she bumped into one of the Asha'men she didn't know. Raileine had never been told she had great balance, in general Rai had never been told anything good about herself besides her potential as a scolar. She'd lost her ballance during the collision and had managed to pick herself up off the ground almost as quick as she'd fallen. With her face flushing red, she
made a rusty curtsy and a nod to his apparent date.
 "Forgive me, I was just comtemplating a book I'd been reading. I was not watching where I was going and it was completely my fault." No wonder when she'd been at the White Tower everyone predicted her to live her life out as a Brown, not only because of her previous job either.

Alan sat outside of the practice field.  He was running through the sword
forms that had been taught to him by Ivan Gregorian long ago.  He just could
not quell the feelings that were rising within him.  He felt elated...the
purest joy surged through his heart.  Yet at the same time there was a
thread of anger coiled around his happiness.  This tiny thread seemed to
choke the life out of his joy.  Talia was comming back.  He could feel her
comming nearer and nearer.  With a loud grunt he jumped up into the air
while spinning.  While in midair he whipped his dagger out of its sheath and
threw it.  It thudded into a tree at the northwest side of the practice
field before he had landed.  He then resumed his training.  His body was a
weapon.  On most days his mind was an even sharper one, yet today the
turmoil in his head was equal to that of what had once been the battle to
hold saidin.  He lost himself in his exercises until he almost collapsed
from exhaustion.  He picked up his shirt and slung his sheathed sword over
his back.  Walking back to his quarters he quickly showered and donned his
black uniform.  Making sure the dragon and sword shined eerily against the
black cloth he went to find his bondmate.

Talia was slightly distracted by .. Alan.  So much so that Mura'shar's words
seemed to just go in one ear and vanish into a black hole.  She caught some
of it.. particularly the part about a certain someone.

"Yeah.."  She answered the M'Hael as she turned toward where she sensed
Alan.  Talia's heart skipped when she saw him.. and he was looking directly
at her.  She could sense the joy in him.. as well as the mingled anger that
almost spoiled the moment.

"Alan.."  Talia whispered.. She ignored the visions of Ah'Lan, gentled and
pitiful, that came to her mind as she approached Alan.  There was no place
in this world for the duplicates of the darker world.  Talia faced Alan, her
own regret and anticipation filling her heart.

The usually stolid and unexpressive Talia didn't care about the single tear
that fell from her eye and slipped down her cheek.  She only stood before
Alan, afraid to do anything.. just within his reach.  She ached to wrap her
arms around him and beg for forgiveness for being away so long.

Oh, what the heck.. Suddenly her arms were around him and she was pressing
her cheek to his chest.. "Alan.."  Okay, so the begging for forgiveness part
didn't make it out of her mouth..

Alan saw Talia at the festivities.  She looke travel worn and tired.  Yet
she was still as beautiful as the first day he had seen her.  She was
talking to Murashar.  In the next moment she turned her gaze towards Alan
and walked over to him.  The marked ashaman stood there waiting for what she
would say.  She muttered his name and clasped her arms around his neck.
Alan stood there...a rock against a storm and looked down at Talia.  Her
arms were around his neck and he could feel her heavy breathing and could
see the tears falling from her face.  Slowly, and without thinking about it
he gently put his arms around her and pulled her tight.  Forgetting that she
had left him and left him heartbroken, he embraced her with his arms and
wished all the anger away.  Without another thought it vanished.  He
whispered in her ear, "Its okay...we are together again and that is all that
matters."  Alan al Daren could feel some of the tension melt away from
Talia.  Smiling he kissed her forehead and slowly put her at arms length so
he could look her in the eyes.  "Dont worry Talia.  I understand what you
have gone through.  And know that from now on we will go through such trials
and tribulations together."  Looking her in the eyes he knew that she
believed him, and Alan reveled in the thought that he was finally complete.
Saidin was cleansed and his bondmate had returned.  All was right in the
world.

Talia looked into his eyes as she allowed herself to succumb to her
feelings.  Her hand reached up to his cheek.. tracing the contours of his
face with her fingertips..  "You.. are a wonderful sight.. All this time..
I'm sorry.. I.. At the time, it just felt like I had to follow her.. I had
to -kill- her before she ever got her hooks onto you.. but I never found
her.. I felt.. something in our bond that made me come here...  There's
something different about our bond.. something good.. What has happened
since my departure..?"

She could sense the elation in his heart.. the vanishing of his angry
temperament.  Something -had- changed.. and she noticed it more in Alan but
it seemed all the men were particularly happy tonight.. Talia wouldn't allow
herself to jump to conclusions or have false hopes.. so she waited on Alan's
answer.. placing her hands in his as she did so.

Ariana was calm as the bracelet device was placed on her wrist.  The

expected butterflies weren't there.  Mentally she shrugged; after all, she

had nothing to hide, so why care whether she was nervous or not?  She

reaffirmed her devotion to the Dragon and the Black Tower, and truthfully

denied any other loyalties.  She stuck around to watch the rest of the women

go through the questioning.  Chances were they would pass, but if they

didn't... the presence of a Healer might be needed.  Fortunately, there were

no sudden violent outbursts, though there were a few startling revelations-

her roommate's Seanchan service one of them.  No wonder the White had been

silent about her recent past.  At last the line of Dragonsworn, expressions

ranging from outraged indignation to nervous understanding, had proven their

current loyalties lay with the Tower, and the group dispersed.  *I wonder if

this will become an annual event?  After all, we swore we were loyal, but

loyalties can change.  Oh, I can just imagine the reactions if this becomes

a part of protocol!*  She swiped the rueful smile off her face once she

realized that people were looking at her strangely.  *Oops.  What happened

to my Aes Sedai control, I wonder?  Must have lost it on a mission

somewhere.  Probably about the time I found out there was an evil copy of

myself running around on another world who was a Darkfriend.  /That/ could

probably frazzle Alviarin Sedai's control!*

She finally pulled herself out of her thoughts to notice something odd.  All

the men she passed looked strangely... elated.  Dazed but very happy.  That

was odd;  Asha'man as a lot weren't usually the most jovial of men.  One or

two were actually down on the ground, and one fellow with his head in his

hands kept murmuring as she walked by, apparently oblivious of her presence,

"Light!  It's gone!  Finally gone!"  It was bizarre behavior for men who

were usually hyper-alert and borderline grim.  What could it be?  Ariana

couldn't think of anything that would cause such a powerful reaction short

of the Taint somehow being removed.

Her eyes widened.  It couldn't be.  But that man.  "It's gone," he'd been

saying, like he couldn't believe it.  For once, she wished she had a

bondmate, so she could ask, but it was likely to be announced soon anyway,

once the responsible party came forth.  Could the Dragon really have

cleansed saidin?

The thought kept her occupied all through the afternoon, as she ran through

the mundane tasks of returning home and debated going to the party.  Could

he have cleansed the Taint?  And what effect would that have on the men

here?

Ariana finally decided that she would go to the party- *drunken revelry* -

if only to see if there was any information about the Taint's seeming

disappearance.  All day, her Healer's mind had been turning over the

potential, working at the theory.  She had to wonder what the effect would

be on those already mad from the Dark One's touch.  At least now the threat

of insanity didn't linger over men who could channel- there would be no more

kind poisonings, no more making brews that killed rather than Healed,

however kind the death might have been.  Her soul had rebelled at that, but

it had been necessary sometimes.  She would carry the regret, and the pain,

to her grave.

With a determined shake of her head, Ariana set her dark thoughts aside.

Now was the time for enjoyment, the time for relaxing and having fun.

Keeping that thought in mind, she rummaged through her small wardrobe,

looking for something she could wear to this evening's... event.  She never

attended the things, but if there was a chance of information, she'd go this

night.  Once wouldn't hurt her.  On that note, she found a dress, arranged

her hair simply, and left.

Elois shared light banter with Ariana as they dressed for the get-together tonight. Neither wanted to give the appearance of a giddy school girl, trying to find a man to canoodle in the corner with, so they dressed conservatively. Elois donned a jonquil yellow number that was a step away from her customary white and that made her look washed out, which fact couldn't be helped at
this late hour. Restraining her hair with a matching (sort of) ribbon, she grabbed a lace wrap that would do little to ward off the cold and shuffled out the door, a few minutes after her roommate.
       The sheer number of people laughing and dancing and carrying on overwhelmed Elois in no time. The White had forgotten that more than jsut the Dragonsworn and Asha'man would be here; all the people who lived on the Tower grounds, but did not channel, were crowded into the courtyard. Sweethearts, wives, weapons trainers, even perhaps some people from Caemlyn.
       Elois weaved her way through the melee, stopping, gratefully, to converse with those whom she knew. Once she saw Rengar with an attractive young lady clinging to his arm. The Dragonsworn smiled, and forwent speaking to him for the moment. She didn't want to cause him any problems with his lady admirer.
       She made rounds with Ariana, the two laughing a bit and even fielding invitations to dance. The party was in rare high spirits. And why not? The taint was removed from saidin. At least for the time being. The mood was jubilant, Elois hoped it wouldn't get out of hand...
       Pausing her circulation to sip on a glass of some sort of strongly flavored drink she'd recieved from an oblong table set up on the outskirts of the area cleared for dancing, Elois turned pensive. She sometimes hated the fact that she could never seem to enjoy the moment, and the festivities, but she felt safer if she took at least a moment to take careful stock.The combination of the cloying punch and the swirling concoction of brightly
colored silks only served to make her feel slightly dizzy and in need of clean air. She turned and jostled her way through the throng, heading against the flow, away from the party.

Servalien Feiy couldn't seem to wipe a no doubt ridiculous grin off his face. He sometimes doubted his idiot's luck. He no sooner learned to channel, came to grips with the fact that he would end up a raving lunatic who would have to be put out of his misery by a kind murderer, then the taint miraculously disappeared from saidin, and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
       Apparently the Black Tower was in the ahbit of holding a festive gathering when their 'missions' were completed. But tonight, the merriment was twofold, as the Asha'man all smiled at each other, if they were still too stunned to attempt to give voice to this dream-come-true. Even the Aes Sed-- Dragonsworn, he corrected himself-- seemed in high spirits. Perhaps it was correlated to their bondmate's joy, or maybe they were all just drunk
on happiness.
       Serv was dressed in his best, boots shined, shirt pressed, and he enjoyed dancing with the ladies that resided in the Tower. Yet, he had not worked up the nerve to ask any of the lady *channellers* to dance yet. He could still not adjust to being on an even level with them, yet. (At least he would be, as his training progressed.)
       "How are you this fine evening, Master Feiy?" asked a collected voice beside him. It's calm clarity cut through the giddy laughter of most of the women attending tonight, and instantly identified an Aes Sedai. As he turned, he ammended; A former Aes Sedai of the White Ajah.
       Some of the Asha'man had told him what they knew of the White Tower. The White Ajah, they seemed to classify as the next step up from the Red Ajah. And, while, Dragonsworn were not expected (if not outright denied) to form any sort of Ajah system in the Black Tower, many of these women clung to their former Ajah's belief systems.
       Elois Daneen was kind, but seemed to operate on a mostly emotionless, logical point of view. Not as bad as he was led to believe most Whites were.
       "I am fine, Elois. Light, better than fine! You and Ariana are looking lovely tonight." Ariana was a friend of Elois'. Yellow Ajah, he believed. A compassionate woman, with shy grace and a smile soft as a cloud. "Are you enjoying the festivities?"
       "Yes, although I admit to being slightly parched. So much high spirit tonight." Elois shared a conspiratorial smile with Ariana. "In fact, I think I will try to find something to drink. Excuse me." In a blink, she was swept up and hidden in the press.
       Serv turned to Ariana, slightly embarrassed at Elois' precipitous departure. "Would you like to dance, Ariana?" It seemed the only polite thing to do, and what was more, it was far easier than he expected asking a woman channeler to dance would be.

Alan looked at his bondmate.  The questioning look of her face and the
barely opened lips made him smile.  He felt like he could dance.  In fact he
planned on it.  "Talia, i must first tell you something...something of huge
importance.  And then we will entertain our fellows with some dancing."  The
look on her face was joy personified.  Embracing Talia in a quick hug he put
her at arms length again. "Talia...saidin has been cleansed.  Somehow Rand
Al Thor took the taint away.  Im not going to go mad."  Picking her up in
his arms he swung her around while shouting "Im not going to go mad
Talia...saidin is clean!!"  Putting her down she stood there in shock.  A
tear runnning down her face.  Wiping away the wetness from her cheek Alan
brought her close.  Staying there for several moments they finally
separated.  "May i have this dance my lady?" Alan asked with a flourish and
a bow.

Ly'dara opened a closet that scarecly held anything within it. Since
she'd left Shara she hadn't been herself one bit. Back at him she'd
managed to have a throng of friends, more than enough. Here she only had
one person she'd ever talked to , and the girl normally had her nose in a
book.
 Ly eyed a dress warrily, grabbed it from the shelf and held it at arms
length from her. It was the only slightly suitable dress for such an
occasion, and Ly was almost appalled to be wearing it. With a look of
regret at her wardrobe Ly pulled the dress over her head and used the One
Power to button up the back.
 After the task was done Ly remembered that she really shouldn't had been
channeling without supervision. {The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.}
She told herself as she grabbed a hair piece from the table stand. It had
been one she'd been wearing when the doomed gateway had brought her here.
Ly bit her lip, stuck her head out the door looking to see if anyone else
was around really to feel her channeling.
 It seemed that everyone was already at the party, so Ly turned back to
the mirror. With the assistance of a few light weaves of air Ly had her
hair pinned in no time. Smoothing the skirts of the shaming dress she
looked in a small piece of looking glass she'd been given. The dress fit
more loosly than it had when she'd gotten it, and Ly could tell that she
looked like a small waif who'd not eaten in weeks, but today it didn't
show as much as it should've.
 Ly'dara left her room and found the party. She looked around for a few
moments, feeling much out of a place, and very uncomfortable. It seemed
almost as if everyone was mingling, happy to be there, and happy to have
the source clensed. Of course Ly felt happy for this fact, and when she
thought about it her thoughts wondered to her homeland of Shara.
 {And I wonder, do pray, is going to happen to the men that can channel
at home now. Surely they won't kill the children anymore.} Ly'dara
suddenly realized how much of a barabrian she'd been before coming here.
True, they were channelers, and the Ayyad's tended to act like the Red
Ajah of the Red Tower when it came to male channelers.
 Ly'dara had forgotten that she was still standing still in the
"entrance" to the whole festivity and colored as she moved out of the
way, and straight to a seat amongst the outskirts of the place.
 For quite some time she watched the festivities, though she would not
participate. She had not the nerve to walk up and strike a conversation,
and because of this reason she'd kept from making itnroductions. And
she'd not been asked to dance either, not that they shared many of the
same dances... Shara and this land.. but Ly'dara could've shown them a
step or two. Sighing she shifted and kept on watching.

Talia's heart nearly jumped through her throat, out of her body, and bounced
on the floor several times.  She stared at Alan as if he had grown a
Trolloc's head.  It took her a few moments to truly realize what he had
said.. and the meaning behind it.  All this time, she had been worried..
dreaded the day that Alan would go mad.. feared it more than she had feared
anything in her life.

When it finally dawned on her that Alan did not have to worry about that
ever again.. that she didn't have to worry either.. Talia jumped into his
arms and kissed him as passionately as she could.. then she broke it off..
and bowed as well - she was never one for the dress or the curtsey.

"Let's dance!"  Talia, the usually restrained one, was ready to party!  And
for good reason.. She felt like a huge burden had been lifted from her
shoulders.. and from Alan's as well.  Talia put her hands in his again and
began to dance with him.

Alan and Talia danced.  They danced as if they were made for each others
arms.  The couple seemed to float above the short grass of the party area.
The did not dance to the music...instead the music played to match them.
When they were not dancing they were talking amongst others or drinking some
of the ale brought to the festivity.  When the party was over and people
were wandering or staggering back to their rooms Alan stopped in middance.
"Talia, my lady, would you mind horribly if i escorted you back to your
room.  You never know what may befall such a pretty young lady on her way
back from such wondrous festivities."   Alan looked at his bondmate for the
answer...a slightly drunken smile playing along his lips.

Mura'shar smiled and turned away as Talia and Alan were reunited.  This was one more happy event to celebrate.  He was glad the Black Tower was finally having a streak of good luck.  They deserved it after so long.
 Mura'shar returned to the party and took Myiona's hand.  "Would you care to dance, my lady?"

Talia felt breathless, the dancing had brought a sense of happiness within
her that she never thought she would feel again.  Gazing into the eyes of
her bondmate, Talia smiled softly.. a bit dizzy from drink and dancing.  "I
would love to be.. escorted.. by you.."  Oddly, the manner in which she said
'escorted' was.. sensual.

Looping her arm into his, Talia walked with Alan toward what had been her
rooms.. She was unsure if anyone had replaced her there.. but at the moment
she didn't quite care.  She had other things.. and people.. on her mind.

Once they arrived, Talia leaned against the side of the door and just..
looked at Alan.  She had missed him.. a lot.  Sighing softly, she leaned
upward to give him a goodnight kiss - which just felt so good that she
couldn't resist to give him another.  And that one was so nice that Talia
wrapped her arms around his neck again and gave him another one... After
that, she decided she didn't want to say goodnight after all, but instead
invited him in with a wordless invitation.  She closed the door behind him
with a foot - as she was still attached to him via her arms.

Alan, it turned out, didn't say goodnight at all, either, but instead spent
the evening with his bondmate.. and half the morning.

/A biteme probably has a better life than I do/, Farendar thought bitterly as he scanned the faces of the thin mid-afternoon crowd.  A gray sky and brisk wind that promised a cold, drenching rain did even less for his mood than the task at hand.  Seeing an open square considerably more peopled just ahead, he strode to the end of the street, hoping he looked like nothing more than just another outlander wearing a hooded cloak in this city full
of outlanders, Sharans, and treachery.
 He couldn't even be certain that this port town was really called Tre'lain as he had been told; he wouldn't have trusted any Sharan who told him it was going to rain if not for the sky above.
 Yet again he considered the events that had shaped his life as he did so often of late, and he wondered if he would die this time; surely he would fail sooner or later.  Death would be a welcome release, a way to find the peace that had long eluded him, like the memory of a fresh breeze in the Blight.  But he would fight death, he knew.  He would fight as long as breath remained in his body, as long as stone would not yield and the sun rise each
morning.  He sighed, letting his mind drift back to the last turning point in his life.

 * * * * *

 Farendar woke with a start to a darkened bed chamber.  Had that been a noise?  Remaining still as a fallen tree trunk, he listened intently but could only hear the low buzz of conversation from the common room, punctuated by an occasional burst of jovial laughter.  /How long have I been asleep?/, he wondered.
 Sighing, Farendar swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat rubbing the feeling back into his face.  He had traveled hard and fast to reach Amadicia since that was where he had been ordered to go afterwards.  Considering how his last job went, though, he wouldn't have wanted to stick around for very long anyway.  He was getting sloppy.  No, he was being run ragged was the problem.
 A good hot bath was just what he needed; he certainly deserved it.  It was late, but a little extra coin in the right hands and he could be luxuriating in steamy peace, leaving the dust of his travels behind for a little bit.  Then maybe he could have a relaxed meal in the common room.  It wasn't often that he got to enjoy the company of others, and it would be a welcome change of pace.
 In his mind's eye, Farendar was already neck deep in a copper tub filled with hot water, steam hanging lazily in the air.  He rose, intending to go ask the innkeeper about a bath, but a voice like crumpled snake skin froze him halfway to the door.
 "Do not move, human."
 Farendar didn't need to see the myrddraal to feel fear wash over him in waves from the far end of the room behind him.  He shivered and took a deep calming breath.
 "What does the Great Lord wish of this humble servant?"
 "You are not a servant, human, you are a worm."  The sneer in the myrddraal's breathy voice, very near a laugh, was contemptuous.  "You will do as my brothers and I say or you will die."
 "I serve and obey."  The words sprang to Farendar's lips automatically, and he swallowed hard.  Slowly he turned to face the myrddraal.  He liked facing myrddraal about as much as he would have liked being surrounded by a pack of starving wolves, but he found he liked having a myrddraal at his back even less.  He had long since mastered the fear that paralyzed most men, but it was still as if he had never had a day of training in his life; he had a
better chance against the wolves.  "What are my instructions?"  He attempted to put some snap into his words, staring defiantly at pasty white skin where the eyes on a normal person should have been.
 In a flash the myrddraal had drawn its black blade and crossed the intervening space; Farendar looked up into the myrddraal's face, now inches from his own, and tried to take a step backward -- tried but realized his legs would no longer obey his shaky thoughts.  Fear and hate from the myrddraal enveloped him, palpable, like a slowly oozing slime that made him feel stained deep inside his bones.  In odd contrast, the bared blade, held upright
between shadowspawn and man, was like an absence of feeling, as though the mundane details of the universe such as light and emotion faded in the presence of that black steel -- if steel it was.  The myrddraal's face glistened faintly in the dim light from the doorway; odd details suddenly seemed wholly absorbing.
 "Do not presume to order /me/, human."  Up this close, the sneer was a cold slap in the face.  "Your target this time is an Aes Sedai healer.  Go to Mayene first.  You will be given further instruction there."
 With that, the myrddraal brushed past him and out the door, still cloak belying the swiftness of its movement.  Farendar sank to his knees gratefully and tried to collect his shattered thoughts.
 He hated these visits; he always knew to expect one after finishing a job, but there was never any warning, no way to prepare, and they were usually lessons in humility, if not usually so bad as tonight's visit.
 So this time he was supposed to kill an Aes Sedai?  He was no fool; he knew that Aes Sedai died as easily as anyone else -- it wasn't impossible -- but the odds....  /And some Aes Sedai have Warders/.  He shook his head.  This would require meticulous planning.  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, still he hesitated.  Should he still see about that bath?  He wanted to, but tonight's encounter had left him feeling like an old faded shirt, washed
and hung out to dry.  The bed looked enticing despite being unkempt from his recent tossing and turning.  But then, it would probably be some time before he had another chance for a proper bath and a meal.  He poked his head out into the hall, looked left, right.  Not a sign of the myrddraal -- not that he had expected any.
 Just then a ragged scream pierced the blackness outside and cut off abruptly.
 Farendar paused in the act of closing the door behind him, shaken yet again; that couldn't be coincidence.  And in this place the wrong coincidence would be death for him.  Once again it seemed his masters had left him no choice.
 Slipping back into his room for his cloak and dagger, he drew the cloak around himself like a shroud of darkness and closed the door gently behind him before padding silently down the hallway, sticking to the shadows, alert for the sound of men around him.  Hearing nothing save for a low, nervous murmur from the common room, he proceeded to the rear of the inn and left quietly through a back door.  Hugging the wall, he stopped for a moment while he
waited for his eyes to adjust to the night.  With any luck, the scream would distract townsfolk and Children alike long enough for him to vanish into the night unnoticed.
 /So much for my one restful night/, Farendar thought bitterly, realizing that this would be his last chance to catch his breath for a while; he would need to be well on his way to Mayene by first light or else there would be another visit.  But it had never happened this quickly before.  It was almost as if they were trying to make him fail.  And now he was supposed to kill an Aes Sedai.  /An Aes Sedai/....
 A shout from the next street over brought him back to the present.  An officer, most likely, directing a search.  Past time to be gone.  Taking a deep breath, Farendar emptied his mind of everything the way he had been taught, let his mind drift, became one with the night.  Satisfied, he made a dash for the dubious safety of the shadows....

 * * * * *

 Leaning against the wall of a low Sharan building, Farendar stared blankly at the milling crowd before him, not seeing.  There had indeed been another visit at Mayene, and not much more forthcoming than the first, except to tell him to come here and that "you will know her when you see her."  Farendar realized he was gripping his pendant through his shirt and slowly closed his eyes.  /Cerie, give me strength/, he whispered to himself.
 Only a few days ago things had been happening so fast he had had no time to think.  Now nothing was happening, and all he could do was to think, to wonder how much longer he could keep up before events outpaced him and he was trampled beneath the Wheel.
 Just then his eyes swept past a tall outlander woman in a dark, hooded cloak.  Part of a small yellow ribbon was sticking out of the cloak, but it was neither ribbon nor cloak that caused his breath to catch and a surge of hope rise within him; that one had the look.
 He moved without thought, blending into the crowd, following her until he could get a good look at her.  He had already had plenty of time to memorize the layout of the city, and given the direction she was headed, he thought he knew a way to head her off and see exactly what and who he was dealing with.
 A few minutes later, he was at the other end of the street working his way back through the crowd and Sharan merchants with stands to where the woman should be.  He cursed that many outlanders had adopted the Sharan fashion of wearing cloaks and veils in these port towns, but that yellow ribbon would be hard to miss.
 Scanning the faces carefully, Farendar finally caught a glimpse of the ribbon at a silk stand. She seemed to be bargaining with the merchant whose stand it was.  He walked over to the neighboring stand and began examining the merchandise, silks of the quality he had been used to wearing as a boy.  He glanced over at the woman a few times, but the cloak hid her features as effectively as a brick wall.  Suddenly he had an idea.
 Moving to the stand where the woman was heatedly bargaining for a bolt of the bluest silk he had ever seen, he began pawing through the merchandise, heedless of their intense negotiations.  Then without warning, his hand reached out and grabbed the bolt of silk the two were now arguing over.  They both stared at him in shock, and he blinked, feigning surprise himself.  The woman recovered her senses first.
 "You. You, cur, you," she said in a thick Taraboner accent.  "Get back to the dirty hole you came from, or I'll inform the Ayyad about you, yes?  Go now!"
 The Sharan merchant, acutely aware that he might be losing a possible sale, was no less scathing in his remarks and directed a litany at him in a voice nearly as silky as his wares.   Hands upraised, Farendar apologized profusely and turned to continue down the street, downcast; her face had had the smooth look of Aes Sedai, but she was young, not ageless.
 At that moment, a gust of wind and a crack of lightning announced the arrival of the rain.
 Looking around as the crowd began to disperse, merchants trying to protect their wares from the elements and buyers retreating to the comparative comfort of their inns, Farendar supposed that he could continue his search from common room to common room, but he doubted that he would find an Aes Sedai in such a place.  At least he would be able to get a hot meal.
 This was going to be a long, painful vigil, he realized, and not for the first time, he sensed that a change was coming. He wasn't sure when, or how, or even what the change would be, but it was going to alter his life forever.  He could feel it like a kettle left to boil too long; the pressure was becoming too great and something must burst.  Something....
 Shivering, Farendar hitched his cloak a little higher over his shoulders and drew it tighter against the rain as he walked down the nearly deserted street.

~She is kneeling on short damp grass.  In the back of her mind, she's aware of a crow shrieking in a nearby tree.  Her attempts to move her legs and arms are in vain.  They've bound her hand and feet.  Judging by the searing pain in her head, she's received a strong blow to her head.  Looking around her through the sweaty hair hanging before her eyes, she can see that she is surrounded.  Trollocs form a ring around her, their prisoner.  A Myrdraal,
moving like a serpent, moves in for the kill, its great black sword held at the ready.  she thinks.  But before the Shadow's enforcer can strike, a woman's voice speaks up.  "No.  She's mine."  Turning her head is an effort, but finally she is able to see the woman's face.  Holding a sword and sneering down at her is the Darkfriend, Foli.  It almost makes her laugh.  The irony.  Now it's Foli's turn at the blade.  Moving around her in a
mocking sort of dance, a parody of her own training, the Darkfriend moves the blade here and there until suddenly …
:::whoosh!:::~

With a start, La'rece sat bolt upright.  The scream caught in her throat.  Looking out the window, she could see the men with their scythes cutting the hay not ten paces from where she slept.  Afternoon sunlight glinted off the blades as they went about their business.  :::Whoosh!:::  The sound floated across the dappled ground and through her open window.  Just a dream.  To be expected after the events of the last two days.

A shudder went through her as she recalled the bracelet.  She'd admitted to killing Aes Sedai, a fact that evoked not a few gasps and raised eyebrows.  Thank the light, the fact that they were all Black Ajah mitigated her case.  For the rest, she'd left no doubt in anybody's mind where her loyalties lay.  For the Light.  For the Dragon.  For the Black Tower.  The other thing that weighed down on her was the death of Foli.

Blademaster or not, it was no joy to execute someone, even a darkfriend.  But her resolve on the subject had been years in the making.  She would give no quarter to the Shadow.  With a sigh, La'rece rose from her bed and went about the business of getting ready.  Once again the Tower would celebrate another day alive with a party.  She knew there were those who felt that the multitude of celebrations held by the Tower were somehow in bad taste.
After all, comrades, friends and lovers had died, hadn't they?  Well, she knew the importance.  She'd once explained it to Ivan Gregorian, her bondmate.  Her lover.  He had understood.  A soldier's understanding.  Another day alive.  It was worth celebrating because who ever really knew when the last time comes.

Looking in her armoire, La'rece gave a disgusted grunt at the paltry selection of clothes.  She felt that it was important to appear not as the Blademaster or soldier or fiery Aes Sedai or Dragonsworn, but as simply a woman.  The Arafellan found it darkly amusing that she had no one specific to dress for … Ivan and Janara had both been gone for quite a while and she doubted their return this side of Tarmon Gaidon.

Opening a gateway, La'rece could feel the soft warm tradewinds.  Grabbing a full purse, she stepped through letting the gateway close behind her.  She had to find something to wear …

 *****

Checking her appearance in the full-length mirror one last time, La'rece Barata'gan smiled.  It would do in a pinch.  She looked a cross between a Domani, a Saldean, and a Cairhenien.  The full length dress clung to her bodice and hips narrowing as it reached for the ground with a flare at the bottom.  The lace up, heeled boots were in the same deep purple, almost a black.  The dress' collar flared up around her neck and plunged deep in front.  As
La'rece made a final adjustment to her intricately swept up hair, checking to be certain that the amethyst encrusted combs and rods were properly placed, she smiled to herself.  ~All dressed up … and for whom?~ She thought wryly as she headed out the door to join festivities.

Wind rustled through the trees, singing its own peculiar song.  For

some it may have sounded  festive, a carnival to be explored and enjoyed.

Those women had worn the bracelet and had passed with flying colors.  Their

loyalty was not in question.  For others, it may have sounded apprehensive.

The calm before the storm.  They, too, had worn the bracelet.  Secrets

poured forth from them that in other situations, other times, would never

had known the light of day.  Tareena had ordered their removal from their

dark hiding places and she could tell from the looks of resentment that she

was not a popular person.  La'rece walked away from the ceremony with the

proud, stiff bearing of a blademaster and Aes Sedai.  She was betrayed only

by the tightness around her eyes.  Her secrets had been painful at best.

Later she would go to her, make her peace.  For now, it seemed best to let

her be. For Tareena the wind had almost a cleansing quality.  Somewhere in

the last few months she had lost some of her self-confidence, her hard won

respect for herself. The trial with Myiona and all of the ensuing ugliness

had drained her.  Wearing the bracelet had somehow released her guilt.  The

questions had been hard and furious. The questioners had tore into her

Seanchan heritage and her training as a Damane.  Tareena had even noticed

herself answering in the lisp so characteristic of her race.  That had

almost brought her to tears. Yet, through it all, her loyalty remained true

and clear.  To the Dragon.  To the Ashaman.  To the Tower.  To herself.  The

last the most important of all.

*********************************

     Tareena entered the party and immediately sought out her usual spot in

a small indention in the hedges to the right side of the festivities.  She

had never been an overt personality, preferring to stare out into the world

from her elected viewpoint.  She wrapped the shadows of the hedges around

her like a blanket and observed.

     Brightly clad women and men swirled around her dancing to the music and

the intoxicating, wondrous joy of a cleansed Saidin.  Tareena had taken a

private moment to herself after the ceremony and simply sobbed.  She had

cried for her family, lost in the harshness of the Seanchan world. She had

cried for her lost innocence and the death of her friends and fellow tower

members during their missions.  She had wept for her bondmate, beautiful

Darren, who would now never face the impossible reality of death by rotting

from the inside.  She had poured forth all of her fears and anxieties about

her love for him and where it would take her.  Drained, she had slept.

   Now, here she was, among her friends and adopted family.  For one

fleeting moment, peace had wound its way through the obstacles and barriers

of her world and had wrapped its quieting tendrils around her.  She had read

the report, knew another mission was inevitable.  Yet, tonight, she was not

going to think of that.

It was hard to put a word to the feeling that permeated the Storm Team on this night. Aramis saw something here that wasn't, when the Maelstrom left for the Blight. Something peaceful, something calm. Unified. Asha'man and Dragonsworn, Dragonsworn and Dragonsworn. He wasn't sure what had gone on earlier with the Dragonsworn, but he had felt it, if vicariously through his bond with Alcinia.
       Who, through some strange disdain of social settings, was nowhere to be seen. Felt, always, but never seen. Aramis still after all these weeks didn't know what to think about the presence in his head. But oh well. He believed that much of Alcinia's running off might have something to do with his always chasing her. Sometimes it was like trying torescue a wayward daughter, sometimes sister, sometimes estranged lover. Maybe this time he'd let
her come after him.

A tall shadow stood in the shade of a two hundred year old leatherleaf at the edge of the forest staring blankly across the mile of clear ground trying to reconcile the sight before him with the memories pounding through his mind. Where there once had been a simple two story stone building surrounded by a handful of farm houses, now stood what looked to be a small bustling
town. There was activity everywhere he could see. From the knots of men at piles of wood that to most would seem to be splitting itself, to work crews watching perfectly cut dark stones lift themselves into yet more small houses that that gave the place the look of a living, growing thing.

"I have been too long gone." It could have been to himself, but didn't sound like it.

After a short time he made his way across the now clear ground thinking of the great trees that had once stood there. As he walked in the direction his memories told him should take him the Black Tower proper, few eyes turned to him. Just as he was starting to lose all hope for the defenses of his once beloved Tower three men in their black coats stood blocking his path. All wore the silver sword, but only one the dragon.

"What's your business at the Black Tower?" The Asha'man said in a very unfriendly voice despite the half head taller the stranger stood over him. The man simply grinned, "Take me to the M'Hael."
"Your business?" The Asha'man demanded again.
"Simple," the man said, "I have returned."
 

Jerimy

It was hard to put a word to the feeling that permeated the Storm Team on this night. Aramis saw something here that wasn't, when the Maelstrom left for the Blight. Something peaceful, something calm. Unified. Asha'man and Dragonsworn, Dragonsworn and Dragonsworn. He wasn't sure what had gone on earlier with the Dragonsworn, but he had felt it, if vicariously through his bond with Alcinia.
       Who, through some strange disdain of social settings, was nowhere to be seen. Felt, always, but never seen. Aramis still after all these weeks didn't know what to think about the presence in his head. But oh well. He believed that much of Alcinia's running off might have something to do with his always chasing her. Sometimes it was like trying torescue a wayward daughter, sometimes sister, sometimes estranged lover. Maybe this time he'd let
her come after him.

Talia was always one to keep people on their toes.. especially a certain
person with whom she liked to spend hours upon hours of time.. exercising.
Wrapped in her robe when he returned, Talia leaned over and took a piece
fruit to nibble on.  "From what I gather," as little as she had heard of it,
she could extrapolate the rest, "It should prove interesting if not
exciting.  But an adventure, nonetheless."  While eating on her piece of
fruit, Talia rose and made sure her door was securely closed before she
disrobed.  Now that she and Alan had been intimate, she didn't feel the need
for 'decency.'  She took a shirt from the closet -thankfully they hadn't
removed all her things yet.

Seeing the slight blush on Alan's cheeks as she did so, Talia slipped her
shirt on and then slipped next to him and stole a kiss, whispering, "Mm..
I've got to see what you'd do if I did the sa'sara sometime.."  Popping the
rest of the one fruit she was eating into her mouth, Talia got up and went
about finishing getting ready.

Stefan still couldn't believe the impact of embracing the source. Prepared to do battle and maintain his sanity all at once, the embrace of the source was..calming.
There was no battle of wills...just an ocean of peace.
Alan walked by him and punched him the arm, "Hey, it's party time. Let it go!" and strode off in the dark.
Stefan looked around and wanted to laugh, but he contained it well enough. A young serving maid came around and offered him more wine but he grinned at her and held out his hand.
"Ah, young sir," she spoke coyly," I have to make sure everyone's cups are full."
Not to be put off, Stefan smiled his best, took the tray and laid it on the nearest table.
"There, whoever wants more wine will know where to refill at!"
"Your a very bad boy," her giggling laughter tickled his ear.
"Only when I'm really bored!" his chuckle and her laughter mingled together as they joined others in a dust kicking dance.

Mura'shar blinked sleepily in the sunlight.  Who would have thought the sun could be so noisy?  He wasn't one to overindulge at parties, usually, but he'd made an exception this time.
 He made his way back to his quarters.  The Black Tower was still sleeping for the most part, the celebration had lasted long into the night.  People still celebrated even after they'd retired for the evening. Of that he was reasonably sure.  He himself had until recently been at Myiona's quarter.
 A note had been slipped under his door at some point.  It was from the M'Hael, of course. Mur'ashar suppressed the urge to curse. They had only just gotten back, and now there's another mission?  He read the report, and the mission outline.  It would take a couple of days to prepare for this mission, and it didn't look too bad.  It would explain the questions he'd been asked about what he knew of Shara.
 "I'd better run this by Myiona" he murmured.  "She may know more about this than I"

Myiona was brushing her hair when Mura'shar returned to her quarters.
 "Back already?" she laughed as she let him in.
 Strictly business this time, I'm afraid" Mura'shar replied.  He handed over the message from the M'Hael "Do you know anything about this?"
 Myiona scanned the page "I know these agents.  They work for my family's business.  I remember now!  They came to me while you were still in the Blight.  They heard stories from the Sea Folk about unusual items being sold in Shara....I sent them to the M'Hael, to see if this could be confirmed"
 "It looks like it's been confirmed all right.  But the Sharans are notoriously dishonest in dealing with outsiders.  Our Storm Team s being sent to confirm that we are purchasing what they claim."
 "It sounds simple enough.  Tell the others.  Let me handle the travel arrangements"

*******A Short Time Later*******

 Mura'shar gathered the Storm Team around him.  It had been an open secret that a new mission was being planned, though its sudden arrival had taken many off guard.
 "All right everyone" he called when the voices sank to a murmur "We are indeed going on another mission, and we leave as soon as Myiona arranges for a raker to take us to Shara"
 "He paused a moment as several exclamations were made.  Few other than the Sea Folk traveled to Shara.  It was a strange, alien land to them.
 Mura'shar explained the need, and assured them that this time they will not in fact be doing battle with Shadowspawn, Darkfriends, or stranger things that have plagued previous missions.
 "We make sure we aren't being cheated, and we baby-sit some ter'angreal home.  What can be simpler?"
 A gateway opened and Myiona stepped through.  She nodded to Mura'shar, who then turned back to the crowd.
 Pack your bags, everyone.  It's a long trip!"

Outline:
The Black Tower has managed to secure a business deal with Shara for some artifacts from the Age of Legends, including possibly some angreal and ter'angreal.  Knowing the Sharans to be notorious cheats, our Storm Team is dispatched on a Sea Folk raker to Shara to make the purchase.
 We are allowed into one of Shara's walled trading cities, where I am sure there will be a great many adventures (according to the Guide, Sharans don't feel obligated to tell the truth to foreigners about anything)
 We load up on the items, after verifying they are ter'angreal, pay them, and leave.
 Now real trouble begins.  One of the ter'angreal, let's say a little statue much like any angreal, only the statues head is a skull, was a ter'angreal of the Shadow during the War of the Shadow.  Channeling into it activates a plague that will spread among the ship.  It's a rotting disease similar to, but not exactly like, the rot attributed to the taint of saidin.  It weakens and destroys the body, but unlike the taint, does not drive it's victims
mad (although the pain it causes makes channeling difficult)
 Before we can return home, we must find a way to counter the effects of the ter'angreal, or risk infecting others.  Basically, we're stuck on a plague ship.  With what I could imagine would be a very upset crew of Sea Folk.

Elois cooled her heels in the muddy Gateway Yard (as it was known [::loves makin' things up::] in the Tower), forced to awkwardly cradle her baggage in her arms, trying to stay as dry as possible. This precipitation, in her mind, put quite a damped on any enthusiasm that had been stirred up by Mura'shar's little speech a bit ago. And that was not much to begin with.
       Not one member of the Storm Team was enthused about another mission so soon, still stinging from the loss of comrades and the betrayal of Darkfriends among them. Even though this mission did not hold so much overt danger ... well, that made it all the more dangerous, didn't it? After all, some of her colleagues might be lulled into a false sense of security...
       However unlikely that was in Shara. They would all be on their toes.
       The prospect of visiting Shara was both frightening and exciting. Elois had been hoping to learn some manner of self-defense before the next mission so she wouldn't need to feel like such an odd-woman-out. But there was no time for that now.
       "At least I packed lightly," she murmured to herself, shifting foot to foot in anticipation of the rest of the Team's arrival and their imminent departure.
       With a start, Elois recalled her last experiences aboard seafaring vessels was highly unpleasant. She grimaced disgustedly, and cursed, as Dragonsworn and Asha'man began to arrive in the yard.

Stefan was booted awake by an Asha'man and told that the Storm Team was leaving soon. Still groggy from the nights festivities, Stefan moaned an incoherent sound that resembled a croak from a pithed frog. Getting dressed was the most difficult task for as soon as he bent over to get his boots the urge to empty his stomach sent him to the chamber pot.
"Too much cheap wine," he mumbled.
Gathering his boots he noticed that he was still dressed from the party.
Grunting and trying to straighten out his new uniform earned him a frown from some  of the Storm Teams senior members. A woman was already in the courtyard, and seemed set to go at that moment.
Still shifting his two swords around, Stefan decided to start practicing some of the exercises for channeling.
Calm...calm..."Oh, man, I think I'm going to be sick again," as he lurched for the bushes. At least the moist air helped the recovery.
"I hope you don't get sea-sick" a female said behind him.
"Sea sick? What's that?" Stefan's mind, still twirling, was trying to figure out what Sea sick meant.
"You know, being sick on a ship. Out at sea."
Stefan stood dumbly looking at the woman. He had never been on anything bigger than a riverboat fishing. And though he had heard rumors of the open seas he had never seen anything bigger than the river.
"Big, rolling ocean waves, the ship rocking back and forth, back and forth," she continued with devilish smirk on her face.
The imagery was too much, and the back an forth, back and forth sent his stomach rolling again to find the bushes.

*Packed and Ready* thought La'rece.  Glancing in the mirror, the red-haired Dragonsworn took a long evaluating look at her appearance.  It had been years since she had donned true Arafellan clothes.  The tiny gold and silver bells accented the carefully plaited hair with its bound and corded tresses creating a cascade of colors down her back.  A small smile played across her mouth as she remembered a time over a hundred years ago when a young girl
arrived at the White Tower having crossed one of the most beautiful bridges she had ever seen into mighty Tar Valon.  Despite her noble upbringing, she had felt like a farmgirl compared to the regal grace and beauty borne by the Aes Sedai.

Now, a lifetime later, she was once again the image of an Arafellan Lady.  As part of this mission, it would be important for many of the Tower's members to pass themselves off as other than they were.  La'rece would pose as a merchant and seek what answers she might find in Shara.

Making her way out of her apartments and across the lawn, La'rece saw Elois, newly returned, with a smile on her face as she watched … *Oh, Light!  Is that Stefan?!*  La'rece had lately taken to watching how much she drank at the Tower's festivities.  Even with a herd of Yellows around, a hangover was never pleasant.

"How's he?" La'rece asked walking up to the other woman, the barely concealed hilarity evident in her tone.

*Thud.*  *Thud.*  What was that pounding?  Ariana pulled a pillow over head, but the noise continued.  Growling, she threw the pillow at the door, where it hit with an audible whump and then tumbled to the floor.  She had been up way too late at that drunken revelry last night, and right now she wanted her sleep.  Only after about fifteen minutes had passed- and incidentally, she was just drifting off comfortably- did she recall that they were
leaving today.  *I think if I could remember how to speak, I'd swear,* she thought as she climbed hastily out of bed and hobbled around.  Thank the Light she had packed last night, after returning from the party.  She had stayed up far later than she usually did, because after declining to dance she had pulled Serv into conversation instead.  He had told her of the rumors that the next mission was in Shara, and had also given her his description of
the Taint and its removal- which as a Healer and as a channeler she found fascinating.  Snatching up her packs, she scrambled as fast as was possible down to the "Gateway Yard" and hoped she hadn't missed anything.

    Apparently, she hadn't.  *Whew!  Thank the Light.*  She threw up a hasty shield against the rain and settled in to wait with the rest of the Tower chosen for this mission.

"How's he?" La'rece murmured, her voice laced with laughter. The Arafellan was one of those people that could arrive soundlessly at a person's side and startle them. Although today she had bells on, Elois had not noticed them over the sound of the rain and Stefan rustling around in the bushes.
       "It's too soon to tell, don't you think? He might survive this morning, but I can't vouch for how he'll do on board a sea-faring vessel. I shouldn't have teased him," Elois said contritely. "The Light knows I'm not in a teasing mood. Oh, there's Ariana." The White beckoned to the former Yellow, who approached with studied distaste of either the weather or the mission.
       The three women exchanged pleasantries. "Why didn't I think of that?" Elois clucked, gesturing to the shield Ariana had woven. Even as she spoke, she wove one for herself, although by this time she was as damp as she could be.
       "It was certainly clever of the M'Hael to send us out on a mission to fetch his 'angreal the very night after a rousing party." Elois pointed out at one point. The few straggling Storm Team members who made their way to the Yard seemed as nauteous as Stephan, or sheerly ill-tempered. The men and women clustered in a little knot, saidar or saidin keeping the majority dry.
       There was high-spirited chatter, mostly be the men still exultant over the change of their fates. Elois teased Ariana about Servalien at the party last night while they waited for the illustious Mura'shar to appear.

Anastin stood in the Tower yard enjoying the feel of cold rain on his face. People moved everywhere at once, some stood in small knots of dry air talking quietly. Some not so quietly. But nowhere he looked did he see a face to spark memory. No one he recognized.
       The M'Hael had listened to the story of his capture and Gentling at the hands of the Reds without giving any indication as to weather he beleaved it or not. If he looked in the Tower records he would find more then one account of Asha'man lost years ago on recruiting trips. And Anastin had surly been an Asha'man once, he knew things, many things only a Guardian could know. Anastin didn't really think the M'Hael cared if it was true or not. He
couldn't Channel anymore and so posed no threat. He wondered how long it take to prove loyalty in the eyes of his once-brothers. How long before he would be given back the gift of life. Life like only the One Power could make it. He was tired of being dead.
       Regaining his grip on the present, not easy when lost in memories of the Power, he wiped the look of longing from his face and wondered, not for the first time, why he was being sent out with this group. No one here knew him, surely they couldn't know he had been to Shara before, if only once. He guessed it was simply a convenient way for the M'Hael to test him. Which was fine, he knew his own worth and was sure others would see it as well?
Even if he couldn't touch the Source. That would come again soon. He was soon lost again in memories as he waited.

Flashes of lightening lit the sky, thunder cracking moments later.  Rivlets of water ran down tunnels dug into the hard packed earth creating puddles and other walking hazards.  Tareena hopped over one such obstruction and made her way over to a group of men.  they had stopped loading supplies and were standing around talking.  Upon seeing her approach they immediately dropped their playful banter and resumed their duties.  Today, everyone seemed
to be keeping a watchful eye on the Dragonsworn.  She was in a foul mood and they knew it.  Rumor had it that she and the M'hael had exchanged words during a war council held late the night before.  Not only did the Storm Team have to leave on a mission the day after their return from one, but her bondmate was being assigned to another Storm Team due to a shortage of Ashaman.  She was more than displeased and obviously having a tough time not taking
it out on everyone else.
     Tareena moved away from the men and stopped to stare at the gathered people.  She looked from place to place, eyeing the activity and mentally checking it off the list she carried in her hand. It was her responsibility to make sure everything and everyone made it through the gateway.  Bad weather or no, it must be done.   Walking to the left it brought her within speaking distance of a group of Dragonsworn.  Under normal circumstances it might
have been amusing to listen to their conversation but today she just nodded and kept on going.  One of the women detached themselves from the group and layed her had gently on Tareena's arm.  With no preliminaries she spoke.  "I heard about darren's reassignment, you must be chewing nalis on the inside.  Just remember to chew it there and not on someone else."  Tareena turned her cool green eyes down to the hand on her arm and back into the face of
the Arrafellan.  For an instant Tareena let the pint up anger and emotion blaze from her eyes.  Then the curtain came back down and she cooly removed her arm from La'rece's hand.  There were not many people who would approach her and still few more that would have the audacity to do so in such a manner.  However, if anyone could get away with it, it was La'rece.  Tareena had a great deal of respect for the blademaster.  She let that respect replace
the anger in her gaze.  With a nod she acknowledged the advice and her intent to listen to it then moved out of range.  Tareena took a deep breath and tried to put on, if not a pleasant face, then one that did not immediately make others want to run the opposite direction.

The tolling of a deep bell and the resounding echoes woke Durial from a sleep that he was just as happy to leave, until he realized where he was.  He rolled over quickly and hopped to his feet, a knife in each hand.  Light, you fool, you're a doddering old cook, remember?  He had to remember this, no matter what.  Durial was a man of many valuable secrets, all of which he meant to keep secrets as long as he could.
       Slipping his knives back to their hidden sheathes, he quickly assumed his hunched over, obsequious gait, and went out to check the supplies.
       He smiled as he rummaged through all of the bags.  If it wasn't for his secrets, he's never have been selected to join this mission to far off Shara.  I guess that my cooking won't stay a secret much longer, he thought wryly to himself.  He had refined his culinart arts by himself out in the Mountains, and by now he could cook just about anything and make it taste good.  The memories of the people raising their bowls of soup to him
during the last celebration made the corners of his mouth twitch as he snapped another pack shut.
       The others were waking up, slowly, but surely.  Some slower than others.  Most of those were those that had taken too much of the Tower's ale and not enough of his soup to spread things out.  Durial grimaced as his own stomach twisted momentarily.  Good job, old man, and you're one to talk.  So he stood quietly beside the horses as the Storm Team filed slowly towards the take off spot.

They were not moving as quickly as Mura'shar would have liked.  Of course, many of the men were obviously hung over from the celebration the previous night.  And some of the women as well.  Mura'shar sipped at his willowbark tea.  It tasted vile, but it seemed to help him think more clearly.
 He and Myiona had already Traveled to Tear, where the Sea Folk raker Sea Star was waiting.  They stowed their belongings, and she was making further preparations while Mura'shar went back to check on the progress.  Conditions would be a bit crowded on board. The Athan Miere did not often carry so many passengers at once.  And they had cargo of their own.
 And I'm sure Myiona was only playing at being innocent too. She hadn't said so in so many words, but he suspected she knew ahead of time that they would be sharing a cabin.  Not that he minded. He just wish he knew ahead of time.
 One Soldier.  Stefan, he recalled, was being noisily sick in the bushes.  It wasn't the first time that morning either, obviously.
 Mura'shar filled a second cup of tea and brought it to the suffering man.
 "Here drink this, but slowly. It tastes like I got it from a washtub, but it should help some"
 He was suddenly struck with an inspiration.  He looked about, and found one of the servants, a cook who had recently joined them.  He stopped the man and pressed the remaining willowbark into his hands.
 "Once we're on board, I want you to make as much tea as you can from this.  Strong tea.  And I want everyone who had too good a time last night to drink some of this.  A hangover's bad enough here.  But once we're out to sea, it would be an absolute nightmare"

An hour or so later, Talia was ready to leave on this mission. She had showered (ah, the luxury!), eaten a good breakfast, and.. well, participated in a little bit of "exercise" before she was REALLY ready to go. Once in the gathering, the Saldaean noticed how many other people had had a good time the night before. She, herself, was experiencing a bit of hang over, but she tried to ignore it as much as possible.
 Talia noticed some of the people who had been here when she left on her self-appointed mission of vengeance (that never accomplished anything), and she nodded to several familiar faces. Strutting through the crowd as they awaited the M'Hael's orders to move out, Talia caught Alan's eye from where he was conferring with other Marked Asha'man and smiled in her normally wry and sarcastic manner.  She felt his emotions stir within her mind.. or
were those emotions her own?  The double bond often confused her.
As she walked through the crowd, she saw a younger one.. one she had not seen before.. focusing so hard on a stick she held that Talia thought the stick would wither just at the sight.  "You know," she said in her confident voice to the other woman, "we could hire an artist to paint a picture of that stick for you, if you want.." Sarcasm, true, but that was merely Talia's nature The other woman was clearly trying to do something with Saidar, but it
wasn't working. Talia's curiosity led her to say something, just to see what the girl would say.

Raileine was at the point that she was ready to break the stick and throw it at the next person who approached her. Ever sinced she'd left the White Tower so long ago she never thought she'd be so desperate to touch the power of saidar as she was now.
 But itw as out of reach. So far that it brought tears to Raileine's soft brown eyes.
 "You know, we could hire an artist to paint a picture of that stick for you, if you want." Rai was stunned out of her concentrative mode as a Dragonsworn approached her. True to her earlier thought Raileine broke the twig and threw it over her shoulder, one of the pieces hitting Talia's arm.
 "Oh Light!" She whispered and curtsied deeply after stumbling to stand. "Forgive me, Dragonsworn. I've just been trying to make that stick do something for so long it has made me quite frustrated. I am Raileine Topire, a Novitiate of the Black Tower. I did not mean to offend you." Rai held her breath and prayed to the Light that this Dragonsworn wouldn't take Rai's bad manners to heart.

Durial accepted the willowbark from Mura'shar with a thoughtful nod of his head.  Once Mura'shar had turned away, he sniffed at the bark and grunted.  A common remedy, willowbark was only good if you hadn't totally given yourself to drink the day (or night) before.   But they haven't lived in the woods as long as you have, so why should they know?
       He glanced around for a minute, then strolled around until he came to a tree, which he faced.  At least these bloody outfits are good for something.  Reaching inside his ridiculous looking vest, he slipped some of the willowbark into one of the many pockets sewn along the inside.  He already had a sizable amount, but a little extra never hurt.  Especially the way these people drink.  They won't even want to see anything that's
fermented once on our ship,  he reflected with a rare chuckle.
       He turned away from the tree and tugged at the laces of his pants, in an attempt to look a little less odd.  Most people don't have fun staring at trees or know anyone that does, and Durial didn't think that there were any exceptions here.  One of the Dragonsworn, he thought her name was Elois, although he was still learning all of the names, glanced at him distastefully and went back to her conversation.  Durial just smiled and walked back to
his place, to wait.

Myiona sat down upon the lone chair in the tiny cabin and ran a hand
through her long black hair.  Her mind flashed back to everything that had
happened over the past few days.  No one had come up and asked her *how* she
had managed to lie using the bracelet.  Perhaps they thought its presence on
her wrist had managed to nullify the affects of the three oaths.  She,
however, knew the truth and it was troubling to the former Aes Sedai.

     The dream had been so vivid, but the Domani had thought it was the
result of worry about her bondmate and the hours spent studying the strange
ter'angreal.  She had found herself back in the tower, down in the basement,
walking the hallways.  At first, they had been empty, but a woman appeared
suddenly and grabbed her.  Myiona found herself pushed into a small room.  A
few other women stood there and they quickly shoved the oath rod into her
hands.  It all went by in a blur, but before she knew it she was
foreswearing all of her previous oaths.  Her body, wracked with pain, forced
her to wake leaving her trembling from the ordeal.

     It was not until a day or so later, when Myiona was able to leave her
room again, that she *knew* that it had been no mere dream.  She had been in
Tel'aran'rhiod and the oath had been binding in the real world.  She did not
set out to lie, then, but somehow the words escaped her lips before she
realized what had happened.  It was not anything earth shattering, but the
fact that she could lie made the Domani feel ill.  She returned to her room
and stayed there for the rest of the day.

     When the others returned from the Blight, it had been simple to use the
bracelets on herself to prove her loyalty.  She did not even realize the
significance of her own words until it was past.  Though she attended the
*party* and enjoyed being with Mura'shar and her friends again, the
Dragonsworn could not forget her own situation for a moment.  There had been
no time to speak to her bondmate before they had reached Tear, and her worry
had increased the dread of the conversation.  Would he still trust her, or
would he send her away fearing that she would be a hindrance to the Black
Tower.  All she could do was sit and wait for him to return to the cabin so
they could talk.

As Elois filed through the gateway, chatting to La'rece and the Soldier Servalien, she caught the eye of the mysterious cook. The man always looked rather shifty, like he was hiding something. She frowned at him. She certainly didn't approve of taking any servants with them on their missions; it was too dangerous. What was Mura'shar thinking, allowing it?
       Ah well, she would keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't get himself, or the Storm Team, in trouble.

~'--__--'~

       "Light have mercy..." Elois breathed, upon being led into the belly of the Sea Star, to the tiny cabin that would room (at least) two Dragonsworn. There were no windows, and although Elois could stand up straight without knocking her skull, she doubted most of the men of the Black Tower could be so fortunate.
       The White set her two bags on the upper berth. It looked to be no more than a slat of wood with blankets. She should feel fortunate that she wasn't assigned to one of the cabins that had only hammocks to sleep on, though.
       Feeling a touch claustrophobic, Elois left her sleeping quarters and - eventually - found her way topside, to the deck. The Sea Folk were busily swarming over the rigging, pulling ropes, loosening ropes, shouting nonsense sounding phrases back and forth. Elois stayed out of their way as best she could.
       She was not the only channeler out for some fresh air. A few others she recognized were leaning against the rail, trying to savor their last sight of Tear before it disappeared over the horizon.
       Elois stepped up to the railing, beside the green-tinged Stefan. "Feeling better? You could ask one of the Dragonsworn to Heal you, you know." She smothered a smile, knowing full well how any of them would react to being asked to Heal a hangover.

Stefan sipped the nasty tasting brew that the M'hael handed him, and though in part it settled his stomach and his brain, his tongue and belly were conspiring to get even with him for the concoction.
Grabbing his bag and securing his gear, Stefan breathed in a deep gulp of air and stepped through the gate to the pier. The thing he was going to go on was huge, and sleek looking. He stood there looking at it with his mouth slightly ajar, as the ship rose a little and sank a little with the tide.
"oh no, this is going to be bad...very, very bad," Stefan mumbled.
A voice next to his shoulder murmured with a sadistic tone, and tilting her hand in rythym to her voice, "oh, yeah, back and forth, just like I told you," and then with a malicious smirk and undulation at the wrist," I guess I should have told you about the up and down as...hey!" Another woman walked up and grabbed the younger looking woman by the ear," If you'll excuse us, I need to have word with this young lady."
Stefan nodded dumbly and slowly walked towards the floating torture device. The womans tilting hand that undulated in the same motion as the ship made Stefan close his eyes. Trollocs, Fades, darkfriends, warders, Aes Sedai, anything and everything he had faced was nothing compared to the fear of the unknown.
Chuckles arose from the deck of the ship and voices piped in "Me thinks I see a ghost," said one voice, and another responded "yes, I think I see one too," another voice spoke, "He's as white as one." Laughter broke out again.
Oh yes, came the voice of reason, this is very very bad.

The cool breeze lifted Tareena's shoulder length hair and fanned it around her, making her giggle.  Quickly she stifled it, looking around to see if anyone had heard her.  It wouldn't do to see the Guardian giggling like a school girl but my, it sure did feel good to be out on the water again.  Most of the tower was not likely to forget that she had been reared by the Seanchan as a damane but most did not know that a lot of that time had been spent
on a ship, getting ready for the Correne or the return as most called it now.  That was one of the few things Tareena could remember that ever made her happy.  She had loved the feeling of the rolling deck and the salt spray on her face. Looking around at the crew, she was quite satisfied with how they handled the ship.  Of course, the fact that the women were topless was a bit disconcerting, mind you, but all things considered, the black tower was
in good hands.  Tareena leaned once more against the rail and simply enjoyed.

The last of the preparations were done, and they were out to sea.  The Sea Folk, especially their Windfinder, were a bit nervous about having so many channelers on board, especially a few that were clearly Aes Sedai.  But they were all allied to the Lord Dragon, so their presence was accepted "if it pleases the Light."  As Tear faded from view, Mura'shar found Tareena enjoying the view of the ocean and stopped to give her a few last-minute
instructions
 The rapidly vanishing land and the deckhands scrambling up and down the lines, some wearing considerably less than land-dwellers would call proper reminded Mura'shar of something important.  He leaned over and whispered in Tareena's ear "If you recall the last time we were on a Sea Folk vessel, a few of the Dragonsworn chose to...emulate some of the crew's fashions.  I would appreciate it if you made it clear to some of our more impetuous members
that it would be a bad idea to do so this time.  I'm sure some of the other Asha'man would appreciate it as well."
 He didn't have to say any more.  Maybe it was his own skewed vision of the event, but as he recalled, it created quite a stir among the Storm Team, one he'd prefer to avoid having to deal with.  With that, he bid her good day and returned to his "cabin"

 Myiona was already there, deep in thought.  She didn't immediately return his greeting.  He sought the bond they shared and found she was worried about something.  She had, in fact been worried for some time, but the constant flow of events had distracted them from it until now.
 There wee no other chairs in the room, so Mura'shar gave Myiona a quick peck on the cheek and sat on the foot of the bed.
 "Myiona, we've been bonded to each other long enough to know something's troubling you.  And it's more than the size of these quarters.  What is it?  The mission?  Did something happen while I was gone?  Is someone still blaming you for the, um, 'unpleasantness' a while back?"
 Mura'shar settled back and waited to hear Myiona's story.

Durial looked out over the harbor of Tear with a grimace.  As a mountain man, sailing wasn't something he was used to--or something he wanted to learn about.  He looked around at the members of the Team to see what thoughts their faces were revealing.  Stefan was looking markedly better.  And he should, for all of the bloody stuff I put in that cup of his.  Elois continued to give him dirty looks and he just gave
back an innocent smile.  An old addage of some sort wandered to the front of his mind:  When a woman frowns, hide your face and look meek, but when she smiles, run for the Borderlands.   His smile turned a little sickly as his eyes swept elsewhere.
       He certainly couldn't argue with the crew's choice of attire.  Or, lack thereof.  He wasn't a picky man, Durial, and simplicity was his motto.
       Looking out over the waters of the sea, he noticed dark clouds to the east.  Bah, he thought, it's going the other way.  What does a few clouds mean anyway?  You're getting soft, old man, and the soft die.  All the same, he shuddered involuntarily and went below deck to look for some quarters.
       He knocked on Mura'shar's door, but found it to be locked.  He leaned a little closer to the door, and heard the sound of soft voices.  Wincing at his own informality, Durial continued down the hall.  There seemed to be no one around--everyone was probably above deck.  So, he opened the empty door at the very end of the hall and stepped in.
       The sides of the ship curved up sharply here, and seemed to emphasize the back and forth sway of the ship at berth.  At berth!  Imagine what will happen when we're NOT tied to something!  With that thought, he's fled up to the deck, greener that an Ath'an Miere sash.

Talia looked at the small piece of bark that still remained on her arm.
Unconcerned, the Dragonsworn picked it off and flicked it away from her.
With a raised brow, she smirked at the younger one.  "Hello to you, too."

<<"Oh Light!" She whispered and curtsied deeply after stumbling to stand.
"Forgive me, Dragonsworn. I've just been trying to make that stick do
something for so long it has made me quite frustrated. I am Raileine Topire,
a Novitiate of the Black Tower. I did not mean to offend you." Rai held her
breath and prayed to the Light that this Dragonsworn wouldn't take Rai's bad
manners to heart.>>

"What?  Were you trying to make it dance or freeze it with your stare alone?
  Come on, we're behind everybody."  Urging the Novitiate onward toward the
flow of traffic, they soon found themselves boarding a Sea Folk vessel along
with all the other Tower members on this trip.

"Okay, kid..  What were you really trying to do with that stick?  Burn it?"
Taking a small piece of wood, Talia wove a small inkling of fire onto the
stick.. just enough to make the tip of it light with red.  Blowing on the
tip, Talia had started the wood to burning slowly of itself.  Talia inhaled
deeply of the scent.  "Scent wood.. or that's what my father used to call
it.  Smell."  She extended it to Raileine.  "I'm Talia.. and if you want
some help, just say the word."

Somewhat shakily Raileine took the scented wood and breathed it in. It had a pleasing aroma and she smiled softly at the Dragonsworn that had offered it to her. "Thank you," She mumurered before Talia began speaking once more.
 "I could truly use some help, though what they had to offer at the White Tower didn't do a thing for me." Rai confessed almost in a whisper. "I'd trained for some years at the White Tower before the break, but to no avail. I was blocked, and blocked pretty badly. Then I spent a good amount of years locked up in a Library before I came to your Black Tower.
 "It almost seems as if whatever anyone does it helps nothing at all. I've channeled once in my life, and even then it was weak. Much to weak to do any good for what I'd been trying to do." Rai looked up at Talia with wide wet eyes. "Do you think you could do something?"

Though she heard her bondmate enter the room, and felt him long before
that, Myiona sat quietly trying to compose herself.  Finally, she gave up
with a sigh and looked at Mura'shar.

     "Myiona, we've been bonded to each other long enough to know
something's troubling you.  And it's more than the size of these quarters.
What is it? The mission?  Did something happen while I was gone?  Is someone
still blaming you for the, um, 'unpleasantness' a while back?"

      Myiona told her story to Mura'shar as briefly as possible, explaining
what had happened in Tel'aran'rhiod and how the oaths had been broken.  "I
wanted you to know," she said softly, "in case you wish for me to leave.  I
know most of the other former Aes Sedai will see me as something horrible
now.  The three oaths are what defines most of us."

     As she considered what repercussions this could have, she pulled the
golden ring off of her finger and dropped it onto her lap.  "I suppose I
have no right wearing this anymore," she said.  "No one would blame you if
you told me to leave.  I have caused nothing but trouble for you, and the
Black Tower.  When this mission is over, we can break the bond and I will
leave."  She stared down at the great serpent ring and tried to keep the
tears from falling.

For a long moment, Mura'shar was quiet.  He didn't know too much about the practices of the White Tower.  He knew the Ajahs, the Warder bond, and a few other things he had picked up from the Aes Sedai who had joined the Black Tower, but that was all.  He was certain, however, that Three Oaths, once taken, were inviolate.  If Myiona was somehow free of them, was no longer "Aes Sedai" in the strictest sense...
 He finally spoke "Do you remember when we first met?  I was a nervous Soldier sent out to find a Novitiate who had gotten separated from the group.  I had no idea who you really were.  It was only later, when you showed me your ring and told me about the danger you sensed that I realized the flirtatious young Domani woman who made my face burn whenever I was around her was an Aes Sedai
 "I was shocked, of course.  Why would a male channeler trust a woman from the White Tower?  But I remained at your side.  We fought together, faced death together, yet when I became an Asha'man, I bonded you and let you bond me.
 "We were complete opposites, We've been friends and lovers, but we have had truly memorable arguments and fights as well," his eyes got a faraway look as he recalled all the missions they had gone on, all they danger they had faced, both alone and together, even from each other.
 "Now, after all this time, you've shown me your ring again" Mura'shar picked up the golden Great Serpent ring and looked at it.  An ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, perhaps older than the Age of Legends.
 "If I could go through all that, knowing you were an Aes Sedai, what difference would your not being Aes Sedai make?"  He took her hand with one of his and put the ring back on her finger.
 "Myiona, if I were to send you away because you were no longer Aes Sedai, doesn't that mean I'd have to send Tareena away as well?  And Alcinia, Talia, and all the others who weren't trained or weren't fully trained at the White Tower?  No, the only way I'd let you go is if you betrayed me or the Black Tower.  And you have never given me reason to doubt you there."
 Tears were forming in Myiona's eyes.  He gently wiped them away.  "It's not Myiona Sedai of the Green Ajah, I care about, or Myiona the Marked Dragonsworn that I love.  It is Myiona Shallon.  Just stay her, and we will be fine."
 He kissed her forhead.  "We don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to.  We can keep it our secret."

Alcinia got on board the ship only moments before it left the dock.  She had gulped down the foul tasting mixture that was given to her, hoping it would eliminate her seasickness.  Her past experiences made her dread another voyage.

The thief hurried below deck and stowed her pack in one of the tiny cabins.  Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she went back on deck hoping at least the fresh air would help.

As the deck rolled with the gentle ebb of the sea Anastin sat upon the quarterdeck watching the setting sun paint the emerald waters a hundred hues of gray. The members of the... Storm team he had heard them call it, had been moving over every part of the ship from the time they'd boarded. And more then a little over the side as well. He never understood how a person could feel sick in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Still there was a
young man in a black coat not 10 paces away offering his dinner back to the sea. Anastin stood and walked to the man's side.
"You sir, what's your name?"
"Stefan," he managed to get out between the contractions of his stomach.
"Stefan, may name is Alemin, would you like some help with your... condition?"

Myiona thought about the things Mura'shar had said.  It was true that
many of the Dragonsworn did not train in the White Tower, and they were
still allowed to be a part of the Black Tower.  It was not like she would
turn into a monster without the three oaths to bind her.  In some ways it
would make their missions easier.  Her inability to lie had caused some
problems in the past, though she could work her way around an outright lie
most of the time.

      "I do not think everyone has to know," Myiona admitted, "since it
could make the Asha'men more nervous around me, especially our new recruits.
  I hope I have proven myself to the others enough that they trust me.  If
not, there is little I can do to make that right."

     She looked at the ring on her finger and sighed.  "I suppose I should
continue to wear this though I feel I do not deserve it anymore," the Domani
said.  "When I first left, I hated the place and what they did to me.  Now,
I think of it fondly at times.  I did make some friends there, and learned
how to channel.  All that happened led me here to you, and how can I regret
that."

     The dragonsworn looked at her bondmate and smiled.  "Do you think we
will be needed on deck anytime soon?" she asked as she moved over to sit on
the bed beside him.  "I just thought we could see how comfortable the bed
is."

"It's been too long, too long!" the La'rece Barata'gan shouted with a smile over the sound of the wind and sea.  The Wavemistress smiled in return before barking commands to several crew members up in the rigging.  The sails snapped catching the breeze causing the ship to surge forward.  It was exhilarating.
 
 

Though having grown up in the hills and mountains of Arafel, the former Aes Sedai had travelled extensively and held a fondness for open sea sailing.  A pleasure she was not often able to indulge.  With a grin, she watched the ship's Windfinder deftly weave the cable-thick flows of air that allowed the Sea Folk vessel to race toward their destination, Shara.
 
 

Frankly, La'rece did not give two wits about Shara.  By all accounts, a society so alien from their own as to boggle the mind.  The Arafellan quickly ran down the list of former Browns in the Black Tower.  They would find the whole thing riveting.  A walled city filled with lying peddlers and treachery.  Sounded like a summer fair in Murandy.  Oh, well.  They had their orders and ter'angreal were best kept away from the Shadow and its minions.
 
 

With a nod to both the Wavemistress and her Windfinder, La'rece took her leave and headed below decks passing several members of the Tower who had discovered that the fresh open air was far more tolerable than the close confines of the raker's cabins.
 
 

As she made her way down the ladder leading to the passageway where her cabin was located, La'rece paused at the door to Myiona's cabin.  Given the ship's configuration, there was more space in the passageway than in the cabins.  Tight quarters they called it.  Very tight, indeed.
 
 

La'rece had not seen Myiona since she came onboard and headed directly below to her cabin.  Hopefully, the air was indeed finally cleared for the former First.  Wanting to see firsthand how her friend was doing, La'rece rapped her knuckle on the cabin's door.

The large ship slipped it's moors and was racing for the open sea. At first the rush of wind and the lunging bow did not bother Stefan's stomach as much. But time on the sea was short before he joined two others in offering their meager meals to the fish. What was it the one deck hand told his mates on the deck? Ah yes, break out the poles theres chum off the stern port? What did he mean by that?
Stefan tried to focus on the land, the horizon, on anything that didn't bob or weave, but to no avail. A couple of the more sea hardy Storm Team members were snacking on something that Stefan did not want to think about, and all the while smacking their lips in sadistic joy.
Stefan leaned on the railing, giving up all to the rolling sickness that engulfed his mind and body. A voice at his shoulder dragged him back to consciousness.
"My name," Stefan looked bleary eyed at the face," Stefan," he choked out. Great, another BT member to chide and harass the new recruit.
"Stefan, my name is Alemin, would you like some help with your... condition?"
Stefan's mind lurched with the thought of one of the other BT members offering a cure for his condition...pickled squid...was what he thought the man had said. Didn't really matter because the Asha'man held up a ten legged nightmare that reeked of pickling juice and had a large accusing eye. That brought guffaws until Mura'shar put an end to it.
"If it's pickled squid, go away. If it's that foul tea," Stefan turning his head back to the sea," it doesn't work either."

Aramis knew better than to untie his hair and let it blow in the damp sea breeze, but he did it anyway. He also knew it would take several hours to comb the tangles out. The last sea voyage Aramis had taken was more than five or six years ago, when he had sailed from Tear to Ebou Dar with his father, trading Andoran wool for Tairen carpets in Tear, then trading the carpets in Ebou Dar for a myriad of porcelain finery, liquors, and other stuffs
not found commonplace in Andor.
       But that was a long time ago. Now, he stood on the deck of a sea Folk ship (he missed the name) that was really quite crowded with passengers. Too crowded, really, but it didn't matter.
       The Storm Team had been to sea for about two hours. Aramis wished he knew how long they would be at sea. He'd read all of his books, it was too crowded to work sword forms, and his bondmate, who was a little green around the gills, wouldn't want to talk.
       This would be a long trip.

"Blood and ashes!"  Mura'shar growled when he heard the knock.  Myiona muttered something stronger as they sat up.  She hurriedly began straightening her dress while Mura'shar pulled his coat back on.
 When they were both presentable, Mura'shar let the ward against eavesdropping drop.  He unlatched the door and opened it.
 "Ah, La'rece.  Come on in.  Can we help you with something?"