The Beginning of the End [Attn: Craig, Matty] COMPLETE

[Jenny]

Seonin

A woman opened the door. An Aes Sedai, by her ageless face, and a beautiful temptress, by her flattering red gown. A flash of recognition crossed Seonin’s face – this was the woman who had saved Mirin Sedai’s life during the attack. She dropped a deep curtsy.

“I have a message for Asha’man Emmond Salere,” she said.

"What is it child? The Asha'man is indisposed at the moment."

Seonin flushed bright red and averted her eyes from the embroidery on the woman’s bodice. The Aes Sedai hissed between her teeth.

"Not like that child. Don't let your imagination get the better of you. Now, what is this message?"

Seonin pulled nervously at the edge of her sleeves. "I... I would like to speak only with Asha'man Emmond," she said.

From inside the chamber, a male voice called. “Who is it, Elia?”

The Aes Sedai looked behind her. “There is an Accepted here with a message for you,” she said. Then she turned back to Seonin. “Come inside. Wait at the door.”

Seonin looked around uncomfortably as the Aes Sedai went into the study. The walls of the sitting room were painted dark grey. It was a dull room, sparsely decorated, with plain furniture and plenty of unused space. A small collection of blades hung on one wall – another wall held a large abstract painting that offered the only splash of color in the room.

Elia emerged from the study with the Asha’man. He was well groomed and dressed impeccably in plain but fine material. His dark hair was cut short. It was difficult to judge his age. So this is what a darkfriend looks like, thought Seonin. How could a darkfriend be so handsome? He was nothing like the twisted monsters of stories.

“The message?” He spoke with a pleasant, light baritone.

“There is a man who lives alone in the Caralain Grass,” she said. “He is very sick and has something important to tell you.”

He held up a hand. “Hold on. Is this a message from someone else, or did you meet with this man yourself?”

“I met him,” said Seonin. Her voice trembled.

The Asha’man turned to his companion. “Elia. Leave us,” he said. Silently, the Aes Sedai left and closed the door behind her. Emmond waited for a few moments before speaking.

“What is your name? Please continue.”

She took a deep breath. “My name is Seonin. I am an aspiring Brown,” she began, reciting the story that she had concocted with Mirin Sedai. “I have an interest in anthropology and went to live with the Tinkers for a while to study their culture. I only recently returned. As I was traveling, I came upon a hut in the middle of Caralain Grass. There was a man who was very sick.”

He leaned forward. Seonin froze. His eyes were dark and intense. They seemed to stare right through her.

“Have you told anyone else?” he asked.

“No.”

“How did you find me?”

“He told me that you were of the Grey Ajah. I used the Tower directory.”

The answers came smoothly to her lips. Mirin Sedai had prepared her for these very same questions.

“Tell me more. What did he say?”

“He wanted to see you. I asked if he would like me to take a message, but he insist on speaking with you in person. He was too weak to move, to even feed or clean himself and I… I tried to help but he insisted that I travel as fast as possible to find y-you.”

Her voice cracked and to her dismay, she suddenly began to cry. It was just too much – the intensity of his stare, the knowledge that she was sitting and having a somewhat normal conversation with a darkfriend, the stress of keeping up the lies. All for Aria Sedai, she thought. Anything for her. But still, it was too much and her tears fell unbidden. Emmond seemed surprised, and he moved around the table to kneel at her side. He placed a gentle hand on her knee.

“What’s wrong, child? Here’s a handkerchief. Light, did I frighten you?”

Seonin dabbed at her eyes and hiccoughed. His touch was warm; his voice was soothing. Had he killed Aria Sedai with those hands? Had he spoken to her in that same, calming tone? Seonin shuddered. It took all her willpower to stop herself from shaking off his hand.

She struggled to come up with the proper lies. “I’m afraid,” she said. “I don’t want him to die.”

He smiled kindly. “I can Travel to him,” he said. “And I will do my best to help him, if I can. Thank you, Seonin. This man is a dear friend of mine.”

Her heart skipped a beat – thank the Light! – and she smiled through her tears. “Thank you,” she said. “Please, if you can, go as soon as possible. He was very frail when I met him.”

He went to the far wall and began selecting weapons. Seonin watched, fascinated, as the daggers disappeared into his clothing like magic. His back was turned, and she relaxed into her chair. Was this it? Had she been convincing enough?

“Seonin. You said that you were traveling through the Caralain Grass a week ago?”

Her back straightened as she realized that he was not finished.

“No, just two days ago. I came back late last night.”

“How was the weather?”

“Windy. Dry.”

“How did you enjoy traveling with the Tinkers?”

“They are very kind,” she said. “Their lives are full of dance and song. I can see the appeal of living that way, always careful not to do harm to any other people. A very pure life. Though living the Way of the Leaf is not without its perils. They are often persecuted wherever they go, and always searching for their mythical Song. It has been theorized that the Song was known in the Age of – ”

Emmond raised a hand and she stopped. He looked over his shoulder and grinned.

“Certainly an aspiring Brown,” he said, with a chuckle. “One more question. Did he tell you his name?”

"Orin,” she said, confidently. Mirin had been very particular on that detail.

Silence. Then slowly, Emmond spoke.

“Almost, you had me,” he said. “Almost. Your story was very good. Your tears were very convincing. Even the details – most of the details – were fleshed out well. But I knew Orin before he chose that name. He would never summon me by that name. To anyone else, perhaps. But not me."

Then suddenly Seonin was knocked to the floor. His hands closed around her throat. She reached for the Source but slammed against a shield. She tried to cry out but could hardly breathe.

“He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead! Who killed him? Who sent you here?” he snarled. “It was Mirin, wasn’t it. That bloody two-faced witch! Who else? Who else sent you here?”

“No one,” she managed to choke out. “No one except – ”

His hands loosened. “Who?”

“Aria Sedai of the Yellow Ajah,” she said. “She led me to you.”

Emmond blinked in confusion. “Aria is dead.”

Seonin bared her teeth. “She will never die as long as I live.”

Then she spat in his face.

His face twisted in rage. Almost, she thought he would kill her. His hand dug into her neck. She strained for the Power, throwing herself against the shield. Then abruptly she felt the warmth of saidar flowing into her. She clung to it, drinking it in. With the Power, she could kill him! With the Power, she could avenge Aria…!

Then to her horror, she realized that she was not in control of the flows. Something else pulled deep inside her, using her as a conduit for the Power.

Emmond smiled cruelly.

"If they are setting a trap, then I will spring it. And you are coming with me."

[Jenny]

"The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning." Mirin

A wind blew from the dusty bleakness of the Black Hills. It passed across the Caralain Grass and swirled around a small, isolated hut. Rolling plains reached as far as the eye could see. The clear night sky stretched overhead, glittering with countless stars. All was quiet here.

A thin line of light appeared and rotated to cut open the air. From where she hid behind a scraggly bush, Mirin gasped. She sensed the female half of the Source, saidar, woven in the weave. But the trap had been laid for a man! She watched, horrified, as a tall, dark-haired man - her intended target - stepped through, followed by a woman wearing the banded dress of the Accepted. Seonin, she thought in horror. This was not supposed to happen! The bright glow of Power surrounded and connected them both. They were linked.

Although she had not planned on taking part, she had come to witness the fruition of her plans. It would have been ideal to remain in the background, safe at the Tower, but Emmond was devious at best and unpredictable at worst. And he had taught her that even the best-laid plans often fell astray. Including this one. The two linked channelers approached the squat building, flows dancing around them. Mirin's dark cloak fluttered behind her as she followed them silently through the shadows.

"Come out, Mirin," called Emmond. His voice boomed across the plains, amplified by weaves of Air. Mirin dropped to the ground, clutching her ears in pain.

"I know you are here," he said. "I know you have betrayed me. Your pet student has told me everything. Come out, or this building will burn and you will burn with it. On the count of three... One... two... three."

From her place on the ground, hidden by her cloak and tucked into a dip in the ground, Mirin did not move. Elia and Murdock are trapped in there, she thought. It was too late to help them. She watched in terror as Emmond twisted threads of Fire and Air woven with saidar, yet the weave had gaping holes - holes that must have been filled with saidin, the power that she could not see. Then the weave snapped into place, summoning a large ball of fire.

It hurled toward the building. Mirin squeezed her eyes shut and sent a quick prayer to the Creator.

[Matty]

"The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was an ending. A painful, delicious ending."
Murdock Mather Murdock sat in Orin's former base of operations, hands clasped together on his walking stick. His leg stuck out in front of him, uncomfortable as ever. It was rarely not an irritant to Murdock, but it was an irritant he was used to.

Sadly, this was also true for Elia. The bloody woman had this terrible habit of being around him more often then she needed to be, as if they had to work together on every little thing. Pass this information on. Visit this person. Usurp the entire hierarchy of the Black Ajah. Fluff and nonsense.

"Don't talk to me," Murdock said as they sat there. He fiddled with the angreal in his pocket, the heavy metal supposed to be worn as a belt buckle. "This is not what I signed up for. You had better be finding some other way to repay me after this is all said and done, for my ridiculous participation. If we aren't dead, that is." Why had he agreed to this and offered his support? Oh yes, a myriad of reasons, the least of which being that he liked to know who was pulling the strings. If this appeased Elia and sent some more work of a fulfilling nature his way, then everyone won. She got what she wanted, and so did he. Murdock simply happened to have better taste than her.

So there they sat, Murdock staring at the shelving which once contained many interesting little tidbits of information, now all residing in his personal study. A number of them related to a certain Indigo Sitter, but the man did not feel the need to mention that. His involvement with Orin was, well, it was not something he had disclosed to the other members of his Ajah, and he had made sure to remove any traces of his work. Murdock knew how to be clean, he was no monster.

What happened next was not planned. Murdock and Elia knew that Emmond would arrive, and that they would back Mirin up in overpowering him, but he didn't expect for the man to deafen them with his bloody voice, and then set the place on fire! What if Orin was in here? But the man worked it out, Murdock realised even as the Grey's booming voice had him clutching at his ears and shaking his ringing head. I am not dying until I know where my daughters are! He tried to shout something at Elia, that they had to get out of there, but he had no idea if she heard him. He could only hear a tinny whine, but fortunately Elia was thinking the same as him - she easily carved them a way out of the back of the house, and the Keeper of the Archives wasted no time in limping on out after her and away from the house without being seen.

The fire was hot enough and still close enough that when it hit the wooden hut, Murdock - who was not as quick as Elia - was thrown to the ground, his stick rattling away. Of course it did. Murdock ground his teeth together and hauled himself upright, muttering a few choice curses about Indigo Sitters as he crawled to his stick and pushed himself back to his feet. So now not only was his head ringing, but he was going to smell of smoke. Lovely. Thank the Li... erm, who did he even thank now? Thank goodness he had taken anything of interest in Orin's home before now.

"Elia," he said as he stood, turning to look for her. He was fine, if a little smokey. "That amount of Saidin - that was not Emmond, surely?"

"He is linked with a woman," was the response. Lovely.

"You need to break the link. I will distract Emmond, but do make it quick. Even with your trinket he can toss me about like a sack of flour - I need him off balance so I can shield him. Understood? Good." Murdock sighed, wishing he was anywhere but here as he turned and limped his way around the house.

Emmond's voice still boomed through the air, deep and subtly mocking. "Now Mirin, I doubt you let yourself sit and be roasted like that. Come on out, and I promise I won't be too cruel to your little pet when I am done with you."

What a trolloc's ass he was. Murdock rolled his eyes as he limped in an arc around the burning home. Bloody fool, Emmond thought himself above everyone else didn't he? No wonder Elia was jealous, she felt exactly the same way. He coughed to clear his throat, his low voice rather fed up as he spoke up. "Emmond, I didn't realise it was cold enough that we needed a bonfire." He limped into full view, so that Emmond could get a good, er, look at him. Or at least hear him throwing his voice. The Accepted was trailing along nearby, probably without much of a say in the matter. Poor pet, getting caught up in business that was not hers. He tried to feel sorry for her but really, this was about more than some silly student being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Emmond's surprise was unmistakable. "Murdock? What are you doing here?"

"Just some homework," Murdock replied casually. "Umbrial is a very interesting fellow, isn't he?"

Umbrial. The name Orin would have sent word by, if he was still alive. Emmond's expression darkened. "You. It was you who killed him."

"Me? Please," Murdock scoffed, "I didn't kill him. It was the numerous injuries I inflicted upon his soft, fleshy body that killed him."

Emmond's voice was very level. "Semantics," he said. "Did you have fun with him?"

"You only need one kidney to function, Emmond. I started with that." Murdock sounded almost bored. "I Healed him after, then proceeded to see how draining his blood would be affected by the lack of this limb. It was a little dull to be honest, Orin passed out fairly quickly. Not quick enough for him to miss out on telling me all about you. Every broken finger was another delightful fact. It's strange how you can remove a foot or a hand, but it's breaking the fingers that makes them talk. But the trick is to promise to Heal them with each question they answer. He answered all ten of mine, and his heart rate never changed so I am fairly certain he was telling the truth. At least, it's hard to tell what with how rapidly it beat already, a mix of panic and adrenaline. Or was he aroused as well? He did seem to have an oddly extensive selection of torture materials, not all of which were made for a man his size... they fit my hands perfectly though."

Murdock was impressed at the fact that he had been able to talk for so long without being interrupted. Emmond's face had remained grimly impassive, so when the weave of Air whipped around his waist and picked him up, he supposed his luck had run out.

When he was flung into the fire and pressed against the side of the burning building, Murdock realised that this was more than a simple supposition, and that he was probably going to die very soon.

[Craig]

Elia Darrow

Elia Darrow's skin crawled, and for once, it had nothing to do with the presence of her infrequent companion. In the distance, out towards where Emmond's voice boomed, Elia could sense saidar being woven. She would have immediately suspected Mirin's hand in this, if not for the Asha'man's words. He was furious, even if that fury was blanketed by a thin veneer of civility. Then who? Elia still did not know for a fact how high Emmond stood, but could he have come with a member of the Supreme Council? Were they all out there, about to obliterate her and Murdock off the map? It didn't matter for the moment. Death may come in the next few minutes, but she intended to fight for every second of it.

Emmond's shout had come as plenty warning for the Indigo Sitter to plan a way out, although 'plan' was too grandiose a word for what she actually did. She drunk deep from the Source, bolstering her mediocre strength with an angreal taken from the Indigo Ajah's deep vaults. Golden threads of light wrapped themselves around the planks of wood that made up the back wall. With a flexing of saidar, they shattered outwards in a spray of splinters and wooden shards. Air then enveloped the joists, and she broke a hole in them large enough to fit through. There was no pause in her flight from the house to consider Murdock. Her only moment of hesitation came when a sleeve caught on something on the way out, and she tore the arm of her silk dress to pieces freeing it. She wasn't about to die saving a dress of all things.

She only made it a few yards away from the structure when the fireball impacted. A violent wall of heat and force swelled outwards, knocking Elia tumbling to the ground. She rolled a couple of times before finishing on her back, arms crossed in front of her face to protect her head. Saidar was still being held from the other side of the blaze; no chances were being taken by Emmond and his aides.

"Elia." Murdock was getting to his feet - he hadn't been far behind it seemed. "That amount of saidin. That was not Emmond, surely?"

"He is linked with a woman," she replied. That was an unwelcome development, to put it mildly, and she didn't know what to do. Fight fire with fire? Even linked with Murdock, even with both of their angreal, Elia wasn't convinced they had a great advantage on Emmond. With at least one woman linked to him, that had to put him over the top in raw strength, as well as experience. She shivered as she rose, her clothes sticking from a clammy sweat.

Murdock spoke in his regular tone of begrudging irritation. "You need to break the link. I will distract Emmond, but do make it quick." Elia nodded to the rest of the Asha'man's plan; it was better than the nothingness she had to offer. They parted swiftly, with Elia moving fast and low as she repositioned herself to the south on Emmond's flank. The Andoran called out again, goading Mirin to make an appearance. Well it's not bloody Mirin you're trying to roast she thought bitterly. Light, if she was going to die tonight, the least Emmond could do is know who he was flaming killing!

To the north, Murdock began to call out, but Elia barely heard the words. She continued around towards the source of saidar, presumably towards Emmond too. The Indigo started to get a sense of the woman's power as she neared. It was someone comfortably stronger than her in the Power, although with the angreal that gap may have lessened, or even been surpassed. That she was linked with Emmond was the real trouble.

The land between Elia and Emmond flattened, and the Indigo got a good look at the Asha'man and his accomplice. An Accepted? Looking closer, it wasn't just any Accepted, but the girl that had come to deliver Emmond his message.

Anger swept over everything else. That bloody chit! I'm going to flay the hide off Mirin when I get my hands on her. This Accepted was only meant to deliver a message, to goad Emmond into coming here unaware. Instead she handed him a weapon of the bloody Power! She'd grossly underestimated Emmond and Mirin it seemed. Still, all was not lost if the Seanchan girl could be taken out.

Looking across the grasses, Emmond was engaged in a war of words with Murdock. He stood proud and tall, the great orator commanding a crowd, with the glow of saidar encompassing him and the Accepted in the link they shared. The girl, Seonin, wasn't facing Murdock with the same triumphant posturing as the Asha'man. She looked... frightened? Was it possible the girl wasn't a willing participant in this endeavour? Elia knew all about being an unwilling participant, almost from the day she had wore the shawl, and it stirred a feeling long since repressed in the Black sister: revulsion.

Elia acted on instinct and need. She rose to her full height, drawing in everything she and the angreal on her belt pouch could hold. The Creator's Light filled her so completely she felt like she was living light. The night sky should have turned to gold from the radiance that permeated every part of her being. The blazing glory seemed to connect her to everything.

Rapture lasted for only a moment though. Emmond was lifting Murdock up on flows of Air half-constructed by saidar. I need him alive! she screamed in her head.

Elia's malachite eyes latched onto Seonin.

The Aes Sedai guided flows of saidar into a blunt force of hardened Air, poised to strike at the Accepted's head. She hoped - desperately hoped - that the impact wouldn't cave the girl's skull in. It just has to be enough to knock her out. With one quick glance towards Murdock sailing through the air, Elia Darrow swung with her makeshift weapon of the Power.

And prayed.

[Jenny]

Seonin

Flames licked the dry tinder of the hut, lighting up the plains. Ahead of her, the glow of the burning hut outlined Emmond’s silhouette, casting a long shadow behind him. She stared at the dark cloth covering his back, trying to control the churning of her stomach. The Asha’man terrified her. He had come tonight to kill, she realized. His emotions filtered through the link, which Seonin found surprisingly easy to read. It felt much like being complete with a sul’dam and she followed him obediently, falling into familiar patterns.

He wanted her to step through the gateway. She moved forward even before the words left his mouth. From somewhere in her past, a voice spoke: “A good damane knows what her sul’dam wants, even before she knows it herself.”

Emotions washed over her and she separated them out with practiced ease. He held his anger tightly under control. He was a very calm man, she realized, who moved carefully and spoke deliberately even under pressure. And there was sadness there, too, nearly hidden in the depths of his anger. He was upset at his friend’s death, but didn’t allow it to cloud his judgment. A wave of disgust came as Murdock described how he had tortured and killed the man. And surprisingly, she sensed fear. It almost seemed strange to her that a man like Emmond would be afraid.

Then she noticed the strongest current of all, the undercurrent of desire that tugged at her heart and directed his actions. Finally, she understood why he had come to spring the trap. It was really quite simple: Emmond wanted to live. And to do so, he had to kill his enemies.

Seonin watched in horror as Emmond flung the Keeper of Archives into the flames. The grassy scent of the plains mixed with the smoke of charred wood and the smell of burning flesh. She pressed her hand to her mouth. Nothing came through the link - not even a flash of regret. How terrible that a man who wants so desperately to survive would be so willing to kill, she thought. He planned to kill them all, with her in tow as an unwilling weapon and conduit of the Power.

And could she blame him? After all, they had plotted to trap him first. Seonin reminded herself that he was a filthy Darkfriend. It was hard with the link tugging at her, but she braced herself and pulled away from reading through the link. Instead, she looked searchingly at the burning structure. Had Mirin died in the attack? Emmond didn’t seem to believe so, but Seonin hadn’t seen any other movement.

Then her heart leapt as a woman staggered around the building. Wait… it was not Mirin. This woman had long red hair and bright green eyes. It took a few seconds before Seonin recognized her as the woman she had seen in Emmond’s rooms. The woman who had saved Mirin’s life. Elia Sedai. Was she a friend or an enemy? Her eyes locked on the woman and she struggled to dampen her emotions. Don’t let him know, she told herself. Don’t let him sense her coming...

Then the glow of saidar surrounded the woman and a large weave of Air hurled towards her.

The seconds seemed to stretch for hours. A distant memory surfaced from another life long ago when she had served as one of the Empress’ damane. She remembered a day when the Empress had selected one of her fellow damane and leashed her to a Lord for sport. Usually nothing happened - but sometimes, both the damane and the man would die. Terrible, excruciating deaths. That day had been an unlucky day, and Seonin had knelt, trembling, listening to their screams and feeling utterly helpless.

She felt that way now. These events were beyond her control. Something larger was at stake here, and there was no room for fear. She watched the weave approach, yet she made no sound. She allowed nothing to slip through the link to Emmond. If he had been trained, then he would have sensed the change - a damane could hide nothing from a good sul’dam. But he was not, and so Seonin could hide. Nothing would warn him of this blow.

This was the end.

She embraced her fate and surrendered herself fully.

Emmond

The skin of his arms prickled. A woman was channeling. Was it Mirin? He was no longer sure. The presence of Murdock disturbed him - apparently Mirin had brought friends of her own. Perhaps she wasn’t even here. He wouldn’t put it past her. Unlike himself, she had always preferred to outsource her dirty work.

A flash of pain shot through the link. Then the stream of power that came from the Accepted abruptly vanished. Emmond spun around and grasped for Seonin’s arm, but his hand closed on empty air. He heard a thud as the Accepted hit the ground.

There was no time to think. His enemies were nearby. There! In an instant he wove Fire and Air to cast flames in front of him. Fire spurted from his palms to light the grass. Yet the prickling did not cease. He had missed.

Emmond squashed his frustration. Desperately, he set out weaves of Fire in concentric circles around him. Thick flows of Fire, the power that he had always found the most pleasing to weave. Caralain Grass contained miles of dry kindling - and he set it all aflame. With gusts of wind, he pushed the fire in an outward circle.

Burn it all, he thought. Let the world burn.

His right hand held a blade, nearly hidden in the dark. If they came to find him, then he was ready. He expected that they would come. After all, there was nowhere else to go. The fires would spread across the plain, chased by his weaves of Air. He held himself still and listened for footsteps.

[Craig]

Elia

The Accepted dropped like a sack of potatoes, but Elia had no time to consider Seonin further. Her fate's in the palm of the Creator. The light of saidar vanished from around the woman, and most importantly from around Emmond. The link was severed, but Emmond likely still held more of the Power than herself and Murdock combined. The battle was far from over.

Emmond visibly gathered himself after seeing Seonin fall. His gaze settled very close from where Elia stood. Fear gave strength to her legs as she bolted north, back towards the house. Less than a moment later, gouts of flames flew from Emmond's outstretched palms. She threw herself to the ground, the roar of superheated air whooshing over her. Her skin seared from the heat, pain wracking her entire back from scalp to heels.

Elia paused after the flames dissipated to catch her breath. Burning grassland covered most of the distance between the Indigo sister and the Grey Asha'man. It was nothing short of the Dark One's own luck that had spared her. Spared me, but what about Murdock?! Emmond was no longer focused on the house towards which he'd thrown the Keeper. She scrambled forwards on hands and knees, eventually gathering the courage to rise up to a running crouch. Murdock! Despite everything that had passed between them - the torture, the imprisonment, the murders - she needed the Far Maddinger alive. Her very survival hinged on that.

She made a mad dash towards the house they had sheltered in only moments before. Purple afterimages danced in her vision from the flames, the benefits of holding saidar making things only subtly more visible. Light blazed behind her from Emmond's direction but she couldn't spare the distraction. Murdock was everything right now!

The fireball had blasted its way through to the interior of the building, so that the fire was working it way outwards. Elia eventually stumbled upon the broken form of the Asha'man underneath a window. Thick smoke poured out above his head. She crouched under the choking fumes, collapsing roughly against the unstable wall.

"Murdock!" she shouted. The Asha'man groaned weakly, one dark eye peering out of a face contorted in pain and stained in soot. That was all she needed for now, the spark of life. There was no point probing for the extent of his injuries; he needed to be as strong as possible to contest Emmond. She drew from the angreal just as she had drawn from Avyra and Seonin when saving Mirin, the pulsations of the One Power exhilarating her in spite of the horrors going on all around. Saidar flowed through her into three thick strands of light. She twisted Air around Spirit and Water, making the braiding weave for Healing. She twisted the braid into an endless loop and rested it over the Asha'man's head. It unravelled at a touch, enveloping Murdock with the light of the Creator.

He shuddered, coughed, drew ragged breaths. Both eyes were open wide, but there was no fear in that gaze. That scared her almost as much as Emmond did. What goes on in the mind of a madman? There was no time for further panic. Elia seized the Keeper by the shoulders. "Murdock!" she yelled above the sound of burning timbers. "The link is broken, it's just Emmond now. We need him shielded or we're dead. What do you need from me?"

[Matty]

It's still Murdock, yo Fire was not something Murdock had a great deal of experience in. He was quite fond of burning organs and muscle tissue from the inside, but directly burning the skin seemed a little, well, a little barbaric and pedestrian to him. But he found that as he was pinned to this building and being burned, he had a newfound appreciation for the fine art of melting flesh. Perhaps he could incorporate it into his studies…. Starting with Emmond.

At some point he was dropped to the floor, but at this point the burning was done and the Keeper was a mess. He didn’t move from where he had landed, sprawled with his arms outstretched and his face in the grass. Smoke and burning skin were all he could hear. He could feel his hot clothes sticking to his skin. Melting clothes onto skin. That’s something to try. You could Heal the skin, but the burning material would continue to inflict pain… when faced with death, a man took solace in thinking about the things he loved. Giselle and the girls ought to have featured in there as well, and after thinking about the scientific properties of skin and how resilient it was to heat, that was indeed what came to mind.

Specifically, how could he find his daughters if he died here? And the Shadow wouldn’t make good on their promises to him If he was dead, would they? (Perhaps they would actually… but that wasn’t something Murdock was keen on finding out). And if I die here I can’t shove Emmond’s face into a vat of hot oil. This anger was what kept Murdock somehow awake, so when Elia finally got round to tending to him, he was able to see her. He didn’t move his head, the grass was clinging to his skin painfully. Stop shouting my name and Heal me already, he thought, not trusting himself to speak.

The cold shock of Saidar tearing through his body and Healing his burns was refreshing and exactly what he needed, so Murdock felt more like he was able to move. He coughed to clear his lungs, spitting black spit on the grass as he hauled himself to a sitting up position. His face was covered in soot, and his hair along the left side of his head had been burned away, not an attractive look for the man. In spite of this, and his singed clothes – his coat was barely hanging on, parts of his lean torso visible to the world – Murdock felt a great deal better, and he was ready to do what he was here for.

Murdock batted Elia’s hands from his shoulders. He’d thank her for her Healing efforts later, when they weren’t dead. “I need you to link with me,” he ordered the woman. That Emmond was no longer linked was indeed good news, and the Keeper resolved to continue with their lucky streak. He held himself on the brink of seizing Saidin, “do it now.”

And Elia did. The Power seared through him, Saidin and Saidar working in tandem to give Murdock more life than he had ever felt before. With his angreal to hand as well, he was unstoppable. At least, it felt that way – the reality of it was that even with Elia and his power-wrought object, he was probably only as strong as one of the stronger Asha’man of the Grey Tower. But then, Murdock had never needed any more of Saidin to do exactly what he needed. Shielding, Healing, Rending, it was about precision and creativity rather than brute strength.

A weave of Air formed a new walking stick for Murdock, cloudy and swirling with dark grey within its slender length. It was thin, but it held Murdock easily as he tied the weave off and hauled himself to his feet. “Stay behind me,” he told Elia, his voice calm. The fire was spreading from Emmond in waves, like ripples from an earthquake signalling where he was. Murdock used weaves of Air and Water, not his strongest but better than he anticipated, to put out the flames closest to himself and Elia as he limped forwards stubbornly. The grass was flammable it would seem, but more weaves of Air shred the grass as well, scattering it to fizzle to nothing should it come into contact with flames, but drifting away enough that it wouldn’t burn around himself or Elia.

He couldn’t reliably shield Emmond even with this level of the Power running through him. His work relied on being able to shield someone who didn’t suspect it, and Emmond was still a formidable channeller even with his link removed. He needed to distract him, and ideally not get thrown into a fire this time.

Battle weaves were not Murdock’s area of expertise. He knew how to use the Power to defend himself, sure, but his preference was being up close and personal. Still, an Asha’man did what he had to, and Murdock formed weaves of Earth and Air. He rapped his stick on the ground, and from it the ground tore apart heading towards Emmond. He couldn’t make it dance like some of the other men could, but he could make it ripple and wobble, threatening to overbalance the man. He followed this with weaves of Air to throw at the man, who…. Murdock wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t seem to be very good at dodging these weaves for some reason. Not one to concern himself with a gift horse when it came trotting, Murdock pressed the advantage, limping closer as he did so. He couldn’t hold more than two different threads reliably, being terribly simple with his channelling and all, but he held a shield ready to shove over the man whilst still going on the offensive. His weaves used Saidin and Saidar and he supposed it ought to have been wonderful to see and all of that, but really he was pure focus, intent on getting the job done.

[Jenny]

Emmond

A new sensation of menace pushed against his mind. A male channeler was approaching, holding a large amount of saidin. Emmond tested himself against the stranger and wondered at his strength. They were very nearly evenly matched - a feat that none in the Black Ajah could achieve. Surely this was not the Keeper! Murdock was not this strong in the Power; and besides, Emmond had fried him to crisp.

Emmond faced the source and squinted, as if he could see. Then, he let loose another weave of Fire. As the Power flowed through him, he felt his body tire. He grimaced and licked his lips. How many of them were there? He could not fight forever! Then he felt an answering weave - a certain heaviness that pressed against his skin, a strange lightness that seemed to change the taste of the air. Earth and Air, he thought. Blood and bloody ashes!

He began to run. Then he tripped. Bad idea. He scrabbled to his feet and lashed out with threads of Spirit, guessing at where his enemy cast the weaves. He sliced the first, and the second... then missed the third weave of Air. It swept him back to the ground, which bucked and roiled under his body. He dug his knife into the ground and held on for dear life - to no avail. A fourth weave of Air lifted him and slammed him against the ground.

Stars exploded behind his eyelids and he groaned in pain. Raw power was not going to win him this fight. He quickly wove together flows of Air and Spirit before they could begin flinging him about again like a rag doll.

"Stop," he called. His voice boomed over the sound of roaring fire. "I surrender."

Surprisingly, the earth settled. Emmond remained on the ground, catching his breath.

A woman spoke. "Release the Power, Emmond."

He recognized Elia's voice and his body went rigid. For a moment, anger threatened to overwhelm him. He imagined the sound of her pretty little neck snapping, and the sweetness of her cries, and the spray of her blood... no. He breathed deeply and forced himself to allow saidin to seep away. In silence, he waited. Eventually, footsteps approached. The dry grass crackled and then -

He lunged from the ground and bolted in the direction of her voice. Two quick strides then he slammed into another body. It was unexpectedly tall and angular. They fell together - Emmond twisted and rolled - then his knife stabbed upward and sank into soft flesh. He pulled the blade across the skin viciously, ripping his victim open. He stabbed again, for good measure, then sprang to his feet.

The menacing feel of the opposing male channeler was gone. Emmond grinned nastily and adjusted his grip on the his knife, its hilt sticky with blood. Then he reached again for saidin. Oh, how he was going to make Elia scream...what?!

Instead of the burning light of the Power, his grasp came back empty. A thin, translucent barrier laid between him and the Source. The blasted man had Shielded him! Emmond threw himself at the barrier, expecting it to crumble, but to his astonishment it stretched. Only one man in the Black Ajah possessed this Talent and he realized, too late, that Murdock was not dead.

[Craig]

Elia Darrow

"I surrender."

Elia tried to stop her heart leaping up to her throat. Not in her wildest dreams did she expect Emmond to concede without violence. The Asha'man was on the ground, and for all of his lack of injuries, he did look like an enemy defeated. She tried not to let hope blind her, but this was it! Her moment of triumph that she'd been dreaming of since first coming to Murdock so many months ago now knelt on the scorched ground, broken.

The One Power surged through Elia, but she had no control over it. Weaves of Air and Fire would have carried her voice easily, but without control she just had to shout. "Release the Power, Emmond." There was no way for her to tell if he had, but she relied on Murdock to act appropriately. Saidar made half-formed patterns when the Keeper had lashed out against the Grey, and soon those same odd shapes would be encasing Emmond with a shield blocking him from the Source.

The next moment, everything threatened change. Emmond rose without warning, the flash of something metal in his hands. There was no time to react as Emmond careened into Murdock, the two men tumbling onto the ground together. Frantically Elia tried grasping for saidar or saidin or anything, but it was fruitless. Murdock held the link, and he was grappling against a knife that now glistened with blood. There was little she could do but watch the two men fight against one another. Her fists balled up in anxiety. If Murdock just let go of the link, so she could intervene-

Emmond rose up from the commotion, one hand pressing down against Murdock's chest, the second raised high in the air. His arm descended with the dagger, the straight blade plunging deep into the Keeper. In Elia's eyes, the world visibly darkened. The bonfire's crackling softened, the heat abated. Even her own breath seemed less real somehow. She was no longer connected with Murdock, which meant-

The Grey leaped to his feet with a triumphant flair, and his blind eyes started to search. Peace no! No Light, no! The bud, the Light the source! She strained for serenity, for the acceptance of the One Power, for saidar to rush back into her. It came, light and heat and air once again real. She grasped for Spirit, wove it into a cord, readied to bear down on Emmond-

Murdock stirred on the ground. He pushed himself into a sitting position with one arm, a bloody gash overlying his previous injuries. Brown eyes glared with intent at Elia. "He is shielded."

Emmond lunged for the fallen Keeper.. He moved all of half a step before weaves of golden light enveloped him. Elia lifted him aloft, suspending him several feet off the ground like an out-of-sight marionette. A brief weave of Fire struck his hand, and the dagger dropped harmlessly into the charred grass below with a hiss.

Is this it now? It was a certainty that Emmond was blocked from saidin - he wouldn't put up with the humiliation of being treated like a puppet - but he was also a cunning foe. Despite that, Elia tied off the weaves that held him, even as fearful as she was that there was some other trap to be lured into. Murdock had been through hell already, but he was dying once again. She rushed over with haste, bending to kneel beside him. There was blood seeping out of him like a overfull jam sandwich. "I need to Delve this time."

Elia didn't wait for his acceptance. A mesh of Air and Water and Spirit appeared for her eyes alone over Murdock, and settled over him like a draped sheet. Her initial Healing seemed to have been a complete success, as she sensed no burn wounds, but burns would have paled to this trauma. It was a blessing that Emmond was without sight - his blade pierced the bottom of the Keeper's lung instead of his heart. There was another large laceration that ran clear across Murdock's chest, but that was superficial compared to the internal damage.

"I'll do what I can." The traditional Healing she had used before restored bone and muscle and tissue across an entire person's body, but it healed evenly. The strain of knocking out Seonin and being used as a conduit to attack Emmond had weakened her, even with the benefit of the angreal. This had to be a focused effort; she doubted she had the strength to Heal these wounds the usual way. All five parts of the Power were needed, and that was a danger under these conditions, but there was nothing else for it. She needed Murdock alive to shield Emmond, even if she ended up drained and next to defenceless after this night was said and done.

Air, Spirit, Water and Fire banded together in a complex weave that the Grey Tower had discovered since its founding. This was not a weave she had ever attempted before, but she knew it well after seeing it countless times after the Seanchan siege. Once the other threads were in place, she added in Earth, her weakness when it came to the Power. A headache flared almost immediately as it always did when channelling Earth. She made the reedy cord of green as thick as her talent and the angreal allowed. It will have to do. A tightness pressed against her temples, pain radiating down the side of her head into her neck. The complex Healing came together and urgently she administered the weave into Murdock's wounds. He shuddered despite the heat behind him as the Healing took its effect. Beneath the open tear in his shirt, the gash that ran over his chest vanished, but she couldn't place the puncture wound beneath the blood. But he's alive for now, and that's all that matters.

Elia pushed herself upright and proceeded to brush charred grass from her dress. The red Taraboner robes were ruined, not just at the sleeve but all over from the smoke and ash. A contemptuous look swung up towards the floating Asha'man. He was going to pay for a great many things in the future, and the Indigo Aes Sedai catalogued away this beautiful gown of red silk as the first.

Elia made Emmond float towards her on new bonds of Air, holding everything but his head tightly in place. The Shienaran made a study of his ageless face. He was fair featured once one ignored the pock marks scarring his cheeks, and in spite of a mouth that could smile the most charmed smile, he was not quite attractive. Foolishly she wanted to pinch his chin between thumb and forefinger, to inspect him like a young child before dinner, turning him this way and that. There will be time for that later, she promised herself. Only the Great Lord himself knew what was racing through the Andoran's mind, but if it was death he feared, Emmond Salere was about to be rudely disappointed.

The bubble of Spirit that Elia formed around Emmond was not intended to compliment or replace the shield that Murdock held. When you wished to shield a person, you made the flows thin and supple, the edges soft as to make it hard to fight against. What Elia did was layer Spirit over Spirit, the weave coming together at a hard edge like a knife blade. Slowly, oh so very slowly, she slid the blade of Spirit between Emmond and the Source. Her beautiful ageless face alighted in unbridled pleasure as she cut Emmond off from the One Power, from saidin, from any chance of once again commanding her or Murdock or anyone. She cackled, slowly at first, as the weight of these facts made themselves visible in Emmond's anguished expression.

With a theatrical flick of her hands, Elia let the weaves of Air dissolve. Emmond crashed to the blackened earth, and lay there utterly broken. A perverse surge of pleasure rose in Elia. He was nothing, a flea to be hit out of existence if her whim desired. His chance of surviving until the Great Lord's return had dwindled to nothing; gentled men never lived for long, no longer than a woman who had been stilled. And yet, there was a hope. A sliver of redemption that he would leash himself to if he had any sense whatsoever. She bent down and cupped his chin in both hands, lifting them so he could 'see' her. She wondered how much of his parlour tricks of 'seeing' had to do with the Power, and how much was intuition. Time would surely tell.

She pitched her voice for his ears alone. "Emmond, you have lost. I shall command where you once did, lead where you failed to. I shall see the Black Ajah tear down the walls of Hama Valon and the Grey Tower so completely, the Seanchan will look like a child's tantrum." Roughly she jerked his chin higher. "But your part in the Great Lord's plan is not necessarily done. Swear fealty to me and shall see you live to see him return. Swear fealty to me..." The expression on Elia's face would have chilled him to the bone if only he could see "... and your connection to the Power will be restored."

[Jenny]

Emmond

Even as he lunged for Murdock, he knew that he had lost. Something unseen grabbed his arms and legs and lifted him into the sky. Instead of struggling, he focused on the shield that blocked him from the Power. It shimmered, teasingly translucent, the burning light of the Source hovering beyond that thin film of Spirit. He worked his way around the rounded edges of the weave, and then felt at the soft spot in the center. Murdock still held on to the weave, making it impossible to work loose - ugh! He flung himself against that soft spot, grunting with the effort. Then again. And again. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe. Again. And again. And again.

He could not sense the saidar woven by Elia, but he felt the presence of her weave. Slowly, like an approaching storm covering the sun, a darkness spread over the shield. He didn’t know what it was - no, he knew, but didn’t let himself believe. Emmond shouted aloud, wordlessly, and threw himself violently against it. He had to stop it - he must! - oh Light, they couldn’t -

Then the entire shield went dark and he felt something snap within.

Tentatively he reached for the Power. He found only emptiness. Like a gaping wound, his connection to the Source had been flayed open. He touched the edges, and winced. It felt tender and raw, and held no promise of the glory that was the One Power. They had gentled me, he realized in horror. He strained against his bonds, wanting to clutch at his chest at the emptiness that had opened inside of him, wanting to claw at his eyes and weep. He attempted to arch his back, though his bonds held him in place. And he screamed, overwhelmed by the pain - a hard, pure pain that penetrated the mind and numbed the soul, a pain that he had never imagined could exist.

The bonds released him and he fell heavily to the ground, yet he barely even noticed. He scrambled to his knees; and then his stomach heaved, though nothing came out. He huddled there, holding his head in his hands. Then Elia bent over him and her slender hands cupped his chin. This close, he could smell her, the sweetness of juniper even past the smoke and grass of the plains. Let this be the end, he prayed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
----- They ran across the rooftops of Caemlyn with Emmond in the lead. Small, wiry, lithe - Emmond had not yet achieved the growth of manhood and he leapt with the grace of a cat. Herah followed, her steps light and sure.

“This had better be worth it,” she said.

Emmond slipped down the slope of a roof. His hand caught the edge of the last tile and he dangled for a moment before lightly dropping to the ground. Then he grinned up at his little sister, arms outstretched.

“Oh, it will be,” he said. Herah jumped fearlessly. He caught her, and then set her on the ground. She giggled, and then looked around. Her eyes narrowed.

“Em, where are you taking me? Are we in Carrow’s territory?”

The lie rose easily to his lips. “No. He’s further west. Come, hurry!”

They walked into a lonely alleyway. Emmond stopped at a rusty door and tested the door knob. It turned easily in his hand.

“In here,” he said.

Voices quieted as they entered. The room was hot, large, and musty. Forty, maybe fifty people sat around the edges. They lounged on torn couches or rickety chairs. Mostly men; a few women. All were young, lean, and dangerous. Emmond spotted a familiar group of boys sitting in the back corner. One nodded and winked, and the corner of Emmond’s lip quirked upward. In the very center, a grim man sat on a wooden box, smoking a pipe of tabac. He had many names, but Emmond knew him as Carrow.

Herah looked around, and then drew closer to her brother.

"I don’t like this. Em, is this a joke? Hey, let go of me! No… no! Em, help me! Em!”

Emmond did not turn. He stared blankly ahead. Carrow held out an envelope.

“Here, kid. Your enrollment papers.” He tossed a bag. Emmond caught it and hefted it in his hand. "And some coin, too, for books and clothes and anything else you need. My advice? Get a haircut. You can’t be going to school looking like a rat.”

Emmond took the envelope and turned it in his hand. For a moment, he could see a brighter future ahead. He had asked for - and received - a way out from the streets. No more digging through trash, stealing purses, or begging for scraps. He could learn a trade, get a job, make a living. He could leave all of this behind and perhaps manage to live past his thirties. It was all worth it, he told himself. Wasn't it? Behind him, he heard a sickening crack - then Herah's cries abruptly stopped.

He lifted his eyes to meet Carrow’s.

“No,” he said, evenly, though his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. “No. I’ve changed my mind, sir. This is all I know. This is where I belong. Like you said before, we’re family, aren’t we? I want to work for you."
----- He would not give up.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Emmond burst from the ground, his movements brutal and efficient. His right hand thrust forward and caught her neck. Another knife slipped from his sleeve into his left hand. He twisted behind her and pressed the blade to her throat.

Then his eyes flew open and he gasped as if doused in ice water. Cramps ran up and down his arms and legs. Murdock and his blasted Rending! Emmond gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain. It was nothing compared to gentling. Elia pulled at his arm, but Emmond kept an iron grip around her neck. What had she said? He hadn’t really been listening. Slowly, he recalled her words. Only one line stopped him from slitting her throat.

"Your connection to the Power will be restored."

His hands shook as a terrible, desperate hope suddenly filled him. He tried to remain wary. After all this trouble, were they really going to Heal him so easily? It could not possibly be so simple. Yet his desire to feel the Power again was so great that he threw caution to the wind.

He lowered the knife. Then he released Elia and dropped to one knee with the knife offered flat across his palms.

“In the name of the Great Lord, I swear fealty to Elia Darrow, Aes Sedai of the Grey Tower. I shall follow where you lead and go where you direct. I shall offer advice in good faith and serve without deceit. I shall place your cause above mine, your happiness above mine, and your life above mine."

His lips twisted into a brittle smile.

“Would that suffice?” he asked.