Rand began walking, feet crunching on dead leaves, though there were no trees. He could probably have sent himself back to his own dreams; though he had never been as good as many of the Forsaken at walking dreams, he could manage that much. Curiosity drove him forward.
I shouldn’t be here, he thought. I set wards. How had he come to this place and who had created it? He had a suspicion. There was one person who had often made use of dreamshards.
Rand felt a presence nearby. He continued walking, not turning, but knew that someone was now walking beside him.
"Elan", Rand said.
"Lews Therin". Elan still wore his newest body, the tall, handsome man who wore red and black. "It dies, and the dust soon will rule. The dust . . . then nothing".
"How did you pass my wards?"
"I don’t know", Moridin said. "I knew that if I created this place, you would join me in it. You cant keep away from me. The Pattern won’t allow it. We are drawn together, you and I. Time after time after time. Two ships moored on the same beach, beating against one another with each new tide".
"Poetic", Rand said. "You’ve finally let Mierin off her leash, I’ve seen". Moridin stopped, and Rand paused, looking at him. The man’s rage seemed to come off him in waves of heat.
"She came to you?" Moridin demanded.
Rand said nothing.
"Do not pretend that you knew she still lived. You didn’t know, you couldn’t have known".
Rand kept still. His emotions regarding Lanfear—or whatever she called herself now—were complicated. Lews Therin had despised her, but Rand had known her primarily as Selene, and had been fond of her—until, at least, she tried to kill Egwene and Aviendha.
Thinking of her made him think of Moiraine, made him hope for things he shouldn’t hope for.
If Lanfear still lives . . . might Moiraine as well?
He faced Moridin with calm confidence. "Loosing her is pointless, now", Rand said. "She no longer holds any power over me".
"Yes", Moridin said. "I believe you. She does not, but I do think she still harbors something of a . . . grievance with the woman you chose. What is her name again? The one who calls herself Aiel but carries weapons?"
Rand did not rise to the attempt to rile him.
"Mierin hates you now, anyway", Moridin continued. "I think she blames you for what happened to her. You should call her Cyndane. She has been forbidden to use the name she took upon herself".
"Cyndane . . ". Rand said, trying out the word. " ‘Last Chance’? Your master has gained humor, I see".
"It was not meant to be humorous", Moridin said.
"No, I suppose that it was not". Rand looked at the endless landscape of dead grass and leaves. "It is hard to think that I was so afraid of you during those early days. Did you invade my dreams then, or bring me into one of these dreamshards? I was never able to figure it out".
Moridin said nothing.
"I remember one time . . ". Rand said. "Sitting up by the fire, surrounded by nightmares that felt like Tel’aran’rhiod. You would not have been able to pull someone fully into the World of Dreams, yet I’m no dream-walker, able to enter on my own".
Moridin, like many of the Forsaken, had usually entered Tel’aran’rhiod in the flesh, which was dangerous. Some said that entering in the flesh was an evil thing, that it lost you a part of your humanity. It also made you more powerful.
Moridin gave no clue as to what had happened on that night. Rand remembered those days faintly, traveling toward Tear. He remembered visions in the night, visions of his friends or family that would try to kill him. Moridin . . . Ishamael . . . had been pulling him against his will into dreams intersecting Tel’aran’rhiod.
"You were mad, during those days", Rand said softly, looking into Moridin’s eyes. He could almost see the fires burning there. "You’re still mad, aren't you? You just have it contained. No one could serve him without being at least a little mad".
Moridin stepped forward. "Taunt as you wish, Lews Therin. The ending dawns. All will be given to the great suffocation of the Shadow, to be stretched, ripped, strangled".
Rand took a step forward as well, right up to Moridin. They were the same height. "You hate yourself", Rand whispered. "I can feel it in you, Elan. Once you served him for power; now you do it because his victory—and an end to all things—is the only release you’ll ever know. You’d rather not exist than continue to be you. You must know that he will not release you. Not ever. Not you".
Moridin sneered. "He’ll let me kill you before this ends, Lews Therin. You, and the golden-haired one, and the Aiel woman, and the little darkhaired—"
"You act as if this is a contest between you and me, Elan", Rand interrupted.
Moridin laughed, throwing his head back. "Of course it is! Haven’t you seen that yet? By the blood falls, Lews Therin! It is about us two. Just as in Ages past, over and over, we fight one another. You and I".
"No", Rand said. "Not this time. I’m done with you. I have a greater battle to fight".
"Don’t try to—"
Sunlight exploded through the clouds above. There was often no sunlight in the World of Dreams, but now it bathed the area around Rand.
Moridin stumbled back. He looked up at the light, then gazed at Rand and narrowed his eyes. "Don’t think . . . don’t think I will believe your simple tricks, Lews Therin. Weiramon was shaken by what you did to him, but it’s not such a difficult thing, holding saidin and listening for people’s heartbeats to speed up".
Rand exerted his will. The crackling dead leaves began to transform at his feet, turning green again, and shoots of grass broke through the leaves.
The green spread from him like spilled paint, and clouds above boiled away.
Moridin’s eyes opened wider. He stumbled, staring at the sky as the clouds retreated . . . Rand could feel his shock. This was Moridin’s dream-shard.
However, to draw another in, he had had to place it close to Tel’aran’rhiod. Those rules applied. There was something else, too, something about the connection between the two of them . . .
Rand strode forward, lifting his arms out to the sides. Grass sprouted in waves, red blossoms burst from the ground like a blush upon the land. The storm stilled, the dark clouds burned away by light.
"Tell your master!" Rand commanded. "Tell him this fight is not like the others. Tell him I’ve tired of minions, that I’m finished with his petty movement of pawns. Tell him that I’m coming for HIM!"
"This is wrong", Moridin said, visibly shaken. "This isn’t . . " He looked at Rand for a moment, standing beneath the blazing sun, then vanished.
Rand let out a deep breath. The grass died around him, the clouds sprang back, the sunlight faded. Though Moridin was gone, holding on to that transformation of the landscape had been difficult. Rand sagged, panting, recovering from the exertion.
Here, willing something to be true could make it so. If only things were that simple in the real world.
He closed his eyes and sent himself away, to sleep for the short time before he had to rise. Rise, and save the world. If he could.
Pevara crouched beside Androl in the rainy night. Her cloak was soaked completely through. She knew a couple of weaves that would have been useful for that, but she didn’t dare channel. She and the others would be facing Turned Aes Sedai and women of the Black Ajah. They could sense it if she channeled.
"They’re definitely guarding the area", Androl whispered. Ahead of them, the ground broke away into a large sequence of mazelike brickworks and trenches. These were the foundation rooms of what would eventually become the Black Tower proper. If Dobser was right, other rooms had been created within the foundation—hidden chambers, already complete, that would continue to be secret as the Tower itself was constructed.
A pair of Taim’s Asha’man stood chatting nearby. Though they tried to appear nonchalant, the effect was spoiled by the weather. Who would choose to stand outside on a night like this one? Despite a warm brazier lighting them and a weave of Air to send the rain streaming away, their presence was suspicious.
Guards. Pevara tried sending the thought to Androl directly.
It worked. She could feel his surprise as the thought intruded onto his own.
Something returned, fuzzy. We should take advantage.
Yes, she sent back. The next thought was too complex, though, so she whispered it. "How have you never before noticed that he left the foundation guarded at night? If there really are secret rooms, then the work on them would be done at night as well".
"Taim set a curfew", Androl whispered. "He lets us ignore it only when convenient to him—such as for Welyn’s return tonight. Besides, this area is dangerous, with those pits and trenches. It would be a good enough reason to set guards, except . . "
"Except", Pevara said, "Taim isn’t exactly the type to care if a child or two break their necks poking around".
Androl nodded.
Pevara and Androl waited in the rain, counting their breaths, until three ribbons of fire flew from the night and struck the guards directly in their heads. The two Asha’man dropped like sacks of grain. Nalaam, Emarin and Jonneth had done their work perfectly. Quick channeling; with luck, it either wouldn’t be noticed or would be thought the work of Taim’s men on guard.
Light, Pevara thought. Androl and the others really are weapons. She hadn’t stopped to consider that Emarin and the others would lead with lethal attacks. It was completely outside her experience as an Aes Sedai. Aes Sedai didn’t even kill false Dragons if they could help it.
"Gentling kills", Androl said, eyes forward. "Albeit slowly".
Light. Yes, there might be advantages to their bond—but it was also blasted inconvenient. She would have to practice shielding her thoughts.
Emarin and the others came in from the darkness, joining Pevara and Androl at the brazier. Canler remained behind, with the other Two Rivers lads, ready to lead them from the Black Tower in an escape attempt if something went wrong tonight. It made sense to leave him, despite his protests. He had a family.
They dragged the corpses into the shadows, but left the brazier burning. Someone looking for the guards would see that the light was still there, but the night was so misty and rainy one would have to draw close to realize that its attendants had vanished.
Though he often complained that he didn’t know why the others followed him, Androl immediately took charge of this group, sending Nalaam and Jonneth to watch at the edge of the foundation. Jonneth carried his bow, unstrung in the wet night. They were hoping the rain would let up, and that he’d be able to use it when they couldn’t risk channeling.
Androl, Pevara and Emarin slid down one of the muddy slopes into the foundation pits that had been dug. Mud splashed over her as she landed, but she was already soaked, and the rain washed away the grime.
The foundation was made of stones built up to form walls between rooms and hallways; down here, this became a labyrinth, with a steady stream of rain falling from above. In the morning, the Asha’man soldiers would be set to drying out the foundation.