notmyfaultnotmyfaultnotmyfaultnotmyfault... Dreams had been Mehrin's bane for quite some time, yet this one was different. No demons from his past were there. No ghosts of friend or foe to torment him. There was nothing. Mehrin was floating in blackness, his eyes seeing nothing in the emptiness. Around him, words babbled in a thousand voices, all saying the same thing: notmyfaultnotmyfaultnotmyfaultnotmyfault... Cocking his head, Mehrin listened curiously. "Not my fault?" Mehrin muttered. It made no sense. Not whose fault? What wasn't their fault? No sense at all.

Hey, it's your subconscious, whispered a voice in Mehrin's head. Ignoring the voice, listened to the muttering, trying to find its source. It was behind him. With agonizing slowness, Mehrin turned, hoping to see what was raising the ruckus. notmyfaultnotmyfaultNOTMYFAULTNOTMYFAULTNOTMYFAULT!

With a start, Mehrin's eyes snapped open, the last syllable of the word 'fault' fading from his lips as he did. Pain bored into his skull as bright sunlight fell upon his eyes. Closing them against the bright light, he looked around, trying to remember where he was. His room. Mehrin was back in his room. Or had he ever left? There was no telling. Memory seemed to fight him, but slowly, Mehrin gained control of his mind again, seeking the source and solution to the problem. Why the hallucinating? Why the pain? Why did he look as if he hadn't bathed in days? His eyes found the answer sitting on the small couch in his room.

She was asleep, a book in her lap, her head resting on the back of the couch. Even resting, with the way that the sunlight was streaming over her, she was... You can't even admit it in your own mind, can you? Radiant, beautiful, glorious, you can't admit it. The alcohol withdrawal was not the thing making his stomach do backflips, and Mehrin knew it. You feel something for her, something that you haven't felt since Anya. Admit it. "You know, I never asked for your opinion," Mehrin growled to himself. And that means what to me, to you? You really need to move on, you know. Rolling his eyes, Mehrin shook his head slowly, muttering, "Dammit, I hate it when you're right." Stop talking to yourself and wake her up!

Slowly, Mehrin pushed himself up, leaning against the head of the bed. Light, he felt as if he hadn't moved for days. Why? "Drea," he said gently, hoping to rouse her. Nothing. "Drea?" he said again, a bit louder. She stirred a bit, but didn't wake. Laughing softly, Mehrin raised his voice, the echoes magnified in the small room. "DREA!" To his amusement, the woman started, dropping the book on the floor. A tired smile on his face, Mehrin said, "Now that I've got your attention, what's going on and how long have I been here?"

As the man spoke, he pushed one of the chairs out from the table. “It is now, if you wish. Names mean little here, and are changed as often as the bed sheets.” With a small smile on his face, the man added, “I am called Drak. What brings me the pleasure of your company?” Ayrik's mind was already at work. He saw what the man was doing with the selection of seating. The gesture was one suggesting that he didn't want to see him injured, a kindness. He was waiting for a reaction. Several possibilities were available to Ayrik, but how to best present himself. This place was dangerous, as Drak had just proven. In a moment, Ayrik's path was clear. Without a word, he pulled one of the chairs away from the table and took a seat... with his back to the cafeteria. He had to establish an air of either unconcern or courage. Or slight stupidity. Any of those impressions would give Ayrik the beginnings of a handhold.

As he settled himself, Ayrik answered Drak's question. "You bring the pleasure of my company, as you call it. Your attention is what drew me." Ayrik was careful with his tone. He didn't need Drak thinking that he was challenging him. It wouldn't end well for him. His attention was focused on the other man for multiple reasons. Thoughts could be read on a face as easily as in a voice. Easier at times. More importantly, if somebody were to come up behind him, Ayrik's only hints would come from the man in front of him. Even if it wasn't his intent, the man could possibly save his life.

Ayrik continued as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on in his mind, not a hard bit of acting, as nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "A man seated by himself in a location obviously chosen to remain inconspicuous, making certain to notice everybody who enters the door. I'm the freshest piece of meat in this place, an easy target. Why would you take interest in me?"

Cold reasoning and logic. Those two facts of life were a luxury which Ayrik Drayven enjoyed. However, it did sometimes lead him to... complications. He was a man who could channel, but channeling would not always be an option. He might be shielded. He might be in a place where saidin was denied to him. He might be on an undercover mission. Ayrik knew that his size afforded him an advantage in intimidation; many would be discouraged from fighting with him simply because of his size. However, that would not always be the case. Ergo, some sort of self-defense capability would be nessecary. It was that line of logic that led him to where he was now: standing in one of the halls of the Fortress, the Dreadlady who had been in charge of his tour on his first day standing before the gathered students.

As soon as she was satisfied that those who were supposed to be present were there, the Dreadlady led the entire assembly towards the cellars. Ayrik rarely went down to those levels himself. Despite all the logic that he could throw in its direction, Ayrik simply couldn't function very well in closed spaces. It was something that he would have to deal with on his own. It was to one of the larger rooms that she led the group, moving everybody to one side. Ayrik took a moment to examine his surroundings. This room, though belowground, was obviously used for something. For what, though, he couldn't say.

The Dreadlady broke the silence: "I hope all have packed as intructed and not forgoten anything, least of all the instruction of cautiousness, it would be ill if we drew unwanted attention to the place. However see it as an exelent lesson in managing without the one power, there is always times when you are bether of doing things without it, be it you are in someplace you do not want anyone to know your ability, or that you are tired from spending a lot of energy for some reason or another, even as you know the reason can be channeling in itself." Patting the satchel hanging from his shoulder, Ayrik ran through everything that he had packed, just to be sure he was ready. He was. Let's do this, he thought, satisfied.

Being a parent was harder than being a general, Mehrin had decided. If a man tried to make a fool of you as a general, he could be dealt with. If one's child did it through an accident, all one could do is laugh. So when Mehrin found himself quite thoroughly coated for a second time in flour, it was all he could do not to start laughing out loud. Renalie's reaction was priceless. Stifling her own giggles, she tried to wipe some of the flour off his face, resluting in a larger mess than before, with traces of egg now mixed with the flour. When she scratched her face, though, and coated her own face in the sticky concoction, Mehrin couldn't resist any longer. His shoulders shaking with each chuckle, he said, "At this rate, they're going to have to bake us if we want a cake out of the deal."

The cake, it seemed, was only going to be a fraction of the planned size, seeing how a good portion of the ingredients had gone into making Mehrin a ghost. Just as well; Mehrin really didn't feel like sharing a cake that he and his daughter had made with the Band. Besides, they'd probably never forgive him for it.

The final few eggs went into the bowl, and with a triumphant grin, Mehrin said, "Now it's on to the next step. Ummm..." Mehrin looked at the ingredients spread out on the table, totally confused. "The next step is... ummm..." Giving up, he turned to the cook. "Just what is the next step anyway?" The man rolled his eyes and pointed at the pitcher of milk. "Ah, yes, the milk. I knew that. Right." Sliding the pitcher across the counter to Renalie, Mehrin said, "You do the honors."

Ayrik assumed that the concept of using people was not going to be a new thing to these people. As a matter of fact, it was probably one of the untaught lessons of the place. There were more people than just him observing and plotting in these halls. The thought brought another cold smile to Ayrik's face. These people would have that in common with him, it seemed. However, he refused to believe that anyone could come close in their manipulative abilities to what he could do. Time is on my side, Ayrik thought. Use it wisely.

There was one other loner in the room that caught Ayrik's attention. Like him, he was seated a short distance from everybody else, his back situated against a wall. It was a well-chosen location, as well, near the entry to the hall, inconspicuous. Despite the easy demeanor that he exuded, Ayrik got the distinct impression that the man was waiting for him to make a false move, anything that could be used against him. Ayrik had no intention of giving him that.

Crowds bothered Ayrik, so he ate relatively quickly, his eyes shifting between people, often returning to the man by the door. One of those times, the man caught him. Instead of any one of the myriad of reactions that Ayrik was expecting, the man gave him a barely discernable smile and a quick wink, his glass raised slightly in greeting. Perhaps he had passed some test or another in the man's books. His eyes locked onto the other man's, Ayrik nodded, a slight inclination of his head, and returned his attention to the remainder of his meal.

Polishing off the last of his meal, Ayrik left his tray on his table and strolled towards the door, deftly dodging the other men and women in the room. It was a bit of a gamble, he knew, but it would be worth it. An ally, no matter how temporary, would be useful in this place. He couldn't allow the other man to think him a timid newcomer, either. That would be suicide. The timid had no place in the Shadow. As he drew abreast of the other man's table, Ayrik paused and looked at the other man directly. Then, without a second thought, he altered his course. Arriving at the other man's table, Ayrik waited for him to notice his presence before addressing him, his voice cool and calm. "Greetings. I'm Ayrik Drayven, formerly of Tar Valon. Is this seat taken?"

OOC: Are you insinuating something with that fruitcake comment, young lady? ;)

IC: "A fruitcake sounds fine to me," Mehrin said, smiling. He couldn't remember ever trying fruitcake, though there were rumors of a few in the Band. And, supposedly, they were as old as the Band, too. It was not a pleasant thought, to say the least. Mehrin could imagine biting into a slice of the final product and losing half of his teeth in the process. Tossing his cloak unceremoniously on a pile of potatoes, Mehrin rolled up his sleeves and braced himself for the upcoming ordeal. I doubt that there's a better word for it, he thought.

Mistake number one was not long in coming. The flour in the bowl, Mehrin wasted no time in mixing it, the white powder billowing out of the large bowl, coating his hands, face and clothes. "Ummm... sir? You're not supposed to do that yet." The cook's amusement wasn't even concealed. Mehrin was a bit glad for the thin layer of flour on his face; the slight reddening of his features from restrained laughter would have been hard to explain. Giving the bowl another glance, Mehrin shrugged once and put it back on the counter.

A quick dusting was all that was needed to remove most of the flour from Mehrin's face, soon he was at it again. Lifting Renalie back onto the counter, he slid the eggs between them so she could reach. Ah, breaking things! Something I'm good at, Mehrin thought, a small grin coming onto his face. Lifting one of the eggs from the basket, Mehrin found himself wondering just who had thought to eat these first. The person must have been either really hungry or insane. With a chuckle, Mehrin cracked the egg on the side of the bowl, emptying the contents into the flour. "I think I'm doing this right," Mehrin said, shrugging as he reached for another egg. "However, I'll eat the first piece, just in case."

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, Mehrin felt his mind clearing. Filling the void left by the swirling madness was an empty yearning, as if he were craving... something. He was in his room. Mehrin's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. He didn't remember coming here. It took him a moment to realize that he was holding onto something. A hand. A hand that belonged to... Mehrin traced the arm to it's source. Drea. Banner Captain Xandrea Raylin of the Scouts. Why did her touch seem electric to him? Shaking his head violently, Mehrin fought back the answer that seemed so anxious to come to mind. He didn't have time for it.

It was with reluctance that Mehrin released his grip on Drea's hand. "I don't recall getting here," he muttered simply, his eyes locked onto Drea's face. What was it about her that seemed... off? "Light, my head hurts. What's going-" It started as a trickle, then a flood of memory. That intervening space since he had left the office. Light, had it been so long? All of that had to have taken hours, maybe longer. The ache in his mind still called for relief. For... With a derisive laugh, Mehrin addressed Drea, "This is your fault, you know."

As he prepared his explaination, though, a voice spoke. "This do be your fault, you know..." It couldn't be... Clarity of mind disappeared in agonized horror as the corner of Mehrin's room fell away to reveal Anya, her lovely features now marred by bruises and blood. An eagle-headed Trolloc appeared, sinking its talon-like claws into Anya's arm and dragging her screaming towards its brethren, all gathered around a large fire. The beast tossed her to the loamy earth, where another seized her by the throat. Her voice raspy around the massive hand that held her, Anya screamed, "You did send me to die! You did order me to the Trollocs as if you had handed me to them!"

"Light, Anya, no!" Mehrin cried in frustration. His frustration gave way to howling despair when he realized that he couldn't move, couldn't help. He couldn't even look away. Not when the Trollocs had carved her clothes away as if skinning an animal. Not when they had forced her screaming into a massive black pot. Not when they began feeding. Light, he had failed her. Slowly, the vision faded, leaving Mehrin alone in darkness, Anya's screams echoing in his mind.

With a happy smile, Mehrin wrapped his arms around Renalie, holding her tightly. One of these days, he'd have to figure out just how she had managed to worm her way into his heart. However she had done it, Mehrin was glad that she had. The world, it seemed, was more than a delay between battles. As he held his daughter, Mehrin began to wonder, yet again, what he would do with her if the Band were called away, or worse... What if the Citadel was attacked? You bloody fool! This is supposed to be a happy event. Deal with it later. Setting Renalie down on the counter, Mehrin said, "Well, I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. However, you'll have to forgive me, as I have no idea how one goes about baking a cake."

The sudden, excited look on Renalie's face was more than worth the embarassment that he knew was coming. Not only did he not know how to bake a cake, he couldn't even cook properly. The best that he could do was roast a rabbit on a stick. Not what he'd call the pinnacle of the culinary arts, to be sure. He had, however, recruited the use of one of the cooks available at the Citadel. And a real cook, for once, not a field mess officer. If he was going to do this, Mehrin had every intention of doing it properly.

Aldar had stationed himself near the door in the event that somebody tried to take them unawares. Lifting Renalie off the counter, Mehrin carried her to where the cook was waiting as patiently as the sack of flour on the floor next to him. Mehrin let Renalie down to the floor, and as she explored the kitchen, Mehrin whispered to the cook, "This never happened, you understand?" If the Band found out that its commander had taken an afternoon off to bake a cake with his daughter, Mehrin would never hear the end of it.

There! A name had finally emerged from all the chaotic reports of that incident in Lugard. The gleeman Jaros Nameros had apparently been responsible for the initial attack. However, the woman on the stage had named him Joar, and he had named her Nemene. Though the information was sketchy, somebody had mentioned the name Joar in conjuntion with the Forsaken. He had people looking into that connection. It was a lead, a link in the chain that would eventually lead to the long, drawn-out death of a murderer. A grim smile slowly crept its way onto Mehrin's face. There was something missing, however...

A quick look at the small clock on his desk told him all that he needed to know. Setting the paperwork, the worries, and all the other troubles that accompanied the rank of commander on his desk with his pen, Mehrin gathered his hat and cloak and strode out of the office. For once, he was actually happy to be heading in the direction of the kitchen. Typically, he couldn't even get past the smell of the place, but today would be an exception. For one, he had ordered this particular kitchen shut down for the day for its monthly cleaning. More importantly, though, was his purpose there.

Ever since she had gotten to the Citadel, Renalie had been begging Mehrin to bake a cake or something with her. He had agreed, as a naming day present. Aldar would be bringing her from whatever they had been doing previously. He was probably the best choice of bodyguards that Mehrin could have made.

The walk to the kitchens didn't take too long. His appearance was useful for that. Too bad that the speed was accompanied by salutes from every other person that saw him. I really should have put a stop to that as soon as I figured out that it'd be a problem! The blessed odorlessness of the kitchen was more welcome than Mehrin would have thought. Stepping inside, he took a seat on a counter and awaited Renalie's arrival.

Renalie rubbed at her eyes sleepily. She did not know what time it was, other than the crack of sunlight she'd seen dimly through the curtains when she'd woken momentarily earlier was now a bright shaft of sunlight filling the room. I'm in daddy's room. He did want me after all! Fingers gripped the edge of her blanket and tired eyes peered curiously about the room, showing objects strange to her. It was a wonder she'd slept so well in the alien bed, but tiredness had surpassed her and she did not even remember falling asleep. Renalie smiled at the thought of seeing her father again. What would he do with her today? Would he play with her? Devoutly, she hoped that he wouldn't introduce her to that nasty woman again. Her stomach growled at her, reminding her that she had not eaten in a long time since picking at the meal given to her last night, and she pushed the covers back, intent on finding something to eat.

"Commander!" Shaking his head angrily, Mehrin looked up from the cot he had brought into his office, a quiet glare on his face. "How many times must I tell you not to call me that?" The man who had addressed him stepped into the office, revealing the messenger that he had sent to Lugard. He didn't look happy to be there. It took a moment for Mehrin to pick up on the two most important issues at hand... The man had brought back the money that Mehrin had sent, and his letter was in hand, still sealed. Sitting up, Mehrin asked quietly, "What's going on?" His tone seemed to carry more than what Mehrin had intended, and the messenger backed away from him a few steps before speaking.

Moments later, Mehrin was trudging through the streets of the Citadel, fixed on getting back to his room and to Renalie. To Renalie, especially. He felt as if somebody had hit him in the guts with a forge hammer. Light, how am I going to tell her? Arriving back at his room, Mehrin reached to open the door, only to have it wrenched away from his grip. Surprise altered the sick look that had been on his face moments before as he saw his daughter's face beaming up at him. "Umm... Renalie? We need to talk," Mehrin said unsteadily.

"Talk, daddy? What do we need to talk about?" Oh, no ... was he going to tell her that she couldn't stay here after all? Did that serious look on his face mean that she was to pack her meagre possessions and would likely be riding back to Lugard as soon as he could usher her out of the door? It was not fair! Sitting on the edge of the bed, Renalie swung her legs, staring intently at her toenails. "I'm hungry, daddy, can I have something to eat first?"

As Renalie sat on the bed, Mehrin took the only chair in the room and pulled it close to his daughter. "Don't worry about it. If I know the people who send my breakfast every day, they'll be bringing food pretty soon." Delaying the inevitable, are we? Mehrin thought irritably. Unconsciously, Mehrin's hand slowly reached out and encircled his daughter's. Just say it, already! Clearing his throat, Mehrin started, "I sent a messenger to Lugard with a note for your mother, telling her that you were okay."

Mehrin's voice cracked as he spoke. Light, why was he feeling so hurt by this? There was a brief pause before Mehrin continued. "He brought back the letter, unopened, and ..." Drawing a deep breath, Mehrin let it out. "Renalie, there was an attack of some sort in Lugard..." "... that I'm looking into, but Ana was... your mother... she..." She's dead! Why can't you say it? Not letting go of Renalie's hand, Mehrin rested his head in the other hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Light, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, daddy? What are you sorry for?" There had been an attack on their home and her father was sorry? Was it that bad that she couldn't go home because the bad people had burnt their house to the ground? If so, that was easily remedied and they would simply rebuild. Renalie saw the look on her father's face and it dawned on her that it might be more serious than that. What had happened? Was her mother dead? No! I'll never see her again! Slowly dawning realisation gave way to something else ... something deeper. Tears started to roll from the corners of her eyes down cheeks as Renalie realised the full extent of why her father was here. Her appetite was completely gone, even the mere thought of food was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. "Daddy…? Please tell me she's alright."

At his daughter's question, tears that Mehrin had been fighting slowly began to win. From beneath his shadowed eyes, a solitary drop fell to the floor. "She was... caught in the... middle of it. She's gone." Light, I've brought her nothing but pain, and now she's trapped here! Mehrin didn't even notice the occasional sob that was escaping from him. She was gone. He had hoped to bring her here, to maybe rebuild what had been destroyed. All for nothing. Another tear fell to the dusty floor.

She could not control her tears. Her father was also crying, confirming the horrid news that she had not wanted in her heart to acknowledge. Her mother was ... dead! Renalie shook with wave after wave of tears as they flew through her. There was so much sadness, and so much grief. So many tears spilt, almost as many as blood. Oh, mother! Renalie thought, weeping tears so much it made her want to run and hide. Maybe she could go back to Lugard and try and find her! There was always a possibility she was still alive! Still shaking with tears, Renalie flew across the room towards Mehrin; arms outstretched as she latched onto him and held him tightly. "Daddy..." Barely intelligible words came from her mouth, nothing more would issue except sobs. "It's not fair."

Wrapping his arms tightly around his daughter, Mehrin held her, his grief and hers shared. "I know it's not. She did nothing to earn the fate she did." There were already Banders in Lugard investigating just what had happened, as well as taking care of what needed to be done with Ana.

Shaking, Renalie poured her grief out onto her daddy’s shoulder. Her mother had done nothing wrong, why had she had to … die?

Giving Michael a seated bow of his head, Ayrik waited until the other man had departed before rising to leave himself, his eyes fixed upon the rose that he held. Apparently, it would not wither and die with the Keeping weave on it, and Ayrik could already see some of the other effects. The blood on the thorns should have dried, but it was still as red and vivid as it had been when he had first been stuck. Such an intriguing weave. Most of Ayrik's walk was spent impressing the simple beauty of the rose on his mind, savoring its fragrance.

Yes, he would keep the rose, more as a reminder than for the sake of observation. Saidin and that flower were quite similar. Both had their beauty, their very presence brightening a room. Both had their thorns, and if one didn't pay attention, one could find oneself pricked by the very thing one meant to pluck. Shrugging, Ayrik shifted his attention back to the halls of the fortress. He had work to be about.

There was a lot of unspoken threat in the Dreadlady's words. There was no other explaination for her actions or words. As the woman finished, Ayrik bowed his head respectfully. He held no illusions as to his position here. He was at the bottommost rung of a very tall ladder. One day, though, that would not be the case. One day, they would learn to fear him. However, that day was still far off. He'd have to start small. A small, cool smile crossed Ayrik's face. This was the dining hall, after all. People spoke while eating. He could begin finding the right levers to push, the right lines to pull, to play with these people. They could be useful.

Stepping into the dining hall, Ayrik assumed a look of internal concentration and strode smoothly across the hall. Despite his size, he had to appear unthreatening. Filling a tray, Ayrik found a secluded spot and situated himself, still seemingly lost in thought. Eating slowly, he listened to those around him, picking out important phrases, building mental models. It was never too early to prepare oneself.

Another week in the past, another meeting with Michael. At the end, Ayrik had decided that the spiraling of the threads was much more difficult than he had suspected. Working with two at once had been draining. The move to three even more so. By the time he made it to four, an hour of work was all that he could manage at a time. It seemed that four would be his limit for the time being. It hadn't taken Ayrik long to figure out that he couldn't push himself too hard. Stories circulated the halls of the fortress every day of both men and women who pushed themselves that extra inch. This week, the story was about a young woman who suddenly burst into flames. She had burnt to cinders before anybody could react. As if anybody would have.

After a brief testing, Michael withdrew a candle from one of his pockets. An odd sensation eminated from his mentor, something that Ayrik hadn't felt last week. He'd have to think about it later. Michael began to... the only way that Ayrik could describe it was 'weaving'. It was a simple thing made up solely of Fire, and when it touched the wick of the candle, it sparked into flame. Another weave began to materialize, even simpler than the other, and with a puff of air, the candle extinguished itself. Giving him only the instruction to do what he had done, accompanied with a warning that it might take a few tries, Michael relinquished command of the candle to Ayrik, who wasted no time.

It was a simple weave, and it was in an element in which Ayrik felt that he was particularly strong. There would be no problems with this one. Seizing saidin, Ayrik carefully set about putting together the weave that he had been shown. Apparently it wasn't as easy as it looked. Setting the last thread into place, the whole weave suddenly seemed to collape into something. Something that caused a small ball of fire to pop into existence in front of Ayrik before rapidly expanding into nothing. Smelling burnt hair, Ayrik quickly examined himself, finding all the hair singed off his arms. "Let's not do that again," Ayrik muttered as he set about the weave again. It took a few more tries, with results ranging from nothing to a puff of smoke, but the candle was finally burning. A small victory.

The weave of Air was a bit simpler. However, Ayrik still managed to mess it up the first time. The candle went out, but the small puff had been replaced with a deafening bang. Back to the beginning. The Fire weave seemed to come easier the second time around. And with a slower hand, Ayrik managed not to deafen everybody when extinguishing the flame. Heh, there is such a thing as beginner's luck, I guess.

The lesson continued with a mudpile. Michael wove threads of Earth and Water together, causing a mound of mud to build up. The weave was a bit more complex, but not too bad. Besides, the weave did not do anything as crazy as the Fire weave had done when he botched the weaving. However, the weave finally came together, and a second pile of mud accompanied the first. This time, all five of the elements were used, with Spirit being the predominant thread. Plucking a flower from the ground, Michael set the weave around it, then bid Ayrik to do the same. Looking about, Ayrik sought the nearest flower to him. A few crimson roses beckoned to him. Rising, Ayrik retrieved one of the flowers, pricking his finger in the process, and returned to his spot on the ground. There were still traces of the morning dew on its petals, and a few drops of his own blood lingered on one of the thorns. Despite his normal cold demeanor, Ayrik did have an appreciation for beauty and symbolism. With care, he slowly worked the weave together, letting it settle upon the rose. There was no change in the rose itself, but Michael's nod indicated that he had done it properly.

Again, Michael spoke, describing how these weaves could be used in different circumstances. However, it was his last statement that Ayrik locked on to. "All these things usefull at moments that you in time wont come to think of using them less for if you lost the ability find how much you come to rely on them, which is another lesson to not forget how to rely on yourself without saidin." Yet another trap into which he could fall, if he allowed it to happen. But he wasn't going to let it happen.

Still holding saidin, Ayrik listened as his teacher went over the steps for releasing the Source... and the cost for a mistake. Losing this... it was like the world was more vibrant than anything he could have imagined. Reluctantly, though, Ayrik did as he was instructed and pushed away saidin. Even with the taint still twisting his stomach with the thought of it, Ayrik couldn't help but feel empty without the Source there. That would be something that he'd have to be careful with; if it was addicting, Ayrik didn't want it to cloud his judgement.

As instructed, Ayrik reformed the flame and the void, then reached out again to saidin, reveling in the struggle and vibrancy for a moment before pushing it away. Twice in a row. He had a feeling that there had been a lot of luck involved with that to not have suddenly just lost control. Careful indeed. Seize slow, release slow. Seize slow, release slow. You can't afford to screw this up, Ayrik. Absently, Ayrik noticed that his trainer was rising to dismiss him. Pushing away saidin, Ayrik rose and bowed his head slightly in thanks before strolling across the courtyard to a secluded corner. He had work to do.

______________

It had been a week well-spent, in Ayrik's opinion. The work had been hard, but manageable. That first night, though, had been more than difficult. Ayrik had only stopped to eat. That night, he had worked himself to the point of exhaustion. Sleep had never come so quickly. During the week, Ayrik had noticed a marked increase in his ability to seize saidin and release it, as well as the speed at which he could accomplish both. Most importantly, he didn't kill himself. That little fact was enough to make him smile.

There was a definite difference in the way that Ayrik's trainer treated him upon their next meeting. The man greeted him warmly, saying, "Well then, as it seems you will be staying at least for now, let me introduce myself. Offering his hand, which Ayrik took, the man said, "I'm Michael, let's go sit down and I will tell you a little more."

The two settled themselves into the grass again, at which time Michael launched into an explanation of the One Power and channeling. Time lost all meaning as Ayrik focused on what was being said, mentally filing information away to be reviewed later. No doubt there'd be books on this in the library; he'd do his own independant studying on the topics.

"Now as i said there is 5 elements, fire, earth, air, water and spirit, each have a faint color but more then anything you should be able to feel almost taste who is who," Michael said. As he spoke, five strands appeared in the air in front of him. Ayrik took a moment to examine them. The red one had to be Fire, the blue Water. The others, he was a bit uncertain of, but he nodded in understanding.

Seeing the nod, Michael continued, "Okey now grasp saidin, it by now should give you no problems, then i want you to try and copy me." Indeed it was no problem to grasp saidin, wrestling it into control. With saidin in him, Ayrik could actually see what was being done. Slowly, a thread appeared to separate from what Michael was doing, tinted yellow. Inside the Void, felt through saidin, seeking something... There! Slowly, with an awkward, fumbling sensation, Ayrik withdrew the yellow thread from saidin. It felt like a cool breeze felt on a warm day. Air. This must be Air. Ayrik thought. Another thread emerged, this one red. The feel of warmth and the red tint were easier to find than the yellow, and the thread revealed itself. And on it went, through Earth, Spirit, Water, and back through them again, in different order.

Michael seemed to be satisfied, and the thread suddenly became two. The two spiraled around each other before vanishing, only to be replaced by two others. "This is what i want you to use as practise untill next week, make spirals, make them in difrent combinations, and as you go stronger practise making more at once. Geting comfortable with drawing on the difrent elements, as well this would learn you which elements you find yourself stronger and weaker in."

With a nod, Ayrik withdrew the two elements that had been the easiest for him, the warmth of Fire and the light of Spirit. It was a bit more difficult than simply pulling a single thread from saidin, but manageable. He could tell, however, that this was going to be another exhausting week. Experimentally, Ayrik twisted the two. He couldn't say how he did it, but nonetheless, the result was the same: the two threads wrapped together into a spiral. It was extremely clumsy and awkward to watch, and it felt odd, but it happened. It's a step.

_________________

Four days passed, and Ayrik finally felt comfortable trying to do two at once. Withdrawing four threads, two each of the two that were probably his strongest- Fire and Spirit- Ayrik concentrated on bringing the two together. It was not easy; with four threads at work instead of two, Ayrik felt as if he was doing twice as much work. However, the threads did weave together. Letting them dissolve, Ayrik drew out four more threads and did it again. He would be a Dreadlord. He would not fail. As a goal, Ayrik set five spirals at once for the end of the week. It would take work, but he could do it. He was sure of it.

Ayrik had been expecting more time between his arrival and the beginning of his training. It was more than a pleasant surprise when he was told that his classes would be starting so soon. It was all that Ayrik could do to even sleep that night. The sense of power was tantalizingly close. But sleep he did.

The sun had barely broken the horizon when Ayrik stepped out of the building and into the courtyard, the sun seeming dull on his gray clothing. The sun seemed dimmer since entering the Blight, as if it was repulsed by the place. With a small laugh, Ayrik realized what he was doing. You've been so anxious to learn how to control what you have, yet you can't bring yourself to think about it. It was weakness. He would have to smother it or it would be his doom here. There could be no mistakes.

His teacher must have known what to look for in his student, because he drew Ayrik's attention before Ayrik could identify him. The man wasted no time. "You must be my new student?" Ayrik answered with a short nod. "Very well, from now on forget all you know of your former life, you start over today and when you are done with training you will be a Dreadlord."

Ayrik had suspected that it would be like this. His old life must be abandoned to make way for the new. But how does one simply forget about seventeen years of one's existance? It would be a puzzle to solve later, how to keep himself while losing himself.

His teacher didn't wait long to continue. "Now let's sit down," the man said, walking to a patch of grass and seating himself. There was a moment of hesitance before Ayrik finally settled himself to the grass. This was it. "Close your eyes and form a flame to the inner side of your mind, feed all emotions into it, let it be the only thing in focus in your mind. It is important that you remember to stay calm and in control, saidin is like a furious storm, you must bend it to your will or else it will cary you away." Picturing the flame was easy, as was feeding his emotions into it. Ayrik's mind was never still, though, and each time that he felt as if he were getting closer, his mind would wander. You think too much. Just knock it off and focus.

As he continued, he heard the other man say, "Close your eyes and form a flame to the inner side of your mind, feed all emotions into it, let it be the only thing in focus in your mind. It is important that you remember to stay calm and in control, saidin is like a furious storm, you must bend it to your will or else it will cary you away."

Why does that sound like it is easier said than done? Ayrik asked himself, once again losing the Void. Damn! Again, the flame. No rush. No haste. Let it happen. Slowly the emptiness filled his mind. Wavered. Held. Good. No emotion. A sudden sense of something else filled Ayrik's mind. A light just beyond seeing, a warmth on the back of his mind. Saidin. Tenatively, Ayrik stretched his mind towards it. And immediately withdrew his touch, a sense of revulsion overwhelming the Void. Great Lord, was that the taint? Slowly, Ayrik managed to fight down the urge to empty his stomach.

I can't fail now. I've just begun! The emptiness returned just as slowly as before, as did the warmth of saidin. Slowly, Ayrik extended his mind to the beckoning light, fighting the wave of revulsion at the touch of the taint. And brushed saidin. It was brief, but it felt like an eternity. Fire, ice, and filth all rolled through him, pummelled him. Resolutely, Ayrik fought it back, and lost it. It would take another ten attempts to finally seize and hold saidin, to struggle it into his grasp.

It was a struggle that Ayrik thought that he could get used to.

Ayrik knew that he would have much expected of him by those in charge of his training. Becoming one of those who would lead, who would kill in the name of the Great Lord was not an honor to be bestowed upon those who did not deserve it. There was ambition to Ayrik's thoughts, but it did not burn. Ayrik was cold. Too much emotion clouded the mind. He had to be sharp. To be sharp, he had to be at his peak.

Which was why he was asleep.

The knock at his door was startling, but not unexpected. Twisting about to the edge of the bed, Ayrik didn't have a chance to stand before the door opened, admitting a surprisingly tall woman. She took a moment to examine Ayrik before ordering him to follow. A slight hesitation was all that betrayed the unease that Ayrik felt, but he did as he was bidden.

With a gait and clipped manner of speech that implied that she had business elsewhere, the woman led Ayrik through the building. Dormitories, the library, classrooms. Ayrik mentally marked each feature that the woman mentioned, paying special attention to the location of the library. Passing through the Adept quarters would probably be a bit risky, as they were likely to lord their authority over him. And Ayrik was not interested in being lorded over by anybody but the Great Lord.

As they came to the end of their tour, the woman said, "Behind me is the door into the mess hall where you can find your meals with the other intiates, are there any questions? if not i will leave you so you can attend dinner and meet your peers."

With a small shrug, Ayrik answered, "When do I begin learning, Mistress? It's what I'm here for."

Chachin had come and gone, giving Ayrik Drayven his final hint. Go north. Somebody would meet him. It hadn't taken much to see the apparent fear that the Friends had of him. More specifically, of what he could do. Ayrik himself wasn't too comfortable with the idea. He could channel. He could touch the One Power. The tainted half, saidin. Everybody knew that it had been stained such when that fool the Dragon had sealed the Great Lord back in his prison, a parting gift, so to say. But the seals were weakening, and the Great Lord was becoming stronger. He would break free; Ayrik had no doubt of that. It had taken the Creator to bind the Great Lord in the beginning, and man could not rival what the Creator had done in his foolishness.

Taking pause from his thoughts, Ayrik surveyed the land around him. It was a bit cooler in Kandor than it was in Tar Valon, but the wind carried some heat and moisture. The Blight. He was close.

The Shadow had many servants. The Friends of the Dark, the Shadowspawn, the Chosen, all bound in some way to the Great Lord. Ayrik had been raised a Darkfriend, ready to give his life if the Great Lord ordered it. And he had been given an opportunity to do great things for the Great Lord. Despite the risk of the taint, it would be worth it. The power... it was intoxicating, and he hadn't even taken his first steps. What would it be like when he could use it at will?

Ayrik never noticed the man who joined him as he continued north. One moment he was alone, and the next, there was a man walking alongside him. Despite his surprise, Ayrik managed to move his hands in the signs shown to him by the Circle in Chachin as he said, "Hello, friend," his voice deep and quiet. Shouting was not Ayrik's nature, and his voice reflected that, smooth and calm.

"I'm no friend of yours. What is your business?" the man replied, his voice eerily cold and emotionless. However, at the same time, the man's hands moved slightly, a gesture that said they could speak openly. However, Ayrik was sure that the man was looking for any reason to kill him. Caution seemed to be the way to go.

"I have talents that need training, training that I cannot find anywhere else." Ayrik was suddenly struck with a thought. What if this man could channel? With a small grin, Ayrik added, "We may not be friends, but we are the same, you and I. You should be able to tell that by now." He hoped. There was little written about channeling, and Ayrik didn't know if it was possible for one channeler to sense the ability in another. Ayrik knew how fine a line he was walking. Stray but a little, and the man before him would kill him.

The man seemed to be examining him, as if sizing Ayrik up for a coffin. An unsettling thought. He finally spoke again. "You're right. Interesting. Come with me, and don't slow me down. If you would have continued on this path, you would have run right into a Kandori Blight patrol, and that would have ended your aspirations in a hurry. We'll rest in a little hideout of ours until nightfall, and we'll cross into the Blight under cover of darkness. From there, it'll be several days to the stronghold."

With a nod, Ayrik followed. As they walked, the man spoke once more. "By the way, I don't feel like dying at the hands of an untrained boy, so you'll be spending this trip shielded. That way, I don't have to worry about you touching the Source again until you're being taught. Welcome to the rest of your life."

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

Despite everything he had read or heard, Ayrik's journey through the Blight was rather uneventful. It was as if it could sense the passing of one who would not tolerate its trickery. Ayrik's companion- a man named Maldor- never seemed to rest; his eyes were always shifting, always watching for what might come. Occasionally, a putrid tree or swollen bush would burst into flame for no apparent reason. Maldor would simply shrug and move on, unconcerned.

They had finally come to a stone structure that seemed out of place. Maldor seemed to regard the place as home or something similar. With the only emotion that he had shown throughout the trip, Maldor looked at Ayrik with something like sadistic glee. "Welcome, Ayrik Drayven. By the time you're done here, the Blight will seem the more pleasant of the two places. The Great Lord have mercy on you."

Ayrik Drayven

Acolyte

It was strange, but the more that he fought Carnhain, the more that Mehrin got the impression that he wasn't the only thing that the cavalier was fighting. He's distracted, then, he thought indifferently as the man charged him with a vicious snarl. Batting aside a heavy lance thrust, Mehrin danced into sword range. The whip had a longer reach, but it wasn't nearly as fun as doing things this way. As Mehrin closed in, Carnhain spun away from him, the unseen lance passing above Mehrin's head as he instinctively dropped to the ground. Again, instinct threw him to the left, barely avoiding a heavy swing that would have taken him across the chest. That was too close; fun's over. As Carnhain was recoiling from the attack, Mehrin lashed out with his right foot, catching the man on the point of his hip, then scrambled away to his discarded claymore. With speed born of too many years on the field, Mehrin twisted his body, catching the downward swing of Carnhain's lance on the long blade. "So I can't keep up, eh?" Mehrin muttered.

The other man was beyond all bantering. He disengaged, backing away to bring the point of his lance into play. That was all the opening Mehrin needed. Keeping the blade held against the lance shaft, Mehrin regained his feet. That done, it took only a contemptuous push of the blade to send the lance away from his body and start the fight anew. Anticipating the next attack, Mehrin set his heavier weapon spinning, catching Carnhain's thrust on the blade and sending it downward. Two boots planted on the weapon were enough to pull it out of Carnhain's hands. Without losing a second, Carnhain charged him, his weapon held low. He didn't attack with the sword, though. Mehrin shifted his weapon down to deflect what appeared to be an upward thrust, only to feel Carnhain's hard fist catch him across the right side of his face. The vision in his right eye blacked for a second, and only a quick counterpunch saved Mehrin from being impaled. It hurt.

"Nice trick," Mehrin said, his vision clearing. "Next time, try to do more than slap me." The last words hadn't left his lips when Mehrin sprung back into action. Carnhain didn't seem to be expecting the heaviness of the swing directed at his head; the edges of his eyes tightened as he caught the full force of the attack on his upheld sword, the reverberations of the blade painfully carrying to his hand. "Let's call that a preview of coming attractions, shall we?"

Figured that I'd warn you that I'd be back sometime Sunday afternoon.

The semester is gone, and so am I. I'll be really scarce for the next three weeks or so. In my absence, I'll be leaving the keys to the 'Nai 'Squai with Argono, as I'm pretty sure that he won't be all sneaky-like and drink it in my absence :D

Don't go conquoring the wetlands without me.

The sudden feel of static in the air was all that warned Asmodean about the oncoming attack. Wrapping himself in a web of Air, Earth, and Fire, he felt the blast of the lightning hurl him across the floor. And then it stopped. Releasing the shield, Asmodean took a gasping breath, replentishing the air that the shield would not allow through. Standing up, Asmodean found himself face-to-face with one of those half-trained children they called Aes Sedai in this Age. She obviously knew what he was, by the open fear on her face. Without a second thought, Asmodean slammed a shield onto her and tied it, a web of Air already tossing her to one side as he moved.

No more attacks came from the dais, and the air was rapidly filling with mist. Which meant that Nemene would be fleeing. I think I've probably overstayed my welcome, as well, Asmodean thought. An inverted gateway suddenly sprung open in front of him, neatly cutting one of the fleeing guests in two. A quick dash through the portal, and he allowed it to close. Looking around, Asmodean took stock of his location. He had chosen a quiet place in the middle of a swamp that they called Haddon Mirk. From here, he would Travel to five other locations before choosing a final destination. He couldn't afford to be found by the Dark Lady; that would doubtlessly be the fate of his dreams for a long time. He had failed.

Such simpletons! One of the greatest composers and musicians of the Age of Legends offers them an original piece of music, and they turn it down in favor of some country dance! It had been all that Asmodean could do not to incinerate the whole tableful of idiots. But then again, why not? He glanced at the table. They appeared to be a part of some sort of army, all in matching uniforms. One of them had asked for "Dance with Jak o' the Shadows," a tune with which he was unfamiliar until one of them hummed a few bars. All of it out of tune, of course. Was there no sophistication to be found in this Light-blinded Age?

A brass fanfare suddenly blared from the dais where the king and his master of ceremonies waited. With a small smile, Asmodean's eyes followed everybody else's to the back of the large hall. His smile brightened expectantly as his eyes fell upon the woman slowly striding towards the king, a happy and expectant smile on her face. There was no mistaking that smile, those confident strides. She was taller than him, which was nothing new. Her skin had changed to a much lighter color, but there was no mistaking Semirhage to one who knew her.

Moving as naturally as he could, Asmodean danced his way around the tables towards the dais. He would need a clear view of the dais. Not to mention the timing that only an artist could provide. Seating himself in an empty chair, Asmodean relaxed as the master of ceremonies began speaking, allowing the man's droning to lead him towards the Oneness. As he hands her the ring, that's when I'll strike... The thought bore no emotion within the emptiness of Asmodean's mind. Had he not been deep within the Oneness, Asmodean would have been giggling maniacally. Another of the Chosen out of the way, his path to Nae'blis would be much smoother.

Time passed, and the man was still droning on, though he seemed to be getting to the heart of the discussion. Even in the Oneness, Asmodean felt a bit of irritation trying to form. You droning fool, get on with it! Asmodean found himself wondering whether he could eliminate both targets in one fell swoop. It would be worth it. Finally, the man finished, and the king, with a bright smile on his face withdrew a rather extravagant ring from the pouch on his belt. The sudden catch in Semirhage's breath was priceless. Now!

Saidin flooded into Asmodean as he stood, electricity coursing through his body. Stretching a hand towards the dais, the final flow of Spirit wove into the web that he had created, and arcs of lightning flowed from his outstretched hand to the dais. In his excitement, Asmodean forgot about the basic laws of nature. Instead of hitting the Dark Lady, as Asmodean had planned, his web centered on the small ring in the king's hand. The backblast flung the master of ceremonies against the stone wall, where his head struck with a sickening smack, leaving a trail of ichor as he slid to the floor. Semirhage was leaning against the railing which had caught her fall. And the king... The blackened and twisted shape that had been the king had been blasted into his throne, where the impact had shattered his charred body.

"Tsag!" Asmodean cursed, as his still-living target stood tall and furious, her disguise shed. Not good, Asmodean thought within the Oneness. Webs of Air threw everything and everyone seated or standing near him away. Asmodean barely even noticed the red-haired woman who fell directly in front of him, her eyes full of the terror she had felt as her body rushed inexplicably to the unmoving ceiling. He had to distract the woman before she could strike back. He had to get away!

What was happening? Where was he? Who was he? Mehrin's glazed eyes began to show a modicum of clarity. I am Mehrin. Mehrin Mahrvon. They call me Deathwatch. Why do they call me Deathwatch? I don't... I... As coherence began to flee again, his mind seized onto the name Mehrin. It was important. It was...

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

He was in his room. How he knew that it was his room was beyond him. Mehrin... That name meant something. It was important. "Mehrin, will you tell me what just happened?" a worried voice said. Blinking tiredly, Mehrin- yes, that was his name- turned in the direction of the voice. At first he didn't see anything. Even those horrid waking nightmares had ceased. Then his eyes finally found the source of the sentence.

"Drea..." Mehrin didn't speak above a hoarse whisper. He didn't even know where the name had come from. She was there, though, a worried look on her face, her eyes averted, a bowl of something in her hands. Light, what's going on? Flashes came back to him as he tried to remember. For some reason, this woman seemed to be important to all of it. "I... I saw an old friend of mine, name of Tral. He was talkin' to me like I am to you, but, Light, old Tral's been dead for over ten years!" Mehrin could still see him, that cheeky grin set on a face of decay. Light, he could still smell him.

Looking up to tell Drea more, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Turning to investigate, Mehrin saw a dark-headed woman of a size with Drea struggling to reach something off the top shelf of the wooden wardrobe in the corner. The woman turned her head to Mehrin and smiled. Light, it was Drea. As the woman turned with a grin, she burst into a thousand shards and vanished, leaving Mehrin staring at the spot she had been standing. Light, it was Drea, and she had been naked as the day she was born. One corner of Mehrin's mind seemed to be screaming for something, but Mehrin couldn't figure out what it was.

Feeling a soft touch at his arm, Mehrin turned back to Drea. "Light, I could have sworn that I just-" And a cold hand caressed his cheek. Cold and bony. "Mehrin," a woman's voice whispered, sounding like it echoed from the depths of the grave. Burying his head in his hands, his fingers tangled in his short hair, Mehrin muttered, "Light, why can't they just leave me alone?"

Congrats to both y'all! Remember, for all your musical needs, look no further than the one talented Chosen here :D

As he held his yawning daughter, a strange emotion seemed to come over Mehrin. An emotion that he hadn't felt in quite some time: happiness. Muscles in his face that he had forgotten about began to work again, bringing back his long-forgotten smile. Even the long scar over his eye couldn't diminish the obvious joy on his face. His eyes flickered to Aldar for a moment. The man was standing there, proud as a peacock, a large grin plastered onto his face. Setting off at a slow pace, Mehrin walked out of the stables and towards his room, a smile still on his lips. He was sure that such an alien expression on his face, coupled with the young girl in his arms, would start many a rumor, but those would be easily quelled. None of it mattered, anyhow.

Mehrin's room, though far from large and immaculate, was servicable. The bed was one of the largest in the Citadel, meaning that there was enough room for Mehrin with some room to spare, and not quite as full of lumps as others in the Citadel. Lifting up the blankets with his free hand, Mehrin gently laid his already-nodding daughter on the bed. Pulling the covers back over his daughter, he tried to tuck her in as best as he could before sliding his hand under the pillow to withdraw the large knife that he kept there. He'd have to find quarters for her somewhere nearby, not to mention getting her to one of the seamstresses in town in order to get some clothes made up for her. And then there was the matter of taking care of her while he worked. Light, who would have thought that having a child would be so difficult?

Moving away from the bed, Mehrin found himself wishing that he could actually sing a bit; his own voice sounded like somebody was stomping on an oversized frog. He knew a few lullabys, but they would be anything but soothing in his voice. Such an awkward thing, suddenly discovering that one is a parent. This morning, the only thing I was worried about was whether or not the Citadel would be able to withstand a sudden attack in its current state.

Is that so, Master Mahrvon? Is that really all that you cared about? that persistant voice in the back of Mehrin's mind muttered. Shaking his head, Mehrin tried to squash the thought. Just because the woman had... No! Light, why had the world chosen now to go insane?

A slight movement at the door caused Mehrin's head to whip around, the knife that he normally kept under his pillow in hand and ready. The shape slowly resolved into that of Aldar. Standing quietly, Mehrin tiptoed to where the man was standing. "I can't thank you enough for finding her and taking care of her, Aldar," Mehrin whispered.

The small man nodded slightly and replied, "It was my pleasure, Mehrin. I owed you that much, and more."

Smiling, Mehrin rested his hand on the man's shoulder. "You would have done the same for me, I know. You know, Renalie is rather fond of you."

"So that's her name, eh? She never mentioned it, and I didn't ask." With a shrug, Aldar added, "I couldn't see myself letting her wander through the Citadel alone. Some of the people here haven't left their more shady pasts very far behind."

Nodding thoughtfully, Mehrin replied, "I know. I also know that you're one of the few people in the Citadel that I trust. That is why I'm naming you as her bodyguard, with proper salary increase. And no arguments." Stepping past the surprised man, Mehrin said, "Guard her well. As much as I like you, if she comes to any harm, I'll kill you myself."

"Mehrin, if she comes to any harm on my watch, I'll do the job for you."

"Good. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have a letter to write."

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

Tapping the blotting sand back into its jar, Mehrin carefully read over what he had written. It would be the first contact that he had attempted with Ana since he had left Lugard all those years ago. He couldn't afford to sound the fool.

Dear Ana,

It has been ten years since I last saw you, yet you have always occupied a part of my mind. For the past ten years of my life, leaving you behind has always been my one regret, and one that has altered the way that my life has been lived. Since leaving you behind, I have never been truly happy, even as the intense love that I felt for you faded into fondness. I regret to tell you that I don't know if I could learn to love you again, but I can see a possibility for a better future.

You need not worry about our daughter, Renalie. She has somehow managed to find me. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you and her. I find myself with the opportunity to make it up to both of you, though.

My life has been one of violence and sadness for the past ten years. I am currently in command of the Band of the Red Hand. You may have heard of us; our Citadel lies near Lugard. What I am offering you, Renalie, and any of your surviving family is the opportunity to live in a place that is far safer than Lugard ever could be. If I could return to Lugard without being executed on sight, I would come for you myself. Since I cannot, I am sending this letter, along with 200 gold crowns, with one of the men under my command. He will ensure that you receive both, and that you travel safely to the Citadel, if you so wish.

I cannot begin to apologize for all the pain and heartache that I have caused to you and your family. I know that this money cannot bring back your father, or the years that I took from you, the happy life that you could have known. For that, I cannot be forgiven, I know, but I apologize nonetheless.

Light with you,

Mehrin

Sealing the letter, Mehrin rose and crept quietly to the lockbox next to his bed, careful not to wake the slumbering child in his bed. Inserting his key, the lock clicked quietly, allowing Mehrin access to what lay inside. Reverently moving aside a black leather sachel containing the shards of a broken sabre and a tattered bullwhip, Mehrin reached to the bottom of the chest and withdrew two large purses. Two hundred gold crowns. As the commander of the Band, he had access to all the funds that he would require, but it would not be right. It was his family; he would pay the debt himself.

Within a quarter-hour, a scout was galloping out of the Citadel and heading for the capitol of Murandy.