The Point of No Return

[Adrian Kane]

Arikan

A brow curled up at her insinuation of what he might do to a conscious witness. Despite the fact that he’d killed a darkfriend not an hour ago, he was almost insulted that she thought he lacked the creativity to deal with problems in alternate ways. She was right that he had no interest in leaving witnesses in his wake to chase him down later, but he was also aware that the Dragon was going to need his flaming army at some point. No point wasting resources.

It was an anti-climatic jump. He stepped over the as yet still unconscious lump on the floor. Or maybe he was dead. Arikan didn’t kneel down to check.

Instead, his study drank in another dark figure busy channeling a stream of threads with such complexity that Arikan just stood there frowning for a good minute. Watching.

There was an important reason he did not walk into this room grasping the One Power himself. A person under compulsion could exist in any manner of state of alarm. Like some cornered animal, they would protect the action of their compulsion with wild ferocity. Make the victim a channeler and things could turn intense in an instant.

As the threads of power poured into the door beyond, Arikan’s frown slowly melted into something nearing awe. “Darkness take me but that is impressive,” he murmured to himself. No wonder the Chosen selected this target. Even with all his immense power, Arikan could not perform what he witnessed and the Asha’man was wielding lesser vats of power in comparison.

He spoke quietly, but his attention was not peeled from the feat he beheld.
“What is his name?” he asked.

When Nythadri did not answer, he pressed her to respond with a look.  “I need to talk to him,” he explained, then grumbled. The frown returned, and he made sure to keep his voice low. The Asha’man was possibly not yet aware of their presence but was more likely purposefully ignoring them. He must be incredibly focused to do what he was doing.

“Compulsion can take many forms. He could be a mindless beast focused on a single task or he could be so outwardly unchanged that you’d never know anything was different. I need to know which I’m dealing with.”

Nythadri met his gaze, and she seemed on the verge of answering when suddenly the river of the power ceased its flow. Arikan was witness to the ward dissolving into nothingness.

The man climbed to his feet, knuckled his back and cracked his fingers. Sheets of paper scattered the floor at his feet. His hands were nearly black with ink. There was no obvious explanation, but when the man turned to look at them, Arikan folded his arms across his chest and waited to see what would happen.

The man was tall. Taller than Valtin. Maybe 6’4” or more. There was no way to determine his age, but Arikan guessed that he was not as young as he looked given the complexity of what was just performed. It was best to assume he once knew the taint, but there was no way to discern its effects. In turn, the Asha’man studied him, and Arikan was prepared for recognition, but none came. He did not know his face, then.

But he looked at Nythadri with such open longing that Arikan followed the line of sight back to the Aes Sedai. A picture quickly formed of why the self-righteous Green would deign to dally with the devil to save the M’Hael’s life.

It wasn’t the M’Hael at all that she was trying to save.

Jai

Jai was relieved Nythadri returned but was outwardly curious who she brought. He was no Asha’man that Jai recognized, though he had the high and mighty glare of nobility that Jai seemed to find himself drowning in everywhere he went. Light.

He shrugged to himself and proceeded to open the door. It swung freely with a mere tug. All that work for such a simple action. He shook his head and ducked into the store room.

A moment later he realized that he was followed inside.

He looked over his shoulder. The nobleman was surveying the shelves curiously. Jai, meanwhile, knew exactly what he wanted. Just one thing waiting alone in the back. It was a white sphere no bigger than a marble. Like the glass cousins, it was swirled with colors throughout but was as indestructible as Jai imagined an object could be. His fist closed around it, and he left the way he came.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said to the noble beckoning him to leave.

“You are right,” he said and followed.

Jai didn’t close the door behind him. He didn’t so much as look at Nythadri as he passed. All he knew was the pressure in his mind and pull of the legs. The power danced the edges of his senses, and with the orb in his palm, he knew he could do what he was here to do, and he was so close he could almost taste it.

Arikan

The Asha’man’s compulsion was the latter sort, then. It was ten times harder to create a compulsion so neatly laid that it was all but hidden. Nythadri must know the Asha’man well to discern the subtle differences in behavior that tipped her off. It reeked of a Chosen, and among them, there were only a handful who were so skilled. Oh, any of them, Arikan included, could create a mindless beast to do their bidding, but the subtlety of this level was delicate and balanced. His discernment went first to Raviel and second to Graendal.

His pockets were full of treasures when he left the store room. His own walking arsenal of enhancers. He might have smiled if he was alone in the dark.

Together, they followed the Asha’man on the ever winding journey upward.

The Black Tower was in many ways as Arikan remembered and in many others completely changed. The chaotic pathways and mismatched doorways remained, but the routes were unfamiliar to him. He once stalked the halls leading to the chambers of a M’Hael, but they were rearranged now. The decor was grander in places. Years of Soldiers practicing their power flows had smoothed stone, lifted archways, and funneled out slits and other defenses.

Together the three of them passed others who called the farmland home. Arikan positioned himself a half step behind Nythadri, who herself was watchful of the Asha’man, their clear leader. A few faces bowed to their passage, but the fortress was still this night. Almost as if they sensed the tension piling before the breaking of the storm.

The M’Hael’s quarters was opulent in contrast to the utilitarian design of the Tower. Here there were dark curtains. Braziers twisted threads of unending flame. There were weapons on display of the sort that an Asha’man didn’t need, but Arikan recognized the style as Ebou Dari. He never met the men who took over following al’Mere’s demise, but rumor said this one was ruthless enough that the Shadow coveted his allegiance.

As far as he knew, they never acquired it.

The Asha’man knocked on the door, and things happened fast after that. 

The moment the door opened, a face flashed an expression of confusion. Then saidin erupted in a storm.

The Asha’man rushed him, their forms tangled as much as the threads of saidin erupting from each. He blazed with a strength pushed through the enhancement of the angreal in his palm, and the M’Hael had no chance in comparison.

But Arikan did.

He was a half step behind, power swarming through his own. A sa’angreal that the Asha’man walked right past ignorant of its existence.

“Enough!” he ordered, slamming a shield upon both channelers simultaneously. With the sa’angreal, Arikan didn’t so much as struggle, but he knew that the pull of the power would summon the M’Hael’s personal guard. They had next to no time.

He sealed them up in the M’Hael’s quarters with wards so tight they were all but entombed within.

Jai

Red blazed his vision. When Daryen shielded him, the force of it knocked him from the Razor’s saddle. This time, he was thrown across the room. At his side, the M’Hael was likewise crumpled. Both men groaned as they rolled to their arms and legs. Each lifted their head in unison, fixed upon the sight of their mutual enemy.

For a moment, Jai forgot what he was there to do.

But not for long. He recovered quickly, hurried to his feet in a flash, and drew his sword. One way or another he was going to kill the man at his side until flows of saidin erupted fresh. They tangled both their bodies and each man lifted from his feet a few inches off the floor. Arms and legs stretched as though fastened to the rack.

The nobleman walked forward to face them, surveying his captives. He was a channeler after all. At his side, Larnair scowled accusations of darkfriends and dreadlords.

Jai struggled against the bonds. Hate and murder wracked his expression oblivious for anything the M’hael said.

But it was to Nythadri that the nobleman spoke, and Jai’s attention was momentarily stolen from the intention. His heart sank with the hurt of betrayal.

“If the Asha’man doesn’t do what he was sent to do, he will die. I take it you don’t want that fate for him?” he asked with the tone of confirmation. “This type of compulsion can’t be undone. That means there is only one way to break it,” he went on.

Jai’s snarl turned to a silent frown. Larnair’s defiance and commands fell on deaf ears. Compulsion?

An amused smile flickered the nobleman’s face.

Arikan

Arikan went to stand in front of Larnair.  “You remember me, don’t you?” he asked.

Larnair stopped struggling. The man met his gaze bravely, but Arikan was unprepared for the man to spit on him.

He sniffed in amusement as he wiped the fluid from his face.

“Congratulations. You’ll be the second M’Hael I’ve killed.”

And he channeled into the man’s skull until blood poured from his eyes. A moment following the body crumpling to the floor, the Asha’man was likewise released. He crashed fell to his knees as Arikan stepped back, hands plunged into his pockets to re-discover the treasures within.

The Asha’man’s cry was piercing. He scrambled to the body of his lord, cupping Larnair’s bloody face in his palms, shaking and begging the Light for things it did not care to give. When he dropped the orb in his hands, Arikan scooped it up.

The Asha’man was free of the compulsion at least.