Sometimes the choice between visiting the Dreamscape or Tel’Aran’Rhiod was hard. Nyssa could spend night after night walking through the hallways of the White Tower, seeing the occasional flickering of a talented soul pass in and out of the Dream. Much could be learnt in the world of dreams. Wards did not keep her out of rooms that would be impossible to visit if she was there in person. And it got better. Nyssa had discovered that Aes Sedai were creatures of habit. Their rooms were structured, easy to sift through as she sought and found the secrets they kept.

 

Still, a little thrill passed through her as she stepped into the room of Sirayn, Captain General of the Green Ajah and by far the most paranoid person she knew. Somehow she expected the elder woman to appear right beside her, scolding her for being foolish enough to venture into her rooms. There was nothing, only silence as she ventured further into the room. As most Aes Sedai, Sirayn kept her secrets in a rather predictable place. Not the big secrets, which were no doubt only stored in her mind, but little secrets, little hints of events to come. Nyssa took a seat behind Sirayn’s desk, looking down on the sheets of paper there.

 

This was where the difficulty began. The world of dreams shifted, showing parchment after parchment in no specific order. Tel’Aran’Rhiod remembered every note that had been on Sirayn’s desk in the past few years. They were erratic at best, but occasionally a note materialised with information she could use. Even as she read a new idea formed in her head. A more direct way of getting information. With a blink of her eye she was back in her bed. The next lead her into the dreamscape. It was quite easy to find the dream of her prey. As usual it was haunted by dark dreams, not quite nightmares, but close. Nyssa wondered how it was possible that the woman slept at all.

 

As Lanfear had taught her, Nyssa began weaving a dream that resembled the dream Sirayn was having. When it looked close enough, she pulled the elder woman out of her dream, and hauled her into the dream she had just made. The transition was easy enough, she had practised this a thousand times with random subjects. The dream flickered a bit as Sirayn’s mind resisted the direction Nyssa was guiding her in. The secrets. “Tell me…†she muttered, watching as the scenery changed into Dumai’s wells. “Tell me what he plans…†Sirayn’s mind was a mess of fear and pain. With a sigh Nyssa released the dream, allowing the Captain General to fall back into her old dream. She would try again another at a later time, when Sirayn was a little more relaxed.

 

Ooc: ok, now go forth and accuse Tayline of Nyssa’s evil deeds.

sweet dreams are made of this

who am I to disagree

travel the world and the seven seas

everybody’s looking for something

 

In the darkest hour of the night, when all the world slumbered, light shone in a bright bar beneath a door. It painted the smooth flagtones in shades of ivory pale and picked out the outline engraved in each one; all along the deserted hall, lit only by torches burning lonely in brackets on the walls, only shadows stirred in a lonely dance.

 

Behind the polished dark door at least one sister was still working. In the daylight hours the succession of complaints, reports and disturbances that made their way through her offices made certain that anything she began would be interrupted; at least now in the quiet and the stillness, when only shadow draped her quarters outside the light cast by tiny candles burning bravely, she could finally get some proper work done. The task of writing caustic letters to sisters sorely lacking in discretion satisfied her more than enough to compensate for the unsociable hours. She signed the missive, stamped it and sealed it, and contemplated the misery it should cause with great satisfaction. Truly she could get to like this job.

 

Partly, as even she had figured out, it was all a convincing reason not to go to bed until she had worn herself out. Sleeping had not been easy on her until before the Solin business; memories she had enough discipline not to touch on during her waking hours, when she controlled the topics she dwelled on, but which disturbed her greatly at night. It escaped her the last time she had slept untroubled; sometimes she wondered if there had ever been a time when she could rest without nightmares and obscure horrors; though that was a question constructed by her mind, an illogical result of her fears, she had slept perfectly well before this year. Not something of which she spoke to others and since nobody troubled her at night anyway, unless she had sought them out for ever more intriguing late-night schemes, not something they needed to know.

 

Once she did sleep her dreams unfolded in the usual manner. Mud and chaos at Dumai’s Wells, a cold ring pressed into her hand, a bond severed forever; darker than that, shadows and fire and screaming. Not that she ever had the same luck again. By what miracle rescue had arrived at the last possible moment, too late for some things, in time for others, she had never inquired … though it was rough enough to know in inward conviction that she would never have held up to any more of that. She had been interrogated a few times before and never with such savagery, such horrifying effect, that fear and shame and fury still haunted her at night. One day she would find that woman again, the Dreadlord whose name was burned into her memory, and maybe then she could finally lay her memories to rest.

 

Something seemed odd about these dreams. Only in a sluggish way did she even sense that this was false at all, merely a surface layer, when the sensation was so intense and immediate … but something unseen seemed to be moving beneath that surface; a current that drew her in some direction she did not quite perceive. It was scarcely perceptible and yet, on another level, kept grating against the otherwise consuming flow of her dreams so that even trapped in sleep her brows drew together in a distracted frown. A strange and surreal feeling that intensified as though an unseen hand guided her. And from nowhere came this strange voice:

 

Tell me. Tell me what he plans.

 

Panic flooded her in an instant. The dream wavered around her, slid into something else, and desperately she clutched for awareness. It took her several heart-pounding moments of confusion to claw her way out of sleep. All her senses sang with obscure and overwhelming fear; she registered darkness, cool air, a soft warm bed … nothing moving, nothing to trigger whatever had just happened. Her heart still hammered. Fragments of dreams troubled her and sleep coiled its heavy spell round her. Those words resounded in her memory: tell me, tell me what he plans, tell me. It stirred some memories she didn’t even want to think about at this hour confused and defenceless as she was. Nothing about this made sense.

 

Bemused, still half preoccupied with memories of bloody battles long past, she pushed back the covers and dragged herself out of bed. Moments of fumbling produced a tiny light which danced about her casting a pale illumination on rumpled bed covers. She wanted to collapse back into bed and sleep until all this turmoil vanished. Instead she reached for a robe, pulled it on, though her hand shook too much for comfort. Burn her but she needed to think clearly. Tell who what who planned? Had she just dreamed the whole incident? She couldn’t imagine what part of her otherwise troubling and obscure dreams could have yielded something so immediate, so sharp and clear as that voice. It didn’t add up.

 

Sleep still overloaded logic and made her thinking slow and fuzzy; she crossed the threshold into her living quarters, drank hot tea, slumped in a hard chair in an effort to wake herself up a bit more. Dawn was starting to colour the horizon in grey and silver hues. Still nothing stirred outside her door, though sound drifted up to her window from the white city laid out before her glance. Sirayn contemplated her tea irritably and wished there was somebody around for her to snap at. She did not care for surprises at all. It seemed like a good morning to find somebody very small and helpless and make their life a misery until she felt a bit better.

 

If she hadn’t dreamed it … there was the rather chilling possibility that somebody had gained access to her dreams. The prospect of some other person, of malicious intent or otherwise, peering into her innermost thoughts and fears rattled her rather a lot. How much could somebody have seen? Enough to brand her as a coward for her petrified fear during the Solin affair, to scorn her for her uselessness at Dumai’s Wells … wait, for a stranger even to know she had been there and in what context would be disastrous. She could only imagine the political fallout if that tale ever escaped to reach public knowledge. There was no possible way she could afford that coming out; much less certain other events, possible scandals, which she had on occasion dreamed of. How long had this gone on for? How much did people know?

 

Doubt and suspicion could get choking if she let them have complete control. Instead she sank a bit further in her chair, feeling rather lonely in her general and seething mistrust, and did her best to think clearly. There was only one skill she knew of which allowed such power … and if anyone except a practitioner were to be aware of it it ought to be her; when she had once had a youngster under her wing in the first violent stages of that Talent, had had to deal at first hand with its bloody effects. It was a very long time since she had knelt in panic and darkness somewhere far from home and sewn up the gaping hole in an innocent child, a mark left by careless and unknowing Dreamwalking, but for a moment she could see blood on her hands and hear the sobbing just as clear.

 

Tayline. Once like a daughter to her, a bright child who had never truly been hers, so loyal during the harshest moments of her life. Lately they had not spoken for some time. The diplomatic side of Ajah business had occupied her own time immensely and she knew the younger sister did not care for politics much; it had scarcely occurred to her as a possible problem until this dark morning, still an hour before dawn, when she sat head in hand and wondered if she had been the target of a Black Ajah campaign of Dreamwalking. And surely only the Black Ajah would have such malevolent intent toward her. Any sister of a political bent might wish to uncover what she could from the World of Dreams, but to break into her own dreams, like a thief into a locked room where all her worst fears were hiding … outraged her on such a fundamental level that she could only ascribe it to her old enemies in the Black Ajah.

 

Those times of cold and solitary doubt in which one genuinely suspected that a friend might be Black Ajah changed everything. It was impossible to see that person in the same way afterward; as though one had not once believed them capable of the worst deeds, imagined them to be part of a great and savage conspiracy. Maybe it was unfortunate, maybe it was just part of the code of survival for a hunter against such overwhelming odds, but it was not the kind of decision one could ever take back. She had decided long ago that if she was going to hunt the Black Ajah, a decision removed from her hands by an Amyrlin in a cold hall, she would hunt them as well as she were capable of and no sentiment or softness would hinder her. The Black Ajah devoured weakness. She had to be as hard as they were.

 

Therefore it was without remorse or compunction that Sirayn went about her preparations. At such a late hour nothing stirred in the cold white halls outside her door; once she had dressed she stopped by the angreal storeroom, where she found the guards sleepy but attentive enough, necessitating her to give some fanciful story about study before she could collect the items of her choice. It did not please her much that her name and business was recorded there before she could move on, she did not care for that solid record that she had been out and about at this time, but she could scarcely cover it up without getting undue attention. Thus fortified and with the items concealed about her person she returned to her Ajah Halls.

 

The path to this door she had known for many years. Times of fear, chaos and darkness; older and softer times before that. She remembered a day in some distant garden when she had said something, the precise words she could not now recall, that won the love and loyalty of a child. Another day and a quarrel so savage she had been determined never to forgive or forget. Yes, she had much history with Tayline; yet if she had ever been inclined to go gentle on a possible Black Ajah member, as perhaps she might be given how trustingly she had once thought Tayline looked up to her, it was not difficult to summon up other images.

 

Once she had lost a Gaidin in fire and smoke. Once she had been seized by Black Ajah herself, not memories she cared to bring up very often, Tear still troubled her. Once she had been bait to lure the Black Ajah out into the open … some of the most intense and difficult times of her life, having to make choices that might expose her darkest secrets to Black Ajah view, setting herself up for something at least as terrible as the Solin affair. In truth it had not been so long but given the stress and suspense of their mission it felt like decades since she had first joined the hunt for the Black Ajah. Surely the opportunity to get a bit of her own back ought not to disturb her.

 

Nevertheless, it was with doubts well hidden beneath her usual composure that Sirayn finally knocked on Tayline’s door. Memories were all very well. Tonight she hunted.

She slept, peacefully, and for once dreamlessly. Tayline Jolryn was the only Dreamwalker in hundreds of years of Tower history and as such the demands on her beauty rest were... overwhelming, at times. Time spent Dreaming did not provide normal rest. Depending on what she encountered in Tel'aran'rhiod, it was possible to wake up less rested than when she lay down- but such were the obligations of a rare Talent. A Green sister's life was sacrifice; or so she was often told. Particularly by those who wanted something.

 

In such context a knock on her door in the early hours of the morning was unsurprisingly, though hardly welcome. Tayline woke instantly and worked her thoughts into as much order as possible- the Aiel Wise Ones had been successful in teaching her to wake swiftly where it had earlier required a small army to rouse her, but in the area of rapid alertness they had had less success. She yawned, stretched, and shrugged into a plain white nightrobe over her loose-fitting sleepwear. Someone with a worthwhile errand, she hoped, or perhaps another sister with an agenda she would be forced to refuse. Maybe it was time to leave the Tower again. Blinking such thoughts from her head, she opened the door to her chambers and straightened somewhat in surprise.

 

"Captain General." She saluted the diminutive woman as crisply as she could manage, heedless of how ridiculous it must look from someone sporting nightwear and sleep-touseled hair. It had been some time since she had seen Sirayn; recent Tower politics had seen to that. Tayline kept her nose as far out of such matters as possible. "Come in, please," she stepped deferentially to one side.

 

Sirayn crossed the threshold but made no move to seat herself, regarding her instead with a rather disconcerting stare. Tayline blinked. A trickle of unease pierced the morning fog. "Uh... is there something I can do for you?"

 

OOC- Sorry for the delay, and for the brevity. I couldn't really think of anything else to write.

 

 

Tayline Jolryn

Green Ajah

Being greeted by a sleepy-looking Tayline Jolryn in a white robe disconcerted her somewhat. She couldn’t frame exactly what she had been expecting from a possible Black Ajah member. Menace perhaps; at least an image more cool and collected than the one presented to her right now. It was difficult to imagine this woman whom she had once considered her daughter ever being daunting. For all those tremendous gifts in battle it took other qualities to intimidate an Aes Sedai. Maybe to her Tayline would always be that child whom they had had to hold down in the dark, who had wept when she stitched up the effects of that first and calamitous Dreammwalking … and that line of thought had to stop right there. If she remembered too much she might let sentiment get in the way of this black business.

 

The salute gratified her briefly. It told her she was no longer a nobody round here. She could not let that distract her, nor thoughts of triumph, any more than this unexpected rush of memories and feeling upon seeing a woman she had not set her eyes on in some time. Those were a fool’s thoughts. The Black Ajah let nothing impair their work; they were inexorable, black spiders working their way through this Tower, and every second she spent being feeble was another second gifted to them to continue their progress. Even now nobody was safe. Bitterly she remembered the thirteen companions who had gone on that brave and lonely hunt. Only a handful had returned to graves, bearing the marks of Tear where nobody else could see, and now practically nobody was left. Put that way, the whole scheme was so hopeless anyone with any sense would give it up … but she had never been good at being sensible.

 

Mere inevitability had not stopped her before nor should it now. Their victory might be all but certain by now but the presence of Black Ajah here offended her on some fundamental level. She had lost too many sisters and feared their dark advance to give up now. Besides, a past Amyrlin had charged her with a duty she had not yet discharged. For these and other reasons, secret matters she kept close to her heart, she had to get this done as fast and brutal as possible. No space for considerations of family here. Tayline had ceased to be nearly her daughter when she became probably Black Ajah. That somebody had pried into her dreams and viewed her innermost secrets outraged her; and finally she found the determination Tayline had broken so successfully, the seething fury and the resolve never to stop until she had seen this mission through.

 

“There is plenty you can do for me, sister mine.†Her tone remained cool and impassive by habit but Sirayn smiled … a rather cruel, unsettling smile as she shut the door behind them and, with a rapid gesture, warded these quarters for silence. So far, so predictable. Nobody expected her to be courteous to them anyway and it might raise suspicions if she was. Calmly she drew on her angreal and doubled her pitiful strength. Now was the instant that a Black Ajah sister, knowing perfectly well the knowledge Sirayn held, should have recognised her number was up but no sign of guilt crossed the pretty face, nor did Tayline prepare herself for battle. She wasn’t certain whether to be heartened by this … or whether it made evidence of some deeper game.

 

Time to make her own move. “Do take a seat.†She struck with every ounce of force she possessed. A shield slammed down on the woman before her; shock and confusion played across a once beloved face, it moved her beneath her own composure but ruthlessly she excised that feeling. “Take a seat, I said.†Now smiling benevolently, she gestured her victim to the nearest seat. “Tayline, Tayline.†She shook her head in regret as she contemplated her opponent. The false concern covered her manner only lightly; her grey gaze remained cold and steady and unwavering. “I had such faith in you. Such trust. I suppose that proves the essential futility of trusting another person … but let us not get distracted by philosophy. You have made some mistakes, haven’t you? I am greatly distressed. All that valuable Dreamwalking expertise, gained at such cost to the Tower and yourself … and you still managed to make your presence known. This will not do, Tayline my sweet. Not at all.â€

 

The endearment sounded foreign on her tongue. It lent a bizarre strangeness to the scene; forget the woman sitting shielded before her, forget that she could not shield, forget that she ought not to have any desire whatsoever to lift a hand to one once as a daughter to her, it was the sound of that word that convinced her. The world outside these quarters had ceased to hold any importance. All that mattered was herself, the possible Black Sister before her, and the strength of their respective wills. It filled her with a bitter sort of excitement that she might finally have her hands on a member of the fabled Black Ajah, that if she just applied pressure in the right way, Tayline might crack and spill forth all her secrets … and Light, the pressure she intended to apply would break the bravest woman.

 

Preparing herself to do anything necessary to succeed, in that moment the mask slipped and a wealth of contempt and fury burned in her grey eyes … but all that moved out of sight as she stepped away. Her steps became slow, deliberate; on silent feet she circled her shielded and helpless sister. The note that entered her voice now was so intense as to be predatory. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody is coming. There’s only you and me. I advise you think about that for a while; you know perfectly well what I’m here for, and if you have any sense you’ll know that I am prepared to use any means necessary to deal with you. As your sisters have shown no mercy to us, so will I show no mercy to you. And my idea of showing no mercy has been known to be … how shall I put it … a little rough.â€

 

Her speech lay heavy and corrosive on the silence. On each word her false pretence of warmth shaded another fraction toward outright menace and cruelty. Another step took her behind the shielded sister and when Tayline half turned, she laid a hand gently on the other woman’s shoulder to discourage her. “Look straight ahead, sister. That’s right. Good.†Gentle now. Let that able imagination read all sorts of intonation into her words; let her fear, let her wonder, let the Black Ajah know uncertainty for once. This was no idle talk, Sirayn had no compunctions about turning the Shadow’s own methods on itself, and though doubtless she would regret it later at the moment she could not muster a scrap of sympathy for her quarry.

 

“So, little sister.†She leaned on the back of the chair, speaking softly, close enough now that when she rested her arms on the wood her fingers brushed feather light against Tayline’s exposed throat. She drew a finger along the delicate skin there and imagined ripping out her throat … but business before pleasure. “Do you feel like talking now? Or do you require a little demonstration? A proof, shall we say, of my intent?â€

 

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Black Ajah Hunter

Something was definitely not right. That much was evident as Tayline felt her curiosity dim to uncertainty and unease. If Sirayn had a mission for her, why had she come here at the brink of dawn when she could have just as easily sent a summons? Secrecy was no answer- sisters coming into their Ajah Head’s rooms at late hours was less remarkable than vice versa. Such a visit from Sirayn would have already been taken note of by every Green subversive enough to have the Captain-General watched. Equally clear was that her near-mentor had not dropped by just to chat. But if it were neither a mission nor a personal visit, then why was Sirayn here?

 

Later she would kick herself for not reacting the instant Sirayn drew more of the Source than her strength permitted, but in all honesty, she had good reason to think herself safe. This was the White Tower, bristling stronghold of the Light, surrounded by brave armies and populated by women irreversibly bound to do one another no harm. She was an ordinary sister with no particular political ambitions and no special threat to their enemy- even her Dreamwalking paled next to the mastery achieved by the Aiel. There was no obvious reason for anyone to single her out save an errand in Tel’aran’rhiod, and Sirayn could not possibly be here about that. So when the Captain-General embraced the Source with a capacity only an angreal could lend her, Tayline merely watched curiously, expecting something that would clarify the purpose of her visit.

 

She did not expect the shield.

 

At another time, had Sirayn been virtually anyone else, she would have made some desperate attempt to resist. A lunge for the other woman’s throat, or perhaps towards the daggers she had tossed carelessly on her desk the night before. As it was the shock was so great that she sat speechlessly, just as she’d been told. Had the Captain-General gone mad? Her words made no sense! No one knew better than Tayline just how costly the knowledge of Dreaming had come, but she had done nothing of real interest with it since she’d returned to the Tower. Her waking-world excursions had been equally unremarkable. There was no one to whom she could have made her presence known. She opened her mouth to say so, but the words stuck suddenly in her throat as another possibility came to mind.

 

Semirhage.

 

Tayline shut her eyes briefly, as if blocking out light would somehow block the thought as well. Her memories of the Forsaken were wrought with so much pain, the intensity itself seemed to have dimmed them over time. She remembered boiling water, and jeering, inhuman forms- she remembered agony and humiliating bliss and the burns that crept up her legs like a lover’s caress. She remembered her own blood painting the walls, remembered impossible heat and pressure in her veins. And she remembered seeing, through ruined eyes that constantly mended themselves under Lwena’s Healing, a lone, dark face, narrow and twisted in sadism. Semirhage. The Wise One’s had told her that Tayline would always be stronger than Semirhage in the Dream, that the Forsaken had used a ter’angreal to enter Tel’aran’rhiod and that no visitor to the realm could hope to master a fully trained Dreamer in her prime. But this was not Tel’aran’rhiod. No, all her senses were screaming that she was very much in the real world- a world that obstinately refused to bend itself to her will. She was helpless.

 

But of course it was not Semirhage at all, she reasoned against the deadly fear that rose in her chest. It could not be. Sirayn was channeling more than she normally could, it was true, but Semirhage had taken pleasure in showing Tayline her true nature and strength, in letting her know just how powerless she was. What Sirayn held now was barely a spark next to the bonfire of what Semirhage had held then. There was no longer any reason for the Forsaken to maintain the disguise, if that’s what it was, and nor had Semirhage been the type to utter threats. During her captivity, the woman had barely spoken more than ten words to her- she had let pain itself become the threat. Guaranteed agony if she resisted, promised relief if she would but yield her name.

 

“And my idea of showing no mercy has been known to be,†Sirayn was saying, apparently taking pleasure in seeing her flinch “… a little rough.â€

 

It could not be Semirhage. Surely Forsaken had better things to do in their spare time than hunt down the rare mortal who escaped them. Surely Semirhage would not be able to mimic Sirayn so thoroughly in speech and manner, unless… unless this was indeed Tel’aran’rhiod, and there were things the Forsaken knew that the Wise Ones did not. Perhaps she had been pulled into a trap so insidious that her awareness and control over the Dream were compromised. Perhaps Semirhage was utilizing the information on Sirayn stored within her own mind to come up with a convincing fake. Then again, words like “my sweet†were not very much like Sirayn at all. Were they more like Semirhage? When it came down to it, how much did she really understand about the Forsaken’s methods? She might try a different approach with every victim and Tayline would have no way of knowing. Who knew what secrets of the Dream had been lost in the Breaking? Who knew what Semirhage was truly capable of, with the twisting nether of Tel’aran’rhiod at her command?

 

Sirayn was behind her now. Tayline half-turned towards the sound of her voice, and could not still her trembling beneath the hand that stopped her. It felt like Sirayn’s hand. It was the right size and shape. But Sirayn would not have burst into her room to shield and threaten her for no reason at all, unless she really had gone mad. Tayline could not quite believe that either. Why was she doing this? She must have a good reason. It had to be Sirayn, behaving erratically, yet still sane, acting on some unknown piece of information and not—

 

“So, little sister.†The words came from startlingly, dreadfully close behind her, the chair tilting slightly under the woman’s scant weight. She felt fingers trace her throat and could not stop herself from flinching away. A test! she thought frantically. Sirayn had been among the few present while Semirhage had torn out her throat, part of the struggle between the Forsaken and Lwena with Tayline’s body as the battlefield. Sirayn was now testing to see what she would do in a situation that reminded her of it. Just a test, a commander checking up on her soldier. Routine. “Do you feel like talking now? Or do you require a little demonstration? A proof, shall we say, of my intent?â€

 

Test, Tayline reminded herself. She wondered if she’d receive a medal if she passed, and quelled a burst of hysteria-born laughter. She had to ask. Sirayn might think her an idiot if she was wrong, but nevertheless; she had to know.

 

“If that is you, Semirhage, you can stop playing your games. You didn’t get what you wanted the first time we met, and you’ll never—“

 

And that was where her bravado failed her, as bold words caught and died in her throat. She’d been brave in her last encounter with Semirhage, too, and the woman had been amused. There was no way she could put up that sort of front twice. Not while knowing what there was to come.

 

Tayline sat in her chair and focused on trying to stop trembling.

 

 

Tayline Jolryn

Green Ajah

Semirhage? Now that name distracted her a bit from her rough games. It seemed so bizarre that anyone who knew her so well could doubt her identity, even leaving aside the spectacular unlikelihood of a Forsaken ever troubling her, that she furrowed her brow for a moment trying to figure out where that accusation had come from. Darkfriend she had been named on occasion, but this was the first time anyone had invoked the name of one of the thirteen most feared people in the world … but on the other hand, perhaps she ought to view it as a compliment. Common as it was for her to intimidate, she had rarely deemed it necessary to use force along with it and she had to admit it added a certain something. Perhaps she was discovering a new skill.

 

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Semirhage had a habit of masquerading as crippled midgets; but even as she prepared her most scathing tones, a rather audacious proposal crossed her mind and she thought better of commenting. It had occurred to her that this might prove an interesting opportunity. Thoughtfully she watched the shielded soldier before her. Having been a good eight inches too short all her life she rather liked looking down on people for once. By some stroke of luck she was being invited to take on the limitless dread and terror associated with the Forsaken; and since she would have to seal Tayline to silence regardless of how this fell out, it seemed no more dangerous than her current enterprise. Could she masquerade as a Forsaken convincingly? The First Oath bound her and she had never even met the woman she was about to pass as … but she trusted her own ingenuity.

 

Briefly and coldly she considered the possibility of vengeance should the lady herself find out somebody had stolen her identity. No, that was too outlandish; a mere Aes Sedai did not deserve that level of attention. Semirhage it was! Though nobody saw it she resumed smiling down at her prey, and when she spoke, it was disturbingly gentle. “Have I asked you to call me by that name?†Her fingers strayed again to her captive’s soft cheek, still gentle of course, a touch perhaps not so reassuring under the circumstances as one might otherwise expect. Feigning such sheer power thrilled her. This could get addictive; being a Forsaken seemed rather preferable to being a crippled midget of an Aes Sedai. Nobody had ever dared lay a hand on Semirhage, the Dark One’s Chosen need not fear.

 

Reluctant, she moved away and crossed before Tayline once more; her pace was sinuous, nearly sinister. This would be the true trial by fire. Tayline had met the woman she was impersonating while she herself never had. If she could not mimic the mannerisms of a Forsaken, that most commanding and fearsome of folk, that would rapidly become evident. Yet it was just another mask; Daes Dae’mar demanded formidable skills at deception and she played that game daily. “It is beneath my dignity to wear a form like this.†Disdain subtly shaded her manner as she contemplated her quarry. “So short, so crippled, so feeble. Lacking in every respect. I wonder why you tolerate such among your sisters.†It took no deceit whatsoever to examine her own hands, or at least the remains thereof, contemptuously. “No true Chosen should lower themselves so … but needs must, I fear, and looking like this opens certain doors.â€

 

So late at night only candles lit these quarters. A careless gesture and the room plunged into blackness. Instants later a bright globe burst into existence in her cupped hand; its light dazzled the unwary, drenched the chamber in harsh light and shadows. The brilliance carved her stern face into demonic lines … and when the false Semirhage smiled her eyes burned with malice. “But let us not move too fast, sweetling. You may call me Sirayn for now.†Now she resumed her gentle pacing. The circles ranged in an unpredictable pattern; she lingered out of sight before advancing into view once more. Silence drew out into tension. Finally iron entered her tone once more: “Tell me about the Black Ajah.â€

 

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Black Ajah Hunter