Lord of Chaos

Sammael’s hand trembled with anger, nearly slopping punch from his goblet before he could still it. Rand al’Thor was not Lews Therin. He himself had outlived the great Lews Therin Telamon, handing out praise for victories he could not have won himself and expecting others to lap it up. His only regret was that the man had not left a grave for him to spit on.

Waving ringed fingers in time to a snatch of music from below, Graendal spoke absently, as though her real attention was on the tune. "So many of us have died confronting him. Aginor and Balthamel. Ishamael, Be’lal and Rahvin. And Lanfear and Asmodean, whatever you believe. Possibly Moghedien; she might be creeping about in the shadows waiting until the rest of us have fallen – she’s foolish enough. I do hope you have somewhere prepared to run. There doesn’t seem to be any doubt that he is going after you next. Soon, I would say. I’ll face no armies here, but Lews Therin is gathering quite a large one to hurl against you. The price you pay if you must be seento wield power as well as wield it."

He did have lines of retreat prepared, as it happened – that was only prudent – but hearing in her voice the certainty of his need infuriated him. "And if I destroy al’Thorthen, it will violate none of the Great Lord’s command." He did not understand, but there was no requirement to understand the Great Lord, only to obey. "As far as you’ve told it to me. If you have held back... "

Graendal’s eyes hardened to blue ice. She might avoid confrontation, but she did not like threats. The next instant she was all inane smiles again. As changeable as the weather in M’ji

"But you’ve told me little enough of what he plans to do," Sammael said softly, "him or Semirhage or Mesaana. Practically nothing."

"I have told you what I know." She sighed irritably. Perhaps she was telling the truth. She seemed to regret not knowing herself. Perhaps. With her, anything and everything could be show. "For the rest... Think back, Sammael. We used to plot against one another almost as hard as we fought Lews Therin, yet we were wi

"Ishamael did not find him so," he said – of course, Ishamael hadbeen mad then – but she continued as if he had not spoken.

"We behave as if this is the world we knew, when nothing is what we knew. We die one by one, and al’Thor grows stronger. Lands and people gather behind him. And we die. Immortality is mine. I do not want to die."

"If he frightens you, then kill him." Before the words were well out of his mouth he would have swallowed them if he could.

Disbelief and scorn twisted Graendal’s face. "I serve the Great Lord and obey, Sammael."

"As do I. As well as any."

"So good of you to deign to kneel to our Master." Her voice was as wintry as her smile, and his face darkened. "All I say is that Lews Therin is as dangerous now as he ever was in our own time. Frightened? Yes, I am frightened. I intend to live forever, not meet Rahvin’s fate!"

"Tsag!" The obscenity at least made her blink and truly look at him. "Al’Thor – al’Thor, Graendal! An ignorant boy, whatever Asmodean manages to teach him! A primitive lout who probably still believes that nine-tenths of what you and I take for granted is impossible! Al’Thor makes a few lords bow and thinks he has conquered a nation. He hasn’t the will to close his fist and truly conquer them. Only the Aiel – Bajad drovja!Who would have thought they could change so?" – he had to get a grip on himself; he never cursed like this; it was a weakness – "only they truly follow him, and not all of them. He hangs by a thread, and he will fall, one way or another."

"Will he? What if he is...?" She stopped, raising her goblet so rapidly that punch spilled onto her wrist, and gulped until the goblet was almost empty. The elegant serving woman came scurrying with the crystal pitcher. Graendal thrust out the goblet to be refilled and went on breathlessly. "How many of us will die before it is done? We must stand together as we never have before."

That was not what she had started to say. He ignored the ice that gripped his spine once more. Al’Thor would not be chosen Nae’blis. He would not! So she wanted them to stand together, did she? "Then link with me. The pair of us linked would be more than a match for al’Thor. Let that be the begi

She stared at him, gathering herself, eyes glittering with enmity. Finally she said, "Little enough." She would not forget that he had seen her lose control. None of her anger came out in her voice; her tone was smooth, even offhand. "Semirhage missed the last gathering; I don’t know why, and I do not think Mesaana or Demandred does either. Mesaana in particular was a

"So Demandred knows you and I meet," he said flatly. Why had he ever expected to receive more than driblets from her?

"Of course he does. Not how much I tell you, but that I tell you something. I am trying to bring us together, Sammael, before it is too – "

He cut in sharply. "You deliver a message to Demandred from me. Tell him I know what he is up to." Events to the south had Demandred’s mark all over them. Demandred had always liked using proxies. "Tell himto be careful. I won’t have him or his friendsinterfering in my plans." Perhaps he could direct al’Thor’s attention there; that would likely put an end to him. If other means did not work. "So long as they steer clear of me, his lackeys can carve out what he wants, but they will steer clear or he will answer for it." There had been a long struggle after the Bore was opened into the Great Lord’s prison, many years before enough strength was gathered to move openly. This time, when the final seal was shattered, he would present the Great Lord with nations ready to follow. If they did not know who they followed, what did that matter? He would not fail, as Be’lal and Rahvin had. The Great Lord would see who served him best. "You tell him!"

"If you wish it," she said, grimacing reluctantly. An instant later that lazy smile came onto her face again. Changeable. "All these threats weary me. Come. Listen to the music and calm yourself." He started to tell her he had no interest in music, as she knew very well, but she turned to the marble railing. "There they are. Listen."

The very dark man and woman had come to the foot of the dais with their peculiar harps. Sammael supposed the chimes added something to their playing; what, he could not say. They beamed reverently up at Graendal when they saw her watching. Despite her own advice to listen, Graendal went on talking. "A peculiar place they come from. Women who can cha