“He did keep saying that the Dragon was on this battlefield somewhere,” Kash noted.
Donalo stepped forward, cocking his head, as if studying something in the air. “I saw exactly where he made the gateway to escape. It was right here. Right here… Yes! I can feel the resonance. I know where he went.”
“He defeated Demandred,” Alviarin said, folding her arms skeptically. “Can we hope to fight him?”
“He looked exhausted,” Mishraile said. “More than exhausted. He panicked when he saw us. I think, if he did fight Demandred, it took a lot out of him.”
Alviarin regarded the space in the air where al’Thor had vanished. Mishraile could practically see her thoughts. If they killed the Dragon Reborn, M’Hael might not be the only Dreadlord raised to the Chosen. The Great Lord would be grateful to the one who struck down al’Thor. Very grateful.
“I have it!” Donalo cried, opening a gateway.
“I need a circle to fight him,” Alviarin said. Then hesitated. “But I will use Rianna and Nensen only. I don’t want to risk us being too inflexible, all in the same circle.”
Mishraile snorted, gathering his power and leaping through the opening. What she meant was that she didn’t want one of the men leading the circle, potentially stealing the kill from her. Well, Mishraile would see about that.
He stepped from the battlefield to a clearing he did not recognize. The trees here didn’t look as deeply under the Great Lord’s touch a
s they did other places. Why was that? Well, the same dark sky thundered above, and the area was so dark that he had to weave a globe of light to make anything out.
Al’Thor rested on a stump nearby. He looked up, saw Mishraile, and cried out, scrambling away. Mishraile wove a fireball that sprouted in the air and flew after him, but al’Thor managed to cut it down with a weave of his own.
Ha! He is weak! Mishraile thought, dashing forward. The others followed him through the gateway, the women linked with Nensen, who trailed after Alviarin like a puppy. Donalo came through last, calling for them to wait for him.
A moment later they stopped running.
It hit Mishraile like a wave of cold water—like running face-first into a waterfall. The One Power vanished. It left him, just like that.
He stumbled, panicked, trying to figure out what had happened. He’d been shielded! No. He sensed no shield. He sensed… nothing.
The trees moved nearby, figures stepping from the shadows. Lumbering creatures with drooping eyebrows and thick fingers. They seemed as ancient as the trees themselves, with wrinkled skin and white hair.
He was in a stedding.
Mishraile tried to run, but firm arms grabbed him. Ogier ancients surrounded him and the others. Ahead, in the forest, al’Thor stepped forward—but it wasn’t him. Not any longer. It had been a trick. Androl had been wearing the Dragon Reborn’s face.
The others screamed and battered at the Ogier with their fists, but Mishraile fell to his knees, looking into that emptiness where the One Power had been.
Pevara moved next to Androl as the Ogier, those too ancient to join the battle, took the Dreadlords in strong hands and dragged them further into Stedding Sholoon. Lindsar—eldest among them, leaning on a cane as large as a man’s thigh—approached Androl.
“We will care for the captives, Master Androl,” Lindsar said.
“Execution?” Pevara asked.
“By the eldest trees, no!” The Ogier looked offended. “Not in this place, no, no killing here. We will hold them, and not let them escape.”
“These are very dangerous people, good Ogier,” Androl said. “Do not underestimate how devious they can be.”
The Ogier chuckled, limping toward the stedding’s still beautiful trees. “Men assume that because we are calm, we cannot be devious ourselves,” she said. “Let them see how crafty a mind can become with centuries worth of aging upon it. Do not worry, Master Androl. We will be careful. It will be well for these poor souls to live in the peace of the stedding. Perhaps a few decades of peace will change their outlook on the world.”
She vanished into the trees.
Androl looked at Pevara, feeling her satisfaction pulse through the bond, though her face was calm. “You did well,” he said. “The plan was excellent.”
She nodded in satisfaction, and the two of them left the stedding—passing the invisible barrier back to the One Power. Though Androl was so tired he could barely think, he didn’t have any trouble seizing saidin. He snatched it like a starving man taking a hunk of bread, though he’d only been without for a few minutes.
Almost, he felt sorry for what he had done to Donalo and the others. Rest well here, my friend, he thought, looking over his shoulder. Perhaps we can find a way to free you someday from the prison they put upon your mind.
“Well?” Jonneth asked, running up.