The Grey Tower

Brendon wasn’t usually someone who got chosen to join the groups that were sent to the Borderlands, and unlike some others, he never volunteered or otherwise actively tried to get chosen. The Borderlands were cold, the Blight was ugly, and the work there was never done; fighting the Shadow up there could consume even a channeller’s entire lifetime and the battle would have barely changed a bit at the end, so what was the point? In his experience, the Borderlands attracted two kinds of people: those who cared too much, and those who went there to die. Maybe there was a third type — those who had been born there and saw the duty to defend it as their inheritance — but those, too, often fell into one or the other of the first two categories.

The one thing that made this excursion moderately interesting was the presence of Nathaniel Carridus. It was unfortunate that this meant his brother, Reuben, was also present; the former didn’t leave the Black Tower grounds without the latter, as ridiculous as it was that a grown man should be nannied so. Anyone should have been able to tell that all was not right between the Carridus brothers, but most Asha’man — and certainly the authorities — just took their assurances that everything was fine at face value. And even as Nate professed his loyalty to the Black Tower and his brother, Reuben still seemed anxious to not let him out of his sight for too long lest he… what, escape? The whole thing made Brendon’s skin crawl.

Nonetheless, whatever the circumstances, Brendon was glad that Nate was joining the group. It was easy to tell the man didn’t like being cooped up in the Tower and wanted to see real action again. Nate, Brendon mused, fell neatly into the category of people who cared too much; who wanted to make a difference, save lives, yet entertained no thoughts of being seen as a hero. It would have been laudable had it not been so… pointless.

Pointless or not, he smiled back at Nate as they briefly clasped hands. There was even less point in ruining the day for someone who was enjoying himself for a change.

*

Brendon followed the others through the gateway to their destination in northern Kandor. Though winter had long since gone, the air was colder than Brendon would have preferred, and a chilly wind cut through the wool of his uniform. He sought the Void and it came easily, and with it the ability to ignore the cold, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable.

Thankfully, the debrief session was held indoors, out of the wind. A man in his middle years, barely half a head taller than Brendon if even that, introduced himself as Captain Karanov, the officer in charge of the garrison. He explained the situation over a table covered with maps of the surrounding area, pointing out the locations where bands of Trollocs had been sighted as he spoke. The Blight had been unusually active for the past while, with more than Trollocs coming out of there, but usually the things were content to roam aimlessly and attack only what they came across; now it seemed that something or someone was purposefully organising the Shadowspawn to attack human settlements.

“Something brewing up there,” the Captain said, “mark my words. Your Black Tower would do well to send more men, and not just when we send someone to beg for them.” Then he shook his head. “But you’re here now, and I’m thankful for that. Our first priority right now is to repair the wall and see to the wounded. I was told one of you would be a Healer?”

Brendon nodded and stepped forward. “That would be me.”

The Captain looked at him and in a span of seconds Brendon knew he’d been evaluated and judged: his small stature and soft voice, presence that fell short of intimidating despite the Asha’man uniform, the fact that he was a Healer, all of that often made people read him as harmless if not quite useless. “Good,” the Borderlander said curtly. “Ren will show you to the wounded. The rest of you, with Yonshii.”

*

The young man — boy really — called Ren led Brendon to the barracks, where the half score wounded waited. Some were bedridden, others sported bandages or splints but were strong enough to play cards; regardless of status, they were delighted to hear that a channeller Healer was here to see them.

“And not before time, too,” a grizzled soldier with a Shienaran-style topknot said. His left arm and shoulder were covered in bandages, and he held his cards awkwardly in his right hand, also wrapped up.

Another one rolled his eyes at the comment. “Don’t mind him, Asha’man, he’s just impatient to jump back into the fray.”

Brendon shrugged. “That sounds fair enough.” He gestured for the soldier to sit still and set to work. It didn’t take long to get the wounded back on their feet; none of their injuries were too complicated or immediately life-threatening and all in all, Brendon had worked in worse conditions. So much worse. When the last of the soldiers had been Healed, he followed Ren back outside, where Yonshii and the Captain were consulting with Berlioz, presumably about the supplies, and Francis was making quick work of fortifying the wall with his Earthsinging.

Nate stood a little to the side, under his brother’s careful, if disdainful, watch. As Brendon approached them, he could hear Reuben complaining about “the blasted wind” and muttering that Nate should “make himself useful” and do something about it. When he noticed Brendon, Reuben fell silent, though the nasty gleam in his eyes told Brendon clearer than words that he wasn’t welcome anywhere near the brothers. What was he going to do, steal Nate away? The idea was laughable.

Regardless, Brendon put on his best oblivious face and walked right up to Nate, planting himself between the brothers (mostly to see if Reuben would react, but there was the added benefit of Nate’s large frame blocking the wind quite well). “I see the wall is taken care of,” he said, ever so slightly exaggerating his posh accent. People like Reuben hated nobility, but also tended to see them as self-absorbed and clueless, only dangerous for the social and economical power they wielded, and in the Black Tower, Brendon’s background granted him neither. As far as Reuben was concerned, he was harmless, an annoyance at most. “Is the plan to move out and hunt the Trollocs down before they try their luck again, or stay here and defend when they do?”

Brendon kept a politely bland face through the short, stilted exchange between the brothers, though it was difficult not to react when Reuben told his brother to be quiet and Nate just… obeyed. Without finishing his sentence, without muttering or otherwise expressing annoyance; it was as though somebody had flipped a switch and Nate fell silent just like that, a slightly spaced-out expression on his face.

Then Reuben stalked off, and Nate looked down at Brendon again, apologising for his brother’s behaviour. Brendon gave a delicate shrug and smiled up at the tall Asha’man, a small but sufficiently disarming smile. “No worries,” he said, keeping his voice light, “I know how brothers can be.” Which was true in a sense, though his had been dead for a good seventy years… eighty? It was difficult to keep track, sometimes.

It wasn’t until Nate strode off as well that Brendon let the smile fade. His eyes followed Nate as the man made his way to the wall and began channelling. It was clear to anyone who was paying half an attention that Reuben’s… authority, to put it in diplomatic terms, over Nate was unnatural. Brendon didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the way Nate simply shut down when Reuben said the word stank heavily of Compulsion, and the way Nate seemed to breathe easier when the other Carridus wasn’t around suggested that Nate wasn’t unaware of something being wrong.

Compulsion wasn’t an unusual skill among the Asha’man of the Black Tower — it wasn’t alone sufficient reason to suspect somebody of being a Darkfriend — but at this point Brendon wouldn’t have been surprised if Reuben was that, too. The problem was that there was no way of finding out for sure without landing in more trouble than Brendon particularly wanted to be dealing with… But that didn’t mean he was willing to just leave things as they were. Nate deserved better than that, and if Brendon could help him… Well, maybe there was still a point to his being here.

Instead of being empowering or invigorating, the thought seemed to add an invisible weight over his shoulders. It might not be enjoyable, but life was easier in a way when nothing mattered; he could find a bleak sort of comfort in the knowledge that he could give up at any time without feeling guilty for letting people down. The idea that somebody might still need him, that he might be the only one left in the Black Tower who could recognise Nate’s situation and possess enough basic human decency to do something about it… It came with a sense of anxiety that settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach, making him feel faintly ill. Funny, that; it was not like he’d had any real plans to cut his own thread in the Pattern short, but knowing that the option existed and that it wouldn’t matter had been reassuring.

With some difficulty, he pushed those thoughts aside and went to look for Captain Karanov; he was joining that team riding out to fight Trollocs in the morning, and if Reuben Carridus had a problem with it, he was welcome to try and argue against bringing the Healer along.



As he’d predicted, the Captain was not very difficult to convince; a soldier his age knew how big the difference could be between getting Healed now or in an hour. That accomplished, Brendon watched Nate’s weather channelling for a while until he was called away to Heal a cook who had burnt his hand while preparing dinner. The cook’s nephew, who also worked in the kitchen, had apparently encountered Asha’man while bringing in supplies some weeks back, and made easy small talk until he asked whether Brendon was of the Yellow Ajah, at which point it turned out that the Asha’man the kid had met had been of the Grey Tower, not the Black. Things got a little awkward after that, and Brendon took his leave, hoping the kid hadn’t gone to any of the others, talking about Ajahs and the Grey Tower, especially the Carriduses.

After that he was held up by various little things for the next while and didn’t have a chance to catch up with Nate or the others again until much later in the evening. It was raining outside, a light drizzle that became a significantly more forceful downpour a little ways from the fortress’ walls. Brendon thought that Nate had succeeded fairly well in delivering what Captain Karanov had asked; rain couldn’t be told where to fall with any great precision and the fact that the worst of it had so far stayed outside the walls was a testament to Nate’s skill.

“Do you think it’ll still be raining tomorrow?” Brendon asked as he sat next to Nate — much to Reuben’s annoyance — in the mess hall. The rain, at least, should be a safe topic; he wanted to annoy Reuben, to unbalance him a little, not push him right into murderous rage or something equally tedious. “Trollocs may not like it, but neither will horses.” He sketched up a quick grin, not looking at Reuben as he added, “Nor I, but unlike the horses, I can see its usefulness. The Captain agreed that having the Healer along will be a good idea so looks like I’m joining you tomorrow.”

It was, in fact, no longer raining by the time the group was assembling in the courtyard, in preparation of heading off. Brendon hadn’t slept too well and what little sleep he’d got had been plagued by the oddest dreams, of Akashi questioning him about the situation in the Black Tower, and he’d woken up oddly restless and almost eager to get into the Blight and blow things up. That’s a first, he thought wryly as he greeted Nate and mounted up, ignoring the stable hand’s jokes about whether they should have found the Cairhienin a pony instead.

And speaking of blowing things up, Nate still seemed to be under the impression that he needed to be protected out there, which was a little amusing; Brendon was an Asha’man of the Black Tower, and the first thing you learnt in the Black Tower was to blow things up. If one’s Talents lay elsewhere, that just meant they were pushed harder to reach a sufficient level of proficiency in blowing things up. Of course, none of this was worth mentioning out loud. There was nothing to be gained by embarrassing Nate, and besides, Brendon had to admit it was oddly comforting to know that somebody was looking out for him.

Right, and let’s not get too used to it.

They rode out in neat formation, a pair of scouts ranging ahead to look out for traces of the Trollocs they were hunting. Brendon rode behind Nate, listening to the casual conversation around him, responding when anyone addressed him directly but otherwise wrapped in his thoughts. The soldiers around him were all experienced Borderlanders, nobody was particularly nervous about the upcoming hunt though all were vigilant and professional, never getting too relaxed even while joking around among themselves.

The pleasant if somewhat cool Borderlands weather gradually turned into the humid heat of the Blight, stifling and rot-foul, all the more so — it seemed — since the recent downpour. The casual chatter died away as everyone was forced to keep an eye on their surroundings; in the Blight, even innocuous-looking plants could be deadly, or not plants in the first place. Brendon had once seen a man die to a small sting from something the Borderlanders called a stick. No Healing had been enough to save the poor sod.

They were a little into the Blight proper when the Captain suddenly raised his hand and gestured for the company to halt. Brendon looked up and saw one of the scouts return down a hill ahead, and even with the distance it was obvious the man had found something.

The battle was messy. Granted, most battles were, but this was worse than most that Brendon had taken part in in recent decades. Despite the efforts of the Asha’man, the non-channelling soldiers were cut down at an alarming rate and short of removing them from the battle entirely, there was not much the Asha’man could do to protect them.

At some point, Brendon was separated from Nate; still mounted, with a view over the Trollocs’ hulking forms, he could see the Asha’man (who suddenly didn’t look so gigantic anymore in comparison) swinging that beastly warhammer of his with impressive results. Not that Brendon was watching too closely, because he had his own share of Trollocs to deal with and couldn’t afford to get distracted. But there were some things you just couldn’t fail to notice, and Nathaniel bloody Carridus was one.

By the time the Trollocs were routed, Brendon had lost both his horse and any sight of the other two Asha’man whose name wasn’t Carridus and who were also somewhere blowing shit up, it’s not Brendon’s fault his writer sucks at battle logistics. Brendon spent the next while patching up any Borderlanders he could find who were still breathing or otherwise clinging to life enough to benefit from his Healing (contrary to popular belief, breathing wasn’t actually a requirement, as long as the lack of breathing was recent enough that the lack of oxygen hadn’t done too much damage). That was also why he didn’t immediately notice that something was going on between the Carriduses.

It was only when Nate went down that he realised leaving the two brothers without supervision was a bad idea. “Excuse me,” he muttered in the general direction of the soldier he’d just finished Healing and pushed himself up to his feet, almost swaying with exhaustion but not releasing saidin as he started towards the Carriduses. He had time to briefly wonder what he was going to do when he reached the scene, but he couldn’t come up with anything convincing; he only knew he had to try to do something. Channelling in the distance, in the direction where the Trollocs had fled, made him glance over with mild curiosity, but then he concluded the others must have given chase. Too bad, it meant he couldn’t hope for backup in case Reuben got violent.

“What do you want?” Reuben Carridus growled as he noticed Brendon approaching.

Brendon nodded towards Nate. “Your brother needs Healing,” he said, managing to sound as if he really expected Reuben to step aside and let him at Nate.

The conscious Carridus barked an ugly laugh. “He’ll get it in time, and not from you.”

The channelling in the distance was… not so far in the distance, actually, and Brendon was tempted to turn and look to see what was going to to require such a display of the Power, but he didn’t think turning his back to — or taking his eyes off — Reuben would be a good idea. “You know,” he said, in his best disaffected noble voice, “acting so jealous of your brother might give someone the wrong idea. I do hope you’re just screwing with him and not actually scre—” Alright, so keeping his eyes on the Carridus didn’t help him one bit when he was too tired to dodge in time. There was a sickening crunch or whatever a nose breaking sounds like as a hammer-like fist collided with his nose, then pain blossomed and the world spiralled into a crimson haze.

By the time Brendon could see properly again, he was staring up at the still-cloudy sky, with Reuben Carridus hovering above him like a bad omen. An ugly grin or maybe a grimace twisted the man’s face and one heavy boot rose threateningly above Brendon’s head—

And stuck there. Staring at the dirty sole, Brendon couldn’t quite figure out what was happening, but somehow that boot wasn’t descending and crushing his face. The question — what the hells? — was his last coherent thought before darkness claimed him.

Mael Akashi urged his mount down the hill at a breakneck pace, knowing full well that it would likely cost his life if the horse stumbled at this speed. He saw Carridus punch Brendon, saw the Cairhienin go down, and finally they were close enough to channel at the scene. He nodded at the Green sister riding by his side and the woman channelled; Mael couldn’t see the flows but Carridus froze where he was standing, one foot awkwardly in mid air. Linked with the other two Greens with him, Mael was easily strong enough to cut Carridus off the Source.

By the time the party reached him, Carridus was glaring and spewing profanities at them. Mael hopped off his mount — wincing as pain lanced through his thigh — and glanced back at Jasmina Sedai, “Gag him if he won’t shut up.” (Presumably the Green did, because Carridus did shut up.) Then he crouched next to Brendon. He diverted just enough Power for Healing off the shield and carefully placed the weave over the Cairhienin.

Brendon blinked up at… Mael Akashi? The son of a bitch is alive. Another thought followed, tinged with hysteria, Or I’m dead and the afterlife really isn’t all it’s made up to be. As he pushed himself up on his elbows and took in the scene around him, he had to assume that he was still alive after all. “What are you doing here?” he managed.

One of the Aes Sedai with Akashi snorted at that, and even Akashi’s expression turned wry. “Saving your sorry ass, it would seem?” He shook his head slightly. “You could have been more specific. We’ve been trying to find you all day.” More specific… oh. The dream. Of bloody course. “Looks like you could have used the help a little earlier. I am sorry.”

Brendon waved the apology aside and stood up, ignoring the hand one of the Aes Sedai was offering him. For a very confused moment he stared at Reuben Carridus, standing stiffly and glaring straight ahead, until he figured one of the Aes Sedai must have him tied up. The sight should have been delightful, but right now it only brought a brief sense of grim satisfaction. Then he made his way to Nate. A Delving told him the man wasn’t badly injured, as far as physical injuries went. Whatever Reuben had done to his head was another matter entirely, and one Brendon didn’t know how to even begin to address, certainly not as exhausted as he was.

“Is he alright?” Akashi asked behind him, sounding concerned.

Brendon shook his head with a sigh. “No, but it’s not something I’m even trying to fix right here and now,” he said. “Physically, it’s only minor scrapes and bruises, but—” and he turned to shoot a glare at Reuben “—I have reason to believe he’s been under heavy Compulsion for a while.”

Akashi swore colourfully, not quite under his breath, and one of the Aes Sedai gave an indignant squeak, but whether that was aimed at Akashi’s language or the idea of Compulsion wasn’t entirely clear. “If he’s physically good enough to be moved,” Akashi said then, “let’s get him on a horse and get him to the Grey Tower. We have Healers there…”

And what am I, chopped liver? Brendon thought wryly, but he was too exhausted to say anything, just nodded and moved aside to let the others do the heavy lifting. It seemed that nobody was asking him whether he wanted to accompany them to the Grey Tower, but it seemed that Akashi wasn’t expecting him to return to the Black Tower, either, and he was too tired to think about the consequences. He listened as Akashi spoke to whatever soldiers lingered nearby, promising to send more assistance from the Grey Tower, and then there was talk about returning to the nearest spot they'd memorised enough for Travelling.

Mael waved the Accepted away with an irritable frown, too agitated to be particularly polite about it. He’d been against letting Reuben Carridus return to the Black Tower, he didn’t trust the Black Tower to deal with him, but he had been outvoted. “Do you wish to start another war?” Jasmina Sedai had demanded, eyes flashing. “Is that what the Red Ajah wants?” And no amount of telling her that the Black Tower was rotten at its core, that there was no way the authorities had been unaware of Reuben Carridus’ treatment of his brother and they had let it happen, had been able to sway her. She’d simply given him a flat look before turning away, muttering something the Red Ajah seeing Forsaken in every shadow.

Arguing would have been fruitless, especially when Nate needed the Healing, and so Mael had acquiesced. For now. And so he followed Maever to a room in the infirmary, only speaking to answer the Healer’s questions and to offer his contribution when Maever called for a circle; he was easily the strongest in the room and lending that Power to someone who knew what to do with it was the least he could do.

As the Power flowed through him at Maever’s call, he watched Brendon and the other Black Tower Asha’man, Berlioz. Mael didn’t know the latter well, and it seemed that he hadn’t been aware of what was going on with the Carriduses. Either that or he was a better actor than he looked like. As for Brendon… The Cairhienin sat a bit to the side, watching the Healing taking place with mild interest. He didn’t look like he’d been sleeping well for the past while, and Mael didn’t have to wonder why. The Black Tower failed us all, my friend; you, me, Alastair, Jaryd, Nathaniel Carridus. He’d have to talk to Brendon, alone, without the Berlioz fellow breathing down their necks. If Brendon didn’t want to return to the Black Tower… Mael was going to make sure he didn’t have to.

Then the circle was released and Mael realised that the Healing was finished. “How is he doing?” he asked Maever. “Will he recover?”