The Hunt

[Jay Carpenter]

Jai felt trampled. The blow from shielding rippled tension down his back. There was no doubt, it saved the boy Suaya's life, and hit Jai like a mountain in mid-channeling. The Light blasted man would burn for that. Both of them. Throbbing flared hot across his thigh when awareness spread downward. Duller now; not the sharp surge of initial pain; he'd been out for a few minutes at least. Any man with a history in battle was intimately familiar with pain: adrenaline could dampen it, time dulled it, vengence remembered it.

Breathing ached for reasons he didn’t know. Not ribs. Those were spared when he fell from War Cry on an exhale. This was dishonorably lower. He took a deep breath in defiant understanding just to embrace the sensation. Kick a man when he's down? He'd do the bastard's legs the favor of removing his feet for that.

He stretched for Saidin, needing to finish this off. But violent awareness shoved the remaining thickness from his head. It was still blocked. There, but as a storm of taunts worse than anything the conspirators might have concocted; there, but unreachable. He slammed at the thing. Harder this time, and cringed when it kicked back. He slammed again. Again.

The reality of so impossible a task gripped deep: infuriating defiance looked to the nearby hilt of his sword, alone in the grass. Also unreachable. It didn't matter. No Saidin. No sword. His fists would still enjoy pummeling Tamal's victory into exile once and for all.

Move. The command echoed in his head. Move. Finish this. Something. He struggled. Why couldn’t..? Then he felt it. The constant flow of chill flushing his skin.

“AES SEDAI!”
The roar of Saidin he could not reach demanded her attention, “AES SEDAI!!”
The repeat command was a shout unbuffered by the dirt under his face. He dared her to come forward; to face atonement. Nythadri was never once the suspect. Light help her if his trust for the Accepted was born from deceit.

Air rushed by when a hand stole the nearby saber. Considering the hand, it likely would not have hesitated if the blade was drenched in human blood rather than unfortunately seasoned by mere drops. The move separated it completely from its bloodthirsty owner, but also from everyone else. Uncaring of the motive, possession and nausea followed daringly up the attached arm as the warder’s hand flexed around the hilt. A risky move on his part, but wiser than to allow a lesser hand to do the same thing. Had a Suaya been the confiscator, a warrior waltzing in to claim the spoils of his conquer... The idea knotted his insides. There were still other dark derivatives of madness he could show them.

It was not Liridia's aloof voice which answered, though. Daryen's did. Mirthful as a laughing Fade. The haunt of such a sound sent a tremble down Jai's spine, and he did not move again. So laid out in the dirt, much the same as during that first campaign, he remained. It prompted the sudden taste of phantom metal, salt and grime. Unwanted memories from another day. Unable to move, hooded in darkness, the world shrank to this last circle. And the haunting sound circled overhead. And he hoped the black blade would sever his neck cleanly. Not lodge in bone.

What choice did he have but wait and listen? Easier to shut out the sun's burning glory than hide from it, but attempting to do both and Jai would accomplish neither. There was nothing to count but memories. No distraction in ritual. Just one last attempt at pride: to grit his teeth, cease resisting, and endure Daryen's lesson. And save the loathing for the one who really deserved it.

Whatever that lesson was, Jai knew it was for him. Daryen's glee was cold. His sting so sharp a man would not know he was struck until it was too late. A politician's attack, poisoned by an Asha'man's cruelty. He struck at his enemies one at a time. A snake lazing in the sun one moment and striking the next. And his victims fell, as sure as if they joined Jai in the dirt. They went to their knees then and there, and kneeled in fealty all over again.

The lesson was his. So much so Daryen might as well have circled around and whispered it from the dark unknown of what lay behind. He cringed to think of such a whisper from the darkness, but would not have broken stance until released from the order of attention.

Then the man crossed into sight. The leader he knew. A man who recited the most personal of stories impersonal like a tired gleeman on his last call. As though it happened to someone else. Jai would wager a shiver down those noble backs of his subjects if he were able to see the dead of blue stone eyes boring into them. The lesson contined. View and strength denied, Jai was forced to reckon with the aftermath erupting on all sides. Shocked whispers at the news of a lost child, horrified swallows in the manner of his death, inhaling a fear of their gallant Lord they had forgotten. Jai felt their allegiance swing violently back and forth until the pendulum froze on Daryen's side. The man was brilliant at what he did.

Then he violently crashed through the shield as though pressing too long against warped glass and fell hard through to the other side. His pulse raced fresh. The Power surged immediately once more, and there was barely time to throw determined eyes toward the man marked for death before being wrenched to his feet.

Air suddenly flushed a pebbling beneath his shirt, blessedly normal air on sweaty skin but sore with soon to blossom bruises. He stretched his face toward the sky like a falsely accused prisoner released to fresh air for the first time. It was not the ice of saidar, just normal air. It was the clutch of strong fingers digging into fresh and tender muscle which tore the moment away. He didn't wince, but Daryen's hand was no more playful than his words. He turned slowly toward them both.

Black irises sized down to pins in the brightness were flared by wide rims of blue, calm and deep as the Aryth's depths. There was little trust from Jai's to greet them. No matter what they defended. Saidin surged at so close a threat, but they did their job. Jai controlled the fist of the One Power from crushing Tamal. Thus was the boy thrice saved.

"It took you that long to get the Dragon?"
He poked, sport balanced on the edge of a sword as though they were the only two in sight. Hinting at the swiftness at which Jai obtained his: obsessions transcended swordwork for the young Soldier Kojima. But behind the question lay another. Like the crowd, Jai didn't miss the story's point. Cities burnt, families lost, wounds taken. When Jai scanned the others' faces, he might as well have plucked those blue stones from the skull and threw them at the audience. Lending authenticity to an otherwise metaphorical example of their profession's consequences.

When Daryen's shoulder left his, Jai found the time for every eye. Where newfound respect lowered some, fear touched the others. Good.

Then the man he spared, the warder, strided forward to replace Daryen's leaving to return the sword in his hands back to its owner. Unafraid steps planted the man before him. Tension elevated for a moment among the onlookers despite the lack of anger from a face streaming with blood. Jai specifically let the man live, but with the warder's first words, waves of regret touched his stare in warning.

“This is Malkieri steel.”


Jai took back his blade with a flash of warning. Begging the man to stop talking. He advanced it to Liridia who stepped into to her warder's shadow. He dared the historian to say more as acknowledgement skirted the edges of her serenity. He dared her to so much as think about being sympathetic now that she recognized his height and name. She said nothing, but neither did she stop the man at her side from continuing. Aes Sedai manipulations to the very end. “There are a few in the Tower armory...”
The grizzled voice added with something of respect edging back his riled defenses. The man had no idea what that did. Jai felt vulnerability spreading out the the last private piece of himself for everyone to dissect. Home, trade, friends, flaws; now, blood and name. Let them pick his fibers apart. He wouldn’t run from them again; and controlled fury flexed his own hand around the hilt as he sheathed it.

Theirs was not the first group to concoct such extraordinary theories. Those educated in the far north were the usual instigators. The flavor of his name was certainly northeasterly. Though with his height most assumed Shienaran lineage. A few foul remarks usually swiped that theory from so creative a mind. But it was only the rare times, warders or those in the Legion’s noble command, when someone recognized the steelmaker’s mark branding his from the oldest of Malkier’s forges. For them, some excuse about finding Ogier too boring to trade a hundred years of taint-free life for a stedding stopped further comments. It felt like a copout now; and he let their imaginations run when he peered into nearby wide-eyes. Landing finally on Nythadri's, defiance strengthened his resolve.

The Aes Sedai offered Healing. Jai walked away.

He passed Nythadri. He did not expect the typical woman's judgement from her. Stubborn was the child of defiance, after all. He straightened the uniform as he walked, though could do nothing for its cleanliness at the moment. Bothers for a more peaceful day. The sword fell into its old sheathe, dormant under Jai's hand balanced by new cords. His direction straight as the earlier arrow to tower over Imaad. To the man's credit, he did not back down, only stare daringly back. Nor did he jump when Jai ripped the clasp holding his ugly fur coat across his shoulders. It fell to the ground in a heap. But most importantly, the sling of his flask was now uncovered at the arm, held there as other men strapped knives. Jai ripped the silvery thing from its holder, and noted the liquid sloshing inside. Imaad truly had been sipping on it.

Jai smirked, waiting for Imaad to comment but the merchant let the newly crowned brother of the king take it, as though the borrowing could rebuild the case of instability which Daryen tore asunder.

A long draught from the bottle lightened its weight considerably as Jai returned to War Cry. He mounted from the other side, purposefully stirruping with the wounded leg to pivot into the saddle. Easy as it was, the flexing of muscle reopened the flow and dark ooze swelled in one last frustrating attempt at freedom. Jai checked briefly for pale faces, ending on Nythadri's once again. Nobility rarely see blood, let alone one who revels in it; but he had a feeling she was of a different breed. He thought Nisele would back off now. But at least her estimations were on point: he did prefer the dark, lustful, passionate type.

The scan of faces witnessed most turn anxiously elsewhere, some nod with thin façades of respect, but ended on Imaad Suaya. The merchant's mask of humility vanished the moment he said something quietly to Nisele at his side. She'd drawn ever closer to him with every passing moment.

Despite the Power's enhancing his senses, whatever was said, Jai could not hear it. But his heart raced anew when her dark eyes flared with shock. She glanced sharply at the handsome Lord in their lead. Daryen's mirth unknowing of what rumor Imaad just unleashed. When she twisted toward Jai once more, she smirked in fresh understanding and Jai did not need the Power to guess what she said to Imaad in return. Jai knew they knew. Scorned for the last time, Nisele joined Imaad's cause. A powerful ally. With her aid, the ground would fall out under their king with what was revealed. Imaad remounted and watched his new ally filter from ear to nearby ear: Daryen's favoritism of Jai as good as proof in their eyes.

Wishing the thing were fuller, Jai finished off the rest of the flask in one swallow, threw the thing to the dirt, and spurred War Cry back with Nythadri's Red as though he'd never left.