The Mountains of Dhoom.

A high mountain range spanning from World's End in Saldaea to Tarwin's Gap in Shienar and beyond, separating the Great Blight in the south from the Blasted Lands and Shayol Ghul in the north. Very few venture into the Mountains of Dhoom except in the greatest of needs, for it is said that there are creatures living in the high passes that are feared even by those living in the Great Blight. Standing on a ledge near the highest peak stood a man who knew this and feared it not. His long jet black hair flowed like living shadow as the wind blew passed, his dark armor shining black with crimson metal highlights that flickered like blood stained quick silver. His eyes glowed like twin stars of molten flame and yet gave the appearance of an unexplainable emptiness more then anything else. Those eyes gazed below this man, seeing the The Blight in almost it's entirety.

The Blight consumed the northern reaches of this continent and the northern reaches of Seanchan, though no Shadowspawn live on the Seanchan continent, yet. The sickly look of the top of the trees and the many unnatural howls that echoed in the night left no doubt that it is a nightmarish land, all life there corrupted by the nearby influence of the Dark One. Almost everything in the Great Blight deals death in some way. All the vegetation is toxic and home to insects that can cause a hideously painful demise. The denizens that somehow thrived in its borders more twisted then many a mans deepest fears and most horrid nightmares. The one truth of the Blight was that it was pure corruption made manifest.

Unflinching the man raised his eyes and looked toward were he knew the end of the Great Blight lay. The wind blew again, hot even though the height should have made it bitterly cold, and lighting blasted through a twisted red sky between one black cloud to the next. The mans eyes locked on a land just beyond the Blight, one of the hated Borderlands. The five lands of Arafel, Kandor, Malkier, Saldaea and Shienar were the Shadows bitter enemy and only one had fallen in three thousand years.

Now the four northern kingdoms that border the Blight itself guarded the Westlands against Shadowspawn from the Blight. The culture of the Borderlands is the most martial of all of the Westlands, and many of the best soldiers hail from the Borderlands. Next to them the rest of the Westlands were feeble and ill-disciplined, with a weakness for pomp and ceremony, and prone to division and faction. They were the hardest prey even though they remained the most accessible. Four lions prowling ready to pounce at a Dragon's beck and call. Tarmon Gai'don was looming, no longer crawling forward but galloping strong straight toward Shayol Ghul and the Pit of Doom, and now was the time for the lions to be nothing but bones and blood and ash.

It would start in Saldaea.

Saldaea, the westernmost of the four Borderlands countries was larger than Shienar and Arafel combined. Their Marshal-General and much of their army was now south of the Borderland with the Dragon even now. A proactive enemy, the largest Lion, its fall would echo through the hearts of the other three nations. Then they as well would fall, their people watching as death traveled east from near the sea born out of the an ancient gate to the Ways. With a horde marching even now to burst out like a swarm of death and the Horsemen south with the Dragon death would spread like a plague. These beast would also swarm south out of the Blight taking the land of Horsemen from the west and the north. Leading them would not only be the Halfmen, no, this time the horde would come with a true master at its helm.

The mans eyes grew hotter, the flames near pure white, as Shadar'mael fingered the hilt of his twisted sword. This two headed attack was but part of the plan. Many whispers in the dark had reached the ears of the Secret and blessed Chosen of the Great Lord. A whisper of an enemy feared by the Shadow. This whisper had a name, a name directed straight at the Chosen and the Shadow.

Shadar'vadin.

Barrier against the Shadow. A would be nemesis, a supposed antithesis to the very Chosen! Such an affront could not be ignored, could not be idle dismissed less it breed hope for these hopeless children of a weak and shattered age. These whispers would need to be exposed, these lightsworn fools uncloaked and dismembered, brought low. Like moths to a flame this Shadar'vadin would come north when the bloodshed started, but first a misdirection should be planted, a feign before the thrust as it was.

Another name was whispered. A name from the not so distant past. A Warder of no account, a warder who fought the Second Chosen and still drew breath. A Warder who was suspected to hold allegiance with this Shadar'vadin. One Thernan Riekal, a discovery of Zhemri's and Shade's. A Warder who was whispered to have channeled and been seen by pure chance. In the end He would be a Warder that brought an end to these upstarts once and for all.

Seizing the True Power Shadar'mael stepped from the mountain as a silver line appeared and rotated before him. In a flash it opened showing a grand room of Shienarian style framed as if it were a picture in a frame by the red skies above Mount Dhoom. Stepping through Shadar'mael closed the Gateway and glanced around the Shienarian room. A great oak table sat deserted in the middle of the space, empty and forlorn. This was were Zhemri was to meet Shadar'mael, and with him Zhemri would bring a newly twisted shadowspawn that would serve them well in this first strike against the Warder who dared work for this Shadar'vadin.

Zhemri called it a Mimic, claimed it was a grander assassin then even the grey men. Shadar'mael sat at the head of the table and waited, it was time to set a trap that no barrier could defend against.


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Atlan had not visited Kandor in many months. Amalia and he had stopped here after the disastrous events in Muttonsleigh but that had been for Atlan to regain some solid footing and had lasted less then a week. This time was different, this time Amalia had pushed for it, demanded it. What was it she had said? Atlan mused to himself. Oh yes, one cannot forget family and you are obligated. So Atlan and Amalia had come north with Orin and Atlan's twin boys to the current home of the Dellence family and Atlan's cousin Duke Alassar Dellence. A cousin descended from a line of men Atlan's father had spawned hundreds of years before. In a way Atlan was equal parts cousin and ancestor by that reckoning. Just one oddity among many.

"Your quiet." Orin said beside Atlan as Atlan looked north to the Blight from the keeps parapet. Atlan glanced over at his younger brother but said nothing before returning his gaze to the Blightborder. " I was amazed at the similarities that Alassar's features hold to our fathers own now. He is beginning to look like a younger, taller but lanky version of Jardam Dellence. Duke Dellence is also a Blade-master though his power-wrought blade holds no Heron. He has become a rather impressive warrior-lord while I was away." Atlan smirked."Yes little brother, it is the family tradition to train our young to be the best killers they can be, are you truly surprised?" Orin smiled slightly before responding."At least he cannot channel."

"He is not an enemy." Came a calm voice from behind the two brothers. Atlan did not bother to turn around as he would always know when his bondmate approached. Orin though did turn around and offer Amalia Sedai a respectful nod."That is not a thought we entertained Amalia Sedai, we only know that if Alassar could channel then he too would have found himself more interesting when it came to his sinister Uncle." The newly appointed Baijan'm'hael of the Mordero'vadin explained. Amalia seemed amused through the bond, but her voice did not quiver an inch with mirth as she made small talk with Orin. Atlan only half listened, his eyes lingering on the Blight.

"They are still debating if the 'Blonde' one or the 'dark haired' one should be declared the eldest." Amalia said as she placed a hand on Atlan's shoulder. Atlan knew what she spoke of right off as Allorum and Aran Dellence's places in the childless Alassar's succession were currently being debated. It was the reason why Atlan and Orin had been called to Kandor in the first place, to speak on the fate of Atlan's twin boys. It seemed that one of them would become Duke Dellence after Alassar as both Atlan and Orin had long ago abdicated. The Blonde one was Allorum, with one blue eye and one grey. The dark haired one was Aran with the eyes the same but reverse that of his brother."Angelique never told me which one was born first. Only that they were hunted at least as much as me by my father. This entire idea seems reckless, bringing them here."

Amalia sighed both along the bond and aloud."One of them shall be declared heir apparent Atlan. This is the blightborder and no clear heir can lead to distractions ill afford this far north." Amalia explained. Atlan finally turned and looked at Amalia, a bemused expression on his face."Are you truly explaining the blightborder to me Amalia? I was born and forged in them Emerald Storm, or have you forgotten?" Atlan retorted with more venom then he intended. Serenely Amalia took a step back and eyed the Leader of the Dai Mahdi'in."Have you forgotten Atlan? As of late you act as if you were born in the Black Tower, as if you were raised by Rieper and Allorum and Ky'Tsu. Your bloodline, however tainted you think it is by your father, is still one of the oldest and staunches of the families defending the Blightborder. It is worth the risk to see that it does not dissolve and in doing so breed chaos."

"She is right." Orin interjected. Atlan grimaced and turned to look at the Blightborder."It looks so close here." Atlan whispered then turned back to Amalia."The Duke will decide what he does. Let us remember that after the heir for the Lands my family no doubt ripped from more deserving hands is decided we still have to head to Fal Dara, then Andor on the M'hael's 'tour of promises'." Atlan took a deep breath, he was not used to being a diplomat. On top of it all was his new found responsibilities with the Aiel. Subconsciously Atlan rubbed the black and red dragon 'tattoo' that marked him as the 'Chief of Thunder-Bringers and Outcast' as it had been nicknamed.

"They denied Thorin's promotion again.." Amalia suddenly said, as if the question had just occurred and been answered by her in mere seconds. "Very perceptive as usual Amalia. I am to remain Tsovoran'M'hael as well as Baijan'm'hael for an undisclosed time as of yet." Atlan answered her. Even the Burning Lion had to admit that the strain was beginning to take its tole. No one said anything for some time, there was nothing to say.

"There is a feast starting soon, we should make ready." Atlan said in a resigned tone. "Is there not always." Orin and Amalia said together.

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Shadar'mael looked into the burning, bottomless eyes of a man standing before him that was and was not himself. Zhemri, as fat and slithery as ever beamed a broad smile as Shadar'mael examined the Mimic, tilting his head to the side only to have the shadowspawn copy the movement exactly."Does it speak?" The Nae'blis asked his subordinate in the Secret Chosen."It does." The Mimic answered in a voice that even the Dark Warder could not separate from his own.







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