WOT Adv 258 - Fiznak

Daelyn moved to two or three other stations on the wall, checking on the troops before retiring to bed. All seemed in order, and Fiznak located a small overhang from an tower along the wall. Wrapping himself in a nearby woolen blanket, he settled down into a fitful sleep as dawn gave way to the beams of morning.

His dreams were disturbing. His mind replayed scenes of his encounter with the Fade, always with terrible results: In one, Shae-ree's head tumbled from her torso at a slash from the Fetch's black blade, her mouth and eyes opened wide in a soundless scream. In another, it was his head staring up at himself. In another, the scene changed to where he saw the fade kill the Dai'Shan, and then draw and quarter the corpse and the men in the city filled with fear ran heedless onto trolloc pikes. In another, his child--he was sure it was his child, though the lad was now grown to perhaps five or six years old--was out playing in a yard outside a tower, and the Fade stepped out of some shadowed woods nearby, grinned at Daelyn and then impaled his son on its sword.

The images came again and again into his mind. Each time it was the Fade. Each time he sought to avoid the Eyeless; yet each time the thing always found him or one that he loved, and killed it in a cruel manner. He shuddered as the gaze passed over him again and again with each event. He shuddered and trembled, moaning and twisting in his sleep with each new death. He felt hot and the blanket twisted about his legs, trapping him, suffocating him in coils of death, he kicked to push it off and the it changed into a serpent, hissing, wrapped around his legs, and then it morphed into the Fade, who stood over him grinning and with the naked blade of his sword, glinting in a pale moonlight, plunged the tip into Daelyn's throat.

. . . .

He awoke with a start, kicking off the blanket and sitting upright against the wall, his breathing was ragged and he felt on fire and terribly weak. Peering about wildly, he saw that the sun was just now setting and a woman knelt next to him, her hand on his head, the hand felt cool and dry on his head.

"Hush, my heart." The woman's voice said. "Rest easy. You are not well."

"Maeslyn?" Fiznak croaked. "Is that you?"

"Don't you know your Shae-ree?" The voice sounded hurt and Fiznak could see a beautiful face in front of him. Shae-ree? He wondered. Where was Maeslyn? Light his heard hurt.

His throat felt dry and he croaked. "Water..."

"Drink this," another female voice came into view and knelt down. The voice was softly but firm and not to be denied. "It has some herbs, but should help with the fever."

"Who are you? Light, where am I?" Fiznak peered at her and put one hand to his head. Light, how it pounded, like a brace of fireworks going off every time he moved it. He grimaced from the pain and looked at another beautiful face, this one with golden hair, tied in a simple braid. For some reason the face reminded him of Maeslyn, yet it was not Maeslyn. But there was something about it that was the same. What was it? Ah yes, the face of one who has long worked with the power. An Aes Sedai. It had a certain ageless quality.

The woman frowned and pursed her lips. Then she spoke quietly her face feeling his forehead. "I am Alena, Accepted of the White Tower."

"She is here to help you, my heart," the other woman with raven hair said, brushing back his hair with her cool hand. "Please drink it."

The cup was pressed to his lips and his nose twitched at the smell, but the hand that held the cup was firm and drank it down. It tasted of hot water with bark and grass and left a somewhat mint-like after taste.

"I'm afraid, I am I am not overly skilled in healing," Alena said. "After all, I am only Accepted. And you have taken a hurt that is something only the One Power can heal."

Fiznak remembered fighting Bors, was this the hurt she was talking about? His head swam and the pounding pressure was still there but it had lessened slightly. He felt weak and exhausted.

"Blood an ashes," he moaned.

"Do you remember the Shadowspawn, my heart? The one in our bed chamber? You saved me, but I think you took some hurt." Her face creased in worry.

Fiznak shook his head wearily. He felt he should know her, but did not. Or did he?

"Yes," Alena nodded, studying his face and fingering his chin with delicate fingers. "You were touched by the fetch's blade and such darkness is not easily removed once it has latched onto the soul. You need real healing from a real sister. There is very little I can do at this point with trollocs besieging us."

Suddenly there was a sharp braying of horns in the distance and a bell started to ring. It sounded like an alarm. Fiznak leaned weakly against the wall, his hand going to the pommel of his blade. Soldiers were running from houses and down the street and climbing atop the wall. His gaze followed them listlessly.

"Tai'manshima!" a young man saluted and knelt beside him. "The trollocs are attacking along all fronts. Our archers have slain many of them yet still they come. What are your orders?"

"He is ill, Urden," Alena eyed Fiznak critically and sighed. "I'm not sure he will be of much use in this battle."

The man frowned and fastened his helmet atop his head standing. "Peace, but I hope the Creator sends you healing, Tai'manshima! You are needed in the defence!"

Tai--what? The pounding started again, and he pressed a hand to his head. The sound of drums on the far side of the wall in the distance was beating in wild syncopation to the drums in his head. Suddenly a man fell down off the wall not ten paces away, a thick arrow, nearly the size of a spear protruded from his chest.

Light! There was a bloody battle going on and he didn't even know where he was.