Notes: this one's free for anyone, I intend the story to be at least relatively easy to follow even if its conspiratorial. Any questions PM or IM me.
Abbreviations: A dialogue only thing, and only where it would naturally happen(for me anyway)
TowInt = Tower Intelligence
H-Hour = Hour of operation
X-Day = Day of Operation(D-Day is the official, but i did this to avoid natural confusion)

...more to be added as they happen.


----- Current Day: H-Hour Plus Five -----

Midnight at Tar Valon. Well, middle of the night. It was only hours since the attempt and Jasin really wasn't sure what time it was right now. He trailed through the lit, maze of halls, carrying the supplies of the serving staff that worked the night shift, cleaning all the areas that were used heavily in the day. He was dressed in the uniform of the servants, with a white flame on the chest of his shirt. If he really wanted to be specific, the name he was going by right now was Tomas. At least until he got to the meeting room, but that was a few more levels up in the official offices.

It was the first thing he was told when they trained him. Every time he was to liaise with official representatives of the Tower, it was never as himself. Tower Intelligence knew who he was. So did quite a few of the closed records, and a few of the Sealed ones. He could count those records on one hand. And if this order was for what he thought it was, he was about to add one more finger to that count. He just wasn't sure if it was for the Hall or the Flame.

He walked into a side stairwell after pushing aside a door modeled to look like part of the wall. Two steps up the stairs and their was a sharp blade at his throat. Jasin froze as a voice said from behind him quietly, "No access to the offices."

So I've found the security. Finally. Jasin took a slow gulp before responding with the given phrase, "I have orders sir, straight from the Aes Sedai." The blade left his throat and he continued, "I was wondering when I would run into you guys." They didn't take his knives as he set his cleaning equipment to the side of the stairwell, and their faces showed no response to his comment. They'd managed to keep the entire ordeal quiet from the Tower Guards, dress up what was seen and undeniable as an accident, and the city was in the dark. The Warders though, not them. They were wired, and staying with every Aes Sedai in case there was more to come, bonded or no. For the Reds, they were stuck tailing. "Any more of you I should be aware of?"

"At each floor there's a guard at the door," he responded without emotion, handing over a folded paper with some writing he could halfway see through it. "Roving patrols around where you're going."

Jasin nodded and started up again without the cleaning supplies, his cover no longer necessary. The floors above would be empty of everyone except those who were expecting him and knew, if not who he was, than what he was. Twice more he was stopped, and this time he had a paper to show for his troubles instead of some code phrase. Muttering curses each time about a sharp pointy object at his throat, he left for the hallway at the second. Three times he was stopped by the patrols, and again, three times they let him continue on. Finally he found himself in front of a rather ornate door. With the meeting prearranged as it was, he didn't bother knocking and just walked in, being thankful that he wasn't being sent to the Hall itself.

In the room sat three tables, and among them, twenty-three Aes Sedai. There were three from each Ajah, the Amyrlin, and her Keeper. Sealed to the Hall it is then. There was no specific protocol for his kind. He was to act as one would in his uniform. He walked to the center of the room and gave the polite bow of a servant summoned and awaiting an order, saying nothing. The Brown Sitters were giving him curious looks, the Reds almost looking down on him. The Greens he couldn't get a read on, but the last time he'd had a debriefing like this his cover identity was that of a Warder. They hadn't cared for that, though they'd said nothing.

In the center of the partial circle of tables sat one more, much smaller. The Keeper motioned, and he moved forward and sat. On it was a book opened to the first page, blank but for the date, the Keeper's proper name beside it. "What is said is Sealed to the Hall," she intoned, the words appearing on the pages practically as she said them. One of the more useful ter'angreal's that they'd come up with since the art had been rediscovered. "Attending is Agent Jasin di'Callisto, discussing events in Tar Valon leading up to the action."

His name and words appeared on the page as he started, "First sign was about fourty-eight days ago..."

----- X-Day Minus Fourty-Eight -----

The Silver Light Inn. It was one of the nicer inns in this sector of Tar Valon. It was closer to the North Docks than the Towers, and got a lot of sailors as a result, a natural reaction. Alma kept a clean house though, and damned if anybody could mess that up without getting thrown out the window of whatever floor they were on. At least, Alma was the name everyone in Tar Valon knew her by. Just like she knew Jasin by the name Wil. They knew a few things about each other that most other people didn't. She knew he was an active spy, and had a decent guess for who. She bugged him about it all the time, but he never confirmed or denied. Jasin knew she was a former professional thief, and still always had her ear to the ground in case someone linked you to one of her old jobs. What this made her, was an excellent source of information on any crime that required any sort of planning in Tar Valon.

When she talked, Jasin listened.

He casually shoved the door open, backing through it and into the common room. It took up the entire first floor with a bit of room cut off for an office an another chunk cut off for kitchen and storage. Alma herself was running the bar, a wiry thin, blonde woman dressed in black and getting the drinks ready for the serving girls. Jasin skirted the tables bit by bit, dodged the servers, and threw himself into one of the open barstools. It was still the early hours of the night and she had a mug of ale down on top of a napkin in less than a minute.

"Evening Alma," He said casually. "How's the night lookin'?"

"Good so far," she replied with a smile, pausing to focus on a spot that wasn't there with her rag. An excuse to stop and chat for a minute. "You don't plan on bringing any antics tonight do you?"

Jasin lifted the mug and pocketed the napkin as he did so, taking a long pull on the drink. He brought the half empty mug down with a grin, "Oh come on Alma! You know me. I mess up the inns in the slums. You just always get the honor of the first drink." He looked her in the eyes with a casual smile, and slowly drank the rest. He dropped the mug hard and put a coin on the counter. She tossed it in a bucket behind the bar with the words "WIL WRECKS THE INN FUND" written on it. She'd let him have a lot of meetings at her place. A few of them had gone wrong. Jasin put his hands to his heart like he'd been stabbed and grinned, "That hurts. That hurts a lot. I feel betrayed."

"I bet you do," she smirked back. "Have fun wrecking someone else's place."

Jasin made for the door, clapping a bunch of the regulars on the shoulder, getting in the way of a few of the serving girls for fun while they danced around him with a smile. Once he was outside he dug the napkin out of his pocket and read, followed by a quick, quiet curse.

Shipment of precision weaponry was smuggled through Tar Valon. Exit was more subtle than entrance.

Not wasting any time, he made his way to one of the major dress shops on the main thoroughfare from the Cairhien Road. The store was closed for business, but the door was unlocked. Their meeting was prearranged for this hour in case anything big was in the missive. He walked in and shut the door behind it, slamming the bolt into place. The dressmaker was at the counter, one hand inconspicuously tucked under the counter until she recognized Jasin.

He made his way through the maze of fabrics, and set the note in front of her. She picked it up, read it, and sighed. "I suppose the Warders will have to know," she muttered in her deceptively diminutive voice. "Hopefully they can keep this quiet enough for us to figure it out before they scatter."

"TowInt only," Jasin muttered. "They're the only ones in that know the definition of the word subtlety. And I'm going to have to make some noise if they want to know anything." He shrugged as she nodded, "Either way, some more security on Aes Sedai in the city can't hurt if they stick with tailing them. Let them know I'll be in in the morning to make sure I still "hold a rating with a sword". I'll have to leave with an extra set of hands to do this right." He made for the door, his information delivered.

"Oh I'm sure they can spare someone for this," she said to herself as he shut the door behind himself leaving.

Being back in the Tower, as he had been now for nearly three weeks, usually proved to be a trying time. And now was no exception. He had trained, as he always did when back with the other warders, lying about his latest escapades away from the Tower with an ease that sometimes shocked him. He practiced and sharpened his martial skills during endless hours at the yards, wrote reports for his superiors and generally bided his time until the next assignment found its way to him. Such was his life these past twelve years or more.

But the constant storytelling grew old after awhile as did his solitary existence. There was only so much time that he could spend swinging a sword and only so many reports to write. He had trained new recruits to the division at one time, but acting as a mentor was not one of his strengths and he had not been assigned a recruit in more than five years.

Jax sighed as he walked about the Tower grounds, slipping into the occasional garden and strolling among the creeping vines and the flowers. He had no great appreciation for either but it was an excellent place where he could be alone without arousing the suspicions of those who knew him. A lone warder strolling through the gardens looked like a man who wanted time to himself, not one who was bored with the waiting and wondering, as he always did, if he might have been better suited in a more traditional warder role.

The gardens, at least this particular one, had also provided a convenient way for his superiors to get him messages without have to actually send someone to fetch him and risk compromising things. So it was almost with a sense of relief that he noticed the tell-tale and then noted the nearly hidden symbol the marked the day and time of a meeting with those who were in charge. He finished his stroll and then returned to the yards to practice a bit more. He had a sparring partner that had bested him the day before and with his mind finally cleared he thought perhaps he might make a better show of himself this time. Salvation from his routine, it seemed, was finally at hand.

* * *

“Jax, sit down.”

The room was well lit by a series of oil lamps, one wall was lined with shelves of books and a fire blazed warmly in the hearth behind Yacobin’s large oaken desk. The diminutive man had not looked up when Jax had entered but had continued to scribble at his parchment. Jax did as he was bid and waited patiently for the gray-haired scholar to finish his task. Finally the man looked up and smiled, his eyes cold.

“Good to see you lad, I trust you are well?

“I am, thank you.”

“That was nicely down in Caemlyn I might add, I just finished reading your final account the other day. A bit…tense in spots but all worked out in the end.”

Jax nodded. Yes, tense in a few spots seemed an apt way to put it. Yacobin loved an understatement.

The wizened man looked back down at his desk and sorted through a few pieces of parchment before finding what he was looking for.

“Ah yes. Anyway, enough of the pleasantries. Read this,” he turned the document in his shaky hands and presented it to Jax. “And give me your opinion.”

Jax read through it and then looked back up. “Who is this?”

“He doesn’t work for us I can tell you that much. Apparently affiliated with the Tower, though in exactly what capacity I have not been…told.”

Jax nodded again.

“But I’ve seen some of the unsealed documents that relate to his activities and he is…impressive.” Yacobin smiled coldly again. “And he wishes to involve us in this new operation. And by us I mean you.”

“Of course.”

“It needs to remain small, strictly need to know. You and he would be working together, obviously. Given the nature of the weapons and the potential threat to an Aes Sedai it makes sense that a warder be involved.”

“I see. But I’m not exactly your traditional warder.”

“No, you’re not. But you are a warder, you bear the cloak and are accepted as one. It may be necessary to have someone with your credentials to coordinate with the Tower.”

“Do we have actual threats against Aes Sedai?”

Yacobin shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that. But weapons such as these…it’s not often that they traffic through Tar Valon, at least according to our new friend. Thus his, and their, concern.”

“Their?”

“The Tower of course. If you and he can penetrate this ring of traders and smugglers, it might be possible to trace thinks back to the root. Kill the tree rather than break a branch.”

Jax smiled weakly. He’d try to kill more than a few trees in his time but it was not always quite that cut and dried. Sometimes you had to be happy with just a branch or two.

“Of course you know your responsibilities. To bring down a ring you’ll need to join it. There will likely be…ethical challenges that I will trust you to sort out on your own. Remember that you ultimately answer to the Tower.” Yacobin studied Jax’s face and then nodded. “I know you know, but I have to say it anyway. Is there anything you need?”

Jax shook his head. “When do I meet him?”

“Tomorrow, he’ll be here and the three of us can finalize your role. He will be in charge of the operation. Any other questions?”

“No.”

“Excellent. Then I suggest you put your house in order and be back here after the mid-day meal on the morrow. We’ll talk more then.”

Shaytan LightDestroyer sighed. The Second Chosen was bored. The game of Stones laid before him scattered with pieces of colored stones in two different shades of opal and obsidian. Of course, at the moment, there seemed to be a majority of obsidian stones on the board. This merely served to enhance his boredom.

Sitting directly opposite the silver haired ShadowLord was one of his favorite minions Razak Tenthul. The Murandian sat on the edge of his high backed chair, thinking of a way to counter his master’s latest attack. To Shaytan’s eyes, he was merely delaying the inevitable – total defeat. The Second Chosen gazed dispassionately at the man, reading the subtle signs of frustration in his eyes and expression, by the way the wrinkles formed on his forehead or the way his mouth twisted slightly as if having bitten into a rotten plum. On the surface, it would seem that his man was attempting to memorize the contours of the game board. In reality, he knew that Razak had almost given up and was rewarded by the smile of resignation forming on the man’s lips. “It seems this game is yours, my lord.” Razak spread his open palms slightly to admit defeat.

Shaytan acknowledged the man’s admission with an almost imperceptible nod, a gesture for his man to remove the seeds and restart the game. He watched the black haired lord bend forward to sweep the pieces away. There was no challenge in this; it almost made him regret his decision to visit the man if it wasn’t for the plan he set in motion. In all fairness, it was not Razak’s fault that he could not keep up with Shaytan’s relentless attacks. Like in the case of the wielding of the One Power, experience was an important factor in deciding the fate of the game. Most of the techniques used by the Second Chosen were gleaned from watching and pitting his skills against other opponents.

The Second Chosen went on the offensive after the buildup, playing the same decapitating technique he used to render a third of Razak’s seeds into his own. This time however, the man was prepared for it and countered, escaping with minimal losses while threatening a portion of Shaytan’s pieces. This was one thing he liked about the man. What Razak lacked in experience, the wiry man compensated with his resourcefulness. This was just one of the times he managed to pull off a creative maneuver that caught Shaytan’s attention, a testimony of his abilities to flow with the surroundings and worked with it instead of against it.

It was also one of the reasons why the man was chosen for this particular mission.

Razak was not wearing the guise of his original skin. Layers of weaves of illusion bend the light in such a way as to give him a subtly different look. With the exception of his height and his body size, the short black spiky hair, the dark polished orbs hiding its equally dark intent, pointy waxed moustache and dark skin were all features of a man now sleeping permanently somewhere in the ground. It was the position and influence that the deceased held that was relevant to the master plan Shaytan LightDestroyer crafted.

“How went your meetings with our potential allies?” Shaytan enquired softly, the first serious sentence he spoke among all the usual societal drivel sprouted by class conscious nobles. Razak was here to oversee this part of the plan and protect and his interest in a strategy fraught with traps and risks. Still, if one did not try to take a calculated risk, one did not reap the exceptional returns that could have been derived. This was not to say that one had to throw himself recklessly in any situation, just that one had to adopt a level-headed audaciousness.

The Second Chosen almost laughed. Level-headed audaciousness indeed. Most would have said that the phrase itself was self-contradictory.

“I have made contact with them with several times. The attempt to bring them into the plan has succeeded. As we speak, they have managed to scrap up a suitable fighting force to deploy them in the location and await only your command. There are no signs of complications.” Razak stated confidently, maintaining eye contact while keeping his report concise.

“Good. Have them sort themselves in small groups and scattered to all parts of the city. The necessary equipments for this operation are on the way. Two installments should arrive latest by tomorrow. Have them follow the shipping schedule. Inform me at once at the first sign of trouble. Any questions?” Shaytan asked, causally planting a seed on the board.

“None, my lord.”

“Our meeting is at an end then.” Shaytan stood up and his underling quickly followed suit. He reached out for the swirling maelstrom of ice and fire to form a weave that he dropped on himself. Suddenly the tall dominating figure of one of the elite members of the Shadow was gone and in his place stood a lanky man with brown hair and clothes of shades of emerald. A serviceable long sword hung by his side, buckled by a belt. Clad in boots of dark brown, Shaytan looked the perfect image of an informer of the House instead of the powerful figure hidden behind the façade. Once he was satisfied with his image on a nearby standing mirror, he released saidin and turned back to Razak.
“Oh yes, how is your family treating you?” The Second Chosen asked, his lips curling into a sardonic smile.

“As the head of the household, my lord.” Razak answered with a hint of smugness in his voice. Shaytan let it go for now, the man managed to paint himself as the image of the dead man and that was all that was needed. Fortunately, the wife had managed to get herself dead from sickness or it would have been for his man to fool the family. Regardless, all was well with this portion of the plan and so far, there were no hiccups from the other parts yet. Sweeping his hand forward imperiously, he bid Razak to escort him out. It would not do for the other family members to suspect that he was a channeler, certainly not when the Lord had hidden ties with the Children Of The Light.

The problem with scholars was finding a convenient place to meet that did not seem out of the way or abnormal, lest people thing something was odd. For anybody at any palace for any length of time, the library was a place where a lot of hours were spent. It was quiet though, and often cramped, depending on the number of books and scrolls kept there. An assigned office gave the same difficulty. Classrooms could possibly be used, with an easier watch kept than an office, but the difficulties were the same in the end. They allowed for eavesdroppers outside or nearby. This was a problem when passing secretive information by word of mouth. The White Tower added the difficulty of dealing with eavesdropping with the One Power. For this there was only one counter they were capable of. Those meeting had to add as much redundant noise to the environment as possible for the speaking to drown in. With this in mind the meeting was at the entry hall of the White Tower itself.

The meeting was almost random to the onlooking crowd. Almost. Jax had a well documented relationship with Yacobin, so for whatever reason they were meeting there, it was relatively normal. From inside the Tower walked a man in a servant's uniform. Quickly catching up with the two, Jasin gave a short bow and handed Yacobin a rolled up document, well aged paper. "Apologies," he said, feigning being half out of breath. "I checked your office and had to catch up. That must be signed and delivered within the hour."

The man nodded, and the three began walking slowly and talking quietly. "Information you need to get a message to us is in there. Instructions change each time, and there are only ten, so choose wisely." Jasin glanced around the room as he gave a bow to an Aes Sedai passing through. The other two did what their positions required. There were two people that seemed like they could be watching the group, but were two far away to hear anything. "With what is being shipped, I have to assume the worst and work as if they have someone inside the Tower, even in my own net." Jasin's tone left no question as to which he trusted more. "Not even the owner of my shop in the city will know how we do whatever it is we're going to do."

"And should it go beyond investigation?" the older man asked.

"Security protocols will take precedence," Jasin answered, still subtly glancing at those around him. "We will keep under cover if we can, but the alert will be sent." He nodded to Jax, "Your man is the Warder. He will determine when and if an alert needs to be raised, and how quickly it must be done."

He looked to the Warder, then to the old man. "And now, morning shift is over," he told them both. "I have a room at the Silver Light Inn. Ask after Wil. The owner is smart enough to have an idea what I do, she'll play nice." He glanced around again and marked a total of five possibles that could be watching them. It was almost instinctive after twelve years in the game. "It'd be better if we're not seen leaving together, so meet me there in an hour." With that he gave them a servant's bow to their nods and walked out.

He made his way through the city, not wasting time with he hawkers or the stores, he made for where he was staying like any exhausted servant who just got off the night shift. The streets were a crowded mess of people, but he got there soon enough. The room was small, almost quaint. It was furnished like something a small family wouldn't mind staying in for a night or two. It had the bed, a desk, a dresser. The curtains and decorations were almost something any mother would put up around the house. The guests could almost feel like they weren't away from home. Except for the noise of the common room and the streets right next to them anyway.

Jasin kicked the door shut and didn't waste time. He pulled a chest out from under the bed and unlocked it. Inside, the contents of the chest seemed to phase in and out as a Warder cloak he used for occasional covers in the Tower did its thing. He tossed that on the bed and found three boxes under it. One taking up most of the chest, the other two smaller boxes only taking up about a quarter of it. He pulled out the first and opened it. Inside was a hand crossbow and a case of bolts. He loaded it, put the cases back in, the cloak back on top, and shut it, dumping it all back under his bed.

That done, he took a seat, and waited, watching the door, counting down in his head. Almost to the minute of the time he gave Jax, he got a knock on the door. "Come," he announced levelly, aiming the crossbow. The door opened in, blocking him from whoever was entering. Once Jax's face came around the door, he unloaded the weapon with a familiarity that spoke of it being used often. "Welcome to the dark underbelly of Tar Valon," he said, a slight tinge of sarcasm coming through. "No more showing up on time unless I specify. We're either the irresponsible slummers that do just good enough to keep around, or the ones in charge with enough rank the others will damn well wait for us."

Jax nodded and sat on the bed, looking at him. "To start from the beginning," Jasin said, "The typical criminal organization doesn't go anywhere near Tar Valon. Not unless the city IS their interest, and their only interest." He set the hand crossbow on the desk beside him, "That makes most of the rackets in this city favor transportation. As one of the biggest hubs in the Westlands, sometimes going through here is unavoidable. But the people here never know much of anything that they're carrying."

"And we're going to take over a crew?" Jax asked.

"No," Jasin told him. "We need to get to the one that runs the crew. Most don't directly associate with their crews. Which means we need to draw him out." Jasin grinned, "We're going to muscle them out."

The moon was low over Tar Valon, its waning crescent shimmered in the oily waters of the harbor. Jax stood silently among the shadows cast by crates and boxes, watching as three men struggled up the shallow incline of an alleyway with a heavily laden cart. He’d been watching these three men for a few days now, following their moves and noting who they spoke with, the payments they made, recording nearly every detail he could safely determine. Clothed like a local dockworker, a scraggly beard and mustache, covered in grime, he bore little resemblance to the man who had left the Tower with di’Callisto nearly a week ago.

“We’ll make life difficult for him, at least that’s the plan,” had been his new partner’s words. Make life difficult for the person behind these weapon shipments, make him upset, make him slip up and reveal a piece of information that would give them an insight into just who he was. One piece of information was all they were looking for, one piece that would allow them to begin to unravel the threads that had been woven together to hide an identity and an organization bent on killing Aes Sedai.

Or so they thought. They still did not have a solid idea on who these weapons were being distributed to, nor exactly where they were coming from outside of Tar Valon. This entire operation was still in its infancy. Now was the time for patience, rash moves here would only complicate matters and potentially scare off their adversary. Di’Callisto had been adamant about taking things slowly and cautiously and Jax had been content to let the man call the shots. So long as their primary duty to the Tower and the Aes Sedai was not compromised Jax would be in lockstep with the man. If things began to get gray…

He shook the thought from his mind and focused on the men in the alleyway. Di’Callisto seemed more than competent, the experience seemed to radiate from the man and he carried himself with the air of someone who took nothing for granted and had lived on the edge of betrayal and death for many years. Jax could respect that. Their line of work, though not quite identical, led one to a life of cynicism and distrust. He could tell di’Callisto remained wary of him, and rightly so, Jax couldn’t exactly say he trusted the man with his life yet either, but both seemed resigned to working together for the current cause.

The men passed by him with their cart, the alleyway was empty save for a drunk passed out against a wall of the building. Jax could smell the man’s stench from where he stood and he watched as one of the cart-pullers gave the drunk a kick as he passed him by. They were about to make their opening move and Jax would be the piece deployed on the giant game board that was now Tar Valon.

Silently he stepped from the shadows behind the cart as it passed and tapped the man following it on the shoulder. Startled he turned and took the butt-end of Jax’s dagger to the bridge of his nose and collapsed in a heap, making hardly a sound over the creaking of the wagon wheels. The moon afforded Jax ample light to maneuver by and he leapt up onto the back of the slow moving cart. The men, surprised by the sudden weight change stopped pulling and one of them turned, a curse half-spoken before Jax descended on him, little more than a rapidly moving shadow, and rendered him unconscious with the flash of his arm. The sound of steel sliding from a scabbard reached his ears as the second man’s body thudded to the ground and Jax slipped out and around the third footpad in one fluid motion, darkness his ally, his own dagger moving up and under the man’s sword arm slicing lightly at the muscle while his free-hand came up over the man’s mouth. There was no sound save the clatter of the blade on the cobblestones of the alley. Jax slid an arm across the man’s windpipe and waited for the struggling to cease before he let the unconscious body slump to the ground. Glancing up and down the alley and finding it still empty he made his way around the wagon and tossed aside the rough canvas covering. There were three barrels and two long narrow crates, along with an assortment of bags and pouches, precisely what one would expect to find in a cart moving up from the wharf.

He quickly popped the stoppers from the barrels and poured out their contents into the back of the cart, the smell of cheap wine filled the still night air. When they were empty a quick shake of each revealed they had held nothing but their actual liquid contents. He carefully pried up the lid on one of the crates and found it entirely filled by a rolled carpet of dubious quality, which he quickly lifted out and tossed aside. Tapping at the bottom of the crate with his dagger he heard the hollow sound of a space beneath and with a quick stab splintered the wood and pried it apart. Beneath the false bottom he found four disassembled crossbows, packed in wood shavings. He quickly dismantled the second crate and found another four crossbows hidden in much the same fashion. Three trips to the shadows of an adjoining alleyway later, he had removed all of the dismantled crossbows and replaced the rugs, somewhat askew in each box and then tossed the canvas back over the tipped over barrels, only partially concealing the contents of the wagon. One of them men began to stir as Jax gave the alley one last look before disappearing into the shadows of the second alley.

Wrapping the crossbows up in his own canvas shroud, he dragged them quickly down to a back door that led to the cellar of one of the less frequented waterfront taverns. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, letting it swing silently back into darkness on well-oiled hinges before pulling his cargo in behind him. He pushed the door slowly shut with his boot while he reached alongside the wall and found the torch he had left laying on a small table. He pulled his flint from inside his jerkin, snapped it against the stone wall and let the sparks ignite the torch, illuminating the cellar in an orange light that cast dancing shadows along the walls. He placed the torch in a sconce and knelt down to examine the crossbows. If his sense of timing was right, he had less than an hour to wait before di’Callisto arrived to examine the night’s haul, fresh from his own activities.

The first moves of their game had been made.

Darren Fidikin crouched within the confined frame of the large cupboard as he observed the meeting which took place in the room through the light filtering between the rectangular wooden doors. Aes Sedai had their spies both in the upper echelons as well as the lower classes. The blasted place was dank and reeked of a particularly odious stench as befitted one of the commoners. What was it with these people anyway? Why they could not even bother with basic cleanliness was beyond him. The worst part was when he held saidin, his body senses sharpened acutely and what was foul smelled of three day old corpse rotting in a midden heap in mid day.

The conversation carried on relatively smoothly, with one of the participants blissfully unaware of the eavesdropper in their midst. The other one was prudent enough to keep her voice calm and made an attempt at concealing the nervousness. If the Aes Sedai thought her dog was being nervous, it could be due to the news that the informer was going to convey. There again, if there was even a hint that she suspected something could go awry, his master’s orders were explicit.

Finish your objective….or finish off the mess. Either way, the Aes Sedai was not going to be in a good position.

“James, sit down and drink your tea before it gets cold.”, the woman in silks chided. Through the crack between the doors, Darren saw the lean outline of a man shrouded in a gray cloak sliding into one of the stools sat in place. With only a long white beard and a pair of equally bleached pair of eyebrows as the only facial hair on his face, the man could have been the father of that seemingly youthful woman except that he knew better than to believe that. The woman could have been his grandmother.

“What’s this? What did you put in the tea? James…I”

“Seilyn! Wake up!” The man’s frantic shakes seemed not to work. In a flash of fury, his long sword magically sprang from its sheath and he faced the informer, fear written all over her face. “What did you put in the tea, Tera!?”

Now Darren burst open from the cupboard, threads of air flowing out to pin the warder into place. James whipped around like a coil adder but the flows of air wrapped him like a parcel, preventing movement and speech. “That would be forkroot tea, warder.” The Asha’man answered casually, weaving and tossing a shield on the currently unconscious Aes Sedai. The weave of spirit slide into place easily like a blade through skin, cutting off any way for her to reach for the meddling female half of the one power. The warder glared daggers at both the informer and the Asha’man, his looks promising dire threats in the near future. His muscles bunched up and his veins protruded visibly as the man strained futilely against the invisible bonds that held him immobile and helpless.

“I’m…I am sorry, gaidin. He would have murdered my family if I refused.” The pathetic woman sniveled pitifully, wrapping her hands around her face. Darren ignored her for the moment as he wrapped the Aes Sedai in bonds of air and left her hanging beside her warder. He knotted the shield and inspected his handiwork before turning back to the Aes Sedai’s eyes and ears, now converted to Lord Shaytan’s network.

“No one visited you today, nothing eventful happened. You will not speak of this…ever.” Darren warned, his dark eyes carried the promise of swift repercussions that would follow. “Serve well and you will be rewarded greatly beyond all mortal comprehension.” The woman bowed, stammering her oaths and fealty. While he wanted to do away with this piece of refuse, Lord Shaytan had ordered him to leave the woman alive. Only a fool would go against a Second Chosen.

A hole within the pattern sprang into existence with the boring of saidin. Darren Fidikin’s lips twisted into a cruel smile as he bowed mockingly at the bound figures to enter the gateway. The warder scowled darkly while he floated through and beyond all hopes of recovery, his Aes Sedai followed behind. Darren walked through the portal and let it slip shut behind him. They were now in an alcove brightly lit by the two glowing balls of saidin enhanced light. Standing by the entrance leading towards the lavishly decorated passage were two other smirking Asha’man. They leered at the Aes Sedai but otherwise kept their distances while holding on to saidin. The Second Chosen he served lived and breathed caution, which was why he still remained as one.

Darren stopped up the prisoners ears before giving the two guards the password through. The two Asha’man stepped aside to allow him to drag the couple through and floated them across the red carpet trimmed with gold. Portraits and works of arts laid alongside their path, all of them worth a great deal of wealth to buy. The windows that were usually left open in the morning laid shuttered and covered by the black colored curtains.

The Aes Sedai finally emitted a soft groan through her forced open mouth. Seilyn shook her head weakly as if she was trying to get rid of the imagined wool around her eyes. Her fingers fluttered softly and limply against her side before falling back into stillness. The warder was attempting to roar past his gag to get to his Aes Sedai. The Asha’man ignored both of them while prodding them quickly towards his destination, a large room with two more Asha’man at the entrance – Shaytan LightDestroyer’s study.

After getting through the second round of security and deadly weaves planted at the doors, Darren marched his two prisoners into the room, where a silver haired man lounged against his throne-like seat at the opposite end of the door. A large oval table laid in the centre of the room with high backed chair placed at every regular interval. At the moment however, the Second Chosen was alone. Brushing a loose strand of hair back with his gloved hand, Shaytan beckoned them forward, a satisfied smile on curling cruelly on his thin lips.

“Would you like to purchase that bolt?”

Nivenh’Mia snapped out of her reverie, the piece of blue and purple fabric falling from her fingers. She had not really been paying attention to the clothing stall in front of her, but more to the conversations that swirled around her.

The stall owner, an overweight woman getting up in years, eyed Nivenh’Mia’s choice of clothing with a less thank kind eye, “By the looks of it, you could use another layer. Or three.”

Another woman, younger, who was perusing the woman’s goods, had been eavesdropping and snickered.

She cocked her head, trying to hear the conversation that had hit her ear before the shopkeeper had distracted her. She was in Tar Valon in search of a job, not a shopping adventure. Besides, it had been too long since she had been employed by anyone who could pay her decently, and so her purse-strings would not allow for much more than room and a meal or two.

“No, my clothing suits me fine,” Nivenh’Mia said as she turned away. She was not unaccustomed of eyes falling upon her choice of clothing. But it suited her and her life style.

She tried to move slowly down the street between people, but this part of the city was becoming more crowded then she cared for and it was virtually impossible to distinguish one conversation from another.

She decided to get off of the street. Looking up, the sign for The Silver Light Inn waved gently, as if beckoning to her. This part of town, if people were looking to hire, they would pay decently. Nivenh’Mia pushed through the door. The dining area of the inn was not very busy, and it was still quite early. There was only one person working behind the counter. “I would like an ale,” she told the woman. She waited for a nod before seeking out a table. She found a seat towards the back of the inn, out of way but still visible from most any angle.

She removed one of her daggers from its concealed place upon her wrist (she had several hidden upon her person) and embedded it into the tabletop before sitting down. From the look of the top of the table, she was not the first ‘for hire’ to take this seat in the inn.

“Looking for work, are you?” the innkeeper inquired, setting a mug of ale before her. She looked Nivenh’Mia up and down somewhat dubiously. Nivenh’Mia nodded. “What sort of work are you looking for? Not the kind one does on their back, I take it.”

Nivenh’Mia sneered a little but buffed if off with half a smile. “No. And employers who have made that mistake have had their minds changed and my rates upped quite drastically.”

“And you can wield that little knife there pretty well then?”

“I would not be asking the price I am if all I was were a distraction to the enemy. Do you know of anyone who is in need of any of the services I can provide?”

The woman was silent a moment. Then she shook her head. “I might know some people.”

----- X-Day Minus Thirty-Eight -----

Three days of theft from the smugglers in the alleys of Tar Valon. Their stash grew. Kept in one of the Eyes and Ears unofficial storage warehouses, you'd almost think they could open a business of their own. If only the merchandise wasn't so utterly random in its selection. This city-wide group honestly wasn't very selective in their jobs. Next came the fun part. Jax gave him a wierd look as he came into one of the rooms they had strewn over the city carrying a box. He dropped it lightly on the bed and took the top off. Inside was clothing. Dark clothing, but nice, and good for day to day wear.

"Uniforms?" Jax asked, catching on immediately. "Makes us easier to recognize on the streets."

"Yup," Jasin told him. "Time for a little flare. The uniforms suggest organization and numbers. That means power. Leads to fear. We want fear. They'll be twitching at any darkly dressed man in the city." He started taking his own shirt off to put the uniform on, smirking. "There are a lot for them to see. Hopefully we can draw their boss out in three or four days. We do this right he'll hand us his records on a platter."

"Hired by a smuggler...Your people could do a lot of damage if they really wanted..." Jax muttered, changing into his own uniform.

It was an information probe. Not the first one either, and they went both directions to boot. The two groups did it with each other every time they had to work together. Jasin and Jax had done the Mating Dance of the Spy for the entire ten days they'd been working together so far, trying to find out little tidbits of information that the other knew that their group didn't. Both had held quite a bit back, but both had accidentally dropped tidbits here and there too. "Yup, we could," was all Jasin said in reply. "Might not catch us either," he finished, smiling. "If we do it right anyway."

He left off the bit about the occasional rabid dog that nearly broke the Tower's reputation. They didn't mind their operatives making money on the side. Selling Tower Secrets though, not appreciated. One of them even came close to breaking open a record Sealed to the Flame. Not a pretty one there. That one was Jasin's first Sealed case. They'd managed to keep them within the Eyes and Ears, but who knew how bad the next one would be.

After changing, they started making their way down the streets of the city, not bothering with subtlety. They were a pair of tough guys, they worked together, and it showed. They made their way to the private residences outside North Harbor. Jaisin didn’t know how often Jax had operated on this side of the law, he suspected the man was more of an operator used to doing things to people rather than actually participating in what they did, but if the tall Gaidin had any reservations he hid them well. They moved on mostly in silence until Jasin spied their target. It was what would be third floor above ground level. The bridges made that whole detail a moot point though. Stopping a block down, Jasin cut open a potato bag sitting next to one of the shops. He pulled out a light crossbow, a set of bolts, and handed them to Jax. He took it stoically, not really suprised at the random stash anymore.

"Like acorns," Jaisin joked. "I'll do the monologuing," he said as Jax loaded the first bolt. "If I pause and there's an obvious filler, do that." Jasin pulled a hand crossbow from the bag, made sure it had its own bolt.

Lightning War: a strategy invented and pioneered by Matrim Cauthon in the days of The Last Battle. It refers to a fast attack designed to inspire fear and confusion, penetrating quickly behind enemy lines. It worked here just as well as on a traditional battlefield. Jasin and Jax quickly made their way down the last block of bridges to the target location. Jasin kicked the door in and Jax rushed in, crossbow raised. Five people were in there, the one they marked the leader, Wil, yelling at the others about the thefts.

The crash of the door stunned them to silence. "Good afternoon, let's get those hands up, back against the wall now if you don't mind," Jasin said as he followed Jax in, hand crossbow playing across the room. The room was lit by two lamps and a few candles, there were several bottles of very nice alcohol littering the shelves. Apparently they got paid decently, even if they couldn't really live the life. The underlings slowly moved back, hands raised, Wil just stared, stunned, recognizing Jasin.

"Name's Evan," Jasin announced in a thick Andoran accent, grinning, but with a serious tone. "We're pretty similar Wil. We both work the smuggling racket. Only we work Tar Valon, and you...well you work someplace else. You've got five days before we drop you on a boat and send you on your way ourselves."

"We're not going anywhere," Wil said, glaring as Jasin took a rather large half filled bottle of brandy off the shelf and grabbed a small glass, bringing them over.

He popped the top and started pouring into the glass, "Yes I understand. You're a busy man." Eventually the glass overflowed, he kept pouring until it was empty. "After all, you've only got," he picked up the glass and downed it, interrupting his threat.

"Four days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-nine minutes," Jax commented, looking as dangerous as his kind were wont to.

Jasin slammed the glass down, swallowing the last of the drink. "That's good stuff. Anyway, take my word for it Wil, you really don't want to work Tar Valon anymore. There's a lot of stress here you really don't need." Jasin put out a sarcastic grimace, "Tar Valon. You gotta worry about the Aes Sedai, the Gaidin, and then there's all these people you need to manage." Jasin took a few steps to the wall picked up the lit candle on the cabinet, "Plus, your place is on fire." He tossed it onto the table.

Wil screamed a stream of curses at Jasin as they walked calmly back out as if nothing was wrong. The underlings rushed forward, trying to put the fire out. Sure, the Ogier-wrought stone building wasn't going anywhere, but there was enough wood furniture in there to make it inconvenient. Not to mention the alcohol and the lamps.

A block in another direction, Jasin dropped their not-quite-subtle weapons in another stash he just improvised. "I'll have to check in with my sources tonight," he said in his usual tone as they walked off. "Think there'll be a price on our heads in Tar Valon's underworld by supper?"

Jax eyed him cautiously for a moment, before giving him a wan smile. “I take it this is when things start getting interesting?”

Jasin smirked. “Interesting doesn’t begin to describe it.”

-----

Jasin groaned in annoyance, head hitting in the private dining room table hard. Of all people. Nivenh'Mia. "You want to work for me?" he said in the thick Andoran accent he had. Of course she was good. The Eyes and Ears had a file on her. Somewhere. Most mercenaries were groups, and couldn't function well enough in any other fashion. Not many people had the skills to consistently sell themselves solo. They had to have a work ethic too. After all, they couldn't beat the groups on their own. He lifted his head and stared at her with disdain, "You want to work for me?" But. He had to sell it.

She just looked at him. In her skin tight clothing. Light was she asking to be seen?

"Well the job is simple," he said, accent and all. "We're in town on a start up business option. You heard about the fire in the north residences?" She lifted an eyebrow at that. "Yes, that was me. A man lives there," he rattled off a description of Wil the Smuggler. "Well, he lives where it started anyway. Go follow him around town for the evening. I want to know whoever he has a talk with and wherever he goes for the night."

"Is that all?" she asked.

"No. Their may be more to come, but there's just one rule." She looked the question at him. "Dress like a bloody waitress or storeowner. You really don't need to be advertising your presence. Remember, you only get paid if you don't get caught."

“I’ll buy a hat.”

Even now, some time after she and Evan had parted company, the look on his face made her smile. Nivenh’Mia was used to not being taken seriously initially when entering into employment due to her choice of dress. It went quite bad for her employment when they suggested that perhaps other line of work would better suit her.

But Evan knew her better than most. And because he did, he should not have been surprised at her response.

And now she owned a hat. It was a large and flamboyant affair, made of red dyed straw with a large fluffy plume of some orange hued bird boldly flowing down the back. She had witnessed the hat earlier in the day, but like the rest of the flippery and finery she had not been interested in at the marketplace earlier.

She suspected even now Evan continued to bash his head upon the tabletop where they had met, realizing what he had done. It was never a good idea to describe in detail persons that would be affected by a job before negotiation of terms were met.

That is why she walked now, gay hat in hand, about the part of town that her target supposedly held residence in. Finding the place was turning out to be quite easy, really, since after a certain point she simply had to follow her nose.

It was somewhat odd to find that the different fire scents that the wind carried could vary so much. It was a crash course in cedar chips smoking strips of cow, cow chips being used to cook chicken, and a variety of other stalls smoke scents led her to before she caught one that was completely different from the others. It led her straight to the outside of a tavern. Nivenh’Mia craned her neck to see in through the smoke tinted windows. Sure enough, there were people inside, and that counter certainly looked blacker than it was meant to be.

She unconsciously checked her hidden arsenal and took a deep breath to steady herself for what she was supposed to do.

Taking a step back, she put her foot and then her weight into the door. It swung open with enough force to reverberate off the inside wall. She was already walking past it when it slammed shut again.

Her peripheral vision counted the men she had not been able to spot through the window, and there were several. And from the looks of it, she had invaded a serious meeting. Before the door even shut, weapons were drawn. She recognized Wil from Evan’s description and strode straight toward him.

“Are you Wil?”

He looked her up and down twice before she crossed the room to stand before him, close enough that if she raised her hand, she could stab him in the chest. By the time she came to a stop, the surprise had faded from his face, and amusement replaced it. “What is this? I did not send for a whore.”

She ignored his jibe. “I have it on good authority that a couple of men strode themselves into your midst this afternoon and made a good fool out of your lot,” she glanced at the men that were slowly rising and beginning to circle them. She sneered her lack of impressed at their numbers. “And while your buffoons stood about, they threatened you, lit your bar on fire, and then walked out of here, very much undead.”

Wil crossed his arms over his chest. “Where did you come across such information?”

She glanced at the charred counter. “Let us just say the nose knows and leave it at that.”

“And what? If you had been here, we could have thrown your feminely wiles at them and made them eat their words?” by the tone of his voice she could tell he was both amused at the visual image it brought to mind, as well as soured by the encounter with Evan.

“I am sure my vintage would have caused them pause, but that would have been the last mistake they would have ever made,” she paused, leaning into him ever so slightly. “I do know, however, that they would not have left this tavern with their lives.”

They stared at her in disbelief for several seconds, as if waiting to see if she were joking or not. A small smile slid across Nivenh’Mia’s mouth, properly misleading them. Several of the men laughed, Will included.

The next five seconds was enough to bruise any man’s ego. The three men closest to behind her went down, one bleeding from a bloody nose, another was fairly certain he’d heard a bone crack in his ribcage. The third one would not remember later what had happened.

The others stared dumbly at their fallen comrades.

“That’s enough!” Wil commanded unnecessarily. She stared back at him, pleased at the newfound respect he had acquired. She saw his gaze flick to the charred countertop where he was almost certain he had seen her fist fly. He flinched at the nasty looking little knife that stuck out. “You are a mercenary?” she did not reply and he went to remove the knife.

Only to find that his sleeve was secured to the countertop by an identical knife. He looked back at her in surprise, realizing just how easily it would have been for her to end him.

He was not leery enough of her that when she leaned past him to retrieve her knives, he leaned back just enough that their bodies did not tough. She removed the knives and sheathed them into her clothing. She smiled at him, rewarding him for his newfound respect. “Like I said, if I were a part of your crew, neither of those men would have left this establishment.” She turned on her heel and moved to the nearest table and sat down, placing the straw hat upon her head.

He followed her with his eyes, but remained at the bar. “What do you want, mercenary? A job?” The tip of the hat dipped ever so slightly and he looked at her skin tight clothing once more. “Are you not a little conspicuous to be a bodyguard?”

“Yes. And that makes for the perfect cover, do you not think?”

Wil looked at his fallen men.

“Here is the deal. I am your new belle, an accessory to your side like that knife in your boot,” she smiled when he made half a move to look down to his concealed weapon. “You are a man who possesses and not made for public shows of affection. Do not touch me anywhere other than the small of my back or higher. I think you know the no-no areas from there. If you need to tell me something, whisper it in my ear like a love-coo. If I find your hands straying where they should not, you will find yourself bleeding. Do I make myself clear?”

“How do I know you can be trusted?”

“I am a mercenary. Pay me well and we will not have a problem.” He considered her offer for a long moment then nodded. “Now describe to me, in detail, the two men that wrecked your bar and exactly what they wanted. And do not forget to include a number in there. That would be how much you are paying me to keep you from making a fool out of yourself again.”

"They were both about the same height. The taller one had black hair, and a tan. The other had brown hair, and they were wearing the same dark clothes, like a uniform. The taller one had the crossbow, standing there, just looking at us- asking for an excuse to shoot. For all I know he was acting like one of those bodyguards you hire out to look dangerous for you. The screwed up pile of crap was the one that talked. Bastard thinks he can move in on my business, he'll have another thing coming to him." Wil looked over his men angrily, then back at the woman. “We’ll… we’ll discuss your pay later. In private.”

The men around him looked uneasy, but one in particular stood almost completely still, his hands at his sides as he looked the man and woman over. He was Cairhien in appearance, though taller than many of his people with short black hair and an unkempt beard. His name was Matthias, and he was watching them all.
They’re not stupid. They know that this probably means you’re going to offer the woman more money than you’re paying us. They won’t like it. He didn’t like it either, but for different reasons. His hands were almost curling into fists, but he forced himself to hold them loose at his sides. He didn’t like the look of the woman, didn’t trust her. Mercenaries always got his hackles up. How could you trust someone who fought just for the money?

He didn’t get too long to reflect on it, though. With an irritable wave of his arm, he gestured to the group. “You lot of asses can get out there and start lookin’ for ‘em,” he snapped angrily, and the whole room started moving. They had their orders, and they were going to follow them. “I want you to find out where they are and what they’re doing. Not you four,” he amended, pointing at a small group on their way out. “I want you to stay here, just in case.” Matthias gave one glaring look back at the smiling woman, perched on a table as Wil made his way over to her as the rest of the gang left. “Maybe he’s finding his balls again, what with that woman here and all,” a man on Matthias’ left muttered as they made their way into the streets and started splitting up. All Matthias could do was nod.
For better or worse, at least he was taking action and defending their stake in Tar Valon.