The Wheel of Fortune

By Zygmunt

Home

Prologue

Supposedly Impending Disaster

    The man who called himself Niels wore no trace of anything to indicate that he was a Child of the Light.  All of the others, like himself, wore masks, but their clothing betrayed them.  He identified everyone’s nationality and gloated over his lone anonymity.  “Bet you don’t know where I’m from.” He said to an Altarran lady next to him.  The man who called himself Niels then threw a random morsel at a black sister.  She glared at him through her mask fit to kill him.  Next, he “accidentally” spilled some wine on the Tillianer to his left and chuckled to himself.  None of the darkfriends dared to retaliate in the shadow of Shale Ghoul.  “Nobody knows who I am!” he crowed to the whole assembly.  Then, to his horror, he realized that his mask had fallen from his face.  With a gasp, the man who called himself Niels fled from the dining room to the jeers of his fellow darkfriends.  He came panting to his room and opened the door.  Waiting in a chair by the fire was a man with his back to the entrance.  “You must destroy Bob al’Tor.” he said.  Before he could ask any questions, the man who called himself Niels was once more standing in the Fortress of the Light.  Little did he know that there was a long career of torture ahead of him at the hands of Myrdraals and various others.

 

            Grindoll lounged in her exquisitely carved throne.  Bob al’ Tor had really been an annoyance of late, but she preferred to stay here in Arod Dofan where the men were most handsome.  She was plumply pretty in her all but transparent green gown.  Dozens of smiling male servants ran back and forth in loincloths.  Grindoll had filled their beings with spells of compulsion and now they were hers to toy with.  Just as she was busy admiring her numerous pets, a vertical slash appeared in the air, forming a gateway that cut one of her most coveted men neatly in two.  Sammy stepped from the opening and looked down in contemptuous distaste at the blood puddle in which he had set his foot.  Grindoll callously signaled another one of her slaves to clean up the mess.  “Well Sammy.” she purred.  “What do you want now?”  She posed seductively in her seat of power, but as usual, he took no notice.  No wonder we’re forsaken, she thought.  Sammy was a handsome man with a square jaw and cold blue eyes.  He had golden hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard.  Grindoll’s visitor replied “My name is Sammuel.  I need your help against Bob al’Tor.  He is preparing an attack on my kingdom, Tillian with the aid of the Ale people.”

“You want my help?” she asked in a mocking tone.  “You’ll have to do me a favor first, Sammy.”

“Enough of your political manipulations.  I won’t risk my neck for you.” Sammuel said.

“It’s not that kind of favor.” said Grindoll softly as she let her skirts slip away from her crossed legs.  “Lies!” he shouted.  “It’s just another one of your devious plots.  By the way, lets make some plans against Bob al’ Tor.”

“Very well.” said Grindoll with an exasperated sigh.  Some men had not a clue.

“To become Labeless, the chosen one in the eyes of the Dark One, I must defeat Bob al’Tor.” he began.  “He is just a boy and no threat whatsoever even though he has killed several of our number already.  Because he is not a danger, it’s not worth the trouble to kill him, although he’s about to annihilate me and my kingdom.  My reasoning dictates then that I stay in Tillian and do little or nothing, much as you do here.  Somehow though, this logic seems unsatisfactory and I wanted to ask for advice.  My plans are far reaching and complex, but their end result is absolutely nothing.  So, what would you do?”

“For an answer, you must share my bed.” Grindoll replied slyly.

“Ha!  I’m too clever for your tricks!” Sammuel sneered “Why would you want me to get into your bed but to smother me with a magically enhanced pillow?”

“I couldn’t guess.” Retorted Grindoll sarcastically.

“Well if you won’t give me answers, good-bye!” he shouted furiously.  Sammuel formed a new gateway that split another prize servant in half and jumped through it.  Grindoll screamed in irritation.

 

            Moridan sat by a warmthless fire, unable to hear the flames crackle.  He was not called “deaf” in the old tongue without reason.  He looked briefly up from his game board and asked one of the servants in sign language to get him some wine.  Moridan was a large, handsome man in his thirties.  He took a goblet from a tray and refocused his attention on the game.  Checkers was complex indeed, and he was a master at it.  He stroked the gem that kept Mogiddian wandering aimlessly around the continent.  No one moved the pieces like he did, not even Bob al’Tor.  He was the Labeless and none could challenge him.  He captured a piece from the opposite side, which was controlled by him, of course, and chuckled at his own cleverness.  Bob al’Tor was surely doomed.  He decided the gholam would do nothing for now because he felt like it.  Aha!  His hand paused as he was about to make his next move.  Moridan had an even better plan.  No.  He would put this plan on file and make a new plan…

 

            Demendred lay humbly prostrated at the edge of the Pit of Doom.  The magma pulsed with unholy light.  “Oh master,” he said.  “Will I be your chosen one?”  The Dark One spoke.  SURE.  AS LONG AS YOU LEAVE SHALE GHOUL AND ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING, I MIGHT NAME YOU LABELESS.  Demendred broke into tears and cried out “But master, I don’t want to leave you!”  Cheddar Haran, the tall Myrdraal, forcefully removed a struggling Demendred from the chamber and deposited him roughly outside the yawning cave that led into the Dark One’s prison.  The weeping man unsteadily got to his feet and then started to tremble with rage.  “Bob al’Tor!  You will die for this!” he screamed into the unnatural mists.  It would be terrible to be separated from Shai’tan, but he desperately wanted to be Labeless.

 

           

Part One

The Mysterious Mug

    The Wheel of Fortune spins under Pat Sajak’s experienced hand and good times come and go, leaving forgotten years.  By the time the age it comes from comes around again, no one remembers they’ve forgotten anything.  In one age, called $300 by some, an age yet to come, an age yet to go, an age long gone, a wind was broken on the Plains of Laredo.  It was not a beginning.  There are neither beginnings nor endings to the spinning of the Wheel of Fortune.  But it somewhat resembled a start.  The wind swept south and west across the rolling grassland and over miles of parched hills.  No rain had fallen in months and the whole world was dying.  Then it rushed into the city of Tillian and settled in its bustling streets.

            Elaine walked through the milling crowds in her low cut green dress with Nyneve, Avendah, and Birgeetah.  Trailing behind them were Flan, Matt, and Julian Sandman.  Hawkers cried out their wares and peddlers offered their goods.  The three men had no idea why the women were in such a bad mood.  They had mentioned something about Tel’a’phon’rhiod and a “mug of the breezes.”  It had been a long journey, however, and the women went into an inn.  The innkeeper was a short plump lady with graying hair.  “I do have three rooms.  What do you girls say?” she inquired with a contemptuous gesture towards their revealing clothing.  Nyneve began tugging her braid fiercely as she always did and Avendha had her hand on her knife.  Elaine intervened and said coolly “We will take your rooms mistress, but we expect politeness from our host.”  The two then locked eyes in a staring match.  Matt dreaded ever having to face either of the formidable women.  Abruptly, the glares ended and both Elaine and the innkeeper smoothed their dresses.

            Matt decided to stay in the common room while the women attended their business.  He listened to the performers and their songs.  Strange.  The ballad Death in Darwin’s Gap had been My Grandma Got Eaten by a Silverpike in Tears.  In Cairhen it was known as The Noble’s Demise and in various parts as the Loping Lass, The Fair Maiden’s End, and most commonly as Pop Goes the Weasel.  Strange indeed.  Matt then turned his attention to the circulating rumors that not even Julian could trace.  There were fragmented accounts of three headed calves and legless foals, all of course blamed on the Aardvark Reborn.  Some of what he heard was quite disturbing.  He went upstairs to Elaine, taking comfort in the feel of the silver capybara head against his chest.

            Elaine was alone in her room.  The rest had gone into the city with Julian, Birgeetah, and Flan.  Matt entered as she studied the ring that allowed her to use Tel’a’phon’rhiod.  “I heard some rumors you might want to consider.” he said.  Despite his sober tone, Elaine could feel his mischievous eyes on her body.  She listened impatiently as her companion described the talk of the tavern.  She smoothed her dress when Matt finished and said, “It might be possible that a man fell from a two-thousand foot cliff and survived without a scratch.  The pattern varies in many strange ways.  But this talk of Bob conquering the kingdom of And-or is complete nonsense.  It could never happen.  My mother would not allow it.”  Matt sighed and left the room once more, no doubt to find a more inviting woman.  Elaine’s thoughts drifted back to Bob al’Tor.  If she ever saw him again, she would kick him where the sun didn’t shine and gouge his eyes out with her fingernails…  Then she would kiss him.  Elaine smoothed her dress and returned to working with the ring.  She hoped he was all right.

 
    Bob al’Tor was sad that Thews Lerin was gone, but at least he could talk to Glenn and Dishiva without problems.  Three of the black coated Ash’a’men followed him as he patrolled his camp.  The Tearins and Cairhenins got along only by necessity.  As much as they hated one another, they would fight together against the Ale people any day.  The Waste was arid but far from dry.  Thousands of Alemen stumbled around drunkenly as they always did, but they were very skilled soldiers as long as they did not fall on their faces or pass out.  Wiramon rode up in his usual resplendent garb, and his horse was of the finest Tearin bloodstock.  “My lord Aardvark.” He intoned pompously.  “Welcome to the camp.”  Wiramon dismounted with a flourish and bowed perfectly.  His knee came to the ground with a squelch into a pile of horse dung.  The Tearin lord’s eyes widened momentarily in shock and he rose again with all the grace he could muster.  He led Bob into one of the larger tents, in which Davrum Basheer sat poring over dozens of maps.  Bob discussed tactics with his greatest general for some time before Wiramon grew jealous.  He interrupted with “Would the lord Aardvark like some punch?”  Basheer grabbed him by the back of his cloak and threw the arrogant Wiramon and his overdone finery from the tent and onto the dusty ground outside.  The talk continued until Basheer left to oversee his troops and Bob was left alone.  So many women.  He thought of every woman he had ever killed, good or bad.  It never occurred to him that he had killed four times as many men but couldn’t care less.  He brooded and gloomily recounted events over the past year.  Everything was going wrong.  He had gone on a conquest to make Stephen Hawking proud but still, everything was terrible.  If only Thews Lerin were there.  Oops!  The familiar ranting voice rose in his mind stronger than ever.  Thews Lerin was back.  People had to be careful what they wished for these days!  Bob was sick of this and it was time to take care of Sammuel and Tillian.

 

Part Two

The Sparks Flare Up

            Elaine hung up from Tel’a’phon’rhiod and saw that Birgeetah was waiting patiently by her bed.  “I know where it is.” said Elaine with urgency.  “We must hurry before the dark sisters get there first.”  Within a short time, everyone was together.  “We must pass through the Perfumed Quarter and then enter the Paved Quarter.” Elaine told them.  Matt grimaced, but was smart enough to swallow his objections.  Julian managed to hide his disgust behind a polite cough, but Flan stood steadfast and unchanging at Nyneve’s side.  The Tillianers habitually gave poetic names.  The Perfumed Quarter smelled worse than the Tearin wharves and the Paved Quarter…  Its streets were covered with the collective waste dumped from thousands of second story windows.  Matt was very glad he had high boots on.  Nyneve, who was tugging her braid, said “Perhaps we can give the dark sisters a good Two Rivers beating.”

“I pity them if they’ve arrived before us.”  Birgeetah said as she shouldered her quiver.

 “I wouldn’t mind slitting one of their throats.”  Avendha commented gruffly.  Elaine rolled her eyes.  “The reason we’re doing this is to get the Mug of the Breezes.  Then we meet back here at the inn.”  Then, as if it were a secret signal, all four women smoothed their dresses nervously.  Nyneve managed to do it with one hand.

 

            Bob al’Tor checked that all of the officers he wanted killed would be in this attack group.  Wiramon was included, of course.  Several of the Ash’a’men stood behind him.  At Bob’s signal, three gateways were formed and all watched with apprehension.  On the other side, one could see the front steps of the Tillian Palace.  Guards had already seen what was happening and were milling around in confusion.  The frightened enemies were promptly squashed with flows of the power from the Ash’a’men.  Davrum Basheer kicked a vehemently protesting Wiramon through first to make sure all was right with the gateways.  Sadly, the foolish Tearin lord was still alive and well on the other side.  Then Bob himself entered and his swarms of soldiers followed in a roaring mass.  Tillian would be his if he could defeat Sammuel, or Sammy as the rest of the Forsaken fondly called him.

 

            Elaine and the others stepped into the old house.  After the unpleasant walk through the Paved Quarter, Matt sighed in relief and Julian cursed under his breath as he stomped his boots off.  Flan stoically did nothing.  The whole room was filled with old boxes and garbage of every kind.  Without hesitation, Elaine opened a box and held up what was in it.  Clouds on a blue sky swirled mysteriously on its surface.  “The Mug of the Breezes.”  She said in wonder.

“And you’ve found it for us.” answered a familiar voice.  The dark sister Leeandrin stood in the doorway with a group of thugs.  “Kill them.” she sneered.  The darkfriends charged, but Birgeetah’s arrows downed half of them before they were across the room.  Then Flan jumped forward and moved his sword so quickly that he seemed to be dicing up summer squash.  When they were all quite dead, Leeandrin still stood at the door with an expression of horror on her face.  She would have fled, but she was firmly held in place with strands of air.  She was shielded as well, of course, and was completely helpless.  Nyneve held Matt’s silver buckled belt tightly in her fingers.  “Leeandrin.  Do you know what we do to foolish little girls in the Two Rivers?”  Nyneve gave the belt an experimental snap and Avendha lifted up the back of the dark sister’s red silk dress with a wicked grin.  All of the men politely looked away as Nyneve brought the belt down on an ageless Eye Sedai rear with a resounding crack.  Leeandrin screamed at the top of her lungs and Nyneve asked her “Where are the others?”  Leeandrin pursed her lips petulantly and defiantly stated “Any Eye Sedai you see, a black sister could be.”  Nyneve tried to get more out of her without success and finally gave up with a grunt of exasperation. 

The blubbering black sister was held in between Avendha and Nyneve as they all began to march back to the inn.  With a conspiratorial wink between them, the two captresses periodically allowed their hysterically sobbing prisoner to drop into the streets of the Paved Quarter.  No one objected.  When they were finished, Leeandrin was barely recognizable.  “Oh.”  Avendha cooed in mock sympathy.  “You must need a bath.”  Then she gave her prisoner a consolatory pat on the rump, which elicited the yelp she wanted.  “Elaine, go to the inn with Matt, Julian, and Birgeetah so you can figure out how to use the Mug.” she said.  “Nyneve, Flan, and I have a special treat planned for our guest.”  The dark sister was forcefully hauled through the streets of Tillian to the city’s harbor.  She began to grasp her fate as she was taken out on the end of a pier that creaked under the broodings of a disturbed sea.  Flan with a rare smile then heaved a wailing Leeandrin into the air, red silk dress and all, with tremendous strength.  After traveling an impossible distance, her scream was cut off as she entered the water with a noisome splash.  The leader of the dark sisters was left spluttering and coughing amongst the waves.  Mogiddian waited grimly at the shore to debrief her servant on a mission well failed.

 

            Sammuel wrung his hands in satisfaction as he put the finishing touches to his work.  Thanks to his ingenuity, he was absolutely safe here.  Bob would not be able to surprise him.  The whole palace was rigged with alarms and nasty surprises wrought with the Power.  He sniggered to himself and got up from his chair.  “My plan is the greatest!” he shouted.  As if in answer, dozens of alarms began to blare out raucously in his mind.  His arms, which had been lifted triumphantly, fell.  Sammuel went through a moment of fear, but gathered himself and grinned slyly.  He would kill Bob and become Labeless.  Sammuel tried to rally his fleeing guards, but they were irretrievable in their panic.  Fine!  He would do it all by himself and without any help.  So far, this plan wasn’t going quite as he expected, but it was still a good plan.  He had to admit to himself that his traps were quite brilliant.  Sammuel embraced the Power and stalked down the halls in search of his ancient foe.

 

            A wrathful Bob al’Tor strode alone through the corridors of Tillian Palace.  The servants had long since fled and he was tense, knowing that Sammuel could strike at any moment.  He jumped as another alarm was triggered with a high-pitched screech.  Bob started to walk again when a banana peel materialized underneath his boot.  He kicked it aside contemptuously.  With another few steps, a bucket of water conjured itself over his head.  Bob stepped casually out from under it before it poured its contents uselessly onto the fine carpets.  He was quickly getting tired of these pranks.  Suddenly a lightning bolt barreled down the hall.  Bob’s clothes were singed as he threw himself to the floor just in time.  This was more like it.  The missile slammed into the wall behind him with thunderous impact.  When the deafening noise faded, Bob could hear Sammuel’s running footsteps echoing on the marble.  He leapt to his feet and chased after his opponent.  He followed the Forsaken’s laughter through many twists and turns before he found himself in the huge court chamber.  Sammuel was waiting for him, standing before the throne of Tillian.  In an instant, both men were casting deadly spells at one other and there was a great deal of ducking and dodging.  Soon, the entire chamber was ruined but the throne of Tillian was melodramatically intact.  Bob and Sam both came out of hiding from behind their fallen marble pillars and faced each other.  The Forsaken unsheathed his sword and glared at the Aardvark reborn.  Bob did likewise, noting with dread that his opponent also had a pigeon-mark blade.  The two men ran at each other, casting spells, and then they came together with a clash of steel.  Their blades flickered faster than vision could follow as they struggled for the advantage.  Sammuel attacked with boar tumbles from the cliff and the pigeon takes a dump, but Bob countered with cat falls from the wall and parting the hair.  The Forsaken smiled as he slowly drove his opponent back towards the wall.  Victory would soon be his.  Bob was losing hope when Thews Lerin surfaced in his mind and tried to tell him something.  He was nearly decapitated while trying to listen, but he began to form a weave.  Sammuel sensed that something was amiss and charged in with a yell, but it was too late.  Palefire, spurted forth from Bob’s fingers and into the shocked Forsaken.  Sam disappeared without even the faintest trace.  The worst had been done.  Sammuel was no longer a contestant in the Wheel of Fortune.

            Bob regained his breath and wearily approached the golden throne of Tillian.  Upon its inlaid velvet cushions, sat a letter.  Bob picked it up and read it.

 

            Congratulations!

You do be the ruler of Tillian.  You may notice the absence of a crown, but it does be here.  Here in this letter, that is.  You have come to inherit the Crown of Words.  It does exist because this document says it does.  At least we do have a crown when the indolent Tearins do not.  In all technicality, the Crown of Words does be resting upon your noble brow.

Bob put the letter the letter inside his shirt.  What foolishness!  He spun around as Davrum Basheer burst into the room with his men.  “Tillian is yours.” he said simply.  “How’s Wiramon doing?”  Bob asked.

“I regret to report that he’s sill alive and kicking.”  Basheer replied with a scowl.  Bob could not believe that overdressed fool thought he would some day be appointed as the king of Tears.  Bob looked thoughtfully out of a shattered window and saw what he dreaded most far below on the palace front steps.  “By the creator!” he shouted.  “My friends!  Basheer, I need to leave for Cairhen, now.”  The hardened general arched an eyebrow incredulously.

“They are your friends, are they not?”

“I can’t let them near me!”  Bob declared.  “I let one of the Forsaken tutor me every day, but my friends are too dangerous for me, and I for them.”  Bob formed a gateway and jumped through it at once.  Basheer shrugged.

 

Morning sunlight streamed through the inn window as Elaine took a sip from the Mug of the Breezes.  The clouds in its crystalline surface moved at her touch, and really, it was simply a great souvenir.  However, there were grander purposes intended for this artifact.  Elaine sighed and headed for the common room.  She couldn’t believe what had happened the night before.  The whole city had descended into chaos and the palace had been full of strange lights.  When she realized that Bob’s troops were in Tillian, she gathered the others.  They had all rushed to the palace to help Bob, but by the time they arrived, he had already gone.  Had he somehow known what she intended to do to him?  Elaine turned her mind to the task at hand.  She steeled herself and entered the common room.  They were waiting impatiently for her, particularly Birgeetah.  Nyneve was grumbling under her breath and tugging at her braid.  Avendha stared calmly at her.  “You must link with me.”  Elaine said in her cool, clear voice.  She was every inch a queen.  Her nose was in the air just the way Matt hated it.  All three sat around a table and set the Mug of the Breezes at its center.  They then held hands and concentrated on the Source.  Matt and Julian watched nervously, but the two warders were rock solid and confident.  As the power flowed in huge amounts to the Mug, the clouds on its exterior became swollen with rain and stormy, moving faster and faster.  Howling winds rose in the tavern and wreaked havoc.  Beer bottles and flagons of ale went flying everywhere, randomly spewing their alcoholic contents.  Tables tipped over and customers cursed loudly as they were slammed into the walls.  Glass broke and the entire building rattled.  Just as the whole inn was about to disintegrate, the cold blasts ceased as quickly as they had begun.  “We did it.”  Elaine said breathlessly.  The short, plump innkeeper, who had lifted herself up again, was glaring at them and trembling with rage behind the bar counter.  She seemed to grow in height as her anger towered to its peak.  “That does be right!” she yelled.  “Now you have done it.”

All seven of them flew simultaneously from the inn door and into the street.  The sky had been cloudless a short time before, but now they were caught in merciless torrents of grape sized hail.  Nyneve’s new feathered hat was quickly ruined to her frustration.  They all desperately searched for another inn in the punishing downpour.  Already, the companions were having a chance to enjoy the end of eternal summer.