A roar went up from the ranks of white clad, breastplated men, most young enough to barley deserve that title, as they began to tear the white cloaks that sat on their mailed shoulders off. As tradition dictated, the new soldiers for the Light, five companies worth, began to hurl those cloaks into the air. They would be collected after, before the march-past, but following the Cloaking, another tradition. As plain white cloaks floated through the air and settled to the ground, these cloaks not bearing any insignia on the breast, teams of Corporals pulling small carts, Senior NCOs and Junior Officers, each led by their Company Commanders, went before their respective companies, gathering cloaks from the ground. While the Corporals picked up the plain recruit’s cloaks and threw them half-hazzardly into the carts, the Hundredmen, what passed for Company Sergeant Majors in the Children of the Light, began passing pristine white cloaks to the Lieutenants. The Lieutenants in turn, passed those cloaks onto the Second Captains, who led the companies. The Second Captains draped a cloak around each of the soldiers in their company, a cloak which bore the flaring sunburst upon the breast; the cloak of a Child of the Light.

Second Captain Dalpanes made his way down the front rank of C Company, fastening white cloaks to the shoulders of each of his soldiers. When he stopped in front of each man Dalpanes would cloak him, shake his right hand and say a few words in his gruff Illianer accent. Thomas Hangman cursed silently and willed the man to hurry. He had not gotten on well with his company commander, or with any of his command staff. Thomas could not believe the blind zeal with which these men spoke. The Light was all, everything for right and glory, and goodness, as the Creator intended it to be. Sin feeds the Shadow, the Shadow is evil, do not give into sin. Apparently, old Luthiar had intended to teach the world that everything that was in the least way pleasing, fun, enjoyable or entertaining was also sinful. They had made Thomas take a vow of chastity. Chastity! Thomas Hangman, take a vow of chastity. “Good bloody luck”, he muttered under his breath. Who could stay away from women? No wonder everybody in this outfit was so tense.

Thomas stiffened himself to a perfect posture, the very image of a proper soldier resplendent in the morning light. Finally he heard Dalpanes just a few men down. Thomas, being a tall and broad young man had of course been made a marker, one of the men on the end. In battle, markers were so that the rest of the company knew where their flank was, and so had to be tall, to stand out. However, on the parade, preference was given to the right marker, who stood in the 1st position in the line. That man was not only tall, but a model soldier. Thomas was on the left flank, where they placed the tall, but Trolloc-like men, as Dalpanes had put it. Oh, Thomas was no Trolloc, nor was he a bag of shite in terms of his dress. Yet for all of the training that he had received, Thomas’ deportment was still lacking. Thomas had always been a bit of a joker, a trickster and rogue, and such personality traits did not go over well within the ranks of the Children of the Light. And for his attitude, one of irascible and incorrigible vice and idleness – Dalpanes seemed to posses an inexhaustible supply morally bereft labels – for all of that, Thomas was forever banished to the left flank.

“Hangman”. Dalpanes stood before Thomas, his uniform immaculate and gleaming in the rising sun. The two knots of golden lace on his pure white cloak even seemed to twinkle. Helmet and cuirasses were blinding for being so burnished and Thomas knew that if he looked down, Dalpanes’ boots would be like black glass. He was a picture perfect image of an officer and a Child of the Light. In the style of his native Illian, Dalpanes wore a neatly trimmed beard that left his upper lip bare. But for all the glamour, pomp and circumstance, Thomas had quickly learned throughout this last year in training, that the Children of the Light were soldiers, and tough. Thomas had never considered himself soft; he was a farmers son and nine years a wagon driver, a lot that earned their reputations for being hard and harsh. But the last year had put Thomas through trials he thought would surely kill him. Dalpanes swung the shiny white cloak about Thomas’ broad shoulders, fastened it up the top half of his chest. The officer eyeballed Thomas, hard blue eyes meeting hard blue eyes. “It did be a hard haul for you, Hangman. Truth to tell, I did no think that you would make it”. Dalpanes paused, perhaps thinking to get some reaction, or merely seeing if he could get Thomas to react. In the beginning, it would have been easy. Thomas merely faced his front, eyes forward, body solid in stiff rigidity and face a mask of grim stoicism. Satisfied that his comment would go unchallenged, Dalpanes continued. “You do have the ability, and the skill. By the Light, Hangman, you are one tough lad. And for reasons I can no see the men do seem to like you, too. But I do no think that you have found the Light. You are consumed by sin, I think Hangman. With your whores and your drinking, and gambling…” Dalpanes trailed off, seeming exasperated. He had said as much before, only in far harsher terms and with less articulation. Thomas could not see why the man hated him so much. What was wrong with gambling, and women? Everybody had a drink now and again, even the Children. Pure rubbish, Thomas thought. Dalpanes went on. “I truly hope that you can embrace the Light, Hangman. For the Children can no be so picky as to be sending men away. Not in these days. But I do no know what can bring you to the Light. The tripod did no temper you, and I did never see a man not humbled by a few good lashes”. Thomas could not control the grimace that appeared on his face. He had been the only man in his company to have been flogged, after being caught trying to sneak back into barracks after a night spent at a brothel. A silver mark and twenty-five lashes for one night’s pleasure, the most expensive girl Thomas had ever had. And it had too tempered him; he had not snuck out of barracks again for six whole months.

Dalpanes stared menacingly at Thomas before moving onto the rear rank. Following him was Thomas’ own troop commander, Lieutenant Bekanol. Bekanol merely laughed, shook Thomas’ hand, shook his own head, and moved on. Thomas had gotten on well with Bekanol, after a fashion. Hundredman Dites was next. Dites grinned at Thomas, showing black and rotting teeth, those that were left, at least. “How’s the back, Tommy. All healed up now, I hope”. It had been Dites who had wielded the cat-o-nine-tails, removing it from the hand of the bugler who would have normally done the duty. Dites had hated Thomas from the start and Thomas had never completely understood why. Thomas had hated him right back, that was common knowledge, and there seemed to have been a competition between the two of them, to see if Dites could break Thomas, and to see if Thomas could remain unbroken. Perhaps Thomas had won.

“Back’s fine, Sergeant. Never felt better”. Thomas spoke as he had been taught, eyes front, voice loud and authoritative. Softly, he said, “How’s the shoulder”. Dites scowled and moved behind Thomas, bumping his shoulder and growling, “Watch yourself, Hangman”. Inwardly Thomas chuckled. Two months after he had been flogged, Dites had had an unfortunate ‘accident’ with the girths on his saddle. The burly Hundredman had fallen while at a good pace, resulting in a concussion and one dislocated shoulder. Thomas never could properly saddle a horse.

The cloaking of the second rank seemed to take forever, but at long last a bugle sounded and the Lord Captain Commander stood his dais and watched on as the band played March of the Creator’s Light and his newest soldiers marched past in column-of-route, eyes right as they passed him. When they did pass, Valda raised his fist to his chest in salute. After the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light departed, and the officers had been fell out the Sergeant Major dismissed the men and one by one the five companies marched off of the Central Parade. Thomas Hangman was officially a Child of the Light.

“Yippy”, he muttered dryly.

A Child is Born

Part 2

Thomas lifted the tankard up to his lips and took a distracted swallow of ale, most of which dribbled onto his chin. He swore, and placed the tankard down on the table perhaps a touch roughly. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Thomas re-read what the document in his other hand contained. It read:

Child Thomas Hangman

You are hereby required to report to the 96th Regiment of Horse, under the command of Lord Captain Munaha and stationed at the North-western most expanse of the Shadow Coast in the village of Junavo. You are to disembark within a fortnight of receipt of this order. Display these travelling documents to the Quartermaster of Main Base Stores for full kitting and equipment issue.

Go in the Light

Eamon Valda

Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light

Thomas cursed under his breath, and then he cursed aloud and the men around the table with him jumped at his sudden outburst. It would be just his luck, Thomas thought, to get posted to one of the most remote stations that the Children had, and to the same regiment as Dites. Thomas cursed again.

“Ah, c’mon Tommy”, Matt Barcli said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Junavo ain’t that bad. There’s Sea Folk women there often from what I’ve heard, and all the best tea comes from the Shadow Coast, so I’m told”. Thomas gave him a weary sneer, a mere bearing of teeth.

“I think I’ll open my wrists”. Thomas did not mean it, of course. Or did he?

“Now, see’ere, Tommy”, Matt continued. “You’ll still’ave me and Pouter ‘ere t’kick ‘round, won’t you?” Matt slapped the pudgy, dark haired young man next to him. William Derrahn, a native Amidician, had always reminded Thomas of a gigantic baby in his looks, though it was far from his demeanour. His face, always seeming to be in a pout due to his extremely large lower lip, had earned him his nickname of ‘Pouter’. But for all of his pudge, the former bouncer in an Amadoran tavern was well muscled beneath, and had displayed a natural fighting ability. Any who thought Pouter soft were sorely mistaken. Pouter was in sharp contrast to Matt - a Ghealdanon from that country’s capitol - who was short and slight and dark haired as well. Pouter and Thomas were of an age, around twenty-five, while Matt trailed a few years behind, but the three were all good friends, brothers forged in training and who had had to endure the same hardships and had therefore come together in a form of brotherhood known only to soldiers. Thomas would have died for either one of these men, and they for him. The three had often been dealt group punishments together during their gruelling year of training, and it had come as a great surprise that the trio were being stationed together within the same regiment. Thomas would have figured that with all of their past shenanigans – a de-merit list that was quite extensive – that he and Matt and Pouter would have been separated, never to dump the contents of a jakes pot into the chow troughs – as a group – again.

“Hmmm”. Thomas intoned sarcastically. “A reason to live”. Matt was right. It would not be so bad, and besides, the far out postings were only for two years. He would get back to civilization at some point. The barmaid came by, and Thomas had her bring another pitcher of a brown ale served here in the Light’s Blessing, that he had become fond of while in Amador. When she returned, he paid her and filled his friends’ cups. They had been Children of the Light for a an entire week, now, and were enjoying a few short days to themselves before they were to be posted out into the world to search out darkness and bring the Light, so to speak. They were finding the last few days a much needed and refreshing change form the last year. Every day of their recruit training had been like a day spent in Shayol Ghul, with the Dark One for their ever so gracious host. Physical training until they could barely stand, let alone move, endless drill periods, forced marches that seemed to last so long that feet would swell so big they could not be prised from boots afterwards; these were normal occurrences for a recruit. Thomas’ favourite had been the dress parade. In the wee hours of the morning, his troop would be awoken by the ever popular Hundredman Dites, made to put on varying parts of their uniform and then forced to endure a run that could last for miles and miles. Besides the occasional morning run, and one day having to stand guard duty at the gates to the Fortress of the Light, the last week had been easy, even…boring. If this was a soldier’s life most of the time, Thomas was going to have to find a hobby. “So, we got tonight and tomorrow off. What are we doin’ t’night, lads?”

Pouter spoke first, his voice sly. “We promised to get the vestal virgin’s garden deflowered, ‘member Tommy?” Pouter gave Matt a nudge with his elbow, and as always forgetting his own strength, nearly knocked the smaller man onto the floor.

Matt recovered himself, blushing a deep crimson the way he did whenever anybody spoke of his lack of knowledge in regards to women. Thomas smiled wide and laughed at his friend. “You’re nineteen now, Matty. It’s gotta happen sometime. I know a girl named Lila, she’s a friend of mine, and I’m sure she would have a friend who would be more than happy to relieve you of your innocence”.

Pouter roared at that, and Matt smiled, blushing even harder. Thomas thought that if he rouged anymore, the poor lad might explode. They finished their pitcher in quick order, leaving not a drop left, and made their way out of the Light’s Blessing and into the twilight lit streets of Amador. The three friends made their way from the respectable parts of town, those frequented by merchants and farmers, nobles and of course the Children, and ventured into those darker areas that every city has. In those parts of the city, the lights didn’t shine so bright, and the alleys looked darker than normal and a wrong word or turn could end a man’s life. Deeper and deeper into the underbelly of Amador the trio of Children strode, and so found themselves at Thomas’ favourite brothel where the lads partook in some very unChild-like behaviour, and then celebrated with their lady friends over the loss of young Matt’s virginity and Thomas told the story of how a Kandori Merchant’s Guard had bitten off half of his left ear while fighting in a pub in Caemlyn. They had been carousing long into the night when the Dark One opened up the sluice gate to the Pit of Doom and emptied its contents into Amador.

A Child is Born

Part 3

“We’ve got to get to the horses!” Thomas screamed as he pulled a wide eyed Matt along by the jacket collar. Another explosion jarred the city, and lightening flashed out of the blackened sky. If Thomas had not sobered up quickly before, he was alert and steady – all form panic, he was sure – stone cold sober now. This was madness, Thomas thought. Pure madness. “Pouter!” Thomas turned to see if his friend still followed. The big man was still behind, guarding their rear with that odd, heavy bladed sword. Thomas had his dirk gripped in his left hand, its blade dark with blood. He had to think, had to clear his head, but Thomas felt more afraid than he ever had before. He had been in fights in times gone by, but this was insane. Thomas smashed down a surge of panic that began to build in his gut. His ears were filled with the sound of his own heart trying to pound its way out of chest. He continued to run at an awkward gate while pulling Matt along, constantly glancing over his shoulder to check on Pouter. He stumbled on what could only be another body – he had seen so many in the last hour that Thomas simply saw past them – and kept going. Many bodies littered the cobbled streets of Amador, horses, people. Of the human dead, some wore black armour of over-lapping plates and helmets like great insect heads, complete with plumes that resembled antennae. But more of the bodies were Amadorans and the King’s soldiers while even more still wore white cloaks. At least the Children were fighting back, Thomas thought. But fighting who…or what? Thomas stumbled again, but he did not give the corpse a glance. Their only chance was to make it to the Fortress of the Light.

Who are these people! Thomas hollered inside his head. At first he had thought Shadowspawn, some kind of giant insect, but when he had slid his dirk into that first…man – it was a man, Thomas had removed his helmet to prove to the other two – he had known that it was not the Shadow’s minions they faced. Thomas did not know for sure, but he remembered rumours – while driving wagon – rumours of an army who claimed to be Artur Hawkwing’s descendants, calling themselves the Seanchar, or the Sawchim, or something like that. He had also heard that they used chained Aes Sedai as weapons, but that had to be wild embellishment. His mind had been changed when he saw houses flattened and whole buildings reduced to rubble. At first, Thomas and the others had thought that it was artillery fire, catapults, trebuchets, scorpions and the like, but Pouter had quickly pointed out the lack of shot balls or the absence of the odour of burning pitch. Where were these siege engines? The biggest trebuchet had a range of only a few hundred yards, so they must be within the city. But they could see no such weapons. What the trio did see were lightening bolts streaking out of the sky and down into Amador, and balls of green, blue and red fire the size of horses flying into buildings and palaces. At one point the ground had erupted in front of them, causing Thomas, Matt and Pouter to be flung backwards like rag dolls. They had watched, dazed, as a group of black armoured soldiers trotted past with two women. One of the women had been dressed in a bright blue dress with lightening bolts on the side panels. She had worn a bracelet that connected to a leash. That leash had let to a collar which had been fastened around a young woman’s neck. The collared women had been dressed all in drab grey. The first woman directed the second, the second had raised her hand and a stream of fire had fountained from the air in front of her and streaked off somewhere ahead of the pair. Luckily for the three young Children that the Aes Sedai, or whatever they were had thought them dead. It has to be the Power. Oh, Light!

Thomas continued through the torn and tattered streets of Amador, still hauling Matt buy the collar, still glancing rearward to make sure Pouter was following. He ran on until he came to the gates of the Fortress of the Light, where he stopped and watched as some great winged beast alighted atop one of the buildings within the Fortresses walls. Thomas thought that he had seen men scrambling off the top of the animal before it heaved massive wings and took to the sky again. It was then that he noticed that there was no guard on the gate and heard the ring of steel against steel from within the fortresses walls. The Fortress of the Light, breached? The very thought seemed ludicrous. Thomas quashed down his terror to manageable levels, and readied himself to charge into his new home.

“CHILDREN OF THE LIGHT! RALLY! RALLY!” The command pulled Thomas’ attention away from the gate and down the street a ways. There, a scant fifty yards away, was a whitecloaked mass of armoured men. Some sat ahorse, but most were on foot and all were armed. Perhaps two or three hundred in all, many carried their lances, held like spears, as they were herded into a line formation with archers in the rear. Thomas heard the call again. “CHILDREN, RALLY TO THE LIGHT!” and the fear in him began to dissipate, replaced by an eager energy fuelled by the knowledge that the Children were making a stand.

Pouter had seen it to, for he waved his heavy bladed sword around wildly at Thomas and Matt. Matt had finally regained his wits, and needed no urging to make his way to the formation of Children that was forming up to their left. Thomas followed his comrades, stopping briefly to prise the sword from a dead Child’s hand, called for Matt to do the same. The three made it to the whitecloaked throng, where a grizzled captain was forming them into a line. And there was Hundredman Dites, hustling men around, cuffing those who were not moving fast enough for his liking. Thomas did not think he had ever been happy to see that man, until now. Dites spied him and shouted, “Still alive, Tommy. Well, that’ll change quick enough”. Thomas ignored him, and took his place within the line. Those on horses strung out behind the foot. Though all of the Children were supposed to be cavalrymen, it seemed that this battle would be fought largely on foot. The men who hefted lances formed the front rank, all kneeling on their right knees with their lances pushed out before them, the butts braced against the grounded knee. The second rank held a few spearmen, but not many. Those spears that were in the second rank held their lances lowered out forward, as if ready to receive a cavalry charge. The rest waited with sword and axe, dirk and mace, waited for the tide of black armoured invaders that was surely approaching.

With the din of battle raging all around, it was hard to make out any individual sounds, but eventually there came a clatter of hooves, and two mounted Children burst out from around a corner street. “They’re coming!” one shouted just as his horse screamed and collapsed, spilling the rider to the cobbles to land in a lifeless heap. The horse had several arrows sticking out of its rump. The second rider made it past the line to take up a position with the other horsemen. Silence fell around the Children, like a bubble of unseen glass muffling out the fighting surrounding them. From up the street, came the rhythmic tapping of footsteps. Like hundreds of men all running in step, getting closer, and closer.

Thomas looked up and over the men in front of him in time to see a horde of black armoured men in insect-like helmets, with crossbows and swords. Within their ranks were men mounted on what Thomas could describe as only giant three-eyed lizards. Monsters from a gleeman’s tale, but come to life. Thomas wanted to run, to howl, but he remembered his training and held his ground. The grizzled captain barked a command; Thomas was not really listening, only trying to keep from running like a coward. Thankfully, the archers were not so distracted as he, for they let out their first volley of shafts. Black armoured soldiers fell in their front ranks as the goose fletched arrows found them. The enemy let go its own volley, and the man to Thomas’ left screamed as a heavy crossbow bolt pierced him though the eye. Several more men screamed and clapped hands to wounds, or screamed and collapsed, or simply fell where they were making not a sound. Others took their hurts with a grunt, tightened their grips on hilts and haftings, and stood their ground. The Children’s archers let loose one last volley of arrows, then the two sides clashed together, black armoured insect meeting whitecloaked soldier.

Steel rang as swords clashed, broad blade against narrow. The spearmen held as best they could keeping the invaders back while swords stabbed and slashed and arrows pierced. But the enemy was too many, and the Children were forced back. One of the three eyed things jumped over the ranks of spearmen, and killed three of the Children with one swipe of its clawed paw, but fell under a hail of arrows. A second creature leapt in bulling men aside with its massive head, snapping off arms with sword-like teeth. All about him Thomas watched in a stunned daze as the beast, followed by black-steel clad soldiers forced the Children’s line back.

He raised his sword, heard the ring of steel, felt the shock of impact in his wrists as Thomas turned a heavy blade. The face behind the insect head wore a snarl as he drew his sword back and struck again. Again, Thomas turned that heavy blade with his own sword, struck with his dirk and found flesh. The insect headed man crumpled in a heap at Thomas’ feet. Thomas spun, his blade streaking into a passing enemy soldier opening the man up at the base of neck and spine. Something slammed into Thomas, knocking him onto the cobbles and taking all the air out of his lungs. He scrambled around to face his attacker, trying desperately to draw in air, saw the black armoured soldier standing above him raising a heavy bladed sword. As air flooded into Thomas’ lungs dissolving the silver flecks that danced across his vision, he uttered up thanks to the Creator for the two arrows that struck his would be killer, one in the chest, the other in the groin. Picking himself up, Thomas rejoined the fight by kicking the nearest foreign soldier in the arse and slashing down hard with his blade. But fight as he would, even Thomas’ inexperienced eyes could see that the Children were losing this battle, and quickly. Something struck his back, and Thomas turned, blade raised. He almost laughed when he saw Matt’s frightened face staring back.

“The line’s broken, Matty”, Thomas yelled over the din. “We have to flee”. Matt needed no urging to nod his head vigorously. “Where’s Pouter?” Matt looked around, and jerked, his dark eyes bulging as a crossbow bolt blossomed out of his chest, and he fell into Thomas’ arms. Thomas felt a hand grip his shoulder, heard Dites’ voice scream at him to follow. Thomas let himself be pulled away, still holding Matt.

“Leave’im!” Dites ordered, and kicked Matt’s lifeless body to the ground when Thomas did not comply. Thomas tried to hack at the Hundredman with his blade, but he was given no opportunity. Thomas got his sword back around in time to block a thrust from a heavy bladed sword. He parried hard, and Dites took the man in the head with his own blade. Black armoured soldiers were all around now, along with those beasts. The Whitecloak line was gone, and those who lived ran for their lives. A soldier rushed at Dites, but the rotting Hundredman moved smoothly, and opened the man up across the stomach. Another soldier came, raising his sword and Dites calmly ducked under the flashing blade, grinning his black and gap-toothed smile as he rose, bringing his blade up and across the man’s belly, turned and sliced open his back, spun quick as lightening and ran a third soldier through the throat, spun again and cut another man from crotch to collar. Thomas watched in awe, as Dites, the hated Dites, who had tried so often to crack him, had given Thomas twenty-five lashes, was so valiantly saving his life. Dites turned, saw Thomas gaping. “That’s’ow you do it, Tommy!” the Hundredman screamed. “Now stop staring at me with love in your eyes and shite I your trousers and kill some of these bastards!” A ball of fire, the size of a small horse slammed into Dites with his last word, carried him against the wall of an inn, and exploded leaving nothing but a charred heap, white cloak barely recognizable for all the blackened flesh. Thomas turned, saw two women rounding the street corner, one holding a leash, the other collared. The one in grey raised her hand, and Thomas hollered, a howl like the most savage creature the dregs of the earth had to offer, and hurled his dirk with all of his might. The grey-clad woman screamed, or tried to. Her mouth open and working wordlessly, she raised a hand to the hilt of the long and heavy bladed dirk protruding for her once delicate throat. The woman behind her did scream as the collared one fell to her knees in a fountain of blood. Thomas ran to the pair, hacked down two handed with his curved sword at the second woman, “Die, witch! DIE!” The second woman fell, and Thomas stooped down to the first to retrieve his dirk. As he rose and turned, a black mailed shape was there, slashing down with his heavy bladed sword. Thomas felt the blade bite into his face, under his left eye and all the way down to his chin. His face opened up and the front of Thomas’s tabard began to turn red as he raised his sword to defend against a second attack. The other soldier’s blade had become stuck – just for a moment – in Thomas’ face, and struggling through the pain, he used the time to slash open the insect-headed soldier’s sword arm. The man yelped and scrambled back, wrenching his blade free of Thomas’ face. The man raised his blade and came again. The sword ricocheted off of Thomas’ own, nicked his forehead. The man struck again, his blade a blur and plumed antennae whirling. Thomas ducked and cut low. His curved blade bit into the man’s knee, falling him, and Thomas planted his dirk into the man’s face, withdrew and stabbed again. Thomas rose, and made to follow the mob of Whitecloaks, who were now no longer retreating in good order, but in an all-out flight for their lives. Suddenly, Pouter was there beside him, still gripping his heavy bladed sword, now red from point to ricasso, his big, baby-like face blanched and wide-eyed. His friend had cuts on his face, and his white uniform was bloody. Thomas grabbed him by the arm, began running.

“Where’s Matt?!” Pouter hollered.

“Dead! He’s gone”. Pouter tried to halt, the shocked look on his face somehow increasing, but Thomas hauled the big man along. With his heart racing so fast it would surely explode, and fear the only emotion he knew, a small voice told Thomas to flee back to the dark places that they had come from. Yes, he thought, suddenly determined as he ran with a streaming mass of terrified Children. Yes, the Bottoms. Thomas and Pouter could hide for weeks in the slums of Amador, long enough to get their wits about them…And what? Thomas thought that the only alternative would be to flee. He and Pouter would have to make a break for the country, and…Their passage was blocked by a snarling thing. A man – Thomas thought it was a man – sat atop the things back. The pair halted, and Thomas made to stab at the beast with his sword.

“GO!” Pouter screamed, and shoved Thomas out of the way. Years working as a tavern bouncer had given Pouter massive shoulders and thick arms, and nobody mistook his baby’s face to mean weak more than once. He was a brute of a man, big as any blacksmith, but with an easy nature. But like Thomas, Pouter could fight. His full armed push threw Thomas clear by six feet or more, and Pouter screamed, raised his heavy bladed sword and ran at the beast. Unused to being on the receiving end of battle, the three-eyed creature backed up under the onslaught of the one-time bouncer from Amador. Pouter screamed a wordless challenge, slashed the beast across the face, destroying one eye. The rider regained control of his mount and urged it forward, raised his blade. The beast struck at Pouter and the big man pivoted, surprisingly agile for one his size, and made it clear of the beast’s snapping maw. The heavy sword struck down and Thomas screamed as he watched Pouter lose his head to the beasts’ rider. The formation had crumbled, the Fortress of the Light was taken, his friends were dead, and Amador was sacked. Thomas Hangman gathered himself up and fled into the shadow filled alleys.

A Child is Born

Part 4

There was shelter in the darkness. When one had no walls to find cover behind, no armies to march with the darkness was the only place left to offer sanctuary. The darkness was quiet and safe. Thomas Hangman squatted in the darkness against an alley wall, gnawing savagely at a heel of bread he had found on the back steps of some inn. A feast, compared to other days. His sword and dirk he wore on his belt, the only parts of him he kept clean. He looked a vagabond again, with his clothes in tatters, his cloak in rags, thankfully unrecognizable as a cloak of the Children of the Light. The rest of his uniform he had shed long since. There was no point in skulking, trying to remain unseen while wearing the blood and shite stained uniform of an outlawed army. He had given that up the day after he had lost everything. One day was all that it had taken. One day and everything that Thomas had worked for was gone. Amador had fallen in one day to the descendants of Artur Hawkwing, come from across the sea to reclaim the land of their ancestors. Thomas had saved himself form the route in front of the Fortress of the Light, had made it to the Bottoms where he had encountered more Seanchan – the name that the invaders went by. Thomas had decided that hiding would prove a better plan than fighting, as his blade was no match against the One Power, strange beasts and an entire army. With the Children broken and put to rout, and no doubt the King’s army suffering the same fate, what else could a single Child do? Thomas had ducked into an alley, a troop of soldiers hot on his heels, and leading some kind of beast with three eyes, but smaller than the ones that he had seen and not ridden. A Grolm, he had learned later. The beast had seemed to be able to track him by scent, so Thomas had held his nose and hidden in a dung pile in the back alley behind a horse yard and stable. When he emerged an hour later, Thomas was barely able to stand his own funk and by the next morning the monstrous gash across his face had become red and infected, by mid-afternoon Thomas was burning up with a fever. By that evening he lay in an alley, deep in the shadows thrashing and delirious, body ablaze. However long he had lain there, Thomas did not know. He had just awoken, the next day, perhaps several days later in the same spot. His clothes were cleaned, his wound had been cleaned, poulticed and stitched and his fever was gone. There was a bottle of water and an oiled rag bundle of mutton, bread and cheese but mostly cabbage. Wrapped around the head of cabbage was a note. It had read only:

Go in the Light.

That had been near to a month gone. Thomas had never learned who his unknown saviour had been.

He snapped his head up at the sound of footsteps outside of his alley hold, backed deeper into the shadows as black clad Seanchan made their way into the depths. “What’s this?” the man on point barked out in his slurring accent. “We got another one”

Thomas cursed and tossed his bread aside, made ready to draw steel. He would not be taken and made to dance for these monsters, as he had heard many had. As he ripped his sword and dirk free of their scabbards, a soldier behind the lead man screamed and fell, an arrow bristling from his neck. Suddenly the alley erupted into violence, with the Seanchan shouting in confusion as shadows unfolded from within doorways and awnings and from behind piles of garbage and rain barrels. The lead man still stood, and rushed at Thomas, but he merely stepped out of the way letting the man run past and planted his dirk into the man’s back. Thomas was still bitter about the loss of his bread, and so removed his dirk and stabbed the man again. The Seanchan screamed a second time and fell. Thomas spun to face the rest, but found only dead and dying Seanchan, and a dozen or so men, all with barred steel in their hands. The men were all dressed in varying styles of civilian garb, but here Thomas recognized a Whitecloak issue gauntlet, or a pair of issued boots, there a Child’s waist belt, or a burnished breastplate.

The man who stepped forward and spoke grinned around a beard that left his upper lip bare and said in a voice thick with the accents of Illian, “So, Hangman. Still lurking in Shadow, I see. Why don’t you come with us, and find the Light”.

Thomas grinned at Dalpanes, his former company commander, and said, “Fine, as long as there’s some cabbage in it for me”.

Dalpanes shook his head, chuckling and thinking how that fever must have made Child Thomas crazier than an outhouse rat and Thomas followed the resistance as they moved back into the sheltering darkness.