|
PRELUDE: ISHAMAEL AWAKENS [Setting: Ishamael's posh bedroom in Shayol Ghul, where everything is done in the classic 'basic black' colorscheme. Ishamael is beginning to stir on the bed.] ISHAMAEL: Oh man, what time is it? [Glances at a ter'angreal clock mounted on the wall]. WHAT? New Era Year Nine Hundred and NINETY-FIVE? Last thing I remember, it was right after the Aiel War (around 980?) and I painted Jain Farstrider like a fool and sent him to the Ogier, just as part of one of my long-range schemes, and then figured I'd catch a quick decade or so of hibernation to preserve my dashing good looks before gearing up to track down the Dragon Reborn in the final ten years before the Millennium! But at this rate the other Chosen will be stirring before I have the kid in my pocket! [Ishamael glances again at the alarm clock]. Maybe I forgot to set the alarm again . . . I remember, I made that mistake about 2000 years ago . . . meant to catch a quick forty years of well-deserved rest after I finally destroyed that bloody Manetheren place (so what if I lost ten million Trollocs in the process? Those men were a thorn to my foot and a bramble to my hand!) But the seals were tightening their grip on me again, so I came home and collapsed into bed, forgetting to slide the tiny control that activates the alarm after you set it . . . next thing I know it's 200 years later and the Trolloc Wars have been over for five generations and the Black Ajahis nearly defunct because who wants to work for an organization whose CEO hasn't been heard from in a couple of centuries? [Peers at the clock more closely] No, I DID set it! Year 990, Month 1, Day 1, one minute after midnight! [He pushes buttons]. Great. It's gotten all rusted up inside at some point in that pastthree millennia . . . I wonder if I can get it repaired for free, or has the Warranty expired? [Throws the clock away.] Well, I'll just have to get cracking and make up for lost time! Let's see what's piled up in my mailbox! The Myrdraal Pony Express faithfully visits once a month while I'm slumbering . . . [Pulls open a large door and is buried under an avalanche of stuffed envelopes] ARRRGH! A SNEAK ATTACK! EAT BALEFIRE, YOU LIGHT-BLINDED FOOLS! [Flash of balefire incinerates several dozen letters, including the ones from his spies explaining that something resembling a Seal is in the Panarch's Palace in Tanchico, that Moirane Sedai seems to be criss-crossing the map searching for a boy born during the Battle of the Shining Walls, that the Sea Folk Windfinders can channel, that in addition to Callandor the Stone of Tear contains a veritable horde of angreal and ter'angreal collected by the High Lords several centuries ago, and the discussion of how it would be so much EASIER to get past the Borderlander armies and ravage the lands further south if he would just tell them how to navigate in the blankety-blank Ways!] Darn, I overreacted! I just had an unprecedented amount of mail piling up on my doorstep after the thousand cubic feet of Mailbox was finally overloaded! Oh well, the lost messages probably weren't anything important anyway, and I still have about 95 percent of the total accumulation! Let's take a look at some of the other stuff. [Rips open an envelope] "Dear Mister Tedronai, we note with regret that your income tax payment for the Year 8359 (Age of Legends dating) was never made. The original sum would have been $101.57, but after 3400 years of compound interest the accumulated debt is approximately 1.1230 time ten to the seventy-fourth power (in Age of Legends dollars), plus some small change which we are willing to ignore. Please remit at your convenience to the Bureau of Internal Revenue . . ." [Ishy breaks off from reading the letter]. I don't believe it! When we started the War of Power, the first thing I skragged was the central compound of the IRS during their annual Dinner when every single employee was on the premises (oddly enough, this was one particular massacre that NO ONE ELSE ON EITHER SIDE ever complained about during the rest of the War, not even that prig Lews Therin!), and STILL the essence of their mindless, soulless, bloodsucking bureaucracy somehow survives across the centures to continually hound me for every penny it thinks I owe! Granted, the Soulless Essence of Taxation got a new lease on life during the Trolloc Wars when it was able to manifest itself in Aridhol and give itself the snazzy alias of Mashadar . . . I wonder if it's still there? Must remember to check . . . Anyway, moving on to the NEXT item . . . "Do you want to make a fortune perfectly legally?! Simply send one dollar to each of the five names on this list, and make up your own list of 100 people to whom you will send a copy of this letter, having replaced the first name on this list with your own name at the bottom, and exhort each of the Hundred People to send YOU a dollar (and the other four people preceding you in the chain), and before you know it, you'll be richer than our beloved Bill Gates the Two Hundred and Seventy-Fourth, the King of InformationSystems in Our Age who has a higher net value than the average inhabited planet!" [Ishy flash- burns the letter with a weave of Fire.] Stupid pyramiding schemes . . . you get on their mailing lists somehow, and thousands of years later you still haven't managed to convince them to REMOVE your name again . . . [Suddenly, a wind blows through the room and a bottle of ink is overturned, splattering across a blank sheet of paper on the writing desk. Ishamael goes to investigate and finds that the ink just happens to have formed the following words on the page] "Attention Ishamael - due to a typographical error caused by one of our new and inexperienced data entry workers at Multiversal Headquarters (she carelessly struck the 8 key on her numeric keypad when she should have struck the 5 directly below it), we mistakenly permitted you to fully awaken 3 years before you are next due to find your thread woven directly into the Great Weave as a functional participant in the Physical World. The error has been identified and it will be necessary to reverse your premature awakening forthwith. We apologize for any inconvenience and will grant you the limited privelege of being able to converse directly with Darkfriends and Shadowspawn here at Shayol Ghul, which will gradually expand to being able to access Tel'aran'rhiod at intermittent intervals, until you finally break free for good. We look forward to doing business with you again, however, and hope this incident need not cast a Shadow across our close working relationship. With regards, the Pattern." [Ishamael's mind starts to fade in the insubstantiality of a Dream Figure, while his body collapses back onto his bed.] ISHAMAEL: I'll get you for this, Pattern! Mark my words! After we break the Great Lord free, we won't need YOUR meddling anymore! In the meantime, I better set up some Dreamland interviews with the heads of each Branch Office of the Darkfriends Organization. Hmm . . . of course, it'll take a year or two to get my records up to date and figure out who they are, but as soon as I can access their dreams . . . I'll demand an accounting from each one! Starting with whoever the ranking Black Ajah member is these days! |