Heir of the Shadow

Moiraine Sedai rode silently through the Andoran countryside, Aldieb's silver coat glimmering in the soft afternoon light. Beside her, Lan Mandragoran rode his black warhorse, Mandarb, the two of them moving in sync as if bound by an invisible thread. The quiet serenity of their journey belied the urgency simmering in Moiraine's heart.

The Pattern was tightening. She could feel it in every breath of wind, in every whispered word that reached her ears. The search for the Dragon Reborn had brought her closer to the Two Rivers, but the world around her was shifting in ways she could not ignore. The Shadow moved more boldly, its tendrils reaching into every corner of the Westlands. Andor, with its central position and its thriving capital, was a natural target.

Her thoughts were a whirl of plans and contingencies. She tugged the hood of her blue-fringed cloak closer, shielding her ageless face from the curious eyes of passersby. The crown of Andor was not her primary concern, but the queen's advisor, Elaida Sedai, might hold valuable information. It was a risk to delay, but one Moiraine was willing to take.

"You're quieter than usual," Lan remarked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Moiraine glanced at him, offering a faint smile. "The Pattern whispers loudly these days."

Lan's pale blue eyes flicked to the horizon. "Should we ride directly to the Two Rivers? Caemlyn feels... restless."

"No," she replied firmly. "The Shadow moves here, though its form is not yet clear. We will stop and listen. Threads must be followed, even if they seem faint."

Lan nodded, his trust in her absolute. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword as they continued toward Caemlyn.

Caemlyn's gates loomed ahead, the city vibrant with activity. Merchants called out their wares, nobles paraded through the Inner City, and the hum of life was palpable. Yet beneath the surface, Moiraine sensed an unease, a tension that hinted at deeper currents.

They reached the Golden Stag, a discreet inn on the western side of the city, where Moiraine arranged for a private room. While Lan saw to the horses, she lingered near the common room's hearth, her attention half on her surroundings and half on the message she penned to Elaida.

It was then that she overheard the name: "Duke Naravoss Mantear."

The Duke's name passed through the conversations like a ripple in a pond, each mention adding to the picture of a man who had risen rapidly within Andor's nobility. Investments in military academies, trade routes, public schools, and vast farmlands—all pointed to a man of ambition and foresight.

Moiraine leaned subtly closer, catching snippets of conversation.

"His trade routes reach Tar Valon, Tear, and Ebou Dar," a merchant said. "And his warehouses? More efficient than anything I've seen."

"A loyal servant of the crown," another added. "The Queen herself elevated him to Duke."

Moiraine's brow furrowed. Rapid rises in power often signaled cunning, but they also opened the door to darker possibilities. The Forsaken were masters of manipulation, their influence subtle and insidious. Could this Duke be their pawn—or worse, their agent?

Lan returned, his quiet presence grounding her thoughts. "Another complication?"

"Perhaps," she murmured. "Or another thread to follow."

Far from the inn, deep within the secret sanctum of his estate, Duke Naravoss Mantear stood alone, his hands outstretched as he channeled the male half of the One Power, Saidin. The air around him shimmered as threads of Fire, Earth, Air, Water, and Spirit danced in intricate patterns, visible only to his eyes.

For Naravoss, Saidin was not the madness-tainted force that it was for other male channelers. He was unique, untouched by the corruption that had driven countless men to destruction since Lews Therin Telamon's fateful sealing of the Dark One. Instead, Saidin flowed through him as pure, untainted power—a symphony of raw, exhilarating energy.

To channel Saidin was to wrestle with a storm, to seize the torrent of its strength and bend it to his will. It was not a gentle surrender, as women described Saidar, but a battle for control, a mastery that demanded every ounce of his focus and strength. The euphoria of it was unparalleled, a high that came with absolute clarity and a sense of infinite possibility.

"Power unchecked," he murmured to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "No wonder the Shadow fears me."

He turned his attention to his practice, weaving flames into a towering Firewall that roared across the chamber. With a flick of his hand, he extinguished it, replacing it with an intricate Warding spell that shimmered in the air, a barrier against both physical and magical intrusion.

He moved seamlessly from one weave to the next. Invisibility cloaked him in shadow, while Illusions bent light and air to create phantom figures. He wove Earthquakes that shook the chamber and Compulsion that could bend even the strongest will. Healing threads were tested and refined, though he rarely needed them, and Deathgates tore through reality itself, leaving jagged, gaping wounds in the fabric of the world.

Each weave was a testament to his control, a reminder of his dominance over the One Power. He compared it, briefly, to the stories of Saidar, the female half of the Power. Women spoke of surrender, of working in harmony with the gentle flow of Saidar. How quaint, he thought, when real power lay in seizing, shaping, and conquering.

As the glow of Saidin faded, the Duke stood in silence, his mind alight with plans. His network of spies stretched across Andor and beyond, feeding him whispers of intrigue and ambition. The nobility courted his favor, the crown trusted his loyalty, and the common folk praised his generosity. Yet his ultimate goal lay far beyond wealth or titles.

In the depths of his sanctum, Naravoss Mantear smiled, his black eyes gleaming in the dim light. He was not merely a player in the Game of Houses—he was rewriting its rules.

As Moiraine prepared to leave Caemlyn, her thoughts lingered on the Duke. She could not yet see the shape of his role in the Pattern, but she knew it was significant. Whether he was a force of Light or Shadow remained to be seen.

Far away, in the secrecy of his estate, Naravoss Mantear gazed out over the city, his gaze unyielding. The Wheel turned, and he would ensure it turned in his favor.