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Shuddering heavily from the amount of Power she had drawn earlier, only to have it deflected, Nikoru allowed herself a gasp of terror before controlling her emotions as quickly as possible. Why had she used Balefire? For some reason, it had been instinctual, someone else used it, so they were obviously very powerful. Who was this person? And who was Darz? The one who travelled with them was obviously more than what they thought he was. There was no time to think on these things however. She was being threatened by this new person, the one who wove the Balefire with no regrets.

When Darz yelled in her direction, she was shaken from her thoughts. What could she do? In her mind, she cried out, reaching instinctively for her kin. What could they do to help her, though? So many questions, and not enough time for answers. Already, she felt them grow closer. Screaming with her mind, she told the wolves to stay back, it wasn't safe. But it was too late - they sensed something akin to a Darkfriend. Not quite the same, but something that was a danger to the pack.

Looking desperately at Jazral, she urged him to sense the wolves, without speaking. Maybe he could call them off. Maybe not.

Then she turned to Selene, who had suggested using her damane training.

"Selene... How can I use that? How? I already did part of it, and look what it has gotten us."

Shaking her head, she turned in time to see a ball of flame heading her way. Without thinking, she wove a powerful weave of Air to push it to the side, although she did not escape without being burned. Crying out, she looked at her arm, her eyes glowing with unrestrained rage. This was ridiculous. And there was no time to think. She needed a distraction, desperately.

Looking around wildly, she tried to figure out something that would make him turn around, when she saw something that made her want to sob. A single wolf, running with a snarl toward the man from behind, snapping it's jaws cruelly. She didn't want a distraction like this. No! Go back! Stay away from this two-legger! He will kill you! Save yourself!

Looking at Darz as he approached, she nodded solemnly. She wanted nobody getting hurt in this, but there was little chance of that since she did not know how to deal with this stranger. She passed the leadership of the linking to Darz, letting her own power be drawn upon instead of controlling. He obviously knew how to deal with this man.

"You are more than welcome to take over."

She knew there would be time for explanations and apologies only if they survived this. Survival came first. Curiousities came later. She only hoped the rest of the wolves would stay away, despite her desperate cries earlier.

Though Darz had never taught it to him, Immorys knew, well, of circles and the power they held. Darz seems weaker, and Immorys believes it to be difinitive that the Aes Sedai of this era couldn't hope to defeate him with or without Darz. With a smirk, Immorys decides to take a bit longer with his weave before letting fire rain upon his enemies. This Friend of the Dark would dervive much pleasure in slaying each and every one of them. He is arrogant and over-confident in believing that, without Ar'lania, Darz's link will be much less than it could be. Immorys doesn't even take into account that he has been injured and has already used much power.

~Take all the time you want. These untrained children won't be of help to you, not like dear, sweet Ar'lania was.~

Immorys' smirk widens and grows more wicked as the effects of his weave begin to come into view. Mounds of earth seem to rise from the ground and become awash in flame. It almost looks like a meteorite is being created above the Friend of the Dark's head, and his target is, obviously, the circle of Darz, Nikoru, Selene, Nanako, and Gwynne (in no particular order). As it grows, it seems to become large enough to engulf everbody. With an estatic sigh, Immorys brings his long awaited attack down. The ground quakes as the heated ball approaches, and Immorys, quickly, raises a protective barrier he believes will stave off anything Darz's circle will throw at him.

~~~~~

Unlike Immorys, Darz is no fool. Once Nikoru draws him into her circle and hands leadership over to him, he feels the rush of saidin and saidar as they begin to flow through him and the others of the circle. He lets out a shudder as his eyes see through Immorys' weave due to having to both fight saidin and surrender to saidar. However, it is second nature to one such as Darz. He'd had much practice with his sister, having to lead that circle at all times. He weaves a barrier using both halves of the Source. Strands of Spirit, Air, and Water create a shield with enough power to absorb nearly all of Immorys' attack. Darz uses a quick weave of Spirit to draw anything left of the Dreadlord's attack to himself. He looks as if he is smoldering as he takes advantage of Immorys' surprise.

Surprised? I think you've earned a Prison of Shame. Your death will come this day, Dreadlord Immorys Bavul Varlon.

Weakened and without his sister, Darz wonders what he can do. He feels greatly empowered, however, as he begins a weave combining strands from each element -- Spirit, Air, Fire, Water, and Earth. Darz feels and sees the necessary components for Prison of Shame. Immorys is likely to feel the saidin, and he'll only associate it with an attack based on what Darz said. Darz knows Immorys survived this, once before, but he would make sure this time is different! The saidar weaves itself in, and that is invisible to Immorys -- save a slight chill. Darz plantinum eyes and hair seem to shimmer, almost aglow, as he nears the breaking point -- nearly ready to release all the saidin and saidar available to the circle. If this didn't work...they may be left defenseless for a time.

In the time it takes to draw the power necessary, Darz is able to tell, exactly, which of the females are providing exactly how much power. It also allows himself time to evaluate himself. He is almost surprised to find that Gwynne is providing power equivalent to his own. He realizes she's just a few levels below his true power -- knowing how much less he has to draw at the moment. Darz can also tell Gwynne is the most powerful of the females. He thinks it most interesting and notes it for later.

Some intellectual part of Gwynne's mind noted what Tarma and Nanako were doing, even saw some of the weaves flying around, but that part of her which could have taken action was drowning in the pain of memory beyond any ability of hers to withstand. Only time, or the Healing of the Age of Legends by someone with a strong Talent for it, would help her. Neither Darz nor anyone else present had that sort of Talent. Ever so faintly, she knew that her power was being drawn to its absolute limit, that she could see both halves of the Source because of the link, and that she equalled Darz in power for the moment. None of this mattered to her now, though it would have in any other condition. Had she gone to the White Tower, Gwynne would have been of the Brown Ajah without question, and it was a horrible testament to the depth of her agony that even the wonders unfolding before her could not take the slightest grasp on her attention. A friend among the Tuatha'an had once told her that she dwelled far too deeply on the death of her sister, that after the years any other person would have been able to make some start at getting past it. It was probably... no, even at the time, Gwynne had admitted that it was true. But there was nothing she could do about it, and now it had caught up with her more deeply than ever before. She had purposely thrown herself into the memory of those first hours after learning of Chalinda's loss, the only way to overcome her terror long enough to channel. It would take her as long now to recover as it had then. Only the torrent of saidar through her that she could not control kept her conscious.

Nanako froze with fear as she could see the fireball heading towards them. Light!

Sure it was their deaths, she closed her eyes on the tears that had started to flow from her eyes. Papa... I'm sorry.

Listening, reaching out with her senses, she knew the fireball had never reached them. Looking to Darz, she could now see why. Thank the LIGHT! I have no wish to leave the pattern just yet.

Cloud danced under her, but she kept the guilding in easy check. Watching the battle unfold around them, she prayed that their endevor would not be in vain.

Seeing Darz fall, she jumped off Cloud and ran over to them. She knew with a slight pain that she was best suited to heal him amoung the group, but she feared that she wouldn't be able to, feeling drained.

Closing her eyes, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind as she focused on what she had been born to do. Touching the man, she sent a delving weave through the man. Happily, there wasn't any major damage, all of which could be easily mended... aside from his exhaustion.

Forming the weaves she had unknowingly known since she was a child, air, water and spirit coalesced as she sent them to his burns and other injuries he had incurred.

Muttering to herself as much as the others "he'll be fine. He's utterly exhausted, but there is little I can do about that now. Is everyone else ok?"

Her response surprised even her. A child in so many ways, she always found herself reverting to being a mother at times like these. She could see the rest of the group was fine, with the exception of Gwynne. Sighing loudly, she wished there was something more she could do for her friend. Physical wounds, she could heal. Mental ones she could not, and they could be all the more damaging.

No sooner did the arrow leave Deanth's bow than another blinding bar of light cause him to shelter his eyes, this time coming not from the attackers but from the female channelers. When he turned back he felt a serge of triumph at the sight of his arrow imbedded firmly in the man's side.

However, Denath's triumph was short lived. Eight arrows suddenly appeared above him, racing forth from the sky to impale him. For the second time that day he moved without thought, diving forward, knowing that it was too late even then.

An intense pain ripped though the back of his right calf, the pain stripping his lungs of air even before he impacted the hard ground. Even before he saw the black shaft firmly imbedded in the back of his leg, Denath knew the wound was bad. Though blurred vision he spotted his bow laying beside him, but the shock was already beginning to take hold, numbing his mind. The blackness called to him, the shouts and screams of his companions seeming to be nothing but distant haze, a vague impression of something he knew should concern him. All he needed was a little sleep, and then maybe he could think clearly...

A none to soft nudge in the ribs caused Denath's eyes to open. "Mist," he said with a smile, the euphoria of shock already taking hold, "I'm only going to sleep for a little while, just a couple of minutes, I promise, just long enough to get my strenght back..."

But the mare ignored him, pushing the fallen bow towards his hands. Hardly taking any notice Denath watched as a lone wolf charged at the newcomer. A wolf...I wonder if Jazral called it? At the thought of the Warder he felt his conscious mind fought its way forward. Spotting the bow as if for the first time he took it firmly in his hand, trying as best he could to shut away the pain and seductive darkness.

He tried to stand but the pain was too much. Falling, panting, on the verge of blacking out he glanced up at his horse. Blood flowed down her chest and haunches from several wounds, dark arrows firmly imbedded in her flesh. She was clearly in pain, yet still she was standing over him, almost protectively, so calm and valiant even amidst the chaos that was erupting around them.

At the sight, determination unbeknownst previously welled up inside Denath. Grabbing on the to the dangling stirrup he pulled himself up, unable to hold back a cry of pain. Head swimming he managed to grab the pommel, pulling himself up so that he could rest his weight on his good leg.

Leaning heavily against Mist he reached for an arrow, the quiver still attached to his saddlebag. Turning his attention towards the rest of the group he gapped in horror at the huge ball of raging fire gathering around the attacker's head. Even as the blast was somehow diverted, a dark realization dawned upon him that none of them would probably make it out of this alive. Taking a deep breath Denath readied himself, summoning all the strength he could muster.

Pushing off of Mist his legs buckled, threatening to give out, sweat and tears of pain blinding his vision. Frantically he sought the calmness that had enveloped him earlier. With the attacker flinging lighting at the group of channelers Denath knew he had but moments to act. Gritting his teeth he once again pulled back the bow, but the arrow dropped limply to the ground. Pain like he had never known was sent crashing through his leg, spreading to devour his entire body.

Dropping to the ground in a crumpled heap a small smile spread across his face, his consciousness having retreated to a place where he no longer felt pain. The smell of rich earth filled his nostrils, a smell so wonderful he wondered why he had never noticed it before. Please, he thought, the darkness slowly suffocating him in its loving embrace, the Light protect my friends...

[edited]

Shaking with the effort to stay upright, Nikoru glanced at Selene once all was done and the Dreadlord was dead. Nodding, she nudged her mount closer to Selene and the fallen form of Darz, sliding down once she was there. She didn't trust her legs to take her very far at this point.

"This man, Gwynne, and the other fellow over there - "

She pointed toward Denath absently, her mind working out all that had happened.

"They all need help. This is ridiculous. Why in the bloody name of the Light can't we go anywhere without trouble?"

Her anger kept her focused. At least, that's what she told herself.