He wished he could feel al’Thor’s pain; surely he had caused him pain at least. Pinpricks only so far, but enough pinpricks would drain him dry. The Whitecloaks were set hard against the Dragon Reborn. Fain’s lips peeled back in a sneer. Unlikely Niall would have ever supported al’Thor any more than Elaida would have, but it was best not to take too much for granted with Rand bloody al’Thor. Well, he had brushed them both with what he carried from Aridhol; they might possibly trust their own mothers, but never al’Thor now.

The door burst open, and young Perwyn Belman burst into the room pursued by his mother. Nan Belman was a handsome woman, though Fain seldom noticed whether a woman was or not now, a Darkfriend who had thought her oaths were just dabbling in wickedness until Padan Fain appeared on her doorstep. She believed him a Darkfriend too, one high in the councils. Fain had gone far beyond that, of course; he would be dead the moment one of the Chosen laid hands on him. The thought made him giggle.

Perwyn and his mother both shied at the sight of the Myrddraal, of course, but the boy recovered first and reached Fain while the woman was still trying to find her breath.

“Master Mordeth, Master Mordeth,” the boy piped, dancing from foot to foot in his red-and-white coat, “I have news you wanted.”

Mordeth. Had he used that name? Sometimes he could not recall what name he had used, what name was his. Sheathing the dagger beneath his coat, he put on a warm smile. “And what news would that be now, lad?”

“Someone tried to kill the Dragon Reborn this morning. A man. He’s dead now. He got right past all the Aiel and everything, right into the Lord Dragon’s rooms.”

Fain felt his smile become a snarl. Trying to kill al’Thor? Al’Thor was his! Al’Thor would die by his hand, no other! Wait. The assassin had gotten past the Aiel, into al’Thor’s rooms? “A Gray Man!” He did not recognize that grating sound as his own voice. Gray Men meant the Chosen. Would he never be free of their interference?

All that rage had to go somewhere before he burst. Almost casually he brushed his hand across the boy’s face. The boy’s eyes bulged; he began trembling so hard his teeth rattled.

Fain did not really understand the tricks he could work. A bit of something from the Dark One, perhaps, a bit from Aridhol. It had been after there, after he stopped being just Padan Fain, that the ability began to manifest, slowly. All he knew was that he could do certain things now, as long as he could touch what he worked with.