Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14037369.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Wheel_of_Time_-_Robert_Jordan
  Series:
      Part 3 of The_Wheel_Turns_Anew
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-20 Chapters: 46/50 Words: 243540
****** Age of the Dragon ******
by Charon_Spole_(cascadingpoles)
Summary
     All of Creation is one. Light and Shadow exist in perpetual
     counterbalance to one another, as do the male and female halves of
     the One Power. Life is fleeting, and death as certain as rebirth. The
     souls of heroes and villains alike are but threads in the great
     Pattern of eternity, spun out again and again to live their lives,
     anew yet familiar.
     And so it is that once again the Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come
     and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth,
     and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes
     again. In one Age, called the Tenth Age by some, an Age yet to come,
     an Age long past, a wind rose once more in the Mountains of Mist. The
     wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings
     to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a new beginning.
Notes
     So this is a fan-fiction story based primarily on The Wheel of Time
     novels by Robert Jordan. It’s about what might happen when the Wheel
     of Time turns full circle and the events of the series happen once
     more. It will start very familiar, with only minor changes, but those
     minor changes will lead to other slightly bigger changes, which will
     in turn lead to more changes, getting bigger and bigger as the series
     progresses, ultimately leading to a completely different final half
     of the series.
     Running with the rather Campbellian idea that all legends, myths and
     stories are part of the same repeating Pattern, I will be stealing
     characters, settings etc from other fandoms and fitting them into the
     main Wheel of Time setting as best I can, it order to create one
     giant fan-fiction playpen. Expect to see many familiar, yet different
     faces, from The Wheel of Time and elsewhere.
     It will be very smutty. The idea for it started as part of a smut-
     fiction series that I ended up expanding upon, and that smuttiness
     remains at its core. Bisexuality will be common throughout the
     series, including with many of the main characters, and everything
     from romance and marriage, to rape and torture, to underage material
     will be included. Fair warning.
     Rand will be an absolute Mary Sue. I freely acknowledge that, and
     offer no excuse. But hey, the character concept calls for him to be a
     Mary Sue anyway—the Creator’s champion, born again and again to fight
     the Dark One and such. So why not just roll with it? I’ve taken to
     thinking of him as the reincarnation of many protagonists from other
     stories, from Commander Shephard, to the Hero of Ferelden, to
     Gorion’s Ward, and so on.
     I made a few alternations to the base setting. I decided to double
     down on the matriarchal nature of the Third, and now Tenth Ages.
     Almost all rulers are women for example, and most people inherit
     their mother’s surnames. I made Tar Valon a nation, rather than a
     city-state, to expand Aes Sedai power. I decided to make Travelling
     harder—requiring greater base strength in the Power to use and being
     very tiring to maintain—since I wanted other methods of transport to
     still be relevant. I also more than doubled the number of Forsaken,
     and decided to make them more competent and threatening opponents. In
     order to do this, without altering their personalities too much, I
     decided that they should all have ter’angreal similar to Cadsuane’s,
     and a holographic AI assistant to help manage their defences. Oh, and
     I renamed the Westlands continent as Valgarda.
     The series begins in 996NE, when Rand, Mat and Perrin are seventeen,
     and will stretch over a longer period of time.
     In making this, I basically copy-pasted the true Wheel of Time series
     into Word and then went through the books, editing as I wished. I cut
     some things, altered others, inserted new scenes and lines etc. This
     is almost certainly plagiarism, I know. With regards to that I can
     only offer the excuse that I make no money from this series, claim no
     ownership or right to The Wheel of Time—or any other published
     work—and that, for all that entire chapters in this series may be
     lifted directly from Mr Jordan’s work, other chapters are written
     entirely by me. I did this only for my own amusement, and if putting
     it on the internet for others to read constitutes a breach of
     copyright or causes trouble for anyone, I won’t object to its
     removal. I’ll still have my own copy after all.
     Still, in hopes of avoiding trouble I'll only post those chapters
     that are either entirely new or heavily edited, as a preview of
     sorts. The full story can be found here: https://mega.nz/
     #F!KrRhQbpL!9YUY8UUrSJNeWVLAQ-taQQ
     Well that about covers it. Take a gander if you like. I hope you
     enjoy.
***** Preface *****
For the sake of neatness I'll start the series proper after the break.
***** A Change of Plans *****
PROLOGUE: A Change of Plans
 
The world looked very small when you walked among the clouds. Too small for her
taste. All of the interesting parts were hidden behind a sweeping panorama of
mountains and rivers. It was pretty to look at at first, but quickly grew
boring. The woman who had chosen this meeting place was more than pretty, and
never boring. Or never had been at least. Balthamel watched her carefully from
her place at the edge of the gathering, and wondered if Lanfear’s goals could
truly be as simple as wanting to seduce her old boyfriend’s reincarnation.
The woman in question—tall, dark-haired, stunningly beautiful and clad all in
white—lounged in an intricately carved chair large enough to be considered a
throne with her owl-like Sysan Odiva perched on her shoulder. From her arrogant
demeanour you would think it a gift that she had deigned to provide chairs for
the rest of the Chosen, though of course they could simply have made their own
if she had not. A full dozen such thrones were arrayed in their cloudy meeting
place now, but Balthamel could not help but notice that the chairs formed a
teardrop, not a circle, and Lanfear had placed herself at the point of that
teardrop, with no-one to her left or right. And she had not troubled to rise to
greet any of her guests when they arrived.
She did not rise for Ketvarcade either when he appeared in their midst. He was
a handsome man and his long hair was a pale blue that never appeared in nature.
Like Balthamel he had benefited from technologies that no longer existed.
Ketvarcade’s face remained expressionless as he surveyed his surroundings. That
his feet rested on nothing more than water vapour gave him no concern. “Am I
the last to arrive then?” he asked in his usual disinterested tone.
“Not at all,” said Lanfear with a smile. “We’re still waiting for our glorious
leader and his lapdog. Oh, and Moghedien, if she ever works up the courage to
show herself.”
The new arrival studied Lanfear carefully. “Ishamael ... is indisposed. I doubt
he will be joining us this evening. Indeallein watches over him tirelessly, as
I’m sure you can imagine.”
Lanfear’s laugher was richly musical, even in its mockery. “Oh I’m sure. Why if
not for brave Indeallein the vaunted ‘Heart of the Dark’ might still be lying
comatose on the streets of Falme, where Lews Therin left him.”
“Quite,” Ketvarcade said coldly. He had been an ally of Ishamael’s for years,
insomuch that any of them had allies at least. Whether that alliance survived
the end of their Age and being awoken in this new one remained to be seen.
Ketvarcade moved to one of the unclaimed seats and adjusted his robes before
settling in. He had been one of the seven Chosen most recently freed from the
Bore and had not yet adapted to this strange new world. He still dressed as an
Aes Sedai of old would have, in robes of multiple layers; primarily of dark
purple in his case.
Balthamel herself was adjusting quickly. She had explored quite a bit of the
new world now, and though it was horribly backwards it had a certain charm to
it. After some consideration she’d decided to adopt the fashion of the Domani
women. Their dresses flattered her lush form and the red silk her current garb
was made from suited her dark colouring. She smoothed the dress across her hips
as she sauntered over to rejoin the gathering.
The Chosen’s numbers had doubled in the half-year since she returned to the
world outside the Great Lord’s prison. She shuddered. Her mind shied away from
remembering the void, the emptiness to which she had been banished by Lews
Therin for so many centuries. They had slept a dreamless sleep, there had been
that much mercy in their fates, but even in that sleep some part of her had
known she was lost.
Ishamael had escaped that fate. So far as she knew he was the only one of the
Chosen who had not been bound in Shayol Ghul to have survived the Breaking of
the World. But the passage of millennia seemed to have driven him quite mad, if
he had not been mad before.
Along with Aginor, Indeallein and Moghedien, Balthamel had been the first of
the Chosen to emerge from their prison. She had not been fool enough to hope
for allies among that group of course. Aginor hadn’t been seen since failing to
secure the Eye of the World, Indeallein was Ishamael’s creature to the bone and
Moghedien was a notorious coward.
Lanfear and Asmodean had been next, as strange a pairing as they were. Lanfear
was too erratic to be relied on, but for all his weakness Asmodean might see
the sense of her plan. It affected his own survival after all, and what else
mattered to that one?
The seven more recent arrivals though ... they were much more promising.
“There is no point waiting on Moghedien,” she said as she took her seat among
them. Of the thirteen chairs there only three lacked claimants now.
“And Aginor?” asked Asmodean.
“Dead, if he is lucky. Wishing for death if not,” Lanfear said dismissively.
“Poor Aginor, who thought himself so smart. And poor Ishy,” Balthamel sighed as
she plopped down on her chair. “He just wanted this new Dragon to be his
friend, but the boy went and stabbed him right in the chest. That’s what
love’ll get you.” She didn’t look at Lanfear but she could feel her glare even
so. It brought a smirk to Balthamel’s lips.
“That’s what stupidity gets you more like,” growled Sammael. A compact man of
average height, his hair and beard were a bright golden hue and his blue eyes
were angry. That last was a near constant with him. It went well with the livid
red scar that slanted across his face. The richly-embroidered red coat he had
taken to wearing only made his scar more noticeable. “He should have killed
this boy, this al’Thor, this so-called Dragon Reborn the moment he laid eyes on
him.” Balthamel smiled to herself. Finally someone else was seeing sense.
Lanfear’s languid mockery evaporated like morning mist. She sat up straight in
her chair. “Ishamael is Nae’blis, his orders were—and are!—the will of the
Great Lord of the Dark. They must be respected.”
Graendal tittered. Like Ketvarcade she had not yet put off the fashions of old.
The golden-haired woman wore the same streith gown she had been wearing when
the Bore was sealed behind them, its colours shifting with her mood. It turned
a rosy hue as she leaned forwards in her chair, her big blue eyes alight with
mischief. “So much has changed in the world. Have you changed too Lanfear?
Where does this new loyalty come from? Could it be that Ishamael has diddled
you silly and you’ve turned your obsession towards him? Or do we still sing the
same old song?” The near-opaque fabric did little to hide Graendal’s plump
curves, or the golden ornaments arrayed on a chain about her neck that formed
her valdarhei. Unlike most of them, hers was almost complete. The War of the
Powers had left Balthamel with only a few pieces of her own set. She eyed
Graendal’s collection hungrily, even as she put herself on the verge of fleeing
the meeting. Lanfear was not a woman to be challenged so blatantly. Her
reactions were not always ... rational, and Balthamel had no intention of being
nearby if the two women tried to kill each other.
Lanfear bared her teeth in what was not a smile. “You know your orders
Graendal. Defy them at your peril.”
“Orders?” said Be’lal musingly. He had put off the robes in favour of a simple
coat and breeches. “We have slept for three thousand years while Ishamael
wandered this world alone. The Great Lord’s voice can no longer reach us even
now that the seal has begun to crumble. What can Ishamael know of our master’s
orders? Precious little I would say. And Ishamael’s orders alone mean nothing
to me.”
Many of the others nodded at the white-haired man’s words, Sammael with firm
resolve, Asmodean hastily and only after checking to see the others’ reactions
first. Lanfear’s face was a still mask but her dark eyes were madly intent. She
had to know where this was going now. Balthamel wondered if she would try to
stop it. She was strong in the Power, the strongest woman in recorded history
in fact, but even she could not hope to defeat them all. Not even if Ketvarcade
sided with her.
Rahvin stretched out his long legs and steepled his fingers. The ostentatious
lace he had taken to wearing suited him well and he had the physicality to wear
it while still looking masculine. “The boy could be no threat to us now,
naturally, but it would be best to be rid of him before he can grow into his
power.” Dark of hair and skin and eye, he was a powerfully built and very
handsome man. She might have considered him attractive if she didn’t know him
as well as she did. His Sysan Odiva took the form of a tiny naked woman and
even here she danced silently in mid-air for his amusement. Balthamel had
ordered her own Puki to privacy mode; she wanted no distractions right now.
“Is he handsome?” asked Graendal. “Lews Therin was handsome once, before the
war aged him. I might consider keeping him as a pet if he is handsome.”
Balthamel concentrated, focusing her mind and her will. An image appeared in
the centre of their gathering, an image of a tall young man with red hair and
blue-grey eyes. No more than eighteen, with broad shoulders and a flat stomach,
he was handsomer than most of those Graendal had kept in her earlier harems.
She watched the other woman intently as she summoned the image, but Graendal’s
ditsy smile never changed. Not that Balthamel was fool enough not to see
through that of course. For all the lust-fuelled orgies she had indulged in
Graendal was a psychiatrist of renown, and as intelligent and manipulative as
they came. “This is him. Rand al’Thor. The Dragon Reborn,” Balthamel said,
studiously avoiding Lanfear’s glare.
Sammael snorted. “A pup. There will be little satisfaction in killing such, but
it will do. The true Lews Therin has been lucky enough to escape my vengeance
it seems.” Lanfear matched his disdainful sound with one of her own.
“Escaped?” said Ketvarcade. “I can’t recall a single battle between you in
which it was Lews Therin who did the running.”
The scar-faced man sneered at him. “Do you forget the Choedan Kal? I denied him
their use when I took Filistia and killed Rolan Vox Rance.”
“Rolan Vox, yes. Not Lews Therin,” Ketvarcade sighed.
“Enough quibbling,” said Be’lal, irritation accentuating the creases on his
brow. “We all know what has to be done here, the only question is how to do it.
Where is this al’Thor now?”
Balthamel brushed her hair back from her eyes and made her voice as casual as
she could. “My spies say he is still in the place called Falmerden, trapped on
the peninsula by a legion of enemies and the terrain itself. It shouldn’t be
hard to find him.” She hoped one of them would take up the task. As twisted as
he was Rahvin was right about what needed to be done here, but Balthamel had no
intention of being the one to explain to Ishamael what had happened. Assuming
the man ever recovered from his injuries. And if the Great Lord truly did share
Ishamael’s desires ... No. Better by far if one of the others took care of the
problem.
“Have you memorised the new map? Show it to me,” commanded Be’lal, just as if
she was one of his secretaries.
Balthamel narrowed her eyes. “Are you having such a hard time learning the
Common Tongue that you can’t find time to study the land we hover above? And
you call yourself a general.”
Asha’bellanar gave a small shake of her head. She waved her hand and
Balthamel’s image of al’Thor shimmered into nothingness, replaced by a
rectangular table on the surface of which was carved a detailed, three-
dimensional map of the continent now called Valgarda. A very detailed map in
fact, given how recently she had been woken. The nations and their capitals
were all marked with small, colourful flags. “Here is your map. Study it
carefully,” she said in her rich voice. Asha’bellanar was the oldest woman
among the Chosen save Hessalam, but while age had turned her long hair to snow
and framed her mouth with deep furrows it had not bent her back or dulled her
wits in the slightest. She rose from her chair and went to stand over the map,
clad in a wine-red dress that suited her well. She studied the others shrewdly
as one by one they came to join her.
“Falmerden is there, on Toman Head,” put in Asmodean helpfully. Sammael sneered
at him.
“Yes it is,” Asha’bellanar said patiently. “What forces do we have there?”
Balthamel shrugged. “Hidden agents of the usual sort. Atha’an Shadar who do not
admit their allegiance openly.”
“A well-placed assassin should be enough to deal with an untrained child,” said
Hessalam, though her attention seemed to be elsewhere. She had not been
beautiful even when she was young, and youth had already fled her long before
she turned to the Shadow. Immortality was theirs, but that had not been enough
to turn back time. Hessalam didn’t care about such things though. She wore a
plain brown, hooded robe and a look of careful calculation. Her grey eyes
seemed even colder when contrasted with her dark, heavily-lined skin.
“An army would be better,” Be’lal groused.
Balthamel smiled. “Then you are in luck. Several of the Myrddraal are on their
way there now, using the Ways. Do you know of those yet? They are a curious
pocket dimension that was tamed for the Ogier’s use some time after our
imprisonment. The people here use them to travel quickly, since none of them
know how to actually Travel.” Her smile faltered. “Incidentally that is
something you should all be careful about using. You never know when a local
who has the Talent for reading residues might chance by.”
Be’lal grunted. “That would be prudent. We should not squander such an
advantage. Not that we are likely to need advantages over savages like these.”
He stood at what would have been the southeastern corner of the map, if a
compass had any meaning in this place. He and most of the rest of the Chosen
were eyeing the little flags with interest, in between narrow-eyed glances at
each other.
“What was that about the Myrddraal?” Lanfear demanded. “Why would they be going
to Falmerden?”
Balthamel laughed. “That’s the funny part. After ‘Ba’alzamon’ got himself
skewered, the Myrddraal got it into their heads to go avenge him. All in the
name of the Great Lord of the Dark and his champion of course. They’ve taken an
army of Trollocs through the Ways to seek out the man who dared wound their
precious leader, and see that he dies screaming.” Her laughter intensified. “I
almost hope Ishamael does in fact recover from his wound. The look on his face
when he hears that heart-warming tale of loyalty would be worth it.”
Asha’bellanar did not smile. “Vexing for Ishamael. Convenient for us. One of
you should go with the army, to ensure its success. Meanwhile there is the
matter of these nations. I think I might take this ‘Tear’ for myself ...”
Be’lal’s back stiffened. “No. I have my eye on that already.”
“Your eye. And your eye concerns me ... why exactly?” Asha’bellanar said
quietly.
“Because you are not a complete fool,” said Be’lal in a cold whisper. The two
locked eyes over the map.
Rahvin chuckled. His Sysan Odiva had winked out when he rose from his seat,
leaving only Lanfear’s on display mode. “You’ve explored these lands,
Balthamel. Tell me. Which of these queens is the most beautiful?”
“Do you include the Borderlands in that?” she asked. A few of the royals there
had been quite eye-catching.
He gave an easy shrug. “Those are the ones that spend their lives fighting
Trollocs? Best not. Taking one of them as my kingdom sounds a bit too much like
work. Let the others trouble themselves with the Borderlands, when they finally
wake. The more southerly lands will suit me.”
“Well, most of them are ruled by old women. But Morgase of Andor is said to be
a great beauty ...”
Rahvin smiled lasciviously. “Interesting.”
Lanfear sneered. “Kingdoms. Queens. Is that all you can think about? Is that
the extent of your ambition?”
Rahvin’s eyes on her were hot with anger, and more than anger. Balthamel knew
he would have raped Lanfear then and there if he thought he could. But Rahvin
knew when to indulge his lusts and when to bide his time. “You won’t want one
for yourself then,” he said tightly. “Good. Perhaps we’ll be generous and leave
you something. This little one down in the corner say. Mayene is it? Looks
worthless. You can have it.”
“I can have anything I want,” said Lanfear dangerously.
Hessalam paid not a whit of attention to the storm brewing in their midst. She
stood at the western coast of Valgarda, crease-faced and hooded, looking down
on it sinisterly like a stylized image of a goddess from one of the pantheons
their ancestors had believed in Ages upon Ages ago. “Valreis. It is closely
allied with the so-called Aes Sedai of Tar Valon, according to what I’ve read.
Rich and powerful. Is it all that Ishamael’s library claimed?”
“One of the strongest,” Balthamel said. “Short of Tar Valon itself, and Andor.”
Hessalam eyed Rahvin for a moment, then turned her attention back to the map.
“Valreis is mine. Intrude on it at your peril,” she announced with finality.
Sammael snorted. “As usual you overestimate your strength.”
Balthamel said nothing, but privately she thought that it was less that
Hessalam overestimated her strength and more that Sammael underestimated her
cunning.
Graendal tittered. “That dress you are wearing is Domani, isn’t it Balthamel?
It suits you well. I think I’ll take Arad Doman as my seat then, since we are
dividing things up so nicely.” Balthamel did no more than smile in response.
She wouldn’t have thought Graendal would have had time to familiarize herself
with modern fashions of all things, not with everything else she had to learn.
It was worth remembering that the woman was not as foolish as she appeared.
Sammael’s anger grew. “I agreed to none of this! I will have my own pick of
kingdoms. This one.” He stabbed a finger down on a land with a tall mountain
range at its eastern border and a fast-flowing river on its west. A defensible
looking place, from their high vantage.
“That is Cairhien,” Balthamel said. “It is currently in the middle of a civil
war. It should be easy enough to take over. Just pick a side and destroy the
others.”
Sammael’s face soured. “Broken, weak and useless,” he muttered. “I won’t have
such a mess fobbed off on me. This one then. Illian. It will do.” He planted
his fists on the table and loomed truculently over the southern half of the
continent, finally looking as tall as he had always wanted to be.
Balthamel was starting to grow alarmed. It wasn’t that she wanted a nation of
her own to rule. She’d taken charge of her share of territory for the Shadow
during the War of the Powers and had found little joy in it. It was boring
work, and not meeting the expectations of their master had often had dire
consequences. A great many Chosen had died in the war, and not all of them at
the hands of their enemies. No, she preferred to work in the shadows. Her
concern came from something else.
“Illian will be waiting for you after you are finished with al’Thor,” she said
appeasingly. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement on that.” Someone had to go to
Falmerden and kill al’Thor. She had thought Sammael the most likely candidate.
He had hated Lews Therin with a passion. It had been the Dragon who gave him
his scar, and he had sworn to wear it until the day he gave Lews Therin a
matching one. But if even he was busy claiming a nation for himself ...
Asha’bellanar was leaning over the table and frowning. “Tear. Illian. Southern
coastal lands like that promise a pleasant climate. This Altara barely
qualifies as a nation from what I’ve read. It’s just a collection of squabbling
towns, most of which are too small to even be considered city-states. The other
two look much more appealing.”
“Illian is mine,” growled Sammael. Asha’bellanar fixed him with a cold stare
much as she had Be’lal, who now stood over his prize as though protecting it
from scavengers, but the scar-faced man did not back down either.
Asha’bellanar gave an annoyed harrumph. “It matters not. Altara will do. For
now.”
Sammael smiled tightly, looking as though he had won a great victory.
“I suppose I’ll take Amadicia then,” sighed Ketvarcade. He looked down on the
continent with a slight smile on his lips. There was no echo of that smile in
his dark, slanted eyes. “It is the one ruled by these fanatics who call
themselves the Children of the Light unless I misremember. That should be
amusing.”
“And al’Thor?” Balthamel said tightly.
Rahvin waved a dismissive hand. “Let the Myrddraal deal with him. If they fail
we can take a hand. But I doubt we will need to trouble ourselves.”
Lanfear had watched the argument in silence, but Balthamel could not fail to
notice the relief in her eyes. She noticed the disgruntled look Asmodean wore
as well. Maybe I could persuade him to do it, she thought sourly. Asmodean was
a weakling but should still be stronger than any channeler in this age,
especially an untrained one like al’Thor. Bajad Drovja! Sammael or Be’lal
should be taking care of this. Both men styled themselves as warriors, both
hated Lews Therin, and yet neither would go and kill his reincarnation?
Balthamel’s fists were white-knuckled at her sides.
“There is also the matter of the traitor who absconded with the Horn of
Valere,” Lanfear said, visibly glad to steer the conversation elsewhere. And
towards what was another sore point for Balthamel. Ishamael had insisted she
hand the Horn over to the traitor in question—an ugly little weasel named Padan
Fain—after she removed it from the vault in Fal Dara. It would have been much
easier to simply bring it with her, but no, the great philosopher decreed that
getting al’Thor to chase after it was somehow more important. And so Ishamael
had managed to plot his way into being skewered and left comatose while the
Horn was lost to the Dragon Reborn. Idiot.
Sammael had a much more direct style of command. “Kill him. Obviously.”
The look Lanfear gave him was not respectful. “That goes without saying. Who
and how are the questions. Obviously.”
“You need not concern yourselves with that,” Ketvarcade said. “Indeallein tells
me the orders have already been given and the hunters sent forth.”
Lanfear nodded to herself in satisfaction.
Be’lal was stroking his close-cropped white beard thoughtfully as he frowned
down at the map. The colour contrasted nicely with his darkly-tanned skin but
she was much too irritated to appreciate that. He studied Tear on the map as
though ruling a backwards nation was more important than killing the youthful
reincarnation of their most implacable foe!
“I propose an agreement not to move against any other Chosen until all other
threats have been dealt with,” Be’lal said in the voice of a trained orator.
That they would try to kill each other eventually was a fact he did not bother
to try and deny. The rest were as unsurprised by that as Balthamel herself was.
“There is plenty of killing to be done. Al’Thor and all those associated with
him, Tar Valon, these Borderlands. And those just the ones I know of. Settling
our differences can wait. Should any break the proposed alliance, all others
will be obliged to band together to see the aggressor pays for their betrayal
with his, or her, life. What say you?”
The proposal was a good one and they all stood to benefit from it. One by one
the others voiced their approval, Asmodean included. He had not dared try to
claim a nation for himself; no doubt he knew that he would be the first that
the other Chosen moved against if he had. Would he dare go against Ishamael’s
wishes? She doubted it. Balthamel added her voice to the chorus, though she was
unable to keep it from reflecting her sour mood. Lanfear was the last to speak
and when she did it was with such snappish force that Balthamel suspected she
had wanted to refuse. But even she had to realise how foolhardy that would be.
“Good,” said Be’lal. His gaze slid back to the nation he had been so eager to
claim. “I am sure this agreement will profit us all handsomely.” Asha’bellanar
sent him a cold look and her small smile promised retribution. Those two had
sparred many times before, with words and more than words. Balthamel suspected
they would spar again soon enough.
Rahvin yawned theatrically. “As amusing as this has been I have business to
attend to elsewhere. If there is nothing else of import shall we depart?” None
objected.
Lanfear sought Balthamel out before the gathering could disperse. She drew her
aside from the others in that high, cloud-cloaked place, and lowered her voice
to a cold whisper. “Hear me well Eval Ramman,” she said, using her original
name as few would dare. “Lews Therin is mine. If you kill him, I will see that
you die screaming.” The chill that crawled across Balthamel’s skin was not
caused by her words alone, or even the obsessive intensity in the woman’s ebon
eyes.
“I hear you,” she answered, quietly and carefully, heart racing with the
imminence of battle. She knew Lanfear far too well not to know how serious the
woman was. Still. There were other agents besides the Myrddraal who might be
inspired to rid them of al’Thor before it was too late. She would just have to
be certain to pick ones who could not possibly be traced back to her.
***** Dragonsworn *****
CHAPTER 1: Dragonsworn
 
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become
legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that
gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Tenth Age by some, an Age yet
to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was
not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of
the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
Down long valleys the wind swept, valleys blue with morning mist hanging in the
air, some forested with evergreens, some bare to winter’s chill embrace. It
howled across half-buried ruins and broken monuments, all as forgotten as those
who had built them. It moaned in the passes, weatherworn cuts between peaks
capped with snow that never melted. Thick clouds clung to the mountaintops so
that snow and white billows seemed one.
The wind raced westward over lands already in turmoil, where women fretted and
men muttered over the travails of the day, many of them beset by the feeling
that there was worse to come. Across two entire nations the wind raced, from
mountain range to mountain range, crashing into the jagged white peaks of the
Zandarkhs and surging higher still. Armies camped at the foot of those
forbidding mountains, waiting for an order to advance and denying all passage
from one side to another. The wind could not be denied. It howled down into the
snow-covered nation of Falmerden where betrayal and invasion and war and
destiny had already bled the people nearly dry and now threatened to bleed them
yet more. Over the tangled forest called the Knotwood the wind raced until at
last it came upon two groups involved in a tense standoff at the outskirts of a
small town, stilling their angry words and rippling their cloaks like so many
banners.
Rand al’Thor snatched at his hood and pulled it back down as quickly as he
could. His face had been seen by too many during the Battle of Falme; the fewer
people who got a look at it now the safer they would all be. Standing at a
height of six foot six, with red hair and blue-grey eyes, he had thought
himself long-since grown used to sticking out like a sore thumb, having grown
up in a place where few men stood taller than six foot and almost everyone had
eyes and hair of a dark brown. Here in Falmerden his colouring was not as
uncommon as it had been back home in the Theren, but now he had much more
pressing, and sinister, reasons to avoid attention.
Perrin ignored the chill wind that flapped his cloak about him. He was taller
than most Theren men grew, and powerfully muscled from his years working the
forge under Master Weyland the blacksmith. His hair was curlier than most
Theren folk too, and his yellow eyes were like none told of in any story Rand
had ever heard growing up. They were a wolf’s eyes, almost literally, and they
fixed angrily on the men blocking their path. Rand found himself stewing in an
anger of his own, but reminded himself sternly that he should let the others do
the talking.
The men who blocked their way were a ragged bunch, clad all in fur and leather.
Their leader was relatively young, with a dark beard, a glib tongue and cold
eyes.
“Highwaymen,” Uno had said after their first demands. He made the word sound a
curse, and took a firm grip of his swordhilt. He and Mendao were the only two
of his Shienaran armsmen that Rand had brought with him on this excursion. He
had wanted to avoid attention but now he found himself basking in Moiraine’s
unwelcome regard. The diminutive Aes Sedai had been against him coming at all
and the look she shot him from beneath the blue hood of her cloak was filled
with disapproval. Her Warder Lan loomed at her shoulder, his long greying hair
tied back with a braided hadori, looking like death waiting to happen.
The bandit leader clucked his tongue chidingly. “Now is that any way to greet
someone? A simple ten silvers and you’re free to move on.” He had a dozen men
with him, outnumbering Rand’s party by two to one, but Rand didn’t feel
particularly threatened. Only annoyed.
“You should be on your way,” Perrin growled. “We aren’t refugees.” That the men
had preyed on other groups was plain from their practiced lines and unfeeling
gazes.
The leader smiled sympathetically. “The toll applies to everyone, friend.
That’s why it’s a toll and not, say, a refugee tax.”
“You’re no toll collectors,” scoffed Perrin.
“Why of course we are. We’re here on behalf of the Dragon Reborn himself to
collect funds for the war effort. Throwing the Seanchan into the sea didn’t
come cheap you know. Just look at how spectacularly our former rulers failed to
do it. But now we have a greater leader, one who was able to crush those who
crushed Nora and Kaelan. You want to show your support for the Lord Dragon
don’t you? He would be ... upset if you didn’t.”
Rand clutched at empty air as he instinctually tried to grasp the hilt of the
sword that no longer rode his hip. He had lost his father’s blade at Falme, and
had a title forced on him in its place. The Dragon Reborn. The man prophesised
to defeat the Dark One in the Last Battle, and break the world in the process.
He had never met these men before in his life, and he certainly hadn’t ordered
them to gather funds from passing travellers for him. His empty fist trembled.
Moiraine’s touch on his forearm urged silence and restraint but they did not
come easily.
“So you’re some of those so-called Dragonsworn I’ve been hearing about,” Perrin
said without warmth. He had heard the same tales Rand had in the weeks since
Falme.
“Not much gets past you I see,” the man responded mockingly. “You’ll understand
then that rules are rules. If you don’t pay, you can’t pass.”
“And we get to loot your corpses,” put in one of his brutish looking
companions, then added as an afterthought. “For the Lord Dragon and all.”
Rand hated to have to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, but he
should have listened to Moiraine. They should have visited this town in force
or not at all. To avoid starting a conflict or drawing too much attention he
had left most of his soldiers and companions behind, and even those few who had
come with him weren’t armoured. He’d insisted they leave their horses too.
Times were tough in Falmerden, and horses were valuable enough to tempt folk
into trying something precipitous; and besides, the town was only an hour’s
walk from their camp. He didn’t even have a sword of his own. Unfortunately
trying to avoid starting trouble hadn’t prevented trouble from seeking him out.
Could he end this by revealing his identity and ordering these “Dragonsworn” to
surrender? Perhaps. But only if they recognised his face from those sketches
that had been circulating lately. And even then only if they thought he
actually knew how to channel the One Power properly and feared what he might do
to them with it. He certainly wasn’t fool enough to think they would stop out
of respect or loyalty to him.
He had been fool enough to think that when he first heard tales of the
Dragonsworn. After what had happened at Falme people all across Falmerden had
declared their allegiance to Rand, all of them strangers who were apparently
impressed by his supposed heroics there. When he learned of it he had wanted to
seek them out and add them to the little army that travelled with him. It was
an ‘army’ of only thirty or so men and women at the moment and adding more had
seemed sensible. Safety in numbers as it were. He and Moiraine had argued over
it, and the more details he heard about the Dragonsworn’s activities the more
he had come to see that she was right about that too, burn her.
The worst tale he had heard, not the only one but the worst, was of a village
of Seanchan settlers several days’ ride from Falme that had been left behind
when their Empire retreated. The Dragonsworn had come down on it with fire and
sword and left not a single man, woman or child alive. All the while saying
they were finishing what Rand had started. The normal Falmerans had admittedly
done things much the same—ever since the invasion was ended anyone who spoke
with a Seanchan accent in Falmerden was living on borrowed time—but somehow it
was worse when the  people committing such crimes were claiming to act in his
name.
These brigands were perhaps not quite as terrible as whoever had killed that
village, but meeting them was more than enough to get Rand’s heart thumping.
And not from fear. Tainted saidin, the power that had broken the world, a power
that drove anyone who touched it to madness even as it caused their flesh to
rot around them, hovered within Rand’s reach. He wondered if it would come when
he called it this time, he wondering if he dared try to call it at all.
The two groups glared at each other, hovering on the brink of violence. At last
the bandit leader, seemingly realising that Perrin and the others were not
going to back down, gave a weary sigh. “You try to be nice to people and what
do you get? Ah well. Take them lads.”
Steel sang in the chill morning air as men on both sides hastily freed their
weapons amid a chorus of wordless shouts. Rand snatched at saidin and to his
dismay failed to grasp it. At his side stood Moiraine and though he could see
nothing of what she was doing he had no doubt the Aes Sedai had filled herself
with saidar, the untainted female half of the One Power.
The nameless, glib-tongued bandit was the quickest of their foes but even he
had only half-cleared his sword from its scabbard before Lan was among them.
The Warder danced through the forms in a brutal blur. Apple Blossoms on the
Wind killed three men before they could even attempt to parry and a forth only
avoided losing his head to Arc of the Moon by diving aside and to the ground;
the final movements of that form brought Lan back to mid-guard as the bandits
began to rally and throw some attacks of their own. Lan parried their blows
easily and when one fool overextended, he opened the man’s belly with a long
slash; Black Pebbles on Snow.
The man who had thrown himself to the ground would not be getting up any time
soon. Perrin’s heavy boot in his teeth had seen to that. The former
blacksmith’s apprentice had drawn his wicked curved axe and was laying about
him. One of the Dragonsworn tried to block the axe using a shortsword, but the
blade might as well have been a leaf of grass for all the good it did. Perrin’s
axe thunked into the man’s shoulder and cut deep into the chest below.
One optimistic fellow tried to rush right past Lan while the Warder was engaged
with the bandit leader, perhaps thinking to take Moiraine hostage. Lan didn’t
even look around, he just snaked his blade around the leader’s and pushed it
aside just long enough to spin himself aside, flowing into Lizard in the
Thornbush, cutting low and taking off the would-be kidnapper’s lower leg,
before he himself dropped to one knee and raised his sword high and horizontal,
checking the leader’s predictable riposte.
The remaining four “Dragonsworn” ran to engage the two Shienarans, both of whom
actually were Dragonsworn. Rand doubted anyone involved would appreciate the
irony. Uno and Mendao stepped in front of Rand, shielding him with their bodies
and their blades. Uno was the most experienced of his newly-acquired Shienaran
armsmen and Mendao was one of the best of them when it came to swordplay,
though neither man was as good as Lan of course. Rand knew of no-one who was.
The bandits stood little chance against them in his estimation; in truth now
that he saw them in action they seemed a poorly trained bunch, suited to
harassing fat merchants and little else. If they’d known anything of real
fighting they would probably have known better than to attack a group with Lan
Mandragoran in it, or a pair of Shienarans with their hair worn in the topknots
traditional to warriors in that Borderland nation.
“Protect the Lord Dragon!” Uno barked, as he opened one man’s throat and
quickly moved to turn the blade of a second. Rand heard Moiraine hiss in
annoyance.
Mendao took up the cry. “For Shienar and the Dragon Reborn!” he shouted as he
danced through Plucking the Low-Hanging Apple. It was a flashy form, and not
too hard to counter, but against these opponents it was enough to send a man’s
head flying in a shower of blood. The second man to have rushed Mendao backed
up quickly and the Shienaran pressed his advantage with the aggressive overhand
strikes of the Boar Rushes Down the Mountain.
“The Lord Dragon?” said the bandit leader in an incredulous and now higher-
pitched voice. He turned his eyes towards Rand’s unarmed and still-hooded
figure.
“That settles it then,” Moiraine said. Her melodious voice was chill enough to
suit the season. “Make sure there are no survivors.”
Rand had crossed his arms to still hands that itched for a sword. He hated
watching others fight his battles for him. And there was a part of him that
wanted to offer mercy to these men. It was a weak and soft part of him that he
fought to suppress even as it beat at his chest. Moiraine was probably right
about this too. It would be best not to spare these “Dragonsworn”; who knew
what they would do if they were allowed to go free? But he still felt queasy as
Lan and the Shienarans set about finishing the few that remained.
Perrin felt it too. His hulking friend turned his face away when the bandit
leader dropped his sword and began pleading for mercy, all his jibes forgotten.
A quick death from a simple thrust of Lan’s sword was all the mercy he
received. Perrin’s sigh was long and weary and came in time with the other
man’s death rattle.
Lan was cleaning his sword on a dead man’s cloak when Rand trudged forward. The
frost that covered the hard-packed dirt road to Lother steamed lightly as the
blood of a dozen dead men seeped out onto it. Get used to the sight, he told
himself. This is your life now. Death will never be far away from you. You’re
the bloody Dragon Reborn. He wished telling himself that would be enough to
make his stomach sit still. Despite it all he felt he had some sort of
connection to these “Dragonsworn”, a responsibility to them perhaps. Or a
responsibility to stop them. He couldn’t decide. He just knew that killing them
made him feel ill in a way that killing those Seanchan at Falme never had.
Grim-faced, Rand knelt among the carnage and picked up the bandit leader’s
sword. It was slightly curved, sharp along only one side and had a long hilt
meant to be held in two hands. Tam’s sword had looked somewhat like that before
it had been destroyed, though this one had no herons engraved on it of course,
and was slightly shorter in length now that he got a close look at it. He tried
a few experimental swings and then frowned. Rand had only ever fought with
Tam’s sword and with the practice lathes that he and Lan had used when
sparring. This sword was heavier than Tam’s and there was something ... off
about it. He couldn’t say what exactly was wrong, he just knew that something
about it didn’t feel the way it should.
Lan was watching him. “You’ll want better steel than that. Some village
blacksmith with only a layman’s understanding of weaponry forged these swords.
They might be better than going up against a Trolloc with only your fists ...
but not by much.”
Rand nodded. “It’ll have to do, until I can get something better.” He missed
the comforting presence of Tam’s sword. It occurred to him then that he might
have been a bit spoiled when it came to weapons, what with the first sword he
ever laid hands on being a master-crafted and heron-marked blade. Most people
had to fight using weapons just like these ones that Lan spoke so
unflatteringly of.
Uno’s boots crunched on the hard and frosty ground as he approached. “You
should get yourself some armour too, my Lord Dragon,” he said. Normally the
one-eyed man peppered his every sentence with curses but since Falme he hadn’t
uttered a single curse when speaking to Rand directly. Everyone else still got
the rough side of his tongue, but he was painfully polite with Rand. In a
strange way that almost made him sad. “Full plate would be best, with a closed
helm. But at the least you should wear some scale, chainmail, or leather. A
wool coat won’t do you much good in a fight, or stop an assassin’s arrow.”
Mendao nodded agreement.
Rand gave a non-committed shrug. He’d never worn armour before and the thick
steel suits that the Shienarans wore looked hellishly uncomfortable. How could
he even move while wearing something like that? “Maybe I should,” he said, and
cast about for a way to change the topic.
All he found was Moiraine’s cold stare. The Aes Sedai weighed Rand with her
eyes and her ageless face revealed little of what she thought of his measure.
“Some form of armour would be wise,” she said. “But not too much. Not outside
of battle at least. You can’t afford to look like you are constantly in fear of
a dagger. That would simply invite the dagger in question. But something light
that could be worn under your clothes? Yes. That would be for the best. Of
course, it would have been for the best if you had not come on this trip at
all.”
“Why didn’t you use the One Power against those bandits?” he said by way of
response. “They might have backed down if they knew an Aes Sedai was there.”
“Or they might have grown even more eager for violence,” she said coolly. “The
White Tower’s reputation is somewhat mixed after all.”
“But we might have avoided a fight,” he said stubbornly.
Moiraine’s eyes were cold. “Would that have been wise? Is it not better that
these brigands be dealt with here and now? Each person they rob or murder in
your name, even if not on your order, is a dark blot upon your reputation, one
that no amount of protestations of innocence will wipe away. There will come a
time, a far off time thankfully, but a time nonetheless, when you must dine
with queens and win their trust. You cannot do that if you are known as a
leader of bandits.”
Rand sighed. He didn’t like hearing it, but there was truth in her words. But
he marked too the casual and cold logic with which she had decided those men’s
fates. Who else’s presence would she decide was detrimental to her plans for
Rand? If Perrin’s troubled status as a wolfbrother became an issue might
Moiraine decide to remove him? Moiraine shared knowledge as generously as a
miser shared coin. What if she decided Min was too free with her tongue? What
might she do to silence her?
Rand did not trust the Aes Sedai. On one of the earliest days of their journey
east from Falme they had been riding together at the head of the column, with
Moiraine looking as composed as ever and Rand slumping in his saddle morosely,
still trying to accept the changes in his life. He had turned to her and said
that he supposed he’d have to read this famous Karaethon Cycle now, to see what
all the fuss was about. Moiraine had told him that there was no need to trouble
himself with that, since she had already read the prophecies and would
interpret their meaning for him. He had spent the rest of that day’s ride in
grim silence. If the Prophecies of the Dragon were the story of his life and
death, then “interpret their meaning” was another way of saying she had his
life already planned out for him. Reading the Prophecies himself might just
give him ideas of how exactly to go about doing what he had been prophesised to
do, but Moiraine didn’t want that. She already thought she knew what he was
supposed to do and would tolerate nothing that deviated from that carefully
arranged path. In her view Rand just needed to go where she pointed, do what
she told him and say only the words she had prepared for him. She’d use him as
a puppet if he let her. She’d hollow him out and wear him like a coat. But Rand
had no intention of being used by anyone. I didn’t ask to be the Dragon Reborn.
I didn’t want it. But if that’s what I am then that’s what I’ll be. I’ll not
dance on anyone’s strings.
“Let’s just do what we came here to do,” Rand muttered sourly as he robbed the
dead bandit of his swordbelt and scabbard.
Moiraine nodded. “Clean as much of the blood from your persons as you can
before we enter Lother, and cover whatever stains cannot be easily cleaned.”
With a sad expression, Perrin bent to scoop up a handful of snow from the
roadside. He grimaced only slightly as he began using it to wipe the blood from
his face.
It was a grim party that finally trudged into the town. Lother reminded Rand a
little of Emond’s Field, which had been the closest village to the farm he grew
up on. This Falmeran town had a small stream running though it just like
Emond’s Field did and a small stone bridge crossing said stream. Stream and
bridge were both smaller than those back home, but if none of the buildings
here had more stories than the Winespring Inn there were more of them. When he
was growing up the Winespring had been the only building Rand had ever seen
that had a full two stories rather than just a few rooms in a cramped attic. In
Lother almost all the buildings were as tall as the inn back home. The houses
were all made of wood though and their paint was flaking badly. And their roofs
were shingled rather than thatched. It was enough like home to make Rand smile,
and different enough to make that mile sad.
The greeting they received was a lot less warm than might have been expected
back in the Theren. A roughly-dressed man with brown hair and a full beard who
was loitering beside his garden fence greeted them with a sour look. “You don’t
look like the other folk fleeing from the west. Were you in the battle?”
“We’re just travelling through,” said Rand. He had his cloak pulled low again
to hide as much of his face as he could. Perrin didn’t look to be in the mood
to do much talking.
“Good,” said the man. “No room here for any more outsiders. We just finished
getting rid of the last of those Seanchan.” He hadn’t introduced himself and as
rude as that was Rand was secretly glad of it. He hadn’t wanted to have to give
a fake name, and he could hardly use his real one now.
“I have some questions,” he said.
The man shrugged and leaned back against the fence. “Can’t promise I’m gonna
answer them.”
Rand decided to make it brief. “Who’s in charge here?”
“You could talk to Mayor Miriam. She owns the tavern, it’s on the other side of
the bridge.”
Another similarity. “Thanks. I should go.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Rand showed the man his shoulder and moved on. If not for the beard the fellow
could have been the long lost cousin of Hari Coplin.
“There was no need to engage with that fellow,” said Moiraine as they walked.
“Inns and taverns are always the best place to go if you wish to hear news of
elsewhere. Though naturally all that you hear there must be treated with
suspicion. Rumour holds a grain of truth, at best.”
“I know that,” Rand said testily. “I just wanted directions. Don’t worry, I’m
not planning to question every last townsperson.”
“That is a relief,” she said.
The folk of Lother proved as diverse as the rest of Falmerden. In most of the
lands Rand had visited there had been a certain uniform look to the people.
There were always exceptions of course, Rand himself was an exception to the
typical look of a Therener, but most folk back there had a certain similarity
to them. Just as they had in Shienar and Cairhien. Even Andorans were mostly
fair-skinned with lighter shades of hair and eye. But here in Falmerden there
seemed to be no typical look at all. People whose hair and eyes were the same
colour as Rand’s strolled past black-haired folk whose skin was so dark you’d
think they had just spent a full week baking in the summer sun. There were
people whose hair was dark but whose eyes were blue. Some were as short as any
Cairhienin, some stood as tall as Rand. He saw folk with the pronounced eyelids
he had first seen on Moiraine and later become used to seeing in Shienar.
Sometimes those went together with the glossy black hair that was common in the
northeast of the continent and sometimes they were matched with hair the colour
of fresh wheat. There was just no telling who was a Falmeran until you heard
them speak. He suspected it was because Falmeran, unlike the other places he
had seen, was a coastal land and travel to it from far off places was made
easier if you could take a ship. He supposed he could ask Moiraine about it,
but he was getting tired of his ignorance embarrassing him with her. I’ll ask
Elayne later, he decided. The Daughter-Heir of Andor might have been raised in
a palace, but she never made him feel a fool for asking her advice.
Elayne had no love for the Seanchan, and from what he had heard from Min about
their captivity at Falme he could hardly blame her. He didn’t think much of the
Empire himself. That didn’t stop him grimacing at the sight of the crow’s cages
that lined the street ahead. It wasn’t the first time he had seen such things.
The Seanchan had been brutal in their suppression of any resistance to their
invasion and now that said invasion was over the Falmerans were answering
brutality with brutality. Ten Seanchan stragglers slumped in the tall metal
cages hanging from their scaffolds. They were all dead, from the dark-skinned
woman in the sul’dam’s dress, to the tall soldier with his tightly braided grey
hair. The Falmerans had left them to die of thirst and starvation.
Perrin growled at the sight. “No-one deserves to die like that.”
“Get a hold of yourself blacksmith,” warned Lan. “We want to avoid attention if
possible.”
Perrin tossed his head, nostrils flaring. He said no more, just trudged along
in their wake, silently stewing in his anger.
The tavern was easy to spot. The sound of dozens of voices speaking over each
other could be heard from the bridge, as could a woman’s singing. The sign that
hung outside the double doors showed a young woman with long hair above the
words “The Singing Maiden”.
Despite the cold there was a man loitering on a bench outside. He was darker of
skin and hair than the townsman Rand had spoken to earlier but other than that
looked much like him. When he caught Rand’s eye and spoke however he seemed
much friendlier. “You might not want to go in. Tavern’s full and those soldiers
are being a nuisance.”
“What soldiers?” he said.
The man shook his head. “Royal ones I’d have said. Before whatever happened to
the King. Now? Who knows. They’re not here defend us I’ll tell you that much.
They were looking for someone, before they started drinking.”
Moiraine, like Rand, kept her hood pulled well forward. “What is being said of
the King’s death, goodman?” she said.
“Gareth Boan, mistress. And lots of things are being said, but nothing I can
make any sense of. Some say the Seanchan killed him, or Syoman assassinated
him, or this new false Dragon used the One Power to cook him in his armour,” he
shuddered. “Were you at Falme when it happened?”
“You may call my Alys,” Moiraine said smoothly. “I was not present to witness
Kaelan’s passing however. Such a shame. Fortunately he leaves behind him a
daughter and a son.”
“Evelin’s alive then? There was talk that the Seanchan had executed her like
they did her mother.” They had intended to in fact, as Rand had personally
seen, but had failed thanks to Ingtar’s sacrifice. He said nothing about that
though, even revealing that he had been at Falme would bring too many questions
his way. Gareth frowned. “Odd though. Syoman’s declared himself regent but if
she’s alive, well ... Evelin’s a bit too old to be needing a regent isn’t she?”
“Odd indeed,” said Moiraine. “You might almost think General Surtir has reason
to worry about what the young queen might think of him, and thinking that
consider which of the tales told of Kaelan’s death seems most likely. But for
now you must excuse me.” She led them towards the inn’s doors, which Lan
silently threw open for her.
Rand had already heard Nynaeve’s tale of the incident Gareth spoke of. The
Seanchan had killed King Kaelan after his famous general, Syoman Surtir, had
decided to retreat from the battle and left the King and his men to die.
Nynaeve had little good to say of Syoman, but Lan had actually come to the
man’s defence when they discussed it, claiming that standing against the
Seanchan army and their damane would have been suicide. That he had spoken to
Nynaeve at all was almost as surprising as his agreeing with Syoman’s decision.
Lan scorned death and ever since what had passed between them in the Blight-
infested ruins of his homeland Malkier he had kept even more of a distance with
Nynaeve than he did with everyone else. That brief exchange had been enough to
put the former Wisdom in a foul mood for days.
The inside of the tavern was kept pleasantly warm by the fires burning at
either end of the main room. As they threaded their way through the
crowds—Perrin with exaggerated care, and the two Shienarans flanking Rand and
roughly pushing aside anyone who blocked their path—Rand listened to the talk
of the gathered folk.
“Regent to who? A dead girl? That doesn’t make any sense,” one man said.
“It’s probably political nonsense,” groused his companion. “We’ll be lucky if
the nobles don’t burn down what’s left of the country fighting over the
throne.”
“I heard he can fly,” a younger man said to another in an excited whisper
pitched so loud as do defeat the purpose. “Not even Aes Sedai can fly, but the
Dragon Reborn can.”
No I can’t, thought Rand, and tugged his hood further forward.
The youth’s friend looked about them nervously. “The false Dragon, you mean,
right?”
“Oh, sure. That.”
“... by Shadowspawn,” a plump, dark-haired woman was saying when he passed her
table.
“Here? The Blight’s off on the other side of the White Sea,” said her pretty
companion with a toss of her long yellow hair.
“Maybe they were part of the Seanchan’s army. Or maybe they came with the false
Dragon. I don’t know, I’m just telling you what he told me.”
Over it all he heard the singer, and her voice was enough to make all the
gossip he heard seem rude. When someone with that fine a voice was singing you
were all-but obliged to stop and listen so far as Rand was concerned. She stood
on a slightly raised dais at the farthest side of the room from the doors. He
knew the tune she sung, he had played it on the flute often enough in inns like
this while he and Mat were making their way down the Caemlyn Road. “The Rose of
the Morning” was a sad song; he knew the words as well as the notes but had
never sung them in public. Thom Merrilin, the gleeman who had briefly taught
him, had judged Rand’s voice decent enough but hadn’t thought it worth the
trouble of training it, claiming that instruments were easier to learn and took
less practice to maintain. Thom could have had no complaints about this one’s
voice though. Rand’s steps slowed as his attention drifted towards the singer.
She was young and very pretty, and looked about the same height as Nynaeve. Her
colouring was a match for his own though, and she wore her hair just long
enough to brush her shoulders. Her loose dress was a pale shade of pink,
heavily worked with yellow embroidery, and its high neck was not enough to
conceal the size of her bosom. She noticed him staring and peered under his
hood but did not miss a beat of her recital. Rand felt his cheeks redden over
his own rudeness and looked away. He quickened his steps and joined the others
at the table Moiraine had selected.
There were several young men and women hurrying about the huge common room
taking orders from the guests, but an elderly woman whom he took for the Mayor
came to their table in person. Her white hair was tied back, her face was
heavily lined and her narrow eyes had a harried look. With the Shienarans
flanking him and scowling at anyone who ventured too close, the woman focused
her attention on Rand. “You got a bed for the night? You taken care of?”
Rand blinked at her. “W-what?” It wasn’t the first proposition he’d had from an
older woman, but it was certainly the bluntest.
Her attention sharpened at his surprised look. “I’m no young skirt looking for
a tumble,” she declared, having read his mind all-too easily. “I’m the Mayor of
these parts. Miriam. If you’re looking for a place to stay you’ll have a hard
time of it. The town’s full up with refugees. Might be space in Alisan’s barn.
Speak up.”
“We’re not looking to stay, Mistress Miriam. We’d just like something to eat
and drink,” Rand said with what dignity he could muster. “We can pay,” he added
to forestall what he thought would be her next question.
They placed their orders, though Rand’s hopes of finding something as spicy as
the food he had gotten in Cairhien were sadly dashed; Falmeran cooking was a
plainer meat and vegetables style. Once Miriam had bustled back towards her
kitchen, Lan and Mendao rose from the table and went to mingle with the crowd
and gather what news they could. The singer had moved on to “She Wore a Mask
That Hid Her Face” by then, a Valreio lovesong that Rand had never quite gotten
the feel for playing, and he settled in to listen.
“I see the soldiers that townsman was talking about,” Uno said, frowning at a
table across the room. “Half as many as those bandits but still more of a
threat I’d say. Experienced looking bastards.” He blinked his lone eye and
glanced at Moiraine. “Begging your pardon, Aes Sedai.”
Moiraine let his language pass with no more than a raised eyebrow. “We may yet
hope that we are not who they were looking for, given the dynastic squabbles
brewing here. A squabble we would do well to stay out of.” That last brought
her eyes to Rand.
“Just because I wasn’t willing to let that princess be impaled on a stake
doesn’t mean I want to get involved in a civil war,” he muttered. “I want out
of this nation as badly as you do.”
“But not badly enough to use the Ways. Or the Portal Stone,” she said flatly.
Rand turned his attention from the singer to the Aes Sedai and scowled. “I
would use the Ways, if Machin Shin didn’t have a personal vendetta against me.
It’s been lurking on the other side of every Waygate I’ve opened lately. As to
the Portal Stone ... You weren’t there the last time we used one. But Verin
was, and I didn’t notice her complaining when we rode past it. Ask yourself
why.”
Rand took Uno’s grunt for agreement, though he knew the Shienaran would never
openly argue with an Aes Sedai.
“Not the Portal Stones,” said Perrin. “I’d sooner try and swim the Aryth
Ocean.”
Moiraine ignored him. “We must leave Falmerden before your identity becomes too
widely known,” she told Rand quietly. “You are vulnerable here. With the
Seanchan still prowling the Aryth Ocean and the mountain passes blockaded by
Valreis we may have no choice but to dare the Portal Stone again.”
Rand shifted uncomfortably on his seat. You lose again, Lews Therin. “If there
is absolutely no other choice. But only then. It can’t be that hard to find a
way through the mountains.”
The arrival of their meal brought Lan and Mendao back to the table. They
reported their findings between bites. General Surtir had hastened back to his
fortress at Calranell, reinforcing the garrison there against the Valreio
invasion he had been predicting for the past half-year. An invasion that had
never come.
“Peace. You’d think them great captains themselves from the knowing way they
spoke of it,” muttered Mendao after telling what he’d heard.
“Hindsight makes every man a genius,” said Lan.
Whatever his past miscalculations, Surtir had announced his intention to hunt
down and kill the false Dragon who had appeared at Falme. He urged the people
not to be afraid, reminded them that Falmerden had survived greater troubles
than this in the past, and vowed that he would brook no threats to their nation
... from anyone. Whether that was a comfort or a threat seemed to be a topic of
heated discussion among the Falmerans. Opinion was divided too on whether he
could make good on his promises. Falme had tainted his reputation. But one
thing everyone agreed on was that the man’s army sat square across the main
pass through the Zandarakh Mountains and no-one, Valreio or otherwise, would
get past him without a fight. Rand listened to the reports with growing dismay.
“There was no talk of the other passes,” Lan told Moiraine quietly. “But you
can be sure Syoman knows of them, even if the Valreio on the other side do
not.”
“Do you know him, Lan? Could we talk him into letting us pass?” Rand said.
The Warder’s face gave no sign of his feelings. “He fought in the Blood Snow.
He is a good soldier, very driven, very patriotic. Harsh and stubborn too. He
will consider you a threat to Falmerden and kill you on sight.”
Rand grimaced. And not just from the Warder’s words. The Blood Snow was one of
the names they had given the final battle of the Aiel War. Rand had been born
in the midst of it. He didn’t know who his mother or father had been, not the
ones who had given him their blood at least, but Tam al’Thor had found him on
the slopes of Dragonmount beside his mother’s corpse and taken pity on him. He
is still my father, isn’t he? Even if he’s not my blood.
“There was talk of Shadowspawn too,” Mendao said with a frown. “It might have
been just fool southlanders who’ve never seen a Trolloc getting confused over
those tame beasts the Seanchan use, but ...”
“We must assume, always, that the Shadow is hunting us,” declared Moiraine, her
dark eyes shining sternly. “If they manage to kill the Dragon Reborn before
Tarmon Gai’don all will be lost.”
“That will not happen while I live, Moiraine Sedai,” Mendao said. “I swear it.”
Moiraine nodded her acknowledgement but raised a hand for silence. She turned
her cool and unwelcoming gaze to a figure who was wandering too near their
table. Rand followed her eyes and found the singer strolling their way with a
winecup in hand. She received the compliments from those she passed with small
smiles and quiet words and when she paused near their table Rand felt compelled
to speak up. “You have a great voice. The best I’ve ever heard in fact.”
Moiraine shared her cool stare with him too, but the singer’s answering smile
was broader than before. She came to stand by their table. “That is such a nice
thing to say. Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana Corinne, a bard as you may
have noticed. What is your name?” She had a friendly way of speaking but it was
her unfamiliar accent that took him aback. He hadn’t noticed it at all when she
was singing, but the woman was certainly no Falmeran.
“A Valreio bard, working in Falmerden? Some might call that foolhardy,” said
Moiraine. “You may call me Alys, and you may call my young companion here—”
“Raye,” he blurted in sudden alarm. Moiraine’s controlling ways were bad
enough; he wasn’t about to let her start bloody naming him! “My mother called
me Raye.” That was even true, sort of. The surprised look Perrin gave him was
touched with a disturbing amount of recognition.
Leliana smiled. “A lovely name for a lovely young man.” She leaned closer to
peer under his hood and her scrutiny made Rand’s skin tingle in a slightly
intoxicating way. “Light eyes,” she whispered, “fair skin, and ...”
“The guests seem to be getting restless,” Moiraine interrupted. She fixed the
bard with an intimidating stare. “You should return to the stage before trouble
starts.”
“Yes,” Leliana breathed, but he had the feeling it was not in response to
Moiraine’s suggestion. “Forgive me Alys but I could not help but hear one of
your companions address you as ‘Sedai’. Could it be you are an initiate of the
Tower?” She turned her scrutiny on Moiraine, leaning to peer under the Aes
Sedai’s hood too. Mendao winced, Uno muttered a curse, and Lan added his own
icy and forbidding stare to Moiraine’s. This Leliana was either very brave or
much too friendly for her own good, because none of the warnings being sent her
way seemed to be working.
“You should forget what you think you heard and resume your singing,” said
Moiraine coldly.
Leliana sighed. “You are wise no doubt. I had heard that Queen Nora’s advisor,
Sheraine, was a Cairhienin and a member of the Blue Ajah, and a woman of great
wisdom ...”
Moiraine, who in form and dress looking very much like what she was—a
Cairhienin Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah—tutted in annoyance. “I am not Sheraine
Caminelle,” she said. The woman in question had been abducted by the Seanchan
along with another Aes Sedai whose name Rand did not know. Moiraine had taken
her inability to rescue them personally.
“Incoming,” said Uno.
Rand looked to where the Shienaran was glaring and saw the soldiers he had
mentioned earlier walking their way. He gave a small sigh and reached for
saidin, and this time it actually worked. The liquid lightning of the One Power
flooded his body, unfortunately bringing with it the oily foulness of the Dark
One’s taint. With the Power in him everything around him seemed to come into
greater focus, sights and sounds both. Lan and the Shienarans scraped their
chairs back from the table to make themselves some room to move should they
need it. Perrin hung his head sadly, before he too readied himself.
“Making new friends Leliana?” said one of the soldiers, a dark and muscular man
with a lined face. He and his five friends were clad in tanned leather and
chainmail and carried their weapons with familiarity. “Why don’t you come sit
with us instead?”
“The young man is an admirer of music, Colber. I was merely saying hello.”
The soldier frowned at Rand. “Are your ears cold, boy? Why wear a hood
indoors?”
“It’s winter. And I’m not used to the weather in these parts,” Rand said
flatly.
Colber grunted. His expression turned more cautious once his scrutiny touched
on Uno. “Shienarans? Here? I’ve heard of some of those ... and the company they
keep.” His hand drifted to his sword. Lan was on his feet in an instant, hand
on hilt, watching still-faced, waiting for it to begin.
“Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble,” said Leliana. “These are no
doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.” There was a strange cadence to
her accent, she spoke some words slowly where Rand was used to speed, and
others quickly where he was used to deliberateness. It was a pleasant sound.
“They are more than that,” growled the soldier. “Now stay out of our way,
singer. You protect these people, you’ll get the same as them.”
“You should get back, Leliana,” said Rand quietly. “We don’t need your
protection, and you don’t want to get involved in this.”
She gave him a chiding look. “You may not need my protection, but these men
will blindly follow their master’s orders, even unto death.”
“I am not the blind one,” Colber declared, staring at Rand’s half-hidden face.
“I served at Falme. I know what I saw.”
His voice was getting too loud. All throughout the common room people were
pausing their conversations to frown in Rand’s direction. He had to stop this
before it got out of hand. He put a hand on the table and leaned forward
intently, fixing the Falmeran soldier with a hard stare. “If you were at
Falme,” he began, pitching his voice too low for anyone not at the table to
hear. “Then you saw General Surtir defeated by the Seanchan and forced to
retreat. If you lingered longer than that then you saw the Seanchan defeated by
something, or someone, else and thrown into the sea. Are you absolutely certain
you want to face what your general’s nemesis fled from?”
Leliana gasped softly. Colber froze in place. His eyes went very wide and sweat
began to bead on his brow. “What other choice do I have,” he gritted after a
long moment.
“You can take a message to General Surtir for me,” Rand said.
“W-what do you want to tell him?”
“Tell him that I am not his enemy. Tell him that Tarmon Gai’don is coming and
soon we will all have to set aside our differences and unite against the
Shadow. Every human life lost before then, from the meanest bandit to the most
misguided general, is one less person who will be there to fight the
Shadowspawn at our darkest hour. I have no desire to hurt him, or any Falmeran
who is not a Darkfriend. Tell him that if he leaves me in peace I will do the
same for him.”
“I’ll tell him,” Colber said, sounding relieved.
“Good,” Rand said, keeping his voice low. “Now. Take your friends and quietly
leave the tavern. Then gather your horses and ride to Calranell.” With a hasty
nod the man backed off and quietly made his way towards the doors. His soldiers
trailed after him. Many of the Falmerans were still watching curiously but no-
one had fainted or was rushing to stick a pitchfork in Rand’s chest. Yet.
Lan gave Rand a small nod of approval while Perrin stared in surprise. Leliana
was frozen like a rabbit who had suddenly sighted a wolf and hoped it would not
notice her.
Moiraine made a vexed sound. “You should have remained in the camp. But that is
a discussion for another time. We must leave Lother, and quickly. Those men may
be too frightened to confront you directly but what they will do when out of
sight I cannot say. If they speak of what they now know they may bring the
entire town down upon us.”
Rand sighed. “I know.” Anyone, from the sour townsman he had first met to an
old woman like Miriam might take up arms if they knew a male channeler was in
their midst, especially one who had let himself be proclaimed the Dragon
Reborn. They’d kill him with the same haste, and the same disgust, as they
would a rabid dog loose in a nursery. That was his life now, he’d have to get
used to it.
“And the bard?” said Lan quietly.
Moiraine’s ageless face was a still mask, as beautiful as it was cold. “Such a
curious and talkative young woman. Too curious and too talkative for her own
good,” she said. Rand shivered at what she and Lan seemed to be suggesting.
Perrin frowned forbiddingly at them both.
Leliana’s already pale face paled further as the danger she was in finally
dawned on her. “I may sing for my supper but that does not mean I cannot be
silent if I choose.”
“It’s fine,” Rand said. “Let her go. We’ll just have to move quickly.” Perrin
gave a soft, relieved sigh and Leliana shot Rand a surprised look.
“No,” said Moiraine. She and Rand locked eyes. Aes Sedai she might be but he
had no intention of backing down right then, not if it meant letting this woman
be killed. After a long, tense moment Moiraine seemed to realise Rand would not
be easily swayed. Her lips thinned. “The bard comes with us.”
“She does?” Leliana gasped.
“She does,” Moiraine confirmed. “She will remain where her discretion can be
guaranteed.”
Rand supposed he should count that as a sort of victory. They rose from the
table and made their way towards the tavern exit, making a ring around an
alarmed-looking Leliana and shepherding her along with them.
“I haven’t been paid for today’s performance yet,” she said. “The Mayor only
pays after a full day’s work.”
“You’ll have to go without,” Lan said.
“I suppose. But my things. My horse. I must gather them if I am to be
travelling. And where am I going? This is all so sudden.”
“Uno and Mendao will help you fetch them more quickly,” said Moiraine. That
they would also make sure Leliana did not attempt to flee seemed to Rand to go
without saying. Judging by the wan smile on the bard’s face she heard
Moiraine’s unspoken words too.
The journey back to camp was as uneventful as it was hasty. Moiraine lamented
their lack of horses loudly and with a flat stare for Rand as they hastened
back along the road. He bore it in silence as he marched alongside the bard on
her stocky white mare. The long fur coat, thick boots and hooded fur-lined
cloak she had brought were well-suited to the season. Rand and the others’
winter clothes were a patchwork collection. None of them had expected to spend
the winter in Falmerden. Leliana had been surprisingly fast to get ready to
leave, despite the girth of her saddlebags, almost as though she hadn’t been
meaning to stay in Lother long, even before Moiraine dragged her into their
company.
Rand felt a little bad about that so he tried to engage the woman in
conversation as they travelled. “Does your horse have a name, Leliana?”
She patted the mare’s neck. “Yes. She is Schmooples. I have had her for quite a
while now.”
Rand blinked up at her and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Schmooples? That’s ... a fine name for a horse.” Uno snorted, though he didn’t
relax his vigil of their surroundings long enough to glance their way.
“I thought so,” said Leliana, a bit defensively. “But I think you are making
fun of me, Raye, no?”
His smile took on a chagrined look. “Not at all. It is a fine name, just a bit
surprising that’s all. It’s cuter than most horse’s names.” In truth he found
it quite charming. And truth was probably needed now, come to think of it.
“Also, my name isn’t actually Raye. That’s ... an alias of sorts.” The fading
light reflected in Perrin’s yellow eyes when he turned his attention Rand’s
way. But the wolfbrother simply stumped along beside them in silence. “My real
name is Rand. Rand al’Thor.”
Leliana studied him carefully. “That is an understandable precaution. If you
are the one everyone is speaking of. The one from Falme.”
Rand saw little point to denying it, much as he might want to. His smile faded.
“I’m him.”
“And can you ... do the things that people claim you can do?”
Rand suddenly regretted starting the conversation. His channelling was not a
topic he liked to speak of. “The rumours going about are full of nonsense,” he
muttered, fixing his gaze on the road ahead. “But I can channel the One Power,
if that’s what you’re asking.”
Leliana was quiet for a moment. “That is most unfortunate,” she said with a
small sigh.
The talk died after that. The only sounds were the clop of Schmooples’ hooves
and the crunch of their boots on the frost-hardened earth until a bluefinch
suddenly cried in the trees ahead. That was a Borderland bird and not often
seen in these parts. Had a redwinged jay called instead of a bluefinch they
would have found the way ahead significantly more dangerous.
Lan, who had been leading the way, turned off the road and slipped through the
leafless bushes. Rand and others followed, Leliana dismounting to lead her
horse.
A thick screen of evergreen trees hid their current camp from the road. If the
watch schedule had been followed then Chaena, Heita, Ayame and Sar would be
hiding somewhere on the edges of the camp. One of them would was the
“bluefinch” who had cried on sighting them. Beyond the trees was a hollow
circle of low tents, and right in the middle of those tents were two slightly
larger ones. A tall staff was driven into the ground near the entrance to one
of those tents and from it hung a long white banner. The wind was not enough to
stir that banner now, but Rand had become all-too familiar with the strange
creature it depicted; a red and gold snake-like thing, with four short clawed
legs and a mane around its head. The Shienarans had taken to calling it a
Dragon, for the banner in question had belonged to Lews Therin Telamon, the
infamous Aes Sedai who had been called the Dragon before he earned a new
moniker: the Kinslayer. Supposedly Rand was the reincarnation of Lews Therin,
and the banner had now become his along with the moniker “the Dragon Reborn”.
Neither inheritance was a welcome one.
Perrin waved a hand that took it all. “Welcome to the camp of the Dragon
Reborn, Leliana.”
The red-haired bard studied the crowd ahead attentively, noting everything,
even the tired way Perrin delivered his welcome. Her brows rose at the sight of
Verin, who looked up from her notebook to examine the returning party. The
greying woman had the distinctive ageless face of an Aes Sedai and with
Moiraine already having made her presence firmly known Leliana looked
understandably dismayed at the appearance of a second sister. Verin’s stocky,
plain-faced Warder, Tomas, sat near his Aes Sedai with his sword across his
knees and an oilcloth in hand. Just within earshot of the Aes Sedai four eye-
catching young women stood in a circle near the cookpot chatting amiably,
bundled in their fur cloaks. Leliana’s interest sharpened at the sight of them.
So did Rand’s and not just because of how pretty they all were. Elayne seemed
to have decided to help with the cooking again. It had been a shock to him the
first time she did that. Her full name was Lady Elayne Trakand and she was the
Daughter-Heir of Andor. He would not have expected a noble like that to know
which way up a pot was supposed to go, or expected one to want to learn. Even
more shocking than her being educated in such things had been when she turned
out to be the best cook in camp. He wondered if it would be greedy of him to
take a share of the stew, considering how recently he had eaten. Another two of
the Shienarans, Izana and Katsui, were assisting her this evening. Min cut
short whatever she had been saying to Anna and Nynaeve when she noticed their
return and all three women turned to examine the new arrival. Leliana essayed a
smile that was not returned.
When her gaze fell on Loial the bard’s jaw dropped open and her fine brows rose
nearly to her hairline. The Ogier sat reading alone, bothering no-one and doing
nothing to call attention to himself, but Rand still considered Leliana’s
reaction justified. Loial stood fully ten feet tall after all and even a
cursory glance was enough to see that he was not human, despite the
similarities between the two species. Loial’s appearance had shocked Rand too
when he first met him, with his nose broad enough almost to be called a snout
and his too-wide mouth. His eyes were the size of saucers, with thick eyebrows
that dangled like moustaches almost to his cheeks, and his ears poked up
through long hair in tufted points. Some who had never seen an Ogier before
took him for a Trolloc on first sighting, though Trollocs were as much legend
to most of them as Ogier. To his eternal shame, Rand had been one of those
people. In truth Ogier and Trollocs could not be less alike.
At Rand’s arrival the Shienarans scattered about the camp bowed as one, heads
held up but hands to knees. “Lord Dragon,” Ragan called “we stand ready. Honour
to serve.”
The others echoed him, awaiting a command if it were his pleasure to give one.
Even Masema, who saw ill in everything, and had once saw more than ill in Rand.
Masema, whose eyes now shone with a disturbing devotion. Rand almost preferred
it when the man had hated him. He flinched away from remembering the things
that had been said and done back then, but they had still been more
understandable than this utter devotion.
Rand raised his hand awkwardly in greeting.
“Such a colourful group of followers you have ... my lord Dragon,” said Leliana
warily.
“You don’t have to call me that,” Rand sighed. “In fact I’d prefer it if you
didn’t.”
“How did it go?” said Anna when they approached the fire. Stockily built and
with her brown hair cut short, she was an old friend of his and Perrin’s from
back home.
“Not well,” said Perrin. “We had bandit troubles, Falmeran troubles and a too-
curious bard. Moiraine insisted the latter come with us, after she figured out
who Rand was.”
“Ah, so that’s why,” Min muttered. She was examining Leliana carefully, while
Moiraine lectured the woman on something or other. “She almost looks like ...
but no, it’s not her.”
“Like who?” Rand said curiously. Min’s hair was almost as short as Anna’s,
though darker, and like Anna she usually dressed in boy’s clothes. More
importantly she had the unique ability to see images and auras around the
people she met. Sometimes those auras foretold that person’s future. He
wondered if she’d seen something new.
“Never you mind,” said Min, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and setting
her jaw.
“Min doesn’t have to tell us what she sees if she doesn’t want to, Rand,”
chided Elayne gently as she motioned for Izana to keep stirring the pot. Elayne
and Min were good friends, they had even taken to sharing a tent to keep each
other warm during the winter. With her red-gold hair, big blue eyes and pale,
oval face, Elayne was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Though
he would never be so rude as to tell her that of course. She was the heir to a
throne after all.
“Of course, Lady Elayne,” he said.
“And I have asked you repeatedly to call me ‘Elayne’,” she sighed.
“Bandits you said. Was anyone hurt?” said Nynaeve. She had been the Wisdom of
Emond’s Field before going to Tar Valon to train as an Aes Sedai. Nynaeve
couldn’t see someone injured without trying to help them, it just wasn’t in her
nature.
Perrin hid his eyes beneath his lids. “Just the bandits.”
Rand glanced over to where Uno and Mendao were talking with Hurin and some
other Shienarans. No sooner had he looked their way than they took to bowing
again. He jerked his gaze away with a grimace. “We’re going to want an early
start tomorrow,” he muttered. “People we don’t want knowing where we are might
soon know it, so Moiraine will likely want to abandon the roads for the wood. I
think I’ll get an early night.” He wasn’t tired, but constantly being watched
like this was making him uncomfortable.
Elayne looked back and forth between Rand and the soldiers, and pursued her
lips consideringly.
Min laughed lightly. “You should have taken your horse if you can’t walk that
far without needing a nap afterwards,” she teased.
Her words echoed Moiraine’s but the tone changed everything and brought a wry
smile to his face. There didn’t seem to be much of anything that Min took
seriously, even the Dragon Reborn. Her irreverent sense of humour had become a
comforting refuge for Rand in the past weeks.
Rand shook his head at her and waved goodbye. He avoided looking towards the
Shienarans again as he made his way to his tent.
***** Familiar Feelings and Uncanny Differences *****
CHAPTER 2: Familiar Feelings and Uncanny Differences
 
Once inside the tent Rand shed his cloak and winter coat. The air was a bit
chill with nothing but a shirt on but he didn’t mind. If he had to pick between
the two extremes he much preferred to be too cold rather than too warm. The new
sword he had looted from that bandit he dropped beside his saddlebags, where
the ruins of Tam’s fine blade rested. There was nothing left of it save the
hilt, scabbard and a short stump of melted steel, but Rand had kept it anyway,
for sentimental reasons.
Memory assailed him and he found himself staring sightlessly at the place where
his past was hidden. More than hidden; lost forever. Even if he could somehow
safely rid himself of the ability to channel, he could never undo what had
happened at Falme. He missed the Theren. It had been a quiet, peaceful place to
grow up. He doubted there would be much peace or quiet in his future.
A man’s voice interrupted his navel-gazing. “We can never truly go back, can we
Rand? Even if we returned home today, we wouldn’t be the people we were when we
left.”
Rand looked up, unsurprised. There were few people in camp who would approach
this tent uninvited. Even if he hadn’t recognised his old friend’s voice he
would have known who the visitor was. “I suppose not,” he sighed. “It would be
nice to see it again, Perrin. But I guess that’s impossible now.”
The wolfbrother shook his head in denial. “I will go back. Someday, somehow.”
“I hope you can,” Rand said quietly. At least one of them should have that
option.
Perrin snorted. “It’s not as if we can never go home. Or as if we could never
have stayed there, no matter what Moiraine says. Remember the Portal Stone
worlds? In some of those lives I never left the Theren at all. Or those others
versions of me didn’t at least. And neither did you.”
“That’s true,” he said, though that hadn’t prevented those lives from ending
badly. You lose again, Lews Therin. Rand shivered, and not from the cold. He
wondered if the other worlds and other lives they had glimpsed had been the
same for them both. Verin had claimed there were an infinite number of possible
worlds along the Lines of If, but if they had been travelling together during
their mishap had they all seen the same ones, if from the differing
perspectives of their other selves? “Did you see me in your other lives then?”
He had certainly seen Perrin.
His friend looked suddenly intensely uncomfortable. “Sure. Ah. Often.” His
cheeks had coloured and he would not meet Rand’s eyes.
The tent was taller than most but not tall enough for him to stand up straight
and Rand was tired of stooping. He plopped down on the bundled blankets of his
pallet. “I remember being hanged,” he whispered.
Perrin came closer on hesitant feet. “Over ... um ... Edwin?” he said warily.
Rand swallowed. Burn me, it must have been the same ones! “Yes. Edwin. I
murdered him.”
Perrin’s jaw dropped and it took him a moment to find a response. “Yes, well.
That prick had it coming, I thought. He wasn’t nice like Egwene.”
Personally Rand hadn’t seen much difference between the two at all. More
importantly ... “So you met, ah, that is, you saw that girl, Raye?” Shock
raised the tenor of his voice, but not to girlish levels he hoped. He felt
awkward enough as it was!
Perrin’s yellow eyes had gotten very wide. “Raye al’Thor. I remember her.”
Looking dazed he came and sat opposite Rand on the pallet with his thick arms
resting lightly on his raised knees. “You were truly her? How is that
possible?”
Rand shook his head slowly. “I suppose the soul doesn’t have a gender, despite
what people say.”
“Maybe. Though women are still smarter and less likely to do something reckless
and ruin things,” Perrin said. Like taint saidin and break the world.
“That’s what we were always taught, but are you still sure it’s true? I didn’t
feel any smarter or stupider when I was Raye than I do now. There weren’t that
many differences at all to be honest.”
Perrin shook his head. “No. I didn’t have to be nearly as careful to avoid
hurting someone when I—” He broke off suddenly, and blushed hot.
The wicked smile that bloomed on Rand’s face would have done Mat proud. “When
you were the lovely Petunia Aybara?”
Perrin hunched his shoulders and avoided Rand’s eyes. “Petunia didn’t think
herself particularly lovely,” he grated at last.
Rand’s smiled broadened. In some of those lives they had remained Rand and
Perrin, in others they had been Raye and Petunia and in others still they had
been some combination of the four. Perrin had made for quite a big girl; it had
been a struggle to lift her in the two lives he glimpsed where he had been her
husband. “Silly Petunia then,” he said. “I certainly wasn’t complaining on our
wedding night. There’s a lot to be said for such ample cushions. What’s that
saying the Falmerans are fond of? ‘Variety is the spice of life.’ I like that,
it’s very true.”
Perrin let out a long breath. “Blood and ashes. This is beyond weird.” He
scowled at Rand. “And I don’t see why you’re getting so smirky. Don’t think I
don’t recall Raye wandering around with her red braid resting between her
massive bosoms. To hide them, she said. Sure. If that was true—if!—it had the
opposite effect.”
Rand snickered naughtily. It had been half true. Sometimes she really had
wanted to avoid the attention her chest so often brought, to focus on more
important or just less unwelcome things. And other times she had been quite
pleased to flaunt her assets.
“You were always so rough when you played with them,” Rand breathed as memory
assailed him once more. He had always been Perrin those times. Raye and Petunia
had never been more than just friends. Perrin was conservative as a man and had
been even more so as a woman.
“I’m sorry,” Perrin whispered. They were both red-faced by then, and Rand was
growing aroused by the memories the conversation awoke in him.
“There’s no need to be sorry,” he said. “She didn’t mind. Not at all.”
“Good to know,” Perrin murmured.
“Did Petunia enjoy herself too?”
Perrin had taken a firm grip on his own forearms as he hugged his knees to his
chest, refusing to look Rand’s way. “She ... ah, she ... enjoyed it. A lot. The
wedding I mean, not how it all ended.”
Rand didn’t want to think of that part. He willed himself to focus on the good
parts of those memories. Like the shy and surprised look in Petunia’s big brown
eyes the first time he had leaned in to kiss her.
He slowly rose up to his knees and moved closer to Perrin. Setting a hand on
the other man’s—the other person’s—arm, he took him by his shaven chin and
gently turned his face towards him. Perrin’s eyes, when they met Rand’s were as
yellow as a wolf’s and his face was very definitely a man’s face but in them
Rand still saw the echoes of other times, times when neither description would
have fit. His friend and lover waited, lips parted, for Rand to initiate it.
And Rand did, leaning in to softly kiss Perrin’s lips.
For all his restraint and displays of unwillingness, Perrin was quicker than
usual to return Rand’s embrace. His strong hands seized Rand by the back of the
head and urged him to kiss harder. Soon Perrin’s tongue was in Rand’s mouth and
dancing a little dance with Rand’s own. It was just the way he had kissed Raye
after getting in that fight with Edwin for calling her a dim-witted mule. Raye
had pulled at Perrin’s coat then and Rand did the same now, helping him to shed
his clothes. He didn’t break their kiss until it was time to haul Perrin’s
white shirt up over his curly head. Petunia had had curls like that, though
hers were restrained within her long braid. It had been Rand’s great delight to
set them tumbling free in a thick brown mass. He had liked to touch her hair as
he made love to her. He ran his fingers through Perrin’s hair in a familiar way
that sent a shudder through the other man’s body. Perrin’s chest was thick with
muscle and dark hair both but Rand fondled it as though searching for something
else and Perrin let himself be fondled, red-cheeked, eyes closed and lost in
memory.
Perrin was wordlessly pliant as Rand guided him onto his hands and knees. When
he undid his belt and pulled his breeches and smallclothes down to his knees
the thick cock that sprang free was already hard as a rock. Rand’s own member
was straining against his breeches almost painfully.
Rand set his trembling hands on Perrin hairy buttocks and for a brief moment
considered going in raw. They had both done that many times and could take it,
but he knew it was better with some oil. And much better with the natural oils
a woman could produce. As they both had, at different times and in different
lives. He hastily reached over to drag his saddlebags closer and fished inside
for a likely pot. Finding it he quickly removed the stopper and yanked down his
breeches, freeing his cock from one sheath so he could prepare it for a better
one. He knelt behind Perrin and reached around to fondle the other man’s cock
gently with his branded palm while he dipped two fingers of his other hand in
the jar and began to coat himself with its contents. Perrin trembled at Rand’s
touch, just like Petunia had trembled the first time she had knelt before him
like that with her thick thighs spread and her sopping wet pussy on display for
his excited young eyes. He had reached around to pet her sex then too and
brought soft cries from her lips, though at that time in that life he hadn’t
understood why. Having lived as Raye he had a much better understanding of a
woman’s body now. And a man’s. Rand slid his oil-coated fingers into Perrin’s
tight ass and began working them around. Perrin groaned and leaned forward on
the pallet, taking one of Rand’s pillows and hugging it to his cheek. His eyes
were squeezed shut as he let Rand do whatever he wanted with his body.
What Rand wanted was to rest his hungry cock in the warm and willing body of
someone who cared for him. So that was what Rand did. He took hold of Perrin’s
hips and pushed forwards, revelling in the pleasure he felt as his cock met
stiff resistance only to win through and slide deeper and deeper into the tight
hole. Soon his balls were resting above Perrin’s, every last inch of his
manhood was clutched inside him, and both men were breathing heavily. If forced
to pick Rand might have said he preferred the feel of Petunia’s body around
him, but this was wonderful too.
Rand rested a hand on the small of Perrin’s hairless back and urged him to
crouch lower, changing the angle so he could thrust better. Perrin complied
with no more than a light whimper and soon Rand was riding him in earnest. He
leaned forwards and ran his fingers through Perrin’s curls as he stroked his
hidden depths with his cock.
Rand was very excited and saw no need to try and drag things out. He knew
Perrin would want a turn of his own before they were done, and would be happy
to oblige him. He rode his friend hard and fast while memories of their other
lives cascaded through his mind. Petunia’s breasts had been large, he had been
mesmerised by their frantic swaying that time she rode him in their candlelit
bedroom. Perrin had been mesmerised by hers too, that time he took her up
against a tree on the road to Baerlon. He had chased Raye down to try and stop
her from leaving the Theren, not knowing, as she did, that she could channel
and needed to be far away from anyone she cared about. It had hurt them both to
leave him, but what other choice did she have? His chasing hadn’t changed her
fate then, no more than Petunia’s patient tolerance of his wild mood swings had
saved Rand from the taint that rotted his flesh to monstrousness.
“I’m sorry, Pet,” Rand whispered, the pace of his thrusts frantic now. “I
didn’t know how to stop it.”
Perrin had taken Rand’s pounding cock with no more than a rhythm of soft
grunts. But now he gritted out some words. “Don’t call me that, Rand. This is
strange enough as it is. And she always hated that nickname.”
His voice brought Rand back to the present time and place. “Oh? I never
realised,” he said between gasps. “If she’d said I would have stopped using
it.”
“She didn’t want to—oh.” Perrin cut off as he felt Rand’s hot seed begin to
flood his insides. “How many times you ...” He shook his head and hugged the
pillow to his reddened cheeks.
Rand collapsed forwards as the waves of his climax surged through him and into
Perrin. His sweat-slick chest rested upon Perrin’s broad back. It was so warm
and comfortable a pillow that he found himself wanting to drift off to sleep,
but that wouldn’t do of course. He still flirted with the pleasant drowsiness
as much as he dared as his trembling flesh rested atop Perrin.
“Rand,” said Perrin after a time. “I ... I want to ...”
“I know,” Rand mumbled. He bestirred himself enough to slide his almost-soft
cock out of Perrin’s ass and roll over. As he sprawled on his back beside his
friend, sweaty and sated, he said, “You can have me if you want, Perrin.
Whatever you want to do to me I don’t mind.”
Perrin lay on his side. “Are you sure?”
Rand ran a lazy eye over the wolfbrother’s muscular, hairy body and the thick
cock and hairy balls that he now displayed. “I’m sure.” He smiled. “Raye was
too.” She had sucked on that cock once, wrapping her full lips around it as she
took it deep into her mouth. Perrin’s hard hands had clutched at the frame of
the closed door of her room in the King’s Blessing at Caemlyn. As he’d stood
above her kneeling form, looking down at her with desperation in his eyes, she
had known how much he wanted to cut loose, take hold of her long red hair and
just fuck her face until he came. But her gentle Perrin would never do that of
course. He had held himself in check, letting her work upon him with her mouth
until at last he gave a strangled growl and filled her mouth with his hot seed.
She had swallowed every drop and smiled up at him when she was done. Rand
wondered if Perrin would want the same treatment from him now. Part of him
shied away from the idea, but if Perrin wanted it he knew he would do it.
But it was to his belly that Perrin moved him, hauling Rand’s lax form over and
laying him upon the very pillows Perrin himself had so recently clutched. He
hauled his bulk up and spread Rand’s legs as he came to kneel behind him.
Perrin caressed his flesh gently. “I remember ... in the palace at Illian. Raye
lay low to the tiled floor with her pretty blue dress bunched up around her
waist. She had her legs spread ...” He took the backs of Rand’s knees in his
hands, pushed them up to hip height and spread them wide. “Just like that. Her
hair was loose and the flesh of her bottom was so lush I wanted to bite it.”
A rush of memory caused Rand’s face to flush anew. “You didn’t though,” he
breathed. “You pressed your face between her cheeks and kissed her lower lips.
Your tongue felt so good ...”
“Burn me. You remember that too.” In a sudden rush, Perrin lowered his head and
kissed the smooth flesh between Rand’s bottom and his balls. He ran his tongue
along the space, only once and very firmly but even that was enough to make
Rand gasp aloud at the unfamiliar sensation.
It spurred Perrin on. Snatching up the jar he began smearing his cock with the
oil. His excitement was such that his hands shook uncontrollably, as Rand
learned when he began preparing his smooth bottom for the gift it was about to
receive. He remained as Perrin had positioned him, on his elbows and knees with
his legs spread as wide as they would go. Raye had taken Perrin’s cock in just
such a position so many times. Rand would have liked to have taken it in
silence the way Perrin had, but he was simply not as good at being stoic as his
friend was.
“Oh, Perrin. Yes,” he gasped when he felt his friend’s cock seek entrance into
his body. The memory of Raye’s girlish whimper was too fresh in his mind. When
the bulbous head of Perrin’s cock popped inside his tight ring and its thick
length began to follow, Rand found himself echoing the embarrassing sounds Raye
had made when Perrin entered her wet and willing pussy.
“Oh, Light,” Perrin gritted. There was nothing of gentleness in the way he
began pounding his length in an out of Rand’s hole. More memories came rushing
to the forefront of his mind. When Perrin had told Raye of the customs, beliefs
and instincts of the vovok’in she had been appalled at first. It was all so
animalistic, so backwards. But they needed their help to fight the Shadow and
if that was what it took for him to become their leader and for her to win her
war then she would do it. Perrin had been even more reluctant than she,
horrified at the idea of hurting her. He had never suggested doing such a thing
in all their years together. But when they met with the assembled wolfbrothers
and wolfsisters in the deep of the forest and she shed her clothes and knelt
there in the leaves and the dirt before their many watchful, glowing eyes,
Perrin had not hesitated. His golden eyes had defied anyone else to come near
her naked form and the deep growl that rumbled in his chest had been almost
frightening. When he claimed her, there in front of them all, he had not been
gentle. His thick cock being thrust into her virgin ass had made her yelp like
a puppy and the utter and complete fucking he had given her that day—in public
no less!—had left Raye’s cheeks as red as her hair. But that display of
dominance, Young Bull claiming no less a woman than the Phoenix Reborn herself
as his bitch, had been enough to win the vovok’in to their cause. That she had
been brought to screaming orgasm in front of so many people by nothing more
than having a cock shoved up her butt was a humiliation Raye had simply had to
carry with her.
Rand had grown hard again, from the memory and Perrin’s impassioned attentions
both. He wondered if he would have to bear the same shame that Raye had as he
listened to the low growls of the man mounting him.
Perrin thrusts stopped long enough for him to clamber into a crouching
position, his cock moving irregularly in Rand’s butt as he did so. Once he was
comfortable he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Rand’s torso before
resuming fucking him. Perrin’s hips rose high into the air and came crashing
down against Rand’s flesh again and again, driving his cock deep into Rand’s
ass. His hairy chest rubbed pleasantly against Rand’s back and his hands groped
the thick planes of Rand’s chest as though seeking something softer to grip. He
pressed his face against the back of Rand’s head and breathed in his scent.
“You should let your hair grow out a bit. You suit it,” Perrin breathed, his
thrusts coming hard and fast. “Who could say no to a woman like you?” he
mumbled a bit later. “Those breasts ...” Rand had a hard time telling which of
them he was talking to, or thinking of. When, later still, he seized Rand by
the hair and the hip, holding him in place as he drove his cock as deep inside
him as it would go, Perrin let out a strangled cry that was neither “Raye” not
“Rand” but some confused and mangled combination of both. Rand didn’t mind.
They were both him after all. They both had and would accept Perrin’s seed
inside their bodies when he delivered it to them as he did now, the hot cream
burning nicely in Rand’s depths, each spurt accompanied by a shuddering breath
from the man atop him. He hadn’t come again like he’d feared, but burn him if
he hadn’t enjoyed that more than ever.
Perrin fell over onto his side, still lodged in Rand’s body and perforce
pulling the other man with him. They lay like that in silence for a time as
they caught their breaths. Perrin’s warm bulk against his back was very
comforting and Rand let his thoughts drift lazily, abandoning his worries for a
while.
Relaxed as he was, Rand whimpered again when Perrin pulled himself out him.
That brought a soft chuckle from the other man. “I do like that sound you make.
You never used to do that.”
Despite everything Rand felt his cheeks darken again. He hadn’t meant to let
that sound escape his lips. “Well you never used to be as into this as you just
were,” he said snippily.
Perrin sighed and rolled onto his back. “Raye was a more than impressive
woman,” he said as he stared at the roof of the tent.
Rand shifted onto his belly and eyed Perrin shrewdly. “So you liked me better
when I was a she.”
“I never said that,” said Perrin defensively.
Rand grinned. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
“Well I’m sure you thought the same of Petunia, right?”
Rand found himself considering that more carefully than he once would have.
True, he had found Petunia’s pussy a more thrilling sheath than Perrin’s ass,
but if he could swap Perrin for his female counterpart, would he? The answer
came to him quite easily but he was suddenly reluctant to say it. Male or
female, I’d sooner be Perrin’s bitch than Petunia’s husband. There were other
women he would have jumped at the chance to marry, but in this particular
relationship with this particular person ... No, he would not change a thing.
Whatever his private thoughts though, in the end Rand just smiled a little
smile and echoed his friend’s earlier words, “I never said that.”
***** Relations *****
CHAPTER 3: Relations
 
As Rand had predicted they left the roads and headed cross-country the next
morning, but Elayne couldn’t help but notice the final decision had been
Moiraine Sedai’s and not the Dragon Reborn’s. She wasn’t sure what she felt
about that, but then she wasn’t sure what she felt about a lot of things
lately. Even wrapped in her heavy fur coat and cloak she was colder than she
could ever remember being. She did not complain of course, but concentrated on
not shivering too badly as they rode through the snowy Falmerden countryside,
hoping she could avoid embarrassing Andor any worse than she already had.
Elayne shuddered to imagine what her mother would say when she learned her heir
had let herself get taken as a slave by the Seanchan. As worse than a slave
even, for the Seanchan had put a collar around her neck, as they did to all
female channelers unlucky enough to encounter them; the men they just killed
out of hand. Collared like an animal and treated like one too, they had done
their best to train her to obey their every command and tortured her when she
refused to obey. The only positive she could find from the experience was that
she had been spared the rape she had feared she would suffer when she was first
captured; Seanchan considered marath’damane—Those Who Must Be Leashed, as they
called female channelers—to be animals rather than human, and consorting with
an animal was of course a thing that no civilised person would do. Their
perverted sense of morality had at least spared her the attention of their
soldiers.
Even so Elayne woke in the middle of almost every night, calling out things
that humiliated her to give voice to. She had always feared she was unworthy of
the Lion Throne of Andor, now she knew she was. A true Daughter-Heir would have
remained sternly defiant no matter what was done to her, all Elayne had been
able to do during her month’s captivity was refuse to acknowledge the
Seanchan’s rule while they used her as they pleased.
Despite her shame, Min remained by her side. She didn’t know what she had done
to deserve such a wonderful friend and lover, but every time she woke from her
nightmares in the tent they shared she found Min’s arms wrapped around her. Her
love would comb her fingers through her hair gently while whispering comforting
words until Elayne quietened and came back to her senses. She had wept on the
other woman’s bosom any number of times and Min had never given any indication
that she thought less of her for it. The horrible familiarity of the damane
kennels was gradually being replaced with the much sweeter memory of sharing a
bed with Min every night, for which Elayne was duly grateful.
She was grateful too to the man who had freed her and driven the Seanchan from
Valgarda’s shores. Rand al’Thor. To think the handsome shepherd boy who had
literally fallen into the palace garden would prove to be the Dragon Reborn.
That he and his friends had come to Falme and helped free her from her
tormentors had been shocking enough, but what happened afterwards had taken her
to a place far beyond mere shock. In the privacy of her own thrilled heart
Elayne had dared to imagine, when he strode into her cell looking so tall and
strong and beautiful, that she and Rand were destined to be together just like
in the romance stories she had heard; tales of loves that transcended death, of
couples who found each other again and again throughout all their
reincarnations. How else could she explain his sudden arrival in such an
isolated place just when she needed him most, if not by calling it destiny? But
if destiny it was, it was of a crueller kind than she had then thought. No
sooner had they escaped the city than Min had been forced to sound the
legendary Horn of Valere, in order to save them from the surrounding Seanchan
army. The spirits of the Heroes who had answered the Horn’s call had indeed
saved them all ... but they’d also greeted Rand as one of their own, and told
him things about himself he had very much not wanted to hear.
Unwittingly they had told Elayne things she didn’t want to hear too, for now
she was faced with a most unnerving realisation. I think I might be falling in
love with the Dragon Reborn. The worst part was how little Falme had changed
things between them. He could channel the One Power, with all the horrors that
entailed for a man, and he was destined to fight the Dark One at Tarmon
Gai’don, and die there. Those revelations should probably have been enough to
make her want to avoid him, but she didn’t feel that desire at all. Quite the
opposite. And Rand? His newfound title hadn’t made him treat her with any less
of that odd wariness he had displayed since finding out she was the Daughter-
Heir, he was still full of polite “my lady’s” and kept his distance from her.
In fact he was keeping his distance from almost everyone. She wondered if that
was normal for him. Elayne didn’t know him very well; her heart had rushed far
ahead of her mind in that regard. Many men would have loved to find out they
were the Dragon Reborn. The power and infamy the position promised would
certainly have thrilled the likes of Logain Ablar or Mazrim Taim, but Rand was
not thrilled in the slightest. He rode his tall red stallion at the head of
their column, behind the vanguard of armoured Shienaran lancers and side by
side with an Aes Sedai, but far from looking honoured or excited he wore an
expression of utter misery. Odd as it might have sounded, had she dared say it
aloud, his misery just made her admire him more. Ambition for ambition’s sake
was not a virtue. If Rand, unlike those other men, did not want to be the
Dragon Reborn then she felt he would attend to the grim tasks before him more
responsibly.
“I could help you, if you would let me,” she whispered as she rode in his wake
two days after turning aside from the road.
“Help?” Min said, and Elayne’s cheeks coloured. The loose-fitting boy’s clothes
Min had acquired, well looted really, before their hasty departure from Falme
did not flatter her, though Elayne of course was well aware of the ample charms
that hid beneath them. She wore her dark hair cut short, her eyes were huge
black pools and she was far, far more than merely pretty. What would she say if
she knew the things Elayne had been thinking about Rand? Min was a girl and
Rand was a boy. Did that make a difference? Or did she just want it to so her
own thoughts would feel less treacherous?
“Of course,” said Elayne with false brightness. “I’ll help in any way you like,
Min.”
Min looked dubious. “That’s nice.” She patted Wildrose’s neck and Elayne found
herself doing the same for her tall, white Lioness. They had found their horses
in one of the city stables during the aftermath of the Battle of Falme, much to
Elayne’s relief. She wasn’t ashamed to have had herself a good cry after
finding Lioness again. She’d had the lovely mare since she was a little girl, a
gift from her mother, and the thought of losing her to the Seanchan had been a
bitter one. Neither girl looked at the well-wrapped bundle that was tied to
Min’s saddle. Everyone in the party had gotten used to not looking at that
bundle.
“Our sheepherder doesn’t seem too happy to find out he’s a legendary Hero
reincarnated. Maybe he’d have preferred to be Hawkwing Reborn, or that fellow
with the shield,” Min said after an awkward pause. She wore a wry smile, and
rolled her eyes as she added, “Some people. They just don’t know how to settle
for ‘good enough’.”
It was hard to pretend she was stroking Lioness’ mane to comfort the horse
instead of herself. “It’s understandable, don’t you think? Lews Therin Telamon
was rather notorious, and did some terrible things. And the prophecies ...”
Min grimaced. “I haven’t read them. I should have, while we were in Tar Valon,
but I never thought ... Never mind. Are they that bad?”
“They were very ... colourful,” said Elayne. That was the kindest way she could
think to describe all those flowery promises of destruction. In sackcloth and
ashes shall he clothe the people ... Let tears flow, o ye peoples of the world.
Weep for your salvation ... Looking at the sad and weary boy ahead of her she
simply could not imagine him being the monst—the person spoken of in those
texts. There had to be some misunderstanding.
“Blood and ashes. This is definitely not how I saw my life going,” Min sighed.
Elayne looked at her with sympathy. Min had sounded the Horn of Valere and was
bound to it now. So long as she lived, if anyone but she tried to use it no-one
would respond to its call. She couldn’t escape from that. Just like Rand she
would have to be there when she was needed.
The outer edge of the Knotwood was just visible on the horizon when they made
camp that night. There was little cover to be found on the snowy plains so
their circle of tents had to suffice to shelter them from the cold wind.
Sentries were posted and chores assigned but Elayne found herself with nothing
to do. As was becoming his habit Rand retired early, hunching his shoulders
beneath the respectful words of his Shienaran armsmen as though they had been
throwing curses his way. She did not understand that at all.
“How can you know for certain how a man’s mind works?” said Nynaeve when she
asked her about Rand’s behaviour. “He probably just thinks it weird how they
act. We don’t have ladies and lords in the Theren, or armsmen for that matter.”
The older woman was attending to her horse, having stubbornly—and a little
rudely, if she was honest—refused Nangu’s offer to do it for her. Elayne
thanked the Shienaran for his kindness and the loan of the brushes, then sent
him on his way before seeing to Lioness’ comfort. Tired and achy as she was she
didn’t want Nynaeve to think her too pampered. “We don’t have queens or kings
either. And I can’t see that we aren’t better off without them,” Nynaeve
continued. She glanced at Elayne, waited a moment and added, “No offense.” As
if that would make the naked insult to Elayne, her mother and all her ancestors
any less insulting!
She composed herself before speaking. “Actually, and no matter how little you
like hearing it, you do have a queen in the Theren. Legally, that district is a
part of Andor, and Morgase is your sovereign.”
Nynaeve sniffed by way of response.
Elayne shook her head. “I don’t want to argue with you, Nynaeve. Actually I’ve
been meaning to thank you.”
Nynaeve blinked in alarm. “Why? I did nothing for you.”
“Hardly. You returned to Falme to try and free Min and I from the Seanchan,
knowing what they were like and the fate that would be in store for you if you
were taken. That was very brave. Heroic even. I don’t think that I would have
had the nerve.”
Nynaeve grimaced and looked away. “Fat lot of good it did. Rand and the rest
had already freed you by the time I arrived. And Kaelan’s army ...”
“Currently camps around their liberated capital with their new queen,” Elayne
finished for her in a firm tone. “The war between the Falmerans and the
Seanchan began long before we came to this nation, Nynaeve. You bear no blame
for that.”
Nynaeve didn’t look convinced. She finished brushing down her horse with rather
more firmness that the animal might have preferred. The two women didn’t speak
again until they were leaving the picket lines.
“You may not acknowledge the debt, Nynaeve but that does not excuse me from it.
Should you ever need a favour from me do not hesitate to ask.” Impulsively
Elayne reached out and snatched hold of Nynaeve’s hand. The woman stiffened and
scowled at her forbiddingly. She really could be quite prickly at times. It was
surprising considering how selfless she was. “And in a less formal manner,
should you ever wish to speak to someone about your troubles, or simply want
some company I hope you will not hesitate to call on me. As a friend.”
Nynaeve seemed to be fighting back a smile, smiles being terrible things in
need of a firm beating apparently. She really was an odd woman, but a good-
hearted one.
Leliana’s voice rose above the hubbub of the campsite. Trying as the method of
her recruitment must have been for her, the bard sang for them each evening.
She had a fine voice and Elayne felt sorry for her, but not enough to oppose
Moiraine. Not when a misplaced word from the bard could bring disaster down on
them all. From what she had observed Loial and Perrin seemed to be the only
people in the party who did not mistrust their new Valreio companion.
Several of their travelling companions had gathered near the cookfire; half a
dozen Shienarans, including Hurin, as well as Moiraine, her Warder and the
other two Thereners, Perrin Aybara and Anna al’Tolan. Nynaeve hastily extracted
her hand from Elayne’s grip when she caught sight of them and made an excuse
about checking her herb supplies before striding off in the other direction.
Elayne wasn’t sure which of the gathered folk Nynaeve wanted to avoid but
knowing her it could be any or all of them.
She doubted Nynaeve had given it much thought, but her departure left Elayne in
a slightly difficult position. Min was nowhere to be seen and she and Nynaeve
were Elayne’s only real friends in the camp. Other than Rand she supposed, but
he was reluctant even to address her by name. Elayne had no difficulties
conversing with strangers, she had been taught to spar with words since she was
old enough to speak, but she had hoped to avoid such carefully composed
conversations whilst away from her mother’s court. Shienarans as a people were
famed for their sense of formality, and the Shienarans she now travelled with
knew her as both an Aes Sedai in training and an Andoran noblewoman. She
addressed them as they expected to be addressed and was treated the same.
Perrin was no Shienaran, but if anything he was even more painfully polite than
they were. He avoided her eye and she got the impression he didn’t like her
very much. Anna had no trouble looking at her but getting more than two words
out of the girl was difficult. She might dress in boy’s clothes like Min did
but she was nowhere near as friendly. They both seemed devoted to Rand—which
was only to be expected given that they had grown up together—and were among
the few who were welcome to visit him when he retreated to his tent for
privacy, but neither seemed to welcome Elayne’s company. She wondered if
perhaps they mistrusted her around Rand, given what she was and what he had
proven to be. They misjudged her if so; she would not allow him to be harmed if
there was anything she could do to stop it.
But it wasn’t the Shienarans or the Thereners who slowed Elayne’s steps as she
approached the fire. It was her own aunt. Lady Moiraine Damodred, born Princess
Moiraine Damodred, though she had lost that title when her own aunt, the
infamous Queen Laina of Cairhien, lost her throne. Moiraine was the youngest
sister of Elayne’s long-dead father Taringail but in her sixteen years of life
she had never met the woman until the aftermath of Falme. And that might as
well have remained true for all the warmth her aunt had shown her on the
occasions she tried to talk to her since then. Elayne wasn’t sure why Moiraine
treated her so aloofly—there were any number of possible explanations—but she
knew she didn’t like it.
“And there is another thing,” Moiraine was saying. “Three young men have died
in nearby villages recently.” She noticed a flicker of Lan’s eyelid; for the
Warder, it was as much a sign of surprise as a shout from another man. Lan had
not expected her to tell this. Moiraine went on. “One died by poison, two by
the knife. Each in circumstances where no-one should have been able to come
close unseen, but that is how it happened.” She peered into the flames. “All
three young men were taller than most, and had light-coloured eyes. I think it
is very unlucky right now to be a tall young man with light eyes on Toman
Head.”
“How?” Perrin asked. “How could they be killed if no-one could get close to
them?”
“The Dark One has killers you don’t notice until it is too late,” Lan said
quietly.
Uno gave a shiver. “Grey Men. I’ve never heard of one the Soulless south of the
Borderlands before. Would you be able to sniff one of those buggers out if he
came close, Hurin?”
The greying thief-taker rubbed his nose. “Maybe. That lot don’t do much but
kill, and that certainly causes a stink, that it does.” She had heard it
claimed that Hurin possessed a strange ability unconnected to the One Power
that allowed him to detect the trail of any criminal simply by smelling them.
Once Elayne would have dismissed that claim as a wild fancy, but that was
before she started sleeping with a girl who could see the future. She had yet
to see his skill in action, but she was quite eager to do so. Hurin seemed a
nice fellow, and as devoted to Rand as though he were an old family retainer.
“Does Rand know about these Grey Men?” said Perrin.
“Enough of such talk,” Moiraine said firmly.
Perrin ground his teeth. He looked like he had more questions but he left them
unasked. When Moiraine decided enough had been said about something, she would
not talk of it anymore. And when she shut her mouth, you could not pry Lan’s
open with an iron bar. The Shienarans followed her lead, too. Elayne tried to
recall what she had read about that particular breed of Shadowspawn and the
defences that were recommended against them.
“Light!” Anna muttered, uneasily eyeing the deepening darkness around them.
“You don’t notice them? Light!”
“Nothing has changed,” Perrin said glumly. “The Dark One wants us all dead,
Rand in particular, but we knew that already.”
“Everything changes,” Moiraine said calmly, “and the Pattern takes it all in.
We must ride on the Pattern, not on the changes of a moment.” She looked at
them each in turn, then said, “Uno, are you certain your scouts missed nothing
suspicious? Even something small?”
“The Lord Dragon’s Rebirth has loosed the bonds of certainty, Moiraine Sedai,
and there is never certainty if you fight Myrddraal, but I will stake my life
that the scouts did as good a job as any Warder.” It was one of the longest
speeches Elayne had ever heard out of Uno without any curses, and she should
know for she had been listening carefully. There was sweat on the man’s
forehead from the effort of smoothing his tongue.
“We all may be staking our lives on that, Uno” Moiraine said.
“Maybe ...” Anna began hesitantly. “Maybe you ought to set wards that will keep
them out. Like you did in the Blight that time.” Lan gave her a hard stare. He
sometimes questioned Moiraine’s decisions himself, though he seldom did so
where anyone could overhear, but he did not approve of others doing the same.
Anna frowned right back at him. “Well, Myrddraal and Trollocs are bad enough,
but at least I can see them. I don’t like the idea that one of these ... these
Soulless might sneak in here and slit my throat before I even noticed him.”
“The wards I set will hide us from the Soulless as well as from any other
Shadowspawn,” Moiraine said. “When you are weak, as we are, the best choice is
often to hide. If there is a Halfman close enough to detect us ... Well, to set
wards that would kill them if they tried to enter camp is beyond my abilities,
and even if I could, such a warding would only pen us here. Since it is not
possible to set two kinds of warding at once, I leave the scouts and the
guards—and Lan—to defend us, and use the one warding that may do some good.”
“I could make a circuit around the camp,” Lan said. “If there is anything out
there that the scouts missed, I will find it.” It was not a boast, just a
statement of fact. Uno even nodded agreement.
Moiraine shook her head. “If you are needed tonight, my Gaidin, it will be
here.” Her gaze rose toward the dark mountains around them. “There is a feeling
in the air.”
“Waiting,” Perrin murmured. Moiraine gave him a piercing stare. Elayne wondered
at that, as she wondered at the strange yellow colour of the young man’s eyes.
There was a secret there she did not doubt.
“Yes,” Moiraine said after a moment’s pause. “Waiting. Make sure your guards
are especially alert tonight, Uno.” There was no need to suggest that the men
sleep with their weapons close at hand; Shienarans always did that. “Sleep
well,” she added to them all, as if there were any chance of that now, and
started for her tent. She did not even look Elayne’s way. Lan stayed long
enough to spoon up three dishes of stew, then hurried after her.
Putting her aunt from her mind, Elayne allowed herself a small smile as she
caught a whiff of the evening’s meal. Inukai seemed to have decided to be more
generous with the onions this time, as she had advised him. She would have to
be sure to compliment him once she was finished with her share. She wondered if
anyone had thought to take Rand some. I could do that. He would likely admire
my thoughtfulness ...
Perrin’s eyes shone eerily as they followed the Warder through the darkening
campsite. “Sleep well,” he muttered. “I have the third watch, Uno?” The
Shienaran nodded. “Then I will try to take her advice.” He stumped off towards
his own tent, not even troubling to collect a bowl of stew. A concerned-looking
Anna watched him go. Elayne took comfort from that look. Given how long they
had known each other she had wondered exactly how close Rand and Anna would be.
But if the stocky girl was looking at Perrin like that then surely she would
have no designs on Rand.
Elayne came to stand near Anna. “According to what I’ve read Aes Sedai and
Warders can sense the proximity of the Soulless much like they do any other
form of Shadowspawn. So long you stay close to Moiraine or Verin you should be
fine.”
Anna sighed. “I’d rather be fine without needing an Aes Sedai nearby.”
She raised her brows. “How odd. Since they are protecting us from these
assassins I would think gratitude would be appropriate.”
Anna didn’t blush at the rebuke, instead she gave Elayne a sour look. “Given
that your aunt has already promised to kill us all if she doesn’t get her way
I’m not exactly feeling sheltered by her presence,” she said gruffly.
Elayne was shocked. “Moiraine said that? Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand
her?”
“Well those might not have been her exact words but her meaning was pretty
clear. Ask Rand or Perrin if you don’t believe me.”
Min’s voice came from behind. “If you’re looking for Rand he’s sulking in his
tent again.”
Elayne turned to find Min approaching with a pair of empty bowls in her hands.
The Ogier Loial towered at her side. His effort to politely match his pace to
Min’s reduced his gait to a painfully slow shuffle. “Was he sulking?” said
Loial, his long eyebrows rising in surprise. “He didn’t seem so to me. But it
is hard to tell with you humans sometimes.”
Min grinned. “You’re adorable. And you shouldn’t take what I say so seriously
so often.”
Loial’s expression shifted from pleased to concerned to confused so quickly
that Elayne couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s just teasing, Loial. She does that
all the time. You took him his supper then?”
Min brushed her hair behind her ear. Her smile became a little chagrined. “Yes.
He liked it so much he thought you must have made it.”
That pleased her, but she tried not to show it. “That’s nice. It was thoughtful
of you to take him some.”
“Well that’s me. Little miss thoughtful.”
Elayne grinned. “I’ve noticed.”
“Rand does seem to have a way of finding thoughtful and talented people,” Loial
said. “I suppose it is only to be expected of ta’veren, though I wonder at what
roles you are all being gathered to play. I think I know my own ...” The Ogier
looked at them, suddenly shy, his ears twitching. “Promise you will not laugh?
I think I might write a book about it all. I have been taking notes.”
Min smiled, a friendly smile, and Loial’s ears pricked back up again. “That’s
wonderful,” she told him.
“Well, I’m glad you think so. The opportunity to write a first-hand account of
the life of the Dragon Reborn is simply too rich a piece of fortune to
decline.”
“I hope I get to read it someday,” said Min.
“Are we going to be in it?” Anna said, looking suddenly wary. “What are you
planning to say about us?”
“Only the truth,” Loial said reassuringly. “So none of you have anything to
worry about.”
Elayne wondered if her own grin was as wide as the other two girls’.
“Yup. Adorable,” said Min.
Good company can make a good meal taste even better, as Elayne learned that
evening. Even Anna deigned to speak to her occasionally, thanks to Min’s
urging. Those two seemed to get along well. In fact Min seemed to be getting
along well with almost everyone. She had told Elayne that in her hometown of
Baerlon she had been somewhat of a pariah due to her unique gift, but now that
she was freed of that stifling setting she was blossoming most beautifully. It
was her ready smiles that brought Ragan and Izana and the fighting woman Areku
to sit with them around the fire. Elayne found Areku highly impressive. Female
soldiers were unheard of in Andor, though not illegal of course. To Elayne’s
eyes the traditional Shienaran topknot looked especially strange on a woman,
but she schooled herself not to stare too rudely. The only slight negative of
the evening came when Areku and Izana had a disagreement over Rand, with the
woman claiming it was a pity what he had turned out to be, and the moon-faced
young man calling her loyalty into question. But a stern look from Areku and a
reminder that she had sworn the same oaths Izana swore was enough to put an end
to that.
Even in the heart of winter the Knotwood lived up to its name. Leafless trees
grew at odd angles, often twisting around each other, their upper branches so
entangled as to block much of her sight of the sky despite their lack of
foliage. Those few trees that still maintained their leaves in the winter were
bearded with snow and more of it clung to the trunks of the bare trees as
though splashed there by a careless painter. The Shienarans scouted in pairs,
not wanting anyone to be wandering alone in that twisted mass. And they kept
their heavy steel armour on at all times. Their progress slowed to a crawl but
at least they could take comfort in the knowledge that whatever trouble had
been stirred up back in Lother would have much difficulty finding them here.
Three days into their journey they found themselves picking their way through a
tangled copse of yew. Elayne found the way their branches reaches towards each
other rather disturbing. It looked almost as though the trees were frozen in
the act of trying to strangle each other.
Uno and Lan were speaking quietly, though neither man looked at the other as
they spoke, preferring to keep a constant watch on their surroundings. Uno was
nominally in charge of Rand’s Shienaran armsmen but usually deferred to Lan, as
did all the Shienarans save Masema, though that one was so odd that even his
fellow countrymen had begun to look askance at him. It was not merely that Lan
was a Warder—Tomas was one too but he didn’t get the same treatment—for Lan was
also the uncrowned king of the dead nation of Malkier and a famous hero in the
Borderlands. As impressive as that was, Elayne thought him a bit too grim and
cold, but as their journey stretched on she was given reason to wonder if
Nynaeve disagreed.
Elayne had noticed when Lan dropped back in the formation to ride beside
Nynaeve but their voices were pitched too low to hear what they spoke of until
Nynaeve suddenly burst out in anger.
“You have made yourself perfectly clear, Lan Mandragoran. There is no need to
belabour the point!”
Lan stiffened even more than usual. Whilst everyone else, save the armoured
Shienarans, had wrapped themselves in thick furs against the cold, Lan simply
wore his dark grey coat over his green scaled armour, seemingly believing the
cold would not dare touch him. “I believe I have, in fact, made myself clear,
Nynaeve. And explained my reasoning. There is no need to be so angry about it.”
Nynaeve glare got even hotter. “Your ‘reasoning’ is the most stupidly male
thing I have ever heard! Leave me be if all you have to say is the same old
nonsense!” She set her heels to Muscles’ flanks and galloped away from Lan,
heedless of the rough terrain and whatever pitfalls might or might not hide
beneath the snow. With a curse Lan set off after her.
None of those riding nearby could have missed the exchange. Nangu pursed his
lips and took a suddenly keen interest in the thick grey clouds overhead.
Pretty Leliana watched keenly but gave no hint of a response, while Moiraine
wrapped herself in a cold stillness that made the winter’s snow seem warm. Rand
watched Nynaeve ride past him with a sad look on his face.
“So that’s what that ring I keep seeing around her means,” muttered Min. Elayne
did not ask. She was far from an expert on the relations between men and women,
but even she knew that something had happened between Nynaeve and Lan.
When they caught up to Nynaeve they found her looking slightly chastened and
very, very angry. Elayne made a private vow to avoid the woman for the rest of
the day. And perhaps tomorrow, and the day after that as well.
Lan quite wisely chose to join the scouting party the next day, riding out in
Perrin’s company and leaving Moiraine alone. Elayne steeled herself and decided
to make another attempt.
Her aunt was a beautiful woman, but her dark eyes were not welcoming when
Elayne rode up to join her. Rand was not far away and, from the snippets of his
conversation that drifted her way, he was asking Uno for advice. Elayne
grimaced slightly, but focused her attention on Moiraine. Shorter and darker
than she, Moiraine bore little resemblance to Elayne. When standing this close
she could feel the other woman’s ability to channel, and the extent of it. She
was strong in saidar but Elayne was stronger, or would be once she had reached
her full potential. That would not be for some years yet, despite the rigorous
training the sul’dam had inflicted on her, but said training had had the effect
of pushing her development ahead of its expected schedule. She thought she
could match Moiraine for raw power now, if certainly not for training and
experience. But the Seanchan and their training were not a topic she wanted to
broach just yet.
“I was grieved to hear about the troubles in Cairhien, and among my Damodred
cousins,” she began. “Do you keep in contact with them? Who do you think will
succeed Barthanes as High Seat?”
“Aes Sedai are expected to sever ties with their families once pledging
themselves to the White Tower, as you should know by now,” said Moiraine with
just a hint of exasperation. “And severing ties with my family was no great
sacrifice. As to the High Seat, I would expect Barthanes’ sister Caraline to
take it. Neither of my own sisters are particularly suited to the role.”
“I see. I hope Lady Caraline proves a good ruler for the House then. I must
confess though, I find this insistence from the Tower that I discard my kin to
be more than troubling. I do not believe I shall comply, no matter how the
Sisters exhort.” She made her voice as casual as she could. “Come to think of
it, were my brother and I—and Galadedrid, I suppose—among those you were not
allowed to visit, or show concern for?”
Moiraine sighed, but her gaze held Elayne’s unflinchingly. “Child. Even in
normal circumstances an Aes Sedai should be expected to be above such things.
The fate of the world rests on our shoulders. And these are not normal
circumstances, for the fate not only of the world but of all worlds that might
ever be is ours to decide. What do you wish of me? Warmth? Cuddles?
Reassurance? You will not find such things in Tar Valon, or from me. You are my
niece, I do not deny this. I bear you no ill will, but your fate is not, and
cannot be, so important as to distract me from my mission. We must defeat the
Shadow. Nothing else matters.”
Elayne recalled what Anna had said. “Not even the lives of our companions? Like
Min, say?”
Moiraine did not blink. “Neither theirs, nor our own. Learn this well, if you
would ever be more than a Novice.”
“I see. Thank you for our counsel ... Moiraine Sedai,” said Elayne graciously,
but privately she began to wonder if she truly wanted to become an Aes Sedai.
She left her aunt to her chilled calculations and did not visit her again in
the days that followed.
Min had noticed how withdrawn Rand was being and so she took it upon herself to
keep him company. Elayne would often see them riding together during the day.
He smiled more often when she was around, and even laughed occasionally. Elayne
was glad of that. It spoke well of him that he would appreciate Min’s company
as much as she herself did.
She thought less warmly of his friend Perrin. Especially after overhearing him
advise Anna to stay away from Rand, pointing out how dangerous he could be.
That he included the addendum that she should stay away from Perrin too did not
make Elayne think him any less disloyal. Anna, to her credit, bluntly told
Perrin that he was being a fool, and explained that she was hardly going to
abandon her friends when they needed her most just because helping them might
be dangerous.
They had been making their slow way through the Knotwood for more than a week
when she next spoke to Moiraine. It began innocently enough. Leliana was
playing her harp and regaling them all with a fine recital of “The Dawn Will
Come” over the evening meal when suddenly Min fumbled her bowl and almost
dropped it. In her haste to catch it she slopped hot soup all over her hands
and cursed loudly, drawing the attention of the gathered crowd. Min blushed but
Leliana broke off her song with a gentle laugh and claimed to be flattered that
she had so entranced her. Elayne drew Min aside later to ask if she was well
but no sooner had she spoken than Moiraine arrived.
“You saw something about the bard’s future, Min,” the Aes Sedai said. “Tell me
what it was.”
“Min prefers not to be asked about what she sees,” said Elayne.
The look her aunt gave her was not familial. Her voice was calm but chill. “And
yet she is going to tell me.”
Min sighed. “It’s alright, Elayne. I’m used to it. The Amyrlin had me spying on
half of Tar Valon for her.”
“The bard?” Moiraine urged.
“I don’t know the meaning of it,” said Min, frowning. “But I saw a nightingale
perched on Leliana’s shoulder. It was singing and as it sang the sun grew
dimmer until it almost seemed to be nighttime. But when its song ended all the
light that had been dimmed burst back into the world. It was so bright it
almost blinded me.”
“I could be nothing,” said Moiraine softly. “It could be a foretelling of
victory even. Perhaps. It could even be nothing more than a reference to the
Feast of Lights. It begins tomorrow.” Elayne was surprised. Between the journey
through the Ways, her captivity among the Seanchan, and their subsequent
wanderings, she had completely lost track of time. Was it truly the new year
already? It would be the nine hundred and ninety-seventh year of the New Era,
and she would soon turn sixteen. A woman grown. She had always enjoyed the new
year’s celebrations; it would be a shame to miss them.
Her aunt was still preoccupied with Min’s viewing. “How I hate dealing in
metaphors. Have you seen anything else about her? Or anyone else? Rand, for
example.”
“Nothing else,” said Min, looking so stubborn that the lie was plain.
“I do not have time for your foolishness, girl. Do not make me ask again. You
will not like what happens after.”
Elayne found herself scowling, years of trained poise fraying nearly instantly
at hearing Min threatened so. “If Min does not want to speak of what she has
seen, then that is her right. I question your wisdom, Moiraine Sedai, in
threatening her. She is the Dragon Reborn’s friend as well as mine, and he is
no more likely to look kindly on anyone who hurts her than I am. In fact, doing
so seems like a very good way to make him your enemy. Would the White Tower
truly want to make an enemy of someone whose cooperation they need so very
badly?” She would have preferred to use the weight of Andoran power as leverage
for this, but she doubted her mother would lift a finger against the Tower even
if they stripped both Min and Elayne’s hides from them. Moiraine would know
that too, but Rand ... Who knew what Rand would do?
Moiraine answered Elayne’s question with some of her own. “Would he? Would the
world? You girls are playing with fire. Persist and you may get burnt.” Even as
graceful as she was, there was no hiding her anger when she stalked away from
them.
Min looked at Elayne admiringly. “My hero,” she said and her grin held
promises.
Elayne found herself feeling more shy than she had with Min in a long time.
“I’m hardly a hero.”
“I don’t know about that. I would say you have all the makings of one. And you
certainly look the part. The sculptors would love you.”
“Just the sculptors?” said Elayne, biting her lip.
Min laughed. “No. Definitely not just them.”
“Perhaps we should retire early tonight and you could tell me more.”
“We definitely should,” grinned Min.
That winter’s night was as warm as a summer day for Elayne, snuggled under
their piled blankets in the tent she and Min shared, her face caressed by the
fires of Min’s arousal just as her own warmed Min’s soft and gentle lips. The
other girl’s scent filled her nostrils as they lay side by side in the dark,
each with a leg crooked around the other’s shoulder, each urging the other on
towards that elusive, teasing, mind-blowing feeling of completion. Min reached
her destination first and muffled her cries by pressing her mouth against
Elayne’s sex. Her climax drove her to redouble her efforts. Min clutched
Elayne’s bottom in a way that sent a thrill up her spine as she flicked her
skilled fingers against the nub of Elayne’s sex and thrust her tongue deep
inside her. Stimulated so, Elayne could not help but quickly follow her love to
that blissful place. They fell asleep in each other’s arms and awoke the next
morning the same way. Elayne dared to hope it would always be so.
They were late to breakfast that morning for neither girl quite dared venture
out of the warm blankets to gather their clothes. After some timid and mostly
futile stretching towards the discarded garments of last night, and a great
deal of chagrined giggling, Min finally steeled herself and boldly made a run
for their saddlebags, though the way she clutched her arms about her bare chest
and the half-crouch in which she shuffled across the tent floor were not
precisely heroic looking. It did give Elayne a very fine view of her shivering
bottom though, for which she laughed gratefully. When Min dived back beneath
the warm blankets with their clothes in hand she gave a loud sigh of relief and
proclaimed that next time it would be Elayne’s turn to freeze her bits off.
Elayne kissed her in thanks and promised it would be so before beginning to
dress herself.
Their path through the forest took them uphill that day. The snow-dusted trees
fought for space between rocky outcroppings, and soon they found themselves
looking down on a narrow but swift-flowing river that ran between two
promontories that were too small to be called mountains and too large to be
called hills. The scouts began reporting back more often than had been their
wont as the path ahead became increasingly twisted, dangerous and difficult to
navigate. Eventually Lan, Tomas, Perrin and even Anna were sent to help find a
way through.
Rand voiced a desire to join them, which caused an argument between him and
Moiraine. Elayne was not feeling very warmly towards her aunt, but even so she
had to take Moiraine’s side in that. The Dragon Reborn had no business going
scouting; it was silly of Rand to even suggest it. It was becoming increasingly
apparent to her that Rand did not understand how to behave in this new station
that life had allocated him, and with that thought Elayne suddenly conceived a
way in which she might be able to help him.
She waited until Moiraine was occupied with Lan’s latest report before making
her move. A grim-faced Rand sat his horse alone, with only Loial within
earshot. The Ogier was writing something in a notebook and had been for much of
the day. She made a mental note of her own about that. Someone needed to point
out to Loial how dangerous it was to ride and write at the same time,
especially on such an increasingly high and dangerous path as this one. But for
now she had another misguided man to worry about. She steered Lioness over to
stand beside Rand and wondered idly if she was imagining the speculative way
the white mare was eyeing his red stallion. Fighting a sudden nervous blush,
Elayne painted a friendly smile on her face and offered Rand greetings.
“Hello, Lady Elayne,” he responded, eyeing her in that oddly wary way. “I hope
you’re well. This cold isn’t easy on any of us, but it must be especially hard
for you. I can’t imagine a princess would’ve had to put up with this kind of
weather very often.”
She decided not to correct him on the title. “I am perfectly fine, I assure
you. Bracing as the weather is, I still find myself enjoying the chance to see
more of the world outside the Palace walls.” That won her a small smile.
“Though I will confess, I sometimes find myself a little lost, and confused as
to what is expected of me. I tell myself this is only to be expected, since
much of what I see here is outside the bounds of what I am used to.” There,
that should start things off.
“I can’t imagine,” he began, then trailed off with a frown.
“Can’t you?” said Elayne innocently. “Oh, but that reminds me. I have been most
remiss in my courtesies. You called me Lady Elayne and I neglected to use your
own title in response. Can you forgive me, my Lord Dragon? That is how your
armsmen have taken to addressing you I understand. I shall be sure to use it
whenever you call me Lady Elayne in future.”
Rand looked almost panicked. “Don’t do that. Please, I mean, my lady.” He
grimaced.
“Whyever not ... my Lord Dragon?” She had never imagined it would be so
difficult to get someone to call her by her given name, but she didn’t let her
vexation show.
He sighed sadly. “I’m no lord, just a shepherd from the Theren. I’m not ... I
don’t want to be ...” She knew what he didn’t want to be. Her heart ached with
pity for him.
Elayne rested a hand lightly on Rand’s forearm. “I understand,” she said
gently. “But as cruel a fate as it may seem, you are what you are. Will you
turn aside from this duty?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No. I’ll do what I have to do, but that doesn’t mean I
have to like it.”
“I’m glad. The duties owed by a ruler to their subjects and the subjects to
their ruler have been taught to me from childhood. I know there have been some
nobles in history who neglected those duties or abused their position. It is
good to see you are not one such.”
“Well I couldn’t be,” Rand said dryly. “Considering that, like I said, I’m not
a noble.”
“Perhaps not right now. But given what was revealed at Falme you will surely be
landed soon. I do not need Min’s ability to see the future to know that. How
could it be otherwise? And you are off to a good start too, with these
Shienaran armsmen of yours. They seem as loyal as any of the household guards
who accompanied my mother’s nobles to court, and intent on doing their duty to
you. I trust you will meet your duty to them as well.”
Rand frowned. “I’ll fight the Dark One. I already told you that. Though how
exactly I’m supposed to beat him is beyond my imagination.”
Elayne sighed. She had expected no less, but hearing him say it aloud was still
unnerving. If even the Dragon Reborn didn’t know how to stop the Dark One then
what chance did they have? “We will simply have to have trust in the Light and
the Pattern then. Somehow you will find your way. I have every faith in you.
But that is not the duty to which I was referring.”
“What then?” Rand said, watching her intently.
Elayne smiled, and began. “Well, as they are sworn to protect you and bravely
attempt to do so, it is your obligation to ensure that they can do their job
with as little difficulty as possible. As such it is best to coordinate with
the armsmen and let them know where you are going and where they must be,
rather than expecting them to figure it out on their own. That would only
danger both you and them. If you would extend your household’s protection to
another you must let the guards know as well, and see that specific armsmen are
assigned to specific tasks. Though of course this should be done through the
officers wherever possible. You wouldn’t want to undermine the authority of
your lieutenants, since that will lessen their ability to perform their own
duties. It can be rather stifling to be surrounded by guards, as I can
personally attest,” she quite deliberately refrained from telling him of all
the times she had tried to escape her own chaperones—that wouldn’t help her
accomplish what she hoped to accomplish right now, “but even so loyalty should
be met with loyalty, just as formality should be met with formality.
Furthermore ...”
Rand listened carefully as Elayne condensed for him many of the lessons her
tutors had tried to instil in her. He didn’t always seem to like what she told
him, but he never interrupted her. She was left feeling as though he were
drinking in her words, even as his misty grey eyes drank her awareness of the
world around them. When he reached out and seized Lioness’ reins to steer her
away from the steep slope at the edge of the rocky path that Elayne hadn’t
realised they were riding on, she blushed hotly and came back to herself.
And to think I was going to rebuke Loial for not paying attention!“I can manage
my own horse, thank you very much!” She said tightly, then rebuked herself
silently. It wouldn’t do to let her temper get the better of her with him. Not
yet at least.
“Of course,” Rand murmured with a wry smile. “Though speaking of horses, do you
really think that people would get offended at not being allowed to fetch one
for you?”
“Depending on their sensibilities, yes. Some people would take it as a slight,
an implication that they cannot do their job properly. And even putting that
aside there is the image it portrays. A ruler should command, and be seen to
command, in order to show the strength of the nation she rules. Being seen to
perform menial tasks in public would lead one’s rivals to think one weak, too
poor in terms of gold or manpower to afford to have someone else attend to such
things. That is a dangerous belief to encourage.”
As Elayne continued her lecture she noticed that Moiraine, riding once more at
the head of the column, was listening in. It was hard to tell what her aunt
made of Elayne’s words. Sometimes she thought the woman nodded approvingly, and
occasionally the looks she shot Elayne’s way held warning or rebuke in them,
but she never attempted to put an end to their chat. She wondered if Moiraine
would have preferred Rand be left uninstructed in such matters, or if she
didn’t want to tell him these things herself for fear of lessening her position
with him. Either way, Elayne was glad she had approached him about this. The
way he stared at her, and listened so intently to her words, was most
flattering. She rather liked feeling helpful, and dared to hope that she had
helped set the Dragon Reborn on a better path that day.
***** Shadows Sleeping and Nightmares Walking *****
CHAPTER 5: Shadows Sleeping and Nightmares Walking
 
Perrin wasn’t sure exactly when it changed from a normal dream to something
else. Perhaps when Rand was walking by, staring ahead unseeing as everyone he
passed burst into flame. Or when he was searching the Westwood frantically for
the missing Anna only to find a wolf lurking behind every tree, staring right
at him and greeting him by a name that was not his own. It could have been when
he saw Whitecloaks putting Master Weyland in the middle of a huge, toothed trap
for bait, or when Rand confronted a great horde of enemies, enemies that
changed form each time Perrin looked back at them, first Trollocs, then
Seanchan, Aiel, Thereners, a great army made entirely of women. When he found
himself peering into a dry, dusty chamber and watching strange creatures that
looked like the thing depicted on the Dragon banner crawl over Rand’s arms and
burrow beneath his flesh, then he knew. It was the heat. He had never felt such
heat before and wondered why he was not shivering under his blanket in the
middle of a Falmeran winter’s night.
Only a dream, he thought, and with that everything shifted.
He found himself falling from a great height towards a vast peninsula across
which crawled a thousand maggots. At that distance even he could not see them
but somehow he knew they were there. Panic had Perrin’s heart thundering in his
chest. I’m going to die ... No! This isn’t real! No sooner had he formed the
thought in his mind than a huge mirror appeared before him, reflecting his own
wide-eyed face back at him. Perrin crossed his arms before his face to try and
shield himself from the smashed glass as he hurtled towards the mirror but the
anticipated pain never came and the falling sensation abruptly ended.
He unfolded his arms and stared into the mirror, a part of him not
comprehending what he saw, another part accepting. A gilded helmet, worked like
a lion’s head, sat on his head as if it belonged there. Gold leaf covered his
ornately hammered breastplate, and gold-work embellished the plate and mail on
his arms and legs. Only the axe at his side was plain. A voice—his
own—whispered in his mind that he would take it over any other weapon, had
carried it a thousand times, in a hundred battles. No! He wanted to take it
off, throw it away. I can’t! There was a sound in his head, louder than a
murmur, almost at the level of understanding.
“A man destined for glory.”
He spun away from the mirror and found himself staring at the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen. He noticed nothing else about the room, cared to see
nothing but her. Her eyes were pools of midnight, her skin creamy pale and
surely softer, more smooth than her dress of white silk. When she moved toward
him, his mouth went dry. He realized that every other woman he had ever seen
was clumsy and ill-shaped. He shivered, and wondered why he felt cold.
“A man should grasp his destiny with both hands,” she said, smiling. It was
almost enough to warm him, that smile. She was tall, less than a hand short of
being able to look him in the eyes. Silver combs held hair darker than a
raven’s wing. A broad belt of silver links banded a waist he could have
encircled with his hands.
“Yes,” he whispered. Inside him, startlement fought with acceptance. He had no
use for glory. But when she said it, he wanted nothing else. “I mean. ...” The
murmuring sound dug at his skull “No!” It was gone, and for a moment, so was
acceptance. Almost. He put a hand to his head, touched the golden helmet, took
it off. “I ... I don’t think I want this. It is not mine.”
“Don’t want it?” She laughed. “What man with blood in his veins would not want
glory? As much glory as if you had sounded the Horn of Valere.”
“I don’t,” he said, though a piece of him shouted that he lied. The Horn of
Valere. The Horn rang out, and the wild charge began. Death rode at his
shoulder, and yet she waited ahead, too. His lover. His destroyer. “No! I am a
blacksmith.”
Her smile was pitying. “Such a little thing to want. You must not listen to
those who would try to turn you from your destiny. They would demean you,
debase you. Destroy you. Fighting fate can only bring pain. Why choose pain,
when you can have glory? When your name can be remembered alongside all the
heroes of legend?”
“I am no hero.”
“You don’t know the half of what you are. Of what you can be. Come, share a cup
with me, to destiny and glory.” There was a shining silver cup in her hand,
filled with blood-red wine. “Drink.”
He stared at the cup, frowning. There was something ... familiar about it. A
growling chewed at his brain. “No!” He fought away from it, refusing to listen.
“There can be glory for you, even as you stand in his shadow. They will try to
tell you otherwise, the ones who travel with you. Do not let them twist your
mind. Serve him well. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded.”
“No! I am no servant.”
She held out the golden cup to him. “Drink.”
Golden? I thought the cup was ... It was ... The rest of the thought would not
come. But in his confusion the sound came again, inside, gnawing, demanding to
be heard. “No,” he said. “No!” He looked at the golden helmet in his hands and
threw it aside. “I am a blacksmith. I am ...” The sound within his head fought
him, struggling toward being heard. He wrapped his arms around his head to shut
it out, and only shut it in. “I—am—a—man!” he shouted.
Darkness enfolded him, but her voice followed, whispering. “The night is always
there, and dreams come to all men. Especially you, my wildling. And I will
always be in your dreams.”
Stillness.
He lowered his arms. He was back in his own coat and breeches again, sturdy and
well made, if plain. Suitable garb for a blacksmith, or any country man. Yet he
barely noticed them.
He stood on a low-railed bridge of stone, arching from one wide, flat-topped
stone spire to another, spires that rose from depths too far for even his eyes
to penetrate. The light would have been dim to any other eyes, and he could not
make out from where it came. It just was. Everywhere he looked, left and right,
up or down, were more bridges, more spires, and railless ramps. There seemed no
end to them, no pattern. Worse, some of those ramps climbed to spire tops that
had to be directly above the ones they had left. A flash of movement caught his
attention. Splashing water echoed, the sound seeming to come from everywhere at
once. He shivered with cold. It looked like the Ways, but it couldn’t be. It
was too cold. It was never cold in the Ways. Or warm either.
Cautiously peering over the top of the rail, he sought what he had seen moving.
On a bridge slightly below him a man suddenly appeared, tall and dark and
muscular, the silver in his black hair giving him a distinguished look, his
dark green coat thickly embroidered with golden leaves. Gold-work covered his
belt and pouch, and gems sparkled on his dagger sheath, and golden fringe
encircled his boot tops. Where had he come from?
Another man started across the bridge from the other side, his appearance as
sudden as the first man’s. Black stripes ran down the puffy sleeves of his red
coat, and pale lace hung thick at his collar and cuffs. His boots were so
worked with silver that it was hard to see the leather. He was shorter than the
man he went to meet, more slender, with close-cropped hair as white as his
lace. Age did not make him frail, though. He strode with the same arrogant
strength the other man showed.
The two of them approached each other warily. Like two horse traders who know
the other fellow has a spavined mare to sell, Perrin thought.
The men began to talk. Perrin strained his ears, but he could not hear so much
as a murmur above the splashing echoes. Frowns, and glares, and sharp motions
as if half on the point of striking. They did not trust one another. He thought
they might even hate each other.
A prickling in the hair on the back of his neck made him look up. On a ramp
above him and to the right, a shaggy grey wolf stood looking at him.
“No!” He scrambled to his feet and ran. “This is a dream! A nightmare! I want
to wake up!” He ran, and his vision blurred. The blurs shifted. A buzzing
filled his ears, then faded, and as it went, the shimmering in his eyes
steadied.
He shivered with more than the cold. He had been in this place before, on
previous nights, and if he understood nothing of it, he still knew it for a
dream. For once, knowing changed nothing.
Huge columns of polished redstone surrounded the open space where he stood,
beneath a domed ceiling fifty paces or more above his head. He and another man
as big could not have encircled one of those columns with their arms. The floor
was paved with great slabs of pale grey stone, hard yet worn by countless
generations of feet.
And centred beneath the dome was the reason why all those feet had come to this
chamber. A sword, hanging hilt down in the air, apparently without support,
seemingly where anyone could reach out and take it. It revolved slowly, as if
some breath of air caught it. Yet it was not really a sword. It seemed made of
glass, or perhaps crystal, blade and hilt and crossguard, catching such light
as there was and shattering it into a thousand glitters and flashes.
He walked toward it and put out his hand, as he had done each time before. He
clearly remembered doing it. The hilt hung there in front of his face, within
easy reach. A foot from the shining sword, his hand splayed out against empty
air as if it had touched stone. As he had known it would. He pushed harder, but
he might as well have been shoving against a wall. The sword turned and
sparkled, a foot away and as far out of reach as if on the other side of an
ocean.
Callandor. He was not certain whether the whisper came inside his head or out;
it seemed to echo ’round the columns, as soft as the wind, everywhere at once,
insistent. Callandor. Who wields me wields destiny. Take me, and begin the
final journey.
He took a step back, suddenly frightened. That whisper had never come before.
Four times before he had had this dream—he could remember that even now; four
nights, one after the other— and this was the first time anything had changed
in it.
The Twisted Ones come.
It was a different whisper, from a source he knew, and he jumped as if a
Myrddraal had touched him. A wolf stood there among the columns, a mountain
wolf, almost waist-high and shaggy white and grey. It stared at him intently
with eyes as yellow as his own.
The Twisted Ones come.
“No,” Perrin rasped. “No! I will not let you in! I—will—not!”
He clawed his way awake and sat up in his tent, shaking with fear and cold and
anger. “I will not,” he whispered hoarsely.
The Twisted Ones come.
The thought was clear in his head, but the thought was not his own.
The Twisted Ones come, brother.
Leaping from his bed, Perrin snatched his axe and ran outside, barefoot and
wearing nothing but thin linen, heedless of the cold. The moon bathed the
clouds with pale white. More than enough light for his eyes, more than enough
to see the shapes slipping through the trees from three sides, shapes almost as
big as Loial, but with faces distorted by muzzles and beaks, half-human heads
wearing horns and feathered crests, stealthy forms stalking on hooves or paws
as often as booted feet.
He opened his mouth to shout warning, and suddenly Lan dashed by, sword in hand
and shouting, “Trollocs! Wake, for your lives! Trollocs!” Shouts answered him
as men began to tumble from their tents, garbed for sleep, which for most meant
not at all, but with swords ready. With a bestial roar, the Trollocs rushed
forward to be met with steel and cries of “Shienar!” and “The Dragon Reborn!”
Uno and Areku had watch duty and so both were still fully armoured. With a loud
curse Uno pointed towards a gap in the encircling boulders that sheltered their
campsite. Trollocs were racing towards it. Before the one-eyed Shienaran could
give the order Areku was already moving. She planted herself in the gap, shield
up and axe ready and when the first of the Trollocs reached her she split its
skull with the heavy blade. More came behind the first but Areku did not budge
and the foul scent of Trolloc blood filled the night. Uno, seeing another
potential breach in their defence, ran to plug it. They’re here, but where are
the watchers? thought Perrin, recalling Min’s viewing with a sickening sense of
foreboding. Sakaru and Chaena should have been up in the trees. They should
have seen the enemy approach.
Lan was fully clothed—Perrin would have bet the Warder had not slept—and he
flung himself among the Trollocs as if his wool were armour. He seemed to dance
from one to another, man and sword flowing like water or wind, and where the
Warder danced, Trollocs screamed and died.
Moiraine was out in the night as well, dancing her own dance among the
Trollocs. Her only apparent weapon was a switch, but where she slashed a
Trolloc, a line of flame grew on its flesh. Her free hand threw fiery balls
summoned from thin air, and Trollocs howled as flames consumed them, thrashing
on the ground.
An entire tree burst into flame from root to crown, then another, and another.
Trollocs shrieked at the sudden light, but they did not stop swinging their
spiked axes and swords curved like scythes.
A Trolloc loomed up over him, a cruelly hooked beak where its mouth and nose
should have been. Black mail and spikes covered it from shoulders to knees, and
it moved on a hawk’s talons as it swung one of those strangely curved swords.
It smelled of sweat and dirt and blood.
Perrin crouched under the slash, shouting wordlessly as he struck out with his
axe. He knew he should have been afraid, but urgency suppressed fear.
The Trolloc fell, roaring and kicking; Perrin did not know where he had hit it,
or if it were dying or merely hurt. He leaped over it, where it lay thrashing,
and ran scrambling across the camp.
Burning trees cast lurid shadows across the rocky glade. Verin, Nynaeve and
Elayne had emerged from their tents, wearing only their nightdresses and now
stood in the centre of camp, well away from the fighting. None of the women
spared a thought for the cold. Or perhaps they could not feel it as they added
their own flames to those Moiraine had summoned. Min and Loial stayed with
them, clutching makeshift weapons but, at a curt word from Verin, Tomas raced
to join the fray. He was not the blademaster that Lan was but the first Trolloc
to face him was still swiftly dispatched.
Leliana was with them. The hand that held her knife did not shake but she
stared about her as though she had never seen a Trolloc before. Which was
probably the case. Perrin wondered if he had looked that dumbstruck last
Winternight. Less than a year since this madness began. Light, it feels so much
longer. Min and Elayne probably hadn’t seen any Trollocs before now either, but
they had seen things even more shocking at Falme and neither girl wasted any
time with staring.
Perrin veered aside in his mad dash when he saw Izana and Katsui being hard-
pressed. The former was young and slender, the latter scar-faced and blocky;
both had taken wounds but neither showed any hint of yielding to the snarling
man-beasts that tried to push them back so they could flood into the camp. The
momentum of Perrin’s charge, and the muscle built up from years of forge work,
was enough for him to cleave a Trolloc’s arm off at the shoulder and knock it
and its fellows backwards. He matched their snarls with one of his own as he
laid about him with his axe, driving them back.
Katsui laughed, “Yes! At them southlander! Yield nothing to the Shadow!” Perrin
thought the man had to be mad to be laughing at a time like this, but he was
glad to have the Shienaran at his side when the Trollocs rallied against his
charge.
“Where is the Lord Dragon?” cried Izana, yanking his sword clear of the gap it
had found in a bear-like thing’s rusted mail. “Is he safe?”
“I don’t know,” growled Perrin. “Where’s Anna?”
Blood was streaming down Katsui’s cheek from yet another cut. “Go find them,
Aybara. We can hold here!” As if to prove his words he knocked a Trolloc’s
blade from its hand and opened its throat with his curved sword in one smooth
movement.
He hadn’t far to go to find Anna. She had joined the other women in the middle
of the camp and was aiming her longbow at something in the night’s sky. She
loosed and Perrin’s sharp eyes followed the flight of her arrow. A terrible,
high-pitched shriek sounded from above and he heard the desperate flapping of
leathery wings. A Draghkar. At least one. More than that if his sudden
suspicion proved true. The one that Anna had shot was struggling to fly but
each beat of its wings only brought it closer and closer to the ground. Perrin
tracked its movements by sound alone. She must have hit something vital. He
hoped it died; he’d heard enough about the things not to want to see one up
close.
As bravely as they fought, Perrin and the others were massively outnumbered.
Trollocs were clambering over their makeshift rocky walls, ignoring the hasty
defensive circle the humans had formed. Ayame had anticipated that danger and
moved swiftly to intercept the stragglers. Perrin had sometimes though him
almost girlishly pretty, and too slender to move much under the weight of
armour he usually wore, but there was nothing girlish about the quick and
ruthless efficiency with which he wielded his two shortswords. He sprinted
about the camp, downing many of the intruders before they could even regain
their feet after jumping down from the rocks, and duelling any who did.
There were too many for him to handle alone though. As Perrin ran towards
Rand’s tent a Trolloc spun toward him, axe flashing toward his face. He threw
himself down, yelling as steel scored his back. Desperately he flung out a
hand, caught a goat hoof, and pulled with all his strength. The Trolloc’s feet
came out from under it, and it fell with a crash, but before he could bring his
axe to bear against it, it seized Perrin in hands big enough to make two of
his. The stink of it filled his nostrils, goat-stench and sour man-sweat.
Massive arms snaked around his chest, squeezing the air out; his ribs creaked
on the point of breaking. The Trolloc’s axe was gone in the fall, but blunt
goat-teeth sank into Perrin’s shoulder, powerful jaws chewing. He groaned as
pain jolted down his left arm. His lungs laboured for breath, and blackness
crept in on the edges of his vision, but dimly he was aware that his other arm
was free, that somehow he had held on to his own axe. He held it short on the
handle, like a hammer, with the spike foremost. With a roar that took the last
of his air, he drove the spike into the Trolloc’s temple. Soundlessly it
convulsed, limbs flinging wide, hurling him away. By instinct alone his hand
tightened on the axe, ripping it loose as the still-twitching Trolloc.
For a moment Perrin lay there, fighting for breath. The gash across his back
burned, and he felt the wetness of blood. His shoulder protested as he pushed
himself up.
He finally caught sight of Rand, but immediately he could tell that something
was wrong. He was still fully-dressed, as though he had not slept at all that
night, his bow was nowhere to be seen and the sword he had looted from those
so-called Dragonsworn was still sheathed at his waist. Why hadn’t he joined the
fight? That wasn’t like him at all. Usually, lately, you had to try and stop
him from rushing into trouble, not worry why he wasn’t. No-one was near him,
not man or Trolloc, but he was bent over at the waist, clutching his temples
and gritting his teeth. Sweat misted his pale face.
A Myrddraal in its black scaled armour leaped down from a boulder not five
paces from Rand. The creature landed with sinuous grace and turned its eyeless
and unsmiling face his way. “None may strike at the Heart of the Dark ... and
live,” it said in a voice like dead leaves rustling. The sword in its hand was
blacker than the winter’s night.
Rand saw it, he had to have seen it, but he still didn’t move.
Perrin ran towards them. The nearest Shienaran, Sar, also noticed the danger
and broke off his engagement to rush to Rand’s aid.
The creature was too fast, much faster than any man. Before they could reach
him the Myrddraal struck. “No,” Rand whimpered. He screamed when the
Thakan’dar-wrought blade lanced out to pierce his chest, and Perrin howled with
him.
The Myrddraal that had struck at him was thrown backwards from the impact. It
spun in mid-air and landed in a crouch, hesitating only a moment before
advancing on Rand again. Perrin and Sar stepped between the two just in time to
see that the black sword was unblooded and Rand’s chest had not been pierced.
Perrin had only a moment to feel relief before the how of his friend’s survival
dawned on him. What was more terrible, more dangerous than a Myrddraal? Saidin.
“No!” Rand cried again. He clutched his head and staggered, and the mountain
staggered with him. “I won’t!”
The ground heaved beneath Perrin, and the valley echoed with a vast rumble. It
seemed as if the ground was jerked out from under his feet. He fell—or the
earth leaped up to meet him, he didn’t know which. The valley shook as though a
huge hand had reached down from the sky to wrench it out of the land. He clung
to the ground while it tried to bounce him like a ball. Pebbles in front of his
eyes leaped and tumbled, and dust rose in waves.
“Rand!” His bellow was lost in the grumbling roar.
Rand stood with his head thrown back, his eyes still shut tight. He did not
seem to feel the thrashing of the ground that had him now at one angle, now at
another. His balance never shifted, no matter how he was tossed. The trees
flailed about, and one suddenly cracked in two, the greater part of its trunk
crashing down not three paces from Rand. He noticed it no more than he noticed
any of the rest. Everyone and everything around them was being thrown to the
ground. Lightning suddenly crackled across the night sky, revealing faces,
human and Trolloc both, etched with stark fear.
Perrin struggled to fill his lungs. “Rand! For the love of the Light, Rand!
Stop it!”
“I can’t,” Rand gritted. “It’s so beautiful.” The ground gave way beneath him,
the northern edge of their hillside camp suddenly slanting down towards the
narrow river valley below. It began to topple. Broken branches and loose rocks
tumbling towards the chasm. Rand went to one knee, still clutching his head,
and slowly began to slide down with them.
I have to reach him, Perrin thought frantically, dragging himself towards the
broken edge. Sar moved faster. The Shienaran threw himself headfirst over the
edge, one hand outstretched towards Rand, the other scrabbling desperately for
some purchase. “Lord Dragon! Grab my hand!” he shouted. Perrin watched in
horror as the man’s grasping fingers found nothing but loose stones. He jumped,
reached ... and caught nothing but air. Sar and Rand slid over the mountain’s
edge and were swallowed by the darkness beyond.
“A swifter death than he deserved,” rasped the Myrddraal from somewhere nearby.
“But you, yellow-eyed thing. You are known to us. Your death will not be so
swift.”
We come, brother. We come, Young Bull.
The words inside his mind made his head ring like a struck bell; the
reverberations shivered through him. With the words came the wolves, scores of
them, flooding into his mind as he was aware of them flooding over the snowy
land, past bare trees and hard rocks, coming his way. Mountain wolves almost as
tall as a man’s waist, all white and grey, coming out of the night at the run,
aware of the two-legs’ surprise as the first to arrive darted in to take on the
Twisted Ones. Wolves filled him till he could barely remember being a man. In
that moment he welcomed them, and the end of his man’s thoughts. His eyes
gathered the light, shining golden yellow.
And the Halfman stopped its advance as if suddenly uncertain.
“Fade,” Perrin said roughly, but then a different name came to him, from the
wolves. Trollocs, the Twisted Ones, made during the War of the Shadow from
melding men and animals, were bad enough, but the Myrddraal—. “Neverborn!”
Young Bull spat. Lip curling back in a snarl, he threw himself at the
Myrddraal.
It moved like a viper, sinuous and deadly, black sword quick as lightning, but
he was Young Bull. That was what the wolves called him. Young Bull, with horns
of steel that he wielded with his hands. He was one with the wolves. He was a
wolf, and any wolf would die a hundred times over to see one of the Neverborn
go down. The Fade fell back before him, its darting blade now trying to deflect
his slashes.
Hamstring and throat, that was how wolves killed. Young Bull suddenly threw
himself to one side and dropped to a knee, axe slicing across the back of the
Halfman’s knee. It screamed—a bone-burrowing sound to raise his hair at any
other time—and fell, catching itself with one hand. The Halfman—the
Neverborn—still held its sword firmly, but before it could set itself, Young
Bull’s axe struck again. Half severed, the Myrddraal’s head flopped over to
hang down its back; yet still leaning there on one hand, the Neverborn slashed
wildly with its sword. Neverborn were always long in dying.
From the wolves as much as his own eyes Young Bull received impressions of
Trollocs thrashing on the ground, shrieking, untouched by wolf or man. Those
would have been linked to this Myrddraal, and would die when it did—if no-one
killed them first. Others fought on, many still trying to regain their feet
after the sudden earthquake. More wolves arrived, swarming over the prone
Twisted Ones, ignoring the men, biting, killing.
The urge to rush down the slope and join his brothers, join in killing the
Twisted Ones, in hunting the remaining Neverborn, was strong, but a buried
fragment that was still man remembered.
Come, Young Bull. Come kill the Twisted Ones.
Wolf rolled over him, enveloped him. Perrin took up his axe, blade gleaming
wetly. His eyes shone as he raced across the camp. He was Young Bull.
Trees scattered around the bowl-shaped valley burned like torches; a tall pine
flared into flame as Young Bull joined the battle. The night air flashed
actinic blue, like sheet lightning, as Lan engaged another Myrddraal, ancient
Aes Sedai–made steel meeting black steel wrought in Thakan’dar, in the shadow
of Shayol Ghul. Loial had taken up a makeshift quarterstaff the size of a fence
rail, the whirling timber marking a space no Trolloc entered without falling.
Men fought desperately in the dancing shadows, but Young Bull—Perrin—noted in a
distant way that, caught by surprise and without their armour, too many of the
Shienaran two-legs were going down. Min was dragging Heita’s prone form across
the ground, back towards the shelter of the Aes Sedai as Anna loosed arrow
after arrow into the space behind her and a long trail of blood marked her
passage. If not for the fire that still rained from the cluster of women in the
middle of the camp they wouldn’t stand a chance against so many enemies. They
might not even with it.
The brothers and sisters fought in small packs of three or four, dodging
scythe-like swords and spiked axes, darting in with slashing teeth to sever
hamstrings, lunging to bite out throats as their prey fell. There was no honour
in the way they fought, no glory, no mercy. They had not come for battle, but
to kill. Young Bull joined one of the small packs, the blade of his axe serving
for teeth.
He no longer thought of the greater battle. There was only the Trolloc he and
the wolves—the brothers—cut off from the rest and brought down. Then there
would be another, and another, and another, until none were left. None here,
none anywhere. He felt the urge to hurl the axe aside and use his teeth, to run
on all fours as his brothers did. Run through the high mountain passes. Run
belly-deep in powdery snow pursuing deer. Run, with the cold wind ruffling his
fur. He snarled with his brothers, and Trollocs howled with fear at his yellow-
eyed gaze even more than they did at the other wolves.
Abruptly he realized there were no more Trollocs standing anywhere in camp,
though he could feel his brothers pursuing others as they fled. A pack of seven
had a different prey, somewhere out there in the darkness. One of the Neverborn
ran for its hard-footed four-legs—its horse, a distant part of him said—and his
brothers followed, noses filled with its scent, its essence of death. Inside
his head, he was with them, seeing with their eyes. As they closed in, the
Neverborn turned, cursing, black blade and black-clad Neverborn like part of
the night. But night was where his brothers and sisters hunted.
Young Bull snarled as the first brother died, its death pain lancing him, yet
the others closed in and more brothers and sisters died, but snapping jaws
dragged the Neverborn down. It fought back with its own teeth now, ripping out
throats, slashing with fingernails that sliced skin and flesh like the hard
claws the two-legs carried, but brothers savaged it even as they died. Finally
a lone sister heaved herself out of the still-twitching pile and staggered to
one side. Morning Mist, she was called, but as with all their names, it was
more than that: a frosty morning with the bite of snows yet to come already in
the air, and the mist curling thick across the valley, swirling with the sharp
breeze that carried the promise of good hunting. Raising her head, Morning Mist
howled to the cloud-hidden moon, mourning her dead.
Young Bull threw back his head and howled with her, mourned with her.
When he lowered his head, Min was staring at him. “Are you all right, Perrin?”
she asked hesitantly. There was a bruise on her cheek, and a sleeve half torn
from her coat. She had a cudgel in one hand and a dagger in the other, and
there was blood and hair on both.
They were all staring at him, he saw, all those who were still on their feet.
Loial, leaning wearily on his tall staff, Elayne with her brows nearly reaching
her hairline, Tomas blank-faced but watching carefully, Anna with a look that
mingled sadness and recognition. And the Shienarans, those who were not
carrying their fallen over to where Moiraine, Verin and Nynaeve were crouched
over the rest of their number under Lan’s watchful eye. Even they found time,
between their hasty Healings to look his way, and Nynaeve looked especially
worried. He hoped she wouldn’t try to dose him with some vile concoction. The
burning trees, like huge torches, cast a wavering light. Dead Trollocs lay
everywhere. There were more Shienarans down than standing, and the bodies of
his brothers were scattered among them. So many ...
Perrin realized he wanted to howl again. Frantically he walled himself off from
contact with the wolves. Images seeped through, emotions, as he tried to stop
them. Finally, though, he could no longer feel them, feel their pain, or their
anger, or the desire to hunt the Twisted Ones, or to run ... He gave himself a
shake. The wound on his back burned like fire, and his torn shoulder felt as if
it had been hammered on an anvil. His bare feet, scraped and bruised, throbbed
with his pain. The smell of blood was everywhere. The smell of Trollocs, and
death.
“I ... I’m all right, Min.”
“You fought well, blacksmith,” Lan said. The Warder raised his still-bloody
sword above his head. “Tai’shar Manetheren! Tai’shar Andor!” True Blood of
Manetheren. True Blood of Andor.
The Shienarans still standing—so few—lifted their blades and joined him.
“Tai’shar Manetheren! Tai’sharAndor!”
Loial nodded. “Ta’veren,” he added.
Perrin lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Lan had saved him from the questions
he did not want to answer, but had given him an honour he did not deserve. The
others did not understand. He wondered what they would say if they knew the
truth.
Min leaned to look at his back, and winced. “Moiraine or Nynaeve will take care
of that for you. They’re Healing those they can.”
Perrin nodded. His back felt sticky with drying blood all the way to his waist,
but despite the pain he hardly noticed it. Light, I almost didn’t come back
that time. I can’t let that happen again. I won’t. Never again!
But when he was with the wolves, it was all so different. He did not have to
worry about strangers being afraid of him just because he was big, then. There
was no-one thinking he was slow-witted just because he tried to be careful.
Wolves knew each other even if they had never met before, and with them he was
just another wolf.
No! His hands tightened on the haft of his axe. No! He gave a start as Masema
suddenly spoke up.
“It was a sign,” the Shienaran said, turning in a circle to address everyone.
There was blood on his arms and his chest—he had fought in nothing but his
breeches—and he moved with a limp, but the light in his eyes was as fervent as
it had ever been. More fervent. “A sign to confirm our faith. Even wolves came
to fight for the Dragon Reborn. In the Last Battle, the Lord Dragon will summon
even the beasts of the forest to fight at our sides. It is a sign for us to go
forth and spread the word. Only Darkfriends will fail to join us.” Bartu and
Nengar nodded at his words.
“You shut your bloody mouth, Masema!” Uno snapped. He seemed untouched, but
then Uno had been fighting Trollocs since before Perrin was born. Yet he sagged
with weariness; only the painted eye on his eyepatch seemed fresh. He looked at
the growing row of men being tended by the Aes Sedai—few were able to as much
as sit up, even after they were done with them—and shook his head. “At least
we’ll have plenty of flaming wolf hides to keep the wounded warm.”
“No!” The Shienarans seemed surprised at the vehemence in Perrin’s voice. “They
fought for us, and we’ll bury them with our dead.”
Uno frowned, and opened his mouth as if to argue, but Perrin fixed him with a
steady, yellow-eyed stare. It was the Shienaran who dropped his gaze first, and
nodded.
Perrin cleared his throat, embarrassed all over again as Uno gave orders for
the Shienarans who were fit to gather the dead wolves. Min was squinting at him
the way she did when she saw things. Whatever it was he didn’t want to know.
The crunch of boots on rock announced two people coming, and a swirl of air
carried their scents to Perrin. He was careful not to speak names, though.
The Warder had a hand under the Aes Sedai’s arm, as if trying to support her
without letting her know it. Moiraine’s eyes were haggard, and she carried a
small, age-dark ivory carving of a woman in one hand. Perrin knew it for an
angreal, a remnant from the Age of Legends that allowed an Aes Sedai to safely
channel more of the Power than she could alone. It was a measure of her
tiredness that she was using it for Healing.
Min got to her feet to help Moiraine, but the Aes Sedai motioned her away.
“Everyone else is seen to,” she told Min. “When I am done here, I can rest.”
She shook off Lan as well, and a look of concentration appeared on her face as
she traced a cool hand across Perrin’s bleeding shoulder, then along the wound
on his back. Her touch made his skin tingle. “This is not too bad,” she said.
“The bruising of your shoulder goes deep, but the gashes are shallow. Brace
yourself. This will not hurt, but ...”
He had never found it easy being near someone he knew was channelling the One
Power, and still less if it actually involved him. Yet there had been one or
two of those times, and he thought he had some idea what the channelling
entailed, but those Healings had been minor, simply washing away tiredness when
Moiraine could not afford to have him weary. They had been nothing like this.
The Aes Sedai’s eyes suddenly seemed to be seeing inside him, seeing through
him. He gasped and almost dropped his axe. He could feel the skin on his back
crawling, muscles writhing as they knit back together. His shoulder quivered
uncontrollably, and everything blurred. Cold seared him to the bone, then
deeper still. He had the impression of moving, falling, flying; he could not
tell which, but he felt as if he were rushing—somewhere, somehow—at great
speed, forever. After an eternity the world came into focus again. Moiraine was
stepping back, half staggering until Lan caught her arm.
Gaping, Perrin looked down at his shoulder. The gashes and bruises were gone;
not so much as a twinge remained. He twisted carefully, but the pain in his
back had vanished as well. And his feet no longer hurt; he did not need to look
to know all the bruises and scrapes were gone. His stomach rumbled loudly.
“You should eat as soon as you can,” Moiraine told him. “A good bit of the
strength for that came from you. You need to replace it.”
Hunger—and images of food—were already filling Perrin’s head. Blood rare beef,
and venison, and mutton, and ... With an effort he made himself stop thinking
of meat. He would find some of those roots that smelled like turnips when they
were roasted. His stomach growled in protest.
“There’s barely even a scar, blacksmith,” Lan said behind him.
“Most of the wolves who were hurt made their own way to the forest,” Moiraine
said, knuckling her back and stretching, “but I Healed those I could find.”
Perrin gave her a sharp look, yet she seemed to be just making conversation.
“Perhaps they came for their own reasons, yet we would likely all be dead
without them.” Perrin shifted uneasily and dropped his eyes.
The Aes Sedai reached toward the bruise on Min’s cheek, but Min stepped back,
saying, “I’m not really hurt, and you’re tired. I’ve had worse falling over my
own feet.”
Moiraine smiled and let her hand fall. Lan took her arm; she swayed in his
grip.
Elayne was up on her tiptoes, searching the camp with her eyes. “Where is
Rand?” she asked. “Is he upset about losing control of the Power like that? He
is being unfair to himself if so. It’s perfectly understandable, given his
unavoidable lack of training on such matters.”
Anna looked at her with what he thought was a grudging respect. “He tends to
blame himself for things that aren’t really his fault,” she sighed. “Nynaeve
said he was probably sulking in his tent.”
Memory came rushing back to Perrin, memory that had been buried beneath the
avalanche of wolfish minds. “Didn’t any of you see?” he whispered. “Rand fell.”
Anna’s head whipped around, Min went pale and Elayne gaped at him
incredulously.
“Fell where? When?” demanded Moiraine, her voice a whip.
“The cliff,” sighed Perrin. “When the ground shook he and Sar went over.”
Lan sprinted towards the jagged precipice, where uprooted trees and boulders
still hung precipitously as though unable to decide whether to fall or not. Min
of all people ran with him towards the obvious danger. Perrin hauled himself to
his feet and staggered after them alongside Loial and the three women, all of
them looking dazed. Concerned looks began to form on the faces of those who had
been too far away to hear what was said.
Lan feared nothing that Perrin knew of, but he was no hot-headed fool to rush
into danger needlessly. Even he didn’t venture out onto that slope. He leaned
as far over the edge as he could and frowned down at the dark, narrow valley
below. “I see nothing,” he said grimly, then raised his voice to a shout. “If
anyone is down there, call out!” A dozen tense heartbeats passed before they
accepted that there would be no answer.
Elayne looked even more frightened than she had been when they found her in
that Seanchan prison with an a’dam about her neck. Her eyes were very blue, and
very huge. “He can’t be ... Surely he can’t be dead? He’s the Dragon Reborn, he
has a destiny to fulfil!”
“And it is that very destiny on which our hopes now hang,” said Moiraine. The
Aes Sedai sounded as close to scared as he had ever heard her. “We must pray
that the Pattern would not let him die before completing the task for which he
was born, and so that he survived the fall.”
Loial let out a relieved sigh. “Ta’veren. Yes. If anyone could be fortunate
enough to survive something like this, it would be a ta’veren.”
“Gather a search party,” Moiraine commanded. “We must make our way down to the
valley and find the spot where he landed.”
Perrin was the first to volunteer to join. If there was one good thing about
the changes he had gone through it was that they had made him a much better
tracker. You’d better be alive, Rand, burn you. If you’re not ... If he wasn’t,
and the prophecies were true ... then they were all doomed.
***** A Warp in the Weave *****
CHAPTER 6: A Warp in the Weave
 
The arms and legs she wrapped around him were thick with muscle. They demanded,
and he was happy to give. Her lips were soft under his and her sex softer
still, hot and sweet and flooded with her desire for him. The truth of that
last was almost as heady as the feel of their bodies joining. In all the years
of their childhood Rand had never imagined Anna as a lover. He doubted she had
thought of him that way either, but somehow they had found themselves acting as
such now, and Light it felt good. She lay beneath him, there in the dark of his
tent, and it didn’t matter that she was so much shorter than him. He caressed
her modest breast with his hand and moved in and out of her slowly, savouring
the feeling.
He savoured the words she had spoken earlier even more.
“It changes nothing. You’re still my friend, the closest thing I’ve ever had to
a brother. How can you think I’d run out on you?” She had demanded, jaw set in
that familiar, stubborn way.
“I don’t want you to get hurt is all. It’s dangerous to be around me now, even
more than it was before.”
“I know that. I also know that if it’s dangerous for me, it’s ten times more
dangerous for you. Don’t you think I worry for your safety, just like you do
for mine?”
He stared into her piercing brown eyes. He wanted to give an answer that might
send her away somewhere safe, but the truth was too hard to ignore. “I know you
do. I’m glad of it, Anna. Truly. I just wish there was a way ... I wish ...” He
wished that they were back home in the Theren and that they never needed to
leave again. But pride forbade him from saying that out loud. So he settled for
another truth. “I wish I hadn’t learned what I learned at Falme. I wish I
hadn’t changed into ... this.”
“I told you. You haven’t changed at all. You’re still my Rand.”
He wanted that to be true, but it was hard to believe. His being the Dragon
Reborn was not something a normal person would just shrug off. “Truly?” he
said, unable to hide his incredulity.
Anna’s tan cheeks darkened further. “Truly,” she said gruffly.
He had had to kiss her then, and she had proved eager to be kissed. It hadn’t
taken long before she was pulling at his clothes. She extinguished the lamp
before removing her own, denying him the sight of her naked body, but he
recalled it well from their previous encounter. Short, strong and stocky, Anna
had only the barest hint of a curve to her hips, but the cheeks of her bottom
were round and fleshy. They offered a fine grip for his hands as he moved his
manhood in and out of her; when she bucked against him in climax he tightened
his grip on those cheeks, and from the way she thrashed he was sure she liked
that as much as he did. The feel of her pleasure had brought his own flooding
forth.
He must have slept then. He couldn’t remember falling asleep but it had gotten
colder. His feet felt almost frozen. And wet. Anna was wet took, sticky, cold.
Like a corpse. Rand groaned and tried to open his eyes.
Anna opened hers first. They were bloodshot and they stared at nothing as she
lay beneath him, her movements stilled forever. “I was wrong. You should have
sent me away,” he heard her say, though her blue lips did not move.
Rand’s eyes snapped open. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he babbled at his friend’s
corpse. They were somewhere cold and dark and he suddenly he knew that neither
of them would ever be warm again. Something tugged at his feet and when he
tried to push himself up to see what it was his hand pushed down on the hard,
flat plain of her chest. He stared at her face.
It took a moment for his groggy thoughts to realise the truth. Brown eyes
stared upwards at nothing, a tanned face was dirtied by the blood that had
burst from its nose and mouth, but it was not Anna’s face that as bloodied and
they were not Anna’s eyes that stared in death. Relief washed over Rand, then
memory, and finally crushing shame. Sar. That was the man’s name. Sar Ota. He
knew little more of him than that. He had rode with Ingtar to recover the Horn
of Valere, sworn fealty to Rand after Falme, and now he was dead. Rand rolled
over onto his back. Even that small motion was enough to wake the aches in his
body. Cold water quickly wet his hair, or wet it more at least. From the sticky
resistance he felt to the water’s flow, he thought he must have struck his
head. Above them he could see little but blackness. Even the stars were
obscured by the slightly-arching cliff they had fallen from. A cliff that Rand
had thrown them from, he and the man whose body had broken his fall. He took my
death for me, and I felt relief when I saw it was just him that had died. Just
him, as though he didn’t matter. He hated himself then.
The tugging on his body became more insistent and he began to drift away from
Sar. Vaguely he realised they had landed near the edge of the river he’d
earlier heard rushing by, somewhere at the foot of the cliff. The current
pulled him out into the stream and the sudden shock of the cold water quickly
numbed the aches of his body and sent him crashing back into unconsciousness.
Urgent, reflexive choking woke him. Somehow he had turned over and swallowed a
mouthful of icy water. His teeth hurt from the cold but he had a much more
urgent concern. With a frantic kick he righted himself in the stream long
enough to spit out the water and drag in a breath before the current pulled him
under again. Rand quickly fought his way back to the surface, despite the
numbness he felt in his limbs. Once there he retained enough presence of mind
to let himself float rather than try to swim in his condition. He looked around
at the land racing past. It was still dark but that didn’t tell him how long he
had been floating along unconscious. His clothes were soaked and he was
freezing cold. If I stay in this water much longer I’ll die, he thought. It
might already be too late. Dying did not frighten him the way it once would
have. Not too long ago he had been eager to embrace it, if only to avoid the
fate that all male channelers faced. Now ... If I die then the Dark One wins.
He would not, could not allow that.
It wasn’t too far to the shore. The river that had seized him was fast flowing
and deep but not very wide. Steeling himself, Rand swam for shore, forcing his
aching limbs to move. He heard a raven caw from above and recalled the Trolloc
attack on their camp. I hope the others are okay. I hope that bird isn’t one of
the Dark One’s eyes. If it was he was in a lot of trouble. His sodden cloak and
heavy swordbelt threatened to drag him down, especially when the water tugged
at the cloak, but he did not dare leave them to the river. He might need them
soon.
His reaching hands found purchase on the limb of a fallen tree before his
kicking feet could touch the bottom of the river. It must be as deep as the
Winespring back home, he though. Or deeper. He hauled himself out of the water
and crawled over the tree to sprawl on the cold and rocky shore.
He couldn’t stay there. He needed to start a fire, and get out of his sodden
clothes. As he stumbled to his feet he patted the pocket of his coat and was
relieved to feel the presence of his flint. He could light a fire without it of
course, but it would make things much easier. Something whispered to him that
there were much easier ways to deal with this problem, that he could light this
whole forest on fire if he so chose. All he had to do was let the Power flow
through him. Shivering, exhausted, Rand did his best to ignore that terrible
urge. It was far too dangerous a thing, and he had no idea how to control it.
He needed to find shelter. Thankfully the terrain here in this part of the
Knotwood was as rocky as it was forested. He snatched up as many fallen twigs
and branches as he could as he headed inland. Thankfully he hadn’t far to
stumble before a likely overhang caught his eye.
When he reached it he dropped the wood on the ground underneath, which was hard
and cold but thankfully free of snow. It was a struggle to unbuckle his
swordbelt, his hands were so numb, but he managed eventually and dumped it
unceremoniously to the dirt. The sodden fur cloak soon joined it and his red
wool coat too. Tam had told him that wet clothes were worse than none in
weather like this. As he dragged his wet shirt over his head he heard a mocking
caw from behind. A glance showed a crow perched on the bare branch of a tree.
It would have been just within a stone’s reach if he had time to try and hit
it, or trusted his shaking hands to make the throw. Instead he stripped off and
made himself move as much as he could to try and ward off the cutting cold that
assailed him. He stamped his feet as he went to work on the ground, using the
looted sword to dig a firepit, heedless both of the damage done to the blade
and of the pain in his cold feet.
The crow’s mocking brought to mind a vague memory of a dream he’d been having,
just before the camp was attacked. Selene had been telling him something,
something about fools. Or was he the fool she cursed? He supposed it didn’t
matter. It had just been a dream, after all.
When he was done with the digging he laid the base of the fire and placed all
his twigs atop it. He stripped as much bark from the gathered branches as he
could to add to the small pile, before laying the branches themselves nearby.
Swinging his arms wildly, Rand went to fetch his flint and belt knife. He was
sure he made a ridiculous spectacle for the watching crow, but he needed to
keep his body as warm as he could. When he returned with the flint he struck
sparks from it onto the twigs at the first attempt and blew softly until a
small fire laid its welcome kiss on his cheek. His branches he arranged atop
it, before making himself jump up and down on the spot nearby, waiting for
enough heat to gather in the small alcove.
The crow’s mocking caws sparked a grim foreboding in Rand. He was already half-
convinced it was spying on him. How long until it brought the Shadowspawn down
on him? He wondered if he could lose it in the trees. Or at least force it to
come close enough that he could hit it with a stone. Just as soon as his hands
stopped shaking. I wish I had my bow.
Once he began to feel warm enough that he thought he might survive his dunking,
Rand gathered his discarded garments. The shirt and socks and underwear were
useless right now; it would take too long for them to dry. But the coat and
breeches were good wool, and he would trust them to protect him from the cold.
He left them near the fire for only a short time, to try and drive at least a
little of the damp from them, before deciding he couldn’t stand the cold air
any longer and dragging the breeches back on. They were a far cry from
comfortable, but that was a very distant concern just then. He buttoned the
coat around himself before dumping the remaining water from his leather boots
and putting them on. The fur cloak he left to dry by the fire as he crouched
beside it, shivering and rubbing his hands together vigorously.
The damned crow’s caws were getting on his nerves. In a fit of temper, Rand
snatched up a loose stone in his hand and hurled it at the bird. His aim was
terrible but the show of aggression at least drove the thing to take flight. It
perched atop a tree farther away from his fire, but its caws could still be
heard. He felt spurred to flee, but didn’t dare leave until he was in better
condition. Where are the others? Are they still alive? If so they would be
looking for him. Moiraine would never let him out of her sight for long, not
now.
He had no food with him, or a reliable means of catching some, even if it had
not been winter. He had eaten well in recent days though, he was in no danger
of starving. Yet. I’d still happily eat that bloody crow, burn me if I
wouldn’t.
Dawn’s light had silvered the forest around him when Rand decided it was time
to move. It was a ghostly place, this winter woodland. He felt hunted and
exposed, and resolved to rectify both problems by moving deeper into the trees.
By then the worst of the damp had been driven from his clothes, so he happily
wrapped the thick fur cloak around his shoulders once more and pulled up its
hood. His underclothes he left behind, but the sword he carried in his hands,
having decided he didn’t trust the sheath not to resist his draw if he needed
to arm himself in a hurry.
He filled his pockets with small stones before setting out, then sought the
void as Tam had taught him. But the crow did not follow him as he had expected.
Its mocking caws faded into nothingness as he walked. He needed to find high
ground, he decided. Those two near-mountains they had been camping on shouldn’t
be too hard to find again if he could get a clear view. Then he could angle
back towards them. It would be easier to follow the river of course, but if the
Shadowspawn knew where he had washed ashore then he could easily find himself
blundering into a Trolloc horde instead of finding his friends.
Though come to think of it he had felt ... something just before Lan raised his
alarm the night before. He hadn’t been exactly sure what he had felt, just a
sense of wrongness.
I felt them coming, he realised. I didn’t know what it was, though. They feel
like the taint onsaidin. Andsaidinis always there, calling to me, singing to
me. By the time I knew the difference ... If I could only control it, I could
have given warning before they were even close.
Lan and Moiraine had often claimed they could tell when Shadowspawn were
nearby. Had that feeling been what they meant? Rand could channel too after
all, however unwelcome the ability was. Perhaps what applied to Moiraine also
applied to him. If so, hopefully he would have some warning should there be
another attack.
He didn’t feel the presence of any Trollocs now, but the sensation of being
watched returned. It wasn’t hard to spot the culprit; its coat was a mixture of
red and black that stood out against the snow. It was the size of a wolf, but
this was no wolf, just a wild dog. Rand still eyed it warily and hefted his
blade. He had no doubt that if it was hungry enough and thought him weak the
animal would attack. They had never kept any pet dogs back on the farm. Tam
hadn’t trusted them with the chickens, though the dog Perrin’s family owned,
Hunter, had seemed friendly enough to Rand. This beast was not so friendly,
there was no wagged tail or happy greetings here. It shadowed his path for
almost an hour, plainly mulling over whether to attack or not, before finally
deciding there was easier prey to be found elsewhere.
When the land began to slope upwards and the trees thinned enough to allow a
glimpse of a rocky hill ahead, Rand quickened his pace. The wind tugged at his
cloak once he left the shelter of the trees and began his ascent. He hadn’t yet
reached the boulder-strewn top of the hill when he spied the location of his
former campsite in the distance. And distance was the word for it. The river
must have run faster and carried him farther than he’d realised because the
near-mountains looked surprisingly small to his eyes. A day’s walk in this
terrain, he judged. Maybe two.
At closer inspection the rocks that ringed the hilltop proved to be the ruins
of some kind of human building. It was hard to tell what it had been or who had
made it, but it had fallen to pieces a long time ago. The arches and columns
that had once been so carefully carved were only barely distinguishable from
natural rocky formations now. It would not be long before time returned them to
their natural state. If time is a Wheel like they say, then everything just
goes back to the way it was eventually. And starts over again. The thought
troubled him in a way he could not express.
“Well, well. What have we here?” drawled a woman’s voice mockingly. Rand spun
at the sudden sound, his sword rising instinctively, and glimpsed her wending
her way slowly through the fallen ruins. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A
scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or
merely an intruder, come into these Shadowspawn-filled wilds of mine in search
of easy prey?” The speaker proved younger than her words would suggest, perhaps
close to his own age. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, strands
falling loose to frame a pale face that was more than pretty and partially
obscure eyes of a light brown, almost amber colour. Those eyes watched him
intently, and carefully, as she advanced. The dress that covered her svelte
form was a ragged thing, its black skirts cut off unevenly at the knees,
revealing fur-lined boots and loose breeches of the same colour. Raven feathers
had been sewn across the shoulders of her dress and poked out from beneath her
loose burgundy shawl. She looked strange and exotic to Rand’s eyes, and the
heavy gold necklace she displayed atop her dark ensemble was nowhere near
enough to obscure the fact that this was a woman more familiar with the forest
than with any town. Even so, she knew when a silence had stretched rudely long,
perhaps better than Rand himself did. “Well? What say you?” she demanded
testily, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
Rand realised he had been staring. He gave his head a single annoyed shake.
“Vulture, scavenger, intruder? Not very good choices those. If I had to pick
one, I’d go with intruder. But then I’d have to wonder just how exactly these
are your woods, miss ...?”
She laughed lightly. “Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can
you claim the same? I have watched your progress for some time, handsome lad.
‘Where does he go?’ I wondered. ‘Why is he here?’ Tell me your name and I shall
tell you mine, let us be civilised.”
He hesitated before answering, but despite the events at Falme his name was not
yet common knowledge in Falmerden. And he suspected this girl would be among
the last to hear the rumours that had flown east ahead of him. “I am Rand
al’Thor. A pleasure to meet you.”
She showed no sign of recognising the name, he was glad to note. “Well that is
a proper civil greeting, even here in the wilds. You may call me Morrigan.
Shall I guess your purpose? You seek shelter, perhaps?”
Evening was not far off. Was that why she had approached him? Pity? It stung
his pride. “I’m not a complete stranger to the outdoors,” Rand said. “I can
make my own shelter for the night.”
“No doubt. But why huddle beneath your cloak atop the snowy earth when you
could sleep in a bed tonight? There is a place not far from here where you
could find sanctuary and a warm meal.”
Rand frowned. “I thought there were no settlements in the Knotwood?”
“None that answer to that woman in her city,” Morrigan said disdainfully. “None
that will appear on any map you may have seen. But still we are born, and live,
and worship, and die.”
Rand nodded slowly. “Ingtar mentioned that. Rugged places not controlled by any
of the nations.” His own Theren might be considered such a place, come to think
of it, at least if Andor didn’t still insist they were a part of it.
“Ooo. You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!” she mocked.
“Hardly,” drawled Rand. Something about her put his back up. “Can you take me
to this sanctuary of yours?”
“Hmph. There is a sensible request,” she gave a small, secretive smile. “I like
you.”
She was very attractive, this Morrigan. But for some reason Rand felt more wary
than ardent. He watched her carefully, at a loss for how to respond to her
statement. After a brief pause she shrugged dismissively and turned back
towards the slope of the hill. “Follow me then, if it pleases you.”
Morrigan led him north into the forest, wending her way through the tangled
foliage with agile confidence, leaving little by way of a trail behind her.
Rand had not been intent on stealth before, since his pursuers could just as
easily be friends as foes, but Morrigan’s easy display of woodcraft inspired
him to try and improve his own. They moved in silence, which Morrigan seemed
perfectly fine with, but recent events in his life had instilled a great
wariness in Rand, and the silence between he and this stranger wore on his
nerves. The woods were beginning to darken around them when Rand decided he
could stand it no longer.
“Morrigan. I’d like to ask you something,” Rand said abruptly.
She frowned back over her shoulder at him. “If you must.”
“Did you grow up in the Knotwood?” he asked, picking what he thought would be
the least intrusive beginning.
“Why do you ask me such questions,” she snapped. “I do not probe you for
pointless information, do I?”
Rand raised a brow in surprise. He was suddenly reminded of Nynaeve. The Wisdom
hated to be questioned too. “I was just curious that’s all,” he sighed.
“What was it you asked me?” she relented after a small, awkward silence. “If I
grew up in the wilds? A curious question. Where else would you picture me? For
many years these woods and their creatures were more real to me than any tale
of the world outside.”
“Have you ever left the Knotwood? I hadn’t left my own home until last
Winternight.”
“I have seen the lands outside these trees, yes. In time I grew curious,” she
continued, her voice turning reminiscent. “I left the wilds to explore what lay
beyond. Never for long. Brief forays into a civilised wilderness. I have been
as far as the town southwest of here called Lother. I watched its people and
pondered what curious beings they are. On occasion I purchased goods from the
village merchants. There I spoke with men, a little. There they stared and knew
me for an outsider.”
“But you always came back to the Knotwood? The wilds as you call it.” Rand
could understand that. He would go back to the Theren and pretend he’d never
left if he could. But that was impossible now.
“Would you not do the same?” said Morrigan. “Your world is an unforgiving and
cold place. The wilds I hail from are home to me and I a natural denizen. For
all that I had been taught, the truth of the civilized lands proved to be ...
overwhelming. I was unfamiliar with so much. So confidant and bold was I, but
there was much that my mother could never have prepared me for.”
Rand could easily recall how overwhelming his own experiences after leaving the
Theren had been. At least he had had company; from the sound of it, Morrigan
had ventured out alone. “It was very daring of you to go at all,” he allowed.
Her short laugh might have been called a giggle, if he could bring himself to
associate such a term with this wild woman. “Equal parts daring and foolhardy,
perhaps,” she said.
She crossed her arms. “Only once was I attacked, and that by a bard who
happened to be travelling with a merchant caravan that I had spied. He claimed
I had taken something that belonged to him, which called quite the crowd down
upon us. I acted the terrified girl, told him, loudly, that I just didn’t want
to do the things he had been asking me to do, not with a stranger, and,
naturally, he was arrested.” She sounded amused at the recollection. Rand
refrained from asking if she had, in fact, taken something from the man, or if
he had really done the things she had accused him of.
“That was quick thinking,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Morrigan’s smile was sharp. “Men are always willing to believe two things about
a woman. One, that she is weak, and two, that she finds him attractive,” she
scoffed. “I played the weakling and batted my eyelashes at the captain of the
guard. Hmph. Child’s play.”
“The point being,” she continued, “that I was able to move through Falmeran
lands fairly easily. Not that I did not have trouble. There are things about
outside society that have always puzzled me. Such as the touching—why all the
touching for a simple greeting?”
“Do you mean the kind of touching you accused that bard of?”
“Hmm. At least with that sort of touching I would have been able to intuit the
intent with far greater ease,” she growled, then shook her head in
exasperation. “There were many nuances that mother and her books could never
tell me of, such as when to look into another’s eyes, how to eat at a table,
how to bargain without offending. None of these things I knew. I still do not
understand it all, truth be told, but then, I gave up long ago any hope of
doing so. When I returned to the wilds last, I swore I had no intention of
leaving again.”
He supposed it was only fair that he tell her about his home and why he’d left.
Or as much of it as he could without revealing what he had become. “I’m from
the Theren. It’s a ways east of here, near the Mountains of Mist.”
“A place I shall never see,” said Morrigan, succinctly. “And have no interest
in.”
Rand, mouth open to continue his tale, fell suddenly silent. “Fair enough,” he
said, after a moment. And that was the end of that.
She led him through the Knotwood towards what looked from afar to be another
rocky hill, albeit one much more thickly treed than that which he had met her
on. They were almost upon it before Rand realised that the “hill” was hollow.
Morrigan strode up to a narrow defile that led inwards. It was only when she
spoke a curt greeting that Rand spotted the man crouching between two rocks on
the hillside above. He wore white fur from head to heel, including a curious-
looking hat that covered his ears. The long beard that covered the lower half
of his face was brown and the eyes that fixed on Rand were hostile, murderous
even. He had a drawn bow in hand.
The sword he’d taken from those bandits was back in its sheath, but Rand would
not have trusted his life to it anyway, not against a bow at that range. A jolt
of alarm shot through him and he reached for saidin almost by instinct. Some
part of him was horrified by the idea that touching the tainted Source could
ever become an instinct for him, but the greater part was just glad that this
time the One Power came to him when he called it. Corruption thrilled through
him and he stood ready to blast the sentry to pieces if he tried to loose that
arrow.
Morrigan wasn’t blind to the danger either. “I’m taking him to see Flemeth,
Nat. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
The man didn’t take his eyes off Rand, but he looked suddenly wary. “The great
...”
“My mother, yes,” Morrigan interrupted.
“Well. What the fuck would my opinion matter when your ... mother is involved,”
Nat said.
“I don’t mean you any harm,” said Rand placatingly. “I’m just passing through.”
A sneer was his response. “I got nothin’ to say to you, stranger. Outsiders
have always tried to destroy us, but we’ve always survived. We’ll survive you,
too.”
Morrigan ignored him. “Follow me, Rand. And do not stray. My friends are not
your friends, no more than yours are mine.  Mother would be upset if anything
happened to you before she had the chance to meet you. And as amusing as her
upset would be, the consequences would be unpleasant.”
There was a hidden village on the other side of the defile. It was a small
place, smaller even than Emond’s Field, which Rand, to his chagrin, had once
thought large. This village was built around the rocks and trees in the middle
of the hollow hill, he saw no sign of any effort to clear the land for building
or planting. Instead small, round houses with wooden walls and conical,
thatched roofs, grew like mushrooms wherever the growth of the, often slightly-
slanted, trees would allow. There were carvings on the rocks that littered the
ground, and even some on the taller rocks above; carvings of people’s faces,
all looking angrily towards the entrance. The few roughly-clad villagers that
were outdoors in this weather were looking that way too, towards Rand in
particular, and their faces were even less welcoming that the stone ones. He
kept a firm hold of saidin, not trusting himself to seize it again if he needed
it. Something about this place set his nerves on edge.
All those disapproving glares did not make Morrigan even break her stride.
“He’s with me. Go on about your business, and stay out of mine. If you know
what’s good for you,” she announced, to no-one and everyone. It didn’t quell
the hatred Rand felt directed at him, but no-one attempted to stop them as they
hastened through the village at least.
“Does this place have a name?” he asked.
“We call it Hadirn,” said Morrigan. “Now hush. In case you cannot tell we do
not get many visitors here. Speak to no-one except Flemeth, she is in charge at
the moment. Your people would call her a ‘Mayor’ or somesuch.”
The hut she took him to was no larger than the others but it had been built on
a stone rise a foot or so taller than Rand. A set of stairs hugged its nearest
side, leading up to the hut, each step a heavy slab of dark and roughly-cut
stone. The hut itself was distinguished only by the thick branches lashed atop
its central pillar, two long curving things that resembled nothing so much as
the horns of a goat and stretched the entire length of the building. Warm
yellow light showed through the cracks in the shuttered windows. For all that
it was her mother’s, and presumably her, home, Morrigan still knocked and
announced herself, adding that she had brought a young man as a guest. Only
when a woman’s voice called permission to enter did she push open the door.
The hut was ramshackle, the furnishings within were poorly made, and smaller
belongings were scattered about the floor as often as placed on a shelf. The
woman who stood amidst them however, had a presence that made concern over such
things seem utterly trivial.
“Greetings. Mother. I bring before you ...”
“I see him, girl,” she said, cutting Morrigan off. Her sharp eyes quickly took
Rand’s measure. “Hmm. Much as I expected.”
Wariness still had Rand in its clutches. “I’m supposed to believe you were
expecting me?”
“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe,” said Flemeth. “Shut
one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way one’s a fool.”
Morrigan’s mother had hair as white as snow, but beneath her hard and lined
face he could still see traces of the beauty she must have been. Her daughter
no doubt took after her, though the resemblance was not immediately apparent.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” he said. “Morrigan said I might stay here for
the night, but if that’s a problem for the rest of you I don’t mind sleeping
rough.”
“You may stay. The rest are irrelevant. I will give you my protection. For
now.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly. He didn’t release his grip on saidin though.
Flemeth snorted softly. When she spoke again he had the strange impression she
was speaking to someone else. “And why not? The danger is greater than you
realise.”
Rand had the feeling she was right about that. “What do you mean? What danger?”
Flemeth’s gaze sharpened for a moment, but then she laughed. It was a faintly
disturbing sound. “Either the threat is more, or you realise less. Either the
threat is nothing, or you realise nothing.” Rand began to wonder if her mind
was slipping. He’d heard it sometimes happened to people as they got old. “Oh,
do not mind me. You have what you came for.”
“Time for you to go then,” said Morrigan. “There is a communal house, where
those with no place of their own sleep. I will show you there.”
“Do not be ridiculous, girl,” Flemeth chided. “This is your guest. He will
sleep here tonight. See that he has a clean pallet, and a warm meal for his
supper. You will remain near, to make sure none of your fellow villagers
disturb him.”
“Oh. Very well. I will show you to your room,” said Morrigan, her reluctance
plain for any to hear. “Follow me.”
The room she took him to was barely big enough for the two of them to stand in.
There was a bundle of blankets on the floor, and various other sundries stored
within. It would have been more than enough for Rand in normal circumstance,
but his attention fixed immediately on the lone window; it was shuttered but
glassless, and sadly much too narrow for him to slip through. He hadn’t felt
this hunted since he and Mat had been making their way down the Caemlyn Road,
but for the life of him he couldn’t explain why. Could the taint on saidin be
affecting his mind?
Morrigan left him with a tart reminder that she was supposed to fetch him
something to eat. When she returned she wore a small, secretively smile and
spoke in a cloyingly sweet way that was not at all like her previous behaviour.
“Supper is ready, Rand. I hope you like it. I made it just for you.” She handed
him the wooden bowl and then sat on the far end of the pallet. He sank down on
the other end, her bowl of soup cupped in his hands with the lone spoon
pointing his way, and weighed his options.
I shouldn’t have come here, he thought. I would have been fine out in the
woods. But here he was, and trying to leave now seemed more dangerous than
staying. Flemeth and Morrigan hadn’t done him any harm, but he wasn’t at all
sure he trusted them. And the other villagers were definitely not his friends.
He would have gone hungry for fear of what might be in the soup, if Morrigan
wasn’t sitting right there watching him. She was his only guide and possible
ally in this place, offending her seemed very foolish. And yet ...
“You’ve been so kind to me, Morrigan. And I’ve given you nothing in return.
It’s embarrassing. You’ve been out in the cold as much as I have, and I don’t
mind eating with a spoon you’ve used. Here, you take half and I’ll finish the
rest.” He held the bowl out to her with a friendly smile.
She didn’t respond at first, and slowly her smile became edged. “So you’re not
a complete fool,” she said at last. “Just mostly.” With a short laugh she took
the bowl from his hands and began to eat. She made a point of fixing him with
her amber stare each time she swallowed a spoonful of the soup. Rand was
embarrassed that she had seen through his ruse, but he couldn’t bring himself
to apologise for his suspicions. Especially when she seemed to be hinting that
they were not unfounded.
When she handed back the bowl he thanked her and downed the remaining soup
eagerly.
“That was lovely,” he said when he was done. “Did you make it?”
“Who else? Flemeth insisted.”
“You’re a good cook then.”
“Yes,” said Morrigan, raising her brows. “I also know at least fifteen
different poisons that grow right here in this very forest. Not that I would
suggest ‘tis at all related to cooking.”
Knew them, but hadn’t used them on him. Rand was relieved enough that he could
no longer hide his discomfort. “Who taught you something like that? And why?
You can’t be more than my age.”
“Why not? They are useful things to know,” said Morrigan defensively. “The old
knowledge, and powers, must be preserved. No matter how feared.”
Rand couldn’t see the value in knowing how to poison folk. But saying that
would be needlessly offensive, and accomplish nothing. “Morrigan. What is this
place?”
Her expression turned blank. “It is the village where I grew up. You should get
some sleep, I expect you will want to leave early tomorrow.” Without another
word, she stood up and left the room.
Rand took her advice, after a fashion. He slept, but he slept while sitting up
on the pallet, wrapped in his cloak with his back to the wall and one foot
braced against the door. It was a fitful sleep and the few brief dreams that he
recalled were filled with images of death. Maggots crawling on rotting flesh,
ancient trees falling atop their own saplings, mountains being worn down to the
size of pebbles by relentless winds. He didn’t feel much rested when muffled
voices from the hut beyond the door dragged him from his latest doze.
What little he could hear through the door didn’t sound too abnormal. He tried
to tell himself he was being unreasonably suspicious, but he still ended up
spending a good five minutes standing in that narrow room as he tried over and
over to grab hold of saidin. When he finally managed it he held onto the Power
as if it was a rope offered to a drowning man.
When he returned to the main chamber where he had met Flemeth earlier he found
two strangers puttering about. Neither was young, the man bald, the woman thin
and greying. They were moving about the hut with familiar ease, but that turned
to wary suspicion at the sight of Rand.
“Good morning. I’m Rand al’Thor. I’m a guest of Flemeth and Morrigan. They let
me stay here,” he said. It did little to put them at ease. “Are you relatives
of theirs?”
The bald man glared at him for a while before responding. “Etiran Moslin.
Morrigan’s father. This is Irla Lowfey, my ... wife’s sister.” Rand supposed
that might explain the man’s hostility, if he was intruding in his home.
“Nice place you have here. Thank you for letting me stay the night.”
Irla sneered. “Nice, he says. But I know what he’s really thinking. We scrape
by just fine, boy. You’d best be moving on, if you know what’s good for you.”
“We been down, but we got plans to bring back the good old days. You’ll see.”
Etiran added, nodding to himself, eyes shining at the prospect.
“Well. I hope you manage it,” Rand said flatly. “Is Morrigan awake yet?”
“She was here. Then she left.”
“Do you know where I might find her?” Rand said slowly. These people made the
Coplins and Congars look friendly.
“How would I know?” Morrigan’s father snapped. “Maybe she went crazy and run
off into the woods. Now if you’ll excuse me, I got things to do.” He stalked
over to a hatchway, through which the top of a ladder could be seen, and began
climbing down into the basement.
Rand decided to try the aunt. “Do you know where she is?”
“Morrigan? That little bitch is none of my concern. Ask the great lady about
her. The girl’s gifts aren’t for the likes of me. Now get out.” Her bitterness
was almost palpable. It made her ugly, to Rand’s eyes, and he was only too
happy to obey her demand.
A grey morning and a crowd of people in ragged furs were waiting for him
outside. Most of the men were armed, and many of the women too. Rand couldn’t
shake the suspicion that they might have attacked him if Flemeth hadn’t been
there. But there she was, standing in their midst wearing clothes that were
indistinguishable from theirs but still drawing every eye to her, dominating
the crowd. She spared Rand only a glance before saying something quietly to
those nearest her. At her word the crowd began to disperse.
Rand decided to wait until they had gained some distance before approaching the
Mayor.
“Prudent,” a familiar voice said. He turned his head and found Morrigan leaning
against the wall of her hut, watching him.
Rand gave her a wry smile. “Reluctant as I am to speak ill of your friends,
Morrigan, you are by far and away the nicest person in this village. Thank you
for helping me.”
She seemed at a loss for how to respond. “I ... you are welcome. Though Mother
is the one protecting you. I am no nursemaid.”
“A bit rough-tongued at times, admittedly,” he added, with a light sigh. “But
gentle as a summer rain in comparison to some.”
She scowled at him. “Now you are simply mocking me.”
He shook his head. “Not a word was untrue. I hope you live a long and happy
life. And if you ever find yourself exploring the world outside this forest
again, I’ll hope to run into you there.” Privately he hoped she went somewhere
far away from this village, to some place where girls weren’t taught to poison
folk, but he was too polite to say that about her home and family. “But for now
I must be going. I need to find my friends.”
Morrigan’s face gave away little of her thoughts. “I agree, ‘tis time you speak
with Mother, then be on your way.”
Flemeth stood alone when he approached her, but several villagers still watched
from afar and at least two of them had bows to hand. Saidin burned in Rand. His
shoulders itched as though in anticipation of an arrow. The old woman looked
amused about something. A fine silver brooch in the form of a sitting wolf held
her cloak, and she had various other adornments on her fingers and ears, and
about her neck. They looked incongruous against her drab clothing.
“I thank you for your hospitality Mistress Lowfey,” he began. He deemed it a
safe assumption her second name would be the same as her sister’s. Falmeran
custom was similar to the Theren in that regard. “I must be moving on now, but
I wish you good fortune.”
“Leaving so soon ... Rand? But there is a matter I wanted to speak to you about
first.”
He nodded to himself. “About how I ended up wandering alone here?” He had
considered saying nothing about it. These people were hostile enough towards
outsiders without his inviting the kind of questions the truth would bring down
on him. But he couldn’t leave without warning them of the danger. “This may
sound unbelievable ... but there are Shadowspawn loose in Falmerden. I happened
across some in these very woods, and in the fighting that followed I got
separated from my companions. I don’t know if the Trollocs or Myrddraal could
find this place, it’s pretty well-hidden, but you should take precautions just
in case.”
Morrigan simply smiled at his warning. Was she one of those southlanders who
thought Trollocs just a gleeman’s tale? Though, to be fair, she had led a
fairly sheltered life here in the forest. In some regards at least. As
sheltered as his own life in the Theren, albeit with less pleasant company.
“Shadowspawn. How horrible,” Flemeth said calmly. “I hope someone is trying to
address this threat. The Aes Sedai perhaps. It has always been the Aes Sedai’s
duty to unite the lands against the Shadow. Or did that change while I wasn’t
looking?”
“I wouldn’t trust the White Tower as far as I could throw it,” Rand muttered.
She smiled. “Now there’s a smart lad. But if not the Aes Sedai, then who?”
He frowned. “The new queen. Or that famous general of hers ...” The queen and
the general who were all but at war with each other, if the rumours were true.
“If they could set aside their differences at least.” He snorted bitterly. “Why
does that seem so unlikely?”
“Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature,” Flemeth said
quietly. “Perhaps they think the Shadowspawn and those Friends of the Dark
merely an army that can be outmanoeuvred. Perhaps they do not see that the evil
behind them is the true threat.”
“The Dark One.”
“Yes. Can there be any price too high to pay, that would stay His hand?”
Rand watched her warily. She looked and sounded far too knowing for his taste.
“What do you know of the Dark One?”
She looked on the verge of laughter. “Me? I am just an old woman who lives in
the woods. I know nothing of the Dark one, or the Blight or Shadowspawn. But
your warning was most ... kind. I wonder how far such kindness would stretch.
We shall see. Now, there is yet one more thing I can offer you.”
“Such surprising generosity,” Morrigan sighed.
“Is it? Our guest will be leaving shortly, girl,” said Flemeth, with hard
amusement in her eyes. “And you will be joining him.”
“Such a shame ...” Morrigan began to tell him, then jerked her gaze back to
Flemeth. “What!?” Shock narrowed her eyes rather than widening them.
“You heard me, girl. The last time I looked you had ears,” mocked Flemeth.
“Have I no say in this?” said Morrigan, voice high with outrage.
Flemeth was unmoved. “You have been itching to get out of these woods for
years. Here is your chance, and with a handsome guide to accompany you. Stop
complaining.” She turned to Rand. “As to you. Consider this repayment for my
hospitality. I will take great interest in how my daughter here is treated
while she is in your care.”
Morrigan looked alarmed. “Flem ... Mother. This is not how I wanted this. I’m
not even ready.”
“You must be ready. You know my will in this. See that you heed it.”
“I ... understand,” said Morrigan, after a shocked pause, sounding more
confused than ever.
Flemeth turned her shrewd gaze on Rand. “And you? Do you understand the value
of the gift I am passing on to you?”
Rand doubted Morrigan appreciated being described as a gift, but when she spoke
whatever anger she felt was masked with light humour. “Like a worn dress. Or an
old pair of shoes.”
“If Morrigan wants to come she’s welcome,” he caged. “She won’t come to harm
with me. If I can help it at least.”
Morrigan’s shoulders slumped. “Allow me to get my things, if you please,” she
sighed, before wandering off towards her hut.
Rand stared after her for a moment, then faced Flemeth. “I’m not unfamiliar
with woodcraft. I can make my own way back. Morrigan might be better off
staying here, and if she doesn’t want to come ...”
The old woman shook her head. She looked on Rand with the same hard amusement
she had her daughter. “She wants this, she just doesn’t want to admit it. And
she knows the Knotwood well. She will help you get past the Shadowspawn who
hunt you. No, lad. Morrigan will be your guide in this. Our guide even.”
He wondered why she would assume the Shadowspawn were hunting him specifically,
but didn’t dare ask for fear it would lead to the questions he was desperate to
avoid.
It took Morrigan surprisingly little time to return. He would have thought she
would have words to say to her father and aunt, and some careful packing to do.
But in what seemed mere minutes she had returned with a heavy pack strapped
across her slender shoulders, and a steel-tipped spear nearly as tall as she
was—which was about a foot shorter than Rand—held in one gloved hand, doubling
for a walking stick. “I am at your disposal,” she said blandly. “I suggest
moving east at pace. Or if you prefer I can simply be your silent guide. The
choice is yours.”
“I prefer you speak your mind.”
“So be it,” said Morrigan lightly. “But if you come to regret that decision
‘twill be only yourself to blame.” She turned to Flemeth. “Farewell, Mother. Do
not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned down hut.”
Rand found himself doubting her sincerity.
“If you return at all,” Flemeth said flatly.
Morrigan paled. “I ... I. A-all I meant was ...”
“I know. Do try to have fun, dear.”
Morrigan turned away from her mother and strode towards the passage they had
first entered her home through. Rand kept his hand on his swordhilt as he
followed her.
With Morrigan at his side, and Flemeth watching them both leave, Rand passed
through Hadirn without challenge. On the other side of the narrow defile he
found Nat on watch once more, this time with a lean, amber-skinned woman who
could, at a glance at least, have passed for Shienaran, keeping him company.
Nat sneered down from his perch. “Lucky boy. Lucky it wasn’t my decision to
make.”
Rand ground his teeth. He suppressed the sudden urge to let the fire he’d been
holding inside him all morning rain down on the fur-clad man. “What is your
problem? Who are you people?”
The man smirked. “Don’t push your luck, stranger,” he said. “Plenty of folks
have turned up dead after asking questions like that.”
Rand narrowed his eyes. “Not the sort of thing most folk with boast about,” he
said coldly.
The woman glared at him. “Isn’t it? One day you’ll find out who we are, and
you’ll be sorry. Oh yes. We’ll get ours back. One day soon.”
“Do give over, Marlene,” Morrigan said. “You are like to crack your teeth if
you keep grinding them so.”
Marlene sniffed. “Yavanna is like to knock yours out, once she returns to find
her baby sister has run off with some outsider. Maybe knock the airs out of you
too.”
Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. “Leave her out of this.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Marlene, with a smirk. “But that day too
will come soon. It should have come sooner, if you ask me.”
Morrigan showed the other woman her back. “And why, pray tell, would anyone
ever ask for an opinion from the likes of you?” She strode off, and Rand
hastened after her. But, unlike her, he did not show his back to the cold-eyed
pair of sentries until there were some good thick tree trunks between he and
them.
***** Into the Wilds *****
CHAPTER 7: Into the Wilds
 
The people from Hadirn were obedient to Flemeth’s command. None followed Rand
and Morrigan, though they were a full day into their journey before Rand
stopped looking over his shoulder. Morrigan had wanted to head straight east,
but Rand insisted they angle around to the south so he could try and link up
with his companions. Her lips thinned, and she shook her head and chided him
for his foolishness, as she called it, but she abided by his decision.
“We need to find my friends,” he explained.
“Who are these friends of yours?” Morrigan said. Her indifferent tone was
plainly an act, or she wouldn’t have bothered asking the question. “More
wanderers from this Theren you mentioned? Family retainers or some such.”
“Certainly not that last part,” said Rand. “But some of them are from back
home, yes. Perrin, Anna and Nynaeve. Others I’ve only met more recently.”
“A girl. Or girls. How bold of them to wander the wilds with you.”
“There’s definitely no lack of courage among them,” Rand said solemnly. He
almost wished there was. If they were not as brave as they were they might have
the sense to leave him behind, and so escape the danger he brought down upon
them.
“Then we must hasten back to their sheltering arms, I’m sure,” said Morrigan.
“You don’t actually have to come with me,” Rand assured her. “Not that I mind
the company,” he hastened to add. “Not at all. But you shouldn’t feel you have
to stay just because Flemeth says so.”
“Ah, but I do,” she sighed. “For ’tis what she wants.”
“That’s fine. But is it what you want?”
She walked in silence for a time, long enough for Rand to begin wondering if
she was ignoring him. Then she spoke earnestly, “What I want is to see
mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I ... want to
experience a city, rather than see it in my mind. So, yes. This is what I want.
But actually leaving is harder than I thought, however.”
“Your home will be there if you ever want to come back,” he said dubiously. He
wasn’t sure why she would want to go back, for one thing. And for another ...
Well, sometimes going home was simply not allowed, no matter how much you
wanted to.
“That is not what troubles me,” Morrigan said. She refused to answer when he
asked her what did trouble her. Instead they focused on leaving as few tracks
as possible as they wended their way through the winter forest.
They made camp in the midst of a small copse of leafless trees that first
night. Morrigan had brought a small tent with her, or at least the cloth for
one. The poles she scavenged for herself while Rand made a fire and prepared
some soup. When she returned he helped her stretch the canvas as tightly as
they could, before pegging it down. The tent seemed barely big enough for one,
but Rand didn’t mind sleeping outdoors. His clothes were long since dried, and
his dark fur cloak was warm and heavy.
As they sat around the fire that evening he found himself sneaking glances at
Morrigan’s face. She was lost in thought, a small frown marring her brow. He
wondered at her. She had said she did not want to leave the Knotwood ever
again, and yet she spoke so longingly of the world outside. She was a puzzle. A
very intriguing puzzle.
“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to visit once we leave the woods?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No. ‘Tis all the same to me, after all. A city is a
city, a sea a sea.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Rand mused. “The first time I laid eyes on Baerlon
I thought it a grand place, but when I later visited Caemlyn, Baerlon seemed
small and rough by comparison. Fal Dara, Cairhien, Falme. They each have their
own character, and their own beauty. Like women, I suppose. And that’s just the
ones I’ve seen this past year. They say Tar Valon is the most beautiful city in
the world.”
Morrigan snorted softly. “Well I certainly won’t be going there,” she muttered.
He matched her snort with one of his own. “Something we have in common then.
But why do you want to avoid it?”
She raised a dark brow at him. “Why do you?”
“I ... Well they don’t have much time for men there. Not unless they want to
serve as Warders,” Rand blabbered, instantly regretting having asked the
question. “And I don’t fancy that idea at all. I don’t like being told how much
lesser I am all the time.” Even if it was true. Men had broken the world, after
all, as Rand was—if Hawkwing could be believed—uniquely accountable for.
Knowing that had never been enough to stop those flashes of annoyance every
time someone told him how inherently stupid or unreliable males were. Egwene
had been quite fond of telling him that, and she hadn’t been the only one. “No,
I don’t think I’d like it in Tar Valon.”
Morrigan was studying him intently. When he met her eyes she turned her
attention back to the fire. “Grand as it may be, I think I shall avoid Tar
Valon also. Though I would like to see one of those great palaces I read of,”
she added wistfully, “it would be foolishly dangerous to venture inside. Like
visiting a bear’s cave simply to pet its fur. I recall the first time I crept
beyond the edge of the wilds. I hid in the shadows, watching these strange
townsfolk from afar. I happened upon a noblewoman by her carriage, adorned in
sparkling garments the likes of which I had never before seen,” she gestured
expansively, caught up in her recollection, eyes wide. “I was dazzled. This, to
me, seemed what true wealth and beauty must be. I snuck up behind her, and
stole a hand mirror from the carriage. ‘Twas encrusted with gold and
crystalline gemstones, and I hugged it to my chest with delight as I sped back
to the wilds.”
Rand had no room to judge. His own aversion to theft had lasted only as long as
he and Mat’s food supply. And the image her tale conjured, of a wary and
girlish Morrigan excitedly clutching her prize, was too charming not to smile
at. “Do you still have it?”
Her face fell. “I do not. My mother was furious with me. I had risked discovery
by outsiders for the sake of a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, my mother
took the mirror and smashed it upon the ground. I was heartbroken.”
“But you were just a child,” Rand objected.
“And a foolish one,” Morrigan said firmly. “Mother was right to break me of my
fascination. Beauty and love are fleeting, and have no meaning. Survival has
meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as
difficult as they might have been.”
He felt sorry for her. And knew she would hate to hear it. “Those are harsh
lessons to teach a child,” he said quietly.
“Perhaps. But they were necessary, still.” She pushed some stray locks of
midnight hair back into place. He had noticed that her hair never seemed to
stay fully tied up for long. “I find myself at times wondering what might have
become of the girl with the beautiful, golden mirror,” she mused. “But such
fantasies have no place amidst reality.”
They were quiet for a time, until Morrigan announced her intention to keep the
first watch. Rand was pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t been sure how to broach
the topic. His Therener sensibilities told him he should keep watch all night,
and let the woman get her sleep. But he could only stay awake for so long, and
they had a long day’s walk ahead of them, and there were no other men about who
could take over for him to let him catch a few hours rest. He was glad that
Morrigan was willing to help him with that duty.
“If you’re willing, I won’t object,” he said slowly. For all the practicality
of the suggestion, he still felt ashamed to ask it of her.
Morrigan gave him an odd look. “Well one of us must, naturally. I do not care
to be killed in my sleep. I shall wake you half way through the night, or as
near as I can reckon it.”
“Thank you,” he said, and curled up by the fire, wrapping his cloak about him.
“Is this more civilised idiocy?” said Morrigan incredulously. “Use the tent. As
tall as you are, your feet may stick out, but it better than nothing.”
Rand blushed, as much at her criticism as at the idea of sharing her tent.
Again it was a perfectly practical suggestion, since they were going to be
sleeping at different times anyway. And again, his Theren sensibilities railed
against it, practical or not. He steeled himself, and stood up. “Thanks again,”
he said stiffly. Morrigan rolled her eyes openly as he walked past her towards
the low tent.
Sleep came easily, but did not last long. He came awake in the darkness to the
feel of her hand shaking his knee. “Rand. It’s your turn to watch. I’m tired.”
They exchanged no further words, for as soon as he had crawled out of the tent,
Morrigan started crawling in. She curled up in a ball and was soon fast asleep.
Rand walked a circle around the camp before settling in to await the dawn.
With Hadirn far behind, and no sign of the Trollocs, Rand began to relax.
Morrigan proved an excellent woodswoman. Better than Rand, he wasn’t ashamed to
admit. At one point, midway through the second day, she turned a sleeping
hedgehog out of its den. Rand would have missed it entirely, but Morrigan
spotted the signs as they walked past. The poor beast didn’t even wake up when
she speared it. The task of pulling its quills and preparing it for that
evening’s supper she was happy enough to pass on to Rand, but that seemed only
fair.
“You know these woods well. Did your parents show you? Who taught you how to
hunt?” he said later, as they slowly clambered down a hillside made treacherous
by loose rocks, fallen branches and the snow.
She laughed lightly. “You are very cute, to ask so many questions.”
He suspected she was mocking him, but a compliment, even a barbed one, should
be returned. “And you are cute when you are being evasive,” he said.
“Really? Perhaps we should be wrapped in ribbons and adorned with flowers, so
cute are we two.” She giggled, very briefly, then spoke on in a much more
serious tone. “My parents taught me everything I needed to learn. How to
survive. The meaning of power. The truth of men. If other parents do not teach
these things then I believe them the lesser.”
Rand recalled the harsh way Morrigan’s kin had spoken to, and of, her. He was
tempted to bite his tongue and say no more, not wanting to offend her, but the
greater temptation was to know more about this strange and beautiful young
woman. “I’m sure they must have taken good care of you. What parent wouldn’t
love their child?”
She looked at him like he’d just dropped a dead bird in her lap. “Love?
Coddling and weakness? Why should such things be desirable,” she sneered. With
a sniff she recovered her aplomb. “Take a man such as yourself. Between us,
there could be sex. Lust. Passion. Anything else is simply a delusion.” She had
reached the bottom of the slope by then, and paused to scan the woods ahead.
She spoke so unashamedly about such things. It dried Rand’s mouth. And yet, he
frowned as he made his way down to her. He supposed he could see how love might
get someone into trouble that they would otherwise have avoided. The Light knew
his friends were risking a lot just by staying near him. And the Light send
they are all safe, he prayed. That the Trollocs didn’t get them. He didn’t
think they had, not really. Moiraine and the other channelers had been raining
death on anything that approached the camp when Rand had tumbled from that
cliff. But whatever trouble it might get you in, he didn’t see how love could
really be regarded as a bad thing. Not the way Morrigan believed. Had been
taught to believe. “Even if it was just a delusion, it’s a delusion I wouldn’t
want to give up,” he said, with a small sigh, as he hopped the last few feet of
hill and came to stand beside her.
“Indeed. It can be a pleasant diversion, after all,” Morrigan said lightly, not
looking his way. “Hm. For another time.”
That evening they pitched their camp beneath the leaves of a tall, sprawling
yew. Morrigan fetched some firewood while Rand prepared the hedgehog for
supper. There was plenty of winter fat on the hog, so Rand was of a mind to
make stew if he could find some burdock, or wild onion. Obviously the yew
wouldn’t be of help there. He dumped the meat into Morrigan’s small cooking pot
and went in search of more food. He didn’t want to venture too far, but as luck
would have it he found some burdock within an easy walk of their camp. Just the
burdock, but that would have to do.
“Well, ‘twas filling, at least,” said Morrigan blandly, when the sun had set
and she had finished her share. They were seated on their cloaks on opposite
sides of the small fire.
Rand set his jaw. He had grown up alone on the farm with only Tam for company.
He was no stranger to the kitchen. He might not be a great cook, but he could
put together a perfectly good meal, if he had the right ingredients. The stew
had tasted fine to him; a bit blander than he would have preferred, perhaps,
but still fine.
“So what do I have to do to get on your good side?” he grunted.
Morrigan set her empty bowl down on the snowless ground. “Let us assume that
this imaginary good side exists: what exactly would be the benefit, for you, to
get on it?”
“Well, I’d settle for a smile.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh? Do I not smile enough to suit you? How very
negligent. Let me see. I would expect a favour to come with a price. Perhaps
you would be willing to pay a compliment. Is that too much?”
Dealing with Moiraine had taught Rand to pay careful attention to the exact
words someone used. “I am brilliant and amazing,” he drawled, with a wry smile.
After a moment’s pause, Morrigan burst into laughter. “I suppose I did not
specify that I wanted it myself, did I? Very well, then. You are on my good
side, such as it is. Best watch your step that you don’t fall off.”
“I wouldn’t want that. I’ve had enough of falling for a while.” The bruises
he’d taken still hurt, but he considered that pain the least he deserved for
losing control like that. And getting Sar killed.
“Oh?” Morrigan hinted.
Rand didn’t want to talk about that. “Of course, you’re pretty amazing too,” he
whispered. “Those eyes, that hair, the way you ghost through the trees. You’re
like some beautiful wildcat.”
She scooted closer. “Really? And perhaps I am, indeed, a wild cat. But tell me
more.”
“You talk of the civilised world and its mysteries, but I don’t think they will
stay mysteries from you for long. You already seem cleverer and more learned
than most of the city folk I’ve met.”
Her hair had come loose again, to fall across one amber eye. She peered up at
him through the dark strands. “’Tis truly so? I would like to ... But of course
it must be so. How not?”
He had meant every word. She really did remind him of a cat. Even now, as he
stared at that bright eye in its dark cave, he couldn’t tell whether she was
inviting him in or warning him off. She was sitting very close now, the better
to hear what he had been whispering.
He wanted to kiss her. Would she let him? Dare he try? He dared.
She raised her hands in warding. “What’s this? ‘Tis a rather odd discussion you
seem to desire, leaning in so closely.”
He froze. “Do you object?”
“Not unless you stop,” she breathed.
Rand pressed his lips to Morrigan’s. They were soft and warm and their touch
sent thrilling little tingles dancing across his skin. She kissed him back, and
where his kisses were gentle, hers were fierce. She ran her fingers through his
hair as she pulled him to her. He thought she would pull them both to the
ground, but when her elbow touched the cold, hard dirt beneath them she soon
surged back to her knees and then her feet, the tugs of her hands upon his coat
urging him to follow. He was happy to do so, for her lips might escape him
otherwise.
He hadn’t expected more than a kiss, but before long she was pulling at his
belt. Her kisses continued as she groped at him, the heat of her lips defying
the winter air. Morrigan was more ardent than anyone he had ever met. She
actually bit him! Not quite painfully, not enough to draw blood, but still!
Rand had never been bit by someone he was being so intimate with, it was a very
strange sensation and he didn’t quite know how to respond. He cupped her head
in his hands and held her lips to his. He kissed her hungrily, but kept his
teeth to himself. Her hair, only loosely bound, began to come free in his
hands. It felt silky and fine, though he could tell she hadn’t washed it
recently.
Rand dared to run his hands down Morrigan’s slender back and give her bottom a
firm squeeze. She broke their kiss then, but not to rebuke him. “Yes,” she
hissed, as a flush suffused her pale cheeks. She reached into the front of his
breeches, found his stiff manhood and pulled it free. She smirked when she saw
it. “Oh, yes.”
Shamelessly, Morrigan dragged up her own skirts and seized the waist of her
trousers. She yanked them down to her knees, took hold of Rand’s hand, turned
and shuffled towards the thick trunk of the yew. Three steps was all it took,
enough to get close enough so she could lean over and brace her hands against
the rough wood, enough that Rand could glimpse the way her soft, pale, pretty
cheeks moved when she walked. More than enough to drive any thought of
propriety out of his mind.
Morrigan offered herself, and Rand did not hesitate to take her. They were
fully-clothed, save for her exposed bottom and the cock jutting out of his open
breeches. There was no time for the cold to assail their tender parts, for Rand
quickly told hold of Morrigan’s hip, aimed himself at her entrance and shoved
inside.
She was wet, some part of him noticed with relief, but most of him was absorbed
in the incredible heat of her. She took his whole length inside her, moaning in
pleasure all the while. It felt great, and Rand might have paused to savour the
sensation. But Morrigan had other ideas. She leaned further towards the tree
and then pushed back against him roughly, impaling herself on his cock. Rand
gasped at the thrill she sent through him, and kept gasping as she did it over
and over again.
Soon he was matching his movements to hers, staring down at her pale bottom as
his hips slapped quickly against it and left her cheeks in a state of perpetual
quivering. Standing as they were, it took little effort to move his whole cock
in and out of her. He fucked her hard. Or she fucked him, perhaps. No, they
fucked each other, with wild abandon, each intent only on the pleasure of their
young bodies. The throaty sounds Morrigan made were very loud in the quiet
woods, but Rand was far beyond being embarrassed just then. He revelled in her
cries of pleasure, in the sight of her bottom and the few glimpses of her face
he was afforded as she tossed her head, black hair flying completely free of
its bindings now. He revelled in her pussy above all, and in the sheer,
unbridled physicality of her. He had never met a woman possessed of such wild
abandon before. She had a hand between her legs, and was rubbing herself
feverishly as she rocked back against him. He couldn’t contain his voice, and
let out a roar of his own as he slammed into her, hard and fast. He was close
to completion, he could feel it coming and quickened his pace even more. Marin
had taught him the rule of “ladies first” but rules seemed a long way away on
that winter’s night. He didn’t try to delay his coming, and it didn’t matter,
for Morrigan screamed before he did anyway. It was the feel of her already
tight pussy clamping down on his cock that finished him off. Rand shouted
wordlessly as he came inside her, wave after wave of his seed bursting forth to
fill Morrigan’s womb.
She had begun it, and she finished it. Rand was too numbed by pleasure to do
anything but stand there, his sated cock resting comfortably in Morrigan’s
pussy as he gasped for breath. She let him do so for a few moments before
twisting around to place a hand on his chest and push him backwards until his
softening length slid out of her. Strands of black hair clung to her sweat-
misted face and her amber eyes seemed suddenly even more cat-like to him. She
was so beautiful. He told her so, in a breathless voice.
Morrigan pulled up her trousers and let her skirts fall once more to her knees
before deigning to respond. “I am glad you noticed.” She eyed him sideways.
“You too are not entirely unpleasant to look upon. And this, at least, was more
than merely ... filling.”
Rand grinned and tried to kiss her again, but she stepped lively and evaded his
lips. “Don’t go getting all sentimental now,” she warned with a raised finger.
“It’s late and I know you lot get tired afterwards. Go to bed. I shall wake you
when your watch begins.”
He sighed. She was going to be trouble, he knew it. But it was trouble he
wanted more than a part of. And she was right; he was tired, and quite willing
to crawl into their small tent and let sleep claim him.
He had breakfast ready by the time she awoke; a rabbit he’d been able to strike
with a stone from his sling, cooked with what few seasonings he’d been able to
forage without straying too far from the camp and leaving Morrigan undefended.
“Good morning. Are you hungry?” he said with a smile.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “In a moment,” she yawned, then wandered
off into the woods, presumably for the necessities.
When she returned he took the excuse of passing her the soup bowl to touch her
hand. Morrigan looked confused for a moment, before rolling her eyes. “Ah. Such
a romantic, I see.”
He grinned. “It’s hard not to be, with a woman like you around.”
Her hair hung in a tangled black mess around her face. It floated on the
morning breeze when she tossed her proud head. “I can understand how ‘twould be
so.” He grinned all the wider. “But do try to keep your boyish delusions in
check,” she continued. “The wilds are dangerous even without Trollocs at large,
and we have a long walk ahead of us today.”
Rand didn’t know where she was getting “boyish” from. They were of an age,
unless he wildly missed his guess. But he took her advice to heart, and kept a
wary eye on the tangled forest around them, as they made their way southeast
through the Knotwood.
He was still keeping his careful watch when, just after midday, he became aware
that Morrigan was no longer following him. The distant sound of running water
drifted through the trees, as he turned to see what was keeping her.
She had paused at the foot of a tall, naked oak tree, and driven her spear into
the ground. She leaned against the tree trunk now, and watched him with her
cat-like eyes.
“Is something wrong, Morrigan?”
“My feet are sore. I wish to rest,” she announced.
He blinked in surprise. They’d been travelling together for several days, and
she had never complained before now. Still, he supposed everyone got tired at
times. “Of course. It’s a bit early to be making camp, but I could start a fire
if you like.”
“How gracious. But no. Instead why don’t you come here and pick me up.”
Rand walked over to her, but he shook his head warningly as he did so. “Is this
one of your jokes? Because if you think I’m carrying you through this whole
forest, you’ve got another thing coming. I mean, I probably could—you’re light
enough—but even in the Theren we don’t take it that far.”
“Oh, you go quite far enough for my taste,” she teased. She bent to lower her
pack to the ground, then reached up under her ragged skirts again. Her eyes
didn’t leave his once; not even when she began tugging her trousers down. Those
amber eyes were bright, and bold, and oh so beautiful.
Rand’s heart sped up, his mouth dried and he was instantly hard.
He rid himself of his swordbelt as fast as he could, then kissed her hungrily.
Her questing tongue went straight into his mouth, her eager hands groped at his
crotch. In no time at all she had him free. “Pick me up,” she had said, and he
did exactly that, reaching down to put both arms behind her knees and hoisting
her easily. Morrigan wrapped her arms around his shoulders and broke their kiss
long enough to laugh delightedly. Her laughter ended in a small whoosh of lost
breath when he thumped her back lightly against the tree trunk, but she did not
complain, just kissed him again.
As much as he loved the touch of her lips on his, Rand wanted more. He looked
down between them, past her pale, leanly muscled thighs, to the thick black
hair of her sex. Even without touching her he could tell that she wanted it
too. His arms were busy holding Morrigan aloft, but that was no problem. He
cupped her buttocks in his branded palms and took control of her body, aiming
her sex instead of his own, sliding her wet hole onto his eager rod, impaling
her on him.
“Oh, yes,” Morrigan moaned as she felt him enter her. She gripped his
shoulders, kissed him, combed fingers though his hair, and when the pace he set
did not entirely suit her she bit him on the ear and whispered, “Fuck me, Rand.
Hard. Now. I want you to knock this tree right over, if you can.”
His grip on her bottom tightened. “I’ve never met a woman like you before,” he
growled.
She chuckled. “There are no women like me. There is only me.”
Her proud words were slightly spoiled by the yelp she let out when he rammed
himself into her. He gritted his teeth to muffle, as best he could, his lusty
grunts as he gave her exactly what she had asked for. His full length slid in
and out of her tight, hot pussy over and over, hard and fast. Her booted feet
dangled helplessly in the air near his shoulders, as he cupped her soft, smooth
bottom in his hands and ravaged her sweet depths. Soon she was crying out with
each and every thrust, her wanton encouragements echoing through the winter
forest.
Even in his lust-crazed state, Rand had enough presence of mind to worry about
the noise. Or perhaps he was simply more concerned with proprieties than she
was. When he pulled back long enough to look at Morrigan, he found her eyes
squeezed shut, and naked pleasure written across her lovely face. He found her
lips with his, and silenced her cries as best he could. She returned his kisses
eagerly, but every few thrusts, when she was gasping for breath, another moan
escaped to shake the forest around them.
Morrigan’s fingernails were untrimmed, and Rand had reason to be glad of his
heavy wool coat when a particularly loud moan escaped her and she dug her nails
into his shoulders. Even through the wool he felt it. He could feel it down
below too, but that was a much more pleasant sensation. He didn’t pause his
fevered thrusting though. She had wanted it hard, she said. He was quite happy
to give it to her.
Rand had no idea how long they stood there against that tree. Morrigan’s cries
peaked and fell many times, but when he finally felt that tightening,
demanding, surging feeling, with all its promises, she was quiet in his arms; a
slender, sweaty-faced girl, resting her head on his shoulder and gasping
softly. He held her tight, against the bare tree they had not quite managed to
knock over, and groaned her name out loud as he flooded her womb.
Rand’s vision dimmed, so great was the pleasure. He had to lock his knees to
keep from collapsing as wave after wave of bliss crashed over him and into her.
“Morrigan,” he said again, more quietly, when the tide finally ebbed.
“Morrigan.”
“Is it some peculiarity of the civilised world, that you say my name so often?
Am I to respond in kind? I do not know that I care to. ‘Tis an odd thing.”
He laughed softly. “Why don’t you try? What could it hurt?”
“Rand,” she said, after a lengthy pause. Then, “No. ‘Tis a bizarre custom
indeed. Incidentally, I am no longer tired. You can put me down now.”
His softening manhood had already slid out of her warm embrace. Obediently he
bent to let her regain her footing. “You may not be tired any more, but
suddenly I am. Funnily enough,” he said as he put himself away.
“Hmm. Perhaps I can help with that.” Morrigan turned away from him and lifted
her skirts clear of her waist. As she bent to pull up her dark trousers he had
a clear view of her pale and pretty backside. She wiggled her hips far more
than was necessary as she righted her clothes.
The pleasant fog that was clouding Rand’s thoughts was banished as his pulse
quickened once more. A laugh burst from his lips. “You are ... I don’t even
know what you are. But I am glad I met you.”
When they were both fully clothed once more, Morrigan turned to face him, as
cool and confident as ever. “I suggest you take the time, while we continue our
journey, to think of all that I am. You can tell me about it tonight. In great
detail. I shall expect it to be complimentary, of course.” She pursed her
reddened lips, and quickly added, “And of me, this time. Not yourself, or
anyone else.”
“Well I’m no gleeman. Not even a bard. But I’ll do my best.” He smiled and,
caught up in the moment, he spoke without thinking. “I’ll start with this: you
are beautiful and wonderful, and however insulting you might find it, I think I
could easily fall in love with you.”
Morrigan shook her head. “I am only insulted on your behalf, my sweet,” she
sighed. “You really should know better.”
He’d begun something he hadn’t intended to begin. But there was no sense in
stopping now. Words tumbled out of Rand. “I can’t agree with you there. About
love, I mean. You’re right that love can get you in trouble, that it exposes
you to pain. But even so, it’s probably the best feeling in the world. What
better reason is there to live? And what would life be like without it? If you
go your whole life avoiding feeling it, then, even if you live longer than
someone who did, what’s the point? You’ll still die eventually, you’ll just
have lasted a bit longer.”
Morrigan gathered her pack and secured it about her shoulders. She didn’t look
his way. “Lasting longer is great thing. The great thing. It allows you to do
more than anyone who threw their life away over some meaningless infatuation
will ever have come close to doing.”
“And besides,” she added quietly, after a pause. “Not everything dies. Or
everyone.”
“Sure they do,” Rand objected. “Time is a Wheel, right? That’s what everyone
says. If everything repeats, then everyone who is born has to have died
sometime. Else how could their soul be reborn? I’d like to think ...” He broke
off with a sudden frown.
“I heard it too,” said Morrigan, suddenly tense. She lunged for her spear.
Rand didn’t bother with the swordbelt, just yanked the looted blade free, and
turned towards the source of the noise. What was it? It sounded like a harness
jingling, or chainmail perhaps? Could the Trollocs have found him? His words to
Morrigan seemed incredibly foolish, of a sudden. I should have left her in her
village, not matter what Flemeth said. Burn me, but I should’ve.
“We could flee,” Morrigan said, glaring in the direction of whatever
approached, her spear steady in her hands. “Or I could ...”
They wended their way through the tightly-packed trees. Several horses, from
the distant whickering. So not Trollocs. Myrddraal perhaps? He would need the
One Power to deal with that sort. He’d gotten lucky in some swordfights in the
past, but he didn’t dare trust his skill with a blade against the Fades. Not
when even a slight cut would mean a deadly fever, and Morrigan left at their
mercy. Of which the Myrddraal had none. The Light send I can graspsaidinthis
time. And what is happening to me that I find myself wanting such a thing?
The tension left him like water from a holed bucket, as soon as the riders
passed into view.
“There you are!” Perrin called, his yellow eyes glowing in the shadow of the
trees. “Burn me, where have you been all this time? We’ve been looking
everywhere. I think Moiraine might actually kill you this time. If Nynaeve
doesn’t do it first.”
Rand grinned. “You’re alright. Good. What about Anna and the rest? Was anyone
hurt?”
He spotted Tomas among the half-dozen approaching riders. Areku was with them
too, and he was glad to see her unharmed. The relieved-looking Shienarans were
back in full armour now, scouting party or not.
“Lots of people were hurt. And ... others as well,” said Perrin grimly.
“Nynaeve and the Aes Sedai Healed everyone they could. Three died. The
lookouts, Chaena and Sakaru ... the, the Draghkar got them. That’s why there
was no warning.”
“Vile things,” growled Inukai. “Even by Shadowspawn standards.”
Given the way Perrin was grinding his teeth, Rand didn’t think he wanted to
know the details of how the lookouts had been found. “The third,” he said
quietly. “Was it Sar?”
Perrin nodded. “We found him at the base of the cliff. The one you fell from.
We’ve had search parties looking for you ever since. Hurin and Lan are with the
other one.”
Then Anna, and Nynaeve; Min, Elayne, Loial, and the rest of his friends were
all safe. Rand was more than glad to hear it, but with that gladness came the
echo of his earlier guilt. Three men dead. Men who swore to follow me. And I’m
glad it’s only them. His guilt combined with the advice Elayne had given him,
and became a new resolve. No matter how uncomfortable their attitude towards
him had grown, he would stop avoiding the Shienaran armsmen. He owed them that
much, at least.
Perrin was studying Morrigan, who eyed him and the rest of the newcomers with
barely concealed suspicion. She had drawn herself up on her toes, and reminded
him suddenly of Mistress Ayellin’s cat, Missy, that time they had passed
through her kitchen to call on Dav. He didn’t think Mat had actually been
planning to filch that bun, but he had taken Missy’s look for a dare, and, Mat
being Mat, one thing had led to another. It was just a shame Rand and Perrin
had gotten blamed too. And that there hadn’t been enough bun to go around.
Corin Ayellin was an excellent cook.
Perrin sighed and turned knowing eyes Rand’s way. “Is it even worth my while,
asking where you’ve been all this time?” he sighed. “Honestly, Rand. You could
have at least told us you were alright, before going off gallivanting.”
Rand was outraged. “What!? I was washed away in the river, and I’ve been trying
to find the rest of you ever since. I didn’t go gallivanting anywhere!”
“Uh-huh. So where is your new friend from?”
“Nowhere you need to know of, you with your wolven eyes,” Morrigan said. Perrin
frowned, but at the pommel of his saddle, not at Morrigan; her he avoided
looking at again.
Rand considered her carefully. “I won’t say exactly where, but I stayed at her
village for a night.” Perrin snorted at that. And Rand continued angrily. “I
had been swimming in a river in the middle of winter, Perrin. I was wet and
cold. It wasn’t like you’re implying.” Except when it was.
“I doubt this one’s imagination can stretch far enough to encompass what it was
truly like,” sighed Morrigan, utterly unabashed. The watching Shienarans
developed a sudden interest in the trees around them.
Rand sighed and closed his eyes. “You’re not helping, Morrigan.” She laughed in
response.
He was no prude, of course, but he had always valued discretion when it came to
trysts such as this. He had been taught such by his earliest lovers. Morrigan
though ... Blood and ashes, what have I gotten myself into?
***** Tai'shar Shienar *****
CHAPTER 8: Tai’shar Shienar
 
As Perrin led them east, where he said Moiraine and the bulk of their party
were camped, Rand doubled up with Morrigan on the horse that Izana had kindly
lent him. He had objected to the offer at first, saying he could walk the rest
of the way easily enough, but Izana’s oddly hurt expression and Elayne’s
remembered advice, prodded him to thank the moon-faced fellow with what grace
he could muster, and then haul himself onto the dun gelding’s back. They bred
their horses for strength in Shienar, for the beast carried him, Morrigan and
its own blanket of unadorned steel plates and chainmail with seeming ease.
Ragan’s horse didn’t seem troubled by the added weight of Izana on its back
either, and for all that he was younger and slimmer, he was as heavily armoured
as Ragan.
“Such a strange group, these friends of yours,” said Morrigan as they rode. She
had been dubious of the horse at first, but had taken his hand and mounted up
with relative ease. She sat behind him now, the top of her head barely reaching
his shoulder, and kept her voice low. “Is it common to shave one’s head so, in
the lands you came from?”
“We’re not all from the same lands, Morrigan,” he said, not bothering to
whisper. They rode surrounded by the successful search party, all of whom could
hear them just fine. “In Shienar, warriors wear their hair in a topknot. In the
Theren, where I come from ... well, we don’t actually have warriors, only
farmers. The women wear their hair in long braids, most of them, and the men
cut theirs short.”
“And yet these foreign warriors readily defer to you ... a mere farmer. ‘Tis
odd, that ...”
And there it was, the thing most wanted to avoid talking about. She would learn
the truth soon enough. Would it be better if he told her now? She would leave
him then. As she should. Or, better yet, he should leave her rather than put
her life at risk by staying in her company. It was the right thing to do. He
knew that. And yet ... there was a hunger in him, an emptiness, a sense of
weary wrongness, that only truly receded when he was in someone’s arms. Selfish
fool, he cursed himself. You shouldn’t be with any woman, ever. But he wanted
... he wanted ... something, and he wanted it badly.
Her arms felt nice around his waist. Her breath tickled the back of his neck as
she shifted in her seat, trying to see over his shoulder. He could wait a
little longer at least. No, that would be cowardly. Rand steeled himself, and
spoke the hated words. “I am the Dragon Reborn. That’s why they follow me.”
Morrigan sucked in a sharp breath. “The Dragon Reborn,” she whispered. “So
that’s why ... but ... I don’t understand ... You are the man most hated? You?”
“Apparently,” he gritted. “It’s not a job I wanted, believe me. But don’t
worry, once we’re out of this forest we can consider Flemeth’s bargain met, and
you can go on your own way, safely out of my reach. That way I won’t be able to
do anything to you if I go mad.”
“I ... see,” Morrigan said quietly. They rode silently on through the bleached
white forest.
The camp Perrin led them to was ringed with a shallow ditch, from which
protruded an irregular row of hastily sharpened wooden stakes. With Shadowspawn
at large in Falmerden, Moiraine was taking no chances. Masuto issued challenge
when he spotted their approach, and Ragan answered with a grin, adding, “We
found him!”
His cry roused the camp, and when Rand dismounted inside the protective circle
he found himself surrounded by familiar faces. Izana and the other scouts got a
nod of approval from Uno as they passed each other; the one-eyed man blowing
out a loud breath when got close enough to see that Rand was uninjured. Elayne
held back uncertainly, while Min stalked over, flanked by Nynaeve who, of
course, was tugging her braid. Loial nodded to himself, rumbled, “Ta’veren,”
and began jotting something down in his notebook. Leliana drifted close enough
to listen, while Moiraine folded her hands at her waist and waited imperiously
for Rand to come to her.
Anna had her bow strung, but that didn’t prevent her from using it as a cudgel.
She thumped his thigh with it, hard. “Where have you been? You had me worried
sick.” A glance showed him he would get no sympathy from Nynaeve, or even from
Min, judging from the way her mouth was set.
Rand grimaced. He was going to have a dead leg now, he just knew it. Anna stood
all of five feet, short even by the standards of Theren women, but the stocky
girl was much stronger that you might expect. “I fell into the river and got
washed away,” he explained. “It took me a while to walk back.”
Morrigan clambered down from the saddle, looking less than elegant. It occurred
to Rand, too late, that he should have helped her down, but the sudden influx
of friendly faces had distracted him. The forest-born woman plastered an
imperious look on her face. “And who is this, Rand? The runt of the litter,
from the look of her.”
Anna scowled, and Rand’s back stiffened. Morrigan had a barbed tongue, he knew.
But none of her comments in the past few days had bothered him, not even the
one’s directed his way. He’d even found himself charmed, and amused by her
talk. Yet suddenly, he was not amused, not at all. “She’s not a runt,
Morrigan,” he warned. “She’s Anna al’Tolan, an old friend from back home. An
old and cherished friend.”
Morrigan ignored his tone. “From the same place, then? Well that must surely
settle it. Is that all it takes to decide one’s destiny? To be born in a
certain place, to a certain people?” she mused. “How unfortunate you both must
be, to be born in a land of farmers. So woefully ill-prepared. Well, at least
you have each other for company, I suppose.”
Nynaeve was muttering to herself. He caught the words “dosing” and
“sheepstongue”. Her heart didn’t seem fully in it though, and she was staring
at Morrigan with an odd look in her eyes.
Min came to stand at Anna’s side. “Who’s the charmer?” she asked, indicating
Morrigan with a jerk of her chin. “And why are there so many ... Never mind.”
“This is Morrigan,” Rand said. He forced a smile and tried to start over.
“She’s from ... a local village, and she knows the Knotwood well. She helped me
find my way back.”
“Well that was nice of her,” Min said distractedly. She was doing that thing
she did, looking not at Morrigan, but at the empty air around her. He knew her
well enough to know what that meant.
“Hmm, yes. You did say it works best on channelers,” said Verin. The Brown
sister wandered by Rand’s shoulder, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully. He
hadn’t even known she was there.
Nynaeve clicked her fingers. “That’s what it is! I can sense it in her.”
Verin blinked. “Yes, naturally. We all can, surely. What else would she be,
this wild girl, from a wild village in the middle of nowhere, who has now
attached herself to young Rand ... if not a wilder? And one with a not-
insignificant potential, too. Close to Elayne’s, even.”
“You can channel, Morrigan?” Rand said, surprised.
“She probably doesn’t know she can,” said Nynaeve, with sympathy.
Even that slight hint of pity was enough to put Morrigan’s back up. “I am quite
aware of what I am. I need no help in understanding the power I wield,
certainly not from whatever you are.”
Nynaeve opened her mouth angrily, but it was Verin—who was watching Morrigan
intently with her dark, birdlike eyes—who spoke first. “Surely your village
cannot have been so sheltered that you have never heard of the Aes Sedai.”
Morrigan blanched. “I ... have heard of them. Though what I heard was not
complimentary. I want nothing from you, know this for true.”
Verin nodded. “Hmm. Not complimentary. Interesting.”
Rand sighed. This wasn’t going well. At this rate the Aes Sedai were likely to
try and drag Morrigan off to the White Tower. Or Nynaeve and Anna might decide
they’d had enough of her barbs, and thump her on the nose. He cast about for a
way to change the subject, and fortunately one came easily to mind.
“Well, now that we’re all friends,” he began optimistically, “would someone
mind telling me what’s been going on with the Shadowspawn? Have there been any
more attacks? How many are out there, and how did they get so far south?”
“Through the Ways, I would imagine,” said Verin absently, still intent on
Morrigan.
Min bit her lip. “There hasn’t been another attack, but ... Have they told you
about Sakaru and Chaena? And Sar?”
He sighed. “Yes, they told me. Sar ... Sar’s death was my fault.”
“Such things often happen, when the untrained meddle with a Power they can
barely understand, much less control. You must learn.” Verin didn’t sound near
as muddled as she usually did, and her words could as easily have been directed
at Morrigan as at Rand. The wilder girl heard it too, and raised her chin
defiantly.
There was pity in Min’s eyes, but she didn’t rush to tell Rand he was wrong.
He would have expected anger from Uno, but the grizzled, one-eyed man simply
stood with his helmet under one arm. “The camp is secure, my Lord Dragon,” he
said, “but these woods are not. Our search parties have reported signs of
Trolloc moving out there, and recently. Only small groups so far, maybe
stragglers from the two Fists we fought earlier, maybe scouts from another
raid, but either way I think it would be best if we moved east quickly, as soon
as the other group reports back.” He said it all without a single curse,
despite Rand knowing he deserved to be cussed out.
“Then that’s what we’ll do, Uno,” he said solemnly.
Moiraine had been standing a fair distance away, waiting, but she heard what
was being said and glided over, managing to look unhurried despite the swift
pace she set. She must have ears like a cat, Rand thought.
“We will not get far in what light is left,” she proclaimed, “and this position
has already been secured. It will be better if we wait until tomorrow to resume
our march.”
Rand opened his mouth to argue, wanting very much to be out of this wood as
soon as possible. “There will be less chance of any more unfortunate accidents
this way,” Moiraine continued with a coolly-raised eyebrow, crushing all of
Rand’s arguments with ease. He grimaced, and nodded assent.
“Well, Morrigan knows these woods better than anyone. At least we’ll be able to
move quicker now,” Rand said.
“How fortunate that you happened across her, then,” said Moiraine blandly.
“Across? No. Not that,” Morrigan put in, smiling toothily at Moiraine.
Rand wasn’t sure what she meant, but he was suddenly sure he wanted to be
elsewhere. There were too many sharpened claws on display for his liking.
“Uno, walk with me, please.”
The Shienaran commander fell in at Rand’s side, or more accurately, a
respectful half-step behind Rand’s side. Rand hid his discomfort as best he
could, both the discomfit caused by the leg he was now favouring—thanks,
Anna—and that caused by Uno’s changed attitude towards him. Uno was greying and
scarred and had had been fighting the Shadow for thirty years or more. He was
old enough to be Rand’s father, yet he behaved as though the reverse was true
between them. It still seemed very strange to him, no matter how normal Elayne
claimed it to be. As Rand led them towards the supply horses, every Shienaran
soldier they passed bowed low at the waist to Rand, and saluted Uno, fist to
chest; and they performed the acts in that order.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rand began, “that it I want to avoid getting killed by
Trollocs, or a random archer, it would probably be a good idea to wear armour
of some kind.”
Uno looked relieved. “That’d make a lot of blo—a lot of sense, my Lord Dragon.
We still have Lord Ingtar’s plate. He left it behind when he went into Falme.
Peace. Maybe if he’d been wearing it those fu—the Seanchan wouldn’t have been
able to kill him.”
Ingtar’s death may have come at Seanchan hands, but there were other factors
involved in causing it. Not that Rand had any intention of telling anyone about
those. Ingtar’s secrets would rest in his grave with him, if Rand had any say
in it. “I wish things could have gone differently,” he said.
Uno nodded. “The full suit isn’t likely to fit you though, the bodytype doesn’t
match. And even if the two of you had been close enough in size, you still want
a proper bloo—ah, armourer to get everything set up right.”
“That makes sense. And I’m not sure I’d want a full suit of plate anyway. Those
things look hellishly uncomfortable to move in.”
Uno stroked his heavy, stubbled jaw. “You’d be surprised, I think. If it’s
well-made and well-fitted you can move it in easily enough. But I suppose that
don’t matter right now. At the least you’ll be wanted a bloo—a good
breastplate, and a backplate. Helm too, and some leather and chainmail.”
“That’d be nice. Do you think you could find me some of those in our supplies?”
“If they aren’t there now, I’ll bloody well find them, my Lord Dragon,” Uno
declared. Then his cheeks coloured. He actually bloody blushed! Uno bloody
Nomesta! “Forgive me, my Lord. Slip of the tongue. It won’t happen again,
Light’s Truth.”
“It’s fine, Uno,” said Rand, shaking his head in exasperation. “You can curse
all you want. Honestly, I don’t mind. There’s no need to bite your tongue with
me.”
“Forgive me, my Lord Dragon. But that just wouldn’t be right. If you have no
other orders for me, I’ll get to work on that problem right away.”
“Thank you, Uno. You’re dismissed.” That was what Elayne said he should say in
these situations, though it sounded rude and presumptuous to Rand. It seemed to
satisfy Uno however, for he bowed, stepped back, turned and marched off towards
his gathered soldiers.
Rand found himself alone with the packhorses. It occurred to him that there was
at least one friend for whom nothing about him would have changed. It was easy
to spot her amongst the huge Shienar-bred horses, given how short and shaggy as
she was. Bela was no racehorse, but she’d kept pace with Moiraine’s white mare
when they fled the Theren. She was no warhorse, but she’d carried Egwene into
battle, and later ferried her safely across the Arindrelle, from what Anna had
told him. She whinnied softly when Rand approached her picket line, and nuzzled
the palm he held out to her. He thought he saw a question in the way the placid
mare looked at him.
“I’m sorry girl. I don’t have any apples today. I’ll bring you some later, if I
can find any.” Supplies of fruit were low. He rested his forehead against the
horse’s long face, and recalled the home they had shared. He’d have to find a
way to send her back there soon. He doubted he’d be able to go himself, but
maybe Perrin or Anna could take Bela with them when they went home.
Rand wasn’t the only one visiting the packhorses. Areku was the only woman
among the Shienaran soldiers, but performed all the same duties as the rest of
the men. It looked like it was her turn to see that the horses got their ration
of grain today. Areku had always wanted to be a soldier. She’d told him that,
more than a week ago. Just a humble soldier, nothing less, and nothing more.
As she passed down the line towards Bela, a slight wariness grew in her. It
didn’t show on her hard, solemn face, but he saw it in her faltering steps and
the way she avoided looking at him. Did she think he wouldn’t respect her
wishes?
She was too polite to ignore him completely, or course; she was a Shienaran,
after all. “I was glad to see you unharmed, my Lord Dragon,” Areku said
quietly, as she attended to the horse next to Bela, a beast so powerful it
would have made Mistress al’Vere’s Dhurran draft horses seem small. “You gave
us all quite a fright.”
“I’m sorry if I worried you, Areku,” said Rand, his voice as quiet as hers.
“I’m sorry for a lot of things.” She’d never wanted to get involved with a
lord, she had told him. Especially not her lord, and most especially of all not
the Lord Dragon Reborn. It had stung. He would have liked to have continued
what they had begun after coming out the other side of the Portal Stone, but he
couldn’t fault her for wanting to distance herself from him.
At least on a personal basis. Areku had taken great pains to assure him that
she was loyal to her oaths. He recalled how she had clutched her hands together
nervously, as she explained that she would even serve him as a lover, if he so
desired. She only asked that he keep it secret from the others. Rand had been
appalled. “I would never order you to do something like that, if you didn’t
want to do it!” he’d vowed. He’d kept his oath too. Since that discussion he
hadn’t made another attempt to see her in private.
“How is the mood in the camp?” he asked now. “Be honest with me, Areku. The way
I lost control of saidin during the fight ... Do they hate me?”
Surprise widened her dark eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. My Lord Dragon, I mean.
Peace. How could they hate you? You are the Dragon Reborn, the Creator Herself
sent you to save us. And besides, Verin Sedai and Moiraine Sedai have explained
how difficult it is to control the One Power, especially for someone
inexperienced. You don’t need to worry about any of us turning against you.
That will never happen.”
“That’s a relief,” he sighed. But there was a part of Rand that felt they
should hate him, that he deserved to be hated for what he was, and what he had
done. “Tai’shar Shienar.” It was a salute and compliment he’d often heard among
the Borderlanders. It meant “true blood of Shienar”.
Small spots of colour bloomed on Areku’s pale cheeks. “Tai’shar Manetheren. Or
wherever it is you are truly from.” He smiled wryly. There were times he wasn’t
entirely sure of that himself.
After parting ways with Areku once more, he spotted Morrigan in conversation
with Loial. That was good, the Ogier was the most patient person Rand had ever
met, for all that he considered himself hasty by the standards of his people.
If anyone could put up with Morrigan’s tongue, it would be him. I should try
and help her to fit in, if she’s going to be travelling with us, Rand thought.
He was a bit short on ideas for how to go about that, unfortunately.
Verin was seated on a fallen log, scribbling in one of her notebooks, while
Tomas hovered nearby. She spoke up when Rand passed within earshot.
“Morrigan tells me her mother insisted she accompany you.”
Rand nodded. “She thought Morrigan needed to see more of the world.”
“Did she? How sweet. Not many mothers would send their daughters out in the
company of men being hunted by Trollocs. It’s nice that Morrigan’s mother has
such faith in her.”
He frowned. “Well, yes. I guess.” That whole place had given Rand the creeps.
He had been glad to leave, and he got the feeling Morrigan had been too.
“You find friends in the strangest of places,” Verin mused. “It makes you
wonder ...”
“Wonder what?”
She blinked, and looked around in confusion. “Hmm? What was that? Never mind.
How are you dreams these days, Rand. Or should it be nights? Strange things,
dreams.”
“They can be,” he sighed. His dreams hadn’t been so bad since Falme. Or at
least, when they had been troubled it had only been the normal kind of trouble,
not the kind that Ishamael had often inflicted on him. Rand wondered if he’d
killed the Forsaken, when he ran him through. He hoped it was so, but somehow
he doubted he’d seen the last of “Ba’alzamon”. “Mine are fine, though.”
Rand was on his way to join Morrigan and Loial when Izana intercepted him. It
seemed Uno was being thorough in his hunt for Rand’s makeshift armour, for
Izana was armed with a measuring tape. Rand steered him towards his tent, since
he didn’t much like the idea of standing out in everyone’s view while his
measurements were taken.
Izana was dutifully thorough and the process dragged on a bit. Rand, recalling
his resolve to be a better ... well, not lord, but whatever he was now, cast
around for a topic of conversation. Izana was down on one knee with the tape
around Rand’s thigh. Round-faced, with pale, unblemished skin, he might have
been close to Rand’s own age. Too young to have travelled far from home.
Normally.
“Are you from Fal Dara originally, Izana,” Rand said.
He looked surprised that Rand had spoken, and fumbled his tape, which brought
some colour to his cheeks and a quaver to his voice. “Yes, my Lord Dragon. I
grew up there. My mother works for Lady Amalisa. Perhaps you met her while you
were staying in the fortress? Urei Shinesta. She’s a Healer.” Healer was what
they called Wisdoms in Shienar.
“I didn’t have the pleasure,” he said. “Nynaeve usually takes care of any ills
I have.”
“She seems very dedicated to her work,” he said politely.
“There are times I think she’d try to heal a three-day dead corpse,” Rand
snorted. “Probably by thumping it repeatedly with a stick, and demanding it
stop being so lazy.”
Izana smiled uncertainly. “As you say, my Lord Dragon,” he said with a light
laugh. He rose to his feet, and wrapped the tape around Rand’s outstretched
arm.
There had been a bit of a forced sound to that laugh. Rand grimaced slightly.
The Light send it never reached the stage of people pretending to laugh at his
bad jokes. Assuming it hadn’t already.
“Well. I hope you get to return to Fal Dara someday soon, and find your mother
in good health when you get there.”
“That’s kind of you, my Lord Dragon. But defeating the Shadow is what’s most
important. My mother understands that. As do I.”
“Tai’shar Shienar,” Rand said, again. The moment seemed to demand it.
Izana bowed low, which could not be easy while carrying all that metal on your
back. He gathered his tape and asked Rand’s leave to return to Uno, which was
duly granted.
No sooner had he left, than Nynaeve arrived with Anna in tow. The Wisdom was
concerned for his health, and full of warnings about the danger of cold and
wet, dangers Rand was already well-aware of. He was too glad of Nynaeve’s
concern to complain about her prodding though, not even when she laid hands on
him and concentrated in such a way that he was sure she must be using the One
Power on him. He shivered, but did not pull away. He didn’t mind the Power, so
long as it was only Nynaeve using it, and not one of the Aes Sedai.
Anna planted herself at Nynaeve’s side, arms folded beneath her modest breasts,
as though ready to do whatever was needed to ensure Rand cooperated with the
Wisdom. She reminded him suddenly of that hulking street tough Master Gill had
hired as a bouncer in the Queen’s Blessing, back in Caemlyn. Dorn, he thought
the man’s name had been. The effect was a little spoiled in Anna’s case, what
with her being nearly half the man’s size.
“You’re making me nervous, Anna. I hope you’re not planning to jump up, and
kick me on the shin,” Rand teased.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll do more than kick you, al’Thor, if you don’t stop
taking such foolish risks. And I won’t need to jump up to do it neither, you
lanky prat.”
Rand laughed. He was amazed and gladdened by how little had changed between
them, despite all the changes in his life, and in their relationship.
“This Morrigan ...” Anna began, sounding uncertain of herself. “Do you trust
her?”
Rand hesitated to answer that. “I think she grew up in a pretty harsh
environment,” he said at last. “And it’s made her a bit sharp-edged. But I
think she’s a good person underneath it all.”
Nynaeve sniffed in response, though she didn’t give over pinching at Rand’s
fingers.
Anna shrugged dubiously. “We’ll see, I guess. I’m going to be keeping an eye on
her though.”
Later that evening Rand sat beside Morrigan on the trunk of a long-fallen tree,
as they gathered around the cookfire. The sun had already set, but Lan’s party
had not yet returned to camp, and more than one set of worried eyes kept
drifting to the surrounding trees. Moiraine didn’t seemed overly concerned by
the delay, though, and surely if anyone would know if Lan had been hurt it
would be her.
“I do not much care for civilised ways,” Morrigan said quietly, between
spoonfuls of soup. “’Tis a great deal of trouble, for no great gain.”
“I think it’s all about the dosage, as Nynaeve would say,” Rand said, just as
quietly. “I always looked forward to our trips to town, when I was growing up.
It was lonely on the farm, with just Tam and I. But since leaving home, I have
to admit there have been times I found myself wishing for a bit more privacy.”
“Considering the towering self-righteousness of your companions, I find that
quite understandable.”
Rand sighed. “If I thought that of them, they wouldn’t be my friends. Morrigan.
Honestly, you can think what you want. I’m not going to try and tell you you
have to like the people I like, but could you not insult them to my face?
Especially not in a way that implies I agree with you.”
“And here I thought you wanted me to speak my mind,” she said, in that archly
mocking way she had.
“I do. Mostly. It’s all about the dosage. There has to be a point somewhere
between ‘aggressively rude’ and ‘stiltedly proper’ that would fit you quite
nicely.”
“I am already fitted quite nicely,” she said confidently.
He couldn’t help but smile. “When it’s just the two of us, I very much agree.”
“Then perhaps we should retire to that oversized tent of yours. Then you will
see exactly how good a fit I am ...” she whispered.
Rand was tempted, very tempted. But ... “I’m worried about the missing
searchers. I want to stay up until they arrive back, and find out what’s kept
them so long.”
She sighed. “How very responsible of you.” Somehow, from her, it didn’t sound
like a compliment. She stayed up with him though, long after everyone but
Moiraine and the current sentries had sought their blankets.
An hour or more dragged on with no sign of Lan’s party. Rand could stand the
wait no longer. When he approached Moiraine to ask what she knew of them, she
said only that she knew nothing of the other searchers, but that Lan was far
away as yet, and uninjured. She urged him to get some sleep, alone preferably,
unless he wished her to Refresh him again when it came time for them to ride
out tomorrow. Rand declined that last offer, and when Morrigan rose to follow
him towards his tent, he decided to decline Moiraine’s previous advice too.
He paused outside the tent, in the dark of the night, and pulled her to him.
She came willingly, her arms going around his neck to pull his lips down to
hers. Soon he was taking her by the hand and leading her inside. He heard her
light laughter, and the sound of clothes being shed, but that wasn’t enough for
Rand. As intimate as they had already been, he had so far been denied the sight
of her in her full glory. So he sought out the lamp where he knew it waited,
and went to work getting it lit.
When the soft light finally bathed the inside of the tent, Rand turned around
and found Morrigan waiting for him. She was as naked as the day she was born,
and reclined on his sleeping pallet, one hand supporting her weight, while the
other rested in the hollow of her narrow waist. She was pale-skinned, and very
slender, almost thin even, with narrow, girlish shoulders. Her long, smooth
legs converged at the thick tangle of dark hair that covered her most private
parts. The breasts she displayed for him were neither small, nor large, and
tipped with pink nipples that had visibly stiffened. She was altogether
beautiful.
He told her as much, and she smiled and beckoned him towards her.
Morrigan eagerly helped him shed his clothes, and once he was naked, wasted
little time before pulled him down atop her, and pulling him inside her too.
She was wet, and hot, and her pussy was as fine a fit as the breast that he
squeezed in his palm. He took her hard, and her teeth found the flesh of his
shoulder, not as rebuke, but to urge him on.
Rand’s sense of self, and of time, was lost to Morrigan’s touch. By the time he
came inside her, they were both covered in sweat, and the lamplight was
flickering out. Morrigan took what he had to give her, fondling his bottom as
he spurted repeatedly inside her. He wrapped her tenderly in his arms and
murmured her name as wave after wave of pleasure rocked him towards sleep.
Her own satisfaction had not yet come, but Morrigan was not shy about rolling
Rand over and mounting him. She reached back to rest one hand on his muscular
thigh as she began to ride him insistently, her free hand rubbing brazenly at
the place where they were joined. Her glistening breasts shook with her
impassioned movements, crying out for his hands. He reached up to squeeze them,
and won a loud groan of pleasure from her.
Morrigan’s amber eyes snapped open and she stared down at him. Her dark hair
had come completely loose from its bounds and strands of it now clung to her
forehead and the sides of her face. Her cheeks had a newly pink shade, her red
lips were parted, and she gasped for air with every rise and fall of her hips.
She looked wild and wanton, and utterly, utterly, glorious.
The rise and fall of Morrigan’s sex along his abruptly ceased, though the
jerking movements of her free hand did not. She stared Rand right in the eyes
as she came upon him, and a shuddering, high-pitched moan escaped her lips. The
last few flickering gasps of the lamplight reflected in her eyes as she fell
slowly forward. Rand opened his arms and welcomed her warm body into his
embrace, as the darkness closed in around them.
“That was wonderful,” he gasped. “You are wonderful.”
“Yes. I am.” Morrigan laughed softly. She slid over to rest against his side,
her head on his shoulder, and together they drifted off to sleep.
It was a dreamless sleep for Rand, something he had come to cherish. The waking
was even better though. Rand had never woken up with a woman’s arms around him
before. He thought it a highly agreeable experience.
Morrigan was quiet in her sleep, but when he softly brushed her hair aside, the
better to see her face, her eyes snapped open. Her narrow glare subsided,
mostly, once she realised where she was.
“Is it morning already?” she mumbled.
“Not quite. But I should go and see if Lan and the others came back.” He tried
to kiss her, but she rolled over and burrowed further into the blankets,
grumbling incoherently.
Rand dressed in the dark, then pushed his way out into the cold winter’s
morning. It hadn’t snowed in the night, but dawn’s light was still a long ways
off. He wrapped his fur cloak around himself as he sought out the nearest
sentry. There was no sign of Moiraine and he assumed she had gone to bed.
Han had sentry duty. He had put a tree trunk between him and the surrounding
forest and peered out around it. Either his armour and fur was enough to keep
him warm, or this Falmeran winter really was mild by Shienaran standards, for
Han—who was normally a bit of a complainer—stood still and watchful, neither
stamping his feet, nor rubbing his hands.
“Friendly approaching,” said Rand as he drew near, not wanting to spook the
man.
Han glanced around. “My Lord Dragon. You’re up early.”
“I was worried about the missing men. Has there been any word?”
“Not yet. But with the Dai Shan with them I figure they’ll be fine.” That was
one of Lan’s titles among the Borderlanders. “Actually ...” Han continued,
peering into the gloom. “Did you ...?”
Rand heard it then, the crunch of a foot on packed snow. Han drew his sword
from his back, and stepped in front of Rand. “Who goes there?” he called.
“Friends!” answered another Shienaran. Rikimaru, Rand thought.
Han grunted. “You’re late back, some folk were worried. Not me though.”
“We ran into some Shadowspawn, too many to be stragglers from the last bunch,”
Rikimaru answered. “The Dai Shan wanted to leave them a false trail. We saw no
sign of the Lord Dragon though. Did the other party have any luck?”
“Ah, we’ll they found me, if that counts as luck,” said Rand.
“Lord Rand!” Hurin called happily. “You’re back! I told them you’d be fine.”
“The Light’s will was done, as it ever must be,” gasped another voice, a deep,
harsh, insistent one. Masema. Rand was glad of the darkness; it hid his
grimace.
“What happened, sheepherder?” said Lan, and a grimace turned quickly to a grin.
Rand’s becoming the Dragon Reborn hadn’t changed anything for Lan.
“I fell from a cliff and got washed away in a stream. I’m fine though. What
about you lot? Any injuries?”
“Nothing that won’t heal. Though Nengar may need an Aes Sedai Healing, if he’s
to fight again in the next few days.”
“Do you think he’ll have to?”
Rand’s night vision was barely good enough to pick out the shadowed shape of
Lan as he rode his horse closer, a darkness upon a greater darkness. But the
head that thumped to the snowy ground at Rand’s feet ... that he could see
easily. Pale-faced and black-haired, it’s mouth still worked soundlessly,
though its eyes did not blink of course. It had none. Rand cursed.
“There are more fists in the woods,” Lan said. “The Trollocs were not linked to
this one, unfortunately, and there are at least two more Halfmen out there.
Hunting us.”
“It seems a lot, to be this far south. More than came to the Theren,” said
Rand.
“Yes. And I suspect there are more than we’ve seen. The Waygate we used to come
here—which is their most likely means of entrance—is a long way west of the
Knotwood. For so many Trollocs to make it this far, unchallenged, they must
have sent a large army into Falmerden.”
“Blood and ashes. This place just about survived the Seanchan invasion, now
there’s a Shadowspawn invasion as well?”
“They must rally and fight,” Lan said, his voice hard and cold. “Your Theren
farm-folk managed it. These Falmerans should be able to as well. If not, then
the Shadow will trample them underfoot.” Rand wondered sometimes how much the
Borderlanders resented the more southerly nations. It couldn’t be easy,
fighting a never-ending war against the Trollocs, knowing that others were
lazing in luxury, and reaping the benefits of your actions. He said nothing of
that to Lan though.
“Well, we should make better time going forward,” Rand said. “I found us a
local guide. She grew up in these woods, so she’ll know the quickest way
through them.”
Lan grunted. “Good. I’m going to report to Moiraine. You should get ready to
march.”
When Rand returned to his tent and relit the lamp Morrigan cursed at him.
Ordinarily he would have let her sleep but with Shadowspawn drawing closer that
wasn’t an option. She didn’t look particularly worried by the news, and simply
kept grumbling about the hour. She was even less bothered by the chill morning
air, tossing the blankets aside with a fine lack of care, or modesty, and
hauling herself up to recover her discarded clothes. Rand’s own preparations
went wonderfully. He managed to locate his swordbelt and didn’t even drop it
again, while he stared at Morrigan puttering about the tent, naked as her
nameday. She bent, she stooped, she crouched, and when everything was gathered,
she dressed so slowly that he wondered if she was deliberately delaying him.
Her face was a lovely mask that revealed nothing of her thoughts, but when at
last she was ready, just as she turned to leave, he saw a small, satisfied
smile curve her lips.
Rand shook himself and went back to his packing.
When he had his personal belongings, the ruins of Tam’s sword foremost among
them, safely stowed in his saddlebags, Rand emerged from his tent into the
still-dark morning. There was light coming from Moiraine’s tent, and shadowed
figures bustled to and fro. He knew he should help strike the tent, and tried
to tell himself his refusal was just part of being lordly, and not sheer
laziness.
Morrigan was standing over the spot where Lan had dropped his grizzly trophy.
She sent an archly disdainful look over her shoulder when she heard footsteps
on the snow, but her mask slipped when she saw it was only him. She looked
troubled.
“First time seeing a Fade? Nasty things,” Rand said.
“No. ‘Tis not that, I mean. They’re been wandering the wilds for weeks now,
after all.” She was staring at the head. It would not fully die until the dawn
came, Rand knew. That was probably why Lan had brought it, to prevent it from
telling any other Shadowspawn what it had seen. Or not seen, in its case. “They
will kill you when they find you,” she said quietly. “Or you will kill them.
Whoever is worthy of surviving, will.”
Rand grunted. “I can’t see how a Fade could ever be worthy of surviving, no
matter how strong it is. They are monstrous and cruel things. That they’re good
with their swords doesn’t change that.”
“Death to all Shadowspawn!” she said, so grandly she had to be mocking him.
“Let us purge the world of them all, lest they swoop down upon us in our sleep.
And spoil our lovely, gentle dreams.”
“If you can do that, miss, I’ll make a blo-, a song in your honour,” said Uno
as he approached. “Can’t swear to the quality, though. Never was much of a
singer.”
Morrigan raised her brows. “No? Truly, I imagined you and your fellows singing
many a hymn over your campfires. Mostly about the glory of the Light, and the
horrors of an unfrozen skull.”
Uno rubbed his shaven scalp. “Right. Anyway, I have that gear you were asking
about yesterday, my Lord Dragon. Will you be wanting it now, or later?”
“Now would be great. Thanks, Uno.”
“Nangu has it ready for you.” Uno waited for Rand to start walking before
falling in a half-step behind him. Morrigan trailed along after them.
Nangu was waiting by the fallen tree, with a collection of steel and leather
items arrayed on a saddlecloth at his feet. He himself was fully armoured and
ready to ride, and his thin lips were pinched even more as he frowned over the
collection.
“Forgive, my Lord Dragon,” he said, when Rand arrived. “It is a poorer suit
that you should have, mostly drawn from those left behind by Lord Ingtar and
the others.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. Thank you, Nangu.”
He gestured to the tree trunk. “If you’d care to have a seat, I can help you
with the fitting.”
Rand didn’t think the proper placement of all those buckles and straps
particularly intuitive, and so was happy to accept the offer. He’d learn by
watching, he decided, and sat where indicated.
“You wish help dressing yourself?” said Morrigan. “Are the children of your
Theren always so tall?”
Nangu’s back stiffened. Rand thought him torn between a desire to defend him
from the insult, and a reluctance to rebuke a woman for anything.
“They aren’t,” Rand said, with a wry smile. “I’m abnormally tall for my age.
Those boots look heavy, by the way.” He shed his own, the fine leather ones
Moiraine had bought him.
“You’ll get used to them,” Uno put it. “Far better than losing a leg, that’s
for sure.”
Rand needed no help with the boots, and waved off Nangu’s over-solicitous
offer. The leather-lined boots fit him comfortably enough, but he had no doubt
the grey, scaled steel that covered them, front and back, would slow his
movements. The boots reached almost to the top of his shin, and a longer steel
plate rose up at the front, slightly curved, and obviously intended to protect
the knee.
Rand removed his coat and cloak at Nangu’s polite request. Over his shirt went
a short, quilted leather coat, reaching only to his waist. The two Shienarans
attached some fine grey chainmail to the coat with a series of small buckles.
It held in place when Rand rolled his shoulders experimentally. Rand put his
favourite red coat on over the leather and mail armour, and sat still while Uno
and Nangu wrestled with the breast and back plates of unpolished steel. After
some argument, the two just about managed to get the plates attached via heavy
leather straps at the shoulders and waist.
Nangu tutted. “You really should have a suit custom made and fitted by a proper
armourer, my Lord Dragon.”
“Maybe some day,” said Rand.
The armour was not comfortable, but comfort was hardly the point of it. The
steel-backed and leather-lined gauntlets they gave him were much more
intricately scaled than the boots, allowing a decent amount of movement despite
the added weight. They fit him well enough, and pinched only slightly. The
neckguard and helmet were perhaps the most awkward parts of the suit. The helm
shielded his skull and the back and sides of his neck, but left his face bare.
It was illegal to hide your face in the Borderlands, even while at war. That
way Myrddraal could not impersonate humans. That was fine with Rand, as he
didn’t like the idea of peeking at the world through those narrow eyeholes in
the helmets that Falmerans tended to wear.
“This will do nicely,” he said, rising from his seat to test the weight. It was
a little bit awkward to move, but not as bad as he’d feared. “Thank you both.”
Nangu bowed. “Honour to serve.”
Dawn’s light was pearling the world around them by then. Moiraine finished
giving her orders to Geko and ran a critical eye over Rand. “It is a sensible
precaution,” she said. “Now prepare to ride. We will not waste the time Lan has
bought us. I want as much distance as possible between us and the Trollocs by
the time the sun sets. Morrigan, you will ride with the vanguard and point the
way. Ingtar’s former mount is yours now.”
“Oh, I will ride with the vanguard will I? Such curious things you think,” said
Morrigan. She locked eyes with Moiraine.
Rand sighed. It was not as if he didn’t find Moiraine’s tendency to order
everyone about vexing, but this was hardly the time to be arguing with her,
especially not when this particular order was perfectly sensible. “Ingtar’s
horse is one of the best we have, and I don’t he would’ve minded you taking it,
Morrigan. And if you could find us a quick way out of this forest, I’d be very
grateful.”
“I suppose Flemeth did say that I should help you,” Morrigan sighed. “But don’t
go reading anything more into it than that. Neither you, not this ... Aes
Sedai.”
Moiraine sniffed. “Rouse the camp, Uno,” she commanded. “Those who are still
abed will have to eat while they ride.”
***** A Call Unanswered *****
CHAPTER 9: A Call Unanswered
 
Min had no idea who had blabbed to the bard about her viewings, and Leliana
refused to reveal her source. She’d refused in a friendly manner, with smiles
and soft words, but it had still been a refusal. It certainly hadn’t helped Min
find out whose bottom was in need of kicking.
She was certain Elayne wouldn’t have told, not just because of who she was and
what they were to each other, but also because she’d been keeping her distance
from Leliana. When asked why, she had told Min a story about some queens
arguing over a river a few generations ago, and a war that was only stopped due
to the Amyrlin Seat’s intervention. Valreis had come out the worse in that
conflict and Elayne thought Leliana would bear some grudge against her over it.
Min thought that a load of old nonsense—who would hate a stranger over a fight
that only grandmothers could remember having?—but then, Min wasn’t anybodies
Daughter-Heir.
She doubted Rand would have told either. It wasn’t that she thought him tight-
lipped, exactly. She didn’t know him well enough to judge. It was just that
Leliana rarely spoke to him. About him, oh yes, she would talk about him to
anyone in camp who wasn’t already sick of her questions, but to Rand himself
she had nothing to say. It was odd, the way she hovered on the edges, watching
him constantly but never interacting with him. But Min supposed meeting the
Dragon Reborn, and being forced to travel with him, would make any woman act
oddly. It was just as well Min had met him before he became what he now was.
Leliana was watching him even now, as he rode at the head of their column,
solemn-faced and deep in conversation with Geko and Ragan, who flanked him.
Min didn’t think Anna would have blabbed. She was quiet at the best of times,
didn’t seem to trust Leliana much, and was loyal to her friends, a group that
Min liked to think she was a member of. Moiraine would tell only if she saw
some gain in it, and Lan only if Moiraine told him to. But it could have been
any one of the others. The Valreio bard had visited them all over the past
weeks. Her viewings told her nothing of course, bloody useless things that they
were. A collar of silk? What does that mean? Silk was quite strong she knew,
though her aunts had not been anywhere near rich enough that she saw much of it
in their shop. She supposed you might strangle someone with it, or that a lady
might wear some as a decorative collar, but no meaning came to her when she
looked at Leliana. Only the floating image.
“It must be a wonderful thing, to be able to see the future,” Leliana said, as
they rode side by side though the Knotwood. They had been making good time the
past few days, across much more forgiving terrain. As bitchy as she was,
Morrigan had made their passage easier Min had to admit.
“I don’t know what’s so wonderful about it,” she muttered. “It’s not like I can
change anything. And most of the folk back home certainly didn’t think it
wonderful.”
“Oh, what do they know?” Leliana scoffed. “They are just jealous. The Creator
gave you a gift; you must use it. You do it so effortlessly. It's like
breathing for you. I wish I had such talent.”
Min was not immune to flattery, especially from worldly men and pretty girls.
She grinned. “Oh, but you do. You have your music, your voice, your dancing.
You’re as graceful as anyone I've ever met. That’s a much better gift than some
silly viewings.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Leliana said. “I suppose we all have our
little gifts. Back in Valreis, I knew a noble lady who was like most of the
other noble ladies—fair of face and slow of wit. Anyway, Catarina had the most
uncanny ability to tie knots in the stems of cherries, using only her tongue.
It was very impressive. The men, especially, loved watching her. Her brother,
Raminas, had been Lord Consort to the Riela, before his accident. It was said
he had a similar gift ...”
“Uh, yes, but that's not exactly the sort of gift I was talking about.” She was
not so sheltered that she didn’t know what Leliana was hinting at. Elayne says
my tongue is very nimble, though I’ve never tried tying knots with it before!
“Have I ever told you I like the way you wear your hair?” Leliana said.
Min gave her a flat look. “Now you’re definitely just flattering me. I cut it
myself, half the time! Yours is much more stylish, short enough that it
wouldn’t be a chore to look after, but still very pretty.”  That was simple
truth. Leliana’s hair didn’t quite touch her shoulders, and was a similar shade
of red to Rand’s, rather than the bright orange of Elayne’s sunset locks. Min
was tempted to grow hers out a bit in imitation.
Leliana waved away Min’s words. “It’s very nice and it suits you. Simple. Not
like the elaborate hairstyles we wore in Orlay. They involved flowers, ribbons,
jewels ... One year, feathers were all the rage, and Lady Elise decided she
needed to outdo everyone else, and actually wore live songbirds in her hair.
The chirping was quite charming for a while, but you must realise, terrified
little birdies often have loose bowels.”
Min laughed, which drew some quelling frowns from their armoured escort, even
the normally friendly Han. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Literally.
Leliana laughed too, but softly. “Yes ... you can imagine what she looked like
by the end of the evening. But I was trying to say something nice to you,
wasn’t I? Oh, forgive me. My mind wanders so. You are so very sweet and
friendly, Min. I feel comfortable talking to you, like no matter what was said
or done, you would understand, and you wouldn’t judge me.”
“Does that mean we’re friends?”
Leliana smiled. “Yes. Very much so. I enjoy your company.”
Min bit her lip. She had come to wonder, during these talks, if Leliana wanted
to be more than friends. Or maybe she just spoke this way to everyone.
Certainly Loial, and Perrin, and almost all the Shienarans had been thoroughly
charmed by her, though there might be a more obvious explanation for that, in
the human men’s cases. “Do you often enjoy the company of other women?” she
asked, making her voice casual.
“And what would you do if I said I do?” said Leliana, watching her closely.
“Very much so, in fact?”
Min shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe giggle and try to look coy?”
Leliana laughed again. “You must do that then, perhaps later when I’m not
prepared for it? Surprise me?”
Min smiled. Yup, she’s definitely flirting with me. It was a nice feeling, but
she wasn’t about to cheat on Elayne with another woman. Well ... there was that
other woman she’d seen in her viewing of Rand. The strange and dangerous one.
She had little to no idea what would happen with her, but her relations with
Elayne hadn’t been what she expected, so who knew what the future held?
Certainly not the supposed prophet. How far does this sharing thing go, anyway?
She didn’t read too much into Leliana’s flirtations. The woman seemed to be
flirtatious by nature, a fact which probably contributed to how little trust
Moiraine seemed to have for her. Min couldn’t help but be sympathise when the
Aes Sedai warned Leliana not to stray from the party, once the trees finally
began to thin around them. She still remembered she sharp rebukes Moiraine had
sent her way after that Trolloc attack. Min knew she had deserved rebuke.
Leaving the Horn of Valere in her tent like that had been pretty dumb, but she
was still getting used to the crazy idea that she, Min Farshaw, was the
Hornsounder. Amidst all the shock and chaos of the attack, the Horn had
completely slipped her mind. It had been foolish, she knew that. But that
didn’t mean Moiraine had had to call her a stupid little girl who might have
gotten them all killed.
The Horn hung from her saddle all the time now, wrapped up but within easy
reach. Min didn’t think the newcomers knew about it. Rand had advised her not
to let anyone find out she had it, saying that it would make her a target, and
she thought him right about that. He had given the Shienarans strict orders not
to mention it to anyone. For the rest of their companions she would simply have
to trust their discretion.
“Don’t rebuke yourself so harshly,” Elayne had told her, a few nights back.
“Even if you had used it, what difference would have been made? Those who died
would still have died. No real harm was taken from the error. As to Moiraine,
this is simply part of establishing one’s command over others. I was taught it
by my mother, and I’m sure Moiraine had similar tutors. She rebukes you, and
everyone else, severely for every real or perceived mistake, so that you come
to believe you must ask her what to do, rather than deciding for yourself. She
does the same with Rand.”
“I can’t say I like that,” she had said, frowning. “I mean, I know he’s a man,
but he’s also the Dragon Reborn, and one of the Heroes of the Horn. Aes Sedai
or not, I don’t think Moiraine should be telling him what to do.”
Elayne had made small approving sounds. “It is an issue that will become
prominent in the days to come, mark me well. The prophesised saviour is a male.
The matriarchy will be at a loss for how to respond to that. I’m not entirely
sure even I know how to respond to it. And I saw the Heroes at Falme, and heard
them speak to him.”
Their words had died out when Min, feeling her climax draw near, had sped up
the movement of her hips. In hindsight it seemed a bit odd to have such a
conversation while laying back in bed, facing each other and rubbing their
womanhoods together, but when she was alone with Elayne nothing ever seemed to
feel anything but natural.
The memory of Elayne’s proud young breasts thrusting upwards as she arched her
back, head falling outside of Min’s view, her pink nipples stiff and lovely,
brought a smile to Min’s face now. She looked for her friend and spotted her
farther down the column, chatting with Nynaeve.
Leliana had fallen farther back while Min was lost in recollection. She was
turning her charm on the newcomer, Morrigan, now. Now there’s a strange one.
Min hadn’t spoken to Morrigan much. She wasn’t sure any of them had, save for
Rand. The woman was so full of arch commentary and cutting criticisms that any
conversation usually died in the first few sentences. Anna and Nynaeve had been
more than blunt in their descriptions of her, and for all Elayne’s efforts at
polite diplomacy, the conclusion had been much the same. Even Perrin, stolid
and proper, had shaken his head and said there was no accounting for taste. Min
frowned, and found herself watching the wilder ride by. Just what exactly is
going on with her? And with Rand?
Min slowed Wildrose and let the others pass her by. When Leliana caught up,
riding her Schmooples, Min had to grin. That was such a good name for a horse.
She wished she’d thought of something similar. Wildrose seemed so ...
unimaginative, in comparison.
“You are very beautiful Morrigan,” Leliana said truthfully. As unpleasant as
she often was, Morrigan did have a striking appearance.
“Tell me something I do not know,” Morrigan said arrogantly. Min rolled her
eyes.
Leliana’s pleasant charm was unshaken. “But you always dress in such rags. It
suits you I suppose. A little tear here, a little rip there to show some skin.
I understand.”
Morrigan scowled. “You understand I lived in a forest, I hope?”
“Maybe we could get you in a nice dress one day,” Leliana purred. “Silk. No,
maybe velvet. Velvet is heavier, better to guard against the cold in Falmerden.
Dark red velvet, yes. With gold embroidery. It should be cut low in the front
of course, we don’t want to hide your features.”
“Stop looking at my breasts like that. ‘Tis most disturbing!” Morrigan said,
her voice going higher than usual.
“You don't think so? And if it’s cut low in the front we must put your hair up
to show off that lovely neck.”
“You are insane,” Morrigan declared. “I would sooner let Loial dress me.”
“It’ll be fun, I promise! We’ll get some shoes too! Ah, shoes! We could go
shopping together!”
The two women passed out of earshot. Loial rode by her with his nose in a book,
not paying the slightest attention to his surroundings, trusting his huge
shaggy horse to keep up with the others.
“... two Aes Sedai? Surely he would not dare defy the White Tower itself.”
Elayne was saying, as she and Nynaeve caught up to Min.
“Who knows? The man seemed even less rational than most of his gender to me,”
said Nynaeve. “We’d be better off avoiding Calranell, and trying these other
passes that Lan mentioned.” Her lips thinned and spots of coloured appeared in
her cheeks. Whether it was from anger or something else, Min couldn’t begin to
guess.
Elayne caught Min’s eye, and smiled her dimpled smile. They wagged their
fingers in greeting. “How are things at the front, Min? No trouble I trust? Is
Rand well?”
“Everything’s fine, Elayne. He’s doing his lordly-lord thing with the
Shienarans.”
Nynaeve sniffed. “That boy is getting too big for his breeches.”
“Not so, Nynaeve,” said Elayne. “He is simply doing what one should when placed
in a position of command.”
Nynaeve shook her head. “I used to watch him for Tam, when he came to Emond’s
Field for a visit. After Kari died. To think he’d be in command of anything ...
or that ...” She broke off, face reddening. “It just doesn’t seem right or
proper.”
“I imagine that is a difficult adjustment for you to make,” said Elayne
sympathetically. “I hope Lord Gareth will not face a similar struggle, should I
ascend the Lion Throne. Light send that day is a long way off!”
By then they had passed completely out of the forest. As grey as the winter’s
sky was, Min was still glad of the sight. All those trees, with their branches
often tangled overhead, had gotten to be oppressive. From the way Elayne
sighed, she suspected the Daughter-Heir was as relieved as she was.
Young Heita was standing in his stirrups, the Black Hawk of Shienar proudly
displayed on his yellow surcoat. He had his chin raised and was peering
intently forwards. “I think there’s a village ahead,” he said, to no-one in
particular.
“I hope there’s an inn,” said Elayne. She lowered her voice and added, “with a
bath.”
“We should find the local Wisdom ... or whatever strange name they call her in
these parts,” said Nynaeve. “She needs to know that there are Trollocs loose in
Falmerden.” Min wasn’t sure what the local healer was supposed to do about
that. She could hardly herb the Trollocs to death. It would probably be better
to contact the new queen, or this famous general. But Nynaeve took the duty of
being Wisdom very seriously.
The Shienaran vanguard was spreading out into a long line. Ayame and Katsui
galloped past her to go join them, leaving Perrin, Masuto and Masema alone in
the rearguard. An unaccountable nervousness grew in Min. Her stomach fluttered,
and she remembered the first time she had seen a Trolloc, back in that hillside
camp. The sight of those huge, monstrous things had frozen her in her tracks
when she emerged from the tent to see what all the shouting was about. Standing
at her side, Elayne had clutched Min’s hand instinctively, her face pale and
her blue eyes as wide as saucers. It had been the Daughter-Heir who found her
courage first, and dragged Min with her over to the centre of camp, where
Moiraine was already flinging fire at the attacking Shadowspawn. As horrible as
the huge, animalistic Trollocs had been, the most disturbing thing was that
parts of them had looked human.
Lan had his sword out. She saw him point ahead with it. “There!”
Min recalled that Warders could sense the presence of Shadowspawn nearby, a
heartbeat before the howls began, announcing that presence to everyone else.
She stood in her own stirrups and saw the village Heita had mentioned. It was a
small place, with a sawmill off to the north, and most of its buildings were
only of one storey. But instead of villagers emerging to greet them, Trollocs
vomited forth from every building. Raggedly dressed, haphazardly armoured, and
armed with a variety of cruel weapons, the Trollocs bounded towards the
approaching riders. Or some of them did. Most stopped their charge when a
black-clad Fade emerged from some poor villager’s house and said something,
gesturing angrily. Min was no general, but she saw the problem quickly enough.
Attacking the Shienaran lancers in the open field would be much more dangerous
than trying to fight them in the narrow village streets. That the Trollocs had
been silly, or savage, enough not to see that without the Halfman’s guidance,
gave her heart. What had become of the village’s former inhabitants she did not
know, but she had a sickening suspicion.
Uno was quick to take advantage of the Trolloc’s mistake. At his shouted
command, the Shienaran vanguard couched their lances and charged. They
maintained a nearly-perfect line as they thundered across the field, snow
flying from the hooves of their horses. It was a controlled gallop, not a wild
charge, and when they reached the Trollocs who had run ahead the Shienaran
lances skewered them with cool precision, each man jerking the point quickly
clear of his target and seeking a second, and a third. The Trolloc stragglers
stood little chance against them, and what few attacks they were able to mount
skittered off the heavy armour of man and horse both. At Uno’s second barked
order, the Shienaran lancers wheeled right, displaying their shields to the
Trolloc ambushers. They did not attempt to charge into the village, instead
turning back to the rest of the column.
Elayne and Nynaeve were already galloping to join Moiraine at the front. Perrin
was shouting, wanting to know what was going on. “Trollocs!” was all Min could
say. She kicked Wildrose and went to join the others, all gathered in a milling
crowd behind Rand and Moiraine.
“They are no doubt long dead,” Moiraine was saying. “And if the Shadowspawn
think a few wooden houses will shelter them from me, they are gravely
mistaken.”
“A pity, but it has to be done,” said Verin. “Between the four of us there
should be little difficulty. Five if Morrigan doesn’t mind burning a few
Trollocs.” To Min’s eyes a white aura flashed briefly around Verin, and its
meaning came to her from some unknown place. Verin would save a life today.
Morrigan was scowling. “This is not my fight. We should simply ride by.”
“It is my fight, though,” Rand said grimly. He wasn’t looking at her, or any of
them, just staring ahead at the massed Trollocs. “Burn th—” His voice cut off
suddenly, as a goat-headed Trolloc dragged something out of one of the houses.
At this distance her screams were small, tinny things, but there was no
mistaking that it was a human woman they held. As Min watched, horrified, more
and more were being pulled from their homes and dragged to kneel among the dark
horde.
Moiraine hissed. “Clever Lurk.”
“They use them as shields,” Nynaeve gritted. “If we attack, with the Power of
with our bows, then we might kill the villagers.” Loial was muttering almost
angrily. Min had heard tales of angry Ogier. She hoped never to meet one.
“They want us get in close, Lord Rand,” said Hurin. “Where it’s more
dangerous.” The grey-haired thief-taker had his shortsword in hand, and looked
ready to charge at Rand’s order, just as though the thing were a lance.
“Plainly,” said Morrigan. “The solution is equally plain. Ignore them and ride
by.”
Rand rounded on her. “And leave those women to the Trolloc’s mercies? Never!”
“Well you cannot save them,” Morrigan pointed out in exasperation. “If you are
foolish enough to fall for this trap, then the villagers will have outlived
their usefulness, and the Myrddraal will simply cut their throats anyway.”
Rand punched a gauntleted fist into his own palm, but he didn’t tell her she
was wrong. In his fierce anger, and new armour, he looked much less boyish than
he had when Min first met him.
“Is it just that one Myrddraal?” said Anna, who had climbed off her horse and
handed her reins to Nynaeve. She had her bow strung and an arrow held ready.
Even while bent, her Theren longbow was nearly as tall as its owner, though
nowhere near as ridiculously huge as the one attached to Rand’s saddle. “Can
you tell? Cause he’s out in the open. I could hit him from here. So could
Rand.”
“One breed of Shadowspawn feels much like another,” said Lan grimly.
Uno arrived back and drew his men up between Rand the Trollocs. “I’ve see the
Halfmen pull a trick like this before, my Lord Dragon,” he said, in a voice
that made Lan sound jolly. “At Mos Tilam when I was a boy. One group lured us
in with hostages, while more waited in the hills, ready to take us from behind
once we’d committed. We lost a lot of good men that day, killed even more
Trollocs, but didn’t save a single villager.”
Rand turned to frown at the Knotwood, still no more than a fast gallop behind
them across the flat, snowy plain. Anything could be hiding back there. To
Min’s eyes alone, a broken silver ring floated in the air beside his face. She
didn’t know its meaning.
Elayne gasped. Min jerked her gaze back to the village just in time to see the
blood flood down one of the hostages’ throat, staining her dress red. The
Trolloc who had killed her began sawing savagely at her neck, then jerked the
head free to display to the hesitant humans. A great roar of approval went up
from the Trolloc horde. Min’s stomach roiled.
Rand cursed. “Can you use the One Power to shield the remaining hostages?” he
snapped. “Stop anything from touching them, just for a while?”
“Perhaps,” said Moiraine “but ...”
Rand had his plain sword in hand, and barely restrained anger tightened his
sky-blue eyes. “Then do it,” he said, showing a fine disregard for the cold
looks the Aes Sedai sent his way. “Uno, take half the lances and join up with
the rear guard. Ride down anything that tries to flank us. The rest of the
lances ride with me. Anna, you feather that Light-blasted Halfman.” He didn’t
bother to wait for any of them to acknowledge his orders. And they were
unmistakably orders. He looked right at her, and her heart skipped a beat. “And
Min? Sound the Horn.”
As Geko called for the men to form up, Min’s hands tightened on the bundle in
her lap. She had already pulled it free of the saddle and unwound much of the
cloth that hid it from prying eyes. She unveiled it completely now, the curved
golden horn with its inlaid script. Min could not speak the Old Tongue, but she
knew a few words. Carved on the Horn of Valere’s rim was the phrase, “tia mi
aven Moridin isainde vadin”, which meant, “the Grave is no bar to my call”.
Leliana gasped. “Is that ...? Surely it is not ...” The Valreio’s eyes went
very wide as Min raised the Horn of Valere to her lips and blew.
Rand did not wait for her, or for Them. He waited only long enough for Geko to
reform the Shienaran line, then kicked his horse and galloped towards that
nameless village. The Dragon Banner, tied to a tall staff in Bartu’s hands,
streamed behind the men as they charged. Lan rode with them and, at Verin’s
command, so did Tomas. Hurin went as well, armed with that too-short sword of
his, and Loial, though he carried nothing more than a tall walking staff. Min
blew the Horn again, and again. Come on, hurry up, she thought, urgently. They
need you. He needs you.
Moiraine and the other channelers were staring intently towards the distant
village, all save for Morrigan, who was shouting after Rand. “Come back, you
fool! You’ll get yourself killed, and for nothing!” She sounded as afraid as
she was angry.
Min blew on the Horn again, sending its rich peal across the field with Rand
and the others. The Shienarans rode in a wedge-shaped formation, each man
keeping his place in a way that shouted of long practice. They lowered their
lances as they drew near the Trollocs. Those at the front of that milling horde
were trying to push backwards, despite the Myrddraal’s shouts, which were
inaudible to Min from that range.
As she had boasted though, the Myrddraal was not outside Anna’s range. The
stocky Therener sent an arrow arcing over the horsemen, and had a second in the
air before that one had reached its target. Her first shot thudded into the
black-clad thing’s chest and sent it staggering backwards. The second landed
where the Halfman used to be, and where a Trolloc leg now was. The arrow wasn’t
enough to kill the Myrddraal, unfortunately. Min had heard that, even when
taking wounds that would kill any man, the Myrddraal didn’t really die until
the next sunset. Even getting their heads chopped off didn’t kill them, not at
first. This one snarled at Anna’s arrow and snapped the shaft off in its own
chest. Its snarl widened when her third arrow sliced the side of its neck. Her
fourth chased it across the village square. Min blew the Horn again.
Min flinched internally to imagine the weight of man and horse and steel that
was behind the long points of the Shienaran lances that now impaled the front
rank of Trollocs. The beasts were lifted clean off their feet and driven
backwards onto their fellows. The Shienarans drew rein, and their warhorses
reared, almost as though they were all mirrors of each other, lashing out at
the Trollocs with their steel-shod hooves. Lances were pulled free of their
targets, and swiftly plunged into another. But the press of those huge,
animalistic bodies prevented the Shienarans from moving much, and Trolloc
spears and long-hafted axes began to hack at the clustered men. She blew the
Horn again.
She saw Lan leap from his horse’s back onto a tiled roof. He scampered across
it, sword in hand, before jumping down into the street beyond her view. The
Trollocs what had been pressing back against the Shienarans began to falter.
Loial and Hurin were down off their horses, the latter with a swordbreaker in
one hand and a shortsword in the other. Freed of the reins, the animals were
quick to flee from the carnage before them. Rand had no such sense. He too, had
swung down from his horse, and was now hacking and slashing at anything before
him with that curved, two-handed sword of his. Min sounded the Horn of Valere
one more time.
The sweet sound of the Horn echoed across the field, but the fog, and the
deathless Heroes who had come in answer to its call at Falme, were still
nowhere to be seen. She held the Horn in trembling hands. “What is wrong? Why
isn’t it working?” she gasped.
Leliana sat back in Schmooples saddle. She nodded to herself, as though
confirming a suspicion. “Just a story. Just a trick,” she whispered.
“Min. What have you done?” Moiraine said sharply.
“Nothing! I’m blowing it like before, but it won’t work!” Min’s heart was
pounding. Had she broken it somehow? Or ... maybe ... What if it only worked
once, and then it become just another horn? What if it was useless now? The
Horn of Valere was supposed to be used at Tarmon Gai’don. What if, by sounding
it at Falme, she had wasted its power? She might have doomed the whole world!
A distant shout drew her attention to the woods behind. As Uno had predicted,
there had been Trollocs hidden in the trees. Seeing their fellows engaged, they
had poured forth to join the fight. Uno’s cavalry were riding to meet them on
the open field, lances at the ready. Perrin rode with them, axe in hand.
“I can’t see her anymore,” Elayne fretted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Moiraine said. “You don’t need to see to channel, thinking
you do is a trap many wilders fall into, and block themselves in the process.
You know where she was, and she could not have moved even if she wanted to.
Maintain the shield as it is.” Morrigan did not look Moiraine’s way but she had
drifted close and seemed to be listening, and watching, intently.
Steel clashed against steel up ahead. At least one of the Shienarans was down
on the ground, his horse running loose, but she could still see the man
struggling to move. If Nynaeve or one of the Aes Sedai could get to him, he
might yet live. As she watched, a horse fell beneath a Trolloc axe, but its
rider kicked free and landed nimbly. He discarded his lance and ripped his
sword free of the sheath on his back, before launching himself at the Trolloc
that had felled his mount. Min gave the Horn one more futile puff. Nothing
happened. She throttled it with her hands, beset by a sudden fury. There were
tears of frustration in her eyes. What is wrong with you, you stupid thing?
Work!
With Lan on one side and the rest hacking away in front, the Trollocs were
losing many of their number. She didn’t think there could have been more than a
hundred of them in total, between those in the woods and the ambushers ahead.
One fist, as the Borderlanders called it. Lan carved his way through to the
front line, the Trollocs there turned to meet the new threat, and in the space
of a heartbeat it seemed their whole line collapsed.
A roar went up from the Shienarans, and they surged forward into the gap. Hurin
had lost his swordbreaker, and one arm hung limp and bloody, but he staggered
on in the wake of his more soldierly countrymen. Several of the Shienaran
lancers were on their feet now, willingly or otherwise. One fought back to back
with Tomas. His mounted fellows led the attack, those who still had lances
bringing them to bear against the Shadowspawn, others fighting with sword, or
axe or mace. In many cases their horses seemed to be doing as much damage as
the men who rode them. A grim-faced Loial drove his staff into the throat of
the Trolloc he’d felled. Rand spun gracefully, cutting a bearlike Trolloc along
the back of its leg, its wrist and then its neck in what seemed one smooth
movement. It seemed almost obscene, that killing could be so elegantly done.
When his opponent fell, Min caught sight of the Myrddraal that led the
Shadowspawn. It was standing over a kneeling women, whose hands were pressing
against something invisible to Min’s eyes. As she watched the Myrddraal tried
to stab the woman, but its blade rebounded futilely from that nothingness.
“Got you,” Anna said tightly. An arrow slammed into the Halfman’s shoulder. It
staggered, snarling, just as Rand took two long strides towards it and sliced
its swordhand off at the wrist. With a vicious, two-handed blow, he parted the
Myrddraal’s head from its shoulders, and another roar went up from the
Shienarans. Despite everything, Min couldn’t stop the grin that formed on her
face.
“Finally,” Nynaeve said angrily. She glowered in the direction of the Trollocs
and lightning flashed down from the grey skies, sending several Trollocs
flying, and leaving others as blackened ruins.
With their leader dead, and at least one channeler free to bring the One Power
to bear against them, the Trollocs soon broke. They fled to the north, the
south and the east, but none were foolish enough to flee in Nynaeve’s
direction. Those few Trollocs who stood and fought were quickly dispatched, and
those Shienarans who still held their seats rode off in pursuit of the fleeing
Shadowspawn, not hesitating for a moment to stab their fleeing enemies in the
back. For which Min could hardly fault them.
When she looked towards Uno’s part of the battle, she saw that he had
everything well in hand. The ground was so churned up from the repeated charges
of the Shienaran that you’d think no snow had fallen in days, and only a
handful of Trollocs were still standing. None of the cavalrymen showed any sign
of injury, though Perrin was splattered in blood. She could only hope that
little or none of it was his. Even as she looked, the lancers were setting off
to ride down the few Trollocs who remained. Though she had done nothing but sit
there throughout the fight, Min found herself sighing in relief.
Lan appeared at the outskirts of the village, stepping over the piled Trolloc
corpses. He raised his hand in signal to Moiraine, and the Aes Sedai visibly
relaxed. “There is no need to maintain Hardened Air any longer. The prisoners
are safe,” she said.
“Those we were able to cover,” Nynaeve growled. “What of those we couldn’t see?
And the rest of the villagers? There had to be more than a dozen women living
here.”
Moiraine face was as cool as her voice. “You are not the sheltered village
woman you once were, Nynaeve. Do you truly need me to explain their fates?”
Nynaeve’s glower didn’t lessen, but she avoided Moiraine’s eye. “No. I can
imagine it.”
“We may soon see for ourselves. Any woman possessed of a tender stomach, should
remain here. Min. We will have words later.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Min protested. “I sounded it, just exactly the way I did
at Falme. I don’t know why they didn’t come.” Half a dozen worried sets of
female eyes examined the Horn resting around Min’s saddlehorn.
Morrigan didn’t seem to care in the slightest about the Horn of Valere, if
indeed she’d ever heard of it in her forest. She kicked her borrowed horse and
rode towards the site of the battle, muttering to herself.
Anna slung her bow and hauled herself back into the saddle. She and Nynaeve
looked back and forth between Rand and Perrin. Min could almost hear their
thoughts. Rand, in his new armour, looked completely untouched, but Perrin,
clad only in his heavy coat, was covered in blood. Nynaeve hardly needed Anna’s
beseeching look to turn her horse towards the burly, yellow-eyed youth.
Moiraine and Verin were already halfway to the village. Surprisingly, Leliana
rode with them. Min had expected the gentle bard to be eager to avoid the
carnage ahead.
Elayne and Min exchanged a look. “I don’t want to see it either,” Elayne
sighed. “But I almost feel like it’s my duty. These are not Andorans, not my
responsibility, but what has happened to them could someday happen to my
people, if the Shadow is not defeated. It is important to know what the price
of defeat would be.”
“Let’s go then,” Min said grimly.
Verin was kneeling over the prone Shienaran when Min arrived. It was Heita, she
saw. “Will he live, Verin Sedai?”
“The boy should recover, child,” Verin said. “Though he has lost a lot of
blood, and may not be fit to ride for some days. It was a close thing.”
Wildrose and Lioness shied when they came to the mounded corpses, so they
turned aside and went around, approaching the village square from the south,
where the fighting had been less fierce.
Inside, they found Moiraine surrounded by ten haggard women, almost all of whom
looked more haunted by whatever had happened here, than relieved by their
rescue. There was no sign of any other villagers. The women were all pale-
faced, and their clothes were torn in ways that hinted at things Min’s mind
shied away from considering. They ranged in age from perhaps forty, to a pretty
little thing who couldn’t have been more than twelve, and whose heartbreakingly
big blue eyes blinked constantly.
Izana’s shout drew Min’s gaze. Even through the stick he was biting down on,
his pain had been unmistakable. Katsui was holding the younger man down, while
a grim-faced Geko tried to set a leg that bent in a way no leg was supposed to
bend. His horse must have fallen on him, Min thought. Verin stood over them,
waiting with Aes Sedai patience. But she still called Tomas over to help.
Elayne stopped Rikimaru with a raised hand. “The rest of the villagers. Do you
happen to know what became of them, armsman?”
The handsome Shienaran removed his helmet, and tucked it under one arm before
speaking. “There were no survivors besides those kept as hostages, my lady,” he
said solemnly. “Their remains seem to have been piled in the houses, to occupy
the Trollocs while they waited in ambush for us. If I may be so bold, I would
not recommend going in to look.”
“Thank you, armsman,” Elayne said. “I will give your advice careful
consideration.” Rikimaru bowed briefly, before striding on.
There was trepidation on Elayne’s face as she looked at the house before them.
She climbed down from her horse, tied Lioness’ reins to a fencepost, gave the
horse a comforting pat on the neck, swallowed, and straightened her back. “I’m
going in. You should wait here, Min.”
Min swung a leg over and slid from Wildrose’s back. “If you’re going, I’m
going.”
The house looked perfectly normal. A stone and wood building of a single
storey, with a low, tiled roof, and shuttered windows. Perfectly normal, but
still somehow threatening. They had chosen it at random, but when they slipped
inside they found it already occupied.
Rand stood with his back to the door and his hands in fists. Morrigan was with
him, trying and failing not to stare at the pile of chewed bones, many with
bits of meat and hair still attached to them, that filled one dark corner of
the front room. Whatever furniture that had once filled the house had been
smashed or burned. The place looked dead, empty, a tomb instead of a home.
Morrigan seemed to have run out of barbs for once. She looked horrified, and
ashamed to be horrified. No doubt she thought compassion a sign of weakness.
Elayne’s expression matched Morrigan’s for horror, but not for shame. Another,
miniature Elayne was weeping soundlessly as she walked through a series of
arches, in a garden full of spring-time flowers. With each step, the little
Elayne seemed to get smaller and smaller. Or perhaps, the garden got bigger and
bigger. Min put an arm around the real Elayne’s shoulders.
“Have you stared your fill yet?” Morrigan gritted. “I would be gone from this
place. And I mislike the way your companions look at me when you are not
around.”
“That’s silly, Morrigan,” said Rand. His voice was barely more than a whisper,
and a grim one at that. “None of them would hurt you. Except maybe the Aes
Sedai. They mean to take you to the White Tower, I think. And this?” he
gestured at the bonepile and his voice grew rougher. “This place is no bigger
than Emond’s Field. These people could just as easily have been my friends from
back home. This is what the Shadow will do to them if I don’t stop it.”
Elayne made a small, surprised sound. She was staring at the back of Rand’s
head now, and her eyes shone. Min wondered at the lack of jealousy she felt. It
was a very strange thing, knowing the destination, but being surprised by the
small steps that led there.
Morrigan looked surprisingly upset. “I ... I didn’t ... Let’s just go.”
Rand gave the villagers’ remains one last, lingering look before turning to
leave. He gave a start when he turned and saw her and Elayne standing near the
doorway. A hasty step put his body between them and the piled bones. “What are
you two doing here? You shouldn’t be seeing this sort of thing.”
Elayne drew herself up, and for a moment Min thought she might rebuke him, but
instead she looked him in the eyes and said, softly, “I had to see.”
All the stare-downs Min had seen involved people glaring at each other in some
vaguely threatening way. But there was nothing threatening in the way Rand and
Elayne matched gazes, and when she won, and he dropped his eyes, hers only
softened further.
As Rand strode past them towards the door, he whispered, “Tai’shar Andor,” and
tied another little string to Elayne’s heart. Min watched the way her Daughter-
Heir’s chin trembled, and searched her heart for the jealousy that she thought
should be there, but still she could not find it.
Morrigan scowled at them both, as she stalked past in Rand’s wake. Min thought
she saw her own missing jealousy in that scowl, and wondered again at exactly
what had passed between Rand and the woodswoman.
Elayne went to stand over the bones. She made herself stare at them with her
hands in fists for some time. Min stood at her back and waited, just as
Morrigan had waited.
To Min’s great relief, none of their companions had been killed in the
fighting, despite her troubles with the Horn. Perrin and the others rode in
just as she and Elayne emerged from the house. Injuries had been taken, true,
but nothing that would not heal, or be Healed. Izana was already up on his
feet, though he hung from Katsui’s shoulder and his knees wobbled like a
newborn colt’s.
The people of the village had been significantly less fortunate. The village’s
name, it turned out, was Nethara. The eldest of the survivors, a woman named
Vara Elsac whose husband and children had been among the slain, told them that
and so much else. The poor woman seemed to age more with every word that
dripped out of her. Rand listened, grim-faced, to her tale, but it was not him
that asked the questions. He left that to Moiraine, preferring to hover at the
farthest edge of their conversation. It reminded her of the way Leliana hovered
at the edge of any chat that involved Rand. No two of the survivors were more
closely related than cousins, and they had all had family members among the
slain. They had no idea where the monsters had come from. They hadn’t even
known they were Trollocs until Moiraine told them so. Some of the Shienarans
shook their heads at that, but none were cruel enough to say anything. The
village women seemed to shocked by everything that had happened to even cry.
The youngest one—Saeri, Vara said her name was—just stared blankly at the
surrounding soldiers.
Non-one wanted to camp in that village, but they needed to rest and gather
themselves, and the clustered houses offered at least some protection, should
more Shadowspawn come. So they set their tents in the square and the outskirts,
but no-one, not even the survivors, was willing to sleep in any of the houses.
Scouts rode out in pairs to recover their stray horses, and to fetch the
packhorses that had been left tethered outside. Others, Perrin and Loial among
them, set to tying ropes to the dead Trollocs and having their horses drag the
beasts out of sight. Leliana’s hand hovered near her harp, plainly wondering if
a song or two might help, but she decided against it. Min thought it the right
choice. No amount of music was going to cheer those women up. She wasn’t sure
what could.
Min occupied herself by drawing water from the village well. A cautious taste
revealed it was unfouled, so she attached another bucket to the rope.
While she was working, Morrigan came to the well to quench her thirst. She
cupped her hands, dipped them, drank, then spoke disdainfully. “So, we have two
musicians in the camp. How lovely. Though I wonder at what use all that puffing
was. Perhaps you should find yourself a spear.”
Min wasn’t about to put up with that. “Like the one you have and didn’t use?
Maybe I should spontaneously become a channeler. Then I could sit around and
criticise everyone, while doing absolutely nothing to help. You know? Like you
do?”
Morrigan raised her brows. “So the littlest kitten has claws after all. Small
things, and incapable of penetrating the skin, but still claws I suppose.”
“Better to be a little cat that tries, than a big one who runs away,” Min
glowered.
Morrigan sniffed, and her mouth twisted bitterly. “You hate me, and would drive
me out if you could. ‘Tis the same with the rest. But not Rand. Your precious
Dragon Reborn wants me around. How that must rankle with you all.”
Min frowned. “How do you expect people to respond? When you treat them the way
you do?”
“I do not know! Much the way I would respond, I’d imagine.” She frowned
uncertainly. “Or the way Rand does.”
Min shook her head slowly, at a loss for how to deal with this woman. “So
what's going on with you and him, anyway? Dare I ask?” She suspected she
already knew the answer, unfortunately.
Morrigan recovered herself quickly. She smiled a small, mocking smile “Him? Him
who? Is this supposed to mean something to me?”
“You know exactly who I'm talking about,” she said flatly. “Master Let's-Make-
Kissy-Faces al’Thor over there.”
“My, my. You are jealous, aren't you? Did I take your favourite Dragon Reborn
away from you?” Morrigan mocked.
“What? I'm not jealous! I'm horrified.”
“Those blushing cheeks of yours tell a different tale,” laughed Morrigan.
Min’s face was feeling rather hot, there was no point trying to deny that.
“These blushing cheeks are just terrified that you're a Draghkar in disguise
and are planning to suck his soul out.”
“If I feel the need to suck on anything of Rand’s, you'll be the first to
know,” said Morrigan, with a truly wicked grin.
Min’s face was probably scarlet by now. “That ... was not what I meant.”
Morrigan steepled her hands, and tapped her fingers together thoughtfully.
“Perhaps we should go and tell him together of your touching concerns? Perhaps
he'll pay more attention to you if you ask nicely.”
Min opened her mouth angrily. She was a heartbeat away from telling Morrigan
about her viewing, the viewing Morrigan had, thankfully, not been a part of.
But then she took a deep breath, and seized control of her emotions. “I think
we're done here.”
“Done before you started, in fact,” said Morrigan.
“The soldiers will likely be thirsty after all that work,” Min said calmly.
“Maybe you should make yourself useful and haul up some buckets of water. I’m
going to go deliver these two.” She picked up her buckets and walked away
without another word. Bloody Rand bloody al’Thor! Heissleeping with her, just
like I thought!She didn’t like what it said about him that he could find
someone so mean attractive, no matter how pretty she was. But what could she
do? Fate was irresistible, no-one knew that better than she.
***** Daughter of the Night *****
CHAPTER 10: Daughter of the Night
 
Rand made it a point to stay clear of the survivors from Nethara. It wasn’t
that he had anything against them, just that he worried that male company would
be distasteful to them now.
The Trolloc attack worried him even more. What had happened to this village was
bad enough, but if the Shadowspawn had entered Falmerden through the Ways as
Moiraine suggested, then how many other villages had suffered the same fate?
The Waygate was about a week’s ride back west, even with good weather and
having taken the roads, rather than venturing through the Knotwood as he had.
Who knew how many people the Trollocs had encountered while crossing that
distance? Rand doubted they had left many alive.
As he wandered the edges of Nethara in the waning light, he found Anna standing
sentry in the gap between two houses, with her bow held upright before her in
both hands. She was leaning on it like it was a walking staff. Even in profile
she looked grim, her mouth downturned and a small frown knotting her brows.
“There are a lot a widows here,” Rand said quietly. She gave a start at the
sound of his voice, and did not turn to look at him as he approached. “Lots of
orphans too.”
“Aye,” she said gruffly.
“Reminds me of last Winternight back home,” he said, resting his hand lightly
on her tense shoulder. “I wish this hadn’t happened either.”
Anna turned and hugged him. Her face was shadowed, in the brief glimpse of it
he had, but he thought he saw tears on her cheeks. Her free arm wrapped around
his waist and gripped him tightly. It had to be his waist, for the top of her
head barely reached his chest. Her shortness had never been enough to make him
think her girlish, even when they were children. She was just Anna. But now he
found himself feeling unaccountably protective. He wanted to take her to the
tent the Shienarans had kindly set up for him, and once there he wanted to take
her nice and slowly. How much has this new intimacy, these ... games we’ve
begun to play, changed things between us?, Rand wondered. Are we still just
friends? He wasn’t sure which of the possible answers he most wanted to be
true.
He hugged her back, and waited as long as she wanted him to.
Others were less patient. “What’s this?” Morrigan demanded, as she stalked down
the alleyway towards them. “The runt?”
Rand scowled at her, and did not relax his grip on Anna’s shoulders. “I’ve
asked you not to insult my friends, Morrigan.”
She stopped short, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh? Do I intrude? How presumptuous
of me.”
Anna released Rand, and turned her back to them both. “Do this elsewhere
please,” she said gruffly.
“Right,” said Rand. He refrained from touching Morrigan as he walked past her.
He might not be as good with women as Mat or Perrin were, but the pride and
anger on her face shouted a message than even Rand could hear. He gestured for
her to follow, and walked on.
The village was about as fortified as they could make it in the little time
they’d had. For lack of any readily available fencing, they’d piled the
stinking bodies of the Trollocs across the main entrances. It was a grim
barricade, but it would at least slow any attackers. Four of the Shienarans had
shed their heavier plate and climbed onto the roofs of houses towards the
points of the compass. They kept watch there now. In the distance, near a
roaring fire, Moiraine, Verin and most of the other women were questioning the
surviving hostages.
Rand wasn’t sure if Morrigan would follow or not, but when he found what looked
like a suitably isolated spot and turned to look behind him, he found her
there. She folded her arms, and jerked her chin at him by way of question.
“We’ve never really talked about our night’s together,” Rand began.
She laughed, but it was a forced sound. “What has there been to speak of? Do
you wish I had told you how wonderful you are? Shall I say you are virile and
manly?”
Her tongue was as sharp as ever. “Suddenly I feel like I’m none of those
things.”
“Oh, has my poor widdle man’s feelings been hurt?” she mocked, “What do you say
I kiss it and make it better, hmm? Or perhaps your ... friend could.”
Rand nodded solemnly. “That’s what we need to talk about most. I’m worried I
might have given you the wrong impression. We should be honest with each other,
to avoid misunderstandings.”
She sighed in exasperation. “What is it, then, that you wish to know so badly?”
“I just want to know where you think this is going.”
She gave a quick, irritated shrug. “An odd question, is it not? What do you
foresee? Marriage? Children? Shall we settle in the countryside, you paint the
shed while I bake the bread?”
“Is that what you want?” If it was, it was far beyond Rand’s power to give it
to her.
“What I want? I ...” Momentary confusion gave way to a scowl. “You are a rather
curious and frustrating man. Is what you already possess not enough? Must you
always want more? Enough. I grow tired of this topic. Let us speak of it
another time.”
Rand shook his head. “There might not be another time. I need to be clear. I
don’t want to deceive you, and I definitely don’t want to hurt you. Understand,
Morrigan. I am dying. The taint on saidin is killing me. Even setting that
aside, the prophecies say I die at Shayol Ghul, so the best I can hope for is
to not rot so badly, or go so crazy, that I can’t finish my task before the
Dark One kills me.” He grimaced and looked away. “The crazy part is what
worries me most. Lews Therin Kinslayer killed his wife and children when the
taint drove him mad. Am I destined to do the same? Even if I had any future to
offer a woman, I could not. Not knowing she might share Ilyena Sunhair’s fate.”
“The ... the Dark One’s wrath is great,” she said when he fell silent, his mind
full of nightmare images. “You are very brave, or very stupid to think to
challenge him so.”
Rand shook himself. “Well. What I’m trying to explain, is that I have no
intention of marrying anyone. Commitment and faithfulness and love? I can’t
afford such things, and anyone I dared to offer them to would soon come to
regret it, if they were mad enough to accept the offer.”
“I have never asked for them!” Morrigan scoffed, folding her arms beneath her
breasts. “Have I not made it plain that such things are the domain of the weak
and foolish? ‘Tis over-proud of you to imagine I would seek such from you, or
any man. I simply do not like to share, and do not appreciate you hugging other
women in dark corridors.”
Rand was confused. “But ... that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m not offering
faithfulness. I can’t.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Is that what you
want? I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, and I’ll understand if you
want to end this thing between us.”
“I—I wasn’t asking for ...” There were spots of colour on Morrigan’s cheeks. “I
am simply using you for your body. What care I that you are so easy? Your lax
virtue serves me well, after all. I don’t care if you don’t love me! I
certainly don’t love you!”
It stung a little to hear it said so plainly, but he could hardly fault her for
her good sense. “I never said I didn’t lo—”
Morrigan’s eyes went wide and her hand shot up, palm towards Rand. “Stop! I
have told you that I grow tired of this topic. We will say no more tonight.”
“Okay. So long as you understand.”
Morrigan turned her face away and pursed her lips. “Yes. I am simply swimming
in understanding. ‘Tis not at all confusing, this.”
Rand watched her carefully. “So. Knowing this, would you care to join me in my
tent tonight?”
Morrigan shook her head slightly, laughing softly to herself. “Hmm. Perhaps.
Shall I consult my capricious nature, and divine an answer for you?”
“I would appreciate one, yes.”
Morrigan stroked her chin thoughtfully. “I am to be indulged. How exciting,”
she teased, her finger trailing down the front of her slender neck. “Let me
think ... Very well! It shall be as you wish, voracious as your appetite may
be.”
Rand grinned, relieved. He hadn’t wanted to end things with Morrigan. Even if
it wasn’t love, and could never be love, not with her or with anyone else, the
pure physical act of intimacy was enough to fill the cold empty place inside
him. If only for a while.
He turned towards his tent, and this time Morrigan walked at his side.
After days of practice, he’d gotten better at taking off and putting on his new
armour. Once inside the tent, he occupied himself with the breastplate’s straps
as Morrigan lit the lamp. She herself was slow to undress, shedding only her
dress as she openly watched him strip. Her cat-like stare was a little
unnerving.
When he was all the way down to his smallclothes, Rand joined Morrigan on the
massed blankets she had gone to recline on. Conscientiously he set about
helping her with the underblouse and trousers that she seemed to be struggling
with, though her kisses and her questing hands were more than a little
distracting.
He freed her pretty breasts and cupped them in his hands, as she divested him
of his shorts and began stroking his already-hard cock in her firm grip. When
he finally rid her of the last of her clothes he bore her back onto the
blankets, kissed the side of her neck, and slid a hand up the inside of her
thigh. His probing fingers found her wet and ready and brought a loud gasp from
her lips.
When he slid himself into Morrigan’s familiar heat, she cried out in pleasure.
“Yes! Yes, there. Harder!”
Rand found himself blinking in alarm. As always, his tent had been set up in
the centre of camp, with a large circular space separating it from any other;
but still, sound would carry if it was loud enough. He didn’t pause his journey
into her of course—he wasn’t near that mad, yet—but he reared back to look down
at her face. Morrigan’s eyes were closed, but a strange smirk curved her lips.
“Oohh, that’s good,” she purred, loudly.
Her cries become wordless as they began fucking in earnest. She wrapped her
arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and with each long stroke
of his cock in her pussy she let out a moan that sent a nervous thrill through
him.
She was very loud, much louder than usual. His efforts to muffle her passionate
cries with his lips were futile. He might still them for a few heartbeats, but
they both needed to breathe, and no sooner had he released her lips than she
was howling again. It was almost as though she wanted people to hear. In the
end he had to resort to desperate measures.
Rand slid his manhood out of Morrigan and kissed his way downwards, over her
firm young breasts and flat stomach towards her juicy sex. He knelt above her,
upside down, and placed his head between her spread legs. She cried out again
when he began kissing her lower lips, but she was not so capricious as to
ignore the hungry shaft, wet with her own juices, that now tapped beseechingly
against her lips. He felt Morrigan’s fingers wrap around his cock, moving him,
aiming him, and then, thrillingly, he felt the inside of her hot mouth. Her
soft lips closed around him, and she began to suck.
Rand let out a shuddering breath, and went to work on her sex in blessed
silence.
As sweet as her suckling was, he wanted more. Rand began moving himself in and
out of Morrigan once more, fucking her mouth as he had fucked her pussy. He
kept it slow, and was sure to push no more than half his length inside, for
fear of hurting her, but the restraint challenged his self control, so sweet
was the feel of her mouth around him.
Morrigan had arched her back, positioning herself to allow him to aim more
cleanly. The hands that held his hips neither asked nor denied. She held that
pose now and let him use her mouth for his pleasure. Beneath his soft kisses
and probing fingers, her juices flowed freely from the dark-furred slit of her
sex.
Morrigan’s nails dug into the flesh of his hips, her thighs tightened around
his head, and her flow increased noticeably. The fingers he was pushing in and
out of her now moved faster, and he licked her engorged nub more firmly. Was
there anything in the world sweeter than the feathering of her whimpered
breaths along his length?
Rand was not ready to finish yet. Morrigan lay limp beneath him as he used her
willing mouth, still probing and licking her sex. Her heat against his face,
and the scent of her arousal were intoxicating, and he lost himself in her for
a time.
She had come to orgasm at least once more before he felt his own climax
building. He wrapped his arms around her hips and held her tight as he flooded
her mouth with his hot seed, fighting for quiet as blinding pleasure shot
through him. The sound Morrigan made might have been surprise, or outrage, he
didn’t know which. If she was mad at him, he’d answer for it later. For now it
simply felt too good to stop. He rested his cheek against the soft inside of
her thigh, and murmured her name as he pumped more and more of himself into
her.
When at last his orgasm had run its course, Rand pushed himself up off Morrigan
and slowly slid his softening cock out of her mouth. Her normally pale face was
very red, and she was breathing deeply through her nose. Her amber eyes were
wide and almost glazed. A thin stream of sticky fluid attached his manhood to
her lips as he pulled away. He broke it with his hand, then sat on the pallet
beside her.
Morrigan rolled onto her side, pushing herself up with one hand. She turned her
slender back his way, and Rand enjoyed the sight of her narrow, girlish
shoulders. He ran his hand gently across them, and she gave a small shiver.
Still red-faced, and not quite meeting Rand’s eye, Morrigan slid over and began
pulling a blanket over her nudity. She paused abruptly, only half covered. “I
assume you have no objections to my sleeping here tonight? Not that I would
care if you did, naturally. I have my own tent. ‘Tis simply a chore, to dress
and go to it.”
He extinguished the lamp before cozying up behind her, then wrapped his arms
around her and guided her down to the bed. “I’d prefer if you slept here. I
like you being here when I sleep, and when I wake up. It’s nice.” She stiffened
slightly in his embrace, but only for a brief moment before she melted back
against him with a small sigh.
“They always said I was the weak one ...” he thought he heard her whisper, as
he drifted off to sleep.
He dreamt of slaughter. Of Trollocs ravaging a land that was already struggling
to recover from war. Villages burned, women wept and people died by the
thousands. Kings died, queens died, battles raged, and from high above it all
the puppeteers looked down and laughed. He dreamt of traps. Great steel traps
made for hunting bears. Min wandered into a field of them, deaf to his shouted
warnings, but to his vast relief she somehow managed to spring every trap while
being caught by none. She walked away, seeming not even to have noticed her
peril. He dreamt of his friends, of Mat lost in darkness. Rand could not see
him, could not see anything in the gloom, but somehow he knew Mat was there.
The only sounds were the rattling of dice, and a stranger’s sinister laughter,
until abruptly Mat started shouting, “I am coming!” Perrin had a falcon perched
on his shoulder, its talons digging deep into his flesh, but he seemed
unconcerned with the blood that was being lost. Instead he was carefully
weighing the axe in one hand against the blacksmith’s hammer in his other, as
intently as if nothing else in the world mattered more.
Rand dreamt he was on a vast stones board. A monstrously huge hand slammed a
white stone the size of a boulder down onto the ground where he had just been
standing, and the force of its impact sent him flying from his feet to roll and
tumble across the coloured squares. It hurt, that impact, but not enough to
wake him. He clambered to his feet, realisation clearing the fog of sleep from
his mind. “I’m dreaming,” he said aloud. “This is just a dream.” As usual,
knowing it was just a dream didn’t make it end.
The two players were so huge, and so far away, that he could not make out their
faces. Their giant hands reached down from the distant darkness to seize the
stones around him, lift them up, and slam them down again, hard enough to crack
board and stone alike. Rand hopped and ran between the stones, like a mouse
trying to evade a cat. One set of hands was female, the other male, and neither
cared in the slightest for what became of him.
“Why do you cast yourself as the piece? When you should be the player.”
Rand spun, gaping at the young woman standing calmly on the monstrous board.
She was fair of skin and dark of hair and eye, very tall for a woman, and
dressed all in white and silver. A woven silver belt glittered around her
narrow waist; silver combs worked with stars and crescent moons shone in hair
that fell to her shoulders like waterfalls of night. He knew her.
“Selene,” he gasped, hurrying to her. “Where did you come from? How did you get
here? You need to leave, this place isn’t safe.”
“I go where I wish to be. And none may threaten me, especially not here in my
realm.” She frowned at his face. “You have been marked, but no matter, her
intrusion will change nothing. You were mine, and you are mine. Any other is no
more than a caretaker. I will lay claim to what is mine openly, now.” She waved
her hand imperiously, and in an instant the dream had changed. Where once they
were small, pieces on someone else’s gameboard, now they sat in comfortably
cushioned chairs beside a burnished wooden table and looked down on another
board. Or perhaps the same board. Selene glanced at the stones, and casually
moved a white one forwards, eliminating one of the blacks.
He stared, at the dream around him, but mostly at her. “How did you do that?”
She smiled. “I wanted it. And so it was. I always get what I want.”
“Are you really here? But no, this is just a dream, none of us are really here.
You must be back in Cairhien somewhere.” He grimaced. “I hear they’re fighting
over the throne now. I hope you’re safe on your estates.”
She smiled wryly. “Estates in Cairhien? I may have had estates in those lands,
once. The land has changed so much that nothing is as it was. Selene is only a
name I sometimes use, Lews Therin. The name I made my own is Lanfear.”
Rand barked a shallow laugh. “A poor joke, Selene. I’d as soon make jests about
the Dark One as one of the Forsaken. And my name is Rand.”
“We call ourselves the Chosen,” she said calmly. “Chosen to rule the world
forever. We will live forever. You can, also.”
He frowned at her worriedly. The dream world must have unhinged her. But she
did not look mad. She was calm, cool, certain. Without thinking, he found
himself reaching for saidin. He reached for it—and struck a wall he could not
see or feel, except that it kept him from the Source. “You can’t be.” She
smiled. “Light,” he breathed. “You are one of them.”
“I was tempted to keep my true name from you for a while longer,” she said,
those huge dark eyes gleaming wickedly. “It was amusingly different, to travel
with you in the guise of some pre-enlightenment woman, but Ishamael has not yet
recovered from the wound you dealt him at Falme, and the rest of the Chosen do
not share his belief that you are more valuable to the Great Lord alive than
dead. You are in grave danger, Lews Therin.”
“Stop calling me that,” he growled. “My name is Rand. Rand al’Thor.”
“You are Lews Therin Telamon. Oh, physically, nothing is the same except your
height, but I would know who is behind those eyes even if I’d found you in your
cradle.” She laughed suddenly. “How much easier everything would be if I had
found you then. Just imagine! How deliciously wicked, the things we would have
done to each other, my darling ‘son’ and I. If I had been free to ...” Laughter
faded into an angry stare. “Do you wish to see my true appearance? You can’t
remember that, either, can you?”
He tried to say no, but his tongue would not work. His traitorous imagination
was too busy casting her as his mother; or Marin, or Ellie, and the other older
women who had taught him so much about their bodies, and his own.
The air rippled around Lanfear, and she changed, but only slightly. Her
colouring and features remained much the same, but suddenly she was—older than
he, certainly, but older was not the right word. More mature. Riper. Even more
beautiful, if that was possible. A lush blossom in full flower compared to a
bud. Even knowing what she was, she made his mouth go dry, his throat tighten.
Her dark eyes examined his face, full of confidence yet with a hint of
questioning, as if wondering what he saw. Whatever she perceived seemed to
satisfy her. She smiled again. “I was buried deeply, in a dreamless sleep where
time did not flow. The turnings of the Wheel passed me by. Now you see me as I
am, and I have you in my hands.” She reached across the table and drew a
fingernail along his jaw hard enough to make him flinch. “The time for games
and subterfuge is past, Lews Therin. Long past.”
His stomach lurched. “Do you mean to kill me, then? The Light burn you, I—”
“Kill you?” she spat incredulously. “Kill you! I mean to have you, forever. You
were mine long before that pale-haired milksop stole you. Before she ever saw
you. You loved me!”
“And you loved power!” For a moment he felt dazed. The words sounded true—he
knew they were true—but where had they come from?
Selene—Lanfear—seemed as startled as he, but she recovered quickly. “You have
done much I’d not have believed you could, unaided—but you are still fumbling
your way through a maze in the dark, and your ignorance may kill you. Some of
the others fear you too much to wait. Sammael, Rahvin, Moghedien. Others,
perhaps, but those of a certainty. They will come after you, once they have
seen to their own interests. They will not try to turn your heart. They will
come at you by stealth, destroy you while you sleep. Because of their fear.”
Rand was shaken, as much by his earlier outburst as by her words. “They will
kill me while I sleep? Do you mean here, in this dream that’s not a real
dream.” He already knew that things that happened to you here could have an
effect on your real body.
“Tel’aran’rhiod,” she said, the strange word flowing smoothly across her
tongue, so much more smoothly than normal words did. How had he not noticed how
strange her accent was, when compared to the real Cairhienin he had met? “That
is the true name of this place. In your so very Common Tongue, it would mean
‘The World of Dreams’. It is good that you can come here unaided, but it is
also dangerous. Or it will be, until I can teach you more.” She laughed again.
“And how delicious that will be.”
She shook her head, and her eyes hardened. “But that will have to wait. Other
matters require my attention, and you have difficulties of your own. If you
have not been attacked already, you will be soon. Conceal your identity. Leave
this Falmerden, and leave it quickly. Do not make me come for you in person,
Lews Therin. A great many of your servants would have to be disposed of if I
did. Now. Wake.”
Rand’s eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed, looking frantically about the
darkened inside of his tent, and finding nothing that should not be there.
Morrigan slept on at his side. He heard her protest sleepily at the chill air
he had suddenly exposed her back to, so he dragged the blanket up around her.
Then he rose from the bed and went to dress. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping
again that night. He wondered if he’d ever sleep soundly again. Selene is
Lanfear. And Lanfear wants me. Light have mercy.
***** Past, Present, Future *****
CHAPTER 11: Past, Present, Future
 
They didn’t break camp until noon of the next day. The few villagers that
remained alive had slept long, and Nynaeve insisted that no-one wake them. Rand
had little doubt that she had mixed something extra into their tea the night
before. For his part, he was content to wait for them to wake on their own,
while he wandered the camp and chewed over what he had learned in his dreams.
When they did finally waken, the villagers implored Moiraine to let her travel
with them. Rand was not surprised, not by their wanting to go somewhere far
away from the ruins of their lives, nor by the fact that they asked Moiraine’s
permission rather than his.
When Moiraine granted consent, the eldest of the villagers—a grey-haired and
weary-faced woman whose name, he gathered, was Vara Elsac—marshalled her fellow
women to go and gather what few possessions they could carry with them. In the
idle hours of the morning, the others had already seen to the burial of the
piled remains of the rest of Nethara’s inhabitants, and burnt as many of the
Trolloc corpses as they could.
The survivors were leaving most of the smashed remains of their lives behind,
along with the relics left behind by those the Trollocs had killed. Rand spent
his morning wandering grimly through the ruins and wondering how many other
such villages the Trollocs had visited.
In one house, bigger than most, his eye was caught by a flash of gold amongst
the smashed furniture and ripped linens. When he fished it out he found himself
staring at his own astonished face. It was a lady’s hand mirror, polished and
clear and set in a golden frame; elaborately engraved, there were red gemstones
at the tip of the handle—rubies, or garnets or something else, Rand had no way
of knowing—and clearer stones were interspersed around the circular edge of the
mirror itself. He suspected there was a story behind the mirror’s presence
here, in a humble village, but that story had died with the occupants of the
house. Unless one the survivors knew it.
He sought out Vara, showed her the mirror and asked if she knew who owned it.
She did, though it turned out there had been no survivors of the family who
lived in that house. When Rand offered to pay Vara for the mirror, feeling that
she had more right to it than he did, she waved a hand dismissively.
“Don’t mind that, my Lord. You avenged the Figolens’ deaths when you killed
those beasts. If anyone should have it it’s you.”
“We’ll if you think it’s okay,” he said, relieved. He thought Morrigan would
like it, but wasn’t sure he could have afforded to buy it even if there had
been a proper seller. For all this talk of being the Dragon Reborn, Rand did
not have much in the way of coin.
He and Perrin rode side by side when they finally left. Rand was glad of his
company, and not just because of their long friendship. Perrin was one of the
few people he trusted not to say anything about the loud noises Morrigan had
been making the night before. There had been a great many flat looks, arched
eyebrows and pithy comments from the rest of the people in camp.
Perrin studied the snowy terrain ahead, his yellow eyes gleaming even in the
muted winter’s light. Rand was sure he would be able to warn them of any
incoming attack. Perrin’s senses had been greatly enhanced since becoming a
wolfbrother, as Rand had learned when he finally managed to pry that secret out
of the former blacksmith.
The memory made him feel a little guilty. He had gotten annoyed by Perrin’s
secret and pestered him to speak it, but Rand had secrets of his own, ones he
had never told any of his companions. Most of them did, he suspected. Nynaeve
and the other women still hadn’t told him the details of how they had come to
be here on Toman Head instead of safely back in Tar Valon. Of course, Moiraine
and Verin were as comfortable with secrets as a duck was with water. He doubted
anything would change that. But wouldn’t it be better if at least he and his
friends were honest with each other? I should tell them about Lanfear, he told
himself. She might be a threat to them, whatever her intentions are towards me.
Light, what does she want? It was bad enough he had Ishamael plotting to use
him for some unknown reason, now there was a second Forsaken running around
acting like they were old friends.
“It will only get worse,” he whispered. Aginor was free, Lanfear was free.
Ishamael had always been free. How long until all the Forsaken got loose, and
the Dark One with them? Somehow, Rand was supposed to stop them, but he had not
the faintest idea how to do it.
Perrin grunted in response to his words. “All we can do is keep trying.” It was
not much of a solution to the problem, but the wolfbrother’s words were still
true.
“It’s quiet up here,” Min called, as she trotted forward to join them. “Is
Morrigan not about? What am I asking, of course Morrigan isn’t about.” The grin
she wore was too aggressively cheerful for Rand’s liking. He hunched his
shoulders and stared straight ahead, resolutely refusing to blush. “What’s
wrong, Rand? Your cheeks are flushed, are you sick? I’ll run fetch Nynaeve.”
“No need for that, Min. I’m just warmed by your concern.”
“Well someone has to be.”
“You’re not the only one who’s concerned, Min. About many things,” he said. “Do
you have any idea what went wrong yesterday? Why didn’t the Horn work? I heard
you sound it, but Hawkwing and the rest didn’t show.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know. But I don’t have the first clue why it didn’t
work. Do you ... Do you think I might have broken it? When I used it at Falme,
I mean. I don’t think there’s any prophecy about it being used against some
weird invaders, just against the Shadow. I think I might have ruined it for you
all. How are you supposed to win Tarmon Gai’don without the Horn of Valere?”
He felt suddenly protective. Min was always so cheerful, always teasing, he
hated seeing her so worried. “Don’t think like that, Min. I’m sure there’s
another explanation. The Creator wouldn’t let things fall apart so easily. And
even if She did, we’ll still find a way to win.”
She smiled. “You’re stubborn enough to try it, that’s for sure. Bloody rock-
headed Theren folk, dragging poor Baerlon girls into your craziness.”
“We’re not all rock-headed,” muttered Perrin.
Rand shared his friend’s disgruntlement. He hadn’t dragged Min into anything.
He’d been as shocked as anyone to find her in Falme, so far from the safety of
home. He resolved to ask her for the full story of how she got there. But
first, he had a confession to make.
“You are both in more danger than you know,” he began, grim-faced. “Ishamael
isn’t the only Forsaken loose out there. Or the only one that can stalk folk in
their dreams. In Cairhien I met a woman who called herself Selene. She
pretended to be just some lost noblewoman, pretended to be my friend, but
neither of those things was true. She was Lanfear in disguise.”
Min’s face paled; she turned to stare ahead, avoiding his eyes.
Perrin frowned. “How did you escape?”
“I didn’t,” Rand said, shaking his head in bewilderment. “She never actually
attacked me. Just spouted a lot of tripe about power and glory. A bit like
Ba’alzamon did all those times. I don’t think she wants me dead. She wants to
use me instead.” He sighed. “I supposed I should be relived. If they wanted me
dead, I’d likely be dead ten times over by now. But still, it’s more than a
little weird to have friends among the Forsaken.”
Perrin shook his head. “They aren’t your friends, Rand. Even if they don’t want
you dead—yet!—they definitely aren’t your friends. Don’t fool yourself, you
can’t trust people like that an inch.”
“I know. Believe me, I know. Selene—Lanfear—was able to change her appearance
somehow. She made herself look younger than she was. Not that she’s old really,
but she seemed closer to our age when I first met her. She’s tall, and pale and
has long black hair and dark eyes. She’s beautiful to look at. Whatever else
she is, there’s no denying that. And she seems to like to dress in white. If
you ever see her, either of you, you’d best run.”
Perrin was cursing softly under his breath. “I think I’ve met her too,” he
whispered.
Rand gaped. “What? When!?”
Perrin sighed. “In my dreams. Just like with Ba’alzamon. And you’re right, she
does spout a lot of old tripe about glory.”
Well so much for all that talk about the supposed love between her and Lews
Therin, Rand thought, stamping down the little flash of jealousy that rose in
him. I wonder if she’s been to visit Mat’s dreams too. “Well, as long as she’s
only in our dreams, I suppose we’re relatively safe. For now,” he said aloud.
Min squeezed her eyes shut. For some reason her cheeks had gone all red. “That
... that might not as true as you think it is,” she choked.
They both stared at her curiously. “What do you mean?” said Perrin.
Min took a deep breath. “At Falme, when the fog faded and the Heroes left and I
found Rand snoring in that woman’s back garden ... I, ah, I had a visitor. She
said her name was Lanfear, and that she’d be back for him later, and that I ...
Well, she said a lot of crazy things. And then she vanished into thin air. The
same thin air she’d appeared out of.” She looked and sounded embarrassed, and
kept glancing at Rand out of the corner of her eye.
Rand was taken aback. And strangely disappointed. “Oh,” was all he could
manage.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Perrin said. “A Forsaken prowling around nearby
is pretty important news.”
Min shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I just ... well ...” she scowled
suddenly. “No-one around here ever tells people the truth. Why am I being made
to look bad for not telling, when everyone else does the same? What about you,
Perrin? Don’t think I don’t remember that your eyes used to be brown.”
There was truth in that, a bit. Though Rand thought there a fair bit of
difference between not mentioning the presence of a nearby Forsaken and not
wanting to reveal the truth about wolfbrothers. It came to him then that it
wasn’t just the size of the secret that upset him, it was the person who had
been keeping it. Min was one of the people he trusted most. If even she would
hold something like that back, and for no good reason—at least none that he
could see, or she would tell—then what chance did they have? A scowl spread
slowly across his face. At this rate we’ll be cozying up to known Darkfriends,
never realising theyareDarkfriends, because the people who did know—our own
friends, even!—didn’t bother to say anything about it.
“It has to end,” he muttered to himself.
“What does?” asked Min warily.
He blinked at her. He hadn’t really meant to say that aloud, but now that it
was said he felt the rightness of it. “The secrets. The pointless secrets that
don’t really need to be kept, but people keep anyway because they just don’t
feel like talking about it. Only for what they knew, but didn’t say, to end up
getting someone in trouble later. Or worse. I want to put an end to that. And
if I’m really the Dragon Reborn, then that’s what I’ll do. End it, break it
even! That’s what the Dragon Reborn does, right? Break worlds, and other
things. I’ll break that habit to pieces, and gladly so.” His voice rose as he
spoke, by the end he was almost shouting.
Moiraine and Lan were watching him from farther down the column, the bard
Leliana riding at their side. Rand didn’t know why the Valreio was so wary of
him, but had no qualms about riding with the Aes Sedai. It had been Moiraine
who threatened her life, after all, not Rand. Leliana became suddenly
interested in the snowy plains around them when Rand glanced her way. Lan gave
as much reaction to Rand’s proclamation as a boulder would have, while Moiraine
raised her eyebrow coolly, a small and mysterious smile playing about her lips.
He set his jaw stubbornly. He had no doubt that Moiraine and Verin would simply
listen to everyone else’s confessions, while holding back every last scrap of
knowledge they themselves possessed.Well, I’ll have honesty for and from some,
at least, he vowed to himself. From those that might be trusted to give the
same in return.
 
                                     * * *
 
Nynaeve ignored Rand’s waffling as best she could. She wished he would keep his
voice down, though. It made it hard to concentrate on what really mattered. Of
the ten women who had survived the Trolloc attack on Nethara, not a one had
been spared the death of a loved one, or managed to evade the ... attentions,
of their vile captors. Not even poor little Saeri, she of the heart-breakingly
huge eyes that now stared blankly ahead. Nynaeve had insisted they ride close
behind her, even going so far as to flash her Great Serpent ring at them, just
in case anyone’s wits were too addled for them to see the sense of obeying. As
little as she liked the Aes Sedai, that reputation they had built up went a
long way to making people compliant.
Vara was proving to be a rock. The woman was only just into her forties,
despite her grey hair, and at first Nynaeve had worried that she would be one
of those most in need of watching. But her hair and the lines graven on her
face had not presaged the nervous wreck she had feared she would find. Vara did
much of the work of keeping the others together and organised, freeing Nynaeve
to worry about other things. Other than Saeri, Jora and Poli were the two she
most feared for. Left unattended, she thought they might do something drastic.
So, naturally, Nynaeve meant to see that they were not left unattended.
“It would be quite prudent to pool our knowledge,” Elayne said, following Rand
with her eyes. “The Tower likely wouldn’t want it spoken of in public, or even
in private, but Liandrin’s betrayal—and likely allegiance—is something that
Rand and the others really should know about, in case they encounter her
themselves someday.”
“Probably so,” Nynaeve said absently. A deep and dreamless sleep would help all
of them, but she worried she did not have enough herbs to dose so many every
night. It was unlikely she could gather them herself, as she usually did. The
weather and the Trollocs would make it more than difficult. She’d need to ask
someone where the nearest town was. Not Lan of course, anyone but him and his
man-moronic “wedded to death” nonsense!
“I’d like to know exactly how you all came to leave the Theren too, and how you
found the Horn of Valere when so many others have searched for years without
success,” Elayne was saying.
Morrigan had joined them some time earlier, watching the Nethara folk with a
thoughtful look on her face and a grim set to her mouth. Nynaeve had
momentarily lamented her lack of a stout walking stick, but if it came to it
she was not above using a fist to bust the girl’s nose for her, should she dare
turn that sharp tongue of hers loose on those poor villagers. Morrigan had held
her silence though, perhaps sensing the danger she was in. Or perhaps the girl
had more decency in her than she had so far shown. For Rand’s sake, Nynaeve
hoped it was the latter.
But now Morrigan was watching Elayne watch Rand. And there was a knowing and
dangerous gleam in the wild girl’s eyes. Savage as the girl might be, Morrigan
was not a complete fool. Not that Elayne was doing a very good job of hiding
it, to be honest. Nynaeve had little doubt this was the first time she had ever
developed a crush on a boy. She might have given her some advice on the matter,
she was sure no-one had figured out what had passed between her and Lan, or her
and Rand for that matter, but she had far more important things to be worrying
about just then.
“The way you look at him so intently, so hungrily ... one would think you have
never seen a man before,” Morrigan drawled.
Elayne stiffened. Spots of coloured appeared on her cheeks, but she faced
Morrigan directly. “Where I look is not your concern.”
“True enough. There is no way I can deny you this ... but why would he choose
you, when he could have me?” said Morrigan, with surprising bluntness.
Elayne put her nose in the air. “You are confident, goodwoman. Surprisingly so
for someone raised in a forest, far from anything remotely resembling
civilization.”
Morrigan smiled toothily. “And maybe that is my appeal? A woman like you, why,
he could find in any city in Valgarda. You think you are cultured? Worldly?
Powdered, perfumed, you ooze elegance, but what man wants a woman who lies limp
beneath him, frozen in place by the thought that she might ruin her hair?”
Nynaeve kept a firm grip on her braid, and on her tongue. To her credit, though
her cheeks reddened further, Elayne was unshaken by Morrigan’s crass insults.
“Do you think to wound me with such words? I cannot decide whether that is
laughable, or pitiful,” Elayne said. “I am the Daughter-Heir of Andor and an
Aes Sedai in training. I am not like to quiver at the insults of a loose-
moraled woodswoman, busily choking on her own bitterness. And what is it you
would boast of? That you are wild and uninhibited? The same could be said of a
Trolloc. Come to think of it, your shrieking of the night before did somewhat
remind me of the deathcries of the Trollocs we have fought. Perhaps that is why
he likes you; the Dragon Reborn is the sworn enemy of the Shadow and all its
creatures, after all. But I have no doubt he will soon grow tired of the sound.
Perhaps you should shout a little louder the next time he takes you. Who knows?
They might hear you all the way over in Tar Valon, and send a relief force to
this benighted land.”
“Tsk, tsk, Elayne. Watch your jealousy, or you'll give yourself wrinkles,” said
Morrigan, resorting to mockery for lack of a proper response.
Nynaeve shook her head. This one was not dosed, or paddled, nearly often enough
as a child, she thought. She said nothing though. Elayne needed to learn how to
fight her own battles.
The younger girl tossed her red-gold curls. “You imagine me jealous? Hardly. It
seems to me that you are the one who is jealous, elsewise why would you insist
on speaking of things that are better left unsaid? Here is some free advice for
you, Morrigan. And you may measure my jealous by it. Nothing will drive Rand
away from you quicker than this habit you have of starting arguments with
everyone else who is close to him. If you actually do love him, which I
personally doubt, then I suggest you modify your attitude.”
Morrigan shook her head in vexation. “So many sniffing about after him. I do
not know whether this speaks well of my taste, or poorly.” She raised her own
chin in answer to Elayne’s, hunter to queen, and Nynaeve had difficulty judging
which one was the prouder. “Let me tell you one thing, Daughter-Heir of Andor,
and then let us speak of it no more. Love is a weakness. Love is a cancer that
grows inside and makes one do foolish things. Love is death. The love you dream
of is something that would be more important to one than anything, even life. I
know no such love.”
Elayne was taken aback. “Oh.”
“What I know is passion. A thing far more valuable that I'll not speak to you
of any further. A thing a sheltered noblewoman like you could never
understand.”
The girl’s temper flared. “Enough. Leave my presence at once, Morrigan. Or I
shall have to take drastic measures.”
“Resorting to violence. And here I thought you were civilized,” said Morrigan
with a wry smile. As close as the two girls were, Nynaeve could feel their
maximum potential strengths in the Power, and if there was any difference
between them it was barely a hair’s width. Though, of course, neither had
reached their full potential yet, or even received much in the way of training.
For a moment she worried she might have to intervene and stop one from hurting
the other, but Morrigan put her heels to her borrowed horse and galloped away
without another word.
Elayne waited until Morrigan was well away before letting out a high-pitched
growl.
Nynaeve, in turn, waited for the girl’s colour to return to normal before
speaking, and kept her tone carefully neutral. “The witch was right about one
thing. Rand has gotten a bit too popular ever since Falme. It would be wise for
everyone to think carefully on that, and decide what is best for them going
forward.” She herself had had some choice words prepared for him, should he
think becoming a prophesised hero entitled him to sneak into her tent in the
dark of the night, and try to have his way with her. She’d had no need to use
them though, as the hours of the nights and the nights of the weeks had passed
by without a single visit. That had been a relief. A great relief, and not even
a little disappointing.
Elayne sighed. “I know. Mother would never approve, anyway. She’d want me to
marry a nice, normal boy from a well-placed House. Not that I’m saying I have
feelings for Rand. But if I did, she wouldn’t approve.”
They rode on in silence for a while, then Elayne spoke again, in a barely
audible whisper. “But she didn’t see the things I saw. Why choose normality,
when the exceptional is within reach?”
 
                                     * * *
 
Rand waited until they had found a good spot to make camp, before asking
Morrigan for a private word. He had kept the mirror safely wrapped in a towel
in his saddlebags as they travelled. Now, as they stood looking out over the
snowy fields, he handed it to her.
“I have a present for you, Morrigan. I hope you like it.”
“What have you there? A mirror?” She unwrapped it and turned it over in her
hands, and when she spoke again her voiced was tinged with wonder. “It is ...
just the same as the mirror my mother smashed on the ground, so long ago. It is
incredible that you found one so like it. I am uncertain what to say. You must
wish something in return, certainly.”
Rand shook his head, and smiled. “It’s simply a gift. For a beautiful woman.”
She seemed confused. Pleased certainly, but also suspicious. “I have ... never
received a gift. Not one that did not also come with a price attached.” She was
quiet for a moment, and Rand wondered what he could say to reassure her of his
intentions. As it turned out he didn’t have to say anything. “But I would be a
fool not to accept such a gesture with grace. Your gift is ... most
thoughtful.” She laughed softly. “And perhaps there will be a price to pay
tonight, hmm? If so, ‘tis deserved. Thank you, truly.”
Rand grinned. “You’re quite welcome. But now I need to go speak to the scouts
before they ride out. I’ll see you later.”
She smiled back at him. “I suspect you will.”
It didn’t take him long to settle matters with their scouting parties. Rand
went to his tent immediately afterwards, telling himself not to get his hopes
up.
He could have dared to dream though, for when he entered the tent he found
Morrigan lounging on his bed, naked as the day she was born. She had let her
hair down, and the way it fell so messily around her shoulders only made her
look even more desirable.
She began massaging her own breast at the sight of him. “What kept you? I was
afraid I’d have to attend to my own needs.”
Rand’s heart was pounding and he was stiff already. He hastily began taking off
his armour and clothes.
Morrigan had her new mirror close to hand. She toyed with it as she watched him
strip. “You know, I think I’d like to know what you look like when ...” she
giggled. “Yes, t’would be most interesting.” She got up on her knees and turned
around, holding the mirror up to her face and angling it over her shoulder.
Then she leaned over, presenting her pretty little butt to him. He stared, and
heard her giggle again as she wiggled her hips back and forth.
As soon as he was rid of his clothes, Rand joined her on the bed. A quick brush
of his fingers along her slit showed that she was wet and ready, so he lined
himself up and pushed into her nice and slow.
As her heat enveloped his manhood he let his eyes drift shut and moaned her
name. When he opened them again he found that she was still squeezing her
breast and holding up the mirror, watching him as he rode her. He sped up,
forcing a cry of pleasure from her lips.
Rand fucked Morrigan hard and fast, confidant that she wanted it as much as he
did. His eyes roved over her hips, her shoulders, the fleshy cheeks of her
bottom. He loved all that he saw, and wondered if perhaps he loved her too.
Morrigan’s breath fogged up the glass of her mirror as she watched him pounding
away at her.
They came together. In the fog of his passion Rand wasn’t sure who had started
it, he only knew that someone’s groan of pleasure was immediately echoed by
another’s. He flooded Morrigan’s pussy with his seed, dimly aware that she was
still watching him, the mirror’s handle now clutched in both hands to steady it
as she watched him climax.
When his cock had spurted its last, he took hold of her hips and guided them
both to the bed, cradling her from behind as they lay on their sides. “That was
wonderful, Morrigan,” he said breathlessly.
“So I saw,” she laughed. “I wonder, do they have rooms full of mirrors in the
great palaces of the world? I should like to see one ...”
Rand laughed with her. “I have no idea. But I wouldn’t mind seeing one myself
... as long as you were with me.” He hugged her tight.
“That would be wonderful,” she said. After a while she spoke again. “Too
wonderful ...”
 
                                     * * *
 
For what seemed the thousandth time, Perrin wished he was back home in the
Theren. Bel Tine was only a few more months off. A few more months and he would
have been gone a whole year! His sister Adora would likely have her hair
braided by now. She’d dance on the village green, and no doubt the boys would
be out in force, looking to snag a dance with her. Adora was a very pretty
girl. He should be there, to flex his muscles and crack his knuckles the way a
brother should, making sure only the most serious of lads dared approach her.
Instead he sat on Stepper’s back and peered downhill at a merchant’s carriage
as it trundled along the packed dirt road with three separate wagons trailing
in its wake, each loaded to the brim with a variety of wares. Perrin wondered
whether he dared approach or not. This merchant was a wary one. He’d hired on
fully a dozen guards, all of them mounted and armed with spear, sword and
horsebow. Back in the Theren a man might wander up to such a group and casually
ask for news, but here ... They might feather him before he’d even come within
hailing distance.
“We need to find out what’s ahead of us,” Anna reminded him. “Peddlers always
have news.”
Perrin sighed. That was why Rand had sent them out. He and Anna north-east,
Inukai and Rikimaru south-east. In search of news more than anything else. They
needed to know if the blockade was still in place, and how bad the Trolloc
attacks had gotten. Perrin had been happy to go, what with all Rand’s talk
about sharing secrets. He’d had similar thoughts himself about how tight-lipped
everyone was being, but the way the man was going on he just might tell
everyone who cared to listen about Perrin and the wolves.
“They look suspicious. One look at my eyes and they might attack us,” he said.
“Maybe. Some are dumb that way.” She thought about it a moment. “I’ll go.
They’ll be less wary of a girl.”
“Less wary isn’t always a good thing. What if they aren’t wary enough?” The
memory of what had happened at Nethara was fresh in his mind. He hadn’t been
able to meet the eyes of any of the women they’d brought along with them when
they left. That was another reason for this scouting trip. They needed to find
a safe place to take them all.
“Well. One, or two of us, won’t change that. I’m going. Wait here and look
watchful. I’m going to tell them we’re scouts for a bigger party. And if they
get any funny ideas, I’ll tell them that you’re ready to report back and fetch
soldiers.”
She smelled determined. Wary, yes, but her wariness was controlled. It made her
quiet and thoughtful, rather than nervous or jittery as it would some. She
smelled wonderful. “I should go with you,” he growled.
The wariness didn’t go away when she turned her dark eyes his way. That
saddened him. “That’s sweet, Perrin,” she said kindly. “But I don’t want any
unnecessary deaths, especially not one of ours. Like you said, they might get
nervous at the sight of your eyes.” But Perrin knew that wasn’t the only
reason. She was worried he might go wild and attack those men, like he had the
Whitecloaks that time.
“Be careful.”
“Always,” she said, and kicked Moonlight into motion, riding the slender white
mare down the hill to meet the merchant train. She had her bow strung, but kept
it slung over her shoulder. If they hurt her, Perrin vowed. I’ll kill them all.
Part of him was ashamed of the thought—there was a time he hadn’t been able to
imagine wanting to kill anyone. But he had no desire to take it back.
Perrin took his own bow in hand, and wondered what he would do if the guards
attacked Anna. Shoot them? Ride down there, axe in hand? Run back to Rand and
fetch help? None of the answers sat well with him.
But the men did not attack. Anna had been right. One girl alone was not
something to fear. Everyone knew women were the wiser sex, less likely to go
mad or do something incredibly stupid that destroys the world. And whatever
these men had been hired to guard against, it wasn’t one lone woman. They let
her ride beside the covered carriage, and a rotund-looking man in rich but
sombre clothes leaned out of it to speak to her.
Perrin tugged at Stepper’s reins, setting him into motion, shadowing the road
from afar.
The light was waning. Perrin didn’t need much light to see, not anymore, but
the others did not share his curse. Rand and Moiraine would be making camp
soon. That didn’t trouble him much, he could find his way back to them even in
pitch darkness.
Other things worried him more. Like Rand’s fascination with this Morrigan
woman, that no-one else seemed to be able to get along with. They’d been deep
in conversation about the value of secrets, when his ears had caught the end of
her argument with Elayne. He could tell immediately that she was coming
forwards, on Ingtar’s old horse. It annoyed him a little that she’d been given
the stallion. Ingtar had been, if not quite a friend, then at least someone who
had known about the wolves and not despised him for it. He doubted Morrigan
would feel the same way.
Perrin had cut his talk with Rand short, not wanting to continue in front of
the stranger. He glanced back towards her by way of warning.
“You must have eyes in the back of your head,” Min had said, frowning toward
the approaching woman. “Or else the sharpest ears I have ever heard of.” She
and Perrin had both excused themselves, and left Rand’s company before Morrigan
could arrive.
Careless,he thought, now. He had grown so used to the Shienarans knowing how
well he could see—in daylight at least; they did not know about the night—that
he was beginning to slip about other things. Carelessness might kill me yet.
Assuming Rand doesn’t do it anyway, no matter how careful I am.
It was almost dark by the time Anna turned her horse away from the merchant’s
carriage, waving a hasty farewell. She galloped up the slope towards Perrin.
Once she got close he found that her fear was still controlled, but it quivered
in a way that made him rub his nose. Realising he could tell what people were
feeling based on their scent had been even more disturbing that realising he
could see in the dark. It was useful ... but so very strange.
“We need to get back to the others. Fast,” said Anna, grimly.
“What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t? If that man can be believed, then half of Falmerden is burning.”
***** A Blight in Falmerden *****
CHAPTER 12: A Blight in Falmerden
 
The firelight cast flickering shadows across the gathered faces. In was well-
after sundown but no-one had gone to bed yet, not with so much to hear and
discuss. The wide hilltop on which they had camped provided excellent
visibility in all directions during the day, and even in the dark Rand didn’t
think anything would be able to sneak up on them. Of course, it sounded like
his enemy had no intention of trying to sneak any more, and preferred a brute
force approach. Apart from the sentries on duty, everyone sat or stood in a
great grim-faced circle as they listened to Anna’s report.
Rand felt a flash of vexation when he noticed Loial taking notes. He’d liked it
better when the Ogier was just his friend, rather than his biographer. They
were still friends, for Rand’s part, but that didn’t mean he liked feeling as
if his every word and action were being weighed and scrutinised by his huge
companion.
There were far more important things to be worrying about just then however.
According to what Anna had heard the Trollocs had slaughtered their way across
the whole southwest of Falmerden, burning every town or village they
encountered. They had had an easy time of it, the merchant who told her this
news had claimed bitterly, since almost all the ladies and lords who might have
sent their armsmen to put a stop to the attacks had either died fighting the
Seanchan, been murdered by their rivals, or run off to join Queen Evelin and
General Syoman in preparation for the civil war they wanted to pile on top of
all Falmerden’s other worries. There was no-one left in the whole nation with
the will or strength to put a stop to this false Dragon and his horde of
monsters, the man had claimed. Anna shot Rand an apologetic look as she
repeated the merchant’s words.
Muttered curses sounded all around the fire, from his friends and armsmen, and
even from one or two of the refugees. Moiraine did not need to raise her voice
to silence them, she simply had to speak, asking Anna to continue.
Anna listed the names of villages reportedly destroyed by Shadowspawn, and the
refugees gasped to hear them. Rand recognised two of the names himself. Lother
had been a thriving town when he had passed through, but apparently it was
little more than a graveyard now. A wide-eyed Leliana covered her mouth with
her hand when she heard the news. Atuan’s Mill had already been half abandoned
when he stopped there on his way to Falme. He and Areku had spent a memorable
night together in one of the empty houses there. It was gone to the fire now,
along with any future they might have had together. He glanced at Areku,
standing solemnly among the rest of his guards, the fire caressing the strong,
smooth plains of her face. Her expression gave no hint of what she felt, but
she met his eyes and he thought he saw sadness there.
“What is the Queen of Falmerden doing about this tragedy?” Elayne demanded to
know. She saw her position as a duty to be attended to, rather than a privilege
to enjoy, and expected other nobles to share her worldview.
Anna gave a small shrug. “Master Abbicus didn’t know. He said the Queen was in
some place called Amaran, meeting with her nobles. Maybe she’s gathering an
army there, who knows?”
“Amaran, rather than Falme? She comes to them, instead of making them come to
her.” Moiraine was as composed as ever, but Rand thought he detected a hint of
disapproval in her voice.
Verin, standing at her side, looked and sounded distracted. “The girl’s
position is a poor one, what with the Seanchan invasion and Syoman’s betrayal.
She will need all the support she can get, and can’t afford to stand on
formality. Amaran is not very far from here, come to think of it ...”
“Is it fortified?” asked Nynaeve, casting a worried look towards the refugees.
“It is. And as the Northern Road is, it seems, safer than the Southern one,
there should be little difficulty for them in reaching it,” said Moiraine
coolly.
“It would be better if they had an escort,” growled Nynaeve. “We should all
go.”
Moiraine raised a brow. “Do not be a fool, Nynaeve. Rand cannot be seen by the
Queen, or any other Falmeran noble. Most of them would likely order him killed,
believing him to be something other than the true Dragon Reborn.”
“What of Surtir?” said Rand. “He can’t just ignore a Shadowspawn army loose in
his country, can he?”
“He probably thinks it’s a Valreio plot, and the Trollocs are men in funny
costumes,” Nynaeve muttered. Leliana nodded morosely.
“Master Addicus mentioned the general too,” said Anna. “He destroyed a band of
Dragonsworn than came too close to Calranell, and was apparently marshalling
his army to go deal with a bigger band. Maybe he’ll change his mind and fight
the Trollocs now instead.”
“You’d think that,” growled Uno. “But with these goat-kissing southerners, who
can say? Ah, no offense an’ all.”
Rand had never kissed a goat in this life, unless you counted Mat. He was more
concerned with weighing his options than Uno’s words though. That band of
Dragonsworn troubled him. If it was the same group whose work Rikimaru had
encountered to the southeast ...
“Either way he will be distracted. It will make it easier for us to slip past
the blockade,” said Moiraine, calmly, unconcernedly, as though it was a
foregone conclusion that they would do so.
She didn’t know Rand very well. “I’m not leaving,” he announced.
“You are—” Moiraine began, then glanced at the crowd and modified her tone.
“You are not thinking clearly. We will discuss this in private later. For now—”
Rand shook his head. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m not going to run away
while a horde of Shadowspawn destroys this country. I wouldn’t even if I wasn’t
the Dragon Reborn, and it wasn’t my job to stop them. And since I am, and it is
... Well. You can leave if you want, of course. But I’m staying.”
Moiraine’s glare was sharp enough to cut, but Rand was past caring about that.
Looming behind her, Lan’s expression was as stony as ever, but he nodded
slightly.
“Foolishness,” he heard Morrigan mutter nearby, arms crossed and scowling. But
on the other side the fire from her Elayne and Min were smiling.
“I’m going to assume you aren’t crazy yet,” sighed Perrin. “And don’t think
we’ll be leaving you behind. And aren’t planning for the few dozen of us to
take on a Trolloc army alone,”
It would be best for them if they did leave, but he didn’t really think they
would. “No. We’ll need Evelin’s help. And Surtir’s if we can get it. And we’ll
need the so-called Dragonsworn.”
“After what Rikimaru said? It sounds like those ‘Dragonsworn’ are doing nearly
as much damage as the Trollocs,” said Perrin.
“I know,” Rand said grimly. “But maybe if I go to them in person I can force
them to fall in line. Better that they fight the Trollocs than their fellow
humans.”
“Or they might try to kill you,” Min objected. “It sounds like there are a lot
of them.”
“Foolishness,” Morrigan whispered. And Moiraine looked as if she would have
echoed her, if her dignity allowed it.
Rand forged ahead stubbornly. “I’ll need someone to go to the Queen and talk to
her for me. They could probably take the refugees with them, too. An Aes Sedai
might help with that, but I could send someone else if none were willing.”
Moiraine’s chiming voice was well-suited to the winter’s night. “Your plan
relies on the goodwill of strangers. You should rethink it. All of you, retire
to your tents. Rand and I will discuss this in private.”
Rand ground his teeth. She would send his armsmen away, just as if they were
hers to command. Then tell him what she thought he should do, just as if he
were hers to command. Then, he suspected, she would do everything in her power
to make sure those commands were followed if he balked. He was the Dragon
Reborn, but in the Aes Sedai’s eyes that just meant he was a higher class of
servant.
There was a stirring among the assembled people. Several were already turning
to leave, as Moiraine had told them. “We aren’t done yet,” Rand said, keeping
his voice calm by an effort of will. “Uno, you and the rest of the Shienarans
will be riding with me tomorrow, to find these Dragonsworn. The ... ambassador
to the Queen, whoever it proves to be, will have to do without your escort.
Make sure you are all well-rested.”
Uno hadn’t been one of those who made to leave. He saluted at Rand’s words. “As
you command, my Lord Dragon. Honour to serve.”
Rand faced the grey-haired survivor of Nethara. He hadn’t spoken to the woman
before, but he had heard her name from the others. “Vara. I know you and your
people have been thought a lot. But if any of you are willing to take a watch
tonight, and allow a few more soldiers to get some sleep, it would help. An
even split of experienced sentries and volunteers would be best, I’d say. Speak
to Uno if you would like to volunteer.”
“I’ll volunteer,” said the youngest, a pretty little girl with big blue eyes,
long black hair and a piping voice. Rand grimaced. She was probably the only
person in the camp he didn’t want help from. And she was the first to offer it.
Vara saved him from having to say anything. “No, Saeri. You’ll drink Mistress
al’Meara’s medicine and get some sleep, there’s a good girl. I’ll take your
watch instead.”
“The Horn of Valere is the most important thing,” Rand continued. “If we could
get the Trollocs all gathered in one place, and then sound the Horn, this whole
problem would be made trivial. But of course, that only applies if the thing
works. Do either of you Aes Sedai know why it didn’t work at Nethara?”
Moiraine and Verin looked little alike, but those smooth ageless faces and the
quick glance they shot each other, made them seem almost like sisters in truth.
Verin was the elder, but it was Moiraine who spoke. “The White Tower knows
much. Too much for the uninitiated to comprehend, even had they the years
needed to study it. The Horn’s mysteries are for the Tower alone to know. You
must trust that we know what is best, and that what you need to know will be
made known to you, at the appropriate time.”
Rand sighed. Those were a lot of words to say not much with. “We’ll hope it
works next time, then, and plan for it not to.” Perhaps saidin might do
instead, if he could make it come when he called, and figure out how to use it
if it did come.
Anna wore a worried frown. “Even if it did work, Rand, how would you get the
Trollocs to gather? From what I heard it sounds like they are divided into a
dozen bands, all roaming the countryside and killing whoever they meet.”
Rand smiled mirthlessly. “That’s the easy part. I’ll just pick a good looking
plot of land, and make sure they know exactly where I am.”
“You would use yourself as bait, sheepherder?” said Lan quietly.
“Exactly.”
Worried looks and dismayed mutterings met his declaration. Leliana was staring
at him as though she had never seen him before. Perrin frowned down at his own
bunched fists. Nynaeve, of course, was tugging at her braid.
“Rank foolishness!” Morrigan declared loudly.
“Yes, Morrigan, I heard you the first two times,” Rand burst out in
exasperation. “But I’m going to do it anyway. Far be it from me to disagree
with your parents, they seemed lovely folk,” he said insincerely, “but I’m of a
mind to think that how you live, is more important than how long.”
“It is exactly that kind of impassioned but ill-planned action that led to the
Breaking of the World,” said Moiraine, as close to open anger as he had ever
seen her. “If your mother had lived longer I am sure she would have taught you
to better heed the women in your life, rather than attempting to make decisions
that you are inherently ill-equipped to make. Learn that lesson now instead,
before you undo years of Aes Sedai planning and doom the world. Again.”
The gathered men stood quietly, eyes lowered. The gathered women turned stern
faces Rand’s way. Their expressions were mostly cut from the same mould, save
Anna, who scowled at the Aes Sedai out of the corner of her eyes, Min, who
looked faintly embarrassed, and Morrigan, who was too busy staring into the
fire to care about the matriarchy one way or the other. Elayne, for all her
sweetness, plainly agreed with Moiraine. And the only thing that troubled
Nynaeve’s brow was the fact that it had been Moiraine to say it rather than
her.
Rand quailed internally under the weight of all those disapproving stares. His
mother might have died young but, whatever Moiraine thought, he had learned the
lessons she spoke of just fine. Tam had been certain to teach Rand the proper
way for a Theren man to behave. Never hurt a woman, or allow one to be hurt,
not even if it means your life. Be respectful to whoever the woman in charge
is, and heed her judgements. But what woman was in charge of him now? He was
the Dragon Reborn. Who outranked him? No-one that he could think of, save
perhaps Hawkwing and the other Heroes, and, of course, the Creator Herself.
“This is my decision to make,” he said quietly. “If it wasn’t, if you were
better qualified to make it, then you wouldn’t need me to fight Tarmon Gai’don.
You could just defeat the Dark One yourself.”
Moiraine studied him in silence for a moment. “Be careful,” she said just as
quietly. He wondered if he was imagining the threat in her voice.
“I will be. When I think it best. And I’ll start by getting some sleep. It’s
late, and I have a long ride ahead of me tomorrow.”
When he turned away, and left the fire, a dozen conversations sprung up in his
wake.
Morrigan hastened to follow him, scowling at anyone and everyone they passed.
Her scowl only lessened when she looked his way. Rand was struck, suddenly, by
how much he cherished that. Morrigan was as tough, and as rough, as old tree
bark, and she didn’t get along with any of the others. Rand, knowing how and
where she was raised, didn’t hold her accountable for that, though he did think
it regrettable. But despite everything, she showed a tenderness towards him
that she never showed to anyone else. He loved that. And he thought, then, that
he might love her, too.
That wouldn’t do. “We’re beyond the Knotwood now, Morrigan. You’ve done what
your mother told you to. And you’re not totally wrong about what’s coming. It
will be dangerous. Maybe it’s time you left. Went to see the ocean and
mountains, the way you wanted.”
She looked away. “Flemeth told me to accompany you. Not just through the wilds,
but to the lands beyond. Though I cannot imagine she intended for me to be
involved in such madness as this.”
“Well, I’m glad it worked out this way, at least,” said Rand.
“Yes, let’s ignore the entire Shadowspawn threat and the simpletons that are
your only other allies then,” she scoffed, then visibly mellowed. “Not that I
lack appreciation for the intent of your comment. Thank you.”
Rand ducked into his tent, and heard Morrigan follow. He went to where he knew
the lamp would be, and went to work at lighting it. Izana was in charge of
setting up Rand’s tent each time they camped, and thoughtfully arranged things
in a similar manner each time.
“I wish to ask a question of you,” Morrigan said, in the dark.
“Go ahead.”
“I wish to know your opinion ... of ‘love.’ ”
Rand used the excuse of lighting his lamp to buy himself time to gather his
wits. When the flame took, he closed the glass covering and looked over his
shoulder at Morrigan. “You wish to know what I think of love? Other than that I
like it, I’m not sure how to answer that question.”
“Yes. And ‘tis a perfectly valid question. You and I have been intimate, for
one. We have been ... close ... for some time now. You are ... impressive ...
in many ways, and you even welcome me in your company, when all others would
gladly drive me off.” She cast her gaze to the ground and frowned. “I feel
anxious when I look upon you. I dislike this sense of dependency. ‘Tis a
weakness I abhor. I—If this is ‘love’ I wish to ascertain that you do not feel
the same.”
Rand stood and faced her. “What if I do love you?” he said quietly.
“Then we are both fools, and we need to do something immediately,” she
declared, as the lamplight shone in her amber eyes. “I have allowed myself to
become ... too close. This is a weakness, for us both.”
“Love is not a weakness.”
Her anger flared and she raised a fist. “You are not listening to me. Do not be
such a fool! This is for your own good. I would not ...” As quick as it had
come, her anger faded, and her hand fell back to her side. She looked hurt,
even as she spoke the hateful words. “I am not like other women. I am not
worthy of your distraction. And you ... are not worth mine.”
Rand set his jaw, and looked away. “I might not be worth your distraction,
Morrigan. But you are certainly worth mine,” he said grimly.
She flinched slightly. “I ... you are impossible! Have it your way. But I will
tell you truly now. You will regret it in the end.”
He came to stand over her, and took her in his arms. “I can’t imagine anything
that might come, that could make me regret being with you.”
She looked stricken. “You do not know me,” she breathed. “I am not who, or
what, you think.”
He touched her lovely face, as softly as he could. “Perhaps that’s true,” he
breathed. “Or perhaps you aren’t what you think you are.” Her mouth opened
under his, and she melted in his arms.
Morrigan’s hands went to the collar of his breastplate, and she made as if to
pull him to the ground right there. Instead, Rand picked her up and carried her
towards the piled blankets of his bed. Her legs hung limply, and her kisses
were softer than they had ever been.
When he laid her gently on the bed, and began removing his armour, Morrigan did
not undress herself the way he had expected. She just lay there, watching him.
Only once he had stripped to his skin, and begun unlacing her dress for her,
did Morrigan reach out to touch him, gentle touches that grew more insistent as
he shed layer after layer of her coverings. When he exposed her breasts and
kissed them, she tangled her fingers in his hair. When he pulled her
smallclothes slowly down her slender legs, she touched his face. And when he
pushed her hand gently away, and her knees apart, the better to kiss her
darkly-furred sex, she interlaced her fingers with his and clutched his hand
hard.
Morrigan was quiet that night. Surprisingly so, in comparison to the wild
capering of past encounters. She lay pliant beneath him, her arms around his
shoulders, her knees raised high. She whispered his name when he entered her,
but pressed her mouth to the side of his neck after that. The only further
sounds that escaped her were soft, sharp gasps as he slid slowly in and out of
her glorious wetness. She didn’t reach down to play with herself as they mated,
as she often did, so he slid a hand between them and used his thumb to rub her,
just where she liked. He didn’t stop until she dug her nails into his shoulders
and drew in a sharp breath, holding it for what felt like a long time, before
letting it come shuddering out again.
Rand held Morrigan’s face between his hands and began moving faster after that.
He wanted to look into her beautiful eyes, but she tossed her head, strangely
upset by the act, and pushed him away. He slid out of her obediently and knelt
back, though he stared at her beseechingly. Morrigan didn’t meet his eyes, but
she did reach for his hand. She pulled him to her as she turned over onto her
belly, and spread her legs. Rand caressed her pretty little bottom for a
moment, savouring the sight, before leaning forward and sliding himself inside
her body once more. He wrapped his arms around Morrigan’s slender frame,
cupping her breasts in his palms as he rode her, feeling the beat of her racing
heart through the tender flesh of her bosom. When at last his climax came,
Morrigan was pressing his hands to her chest with her own, her feet curling
around to the backs of his knees, holding him in place. She remained so as he
came inside her body.
Even when he rolled them over onto their sides, her hands continued to hold him
to her breast. When Rand fell asleep that night, his softening manhood was
still inside the girl who claimed to disdain the very idea of love.
When he awoke from a blessedly dreamless sleep the next morning, she was
stilled pressed to his side, her arms around his neck and her head pillowed on
his chest, her ear just above his heart.
The sounds of people moving about the morning camp, and chores being performed,
drifted to him. He was reluctant to move, for he wanted to savour the moment,
and let Morrigan sleep on. But he had told the Shienarans they would ride out
early, and that gave him a duty.
“You seem to be misunderstanding your duty.”
Rand’s eyes snapped open at the familiar voice. Moiraine was standing in the
entry of his tent, cool as you please, clad in a fine blue dress and staring
down at him where he lay in his bed. Lan stood behind her, wearing his green
scaled armour and colour shifting cloak. Rand had a brief glimpse of the
morning light outside, before the Warder let the tent flap fall closed again.
“What are you—” Surprise cut his words short when a bright ball of light
appeared above Moiraine’s outstretched palm, banishing the gloom as suddenly as
it had appeared. Morrigan woke up with a surprised snort, instinctively
flinching away from the bright, faintly blue, light.
“You seem to think it is for you to command in this war,” said Moiraine,
advancing. “It is not. You are a soldier, a blade crafted for humanity’s use.
You must learn this. One way or another.”
Rand sat up in bed, wishing fervently for his clothes. He was completely naked
under the blanket. It made him feel vulnerable. “A blade? For humanity’s use?
For your use, you mean to say. Well, you’re wrong. I will not be used.”
“A tool is not demeaned—”
“ ‘By being used for the purpose for which it was made,’ ” Rand interrupted
rudely. “I remember the Amyrlin’s speech just fine. She was wrong too, just
like she was wrong when she said the Heroes would fight for the Shadow if a
Darkfriend sounded the Horn.” He cast about, and found his breeches lying on
the covered floor. They might be just within reach, if he stretched. Lan had
planted himself at the entryway, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He
wasn’t likely to be much help. Rand held the blanket about his waist and
reached for his clothes. He had to wrestle a bit with Morrigan first, since she
had more to cover and was equally as intent on doing so.
She turned her bleary-eyed glare from him to Moiraine. “Do all civilised people
wander into each other’s bedchambers? In the wilds ‘twould be considered
intrusive.”
“Be silent, girl. I have no patience left for your nonsense,” said Moiraine.
The light in her hand intensified, and beneath the sheets Rand felt Morrigan
tremble.
He dragged his breeches to him and stuffed them under the blanket. “Is this
supposed to be intimidating, Moiraine?” he said angrily. “Am I supposed to
agree to do whatever you want to get you to stop harassing me? It won’t work.
Ishamael did it better, and it didn’t work for him either.”
“I can do much more than intimidate, Rand. And I will, before I let you ruin
what I have worked my entire life for.”
He pulled his breeches on with more force than was necessary, noticing in doing
so that his belt knife was still attached to its loop. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes. You are a child playing with what you barely understand. I will do what I
must, to guide you to where you should go.”
Rand snorted. “A threat.” He stood, and drew his knife, the worn leather hilt
comfortable in his hand. He’d brought it with him from the Theren. The home he
could never go back to.
Lan’s cold gaze snapped to him instantly, and his sword cleared its sheath so
fast it seemed to just appear in his hands. “Do not be a fool, sheepherder.”
“There’s a lot of foolishness taking place lately,” Rand said. “What’s a little
more?” He bent his left arm at the elbow, palm upward and made a fist. He set
his lips firmly, then took the sharp point of his knife, stabbed an inch of it
into his arm, just below the wrist, and calmly drew it towards him. Pain
flared, but he ignored it; a long, crimson line appeared on Rand’s arm, and his
life’s blood swiftly began flowing forth.
Lan cursed. Morrigan gasped and came to her feet, blanket and nudity both
forgotten. But Moiraine moved fastest. She hissed, darted towards Rand and
slapped her hands across his bloody arm. A surge of ... something, shot through
him, icy cold, forcing his back to arch in spite of his efforts to control
himself. And as swiftly as the wound had appeared on his flesh, it closed
again. As he had known it would.
“You fool!” Moiraine shouted, and this time her anger was as naked as
Morrigan’s body. “What were you thinking!?”
“I was thinking that you would rush to heal me,” Rand gasped. “I was thinking
that my life is worth more to you than it is to me. And I was thinking that,
given that this is so, it is spectacularly foolish of you to threaten me.”
Lan shook his head. He returned his sword to its sheath, and though he, with
great and polite deliberation, refrained from looking Morrigan’s way, the girl
still rushed to recover the blanket and hide her pale body.
Rand opened and closed his hand. He didn’t seem to have taken any lasting
injury, but the blood that had escaped him still dripped down his arm, and he
felt a little woozy.
“This is just the kind of madness to be expected, when the accursed Aes Sedai
and a gaping pervert sneak into someone’s tent in the morning. ‘Tis a pity that
what is obvious to some, is a mystery to others,” declared Morrigan angrily,
one arm across her breasts to hold the blanket in place.
Lan stiffened, ever so slightly. Rand was tempted to speak up on the man’s
behalf. The Warder hadn’t gaped at her at all. But he was even more tempted to
faint, and that was something he could not afford just then, so he focused his
will on staying upright.
Moiraine turned her ire from Rand to a less essential target. “You have a
barbed tongue, Morrigan. How is it you see fit to speak to others this way?”
“I owe you no explanation,” Morrigan scoffed. “There is no writing on my
forehead that says: ‘Please, guide me!’ Or ‘wield me like a tool,’ as the case
may be.”
Morrigan’s proudly raised head was immune to Moiraine’s withering stare. “You
are travelling with these people. It behoves you to be civil. Yet you seem
incapable of it. Why?”
“And to think, ‘tis said Aes Sedai are subtle. You are too transparent, woman.
Do not bring up our companions, when all you wish is for me to be civil to you.
I am not one of your Novices, to hang on your every word.”
Lan’s voice was as cold and hard as frost-touched steel. “Perhaps you should.”
“Nor I am a pet hound on a well-crafted leash,” Morrigan drawled. Rand’s jaw
dropped. He was torn between being offended on Lan’s behalf, and being
impressed by Morrigan’s courage, in facing the pair so defiantly. “Take your
lectures elsewhere, both of you. They, and you, mean nothing to me.”
“The White Tower has a great deal of experience in dealing with wilful girls
like you, Morrigan,” said Moiraine. The composure she had lost when Rand cut
himself, she was swiftly gathering. “Sharper tongues than yours have been
scrubbed smooth there.”
“’Tis well then, that I have absolutely no intention of ever going near the
place. Invoke a name that means nothing here if you wish. Like Rand, I am not
threatened.”
“Perhaps you are not. Or perhaps you lack the wit to realise how threatened you
are. We shall see. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”
“Yes it does,” Rand agreed. “Will it be weaving you towards Amaran and Queen
Evelin today? Or should I ask someone else to go?”
“You would face the Shadow without Lan and I? Another mistake. As well slit
your wrist again, only this time with no-one near enough to save you.”
“I don’t want to split my forces, but someone needs to escort Vara and her lot
to safety, and someone needs to persuade Evelin to join forces with us against
the Trollocs. You two seem well-capable of both tasks.”
Moiraine stared at him in silence. Her pale, ageless face and dark, just-
slightly-slanted eyes gave away nothing of what she thought. She was as
dangerous as she was beautiful, as untrustworthy as she was necessary. “Evelin
will go where I send her. But where will that be?”
Rand let out a breath. “That part I’m not sure of. This hill might do, but I’d
prefer somewhere more defensible. Somewhere they could only come at us from one
side. A narrow pass of some kind. It would take a lot to budge the Shienarans
in their plate if they decided to plug a gap like that.”
“It always has,” said Lan. “But there would be no way for you to retreat, if
you could find the ground you describe.”
“I know,” Rand said. “It’s them or us.”
Moiraine shook her head slightly. “If you are not certain where you will be,
then Lan must remain with you. I cannot afford to spend time searching for your
location.” Lan shot Moiraine a hard look, but held his silence for now.
Of course. The Warder bond would let them both know where the other was. Did
that mean ... “You’ll go to Evelin, then?”
“If the thing must be done, I will see it done properly. And swiftly. Yes, I
will go.”
“Thank you,” Rand said quietly, and a little stiffly. He hadn’t forgotten the
things she had said. But if not her he would have had to ask Verin, who was a
little odd. And if Verin had refused, Elayne seemed his next best option ...
and he was reluctant to send her off alone into potential danger.
“Well I’ll say one thing,” Rand continued, with false cheeriness. “This has
woke me up quicker than any rooster’s crowing ever could. But if you don’t mind
I’d like to finish getting dressed.”
“Quite,” said Morrigan.
Moiraine turned and left without another word. Lan lingered long enough to give
Rand a searching look, before ducking out after her. Rand hoped what had
happened that morning wouldn’t affect their daily sparring sessions. He might
not carry a heron-mark sword any more, and he had never been worthy of one, but
he still wanted to improve his swordsmanship. And practicing with Lan was the
best way to go about it.
“Are you alright?” said Morrigan, when they were alone. “I didn’t notice her do
anything other than Heal you. Which I think I could have done myself, as it
happens. It does not look so very difficult.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Will you? Because you sc—, you ... troubled me. With that display. I thought
you would ... I thought I ...” She was obviously upset, but when he put his
hand on her bare shoulder she quickly slapped it away. “You are a fool, to risk
yourself so. And for no reason! For strangers who care nothing for you.”
Rand frowned. “Do you mean the Falmerans? I meant what I said last night. I
won’t run.”
“I meant everything I said last night,” he added, more softly.
Morrigan wouldn’t look at him, she turned her back to him, revealing more of
herself than she realised, for the blanket did not cover her from behind. “I
want to get dressed. Could you wait outside? Please?”
It was his tent, and he needed to get dressed too, but Rand waited only long
enough to pull on his boots before leaving. He had upset her enough for one
morning. The chill morning air made him shiver, and the blood that was still
drying on his arm drew many a shocked look, but he would wait as long as
Morrigan needed him to wait.
***** In Search of Allies *****
CHAPTER 13: In Search of Allies
 
When Nynaeve heard Moiraine would be leaving to go meet with Evelin, she was
glad of it. The less she saw of that Aes Sedai the better. She was even more
pleased when Rand told her Lan would be staying behind, though her satisfaction
was dulled a bit by his stubborn refusal to explain how he had gotten the blood
on his arm. She worried about that. He had been more than distraught after
Egwene died. They both had been, which Nynaeve blamed for any ... indiscretions
that might have happened back in Fal Dara. She hoped he wasn’t still thinking
of doing anything foolish.
She had similar worries about the Nethara folk, and it was those that ruined
her good mood entirely, when Anna informed her that they were preparing to
leave with Moiraine.
“That heartless witch can’t be trusted to look after them!” Nynaeve had
snapped. Anna’s protestations had followed her across the campsite as she
stalked off in search of Vara.
“If it comes to that, it’s their decision to make, Nynaeve. No-one can force
them not to,” the grey-haired woman said, now. “All we can do if offer them a
safe place to stay. And that is best found in Amaran. It’s little wonder they’d
want to go.”
Nynaeve frowned. Vara was underestimating her. She’d been making people do what
they should, whether they liked it or not, since she has little more than a
girl. “They? Aren’t you going with them?”
“No. I think I’ll stay here, with him. I’m not sure what help I can offer, but
he plainly needs all the help he can get. Besides, I owe him for saving us, and
...” her face crumpled. “And my family are all gone, and I’m too old to be
having another one, so what else can I do with my life?”
Nynaeve gave the older woman’s shoulder a squeeze, searching her mind for some
words of comfort. “Wisdom’s seldom marry. And that never stops them from being
the cornerstone of their communities. I think you’d make a good Wisdom. And who
says you can’t start learning a new thing, even with grey in your hair?”
Nynaeve was a little jealous of Vara’s grey. It gave her an air of experience
and authority. Nynaeve could have used some grey in her hair when she took over
as Wisdom after Mistress Barran passed.
“You’re a good woman, Nynaeve al’Meara.”
“Don’t get all soppy though. A Wisdom can’t afford that sort of thing. Where
are the others?”
Vara pointed. “Over by the packhorses. Moiraine Sedai wanted to leave quickly.”
Nynaeve was far too sternly proper to want to curse. She hurried off again, in
the direction Vara had indicated. The woman’s protestations followed her across
the campsite.
Elayne and Min called out to her cheerfully as she passed, but she politely
ignored them. Whatever their current problem was, they would have to deal with
it themselves. Though why they had gone to the Ogier for help, Nynaeve could
not guess. Loial blinked at her and muttered something about “hastiness” which
Nynaeve had too little time to listen to.
She found Moiraine already mounted on her white mare, waiting with poorly-
concealed impatience for the cluster of women to ready their borrowed horses.
The scant possessions they were tying to the horse’s backs were all they had
been able to salvage of their former lives. Not that she expected Moiraine to
care about that of course.
A quick glance told Nynaeve that there were three missing, besides Vara. When
she said as much, Moiraine gave a nod. “Vara, Panowin, Luci and Saeri have
decided to stay. What possible help they could be, I cannot say, but it seems
your Therener friend’s madness is infectious.”
Nynaeve wasn’t surprised about Panowin. The woman seemed to have little left in
her except anger. She suspected she would throw herself at the first Trolloc
she saw, and care little for whether it killed her before she could kill it.
But Luci was a timid little thing, too wary to even speak to any of the men in
camp. And Saeri?
“Saeri’s barely more than a child. Why didn’t you drag her with you?” Nynaeve
demanded.
Moiraine raised a brow. “Because I have a world to worry about. A few refugees
cannot be considered more important than that.” She didn’t even lower her
voice. And the refugees in question gave no sign that they disagreed with the
Aes Sedai. It made Nynaeve grind her teeth.
She was glad to see Moiraine ready to leave, and glad that Lan would be free of
her for a while. Perhaps the man might discover his common sense if he was
parted from the Aes Sedai’s influence ... But she couldn’t just leave those
poor women to Moiraine’s less-than-tender care.
“Wait here,” Nynaeve said. She ignored the chill look Moiraine gave her as she
hastened across the camp towards the picket lines, stopping at her tent only
long enough to grab her already-packed saddlebags.
She was obviously not the only one thinking of leaving. Morrigan was standing
alone, staring morosely at the horses, when Nynaeve arrived. She eyed the girl
as she saddled Muscles, but did not speak. Rand had gotten himself into that
problem, he could get himself out of it.
Morrigan looked askance at Nynaeve. It was hard to tell, but she seemed more
wary than usual. “You do not approve of me, do you?”
Nynaeve faced her directly. “You have to ask? I didn't realize I was being
subtle.”
The girl was a pretty thing, despite her wild ways. Her lips twitched downwards
for half a heartbeat, before curving into her usual haughty smile. “Ah, the cat
has claws, I see. And you also do not approve of my involvement with our
stalwart Rand.”
Nynaeve shook her head. “You are dangerous, Morrigan. Dangerous, cunning and
far too rude for your own good. But you are beautiful, and he is young. It's a
pity he hasn’t more sense.”
“Why, Nynaeve, I do believe that is the first time any of you have ever offered
me a compliment. Thank you,” Morrigan said, and whether it was mockery or
genuinely pleasure was also hard to tell.
“You would take that as a compliment?” she sniffed. “I really thought he had
better taste.”
Anger darkened Morrigan’s face. “Listen, you fresh-faced grandmother, what
happens between myself and him is not your concern. You can approve or not
approve as you wish, but this is one thing you Aes Sedai cannot mould to your
liking.”
Nynaeve seized her braid and took two involuntary steps towards the woman
before she could stop herself. “I am not an Aes Sedai! I just went to the Tower
to learn how to channel, that’s all. I’m not ... one of them. I’m not!”
Morrigan had hopped backwards when Nynaeve advanced, but her cutting tongue
could not be so easily silenced. “Who are you trying to convince, al’Meara.
‘Tis not I, I think.”
Nynaeve scowled. “Bah! I’m not an Aes Sedai, and Rand is not theirs to mould. I
hope that one day soon you will discover that he’s not yours either.”
“You mistake my intent, cat,” said Morrigan. “And you are a fool.”
Nynaeve’s eyes hardened, she tilted her head downwards and glared at Morrigan
from beneath her creased brows. “Am I? Well, let's hope so. For his sake. And
especially for yours. When I return, if I find that you’ve hurt him, or any of
the others, you will answer to me for it.” She returned to her horse, and
finished tightening the straps on his saddle with perhaps more force than was
needed.
“Everyone wants me to go, except her. And him,” Morrigan whispered. “Even I
know I should go. So why don’t I go?”
Nynaeve mounted up. The girl didn’t seem to be speaking to her, or anyone
really. She just stood there, staring at her borrowed horse, looking oddly
vulnerable. Nynaeve felt she should say something. Just because a woman had a
sharp tongue didn’t mean she was necessarily a bad person. Nynaeve had met
women as rough as Morrigan who were actually quite nice once you got to know
them. It might have strained even Nynaeve’s patience and good-temper to put up
with them long enough, but it could be done.
Her attention was snagged by the sight of a line of horses leaving camp and
heading north. Burn her! She didn’t even wait. Nynaeve kicked Muscles into
motion, and hurried to catch up, leaving Morrigan forgotten in her wake.
Moiraine did not even look back as Nynaeve galloped after her. She kept a
steady pace, eyes fixed ahead. Nynaeve was surprised to find Leliana among
those who accompanied her, but she supposed there was little point in trying to
keep what the bard knew secret any more. Short of killing her, and all the
Nethara folk, Rand’s identity was not going to remain hidden much longer. And,
despite her enmity, Nynaeve didn’t think even Moiraine would go that far.
 
                                     * * *
 
They rode out early that day, armed, armoured and mounted. It made for a brave
display, despite the added weight than had been piled on the few remaining
packhorses. A brave display, but Rand was not heartened by it. He wondered how
many of these people he was going to lead to their deaths, and rode with his
head bowed by worry.
He was glad to see that Bela was still among the packhorses. Distracted as he
was, it had not occurred to him to insist she stay, but he would have regretted
losing her. He was less glad to see her being ridden by young Saeri. He wasn’t
sure he liked any of the refugees staying behind, but especially not that one.
He’d have to make sure she was kept somewhere safe.
Onwards they rode, through the Falmeran winter, surrounded by their escort of
Shienaran lancers. Rand prayed they would all still be there in the months to
come. He had made a point of getting to know them better over the journey east,
ever since Sar had died.
Twenty soldiers had ridden out of Fal Dara with Lord Ingtar, in pursuit of the
stolen Horn of Valere. All the way across the continent they had ridden, to
Falme on Toman Head. There Ingtar had fallen in battle, the Horn had been
sounded, and the Heroes summoned back from their graves had proclaimed Rand to
be the Dragon Reborn. Ingtar’s former armsmen had pledged themselves to Rand in
the aftermath.
Of the twenty, Sar Ota, Sakaru Matimoto and Chaena Kubar lay dead now. Uno
Nomesta led those that remained. He was one-eyed, foul-mouthed, loyal, and
fearless; and at forty-six years of age, he was the most experienced among
them. Uno had joined the Shienaran army when he was younger than Rand was now,
and had remained in it ever since.
At forty-two, Inukai Igawa was the next most senior. He had a lantern jaw, a
long scar down the left side of his face, and was withdrawn by nature. Inukai
was considered the best scout among Rand’s new armsmen, though he readily
admitted that Lan was better. Despite his experience, the other Shienarans did
not look to Inukai for leadership. Instead, in Uno’s absence, they took their
orders from Inukai’s younger cousin, Geko Igawa. Dark of hair, eye and
complexion, Geko was a lean, hard man, who never seemed to lose his temper.
There was a thin scar across his long nose, and a sharp intelligence in his
eyes. At thirty-six years of age, Geko would have been given a squad of his own
to command long ago, but his loyalty to House Shinowa had kept him with
Ingtar’s guards.
Ragan Fanwar was fully ten years younger than Geko, but if the squad had had
room for a third file-leader it would likely have been him that was promoted.
Amiable and handsome, despite the triangular scar on his cheek, he had treated
Rand as a friend before Falme. Formality had quashed that friendliness now, a
fact that saddened Rand, but the memory of it was enough to make him think well
of Ragan, and trust him.
Nangu Shemon, Bartu Mori, Katsui Atabi and Han Saresta were all older than
Ragan, but not as respected. They were good men, brave and reliable, but each
had their flaws. Nangu was somewhat prissy, occasionally acting more like a
Cairhienin lord than a Shienaran soldier. Bartu wasn’t very bright; stolid and
dull-eyed you might, unkindly, say. The task of carrying the squad’s banner was
usually left to him, though privately Rand wondered what the point of even
having a banner was. Katsui looked like he had been carved from a boulder, and
would be every bit as hard to move as one if he ever planted himself in your
path, but his fierceness often led him to do things that most would consider
unwise, a fact he freely admitted to Rand, laughing loudly as he said it. Han
meanwhile ... well. His bleary eyes and scruffy black beard told the tale
easily enough. He was a bit too fond of drink to be trusted with a command of
his own. Han was the tallest of the armsmen. Shienarans tended to be about as
tall as the average Therener, but Han stood a lean six foot and change.
Rikimaru Azuma was the next tallest. He was in his mid-twenties, a good scout
and a better swordsman. Rikimaru had that pale, ashen hair that the Shienarans
prized, and a reputation for leaving a string of broken hearts in his wake.
Like Lan, he was wedded to his war against the Shadow. There were no
blademasters among the armsmen, not officially at least, but Lan said that
Rikimaru was one of the two most likely to be accorded the right to wear the
heron mark, if they ever cared to dance the forms in front of an assembly of
five already-acknowledged blademasters.
The other was Mendao Chulin, a long-faced and hot-headed man of twenty-seven,
who liked to boast that his aunt was shatayan to Queen Kensin herself.
Heita Jin was as hot-headed as Mendao, but that was more forgivable, since he
was more than ten years younger. He was the youngest of the Shienarans present,
in fact. A whole year younger than Rand himself. Noting that brought a wry
smile to Rand’s lips.
Izana Shinesta was the next youngest, being roughly of an age with Rand. He was
pale-skinned and shy, and slender enough that it came as a surprise that he
could move so freely in his armour. Uno had claimed Rand was exaggerating how
difficult it was to move while wearing full plate, and the grizzled Shienaran
would certainly know better than Rand about such things, but he still had a
hard time bringing himself to believe it. Except when he watched an armoured
Izana mount or dismount his horse with such ease.
Ayame Kodachi was close to Izana in bodytype and only two years older, but
there the similarities ended. Ayame was quite short, only an inch taller than
Areku, and perhaps he had a chip on his shoulder over it, because he was rude
and sarcastic, especially by Shienaran standards. He kept his tongue in check
around Rand, and the Aes Sedai and their Warders, but no-one else in camp was
spared its bite. He looked as pretty as a girl, but Rand wouldn’t have
recommended anyone tell him so. Ayame trained twice as hard in his daily drills
as any of the other soldiers, and was deadly with half a dozen different types
of weapon.
And then, of course, there was Areku Hiruden. The only female among the squad.
Strong and solemn, eye-catching and exotic, with her touch that could be gentle
or fierce, or even both at once. Areku the lost. He avoided her, as she had
asked him to.
Masuto Tanuki and Nengar Harata weren’t that much older than Areku, but they
were very dissimilar in temperaments. Lean Masuto liked a joke, while bulky
Nengar didn’t seem capable of smiling at all.
Lastly, and most troublingly, there was Masema Dagar. At thirty-three, Masema
was one of the most senior men in the squad, but his attitude had won him few
friends and so he was not considered a leader among the Shienarans. Or hadn’t
been. His disturbingly impassioned and vocal support of Rand had gotten several
of them to look at him in a new light. It was a shocking change, in a man who
had once hated Rand for looking like an Aiel. It was not a good change though,
not so far as Rand was concerned. Hating someone who reminded you of your enemy
was, if not fair, then at least understandable. This sudden shift to near-
worship ... was something else entirely. Rand didn’t know what to do with
Masema. Things had happened between them, before Falme. Things he should not
have let happen, would not have let happen if he had been in his right mind. If
he could make the Wheel spin backwards, he would do things differently, but
that was impossible, so all he could do was go on, and try to deal with the
mess he had made. He only wished he knew how.
Moiraine, Nynaeve and the others were three days gone, when Perrin reported
back with news of a large band of men camped at a village not far ahead.
“There’s the stench of rotting corpses on the wind,” the big man growled,
wrestling with his horse’s reins. “People died in that village, and not long
ago.
Rand sat his own horse in silence, recalling the last band of these so-called
“Dragonsworn” he had encountered. He was starting to think all these strangers
that had suddenly professed loyalty to him were really just bandits trying to
use the fear the Dragon Reborn inspired to intimidate their victims. But maybe
that fear will work on them too. If I can just cow them long enough to turn
them against the Trollocs ... “How many in the band?” he said grimly. “Can you
tell?”
“Hard to say. I’d guess maybe three hundred. I think this is a bad idea Rand.
If we can’t put a stop to these people, then at least we should avoid them.”
Lan, Uno and Geko, gathered near, stirred at Perrin’s words. Rand thought he
saw agreement in their eyes.
Verin spoke, sounding much less distracted than usual. “Superior training, arms
and armour will count for much. But enough to defeat several hundred times
their number? Doubtful. Unless you have another way to deal with these
Dragonsworn, should they prove less loyal than the name would imply ...”
Rand knew what she was hinting at. And with Nynaeve and Moiraine gone, only
she, Elayne, Morrigan and Rand himself remained who could channel the One
Power. He wasn’t sure if any of them could be relied on for that, least of all
himself. But they would have to be. Reluctantly, he reached for saidin. It
refused to come at his call, but he kept trying. By the time they reached this
village he wanted to have the One Power firmly in his grip.
“If it comes to that, Verin,” Rand said. “I’ll be ready. What of you? Will you
fight?”
Tomas, ever-present at her side, fingered the hilt of his sword.
Verin’s dark eyes were faintly amused. “If attacked, perhaps. But not
otherwise. The Three Oaths prevent it. But what of your Morrigan? Can she not
be trusted to defend her man?”
Rand grimaced slightly, and looked away.
Morrigan had been avoiding him lately. Two nights back, when he had asked her
to join him in his tent, she had refused. “I ... I think not,” she had said,
not meeting his eyes.
It had taken him aback. “Is something wrong?” he’d said.
She was instantly scornful. “Hah! Because something must be amiss with me in
order to refuse your charms? You’ll have to forgive me if I do not leap at you
command like a trained warhorse.”
Her rejection had stung. “I’ve never tried to give you orders. I just thought
you liked being with me.”
Somehow that had upset her. “It ... I simply ... I do not wish to discuss it.
Leave me be.” Morrigan had narrowed her eyes and set her lips in a way that on
any other woman might have seemed sulky, and had refused to speak to Rand in
the days since.
“I don’t know what Morrigan will do,” he muttered now. “She’ll fight if
threatened, I don’t doubt, but otherwise ...”
“So much for the power of love,” Verin said, and this time there was no denying
the amused glint in her eye. “Well, at least young Elayne can be relied on.
That one has perhaps too much passion for her own good.”
Rand grunted. Somehow the thought of putting Elayne in a position where she was
obliged to fight seemed wrong to him. Putting any woman in danger was wrong of
course, but where the Daughter-Heir was concerned it just seemed doubly wrong.
She had taken up Nynaeve’s role with the refugees, and was back there now with
Min and Loial. As he looked back at them he thought to himself that he should
ask Loial to stay close to their sides in the coming days. The Ogier could deal
with anyone, or anything , that dared get too close to Elayne and Min. And the
others, of course.
Rand loosened his sword in its sheath. “Let’s go meet these ‘Dragonsworn.’ Uno,
make sure everyone’s as ready as they can be. I don’t trust these people, so
keep a sharp eye out.”
Uno saluted. “As you say, my Lord Dragon.”
The others departed, leaving only Lan and Perrin at Rand’s side. Both men were
as grim-faced as he. They rode in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts.
Rand finally succeeded in seizing saidin. With the rancid taint and the
invigorating thrill came a sharpening of the senses. Colours brightened, the
chill wind seemed even colder, and the sound of a horses hooves approaching
rapidly from behind became sharper. Rand turned in time to see Morrigan
approach on the back of Ingtar’s warhorse, Blackwing.
“Three hundred men of dubious loyalty,” she said without preamble. “And you
mean to deliver yourself to them?”
“Hello Morrigan. It’s good to see you again,” Rand said wryly. “And I don’t
mean to deliver myself to these people. I mean to assume command of them.”
“And of course this will happen simply because you wish it to,” she drawled.
Rand shrugged. “I keep hearing it said that the Wheel weaves as the Wheel
wills. And I’m apparently ta’veren, so maybe it will just work out that way.
But I was thinking it will be more likely to happen if I set fire to the first
person who bares a weapon at me. And possibly the leader of this band too.”
Perrin looked askance at him, and Rand could easily guess his thoughts. He
wasn’t wrong either. A year ago Rand would never have even said such a thing,
much less meant it. And he found that he did mean it.
“A bloody reaping might cow the survivors, ‘tis true,” said Morrigan. “You will
have to use saidin though, tainted as it is by the—the Dark One’s touch.”
“There’s not much I can do to avoid that,” Rand muttered. “Suicide is no longer
an option.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. When Rand spoke again, it was as much to dispel
that silence as it was from a desire for an answer. “If it does come to a
fight, Morrigan, will you be with us? Saidar could do as much damage to these
brigands as saidin, and they say you can channel too.”
“I ... can channel, yes,” said Morrigan reluctantly. “But the Power does not
always come to me when I call it. The woman who taught me what little I know
was not overly interested in helping me unlock my power, she simply wanted me
to know enough to be useful to her.”
Rand nodded sympathetically. The One Power’s presence inside you did not
enhance emotion, he found, just physical sensations. “I can’t really control it
properly either. I find it helps if I take the time to try and seize it
beforehand, then hold onto it as long as I think it might be needed.”
She sighed. “Very well. I ... will be ready to act, should you need me.”
“Thank you.”
“’Tis not for you. Or not you alone. These fools would be as much a threat to
me, after all.”
“Of course. Still, thank you.”
Morrigan looked very uncomfortable, especially given that they were not alone.
“You are a strange man. Stop concerning yourself with such foolishness and plan
for the battles ahead.”
Perrin was examining her carefully. Years of familiarity told Rand that Perrin
was trying to be subtle about it, but the young blacksmith had never been
skilled in deception.
Morrigan was not lacking in awareness either. “Have a care where your eyes
linger, Perrin.”
He blushed slightly, but faced her still. “It’s not what you think. There just
seems to be something ... wolfish about you, I’ve often thought. Do you happen
to know a man named Elyas?”
“I do not. Who is this man, and why would you link him to me?”
Perrin looked away. “No reason, I guess. I was just curious.” He thumped his
horse’s flanks with his heels and rode away from her unvoiced questions.
Rand shook his head. If we survive this Trolloc incursion, I’m going to hold
that bloody meeting and get everyone to share what they know, he told
himself.Burn me if I don’t. All these secrets are just annoying.
He knew they had arrived at their destination when, hours later, he caught up
to the Shienaran vanguard. Mendao and the others had drawn up at the top of a
slope in the road, and were staring down at the village ahead when Rand rode to
join them.
The village was of a respectable size, but still too small to contain all the
Dragonsworn who had occupied it. It looked besieged by the ring of tents that
had sprung up on its outskirts. Fur-clad men gathered to stare up at the
newcomers, though they did not appear too alarmed at their appearance.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Perrin said.
“No. But I think I have to,” said Rand.
By then the rest of his companions had caught up to them. “Keep the women in
the middle of your formation,” Rand told Uno. “If it comes to a fight, they’ll
be our best chance of winning.” Well, the channelers would be, but Rand would
rather extend that protection to all the women.
The Shienaran lancers, each of them with their shields angled outwards, made a
circle of steel around their small army. Verin, Elayne and Morrigan rode at the
centre, with Loial looming beside them. The Ogier did not like to fight, but
the sight of him should help to intimidate any of the more hot-headed bandits.
Bartu took his place at the front of their formation and raised the Dragon
Banner high, while Rand rode just behind, flanked by Lan and Tomas. Perrin and
Anna took a position farther back, with their bows strung and ready.
At Rand’s word, they advanced at a walk. The men who came to meet them wore
little by way of armour, save for their tanned leather coats and the occasional
rusted breastplate or dented helm. Their weapons were a similarly mixed
collection.
The man who stepped out of their ranks to hail Rand’s party was a ruggedly
handsome fellow who would not have looked out of place in the Theren, save for
his unshaven face; Theren men were usually clean-shaven.
The man raised his hand when Bartu was about ten feet away from him. “What’s
all this then? You’ll stop right there, in the name of the Dragon Reborn, if
you know what’s good for you.”
Uno snorted. “Blood and ashes. Don’t you recognise the banner, man? That’s the
sign of the bloody Lord Dragon right there!”
The “Dragonsworn” squinted up at Rand’s banner suspiciously. “That funny little
snake thing? What’s it got legs for, anyway?”
“Them lot are Shienarans Daveth. I seen some before. Always wear those funny
little ponytails tied up on their heads,” said a stout, grey-haired man in the
crowd, bringing a mutter of discontent from the lancers. “Weren’t Shienarans
supposed to have been at Falme when all that stuff went on?”
Daveth scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That was the rumour, aye.” He eyed
Rand’s party, and when his roving gaze came to Rand it halted. Rand thought he
saw a flash of recognition in the man’s eyes, but there was little of welcome
in them. Those sketches that folk had taken of him at Falme had been spreading
fast. “Are you ...?”
Rand fixed him with what he hoped was a steely gaze. The kind that Lan often
wore. “I am Rand al’Thor. I am the Dragon Reborn.”
“My kid brother’s older than that,” the man muttered. Rand tried to suppress
his grimace.
“Show some respect, man!” Uno snapped. “You lot claim to be pledged to the Lord
Dragon, don’t you? Burn me, you’ve heard what he did to the Seanchan at Falme,
haven’t you?”
“Uh, right. The Lord Dragon. All glory to him, and such,” Daveth said, suddenly
wary.
“I heard of your loyalty,” Rand grated. I heard you were sacking peaceful
villages, and claiming to do it in my name. “I heard you had gathered a stout
force to fight in my cause.” I heard you were rapers and murderers. “So I’ve
come to take command of your band.” Though I’d rather be throttling the lot of
you.
Daveth raised his brows. “Take command? You—” He cut off abruptly when Rand
raised his hand and frowned down at the heron branded on his palm. He willed
flame to gather, barely knowing what he was doing, afraid he would set fire to
himself, or to everyone around him. Miraculously, the fire came when he called
and gathered just the way he wanted it, in a pulsing ball of light hovering
just above his hand. For all its roiling, and the fierce light it gave off,
Rand felt little by way of heat.
Curses sounded from the gathered crowd and more than one man made a sign
against evil.
“Are you in charge here?” Rand asked, and was surprised at how cold his own
voice sounded. Emotion was distant in the void.
A wide-eyed Daveth shook his head. “Kellis runs this crew. It’s him you want.”
“Show me where he is.”
The “Dragonsworn” exchanged worried looks, before Daveth finally turned away
and gestured for Rand to follow. Uno was not the only one to glare at his back
over his lack of formality, but Rand didn’t care about that. He was busy
watching for any archers in the crowd that soon surrounded them.
Daveth led them through a village with significantly fewer villagers than
guests. The few people Rand glimpsed who might have been locals wore downcast
expressions and avoided meeting anyone’s eye as they hurried about their
errands. The women looked particularly harried, and Rand suspected he knew why.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his new sword, and he resolutely avoided
looking at the four refugees who had, for whatever reason, chosen to accompany
him instead of seeking shelter in Amaran with Moiraine.
The streets of the village were too narrow for them to ride in more than double
file, but thankfully the town square was large enough for them to spread out. A
dozen burly men wrapped in thick fur cloaks lounged outside the house that
Daveth marched toward. They stirred at the sight of the armoured lancers
approaching.
“What the fuck’s this?” one broken-nosed fellow demanded.
“They want to talk to Kellis,” Daveth said. He looked askance at Rand. “Uh ...
this one’s the guy from Falme, you know? The ah ...” Rand eyed him again, and
the man swallowed. “The Lord Dragon Reborn.”
The broken nosed man cursed and took an involuntary step backwards. “Kellis
don’t want no—”
“I wish to speak to this Kellis,” Rand interrupted. “Since he’s my sworn man.
Send someone to tell him I’m here, then get out of the way.”
The man cast a wary eye over Rand’s heavily armed and armoured escort, then
glanced at his own backup and flinched slightly. With a curt gesture, he sent
one man to slip inside the house. The sound of a crowd beginning to gather
seemed to give broken-nose heart, as more and more of the “Dragonsworn”
appeared from the side streets of the village they had occupied. Poorly trained
and lightly armed as they were, they still massively outnumbered Rand’s real
followers.
“You can see Kellis if you want,” broken nose said. “But no weapons allowed. I
have orders.”
“You are Dragonsworn, yes? Then you take your orders from me. My people and I
go armed.” Rand dismounted. Lan, Tomas, Perrin, Rikimaru, Mendao and Katsui
followed suit.
“I don’t think—” The sentry’s words became a fearful yell, as he suddenly went
careening through the air to land sprawled in the middle of the town square.
The watching crowd gasped, and their mutterings mixed together into a wordless
rumble.
Rand schooled his face to stillness. “There is a price for disloyalty,
Dragonsworn. Make sure you move faster in future,” he said. When he glanced at
the three channelers he found Verin as smooth-faced as ever. Elayne looked
nervous, as did Min at her side. Morrigan gave Rand a short nod. So it had been
her. Rand had been thinking of doing something similar, but wasn’t sure he
trusted himself to pull it off. He knew he couldn’t afford to look anything but
fearsome just then, and was grateful for Morrigan’s help.
Lan’s icy stare drove the rest of the sentries away from the door, and Katsui
marched forward to shove his way inside. Rand and the others followed.
They house was finely made and of two stories, obviously belonging to someone
of means among the villagers, but they found the main room within picked clean
of whatever wealth it had once held. Another dozen bandits who claimed to be
Rand’s followers were arrayed about the room. Lounging on a heavily-cushioned
bench that looked a little like a throne was a rough-hewn man with blue eyes
and brown hair and a twisted scar near the left side of his mouth. Kellis, Rand
assumed. He scowled as he listened to his minion’s report.
That scowl deepened when he saw Rand and the others enter. “What?” he demanded,
as though they were interrupting him, or wasting his time.
“You’re Kellis?” Rand said.
“What’s it to you?”
Rand disliked the man already. “I am Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn. I’m here
to call those oaths you apparently swore into action. Co-operate and there
won’t be any trouble.”
Kellis’ eyes narrowed angrily. “Trouble? No, there won’t be any of that.” He
gestured and his men drew their weapons and advanced towards Rand.
Coldly indifferent, Lan opened the throat of the first man to draw near with
the draw-cut known as The Moon Rises Over the Lakes. Mendao was right behind
him, and used the same form with the same effect. The third man was charred to
a crisp. Simply that. One moment he was smirking as he advanced on Rand, and
the next he was a smoking corpse. Rand had meant to use fire against him, and
part of him was glad that it had worked, but he hadn’t imagined it would be so
horrifyingly effective. The man hadn’t even had time to scream. The smell of
cooked flesh filled the room, and the remaining brigands—for that was all they
were—retreated hastily.
Kellis was up off his makeshift throne, with his hand on his sword hilt and a
suddenly less confidant look on his face.
Rand spoke hastily, and tried to hide his nerves. “You’re men seem to have
misunderstood your order. They bared their weapons, instead of bowing to their
liege. A foolish mistake, that.”
“Quite,” said Verin. Rand had not heard her enter, and it was a struggle for
him to make himself turn slowly to look at her, rather than jumping in
surprise. She was stroking her chin thoughtfully, her Great Serpent ring
plainly visible, while she examined the smoking corpse with those disturbingly
bird-like eyes of hers. “I do hope it won’t be repeated.”
Kellis’ hand trembled on his sword hilt, but there was as much anger in his
eyes as fear. “You can channel.”
“I told you. I’m the Dragon Reborn. I’m here to take command of this group. I
want your co-operation.” Rand wasn’t sure if that last part was completely
true. Kellis might make it easier to take control of these people, but he might
also be more trouble than he was worth. Rand was tempted to just kill him, and
see if his lieutenants might be easier to cow with him gone.
“Well the next time you want something from me, watch your fucking tone,” said
Kellis. Rand could almost have admired his nerve. Almost.
Rand stared at the bandit leader, saidin boiling within him like scalding,
liquid lightning. He wanted to release it, either to send the Power away from
him, or to use it to destroy this man who murdered in his name. Perhaps some of
that struggle showed in his eyes, for this time his stare worked. Kellis
lowered his gaze. “My Lord Dragon. We’ve been waiting for you to come lead us,”
he lied. “Kellis Slone, at your service.” A gesture from him and the men who
had, mere moments ago, been intent on Rand’s death, bowed instead.
Rand tried to hide his relief. “Good. Ready yourselves to march, we leave at
once. And abandon anything that isn’t needed for fighting, or surviving
outdoors. I don’t want to be overburdened.” And he didn’t want them taking
anything more from these people. He supposed it was too much to hope that they
hadn’t already pocketed whatever coin they could. Kellis looked like he might
object, but Rand bulled over him. He thought it best to push the advantage
while he had it. “Send me your best scouts. I want someone who knows this area
well. A local, perhaps. Actually I need that done before we march. You can
summon them right now. Come with me.” He turned on his heel and marched for the
door, thinking that it would be best to have Kellis acknowledge his authority
in public as soon as possible.
The men who had entered with him all wore hard, grim expressions, but Verin had
a small smile on her face as Rand walked by.
He had to wait a moment when he stepped outside, and took that moment to answer
Morrigan and the other’s concerned looks with what he hoped was a reassuring
nod. He folded his arms and stood there, waiting. Kellis was obviously dragging
his feet, reluctant to be seen to take an order from Rand, but in the end he
stalked out of the house, came to stand beside Rand, and scowled around at the
gathered brigands.
“Daveth. Find Beran, Jain the Fiddler and Syoman Onarin. Tell them the, the
Lord Dragon wants to speak to them,” Kellis gritted. He raised his voice. “And
get ready to march, you fucks. We’re off to ride beneath the Dragon’s banner.
Glory and riches await.”
A ragged cheer went up from perhaps a few dozen of the gathered throng. Rand
kept his face as expressionless as he could. As he watched the men who had
called themselves Dragonsworn—and who now, perhaps, really were—disperse to
ready themselves to march, he searched his heart for some trace of guilt, and
found none. It wasn’t glory or riches he intended to deliver these men, but
Trollocs, Myrddraal and death. And he found himself not particularly concerned
with whether it was them or the Trollocs who fell first.
***** Crows *****
CHAPTER 14: Crows
 
Rand’s party found themselves besieged by their supposed allies as they left
the village behind. Rand hadn’t asked its name, and avoided looking at the
villagers as much as he could. He knew if he did he would feel obliged to do
something about the injustices they had suffered at the hands of the
Dragonsworn. He didn’t know if they blamed him for it, but they certainly
seemed relieved to see him go. Watchful Shienarans in full plate surrounded
him, and confused-looking Dragonsworn peered past the lancers at those they
protected. There was no hostility, yet, but there were certainly no cheers at
meeting the man in whose name they had claimed to fight. Rand gave orders that
no-one was to venture outside the protective circle, not during the ride, nor
when they camped at night.
The scouts Kellis had brought to Rand had proved useful at least. They spoke
with promising familiarity of the forested foothills of the Zandarakh Mountains
to the east, of tall cliffs and narrow crevices. There would be no room to
retreat if they were caught in such a position. Not for Rand, and not for
Kellis’ men either. They would have to fight to the death, theirs or their
enemies’. Rand didn’t tell the scouts that of course.
Even so, several of the Dragonsworn slipped away as they travelled east. Some
disappeared in the night, and others simply slowed long enough for the main
group to pass them by, then rode off at a gallop. Rand made no effort to stop
them, but it set Kellis to swearing savagely. He vowed to see every last one of
the deserters flayed, though not, Rand knew, out of offense that they had
abandoned Rand’s cause. It was the betrayal of Kellis himself that won them the
man’s hatred.
Such a large group was hard to hide, and that suited Rand well. He had told Uno
to have his men stop shooting down any crow or raven that they saw. He wanted
to be seen now. Each time a dark-winged shape appeared in the grey sky Rand
hoped that it was one of the Dark One’s eyes, and not just a regular raven.
Each time they circled his small army and flew off west, he hoped they were on
their way to report back to the Myrddraal that hunted him. He wanted them to
chase him, to stop ravaging the villages of Falmerden and gather together to
come kill him. None of Kellis’ men paid any attention to the birds in the sky.
Rand doubted they knew much about the Shadow’s forces. If all went to plan they
would learn soon.
Sometimes, when Min was keeping him company on the ride, he caught her touching
the wrapped bundle attached to her saddle. Whenever she did a worried look
appeared in her dark eyes. It was a worry Rand shared. If the Horn worked, this
would be an easy victory. If not ... they might still prevail, through use of
the One Power, or with the reinforcements he hoped Moiraine would bring ... but
a great many people would die.
He wondered if Evelin would actually come. She should. The Trollocs were a
threat to her nation as much as to Rand, and he thought the opportunity to
crush them in one decisive battle would have to appeal to her. He had saved her
life at Falme, would she remember that? Would she link the nameless archer who
had shot her would-be executioners to the man now claiming to be the Dragon
Reborn? And if she did, would she want to help, or to see Rand dead as soon as
possible? Rand had no answers to the questions that looped through his mind
over and over, not even when Perrin repeated them aloud. All he could do was
trust to Moiraine, fate, ta’veren and Evelin, and hope that he didn’t find
himself besieged by Trollocs for longer than his forces could hold.
The spot the scouts had described was only a few days ride north of Calranell.
Rand wondered again if he should send someone to meet with the general who
ruled there. Whatever the differences between him and Evelin, and whatever he
thought of Rand, surely the Trollocs had to be considered the biggest problem.
He was still chewing over who he might send, when they made camp on the fourth
night after gathering Kellis’ band.
“I do not care for these new friends of yours, Rand,” said Elayne, as they
gathered by the cookfire. “I worry that they might attack us at any moment.”
Rand frowned out at the haphazard camp that surrounded their own, more orderly,
one. “I have the same fear, my Lady, but if the betrayal can just be delayed
long enough for the Trollocs to arrive, then this lot will have more important
things to concern themselves with than us.” He sighed. “It might have been
better if you had gone with Moiraine. I’m sorry for putting you in danger like
this.”
Elayne wore an oddly chill expression. “How kind of you to concern yourself
with my well being, my Lord Dragon. I might point out, however, that I can
channel the One Power quite reliably. Unlike some people. I might also point
out that I have asked you, repeatedly now, to call me by my given name.”
“Ah, sorry. Lady Elayne. I wasn’t thinking.” She muttered something under her
breath that he didn’t quite catch. It almost sounded like a curse, but of
course that couldn’t be so.
Vara, Panowin, Luci and Saeri were warier of their new escort than any of the
rest. Understandably so. Vara had a tired, fatalistic look about her, and had
taken over from Izana when it came to setting up Rand’s tent, something which
the Shienaran had not been as grateful for as Rand would have expected. His
conscious still pricked him over that, telling him that he should be attending
to his own chores, but the sheer convenience of if was wearing down his
objections.
Luci was noticeably wary of men. She had cut her red hair as short as Anna’s,
and taken to wearing boys clothes too, ones which were several sizes too big
for her. Bundled up in them she seemed almost shapeless, which Rand suspected
was the reason she had taken to dressing so. He had no idea why she had stayed
with their group, when the company of any man made her so obviously
uncomfortable. She spoke rarely, and when she did her voice came out as a timid
near-whisper.
Panowin was completely different. She had claimed one of the swords the fallen
Shienarans had left behind, and had persuaded Areku to teach her how to use it.
When she looked at the Dragonsworn who surrounded them, he almost thought she
was daring them to attack.
The youngest one, Saeri, had taken to following Morrigan around since Nynaeve
left. Her company drove Morrigan to distraction, but even she refrained from
mocking the girl. Knowing what had happened to her while held prisoner by the
Trollocs, you would have to be truly heartless not to pity her. And, for all
that she tried to act it, Morrigan was not that.
“I’ve never heard anyone talk the way you do,” he heard Saeri say. Morrigan was
still reluctant to be alone with him. She had taken a seat on the logs arranged
around the fire, but on the far side from Rand, with Saeri hovering at her
side.
“Are voices not unique, or near enough? Why wouldst that surprise you?” said
Morrigan.
“But most people don’t use fancy words like that. Wouldst, I mean.”
Morrigan sighed. “’Tis the way of the educated. The books I have read describe
it so.”
Saeri’s big blue eyes lit up. “Oh. ‘Tis so, I see.”
At Rand’s side, Elayne rolled her eyes. But she was kind enough to keep her
voice low. “It really isn’t. Not outside of a bard’s tales, and even then only
in High Chant. I hope you will not think me unkind, Rand, but I do believe your
... friend, Morrigan, is overcompensating rather much. It might be best to part
her from that poor girl, before she gives her any foolish ideas.”
Even with Elayne between them, Loial was so tall that Rand could easily see his
ears twitching. “Elder Haman was not very pleased with me when I asked if all
humans talked like that,” he recalled in a whisper.
Rand shook his head. “I’m not getting involved.” Elayne was right though, and
wise to see it.
“Bit late for that isn’t it?” Min teased from her seat on his other side.
Rand leaned forward and focused his attention on the fire. “I have no regret
there,” he said quietly. He knew Morrigan wasn’t very popular with the others,
but he was more than fond of her.
Geko came to stand before Rand. “Kellis Slone wishes to speak to you, my Lord
Dragon,” he said quietly, as he saluted.
Rand nodded. “Let him pass.”
At Geko’s signal the Shienaran sentries parted, and Kellis stalked towards
Rand’s fire. He wore armour as makeshift as Rand’s own, and was flanked by a
pair of his “Dragonsworn”.
“My Lord Dragon,” he grunted, once he was close enough to be heard. “I still
don’t see why you insisted we pass by that village from earlier. Lots of
disloyal folk there, in sore need to being brought to your Light and all. The
men don’t understand it either. They’re getting concerned.”
“Are they? They shouldn’t be. Just you tell them that there are much richer
pickings ahead.”
“But when?” Kellis responded.
“Soon,” was all Rand said. He turned back towards the fire, hoping the man
would take it for a dismissal.
He took it for more than that.
“Look out!” Min cried. She seized Rand by the arm and pulled him towards her as
she threw herself off the log. Rand had only a brief glimpse of the Dragonsworn
with Kellis before he landed atop Min. One of them had his arm angled
downwards, palm outstretched in a way that reminded Rand of Thom Merrilin. A
thrown knife?
An outraged roar went up from the Shienarans. Min was on her back beneath him,
staring up at him. Her nearly black eyes looked even huger than usual. Rand
hastily pushed himself to his feet.
Armed men, with Perrin in the lead, rushed to converge on the Dragonsworn.
Before they could reach them, a wide-eyed Kellis slammed his elbow against the
temple of the knife-thrower and the man collapsed in a heap. “You fucking
idiot! What did you do!?” Kellis snarled. The third man, a stout, plain-faced
fellow, had his hands held up as far away from the sword at his waist as he
could get them, and was backing hastily away from his compatriots.
A dozen bared swords soon surrounded the three men, Lan’s among them.
“That was really dumb,” said Ragan coldly, all smiles forgotten. He pressed the
tip of his blade to Kellis’ throat.
“I had nothing to do with this,” Kellis gasped. “Do you think I’m crazy!? How
the fuck would I expect to get away afterwards?”
Ragan grunted.
Rand offered Min his hand, and pulled her back to her feet. “Thank you,” he
said quietly.
Her laugh had a nervous note to it. “Don’t mention it. What are friends for?”
Rand examined the knife that hovered in the air where he had been sitting mere
moments ago. Elayne, still sitting close by, had her lips pinched together, and
the spots of colour in her fair cheeks were not from embarrassment. Rand tried
to recall his exact position, wondering whether the knife would have reached
him before she caught it, but could not say for certain. Loial had risen to his
feet, and his eyes were as wide as saucers.
Rand took hold of the knife’s hilt and felt it go suddenly lax in his grip.
Elayne let out a small sigh. “How did you expect to survive this attempt?” Rand
asked, and surprised himself with how calm he sounded.
The prone man pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He got no further
before Han and Katsui’s blades came to rest at the front and back of his neck,
poised like a pair of huge scissors, ready to cut. The assassin froze in place,
but a rich chuckle spilled from his lips. “A dance here, a skip there ... who
knows, I might have won free. Or not. The uncertainty is part of the thrill,”
he said.
He had coppery skin and spoke in an accent that was not Falmeran, or Valreio.
Domani, Rand suspected, though the hair on his bowed head was yellow rather
than black. Most of it was yellow, at least. On closer inspection the roots
seemed to be as black as those of the other Domani he’d seen. Did he dye his
hair? Rand knew some women in the Theren did that, when they started to go
grey, but only a few. It was generally regarded as a vain and foolish thing to
do. The only man he’d ever heard of who had dyed his hair was Paet al’Seen,
Dannil Lewin’s father, and he’d been mocked so mercilessly for it by the other
men that he’d soon let the grey come back.
“Let me kill him,” said Kellis. “I’ll prove I had nothing to do with this.”
“That would be much too quick an end,” said Morrigan. She passed the fire, and
brought some of it with her, clinging to the tips of her fingers. Kellis and
his man paled at the sight, but the assassin simply chuckled again.
Anna came stalking over, her fists white knuckled, and Areku at her side. Luci,
who must have run to spread the news, peeked over their shoulders. Anna cast a
look over Rand, searching for injuries, and on finding none turned a fierce
glare on the Dragonsworn. Areku simply drew her sword and advanced to join the
other armsmen, as grim-faced as any executioner.
Yes,” Masema hissed. “This sinner must be made to atone for his crimes. All
sinners must.”
“I want to know why first,” Rand said, trying not to grimace at Masema’s zeal.
“Not that I can’t think of plenty of reasons someone might want to kill me, but
I’d like to know exactly which one it was.”
“Oh, one of the oldest ones,” the man said. He raised his face to look at Rand.
He was slender, handsome and perhaps ten years Rand’s senior. He smiled.
“Money. Trade comes in many forms, don’t you know.”
“A hired knife. The worst kind,” Elayne sniffed.
Verin tutted. “Some members of the Domani Council of Merchants have been known
to employ assassins. And to rent them out to anyone who was willing to meet
their price.” She came to stand over the kneeling man, Tomas at her side. “Tell
me who hired you.”
Rand didn’t think the man would answer. In the stories hired assassins usually
prized discretion. Not this one though.
“A rather taciturn fellow in Calranell named Syoman,” he said casually. “He had
other jobs for me before this one. Currently, I am to join the brigands who
call themselves Dragonsworn and wait for their leader to show up, then dispose
of him as soon as possible. Which I have failed at, sadly.”
“See? I had nothing to do with it!” said Kellis.
Rand scowled. Little as he liked Kellis, he was inclined to believe him this
time. He gestured to Ragan and the others. “Let those two go, but keep an eye
on them.” The Shienarans complied, but the looks they gave Kellis were not
friendly.
Morrigan’s eyes were intent on Rand. “Your enemies grow numerous.”
“Yes,” he said grimly. His mind was racing. It seemed a foolish gamble, but it
might work. “Kellis, we will be leaving early tomorrow, so make sure the men
are ready to march. I will deal with this assassin. It may take some time.” He
let the implication linger.
Kellis stared at him a moment before answering. “Right. I’ll double the
sentries then, shall I? My Lord Dragon, I mean.”
“You do that.”
As Kellis and his man departed, Katsui opened his mouth to speak, but Rand
silenced him with a raised hand. Only once the Dragonsworn were beyond the
steel ring of his guards did Rand continue. “Inukai. How far is it to the place
those Falmeran scouts spoke of?”
“Another day’s march, my Lord Dragon.”
“And to Calranell?”
Inukai exchanged glances with Geko. “Perhaps two, if the horse was fast
enough.”
Five days at a minimum then. It was all such a gamble, he had no way of knowing
who would get there when. Or even what they would do once they arrived. Rand
didn’t like gambling. That was more Mat’s game. But he didn’t see any other way
to get the job done.
“You are thinking of doing something reckless, Rand,” said Verin. Her eyes were
sharp on him, and not at all vague.
“I am,” Rand sighed. “Strip him of any weapons he possesses, and bind his hands
and feet.”
Katsui pinned him to the ground as Han began patting him down and Izana went to
fetch rope.
The assassin grinned. “Shouldn’t we get to know each other first? My name is
Zevran, by the way. Zev to my friends.”
Rand wasn’t charmed. “I’m not one of them. But your friend in Calranell
interests me. I want to send a message to him.”
“Oho. As it happens I am well known there. If you have need of a messenger,
might I volunteer my services?” Zevran said.
“You might.” Rand wondered if the man would even go there, should he release
him. He wondered if it wouldn’t be for the best that he did not.
Morrigan scowled at him. “You cannot mean to free this man? He tried to kill
you!” Most of the others seemed to agree with her. Perrin stood staring at the
ground, opening and closing his fists. Min was muttering angrily to herself,
and Elayne actually looked offended for some reason.
“Normally I’d agree with you, Morrigan,” said Rand. “Just putting a knife in
him and walking on seems the sensible thing to do. But killing that Trolloc
horde is my goal here, and that will be a lot easier if I can get the Falmerans
to fight it with us.”
Perrin frowned. “And then what? Say he actually does what you ask him. Say we
manage to kill all the Trollocs, with this Syoman’s help. Won’t we just find
ourselves facing an army of humans equally as intent on killing us?”
“Maybe. But the Trollocs will be dead, and Falmerden safe. For now,” Rand said.
They were all staring at him. He couldn’t tell what they were thinking,
probably that he had gone mad already. He wasn’t entirely sure they were wrong.
Rand sighed. “I’ll say it again. You are all free to leave at any time.” For
some reason, none of them answered.
“What exactly is the message you would have me carry to Calranell?” said
Zevran.
“Tell your general he can find me at a place called Tarcain Cut. Tell him he
can find the Trollocs who’ve been slaughtering his people there, too. If he
wants to stop them,” said Rand.
Han had finished parting Zevran from his large collection of knives by then. He
and Katsui hauled the man to his feet. “A most curious tactic this. Not
something I’ve heard of false Dragons doing before,” the Domani said.
Katsui cuffed him. “Mind your tongue, fool. This is the true Dragon Reborn you
speak to.”
Zevran grimaced briefly, before plastering his smile back on his face. “Of
course, of course. How could it be otherwise?” He didn’t resist when Izana
began tying his hands together behind his back.
“In the morning we’ll give him a horse, escort him to the edge of camp, and set
him loose,” Rand decided. “Cloaked and hooded, of course. I don’t want Kellis
and his people knowing he’s alive.”
Zevran laughed. “I could help with that. My howls of anguish can reach for
miles. I pride myself on it. And no hot coals are even needed. I do an
excellent death-rattle, too.”
Rand snorted. “Get to howling then. Stash him in a tent somewhere, Katsui. I’m
going to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
***** Pinned *****
CHAPTER 15: Pinned
 
Only when he was safe in the confines of his tent did Rand allow himself to
show his doubts. He blew out a long breath and rubbed his hands together in a
vain attempt to still their shaking. Perrin was right, bringing Surtir into it
was dangerous. The man definitely wanted Rand dead, and might well want Evelin
dead too. If only he could be certain the Horn would work, or could channel the
One Power reliably, he might be sure they could destroy the Trolloc horde
without Surtir’s help. But neither he nor the Horn had proven trustworthy, and
Rand had to believe that human enemies would be more open to reason than
Trolloc ones. He was afraid he was going to lead everyone to their deaths. His
own fate didn’t matter to him, but the thought of getting his friends hurt was
terrifying.
The tentflaps were pushed open and Perrin ducked inside with Anna at his heels.
The wolfbrother took one long look at Rand and seem to know more than he
should.
Anna’s senses were not as keen as Perrin’s. “Are you sure this is a good idea,
Rand? I never thought I’d find myself urging you to kill someone, but that man
tried to knife you. Executing him would be pretty justified, and a lot safer
than bringing this mad general down on us.”
Rand didn’t bother trying to hide his feelings, not from these two. “Sure? I’m
not even close to sure, Anna. It’s all a gamble, and I don’t like gambling.
That was always Mat’s game. If the Horn works the way it should we’ll all be
fine. If enough of those who arrive take our side, and can keep the Shadowspawn
away from our channelers long enough for them to do some major damage, then we
should be fine even if the Horn is broken. If none of those things happen, and
we’re caught pinned against the mountains ...” He looked at her beseechingly.
“Do you think I should just run? Abandon Falmerden to its fate?”
Anna opened her mouth but no words came out.
Perrin sighed softly, then spoke into the silence. “I’d rather be back at my
forge, but I guess fighting the Shadow is our duty. Everyone’s duty. It
shouldn’t be too much to ask that the Falmerans see that too. Maybe they’ll set
aside their differences, with each other and with us. If not ...”
“If not then I’m going to get a lot of good people killed,” Rand finished
miserably. “Though apparently that’s my destiny, no matter what I do.”
“Stop that,” Anna demanded. “It’s not your fault. You’re just trying to help
these people.”
Rand shook his head. “Good intentions aren’t half as valuable as good outcomes,
Anna.”
She had no answer to that at first. Then she took two quick, impulsive strides
across the covered floor and hugged Rand fiercely. Her miniaturised bulk hit
him with surprising force and made him stagger slightly backwards. He rested
his hands on her shoulders and hoped desperately that she wouldn’t be one of
those who paid the price for his foolish gambles.
“We could all die here,” she mumbled against his stomach.
“I know,” he said softly.
“I don’t want to waste what time we have. In case it turns out to be all the
time we have,” said Anna, just as quietly.
Perrin had been standing stock still, a frown of contemplation tightening his
brow. Now he walked to the tentflaps ... and began tying them together.
Anna bit her lip as she watched him, then turned her gaze up at Rand’s face.
Her hands slid down his back and she squeezed his bottom. Rand realised what
was happening and felt a rising excitement. His worries, so all-encompassing
only a moment ago, receded with surprising speed. Anna strained upwards for a
kiss, but Rand still had to bend over and crouch slightly to meet her lips with
his. Anna’s kisses were soft yet insistent. She wasted little time before
ridding Rand of his already-unbuttoned coat and pulling the hem of his shirt
out of his breeches. She had help pulling the shirt over Rand’s head, as Perrin
stole up behind him. As Anna caressed Rand’s naked chest, Perrin’s practised
hands began unbuckling his belt. Rand kicked free of his boots, and then his
breeches and drawers too, once they had been loosed to fall down over his legs.
He was soon stark naked before the eyes of his old friends, both of whom were
still fully clothed. Anna grinned at the sight and Perrin tugged Rand towards
the pallet.
He leaned in close as they moved, and used the excuse of kissing Rand’s ear to
whisper a private message to him. “Would you mind if I do the giving this time?
I don’t want Anna, or any girl to see me, ah ...”
Rand spared him the need to finish. He wrapped his arms around his old friend’s
shoulders and kissed the side of his neck, before whispering just as softly. “I
understand. You can take me if you want.” Though just after saying it he faced
the same disconcerting realisation that Perrin had plainly already faced. He’d
never had a woman watch him being mounted by another man before, the aftermath
of it yes, but not the act itself. The thought brought a blush to Rand’s
cheeks, and a nervous gallop to his heart.
When he glanced back Anna was following the two boys towards the pallet, an
excited gleam in her big brown eyes as she undid the buttons on her plain grey
coat. He heard the distinctive sound of Perrin unbuckling his belt, and turned
his gaze back in time to see Perrin fish his thick, hard cock out of the gap in
the front of his trousers. The wolfbrother knelt to rummage through Rand’s
saddlebags for the olive oil he knew he would find there.
Rand turned back to Anna and bent to kiss her some more, fondling her breast
through the fabric of her shirt as he did so. Her hand went to his stiffening
cock and she stroked him gently. Rand broke the kiss with a soft gasp when he
felt a wet digit intrude in and around the tight ring of his ass. Perrin
prepared a red-cheeked Rand to receive him while Anna watched open-mouthed.
She was still standing there staring when Perrin sat back on the pallet and
pulled Rand down onto his lap. Rand supported his weight on his hands and feet,
posed awkwardly atop Perrin with his back to the man beneath him. Perrin held
his own cock steady, positioning it at Rand’s entrance, the hard, hot girth of
it parting Rand’s taut buttocks. Once he had it in place he moved his hands to
Rand’s hips and pulled him down until the bulbous head popped inside Rand’s
body, bringing carefully restrained groans from both of them.
Anna’s gaze was latched onto the lower halves of their bodies. She chewed at
her own lips and blushed hotly as she watched Perrin’s manhood disappear inside
Rand. Then she began attacking the bindings on the rest of her clothes. Her
obvious excitement excited Rand. He was embarrassed to have her see him in this
position, but not ashamed. The two concepts were, it occurred to him then, as
different as they were similar.
Rand’s own weight drove him down onto Perrin’s hard cock, pushing it deeper and
deeper inside until Rand was gifted a pleasantly painful feeling of fullness.
He leaned back, supporting himself on both hands, aided by Perrin’s strong
hands splayed across his shoulders. Perrin was already rocking his hips back
and forth eagerly, and Rand moved to match his pace, stroking Perrin’s cock
with his bottom as he rode him.
Anna was every bit as eager as the two men, and not coy enough to try to hide
it. While Perrin had only troubled to lower his trousers before getting right
to it, Anna hastily rid herself of all her clothes, baring her small breasts
with their already-stiff nipples, her strong arms, her muscular stomach. The
stocky little woman stepped out of her trousers, giving Rand a good look at her
thick bush and the heavy muscles of her thighs. She was beautiful. Rand watched
her every movement and she knew it. Excitement lit her eyes and reddened her
face as her gaze roved over the men cavorting before her.
Rand was very hard by then, his erection waving back and forth with every
movement of his and Perrin’s hips.
Anna came and took his straining cock in hand. She knelt down beside them and
lowered her head to kiss Rand’s manhood. She had never done that for him
before, and the thrill of it made him gasp. She smiled at the sound, then grew
more bold and took the head of his cock fully into her mouth.
Rand sucked in a breath and stilled himself but Perrin’s eager thrusts still
pushed him slightly in and out of Anna’s mouth. She sucked on him, and ran her
tongue back and forth along his shaft. He stared down at her face as she
pleasured him, and when she opened her dark eyes and looked up at him, still
sucking, he couldn’t help but smile. There had been a time he couldn’t imagine
her as a lover. Now, it was getting harder and harder to think of her as
anything else.
Anna released him. Her grin woke the dimples on her usually reserved face. “I
could feel him moving you,” she whispered.
“Almost as if we were both in there?” said Rand.
“Light no! They would never fit.” Anna bit her lip. “Burn me, to think we’d end
up like this. I never would have imagined it.”
“It isn’t what I imagined either,” grunted Perrin. “But it has its good sides.”
Anna’s face was very red now. “It does. I remember what it felt like when you
were in my bottom. So wrong, and so right. You like it too, Rand. I can tell.”
“Did you like it when I was in your front?” Rand whispered. Anna nodded. “Then
why don’t you try it again.”
“Oh, Light yes,” she breathed.
Anna was confused at first. She dithered, searching for a position in which she
might join them, before balancing her hands on Rand’s chest and throwing a leg
over him. He got a good look at her glistening wet folds before she crouched
down, her strong legs supporting her as she reached a hand down to position him
at her entrance. He watched the shifting expressions on her face as she lowered
herself down upon him, and savoured the sweet feel of her most intimate
embrace.
Most women might have struggled to hold that pose, but not Anna. She crouched
over them both, raising and lowering her hips, her pace getting faster and
faster as her passion grew. Her breasts shook entrancingly before his eyes. The
muscles on her legs and stomach were much thicker than those of any other girl
Rand had met, even Areku, though that likely had much to do with Areku being
half a foot taller. He found the look quite attractive, and enjoying watching
her muscles move beneath her smooth skin as she rode him.
Anna’s gaze roamed all over Rand’s body. “How can you be so beautiful, and I
not have noticed it all those years?” she whispered, so low he could barely
hear.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Rand said just as quietly. He took one of her
nipples and began rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
Perrin’s strong hands supported Rand’s weight from below while he thrust his
cock upwards into the stinging ass of the man above him. He was moving very
fast now, and Rand had to concentrate on staying quiet, lest anyone passing by
the tent hear what was going on inside. Anna looked down at them both fondly as
she ran her lower lips up and down the length of Rand’s cock, her body
glistening with a sheen of sweat.
With Perrin taking him from below and Anna from above, Rand was swiftly
approaching his climax. Anna had a hand between her legs and was scratching
furious at something in the middle of her brown thatch, and from the look on
her face he didn’t think she would last much longer either.
It was Anna who came first. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut,
balancing above him with a white-knuckled grip on her own knees. Rand hastily
took her face between his hands and captured her lips, muffling her sweet
moans. Her thrusting motion stopped and her pussy clamped around him just
before her juices gushed forth. Her mouth opened to him and he sent his tongue
forth to tease her.
Anna’s movements ceased and her weight came to rest against Rand. Perrin’s
years of forge work played to his favour then, as he was able to support the
weight of both his lovers. Though Anna had stopped moving, Perrin and Rand’s
twinned motions kept Rand’s cock moving steadily inside her, bringing soft
gasps from the sweaty girl’s lips.
Perrin’s thrusts drove Rand to climax. He clenched his teeth as his seed shot
out into Anna’s sweet pussy. She rested her chin on Rand’s shoulder and reached
down to pet the hair of the boy on the bottom of their pile. The simple gesture
must have meant a lot to Perrin, for within heartbeats of it Rand felt himself
being filled with a hot, thick liquid.
Perrin came in the same strained silence the other two had. Rand could feel the
arms beneath him begin to shake, so he took Anna by the hips and pushed them
both to the side. They fell to the blankets, sweaty and sated. Perrin’s cock
slid out of Rand’s ass in the process, and Rand soon pulled his own member out
of Anna.
“If anything does happen to me,” said Anna, breathlessly, as the three
Thereners sprawled on the tent floor, “at least I’ll be able to say I had some
fun in my life.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Perrin growled. “Any of you.”
Rand wished he could be as certain as Perrin sounded. But he was only certain
of one thing right then: he would happily die for either of them.
***** A Broken Nation *****
CHAPTER 16: A Broken Nation
 
It took them less than three days to reach Amaran, and Nynaeve nursed her fury
every step of the way. Moiraine cared nothing for the rigours of the pace she
set. The Aes Sedai was as single-minded as a loosed arrow; nothing would stop
her from completing her mission and returning to Rand as quickly as possible.
Leliana and her ridiculously-named gelding weathered the journey better than
Nynaeve would have expected for a pampered bard, but the refugees did not fare
so well and it was their plight that stoked Nynaeve’s rage.
Half of the refugees were older than Nynaeve but they all looked to her for
comfort; from sad-faced Judith, who claimed to be thirty-eight but looked much
older, to reed-thin Poli with her constantly-darting eyes. Poli was of an age
with Rand and the others that Moiraine had dragged away from the Theren and
embroiled in this nightmare, though she was coping with it a lot less bravely
than her own folk, in Nynaeve’s private estimation. She would never be so cruel
as to say it of course, but she felt a secret pride in the toughness of her
Thereners when she compared them to the other peoples she had met since leaving
home.
She was riding beside Jora when they first caught sight of the walls of Amaran.
The plump woman’s broad face was red with exertion from her efforts to keep up,
and she gasped in relief as she pointed ahead. “There it ... is, Nynaeve.
Safety ... at last.” Jora could barely get the words out, and Nynaeve mentally
listed the ingredients for a herbal tea that would calm the woman’s heart.
She’d brew it just as soon as they made camp. Or reached an inn.
Light, but it would be good to sleep in a real bed again. And have a warm bath.
A traitorous sigh escaped her lips and she found herself slumping in the
saddle, but Nynaeve quickly forced her back to rigid straightness. She needed
to set an example for the others, and she would be damned if she let Moiraine
think her weak.
Not that the Aes Sedai was paying much attention to Nynaeve. She had drawn
rein, and was studying the banners arrayed along the peaked towers that dotted
Amaran’s walls, themselves a storey or more taller than any building in Emond’s
Field. All the other women in their party—Nynaeve included—were sweaty and
dishevelled, but not Moiraine. Of course.
Leliana sat beside the Aes Sedai, perusing the banners just as keenly. “The new
Queen truly is in residence then,” she said. “With representatives of several
other minor Houses.”
Moiraine’s face was a careful mask. “Do you know much of the Falmeran Houses,
bard?”
Leliana waved a hand graciously. “Oh, nowhere near as much as you would, I’m
sure, Moiraine Sedai,” she said humbly.
“Doubtless,” Moiraine agreed, with no humility at all. “Tell me what is known
in your circles, of the Houses represented here.”
Moiraine listened with blank-faced attentiveness as Leliana waffled about
Westhill’s alliance with Gallacher, Gwerin’s wealth and influence, Brooks’
collaboration with the Seanchan and the grim fate that awaited them after the
invaders’ withdrawal.
Nynaeve cared not a whit for fool nobles and their fool banners. She gave a
loud sniff, and turned her attention to what really mattered.
“We’ll be safe here, won’t we Nynaeve?” asked pretty little Nola, as Nynaeve
made her rounds among the exhausted refugees. “Those walls are bigger than
anything I’ve ever seen.”
They weren’t a patch on the Shining Walls of Tar Valon, but not so very long
ago they would have been the biggest thing Nynaeve had ever seen too. She made
her face stern and wished for the hundredth time that she didn’t look like she
was still in her teens. “There’s no more need to be afraid, girl. Nothing will
be able to touch you once we’re inside the city.” Nola wasn’t the only woman to
let out a relieved sigh.
There was a limit to what Nynaeve could do from the saddle. “We nearly-killed
the horses getting here, and now we’re just going to sit and take in the
scenery?” she said acerbically, to Moiraine’s back.
The Aes Sedai shot her an irritated glance, but she nonetheless put her heels
to Aldieb’s flanks and cantered on towards the city.
The watchful gate guards did not challenge their entry, though the sight of
nine women riding without a male escort in these troubled times caused a stir
among them. Nynaeve sniffed at them on general principle as she rode past. Once
they passed beneath the thick walls, Amaran proved to be a smaller version of
Falme, from the cobbled streets to the slate-roofed houses. The streets bustled
with activity. The throngs of people pushing and shoving against each other
might have annoyed Nynaeve any other time, but now they gave her hope. If
Evelin had brought a big enough army with her to Amaran then maybe they would
be able to stop that mule-headed Rand from getting himself killed.
Moiraine was forced to slow as they made their way through the crowds, but she
gave no sign of the frustration she was no doubt feeling. Her gaze was fixed on
the walled keep rising from the tallest hill in the city. That too seemed a
lesser version of the Divalaird. Smaller hill, smaller fort, smaller House,
Nynaeve thought. Unlike the Divalaird though, this keep had no beacon fire and
was closer to the landward walls than the far-off coast. Nynaeve was grateful
for that as they made their slow way through the packed streets.
There was a second, smaller wall surrounding the Lady of Amaran’s stronghold.
Like the first, this once was guarded, but the guards here proved less
welcoming to visitors.
“Halt!” called a burly man in a long leather coat and scuffed steel
breastplate. “State your business.” He didn’t point the spear he carried
towards Nynaeve or the others, but he hefted it enough to make certain they
knew he had one. As if they wouldn’t have noticed! Fool man!
“I am an Aes Sedai,” said Moiraine coolly. “You may call me Alys. As to my
business, it is with Queen Evelin, and you are delaying it. Rectify this.”
The guard exchanged looks with his fellows. At his nod, one man broke off from
the pack and trotted off, no doubt to let someone higher-ranked know they were
here.
The guard who had challenged them eyed Moiraine dubiously. “Did you escape from
the Seanchan then, ah, Alys Sedai?”
Moiraine’s look would likely have frozen him, even if they weren’t smack dab in
the heart of winter. Nynaeve grimaced. That people had seen Aes Sedai enslaved
as damane certainly hadn’t done the White Tower’s reputation any good here in
Falmerden. She grimaced again when she caught herself feeling concerned by
that. What do I care about the White Tower? she told herself. It’s caused more
trouble than it’s worth. “You obviously weren’t at Falme man,” Nynaeve found
herself saying, a scowl on her face, “or you would know it was the Seanchan who
fled, not us.” She tried not to notice Moiraine’s smugly raised eyebrow. Bloody
witch.
There was a stir among the guards, both those at the gates, and those
patrolling the walls above. One boyish figure leaned out to peer down at the
newcomers. “I thought I recognised that voice,” the figure said, sounding
almost like a girl. “Hey Rits, run tell Prince Alasdair that Nynaeve Sedai’s
back, would you? He’ll love that.” Something about the guard’s words put
Nynaeve’s back up. Their voice was familiar too, but she couldn’t quite place
it. The guard withdrew back out of sight before she could get a good look at
them, leaving Nynaeve to frown up at nothing.
They waited in silence for the message to be passed, and as the silence
lengthened Nynaeve became more and more aware of Moiraine’s eyes on her. The
Aes Sedai’s face showed little of her thoughts, but her dark eyes probed
Nynaeve. She saw judgement there, and fought back the feeling of guilt that
crept into her. Why should she feel guilty? Yes, she had pretended to be Aes
Sedai when she was really just Accepted, but that had been necessary to help
fight the Seanchan and rescue her friends. Nynaeve would be damned before she
apologised for that. She refused to look Moiraine’s way, staring at the gate
and the guards before it, her braid grasped in a white-knuckled hand. The
soldiers shifted their feet uncomfortably as the silence stretched on.
When at last the messenger returned and they were waved through, with humble
apologies for the delay, Nynaeve led the way. She was eager to get this over
with and get back to Rand and the others. That was why she rushed ahead. The
only reason.
Inside she found Prince Alasdair waiting in the courtyard, armed and armoured.
From the sweat that had turned his hair a darker shade of brown than usual she
gathered he had been training when the news of her arrival was brought to him.
From the wry smile on his handsome face she gathered he was not entirely
pleased to see her. He was an ungrateful oaf, who reminded her all-too much of
Mat Cauthon, but she was glad to see him unharmed. Too many people had died in
the battle at Falme. And more would soon follow she feared.
“Once more you swoop in at the worst of times, Nynaeve Sedai,” said Alasdair
morosely, unwittingly echoing her thoughts. “I think I’m starting to dislike
swooping.”
She sniffed. “Is that how you talk to your elders? You should have been given a
sound drubbing until you learned your manners, prince or no. I would have seen
to it myself if I’d been here when you were shorter. I don’t say young, you’ll
notice, because that would imply you’ve grown up.”
He sighed as she dismounted. “I just love these little chats of ours. Who are
these friends you’ve brought with you? More Aes Sedai?”
Moiraine, who had been hard on Nynaeve’s heels, looked down at the prince from
Aldieb’s back. Her stare was cold, but Nynaeve suspected the woman’s ire was
not meant for Alasdair, fool that he was. “You may call me Alys Sedai, Prince
Alasdair. I lead this delegation. These other women are refugees whose homes
and families have been destroyed by the Shadowspawn that now rampage unchecked
through your lands. I must discuss this matter with your sister.” She
dismounted and held her reins out in the direction of the stable. A leather-
clad groom hastened across the courtyard to collect them from her.
The other women said nothing of Moiraine’s deception as they trailed along in
her wake, dismounting and waiting for their horses to be gathered. The Aes
Sedai had made plain her intentions on the journey here, and impressed on them
all the wisdom of playing along with her lie. And it was a lie, in Nynaeve’s
book, even if the words she spoke were technically true. Just as bad as Nynaeve
claiming to be something she wasn’t in fact, though Moiraine would blame her
and excuse herself, naturally.
Alasdair looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. Moiraine could have that effect
on people. “We’ve heard rumours, but I didn’t want to believe them. More likely
its rogue Seanchan who didn’t sail away with the rest, I thought. They’re close
enough to Shadowspawn for confusion to be understandable. Are you sure, Alys
Sedai? How could Shadowspawn get this far south? What have Kaltor and Volsung
been doing?”
“These are questions best asked and answered elsewhere,” said Moiraine.
The prince was quick to nod agreement. “Of course, forgive me. I’ll take you to
Evelin.”
Leliana and the others wandered hesitantly after Moiraine, until the Aes Sedai
raised a hand to stop them. “You will have them cared for of course,” she said
to Alasdair. To call it a question would have been very generous.
Alasdair looked back. To his credit, he seemed surprised it was even in doubt.
“Lady Isolde’s steward will see to their needs, naturally. And find a place for
them to stay.” Moiraine nodded, and she and Nynaeve followed the prince into
the central building of the keep.
Falmerden was not a very rich nation, and the furnishings of this Lady Isolde’s
stronghold reflected that. The walls were of rough grey stone, lit by burning
torches. The carpets were a narrow strip of colour down the centre of the
hallways Alasdair led them along, and what few ornaments Nynaeve saw were of
silver or ceramic rather than gold or porcelain.
The room Alasdair led them to had a high roof supported by intricately-carved
wooden pillars and beams. The grey stone walls, and the winter light that
filtered in through the coloured windows above, made the place seemed colder
than in was. Nynaeve suppressed a shiver. She wasn’t surprised to find the
occupants gathered around a fireplace to the side of the room, rather than the
dais at the far end. They rose from their comfortable-looking chairs when they
saw Moiraine enter.
Nynaeve recognised Evelin immediately. It would be hard not to. There weren’t
many women who stood over six feet after all. The new queen had taken to
wearing breeches and a studded leather jerkin rather than the rich dress she
had worn when captured by the Seanchan. Nynaeve could not shake the feeling
that such garb was improper on a woman, no matter how many of her friends
seemed to prefer it, but she couldn’t deny that Evelin suited it better than
she had the dress.
The woman who stood at Evelin’s right hand was more typically feminine.
Slender, golden-haired, blue eyed, and clad in a rich blue silk dress with a
white fur cloak, she greeted Moiraine with a curtsy, albeit a small one.
“Welcome to Amaran, Aes Sedai. I am Lady Isolde Gwerin. Allow me to extend to
you our hospitality, and to introduce you to Evelin Denagar, by Steel’s Light,
Queen of Falmerden, Defender of the Threshold, Lady of Toman Head and High Seat
of House Denagar.”
“Well met, Evelin,” Moiraine said with a small nod. “My condolences on your
recent bereavements.”
“Thank you, Alys Sedai,” Evelin said stiffly. “But I’m more interested in
justice than condolences right now. My parents’ murderers are still at large.
The Seanchan High Lord has fled back across the Aryth Ocean, far beyond my
reach, but the traitor Surtir is still here in Falmerden, holed up in his
fortress and refusing to present himself for trial.”
Moiraine glanced over the other nobles who had been meeting with Evelin. There
were only four of them, and all four seemed close in age to the new queen.
Three handsome boys and one pretty girl. Isolde was the only one Nynaeve would
have considered a grown woman.
“One wonders how much support General Surtir has, even aside from the army
under his command, that he sees fit to refuse your summons,” said Moiraine.
Evelin ground her teeth, and Nynaeve fought down the urge to rebuke her for it.
“Syoman’s loyalists took far fewer casualties at Falme than our own men,” said
Alasdair as he went to stand at his sister’s left hand, “but you know that
already Nynaeve Sedai. He abandoned you just as surely as he abandoned his
King. What does the White Tower have to say about that?”
Nynaeve wondered if perhaps Alasdair might, possibly, be slightly less of an
oaf than she had thought. The Tower was very unforgiving of anything done in
opposition to its interests, and endangering the life of an “Aes Sedai” like
Nynaeve would certainly be enough to mark someone for retribution. At least in
normal circumstances, but circumstances were far from normal these days. “I
can’t say I appreciated being left to the Seanchan’s tender mercies,” she said,
“but we have more important things to worry about right now.”
Isolde raised her brows. “More important than the deaths of kings and queens,
and the possibility of civil war? Perhaps we should be seated for this. Tegin,
if you would.”
One of the young noblemen strode towards the empty dining table. “Of course,
mother.”
“Let me help you,” said another, a dark-skinned fellow that bore a certain
resemblance to the Lord Jervin who had fought and died at Falme.
The two men fetched chairs and brought them closer to the fire before returning
to their own seats, and Alasdair went to stand behind his sister’s chair. As
Nynaeve was situating herself, Moiraine spoke again.
“I shall start with some good news. The High Lord Turak Aladon, who commanded
the Seanchan’s invasion force and ordered Queen Nora’s murder, did not escape
the justice he deserved. He was slain at Falme by the same young man whose
image appeared so notably in the sky above the city.” She studied the gathered
nobles with eyes as sharp as razors as they absorbed that revelation.
Nynaeve watched them carefully too. She wondered how many of these people might
be dangers to Rand. We should have just left this nation behind as fast as
possible, she thought for a moment. But of course they could not. Rand would
never turn his back on people in need ... And neither would I, burn me for a
fool.
Evelin’s freckled cheeks coloured slightly, her eyes fixed on the large hands
that rested in her lap. “He even did that,” she whispered, to no-one in
particular. Nynaeve thought that blush reassuring.
The third of the strange young noblemen had an equally distracted look about
him—his dark eyes staring towards empty space—but an angry scowl creased his
brows.
“Well good riddance to him,” Isolde said, though she did not clarify which of
the men in question she meant.
“What I saw at Falme,” Alasdair said slowly. “I can’t explain it. But you Aes
Sedai ... you know more about such things than anyone. What ... happened there?
Ghosts ... people flying ... giants ...”
“You were overwrought, Prince Alasdair,” said the younger noblewoman. “And had
just witnessed the death of your father. It’s perfectly natural to be confused
in such circumstances, and to imagine strange things.”
“No, Izot. I saw them too. And so did all our soldiers who survived the battle.
It happened.” Evelin’s voice was firm.
“It did,” Moiraine confirmed. “What you witnessed was the sounding of the Horn
of Valere. The ‘ghosts’ you speak of would be familiar to you, by name if not
by face.”
All the Falmerans, save the two royals, gaped at that announcement, and even
Evelin and Alasdair’s eyes widened.
“So that really was Birgitte Silverbow,” Alasdair said. “I thought I recognised
her from the stories, but was too embarrassed to say so.”
Isolde frowned. “I thought the Horn of Valere was lost. And that it was only to
be used at Tarmon Gai’don.”
“It was. And it will soon be used for exactly the purpose you describe. The
Last Battle draws near.” For all the inflection in Moiraine’s voice she might
just have said that it was time for dinner.
Evelin’s voice trembled. “Light send you are mistaken, Aes Sedai. Falmerden
can’t afford that. We have more than enough troubles already.”
“Is this what you meant about Trollocs on the loose?” said Alasdair.
Evelin turned in her chair to look at him. “Trollocs?”
It was Moiraine who answered. “Indeed. Falmerden is beset by the Shadow’s
forces already, Evelin, no matter how ill-prepared it may be. I have witnessed
their attacks myself, and brought with me survivors from one of your
slaughtered villages. If the Trolloc incursion is not stopped, and soon, many
more Falmerans will perish. It is for this reason that I have come to you.”
Evelin kept her face as composed as she could, though the effort told in the
roundness of her clear green eyes. Nynaeve felt sorry for her, and for
Falmerden in general. Invaded by the Seanchan, seeing friends and family
murdered, facing civil war, and now on top of all that having to deal with an
attack by the Shadow itself? The Wheel had no love for this nation, and the
girl charged with saving it seemed hopelessly unprepared for the job.
“Those rumours ... travellers tell all sorts of strange tales,” suggested
Tegin, hesitantly.
“I speak no word that is not true,” said Moiraine. The Falmeran wilted under
her firm stare. Once satisfied, she turned her attention back to the Queen.
“And I tell you this: I know where the Shadow’s army will be found. If you
marshal your forces now, you can destroy them before they have the chance to
spread across your lands.”
“How do you know where they’ll be?” asked Alasdair. “And how many of them are
there?”
“Perhaps it would be best to send our scouts to check the area,” said Isolde.
“We can’t afford to act hastily, or risk ourselves. Not after the Seanchan, and
the betrayals of Surtir and Brylan and who knows how many others.” The woman
did not wilt beneath Moiraine’s stare as easily as her son had.
The scowling nobleman spoke for the first time since Nynaeve had entered the
room. “Let me lead the scouts, your Grace. No matter what is out there, I’ll
find it for you.”
“And makes friends with it perhaps,” said the dark youth coldly. “My father
died fighting the Seanchan, Brooks, while your parents knelt at the invaders’
feet. How can we know you won’t do the same?”
The Brooks boy’s tanned cheeks flushed so dark they almost matched his rival’s.
“Do you call me Darkfriend, Barris?”
“Should I?”
Izot laid a hand on the Barris boy’s arm. “My father died at Falme too, Delrin,
I know what you’re feeling. But we shouldn’t condemn Ashly for his parents’
actions. We have to give him the chance to prove how close or far the apple
fell to the tree. Perhaps he will not prove himself another Nafanyel Brylan.
Perhaps.” Delrin softened at the girl’s words, patting her hand, but Ashly
looked far from mollified by her half-hearted defence.
Nynaeve frowned. She recognised those names. Brylan was the lord who had been
assassinating his peers during the Seanchan occupation. And she’d met a man
named Nafanyel shortly after arriving in Falmerden. But he hadn’t done her any
harm; instead he had helped her make her way to Calranell to enlist King
Kaelan’s help against the Seanchan ... a decision which had ultimately led to
the King’s death. It was probably a coincidence, surely there were a lot of
people called Nafanyel ... but there was a cold feeling settling in Nynaeve’s
gut. She took a firm hold of her braid and endeavoured to replace that feeling
with anger.
Nynaeve had heard enough of their bickering. “We don’t have time for your
nonsense!” she snapped. “Or for scouting, or dithering over what to do.
Decisive action is needed here. People are risking their lives to lure the
Trollocs into the open, and the longer we delay the more of them will die.”
Moiraine tried to silence her with a glare, like she had the Gwerin boy, but if
she thought Nynaeve al’Meara so easily cowed she was sorely mistaken.
“Luring them? Who, and how?” said Alasdair.
She opened her mouth, but Moiraine spoke right over her. “Someone the Shadow
wishes to destroy. And what the Shadow wishes to destroy, the Light must
preserve.”
The nobles shifted uncomfortably, exchanging looks and small signs, but
Moiraine had eyes only for Evelin. The young queen and the Aes Sedai stared at
each other for a long time, and what they saw in each other’s eyes Nynaeve
could not say. At last, the Queen gave a single, small nod. And Nynaeve let out
a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
***** Doing Penance *****
CHAPTER 17: Doing Penance
 
Moiraine and Evelin danced around the topic of who exactly would be luring the
Shadow into place for the coming battle, but Nynaeve suspected the young queen
knew who Moiraine was speaking about. Her sudden cooperativeness, and the way
she refrained from pressing Moiraine for more information, led Nynaeve to hope
that they had made a new ally. Or rather Rand had, when the woolheaded lummox
decided to run around acting the hero.
When their meeting was concluded everyone dispersed to make the necessary
preparations, and Nynaeve found herself being escorted to her assigned rooms by
Lady Isolde’s steward, a portly man named Kendrick who assured her that the
Nethara survivors were being treated well. She questioned him so firmly that he
tried to distract her by claiming that Leliana had left the keep to explore the
rest of the city, but Nynaeve would not be put off until she was certain the
refugees were in good hands. When they parted ways the man was sweating
visibly. She sniffed at his retreating back. That one should get outside and
work with his hands more often, she thought.
They had been shown Moiraine’s room first, so Nynaeve gave a start when she
realised the Aes Sedai was still there. She was uncharacteristically quiet, and
studied Nynaeve in that cold, aloof way she had.
“What?” said Nynaeve, when the silent stare had worn her nerves raw.
Moiraine sounded as calm as ever. “You impersonated an Aes Sedai. And you did
so at a royal court. I’m trying to number the hours an Accepted would spend in
the Mistress of Novices chamber—howling—for such a transgression. It almost
defies math.”
“I did what I had to do,” Nynaeve declared stiffly. “Elayne and Min needed me.
If Sheriam and the Amyrlin can’t see that, then the Shadow take them.”
Moiraine’s expression did not alter, but there was a dangerous gleam in her
dark eyes. She shook her head slowly. “And you have not even the decency to be
ashamed. You were not long enough in the Tower, that much is plain. You have
been undermining my efforts here as well. Accepted do not speak over Aes Sedai,
Sheriam should have taught you that much at least.”
“Aes Sedai,” Nynaeve scoffed. “We have bigger concerns now. I thought you
arrived at Falme in time to see what happened with Rand.”
“I did,” Moiraine said, her face and voice as still as a frozen pond. She
turned and walked to the door. Nynaeve felt a moment’s satisfaction at seeing
the woman retreat, but only a moment’s. The click of the latch being locked in
place seemed far louder than it should.
“Your training is far from complete, Accepted. You will be returning to the
White Tower as soon as possible, and this time you will apply yourself more
diligently to your studies,” Moiraine declared arrogantly. “Swear this now, and
I may speak to the Amyrlin in your defence.”
Nynaeve hoped her own face was as composed as Moiraine’s. She hoped no sign of
her suddenly rapid heartbeat could be seen. “I might return to the Tower. Or I
might not. Rand and the others are in danger now, more than ever. They need
me.”
Moiraine looked disappointed. She advanced slowly towards Nynaeve, her blue
skirts swishing. “They are. And they will be protected by the Aes Sedai. You
could be an asset to the Tower, if you applied yourself. And in time you might
learn how to protect these people you care for so fiercely, alongside the rest
of my sisters. But you insist on acting the fool.”
Fool? Fool!? Nynaeve found her anger, and a welcome discovery it was for it
brought saidar with it. No sooner had she felt the warmth of the Power fill her
than she saw a radiant halo surround Moiraine. In the way of such things, she
could tell that she would be stronger than the other woman someday, but her
strength had not reached that level yet.
Moiraine sighed. “And you embrace the Source without permission. Do you think
to threaten me with the Power, girl?”
Did she? Nynaeve’s thoughts whirled. She hated this woman. Feared her. And
resented her. But she didn’t want to kill her—she didn’t want to kill anyone.
She found her throat suddenly dry, and had to swallow before speaking. “You
can’t ... I don’t answer to you. I won’t!”
Moiraine shook her head once more, the slow movement causing her wavy black
locks to sway around her. “Your training has been rushed. It was necessary I
suppose, but the results are all-too apparent. I cannot afford to leave this to
Sheriam. I shall see your punishment myself.”
Nynaeve gathered the Power and lashed out, trying to shield Moiraine from the
Source. The Cairhienin was not a large woman, if she could just cut her off
from the One Power ... It was no good. She threw her strength into the shield,
as much Power as she could gather, but Moiraine’s swifter, more delicate, cuts
severed her weave before it could reach her. Something struck Nynaeve then, a
weave too quick for her to see the threads that formed it. Her body spasmed
suddenly, her arms and legs shaking like a puppet that had been thrown aside.
She lost her hold on saidar, and a shield slid smoothly into place, preventing
her from channelling it again.
Nynaeve’s legs failed her, and she fell to the thinly-carpeted floor with a
thump that would surely leave a bruise on her bottom.
Moiraine made a great show of adjusting her dress, as though it had been in any
way mussed by their struggle. Nynaeve took it for mockery, and could not
prevent the colour from rising to her cheeks. “Burn you, you have no right. I
just want to protect my people,” she tried to say, but barely one word in three
came out sounding intelligible. If Nynaeve had heard anyone else talk like that
she would have been sure they were drunk, and in sore need of one of Mistress
Barran’s special medicines. Few folk in Emond’s Field ever got themselves drunk
in public, not after the first dosing.
“A side effect of the Stunning,” said Moiraine casually. “It will pass. This
shield will fade too, eventually. Though it will last longer now that I have
tied it off. And speaking of tying ...”
Moiraine bent over and grabbed one of Nynaeve’s ankles. Holding it in both
hands, she began to drag her across the floor. The Cairhienin was not a large
woman ... but neither was Nynaeve. Those few extra inches she’d been secretly
glad of didn’t seem worth much just then. Moiraine didn’t have to strain too
much to haul Nynaeve away.
“Whad aloo doo in?” Nynaeve said.
“Oh I think you know,” chimed Moiraine.
Nynaeve’s cheeks coloured again. She did. “No. Ucand.” Her arms trailed
uselessly behind her and refused to obey her commands. Otherwise she would have
pushed her woollen skirts back down. They had gotten caught on the carpet, and
were now riding up around her hips, leaving her indecently exposed.
Moiraine tutted. “You had your chance, girl. You should have learned your
lessons better.”
Moiraine hauled her to the side of the bed before letting her foot drop and
turning to regard her catch. “I confess, you vex me, Nynaeve. Such a stubborn
girl. Once we got you safely ensconced in the White Tower I had hoped this
nonsense at an end. Yet here we are.”
Nynaeve found herself rising from the floor and floating towards the bed, as
though held in a builder’s sling. She dropped bonelessly to the mattress. Her
thoughts flashed back to the last time Moiraine had taken liberties with
Nynaeve’s body, how frightening it had been, and the humiliation she had felt
when her own body betrayed her under the Aes Sedai’s touch. She can’t mean to
... Not again!Her protests came out as a wordless wail.
“The Tower has no tolerance for failure, Nynaeve al’Meara. Do not whine at me,”
said Moiraine unfairly. Nynaeve had not been whining. Nynaeve never whined!
“You have transgressed against the Tower, and a penance is required. Take it
like a woman, if that is what you are.” She began undoing the laces on
Nynaeve’s bodice. Nynaeve could only glare helplessly at her own breasts as
they were exposed for Moiraine to see. The Aes Sedai studied them calmly for a
moment, before giving a cool nod, her face as composed as ever. “A fine pair,”
she judged.
Nynaeve cursed at her. Or mumbled angrily at her at least.
“So, so stubborn. You will be much happier once you realise where you belong.
Sister.”
Nynaeve tried repeatedly to declare that Moiraine was no sister of hers, and
never would be. It took some time for her to force her tongue to form the
words, and all the while the Aes Sedai was undressing her, exposing her legs
and belly and finally even her sex the lamp’s indecent light.
“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, Nynaeve,” said Moiraine when at last
Nynaeve had forced out her message. “And your fate lies with the White Tower.”
She reached back, undid several buttons on her fine blue dress, and allowed it
to pool around her feet. Beneath she wore a white silk shift that was only
slightly paler and smoother than her skin.
“Whad are you dooin?” Nynaeve gasped.
Moiraine stepped out of the circle of blue, and came to stand over Nynaeve.
“When last we clashed you claimed you did not want the Power. I proved that a
lie, though I took no satisfaction myself in doing so. Now you claim you are
not an initiate of the White Tower and subject to its rules. I will prove the
falsehood of that claim too ...” A smile curved the Aes Sedai’s lips. “But this
time I mean to have some satisfaction of my own. You will find you are very
much subject to the Tower’s rules ... and to mine, little sister.”
So saying, Moiraine reached back and pulled her shift up over her head. She
tossed it aside, utterly unashamed by her nudity. She was a slender woman, with
little in the way of extra flesh. Her breasts were not large, but round and
firm and tipped with small, brown nipples. Her underwear was expensive-looking,
covered in frills and lace in ways that Nynaeve had never known underwear could
be. Moiraine gave the smallclothes a tug to clear the waistband from her narrow
hips, then let them fall down her legs to pool on the floor. The small tuft of
hair that she revealed to Nynaeve’s astonished eyes was as dark as that on her
head, but straighter.
Moiraine sat on the bed beside the stunned Nynaeve, then matter-of-factly
reached down to cup the other woman’s breast. Nynaeve squawked, and tore her
gaze away from the naked Aes Sedai, but Moiraine ignored her protests and began
kneading her breast gently. Soon she added a second hand, one for each soft
globe.
“A fine pair indeed,” she mused.
It was nice that she thought so, Nynaeve supposed. But she stubbornly refused
to feel flattered.
Moiraine massaged Nynaeve’s breasts for some time. She said nothing when she
felt her nipples begin to poke up against her palms, but her smile was all-too
knowing for Nynaeve’s taste. She leaned over, and for a horrible moment Nynaeve
thought she meant to kiss her. I’ll bite her if she does, she vowed. My teeth
can still move. Perhaps her intentions showed in her eyes, for Moiraine laughed
softly and aimed her lips farther down. Nynaeve couldn’t help but gasp when
Moiraine took one of her nipples in her mouth and began to suck on it expertly.
“This ... this proves nothing,” Nynaeve managed, her voice only slightly
slurred now.
Moiraine gave her nipple a playful flick with her tongue. “It proves you do not
know as much as you like to think. It proves you do not know yourself as well
as you should ... As well as an Aes Sedai would.”
The Aes Sedai slid her hand down over Nynaeve’s stomach and brushed against the
thatch of hair beneath. “No,” Nynaeve said, but the cursed woman sent her
wicked fingers to probe Nynaeve’s privates anyway. When she found the evidence
there she smirked in satisfaction.
“See? One set of lips say no ... while the others cry yes ...” With that she
slid a slim finger into Nynaeve’s sopping wet slit. Nynaeve whimpered in
embarrassment.
Moiraine took control of Nynaeve’s legs with her free hand, spreading her wide
and coming to kneel between them. She positioned herself above Nynaeve with
their crotches inches away from each other. “You will learn to love the Tower,
Nynaeve. We all did, eventually.” She rolled her hips and brought their lower
lips into contact. Nynaeve had no teeth down there, no way to ward her off.
Moiraine captured her lips with hers and began kissing her roughly.
Nynaeve fought for silence as Moiraine rode her. Her eyes were drawn to the
place where their bodies met. The hair down there mingled as Moiraine rubbed
against her, Nynaeve’s thatch the thicker of the two, though of a lighter
colour and soon darkened by the juices that both women were leaking.
Moiraine managed to maintain her composure somehow, even while rubbing her sex
rapidly against Nynaeve’s, but a small blush touched her pale cheeks, and the
stiffness of her nipples was readily visible on her bouncing breasts. Nynaeve
wouldn’t have thought the sight pretty even if the circumstances had not been
so outrageous. I wouldn’t!
Moiraine leaned over her and spoke softly. “You’d like it even more if I used
my other lips. Mine on yours, yours on mine. What say you, Accepted? Are you
ready for your next lesson?”
She had a very skilled tongue, Nynaeve recalled. If she used it now, that storm
building on the horizon might break ... “No! I’ll bite you, I swear,” she said
defiantly.
Moiraine seemed amused. “Now, now. That is no way for a mere Accepted to
address a full sister. ‘Yes please’ or ‘how may I serve you’ would be much more
appropriate. You must become more accustomed to your place in the grand scheme
of things.”
Despite the pleasure building inside her, and the sweat that flushed her naked
body, Nynaeve managed to glare up at the Aes Sedai. Someday you’ll be the one
on the bottom, she vowed, privately.
Moiraine smiled as though she could read Nynaeve’s mind. “You will make a fine
Aes Sedai, someday. But you must learn that the Tower’s will is absolute.”
She seized hold of Nynaeve’s breasts once more, and began squeezing them,
roughly this time. The movement of her hips sped up, and her eyes drifted shut,
a small frown creasing her usually-smooth brow. She was unmistakably fucking
Nynaeve now, pounding her hips against Nynaeve’s pussy, ravaging her breasts.
Despite her efforts to resist, Nynaeve’s body betrayed her. She gritted her
teeth to suppress her cry as waves of pleasure washed over her. She gushed
against Moiraine’s sex and, as though she knew, the Aes Sedai soon gushed right
back on her. Moiraine cried out in her orgasm, a loss of control that Nynaeve
took some satisfaction in not sharing, especially given how controlled the
woman normally was.
Moiraine savoured the moment for a while, kneeling between Nynaeve’s splayed
legs with a small smile on her lips. Only when her breathing had returned to
its usual calm cadence did she disentangle herself.
“You do insist on flouting the rules,” the Aes Sedai said with a satisfied
sigh. “I suspected you would be one of those eager for discipline, and I see it
is so.”
“I’m not,” Nynaeve snapped.
Moiraine chuckled. “Deny it all you want, girl. Your actions say otherwise. And
since you are not bound by the Three Oaths, how can anyone know whether you are
lying?” She slid from the bed to gather her underclothes, and Nynaeve caught a
glimpse of her small, somewhat flat bottom.
Nynaeve would have liked to have gathered her own clothes as well, but her
limbs still refused to do more than twitch when she willed them to move. “You
are a wicked, wicked woman.”
Moiraine raised one immaculate eyebrow. “And you’ll be back to do penance in my
chambers again soon, won’t you? I wonder what transgression you’ll commit next
time.”
“No! That’s not ... I won’t ... You’re mad, madder than a male channeler with a
bee sting on his bottom!”
Moiraine had restored her shift and panties to their proper places by then.
“Speaking of stung bottoms,” she said with an evil smile, “I don’t think I’ve
impressed on you the severity of your error, in falsely claiming to be Aes
Sedai.”
Nynaeve glared at her. “Don’t you dare.”
The Aes Sedai was all cool self-possession again. “You would be shocked to know
the things I have dared, and will dare, Nynaeve al’Meara. Accepted of the White
Tower.”
So it was that Nynaeve spent a horribly memorable hour being firmly spanked by
a woman who had just fucked her silly. While her face blazed with
embarrassment, she swore to herself that nothing like this would ever happen to
her again.
***** The Traitor *****
CHAPTER 18: The Traitor
 
Nafanyel was glad to be back on the Brylan estates, if only so he might see his
sister again. But it was not as sweet a homecoming as it might once have been.
He doubted it would ever be again. Whatever pleasure he might once have felt at
returning to his family’s lands had been soured by their actions in the
recently concluded war against the Seanchan invaders. And by the thought of
what his father might order them to do in the days to come.
“But why shouldn’t I visit Celice, Nafanyel? I’ll need more of an explanation
than ‘it might not be safe.’ ” Delilah’s eyes demanded answers he didn’t dare
give. Surtir had already seemed close to figuring out who was assassinating the
nobles of Falmerden when his soldiers ambushed and killed Denam. Nafanyel
feared it was only a matter of time before either the General of the Queen
moved against House Brylan and their allies.
Delilah was innocent of their father’s plans though. For a traitorous moment he
had wondered if it might be otherwise, but her reaction to his worries proved
that fear ungrounded. Of course she would never have countenanced such things.
And of course their father wouldn’t involve her. Ever since their mother’s
death Delilah had technically been the High Seat of House Brylan, but father
had kept her sheltered from any need to make a decision, and taken on himself
the rulership of their House.
She wasn’t a little girl anymore, but he doubted their father would be willing
to step aside any time soon. At sixteen Delilah was two years his junior, and
though they shared the black hair and pale skin of their mother, Delilah had
inherited her beauty as well, where Nafanyel took after their father.
“Well?” she demanded, as he struggled for words. For lies. He couldn’t imagine
telling her the truth of what they had done, the shame would be too unbearable.
“There are still some Seanchan wandering the country, sister. You wouldn’t want
to be caught by that lot, trust me. And besides, our family has many enemies.
More than you know.”
“Who? Why?” Delilah pressed.
He was saved by a knock on the door of her chambers, which were cosier and more
colourful than the rest of the keep. “Enter,” Nafanyel called, trying to mask
his relief.
Adria smiled at the sight of them. She always did, and it always lit up her
plain face. When their mother died, Adria had taken over their care. She was a
servant, but Nafanyel privately thought of her as family and he knew Delilah
did the same.
“Supper is served, dearies,” Adria said.
“Excellent. Thank you, Adria,” Nafanyel said with false cheeriness. Delilah
pouted at him. He knew she’d pester him for more answers if he let her, and so
hastened for the door.
“There’s a lovely bit of venison tonight,” Adria said, as she and Delilah
followed in Nafanyel’s wake. “Your father’s favourite. He said he wouldn’t be
joining you unfortunately, and the meat just won’t be the same on a second
cooking. I tried to warn him, but you know how he is when he has work on the
mind, poor man.”
Delilah said something in response, but Nafanyel’s focus swiftly wandered. What
work was his father about tonight? He hoped it wouldn’t involve another of
those quiet jobs. The ones Nafanyel had already done shamed him bad enough. He
was torn between wanting to go and get it over with, and wanting to delay
finding out as long as possible. At least long enough to enjoy his time with
his sister. Coward, he cursed himself. Bad enough he had killed, or helped
kill, so many people in such treacherous ways, but now he did not dare even
speak to his own father about it?
“You two go to the dining hall without me,” he rasped. “I’ll be along shortly.”
Without waiting for a response he strode off in the direction of his father’s
study.
That wing of the keep proved surprisingly dark, even for the hour. Torches that
would normally have been lit hung dark on the walls, though the smell of recent
fire lingered in the air. The servants had lit them, and then someone had put
them out again. Instinctually Nafanyel found himself balancing on the balls of
his feet, as though he were stalking prey through the woods. He moved slowly
and quietly through the familiar halls of his home.
Low voices drifted in and out of hearing as he approached the closed door of
his father’s private workplace.
“... my part well, no matter the result. I expect the promised reward.”
“... a setback ... merely altered. Your part is done, others will take it up.”
The voice that responded was one Nafanyel had never heard before. Something
about it sent a chill down his spine.
“I deserve more. What of my reward?” Lord Timoth demanded.
An angry hiss was his response. “When the infidel has screamed his last regret,
and his followers have been strangled in their own entrails, then you will have
your reward, human.”
Nafanyel had been inching closer to the door, but now his steps froze. Human?
What a strange way for one man to address another.
“... supposed to be dead by now ... may suspect me. How ... myself among them?”
“That is your concern,” said the stranger angrily. “The bitch queen must not be
allowed to present herself to al’Thor, panting. He will stand alone, and he
will answer for his crimes against the great Heart of the Dark.”
The words made little sense to Nafanyel. Were they talking about Evelin? He
sank slowly to his knees and placed his eye near the door’s keyhole. Inside he
could see nothing but blackness.
Lord Timoth made a sound of disgust. “Where will I find them?”
There was a brief scrape of steel on steel, and a soft light formed in the
room. As Nafanyel’s eyes adjusted he found himself peering in at a section of
his father’s desk. The narrow keyhole allowed him to see little else.
“Map,” demanded the stranger. He half-expected his father to produce a weapon
and kill the man. Lord Timoth hated to be spoken to so arrogantly. But instead
a drawer scraped open and there was a rustling of papers. A scroll was unwound
across the table, and a bone pale hand reached out to smooth it. The arm it was
attached to was armoured in overlapping scales of purest black. A finger
pointed to something Nafanyel could not see. “The infidel has gone to ground
here. Our hounds will be upon him soon, to rip and tear. You will intercept the
bitch before she reaches him. The Friends will join you, and together you will
see the Great Lord’s will done.”
“Again,” his father said sourly.
The hand became a fist, and its owner leaned across the table. “Some oaths are
harder to break than others, human,” that hateful voice grated. “You will do as
commanded, or you will suffer for eternity.”
Lord Timoth let out a gasp of fear, something Nafanyel could not recall ever
hearing from him. “Of course. I will obey the Great Lord. I never meant to
imply it would be otherwise,” he said in a shaky voice.
Nafanyel’s heart was pounding. He could see the stranger now—it was a lean,
dark-haired man clad in scale-mail armour, with a long black cloak. Satisfied
with Lord Timoth’s uncharacteristic deference, the man turned away ... and for
just a moment, Nafanyel could see his face. One glimpse was enough to turn his
bowels to water. He fell away from the door to land on his backside, there in
the darkened hallway of his family’s keep. The fear that shot through his body
was worse than anything he had ever felt before, worse than his first battle,
his first kill. The panicked thought that the creature inside the room had
heard him seemed almost warm and comforting compared to the panic that seeing
its eyeless face had sent shooting through him. Had he gasped? How much noise
had he made when his butt hit the floor? An old saying came creeping up to
drift across his stunned mind: The look of the Eyeless is fear.
Nafanyel wet his dry lips with his tongue. Eyeless. Fade. Myrddraal. Things he
had half-believed were merely children’s tales. Servants of the Dark One ...
giving orders to ...
He scrambled to his feet and lurched away from the door, struggling to stay as
quiet as possible as he fled the scene. He could not flee his own thoughts
though, or the guilt that now stabbed him anew, magnified by a most horrible
realisation: My father is a Darkfriend.
Lord Timoth had been fighting for the Shadow all along. And therefore so had
Nafanyel. All those people they had killed, all murdered at the Dark One’s
order. His stomach roiled, he lurched over to lean against the wall, and found
himself spewing on the floor of the hallway.
If he had fought for the Shadow, then did that make Nafanyel a Darkfriend too?
Was he damned? Forsaken by the Light? He gasped for breath, staring down at the
disgusting mess he had made. He was trembling, and a sheen of sweat coated his
skin. What do I do? Light, whatcanI do?
 
                                     * * *
 
The streets of Amaran were covered in slush, so Nynaeve kept her steps slow and
careful as she made her way back to Lady Isolde’s keep. She wasn’t entirely
satisfied with Kendricks’ arrangements for her refugees, despite the steward’s
assurances that good jobs would be found for them. But short of staying here
for the winter there was not much else she could do. They would simply have to
take care of themselves. Nynaeve grimaced. She was not very good at leaving
people to fend for themselves. Or at trusting them to do so.
Maybe if she had been ... No. She refused to think that, no matter what
Moiraine said. Or did. She had done all that she could to help her friends, and
that was exactly what she meant to keep doing, and the Shadow take the
consequences. Nonetheless, she felt her cheeks redden from more than just the
cold as memories of Moiraine’s “penance” slashed unbidden across her mind. She
quickened her pace. The sun would go down soon, and she meant to be in her room
with the door well locked before Moiraine decided to retire.
The crowds around her thinned enough that Nynaeve caught sight of a familiar
face. Leliana gave coins and a smile to the rather unclean-looking fellow
outside the pigeon coop. Judging by the way the man was grinning back at her,
Nynaeve suspected the smile was more welcome than the money. The bard was a
pretty thing, and had been charming her way around the camp since Moiraine
kidnapped her back in Lother. It seemed she had taken to charming her way
around the city now instead. Nynaeve doubted she would be leaving with them
tomorrow.
Leliana turned away from the man. Her smile did not falter when she saw Nynaeve
watching them. She all-but skipped across the street to join her. “Are you
ready to depart, Nynaeve? It is a shame. I had hoped we could go shopping
together.”
Nynaeve sniffed. The girl would go on and on about dresses and slippers if you
let her. Nynaeve didn’t see anything wrong with a good wool dress and stout
shoes, even if the fancier stuff did look prettier, and feel nice on you. No.
Stout shoes. Wool dresses. It was the proper way of things. “We’re leaving
tomorrow. I take it you’ll be staying here then? It’s probably for the best.
Our company isn’t exactly safe.”
Leliana studied her carefully. “No. No it isn’t. But I’m sure you and Moiraine
Sedai know what you are doing. And it is no business of mine.” She smiled. “Of
course, neither are the affairs of Lady Izot and Lord Delrin, but I couldn’t
help but notice a certain longing in the way they looked at each other. Did you
happen to hear anything ... juicy while meeting with our highborn friends?”
It was hard to plant your fists on your hips while balancing on icy cobbles,
but Nynaeve managed it. “If it’s gossip you’re looking for you’ve come to the
wrong woman, bard. I have neither time not tolerance for such behaviour.”
Leliana laughed warmly, seemingly unoffended by Nynaeve’s rebuke. “Ah, but is
there not joy to be found in a romantic tale? Lord’s Wulffe and Jervin both
fell fighting those wicked invaders. It is good that their children unite, no?
And shared grief, it can bring people close. Very close.”
Nynaeve avoided Leliana’s eye. Shared grief had brought her and Rand closer
than she had ever imagined they would be. She tried her best to deflect
Leliana’s questions as they made their way along the streets, linking arms for
balance’s sake. But her repeated comments on romance grated on Nynaeve’s
nerves. If romance is being continually confused and embarrassed, then romance
can burn, she told herself. But the burning would have to wait until after she
made sure Lan and Rand were well.
 
                                     * * *
 
It was just past Midnight when his father summoned him. Despite the late hour
the Brylan estate bustled with activity, as servants who would have usually
expected to be asleep at this hour were instead sent scurrying to prepare for
tomorrow’s hasty march. The guards were almost all asleep. Their work would
begin at dawn. Nafanyel had heard the predictable grumbling as he walked
listlessly towards the meeting place, but there had been no sign of rebellion.
Timoth Rendin was the acting High Seat of House Brylan, and the people here
were used to following his orders. It never occurred to them to ask his
reasons. That was the proper way of things, the honourable way of things.
An angry sneer twisted Nafanyel’s lips. Honour. What had honour to do with any
of this? He adjusted his swordbelt, hefted his bow and lengthened his stride. A
few familiar retainers called out to him as he passed, but he ignored them.
There was fresh snow on the ground, and pure white flakes drifted all around.
His boot crushed them, and his best fur cloak was nowhere near enough to make
him feel warm.
His father was waiting not far from the main storehouse. Jevin was nodding
obsequiously to whatever Lord Timoth was saying as Nafanyel marched towards
them. A curt gesture sent the old steward hastening away to see that the
appropriate amount of supplies were readied. Nafanyel eyed him as they passed.
Could Jevin be one of his father’s “Friends” too? Yes, he thought. Almost
anyone could be.
Lord Timoth greeting him with a short nod. “Nafanyel. Eager for the hunt? Good
lad. I’ll have more targets for you in the days to come. Our enemies are still
numerous.”
“Their everywhere, even in the places you’d least expect,” Nafanyel said.
Timoth’s smile was a small, sharp thing. “You’re learning, son. They think they
can keep us down, they think they can take what should be ours. But we’ll show
them exactly how wrong they are.”
His father had always been a jealous man. He’d always resented those who stood
above him. Nafanyel had known that. Again he asked himself if he should have
seen the truth long ago. Again he found no answers in his imbalanced heart.
“Where are we bound?” he said, his voice flat and dead.
Lord Timoth drummed his fingers against his swordhilt. “I suppose there’s no
harm in telling you. We’ll be joining up with the Queen’s army. She’s sent out
a call for loyalists to rally to her banner.” He snorted. “Whistling for her
dogs, more aptly. We’ll give her what she wants ... and what she deserves too.”
Snow crunched under Nafanyel’s boots as he walked towards the main gate of the
keep. Out beyond it there was only the dark, the cold ... and the lone horse he
had left at the edge of the woods. He stopped when he was ten strides away from
his father.
“Maybe we all get what we deserve,” he whispered. “Or maybe we only ever get
what we’re given.” He pulled an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and turned
to aim it straight at his father’s heart. He was surprised at how little his
hands shook.
Lord Timoth gave him an incredulous look. “What do you think you’re doing, boy?
Put that down.” He spoke as though he genuinely believed that was all it would
take. But then, he didn’t know that Nafanyel knew his secret.
“When did it start, father? When did you become a Darkfriend?”
The nearest servants, who had paused in their tasks to stare at the unlikely
scene, gasped at Nafanyel’s words.
Lord Timoth short a murderous look their way, and Nafanyel knew those men would
not survive the night if his father had his way. “Idiot boy! Bite your tongue,
and speak no more lies. We will continue this discussion in private.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, father. I am done following your orders.”
He sneered. “Done? Never. You are what I made you, Nafanyel. Do not disappoint
me now, not when you are on the verge of becoming something worthwhile.”
There was far too much truth in that. Lord Timoth had raised him alone for the
past decade, who else could claim to deserve Nafanyel’s loyalty? The shaking in
his hands increased. But then he pictured the faces of all the people they had
killed, and rage choked him.
Nafanyel felt his face twist into something ugly. “Yes! I am what you made me,
father,” he shouted. “A murderer!”
He loosed. Immediately some small part of Nafanyel wailed its desire to call
the arrow back, but of course that was impossible. His father only had time to
gasp in shock before the arrow thudded into his chest and sent blood spurting
from his mouth. Lord Timoth fell back to land on his backside, there on the
show-covered gravel of their home. Staring, Nafanyel wondered if he had looked
like that when he saw the Eyeless his father had been taking orders from. He
wondered if he’d look like that too, when the time came for him to answer for
his sins.
“Light have mercy!” Someone cried. “Guards! Murder! The young master’s gone
mad!”
Nafanyel stared into his father’s eyes one last time. “I deserved .... more,”
Timoth croaked. Then he slumped back into the snow. His lifesblood soon stained
its purity. It would never be clean again. And neither would Nafanyel.
As the shouts and recriminations lit the night, Nafanyel turned and ran for the
woods on legs that shook so badly he feared he would fall. He hoped Delilah
would understand. He’d explained as best he could in the letter he’d slipped
under her door. He didn’t dare imagine she would ever forgive him. And even if
she might have, he had no intention of ever coming back to this place again.
Somewhere out there were more men like his father, hiding among the innocent
while they served creatures like that ... thing. Somehow, Nafanyel would find
them. And give them what they deserved. And he’d start with his father’s
“Friends”.
***** Novice No More *****
CHAPTER 19: Novice No More
 
Sanche took Mat’s cock in virtual silence. Even when he slid it all the way
into her sweet ass it won no more than a soft gasp from her. Her white dress
was bunched up around her shoulders, the better to let him fondle her breasts
as he knelt behind her. The dark yellow hair that fell to the bed before her
didn’t hide her face from view. He enjoyed looking at it as he fucked her. The
other Novice in the room did too.
Karin had a hand up her skirt and was fingering herself enthusiastically as she
watched Maryel take Mat’s cock. Her eyes drifted from the Novice’s face to
Mat’s dick sliding in and out of her, and she licked her lips.
Mat grinned. “Don’t worry, Karin. I’ll put it in you next, just as soon as I’m
done with her.”
That won an embarrassed moan from Maryel, and a wicked grin from Karin. “You’d
better,” said the brown-haired Novice. “It’s so much better than a finger.”
He grinned again. Karin was one of his favourites among the Novices and
Accepted he had dallied with these past months. He reached around to finger
Maryel’s pussy, intending to bring her off as quickly as he could, and then
stick Karin again before he ran out of energy.
Maryel Sanche was no relation of Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat—they weren’t
even from the same nation, despite sharing a name—but it gave the sex a little
more spice for Mat if he imagined it was Siuan’s daughter kneeling before him.
Or better yet, Siuan herself. For more than half a year the cursed Aes Sedai
had kept him locked up in Tar Valon. All of Mat’s efforts to free himself had
been in vain. The best he had to hope for was that he could make such a
nuisance of himself that the Amyrlin would throw him out willingly. And since
Aes Sedai and their trainees were prohibited from having relations with men ...
Mat pounded Maryel’s ass harder, and she clutched the bedsheets in response.
She’d been one of the more resistant Novices. A shy and quiet girl, he’d needed
Karin’s enthusiastic recommendation to persuade her to try the wicked and
forbidden pleasures of the cock. When she came it was not with a cry, but with
a hissing breath. And even that she tried her best to silence. Her sticky
juices coated his hand and soon her reddened bottom when he gave it a good
squeeze.
Karin crossed the narrow cell in the Novice Quarter. She kissed Mat only
briefly before hiking up her white dress and kneeling on the bed beside Maryel.
Mat eased himself out of one hole, then lined himself up to another. Karin
moaned loudly when Mat slipped inside her wet pussy. Maryel tried earnestly but
futilely to shush her. Mat fucked Karin with abandon, just the way she liked
it. She’d liked watching, had Karin, and from the glances she kept shooting the
other Novice he could tell she liked to be watched too. She had been an easy
conquest.
Others though ... Not all of Mat’s sallies had been successful, but when was
that ever not the case? It was all just part of the game so far as he was
concerned. The Accepted were harder nuts to crack than the Novices, being
closer to Aes Sedai in attitude as well as in rank. He’d only managed to bag
one of those so far, and Mair had been exiled from the Tower and forced to
spend months working on a farm as result. She’d been avoiding him since she got
back. The Novices got in trouble too. Maryel and Namene had caused a right
scandal, when the stocky Murandian had pulled out a handful of the Domani’s
lovely black hair. Or—no, wait. That had been Marah. Maryel was the quiet one.
Mat laughed softly to himself. He’d need to keep better track, it would be
bloody embarrassing otherwise.
He didn’t mind the chaos he was causing here in the White Tower. Far from it.
It was a bit of a pity that the girls got in trouble, but so far as Mat Cauthon
was concerned that was the Tower’s fault, not his. If they didn’t try to
prohibit people from having fun then there would be nothing to get upset over.
Keatlin and Ibrella hadn’t hurt anyone, but that Sheriam had been quite happy
to hurt them for what they’d done with Mat. The Amyrlin had made a bigger
example of Tabitha, kicking her out of the Tower entirely. Mat regretted that
one, a little. Tabitha had been a good laugh, not the brightest perhaps, but up
for all sorts of things. And Tabiya ... she’d been a cute little thing, with
her big green eyes and those freckles. He’d liked the way she looked up at him
as she sucked him off. By the time she got back from the farm he imagined she’d
have even more freckles. Hopefully she’d still be willing to go a few rounds.
Mat quickened his pace and began spanking Karin’s ass as he felt his climax
approaching. She was rubbing the little button at the entrance to her sex with
a very un-Aes Sedai abandon. He hilted, then came in her with a loud sigh of
satisfaction. She kept rubbing herself all the while until, as the last of his
seed spurted out of him, she came with a high-pitched whine.
Mat slid out of her and sat back on the bed, adjusting his clothes lazily. Not
all the girls were as adventurous as Karin. Some of them could have probably
passed for Aes Sedai in fact. If they’d had the ageless face anyway. Elayne had
stuck her nose in the air when he’d tried his luck with her. Then she’d run off
to who knew where, taking Nynaeve with her. Paege had looked at him as though
he was an idiot, and claimed she would do nothing that might jeopardise her
standing among the Aes Sedai. Sahra had apologised and explained so kindly that
she didn’t love him in that way that Mat had relented completely in his efforts
to seduce her. Coride got so nervous whenever he approached her that it proved
impossible to even have a conversation, much less flirt. He’d given up on her.
And on Ucatan, who was far from shy and knew far too many insults. Mat liked to
think he could tell the difference between playful banter and a proper insult,
and he didn’t think Ucatan had been bantering with him. Faolain though ... she
was a harsh one, but he thought he saw an intrigued look in her eyes even when
she was telling him off.
He hadn’t given up on the Accepted, not as a group anyway. Most of them were
too stern an imitation of the Aes Sedai to give him the time of day, but aside
from Faolain he thought maybe Asseil or Theodrin could be talked into indulging
their curiosities. Not Daniele, Ilyena, Idrelle or Valene, they’d made that
more than plain. Keestis had seemed surprised he’d even approached her, but her
rejection had been as firm as it was polite. Shimoku’s too. Calindin had looked
as though she didn’t even know what he was suggesting.
Mat stretched. “Well I’d best get out of here before one of the sisters catches
me and has a fit. ‘Til next time girls.”
Maryel mumbled something that might have been farewell as she lay curled up on
the bed. Karin giggled and swatted his butt as he rose to leave, which he
objected to playfully.
As he ghosted through the Novice Quarter Mat caught a glimpse of Alvistere on
the opposite walkway. She was returning to her room from the look of it. She
saw him too, and a sulky look came over her face. She showed him her shoulder
and stalked off.
The White Tower was a colourful place, though Mat, as he wandered its halls.
There was no abundance of good-looking women, often in rich gowns of red,
green, yellow or blue. But all of those women seemed to him to have the same
face. An arrogant, emotionless, ageless face that had been carved onto them in
place of a real one. He had learned to hate the sight of it in the months of
his captivity. Else and Tabitha will probably be better off for having been
kicked out, he told himself.
Not many men in this city shared his opinions though. Mentioning them at all
was a good way to get everybody in the room to gang up and explain how wrong he
was, and how wonderful and divine the Aes Sedai were. How much the world owed
to them. It got right on Mat’s nerves. Not enough to get him to avoid the
practice field—the sparring was a good way to vent his frustrations—but enough
to turn him from the idea of venting in another way with any of the men here.
There were plenty of handsome ones, and he’d had a few discreet offers, but
knowing there would be another lecture on Aes Sedai awesomeness the moment he
voiced some dissent was enough to cool Mat’s ardour.
He missed his friends, even Rand, despite what the poor bastard had become.
Mat considered hitting the practice field again, despite the hour. Unless it
was pitch black out, there was almost always someone out there going through
the drills. Maybe he could even make another try at the walls. They’d
restricted his movement to the Tower grounds after his last escape attempt, the
one that had involved making friends with that young merchant, getting him
roaring drunk, and then hiding in one of his carriages when he left. The guards
on the inner walls wouldn’t let him past without an Aes Sedai escort now, but
that hadn’t stopped Mat from trying. And failing. In the end though he just
trudged back to the room that had been assigned him and decided to get an early
night again. There wasn’t much else to do.
The next day, after he had taken his time washing and shaving, Mat made his
usual rounds. The looks of censor he got from the Aes Sedai he passed were met
with a cheeky grin. If you like me so little then get rid of me, he thought at
them. I won’t shed any tears over it, believe you me!
He spotted Aery on her way to one of her classes, and hurried to catch up. The
golden-haired Valreio was very pretty, if a bit slimmer than Mat preferred.
He’d been working on her for a few weeks now, though listening to her complain
daily about her teachers and classmates was trying his patience.
She’d changed her hair. Mat knew what he had to say, and gave her his best
smile as he said it. “Hello, Aery. How are you this morning? That’s a lovely
hairstyle. Did you come up with it yourself? I’ve never seen anything quite
like it. I like the way the braids are mixed in with your usual golden
waterfall. It makes you look even more beautiful, and I didn’t think that was
possible!”
Aery’s cheeks reddened. “You ... you make me blush with such comments. But then
you make a lot of girls blush. It makes me wonder if you are sincere, Mat ...
But I thank you nonetheless.”
He grinned. “You only need to look in a mirror to know how sincere I am, Aery.
No man could look at you and not want you.”
“Hush!” she whispered, glancing nervously about. “You shouldn’t say such
things. It’s—it’s not proper.”
“No. No it isn’t,” he said smokily. Her big blue eyes got even bigger.
It seemed a good time to push his advantage. “Could we meet at High? After your
classes.”
“I have chores then.”
Mat hated chores, but he’d do them if the reward was worth it. “I could help,
or at least keep you company. Where will you be?”
“I’m supposed to tend the garden in the Accepted’s quarters.”
“I’ll meet you there then,” he said, and won himself a shy smile.
With Aery and all the rest of the Novices and Accepted occupied with class,
Mat’s mornings were pretty empty. He wandered out to the practice yard and gave
Volghai a thumping while his apple-cheeked Aes Sedai, Shinaid, watched. Mat had
briefly entertained the idea of trying out his grin on some sisters—and
Volghai’s was certainly a pleasingly-plump armful—but the likelihood of
humiliation had turned him away from the idea.
Mat fared less well against the pale-hired blademaster, Yager. No matter how
quickly he whirled his staff he wasn’t able to keep the man’s wooden sword from
thumping his ribs. He left the practice field with a new set of bruises while
the sun was still high in the grey winter sky.
Aery was pruning the evergreen bushes when Mat arrived for his visit. The way
she bent over made her white dress cling enticingly to the curves of her narrow
butt.
“Very nice,” Mat purred. She looked at him uncertainly, so he added. “The way
you’ve arranged the plants and all. Did you do much gardening back home?”
“Oh. No, I—I never went out much. Mother said the forests around Quail were too
dangerous. Bandits likes to hide in the Southern Darkwood you see.”
“And once you were out in the world? You must have seen a lot before coming to
Tar Valon.”
“Not really,” Aery said slowly. “Just the river while I sailed here to be
tested. “Have you been to many other places besides Tar Valon?”
Not half as much as he’d have like to before they dragged him here and locked
him up, he didn’t say. “I’ve seen a bit, but I’d like to see more. It’s hard to
say which are bigger, the Mountains of Mist or the Mountains of Doom. Or which
is prettier, the Whitebridge or the palace in Caemlyn. Fal Dara is more a
fortress than a palace, but you should see all the armoured lancers ride by.
And the Green Man’s garden ... now that was a sight to see.”
Aery was staring at him, her clippers forgotten in her hands. “The Green Man!
What was he like?”
Burn me, how should I know? I met him for all of a minute before the Forsaken
toasted him. “I wish I could describe it for you, but some things you just have
to experience for yourself,” Mat sighed.
“It all sounds rather exciting,” Aery said. “I have never been that far north.
I have been told about some of the other places in the world where one can go,
however ... I ... I want to go to these places, Mat! I want to voyage there and
see their beauty for myself ... I want to stand there and feel it ... touch it
with my hands.”
He took hold of her hand, and felt her shiver. “You should. Maybe we can go
together.”
“I would like that, Mat ... although of course we must pay attention to
reality. The sisters will not let me leave until they judge me ready. But it is
pleasant to dream, isn’t it?”
“How long will it be until they think you enough of a woman that you can make
your own choices?” he said solemnly. “I heard that there are some students here
who’ve been being called ‘child’ for two decades or more.”
Aery’s face fell. “I ... I know ... And you’ll be far away by then. Do you see
yourself travelling? Or settling down? Do you ... do you see yourself with me?”
He touched her silky soft cheek and raised her eyes to his. “Travelling the
world, with a beautiful woman like you at my side? That sounds just about
perfect to me.” He leaned down and kissed her hungrily.
He could tell it was her first kiss, but Aery responded with clumsy
earnestness. She gave a little squeak when he started fondling her butt, but
she didn’t pull away until a harsh voice interrupted their fun.
“Aery. Gather your tools and what few wits you have, and report to the Mistress
of Novices.”
Aery jumped in his arms. Mat couldn’t tell if the red in her cheeks was from
anger or embarrassment, but she followed Faolain’s orders either way, rushing
from the room without a backwards glance.
Mat gave Faolain a chagrined smile as Aery left. “Spoilsport.”
She scowled at him, but that didn’t make her any less attractive. Faolain had
the darkest skin Mat had ever seen, as dark as good peat. Her black hair formed
a fuzzy halo around her face. Her breasts were large and round, as was her
bottom. Her brown eyes were full of demands, demands which Mat met with his
usual defiant grin.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble, Cauthon?” Faolain said, shaking her head
angrily. “I sometimes wonder why Sheriam wastes her time spanking these idiot
girls when she should be going straight to the source of the problem. A sound
paddling, preferably in public view, would soon put an end to your antics. I’d
have you incapable of sitting for days if it was up to me.”
Mat tried not to let his alarm show. That would be pretty bloody embarrassing,
come to think of it. And she could easily do it too. For the hundredth time he
wondered why the Creator had ever inflicted channelers on the world. “Been
thinking about my bottom a lot have you, Faolain?” he said, hoping his grin
didn’t look too forced. “I’m flattered.”
If she blushed, he couldn’t tell. Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be.”
“You know, no matter how mad you get I just can’t seem to get tired of you.
Maybe it’s because you’re so pretty.”
“Don’t play your games with me, Cauthon. I’m no blushing maiden.”
He smiled wickedly. “Well ... not a blushing one at least.” The way Faolain’s
eyes went wide and her mouth fell open made him think he’d guessed right. Most
of the girls here in the Tower were, or had been, come to think of it. Maybe
even the women too. “I could help you, you know. You might be a bit less
prickly if you took some time to ... relax. And I promise I could make you ...
relax.”
She tried to slap his face, but Mat danced nimbly backwards, laughing.
“You—you ... How dare you!? I would never ... do that with you!”
He sighed dramatically. “Such a shame. A body like that ... umph, I bet you’d
be brilliant at it too.” He caressed her imaginary form with his hands as he
retreated from the courtyard, grinning roguishly, and leaving Faolain to stew
in silent apoplexy.
Still, her threats were enough to make Mat tone down his efforts for the
remainder of the day. It had been years since anyone had spanked him, and he
wasn’t eager to break that record. A bit of playful slapping was one thing, but
this business of grown adults paddling each other’s bottoms by way of
punishment for supposed wrongdoing was just bizarre. Aes Sedai: they can’t even
do punishment in a normal way.
Once again he retired early. An hour spent throwing dice by himself was enough
to make him bored enough that he thought he might sleep. At least that would be
better than lying awake again staring at the ceiling.
It must have been nearly midnight when the rattling of his doorhandle pulled
Mat out of a light doze. His hand slid towards the knife he kept under his
pillow. Mat hadn’t forgotten all those Darkfriends who’d tried to kill him and
Rand during their trip to Caemlyn.
The small figure who slipped inside paused to let their eyes adjust to the
darkness of Mat’s room. He’d left the window unshuttered as usual, preferring
to be able to see freedom, even if he couldn’t reach it. The light of the full
moon touched her white dress as she came hesitantly closer. When it turned her
pale hair to silver, he knew her.
“Hello, Aery,” Mat said, pleased with himself. “What brings you here at this
hour?” As if he didn’t know.
She shifted her feet nervously. “I—I couldn’t sleep. I ... Well, I couldn’t get
comfortable, and I kept thinking about stuff. And about you, and the things you
said.”
Mat sat up in bed. “I hope that Sheriam didn’t hurt you.”
“Oh, I don’t want to even talk about it,” Aery lied. She sat down gingerly on
the edge of his soft mattress. “It’s horrible. They treat me like I’m still a
baby.”
“Even though you’re a grown woman, as anyone who looked at you couldn’t help
but see,” Mat commiserated.
“Well, I know that. And you ... you ...”
“I know it too.” He took her hand, and she squeezed his in response.
“Good ... that makes me feel a little better,” Aery whispered. “It is strange
to be thrilled and yet shivering at the same time ... I feel free, it’s like I
am flying.”
“That’s just the start of it. There’s so much more ... Would you like me to
show you?”
He heard her swallow. “Do you like me, Mat? As a woman I mean.”
“Of course! You are beautiful, Aery.”
She giggled. “But, I mean ... I—I know that it might be difficult to foresee
what is to happen in the future, but ... do you have any plans? Once this is
all over ... and we are free to do what we will.”
“I want to travel far away from Tar Valon, and see all the world has to offer,”
he said honestly. “I think you should do the same. And I think you should kiss
me.”
He took her by her narrow shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her roughly.
Aery’s lips were soft and pliant under his, and when she came up for air she
whispered, “I would like to be with you, Light willing, Mat ... I just ... I
just wanted to be sure you felt the same for me.”
He kissed her again, running his fingers through her silky hair. When he dared
to brush his hand across the little bud of her breast, Aery gasped in mingled
shock and pleasure.
“I want you so much,” Mat murmured, and felt her shiver.
“The thought of lying with a man frightens me a little, I must admit ...”
whispered Aery, “I ... do not have much experience with love, Mat. With your
urging I have become eager to experience many things ... and now I wish to
experience this. I ... I will show you my body, Mat ... and I hope it pleases
you. Would you ... would you let me stay with you this night. Will you show me
what true love consists of?”
Mat smiled happily as he watched Aery lift her dress up over her head. The
moonlight cast her slender frame in whites and blacks. Her little breasts, with
their stiff nipples, called out for his hands. Her long hair tumbled back down
her smooth back as she tossed her dress aside. She was a pretty one, no doubt
about it. He kicked the blankets aside, took her by her slim hips, and pulled
her into his lap.
Aery flinched when he touched her raw bottom, and Mat knew he’d have to let her
take charge. He set about motivating her do just that, taking one of her
nipples in his mouth, and sliding his fingers along the slick lips of her
pussy. Aery moaned under his ministrations, her hands resting idle on his
shoulders.
He had been stiff for some time when he judged her ready. Taking hold of Aery’s
hips as she knelt above him, he guided her over his rod and pulled her down,
slowly but surely impaling her on his eager cock.
Mat sighed in relief as he savoured the feel of Aery’s tight pussy clamping
around him. She whimpered as he entered her, and sometimes let out little gasps
on pain, but she didn’t try to stop him. When at last he was fully seated
inside her, Aery sighed and wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead
on his shoulder.
“That’s so strange,” she whispered. “But so nice too.”
“Try moving your hips up and down,” Mat murmured. “You’ll like it, trust me.”
She did. Her pussy was so tight it was almost painful, but each jerk of her
hips sent a thrill of pleasure shooting through Mat’s body. Aery rode him
slowly. Mindful of her bruises Mat restricted his mauling fingers to her
breasts, which Aery didn’t mind at all if the sounds she made were anything to
go by.
As pain faded and pleasure mounted, Aery sped up her pace. Mat had been
enjoying her efforts, but now he felt his climax approaching so he shifted his
focus to the top of her slit, rubbing it earnestly with his thumb. She was very
lightly-furred down there he noticed with a smile.
Aery ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him hungrily, but her kiss was
soon broken by the startled cry that burst from her lips. Mat thrust upwards as
best he could, eager to get what she had just gotten. Just a little more, a
little—yes! Aery’s eyes were even wider than normal, and she had a hand over
her own mouth. It was a pretty cute sight, and Mat grinned at it as he flooded
her young womb with his seed.
He lay back in bed with a dazed Aery still on top of him. She melted into his
arms, and rested her head on his chest.
“So that’s what it’s like ... Why isn’t it allowed? It’s so wonderful,” Aery
said happily.
“Aes Sedai just hate fun I guess,” said Mat.
“I don’t! I want to have fun, I want to be awed and terrified ... to feel
everything that my life has to offer me, good or bad. I want to feel the thrill
and the fear. Does that sound strange, Mat?”
“Not even a little bit.” Well, maybe the fear part. Mat had done fear; it
wasn’t worth much.
“You are kind, but ... Oh, I know it must sound strange to hear me say it ...
nevertheless, I want to experience everything I can.”
“Me too. Why don’t you sleep here tonight?” The Amyrlin wouldn’t approve at all
if Aery was caught out of the Novice Quarters at this hour, but that was kind
of the point, wasn’t it?
“I think I’d like that,” said Aery after a long pause.
Mat smiled, and pulled the covers up over them. As he drifted off to sleep he
wondered where Perrin, Rand and the rest of his friends were. Probably off
gallivanting in a tavern somewhere, he imagined. Trading stories of the Horn of
Valere for free mead. And never a thought spared for their old pal Mat, locked
up in an Aes Sedai prison. Well, it isn’t as I needed their help anyway, the
lazy summer hams. I can find my own way out of this mess. Let them fool around
all they want.
***** Tarcain Cut *****
CHAPTER 20: Tarcain Cut
 
As beautifully peaceful as the pristine blanket of snow that covered the
clearing was, it couldn’t dispel Rand’s feeling of unease. He closed his eyes
and rolled his shoulders, ignoring Red’s whicker. They had been encamped in and
around the disused mineshaft at Tarcain Cut for about five days now and the
Dragonsworn’s complaints had been growing louder. He wasn’t sure how much
longer he could keep them under control. He couldn’t keep his friends under
control either, but that didn’t worry him half so much. When he’d insisted on
going out alone the Shienarans had objected but followed his orders anyway.
Perrin, Anna, Elayne and Min had just ignored him and invited themselves along.
He’d at least been able to persuade them to stay back near the treeline, and
give him some privacy.
He wondered if the winter he’d been born in had been as cold as this one. The
Zandarakh Mountains loomed behind them, much as he imagined Dragonmount must
have loomed over Tam the day he’d found Rand laying in the snow and decided to
take him in and give him a home. The Blood Snow, they’d called that battle.
Rand wondered if this one would be given a name, or if it would just be
forgotten among the many battles to come. With or without him, those battles
would be fought. But if the prophecies could be believed, then they would be
lost if he fell here.
The Trollocs thought they were being stealthy. And by the standards of those
hulking monstrosities, they were. But no amount of stealth could hide a
Shadowspawn from him. Even with his eyes closed he felt them moving closer,
like an oily fire casting its heat upon his skin. Six of them, by his
reckoning. He rested his hand casually on the hilt of his scavenged sword, and
waited.
His would-be ambushers stayed close to the ground, using the shallow rise and
fall of the foothills to their advantage. They had shed their armour to reveal
bodies leaner than most Trollocs, if still large by human standards. White fur
covered them from head to heel, giving them a natural camouflage in the snowy
terrain. He had never seen Trollocs of that particular type before, but he knew
from Lan that there were many different tribes living in and around the Great
Blight. He watched them in his peripheral vision, balanced on the balls of his
feet and ready to draw. Unfolding the Fan to start, he thought, then Shake Dew
From the Branch out of the Leopard in High Grass stance. These Trollocs seemed
smarter than the others too. Instead of jumping Rand as soon as they were close
enough they waited for their entire party to get in range, then attacked as
one.
It did them no good though. The one directly behind him died first, when Rand’s
blade arced out of its sheath to slash down across the creatures neck and
chest. Surprise widened its already wide, cat-like eyes, and the twin daggers
that were the only weapons it was currently carrying fell from nerveless
fingers. Rand paid it little heed. He completed his swift turn, knees bent just
so, and charged at the others before they could recovered their poise. He had
the advantage of reach and put it to good use, aiming swift, powerful strikes
at the Trollocs, hitting their necks wherever possible but settling for any cut
that would maim so long as he could keep them on the back foot. It was not a
hard fight, as such things went. Lan pressed him harder in any one of their
practice bouts. Red blood soon stained Shadowspawn hides and pristine snow
alike.
Rand heard a distant roar. There were only two Trollocs left by then. One stood
snarling before him, the other turned and ran. But not towards the distant army
they had been sent from. He ran towards Red. The stallion whinnied, and pulled
uselessly against the stake his lead was tethered to. Rand gave the Trolloc in
his way a snarl of his own, and charged. The creature didn’t try to strike at
him but instead focused on deflecting his blows. It was trying to delay him
long enough to allow its partner to kill his horse and strand him here, Rand
realised. Definitely smarter than normal, burn them.
It might have worked too, if a pair of arrows had not thudded into the
Trolloc’s chest. Rand didn’t need to see the fletchings to know who they
belonged to.
The final Trolloc said something in its harsh language. Rand didn’t know what
its last words meant, and didn’t care. The creature was not without skill, but
using knives against a sword was a good way to get yourself killed. It managed
to parry the Falcon Stoops by locking both blades together and holding them
overhead, but the effort was enough to drive it to its knees. From there a
simple thrust to the heart was enough to finish it.
When he turned away from the dead Trolloc he saw a black tide crashing over the
snowy plain. The Shadowspawn had gathered, just as he hoped they would. With
their assassins having failed, they resorted to what they knew best.
Overwhelming brutality. At the sight of their distant horde he felt a fear and
a nervousness that he had been blessedly devoid of during his swordplay. There
were a lot of them. Far too many to fight, even with the One Power, even if he
could have channelled it reliably.
He stood and watched them draw nearer, his blade dripping red at his side. They
were hollering, snarling things. A terrible mish-mash of human and animal
parts. Some part of him still wanted to wait for them to reach him. He could
dance the forms amidst that dark horde, safe in the knowledge that one or
another of them would cut him down eventually. It would spare him the madness
and the rotting. He wouldn’t become the Kinslayer, or break the world again.
His friends would be spared that terrible fate ... only to be delivered into
another one. As much a monster as the Dragon Reborn was, he had to believe that
the Dark One was even worse.
Someone was yelling something from the treeline, but they were too far away for
Rand to hear clearly. He could guess their intent though. And they were right.
He wiped his sword clean on the fur of a dead Trolloc, and turned towards his
still-nervous horse.
The Trollocs were still far out of bow range when Rand began galloping back
towards the camp. They were fast enough to keep up with horses over short
distances, but would tire long before Red did. Rand hoped their hatred of him
would drive them to push themselves past their limits to catch up. If they were
exhausted when they ran into his army’s defences it would make things easier.
His friends were waiting where he had left them, each wrapped in thick fur
cloaks and woollen coats akin to his own, though minus the armour Rand was
still getting used to wearing. Min and Elayne gave him worried looks as they
turned their horses back toward camp, but Perrin and Anna looked as calm and as
unconcerned as a Warder might. Shadowspawn trying to kill us again. Just
another day. How did it come to this? Rand thought, sadly.
“Not too fast,” Perrin reminded him, as he gave Stepper a kick. “If they think
they can catch up, they’ll keep running. There’s less chance of them noticing
the traps that way.”
Rand nodded. “I know.” They’d spent the best part of four days preparing the
ground, under Lan, Uno and Geko’s instructions. The frozen ground had resisted
them of course, but they had managed the job nonetheless, helped in no small
part by Verin’s channelling and Loial’s huge bulk. Rand hadn’t done any digging
himself, though not for any disdain of the work. He’d been preoccupied with
trying to deflect Kellis’ questions about why they were digging in here of all
places, when there were richer towns they could “bring to the Light”. They
cantered past the scorched circle of trees that were the result of his most
recent effort to cow the “Dragonsworn” bandit. At least that part was over
with. Now the real unpleasantness could begin.
The pits and stakes and trip-wires they manoeuvred around were reason enough to
go carefully, checking and double-checking the path they had memorised earlier,
but it was the line of archers ahead that made Rand’s shoulders tighten. The
Dragonsworn hadn’t struck at him or his friends, but he still couldn’t shake
the feeling that it was only a matter of time. If they loosed a flight of
arrows at the five riders, they might be dead before they even realised they
were under attack. The image of his friends laying dead in the snow drove Rand
to snatch at saidin, and for once the Power came to him when called. Along with
the rush of pleasure that always came when he touched the Source, there was
that ever-present and sick-making taint. More importantly the Power would allow
him to deflect any arrows that came their way, though none of the nervous-
looking men ahead, whose faces now showed clearly in his enhanced eyesight,
even had their bows raised. They could hear the shouting though, and must
surely wonder what was causing it. Rand hadn’t warned them what they would be
facing here, fearing they would all run away before the battle was joined if he
had.
He paused briefly as he rode abreast of their line. “There is nothing behind us
but enemies,” he told them grimly. “Fire on them as soon as they are in range.”
They were well-stocked with arrows, if not with skilled archers. But even
firing blindly into a horde that size you’d be bound to hit something. He’d
have given much for a few hundred Theren men at his back right then. “Once they
pass the first of the pits, cease fire and withdraw to the second line.”
“Alright ...” said the nearest man, with uncertainty written all over his
bearded face. Rand didn’t wait for more. He kicked his horse and began
threading his way through the forested foothills of the Zandarakh Mountains,
towards the place he had brought them all. A place where they might all soon
die, if his plans proved as foolish as he feared they were.
Rand looked back when he heard the first Trolloc pursuer’s howls of bloodlust
turn to howls of pain. It had charged right into the covered pit, impaling
itself on the sharpened stakes within. The Trollocs that had been right on its
heels didn’t have time to stop before they too fell to what Rand hoped would be
their deaths. The Trollocs farther back managed to halt their momentum before
falling into the pit, all save one who was pushed forward by the press of
bodies behind him.
Shocked curses rang out from the Dragonsworn. “What in the Light is that!?”
someone cried in a high-pitched voice. The Trollocs snarled and roared at the
sight of the human defenders. Several Dragonsworn cringed backwards, looking
ready to run already. This would almost certainly be the first time any of they
had seen a Trolloc.
Rand had hardened his heart against those men. He could not forgive the things
they had done, and that they had done them in his name just made his disdain
personal. But still ... He recalled the first time he had faced a Trolloc, not
so very long ago. He hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory then either.
“Those are Trollocs,” he shouted. “Beast-men in service to the Shadow. They may
look fierce, but they die like any other animal. Do not fear them, make them
fear you! Fire!”
Arrows shot forth from behind the wall of stakes the Dragonsworn stood behind.
Most, if not all, had loosed their first shaft and now reached for a second.
The arrows found purchase in the massed Shadowspawn bodies, doing enough damage
to draw cries of pain from the creatures even where they did not strike
fatally. The sound of the Trollocs’ pain seemed to embolden the humans. As Rand
watched, the most reluctant ones reached for their own arrows, perhaps fearing
to shame themselves in front of their fellows. Or perhaps that ta’veren thing
Loial kept talking about was working in his favour for once.
When Rand turned his face away from the skirmish, he found Perrin sitting
Stepper’s back with his longbow in hand and a predator’s eagerness in his
golden eyes. Rand caught his friend’s eye and shook his head slightly. There
would be no point to having brought the Dragonsworn with them, if Rand, Perrin
and the rest took the front lines, much as Rand could understand the impulse.
Perrin clenched his teeth together, but slung his bow back over his shoulder.
Together, they rode on, chased by the fearful cries of humans and Trollocs
both.
The Dragonsworn’s defensive lines, and the fortified camp beyond them, were
haphazard in comparison to that of the Shienarans. Uno had deployed his men at
the mouth of the narrow crevice that led to the mine that gave Tarcain Cut its
name, and Ayame had scaled the sheer rock to plant the Dragon banner high up
where everyone could see. The Shienaran armsmen—and armswoman—were clad head to
heel in plate steel, with only their faces exposed in keeping with the laws of
their homeland. Those laws were intended to prevent Myrddraal from infiltrating
their fortress cities, as were the laws that required the streets to be well-
lit at night. On arriving at the mine, Uno had immediately ordered torches to
be lit and maintained for at least fifty feet down its shaft. They all knew it
wouldn’t be enough to stop the Myrddraal from getting in that way, and keeping
the whole mine lit was beyond them, but at least if the Fades tried to attack
from the rear they would be forewarned and have time to prepare. The Shienarans
themselves wouldn’t be fighting on the front lines, at least not yet. Rand had
ordered them to hold here at the inner camp. The Dragonsworn would bear the
brunt of the early fighting.
The steel line parted to allow Rand and the others entry. Uno saluted as soon
as Rand approached, giving him a once over as he did so. The man’s reluctance
to curse when speaking to Rand had been pushed to its limits when Rand had
insisted on going out and playing the lure. After satisfying himself that Rand
had taken no hurt he said, “I know those howls. Alls ready here, my Lord
Dragon. How are these bloo-ah, Dragonsworn looking?”
“Nervous,” Rand said. He dismounted and handed his reins to Vara. He still
didn’t quite understand her or the other refugees’ reasons for staying but he
was grateful for the help they offered. Saeri and the other two led his
friends’ horses off towards the makeshift stable.
“Far too nervous, for my liking,” Elayne added. Her red-gold curls peeked out
from within the cavern of her fur-lined hood, and the cold reddened her fair
cheeks. “Perhaps I might bolster their courage with a display of saidar.”
“Front lines are too spread out to defend with these numbers, my Lady,” Uno
grouched. They had had this conversation before. “Let those goat-sniffing
skirmishers do their job. The time to draw a line in the bloody dirt will come
soon enough.”
Rand didn’t mind repeating himself. He knew it wasn’t the plan itself that
troubled Elayne but the idea of leaving people to die while she sat back and
did nothing. She was too brave for her own good that one. “There aren’t enough
reliable people in this makeshift army,” he said quietly. “We’d have to send
others with you—or anyone else who went out—to make sure our friends out there
didn’t get up to no good. And then who would defend the camp? Once the Trollocs
reach the fourth line we’ll bring our best weapons out. Until then we should
let the Dragonsworn do what they claim to have sworn to do.”
When Elayne spoke it was with an odd reluctance. “Rand. Aren’t you essentially
using them as arrow fodder?”
He found himself unable to meet her eye. Yes, was what he should have said. It
was the honest answer after all. But for some reason he was loathe to have her
think ill of him. Anna was frowning at her feet, while Perrin stood looking out
over the surrounding camp, ignoring the conversation entirely.
“Better they fight against the Trollocs here, regardless of what happens to
them, than roam the country raiding some poor villages,” Min put in, sounding
just as reluctant as Elayne.
Elayne put a hand on his arm. “Oh, I don’t disapprove. Mother would likely have
these men hanged if they were brought to trial before her. I’m just a little
surprised. It’s the kind of thing Queen Melasune would have done.” Rand had no
idea who that was, but he was more heartened by Elayne’s approval than he
expected to be. Min was visibly relieved to have Elayne’s agreement.
Morrigan less so. “Well aren’t we friendly,” she said as she marched out to the
camp’s perimeter to meet them. She was using her spear as a walking staff, and
Loial, Lan and Hurin trailed her. They were all armed, even the Ogier. Loial
had crafted himself a massive quarterstaff of sung wood to replace the one he
had lost back in Cairhien. Rand was glad of it, and sorry to have put his
gentle friend in a position that it was necessary.
Elayne jerked her hand away from Rand’s arm in response to Morrigan’s words.
Pinch-lipped, she refused to look at the wilder.
Morrigan turned her ire on Rand. Her amber eyes were hot with conflicting
emotions. “So you’ve gone and done it. We could have just fled, but you had to
go and dare them to come for you. And now I’m stuck here too. You’ve left us no
choices!”
“I’m sorry, Morrigan,” Rand said. He was too, not for having decided to fight
the horde ravaging Falmerden. There was no real choice there, so far as Rand
was concerned. No, he was sorry for having gotten her involved in this mess at
all. I should have made her leave, burn me, he told himself. Somehow I should
have. “I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, but now it’s too late for you to
leave.”
“I could leave any time I want!” Morrigan snapped. “Just as I could’ve all
these past weeks.” She stabbed the butt of her spear into the earth. “I don’t
know who the bigger fool is here, me or you.”
“I could solve that riddle for you,” he heard Min mutter under her breath. She
was standing supportively at Elayne’s side, and scowling at Morrigan, who
narrowed her eyes in response.
Loial’s ears had wilted and his steps slowed at the first sign of an argument.
He hung back from the gathered party, an equally uncomfortable Hurin at his
side.
Lan however had no time for such nonsense. “Did you get a count of the Trolloc
numbers, sheepherder?”
Rand was glad to change the subject, even if the new subject was Shadowspawn.
“Nothing I’d be willing to guess at. More were still coming over the hills when
I left. But there are more of them than there are us, that much I can be
certain of. A lot more.”
Lan nodded. “Their numbers won’t tell as much as you might fear. The terrain
favours us.” His icy-blue eyes fastened on Rand’s. “Go put your helmet on.
There is almost no point to wearing armour if you are going to leave your most
vulnerable parts exposed.”
Rand grimaced. He didn’t like wearing the armour at all, but he especially
disliked the helmet. Still, he knew Lan was right.
He’d barely taken a step towards his tent before Hurin piped up. “I’ll get it
for you, Lord Rand. Don’t you waste your time on that.”
“It’s fine, Hurin,” Rand began, but the sniffer would hear nothing of it. He
rushed off, reassurances fading along with his hurried footsteps.
Perrin was still staring out beyond the steel-clad sentries. “I can hear them
screaming,” she whispered, and a shuddered went through his thick shoulders.
Anna went and put her arm around him. Rand held back. He hadn’t the heart to
ask who the screamers were.
It didn’t take much longer than an hour for the outer lines of defence to fall.
But that wasn’t a defeat, as they hadn’t been intended to hold the Trollocs off
but rather to whittle down their numbers a little before the battle began in
earnest.
“We’re trapped!” Kellis snarled. “The mine’s a one-way trip and these things
have us surrounded. I told you this was a dumb place to set up.” The
Dragonsworn who had come with him looked as upset as their leader.
Cold-eyed Mendao already had his sword in hand. He looked ready, as did the
other five Shienarans in his escort. Rand ignored the bandit’s insults. The man
was brave, whatever his other faults. And brave men should fight the Shadow, in
Rand’s estimation.
“Running wouldn’t do much good anyway. They’d just follow,” he said, keeping
his voice as calm as he could. “Hold the lines, Kellis. So long as the
Dragonsworn can stop those things from getting to me and the other channelers
we’ll be able to rain fire upon them. We can win his battle, and save Falmerden
from the Shadow. You’ll be heroes. As long as you hold.” None of the
Dragonsworn looked particularly heartened by that idea.
Kellis’ eyes narrowed. “Did you know this would happen?”
“I’m the Dragon Reborn,” Rand said blandly. “That I’d have to fight the Shadow
is pretty much inevitable. We both knew this would happen eventually, didn’t
we?” Kellis gave no answer, but his hand drifted towards the hilt of his sword.
Rand hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the man. It would make it harder to keep
the Dragonsworn organised.
He made a quick survey of the battle. The main line of defence had been set up
in a great arc surrounding the mouth of the mine. A deep trench, staked, with a
low wall of earth above it shielded the Dragonsworn spearmen, while behind them
archers rained death on the milling Trolloc horde. The humans fought
frantically and many lay dead already, though they had at least taken some
Trollocs with them. It all looked oddly small from his vantage. The defensive
line and the attackers beyond it were in visual range of the cave mouth, just
as they had arranged.
Rand spotted a particularly aggressive clump of Trollocs. They were pulling the
stakes out of the pit, ignoring as best they could the spears and arrows that
stabbed down at them. When one Trolloc fell another stepped up to take its
place. Saidin was in him. He hadn’t released it this past hour, for fear he
wouldn’t be able to get it back again when he needed it. Rand concentrated on
that clump of Trollocs and willed fire upon them. To his eye red ropes appeared
as if from nowhere. He tangled them together in a way he barely understood and
threw them down among the Trollocs. It was as if someone had thrown a giant
lantern at them. Fire blossomed all around, killing many Trollocs instantly and
sending others screaming back into the horde with flames dancing across their
hides.
The Dragonsworn defenders nearby reeled back as too, looking almost as though
they would flee as well. If only they’d had somewhere they could flee to. “Your
men looked unnerved, Kellis,” said Rand. The void made him distant, and also
made him aware of the man’s every movement. “You should go and reassure them.
Make sure they hold the line, and we might all survive this.”
Kellis stepped back from Rand’s stare, and jerked his hand away from his hilt.
“Aye. Those useless fucks will hold if I have to whip them until they do,” he
said sourly.
Rand waited until Kellis had stalked off before turning back to camp. “I need
to see Min,” he muttered. His armsmen guarded his back as he went, shields
showing the black hawk of Shienar up and ready. Trollocs rarely used bows, and
even when they did they were reputedly poor with them, but it was best not to
take chances. They weren’t noted for stealth either, but those cat-like ones
from earlier might have managed to sneak up on someone who didn’t have that odd
extra sense that came with the One Power. Who could say for certain that there
weren’t any ranged specialists among them?
They’d have no-one as good as Perrin or Anna though, that much Rand was certain
of. The two Thereners stood far back from the battle, with a dozen quivers each
arranged at their feet. By the time one of their arrows fell among the horde
they had another two in the air.
Verin, Elayne and Morrigan were waiting at the narrow entrance to their camp. A
second set of Shienarans were arrayed before them, and Tomas leaned against the
grey stone wall at Verin’s side.
“Just remember to leave yourself open to saidar, and to leave emotion for later
dear. You’ll be fine, if you simply do as you were taught,” Verin was saying to
Elayne.
The Daughter-Heir had a focused look in her so very blue eyes. “I won’t fail,
Verin Sedai.”
“Good girl,” said Verin with a small smile.
Morrigan was trying to pretend she hadn’t been listening to Verin’s
instructions, but Rand doubted she had fooled the Aes Sedai. After Masuto and
Han had parted their line to let him through, Rand paused at Morrigan’s side
and took hold of her hand.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Morrigan, but will you help with the
channelling?” he whispered. “There are a lot of Trollocs out there. We might
not be able to stop them without you.”
She looked at him as though he had struck her. And when she spoke her voice was
tortured. “I can’t. I don’t know how, and I don’t want—” She shot a glance
Verin’s way, looking almost fearful. “I want ... Oh, burn you Rand. I shouldn’t
be here. I don’t belong. I’m ...”
He squeezed her hand. “I think you belong. I’d miss you if you left. But it’s
your choice, I can’t force you. And I need to go talk to Min now.”
She stared at him for a moment, then pulled her gaze away. “Min, I see. She’s
such a nice girl, isn’t she? Not at all like me.”
Impulsively he leaned in and kissed her cold cheek. “You can be nice when you
want to be,” he breathed. “Very nice.”
Morrigan stuck a nice elbow in his ribs in response, and Rand beat a hasty
retreat.
He passed Saeri on his way. She was carrying a pitcher of water for those at
the front but drew up short when she saw Morrigan strike him. Sudden wariness
clouded her sky-blue eyes. Thankfully it was quickly replaced by relief when
Rand only grinned at Morrigan’s response. “Keep up the good work,” Rand said to
her in passing.
He found Min where he had expected to find her, in the tent she shared with
Elayne. She sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in her shapeless furs, with
the Horn of Valere uncovered in her lap. She traced the silver script inlaid on
its bell with one finger as she chewed her lip nervously.
The words were written in the Old Tongue, but Rand knew their translation. The
grave is no bar to my call. Except it had been, when last Min had tried to use
the Horn to summon the Heroes back from their graves to fight the Shadow.
“What if I broke it?” she said forlornly.
He wasn’t sure if her words were intended for him—she hadn’t looked up when he
entered—but he answered them anyway. “You didn’t. Whatever went wrong last
time, it wasn’t your fault. And if it doesn’t work now, that won’t be your
fault either.”
The morose quirk of her lips was a poor substitute for her usual grins.
“Thanks, Rand. Is it time then?”
“It is.”
They had discussed it already. So far as the Shadow was aware, Rand himself had
sounded the Horn of Valere at Falme, binding the Horn to him and making it
useless to anyone else for as long as he lived. Only a few people knew that Min
was the real Hornsounder. Rand thought it best that that remain a secret, since
the Hornsounder would likely be targeted by the Shadow. Since Rand was already
a target it made little difference to him, but if they went after Min ... The
very thought of it horrified him. Thankfully Min was a sensible girl, and had
agreed that it was best to keep the truth to themselves. It had been her idea
to sound it here, in private, where no-one else could see.
Min sucked in a breath and clambered to her feet. “Well there’s no point
sitting around mooning over what might be, now is there? Are you ready?” The
teasing grin she gave in response to his nod was more in keeping with her usual
good cheer. “You know, since you’re one of them, this trumpet might make you
come running when I call too. Have you ever thought about that?”
Rand didn’t like to talk about what they had seen at Falme, or what the Heroes
had said of him. Besides, he hadn’t really felt that affected by it then.
Except for that weird feeling of remembering things and people that he
shouldn’t have known. “I don’t think it works that way,” he said solemnly. “And
besides, you don’t need the Horn for that. If you ever need me I’ll be there.
We’re friends after all.”
She smiled knowingly. “Alright then, ‘friend’. One army of invincible undead
heroes, coming right up. I hope.”
Min took a deep breath, raised the Horn to her lips, and blew. Rand shivered
involuntarily at that clear, and familiar note. The sound seemed to come from
all around, echoing in the narrow confines of Tarcain Cut. Min blew until she
ran out of breath, then stared wide-eyed around them, waiting.
When no fog arose, and no ghosts appeared, Min blew the Horn again, almost
angrily this time. Rand waited with her, and tried not to let his rising
despair show. Again that golden note rang out, and again it left behind only a
lonely echo.
“Fuck!” Min swore. Rand’s brows shot up of their own volition. He’d never heard
her curse like that before.
“It’s alright. We knew this might happen. There are other plans,” he said
reassuringly.
She scowled at the Horn. “Dangerous plans. This would have saved everyone. Why
won’t it work!? Bloody thing is as useless as my bloody visions.”
Rand had no answer to that. “Keep trying every once in a while. Maybe ... maybe
they’re busy?” It sounded weak even to his own ears, and the flat look Min gave
him spoke volumes. He gave her a chagrined half-smile in response and fled the
tent.
Lan had planted himself in the entry to the mineshaft as soon as the battle
began. He stood there still, clad in his colour-shifting cloak and scaled
armour. Rand suspected the Warder had not moved at inch in all that time, but
he turned to look at Rand when he emerged from Min’s tent. Rand shook his head
grimly.
If he was disappointed or concerned, Lan showed no sign of it. “Best get back
to the front, sheepherder. You’ll be needed. And not for your sword.”
Rand took Lan’s advice, but not before heading back to his tent to fetch his
bow and quiver. He knew that hadn’t been the weapon Lan was suggesting he use
but he could still launch a few arrows with it while he channelled. Every
little bit would help.
While he was slinging his bow over his shoulder, the tentflaps opened again and
Morrigan stepped in.
“Morrigan. I’m surprised to see you here. You’ve been avoiding being alone with
me for a while now. Is something wrong?”
She looked embarrassed. “No more than you already know of. I, ah. I am ... not
certain what to say. I warned you, did I not? I told you that this was a
weakness that was driving me mad. And yet you insisted.”
“Do you really want to stop? To end this thing between us?” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she answered, with unflattering haste. “No,” she added, very
confusingly. “I do, and yet ... I cannot.” She sighed. “’Tis all so ...
unexpected. I have no experience with any of it. And yet I find myself wanting
it. Hungering for it. For you. That is not right, is it? That is not how a
normal woman acts? I can see it in your eyes. Release me. Tell me that you wish
to end this. Make me believe you and I ... will be grateful.”
He shook his head in wonder. “You are insane. Completely insane.” He cocked his
head in consideration. “It’s so nice we have that in common,” he added, with a
sigh.
She looked stricken. “Well, if I am, ‘tis because you make me so.”
Rand found himself smiling. “I don’t want to end this, Morrigan. I’m sorry, but
I can’t help you to believe otherwise.”
“You will regret this. And so will I,” she sulked. “And ... perhaps that is how
it must be.”
Morrigan took a deep breath, gathered herself, then declared solemnly. “I have
something for you.”
“What do you mean?”
Her solemnity didn’t last long. She shook her head in scorn. “I mean that I
have a gift for you. ‘Tis a ring.” She raised a hand warningly. “Now, before
you get any foolish notions, let me explain. A ... friend once gave me a
similar ring because it would allow her to find me no matter where I went, in
case I was captured by outsiders. I studied it and figured out how to make one
of my own. Now, I will be able to find whoever wears it instead.”
“I'm glad to see you care.”
Morrigan stiffened. “’Tis not given out of sentimentality,” she insisted. “I
believe you are too important to risk. If you were lost again, this ring would
allow the rest of us to find you quickly.”
“It sounds like something Moiraine once did with a coin she gave me.”
She crossed her arms, looking hurt. “You think it a trap? If you think the ring
is laced with a deadly poison, or worse, then refuse it. Perhaps ‘twas foolish
of me to offer it.”
Rand raised his hands placatingly. “That’s not what I meant. So you’re giving
it to me simply out of practicality?”
“I ... have no desire to see us part company so soon,” she said, sounding oddly
uncertain. “Not unless we wish to, that is. Do not read more into it than is
there. You have given me a gift, certainly this is not so very different, is
it?”
He grinned. She was cute when she was being all stiff and embarrassed.
Her anger flared, she gripped her own elbows and narrowed her eyes at him. “Now
you are mocking me! Do you wish the ring or not? I am tempted to simply keep
it.” Morrigan’s anger was a swift-burning thing, by the time she finished
talking she almost sounded sulky.
He smiled at her. “I wish it very much. Thank you for the gift.”
Relief lightened her face. “You ... are welcome. Perhaps it will be useful some
day.”
The ring she dropped into his cupped palm was a heavy band of intricately-
worked silver, set with a ruby. The smooth, round stone made him think of a
single drop of blood fallen on the snow. The Blood Snow. Smiling, he slid it
onto the ring finger of his right hand. It was a perfect fit. Morrigan watched
him in silence, and when he cupped her cheek in his palm and lowered his mouth
to hers she did not resist. He wished there was time to show her what she meant
to him, but he could hear duty calling.
“I have to get back to the battle,” he apologised. “Will you come with me? Your
Power could help a lot.”
Her cheeks coloured and she avoided his eyes. “I can’t. You know my channelling
is erratic. This kind of fighting ... I shouldn’t be involved in it.”
Rand frowned. He was more than familiar with the difficulties of channelling
the One Power untrained. But that was no excuse not to try, not when lives were
at stake. He didn’t say any of that to her though. He didn’t want to hurt her,
or damage the bridge they had so recently built.
He kept his tone as polite as he could. “Well, it’s your choice of course. No-
one should make you do something you don’t want to. But I really have to go,
I’ll see you later.”
An unholy cacophony of sound awaited Rand when he rejoined the fight. He could
see Kellis in the distance, running back and forth among the Dragonsworn and
shouting encouragement. Arrows fell like rain among the Trolloc attackers,
punctuated by the occasional bolt of lightning. Whenever they clustered
together and looked likely to break through, fire soon exploded in their midst.
But out beyond their lines waited a milling horde with seemingly no end. Elayne
opened her mouth at the sight of him, but she was silenced by a cautioning word
from Verin, and turned her attention back to her task. Sighing, Rand marched
over to join the other channelers in their bombardment.
As a boy Rand had always imagined battles to be brief things. A few minutes of
clashing swords and then the heroes won and the villains were smited. As the
light faded on the first day of the battle at Tarcain Cut he was struck by a
new realisation. Battles were tiresome. He felt numb in both mind and body.
Excitement had long since faded, taking with it fear. Even the horror and guilt
he had felt as the Dragonsworn bodies began to pile up seemed a distant thing.
There had been Draghkar among the horde at first, but they had greatly
underestimated the range of a Theren longbow, and the accuracy of Elayne’s
lightning bolts. He had grinned with his friends when they brought the winged
Shadowspawn crashing to the ground, and slapped shoulders in congratulations.
Now he watched, grim-faced and dull-eyed as the Trollocs tested their lines
again. He channelled, though the act had started to become oddly painful, and
the Trollocs died. Again. How many times was that now? He’d long since stopped
counting. The world seemed far away, and he didn’t think it was because of the
void this time.
“My Lord?” a timid voice said.
He looked towards it, but it took him several blinks to realise it was Saeri.
She was holding a cup of water out to him. How long had she been standing
there? “Thank you,” he said dully as he took it from her. There was concern in
her big blue eyes. A sweet child like that should never have had to suffer as
she had suffered. He quaffed the water and turned back to the fight, rock-hard
Theren stubbornness driving away his fatigue. Saeri shouldn’t have suffered,
and no-one like her ever would again if Rand could help it.
He channelled and a bolt of lightning crackled down from the dull clouds to
send Trollocs careening through the air. Those Shadowspawn nearby shied away,
shooting fearful looks towards the mineshaft Rand guarded, then equally fearful
ones back towards the horde behind them. That was where the Myrddraal would be,
Rand knew. Commanding from the rear and whipping the more cowardly Trollocs
into action.
Sweat trickled down Rand’s face despite the cold. There was an odd, prickly
sensation, as though thousands of tiny needles were poking him. His shoulders
slumped and he rubbed at his arms in a futile effort to make the prickling
stop. Out among the churned up mud of the Dragonsworn camp he could see Kellis
Slone looking his way, but the man’s face was shadowed by twilight. Rand
snorted softly, bitterly. He wondered which enemy Kellis feared more, the once
in front or the one behind. The Myrddraal and I have much in common, thought
the newly-crowned Dragon Reborn. We’re both monsters who rule by fear.
“You need to stop,” said Verin. A tired and worried Elayne was with her, and
Morrigan had dragged herself out of her tent at last. Saeri went and took the
older girl’s hand, causing Morrigan to clench her teeth and look stricken.
“I can’t stop,” said Rand exhaustedly. “I can’t stop until I am stopped. Falme
saw to that.”
Verin tutted. “Listen to me, Rand. You need to stop channelling or you risk
burning yourself out. No-one can channel continuously, especially not when
their body is exhausted. If you don’t stop now your famed destiny, Dragon
Reborn, will be simply to die in a ditch somewhere. By your own hand, if you’re
lucky. And all the world will die with you.”
“I stopped nearly an hour ago,” Elayne added. “I would have liked to help more,
but one must be sensible in these situations. You are sensible, aren’t you
Rand? I’d hate to think otherwise.”
He sighed. “Burned out. Like Gentled? That ... I can’t afford that.”
“Good man,” Elayne said. She took hold of his sleeve and tugged him gently
towards her. “Come back to the inner camp. You need to eat some food and get
some rest. The soldiers will have to hold without you for a while.”
Rand had been stumbling after her, lulled by the Daughter-Heir’s soft voice,
but now he pulled up. “They can’t. They’ve been fighting in shifts but they’re
tired too. And frightened. And they’ve taken too many casualties. Without
channelling support the Trollocs will overrun us. And then spread all over
Falmerden.”
“Oh, how tragic that would be,” Morrigan mocked. Elayne scowled at her, and
opened her mouth to say something, but the wilder’s next words silenced her.
“I’ll do it. Your lovable bandits will have their channeler while you rest,
Rand. Burn me for an utter and complete madwoman for having stayed to witness
this suicidal stupidity. But here I am. That leaves me no choice, doesn’t it?
Of course ‘tis so. Anyone could see it.” Her voice was getting more frantic the
longer she went on, and she had crossed her arms so firmly she seemed to be
trying to crush her own ribs. “May you catch a pox so terrible your manhood
withers to half its size, Rand al’Thor. May you become scarred and ugly. And
short! I hate you!”
Rand smiled tiredly. “Thank you, Morrigan. I’ll try to get back soon. Don’t
push yourself too hard, it could be dangerous for you too.”
Morrigan turned her back to him and dashed a hand angrily across her eyes.
“Leave me be.”
Elayne shook her head, then took hold of Rand’s arm and put it around her
shoulders. He lent on her as they shuffled past the line of Shienarans. Uno had
kept half of them back here at all times, under Geko’s command, but the others
he had led on sorties throughout the day. They had struck wherever the
Dragonsworn had seemed to be wavering, and even afoot the plate armoured
lancers had proved a match for any Trolloc. Thankfully there had been no
injuries. If the Dragonsworn were overrun the Shienarans would need to hold
this narrow passage alone.
Beyond the Shienarans Min was bandaging Anna’s bleeding hands. Even her
callused fingers hadn’t been proof against continual archery like that. Perrin
had fared no better either. They’d run out of arrows, gone to fetch more, then
run out of those. Over and over. But the Trollocs kept coming. Rand hadn’t seen
Min since the Horn failed to summon the Heroes, but he had heard her sound it
again at least once an hour. It had been a futile effort, but it seemed she had
been keeping herself busy in between attempts.
Neither she nor the refugees from Nethara had ventured out to help the injured
Dragonsworn though. They had been left to tend to their own.
Farther into the camp Lan still stood his vigil. The Fades hadn’t attempted an
attack from the mine, but Uno and he both thought it was only a matter of time.
“Should I fetch anything, my Lady?” said Saeri. Rand hadn’t realised the girl
had trailed them.
“I think there is still some of that stew that Vara made. A bowl of that would
do him good.”
“’Tis so. I shall return with it forthwith,” Saeri responded, before hurrying
off.
Elayne grimaced slightly. “You really should have spoken to her about that,
Rand.”
“Why is it my job?” he sighed. “And why do you think she would have listened to
me anyway?”
“You still have much to learn,” she said. “But this is not the time. When the
Shadowspawn have been defeated we must find some time to talk, just you and I.
Would you like that?” She watched him carefully, waiting as though his answer
was important or in doubt.
Rand didn’t see why it should be so. She had given him good advice; it was only
natural that he’d want to hear her out. “Of course I would. My Lady. Um, Elayne
even.”
She gave a small sigh. “Well it’s progress at least. And the first bit of
advice I shall give is this: eat everything Saeri brings you, drink some water
and get some sleep. This battle is far from over.” She steered him towards his
tent, and Rand was quite happy to let her. He suspected he would be out as soon
as his head touched the pillow.
***** Black Blades in the Night *****
CHAPTER 21: Black Blades in the Night
 
“Battles always stink,” Hurin said, with a disgusted look on his lined face.
“The aftermath of them too. Worse in some ways. It helps if you try to focus on
something else. Like the criminal you’re chasing.”
Perrin grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Hurin’s efforts to be
helpful, just that Perrin wasn’t the fellow sniffer he believed him to be. That
had been a lie that Ingtar had spread to hide the truth about the wolves. He
didn’t like deceiving the sniffer—or anyone—but he didn’t want to face all the
questions and looks either.
“Well there’s lots of work to keep our minds off the smell,” he said neutrally.
That was the Light’s own truth. They’d been fighting all day and well into the
night. Perrin hadn’t felt this tired since he first started working at Master
Weyland’s forge.
Hurin sighed. “That there is, Perrin. That there is.”
Out on the front lines the stench of death was everywhere. They’d killed
hundreds of Trollocs, but they’d lost maybe half of the Dragonsworn already.
And the Shadow could afford those losses more than Rand’s makeshift army could.
Perrin’s sharp eyes could see the faces of the men slumped by the campfires
below waiting their turn on the line. Their desperation was plain to see. How
long would they keep this up?
Morrigan didn’t look tired or desperate, but the wilder worried Perrin
nonetheless. She paced angrily back and forth, muttering to herself as she
waiting to plug any gaps in their defence. She was the last channeler standing,
with the other three having collapsed from exhaustion hours ago. Perrin had no
more trust in Aes Sedai or male channelers than any sane man would, but he
still found himself wishing that Verin or Rand was out here. The snippets he
caught of Morrigan’s mutters made little sense, but hearing “leave them” or
“just let the Trollocs in” from their best remaining defence didn’t do anything
to ease Perrin’s nerves.
He wasn’t the only one troubled by her behaviour. Geko, who commanded the
Shienaran defenders, had been watching her carefully.
Morrigan scowled when she noticed his stare. “What?” she snapped.
“Do you know of the sundew?” asked Geko calmly.
Confusion crept across her pretty face. “I do not believe so,” she said slowly.
“No? You are so alike, I thought you kindred.”
“What is that supposed to mean? What is the sundew?”
“A flower.”
Morrigan’s brows rose, and a small smile curved her lips. “Oh? I am a flower,
am I? How unexpected. Some might think it disloyal, to speak so to one’s
master’s woman.”
Geko was unmoved. “A flower that entraps and devours insects.”
Morrigan’s smile died. “Ah, now that I expected,” she said, with a wry chuckle
that did not quite hide her bitterness.
“Know that we are watching,” the Shienaran said quietly.
Perrin was wondering if he should interfere and keep the peace when a shout
split the night.
“’Ware the mine!” Lan called.
Perrin did not hesitate. He hefted his axe and ran back towards camp with Hurin
hard on his heels. They all knew what that cry meant.
“Bartu, Nengar, Han and Izana. Hold this post. The rest with me!” Geko barked.
Perrin heard confused calls from the Dragonsworn, but his focus was all on what
lay ahead. The Neverborn. Hatred surged inside him, and a raw, killing fury
that he struggled to force down. I am a man, not a wolf, he told himself
desperately.
They converged on the entrance to the mine. Armoured Shienarans streaming in
from all sides with Loial towering over them all, his staff in hand. Tomas
stood outside Verin’s tent, staring towards the sound of his fellow Warder’s
voice, but did not run to meet him. There was no sign of the Aes Sedai, or of
Rand. Perrin wondered if they would be able to wake them if they tried. Min ran
past him, not in the direction of the mine but towards her tent. He doubted she
was running away from the fight, but if she was hoping that the Horn would
finally do what it was meant to do, Perrin feared she was in for yet more
disappointment.
The entire camp was kept well-lit at the Borderlanders’ insistence. In fact
they’d been as insistent on stockpiling fire supplies as they had been water
and arrows. But the mine ran too deep to be kept lit. That would allow the
Myrddraal, with their ability to step into one deep shadow and reappear from
another, to bypass their defences entirely. Fifty feet worth of warning was
what they had prepared themselves. The clash of steel on steel sounded from
ahead, and Perrin realised the Fades had crossed the distance already. As he
sprinted into view he saw a dozen or so of the eyeless, black-armoured things
darting out of the mine. They moved with a snake-like speed and grace, and the
black swords in their hands were both razor-sharp and deadly poisonous.
Lan was the best swordsman Perrin had ever seen, but even he was forced into a
desperate, back-peddling defence against that many Myrddraal. Sparks flew as he
checked blow after blow but more Fades converged on him and Perrin expected to
see the Warder run through at any second.
The Horn of Valere rang out once more, but no ghosts appeared. Perrin put on
speed, howling wordlessly along with the peeling sound. He heard two dozen
voices raised in chorus with his.
A wave of grey steel crashed against the Myrddraal, and sparks flew from armour
and weapons both. Masema was the first to reach the fight, screaming for the
Dragon Reborn, the Light and Shienar, in that order. He parried a blade aimed
at Lan’s head before slamming his shoulder into the chest of the Fade that
wielded it, forcing the creature back, if only for a moment. The other
Shienarans echoed his warcries as they too clashed sword or axe, spear or mace
against the black steel of Thakan’dar. Lan staggered backwards, but it took
only a moment for him to regain his balance and launch himself back into the
fight.
When he joined the fray, Perrin swung wildly at the nearest Fade, driven by the
desperate need to kill them. It almost cost him his life. The Halfman avoided
his blow easily, and that black blade darted out at him quick as a viper’s
strike. With little room to move in the cramped quarters, he soon found himself
leaning back, desperately batting away the blade’s deadly tip. Fear surged up
inside him as it did for anyone who looked at a Myrddraal’s eyeless face. But
familiarity and the assurance that the terror came from without rather than
within kept Perrin’s hands and feet steady.
The Myrddraal fought back furiously against them, and to his surprise they
threw out war cries of their own. “For Ba’alzamon!” one snarled as it chopped
the head from Masuto’s spear. Only by throwing himself desperately backwards
did the Shienaran avoid losing his head to his foe’s backhand strike. He might
have died anyway if Rikimaru hadn’t stepped in front of him and met the
Myrddraal stroke for stroke, winning his fellow armsman time to regain his feet
and draw another of his many weapons.
“The Great Lord of the Dark will consume your soul, insect,” hissed another
Fade. Its blade was held in Hurin’s swordbreaker, but he had been unable to
snap the unnatural steel. Wide-eyed, the sniffer rammed the shortsword in his
other hand between the Fade’s ribs, and it hissed in pain, but it took more
than that to kill a Myrddraal. Its pale, long-fingered hand snapped out and
wrapped around Hurin’s throat. It was more than strong enough to rip a man’s
throat right out and Perrin was too far away to do anything; he could only
watch in horror as the Fade’s grip tightened ... and then jerked away empty-
handed as the butt of Loial’s staff was driven into its face.
“Hold on, Hurin,” he said. The towering Ogier was able to strike from above
Hurin even though he stood behind him, and the force of his blow sent the
Myrddraal crashing to the ground. Ragan seized the opportunity to behead the
downed Halfman as a choking Hurin staggered away. The Myrddraal that Ragan had
been fighting might have killed him in turn, if it hadn’t been forced to parry
the sweep of Loial’s staff. Any other wood would have been sliced clean in two
by that blade, but the sung wood of Loial’s staff stopped it as firmly as if it
was Power-wrought steel. The Myrddraal snaked around Loial’s blows and darted
in to strike, but by then Ragan was back in the fight and together he and the
Ogier drove the Shadowspawn backwards.
“The Heart of the Dark will be avenged,” said the Myrddraal that was attacking
Perrin. “The sinner you serve will share your fate.”
“Rand? You’ll never touch him,” Perrin snarled back. He had killed one of these
things before, he was sure he could do it again, if only he could get a moment
to set himself. But the Fade didn’t grant him that moment, it attacked with
relentless speed and it was all Perrin could do to keep its blade from cutting
him. For the first time he found himself wishing he had a suit of armour of his
own.
A headless Fade staggered away from Lan. The Warder surged into the gap in the
Shadowspawn line and slashed left and right, scoring hits on both strokes. The
now-wounded Myrddraal that was facing Masema stumbled at the Warder’s blow and
the Shienaran quickly rammed his sword through its chest. That would have been
enough to kill a man, but the Myrddraal would not die from it—not until sunrise
at least. It slashed down at Masema who, experienced in the ways of the Shadow,
released his swordhilt and caught the Fade’s arm, trapping it as he forced it
to the ground. He dragged his mace free of its loop on his belt and brought it
down on the Myrddraal’s head again and again.
Uno was at Lan’s other side, and was just as quick to seize his chance to
dispatch his foe. Though the foul-mouth and one-eyed man did so with more
elegance than Masema.
At the far end of the line, Areku caught a Myrddraal’s blade on the curved toe
of her axe, reversed her grip and slammed the blade down into the ground. “Now,
Heita!” she shouted, and the young armsmen rushed in to hack off the
Myrddraal’s arm. Black blood spurted from the wound, and more soon flowed when
Areku brought her axe thudding into the Halfman’s skull.
Others were not so fortunate. Rikimaru traded blood for blood, slicing a
Myrddraal across its stomach but taking a cut to the face in exchange. A red
gash appeared where his right eye had been and the Shienaran fell back, roaring
in pain. He had not stood alone though. Masuto hacked the Myrddraal’s leg off
at the knee before it could continue the attack, and Ayame pounced on the
creature once it fell, stabbing his shortswords into its chest and the place
where its eyes should have been.
The cousins Geko and Inukai fought together, armed with slightly-curved swords
similar to Lan’s. Geko engaged a Fade directly while Inukai slipped around
behind it. That Fade soon lost its head, but not before its lightning fast
blade darted under Geko’s guard, found the gap at the elbow of his armour, and
sank deep into the flesh beneath. Geko staggered away clutching his left arm,
as Inukai set about furiously dismembering the Fade.
Nangu was down and unmoving, the dent on his helmet plainly visible to Perrin’s
eyes. He couldn’t tell if the man was dead or alive.
Masuto’s fate was more certain. Perrin could only watch as he died, a black
sword lancing out at his unprotected face, piercing his eye and the brain
behind it. Mendao descended on his killer in a fury and their blades met in a
whirl of steel.
Katsui had lost his sword and was being driven back with only a shield in hand.
An overhand blow forced him to his knees, and then a kick to his thick stomach
sent him sprawling in the dirt. His shield landed outside his reach with a loud
clank, and the Myrddraal drew back its blade to finish him. An arrow spit the
Halfman’s head before it could strike. Perrin did not need to look back to see
who had fired. Even with her bandaged hands, Anna’s aim was true. Katsui called
out his thanks as he scrambled for his shield.
A skirted figure rushed over to finish the wounded Myrddraal. Panowin had cut
her black hair as short as Anna’s since leaving Nethara. Rage and pain clouded
her bright blue eyes as she flailed at the creature—twin to her late tormentor,
as all Myrddraal were twin to each other—with the sword she had only recently
picked up.
“No, wait,” Perrin gasped. The Fade that had been chasing him across the ravine
still stood between him and Panowin. Perrin forgot about finding his balance,
or staying a man. He stopped caring about whether he survived or not. He only
knew he had to get to that woman before she was hurt. Young Bull batted the
black blade aside and rushed forwards, neither knowing nor caring if the
poisoned sword had cut him or not. He hacked at the creature, and now it was
the one defending desperately. He drove it back, knocked it off balance, hacked
off its arm, and then its head, howling all the while because he knew it was
too late.
Myrddraal did not need eyes to see. For all that they had the shapes of men,
they did not die as men did. Even hacking off one’s head was not enough to kill
it, not immediately at least. The arrow Anna had put through the Myrddraal’s
brain had only been enough to stagger it. Now that it had recovered its balance
it turned all of its deadly skill against Panowin.
“Get back! You’re not ready, leave it to us!” Areku shouted. She had been
teaching the Nethara woman something of combat, but only the basics in the time
she could spare. Now she and Heita were running towards the fight. And like
Perrin, they were too late.
The Myrddraal sliced off Panowin’s swordhand, and then casually ran its blade
through her heart. He heard Luci scream.
Katsui had recovered his shield by then. He charged the Myrddraal, slamming the
shield against its side and pushing it away from the woman, for all the good
that would do now.
“Bastard!” Heita cursed. He reached the Myrddraal before Perrin or Areku, while
it was still struggling against Katsui’s shield, and took its arm off at the
elbow. It turned on Heita and lashed out with its remaining fist, bloodying his
mouth and staggering him, but he bravely kept his feet and struck out again,
slashing the Myrddraal across the chest.
By then Perrin and Areku had descended on the creature in a murderous fury.
Their axes rose and fell as they hacked the Halfman to pieces, and Perrin
didn’t know whose snarls were more vicious, his or the Shienaran woman’s.
Heita staggered away from the scene, wiping the blood from his mouth.
“Are you all right?” Luci said timidly. “I’ll ... I’ll get bandages. And Vara.
Vara will know what to do.” She ran off, heedless of Heita’s assurances that he
was fine.
Grief and shame threatened to tear Perrin apart. He’d let a woman die. He was a
failure of a man, by all the standards he knew. He was only dimly aware of the
sole uninjured Myrddraal, the one that Loial and Ragan had pushed back towards
the entrance to the mine.
“This is not over, insects,” it rasped. “You have only ensured that your deaths
will be slow. Yours and that of the infidel who wounded the great Ba’alzamon.”
So saying, it turned and sped back down the mineshaft, running for the safety
of the shadows from which it came.
The fighting ended as suddenly as it had begun. The sound of steel on steel
ended, leaving behind only the heavy breathing and pained moans of the
survivors. That and the unsettling thrashing of the not-quite-dead Myrddraal.
Anna approached hesitantly. She’d been hesitant with him ever since his eyes
had changed colour. Not enough to push him away altogether, no, but even that
little hesitation was enough to make Perrin flinch. Anna knew the truth about
him and the wolves, and the beast inside.
“I should have stopped her,” she said. “It never occurred to me until it was
too late, I was focused on finding a clear shot. I’m sorry.”
Areku sighed. “It was not your fault, Anna. I don’t think it was anyone’s fault
really. She’d been looking for a fight like that ever since she left Nethara.
If she ever did leave it, really.” The Shienaran straightened up, her axe
hanging heavy at her armoured side. “We should tend to the wounded. Has anyone
checked on the Lord Dragon?”
Anna gave her an odd look before replying. “I’ll go see, but I don’t think
anything got past us.” Before she put her words into action she grabbed Perrin
in a rough hug and whispered in his ear. “Don’t blame yourself Perrin. That’s
foolishness, whatever the oldsters back home say.” She didn’t wait for him to
explain how wrong she was, but simply turned and sped off towards Rand’s tent.
Loial had a supportive grip on Hurin’s arm. “I’m alright, friend Ogier. Don’t
you worry about me,” Hurin said. But his voice creaked and his face was still
an unhealthy red. Loial didn’t look mollified by his words.
Mendao was cleaning his blade on the cloak of the Myrddraal that had killed
Masuto. He had taken it down by himself, and that was enough to win him a quiet
nod from Lan.
Uno was kneeling over Nangu’s prone form, with the latter’s helmet in his hands
and Ragan leaning over them. “Still breathing,” he said. “But don’t go fucking
throwing a fucking party yet. I’ve seen men drop dead days after taking a
bloody hit to the head like that. Not sure why it takes so long. Maybe it
depends on how stupid the goat-kissers are. That case, Nangu should be good for
a few more years.” He turned his eye on Rikimaru. “We got another bloody
concern though.”
Ayame had helped the ash-haired armsman over to a likely rock. He sat there
now, gritting his teeth, while his comrade poured icy water over the cut on his
face. As the blood sheeted down, Perrin saw that the eye beneath was still
intact but the flesh around the cut had already taken on a sickly purple
colour. He recalled what he’d been told about Thakan’dar steel, and grimaced.
“An Aes Sedai could heal him,” he said.
Areku sighed. “But what wont she be able to do later, if we wake her now,” she
whispered.
Sweat was already breaking out on Rikimaru’s face, and his breathing was
unsteady. Even as Perrin watched he pitched forward from his seat. Ayame caught
him before he fell, and then eased his unconscious body to the ground. Grief
and anger warred on the Shienaran’s face as he looked down at his dying friend.
The rest of the Shienarans looked to Uno, who stared at his own gauntleted
fists as he wrestled with the decision. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately,
the decision was soon taken out of his hands.
“Well this is quite the mess,” Verin said. She glided forwards with a credible
show of energy, but there was no hiding the dark circles under her eyes. A
worried-looking Tomas walked at her side, and behind her came Vara and Luci.
Perrin snorted softly. So Vara’s version of knowing what to do was to run ask
the Aes Sedai. His amusement lasted only as long as it took for the woman’s
gaze to come to rest on Panowin’s body, and the lines already engraved on
Vara’s face to grow even deeper.
“Those Myrddraal will need to be carefully dismembered and the pieces stored
until sunrise,” Verin continued. “But I hardly need tell Borderlanders how to
deal with Shadowspawn.”
“Verin Sedai, I ...” Ayame was unable to finish.
Verin’s face gave nothing away when she came to stand over Rikimaru. Perrin had
the feeling she’d noticed his plight as soon as she rounded the tent. She still
studied him for a long time, tapping her fingers together.
Perrin had had enough. “You should Heal him, Verin,” he said, ignoring the
quelling looks the Shienarans sent him. Even when one of their own was at risk,
they did not like anyone being rude to an Aes Sedai.
“Is that the wise course, Perrin,” she said and turned those piercing, bird-
like eyes his way. “Is that what your ... instincts tell you must happen,
ta’veren?”
Perrin set his jaw stubbornly. “Ta’veren has nothing to do with it. It’s just
the right thing to do. There’s no point worrying about what might or might not
go wrong tomorrow. You have to deal with the job in front of you today.” That
was what his father had always said. Suddenly Perrin wanted desperately to go
home. When he did he would never leave again, not if he could help it. But
first they had to survive the mess Rand had gotten them into.
“So be it,” Verin said, after a long hesitation.
“Verin Sedai ...” Tomas began, but she silenced him with a raised hand.
“Thank you,” whispered Ayame, as Verin knelt over Rikimaru and placed her hands
on the sides of his head.
Perrin had been Healed by an Aes Sedai before, but Rikimaru did not stiffen and
shudder at the chill sensation the way Perrin had. He didn’t even wake. The
only sign Perrin had that Verin had even done anything was the slowing of the
bleeding from Rikimaru’s scar—which did not close completely the way it should
have—that and the way she suddenly began swaying as though she would faint.
Tomas darted forward to catch her, and even went so far as do gather the plump
little woman in his arms and turn back towards her tent.
“Aes Sedai ...” Inukai said, but got no further before his cousin spoke over
him.
“Stop. Let them go.” There was a grimness about the way Geko sat, but also a
dignity. “Even if she could do it, the Lord Dragon needs her fit and healthy
more than he needs me.”
After a long moment Inukai let out a shaky breath. “What am I supposed to tell
your mother?”
Geko shook his head. “You always get too focused on one path, cousin. It blinds
you to the other options available. I’ll tell her myself, but one of you is
going to have to take off my arm before the infection spreads.” He began
undoing the fastenings of his gauntlet. “And I’ll need help with this.”
Perrin could only stare. He couldn’t believe how calm the man sounded,
especially given what he was suggesting.
“Tai’shar Shienar,” Lan said.
Geko gave a small bow from the humble boulder that was his throne. “It was an
honour to fight alongside you, Dai Shan.”
“The honour was mine.”
Uno stumped over to his second in command, muttering curses to himself. “If
we’re going to bloody do this, let’s do it right. Ayame, haul your skinny arse
over to the sicktent and get the emergency gear. We’ll need to tie this off to
stop the damn bleeding. Katsui, why’s that fucking armour still on? Areku, loan
me that axe. There’s an ugly job that needs doing, and I’m just the ugly fucker
to do it.”
“Not this one, sir. Fade blood on it. Better a clean one. I have a spare,”
Areku said.
Uno grunted. “Good point, should have thought of that. Hurry back with it
then.”
She ran off to fetch her spare, and Uno turned his eye Perrin’s way. “No need
for you to stick around, Aybara. Go keep an eye on the Lord Dragon for me, in
case there are any more bloody surprises tonight. We’ve got this.”
Perrin supposed they did at that. He bowed in what he was sure was an
embarrassing fashion, and left them to their work.
***** The Second Day *****
CHAPTER 22: The Second Day
 
The shouting woke Rand. Perrin heard him buckling on his swordbelt well before
he pushed the tentflap aside. There was a stir among the Shienarans, men
getting to their feet. Mendao and Izana were on guard outside his tent and Rand
demanded answers of them. Wearily, Perrin hauled himself to his feet and
stumped off towards his friend. There had been no other attacks from the
Myrddraal last night, but the Trollocs had made continuous forays against the
outer defences, and Perrin had not slept a wink.
“The, ah, the other Dragonsworn are at the choke point, my Lord Dragon,” said
Izana. Perrin grimaced. Was that what they were now? Was that what he was?
“The so-called Dragonsworn, Izana,” Rand scoffed. “Let’s not dance around it.
They’re nothing like you, they were just using my name to try and frighten some
villagers into giving up their treasures.”
Rand used his unstrung bow as a walking staff as he hastened towards the
entrance to their camp. Perrin caught up to him along the way. At the sight of
him, Rand grew concerned. “Are you alright, Perrin? Did anything happen while I
was out?”
I’m exhausted, sad, homesick, and beyond tired of all this death, he thought.
“I’m fine,” he said. “And yes, things happened. Panowin and Masuto are dead.
And Geko, Rikimaru and Nangu are too injured to keep fighting.”
“How?” Rand demanded.
“Myrddraal,” was all the answer Perrin gave. It was enough.
Rand grimaced. For a moment Perrin thought he could smell guilt on the wind. He
tossed his head. He knew he needed to resist these changes as much as he could.
If he did not keep the wolves out of his mind, might he not end up running with
them? There had been a man, Elyas Machera, who also could talk to wolves. Elyas
ran with the wolves all the time, yet seemed able to remember he was a man. But
he had never told Perrin how he did it, and Perrin had not seen him in a long
time.
Perrin heard Morrigan’s raised voice. “Have a care who you threaten, fool. Men
burn as easily as Trollocs.”
He glanced at Rand. Unshaven and with his dark red hair tousled from sleep, he
did not look particularly lordly. But he was all they had. “You’d better
hurry,” Perrin said. Rand took him at his word, and broke into a run. Perrin
trotted after him.
At the entrance to the ravine half a dozen plate-armoured Shienarans had formed
a shield wall. Their spears menaced the mob gathered outside. Blood and dirt
covered the Dragonsworn, but Perrin did not think it was the Shienarans who had
injured them. Those men had been fighting for a day and a night, far longer
than he had expected the bandits would when Rand announced his mad plan to
recruit them. Perrin almost felt sorry for them. Their desperation was
palpable.
Morrigan stood behind the Shienarans with her hands on her hips.
“What’s going on here?” Rand shouted as they drew near.
Morrigan spun around at the sound of his voice. The arrogant expression she
usually wore softened into a smile for a brief moment, before she reminded
herself to scowl. “Your minions seem to have forgotten their place, Rand. I
have warned you of the dangers of being too lenient, have I not?”
Perrin grimaced. He wasn’t about to tell Rand who he could or couldn’t sleep
with. It wasn’t his place for one thing, and for another he’d always known Rand
got around. Even from the start their relationship hadn’t been exclusive, there
had been Mat as well after all. But still. He could not understand what Rand
saw in Morrigan, and he couldn’t help but think she was bad for him. Perhaps
even dangerous.
Kellis shouldered his way through the mob. The bandit looked as exhausted as
Perrin felt. There was less blood on him than on the rest of those gathered,
and none of it seemed to be his own. He glared at Rand. “Two thirds of my men
are dead because of you! And those damned things keep coming. Get us out of
here!”
“There is no way out. You know that. We fight and win, or we all die,” said
Rand. His face was grim, and he sounded disturbingly calm.
Kellis had a wild gleam in his eyes. His mouth twisted as though he’d bitten
into something rank. It made the old scar on the side of his face even uglier.
“Then you come out and do the fighting, while we wait in the mine. You and your
soldiers in their fancy, expensive armour.”
Dark shapes moved in the distance, stalking through the burnt and broken land
that had been a forest only a day ago. Another fist of Trollocs come to whittle
away at their defences. How many fists were out there? “We don’t have time for
this,” Perrin said, pointing.
There were too few men on the makeshift wall. And many of those he could see
down there were corpses that no-one had bothered to drag away.
“Get back to your post, Kellis,” Rand ordered. “Remember your oaths, and fight
for the Light.”
“Fuck the Light!” Kellis swore. “And fuck you, boy. I swore no bloody oaths,
and wouldn’t give a damn about them if I had. Let us in, or we’ll force our way
in.”
Perrin heard Ayame calling for men to reinforce the front. He saw Trollocs
charge the crumpled defences of their camp, sensing their weakness. Those
Dragonsworn who tried to fight were quickly overcome, and the few remaining
defenders turned and ran, only to be stabbed in the back. He saw Kellis
gesturing for his bandits to attack the steel barrier before then.
But worst of all he saw Rand. His oldest friend’s hair stirred in a wind that
seemed to touch him alone; lightning crackled between his fingers, and his
smile was unnaturally wide. “You’ll force your way in, will you? Oh, I don’t
think so,” Rand chuckled.
The ground was suddenly jerked away from Perrin’s feet. They all toppled to one
side, like stones from a board that had been lifted from beneath them. All
except Rand, who stood there unaffected by the sudden earthquake, wearing that
terrible smile. Confused and frightened cries sounded from all around. Even the
Trollocs were wailing something in their harsh tongue.
Perrin recovered his balance quickly. Then gaped at what he saw. Just past the
sprawled forms of Kellis’ remaining bandits, on the downward slope of the hill,
a wall was rising up from the earth. It was made as much of earth as of rock at
first, but right before Perrin’s eyes the earth ... shifted, hardening like
clay baked in an oven. The wall stretched in an unbroken arch around the
entrance to the mineshaft, like a smaller version of the defence they had built
when they first decided to dig in here. There was a flat walkway along the
inside of the arch, and a gentle slope led up to it.
Sweat trickled down Rand’s cheek. “You can’t come in, Kellis. There are too
many people here that I don’t trust you around. But you all still have a chance
to survive this. We will stand our ground and defeat the Shadow. And perhaps
then our sins might be forgiven.” His smile disappeared as quickly as it had
come. He stared down at the prone bandit. “But don’t try this again. Or I will
bury you alive.” In that moment, Perrin was convinced that Rand really would.
Without waiting for a response, Rand turned and strode away from the crowd. He
walked past Uno, pausing only long enough to order the entrance reinforced,
then hurried by. Perrin went after him, though part of him wondered if he might
not be better off staying away. All male channelers went mad eventually,
everyone knew that. And that had looked an awful lot like madness to Perrin.
When he caught up to Rand he found him leaning against the rock face behind one
of the tents with his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Perrin. I didn’t mean to hit everyone, I only wanted ...” He let
out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I reach for it, and sometimes
all I can grab is the air.”
“Well, you caught something that time,” Perrin said hoarsely. “What were you
doing?”
Rand looked around as if seeing things for the first time. The fallen rocks,
and the broken branches. There was, Perrin realized, surprisingly little
damage. He had expected gaping rents in the earth. The walls of the ravine
looked almost whole.
“I did not mean to do this. It was as if I tried to open a tap, and instead
pulled the whole tap out of the barrel. It ... filled me. I had to send it
somewhere before it burned me up, but I ... I did not mean this.”
Perrin shook his head. What use to tell him to try not to do it again? He
barely knows more about what he’s doing than I do. He contented himself with,
“There are enough who want you dead—and the rest of us—without you doing the
job for them.”
Rand did not seem to be listening. His eyes closed in a grimace, half smile,
half pain. “Light help me, half the time I want it to happen now, to be over
and done with, and the other half ... How many times can I manage to ... Light,
it pulls at me so. What if I can’t ... What if I ...” The ground trembled.
“Rand?” Perrin said worriedly.
Rand shivered; despite the chill, there was sweat on his face. His eyes were
still shut tight. “Oh Light,” he groaned, “it pulls so.”
“Well bloody ignore it,” Perrin snapped. “You sound like Jori Congar hunting
for his next cider.” He immediately regretted his words. It wasn’t like him to
lash out at people, or to speak without thinking, but the strain of the past
day was wearing him down.
Surprisingly though, it seemed to calm Rand down. The trembling of the earth
subsided and Rand slumped back against the rock, breathing heavily.
Perrin stared at him for a time. He wanted to help, but didn’t know what—if
anything—he could do. “We had best get on back to the others,” he said at last.
“You haven’t eaten yet, have you? I don’t know about you, but I am hungry.”
“What? Oh. You go on, Perrin. I will be along. I want to be alone a while.”
Perrin hesitated, then slowly turned and walked away.
Anna and Areku were dusting themselves off when he passed, both looking too
tired to do more than a cursory job of it.
“Is it always like this?” Anna sighed.
Areku shook her head, topknot swaying with the motion. “There are usually more
of us, and less of them ... but for the rest? Yes, it’s always like this. It
always has been, and always will be. Unless he really can end it, like the
prophecies say.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
Areku smiled thinly. “Yes you do, Anna. You’re doing it too, now. And you will
keep doing it until you fall. Peace! Light willing that day will be far off for
us both.”
An endless war against the Shadow. Is there anything worse? But what choice to
we have?
He found Min standing by the fires, stirring a kettle with a disgruntled
expression. There was a small bruise on her cheek, and a faint smell of burned
stew hung in the air. “I hate cooking,” she announced, and peered doubtfully
into the kettle. “If something goes wrong with it, it isn’t my fault. Rand
spilled half of it on the fire with his ... What right does he have to bounce
us around like sacks of grain?” She rubbed the seat of her breeches and winced.
“When I get my hands on him, I’ll thump him so he never forgets.” She waved the
wooden spoon at Perrin as if she intended to start the thumping with him.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Only if you count bruises,” Min said grimly. “They were upset, all right, at
first. Then they saw Rand shouting at the Dragonsworn, and decided it was his
work. If the Dragon wants to shake the mountain down on our heads, then the
Dragon must have a good reason for it. If he decided to make them take off
their skins and dance in their bones, they would think it all right.” She
snorted and rapped the spoon on the edge of the kettle.
Remembering Panowin, and Rand’s odd turn, Perrin conceived a new worry. “Min,
maybe you had better go. Just as soon as we get clear of this current mess, I
mean. I have some silver I can let you have, and I’m sure Moiraine would give
you enough to take passage with a merchant’s train out of Andor. You could be
back in Baerlon before you know it.”
She looked at him until he began to wonder if he had said something wrong.
Finally, she said, “That is very sweet of you, Perrin. But, no.”
“I thought you wanted to go. You’re always carrying on about having to stay
here.”
“I knew an old Illianer woman; once,” she said slowly. “When she was young, her
mother arranged a marriage for her with a man she had never even met. They do
that down in Illian, sometimes. She said she spent the first five years raging
against him, and the next five scheming to make his life miserable without his
knowing who was to blame. It was only years later, she said, when he died, that
she realized he really had been the love of her life.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with this.”
Her look said he obviously was not trying to understand, and her voice became
overly patient. “Just because fate has chosen something for you instead of you
choosing it for yourself doesn’t mean it has to be bad. Even if it’s something
you are sure you would never have chosen in a hundred years. ‘Better ten days
of love than years of regretting,’ ” she quoted.
“I understand that even less,” he told her. “You don’t have to stay if you
don’t want to.”
She hung the spoon on a tall forked stick stuck in the ground, then surprised
him by rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You are a very nice man, Perrin
Aybara. Even if you don’t understand anything.”
Perrin blinked at her uncertainly. He wished that he could be certain Rand was
in his right mind, or that Mat were there. He was never sure of his ground with
girls, but Rand always seemed to know his way. So did Mat; most of the girls
back home in Emond’s Field had sniffed that Mat would never grow up, but he had
seemed to have a way with them.
“What about you, Perrin? Don’t you ever want to go home?”
“All the time,” he said fervently. “But I ... I do not think I can. Not yet.”
He looked off toward Rand’s hidey hole. We are tied together, it seems, aren’t
we, Rand? “Maybe not ever.” He thought he had said that too softly for her to
hear, but the look she gave him was full of sympathy. And agreement.
 
                                     * * *
 
The Shadow smelled their weakness. With all their carefully prepared defences
shattered, and Kellis’ Dragonsworn reduced to a few dozen men, the Myrddraal
sent their full force against the remaining defenders. The makeshift wall Rand
had erected at the mouth of the crevice was half again as tall as an average
Trolloc when standing outside, but the Shadowspawn could jump high enough to
grip its edge and attempt to haul themselves over. The Dragonsworn hacked and
stabbed at every snarling animalistic creature that poked its head over the
wall but Rand didn’t think them capable of repelling the attack alone any
longer. He ordered Izana and Areku to guard the camp’s entrance and sent the
rest of the lancers—those still fit enough to fight—to the front lines.
He avoided Areku’s eyes as he spoke his orders. She probably wouldn’t think
anything amiss of that, she’d asked him to keep his distance after all, and for
once Rand was glad of that. He didn’t think she’d be pleased if she knew he was
keeping her back because the thought of sending her, or any woman, into danger
twisted his guts into knots. It was bad enough he’d failed to protect Egwene,
he wasn’t about to actively cause Areku’s death.
They couldn’t afford to let anyone rest anymore, not for more than a few
moments. Morrigan sat on some piled furs just beyond Areku, obviously tired
from all the channelling she had done the night before. Saeri was tending to
her solicitously. Vara, Luci and Min dashed to and fro in the camp, ferrying
supplies wherever they were needed, though Min still found a moment to visit
her tent every once in a while to give the Horn of Valere a forlorn puff. Tomas
had taken Lan’s post at the mouth of the mine, freeing Lan to join the
frontlines alongside Loial and Hurin. Perrin and Anna, along with those
Dragonsworn too tired or too injured to fight in the melee, stood back near
Areku’s position and arced arrows up to rain down on the milling horde beyond
their wall.
That horde now stretched as far as Rand could see, all the way back to the
treeline maybe a hundred feet away. He would have liked to have used the One
Power to destroy them all, but even if that was possible, which he doubted, he
felt drained already from raising the wall. And he wasn’t sure he trusted
himself to use it safely. At his side, Verin and Elayne did their best to
appear unfazed by the effort of their own channelling, but the occasional soft
gasp from them betrayed the truth.
Those Trolloc spears and arrows that struck the Shienarans’ plate were turned
away, having done no more than stagger the lancers. The rest of them were only
lightly armoured however, where they were armoured at all. As the second day of
the battle wore on the casualties mounted, and there was no time to give the
fallen the decency of doing more than dragging their corpses away from the
walkway so they wouldn’t trip up those who stepped into the gaps they had left.
A grizzly corpse pile grew in the middle of their defensive arc. Jain the
Fiddler was among them. Rand wondered how badly the man had regretted ever
telling him of Tarcain Cut’s existence, as he had clutched the Trolloc spear
imbedded in his guts and breathed his last.
The sun was high in the clouded sky when a Trolloc seized Daveth—the poor
luckless fool—by the arm and dragged him over the wall to be hacked to pieces
by the gathered Shadowspawn. Whatever he had or had not done in that town where
Rand first met him, he’d fought bravely here. Rand found himself wondering if
the Creator would take that into account, when Daveth was next reincarnated. Or
if anything they did in life mattered to Her at all.
One tried to do the same to Katsui shortly afterwards but could not budge him.
The Trolloc got a blade through the eye as reward for its effort.
His friends were taking hurts as well, though none had died so far thank the
Light. Loial’s size and strength had allowed him to throw many Trollocs from
the wall, but it had also made him an easy target. The Ogier’s long coat had
given little protection against the barbed arrow that pierced his shoulder.
Perrin had thrown down his bow and rushed to drag him away from the front. It
had been him who pushed the arrow through Loial’s body as the Ogier tried and
failed to silence his roar of pain and Min frantically tried to stop the
bleeding. Elayne had stared wide-eyed at the scene, softly lamenting that she
had proven to have no Talent for Healing.
Rand was thankful that Verin had that Talent at least. If she hadn’t then Hurin
would surely have died from that gut-wound. The Aes Sedai had hesitated when
she saw him go down, but in the end she had muttered “too useful” to herself
and rushed over to lay hands on him and spend a little bit more of her waning
strength.
Trine could not have been far off when the Trollocs gained the wall in force.
They slew Dragonsworn left and right, and wrestled Han and Bartu to the ground
in spite of their armoured bulks. One battered Bartu’s exposed face with its
fist, while another stabbed at Han’s side, trying to find a gap in his armour
in which to stick its knife. Rand snatched at saidin, but to his frustration it
slipped through his fingers. At least at first. While he struggled with the
Power, Izana and Areku took it upon themselves to run over and shore up the
defence. They killed several, and Anna and Perrin feathered several more, but a
Trolloc caught Izana on the arm with a wicked, spiked mace, denting the metal
and shattering the bone beneath, forcing a scream from his lips and his sword
from his hand.
Lan broke that attack. The blademaster spun away from his own spot on the line
and danced among the Shadowspawn. His form was masterful, each stroke of his
sword a killing blow, and when the last of the invaders was slain and more
Trollocs poked their heads over the wall, intent on joining the attack, Lan
slashed his sword across their faces, blinding them and sending them screaming
down to thrash at the feet of their twisted comrades.
Rand staggered away from Verin and Elayne before falling on his ass not far
from where Perrin stood, bow in hand.
“Rand,” Perrin began, but Rand cut him off.
“Do you know what I did during that fight?” he hissed, low enough that only
Perrin could hear. “Nothing! Nothing useful. At first, when I reached out for
the True Source, I couldn’t touch it, couldn’t grasp it. It kept sliding away.
Then, when I finally had hold of it, I was going to burn them all, burn all the
Trollocs. Except ...” He shook. “Saidin filled me till I thought I’d explode
like fireworks. I had to channel it somewhere, get rid of it before it burned
me up, and I found myself thinking about pulling the mountain down and burying
the Trollocs. I almost tried. That was my fight. Not against the Trollocs.
Against myself. To keep from burying us all under the mountain.”
“We ... dealt with them, Rand,” Perrin said. He looked at the dead men down
below, and shivered. “Better that than the mountain down on top of us,” he
muttered. “We didn’t need you.”
Rand grimaced. “Half the time when I actually manage to touch saidin, I don’t
know what I am doing at all. The flow of it just sweeps me along. And who knows
where that flow could lead me.”
Perrin had no answer to that.
Min came running before Rand could say more. “Tomas says there’s movement in
the mine,” she said breathlessly.
Rand came to his feet and ripped his sword from its scabbard. “Good. That’s
something I can do at least.” He ignored their rebukes and ran off through the
campsite.
“Go with him,” Verin snapped.
The Fades were already in the camp when Rand arrived. Three of them, and no
sign of Tomas. Had they killed him already? Rand had no time to wonder, for at
the sight of him the Fades’ pale faces twisted in hate.
“You! Ba’alzamon’s bane. Death comes for you, wretch,” one rasped, and together
they charged. Rand ran to meet them.
Fear washed over him at the sight of those eyeless faces, but it was not as
paralyzing as it had once been. He ignored it as he darted to the left, aiming
a vain slice at the neck of the nearest Fade as he did so. He didn’t think he
could last against three at once. He’d have to keep circling, try and take them
one at a time. Each of them would be the near-match of a blademaster, Rand
knew. He was outmatched here, but that was nothing new. He was outmatched in
every single sparring match he’d been having with Lan. He slipped into Lion on
the Hill, a good defensive form. With the blade held vertical at shoulder
height he was able to push aside thrusts and slashes with relative ease. And he
needed to, for the blows the Fade aimed at him were lightning fast. Aggressive,
very aggressive. That might work in his favour.
Backpedalling, Rand seized an opportunity to try and disembowel the first Fade
with Black Pebbles on Snow, but it hopped backwards out of reach of his slash.
The second had been rushing to close with him. It charged into the gap its
fellow Myrddraal left and swung its black blade at Rand savagely. Back in Lion
on the Hill, and staying light on his feet, Rand swayed away from the vertical
cuts, then darted forwards and stabbed the tip of his sword into the
Myrddraal’s face. Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. He darted backwards again
just as quickly, correctly predicting the other Fades’ continued attacks.
Back and back, Rand skipped, moving in a wide circle. The Halfman he’d cut
clutched at its face, staggering as dark blood oozing from the wound. The other
two pursued their quarry relentlessly.
They had only been fighting for a few seconds, but frustration already showed
on the Fades’ faces. They needed his death the way a fish needed water.
One jerked its eyeless gaze back in the direction of the camp’s entrance, and
Rand’s own gaze followed. Morrigan had rounded the tents and now stood there
clad in her dark furs, amber eyes wide and staring. Alarm blasted through Rand.
She’d never seen a Myrddraal before. The fear they inflicted on others would be
new to her, as paralyzing as it had once been for Rand. If it went for her ...
“Don’t you have better things to do than stare at pretty girls, Fade?” Rand
yelled. He took the offensive against the third Fade. Apple Blossoms on the
Wind. “You’re precious Ba’alzamon oinked like a pig when I ran him through! I
thought you wanted to avenge him? Leave her out of this, and come kill me. If
you can!”
“Fool,” the second Fade rasped, its eyeless gaze still locked on Morrigan.
“Your doom has come. And you are too stupid to see it standing before you. I
see the mark in you, girl. Whatever orders you have been given, they are dung
next to the will of the Nae’blis. In the name of the Great Lord of the Dark,
you will kill this human scum.”
Was the thing mad? Its words made no sense. She wasn’t ... She couldn’t be ...
Morrigan looked as though she had been stabbed. “I ... I ... can’t, holy one.
My orders came from, from Asha’bellanar herself. You should withdraw, she
wouldn’t approve ...”
Rand’s blood ran cold. He barely checked the Fade’s blade.
“Asha’bellanar serves the Nae’blis, as must we all,” the Myrddraal hissed.
“Obey your oaths, human. Use the hated Source. Kill the infidel.”
Morrigan looked at Rand then, but only for a single, pained heartbeat. She
jerked her eyes away from his, and he wondered what she had seen on his face.
He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. But he had to acknowledge
the truth. Morrigan was a Darkfriend.
“I can’t,” she whispered brokenly. When she turned her face back towards the
Myrddraal, Rand saw her fury for the first time. “I won’t!” she roared, amber
eyes blazing as tears spilled down her pale cheeks.
The Myrddraal glared at her in outrage, but whatever words it would have spoken
were drowned out by the roar of the flames that engulfed it. The Fade Rand had
been fighting turned towards the sight. It was a match in appearance to the
other, a match in outrage too. And soon it met a matching fate. The sword Rand
rammed through its chest only made it flinch. The flames Morrigan sent to scour
its flesh left it as little more than a charred lump on the floor of the
ravine.
Rand gaped at Morrigan, lost for words. He was barely aware of the first Fade,
the one he’d wounded, running for the mineshaft. Only its scream drew his
attention. Tomas was behind it, his sword held in a reverse grip as he impaled
the Myrddraal. Where had he been hiding? Why? It hardly mattered now.
“Morrigan ...” What should he say? What could he say?
She was staring in horror at the ruins of the two Myrddraal. She raised a
trembling hand to clutch at her own throat.
“A Darkfriend,” Perrin growled, and Morrigan flinched at the sound of his
voice. The wolfbrother came running through the tents with Anna, Min and Elayne
hard on his heels.
Morrigan hastily backed away from them, looking more afraid than he’d ever seen
her. “I ... I ... ‘tis not what ...” Her face reddened, and the denial died on
her lips.
“I should have known,” said Min, scowling. Anna and Elayne looked just as
displeased.
“Morrigan, I ...” Rand began.
“No! I will not die like this!” Morrigan gasped. “Not here, not ... not you!”
Rand gaped at her again. As though he could ever have harmed her, even if she
was a Darkfriend!
Before he could force out the words he needed to say, Morrigan gave him yet
another reason to stare. Her face suddenly blurred, as though he was glimpsing
it through deep water, and her clothes fell to the earth with a light thump,
leaving nothing but air where she had stood.
“What the hell?” Anna gasped.
A black blur flashed out of the clothespile, its wings flapping frantically. It
cawed as it sped towards the mouth of the ravine.
It was a crow, and Rand had the oddest feeling that he’d seen it before. A crow
that had appeared right where Morrigan had been standing seconds ago. A crow
that, perhaps, now was Morrigan.
“That’s impossible,” he whispered. Except he’d just seen it happen. He shook
his head, trying to throw off his shock. The black bird was getting smaller and
smaller. “Morrigan wait!” he shouted, taking a few lurching strides after her.
“Don’t go! I ...” I love you. But it was too late. She darted out of the ravine
and flapped her wings harder, reaching for the clouds. Far beyond the reach of
the beringed hand he stretched after her.
Silence reigned until Perrin blew out a breath. “Well that was new. I didn’t
know the One Power could do that.”
“It can’t!” said Elayne. She seemed almost outraged. “You can use Illusion to
make yourself look bigger, and perhaps even look like a bird if you’re very
skilled. But you can’t really become one. How did she do that?”
“Well not everything odd that happens is connected to the Power,” Min said
slowly. “Take me, or Hurin for example.”
“There is that, yes. Still. Women becoming birds. Wait until I tell Gawyn about
this.”
“Assuming we live that long,” Perrin muttered. He examined Rand for a moment,
then shook his shaggy head. “Rand, I’m sorry about all this but whatever you’re
feeling you’ll need to feel it later. We’re on our last legs here. We need to
get back to the wall. We need you in this fight.”
The looks the three girls gave Rand were more sympathetic than Perrin’s, but
they didn’t rebuke the young blacksmith for his words.
Rand blinked repeatedly, and tried to get himself back under control. “Yes, I’m
coming.” He went to retrieve his sword, then grimaced. It was still imbedded in
the Myrddraal’s chest, and the cheap steel had been warped and melted by the
heat of Morrigan’s fire. Like Tam’s power-wrought blade, it was ruined now. He
left it there and hurried back to the battle with his friends at his side.
The beleaguered defenders had grown even fewer in the time Rand was gone. There
couldn’t have been more than twenty Dragonsworn left standing, and a dozen
Shienarans. Han and Izana lived, the latter fighting on despite a broken arm.
But Bartu had been dragged over to lay at Verin’s feet. Alive Rand presumed,
since he wasn’t among the grizzly corpsepile in the middle of their makeshift
fort, but the man had been battered unconscious and would fight no more.
Rand retrieved his bow from where he had left it, leaning against the rockface.
He sent arrows through the Trollocs milling outside as he struggled to seize
saidin once more. Despite his fears, and his repeated loss of control, he would
need to use the One Power now more than ever.
Elayne covered for his shortcomings. She called lightning from the sky again
and again as sweat dampened her bright curls.
When the Trollocs gained the wall once more, Loial and Hurin shook off their
injuries and rejoined the fight, though both of them walked on trembling legs.
They were not the only wounded to take up arms. Geko came staggering out of
camp, looking paler than Rand had ever seen him. The stump of his left arm was
thickly wrapped in bandages, but he carried a short sword in his one remaining
hand and picked his way carefully down towards the brawl.
Even Lan couldn’t break the Trolloc advance this time. Fighting shoulder to
shoulder in a shrinking arc, the defenders were pushed back towards the narrow
entrance to Tarcain Cut itself. That would be their last line of defence. A few
men could hold many there. For a little while.
Vara, Saeri and Luci were dragging Bartu’s armoured form back through the
crevice. He was heavy enough that it took all three of them to move him.
“I’m going to try it again,” Min said, before dashing away. Rand doubted it
would work. He’d all-but given up on the Horn, but he understood her need to
try. Saidin still eluded his grasp, but he kept trying too.
Perrin handed Anna his bow, and pulled his axe from the loop on his belt. He
joined the fighters alongside Kellis, as Anna and the few remaining Dragonsworn
archers filed back through the crevice.
The Horn rang out again just as Verin and Elayne were turning to retreat. They
spun back when a different horn echoed its call. After a moment, a third joined
the chorus.
Rand saw the most distant Trollocs turn in confusion to stare back towards the
rear of their army. Distant howls of pain and anger reached his ears.
A shieldwall of spearmen emerged from the woods to the south. Then a second
joined them. Slowly and methodically they began chipping away at the Trolloc
numbers. No Myrddraal emerged to organise the Trollocs, and Rand wondered if
any of them were left in the horde. There were always much fewer Fades than
Trollocs in the Dark One’s armies. He suspected he knew what flag the newcomers
would fly, but he still let out a sigh when he saw the white and gold banner of
Falmerden, with its two scrapping red dogs. Beneath that banner rode a man in
heavy, unadorned armour. He pointed and gesticulated at the officers around
him, but did not rush to join the battle in person.
Syoman Surtir. The general who wants me dead. Well, better him than the
Trollocs.
A hoarse cheer went up from his surviving people at the sight. The Trollocs
growled and snapped in response and attacked even more savagely, intent on
finishing the job they had come to this land for.
Most of the Trollocs who were not already pressing Rand’s men charged towards
the newcomers, save for those to the west who seemed to be struggling against
some foe of their own. The charging Trollocs left a wide space in the field
behind them, and into that space burst a wing of cavalry. The armoured, fur-
cloaked riders brought their lances to bear against the Trolloc rear. They
inflicted heavy casualties in the first clash, but when the Trollocs turned
back to face them many of the riders found themselves being thrown by their
frightened horses. Borderlanders trained their mounts not to be startled by the
appearance of Shadowspawn, but southern horses had little to no experience of
the Dark One’s minions, and it showed in their panicked rearing and bucking. A
great many Falmeran cavalrymen were cut down by the Trolloc counterattack.
More riders emerged from the treeline though, and footmen quick-marched behind
them. These too held the Warhounds aloft, and Rand wondered if they were part
of a flanking attack by Surtir, or if Moiraine had managed to bring the Queen’s
army to their rescue.
He had sent messages to both, hoping to increase the odds of reinforcements
arriving from at least one source. But if both of the rival Falmeran factions
had come then Rand might have made a terrible mistake.
Elayne was grinning excitedly. “They came. You did it, Rand!”
Uno and the others were pushing the Trollocs back now, and fewer were climbing
the wall to replace those that died. While the other fighters advanced, Kellis
paused to stare back at Rand, suspicion on his bloodied, exhausted face.
Kellis’ feet dragged along the ground as he approached Rand. His bloodied blade
was held low and there was a deadness about his eyes that instinctually alarmed
Rand. “You knew the Queen’s army would come here?”
“I suspected.”
Kellis’ face twitched. “We weren’t ambushed at all, were we? You brought us
here to wait for those things.” Rand said nothing. “All my men. All dead. You
did this.”
Rand felt for the swordhilt that was no longer there. He reached for saidin and
still could not grasp it. He should lie, try to assuage the man’s suspicions
until the Shienarans were less preoccupied. But the accusation had merit, and
Rand did not like those who tried to hide from their guilt rather than face it.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I brought you here to kill you. As punishment for the
crimes you committed in my name. And because I thought that this way I could at
least see that your deaths would have meaning. But now that it’s done ... I
don’t feel very righteous.”
“Bastard!” Kellis snarled. He lunged for Rand with his sword, but exhaustion
made him slow. Rand swayed around the tip of the blade and stepped inside its
reach, letting its straight edge scrape along the side of his breastplate as he
stabbed his worn old belt knife into Kellis’ throat.
Rand felt an odd sadness as he watched the bandit die. “I can’t tell you I’m
sorry,” he whispered. “I hate myself for having done this, but I would do it
all again. Does that make sense?” He snorted softly, bitterly, as the light
faded in Kellis’ eyes. “But then, I’m the Dragon Reborn, aren’t I? The monster
people look to only because the Dark One is even worse.”
Kellis’ body collapsed at Rand’s feet.
Rand was aware of Elayne staring. He avoided her eye. Out beyond their wall the
Trollocs were being penned in by the two Falmeran armies. There was nowhere for
them to run, and the numbers were no longer in their favour. Lightning fell
from the sky to wreak havoc among their compressed ranks, and from the way
Verin’s attention was jerked suddenly towards the west Rand gathered that it
was not her or Elayne who had called it down.
He watched Perrin kill the last of the Trollocs who had made it up into their
fort, then watched the Shadowspawn and the Falmerans kill each other, but long
before the last of them fell he knew it was over.
“We won,” Rand said sadly.
***** Saviour and Destroyer *****
CHAPTER 23: Saviour and Destroyer
 
Nynaeve was the first to approach the now walled mouth of Tarcain Cut. Evening
was almost upon them by then. Rand sat on top of his wall and watched her
stride across the corpse-strewn battlefield, her thick skirts and fur-lined
cloak billowing around her in the chilly winter’s wind. She had her braid in
hand and an angry frown knotted her brows. He knew her well enough to know that
frown was for all the senseless loss of life. Four strangers accompanied her,
Falmeran soldiers by their garb. One was notably shorter than the others.
Nynaeve stopped at the bottom of the wall and scowled up at him. “I’m glad
you’re alive. Now, are you going to get me a ladder at least? Honestly, Rand.
Where are your manners?”
He smiled wanly. “We don’t have a ladder. The wall was an impromptu thing.” He
swung his legs back over the wall’s edge, then pressed his breastplate against
it and reached down. “Give me your hands.”
She sniffed, but reached up nonetheless. As short as she was she had to stand
on tiptoe before he could get a good grip. She half-walked up the wall as he
hauled her towards him. When she reached the top Nynaeve smoothed her skirts
and turned to glare at her escort below. As thickly bundled as she was he
doubted any of them had caught a glimpse of anything they shouldn’t have.
“I can have someone bring a rope for your friends, I suppose,” he muttered.
“You should have thought of that ahead of time, Rand al’Thor,” she said with a
shake of her head. “I’ve only been gone a fortnight. Couldn’t you last that
long without me?”
“I’ve steeled myself to endure that lack,” he said quietly. “It’s an old habit.
Much as I wish it were otherwise.”
There was a sudden wariness in Nynaeve’s lovely brown eyes. “How many were
hurt?”
“Lan and the rest of our old friends came through, though not without injuries.
The bulk of the casualties were taken by people you don’t know.”
She turned her face away from him. “That’s ... the best I could have expected.
Thank you.”
“The sick tent is this way,” he said, not needing to ask where she was headed.
They set off together. Nynaeve covered her mouth with her hand at the sight of
the piled corpses just outside the narrow entrance to camp. Kellis was among
them now. So far as the six surviving Dragonsworn knew he had been killed by a
Trolloc. Uno had had a tent collapsed atop the bodies but there was doubt what
was underneath. The burial duty would be a long one.
He sent one of the sentries, the hulking Nengar, to help the Falmerans inside.
Then led Nynaeve through a bloodied, exhausted, but victorious camp to where
the most badly injured awaited her. Rikimaru, Bartu and Nangu still hadn’t
woken up. And Geko’s heroic rally had only lasted until the danger had passed.
Loial had resisted being sent to join them, as had Heita when it was discovered
he was hiding a bad cut on his side. Izana had been more sensible about his
broken arm. He bore the pain in silence, but the sweat on his even-paler-than-
usual face told the tale.
“Anna!” Nynaeve gasped. She rushed over to where the younger woman sat with her
arms wrapped around her legs and her head resting against her knees. Anna
raised her head when she felt Nynaeve’s hand come to rest atop it, then smiled
blearily.
“Oh, hello Nynaeve. Glad you’re back. I was just resting my eyes.”
Nynaeve stroked her hair gently. “Well go rest them in a warm bed, like a
sensible woman.”
“Can’t,” Anna mumbled. “They could come again at any moment.”
“How long has it been since you slept?”
“I dunno. Two days? Three?” Her head slumped back to her knees.
Nynaeve glared at Rand as though it were his fault. And on more careful
consideration he supposed it was. With a sigh he bent over and put his arms
under Anna’s knees and across her back. She was heavier than you’d think
someone of her lack of height would be, but he still hefted her weight easily.
She said nothing, already breathing the deep breaths of sleep.
“I’ll take her to her tent,” he said.
“And leave her there to get some rest,” Nynaeve added firmly. As though Rand
was planning to do anything else!
Especially after what had happened with Morrigan. He gave Nynaeve directions to
the sicktent and they parted ways. As Rand cradled his old friend, and now
sometimes-lover in his arms, his thoughts drifted to the wilder who had in only
a short time become a crucial part of his life. He wondered why she had turned
to the Shadow, and why she had refused the Fade’s order to kill Rand. Dare he
dream it hadn’t all been a trick? Or would that just be piling stupidity on top
of foolishness? He missed her already. Falling in love with a Darkfriend. You
really are a wool-headed lummox, Rand al’Thor. Just like Egwene always said, he
thought, as he ducked inside Anna’s tent.
Love was dangerous. For him and for anyone he fell in love with. Rand knew he
should avoid all such entanglements. He was the Dragon Reborn after all, and
had a very important job to do. Failure could not be tolerated. And yet, sex
was easily the most enjoyable thing in life so far as Rand was concerned. He
wasn’t about to swear off that. And sex was usually accompanied by love.
As he set Anna gently down on the piled blankets that was her bed, Rand
couldn’t escape the realisation that he loved her too. Burn me, he thought
wearily as he set about ridding the unconscious girl of her belt and boots and
anything else that might disturb her slumber.
Morrigan wasn’t the first Darkfriend Rand had gotten close to. Ingtar had
turned out to be one. And Selene too. How many opportunities had the three of
them had to kill him? That he was still alive after all that stretched even his
credulity. The Pattern must be working itself ragged trying to prevent him from
meeting the fate he deserved. If I wasn’tta’veren, I’d likely be dead ten times
over by now. Facing that uncomfortable truth made it hard for Rand to feel any
sense of accomplishment in what he had done since leaving the Theren.
He tucked Anna in, and tiptoed from her tent. Outside Rand hesitated. Women had
been raped by members of Kellis’ band. Whether the survivors had been directly
involved or not he couldn’t say, but the idea of them sleeping so near Anna
disturbed him immensely. He needed to speak to Nynaeve and find out what was
going on with the Falmerans, but someone needed to watch over Anna too.
Areku and Anna were friends, and he would absolutely trust her to stand guard.
So when she just happened to walk by at that moment Rand found himself smiling
wryly. How very convenient, surely that was just a coincidence and not at all
arranged by the Pattern.
He found the four Falmerans wandering the camp as he made his way back to
Nynaeve. Rand was immediately suspicious, though he couldn’t explain why he
felt so. Other than the fact that they were pinned in by yet another army, this
one of uncertain intent, and his few remaining people were far too tired to
keep fighting. Two of the Falmerans were yellow-haired, one muscular and the
other as thin as a reed. The third was a tanned, lean and handsome youth with
short, straight black hair and angry brown eyes, and the fourth ...
Is that a girl? She’s half a header shorter than Anna even, and Anna’s not
exactly tall. She wore the leather armour of a scout, and carried a short bow
in her hands. Her face was heavily freckled and quite pretty, with pale green
eyes, and she wore her reddish-brown hair tied sensibly back.
The short girl and the thin man stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of
Rand, their mouths dropping open. The other two seemed confused by their
reactions, before following their gaze Rand’s way. The dark one studied him
carefully, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Two were at Falme, two
weren’t, he realised.
The stares made him uncomfortable. “Good evening,” he managed with stiff
politeness as he strode past them.
When he entered the sicktent he found Perrin, Lan and Ragan already there,
along with Vara and Luci. The latter two were washing wounds with warm water
while they waited for Nynaeve to do what she did.
“... longer. It is well you arrived when you did,” Lan was saying.
“Is that your way of saying you missed me, Lan Mandragoran?” Nynaeve demanded.
Lan was already carved of stone, so he could hardly be said to have stiffened.
But he did hesitate for a long moment before responding. “I fail to see what
that has do with the battle. And you already know my situation. I believe I
made it quite clear.”
“Oh, yes. Quite clear,” Nynaeve said. They were standing over a very wary-
looking Loial, and when Nynaeve angrily slapped her hands against the Ogier’s
exposed chest he actually flinched. The gasping breath he let out, and the way
he shuddered, spoke of a Healing being performed to Rand’s now-experienced
eyes.
Rand watched the exchange between Nynaeve and Lan, conflicted in his feelings.
He wanted Nynaeve. He’d always wanted her. And he thought he understood Lan’s
reluctance to get involved in any romantic entanglements. But above all he
wanted Nynaeve to be happy, and if Lan was what would make her so then he
wished the Warder would stop focusing so exclusively on his war and give
Nynaeve the attention she deserved. Rand obviously couldn’t, being what he was,
not even if she’d returned his affections.
Nynaeve stalked over to her next patient, leaving a wide-eyed Loial to be
comforted by a grinning Perrin. Rand went to meet her.
“What’s happening with the Falmerans?” he said. There was no need to ask after
Moiraine. If anything had happened to her Lan wouldn’t be here. He’d be off
carving a bloody path through those responsible.
“They’re living up to their banner,” Nynaeve said grimly, as she laid her hands
on Rikimaru. “They’ve drawn up in two separate camps, each with stakes planted
in the direction of the other, and are sizing each other up like two dogs who
aren’t sure if they want to fight or not. It’s a mess.” She sighed. “This whole
thing is a mess. What happened to him, by the way? I think he’s been Healed
already.”
“Rikimaru? A Myrddraal nearly took his eye out. Verin saved his life but he’s
been unconscious ever since.”
“Head wounds are tricky, especially poisoned ones. But I think he’ll recover.”
“Good, he’s a brave man.”
Nynaeve gave him a stern look. “There are a lot of brave men here, and out
there too. A lot of dead brave men.”
Rand scowled. He didn’t need to be reminded of that. “Do you think there’s
anything I could do to stop the Falmerans from attacking each other? Or
attacking us for that matter. With the Trollocs dealt with I’d like to be on my
way as soon as possible, but I don’t want to get anyone else killed.”
Nynaeve was loud and opinionated, and had too much heart for her own good at
times, but she was no fool. “So it was you who brought Syoman here. That was a
silly thing to do, Rand.”
He grimaced, but set his jaw stubbornly. “Maybe. But I couldn’t be certain any
of our other options would work out. And making sure the Trollocs didn’t leave
this place alive seemed the most important thing.”
“Maybe it was. Light knows they did enough damage,” she sighed.
He followed her to Nangu’s pallet. “Another head wound.”
“So I see,” she said after putting her hands on him. “And it’s just as well I
came when I did. This man is dying.” Rand’s alarm must have shown on his face,
because she quickly shook her head. “Don’t worry, I can Heal him. But if we’d
waited even a few more hours ...”
He held his silence while she worked, not wanting to risk disturbing her
concentration.
She spoke again when she was done. “You asked if you could help stop the fool
Falmerans from killing each other. I don’t know if that’s possible. The death
of their King and the way Syoman fled the field are their main bones of
contention, and none of that has anything to do with you. But you might have
some influence with Evelin. The girl seems quite taken with you over that whole
floating in the sky business. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I won’t,” Rand said wryly.
She sniffed. “Moiraine is doing what she can to keep the peace. I hate to say
it, but maybe you should leave things to her. It wouldn’t serve her interests
to get you killed after all. Not yet at least.”
Luci was washing Heita’s wound when they approached, but she quickly backed
away and lowered her eyes at the sight of Nynaeve. Or perhaps Rand.
“Do they know what I am?” he asked solemnly. “Do they know I can channel?”
Nynaeve sighed. “We never told them, but after everything that happened at
Falme they’d be fools not to suspect.”
And any ruler worth her title would try to dispose of a male channeler she
found roaming her lands. Rand nodded to himself, and left Nynaeve to her work.
He heard low voices from outside as he approached the exit. “... fewer than I’d
expected, given the amount of those things that were already laying dead out
there when we arrived.”
“Could you keep it down, Don?” said a girl’s voice.
Rand’s eyes narrowed slightly. He suspected an eavesdropper, but when he threw
open the tentflaps he found the Falmerans standing around looking studiously
preoccupied. All save the dark-haired man, who eyed Rand challengingly.
“Are you the lord in command here?”
“I’m no lord. But I lead this party, yes,” said Rand. He was aware of Ragan
drifting up to stand at his shoulder, alerted by the man’s tone.
“I see. Well met then. I am Lord Ashly Brooks, a loyal servant of Queen Evelin
of Falmerden. May I know your name?” Rand stared at the man, or boy perhaps. He
looked close to Rand’s own age, but that wasn’t what took him aback—age didn’t
count for much among nobles. His leathers and furs weren’t particularly fancy,
but the Jagads hadn’t adorned themselves in riches either. No, what confused
Rand was the way this Ashly still managed to sound aggressive when his words
were so painfully polite.
“My name’s Rand al’Thor.” He decided he would volunteer no more information
than that.
Ashly nodded. “Queen Evelin would like to extend you an invitation to meet with
her in private, at Midnight tonight. She will be waiting in her camp, and the
guards will have orders to let you pass safely.”
Rand guarded his face, and his voice. “I see. Thank you for passing her message
to me.”
Ashly nodded once, then stepped aside and folded his arms, his jaw set.
Ragan shadowed Rand when he left, but he was not the only one. The tiny girl
came too. She wasn’t sneaking exactly, but she stayed a few feet behind them as
they walked through the darkening camp. Ragan eyed her uncertainly for a while,
before deciding to be direct.
“Can I help you with something miss?”
“Yes, actually. Is it okay if I ask your, um, not-lord a question?”
Rand turned to face her. He could speak for himself. “Sure. But whether you get
an answer or not will depend on the question.”
She smiled almost shyly, but had no trouble looking him in the eye. “The, the
ghosts. At Falme. What were they? One of them saved me from a Seanchan, the one
who wrecked my face,”—she turned her head to show them a long scar that ran
along the left side of her jaw, stretching from ear to chin, but she didn’t
pause long enough to invite comment—“He would have taken my whole head off if
that man hadn’t appeared from out of nowhere. And then disappeared just as
quickly. How did he do that? Who was he? What was he?”
Rand grinned. “That’s more than one question.” She blushed, and he made a snap
decision to be honest with her. There was something about her that just seemed
trustworthy. “What’s your name?”
“Lace. I mean, Scout Debatthien, sir.” Lace shifted her feet uncomfortably. “My
mother was a seamstress. She picked that name.”
“It’s nice. The person you met ... Well, I don’t know exactly which one he was,
but I do know that he was one of the Heroes who were summoned by the Horn of
Valere when it was blown.”
“The Horn of Valere?” she gasped. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Are ... are you one of them too?”
Rand grimaced and looked away. Normally he would have avoided that topic, and
refused to answer anyone who raised it. But having started with honesty it
suddenly seemed a shame to prevaricate. “They said I was,” he sighed. “In other
lives. I don’t remember any of that though.”
She grinned brightly. “I believe it. But I’ve wasted enough of your time; I’ll
get out of your hair. Thank you for answering.”
“You’re welcome.” Rand cocked his head consideringly before continuing. “That
Seanchan didn’t wreck your face, by the way. As scars go its actually quite
tasteful. You might even say it accentuates your looks, rather than detracts
from them. You shouldn’t think otherwise.”
Lace’s eyes went very wide, and she stood stiffly at attention, lost for words.
He spared her the awkwardness of responding. “Well, take care then.” With that
he resumed his march to his tent, leaving the little scout in his wake.
Ragan had an odd smirk on his scarred face.
“What?” Rand demanded.
“Nothing.”
“What else are you supposed to say when a girl shows you a scar on her face?”
he said defensively. “I was just being nice.”
“Uh huh,” Ragan agreed, insincerely.
Rand sighed.
“She was cute though,” said the Shienaran.
“Yes, she kinda was,” Rand agreed, sincerely. Ragan grinned.
Rand’s bed called to him. He was sure everyone’s bed was calling to them, but
finding time to rest was proving impossible. Especially when there was a queen
waiting for him, and he needed to decide whether or not it was safe to venture
out onto the corpse-strewn battlefield and into the heart of her army in order
to meet with her.
Ultimately Rand decided to accept the offer. He could have taken Nynaeve’s
advice and just left everything to Moiraine, in fact part of him was sure it
would have been better to do exactly that, but in the end he just couldn’t
bring himself to sit back and do nothing. There were times he had to wonder if
he wasn’t a bit of a busybody, and this was one such time. Minding his own
business was something he found surprisingly hard to do. He left orders with
Ragan to wake him an hour before midnight, then went to snatch a few moments
rest.
He had meant to go alone. There was little a few armsmen could do against an
army of that size after all. If Evelin’s intentions were hostile, then not
going at all was his only real option. And even then all he’d win himself was
another, even more hopeless, siege. But when he told Nynaeve of his intentions
she promptly invited herself along, and unlike the Shienarans Rand could not
simply order her to stay. He couldn’t give Lan orders either, and so it was
that the three of them found themselves picking their way carefully across the
battlefield in the dead of night, surrounded by the four Falmerans who had
escorted Nynaeve on her previous trip.
Rand kept the hood of his dark fur cloak well up. Lace and that other
fellow—Joh he’d heard her call him—wouldn’t be the only veterans of Falme in
Evelin’s army, and he didn’t want to be recognised.
A battlefield at night was a nightmare given form. They allowed only the moon
to light their way, since Evelin wanted the meeting to be held in secret. But
that meant that they had to walk with painful slowness, and that not one of
them—not even Lan—avoided stumbling over at least one corpse, or severed
bodypart. All those staring eyes accused Rand, but he kept going. What other
choice had he?
When they finally stepped inside the circle of torchlight at the edge of
Evelin’s camp they were challenged by her sentries. It took only a few words
from Ashly to get them to step aside. He led them to a grand tent in the centre
of camp, and the guards there offered no more resistance than the sentries had.
The Falmerans waited outside while Rand and the others stepped into the tent,
Rand pushing back his hood as he did so. Three people waited within, an
armoured young man, a young woman, and a familiar blue-clad Aes Sedai who
looked less than pleased to see them. A fire burned in a circle of stones in
the centre of the tent, spreading a pleasant warmth throughout. The possessions
scattered around it looked expensive, but the girl who rose from her padded
stool at his entrance dressed relatively humbly. He had seen her once before,
but only from afar.
Evelin Denagar, the newly crowned Queen of Falmerden, was a big woman. She
stood perhaps a bit over six feet tall and had a large build. Not fat, but
solid. Perhaps even muscular, though her loosely cut dress of dark brown and
the heavy fur cloak across her broad shoulders made it hard to judge. Her
straight, orange hair was held back from her face by a band of braided gold and
silver. There was a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, her face
was long and her jaw heavy. Some might have said she was a bit plain, but Rand
thought she looked strong and determined. Her prettiest features were the
bright green eyes that she now fixed on Rand. He saw intelligence there, and a
recognition that matched his own.
“My mysterious saviour. We meet at last. I looked for you after the Battle of
Falme, to offer my thanks, but you had disappeared into thin air. Allow me to
offer them now.” Evelin had a confidant, commanding voice.
“You’re quite welcome—” How had they addressed Morgase again? “—your Grace.”
“I never understood why you came to my rescue though, and now that I hear your
voice it is plain you are not Falmeran ...”
Rand shrugged. “There’s no great mystery to it. I heard you were about to be
murdered, and stopping that from happening was the right thing to do.”
Her smile was almost shy. “I see.”
Moiraine had been studying Rand with those chill, dark eyes of hers. “And if
you had died while attempting to stop the execution, then the summoning that
took place just afterwards would have gone array. So the Seanchan would have
won the battle and killed her anyway, along with a great many others. You
should learn to think these things through, Rand. Or to leave them in the hands
of those who do.”
Nynaeve sniffed. “Everything looks clear in hindsight.”
“Rand? That is your name?” said Evelin.
He’d forgotten his manners. “Ah, yes. Rand al’Thor. It’s a pleasure to meet
you, Evelin.”
The man at her side looked oddly offended when Rand offered Evelin his hand,
but the Queen only hesitated briefly before clasping it in her own. She had a
firm grip.
“This is my brother, Alasdair.”
There was little resemblance between them. He had a handsome, square face, dark
eyes, short brown hair and an easy smile. “I always wanted to meet the man in
the sky,” he drawled. “You look taller from afar.”
Rand shifted his feet uncomfortably.
“Such things are often confusing to the uninitiated,” said Moiraine. “Which is
all the more reason that I should be the one to deal with General Surtir at the
parlay tomorrow.”
Evelin faced the Aes Sedai directly. “With all due respect Alys Sedai, Surtir
didn’t abandon your father to die, or falsely claim to be acting as your
regent. That will not go unanswered. This matter is not the White Tower’s
concern.”
Her statement was met by an emotionless Aes Sedai mask. “What is and is not the
Tower’s concern is not for you to say, my child. Or for Syoman Surtir. If he is
not an utter fool, he will listen to what I have to tell him, or suffer the
Tower’s disapproval.”
Evelin shook her head. “He isn’t a fool, but I don’t think he’s a coward
either. Or at least I didn’t. I have my doubts that simply invoking the Amyrlin
Seat’s name will be enough to get him to surrender.”
“You both saw the Trollocs,” Rand interrupted, winning a sharp glare from
Moiraine. “We’ve destroyed this band, but there will be more to come. Tomorrow,
or a month from now, or a year. They are the real enemy, and anyone who dies
here at the hands of a fellow human will be one less person who is there to
stand against the Shadow when the time comes.”
“What time would that be?” said Alasdair slowly. “This was just a raiding
party, wasn’t it? It’s unheard of for one to penetrate this far south I’ll
admit, but from what I’ve heard Kaltor has been having trouble keeping its
borders secure lately.”
“The Kaltori will hold the line.” Lan’s tone brooked no dissention.
Moiraine’s forbidding stare was still fastened on Rand. “The Shadow grows
bolder lately, but rest assured: it will not prevail.”
Evelin wore a troubled frown. “That those things managed to enter Falmerden and
kill so many of my people is bad enough, but ... There was talk, after Falme,
of a false Dragon in our midst. One with Shienaran allies ...”
“Such rumours often abound. Men will gossip, after all. Give them no credence,”
said Moiraine.
“With the Trollocs out of the way, we’ll be leaving Falmerden as soon as
possible,” Rand said. Then he frowned. His first instinct was to lie. Deny what
Evelin was implying. But what of Surtir? The man had already sent an assassin
after Rand, and said assassin had seen Rand take command of a band of those so-
called Dragonsworn. The general had come here initially, Rand expected, to kill
Rand before he could become a threat to Falmerden. If he was scheduled to meet
with Evelin the topic was all-but certain to come up. Unless Rand fled for the
mountains right now, he didn’t see any way he could avoid her finding out.
“Indeed. I have lingered too long already,” Moiraine was saying. “If there is a
false Dragon ...”
“There isn’t,” Rand interrupted again. “I am the Dragon Reborn. The real one.”
Moiraine hissed at him. But it was too late to go back now. Either Evelin would
believe him, or she would have him killed. He doubted he could fight his way
out of this.
“Light,” Alasdair gasped. He stepped in front of his sister, hand on his
swordhilt, and shouted for the guards.
Nynaeve had as firm a grip on her braid as Lan did on his still-sheathed sword,
and Moiraine looked as close to murderous as Rand had ever seen her. But it was
Evelin who held his attention.
He was aware of armoured figures rushing into the tent, but he kept his eyes on
Evelin.
“Alasdair. Calm down, and be quiet,” she said. The prince opened his mouth to
object, but she silenced him with an upraised hand. “Guards, leave us.” She
waited until they had filed out before speaking again, her eyes on Rand. “Talk.
I owe you that much.”
“I didn’t want to believe it either,” he said softly, looking straight into her
eyes. “I was planning to kill myself before it could become a problem. But when
the Horn was sounded, and those who answered its call told me what I was ...
well, much as I might wish it were so, I can’t bring myself to believe they
would lie to me. The Trollocs we killed here were hunting for me, to punish me
for what I did to Ishamael at Falme. He was the man I was fighting, ah, where
you saw me.”
“Ishamael,” Alasdair squeaked, in a not-very-princely way. “The Dark One and
all the Forsaken are bound in Shayol Ghul, bound by the Creator at the moment
of creation.”
“Not anymore,” Rand told him grimly.
“You knew about this, Alys Sedai?” Evelin said. “The White Tower supports this
man’s claim?”
Moiraine’s self-control seemed more fragile than usual. Her lips were pressed
tightly together, and when she spoke her words were clipped. “The one, true
Dragon has been Reborn. And you have been brought into a secret known to few,
even in the Tower itself. A secret more dangerous than any other in the world.
There are those who would kill him before his destiny could be fulfilled, even
if they believed him to be what he is. And there are more who would kill him
simply because they think him just another false Dragon. Perhaps there are even
some such here in this tent.”
Evelin was visibly shaken. “I have a civil war brewing, the Seanchan killed
thousands of my people, and the Trollocs killed more. And now ... are you
telling me Tarmon Gai’don is coming?”
“The Last Battle will be fought within your lifetime, Evelin of Falmerden. I
say this plainly so you may know I speak the truth,” Moiraine pronounced.
The Denagars paled visibly at her words. Evelin turned to Rand. “You can
channel?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately.”
“More crazy? I thought we were full up,” said Alasdair nervously, but no-one
laughed.
“And the Trollocs were hunting you, so you brought us here to get rid of them
for you,” Evelin continued.
“Not exactly,” Rand corrected. “I could have just left. But they were spread
out and killing a lot of people while trying to find me. I thought it best to
gather them here, where your armies could deal with them decisively.”
She sighed. “I actually believe that. Damn it. Why did you have to be ...?”
“You know, one good thing about a Shadowspawn invasion is how it brings people
together,” Alasdair said. The others ignored him.
“We don’t intend any harm to Falmerden,” Nynaeve put in.
“I believe you. But does intention even matter, where male channelers are
concerned?”
Rand wasn’t offended by her doubts. After all, he shared them. “All we need is
a night’s rest, and a way through the Valreio blockade, then we’ll be out of
your way,” he said.
“That might be for the best,” said Evelin, though he thought she sounded
regretful. “If my people heard what was said here ... I don’t know what they
would do. Alasdair and I will keep your secret, Rand. But you should tell no-
one else what you’ve told me. And you should leave my country with all possible
speed.”
***** A Touch of Lace *****
CHAPTER 24: A Touch of Lace
 
It was well after dawn when Rand awoke. He washed, and shaved for the first
time in days, and afterwards felt almost human again. He changed his clothes
too, swapping out his favourite red coat for the white one—also in the Andoran
style, also made of fine wool and also richly-embroidered with herons. When had
wearing such things stopped seeming an embarrassingly fancy indulgence? If he
didn’t get a hold of himself he’d be wearing lace at the cuffs, or dying his
hair, or who knew what? He still slipped Morrigan’s ring over his finger
though. It was too fancy for a Theren man as well ... but it had been a gift
from Morrigan, and he meant to keep it. He wondered if he’d ever see her again.
Rand weighed the hassle of buckling his armour on over the coat, but decided it
could at least wait until after breakfast. When he stepped outside into the
cold morning air, he found the camp much more lively than the night before. A
chance to rest had done them all good. As had Nynaeve’s Healing. Rand grinned
when he saw Rikimaru and Ayame stroll by. The former looked to have recovered
from his injury at last. The scar that ran down over his right eye actually
became him. Rand doubted it would lessen the man’s popularity with the women.
They’d slept in shifts, for the Falmerans camped outside were a dubious
protection, and sentries still needed to be posted throughout the night. Vara,
Luci and Saeri had volunteered to take some shifts too and none of the
exhausted men had been able to deny the sense of that.
Sadly Elayne was nowhere near the cooking pot this morning. Han had the duty,
so Rand joined the queue for some warm, filling and tasteless soup. He hadn’t
stood there long however, before a scandalized Izana brought him a bowl and
urged him to go rest. That was another thing that would be all-too easy to get
used to.
He went and stood at the mouth of Tarcain Cut, gazing out at the assembled
armies as he spooned up his soup. Moiraine and Lan were still out there. The
Aes Sedai had said she would try to mediate the dispute between Evelin and
Syoman, and a table seemed to have already been dragged out into no-man’s land,
halfway between the two armies, though no-one was sitting at it yet. Rand
wasn’t sure what Moiraine could do there. He had told her that Surtir knew
about him, interrupting the calm dressing down she had given him as they walked
out of Evelin’s camp the night before. She had been alive to the danger of
that, but Rand didn’t think it would be as easy to persuade the general not to
try and kill him as it had been Evelin.
He was nearly done with his soup when he spotted a figure trotting out of
Evelin’s camp and towards his own. A scout by their garb, and as the figure got
closer he thought he knew who. There weren’t many people that short.
Lace picked her way nimbly across the grizzly battlefield, and was climbing the
rope they’d left hanging over the wall before Rand could move to offer a hand.
She reached the top easily, saw him watching and knuckled her brow before
approaching.
“My Lord Rand. Moiraine Sedai sends word. She says it is too dangerous for you
to depart yet. She also says to tell you that General Surtir is demanding that
the commander of the third camp be present for the meeting or he will not
attend. Apparently he’s insisting that only two guards are allowed per party.”
Lace wore a disapproving scowl as she delivered her report, and Rand suspected
it was not aimed at him.
“Thanks for delivering the message,” he sighed. He wondered what Surtir thought
to gain by having him there. An assassination attempt? It seemed dishonourable
to do it under a peace flag, but who knew what Surtir was capable of? Did he
think to shock Evelin by revealing the “false Dragon” in their midst? That
could get very awkward for all involved.
“Do you have any message you would like carried back to her? Or to the Queen?”
Rand considered. “Is there a set time for the meeting?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. But they’ll sound the trumpets when the parties
begin their approach so if you listen for that you’ll know when to go.”
“Then I have no message to send.”
“Okay. I’ll just wait here then, in case you change your mind.”
Rand pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “The soup’s still warm if you want to
grab a bowl. There’s plenty to go around. What with the casualties and all.”
Lace smiled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since joining the army, it’s to
never say no to food or sleep.”
The two Shienarans on sentry duty, Inukai and Katsui, grinned in agreement.
Rand briefly considered giving her his empty bowl to carry back, then quashed
the thought angrily. A man should do his own chores. Or at least some of them.
At this rate he was going to become one of those pampered fops who never worked
a day of their lives but just lingered on their rich mistress’ estates looking
pretty. So instead he walked with her back through the camp.
The top of Lace’s head barely reached his chest. She looked up at him. “Can I
ask you something, my Lord?”
“Sure. But whether you get an answer or not will depend on the question,” he
said with a smile.
She grinned briefly, before becoming sombre. “Are you mad?”
Rand’s alarm must have shown on his face. Who had told her? He’d ordered
everyone to stop calling him “my Lord Dragon”, and had the damned banner hauled
down and stored away.
Lace continued before he could frame a response. “About not being allowed to
stay, I mean. I was mad when I heard. It seems pretty ungrateful, considering.
I know Evelin’s the Queen—and I’ll always be loyal, don’t get me wrong—but I
have to say, I was a little disappointed. I hope you don’t think all us
Falmerans are so ungrateful.”
“I’m not mad,” he said slowly. Not in that way at least. And Light send not in
the other, not yet. “I’m sure she has good reasons. Falmerden has been through
a tough time lately, and the fewer disruptions there are left the better.
Evelin’s just looking out for her people. That’s a queen’s job, isn’t it?” He
hoped that was close enough to the truth, without being the actual truth. Burn
me, bad enough a fop, but now I’m starting to act like an Aes Sedai!
“I suppose,” Lace said dubiously. “But still. Thank you again for what you did
at Falme.”
Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair in embarrassment. “Appreciated,” he
managed.
He left her at the cookpot and went about his business. Everyone seemed to be
recovering from the travails of the past few days. Min was speaking to Anna and
Loial, in between yawns, outside the tent she shared with Elayne. The Daughter-
Heir herself slept on it seemed. He saw Verin and Tomas whispering in a corner,
and wondered if he should bring them to the meeting as his two allotted
supports. The morning drifted by with no sign of the meeting starting yet, and
soon enough Rand’s wandering steps brought him into contact with Lace again.
She was standing alone not far from his tent, and stamping her feet repeatedly.
“Are you alright? You look a little cold,” Rand said.
“Me? I ... Well it is a touch chilly. My toes are freezing.” She laughed. “I’m
sorry, you—you didn’t need to know that.” Lace cleared her throat nervously.
“Relax. You can wait in the tent if you like. They’re taking their own sweet
time setting up this meeting, and you’ll be warmer in there at least.”
The stamping stopped abruptly. “Isn’t that your tent?”
“Yes, but it’s empty. And I trust you not to rob me,” he said wryly. Then he
caught the wary look in her eyes, and hastily raised his hands and added,
“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to tie you up or do anything untoward to you.
Not unless you asked me to at least,” he finished with a laugh.
Lace laughed nervously. “Of course not. I didn’t think you’d do that. Probably
not even if I wanted you to. This is just playful banter, right? Just for fun?
I get teased a lot like that, but it’s usually in good spirit.”
Rand would be the first to admit he could be slow on the uptake at times, but
even he could spot a golden opportunity when she was tittering shyly in front
of him. It wouldn’t be love—he barely knew her after all—but perhaps that was
for the best. And what little he did know, he liked. He bit his lip softly as
he took in the sight of her. Not love, but ... oh yes.
“I can’t promise you much, Lace,” he said quietly. “I won’t be staying here.
But teasing isn’t what I want to do with you right now. If there’s anything
you’d like to do in that tent, I’d be more than happy to join you.”
“Oh. Wow. I ...” She swallowed, and started dry-washing her gloved hands. “It
really is chilly, isn’t it? Maybe we should get inside, my Lord. Out of the
cold.”
Rand smiled brightly. “That sounds like a great idea, Lace. But please, call me
Rand.”
She preceded him inside, and stood looking nervously around as he tied the
tentflaps closed. She really was incredibly cute. He had to go down on one knee
to bring their faces level, and when he did she smiled tremulously. Rand smiled
back and put his hands gently on her cheeks. He brought her lips to his, and
they tasted as sweet as he’d imagined.
He kissed her softly at first, then with rising ardour. Lace’s arms went around
his shoulders as her passion rose to match his. When she boldly stuck her
tongue in his mouth, he knew she was ready.
Leaning back, Rand began undressing himself hurriedly. Lace grinned excitedly
and began pulling at the straps of her own armour. He’d have liked to strip her
himself, the better to see what she was hiding under that formless uniform, but
he didn’t trust himself not to make a hash of undoing all those unfamiliar
buckles and ties.
Her freckles proved to extend down to her shoulders and arms. Not to the pretty
little breasts she let him see though, with their stiff pink nipples. Lace’s
body was toned from exercise. Her legs seemed thicker and her hips wider than
they truly were when glimpsed on her compressed frame. She was altogether
lovely.
Rand rid himself of his drawers and took her by the hand. She giggled as he led
her towards the piled blankets that were his bed, and then tumbled willing onto
it with him.
Lace found his lips again, and kissed him more confidently this time. Her work-
callused hands roved over his chest and stomach. He was on his back, with her
pressed against his side, well-positioned to let his hand slide down the arch
of her spine to cup and squeeze the fleshy cheek of her bottom. He made
approving sounds at the back of his throat, and she grinned in response.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Lace said. She glanced down at his
stiffening member and her eyes widened. “I can’t believe ... Ah. Wow.”
Her smile turned nervous, and she quickly clambered up onto her knees. Rand
stole a glimpse of her bottom and couldn’t help but smile.
“Like that do you?” Lace murmured. She threw a leg over his hips, mounting him
with her back turned his way.
He felt her hand close around his eager cock and sighed happily. She positioned
him at her entrance and slowly began to sink down onto him. She was wet, and
hot and incredibly tight. They moaned in unison as inch after inch of him began
sliding into her.
Lace stopped midway, took a moment to savour the feeling of their joining, then
began to move her hips up and down in that wonderful way.
Rand savoured the sight of Lace’s bare bottom bouncing up and down on his cock.
He placed his palms on her fleshy cheeks and pushed them together again and
again, in time with the shaking of her hips and the sweet little moans that
resulted.
He noticed that she wasn’t taking his full length inside her. It confused—and
frustrated—him at first, before it occurred to him that, as tiny as she was, he
might not fit inside her comfortably. He might even hurt her. Then a tenderness
came over him and he lay quiescent beneath her, letting her set the limits of
their lovemaking.
“You have such a pretty bottom, Lace,” he whispered as he watched it work its
magic upon him. She said nothing in response but the shaking of her hips
intensified.
Her tight little pussy wracked him with pleasure and soon he was left with no
choice but to join his voice with hers. She looked back over her shoulder at
him, her mouth hanging open and her pale green eyes alight with longing. The
fetching scar on her face was on full display. He reached out and stroked his
fingers gently along it, smiling admiringly.
Abruptly Lace’s heat abandoned him. She had to rise to her feet in order to
clamber up off him. She brought her legs together to stand briefly at his side,
before turning around and stepping over his waist. Rand got a good view of her
naked body, the nipples of which now stood out much more than they had when he
had first glimpsed them. The thick thatch that covered her sex was of a darker
hue than that on her head, brown with hints of red rather than red with hints
of brown. He watched eagerly as it descending upon his cock and moaned in
satisfaction as she took him inside her once more.
Lace watched his face as she rode him with the same shallow strokes as before.
There was a gentle wonder in her eyes. He kneaded her breasts this time instead
of her bottom and felt her stiff little nipples rubbing against his branded
palms. She cried out loudly, and not from pain.
“Kiss me,” he breathed, and obediently she did, bending low to touch her lips
to his. Her hips never stopped their wanton writhing.
“My Lord,” Lace moaned when she broke their kiss. Her hands were on his face
and she was very close, much too close for someone to be using such a term.
“You don’t have to call me that,” he said. “My name is Rand.”
Bizarrely, for someone who was doing the things she was doing, Lace was
suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. “But you’re one of them. The spirits who
fought at Falme. The Heroes.”
He hesitated for a while before responding. His hands on her hips urged her to
keep going and she obliged. “They said I was, but I don’t feel any different.
Not really. Apparently you don’t remember while you’re mortal. My name is still
Rand.”
“Rand the Hero,” she said.
“I’d really prefer you didn’t call me that right now,” he groaned. “It’s a
weird thing to call someone while you’re being lovers.”
Lace met his eyes then. Hers were very bright. “Lovers,” she breathed, smiling
prettily. The pace of her strokes intensified greatly.
Rand thought it a good time to run his hand down over her belly and let his
fingers comb through her dark thatch, searching for her secret nub. When he
found it he set to rubbing it nice and fast. It only took a few moments of that
to make Lace’s thrusting hips stop completely. She threw back her head as she
knelt above him, her fingers dug into the muscles of his chest in a way that
made him glad she kept her nails trimmed and her face locked in a rictus of
what was not pain. The breath she had sucked in so sharply came out again in a
loud, shuddering moan. Lace fell slowly forward to lie upon Rand’s chest.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and petted her head as she lay upon
him, gasping for breath as all her muscles went suddenly limp. It was such a
sweet feeling that he didn’t mind putting up with the frustrated longing in his
cock.
After a while Lace gave a start. Her hips began grinding upon him once more,
but her weariness was spoken by her touch as much as her voice. “Sorry. I
didn’t mean to ... That wasn’t why I ... I wanted to show you that we weren’t
all ungrateful for the things you have done.”
“You have,” Rand said. He turned over, putting her on her back as he lay above
her with his weight on his elbows. He saw a slight wariness in Lace’s eyes but
she put her arms around him and spread her legs wide, ready to accept whatever
he wanted to do to her.
He kissed her lips tenderly, then began fucking her hard. But each desperate
thrust he sent no farther into Lace’s body than she had been allowing when she
was on top. It took a great deal of concentration to remember the exact feeling
of immersion, and measure how much of his length she was comfortable with. It
took an even greater degree of self-control to limit his thrusts to that when
he wanted so desperately to bury himself completely in her tight, wet heat. But
Rand managed it. Lace’s sweet moans, the fact that she finally called him by
his name, and the warm, trusting way in which she whispered that name, those
things were more than enough to make his restraint worthwhile.
He was only vaguely aware of the way her strong legs tightened around him and
the higher-pitched cry she let out when she tossed back her head a second time.
The satisfaction that hovered just beyond reach drove all other thoughts from
his mind.
When at last he felt his climax build Rand was forced to stop riding Lace
completely, lest he lose his hard-fought control. He tensed above her,
breathing heavily. Lace seemed to understand his dilemma immediately for she
unwrapped her legs from his hips, placed her feet on the bed and began
thrusting her hips up at him, stroking his cock, milking him until at last he
exploded inside her.
For a time all of Rand’s worries and fears and frustrations disappeared and he
became a creature of pure pleasure. I would live for moments like this, he
thought as he lay sprawled upon Lace. She combed her fingers through his hair
as he spurted inside her over and over.
When his tide had finally run out, Rand pulled himself out of Lace’s body and
rolled over to lie panting beside her on the bed.
Lace curled up at his side and rested her scarred cheek upon his shoulder.
“That was wonderful,” she breathed.
Rand wrapped his fingers around the small hand that rested on his chest, just a
little bit away from his heart. “Yes it was,” he breathed. “Thank you.”
She giggled. “I should be the one thanking you. I feel so much nakeder, and yet
so much less cold now. Funny how that works.”
“Happy to help,” he said with a lazy smile. “Anytime you’re feeling the chill,
feel free to call on me.”
“If only. But there’s ... Well, you know the complications already. Speaking of
which, you really shouldn’t fall asleep, my Lord. What if they rang for the
meeting while you were laying there?”
“It’s Rand, remember?”
“That—that doesn’t seem right somehow.”
Rand tried to get an angle so he could see her face. “Seriously? After this?”
Lace sat up, grinning in a chagrined way. “Well it doesn’t! You’re, you know.
And I’m just me.”
“You know what would be really improper?” Rand said. “If I had to shag you
silly again just to get you to say my name.”
Lace’s face turned bright red, and she burst out laughing.
“I’m tempted to dare you to,” she said when she had caught her breath. “But
there’s still that meeting, and I’d hate to be that one that messed it up for
you ... Rand. So could you please get dressed, my L—Rand?”
He stretched languidly. “Well since you asked so nicely. I’ll spare you this
time.” He rose from the bed and went to fetch his clothes while the lovely
little scout sat there, naked as the day she was born and watching his every
move.
***** Cooling Down *****
CHAPTER 25: Cooling Down
 
It was almost noon when the horns finally began to peel in the opposing
Falmeran camps.
“This could be dangerous,” Min fretted.
They had all gathered on the wall, looking out over the devastation of the past
few days. Worried faces told of the sad possibility of more fighting to come.
Min shared their fears. She stood arm in arm with Elayne, but it was Rand who
occupied her thoughts. He was going to go off on his own and get himself in
trouble again, she just knew it. Bad enough he’d chased after that Morrigan
witch—a Darkfriend no less!—when he should have been paying attention to
Elayne’s obvious crush. But now he was going to go and have a friendly chat
with a man who’d tried to have him killed once already. Min stewed in helpless
frustration.
“We could just slip away to the north while they’re busy,” Perrin suggested
sensibly. “Lan said there were other passes through the mountains up that way.”
He and Nynaeve stood at Rand’s right and left hands.
“Moiraine didn’t seem to think that would be a good idea,” Rand said. Min
didn’t like that pristine white coat he was wearing. It looked a bit too much
like something a Child of the Light would wear. He’d look much better in red,
or green.
Nynaeve sniffed. “Since when have you cared what Moiraine thought? You just
want to go stick your nose in the Falmerans’ business.”
Rand flushed. “That’s not true, Nynaeve. I’d just rather avoid a second battle
here. You won’t object to that, I assume?”
“Of course not.” She snapped, then sighed. “So who are you going to take with
you? Other than me of course.” To Min’s eyes alone there appeared to be a
garland of roses around Nynaeve’s neck, some of solid red and others palely
translucent, the two types interspersed between each other. She didn’t know
their meaning, and the roses disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.
Rand looked at Nynaeve like he wanted to argue just on general principal. But
then he relented with a small sigh of his own. “Of course.”
He turned to the Ogier towering in their midst. “Loial, would you mind coming
with me? It could be dangerous, but maybe just having you around will dissuade
anyone who’s inclined to get violent.”
“Of course, Rand,” Loial rumbled. “It will certainly be better than asking to
hear the tale second-hand.”
She heard quiet sighs of disappointed from many of those gathered. All of them
men, she couldn’t help but notice. Anna had known Rand for years but she didn’t
try to invite herself along to something she probably couldn’t have helped
with. She was a good woman, that one. Elayne was trained in diplomacy, but she
was a stranger representing a neutral foreign power, and had explained to Min
earlier that she didn’t think it prudent for her to be directly involved. She
too sensibly held her silence. The best of women, that one.
“We should get going,” Rand said.
The little Falmeran scout had been avoiding looking at Rand, but now she
blinked up at him. “Aren’t you going to sound a trumpet, my Lord? To announce
yourself, I mean. It’s what they’ll expect.”
Min snorted. “Go on ahead, Rand. I’ll sound the trumpet for you. It might as
well be useful for something.” Puffing on the Horn of Valere over and over
again these past days, only to have it fail every time, had driven Min to
actual tears. The thought that she’d somehow broken the Horn and spoiled their
chances of winning Tarmon Gai’don still haunted her.
“Thanks Min,” he said casually, then hopped over the wall seemingly without a
care in the world. Nynaeve and Loial scrambled to keep up.
Stupid sheepherder. Take better care of yourself.
Elayne came with her as she hastened back to their tent, where the Horn was
kept.
“Don’t fret so much, Min,” said Elayne as they ducked inside. “Nynaeve is with
him, and I’m sure Moiraine will have positioned herself with Evelin. Surtir is
not so great a threat that they cannot handle him. The challenge here is less
to protect ourselves from him, than to avoid the loss of life that will result
if he forces us to defeat him.”
“If you say so,” Min muttered. She knelt down and fished the Horn of Valere out
from under her dirty clothes, where she’d hidden it earlier.
Min cradled the golden horn in her hands for a moment. Then she sighed out a
breath, sucked in another, deeper one, and blew as hard as she could on the
Horn’s mouthpiece. That by-now-familiar note rang out, echoing across Tarcain
Cut and announcing Rand’s approach to those gathered outside. She climbed back
to her feet and turned to Elayne, the Horn held casually at her side.
“Well I guess all we can do now is hope they know what—” she began, then
frowned at her feet. There was a weird fog gathering in their tent ... a weird,
and kind of familiar fog.
Elayne’s mouth hung open. “Oh. Oh this again. I quite liked this.”
Min felt her eye twitching. “Now,” she whispered. “Now you work?”
The fog grew thicker, until she could barely see the walls of the tent. Elayne
skipped over to stand at her side, smiling brightly. Min was too incensed to
respond.
“Are you bloody kidding me!? Is this supposed to be funny? All that fighting,
and not so much as a whiff of smoke, but now you show up!?” she shouted. “You
stupid bloody trumpet!”
Min raised the Horn above her head, fully intent on smashing the damned thing
on the ground, then kicking it all the way across camp for good measure. Elayne
caught her by the wrists, and they danced a little jig together, there amongst
the fog.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Min,” Elayne giggled, as she fought to restrain her.
“They made me think I’d broken it,” Min gasped. “That I’d messed the whole
thing up. Ohhh, I’ll mess them up, you see if I don’t! Heroes or not, that’s
just not on.”
“It certainly isn’t, dear. You have every right to be upset. But let’s put the
Horn of Valere somewhere safe for a while, hmm? I’ll just take that,” she eased
the Horn out of Min’s trembling grasp, her lovely face showing only kind
patience. But Min thought there was a wicked gleam in her big, blue eyes.
A figure emerged from the fog, tall and proud and hook-nosed. Artur Hawkwing,
back from the grave. Again. He didn’t duck to enter their tent, though he
should have had to, given his height. No, he just strode up to them as though
the tent was no longer there. And who was to say that wasn’t the case. Rules
didn’t seemed to apply to the Heroes of the Horn at all.
“Once more we meet, Hornsounder,” Hawkwing said in his deep, commanding voice.
“And yet, I sense no danger. I do hope you have not disturbed our eternal rest
simply to converse. The Horn of Valere is not a toy, nor are those of us who
are bound to it fit to be played with.”
Min was too mad to be intimidated. “There was danger, actually. I tried to use
the Horn to summon you lot to help, but no-one showed up! Until now, when the
battle’s already over. Frankly, your kingliness, that doesn’t seem very heroic
to me. Bloody annoying, is how I’d describe it!”
Hawkwing endured her tirade calmly. “You have used the Horn at the earliest
possible opportunity since last it was sounded, girl. The amount of power it
must gather and expend to do what it does does not come lightly. Nor should it
be used so.” He turned his piercing dark eyes away from her, and Min felt a
little relief to be out from under his focus. There was nothing but fog before
Hawkwing’s face, but he seemed to be able to see anyway, for he then said, “The
Dragon is here. Good. We will speak to him.”
“Do you need us to gather the Dragon banner for you, your Grace?” said Elayne
politely.
“A kind offer, my dear. But no.”
Elayne raised her brows. “I thought you needed it to be present in order to
act?”
Hawkwing chuckled in response. “It is merely a piece of cloth. Its value lay,
and lies, only in what it represents. Now, pray excuse me.” And with that he
was gone. He didn’t walk away, he just wasn’t there anymore.
Min became aware of Elayne’s arms around her, hugging her from behind, or
holding her back. As her heartbeat came back down to its normal rhythm she
found herself blushing. She wouldn’t really have tried to kick Artur Hawkwing
on the shins. Probably.
“You can let me go now, Elayne,” she sighed. “I won’t do anything crazy, I
promise.”
Elayne laughed softly. “I could never imagine you being less than the very face
of reason, Min,” she said loyally. Or teasingly.
Min looked back over her shoulder suspiciously, but the Daughter-Heir’s face
was a pleasant mask. And she still hadn’t released her hold on Min. In fact,
she had moved her hands higher on Min’s chest. If not for her heavy winter’s
coat they might even have been well-positioned to fondle her breasts. Elayne
watched Min’s expression shift, then dimpled a smile.
“What are you—?”
“Shush. It’s okay, Min. No-one can see us. Even I can barely see us.” Elayne’s
right hand ventured down across Min’s belly, and slipped inside the waist of
her trousers, and her underwear.
Feather-light fingers sought out and teased the folds of Min’s sex. It didn’t
take long before she felt herself growing wet. Elayne murmured her approval,
then eased Min down to the soft ground.
They lay hip to hip as Elayne leaned over her, still dressed in her sadly-
concealing furs. The Daughter-Heir leaned in for a kiss, her lips soft and
sweet. Min loved those lips, as she loved the girl they belonged to. Their kiss
was broken by Min’s gasp of pleasure, when Elayne slid a finger inside her. Min
parted her legs instinctually, offering Elayne more room to work her magic upon
her.
“There’s no need to be upset, love,” Elayne whispered. “You were worried over
nothing. Everything is going to be fine, just relax. I’m here.” She petted
Min’s hair and kissed her cheeks. And she slid another finger inside her,
moving them faster now. Her thumb went to work on Min’s nub too, bringing a
whimper from her lips.
Min wrapped her arms around Elayne and held her tight, kissing her desperately
as her pleasure mounted. She felt the hard knot of fear that had she’d been
nursing in her stomach these past weeks melting fast. Or maybe that was just
her. No. No, that was definitely just her!
“Elayne!” Min gasped. She thrashed involuntarily as she found herself melting
all over the Daughter-Heir’s hand.
“There you go,” Elayne said happily, smiling down at Min as she watched her
writhe. “Now isn’t that better?” Min was sure her answering smile must have
looked a little dopey right then, but she was also sure it didn’t matter. Not
with her lovely Elayne.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Elayne kissed her lips briefly. “You’re quite welcome. See? I told you. All
will be well.”
Lying there in Elayne’s arms, for the first time in weeks Min started to
believe it would be.
***** Negotiations *****
CHAPTER 26: Negotiations
 
Rand was half-way across the field when the table that was his destination
faded from view. He frowned, turning in a circle and reaching for a sword that
was not there. Then it occurred to him that he might have seen this phenomenon
before. Oh, Min’s going to love this, he thought wryly.
“Great timing,” he sighed.
Nynaeve was tugging her braid, and Loial had taken his quarterstaff in both
hands. They had only seen the effects of the Horn’s sounding from afar, at
Falme. “What is this?” Nynaeve demanded.
“Don’t worry. It seems the Horn actually worked this time.”
She frowned. “Why now?”
Why indeed? Rand had no answer for her.
Loial had grounded his staff again and was staring off at nothing. “By my
reckoning it has been almost exactly two months since the Battle of Falme.
Could that be relevant, do you think?”
“Could be. I have no way of knowing,” said Rand.
“Not currently perhaps. If you recalled all that you are and all that you have
been, Dragon, you would know that the Ogier’s instincts are sharp,” said a
voice from the air.
Rand glanced around but saw nothing. But when he turned full circle a burning
figure was standing before him. Her shape was vaguely feminine, but her
features were indistinct. It was hard to look upon her brightness. He narrowed
his eyes and looked away in fear of blinding himself. Amerasu, he somehow knew.
“Don’t call me that,” he growled. “I’m not the Dragon. Only the Dragon Reborn.”
“You speak nonsense, old friend. As well say you are not the sun, only the
star.”
Nynaeve had her teeth clamped together, but the whites of her eyes showed all
around. Loial had dropped his staff and was frantically digging in his wide
pockets for a book and some writing materials. When he fumbled his pen in his
haste, he immediately dropped to his knees to retrieve it.
Etsio of Shiota appeared from out of the mist, his white hood casting his face
in shadow. “Why have you had us called here now?”
“I sense no danger to your purpose,” added Mabriam en Shereed, appearing at
Rand’s other side. Nynaeve actually gave a little jump when the woman appeared.
Mabriam had looked a bit like Moiraine in that life, though her skin was a
darker amber shade, and her hair had been longer. The loose, billowy dress she
wore made her seem even more a spirit than the other spirits.
“You should know better than to disturb our rest for frivolities,” finished a
spirit who was a stranger to Rand—a bearded man with wings of white in his dark
hair, who wore a long red cloak.
“That wasn’t my intention,” Rand said. “The Horn of Valere hasn’t been working,
so we just used it as though it was a normal trumpet. I’m supposed to be
meeting some people to negotiate a peaceful end to this conflict, and the Horn
was supposed to signal the start of the negotiations.”
“An amusing mishap, one might say,” opined Artur Hawkwing as he strode down out
of the clouds. He did it so casually you might have thought such a thing was
perfectly natural.
Rand’s lips quirked. “Dare I ask if we’re running out of time? Or do we still
have all of it? I’d hate to think I was keeping the Queen and her rogue general
waiting.”
“They stumble hither and thon, confused but unharmed,” said a mist-shrouded
figure moving nearby. One of many, he now realised. Rand did not know him, and
could barely make out his form in the mist, but somehow a name drifted into his
consciousness. Van Lucard, who had saved Arafel from the Draghkar during the
War of the Hundred Years.
Mabriam steepled her fingers thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can yet assist you,
Dragon ... Reborn. It would be a shame to see the Horn of Valere’s power wasted
completely. I have experience in negotiations.” She laughed softly. “Most
extensive experience.”
Mabriam en Shereed had created the Compact of the Ten Nations, long, long ago.
Rand imagined there must have been other people involved in that, but it was
Mabriam’s name that everyone remembered. In life she had been an Aes Sedai of
the Grey Ajah, and the Queen of Aramaelle. Extensive experience didn’t begin to
cover it, and that was just taking her most recent incarnation into account!
“I’d be grateful for any help you could offer,” he said.
“Um. If I may?,” Loial said hesitantly. “We were only supposed to bring three
people. Should I go? Or are all the rules of the world being thrown out the
window today?” He looked supremely reluctant to miss out, but Rand knew the
Ogier would step aside if asked.
“Though we could easily force a larger delegation upon them, it would be
impolitic to do so. Soft power is in some ways greater than naked force, and
should not be squandered unnecessarily,” said Mabriam.
Nynaeve had her arms folded firmly under her breasts. “Bah. You go, Loial. I’d
like to give Syoman Surtir a piece of my mind, but ...” her gaze drifted to
Mabriam’s serene form. “Maybe it would be better to let others have a go first.
Just for once.”
“I have missed that fiery tongue of yours, my love,” said Etsio as he sauntered
over to Nynaeve. “It was ever a delight. In volume ... and in silence.”
“What are you on about?” Nynaeve spluttered. “Off with you fool! Before I box
your ears the way your mother should have.”
Etsio chuckled. “You always protest so firmly ... until you soften.”
“Here now. That’s enough of that,” Rand said.
“I don’t even know who you are,” Nynaeve said angrily. “Stop talking to me like
you know me. Or implying that I would ever ... do stuff like that.”
“You do not remember me. Of course,” Etsio sighed. “But you did once. The Wheel
turns ever on, and so many strangers cross our paths who were once dear to us.
It is a sad thing, is it not?”
Rand had no answer to that. And from the look on Nynaeve’s face she didn’t
either.
Mabriam came to stand at Rand’s side. “You need not be alarmed. Etsio is a cad,
but he will not harm her. Unless she wishes to be harmed,” she added with a
soft laugh. “Shall we be on? The Horn’s power will only allow us to access the
physical plane for a short while.”
When Rand, Mabriam and a wide-eyed Loial emerged from the thinning fog at the
meeting place, they found the other parties already gathered. As well as
Moiraine, Evelin had brought with her a dark-skinned youth whose fine furs
suggested nobility.
Across the table from Evelin stood a dour-faced man in unadorned armour. His
black hair was starting to grey, and he looked over the strange phenomenon that
accompanied the Horn’s sounding with angry, defiant eyes. By process of
elimination Rand knew him as Syoman Surtir, the famous—or infamous—general. He
had brought with him a dark-haired and stern-faced female soldier. And a
certain yellow-haired Domani who was all-too familiar.
Their startled gazes snapped to Rand’s party. “Sorry for the delay,” he said,
“we ran into some old friends on our way here.”
Moiraine’s expressionless masked was fixed on Mabriam. “I don’t believe we’ve
met Sister.”
“This is Mabriam en Shereed. She’s volunteered to help smooth over our
difficulties,” Rand said. Moiraine remained expressionless, but her dark eyes
widened in a way that made her seem as close to girlish as he could ever
imagine her being.
Surtir snorted. “Is that the best trick you can come up with? A fog and a fake
Aes Sedai? You won’t get off that easily boy. I know what—”
He cut himself off when Mabriam began rearranging the papers and inkpots on the
table. The table she had been standing fifteen feet away from half a heartbeat
ago.
“You may call me Mabriam Sedai if you wish,” she said calmly. “though it is
only the name of my most recent incarnation. I well recall how much importance
mortals place on names and titles.”
“Mortals? So you used the Horn of Valere again, Rand?” Evelin said.
Rand grunted noncommittally.
“The Horn of—? This is ridiculous. You expect me to believe this is the Mabriam
en Shereed?” Surtir scoffed.
“Hmm. Perhaps a higher vantage would help you see through the fog that blinds
you, my good man,” Mabriam said, and suddenly Rand felt himself floating away
from the comfort of the cold, hard earth. Startled yells sounded from those
gathered as they too began drifting upwards. Even the table came with them.
Only Moiraine managed to keep some semblance of composure, and even she was
gripping her skirts in white-knuckled hands.
They came to a stop a hundred feet in the air, gathered around the plain wooden
table above a foggy plain. The two Falmeran armies, and the nervously-milling
soldiers that comprised them, looked small from up there. Rand could barely see
the gap in the mountainside where his own forces were holed up. Strangely-
garbed figures moved in and above the slowly-drifting fog. Many of them looked
irritated to be there at all.
“Now then,” said Mabriam. “You know my name, and my young friend here insists
on being known by the name Rand al’Thor. The Alantin I shall allow to introduce
himself.”
Loial raised his saucer-like eyes from his own dangling feet, and the ground
far below them. He had to clear his throat before speaking. “I am Loial son of
Arent son of Halan, of Stedding Shangtai. It is an honour to meet you all.”
“And representing the aggrieved parties?” The way Mabriam raised her brow
suggested it had been rude of them to make her ask.
Evelin did a credible job of controlling herself, though the effort left her as
stiff as a board. “Evelin Denagar, Queen of Falmerden. Accompanying me are Alys
Sedai and Lord Delrin Barris.”
Surtir’s jaws were clenched together. “General Syoman Surtir. Captain Alix
Cauthrien. Zevran Arayni.” He jerked a thumb at each in turn as he named them.
Zevran actually seemed to be enjoying himself, and was grinning down at all the
soldiers below. Rand didn’t think the assassin was quite right in the head.
“Now that we are all acquainted, to the matter at hand. A conflict is imminent,
a peaceful solution desired. Tell me: what is the source of your disagreement?”
“Betrayal, Aes Sedai.” Evelin said immediately. “General Surtir fled the field
at Falme, leaving his King—my father—and many other loyal Falmerans to perish
at the hands of the Seanchan. He must answer for this.”
Lord Delrin nodded firm agreement. “My father too was among those betrayed and
abandoned. Surtir sent him on a suicide mission.”
Surtir’s anger was enough make him forget the fact that he was flying. “You
dare call me coward? I was fighting the enemies of Falmeran before either of
you were even a lusty thought in your mother’s mind! You are the traitors!
Which of you stood against the Riela of Valreis when her troops flattened our
fields and raped our wives? Neither of you deserve a say in what happens to
Falmerden. None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have. How
dare you judge me!”
“You have not denied having quit the field while the battle was in progress,
General Surtir,” Mabriam said calmly. “May I ask your reasons?”
“Our position was untenable. The Seanchan’s victory was certain. I saved as
many of my soldiers as I could, so they could fight for Falmerden another day.
Behind better leaders.”
Young Barris scowled at the older man. “Certain defeat? Strange, I could have
sworn it was the Warhounds that flew over the Divalaird when last I saw it. And
not the golden hawk of Seanchan.”
Rand couldn’t help but notice that Evelin held her silence. Unlike Barris, she
had been there when the battle was fought. If Min had not sounded the Horn of
Valere, it might have turned out just the way Surtir described.
“That may be so,” Surtir growled. “But no mere strength at arms could have won
that fight. An unnatural power was invoked at Falme. And I know who invoked
it.”
The General jabbed an armoured finger Rand’s way. “This man can channel the One
Power. He is a false Dragon, whose bandits have been preying on good Falmerans
ever since the Seanchan withdrew, piling misery on top of misery for our
people. I’ll grant you this much, Evelin. Whether you planned it or not you’ve
at least managed to bring an Aes Sedai with you, one that can do what needs
doing here. This man must be seized and executed.”
“That will not happen,” Moiraine said quietly.
“I fear you are mistaken in this, General,” said Mabriam. “Rand al’Thor is not
a false Dragon. He is the reincarnation of Lews Therin Telamon, a chosen
champion of the Light, the Pattern and the Creator. As surely as are all those
summoned today by the Horn of Valere. It is not for you to hinder the work he
was been assigned to do.”
Surtir’s mouth worked soundlessly. Barris and Cauthrien had their hands on
their swords, and Zevran was laughing softly to himself.
“The Dragonsworn you are talking about aren’t under my command,” Rand said.
“Not really. They’re just as you describe them. Bandits. But bandits who’ve
taken to claiming they are acting on my orders, the better to scare their
victims. That one band I was with, the one your assassin was imbedded with; I
just took charge of them so I could make them fight the Trollocs instead of
their fellow humans. All but six of them are dead now.”
“And the rest of it?” Surtir demanded.
Rand met his dark eyes squarely. “As much as I would like to tell the Heroes of
the Horn that they are a bunch of liars, even I’m not that stubborn. I am the
Dragon Reborn. And Tarmon Gai’don is coming. Falmerden is more in danger now
than it has ever been. All the nations of the world are. The Trollocs that you
fought yesterday are just a taste of what is to come. We can’t afford to be
fighting each other.”
Syoman shook his head slowly, then turned his attention to Evelin. “Our land
has been invaded before. We Falmerans have proven that we will never truly be
conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now.
If you have any care for this nation, rather than your own pride, you will
stand down and let me save Falmerden.”
Evelin frowned angrily. “I am Queen Nora’s only daughter. The throne is mine by
law. And you must answer before the court for your actions, Syoman.”
Rand didn’t like the way things were going. This wasn’t like with Kellis,
though even that had troubled him more than he cared to admit. Surtir was no
selfish bandit. Rand could understand and sympathise with his point of view.
The man might have tried to kill him, he might even still want to, but Rand did
not return his desire for blood. He wished there was a way to get Evelin and
Syoman to just put aside their differences and work together, but perhaps it
was naive to think it possible.
“Experience, but with it disorder. Law, but with it youth. Both serve the land,
but neither can save it alone,” Mabriam en Shereed said. “Is the weave of this
moment set then? Will Falmerden fade into history, as Aramaelle did so long
ago?”
“Not while I still draw breath,” Surtir vowed.
“I will fight for Falmerden against—against whatever comes,” said Evelin,
shuddering at the thought of what she dared not name.
Mabriam remained serene. “Yet one must yield, or both must break. The youth
unproven, or the veteran mistaken. One, or both. Which future do you choose?”
“Throwing away the life of an experienced military commander seems unwise to
me,” said Rand. “Given what’s coming, I mean. Is there no way you could be
persuaded to spare him, Evelin?”
“I might, possibly, see the logic in abandoning my father to die,” she said,
though the words obviously pained her. “But I can’t turn a blind eye to a rebel
officer falsely claiming to be my regent and turning my own people against me.”
“What about imprisoning him for a while? You could get his advice, and he’d
still be available to fight when the time comes.”
“If you hadn’t done what you did at Falme, I ...” She sighed before continuing.
“I would take your advice, Rand. But we both know Syoman would never accept
such a judgement.”
General Surtir had been frowning at the table in silence. Now he raised his
eyes to meet Evelin’s. “I was wrong. I yield.”
Rand was surprised, though not half so surprised as the other Falmerans at the
table. Moiraine concealed her thoughts as well as ever, Loial was too busy
scribbling furiously in his book to show much reaction, and Zevran simply
didn’t care.
Mabriam nodded as though the result was never in doubt. “The Wheel weaves as
the Wheel wills. Do we agree to a surrender of power, in exchange for clemency
and temporary imprisonment?”
“We do,” said Evelin.
“So be it,” sighed Syoman.
“Then let it be so written. Friend Ogier?” Loial jumped at being suddenly
addressed. He quickly set his own book aside to let the ink dry, and pulled the
waiting papers towards him.
As Mabriam dictated the terms of surrender for Loial to write, and the Queen
and the General waited to add their signatures, Rand turned his attention out
over the gathered armies below.
This had gone far better than he’d expected. And he hadn’t needed to do much
besides be there. Ta’veren again? He wondered how much he could rely on that.
Dare he stay here in Falmerden a while? Evelin seemed like someone whose
support he could rely on, but how many others would see him as someone they
needed to kill as soon as possible? It would be hard to hide what he was now.
Too many people had seen the Horn used, and seen him in the middle of its
effect. He could see them down there, staring up at the nine people floating in
the sky in between gaping at the half-recognised ghosts that still wandered the
fog-shrouded plain of Tarcain Cut. Suddenly Rand wanted nothing more than to
get out from under those stares. We’ll leave Falmerden as soon as possible, he
decided.
When it was done Syoman instructed Captain Cauthrien to carry his orders back
to his army, before surrendering himself to Evelin’s custody. His sword he
surrendered to Rand, who accepted it with uncertain thanks, not sure why the
man would see fit to give it away, and to him of all people. Mabriam had smiled
a small smile at that. It was a plain, soldier’s blade, but felt better
balanced than the one he had been using lately.
Safely back on the ground, with the glowing fog having already faded, Rand was
not the only one to stare at the spot where Mabriam en Shereed had stood
minutes ago. She had faded away right before their eyes.
“Well this was something I never thought I’d see,” said Zevran, breaking the
silence with a laugh. He turned to Rand. “I seem to be out of a job, but
perhaps reporting back to my mistress can wait a while. I don’t suppose you
have need of a handsome assassin?”
“I don’t,” Rand said firmly. Even having channelled tainted saidin as often as
he had, he was not yet that crazy.
“A pity,” Zevran sighed.
“What will you do, Rand?” said Evelin. “Or should I address you as something
else?”
“Light no! And I’ll do what we talked about earlier. Get out of Falmerden as
quickly and quietly as I can.”
“As you should have, some time ago,” said Moiraine coolly.
Rand sighed. The Trollocs defeated and the civil war averted, but she still
found reason to snipe at him.
Evelin looked conflicted. “It will be impossible to hide what happened here,
but perhaps the details could be kept back. You could stay, Rand. All your
companions could. I am not without means and you would be well taken care of.”
He shook his head. “Too many people will want me dead. Both the ones who think
I’m just another false Dragon, and maybe even the ones that believe I really am
what I say I am.” He would need a lot more than just a squad of Shienaran
lancers around him before he dared allow his identity to become public
knowledge.
“Well, perhaps it is for the best. But you have a friend in Falmerden. Do not
doubt that. Call on me, should you ever need my help.”
Rand smiled at her. “Thank you.”
They gathered up Nynaeve on the way back to camp. She was red-cheeked and wore
such a scowl that Rand decided it would be best not to talk to her for a while.
When Lan came running from the direction of Evelin’s camp and caught up to
them, he too took one look at Nynaeve and adopted a silent watchfulness.
His friends were waiting atop the wall, all save Min and Elayne. Rand assumed
they were off somewhere hiding the Horn.
Perrin offered him a hand as he clambered up the rope. “I take it there’s not
going to be more fighting?”
“Thanks to the Horn,” Rand said as he reached the top. “But we need to be
leaving, before the people out there get over the shock of what they’ve just
seen and start asking themselves what they should do about it.”
“I still don’t see why you have to leave,” said Lace, her face set in a calm
indifference that her words belied. “But that was the second part of the
message I was sent with. Queen Evelin says to tell you that to find a way
through the Zandarakhs, and past the Valreio blockade, you should visit the
town of Jerra north-west of here. There’s a man named Valan Luca who should be
staying there at the moment. He can get you through, if you can meet his
price.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” said Rand. “Thank you.” He kept his own features
as still as hers, but he dared to think he saw a fondness to match his own in
the little scout’s eyes.
“I’ll have the camp broken at once, my Lord Dr—, ah, Rand,” said Uno. “We
should have ample supplies left for the journey, given the casualties.”
Rand grimaced slightly. The casualties. And the few survivors. He turned to the
six Dragonsworn and spoke gruffly. “You six have a new task. You are to go with
Scout Debatthien and join Queen Evelin’s army. There you will assist in
rebuilding Falmerden, and preparing for the battles to come.” The men exchanged
sour looks. Rand didn’t know their names, and didn’t care to. He strode off
towards the ravine without waiting for a response.
The camp was soon a bustle of activity as men and woman rushed to prepare for
departure. A twinge of Rand’s conscious told him that he should stay and help
bury all the bodies they’d made, but the need to put distance between himself
and all the strangers in the armies nearby overrode it. The cold had kept the
corpses from smelling too bad so far, but he doubted that would last and pitied
those who had to pick up the slack he was leaving. The Shienarans had already
attended to Masuto and Panowin earlier while Rand stood dumbly by, feeling he
should say something but finding he had no words.
Rand’s steps slowed as he approached his own tent. There was another task he
had to do, a more personal one that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave to anyone else.
The bundled pack was just where he had left it. The clothes she had discarded
when she fled sat beside it. Oft-mended, he thought he could still smell her on
them. Her spear was there too, and the mirror he had given her. She had seemed
pleased by the gift, but ... Maybe that was a lie. Maybe it was all a lie. The
thought made him sad. He tied her clothes in a bundle with the mirror held
safely in its middle. Then Rand gathered up Morrigan’s belongings and stepped
out into the chill air once more.
It wasn’t easy reaching the spot on the cliff face where the Dragon banner had
once flown, especially with the pack strapped to his back, and her other
possessions tied to it, but Rand had always been good at climbing. He set them
down on the small landing, carefully away from the ledge, and used her spear to
jam them in place. The letter he had written her sat underneath the mirror.
He’d considered burning it several times since borrowing Loial’s writing
materials, and even now he felt the confused impulse to retrieve it before
climbing back down. But he did not. Perhaps she wouldn’t even come back this
way. Perhaps he would never see her again. He wished that thought didn’t hurt.
As he climbed back down he found himself recalling the village of Hadirn where
Morrigan had grown up. He’d found something very unsettling about that place at
the time, but hadn’t been able to explain it to himself. Now he wondered if
they were all Darkfriends. A Darkfriend community, hidden away from the rest of
the world, where everyone—even the children—were taught to worship the Shepherd
of the Night. Or maybe he was just making excuses, trying to come up with a
reason to justify why Morrigan had turned to the Shadow.
When he reached the bottom he found his own self-doubt reflected in the
disapproving looks Nynaeve and Anna were giving him. He could tell from
Nynaeve’s face that she knew now what had happened with Morrigan. Her
exasperated sigh and the way she shook her head told him she knew his thoughts
as well. Rand avoided her eyes as he went to attend to his packing.
***** A Poor Choice of Words *****
CHAPTER 27: A Poor Choice of Words
 
Chansein was in full swing out beyond the walls of the Tower grounds, but here
in the Tower itself the celebration was a much more sombre affair. Aery had
told him that cook Laras was preparing an especially good meal for everyone.
The poor girl had even seemed excited about it, until she found out she’d been
assigned to assist in the kitchens. Mat shook his head to himself as he stared
out his window at the distant crowds in Tar Valon. If he’d been back in the
Theren he’d have already eaten so much he’d be struggling to walk, and laughing
folk would be trying to foist more on him. It was the height of rudeness to
refuse the offer of food on Chansein, and anybody with a lick of sense knew
that was the perfect time to torment your friends with all their least-
favourite foods.
Muttering to himself, Mat snatched his coat off the back of a chair and stalked
from the room. If he wasn’t allowed to go to the feast, maybe he could at least
find someone to have a tumble with.
Aery would be too busy, and he hadn’t seen Karin since she had been dragged off
to Sheriam’s office yesterday. Alvistere was still avoiding him, but Maryel was
a good prospect. And he might have some luck if he could get Namene and Marah
in the same room. Anything that one of them wanted was something the other one
wanted more these days. Mat hummed tunelessly to himself as he made his way
down to the ground floor of the Tower, the rich tapestries and polished tiles
barely registering on his awareness anymore, he’d seen them so many times.
Faolain was on duty alone at the grand entrance. He smirked and turned his
steps her way. She was fun to tease, was Faolain.
“Come feast or famine, rain or shine. Nothing can prevent stout Faolain from
sitting and staring at a door all day!”
She gave him a sour look. “It is my duty. In case a petitioner shows up. It’s
important work.”
“The most important work of all, no doubt. In fact, I think that hinge might
have rusted a little since I came in the room. I’d best stay a while and help,
just in case another speck appears.” He didn’t wait for her permission before
sprawling on the wooden bench beside her, an easy grin on his face.
Faolain sighed. “Fine. Do whatever you please.”
“Are you sure about that?” Mat laughed.
She spun to face him, eyes wide. “That is not what I meant! Keep your hands to
yourself if you don’t want to lose them.”
“Can’t have that! I have very skilled hands. Lots of people have told me so.”
She sniffed.
“Are all the feastdays here so boring?” Mat sighed. “Do you lot even know how
much more fun it is out there? Or did they put you in Novice white before you
had the chance to know what you’re missing?”
“I doubt you’ve ever seen a real festival, farmboy,” Faolain grunted. “We
celebrate the Day of Ribbons down in Mayene—now those were some parties.”
“O-ho! So you’re not a stranger to fun after all,” Mat crowed. “I knew there
had to be a reason I liked you.”
Her full lips quirked into a smile, if only briefly.
“Do you ever miss it? Mayene and the parties, I mean,” he said.
Faolain was quiet for a while, and her face grew grim. “Sometimes,” she
admitted at last. “But it’s only right that the training be so long and so
hard. Aes Sedai can’t afford to be anything but the best they can be.”
“Well you’re obviously a tough woman, to take something as long and hard as
that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Mat gave her his most innocent look.
“Is it ever not long and hard though?” Mat said. “Getting back to what I asked
about the feastdays here.”
Faolain sighed. “They’re all this boring.”
“Butter my onions and fry them for supper,” Mat swore, throwing up his arms.
“How do you all stand it? I think I’m going mad already, and it’s only been
half a year.”
“Don’t blame the Tower for that. I doubt you had much sanity to lose,” Faolain
said rudely.
“Well now, that’s just mean! I’m the soul of sanity. As reliable as the sun
rising, that’s Mat Cauthon.” He thought it best not to mention that time he’d
been beset by the strange impulse to stab his friends, just to make sure they
didn’t turn on him someday. Or the gaps in his memories he’d been left with
after waking from his coma. All because of that bloody dagger he’d filched from
Shadar Logoth.
“Oh, you’re reliable alright, Cauthon,” Faolain grouched. “Reliably sluttish.”
“Hey, if a woman wants something who am I to tell her no?”
Faolain sniffed. “Some might prefer a man to guard his virtue better. How are
you ever going to find a wife to take care of you if you give it up for every
woman who crooks her finger your way?”
Mat didn’t want to think that far ahead. Besides, even if women owned all the
land and most of the gold, there were still jobs for men to do. Usually the
hard, dangerous, physical jobs, unfortunately ... but still jobs. He could get
by. And even if he couldn’t have, Mat wasn’t about to go looking for a wife!
Not any time this decade. Or the next even!
“Is that a proposal?” he joked, knowing it wasn’t.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Aes Sedai almost never marry. Even sex is ... ah, beneath
them.”
Mat snorted. And she had the cheek to question his sanity. “Well if that’s what
it takes to be virtuous, I’ll stick to sluttiness thanks. All those bored and
beautiful women can just keep coming to me for their entertainment needs.”
He put his arm across the back of the bench and gave Faolain his best smile. “I
doubt they’ll be half so beautiful as you though, or a tenth so bored.”
Faolain snorted softly, knowingly ... but she didn’t recoil from him.
Mat continued with a smile. “I miss the parties. Don’t you? Maybe we could
stage our own little party. To remind ourselves of what it’s like. Just you and
me, in a quiet corner ...”
She said nothing, but her dark eyes were steady on his. Mat decided to toss the
dice and see what happened. He leaned in and kissed her. Faolain’s lips tasted
sweet, even when she was being as unresponsive as she was. When he boldly
reached out to squeeze her heavy breast she shot up from the bench to stand
over him.
“I shouldn’t ...”
He took her hands and stood close. “But?”
Faolain grimaced slightly. “But there’s an empty storeroom just down the hall
...”
Mat grinned. “Lead the way.”
He got himself a good look at Faolain’s butt as she hastened down the hallway,
pulling him by the hand behind her. The white skirts hid much, but not enough
to prevent him getting hard at the thought of what lay beneath.
Faolain selected a key from the ring that was given to whoever was on duty at
the entrance, and used it to unlock one of the identical doors that lined the
corridor. The room she led him into was full of shelves and boxes, with a wide
selection of tools poking out of them. Mat ran his eyes over them, looking for
a good spot but finding none.
Faolain wasn’t bothered though. She closed the wooden door and locked it
firmly, then pushed Mat up against it and kissed him roughly. Soon her hands
were at his belt, unbuckling it as she kissed him. He tugged up her skirts, the
better to grope the lush flesh beneath.
Mat broke their kiss with a loud groan when Faolain took hold of his hard cock
and pulled it free of his breeches. She ran her hand up and down his length a
few times, smiling at his reaction, her white teeth flashing in her dark face.
Not wanting to be outdone, Mat reached around and began undoing the buttons on
her dress with practiced fingers.
He was almost done when Faolain let him go. She hiked her skirts up the rest of
the way and quickly pushed her underwear down over her fleshy thighs. She
stepped out of them, then spun her and Mat around so it was her back to the
door instead.
Mat understood. He reached down between her legs and picked her up, his arms
forming a sling in which she now sat, her fleshy cheeks delighting his hands.
He kissed her roughly as he poked his hips forward, searching blindly for her
entrance. When he found it he slipped easily inside her wet heat. They both
moaned aloud at the feeling.
Mat fucked Faolain long and hard as she ran her fingers through his hair. She
kissed him often, and stuck her tongue in his mouth more daringly than most of
the students here would. She was no virgin, that was plain. Not that that
mattered to Mat of course.
The top of her dress fell down as they fucked, revealing her breasts. Mat
stared at them, enjoying the way they jiggling and fascinated by the colours.
Faolain had the darkest skin of anyone he had ever met, and her nipples were
darker still. Almost black, and tipped with hard little buds that he wished he
could suck on.
As much as Mat was enjoying the feel of her body wrapped around his, he
couldn’t stop his arms from shaking. Faolain’s legs were wrapped around his
hips, her underwear dangling from one ankle, and she was not exactly a small
girl. Perrin or Rand might have been able to hold her aloft for longer, but Mat
was a built for nimbleness, not brute strength. Gasping, sweating and
unsatisfied, he was eventually forced to set Faolain back down on her feet.
“Why are you stopping?” she moaned. “I’m so close ...”
“I want a good look at that ass of yours,” Mat gasped.
Faolain laughed lightly. Once he had slid out of her wet crevice, she spun
around and rested her hands against the door, thrusting her hips back towards
him.
“Now that’s a pretty sight,” Mat said honestly. Dark and round and fleshy, she
was so very grabbable. So grab her he did, wasting little time before thrusting
his cock back inside her pussy and winning a moan of pleasure.
Mat’s hands roved from Faolain’s hips to her breasts as he fucked her. His gaze
latched to her butt, which shook with each slap of his hips against it.
After only a short while, Faolain reached a hand down between her legs and
began rubbing herself furiously. Almost immediately afterwards he felt her
pussy clamp around his cock as Faolain let out a single loud shout of triumph.
Mat kept fucking her, pursuing his own imminent climax as the Accepted sucked
in deep breaths of air. The force of his thrusts banged Faolain against the
door. The door didn’t much like that, because it banged back.
Mat and Faolain froze. They jumped when the door banged again.
“Cauthon! Are you in there? The Amyrlin demands your presence,” a man shouted.
Mat swore softly. Faolain reached back to shove him away, leaving his poor cock
lonely and unsatisfied. She hastily stepped back into her underwear and dragged
them back up, before attacking the buttons of her dress with shaking fingers.
“When the Amyrlin calls for someone, she expects them to present themselves
immediately, boy. Do not make me break down this door.” The woman who spoke
sounded arrogantly mature. He was almost certain it would be an Aes Sedai,
though she was not one whose voice he recognised.
Faolain seemed to however. “Burn me for an utter fool,” she hissed, squeezing
her eyes shut. “What have I done?”
Mat began putting his bits away. It seemed unlikely he would get to finish
things with Faolain now, unfortunately. A quick glance around the room
confirmed that there was only the one exit.
“You have until I count to five to open this door,” the Aes Sedai said.
“Fine, fine,” Mat sighed. “Hold your horses.” He stepped past Faolain and
turned the key in its lock. The door swung inward immediately, revealing a
hard-faced man with the topknot of a Shienaran warrior, but whose eyes were as
blue as any Andoran’s.
He grunted at the sight of the shame-faced Faolain, then jerked a thumb over
his shoulder. “Out,” was all he said.
“Nice to meet you too,” Mat said wryly. “Are you here to take me to the feast?”
“Not exactly,” said the woman. He got his first look at her as he sauntered
from the room. She was slender, with the colouring of a typical Theren woman,
and a fetching smile. Her green-and-gold dress showed a hint of what he judged
to be a fine bosom. Were it not for that face, he might have thought to strike
up a conversation. It was a pretty face, with eyes large enough for a man to
sink into. A pity it was also ageless. “I am Joline,” she continued. “And you
are Mat Cauthon. The Amyrlin’s pet ta’veren. And a most poorly-trained pet
indeed, by all accounts.”
Mat scowled. Pretty had been far too kind a description for her. “I’m no-one’s
pet, Aes Sedai.”
Joline’s face was ice. “A young man in your position who wished to be assured
of his future could do much worse than seek the protection of the Tower. You
should be more grateful.”
The Aes Sedai raised her voice before continuing. “Whoever is slinking about in
there, you had best not be imagining you can hide from me. Come out at once.”
Faolain dragged her feet as she exited the storeroom. Her head was lowered and
she was tensed as though expecting a blow.
“Well, well,” Joline said scornfully, planting her fists on her hips. “I was
expecting one of those thimble-brained Novices, but you Faolain? I thought
better of you.” She pointed imperiously down the corridor. “Get yourself off to
Sheriam’s office, and wait there for my arrival. There will be a penance for
this the likes of which you have never seen.”
“Yes, Aes Sedai,” Faolain said dejectedly.
“Now, girl!” Joline snapped, sending the dark Accepted scurrying away. Joline
turned her attention back to Mat. “As for you, you have kept the Amyrlin
waiting long enough. And obliged me to go looking for you.” From her tone you’d
think that was the worst part. “You will march yourself to her office, and
fast.”
A heavy hand between his shoulders shoved Mat forward, and turned his retort
into a startled yell. “There’s no need to get all handsy there, pal!” he
objected as they set off.
“Move faster then,” the Warder said.
Mat grumbled under his breath all the way up to the level where the Amyrlin’s
office was situated. The rich furnishings, colourful floor tiles and
unnecessarily wide corridors did not hold his attention. He was too busy with
his own racing thoughts. It had been a pity they’d interrupted him and Faolain,
he’d been quite enjoying her. That Joline one was a real Aes Sedai, in his
estimation. And he didn’t mean the term as a compliment. But maybe they’d
finally grown as sick of Mat Cauthon as he was of them. Did he dare hope the
Amyrlin was about to kick him out? Or would she have some worse punishment in
mind. If anyone tries to spank me they’re getting a black eye for their
trouble, Warder or—or even an Aes Sedai. Burn me if they don’t! Well, maybe not
an Aes Sedai. They might be tyrannical, heartless monsters but they were still
women.
The tall, thin Keeper of the Chronicles gave Mat a cold look as he was escorted
through the antechamber. The grey-haired man standing sentry outside the door
beyond—the Amyrlin’s Warder, Alric—looked even less pleased to see Mat. Leane
did not rise from her desk, but simply nodded for Joline to go on in.
Inside, the Green sister and her Warder took up sentry positions by the door as
Mat approached the woman sat at the centre of it all.
The Amyrlin Seat, Siuan Sanche, was a hard-faced Tairen with straight black
hair, fair skin and icy blue eyes. She looked up from the pile of paper on her
plain table when Mat was brought into her office. At the sight of him a scowl
tightened her brows.
“You are trying my patience, boy,” she said without preamble. “I have enough
troubles to deal with, without you spreading chaos throughout the Tower.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Mat said contritely. “As much as I’ve appreciated your
hospitality, if you want me to leave I will. I promise I’ll never darken your
door again.”
The Amyrlin snorted. “Fishguts! Do you think me a fool, boy? I’ll see you
disabused of that notion as fast as a silverpike’s bite. I’ve told you,
ta’veren. You will remain here until I find a use for you. Do you really think
these idiotic antics of yours will change that? All you’ve done is weed out
those initiates who lacked the character to every wear the shawl. Like young
Karin.”
“Karin?” Mat asked reluctantly.
Sanche nodded tersely. “On her way back to obscurity in Ghealdan. If she has
any sense she will come to rue the day she ever met you. Does that trouble you
at all?”
Mat shifted uncomfortably. He scowled, but at the tiled floor of the office,
not the woman who owned it. “It’s not my fault you people have such warped
standards,” he muttered.
She snorted. “Some of the others might learn better, if a hard enough hand is
taken with them now. Even you might, if you grow up and start taking your duty
more seriously.”
Mat’s shoulders tightened. Ta’veren. He wished he’d never heard that word. Just
because it had been attached to him, he apparently now had some duty to do
whatever the Aes Sedai wanted. Well, why should he? Blood and ashes, if the
Pattern really did have some plans for him, then who was to say the Aes Sedai
weren’t getting in the way of it?
He didn’t say that though. All he could do was sigh as he saw his last, best
escape plan falling to pieces around him.
“We are well rid of the likes of Karin,” the Amyrlin continued, “but you are
still making more work for the Mistress of Novices than she cares to have. So
these games of yours will end. Or they will be ended. Look at me!” The snap of
her voice brought his eyes up involuntarily. “Make no mistake, Matrim Cauthon.
It is completely within my power to end your games. But you will not enjoy the
things I have to do to make it so. End them willingly, instead, if you have any
wits in your skull. If I hear one more tale of your perverted escapades you
will howl for it.”
“I understand, Mother,” Mat sighed. The worst part was he really did believe
her.
“Better you should occupy yourself on the practice field. At least there you
will be learning things that will be useful, someday soon. Get him out of here,
Joline. See him confined to his quarters for the rest of the feast, which he
will not be taking part in.”
The Aes Sedai curtsied. “As you command, Mother.”
The Green sister lectured Mat on the respect due Aes Sedai all the way back to
his comfortable cell. He barely heard her, and didn’t respond to any of her
questions. When they parted she had a chilly look on her face, and her back was
as stiff as a startled cat’s.
Mat didn’t care. He collapsed on the bed and spent hours staring at the
ceiling, and lamenting his fate. When sleep eventually crept up on him it
brought with it troubled dreams, dreams of giant haybales twice his size or
more, and of shovelling manure until he was old and withered and grey.
Mat spent most of the next day moping in his room. When he finally dragged
himself out of bed the day after that, he found himself wandering down to the
Warder’s practice field. He hated doing what the Sanche woman had demanded of
him, but there really was nothing else for him to do in the Tower.
He spied the Andoran prince, Gawyn Trakand and his handsome brother Galad from
afar. They were paired off against Hammar and Coulin, both of whom were
blademasters, but the brothers seemed to be giving the older fellows a decent
fight of it. They had improved since Mat had thumped them last. He wouldn’t
have minded going at them again though. So far as Mat was concerned, nobles
were nearly as bad as Aes Sedai.
Name the Dark One and his eye will fall on you. Joline was watching her
Shienaran spar with a dark-haired man a little shorter than him. They were
good, and their practice lathes clacked against each other at a fierce rhythm,
but even Mat could tell they were no match for the likes of Hammar, or Lan
Mandragoran.
Mat sauntered by. So long as he had a good staff he thought he could have taken
the Shienaran, and it would serve him right for pushing Mat around the way he
had, but maybe both at once would be pushing his luck this time.
Joline watched Mat with an Aes Sedai’s expressionless face. “Blaeric. Fen.
Enough,” she said commandingly, and the two men stopped mid-swing. “You show a
smidgeon of promise, Master Cauthon, by taking the Amyrlin’s words to heart.
Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Heed the Aes Sedai like this in all things,
and you will happier for it.”
“Sure I will,” Mat drawled as he approached the wooden stand where all the
practice weapons were kept.
The Warders had gone to return their own weapons. The unfamiliar one poked him
on the back of his left shoulder with a hard finger. “Don’t be so light-
tongued,” he said warningly.
The Shienaran poked him on the back of the other shoulder. “Remember who you
are talking to!” Joline sniffed at his tone.
Mat felt a knot loosen in the back of his neck, about where a headsman’s axe
would strike. He was getting really tired of that fellow poking him in the back
like that.
“And who am I talking to exactly, topknot?” he grated. “Not Lan Mandragoran, I
saw that much.”
“Blaeric Negina,” the man said in a voice that could have frozen a pond.
“And this is Fen Mizar, my other Warder,” put in Joline in an even colder
voice. “Perhaps I gave you too much credit, Master Cauthon. You still have not
learned your place.”
“Maybe one of your Warders would like to step out on the field and teach me
then?” His temper was on him, and the words spilled out before he could call
them back. “Or both even.”
The Warders were looking at Mat as lions might look at a goat that had bared
its teeth at them.
Joline laughed. “You know, I think I’d like to see that. Yes, Mat, I think I’d
like that a lot.”
Blaeric and Fen paused in the act of returning their practice swords to the
rack, and spun on their heels to return to the field. “As you wish, Joline
Sedai,” they said in unison.
Mat snorted. He took his time about selecting a weapon of his own, eyeing
Joline’s Warders as he did so. They were like peas in a pod for men so
different. Fen, with his dark, tilted eyes and a chin that could chip stone,
was a touch shorter than Blaeric, and maybe a little heavier in the chest and
shoulders, yet they could have worn each other’s clothes without much
difficulty. Where Fen’s straight black hair hung almost to his shoulders, blue-
eyed Blaeric’s topknot was of a slightly lighter colour. Blaeric was Shienaran,
though his colouring was more typical of an Andorman. Fen was a Saldaean by his
accent.
Mat hefted a quarterstaff and walked out to meet them.
He was worried his mouth might have gotten him in trouble, but Mat wasn’t about
to back down now. He decided he’d focus his attacks on Blaeric. The other one
was just as much an Aes Sedai lackey as Blaeric was, but the Shienaran was
several shoves ahead of him on Mat Cauthon’s thump-me-on-the-nose list.
Mat spun the staff in his hands. “Well, you know what they say in ...” he
began, then whipped one end of the staff at Blaeric’s temple.
He’d hoped to catch the Shienaran by surprise, but the man was too quick. He
hopped back from Mat’s attack, took the handle of his practice sword in a two-
handed grip, and darted to Mat’s right. The Warders didn’t exchange even a
glance, but Fen darted to Mat’s left and came in low just as Blaeric went high.
If he’d been a swordsman Mat would’ve had a hard time stopping that, but his
staff was able to check both blows at once with relative ease. He spun out of
it, and tried for Blaeric’s ankles with the lower end. The Warder jumped clear,
but having left his feet he was unable to avoid Mat’s follow up attack and took
a heavy thump to the ribs.
Fen was on him by then, and Mat was forced back, his staff darting back and
forth to stop the Warder’s sword. Fen tried for his hands, but Mat had been
wise to that danger since before he was old enough to need to shave.
He jabbed for Fen’s knees in between fending off his attacks, and soon had the
man off balance. Mat went on the offensive, and now it was the Warder skipping
backwards, frantically trying to fend off a heavier weapon with his lighter
one.
Again though, the second Warder jumped in before Mat could press his advantage.
Mat growled in frustration as he alternated swings between the two of them.
They circled around, trying to get in his blind side. Succeeding too. He knew
he’d have to take one down if he hoped to win, and he’d have to do it soon.
Mat thrust at Fen’s face with the end of his staff, and the Saldaean jumped
backwards rather than try to block it. Seizing that brief opportunity, Mat went
at Blaeric with all he had, raining wooden blows on the Warder’s sword. He
thumped the top of the Shienaran’s foot, bringing a pained grunt from him, then
drove the wind out of him with a thrust to the stomach before bringing the
staff around to clip him across the jaw. Ha! Mat crowed internally, you had
that ...
He didn’t get to finish the thought. A heartbeat after his staff connected with
Blaeric’s jaw, Fen’s sword struck Mat across the back of the head and sent him
crashing face-first onto the cold ground.
The first thing he heard when he came to was Joline’s vexed voice, though he
was too groggy to make out what she said. Mat touched the back of his head and
winced. His staff was laying outside his reach, but that didn’t matter. The
match was over. Blaeric was still down, with Joline and Fen kneeling over him.
Burn me, I’m calling that a draw at the least, Mat thought, as he pushed
himself up onto his knees.
He eyed the blood on his fingers and grimaced. If there was one thing Mat
Cauthon could do without it was the sight of his own blood. Or Aes Sedai. Or
Warders. Or nobles.
“Perhaps it was because he is ta’veren. I have read that a certain twisting of
chance is to be expected where one such is involved,” Joline was saying.
“Though they are so rare that too little is known for certain ...”
Fen sat back on his heels and said nothing in response.
Blaeric gasped and came awake instantly when Joline set her hands on him. Mat
couldn’t see what was done, but he was familiar enough with Aes Sedai to know a
Healing had been performed.
The Shienaran blinked his blue eyes rapidly, then grimaced as memory came
rushing back to him. He did not look Mat’s way as he clambered to his feet, but
his cheeks were redder than they had been, and Mat took some small, and groggy,
satisfaction in that. Poke me, will you? He felt at the back of his head again
as he tried to stand.
Joline dusted the knees of her green dress as she stood up. She watched Mat
examine the blood on his palm before stating the obvious. “You are hurt.”
“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled. “Taken worse than that from my own da.” Abell
Candwin had taught Mat all he knew of the staff, and though he was a kind man
usually, there was no teaching that sort of thing without leaving a few
bruises.
“There are ways that I could fix that,” Joline said. She glided over to stand
looking down at him with her big brown eyes. They reminded him suddenly
Nynaeve’s. “I could make it so you healed much faster. Would you like me to?”
Mat winced. He wanted to refuse on general principle. But if the choice was a
little Aes Sedai Healing, or spending the rest of the day with a splitting
headache ... “I guess so.” he mumbled.
“I have heard that you come to the Warder’s practice field often. I expect you
will come again in the future, perhaps more often. Have you found a place for
yourself then, Mat?”
He sighed. Well, where else was he to spend the hours of his captivity if not
the practice field? “I guess so,” he muttered.
Joline smiled triumphantly. “Thank you for volunteering,” she said.
Mat looked askance at her, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean.
Her hands snaked out to grasp the sides of his head, her Great Serpent ring
cold against his cheek. Mat had been Healed before, and each time he had felt
like he had been suddenly dunked in a cold pond. That wasn’t what he felt this
time. Instead of the cold he felt a sudden flush of heart. His already muddled
thoughts spun out of control, and for a mad moment he felt as though he were
two people.
Joline laughed softly. She dusted her hands, feeling quite satisfied with
herself. “Well, that will certainly put an end to the Amyrlin’s worries. And to
your insolence.”
Her dark eyes danced with merriment as she looked down at him. He could feel
her pleasure at the way things had gone. Mat’s blood ran cold and his mouth
fell open. “What did you flaming do to me?” he demanded in horror as he
scrambled to his feet.
“Bonded you, of course, silly boy,” Joline said, confirming Mat’s worst fears.
He could feel her in his head. Actually feel all that she felt, like she was
inside his skull. His stomach roiled. “You—you had no right!”
“Nonsense. I asked and you said yes.” Joline paused to giggle to herself. “But
perhaps we should make it plainer, just for the records. Would you like to be
one of my Warders, Mat?”
“No I bloody wouldn’t!”
She waved a hand airily. “Don’t be childish. I ask again: would you like to be
one of my Warders, Mat? Say ‘yes’, you know you want to.”
Mat spread his arms wide, outraged. “No. I. Bloody. Wouldn’t. What part of ‘no’
do you find confusing?”
Her Warders—her only Warders so far as Mat was concerned—came to stand at her
shoulders. He had no idea what they felt about all this, the bond didn’t extend
to them, thank the Light, but confusion showed on their stony faces.
Joline cocked her head to the side. Her ageless face revealed little, but
petulance, confusion and shock registered along the bond. “I told you to say
‘yes’ ... you are my Warder, you must obey.”
“The hell I will!” Mat spluttered. “You—you bloody Aes Sedai! Going around
doing whatever you please, imprisoning folk, bonding them. If the Whitecloaks
weren’t such a massive collection of pricks I might think they were on to
something.” He stalked away from her on unsteady legs, but even with his back
turned he could still feel exactly where Joline was. Damn her!
“Mat Cauthon! You come back here this instant!” Joline demanded childishly.
He ignored her.
He felt Joline’s utter bewilderment. “Why isn’t it working? He should be doing
what I tell him,” she said, in a high-pitched voice.
As if he’d just leap to her command because of some damned bond! Mat stalked
on, his hands in fists at his sides. He’d never much liked Aes Sedai, but as he
left the practice field that winter’s day, he thought for the first time that
he might actually hate them.
***** No More Secrets *****
CHAPTER 28: No More Secrets
 
They were not making very good time on the journey from Tarcain Cut to Jerra,
but that didn’t bother Rand overmuch. The greatest threats here in Falmerden
were behind them now, and his people could do with a rest after all the
fighting. So he set a leisurely pace through the snowy countryside, and brooded
on what to do once they were beyond the mountains.
Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do? He was the Dragon
Reborn and apparently there were all sorts of prophecies about him, but Rand
had never read those prophecies, and had no real clue as to what being the
Dragon Reborn entailed. Fight the Shadow, presumably. But how exactly? Should
he go to the Borderlands? Kaltor was up north of here, or he guessed they could
go all the way back to Shienar. At least he knew some people there. But Shienar
was clear on the other side of the continent, and that was going to be a long
ride. Rand tried to formulate a plan, but he had so little information to base
it on. And every half-baked idea he could come up with was soon followed by the
childish thought that he would rather just go home.
Moiraine or Verin would have had answers for him, he knew that. But he didn’t
want to put himself under the White Tower’s thumb any more than he had to. So
he avoided talking to them as much as he could during the trip, though he was
very aware of the keen way they were watching his every movement, and weighing
his words to the others.
They were maybe a week away from Tarcain Cut, riding down a narrow road through
the hills, when Rand finally admitted to himself that he had no answers.
The two Aes Sedai were flanking him, with their Warders at their outer
shoulders. That was as usual though. Anything he said to Tomas, and probably
even Lan, would go straight back to their respective Aes Sedai. He hadn’t seen
much of his friends that day. They tended not to come and speak to him when the
Aes Sedai were so near.
Rand was wearing his black and silver coat under the makeshift armour Uno had
prepared for him. Syoman Surtir’s old sword hung at his waist now, and the hood
of his thick fur cloak kept most of the light snowflakes off him.
He suspected Moiraine knew he had been staring at her, but she waited a while
before glancing his way and raising a cool eyebrow. If she thought he had been
staring because of the way she stood out against the snowy backdrop, with her
black hair and rich clothes all in blue, she was mistaken. “That thing about
the Sword That Is Not a Sword,” he began reluctantly. Thom had told him about
that. It was one of the few prophecies he knew. “The one down in Tear? When
does that happen? Is it near the start of the prophecies, or closer to the
end?”
“You need not concern yourself with that, Rand. The Amyrlin and I will arrange
matters appropriately,” Moiraine said calmly.
“And there is quite a bit of debate as to the appropriate order in which The
Karaethon Cycle should be written,” added Verin. The normally placid Aes Sedai
became quite animated as she spoke. “Merya Siman theorized that the original
Foretellings were jotted down as they came to the Foreteller, but that does not
in any way guarantee that they are linear. Several authors, Teresa of Feralor
and Brinda daughter of Sandi daughter of Misti for example, have attempted to
arrange the Cycle in the way that they judged it most likely to occur, but how
can we judge how right they were? Without access to the original Foreteller’s
thoughts we are left with entirely too much speculation. Valera Gorovni once
told me that—”
“What Verin is saying, Rand, is that it is all very complicated. Even for those
who have dedicated decades of their lives to studying the topic. You should
leave such worries for them,” Moiraine said, cutting off the older Aes Sedai.
Verin didn’t look offended by that. “Hmm? Ah, yes, certainly. A little
knowledge is a dangerous thing, as they say. Though too little can be just as
dangerous in my experience. As can too much.”
Rand shook his head in exasperation. “So what’s the safe amount then?”
The plump little woman cocked her head, and fixed her unblinking black eyes on
him. “Whoever said such a thing exists?”
Rand persisted stubbornly. “I’d still like to know more about what they say
about me and what I’m apparently going to do. Do you remember any passages?
Could you tell me what they say?”
“You will be told all you need to know at the appropriate time, Rand. Do not
distract yourself needlessly. You cannot afford it. The world cannot afford for
you to make such a mistake.” It was Moiraine who answered, her ageless face as
impassive as ever. Verin voiced no disagreement to her words.
Rand ground his teeth. Getting information out of the Aes Sedai was like trying
to draw water from a stone. “Well can you tell me where you went after Fal Dara
at least? How did you get to Falme just in time for the battle? Were you
following us all that time?”
“There are many more battles being fought than simply the ones you see, Rand,”
Moiraine said, as calmly as ever. “I had other matters to attend to. It was not
the first time, it will not be the last. Trust that I will attend to them with
all necessary diligence.”
“While telling me nothing about them,” Rand said sourly. “As usual.”
“Do not sulk. You are young yet, but you are no longer a child.”
“Then why do you keep treating me like one? What age would I have to be, and
what titles would I have to hold to get you to answer a simple question?” Rand
demanded. Being the Dragon Reborn certainly hadn’t made a difference there, and
he suspected adding a few decades to his years wouldn’t be enough to persuade
the Aes Sedai to share what they knew either.
Moiraine shook her head. “If you are going to behave like a little boy I will
leave you to do so in peace. Perhaps we can speak again later, when you have
had time to compose yourself.”
A flick of her reins set Aldieb to a canter. Lan gave Rand an unreadable look
before hurrying off to join his Aes Sedai. Rand was left to scowl at their
backs as they joined Ragan and the rest of the Shienaran vanguard.
Verin pulled a notebook from her saddlebags and studied it intently. The
drifting snowflakes never touched its pages, but Rand didn’t ask how she’d done
it. He knew a dismissal when he saw one. He was starting to think the Aes Sedai
would never willingly tell him anything.
From thinking that, it was a quick and easy step to deciding that he should
avoid telling them anything either. Or their Warders, though that last was hard
for Rand to accept. Lan had taught him a great deal, and not just about
swordplay. Rand would have included him if he didn’t think that anything he
heard would go right back to Moiraine.
He spent the rest of that day brooding too, but about the other people in the
camp rather than the Prophecies of the Dragon.
Rand was careful about who he invited to join him in his tent that night.
Perrin lowered his voice and glanced around nervously when he was invited,
saying he wasn’t really in the mood, before Rand hastily assured him of his
non-amorous intentions. Anna also got the wrong idea, though instead of looking
alarmed she got a little smirk on her face. Nynaeve had hissed that she’d known
he wouldn’t be able to control himself and shaken her finger under his nose, as
Rand struggled to get a reassuring word in. Rand came away from that meeting
red-faced and exasperated. To hear his friends tell it you’d think he only ever
did one thing with his time! Here he was trying to find a way to save them all
from the Shadow and everyone just assumed he wanted to get into their pants!
Thankfully Loial and Hurin were more reliable sorts. Loial agreed readily,
though Hurin took so much coaxing, and reassurances that it wasn’t improper for
him to come, that Rand was reminded of his earlier mimicking of Cairhienin
mores. He hoped the sniffer wasn’t going to revert to that nonsense now that
Rand had been proclaimed the Dragon Reborn.
He found Min and Elayne huddled by a fire with their heads together. They
smiled prettily as they accepted. Rand felt a thrill of hope as he left them.
If the rest of them could get along as well and Min and Elayne did then
everything should go wonderfully.
He had considered bringing all the remaining Shienarans along. He trusted them
enough for it. But it would have gotten too crowed in his tent so he settled
for just the two officers, Uno and Geko. The rest formed a pair of protective
circles around the larger camp and the tent in the centre. Like the parts of a
wheel, it occurred to him as he lifted the tentflaps to duck inside.
Vara had arranged things nicely. A circle of stools surrounded the low fire,
and a series of covered braziers around the tent gave it a welcome warmth.
Rand’s possessions were arrayed neatly, though not by any effort of his. The
three remaining refugees from Nethara had been taking on more and more of the
chores around camp, and had been devoting an increasing amount of time to
Rand’s comfort. He should stop that, he knew ... but he had other things on his
mind, and these simple, convenient comforts were more seductive than he had
expected them to be.
Vara was leaving just as he arrived. The grey-haired woman was old enough to be
his mother, but she dropped into a curtsy at the sight of him.
Rand winced. “You don’t need to do that, Vara. You don’t need to do any of this
in fact. I’m sorry for not taking care of it myself these past days.”
She blinked at him. Then a wan smile crossed her lined face. “Don’t be silly,
my Lord Dragon. It is the very least we can do, considering all you have done
for us. The girls and I are happy to help in any way we can. Just you keep
focused on what matters, and leave the little things to us.”
She brushed past him, gathering her cloak about her as she walked out into the
cold evening.
Alone, Rand paced about the tent—so much bigger than any tent you would have
found back in the Theren, but already seeming a familiar place to him. He
wondered if he should invite Vara and the others too, but decided against it.
The wheel he had imagined earlier had only a small circle at its centre, and
then spokes leading to the larger outer circles. That seemed a good way to go
about it. And besides, Rand’s choice of friends had not always been the best.
There was no doubt in his mind that it she’d still been there he would have
invited Morrigan to join them. He shuddered as he imagined all the damage that
could have done.
Uno and Geko were the first to arrive. They came to attention just inside the
tent, saluting and asking Rand what his orders were.
He shook his head. “That’s not what I asked you here for. Please, have a seat.”
Geko was recovering well from his injury, as well as anyone could be expected
to recover from such a debilitating wound anyway. Rand had seen hints of his
frustration and embarrassment in the way he hesitated before asking for help
with any task that would usually have required both hands, or in his reluctance
to join the other fighters in their daily sparring sessions. He felt sorry for
Geko, and guilty over what following Rand had cost him. There was no reason not
to trust him, or Uno, or any of the others, but still Rand hovered within an
inch of calling it all off. If Morrigan could be a Darkfriend, and yet still
leave Rand feeling the things he felt for her, then surely it was madness to
bet so much on his choice of who to trust.
And yet, as he stood and watched the others file in he held firm in his
silence. If this is madness, so be it, he thought. I’d rather be stabbed in the
back by any one of these people than go the rest of my days squinting
suspiciously at them.
They shed their heavy cloaks and coats as they came into the warmth, bringing a
little colour back into the world, though only a little. All save Loial still
wore their drab winter clothes. Ogier had a very high tolerance for cold, Loial
had told him, and many of their stedding were high in the mountains where the
snows rarely melted completely.
Elayne’s red-gold curls and Perrin’s yellow eyes vied for possession of the
firelight. Rand wondered whether Perrin would stay, and what he would say if
the wolfbrother did not.
Nynaeve was the last to arrive. Rand thanked her for coming, then went to tie
the tentflaps himself, knowing she would snap at him if he asked her to do it.
“Everyone grab a seat,” he said, though Anna and Min already had and were
chatting animatedly. “There’s something I’d like to talk about.”
Elayne sat at Min’s other side of course, while Perrin took a seat at Anna’s
right. Nynaeve dithered too long, glancing back and forth between Perrin and
Elayne, allowing Hurin and Geko to claim those seats, with Uno sat by the stump
of Geko’s left arm. Loial joined Hurin and Rand claimed the stool beside the
Ogier. Nynaeve gave her braid a little tug as she came to sit at Rand’s right
hand.
“What’s all this about, Rand?” Min asked.
“We actually talked about it a bit earlier, you and me. It’s about all the
secrets.”
“What do you mean?” Perrin demanded, with more sharpness than he usually would.
Rand met his yellow eyes steadily. “You know what I mean, Perrin.”
His old friend glanced nervously towards the exit, then back to Rand. “You have
no right.”
“Maybe not,” Rand agreed quietly. “And maybe I won’t say anything if you’d
rather cling to your secret; I’ve wrestled with the idea for a while now. But
maybe it won’t be as bad as you think, and maybe if we all share what we know
we can avoid some stupid tragedies in the future.”
He looked about the circle assembled. “For example. Lanfear is free from Shayol
Ghul. She’s been visiting me and acting as it we are old friends.”
“A Forsaken?” Elayne squeaked, before her fair cheeks coloured furiously and
she hastened to compose herself. Loial’s eyes went very wide, and the three
Shienarans offered up prayers or curses of variant intensity.
His fellow Thereners were not shaken though. They’d faced a Forsaken once
before. Grim vengefulness grew on their faces as they recalled the price they’d
paid for that encounter.
“When did she visit you?” Nynaeve demanded. “Did she hurt you?”
Rand rubbed his chin. This part was going to be a bit awkward, but he pressed
on. “I first met her while we were looking for the Horn of Valere, after Loial,
Hurin and I got separated from the rest of the party. We were stuck in one of
those other worlds the Portal Stones lead to.” He frowned. “I think I must have
used the One Power without realising it, and activated the thing. Or maybe
Lanfear did it herself while we slept. Either way she was waiting for us on the
other side.”
If Loial’s eyes had been wide before they were saucer-sized now. Hurin had
looked confused as he listened, and now his mouth fell all the way open.
“You—you don’t mean ... Surely not, Lord Rand. Not her.”
Rand nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so, Hurin. She introduced herself to us under
the alias ‘Selene’ and helped us escape from that world back to this one. She,
ah,” Rand felt his cheeks colour. “She was very friendly. More than you’d think
one of them would be.”
“How friendly?” Nynaeve said, sounding scandalised.
“Not as friendly as you’re thinking,” Rand drawled. “But close enough.”
“Blood and ashes!” Anna swore. It was a mark of Nynaeve’s shock that she didn’t
rebuke her.
“I can’t believe it,” Hurin said, as though to himself. “Lady Selene ...”
“Neither can I, my friend,” Loial rumbled. “Though come to think of it, she did
seem remarkably well-educated, and in so many topics that you wouldn’t expect a
young human lady to have read up on. Ah, no offense intended,” he added, with
apologetic looks all around. No-one seemed to have the wherewithal to rebuke
him; even Nynaeve’s sniff was a quiet, half-hearted thing.
“She might come back,” Rand continued. “In fact I’d bet on it. She can use the
Power to change her appearance somehow, so I’m not sure how much this will
help, but she usually appears as a tall, pale-skinned woman with long black
hair. And she’s, um, very striking.” He didn’t want to call her beautiful. She
was one of the Forsaken after all. Using that word just seemed wrong to
describe someone who had done the things they had done. “You’d best be on the
lookout for her, and be very careful if you see her.”
Uno rubbed at the patch that covered his missing eye. “Burn m—ah, I mean. I saw
a woman that matches that description once. In that village Fain and his scum
destroyed. But she disappeared into thin air. I half-thought I was going mad.”
“Could have been her,” Rand allowed. “She’d have to have been following us for
a while before she made herself known.”
“Well if she shows up again we’ll be ready for her, my Lord Dragon,” Uno said
stoutly, though his frown quickly grew concerned. Rand thought he knew the
man’s thoughts. What exactly could they do against Lanfear if she ever decided
she would rather be their enemy than chase the reincarnation of her old beau?
He had no doubt the Shienarans would fight to the last man, but that was the
last thing Rand wanted to see. Maybe he could prevent it if he could get on
Lanfear’s good side somehow, without caving in to her demands ...
Rand grimaced. Good side. Forsaken don’t have good side, you wool-headed
lummox.
Min was mirroring Rand’s expression. He looked at her, and said nothing.
When she spoke it was as though the words were being pulled out of her. “She
was at Falme too. Just after the fighting ended. She acted like Rand was her
betrothed, and then threatened me before disappearing ... into thin air, just
like Uno said.” Min’s face got redder and redder as she went.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elayne said, surprised and maybe a little hurt.
Min shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know really. It just didn’t seem like
something you bring up. I mean, who talks about that time you met one of the
Forsaken? Besides, lots of people keep things back.”
Anna had folded her arms under her breasts. She looked disappointed. “That’s a
pretty dumb reason, Min,” she said grimly.
Min scowled at her. “I know that. But I don’t have a better one.”
“There is no need to be rude, Miss al’Tolan,” Elayne said, nose up and voice
chill.
Min leaned forward, elbows on knees and head bowed. “No, it’s alright, Elayne.
She’s right. It was a dumb thing to do. I just ... I’ve thought about it since
Rand and I talked about this last time, and I honestly can’t explain why I
didn’t say anything. It just seemed like the thing to do. I’m sorry.”
Elayne rubbed Min’s back gently. “It’s alright, don’t upset yourself over it.”
“Elayne’s right,” said Rand. “No harm was done. This time. But I can easily
think of a dozen ways it could have been if we hadn’t had this conversation.
Say ‘Selene’ were to approach Loial or Hurin and ask their help with something.
They’d probably think her a friend and go along with it, and who knows what the
consequences would be?”
Hurin blew out a breath, and scrubbed a hand through his long, grey hair.
“You’re right about that, Lord Rand. I could have ended up doing favours for
the Shadow without even knowing it.”
“Which is why I’ve asked you all to come here,” Rand continued. “There are too
many secrets like this, secrets that could trip us all up. I want to put an end
to it, at least among the people I trust.”
“You want us to tell each other everything about ourselves, and the things
we’ve done?” said Anna dubiously.
Rand spread his hands. “Well not everything. I mean, I don’t need to know what
Geko’s favourite food is, or whether Loial fancies Erith or not. But there are
things we should share.”
“I never—Where would you even get the idea? You humans! That is beyond even
hastiness,” Loial sputtered.
Min’s spirits recovered a little at the Ogier’s discomfort. “Oho. Who’s this
Erith? Should I go grill her to see if she’d good enough for my Loial?”
“An Ogier girl from Stedding Tsofu,” said Perrin. “You should have seen the
ears on her.”
“Perrin!” Loial boomed, and he actually sounded angry.
Perrin blinked, looking as shocked as Rand felt. “Ah, no offense intended,
Loial,” he said slowly. “I was just teasing.”
Loial harrumphed, blinking and adjusting his coat as he tried to compose
himself.
Nynaeve and Elayne showed no interest in teasing the Ogier, though their brows
did quirk at his outburst. They stared at each other for a while before Elayne
spoke. “I think we should.”
The Wisdom nodded. “The Amyrlin would probably have a fit if she knew we’d
spoken of it in public, but ...” She took a firm hold of her braid. “The Shadow
take that woman, this is more important than her Tower’s precious reputation.”
She gave them each a taste of her dark stare. “Lanfear isn’t the only
Darkfriend channeler you need to be on guard against. There’s an Aes Sedai
named Liandrin. Taraboner, pretty, yellow-haired. She’s Red Ajah in public, but
she’s really a member of the Black Ajah. It was her that led us into that trap
at Falme. She handed us over to the Seanchan on the Dark One’s orders.”
Geko’s usual cool composure shattered. “Aes Sedai Darkfriends?” he said, in
much the way someone else might say “this fire is cold”. Even grizzled Uno
seemed to find it hard to believe.
Rand didn’t. “Burn me. I’ve met her! She looks like a little doll, right?
Pretty as a picture, until she speaks and the nastiness comes spilling out.”
Nynaeve, Elayne and Min all nodded at his description. “She was at Fal Dara.
She demanded answers from me, and when I didn’t give them she ... did something
to me. I felt like I had to tell her what she wanted. I had to force myself to
be silent. It was like my own tongue didn’t want to obey me.”
Elayne always sat with an erect and graceful posture, but now she stiffened as
though her spine had become an iron rod. “That sounds like Compulsion! One of
the forbidden weaves. What did she make you do? Nynaeve, can you check him for
lasting effects?”
Rand waved the Wisdom off. “She didn’t make me do anything. I told you, I
forced myself to ignore her. And she stopped once she heard Moiraine coming.”
Elayne and Nynaeve were staring at him. “You ... resisted it?” Elayne said
dubiously.
Rand shrugged. “Some people say I’m stubborn that way.”
Nynaeve’s had pressed her lips tightly together. “Liandrin. As if I didn’t have
enough reasons to want to strip that woman’s hide from her bones.”
Elayne nodded fiercely. “I fear you must wait your turn there, Nynaeve. That
... creature—I will not call her a woman—she delivered me into the Seanchan’s
enslavement. There will come a day when she answers for that, I swear it on the
Lion Throne itself!”
“Damn right,” Min growled.
Rand found himself smiling at their fierceness. He was glad they were on his
side, and wouldn’t have given a clipped copper for this Liandrin’s chances once
they caught up to her.
“There is another Darkfriend you should know of, Rand,” said Elayne, her eyes
still shining passionately. “The Seanchan High Lady that Liandrin met with was
fully aware of her true allegiance, and shared it. She spoke of it casually in
fact, in front of dozens of her fellow Seanchan that I can only assume were
also sworn to the Shadow. Suroth was the woman’s name. Trust her not, nor
anyone connected to her. She is a vile thing even by the already low standards
of her people.”
“That is definitely something we should all be aware of,” Rand said. “I have a
few others that might be interesting for you in particular, Elayne. The
innkeeper of The Goose and Crown in Iona. Holdwin, I think his name was. I saw
him meeting with a Fade and taking its orders.”
Elayne’s eyes flashed. “An Andorman? Outrageous! I shall write to Mother of
this at the first opportunity. The Queen’s Guards will visit this inn, mark my
words.”
“And there was a young woman,” Rand continued, frowning. “well-dressed, dark
hair, has a kind of ... foxy look about her. I thought maybe she was a noble,”
he looked a question at Elayne, but she only shook her head over his admittedly
poor description. Rand shrugged dubiously. “I never got her name, but she was a
Darkfriend too. She tried to knife Mat and me in ... where was it? Four Kings?
Market Sheran? Sheran, I think. Four Kings was where Gode trapped us in the
basement.”
“People must try to kill you a lot, Rand, if you can barely remember them,”
said Min wryly. Rand was the only person there who didn’t chuckle at that. He
didn’t think it funny at all.
“Alright,” said Min with a firm nod. “I like this, Rand. You’re not a total
loobie after all. Confession time.” She took a deep breath. “Most of you
already know this—and let me thank you again for not freaking out and trying to
burn me over it, you guys are great—but I’ll say it again anyway. I can
sometimes see people’s futures. It’s got nothing to do with the One Power and I
can’t always tell what the images I see mean. That wolf at Perrin’s side wants
to be free for example, but what exactly that means I have no idea.”
They all looked to Perrin’s side, where there stood nothing but empty air. The
wolfbrother himself looked intensely uncomfortable. Rand wondered if he would
ever speak up. And what Rand would do it he didn’t. There had to be trust for
this sort of thing ... If Perrin was just going to listen to other people’s
secrets, while hoarding his own, was it right to allow him to be here? Knowing
that that was what she would do had been the reason Rand hadn’t invited
Moiraine after all.
Rand only half-listened to Min’s explanation of her viewings, though he frowned
at her tale of how the Amyrlin Seat had had her brought to Tar Valon to get her
to report all she saw about the Aes Sedai there. He brooded his way through
Hurin’s description of the way he could smell violence too. He was dimly aware
of Anna frowning at him, before she gave a hesitant description of the way
Morrigan had changed her form into that of a bird and flown away.
“That sounds wonderful,” said Hurin. He hadn’t shown the slightest hint of
dubiousness over Min’s viewings, and accepted Morrigan’s shapeshifting just as
easily. “Imagine being able to fly. Why did she leave though?”
“It explains why I kept seeing her as a bitch,” Min muttered. “I just thought
... Never mind.”
Anna’s weren’t the only eyes to fix on Rand then. They waited for him to say
it. “Morrigan was a Darkfriend,” he sighed.
Geko nodded to himself, as though hearing confirmation of something he had
already suspected. Uno cursed softly.
“Her too?” said Hurin, sounding hurt. “Is everyone a Darkfriend? Next thing
they’ll be telling me I’m a Darkfriend!” Rand might have told him about Ingtar
then, but he’d already decided that the late lord’s secrets should rest in the
same peace he hoped he had found.
“I think it might have been different in Morrigan’s case,” Rand said. “That
hidden village she was raised in. I think maybe they were all Darkfriends,
raised from the day they were born to be so. She had lots of stories about the
things she was taught there, and none of them sounded particularly nice. Or
maybe I’m just making excuses for her, and for my own foolishness. Either way,
when the Myrddraal ordered Morrigan to help it kill me, she refused. She burnt
it instead, and then ran away.”
Nynaeve was patting his arm comfortingly. She wasn’t the only one looking at
him pityingly either. Rand wondered what he looked like just then, and hastened
to school his face to the kind of sternness he imagined Lan might have shown,
if the Warder had ever gotten himself into such a mess.
“Speaking of people of dubious character,” said Nynaeve. “there’s a lord here
in Falmerden—at least one—who spent the Seanchan occupation busy murdering his
fellow Falmerans, rather than fighting the invaders. Brylan they called him,
and he had a son named Nafanyel who was involved in it too. Surtir and Evelin
are well aware of his crimes so perhaps it’s not even worth bringing up, but
...”
“Better safe than sorry,” Anna said. Nynaeve nodded at her.
“Oh, and speaking of dubious characters,” Nynaeve went on. “Mat was still in
the White Tower when we left, in case anyone didn’t already know. The Amyrlin
isn’t letting him leave, and he’s far from happy about it.”
“I’d say we should free him, but how are we supposed to get him out of Tar
Valon itself?” Perrin said with a frown.
“We’ll find a way,” Rand said under his breath. Though Tar Valon too far away
for them to anything yet. “The Amyrlin knows about me by the way, though I
don’t think she wants anyone to know that she knows.”
“Nice of you to bring it up then,” Nynaeve sniffed.
Rand shrugged. “She’s not part of my inner circle, and she’s holding my friend
prisoner. I don’t think she’s an enemy, but I don’t think she’s a friend
either. I wouldn’t go around telling just anyone about her though, and nor
should you.”
“Her secret is safe with me, my Lord Dragon,” Geko said.
Uno nodded. “Consider us sworn to silence.”
Min smiled wryly. “Is that what we are then? The Inner Circle? Sounds
mysterious, I like it.” Elayne seemed to share her delight, or surpass it even,
if the Daughter-Heir’s dimpled grin was anything to go by.
Rand shrugged again, smiling slightly. “Well if you like the name, then that’s
what we’ll call it. I’ve just been thinking of it as some people sharing their
knowledge.”
Uno frowned. “Are those Aiel who were wandering around west of the Spine of the
World worth mentioning?”
“I should think so!” said Elayne, her brows shooting up. “When did this happen?
Could it be connected to the murders of Lord Barthanes and Queen Galldria?”
“First I’m hearing about the Queen, Lady Elayne,” said Uno. “She was fine when
we left Cairhien, and we saw those bloo-ah, those Aiel long before that. Said
they were looking for someone.”
Anna nodded. “He Who Comes With the Dawn. Some kind of prophesied Aiel leader,
from what they said.” She gave Rand another of those pained looks. “They said
he’d come from the west but be of their blood,” she added gruffly.
Rand clenched his jaws. That was one thing he did not want to talk about. Tam
was his father. The only father—the only family at all—that Rand had ever
known. Rand would not deny him.
“Well whoever that might be, at least the Aiel didn’t seem hostile towards
him,” Perrin said softly, after the silence had dragged on too long.
“It can be hoped, perhaps, though their reputation does not support it. Still,
peace with the Aiel would be a welcome boon for Valgarda,” Elayne said.
“More chance of finding a Trolloc picking daisies,” muttered Uno.
“Barthanes was a Darkfriend too. He confessed as much,” Rand said. Elayne
seemed oddly offended by that. “Maybe that explains his death, at least. Are
there any other dangers anyone can think of?”
“Aginor’s still out there. I never told the girls about him,” Nynaeve said
quietly. “I hadn’t the heart to explain, but if we’re going to be so open ...”
Rand hadn’t the heart to go over it either. It fell to Anna to relate the tale
of the deaths of Egwene and the Green Man, and Aginor’s retreat. Rand thought
she gave him far too much credit for that last part, and far too little blame
for the first two. Loial sighed deeply as he listened to her words.
“She sounds like a very brave girl,” Elayne said gently. “I wish I could have
met her.”
“She was brave all right,” Anna said in that gruff tone she used to hide her
emotions. “She made her own decisions, and stuck by them. Things just didn’t
work the way she wanted this time. It’s no-one’s fault really.”
“I wish I could have met the Green Man,” Min said. “It’s weird. I always
thought he was just a myth. And now you tell me he was real, but that he just
died. I don’t know what to feel about that.”
Elayne patted Min’s arm while smiling Rand’s way. “And you, Rand. You fought a
Forsaken and sent him fleeing? Most impressive.”
“Two Forsaken actually, if you count that fight against Ishamael at Falme,”
Perrin said stoutly.
Elayne sighed. “Then at least three are loose. And more must soon follow I
imagine. These truly are the end times, aren’t they?”
Rand had blushed at Elayne’s smile, but Perrin’s praise made him gruff. “I
wouldn’t count the fight against Ishamael as a victory. Most victories don’t
involve getting stabbed.”
“Yes. And that wound of yours is something we should talk about,” said Nynaeve
firmly. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t brought it up yourself. A
wound that doesn’t heal naturally and can’t even be treated with the One Power
is well worth worrying over.”
“What’s there to say? If you can’t heal it, you can’t heal it.”
“People should know about it so they know to keep an eye on you in case the
wound reopens,” Nynaeve insisted.
Rand shifted uncomfortably. The thing still stung, even after all these weeks,
but he was getting used to it. “It’s fine, Nynaeve. Don’t worry, I’ve been
getting by.”
She tossed her head angrily. “Just because you’re too big to paddle, don’t
think that’s any excuse to act like such a man. Your health is important—and
even more so than normal now. You might even say it’s everyone’s concern, not
just yours anymore, Rand. You can’t just ignore it and hope it’ll get better!
Don’t be such a typical male!” Elayne and Min nodded agreement, and even Anna
joined in.
“Well great, now everyone knows about my unHealable wound. Can we move on?”
Flat looks were his reward, but he forged ahead before they could tell him more
about what a woolhead he was. “Machin Shin’s hunting me. It seems to show up on
the other side of a Waygate every time I open it. That’s relevant. Fain too. I
think you all know he’s a Darkfriend, but maybe Moiraine didn’t tell you that
he’s also possessed by the spirit of Mordeth—the man who turned Aridhol into
Shadar Logoth. Fain’s apparently more dangerous than anyone knows, though
Moiraine wouldn’t—or couldn’t—give any details on what that means.”
Hurin shuddered. “Was that what I was smelling? Fwah! No wonder his trail was
so disgusting.”
Elayne spoke up again. “If Moiraine was here I should likely warn her that
Elaida has taken an interest in her activities, and not a friendly one. Though
she is not of course, so I will say only that your name is also of interest to
her Rand, and she does not think kindly of you. Elaida ... can be a harsh
woman, at times.”
“I gathered that from our first meeting,” he said, though the memory brought a
small smile to his lips despite the blight of Elaida’s enmity. Elayne’s
answering smile mirrored his own. “As to Moiraine,” Rand continued, more
solemnly. “You should warn her, of course. But I won’t have someone here that I
can’t trust to be honest with me. And that definitely rules Moiraine out.”
Nynaeve looked troubled by something. Perhaps by thoughts of a certain Warder
who was also conspicuously absent.
Elayne wasn’t at all troubled by Moiraine’s exclusion. She faced Rand proudly,
with a smile on her face. “It occurs to me that the matter of the sul’dam and
damane might bear mention at this inaugural meeting of the Inner Circle.”
“Are you sure?” Min said. “You don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want
to. If it’s the channelling thing I think I could explain it.”
Elayne dismissed that with a waggle of her slim fingers. “Oh, I’m in much too
fine a mood to let those monsters ruin it, Min.”
For all her brave words, as Elayne explained to those who did not already know
that the sul’dam were themselves latent channelers, just like the women they
leashed, Rand couldn’t help but notice the little moments when she shied away
mid sentence. She detailed the makeup of Seanchan channelling society with
grace and precision, but she never gave any details about the way they trained
their prisoners, and her eyes grew haunted every time she strayed too close to
the topic. It wrenched his heart to see.
“Hypocritical doesn’t begin to summarize it,” Geko opined when she was done.
Nynaeve nodded fierce agreement.
Perrin let out a loud sigh. “You haven’t said it,” he said quietly. Rand knew
the words were directed his way.
He weighed his response carefully. “And you haven’t left yet, my oldest
friend,” he said, his voiced pitched just as low as Perrin’s. “But it has to be
one or the other. It won’t change anything else between us, but this has to be
a mutual exchange. No-one can stay here who holds anything back that might
endanger the others. It would be as if they were taking advantage of everyone
else’s honesty. And who would ever be honest again if all it did was get them
played for a fool?”
He spoke to Perrin, but he could tell the others were listening. He hoped they
understood. Rand felt more than uncomfortable at the thought of asking one of
them to leave, and telling them they wouldn’t be welcome back in the future,
but he was convinced that was what he would have to do should he ever find that
one of them had been deceiving him. He just hoped he’d have the nerve to do it
if the day ever came, and that they wouldn’t hate him afterwards.
“Perrin ... it won’t be that bad,” said Anna earnestly. “I don’t hate you. Or
fear you. Not even after what happened to those Whitecloaks. Nobody tried to
string Min or Hurin up, did they? This isn’t that different.”
Perrin grimaced. He looked towards the tentflaps, then took a deep breath. “I
can hear wolves talking to me in my head.”
Blinking eyes, raised brows and incredulous looks greeted that proclamation.
“What do you mean? That’s not how it works for me,” said Hurin dubiously.
“That’s because I’m not a sniffer, Hurin,” sighed Perrin. “Not like you. That
was just the tale that Ingtar spread around to make it seem more acceptable
that I take over the tracking while you were gone. It all started when we met a
man with yellow eyes in the woods ...”
Rand listened to Perrin’s tale once more, picking up on some details he’d left
out when he’d first revealed the existence of the wolfkin to Rand, and his own
membership of that strange group. Perrin spared no detail of his fear that he
would lose himself to the primal rages that the wolves minds sometimes imposed
on his. He spoke of the men he’d killed, and how he barely even remembered
doing it.
“That part is what worries me,” said Anna. “Those Whitecloaks weren’t attacking
us, but the wolves killed a dozen of them without hesitation, without mercy. I
trust you, Perrin. But I don’t think I trust them.”
Rand couldn’t help but share her doubts there. He’d shot plenty of wolves back
in the Theren. They were always trying to make off with the sheep. Part of him
couldn’t help but see them as his natural enemy. Still, he’d much rather have a
natural enemy than an unnatural one, and if the wolves hated the Shadow as much
as Perrin said, then maybe he could make peace with them. Pity about the sheep
though.
“Those Whitecloaks would likely have killed us just as soon as they had us in
their power,” Perrin growled. “That Bornhald sentenced me to death, remember?”
Anna sat there with her mouth hanging open, seemingly at war with herself.
Whatever words were rattling around in her skull, she let none of them see the
light of day.
“Do you often lose control in this manner, Master Aybara?” Elayne said, her
expression and tone carefully neutral. Nynaeve was squinting at Perrin the way
she used to squint at any sick folk who were brought to see her back home.
“I’m doing everything I can to keep it under control,” Perrin said.
“The next time I see Perrin lose control, it will be the first,” said Rand. “I
don’t know of anyone who keeps himself more in check.”
“You are one of the least-hasty humans I’ve ever met, Perrin. I think that’s
why I like you. You’re almost an Ogier,” Loial said kindly.
Perrin snorted. “Thanks, Loial.”
Uno was nodding to himself. “This explains those wolves who helped us see off
that Shadowspawn raid back in the woods.”
“It also explains why it’s always wolves with you,” Min muttered. “I was
wondering about that.”
Loial’s sigh was a gale wind compared to Perrin’s morose breeze. “I didn’t want
to say it, but everyone else has been so honest, and I can bear the shame of
this deception no longer. I fear I have a terrible confession to make, worse by
far than this thing with the wolves.”
Disbelieving noises came from all assembled, Rand included. Loial? What could
Loial have possibly done? He was the gentlest person Rand knew.
The Ogier hung his huge head. “You see ... I’m only ninety years old.”
Uno and Geko exchanged baffled looks, while Perrin snorted, Nynaeve scowled and
Elayne looked to the others for clues as to what was going on.
Min smiled uncertainly. “Is this a joke? I don’t get it.”
Rand couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, that. Don’t worry about that, Loial.” He
faced Min. “Turns out the Ogier live so long that anyone under a hundred is
still considered too young to be out of the stedding unsupervised, you see.
Loial’s a rebel and a rogue that way.”
She laughed back at him, and even Elayne let out a delighted giggle.
“Well you’ve done it now, Loial,” Min said, once she had caught her breath.
“Imagine, confessing to such a atrocity while a thief-catcher is sitting right
there. You’d best hogtie him good and proper, Hurin. You’ll have your work cut
out for you, carrying him all the way back to Stedding Shangtai.”
Hurin, never the largest of men, eyed the several-hundred pounds of confused
Ogier at his side with more than dubiousness. “That’s unlikely to happen, Min.
No, I don’t think there’s much chance of that at all!”
Min was off and running, and didn’t look likely to stop any time soon. “The
scandal of it all! Don’t you know there’s a princess in the room, Loial? Poor
Elayne is ready to faint, just look at her.”
“Kindly do not throw me under the carriage in the name of your fun, Min,”
Elayne said snippily. “I’ll have you know I’ve never fainted once in my life.”
Rand watched and listened to it all with a smile on his face. Despite his
earlier misgivings, he found himself well-pleased with the results of this
meeting. And glad he had so many people around him that he could trust.
 
                                     * * *
 
Alone in her tent, Moiraine fed a trickle of Power into the small blue stone of
her kesiera. It shouldn’t have been necessary to use the stone, she knew that
logically, but she had learned the trick of listening over long distances
before she ever went to the White Tower, and a thing once learned was very
difficult to relearn, especially where the One Power was concerned.
She felt no shame at listening in on Rand’s meeting, no more than she felt
offense at having been scorned of a place in it. If she had been present she
would have used a ward to prevent anyone else from eavesdropping the way she
was now, though she did not know for certain if Verin knew this particular
weave. And perhaps if Rand had known it was possible to be overheard in this
way he would have attempted to block it himself. So far as she was concerned
that was just more proof that letting him know more than was strictly necessary
was a fool’s notion.
So Moiraine sat alone in the cold, filing away every word they spoke, and
planning what she would do about all that she learned.
***** Warmth and Luxury *****
CHAPTER 30: Warmth and Luxury
 
The bath wasn’t as big as Elayne would have liked, just a wooden bowl in which
to sit, so small she had to draw her knees up nearly to her chin, but it was
still wonderful to let the blessedly hot water swirl around her and soak the
chill from her bones. It was almost like the caress of an old friend, and she
savoured it while she could.
She hadn’t complained to anyone, even Min—though she didn’t think for a moment
her Min would condemn her—but the rigours of the journey from Falme had proven
much more trying than she would have expected. The adventurous songs her
mother’s Court Bard, Kelli, had sung had been oddly devoid of chattering teeth,
greasy hair and bruised bottoms.
Nevertheless, as she leaned back in the tub and let Min rub the soap into her
hair, Elayne did not regret her time on the cold trail. If it had been a much
harder sort of adventure, and even quite a horrifying one at times, the things
she had seen and done, and the hopes she had kindled, were fully worth it.
Maids had been washing Elayne’s hair for as long as she could remember, but
somehow having Min do it felt so much more intimate. She could have lazed there
for hours, just enjoying the feel of her lover’s soapy fingers combing through
her curls.
Sadly, it was not to be. “Time for a rinse,” Min said. Her hallowed fingers
withdrew, and Elayne heard a bucket being lifted. “Hold your breath, love.”
She did as instructed. Warm water cascaded over her, carrying soap and dirt and
worries and weariness down and away. Elayne let out her breath with a soft
moan, and smiled a soppy, wet smile. She heard Min laugh.
“I know you hate to hear it, but you really are spoiled in some ways.”
Elayne opened her eyes and turned around as best she could in the small tub.
She was naked and glistening, but utterly unabashed. Min was still mostly
dressed, though she’d shed her warm coat and cloak. The boys’ white shirt and
grey breeches she wore were a bit the worse for wear, but that was true of all
of their garb. “I am not! I cook. I sew. I work hard and never—well, almost
never—complain.”
“All true,” Min agreed cheerfully. “And all admirable. But you’re still
spoiled.”
Elayne growled her vexation. That makes no sense!
Laughing, Min wrapped her arms around Elayne’s head and hugged her cheek of her
breast, heedless of how wet it was. “Don’t be upset. I don’t mean it as an
insult. I like spoiling you. And you look so cute when you’re being spoiled.”
“Well—well that is all well and good, but if you would hand me that sponge I do
believe I shall scrub my own back.”
“Oh, don’t pout,” Min said, most unfairly. I most certainly am not pouting!
She leaned over and picked up the too-rough sponge she’d already used for her
first scrub, but when Elayne reached for it Min moved it away from her grasp.
“Ah, Ah. Lean forward, princess. Let me work on those shoulders for you.”
Elayne had been rather looking forward to having a good thorough scrub, but ...
Min was smiling at her, the dripping sponge held loosely in her skilled hands.
But nothing. “Well, so long as you understand that I would be perfectly willing
to do it myself,” she hedged weakly.
“Of course.”
Elayne rested her elbows across the edge of the tub. Even with her mass in it
the water only came up to her ribs, but it still felt great. Especially when
Min began rubbing the leavings of months on the road off her skin. She didn’t
have to dig her fingers into the muscles of Elayne’s shoulders quite so firmly,
but that felt good too. Very relaxing in fact. She moaned approvingly.
Min scrubbed Elayne’s arms too, and gave her belly a perfectly innocent rub.
When the sponge touched her bosom it seemed innocent too. She rubbed lightly
around and under and over Elayne’s soft breasts. The longer the sponge lingered
though, the less innocent it seemed.
“Min,” said Elayne, drawing out her name playfully. “What are you doing?”
“I’m copping a feel, princess,” Min said matter-of-factly. “What does it look
like?”
Elayne burst out laughing, and looked back at her. “Well ... you shouldn’t.”
“But your most irreproachable Highnessness,” said Min, her eyes wide with mock-
innocence. “why are your little pink buttons so much bigger than they were?”
“I never said you were bad at ‘copping a feel’, as you call it,” Elayne pointed
out, smiling. “In fact, if this bath was not so sadly small I’d invite you to
join me ...”
Min bit her lip. “Another time, perhaps?”
“Consider it a promise,” Elayne said. A dazzling smile was her reward.
Elayne slapped the water decisively. “Well as much as I’d like to laze around
here all evening, the water is getting cold, and it is your turn.” She
clambered to her feet, accepting the offer of Min’s steadying hand, and
clambering nude from the tub.
The bathing chamber here in Harilin’s Leap was quite small to Elayne’s eyes,
but since she had little experience of other inns with which to compare it she
refrained from saying anything. There were only the two tubs, the grey stone
floor sloped slightly downwards towards the barred drain, and all around the
room were braziers full of hot coals that drove the cold away. Even standing
there naked and wet she felt warmer than she had in some time.
Min was kicking off her boots. “Is it still warm?”
Elayne blinked. “Don’t be silly, Min. You must have your own tub, with fresh
water.”
“It’ll be fine. We’ve been sharing a bed for months, Elayne. Believe me, there
was nothing on you that wasn’t on me too.”
That too was a strange, but thrilling, intimacy. “Nevertheless, I insist,” said
Elayne. She padded over to the large buckets arranged near one set of braziers.
There were only three left ... She had perhaps spent longer than she should
have, she noted with chagrin. Maybe I really am spoiled. A bit. Determinedly,
Elayne crouched, wrapped her arms around one of the buckets and hefted it. It
was heavier than it looked, and her steps were a little less steady than was
dignified, but she managed to reach the unused tub by herself and dumped the
water inside.
When she turned around she found Min watching her with a half-smile on her
face. Elayne pointed authoritatively at the tub. “Strip and get in, young
lady.”
“Yes, mistress,” Min teased, unoffended even though she was the elder of the
two. She pulled her shirt up over her head, revealing her round breasts and
light-brown nipples to Elayne’s appreciative gaze.
The water really was getting cold though. Biting her lip, Elayne hastened to
retrieve another bucket while Min shed her remaining clothes.
Elayne ruminated on all that had happened to her in the past months as she set
about her work. And set about it quite diligently, she might have said, despite
certain people’s rather disingenuous slights!
It had all gotten off to a terrible start when Liandrin betrayed them to the
Seanchan and Elayne found herself collared as a slave of their wicked Empire.
They had tried to break her, to make her into one of their damane—women who
were treated as little more than animals, and who behaved as such too. The ones
who had been too long under the sul’dam’s whip at least. Not that they had used
whips on Elayne. Their means of degradation was subtler and perhaps more
effective than that.
She liked to tell herself she would never have given in, but she still woke at
night sometimes with Min’s arms held tightly around her, stilling her mewling
kicks as she dreamed of herself sitting at Renna’s feet and sending the One
Power crashing against Caemlyn’s walls. Min and Rand—and their friends—had
rescued her from that fate, like heroes out of a story. After that everything
had gotten better and better.
Admittedly, she wasn’t getting along with everyone as well as she’d like. She
didn’t think Anna or Perrin liked her overmuch, and her aunt had proven
disappointingly cold. But Verin Sedai was much nicer and had taught Elayne a
great deal, Nynaeve had proven a better friend than her prickly nature might
suggest, and the Ogier Loial was a delight. Rand’s armsmen were as impressive
as any of the Queen’s Guards too, and the thief-catcher, Hurin, amused her by
treating Rand as though he was an old family retainer. Elayne thought that
spoke well of them both.
Best of all was, of course, Min’s continued and growing presence in her life.
That, and something Elayne dared not admit to anyone but herself. Not even Min.
Perhaps especially not Min.
She carefully poured the second bucket over the girl in the tub, soaking her
dark hair until it gleamed black. Elayne sat behind her, soap and a fresh
sponge close to hand. She was glad Min couldn’t see her face as she rubbed the
soap tenderly into her short hair. She was afraid her thoughts would show on
her face, and afraid of what Min would think of them.
Elayne wasn’t sure when it had started. Perhaps right from the first moment,
when he had fallen into the garden of the Royal Palace in Caemlyn that fateful
day. He was very handsome, but surely that could not be all it took to send her
falling head over heels. Could it? She didn’t like to think herself so silly or
naive, but then she didn’t like to think herself spoiled either. Nevertheless
she could not deny that her thoughts had kept drifting back to Rand again and
again in the time between that first meeting and the day he had strode into her
prison cell in Falme, heron-marked sword in hand.
Had that been the moment? Or was it later, when the Horn was sounded and the
Heroes of legend themselves declared him to be one of them? It was hard not to
be impressed by that. But Hawkwing was a Hero too, and while she had admittedly
felt a little awe at the sight of him, it had been tinged with wariness. She
felt no such wariness towards Rand, even knowing what he was and the cruel fate
that had been allotted him.
After Falme she had begun to fear her regard was not returned. Not the secret
regard that set her heart to racing whenever he looked at her, that she was
sure she kept hidden from everyone. No, Elayne had feared he saw her only as a
hindrance—a lost lady of Andor in need of escorting back to her mother’s
sheltering authority. And how could he not, given that she had gotten herself
enslaved like that? His refusal to call her by her given name had stung more
than she ever imagined such a silly thing could. It had felt like rejection. As
though she was not worthy even of being his friend.
Even if she had trouble pinning down the moment it began, Elayne had no such
difficulty recalling the moment she was forced to admit to herself that she had
fallen in love with Rand. All her doubts had been swept away when he chose to
include her in the Inner Circle. He did not see her as a liability at all. He
had sat her right there beside his oldest friends and let her listen as they
spoke of all their deepest and darkest secrets. She was one of the most
trusted, the most valued, and—dare she dream?—the most loved? In the midst of
all the battles and hardships and revelations, of hearing people talk so
casually about fighting the dreaded Forsaken, that had been the most heady
moment of all for Elayne. The confirmation that she was a valued part of this
grand tale unfolding before her.
Min moaned appreciatively at Elayne’s soft touch. The sound brought a guilty
grimace to her face. “Time for a rinse,” she said, as calmly as she could, then
rose to fetch the last bucket.
Elayne’s heart was torn. Even if by some chance Rand had returned her
affection—and she had seen no hint that he saw her as more than a friend—how
could she betray Min? Even thinking those things about Rand was a betrayal of
sorts. Min deserved better. Elayne loved her utterly, but that didn’t stop her
heart from skipping every time she thought of Rand. Was it different because he
was a boy and she a girl? Dare she tell herself that that made it okay, or
would that be the most self-serving of delusions? The Daughter-Heir of Andor
would be expected to marry and produce children. Especially a Trakand Daughter-
Heir, for their House had grown small in recent generations. Gawyn aside,
Elayne’s closest Trakand relations were distant cousins. It was her duty to
breed, and obviously that could not happen with Min. But Rand could ...
Elayne blushed and almost dropped her bucket.
“Careful you don’t slip,” Min said concernedly.
“I’ll be fine,” she answered, with more force than she’d intended. In truth,
Elayne didn’t really know what Rand could do. Her nurse Lini hadn’t tolerated
any questions about that sort of thing. She’d been more than stern the one time
Elayne had dared to ask her about boys. But the thought of finding out dried
her throat.
She staggered back to the tub, then slowly and carefully upended the bucket,
sending tepid water pouring down over Min’s beautiful, suds-covered body.
“There. Doesn’t that feel better, love?” Elayne said softly. Love. She meant
it. But why then did she feel these things about Rand?
“Definitely,” Min said. She brushed her dark hair out of her eyes. “But we
shouldn’t keep the room occupied any longer than we have to. I imagine we
aren’t the only ones who are going to want a good soak.”
The heat and the exercise had left Elayne feeling almost dry already, but she
fetched a towel and began patting herself down nonetheless. “True. I suspect
Nynaeve is going to have words for us.”
Min groaned and climbed hastily from the bath, splashing water all over the
place. She hastened over to the piled towels, the slippery-wet cheeks of her
curvaceous bottom moving against each other and glistening in the warm light of
the braziers.
After a long moment, Elayne remembered she was supposed to be doing something.
Blushing, she tore her eyes away from Min’s body and went back to drying off.
The spare clothes they had brought were the plainest and cleanest they had
remaining. Idly, Elayne made plans to seek out some washerwomen on the morrow
as she dressed. The plain woollen robes would be enough to keep them decently
covered long enough to see them back to their room.
As prophesised, Nynaeve was idling in the hall when they emerged, a bundle of
clothes in her arms and a scowl on her face. At her side, the stocky archer
Anna wore a more patient expression, but she didn’t jump to their defence when
Nynaeve started in.
“Took your own sweet time about it, didn’t you? I take it you had a good long
talk? Probably about boys, knowing you two.”
“Yes, we just couldn’t stop going on about how broad Lan’s shoulders are,” Min
said flatly.
Nynaeve’s mouth worked furiously but no sound came out.
Once they were safely beyond earshot Min let out a low sigh. “I’m probably
going to regret that. But the look on her face was worth it.”
Elayne gave her a smile, but privately she thought the first part of Min’s
statement was the most true.
Rand’s armsmen had not exactly taken over Harilin’s Leap. There just happened
to be one of them at the foot of the stairs, and another near the main door,
and a further two in the hall outside Rand’s room. They were simply lounging
around, their postures seemed to say, and never you worry about the stern way
they eyed everyone who came in or ventured towards to the upper floor. Elayne
wondered if they genuinely thought they were fooling anyone.
They didn’t try to hinder Elayne or Min of course. They were among the most
trusted.
Back in their humble room, Min dumped her dirty clothes in a corner to be
collected later. Elayne said nothing as she carefully folded hers and stored
them in the pack with all her other dirtied garments. It was fully dark outside
by then, and the room was lit only by the single candle they had left burning
when they went down to the baths. The candle was little more than a stump.
Maybe we did take too long, Elayne thought a tad guiltily.
Min had told the serving man she’d be taking the maid’s room, which was linked
to Elayne’s by a narrow door, but that had just been for discretion’s sake.
Even if the canopied bed had not been large enough for two they would have
shared it. Elayne had long-since gotten used to falling asleep in Min’s arms
and waking at her side; she couldn’t imagine ever wanting it to be otherwise.
Not even when her thoughts ventured to that place they shouldn’t.
“Do you think we’ll be able to find this ‘Luca’ fellow tomorrow?” said Min.
“Hopefully. I can’t imagine Evelin would have sent us astray. According to
Nynaeve she was quite grateful for what Rand did at Falme.”
Min was looking towards the bed, or more accurately the gap underneath where
she had stuffed the bundle of blankets which hid the Horn of Valere from view.
“And after what you did at Tarcain Cut she would have to be a Darkfriend to
turn against us,” Elayne added, still pleased at being able to use that “us”.
Min waved a hand in dismissal, looking a tad embarrassed. “All I did was puff
on the thing until it finally worked. I’ll need to be careful about when to use
it in future though, especially if I’m always going to have to wait two whole
months before using it again.”
Elayne went and sat on the lumpy bed. “Then it is a thing only to be used on
special occasions. That seems rather appropriate to me, if a tad inconvenient
for us.” Us.
Min grinned. “Special like a wedding? What did you make of that tale Simion was
spinning? With every woman in the village deciding to drag some fellow under
the arches. Could that have been that crazy ta’veren stuff that Loial keeps
talking about?”
“It would certainly fit with the descriptions I have read of the phenomenon,
albeit on a somewhat more dramatic scale.”
Min’s smile faltered. “You don’t think it will work on us, do you? If Uno shows
up tomorrow and confesses his love to you—or me!—things might get a bit
awkward.”
“I should hardly think so!” Elayne said. “Though if he did I expect the decent
thing to do would be to let him down gently.”
Min moved closer. “Would you let me down gently, if this ta’veren thing made me
propose?”
Elayne felt her mouth fall open, and somehow couldn’t seem to close it again.
“I ... you—you know I am the Daughter-Heir. There are ... duties I have to
perform, and—”
Min laughed as though at a great joke. Heedless of Elayne’s flustered
explanations, she hugged her and tackled her to the bed. “I’m only joking
Elayne, there’s no need to be upset. I know there will be a man in your life
someday.”
“I love you though,” Elayne insisted. “I do! Please don’t doubt that.”
Min’s eyes were even huger than normal when they lay so close together. And
they were full of trust. “I don’t doubt that for a moment, Elayne. I love you
too. And I always will.”
Elayne had to kiss her then. To do otherwise would have been like trying to
topple Dragonmount with her bare hands.
Min smiled in satisfaction after they were done. “It’s late. I’m going to bed,”
she announced. She didn’t bother dressing for it, simply climbed off Elayne,
shed her loose robe, and climbed in under the covers.
Elayne walked around to the other side of the bed, then hesitated a moment.
Part of her still thought it would be too forward, but she shed her own robe
and climbed under the covers with Min, not bothering to put on a nightdress.
Min clutched the covers under her chin and stared at Elayne in mock-scandal.
“Why Lady Trakand, whatever do you imagine you are doing? Approaching me so
brazenly. What would the court say!?”
Elayne swatted at her. “Oh, stop.”
Min giggled and held out her arms to Elayne, who scooted over and placed
herself within that familiar, comforting circle. They held each other close,
their smooth, clean bodies pressed together, until Min cupped Elayne’s cheek
and brought their gazes together.
“If I was a boy, I’d marry you,” Min confessed shyly.
Elayne smiled at her, surprised but pleased. She’d never heard of two women
marrying each other, not in any land past or present. But the idea was
thrilling to her, even if it was impossible.
She brushed her fingers through Min’s dark hair. “I’d marry you right now, if
my duties would allow it. Boy or girl.” What that would mean for her forlorn
crush on Rand she could not say, but she spoke only truth to Min in that
moment.
Min’s smile was dazzling. Her kiss even more so. She had curled Elayne’s toes
even before she began trailing her lips down her neck and on towards her chest.
Her head disappeared under the covers and Elayne felt a warm mouth close around
her nipple. Hands roved over her waist and hips as Min suckled on her. She took
her time down there, and when her fingers finally found Elayne’s special place
she found it wet and eager for her.
Elayne’s gasping breaths sounded loud in her own ears as Min slid her fingers
inside before finding another little bud to nibble upon.
The bed wasn’t long enough to fit them both, not when Min was down there. Her
hips poked out the bottom of the sheets and Elayne savoured the view of that
glorious bottom of hers wiggling in the air. For a mad moment she imagined Rand
standing there behind her, naked. Blushing furiously, Elayne shook her head to
dispel that scandalous image.
Min stirred Elayne’s passions, leaving her clutching the bedsheets in her hands
as she writhed under the other girl’s sweet and skilful attentions. Soon she
felt something building inside her, rising higher and higher. Something she
knew would feel incredible when it finally fell.
“Oh. Oh, Min,” she gasped. “You spoil me so good.”
Elayne came to a new discovery then. There is a thrilling naughtiness to
feeling the warm breath of your lover’s laughter beating against your most
private and sensitive places. She came to that discovery quite literally.
Eventually, when she was done moaning wantonly and could form a coherent
thought, Elayne realised she had Min’s head clutched between her hands and was
pushing the girl’s mouth against her sex in a most uncouth manner. She released
her hastily, embarrassed. It was not like her to be so rough.
When Min’s head popped back up from under the covers though she didn’t look at
all hurt or offended. She grinned widely, heedless of the juice glistening on
her lips in the dwindling candlelight.
“Can I take it you enjoyed that?”
“You most certainly may.”
Min eyes on her turned heated, though not with anger. “Good. I enjoyed it too.
I’ve been enjoying a lot of things this evening. The way the water glistened on
your snowy skin. How soft it felt in my hands. How pretty your breasts are. How
beautiful your face in all its shifting expressions. That sweet little butt of
yours, as you struggled with the buckets. That hair. Those lips, and the things
they could do ...”
“Will do,” Elayne said smokily.
Min lay back and lifted the covers. “Then get down there, princess,” she
groaned. “Because I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
Elayne didn’t correct her about the title. She rather liked it when Min called
her that. “Yes, mistress,” she whispered, and heard Min’s surprised laugh as
she darted down under the blankets.
She didn’t bother going slow, just sought out Min’s centre in the dark and
pressed her lips against it immediately. A loud moan sounded from above and
Elayne set to licking Min’s sex as firmly and quickly as she could.
As she pleasured Min she was forced to push her hips out of the covers, much as
Min herself had, her feet resting on the thin carpet. The cooling evening air
touched her still-sensitive sex and Elayne found herself wiggling back and
forth, wondering if Min would enjoy the show as much as she had. Again that
scandalous image of Rand popped into Elayne’s head. As she licked and licked at
Min’s sweet, hot pussy, and felt her cheeks becoming coated in the evidence of
Min’s arousal, Elayne’s hand strayed down towards her own too-cold sex.
She slid a finger down over her belly and between her own lips, wondering what
it would be like if it was someone else’s, wondering what it would be like if
there was someone down there to ward off the chill.
When Elayne came for the second time that night, it was with Min’s fingers
tangled in her hair, her sweet moans delighting her ears; and Elayne’s own
secret, forbidden thoughts spurring her heart to a gallop.
***** The Maid *****
CHAPTER 31: The Maid
 
The narrow streets of Jerra were crowded at that hour, in comparison to
somewhere like Emond’s Field at least, but folk stepped quickly out of Rand’s
way as he strode down them. He attributed it to Nengar and Ayame being never
far from his heels. Their presence was also the source of his scowl and rapid
pace. While he followed Elayne’s advice, part of him still felt stifled at
being surrounded by so many people at all times. He would have liked to just
walk the streets of the town by himself, but Uno had looked so alarmed at the
idea that Rand had felt compelled to allow an escort.
It wasn’t just the Shienarans either. Saeri of all people had gotten angrily
territorial with the staff at Harilin’s Leap yesterday, insisting that they
were not allowed to bring Rand his supper, or turn down the bed in the room he
had been assigned. She’d attended to those tasks herself, something which the
serving women at the inn had seemed more bemused than annoyed by. He’d heard a
few uncomplimentary jokes about her from the women as they’d wandered off and
left her to do their jobs for them. Rand imagined they would be getting paid
either way.
She’d followed him out of the inn too, though she had to trot to keep up with
his pace. What need she imagined he would have for her out here he could not
guess, but it was one more burr under his saddle.
It was Moiraine that had gotten on his nerves the most though. When she’d cut
him off yesterday, preventing him from asking around about this Luca fellow
they were supposed to meet, Rand had assumed she had a good reason and bit his
tongue, much as it irritated him to have to follow her lead. He hadn’t wanted
to be the Dragon Reborn, despite Moiraine’s insistence that he was. And now
that he had accepted that role she seemed to think he was supposed to just
follow her around and do what she wanted. When he’d confronted her about it
this morning, and asked what they were going to do about Luca, she’d fobbed him
off. The matter was under control, she’d said. There was no need for him to
worry. He should simply relax and let her handle things. How was it under
control? Well, there was no need for him to know. Naturally.
Jerra seemed a prosperous town. The pass its eastern road led to was reportedly
smaller and less travelled than the one down south near Calranell, but any pass
through the Zandarakh Mountains made for an important trade route. Or at least
it had. Rand spied many folk in clothes that were atypical of Falmerans as he
stalked the streets. One and all the foreigners had a disgruntled look about
them. The Valreio blockade had left a lot of people stranded. Some of them
might have been stuck here for months for all Rand knew. Light send we don’t
end up in the same mire.
The angry voices ahead barely registered on his thoughts until he heard a
Shienaran accent respond in kind. He searched the side streets until he spotted
the source of the disturbance.
Three strangers in well-made but worn clothes were confronting a fourth man,
and the locals were giving the group a very wide berth. The strangers weren’t
Falmerans, if their style of dress was anything to go by, and all three were
armed with swords, their hands resting purposefully on the hilts of the still-
sheathed blades.
The fourth man was Mendao, and a glance was enough to tell Rand that his blood
was up. “You have a bold tongue, southlander. And a thick skull if you cannot
see that your time would be better spent on the border than running around
waiting for the Horn of Valere to fall into your lap. Peace! I was doing you
the favour of trying to stop you wasting your time, and this is how you speak?”
“You were being a ballbusting cunt is what,” growled a very squat man with a
wild black beard. Mendao’s face reddened, and not with embarrassment.
“Sal,” said the yellow-haired man at his side warningly. “Can we not? It’s too
early for this.”
“I’m from the border, friend,” put in the third one, a plain looking fellow
whose hair was a lighter shade of yellow that the second. “A few more swords
won’t make a difference there, but the Horn of Valere could save the world. It
is our sacred quest to find it.”
Blood and ashes. Hunters. He had heard that the Great Hunt of the Horn had been
called again in Illian. Thom Merrilin had told him many tales of the heroes who
had ridden out to search for the Horn in times past, and the adventures they
had gone on. None had actually found it though. Now that the Horn had been
found and Min had become its owner there was little point to the Great Hunt at
all. He had the instinctual suspicion that that wouldn’t matter to most of
those who had taken the Hunter’s Oath last year though. A greater concern was
Mendao losing his head and actually telling these men the truth about the Horn.
Rand hastened over.
“The Horn,” Mendao said tightly. “will be found when the Pattern wills it. And
not—thank the Light!—by a mannerless dwarf like this!”
The subject of Mendao’s ire was no taller than Nynaeve, but far heavier. His
chest was deep and the scarred knuckles of the hands that grasped his
shortwords were sunken from use. “You want to go, bitch? You’re nothing!” he
shouted, grinning evilly.
“Is that a challenge?” Mendao demanded angrily. He gripped his sword, ready to
draw. “One or all, it makes no difference to me.”
“ENOUGH!” Rand shouted, before the squat fool could answer. He ran up to the
group with Nengar and Ayame at this side. Unlike Mendao, or Rand for that
matter, they were both fully armoured and their blades were already in hand.
Saeri hung back, wide-eyed and clutching her skirts.
“More of you?” the squat man said. “That’s fine by me.”
“I could do without the hassle, personally,” said his friend.
“So could I,” Rand cut in. “I’d prefer to pass through this town with no
hassles at all. So why don’t we bid each other good riddance and go on about
our business?”
Mendao took his hand from his hilt at Rand’s words, though his face remained
red with anger. The three Hunters eyed Rand and his companions suspiciously.
“And who are you?” asked the hassle-hater. “Some kind of lordling?”
Rand decided to borrow a card from Moiraine’s deck. “Some kind. You can call me
Raye.” He kept his hand near the hilt of his new sword, though he did not draw
it yet.
“Well, Raye. I’m Rab Axetown, and my angry friend here is Sal Sways. We’re
Hunters of the Horn. Oh, and that’s Kon Volrader, he’s a Hunter too. Your bald
friend here is getting in our way. Bad idea that.”
“Or a good one, depending,” Sways said with an eager smile. Rand thought he had
an oddly graceful name for such a graceless man.
“It looked to me like he was just speaking to you,” Rand said. “Though the last
part might still be true.”
“Oh, a smartmouth,” drawled Axetown.
Rand gave him a cold look. “Before you say any more, you should know that there
are two dozen more of us nearby. All armed. All blooded. When I said I didn’t
want any hassle, I meant that having to explain to the townsfolk what happened
to you would make for a miserable morning.” And draw attention that Rand didn’t
want, but these Hunters didn’t need to know that part.
“Nearby isn’t—” Sways began.
“Saeri. Go,” Rand said calmly. The slender little girl darted off in a flash,
back towards Harilin’s Leap.
The Hunter from the Borderlands watched her go nervously, and Axetown put a
hand on his friend’s thick shoulder. “Well, a few poorly-chosen words ... not
important really. I guess we can forgive it,” he said, though Sways scowled in
a way that said he disagreed.
“My honour has been slighted,” Mendao said. “My Lord ...”
Rand sighed. Honour was a nice thing in theory, but at moments like that he
wondered if it wasn’t a cause of more trouble than it was worth. Doing the
right and moral thing, and doing the honourable thing were not always the same.
“They’re just words, Mendao. Why should you care if some stranger doesn’t like
you?”
Mendao received the rebuke in stiff silence, and Rand grimaced. Shienarans
valued their honour highly. Even if Rand wasn’t as fussed about such things as
they were, he felt he should still respect their customs enough to support his
own people in such circumstances. Especially since his own words sounded so
hypocritical in his ears. The Dragon Reborn. The most hated man in two Ages. As
if you don’t lay awake at night listing all the things they are likely to curse
you for. Who cares what strangers think? You do, al’Thor, you bloody liar.
“I stand by my original statement. It would be best if we just went our
separate ways.”
“Fine by me,” said Axetown. “Let’s go get a drink lads.” Sways snorted, but let
himself be led off. The third Hunter trailed after them, looking relieved.
“Hunters,” Ayame said once they were too far away to hear. He made the word
sound like a curse. “Most of them are more interested in getting their name put
into a bard’s song than in finding the Horn, or fighting the Shadow. We could
have taken them, my Lord Dragon.”
“I could have taken them alone,” Mendao said. It wasn’t quite a complaint, and
he did not look Rand’s way. But his displeasure was plain nonetheless.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Rand appeasingly. Mendao was good. Maybe good enough
to beat three at once, depending on who the three were. Maybe. “But that wasn’t
the problem.”
Suddenly Rand didn’t feel like exploring Jerra anymore. Mendao trudged along
after him when he turned back towards the inn. Some of the locals seemed to
have been watching the exchange, albeit from a safe distance. Rand got a nod of
approval from one matronly woman who stood outside a bakery with a white apron
across her rounded belly. He nodded back politely.
Before they had gotten far, Hurin came dashing down the street to meet them. He
had to keep his hands on the heavy belt from which hung his shortsword,
swordbreaker and cudgel, but he still moved at a fair pace. He skidded to a
halt when he saw Rand, and a relieved smile deepened the creases on his face.
“Little Saeri said there was trouble,” he said as Rand approached.
Rand gave a small shrug. “We handled it. You were at the Leap?”
Hurin fell in at his side. They walked as they spoke. “I was on my way there
when I saw her running like there was a Darkhound on her heels. I’m supposed to
be reporting to Moiraine Sedai, like Verin Sedai said.”
“Really. What was the report?” Rand said in a neutral tone.
“Well I found that man like she said. But I couldn’t smell anything off about
him. He’s certainly no murderer, though I don’t know as that means he’s
trustworthy. Seemed a bit full of himself if I’m being honest, Lord Rand.”
“Valan Luca, you mean?”
“Aye. He’s camped not far east of here, counting all the money he made from
those wedding parties. Apparently the mayor here wasn’t best pleased with the
prices he charged the happy couples, and told him to pack up and leave town.”
Rand frowned. Was Luca some kind of gleeman? Why would Evelin send him to a
gleeman? She’d said he could get them through the Valreio blockade, though Rand
couldn’t imagine how.
“Did you tell him about us?”
“Oh no, Lord Rand. Verin Sedai was very, ah, precise about what I was and
wasn’t to say.”
“Good. I guess she’s got things in hand there then,” Rand said with some
reluctance.
They encountered more of their party before they made it back to the inn. Saeri
looked even smaller with an armoured Uno hulking behind her. He and the other
Shienarans made an unholy amount of noise as the clanked down the streets on
the girl’s heels, and Uno looked particularly fearsome with his scarred face
and the painted red eye on his patch. The Jerra townsfolk didn’t just hop out
their way, they ran. One portly fellow didn’t seem to trust himself to move
fast enough and decided to throw himself against someone’s doorway instead. The
door broke under his weight and angry curses sounded from the goodwife within
as the man tumbled into her house.
Saeri smiled when she saw them. “Thou art okay! Did you, um ... get rid of
those men?”
“They’re alive,” Rand said, sighing a little at her choice of words. “We
persuaded them to go away.”
“That’s a relief. ‘Tis a relief, I mean. I brought the soldiers. That was what
you wanted me to do, wasn’t it?” She chewed her lip uncertainly.
“Exactly what I wanted,” Rand said firmly. “You did well, Saeri. Thank you.”
She grinned brightly in response.
Some of the Shienarans muttered about having gotten all worked up over nothing
as they formed a protective circle around Rand. He walked through Jerra
surrounded by a steel wall and feeling like some pampered, Light-blasted
princess from a story. The townsfolk they passed stared at the group, and in
particular at Rand in its centre. Well I certainly won’t be able to explore the
town now, he thought. I’d be too ashamed to show my face out there. He stewed
in helpless embarrassment all the way back to Harilin’s Leap.
When he stepped inside the inn once more, Rand found Loial seated by one of the
hearths surrounded by curious locals. He was telling them about the Ogier and
their stedding, judging by the few rumbling words that drifted Rand’s way.
There was no sign of the rest of Rand’s friends, but Moiraine and Lan had a
small table to themselves in a corner.
The Aes Sedai’s face showed no hint of her thoughts. But Hurin stepped over to
speak to her so hastily you’d think she had shouted at him for his lateness.
Rand stood in the middle of the common room, still surrounded by armoured
guards, and considered inviting himself into Moiraine’s conversation whether
she liked it or not. He hated that she was making decision for him without so
much as consulting him, and that she ordered about people who were sworn to him
as though they were actually sworn to her instead.
But he also hated people like those Hunters, who started fights over nothing
important. If Moiraine could get them passage out of Falmerden then that was
great. What did it matter if she made Rand look like a hanger-on in her party?
Uno was still waiting at Rand’s side. “Relax, Uno. All of you, relax. We should
be fine here. Was there any trouble with the other inn, Mendao?”
“None, my Lord Dragon. The night was quiet and peaceful.”
“If only they all were,” Rand sighed. All those eyes were getting to him again.
He caught the attention of one of the serving men. “Is there anything available
to eat?”
“Cook has beef and potatoes on at the moment. They should be ready soon,
Master.”
“Butter?”
“Oh, aye. Freshly churned too.”
“Sounds good. Would you mind having some sent up to my room?”
Saeri had been hopping from one foot to the other, her long, dark hair swaying
around her. Before the man could respond she chimed in. “I’ll get those for
you, my Lord. You don’t need to ask anyone else. ‘Tis my job.” The serving man
tried and failed to suppress a smile.
“That’s ... Okay, that will be fine, Saeri,” Rand sighed. “Thank you. I’ll be
in my room.”
As he reached the top of the stairs, Rand saw Anna coming out of Perrin’s room.
He thought perhaps he was witnessing the aftermath of a tryst, and was once
more surprised at how little jealousy he felt over the relationship the three
of them shared, but the grim look on Anna’s face told him something else was
afoot.
“Are you all right?” Rand asked when they came together in the hallway.
“I’m right as rainwater. Perrin’s not, but he’s being a stubborn ox about it.
Won’t talk to me.”
“Is he sick?” That wasn’t the danger for them that it was for most, not with
two Aes Sedai and Nynaeve nearby.
Anna shook her head. “Not that way. I’d get Nynaeve if he was. What do you call
it when someone prefers to lay on a wooden floor in nothing but their
smallclothes all night, with the window open to a winter chill and a perfectly
good bed going unused right beside them?”
Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
Anna sniffed. “Me neither. Well, I’ve said my piece. You talk to him,” she
said, before stalking off toward the stairs.
Rand took her advice and knocked on Perrin’s door. Before he could even ask,
Perrin’s voice rang out. “I’m fine, Rand. Mind your business. Anna’s making
coal out of charcoal.”
Rand smiled wryly. He kept forgetting about the wolfbrother thing, and how
sharp Perrin’s ears were now. “Well, you know where to find me if you change
your mind,” he said, before returning to his room.
Once there Rand discarded his swordbelt and tossed his long coat on the bed.
Then he went to lean against the edge of the narrow window and have himself a
good brood. Not a sulk, a brood, though he suspected Nynaeve might call it
otherwise.
He was thinking of Emond’s Field, and how little he had realised how precious
it was to be able to wander its streets in peace and solitude, when he was
interrupted by a soft rap on the door.
“Come on in,” he called.
Saeri was balancing a covered tray awkwardly with one hand, its edge resting
against her chest, as she used her other hand to unlatch the door. Rand
grimaced at the sight, feeling instantly guilty. “Let me help you with that,”
he said, striding towards her.
“No. No, I’ve got it,” she insisted, a look of intent concentration on her
face. She carried the tray to the small table and set it down, careful not to
spill anything.
Rand hovered uselessly in the middle of the room as the little girl arranged
his meal for him. Once she had everything arranged to her satisfaction she
stood back with a shy smile. “There you go, my Lord Dragon. ‘Tis all ready.”
That smile asked for praise and, despite his misgivings about the situation,
Rand was nowhere near heartless enough to deny her. “You’ve been a great help,
Saeri. Thank you. Though you really don’t have to go out of your way like this.
I’m perfectly willing to do my own chores while you ... Ah. Isn’t there
anything else you would rather be doing? Friends you ...” There hadn’t been
many survivors of the Trolloc attack on Nethara. He winced. “Luci can’t be that
much older than you. Wouldn’t you like to go see Jerra with her?”
Saeri shook her head slowly. A pretty, dark-haired little doll with big blue
eyes. Haunted eyes.
“Luci’s already sixteen. Her nameday was a little bit before ...” Saeri
shuddered, but no tears leaked down her cheeks. “I’ll be thirteen soon, even if
no-one but me remembers when. My brothers ...” She flinched and clutched her
hands together. “Luci’s nice. We weren’t friends before but I think we are now.
I don’t want to go play though. I want to help. I want to be useful. There’s
no-one ... I need to be useful.”
“Are you afraid that something might happen to you if you’re not?” Rand said
gently. Her mouth popped open and she stared at him. He couldn’t tell if she
was afraid, but hastened to reassure her just in case. “Because it won’t. You
can spend all day playing with Luci if you want, no-one will scold you or send
you away. You don’t have to serve anyone to earn your keep here, Saeri. And
maybe we can find you a better place to stay, somewhere safe and far away from
all this madness that follows me.”
She shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.
You’re all heroes, and I want to help in any way I can. ‘Tis good to journey in
such company as this,” she said earnestly.
“Well, as long as you know you don’t have to,” Rand said dubiously. He took a
seat at the table and began eating.
Saeri didn’t leave, and he didn’t want to order her out. She stood beside the
door of his room like a tiny sentry in a drab grey dress.
As the silence grew uncomfortable, for him at least, Rand cast about for a
question to ask her. Nothing about her hometown, certainly. Those were memories
he shouldn’t prod. Ah! But how to approach it delicately?
“Morrigan was a very unique woman,” he said at last. “She had a colourful past,
and developed a lot of habits that some people might have considered odd.”
Saeri was listening with interest. “The way she talked to people for example
didn’t always go over well with others.”
“’Tis the way of the educated,” Saeri said ingenuously. “She was awesome. So
tough and beautiful. I want to be like her. Where did she go? And why? No-one
would say, only that she decided to leave. If—if it’s alright to ask I mean, my
Lord Dragon. I know she was your favourite.”
Rand chewed his beef slowly as he considered how to answer. His first instinct
was to lie, but what of his words to the, ah, informal circle of friends that
Min had given that silly name to? Did Saeri deserve to know the truth about
Morrigan’s allegiances? Would it be more dangerous for her to know, or for her
not to? And would it hurt her to hear it now, from him?
“Morrigan found herself caught between two friends,” he said carefully. “She
couldn’t help one without hurting the other, so she left to try and decide who
she wanted to help more. I don’t know what she’ll decide, but maybe we’ll find
out someday. Until then we’ll just have to be careful.”
Saeri absorbed that in thoughtful silence for a while before speaking again.
“I’m sure she’ll be back. She went to your tent herself all the time. I saw. If
it was like the—like the other ... things, then she wouldn’t have kept going
back. I wouldn’t.”
Rand winced. “It’s very different, Saeri. What those Trollocs did in Nethara
was terrible and cruel and they were rightly killed for it. What Morrigan and I
did we did because we liked each other and wanted each other to feel good. The
act might be similar but the spirit behind it changes everything. I hope you’ll
find that out someday, when you meet someone nice enough to trust. Though it
would be understandable if the abuse you suffered left you disinterested in
such things.”
“I trust you,” she said in a small voice. “You’re nice.”
Rand looked up from the remains of his dinner, and raised his brows high. “Aahh
... ahem, I, ah, I mean someone you care about and like to look at. Like a
friend, but more. You’ll know what I mean when it happens.”
“I care about you,” she said earnestly. “And thou art wondrous to behold.”
Rand gave her a pained smile. “Saeri, it’s sweet that you think so, but you
barely know me. I’m a male channeler, and the Dragon Reborn. People will hate
and fear me for that, and with good reason. They will call me a dangerous
monster. And that’s what I might well end up becoming.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I do know you! You fought to save me from the
Trollocs, and then fought even more of them—so many they covered all the fields
as far as I could see—to save Falmerden. If people say you’re a monster then
they are wrong. I would do anything for you! I—I would even do the things
Morrigan did for you if you like. If you could show me how different it is.”
Rand wasn’t sure what to make of Saeri’s words. Oh, their meaning was plain
enough, but he was sure she wasn’t quite in her right mind after all she had
been through. “You don’t have to do anything like that, Saeri. I told you, you
won’t be sent away.”
“I know. But I want to.” She bit her lip. “I want ... I want to know that it
isn’t always the same as what happened back in ... Could you show me what it’s
like when it’s not horrible? Please?”
Rand blew out a breath, blinking rapidly.
“Is it because I’m not as pretty as Morrigan?” said Saeri quietly, with her
head lowered.
“Nonsense!” Rand said firmly. “You are a very pretty girl, Saeri. Beautiful
even. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
Her gaze snapped back to his, and her smile lit up her face. Saeri was indeed a
very pretty girl. Her cobalt eyes were big and expressive. Her pale skin made a
lovely contrast to her thick midnight locks. Her round face and small mouth
gave her a doll-like appearance, but that might have just been her age.
That didn’t bother Rand. Her age. He’d been only a little older the first time
he’d known a woman in that way. And he’d been much younger the first time he’d
known a man. So far as he knew it hadn’t done him any harm. Though he had no
way of knowing how different he might have been if things had gone otherwise,
he supposed. Affection and sex were inextricably linked in Rand’s mind now. And
he liked Saeri. He felt sorry for her too. She was nice and sweet and she
deserved all good things.
With a sigh, Rand offered his hand, palm upwards, to the twelve year-old girl
in his bedroom. “Are you sure about this? I won’t be able to marry you, or
promise faithfulness, or give you all the romance you deserve. You could do a
lot better, I think.”
Saeri stepped forward and placed her little hand in his. “There is no-one
better. I’m sure.”
Rand smiled and pushed his chair back from the table to make room. He patted
his lap. “Sit here then. We’ll start with kissing. Have you ever done that
before?” He couldn’t imagine the Trollocs would have been interested in kissing
her, even if their animalistic faces were capable of it.
Saeri lowered herself gingerly onto Rand’s knee. And her cheeks turned pink.
“No. But I’ve seen other people do it. I—I won’t be any good.”
“Technique isn’t half as important as people say. What you think of the person
you’re kissing matters far, far more.” He touched her jaw and gently angled her
mouth upwards. “And I think you are lovely ...”
Saeri’s lips were soft and warm. He kissed them slowly, gently. She froze in
his embrace at first, simply sitting there and letting him do as he pleased.
But after a while her lips began moving against his too, hesitantly at first,
then with a touch of hunger. Too much hunger perhaps, for when Saeri leaned
forward abruptly she banged her teeth against Rand’s.
“Ow.” She jerked back and slapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—I knew
I’d—”
Rand grinned. “It’s fine, Saeri. It happens to a lot of people. You’ll get a
feel for how to touch only the lips. It just takes a bit of practice.”
“Could I practice some more?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Rand drawled.
She put her hands on his shoulders for balance this time as she leaned in, eyes
closed, and began pecking his lips experimentally. Rand let her set the pace,
more pleased by the way she didn’t flinch from his touch than by any pleasure
she was stirring in him.
“I feel all tingly,” Saeri whispered between kisses. “My heart is going so
fast, but I’m not scared. Are you ... are you going to—to stab me, with your
thing now?”
Rand brushed her hair back from her wary face. “I won’t be stabbing you,
Saeri,” she whispered. “You’ll see. But it will be more comfortable if we go to
the bed.”
“Okay.” She hopped up from his lap and went to sit on the bedside. The sheets
were blue and of a richer material than the dress she wore. Rand had never been
one to care about clothes, rich or otherwise, but suddenly he wanted to take
her shopping, and to see her dressed up in whatever pretty things she decided
to buy. Saeri was obviously nervous, but he saw a hopeful trust in her eyes as
she watched him. Rand resolved to make sure this was as nice an experience for
her as he could.
He rose from the chair and went to lock the bedroom door. It wasn’t that he was
ashamed of what they were doing, at least no more ashamed than his Theren
sensibilities normally told him he should be. No, his earliest lovers had
simply taught him that discretion was the measure of whether those
sensibilities had been offended or not. So long as it was done in private then
there was no harm in it.
Rand shed his clothes unhurriedly. Boots and stockings first, then his shirt,
and finally his breeches. Saeri watched him do it, pink-cheeked and wide-eyed.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said innocently, when he was down to just his
drawers.
Rand actually found himself blushing a little. “Flatterer,” he teased.
She opened her mouth, but whatever response she might have made went stillborn
as he shed the last of his clothes and stood completely naked before her.
Rand let her look at him for a while. Not out of pride, or an enjoyment of
exhibitionism, but because he thought it would be good for her to have a chance
to compare man and Trolloc.
“You’re not all stiff ... down there,” Saeri said at last, in a tight voice.
She was right too. Pleasant as her kisses had been, Rand was still completely
flaccid.
“That will change,” he told her as he came to sit on the bed at her side. “If
you want it to.”
“How do I make it change?” she whispered.
“You could touch it. Or you could show me your body ...” he said softly.
Saeri’s breaths were coming fast now. She bit her lip and hesitantly reached
out to fondle Rand’s privates. Her fingers feathered across his soft cock, her
thumb traced his length, and she dared to cup his balls gently in the soft palm
of her hand, weighing them. All this she did while staring down at him raptly.
Saeri let out a gasp as she felt him twitch and begin to stiffen in her hand.
Her small hand was wrapped around his hot and hardening cock when he turned her
face towards his once more and kissed her, more passionately this time. She
didn’t try to kiss him back, but her mouth opened welcomingly to his.
When he broke their kiss Saeri was red-faced, and her eyes were shining wetly.
He hoped that wasn’t the only part of her that shone so.
Rand scooted back on the bed. “I’d like you to take off your dress, Saeri. But
if you’d rather keep it on, that’s fine.”
“They’re really small,” she said timidly.
He shook his head and smiled gently. “That doesn’t matter as much as people say
either.”
His reassurance steadied her, at least a little. Saeri’s hands still trembled
as she began undoing the laces on her grey dress. She freed a shoulder and then
an arm. Standing briefly and letting her dress fall to the floor didn’t give
her pause, but she stopped and looked to Rand once more as she stood there in
her white shift. Whatever she saw on his face seemed to please her. She took
one deep breath, grabbed the hem of her shift and yanked it up over her head.
Saeri was pale and soft and slender in her nudity. The budding little breasts
she showed him were tipped with puffy pink nipples. He traced her with his
eyes, from the dark locks that she tossed free of her shift, down her slender
body with its only-slightly-curved waist, to the gently rounded hips that
supported the plain knickers she was now untying. She let them drop, exposing
her dimpled privates to his view. She had only a small tuft of dark hair down
there. Altogether she was quite beautiful, and Rand found himself reacting to
the sight.
“Oh,” Saeri said softly as she watched him grow.
Rand smiled at her. “You’re a very pretty girl, Saeri. You’ll be a beautiful
woman someday.”
She blushed, and smiled back at him shyly. “Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely.”
Grinning prettily, she returned to the bed, crawling over the covers to lean
over him and plant her lips on his once more.
 Saeri made a little sound of surprise when Rand placed his hand upon her naked
back, and trembled beneath his touch. He couldn’t tell if it was the good kind
of trembling or the bad, but chose to venture forward with his explorations. As
she kissed him he softly caressed her shoulders, her arms and the sides of her
face. He combed his fingers through her hair and followed its strands down her
slender back. He touched her hips and squeezed them gently, brushed his palms
over the soft flesh of her bottom. He caressed her thighs over and over and won
for himself a soft moan. When Rand finally dared to put his hand on Saeri’s
breast her mouth was hanging open and she had a dazed look in her eyes. His
touch upon her breast was as light as that he had used elsewhere, and he only
brushed her nipple with his thumb, but she gasped aloud and jerked backwards.
“W-what was that?”
“You tell me,” Rand said. “Did it feel good or bad?”
“Good,” she said, with gratifying promptness. “It felt really nice.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. How about down there, how does that feel?”
Saeri shifted embarrassedly.
“I could check it for you if you like,” Rand said, with a wicked grin.
Saeri drew her shoulders inwards cutely. “O-okay.”
Rand reached slowly and steadily towards Saeri’s crotch. She parted her knees
slightly, and watched with wide and fascinated eyes as his hand approach her.
When his fingers brushed against the lips of her pussy he found her sopping
wet. Saeri moaned immediately when he touched her, and it was definitely not
fear that he heard in her sweet voice.
Rand smiled in satisfaction. It wouldn’t take long he thought, so he began
running his fingers along her lower lips and rubbing that spot just below her
little tuft of hair with his thumb.
There had been a time in his life when the female body was a complete mystery
to him, and a time after that when he had only a vague understanding of its
workings. Those times were past. If there had been one good thing to come of
his mishap with the Portal Stone, it was seeing—and remembering being—Raye.
Rand had learned much of women by experiencing all she had experienced when she
was alone, and when she was not.
Saeri lay on the bed at his side, flushed and panting. As excited and
inexperienced as she was it didn’t take long at all for Rand to have her coming
in the palm of his hand.
As Saeri’s body jerked spasmodically, her eyes snapped open. “W-what was that?”
Rand smiled. “It looked like an orgasm to me, sweetie. It’s what happens when
this sort of thing is done right. Did you like it?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes. It was weird, but—Yes! Definitely. Ah, ‘twas most
... most tingly? All ... rushing, and ... I don’t know the words.”
He laughed and pulled her into a hug, lying back upon the bed once more. “I
don’t know that there are words for it. It’s probably my favourite thing in the
world, when it’s done with someone you care about.”
Saeri rested her elbows on Rand’s chest, the notion pushing her little breasts
inwards in a most fetching way, though they were still too small to actually
touch each other. She smiled down at him happily, but them a small frown
appeared between her dark brows.
“You didn’t stab me with it. I thought you were going to put it inside me, like
...” She looked away.
He brushed her hair again, enjoying the glossy sheen of it, and how smooth it
felt between his fingers. “I won’t. This was more than enough for me,” he said
quietly. Besides—he had hands. “But if you want to know what it feels like when
it’s not violent or painful, you can put it in yourself.”
“How?” Saeri said after a long pause.
“Kind of like riding a horse,” Rand said. “You just crouch above it, slip as
much of it inside as you’d like, and then move your hips. But you might be
better off waiting to do that with someone you love.”
Saeri’s gaze snapped back to his. With an odd intensity in her cobalt eyes, she
rose up and threw a leg over Rand’s waist. She took his cock in hand, panting
nervously, and shuffled forward until it was positioned under her young sex.
Rand did nothing. It was for her to decide what happened next. She looked him
right in the eyes as she made her decision, then brought her slender body down
to meet his.
Saeri was shaking visibly, and Rand was tempted to try and reassure her with
his touch, but he kept his hands to himself. There was no pain for her as his
cock stretched her girlish hole, and she wasn’t as tight as her slender frame
might suggest, though he certainly felt a thrill of pleasure as her heat
enveloped him. Rand thought it was memory that made her whimper like that. She
gasped as the head of his manhood popped inside her, and groaned as she slid
slowly down his length. Saeri stopped before taking it all inside, and crouched
above him, blinking rapidly as she tried to make sense of all that was
happening.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered. “I’m all full, but it’s not sore ... it’s
...” She tried moving her hips up and down again, if only a little, and let out
a soft grunt. “It’s nice ...” She moved again, grunted again, then began
shaking her hips slightly from side to side.
Rand lay back on the bed with his arms spread wide, and let her have her way
with him.
It took a lot longer than normal for his pleasure to build, but he schooled
himself to stillness. There was a sweet sense of satisfaction in watching Saeri
experiment with her own body’s likes and dislikes. He didn’t need to chase a
climax, it was enough to see her grow comfortable with the feel of him inside
her, to watch as the movement of her hips became more demanding and the nervous
fear faded away from her pretty face.
She was bouncing shallowly upon him when the words burst from her lips. “I
think it’s happening again.” She had her hands on his chest and belly by then,
staring down at him as she shook her hips. No sooner had she spoke than her
pace increased frantically.
The rapid movements of her sweet little pussy upon his cock brought Rand’s own
climax closer and closer.
Belatedly the thought occurred to him that Saeri might not know how to brew
herself some heartleaf tea to prevent pregnancy. He didn’t keep any on hand
himself of course, not like Raye had been taught to do. Rand made a snap
decision not to risk coming inside her. He set his jaws together and fought
stubbornly against his own body as the little girl atop him used his cock for
her pleasure.
Thankfully he did not have to resist for long. Saeri slapped both hands across
her own mouth and came with a muffled squeak. Her young pussy clamped painfully
around Rand’s cockhead and she froze on her knees, her movements reduced to
small little jerks of her hips as her pleasure shot through her.
When it was done, Saeri let out a long sigh and collapsed slowly forward. When
her head came to rest on his chest, Rand finally allowed himself to touch her
again. He wrapped his arms around her narrow shoulders and squeezed her
tightly.
Saeri rested her chin atop her folded hands as she lay on top of Rand. She was
so light she might as well have been a blanket, though the feel of his still-
hard cock lodged inside her would have made sleeping impossible. She smiled as
she looked at him.
After a while he asked her what she was staring at. Saeri responded with a
happy smile. “At thy beauty, my Lord Dragon. Mine eyes have seen today for the
first time, for the world is lit with a new light.”
Rand shook his head and eyed her askance. “I think you might be laying the
flattery on a little too thick there, Saeri. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
He smiled at her to try and take any sting out of his words. Honestly though,
he really should have taken Elayne’s advice and tried to steer Saeri away from
High Chant. Maybe it wasn’t too late, if only he could find a nice and gentle
way to point out how silly it sounded.
But first he’d need to find a way to shift her off his cock before he had an
accident. Rand took a more direct approach there, and lightly smacked her
bottom, once, twice. “You’ll need to be getting off of me soon though, Saeri.”
She was quick to heed his words, and pulled herself free of his body. “I’m
sorry. Was I squashing you?”
Rand snorted. “Hardly. I’ve worn shirts that weigh more than you.”
He put his arm around her waist and she nestled in at his side. After a moment
she looked up at him uncertainly. “Did you like it?”
“Of course. You’re very sweet, Saeri.”
She bit her lip. “But nothing came out. Not like ... Is it not supposed to—to
shoot stuff?”
“Usually, yes,” he admitted.
She was stricken. “I didn’t do it right. I failed you.”
“That’s not it at all. Don’t be upset,” he said firmly. Then he cocked his head
in consideration. “Buuut. If you want to run your hand up and down my shaft a
few times, I certainly won’t object.”
Saeri didn’t hesitate. “Okay. Like this?” She took hold of his cock with her
soft little hand and began stroking him. “Or should I go slower? Or faster?”
“A little faster would be nice,” Rand sighed. She complied, and didn’t seem at
all put out when he began fondling her bottom while she wanked him off.
Soon enough Rand felt his climax building again, and this time he didn’t try to
fight it at all. She gasped when she felt him twitch in her hand. When his come
shot out to coat his belly and chest she giggled at the sight and kept stroking
him until the last drops had spilled.
“You’re all messy now!” she protested. “I’ll go get something to clean you up
with.”
“That’s okay. Believe me, I’ve been messy before.”
Saeri pushed away from his side and hopped from the bed. Idly, for he was too
wrung out to be anything else, Rand enjoyed the sight of her pretty little
bottom as she hastened away. “No. ‘Tis not to be brooked! I’m your maid, after
all. It’s my job to keep things clean and take care of you. What kind of maid
leaves her Lord all dirty like that?”
Rand felt a smile spread across his face. “The best kind of maid,” he drawled.
“The naughty kind.”
***** A Way Over the Mountains *****
CHAPTER 32: A Way Over the Mountains
 
Elayne led her small party east out of Jerra down a well-travelled road. The
day was brighter than usual for this time of year, and she had been glad to
shed her heavy furs for something lighter and prettier. That she could dress in
the red and white of Andor was only an added bonus.
They’d taken most of the previous day to prepare, and talked matters over at
length, but Nynaeve still wore a sour frown as she rode at Elayne’s side. The
woman was prickly proud. Too much so at times. If it served their interests
best to present themselves as a noble’s entourage stranded in a war-torn land,
then it was perfectly obvious that Elayne would be better suited to playing
that role. She actually was a noble, stranded in a war-torn land, after all!
“Is my Lady bored?” Nynaeve asked acidly. “The way my Lady is staring at the
countryside— down my Lady’s nose—I think my Lady must want to travel faster.”
“Please, Nynaeve,” Elayne said. “I—” The other woman cut her off.
“Is my Lady uncomfortable? I know ladies are used to comfort, the sort of thing
a poor maid wouldn’t know about, but surely my Lady wants to get back to town
before dark? So my Lady’s maid can serve my Lady’s supper and turn down my
Lady’s bed?”
Elayne sighed heavily. Nynaeve had seen the point, back in Jerra. A lady never
travelled without a maid or two. Nynaeve had seen that Elayne knew more of how
ladies behaved; she had put it very gently, and Nynaeve usually knew sense when
she heard it. Usually.
Min hadn’t made a fuss over having to pretend. Instead she had argued at length
against the need for her to put on a dress. It had taken both Moiraine’s chill
demands and Elayne’s gentle reasoning to persuade her to put on the green skirt
they picked up for her in town, and she still looked a bit sulky over it. That
didn’t stop her from coming to Elayne’s defence though.
“Oh give over, Nynaeve. When has Elayne ever treated you as a lesser in all the
time you’ve known her? She’s the least snobbish noble you’re ever going to
meet. It’s just a role we have to play for a while, don’t flip your lid over
it.”
“I never flip my lid!” Nynaeve shouted, tugging angrily at her braid.
The way Min rolled her eyes only incensed the woman further.
Hurin and the three Shienaran armsmen hung well back, their expressions making
it plain they’d rather be somewhere else. Elayne wasn’t sure if that was
Nynaeve’s ill temper or a reluctance to be far away from Rand. She wondered if
Moiraine had asked his leave before commanding his sworn soldiers. It seemed
likely she had not. That was a standard ploy in Daes Dae’mar. Using it one
could undermine a rival, or an uneasy ally, by making them appear weak and
yourself strong. The more people became used to hearing orders from you, and
the less from the rival party, the greater your standing became, and the lesser
was theirs. In the most effective cases you could even suborn a rival’s
followers entirely to your side. Elayne felt somewhat torn at the thought. Her
loyalties to the White Tower and to her estranged aunt suggested she should
watch in silence, but Rand didn’t seem to be at all aware of what was going on.
He was innocent of the Game of Houses, as she was not. The conflict within her
was a brief one. She would speak to him about those matters as soon as they
could find a quiet moment together, she decided.
Moiraine and Verin had decided it would be best if someone less obviously
affiliated with the White Tower handled the task of securing passage with
Master Luca. According to the surveillance they had dispatched Hurin to
perform, Luca was well-travelled and had met Aes Sedai before. Their ageless
faces would be too much of a giveaway. That was why Elayne and Nynaeve, as the
two junior initiates of the Tower, had been entrusted with this task. Rand of
course, had not been consulted.
Using their true names had also been judged too much a risk, at least for some.
Elayne herself was one such. Her name was not so uncommon as to occasion
mention usually, but it was much too short a leap from a young Andoran Lady
named Elayne, to Elayne the Daughter-Heir of Andor.
The hubbub she could hear from over the slight hill ahead told her that Luca
was still where Hurin had said he would be. She hadn’t truly doubted it, for
Hurin was a sensible enough fellow to have checked their contact’s planned
schedule thoroughly, and had assured Verin that the man did not mean to leave
for several days yet. That he meant to attempt the blockade at all was quite
promising, as the journey through the mountains should take several days and
almost all those before him who had attempted it had found themselves turned
back by the Valreio and their Whitecloak allies. Surely Luca would not make the
trip unless he was confidant of its success. She just hoped his confidence was
not misplaced.
When they topped the hill, Elayne reined Lioness in and surveyed the camp
ahead. Here was something of a sort that she had seen pass through Caemlyn more
than once. A travelling menagerie was camped in a large clearing by the side of
the road. A great, black-maned lion lay half-asleep in one cage that took up
the entire back of a wagon, while his two consorts paced in the confines of
another. A third cage stood open; in front of it a woman was making two black
bears with white faces balance themselves on big red balls. Another cage held
what appeared to be a large, hairy boar, except that its snout was too pointed
and it had toes with claws; that came from the Aiel Waste, she knew, and was
called a capar. Other cages held other animals, and brightly coloured birds,
but unlike any menagerie she had ever seen, this one travelled with human
performers: two men were juggling ribbon-twined hoops between them, four
acrobats were practicing standing on one another’s shoulders in a tall column,
and a woman was feeding a dozen dogs that walked on their hind legs and did
backflips for her. In the background, some other men were putting up two tall
poles; she had no idea what they were for.
“A circus?” said Min delightedly. “Hurin! You never said it was a circus.”
The sniffer scrubbed a hand through his lank grey locks. “Well, Verin Sedai
already knew, Min. I didn’t think it needed mentioning.”
Min made a rude noise. “Those Aes Sedai wouldn’t tell you the time of day if
they didn’t think there was a good reason for it.”
The three armsmen—well, two and one armswoman more properly—grumbled at that,
but only under their breaths. Min was known to be a friend of Rand’s, and that
put her beyond rebuke in their eyes. For the most part anyway.
Min’s head swivelled this way and that as they made their way down to the camp,
and for all her scowls and the stiff way she sat her horse, Nynaeve seemed to
be taking in the sights too. The Shienarans stared openly. One fellow, the
young one who had almost died at Nethara, pointed at the acrobats and laughed
happily. Whatever he said to Areku, Elayne could not hear over the noise of the
penned animals.
Some of those were louder than others. A loud trumpeting sound made Elayne
jump, and Lioness reared before Elayne could get her under control. She wasn’t
the only horse to be startled, all save the war-trained mounts of the Shienaran
lancers bucked and stamped, wild-eyed.
Three huge, wrinkled grey animals proved to be the source of the unfamiliar
noise. Two were as tall as coaches, with big ears and great curving tusks
beside a long nose that dangled to the ground. The third, shorter than the
horses if likely as heavy, had no tusks. A baby, she supposed. A woman with
pale yellow hair was scratching that one behind the ear with a heavy, hooked
goad. Elayne had seen creatures like this before, too. And had hoped never to
see them again.
A tall, dark-haired man strode out of the camp, wearing a red silk cloak that
he flourished as he made an elegant bow. He was good-looking, with a well-
turned leg, and very much aware of both things. “Forgive me, my Lady, if the
giant boar-horses frightened your animals.” As he straightened, he beckoned two
of his men to help quiet the horses, then paused, staring at her, and murmured,
“Be still, my heart.” It was just loud enough for Elayne to be sure she was
supposed to hear. “I am Valan Luca, my Lady, showman extraordinary. Your
presence overwhelms me.” He made another bow, even more elaborate than the
first.
Elayne shared a look with Nynaeve, catching the same amused smile that she knew
she herself wore. A man very full of himself, this Valan Luca. His men did seem
to be very good at soothing the horses; they still snorted and stamped, but
their eyes were not so wide as they had been.
“Boar-horses, Master Luca?” Elayne said. “Where do they come from?”
“Giant boar-horses, my Lady” was the ready reply, “from fabled Kigali, where I
myself led an expedition into a wilderness full of strange civilizations and
stranger sights to trap them. It would fascinate me to tell you of them.
Gigantic people twice the size of Ogier.” He made grand gestures to illustrate.
“Beings with no heads. Birds big enough to carry off a full-grown bull. Snakes
that can swallow a man. Cities made of solid gold. Descend, my Lady, and let me
tell you.”
Elayne had no doubt that Luca would fascinate himself with his own tales, but
she certainly doubted that those animals came from Kigali. For one thing, even
the Sea Folk saw no more of Kigali than the walled ports they were confined to;
any who went beyond the walls was never seen again. Those traders bold enough
to venture across the Aiel Waste knew little more. For another, she had seen
creatures like these in Falme during the Seanchan invasion. The Seanchan used
them for work animals, and for war. With the horses quietened, his workers went
to help lead the “boar-horses” away.
“I think not, Master Luca,” she told him.
“Then let us perform for you,” he said quickly. “As you can see, this is no
ordinary wandering menagerie. A private performance. Tumblers, jugglers,
trained animals, the strongest man in the world. We are on our way to Valreis,
and tomorrow we will be gone on the wind. But for a pittance—”
“My mistress said she thinks not,” Nynaeve broke in. “She has better things to
spend her money on than looking at animals.” In fact, she herself had kept a
tight fist on all their coin while shopping in Jerra, reluctantly doling out
what they needed. She seemed to think everything should cost what it had back
in her Theren.
“I would enjoy seeing your show, Master Luca, and coin is certainly no issue.
Why, my family’s estate provide so much I scarce know what to do with it,”
Elayne said in her laziest voice, modelled as best she could after Lyndelle
Arawn’s self-important drawl. Rich and willing to spend, that was what they
were supposed to seem. Nynaeve knew that, but the other woman did insist on
making rough spots and leaving them to her to smooth over. “But Nana speaks
truly I fear. I must make haste on my journey east.”
Luca’s dark eyes lit up avariciously. “If you allowed me to entertain you—for a
trifle, truly—I would name you as patroness of my show wherever we go across
the world, spreading the fame of your generosity, my Lady ...?”
“Morelin,” she said. “The Lady Morelin of House Taravin.” Elayne had distant
cousins in House Taravin, through her grandmother’s brother. The real Morelin
was barely old enough to walk, but she doubted Luca would know the inner
workings of an Andoran House in such detail. Whether Elayne or Morelin however,
the last thing she wanted was him “spreading her fame”.
“I have no interest in becoming a patron of the arts,” Elayne continued.
“Though I do recall you saying something about Valreis ... As it happens I am
bound for that land myself. Perhaps we could travel together. My guards could
provide extra security for your circus and in time I may find myself in the
mood to be entertained. I shall have to insist you not publicise my presence
however. All that attention, it is a frightful bore.”
Luca studied her carefully before responding. “You want to cross into Valreis,
but you don’t want to be seen, Lady Morelin?” he said cautiously. “Who is after
you? I won’t risk Whitecloaks, or the army. They’ll throw us all into prison,
and probably kill the animals.”
“So you can get past the blockade?” Min interrupted. “You’re sure?” There was
little point in even speaking to the man if he was not.
Luca seemed a bit surprised that Elayne did not rebuke her, but his greater
concern was the doubt she cast on him. “My show is famed throughout the world,
miss,” he declared grandly. “Why, I’ve even performed for the Riela herself.
Valan Luca has many friends. Even among the officers of the Valreio army.”
“You have friends in Falme as well,” Elayne said quietly.
He waved a hand airily. “So many friends that I sometimes forget their names.
Or the packages they send back and forth.”
Smugglers, Elayne thought. Smugglers or spies, or both. Perhaps that was how
Queen Evelin knew of him. It left Elayne even less inclined to trust him.
Smugglers broke the law, and stole taxes that should have been used to improve
the nation.
“But you haven’t answered my question,” Luca said. “Why the secrecy, Lady
Morelin?”
“My brother,” Elayne replied. “It seems that a marriage has been arranged while
I was away, and my brother was sent to find me. We have friends of our own, you
understand. In Valreis. And I would rather they not hear of my presence. I have
no intention of returning to Andor to marry a man a head shorter, three times
my weight and thrice my age.” Her cheeks coloured in only a fair imitation of
anger; her throat clearing did it better. “My mother has dreams of claiming the
Lion Throne someday, if she can gain enough support. My dreams concern a red-
haired Andorman whom I shall wed, whatever my mother says. And that, Master
Luca, is as much as you need know of me and more.”
“Maybe you are who you say you are,” Luca said slowly, “and maybe you are not.
Show me some of this money you claim you’ll give me. Promises buy small cups of
wine.”
Angrily Nynaeve fumbled in her scrip for the fattest purse and shook it at him,
then stuffed it out of sight when he reached for it. “You’ll get what you earn
as you earn it.”
“And one hundred gold marks besides,” said Elayne. “If you can provide space
for thirty to travel with you to Valreis, and if you agree not to draw
attention to myself or my people.” Luca stared at her, running his tongue over
his teeth. Nynaeve groaned softly.
Luca gave a sour grunt. “Whether you are a lady or not, you are still running
from somebody. I won’t risk my show for you, whether it’s the army or some
Andoran lord who might come looking. My friends on the border can only do so
much to keep their fellow soldiers from making trouble. And the lord might be
worse, if he thinks I have stolen his sister. You will have to blend in.” An
unpleasant smile came to his face. “Everybody who travels with me works at
something, and you and your followers must as well, if you mean not to stand
out. If the others know you are paying your way, they will talk, and you would
not want that.”
Min gave him a very cold look. “Most of the people who’ll be coming with us are
men, strong, fit, and trained at arms,” she said in a low growl. “They’ll have
no trouble pulling their weight. Or settling for anyone who gets too greedy
with the performers.” Elayne tried not to stare. She’d never seen Min so angry
before.
Luca nodded. “Shoulder thumpers are always useful, but what about the rest?”
“What is that?” Elayne asked, pointing. She had a suspicion she already knew.
The two tall poles she had seen being erected now each had ropes to stay it and
a flat platform at its top, with a long rope stretched taut over the space
between. A rope ladder hung from each platform.
“That is Sedrin’s apparatus,” Luca replied, then shook his head. “Sedrin the
highwalker, dazzling with feats thirty feet up on a thin rope. The fool.”
Elayne didn’t like pretending to be like Lyndelle, and sudden boldness stole
over her. “I can walk on it,” she told him. A worried Min reached for her arm
as she dismounted, but she subsided at a small shake of her head and a smile.
Luca barred her way, though. “Listen, Morelin, your neck is far too pretty to
snap. Sedrin knew what he was doing, and we finished burying him not more than
an hour ago. Of course, he drank too much last night, but I’ve seen him
highwalk with a bellyful of brandy. I will tell you what. You do not have to do
chores. You move into my wagon, and we will tell everyone you’re my ladylove.
Just as a tale, of course.” His sly smile said he hoped for more than a tale.
Elayne’s smile in return should have raised frost on him. “I do thank you for
the offer, Master Luca, but if you will kindly step aside ...” He had to, or
else have her walk over him. The nerve!
She had already marched to the rope ladder when it occurred to her that her
skirts would present a problem at that height. It wouldn’t be at all like
walking along the rails in the palace garden. She wasn’t worried she would
fall, since she fully intended to use saidar to cheat, but if Elayne wasn’t
careful anyone standing down below would have the opportunity to see some
things they should not. She had to ascend the ladder using only one hand, since
the other was occupied with holding her skirts close to her body.
The Shienarans had dismounted and were milling about below, arguing with each
other. They looked like they intended to catch Elayne if—or when—she fell. Luca
moved nearer too, as though the same thought was in his head. Such little
faith, she thought, exasperated but determined. I can do this. I am not some
spoiled princess. At least Min and Nynaeve trusted her. They still sat their
horses.
When she reached the top, Elayne had an alarming moment of dizziness. The
platform felt much smaller than it had looked, and the ground seemed much
farther away from that vantage. She covered her nervousness by taking a moment
to smooth her dress. Then she opened herself to saidar and let its peaceful
warmth wash over her. Feeling much calmer, Elayne channelled, spinning together
the weave called Hardened Air, and forming a narrow bridge between the two
platforms, just above the rope. To the eyes of anyone but a woman who could
channel there would of course, appear to be nothing separating Elayne from the
rope.
Delicately holding her skirts up as if to keep them out of mud, and more
importantly to keep them decently closed, she stepped out onto the narrow
bridge. She kept her chin high and her face composed as she walked calmly
towards the distant platform.
Luca and the others were working themselves into a frightful tizzy below.
Elayne felt her lips quirk into a smile. I think I shall give them something to
really worry over. Abruptly she put her hands down and turned two cartwheels,
her hair flailing, and her silk-stockinged legs flashing in the sun. She could
hear their alarmed gasps even from so far up, and a giggle escaped her. Two
more steps took her to the far platform and there she paused, a little
disappointed by the lack of applause.
“Did Master Sedrin do that, Luca?” Min shouted, grinning.
“He did somersaults,” Luca shouted back. “But he did not have legs like that. A
lady! Hah!”
Elayne sniffed to herself at his sudden doubt. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to
do such things, just because she was a lady? It was vexing, but nothing with
which she was not already familiar.
“I am not the only one with this skill,” Elayne called. “Min and—” Nynaeve gave
a fierce shake of her head. “—and I have done this many times. Come on, Min.
Show him.”
Min looked as if she would rather clean the cages with her bare hands. The
lions’ cages, with the lions inside. She closed her eyes, mouth moving in a
silent prayer, then dismounted, marched to the rope ladder and ascended in the
manner of a woman mounting the scaffold. She either didn’t care to gather her
skirts, or forget she was wearing them, and to Elayne’s annoyance she saw
several onlookers trying to catch a peek.
At the top, she stared from Elayne to the rope with a fearful concentration.
“Trust me, Min,” Elayne called. “All will be well.” I’d never let you fall,
beloved.
Abruptly, Min stepped out, walking rapidly, arms stretched out to either side,
eyes fixed on Elayne and mouth moving in prayer. Elayne smiled brightly at her.
She maintained the bridge of Air as she gathered her skirts close once more and
sat to carefully seek out the other rope ladder with her foot. Once she felt
secure, she climbed partway down the ladder to make room for Min on the little
platform.
“That’s my girl. Well done,” she whispered fiercely.
“What was that?” Min asked shakily.
“Just some solidified Air. It’s a simple trick.” She lingered on the ladder to
help Min find the rungs with her feet and then began climbing back down to the
staid and familiar earth.
When they returned to the others Nynaeve wore an expression of such disapproval
that she suddenly reminded Elayne of her nursemaid Lini.
“That was good,” Luca said, rubbing his chin judiciously. “Not as good as
Sedrin, mind, but good. I especially like the way you make it seem so easy,
while—Min?—Min pretends to be frightened to death. That will go over very
well.” Min gave the man a bleak grin that had Elayne suspecting she would like
to thump him. Luca actually swirled that red cape as he turned to Nynaeve; he
looked very satisfied indeed. “And you, my dear Nana? What surprising talent do
you have? Tumbling perhaps? Swallowing swords?”
“I dole out the money,” Nynaeve told him, slapping the scrip. “Unless you want
to offer me your wagon?” She gave him a toothy smile that wiped his clean away
and sent him two steps backwards for good measure.
Luca shook himself, seeming angry at his own reaction. He plastered a smile
across his face. “Beautiful and frugal? Well then you are sure to be my
favourite new travelling companion. If it’s you I’ll be seeing about my money
then perhaps you should indeed share my wagon. When should we begin our ...
partnership?”
To say Nynaeve looked unimpressed would be a great understatement. She fished a
coin out of one of their purses and all but slapped it into Luca’s hand. He
looked startled, then angry as she said, “If you took a decent job of work, you
would not have to beg for coin from travellers. Wait here until we get back
with the rest of our friends ... and money. And don’t go gossiping about us
while we’re gone.”
Luca was still staring at the coin in his hand when Elayne regained Lioness’
saddle. As she turned back towards Jerra she heard him throw something to the
ground with a curse.
The others caught up to Elayne before she had gotten far.
“You did not have to be rude,” she told Nynaeve. “Or so abrupt. What did you
give him?”
“A copper penny,” Nynaeve replied calmly. “And more than he deserved.”
“Nynaeve,” Elayne groaned. “The man probably thinks we were making sport of
him.”
“Maybe we should just not start fights with our best means of getting over the
mountains safely,” Min muttered. “I’d say that was sensible, but what do I
know?”
Nynaeve sniffed. “With those shoulders, a good day’s work would not kill him.”
Elayne kept silent, though she did not agree. Not exactly. Certainly physical
labour would not harm the man, but she did not think those were the only jobs
that were or should be available to him. Not that I think Master Luca would
accept work that didn’t allow him to wear that cape. If she brought it up,
though, Nynaeve would probably argue—when she gently pointed out things that
Nynaeve did not know, the woman was quite capable of accusing her of having an
arrogant manner, or of lecturing—and Valan Luca was hardly worth another
altercation so soon after smoothing over the last.
Elayne kicked Lioness into a canter, hoping that the circus would still be
there when they returned from Jerra with Rand and the rest of their companions.
 
                                     * * *
 
Rand had been assigned the role of a vassal lord in Elayne’s service. He’d have
been happier to just be one of the soldiers, but Moiraine felt his armsmen
wouldn’t be able to keep from showing a level of deference that would look
inappropriate to anyone who wasn’t their social “superior”. So lord it was. At
least he’d been able to pick his own name, albeit against Moiraine’s advice.
Rand snorted. Raye al’Burr apparently didn’t sound Andoran enough for him to
use. Yet to hear Andorans like Elayne talk the Theren was actually a part of
Andor. Foolishness.
“Raye” looked back towards the large, covered wagon where Moiraine and Verin
reclined, safely hidden from prying eyes. Its slightly curved wooden walls and
roofs were painted a dark blue and it was big enough that they’d assigned four
of the packhorses to pulling it. Including poor Bela. Elayne and Nynaeve would
be sharing the wagon with the Aes Sedai it had been decided, for appearances
sake.
Tomas sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon, and handled the reins with calm
experience. His and Verin’s horses were tied to the back of the wagon alongside
Aldieb, while Lan rode sentry on Mandarb.
Rand didn’t know how much the wagon had cost, but he suspected it had been
over-priced. Almost everything seemed to be since he’d left the Theren. Not
that they were short on coin, not since Tarcain Cut. He thought the right thing
to have done back then would have been to try and find the people Slone’s
Dragonsworn had robbed, and return their money to them. Assuming any of them
were still alive. But instead Rand had gotten all the Dragonsworn killed and
then looted their corpses. And now he was going to lie about his name to anyone
who asked. Once more he found himself disturbed at how easily right and wrong
could crumble in the face of necessity. Or even mere convenience.
Saeri rode at his side, humming to herself. She’d had to wipe away happy tears
when he gave her the necklace he’d bought in Jerra, a pretty silver thing with
a big blue stone that reminded him of her eyes. She’d claimed her heart was
full of joy as she fastened it about her neck, and thanked him for giving her
love as well as life in that overblown way she had, until Rand was all-but
cringing in embarrassment. If she knew where the ill-gotten coin he’d spent had
come from she had given no sign of it. The necklace was hidden under her dress
now, and the herbs he’d brought her were stored in her saddlebags. Saeri had
proven receptive to Rand’s talk about the value of discretion, and had vowed to
keep what had happened between them a secret.
Up ahead, Nynaeve rode alone. She had been in a foul mood ever since coming
back from meeting with this Luca character. Rand didn’t know what had happened,
and after watching Anna retreat from Nynaeve’s company after only a few minutes
he was not about to go ask. She led them down the road out of Jerra towards the
man who could, hopefully, get them out of Falmerden at last. Rand found himself
disinclined to like or trust Luca, based on Nynaeve’s reaction alone.
His suspicions, and the many impossible things he had already seen since
leaving home, were not enough to keep him from staring when they reached their
destination. There were so many strange animals, and the circus folk all
dressed so brightly that he couldn’t help but smile. After the drabness of
their fur-clad trek through the Falmeran winter it was as if colour had come
back into the world.
At Rand’s other side, Perrin did not share his pleasure. The wolfbrother
growled low at the sights and smells ahead of them, then knotted his heavy
fists when he realised the sound he had made.
“Trouble?” Rand asked.
Perrin grunted. “Only for me.” He looked away, with that stubborn set to his
jaw that said he would let nothing more be pried out of him today.
The man who emerged from the raucous camp to greet them was tall and handsome
and gaudily dressed. He flapped his cape about him as he sketched some overly
complicated sort of bow. If he was trying to look welcoming the effect was
spoiled by the sour look he sent Nynaeve, who scowled right back at him.
“Welcome to Valan Luca’s Grand Travelling Show and Magnificent Display of
Marvellous Wonders. Your mistress has already arranged for your passage among
us, you will be delighted to hear. I will expect all of you to work to the best
of your abilities to make our journey a pleasant and profitable one. Have no
fear, Valan Luca is a stern yet fair master. Providing you attend to your
duties promptly you will be well-treated.”
Rand decided Nynaeve was right. He’d have to see about making their stay with
Master Luca a short one.
“What duties?” said Saeri uncertainly. “We already have duties.”
Luca shot Nynaeve a sly look. “Cleaning the cages will do; the horse handlers
are always complaining about having to do that. I’m sure brave Nana will take
to the task like a duck to water. I’ll even find that penny and give it back to
you for pay. Never let it be said Valan Luca is not generous.”
“The flamin’ hell did that goat-kisser say?” Uno growled.
Saeri wore a scowl of her own. “The Lord D—”
“We’ll see how things go once we’re settled in,” Rand cut in, loudly and
firmly.
The wagon the Aes Sedai were hiding in was to the back of their column, but Lan
had heard what was being said anyway. The man must have ears like a wolf. He
rode to the front and then past Rand, stone-faced. His warhorse rode right up
to Luca until its teeth were inches from the man’s face. The circus owner made
a visibly effort to steel himself, but when Mandarb’s lips peeled back from his
teeth, Luca took a hasty step backwards. Lan stared down at him coldly. His
hand did not go to his sword, but there was death in his bearing nonetheless.
“There will be no cleaning of cages,” the Warder said, calmly, coldly. “Not for
her. Or for the others,” he added as an afterthought.
Nynaeve’s cheeks coloured and her dark eyes glistened. As he watched, she took
her braid in a tight grip, and turned away from the scene, resolutely refusing
to look Lan’s way.
Luca forced a laugh. “A joke my sour friend. Relax. You won’t get far in life,
or love, with such a grim countenance.”
Elayne had emerged from the wagon by then, and hastened over to the scene of
the quarrel. A skirted Min trotted at her side, though she got a sulky look on
her face when she noticed Rand watching.
The raised voices had roused other people from other wagons, and everyone
gathered around while Luca introduced the troupe’s new members. He was rather
vague about what they did, though apparently it was startling.
The horse handlers, as Luca called the men and women who had no performing
talent, were a scruffy, surly lot in general, perhaps because they were paid
less. A lean man named Athen spoke for them. There were not very many of them,
compared to the number of wagons. In fact, it turned out that everyone helped
with the work, including driving the wagons; there was not much money in a
travelling menagerie, even one like this. One of the horse handlers, a skinny
woman with short yellow hair, took one look at Areku and said “Woof” in a way
that gave Rand pause, though Areku ignored the insult, if insult it had been.
The others were a mixed lot.
Petra, the strongman, was one of the biggest men Rand had ever seen. Not tall,
but wide; his leather vest showed arms the size of tree trunks. He was married
to Clarine, a plump, brown-cheeked woman who trained dogs; she looked almost
slim standing beside her husband. No sooner had they introduced themselves than
Perrin left the gathering wordlessly, his head lowered and his eyes fixed on
the ground. Anna sighed, but did not chase after him. Latelle, who performed
with the bears, was a stern-faced, dark-eyed woman with short black hair and
the beginnings of a sneer permanently on her lips. The skinny young gleeman,
Celdrin, was certainly no looker, but he seemed friendly enough. His coppery
skin suggested a Domani origin to Rand; the questions he asked about the
rumours of a false Dragon at Falme suggested they should avoid him as much as
possible. The four acrobats claimed to be brothers named Chavana, but though
they were all short, compact men, they ranged in colouring from the green-eyed
and red-haired Taeric with his high cheekbones and hooked nose, to black-haired
Barit, who was even darker-skinned than Lord Delrin had been. The two jugglers,
Bari and Kin, claimed to be brothers too but in their case Rand believed it.
The resemblance was obvious. He suspected the group who called themselves The
Flying Gulls might be related too. The eight dancers made no claim to
sisterhood, and Rand wouldn’t have believed it if they had. They were all
lithe, attractive women, but as disparate in colouring as the Chavanas. Their
leader, Koveera, had the look of a Shienaran about her, but not the accent, and
her slightly-hooded eyes were a striking green. She got a second look from many
of his armsmen, and a third and a fourth at that.
But the most surprising person he met that day was also the most familiar. A
certain red-haired young bard stood among the performers, looking perfectly at
home among the circus folk, who spoke to her with familiarity. Leliana smiled
at Rand and the others, and waved a hand in casual greeting, but gave no other
indication in word or deed that they had met before.
All but Latelle greeted the newcomers warmly. They asked what had brought them
to the circus and what they would be doing while here, but Rand’s people
struggled to provide answers that satisfied them. Rand himself stood at
Elayne’s side and tried to remind himself which lie they were telling today.
They were pretending to be Elayne’s noble entourage, but she was also
pretending they weren’t, and so they would be working in this Luca’s show while
hinting that they were nobles pretending to be workers, even though that was
false too? There had to have been a more sensible way to go about this.
The circus folk were distracted from their questions by Loial’s belated
arrival. The Ogier hadn’t been at all satisfied with the lack of writing
materials on sale in Jerra’s marketplace, and had wanted to make a more
thorough inspection of the town. Ponderous as he could sometimes be, Moiraine
hadn’t been willing to entertain the idea of waiting for him to finish. Hurin
had stayed with him to make sure he could find his way to the camp, and the
rest of them had set off without him. Rand was sure that if he’d left Loial
behind there would have been some comment on human hastiness, but the Ogier had
accepted the Aes Sedai’s abandonment in utter silence.
His arrival in camp now was certainly not cause for silence. Shocked questions
about “what” he was resounded, and the explanation given was cause for pleased
smiles all around. Except from Latelle anyway. People would come from all over
to see an Ogier, it was claimed. Loial’s ears twitched incessantly. Rand
thought he looked offended, and rightly so. They hadn’t suggested he should be
put in a cage or anything extreme like that, but the comparison to the rare
animals they were surrounded by was hard to avoid.
The commotion surrounding Loial didn’t seem to merit much attention from Elayne
though. Or Min for that matter. Even Nynaeve was ignoring it. All three of them
had their eyes fixed on a pale-haired woman named Cerandin who stood stiffly on
the fringes of the gathering and barely spoke. Luca had claimed she had come
from Kigali with the huge, grey animals he called boar-horses.
Not everyone was as standoffish as Cerandin. Rand heard several invitations
offered to Nynaeve, Min and Elayne. Petra and Clarine asked them to have tea
once they were settled. The Chavanas wanted the three women to have supper with
them, and Kin and Bari did, too, all of which made Latelle’s sneer become a
scowl. Those invitations they declined gracefully, Elayne more so than Nynaeve,
but when was that not true? Luca had his own invitation, a whispered one for
Elayne’s ears alone. It earned the man a slapped face and for some reason the
sight made Rand’s heart pound angrily against his chest. Luca walked off,
growling to himself and rubbing his cheek, while Elayne muttered something
furiously under her breath and Min glared at his back. Rand struggled to get
his thoughts under control, not trusting himself to speak, and worrying about
madness.
Latelle’s sneers didn’t seem to extend to Rand or the Shienarans. She even sent
a little smile Rand’s way, despite the fact that he was standing there visibly
struggling to control his temper. Just as oddly, Elayne’s graciousness was
unshaken by Latelle’s belligerence, but when Koveera approached the four of
them she was greeted by an icy blue-eyed stare that soon sent her on her way.
Leliana approached too, as casually as the others, but she kept her voice low.
“It seems I am not the only one seeking passage out of Falmerden. I must
confess, I did not expect to see you all again. Perhaps it is fate, no?”
Rand grunted. “They keep telling me I’m ta’veren. Apparently this sort of stuff
is to be expected. Sorry for dragging you into it.”
“Dragging?” she said, raising her brow. “I noticed no dragging.” He sighed in
response.
“How long have you been here, Leliana? I thought you were going to stay in
Amaran,” said Nynaeve.
“A lovely place, to be sure. But the atmosphere in this nation has grown a bit
too sour for my taste. I wanted a taste of something sweeter. And where better
than Valreis? As to time, I have only been with Master Luca’s troupe for a few
days yet. They all seem nice.”
Nynaeve turned her attention back to the pale-haired woman. “Appearances can be
deceptive.”
Leliana seemed surprised. “There is no need to look so dire, Nynaeve. I doubt
these people would hurt a fly.”
Nynaeve sniffed at that. “You’re too friendly for your own good. Better you let
me worry about who might hurt who. Just you stick to your songs.”
The three women waited until the introductions had all been made, and folk had
begun dispersing to their various tasks, before confronting the strange woman.
Rand trailed them curiously.
The boar-horses had been hobbled, and the huge grey animals seemed placid
enough, but Rand was not too sure he had much faith in the leather cords
connecting their massive front legs. Cerandin was scratching the biggest one
with a bronze-hooked goad.
“What are they really called?” Nynaeve asked. Diffidently, she patted the
male’s long nose, or snout, or whatever it was. Those tusks were as big around
as her leg and a maybe nine feet long. The snout snuffled at her skirt and she
stepped back hastily.
“S’redit,” the pale-haired woman said. “They are s’redit, but Master Luca
thought a name more easily said was better.” Rand’s eyes widened. That drawling
accent was unmistakable.
“Are there many s’redit in Seanchan?” Nynaeve said.
The goad stopped moving for an instant, then resumed scratching. “Seanchan?
Where is that? The s’redit are from Kigali, as I am. I have never heard of—”
“Perhaps you’ve seen Kigali, Cerandin, but I doubt it. You are Seanchan. Unless
I miss my guess you were part of the invasion, left behind after Falme.”
“There is no doubt,” Elayne said coldly, stepping up beside her. “We are more
familiar with Seanchan accents than we ever wished to be.”
Rand sighed, and eyed the placid creatures—the s’redit—with new wariness. One
sweep of those tusks ... or the stamp of a foot would be all it took ... I
hoped Nynaeve or Elayne was holding the One Power, because saidin evaded him
and the proximity of those creatures was sending a chill down his spine.
Cerandin let out a long sigh, and sagged a little. It was as if a tension so
old that she was no longer aware of it had gone. “Very few people I have met
know anything approaching the truth of The Return, or Falme. I have heard a
hundred tales, each more fanciful than the last, but never the truth. As well
for me. I was left behind, and many of the s’redit, also. These three were all
I could gather. I do not know what happened to the rest. The bull is Mer, the
cow Sanit, and the calf Nerin. She is not Sanit’s.”
“Is that what you did?” Elayne asked. “Train s’redit?”
“Or were you a sul’dam?” Nynaeve added before the other woman could speak.
Cerandin shook her head. “I was tested, as all girls are, but I could do
nothing with the a’dam. I was glad to be chosen to work with s’redit. They are
magnificent animals. You know a great deal, to know of sul’dam and damane. I
have encountered no-one before who knows of them. They claim instead that Aes
Sedai serve the Crystal Throne, as if the Empress would ever allow such a
thing.” She showed no fear. Or perhaps it had been used up since finding
herself abandoned in a strange land.
Elayne was trembling as she looked at the Seanchan woman, but Rand didn’t think
she was afraid either. Min put a hand on her arm before she spoke.
“How did you escape? Most of the Seanchan who were left behind didn’t make it
this far.”
“The s’redit are very strong. And frightening to those who do not know them as
I do. They are my friends, they protected me,” said Cerandin calmly. Rand
wondered if any Falmerans had attacked her before she found herself in Luca’s
company, and what might have become of those hypothetical attackers. If she’d
been part of the invasion, and had killed Falmerans then ... No. It didn’t
matter. She was a woman.
“We know a little of your people,” Nynaeve told Cerandin, “but we want to know
more.” She didn’t sound pleased at the prospect, but Rand supposed there was
sense in trying to learn more of their enemy. The Seanchan were gone, but that
was not to say they would not return one day. “You would do well to answer our
questions truthfully.”
Elayne shook her head angrily. “I know quite enough of the Seanchan already,
Ny—Nana. I will have nothing more to do with them. This woman should be turned
over to the proper authorities, so she can stand trial for her actions.” Min’s
grip on Elayne’s arm tightened and she tried to tug her away from the huge
creatures, but Elayne dug in her heels, her colour high.
“The Falmerans killed all the others they caught,” Rand pointed out
reluctantly. “Is that what you want?”
Elayne turned on him. “And why should they not? One is not obliged to be
merciful to those who invade one’s homeland. Quite the opposite in fact!” Rand
grimaced, in no small part because part of him agreed with her.
He eyed Cerandin, who was studying him in turn. She was slender and perhaps in
her mid-twenties. If she was afraid of what Elayne was suggesting, she hid it
well.
“What ... what if one of the Queen’s Guards in Andor was told to join an army
that meant to attack, say, Cairhien, but he decided to refuse? What would
happen to him?”
“He would almost certainly be executed for treason and desertion,” Elayne
replied promptly. A frown appeared between her fair brows. “Are you making
excuses for this woman, Ra—Raye?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m just saying, Morelin: how much of what happened
at Falme was her fault, really? And what choice did she have in any of it?”
Elayne was very upset, and struggling to hide it. “Fine. Perhaps there is a
kernel of truth to your words. Shelter this Seanchan from Queen Evelin’s
justice if you wish, but keep her far away from me.” She spun on her heel and
stalked off, and a concerned-looking Min trotted after her.
Cerandin’s eyes shifted from Elayne’s retreating back to Rand, and suddenly, to
Rand’s horror, she prostrated herself on the ground in front of him. Nynaeve
gasped. “You are the one who walked in the sky. A High Lord of this land. I did
not recognise you at first. Forgive me, High Lord. I submit myself to you.” And
she kissed the ground in front of Rand’s feet. Nynaeve’s eyes looked ready to
leap out of her face.
Rand’s blood ran cold. She knows; she saw me. “Get up,” he hissed, looking
around frantically to see if anyone was watching. Luca was, but he already
thought Rand an Andoran Lord, and must surely know of Cerandin’s true origins;
and Latelle was there, still wearing that scowl, but there was nothing to be
done about that. “Get up! You have me confused with someone else. You should be
more careful about that in future, you might upset someone.” Light, what do I
do?
Cerandin scrambled erect, and then bowed, hands on her knees and head down.
“Yes, High Lord. It will be as you say. I am yours.”
Nynaeve sighed heavily. Rand gave her a desperate look, but her dark eyes held
no answers for him.
“Ah, those questions Nana wanted to ask you, Cerandin. Go with her and answer
them please.”
The Seanchan bowed again. “At once, High Lord.”
Rand hastened towards the circle of tents his armsmen were erecting around the
covered wagon that concealed the Aes Sedai. He twisted his silver ring around
and around his finger as he went, and his thoughts spun in much the same
manner. What should he do? Cerandin was a threat to them all. Her s’redit were
dangerous enough, but it was what she knew about him that worried Rand most. A
word from her to the wrong person at the wrong time ... The ring he’d been
given by his Darkfriend lover felt surprisingly heavy all of a sudden.
The door at the side of the wagon was closed, but the small steps leading to it
had been let down and candlelight could be seen through the shutters of the
narrow windows. Rand strode towards the wagon, resolved to do something he’d
been thinking of for a while. He was surprised when Tomas stepped in front of
him, barring his path.
“They don’t want to be disturbed,” the Warder said calmly.
Rand paused, regarding the man quizzically. It had been a while since anyone
had told him he couldn’t go somewhere. He surprised himself with a flash of
indignation, and for a brief moment considered forcing his way past. Tomas was
probably a better swordsman than him, but Rand had other advantages, and a
dozen Shienaran soldiers within shouting distance. He dismissed the thought
just as quickly as it came however. Do you want the whole world to prostrate
themselves like that Seanchan woman, al’Thor? Get a hold of yourself.
“Tell Moiraine I want to speak to her,” Rand said, looking Tomas in the eye.
The Warder didn’t hop to Rand’s command, but he did tap on the door eventually,
after Rand had gone and planted a boot on the empty yoke to stand frowning out
at the circus tents beyond their circle. He was still there, brooding, when
Tomas finally passed the message that Moiraine would see him now.
Rand took the steps easily, but had to duck when he entered the wagon. There
were two narrow beds along the side, and a third at the back of the wagon.
Small cabinets had been nailed to the upper part of the wall, firmly latched,
and what space remained was filled with a wide variety of clothes and
belongings. Neither Verin nor Moiraine were tall women, but it would be cramped
quarters even for them. Rand was glad of his tent, at least it afforded him
space.
The two Aes Sedai were sat on their beds, and they were not alone. Elayne and
Min frowned at Rand when he entered.
“So you’ve heard about Cerandin then?” he said.
“Yes. Where is she now?” said Moiraine.
He closed the door behind him. “Nynaeve’s talking to her.”
Elayne was alarmed. “Alone? How could you leave her with that woman?” Min
didn’t look any more happy about it than the Daughter-Heir.
“Nynaeve hardly needs protecting,” Rand said defensively. “Besides, I made sure
they went somewhere far away from the s’redit.”
“And how did you do this?” Moiraine asked.
“Cerandin thinks I’m some kind of Seanchan High Lord, or the Valgardan
equivalent. She got all submissive when she recognised me.”
Elayne and Min weren’t mollified by Rand’s explanation. They pushed past him on
their way to the door, then closed it behind them with a bit more force than
was needed.
“And yet out tale paints you as a minor lord, and Elayne as your superior.
Interesting.” Verin’s dark eyes were very bright.
Rand shifted his feet uncomfortably, but then he shook his head and ploughed
on. This wasn’t what he had come here to discuss with her. He wasn’t entirely
sure he should discuss it at all in front of Verin—she and Moiraine had never
disagreed where Rand could hear it, but that didn’t mean they actually agreed
on anything, not with Aes Sedai. According to Moiraine, Verin had attached
herself to Ingtar’s hunters of her own volition, without receiving any orders
from the Amyrlin Seat as Rand had thought at the time. Rand hesitated to speak
in front of her, never mind the woman’s distracted smile. He didn’t think her
half as dotty as she liked to pretend to be.
“Moiraine,” he began hesitantly. “How do those tracking coins of yours work?”
She focused her attention on him. “Why do you ask?”
There was really no way to continue without telling her, though he knew she
would disapprove. “Morrigan gave me something similar,” he sighed.
“Throw it away,” she said sharply, and without hesitation. “Or do you not know
exactly what item she warded?”
It could be any object then. Rand found himself wondering how many of his
possessions, Moiraine—or Verin for that matter—had had the opportunity to
touch. A chill ran up his spine. “I know what she gave me. And she told me what
it would do when she offered it.”
If Moiraine heard a rebuke in that she was unconcerned by it. “Then I return to
my previous statement. Throw it away.”
He probably should. He had known that before he ever spoke to her. And yet,
still, he set his jaw stubbornly. “But how do the coins work? Could they be, I
don’t know, washed clean of whatever was done to make them track people?”
Verin tapped her fingers together. Her dark eyes weighed and measured him, but
she left the talking to Moiraine.
“A Finder will fade in time. And could be dispelled forcefully, by one
knowledgeable in such things.” There was a hint of reluctance in her ever-cool
voice. “Will you ask me to do so? I refuse. The One Power should not be used
for such trivialities. The simplest solution is best. Dispose of the item in
question, and do so quickly.”
Rand nodded to himself. “I know what you’re really thinking.”
“Do not become over-proud, Rand. It is dangerous.” She did not raise her voice,
but the threat was still there.
But Rand had recently learned he was destined to go mad and kill everyone he
cared about, while rotting alive; and, if he was lucky enough to survive that
long enough to see the prophecies fulfilled, he would then die at the hands of
the source of all evil in Creation, presumably in a gruesome way. He was far
past being frightened of Aes Sedai. “It’s the same thing you were thinking when
you threw Tam’s sword in that ditch. I get the message. The lesson you want to
impart. The things you want me to think, and do. I just don’t agree.”
“Then the world is in more danger than it should be.”
She didn’t frighten him, not any more. But she could still make him flinch.
“The Finder,” he said stubbornly. “Would you dispel it for me? And leave the
ring itself intact?”
She was quiet for a long time, her dark eyes boring into his. But the days in
which he would have lowered his gaze were past too. At last, Moiraine sighed.
“Give the thing to me,” she said, her disapproval plain in her voice. “You will
get it back in one piece.”
Rand smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“How romantic,” Verin mused. “It reminds me of the tale of Ynes and Paitar. I
do hope you’re tale has a less bloody end, Rand.”
Rand wasn’t familiar with the story she referenced, but he was more than
familiar with the doubts she was hinting at. He wrestled with them often.
As he took the silver-and-ruby ring from his finger, it occurred to him that
Moiraine might place a Finder of her own on the ring; but then she might well
have done the same to Tam’s sword. Or Rand’s bow, or who knew what else. She
had had more than enough opportunities. There was nothing he could do about
that, so he saw no point in worrying over it, no matter how little he liked the
idea of her—or anyone!—knowing his every movement.
So he gave Moiraine his ring, and watched her turn it over in her slim fingers,
hoping that once she was done with whatever she was doing they would at last be
free of the eyes of their enemies.
***** Heading East *****
CHAPTER 34: Heading East
 
Travelling with Valan Luca’s Grand Travelling Show and Magnificent Display of
Marvellous Wonders made for slow progress. There were few villages along the
road out of Falmerden and through the Zandarakh Mountains, and those they did
pass Luca considered too small to be worth lingering in more than a night; even
then he would pass them by if there was enough light left to cover a decent
amount of distance. Even so, with all the wagons and animals and strange
apparatuses they found themselves moving much more slowly than Rand would have
preferred.
When they finally reached the beginning of the pass proper they had to squeeze
through a small fort that sat across its mouth. The Falmeran soldiers stationed
there did not hinder them. Their job was to prevent the Valreio from entering,
not to stop people from leaving the country. That task belonged to their
counterparts on the other side of the mountains.
Even so the menagerie drew stares as they filed through. Cerandin’s boar-horses
came with them, though the horse handlers were not having an easy time learning
to manage the great beasts. The s’redit looked sad to Rand’s eyes, though maybe
that was just guilt colouring his imagination. Cerandin had disappeared one
night, not long after he and the others joined Luca’s troupe. She’d run away,
it was said; she’d always been an odd one. Rand didn’t believe it. She wouldn’t
have left the s’redit behind if she’d run, and Moiraine would have wanted her
caught before she could tell anyone what she knew. The Aes Sedai’s lack of
concern at the news had all-but confirmed it, so far as Rand was concerned. He
didn’t confront her over it, for he was too busy wrestling with his own guilt.
If he hadn’t let slip to her that Cerandin had recognised him ... would she
still be alive? Had he known what would happen? Certainly Cerandin’s knowledge
had worried him, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. It had been an accident,
hadn’t it? Or had he, knowingly or not, fobbed an ugly task off on Moiraine
that he wanted done but did not dare do himself? It troubled Rand immensely,
and few of his friends lingered long in his company in the days that followed
Cerandin’s “disappearance”, so foul was his mood.
There were no villages beyond the fort, only the winding road and the
wilderness it wound through. The snow lay thicker on the ground the higher they
climbed, but Luca claimed that the pass would remain open barring any but the
most heavy of snowfalls, and Lan agreed with him. Though not when the circus
master could hear. Luca had at least been smart enough not to bring up the idea
of Nynaeve shovelling manure again, but he still pestered her—and the rest of
the newcomers—to come up with a way they could perform in his show once they
reached the next major town.
At least Nynaeve was limiting her reaction to a steady stream of waspish
comments. When Luca had finally noticed Perrin’s eyes, and voiced a suggestion
on what could be done about it, Rand had been afraid Perrin would knock the
man’s head clean off his shoulders. It had taken a visible effort for the
usually placid blacksmith to turn and walk slowly away from the preening
performer; leaving a single, cold word as his answer. Perrin was nearly as
reclusive as the Aes Sedai after that.
Others took to the task more willingly. Whatever misgivings Loial had about
appearing in the show, he’d swallowed them enough to agree to perform a show of
strength opposite Petra. Though he’d only settled on that after his first
suggestion—that he read to the crowd from one of his books—had been shot down
with a pained grimace by Luca.
Elayne and Min seemed to have some sort of idea of their own in mind, but
whatever it was they did not share it with him, preferring to whisper to each
other in increasing excitement.
The Shienaran armsmen were soldiers born and bred, and few of them could claim
a skill that Luca found worthwhile, but there were some surprises from among
them. Katsui proved to have a pretty good singing voice, one which was deep and
rich enough that it was decided it’d make an excellent accompaniment to the
higher-pitched voice of the gleeman, Celdrin. Katsui had been pleased by the
praise, but less pleased by the hours he was required to spend learning new
songs and practicing them over and over with the young gleeman. Ayame could
juggle quite well, Inukai had proven to have a way with dogs, and Masema of all
people could play the harp. Luca tried to find uses for them all. Han’s bleary-
eyed countenance seemed of particular interest to him, and he spent a fair bit
of time pestering the Shienaran into demonstrating his balance. When an
exasperated Han finally relented, and proved nowhere near as unsteady on his
feet as his appearance might suggest, Luca got a wicked gleam in his eye.
Rand wasn’t immune to Luca’s probing either. They were deep into the mountains
when, driven by exasperation, he threw up his hands and told Luca to stop
bothering his folk, and that he had more than enough people to entertain his
crowds. He meant every word. A circus would have drawn everyone to it back
home—not just the folk of Emond’s Field, but likely the whole Theren. Rand had
no doubt entire families would have travelled from Deven Ride to Taren Ferry to
see a show like this.
His words didn’t sway Luca at all. “Enough people? Enough people! People must
be attracted, man. Chin Akima has a fellow who juggles swords and axes in his
troupe. And nine acrobats. Nine!” Between the Chavans and the Flying Gulls,
Valan Luca had eight. A paltry number apparently, but Luca ranted on so loudly
that Rand hadn’t time to mention it. “Sillia Cerano has two women acrobats who
do things on a hanging rope that would make the Chavanas’ eyes pop. You would
not believe the crowds. And she has men with their faces painted like court
fools, splashing each other with water and hitting each other over the head
with bladders, and people pay an extra silver penny just to watch!” Suddenly
his eyes narrowed, focusing on Rand. “Would any of you be willing to paint your
faces? Sillia doesn’t have a woman among her fools. Some of the horse handlers
would be willing. It doesn’t hurt, getting hit with an inflated bladder, and I
will pay you ...” He trailed off, musing—he did not like parting with money any
more than Nynaeve did—and Rand spoke into his momentary silence.
“I am not a fool, and I won’t prance around like one.” Anything had to be
better than that! “I’m a good archer though, I guess I could do some shooting
for you,” he relented.
“An archer,” Luca muttered, eyeing the fancy white coat Rand was wearing that
day. “And a lordling. What are you, Raye? One of those idiots hunting the Horn
of Valere? Even if the thing exists, what chance any one of you will find it
more than another? I was in Illian when the Hunters’ oaths were given, and
there were thousands in the Great Square of Tammaz. But for glory that you can
attain, nothing can outshine the applause of—”
The Horn of Valere was one of the last things Rand wanted to talk about. “Is
the archery worth anything to your crowds or not?” he interrupted.
Luca waved a hand irritably. “There is an audience for such. But only a small
one, and mostly men. I could do it myself if I wanted, I daresay I’m a much
better shot than you.”
“I really doubt that,” Rand said flatly.
Luca drew himself up to his full height, which was still a good six inches
short of Rand’s. Colour crept into the circus master’s face, and his neck
suddenly looked too big for his collar. “I will fetch my bow,” he almost
hissed.
The show Luca made of himself as he stalked across camp drew a small crowd.
Though perhaps Rand had contributed to that himself, fairness forced him to
admit. Areku, Heita and Izana shadowed him when he returned from his tent with
bow and quiver in hand. Nynaeve had come too, demanding to know what
foolishness he was up to this time.
Elayne and Min were talking to Leliana when he arrived. He spotted Vara and the
other two self-appointed maids amongst an assortment of the troupe’s people.
Hurin was there too. The sniffer looked back and forth between Rand and Luca,
and a wide grin split his face.
As Rand and Luca were stringing their bows, Hurin threaded the crowd. Petra was
among them, twice as wide as any other man. He said something, then shook hands
with Hurin. The gleeman were there as well, along with Athen and the female
horse handler whose name he’d heard given as Jenny. She was eager to shake
hands with Hurin, but the senior handler waved him away, as did the red-haired
cook, Galina. The Chavanas did not. Latelle spoke earnestly with Hurin while
darting dark looks at Nynaeve and the other female newcomers. By the time Luca
had finished stringing his bow everyone was watching intently. They followed as
Luca led the way a short distance out of the camp, his fur-lined boots
crunching on the light carpet of snow.
“I am accounted a fair shot,” Luca said, carving a white cross chest-high to
himself on the trunk of a tall oak. He had some of his jauntiness back, and he
swaggered as he strode off fifty paces. “I will take the first shot, so you can
see what you face.”
Rand watched him confusedly. Fifty paces? Any Theren boy of ten or more would
be expected to be able to hit a target at that range. Was the man making fun of
him? He wasn’t smirking if so, instead he wore a mask of stern concentration.
Valan Luca drew fletching to ear and stood tall, his bright red cape swirling
in the light wind. He sighted carefully on the target, then loosed. There was a
small cheer from his employees as the arrow found its mark.
I think he’s actually serious, Rand thought slowly.
Frowning to himself, Rand walked out to where Luca stood. The circus master
greeted him with a confident nod, and Rand was suddenly too embarrassed to meet
his eyes. Embarrassed on Luca’s account though, not his own. The low standards
for archery outside the Theren never ceased to amaze him. He walked to where
Luca stood, then walked another fifty paces beyond it. He could have gone much
farther, but doubling the range seemed about fair. Luca stared after him.
Rand selected four arrows from his quiver and planted them in the ground before
him. He nocked one, raised the bow, and loosed after only the briefest of
pauses to aim. In the distance he saw Elayne wince, though he did not know why.
The steel point struck dead centre in the middle of the carved white cross.
Before it stopped quivering, the second brushed in beside it. He waited a
moment then, but only for the two arrows to still. A gasp rose from the
onlookers as the third shaft split the first, but that was nothing to the
absolute silence as the last split the other just as neatly. Once could have
been chance. Twice ...
Luca looked as if his eyes were coming out of his head. Mouth hanging open, he
stared at the tree, then at Rand, at the tree, then Rand. He shook his head
weakly as Rand walked back towards him. Of the onlookers, only Nynaeve and
Hurin did not look surprised at the outcome. And Hurin was grinning very widely
indeed. Heita leaned down to whisper something to Luci, who ducked her head
shyly before responding. Vara was patting a wide-eyed Saeri on the head, and
looked a bit uncomfortable suddenly. Standing next to Areku, Jenny looked
outright sour, and the reason soon became apparent when Hurin began making
another circuit through the crowd, a smile on his face and his hand out, palm
up. Of all of them though, it was the admiring smiles Elayne and Min wore which
made Rand’s chest feel oddly light.
Suddenly Luca flung his quiver away, spreading his arms wide with a glad cry.
“I have it! Not knives! Arrows! From a hundred paces!” For some reason he was
looking at Nynaeve, who took a tentative grip of her braid and narrowed her
eyes suspiciously.
Hurin was collecting quite a bit of money on his bets; most handed over coins
with a sigh or a laugh, but Min had to snag Latelle’s arm as she tried to slip
away, and speak some angry words before that one dug coins from her pouch.
“May I take it you’ll be performing in the show as well, Raye?” Elayne said
when he drew near.
Rand shrugged. “I guess so, Morelin. It might keep Luca off our backs at
least.”
“Oh, don’t be so grim. It will be fun! And even if it is not, there will be
satisfaction to be found in making others happy. The good folk of those
villages we passed through seemed much effused with the performances given. I
look forward to seeing if I can inspire as many smiles.”
She really was quite a lovely girl. And she certainly inspired a smile from him
just then.
Leliana was similarly afflicted. “You remind me of Lady Sesile,” the bard said.
Elayne’s brows rose. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
For some reason that made the Leliana’s smile widen. “She is a lady of Valreis.
My mother served her until she died, and Lady Sesile let me stay, instead of
turning me out on the street. You are like her in some ways. You have the same
poise, the same air of nobility.”
“My tutors would be pleased to hear you say that,” Elayne said politely.
“I hope you will not be offended,” Leliana continued. “but I have since learned
that nobility isn't just something you are born with. I have met nobles who
were petty and mean—complete degenerates. But then there are people with a
certain dignity and grace. It draws you to them, no matter who you are, or who
they are. I think that even the lowest peasant can have the most noble spirit
and it will always shine through. It is this nobility of spirit that you share
with Sesile.”
Elayne was far from offended. She looked quite moved in fact. “Why ... thank
you, Leliana. It is very kind of you to say that. Very kind.”
Rand found his smile turning wry. The bard’s words reflected what Rand himself
had come to believe about Elayne, but he would never have had the nerve to say
it aloud, or the tongue to phrase it in such a graceful manner. It made him a
little jealous.
“I must admit,” Elayne continued. “when we first met I imagined things would be
difficult between us due to the recent conflicts between our nations, but I
have found you to be the very soul of courtesy and grace. I hope we can become
friends someday.”
Leliana smiled. “But perhaps we already are, no?” Elayne grinned back at her,
and Rand—feeling an intruder—left them to it.
His guards followed him back to their section of the camp. They were being more
discreet about tailing Rand these days—the better to maintain the ruse Moiraine
had designed for them all—but it was still rare that he didn’t have at least
one topknotted Shienaran lurked within sight of him. He supposed he should tell
some of them to shadow Elayne in the same manner. They had told Luca that she
was the one they were sworn to after all. But Rand suspected Elayne wouldn’t
appreciate being shadowed all the time, any more than he did. Though in her
case it would be more likely to be a result of over-familiarity with the
experience, as opposed to Rand’s resentment of the change in his life.
Saeri tailed Rand too, but that wasn’t quite so much of a burden. She was a
good girl, and had proven discreet for the most part. She didn’t treat him any
different in public than she had before their tryst, even if the blue-eyed
stare that often lingered on him now was a bit on the naked side.
His guards dispersed when he crossed into the safety of their tent’s perimeter,
but Saeri accompanied him to his tent. She waited humbly just inside the
entrance as he returned his bow and quiver to their places.
“Are you alright, Saeri? Is there anything I can help you with?”
She gave a little start. “I-I was going to ask you that, my Lord. Ah, hast thou
any task thou would assign thy loyal maid?”
Rand blinked. “Hast? Thou? What?”
Saeri smiled. “Leliana said it in her song the other night.”
He recalled. She’d been using High Chant, the way Thom sometimes had. “Um, you
realise that most people don’t use those words, right? Only bards, really.”
Saeri gave a cheerful little shrug. “I like them. They’re fancy.”
“Well, if you like them, that’s fine,” Rand sighed. Though he couldn’t help but
feel she was leaving herself open to being teased. “And to answer your
question, no. I have no duties for you.”
“Oh,” she said disappointedly. “W-wouldn’t you like me to ... ah, don’t you
want to teach me anything more?” Her face turned a becoming shade of pink as
she spoke. “I know how to brew the tea now. It was easy.”
Rand found himself stiffening. “Would you like me to teach you more?” he asked
softly. Saeri’s nod was flatteringly quick. He smiled at the sight. “Well,
secure the entrance for me then, my loyal maid.” She did as commanded and he
turned away, already shedding his coat.
For all her pink cheeks, Saeri stripped herself quite hastily as she followed
him to his bed.
Rand had to go down on one knee to kiss her, but once they were prone in bed
her size didn’t matter so much. He put her on her back this time, though the
way her eyes widened when he loomed over her gave him pause.
“Would you be more comfortable on top again, Saeri? Does this way frighten
you?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. I’m not scared,” she said, though the way she
had to swallow before continuing made him wonder. “I trust you.” She spread her
legs for him as if to prove it, her near-hairless little pussy glistening with
her arousal.
Rand wrapped her in his arms and kissed her again. She was always small, but
she looked even smaller when he held her like that. He put an arm around her
shoulders and another around her waist, supporting his weight and holding her
trembling body in place as he manoeuvred his now-hard cock towards her wet
entrance.
Saeri gasped as she felt him slide slowly inside her body, and Rand savoured
the tight and sweet embrace of her young pussy. He took her slowly and gently,
paying close attention for any sign of pain on her pretty face, and limiting
his movements accordingly. Long before he felt his own pleasure begin to mount
she was squirming helplessly in his arms. She yelped like a little puppy when
she came and he grinned down at her in response. Saeri’s answering smile was
girlishly lovely.
When Rand came, he came inside her. Glistening tears trailed down Saeri’s pink
cheeks as she stared down at the place where their bodies joined. “Oh. That
feels different too,” she sobbed.
Breathing heavily, Rand brought his mouth to hers once more, and she kissed him
back eagerly. They kissed like that for a long time, as the thrill of pleasure
faded and the evening grew dark.
Saeri brewed and drank the heartleaf tea in Rand’s tent afterwards, before
fixing herself up and slipping out into the night with only one last, cherubic
smile back towards him.
Even so Rand couldn’t help but feel he was being watched the next morning. He
didn’t think anyone else knew what was going on with him and Saeri, no more
than they had known what passed between Rand and Tam back in the Theren. Rand
liked to think he had been properly discreet about that, though it occurred to
him now that the isolated farmhouse they had lived in, alone save for each
other, had made discretion pretty easy to come by. Certainly Tam had never
fucked him in Emond’s Field, where anyone who might think something was amiss
in their relationship might have noticed.
They shared their meals with Luca’s troupe now. He had his own cook, a handsome
woman named Galina whose sharp, blue eyes seemed particularly knowing that
morning. She studied him as she filled his plate, and took her time about it
too. “Now what would a nice young man like you have to feel guilty about, hmm?”
“Quite a few things, actually,” Rand said, under his breath.
She had sharper ears than he’d known. “Not enough to do anything drastic I
hope. There’s been enough death this winter.”
Rand blinked at her directness. “I’m not planning to do anything like that,
Mistress.” he said stiffly. Not anymore at least.
“Then whatever it was can’t have been that bad,” Galina said firmly. “Don’t be
so grim, lad. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll see that life is full
of possibilities, and damning yourself—or others—over every little thing is a
fool’s game.”
She didn’t look that old to Rand. Perhaps in her forties, or early fifties. He
smiled, though he knew there wasn’t any chance he’d live to be that age.
“That’s nice of you to say, Mistress. Though I wouldn’t go so far as to say
everything was forgivable.”
Galina poured an extra spoonful of gravy over his potatoes, and won Rand’s
regard in the process. “No? Murder is considered by some to be the worst of
crimes, but even that can be excused in the right circumstances. Or so they
say. Is the executioner not a murderer too? The soldier? The queen’s loyal
assassin? But they are not condemned for it.”
Rand sighed, rubbing his chin. Was he not a murderer too, was what he heard,
even if it wasn’t what she said. How many had he killed already? He’d killed
Gode and his men with lightning, though he hadn’t realised at the time what he
was doing. He hadn’t even known he could channel. Even in that moment—the
moment of his first kill—he’d lost count of his victims, for the darkness hid
how many men he’d left laying dead in that rainy street. There had been others
since then, men he’d killed deliberately, with his own hands ... and women he’d
killed with his negligence. Did he deserve to die for that? Galina waited
patiently for his answer.
“I suppose, in the right circumstances, even the most monstrous things can be
allowed. If not forgiven,” he sighed.
Galina shrugged reservedly. “Perhaps. Something to think on at least. Enjoy
your meal, lad.”
Thoughts of forgiveness served him well later that day. Without them he might
have broken Valan Luca’s nose for him. Rand had directed Luca towards Anna,
pointing out that she was as good a shot as him, but Luca had decided not to
ask her to perform. One archer was all they needed, he said, and Anna was ...
not as eye-catching as the crowds might like. Rand had glared at him for that,
and the only reason he hadn’t thumped the foppish oaf right then and there was
that he had at least had the decency not to speak his lies to Anna’s face. No,
he’d left it to Rand to come up with some polite excuse for her exclusion. The
flat look Anna gave him when he delivered his best explanation told him she
suspected the truth, and left him feeling lousy for the rest of the day.
His mood wasn’t helped by how snappish Nynaeve was being. She argued with
almost everyone, often over the smallest of things. Luca got an earful
constantly, and Lan wasn’t immune either despite—or perhaps because of—the
distance he kept with her. Perrin’s withdrawal didn’t prevent her from seeking
him out and telling him what a fool she thought him, a condemnation that the
burly youth took in accepting silence. Her demands that he stop sulking in his
tent all day didn’t stop him from ... avoiding the others. Rand didn’t like to
think Perrin was sulking, even if he could see how it might, possibly, maybe
have been described that way. Her antics had Nangu shaking his head in constant
disapproval, and even Uno was seen to look askance at her. For Rand, the
biggest indicator of Nynaeve’s irrational ill temper was how close the usually
gracious Elayne seemed to be to snapping at her.
He was surprised that Leliana seemed to be accepting Nynaeve’s waspishness even
better than Elayne did. Even some pretty rude, and inaccurate, comments on her
voice didn’t stir the bard to anger. As the days crept by and they found the
road ahead sloping downwards more often than not, Rand decided to seek Leliana
out and ask her about her homeland.
Luca had only recently called a halt to the day’s progress, and the camp was
only starting to be assembled. Leliana had her horse, Schmooples, tied to a
leafless tree and was pacing back and forth nearby, stretching her legs, when
Rand rode up and dismounted Red.
“We must be close to Valreis by now,” he said. “Or are we in it already?”
“Not quite yet, but we are, as you say, very close now.”
“Do you miss Valreis?” Rand asked.
She considered for a moment before answering. “I miss Orlay. Unlike other
cities, where the people are the life-blood and the character, Orlay was her
own person, and her people little more than decorations. There was always music
in Orlay, streaming from the many windows—quiet refrains and triumphant
choruses. It is a beautiful place.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Rand said, though it wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted
to know about. “Caemlyn and Cairhien had their own characters too. Cairhien was
a, ah, fractious place when I visited. How are things in Valreis currently?”
“Yes, I am sure it was, but every city and nation has a different personality,”
Leliana said cheerily, missing his point. “It is hard to describe. You have to
be there.  Oh, it would take me a day or two to talk about the many splendours
of Valreis. Her golden fields, her lush meadows. Of course, there are good
things and bad things about Valreis, like anywhere else. Sometimes I miss it
dearly, and sometimes I am glad I’m rid of it. And you will laugh at this, but
I miss the fine things I had in Orlay.”
“What sorts of things?” he asked reluctantly.
“Dresses ... fine dresses, and furs. And shoes, of course. One can’t mingle
with nobility with bad shoes, you see. Orlay is very fashionable. Almost
ridiculously so. Ahh ... but the shoes. Living with those ridiculous trends was
worth it for the shoes.”
Never the most fashion-conscious of men, Rand was still curious what would
qualify as ridiculous when it came to footwear. “Ridiculous shoes? How were
they ridiculous?” How is that even possible? Shoes cover your feet and keep
them warm, what other purpose could they serve?
Leliana seemed to find the topic quite fascinating. “Well, about ten years ago
all the ladies went mad for shoes with soles as large—and heavy—as bricks. But
it isn’t always that silly. When I left Orlay, the fashion was for shoes with
delicate, tapered heels and embellishments in the front—a ribbon perhaps, or
embroidery. In soft colours of course. It was spring. I had my eye on a pair my
shoemaker was working on. It was covered in pale blue silk, with amber beads on
the toe. The shoes made in Orlay were exquisite. Not at all like these clunky
fur-lined leather boots they have in Falmerden. Ugh, just look at them.”
She lifted the hem of her dress to show him, and revealed her shapely, white
stocking-clad leg in the process.
“They’re sturdy shoes,” she went on, shaking her head sadly over her own
footwear, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. “but sometimes, a girl
just wants to have pretty feet.”
“Shoes are shoes,” Rand said, clearing his throat. “They’re there to keep your
feet dry.”
Leliana sighed in exasperation “W-well, yes ... sometimes,” she allowed. “But
that’s not all they’re for. If you saw a pretty lady in her beautiful dress,
you’d want to see her dancing in her dainty shoes, and not in ... in huge boots
...”
“A beautiful woman will be beautiful anyway,” he said. “Like you are.”
She looked surprised, but pleased. “Th-thank you. It’s kind of you to say so,
even wearing those dust-covered horrors.”
“You know,” she added with a pretty smile. “I have been thinking that we should
get to know one another better. There is something familiar about you, and I
find myself trusting you, as odd as that may sound. I almost feel like we’ve
met before.”
“Well, we did. Back in Lother,” Rand said blandly.
Her smile turned tolerant. “That is not what I mean. Oh, but I have held your
ear too long already. I could talk about shoes all day, but we have things to
do, don’t we? Master Luca will be most upset if I don’t help with the days
chores. Perhaps we can speak again later?”
“I’d like that,” he said, and not just because she hadn’t answered a single one
of the questions he wanted to ask her. Leliana was an undeniably attractive
woman.
He wasn’t the only one making new friends. It emerged that both Rikimaru and
Ragan had been paying private visits to the willowy seamstress, Jameine. Rand
wasn’t sure how it came about, but when the commotion drew his attention he
found the two Shienarans speaking quite calmly to each other, while a hot-eyed
Jameine watched from the sidelines. He had no call to interfere as it turned
out, for Ragan simply slapped Rikimaru on the shoulder and the two of them
wandered off together, claiming a desire to go get a drink. Jameine gaped after
their retreating forms, looking disappointed and offended.
Latelle proved capable of being friendly when she wanted to be, though such
moments seemed rare. She and Han got along quite well. Of course, she seemed
willing to get along with quite a few men, Rand included. For his part, he
avoided her as best he could and hoped she would take the hint. Several of the
dancers saw fit to entertain his armsmen too, though not Koveera. Many men
approached her, from grizzled Uno to handsome Rikimaru, but they all left her
company disappointed.
Rand’s concerns for Areku proved unfounded too. She didn’t seem to welcome
Jenny’s company at first, and Rand found himself watching their interactions
from afar. Areku might not want to be involved with him anymore—not in that
way, at least—but she was still one of his people, and he felt ... protective,
towards her. Foolishly perhaps, and certainly so in this case.
He caught a snippet of their talk one day, just a snippet, but the way Jenny
spoke to her was enough to open his eyes.  “... but maybe there’s more in your
head, like you want to be more? So, eh, yes ... because, phwaor you-you have
it.”
“It?” Areku said warily.
Jenny’s hands caressed a phantom mirror of the other woman’s muscular body.
“It. Woof.”
Rand hastened on, leaving them their privacy. He wasn’t sure if Areku liked
other women or not, but he was sure she wouldn’t want him peeping. The next day
he caught another hint, when he heard a sullen-looking Jenny mutter, “You don’t
wanna play, don’t play. It’s simple,” before leaving Areku to stand frowning at
her retreating back.
Heita’s troubles took a different form, as Rand discovered when he overheard a
conversation between the young soldier and Leliana late one night while they
were gathered around the fire.
“So ... you're female, Leliana, right?” Heita began.
The bard sat very straight. “I am? That's news. When did that happen?”
Heita raised his hands defensively. “I just wanted some advice. What should I
do if ... if I think a woman is special and—”
“You want to woo her?,” Leliana cut in, snippily. “Here's a good tip: you
shouldn't question her about her female-ness.”
The Shienaran rubbed the back of his shaven head. “Ah, yes. Good point. Sorry
about that.”
She sniffed. “Why do you ask? Are you afraid things will not proceed
naturally?”
Heita sighed. “Why would they? She’s—she’s been hurt before, so it makes things
... difficult. Especially when I do things like ask women if they're female.”
“It adds to your charm, Heita,” Leliana said kindly. “You are a little awkward.
It is endearing.”
“So I should be awkward? Didn't you just say not to do things like that?”
“Just be yourself. You do know how to do that, don't you?”
“Well, yes. But I’m a soldier, and she’s so quiet and timid. I’m worried that
I’ll frighten her,” he said morosely.
Rand was almost certain by then that Heita was talking about either Luci or
Saeri. The former seemed more likely, but as he sat there watching the flames
in silence and trying to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping, he wondered what he
would do if it was Saeri. He’s a good man; he’d be good for her. Better than
me. At least there’s a chance they might have a future together. I can offer
nothing like that, not to Saeri or anyone else.
“Be kind and patient,” Leliana said. “Don’t push her, but don’t leave her in
doubt as to what you feel either. If fate is on your side, then time will take
care of the rest.”
Heita blew out a long breath. “I’ll try.”
So it was that they finally creeped their way to the border of Valreis. Rand
had grown tenser the closer they got to the border, but in the end the crossing
proved very anti-climactic. For him at least. Valan and Athen took care of
things for them, and both men proved snappish under pressure in the final few
days of their passage through the Zandarakhs. Rand wasn’t sure why Athen was
chosen to back Luca up in his talks, but his presence was enough to make him
suspect there was more going on with the sombre man and his horse handlers than
was readily apparent. Luca had made plain to Rand and the others that they were
to remain out of sight while he was dealing with the Valreio, and despite his
reluctance to leave things in the circus master’s hands, Rand had complied. He
and his spent the best part of a day being quiet, unobtrusive and cooperative
while their fates were decided by strange men in covered helmets and a vain fop
of dubious loyalty or competence. If Rand had been inclined to bite his nails
he would have chewed his fingers bloody before they ever passed beyond sight of
the army camped around the other end of the pass. That army looked like it had
been there for some time to Rand. They weren’t sleeping in tents for one thing,
wooden shacks had been constructed to house soldiers, officers and their
support staff, all.
He wasn’t the only one to breathe a sigh of relief at leaving Falmerden behind
at last, and at avoiding conflict with the Riela’s army. But even as he let
those worries drift back into the past, Rand husbanded a new crop. Getting out
of Falmerden alive was all well and good, but what was he supposed to do now?
***** A Beast in a Cage *****
CHAPTER 35: A Beast in a Cage
 
From his saddle, Perrin frowned down at the flat stone half hidden in weeds by
the roadside. The past day’s snow had mostly melted, with only the occasional
patch of white to be seen, in sheltered pockets where the sun did not reach so
easily.
This road of hard-packed dirt had been paved once, long in the past, so Leliana
had said two days earlier, and bits of paving stone still worked their way to
the surface from time to time. This one had an odd marking on it.
If dogs had been able to make footprints on stone, he would have said it was
the print of a large hound. There were no hound’s footprints in any of the bare
ground he could see, where softer dirt on the verge might take one, and no
smell of any dog’s trail. Just a faint trace in the air of something burned,
almost the sulphurous smell left by setting off fireworks. There was a town
ahead he had been told, where the road struck the river; maybe some children
had sneaked out here with some of the Illuminators’ handiwork.
 A long way yet for children to sneak. But he had seen farms. It could have
been farm children. Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with that marking.
Horses don’t fly, and dogs don’t make footprints on stone. I’m getting too
tired to think straight.
Yawning, he dug his heels into Stepper’s ribs, and the dun broke into a gallop
after the others. Luca had been pushing them hard since crossing the border,
eager to reach a place where coins could be earned. Loial had given up reading
as he rode days earlier, after looking up to find himself left a mile behind
and everyone else almost out of sight over the next hill.
Perrin slowed Stepper alongside the Ogier’s big horse and yawned again.
“I don’t see why you can’t sleep,” Loial told him. “I am so tired by the time
he lets us halt for the night, I fall asleep before I can lie down.”
Perrin only shook his head. There was no way to explain to Loial that he did
not dare sleep soundly, that even his lightest sleep was full of troubled
dreams. Like that odd one with Mat and Hopper in it. Well, no wonder I dream
about him. Light, I wonder how he is. Safe in the Tower. Or safer than us, at
least.
He did not want to think about Hopper. He was succeeding in keeping live wolves
out of his head, although at the price of feeling as if he had been hammered-
and-drawn by a hasty hand; he did not want to think a dead wolf might be
creeping in. He shook himself and forced his eyes wide open. Not even Hopper.
He had been avoiding the others as best he could. Loial might have accepted
their treating him like an exotic animal to be stared at, but Perrin wasn’t
about to accept the same for himself. His eyes drew stares from the circus folk
on the few occasions he let himself look up from the ground. He hated it, but
since he couldn’t lock himself in a wagon and expect others to fetch and carry
for him, Perrin had little choice but to endure it.
He endured it again that evening, as he waited for his dinner near cook
Galina’s fire. The Flying Gulls were ahead of him—a married couple and their
son and daughter, they did some kind of acrobatic act with ropes as far as he
could tell. He hadn’t spoken to them of course, but his ears picked up a lot
more than they used to, since the change.
He supposed it was polite of them to keep their voices down and not say those
things to his face, but it still rankled to hear himself described as a beast.
When his turn came he had to wait with his empty plate for what seemed like a
long time. Perrin ground his teeth, wondering if Galina was going to make sport
of him, but when he finally raised his gaze to hers she looked calm and
serious. She met his yellow-eyed stare without flinching.
“Are they common where you come from, lad? The eyes I mean. I saw a girl with
eyes of a similar shade not long before you joined us. Though hers were a much
lighter colour, a yellow closer to brown than gold. Not as pretty as yours. She
was a Falmeran and said her name was Morrigan. She didn’t stay long. Claimed to
be heading to Tanservilla to meet some friends. Is she a relative of yours? Are
you off to Tanservilla too?”
Perrin blinked in surprise. Morrigan. “She’s ... a friend alright. But not one
of mine.”
“That’s a shame,” Galina said with a small sigh. “She was a pretty girl, with
pretty eyes. It would be nice to think there were more of you out there.”
Perrin muttered his thanks as she heaped food onto his plate. The smells made
his mouth water, but his attention was elsewhere. He wondered if he should tell
Rand about Morrigan. It might be for his own good if he didn’t know where she’d
run off to ... but then that meeting they’d had, and the pact they’d made
there, came back to him. He’d have to tell him, and hope he had the sense to
stay clear of her.
Luca caught him at the cookfire, as the bloody man had far too many times
already.
“The young freeloader. Enjoying your meal, Master Aybara? A big fellow like you
must eat quite a lot. A pity you do not work to earn it.”
Perrin eyed him with distaste. Luca wasn’t as handsome as Rand—or as tall—but
he somehow managed to appear much more foppish than he could ever imagine the
Therener youth being. Perrin was shaking his head before the man had finished
talking. He would have been happy to do a decent day’s work to pay for their
passage. He’d even have tried to help with the bloody performance if he thought
he had any talents worth displaying. But that wasn’t the kind of “work” Luca
was on about.
“I’ve told you already,” he growled. “I won’t sit in a cage and have some
bloody fools gawk at me. No matter how much you think they might pay for it.”
He stalked away, but Luca followed. “It would do you no harm man. Why, even if
some townsfolk were inclined to be cruel there would be men around to set them
straight. Even some of Lady Morelin’s guards, assuming she keeps her word. Have
I mentioned she promised not only coin, but work in exchange for sheltering
beneath my cloak? On her behalf, and on her followers’.”
He had. He’d mentioned it many times, but here he was, mentioning it again.
Perrin refused to answer, and showed Luca his back.
As he stumped back towards the safety of his tent—which he had left as little
as possible since Jerra—he encounter Anna coming the other way. She was wearing
her plain brown coat and trousers, and her usual solemn expression, but her
eyes grew concerned when she noticed them coming. She halted beside one of the
fallen tree trunks that they’d already decided to convert into firewood later.
Luca was still on his heels, whining away. “Some young folk just don’t know the
value of a day’s hard work,” he said, him that almost never seemed to pick up a
tool himself. “Are you afraid?” he asked, though Perrin doubted he’d ever seen
a battlefield before, not like the ones Perrin had fought on. “All you’d have
to do was sit there, surely you could manage that. Tch. I’ve half a mind to
just have Athen’s crew drag you to the job,” he threatened, and Perrin stopped
dead in his tracks.
For a brief, red moment he imagined himself taking Luca by the scruff of his
neck, throwing him face first over that trunk and kicking his legs apart. It
was the impulse of half a heartbeat, no more, but it still made Perrin gasp. I
am a man, not a beast! Light help me! He’d never even come close to considering
such a thing before. Before the wolves.
What was worse was that he thought Anna had seen it in him. Again. She spoke
hastily into the tense silence. “You’ve been paid more than enough for the help
you’ve given us, Luca. What Lady Morelin gave you in coin alone should have
gotten her a dozen comfy wagons. If she heard the way you go on, I’m sure she’d
realise how much she over-paid, and tell all her noble friends what a sticky-
fingered cheat you are. Get off with you, before I tell her what you’re up to.”
“Slander and lies!” Luca snapped, but he still turned away with a dramatic flip
of that ridiculous cape. “I will not stand here to be lectured on finances by a
girl who can’t afford to dress herself in better than her brother’s old
castoffs.”
“Pompous ass,” Anna muttered, scowling at his retreating back. She turned her
attention to Perrin. “Are you alright? You look ... upset.”
Shame coloured Perrin’s cheeks as he stood there with his plate of rapidly
cooling food in his hands. He could hide nothing from her. There had been a
time he had dreamt of marrying Anna. They’d been much younger then. Oh, only a
year or so younger if you wanted to reckon it that way, but there were things
other than the passage of time that could age someone. Still, however you
reckoned it, time had dulled the romantic edge to his feelings for her. Time
and the things she knew about him. There was always that little distance
between them now, that hesitation. She was still his friend ... and a very
special sort of friend at that, but when she looked at him she saw a murderer.
And neither of them could breach the wall that placed between them.
Perrin hadn’t realised how long he’d been standing there in silence until she
took him by the arm. He heard the small, gasping breath she took when she felt
the corded muscle under his sleeve, and grimaced. “I’m ... fine, Anna.”
“Yes, you sound it,” she said, before leading him off into the woods.
Perrin let her lead him, feeling ill. When they reached another of the fallen
trees he sat upon it, setting his plate aside. Suddenly he had no appetite.
Anna’s mouth was down-turned and her eyes serious as she stood studying him.
“He shouldn’t treat you like that,” she said. “He’s a bloody oaf, and I’ll be
glad when we’re rid of him. And if Nynaeve even gives him so much as a peck on
the cheek I’ll be shocked, no matter how much he flatters her. I don’t think
Lan will kill him over it though, much as he might want to. Oaf or not, that
just wouldn’t be right.”
Perrin knotted his fists and hung his head. “I wasn’t going to either. You
don’t need to worry about that.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Anna lied. Her attempt at a reassuring smile failed
miserably, which even she seemed to realise, judging by the little grimace that
replaced it. She touched his cheek, but he moved his face away. “Perrin ...”
Anna looked back in the direction of their camp but there was no-one in sight.
It was dinnertime, and the men wouldn’t start chopping wood until they’d filled
their bellies. “Perrin, I ...” She hesitated, then begun unbuckling the belt of
her trousers. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Anna. I don’t think—”
“Good. Don’t. Don’t kiss me, don’t worry about me, and don’t hesitate. Just
throw me over that log and fuck me until my ass is one big bruise.” She pushed
her trousers down, revealing her thick thighs, and the brown fur of her sex,
and his mouth went dry. The impulse he’d felt earlier surged up in him again,
dragged into the open by the presence of a willing victim.
Anna was not what most people would consider pretty, but she’d always been
beautiful to him. She met his eyes unflinchingly when he seized her by the arm,
staring at him as though she wanted him to see how little she feared him. Their
stare was only broken when he pulled her to him and turned her forcefully over
the rough bark of the fallen tree.
She had a pretty bottom, more curvaceous than the rest of her body. He stared
at it as he fumbled with his own belt. Anna hung over the log, her coat
cushioning her belly, her trousers down around her ankles. As soon as he was
free, Perrin kicked those ankles farther apart with his booted foot. She did
not resist him. Her pussy didn’t resist him either, when he parted her lips
with the thick head of his cock and shoved himself inside her. She was already
wet, and her efforts to suppress the cry of pleasure that threatened to escape
into the snowy woods made her whine like a puppy.
Perrin went all the way in on the first thrust, his heavy balls slapping up
against her. He seized her by the hips, his bulk pinning her against the wood
and began pounding her pussy hard and fast, dominating her the way the wolves
would have wanted him to, the way he knew he shouldn’t.
Anna must have known what they—what he—wanted too. She let him take it from
her, her short-haired head tossing to and fro as she struggled for silence.
Wild lust coursed through Perrin, and for once he let it. He pounded Anna until
her pretty ass was red raw. It probably will end up bruising, a distant part of
him thought, just like she’d said it would. But she said I could too, he
reminded himself, his cock moving in and out of her in a blur.
Perrin’s dinner fell from the log to splatter over the dirt. He barely noticed.
He was too busy feasting on something far more mouth-watering.
At some point Anna stopped tossing her head and fell limp and beaten before
him, her eyes rolling back in her head. Soft moans escaped her lips as he kept
right on pounding. His bitch was still moaning just the way she should when he
shoved his cock all the way into her and began emptying his balls, roaring in
triumph as he did so. Anger and lust and tension flowed out of Perrin along
with his seed, leaving a welcome lassitude ... and an unwelcome guilt. I
shouldn’t have been so rough, he thought.
Anna was looking around, wide-eyed and red-faced. “You shouldn’t have been so
loud,” she whispered intently. “Someone might have heard.”
Perrin could only manage a tired murmur of agreement. Anna giggled. “Get off me
and pull your trousers up. We need to get out of here before someone comes to
investigate.”
He did as instructed, lamenting the loss of her warm sheathe as he tucked
himself back in.
Anna yanked up her trousers and, holding them up with her hands, not waiting to
fix her belt, began running off to the north. “We’ll take the long way back to
camp,” she gasped. “Hurry Perrin.”
As he stumbled off in her wake, Perrin felt a lot better than he had in weeks.
But he was no less worried about the wolves. More so in fact, for there was a
new and terrible temptation beating in his chest. Dominating Anna like that had
felt far, far too good.
***** A Question of Crimson *****
CHAPTER 36: A Question of Crimson
 
The arrow brushed Nynaeve’s hair as it thunked into the board she was leaning
against, and she flinched behind her blindfold. She wished she had a decent
braid instead of locks hanging loose about her shoulders. If that arrow had cut
even one strand ... Fool woman, she thought bitterly. Fool, fool woman. With
the scarf folded over her eyes she could just see a narrow line of light at the
bottom. It seemed bright, from the darkness behind the thick folds. There had
to be enough light yet, even if it was late afternoon. Surely Rand would not
shoot when he could not see properly. The next arrow struck on the other side
of her head; she could feel it vibrating. She thought it almost touched her
ear. She was going to kill Rand al’Thor and Valan Luca. And maybe any other man
she could get her hands on, on sheer principle.
“The pears,” Luca shouted, as if he were not just thirty paces from her. He
must think the blindfold made her deaf as well as blind.
Fumbling in the pouch at her belt, she brought out a pear and carefully
balanced it atop her head. She was blind. A pure blind fool! Two more pears,
and she gingerly extended her arms to either side between the arrows that
outlined her, holding one in either hand by the stems. There was a pause. She
opened her mouth to tell Rand al’Thor that if he so much as nicked her, she
would—
Tchunk-tchunk-tchunk! The arrows came so fast she would have yelped if her
throat had not contracted like a fist. She held only the stem in her left hand,
the other pear trembled faintly with the arrow through it, and the pear on her
head leaked juice into her hair.
Snatching the scarf off, she stalked toward Rand and Luca, both of them
grinning like maniacs. Before she could speak one of the words boiling up in
her, Luca said admiringly, “You are magnificent, Nana. Your bravery is
magnificent, but you are more so.” He swirled that ridiculous red silk cloak in
a bow, one hand over his heart. “I shall call this ‘Rose Among Thorns.’ Though
truly, you are more beautiful than any mere rose.”
“It doesn’t take much bravery to stand like a stump.” A rose, was she? She
would show him thorns. She would show both of them. “You listen to me, Valan
Luca—”
“Such courage. You never even flinch. I tell you, I would not have the stomach
to do what you are doing.”
That was the simple truth, she told herself. “I am no braver than I have to
be,” she said in a milder tone. It was hard to shout at a man who insisted on
telling you how brave you were. Certainly better to hear than all that blather
about roses. Rand was looking melancholy for some reason, but he often did
these days. It went well with his pretty face, making him look less of an
overgrown boy and more of a tortured soul. Not that she would ever say such a
thing out loud of course.
“The dress,” Luca said, showing all of his teeth in a smile. “You will look
wonderful in—”
“No!” she snapped. Whatever he had gained, he had just lost by bringing this up
again. Clarine had made the dress Luca wanted her to wear, in silk more crimson
than his cloak. It was her opinion that the colour was to hide blood, if Rand’s
aim was off.
“But, Nana, beauty in danger is a great draw.” Luca’s voice crooned as if
whispering sweetness in her ear. “You will have every eye on you, every heart
pounding for your beauty and courage.”
“You won’t be in danger,” Rand said firmly. “You know me, Ny—Nana. At that
distance, inside with not even a breeze? I won’t miss.”
“If you like it so much,” she said firmly, “one of you should wear it.” Aside
from the colour, she was not about to show that much bosom in public, whether
or not Clarine thought it was proper. She had seen Latelle’s performing dress,
all black spangles, with a high neck to her chin. She could wear something like
... What was she thinking? She had no intention of actually going through with
this. She had only agreed to this practice to stop Luca following her around
every day trying to convince her.
The man was nothing if not deft at knowing when to change the subject. “We will
be arriving in Careas soon. It is a fortified border town, and the people there
will be far from the richest we will perform for, but they will be more than
rich enough to refill our coffers. You had all best be ready. I hope all the
cavorting those faithless souls have been getting up to has not distracted them
from their practicing. Certainly Valan Luca does not countenance such
behaviour, there is only one woman for him.” He tried to put his arm around
Nynaeve’s shoulders as he spoke, but she deftly evaded him, and shot a scowl
his way that was nowhere near as effective as it should have been. Her sniff of
censor didn’t work the way it should have either. Men just could not avoid
gossiping she supposed; it was in them at birth, and nothing women could do
ever got it out of them.
Not that she approved of the behaviour he was hinting at, of course. Certainly
she wouldn’t ever indulge in such wanton lewdness!
The daylight was growing dim. The sun sat red on the treetops to the west. “I
you ever try this again without better light ...” she growled, shaking a fist
at Rand. “It’s almost dusk!”
“I suppose,” the fool man said, lips quirking, “this means you want to leave
out the bit where I am blindfolded too?” He was joking, of course. He had to be
joking. “As you wish, Nana. From now on, only in bright daylight.”
It was not until she stalked away, swishing her skirts angrily, that she
realized that she had agreed to actually do this fool thing. By implication, at
least. They would try to hold her to it, as surely as the sun would set
tonight. Fool, fool, fool woman!
The clearing where they—or Rand, at least, burn him and Luca both!—had been
practicing stood some little distance from the camp over beside the road north.
Doubtless Luca had not wanted to upset the animals should Rand put one of his
arrows through her heart. The man would likely have fed her corpse to the
lions. The only reason he wanted her to wear that dress was so he could ogle
what she had no intention of showing to anyone but maybe Lan, and burn him,
too, for a stubborn fool man, ignoring her and obsessing over his war. And burn
Rand for good measure, who’d already caught a glimpse, and more than a glimpse,
in a moment of weakness.
She broke a dead dogfennel and used its feathery brown length like a whip to
snap the heads off weeds that poked through the snow on the ground.
Luca meant to bring the troupe into Careas in the morning. He’d spent most of
today in the town, securing a place to set up his show and spreading word of
their imminent arrival, while the rest of them camped on the outskirts. His
only concern was for the size of crowd he could draw, and the money they would
pay to see his show. That was why he had grown particularly insistent about her
paying her supposed debt by letting Rand shoot arrows at her. She was lucky he
did not want it done highwalking with Elayne. The man seemed to think the most
important thing in the world was that his show should be bigger and better than
any other.
Not seeing a weed close enough to snap without stepping aside, she broke the
dogfennel in half, then again, until the pieces were no longer than her hand,
and tossed them to the ground. She wished she could do the same with Luca. And
Rand al’Thor, for scaring her and making her heart race like that. And al’Lan
Mandragoran, for spurning her. Not that she needed him, of course. But his
presence would have been ... a comfort.
The camp was quiet, with evening meals cooking over small fires beside the
wagons. Petra was feeding the black-maned lion, thrusting huge pieces of meat
through the bars on a stick. The female lions were already hunkered down over
theirs companionably, letting out an occasional growl if someone came too close
to their cage. Three of the Chavanas smiled at Nynaeve enticingly, motioning
her to join them. Not Brugh, who still glowered over his lip, though she had
given him a salve to make the swelling go down. Maybe if she hit the rest of
them as hard, they would listen to Luca—and more importantly, to her!—and
realize that she did not want their smiles. Too bad Master Valan Luca could not
follow his own instructions. Latelle turned from the bear cage and gave her a
tight smile; more of a smirk, really. Irritating woman.
Nynaeve reached for a braid that was not there, and scowled anew. Luca claimed
she would look more sympathetic to the audience with her hair falling free
rather than tied back “so severely”. Nynaeve supposed she could understand
that—only little girls wore their hair unbraided back in the Theren; well, them
and the occasional rebellious spirit like Anna. It still felt very strange to
her, walking around with her hair loose like this.
Elayne had the cooking that evening, which meant that none of the food was
simple, despite the fact that they were eating on stools around a cookfire,
with now and again some night-bird’s thin, sad cry in the deepening darkness.
The soup was served cold and jellied, with chopped green ferris sprinkled on
top. The Light knew where she had found ferris, or the tiny onions she put in
with the peas. The beef was sliced nearly thin enough to see through and
wrapped around something made from carrots, sweetbeans, chives and goatcheese,
and there was even a small honeycake for dessert.
It was all tasty, though Elayne fretted that nothing was exactly the way it
should be, as if she thought she could duplicate the cooks’ work in the Royal
Palace in Caemlyn. Nynaeve was fairly sure the girl was not fishing for
compliments. Elayne would always brush away compliments and tell you exactly
what was not right: Some of the Shienarans grumbled about there being so little
beef, but Nynaeve noticed that they not only ate every scrap but looked
disappointed when the last pea was gone. When she cooked, for some reason
people always seemed to eat at one of the other wagons.
They did not eat alone, of course. As had become all-too common in the past
weeks, Luca brought his own stool and placed it right next to hers, his red
cloak spread to best effect and his long legs stretched out so that his calves
showed well, above his turned-down boots. He was there almost every night.
Oddly, the only nights he missed were when she cooked.
It was interesting, really, having his eyes on her when a woman as pretty as
Elayne was there, but he did have his motives. He sat altogether too
close—tonight she moved her stool three times, but he followed without missing
a word or seeming to notice—and he alternated comparing her with various
flowers, to the blossoms’ detriment, and musing over how beautiful she would be
in that red dress, with compliments on her courage thrown in. Twice, he slipped
in suggestions that they take a stroll by moonlight, hints so veiled that she
was not entirely sure that was what they were until she thought about it.
“That gown will frame your unfolding bravery to perfection,” he murmured in her
ear, “yet not a quarter so well as you display yourself, for night-blooming
dara lilies would weep with envy to see you stroll beside the moonlit water, as
I would do, and make myself a bard to sing your praises by this very moon.”
She blinked at him, working that out. Luca seemed to believe she was fluttering
her lashes; she accidentally hit him in the ribs with her elbow before he could
nibble her ear. At least that seemed to be his intention, even if he was
coughing now and claiming he had swallowed a cake crumb the wrong way. The man
was certainly handsome—Stop that!—and he did have a shapely calf—What are you
doing, looking at his legs?—but he must think her a brainless ninny. It was all
in aid of his bloody show. She moved her stool again while he was trying to get
his breath back; she could not move it far without making it clear that she was
running from him, though she held her fork ready in case he followed again.
Elayne looked at her and shook her head. Anna and Min were smirking openly, as
they often did when Luca came calling. Nynaeve sometimes suspected dressing
like boys had lowered their intelligence to the level of one. Rand never
smirked, he just watched her with that sad look on his face. He never tried to
drive Luca off either, though she knew he did not like the man. Not that she
wanted him to defend her, mind. She could handle her own problems, and if he
had any sense he would trust her to set Master Valan Luca down firmly. She
wasn’t at all annoyed that that was what he was doing.
“It was so pleasant of you to join us,” Nynaeve said, and stood up. Luca stood
when she did, a hopeful look in his eye along with the shine of the firelight.
She set her plate atop the one in his hand. “Vara and her girls will be
grateful for your help with the dishes, I am sure.” Before his mouth finished
falling open, she turned to Elayne. “It is late, and I expect we’ll be moving
into town early.”
“Of course,” Elayne murmured, with just the hint of a smile. And she put her
plate atop Nynaeve’s before following her into the wagon, where the two Aes
Sedai were already abed. Nynaeve wanted to hug the girl. Until she said,
“Really, you should not encourage him.”
Nynaeve planted her fists on her hips. “Encourage him! The only way I could
encourage him less would be to stab him!”
Stubborn to a fault, the other woman refused to be educated. “I may be younger
than you, but sometimes I think I know more of men than you ever will. For a
man like Valan Luca, that coy little flight of yours tonight was only asking
him to keep pursuing you. If you would snap his nose off the way you did the
first day, he might give up. You don’t tell him to stop, you do not even ask!
You kept smiling at him, Nynaeve. What is the man supposed to think? You
haven’t smiled at anyone in days!”
“I am trying to hold my temper,” Nynaeve muttered. Everybody complained about
her temper, and now that she was trying to control it, Elayne complained about
that! It was not that she was fool enough to be taken in by his compliments.
She certainly was not so big a fool as that. Elayne laughed at her, and she
scowled.
“Oh, Nynaeve. ‘You cannot hold the sun down at dawn.’ Lini could have been
thinking of you.” With an effort Nynaeve smoothed her face. She could too hold
her temper. Didn’t I just prove it out there?
“I think you are being a touch over-sensitive about the dress, by the by,”
Elayne continued. “I’ve seen women wearing things much more revealing than
that. Those Domani gowns for example. I would not mind a Domani dress—though
Mother would surely have a fit if she ever found out I’d worn one, and Lini
would never let me hear the end of it—but I don’t think I can afford to buy one
at the moment. I have no idea how much money you have, but minus what I’ve
promised Luca I have only ten gold marks and perhaps twice that in silver left.
That may keep me two or three weeks, but after that I would be reliant on the
charity of others.”
“A few months as a Novice in Tar Valon,” Nynaeve said, laughing, “has not
stopped you thinking like the heir to a throne. I don’t have a tenth what you
do, but altogether it would keep us two or three months, in comfort. Longer, if
we are careful.”
It was worth remembering how sheltered and inexperienced Elayne was, especially
if she was going to imply Nynaeve could not control her temper. She’d even kept
her temper with Lan the other day, when he’d returned from his perpetual
scouting to find her sitting on the wagonstep. With great grace, she hadn’t
even made him ask her to move before he could report to his precious
Moiraine—who still didn’t dare show her face like a decent woman would. Not
that that one was in any way decent.
Lan had paused with one foot on the stairs, looking tall and forbidding in the
shadows. “I once told you I would both hate and love the man you chose, if he
made you happy,” he had said quietly. “I would never have imagined myself
obliged to love a man like Valan Luca. Am I?”
Nynaeve had crossed her arms then, in anger, not because she felt the need to
hug herself. “Well, what if you are?” she’d demanded, blinking rapidly in the
too-bright light. “What will you do about it?”
His grip on the door latch had tightened until she heard the wood it was nailed
to creak, but his response was calm, as hard and unrelenting as a rock. “I will
wish you well, and pray that you are happy.” With no more than that, he’d left
her once more, and gone to deliver his news to the Aes Sedai. Nynaeve hadn’t
raged then—what more proof could anyone ask of her good temper!?
I am not wearing that bloody dress, though!
She threw the pillow to the floor. It was her turn to use the pallet on the
hard floor this time. Elayne would be sleeping in the third bed down at the
back of the wagon. Typical!
She slept poorly that night, and woke irritable. A mood not helped by the sound
of Rand and Lan’s voices drifting in. The clack of wood on wood heralded
another of their fool sparring sessions. After finishing her morning wash,
Nynaeve towelled herself dry and pulled on a fresh linen shift. Dipping a split
twig into a small dish of salt-and-soda on the washstand, she began scrubbing
her teeth a bit more vigorously than was needed.
Her thoughts turned to arrows, and men, and scandalous dresses, as she cleaned
herself. “If you have to do a thing,” she growled around the twig, “best you
get used it.”
“What did you say?” Elayne asked. “If you’re going to talk, please take that
out of your mouth. The noise is disgusting otherwise.”
Wiping her chin, Nynaeve glared over her shoulder. Elayne was seated on her own
narrow bed with her legs drawn up beside her, combing her red-gold hair. She
already had on her white breeches, all sewn with spangles, and a snowy silk
blouse with ruffles at the neck that was much too sheer. Her sequin-splattered
white coat lay beside her. White. Nynaeve had had stern words for the
seamstress when she suggested putting Elayne in that outfit, and sterner words
for Elayne when she actually agreed to wear it. “If you are going to dress in
that fashion, Elayne, you should not sit so. It’s indecent.”
The other woman glowered sullenly, but she did put her slippered feet on the
floor. And raised her chin in that haughty way she had. “I think I may take a
walk into the town this morning,” she said coolly, still working at the braid.
“This wagon is ... confining.”
Rinsing her mouth, Nynaeve spat into the washbowl. Loudly. The wagon certainly
did seem smaller by the day.
The two Aes Sedai were still there of course, fully dressed and looking so
presentable that you’d never guess they’d been cooped up in this wagon together
for weeks. Nynaeve would never admit it, but she was a little unnerved at how
calmly they were dealing with that situation. In all the time they’d been
travelling with Luca’s troupe she had not seen or heard a single cross word
from either of the women. Even now they were sitting on one side of the wagon,
on a tidy bed, chatting quietly about Valreio history of all things. Nynaeve
feared that if she’d been locked in a room with either woman—or anyone else—for
this long she’d have found it difficult to keep from grabbing hair that was not
her own.
She left the wagon, and the odd pair who owned it, as soon as she had made
herself decent. As if to mock her already-bad mood she was immediately
assaulted with the sight of semi-naked men. Of course! She might take the time
to dress respectably in the morning—as any decent person should!—but Lan bloody
Mandragoran and Rand bloody al’Thor saw fit to prance around with their shirts
off, flailing at each other with sticks. Men!
Lan had the best of it, naturally. He always did. Not that Rand ever seemed to
get upset by that. She’d known many boys, and men, to get sulkily aggressive
whenever they lost at something, but Rand took every thump Lan gave him with an
admittedly commendable good grace. He seemed focused completely on improving
his own performance, rather than “beating” the person with which he was
sparring.
They were of a size, Rand and Lan. Maybe Rand was just a tiny bit taller, Lan
just a tiny bit more muscular, but their bodies bore more similarities than
differences. Lan had a vee of dark hair across the centre of his broad chest,
whereas Rand was smooth and hairless. Well, smooth save for that annoying and
livid wound in his side, the one that had resisted all her efforts to Heal it.
It didn’t seem to hinder him much, or stop his muscles from rippling under his
skin with each flowing movement. Lan’s muscles bunched too, in a way that made
her wonder how it was possible for something so hard to yet be so silky soft.
As he checked Rand’s blows and launched his own, the beat of their swords
against each other made the whole thing seem like a dance. Nynaeve swallowed.
She hadn’t had breakfast yet, and her throat was a bit dry was all. She would
have pushed her way through the sparring circle they and the other men had
made, but for politeness sake she decided to let them have their fun. She
lowered herself to sit on the step. She could put up with it a little longer.
For politeness sake. Let Elayne just try to claim Nynaeve had a bad temper
after that!
She didn’t know what silly rule they had to mark when it was over. One moment
they were dancing, and Lan was barking instructions, the next they were handing
the practice swords off to the watching men and reaching for their shirts.
Nynaeve was only disappointed at the time she had wasted waiting for them to
get it over with.
The sight of Rand buckling on his new sword irritated her anew. He’d gotten
that one from Syoman Surtir, at the meeting she had not been able to attend.
Instead she’d spent her day being pestered by a loud-mouthed ghost, in much the
same way Valan Luca was pestering her now. And with as much chance of success.
Acting as if he’d met her in some other life. What nonsense! Nynaeve would much
rather have been there to set Surtir himself down and give him a piece of her
mind over that fiasco at Falme, but she supposed she would have to content
herself with letting Evelin take care of that one. It was one more thing she
just had to put up with.
“You should get a heron engraved on it, Lord Rand,” said Hurin abruptly.
Rand seemed surprised by the suggestion. He shook his head. “I don’t think that
would be appropriate, Hurin. I only had a heron on my old one because it was
Tam’s sword beforehand. I’m not a blademaster.”
“That Seanchan High Lord was,” put in Tomas, and all eyes turned to him.
Verin’s plain-faced Warder rarely spoke, and so people tended to fall silent
and listen on the rare occasions he did. “You killed him, and it was witnessed.
Technically that makes you a blademaster now.”
“He was much better than I am,” Rand said dubiously. “I only won because I got
a lucky hit in after he dropped his guard.”
“I didn’t make the rules,” Tomas said, though his shrug suggested he didn’t
disagree with Rand’s assessment.
“Well, either way, the heron-mark drew more attention than I liked. And usually
the negative kind. I’d rather go without,” Rand said sensibly. Nynaeve was just
a little bit proud of him then.
Nynaeve was forced to rise from her seat when the door opened behind her.
Elayne emerged, with a long and heavy fur cloak decently covering her white
coat and breeches. The girl at least had enough sense to keep it pulled closed
at the front. Nynaeve sniffed, and told her as much, but only got a frosty look
in return. Some people had no gratitude.
She caught Lan’s eye as she and Elayne left the circle of their tents. He bowed
politely by way of greeting, but didn’t say a word. She supposed he thought all
that needed saying between them had already been said. Nynaeve gave him a cold
scowl before continuing on her way. She had to speak to a man about a dress.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, she didn’t have to walk far to find the man in
question. Luca came striding rapidly through the camp, red cloak fluttering
behind, chivvying and shouting unneeded instructions. “Latelle, wake those
bloody bears! I want them on their feet, snarling, when we drive through
Careas. Clarine, you watch those dogs this time. If one of them goes chasing
after a cat again ... Brugh, you and your brothers do your tumbling just ahead
of my wagon, mind. Just ahead. This is supposed to be a stately procession, not
a race to see which of you can backflip the fastest! Athen, keep those boar-
horses in hand, put extra men on them if you have to. I want people to gasp in
amazement, not run in terror!”
He stopped at the sight of them and glowered at Elayne and herself both. “Kind
of you to decide to come with the rest of us, Mistress Nana, my Lady Morelin. I
thought you meant to sleep until midday. Off for a stroll, are you? Well, we’ve
no time for that. I mean to be set up and performing by noon.”
Admittedly, everyone else was already garbed for the day’s first performance,
the men bare-chested in colourful breeches, Koveera and her dancers in gauzy
red and a tight matching vest, Clarine in high-necked green sequins. Leliana
and Celdrin were fortunate enough to be able to wear normal clothes, though
even they wore their cleanest and brightest.
Nynaeve was taken aback by Luca’s rudeness, but by the end of his second
sentence she was meeting him glare for glare. “We will be ready as soon as
anyone, and you know it, Valan Luca. Besides, an hour or two will make no
difference anyway. There are enough people in that town that if one in a
hundred comes to your show it will be more than you ever dreamed. If we decide
to make a leisurely breakfast, you can just twiddle your thumbs and wait.
You’ll not get what you want if you leave us behind.”
Luca turned his face aside, trying to look wounded, and only succeeding in
looking like a baby in a silly red cape. “It seems I am not to get what was
promised. Even after all I have done for you, even after safely seeing you
through the blockade, you would leave me to soldier on alone.”
She glared at him. “I never said that. In fact, if it will stop you from
embarrassing yourself by begging any more, I’ll wear that fool dress!”
 
                                     * * *
 
Stalking though the turmoil of horse handlers rushing to hitch teams, the din
of men shouting, horses whickering, bears growling, leopards coughing, Elayne
found herself muttering under her breath to match any of the animals. Nynaeve
had no room to talk about her showing her legs. She had seen the way the woman
stood up straighter when Valan Luca appeared. And breathed deeper, too. For Lan
as well, for that matter. It was not as if she enjoyed wearing breeches. They
were comfortable, true, and cooler than skirts. She could see why Min chose to
wear men’s clothes. Almost. There was the problem of getting past the feeling
that the coat was really a dress that barely covered your hips. She had just
managed that, so far. Not that she intended to let Nynaeve know, her and her
viperish tongue.
Moiraine hadn’t scorned her outfit the way that Nynaeve had—that would have
required her aunt to show an emotion towards her. But she’d managed to make her
disapproval just as plain by looking Elayne up and down, and then shaking her
head superciliously.
Still even if Nynaeve, or anyone else, continued to heap scorn on her
shoulders, she would not be too disappointed. This very afternoon she would
highwalk in front of people for the first time. The costume Luca had required
them to wear made her a little nervous, but at least she was not moaning about
it as Nynaeve did. Min hadn’t objected much either, though she’d muttered that
the material was far too tight and clingy.
She hadn’t had many chances to be alone with Min since they left Jerra, and
certainly regretted that. But she trusted that Min would understand the
reasons. Sleeping in the wagon was a necessary part of the ruse they’d
concocted concerning her identity as Morelin.
There was no sign of Min at cook Galina’s fire either. Elayne wondered if,
despite her bravado, she was as nervous about appearing in public in such a-
a bold outfit as Elayne herself was.
Vara and Saeri were there though. The little girl was asking if they were going
to get fancy outfits too, but the motherly-looking woman hastened to assure her
that no-one would be dressing her in such a scandalous manner. Saeri opined
that the performers’ clothes looked pretty, and she wouldn’t mind wearing some,
but Vara would hear nothing of it. On collecting their food, Vara took Saeri by
the hand and firmly led her back towards their tents. Such talk did little to
still Elayne’s nerves, especially when her only supporter was a traumatised
little girl.
She collected her own food in silence. Galina was not a very friendly woman. In
fact, the only person she seemed to speak to at any length was Rand. Him she
engaged in philosophical questions over almost every meal. She was old enough
to be his mother, but that was hardly an uncommon tale. Usually with richer and
more powerful women, admittedly, but even a cook might think to claim herself a
virile young plaything if she thought she could. Or perhaps Elayne was being
unkind. Galina and Rand shared a similar colouring; it could simply be that he
reminded her of home or family. She wondered at her background, and then once
more she wondered at his. All that talk before about Aiel searching for one of
their own, lost west of the Dragonwall. It was more than suggestive, and Rand
certainly matches the descriptions I’ve heard given of Aiel.But that was a
mystery for another time. Today was the day of the show. Elayne limited herself
to a light repast. It wouldn’t do to be too full when it came time to perform.
True to form, Rand arrived at the cookfire not long after his morning exercise.
Elayne hadn’t timed her own arrival to coincide with his, not exactly, but she
was glad to see him there. She learned more of him the longer they travelled
together. Now she knew he was punctual, disciplined and not at all lazy. And
those were good things for the Dragon Reborn to be. Rand was wearing red-and-
gold again today. She’d noticed he seemed to favour that coat over his others,
and had been glad of that too. She liked him in red, for it made him look more
Andoran.
He greeted her with a small smile, and kept his voice low. “Good morning,
Elayne.” She liked that too, that he no longer insisted on using her title. He
still treated her a bit more formally than he did his other friends, but she
had come to hope that that too would change with time.
She smiled at their shared secret. “Good morning, Rand. Are you looking forward
to the show?”
His shrug was sadly indifferent. “I’ve already seen the show. We’ve been
travelling with it for weeks. There’s not much more staring I can do at these
s’redit. And the shooting? I’ve been doing that since before I had to shave.”
“It shows. You are quite skilled,” she said honestly.
He shuffled his feet, and his cheeks coloured slightly. But his smile was
pleased. It was ... it was altogether quite adorable. You are a grown woman,
and the Daughter-Heir of Andor, she reminded herself sternly. Comport yourself
accordingly. It wouldn’t do for her to throw herself at any man. No, it was for
him to chase her. Though he was being damnably slow about getting started.
“What about you? Are you really going to try that highwalk? I saw you
practicing with the rope stretched above the ground—you’ve got very good
balance—but once it is stretched all the way up between those big poles ... One
wrong step,” he frowned. “I-I’m not sure I could catch you. Even with ... that.
I’d hate ... I’d hate for anything to happen to you. And I’d hate to have to be
the one to tell your mother about it.”
“I thank you for your concern ... Raye. But I assure you I shall be quite
alright. You will see. That is, if you intend to come and watch.”
He nodded. “I’ll be there. And if you slip ... I’ll do whatever it takes.” His
answer did not still her nerves either, but it did add an odd new cadence to
the fluttering of her heart.
“I will not slip,” Elayne said firmly. And with that, the gauntlet was thrown.
 
                                     * * *
 
Carefully not looking at herself in Luca’s mirror, Nynaeve wrapped up
completely in her plain dark grey shawl. She felt faint. That low square neck
... she could not have shown a fingernail more of pale bosom and retained the
slightest claim to decency. But she’d said she’d do it, and could not back out
now. Fool, fool woman!
Luca was waiting outside, and spun eagerly towards the door to his cabin when
she opened it. The naked disappointment on his face when he saw her shawl made
her wish once more that her hair was properly braided.
“Stunning! The crowds will be enraptured by your beauty, Nana. As I am,” he
crowed.
“You go play with your animals and leave me be, Valan Luca,” she said.
Forbiddingly. Not sullenly. She hoped. The words hadn’t come out quite the way
they should have.
“Ah, would that I could play with your forever, Nana. But you are right, or
course, the show must go on. As wise as she is lovely, be still my heart.” The
last part he added under his breath, as though he hadn’t meant for anyone else
to hear it. Did he think her a fool!? Jameine the seamstress, who had come to
see the results of her work, certainly heard it. A loose woman her, and the way
she smirked at Nynaeve was insultingly knowing.
Holding her shawl close, Nynaeve stalked away from them, back to the relative
comfort of the familiar tents and wagons of her companions. It was a fairly
nice day for the season, and warm enough, but she still found herself
shivering. She felt all but naked in that dress.
Nynaeve took the roundabout way back to camp, wanting to avoid as many eyes as
she could. For as long as possible anyway ... if she actually went ahead with
this—this mad performance, everyone would see. Maybe we could just leave. We’re
past the border now, there’s no need to stay with Luca and his people. Surely
Moiraine must have a plan for where to go next. She’s probably in a hurry too.
Nynaeve wouldn’t even complain about the Aes Sedai’s bossiness this time.
The performers, aided by most of the Shienaran soldiers, were striking camp and
preparing to move into town, so she had to skirt very wide of the camp’s
confines to stay out of sight. That didn’t bother Nynaeve. Her father had
taught his daughters all he knew of woodcraft in lieu of the sons he’d never
lived to have. Joanne hadn’t enjoyed those lessons as much as Nynaeve had, and
probably hadn’t kept up with the practice since she’d inherited the family
farm—she and Nynaeve were not close—but Nynaeve’s role as Wisdom had given her
ample reason to prowl the woods around Emond’s Field, gathering herbs for her
medicines. Despite that horrible dress, she moved silently through the sparse
trees that surrounded their camp, there at the edge of the road to Careas,
confident she could make it back to the wagon unseen.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only person using the trees for privacy that
morning.
When she heard the faint voices, coming from her intended destination, Nynaeve
quickly moved to hide behind the nearest tree. She wasn’t about to let anyone
catch her sneaking through the woods.
The first voice had a Falmeran accent. “Hey you! You have time? It’s not a
question, let’s go. I’ve got something I want to do for you. Just come, you
won’t need your gear and stuff.”
The second one belonged to Areku, the female soldier. And wasn’t that a
combination of terms that would have given the Women’s Circle fits! Not that
women couldn’t do any job as well, and most often better, than a man could, but
some tasks were just better suited to males. “I can’t, Jenny. I’m on duty.”
“Ah, just come on will you? I haven’t wanted to do this with anyone for a long
time. Besides, there’s lots of bucketheads on duty. And they’re guarding
nothing much too. Your Lady and that pretty-boy lordling are off playing at
being circus folk.”
They came closer, Areku grumbling under her breath as she let the other woman
lead her away. Nynaeve looked for a path around, but the tree cover was too
sparse, and the ground didn’t dip enough to hide her, not even if she had been
willing to crawl.
“Why do you keep chasing me?” Areku asked.
“It’s fun chasing you,” Jenny answered “... nice view.”
“Really? With the likes of Leliana around? I’m pretty sure she likes girls.
I’ve heard her talk to some of the others. I’ve never ... I-I mean ...”
“Leliana is pretty in places,” Jenny admitted, and even Nynaeve had to allow
that that was a fair assessment. “Swear I’ve seen her too, or heard her play.
But that’d be mad. But you? Babe, you’re not just pretty. You’re mind blowing.”
When Areku finally spoke again she sounded a touch breathless. “I have duties.
Loyalties ...”
“It’s complicated. I don’t like complicated,” Jenny said firmly. “I want to
make you feel good. Let’s leave it at that. Maybe. So what do you say, big
girl. You want to play around?”
“... Alright,” said Areku, and Jenny laughed happily.
Nynaeve clutched her shawl closer. Please go play elsewhere. Please? Her
prayers were not to be answered.
When silence had reigned for long enough, Nynaeve peeked around the tree to
make sure they were gone. She found herself immediately assaulted by the sight
of Areku’s naked backside. The muscular woman’s trousers were down around her
ankles and she was leaning up against a tree several dozen feet away. The
skinny Falmeran was down on her knees with her back to the tree and her face
pressed against the other woman’s private parts. Her hands kneaded Areku’s firm
cheeks as she licked her.
Nynaeve jerked her head back, but it was too late. Oh for the love of the
Light! Now I have Areku’s bare bottom branded on my memory. Does no-one in this
camp have any decency!? The whole thing was just the cherry on top of an
already terrible day. Since the only alternative involved exposure, Nynaeve was
left with no choice but to wait them out.
It felt like she waited a long time, but it could have been only a few minutes
for all Nynaeve knew. There came a muffled moan, and a little later Areku spoke
again.
“That ... that felt good.”
Jenny huffed a laugh. “I told you you’d like it, big girl,” she said smugly.
Areku chuckled. “And you like it too?”
“Oh, yes,” Jenny purred.
Again Nynaeve waited for them to leave, and again when she peeked around her
tree she was assaulted with the sight of naked flesh. Areku was kneeling this
time, with her butt still hanging out as she licked tentatively at the other
woman’s privates. Jenny was holding up her own ragged skirt with one hand,
while she used the other to press Areku’s larger, stronger hand against her
exposed breast. She wasn’t a particularly pretty girl, this Jenny, but she
certainly wasn’t shy about what she wanted.
With a low growl, Nynaeve darted behind her tree once more. She leaned back
against the trunk and softly banged her head against the wood. This day could
not possibly get any worse.
When she finally trailed into camp, she found Rand and Elayne waiting for her.
“There you are!” Elayne said, not even trying to hide her exasperation. “Luca
has been asking for you. Everyone else is ready to begin the procession.
Honestly, Nynaeve. You’ve made us late. I thought you more responsible than
this.”
She had never before realized what an acid tongue Elayne had.
“I was just having a stroll,” she snapped. “Like you were going to, before you
got distracted with thoughts of flaunting yourself highwalking. Perhaps you
should have, you could use the exercise. Or maybe it’s just the way those
breeches fit your hips.”
Rand actually gave a start, and gaped at her. Elayne was still covering her
shame with that heavy cloak, but he would have learned the truth soon enough.
“Nynaeve ...” he said in a shocked whisper. He sounded a bit disappointed, but
that was nothing compared to what Elayne’s mother would be feeling if she ever
found out about the girl’s escapades.
Blue eyes flared, but Elayne’s chin remained high and her tone cold. “I gave my
word I would assist Master Luca in this performance. I keep my word. As should
all women.”
The girl was right about that much at least. “And Luca will want his hundred
marks. Gold.” Nynaeve tried not to scowl, but that still rankled. “You promised
it to him, and I suppose it would not be honest to sneak away without paying
him.” She would have done it in a minute if she could. That was a ridiculous
amount of money to pay for passage. The man was robbing Elayne blind, and she
was too much of a rich, spoiled lady to see it.
“It certainly would not be,” Elayne said, sounding shocked.
Nynaeve shook her head. The truth was that Elayne would have found some way to
delay, if only for one day, even if Nynaeve or Moiraine had decided they needed
to leave immediately. The woman really wanted to highwalk in front of people
other than the rest of the performers. And she herself was probably going to
have to let Rand shoot arrows at her again. She sighed.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said, grimly marching towards the sound of
distant voices. The wagon that Moiraine and Verin sheltered within seemed
almost enticing just then, despite the presence of that damnable Blue, but
Nynaeve strode onwards stubbornly, leaving the wagon and the few people who
remained to guard it behind. Lan and Tomas would no doubt be part of that
group, mores the pity. Not that she wanted Lan to be there or anything.
Vara and a sulky-looking Saeri were staying behind too. They watched as Nynaeve
and the other hastened off, with Rand using his bow like a walking staff. She
eyed it warily. An arrow fired from a Theren longbow could do terrible things
to anything it hit. “Do you think there will be a big crowd, Elayne?” she
asked, trying to distract herself. From the bow, and from other things. “If you
can think of anything except how to show more of your legs than you already
are.”
“I may be exposing my legs,” Elayne barked, spots of colour rising in her
cheeks, “but at least I am not flashing my—”
“Girls!” Rand said, eyes wide and alarmed. “Um, women even. Ladies? We’re all
friends here, right? There’s no need for this sort of talk.”
Nynaeve snatched her shawl back into place, cheeks blazing. She hadn’t noticed
it had come loose. And Elayne should have warned her! “I’m surprised they don’t
teach better manners in the Royal Palace of Andor. Or that the Aes Sedai
haven’t set you straight yet.” She sniffed loudly. “Even Latelle could probably
teach you a thing or two.”
“Please?” Rand said weakly, but they ignored him of course.
Elayne’s nose had risen so high you’d think a hapless fisherman had caught his
hook in it and was trying to reel her in. She’d probably have let him too! “I
spoke to Latelle the other day, as it happens. She said you were turning into a
screaming harridan. Not that I think so, necessarily. I would have said a
fishmonger.”
“Now you listen to me, you ill-tempered little chit! If you don’t—”
Rand wandered off with a hangdog sigh as they joined the circus in its
procession, but Nynaeve barely noticed him go. She barely noticed the grinning
faces in the crowd that lined the sides of the streets they tumbled and pranced
through either, and was glad of that at least. She focused on the viperish
tongue Elayne continued to display, and the unjust accusations she threw out.
Elayne probably had been dreaming of parading in front of Rand in her sequined
costume, if not less. Saying so was simple honesty. She told her as much, as
they stalked joyfully into Careas.
***** The Show *****
CHAPTER 37: The Show
 
The wagons stood abandoned, except for a few rough-coated horse handlers for
guards, near the tall sprawling canvas fence erected to contain Luca’s show.
Athen and his men were leading the remaining horses off towards the stable just
inside Careas that Luca had rented for their use, where Muscles now rested.
Nynaeve would happily have taken a temporary job in that stable, if it would
keep her from what she had to do today. From this large meadow on the far side
of the river Dain, the grey stone walls of Careas loomed close, with squat
towers at the gates, and the cheaper residents of the town leaning on the
parapets hoping to catch a glimpse. The town was fairly large, just as Luca had
said, with buildings on both sides of the river and the stone bridge, all
enclosed by a pair of tall, arching stone walls. A few of the taller buildings
within the walls showed roofs of thatch or tile.
It took Nynaeve some little time to get through the crowds, muttering every
time she was jostled by a man gaping at everything in sight or a woman dragging
a child with either hand, children usually trying to drag her to two different
attractions at once.
Beneath a wide red sign that said VALAN LUCA in ornate gold script on both
sides, two of the horse handlers collected admission from people funnelled
between two thick ropes, taking the money in clear blown-glass pitchers—both
thick and flawed; Luca would never lay out coin for better—so they could see
that the coins were right without touching them. They dumped the money straight
from the pitchers through a hole in the top of an iron-strapped box so wrapped
about with chain that Petra had to have put it in place before the first silver
penny went in. A pair of Shienarans stood nearby, unarmoured but with cudgels
of their own, to make sure that the crowd remained orderly. And to keep an eye
on the men taking the money, Nynaeve suspected. Luca was not a trusting man,
especially when it came to coin. In fact, he was as tight as the skin on an
apple. She had never met anyone so stingy.
The show’s entrance for patrons was on the other side, but two of the horse
handlers, with stout cudgels, stood on this side to discourage any who did not
want to pay from entering as the performers did. Nynaeve was almost upon them,
striding as hard as she could and muttering angrily to herself, when their
idiotic grins made her realize that the shawl was still looped over her elbows.
Her stare wiped their faces blank. Only then did she cover herself properly,
and slowly; she was not about to have these louts think they could make her
yelp and leap. The skinny one, with a nose that took up half of his face, held
the canvas flap aside, and she ducked through into pandemonium.
Everywhere people thronged, in noisy milling clusters of men and women and
children, in chattering streams flowing from one attraction to the next. All
but the s’redit performed on raised wooden stages Luca had had built. The boar-
horses had the largest crowd, the huge grey animals actually balancing on their
forelegs, even the baby, long snouts curved up sinuously, while Clarine’s dogs
had the smallest, for all they did back-springs and flips over each others’
backs. A good many people paused to stare at the lions and the hairy boarlike
capars in their cages, the strangely horned deer from Arafel and Saldaea and
Arad Doman and the bright birds from the Light knew where, and some waddling,
brown-furred creatures with big eyes and round ears that sat placidly eating
leaves from branches gripped in their forepaws. Luca’s tale on where they came
from varied—she supposed he did not know—and he had not been able to make up a
name for them that pleased him. A huge snake from the marshes of Illian, four
times as long as a man; earned nearly as many gasps as the s’redit, although
simply lying there, apparently asleep, but she was pleased to see that
Latelle’s bears, at the moment standing atop huge red wooden balls that they
rolled in circles with their feet, attracted few more than the dogs. Bears
these people could see in their own forests, even if these did have white
faces.
Every time the s’redit stood on their hind legs, as they were doing now, the
great tusked heads of the adults could be seen by those outside the canvas
fence, and the press to enter intensified a little more.
Latelle sparkled in the afternoon sunlight in her black spangles. Cerandin
glittered almost as much in blue, and Koveera’s dancers in red, though none of
them had quite as many sequins sewn on as Latelle, but every last one of the
dresses had a collar right up under the chin. Of course, Petra and the Chavanas
were performing attired only in bright blue breeches, but that was to show off
their muscles. Only understandable. The acrobats were standing one atop the
other’s shoulders, four high. Not far from them, the strongman took a long bar
with a large iron ball at each end—two men were needed to hand the thing up to
him—and immediately began twirling it in his thick hands, even spinning the bar
around his neck and across his back. There was a loud scream when he seemingly
lost control of bar and sent it spinning towards the crowd, but Loial stepped
forward and caught it one-handed, twirling it around like a baton. The crowd’s
laughter had a nervous edge to it.
Celdrin was juggling fire, and eating it as well. Eight flaming batons made a
perfect circle: then suddenly he had four in each hand, one sticking up from
each cluster. Deftly popping each upraised flaming end into his mouth in turn,
he appeared to swallow, and took them out extinguished, looking as if he had
just had something tasty. Nynaeve could not fathom how the unfortunately-formed
young man did not burn his throat. A twist of his wrists, and the unlit batons
folded into the lit like fans. A moment later they were making two interlinked
circles above his head. The other jugglers drew crowds as well, but not as many
as he did.
To her surprise, there was an addition to the show. On a new platform not far
from the entry, a woman in gauzy yellow trousers was standing on her head, arms
outstretched to either side with a pair of white doves on each hand. No, not on
her head. The woman was gripping some sort of wooden frame in her teeth and
balancing on that. As Nynaeve watched, aghast, the peculiar acrobat lowered her
hands to the platform for a moment while bending herself double, until she
seemed to be sitting on her own head. Even that was not enough. Her legs curved
down in front of her, then impossibly back up under her arms, whereupon she
transferred the doves to the upturned soles of her feet, now the highest part
of the contorted ball she had knotted herself into. The onlookers gasped and
applauded, but the sight made Nynaeve shiver. People were not meant to bend
like that.
She hurried on toward the thick, impatiently buzzing crowd circled around the
two tall poles with the rope stretched tightly between. She had to use her
elbows to reach the front row, though two women did glare and snatch their men
out of her way when the shawl slipped. She would have glared back had she not
been so busy blushing and covering herself. Luca was there, frowning as
anxiously as a husband outside a birthing room, next to a thick fellow with his
head shaved except for a grizzled topknot. Uno she saw, when she slipped in on
the other side of Luca. It was hard to tell if he was enjoying the spectacle or
not, for the Shienaran had a villainous look; a long scar sliced down his left
cheek, and a patch over that eye was painted with a scowling red replacement.
Few of the men she had seen here were armed with more than a belt knife, but he
wore a sword strapped to his back, the long hilt rising above his right
shoulder. She suspected the other Shienarans would be similarly armed, and
keeping a close watch on Rand. But her mind was all on the highrope.
In an attempt to cover her nervousness, she nodded toward the woman in the
gauzy trousers, who had now begun to twist herself into something that Nynaeve
knew was impossible. While still balancing on her teeth. “Where did she come
from?”
Luca frowned at the shawl, but smiled at her. “Muelin? I hired her just
recently. She lost her job at another show over some trifling matter, and came
to Careas to await my arrival. Did I not tell you I was famous, dear Nana?” He
tried to put an arm around her waist.
While he was still trying to catch his breath from her elbow and she was still
getting her shawl decently back in place, Han came staggering out of the crowd
on the other side, unarmed and wearing a rumpled brown coat that hung half off
one shoulder. The wooden mug in his fist was slopping ale over the rim. With
the overcareful steps of a man whose head contains more wine than brains, he
approached the rope ladder leading up to one of the high platforms and stared
at it.
“Go on!” someone shouted. “Break your fool neck!”
“Wait, friend,” Luca called, starting forward with smiles and flourishes of his
cloak. “That is no place for a man with a belly full of—”
Setting the mug on the ground, Han scampered up the ladder and stood swaying on
the platform. Nynaeve held her breath. But then she sensed someone channelling
nearby and, to her angry eyes at least, a bridge of Hardened Air appeared
between the two platforms.
Han turned as if lost; he appeared too drunk to see or remember the ladder. His
eyes fixed on the rope. Tentatively, he put one foot onto the narrow span, then
drew it back. Scratching his partially-shaven head, he studied the taut rope,
and abruptly brightened visibly. Slowly he got down on hands and knees and
crawled wobbling out onto the rope. Luca shouted for him to come down, and the
crowd roared with laughter.
Halfway across, Han stopped, swaying awkwardly, and peered back, his eyes
latching onto the mug he had left on the ground. Plainly he was considering how
to get back to it. Slowly, with exceeding care, he stood, facing the way he had
come and wavering from side to side. A gasp rose from the crowd—and from
Nynaeve—as the bridge disappeared and his foot slipped and he fell. He somehow
caught himself with one hand and a knee hooked around the rope, and she
wondered frantically if he and Elayne had practiced this or if something had
gone horribly wrong. Luca was no help, shouting to everyone that the man was
mad, and whatever happened was no responsibility of his—which was just what he
would say whether it was an act or not. Nynaeve pressed both hands tight
against her middle; she could imagine being up there, and even that was enough
to make her feel ill. The man was a fool. A pure bull-goose fool!
With an obvious effort, Han managed to catch the rope with his other hand, and
pulled himself along it hand-over-hand. To the far platform. Swaying from side
to side, he brushed his coat, tried to pull it straight and succeeded only in
changing which shoulder hung down—and spotted his mug at the floor of the other
pole. Pointing to it gleefully, he stepped out onto the rope again just as
another bridge of air appeared under him.
This time at least half the onlookers shouted for him to go back, shouted that
there was a ladder behind him; the others only laughed uproariously, no doubt
waiting for him to break his neck. He walked across smoothly, slid down the
rope ladder with his hands and feet on the outside, and snatched up the wooden
mug to take a deep drink. Not until Luca clapped him on the shoulder and they
both bowed—Luca flourishing his cloak in such a way that Han was behind it half
the time —did the watchers realize that it had all been part of the show. A
moment of silence, and then they exploded with applause and cheers and
laughter. Nynaeve had half-thought they might turn ugly after being duped. Uno
managed to look villainous even while laughing.
Leaving Han standing beside the ladder, Luca came back to stand between Nynaeve
and Uno. “I thought that would go well.” He sounded incredibly self-satisfied,
and he made little bows to the crowd as if he had been the one up on the rope.
Giving him a sour frown, she had no time to speak the acid comment on her
tongue, because Elayne came bounding through the crowd to stand beside Han with
her arms upraised and one knee bent.
Nynaeve’s mouth tightened, and she shifted her shawl irritably. Whatever she
thought of the red dress that she had found herself wearing without really
knowing how, she was not sure that Elayne’s costume was not worse. The
Daughter-Heir of Andor was all in snow white, with a scattering of white
sequins sparkling on her short coat and snug breeches. Nynaeve had not really
believed that Elayne would actually appear in the clothes in public, but
apparently the girl had not come to her senses after all. The coat and breeches
made her think of Min and Anna. She had never approved of them wearing boy’s
clothes, but the colour and spangles made these even more—flagrant.
Han held the rope ladder for Elayne to climb, though there was no need. She
went up as adeptly as he could have. He vanished into the crowd as soon as she
reached the top, where she posed again, beaming at the thunderous applause as
if at the adulation of her subjects. As she stepped out onto the rope—somehow
it seemed even thinner than when Han had been on it—Nynaeve all but ceased
breathing, and she stopped thinking of Elayne’s clothes, or her own, at all.
Elayne made her way out onto the rope, arms outstretched to either side, and
she was not channelling a platform of Air. Slowly she stepped her way across,
one foot in front of the other, never wavering, supported only by the rope.
On the far platform, Elayne paused to considerably more applause than Han had
received—Nynaeve could not understand that—and started back. Almost to the end,
she pivoted smoothly, walked back halfway, pivoted again. And wobbled, just
catching herself. Nynaeve felt as though a hand had her by the throat. At a
slow steady pace, Elayne highwalked to the platform, once more posing to
thunderous shouts and clapping.
Nynaeve swallowed her heart and breathed again, raggedly, but she knew it was
not over. Raising her hands above her head, Elayne suddenly cartwheeled herself
along the rope, golden tresses whipping, white-sheathed legs flashing in the
sun. Nynaeve yelped and clutched Luca’s arm as the girl reached the far
platform, stumbled in landing and caught herself just short of going over the
edge.
“What’s the matter?” he murmured beneath the gasp rising from the crowd.
“You’ve seen her do this every evening since Jerra.”
“Of course,” she said weakly. Eyes fixed on Elayne, she barely noticed the arm
he slipped around her shoulders, certainly not enough to do anything about it.
She had tried to talk the girl into feigning a sprained ankle, but Elayne
insisted that after all of that practice with the Power, she did not even need
it now. Maybe Han did, but not her.
The return cartwheels went perfectly, and the landing, but Nynaeve did not look
away, or loose her hold on Luca’s sleeve. After what now seemed the inevitable
pause for applause, Elayne returned to the rope for more pivots, one leg raised
and whipping down and up so quickly that it seemed she kept it outstretched the
whole while, and for a slow handstand that lifted her straight as a dagger,
white-slippered toes pointed to the sky. And a backflip that had the crowd
gasping and her swaying from side to side, only just catching her balance.
Koveera had taught her that, and the handstand.
One last passage of cartwheels, white legs flashing and glittering in the sun,
faster than before. A passage that had never been mentioned to Nynaeve! She
would have eviscerated Luca with her tongue had he not muttered angrily that
Elayne adding to the act just for applause was a good way to break her neck.
One last pause to pose for more of that applause, and Elayne at last climbed
down.
Shouting, the crowd rushed in on her. Luca and four horse handlers with cudgels
appeared around her as if by the Power, backed by Katsui and Nengar—the two
most imposingly muscular of the Shienaran guards.
Nynaeve jumped as high as she could, just managing to see over enough heads to
make out Elayne. The girl did not seem frightened, or even taken aback, by all
the waving hands trying to touch her, stretching between her encircling guards.
Head high, face flushed from effort, she still managed a cool and regal grace
as she was escorted away. How she could do that, garbed as she was, Nynaeve
simply could not imagine.
“Face like a bloody queen,” Uno muttered to himself. He had not gone running
with the others, but merely let them stream past. Roughly dressed in a plain
coat of dark grey wool, he certainly looked solid enough to have no fears of
being knocked down and trampled. “Burn me for a sheep-gutted farmer, but she’s
flaming well brave enough for a bloody queen too. Even so. The daughter to a
queen. A bloody queen! Showing her bloody legs that way.” Nynaeve nodded in
agreement. Until he added, “Bloody southlanders are bloody strange! No flaming
decency at all!” He had fine room to talk. Shienarans might dress properly, but
she still blushed to remember that in Shienar men and women bathed together as
often as not, and thought no more of it than of eating together. Despite the
packed crowd he stood in a little circle of his own for no-one seemed willing
to come any closer to him than they had to. Nynaeve could understand that. He
appeared a man who might cut somebody’s throat on a whim.
“Did your mother never teach you to talk decently, man?” He looked as though he
hadn’t even noticed she was there. His real eye frowned at her almost as darkly
as the painted one, and he rolled his shoulders. In Fal Dara he and everyone
else had treated her as nobly born, or the next thing to, and he knew she was
an initiate of the Tower. So she wasn’t alarmed by the look. Mostly.
“Sorry,” he muttered. She sniffed loudly, trying not to think of the
performance she would soon have to make.
 
                                     * * *
 
Rand had watched Elayne’s performance wide-eyed from his perch on a bench at
the edge of the crowd. Her grace, her precision, her balance, agility, charm
and daring. They had all been impressive, and more than impressive. He didn’t
think he’d ever have the nerve to tell her so however. Not while fearing she
would see in his eyes that that was far from all he’d been mesmerised by. His
eyes had been drawn to her bottom as though pulled by a team of Dhurran
stallions. The Daughter-Heir had a very nicely-shaped rump and those breeches
fit her like a second skin. She had pretty legs too, long and slender. And the
way she’d moved ... “Wow,” he breathed.
“Wow? Wow what? Are you riding somewhere? I hate to break it to you but you
left your horse behind.” Min’s mocking words brought a flush to Rand’s cheeks.
The short-haired girl was standing behind him, leaning her elbow on his
shoulder companionably. When he glanced up he found her smiling down at him
wryly.
“I, ah, ...” he started, then trailed off into silence. He couldn’t think of
anything to say.
Min leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Is there a cat prowling on a highwalk
somewhere nearby? I’d best run get the Shienarans, some feline’s gone and
stolen the big bad Dragon Reborn’s tongue.”
“There’s no need for that,” groused Rand. “I was just impressed by the lady’s
courage that’s all. I wouldn’t have thought someone raised in a palace would be
so adventurous.”
“Oh, it’s her courage you were staring at. Not her bum. Well that changes
everything.”
Rand flushed darker. “She’s the Daughter-Heir of Andor, and she was nice to me
when I intruded in her palace. I wouldn’t treat her that way. It wouldn’t be
proper,” he said. There was truth in that, a bit, a lot even, but that didn’t
stop his treacherous eyes from roaming. Elayne was a stunningly beautiful girl;
and the last person he would want to afflict with his company.
Min’s teasing smile faltered for a moment. “I doubt she’d thank you for that,”
she muttered. Then her grin came back in force. “Actually, I think I’ll go find
her. I was supposed to be there to greet her when she finished, but ... this
was more fun. I’ll pass on your compliments on her cushions when I see her.”
“Don’t you dare,” Rand warned, but the girl was already two steps past him by
then, walking backwards towards the tightrope as she watched Rand, her dark
eyes alight with mischief. The outfit she was wearing was twin to Elayne’s, but
in black instead of white, darker even than her hair and glittering with
sequins. It clung to her hips and legs like a second skin. Rand couldn’t stop
his mouth from falling open.
“You could come with me if you like,” Min drawled. “You’d have to get up though
...”
Rand had long since planted his boot on the edge of the bench and drawn his
knee up. He laced his fingers around his shin now and positioned his thigh
strategically. It would be some time yet before he was fit to stand up in a
crowded place like this. But Min didn’t need to know that. “I’m comfortable
here, thanks,” he said in a tight voice. “It’s been a rough few months and I
could use the rest.”
Min laughed. “Sure. That’s the reason.” She turned to walk away.
Rand’s pitched his voice in an urgent whisper. “Min, come back. You aren’t
serious, are you? Min!”
She ignored him and kept walking. That simple act was enough to keep him
stunned in place. The breeches Min usually wore were loose and baggy. These new
ones were not. They did almost nothing to hide her ... herness. And she was
very, very ... her. Rand shook his head stubbornly and looked away, just as she
disappeared into the crowd. He shouldn’t be looking at Min like that, no more
than he should have been looking at Elayne. Much more even. Min was one of the
few friends he had left now, since Falme, where he had lost who he had been and
become something else, something worse. Her irreverent teasing was a great
source of comfort to him, and he had found himself seeking her company as often
as he could during their journey east. He didn’t want to lose her friendship,
which he surely would if she caught him eyeing her like some pervert.
Rand sighed and settled in to wait out his, uh, excitement. Min made a joke of
so many things that it was hard to tell when she was being serious. He hoped
she had only been joking about telling Elayne about his wandering eyes.
The crowd nearest the highwalk apparatus began stirring excitedly, and Rand
fought the irrational fear that they had realised how degenerate he was. No
accusing eyes turned his way though. They were all focusing on the tall
platforms. Once more Elayne ascended the rope ladder, the globes of her bottom
bunching in turn with each step she took. Rand was so entranced by the sight
that at first he didn’t even realise a second figure was climbing the ladder to
the other platform.
The black breeches hid Min’s curves better than the white did Elayne’s, but
nowhere near well enough to prevent her from drawing stares from the onlookers.
When she reached the top she didn’t strike a pose the way Elayne did, but
simply grinned and waved down at everyone below.
The two of them exchanged looks, readying themselves. Min waited for Elayne’s
nod before putting her foot to the tight rope, but once the nod was given she
showed no fear at all. Rand felt it all for her, and grasped at saidin once
more. It came to him, just as it had when Elayne was performing, and he
stood—well, sat—tensely ready in case anything went wrong. He barely noticed
the thrill of the power or the foulness of the taint, he was so intent on the
two women above him.
Min’s progress across the rope was simpler than Elayne’s. She bit her lip as
she slowly and carefully placed one foot in front of the other. Her visible
care, and her huge eyes, made her seem even younger than Elayne, though she was
in truth the elder of the pair. The murmurs of the watching crowd began to
sound concerned. When Min reached the far side Elayne took her hand and held it
high, waiting for the cheer that inevitably followed. Then she made her own,
swifter progress across the rope, once more kicking her legs high. The last few
feet she crossed in a cartwheel to a round of applause.
Min’s second crossing was bolder, and done in such a way that Rand was
convinced they must have planned this all between them during the journey to
Valreis. He all-but knew it when, half-way between the platforms, she executed
a cartwheel of her own, before going back to her careful steps, occasionally
swaying to the side in a far-too convincing portrayal of a woman about to lose
her balance. The girls hugged when Min reached Elayne’s platform once more, and
when Elayne set off on her next trip across the rope they parted with smiles
and a pair of friendly waves.
It was on Min’s third trip that it all went wrong. She looked far more
confident now, walking the rope with a jaunty swagger that did things with her
hips that dried his mouth. That over-confidence seemed her undoing. When she
reached the middle of the rope she wavered, looking beseechingly at Elayne, who
nodded once in encouragement. Abruptly Min’s legs went out from under her and
she fell from the rope to the screams and yells of the crowd. Saidin burned in
Rand. He was a hair’s breathe away from revealing himself as a channeler to the
gathered crowd, and the Light damn the consequences. Only his burning suspicion
that this was all part of their act kept him in check.
Min caught herself on the rope before she fell far. Her knees wrapped tight
around it, and she locked her ankles for good measure as she dangled upside
down, her arms hanging below her, spread wide and helpless. Several men from
the audience rushed out to stand under the highwire, plainly intending to try
and catch her.
But it was Elayne who ran to the rescue, her long, red-gold hair streaming
behind her like a banner. She crouched, knees together, over the spot where Min
dangled, and held out her hands desperately. Min swung from side to side,
gathering momentum, then swung up enough to place her hands in Elayne’s. Once
their grip was secured, Min let her legs fall free and with a mighty heave
Elayne pulled her back up to her level. Her heave was so mighty in fact, that
Rand found himself nodding knowingly even as a relieved sigh hissed out of him.
There was no way Elayne, with her slender and not remotely muscular build,
could have lifted Min that easily if she was not using the One Power to, ah,
“limit the risks”, of their show.
Back on the rope, the two girls placed their feet carefully on either side of
the rope and kept a tight grip on each other’s hands. They leaned back, out
into open air, and pivoted on their shared axis, turning in a full circle, then
another half of one. Sounds of relief, admiration and laughter mingled from the
watching crowd below. And from Rand as well. When they were done they released
each other, cartwheeled backwards along either end of the rope, then turned and
took the last few steps more carefully. Elayne struck a pose on her platform,
knees bent in a way that accentuated her lovely figure, while Min blew out a
loud breath before falling to her butt on the other platform, slumped in
exaggerated relief with her feet dangling from the edge.
Thunderous applause greeted them, and Rand was happy to add his own clapping to
the cacophony. He wasn’t part of the crowd that tried to greet them when they
climbed back down though. He was still firmly tied to his bench. Rand didn’t
think he’d be getting up off that bench for a long, long while.
***** Stalled *****
CHAPTER 38: Stalled
 
The day was wearing on when Rand came to collect her. Nynaeve had joined the
group gathered around Leliana by then, thinking them a more sedate and mature
audience.
“Do I have any more tales to share?” the bard was saying. “Of course I do. I
love stories far too much to keep them to myself. Everyone should be able to
benefit from them, I think.”
Nynaeve would have liked to benefit from them too, but when Rand bent down to
whisper in her ear that it was time, she let him lead her away.
He led her to a long narrow area near the town’s eastern wall, marked off by
ropes. At one end stood something like a segment of wooden fence, two paces
wide and two tall. People lined the ropes four deep, with children crouching
down in front or holding a father’s leg or a mother’s skirts. A buzz rose as
the two of them appeared in their fancy clothes, Rand with his longbow in hand
and a quiver dangling from his belt. Nynaeve would have stopped dead, but Rand
had her by the arm, and it was walk or drag him to a halt and have to explain
why.
“I thought we wouldn’t have to,” she said faintly. “Wasn’t that scandalous
display Elayne and Min put on enough?”
Rand cleared his throat. “That ... should have been enough for-for anything,”
he blabbered. “but you know Luca.”
“What? Yes. Listen. If Luca isn’t here, he would not know whether we did this
or not until it was too late to ...” Nynaeve knew she was babbling, but she
could not seem to stop her tongue. Somehow she had never realized how far a
hundred paces really was. In the Theren, grown men always shot targets at twice
that. But then, none of those targets had ever been her. “I mean, it already is
very late. The shadows ... The glare ... We really should do this in the
morning. When the light is—”
“He is here Nynaeve,” Rand said flatly. “Look.”
Sure enough there he was, standing near the wooden fence in his ridiculous
cape, wearing a broad, satisfied grin. He’d probably been planning this since
she’d given him that penny. This was his cruel revenge. Nynaeve wished she
could have made some other comment than a squeak. The bit of fence filled her
vision as they progressed down the open space, to the exclusion of the
onlookers. Even their increasing murmurs sounded distant. The fence looked a
mile from where Rand would stand.
He positioned her with her back against the rough wooden fence, and twitched
her shawl from her shoulders. Nynaeve’s cheeks heated. She fought the urge to
cover herself with her hands.
“The light is fine. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” Rand said reassuringly.
Fine words indeed, while he made her stand there with her bosom exposed for
anyone within a mile to see!
Nynaeve opened her mouth, but nothing came out. This time she would have
settled for a squeak.
Concern crept across Rand’s face. “Are you all right? If you really don’t want
to do this ...”
The man thought she was afraid. Nynaeve could not, would not, allow that. She
forced a smile, hoped her eyes were not too wide. Her face felt tight. “Of
course I want to. I’m looking forward to it, actually.”
Rand reared back a bit, and gave her a dubious frown, but nodded at last. He
turned back the way they had come, drawing an arrow from her quiver.
Nynaeve waited for what felt like a long time, refusing to think about all the
people gathered around, looking at her. Her breath was coming so fast that she
was dimly aware that she might come right out of the dress’ low neck, yet even
that thought could not catch her. The sun filled her view; had she squinted,
she might have been able to make out Rand after a fashion, but her eyes had a
will of their own, increasingly widening. There was nothing she could do now.
Seemingly out of nowhere an arrow tchunked into the wood, vibrating against her
right wrist, and stoic resolve broke with a low wail. It was all she could do
to keep her knees straight. A second arrow brushed the other wrist, producing a
slightly higher pitch to her yelp. She could as soon stop Rand’s shafts as
silence herself. Arrow by arrow the yelps rose higher, and it seemed to her
almost as if the crowd was cheering her cries. The louder she shrieked, the
louder they cheered and applauded, the monsters! By the time she was outlined
from knees to head, the applause was thunderous. In truth, she felt some
irritation at the finish, when the crowd all rushed to throng around Rand,
leaving her standing there staring at the fletchings that outlined her form.
Some still quivered. She still quivered.
Pushing away, she scurried off toward the stables as quickly as she could
before anyone noticed how much her legs were wobbling. Not that anyone was
paying any attention to her. All she had done was stand there and pray Rand did
not sneeze, or get an itch. Surely that had been nowhere near as bad as letting
anyone know she could not face it.
Nynaeve’s flight did not end until she was safely inside the stone-walled
stable Luca had rented. It was blessedly empty, save for all the horses that
now eyed her curiously. Luca had needed the whole place to house all the
animals they had brought with them, and his horse handlers were off doubling as
guards and coin collectors in the show. Nynaeve was grateful for the quiet and
the privacy. She leaned against the wooden wall of an empty stall as she tried
to still her racing heart.
She had been wrong when she thought no-one had noticed her flight.
“Thanks for trusting me,” Rand said quietly as he strolled through the open
double doors of the stable from the sparsely-peopled street outside. “With all
that’s happened I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.”
It took Nynaeve a while to find her words. “Well. These outsiders don’t know
Theren archery the way I do. I knew there was nothing to worry about.”
That little smile was just a touch too knowing for her taste, but he didn’t
contradict her.
“I thought you’d be off basking in the crowd’s praise,” she said testily. “Did
Luca come with you, or is he still collecting coins?”
Rand leaned his bow against the door and came inside, shaking his head slowly.
“The second option. There was talk of another performance when I left, and he
seemed quite excited by the idea. I just wanted to come and make sure you were
okay.”
Another!? No. Not a chance. She’d agreed to one, and one was all they would
get! But what was that last thing he’d said?
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine,” she said. Her attempt at a
waspish rebuke came out strangely breathily.
He was standing outside her stall by then, tall and handsome in his fancy coat.
“I always worry about you Nynaeve. Even when you’re fine.”
He had no call to be looking at her like that. If her breathing didn’t slow
down soon she really was going to fall out of that scandalous dress. He’d
probably been getting an eyeful too, just like all those other ruffians. Though
the thought didn’t seem so terrible when it was just him. Her face blazed anew,
and no words would come out. Even when his fingers brushed her embarrassingly
hot cheeks, and he leaned down so slowly, still no words came to her. Stop, she
might have said, wait, don’t. But she said nothing, and suddenly his lips were
on hers, and her knees, already shaking, turned to water.
Nynaeve would have fallen to the floor of the stall if Rand hadn’t caught her.
He had an arm around her waist, another cradling the back of her head. She hung
suspended in his embrace as his lips devoured hers. A wildness came over her
such that she had never felt. So many weeks of pent up anger, and frustration,
and embarrassment and—and everything! Her hands moved of their own accord,
running through his hair, clutching his broad shoulders. Her tongue was in his
mouth, though she could not recall putting it there.
Nynaeve did not fall to the floor of that stable, but she ended up there
anyway. And Rand ended up there with her. They knelt there together, kissing,
caressing. He combed his fingers through her loose hair, and despite everything
she blushed anew. A proper Theren woman wouldn’t wear her hair like that. But
was she a proper Theren woman anymore? After going to the White Tower and
fighting in a war? After all she’d already done ... with him?
Rand put his hands on the front of her dress and pulled it down, setting her
breasts spilling loose before his hungry blue eyes, and Nynaeve—who should have
slapped his face for that—whimpered encouragingly. His eyes feasted on her, as
so many men’s eyes had feasted that day. But none of them had dared touch her
like Rand did. She gasped repeatedly, clutching his forearms as he squeezed her
tender flesh in hands that were strong yet gentle, sending jolts of forbidden
pleasure surging through her body. Her eyes fastened on his, and she both
feared and hoped that he could see the need in her gaze. He kissed her again
then, roughly, and she opened her mouth to his.
“I want you,” he said in a low growl, when her breath was well and truly
stolen. She might have found words for him then, if she could have just had a
moment to gather herself, but he didn’t wait for her to explain why it was
wrong. He just pushed her over onto her hands and knees and lifted her bright
crimson skirts up over her hips. And somehow she did not try to stop him.
She was kneeling near the edge of the stall, just the top of the head peeking
out, but that was enough for her to see the street outside if she stretched.
The stable entrance was down its own long alleyway, but out beyond it she could
see townsfolk walking by.
“We can’t!” she whimpered. “Someone will see us. Rand, please. We have
to—OOHH!”
Nynaeve had to clamp a hand over her own mouth to stop her cries. Her drawers
were pooled around her knees by then, and Rand’s hand was between her thighs,
touching her most forbidden place. He knew how wet she was now—how could he
not, when his surprisingly-skilled fingers probed her like that?—he knew what
she wanted, and the embarrassment of that combined with the pleasure he woke in
her to set her heart hammering against her chest.
He could see her too, she reminded herself. Her bottom has bare before his
eyes, her shame displayed for him to see as she knelt there in the smelly
stable.
“It’ll be okay, Nynaeve,” Rand growled beneath gasping breaths. “You can keep
an eye out for us.” She could, if she leant forward, but ... but ...
Nynaeve heard a belt being unbuckled behind her and her mind went blank. There
was a deep, aching hunger in her body. She wanted something, needed something.
She got it too.
Nynaeve screamed into the palm of her own palm as she felt Rand’s hot shaft
pierce her. All his other arrows had missed her flesh, but this one seemed to
find every inch of her. She felt her aching sex being spread wide, then she
felt him reach deep inside her, stroking her fire to an inferno, scratching
itches she had never ever realised she had.
The force of his penetration pushed her forwards, affording her a view of the
street whether she wished it or not. Red-cheeked, she ascertained that they
were still alone before pushing her hips back against him, seeking the safety
of the stall, and finding his hard body waiting to meet her.
Back and forth they went, with Nynaeve peeking outside nervously every time he
pushed her forward, her heart hammering as she breathed wildly through her
nose.
Rand’s hands were on her hips, holding her in place as he claimed her. The
tender way he caressed the cheeks of her bottom was terribly at odds with the
fierce fucking he was giving her. “You have a very pretty bottom, Nynaeve,”
breathed the only man who had ever seen it. She thought she should have felt
shame at that, but instead a little thrill of pride shot through her. I must be
mad, to feel such a thing at a time like this, while doing ... this ... with
him ... here ...
She moved her hips back against him, and whimpered once more.
He thrust inside her again and again, bringing her closer and closer to the
boil. There was dirt on the knees of her new dress, dirt on the palms of her
hands, and even in her hair as its loose strands swayed around her hung head,
quivering beneath Rand’s onslaught just like the rest of her body did. She knew
she should have cared about the dirtiness, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
Light! If this is so wrong, then why does it feel so good?
When his hands went to cup and squeeze her breasts instead of her bottom he did
not compliment her on them, and Nynaeve surprised herself with a flash of
disappointment. He wouldn’t be able to see them from back there, she knew, but
still ... it would have been nice. The way he touched her was nice too, and ...
Rand took her hard nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching and
rubbing them, and Nynaeve felt her eyes roll back in her head.
For longer than she cared to know she knelt there, blind to the world around
her as Rand ravaged her body. When she came back to herself, her fluttering
lashes revealed an unfamiliar man paused at the top of the alleyway.
Nynaeve hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to beat any faster, but she
had been wrong. She pushed back hastily, but Rand didn’t care. He was grunting
softly to himself as he pounded into her body, too lost in desire to see the
danger they were in. His thrusts pushed her forward again. The man was reading
the sign that hung at the alleymouth to direct customers their way.
“Rand,” she gasped, when she dared take her hand away from her mouth. Another
hard thrust seemed to touch every inch of her inner sex, waking such pleasure
that she had to clamp the hand back over her mouth or call the man’s attention
to her, letting him see the show she was making of herself, and revealing her
shame for the whole world to see. If anyone glanced down that alley they would
see her down on her hands and knees, being bred like a mare to her stallion.
Pushed forward again, she saw the man turn away. Relief mixed with all the
other feelings inside her, so many feelings that she was sure she must burst
with them. And she did burst too, white hot pleasure searing through her body
as she writhed on her hands and knees, impaled on Rand’s cock.
“Nynaeve,” Rand gasped. “My. Beloved. Nynaeve.”
Three more hard thrusts, each punctuated with one of those troublesome words,
pushed her pleasure-wracked face out of the stall long enough to reveal that
they were still blessedly alone. She pushed back against him one more time,
feeling suddenly limp and languid. Things were flowing out of Nynaeve, tensions
and doubts, along with what felt like a rather embarrassing amount of warm
fluid. Fortunately an equal amount of Rand’s hot seed was being pumped into
her. He wouldn’t be able to tease her, and claim she’d wanted it more than he
had. He was just the type of wicked boy who would do that. Not as bad as Mat it
was true, but he’d always been overly-influenced by that one. She thought he
would have been much nicer if he hadn’t let himself be influenced by others so
much. But she didn’t regret it in that moment. He was just the right amount of
wicked for her. What would the Women’s Circle think if they could see me now?
When he was done filling her up with his seed, Rand sat back on the stall floor
with a long, satisfied sigh, pulling her with him as he went, and nestling her
in his lap. Nynaeve let herself be pulled, though it would have been hard not
to be when his thick shaft was still lodged inside her. A light sheen of sweat
coated his pretty face, and he smiled at her tiredly. She sat there in his lap
with her skirts rumpled and dirtied and her breasts hanging out, and rested her
head on his shoulder companionably as they both caught their breath. It felt
... nice.
“So you know,” she sighed at last. “You’ve seen how much of a coward I am. How
much of a fallen woman.” She’s hoped she had hidden it better, but he’d plainly
seen her terror at the show and decided to come comfort her. And to have his
wicked way with her for good measure.
Rand gaped down at her, incredulity in his eyes. He probably didn’t think she
would have admitted it. Nynaeve couldn’t muster the energy to be offended by
that.
“Are ... are you serious?” he said.
As if she hadn’t been humiliated enough that day, Nynaeve felt her bottom lip
give a pitiful little quiver. She clenched her jaw to try and keep it still. “I
know what I am,” she growled, not meeting his eyes.
“Blood and ashes,” Rand cursed, so softly she could barely here him. “You ...”
he trailed off, shaking his head. Then seized her by the jaw and forced her to
look at him. That was too cruel. Could she not even have that shred of dignity?
He stared into her eyes, callous to the way she beseeched him for privacy.
“A coward? You? How can you even think that about yourself? You went out into
the Shadowspawn-infested countryside, alone and armed with nothing but a stout
stick, to find five youngsters from your village and take them safely home. You
rode to lands you’d never even been to before, knowing you’d have to confront
an Aes Sedai at the end of it. Coward? Nynaeve, you’re the bravest woman I
know. Burn me, if anything I’d say you suffer from an excess of courage! A
little bit of cowardice might actually do you good.”
“Mind your language,” she muttered, trying not to think about how ...
contradictory it was to scold him while sat the way she was.
Rand laughed aloud, and kissed her again.
“Stop that,” Nynaeve protested. “And keep your voice down, there are people
just outside.”
The things he’d said had been kindly meant, but Nynaeve did not believe them.
She’d only been doing her duty as Wisdom back then. Anyone else would have done
the same. Still, as she cuddled against Rand’s warmth that evening, she thought
it nice, just for a while, to pretend things were the way he wanted them to be,
instead of the way they were.
When they had fixed themselves up, they walked together to the end of the ally.
There they parted ways, Rand greeting Nynaeve’s admonishment to tell no-one
about what had happened with that melancholy smile of his. Twice now, she
thought as she watched him go. The first time was grief’s fault. And wine’s.
This was ... Luca’s scandalous dress’ fault? She shook her head. It’s getting
harder to come up with excuses for why I keep doing this. Maybe I’m just ...
very fond of him ...
Two Shienarans emerged from doorways on opposite ends of the street, the one
nearest Rand trailing after him unobtrusively while the other hastened to catch
up.
Nynaeve stiffened at the sight. How long have they been there? What did they
see? None of them had approached the stable, she could be certain of that much.
So far as they knew she and Rand had just been chatting about something. She
hoped.
They hadn’t been the only ones shadowing Rand’s steps. Uno was coming her way.
He had no difficulty getting through the local crowds, even the hawkers and
beggars. Beggars kept clear of Uno, even after he tossed a few coppers to a
wary pack of urchins, for which she did not blame them. The man just did not
look ... charitable.
“Is your horse fit to ride, Nynaeve? Might be best to head back to camp, the
show is over for today,” he said once he’d drawn near.
For the love of the Light, woman, do not blush now. Whatever you do. Do. Not.
Blush.
“What do you mean?” she asked, pleased with how flat her voice sounded.
“You haven’t heard? There was an accident. That family, the ones with all the
swinging ropes? Well, all their ropes snapped mid-performance. They fell, all
four of them. The local Healers have them, but only one of the youngsters
survived. The, ah, bodies of the others cushioned their fall.”
Nynaeve gasped, and reached for a braid that was not there. She hadn’t known
the Flying Gulls well, but it was still a tragic thing to hear. And ... All the
ropes snapped at once? That seems a bit unlikely ... unnatural even. She
wondered if Rand knew, and hoped he didn’t. If that ta’veren malarkey had
anything to do with it he would probably blame himself, the sweet fool.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned how they died.” Uno said apologetically. “I don’t
spend much time around fla—, around ladies. I forget you have weak bell—, I
mean, uh, delicate stomachs.” If he did not stop tugging at that eyepatch, he
was going to find out how delicate her stomach was.
Suddenly Nynaeve realized that there had not been a single obscene word in all
that he’d said. He looked about to swallow his tongue. “Perhaps if you cursed
only occasionally?” She sighed. “Maybe once every other sentence?” The man
smiled at her so gratefully that she wanted to throw up her hands in
exasperation.
“So Luca’s closing up for today?” Even as avaricious as he was, she doubted he
would go so far as to ask his people to caper and dance while three of their
fellows lay dead.
“Yes. Our own group have been gathering. Katsui and Nengar are with the two
girls in the flaming too-tight breeches.” He gave the impression of counting
his sentences. Nynaeve breathed deeply; the man was going to take her
literally. “Don’t know what they’re thinking,” he grumped. “Can’t walk these
streets like that unescorted. It’s half festival and half riot, with a bloody
cutpurse every third step and a woman not safe out-of-doors after dark. I’ve
heard some damned outrageous stories.” He sounded more scandalized about the
last than the rest; in Shienar, a woman was safe anywhere, any time—except from
Trollocs and Myrddraal, of course—and any man would die to see it so. “Not
safe. I’ll take you back.”
“Once every other sentence,” she murmured, and the man actually blushed.
As they passed through the streets of Careas and into a large paved square,
they found yet another Shienaran, this one looking even less impressed with the
riotous crowds than Uno was. Masema sneered openly at the people milling about
him, angry contempt in his deep-set eyes and a sword strapped to the back. He
was unarmoured, and wore only a plain grey coat, but people still gave him a
wide berth, perhaps even wider than they had Uno.
For that matter, as they came to a stop beside the man, Uno himself looked a
bit wary. “Peace favour your sword,” the one-eyed man said.
“Peace favour the Lord Dragon” was the reply, “and his Light illumine us all.”
Nynaeve’s breath caught. There was no doubt to his meaning; the Lord Dragon was
the source of the Light. “Have you come to the Light at last?”
“I walk in the Light,” Uno said, his face carefully blank. “As always.” Weary
patience made an odd play on Masema’s sour features. “There is no way to the
Light save through the Lord Dragon. You will see the way and the truth in the
end, for you have seen the Lord Dragon, and only those whose souls are
swallowed in the Shadow can see and not believe. You are not such. You will
believe.”
“Keep your voice down, you idiot,” Nynaeve said in a harsh whisper, though in
truth the man hadn’t exactly been shouting and there was no-one nearby. “Who
knows who might be listening.”
She had expected him to be cowed, but Masema’s gaze was withering as it swept
over her red dress. “You are too concerned with the flesh.”
Outrage flared in her. “And what do you mean by that? Do you think you have a
right to tell me how to dress?” Before she quite realized what she was doing,
she had planted her fist on her hips and thrust her chest forward. “No man has
that right, for me or any other woman! If I chose to go naked, it would be none
of your concern!”
Masema contemplated her bosom for a moment—not so much as a hint of admiration
lit his deep eyes, only acid contempt—then raised that stare to her face. Uno’s
real eye and painted made a perfect match, scowling at nothing.
“The Lord Dragon cares for her as for a mother,” Uno claimed.
Another time, she would have given him a few choice words, and maybe a well-
boxed ear for that. She was only a handful of years older than Rand. A mother,
indeed! Mother’s did not do with their sons the things she had done with Rand.
But there was something unnerving about Masema.
Masema turned back to her. The zealous light that had burned in his eyes before
was nothing to what was there now. They almost glowed.
“Blessed are you among women, Nynaeve al’Meara, none more so save the blessed
mother of the Lord Dragon herself, for you watched the Lord Dragon grow. You
attended the Lord Dragon as a child.” He seized her arms, hard fingers biting
in painfully, but he seemed unaware of it. “Tell me of the Lord Dragon’s
boyhood, of his first words of wisdom, of the miracles that accompanied him.
The Light has sent you here to serve the Lord Dragon. But you must dress more
appropriately—those who have been close to the Lord Dragon must be virtuous
above all others.”
She was not exactly sure what to say. There had never been any miracles around
Rand that she had seen. She had heard about what happened in Jerra, and
elsewhere, but you could hardly call what a ta’veren caused miracles. Not
really. Even what had occurred at Falme had a rational explanation. Sort of.
And as for words of wisdom, the first she had heard out of him had been a
fervent promise never to throw a rock at anyone again, offered after she had
paddled his young backside for it. She did not believe she had heard another
word since that she could call wise. In any case, if Rand had given sage advice
from his cradle, if there had been comets by night and apparitions in the sky
by day, she still would not have stayed a moment longer in this madman’s
company.
She sniffed. “I have no time for this. Get back to camp, and stop using that
title where anyone might hear you.” Not waiting to see if he obeyed, she
stalked across the square.
“Why didn’t you dress him down?” she asked Uno once they were far enough away.
“You’re in charge of this bunch, aren’t you?”
“I have,” Uno growled. “It doesn’t bloody work any more. Masema was always a
bit of an odd one. A good soldier, loyal and hard-working, but now? The man’s
been flaming losing it ever since Falme. I’m just glad none except Bartu and
Nengar listen to his trash.” The grizzled topknot swung as he shook his head in
irritation.
“Well if you can’t keep him in line then maybe Moiraine or Verin can.” Rand
could order him about as well, but given the fanatic intensity of Masema’s
regard for him she thought if counterproductive to ask him to take a hand.
Uno was shaking his head again. “Masema thinks the Tower will try to control
the Lord Dragon. He’s been saying we need to protect him from the Aes Sedai as
much as from the Shadow.” He made no comment on whether he believed that too,
and Nynaeve fell silent, troubled in her own thoughts.
It was a more solemn group that gathered outside the eastern walls of Careas
now than the one that had entered it that morning. She could see few of the
performers, or at least, few of the real performers. Elayne and Min were there,
Loial and Han; and Rand was off by himself, looking grim. So he’s heard then.
Nynaeve sighed.
The circus folk she could see were striking the camp, though most of the horse
handlers were absent. No doubt sent to empty the stable Nynaeve had just come
from. It occurred to her then that she should perhaps have fetched her own
horse after Uno told her they would be leaving soon, but she was glad the idea
hadn’t hit her at the time. She didn’t think she’d have been able to keep her
cheeks cool, and she knew for a fact she’d have lit up like a bonfire if she’d
tried to go back to that stable with Uno at her side.
Leliana was the only one of the circus folk to loiter with Rand’s group. But
she usually spent more time in their company than she did with the other
performers anyway. Which was understandable, since she’d known them longer. She
grinned when she saw Uno.
“The valiant Shienaran, escorting a fair lady through the uncouth crowds. How
very you, my big-hearted friend.”
Uno eyed her warily. “What are you talking about, singer?”
Leliana’s smile widened. “Don't play innocent with me. I saw what you were
doing earlier.”
“When?”
“I saw you,” she said, drawing the words out teasingly. “Playing with that
kitten.”
“... I wasn’t playing with any bloody kittens.” Uno declared.
She folded her arms. “Uno, I saw you. You were dangling a piece of twine for
it.”
“I was helping it train,” he said defensively.
“You're a big softie!” she laughed.
The one-eyed man scowled forbiddingly. “We will never speak of this again.” He
turned and stalked away from her.
“Softie!” Leliana called after him, laughing still.
Nynaeve sniffed, as much for Uno’s foolishness as for the bard’s teasing. It
was hardly an appropriate time to be joking around.
She left Leliana behind and went to join Elayne, Min and Anna, all three of
whom were now wearing men’s clothes, though even Anna’s always-inappropriate
choice of attire seemed a bit more acceptable that the other two’s. Nynaeve
felt almost properly dressed in comparison. Luci was the most well-wrapped of
them all though. The girl seemed in better spirits today. She even managed a
small smile as she spoke to the young Shienaran, Heita. Nynaeve was glad of
that.
“Where’s Luca?” she asked, as she joined her friends.
“He ran off looking for you actually,” Elayne said, quirking a little smile as
she did so. “After you went dashing into the city without a word to anyone the
rumours started flying. We’ve heard everything from a bald-headed man carrying
you off over his shoulder to you kissing a Shienaran and traipsing through town
with him arm in arm.”
Nynaeve was still gaping when Min added, “Luca was upset, whatever the tale. He
said ...” She made her voice deep. “ ‘So she likes rough men, does she? Well, I
can be as rough as a winter cob!’ And off he set, leading two big-shouldered
lads, to fetch you back.”
For a moment Nynaeve stared in confusion. She liked rough men? What could he
possibly mean by ...?Slowly it sank in, and she groaned. “Oh, that is just what
I need.”
“I have heard it claimed that it does wonders for one’s temper,” Elayne
murmured.
Nynaeve’s cheeks coloured in anger. And only anger, so far as anyone else was
concerned. The Light send it so. “I just happened to see Uno, while watching
you highwalk, Elayne. He doesn’t think any better of the Daughter-Heir of Andor
showing her legs than I do, by the way. We spoke at length. Nothing more.”
“I am getting very tired of people making fun of my outfit,” Elayne said
snippily. “Anna, you’re a Therener as well, surely not everyone from those
parts can be so conservative. What do you think of how I am dressed?”
“It allows freedom of movement,” the short-haired woman said judiciously. “I’ve
always appreciated that.” Elayne nodded agreement, but then Anna went on. “Of
course, it’s good that your bottom isn’t too big, as tight as those—”
Striding off furiously, Elayne tugged her short coat down with sharp yanks,
futilely trying to hide the movement of her round cheeks from the eyes of
anyone who cared to look. Which was quite a few people, as it happened.
Athen and his horse handlers arrived with their mounts before Luca could return
from his ill-advised foray. Nynaeve was grateful for that, and mounted Muscles
with haste. As they rode back through Careas though she was given cause to
regret her words to Elayne. The jerking motion of the horses trotting did very
unfortunate things to her half-exposed breasts, and despite her best glares she
found herself the subject of more than a few grinning stares. Rand looked too,
though he at least had the decency to do so out of the corner of his eye, and
to keep his face decently composed. She found that she didn’t mind his looking
so much as she did the others’. His gaze seemed to hold promises, and that was
more exciting than Nynaeve would ever have imagined it would be.
***** A Time of Remembrance *****
CHAPTER 40: A Time of Remembrance
 
Moiraine had them all roused early the next morning. So far as Nynaeve could
tell the Aes Sedai would have preferred to have ridden on through the night,
not even bothering to gather their things from the circus camp, but even she
had to see that that was untenable.
She hadn’t slept well, thinking of those giant dogs, and of the weave she had
seen Moiraine use. It had been very complex, but Nynaeve thought she could
replicate it if she wanted to. Though from Verin’s reaction she wasn’t sure
that she should.
Her morning so far hadn’t proved any more restful than her night. Luca had sent
Clarine over with some unwelcome gifts for her. She knew all too well that a
blue dress was laid out on the bed behind her. A blue to make even a Tinker
woman blink, and another in a virulent yellow, both cut as low as the original
red gown hanging on a peg. One dress like that was not enough, not according to
Valan Luca. A pair of precariously clinging shifts had come with them.
At least the man could let me choose the colours, she thought, working the
split twig furiously. Or Clarine. But no, he had his own ideas, and he never
asked. Not Valan Luca. His colour choice almost made her forget the necklines.
I ought to throw it in his face! Yet she knew she would not.
Nynaeve folded and packed the dresses along with the rest of her belongings. It
would have been rude to throw all of the seamstress’ hard work out after all.
Elayne also made two bundles, but hers were larger; she left nothing out except
the spangled coats and breeches. Nynaeve refrained from suggesting that she had
overlooked them; she should have, with the sulking that was going on, but she
knew how to promote harmony.
The two Aes Sedai were already packed, and waiting with an outward patience
that Nynaeve was certain had to be an act. No-one could be that calm after
being locked in this wagon for as long as they had. When Moiraine had said they
would be abandoning the wagon as soon as they passed beyond sight of Luca’s
troupe, there had been just a hint of relief in her voice. Nynaeve had been
more satisfied by that sound than she should have been.
Once she finished packing, Nynaeve left the wagon to find the rest of their
party mostly prepared to depart. The Shienarans had donned their armour once
more, and armoured their warhorses too, something for which Nynaeve thought the
packhorses Loial and Anna were gathering would be grateful.
Luca’s horse handlers were already at work cleaning cages, but there was
relatively little stir around the wagon as yet. Petra was smoking his long-
stemmed pipe while he helped Clarine prepare their breakfast. Two of the
Chavanas were studying some piece of apparatus with Muelin, the new
contortionist, while the other pair were chatting with two of the six female
acrobats Luca had hired in Careas. They claimed to be sisters named Murasaka,
despite being even more disparate in looks and colouring than the Chavanas. One
of the pair lounging in colourful silk robes with Brugh and Taeric had blue
eyes and almost white hair, the other skin nearly as dark as her eyes. Nynaeve
had no idea why all these people kept claiming to be related when they so
obviously were not. Circus folk were strange. She would be well rid of them.
Well, some of them. Luca for a certainty.
Name the Dark One, and he will appear.
“Rouse and rise!” Luca’s shout cut into her words as he trotted between the
wagons in his scarlet cape. “Brugh, go tell the horse handlers to hitch the
teams! I mean to get an early start today. Andaya, Kuan, pull your sisters out,
I’ll want to see if you are as good in front of an audience before we make this
a permanent arrangement!” Luca’s step slowed as he approached, eyeing Uno
warily, though he had seen the one-eyed man plenty of times before. “Nana, I
want to talk to you,” he said quietly. “Alone.”
“We will not be staying with you, Master Luca,” she told him.
“Alone,” he said, and seized her arm, hauling her away.
She looked back to tell the others not to interfere and found there was no
need. Elayne was hurrying off toward Min’s tent with her bundles on her back,
and except for a few glances at her and Luca, the men were engrossed in
conversation. She sniffed loudly. Fine men they were, to watch a woman
manhandled and do nothing.
Jerking her arm free, she strode along beside Luca, her sensible wool skirts
swishing her displeasure. “I suppose you want your money, now that we are
going. Well, you shall have it. One hundred gold marks. Though I think you
should allow something for what we’ve brought in. We have certainly increased
the number of your patrons. Morelin, Min and Han with their highwalking, me
with the arrows, Loial—”
“Do you think I want the gold, woman?” he demanded rounding on her. “If I did,
I’d have asked for it the day we crossed the border! Have I asked? Did you ever
think why not?”
In spite of herself, she took a step back, crossing her arms beneath her
breasts sternly. And immediately wished she had not; that stance emphasized
them a little too much, she’d come to realise. Stubbornness kept her arms where
they were—she was not about to let him think she was flustered, especially
since she was—but surprisingly, his eyes remained on hers. Maybe he was ill. He
had never avoided looking at her bosom before, and if Valan Luca was not
interested in bosoms or gold ... “If not about the gold, then why do you want
to talk to me?”
“All the way back here from the town,” he said slowly, following her, “I kept
thinking that now you would finally go.” She refused to back away again, even
when he was standing over her and staring down intently. At least he was still
looking at her face. “I don’t know what you are running from, Nana. Sometimes,
I almost believe your story. Morelin certainly has a noblewoman’s manner about
her, at least. But you were never a lady’s maid. The last few days, I’ve half
expected to find the pair of you rolling on the ground tearing one another’s
hair.” He must have seen something on her face, because he cleared his throat
and hurried on. “The point is, I can find someone else for to be shot at. You
do scream so beautifully, anyone would think you were truly terrified, but—” He
cleared his throat again, even more hastily, and drew back. “What I am trying
to say is that I want you to stay. There’s a wide world out there, a thousand
towns waiting for a show like mine, and whatever is chasing you will never find
you with me. Someday Valan Luca’s show will be the greatest the world has ever
seen.”
“Stay? Why should I stay? I told you from the first we only wanted to reach
Valreis, and nothing has changed.”
“Why? Why, to have my children, of course.” He took one of her hands in both of
his. “Nana your eyes drink my soul, your lips inflame my heart, your shoulders
make my pulse race, your—”
She cut in hurriedly. “You want to marry me?” she said incredulously.
“Marry?” He blinked. “Well ... uh ... yes. Yes, of course.” His voice picked up
strength again, and he pressed her fingers to his lips. “We will be wed at the
first moment I can arrange it. I’ve never asked another woman to marry me.”
“I can quite believe it,” she said faintly. It took some effort to pull her
hand free. “I am sensible of the honour, Master Luca, but—”
“Valan, Nana. Valan.”
“But I must decline. I am betrothed to another.” Well, she was, in a way. Lan
Mandragoran might think his signet ring just a gift, but she saw it
differently. “And I am going.”
“I should bundle you up and carry you with me.” He gave his cape a
grandiloquent flourish as he drew himself up. “With time, you would forget the
fellow.”
“You try it, and I’ll make you wish you had been sliced for sausage.” That
barely deflated the fool man at all. She drove a finger hard against his chest.
“You do not know me, Valan Luca. You don’t know anything about me. My enemies,
the ones you dismiss so easily, would make you take off your skin and dance in
your bones, and you would be grateful if that was all they did. Now, I am
going, and I don’t have time to listen to your drivel. No, don’t say any more!
My mind is set, and you will not change it, so you might as well stop
blathering.”
Luca sighed heavily. “You are the only woman for me, Nana. Let other men choose
boring flutterers with their shy sighs. A man would know he had to walk through
fire and tame a lioness with his bare hands every time he approached you. Every
day an adventure, and every night ...” His smile almost earned him boxed ears.
“I will find you again, Nana, and you will choose me. I know it in here.”
Thumping his chest dramatically, he gave his cape an even more pretentious
swirl. “And you know it, too, my dearest Nana. In your fair heart, you do.”
Nynaeve did not know whether to shake her head or gape. Men were mad. All of
them. The one she wanted would have nothing to do with her because he claimed
to be married to death. The one she was sleeping with was damned and dying, and
lusted for the life and love he knew could never be his. And the only one who
wanted to marry her was, of all people, Valan bloody Luca!
Luca insisted on escorting her back to the wagon, holding her arm as if they
were at a ball. Wide eyed and shocked to silence, Nynaeve let him.
When they were finally ready to leave the show, Clarine came to say how sorry
she was that they were going, and she was not the only one to take a few
moments from the bustle of hitching horses and preparing for the day’s
performance.
Several of the dancers had private words to share with the armsmen. Jenny had
some for Areku too, and met the solemn shake of the armswoman’s head with a
bitter scowl that she tried and failed to make seem aloof. There was no sign of
Jameine, but Latelle appeared briefly, with words of regret for Han, smiles for
the women, and eyes that said she would carry their bundles if it saw them gone
any sooner. Koveera had an oddly stiff farewell for Elayne, and for Rand, while
Petra had a warmer one for Loial. Galina came too, if only to ask Rand where he
was going. Nynaeve suspected that one’s intentions were more than friendly—some
women were just too fond of younger men.
Leliana also made an appearance, but unlike the others the bard was all packed
up and leading her white horse. Her passage had been fully paid for now, she
said, and she was of a mind to resume her journey. And she’d much rather travel
in the company of friends than face the road alone; that was, if she was still
welcome among them. No-one objected.
Luca himself was the last, thrusting a handful of pitiful, winter-dwarfed
wildflowers at Nynaeve—the Light alone knew where he had found them—with
protestations of undying love, extravagant praises for her beauty, and dramatic
vows to find her again if he had to travel to the corners of the world. She was
not sure which made her cheeks grow hotter, but her frosty stare wiped the grin
from Ragan’s face and astonishment from Uno’s. Whatever the other men thought,
they had enough sense to keep their features smooth after that. Except for Rand
anyway, he avoided her eye like the others, but a concerned frown tightened his
brow. Lan stared straight ahead, as expressionless as ever, but she thought he
sat his horse more stiffly than usual. She could not make herself look at any
of the other women.
The worst was that she had to stand there and listen, wilted flowers drooping
over her hand, her face growing redder. Trying to send him away with a flea in
his ear would likely only have sparked him to greater efforts, and given the
others more fodder than they already had. She very nearly heaved a sigh of
relief when the idiot man finally bowed himself away in elaborate flourishes of
his cape.
She held on to the flowers, striding ahead of the others so she did not have to
see their faces and angrily jerking Muscles along by his reins, until she was
out of sight of the wagons. Then she threw the bedraggled blossoms down so
violently that the armoured Shienarans, riding in the vanguard, exchanged
glances. Nynaeve avoided looking at anyone as she mounted up. Especially not at
Lan or Rand.
Valan Luca was the source of her fury—humiliating her that way! She should have
thumped his head and the Dark One take what anyone thought!—but its target was
Lan Mandragoran. Lan had never given her flowers. And he hadn’t even once tried
to stop Luca from flirting with her so embarrassingly. Not that that was of any
account. She rode at the head of their column as they passed through Careas one
last time, almost wishing more of those Darkhounds would attack. She’d show
them some real Balefire if they did!
 
                                     * * *
 
Rand left Careas behind without a backward glance. His thoughts were troubled,
but that was almost always the case now. For what seemed like the hundredth
time he asked himself how he was supposed to go about fulfilling his supposed
destiny and defeating the Dark One, and for the hundredth time the bitterly
despairing answer bubbled up in him. He didn’t know. All he could do was ride
on, and hope to outrun the news and rumours about what had happened at Falme
before someone connected him to the tales and tried to kill him.
Brooding over his relationship with Nynaeve was a welcome distraction, despite
how troubled matters were between them. He wondered if Nynaeve had given Luca
any ... special reason to declare his intentions like that. He didn’t think it
likely. He couldn’t imagine Nynaeve with a man like Luca, but then he’d once
thought it a hopeless fantasy that she would ever look on him with the same
regard he’d always held her in, and look how that had changed.
The mere thought of her with Luca vexed him. He found himself feeling jealous,
something which might have been perfectly natural for someone else in his
position, but which Rand, on more careful consideration, felt a bit strange.
For one thing he had no right to expect Nynaeve not to see other people. She’d
given no indication that she saw him as anything more than a friend that she
sometimes made love to. It was Lan who held her eye still, despite everything.
And Rand certainly had no right to expect fidelity from her. He was sleeping
with any number of other women, and men, after all. His own father among them
even. As much as the thought of her with Luca rankled inside him, it would an
act of rank hypocrisy for him to complain to anyone about it.
He found another oddness to his tangled thoughts too. He had known for quite
some time that Nynaeve had feelings for Lan, and that the Warder had rejected
her advances. That had never troubled him, but somehow Luca did. Was it because
he admired and respected Lan far more than he did Luca? He couldn’t deny that
the secret thought had occurred over the past year that if Lan had taken him by
the arm and led him off somewhere private, Rand would not resist. Far from it.
Not that Lan had ever given him any indication that such a thing would ever
happen.
Rand tried to distract himself from such thoughts by wondering once again about
the news Perrin had brought him a while back. Morrigan was apparently bound for
a place called Tanservilla. A look through Luca’s maps had revealed that it was
a town here in Valreis, down south; dangerously close to the capital and the
potential attention that awaited him there. He twisted the ring on his finger
idly, wondering if he should seek her out. It would at least be a goal towards
which he could strive.
He didn’t bother asking Moiraine’s opinion of that. It was too easy to guess.
But when she had the covered wagon abandoned at the side of the road and
returned to the saddle of her white mare, he was quite happy to ride beside her
and press her for answers to his other questions. He almost didn’t mind how
elusive she was in her answers. Almost. Trying to pull some scraps of
information out of her was at least better than sitting there letting his
thoughts run around and around in futile circles. He tried to get something out
of Verin too, but that one was even less help than Moiraine. She barely got
half a sentence into an answer before going off on a rambling tangent about one
topic or another.
With the wagon and the circus left behind they made much better time down the
packed dirt roads of Valreis. He would have been glad of that if only he knew
where they were going. The cool winter air was refreshingly free of the smell
of animal dung too, something that Rand was far from the only one to heave a
sigh of relief over.
Rand’s relief did not last long. The next day they rode into a village called
Sidon that was all in ashes. Every building. Only a few stone walls and
chimneys still stood among the ruins.
Bedraggled townspeople said a lantern dropped in a barn had started it, and
then the fire seemed to run wild, and everything went wrong. Half the buckets
that could be found had holes in them. Every last burning wall had fallen
outward instead of in, setting houses to either side alight. Flaming timbers
from the inn had somehow tumbled as far as the main well in the square, so no-
one could draw more water from it to fight the fires, and houses had fallen
right on top of three other wells. Even the wind had seemed to shift, fanning
the flames in every direction.
Moiraine’s face, like cold iron, seemed accusing to Rand’s eyes. As did the sad
commiserations Leliana offered her fellow Valreio. The Pattern shaped itself
around him, and chance ran wild. I destroyed this place, all these people’s
homes. And I did it just by existing. He spent the rest of the day riding in
near-silence, only managing a few words in response to Min’s cheerful
questions. Miserable as his company must have been, she rarely ventured away
from his side that day. She talked about her visions more than was her usual
wont, and agreed with him readily when he told her it wasn’t her fault when the
futures she foresaw came true, and that the people who had blamed her were
fools.
“It’s not your fault either, sheepherder!” she finally said, throwing up her
hands in exasperation. “Blood and ashes, I didn’t think I was being subtle.”
“It’s not the same, Min,” he said quietly. “You just see what’s going to
happen. No-one could fairly blame you for that. I’m causing different things to
happen. If I wasn’t here ...”
She steered her horse close, put a hand on his forearm and gave it a squeeze.
When she spoke again, her voice was soft and kind. “It is too the same, Rand.
It’s the Pattern doing this. Neither of us can control it. No-one can. We just
have to find a way to live with it. I did, and you can too.” She smiled a bit
uncertainly. “Who knows? You might find there are some good things mixed in
with the unpleasant ones.”
Rand thought of Lews Therin Kinslayer then, and wondered if there could ever be
anything than would make what he had done to his family acceptable. He didn’t
say that to Min though. She was too nice for him to vent his bitterness on.
Besides, her company was comforting and he was loathe to drive her away.
Thankfully in the three villages after Sidon the biggest excitement anyone
could remember was seeing Loial ride in, and discovering that he was an Ogier,
for real and for true. They were so caught up with that, that they barely even
noticed Perrin’s eyes, and when they did ... Well, if Ogier were real, then men
could very well have any colour eyes at all.
Vara had cooking duties on the morning of Lamma Sor, though as it turned out
she was as ignorant of the event as Rand himself was. He was confused when Lan
and the Shienarans politely declined her breakfast in favour of bread and
water; Vara was a fine cook, and looked a bit put out by the reaction. It fell
to Hurin to explain matters. Lamma Sor was a feastday—if you could call it
that—only celebrated in the Borderlands. Sometimes called the Day of
Remembrance, it was a day of fasting and contemplation, in which one was
expected to take the time to remember all those who had fallen to the Shadow.
The solemn Borderlanders ate their spare breakfasts and saddled their horses
quietly. None of them seemed to expect the southlanders to take part, but Rand
wasn’t the only one who felt compelled to do so. Vara left her stew in the pot
for anyone who wanted some, but he noticed she didn’t claim a bowl for herself.
Tomas and the Aes Sedai did, along with Leliana, Elayne and Min, though as the
day wore on the latter two started to look a little guilty about that.
Rand thought of his own losses as he rode that day. Lem and Ban, old friends of
his childhood. He wondered what kind of men they would have grown into. His
neighbour, Jorge al’Tolan, who’d always been willing to lend a hand when there
was a particularly tough job that needed doing on the farm. Ewin Finngar,
barely more than a child, and so many other Emond’s Fielders, killed by
Trollocs on Winternight. Beautiful Egwene, so full of potential. Ingtar
Shinowa, who’d been his friend—his friend not matter what else he’d been. The
Shadow had killed him, even if it had been Seanchan hands that wielded the
swords. Sar, Chaena, Sakaru and Masuto, who’d sworn themselves to him, and who
he had owed more than he’d given.
Lan rode at the head of their column, and Nynaeve rode at his side, shooting
him the occasional glance. Rand had no doubt he noticed, but the last of the
Malkieri held his iron silence still.
“A whole nation,” Nynaeve said at last. “That’s a lot of people to remember.”
“Can you remember a people who died when you were an infant?” Lan said quietly.
“What of those that came before? The people of Rhamdashar, Elsalam and
Basharande are barely a memory now. Aramaelle and Jaramide before them even
less so. And before their rise and fall there was the Age of Legends. This war
has lasted a long time. It seems different in the south. Here they think of the
Trolloc Wars as a change from the norm. We of the border know it was just a
particularly heated battle in an eternal war.”
Silenced reigned for a while, before Nynaeve spoke again. “It can’t go on
forever. There has to be an end, and maybe this is it. That’s what I’ve heard
anyway.”
“Tarmon Gai’don. The Last Battle. The very name seems a contradiction to me.”
“Well it isn’t,” Nynaeve said passionately. “You’ll see. Everything is going to
change. Then you’ll see.”
Lan did not respond to that. But after a time be began to speak of the people
he’d known, and lost. He told her about the five Malkieri bodyguards who had
survived the flight out of that dying nation with the infant prince in their
care. They had taught him all he knew of his lost homeland, he said. All five
were long gone now, the last of them, a fellow named Bukama, having fallen at a
Darkfriend assassin’s hand almost two decades past. Nynaeve listened raptly to
his tale and Rand, feeling an intruder, slowed Red and let them pull ahead of
him.
Luci passed him by, with Heita riding silently at her side. The quiet girl’s
maintained her pace.
That evening they arrived at a village named Shansone, which was larger than
any settlement they’d seen since Careas. There were three inns, enough to fit
them all, even despite the other travellers passing through. Rand had Uno
divide the armsmen into three groups, enough to ensure that each of the three
groups would have a strong sword arm nearby in case of trouble. Uno himself led
the group that took rooms at The Fluffy Haven with Rand, Moiraine, Lan, Hurin,
Saeri and Leliana, while the others sought rooms elsewhere.
The innkeeper proved a lot less cuddly than the name of her inn had implied. A
hard, spare woman, Mistress Martine was mid-way through a spiel about them
needing to pay double the usual price, when she got a good look at Moiraine’s
face and suddenly swallowed her words. Rand held back and kept his hood well up
as the Aes Sedai and her Warder went to have a quiet word with the innkeeper.
He imagined the value of silence would be as much a part of their talk as the
soon-to-be-lower price of a bed for the night.
“Watch out for that puddle of ... whatever it is,” Leliana told Saeri as the
rest of them threaded their way through the crowds in the common room.
Rand hadn’t paid much heed to the dress of the folk in Careas. He’d been much
too preoccupied with the daring outfits his companions had been experimenting
with, but here he took a moment to look them over. The coats and trousers the
Valreio men wore all seemed to flare out towards the bottom. Their coats,
buttoned up the front and often embroidered, looked wider when they tapered off
at the knee than when they began at the shoulder, at least where the build of
the man wearing it allowed. Their trousers widened at the knee and flapped
almost as much as a woman’s skirt with each step. Colourful shirts seemed to
the fashion as well. He didn’t see many men in a simple white one like those
Rand favoured.
The women’s dresses were just as odd in Rand’s estimation. They were as high-
necked as Nynaeve could have wished, but the shoulders thrust out in a way that
he was sure had to involve sticks of some kind underneath the cloth. What
shoulder the men seemed intent on overshadowing with their flapping tails, the
women seemed intent on replacing with those awkward-looking poles. He saw more
than one woman bump her dress’ shoulders up against someone as they manoeuvred
through the crowd. It reminded him of the Cairhienin ladies he’d met last year,
only there it had been the lower part of the dress that stuck out instead of
the upper.
Fashion. It’s a weird thing. I think I’ll just stick with the coats I have.
They’re nice and simple.
Leliana hadn’t spoken to the innkeeper about trading her talents for room and
board, as Rand and Mat had used to. She simply took out her harp, propped
herself against an unoccupied table, and began to tune the instrument.
Expectant folk began to drift closer.
“I am reminded of a song sung to me some time ago,” she said, with a wan smile.
“It was ... when my mother died, and this wise woman comforted me and told me
that we shouldn’t fear death, or hate it. Death is just another beginning. One
day we must all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free. It’s
a beautiful sentiment I think, one that brings peace and hope to the grieving.”
Hurin, Uno and the others drifter closer too then, as surely she had known they
would.
Rand held back. He leaned against the plastered wall of the inn, and listened
to her song. Her high clear voice carried to the streets outside and several
people drifted in. Some seemed to recognise Leliana, and smiled at the sight as
much as at the music. They went to sit near her. Saeri did not. She came and
stood at Rand’s side, sadness in her eyes, and unobtrusively slipped her hand
into his. He squeezed it, and knew she would visit him again that night.
When Moiraine had finished setting Mistress Marine straight, Rand announced his
intention to retire early. He left Leliana and the others to their music and
their grief and let a slim Valreio serving man lead him to the room he’d been
assigned.
Saeri insisted on bringing him his supper of course. It took no more than a
word of thanks and a light brush of his fingers across her soft cheek to melt
the tears he’d seen lodged in her big blue eyes. He held her to his chest as
she hiccupped out descriptions of her parents Arioch and Lirana, and told of
the three older brothers, Calad, Tal and Taren, who’d teased her constantly,
and who she missed more than she ever thought she would. He held her to him
beneath the covers as well, as she shuddered against him, pink-cheeked, and
clinging to his body with her arms and legs. He still held her as he fell
asleep that night, her warm little body cuddled against his side, and her head
pillowed on his chest. Rand knew he should have sent her off to her own bed,
but he hadn’t the heart for it.
They woke to a chill morning. Rand steeled himself and clambered naked from the
bed as dawn’s light filtered through the unshuttered glass window. Saeri
watched him go, wide-eyed. As he fetched his maid’s discarded clothes from the
floor of the inn, she mumbled half-heartedly that that was her job, though the
way she clutched the warm covers up under her chin suggested she was less than
eager to attend to it. With a grin, he piled her dress and shift and other
things atop her, before going to fetch some clean underwear. She watched him
then too, grinning brightly as she pulled the clothes down under the covers and
fumbled her way back to decency.
Nangu and Izana were loitering in the hallway when Rand left. He hoped they had
gotten at least a little sleep that night. Uno usually had them sleep in
shifts, and Bartu, Nengar and Han were also staying at the Haven.
He hoped they would keep quiet about the girl who slipped out of the room
behind him too.
Reunited, they bundled up in their winter cloaks once more and left Shansone by
the southeast road. Rand asked Moiraine where they were going, and yet again
she told him that he would know what to do next because the Pattern would force
him to it. How exactly he was supposed to know when he was being forced she
couldn’t or wouldn’t say though.
Later that day they came to a little place named Wellay, which was in the midst
of a celebration. The spring on the village common was flowing again, after a
year of hauling water a mile from a stream when all efforts at digging wells
had failed and half the people had moved away. Wellay would not die after all.
Rand wondered if that was part of the ta’veren effect too. And why, if it was,
it didn’t fill him with satisfaction in the way that Sidon’s fate had filled
him with guilt.
Moiraine seemed to take it for a sign, because she called a halt early that day
and gathered them all together.
“My eyes and ears report rioting in Orlay and the surrounding regions,
spreading quickly, and heralded by rumours brought by ships that have visited
Falme since the Seanchan withdrew,” Moiraine said calmly. “Everyone fighting
everyone else. Villages burned. People fleeing in every direction. The term
‘Dragonsworn’ is already being used.”
Rand winced. The idea of people running riot through Valreis while claiming to
be acting in his name made him feel guilty, even though he’d never even met
them, much less ordered them to do it. Min would probably call him a loobie for
that. She might even be right to.
Moiraine was still talking. “Hunters have appeared in the midst of it all,
searching for the Horn of Valere. Apparently some of them were quite incensed
by the rumours they heard. Violently so.” Perrin wasn’t the only one to shift
his feet at that, or glance at Min’s suddenly pale face. Moiraine gave them all
a cool look before continuing. She did not like any of them to speak of the
Horn. Except when she chose to, of course. “I have heard different news, as
well. The Whitecloaks have perhaps five thousand men in Valreis.”
Uno grunted. “That’s flamin’—uh, pardon, Aes Sedai. That must be a quarter
their strength. They’ve never committed so much to one place before, not
outside of a war.”
“Then I suppose all those who declared for Rand are dead or scattered,” Perrin
muttered. “Or they soon will be.” Rand suspected it was thoughts of the
Children of the Light that left that scowl on his friend’s face, moreso than
the Dragonsworn. “If the Valreio army doesn’t deal with them, the Whitecloaks
certainly will.”
“They will deal with us in the same manner, should they manage to lay hands on
us,” Elayne added.
“That is what is odd,” Moiraine said. “Or the first part of it. The Children
have announced that their purpose is to bring peace, which is not unusual for
them. What is unusual is that they have not yet moved in any force against
those who have declared for the Dragon.”
Min gave an exclamation of surprise. “That doesn’t sound like any Whitecloaks I
ever heard of.”
“Oh, the Children have snapped up some of the Dragonsworn, where there were
only a handful gathered, and a Questioner was close by. But though they
proclaim they will bring down this ‘false Dragon’, though they have a thousand
men supposedly doing nothing but hunting him, they avoid contact with any party
of as many as fifty Dragonsworn. Not openly, you understand, but there is
always some delay, something that allows those they chase to slip away.”
“Then Rand can go to these people if he wants.” Loial blinked uncertainly at
the Aes Sedai. “The Wheel weaves a way for him.”
Uno and Lan opened their mouths at the same time, but the Shienaran gave way
with a small bow. “More likely,” the Warder said, “it is some Whitecloak plot,
though the Light burn me if I can see what it is. But when the Whitecloaks give
me a gift, I search for the poisoned needle hidden in it.” Uno nodded grimly.
“Besides which,” Lan added, “the Valreio at least are still going to be intent
on killing the Dragonsworn, and we don’t want to cross them unless we have to.”
“It’s probably a trap,” said Rand. “They leave the Dragonsworn alone for now,
but if I join any one group then they’ll be on them like a duck on a beetle.”
Moiraine was watching him carefully. She nodded to herself. “East then,” she
announced. “To the Black Hills, and beyond.” Rand frowned, recalling the maps
he’d seen. East of the Black Hills was Tar Valon. And he had no intention of
ever going near that place. He narrowed his eyes at Moiraine and she stared
back at him, as beautiful, as calm, and as cold as an ice sculpture. It wasn’t
the winter air that made him shiver.
 
                                     * * *
 
After Wellay three more untouched villages had followed in quick succession,
all in one day. They in turn were followed by Samaha, where every well in town
had gone dry just the night before, and people were muttering about the Dark
One. Then it was Talune, where all the old arguments the village had ever known
had bubbled to the surface like overflowing cesspits a morning earlier, and it
had taken three murders to shock everyone back to his senses. After that was
Foile, where the Mayor, digging a new privy behind his house, had found rotted
leather sacks full of gold. No-one in Foile recognized the fat coins, with a
woman’s face on one side and a crown on the other; Verin said they had been
minted in Oman Dashar.
Perrin had borne silent witness to all these bizarre warpings of chance, but
they troubled him nonetheless. He finally worked up the nerve to ask Moiraine
about it, as they sat around a campfire one night, long after Rand had gone to
bed.
“After Jerra, I thought ... They were all so happy, with their weddings. Even
the Whitecloaks were only made to look like fools. Foile was all right, but all
this other ... That town burning, and the wells failing, and ... That is evil,
Moiraine. I can’t believe Rand is evil. The Pattern may be shaping itself
around him, but how can the Pattern be that evil? It makes no sense, and things
have to make sense. If you make a tool with no sense to it, it’s wasted metal.
The Pattern wouldn’t make waste.”
Lan gave him a wry look, and vanished into the darkness to make a circuit
around their campsite. Loial, already stretched out in his blankets, lifted his
head to listen, ears pricking forward.
Moiraine was silent for a time, warming her hands. Finally she spoke while
staring into the flames. “The Creator is good, Perrin. The Father of Lies is
evil. The Pattern of Ages, the Age Lace itself, is neither. The Pattern is what
is. The Wheel of Time weaves all lives into the Pattern, all actions. A pattern
that is all one colour is no pattern. For the Pattern of an Age, good and ill
are the warp and the woof.”
Even riding through afternoon sunshine a day later, Perrin felt the chill he
had had on first hearing her say those words. He wanted to believe the Pattern
was good. He wanted to believe that when men did evil things, they were going
against the Pattern, distorting it. To him the Pattern was a fine and intricate
creation made by a master smith. That it mixed pot metal and worse in with good
steel with never a care was a cold thought.
“I care,” he muttered softly. “Light, I do care.” Moiraine glanced back at him,
and he fell silent. He wasn’t sure what the Aes Sedai cared about, beyond Rand.
Vara and Leliana looked as troubled as Perrin felt, but others were remarkably
indifferent to the things they had heard these past days. Min, Loial and the
Shienarans simply accepted it as the way things were, and Elayne seemed more
interested in the news Moiraine had brought than signs of reality itself being
rearranged all around them.
“I’m surprised Queen Selene would let so many of the Children across her
borders,” he heard her saying to Min one day. “She is not reputed to be so
soft.” Perrin scratched his cheek, and decided not to mention the two thousand
or so Whitecloaks he’d seen freely traipsing through Andor last year. Maybe it
was the difference in numbers that Elayne thought justified that arch look. Two
thousand or five, the trouble they caused was much the same to Perrin’s mind.
The road they followed had arched close to the River Haevindrelle by then and
most of their talk turned to the city ahead. Fontaine. It was the second-
largest in Valreis, after the capital, and Moiraine said they would find a ship
there that could take them upriver. She called a halt early, and sent Lan
galloping ahead down the road to Fontaine. She didn’t tell anyone where he was
going, not even Rand, judging by the frustrated scowl that he wore when he left
her company.
Perrin was helping Min unsaddled her horse when he saw Rand turn and disappear
into the trees. “He has been arguing with Moiraine again,” Min said quietly.
“All day, this time.”
Perrin was not surprised, yet he still felt a small shock. Arguing with an Aes
Sedai. All the childhood tales came back to him. Aes Sedai, who made thrones
and nations dance to their hidden strings. Aes Sedai, whose gift always had a
hook in it, whose price was always smaller than you could believe, yet always
turned out to be greater than you could imagine. Aes Sedai, whose anger could
break the ground and summon lightning. Some of the stories were untrue, he knew
now. And at the same time, they did not tell the half.
“I had better go to him,” he said. “After they argue, he always needs someone
to talk to.” He helped Min with her work first though. Perrin hated leaving a
job half-done.
Rand stood not far from the roadside, leaning against the rough trunk of a
leatherleaf, staring at the palms of his hands. He didn’t look up when Perrin
spoke.
“I understand you were arguing with Moiraine again.”
Rand drew a deep, ragged breath. “Dragonsworn and Whitecloaks and Valreio, all
ready to fight each other. But I’m supposed to just ride on and leave them to
it, she says. Ride where, and to do what, she won’t say. But I think I can
guess. And that’s not going to happen. Light, people are dying, and I’m doing
nothing about it.”
“You think I like it?” Perrin swung his head in irritation.
“You take whatever she says to you,” Rand grated. “You never stand up to her.”
“Much good it has done you, standing up to her. You have argued all winter, and
what’s changed?”
“Because she is right.” Rand laughed again, and it was a strangely chilling
sound. “The Light burn me, she is right. Even if these Dragonsworn are genuine,
and not just bandits under a different name, I’d still likely end up dead if I
went to them. At best I’d start a war, and I’m not sure even the Horn would be
able to stop it this time.”
Perrin almost laughed himself, in confusion. “If you agree with her, why in the
Light do you argue all the time?”
“Because I have to do something. Or I’ll ... I’ll—burst like a rotted melon!”
“Do what? If you listen to what she says—”
“Moiraine says! Moiraine says!” Rand jerked erect, squeezing his head between
his hands. “Moiraine has something to say about everything! Moiraine says I
mustn’t go to the men who are dying in my name. Moiraine says I’ll know what to
do next because the Pattern will force me to it. Moiraine says! But she never
says how I’ll know. Oh, no! She doesn’t know that.” His hands fell to his
sides, and he turned toward Perrin, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “Sometimes I
feel as if Moiraine is putting me through my paces like a fancy Tairen stallion
doing his steps. Do you ever feel that?”
Perrin scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. “I ... Whatever is pushing us,
or pulling us, I know who the enemy is, Rand.”
“The Dark One,” Rand said softly. “And I must face him, Perrin. But how?”
Perrin shifted his feet. He had no answer for Rand. And the question itself was
more than troubling. If even the Dragon Reborn didn’t know how to stop the Dark
One, then what chance had they?
***** A House of Repute *****
CHAPTER 41: A House of Repute
 
With Moiraine continuing to be as tight with information as a Coplin with her
coin purse, Rand decided to seek out Leliana again. At least she would talk to
him, even if she never seemed to know more than generalities. She was much more
pleasant company too.
“Something I can help with?” Leliana said when he approached her fire.
“I hope so. I’d like to know more about what I’m getting into here. Who is in
charge of Fontaine? Are they likely to be dangerous to us?”
Leliana gave him an apologetic smile. “It is hard to say. I have not been back
here for a long time. Command has likely changed hands many times over by now.
In Valreis there is much rivalry among the high-born. They fight over land,
influence and the favour of the Riela. But they cannot do this openly because
it is impolite, and in public they always wear smiling faces and pretend to be
civil. In secret they plot and scheme to destroy each other. It is a game
completely meaningless to anyone but its players.”
Rand nodded, and sighed. “Daes Dae’mar. I’ve seen some of that sort of thing
before.”
“It is safer not to get involved, in my opinion. But sometimes that is
impossible, no? We shall see when we reach the city.”
“What do you know about the Whitecloaks here? How much authority do they have?
If they wanted to arrest someone, for example, would they be allowed to, or
would the guards fight them?”
Leliana shook her head glumly. “The Whitecloaks have never had much presence
here at all, until recently. I do not know why this changed, or how deeply
their hooks have sunk. Valreis was always loyal to Tar Valon, but when the
Amyrlin took Andor’s side in the recent war, and forbade Riela Remille from
expanding her borders to the Erinin ... Well. The love my people bear the White
Tower is not so passionate as it once was, you understand. Whether the Faithful
Sons would fight the Whitecloaks or join with them against us, I could not
guess.”
The Faithful Sons were Valreis’ equivalent of the Andoran Queen’s Guards, he
already knew. He sighed again. “I guess we just have to hope we can pass
through unnoticed.”
Leliana patted his arm and smiled prettily. “Do not be so worried, my friend. I
have been gone from here for quite some time, but perhaps I still have friends
in the city. Tomorrow I will seek them out, and then we may find our answers
together, no?”
“Hopefully.” Answers were in short supply; if she could find some for these
minor concerns he’d be glad, though the larger ones remained.
Leliana was looking up at the starlit sky. She didn’t seem to realise how close
she was standing, but Rand couldn’t help but be aware of it. “I enjoy the
nights at camp,” she said wistfully. “The night always feels more peaceful to
me. Safer.”
Rand had liked the nights once too, and for the same reasons. Not anymore
though, not since that fateful Winternight. “I know what you mean,” he said
quietly.
“I feel the night grants us a reprieve from the troubles of the day. Silly,
isn’t it? The Shadowspawn revel in the darkness.”
“That’s true. More’s the pity,” he sighed. “It’s late. I’m going to bed.”
“To drift off in peace and safety, that is a sweet thing too,” she said, before
heading to her own tent.
They kept their hoods well up when they approached the tall white walls of
Fontaine the next day. Rand and the Shienarans had left off their armour, and
everyone was dressed as cleanly and tidily as they could be, but their party
still attracted scrutiny from the armoured guards in their checked, blue-and-
green surcoats. An officer with the faceplate of his helmet forged to resemble
a man’s blank face, stepped forward and held out his hand for them to halt.
“What is your business in Fontaine, travellers?”
“It is merely a stop on our road, Lieutenant,” said Moiraine. “My attendants
and I are bound east. As soon as we have rested and replenished ourselves we
will hire a ship to speed us on our way upriver. I assure you, we will cause no
trouble.”
“I have no doubt of that, my Lady. But you may have to wait longer than you had
planned. The docks are closed for now. Some trouble with rioters.”
“Who ordered this?”
The guard’s helmet made his loud snort sound odd. “My Captain. As to who gave
him his orders, that’s not for the likes of me to know. Move along.”
The topknotted Shienarans drew stares as they passed beneath the arched gateway
into the city, more so than Loial. That surprised Rand, but when he mentioned
it Loial only smiled.
“Stedding Taishin is just across the river from here. And Leitiang, Shamendar
and Tsochan are not far upriver of it. The sight of an Ogier will not be as
uncommon to these humans as it has been to so many of the others.” He sounded a
bit relieved about that.
Moiraine and Verin put their heads together and spoke quietly as they rode
through the broad, paved and orderly streets of the city. Fontaine was a
prosperous-looking place. Most of the buildings were of two stories, and many
even rose to three; they were almost all brightly painted too, in reds and
blues, greens and yellows. The trees and gardens they passed were mostly
leafless at this time of year, but a few evergreens still added their colours
to the mix. Perrin took in none of it. He rode with his eyes firmly fixed on
the pommel of his saddle.
The sign outside the inn the Aes Sedai led them to named it as The Twelve
Peers. The rotund innkeeper gave her name as Rolanda and claimed to be glad of
the custom of such respectable-looking women in these troubled times. Rand
listened in as the Aes Sedai drew rumours out of the woman, rumours of bandits
and rioters proclaiming themselves followers of the Dragon Reborn all
throughout Valreis. Some were even doing it here in Fontaine, Rolanda said with
a disdainful shake of her dark curls. The inn proved large enough to house them
all, and Moiraine cautioned them to stay within its walls before she and Verin
led their Warders back out into the city, taking Hurin with them.
Perrin might have been happy enough to withdraw to his room, but Rand remained
in the common room, scowling to himself. Before she left, Moiraine had made a
point of telling him not to get above himself, and to trust that she knew best.
It irritated him.
Leliana waited until Moiraine was well gone before approaching the table Rand
sat at. Uno, Nangu and Izana shared the table with him, and she smiled at them
all before leaning in and lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“When the cat is away, the mice will play. I’m going to go call on those
friends I mentioned earlier, Rand. Would you like to join me?”
“I think I would,” he said, rising. Uno looked as if he wanted to say
something, but if he had objections he decided to swallow them. He and the
other two armsmen stood up.
Leliana waggled her fingers at them. “There’s no need for everyone to come, we
won’t be going far.”
“The—ah, Lord Rand should never be left without protection,” Izana said, and
the others nodded. Rand would have been happy enough to go by himself—it was
irritating being followed all the time—but he well recalled the lectures Elayne
had given him, and held his tongue. Leliana shrugged easily, and they left
together.
As they headed for the door, Saeri, who had been loitering near Rand as she
often did, hurried over and attached herself to the group. She looked at Rand
warily, as though expecting him to tell her off, but he didn’t. There was no
harm in her tagging along, and she likely wanted to see more of the city. It
was probably the biggest one she’d ever visited. On seeing that Saeri was
leaving with them, Vara too hastened over, pulling her cloak over her shoulders
as she went.
They attracted a few stares as they walked the streets of Fontaine. Leliana
wore a pale red dress, well cut and embroidered in gold thread along the hem
and high-necked bodice. Saeri and Vara dressed much more plainly, in grey and
white, with only a bit of dark fur at the cuffs. Rand had his black and silver
coat on, and the Shienarans wore plain but serviceable brown. They all had
their swords with them of course, as did Rand. It occurred to him that he and
Leliana might have been mistaken for a lord and lady out for a walk, with their
retainers in tow. The thought wasn’t at all unpleasant, and it would explain
the stares.
Leliana chatted as they walked, and pointed out various shops.
One of them had the most colourful collection of sweets Rand had ever seen
displayed in its glass windows. He couldn’t help but stare. “I bought a
confection of spun sugar there once,” Leliana said, grinning. “It got stuck in
my hair. Made it hard to comb out but it was very tasty for a few days.”
It wasn’t the sweets that caught her attention though, but a cobbler’s shop
they passed several streets beyond. “Do you think they sell silk ribbons at
that store?” she asked, straining her neck to look back. “I've been meaning to
spruce up my boots for the longest time.”
Rand disavowed all knowledge of such things, and as it turned out it was a very
different kind of shop she was leading them to. Under her guidance they turned
down a narrow side street, one that was so discreetly placed between a
seamstress’ and a knife-maker’s that Rand would have walked by without even
noticing it. This shop had a pair of heavy-shouldered men loitering on either
side of the door, and an unlit lantern hung near the sign outside, its glass
panels stained red. Flowers were painted on the walls of the building, and the
sign read: The Flowers of Passion.
“No weapons,” said one of the doormen when Rand and the others drew near, “no
trouble.”
His armsmen stiffened, but it was Rand who spoke. “The last part’s not a
problem. Trouble’s the last thing I want. But we’re keeping the swords.”
They were outnumbered, and sensible enough to realise they’d likely have been
outmatched against even one of the Shienarans, but while the doormen kept their
hands well away from their cudgels, they didn’t back down. “Can’t go in then.”
Rand shrugged easily. “Fine by me. Leliana? What are you here for?”
“Nothing! I’m just meeting a friend who works here,” she said, sounding oddly
defensive. “It is a reputable establishment though. You would be quite safe if
you wish to come with me.”
“That’s alright. I’ll wait here. Just don’t be too long, please.”
“Honestly, it is just a meeting,” she insisted.
Rand stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Ookaay,” he said, drawing out the word.
“I don’t have a sword,” Saeri piped. “Can I come?”
“No!” Vara and Leliana said loudly, in chorus. Saeri subsided, looking
confused.
After a flustered-looking Leliana had been admitted to the shop, Rand went to
lean against one of the walls of the alley. Through the window he could see a
richly-appointed common room, with various men lounging about on cushioned
benches, but no sign of what sort of wares they were selling. The men were all
prosperous, if their clothes were anything to go by, though most of them
appeared to be quite young. The room must have been warm too, because they’d
left their coats off and shirts unlaced despite the season. Leliana was off in
a corner, speaking to the oldest of the men—a yellow-haired fellow whose lined
face could not conceal how handsome he had been in his youth, and some would
say still was.
There was no denying how handsome the youth who sauntered down the alleyway
towards them was either. His shirt was of a near-golden shade of yellow, and
the bright red breeches he wore flared at the bottom like that of most Valreio
men, but looked almost uncomfortably tight about the waist. Which was not to
say that he was fat by any means. Slender, with olive skin, dark eyes and curly
black hair that fell to his shoulders, he drew stares from most of those
loitering outside the shop.
He smiled as he approached; it was a gentle, friendly smile, but Rand thought
he saw wariness in the fellow’s eyes. He stopped in front of Rand and pursed
his lips consideringly. The man never looked directly at him, but Rand had the
feeling he was being studied.
“It is not like Mistress Scagelly to leave a client out in the street,” he said
at last. “Are you here for some other reason, my Lord?”
Rand sighed and shook his head. “I’m not a lord.”
“Ah. Well you’ve come to the right place then,” he said, facing Rand directly
now. “With that face I expect you’ll be very popular here, and the red hair
does add a certain exotic fire. You might want to consider letting some of the
muscle fade though. Most of the women who visit us tend to prefer a more boyish
body type. The men even more so. I’m Inaro, by the way. A pleasure.”
Rand blinked rapidly, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. “Ah, thanks. I-
I’m Rand,” he said, giving his real name before it occurred to him to use an
alias.
“You’ll find that Mistress Scagelly takes good care of her boys, so long as
they are well-behaved. She supplies all the tinctures necessary should you ever
have difficulty performing too, and independent of your cut of the fee. Have
you been whoring long, Rand?”
“Wh-what did—? How, how dare—the Lo-, I-I mean—” sputtered Nangu. He went on,
unable to get a full word out, and looking as though he was on the verge of
apoplexy.
Izana’s fair cheeks had turned a bright red, and Rand was sure his own couldn’t
be far behind.
“What’s whoring?” asked Saeri innocently.
Rand might have said the same. He’d never heard the term before, but from what
Inaro had been saying, and what he’d seen inside The Flowers of Passion, he had
a dark suspicion.
“It’s a job that some young men do,” Vara explained. “Usually one’s who can’t
find work elsewhere.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Though I suppose
some probably like it. I’ve even heard stories of some women whores, but that
seems ridiculous. Why would they do such a thing?”
“What kind of job is it?” said Saeri.
“Never you mind, girl,” Vara said, in a forbidding tone.
Izana shifted his feet, arms folded tight across his narrow chest. Nangu was
still sputtering, and Uno wore a villainous grin. Rand was all-but certain of
his suspicion by then.
Inaro had grown wary again. Rand refused to let himself be offended. It had
been an honest mistake. “Thanks for the offer, but no thanks,” he said stiffly.
“My father owns his own land, and I’m an only child, so ... We’re fine.”
The, ah, the whore smiled wanly. “That must be nice. Most aren’t so fortunate.”
Inaro took his leave, strolling unchallenged through the doors of the shop, his
too-tight breeches clinging to the cheeks of his backside in a way reminiscent
of the costumes Elayne and Min had worn back in the circus.
Rand stood silently, trying to will his colour back to normal. He knew what
Inaro had said was true with regards to most places in Valgarda. Even in the
Theren a man like Tam owning his own property was a rarity. Most of the land
was owned by women, along with the most prosperous businesses. And of course,
all the rulers and Aes Sedai were female. It was only natural. Men had broken
the world, and women had put it back together again; of course they should own
everything. But of the jobs traditionally available mostly to men, he’d never
imagined there was one like that!
Izana was looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “He should not have said
those things. Did he offend you, my Lord?”
Rand frowned to himself. “A little,” he muttered after a moment. The idea of
selling his body like that, of having sex with strangers for coin, was
disgusting to him. But he’d done a lot of things in the past year that would
once have been appalled him. “They’ll call me a lot worse than that though,
before all this is done,” he added, almost under his breath. Izana looked at
him sympathetically.
When Leliana emerged from The Flowers of Passion half a dozen pairs of eyes
fastened on her. Well, if you included Uno’s painted red one at least. “Just a
meeting,” she reminded them.
“’Tis only a meeting with her whore,” Saeri confirmed helpfully.
Leliana flushed. “Light! How many times must I explain? Do you think I would be
so indiscreet as to bring you all here were it otherwise? Honestly!” She made
quicker pace up the alley than she had when they came down it, shaking her head
all the while.
Rand and the others hastened to catch up. When he reached the mouth of the
alley, he found the bard muttering angrily to herself. “I deserve a treat for
all of this trouble. I will be done with these monstrous boots at last, I swear
it now.” She stalked back in the direction of the cobbler’s they had passed
earlier.
He wanted to ask her some questions but she didn’t give him the chance. When
they arrived, he hesitated to follow her into the cobbler’s shop—watching
someone get fitted for shoes was not exactly an exciting prospect—but Leliana
didn’t seem interested in whether he came or not. Vara and Saeri were happy
enough to follow her, leaving Rand and the others to once more loiter outside
in the winter streets.
Abruptly he recalled all those husbands he’d seen stumping along after their
wives when the peddlers came to visit Emond’s Field. The men had almost always
looked like they wanted to be somewhere else. Rand could sympathise now. Light!
I am not going to spend my day propping up the front wall of every shop in this
city. She better not have any more stops in mind, or I’ll ... He didn’t know
what he’d do. Leliana was perfectly capable of looking after herself, and knew
this city much better than he did ... but it still seemed wrong to just stalk
off and leave her behind.
Rand propped up his wall for what felt like a long time, watching the people
walk by and listening idly to the snippets of conversation that drifted out of
the shop. Leliana wanted to get a custom fitting, and she and the woman who
owned the shop went into the back room to discuss it. When she emerged she
caught sight of some apparently “cute as a button” slippers, and changed her
mind about the fitting. She wanted to know if they would fit her, and was loud
in her pleasure when it emerged that they did. When she finally returned to the
street she seemed to be in a much better mood.
She wasn’t the only one either. Saeri seemed to have enjoyed the visit, though
Rand could not begin to imagine why. “I like your shoes,” she told Leliana,
smiling shyly.
Leliana smiled back at her. “Oh? You ... like shoes, do you?”
Saeri shrugged. “I never really thought about it before. I just wore whatever
my mother gave me. But yours are really pretty.”
“Hmm. Perhaps we should get you a nice pair. Or better yet—several nice pairs!
I could see some nice, open-topped shoes, with ribbons at the ankles. Oh yes,
that could be done! Perhaps we could get the cobbler to measure your feet and
place an order. Let’s give it a try! What colour would you want?”
“Is the colour important?”
Leliana nodded vigorously. “In fact, the colour is very important. That, and
picking a shape that makes your ankles look slender ... and you could use some
help there, I fear.”
Saeri’s mouth fell open. “I ... have thick ankles?” she said, sounding hurt.
Leliana brushed the girl’s hair comfortingly. “It's alright. I don't like my
thighs. What's important is working with what you have.”
“Oh. Very well. Hmm,” she glanced shyly at Rand. “I think ... I wish my shoes
to be red, with little yellow parts.”
Vara wasn’t pleased by the girl’s new interests, if her frown was anything to
go by.
Leliana was. “Ooh! Bold choice,” she crowed. “We'll have to remember that.” She
flicked a glance of her own Rand’s way, much less shy, though a touch
regretful. “I think we should leave this for another time though.”
Rand was grateful for that. “Did your friend have any insights into our
situation?” he asked her, as they set off once more.
The smile Leliana gave him as they left the cobbler’s was still tinged with
regret, but her voice was clear. “He did. The Whitecloaks and the Valreio army
are not officially aligned, but are keeping out of each other’s way as per the
orders of their superiors. What can be made of that I am unsure. And ...
perhaps this has nothing to do with the rest, but he was famed here and no
friend to the Children of the Light, so perhaps it does too. Nicol Voucet je
Orlay, the Riela’s Treasurer, was found dead in his bed a few weeks past. Some
assistant of his, an old lady named Sarah has taken his position. That’s the
bad news. But the good news is good indeed. House Hartile currently holds the
governorship of Fontaine. And it just so happens that the High Seat of that
House, Lady Julia, is an old acquaintance of mine. I have sung for her many
times, at gatherings both public and private. Access to the docks is hers to
give, and I am sure I can arrange a meeting for you.”
Rand nodded. “That sounds promising. But let’s go see what Moiraine and Verin
have managed to arrange first.”
It turned out they hadn’t managed to arranged much at all. Rand still thought
it was finding him gone from the inn at their return, rather than failure to
budge the dockmasters, that thinned Moiraine’s lips so. He interrupted her calm
detailing of his foolishness by telling her about Leliana’s offer, and tried
not to glare too obviously when she took the bard aside to get the details out
of her somewhere Rand couldn’t hear.
Irritated, he decided to eat in his room. As usual, Saeri volunteered to bring
him his food, but this time Vara decided to help. The innkeeper had put Rand in
one of those rooms intended for nobles, with a second, smaller bedchamber built
inside it, separated only by a narrow door and intended for a servant. Light
forbid a lord or lady have to dress themselves, he thought scornfully.
After depositing his tray on the table, Saeri looked at the little doorway,
then turned to Rand. “Should I sleep in there, since I’m thy maid?”
“Absolutely not!” Vara snapped. She narrowed her eyes at Rand when he remained
silent. “There ... I heard a rumour that ...” Taking a deep breath, she faced
him squarely. “Why didn’t Saeri sleep in her own bed, back in Shansone?”
“You’d need to ask her that,” Rand said calmly.
“I slept where I wanted to sleep, Vara,” Saeri said. She sounded calm too, but
there was a sudden wariness in her eyes.
The greying woman stared at Rand. “Did you ... touch her?” He didn’t respond.
Discretion, after all. But Saeri blushed pink, and the colour she gained seemed
to be drained from Vara’s face. “Light! You did ... How could you!? She’s only
a child!”
“I am not!” Saeri objected, but Vara ignored her.
Rand looked into Vara’s eyes and shrugged. “I like her, she’s cute and she’s
sweet. And she wanted to sleep with me. Why would I stop her?”
“Because she’s a child!” Vara yelled. “What’s wrong with you!?”
It wouldn’t really be a betrayal if he named no names, Rand decided. “I was
younger my first time,” he explained. “And I took no harm from it. I don’t see
what you’re upset about, Vara.”
She stared at him, shaking her head slowly. “You’re mad ... But I suppose that
was inevitable. I don’t know why I ...” She grimaced, then let out a sad sigh,
but her eyes were still hard. “You saved us from the Trollocs, and you defended
Falmerden from them too. And I believe you really are what you claim to be, but
this? This is unforgivable. I’m leaving, and I’m taking the girls with me. They
aren’t safe around you.”
“That’s not true,” said Saeri angrily. “I feel safer with Rand than I do
anywhere else.”
Vara made a visible effort to calm herself. “You don’t know what you’re talking
about, Saeri. You’re too young to know better. Trust me, this is for the best.”
“No it isn’t! We’re much better off here than we were in Nethara. You’d be
better here too, Vara. Don’t go.”
Vara ignored her, and faced Rand once more. “Are you going to stop us leaving?”
She seemed in no doubt that he could, but the fact that she thought he might
was offensive to him.
“I’ve never tried to keep any of you here against your will, Vara. If you want
to leave, that’s fine. Fontaine seems a nice place. You should be safe here. I
wouldn’t tell Moiraine though, if I were you. And if you do leave you should
lay low and keep quiet about us until we’ve moved on. She can be pretty
ruthless where secrecy is concerned.”
“And if I tell the others about what you’ve done? How ruthless will you be?”
First she implies I’d keep her prisoner, now she implies I’d murder a woman.
Rand scowled. Vara was outraged over things he considered normal, but threw out
insults as though she didn’t even realise how offensive they were.
“I was taught to always keep such things private,” he said stiffly. “But if you
want to talk about them in public I suppose that’s your right.”
Vara stared at him as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, as
though he was barely recognisable as a human. “How did you end up like this?
Who did this to you?” she whispered.
Rand held his silence.
Vara sighed and held out her hand to Saeri. “Come along child, we’re leaving.
I’m sure I can find work in a city this big. I’ll take care of you under your
old enough to get your own job.”
Saeri crossed her arms defiantly. “I’m not going with you. I have a job. I’m
the Lord Dragon’s maid, just like you. You should stay with us.”
Vara became stern. “Girl! Do not make me drag you.”
Rand frowned at that. “I’ve never forced Saeri to do anything she didn’t want
to do. And no-one else will either. Not ever again.”
“I won’t leave him,” Saeri added.
Faced with their united front, Vara wilted slowly, the lines on her weary face
becoming more pronounced. Rand felt a bit guilty about that. She was a nice
woman, and to say she’d had a hard winter would be to put it more than lightly.
“You’re welcome to stay too,” he said. “You were very helpful in the battle at
Tarcain Cut, and—”
“You are mad!” Vara snapped. “Mad and twisted.” She spun on her heel and
marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.
After a while, Saeri spoke again. “That ‘twas strange. She’s usually so polite.
Why wouldst she say such mean things?” Rand was sure the look on consternation
on her face must be mirrored on his own.
***** Meetings in Fontaine *****
CHAPTER 42: Meetings in Fontaine
 
Nynaeve finished her breakfast well before Elayne. The way the girl took her
time quartering a pear, you would think they had all morning to sit at table.
Min lounged beside her, looking sleepy, her food only half-eaten, but it was to
Anna Nynaeve spoke.
“What exactly did Vara say when she left?” she asked. She kept her voice low.
Aside from the other, normal, patrons there was a sprinkling of pale cloaks
among the folk hunched over their plates in The Twelve Peers, mostly on older
men, all with officers’ rank, and looking more intent on their food than on
causing trouble. But they were still Whitecloaks.
She had to lean in to hear Anna’s whisper. “I couldn’t hear it all. Something
about Rand being mad and dangerous. She wanted Luci to go with her, but she
refused.”
“Well that’s hardly news,” Nynaeve muttered. “Mad and dangerous sums up every
male channeler. And most other males for that matter. Why did she wait until
now to get some distance? I’m going to go talk to her. Does anyone know where
she went?”
Anna shrugged. “I didn’t follow her out of the inn.”
Suddenly Elayne’s eyes went wide with shock, and the short knife clattered to
the table. Nynaeve’s head whipped around to find a man taking a seat on the
other side of their table.
“I thought it was you, Elayne, but I could scarcely believe it. How did you
come to be in Valreis of all places?”
Nynaeve stared at Galad, Elayne’s half-brother. Stared was the word, of course.
Tall and steely slender, dark of hair and eye, he was the most handsome man she
had ever seen. Handsome was not enough; he was gorgeous. She had seen women
cluster around him in the Tower, even Aes Sedai, all of them smiling like
fools. She wiped the smile from her own face. But she could do nothing about
her racing heart, nor make herself breathe properly. She did not feel anything
for him; it was just that he was beautiful. Take hold of yourself, woman!
Anna’s mouth hung open and she stared frog-eyed at the sudden intruder. Nynaeve
hoped her own expression looked nothing like that. Min didn’t stare, she just
cursed softly.
“What are you doing here?” Nynaeve said, and was pleased that she did not sound
strangled. It was not fair for a man to look like that.
“And what are you doing wearing that?” Elayne’s voice was low, but it still
held a snap. Nynaeve blinked, and realized he wore a shirt of shining mail and
a white cloak with two golden knots of rank beneath a flaring sun. She felt
colour rising in her cheeks. Staring at a man’s face so hard that she had not
even seen what he was wearing! She wanted to hide her own face from
humiliation.
He smiled, and Nynaeve had to take a deep breath. “I am here because Senior-
Lieutenant Valda was recalled from the east to reinforce Lord’s Captain Trom
and Benett in Valreis. And I am a Child of the Light because it seemed the
right thing to do. Elayne when you and your friends vanished, it did not take
long for Gawyn and me to find out that you were not doing penance on a farm,
whatever we were told. They had no right to endanger you so; when they removed
you from Mother’s custody they accepted responsibility for your wellbeing.
Sending you off unchaperoned like this was negligence at best, criminal at
worst. And the lengths they went to to hide their shame only makes it worse.”
“That is none of your affair,” Elayne said firmly.
“But it is my affair, sister,” he responded. “Your safety is very much my
affair.” He looked at Nynaeve, and she felt her heart jump. “The safety of all
of you is very important to me.”
“You seem to have attained rank very quickly,” Nynaeve said. Did the fool man
not realize that talking of Aes Sedai in front of those Whitecloaks was a good
way to get them both killed?
“Eamon Valda seemed to think my experience warranted it, wherever gained.” His
shrug dismissed rank as unimportant. It was not modesty, precisely, but not
pretence either. The finest swordsman among those who came to study with the
Warders in the Tower, he had also stood high in the classes on strategy and
tactics, but Nynaeve could not remember him boasting about his prowess, even in
jest. Accomplishments meant nothing to him, perhaps because they came so
easily.
“Does Mother know of this?” Elayne demanded, still in that quiet voice. Her
scowl would have frightened a wild boar, though.
Galad shifted just a hair, uneasily. “There has been no good time to write her.
But do not be so sure she will disapprove, Elayne. She is not so friendly with
the north as she was. A messenger was sent to collect your letters when none
arrived in Caemlyn as expected, but he left again empty handed. I hear a ban
may be made law.”
Elayne’s glare had transformed to puzzlement. “She must understand. She trained
in the Tower, too.”
“Keep your voice down,” he said, low and hard. Elayne flushed a deep red, but
whether in anger or embarrassment, Nynaeve could not say.
Abruptly she realized that he had been speaking as quietly as they, and
carefully, too. He had not mentioned the Tower once, or Aes Sedai.
“Is Gawyn here, too?” Elayne asked, the crimson receding from her cheeks. “I
will not believe he has become a—” She had the wit to lower her voice further,
but she still said, “A Whitecloak!”
“He remains in the east, Elayne.” Nynaeve supposed that he meant Tar Valon. “I
have not been long with the Children, but I am certain my commander will give
me leave to escort my sister home. That is where you should be, with Mother.
You and your friends will be safe there.”
Nynaeve showed him her teeth, in what she hoped looked like a smile. It was
nice to be included, finally. She could have smacked him. If only he were not
so good-looking.
“I will think on it,” Elayne said slowly. “What you say makes sense, but you
must give me time to think. I must think.”
Nynaeve stared at her. It made sense? The girl was blathering.
“I can give you a little time,” he said, “but I do not have much if I am to ask
leave. We may be ordered—”
Suddenly there was a square-faced, black-haired Whitecloak clapping Galad on
the shoulder and grinning widely. Older, he wore three knots of rank on his
cloak. “Well, young Galad, you can’t keep all the pretty women for yourself.
Every girl in town sighs when you walk by, and most of their mothers as well.
Introduce me.”
Galad scraped back his bench to stand. “I ... thought I knew them when they
came downstairs Lord Captain Trom. But whatever charm you think I possess, it
does not work on this lady. She does not like me, and I think she will not like
any friend of mine. If you practice the sword with me this afternoon, perhaps
you can attract one or two.”
“Never with you around,” Trom grumped good-naturedly. “And I’d sooner let the
farrier pound my head with his hammer than practice against you.” But he let
Galad start him for the door with only a regretful look at the four women. As
they left, Galad shot a glance back at the table, full of frustration and
indecision.
Anna blew out a breath. “T-that’s your brother? He’s ... he’s ...”
“A pain in the backside,” Min finished for her, though Nynaeve doubted it was
what Anna had been about to say. “Elayne, what’s the matter?”
“We must leave immediately. At once.”
Anna looked askance at the Daughter-Heir. “We can’t. The docks are still
closed.”
“I know that!” Elayne snapped. “We must leave the inn, and take rooms
elsewhere. Somewhere on the other side of the city, where Galad is unlikely to
wander by again.”
“Why? He seemed nice,” said Anna, before averted her gaze and blushing hotly.
Elayne paid no heed to the girl’s reaction. No doubt she was used to seeing it
from those who crossed Galad’s path. As she spoke she tapped a finger on the
table for emphasis, but she still kept her voice low. “Right this minute,
wherever he is, Galad is puzzling over something he may never have faced
before. Two things that are right, but opposite. To his mind it is right to tie
me to a pack horse if necessary and haul me to Mother, to salve her worries and
save me from becoming Aes Sedai, whatever I want. And it is also right to turn
us in, to the Whitecloaks or the Valreio or both, depending on how closely
Selene has allied with them. And should he catch even the slightest hint of
what Rand is ... I embraced saidar the moment I saw him, and I won’t let it go
until we are far from him.”
Nynaeve shook her head. Galad might be a bit full of himself, but to go that
far? “Surely you exaggerate, Elayne. He is your brother.”
“He is not my brother!” Elayne drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We
had the same father,” she said in a calmer voice, “but he is not my brother. I
will not have him. Nynaeve, I’ve told you time and again, but you will not take
it in. Galad does what is right. Always. He never lies. Did you hear what he
said to that Trom fellow? He didn’t say he did not know who we are. Every word
he said was the truth. He does what is right, no matter who is hurt by it, even
himself. Or me. He used to tell on Gawyn and me for everything, and on himself,
too. If he decides the wrong way, we will have Whitecloaks lying in ambush for
us before we can walk to the end of the street. And if we refuse to let him
take us to Caemlyn, that will only make the decision for him.” She made a vexed
sound. “We should have stayed with the menagerie. Galad won’t go near one. He
thinks putting animals in cages is cruel. He doesn’t mind hunting them, mind,
or eating them, only caging them.”
“Well, it is a bit cruel,” Anna said slowly. “None of what you’re saying sounds
terrible. I don’t know what you’re so mad about.”
“Spend less time staring at his face, and more time in his company, and you
will,” said Elayne grimly. Her own face was set, ready to fight. It was not the
other girl she scowled at though, but the door Galad had left by.
 
                                     * * *
 
Jaichim took little pleasure in the rich furnishings of the palace as he strode
through its halls. It had been rented, and not cheaply, when the governor of
Fontaine refused the Children the hospitality of her manse. Their position here
in Valreis was too tenuous for him to force her compliance, or to have her
disposed of. Yet. Jaichim could wait.
As the Inquisitor assigned to the region he should, as he saw it, outrank
either of the Lord’s Captain, but even the amiable—and weak—Trom did not agree.
And of course there was no hope of making Benett see anyone short of the Lord
Captain Commander as his superior. It had made it difficult to steer them into
hunting and killing al’Thor.
That al’Thor had to die was a certainty now. He’d ridden several horses to
death crossing Almoth Plain, and been glad of the garrisons Bornhald had built
there, and the remounts they offered. Even so a month had passed without result
since he received his orders. Someone close to him had been killed, though he
had not yet heard whom. The death itself did not grieve Jaichim, not really.
Even if it had been Vanora, his favourite sister ... Well, better her than him.
But eventually it would be him that the Myrddraal came for, if he did not
dispose of al’Thor, and that Jaichim could not allow. He had come too far and
risen too high to fail now.
Killing al’Thor while still publically carrying out Niall’s orders might prove
difficult however, even if he could find the boy. Reports no longer placed him
in Falmerden, unless the new Queen had hidden him somewhere. That he would have
to pass through Valreis eventually was obvious, but none of his men on the
border had reported any sightings.
Jaichim had had no choice but to pass on Niall’s orders to the Lord’s Captain,
but nothing obliged him to be share such sensitive information with a mere
Senior-Lieutenant. A less-composed man might then have smiled at the sight of
Eamon Valda waiting outside the door of his office, but Jaichim’s face remained
a stern mask.
Valda was a dark man, both in his complexion and in his temperament.
Unremarkable in appearance and build, he cultivated a jovial facade when in
public, but none who knew him well could fail to see through that. Valda liked
to hurt people. He liked it so much that Jaichim was often surprised not to see
the red shepherd’s crook on his pristine tabard. Better yet, he was a
blademaster.
“Well met, Valda. Is Valreis to your liking?”
The nod he received was not as low as it should have been, but Jaichim decided
not to let his offence show. This man could be just the tool he needed.
“Far from it Inquisitor. The people here are too fond of the witches for my
taste. Selene flirts with us in hopes of making Tar Valon jealous, but she will
lap at the Amyrlin’s cunt again if called.”
That was likely true. His presence in the court at Orlay this past year had not
been met with respect. He’d had politeness from Selene, but no more than that,
and significantly less from her wretched daughters. The High General had been a
more promising contact, but like Jaichim he knew how to keep his cards close to
his chest.
“The Light has grown dim in Valreis,” Jaichim agreed. “And what greater proof
than this sudden outbreak of followers for the latest false Dragon.”
Valda smiled toothily and touched the hilt of his sword. “Do we have a name? A
description? I’ve only been in the city for a few days but already I hear tales
of Dragonsworn bands roving all over this Light-forsaken country. Which one is
he with?”
Jaichim was not supposed to know al’Thor’s name, and so dared not share it if
he hoped to distance himself from the boy’s fate. The appearance though ... “I
have sketches in my office if you care to take a look. He is young, tall, red-
haired. Which band he currently commands we have not yet determined. Not that
the loss of any such vermin is likely to be lamented.”
Valda snorted. “They will be missed as much as a nest of rats would be.”
Jaichim made note of that “will” but did not allow himself to smile.
“I am sure you will find your work here rewarding, Valda. Much more than
wasting your time sitting outside the Shining Walls. Perhaps you will even be
made Lord Captain at last.”
“Some might think that overdue,” Valda muttered. “But don’t underestimate the
work I did in Tar Valon. I’ve brought an Andoran princeling back with me, all
dressed up in a white uniform. Galadedrid Mantear is the only child of the
former Daughter-Heir. If he’d been a woman he’d be Queen of Andor now, and with
the Children’s help he might be able to claim the Lion Throne yet.”
Jaichim thought that unlikely. Lord Captain Bornhald had fomented some unrest
against Morgase and her Aes Sedai puppet masters, but Andoran devotion to the
Tower and the matriarchy ran deep. Valda’s reach exceeded his grasp. But
Jaichim didn’t say that of course. “An impressive coup ... future Lord Captain
Valda. He is loyal to the Light, this Galadedrid?”
Valda laughed. “That one has never met a rule he didn’t like. I barely had to
finish giving him the speech before he was swearing his oaths. He has every
woman who sets eyes on him drooling, but I suspect he’s still a virgin.
Probably because he hasn’t been given permission from his mother to sleep with
any of them. Good swordsman though. Just not as good as me.”
Even if hoping to claim the Lion Throne was a step too far, such a high-ranking
nobleman was still an excellent catch for the Children. And perhaps for Jaichim
too. There had to be some ways he could use this princeling to his advantage.
He would have time to think on that, once al’Thor had been dealt with.
 
                                     * * *
 
Furian slept in the barracks again that night. He’d always been a disciplined
soldier, hard-working and dutiful. That he avoided his wife and focused instead
on managing Fontaine’s garrison may have seemed only natural to some. To most,
he hoped. He was a general, after all, second only to the supreme commander of
the Faithful Sons himself in military rank. It was an important job, and
required a lot of dedication. He liked to think everyone saw it so, and that
the snickers he sometimes heard were not directed at him.
That Julia had taken a younger lover was stain enough on his honour. That she
had kept her pet writer in their house, and for so many years, was an extra
layer of humiliation. He had taken her name on marrying her, and bore it still:
Furian Hartile je Careas, but there was little joy to be had in his marriage
any more. Even his daughter—the one he could be sure was his—had grown distant
from him. Furian had come to dedicate all his energy to Valreis and her army
instead. When he’d received the invitation last night to the latest ball his
wife was staging, duty had been his excuse against attending.
Furian woke early and dressed in his starched, dark-blue uniform. The gilt-
edged mirror in his neat and tidy quarters showed him his own face clearly. His
dark hair was greying heavily, and it seemed his amber skin grew more lined
with each passing day. He had been handsome when they wed, she’d told him as
much many times, but the passage of years had worn him down. Furian stared into
his own flinty black eyes and composed his face into an authoritative mask
before rising from the washstand to face the day.
He had only taken a few steps before the paper caught his attention. Someone
had slipped it under his door in the night, someone who had gotten past the
soldiers stationed all over the barracks. Furian made a fist, and a mental note
to see the men who’d been on duty that night disciplined for their laxness.
Drawing the paper farther into his room with the toe of his boot, Furian
noticed the seal that closed it. A woman’s masked face in yellow wax. There was
a crude drawing of a hummingbird on the envelope. Safe in his privacy, Furian
let his face twist in distaste. He did not like getting involved in these
underhanded plots, but sometimes it had been necessary in the past. Reluctantly
he picked up the letter and broke the seal, hoping the orders the Riela’s
spymaster had sent wouldn’t involve anything too unpleasant this time.
As he read the letter Furian grew alarmed. This would require careful planning,
and a subtlety his soldiers were not well-suited to, but if what the spy said
was true then failure could mean the destruction of Fontaine itself. Furian je
Careas would not let that happen.
***** A Dance to Remember *****
CHAPTER 44: A Dance to Remember
 
Twilight had darkened the streets of Fontaine by the time Rand stepped out of
the carriage outside the manse of House Hartile. He was freshly shaved and
recently washed, clad in his black-and-silver coat with his new sword belted at
his waist. Leliana had insisted they all dress their best. He handed her down
from the carriage while Lan did the same for Moiraine on the other side.
Leliana wore a pale pink dress slashed with dark red, cut in the Valreio style.
Rand still thought the elongated shoulders a bit odd, but Leliana was at least
graceful enough that she never banged into anyone with them. She smiled at him
as she took the steps down to the path. It was just as well it was paved, given
how soft and expensive were the slippers she wore.
“Well ... aren’t you sweet and attentive,” she murmured as she interlocked her
arm with his.
As pleasant as it was to have such a nice, and beautiful, woman hanging on his
arm like that, Rand tried not to read too much into it. Lan and Moiraine
adopted a similar pose, and so far as he knew their relationship was completely
platonic. Moiraine wore a fine blue dress of course, but Lan had had to buy
some new clothes for this. It was not the Warder’s habit to dress
impractically. The flaring, green Valreio coat and similarly-flaring black
breeches looked very strange on him to Rand’s eyes. But all the gold in Andor
could not have persuaded him to tell Lan that.
“I will do the talking,” Moiraine said, again. “Lady Julia will likely
recognise an Aes Sedai on sight. I will secure her permission to hire a ship,
and then make excuse to depart. You need only ensure you draw no attention to
yourselves.” It was Rand she stared at as she spoke. She seemed to take the
other two’s compliance for granted.
Rand didn’t respond. He examined the Hartile manse as they approached the doors
and the servants who waited there, clad in light-blue livery. The manse was an
imposing building of grey stone, standing four stories high. Covered balconies
on the second floor overlooked the gardens that lined the paved approach. Warm
light shone through the windowpanes on all but the highest floor.
Leliana handed their invites to a portly fellow at the door, smiling and
addressing him by name as she did so. Watford let them inside, bowing low.
The Hartiles were obviously a rich family, and not shy about displaying it. The
floor of their home was paved in pale marble, and the same stone showed on the
walls underneath the woven tapestries and banners. Most of those banners were
of the same light blue as the servants’ livery, and displayed a pair of white
wings. There was no shortage of guests, but the building was big enough that
the little circles they had formed with each other seemed almost isolated. A
dark-haired serving man led them into a particularly big and almost circular
room in which most of the guests seemed to have converged. The centre of the
room had been left empty, encircled by lords and ladies and rich merchants
lounging at a variety of tables.
It was a beautiful and reserved older woman to which the servant led them. He
bowed with his hands on his knees as he introduced them all. Lady Julia’s brown
hair was untouched by grey as yet and her fair skin showed only a few lines.
There was a slight wariness to the smile she gave Moiraine, and a question
lurked behind her greeting.
“Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance ... Lady Moiraine.”
“And yours as well, Lady Julia. Even in far-off Cairhien the grace and
hospitality of House Hartile is spoken of. Thus far it seems a reputation well-
earned.”
Julia flashed a small smile. “And sweet Leliana. It is always a pleasure to see
you. Will you sing for us tonight? I have had the help ready your usual room if
you wish to prepare.”
Moiraine spoke before Leliana could. “So kind, but we can only stay a short
time.”
“I am sure you know best, Lady Moiraine, but the streets are not thought safe
of late. Especially at night. I would not expect such fine ladies to travel
them, even with such impressive chaperones. House Hartile has ample room for
all its guests. Please, relax and enjoy yourselves.” She smiled past them at a
matronly woman in dark blue. “That goes double for you, Lady Ginet. It has been
too long since you visited us.”
Leliana tugged on Rand’s arm, and he let himself be led away. Moiraine had no
sooner left Lady Julia’s company than a gaggle of ladies descended on her. Rand
wondered how many people at this party had recognised her as an Aes Sedai, and
how many would be as discreet as Julia.
He and Leliana received a great many friendly smiles from strangers as they
crossed the room. Rand smiled back politely but avoided conversation. Moiraine
was right about the need to avoid attention, as little as he liked doing what
she wanted. They went and secured themselves a space against one of the marble
walls. Rand’s attention was soon drawn to a group of musicians who were setting
up on a raised dais at the far side of the room. He only recognised a few of
the instruments they were carrying, and even the fiddle and harp looked a
little different from the ones he’d seen.
Leliana barely glanced at them. Her attention was on the guests. “That was
several seasons out of style even when I was last here,” she sniffed. “Just
because she is the heir of the family ... Oh! Look at what that woman's
wearing! Is she drunk or does she just have bad taste?”
Rand didn’t want to tell her that almost all fashions looked a bit silly to him
so he tried to change the subject. “Do you know those musicians? Will you be
performing with them, like Lady Julia said?”
“I do, but their music isn’t sung to. It’s actually quite beautiful as it is,
overlaying it with words would be like eating icepeppers and honey. Two lovely
things that just do not match. Now that you mention it though, I should prepare
my instruments for the performance.”
“I’ll wait right here then.”
Leliana looked as if she was about to say more, but instead she quirked a smile
and sauntered off towards the gently-curving staircase nearby.
It didn’t take long for the musicians to win Rand around to Leliana’s point of
view. Strings and wind played with and against each other in well-timed
harmonies, their music rising and falling. The sound was lovely, and perhaps
even more impressive was the coordination. Many of the guests were drawn out
onto the cleared circle of the room by the bright melody, always in pairs and
with an open space between each such pair. The unfamiliar steps of their dance
suited the music well. They must have practiced together for a long time to get
everything perfect like that.
Outside the tall, clear windows of House Hartile night had fallen and the stars
were out, but inside all was warm and bright. It was already a lovely scene
when, as if the Pattern was deliberately trying to impress someone, a bright
and distant star shot across the night sky. Rand smiled to himself.
A bubble of stillness within the swirling dancers drew his eye. A dark-haired
girl dressed in white stood alone, staring out the window at the self-same star
he’d been looking at. As if she could sense his sudden attention she turned her
face towards him and narrowed her big, dark eyes. Suspicion did not rest long
on her face, before a sweet smile replaced it. She pointed to the night sky,
and Rand nodded in rapport.
The girl walked confidently across the dance floor. None of the other women
were dressed like her. Her dress was silk, but unadorned. It fell to her ankles
and covered her chest completely, but left her arms and shoulders bare; two
thin strips of material looped around her neck to ensure it was safely held up.
She walked right up to Rand and looked him over boldly. She was very pretty;
slender, with fair skin and a round face. Her long, glossy hair wasn’t quite as
black as he had first thought; closer inspection revealed a few strands of
brown mixed within it. He’d never seen anything like that before, and couldn’t
help but stare at her.
“You’re the best looking boy here,” she announced with a satisfied nod, placing
her hands on her hips. “Dance with me?”
Rand knew he should say something, but he had been staring so hard his mind was
having difficulty recalling what words were.
“Let me guess ...” the strange girl said, unconcerned by his silence. “You’ll
only dance with someone you like. Okay then.” She held a finger up before his
eyes, then waved it in several slow circles. “You’re going to like me,” she
said, slowly and dramatically, “you’re going to like me.” Her spirit danced in
her eyes as she added a cheerful: “Did it work?”
Rand couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay. I’ll admit it. You’re cute. But I can’t
dance with you. I don’t know the steps.”
“You’ll be fine. Come on,” she said decisively, and seized him by the hand. “I
can’t be on the dance floor alone.”
Rand grew alarmed as she dragged him behind her towards the centre of the room.
She was no taller than the average Theren woman, and light, but somehow he
couldn’t bring himself to pull her to a halt. “I really don’t know how ...” he
said urgently, but she ignored him. She wove her way through the crowd with
Rand trailing behind, until she’d found a space to her liking, then faced him.
He stood there like a lump until she took hold of his arms, firmly placing one
hand on her waist and holding the other in hers; her other hand she rested on
his shoulder, and together they stepped from side to side in time with the
music.
Rand could manage that much, but it wasn’t long before the dance called for
some more coordinated steps and he embarrassed himself by nearly stepping on
her feet. She didn’t get mad at him though, just reset their hands and began
again. He thought he did a better job of it this time, following her steps and
trying desperately to recall what he had seen the other men do. You should
probably should have paid more attention, and spent less time staring at the
sky like some woolheaded farmboy, you woolheaded farmboy. His brief flirtation
with grace and dignity came to an end when the dance called for her to step a
full arm’s length away and him to pull her back. He almost sent the poor girl
to the marble floor he pulled so hard.
“I’m sorry. I-I’ll get out of your way,” he muttered, blushing. He turned and
began stalking back to his post by the wall with his head lowered.
“Hey, get back here. We’re not done yet,” she said, and seized his hand once
more. She dug in her heels as though she could physically drag him to a stop,
and he’d pulled her skidding several feet along the floor before he realised
she wasn’t going to let him go.
Rand blew out a breath. How hard can it be? The footwork I do every day while
practicing with Lan is much more complicated. Focus al’Thor!
She smiled when he turned back, and hopped right back into the dance, taking
him by the hand and dipping a knee, first right then left. A gentle spin put
her back in his arms, but also bumped her shoulder up against another young
couple dancing nearby. Not that this strange girl and I are connected, Rand
reminded himself firmly, I don’t even know her name.
Whoever she was, she certainly didn’t lack for spirit. When the pair they’d
jostled gave her an irritated look she responded by sticking her tongue out at
them, before showing them her back. She smiled at Rand as they stood together
on the dance floor, a small bastion of stillness among the spinning crowd. She
was altogether beautiful. He swore to himself that he would to do it right this
time, as the music built to a crescendo.
He took her hand and they stepped into the dance together. Right then left,
right then left, spin, repeat. He turned his back and circled her in four long,
sliding strides as she did the same to him. When she spun back into his arms,
white skirts swirling around her, he cushioned her back just the way he’d seen
it done, before she spun away again. And this time when she strayed he pulled
her back into his embrace just the way he always should have.
Rand’s embarrassment faded and he found himself smiling happily down at her. In
the garden outside, someone set off some fireworks. They could hold his
attention only for a moment. They didn’t hold hers even that long.
“I’m Rand,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
She opened her mouth, but it was Lady Julia’s voice that sounded. “Rinoa! Come
here and meet Lady Ginet’s nephew.”
The girl rolled her big, nearly black eyes. “But Mother! I’m busy.”
“Now, young lady.”
Rinoa Hartile je Fontaine gave him a wry smile. “We’ll have to continue our
dance another time, Rand. It’s a pity, you were learning quickly. I was
actually looking forward to seeing how the lifts went.” She held his hand in
both of hers as she backed away, only releasing it when the distance demanded.
With a last little wave she disappeared into the dancing crowd.
Rand was left standing alone and motionless on the dance floor, but he felt
none of the awkwardness he usually would have at being there. A lady. But not
the snobbish kind. She reminded him of Elayne in a way. He thought the two of
them would get on well if they ever met. He wandered back across the room with
a small smile on his lips.
Even the chill disapproval in Moiraine’s eyes when he passed by her could not
dampen Rand’s mood. Leliana had finished whatever errand she had to perform in
her room, and was waiting by the wall he’d vacated. Her arms were crossed
beneath her breasts and she looked ... pouty.
“Rinoa seems quite fond of you, doesn’t she?”
He rubbed the back of his head embarrassedly. “After half a dance, in which I
nearly stood on her a dozen times? I’m just glad she was kind enough not to
kick me.”
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s obvious. I like
Rinoa. I don’t know if there’s anyone who doesn’t, but I was wondering if you
like her more ...”
“What do you mean?” he asked, though he suspected he knew.
“Oh, don’t start. You know perfectly well what I mean. You were flirting with
her. You may think it’s harmless, and means nothing, but Rinoa is a wonderful
person and you shouldn’t give her false hopes, if you do not mean to go
further. She deserves better.”
Rand studied her warily. Leliana had never spoken to him like this before. He
gathered she knew the Hartiles, and was fond of them, so it was only natural
she’d be protective of Rinoa. But thinking that she needed protection from
Rand, in that way at least, was jumping to some pretty huge conclusions. She
seemed much more upset that he thought the situation warranted. He said as
much, and asked if she was alright, and got a scowl in response.
“Me? Upset? No, not at all. I just ... think you should be careful about what
signals you send to ... others. I’m sorry if you think I nag. I just care a lot
about you. And Rinoa, of course. I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”
His brows rose in surprise. “You ... care about me?”
“W-what I’m trying to say is ... is that I trust you. I’m comfortable around
you. I know you’ll be there when I need you. You are our ... our leader, and my
friend and ... sometimes I think that m-maybe we could be more than that.” She
shuffled her feet. “Light ... look at me, stumbling over my words like an ill-
educated peasant girl. Some bard I am ...”
Rand smiled “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed!” Leliana protested. “I’m just ... flushed because ... of
the ... heat.”
“I’ve always wanted us to be more than just friends,” he said. It was the
honest truth. She was a beautiful woman, kind and friendly and talented. He
would never have pursued her of course—how could he ever in good conscious
inflict the company of someone like him on her? Or anyone else for that
matter?—but the thought that she might like him back, and that she would pursue
him instead, was much more than just flattering.
Her eyes widened. “Really? N-no one told me. You ... you felt the same way and
didn’t do me the courtesy of informing me? Y-you made me say all those things!
Why couldn’t you have said them first? Oh, you ... oh, how very awkward ...”
“I thought you said you were comfortable around me?” he teased.
She cleared her throat, and started dry-washing her hands. “Well, yes, b-but
... d-don’t question me! I am a woman, and I reserve the right to be
inconsistent. Oh, why am I being such a baby about this? I must be a sight,
spilling my guts. There ... isn’t much more I can say. My feelings have been
laid bare. You are ... very special to me. Oh, chivalry is so dead. Making the
lady spill her guts like that.”
“I wish I could say I was sorry,” he said, grinning crookedly, “but you look so
adorable right now that it would be an utter lie.”
“Well ... I ... hmm ... that settles it then.” Leliana bit her lower lip, and
her cheeks pinkened before she continued. “It’s getting late,” she lied. “I
think I might ... turn in early. I can’t help thinking about how soft and warm
my bed is.”
“Lead the way,” he said.
***** The Nightingale's Cry *****
CHAPTER 45: The Nightingale’s Cry
 
They passed Lan on the second floor, alone, and coming out of a bedroom. “Lady
Julia is proving difficult to pin down,” he explained. “By the time Moiraine
has gotten what we need from her it may be late enough that we spend the night
after all.”
Rand nodded solemnly, and Leliana’s face was schooled to innocence, but the
Warder shook his head in exasperation anyway. At least he refrained from saying
anything more as he prowled back towards the ballroom.
Leliana giggled as she led Rand through the many halls and up the many stairs
of the Hartile manse. The room she finally slipped inside was on the fourth
floor, dark and quiet and private. Before the door clicked shut behind him Rand
spotted a lamp on the dresser. Leliana didn’t care to light it though. He felt
her hand on his chest, another behind his neck, pulling him down; he let
himself be pulled and found her lips waiting.
A thrill of pleasure danced through Rand at the touch of her lips on his.
Before he lost himself to it completely he seized saidin and channelled, just a
little, a spark of fire to light the lamp.
Leliana leaned away, looking around in surprise. “Did you do that?”
“I want to see you,” he explained.
“That’s sweet ... and dangerous ...” she said distractedly.
He took her in her arms and sought out her lips again, herding her towards the
bed as he kissed her.
She giggled. “Eager, aren’t we? Good. But take off your clothes first. I want
to see you too.” She tugged at his belt as she spoke, and he stopped his
advance to rid himself of his coat.
The swordbelt soon joined it, clattering to the floor, and he hastily kicked
off his boots. Leliana slid a hand down the front of his breeches and fondled
his growing erection in her soft palm. “A big boy I see,” she purred, reaching
up for another kiss.
He fondled her bottom as he kissed her, then her breasts. The material of her
dress was thin, but still far too thick for Rand’s taste. He wanted to feel her
skin on his, so he pulled up her pink skirts and slid his hand down the back of
her knickers to cup her soft bottom, kneading it softly at first, then with
growing firmness. Leliana responded to his touch, pushing herself back against
him. When he dared to send his hand questing between her thighs to brush
against her slit, he found it wet to the touch.
Leliana pushed her knickers down to pool around her feet. She stepped daintily
from them, a pretty girl all in pink and smiling sweetly at him. He had to have
her, but when he tried to push her towards the bed once more she resisted.
“Show me your strength,” she breathed, “so tall and imposing you are, you must
be strong too ...” Having said that, she jumped into his arms, trusting him to
catch her. Which he did, his hands locking around her slender waist. She
laughed softly as she pushed his breeches and underwear down, letting him
spring free. Then she wrapped her legs around him and smiled impishly.
“Whatever will you do with me?”
Rand had never been with a woman whose hair was as red as his own before. He
felt a strange, but sweet familiarity with her, one that he could not explain.
Kinship? The comforting knowledge that he wasn’t the one around only who looked
like this? It made no sense to him, all he knew was that he felt as though he’d
knew her somehow.
He had a very good idea of what he wanted to do with her too. He couldn’t free
his hands to aim himself towards her exposed sex, but she was light enough that
he could move her over him and pull her down on it. When he entered her, it
felt like coming home. They moaned in chorus as their sexes joined, she was
slick and hot around him and it felt so good, but he still wanted more. He
moved her up again, then down again, lifting her weight each time he impaled
her on his cock.
Leliana kissed him and murmured encouragements, compliments and sweet
flatteries as she slid along his length again and again. His eyes fastened on
her chest, and she grinned.
“Do you want to see them? Hold me steady.” When he did, she quickly untied her
laces, then slipped her arms free of the dress and its too-wide shoulders. The
bodice fell down, and Rand feasted on the sight of her naked breasts, round and
pert and tipped in pink.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Leliana smiled. “Let us see if you can make them bounce.”
Rand took that as a challenge. Standing in the middle of that strange bedroom
he bounced Leliana up and down his shaft, hard and fast, sweating now and
breathing heavily. As they fucked he was transfixed by the sight of her wildly
shaking breasts, and encouraged by the sounds that escaped her open mouth.
He couldn’t say how long they fucked like that, but for all that he was the one
doing all the work, Leliana’s face was flushed and misted with sweat when he
finally felt her sex clamp down on his. She arched her back and cried out, the
sound music to his ears; Leliana’s hands locked around his neck, her breasts
pushed forward as if to invite his mouth. He kissed them both, then took one of
her stiff little nipples in his mouth and nibbled gently, still moving her up
and down, though the strain was starting to make his arms shake.
Leliana breathed out a long sigh, and caressed his arms. “Throw me on the bed,
Rand,” she said, “finish in me.”
As bid, he collapsed to the bed gladly. Kneeling on the silk sheets between her
spread thighs, Rand took hold of her stockinged ankles, grinning at the sight
of her pretty slippers still firmly in place. He rested her ankles on his
shoulders and hilted inside her, savouring the sight of the red hair above
their sexes mingling. He found her lips again as he explored her depths.
His climax was sudden and explosive, and forced a yell from him. When she felt
and heard him come inside her, Leliana pulled his cheek down to her soft breast
and began petting his head, murmuring sweet nothings as the orgasm ran through
him.
Exhausted and sated, Rand rolled off her to sprawl on the bed. Leliana pulled a
blanket over them both and settled against his side. She began combing his hair
gently once again. “That was wonderful, Rand,” she whispered. “Such a fine boy
you are. This was worth the wait, no? Worth it all. Go to sleep now, my sweet.
You’ve earned your rest.”
There was a dim urge in him to get up. As though there was something else he
was supposed to be doing tonight, but he felt too good to pay it any heed.
“You’re beautiful, Leliana,” was the last thing he mumbled, as sleep came to
claim him.
He dreamed he was wandering aimlessly across a vast rise, with shadowy,
indistinct dips and swells all around him. They seemed to fade into the
distance too soon. Just like his sense of well-being did. He turned in a circle
and saw himself alone for miles, yet when he turned again they rose from out of
the dips. In moments Rand was surrounded by a ragged circle of Myrddraal and
men and women his eyes seemed to slide right past. Wolves howled somewhere in
the distance, and somehow he knew they were hunting him.
The circle of Myrddraal and people came closer, all walking as if asleep. Burn
you, leave me alone!And burn them he did. The intense thrill and sickening
repulsion of tainted saidin did not touch him, but balls of fire flew from his
hands anyway, consuming two of his enemies. Lightning flashed from above to
shrivel others. Bars of light like white-hot steel such as that which Moiraine
had wielded flew from his fists to destroy more. And the survivors continued to
walk slowly closer, as if none of them saw what was happening. One by one they
died, until none were left, and Rand sank down on his knees, panting.
Shapes appeared over the rises, more people coming, more Myrddraal, all intent
on reaching him, and on killing him. The wolves came too, snarling, teeth
bared, a huge pack of them that stretched as far as the eye could see. They ran
at the heels of a bearded man who looked like Perrin, though Rand could not
tell if he was being chased or followed. The man did not seem to know either.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled from afar. “Rand! Rand, there are
more coming! Rand, they’re—!”
“Burn you all! Leave me alone!” Rand howled, and threw fire at them as easily
as he would throw a handful of stones.
Perrin and the wolves behind him disappeared before the fire could land, but
the Myrddraal and the strange, faceless humans burned. Even the touch of the
flames didn’t make them halt their shuffling, mindless advance; not until they
had burned hot enough to consume their flesh.
The wolves had behaved differently, and the man. Light! That was really Perrin.
It was! It was him, not a dream. Somehow.
With that thought came the certainty that this was not a dream, or not the
normal kind at least. It was another one of those other dreams, the dangerous
ones. The ones that could leave wounds on flesh when you woke. If that fireball
had landed ...I almost killed him! Light, I have to be careful!
One of the wolves had not left with the others. Grey-coated, he circled around
Rand, watching him cautiously with his lambent green eyes. Rand turned with
him, keeping the beast in his line of sight. Wolves had always been a threat to
be wary of back home, especially when the sheep were out to pasture. The wolf
stopped and sat back on his haunches, head cocked to the side with his tongue
lolling out. It almost seemed to Rand as though he were laughing.
Suddenly a bird alighted on the ground before them. A nightingale it was, small
and harmless and chirping prettily, but there was a mouse pinned under its
feet, held there as though by the talons of an eagle, and bleeding heavily.
The wolf looked at Rand, then the bird, then Rand again. Suddenly he lunged
forward and crushed the nightingale in his jaws. He stared Rand right in the
eyes as he ate it.
“I don’t understand ...” Rand said slowly, thinking himself a fool. He knew the
wolf wouldn’t be able to understand him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
The wolf took two steps closer, and then leapt for Rand’s throat.
Rand threw himself backwards ... and his eyes popped open. He was no longer on
the grassy rise, or dreaming. He was back in bed, back in the real world. His
side ached, the old wound from Falme throbbing, and he suddenly recalled all
the exercise that had caused that ache. A smile curved his lips. He turned his
head—and saw the light glimmer on the edge of the knife as it descended towards
his eye.
He flinched aside, and yelled in pain as the razor-sharp blade sliced along his
temple and stabbed through his ear. Desperately he raised his hands, warding
off slashes aimed at his throat, howling as the blade opened the skin of his
forearms and cut deep into the flesh beneath. He tumbled naked from the bed and
rolled away, leaving bloodstains on the fine carpet.
She was naked too. Naked and still beautiful, but there were no smiles on her
face now. It was set in a hard, grim mask.
“I tried to be merciful!” Leliana hissed, and hopped nimbly from the bed. She
threw herself atop him, but there was nothing of lust in her embrace this time.
Pushing his arm aside with her off hand, she stabbed at his eye once more.
Heart pounding, Rand managed to catch her wrist before the knife could score
his flesh again. He twisted his body and drove a knee into her ribs. He’d never
hit a woman before in his life, any woman, much less one he’d been intimate
with, but in that moment survival was the only thing on his mind.
Rand was not a small man, and he hadn’t tried to be gentle, but Leliana only
grunted at the impact as she continued to wrestle with him for the knife, using
both hands and the weight of her body behind it now to try and drive it down
into Rand’s brain.
“Why?” he gritted.
“Because you are dangerous. To Valreis and to the rest of the world. To
yourself even. Some part of you must still know this, however deeply the
madness has spread. Stop struggling, Rand. Just let go. I promise, it will be
over quickly.” She was deadly serious; he heard no hint of the playful bard
he’d travelled with in that grim and quiet voice.
“I can’t. I still have a job to do,” he growled. Anger gave him focus. He was
tired, and bleeding, but he was still much bigger than her. He forced himself
up off his back, and turned them aside, pushing Leliana’s knife hand down onto
the carpet as he rolled atop her. Her skin was still as silky soft beneath him
as it had been when they were having sex, but Rand was not remotely aroused by
the sensation this time. And even if he had been, the forehead she smashed
against his nose would have dispelled any romantic thoughts very quickly.
She tried to knee him in the crotch but it was too late, Rand knelt atop
Leliana, pinning her hips with his weight as he yanked the knife from her
hands.
He held her by the wrists and shouted his grief at her betrayal. “Why? Are you
a Darkfriend too? Why wait all this time? Why pretend to be my friend if you
just wanted to kill me?”
She gritted her teeth and struggled against his grip, but subsided when she
failed to budge him even an inch. Defeated, she settled for scowling up at him.
“I am no Darkfriend. No more than you are the Dragon Reborn. I don’t know what
game the White Tower is playing with you, but Valreis will not bleed for it. I
watched and I reported what I saw, then waited for the Riela to decide what to
do with you.”
“But ... I am the Dragon Reborn. The Heroes of the Horn said so.”
Leliana shook her head. “You poor sweet boy. It is not your fault, not truly. I
wish you had not been born to this terrible curse, you seem as though you would
have been a fine man. But this madness in you, it makes you too dangerous to
live. The supposed Horn of Valere? I heard Min tooting on it. There are better
instruments in my house in Vasseur. I don’t know what you saw back then, but I
promise no ghosts came to speak to you. It was all in your head.”
Rand couldn’t help it. He huffed a bitter and incredulous laugh. “You think I’m
a false Dragon? Your Riela thinks I’m ... Wait. Who all have you told?”
“Everyone,” she said, her eyes as hard as blue stones. “Do you know what
happened to Chlo je Orlay, the last false Dragon to declare himself in Valreis?
He kept telling anyone who would listen that the Creator had sent him too. He
was wrong. They hacked him to pieces, starting with his arms and legs. I would
like to think that he was already dead when they got to his more tender parts,
but who can say, who was not there? I would have spared you such cruelty. My
superiors ordered your execution, but the method was left to my discretion.”
The sigh she let out then was almost sad. “It would have been a gentle end,
much gentler than any that awaits you elsewhere. A nice tumble with a beautiful
woman, and then just drifting off into a never-ending sleep. A sweet death,
no?”
“I can certainly think of worse ways to go,” he said grimly, casting about for
something he could use to tie her up. The ropes that hung from the canopied bed
would do. He hauled Leliana up and shoved her over the side of the bed, face
down with his knee on her back as he gathered the necessary bindings. She tried
to resist when he pulled her hands around behind her back and began tying them
together, but to no avail. The slashes she’d left on his face and arms stung
terribly, and that made him irritable. He told himself that was why he was a
bit rougher with her than he should have been, and not that he was disappointed
that someone whom he’d liked and had thought liked him back had once again
proven to be false. He tied her to the bedpost, then went to work binding her
ankles too.
“Go ahead then. Do it. Do you think the thought frightens me? It does not. You
will not make me less than I am.”
Rand frowned at her as he finished tying the ropes. Well, he frowned at her
thighs, and her butt and her red-furred pussy, which was all he could see of
her from that angle. It was a pretty butt; not very fleshy, but tight, and
curved in all the right ways. She thrust it out at him defiantly.
He finished the knot with one final, hard yank, then sat on the bed beside her
so he could see her face instead. “Are you actually suggesting that I would
force myself on you?” When she looked at him he saw from the set of her jaw and
the look in her eyes that she was suggesting exactly that.
Rand had already broken his rule about hitting women that night. What was one
more blow? His open palm cracked across Leliana’s bottom. Only once, but he
didn’t pull the blow, and the startled yelp that burst from her lips was very
high-pitched. “I have never even considered doing such a thing, not to any
woman. And I certainly am not going to now. Blood and ashes! I’ve never been
more insulted in my life!”
“I ... W-well if you aren’t going to have your revenge in that way, then w-
what?”
He went to retrieve his clothes and his sword as he spoke. “You think I’m a
false Dragon, a mad and dangerous male channeler, so you want to kill me.
That’s fair enough. I’d want to kill me too in those circumstances. But you’re
wrong. I’m not a false Dragon, and that really was the Horn of Valere you saw.
If you haven’t believed what any of my friends have told you these past weeks
then I don’t expect you to believe me now, but I’m not going to take any kind
of revenge on you. I’m just going to leave you here, safely tied up.” He yanked
his boots on forcefully. “Burn me. I can forgive you trying to kill me, but
pretending to be nice all this time, while plotting to knife me as soon as the
opportunity came up? That’s just low.”
“What makes you think I’m not nice?” she asked, sounding hurt.
Rand wasn’t fooled. “You’re very good at seeming so,” he said grimly, and did
not intend it as a compliment. “But nice people don’t make friends with people
they want to kill.” He frowned as he buckled on his swordbelt. “You told your
Riela, and she wants me dead ... but what about the rest of my companions, did
she mentioned anything about them?”
Leliana pursed her lips briefly, avoiding his eyes. “I like to be precise, and
only to use as much force as is necessary. Selene ... she can be harsher. You
have heard already what becomes of Dragonsworn here ...”
Rand paled. “They know which inn we’re staying at. Is it tonight? Of course it
is. You arranged this gathering to separate me from them. What about Moiraine
and Lan? Are—?” He shot a glance at the door, wondering if he’d imagined the
sound of footsteps. Two quick strides placed him within reach of the key, which
he turned firmly. Lady Julia was probably in on it, she’d have to be. Would the
Riela dare order the assassination of two Aes Sedai and their Warders? Even
ones who had, as she saw it, been associating with a false Dragon?
He tried to recall which room he’d seen Lan coming out of as he strode to the
window, the pain of his wounds almost forgotten in his concern for the others.
The glass-paned shutters opened inwards, and once opened allowed the sound of
distant fighting to drift in on the chill night air. He swung a leg over the
window ledge.
“We’re four stories up,” Leliana pointed out. When he glanced back he found her
straining for a look, her bottom—and the red hand print on it—still on display.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll fall,” he drawled. “But I wouldn’t hold my
breath if I were you. I’ve always been a good climber.”
It was a simple enough climb, easier than many he’d made in the Mountains of
Mist. The covered balconies on the second floor even let him speed things up by
dropping down a level and grabbing their edge. After that it was hand over hand
from one window ledge to another as he worked his way around to where he
thought Lan would be. Once he’d reached the window he was aiming for things got
a little more awkward. He had to haul himself up and place a foot on the ledge,
balancing precariously as he pulled his belt knife and tried to get to the
latch inside. When he finally managed to slip it, the window opened inwards and
he stepped into an unlit room.
He’d barely taken a step before a length of cold steel pressed against his
throat. For a terrible moment Rand thought he had made a fatal mistake.
“Your life is measured in heartbeats. Explain,” said Lan coldly.
Despite the Warder’s threat, relief flooded through Rand. “It’s only me,” he
breathed.
Lan cursed, and removed the blade. A globe of light suddenly appeared, held in
Moiraine’s palm as she crossed the room towards them. She was still fully
dressed, and did not look happy. Not that she ever really did of course.
“What are—” she began, then hissed. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”
Rand winced. “Leliana tried to kill me. She’s working for the Riela. Did you
get us access to the docks yet?”
“No. Lady Julia has been putting me off. Quite politely, but her delay was
vexing enough even before I knew why.” Lan strode across the room and took a
position beside the locked door.
Blood was dripping down Rand’s face. Blinking, he wiped some away from his eye.
“Could you Heal me, please?” he said, though part of him still hated having to
ask her for help.
“I should leave the wounds in place,” Moiraine replied grimly. “They might
teach you to be more careful who you dally with.”
“Whatever,” he sighed. “I’ll get Nynaeve to do it.”
“You think she will heed your orders? Or any man’s? Do not get above yourself,
Rand.”
He snorted. “Orders have nothing to do with it,” he said wryly. “If Nynaeve
heard tonight that Bili Congar was off in Tarabon and had stubbed his toe,
she’d be halfway across the Sea of Storms by morning, intent on healing him.
And she never even liked Bili.”
He thought he heard Lan breath a soft laugh, but Moiraine’s irritated tut
drowned it out. “Very well then. Come here. But you still must learn,” she
said, and waited for him to approach. When he did she put her hands on his
chest and the now-familiar shock of a Healing arched his back. The stinging
slashes on his arms and temple disappeared, and he felt his ear being stitched
back together, where Leliana’s knife had parted the flesh. That last part was
strange enough that he was still shaking his head long after Moiraine had
released him.
“We need to go,” he said. “I don’t think I’m the only one being targeted. And
Leliana knew the inn we were staying at.”
“Selene would not dare risk the Tower’s wrath,” said Moiraine.
“I’m not gambling their lives on the White Tower’s reputation,” Rand said
grimly. “If you’re staying here be careful.” He turned back towards the window.
“Lan.”
The Warder ran past him and jumped out the window. Moiraine glided past as
well. “I didn’t say I intended to remain here. The hospitality of House Hartile
has proven disappointing.” She sat on the window ledge, knees together, then
let herself fall backwards into the night. Even doing that her face was
perfectly serene.
When Rand look down he found her in Lan’s arms, looking up. He pushed his
swordhilt out of the way, put a foot on the ledge and jumped down to the
gravelled path below, landing in a crouch.
The noises Rand had heard earlier had grown louder, men’s voices raised in
indistinct shouts, and the distant clash of steel on steel.
“We should move quickly,” said Lan. “The streets are dangerous tonight.”
And move quickly they did, keeping to the shadows wherever possible as they
fled the grounds of the Hartile mansion.
***** The Price of a Ship *****
CHAPTER 46: The Price of a Ship
 
Nynaeve stumbled and Anna caught her arm. She wanted to tell her she could walk
by herself thank you very much, but it just felt like too much effort. All
those Healings had left her a bit tired. If Verin hadn’t been there she would
likely be dead. The One Power could not be used to Heal yourself. As it was,
even the two of them together had barely been able to purge the poison from so
many people in time. Elayne had been useless of course; she had no Talent for
Healing. And now she was the only one of them who wasn’t useless. Nynaeve
didn’t think she’d be able to so much as light a candle with saidar for a
while, and she doubted Verin was faring much better.
As she dragged her horse through the dark streets of Fontaine, she recalled her
horror when Perrin and Anna and the others had first started choking over their
supper. Nynaeve had panicked and rushed to them, trying to ignore the cramps in
her own stomach. It had been Verin who’d kept her cool long enough to insist
they Heal each other first. If not for that, and if not for Elayne blasting the
armoured men who’d burst through the door while they were in the middle of
Healing everyone, Nynaeve didn’t think they would have survived.
The girl had been all apologies afterwards, but they had far more important
things to worry about than the giant hole she’d left in the front wall of The
Good Sister. For all they knew the innkeeper had helped to poison them,
certainly the woman had been nowhere to be seen.
The hole had made it a bit harder for the Shienarans to hold their attackers
off long enough for everyone to prepare themselves, but she was glad that Uno
had insisted they wait long enough for his men to get into their armour. Not
that she would tell him that of course. The attackers wore no insignia, and
metal masks covered their faces, but their armour was fine, and their weapons
sharp. These were obviously no footpads.
The Shienarans formed a steel ring around them now. Several had taken injuries
in the fighting, but none of their cuts looked life-threatening to Nynaeve.
Though Uno would have yet another scar on his face if he didn’t get any Healing
soon. He’d personally led the charge that broke through their attackers’ siege,
and Perrin had been right there at his side, swinging that axe of his wildly.
“We should go to the Hartile mansion,” Elayne had insisted. “This was no chance
encounter. If they are targeting us, they will be targeting Rand too.” She was
right, and Nynaeve was in no mood to argue, so that was where they were going.
Or would be, if these foolish Dragonsworn would get out of their way.
“I told you. We’re already sworn to the Lord Dragon. Are you bloody deaf?” Uno
brandished his sword at the ragged men blocking their path. As poorly armed as
they were they would have little chance against the Shienarans, but they did
not step aside. There was a disturbing light of certainly in their eyes. Uno
cursed foully. “Look man, you go that way and we’ll go the other. No need for
anyone to die here.”
Loial’s ears were flat to his head. He ducked low and looked around nervously.
As tall as he was he’d already proven a tempting target for the mobs. The
bunched horses he and the rest of the unarmoured people dragged along behind
them looked even more nervous than they did.
Whatever the men blocking their path might have said she would never learn. A
loud cry of “Dragonsworn!” sounded from the street ahead, and several dozen men
in white cloaks and polished breastplates charged towards them, swords drawn
and shouting wordlessly.
“Leave them to it,” Verin said. “Move back and go around.”
The Shienarans leapt to obey, hastening back to the crossroads they had just
passed and taking another route, leaving the sounds of dying men behind. Dead
bodies littered the dark and twisting streets of Fontaine; it seemed every turn
they took revealed another one to Nynaeve’s sickened eyes. Hurin kept rubbing
his nose, but whatever smell he was trying to rid himself of it didn’t seemed
to be going anywhere.
“This is taking too long,” Uno growled.
“Mount up?” suggested Geko, whose missing arm hadn’t stopped him from joining
the fight.
“On these streets? With this light?” Uno shook his head angrily. “Bloody
southlanders don’t even have any lamplighters.”
“Rand could be in danger. We need to find him,” Anna insisted.
“No need,” Perrin said quietly. He pointed to a dark alley ahead, a dark and
empty alley so far as Nynaeve could tell, until a tall and familiar figure
stepped out of it.
Lan looked well in his fancy clothes. The soft, rich fabrics could not detract
from how strong and hard he looked. Nynaeve was so relieved to see him unhurt
that she forgot not to stare. Moiraine emerged from the shadows behind him, and
Rand was only a step behind her, looking blessedly unharmed. Her lips twisted
as she realised that of the three of them, Lan was the only one who hadn’t
taken any liberties with her. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad.
“My Lord Dragon, have you been injured?” Izana called as they hastened to
reunite.
“I’m fine, Izana,” Rand said distractedly. He ran his eyes carefully over them
all before smiling in relief. “And so are all of you, thank the Light. What
happened?”
“Assassins, poison, soldiers with no colours, madmen calling themselves
Dragonsworn, and Whitecloaks out for blood,” said Geko, raising a finger for
each point. Rand nodded as though he had expected no less, as though all of
that was just his life now.
“Where’s Leliana?” said Min, looking and sounding concerned.
Rand grimaced. “She’s the reason they know about us. She’s a spy for the Riela.
I left her tied up back at the mansion.”
Elayne raised her brows. “Tied up?”
“She tried to stab me,” Rand explained, his cheeks colouring. “She thinks I’m a
false Dragon.”
Min scowled at the news and Saeri gasped.
“Then the whole garrison may be turned out against us,” Elayne despaired. “And
likely will be, as soon as they realise their assassins have failed. We should
flee the city while we can.”
“And leave we shall, but not by boat,” Moiraine declared. “The Caralain Bridge
will take us across the Haevindrelle. We will lose our pursuers on the plains
or in the steddings.”
“Whitecloaks,” said Lan calmly, his sword appearing in his hand.
Uno and half a dozen Shienarans clanked forward to join him in opposing the men
now approaching from out of the night. There were only ten of them, but Nynaeve
was still relieved to see a familiar face leading. There had been enough
bloodshed already.
Elayne was not relived. “You! What are you doing out on the streets at this
hour. Is there a curfew that needs rigorous enforcing?”
“When I heard of the riots, your safety was my first concern, sister,” Galad
said, sounding as if he meant it.
“I am not your sister,” Elayne snapped.
“Deny the connection if you will,” he told her gravely, “but it is still there.
And Mother put your safety in my hands. I will look after you, whether you like
it or not.”
“Look after me!” Elayne exclaimed, but Galad went on smoothly.
“Towards that end I have secured the ship you wanted, though I now wonder if it
is large enough. Who are these people?”
Galad ignored the Shienarans, and most of the girls. His gaze paused on Loial,
then lingered on Perrin for a moment, before resting longer on Rand. She
thought she saw recognition there. But it was Moiraine and Verin who drew his
full focus. The two Aes Sedai had drawn the hoods of their cloaks up when it
became apparent that the Whitecloaks did not mean to attack, but Galad still
recognised them for what they were.
“Are you the ones who removed Elayne from the dubious safety of her previous
residence and set her to wandering loose like this?” He had a hand on his
swordhilt, and looked at them so arrogantly that you might think he had the
right or ability to do anything about it if they had been.
“Not at all,” said Verin jovially. “She was tottering along like a lost lamb
when we found her.”
Elayne gasped loudly in shock and outrage at that description, and spots of
colour appeared on her cheeks.
“The ship you spoke of.  How can you claim to have secured it when the Valreio
garrison controls the docks?” Moiraine asked.
“The Riverserpent has been tied up for days and its captain is eager to depart.
My men have secured it and await Elayne’s arrival. And Nynaeve’s, of course.
And perhaps you others as well.” He shook his head in exasperation. “You should
have told me how many would be coming with you, Nynaeve,” he said, fixing her
with a dark stare.
“The Valreio allowed this?” Moiraine said sceptically.
Galad did not look at her. “Sadly not. I explained my sister’s need, but they
would not be swayed. They left me no choice but to kill them.” He said it so
casually that it took a moment for the words to register with Nynaeve. His eyes
still rested on her accusingly, as though she were the one in the wrong.
Nynaeve was in no mood to be affected by a handsome face; her breath hardly
quickened at all. “You seized the Riversnake? You killed ...? Why?”
“Riverserpent,” he corrected, eyeing her incredulously. “You did ask me to
secure you passage.”
“I didn’t ask you to kill anyone!”
“A riot?” Elayne put in. “A battle. Possibly a war. All begun over this
vessel.”
Galad answered calmly. “I gave Nynaeve my word, sister. My first duty is to see
you safely on your way to Caemlyn. And Nynaeve, of course.”
“Couldn’t you simply have let us know the ship was waiting?” Nynaeve asked
wearily. Men and their word. It was all very admirable, sometimes, but she
should have listened when Elayne said he did what he saw as right no matter who
was hurt. The flat look Elayne gave her spoke volumes.
“I don’t understand what you are so upset about. You wanted a ship, needed a
ship, and I got you one. I’ve paid the captain your passage, though only for
you two. You will have to produce coin of your own if these others mean to
accompany you.”
Frowning, Galad addressed his sister. “How did you come to be travelling in
such odd company, Elayne? Is that not the same fellow we caught lurking in the
palace gardens last year? Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping in contact with
him.”
“I wasn’t lurking,” Rand muttered.
Elayne flushed. “Do you imply something untoward, Galadedrid Mantear? Do you
dare?”
Lan raised his voice and cut across them all masterfully. “Is any of this
relevant?”
“It is not,” Moiraine said. “At any moment we may be accosted by a roving band
of Dragonsworn or Valreio soldiers. We will take this vessel. Now. Passage has
been paid, and there’s no getting the price back.”
Nynaeve flinched. However she meant it, she knew how she heard it.
“There may be trouble reaching the river. The mobs can set on anyone,” Galad
said. “These other swords might be useful until we reach my men.”
Uno’s smile was villainous. Clearly, there was no more love between them than
at their first meeting. “And maybe after too. I’ll see them to the ship, if
your Whitecloaks can hold on to it. Or if they can’t.”
Nynaeve spoke up quickly. “That’s enough, both of you!” She wanted to lash out.
At something, anything. They were madmen, both of them. All men were!
Galad’s Whitecloaks led the way through the dark streets of Fontaine. Most of
the Shienarans fell back to guard the rear of their column, and Lan went with
them, giving Nynaeve a searching look as she passed him by. Whatever he saw
seemed to satisfy him, if not her. Rand was up ahead in his black coat, flanked
by Uno and Ragan. He didn’t look any the worse for wear, no thanks to Leliana.
That treacherous little chit. If I ever see her again I’ll strip the hide from
her.
Shattered glass from broken windows crunched underfoot; that was the only sound
except for a distant buzz, like monstrous swarms of wasps scattered through the
city. Furniture and bits of clothing littered the paving stones, pots and
pottery, things dragged from shops and homes, whether by looters or by people
fleeing there was no way to tell.
Not only property had been destroyed. In one place a corpse in a fine green
silk coat hung half out of a window, limp and unmoving; in another a fellow
garbed in rags dangled by his neck from the eaves of a tinsmith’s shop.
Sometimes, down a side street or alley, she caught a glimpse of what might have
been discarded bundles of old clothes; she knew they were not.
In one doorway, where the splintered door hung crazily by a single hinge, small
flames licked up around a wooden staircase, smoke just beginning to trickle
out. The street might be empty now, but whoever had done that was not long
gone. Head swivelling, trying to watch every way at once, Nynaeve took a firm
hold on her belt knife.
“Are they related? I didn’t think there’d be anyone else as handsome as him in
the world,” Saeri said quietly.
Luci’s shrug was a tiny jerk of her shoulders. “I have no idea,” she whispered.
“Who are you two talking about?” asked Elayne.
“Rand and this Galadedrid character,” Perrin said. “You don’t see it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Elayne scoffed. “Rand is nothing like Galad.”
Min looked as if she wanted to say something, but whatever it was she bit it
back. She eyed Elayne askance, looking oddly wary.
“No, I think he’s right,” Anna said slowly. “I didn’t see it at first, but now
that I see them together ... there’s definitely a resemblance. The colourings
all different, I think that’s what threw me off. And Rand’s a bit taller and a
bit more muscular, but still ... If I didn’t know any better I’d think they
were brothers.”
Min nodded, but still held her silence, watching Elayne carefully. Verin’s
little smile was far too knowing for Nynaeve’s taste.
“Nonsense,” the Daughter-Heir said, a bit breathlessly.
Up ahead Rand and Galad kept a watchful look on the streets they passed
through, turning their heads left and right. Seeing them side by side like
that, Nynaeve had to admit Anna had a point. They looked more than a little
alike, despite the differences in hair, eye and skin. They were both too
gorgeous for their own good. Or any decent woman’s.
“What can you tell me about Rand’s mother, Nynaeve?” Elayne asked after a long
moment. She sounded as though the words were being pulled out of her with a
rope. Loial’s ears twitched and he leaned in curiously.
“Kari al’Thor? She was an outlander who Tam met while he was outside the
Theren. She married him and came back with him when he returned. I don’t know
why she took his name instead of keeping her own, or where she came from
originally. She had red hair though, just like Rand.”
Elayne looked relieved. “Then it couldn’t have been her. Tigraine Mantear,
Galad’s birth mother, had hair like spun gold, if the portrait in the Royal
Palace is at all accurate. Her disappearance led to the War of Succession that
brought my mother to the throne, and is still considered a great mystery in
Andor. I would almost have been glad to see it solved, but ...”
But not if it meant realising you have a crush on someone who looks like your
half-brother, Nynaeve thought, but kindly refrained from saying.
The distant sounds felt almost like the coming of a storm to her as they passed
through the thankfully empty streets. Sometimes the angry buzz grew louder, a
wordless guttural roar of rage that seemed no more than one street over, and
sometimes it faded to a dull murmur; yet when trouble came, it came suddenly
and silently. She could see the docks just ahead when a mass of men stalked
around the next corner but one, like a pack of hunting wolves, jamming the
street from side to side, soundless but for the thud of boots. The sight of
Nynaeve and the others was a torch tossed into a haystack. There was no
hesitation; as one they surged forward, howling and rabid, waving pitchforks
and swords, axes and clubs, anything that could be taken to hand for a weapon.
“Valreio soldiers!” she heard someone shout from behind.
“Form a shieldwall! Brace yourselves!” Geko ordered.
Enough anger still clung in Nynaeve for her to embrace saidar, and she was
still too exhausted. She saw the glow spring up around Elayne. There were a
dozen ways she could halt this mob, a dozen more she could destroy it if she
chose. But she hesitated. Aside from Galad, the Whitecloaks didn’t know who
they were escorting. If they saw her channel, what would they do?
One man, a tall fellow in a ragged red coat that had belonged to someone else
once by its green-and-gold embroidery, ran out in front of the others on long
legs, shaking a wood-axe overhead. Anna’s arrow took him through one eye. He
went down in a sprawling heap and was trampled by the others, all contorted
faces and wordless screams. Galad’s Whitecloaks counter charged them, cutting
down several, but sheer weight of numbers swept half of them from their feet to
lie beneath the cruel, stabbing blades of the mob. The remaining Whitecloaks
fell back, fighting desperately against the so-called Dragonsworn.
Rand had his sword out and was pointing it at his supposed followers. “Halt!
Stop this at once, burn your eyes! Stand down, or so help me—” She willed him
to silence, afraid the fool boy would reveal his identity in front of Galad.
His angry yells had no more effect than the Whitecloak charge had. Nothing was
going to stop them. Saeri and Luci clutched each other. With a wail, half
outrage, half pure fear, Nynaeve jerked her belt knife free.
Like a wave striking boulders, the charge splintered on Shienaran steel. The
top-knotted men, worked their two-handed swords methodically, craftsmen at
their craft, and the onslaught went no farther than their thin line. Men fell
screaming for the Dragon, but more scrambled over them. Through it all Anna
calmly shifted from spot to spot, every arrow finding its target.
Yet if they held the mob, it was Rand and Galad who broke them. While Rand
raged uselessly at the Dragonsworn, Galad faced their charge as though awaiting
the next dance at a ball, arms folded and unconcerned, not even bothering to
bare his blade until they were almost on top of him. Then he did dance, all his
grace turned in an instant to fluid death, and Rand, snarling, danced with him.
The one was fire, the other ice; one wore black and the other white. They
should not have been looked alike, and yet they did. They did not stand against
the mob; they carved a path into their heart, a clear swath as wide as their
swords’ reach. Sometimes five or six men closed in around Galad with swords and
axes and table legs for clubs, but only for the brief time it took them to die.
Sometimes as many dared to accost Rand, only to watch in short-lived horror as
their own limbs were sent spinning through the air. In the end, all the mob’s
rage, all its thirst for blood, could not face them. It was from Galad that the
first ran, flinging away weapons, and when the rest cowered away from Rand’s
fury and fled, they divided around him. As the mob vanished back the way they
had come, Galad stood twenty paces from anyone else, alone among the dead and
the groans of the dying.
Nynaeve shivered as he bent to clean his blade on a corpse’s coat. He was
graceful, even doing that. They were beautiful, even doing that. She thought
she might sick up.
She had no idea how long it had taken. Minutes, an hour; it could have been
either. The few surviving Whitecloaks were slumped against the wall of the
nearest building, and some of the Shienarans were leaning on their swords; all
were panting, and eyeing Rand and Galad with a good deal of respect.
Miraculously, the two of them were untouched; or perhaps not so miraculously,
remembering how they had handled their swords. Nynaeve glanced at Min and
Elayne and was glad to see that she hadn’t been the only one staring like a
frog-eyed fool. At least Perrin had had the sense to take out his axe and stand
ready, in case any of the “Dragonsworn” had gotten past the actual Dragonsworn.
For once, looking at the injured men lying on the pavement here and there, the
one crawling away, she felt no desire to Heal, no pity at all. Not far off was
a pitchfork, where someone had flung it; a man’s severed head was impaled on
one tine, a woman’s on another. All she felt was queasy, and grateful that it
was not her head. That, and cold.
She could still hear the sounds of fighting coming from the back of the column,
where Lan and Moiraine were. She would have gone to them but ... Rand and Galad
were still standing far ahead of the others, isolated and surrounded by death,
and Galad was studying Rand as he approached him.
“Who are you, truthfully? You are plainly not the shepherd you once claimed to
be.”
“Not anymore,” Rand sighed.
“Or ever, perhaps.” Galad’s sword flashed towards Rand’s neck, but was batted
aside before it could get close. Rand’s counter was aimed at the other man’s
throat too, but Galad stepped away from it gracefully. “Did you seek out my
sister on your own, or are you working for another?” he said calmly. Threats
and posturing, no more than that, she thought. And hoped. Men could be such
fools.
“Stop this nonsense at once!” Elayne commanded, as the Shienaran armsmen surged
forward.
A bell rung. It took Nynaeve a moment to realise it was the one that hung
outside the bellmaker’s shop farther down the street. An arrow clattered to the
ground near it; Anna already had a new one nocked and aimed at Galad’s head.
“Don’t make me ring your bell too, handsome. I don’t want to, but if you try to
cut my friend again I will.”
Galad raised an eyebrow coolly. “A shepherd. With so many disparate people
rushing to his aid. I think not. What are your intentions towards my sister?”
“I don’t have any. Other than to see her safely out of this mess,” Rand said
slowly. Elayne flinched at his words, and schooled her face to stillness.
“Know that should I learn you are lying, I will find you. And I will kill you,”
Galad said.
“You’ll flamin’ well die trying, you mean,” growled Uno. Galad ignored him.
“You promised me a ship, Galad,” Elayne reminded him. “Where is it?”
“A few streets ahead,” he said, and reluctantly sheathed his sword.
Rand didn’t sheathe his, and kept a careful eye on Galad as he backed away.
Once behind the Shienarans steel line, he strode off to check on the rearguard.
Nynaeve went with him but when they arrived they found the fighting already
done. Men in unadorned armour lay dead in the street, but thankfully none of
them were their own. Shienaran shields had been smashed, and armour dented, and
several of them were nursing injuries, but no-one was dead yet. Ayame seemed to
have taken the worst of it. Moiraine Healed the stab wound in his groin, but
she left the others to nurse whatever cuts they had taken to arm or leg.
Nynaeve supposed those could wait a little longer.
They moved on. Katsui supporting the limping Han, while Bartu staggered along
behind. Rumbles followed them, distant roars from other streets, and often she
had the feeling of eyes watching from one of the vacant, glassless windows. But
word must have spread, or else the watchers had seen what happened, because
they saw no-one else living until suddenly two dozen Whitecloaks stepped into
the street in front of them, half with drawn bows, the rest with bared blades.
The Shienarans’ blades were up in a heartbeat.
Quick words between Galad and a fellow with a grizzled face beneath his conical
helmet passed them through, though the man did eye the Shienarans doubtfully.
And Rand and Perrin and the other men for that matter. It was enough to rankle
Nynaeve. All very well for Elayne to march along with her chin raised, ignoring
the Whitecloaks as though they were servants, but Nynaeve did not like being
taken for granted.
The river was not far. Beyond a plethora of stone warehouses under slate roofs,
the town’s stone docks stretched out into the water. A fat vessel with two
masts sat low at the end of one, with several Whitecloaks waiting at the end of
its gangplank. Nynaeve hoped there would be no problem obtaining separate
cabins. She hoped it would not heave too badly.
Galad seized Elayne by the arm and hustled her along the dock and down the
unsteady gangplank. Six more stern-faced men in white cloaks and burnished mail
stood on the deck, watching a cluster of barefoot men squatting in the bluff
bows. It was close whether the captain at the foot of the plank gazed at the
Whitecloaks more sourly or at the motley party that trooped onto his ship.
Agni Neres je Orlay was a tall, bony man in a dark coat, with ears that stood
out and a dour cast to his narrow face. “You paid me passage for two women. I
suppose you want me to take the other wenches and the men for free?” Min eyed
him dangerously, but he seemed not to see.
“You shall have your fare money, my good captain,” Elayne told him coolly.
“As long as it’s reasonable,” Nynaeve said, and ignored Elayne’s sharp glance.
Neres’ mouth thinned, though it hardly seemed possible, and he addressed Galad
again. “Then if you’ll get your men off my craft, I’ll sail. I like being here
now less than ever.”
“As soon as you take your other passengers on,” Nynaeve said. Neres looked for
Galad only to find that he had moved away to speak with the other Whitecloaks,
then spoke to the air above Nynaeve’s head. “Any who can pay.”
She raised herself on tiptoe, so he could not possibly miss her smile. It
snapped his chin down into his collar. “Every last one of them, Captain. Else
I’ll shave your ears off for you.”
The man’s mouth opened angrily; then abruptly his eyes widened, staring past
her. “All right,” he said quickly. “But I expect some sort of payment, mind. I
give alms on Firstday, and that’s long past.” Heels settling back to the deck,
she looked over her shoulder suspiciously. Uno and the others stood there,
blandly watching her and Neres. As blandly as they could manage with Uno’s
features, and blood all over their faces. Far too blandly.
Moiraine and Verin were standing together silently, with their hoods well up.
Rand stood at the ships railing, frowning off towards Fontaine from where the
sounds of fighting still drifted on the night’s air, staring at the city as if
seeing the future.
“You’ll have to leave the horses, of course,” Neres said.
Rand glanced at him, then at Bela. “No,” he said. Just that, but there was a
finality to the word.
With a sharp sniff, she said, “I will see them all aboard before anybody
touches a rope,” and went in search of Galad. She supposed he deserved some
thanks. He had thought what he was doing was the right thing. That was the
trouble with the best of men. They always thought they were doing the right
thing.
She found him with Elayne, that handsome face painted with frustration. He
brightened at the sight of her. “Nynaeve, I’ve paid your way as far as Stedding
Tsochan. Captain Neres took every copper in my purse, and I had to borrow
besides. The fellow charges ten prices. I’m afraid you will have to make your
own way to Caemlyn from there. I truly am sorry.”
“You have done quite enough already,” Elayne put in, her eyes drifting towards
the covered mounds that lay not far from the docks.
“I gave my promise,” he said with a weary resignation. Plainly they had had the
same exchange before Nynaeve came.
Nynaeve managed to offer her thanks, which he dismissed graciously, but with a
look as if she, too, did not understand. And she was more than ready to admit
as much. He risked provoking a war between Valreis and Amadicia in order to
keep a promise, yet, with his men holding Neres’ ship, he would not demand a
better price. It was Neres’ ship, and Neres could charge as he chose. As long
as he took Elayne and Nynaeve. It was true: Galad never counted the cost of
doing right, not to himself or anyone else.
At the gangplank, he paused when Rand said quietly, “You should leave the city.
The Valreio will not look kindly on what happened here. The other Whitecloaks
may not either.”
Galad studied him in silence for a time. Then walked silently into the night.
***** Questions *****
CHAPTER 47: Questions
 
“You let the false Dragon escape!” the General snapped. “Your Whitecloaks could
have stopped him at the docks, and instead they let him pass unchallenged.”
Jaichim kept his face smooth, but inside he was a storm of fury and despair.
Even the rich furnishings of his office in the rented palace could not soothe
him. Al’Thor had been here, in the city. Right here! Over a thousand of the
Children stood ready to do his bidding, and the Valreio were just as eager to
kill the man, but he’d slipped away. And the Valreio dared lay the blame on
him!?
“If you had told me he was here, I would have ordered those men to do much more
than merely challenge him,” he snarled, then wiped sweat from his brow. Perhaps
he was not as composed as he’d thought. “You should be grateful we were able to
avenge your guards by dealing with the Dragonsworn who killed them.” That last
was a lie, but Jaichim already had the Hand of the Light out rounding up anyone
who’d been close enough to the docks to see what really happened. With so many
having died in the rioting last night, a few more would not be missed. If he
could lay hands on all of the witnesses he might yet avert the disaster that
blindly stupid recruit of Valda’s had invited. He’d already ordered Mantear and
his men confined to the palace, lest the fools speak of what they had done to
anyone outside of the Children’s ranks.
Furian Hartile je Careas was not a large man, but his weathered face showed no
fear at Jaichim’s anger. “My orders made no mention of you.”
How blindly obedient! There is use in such men, far more than in the
independent at least, but they require such careful management that I sometimes
wonder if they are worth it.
Jaichim didn’t say that aloud, but he couldn’t prevent his scorn from leaking
into his voice. “Then you should take responsibility for your own failure,
General. Or failures. If you had shared your knowledge the false Dragon would
not have escaped. And if you had done the job your Riela assigned you, your
leaving the Children in ignorance of the viper in their midst would not have
allowed him to escape either. I wonder how merciful the Winged Throne is. A
Lord Captain who had failed his duty to the Light so terribly would be
trembling at this moment. Who knows? Perhaps the Riela may soon have need of an
experienced asker of questions ...”
Je Careas blanched at that. “I have always been loyal to the Winged Throne. I
carried out my orders exactly as instructed,” he said stiffly.
“Then perhaps you have nothing to fear. Perhaps. Did you have other business
with me? Or did you just come here to try and blame the Children for your
mistakes?”
His already-narrow eyes became flinty black blades. “One of your officers is
still roaming the streets. ‘Hunting for Dragonsworn’ he says, but the fighting
has already died down. My guards will see to restoring the peace, and dealing
with all those who disrupt it. Call off this man, before I have to deal with
him.”
Valda. He did so love the sight of blood on that heron-marked sword of his.
Jaichim didn’t care for je Careas’ threats, but he refused to let his anger at
the man’s arrogance get the better of him. There would be time enough to put
him in his place. “I will see that the officer in question is ordered to stand
down, for now.”
His unwelcome guest spat out a stiff thank you before departing his office.
Jaichim took a moment to compose himself. There was still a chance to salvage
the situation. Al’Thor could not have gotten far, and though Niall’s orders
prohibited him from sending the Children, at least directly, the Valreio were
intent on his death. Any information he could gain on his activities would be
valuable to them.
He strode from the room, marching down corridors in which armoured, white-
cloaked men stood sentry. With all the troubles of the night before the palace
was now as heavily fortified as any garrison in Amadicia. Nothing could
threaten him here, and no-one could escape.
The palace had no dungeon, so the rooms he strode to were upstairs. That was
somewhat disconcerting to Jaichim. He was used to working in dark and
windowless rooms. It had been many years since he’d plied his trade with the
patrols; his talents in that regard had seen him quickly promoted through the
ranks of the Hand of the Light.
Mantear’s skill with a blade had seen him similarly advanced, undeservedly in
his case. The almost-womanly youth stood sentry on the third floor, alongside
several lesser members of the Hand.
Jaichim sneered at the sight of him. “The heroic slayer of Dragonsworn. In
defence of the false Dragon himself.” The other Children had made much of
Mantear’s swordplay in their reports. Like Jaichim, and Mantear to be fair,
they had been ignorant of who and what lurked among them.
Mantear didn’t rise to Jaichim’s disdain. He remained smooth-faced, and calm-
voiced. “Had I been appraised of the man’s crimes I would have slain him,
Inquisitor. Lacking that information however, I had no justification to.” Even
his eyes remained steady, dull dark orbs full of certainty. Je Careas’ stolid
loyalty was nothing next to this one’s.
“And the deaths of our Valreio allies? What justification was there for those
murders?”
Mantear’s certainty remained unwavering. “My sister required a ship. I secured
one for her.”
Jaichim grunted. The man was a fool; a loyal hound, devoid of imagination or
independent thought. But he could prove useful, provided Jaichim kept a close
eye on him and was careful in how he worded his orders.
“Our newest guest. Bring her to me,” he commanded.
“As you will.” Mantear bowed smoothly before striding towards the stairs.
Jaichim put him from his mind. The two Children on sentry outside their other
guest’s chamber saluted as he approached, and held the door respectfully to
admit him, closing it again once he stepped into the nearly unfurnished room. A
small bed with a thin mattress, a table with his instruments neatly arrayed
upon it, a single lamp for light. The shutters were tightly sealed, despite the
bright morning.
The woman strapped to the bed was grey and motherly. The lines of pain on her
face had already been there before his earlier session began, but the crusted
blood was his own addition. Her eyes widened in terror at his entrance, and she
pulled at her bonds futilely.
She was naked, and her drooping dugs were missing their nipples; they still
leaked blood onto the sheets. A hideous sight. Not that he would have raped her
even so. Such things could be a useful means of breaking the subject, but
Jaichim preferred to leave them to lesser members of the Hand, such as the
splinter thin Serard and the pale and hulking Storf, who would be assisting him
today.
Jaichim studied the woman again, unmoved by her fear. When the Valreio had
finally shared what they knew of al’Thor he had immediately sent the Hand to
find anyone connected to him. This was all they had been able to find so far.
Vara Elsac she named herself. A Falmeran laundress. Insignificant by herself,
yet she had been witness to many things that interested Jaichim. That the new
Queen of Falmerden knew about al’Thor and had let him pass out of her lands
unmolested would surely interest the Riela. But was a war between their nations
in Jaichim’s interests? He would have to think carefully on that. The names and
descriptions of all those who travelled with al’Thor he had carefully jotted
down. Elsac herself was unlikely to be useful as bait. She’d left al’Thor’s
service in protest over his dalliance with a young girl named Saeri. But one of
the others, the girl in question perhaps, might prove much more valuable a
prisoner. If—when!—he could lay hands on them, he would have al’Thor by the
stones.
“Tell me all you know about the false Dragon, Rand al’Thor,” he said, in a
well-practiced voice that rang with cold implacability. No-one had ever failed
to respond to the questions he asked in that voice. Some took longer than
others to spill their secrets, but everyone talked eventually.
Elsac licked her lips, briefly revealing her missing teeth. She’d had more when
he began. She’d also claimed that al’Thor was not a false Dragon. The
disappearance of the former and the end of the latter were quite connected.
“Please. I’ve told you all I know. You don’t have to do this.”
Jaichim made a small gesture, and Serard applied his razor to the sole of her
foot again. She screamed, and Jaichim waited calmly for her to stop before
asking his question once more.
“He’s young, handsome, tall and strong. He’s mad, ruthless, brave, perverse.”
Elsac gasped out her answers, rambling desperately. Jaichim let her rant. It
was not the precise kind of questioning her preferred, but there were often
interesting truths to be found among such spiels. “He likes women, and I think
he likes men too. Sometimes Aybara would spend a long time alone with him in
his tent. Sometimes al’Tolan. Sometimes both. He even likes children.” Elsac
sobbed at that, and just as she did there came a tap on the door. Jaichim
silently directed Storf to see to it.
“Saeri is only twelve, but he took her to his bed anyway,” Elsac continued as
Mantear entered with the new prisoner. “I wanted to get her safely away from
him but she wouldn’t listen. She worships him, they all do.”
Elsac was telling him nothing she had not already said. Jaichim turned his
focus to the new prisoner, who stared pale-faced at her predecessor. That was
good. Let the fear grow quickly. It would mean less time wasted breaking her
when he should be setting his hounds on al’Thor’s trail.
Leliana Corinne je Vasseur. Bard and spy. The Valreio hadn’t given him her
name, but Elsac had. All the details a mere laundress would miss, this woman
would have noticed. Jaichim meant to squeeze every last drop from her. She was
younger and prettier than Elsac, a slender red-haired woman in her mid-
twenties, of average height. Quite attractive. Almost enough to make him regret
what he had to do to her.
Storf closed the door firmly, and Mantear released his hold on the rope that
bound Leliana’s hands. Jaichim ignored both men. He looked Leliana straight in
the eye, then took his dagger and plunged it into Elsac’s stomach; he did not
break eye-contact with the bard even as he twisted the knife in the screaming
woman’s bowels. Let her know beyond doubt—let them all know!—that Jaichim
Carridin was not a man to be taken lightly.
She gasped of course, and his assistants gasped too. There was a sudden pain, a
dizzying confusion, and then he was staring at a white-cloaked body, blood
spurting from the place where its head used to be. The red shepherd’s crook
stood out proudly on the pristine white, and as the body fell boneless to the
floor he thought it strangely familiar ... it even had his signet ring on its
finger.
Jaichim’s last thoughts were ones of shock and confusion, as the cheek of his
severed head came to rest against the smooth boards of that unadorned room,
there in the heart of his power.
 
                                     * * *
 
Galad waited for the two Questioners to begin it. He could not be certain of
their involvement, so it would not be right to kill them without first
affording them the chance to disavow Carridin’s actions. Deep in ko’di, he was
fully aware of it when the big one surged towards him from behind. The man
intended to bind his arms, but Galad spun into Cutting the Clouds and left him
with only stumps where his own had been. The short one cursed and tried to skid
to a halt mid-lunge, his paltry razor held low. It was a simple matter to open
his throat.
“The torture and murder of women is wrong,” Galad told them sternly as they
died. They were past being able to learn of course, but perhaps in their next
lives they would do better.
Carridin’s methods were unacceptable, his death required. He used the
Inquisitor’s cloak to wipe the blood from his sword, then stepped past his
corpse to look down at the dying woman. He felt no remorse, not for Carridin,
or even really for her, despite her cruel treatment. She was Dragonsworn, which
was also unacceptable. With that thought returned the harrowing doubts that had
plagued him since he learned what the supposed shepherd al’Thor really was.
Elayne cannot have known. They must have deceived her somehow. He prayed it was
so. If his sister had truly given her support to a false Dragon ... Galad
dreaded to think what he would be required to do.
“Help me. Please,” Carridin’s prisoner groaned. The dagger was still lodged in
her gut. Such wounds were usually fatal, if not often quick.
Galad made his voice kind. “I’m afraid your wounds are beyond treating,
Mistress. I suggest you take the time that remains to repent your sins, and
make your peace with the Light.”
“I-it hurts ...”
The Valreio prisoner had watched in wide-eyed silence as he dispatched the
Questioners. Now she stepped forward. “Vara. I’m so sorry. Would—would you like
it to be made quicker?”
The other woman swallowed. “Yes. Please.”
“Don’t be afraid. It will be over soon.” Leliana looked at Galad expectantly.
He gathered that she wanted him to kill the other woman, but the right response
eluded him momentarily. She was guilty of associating with criminals, but
execution was not warranted for that alone. And killing an unarmed prisoner was
wrong, even if they requested you do it. No, he would not.
Leliana looked shocked when he told her as much. “She is in great pain!”
Galad nodded agreement to that very obvious statement.
When she realised he would do no more than that, Leliana made a disgusted
sound. “Then untie my hands. I will put her out of her misery.”
“You are a prisoner. Why would I free you?”
She stared. “You just killed the Inquisitor! As soon as you step out of this
room, and the guards realise all that noise what not his doing, they will swarm
you intent on avenging him.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. He wasn’t sure what she getting at. Did she think him
unwilling to face the consequences for his actions? Perhaps because she herself
was?
“Then what does it matter whether they want me bound or not?”
Galad shook his head in exasperation. “Whyever would it not? You have been
accused of a most serious crime.”
Leliana blew out a breath. “Look. I am Agent Nightingale. I work for Briala
Ghilain je Orlay, the Riela’s spymaster. No crime can be committed in Valreis
if it is done at the Riela’s own command, no? Carridin had no right to have me
seized like this. You should release me.”
Galad considered for a moment, and found truth in her words. “So be it,” he
said, and drew his belt knife to cut her bonds. As soon as her hands were freed
she reached for Galad’s knife, and reluctantly he let her take it. He wondered
if that made him partially complicit in what she meant to do. The thought that
he might have done something wrong troubled him immensely, as it always did.
Leliana brushed Vara’s hair back from her brow tenderly. “Shh, now. Close your
eyes, my dear. It will all be over soon.”
She did as bid, and finished whispering her thanks a heartbeat before Leliana
slid the knife between her ribs. Galad’s steel was sharp, as always, and the
bard knew exactly how to reach someone’s heart. It was, as promised, over
quickly.
He thought about what she had said when he first entered, in the few seconds
before he realised he was going to have to kill Carridin. If al’Thor was a
sexual deviant, then that was just one more reason that Galad would have to
find and kill him. Not that he needed more reasons. The man’s fate had been
sealed the moment he was revealed as the false Dragon of Falme.
“We need to get out of this place, before the other Whitecloaks realise what
happened,” Leliana said.
Galad considered the question she unwittingly posed. There was an argument to
be made that he should turn himself over to the Children to face judgement for
what he’d done. That would leave al’Thor’s fate, and Elayne’s, in the hands of
others, but in that regard he would simply have to trust in the Light to see
them both given their just rewards. The oaths he had sworn when he joined the
Children had been for life, and required obedience to the Lord Captain
Commander and the officers placed above him. Here in Valreis that meant Eamon
Valda, who had given Galad no orders that obliged him to stay. Carridin himself
was not part of his chain of command. The Hand of the Light stood apart from
such things. Above them, they erroneously seemed to think. Leaving to pursue a
false Dragon and rescue his sister was justifiable, he decided.
Leliana was waiting for him, staring in that odd way women often did. He nodded
his assent, and turned for the door.
“Wait,” she hissed urgently. “We need a plan first. I’ll pretend my hands are
still bound, and then you can lead me through the corridors likes before. Just
a prisoner and her guard.”
Galad raised a brow at her proposed deception, but said nothing her as she
arranged herself. He supposed it was a minor infraction, and not worth rebuking
her over just then. He made a mental note to mention it later though.
When they slipped out of the torture chamber, Galad limited his involvement
with the sentries to a cool nod. Taking Leliana by the arm, he made to depart,
but one of the men, an Amadician by his drawling accent, spoke through a smirk.
“Where is the Inquisitor sending the pretty one. Does she need some, ah, more
tender persuading?”
Leliana looked at him expectantly. He suspected she wanted him to lie. He was
beginning to think the woman had no honour at all.
“Inquisitor Carridin did not order me to take her,” Galad said solemnly. “He
had no right to give me orders at all, and when I witnessed him do torture and
murder I was left with no choice but to kill him.” He released his hold on
Leliana’s arm, and let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword. “I hope you
understand the situation. I bear neither of you ill will.”
The two sentries gaped at Galad as though he were some manner of Ogier, and
Leliana groaned despairingly.
Unfortunately the sentries grabbed for their swords, so he Unfolded the Fan,
opening the Amadician’s throat in the process, then thrust his sword through
the second while the man’s blade was still half in its scabbard. The Falcon
Stoops, executed in just the manner Henre Haslin had taught him. Such a simple
move, yet surprisingly effective against such as these.
“You could have just said you were going to have your way with me,” Leliana
sighed after their bodies had crumpled to the floor. “They would have believed
it, I think. There was no need to kill them.”
Galad ignored her. Like Elayne and so many others, she simply did not
understand.
“Can we avoid the others at least?” Leliana asked. “I know the layout of this
palace well. I think I can get us to the stables unseen. Or mostly unseen.”
“That is perfectly acceptable. Lead on, miss.”
She scurried ahead, and he lengthened his stride slightly to keep up. If they
encountered any more sentries along the way he hoped they would prove
reasonable, he truly didn’t want to have to kill them. But he would. After all,
it was the right thing to do.
***** Flight Up the Ivo *****
CHAPTER 48: Flight Up the Ivo
 
It hadn’t been easy getting all the horses onboard the Riverserpent, or keeping
them safely hobbled on the deck. The crew had transported horses before, and
the Shienarans helped, but arranging them safely took most of the first night
and well into the morning. Even after they were done it left little room for
anyone to move on the upper deck. Nynaeve made it clear to Captain Neres that
he was going to find room for everyone and that whatever he thought he was
going to charge, she knew exactly how much she would give for their fares. Much
as he hated the sudden intrusion, the presence of so many armed and armoured
soldiers had a most salutary effect. She counted the money into his hand
herself, though it had been Moiraine who provided it. Elayne had had no call to
ask in that sickly sweet tone if she was having a tooth pulled.
“I hope you have ample supplies Captain. I do not mean to stop between here and
Stedding Tsochan if I can avoid it,” Moiraine said. With the Whitecloaks gone
she was eager to reassert herself.
“Bad enough there are so many of you when I only agreed to two. Now you want me
to feed and water you as well? It’s never-ending with you women. Even on my own
ship.”
Little as she liked Moiraine, Nynaeve could not help but bristle at the man’s
tone. She knew his sort. Some simply could not accept the inferiority of the
male gender—as if Breaking the World hadn’t been proof enough—and insisted on
taking it out on their betters. With great reluctance she came to stand at
Moiraine’s shoulder, arms crossed and a scowl on her face that was only partly
for the fool captain.
Neres had begun to sweat, despite the cool air. He looked to Lan as if for
support, but the Warder’s cold stare only made him sweat harder.
“You’ll get what you need,” Neres said sourly, working his shoulders as though
a hard knot had suddenly formed in his back. “Agni Neres never cheated any man
of his due.”
“Or any woman? Mind yourself, Captain,” Moiraine warned him serenely.
Five days they were on the Riverserpent, five days running up the slowly
winding Ivo. The first real problem of the trip was Neres’ cabin in the stern,
the only accommodation on the ship except the deck. Not that Neres was
reluctant about moving out. His haste—breeches and coats and shirts flung over
his shoulders and dangling from a great wad in his arms, shaving mug clutched
in one hand and razor in the other—made Nynaeve look hard at the men. Their
faces could not have been more open, or their eyes more innocent. Elayne
brought up another of Lini’s sayings. “An open sack hides nothing, and an open
door hides little, but an open man is surely hiding something.”
But the real problem was the cabin itself. It smelled of must and mould even
with the tiny windows swung out, and they let little light into its dank
confines. “Confines” was the word. The cabin was small, smaller than the wagon,
and most of the space was taken by a heavy table and high-backed chair fastened
to the floor, and the ladder leading up to the deck. A washstand built into the
wall, with a grimy pitcher and bowl and a narrow dusty mirror, crowded the room
still more, and completed the furnishings except for a few empty shelves and
pegs for hanging clothes. The ceiling beams crouched right overhead, even for
them. And there was only one bed, hardly wide enough for two. Tall as he was,
Neres might as well have lived in a box. The man surely had not given up one
inch that might be stuffed with cargo.
“He was eager to leave Fontaine in the night, despite the governor’s orders,”
Elayne muttered, unburdening herself of her bundles and putting hands on hips
as she looked around disparagingly, “I heard him tell one of his men that he
meant to sail on through the night whatever the ... the wenches ... wanted.
Apparently, he’s not much pleased to be moving in daylight.”
“What are you going on about?”
“The man is a smuggler, Nynaeve. Everything fits. Even the name. Riverserpent.
What honest trader would name his craft so?”
Dropping her own bundles, Nynaeve laid the scrip on the table and sat down on
the edge of the bed. No, she would not sleep on deck. The cabin might smell,
but it could be aired out, and if the bed was cramped, it had a thick feather
mattress. The ship did roll disturbingly; she might as well have what comfort
she could. Elayne could not chase her out of there. She just hoped she had
sufficient red fennel to keep her stomach in its place. “Well, what if he is?”
Elayne threw up her hands in exasperation; she always did think obeying the law
was important, however fool the law was. She shared more with Galad than she
would be willing to admit. So Neres had called them wenches, had he?
“We will sleep in shifts,” Moiraine announced, depositing her own bundle on the
table beside Verin’s. “There is not enough room here to do otherwise. Even for
we four. Min and the others will have to sleep above.” Nynaeve scowled to
herself over that.
The second difficulty was room for the others. The horses took up a lot of
space for one thing. And a certain amount of space had to go to the crew
working the sweeps and tending ropes and sails, and that did not leave much for
the passengers. There was scarcely room for everyone to sit, much less lay
down.
Nynaeve approached Neres straight away. “We need more room. Especially the
women. Since you have no more cabins, your hold will have to do.”
Neres’ face darkened. Staring straight ahead, somewhere a pace to her left, he
growled, “My hold is full of valuable cargo. Very valuable cargo.”
“I wonder if customs men are active along the Ivo here?” Elayne said idly,
eyeing the tree-lined banks to either side. The river was only a few hundred
feet wide here. “Of course, you probably have all the documents showing where
you’ve paid duties. And you could explain that you didn’t unload because of the
troubles in Fontaine. I have heard that excise men are quite understanding,
really.” The corners of his mouth turning down, he still did not look at either
of them.
Which was why he had a very good view of Uno’s toothy smile, which held no
mirth at all, and did unfortunate things to his long scar and the new slash
down his face, red and raw. The glaring crimson eye on his patch almost paled
in comparison. Neres shut his eyes and drew a long, long breath. The hatches
came open, and crates and casks went splashing over the side, some heavy, most
light and smelling of spices. Neres winced every time the river closed over
something else. He brightened—if such a thing could be said of him—when Nynaeve
directed that bolts of silk and carpets and bales of fine woollens be left
below. Until he realized that she meant them for bedding. If his face had been
sour before, now it could have curdled milk in the next room. Through the whole
thing he never said a word. He stood at the stern, hands clenched behind his
back, and stared at the few floating casks as they fell behind.
In a way, it was Neres’ peculiar attitude toward women that began smoothing the
edges from Elayne’s acid tongue. That was the way Nynaeve saw it; she herself
had maintained her usual even disposition, of course. Neres disliked women. The
crew spoke quickly when they had to speak to one of the women, all the while
darting glances at the captain until they could hurry back to their duties. A
fellow who seemed to have nothing to do for a moment was more likely than not
to be sent running to some task by a roar from Neres if he exchanged two words
with anyone in skirts. Their hasty comments and muttered warnings made Neres’
opinions perfectly clear.
Women cost a man money, they fought like alley cats, and they caused trouble.
Any and all trouble a man had could be laid to women, one way or another. They
hoarded all the land and wealth and would not suffer a hard-working man to have
more than the crumbs from their table. They insulted, nagged and belittled you
at every turn. They would all flirt with his crew, and bring on dissension
where they did not cause fights. Could he have sent all women off his ship,
forever, he might have been happy. Could he have had them out of his life, he
would have been ecstatic.
Nynaeve had never encountered the like. Oh, she had heard men mutter about
women and money, as if men did not fling coin about like water—they just had no
head for money, less than Elayne—and she had even heard them lay various
troubles to women, usually when it was they themselves who had caused all the
bother. But she could not recall ever meeting a man who truly disliked women.
It was a surprise to learn that Neres had a wife and a horde of children in
Orlay, but no surprise that he stayed at home only long enough to load a new
cargo. He did not even want to talk to a woman. It was simply amazing.
Sometimes Nynaeve found herself looking at him sideways, the way she would have
at some incredible animal. Far stranger than s’redit, or anything else in
Luca’s menagerie.
Naturally, there was no way that Elayne could vent her bile where he might
hear. Rolling eyes and meaningful looks among the other men were bad enough;
they at least made some effort to hide them. Neres’ open satisfaction at having
his ridiculous expectations met—he surely would have seen it so—that would have
been unbearable. He left them no choice but to swallow their acid and smile.
For herself, Nynaeve could have done with a little time with the other men away
from Neres’ eye. They were forgetting themselves again, forgetting they were
supposed to do as they were told. The results did not matter; they should wait.
But the only place she could be sure of avoiding Neres was in the cabin. Yet
crowded in there, they would have filled the tiny space to where they were
looming over her. Hardly conducive to the tongue-lashing she wanted to hand
out; give a man the chance to loom, and he had the battle half won. So she put
on a pleasant mask, and enjoyed the outward good temper the other women had
been forced to adopt.
She managed to keep smiling when she learned why the sails were so full, the
undulating riverbanks rushing by under the afternoon as fast as a trotting
horse. Neres had had the sweeps pulled in and stored along the railings; he
almost looked happy. Almost. Verin had channelled a strong wind to speed them
on their way, but Nynaeve hadn’t noticed due to her block. That was fine
though. It didn’t annoy her at all.
Nynaeve looked after the men’s wounds that first morning on the river. She
brought out her scrip full of herbs, making poultices and ointments, bandaging
cuts. Those gashes made her angry enough to Heal—sickness and injury always
made her angry—and she did so, for some of the worst, though she had to be
careful. Wounds vanishing would have set people talking, and the Light knew
what Neres would do if he thought he had an Aes Sedai aboard.
With Uno, for example, she rubbed a touch of stinging mardroot-oil liniment
into his heavily bruised shoulder, dabbed a bit of healall ointment on the
fresh slash down his face—no point wasting either—and wrapped his head in
bandages until he could hardly move his jaw before Healing him. When he gasped
and flailed, she said briskly, “Don’t be such a baby. I wouldn’t have thought a
little pain would bother a big strong man. Now, you leave those alone; if you
even touch them in the next three days, I’ll dose you with something you won’t
soon forget.”
He nodded slowly, staring at her so uncertainly that it was plain he did not
know what she had done. If he realized when he finally took the bandages off,
with luck no one else would remember exactly how bad the gash had been, and he
should have sense enough to keep his mouth shut.
Of course, with Verin channelling good winds and Neres running light or dark,
the broad and misnamed craft made good time, rolling along upriver.
Neres seemed torn between pleasure at his good luck at such winds and worry at
moving in daylight. More than once he gazed longingly at a backwater, a tree-
shrouded stream or a pool cut deep into the bank where Riverserpent might have
been moored and hidden. Occasionally Nynaeve remarked where he could hear about
how glad he must be that the people from Fontaine would soon be off his ship.
That was enough to put ideas of stopping right out of his head. It might have
been easier to threaten him with the armed men, but those fellows were getting
entirely too bigheaded as it was. And she certainly had no intention of arguing
with a man who still would neither look at her nor talk to her.
There was an odd exchange the evening of the second day, while tempers were
still tender and tongues—some people’s tongues!—still rough. Nynaeve said
something, quite mildly, about Elayne not being in her mother’s palace, so she
need not think Nynaeve was going to sleep shoved against the wall every night.
Elayne tilted up her chin, but before she could open her mouth, Neres passed,
stumping around the deck as the sun began to sink, muttering to himself about
having his cargo stolen. She ignored him, of course. Then Rand, making up his
bed at the foot of the after mast, said quietly, “He has a point.”
It was plain he did not see her in the fading lurid light, and neither did
Hurin, squatting beside him. “He’s a smuggler, but he did pay for those goods.
Nynaeve had no right to seize them.”
“A woman’s flaming rights are whatever she flaming says they are.” Uno laughed.
“That’s what women in Shienar say, anyway.”
“I know, but still. The law.”
“I wonder if a female captain would have been treated more fairly,” Rand
muttered.
That was when they saw her and Elayne watching and fell silent, as usual
finding wisdom too late. Uno rubbed at his cheek, the one without a scar. He
had removed his bandages that day, and he knew now what had been done. He and
Hurin looked embarrassed. Not Rand though. It was hard to tell in the fast-
shifting shadows, but she thought his face showed bitterness and
disappointment.
She did nothing to them, of course, only stalked away with a firm grip on her
braid. She even managed to stalk down the ladder.
 
                                     * * *
 
Rand spent much of the journey upriver shovelling shit. With so many horses on
the Riverserpent’s deck there was certainly no shortage of it. He didn’t mind
the chore; he’d grown up on a farm where shovelling manure was just another
daily task, but Hurin and his armsmen seemed affronted by the sight of him
doing it. So did the two maids for that matter.
In a way he was glad of the chore, for it gave him time alone with his
thoughts. Neres’ resentment of the matriarchy struck a chord with Rand, though
he thought the man a bit too extreme in his complaints. It reminded him of the
way Moiraine continued to treat him as an inferior, despite his new title. He
wondered if that would ever change, but somehow he doubted it. If by some
miracle he actually managed to defeat the Dark One and survive, was
condescension all he’d have to expect from it? He’d always accepted it when
they told him how inferior men were, but somehow it was harder to accept it
from people who expected you to save them from the Shadow. If they were so much
better than him, then why didn’t they go and stop Dark One themselves?
He spoke little on the journey, but heard much. Lan wondered at the safety of
an Ogier named Edric from Stedding Taishin; Rand gathered he’d been the one to
guide Lan and Moiraine to Falme, helping them to bypass the Valreio blockade,
before returning alone along the Ways.
Saeri and Luci worried too, though for Vara. They hoped she would be okay,
alone in Fontaine as she now was. Rand hoped so too.
Talk of the Ways, and of the stedding they were supposed to stop at, got Rand
worrying about Loial. He’d heard it was dangerous for Ogier to be away from the
stedding for too long, but Loial had told him some others had stayed outside
for as much as a decade. He wondered if he was imagining his friend’s off-
colour look. Loial brushed off his concerns easily, but Rand still wondered.
Perrin had uncomplimentary things to say about Galad, things Anna did not agree
with. She got a little heated in her disagreement in fact, enough so that Rand
eyed her askance while taking his latest shovelful to the railing. He wasn’t
sure why everyone got so worked up over Galad. He seemed a decent enough
fellow, despite Elayne’s very evident distaste for him. He looked fairly normal
to Rand as well, so he wasn’t sure why everyone kept staring like that.
Min didn’t keep him company as much during the ship journey as she had before.
She made a point of waving her hard exaggeratedly in front of her nose whenever
he caught her eye; she did it often enough that Rand took to menacing her with
the dirty shovel whenever she ventured too close. When her warning glare didn’t
send him running, she beat a hasty retreat.
A good part of each day Rand spent leaning on the railing near Bela, staring at
the shore as he petted the shaggy mare’s coat.
Four days into their trip upriver found Rand atop the mast, sitting on the
blunt end with his legs wrapped in the stays. The Riverserpent rolled gently on
the river, but fifty feet above the water that easy roll made the top of the
mast sway back and forth through wide arcs. He threw back his head and laughed
into the wind that blew in his face.
The oars were out, and from here the boat looked like some twelve-legged spider
creeping up the Ivo. He had been as high as this before, in trees and on cliffs
back in the Theren, but this time there was nothing to block his view.
Everything on deck, the sailors at the sweeps, men on their knees scrubbing the
deck with smoothstones, men doing things with lines and hatchcovers, looked so
odd when seen from right overhead, all squat and foreshortened, that he had
spent an hour just staring at them and chuckling.
He still chuckled whenever he looked down at them, but now he was staring at
the riverbanks flowing by. That was the way it seemed, as if he were
still—except for the swaying back and forth, of course—and the banks slid
slowly by, trees and hills marching along to either side. He was still, and the
whole world moved past him.
On sudden impulse he unwrapped his legs from the stays bracing the mast and
held his arms and legs out to either side, balancing against the sway. For
three complete arcs he kept his balance like that, then suddenly it was gone.
Arms and legs windmilling, he toppled forward and grabbed the forestay. Legs
splayed to either side of the mast, nothing holding him to his precarious perch
but his two hands on the stay, he laughed. Gulping huge breaths of the fresh,
cold wind, he laughed with the exhilaration of it.
“Sheepherder,” came Lan’s stern voice. “If you’re trying to break your fool
neck, don’t do it by falling on anyone else.”
Rand looked down. Lan clung to the ratlines just below him, staring up the last
few feet grimly. Like Rand, the Warder had left his cloak below. “Lan,” he said
delightedly. “Lan, when did you come up here?”
“When you wouldn’t pay any attention to people shouting at you. Burn me, boy,
you’ve got everybody thinking you’ve gone mad.”
He looked down and was surprised to see all the faces staring up at him. Even
the men at the oars had their eyes raised, letting their stroke go ragged. And
no one was berating them for it. Rand twisted his head around to look under his
arm at the stern. Captain Neres stood by the steering oar, glaring at him atop
the mast. He turned back to grin at Lan. “You want me to come down, then?”
Lan nodded firmly. “Moiraine would appreciate it. She may even let you keep
your hide.”
“All right.” Shifting his grip on the forestay, he sprang forward off the mast
top. He heard Lan bite off an oath as his fall was cut short and he dangled
from the forestay by his hands. The Warder scowled at him, one hand half
stretched out to catch him. He grinned at Lan again. “I’m going down now.”
Swinging his legs up, he hooked one knee over the thick line that ran from the
mast to the bow, then caught it in the crook of his elbow and let go with his
hands. Slowly, then with increasing speed, he slid down. Just short of the bow
he dropped to his feet on the deck right in front of Perrin, took one step to
catch his balance, and turned to face the boat with arms spread wide, the way
the circus folk did after a performance.
Saeri gave a little clap, but she was the only female present who looked
anything close to amused. If looks could kill, Moiraine would have murdered him
on the spot. Even the normally supportive Anna and Min wore forbidding frowns.
He thought that particularly rich in Min’s case, considering her antics while
travelling with Luca’s show. For that matter Elayne seemed to be doing her best
impression of Queen Morgase on her throne, ready to pass judgement. Her of the
mid-air cartwheels! He gave them all a defiant grin that would have done Mat
proud.
The river had grown thin, and navigation tricky by the time they came in sight
of a set of wooden docks that reached out into the water. There was no town
within sight of the shore, but the path that led away from the docks looked
well-trodden. Neres had his sails furled and directed his crew loudly and
sternly in their careful navigations.
As the sailors tied up, Nynaeve went to stand in the stern and survey their
destination. Neres was already there and spoke not to her, but to the air
somewhere between the ship and the dock, in that strange way he had.
“I suppose I will have my ship back now. Not beforetime. This voyage has been
the worst I ever undertook.”
Nynaeve smiled broadly. Neres roared, slapping at his neck and his hip at the
same time. “The horseflies are very bad this time of year,” she said
sympathetically.
Rand set his shovel aside for the last time, and frowned sourly. Not at the
familiar smell of manure, but because he was fairly sure Nynaeve had just hit
Neres with saidar. It wasn’t that he particularly cared one way or the other
about the captain, it was just that he didn’t much like seeing him bullied.
Nynaeve had bullied almost everyone back in Emond’s Field, but that had been
different. She’d been the Wisdom then, not a guest on Neres’ ship.
As they began the slow process of unhobbling their horses and leading them one
by one off the shop and along the docks, Rand noticed Elayne approaching Neres.
He hoped she wasn’t going to needle the man more. It was almost to be expected
of Nynaeve, proper Theren woman that she was, but somehow the thought of Elayne
echoing all the put-downs he’d used to hear from Egwene and her ilk growing up
made Rand feel a bit ill.
It was well into afternoon by the time he led Bela, the last of their horses,
along the wooden dock. The usually placid mare was tossing her mane, obviously
glad to be back on dry land. As he was passing the assembled women he heard
Nynaeve grousing at Elayne.
“There was no need to give the man that necklace,” she said. “What I paid him
was quite enough.”
“Not to cover his cargo,” Elayne replied. “Just because he’s a smuggler doesn’t
mean we have a right to take it from him. Besides, yellow opals are gaudy,
especially in that setting. Anyway, it was worth it, just to see his face.”
Elayne giggled abruptly. “He looked at me this time.” Nynaeve tried not to, but
she actually giggled too.
Rand was surprised, and tried not to show it, but he kept glancing at Elayne as
he saddled his horse. She really was quite a wonderful young woman. So much
kinder, humbler and more decent than he would have expected someone raised in
such wealth and luxury and power to be. He tried not to stare at her, even when
she smiled off into the distance and woke the dimples in her pink cheeks.
***** An Ultimatum *****
CHAPTER 49: An Ultimatum
 
The land along the banks of the Ivo was sparsely treed. The trees grew more
numerous the farther they travelled from the river, but it was nothing
comparable to the Waterwood back home. Rand rode with the vanguard. He didn’t
share Nynaeve’s very evident relief to be back on solid land; the Riverserpent
had been his first chance to sail on a proper ship, and despite the difficult
conditions he’d quite liked it.
The river, and the ship making haste down it, were still in sight when they saw
a small campfire burning by the side of the dirt road. Uno was cautious at
first, but the sole occupant of the camp proved to be a white-haired old woman.
Her fine, dark-red dress was studded with small, clear gemstones, and her black
cloak had a plethora of raven’s feathers sown to the shoulders. She smiled at
the sight of their party, rose from her camp chair and went to stand in the
middle of the path, waiting patiently for them to approach.
Moiraine and Lan came to join him at the front, but the stranger spoke before
Moiraine could.
“Well it took you long enough. Were I a younger woman I might have gone chasing
after you myself. But age teaches one the value of patience.” She had a rich
voice, and there was something almost familiar about it.
“And who are you that seeks us out?” Moiraine asked coldly. Lan drew his blade,
and the Shienaran vanguard took their cue from him to do the same.
The woman ignored Moiraine. Her light-brown eyes rested on Rand and she smiled
knowingly. He felt a chill wash over him at that smile. “I have no interest in
you, girl. Or these others. I’m here for you, lad. The young Dragon. You and a
certain renegade.”
“Who are you?” Rand demanded.
“Asha’bellanar,” she answered.
“Forsaken,” Moiraine hissed. Her hands rose and a bright fire blossomed between
them, like the one she had used to destroy the Darkhounds, but Asha’bellanar
merely smirked. A dismissive wave of her hand caused Moiraine’s fire to wink
out, and the Aes Sedai was thrown from her saddle by an invisible force.
Lan heeled Mandarb forward but no more than a heartbeat after Moiraine hit the
ground a second, stronger force struck the vanguard, sending men and horses
tumbling backwards. Rand kicked free of Red’s stirrups and rolled with the
impact, but others were not so fortunate. Mendao screamed as his leg twisted
under his mount, and Katsui’s horse rolled over him completely before
scrambling to its feet and bolting away. Rand would have been near-certain he
was dead, if not for the armour he wore. Even with it Katsui lay so still that
Rand wondered if he was still alive.
He snatched at saidin, and for once managed to seize it on the first attempt.
He was midway through calling lightning from the sky when it occurred to him
that he was fighting a woman. He hesitated. I can’t kill a woman, it’s ... it’s
wrong! But she’s a Darkfriend, a Forsaken! And still a woman. At war with
himself, Rand settled for trying to grab her with the Power. Maybe if he could
capture her instead ...
“Saidin detected. Shield enabled,” said a bored, gravelly voice that seemed to
come from nowhere. It was no-one he recognised, and Asha’bellanar paid it no
heed, but the threads of Power he threw at her bounced off an invisible bubble
that surrounded her.
The lightning that lanced down from the sky was also stopped short of his
target. He hadn’t summoned it, and couldn’t see the power that wove it. Elayne,
Nynaeve and Verin sat their nervously kicking horses close together; it could
have any one of them. The Forsaken looked their way, scorn etched on her lined
face, and Rand abruptly remembered the way Aginor had looked at Egwene, in the
last second of her life.
“Leave them alone! Your fight is with me!” he shouted, surging to his feet and
throwing fire at Asha’bellanar’s shield.
She ignored him. Verin was the first of the three to fall, despite her
experience. She blinked in surprise over whatever had happened to her, just
before being sent crashing to the ground much like Moiraine had been. Once
there the Brown sister lay just as still as the Blue, dead or unconscious Rand
could not know.
Arrows clattered uselessly against Asha’bellanar’s defences. Shouting for the
Light, Geko and Ragan led their lancers around on a desperate gallop, intent on
charging her from two sides. It was all useless. A wave of the Forsaken’s hand
set the armoured men, and their horses, to thrashing and jerking spasmodically.
When they fell they did not even attempt to get up again.
He had to break her shield somehow. Desperate, barely knowing what he was
doing, Rand pictured a sword in his mind and waved it in the Forsaken’s general
direction, slashing, cutting. He touched nothing, not really, but there was an
odd feeling of resistance before the barrier parted.
Asha’bellanar glanced at him and harrumphed.
“The shield’s down. Hit her now!” Elayne shouted.
A furious-looking Nynaeve pointed at the Forsaken and fire erupted from her
fingertip. It washed over the old woman ... only to roll off her like water off
a duck’s back. Nynaeve gaped.
“Absorbed?” Elayne gasped. “But ho—” The counterstrike cut her off mid-
sentence, and sent her flying backwards over her horse’s rump, to land bouncing
on her own.
Growling furiously, Nynaeve lashed out again and Rand added his own power to
her attack. Irritation grew on the Forsaken’s face, but none of their attacks
managed to wound her.
The arrows hadn’t stopped firing. In her distraction, Asha’bellanar almost let
one slip through. Almost. A mere glance in the direction of Perrin and Anna was
enough to make the ground beneath their feet explode, sending both of them
careening through the air amidst a fountain of dirt.
Saeri and Luci were huddled against Loial’s legs, clutching those thick trunks
as though he could protect them from the monster in their midst. The staff held
before him said he would try, the wide-eyed look on his face said that he knew
he would fail. Tomas knelt over Verin protectively, and Hurin had come to stand
at Rand’s side, swords in hand. There weren’t many others left standing, Rand
realised, and fear set his heart to pounding.
Min was off her horse too, kneeling over Elayne’s stunned form with the wrapped
bundle that contained the Horn of Valere in her hands. She pulled it free and
raised it to her lips.
That now-familiar silvery peel rang out, but it rang in tune with
Asha’bellanar’s laughter. “So! It was not you who sounded the Horn of Valere,
Lews Therin, but this slip of a girl. That is good to know. But did you really
think I would be so foolish as to confront you while the Horn was in play? You
spent its power foolishly at Tarcain Cut. It will be some time yet before it is
ready to be used again.” Min groaned in despair and clutched the useless Horn
to her chest.
Nynaeve and Rand continued to attack the Forsaken, but to no avail. Looking at
Nynaeve, she shook her head. “You have potential girl. You might even come
close to my own strength some day. But you are painfully ignorant.” She touched
a finger to one of her silver earrings and suddenly Nynaeve began to scream,
clutching her head. She fell to her knees and began rolling on the floor, still
screaming hoarsely.
“What did you do to her, damn you!?” Rand snarled.
Asha’bellanar turned her attention upon him. “But if she is painfully ignorant,
how much worse are you, Lews Therin? Especially in comparison to what you once
were. I don’t think my valdarhei would even have been needed for this. Pitiful,
lad. Truly pitiful.”
Invisible bonds wrapped around Rand’s body and he found himself dragged
forward. A sudden blinding pain in his head cost him his hold on saidin and
when he reached for it again he found ... something blocking it off from him.
Like a sudden ceiling where once there had been only the vast sky. He came to a
halt before Asha’bellanar, struggling helplessly against her power.
“Rand!” Loial called, while Min sobbed, “Please don’t.” Hurin rushed the
Forsaken bravely and futilely, and was slammed painfully to the floor for his
trouble.
As he stared into the old woman’s amber eyes he wracked his brain for a way
out. There had to be a trick, a move, a power he could invoke. It couldn’t end
like this. But Rand could think of nothing that would let him overcome
Asha’bellanar.
She snorted softly. “You lose for once, Lews Therin.” Rand’s heart almost
stopped at that near-echo of the old refrain. Asha’bellanar continued, uncaring
of his dismay. “But I do not see my other target. Where is young Morrigan?
She’s been a very naughty girl.”
“I don’t know,” he lied.
Asha’bellanar showed her teeth in what was not a smile. “You used to be better
at lying, Lews Therin. I want the girl. She has won my anger and will suffer
for it. Tell me where she is, and I may consider sparing some of these friends
of yours.”
Rand licked suddenly dry lips. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. I honestly don’t
know where she is.”
“Then tell me her last known location!” Asha’bellanar demanded. “Come now, Lews
Therin. The girl is Atha’an Shadar, a Darkfriend as you call them. That alone
should be enough to condemn her. Her life in exchange for these others? It
should be an easy decision. Tell me where she is.”
In Tanservilla, he thought, hiding from people like you, and from people like
me too. But how could he say that? How could he set this monster on Morrigan’s
trail, just on the off-chance she might be merciful to the others once she was
done with him? He made a fist, touching his thumb to the ring he still wore,
the one she’d given him while claiming she didn’t want to love him, but
couldn’t help it. Had that been a lie? She was a Darkfriend, just as the
Forsaken claimed. That would be enough to sentence her to death in any court in
Valgarda. How could it be wrong then to give her up? Rand closed his eyes,
taking a deep breath; when he opened them again he felt strangely calm. Ready.
“No,” he said.
“No? Lad, this is not a game.” Asha’bellanar pointed a crooked finger at Min,
and the girl began screaming just as Nynaeve had. The latter woman was still on
the ground, her screams silenced now, but only because she had passed out from
the pain. The same pain Min was now feeling.
Rand felt shameful tears trickle from his eyes. “Burn you, Forsaken!” he
snarled. “Let them go, they’ve done nothing to you. They don’t deserve this.”
“Then tell me where Morrigan is. She deserves it, doesn’t she? A Darkfriend!
Her crimes are many. Give her to me and this one’s pain will end.”
“I won’t give you any of them!” he shouted, though Min’s screams whipped his
soul.
“Disgraceful. Where is your justice, Lews Therin? You would spare the guilty at
the risk of the innocent?”
“Morrigan deserves better than to die at the Shadow’s hands,” he grated. “I
won’t give her up.”
Asha’bellanar’s face hardened further, and an almost translucent knife suddenly
appeared in her upraised hand. “Last chance, lad,” she said coldly.
Rand faced his death as bravely as he could, while wondering what, if anything,
he could have done to prevent it. “Kill me,” he said calmly. “But I won’t give
you Morrigan.”
The knife was cold, and oddly wet when it touched his skin. Asha’bellanar
smiled in satisfaction, and drew the blade across his throat. He drew one final
breath, expecting to drown in his own blood, but found his airway unimpeded.
The knife in the Forsaken’s hand had winked out of existence. Rand beat against
the invisible shield that denied him saidin, and glanced frantically around,
but he could not tell who his sudden saviour was. Moiraine and Verin were still
down, as were Elayne and Nynaeve. Min had collapsed to the ground as well,
twitching in her pain. What happened?
Asha’bellanar was still smiling, but mockingly now. “You vex me, lad. I suppose
I will have to find Morrigan another way. By all rights I should kill you here
and now, but Ishamael wants you alive. And he claims the Great Lord of the Dark
also wants you alive. Who am I to challenge their wills? Who are you?”
Rand knew he should keep silent, but the stubborn words came out anyway. “I’ll
never serve him, no matter how many times he asks.”
Asha’bellanar laughed. “If that is true, then it makes my sparing you, and
these minions of yours, all the more foolish, doesn’t it? But is it true? We
shall see, Lews Therin. We shall see.”
Suddenly a thin, vertical line of white appeared in the air beside her. It
swiftly expanded into a rectangle, but the world within that rectangle was
completely different to the world around them. Sparse forest here, still just
short of spring, and warm sand there, with a bright sun beating down on a clear
blue sea. Rand gaped.
“Remember this, lad,” said the Forsaken as she strolled towards the impossible
doorway. “Remember, in your pride, that I could have killed you and all your
friends at my whim. Remember it when we meet again, and temper your boasts
accordingly ... Dragon.” Her snowy hair swayed behind her as she stepped
through the door into the warmth beyond. The thin white edges of the gateway
contracted behind her once more, thinned down to a single pinprick of light and
then it, like Asha’bellanar, was gone.
The bonds that held Rand in place abruptly fell away and he staggered. He
stared at the devastation all around him, breathing heavily and scarcely able
to believe he was still alive. He fell to his knees beside Min and touched her
clammy face. She was unconscious but alive. Nynaeve too. And Elayne.
“Light, Rand. I can’t believe she ... I can’t believe we’re still alive,”
boomed Loial shakily.
“Neither can I,” he mumbled. Ishamael was keeping him alive. If not for that
twisted madman’s desires ... Rand shuddered. He rushed over to Perrin and Anna
and found them both still breathing, though their clothes were badly ripped and
some nasty burns and bruises showed on the exposed skin.
Loial, Tomas and the two Falmeran girls were the only others still on their
feet. Like Rand they were checking on their friends’ conditions, but what
they—or he—could hope to do about it he did not know. The Ogier was similarly
concerned.
“We should get them to Stedding Tsochan,” Loial said. “It is not far from here,
and if the Forsaken comes back we’ll be safe there. Or safer at least.”
Rand glanced at the two skinny girls, the giant Ogier, and the scattered
horses. “How far?”
“An hour perhaps. If we run.” By run Loial meant gallop, for he was well
capable of keeping up with a horse if he needed to.
“Do you think you could persuade the Ogier there to help us carry them?”
“I know I can,” Loial declared.
Rand nodded. “Then I’ll do what I can in the meantime.”
Loial set off at a long-legged sprint, calling over his shoulder that he would
be as fast as he could. Rand didn’t watch him go. He bit his lip as he tried to
think of what he needed to do. Supplies. They’d need supplies. He knew only the
basics of treating wounds, but for even that much he’d need to raid Nynaeve’s
saddlebags.
Saeri and Luci were staring at him, wide-eyed and pale. “W-what should I do?”
Saeri asked. He went to her and put a hand on her shoulder, meaning to do no
more than that, but she took it as an invitation to throw her arms around him.
They way she trembled forbade him to push her away. Luci stood near, shaking
too, huddled in her silence. He pulled her into his embrace alongside Saeri,
and she did not resist him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you better,” he said. “I tried, but I’m just not
good enough.”
Saeri shook her head against him. “The Aes Sedai couldn’t stop her either. It’s
not your fault. What ... what can we do against people like her?”
Rand had no answer to that. The Eye of the World had saved him from Aginor, and
he’d drained it dry in the process. Only Ishamael and Lanfear’s odd fixations
on the man he apparently used to be had saved him from them. Sooner or later
they’d realise Rand wasn’t going to join them, or one of the other Forsaken
would decide to ignore those two and come kill him. Rand didn’t think he would
fare any better against them than he had against Asha’bellanar. They were all
older, trained and experienced, at the height of their power. And he was just
muddling along and hoping for the best. There had to be something that could
give him the edge against them. The alternative was just to lie down and admit
defeat, and that was something he could not do.
“We do whatever we can. One small task and then another, and another, until
they all add up into something greater. That’s all we can do. All anyone can
do. And we’ll start now by gathering those horses. Can you do that?” He felt
them nod. “Good girls. Be careful when approaching them, they’re probably
frightened. If any one looks like its going to kick just leave it alone for
now.”
As they ran to do what he’d asked, Rand started gathering his friends over by
the campfire Asha’bellanar had left. He started with the women of course, and
not just because they were lighter. All but Areku anyway. She’d been among the
cavalry charge the Forsaken had felled. Whatever it was she had done to them it
had put their horses down as firmly as it had the soldiers. Human and horse
both were still breathing, thankfully. Carrying the armoured Areku to the fire
tested Rand’s strength and made his side burn where Ba’alzamon had stabbed him,
but he managed that task, dusted himself off, and went looking for another.
Even unarmoured Perrin was nearly as heavy as Areku, but Rand contented himself
with putting his arms around the wolfbrother’s thick chest and dragging him
across the hilly ground.
Tomas didn’t move to help. He had gathered his and Verin’s horses and was
making the unconscious Aes Sedai comfortable. It was plain that the rest of
them could just wait until she recovered so far as the Warder was concerned.
Rand didn’t bother speaking to him.
Rand gathered them all, from the towering Lan to the light and skinny Hurin. He
had to use saidin to shift some of the fallen horses off their riders, but
everyone was still alive. Whether that was a miracle, or a testament to
Asha’bellanar’s skill he could not say.
Even so, he feared some of those breaks would be life-threatening if they
weren’t treated soon.
Mendao was still conscious, breathing slowly and deeply as sweat covered his
shaven scalp. He did not cry out from the pain, but it was plain how much of an
effort it was. Rand took one look at his twisted leg and decided not to risk
moving him. All he could give the man was the paltry touch of his hand to his
shoulder, and a quick prayer that Nynaeve would recover in time to save him.
Him and those others whose injuries looked particularly bad.
He washed and bandaged those he could. Mixed the few salves he knew from the
herbs in Nynaeve’s apothecary. Made the fallen as warm and comfortable as
possible. It wasn’t enough. Perhaps it would never be enough. But Rand didn’t
stop. He couldn’t stop. One task after another, until there were no more tasks
to do, or someone finally stopped him. That was his life.
He was still working when the Ogier came, led by Loial and a towering, yellow-
haired woman with a pair of heavy leather scrips hanging from her shoulders.
She was a healer she said, and her name was Arwen. She had kind eyes, and Rand
was happy to turn his injured friends over to her. He knew she could do a
better job than he had been doing, but that wouldn’t always be the case. He
swore it to himself then. He would get better, he would learn, he would strive.
No matter how powerless he was in comparison to the forces arrayed against him,
he would not spend his life running and hiding. Somehow, someday, he would find
a way to face them down. Or die trying.
 
                                     * * *
 
Like the fox amongst the brood, he will walk amongst us, slaying, ravaging.
None shall know his name, or his face, but all shall raise their hands against
him in futile hope of salvation. The dark betrayer; innocence lost; the smiling
knife; Bane of his people.
(From a translation of The Karaethon Cycle written by Shona den Horti. 357NE,
the Tenth Age)
 
                                        
                                    The End
                             of the Third Book of
                             The Wheel Turns Anew
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