Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14035452.
  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 1 of The_Wheel_Turns_Anew
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-20 Chapters: 20/53 Words: 103458
****** Time Without End ******
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!P7IjkYyZ!sdoLq2M8CFd82PxZK-A1pQ
     Well that about covers it. Take a gander if you like. I hope you
     enjoy.
***** Dragonmount *****
For the sake of neatness I'll start the series proper after the break.
***** Yearning For More *****
CHAPTER 4: Yearning for More
                                        
“I guess the show’s over then,” Perrin said, his thick shoulders slumping.
Rand put on a smile. “Only for now. I’m sure Master Merrilin will be back in
time for the celebration proper. It’ll be a Bel Tine to remember. No doubt.”
“The last maybe,” Egwene said softly. Rand thought he caught a hint of sadness
in her big brown eyes, but by the time he had turned his attention to her fully
it was gone as if it had never been. She was holding one end of her new braid
in her hand, and he saw her give it a light tug, as though to remind herself of
something.
“Are you really going to leave?”
She gave him a small smile. “Will you miss me, Rand? You must promise me you
won’t grieve too long; I know how emotional you can get. It might not seem like
it now, but I promise; someday you will meet another woman, one more suited to
you, to a life here in the Theren.”
Perrin looked a little stunned. “Where are you going, Egwene?”
“I haven’t decided yet, Perrin. I may take the Wisdom position in a city north
of the Taren, but I want to consider my options first.”
The young blacksmith blinked at that. Rand could almost see him examining the
idea in his mind, considering it from every angle, looking for flaws, deciding
what, if anything, he should say in response. He was very much a thinker was
Perrin. Cautious and deliberate. Not so Mat.
“I didn’t know they even had Wisdoms in cities. Well, anyway,” Mat eyed the
crowd of Theren folk, the adults muttering in disapproval over Thom’s abrupt
exit. “I say we go find Dav and Elam, before some chores find us.” He set off
in the direction of the Cauthon farm.
Rand and Perrin were quick to follow, and even Egwene only hesitated a moment
before trailing along. No-one wanted to have a goodwife’s or goodman’s
frustrations taken out on them.
As they hastened along the busy street, Perrin turned to Rand and asked, “Have
you heard anything from Anna? I haven’t seen her or Master al’Tolan about
town.”
Anna al’Tolan and her father lived in the Westwood, like Rand and Tam. They
were neighbours, in so much as anyone had neighbours out that ways. “I haven’t
seen her in a week,” Rand said. “But last we spoke she was complaining about
wolves having gotten into their chicken coop. She and her father were planning
to thin the pack a little, to try and drive them off, she said. Tam told her to
tell Master al’Tolan that he should wait until after Bel Tine, and that he
would see about gathering a full hunting party while we’re in town.”
Perrin frowned worriedly. “I hope they listened.”
Rand set his hand on Perrin’s thick shoulder. “It’s a long walk from their
place to Emond’s Field. If they set out at about the same time as Tam and I
they’d still be on the road. She’ll probably be here soon, don’t worry.”
“I’m sure Anna will keep Master al’Tolan from doing anything foolish, Perrin,”
added Egwene.
Mistress Cauthon’s farm was on the outskirts of Emond’s Field, with rich
pasturage stretching north and a large stable built near the village itself.
Mat’s father Abell was known throughout the Theren as a man with a shrewd eye
for horseflesh and a thrifty bargainer, which had made him the target of many a
sour look from his less gracious neighbours, though little more than that—Abell
also won the quarterstaff contest nearly every year, after all.
The Cauthons met them on the well-trodden path, stout Natti tugging her
husband, a stockier and greyer version of Mat, along as he attempted to dry his
hands with a towel. Just in from the pasture, Rand thought, and late for the
meeting.
Mat’s mother gave him a knowing look. “Dav isn’t here, Matrim. He took off over
the fields, looking rather nervous about something, actually. You don’t have
any idea what he might have been nervous about do you?”
“Couldn’t say,” Mat’s expression held only shock and bewilderment. “Maybe he’s
off to make moon eyes at Cilia Cole some more. Or maybe he’s got an eye for
Bode and was worried you’d catch him peeking.”
“He should be,” Abell snorted. “Just as well the girls are off at their
lessons.”
Egwene pursed her lips at that and Rand wondered f she'd been hoping to meet up
with the Cauthon girls. Egwene made friends with other girls easily, though she
could be quick to fall out with them too; Bode was one of those who were in her
good graces these days.
Mistress Cauthon hurried by, her thick brown braid bobbing behind her. “As if
we don’t have enough nonsense to deal with. Stay out of trouble, Mat.”
“Of course!” Mat did a credible job of sounding aggrieved at his mother’s
implication. Abell gave their son a friendly slap on the shoulder as he strode
off towards the Winespring Inn.
Mat watched them go, a cheerful smile plastered to his face. But as soon as his
parents had passed out of view, he made a beeline for the stables, skinny legs
pumping fast. He could move surprisingly quickly when he wanted to. Rand and
the others followed at a more sensible pace.
Egwene sighed in exasperation. “What have you woolheads been getting up to this
time?”
“I have nothing to do with it. Whatever it is,” said Perrin.
Their footsteps rustled the straw scattered upon the ground of the dimly lit
stables. As Rand’s eyes adjusted he found several horses leaning over their
stalls and eyeing the newcomers curiously. Mat had moved further in and was
rummaging inside an empty stall when Rand approached.
“Blood and butt-kissing ashes!” he swore. “That pratt Dav Ayellin must have set
it loose before running for the hills.” He had an old sack and a loose piece of
rope in his hands. “Ah, it would have been a laugh to see them all run
shrieking.” The sack and rope dropped to the ground and Mat shrugged. “Well,
it’ll still be a hell of a celebration.”
Egwene stood in the middle of the stables with her hands planted on her slim
hips. “Let me guess. You caught some manner of mangy critter and were planning
to loose it near the Spring Pole to try and frighten the young women. Honestly,
that the three of you should qualify as grown men says all there is to say
about your gender.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Perrin muttered again.
Mat grinned unabashedly while Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair. Egwene had
a point, it wouldn’t have been very nice to spoil the girls’ big day. Still,
when he imagined them all shrieking and running in circles with their hands in
the air, his lips twitched a smile.
With a sigh, Egwene tossed her braid back over her shoulder and strolled around
the stables, checking each of the stalls. “The least you could do would be to
show some gratitude to women like Nynaeve and I for putting up with you. Most
women, less patient—or just less stubborn—than we Theren women, would put you
out and let you fend for yourselves.” Having finished her short patrol, she
stopped and ran her eyes over the three boys critically.
Rand felt compelled to speak up. “Tam and I take care of ourselves, you might
recall. He even owns his own farm.”
Egwene sniffed. “It’s a shame that he’s such a stubborn man. If he’d only
remarried, neither of you would have had to struggle so hard to make do.” She
shook her head sadly, regarding Rand with a mixture of fondness and pity. It
made his cheeks colour, but whether it was from embarrassment or anger he could
not quite decide.
“It hasn’t been anywhere near the struggle you imagine,” he muttered.
“Still, gratitude is owed, as I said,” Egwene continued, not hearing or just
ignoring Rand’s words. Her voice sounded rather breathy suddenly. She was
staring at Perrin’s brown shirt, which was not at all large enough to hide the
blacksmith apprentice’s thick chest muscles. “And since I’m a grown woman now,
I think I shall allow you to work off your debts.”
Egwene’s cheeks had a pretty, rosy hue to them. She took a single deep breath,
then pulled her white blouse up over her head. The three boys gaped at her.
Coolly, a slight smile on her lips, she hung the blouse over the door of an
empty stall. Only the frilly white cotton of her camisole hid her young breasts
from their suddenly intent stares.
Egwene pointed towards the hayloft with an excited gleam in her big dark eyes,
“Fetch some large bundles Matrim,” she commanded.
Mat opened his mouth as if to object, but the thought of what could follow if
he obeyed stole the defiance from his lips. He moved as if in a daze as he
climbed the ladder to fetch what Egwene wanted.
The girl in question watched him climb with pursed lips, each quickening breath
causing the thin material of her undershirt to expand and contract in an eye-
catching manner. She turned her attention to Rand and Perrin. “You two can take
your clothes off now. I want to see your bodies.”
“What is going on Egwene,” asked Perrin with incredulity written plain on his
face.
Egwene smiled brightly and shook her head. “Oh, Perrin. You’re such a silly boy
sometimes. Endearing silly, though. Consider this a going away party. One I’m
certain you will never forget.”
Rand’s cheeks were red once more, though definitely not from anger this time.
He began to undo the buttons on his coat.
Perrin turned and gaped at him; he was still staring when Rand discarded the
coat and went to work on the laces of his shirt. A bale of hay landing beside
them with a muffled thump caused the normally unflappable youth to jump.
Shaking his curly-haired head, he transferred his stare to Egwene, then slowly
started to undo his own shirt with nervous, fumbling fingers, looking very much
as though he had been poleaxed.
Another hay bale thudded to the ground as Rand discarded his shirt. It made for
a comfortable seat as he began to undo the laces on his boots.
Egwene was watching him with a pleased smile on her pretty face. “You are
pretty though. So tall, and such fair skin. I’ve never met anyone else who
looks at all like you,” she mused.
Perrin folded his shirt studiously before setting it down. His cheeks burned,
and he was careful to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. Thick slabs of muscle, and a
generous supply of dark hair covered the young blacksmith’s body. Egwene’s eyes
drank in the sight and her smile grew even wider.
Several bales later an already half-undressed Mat hopped down from the loft and
moved to stand beside his two friends, his wiry form a stark contrast to their
more muscular physiques. When all three boys were down to their undershorts
they stopped, shuffling their feet and glancing at the still-dressed Egwene
uncertainly.
The Mayor’s daughter gestured at their shorts impatiently.
Mat was the first to doff his underwear. Grinning excitedly as he revealed his
already-hard manhood, rising long and thin from a thatch of brown hair.
Egwene’s efforts to appear calm and collected were not enough to prevent her
from blushing red, nor to hide her gulp.
Rand thought her altogether more attractive then, than when she had been posing
coolly before them. He bent and pulled his shorts down over his long, muscular
legs; then kicked them aside. The slight stir of air upon his exposed nudity
sent shivers all over his body—more than the mild temperature in the stables
warranted. Egwene licked her lips as she examined his cock, which was only just
beginning to stir.
Perrin took a deep breath and followed the other boys’ example, cheeks burning
even hotter than before. Rand couldn’t help but steal a peek at the burly boy’s
hard manhood. It was thicker than Mat’s, but not as long.
Egwene smiled slowly as she surveyed the three naked young men arrayed before
her. With confident deliberation she loosened the ties on her thick woollen
skirt and allowed it to pool around her feet. Underneath she wore loose white
drawers and stout brown stockings that reached to her knees. Her waist was slim
and her hips well-rounded. Rand felt himself stir as he watched her undress.
She sat upon a hay bale to remove her sensible shoes and slide the warm wool
stockings down her slender legs. One arm disappeared deftly within her camisole
and soon the white top was pushed up and over her head. A trio of indrawn
breaths greeted the sight of her pert young breasts, not large, but certainly
not small either. Egwene’s excited breaths caused them to rise and fall
hypnotically. She grinned widely as she stood to pull her underwear down, her
breasts and dark braid dangling before her. Rand was hard as a rock by the time
he laid eyes on her lightly-thatched pussy. He took an involuntary step towards
her and Egwene raised a cautionary finger.
“You look lovely, Egwene.” Perrin’s voice was husky. He had not moved from his
spot but when Rand glanced back he saw his friend’s fully erect cock twitching
excitedly.
Egwene gestured imperiously towards an empty stall. “Drag one of those bales
over against that door, Mat.”
“Why do I have to do all the work?” moaned Mat, but he hopped quickly to it
nonetheless. His narrow haunches straining as he dragged the bundle across his
family’s barn.
While Mat was busy working, Egwene advanced towards Perrin and took him gently
by the chin. She stood on tiptoes to kiss his lips softly; Perrin’s brown eyes
drifted closed as her returned her kiss with equal tenderness. One of Egwene’s
eyes slid open and she gave Rand a sly glance, still kissing his friend.
“There,” announced Mat with a loud dusting of his hands.
Egwene broke the kiss and turned towards the stable, allowing Rand to catch a
glimpse of her slim, flat bottom. She took a seat upon the hay bale as though
it were a throne and beckoned to Rand impatiently. “Since you’re so desperately
impatient, Rand, I suppose I’ll allow you to show me your appreciation first.”
She leaned back against the stall door, and spread her legs slightly, giving
them all a glimpse of her pink, and glistening, sex.
Rand wasn’t about to refuse such an offer. His long, thick cock led the way as
he knelt before Egwene and took her face in his hands, kissing her lips
hungrily. Her legs spread for him and her hands slipped around to caress the
muscles of his back. The tip of his cock rested against her young sex; Rand
slid along her slit, seeking out the hottest, wettest part of Egwene. When he
found it, he slid easily inside her.
The two youths clutched at each other as they gasped in exploratory pleasure.
Rand wanted more, wanted to feel her heat all around him. When he pushed
forwards he encountered some kind of resistance. Egwene bit him lightly on the
shoulder and he would have stopped, but her sharp nails digging into his
buttocks urged him onwards. His breath came in short, light groans as he worked
his way into Egwene, savouring the sweet heat of her sex.
There was mingled pain and pleasure in her eyes when he leant back to look at
her. Egwene took a firm hold of Rand’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss,
almost of their own volition his hips began to rock back and forth, stroking
his cock along her wet pussy.
Rand’s thrusts were long and slow. He held Egwene to his chest tenderly as they
fucked, her pert young breasts pressed against his hard chest. She nibbled on
his ear for a bit, it was an odd, but not entirely unpleasant sensation. He
sped up, the pleasure and hunger taking hold of his mind.
Egwene was hungry too though, and not for Rand, or at least not only for Rand.
She took a firm hold of Rand’s hips to stop his thrusting. He blinked at her
confusedly.
“Perrin’s turn,” she panted. Rand let out a groan of frustration, one that was
echoed by Mat. When Rand glanced at him he saw that his friend was stroking
himself and likely had been while he watched Rand and Egwene fuck. Excitement
warred with embarrassment in his heart. Dutifully, Rand pulled himself out of
Egwene’s wet pussy. He sat back with a sigh, the straw tickling his naked
buttocks.
Egwene beckoned Perrin towards her with crooked finger and a confident smile.
When the burly youth only stared at her she rose from her straw throne with a
tut of exasperation and marched across the dirt floor to fetch him. Taking
Perrin by his curly brown hair, Egwene pulled his lips down for a kiss. She
guided his hands to her young breasts and urged him to caress them. Intent
concentration fought with nervous desire on Perrin's face as he carefully
kneaded Egwene's tender flesh in his powerful hands. Her eyes drifted shut in
pleasure. “Push those bales together you two,” Egwene murmured.
Rand clambered quickly to his feet and dusted straw from his bottom. He had
little difficulty shifted the bales, for years of conscientious farmwork had
strengthened his body. Egwene watched him work appreciatively as Perrin
attended to her body and Mat stared at her open-mouthed, hand still running up
and down his hard young cock.
When the improvised bed was prepared, Egwene took hold of Perrin's meaty
manhood and laughed at the loud moan he let out. She led him by the cock to the
straw pallet and put one hand to his chest; for all Perrin's bulk, and Egwene’s
slight figure, she easily knocked him onto his back. Rand drank in the sight of
her body as she crawled up to kneel above Perrin's eager sex.
“Oh Light, Egwene!” Perrin cried as the young woman sank down on his cock. He
crushed great handfuls of straw in the grip he did not dare use on her. Once he
was fully sheathed within her wet sex Egwene quickly started grinding herself
against him and moaning sweetly.
It struck Rand, as he watched Egwene ride one his oldest friends, that he
should be jealous. It had been made plain to him years ago that he and Egwene
were supposed to marry when they were older, and Egwene was now officially a
woman by Theren standards. How exactly they had come to be considered promised
to one another Rand had never been able to discern; certainly his opinion on
the matter had not been sought, to his great frustration! Egwene was beautiful
and smart, the Mayor's youngest daughter, Rand’s almost-betrothed; and he found
himself smiling as he watched her fuck another man. Did that mean he didn't
really love her?
Egwene didn’t seem fazed by such thoughts either. She let out an exhausted
whoop as she clambered off Perrin and sprawled beside him on the straw.
Perrin's cock stood red and unsated, glistening with their juices. Egwene
glistened too, sweat coating her as she gasped for breath. She raised her head
just enough to catch Mat's eye and shoot him an inviting smile.
He was quick to take her up on her offer, kneeling on the straw he placed his
hands behind Egwene's knees and pushed her slender legs apart to expose her
pink slit. Mat shoved himself inside Egwene without preamble. All the way to
the hilt he went, and once there he quickly began to ride her hard.
“Fucking hell Egwene,” groaned Mat, “That is a sweet pussy you have.”
“Mind your language, Matrim Cauthon,” said Egwene as she lay on her back, legs
spread wide, her brows creased and eyes squeezed shut in what was not pain. Her
breasts jiggled madly from Mat’s frantic fucking; her nipples had somehow
gotten even larger than when she had first unveiled them. The sight mesmerised
Rand.
“Wait,” gasped Egwene after a time. Her eyes shot open and she looked up at Mat
who continued to thrust in and out of her desperately. She placed a hand on his
chest to stop him, ineffectively at first, but just when Rand was about to
intervene, Mat's awareness of himself returned.
“Wa?” said the skinny farmboy succinctly.
Egwene pushed him again and he obligingly slid his cock out of her, as unsated
as the rest of them.
With a light sniff, Egwene rose back to her knees. Her eyes sought out Rand and
he moved to join her without need of more. He pressed her hot flesh against him
and kissed her deeply. Soft breasts teased his chest as his hands ran down her
smooth back to squeeze her buttocks. Egwene's kisses were ardent now, ardent
but brief, for it was not his lips she wanted to taste. Egwene kissed her way
down Rand's neck and broad chest, lowered her braided head until her face was
close to Rand's cock. Her tongue darted out to touch the head lightly, even
that enough to bring a gasp from Rand. Egwene looked thoughtful for a
moment—contemplating the taste, he suspected—then she grinned wickedly, opened
her mouth and began sucking Rand's cock.
She only took the head into her mouth, but that was more than enough to set
Rand to moaning. Perrin shifted his position to stare at the show but made no
move to join in, waiting for Egwene's word. Mat however soon took hold of
Egwene's slim hips and pulled her ass upwards; he lowered his face to meet her
and began licking the slit of her sex. Egwene moaned in appreciation, Rand felt
it through his cock and shuddered. Her saliva dribbled down the length of his
manhood as Mat's nimble tongue explored her sex.
Egwene’s big brown eyes darted open and she took Rand’s cock out of her mouth.
She glanced about her, saw Perrin and quickly hopped atop him once more,
accidentally slapping Mat’s unprepared face with one ass-cheek in the process;
he gave a low squawk of offense that she ignored as she took hold of Perrin’s
cock and placed it before her wettest hole.
“Oh, yes,” gasped Perrin as Egwene took him inside her. He reached up and began
kneading her breasts again.
Egwene paid little heed. She reached out, grasped Mat’s still-hard cock, and
pulled him nearer almost roughly. Rand had never seen her move so frantically
before. As she lowered her face towards Mat’s crotch she looked up at Rand and
said in a surprisingly smoky voice, “That just leaves one hole for you ...”
Then she closed her eyes and began sucking Mat, while riding Perrin.
Rand had a great view of Egwene’s butt as she rode Perrin hard and fast. Each
time she sank down on his cock, her tight asshole opened slightly. The sight
was enticing to Rand, and he did not waste long watching it. He got to his feet
and walked around the straw pallet until he could kneel directly behind Egwene.
He stilled her movements with a firm grip on her hips, which brought a groan of
frustration from Perrin; it turned briefly to one of confusion when the wet
head of Rand’s cock trailed along the other man’s shaft, seeking and soon
finding Egwene’s back entrance. Perrin started thrusting upwards into Egwene
even as Rand began to work his way into her tight ass. Egwene resisted him
fiercely but all the same Rand’s manhood was soon slipping into her dry heat.
The dual penetration set her to moaning around Mat’s cock.
The three friends buried their cocks in Egwene’s willing body. They fucked her
with desperate abandon. Even when Mat took her by the sides of her face and
held her still so he could thrust into her mouth, she did not object. Rand
worked his way deeper and deeper into Egwene’s ass, his head thrown back and
teeth gritted. Perrin thrust eagerly into her soaking wet pussy. All four
youths were completely lost to the pleasure that wracked their bodies.
Almost completely.
Rand saw movement from the corner of his eye, and turned his face towards the
still-shut barn door. His thrusts slowed slightly, but Egwene didn’t notice. He
searched in vain for what had drawn his attention, and was close to writing it
off as his guilt-fuelled imagination when he noticed a dark eye in a girl’s
round face staring back at him through a gap in the planking. Bodewhin, Mat’s
little sister. Rand’s heart skipped a beat. She must have ducked out of her
lessons, he thought, hopefully she can keep a secret. Their eyes met. He raised
a hand to brush his sweat-slick hair back and discreetly pressed a finger to
his lips. He could swear he saw Bode smile back at him. If she ran off and told
Nynaeve or the Mayor they would all lose their hides, but there was nothing he
could do to stop her. Regardless of whether she told on them or not, there was
no point stopping now. He might as well enjoy what life he had left. He took
hold of Egwene’s hips and fucked her with renewed ardour, the idea of being
watched by young Bodewhin Cauthon strangely thrilling.
Suddenly Egwene’s muffled moans took on an annoyed tone, she jerked Mat’s cock
out of her mouth and pointed it away from her. Mat stifled his cries as best he
could as he spurted on the floor of his families barn, Rand couldn’t tell how
much was pain, pleasure or disappointment. Egwene spat loudly, milky fluid
mixed with her own saliva, and glared at the skinny farmboy. “I swear Mat, you
are utterly hopeless. I told you to be careful.”
“Huh?” Mat said dazedly. “You never said anything about this.”Ayellin. Cillia
cn (spanked by Nynaeve for fucking)
Egwene sniffed. “Does a woman have to tell you everything then?” her voice had
taken on a higher pitch than usual. “Honestly. Some things even you should be
able to figure out on your own.” She shook her head in matriarchal disapproval.
Which was no mean feat considering she was pinned, sweaty and jiggling, between
two lust-crazed farmboys.
Mat paid little heed to her complaints, instead sprawling naked and sweaty on
the straw with a sleepily satisfied grin on his face. Rand wondered what he
would think if he knew his little sister had just watched him come.
He put the thought from his mind, watching the dark braid of Egwene's hair wave
between her narrow shoulders as they continued fucking. Rand stroked her ass
long and hard, while Perrin pounded her pussy with short, sharp thrusts.
Egwene sucked in a sharp breath and tensed. Sensing her imminent climax, Rand
quickened his pace, rubbing himself in her butt feverishly, determined to
finish in time. The girl threw back her dark head and grunted her victory at
the rafters of the barn. Her anus tightened painfully around Rand’s member, and
with a final few forceful jerks he exploded within her with a shout of
satisfaction. For what seemed a long time afterwards each breath carried with
it a new wave of pleasure and dragged a new moan from the lips or both Rand and
Egwene.
In time, Rand fell back to his knees, spent. Egwene was purring in satisfaction
as Perrin rubbed her young breasts with his big, careful hands. “That was
beautiful, Egwene,” whispered the blacksmith’s apprentice.
Egwene didn’t seem to hear. She brushed loose strands of her dark hair back
from her face and blinked around them. Then she reached back and pushed Rand
away from her, his manhood slipping out of her stretched and soiled butthole.
With a groan she rose to her feet, Perrin’s still-hard member abandoned. She
stood over them all for a moment, catching her breath, then walked towards her
discarded clothes on shaky legs. Perrin stared after her dolefully, but said
nothing. When she reached her skirts, Egwene put her knees together and dipped
down to gather them, which afforded the boys an excellent view of her slim
young hips and bottom. All three stared. She had her back mostly turned, but
Rand could see a pleased smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she stood
and settled the heavy fabric around her waist; he knew she was enjoying the
attention.
As she was lacing up her cotton blouse, Egwene turned back to the trio and
grinned. "Well. You boys won’t soon forget this, will you?” she said happily.
Rand watched as she tied the last of her laces, hiding her young breasts from
view once more. He raised his eyes to hers and found her smiling confidently at
him. “Don’t go thinking I’ll make a habit of treating you like this though,”
she continued, not waiting for anyone to answer. “You’ll need to be on your
best behaviours if you want to earn my attention.” She bent to snatch her
discarded underwear from the ground, stuffing them behind her waistband as she
strode towards the barn door. “Be sure to clean this place up before Mistress
Cauthon gets back,” she called to them. “I’ll be counting on you to make sure
these two don’t slack off, Perrin.”
The young blacksmith clambered to his feet with a sigh, straw clinging to his
sweat-soaked buttocks. “Alright Egwene, don’t worry,” he said, trying to hide
his disappointment. Egwene took one more look back at the three naked youths,
grinned brightly and slipped out the barn door.
Rand stood and stretched, letting out a long sigh as he did so. No sign of
their unexpected audience, he noted. She was probably long gone. He imagined
they would know soon enough if Bode had gone to tell on them. Nynaeve and the
Women’s Circle would be so outraged they would probably be able to hear the
shouting from the other side of the mountains.
“Did you not get off then?” asked Mat, leaning back against a bay of hale with
his hands crossed behind his back. His grin could only be described as “smug”.
“It’s fine,” Perrin said stoutly. He moved to gather up the haybales.
“Ah don’t be a fool, Perrin,” Mat said as he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Go
take care of yourself while you still remember what those pretty titties looked
like, me and Rand’ll fix this place up.”
“He’s right, don’t worry about it,” Rand added.
Perrin looked embarrassed, even after all the three of them had already done.
He gave the other two boys a gruff “Thanks” before stumping off to one of the
empty stalls. There was a loud creak as he leaned his considerable bulk against
the wooden wall, the noise soon followed by the all-too familiar sound of flesh
rubbing frantically against flesh.
Rand shot Mat a crooked grin that even he would have been proud of as the two
friends sat to pull on their trousers. “Bel Tine is off to a great start this
year. I think it might turn out to be the best one ever.”
***** Bel Tine *****
CHAPTER 5: Bel Tine
                                        
The Green was filling up with Theren folk when the three friends arrived back
at the Winespring Inn. Laughter and the confused sound of many voices speaking
at once filled the air. No angry mob of elders was gathering yet, to Rand’s
relief.
They passed Alene al’Vere on their way, who had likely been driven from the inn
by the commotion. She was the middle of the Mayor’s five daughters and Rand had
heard from Mat that there was a rumour she hadn’t been fathered by Bran but by
some outland traveller. Alene’s hair was a yellowish brown colour, like wheat
on a wet spring day, and her eyes were a lighter shade of hazel than most
Theren folk; which was all the evidence some needed. Rand had no time for that
rumour. He himself looked nothing like his father after all. Having red hair
didn’t make him less a Theren man, and a little straw in hers didn’t make Alene
anything but Bran’s daughter. Still, he didn’t bother waving as they strolled
past the tree that she sheltered beneath; Rand enjoyed Alene’s company, but
when she had her nose in a book, as she did now, nothing could drag her
attention away.
Bandry Crawe and long-faced Lem Thane did notice the trio’s arrival though, and
raised their hands in greeting from across the field. They were part of Rand’s
circle of friends here in town, along with Dav and Elam. Bandry and Lem always
came as a pair, and from what he could tell from a distance they both seemed to
be flirting with buxom Emry Lewin. Rand glanced away, as his thoughts turned
traitorous.
Mat’s thoughts had gone down the same road. “I wonder if Emry would like to
visit the Thanes’ mill with Lem and Ban,” he suggested with a smirk.
Perrin frowned. “You shouldn’t spread such ideas, Mat. Not without proof, maybe
not even then.”
Rand spotted Bar Dowtry and Kimry Lewin sitting together and silently watching
the feast preparations, he gave a slight nod in their direction. “Such
behaviour could bring the Women’s Circle down on you. Like it did for those
two,” he added portentously.
Perrin looked daunted by the thought, but Mat scoffed. “No way I’d have let
Nynaeve take a switch to me like Bar did. I’d sooner leave town completely, and
take my chances out in the world. Maybe he and Kimry never even wanted to get
married, maybe they just wanted to have a little fun between chores. Did the
Circle and the Council ever think of that?”
“It’s their duty to enforce the rules,” said Perrin with a sigh. “Even if some
of them didn’t mind it, the rules are still the rules.”
Mat gave him a sly grin. “Are you planning to confess everything to the Wisdom
and marry Egwene then?” His grin grew wider. “Or are we all supposed to marry
her? That would give the oldster’s a fit!”
“Keep your voice down Mat,” Rand said firmly. “Bar and Kimry were seen by too
many people so they were made an example of. We should be fine so long as no-
one goes flapping their gums in public about stuff that’s supposed to be
private.”
Mat suddenly found himself getting glared at from right and left by his two
friends. “Oh that’s how it is, huh? I’m the untrustworthy one. Pfft, burn the
both of you.” Despite his words, Mat was grinning.
They passed by a long trestle table where food was already being piled. Only
fruits and vegetables as yet, the warm stuff would come later, but Rand’s
stomach still rumbled loudly at the sight. “The food is for whoever wants,
Rand. Help yourself,” said Berowyn al’Vere, with a kind smile. She was the
Mayor’s eldest daughter, a widow whose husband and daughter had been carried
off by a fever five years ago.
Rand smiled back at her. “Thanks Berowyn, don’t mind if I do.” He snatched up
some apples and a cup of cold milk. “Do you know what the Circle plans to do
about all these outsiders and the news they brought?”
Berowyn’s look of mild rebuke somehow stung more than all Egwene’s criticisms
combined. “I shouldn’t be spreading gossip Rand. My mother will let people know
what’s been decided when she feels it prudent.”
He hastily changed the subject. “Will you be dancing around the Spring Pole
this year?”
She raised her brows in surprise. “An old woman like me? I don’t think that
would be very appropriate.”
“Don’t be silly, Berowyn. You’re barely thirty and you look barely twenty. I’m
sure you’d have men tripping over each other for the chance to dance with you.”
That was plain truth. Berowyn was slender and pretty, with a thick brown braid
that fell almost to her knees.
She shook her head and smiled wistfully. “Those days are past. Enjoy the
celebrations, Rand,” she said before moving off towards the Green, where her
sister Elisa was overseeing the decorating of the Pole.
Mat nudged Rand in the ribs with his elbow. “Got a taste for al’Veres now have
you?”
Rand shot him a glare. “It’s not like that. Berowyn’s always been nice to me,
is all.”
“Bet you wish she’d been nicer though,” Mat purred. “I bet you ... hey! Where’s
my badger!?”
“Her ... badger?” Rand asked. He cocked his head confusedly, he had heard the
phrase “easing the badger” before but had never been entirely certain what it
meant. And was too shy to ask.
Dav’s familiar voice made Rand jump. “I had no choice, your parents nearly
found it. I saved us both!”
Rand turned to find Mat menacing their friend with a shaken fist. Though Dav
Ayellin was a good deal stockier than Mat, he backed up hastily with his open
hands raised. Mat might be skinny, but he had won the quarterstaff competition
for the last three years running. Among the younger men at least; the elders’
competition had gone to Mat’s father Abell for as long as Rand could remember.
Elam Dowtry, Dannil Lewin and Jaim Torfinn had arrived with Dav. Rand eyed
Jaim, who seemed strong and healthy, with a confident look in his deep-set
eyes. Jaim had come second in the archery last year, and Rand expected him to
be his main competition this year too. Like Cauthons with quarterstaffs, the
al’Thors, young and old, had made winning the archery almost a tradition. Rand
gave Jaim a polite if cool nod, and got a matching one in return.
While Mat argued with Dav, and Perrin asked if Dannil had seen his sisters and
little brother about, Rand turned to Elam.
“Have you seen the new arrivals? We ran into Lady Moiraine and Lan earlier.
Unnerving fellow, that Lan. Never said a word, just stared.”
Elam nodded. “I’ve seen them. Lan has eyes like yours, all blue and chilly.” He
gave a nervous laugh. “To look at, I mean. Not that you’re a chilly sort.”
“Thanks,” Rand muttered, taking a bite from his apple.
“But that Moiraine,” Elam paused and gave a low whistle. “I’ve never seen a
woman who looked like that before. Even Egwene al’Vere and Larine Ayellin can’t
compete.” Elam’s smile seemed to light up his square face.
Rand looked over to the Green, where Larine and her sister Marisa were chatting
with their friends. Dav’s little sisters were a very pretty pair, near Egwene’s
age and with only a year’s difference between them. But with them was Susa
al’Seen, short and slim and always nervous; up from Deven Ride again to visit
her relatives. And there was Jerilin al’Caar, thin as a stick, with her
boisterous sense of humour; Cilia Cole, plump, pink-cheeked and sweetly
flirtatious; Marce Eldin, stocky, strong and serious, like a female Perrin. And
many others. To Rand, they were all pretty.
“I don’t think there’s any competition to take part in,” he said slowly. “How
would you ever decide who won, after all? All women are pretty, what point is
there to comparing?”
Elam rolled his eyes. “They can’t hear you, you know,” he said flatly. “And if
that’s true then maybe you should go ask Alsbet Luhhan to dance,” he added with
a knowing smile.
Mistress Luhhan was married to the blacksmith, Perrin’s master, and had no
qualms about helping her husband out in the forge. She was nearly as muscular
as him too, with a hard, round face that brooked no nonsense. In the years
since he started his apprenticeship, Perrin had never once had anything bad to
say about her, or her husband. I doubt Alsbet would welcome my advances, or
anyone else’s, but I certainly wouldn’t turn down a dance with her, Rand
thought.
Whatever expression he saw on Rand’s face, Elam misread. “Exactly,” he said
with a firm nod.
Rand shrugged. Elam was a friend and it was hardly worth arguing over.
“Well obviously Perrin’s going to win the weight lifting,” Mat was saying. “And
Rand’ll take the longrace like he does every year, though the short’s a harder
one to call.”
“I might put a bet on little Saml al’Seen for the shortrace,” said Dannil.
“He can’t be more than ten,” objected Dav.
“Twelve, but he’s quick as a snake.”
“Emi will beat him,” Perrin said stoutly. “But his brother Wil will probably
win the singing.”
Mat snorted rudely. “Wil. He’s not even that good a singer.” Wil al’Seen was a
handsome man, and quite popular. Well, with women. His fellow men tended to
regard him less warmly.
“No doubt he’ll win the dancing too,” said Dannil morosely. He was a lanky
young beanpole, with a long nose and weak chin, but very nimble on his feet. A
distant cousin of the Emond’s Field Lewins, he bore little resemblance to Emry
and her kin. It was like that for a lot of families in the Theren, though not
Rand’s. So far as he knew, he and Tam were the only al’Thor’s left, distant or
otherwise.
“I wasn’t the only one who thought you should have won last year, Dannil,” Rand
put in. “Maybe folk will remember that when it’s time to choose.”
Dannil smiled gratefully and straightened up. “I just have to do my best,
whatever the result.”
“There’s always the sheep shearing competition,” said Mat with a grin. “You
lads can still hope to win that.”
“They’ll have no competition from you at least,” sighed Perrin. “It would be
too much like working.”
Rand finished his second apple and left his friends to their banter. He
wandered off towards the stables of the Winespring Inn, to share the cores with
Bela. Mat was proclaiming himself the sure champion of the coming darts contest
when Rand pushed the stable door open and slipped inside.
The stable was a long, narrow building, topped by a high-peaked, thatched roof.
Stalls, their floors covered with straw, filled both sides of the dim interior,
lit only by the open double doors at either end. The peddler’s team munched
their oats in eight stalls, and Mistress al’Vere’s massive Dhurrans, the team
she hired out when farmers had hauling beyond the abilities of their own
horses, filled six more.
It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, so he soon
realised he was not alone. Loise al’Vere looked away disinterestedly when his
eyes met hers. Loise was usually disinterested in people, male or female. She
said little, though Egwene claimed that Mistress al’Vere often asked Loise to
help organise their finances; and she had few friends, though plenty had tried
to befriend her, Rand included. She liked to climb and would often disappear by
herself into the woods, two habits Rand shared, and since she was only a few
years older than him he had thought they would get along. But Loise was Loise—a
girl of few words and fewer expressions, and had declined his offers of
company.
“Hello Loise,” Rand said with a bright smile. “I saw your sisters outside. What
are you doing in the stables?”
“Looking at the new horses,” she said in her low voice. She gestured towards a
stall with her chin, her stubby braid waving. Loise kept her hair cut short,
only barely long enough to braid. If not for that tradition, Rand suspected she
would have had it cut as short as any boy’s.
Rand walked over to the stall she indicated and couldn’t help but gasp. Inside
was a huge stallion, muscular and proud, with a coat as black as night. “Well
aren’t you a handsome fellow,” he said, staring.
“He’s Lan’s. The other is Moiraine’s.” The other in question was in the next
stall over; a white mare, sleek and bright-eyed.
 “Lovely. I wonder if they’re hungry.” He made to offer the black an apple
core.
“Don’t do that!” Loise’s voice was sharper than he had ever heard it. He looked
over at her in surprise. “Master Lan warned us not to touch his horse. It’s
been trained to fight, he said.”
Rand snatched his hand back, suddenly perturbed by the way the black was eyeing
him. He backed up a few steps. “Oh. Well. It’s just as well you were here,
Loise. I might have lost a few fingers.” His laughter was weak, nervous and
trailed of quickly.
The alarm on Loise’s face had been replaced with her more familiar expression.
“Yes. That would have been a shame. Be careful.”
Rand located Bela in her stall. The old mare’s gentle nature was suddenly all
the more welcome. Even when Rand showed her the apple cores she remained
placid, taking them from his hands almost daintily. He smiled fondly and rubbed
the side of her neck.
Loise had been watching him, but when he turned to leave she fixed her
attention on the strange horses once more.
“Well. I hope to see you later, at the celebrations. Take care, Loise.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, as he left.
There was a new arrival in their group when Rand rejoined his friends. “There
you are,” she said gruffly. “My da and I were worried about you two. The roads
aren’t as safe as they used to be.” Anna al’Tolan reached out and shook Rand’s
hand, her grip as firm as ever. If Loise did not quite dare buck tradition,
Anna trampled it underfoot. Her brown hair was even shorter than Rand’s, her
clothes would normally have belonged to a boy and worst of all her last name
was not her mother’s. Anna’s mother had died birthing her, and ever since she
was old enough to speak she had insisted on using the name of Jorge al’Tolan,
the father who had raised her. A fact which caused no amount of sniffing from
the Women’s Circle; not that Anna ever seemed to care what they thought.
Rand grinned at her. “I’m glad to see you. We were worried too. Especially
Perrin.”
A look of alarm crossed the young blacksmith’s face. “Everyone was worried. It
was a hard winter. And there is talk of war outside the Theren. Not especially
Perrin, everyone.”
“Well, that’s sweet, but I’m fine,” said Anna in a firm tone. “What was that
about war though?”
Mat and the others hastened to fill her in on the peddler’s news. Rand said
nothing, preferring to watch Perrin squirm. It was no great secret that his big
friend had a crush on Anna, though whether Anna herself was aware of it Rand
had never dared ask; she was as close as Rand had ever had to a sister, and he
was wary of doing anything that would drive a wedge between them. Perrin kept
glancing from Anna—listening intently to the story Mat, Elam and the rest were
tripping over each other to tell—to his own sisters, Adora and Deselle, who
were seemingly busy trying to tickle their little brother to death out on the
Green. Paetram’s laughter rang loudly across the field. Rand waited for Perrin
to make an excuse and leave, as he had many times before, but this time the
burly youth surprised him. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and
turned back towards the group.
When the story was done, Anna nodded thoughtfully, her already firm jaw set
firmer still. “Huh. Hopefully the war won’t touch us. The Lord and Lady sound
interesting, the gleeman more so. But I don’t much care for fireworks, and the
wolves and that black-cloaked horseman should be our main concern, not a silly
feastday.”
Mat threw up his hands. “How can you make it sound so boring?”
“She’s just being sensible,” said Perrin stoutly. Anna gave him a bright smile.
She was a short and stocky girl, though most of her weight was muscle—she was
one of the only women he knew who could pull a longbow, and was a better-than-
good shot with it—but when she smiled it brought out her dimples and lit up her
square face.
“Wait. You saw the horseman too?” Rand said quietly.
Anna’s smile died, but she looked relieved. “So it wasn’t just us. He was
following my da and I for a bit, but made sure to keep his distance and
wouldn’t answer when da called out to him. Then he took off into the trees.
Like to break his horse’s leg doing that, or his own fool neck.” She pursed her
lips. “That last might not be so terrible, mind. Just looking at that creep
made my skin crawl.”
“Mine too.” Rand wasn’t certain that he’d wish death on the man, but that
feeling of uneasiness he’d inspired was hard to shake.
“What are you two talking about?” asked Jaim.
Perrin answered for them. “Some stranger who’s been lurking about lately. Mat
and I saw him too. He rides a black horse, wears a black hooded cloak and never
speaks, just stares at folk.”
Elam, Dav, Dannil and Jaim exchanged glances.
“That’s the first I’ve heard of him,” said Dannil.
Elam looked surprised. “I just assumed it was Mat being Mat.”
“If you mean being right as usual, then yes,” said Mat acerbically.
“Either way, it would be best to keep your eyes open when travelling, I’d say.
And your bows strung,” Rand advised, then he shrugged and smiled. “But that’s a
worry for another day. It’s a long walk to town, are you hungry Anna?”
“I could eat a cow,” she responded, slapping her belly.
Dav and Elam wanted to go talk to Larine and her friends so they parted company
as they crossed the Green. Dannil and Jaim went with them.
“Tell Marisa Ayellin I said hi,” called Mat.
“Not a chance, I’ll tell her you said she looks like a goat,” Elam shot back,
laughing.
On their way to the feast table they passed Corsen al’Rigg wrestling good-
naturedly with Shevan al’Kiff. They were friends of Mat’s from farms farther
east, but Rand didn’t know them that well. Mat paused briefly to watch, hooting
and calling out advice.
“I haven’t seen Tief today,” Rand said to Perrin, “is he well?”
“His da was helping Mistress Luhhan around the house earlier. If he’s not at
their place then Tief probably has Mishelle duties again.”
Rand nodded. That had often been the case since his mother died. He hoped their
friend wouldn’t miss the whole festival. It would be good to see him again.
He could have done without seeing Calle Coplin again though, no matter how ...
welcoming, she could be. He had turned her down firmly the last time she’d
propositioned him, much more firmly than he had the two times before. It wasn’t
that she was ugly or that he was disgusted by her habits—he’d half to be a
pretty massive hypocrite for that to be the case—it was just that something
about her smirking sneakiness put him off.
Thankfully, she didn’t notice him. Calle was whispering something to Ewal, who
was also a Coplin, though what his exact relation was to Calle Rand was not
certain; the Coplins and the Congars were much more intermarried than any other
families in the Theren. She laughed at whatever he said in response and touched
his arm familiarly. Rand wondered why Calle had never been married off like
Kimry and Bar; she was in her mid twenties and had a certain reputation, after
all.
“You can polish tin and make it shine like silver, but no amount of scrubbing
will turn coal to marble,” mused Perrin. Rand glanced over and found his friend
watching the Coplins too.
“Are you thinking of giving up smithing and becoming a bard, Perrin?” Anna
asked with a small smile.
Perrin blushed. “No. It’s the forge for me, definitely. I was just talking
without thinking first.”
Anna shrugged. “You should do it more often then. Sounded sensible enough to
me.”
As they reached the table, they saw little Alora Congar filch a ribbon from
Elisa and run off. Elisa gave chase, but Alora was small and quick, and Elisa
was somewhat wider than her sisters. Somehow Alora managed to tie the ribbon
into her own hair as they disappeared from sight.
“Congars aren’t all bad,” Mat allowed as he rejoined them. “The little one has
talent.”
“You would think that Matrim Cauthon,” sniffed Eldrin. Mat’s youngest sister
was barely thirteen, with a new crop of pimples on her face. But she had long
since decided to mirror their mother in matronly disapproval of all things Mat.
Her brother rolled his eyes as he sat across the table from her. “Don’t you
have lessons today Eldrin? Or chores to do. A monster to slay off on the other
side of the mountains? Or is that too much to hope for?”
“We were excused early. It is Bel Tine you know.”
“Pity,” sighed Mat. Eldrin stuck her tongue out at him.
Perrin and Anna had joined his family at the other end of the table. Adora was
only a year younger than Perrin, tall, slim and very pretty. Deselle was
twelve, a little girl still; giggling now as their cousin Emi chased her around
the table. Paetram was only nine and looked tiny sat beside Perrin, whom he
looked up at with wide eyes. The four of them seemed to get along well, unlike
Mat and his sisters. Rand might have no other family save Tam, but he enjoyed
being around his friends and their kin, even when they fought.
“Yes, the celebrations started early. It was a long and ... hard winter, after
all,” murmured Bodewhin as she seated herself beside Rand.
Rand found himself holding his breath. That was why his cheeks had turned red,
the only reason why. He reached over and fumbled some mutton stew into a bowl,
carefully not looking at her.
Bodewhin wasn’t done. “Did you three have any lessons today, Rand?” she asked
in a guileless voice.
Rand faced her with what dignity he could muster. Bode was a plumply pretty
girl, with very large breasts, though her long brown hair was still unbraided.
Dark eyes stared back at him from a round face; Mat’s eyes, Light have mercy.
“Well, I only just got into town Bode and I am seventeen now, so no more
lessons for me,” he said stiffly. “Still, that doesn’t mean there aren’t new
things to learn.”
“I bet!” Bodewhin said with a grin.
“Burn me, don’t say that. They might send us back for more of Nynaeve’s
Wisdomly wisdom,” groaned Mat.
Rand ignored him and carefully filled a second bowl; he placed it before Bode
and said in a quiet voice, “You can learn a lot just by watching people,”
Bodewhin blushed and leaned closer with a mischievous look in her eyes, Rand
felt his own cheeks colour again. “For example, you can tell much about the
kind of person someone is by seeing how well they keep a harmless secret.”
Bodewhin seemed more exasperated than moved by Rand’s efforts, so he slid a
hand under the table and rested it lightly above her knee; he squeezed gently.
Her eyes widened and she went very still. “Your stew’s getting cold,” Rand said
casually, as he spooned up his own. It was very tasty he thought, and Bode
seemed to agree from the way she began shovelling it into her mouth, carefully
not looking at Rand. He stroked her thigh softly as they ate, but was saved the
need to do more by the arrival of Mat’s cousin.
Imoen Candwin was about Eldrin’s age, but shared a lot more of Mat’s attitude
than Mat’s littlest sister did. “What’s in the stew?” she asked as she stepped
up beside Bode and began filling a bowl for herself, not bothering to wait for
an answer. “Hey, Rand. Are you looking forward to the fireworks? They’re going
to be great! Mat, Dav was looking for you earlier, what are you two up to this
time? Oh, Eldrin, did you hear? Jancy Torfinn reckons the Women’s Circle will
let her braid her hair next year. She’s younger than us! The nerve of her.”
“I hope so,” Rand murmured as Mat denied all, Eldrin tutted in annoyance and
Imoen kept talking with barely a pause for their answers. In the distance he
spotted Egwene making her way towards Larine and her friends, coming from the
direction of Nynaeve’s house. He glanced over at Bode, but she was still
focused on her bowl and looked oddly subdued.
“Rand. Your father is looking for you.” Loise’s voice made Rand jump guiltily
and slap both hands firmly on the table, which temporarily dammed the flow of
words from Imoen. She fixed Rand with a bright-eyed stare and cocked her head
to the side. Rand endeavoured to look as innocent as he could; Imoen had a way
of ferreting out people’s secrets, and the last thing he wanted was her getting
curious.
He turned around on his stool. “Thanks Loise. Did he say where I could find
him?”
“Inn’s common room.” Loise paused only long enough to awkwardly return Anna’s
wave before striding off again.
Rand hastily spooned up the last of his stew. “I’ll see you all later then,” he
mumbled as he rose.
“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Eldrin scolded.
“Or keep your parents waiting, or leave without saying goodbye,” Rand added
with a crooked smile that left the youngest Cauthon looking confused. Her elder
sister, Bodewhin, watched him go with an unreadable look in her eyes.
Rand was halfway to the Winespring Inn when Mat and Perrin caught up to him.
“How did it go with Anna?” Rand asked.
“That’s ... hard to say. Even if I wanted to,” said Perrin quietly. Rand
shrugged and did not press him.
When Rand pushed open the door to the inn he found Nynaeve clutching her braid
in mid-tirade, with the Village Council looking put upon.
Bran al’Caar was shaking his head. “That gleeman may be more trouble than he’s
worth.”
Nynaeve sniffed loudly. “Worry about the gleeman if you want, Brandelwyn
al’Caar. At least he is in Emond’s Field, which is more than you can say for
this false Dragon. But as long as you are worrying, there are others here who
shouldexcite your worry.”
“If you please, Wisdom,” Bran said stiffly, “kindly leave who should worry me
to my deciding. Mistress Moiraine and Master Lan are guests in my wife’s inn,
and decent, respectable folk, so I say. Neither of themhas called me a fool in
front of the whole Council. Neither of themhas told the Council it hasn’t a
full set of wits among them.”
“It seems my estimate was too high by half,” Nynaeve retorted. “Remind the
Mayor to keep a close eye on those two, I don’t like all these questions
they’ve been asking.” She strode out the door without a backward glance, mouth
set and clutching her long braid in her fist, leaving Bran’s jaw working as he
searched for a reply.
“That young woman wants a husband,” Cenn Buie growled, bouncing on his toes.
His face was purple, and getting darker. “She lacks proper respect. We’re the
Village Council, not boys raking her yard, and—”
Bran breathed heavily through his nose, and suddenly rounded on the old
thatcher. “Be quiet, Cenn! Stop acting like a black-veiled Aiel!” The skinny
man froze on his toes in astonishment as Bran stamped his way to the back of
the inn and slammed the door behind him.
The Council members glanced at Cenn, then moved off in their separate
directions. All but Haral Weyland, who accompanied the stony-visaged thatcher,
talking quietly. The blacksmith was the only one who could ever get Cenn to see
reason. Privately, Rand agreed with Bran, Cenn should not have spoken so rudely
of Nynaeve, even if Nynaeve herself was somewhat of a stranger to politeness.
Rand went to meet his father, and his friends trailed after him. “I’ve never
seen Master al’Caar so mad,” was the first thing Rand said.
“The Council and the Wisdom seldom agree,” Tam said, “and they agreed less than
usual today. That’s all.”
“What about the false Dragon?” Mat asked, and Perrin added eager murmurs. “What
about the Aes Sedai?”
Tam shook his head slowly. “Master Fain knew little more than he had already
told. At least, little of interest to us. Battles won or lost. Cities taken and
retaken. All in Ghealdan, thank the Light. It hasn’t spread, or had not the
last Master Fain knew.”
“Battles interest me,” Mat said, and Perrin added, “What did he say about
them?”
“Battles don’t interest me, Matrim,” Tam said. "But I’m sure he will be glad to
tell you all about them later. What does interest me is that we shouldn’t have
to worry about them here, as far as the Council and the Circle can tell. We can
see no reason for Aes Sedai to come here on their way south. And as for the
return journey, they aren’t likely to want to cross the Forest of Shadows and
swim the White River.”
Rand and the others chuckled at the idea. There were three reasons why no-one
came into the Theren except from the north, by way of Taren Ferry. The
Mountains of Mist, in the west, were the first, of course, and the Mire blocked
the east just as effectively. To the south was the White River, which got its
name from the way rocks and boulders churned its swift waters to froth. And
beyond the White lay the Forest of Shadows. Few Theren folk had ever crossed
the White, and fewer still returned if they did. It was generally agreed,
though, that the Forest of Shadows stretched south for a hundred miles or more
without a road or a village, but with plenty of wolves and bears.
“So that’s an end to it for us,” Mat said. He sounded at least a little
disappointed.
“Not quite,” Tam said. “Day after tomorrow we will send men to Deven Ride and
Watch Hill, and Taren Ferry, too, to arrange for a watch to be kept. Riders
along the White and the Taren, both, and patrols between. It should be done
today, but only the Mayor agrees with me. The rest can’t see asking anyone to
spend Bel Tine off riding across the Theren.”
“But I thought you said we didn’t have to worry,” Perrin said, and Tam shook
his head.
“I said should not, boy, not did not. I’ve seen men die because they were sure
that what should not happen, would not. Besides, the fighting will stir up all
sorts of people. Most will just be trying to find safety, but others will be
looking for a way to profit from the confusion. We’ll offer any of the first a
helping hand, but we must be ready to send the second type on their way.”
Abruptly Mat spoke up. “Can we be part of it? I want to, anyway. You know I can
ride as well as anyone in the village.”
“You want a few weeks of cold, boredom, and sleeping rough?” Tam chuckled.
"Likely that’s all there will be to it. I hope that’s all. We’re well out of
the way even for refugees. But you can speak to Mistress al’Vere if your mind
is made up. Still, that’s a worry for later. Right now, Rand, it’s time for us
to be getting back to the farm,” he announced.
Rand blinked in surprise. “I thought we were staying in town for Winternight.”
“Things need seeing to at the farm, and I need you with me. We are going now,”
his father replied in a tone that brooked no argument. In a softer voice he
added, “We’ll be back tomorrow in plenty of time for you to speak to the Mayor.
Say your goodbyes, then meet me in the stable.”
“Are you going to join Rand and me on the watch?” Mat asked Perrin as Tam left.
“I’ll bet there’s nothing like this ever happened in the Theren before. Why, if
we get up to the Taren, we might even see soldiers, or who knows what. Even
Tinkers.”
“I expect I will,” Perrin said slowly, “If Master Weyland doesn’t need me, that
is.”
Rand sighed in disappointment; he had been enjoying their visit, it was a pity
it had to end early. “Well, I’d best be getting home then. Give my regrets to
the others. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Followed by their goodbyes, he trotted around to the stableyard where the high-
wheeled cart stood propped on its shafts.
Tam stood in the rear of the stable, holding Bela by a lead rope and speaking
quietly to Hu and Tad. Before Rand had taken two steps into the stable his
father nodded to the stablemen and brought Bela out, wordlessly gathering up
Rand as he went.
They harnessed the shaggy mare in silence. Tam appeared so deep in thought that
Rand held his tongue.
As the cart lurched into motion, Rand took his bow and quiver from the back,
awkwardly belting the quiver at his waist as he half trotted alongside. When
they reached the last row of houses in the village, he nocked an arrow,
carrying it half raised and partly drawn. There was nothing to see except
mostly leafless trees, but his shoulders tightened. The black rider could be on
them before either of them knew it. There might not be time to draw the bow if
he was not already halfway to it.
He knew he could not keep up the tension on the bowstring for long. He had made
the bow himself, and Tam was one of the few others in the district who could
even draw it all the way to the cheek. He cast around for something to take his
mind off thinking about the dark rider.
“Did anyone besides Perrin see this strange rider?” Tam asked.
“Mat did, but—” Rand blinked, then stared across Bela’s back at his father.
“You believe me? I have to go back. I have to tell them.” Tam’s shout halted
him as he turned to run back to the village.
“Hold, lad, hold! Do you think I waited this long to speak for no reason?”
Reluctantly Rand kept on beside the cart, still creaking along behind patient
Bela. “What made you change your mind? Why can’t I tell the others?”
“They’ll know soon enough. At least, Perrin will. Mat, I’m not sure of. Word
must be gotten to the farms as best it can, but in another hour there won’t be
anyone in Emond’s Field above sixteen, those who can be responsible about it,
at least, who doesn’t know a stranger is skulking around and likely not the
sort you would invite to Festival. The winter has been bad enough without this
to scare the young ones. He could be just a refugee from the troubles in
Ghealdan, or more likely a thief who thinks the pickings will be easier here
than in Baerlon or Taren Ferry. Even so, no-one around here has so much they
can afford to have it stolen. If the man is trying to escape the war … well,
that’s still no excuse for scaring people. Once the watch is mounted, it should
either find him or frighten him off.”
“I hope it frightens him off. But why do you believe me now, when you didn’t
this morning?”
“I had to believe my own eyes then, lad, and I saw nothing.” Tam shook his
grizzled head. “Only young men see this fellow, it seems. When Haral Weyland
mentioned Perrin jumping at shadows, though, it all came out. Doral Thane’s
oldest son saw him, too, and so did Saml Crawe’s boy, Bandry. Well, when four
of you say you’ve seen a thing—and solid lads, all—we start thinking maybe it’s
there whether we can see it or not. All except Cenn, of course. Anyway, that’s
why we’re going home. With both of us away, this stranger could be up to any
kind of mischief there.”
“I didn’t know about Ban or Lem,” Rand said. “But Anna said she and Master
al’Tolan saw the rider too.”
“Young men and Anna,” Tam muttered, “And all near the same age.” He frowned off
into the distance, but before Rand could ask what was troubling him, he said,
“Keep a sharp lookout lad.”
Rand settled down to do just that. He was surprised to realize that his step
felt lighter. The knots were gone from his shoulders. He was still scared, but
it was not so bad as it had been. Tam and he were just as alone on the Quarry
Road as they had been that morning, but in some way he felt as if the entire
village were with them. That others knew and believed made all the difference.
There was nothing the black-cloaked horseman could do that the people of
Emond’s Field could not handle together.
***** A Beginning *****
CHAPTER 6: A Beginning
 
The sun was almost set by the time the cart reached the farmhouse. It was not a
big house, not nearly so large as some of the sprawling farmhouses to the east,
dwellings that had grown over the years to hold entire families. In the Theren
that often included three or four generations under one roof, including aunts,
uncles, cousins, and nephews. Tam and Rand were considered out of the ordinary
as much for being two men living alone as for farming in the Westwood. Here
most of the rooms were on one floor, a neat rectangle with no wings or
additions. Two bedrooms and an attic storeroom fitted up under the steeply
sloped thatch. If the whitewash was all but gone from the stout wooden walls
after the winter storms, the house was still in a tidy state of repair, the
thatch tightly mended and the doors and shutters well-hung and snug-fitting.
Rand had helped keep it so of course. Over the years he’d had cause to learn
all the chores needed to keep a farm and a house in order, from tending the
animals and fields, to mending the building, or cooking, sewing and cleaning.
He attended to all his duties diligently and without complaint. Or at least
none that he ever gave voice to.
House, barn, and stone sheep pen formed the points of a triangle around the
farmyard, where a few chickens had ventured out to scratch at the cold ground.
An open shearing shed and a stone dipping trough stood next to the sheep pen.
Hard by the fields between the farmyard and the trees loomed the tall cone of a
tight-walled curing shed. Few farmers in the Theren could make do without both
wool and tabac to sell when the merchants came.
When Rand took a look in the stone pen, the heavy-horned herd ram looked back
at him, but most of the black-faced flock remained placidly where they lay, or
stood with their heads in the feed trough. Their coats were thick and curly,
but it was still too cold for shearing.
“I don’t think the black-cloaked man came here,” Rand called to his father, who
was walking slowly around the farmhouse, spear held at the ready, examining the
ground intently. “The sheep wouldn’t be so settled if that one had been
around.”
Tam nodded but did not stop. When he had made a complete circuit of the house,
he did the same around the barn and the sheep pen, still studying the ground.
He even checked the smokehouse and the curing shed. Drawing a bucket of water
from the well, he filled a cupped hand, sniffed the water, and gingerly touched
it with the tip of his tongue. Abruptly he barked a laugh, then drank it down
in a quick gulp.
“I suppose he didn’t,” he told Rand, wiping his hand on his coat front. “All
this about men and horses I can’t see or hear just makes me look crossways at
everything.” He emptied the well water into another bucket and started for the
house, the bucket in one hand and his spear in the other. “I’ll start some stew
for supper. And as long as we’re here, we might as well get caught up on a few
chores.”
Rand grimaced, regretting missing Winternight in Emond’s Field even more. But
Tam was right. Around a farm the work never really got done; as soon as one
thing was finished two more always needed doing. He hesitated about it, but
kept his bow and quiver close at hand. If the dark rider did appear, he had no
intention of facing him with nothing but a hoe.
First was stabling Bela. Once he had unharnessed her and put her into a stall
in the barn next to their cow, he set his cloak aside and rubbed the mare down
with handfuls of dry straw, then curried her with a pair of brushes. Climbing
the narrow ladder to the loft, he pitched down hay for her feed. He fetched a
scoopful of oats for her as well, though there was little enough left and might
be no more for a long while unless the weather warmed soon. The cow had been
milked that morning before first light, giving a quarter of her usual yield;
she seemed to be drying up as the winter hung on.
Enough feed had been left to see the sheep for two days—they should have been
in the pasture by now, but there was none worth calling it so—but he topped off
their water. Whatever eggs had been laid needed to be gathered, too. There were
only three. The hens seemed to be getting cleverer at hiding them.
He was taking a hoe to the vegetable garden behind the house when Tam came out
and settled on a bench in front of the barn to mend harness, propping his spear
beside him. It made Rand feel better about the bow lying on his cloak a pace
from where he stood.
Few weeds had pushed above ground, but more weeds than anything else. The
cabbages were stunted, barely a sprout of the beans or peas showed, and there
was not a sign of a beet. Not everything had been planted, of course; only
part, in hopes the cold might break in time to make a crop of some kind before
the cellar was empty. It did not take long to finish hoeing, which would have
suited him just fine in years past, but now he wondered what they would do if
nothing came up this year. Not a pleasant thought. And there was still firewood
to split.
It seemed to Rand like years since there had notbeen firewood to split. But
complaining would not keep the house warm, so he fetched the axe, propped up
bow and quiver beside the chopping block, and got to work. Pine for a quick,
hot flame, and oak for long burning. Before long he was warm enough to put his
coat and shirt aside. When the pile of split wood grew big enough, he stacked
it against the side of the house, beside other stacks already there. Most
reached all the way to the eaves.
Usually by this time of year the woodpiles were small and few, but not this
year. Chop and stack, chop and stack, he lost himself in the rhythm of the axe
and the motions of stacking wood. Tam’s hand on his shoulder brought him back
to where he was, and for a moment he blinked in surprise, memories rushing
back. Grey twilight had come on while he worked, and already it was fading
quickly toward night. The full moon stood well above the treetops, shimmering
pale and bulging as if about to fall on their heads. The wind had grown colder
without his noticing, too, and tattered clouds scudded across the darkling sky.
“Let’s wash up, lad, and see about some supper. I’ve already carried in water
for hot baths before sleep,” said Tam in his calm and confidant voice. It was
the voice of inevitability, Rand often thought.
“Anything hot sounds good to me,” Rand said, snatching up his cloak and tossing
it round his shoulders. He stifled a yawn, shivering as he gathered the rest of
his things. “And sleep, too, for that.”
When Rand returned from the outhouse he found that the main room had a warm,
cheerful feel to it. Tam had been extravagant with the candles, and a fire
crackled in the big stone fireplace. A broad oaken table was the main feature
of the room other than the fireplace, a table long enough to seat a dozen or
more, though there had seldom been so many around it since Rand’s mother died.
A few cabinets and chests, most of them skilfully made by Tam himself, lined
the walls, and high-backed chairs stood around the table. The cushioned chair
that Tam called his reading chair sat angled before the flames. Rand preferred
to do his reading stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. The shelf of
books by the door was not nearly as long as the one at the Winespring Inn, but
books were hard to come by. Few peddlers carried more than a handful, and those
had to be stretched out among everyone who wanted them.
If the room did not look quite so freshly scrubbed as most farm wives kept
their homes—Tam’s pipe rack and The Travels of Jain Farstridersat on the table,
while another wood-bound book rested on the cushion of his reading chair; a bit
of harness to be mended lay on the bench by the fireplace, and some shirts to
be darned made a heap on a chair—if not quite so spotless, it was still clean
and neat enough, with a lived-in look that was almost as warming and comforting
as the fire. Here, it was possible to forget the chill beyond the walls. There
was no false Dragon here. No wars or Aes Sedai. No men in black cloaks. The
aroma from the stewpot hanging over the fire permeated the room, and filled
Rand with comfort.
His father stirred the stewpot with a long-handled wooden spoon, then took a
taste. “A little while longer.”
Rand hurried to wash himself. A hot bath was what he wanted, to take away the
sweat and soak the chill out, so he retrieved the big kettle from the back
room, filled it up and set it near the fire. It took more than a dozen trips
with the smaller kettle before the bath was half filled. By then the water was
nearly ready.
Once Rand was done carrying, Tam rooted around in a cabinet and came up with a
key as long as his hand. He twisted it in the big iron lock on the door. At
Rand’s questioning look he said, “Best to be safe. Maybe I’m taking a fancy, or
maybe the weather is blacking my mood, but ...” He sighed and bounced the key
on his palm. “I’ll see to the back door,” he said, and disappeared toward the
back of the house.
Rand could not remember either door ever being locked. No-one in the Theren
locked doors. There was no need. Until now, at least. When Tam returned he
slipped the key into the pocket of his trousers and bent to help Rand with the
kettle. They donned heavy mitts and lifted on a silent count of three, long
years of practice making words unnecessary. With careful, shuffling steps they
approached the bathtub and then tipped the kettle just enough to let the water
flow.
Once the bath was ready, Tam gestured to it with a callused hand. “All yours
lad, I’ll finish dinner.”
Rand nodded, he usually bathed first at times like this. “Yes, father. I
already ate at Emond’s Field, so I’ll wait a bit longer for supper. Don’t wait
for me.”
Tam nodded his understanding and left the room. The sounds of spoon on pot and
spoon on bowl drifted through as Rand stripped off his dirty clothes and
stepped gingerly into the tub.
Rand eased himself down and sat in the warm water; sighed loudly as the heat
drew tension out of his muscles, took a long moment to savour the feeling, then
dunked his head. He liked the way water drove sound away when it covered his
ears, many a time he had floated in the ponds of the Waterwood east of Emond’s
Field relishing the peaceful silence. But there was no time for that here, the
water wouldn’t stay warm long. He resurfaced, soaped up his hair and set about
giving himself a good scrubbing.
From overhead, from Tam’s bedroom, came a scraping, as of something being
dragged across the floor. Rand frowned. Unless Tam had suddenly decided to move
the furniture around, he could only be pulling out the old chest he kept under
his bed. Another thing that had never been done in Rand’s memory.
Once Rand was clean, he clambered from the tub, dried himself as best he could
with the small towel and belted on his undyed woollen bathrobe before padding
into the main room and the welcome fire that awaited him.
Once there however, Rand found himself staring in surprise. A thick belt
slanted around Tam’s waist, and from the belt hung a sword, with a bronze heron
on the black scabbard and another on the long hilt. The only men Rand had ever
seen wearing swords were the merchants’ guards. And Lan, of course. That his
father might own one had never even occurred to him. Except for the herons, the
sword looked a good deal like Lan’s.
“Where did that come from?” he blurted. "Did you get it from a peddler? How
much did it cost?”
Slowly Tam drew the weapon; firelight played along the gleaming length. It was
nothing at all like the plain, rough blades Rand had seen in the hands of
merchants’ guards. No gems or gold adorned it, but it seemed grand to him,
nonetheless. The blade, very slightly curved and sharp on only one edge, bore
another heron etched into the steel. Short quillons, worked to look like braid,
flanked the hilt. It seemed almost fragile compared with the swords of the
merchants’ guards; most of those were double-edged, and thick enough to chop
down a tree.
“I got it a long time ago,” Tam said, “a long way from here. And I paid
entirely too much; two coppers is too much for one of these. Your mother didn’t
approve, but she was always wiser than I. I was young then, and it seemed worth
the price at the time. Kari always wanted me to get rid of it, and more than
once I’ve thought she was right, that I should just give it away.”
Reflected fire made the blade seem aflame. Rand started. He had often
daydreamed about owning a sword. “Give it away? How could you give a sword like
that away?”
Tam snorted. “Not much use in herding sheep, now is it? Can’t plough a field or
harvest a crop with it.” For a long minute he stared at the sword as if
wondering what he was doing with such a thing. At last he let out a heavy sigh.
“But if I am not just taken by a black fancy, if our luck runs sour, maybe in
the next few days we’ll be glad I tucked it in that old chest, instead.” He
slid the sword smoothly back into its sheath and wiped his hand on his shirt
with a grimace.
“Maybe so,” Rand whispered. He padded over to stand by the fireplace, wanting
to know everything. Why would Tam have bought a sword? He could not imagine.
And where had Tam come by it? How far away? No-one ever left the Theren; or
very few, at least. He had always known his father had gone outside once, he
had met Rand’s mother there, but why would he need a sword, how long had he
been gone?
He must have looked nervous. “We’ll be fine lad, don’t worry. We’ve always been
fine here, we have everything a man could need.” Tam was looking at him with
that stolid, implacable stare.
Rand knew his meaning of course. He let out an excited breath and shrugged the
bathrobe off his shoulders, catching it at his waist, there in the flickering
light of the hearth fire. Tam looked at him in silent admiration. He gulped and
bent to gently kiss his father. Tam sighed and placed a firm hand behind his
son’s head, holding him in place as he kneaded the youth’s lips with his own.
Rand was pliant in Tam’s hands. He reflected on all the other times he had
helped Tam with his needs. It had been more than two years now since he hadn’t
needed to bend down to let Tam kiss him. Tam had laughed and complimented him
on his growth the first time he’d found himself looking up into Rand’s eyes. It
was even longer ago that Rand had come to understand the frustrated urges that
beset his father, with no wife and just the two of them living here in these
woods for the past decade. Rand had never sought Tam’s help with his own urges
though, somehow the thought of mounting his father like that just seemed wrong,
even if Tam would have let him. He had been happy enough to help ease Tam’s
frustrations though, except perhaps for the first time, when he was seven. That
had been painful, scary and confusing.
Tam had been very drunk that night, on the second year of the anniversary of
Kari’s death. When Rand woke to the feel of somebody sitting down at the side
of his bed he had not been worried though. Tam loved him and he loved Tam; they
were the only family each other had. Tam had caressed Rand’s red hair and wept
silently, so he had sat up in the bed and put his arms around his father. Tam
had hugged him back and sobbed, “Kari, I love you.”
After a while he had quietened and Rand had dried his runny nose and wet eyes
on his father’s shirt. He had loved her too, but she was gone and she would
never come back, everyone had said so. Rand had been clad only in his white
nightshirt and smallclothes. Tam had put his hands on his boy’s bottom as he
held Rand to him. Then his fingers had started moving in a way that made Rand
nervous. Tam had grasped Rand’s smallclothes on either side and pulled them
down Rand’s skinny legs. “Father?” Rand had queried, in a small voice, confused
but unresisting. He had pulled his face back from Tam’s chest as he said so and
looked at him with wide blue-grey eyes. Tam had grimaced as though in pain and
thrust his lips upon the red-haired boy’s. He had followed Rand’s lips all the
way back to Rand’s bed, where he laid his son down and caressed him all over.
He had pulled the shorts over Rand’s small feet and left him laying there with
his little boy’s cock curled up and exposed, kissing his lips ardently all the
while.
Rand wasn’t eight anymore, but when Tam broke their kiss and gently pulled
Rand’s hand away from the bathrobe, he made no effort to resist. The wool
puddled upon the floor and he stood tall and naked before his father for a long
moment. Then he turned and slipped to his hands and knees on the rug before
their fireplace and offered himself up for Tam’s pleasure.
Behind him, he heard Tam fumbling with his clothes. Rand’s heart was beating as
fast as it had the first time. Rand had been scared, very scared, by the pained
look in Tam’s eyes back then. So as his father kissed him the way he remembered
seeing him kiss his mother he had wondered what he should do. Kari had kissed
him back and made him happy; Rand, child that he was, had decided to do the
same. He had set his hands timidly to Tam’s bristly face and moved his soft
lips against the man’s firmer ones. Tam’s breath had tasted funny, not
disgusting but not normal either. It was the ale, he supposed. Tam had run his
fingers through Rand’s hair, “I always loved your hair,” he had whispered.
“Such a lovely colour.”
Fingers trailed through Rand’s red hair now and he looked back to find his
father kneeling behind him. He had unbuttoned his shirt but not put it aside;
the hair on his chest had more grey than black in it now but the muscles
beneath were still strong. Tam had kept his mysterious sword belted about him,
twisting it aside so the blade hung behind him and the long hilt stuck out to
his left. It made him seem suddenly strange again to Rand, reminded him of how
strange the first time had been. He had undone his trousers just enough to set
his cock free, dark and thick, it pointed towards Rand hungrily.
It had seemed much bigger when Rand was young. When Tam had been unable to
contain his urges any longer he had gotten up from his boy’s bed and unlaced
his breeches. Rand had gaped at the size of Tam’s willy, it was massive to
Rand’s young eyes, the size of Tam’s hand and wrist both. Tam had dragged his
breeches down and his shirt over his head and cast them hastily aside, he had
quickly done the same with Rand’s nightshirt and knelt on Rand’s bed with his
willy sticking out, looking all strangely stiff. Rand’s own cock was longer and
thicker than Tam’s he knew now, but back then it had seemed huge.
Rand had not been truly afraid except when Tam had first kissed him. When Tam
had stopped pushing him down, and started brushing him with his hands instead
it had felt nice. His father’s hands were strong and leathery and held only
gentleness for good boys. Gently Tam had put those hands on his son’s slim hips
and lifted them up off the bed, guided Rand to lay on his belly and moved up
behind him, breathing like a stud horse. Rand had been bewildered by that, even
before he felt his father put his hands on the cheeks of Rand’s soft bottom and
push them away from each other; and then something warm and wet and firm had
come to rest against the hole of his bum and set Rand to trembling.
Tam’s callused yet gentle hands caressed Rand’s now much firmer buttocks. “On
your side there lad,” he murmured as he guided his son to lay down by the
hearthfire. Rand did so compliantly, resting his head on one arm and watching
his father kneel above him as the flickering firelight caressed them both. Tam
took hold of one of Rand’s long and muscular legs and held it up against his
hairy chest as he positioned himself before Rand’s opening. “Rand,” he moaned
as he pushed himself home. Rand let out a long sigh as he felt the familiar
sensation of his father’s cock filling his hole.
It had been Kari’s name Tam had cried through gritted teeth, when he first
thrust into Rand. Taken by surprise, the boy had squealed his pain and
confusion. Tam had pushed his willy in as far as he could and buried his
fingers in Rand’s red hair. Then he had started riding Rand just like he rode a
horse. He had bucked his hips and pulled his willy out of Rand’s hole, then
bunched his strong belly and pushed it back in again. Tam’s hairy body had felt
like a warm wall pressed against Rand’s slim back and his arms were strong and
inescapable and sheltering. It had hurt Rand, but Tam sighed in relief as he
rode him so Rand had tried to stifle his cries as much as he could. Rand loved
his father, as he had loved his mother, and with her gone they had only each
other. Tam needed his help. The thought had made the boy feel better. Warm.
Needed. Loved. Rand began to squirm, hoping to get into a more comfortable
position as the man made him his catamite. His squirming made Tam groan in
pleasure. So he had squirmed some more.
“That’s my boy,” groaned Tam as he began to ride Rand faster, staring into
Rand’s eyes all the while; grey eyes, like Kari’s had been. The firelight was
hot on his skin and Tam’s cock in his ass was hotter still. Rand rolled his
hips, the better to speed his father’s release.
The first time had gone quicker. Tam had rested his head on his son’s pillow as
he thrust urgently into the boy’s painfully tight bottom. Rand had made little
gasping noises as Tam rode him and watched his father’s face; soon Tam’s teeth
gritted and his arms clasped Rand to him roughly, he roared almost angrily and
pushed his manhood savagely up Rand’s smooth, hairless bum. Rand had cried out
in alarm, more from the noise than the now almost familiar feeling, then felt
something wet moving inside him. Tam had let out a shuddering breath and
collapsed on top of Rand, sucking in breath.
“Father,” he asked softly now as Tam rode him at a steady pace. “How long did
you live in the outside?”
“Over twenty years, Rand,” Tam panted, still thrusting. “Twenty long years.”
“Did you hate it?”
Tam blinked down at him. “There were some hard times, some ugly sights, but I
wouldn’t trade them away if I could. They brought me Kari. And you.” With that
he squeezed his eyes shut and started fucking Rand with desperate, and
familiar, abandon. Rand knew what was coming; he squeezed Tam’s cock within him
and soon felt his father’s milk shoot forth. After the first few spurts, Tam
fell back on his heels, breathing heavily and letting Rand’s leg fall free.
Rand smiled, curled up slightly and turned his gaze to the flames.
It would take Tam a bit to recover himself, Rand knew. The first time he had
lain still for so long that Rand had found himself short of breath.
“Father, I can’t breathe,” he had gasped. Tam had snorted as though he had just
been woken abruptly from sleep and got up off Rand’s back. His angry manhood
plopped out of Rand’s no-longer virgin bottom as he did so and the older man
had lowered his head in grief.
“Rand, lad?” his father had asked huskily. “Please don’t hate me.”
Rand had been shocked. Why would he hate Tam? It defied possibility. “I don’t
hate you father,” he had said, his voice sounding higher than usual for some
reason. “I love you. And I miss mom too.” At the last he had started crying and
Tam had wrapped his strong arms around him.
“I miss her too,” Tam had sighed sadly. “You remind me of her, you know?” He
had sounded almost surprised by that, but Rand already knew he looked more like
his mother than Tam. “You’re nearly as pretty as she was, Light save me.” Tam
had cradled Rand in his arms and rocked him to sleep that night, and on many
nights since.
But not tonight, Rand thought. Unnerving as he had found the presence of that
black-cloaked rider, he was no longer a little boy to go running to his
father’s bed for comfort. So when Tam’s cock slipped out of Rand’s wet hole, he
reached for the discarded bathrobe and wiped himself clean. It would need
washing anyway, and Rand was fully dried now. He rose and padded naked across
the room to the fresh clothes that Tam had thoughtfully brought down for him
and began to get dressed.
Tam had grown sombre now that his itch was scratched. He often did, even after
all these years. He stuffed his heavy cock back into his trousers and began to
button up his shirt. When he noticed Rand watching him, he met his son’s grey
eyes with his sad brown ones and said, “Thank you. For everything.”
Rand shrugged lightly. “No, thank you. Always.”
As he began to button his own shirt, a heavy thump at the door rattled the
lock. All thoughts of Tam’s swords flew away.
***** Suspicious Arrangement *****
CHAPTER 11: Suspicious Arrangement
                                        
“Don’t wake him, now,” the Mayor said, as Master al’Caar shut the door behind
his wife and himself. The cloth-covered tray she carried gave off delicious,
warm smells. She set it on the chest against the wall, then firmly moved Rand
away from the bed.
“Mistress Moiraine told me what he needs,” she said softly, “and it does not
include you falling on top of him from exhaustion.” She smiled slightly then,
and memory seemed to flare in her eyes. She glanced away from Rand. “I’ve
brought you a bite to eat. Don’t let it get cold, now.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call her that,” Bran said peevishly. “Moiraine Sedai is
proper. She might get mad. We don’t want trouble with Aes Sedai.”
Marin gave him a pat on the cheek. “No we don’t, and there won’t be any. She
and I had a long talk. She knows we are a proper and decent folk, with a
healthy respect for tradition. Now, the two of you keep out of my way.” With a
fond smile for her husband, she turned to the bed where she began arranging
Tam’s pillows and blankets.
Master al’Caar gave Rand a frustrated look. “She’s an Aes Sedai. Half the women
in the village act as if she rules the Theren now, and the rest as if she were
a Trolloc. Not a one of them seems to realize you have to be careful around Aes
Sedai. The men may keep looking at her sideways, but at least they aren’t doing
anything that might provoke her.”
Careful, Rand thought. It was not too late to start being careful. “Master
al’Caar,” he said slowly, “do you know how many farms were attacked?”
“Only two that I’ve heard of so far, your place and the Calders’.” He paused,
frowning, then shrugged. “It doesn’t seem enough, with what happened here. I
should be glad of it, but ... Well, we’ll probably hear of more before the day
is out.”
Rand sighed. “Here in the village, did they ... I mean, was there anything to
show what they were after?”
“After, boy? I don’t know that they were after anything, except maybe killing
us all. It was just the way I said. The dogs barking, and Moiraine Sedai and
Lan running through the streets, then somebody shouted that Mistress Crawe’s
house was on fire. Odd that; it’s nearly in the middle of the village. Anyway,
the next thing the Trollocs were all among us. No, I don’t think they were
afteranything.” He gave an abrupt bark of a laugh, and cut it short with a wary
look at his wife. She did not look around from Tam. “To tell the truth,” he
went on more quietly, “they seemed almost as confused as we were. I doubt they
expected to find an Aes Sedai here, or a Warder.”
“I suppose not,” Rand said, grimacing. If Moiraine had told the truth about
that, she had probably told the truth about the rest too.
“You need sleep, lad,” Master al’Caar said.
“Yes, you do,” Marin added. “You’re almost falling down where you stand.” Rand
blinked at her in surprise. He had not even realized she had left his father.
He did need sleep; just the thought set off a yawn.
“You can take the bed in the next room,” the Mayor said. “There’s already a
fire laid.”
Rand looked at his father; Tam was still deep in sleep, and that made him yawn
again. “I’d rather stay in here, if you don’t mind. For when he wakes up.”
Mistress al’Vere hesitated only a moment before nodding. “If you must stay,
curl up next to the fire. And drink a little of that beef broth before you doze
off.”
“I will,” Rand said. He would have agreed to anything if they let him stay just
a little longer. “And I won’t wake him.”
“See that you do not,” Mistress al’Vere told him firmly, but not in an unkindly
way. “I’ll bring you up a pillow and some blankets.”
When they were gone, Rand dragged Moiraine’s chair around, discarded his coat
and boots, and sat by Tam’s beside. This might be the last night I ever sleep
in the Theren, he thought. He was tired, but his mind raced. There were so many
people he would miss. Dav and Elam. Tod and Tief. Anna, Imoen. The al’Vere
sisters, the Cauthons, the Aybaras. Even Cenn Buie. And Nynaeve. Marin ... and
Tam most of all.
Rand was so busy staring morosely at nothing that he didn’t notice the Mayor’s
return until she put her hand on his shoulder. He started, which brought a wan
smile to her lips. She was still clad in her loose nightgown; with all that had
happened and all that needed doing, she must not have found the time to get
dressed. She gave his shoulder a light pat then went to set the bundled bedding
down atop Tam’s legs.
“Be careful not to wake him,” Rand dared to caution her.
“I don’t think I could if I tried. Moiraine Sedai said he will sleep like a
stone for the rest of the day and night. Being Healed with the One Power has
that effect.” She did not look at Rand as she added, “Moiraine Sedai also said
that the less men knew of the One Power’s workings the better for all. So be
sure not to say anything to Master al’Caar.”
Rand frowned slightly. Moiraine had told him quite a bit about the Power
earlier, and the Shadow too. She had seemed to be making a point of telling
him, now that he thought about it. For that matter, why would the Mayor tell
Rand about Tam, but keep it from Bran ...
Marin still refused to look at him. As short as Egwene, and as slender
too—though there was a good forty years of age difference between them—she
stood there in her oversized robe looking more strained and tense than he had
even seen her look.
“I know how to keep a secret, if it’s a secret worth keeping,” Rand said
softly. “You know that.”
A small smile curved her lips, and woke the fine lines around her mouth and at
the corners of her eyes. “I do.”
The Mayor strode past Rand to the guest chamber door of her inn, lifted the
latch ... and locked it with a click than rang oddly loud in Rand’s ears.
Marin came and sat in Rand’s lap without preamble. His manhood, already stiff,
poked against her thigh and brought a pleased smile to her lips. He wrapped his
arms around her slight body and kissed her hungrily, and within heartbeats she
was kissing him back, perhaps more ardently than any time before.
It had been almost a year since the last time, the last night of Bel Tine. Rand
had danced with a dozen or more girls, including three of the al’Vere sisters,
but it had been Marin who visited his bedroom in the hour before dawn. For the
last time, she had sworn afterwards. There had been several other last times
before that. And the original last time, when he was fourteen, the first time
he had ever known a woman’s body. He almost cringed to remember how nervous and
awkward he had been back then, but Marin hadn’t minded. She had seemed to enjoy
his eagerness, and his youth. She always did.
Marin was impatient and eager herself this time, she pulled Rand’s shirt over
his head and ran her hands across the hard, hairless muscles of his chest. Her
breath quickened, even more so when he hiked up her nightgown to caress her
soft naked thighs. He kissed her, and soon she was exploring his mouth with her
tongue.
She rose briefly from his lap, the better to yank down her loose white
underwear. Her dirty feet were tangled briefly as she freed her slim legs and
Rand got a good glimpse of the thick thatch of hair that crowned her sex.
Marin’s braid was still a dark brown, if liberally streaked with grey, but down
below the grey had taken over almost entirely. He wondered if she would want
him to kiss her there and explore her with his tongue, the way she had taught
him. He would be glad to.
Rand yanked down his own trousers as eagerly, freeing his engorged manhood. He
shot a guilty look towards Tam, half fearing his father would rise up from his
sickbed in wrath, but Tam still slept like the dead. The near dead, only that,
thank the Light.
Marin wasted no time worrying about Tam. Or with words. Instead she moved
swiftly to stand over the chair where Rand still sat, took hold of his shaft in
her soft, motherly hands, and impaled herself upon his hard young cock in one
smooth motion.
A whimper escaped Rand’s lips when her heat enveloped him, despite his best
efforts to be quiet.
“Shush now,” Marin whispered as she clutched at his shoulders. “We can’t let
anyone hear.” It was a familiar rebuke. Her big, brown eyes implored him; the
tension he had seen in them earlier melting slightly.
It melted further when he began to move within her, breathing through his nose,
teeth clenched tight. The thought that he could ease her burdens drove Rand’s
ardour almost as much as the realisation that this time really would be the
last time. He grasped her rounded buttocks, the only part of her that ever
seemed to retain weight, and thrust upwards.
Marin soon matched his thrusts with her own. Her mouth hung open but no sound
escaped save that of her sharp breaths.
As they fucked, fast and hard, Rand’s thoughts slid inescapably to Egwene. He
doubted Marin knew about what her youngest daughter had gotten up to in that
barn. Egwene had been much louder than her mother. The hair on her sex was no
more than a light down. Her breasts were firmer than the soft mounds beneath
Marin’s nightgown, hidden from his sight but not his memory. And it had been a
tighter fit within her. Yet they were equally beautiful in Rand’s eyes. And
Marin’s company was nowhere near as aggravating as Egwene’s could so often be.
If I had to choose, I’d choose Marin.
Not that he would ever have that choice, of course. She was a married woman,
and his betrothal to Egwene wouldn’t survive his leaving with the Aes Sedai.
Not to mention that Egwene was planning to move north, and didn’t seem to care
that the betrothal was ending.
In truth, Rand still had no idea how it was that he and Egwene had come to be
promised to one another in the first place. He had been fifteen, almost
sixteen, when Tam sat him down and explained that he should be especially nice
to Egwene from now on, though it would be some time before Rand came to
understand what exactly that meant for their future. Egwene had been almost
fourteen at the time. Fourteen ...
Rand opened his eyes. Marin’s were still squeezed shut, frown lines showing on
her brow as she rode him hard. Her hands roved over the planes of his face,
brushed through his hair. He was young enough to be her grandson, but he held
her tightly to his chest as he wondered what it might have been like to come
and live in the Winespring Inn with Egwene and her family ...
The Mayor stiffened suddenly in Rand’s arms, was still for a long moment, then
let out a long, hissing breath as she melted against him.
All the tension seemed to drain out of her, and Rand was glad to see it go. He
kissed her flushed cheek, the flesh soft beneath his lips. And when he kissed
her mouth he felt her smile.
“There’s my handsome boy,” she whispered, cupping his cheeks in her gentle
hands and smiled fondly. “It’s been a terrible night. Terrible. But the worst
is past us now. We Theren folk are a stubborn lot, and not easily broken. We’ll
rebuild what those monsters destroyed, never you fear.”
Rand did not doubt that. But he would not be there to see it. He was about to
tell her what Moiraine had told him, despite the Aes Sedai’s cautions towards
secrecy, when Marin began moving atop him once more.
“Life goes on,” she continued. “Here, I’ll show you.” So saying, she started
rubbing herself along Rand’s cock.
Her movements were fast and shallow and drove all thought from Rand’s mind. For
a blessed time, nothing existed in the world except the Mayor’s hot, wet pussy,
jerking frantically along his cock.
Rand stood no chance against such an onslaught. His climax hit him hard and
fast and he pressed his face against her thin shoulder, teeth clenched against
any treacherous cries that might try to escape as he clutched the cheeks of her
bottom roughly in his hands. He felt as though his fears and doubts were
flowing out of him along with his cream, leaving behind only a welcome sense of
peace. Marin petted his hair gently as she let him come inside her, murmuring
comforting, motherly words.
They held each other for a time, but all too soon Marin rose from Rand’s lap.
She gave a sigh of satisfaction as his softening manhood slid out of her.
“You’ll need to arrange your own bedding, dear. If I linger any longer people
will start to wonder what’s keeping me,” she said, as she bent to pull her
underwear back on. He pulled up his trousers and tucked himself away again.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” the Mayor demanded when she reached the
still-locked door.
Rand raised an eyebrow at her in what he hoped was an arch fashion. “Of course
I won’t. I never have.”
Marin bit her lip girlishly. “I shouldn’t have done this. I really shouldn’t.
It’s at least partially your fault for being such a pretty boy, you know.” She
gave a low sigh. “But it can never happen again, I’m afraid.”
Rand grinned at the familiar refrain. But his grin faded as he watched her
slender form slink guiltily from the bedroom. She’s right though. This time
really was the last time. With a sad smile he set about arranging his bed for
his last night in the Theren.
***** Leavetaking *****
CHAPTER 13: Leavetaking
 
A single lantern, its shutters half closed, hung from a stall post, casting a
dim light. Deep shadows swallowed most of the stalls. As Rand came through the
doors from the stableyard, hard on the heels of Mat and the Warder, Perrin
leaped up in a rustle of straw from where he had been sitting with his back
against a stall door. A heavy cloak swathed him, and a longbow was strapped to
his back.
Lan barely paused to demand, “Did you look the way I told you, blacksmith?”
“I looked,” Perrin replied. “There’s nobody here but us. Why would anybody
hide—”
“Care and a long life go together, blacksmith.” The Warder ran a quick eye
around the shadowed stable and the deeper shadows of the hayloft above, then
shook his head. “No time,” he muttered, half to himself. “Hurry, she says.”
As if to suit his words, he strode quickly to where the five horses stood
tethered, bridled and saddled at the back of the pool of light. Two were the
black stallion and white mare that Rand had seen before. The others, if not
quite so tall or so sleek, certainly appeared to be among the best the Theren
had to offer. With hasty care Lan began examining cinches and girth straps, and
the leather ties that held saddlebags, water-skins, and blanketrolls behind the
saddles.
Rand exchanged shaky smiles with his friends, trying hard to look as if he
really was eager to be off.
For the first time Mat noticed the sword at Rand’s waist, and pointed to it.
“You becoming a Warder?” He laughed, then swallowed it with a quick glance at
Lan. The Warder apparently took no notice. “Or at least a merchant’s guard,”
Mat went on with a grin that seemed only a little forced. He hefted his bow.
“An honest man’s weapon isn’t good enough for him.”
Rand thought about flourishing the sword, but Lan being there stopped him. The
Warder was not even looking in his direction, but he was sure the man was aware
of everything that went on around him. Instead he said with exaggerated
casualness, “It might be useful,” as if wearing a sword were nothing out of the
ordinary. “And the Trollocs snapped my longbow. I’d make a new one if there was
time, but ...”
Perrin moved, trying to hide something under his cloak. Rand glimpsed a wide
leather belt encircling the apprentice blacksmith’s waist, with the handle of
an axe thrust through a loop on the belt.
“What do you have there?” he asked.
“Merchant’s guard, indeed,” Mat hooted.
The shaggy-haired youth gave Mat a forbidding frown, then sighed heavily and
tossed back his cloak to uncover the axe. It was no common woodsman’s tool. A
broad half-moon blade on one side of the head and a curved spike on the other
made it every bit as strange for the Theren as Rand’s sword. Perrin’s hand
rested on it with a sense of familiarity, though.
“Master Weyland made it about two years ago, for a wool-buyer’s guard. But when
it was done the fellow wouldn’t pay what he had agreed, and Master Weyland
would not take less. He gave it to me when”—he cleared his throat, then shot
Rand the same warning frown he’d given Mat—“when he found me practicing with
it. He said I might as well have it since he couldn’t make anything useful from
it.”
“Practicing,” Mat snickered, but held up his hands soothingly when Perrin
raised his head, heavy jaw set in anger. “As you say. It’s just as well one of
us knows how to use a real weapon.”
“That bow is a real weapon,” Lan said suddenly. He propped an arm across the
saddle of his tall black and regarded them gravely. “So are the slings I’ve
seen you village boys with. That you’ve never used them for anything but
hunting rabbits or chasing a wolf away from the sheep doesn’t change that.
Anything can be a weapon, if the man or woman who holds it has the nerve and
will to make it so. Trollocs aside, you had better have that clear in your
minds before we leave Emond’s Field, if you want to reach Tar Valon alive.”
His face and voice, cold as death and hard as a rough-hewn gravestone, stifled
their smiles and their tongues. Perrin grimaced and pulled his cloak back over
the axe. Mat stared at his feet and stirred the straw on the stable floor with
his toe. The Warder grunted and went back to his checking, and the silence
lengthened.
“It isn’t much like the stories,” Mat said, finally.
“I don’t know,” Perrin said sourly. “Trollocs, a Warder, an Aes Sedai. What
more could you ask?”
“Aes Sedai,” Mat whispered, sounding as if he were suddenly cold.
“Did you both hear about Lem and Bandry?” Rand asked quietly. They nodded,
suddenly avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Do you believe her, Rand?” Perrin asked. “I mean, what would Trollocs want
with us?”
As one, they glanced at the Warder. Lan appeared absorbed in the white mare’s
saddle girth, but the three of them moved back toward the stable door, away
from Lan. Even so, they huddled together and spoke softly.
Rand shook his head. “I don’t know, but she had it right about mine and the
Calders’ farms being the only ones attacked. And they torched Bandry and Lem’s
houses first, even though they were in the middle of town. Mistress Luhhan’s
house and the forge went up next, along with your places. I asked Bran
al’Caar.” Suddenly he realized they were both staring at him.
“You asked old al’Caar?” Mat said incredulously. “She said not to tell
anybody.”
“I didn’t tell him why I was asking,” Rand protested. “Do you mean you didn’t
talk to anybody at all? You didn’t let anybody know you’re going?”
Perrin shrugged defensively. “Moiraine Sedai said not anybody.”
“We left notes,” Mat said. “For our families. They’ll find them in the morning.
Rand, my mother thinks Tar Valon is the next thing to Shayol Ghul.” He gave a
little laugh to show he did not share her opinion. It was not very convincing.
“She’d try to lock me in the cellar if she believed I was even thinking of
going there.”
“Moiraine is an Aes Sedai,” said Perrin, “She said not to tell anybody. If an
Aes Sedai doesn’t know what to do about something like this, who does?”
“I don’t know.” Rand rubbed at his forehead.
A shadow shifted by the open doorway. Rand gave a start and opened his mouth to
cry the alarm, but a familiar voice said, “Me neither, but it still sounds
pretty crazy.”
He let out his indrawn breath in a long sigh, as she stepped into the light.
“What are you doing here, Anna? I thought you’d be asleep.” She was fully
dressed, in her usual boy’s clothes, and had her bow in hand. Everyone was
going armed tonight, it seemed.
Lan’s sword had come half out of its sheath; when he saw who it was he shoved
the blade back, his eyes suddenly flat.
Anna didn’t meet the Warder’s stare, but her mouth took on a stubborn set.
“With all that ruckus outside? No-one’s asleep anymore. Last I saw, the Mayor
and her daughters were discussing exactly how badly those men were going to
regret joining that mob, once the Women’s Circle gathers. I wondered where
you’d got to.”
Rand grimaced. “How much did you hear?”
“That the Aes Sedai says the Trollocs are hunting for young men from the
Theren. And that you three need to run off in the night, telling none of your
families about it, or they will kill everyone.” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Hell
of a tale that. If you believe it.”
“You should,” said Lan. His voice was cold enough to make Rand shiver. The
Warder and the Aes Sedai hadn’t wanted anyone to know their plans, and Rand was
suddenly afraid for Anna.
Perrin spoke up earnestly. “If there’s any chance its true, then we have no
choice but to leave.”
Rand nodded. “If we didn’t, and more people got hurt, it would be our fault as
much as the Trollocs’. If they really came here hunting us, then all of this is
our fault.”
Mat squawked in objection, and Anna agreed. She scowled at Rand fiercely.
“Don’t be a woolhead. The Trollocs hurt those people. They hurt ... it was
their fault and no-one else’s!” She dashed her tears away with the palm of her
hand.
Rand put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want anyone else to die,” he said
quietly. “I’ll do whatever I must to prevent that.”
“So will I,” she whispered.
Moiraine appeared in the doorway. She was clothed in dark grey from head to
foot, with a skirt divided for riding astride, and the serpent ring was the
only gold she wore now. Rand eyed her walking staff; despite the flames he had
seen, there was no sign of charring, or even soot. She looked sharply at the
four youths. “We have a guest,” she said in a cool voice, “sadly the hour grows
late and we have private matters to discuss. You should go back to bed, child.”
Anna crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I’m not a child, Moiraine Sedai.
And whatever the creatures that killed my father want is something I don’t
intend to let them have. Not Rand or Perrin. Or even Mat.”
“Thanks,” Mat muttered.
Anna continued as if she hadn’t heard. “If the Trollocs want my friends,
they’ll have to get past me first. I’m coming too.”
Perrin was aghast. “No, Anna! It’s too dangerous.”
Rand agreed with him, but he knew the stubborn look on Anna’s face too well to
argue. It was the same look she’d worn when she decided the cracked branch of
that old yew could be safely walked on, or when she decided that only the
outside of the pheasant was charred. Pleas to common sense were wasted when she
got that look.
Moiraine weighed Anna with her eyes. Whatever she saw, her face gave no sign.
“Lan?”
“The horses are ready,” the Warder said, “and we have enough provisions to
reach Baerlon with some to spare. We can leave at any time. I suggest now.”
“Not without me.” Egwene trotted into the stable, a shawl-wrapped bundle in her
arms. Rand spun around and gaped at her, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Perrin and Mat began babbling to convince Moiraine they had not told Egwene
about leaving. The Aes Sedai ignored them; she weighed Egwene much as she had
Anna, tapping her lips thoughtfully with one finger. “Coincidence? I think
not,” she said, speaking as if to herself.
The hood of Egwene’s dark brown cloak was pulled up, but not enough to hide the
defiant way she faced Moiraine. “I have everything I need here. Including food.
And I will not be left behind. I’ll probably never get another chance to see
the world outside the Theren.”
“This isn’t a picnic trip into the Waterwood, Egwene,” Mat growled. He stepped
back when she looked at him from under lowered brows.
“Thank you, Mat. I wouldn’t have known. Do you think you three are the only
ones who want to see what’s outside? I’ve dreamed about it as long as you have,
and I don’t intend to miss this chance.”
“How did you find out we were leaving?” Rand demanded. “Anyway, you can’t go
with us. We aren’t leaving for the fun of it. The Trollocs are after us.” She
gave him a tolerant look, and he flushed and stiffened indignantly.
“First,” she told him patiently, “I saw Mat creeping about, trying hard not to
be noticed. Then I saw Perrin attempting to hide that absurd great axe under
his cloak. I knew Lan had bought a horse and it suddenly occurred to me to
wonder why he needed another. And if he could buy one, he could buy others.
Putting that with Mat and Perrin sneaking about like bull calves pretending to
be foxes ... well, I could see only one answer. I don’t know if I’m surprised
or not to find you here, Rand, after all your talk about daydreams. But with
Mat and Perrin involved, I suppose I should have known you would be in it, too.
I didn’t expect you to leave at this forsaken hour though; if not for those
fool men you might have gotten away without me.”
“I have to go, Egwene,” Rand said. “All of us do, or the Trollocs will come
back.”
“The Trollocs!” Egwene laughed incredulously. “Rand, if you’ve decided to see
some of the world, well and good, but please spare me any of your nonsensical
tales.”
Anna’s lips twisted as though she had bitten into something sour. She and
Egwene had never gotten along.
“It’s true,” Perrin said as Mat began, “The Trollocs—”
“Enough,” Moiraine said quietly, but it cut their talk as sharply as a knife.
“Did anyone else notice all of this?” Her voice was soft, but Egwene swallowed
and drew herself up before answering.
“After last night, all they can think about is rebuilding, that and what to do
if it happens again. They couldn’t see anything else unless it was pushed under
their noses. And I told no-one what I suspected. No-one.”
“Very well,” Moiraine said after a moment. “You may come with us. Both of you.”
A startled expression darted across Lan’s face. It was gone in an instant,
leaving him outwardly calm, but furious words erupted from him. “No, Moiraine!”
“It is part of the Pattern, now, Lan.”
“It is ridiculous!” he retorted. “There’s no reason for these girls to come
along, and every reason for them not to.”
“There is a reason for it,” Moiraine said calmly. “A part of the Pattern, Lan.”
The Warder’s stony face showed nothing, but he nodded slowly.
“But, Egwene,” Rand said, “the Trollocs will be chasing us. We won’t be safe
until we get to Tar Valon.”
“Don’t try to frighten me off,” she said. “I am going.”
Rand knew that tone of voice. He had not heard it since she decided that
climbing the tallest trees was for children, but he remembered it well. “If you
think being chased by Trollocs will be fun,” he began, but Moiraine
interrupted.
“We have no time for this. We must be as far away as possible by daybreak. If
she is left behind, Rand, she could rouse the village before we have gone a
mile, and that would surely warn the Myrddraal.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Egwene protested.
“She can ride the gleeman’s horse,” the Warder said. “I’ll leave him enough to
buy another.”          “That will not be possible,” came Thom Merrilin’s
resonant voice from the hayloft. This time Lan’s sword left its sheath fully,
and a loud curse left his lips as well. He stared up at the gleeman balefully.
Thom tossed down a blanketroll, then slung his cased flute and harp across his
back and shouldered bulging saddlebags. “This village has no use for me, now,
while on the other hand, I have never performed in Tar Valon. And though I
usually journey alone, after last night I have no objections at all to
travelling in company.”
The Warder gave Perrin a hard look, and Perrin shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t
think of looking in the loft,” he muttered.
Rand found himself peering carefully around the suddenly crowded stables. He
half expected to find Imoen Candwin dangling from the rafters, or Cenn Buie
ready to pop up from behind a stall to invite himself along.
As the long-limbed gleeman scrambled down the ladder from the loft, Lan spoke,
stiffly formal. “Is this part of the Pattern, too, Moiraine Sedai?”
“Everything is a part of the Pattern, my old friend,” Moiraine replied softly.
“We cannot pick and choose. But we shall see.”
Thom reached the stable floor and turned to face the Aes Sedai, brushing straw
from his patch-covered cloak. “In fact,” he said conversationally, “you might
say that I insist on travelling in company. I have given many hours over many
mugs of ale to thinking of how I might end my days. ‘In a Trolloc’s cookpot’
was not a favoured option.” He looked askance at the Warder’s sword. “There’s
no need for that. I am not a cheese for slicing.”
“Master Merrilin,” Moiraine said, “we must go quickly, and almost certainly in
great danger. The Trollocs are still out there, and we go by night. Are you
sure that you want to travel with us?”
Thom eyed the lot of them with a quizzical smile. “If it is not too dangerous
for the girls, it can’t be too dangerous for me. Besides, what gleeman would
not face a little danger to perform in Tar Valon?”
Moiraine nodded, and Lan scabbarded his sword. Rand suddenly wondered what
would have happened if Thom had changed his mind, or if Moiraine had not
nodded. The gleeman began saddling his horse as if similar thoughts had never
crossed his mind, but Rand noticed that he eyed Lan’s sword more than once.
Anna went to see to her own dappled mare. As she hoisted the saddle onto its
back she glanced at Rand and said, “Where’s your bow? You’ll do better with
that than a sword you don’t even know how to use.”
“Gone,” he answered, as he helped tighten the girth strap. “And no time to make
another.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she drew a deep breath. “My da’s old bow
is in my room. You can have that.”
Jorge al’Tolan had been taller than most Theren men, and strong. The draw would
be close to Rand’s. But ... “That’s a kind offer. But I don’t have the right to
it. You should have it, to remember him.”
“No,” she said, her voice pitched for his ears only. “I don’t need a bow to
remember him. I couldn’t forget him if I wanted to; and I don’t. He would have
wanted it to be put to good use I have no doubt. Take it. Please.”
Rand smiled. “I’d be glad of it. Thank you.”
Anna returned his smile wanly, asked him to finish preparing her horse, and
once he had agreed, hurried off to fetch the bow.
“Now,” Moiraine said. “What horse for Egwene?”
“The peddler’s horses are as bad as the Dhurrans,” the Warder replied sourly.
“Strong, but slow plodders.”
“Bela,” Rand said, getting a look from Lan that made him wish he had kept
silent. But he knew he could not dissuade Egwene, no more than he could Anna;
the only thing left was to help. “Bela may not be as fast as the others, but
she’s strong. I ride her sometimes. She can keep up.”
Lan looked into Bela’s stall, muttering under his breath. “She might be a
little better than the others,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose there is any
other choice.”
“Then she will have to do,” Moiraine said. “Mat, find a saddle for Bela.
Quickly, now! We have tarried too long already.”
Mat hurriedly chose a saddle and blanket in the tack room, then fetched Bela
from her stall. The mare looked back at him in sleepy surprise when he put the
saddle on her back. When Rand rode her, it was barebacked; she was not used to
a saddle. He made soothing noises while he fixed her tack, and she accepted the
oddity with no more than a shake of her mane.
The horses were ready when Anna returned. Rand accepted the bow and quiver from
her gratefully, and handed over the reins of her horse. She put her boots to
the stirrups and mounted smoothly.
Egwene was already in Bela’s saddle, adjusting her skirts. They were not
divided for riding astride, so her wool stockings were bared to the knee. She
wore the same soft leather shoes as all the other village girls, not at all
suited for journeying so far.
All of the others were already mounted, Rand realized, and waiting for him. The
only horse left riderless was Cloud, a tall grey with a black mane and tail
that belonged to Jon Finngar, or had. He scrambled into the saddle, though not
without difficulty as the grey tossed his head and pranced sideways as soon as
Rand put his foot in the stirrup. It was not chance that his friends had not
chosen Cloud. Master Finngar often raced the spirited grey against merchants’
horses, and Rand had never known him to lose, but he had never known Cloud to
give anyone an easy ride, either. Lan must have given a huge price to make the
miller sell. As he settled in the saddle Cloud’s dancing increased, as if the
grey were eager to run. Rand gripped the reins firmly.
Lan paused by the stable door, listening. “No wolves, mores the pity.”
“Wolves!” Perrin exclaimed, “That’s the last thing we need.”
The Warder favoured him with a flat stare. “Wolves don’t like Trollocs,
blacksmith, and Trollocs don’t like wolves, or dogs, either. If I heard wolves
I would be sure there were no Trollocs waiting in the woods for us.” He moved
into the moonlit night, walking his tall black slowly.
Moiraine rode after him without a moment’s hesitation, and Egwene kept hard to
the Aes Sedai’s side. Rand and the gleeman brought up the rear, following Mat,
Perrin and Anna.
In the deep shadows beside the inn, just on the point of leaving the
stableyard, Lan abruptly halted, motioning sharply for silence.
Boots rattled on the Wagon Bridge, and here and there on the bridge moonlight
glinted off metal. The boots clattered across the bridge, grated on gravel, and
continued up the street. It was not until they paused before the window of the
al’Van place and Rowan Hurn stepped forward to peer within that Rand saw them
for what they were. The councilman had a spear propped on his stout shoulder
and an old jerkin sewn all over with steel disks straining across his chest. A
dozen men from the village and the surrounding farms, some in helmets or pieces
of armour that had lain dust-covered in attics for generations, accompanied
him; all with a spear or a woodaxe or a rusty bill. When Master Hurn was
satisfied all was well at the cobblers, he gave a nod and moved on. The others
formed two ragged ranks behind him, and the patrol marched into the night as if
stepping to three different drums.
“Two Dha’vol Trollocs would have them all for breakfast,” Lan muttered when the
sound of their boots had faded, “but they have eyes and ears. Come.”
Under the Warder’s deft direction, keeping away from any of the village houses,
the line of horses wound its quiet way through Emond’s Field.
Twice more Lan stopped, signing them all to be quiet, though no-one else heard
or saw anything. Each time he did, however, another patrol of villagers and
farmers soon passed. Slowly they moved toward the north edge of the village.
Rand peered at the high-peaked houses in the dark, trying to impress them on
his memory. A fine adventurer I am, he thought. He was not even out of the
village yet, and already he was homesick. But he did not stop looking.
They passed beyond the last farmhouses on the outskirts of the village and into
the countryside, paralleling the North Road that led to Taren Ferry. Rand
thought that surely no night sky elsewhere could be as beautiful as the Theren
sky. The clear black seemed to reach to forever, and myriad stars gleamed like
points of light scattered through crystal. The moon, only a thin slice less
than full, appeared almost close enough to touch, if he stretched, and ...
A black shape flew slowly across the silvery ball of the moon. Rand’s
involuntary jerk on the reins halted the grey. A bat, he thought weakly, but he
knew it was not. Bats were a common sight of an evening, darting after flies
and bitemes in the twilight. The wings that carried this creature might have
the same shape, but they moved with the slow, powerful sweep of a bird of prey.
Worst of all was the size. For a bat to seem so large against the moon it would
have had to be almost within arm’s reach. He tried to judge in his mind how far
away it must be, and how big. The body of it had to be as large as a man, and
the wings ... It crossed the face of the moon again, wheeling suddenly downward
to be engulfed by the night.
He did not realize that Lan had ridden back to him until the Warder caught his
arm. “What are you sitting here and staring at, boy? We have to keep moving.”
The others waited behind Lan.
Half expecting to be told he was letting fear of the Trollocs overcome his
sense, Rand told what he had seen. He hoped that Lan would dismiss it as a bat,
or a trick of his eyes.
Lan growled a word, sounding as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Draghkar.” Egwene and the other Theren folk stared at the sky nervously in all
directions, but the gleeman groaned softly.
“Yes,” Moiraine said. “It is too much to hope otherwise. And if the Myrddraal
has a Draghkar at his command, then he will soon know where we are, if he does
not already. We must move more quickly than we can cross-country. We may still
reach Taren Ferry ahead of the Myrddraal, and he and his Trollocs will not
cross as easily as we.”
“A Draghkar?” Egwene said. “What is it?”
It was Thom Merrilin’s hoarse voice that answered her. “In the war that ended
the Age of Legends worse than Trollocs and Halfmen were created.”
Moiraine’s head jerked toward him as he spoke. Not even the dark could hide the
sharpness of her look, though why she was annoyed by Thom speaking up, Rand
could not say.
Before anyone could ask the gleeman for more, Lan began giving directions. “We
take to the North Road, now. For your lives, follow my lead, keep up and keep
together.”
He wheeled his horse about, and the others galloped wordlessly after him.
On the hard-packed dirt of the North Road the horses stretched out, manes and
tails streaming back in the moonlight as they raced northward, hooves pounding
a steady rhythm. Lan led the way, black horse and shadow-clad rider all but
invisible in the cold night. Moiraine’s white mare, matching the stallion
stride for stride, was a pale dart speeding through the dark. The rest followed
in a tight line, as if they were all tied to a rope with one end in the
Warder’s hands.
Rand galloped last in line, with Thom Merrilin just ahead and the others less
distinct beyond. The gleeman never turned his head, reserving his eyes for
where they ran, not what they ran from. If Trollocs appeared behind, or the
Fade on its silent horse, or that flying creature, the Draghkar, it would be up
to Rand to sound an alarm.
Every few minutes he craned his neck to peer behind while he clung to Cloud’s
mane and reins. The Draghkar ... Worse than Trollocs and Fades, Thom had said.
But the sky was empty, and he could see only darkness in the fields to their
side.
Lan must have asked a question, for Moiraine suddenly shouted over the wind and
the pounding of hooves. “I cannot! Most especially not from the back of a
galloping horse. They are not easily killed, even when they can be seen. We
must run, and hope.”
Now that the grey had been let loose to run, the animal sped through the night
like a ghost, easily keeping pace with Lan’s stallion. And Cloud wanted to go
faster. He wanted to catch the black, strained to catch the black. Rand had to
keep a firm hand on the reins, fighting him for mastery with every stride.
Lying low on Cloud’s neck, Rand kept a worried eye on Bela and on her rider.
When he had said the shaggy mare could stay with the others, he had not meant
on the run. She kept up now only by running as he had not thought she could.
Lan had not wanted Egwene in their number. Would he slow for her if Bela began
to flag? Or would he try to leave her behind? The Aes Sedai and the Warder
thought Rand, Mat and Perrin were important in some way, but for all of
Moiraine’s talk of the Pattern, he did not think they included Egwene in that
importance.
If Bela fell back, he would fall back, too, whatever Moiraine and Lan had to
say about it. Back where the Fade and the Trollocs were. Back where the
Draghkar was. With all his heart and desperation he silently shouted at Bela to
run like the wind, silently tried to will strength into her. Run! His skin
prickled, and his bones felt as if they were freezing, ready to split open. The
Light help her, run!And Bela ran.
On and on they sped, northward into the night.
***** At the Stag and Lion *****
CHAPTER 16: At The Stag and Lion
 
Inside, the inn was every bit as busy as it had sounded from the stableyard.
The party from Emond’s Field followed Mistress Fitch through the back door,
soon weaving around and between a constant stream of men and women in long
aprons, platters of food and trays of drink held high. The bearers murmured
quick apologies when they got in anyone’s way, but they never slowed by a step.
One of the men took hurried orders from Mistress Fitch and disappeared at a
trot.
“The inn is near full, I’m afraid,” the innkeeper told Moiraine. “Almost to the
rafters. Every inn in the town is the same. With the winter we just had ...
well, as soon as it cleared enough for them to get down out of the mountains we
were inundated—yes, that’s the word—inundated by men from the mines and
smelters, all telling the most horrible tales. Wolves, and worse. The kind of
tales men tell when they’ve been cooped up all winter. I can’t think there’s
anyone left up there at all, we have that many here. But never fear. Things may
be a little crowded, but I’ll do my best by you and Master Andra. And your
friends, too, of course.” She glanced curiously once or twice at Rand and the
others; except for Thom their clothes named them country folk, and Thom’s
gleeman’s cloak made him as strange a travelling companion as the rest for
“Mistress Alys and Master Andra.” “I will do my best, you may rest assured.”
Rand stared at the bustle around them and tried to avoid being stepped on. He
recalled how Mistress al’Vere and her husband tended the Winespring Inn with no
more than the occasional assistance from their daughters, and shook his head
wordlessly. It had been the biggest building he’d ever seen, but even the
Winespring was tiny in comparison to this place.
Mat and Perrin craned their necks in interest toward the common room, from
which rolled a wave of laughter and singing and jovial shouting whenever the
wide door at the end of the hall swung open. Muttering about finding out the
news, the Warder disappeared through that swinging door, swallowed by a wave of
merriment.
Rand wanted to follow him, but he wanted a bath even more. He could have done
with people and laughing right then, but the common room would appreciate his
presence more when he was clean. Mat and the others apparently felt the same;
Mat was scratching surreptitiously.
“Mistress Fitch,” Moiraine said, “I understand there are Children of the Light
in Baerlon. Is there likely to be trouble?”
“Oh, never you worry about them, Mistress Alys. They’re up to their usual
tricks. Claim there’s an Aes Sedai in the town.” Moiraine lifted an eyebrow,
and the innkeeper spread her plump hands. “Don’t you worry. They’ve tried it
before. There’s no Aes Sedai in Baerlon, and the Governor knows it. The
Whitecloaks think if they show an Aes Sedai—some woman they claim is an Aes
Sedai—and offer to protect us from her, people will let all of them inside the
walls. Well, I suppose some would. Some would. But most people know what the
Whitecloaks are up to, and want no part in their ‘holy’ war.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Moiraine said dryly. She put a hand on the innkeeper’s
arm. “Is Min still here? I wish to talk with her, if she is.”
Mistress Fitch’s answer was lost to Rand in the arrival of attendants to lead
them to the baths. Moiraine, Egwene and Anna vanished behind a plump woman with
a ready smile and an armload of towels. The gleeman and Rand and his friends
found themselves following a slight, dark-haired fellow, Ara by name.
Rand tried asking Ara about Baerlon, but the man barely said two words together
except to say Rand had a funny accent, and then the first sight of the bath
chamber drove all thoughts of talk right out of Rand’s head. A dozen tall,
copper bathtubs sat in a circle on the tiled floor, which sloped down slightly
to a drain in the centre of the big stone-walled room. A thick towel, neatly
folded, and a large cake of yellow soap sat on a stool behind each tub, and big
black iron cauldrons of water stood heating over fires along one wall. On the
opposite wall logs blazing in a deep fireplace added to the general warmth.
“Almost as good as the Winespring Inn back home,” Perrin said loyally, if not
exactly with a great attention to truth.
Thom barked a laugh, and even Mat sniggered, “Sounds like we brought a Coplin
with us and didn’t know it.”
Rand gave a short laugh before shrugging out of his cloak and starting to strip
off his travel-stained clothes. Ara filled four of the copper tubs while the
travellers undressed. Once their clothes were all in piles on the stools, Ara
brought them each a large bucket of hot water and a dipper. That done, he sat
on a stool by the door, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed,
apparently lost in his own thoughts.
The others seemed as disinterested as Rand in anything that didn’t involve
getting clean, so there was little in the way of conversation while they
lathered and sluiced away a week of grime. The sight of wet, well-sudsed flesh
gleaming in the firelight might have been a fine thing on another day, but now
Rand only noted vaguely that Thom was surprisingly fit for a white-haired man,
albeit in a wiry sort of way.
Once washed, it was into the tubs for a long soak; Ara had made the water hot
enough that settling in was a slow process of luxuriant sighs. The air in the
room went from warm to misty and hot. For a long time there was no sound except
the occasional long, relaxing exhalation as tight muscles loosened and a chill
that they had come to think permanent was drawn out of their bones.
“Need anything else?” Ara asked suddenly. “More towels? More hot water?” He
didn’t have much room to talk about people’s accents; he and Master Fitch
talked all low, and were shortening or elongating their vowels in a seemingly
random way that was very strange to Rand’s ears. Not unpleasant by any means,
just strange.
“Nothing,” Thom said in his reverberant voice. Eyes closed, he gave an indolent
wave of his hand. “Go and enjoy the evening. At a later time I will see that
you receive more than adequate recompense for your services.” He settled lower
in the tub, until the water covered everything but his eyes and nose.
Ara’s eyes went to the stools behind the tubs, where their clothes and
belongings were stacked. He glanced at the longbows, but lingered longest over
Rand’s sword and Perrin’s axe. “Is there trouble downcountry, too?” he said
abruptly.
“What do you mean, too?” Rand asked. “Is there some kind of trouble here?”
Thom raised himself back up a little, and opened his eyes.
“Here?” Ara snorted. “I meant the Ghealdan kind of trouble. No, I suppose not.
Nothing but sheep downcountry, is there? No offense. I just mean it’s quiet
down there. Still, it’s been a strange winter. Strange things in the mountains.
I heard the other day there were Trollocs up in Saldaea. But that’s the
Borderlands then, isn’t it?” He finished with his mouth still open, then
snapped it shut, appearing surprised that he had said so much.
Rand had tensed at the word Trollocs, and tried to hide it by wringing his
washcloth out over his head. As the fellow went on he relaxed, but not everyone
kept his mouth shut.
“Trollocs?” Mat chortled. Rand splashed water at him, but Mat just wiped it off
of his face with a grin. “You just let me tell you about Trollocs.”
Thom spoke up. “Why don’t you not? I am a little tired of hearing my own
stories back from you.”
“He’s a gleeman,” Perrin added, by way of support.
Ara gave him a scornful look. “I saw the cloak. You going to perform?”
“Just a minute,” Mat protested. “What’s this about me telling Thom’s stories?
Are you all—?”
“You just don’t tell them as well as Thom,” Rand cut him off hastily.
Perrin hopped in. “You keep adding in things, trying to make it better, and
they never do.”
“And you get it all mixed up, too,” Rand added. “Best leave it to Thom.”
They were all talking so fast that Ara stared at them with his mouth hanging
open. Mat stared, too, as if everyone else had suddenly gone crazy. Rand
wondered how to shut him up short of jumping on him.
The door banged open to admit Lan, brown cloak slung over one shoulder, along
with a gust of cooler air that momentarily thinned the mist.
“Well,” the Warder said, rubbing his hands, “this is what I have been waiting
for.” Ara picked up a bucket, but Lan waved it away. “No, I will see to
myself.” Dropping his cloak on one of the stools, he bundled the bath attendant
out of the room, despite the fellow’s protests, and shut the door firmly after
him. He waited there a moment, his head cocked to listen, and when he turned
back to the rest of them his voice was stony and his eyes stabbed at Mat. “It’s
a good thing I got back when I did farmboy. Don’t you listen to what you are
told?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Mat protested. “I was just going to tell him about the
Trollocs, not about ...” He stopped, and leaned back from the Warder’s eyes,
flat against the back of the tub.
“Don’t talk about Trollocs,” Lan said grimly. “Don’t even think about
Trollocs.” With an angry snort he began filling himself a bathtub. “Blood and
ashes, you had better remember, the Dark One has eyes and ears where you least
expect. And if the Children of the Light heard Trollocs were after you, they’d
be burning to get their hands on you. To them, it would be as much as naming
you Darkfriend. It may not be what you are used to, but until we get where we
are going, keep your trust small unless Mistress Alys or I tell you
differently.” At his emphasis on the name Moiraine was using, Mat flinched.
“There was something that fellow wouldn’t tell us,” Rand said. “Something he
thought was trouble, but he wouldn’t say what it was.”
“Probably the Children,” Lan said, pouring more hot water into his tub. “Most
people consider them trouble. Some don’t, though, and he did not know you well
enough to risk it. You might have gone running to the Whitecloaks, for all he
knew.”
Rand shook his head; this place already sounded worse than Taren Ferry.
“He said there were Trollocs in ... in Saldaea, wasn’t it?” Perrin said.
Lan hurled his empty bucket to the floor with a crash. “You will talk about it,
won’t you? There are always Trollocs in the Borderlands, blacksmith, that’s why
they are called the Borderlands. Just you put it in the front of your mind that
we want no more attention than mice in a field. Concentrate on that. And do not
speak of the Shadow in front of strangers. Moiraine wants to get you all to Tar
Valon alive, and I will do it if it can be done, but if you bring any harm to
her ...”
The rest of their bathing was done in silence, and their dressing afterwards,
too.
When they left the bath chamber, Moiraine was standing at the far end of the
hall with a slender girl not much taller than herself. At least, Rand thought
it was a girl, though her dark hair was cut short and she wore a man’s baggy
shirt and trousers. Moiraine said something, and the girl glanced at the men
sharply, then nodded to Moiraine and hurried away before Rand could get a good
look at her.
“Well, now,” Moiraine said as they drew closer, “I am sure a bath has given you
all an appetite. Mistress Fitch has given us a private dining room.” She talked
on inconsequentially as she turned to lead the way, about their rooms and the
crowding in the town, and how the innkeeper hoped Thom would favour the common
room with some music and a story or two. She never mentioned the girl, if girl
it had been.
The private dining room had a polished oak table with a dozen chairs around it,
and a thick rug on the floor. As they entered, Egwene, freshly gleaming hair
combed out around her shoulders, turned from warming her hands at the fire
crackling on the hearth. Anna had already taken a seat at the table, with her
back to Egwene. The two girls had scarcely spoken in the days since their
argument. Anna’s short hair was neatly combed and she had donned a fresh set of
clothes. Boy’s clothes of course, like that other girl. Though from what Rand
had seen it was no more common in Baerlon than it was in the Theren.
Mistress Fitch bustled in then, followed by four women in white aprons as long
as hers, with a platter holding three roast chickens and others bearing silver,
and pottery dishes, and covered bowls. The other women began setting the table
immediately, while the innkeeper curtseyed to Moiraine.
“My apologies, Mistress Alys, for making you wait like this, but with so many
people in the inn, it’s a wonder anybody gets served at all. I am afraid the
food isn’t what it should be, either. Just the chickens, and some turnips and
henpeas, with a little cheese for after. No, it just isn’t what it should be. I
truly do apologize.”
“A feast.” Moiraine smiled. “For these troubled times, a feast indeed, Mistress
Fitch.”
The innkeeper curtseyed again, with a pleasant smile. “My thanks, Mistress
Alys. My thanks.” As she straightened she frowned and wiped an imagined bit of
dust from the table with a corner of her apron. “It isn’t what I would have
laid before you a year ago, of course. Not nearly. The winter. Yes. The winter.
My cellars are emptying out, and the market is all but bare. And who can blame
the farm folk? There’s certainly no telling when they’ll harvest another crop.
It’s the wolves get the mutton and beef that should go on people’s tables, and
...”
Abruptly she seemed to realize that this was hardly the conversation to settle
her guests to a comfortable meal. “How I do run on. Full of old wind, that’s
me. Mari, Cinda, let these good people eat in peace.” She made shooing gestures
at the women and, as they scurried from the room, swung back to curtsy to
Moiraine yet again. “I hope you enjoy your meal, Mistress Alys. If there’s
anything else you need, just speak it, and I will fetch it.” She gave one more
deep curtsy and was gone, closing the door softly behind her.
Lan had slouched against the wall through all of this as if half asleep. Now he
leaped up and was at the door in two long strides. Pressing an ear to a door
panel, he listened intently for a slow count of thirty, then snatched open the
door and stuck his head into the hall. “They’re gone,” he said at last, closing
the door. “We can talk safely.”
“I know you say not to trust anyone,” Egwene said, “but if you suspect the
innkeeper, why stay here?”
“I suspect her no more than anyone else,” Lan replied. “But then, until we
reach Tar Valon, I suspect everyone. There, I’ll suspect only half.”
Rand started to smile, thinking the Warder was making a joke. Then he realized
there was not a trace of humour on Lan’s face. He really would suspect people
in Tar Valon. Was anywhere safe?
“He exaggerates,” Moiraine told them soothingly. “Mistress Fitch is a good
woman, honest and trustworthy. But she does like to talk, and with the best
will in the world she might let something slip to the wrong ear. And I have
never yet stopped at an inn where half the maids did not listen at doors and
spend more time gossiping than making beds. Come, let us be seated before our
meal gets cold.”
They took places around the table, with Moiraine at the head and Lan at the
foot, and for a while everyone was too busy filling their plates for talk. It
might not have been a feast, but after close to a week of flatbread and dried
meat, it tasted like one.
After a time, Moiraine asked, “What did you learn in the common room?” Knives
and forks stilled, suspended in midair, and all eyes turned to the Warder.
“Little that’s good,” Lan replied. “Avin was right, at least as far as talk has
it. There was a battle in Ghealdan, and Logain was the victor. A dozen
different stories are floating about, but they all agree on that.”
Logain? That must be the false Dragon. It was the first time Rand had heard a
name put to the man. Lan sounded almost as if he knew him.
“The Aes Sedai?” Moiraine asked quietly, and Lan shook his head.
“I don’t know. Some say they were all killed, some say none.” He snorted. “Some
even say they went over to Logain. There’s nothing reliable, and I did not care
to show too much interest.”
“Yes,” Moiraine said. “Little that is good.” With a deep breath she brought her
attention back to the table. “And what of our own circumstances?”
“There, the news is better. No odd happenings, no strangers around who might be
Myrddraal, certainly no Trollocs. And the Whitecloaks are busy trying to make
trouble for Governor Ada because she won’t cooperate with them. They will not
even notice us unless we advertise ourselves.”
“Good,” Moiraine said. “That agrees with what the bath maid said. Gossip does
have its good points. Now,” she addressed the entire company, “we have a long
journey still ahead of us, but the last week has not been easy, either, so I
propose to remain here tonight and tomorrow night, and leave early the
following morning.” All the younger folk grinned; a city for the first time.
Moiraine smiled, but she still said, “What does Master Andra say to that?”
Lan eyed the grinning faces flatly. “Well enough, if they remember what I’ve
told them for a change.”
Thom snorted through his moustaches. “These country folk loose in a ... a
city.” He snorted again and shook his head.
With the crowding at the inn there were only three rooms to be had, one for
Moiraine, Egwene and Anna, one for Lan and Thom, and the last for the three
boys. Their room was up on the fourth floor, at the back, close up under the
overhanging eaves, with a single small window that overlooked the stableyard.
It was a small room to begin, and the extra bed that had been set up made it
seem even smaller. Full night had fallen by then, the room was lit by a single
lantern, and Rand found himself yawning as he stretched out on the mattress. It
was deliciously soft after a week on the road. Perrin was yawning too, but Mat
stood listening to Thom sing random words to warm up his voice as he strode
down the corridor outside their room. Soon a muffled shout came from
downstairs, as the common room greeted the gleeman’s arrival.
“Do you two want to head down and listen,” Mat asked.
“I’ll pass tonight,” Rand murmured. A week ago he would have been down those
stairs like a falling rock just for the chance he might see a gleeman perform,
just for the rumour of it. But he had heard Thom tell his stories every night
for a week, and Thom would be there tomorrow night, and the next, and the hot
bath had loosened kinks in muscles that he had thought would be there forever.
Perrin agreed. “I’ve heard enough stories for a while.” He stretched out on his
bed.
Mat leaned against the doorframe with a mischievous look on his face. “I can
think of something we could do. Something we haven’t done in a while,” he said
in a too-casual voice.
Rand’s fatigue drained away with astonishing speed. He pursed his lips slightly
and glanced back and forth between his two friends. He had a good idea what Mat
meant.
Perrin looked alarmed. “We’re in a—very full!—inn,” he pointed out.
Mat gave a heedless shrug. “So we lock the door, stay quiet and be quick,” he
grinned roguishly. “It’s been more than a week since we had any privacy, I
can’t be the only one that’s feeling frustrated.”
“No, but ...” Perrin frowned at the floor. He seemed reluctant, if not
disgusted; but that was just his usual response to such propositions.
Perrin was often slow to arrive at a decision; he preferred to think things
over exhaustively first. Mat too-often didn’t think at all and just did
whatever he felt like. Rand liked to think he himself was somewhere in the
middle of his friends’ extremes.
Rand made a quick decision. He surged to his feet, walked over to Mat, reached
past him and latched the door to their room.
Mat grinned up at him. “I had a feeling you’d be up for it.”
“I’m not sure I like what you’re implying,” Rand said, with mock-offense.
“We’ll soon see,” said Mat as he reached up and pulled Rand’s head down for a
kiss. As ever, Mat was an aggressive kisser, and not shy with his tongue.
Rand’s skin tingled in excited anticipation of something even sweeter. Their
cheeks were well-reddened by the time they came up for air.
They began hastily undressing. Rand’s coat and shirt were soon tossed
carelessly aside, and when he rid himself of his trousers and linen drawers,
they all saw that he was, in fact, “up for it”.
Mat’s still-flaccid cock flapped against his thighs as he kicked off his
trousers. His lean and wiry body, and his hairless chest were a welcome sight;
a comforting familiarity in that strange city.
Wordlessly, Rand pulled his friend’s naked chest to his and kissed him
passionately.
When his hand slid down to squeeze Mat’s bottom, the shorter youth broke their
kiss with a slight blush on his face. He edged past Rand and moved to kneel on
the bed. Once there, he grinned back over his shoulder and spread his legs, his
cock and balls hanging low and his tight ass on display.
Rand grinned back, then took his hard shaft in hand and aimed it at Mat’s
entrance. Mat relaxed himself as best he could but Rand’s slow passage inside
still brought a series of soft grunts from his lips. Long sighs of satisfaction
escaped them both when at last Rand’s length was fully sheathed in Mat.
Perrin watched all out of the corner of his eye. Ever since the three of them
had begun playing with each other like this—during that memorable camping trip
to the foothills of the Mountains of Mist when they were twelve—the
blacksmith’s apprentice had been the most inhibited of the boys. Rand had begun
it; when he woke one night, as they huddled together for warmth, to find Mat’s
stiff cock poking against his hip. It had seemed only natural to him to lower
his smallclothes, lay on his side and guide his friend’s erection to his smooth
hole. After all, he had been doing as much for Tam almost as long as he could
remember. The others had thought it somewhat less natural, though Mat hadn’t
taken long to adjust, for all his wide-eyed looks and fiercely-whispered
questions. It had been Mat’s moans, as he pounded feverishly into Rand’s ass,
that woke the shocked Perrin.
Their positions were reversed now, but Rand rode Mat every bit as eagerly as
his friend had ridden him back then. He gritted his teeth, breathing heavily
through his nose to stifle as much sound as possible as Mat’s ass caressed
every inch of him, stroke after shallow stroke.
Rand let his eyes drift shut as he fucked Mat, his pleasure such that he lost
track of time. He could not say how long Perrin had watched the naked boys
cavorting before temptation overcame his reticence. He hadn’t noticed the burly
youth undress. So when he felt strong hands holding his hips steady and
something thick and hot prodding at his rear entrance, Rand’s eyes popped open
in surprise.
The sudden stop alerted Mat, and they both looked back over their shoulders to
see Perrin join them. Rand made himself relax, and welcomed Perrin into his
body.
Perrin hadn’t always been so willing to get involved. He’d been appalled when
he first saw what Rand and Mat were doing. Red-faced, sputtering incoherently
about how improper it was ... but seeing them in the act had raised a tent in
his drawers, and when Rand had lowered his mouth towards it Perrin’s efforts to
push him away had been feeble at best. He’d kept whispering that Rand shouldn’t
be doing that, but he’d still come in Rand’s mouth that night, just like Tam
often did. Rand had swallowed, just as he was taught. He didn’t particularly
like the taste, but for Tam or Perrin he would be willing to put up with much
worse.
There was no appalled sputtering this time. Perrin grunted softly, forcing his
way into Rand’s tight ass, inch by inch, stretching and then filling him. Rand
moaned aloud, unable to swallow the sound as he was sandwiched between his two
oldest friends.
Mat gave a short snicker. “I knew you’d come around, Perrin.”
“Quiet, both of you,” Perrin whispered. “We need to be done before Thom or Lan
gets back.” So saying, he ran his hands up Rand’s back to rest atop his
shoulders, then starting buggering him hard and fast.
Rand followed his example. It was awkward for him at first, trying to thrust
into Mat as Perrin thrust into him. But he soon matched his pace to Perrin’s.
He held Mat’s narrow hips steady before him as he ravaged his friend’s tight
hole and felt his own cheeks shiver each time Perrin’s hips smacked against
him.
He could not have lasted against that dual assault even if he had wanted to.
Rand was the first of the three to come to orgasm, hilting himself in Mat one
final time as he unconsciously clenched himself hard around Perrin’s cock.
Perrin kept thrusting, but the added tightness brought a low moan to his lips.
The sound was sweet to Rand, but not half so sweet as the thrilling surge that
shot through him as he spurted in Mat’s ass.
When his pleasure had run its course Rand slumped between his friends, a
flushed and sweaty mess with trembling knees. He hung on Perrin’s thick cock
like a coat on a peg, grateful too for Mat’s cushioning cheeks. Without them
both he wasn’t sure he could have stayed upright.
Perrin kept right on pounding him, wild with desire. He was still pounding away
while Rand’s cock softened and slid out of Mat’s well-stretched hole, freeing
him to clamber shakily from the bed. When Rand fell face down on the mattress,
Perrin fell with him, still pounding. Perrin’s bulk pressed Rand down into the
soft bed and the fierceness of his lovemaking left Rand’s ass raw and red. He
would be sore tonight, he knew, but he was far from concerned with that.
Instead he found himself softly gasping Perrin’s name.
Perhaps that was what set Perrin off. After a final few short strokes of Rand’s
ass he pushed himself all the way in and stayed there. They both sighed loudly
as Perrin’s cream flowed forth to fill Rand’s bowels.
Rand savoured the aftermath. The way Perrin’s thick bush tickled his tailbone,
the weight of his muscular chest pressed against his back, the warmth radiating
off their tired bodies, and best of all the way he could feel his old friend
trembling from emotion, feel him inside and out.
After a time, Perrin rolled off Rand and sprawled beside him on the bed.
He found Mat waiting for him. “Well that looked fun,” he said, standing by the
bedside with his long cock jutting out in front of him. “And now it’s my turn.”
With a groan, Perrin hauled himself over onto his belly. “That it is.”
He and Rand lay side by side as Mat climbed back onto the bed and hovered over
them, his cock hard and ready. Rand wondered briefly which of them Mat would
take, but the answer came to him quick enough. Rand had already buggered and
been buggered tonight, and for all his roguish ways Mat had a strong sense of
fair play.
Perrin spread his thick legs obligingly as Mat knelt behind him, and gripped
the bedsheets in his fists when he felt that long, thin cock work its way
inside.
Rand slid away from the pair. He lay on the edge of the bed and watched them
lazily, feeling sated and sleepy.
Mat’s nimble fingers danced across Perrin’s impressive back as they fucked, the
flesh of Perrin’s heavy backside cushioning Mat’s thrusts well. Their sweat-
slick bodies glistened in the lantern’s light. Mat was intent on pursuing his
pleasure, and rode Perrin fast and shallow; it wasn’t long at all before his
face contorted and his movement stopped. He stiffened all over, held the silent
pose for a long time, then collapsed like a gleeman’s puppet that had had its
strings cut, his cheek resting against Perrin’s broad back and his brown eyes
glazed with satisfaction.
Rand dragged himself to his feet and tottered towards his own bed. He
extinguished the lamp on his way, before slipping under the covers with a sigh.
As sore as he was, and as difficult as the past week had been, he felt he would
sleep well tonight.
“See. That was much better than listening to Thom’s stories all over again,”
Mat said in the darkness.
Perrin gave a humph by way of acknowledgement. “You might have been right for
once.”
Mat snorted. “For once, he says. Back me up here Rand.”
“It was great, you two,” Rand mumbled, already half-asleep. “Sleep well. Love
you.”
Mat gave a nervy laugh. “Light, don’t be weird, Rand.”
A long moment of silence followed. The last thing Rand heard before darkness
claimed him was Perrin whispering, “You too.”
The hallway was dim and shadowy, and empty except for Rand. He could not tell
where the light came from, what little there was of it; the black walls were
bare of candles or lamps, nothing at all to account for the faint glow that
seemed to just be there. The air was still and dank, and somewhere in the
distance water dripped with a steady, hollow plonk. Wherever this was, it was
not the inn. Frowning, he rubbed at his forehead. Inn? His head hurt, and
thoughts were hard to hold on to. There had been something about ... an inn? It
was gone, whatever it was.
He licked his lips and wished he had something to drink. He was awfully
thirsty, dry-as-dust thirsty. It was the dripping sound that decided him. With
nothing to choose by except his thirst, he started toward that steady
plonk—plonk—plonk.
The hallway stretched on, without any crossing corridor and without the
slightest change in appearance. The only features at all were the rough doors
set at regular intervals in pairs, one on either side of the hall, the wood
splintered and dry despite the damp in the air. The shadows receded ahead of
him, the sourceless light moved with him, and the dripping never came any
closer. After a long time he came to a halt, staring ahead. Despair took root
in him. He wondered how long he could trudge down this same familiar corridor
without ever seeing the end. He could not say how long he had walked already,
how many doors he had left unopened, but he felt as though he had been walking
since the dawn of time. For lack of a better option, he decided try one of the
doors. It opened easily, and he stepped through into a grim, stone-walled
chamber.
One wall opened in a series of arches onto a black stone balcony, or at least
he thought it was stone; it was strangely smooth, almost metallic. And the sky
beyond those arches was stranger still. Striated clouds in blacks and greys,
reds and oranges, streamed by as if storm winds drove them, weaving and
interweaving endlessly. No-one could ever have seen a sky like that; it could
not exist.
He pulled his eyes away from the balcony, but the rest of the room was no
better. Odd curves and peculiar angles, as if the chamber had been melted
almost haphazardly out of the stone, and columns that seemed to grow out of the
black floor. Flames roared on the hearth like a forge-fire with the bellows
pumping, but gave no heat. Strange oval stones made the fireplace; they just
looked like stones, wet-slick despite the fire, when he looked straight at
them, but when he glimpsed them from the corner of his eye they seemed to be
faces instead, the faces of men and women writhing in anguish, screaming
silently. The high-backed chairs and the polished table in the middle of the
room were perfectly ordinary, but that in itself emphasized the rest. A single
mirror hung on the wall, but that was not ordinary at all. When he looked at it
he saw only a blur where his reflection should have been. Everything else in
the room was shown true, but not him.
A man stood in front of the fireplace. He hadn’t noticed the man when he first
entered, if he did not know it was impossible he would have sworn the man
simply appeared from nothing. Dressed in dark clothes of a fine cut, he seemed
in the prime of his maturity, a tall and handsome man of a height with Rand,
but with dark hair and darker eyes.
“Once more we meet face-to-face,” the man said and Rand realised that he had
been mistaken about his eyes. They were not dark as a man’s would be—they were
orbs of purest blackness, like smooth coals lodged in the sockets of the man’s
face.
With a yell Rand hurled himself backwards out of the room, so hard that he
stumbled across the hall and banged into the door there, knocking it open. He
twisted and grabbed at the doorhandle to keep from falling to the floor—and
found himself staring wide-eyed into a dark room with an impossible sky through
the arches leading to a balcony, and a fireplace ...
“You cannot get away from me that easily,” the man said.
Rand twisted, scrambling back out of the room, trying to regain his feet
without slowing down. This time there was no corridor. He collided with the
polished table, caught his weight on his palms and turned his head towards the
strange man.
“This is a dream,” he gasped, eyes wide. Behind him he heard the click of the
door closing. “It’s some kind of nightmare.” He shut his eyes, thinking about
waking up. When he was a child the old Wisdom had said if you could do that in
a nightmare, it would go away. The ... Wisdom? What? If only his thoughts would
stop sliding away. If only his head would stop hurting, then he could think
straight.
He opened his eyes again. The room was still as it had been, the balcony, the
sky. The man by the fireplace.
“Is it all merely a dream?” the man said in a deep voice. “Does it matter to
the dreamer?”
This is just a dream. It has to be. All the same, he stepped backwards all the
way to the door, never taking his eyes off the dark stranger by the fire, and
tried the handle. It did not move; the door was locked.
“You seem thirsty,” the man said. “Drink.”
On the table was a goblet, shining gold and ornamented with rubies and
amethysts. It had not been there before. He wished he could stop jumping. It
was only a dream. His mouth felt like dust.
“I am, a little,” he said, picking up the goblet. The man leaned forward, one
hand on the back of a chair, watching him. The smell of spiced wine drove home
to Rand just how thirsty he was, as if he had had nothing to drink in days.
Have I?
With the wine halfway to his mouth, he stopped. Whispers of smoke were rising
from the chairback between the man’s fingers. And those pupil-less eyes watched
him intently.
Some instinct called for Rand to stop. He licked his lips and put the wine back
on the table, untasted. “I’m not as thirsty as I thought,” he said slowly. The
man straightened abruptly, his face without expression. His disappointment
could not have been more plain if he had cursed. Rand wondered what was in the
wine. But that was a stupid question, of course. This was all just a dream.
Then why won’t it stop? “What do you want?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
“Some call me Ba’alzamon,” the man answered, so casually.
Rand found himself facing the door, jerking frantically at the handle. All
thought of dreams had vanished. The Dark One. He was talking to the Dark One!
The doorhandle would not budge, even when he rested his foot against the jam to
pull; he kept twisting, desperate to get away.
“Are you the one?” Ba’alzamon said suddenly. “You cannot hide it from me
forever. And once I know your current name you can never hope to hide yourself
from me, not on the tallest mountain or in the deepest cave. I know you down to
the smallest hair.”
Rand turned to face the man—to face Ba’alzamon. He swallowed hard. Just a
nightmare.
“Are you expecting glory?” Ba’alzamon said. “Power? Did they tell you the Eye
of the World would serve you? What glory or power is there for a puppet? The
strings that move you have been centuries weaving. Your father was chosen by
the White Tower, like a stallion roped and led to his business. Your mother was
no more than a brood mare to their plans. And those plans lead to your death.”
Rand’s hands knotted in fists. “My father is a good man, and my mother was a
good woman. Don’t you talk about them!”
He laughed. “So there is some spirit in you after all. Perhaps you are the one.
Little good it will do you. The Amyrlin Seat will use you until you are
consumed, just as Davian was used and Yurian Stonebow, and Guaire Amalasan, and
Raolin Darksbane. Just as Logain is being used. Used until there is nothing
left of you.”
“I don’t know ...” Rand swung his head from side to side. That one moment of
clear thinking, born in anger, was gone. Even as he groped for it again he
could not remember how he had reached it the first time. His thoughts spun
around and around. He seized one like a raft in the whirlpool. He forced the
words out, his voice strengthening the further he went. “You ... are bound ...
in Shayol Ghul. You and all the Forsaken ... bound by the Creator until the end
of time.”
“The end of time?” Ba’alzamon mocked. “You live like a beetle under a rock, and
you think your slime is the universe. What do you know of the Wheel’s infinite
turnings? The death of time will bring me power such as you could not dream of,
worm.”
“You are bound—”
“Fool, I have never been bound!” The darkness that was his eyes seemed to burn
into Rand, the wrath on his face was such that Rand stepped back involuntarily.
“I stood at Lews Therin Kinslayer’s shoulder when he did the deed that named
him. It was I who told him to kill his wife, and his children, and all his
blood, and every living person who loved him or whom he loved. It was I who
gave him the moment of sanity to know what he had done. Have you ever heard a
man scream his soul away, worm? He could have struck at me, then. He could not
have won, but he could have tried. Instead he called down his precious One
Power upon himself, so much that the earth split open and reared up Dragonmount
to mark his tomb.
“A thousand years later I sent the Trollocs ravening south, and for three
centuries they savaged the world. Those blind fools in Tar Valon said I was
beaten in the end, but the Second Covenant, the Covenant of the Ten Nations,
was shattered beyond remaking, and who was left to oppose me then? I whispered
in Artur Hawkwing’s ear, and the length and breadth of the land Aes Sedai died.
I whispered again, and the High King sent his armies across the Aryth Ocean,
across the World Sea and sealed two dooms. The doom of his dream of one land
and one people, and a doom yet to come. At his deathbed I was there when his
councillors told him only Aes Sedai could save his life. I spoke and he ordered
his councillors to the stake. I spoke, and the High King’s last words were to
cry that Tar Valon must be destroyed.
“When men such as these could not stand against me, what chance do you have, a
toad crouching beside a forest puddle. You will serve me, or you will dance on
Aes Sedai strings until you die. And then you will be spat out to dance the
same steps, to die the same deaths, over and over again, time without end.”
“No,” Rand muttered, “this is a dream. It is a dream!”
“Do you think you are safe from me in your dreams? Look!” Ba’alzamon pointed
commandingly, and Rand’s head turned to follow, although he did not turn it; he
did not want to turn.
The goblet was gone from the table. Where it had been crouched a large rat,
blinking at the light, sniffing the air warily. Ba’alzamon crooked his finger,
and with a squeak the rat arched its back, forepaws lifting into the air while
it balanced awkwardly on its hind feet. The finger curved more, and the rat
toppled over, scrabbling frantically, pawing at nothing, squealing shrilly, its
back bending, bending, bending. With a sharp snap like the breaking of a twig,
the rat trembled violently and was still, lying bent almost double.
Rand swallowed. “Anything can happen in a dream,” he mumbled. Without looking
he swung his fist back against the door again. His hand hurt, but he still did
not wake up.
“Then go to the Aes Sedai. Go to the White Tower and tell them. Tell the
Amyrlin Seat of this ... dream.” The man laughed. “That is one way to escape
them. They will not use you, then. No, not when they know that I know. But will
they let you live, to spread the tale of what they do? Are you a big enough
fool to believe they will? The ashes of many like you are scattered on the
slopes of Dragonmount.”
“This is a dream,” Rand said, panting. “It’s a dream, and I am going to wake
up.”
“Will you?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man’s finger move to point
at him. “Will you, indeed?” The finger crooked, and Rand screamed as he arched
backwards, every muscle in his body forcing him further. “Will you ever wake
again?”
Convulsively Rand jerked up in the darkness, his hands tightening on cloth. A
blanket. Pale moonlight shone through the single window, revealing shadowed
shapes that slowly coalesced into the other two beds, on which his friends
slept. Perrin began muttering in his sleep.
Rand eased himself back to the mattress with a shuddering breath. It really had
been a dream, then, like that nightmare in the Winespring Inn the day after
Winternight. Except this one had seemed so real, and the memory of it did not
fade as swiftly as his dreams normally did. He pulled the blanket up around his
shoulders, shivering. His head had begun to hurt, too. Perhaps Moiraine could
do something to stop these dreams. She had said she could help with nightmares.
When he’d first met her she had made a point of saying it in fact. But were the
dreams really bad enough for him to ask the help of an Aes Sedai? On the other
hand, could anything he did now get him in any deeper? He huddled under his
blanket, trying to find the calmness of the void the way Tam had taught him,
but sleep was a long time returning.
***** A Welcome Respite *****
CHAPTER 19: A Welcome Respite
 
After the Wisdom left him, Rand made his way to the common room. He needed to
hear people laughing. The room was crowded indeed, but no-one was laughing,
though every chair and bench was filled and people lined the walls. Thom was
performing, standing on a table against the far wall, his gestures grand enough
to fill the big room. It was The Great Hunt of the Horn again, but no-one
complained, of course. There were so many tales to be told about each of the
Hunters, and so many Hunters to tell of, that no two tellings were ever the
same. The whole of it in one telling would have taken a week or more. The only
sound competing with the gleeman’s voice and harp was the crackling of the
fires in the fireplaces.
“... To the eight corners of the world, the Hunters ride, to the eight pillars
of heaven, where the winds of time blow and fate seizes the mighty and the
small alike by the forelock. Now, the greatest of the Hunters is Rogosh of
Talmour, Rogosh Eagle-eye, famed at the court of the High King, feared on the
slopes of Shayol Ghul ...” The Hunters were always mighty heroes, all of them.
Rand spotted his friends and squeezed onto a place Perrin made for him on the
end of their bench. Kitchen smells drifting into the room reminded him that he
was hungry, but even the people who had food in front of them gave it little
attention. The maids who should have been serving stood entranced, clutching
their aprons and looking at the gleeman, and nobody seemed to mind at all.
“... since the day of her birth has the Dark One marked Blaes as his own, but
not of this mind is she—no Darkfriend, Blaes of Matuchin! Strong as the ash she
stands, lithe as the willow branch beautiful as the rose. Golden-haired Blaes.
Ready to die before she yields. But hark! Echoing from the towers of the city,
trumpets blare, brazen and bold. Her heralds proclaim the arrival of a hero at
her court. Drums thunder and cymbals sing! Rogosh Eagle-eye comes to do homage
...”
“The Bargain of Rogosh Eagle-eye” wound its way to an end, but Thom paused only
to wet his throat from a mug of ale before launching into “Lian’s Stand.” In
turn that was followed by “The Fall of Aleth-Loriel,” and “Gaidal Cain’s
Sword,” and “The Last Ride of Buad of Albhain.” The pause grew longer as the
evening wore on, and when Thom exchanged the harp for his flute, everyone knew
it was the end of storytelling for the night. Two men joined Thom, with a drum
and a hammered dulcimer, but sitting beside the table while he remained atop
it.
The three young men from Emond’s Field began clapping their hands with the
first note of “The Wind That Shakes the Willow,” and they were not the only
ones. It was a favourite in the Theren, and in Baerlon, too, it seemed. Here
and there voices even took up the words, not so off-key as for anyone to hush
them.
“My love is gone, carried away, by the wind that shakes the willow, and all the
land is beaten hard, by the wind that shakes the willow. But I will hold her
close to me, in heart and dearest memory, and with her strength to steel my
soul, her love to warm my heart, I will stand where we once sang, though cold
wind shakes the willow.”
The second song was not so sad. In fact, “Only One Bucket of Water” seemed even
more merry than usual by comparison, which might have been the gleeman’s
intent. People rushed to clear tables from the floor to make room for dancing,
and began kicking up their heels until the walls shook from the stomping and
whirling. The first dance ended with laughing dancers leaving the floor holding
their sides, and new people taking their places.
Thom played the opening notes of “Wild Geese on the Wing,” then paused for
people to take their places for the reel.
“I think I’ll try a few steps,” Rand said, getting to his feet. Perrin popped
up right behind him. Mat was the last to move, and so found himself staying
behind to guard the cloaks, along with Rand’s sword and Perrin’s axe.
“Remember I want a turn, too,” Mat called after them.
The dancers formed two long lines facing each other, men in one, women in the
other. First the drum and then the dulcimer took up the beat, and all the
dancers began bending their knees in time. The girl across from Rand, her dark
hair in braids that made him think of home, gave him a shy smile, and then a
wink that was not shy at all. Thom’s flute leaped into the tune, and Rand moved
forward to meet the dark-haired girl; she threw back her head and laughed as he
spun her around and passed her on to the next man in line.
Everyone in the room was laughing, he thought as he danced around his next
partner, one of the serving maids with her apron flapping wildly. The flow of
the dance brought Anna spinning into his arms next, they grinned at each other
and he whirled her in a circle before passing her on. Three more women danced
with him as the music gained speed, then he was back with the first dark-haired
girl for a fast promenade that changed the lines about completely. She was
still laughing, and she gave him another wink. She was quite pretty; he smiled
back at her and was still smiling when his next partner put her hands in his.
Rand looked down and found himself dancing with Moiraine. His smile curled up
and died instantly. He stumbled through the steps, almost tripping over his own
feet, nearly stepping on hers. The Aes Sedai glided across the floor smoothly,
her blue gown swirling about her; he almost fell twice. She gave him a
sympathetic smile as they parted, which made it worse rather than helping.
The next woman to dance into his arms was Nynaeve. He was nearly as stumble-
footed with the Wisdom as he had been with the Aes Sedai. More in some ways.
Nynaeve hadn’t taken part in any dances back home since old Mistress Barran had
died five years ago, leaving her young apprentice to take up the job of Wisdom.
Rand found himself staring at her, and kept forgetting to move his feet.
Despite her lack of practice, she danced gracefully enough to make up for his
clumsiness, smiling the while.
“I thought you were a better dancer,” she laughed as they changed partners.
It was a relief to go to his next partner in the pattern; after all, he had
danced with Egwene for years. Her hair still hung unbraided, but she had
gathered it back with a red ribbon. Probably couldn’t decide whether to please
Moiraine or Nynaeve, he thought wryly. He regained some of his poise as they
danced. Her lips were parted, and she looked as if she wanted to say something
to him, but she never spoke.
The reel came to an end with a final few cheerful notes. As he headed back to
his place on the bench, only slightly out of breath, he noticed Min sitting
alone at a corner table. The common room was crowded with locals but for some
reasons the chairs across from her remained empty. If she noticed him looking
she gave no sign of it.
The music for another dance, a jig, began while he was sitting down. Mat
hurried to join in, and Perrin slid onto the bench as he was leaving.
“Did you see her?” Perrin began before he was even seated.
“Which one?” Rand asked. “The Wisdom, or Mistress Alys? I danced with both of
them.”
“The Ae ... Mistress Alys, too?” Perrin exclaimed. “I danced with Nynaeve. I
didn’t even know she danced. She never does at any of the dances back home.”
“It wouldn’t be properly dignified for a Wisdom, I guess. Did you dance with
Anna?”
Perrin grinned. “I did. She said I was pretty good at it too.”
Rand nodded approvingly. “Good. Good.”
Then the music and the clapping and the singing were too loud for any further
talk. Rand and Perrin joined in the clapping as the dancers circled the floor.
Mat was a good dancer. Even when paired with Moiraine he barely missed a step.
While the dance was in full swing, Rand excused himself and went to visit Min.
She looked up glumly as he approached her table, and gave a small shrug of
permission when he gestured to the empty chairs. He had to pull it close to
hers so they could speak over the music.
“Aren’t you going to dance?” he asked.
“No. I don’t dance. And other people don’t dance when I try.” She sighed and
gave her head a little shake. The teasing smile she had worn when they first
spoke returned to her face. “I saw you dancing with Mistress Alys.” She shook
her head in mock sympathy, her dark eyes alight with mischief. “Ouch.”
Rand crossed his arms and frowned at her. “I don’t think I did so bad,
considering.”
“Well, you didn’t fall over. That’s a good start at least.” Her expression
turned pensive, and when she spoke it was barely loud enough to hear. “It all
starts somewhere. Though what it leads to isn’t what I would ever have
expected.”
Rand didn’t ask what she meant. He was enjoying himself and didn’t want to talk
about her visions. “Why don’t you come join my friends and me? I think you’d
like them. You and Anna are the only two girls I’ve ever met who don’t wear
dresses; you’d probably get along well. It would be better than sitting here by
your lonesome at least.”
Min rested her elbow on the table, and her chin in her palm. “Blood and ashes.
Don’t tell me that’s pity I hear. That’s not a good start at all. I’ll have you
know I’m perfectly fine, sheepherder; I have three aunts who love me, a decent
job and a good home. If some folk are a bit leery of my visions, why, I keep
them to myself, and they keep clear of me.”
Rand raised his hands placatingly. “Not pity. I just don’t like to see bad
things happen to good people. And it looked to me like you were getting the
cold shoulder, unfairly. Come on, join us. I promise I’ll dance with you, and
I’ll even try not to fall over.”
She eyed him for a time, a wry smile on her face. “There’s not much point to
refusing is there. Ah, you and your friends seem decent sorts. Why not?”
Rand grinned as they rose from the table and made their way back to Perrin’s
bench. Min was taller than most Theren women, but still a good foot or more
shorter than he was, Rand noted. He also noted the looks they got from some of
the Baerlon folk, men and women both. Many a knowing glance was shot back and
forth, and many a head shook in consternation.
Anna had joined Perrin at the bench. Rand caught the tail end of their
conversation as he approached. “... wanted me to be strong. But thanks for the
thought.”
He took a place at the far end, leaving a spot for Min between him and Perrin.
“Anna, Perrin. This is Min, would you mind if she joins us?”
His friends smiled welcomingly. “Of course not,” said Perrin. He shuffled over
a little to make room.
Anna leaned over the table to peer up at the new girl. “I remember you from
earlier, Min. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. Do many women up this way
dress like you? I get no end of complaints over it from the Women’s Circle back
home.”
Min stepped over the bench and took her seat. It occurred to Rand, belatedly,
that it would have been pretty awkward for her to do that if she’d been in
skirts rather than her loose brown trousers. She murmured her thanks and gave
them both a friendly, if slightly embarrassed smile. “Nice to meet you both.
And no, Anna, it’s not very common in Baerlon either. But I was, I have to
admit, a bit of a daddy’s girl when I was little and got used to dressing like
this when following him around. He was a miner you understand. My aunts tried
to get me into skirts later, but they’re just not as comfortable.”
“Or as practical,” Anna added. “How could you hunt while wearing skirts? They
would catch on everything.”
Min laughed lightly and gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I’m not much of a hunter,
but I see what you mean. Do you hunt then?”
Anna shrugged. “A little. I’m no Tam al’Thor, or Jondyn Barran.”
“She’s being modest,” said Perrin. “She’s better at it than I am. Or most other
lads.”
Anna blushed slightly. “You’ve got a knack for it, Perrin. If you spent more
time in the woods and less at the forge you’d be pretty good, I’d say.” She
nodded to Rand. “That one’s better than me for sure. If you ever get lost in a
forest, Min, he’s the one you’d want to come find you. Tam taught him, and even
my da would admit Tam was the best tracker around.”
“Well that’s nice of you to say, Anna,” Rand said, “but there are times I can
barely find my own nose.”
Min laughed. “Most people would fight over who is the best at something, not
over who isn’t. Should I be ducking for cover, caught in the middle like this?”
Rand laughed too. “Light no. We’re a peaceful bunch. Usually. And besides, if
Anna comes at me swinging I want you as a shield.”
“What makes you so sure I wouldn’t join her?”
“Ha! You wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of us, Rand,” laughed Anna.
The dancing and singing and talking went on into the night. Min seemed to get
along well with everyone, even Mat, though she completely ignored all his
efforts to flirt with her. Occasionally she would glance at Rand with an
unreadable look on her face, but if she had any more visions she kept them to
herself. The maids finally did remember their duties; Rand was glad to wolf
down some hot stew and bread, and he wasn’t the only one. Everyone ate where
they sat or stood. Rand joined in three more dances, and this time he managed
his steps better when he found himself dancing with Nynaeve, and with Moiraine
as well. Though he did stammer his thanks when they both complimented him on
his dancing. Min joined him for the third dance, another jig. She proved a
lively, if unpractised dancer, and not overly concerned with a few missed
steps. The local dancers kept their distance from her, as though afraid of
catching something, but if Min was hurt or offended by that she gave no sign of
it. They were both laughing happily by the time the music stopped. Toward
midnight Moiraine left. Egwene, after one harried look from the Aes Sedai to
Nynaeve, hurried after her. The Wisdom watched them go with an unreadable
expression, then deliberately joined in another dance before she left, too,
with a look as if she had gained a point on the Aes Sedai.
Soon Thom was putting his flute into its case and arguing good-naturedly with
those who wanted him to stay longer. Lan came by to gather up Rand and the
others.
Min had been hiding her yawns behind her hand for quite a while. So she didn’t
seem as offended as she might have when Lan stood over them and fixed her with
a hard, silent stare. Whatever he had come to say, he plainly did not intend to
say it while Min was present. She drew a deep breath and stretched her back.
“Well, it’s been nice meeting for all. But it’s time I was getting to bed. Take
care. I hope to see you again.”
They all bid her goodnight. Once she was far enough away the Warder leaned
close. “We have to make an early start and we will need all the rest we can
get.
“There’s a fellow been staring at me,” Mat said. “A man with a scar across his
face. You don’t think he could be a ... one of the friends you warned us
about?”
“I saw the man,” Lan said. “According to Mistress Fitch, he’s a spy for the
Whitecloaks. He’s no worry to us.” Maybe he was not, but Rand could see
something was bothering the Warder.
Rand glanced at Mat, who had the stiff expression on his face that always meant
he was hiding something. A Whitecloak spy. Could Bornhald want to get back at
us that much? It was just a silly prank. “We’re leaving early?” he said.
“Really early?” Maybe they could be gone before anything came of it.
“At first light,” the Warder replied.
Thom joined them as they left the common room. He shook his head, looking
amused, as he listened to Mat sing snatches of song under his breath. Lan’s
face was expressionless as they headed for the stairs.
“Where is Nynaeve sleeping?” Anna asked. “Mistress Fitch said we got the last
rooms.”
“She has a bed,” Thom said dryly, “in with you and Mistress Alys ... and the
other girl.”
Perrin whistled between his teeth, and Mat muttered, “Blood and ashes! I
wouldn’t be in Egwene’s shoes for all the gold in Caemlyn!”
Not for the first time, Rand wished Mat could think seriously about something
for more than two minutes. Their own shoes were not very comfortable right
then. “I’m going to get some milk,” he said. Maybe it would help him sleep.
Maybe I won’t dream tonight.
Lan looked at him sharply. “There’s something wrong tonight. Don’t wander far.
And remember, we leave whether you are awake enough to sit your saddle or have
to be tied on.”
The Warder started up the stairs; the others followed him, their jollity
subdued.
Rand made his way to the kitchen, where a scullery maid was still on duty. She
kindly poured him a mug of milk from a big stone crock.
As he came out of the kitchen, drinking, a shape in dull black started toward
him down the length of the hall, raising pale hands to toss back the dark cowl
that had hidden the face beneath. The cloak hung motionless as the figure
moved, and the face ... A man’s face, but pasty white, like a maggot, and
eyeless, devoid even of the sockets where eyes might once have been. From oily
black hair to flat cheeks was as smooth as an eggshell. Rand choked, spraying
milk.
“You are one of them, boy,” the Fade said, a hoarse whisper like a file softly
drawn across bone.
Dropping the mug, Rand backed away. He wanted to run, but it was all he could
do to make his feet take one halting step at a time. He could not break free of
that eyeless face; his gaze was held, and his stomach curdled. He tried to
shout for help, to scream; his throat was like stone. Every ragged breath hurt.
The Fade glided closer, in no hurry. Its strides had a sinuous, deadly grace,
like a viper, the resemblance emphasized by the overlapping black plates of
armour down its chest. “Where are the others? I know they are here. Speak, boy,
and I will let you live.”
Rand’s back struck wood, a wall or a door—he could not make himself look around
to see which. Now that his feet had stopped, he could not make them start
again. He shivered, watching the Myrddraal slither nearer. His shaking grew
harder with every slow stride. From somewhere down and to his right he heard a
girl’s high-pitched whimpers.
“Speak, I say, or—”
From above came a quick clatter of boots, from the stairs up the hall, and the
Myrddraal cut off, whirling. For an instant the Fade’s head tilted, as if that
eyeless gaze could pierce the wood to see what moved above. A sword appeared in
a dead-white hand, blade as black as the cloak, and the light in the hall
seemed to grow suddenly dimmer. The pounding of boots grew louder, and the Fade
spun back to Rand, an almost boneless movement. The blade rose, midnight steel
flashed at his head ... and stopped mere inches from his face. “You belong to
the Great Lord of the Dark.” The breathy grating of that voice sounded like
fingernails scratched across a slate. “You will serve his will.”
Spinning in a black blur, the Fade darted down the hall away from Rand. The
shadows at the end of the hall reached out and embraced it, and it was gone.
Lan leaped down the last stairs, landing with a crash, sword in hand. He shot a
glare at Rand through the open kitchen doorway.
Rand struggled to find his voice. “Fade,” he gasped. “It was ...” Abruptly he
remembered his sword. Under the Myrddraal’s eyeless stare he had never thought
of it—he hadn’t seemed capable of thinking of anything beyond how frightened he
was. He fumbled the heron-mark blade out now, not caring if it was too late.
“It ran that way!”
Lan nodded absently; he seemed to be listening to something else. “Yes. It’s
going; fading. No way to pursue it now. We’re leaving, sheepherder.”
***** The Blacksmith's Apprentice *****
CHAPTER 23: The Blacksmith’s Apprentice
 
Perrin sat in Steady’s saddle, hidden in the shadows, watching the open gateway
in the distance, and absently ran his thumb along the blade of his axe. It
seemed to be a clear way out of the ruined city, but he had sat there for five
minutes studying it. The wind tossed his shaggy curls and tried to carry his
cloak away, but he pulled the cloak back around absentmindedly.
He knew that Mat, and almost everyone else in Emond’s Field, considered him
slow of thought. It was partly because he was big and usually moved
carefully—he had always been afraid he might accidentally break something or
hurt somebody, since he was so much bigger than the boys he grew up with—but he
really did prefer to think things all the way through if he could. Quick
thinking, careless thinking, had put Mat into hot water one time after another,
and Mat’s quick thinking usually managed to get Rand, or him, or both, in the
cookpot alongside Mat, too.
His throat tightened. Light, don’t think about being in a cookpot. He tried to
order his thoughts again. Careful thought was the way.
“I say we make a break for it,” Anna whispered. “If there are any Trollocs out
there, with all that open space at least we’ll see them coming.” Her eyes were
very wide as she peered into the dark buildings ahead, but her strong, pretty
face was set in determination.
She was another reason for caution. Perrin had made it a point to stay as close
to her as he could when they scattered. If he could find a way to get them
both, or at least her, safely out of this cursed place, then he would be
content not matter what else happened. He grunted softly by way of response. He
had never been good with words.
There had been some sort of square in front of the gate once, with a huge
fountain in its middle. Part of the fountain was still there, a cluster of
broken statues standing in a big, round basin, and so was the open space around
it. To reach the gate he would have to ride across that square with only the
night to shield him from searching eyes. That was not a pleasant thought,
either. He remembered those unseen watchers too well.
He considered the horns he had heard in the city a little while earlier. He had
almost turned back, thinking some of the others might have been captured,
before realizing that he could not do anything to help if they had been taken.
Not against—what did Lan say—a hundred Trollocs and four Fades. Moiraine Sedai
said get to the river.
He went back to consideration of the gate. Careful thought had not given him
much, but he had made his decision. He rode out of the deeper shadow into the
lesser darkness.
As he did, another horse appeared from the road that opened on the right side
of the square. The rider saw him and stopped dead. He stopped, too, and felt
for his axe; it gave him no great sense of comfort. If that dark shape was a
Fade ...
“Rand?” came a soft, hesitant call.
He let out a long, relieved breath. “It’s Perrin, Egwene,” he called back, just
as softly. It still sounded too loud in the darkness. “And Anna.”
They met near the fountain.
“Have you seen anybody else?” Egwene and Anna asked at the same time, and both
answered by shaking their heads.
Egwene was small and slight at the best of times but she looked a lot younger
to Perrin just then than she had when she introduced him to the wonder of a
woman’s touch. Despite the disappointing ending, Perrin had enjoyed her body
immensely. Not that he didn’t enjoy the games he and his friends had played
since they were young—he wouldn’t have taken part otherwise. But he liked the
giving more than the taking, if truth be told, whereas Rand and Mat didn’t seem
to mind one way or the other. It had been different with Egwene than with the
other lads. He found he preferred it. “They’ll be all right,” Egwene muttered,
patting Bela’s neck. “Won’t they?”
“Moiraine Sedai and Lan will look after them,” Perrin replied. “They will look
after all of us once we get to the river.” He hoped it was so.
He felt a great relief once they were beyond the gate, even if there were
Trollocs in the forest. Or Fades. He stopped that line of thought. The bare
branches were not enough to keep him from guiding on the red star, and they
were beyond Mordeth’s reach now. That one had frightened him worse than the
Trollocs ever had.
Soon they would reach the river and meet Moiraine, and she would put them
beyond the Trollocs’ reach as well. He believed it because he needed to
believe. The wind scraped branches together and rustled the leaves and needles
on the evergreens. A nighthawk’s lonely cry drifted in the dark, and he and the
girls moved their horses closer together as though they were huddling for
warmth. Despite the company, he felt very much alone in that forest.
A Trolloc horn sounded somewhere behind them, quick, wailing blasts, urging the
hunters to hurry, hurry. Then thick, half-human howls rose on their trail,
spurred on by the horn. Howls that grew sharper as they caught the human scent.
Perrin put his horse to a gallop, shouting, “Come on!” Anna was already surging
past him and Egwene came right behind, both of them booting their horses,
heedless of noise, heedless of the branches that slapped at them.
As they raced through the trees, guided as much by instinct as by the dim
moonlight, Bela fell behind. Perrin looked back. Egwene kicked the mare and
flailed her with the reins, but it was doing no good. By their sounds, the
Trollocs were coming closer. He drew in enough not to leave her behind.
“Hurry!” he shouted. He could make out the Trollocs now, huge dark shapes
bounding through the trees, bellowing and snarling to chill the blood. He
gripped the haft of his axe, hanging at his belt, until his knuckles hurt.
“Hurry, Egwene! Hurry!”
“Perrin! Look where you’re going!” Anna yelled.
Suddenly Steady screamed, and he was falling, tumbling out of the saddle as the
horse dropped away beneath him. He flung out his hands to brace himself and
splashed headfirst into icy water. He had ridden right off the edge of a sheer
bluff into the Arindrelle.
The shock of freezing water ripped a gasp from him, and he swallowed more than
a little before he managed to fight his way to the surface. He felt more than
heard another splash, and thought that Egwene must have come right after him.
Panting and blowing, he treaded water. It was not easy to keep afloat; his coat
and cloak were already sodden, and his boots had filled. He looked around for
Egwene, but saw only the glint of moonlight on the black water, ruffled by the
wind.
“Egwene? Egwene!”
A spear flashed right in front of his eyes and threw water in his face. Others
splashed into the river around him, too. Guttural voices raised in argument on
the riverbank, and the Trolloc spears stopped coming, but he gave up on calling
for the time being.
The current washed him downriver, but the thick shouts and snarls followed
along the bank, keeping pace. Undoing his cloak, he let the river take it. A
little less weight to drag him down. Doggedly, he set out swimming for the far
bank. There were no Trollocs there. He hoped.
He swam the way they did back home, in the ponds in the Waterwood, stroking
with both hands, kicking with both feet, keeping his head out of the water. At
least, he tried to keep his head out of the water; it was not easy. It was too
dark to see the far side of the river, but the guttural voices behind were
enough to convince Perrin that he had to reach the west bank no matter what. He
swam on with slow and steady strokes of his thick arms and legs. Even without
the cloak, his coat and boots each seemed to weigh as much as he did. And the
axe dragged at his waist, threatening to roll him over if it did not pull him
under. He thought about letting the river have that, too; he thought about it
more than once. It would be easy, much easier than struggling out of his boots,
for instance. But every time he thought of it, he thought of crawling out on
the far bank to find Trollocs waiting. The axe would not do him much good
against half a dozen Trollocs—or even against one, maybe—but it was better than
his bare hands.
After a while he was not even certain he would be able to lift the axe if
Trollocs were there. His arms and legs became leaden; it was an effort to move
them, and his face no longer came as far out of the river with each stroke. He
coughed from water that went up his nose. A day at the forge has no odds on
this, he thought wearily, and just then his kicking foot struck something. It
was not until he kicked it again that he realized what it was. The bottom. He
was in the shallows. He’d made it across the river.
Sucking air through his mouth, he got to his feet, splashing about as his legs
almost gave way. He fumbled his axe out of its loop as he floundered ashore,
shivering in the wind. He did not see any Trollocs. He did not see Egwene or
Anna, either. Just a few scattered trees along the riverbank, and a moonlight
ribbon on the water.
When he had his breath again, he called their names over and over. Faint shouts
from the far side answered him; even at that distance he could make out the
harsh voices of Trollocs. His friends did not answer, though.
The wind surged, its moan drowning out the Trollocs, and he shivered. It was
not cold enough to freeze the water soaking his clothes, but it felt as if it
was; it sliced to the bone with an icy blade. He hugged himself in a futile
effort to stop the shivering.
He kept shouting as he picked his way along the riverbank. There was no
response except the winds howling but he pressed on stubbornly. Then he stopped
abruptly. Holding his breath and straining his ears, Perrin waited for what
felt like a long time. Then he heard it again. A faint voice coming from
downriver, indistinct but definitely human. He set off at a run.
Perrin stumbled over slick stones and reaching roots as he ran; a more hasty
pace than he would have liked but there was a time for careful thought and a
time for action, and this was not the first. He called out, “Where are you?” as
he ran, and the voice answered. This time he knew it.
A shadowed form on the riverbank raised its arm aloft. “Perrin, over here,”
crouped Anna.
She was slumped against a mossy rock, breathing heavily. He went to his knees
beside her and rested a hand on her sodden shoulder. “You made it, thank the
Light!”
“Just about,” she wheezed. “When I saw you and Egwene go over the cliff I made
my way down to shore, with Trollocs not far behind me. Didn’t fancy my chances
of making it across the river, but fancied my chances of surviving on the other
side even less. My horse went in with me, brave beast, but she went under about
half way across. If she hadn’t pulled me as far as she did ...” She grimaced,
looking guilty.
Perrin squeezed her shoulder. Carefully. “It wasn’t your fault. The Shadow
caused this. Caused all of it.”
She nodded mutely. Then clambered back to her feet. They set off west again,
heading inland towards the sparse trees. Anna walked on shaky legs and Perrin
supported her as best he could, though in truth his own felt about to give way.
“Have you seen Egwene?” Anna asked.
“No. Are you sure you saw her go into the river?”
Anna nodded by way of response. She gave a small sigh and her face took on a
grim cast. Perrin suspected she was thinking the same thing he was. Egwene’s
horse had been the oldest of those that had carried them out of the Theren, if
Anna’s hadn’t been able to swim the Arindrelle with Anna’s added weight, what
chance had Bela of making it across? Egwene had been wearing skirts too, Perrin
could only imagine that would make it very hard to swim.
The clambered up the bank towards a small copse of trees. As they trod across a
carpet of cedar needles Anna seemed to come back to herself. She shook her head
and surveyed the scene. “This is a good place to rest. We’ll want to make a
windbreak between the trees though. Could you cut some branches, Perrin?”
Perrin slid his axe from its loop. “Of course.”
The simple action of raising and lowered his axe brought a welcome warmth to
Perrin’s body. Anna rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet as she
waited. Occasionally she glanced his way, looking nervous. The cold had
reddened her cheeks.
When enough branches had been cut, Anna gathered them up and set to making
small tent frames in the gaps between the trees. Perrin couldn’t see what good
that would do without canvas to place across the frames but he kept chopping
anyway, for as long as his weary arm allowed.
He looked back dully as she kicked off her boots and unbuttoned her coat to
drape over one of the little tents. Exhaustion had slowed his already slow
wits. So he was still staring when she unbuckled her belt and pulled down her
sodden trousers. She drew a deep breath. When she undid the ties of her white
bloomers, which were just as soaked as the rest of their clothes, and let them
fall to the ground with a soft thump, Perrin’s jaw dropped.
Anna’s bare legs were much thicker than Egwene’s had been, strong with muscle.
The hair above her private parts was thicker too, and from the way she shuffled
her feet she seemed torn between hiding that dark thicket from his gaze or
hiding her pretty bottom. Perrin came back to his senses and spun around.
“Sorry,” he choked, his voice having gone strangely high of a sudden. “Why ...
what?”
“My father taught me that you shouldn’t wear wet clothes if you are caught out
in the cold. Better to go naked, even if it means exposing yourself to the
wind. You’re less likely to take a fatal chill that way,” Anna’s gruff voice
sounded almost normal. Almost.
When he glanced back over his shoulder he found she had her back to him. She
dragged her shirt over her head without bothering with the laces, then arranged
it across one of her tents. She had a strong-looking back, Perrin thought,
especially for a girl; the muscles on it were easily visible. He felt himself
stirring and was glad they had their backs to each other. He turned his eyes
away again.
Soon, he heard Anna settling herself in the centre of the copse. “There aren’t
enough clothes to cover all the gaps,” she pointed out in a quiet voice.
When he glanced back once more he found her laying on her side on the carpet of
leaves, her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself.
She was watching him with her big brown eyes.
“Right.” Perrin sidled stiffly across to one of the little tent frames and
quickly deposited his coat on it. He hesitated only a moment before adding his
shirt to a second frame. By then he had moved around to Anna’s back. Hesitating
he turned his head towards her. A rustle of leaves greeted his motion but when
he looked over Anna still had her back to him.
Swallowing nervously, Perrin unbuckled his belt and yanked down his trousers
before hastily hanging them out. He hoped the wind would have dried them by the
time morning came. Wandering naked through the woods with spring barely even
begun struck him as unwise, regardless of what Master al’Tolan had told Anna.
Naked now, he covered himself with his hands and shuffled over to the centre of
the makeshift campsite. Anna made no objection when he eased himself to the
ground beside her, his back to hers, carefully not touching.
Perrin was caught in a strange place between utter exhaustion and heart-
pounding excitement. He needed to sleep but his mind just wouldn’t stop
working, thinking through all the possible outcomes. He jumped slightly when
Anna spoke in a low whisper.
“It would probably be best if we tried to conserve bodyheat.”
“That does seem sensible,” he allowed after a long pause.
A rustling marked Anna’s movement and a soft body soon pressed itself against
Perrin. He noticed two stiff little points poking his back as her arms slipped
around him. Her warm breath on the back of his neck soon slowed and fell into
the even rhythm of sleep. Exhausted as he was, Perrin lay awake for a long
while afterwards. But eventually sleep came for him too.
They slept ‘til long after sunrise. A pleasant dream of working at Master
Weyland’s forge in Emond’s Field faded away and he opened his eyes and stared,
uncomprehending, at the bare branches interwoven above, sunlight trickling
through.
He yawned, and the sound stirred something beside him. Soft skin rubbed against
his as Anna shifted in her sleep, and memory came rushing back to Perrin.
They must have tossed and turned in the night. Perrin was on his back now with
his arm across her shoulders, and Anna had burrowed in, pressing her face to
his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and waist. One of his legs was
clutched between her thighs.
Perrin was hard. He was often hard when he woke in the morning, but he was
especially hard right then. The presence of almost any girl at a time like this
might have been enough to have that effect. But it was especially true of Anna.
He had admired her for a long time, tough little thing that she was. So
fiercely, stubbornly, independent and yet so easy to get along with. Perrin
liked it when things were nice and quiet, with no needless dramatics, and Anna
was rarely involved with such things. And it helped that she was really quite
pretty, perhaps not to everyone’s eyes—he had nearly come to blows with Wil
al’Seen once over the things he’d had said of her—but certainly to Perrin.
In the past two years he had rarely said more than hello to her of course. Rand
and Mat knew how to talk to women, but Perrin usually just found himself
holding the door or helping with some chore. He was certain they all thought
him a great oaf.
He was certain too that even Anna couldn’t not be outraged if she woke to find
him in his current state. Moving very carefully Perrin eased himself away from
the naked girl in his arms. She awoke instantly.
“Wossat?” she muttered blearily, raising her head to cast her blinking gaze
about.
Perrin did not dare answer. He did not dare do anything, in fact. Save lay
very, very still and hold his breath. She’ll see me.
Seemingly deciding she had imagined whatever woke her, Anna let her head fall
back to Perrin’s chest. Then she went utterly still. She’s seen me. So this is
how it ends.
He felt her gulp. Felt her heartbeat quicken through the breast that was
pressed to his side. Moving very slowly, like a hare that thought the wolf had
not yet seen it, Anna raised her head and looked at Perrin with her big brown
eyes. When she found him staring wide-eyed back at her, she blushed scarlet.
The colour rushed to his own cheeks. “Sorry,” he said, “I can’t help it.”
“Don’t be,” she responded softly. “I’m flattered.” She was quiet for a moment,
then continued in a more hesitant voice. “Do you ... like me, Perrin?”
“Very much.”
“Oh. Good. I like you too. And it’s still a bit cold, and I’m tired of being
chased ... and seeing death ... and being afraid.” Her voice had started small,
but as the litany went on a light growl had crept into it. When she was done
speaking, she reached up, put her hands to either side of Perrin’s face and
kissed him right on the lips.
He wasn’t very good with words at the best of times, and they abandoned him
completely then. He kissed her back, of course. How could he not? Her lips on
his set his heart to pounding. They did not spend long on kisses though, before
Anna confidently reached down and took hold of Perrin’s cock, and gave it a
little squeeze. He moaned and twitched in her grasp and she jumped, releasing
his member hastily. A nervous little laugh told him she was not so confident or
experienced as she seemed.
The fallen leaves were not the most comfortable of blankets, so Perrin placed
his hands about the slight hollows of Anna’s waist and guided her atop him. He
got his first clear view of her breasts; large, lovely mounds, tipped by small
pink nipples. As she knelt above him he reached up to take them in his hands,
gently kneading them. Egwene had seemed to like that and from Anna’s moans it
seemed she did too.
She took his cock in her hand once more, holding it steady as she positioned
herself above him. Staring down into the gap between them, she rubbed his head
along her slit, her breath coming rapidly. When he came to rest outside her wet
entrance, Anna held her breath and sat back, impaling herself upon his member
in one forceful motion.
She grimaced in pain as Perrin gasped in pleasure. A contrast that made him
feel absurdly guilty.
Anna soon adjusted to his presence inside her. She rested her palms on Perrin’s
broad chest and gave an experimental jerk of her hips, bringing another gasp
from his lips. She smiled at the sound and jerked again.
Her pace increased rapidly. She caressed his chest and belly with her hands,
and with her eyes as well. She pressed his hands to her breasts, urging him to
squeeze harder, and Perrin was happy to comply.
The dark thickets above their privates tangled and intertwined as Anna’s wet
heat stroked Perrin closer and closer to climax.
“Oh Light!” she suddenly cried. Her eyes went very wide and she shuddered atop
him, her mouth hanging open. And when her shudders had passed she smile in
satisfaction. “Oh Perrin,” she murmured.
He smiled back at her. And she began moving again, riding him fast.
She played with his nipples, watching his face as she did so to gauge his
response. Perrin didn’t quite know how he was expected to react to that, it
felt no different from touching any other part of his chest. And most of his
sensation was concentrated further down right then anyway.
She bounced upon him now, pulling him further out of her tight, hot hole before
thrusting him back in. Again and again. It was too much. “Anna,” he grated,
“Anna, I’m going to ...”
She grinned. “It’s alright; I know how to brew the heartleaf tea. Nynaeve
taught me. Do it, right inside me. I want to feel it.”
So he did. For the first time in his life Perrin spilled his seed in a woman’s
womb; and it was bliss.
He gave a snort and opened his eyes. Anna was still on top of him, naked as a
newborn, but with her face now pressed to his chest. I must have fallen asleep
for a moment. He had grown soft and slipped out of her warm slot too. More than
a moment.
“That was wonderful,” he murmured.
“It was. I feel so much better now.” She sounded it too, he was glad to note.
That she also sounded surprised made him feel a little less glad.
The rumbling of his stomach put an end to their cosy moment. Anna pushed
herself up from him, giving him a good view of her lovely breasts. “We should
see about finding something to eat. And look for the others. Rand and the rest
could have tried to cross over in the night.” She picked her way across the
woodland floor, careful of her bare feet, until she reached her hung shirt and
shook it out. “Dry enough,” she muttered, before pulling it over her head,
hiding her nakedness from him.
With a sigh, Perrin clambered to his feet and went to get dressed. As he was
pulling on his trousers, cold but not too damp thankfully, a low whistle made
him glance at Anna in surprise. She was watching him while she buttoned her own
trousers, watching and smirking. Despite what they had just done, or because of
it perhaps, Perrin’s cheeks coloured. If the Women’s Circle, or Nynaeve, or my
mother ever find out about this I’ll be in for it. I could lose my
apprenticeship even. And I’ll probably have to marry Anna. Though that last
would actually be a pretty welcome “punishment” it seemed to him.
Perrin shrugged into his coat, pensive now. Actually, he should ask Anna to
marry him, it was the proper thing to do at a time like this. But the thought
made him nervous. He frowned as they gathered up their meagre belongings,
thinking it through.
He had not seen a sign of his horse since riding over the bluff—he hoped it had
swum out of the river safely—but he was more used to walking than riding
anyway, and his boots were stout and well soled. They had nothing to eat, but
his sling was still wrapped around his waist, and that or the snarelines in his
pocket ought to yield a rabbit in a little time. And once they found what
they’d need to put together some makeshift arrows for Anna’s bow they would be
set for food. Everything for making a fire was gone with his saddlebags, but
the cedar trees would yield tinder and a firebow with a bit of work.
The morning was cold and still when they left the copse. The cutting wind of
the night before had faded to a silent breeze that barely rippled the surface
of the Arindrelle. The river ran by, calm and empty. And wide. Surely too wide
and too deep for Trollocs to cross. The far bank appeared a solid mass of trees
as far as he could see upriver and down. Nothing moved in his view over there.
He was not sure how he felt about that. Fades and Trollocs he could do without
quite easily, even on the other side of the river, but a whole list of worries
would have vanished with the appearance of the Aes Sedai, or the Warder, or,
even better, any of his friends. If wishes were wings, sheep would fly. That
was what Mistress Luhhan always said.
His stomach rumbled again. But food would have to wait. One thing at a time,
and the most important first. That was his way.
His eyes followed the strong flow of the Arindrelle downriver. He was a
stronger swimmer than Egwene. If she, or any of the others, had made it across
... No, not if. The place where Egwene had made it across would be downriver.
Anna was looking upriver and he knew she was thinking of Rand. If he had swam
the river he would have reached the bank faster than either of them. Long legs,
long arms and stamina to burn would have seen to that. Lan would likely have
made it even faster.
She and Perrin exchanged a long stare.
“We know Egwene went into the water,” Anna said at last. “We should probably
look for her first. The others might still be on the other side of the river,
or halfway to Tear for all we know.”
Perrin nodded slowly. He knew Egwene and Anna were not friends, but he was glad
they would still look out for each other. Good Theren women, he thought with a
smile.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
Anna’s face was a picture. She blushed, smiled and grimaced all at the same
time.
“Are you asking because you want to or because it’s the proper and traditional
thing to say? Actually don’t answer.” She sighed. “I like you Perrin. A lot. I
think I might even love you. And I don’t doubt you’ll make some woman a great
husband someday. But I’m not sure I want to get married right now. Could we
have this conversation again some other time?”
Relief and disappointment warred in Perrin’s heart. “As you wish.”
Their decision made, and in need of something to do with himself, he set off
down the river.
This side of the Arindrelle lacked the thick forest of the east bank. Clumps of
trees spotted across what would be grassland if spring ever came. Some were big
enough to be called thickets, with swathes of evergreens among the barren ash
and alder and hardgum. Down by the river the stands were smaller and not so
tight. They gave poor cover, but they were all the cover there was.
He dashed from growth to growth in a crouch, throwing himself down when he was
among the trees to study the riverbanks, the far side as well as his. The
Warder said the river would be a barrier to Fades and Trollocs, but would it?
Seeing him might be enough to overcome their reluctance to cross deep water. So
he watched carefully from behind the trees and ran from one hiding place to the
next, fast and low.
He covered several miles that way, in spurts, until suddenly, halfway to the
beckoning shelter of a growth of willows, he grunted and stopped dead, staring
at the ground. Patches of bare earth spotted the matted brown of last year’s
grass, and in the middle of one of those patches, right under his nose, was a
clear hoofprint. A slow smile spread across his face. Some Trollocs had hooves,
but he doubted if any wore horseshoes, especially horseshoes with the double
crossbar Master Weyland added for strength.
Anna crouched beside him, she saw it just as he had. “Burn me, the old mare
must have swam the whole river.”
Forgetting possible eyes on the other side of the river, he cast about for more
tracks. The plaited carpet of dead grass did not take impressions well, but his
sharp eyes found them anyway. The scanty trail led him straight away from the
river to a dense stand of trees, thick with leatherleaf and cedar that made a
wall against wind or prying eyes. The spreading branches of a lone hemlock
towered in the middle of it all.
Still grinning, he pushed his way through the interwoven branches, not caring
how much noise he made. Abruptly he stepped into a little clearing under the
hemlock—and stopped. Behind a small fire, Egwene crouched, her face grim, with
a thick branch held like a club and her back against Bela’s flank.
“I guess I should have called out,” he said with an abashed shrug.
Tossing her club down, she ran to throw her arms around him. “I thought you had
drowned. Here, sit by the fire and warm yourself. You lost your horse, didn’t
you?”
He let her push him to a place by the fire and rubbed his hands over the
flames, grateful for the warmth.
Anna shouldered through the branches behind him. “I’m glad to see you’re still
alive, Egwene. Have you seen any of the others?”
“Bela got me across,” Egwene said, patting the shaggy mare. “She headed away
from the Trollocs and just towed me along.” She paused. “I haven’t seen anybody
else though.”
She produced an oiled paper packet from her saddlebags and gave them some bread
and cheese. The package had been so tightly wrapped that even after its dunking
the food was dry. Here you were worrying about her, and she’s done better than
you did, he thought.
“Rand has to be all right,” Egwene said, quickly adding, “they all do. They
have to. They’re probably looking for us right now. They might find us anytime
now. Moiraine is an Aes Sedai, after all.”
“I keep being reminded of that,” he said as he chewed. “Burn me, I wish I could
forget.”
“I did not hear you complaining when she stopped the Trollocs from catching
us,” Egwene said tartly. “And don’t speak with your mouth full.”
Anna sat on a thick tree root, eating her food. Perrin saw her give a small
shake of her head. “Didn’t notice you complaining when she was threatening to
kill the three boys either,” she muttered.
Egwene either didn’t hear or chose not to respond.
“I just wish we could do without her.” He shrugged uncomfortably under her
steady gaze. “I suppose we can’t, though. I’ve been thinking.” Her eyebrows
rose, but he was used to surprise whenever he claimed an idea. Even when his
ideas were as good as theirs, they always remembered how deliberate he was in
thinking of them. “We can wait for Lan and Moiraine to find us.”
“Of course,” she cut in. “Moiraine Sedai said she would find us if we were
separated.”
He let her finish, then went on. “Or the Trollocs could find us, first.
Moiraine could be dead too. All of them could be. No, Egwene. I’m sorry, but
they could be. I hope they are all safe. I hope they’ll walk up to this fire
any minute. But hope is like a piece of string when you’re drowning; it just
isn’t enough to get you out by itself.”
Egwene closed her mouth and stared at him with her jaw set. Finally, she said,
“You want to go downriver to Whitebridge? If Moiraine Sedai doesn’t find us
here, that’s where she will look next.”
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “that Whitebridge is where we should go. But the
Fades probably know that, too. That’s where they’ll be looking, and this time
we don’t have an Aes Sedai or a Warder to protect us.”
“I suppose you’re going to suggest running off somewhere, the way Mat wanted
to? Hiding somewhere the Fades and Trollocs won’t find us? Or Moiraine Sedai,
either?”
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” he said quietly. “But every time we
think we are free, Fades and Trollocs find us again. I don’t know if there is
anyplace we could hide from them. I don’t like it much, but we need Moiraine.”
“I don’t understand then, Perrin. Where do we go?”
He blinked in surprise. She was waiting for his answer. Waiting for him to tell
her what to do. It had never occurred to him that she would look to him to take
the lead. Egwene never liked doing what someone else had planned out, and she
never let anybody tell her what to do. Except maybe the Wisdom, and he thought
sometimes she balked at that. He smoothed the dirt in front of him with his
hand and cleared his throat roughly.
“If this is where we are now, and that is Whitebridge,” he stabbed the ground
twice with his finger, “then Caemlyn should be somewhere around here.” He made
a third mark, off to the side.
He paused, looking at the three dots in the dirt. His entire plan was based on
what he remembered of her mother’s old map. Mistress al’Vere said it was not
too accurate, and, anyway, he had never mooned over it as much as Rand and Mat.
But Egwene said nothing. When he looked up, she was still watching him with her
hands in her lap.
“Caemlyn?” She sounded stunned.
“Caemlyn.” He drew a line in the dirt between two of the dots. “Away from the
river, and straight across. Nobody would expect that. We’ll wait for them in
Caemlyn.” He dusted his hands and waited. He thought it was a good plan, but
surely she would have objections now. He expected she would take charge—she was
always bullying him into something—and that was all right with him. To his
surprise, she nodded. “There must be villages. We can ask directions.”
“What worries me,” Perrin said, “is what we do if the Aes Sedai doesn’t find us
there. Light, who’d ever have thought I’d worry about something like that? What
if she doesn’t come to Caemlyn? Maybe she thinks we’re dead. Maybe she’ll take
Rand and Mat straight to Tar Valon.”
“Moiraine Sedai said she could find us,” Egwene said firmly. “If she can find
us here, she can find us in Caemlyn, and she will.”
Perrin nodded slowly. “If you say so, but if she doesn’t appear in Caemlyn in a
few days, we go on to Tar Valon and put our case before the Amyrlin Seat.” He
took a deep breath. Two weeks ago you’d never even seen an Aes Sedai, and now
you’re talking about the Amyrlin Seat. Light.
“According to Lan, there’s a good road from Caemlyn.” He looked at the oiled
paper packet beside Egwene and cleared his throat. “What chance of a little
more bread and cheese?”
“This might have to last a long time,” she said, “unless you have better luck
with snares than I did last night. At least the fire was easy.” She laughed
softly as if she had made a joke, tucking the packet back into her saddlebags.
Apparently there were limits to how much leadership she was willing to accept.
His stomach rumbled. “In that case,” he said, standing, “we might as well start
now.”
***** Wolfbrother *****
CHAPTER 26: Wolfbrother
 
From the start Perrin knew the journey to Caemlyn was going to be far from
comfortable, beginning with Egwene’s insistence that they take turns riding
Bela. They did not know how far it was, she said, but it was too far for her to
be the only one who rode. Her jaw firmed, and her eyes stared at him
unblinking.
“I’m too big to ride Bela,” he said. “I’m used to walking, and I’d rather.”
“And I am not used to walking?” Egwene said sharply.
“That isn’t what I—”
“I’m the only one who’s supposed to get saddlesore, is that it? And when you
walk till your feet are ready to fall off, you’ll expect me to look after you.”
“Let it be,” he breathed when she looked like going on. “Anyway, you’ll take
the first turn.” Her face turned even more stubborn, but he refused to let her
get a word in edgewise. “If you won’t get in the saddle by yourself, I’ll put
you there.”
She gave him a startled look, and a small smile curved her lips. “In that case
...” She sounded as if she were about to laugh, but she climbed up.
He grumbled to himself as he turned away from the river. Leaders in stories
never had to put up with this sort of thing.
Egwene did insist on him taking his turns, and whenever he tried to avoid it,
she bullied him into the saddle. Blacksmithing did not lend itself to a slender
build, and Bela was not very large as horses went. Every time he put his foot
in the stirrup the shaggy mare looked at him with what he was sure was
reproach. Small things, perhaps, but they irritated. Soon he flinched whenever
Egwene announced, “It’s your turn, Perrin.”
In stories leaders seldom flinched, and they were never bullied. But, he
reflected, they never had to deal with Egwene, either.
There were only short rations of bread and cheese to begin with, and what there
was gave out by the end of the first day. Anna and Perrin set snares along
likely rabbit runs—they looked old, but it was worth a chance—while Egwene
began laying a fire. When he was done, he decided to try his hand with his
sling before the light failed altogether. They had not seen a sign of anything
at all alive, but ... To his surprise, he jumped a scrawny rabbit almost at
once. He was so surprised when it burst from under a bush right beneath his
feet that it almost got away, but he fetched it at forty paces, just as it was
darting around a tree.
He met Anna on his way back to camp with the rabbit. She hadn’t been as lucky
as him, but she did have an armful of chickweed to supplement their supper. She
complimented him on his hunting as they fell in together companionably.
Back at camp Egwene had broken limbs all laid for the fire, but she was
kneeling beside the pile with her eyes closed. “What are you doing? You can’t
wish a fire,” Perrin said.
Egwene gave a jump at his first words, and twisted around to stare at him with
a hand to her throat. “You ... you startled me.”
“I was lucky,” he said, holding up the rabbit. “Get your flint and steel. We’ll
eat well tonight, at least.”
“I don’t have a flint,” she said slowly. “It was in my pocket, and I lost it in
the river.”
“Then how ...?”
“It was so easy back there on the riverbank, Perrin. Just the way Moiraine
Sedai showed me. I just reached out, and ...” She gestured as if grasping for
something, then let her hand fall with a sigh. “I can’t find it, now.”
Perrin licked his lips uneasily. “The ... the Power?” She nodded, and he stared
at her.
“Are you crazy?” blurted Anna. “I mean ... the One Power! You can’t just play
around with something like that.”
“It was so easy. I can do it. I can channel the Power.” She had an awed look on
her face, and she sounded as though she had just woke from a good dream.
Perrin took a deep breath. “I’ll make a firebow, Egwene. Promise you won’t try
this ... this ... thing again.”
“I will not.” Her jaw firmed in a way that made him sigh. “Would you give up
that axe of yours, Perrin Aybara? Would you walk around with one hand tied
behind your back? I won’t do it!”
“I’ll make the firebow,” he said wearily. “At least, don’t try it again
tonight? Please?”
Anna crossed her arms and eyed Egwene with a new wariness. “Not where you might
kill the rest of us by accident, at the very least,” she added.
Egwene acquiesced grudgingly, and even after the rabbit was roasting on a spit
over the flames, he had the feeling she felt she could have done it better. She
wouldn’t give up trying, either, every night, though the best she ever did was
a trickle of smoke that vanished almost immediately. Her eyes dared them to say
a word, and he wisely kept his mouth shut. Anna was not so wise and soon the
two girls were avoiding looking at, or speaking to, each other altogether. It
made the journey less than pleasant for Perrin, who was left trying futilely to
make peace.
After that one hot meal, they subsisted on coarse wild tubers and a few young
shoots. With still no sign of spring, none of it was plentiful, and none of it
tasty, either. A find of mushrooms—Queen’s Crowns, the best—one afternoon in a
shady part of the forest was enough to seem a great treat. They gobbled them
down, laughing and telling stories from back in Emond’s Field, stories that
began, “Do you remember when—” but the mushrooms did not last long, and neither
did the laughter. There was little mirth in hunger.
Whichever of Perrin or Anna was walking carried the sling, ready to let fly at
the sight of a rabbit or squirrel, but the only time either hurled a stone was
in frustration. The snares they set so carefully each evening yielded nothing
at dawn, and they did not dare stay a day in one place to leave the snares out.
Anna had gathered some likely looking shafts for arrows, and sharpened points
as best she could, but without feathers they were of little use. Pine resin
they had found with little difficulty, but no matter how carefully she eyed
each tree they passed, no bird nest presented itself.
None of them knew how far it was to Caemlyn, and neither would feel safe until
they got there, if then. Perrin began to wonder if his stomach could shrink
enough to make a hole all the way through his middle.
They made good time, as he saw it, but as they got farther and farther from the
Arindrelle without seeing a village, or even a farmhouse where they could ask
directions, his doubts about his own plan grew. Egwene continued to appear
outwardly as confident as when they set out, but he was sure that sooner or
later she would say it would have been better to risk the Trollocs than to
wander around lost for the rest of their lives. She never did, but he kept
expecting it.
Once the remains of tall stone ramparts encircled a hilltop. Parts of roofless
stone houses stood inside the fallen circle. The forest had long swallowed it;
trees grew right through everything, and spiderwebs of old creeper enveloped
the big stone blocks. Another time they came on a stone tower, broken-topped
and brown with old moss, leaning on the huge oak whose thick roots were slowly
toppling it. But they found no place where men had breathed in living
remembrance.
Memories of Shadar Logoth made them wary of the ruins but Anna spotted a
quail’s nest atop the broken tower and insisted on climbing up to it. She
returned with a handful of feathers and a relieved grin on her face. Welcome as
the find was, they still hurried their footsteps until they were once more deep
in places that seemed never to have known a human footstep.
That evening she melted the pine resin and used it to fletch three arrows. It
was crude work compared to what Buel Dowtry, the fletcher back in Emond’s
Field, would have done, but it was enough to promise a good meal the next time
they sighted prey, and protection should they sight anything worse.
Dreams plagued Perrin’s sleep, fearful dreams. Ba’alzamon was in them, chasing
him through mazes, hunting him, but Perrin never met him face-to-face, so far
as he remembered. And their journey had been enough to bring a few bad dreams.
Egwene complained of nightmares about Shadar Logoth especially the two nights
after they found the ruined fort and the abandoned tower. Perrin kept his own
counsel even when he woke sweating and shaking in the dark.
He was walking at Bela’s head, wondering if they would find anything to eat
this evening, when he first caught the smell. The mare flared her nostrils and
swung her head in the next moment. He seized her bridle before she could
whicker.
“That’s smoke,” Egwene said excitedly. She leaned forward in the saddle, drew a
deep breath. “A cookfire. Somebody is roasting dinner. Rabbit.”
“Maybe,” Perrin said cautiously, and her eager smile faded. He exchanged his
sling for the wicked half-moon of the axe. His hands opened and closed
uncertainly on the thick haft. It was a weapon, but neither his hidden practice
behind the forge nor Lan’s teachings had really prepared him to use it as one.
Even the battle before Shadar Logoth was too vague in his mind to give him any
confidence. He could never quite manage that void that Rand and the Warder
talked about, either.
“I’ll move around north,” Anna’s voice was pitched to not carry, “and cover
you. Give me a minute or so before you do anything.”
“It could be dangerous,” Perrin said, alarmed. “Stay here and I’ll have a look
first.”
She moved off without bothering to respond, one of her makeshift arrows already
nocked.
Perrin watched her pick her careful and quiet way through the trees, shifting
his feet indecisively. Sunlight slanted through the trees behind them, and the
forest was a still mass of dappled shadows. The faint smell of woodsmoke
drifted around them, tinged with the aroma of cooking meat. It could be rabbit,
he thought, and his stomach grumbled. And it could be something else, he
reminded himself.
“Wait here,” he said softly. Egwene frowned, but he cut her off as she opened
her mouth. “And be quiet! We don’t know who it is, yet.” She nodded.
Reluctantly, but she did it. Perrin wondered why that did not work when he was
trying to make her take his turn riding. Drawing a deep breath, he started for
the source of the smoke.
He had not spent as much time in the forests around Emond’s Field as Rand or
Anna, but still he had done his share of hunting rabbits. He crept from tree to
tree without so much as snapping a twig. It was not long before he was peering
around the bole of a tall oak with spreading, serpentine limbs that bent to
touch the ground. Beyond lay a campfire, where a lean, sun-browned man was
leaning against one of the limbs not far from the flames.
At least he was not a Trolloc, but he was the strangest fellow Perrin had ever
seen. For one thing, his clothes all seemed to be made from animal skins, with
the fur still on, even his boots and the odd, flat-topped round cap on his
head. His cloak was a crazy quilt of rabbit and squirrel; his trousers appeared
to be made from the long-haired hide of a brown and white goat. Gathered at the
back of his neck with a cord, his greying brown hair hung to his waist. A thick
beard fanned across half his chest. A long knife hung at his belt, almost a
sword, and a bow and quiver stood propped against a limb close to hand.
The man leaned back with his eyes closed, apparently asleep, but Perrin did not
stir from his concealment. Six sticks slanted over the fellow’s fire, and on
each stick a rabbit was skewered, roasted brown and now and then dripping juice
that hissed in the flames. The smell of them, so close, made his mouth water.
How did he catch so many? Perrin wondered. He thought himself a decent hunter,
and Anna a better one, but neither of them had found much game on their
journey.
“You done drooling?” The man opened one eye and cocked it at Perrin’s hiding
place. “You and your friends might as well sit and have a bite. I haven’t seen
you eat much the last couple of days.”
Perrin hesitated, then stood slowly, still gripping his axe tightly. “You’ve
been watching me for two days?”
The man chuckled deep in his throat. “Yes, I been watching you. And those
pretty girls. The long-haired one pushes you around like a bantam rooster,
doesn’t she? Heard you, mostly. The horse is the only one of you doesn’t
trample around loud enough to be heard five miles off. You going to ask them
in, or are you intending to eat all the rabbits yourself?”
Perrin bristled; he knew he did not make much noise. You could not get close
enough to a rabbit in the Westwood to fetch it with a sling if you made noise.
But the smell of rabbit made him remember that Egwene was hungry, too, not to
mention waiting to discover if it was a Trolloc fire they had smelled.
He slipped the haft of his axe through the belt loop and raised his voice.
“Egwene! It’s all right! It is rabbit!”
He wondered if he should say something about Anna too. But the rigours of the
past weeks had doused some of his courtesy and left wariness in its place.
Perrin wasn’t sure he liked that.
Offering his hand, he added in a more normal tone, “My name is Perrin. Perrin
Aybara.”
The man considered his hand before taking it awkwardly, as if unused to shaking
hands. “I’m called Elyas,” he said, looking up. “Elyas Machera.”
Perrin gasped, and nearly dropped Elyas’ hand. The man’s eyes were yellow, like
bright, polished gold. Some memory tickled at the back of Perrin’s mind, then
fled. All he could think of right then was that all of the Trollocs’ eyes he
had seen had been almost black.
Egwene appeared, cautiously leading Bela. She tied the mare’s reins to one of
the smaller branches of the oak, and made polite sounds when Perrin introduced
her to Elyas, but her eyes kept drifting to the rabbits. She did not seem to
notice the man’s eyes. When Elyas motioned them to the food, she fell to with a
will. Perrin hesitated only a minute longer before joining her.
Elyas waited silently while they ate. Perrin was so hungry he tore off pieces
of meat so hot he had to juggle them from hand to hand before he could hold
them in his mouth. Even Egwene showed little of her usual neatness; greasy
juice ran down her chin.
“Do you mind if I save one of these for later,” Perrin asked casually. “It
might be a long journey, best to ration it.”
Elyas’ yellow eyes drifted towards his. “For your friend with the bow? Sure,
she looks hungry.” Perrin grimaced. So much for his clever deception.
There came a commotion from the trees to the north. A woman’s gasp, an angry
voice saying something he couldn’t quite make out. And a distinct snarl. Perrin
surged to his feet. But Elyas was already moving. He shot a glare at the
stranger, hand gripping the haft of his still-slung axe, but it wasn’t towards
Perrin the man loped.
“Raine!” he barked. “We aren’t foes here. Not rivals! Don’t do anything
foolish. Come to the fire. Come!”
“What’s going on?” Egwene demanded, with a slight quaver to her voice.
They found out soon enough, when a scowling Anna emerged from the trees with
her bow, the string of which had been cut, in hand. She switched between
looking hungrily towards the cooked rabbits and glaring over her shoulder.
Whatever she was looking back at left an appalled expression on her face.
When the new stranger prowled into view, Perrin’s own expression surely must
have matched Anna’s. She was shorter than Egwene, only slightly taller than
Anna. And she might have been younger than either too, though it was hard to
tell. It was hard to tell she was even a girl. A ragged and unwashed woollen
shift only just reached her knees; the bare legs poking out of it were as
skinny as the rest of her but corded with muscle. There were no less than three
knife-sheathes attached to her belt, and one of the blades she now held pointed
towards Anna’s back; the hand that gripped it tipped with long, cracked yellow
nails. Her hair might have been as red as Rand’s, but it was cut so tight to
her head that she almost seemed bald. And her eyes, brimming with bitter anger,
were as yellow as Elyas’.
“Ambush. Hunted her. Took.” The newcomer had an accent similar to the folk of
Baerlon, but harsher. Or perhaps that was just her. She stared unblinkingly at
Anna as she spoke, and her lips peeled back from her teeth in what was
definitely not a smile.
Elyas shook his head slightly. “There’s no need for that. Everything is under
control.”
The man and the girl locked gazes for a moment. The girl yielded quickly,
ducking her head and sticking out a small pink tongue. “First.”
Something about these two made Perrin’s skin crawl. And from the faint sneer on
Egwene’s face as she looked at the red-haired girl, he suspected he wasn’t the
only one.
Elyas turned his back on his companion and resumed his seat by the fire. “Are
you hungry, archer? You can have some if you like.”
“Thanks,” Anna said gruffly. “That’s very friendly of you.” She shot another
glance at the strange girl before setting on the rabbit with a will.
The other, Raine Elyas had called her, knelt by the edge of the firelight,
grim-faced. She seemed unconcerned by the touch of the woodland floor to her
bare knees and made no effort to come closer to the fire, though surely she had
to be cold, dressed like that out here. When Elyas pulled a rabbit from its
skewer and tossed it to her she tore into the flesh hungrily. But she had
waited without a word until then.
Day faded into twilight as they ate. Moonless darkness was closing in around
the fire, when Elyas spoke. “What are you doing out here? There isn’t a house
inside fifty miles in any direction.”
“We’re going to Caemlyn,” Egwene said. “Perhaps you could—” Her eyebrows lifted
coolly as Elyas threw back his head and roared with laughter. Perrin stared at
him, a rabbit leg half raised to his mouth.
“Caemlyn?” Elyas wheezed when he could talk again. “The path you’re following,
the line you’ve taken the last two days, you’ll pass a hundred miles or more
north of Caemlyn.”
“We were going to ask directions,” Egwene said defensively. “We just haven’t
found any villages or farms, yet.”
“And none you will,” Elyas said, chuckling. “The way you’re going, you can
travel all the way to Braem Wood without seeing another human. And beyond that
lie the Oburun Mountains. You’d not find much welcome on the other side of
those, if you managed to cross them,” He set off into another, more furious,
burst of laughter, this time actually rolling on the ground. “Not much at all,”
he managed.
Perrin shifted uneasily. Are we eating with a madman?
“Find what you deserve,” Raine muttered, so low he could barely hear her. “What
we all do.”
Egwene frowned, but she waited until Elyas’ mirth faded a little, then said,
“Perhaps you could show us the way. You seem to know a good deal more about
where places are than we do.”
Elyas stopped laughing. Raising his head, he replaced his round fur cap, which
had fallen off while he was rolling about, and stared at her from under lowered
brows. “I don’t much like people,” he said in a flat voice. His eyes flickered
towards his companion and Perrin had the feeling that even in the midst of his
cackling Elyas had heard what she had said. Heard and misliked. “Cities are
full of people. I don’t go near villages, or even farms, very often. Villagers,
farmers, they don’t like my friends. I wouldn’t even have helped you if you
hadn’t been stumbling around as helpless and innocent as newborn cubs.”
“But at least you can tell us which way to go,” Egwene insisted. “If you direct
us to the nearest village, even if it’s fifty miles away, surely they’ll give
us directions to Caemlyn.”
“Be still,” Elyas said. “My friends are coming.”
Bela suddenly whinnied in fear, and began jerking to pull her reins free.
Perrin half rose as shapes appeared all around them in the darkening forest.
Bela reared and twisted, screaming.
“Quiet the mare,” Elyas said. “They won’t hurt her. Or you, if you’re still.”
Anna sucked in a startled breath as four wolves stepped into the firelight;
shaggy, waist-high forms with jaws that could break a man’s leg. As if the
people were not there they walked up to the fire and lay down between the two
strangers. In the darkness among the trees firelight reflected off the eyes of
more wolves, on all sides.
Yellow eyes, Perrin thought. Like Elyas’ eyes, and Raine’s too. That was what
he had been trying to remember. The strangers had the eyes of wolves. Carefully
watching the wolves among them, he eased his hand toward his axe.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Elyas said. “If they think you mean harm, they’ll stop
being friendly.” They were staring at him, those four wolves, Perrin saw. He
had the feeling that all the wolves, those in the trees, as well, were staring
at him. It made his skin itch. Cautiously he moved his hand away from the axe.
He imagined he could feel the tension ease among the wolves. Slowly he sat back
down; his hands shook until he gripped his knees to stop them. Anna was trying
to watch every direction at once and Egwene was so stiff she almost quivered.
One wolf, close to black with a lighter grey patch on his face, lay nearly
touching her.
Oddly, the anger had faded from Raine’s face. She watched the reactions of the
three travellers and seemed ashamed. One of the wolves lay right against her,
warm fur pressing against her bare, and no doubt cold, leg. She bunched her
hands in her shift as if to stop herself from touching the beast.
Bela had ceased her screaming and rearing. Instead she stood trembling and
shifting in an attempt to keep all of the wolves in view, kicking occasionally
to show the wolves that she could, intending to sell her life dearly. The
wolves seemed to ignore her and everyone else. Tongues lolling out of their
mouths, they waited at their ease.
“There,” Elyas said. “That’s better.”
“Are they tame?” Egwene asked faintly, and hopefully, too. “They’re ... pets?”
Elyas snorted. “Wolves don’t tame, girl, not even as well as men. They’re my
friends. We keep each other company, hunt together, converse, after a fashion.
Just like any friends. Isn’t that right, Dapple?” A wolf with fur that faded
through a dozen shades of grey, dark and light, turned her head to look at him.
“You talk to them?” Perrin marvelled.
“It isn’t exactly talking,” Elyas replied slowly. “The words don’t matter, and
they aren’t exactly right, either. Her name isn’t Dapple. It’s something that
means the way shadows play on a forest pool at a midwinter dawn, with the
breeze rippling the surface, and the tang of ice when the water touches the
tongue, and a hint of snow before nightfall in the air. But that isn’t quite
it, either. You can’t say it in words. It’s more of a feeling. That’s the way
wolves talk. The others are Burn, Hopper, and Wind.” Burn had an old scar on
his shoulder that might explain his name, but there was nothing about the other
two wolves to give any indication of what their names might mean.
For all the man’s gruffness, Perrin thought Elyas was pleased to have the
chance to talk to another human. He seemed eager enough to do it, at least.
Perrin eyed the wolves’ teeth glistening in the firelight and thought it might
be a good idea to keep him talking. “How ... how did you learn to talk to
wolves, Elyas?”
“They found out,” Elyas replied, “I didn’t. Not at first. That’s always the way
of it, I understand. The wolves find you, not you them. Some people thought me
touched by the Dark One, because wolves started appearing wherever I went. I
suppose I thought so, too, sometimes. Most decent folk began to avoid me, and
the ones who sought me out weren’t the kind I wanted to know, one way or
another.” They all hung on his words, even Raine had cocked her head to listen,
though there was a bitter twist to her lips. “Then I noticed there were times
when the wolves seemed to know what I was thinking, to respond to what was in
my head. That was the real beginning. They were curious about me. Wolves can
sense people, usually, but not like this. They were glad to find me. They say
it’s been a long time since they hunted with men, and when they say a long
time, the feeling I get is like a cold wind howling all the way down from the
First Day.”
“I never heard of men hunting with wolves,” Egwene said. Her voice was not
entirely steady, but the fact that the wolves were just lying there seemed to
give her heart.
“Heard plenty of wolves hunting men though. And the other way around,” Anna
breathed.
If Elyas heard them, he gave no sign. “Wolves remember things differently from
the way people do,” he said. His strange eyes took on a faraway look, as if he
were drifting off on the flow of memory himself. “Every wolf remembers the
history of all wolves, or at least the shape of it. Like I said, it can’t be
put into words very well. They remember running down prey side-by-side with
men, but it was so long ago that it’s more like the shadow of a shadow than a
memory.”
“That’s very interesting,” Egwene said, and Elyas looked at her sharply. “No, I
mean it. It is.” She wet her lips. “Could ... ah ... could you teach us to talk
to them?”
Elyas snorted again. “It can’t be taught. Some can do it; me, the girl, a few
others that I know of. Maybe more that I don’t. Most can’t. They say he can.”
He pointed at Perrin.
Perrin looked at Elyas’ finger as if it were a knife aimed at his heart. He
really is a madman. The wolves were staring at him again. He shifted
uncomfortably.
“Run away big-shoulders,” Raine murmured, “don’t listen.”
Elyas scowled at her. “Quiet you. There’s no harm in it.”
Raine cringed alarmingly. “They’ll make you a monster,” she whined, “like me.”
She rose to her feet and darted away into the twilight forest. Shockingly she
wore no smallclothes and her sudden movement gave him a brief glimpse of the
red fur between her legs, but Perrin was too preoccupied with the stares of the
wolves to spare much thought for the girl.
Anna and Egwene were looking at him oddly. Perrin tried not to hunch his
shoulders.
Elyas shook his head as he watched Raine run off. Then he turned back to the
others and said. “You say you’re going to Caemlyn but that still doesn’t
explain what you’re doing out here, days from anywhere.” He tossed back his
fur-patch cloak and lay down on his side, propped on one elbow and waiting
expectantly.
Perrin glanced at Egwene. Early on they had concocted a story for when they
found people, to explain where they were going without bringing them any
trouble. Without letting anyone know where they were really from, or where they
were really going, eventually. Who knew what careless word might reach a Fade’s
ear? They had worked on it every day, patching it together, honing out flaws.
And they had decided Egwene was the one to tell it. She was better with words
than Anna was, and she claimed she could always tell when Perrin was lying by
his face.
Egwene began at once, smoothly. They were from the north, from Saldaea, from
farms outside a tiny village. None of them had been more than twenty miles from
home in their whole lives before this. But they had heard gleemen’s stories,
and merchants’ tales, and they wanted to see some of the world. Caemlyn, and
Illian. The Sea of Storms, and maybe even the fabled islands of the Sea Folk.
Perrin listened with satisfaction. Not even Thom Merrilin could have made a
better tale from the little they knew of the world outside the Theren, or one
better suited to their needs.
“From Saldaea, eh?” Elyas said when she was done.
Perrin nodded. “That’s right. We thought about seeing Maradon first. I’d surely
like to see the Queen. But the capital city would be the first place our
fathers would look.”
That was his part of it, to make it plain they had never been to Maradon. That
way no-one would expect them to know anything about the city, just in case they
ran into someone who really had been there. It was all a long way from Emond’s
Field and the events of Winternight. Nobody hearing the tale would have any
reason to think of Tar Valon, or Aes Sedai.
“Quite a story.” Elyas nodded. “Yes, quite a story. There’s a few things wrong
with it, but the main thing is Dapple says it’s all a lump of lies. Every last
word.”
“Lies!” Egwene exclaimed. “Why would we lie?”
The four wolves had not moved, but they no longer seemed to be just lying there
around the fire; they crouched, instead, and their yellow eyes watched the
Emond’s Fielders without blinking.
Perrin did not say anything, but his hand strayed to the axe at his waist. The
four wolves rose to their feet in one quick movement, and his hand froze. They
made no sound, but the thick hackles on their necks stood erect. One of the
wolves back under the trees raised a growling howl into the night. Others
answered, five, ten, twenty, till the darkness rippled with them. Abruptly
they, too, were still. Anna shivered. Cold sweat trickled down Perrin’s face.
“If you think ...” Egwene stopped to swallow. Despite the chill in the air
there was sweat on her face, too. “If you think we are lying, then you’ll
probably prefer that we make our own camp for the night, away from yours.”
“Ordinarily I would, girl. But right now I want to know about the Trollocs. And
the Halfmen. Perrin struggled to keep his face impassive, and hoped he was
doing better at it than Egwene. Elyas went on in a conversational tone. “Dapple
says she smelled Halfmen and Trollocs in your minds while you were telling that
fool story. They all did. You’re mixed up with Trollocs, somehow, and the
Eyeless. Wolves hate Trollocs and Halfmen worse than wildfire, worse than
anything, and so do I.
“Burn wants to be done with you. It was Trollocs gave him that mark when he was
a yearling. He says game is scarce, and you’re fatter than any deer he’s seen
in months, and we should be done with you. But Burn is always impatient. Why
don’t you tell me about it? I hope you’re not Darkfriends. I don’t like killing
people after I’ve fed them. Just remember, they’ll know if you lie, and even
Dapple is already near as upset as Burn.” His eyes, as yellow as the wolves’
eyes, blinked no more than theirs did.
Egwene was looking at him, he realized, waiting for him to decide what they
should do. Light, suddenly I’m the leader.They had decided from the first that
they could not risk telling the real story to anyone, but he saw no chance for
them to get away even if he managed to get his axe out before—
Dapple growled deep in her throat, and the sound was taken up by the other
three around the fire, then by the wolves in the darkness. The menacing rumble
filled the night.
“All right,” Perrin said quickly. “All right!” The growling cut off, sharp and
sudden. Egwene unclenched her hands and nodded. “It all started a few days
before Winternight,” Perrin began, “when our friend Mat saw a man in a black
cloak ...”
Elyas never changed his expression or the way he lay on his side, but there was
something about the tilt of his head that spoke of ears pricking up. The four
wolves sat down as Perrin went on; he had the impression they were listening,
too. The story was a long one, and he told almost all of it. The dream he and
the others had had in Baerlon, though, he kept to himself. He waited for the
wolves to make some sign they had caught the omission, but they only watched.
Dapple seemed friendly, Burn angry. He was hoarse by the time he finished.
“... and if she doesn’t find us in Caemlyn, we’ll go on to Tar Valon. We don’t
have any choice except to get help from the Aes Sedai.”
“Trollocs and Halfmen this far south,” Elyas mused. “Now that’s something to
consider.” He rooted behind him and tossed Perrin a hide waterbag, not really
looking at him. He appeared to be thinking. He waited until Perrin had drunk
and replaced the plug before he spoke again. “I don’t hold with Aes Sedai. The
Red Ajah, those that like hunting for men who mess with the One Power, the
wanted to Gentle me, once. I told them to their faces they were Black Ajah;
served the Dark One, I said, and they didn’t like that at all. They couldn’t
catch me, though, once I got into the forest, but they did try. Yes, they did.
Come to that, I doubt any Aes Sedai would take kindly to me, after that. I had
to kill a couple of Warders. Bad business, that, killing Warders. Don’t like
it.”
“This talking to wolves,” Perrin said uneasily. “It ... it has to do with the
Power?”
“Of course not,” Elyas growled. “Wouldn’t have worked on me, Gentling, but it
made me mad, them wanting to try. This is an old thing, boy. Older than Aes
Sedai. Older than anybody using the One Power. Old as humankind. Old as wolves.
They don’t like that either, Aes Sedai. Old things coming again. I’m not the
only one. There are other things, other folk. Makes Aes Sedai nervous makes
them mutter about ancient barriers weakening. Things are breaking apart, they
say. They’re afraid the Dark One will get loose, is what. You’d think I was to
blame, the way some of them looked at me. Red Ajah, anyway, but some others,
too. The Amyrlin Seat ... Aaaah! I keep clear of them mostly, and clear of
friends of Aes Sedai, as well. You will, too, if you’re smart.”
“I’d like nothing better than to stay away from Aes Sedai,” Perrin said.
Egwene gave him a sharp look. He hoped she would not burst out that she wanted
to be an Aes Sedai. But she said nothing, though her mouth tightened, and
Perrin went on.
“It isn’t as if we have a choice. We’ve had Trollocs chasing us, and Fades, and
Draghkar. Everything but Darkfriends. We can’t hide, and we can’t fight back
alone. So who is going to help us? Who else is strong enough, except Aes
Sedai?”
Elyas was silent for a time, looking at the wolves, most often at Dapple or
Burn. Perrin shifted nervously and tried not to watch. When he watched he had
the feeling that he could almost hear what Elyas and the wolves were saying to
one another. Even if it had nothing to do with the Power, he wanted no part of
it. He had to be making some crazy joke. I can’t talk to wolves. One of the
wolves—Hopper, he thought—looked at him and seemed to grin. He wondered how he
had put a name to him.
“You could stay with me,” Elyas said finally. “With us.” Egwene’s eyebrows shot
up and Anna shot an alarmed look Perrin’s way. “Well, what could be safer?”
Elyas challenged. “Trollocs will take any chance they get to kill a wolf by
itself, but they’ll go miles out of their way to avoid a pack. And you won’t
have to worry about Aes Sedai, either. They don’t often come into these woods.”
“I don’t know.” Perrin avoided looking at the wolves to either side of him. One
was Dapple, and he could feel her eyes on him. “For one thing, it isn’t just
the Trollocs.”
Elyas chuckled coldly. “I’ve seen a pack pull down one of the Eyeless, too.
Lost half the pack but they wouldn’t give up once they had its scent. Trollocs,
Myrddraal, it’s all one to the wolves. It’s you they really want, boy. They’ve
heard of humans who can talk to wolves, but you’re the first they’ve ever met
besides me and Raine. And she’s not very friendly. They’ll accept your women,
too, though, and you’ll all be safer here than in any city. There’s Darkfriends
in cities.”
Even in the midst of all the mad talk of people talking to wolves, Egwene and
Anna still found time to bristle at being called Perrin’s women. Though at
least Anna sent her scowl the speaker’s way rather than Perrin’s.
“Listen,” he said urgently, “I wish you’d stop saying that. I can’t—do that ...
what you do, what you’re saying.”
Even through his long beard Perrin could see Elyas’ mouth thin. “As you wish,
boy. Play the goat, if you’ve a mind to. Don’t you want to be safe?”
“I’m not deceiving myself. There’s nothing to deceive myself about. All we
want—”
“We are going to Caemlyn,” Egwene spoke up firmly. “And then to Tar Valon.”
Closing his mouth, Perrin met her angry look with one of his own. He knew that
she followed his lead when she wanted to and not when she did not, but she
could at least let him answer for himself. “What about you, Perrin?” he said,
and answered himself. “Me? Well, let me think. Yes. Yes, I think I’ll go on.”
He turned a mild smile on her. “Well, Egwene, that makes both of us. I guess
I’m going with you, at that. Good to talk these things out before making a
decision, isn’t it?” She blushed, but the set of her jaw never lessened.
“Not now, you two,” Anna whispered.
Elyas grunted. “Dapple said that’s what you’d decide. She said the girls are
planted firmly in the human world, while you”—he nodded at Perrin—“stand
halfway between. Under the circumstances, I suppose we’d better go south with
you. Otherwise, you’ll probably starve to death, or get lost, or—”
Abruptly Burn stood up, and Elyas turned his head to regard the big wolf. After
a moment Dapple rose, too. She moved closer to Elyas, so that she also was
meeting Burn’s stare. The tableau was frozen for long minutes, then Burn
whirled and vanished into the night. Dapple shook herself, then resumed her
place, flopping down as if nothing had happened.
Elyas met Perrin’s questioning eyes. “Dapple runs this pack,” he explained.
“Some of the males could best her if they challenged, but she’s smarter than
any of them, and they all know it. She’s saved the pack more than once. But
Burn thinks the pack is wasting time with you three. Hating Trollocs is about
all there is to him, and if there are Trollocs this far south he wants to be
off killing them.”
“We quite understand,” Egwene said, sounding relieved. “We really can find our
own way ... with some directions, of course, if you’ll give them.”
Elyas waved a hand. “I said Dapple leads this pack, didn’t I? In the morning,
I’ll start south with you, and so will they.” Egwene looked as if that was not
the best news she could have heard.
Perrin sat wrapped in his own silence. He could feel Burn leaving. And the
scarred male was not the only one; a dozen others, all young males, loped after
him. He wanted to believe it was all Elyas playing on his imagination, but he
could not. Just before the departing wolves faded from his mind, he felt a
thought he knew came from Burn, as sharp and clear as if it were his own
thought. Hatred. Hatred and the taste of blood.
***** Whitebridge *****
CHAPTER 27: Whitebridge
 
The last unsteady note of what had been barely recognizable as “The Wind That
Shakes the Willow” faded mercifully away, and Mat lowered Thom’s gold-and-
silver-chased flute. Rand took his hands from his ears. For a moment the only
sounds were the water slapping against the hull of their old boat and the
distant howling of the wind.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Thom Merrilin muttered finally, “for teaching
me how true the old saying is. Teach him how you will, a pig will never play
the flute.” Mat raised the flute as if to throw it at him. Deftly, Thom snagged
the instrument from Mat’s fist and fitted it into its hard leather case. “I
thought all you shepherds whiled away the time with the flock playing the pipes
or the flute. That will show me to trust what I don’t know firsthand.”
“Rand’s the shepherd,” Mat grumbled. “He plays the pipes, not me.”
“Yes, well, he does have a little aptitude. Perhaps we had better work on
juggling, boy. At least you show some talent for that.”
“Thom,” Rand said from his seat at the prow. Thom had told him that’s what you
called it. “I don’t know why you’re trying so hard. After all, we aren’t really
trying to become gleemen. It’s only something to hide behind once we get to
Whitebridge. Until we find Moiraine and the others.”
Thom tugged at an end of his moustache and seemed to be studying the smooth,
dark brown leather of the flute case on his knees. “What if you don’t find
them, boy? There’s nothing to say they’re even still alive.”
“They’re alive,” Rand said firmly. He turned to Mat for support, but Mat’s
eyebrows were pinched down on his nose; his mouth was a thin line, and his eyes
were fixed on the deck. “Well, speak up,” Rand told him. “You can’t be that mad
over not being able to play the flute. I can’t either, not very well. You never
wanted to play the flute before.”
Mat looked up, still frowning. “What if they are dead?” he said softly. “We
have to accept facts, right?”
For a long minute, unwilling to believe that Mat could say something like that
so casually, Rand held his friend’s gaze. Mat glowered at him with his head
pulled down between his shoulders. There was so much Rand wanted to say, but he
could not manage to get it all into words. They had to believe the others were
alive. They had to. Why? nagged a voice in the back of his head. So it will all
turn out like one of Thom’s stories? The heroes find the treasure and defeat
the villain and live happily ever after? This isn’t a story. And if it was,
some of them end badly, even for the heroes. And you, Rand al’Thor,
sheepherder, are definitely not a hero.
“Whitebridge ahead!” cried Thom.
Abruptly Mat flushed and pulled his eyes away. Freed from his thoughts, Rand
turned to see what Thom had spotted.
It came into sight as they rounded a slight bend of the Arindrelle. He had
heard of it, in song and story and peddlers’ tales, but now he was actually
seeing the legend.
The White Bridge arched high over the wide waters, twice as high as the masts
of the ships that lined the wooden docks to its north and south. From end to
end it gleamed milky white in the sunlight, whatever strange substance it was
made from gathering the light until it seemed to glow. Spidery piers of the
same stuff plunged into the strong currents, appearing too frail to support the
weight and width of the bridge. It looked all of one piece, as if it had been
carved from a single stone or moulded by a giant’s hand, broad and tall,
leaping the river with an airy grace that almost made the eye forget its size.
All in all it dwarfed the town that sprawled about its foot on the west bank,
though Whitebridge was larger by far than Emond’s Field, with houses of stone
and brick as tall as those in Taren Ferry. Small boats, similar to their own,
dotted the Arindrelle thickly, fishermen hauling their nets. Over it all the
White Bridge towered and shone.
“It looks like glass,” Rand said to no-one in particular.
Behind him he heard Thom speak. “Whatever it is, it isn’t glass. It never grows
slippery, no matter how thick the rain falls, and the best chisel wielded by
the strongest arm cannot make a mark on it. A remnant from the Age of Legends,
I have no doubt.”
Rand stared even more wonderingly. From the Age of Legends. Made by Aes Sedai,
then. For an instant it seemed to Rand that a shadow rippled through the milk-
white structure. He pulled his eyes away, to the docks coming nearer, but the
bridge still loomed in the corner of his vision.
“We made it, Thom,” he said with a laugh.
The gleeman only harrumphed and blew out his moustaches. “Not yet we haven’t.”
He pointed to the oars. “Put that back of yours to work. And try to reach the
docks before we drift right by. Without smashing us against them, mind. Then
we’ll have made it.”
Rand and Mat swapped places, Mat scowling, perhaps at not being trusted to work
the oars. But so far as Rand was concerned he had only himself to blame, what
with the attitude he had been showing lately. Settling in, he unshipped the
oars and began to row them to shore, just like Thom had taught him. It still
struck him as strange that he should sit with his back to where he wanted to
go, but he trusted that Thom knew best about such things. The gleeman kept a
sharp eye on the river ahead and called out instructions, which Rand moved
hastily to obey.
While Rand struggled to slow their speed, Thom called for Mat to get the rope
ready. It had a large noose tied in it, Rand knew, though he could not see it
just then. He simply had to trust Mat to make the throw. He had always been
good at throwing things. Rand’s muscles burned as he fought against the river’s
current.
“Got it!” Mat crowed, and a moment later the boat shook with an alarming thump.
Rand’s teeth chattered painfully.
Thom released his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the hull and let out a
pent breath. “Passable,” he allowed. He fastened a second rope to a thick
wooden stump, then crab-walked his way along the boat, tossing their belongings
up onto the rough wood of the dock.
Rand was the last to clamber up. The boat swayed almost familiarly under his
feet as he reached over and hauled himself up onto the dock. But as much as he
had gotten used to the rolling of the little boat during their days on the
river, the solidity of the dock under his knees was still a welcome relief.
He buckled Tam’s sword about his waist as he took in his first good look at
Whitebridge town. A fisherman sat on a pile of coiled rope nearby, arranging a
little box full of hooks and worms to his liking. He eyed the newcomers
quizzically and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Thom’s patched gleeman’s
cloak, but said nothing. A Therener would have had a great deal to say if a
gleeman had washed up on the shore of the Taren or the White Knife. Not this
Whitebridge man though.
He hung his quiver from his belt, slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and
picked up Jorge al’Tolan’s old bow. Sending a silent prayer that Anna and the
others had made it safely away from Shadar Logoth, Rand set off down the dock.
He nodded politely to the fisherman as he passed but the man didn’t meet his
eye. Mat and Thom’s boots made a loud drumming on the wood when they finished
arranging their own belongings and followed.
There were half a dozen or more carriages arrayed nearby, between the river and
the town proper, tall and lacquered shiny black, each one with a name painted
on the door in large letters, gold or scarlet. The carriages’ passengers
hastened back and forth between the riverboats tied up on the docks, smooth-
faced men and women in long velvet coats, or dresses as fine as Moiraine’s,
with silk-lined cloaks and cloth slippers. Each of them was followed by a
plainly dressed servant carrying an iron-bound moneybox, and at least one
heavy-shoulder man, frowning forbiddingly at anyone near.
Mat grunted when he saw them. “Merchants, and a lot richer than the ones who
come to the Theren at shearing season,” he said. One fleshy, dark-haired fellow
paused in his meandering walk to peer at Rand and his companions. But they had
nothing to sell him and surely didn’t look rich enough to buy whatever wares he
had to peddle. Rand nodded to him from afar and the man smiled back. Not all
Whitebridge folk are unfriendly, he told himself.
Aside from the merchants there were not a great many people on the dock, and
those were a plainly dressed mix of workmen, fishermen mending nets, and a few
townspeople about their errands. No-one looked the least bit like Moiraine, or
Lan, or anyone else Rand was hoping to see.
“Maybe they didn’t come down to the dock,” he said.
“Maybe,” Thom replied curtly. He settled his instrument cases on his back with
care. “You two keep your heads down. We want to pass through Whitebridge so
softly that nobody remembers we were here five minutes after we’re gone.”
Their cloaks flapped in the wind as they walked. Mat carried his bow crossed in
front on his chest. It, and Rand’s, got a few looks from the townsfolk, but
most were too busy watching Thom.
A murmur passed through the people on the dock as they saw the gleeman’s patch-
covered cloak, and some called out to discover where he would be performing. By
sundown it would be all over Whitebridge that there was a gleeman in town. Thom
did not even slow down enough to preen under the attention.
The carriage drivers looked down at Thom with interest from their high perches,
but apparently the dignity of their positions forbade shouting.
With no idea of where to go exactly, Rand turned up the street that ran along
the river and under the bridge. “We need to find Moiraine and the others,” he
said.
Thom suddenly shook himself and stopped dead. “An innkeeper will be able to
tell us if they’re here, or if they’ve passed through. The right innkeeper.
Innkeepers have all the news and gossip. If they aren’t here ...” He looked
back and forth from Rand to Mat. “We have to talk, we three.” Cloak swirling
around his ankles, he set off into the town, away from the river. Rand and Mat
had to step quickly to keep up.
The broad, milk-white arch that gave the town its name dominated Whitebridge as
much close up as it did from afar, but once Rand was in the streets he realized
that the town was every bit as big as Baerlon, though not so crowded with
people. A few carts moved in the streets, pulled by horse or ox or donkey or
man, but no carriages. Those most likely all belonged to the merchants and were
clustered down at the dock.
Shops of every description lined the streets, and many of the tradesmen worked
in front of their establishments, under the signs swinging in the wind. They
passed a man mending pots, and a tailor holding folds of cloth up to the light
for a customer. A shoemaker, sitting in his doorway, tapped his hammer on the
heel of a boot. Hawkers cried their services at sharpening knives and scissors,
or tried to interest the passersby in their skimpy trays of fruit or
vegetables, but none was getting much interest. Shops selling food had the same
pitiful displays of produce Rand remembered from Baerlon. Even the fishmongers
displayed only meagre piles of small fish, for all the boats on the river.
Times were not really hard yet, but everyone could see what was coming if the
weather did not change soon, and those faces that were not fixed into worried
frowns seemed to stare at something unseen, something unpleasant.
Where the White Bridge came down in the centre of the town was a big square,
paved with stones worn by generations of feet and wagon wheels. Inns surrounded
the square, and shops, and tall, red brick houses with signs out front bearing
the same names Rand had seen on the carriages at the dock. It was into one of
those inns, seemingly chosen at random, that Thom ducked. The sign over the
door, swinging in the wind, had a striding man with a bundle on his back on one
side and the same man with his head on a pillow on the other, and proclaimed
The Wayfarer’s Rest.
The common room stood empty except for the fat innkeeper drawing ale from a
barrel and two men in rough workman’s clothes staring glumly into their mugs at
a table in the back. Only the innkeeper looked up when they came in. A
shoulder-high wall split the room in two from front to back, with tables and a
blazing fireplace on each side.
Rubbing his hands together briskly, Thom commented to the innkeeper on the late
cold and ordered hot spiced wine, then added quietly, “Is there somewhere my
friends and I could talk without being disturbed?”
The innkeeper nodded to the low wall. “The other side that’s as best I’ve got
unless you want to take a room. For when sailors come up from the river. Seems
like half the crews got grudges against the other half. I won’t have my place
broke up by fights, so I keep them apart.” She had been eyeing Thom’s cloak the
whole while, and now she cocked her head to one side, a sly look in her eyes.
“You staying? Haven’t had a gleeman here in some time. Folks would pay real
good for something as would take their minds off things. I’d even take some off
on your room and meals.”
“You are too generous,” Thom said with a smooth bow. “Perhaps my apprentices
and I will take up your offer. But for now, a little privacy.”
“I’ll bring your wine. Good money here for a gleeman.”
The tables on the far side of the wall were all empty, but Thom chose one right
in the middle of the space. “So no-one can listen without us knowing,” he
explained. “Did you hear that woman? She’ll take some off. Why, I’d double her
custom just by sitting here. Any honest innkeeper gives a gleeman room and
board and a good bit besides.”
The bare table was none too clean, and the floor had not been swept in days if
not weeks. Rand looked around and grimaced. Mistress al’Vere would not have let
her inn get that dirty if she had had to climb out of a sickbed to see to it.
“We’re only after information. Remember?”
“Why here?” Mat demanded. “We passed other inns that looked cleaner.”
“Straight on from the bridge,” Thom said, “is the road to Caemlyn. Anyone
passing through Whitebridge comes through this square, unless they’re going by
river, and we know your friends aren’t doing that. If there is no word of them
here, it doesn’t exist. Let me do the talking. This has to be done carefully.”
Just then the innkeeper appeared, three battered pewter mugs gripped in one
fist by the handles. The fat woman flicked at the table with a towel, set the
mugs down, and took Thom’s money. “If you stay, you won’t have to pay for your
drinks. Good wine, here.”
Thom’s smile touched only his mouth. “I will think on it, innkeeper. What news
is there? We have been away from hearing things.”
“Big news, that’s what. Big news.”
The innkeeper draped the towel over her shoulder and pulled up a chair. She
crossed her arms on the table, took root with a long sigh, saying what a
comfort it was to get off her feet. Her name was Barta, and she went on about
her feet in detail, about corns and bunions and how much time she spent
standing and what she soaked them in, until Thom mentioned the news, again, and
then she shifted over with hardly a pause.
The news was just as big as she said it was. Logain, the false Dragon, had been
captured after a big battle near the Forest of Shadows while he was trying to
move his army from Ghealdan to Tear. The Prophecies, they understood? Thom
nodded, and Barta went on. The roads in the south were packed with people, the
lucky ones with what they could carry on their backs. Thousands fleeing in all
directions.
“None”—Barta chuckled wryly—“supported Logain, of course. Oh, no, you won’t
find many to admit to that, not now. Just refugees trying to find a safe place
during the troubles.”
Aes Sedai had been involved in taking Logain, of course. Barta scowled when she
said that, and again when she said they were taking the false Dragon north to
Tar Valon. Barta was a decent woman, she said, a respectable woman, and Aes
Sedai could all go back to the Blight where they came from and take Tar Valon
with them, as far as she was concerned. She would get no closer to an Aes Sedai
than a thousand miles, if she had her way. Of course, they were stopping at
every village and town on the way north to display Logain, so she had heard. To
show people that the false Dragon had been taken and the world was safe again.
She would have liked to see that, even if it did mean getting close to Aes
Sedai. She was halfway tempted to go to Caemlyn.
“They’ll be taking him there to show to Queen Morgase.” The innkeeper touched
her forehead respectfully. “I’ve never seen the Queen. A woman ought to see her
own Queen, don’t you think? Even if she does give the Aes Sedai more respect
that they’re due.”
Logain could do “things,” and the way Barta’s eyes shifted and her tongue
darted across her lips made it clear what she meant. She had seen the last
false Dragon, two years ago, when he was paraded through the countryside, but
that was just some noble sour over the laws that forbade men from ruling who
thought he could make himself a king. There had been no need for Aes Sedai,
that time. Soldiers had had him chained up on a wagon. A sullen-looking fellow
who moaned in the middle of the wagonbed, covering his head with his arms
whenever people threw stones or poked him with sticks. There had been a lot of
that, and the soldiers had done nothing to stop it, as long as they did not
kill the fellow. Best to let the people see he was nothing special after all.
He could not do “things.” This Logain would be something to see, though.
Something for Barta to tell her grandchildren about. If only the inn would let
her get away.
Rand listened with an interest that did not have to be faked. When Padan Fain
had brought word to Emond’s Field of a false Dragon, a man actually wielding
the Power, it had been the biggest news to come into the Theren in years. What
had happened since had pushed it to the back of his mind, but it was still the
sort of thing people would be talking about for years, and telling their
grandchildren about, too. Barta would probably tell hers that she had seen
Logain whether she did or not. Nobody would ever think what happened to some
village folk from the Theren was worth talking about, not unless they were
Theren people themselves.
“That,” Thom said, “would be something to make a story of, a story they’d tell
for a thousand years. I wish I had been there.” He sounded as if it was the
simple truth, and Rand thought it really was. “I might try to see him anyway.
You didn’t say what route they were taking. Perhaps there are some other
travellers around? They might have heard the route.”
Barta waved a grubby hand dismissively. “North, that’s all anybody knows for
sure around here. You want to see him, go to Caemlyn. I’ll wager they’ll want
to take him there by way of the Far Madding road. Better than passing through
Ghealdan again. Can’t take any chances with the Ghealdanin, as any honest folk
will tell you. That’s all I know, and if there’s anything to know in
Whitebridge, I know it.”
“No doubt you do,” Thom said smoothly. “I expect a lot of strangers passing
through stop here. Your sign caught my eye from the foot of the White Bridge.”
“Not just from the west, I’ll have you know. Two days ago there was a fellow in
here, an Illianer, with a proclamation all done up with seals and ribbons. Read
it right out there in the square. Said he’s taking it all the way to the
Mountains of Mist, maybe even on to Cairhien and the Borderlands. Said they’ve
sent men to read it in every land in the world.” The innkeeper shook her head.
“The Mountains of Mist. I hear they’re covered with fog all the year round, and
there’s things in the fog will strip the flesh off your bones before you can
run.” Mat snickered, earning a sharp look from Barta.
Thom leaned forward intently. “What did the proclamation say?”
“Why, the hunt for the Horn, of course,” Barta exclaimed. “Didn’t I say that?
The Illianers are calling on everybody as will swear their lives to the hunt to
gather in Illian. Can you imagine that? Swearing your life to a legend? I
suppose they’ll find some fools. There’s always fools around. This fellow
claimed the end of the world is coming. The last battle with the Dark One.” She
chuckled, but it had a hollow sound, a woman laughing to convince herself
something really was worth laughing at. “Guess they think the Horn of Valere
has to be found before it happens. Now what do you think of that?” She chewed a
knuckle pensively for a minute. “Course, I don’t know as I could argue with
them after this winter. The winter, and this fellow Logain, and those other two
before, as well. Why all these fellows the last few years claiming to be the
Dragon? And the winter. Must mean something. What do you think?”
Thom did not seem to hear her. In a soft voice the gleeman began to recite to
himself. “In the last, lorn fight ’gainst the fall of long night, the mountains
stand guard, and the dead shall be ward, for the grave is no bar to my call.”
“That’s it.” Barta grinned as if she could already see the crowds handing her
their money while they listened to Thom. “That’s it! The Great Hunt of the
Horn. You tell that one, and they’ll be hanging from the rafters in here.
Everybody’s heard about the proclamation.”
Thom still seemed to be a thousand miles away, so Rand said, “We’re looking for
some friends who were coming this way. From the east. Have there been many
strangers passing through in the last week or two?”
“Some,” Barta said slowly. “There’s always some, from east and west both.” She
looked at each of them in turn, suddenly wary. “What do they look like, these
friends of yours?”
Rand opened his mouth, but Thom, abruptly back from wherever he had been, gave
him a sharp, silencing look. With an exasperated sigh the gleeman turned to the
innkeeper. “Two men and four women,” he said reluctantly. “They may be
together, or maybe not.” He gave thumbnail sketches, painting each one in just
a few words, enough for anyone who had seen them to recognize without giving
away anything about who they were.
Barta rubbed one hand over her head, disarranging her greying hair, and stood
up slowly.
“Forget about performing here, gleeman. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you drank
your wine and left. Leave Whitebridge, if you’re smart.”
“Someone else has been asking after them?” Thom took a drink, as if the answer
were the least important thing in the world, and raised an eyebrow at the
innkeeper. “Who would that be?”
Barta scrubbed her hand through her hair again and shifted her feet on the
point of walking away, then nodded to herself. “About three days ago, a
weaselly fellow came over the bridge. Crazy, everybody thought. Always talking
to himself, never stopped moving even when he was standing still. Asked about
the same people ... some of them. He asked like it was important, then acted
like he didn’t care what the answer was. Half the time he was saying as he had
to wait here for them, and the other half as he had to go on, he was in a
hurry. One minute he was whining and begging, the next making demands like a
king. Near got himself a thrashing a time or two, crazy or not. The Watch
almost took him in custody for his own safety. He went off toward Caemlyn that
same day, talking to himself and crying. Crazy, like I said.”
Rand looked at Thom and Mat questioningly, and they both shook their heads. If
this weaselly fellow was looking for them, he was still nobody they recognized.
“Are you sure it was the same people he wanted?” Rand asked uncertainly.
“Some of them. The fighting man, and the woman in silk. But it wasn’t them as
he cared about. I was three country boys.” Her eyes slid across Rand and Mat
and away again so fast that Rand wasn’t sure if he had really seen the look or
imagined it. “He was desperate to find them. But crazy, like I said.”
Rand shivered, and wondered who the crazy man could be, and why he was looking
for them. A Darkfriend? Would Ba’alzamon use a madman?
“He was crazy, but the other one ...” Barta’s eyes shifted uneasily, and her
tongue ran over her lips as if she could not find enough spit to moisten them.
“Next day ... next day the other one came for the first time.” She fell silent.
“The other one?” Thom prompted finally.
Barta looked around, although their side of the divided room was still empty
except for them. She even raised up on her toes and looked over the low wall.
When she finally spoke, it was in a whispered rush.
“All in black he is. Keeps the hood of his cloak pulled up so you can’t see his
face, but you can feel him looking at you, feel it like an icicle shoved into
your spine. He ... he spoke to me.” She flinched and stopped to chew at her lip
before going on. “Sounded like a snake crawling through dead leaves. Fair
turned my stomach to ice. Every time as he comes back, he asks the same
questions. Same questions the crazy man asked. Nobody ever sees him coming—he’s
just there all of a sudden, day or night, freezing you where you stand. People
are starting to look over their shoulders. Worst of it is, the gatetenders
claim as he’s never passed through any of the gates, coming or going.”
Rand worked at keeping his face blank; he clenched his jaw until his teeth
ached. Mat scowled, and Thom studied his wine. The word none of them wanted to
say hung in the air between them. Myrddraal.
“I think I’d remember if I ever met anyone like that,” Thom said after a
minute.
Barta’s head bobbed furiously. “Burn me, but you would. Light’s truth, you
would. He ... he wants the same lot as the crazy man, only he says as there’s
some girls with them. And”—she glanced sideways at Thom— “and a white-haired
gleeman.”
Thom’s eyebrows shot up in what Rand was sure was unfeigned surprise. “A white-
haired gleeman? Well, I’m hardly the only gleeman in the world with a little
age on him. I assure you, I don’t know this fellow, and he can have no reason
to be looking for me.”
“That’s as may be,” Barta said glumly. “He didn’t say it in so many words, but
I got the impression as he would be very displeased with anyone as tried to
help these people, or tried to hide them from him. Anyway, I’ll tell you what I
told him. I haven’t seen any of them, nor heard tell of them, and that’s the
truth. Not any of them,” she finished pointedly. Abruptly she slapped Thom’s
money down on the table. “Just finish your wine and go. All right? All right?”
And she trundled away as fast as she could, looking over her shoulder.
“A Fade,” Mat breathed when the innkeeper was gone. “I should have known they’d
be looking for us here.”
“And he’ll be back,” Thom said, leaning across the table and lowering his
voice. “I say we sneak back to the docks and find a boat heading downriver. The
hunt will centre on the road to Caemlyn while we’re on our way to Tear, a
thousand miles from where the Myrddraal expect us.”
“No,” Rand said firmly. “We wait for Moiraine and the others in Whitebridge, or
we go on to Caemlyn. One or the other, Thom. That’s what we decided.”
“That’s crazed, boy. Things have changed. You listen to me. No matter what this
innkeeper says, when a Myrddraal stares at her, she’ll tell all about us down
to what we had to drink and how much dust we had on our boots.” Rand shivered,
remembering the Fade’s eyeless stare. “As for Caemlyn ... You think the Halfmen
don’t know you want to get to Tar Valon? It’s a good time to be on a boat
headed south.”
“No, Thom.” Rand had to force the words out, thinking of being a thousand miles
from where the Fades were looking, but he took a deep breath and managed to
firm his voice. “No.”
“Think, boy. Tear! There isn’t a grander city on the face of the earth. By the
time the Myrddraal figure out where you’ve gone to, you’ll be old and grey and
so tired of watching your grandchildren you won’t care even if they do find
you.”
Rand’s face took on a stubborn set. “How many times do I have to say no?
They’ll find us wherever we go. There’d be Fades waiting in Tear, too. And how
do we escape the dreams? I want to know what’s happening to me, Thom, and why.
I’m going to Tar Valon. With Moiraine if I can; without her if I have to.
Alone, if I have to. I need to know. And besides, we have to find our friends.
They’ll be expecting us to take the Caemlyn Road.”
“But Tear, boy! And a safe way out, downriver while they’re looking for you in
another direction. Blood and ashes, a dream can’t hurt you.”
Rand kept silent. A dream can’t hurt? He almost wished he had told Thom the
full truth. Do you dare tell anybody? Ba’alzamon is in your dreams, but what’s
between dreaming and waking, now? Who do you dare to tell that the Dark One is
interested in you?
Thom seemed to understand. The gleeman’s face softened. “Even those dreams,
lad. They are still just dreams, aren’t they? For the Light’s sake, Mat, talk
to him. I know you don’t want to go to Tar Valon, at least.”
Mat’s face reddened, half embarrassment and half anger. He avoided looking at
Rand and scowled at Thom instead. “Why are you going to all this fuss and
bother? You want to go get a boat? Go get a boat. We’ll take care of
ourselves.”
The gleeman’s thin shoulders shook with silent laughter, but his voice was
anger tight. “You think you know enough about Myrddraal to escape by yourself,
do you? You’re ready to walk into Tar Valon alone and hand yourself over to the
Amyrlin Seat? Can you even tell one Ajah from another? The Light burn me, boy,
if you think you can even get to Tar Valon alone, you tell me to go.”
“Go,” Mat growled, sliding a hand under his cloak.
“He doesn’t mean that,” Rand said, embarrassed now. Mat scowled at him, plainly
offended that Rand would presume to speak for him. “At least not the way it
sounded. You’ve done so much to help us Thom, and for no reason other than
being a good man. If you want to take the boat to Tear no-one could blame you.
But we have to press on and find our friends.”
Thom sighed in resignation. Then he gave himself a shake and spoke, softly and
fast. “If Barta recognised our descriptions others will too. Perhaps they
already have.” As he spoke he pulled out a leather purse and hastily divided
the money into three piles. “I’m going to see if one of those merchant
carriages is heading west today. Swift passage and some hired guards would go a
long way to easing my worries. Slip out the back door here and wait for me
nearby. If I’m not back in half an hour, run, and run hard.”
Mat quickly stuffed the coins Thom shoved in front of him into his pocket. Rand
picked his pile up more slowly. The coin Moiraine had given him was still in
his own small purse. For some reason he could not fathom, he wanted to move the
Aes Sedai’s coin elsewhere before adding Thom’s gift, lest he get confused and
buy something with it by accident. Stuffing the money in his purse, he looked a
question at the gleeman.
“In case we’re separated,” Thom explained. “We probably won’t be, but if it
does happen ... well, you two will make out all right by yourselves. You’re
good lads. Just keep clear of Aes Sedai, for your lives.”
“I thought you were staying with us,” Rand said.
“I am, boy. I am. But they’re getting close, now, and the Light only knows.
Well, no matter. It isn’t likely anything will happen.” Thom paused, looking at
Mat. “I hope you no longer mind me staying with you,” he said dryly.
Mat shrugged. He eyed each of them, then shrugged again. “I’m just on edge. I
can’t seem to get rid of it. Every time we stop for a breath, they’re there,
hunting us. I feel like somebody’s staring at the back of my head all the time.
What are we going to do?”
“Whatever we have to,” Thom replied grimly.
“Why are you doing this?” Mat demanded again. “You’d be safer if you left us.
Why are you staying with us?”
Thom stared at him for a long moment. “I had a nephew, Owyn,” he said wearily,
shrugging out of his cloak. He made a pile with his blanketroll as he talked,
carefully setting his cased instruments on top. “My brother’s only son, my only
living kin. He got in trouble with the Aes Sedai, but I was too busy with ...
other things. I don’t know what I could have done, but when I finally tried, it
was too late. Owyn died a few months later. You could say Aes Sedai killed
him.” He straightened up, not looking at them. His voice was still level, but
Rand glimpsed tears in his eyes as he turned his head away. “If I can keep you
two free of Tar Valon, maybe I can stop thinking about Owyn. Slip out the back
and wait there.” Still avoiding their eyes, he eased from his chair and rose,
nodding towards the back door and the kitchen beyond. “Be very quiet.” With
that he strode off out of the inn.
Rand padded towards and through the kitchen doorway while Barta was watching
Thom make his procession. Mat was already unlatching the inns back door when
Rand quietly closed the door of the thankfully empty kitchen.
Once out in the back alley, Rand crouched low and eased that door closed as
well. We should move on, he thought. If Barta told the Myrddraal they had been
to her inn, a few wooden doors weren’t going to be enough to protect them.
It was then he noticed what Mat had been gripping earlier. A curved dagger with
a gold scabbard worked in strange symbols was hung from his belt. Fine gold
wire wrapped the hilt, which was capped by a ruby as big as Rand’s thumbnail,
and the quillons were golden-scaled serpents baring their fangs.
Mat slid the dagger in and out of its sheath for a moment. Still playing with
the dagger he raised his head slowly; his eyes had a faraway look. Suddenly
they focused on Rand, and he gave a start and pulled the tails of his coat
forward, hiding the dagger from view.
Rand squatted on his heels, with his arms crossed on his knees. “Where did you
get that?” Mat said nothing, looking quickly to see if anyone else was close
by. They were alone. “You didn’t take it from Shadar Logoth, did you?”
Mat stared at him. “Mordeth didn’t give it to me. I took it, so Moiraine’s
warnings about his gifts don’t count. You won’t tell anybody, Rand? They might
try to steal it.”
“I won’t tell anybody,” Rand said slowly.
“Not anybody,” Mat insisted. “Not Thom, not anybody. We’re the only two left
from Emond’s Field, Rand. We can’t afford to trust anybody else.”
“They’re alive, Mat. Perrin and Anna. Egwene and Nynaeve. I know they’re
alive.” Mat looked ashamed. “I’ll keep your secret, though. Just the two of us.
At least we don’t have to worry about money now. We can sell it for enough to
travel to Tar Valon in our own merchant carriage.”
“Of course,” Mat said after a moment. “If we have to. Just don’t tell anybody
until I say so.”
“I said I wouldn’t. Listen, have you had any more dreams since we came on the
boat? Like in Baerlon? This is the first chance I’ve had to ask in private.”
Mat turned his head away, giving him a sidelong look. “Maybe.”
Rand looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean, maybe? Either you have or
you haven’t.”
“All right, all right, I have. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want
to think about it. It doesn’t do any good.” Mat scowled suddenly. “You believe
that story Thom told?”
Rand went to lean beside the rain barrels. “What’s the matter with you, Mat?
You aren’t like this. I haven’t heard you laugh in days.”
“I don’t like being hunted like a rabbit,” Mat snapped. He sighed, letting his
head fall back against the brick wall of the inn. Even like that he seemed
tense. His eyes shifted warily. “Sorry. It’s the running, and all these
strangers, and ... and just everything. It makes me jumpy. I look at somebody,
and I can’t help wondering if he’s going to tell the Fades about us, or cheat
us, or rob us, or ... Light, Rand, doesn’t it make you nervous?”
Rand laughed, a quick bark in the back of his throat. “I’m too scared to be
nervous.”
“What do you think the Aes Sedai did to his nephew?”
“I don’t know,” Rand said uneasily. There was only one kind of trouble that he
knew of for a man to get into with Aes Sedai. “Not something we need to worry
about, I guess.”
“No. Not us.” His morose expression vanished abruptly. “Fancy a quick tumble?”
Rand was incredulous. “Here? Now? No way, Thom will be back any minute.”
“He said half an hour. There’s plenty of time.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how long he takes with the merchants.”
“Aw come one. We could be done quick, it’s been ages since we had any privacy.
Burn me, I’d have to try real hard not to be quick, and I bet you would too.”
He smirked as he pestered.
Lips tight, Rand glanced up the ally in either direction; there was only one
exit, no-one could be seen in the street beyond. Except for half a dozen rain
barrels against the inn and the next building, a tailor shop, the alley was
empty, the hard-packed dirt dry and dusty. “No. I don’t want to risk being
seen,” he said nervously.
But Mat had noticed his looking and was nothing if not persistent. “Those
doorways towards the back look nicely recessed,” he said leadingly. Rand set
his jaw and kept staring out at the street. “It’s just the two of us now,” Mat
continued in a sad voice, “who knows when we’ll see home again. If we ever do.
It’s so hard, never knowing if we’ll still be alive this time tomorrow ...”
Rand sighed. “Fine. Hurry though.” He strode to the back of the alley, trying
to walk both quietly and fast.
Mat grinned in triumph. “Oh, I intend to.”
The doorway was indeed nicely recessed. A careful push revealed that it was
locked as well. Rand hoped no-one was home, or that they were at least very
busy. He set his saddlebags and Thom’s wrapped bundle down and propped his bow
against the wall then began hurriedly unbuckling his belt. With a wary look up
the alley, Rand pulled his trousers and underwear down to his knees, spread his
legs and lent over against the rough brick wall of the doorway.
Mat freed himself swiftly and pushed Rand’s long coat to the side, revealing
his pale bottom. He thrust himself inside wordlessly while Rand focused on
trying to relax. It wasn’t easy for him in the circumstances, but Mat was
persistent in that too. It didn’t take long before Rand felt Mat’s cock lodged
all the way inside him.
“That’s the stuff,” Mat whispered. Then he started fucking Rand as fast as he
could.
He was merciless in his thrusts, he really must have been feeling neglected,
but Rand could not deny the enjoyment Mat stirred in him as his cock stirred
his depths. His own cock stiffened as Mat pounded him and he had to shift his
position slightly to avoid scraping it up against the rough wall. Mat noticed
and a nimble hand darted forward to wrap itself around Rand’s member. Rand
could not see, but he could well imagine his friend’s smirk. He glanced up the
alley again, heart pounding, cheeks red. They were still alone. For now.
Mat’s grip was well practiced. His hand sped up and down Rand’s cock as he used
Rand’s ass for his pleasure.
When he came it was hard and fast. Rand heard him suck in a breath and hold it,
then felt him spurt inside. The breath sighed out of him in ragged time with
the waves of his seed, and his forehead came to rest on Rand’s back.
Mat kept working his hand on Rand’s cock but his grip had grown less assured.
Rand, craving release of his own now, decided to help him out. Wrapping his
grip around Mat’s own, he jerked himself off using his friend’s willing hand,
Mat’s stiff cock and warm cream still filling Rand’s hole.
It didn’t take long before his own climax came. He let out a long low sigh as
he dirtied the already dirty alleyway.
They didn’t bother taking time to clean up. Mat unsheathed his cock from Rand’s
body, and hastily tucked himself away. “See, no-one saw us. I told you it’d be
fine.”
Rand pulled up his trousers and rebuckled his belt, his cheeks still felt very
red. “Lucky us. Let’s get out of her before someone comes.”
Mat smirked and opened his mouth.
“Someone else.” Rand said with a roll of his eyes.
Mat’s laugh was a short, barked thing, but it was still a welcome sound to
Rand. It had been some time since he’d heard it. It made Mat seem almost his
old self. They gathered up their things and made their way up the alley.
For a time they crouched against the wall, not talking. Rand was not sure how
long they waited. A few minutes, probably, but it felt like an hour, waiting
for Thom to come back, waiting for Barta to open door with a Fade at her
shoulder and denounce them. Then a man turned in at the mouth of the alley, a
tall man with the hood of his cloak pulled up to hide his face, a cloak black
as night against the light of the street.
Rand scrambled to his feet, one hand wrapped around the hilt of Tam’s sword so
hard that his knuckles hurt. His mouth went dry. Mat rose to his feet with one
hand under his cloak.
The man came closer, and Rand’s throat grew tighter with every step. Abruptly
the man stopped and tossed back his cowl. Rand’s knees almost gave way. It was
Thom.
“Well, if you don’t recognize me”—the gleeman grinned—“I guess it’s a good
enough disguise for the gates.”
Thom pushed past them and began transferring things from his patch-covered
cloak to his new one so nimbly that Rand could not make out any of them. The
new cloak was dark brown, Rand saw now. He drew a deep, ragged breath; his
throat still felt as if it were clutched in a fist. Brown, not black. Mat still
had his hand under his cloak, and he stared at Thom’s back as if he were
thinking of using the hidden dagger.
Thom glanced up at them, then gave them a sharper look. “This is no time to get
skittish.” Deftly he began folding his old cloak into a bundle around his
instrument cases, inside out so the patches were hidden. “We’ll walk out of
here one at a time, just close enough to keep each other in sight. Shouldn’t be
remembered especially, that way. Can’t you slouch?” he added to Rand. “That
height of yours is as bad as a banner.” He slung the bundle across his back and
stood, drawing his hood back up. He looked nothing like a white-haired gleeman.
He was just another traveller, a man too poor to afford a horse, much less a
carriage.
“Did you manage to find a caravan going west,” Rand asked.
Thom shook his head regretfully. “The earliest departure is scheduled for
tomorrow morning. We can’t afford to wait that long. Or at all. Let’s go. We’ve
wasted too much time already.”
Rand agreed, but even so he hesitated before stepping out of the alley into the
square. None of the sparse scattering of people gave them a second look—most
did not look at them at all—but his shoulders knotted. He ran his eyes across
the open area, over people moving about on their daily business, and when he
brought them back a Myrddraal was halfway across the square.
Where the Fade had come from, he could not begin to guess, but it strode toward
the three of them with a slow deadliness, a predator with the prey under its
gaze. It was broad daylight and the Myrddraal was alone but it seemed
unconcerned by that. And with good reason. People shied away from the black-
cloaked shape, avoided looking at it. The square began to empty out as folk
decided they were needed elsewhere.
The black cowl froze Rand where he stood. He tried to summon up the void, but
it was like fumbling after smoke. The Fade’s hidden gaze knifed to his bones
and turned his marrow to icicles.
“Don’t look at its face,” Thom muttered. His voice shook and cracked, and it
sounded as if he were forcing the words out. “The Light burn you, don’t look at
its face!”
Rand tore his eyes away—he almost groaned; it felt like tearing a leech off of
his face—but even staring at the stones of the square he could still see the
Myrddraal coming, a cat playing with mice, amused at their feeble efforts to
escape, until finally the jaws snapped shut. The Fade had halved the distance.
“Are we just going to stand here?” he mumbled. “We have to run ... get away.”
But he could not make his feet move.
Mat had the ruby-hilted dagger out at last, in a trembling hand. His lips were
drawn back from his teeth, a snarl and a rictus of fear.
“Think ...” Thom stopped to swallow, and went on hoarsely. “Think you can
outrun it, do you, boy?” He began to mutter to himself; the only word Rand
could make out was “Owyn.” Abruptly Thom growled, “I never should have gotten
mixed up with you boys. Should never have.” He shrugged the bundled gleeman’s
cloak off of his back and thrust it into Rand’s arms. “Take care of that. When
I say run, you run and don’t stop until you get to Caemlyn. The Queen’s
Blessing. An inn. Remember that, in case ... Just remember it.”
“I don’t understand,” Rand said. The Myrddraal was not twenty paces away, now.
His feet felt like lead weights.
“Just remember it!” Thom snarled. “The Queen’s Blessing. Now. RUN!”
He gave them a push, one hand on the shoulder of each of them, to get them
started, and Rand stumbled away in a lurching run with Mat at his side.
“RUN!” Thom sprang into motion, too, with a long, wordless roar. Not after
them, but toward the Myrddraal. His hands flourished as if he were performing
at his best, and daggers appeared. Rand stopped, but Mat pulled him along.
The Fade was just as startled. Its leisurely pace faltered in mid-stride. Its
hand swept toward the hilt of the black sword hanging at its waist, but the
gleeman’s long legs covered the distance quickly. Thom crashed into the
Myrddraal before the black blade was half drawn, and both went down in a
thrashing heap. The few people still in the square fled.
“RUN!” The air in the square flashed an eye-searing blue, and Thom began to
scream, but even in the middle of the scream he managed a word. “RUN!”
Rand obeyed. The gleeman’s screams pursued him.
Clutching Thom’s bundle to his chest, he ran as hard as he could. Panic spread
from the square out through the town as Rand and Mat fled on the crest of a
wave of fear. Shopkeepers abandoned their goods as the boys passed. Shutters
banged down over storefronts, and frightened faces appeared in the windows of
houses, then vanished. People who had not been close enough to see ran through
the streets wildly, paying no heed. They bumped into one another, and those who
were knocked down scrambled to their feet or were trampled. Whitebridge roiled
like a kicked anthill.
As he and Mat pounded toward the gates, Rand abruptly remembered what Thom had
said about his height. Without slowing down, he crouched as best he could
without looking as if he was crouching. But the gates themselves, thick wood
bound with black iron straps, stood open. The two gatetenders, in steel caps
and mail tunics worn over cheap-looking red coats with white collars, fingered
their halberds and stared uneasily into the town. One of them glanced at Rand
and Mat, but they were not the only ones running out of the gates. A steady
stream boiled through, panting men clutching wives, weeping women carrying
babes and dragging crying children, pale-faced craftsmen still in their aprons,
still heedlessly gripping their tools.
There would be no-one who could tell which way they had gone, Rand thought as
he ran, dazed.
Thom. Oh, Light save me, Thom.
Mat staggered beside him, caught his balance, and they ran until the last of
the fleeing people had fallen away, ran until the town and the White Bridge
were far out of sight behind them.
Finally Rand fell to his knees in the dust, pulling air raggedly into his raw
throat with great gulps. The road behind stretched empty until it was lost to
sight among bare trees. Mat plucked at him.
“Come on. Come on.” Mat panted the words. Sweat and dust streaked his face, and
he looked ready to collapse. “We have to keep going.”
“Thom,” Rand said. He tightened his arms around the bundle of Thom’s cloak; the
instrument cases were hard lumps inside. “Thom.”
“He’s dead. You saw. You heard. Light, Rand, he’s dead!”
“You think Egwene and Moiraine and the rest are dead, too. If they’re dead, why
are the Myrddraal still hunting them? Answer me that?”
Mat dropped to his knees in the dust beside him. “All right. Maybe they are
alive. But Thom—You saw! Blood and ashes, Rand, the same thing can happen to
us.”
Rand nodded slowly. The road behind them was still empty. He had been halfway
expecting— hoping, at least—to see Thom appear, striding along, blowing out his
moustaches to tell them how much trouble they were. The Queen’s Blessing in
Caemlyn. He struggled to his feet and slung Thom’s bundle on his back alongside
his saddlebags. Mat stared up at him, narrow-eyed and wary.
“Let’s go,” Rand said, and started down the road toward Caemlyn. He heard Mat
muttering, and after a moment he caught up to Rand.
They trudged along the dusty road, heads down and not talking. The wind spawned
dustdevils that whirled across their path. Sometimes Rand looked back, hoping,
but the road behind was always empty.
***** Trails and Trials *****
CHAPTER 29: Trails and Trials
 
Nynaeve stared in wonder at what lay ahead down the river, the White Bridge
gleaming in the sun with a milky glow. Another legend, she thought, glancing at
the Warder and the Aes Sedai, riding just ahead of her. Another legend, and
they don’t even seem to notice. She resolved not to stare where they could see.
They’ll laugh if they see me gaping like a country bumpkin. The three rode on
silently toward the fabled White Bridge.
Since that morning after Shadar Logoth, when she had found Moiraine and Lan on
the bank of the Arindrelle, there had been little in the way of real
conversation between her and the Aes Sedai. There had been talk, of course, but
nothing of substance as Nynaeve saw it. Moiraine’s attempts to talk her into
going to Tar Valon, for instance. Tar Valon. She would go there, if need be,
and take their training, but not for the reasons the Aes Sedai thought. If
Moiraine had brought harm to Egwene and the rest of the Theren folk ...
Sometimes, against her will, Nynaeve had found herself thinking of what a
Wisdom could do with the One Power. Of what she could do. Whenever she realized
what was in her head, though, a flash of anger burned it out. The Power was a
filthy thing. She would have nothing to do with it. Unless she had to.
The cursed woman only wanted to talk about taking her to Tar Valon for
training. Moiraine would not tell her anything! It was not as if she wanted to
know so much.
“How do you mean to find them?” she remembered demanding.
“As I have told you,” Moiraine replied without bothering to look back at her,
“So long as they have my tokens in their possessions I can follow them across
half the world, if need be.” It was not the first time Nynaeve had asked, but
the Aes Sedai’s voice was like a still pond that refused to ripple no matter
how many stones Nynaeve threw; it made the Wisdom’s blood boil every time she
was exposed to it. Moiraine went on as if she could not feel Nynaeve’s eyes on
her back; Nynaeve knew she must be able to, she was staring so hard.
“And then? What do you plan when you’ve found them, Aes Sedai?” She did not for
a minute believe the Aes Sedai would be so intent on finding them if she did
not have plans.
“Tar Valon, Wisdom.”
“Tar Valon, Tar Valon. That’s all you ever say, and I am becoming—”
“Part of the training you will receive in Tar Valon, Wisdom, will teach you to
control your temper. You can do nothing with the One Power when emotion rules
your mind.” Nynaeve opened her mouth, but the Aes Sedai went right on. “Lan, I
must speak with you a moment.”
The two put their heads together, and Nynaeve was left with a sullen glower
that she hated every time she realized it was on her face. It came too often as
the Aes Sedai deftly turned her questions off onto another subject, slid easily
by her conversational traps, or ignored her shouts until they ended in silence.
The scowl made her feel like a girl who had been caught acting the fool by
someone in the Women’s Circle. That was a feeling Nynaeve was not used to, and
the calm smile on Moiraine’s face only made it worse.
If only there was some way to get rid of the woman. Lan would be better by
himself—a Warder should be able to handle what was needed, she told herself
hastily, feeling a sudden flush; no other reason—but one meant the other.
And yet, Lan made her even more furious than Moiraine. She could not understand
how he managed to get under her skin so easily. He rarely said
anything—sometimes not a dozen words in a day—and he never took part in any of
the ... discussions with Moiraine. He was often apart from the two women,
scouting the land, but even when he was there he kept a little to one side,
watching them as if watching a duel. Nynaeve wished he would stop. If it was a
duel, she had not managed to score once, and Moiraine did not even seem to
realize she was in a fight. Nynaeve could have done without his cool blue eyes,
without even a silent audience.
That had been the way of their journey, for the most part. Quiet, except when
her temper got the best of her, and sometimes when she shouted the sound of her
voice seemed to crash in the silence like breaking glass. The land itself was
quiet, as if the world were pausing to catch its breath. The wind moaned in the
trees, but all else was still.
At first the stillness was restful after everything that had happened. It
seemed as if she had not known a moment of quiet since before Winternight. By
the end of the first day alone with the Aes Sedai and the Warder, though, she
was looking over her shoulder and fidgeting in her saddle as if she had an itch
in the middle of her back where she could not reach. The silence seemed like
crystal doomed to shatter, and waiting for the first crack put her teeth on
edge.
It weighed on Moiraine and Lan, too, as outwardly imperturbable as they were.
She soon realized that, beneath their calm surfaces, hour by hour they wound
tighter and tighter, like clocksprings being forced to the breaking point.
Moiraine seemed to listen to things that were not there, and what she heard put
a crease in her forehead. Lan watched the forest and the river as if the
leafless trees and wide, slow water carried the signs of traps and ambushes
waiting ahead.
Part of her was glad that she was not the only one who apprehended that poised-
on-the-brink feel to the world, but if it affected them, it was real, and
another part of her wanted nothing so much as for it to be just her
imagination. Something of it tickled the corners of her mind, as when she
listened to the wind, but now she knew that that had to do with the One Power,
and she could not bring herself to embrace those ripples at the edge of
thought.
“It is nothing,” Lan said quietly when she asked. He did not look at her while
he spoke; his eyes never ceased their scanning. Then, contradicting what he had
just said, he added, “You should go back to your Theren when we reach
Whitebridge, and the Caemlyn Road. It’s too dangerous here. Nothing will try to
stop you going back, though.” It was the longest speech he made all that day.
“She is part of the Pattern, Lan,” Moiraine said chidingly. Her gaze was
elsewhere, too. “It is the Dark One, Nynaeve. The storm has left us ... for a
time, at least.” She raised one hand as though feeling the air, then scrubbed
it on her dress unconsciously, as if she had touched filth. “He is still
watching, however”—she sighed—“and his gaze is stronger. Not on us, but on the
world. How much longer before he is strong enough to ...”
Nynaeve hunched her shoulders; suddenly she could almost feel someone staring
at her back. It was one explanation she would just as soon the Aes Sedai had
not given her.
Lan scouted their path down the river, but where before he had chosen the way,
now Moiraine did so, as surely as if she followed some unseen track, footprints
in air, the scent of memory. Lan only checked the route she intended, to see
that it was safe. Nynaeve had the feeling that even if he said it was not,
Moiraine would insist on it anyway. And he would go, she was sure. Straight
down the river to ...
With a start, Nynaeve pulled out of her thoughts. They were at the foot of the
White Bridge. The pale arch shone in the sunlight, a milky spiderweb too
delicate to stand, sweeping across the Arindrelle. The weight of a man would
bring it crashing down, much less that of a horse. Surely it would collapse
under its own weight any minute.
Lan and Moiraine rode unconcernedly ahead, up the gleaming white approach and
onto the bridge, hooves ringing, not like steel on glass, but like steel on
steel. The surface of the bridge certainly looked as slick as glass, wet glass,
but it gave the horses a firm, sure footing.
Nynaeve made herself follow, giving Muscles a good kick to catch up; the
stubborn brown gelding was letting the Aes Sedai get too far ahead of her. He
wasn’t hers, and that wasn’t his name, but she had been in a hurry when she
left the Theren and hadn’t thought to ask Abell Candwin what the fool horse was
called. He had a muscley look about him though, she wouldn’t put it past him to
break the bridge and send them both plummeting into the river.
From the first step she half waited for the entire structure to shatter under
them. If lace were made of glass, she thought, it would look like this.
It was not until they were almost all the way across that she noticed the tarry
smell of char thickening the air. In a moment she saw.
Around the square at the foot of the White Bridge piles of blackened timbers,
still leaking smoky threads, replaced half a dozen buildings. Men in poorly
fitting red uniforms and tarnished armour patrolled the streets, but they
marched quickly, as if afraid of finding anything, and they looked over their
shoulders as they went. Townspeople—the few who were out—almost ran, shoulders
hunched, as though something were chasing them.
Lan looked grim, even for him, and people walked wide of the three of them,
even the soldiers. The Warder sniffed the air and grimaced, growling under his
breath.
“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” Moiraine mumbled. “No eye can see the
Pattern until it is woven.”
In the next moment she was down off Aldieb and speaking to townsfolk. She did
not ask questions; she gave sympathy, and to Nynaeve’s surprise it appeared
genuine. People who shied away from Lan, ready to hurry from any stranger,
stopped to speak with Moiraine. They appeared startled themselves at what they
were doing, but they opened up, after a fashion, under Moiraine’s clear gaze
and soothing voice. The Aes Sedai’s eyes seemed to share the people’s hurt, to
empathize with their confusion, and tongues loosened.
They still lied, though. Most of them. Some denied there had been any trouble
at all. Nothing at all. Moiraine mentioned the burned buildings all around the
square. Everything was fine, they insisted, staring past what they did not want
to see.
One fat fellow spoke with a hollow heartiness, but his cheek twitched at every
noise behind him. With a grin that kept slipping, he claimed an overturned lamp
had started a fire that spread with the wind before anything could be done. One
glance showed Nynaeve that no burned structure stood alongside another.
There were almost as many different stories as there were people. Several women
lowered their voices conspiratorially. The truth of the matter was there was a
man somewhere in the town meddling with the One Power. It was time to have the
Aes Sedai in; past time, was the way they saw it, no matter what the men said
about Tar Valon. Let the Red Ajah settle matters.
One man claimed it had been an attack by bandits, and another said a riot by
Darkfriends. “Those ones going to see the false Dragon, you know,” he confided
darkly. “They’re all over the place. Darkfriends, every one.”
Still others spoke of some kind of trouble—they were vague about exactly what
kind—that had come downriver on a boat. One man mentioned a gleeman, and
Nynaeve wondered if it could be Thom Merrilin he spoke of.
“Perhaps,” Moiraine said, when she put the thought forward. “We shall see.”
An inn still stood in the square, the common room divided in two by a shoulder-
high wall. Moiraine paused as she stepped into the inn, feeling the air with
her hand. She smiled at whatever it was she felt, but she would say nothing of
it, then.
Their meal was consumed in an unpleasant quiet, not only at their table, but
throughout the common room. The handful of people eating there concentrated on
their own plates and their own thoughts. The innkeeper, dusting tables with a
corner of her apron, muttered to herself continually, but always too low to be
heard. Nynaeve did not relish the thought of sleeping there; even the air was
heavy with fear.
“Where are the others?” Nynaeve demanded of the Warder.
Lan looked at Moiraine, who shook her head slightly and said, “There is one
somewhere to the north-west of us.” A small, satisfied smile touched her lips.
“The others were in this room, no more than three days ago. They went west,
along the Caemlyn Road.”
“Which two?” Nynaeve leaned over the table intently. “Do you know?” The Aes
Sedai shook her head, the slightest of motions, and Nynaeve settled back. “If
they’re only a few days ahead, we should go after them first.”
“Perhaps,” Moiraine said in that insufferably calm voice, “but the road will
carry us north and west also. We shall gather whichever wayward lambs we catch
up with first. I trust they are all smart enough to go toward Caemlyn.”
“But—” Nynaeve began, but Lan cut her off in a soft voice.
“The two who came here had reason to be afraid when they left.” He looked
around, then lowered his voice. “There was a Halfman here.” He grimaced, the
way he had in the square. “I can still smell him everywhere.”
Moiraine sighed. “I will keep hope until I know it is gone. I refuse to believe
the Dark One can win so easily. I will find all three of them alive and well. I
must believe it.”
“I want to find the boys, too,” Nynaeve said, “but what about Egwene? You never
even mention her, and you ignore me when I ask. I thought you were going to
take her off to”—she glanced at the other tables, and lowered her voice—“to Tar
Valon.”
The Aes Sedai studied the tabletop for a moment before raising her eyes to
Nynaeve’s, and when she did, Nynaeve started back from a flash of anger that
almost seemed to make Moiraine’s eyes glow. Then her back stiffened, her own
anger rising, but before she could say a word, the Aes Sedai spoke coldly.
“I hope to find Egwene alive and well, too. I do not easily give up young women
with that much ability once I have found them. But it will be as the Wheel
weaves.”
Nynaeve felt a cold ball in the pit of her stomach. Am I one of those young
women you won’t give up? We’ll see about that, Aes Sedai. The Light burn you,
we’ll see about that!
The meal was finished in silence. About the time they pushed their plates away,
wiped clean with the last scraps of bread, one of the red-uniformed soldiers
appeared in the doorway. He seemed resplendent to Nynaeve, in his peaked helmet
and burnished breastplate, until he took a pose just inside the door, with a
hand resting on the hilt of his sword and a stern look on his face, and used a
finger to ease his too-tight collar. It made her think of Cenn Buie trying to
act the way a Village Councillor should.
Lan spared him one glance and snorted. “Militia. Useless.”
The soldier looked over the room, letting his eyes come to rest on them. He
hesitated, then took a deep breath before stomping over to demand, all in a
rush, who they were, what their business was in Whitebridge, and how long they
intended to stay.
“We are leaving as soon as I finish my ale,” Lan said. He took another slow
swallow before looking up at the soldier. “The Light illumine good Queen
Morgase.”
The red-uniformed man opened his mouth, then took a good look at Lan’s eyes and
stepped back. He caught himself immediately, with a glance at Moiraine and her.
She thought for a moment that he was going to do something foolish to keep from
looking the coward in front of two women. In her experience, men were often
idiots that way. But too much had happened in Whitebridge; too much uncertainty
had escaped from the cellars of men’s minds. The militiaman looked back at Lan
and reconsidered once more. The Warder’s hard-planed face was expressionless,
but there were those cold blue eyes. So cold.
The militiaman settled on a brisk nod. “See that you do. Too many strangers
around these days for the good of the Queen’s peace.”
“How so? I couldn’t help but notice the aftermath of some disturbance in the
square without.” Moiraine’s voice was coolly conversational, as if she cared
not a whit for the man’s answer.
“A gleeman and his apprentices,” he said with an ugly scowl. “Stirring up
trouble for decent folk. The apprentices ran off, but the master was not so
lucky.”
“What became of the miscreant,” Moiraine asked. Her voice remained cool, but
Nynaeve thought she saw little sparks of anger in those dark, slightly tilted
eyes.
“He got into a scuffle with some other fellow, an accomplice perhaps, and came
out the worst of it. I wasn’t there myself, but I heard he started throwing
fireworks around like an Illuminator ... or maybe one of those sick fools who
touch the One Power. He’ll get his, regardless. He set a lot of buildings on
fire with that display. Good people stand to lose their livelihood over it.”
“He will, ‘get his’, as you call it? So he has not already been dealt with
then?”
The militiaman shook his head. “We have him in the jail. For questioning, you
understand. So far all he does is tremble, sweat and mutter to himself. Might
be he’s dying of the cut on his leg ... though it only looked a little thing to
me. Could be infected I guess. I told the captain we should just leave him to
his fate, but he wants answers so he brought in the local healer. She says
there’s something wrong with the man’s wound though. Might be he’ll die
anyway.”
“A most troubling tale, guardsman. We shall be sure to pass through Whitebridge
in haste, lest these miscreants return. A good day to you.”
The man blinked uncertainly at her clear dismissal. A hand rose to knuckle his
forehead seemingly of its own will. Turning on his heel he stomped out again,
practicing his stern look on the locals as he went. None of the folk in the inn
seemed to notice.
“Thom Merrilin?” Nynaeve whispered.
Moiraine raised an eyebrow at her insultingly and kept her voice pitched low.
“A gleeman, two young men, and a wound that sounds very like those left by
Thakan’dar steel? It seems very likely the prisoner in question is Master
Merrilin, yes. But what to do about it?”
Nynaeve scowled at her. “Help him, obviously. By what I can gather from that
fool man’s lies, it sounds as though the gleeman got into a fight with a Fade
trying to defend the boys. Knowing that, do you mean to abandon him to these
people’s judgement?”
Lan surprised her. “I could deal with the militia without doing any lasting
damage,” he volunteered, looking at Moiraine with a very blank face, like that
of some heroic statue.
Moiraine sighed. “To their persons, I do not doubt. To our reputations ...
well. And the longer we delay here the longer the two boys remain unprotected.”
Nynaeve drew a deep breath, ready to begin the argument in earnest.
“But we shall save Master Merrilin from the guards’ tender mercies
nonetheless,” the damnable woman continued, before Nynaeve could get a word
out. She clicked her teeth shut angrily. “We will need to arrange passage
downriver. If the wound is as I suspect it, he will not be fit to travel for
some time. And I do not know of a safe location nearby in which to deposit him.
Lan. You will find me at the docks.”
The Warder nodded and slid smoothly from his chair. He dropped some coins on
the inn’s counter as he strode by.
Nynaeve and Moiraine gathered themselves and left soon after. Nynaeve in the
lead by simple virtue of having lengthened her stride. She marched determinedly
out into the partially burned town while Moiraine was still gliding through the
inn, too concerned with looking gracious and ladylike to attend to the task
ahead in a proper, timely fashion.
Once there, she turned towards the docks, leaving Moiraine to catch up.
She had to wait a time once she got there, to her very great irritation.
Moiraine had the money they would need to pay for passage. Nynaeve’s own purse
was much the thinner of the two. A Wisdom was paid more than enough to cover
her needs, but that was hardly the reason any decent woman would take up the
responsibility. So she was left with no choice but to plant her feet, cross her
arms beneath her breasts and glare at anyone who was fool enough to venture
near her while she waited for Moiraine to finally make her appearance.
Passing sailors and townspeople looked askance at Nynaeve, but they wilted
quickly enough under her glare. They avoided her eyes, looking oddly confused,
and gave her a good space.
Her lips thinned when she spotted Moiraine several jetties down, talking to a
short, bony, grey-haired woman in a dark coat with ears that stood out and a
weathered look about her. She stood near the gangplank of a large ship with s
silver star on the flag that fluttered from its mast. A captain of some sort,
Nynaeve suspected. She was left with little choice but to make her way over and
see what the Aes Sedai was up to this time. Damn her.
“You shall have your fare money, Captain,” Moiraine was telling her.
“Then if you’ll come aboard, I’ll sail. I like being here in daylight now less
than ever.”
“As soon as the rest of my companions arrive,” Moiraine said, nodding in
Nynaeve’s direction. “Here is one. The other two should be along soon. Though
one may have to carry the other. Some men are overly fond of ale, despite a
poor tolerance for its effects.”
The captain jerked her chin rudely in Nynaeve’s direction. “I’ll show you to
the cabin.”
“My thanks, Captain Danmielle,” Moiraine followed her up the gangplank in her
gliding walk, forcing Nynaeve to come along behind, shifting impatiently from
foot to foot.
Danmielle’s cabin proved to be the only accommodation on the ship above deck.
Despite that, she didn’t seemed particularly reluctant about moving out. Her
haste—skirts and coats and blouses flung over her shoulders and dangling from a
great wad in her arms—made Nynaeve suspect that Moiraine had over-paid for
passage.
The inside of the cabin only reinforced her suspicion. The cabin was small 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 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. And there was only one narrow bed. The woman surely had not
given up one inch of space that might be stuffed with cargo.
The Aes Sedai was watching her closely. “Jasmine Danmielle came to Whitebridge
in the night, and she wants to leave in the night. She is, of course, a
smuggler.”
“In this vessel? It is a barrel.” Nynaeve sat down on the edge of the bed. It
might be a bit cramped, but it had a thick feather mattress. The ship did roll
disturbingly, though. She imagined it would be worse once it was out on the
river. Well, Thom Merrilin would have little cause to complain. Better this
ship than whatever awaits him here in Whitebridge.
“You know much of smugglers in the Theren then?” Moiraine’s tone was polite,
the small smile on her lips anything but. Nynaeve glared at her but, unlike the
sailors outside, the Aes Sedai was completely unfazed by her anger. “Few such
dare practice their trade in Tar Valon of course. Those that do are quickly
identified and made to rue their decision.”
“Tar Valon,” Nynaeve said scornfully. “I’m sick of hearing about Tar Valon. Why
hire a smuggler of all things to take Merrilin downriver? There were plenty of
other ships.”
Moiraine studied her for an uncomfortably long time before answering.
“Partially because she is a smuggler; she will be much more reluctant to deal
with the militia than an honest trader captain would. And partially because she
was already making ready to sail. The sooner Thom is on his way, the less
likely he is to be retaken by the guards. I would like to question him before I
Heal his wound, but given the nature of Thakan’dar steel it is likely he will
be too delirious to tell me much of what became the two boys.”
Nynaeve got to her feet and paced as much as the cramped cabin would allow.
“You still haven’t told me how you know where they are, or what you intend to
do to them once we find them.”
“Haven’t I?” Moiraine almost sounded exasperated. It was hard to tell with her.
“No. But I promise you this: if you hurt any of my people you will regret it
bitterly.”
She sighed lightly. “So you have said. But how, exactly, do you hope to make
that happen?”
Nynaeve’s circuit of the table had brought her around until her back was to the
Aes Sedai. She stopped in her tracks, searching her mind for an answer to that
question. It infuriated her that she could find none.
“You have no hope ... unless you go to Tar Valon,” Moiraine’s whisper stirred
the hair by Nynaeve’s ear. She stood very stiffly, realising that the woman was
right behind, practically touching her back. Does she think to intimidate me?
She would not find Nynaeve al’Meara so easily cowed!
“Your precious Tar Valon can burn for all of me. The Theren is my
responsibility, and no-one will harm it while I live.”
“Such fire,” Moiraine mused. “Among the Aes Sedai we have a saying, ‘there is
no fire so fierce that water cannot quench it or wind snuff it out.’ Those last
two are usually the strongest of the five powers among women, you see.” Nynaeve
felt a tugging at the back of her dress and frowned in confusion. “As you would
learn in Tar Valon. Among so many other things.” The bodice of her good wool
dress felt suddenly loose; Nynaeve gasped, realising that the Aes Sedai had
undone her buttons.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded, spinning to face Moiraine ...
or trying to. Something held her pinned in place, it felt like ropes bound her
wrists and ankles, but she could see nothing there. The One Power. Nynaeve
paled.
“Whatsoever I wish ... until you stop me,” Moiraine whispered, her breath hot
in Nynaeve’s ear. The Aes Sedai lowered the top of Nynaeve’s dress to her
elbows, calmly and with no concern for the other woman’s struggles. Nynaeve
watched incredulously as her own breasts—larger than Moiraine’s she had long
since noted, with secret pride—spilled free. The stuffy cabin’s air on her bare
skin made her tremble. Just the air, nothing else.
Moiraine’s hands on her breasts brought a sharp cry from Nynaeve’s lips, before
she bit down on it and forced herself to silence. The Aes Sedai squeezed her
soft flesh gently, then started teasing her nipples between thumb and finger.
No-one had touched Nynaeve’s skin outside of her work in nearly a decade. Even
Rand, when the sweet fool had dared to kiss her, had been careful to keep his
hands to himself. If he hadn’t she would have done more than thump and scold
him. That she hadn’t reported his scandalous behaviour to the Women’s Circle
was only because of his, relative, courtesy. Not because of how nice it had
been to be touched. Not at all.
“Stop that, you wicked Aes Sedai witch,” Nynaeve grated.
“Or?”
“Or ...” Or what?
Moiraine went right ahead, fondling Nynaeve’s breasts as she pleased. “Such
rich, thick hair you have,” the Aes Sedai whispered, weighing Nynaeve’s braid
in one hand. “Let us see you in your full glory, shall we?”
The invisible ropes pulled Nynaeve forward until her legs struck the low table,
then kept pulling until she was forced to bend over. Her breasts slapped
against the polished surface of the table as she sprawled helplessly before
Moiraine. “Let me go!” she demanded, though surely she imagined how high-
pitched her voice suddenly was.
Moiraine ignored her. Instead she reached down and twitched Nynaeve’s skirts
up, bundling them about her hips. She gave Nynaeve’s buttocks an experimental
pat through her linen underwear. Then she calmly untied and lowered her
drawers, exposing the Wisdom’s most private place to her dark, cool, oh-so-
superior eyes. Nynaeve felt her cheeks burn red.
“As rich and thick below as above I see,” Moiraine said amusedly. Nynaeve
hadn’t thought it possible to blush hotter than she had already been, but she
learned otherwise then.
The invisible bonds pulled Nynaeve’s legs slightly apart. Slender fingers
probed her opening, forcing a gasp from her before she clenched her teeth shut
once more. They slid inside, where no finger but Nynaeve’s own had ever been,
in those rare, shameful moments.
“And chaste,” the Aes Sedai pronounced in a satisfied tone. “Good. It is not
against Tower law exactly, for an Aes Sedai to consort with a man in such a
manner, but it is heavily frowned upon. Your sense of propriety will serve you
well. In Tar Valon.”
“I’m not—not going ...” Nynaeve’s words cut off with a shameful whimper when
Moiraine fingers began rubbing her tender folds.
“No? Perhaps it is that you want this then?”
“No!”
Moiraine gave her bottom a light slap. Nynaeve quivered in outrage. “But you
would pass up the one thing that could prevent me from taking you whenever I
pleased. Why so, if you do not want to be taken? So badly that you would give
up all that you could be. I understand. Even among the Aes Sedai there are such
women. I once knew a Novice named Pritalle who would commit a new offense
almost every other day, not because she was a poor student, but because she
wanted to be sent to the Mistress of Novices ... and disciplined ...”
“I’m not like that!” Nynaeve denied fiercely.
“Yet here we are ...”
Nynaeve felt Moiraine breathe against her private parts. Something warm and wet
touched her lower lips and she quivered again. In outrage, only outrage. The
Aes Sedai kissed her there and Nynaeve bunched her fists, determined not to cry
out.
The woman’s tongue was sinfully nimble. She quickly found Nynaeve’s secret bud
and teased it mercilessly, sending jolts of forbidden, unwelcome pleasure
shooting through her body. A slender finger slid inside her moist slit and
stroked her skilfully, stirring her pot just the way it should.
Moiraine played her body masterfully, through talent or practice, Nynaeve could
not say; but try as she did she could not prevent the pleasure that quickly
built within her under the Aes Sedai’s ministrations, demanding a release she
would not—would not!—give.
Her hard nipples pressed against the cold table as she thrashed. It was
useless, the Aes Sedai was too powerful for her, too skilled, too damnably
beautiful and intelligent and rich and ... Nynaeve couldn’t hold it any more,
couldn’t fight it. A loud squeak escaped her clenched teeth as she came to
orgasm, right in Moiraine’s face.
She sprawled limply on the table as waves of shame and pleasure coursed through
her.
Moiraine rose and perched on the table beside the flushed, sweaty, exposed
Wisdom. She watched her occasional helpless twitch and patted her bare bottom
sympathetically. “You have a pleasant taste, Nynaeve al’Meara. Perhaps, when my
tasks allow, I shall visit you again. In your Theren. While you are gathering
your herbs. There is a certain charm to grubby-kneed girls.” Nynaeve did not
meet her eyes, but she felt her cheeks darkened. Anger kindled again in her
breast.
“A powerful Aes Sedai could never be treated so of course. But you prefer a
different fate,” Moiraine chided her, almost sounding disappointed. “So be it.”
The invisible ropes of Power were gone from Nynaeve’s limbs. She straightened
up, her skirts falling to a decent level once more. She quickly fixed her
bodice and reached back to do up her buttons. Moiraine watched her
expressionlessly. For an instant she wondered what the woman would do if she
pounced on her, fists swinging, grabbed her by her silky black hair and gave
her a taste of her own medicine. Made her whimper shamefully! But Nynaeve had
already seen what happened when a non-channeler tried to fight an Aes Sedai.
She tightened her lips angrily and glared at the woman’s modest bosom.
It only made her angrier when she realised her drawers were still puddled
around her ankles. She would have to raise her own skirts in order to set
herself to rights, with the damnable woman looking at her and judging.
An absurd little flash of gratitude touched her when the Aes Sedai climbed from
her tabletop perch and glided towards Captain Danmielle’s chair. The woman made
another little sound of disappointment as she passed within Nynaeve’s reach. As
if she had not made her disregard plain enough already! As soon as her back was
turned, Nynaeve seized the moment and pulled up her underwear. Her heart
finally started to slow to a more normal pace than the wild race it had been on
for the past minutes.
Gathering her wits along with her dignity, Nynaeve shot a sidelong glare
Moiraine’s way. The Aes Sedai sat with her legs crossed at the knee, calmly
wiping Nynaeve’s juices from her lips, and with them the proof of her shame.
This isn’t over witch. Do you think I’ll let you get away with treating me like
this? Do you think you can come back to my home and do whatever you please? Not
hardly! I’ll learn how to use your damned One Power, and then you’ll get what’s
coming to you!
If the Aes Sedai could hear Nynaeve’s thoughts she gave no sign of it. She
seemed completely disinterested in her, actually, now that she had had her way
with her. It was perhaps the most insulting thing Nynaeve had ever seen. Oh, we
will have a reckoning someday, you and I, she vowed.
Moiraine’s eyes tracked something only she could see. Abruptly Nynaeve heard
voices from beyond the cabin door. They sounded to be in mid-conversation, but
she could have sworn the whole ship had been silent up until just a second ago.
She smoothed her skirts and stepped hastily to the side, hoping nothing of what
had just happened showed on her face.
The cabin door opened and Lan entered, crouching slightly to fit under the low
ceiling; there could not have been an inch of height between he and Rand, and
Rand had been the tallest person she had ever met until the Warder came to the
Theren. Lan had a narrow form slung over one broad shoulder. Captain Danmielle
hovered behind, making some dire threat about what would become of anyone who
puked in her cabin, but the Warder ignored her. He heeled the door shut while
the captain was still mid-tirade.
Moiraine rose swiftly from her chair. No sooner had the Warder deposited his
catch on the table than she set hands to the man’s chest. It was, as they had
all assumed, Thom Merrilin. His deeply-lined face was paler than she had ever
seen it, paler even than it had been when they were surrounded by an army of
hunting Trollocs. Her hands twitched, instinct demanding she gather her
medicines and do something to help him. But she remembered Tam al’Thor and knew
that this wound was beyond her power to heal. Yet, she thought. Beyond my
Power, yet. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the Aes Sedai work.
Thom was shivering violently, and whatever Moiraine did to him made his shivers
worse at first. But then, bit by bit they eased off and his breathing started
to become less laboured.
Moiraine tsked. She set her fingers lightly to the gleeman’s knee, a small
frown forming between her narrow brows. “He will live,” she said, “but I fear
too much time has passed for me to repair the knee completely. A pity. Even in
his twilight years he was so nimble.”
Nynaeve might have made some cutting comment about the One Power then. But the
words died in her throat. The Warder flicked a glance towards her as though
surprised she had held her tongue. Fool man! As if she was one to grouch for no
reason!
“Was there any trouble removing him from the militia’s custody?” Moiraine
asked.
“None,” the Warder answered flatly. “But we should be gone from Whitebridge
within the hour. At most.” She nodded in response.
Lan reached a hand under his coat and produced a pair of knives. They looked
expensive, with brightly polished silver on the quillons and pommels. “These
may interest you. The source of our fire. I tried to break one against a wall
on my way here but could not even scratch the blade.” He raised an eyebrow at
Moiraine.
“Power-wrought steel,” the Aes Sedai said, with a raised brow. “I wonder where
Master Merrilin acquired such a rarity. One of many questions that will have to
go unanswered alas.”
Nynaeve abruptly recalled the fight they had been forced into before reaching
Shadar Logoth. She had never been so terrified in her life. It still shamed her
that she had done so little to help. Lan had duelled a Fade and won, sparks
flying from his blade each time it touched the Myrddraal’s tainted steel. Had
Thom done the same? And with such small blades! It was a miracle he had
survived.
With one last, regretful look at Thom, the Aes Sedai turned to the door. “Leave
the knives with him, and let us be going. I would have liked to hear exactly
what took place in Whitebridge, and what became of the two boys, but thankfully
I do not need Master Merrilin’s report to find them. And haste is very much
required.”
Lan’s long legs brought him to the cabin door before Moiraine and he led the
way out onto the deck. The sun was just beginning to set and Captain Danmielle
was plainly impatient to depart.
Moiraine approached her with Lan looming at her shoulder. “There has been a new
development, captain. I must change my plans.”
Danmielle’s lined mouthed thinned. “Change them in what way?”
Moiraine’s voice was calm. “I will not be travelling with you to Tear. My
business calls me elsewhere. But you shall still be hiring out your cabin. My
other companion is much too indisposed to accompany me so he must remain with
you. The money I have already given you for four passengers should be more than
enough to see to his shelter, sustenance ... and his safe delivery to the inn
called the Star. I will hear of it when he arrives. And should he not ... a
great many will hear of you, from Whitebridge to Tear to Illian, Aringill, Ebou
Dar ... and Tar Valon itself.”
The captain had begun to sweat, despite the cool evening air. “You’ll get what
you paid for,” she said sourly, working her shoulders as though a hard knot had
suddenly formed in her back. “I’ll deliver him to this Star myself. I pay my
dues.”
“Good. My people will contact me after your arrival, Captain. Do not fail me.”
With that, the Aes Sedai turned her back and glided down the gangplank, the
Warder close on her heels. With a resigned sigh, Nynaeve trailed after them to
where their horses waited.
***** Play for Your Supper *****
CHAPTER 30: Play for Your Supper
 
Rand narrowed his eyes, watching the dust-tail that rose ahead, three or four
bends of the road away. Mat was already headed toward the wild hedgerow
alongside the roadway. Its evergreen leaves and densely intermeshed branches
would hide them as well as a stone wall, if they could find a way through to
the other side. The other side of the road was marked by the sparse brown
skeletons of head-high bushes, and beyond was an open field for half a mile to
the woods. He tried to judge the speed of the dust-tail, and the wind.
A sudden gust swirled road dust up around him, obscuring everything. He blinked
and adjusted the plain, dark scarf across his nose and mouth. None too clean
now, it made his face itch, but it kept him from inhaling dust with every
breath. A farmer had given it to him, a long-faced man with grooves in his
cheeks from worry.
“I don’t know what you’re running from,” he had said with an anxious frown,
“and I don’t want to. You understand? My family.” Abruptly the farmer had dug
two long scarves out of his coat pocket and pushed the tangle of wool at them.
“It’s not much, but here. Belong to my boys. They have others. You don’t know
me, understand? It’s hard times.”
Rand treasured the scarf. The list of kindnesses he had made in his mind in the
days since Whitebridge was a short one, and he did not believe it would get
much longer.
Mat, all but his eyes hidden by the scarf wrapped around his head, hunted
swiftly along the tall hedgerow, pulling at the leafy branches. Rand touched
the heron-marked hilt at his belt, but let his hand fall away. Once already,
cutting a hole through a hedge had almost given them away. The dust-tail was
moving toward them, and staying together too long. Not the wind. At least it
was not raining. Rain settled the dust. No matter how hard it fell, it never
turned the hard-packed road to mud, but when it rained there was no dust. Dust
was the only warning they had before whoever it was came close enough to hear.
“Here,” Mat called softly. He seemed to step right through the hedge. Rand
hurried to the spot Someone had cut a hole there, once. It was partly grown
over, and from three feet away it looked as solid as the rest, but close up
there was only a thin screen of branches. As he pushed through, he heard horses
coming.
He crouched behind the barely covered opening, clutching the hilt of his sword
as the horsemen rode by. Five ... six ... seven of them. Plainly dressed men,
but swords and spears said they were not villagers. Some wore leather tunics
with metal studs, and two had round steel caps. Merchants’ guards, perhaps,
between hirings. Perhaps.
 One of them casually swung his eyes toward the hedge as he went by the
opening, and Rand bared an inch of his sword. Mat snarled silently like a
cornered badger, squinting above his scarf. His hand was under his coat; he
always clutched the dagger from Shadar Logoth when there was danger. Rand was
no longer sure if it was to protect himself or to protect the ruby-hilted
dagger.
The riders passed at a slow trot, going somewhere with a purpose but not too
great a haste.
Rand waited until the clop of the hooves faded before he stuck his head
cautiously back through the hole. The dust-tail was well down the road, going
the way they had come. Westward the sky was clear. He climbed out onto the
roadway, watching the column of dust move east.
“Not after us,” he said, halfway between a statement and a question.
Mat scrambled out after him, looking warily in both directions. “Maybe,” he
said. “Maybe.” Rand had no idea which way he meant it, but he nodded. Maybe. It
had not begun like this, their journey down the Caemlyn Road.
For a long time after leaving Whitebridge, Rand would suddenly find himself
staring back down the road behind them. Sometimes he would see someone who made
his breath catch, a tall, skinny man hurrying up the road, or a lanky, white-
haired fellow up beside the driver on a wagon, but it was always a pack-
peddler, or farmers making their way to market, never Thom Merrilin. Hope faded
as the days passed.
There was considerable traffic on the road, wagons and carts, people on horses
and people afoot. They came singly and in groups, a train of merchants’ wagons
or a dozen horsemen together. They did not jam the road, and often there was
nothing in sight except the tall but leafless trees lining the hard-packed
roadbed, but there were certainly more people travelling than Rand had ever
seen in the Theren. He had been torn between wonder and apprehension at first;
so many strange people, going to strange places, to do strange things. The
wonder had long-since faded.
Most travelled in the same direction that they did, westward toward Caemlyn.
Sometimes they got a ride in a farmer’s wagon for a little distance, a mile, or
five, but more often they walked. Men on horseback they avoided; when they
spotted even one rider in the distance they scrambled off the road and hid
until he was past. None ever wore a black cloak, and Rand did not really think
a Fade would let them see him coming, but there was no point in taking chances.
The first village after Whitebridge looked so much like Emond’s Field that
Rand’s steps dragged when he saw it. Thatched roofs with high peaks, and
goodwives in their aprons gossiping over the fences between their houses, and
children playing on a village green. The women’s hair hung unbraided around
their shoulders, and other small things were different, too, but the whole
together was like home. Cows cropped on the green, and geese waddled self-
importantly across the road. The children tumbled, laughing, in the dust where
the grass was gone altogether. They did not even look around when Rand and Mat
went by. That was another thing that was different. Strangers were no oddity
there; two more did not draw so much as a second glance. Village dogs only
raised their heads to sniff as he and Mat passed; none stirred themselves.
It was coming on evening as they went through the village, and he felt a pang
of homesickness as lights appeared in the windows. No matter what it looks
like, a small voice whispered in his mind, it isn’t really home. Even if you go
into one of those houses Tam won’t be there. If he was, could you look him in
the face? You know, now, don’t you? Except for little things like where you
come from and who you are. No fever-dreams. He hunched his shoulders against
taunting laughter inside his head. You might as well stop, the voice snickered.
One place is as good as another when you aren’t from anywhere, and the Dark One
has you marked.
Mat tugged at his sleeve, but he pulled loose and stared at the houses. He did
not want to stop, but he did want to look and remember. So much like home, but
you’ll never see that again, will you?
Mat yanked at him again. His face was taut, the skin around his mouth and eyes
white. “Come on,” Mat muttered. “Come on.” He looked at the village as if he
suspected something of hiding there “Come on. We can’t stop yet.”
Rand turned in a complete circle, taking in the whole village, and sighed. They
were not very far from Whitebridge. If the Myrddraal could get past
Whitebridge’s wall without being seen, it would have no trouble at all
searching this small village. He let himself be drawn on into the countryside
beyond, until the thatch-roofed houses were left behind.
Night fell before they found a spot by moonlight, under some bushes still
bearing their dead leaves. They filled their bellies with cold water from a
shallow rivulet not far away and curled up on the ground, wrapped in their
cloaks, without a fire. A fire could be seen; better to be cold. The slept back
to back, sharing warmth, neither in the mood to share more.
Uneasy with his memories, Rand woke often, and every time he could hear Mat
muttering and tossing in his sleep. He did not dream, that he could remember,
but he did not sleep well.
That was not the only night they spent with just their cloaks to protect them
from the wind, and sometimes the rain, cold and soaking. It was not the only
meal they made from nothing but cold water. Between them they had enough coins
for a few meals at an inn, but a bed for the night would take too much. Things
cost more outside the Theren, even more so this side of the Arindrelle than in
Baerlon. What money they had left had to be saved for an emergency.
One afternoon Rand mentioned the dagger with the ruby in its hilt, while they
were trudging down the road with bellies too empty to rumble, and the sun low
and weak, and nothing in view for the coming night but more bushes. Dark clouds
built up overhead promised rain during the night. He hoped they were lucky;
maybe no more than an icy drizzle.
He went on a few steps before he realized that Mat had stopped. He stopped,
too, wriggling his toes in his boots. At least his feet felt warm. He eased the
straps across his shoulders. His bow, his blanketroll and Thom’s bundled cloak
were not heavy, but even a few pounds weighed on you after miles on an empty
stomach. He had abandoned the good leather saddlebags days before, after moving
their contents elsewhere. “What’s the matter, Mat?” he said.
“Why are you so anxious to sell it?” Mat demanded angrily. “I found it, after
all. You ever think I might like to keep it? For a while, anyway. If you want
to sell something, sell that bloody sword!”
Rand rubbed his hand along the heron-marked hilt. “My father gave this sword to
me. It was his. I wouldn’t ask you to sell something your father gave you.
Blood and ashes, Mat, do you like going hungry? Anyway, even if I could find
somebody to buy it, how much would a sword bring? What would a farmer want with
a sword? That ruby would fetch enough to take us all the way to Caemlyn in a
carriage. Maybe all the way to Tar Valon. And we’d eat every meal in an inn,
and sleep every night in a bed. Maybe you like the idea of walking halfway
across the world and sleeping on the ground?” He glared at Mat, and his friend
glared back.
They stood like that in the middle of the road until Mat suddenly gave an
uncomfortable shrug, and dropped his eyes to the road. “Who would I sell it to,
Rand? A farmer would have to pay in chickens; we couldn’t buy a carriage with
chickens. And if I even showed it in any village we’ve been through, they’d
probably think we stole it. The Light knows what would happen then.”
After a minute Rand nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I know it. I’m sorry; I
didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s only that I’m hungry and my feet hurt.”
“Mine, too.” They started down the road again, walking even more wearily than
before. The wind gusted up, blowing dust in their faces. “Mine, too.” Mat
coughed.
Farms did provide some meals and a few nights out of the cold. A haystack was
nearly as warm as a room with a fire, at least compared to lying under the
bushes, and a haystack, even one without a tarp over it, kept all but the
heaviest rain off, if you dug yourself in deeply enough. Sometimes Mat tried
his hand at stealing eggs, and once he attempted to milk a cow left unattended,
staked out on a long rope to crop in a field. Most farms had dogs, though, and
farm dogs were watchful. A two-mile run with baying hounds at their heels was
too high a price for two or three eggs as Rand saw it, especially when the dogs
sometimes took hours to go away and let them down out of the tree where they
had taken shelter. The hours were what he regretted most. It was disheartening
how quickly you could resort to thievery when you were hungry.
He did not really like doing it, wary of strangers as he had grown, but rather
than steal Rand preferred to approach a farmhouse openly in broad daylight. Now
and again they had the dogs set on them anyway, without a word being said, for
the rumours and the times made everyone who lived apart from other people
nervous; but often an hour or so chopping wood or hauling water would earn a
meal and a bed, even if the bed was a pile of straw in the barn. But an hour or
two doing chores was an hour or two of daylight when they were standing still,
an hour or two for the Myrddraal to catch up. Sometimes he wondered how many
miles a Fade could cover in an hour. He begrudged every minute of it—though
admittedly not so much when he was wolfing down a goodwife’s hot soup. And when
they had no food, knowing they had spent every possible minute moving toward
Caemlyn did not do much to soothe an empty belly. Rand could not make up his
mind if it was worse to lose time or go hungry, but Mat went beyond worrying
about his belly or pursuit.
“What do we know about them, anyway?” Mat demanded one afternoon while they
were mucking out stalls on a small farm.
“Light, Mat, what do they know about us?” Rand sneezed. They were working
stripped to the waist, and sweat and straw covered them both liberally, and
motes of straw-dust hung in the air. “What I know is they’ll give us some roast
lamb and a real bed to sleep in.”
Mat dug his hayfork into the straw and manure and gave a sidelong frown at the
farmer, coming from the back of the barn with a bucket in one hand and his
milking stool in the other. A stooped old man with skin like leather and thin,
grey hair, the farmer slowed when he saw Mat looking at him, then looked away
quickly and hurried on out of the barn, slopping milk over the rim of the
bucket in his haste.
“He’s up to something, I tell you,” Mat said. “See the way he wouldn’t meet my
eye? Why are they so friendly to a couple of wanderers they never laid eyes on
before? Tell me that.”
“His wife says we remind her of their grandsons. And anyone might avoid the eye
of someone who was scowling at them the way you are. Will you stop worrying
about them? What we have to worry about is behind us. I hope.”
“He’s up to something,” Mat muttered.
When they finished, they washed up at the trough in front of the barn, their
shadows stretching long with the sinking sun. Rand towelled off with his shirt
as they walked to the farmhouse. The farmer met them at the door; he leaned on
a quarterstaff in a too-casual manner. Behind him his wife clutched her apron
and peered past his shoulder, chewing her lip. Rand sighed; he did not think he
and Mat reminded them of their grandsons any longer.
“Our sons are coming to visit tonight,” the old man said. “All four of them. I
forgot. They’re all four coming. Big lads. Strong. Be here any time, now. I’m
afraid we don’t have the bed we promised you.”
His wife thrust a small bundle wrapped in a napkin past him. “Here. It’s bread,
and cheese, and pickles, and lamb. Enough for two meals, maybe. Here.” Her
wrinkled face asked them to please take it and go.
Rand took the bundle. “Thank you. I understand. Come on, Mat.”
Mat followed him, grumbling while he pulled his shirt over his head. Rand
thought it best to cover as many miles as they could before stopping to eat.
The old farmer had a dog.
Three days later, while they were still working, they had the dogs set on them.
The dogs, and the farmer, and his two sons waving cudgels chased them out to
the Caemlyn Road and half a mile down it before giving up. They had barely had
time to snatch up their belongings and run. The farmer had carried an odd,
short-looking bow with a broadhead arrow nocked. Rand’s own bow was in his hand
and his quiver hung at his waist. He kept glancing backwards as he ran, a
prickling tension between his shoulders warning him again and again that an
arrow was about to strike. Prodded by that maddening sensation it was all he
could do not to wheel around, and see how the ingrate’s shooting and his sad
little bow matched up to a Therener’s.
“Don’t come back, hear!” the farmer had shouted after them. “I don’t know what
you’re up to, but don’t let me see your shifty eyes again!”
Mat had started to turn back, fumbling at his quiver, but Rand pulled him on.
“Are you crazy? What are we going to do, kill him?” Mat gave him a sullen look,
but at least he kept running.
They had met the fellow who gave them their scarves the next day. Neither lad
had greeted him in a particularly friendly manner, but the man had done well by
them nonetheless. Rand tried to focus on that, on the kindness of the few
instead of the meanness of the many, but it wasn’t easy.
eHeHe sometimes wondered if it was worthwhile stopping at farms. The farther
they went, the more suspicious of strangers Mat became, and the less he was
able to hide it. Or bothered to. The meals got skimpier for the same work, and
sometimes not even the barn was offered as a place to sleep. But then a
solution to all their problems came to Rand, or so it seemed, and it came at
Grinwell’s farm.
Mistress Grinwell and her husband had nine children, the eldest a daughter not
more than a year younger than Rand and Mat. Master Grinwell was a sturdy man,
and with his children he probably had no need of any more help, but he looked
them up and down, taking in their travel-stained clothes and dusty boots, and
allowed as how he could always find work for more hands. Mistress Grinwell said
that if they were going to eat at her table, they would not do it in those
filthy things. She was about to do laundry, and some of her husband’s old
clothes would fit them well enough for working. She smiled when she said it,
and for a minute she looked to Rand just like Mistress al’Vere, though her hair
was yellow; it reminded him a little of Alene, but her hair had been a much
darker shade than Mistress Grinwell’s. Even Mat seemed to lose some of his
tension when her smile touched him. The eldest daughter was another matter.
Dark-haired, big-eyed, and pretty, Else grinned impudently at them whenever her
parents were not looking. While they worked, moving barrels and sacks of grain
in the barn, she hung over a stall door, humming to herself and chewing the end
of one long pigtail, watching them. Rand she watched especially. He tried to
ignore her, but after a few minutes he put on the shirt Master Grinwell had
loaned him. It was tight across the shoulders and too short, but it was better
than nothing. Else laughed out loud when he tugged it on. He began to think
that this time it would not be Mat’s fault when they were chased off.
Perrin would know how to handle this, he thought. He’d make some offhand
comment, and pretty soon she’d be laughing at his jokes instead of mooning
around where her father can see.
Only he could not think of any offhand comment, or any jokes, either. Whenever
he looked in her direction, she smiled at him in a way that would have her
father loosing the dogs on them if he saw. Once she told him she liked tall
men. All the boys on the farms around there were short. Mat gave a nasty
snicker. Wishing he could think of a joke, Rand tried to concentrate on his
hayfork.
The younger children, at least, were a blessing in Rand’s eyes. Mat’s wariness
always eased a little when there were children around. After supper they all
settled in front of the fireplace, with Master Grinwell in his favourite chair
thumbing his pipe full of tabac and Mistress Grinwell fussing with her sewing
box and the shirts she had washed for him and Mat. Mat dug out Thom’s coloured
balls and began to juggle. He never did that unless there were children. The
children laughed when he pretended to be dropping the balls, snatching them at
the last minute, and they clapped for fountains and figure-eights and a six-
ball circle that he really did almost drop. But they took it in good part,
Master Grinwell and his wife applauding as hard as their children. When Mat was
done, bowing around the room with as many flourishes as Thom might have made,
Rand took Thom’s flute from its case.
He could never handle the instrument without a pang of sadness. Touching its
gold-and-silver scrollwork was like touching Thom’s memory. He never handled
the harp except to see that it was safe and dry—Thom had always said the harp
was beyond a farmboy’s clumsy hands—but whenever a farmer allowed them to stay,
he always played one tune on the flute after supper. It was just a little
something extra to pay the farmer, and maybe a way of keeping Thom’s memory
fresh.
With a laughing mood already set by Mat’s juggling, he played “Three Girls in
the Meadow.” Master and Mistress Grinwell clapped along, and the smaller
children danced around the floor, even the smallest boy, who could barely walk,
stomping his feet in time. He knew he would win no prizes at Bel Tine, but
after Thom’s teaching he would not be embarrassed to enter.
Else was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, and as he lowered the flute
after the last note, she leaned forward with a long sigh and smiled at him. She
opened her mouth to say something, but one of her brothers interrupted her, a
yellow-haired lad of about twelve. “Do you know ‘Coming Home From Tarwin’s
Gap?’ ” he asked.
Rand had picked up the leather case to put the flute away, but with a shrug and
a smile he put the flute back to his lips and played the song the boy asked
for, then another, and another. Else Grinwell kept watching him with oddly
satisfied look on her face. He played “The Wind That Shakes the Willow,” and
“Mistress Aynora’s Rooster,” and “The Old Black Bear.” He played every song he
could think of, but she never took her eyes off him. She never said anything,
either, but she watched, and smiled.
It was late when Master Grinwell finally stood up, chuckling and rubbing his
hands together. “Well, this has been rare fun, but it’s way past our bedtime.
You travelling lads make your own hours, but morning comes early on a farm.
I’ll tell you lads, I have paid good money at an inn for no better
entertainment than I’ve had this night. For worse, come to think of it.”
Mistress Grinwell picked up her youngest boy, who had long since fallen asleep
in front of the fire. “We’ve no spare rooms I’m afraid, but the barn is well-
made if you don’t mind a bit of straw.”
“That would be most kind, Mistress Grinwell,” Rand said.
Else ducked her head and grinned to herself.
Master Grinwell nodded. “I do wish I could hear more of that flute. And your
juggling, too. I like that. You know, there’s a little task you could help with
tomorrow, and—”
“They’ll be wanting an early start, father,” Mistress Grinwell cut in. “Arien
is the next village the way they’re going, and if they intend to try their luck
performing at the inn there, they’ll have to walk all day to get there before
dark.”
It had never occurred to Rand to barter the skills Thom had taught them for
room or board. He didn’t think them good enough that anyone would be willing to
pay, but even if all they could get was a bed for the night he would be
grateful.
“Yes, mother,” Master Grinwell, “you’re quite right. Well, best of luck to you
both if we don’t meet again in the morning.”
The barn proved as comfy as the Grinwells had promised. Rand was warm enough
that he kicked off his boots and tossed his shirt aside to sleep in only his
trousers, atop a cloak stuffed with straw.
“I wonder if you’ll have a visitor in the night?” Mat drawled knowingly. He
snorted. “A better sort of visit than those we usually get, at least. I doubt
any of the Grinwells are Darkfriends. Probably not, anyway. You can’t be sure
...”
“I’m sure,” Rand said stoutly. He could not believe Darkfriends would be so
kind to strangers. He ignored the other thing that Mat implied. Honestly, he
hoped there would be no visitors of any kind that night.
But there were.
It had been dark for several hours and Rand was sleeping when the door of the
barn creaked open. He came awake instantly, in a way that would have surprised
him mere weeks ago. Wariness was fast becoming normality. He heard Mat stir
beside him and knew he wasn’t the open one who had heard the noise. His sword
and bow were nearby. He chose the sword, and eased it slightly out of its
scabbard, waiting.
Someone mounted the loft ladder. The two lads got up on their elbows, staring
intently at the rails as they moved slightly beneath the climber’s weight. It
was a clear moonlit night and the half-closed shutters of the barn let in
enough silvery light to show clearly whatever approached. Rand tightened his
grip on the sword-hilt.
Else Grinwell’s dark-haired head appeared at the top of the ladder. She smiled
widely when she saw them both awake and watching. Rand let out a soft sigh,
mostly of relief, but with a touch of trepidation too. How am I supposed to
handle this? He had a feeling he knew why Else was here in the dead of night.
The sound Mat made was more of a soft laugh than a sigh. But Rand thought he
heard relief in that too.
“You’re both awake,” she whispered. “Good. It’s chilly out there.” She was
wearing only her shift and her large breasts swayed visibly beneath it as she
padded across the loft and sat beside Rand’s pallet. Without so much as asking,
she took Rand’s hand in hers and rubbed her palms against it to warm herself.
Mat whistled low. “You’re an adventurous one, out exploring the wilds at this
hour.”
Else grinned. “Well it can get a bit dull on the farm. We hardly ever have such
interesting guests. I thought I’d come over for a visit.”
“We’ll be around for a little while yet, long enough to get breakfast at
least,” Rand offered. Else seemed a harmless sort, but he hardly knew her. The
thought of doing what she was, heavily, implying she wanted to do with a
stranger made him feel more than a little uncomfortable.
“Oh, lots of time yet until breakfast,” Mat said hastily, shooting a warning
look Rand’s way. “But I suppose you wouldn’t want to be too tired once morning
arrives.”
“Oh no,” Else agreed, “that wouldn’t do at all.” She looked back and forth
between them. “But you’ve lost your shirts. Now I feel all rude,” she pouted.
Then she swiftly pulled her shift up over her head and let it fall to the
planking.
She was a big girl, was Else Grinwell. Not fat, but well fed. Heavy breasts
tipped by large dark nipples hung above a slightly-rounded belly; meaty thighs
hid that which waited beneath her dark triangle of pubic hair. She giggled as
they took in the sight of her naked body, an excited grin lighting up her face.
Else leaned in and kissed Rand. He didn’t push her away, that would have been
rude and cruel, but he didn’t return the kiss either. This whole thing still
sat poorly with him. Though he’d be plain lying if he claimed the sight of Else
in the nude hadn’t caused a stirring in his groin.
She didn’t seem to notice his reluctance at all. “You are so pretty,” she
whispered. “I’ve never seen a man who looked so pretty.” She glanced at Mat.
“Your friend’s cute too.”
Mat reached over and boldly ran his hands over the globes of Else’s butt. She
giggled again, rising up to kneel on Rand’s pallet, displaying herself to Mat’s
eager eyes. She ran her hands through Rand’s hair as she kissed him, her tongue
exploring his mouth. Her insistent fondling unbalanced him and he was forced to
raise a hand to hold her steady. He would have sworn on his mother’s grave it
was only happenstance that brought it to Else’s breast. She moaned loudly at
the contact and her tongue moved even more forcefully in his mouth.
She was a hungry girl, was Else Grinwell. Mat was all-too happy to feed her. If
he felt any of Rand’s discomfort over doing it with a stranger, it certainly
didn’t show in the way he yanked his trousers down to his knees. His long cock
was hard as a rod and he wasted no time before grabbing the girl by her hips
and ramming himself into her.
Else stopped kissing Rand and cried out in pleasure. “Such a nice boy,” she
giggled. “Are you a nice boy, too?” She unbuttoned Rand’s trousers and reached
inside. “Oooo, a very nice boy.”
She pulled his hard cock out and grinned as she took in the sight of it. Rand
sighed out the last of his reluctance. It still felt a bit wrong, but where was
the harm really? And he was undeniably horny.
Else ran her eyes over Rand’s naked form as Mat began to ride her hard. She
looked well pleased with herself, though whether it was from what she saw, felt
or both, he could not say.
He felt her hot, panting breath on his member when she took it in her hand and
lowered her mouth towards it. His eyes drifted closed when her warm, wet mouth
enveloped the tip of his cock, and when she began sucking upon him a small
groan escaped his lips.
Mat reached around Else’s wide hips and began rubbing her crotch for her, just
the way Marin had taught Rand to. He spared a moment to wonder where his friend
had learned that. But the girl’s moans sent a shiver of pleasure down Rand’s
spine, muffled as they were by his cock in her mouth, and that drove the
thought from his mind.
Life on the Grinwell farm must have been a frustrating experience for Else,
because she came to orgasm very quickly. When she did, she raised her mouth
from Rand’s member only long enough to moan a loud “Oh, yes!” before going
right back to sucking upon him. But now she kept her eyes open as she did so,
looking at Rand all the while.
Mat grinned at her cry and went right on pounding away at her. Rand watched her
rounded buttocks shake as his friend’s hips slapped against them.
She came again before they were done. This time she did not released Rand from
her mouth, but moaned against him, and it was that that brought him close to
the edge.
Mat bottomed out in her and tossed back his head. He let out a long sigh, teeth
gritted, and Rand knew he was coming inside the girl. “I needed that,” he
whispered. Else turned her head to look back at him when she felt him spurting
in her, she smirked at what she saw, then looked to Rand once more.
She took his shaft in both her strong hands, strengthened by years of farm
work, and began pumping him. She watched his face as she did so, a wide,
naughty smile on her lips. Somehow she knew when he reached his limit. She
swiftly lowered her mouth to his cock once more, eyes closed this time. Rand
spilt his seed in the strange farmgirl’s mouth, trying and failing to stifle
his groan. She gobbled it all down, every last drop.
When they separated all three youths were breathing heavily, and sweat was
shining on their moonlit bodies.
Else licked her lips and grinned back and forth between the two boys. “I wish
all our visitors were as much fun as you two.”
Mat stretched out, looking more relaxed that Rand had seen him since Shadar
Logoth. “I would have said the same if you’d visited our place back home. And
brought a friend as pretty as yourself.” Else laughed.
Rand tried to share in their satisfaction, but now that his lust was sated that
odd feeling had come creeping back. He couldn’t quite explain it, but something
just felt wrong. Guilt, probably. The Wisdom would have a fit if she could see
us now.
He was the first to fix his clothes, but with their exertions ended, and the
chill night air on their skins, the other two were not long in following. Else
brushed straw from her knees and her bottom before pulling her shift down over
her head again and hiding herself from their watching eyes.
She smiled. “I’d better be getting back to my room. I’ll see you two in the
morning.”
“For sure,” Mat said. “Maybe you could walk with us when we leave, out past the
trees on the edge of your mother’s farm ...”
She carefully lowered a foot to the ladder that led down from the loft. “I
doubt my parents would allow that!” As her face disappeared from view she
grinned and added, “Unfortunately.”
They listened until the door of the barn creaked open and closed. Then Mat let
out a soft chuckle, “Now if all the people we met were as friendly as her, this
whole being chased out of our home thing wouldn’t be half bad.” He went to the
window to watch Else make her way back to the farmhouse.
Rand smiled wryly. It was good to see Mat acting more like himself. He’d gotten
very suspicious lately. But then, they both had. “I hate to question your
priorities, old friend, but I could suffer a bit of celibacy if it meant less
Fades and Trollocs in my life. Or a lot of celibacy even.”
“Trollocs,” Mat said.
“Nasty things. You know, I think they’d be less horrific if they would just
pick a species. Be a giant cat, or a giant bird, or an evil-looking man even
... but don’t be a little bit of everything all mixed randomly together,” he
shook his head.
“Trollocs,” Mat repeated, in an insistent whisper.
Rand’s smile died. His skin started crawling and he scrambled to join Mat in
the window, snatching up his bow and quiver as he went.
He saw nothing at first except the familiar terrain of the Grinwell farm, lit
by the faint moonlight. Else was tiptoeing towards the front door, no-one and
no thing near her. Mat touched his shoulder and pointed towards the eastern
pasture. Then he saw them, large dark shapes moving slowly, cautiously towards
the farmstead. He couldn’t see any details, just their bulky shadows. They
could have been men come to visit, or to rob; they could have been stray cattle
even. But they weren’t. Somehow he knew they weren’t. His skin was trying to
crawl right off his bones.
A horrible realisation struck him. “We can’t run,” he whispered. “The
Grinwells.”
“Blood and ashes,” Mat cursed hoarsely. He darted to fetch his bow. Rand fished
a string from his pocket and hastily set to stringing his bow, one end fronting
his right ankle as he bent the limb behind his left leg.
The Trollocs edged closer. Their creeping advance seemed less confident
somehow, compared to the way they had rampaged through the Theren and the empty
lands west of Baerlon. We are deep into Andor now, Rand realised, they don’t
want the Queen to know they are here. She’d probably send an army after them.
The thought gave him heart. So did the slowness of their movement. Even in the
dark they would be easy targets. The first few of them, at least. He eased the
shutter more fully open as Mat rejoined him at the window.
There were four shadows visible. Rand narrowed his eyes and studied the night
as best he could, but he could see no more than those four. There could be
others climbing up the ladder right now. He squashed the thought firmly,
seeking and finding the void. “The two to the back first,” he said in a low,
emotionless voice. “I’ll take the farthest.”
Mat nodded. He scowled out at the dark figures and nocked his first arrow, his
quiver resting near to hand.
The Trollocs did not see the two archers in the barn. Even when a pair of
broadhead arrows struck the first of them at centre mass, the others kept
advancing on the farmhouse. Only when their—hopefully—dying fellows made some
alarmed, pained grunts did the front two stop and look back. By then it was too
late. Rand and Mat had drawn and sighted again, and at that ranged, with a
stationary target, there was no way they were going to miss. The arrows flew
true, and four Trollocs lay upon the field.
Rand waited for the howls of rage from the rest of their hunters. He waited for
the Trollocs they had shot to cry out in pain and wake the farmstead. He waited
for Else’s shrieks. He waited and listened for what seemed a long time, but the
stillness of the night remained unbroken.
Mat’s face was more sweaty than it had been while they were cavorting with
Else. “Just the four?” he said at last. “Scouts?”
“Maybe,” Rand said. “This far into Andor, maybe they don’t dare move as openly
as before. We should dispose of the bodies.”
Mat gaped. “Who cares about the bodies? I’m not going out there in the dark. We
don’t know there aren’t more.”
Rand’s voice was a distant thing, even to him. “It would be best if the
Grinwells didn’t awake to find dead, or dying, Trollocs in their field. Not
while we are still here at least. Dragging them to that copse of trees to the
north should be enough.” He went to get dressed. Mat stared at him all the
while.
It was all well and good to say such things while floating in the void, but
when he returned to himself and tried to put his plan into action Rand found
his limbs had grown treacherous. Climbing down the ladder into the murky depths
of the barn was a lot harder than he would ever have imagined. His legs did not
shake, but they felt disturbingly light, as though not quite attached to his
body.
He eased open the barn door, sword at his hip and bow in hand, an arrow held
ready to nock. He waited cautiously before venturing out, watching every shadow
and straining his ears.
A light thump behind made him jump. But it was only Mat. He readied his bow and
scowled as he followed Rand out into the night.
They crept towards the downed Trollocs as slowly, or more, as they had been
creeping towards the farm when Mat spotted them. A long few minutes worth of
suspiciously glaring at dark patches of empty darkness passed before they
reached the spot where their targets had fallen. Even then Rand lowered his bow
and drew Tam’s sword, cautiously leaning over to poke the bodies a few times
each, before they relaxed. Slightly.
Dragging the Trolloc bodies away was harder than Rand had anticipated. They
were heavy, smelly things, and the touch of their cooling, furred flesh on his
was as disturbing as the sight of their inhuman faces would have been, if the
dark did not do them the favour of hiding it.
Mat cursed under his breath the whole time, until Rand was tempted to snap at
him. He would much rather have listened for anything moving nearby than hear
Mat’s carping. But Mat had followed Rand’s fool plan despite his obvious
reluctance, and gratitude held his tongue.
Two trips across the field passed without attack from lurking Shadowspawn and
Rand finally felt his tension ease. They made their way back towards the barn
in blessed silence. But the brief joviality of before was gone. As far as
they’d come since Whitebridge, the Fade was still right on their heels. If it
was sending Trollocs out in small parties then perhaps they could hope that it
didn’t know exactly where they were. But it was still much too close for
comfort. They needed to move faster, they needed to put as much distance as
they could between them and the Myrddraal.
Rand suggested leaving right then and walking through the night, but Mat
pointed out that they hadn’t slept and wouldn’t get far if they were exhausted.
He was right but Rand got little sleep that night. He sat on a haybale by the
slightly open barn door, his bow in hand, trying to watch the farm for signs of
more intruders as he dozed fitfully.
***** Shelter From the Storm *****
CHAPTER 32: Shelter from the Storm
 
Egwene found their time among the Tuatha’an delightful. They were such an
agreeable people. Even the harshest words were met with a peaceful, accepting
response. After the trying conditions of their journey, and the cold sourness
of so many of their travelling companions, it was a welcome change.
Perrin didn’t seem to share her views. He fretted over their leisurely pace and
often disturbed the peace of the camp by arguing with Elyas. The Travelling
People saw no need to hurry; they never did. The colourful wagons did not roll
out of a morning until the sun was well above the horizon, and they stopped as
early as mid afternoon if they came across a congenial spot. The dogs trotted
easily alongside the wagons, and often the children did, too. They had no
difficulty in keeping up. Any suggestion that they might go further, or more
quickly, was met with laughter, or perhaps, “Ah, but would you make the poor
horses work so hard?”
She was a little surprised that Elyas did not share Perrin’s eagerness to
leave. Elyas would not ride on the wagons—he preferred to walk, sometimes
loping along at the head of the column—but he never suggested leaving, or
pressing on ahead. Like most men Elyas didn’t seem to understand what he really
wanted. He would make a big fuss about how little he regarded his fellow
humans, him with his staring, animal eyes, but he plainly hungered for company
more than he wanted to admit.
Obviously that poor, savage creature he travelled with wasn’t able to help him
accept what he was. Raine Cinclare was more wolf than woman. Egwene pitied her,
but that didn’t make it any less offensive to see a woman behave as she did.
Unfortunately there was little she could think to do, yet, that would make the
girl behave in a more dignified fashion.
The strange yellow-eyed wanderers in their ragged clothes were so different
from the gentle Tuatha’an that they stood out wherever they went among the
wagons. Even from across the camp there was no mistaking either of them for one
of the People, and not just because of clothes. Raine moved with a wary haste,
darting forward abruptly before stopping to listen to all around her, only to
dart forward again once she was satisfied with what she heard. She had terrible
posture, hunching forward almost constantly, which made her appear even shorter
than she was. Elyas, on the other hand, moved with a lazy grace, radiating
danger as naturally as a fire radiated heat. The contrast with the Travelling
People was sharp. Young and old, the People were joyful on their feet. There
was no danger in their grace, only delight. Their children darted about filled
with the pure zest of moving, of course, but among the Tuatha’an, greybeards
and grandmothers, too, still stepped lightly, their walk a stately dance no
less exuberant for its dignity. All the People seemed on the point of dancing,
even when standing still, even during the rare times when there was no music in
the camp. Fiddles and flutes, dulcimers and zithers and drums spun harmony and
counterpoint around the wagons at almost any hour, in camp or on the move.
Joyous songs, merry songs, laughing songs, sad songs; if someone was awake in
the camp there was usually music.
One morning over breakfast, when Perrin had brought up the topic of leaving yet
again—in that stubborn, thick-headed way of his—Elyas looked at him lazily and
said, “You had hard days before you met me, and you’ll have harder still ahead,
with Trollocs and Halfmen after you, and Aes Sedai for friends.” He grinned
around a mouthful of Ila’s dried-apple pie. “Don’t be in such a bloody hurry to
put yourself in Aes Sedai hands.”
Egwene fixed him with her most womanly stare. The kind Nynaeve used when some
fool man spoke against the Women’s Circle. She didn’t think she could quite
manage one of Moiraine’s. Yet. But Nynaeve’s would do for now. “Aes Sedai
business is none of yours Elyas Machera. You should not speak of things you do
not, and cannot, understand.”
He laughed at her, rolling on the ground and wheezing in that ridiculous manner
of his. She studiously ignored him, lips tight and chin high.
Perrin didn’t notice how rude Elyas was being, he still had that one thought in
his head and nothing would budge it. “What if the Fades find us? What’s to keep
them from it if we just sit here, waiting? Three wolves can’t hold them off,
and the Travelling People won’t be any help. They won’t even defend themselves.
The Trollocs will butcher them, and it will be our fault. Anyway, we have to
leave them sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”
Elyas calmed himself somewhat. “Something tells me to wait. Just a few days.
Relax, lad. Take life as it comes. Run when you have to, fight when you must,
rest when you can.”
Anna frowned, looking up from her bowl of broth. “What do you mean,
‘something’?”
He ignored her, even when Egwene sniffed her disapproval. Not that she wanted
to support Anna—the girl still hadn’t apologised for insulting her after they
crossed the Taren—but the man really had no manners at all, to treat women so
disrespectfully. “Have some of this pie,” he said blithely. “Ila doesn’t like
me, but she surely feeds me well when I visit. Always good food in the People’s
camps.”
“What ‘something’?” Perrin demanded. “If you know something you aren’t telling
the rest o us ...”
Elyas frowned at the piece of pie in his hand, then set it down and dusted his
hands together. “Something,” he said finally, with a shrug of his shoulders as
if he did not understand it completely himself. “Something tells me it’s
important to wait. A few more days. I don’t get feelings like this often, but
when I do, I’ve learned to trust them. They’ve saved my life in the past. This
time it’s different, somehow, but it’s important. That’s clear. You want to run
on, then run on. Not me.”
That was all he would say, no matter how many times Perrin asked. He lay about,
talking with Raen, eating, napping with his hat over his eyes, and refused to
discuss leaving. Something told him to wait. Something told him it was
important. Egwene shook her head. Even by the standards of males that was
ridiculous reasoning.
When he was not fretting or talking about leaving, Perrin spent most of his
time with Anna. The two were rarely apart. She would glimpse them sometimes,
walking along beside the wagons and talking about something or other – bows,
tracking, or other mannish stuff, she imagined. When they stopped for the night
they would often disappear entirely, no doubt off to hunt some rabbits. Egwene
didn’t mind. Aram proved much better company.
She liked dancing with the handsome Tinker boy, swinging round and round to the
flutes and fiddles and drums, to tunes the Tuatha’an had gathered from all over
the world, or to the sharp, trilling songs of the Travelling People themselves,
sharp whether they were quick or slow. They knew many songs, some she
recognized from home, though often under different names than they were called
in the Theren. “Three Girls in the Meadow,” for instance, the Tinkers named
“Pretty Maids Dancing,” and they said “The Wind From the North” was called
“Hard Rain Falling” in some lands and “Berin’s Retreat” in others.
Aram was full of compliments. For how beautiful she was, how lithe, how witty.
For the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight and how rich and soft her hair
looked. He dared to brush his fingers through it once, and she let him, smiling
coyly. It would have been more satisfying if it has been Etsio’s Day, but that
seemed to have been and gone while she was busy running for her life.
She admired the way the women danced to some of the slow songs on the third
night, as the fires burned low, and the darkness hung close around the wagons,
and fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the drums. First one drum, then another,
until every drum in the camp kept the same low, insistent beat. There was
silence except for the drums. A girl in a red dress swayed into the light,
loosening her blue shawl. Strings of beads hung in her dark hair, and she had
kicked off her shoes. A flute began the melody, wailing softly, and the girl
danced. Outstretched arms spread her shawl behind her; her hips undulated as
her bare feet shuffled to the beat of the drums. The girl’s eyes fastened on
Perrin, sitting on a nearby log, and her smile was as slow as her dance. She
turned in small circles, smiling over her shoulder at him as her hips swayed.
The big apprentice boy swallowed visibly. The heat in his face was not from the
fire. A second girl joined the first, the fringe on their shawls shaking in
time to the drums and the slow rotation of their hips. They smiled at him, and
he cleared his throat hoarsely, his face as red as a beet.
Perrin actually fled from them, sliding down off the log, trying to act as if
he were just getting comfortable, but he carefully ended up looking away from
the fire, and the dancers. It wasn’t at all the kind of dancing they did back
on the Green at Emond’s Field. She liked the effect it had on him, and decided
then and there that she would learn the Tinker’s dance too.
The dancers weren’t done with Perrin. Seemingly taking his shyness as a
challenge, they danced into his field of view again, only now they were three.
The newest girl gave him a sly wink. They laughed softly at his red-faced
response; beads clicked as they tossed their long hair over their shoulders.
Then a slightly older woman joined the girls, to show them how it was done.
Anna watched the dance sullenly from the edge of the firelight. She would be
pretty enough if she’d just dress properly, and let her hair grow out. Though
at least Anna’s hair was well-groomed. From the look of Raine’s she probably
used a dagger to hack it off, not even bothering with a good pair of scissors.
Seeing Anna’s jealousy of the Tinkers, Egwene decided she would make peace with
her and help her act more like a woman. But first she’ll have to apologise.
According to Ila the girls did not dance that dance often, and the women rarely
did, and it was thanks to Perrin’s blushes that they did so every night
thereafter.
“I have to thank you,” she heard Elyas tell him once, his tone sober and
solemn. “It’s different with you young fellows, but at my age it takes more
than a fire to warm my bones.” Perrin scowled at his back as the older man
sauntered away.
Egwene sought out the girls who had danced for Perrin, and introduced herself.
The first one she found was a black-haired Tinker girl about her own age. A
pretty little thing, despite her protruding ears, wearing a green dress that
matched her eyes, and a yellow shawl. She had been the second one to join the
dance. Egwene smiled as she took the girl’s hands in hers.
“I liked your dance,” she told her. “Would you teach it to me?”
The Tinker smiled shyly, not quite meeting Egwene’s eyes. “Oh, I’m not sure I’d
be a very good teacher.”
“I’m sure you could do it,” Egwene persisted. “You’d simply need to apply
yourself.”
“Well that’s very nice of you to say,” the girl said cheerfully. “Are you sure
you want to learn? When we meet people who aren’t People they sometimes get a
bit stabby over our dancing. With their eyes I mean, not other things.
Thankfully. Usually.”
Egwene laughed softly, but before she could respond another girl chirped up.
“She seems quite sure to me.” The speaker proved to be the first dancer from
before. About the same height as Egwene, and about Perrin’s age, she would have
looked right at home in the Theren if her hair had been braided and just a
slightly darker shade of brown. She turned a friendly smile Egwene’s way. “Hi.
I’m Cerani. My friend here is Merile, if she hasn’t told you yet.” Merile
blinked as though the thought that she should have introduced herself had only
just occurred to her. “We’d be happy to teach you a few dance steps.”
“Great!” Egwene loved to learn new things, especially useful new things.
Cerani gave her friend a fond, if slightly apologetic, smile. “In private we
Tuatha’an call ourselves ‘the People’. Merile didn’t mean to imply that anyone
who isn’t Tuatha’an isn’t a person. Please don’t be offended.”
“Oh! Yes, I mean no. Outsiders are people too. If they want to be ... or not.
That is ... well, not that you have to be in order to be. Uhh ... I’ll stop
talking now. Oh dear.” Merile trailed off, looking embarrassed.
Egwene laughed out loud. “No, that’s alright. I gathered her meaning.”
“Well,” Cerani said brightly, clapping her hands together. “With dancing, it
all starts with the hips ...”
The two Tinker girls clapped the rhythm while she repeated the shuffling steps
with a borrowed shawl swaying behind her. It wasn’t that difficult really, but
when the girls added the long, rolling hip movements Egwene’s embarrassment
overcame her and she started laughing. The three girls fell giggling into one
another’s arms. But Egwene persevered, blushes be damned.
They had drawn a small crowd of watchers. Perrin frowned disapprovingly and
started to say something, then seemed to discover wisdom and let his teeth
click back together. Aram though ... Aram watched her dancing with a hot,
hungry gaze in his pretty eyes. The handsome young Tuatha’an had given her a
string of blue beads that she wore all the time. Worried frowns now replaced
the smiles Ila had worn when she first noticed her grandson’s interest in
Egwene. She wasn’t sure what the older woman was worried about. Aram was a
sweet boy, he would hardly hurt Egwene.
After she parted company with Cerani and Merile, she found Perrin waiting for
her behind a nearby wagon. “Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he said. His tone
seemed to imply she shouldn’t be.
“Why shouldn’t I?” She fingered the blue beads around her neck, smiling at
them. And very much not smiling at Perrin. “We don’t all have to work at being
miserable, the way you do. Don’t we deserve a little chance to enjoy
ourselves?”
She hadn’t expected to see much more of Perrin when she had decided to indulge
his desire for her. How could she have known he would decide to leave the
Theren with her? He and the others might have talked of seeing the outside
world, but she hadn’t thought any of them would actually have the nerve. She
wouldn’t have done it if she had known he would prove this clingy. She had no
intentions of spending her days managing his smithy business for him, no matter
what he imagined.
Perrin spoke in a low voice. “I thought you wanted to get to Tar Valon. You
won’t learn to be an Aes Sedai here.”
Was that his idea of being subtle? Perrin cared as little for the idea of her
becoming Aes Sedai as Rand and Nynaeve did. No, it was something else that had
his back up, and she was pretty sure she knew what. The poor, fool boy. Not
that “fool” and “boy” were any less than two words for the same thing. Egwene
tossed her head. “And I thought you didn’t like me wanting to become an Aes
Sedai,” she said, too sweetly.
Aram stood not far off—he never got far from Egwene—with his arms folded across
his chest, a smile of admiration on his face. Perrin shot him a suspicious
look. “Blood and ashes, do you believe we’re safe here? Are these people safe
with us here? A Fade could find us anytime.”
Honestly. It would almost have been sweet, if he would only say what he was
really thinking. These ham-handed efforts were a bit insulting. Her hand
trembled on the beads. She lowered it and took a deep breath. “Whatever is
going to happen will happen whether we leave today or next week. That’s what I
believe now. Enjoy yourself, Perrin. It might be the last chance we have.” She
brushed his cheek with her fingers, hoping he would take the hint.
Then Aram held out his hand to her, and she darted to him, already laughing
again. As they ran away to where fiddles sang, Aram flashed a triumphant grin
over his shoulder at Perrin as if to say, she is not yours, but she will be
mine. Men were such simple creatures. As if she would ever marry a Tinker. What
could he possibly offer her besides a pretty face? She would have to let him
down gently.
Later, as she stretched her arms above her head, she pondered how best to do
that. The dancing had left her quite tired, so she simply lay back on the edge
of the bed with her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. Aram knelt before her,
doing his work and doing it surprisingly well.
When he had tugged down his colourful breeches and shown her what he had to
offer she had been a little shocked. True, Perrin’s had been a little shorter
than Rand and Mat’s, and Mat’s a little thinner than Rand’s and Perrin’s, but
she had still assumed men would be of a similar size. Aram’s was oddly small in
comparison to the Theren boys’. He used it skilfully though.
She sighed and laced her fingers behind her head, wondering if someone had
trained him and if so who. She wasn’t jealous; whoever it had been had done a
good job. He stirred her pleasure with his fingers as much as with his cock.
They hadn’t bothered to take off their clothes, not completely. The wagon
belonged to Aram’s mother and they wouldn’t be able to stay long. She was a
pleasant woman, full of smiles, but even a Tinker might object to a stranger
taking her son to bed under her own roof. So Egwene had merely pulled up her
skirts and lain on the edge of the bed. She smiled, recalling; that had been
all it took to set Aram to fumbling at his belt. He was a bit of a slut it
seemed.
“Take off your shirt,” she murmured. He grinned down at her and hardly paused
in his thrusting as he dragged the gaudy garment over his head. His chest was
oddly small too. Mat’s had nowhere near the breadth and width of Perrin’s and
Rand’s but even he had very visibly defined muscles all over his body. Aram was
as smooth as a girl, only without any breasts. She smiled as she watched him.
He took hold of her legs and lifted them higher as he sped up his strokes,
moaning loudly. He buried himself all the way inside her and she soon felt him
spurting. That felt sweet. And harmless; she had plenty of heartleaf in her
saddlebags, so there would be no chance of her getting pregnant.
Aram smiled in satisfaction as he slid out of Egwene’s sex. “That was
wonderful. The first flower of spring is always the sweetest.” He took her hand
and gave it a gentle squeeze.
When he made to rise, Egwene blinked quizzically, once, then pulled him back
down. “I’m not done yet, silly boy,” she said with a gentle smile. Then she put
a hand atop his head, amidst his fine black hair, and pushed his mouth towards
her pussy.
Aram looked alarmed for some reason. “But ... I just ...”
She ignored his blathering, wrapped her legs around his shoulders, and pressed
his face into her slit. “The leaf falls where the wind takes it, and does not
struggle against its fate,” she reminded him. “This is where you belong now.”
It occurred to her that that might make it harder to let him down easily.
“Right now. As to the future ... the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.” She
thought Moiraine would have liked that.
Aram’s face was red from exertion and a small frown marred his brow. But his
tongue worked against her willingly enough. She rubbed herself insistently
against his lips, feeling her pleasure mounting.
Egwene’s gasping breaths came shorter and shorter until at last, with a glad
cry, the dam inside her burst and pleasure flowed freely.
Afterwards, she smiled and stretched her shoulders. It might have been better
if she had taken her dress off; she had sweated a little toward the end.
Aram had pulled up his breeches. He wiped his mouth on his shirt, looking oddly
sour-faced.
Egwene came to her feet and let her skirts fall back into place, smoothing them
with her hands. “Well that was nice. But don’t go assuming I’ll make a habit of
it. I’ll let you know when I’m in the mood. We’d best be leaving before your
parents come back. Come along, Aram.” She left the wagon without a backwards
glance, confident he would heel her like he always did.
She kept her word to herself. In the days that followed she avoided doing
anything more than kissing him. Not that she would have minded doing more, she
just didn’t want him to get any strange ideas in his pretty little head. That
didn’t stop her from enjoying the hungry way he watched as she practiced her
dancing with Cerani and Merile.
Once, while she had her head together with Ila discussing how best to manage
the fragile prides of men, Raine Cinclare crept up on them.
Egwene wasn’t aware the girl was even near until she spoke in a voice that was
oddly hesitant. “Lady Ila. Could ... I’d like to talk to you. When you have
time.”
Ila smiled in genuine delight. She had been spending quite a bit of time with
Raine lately. Which Egwene thought odd, since she obviously had no fondness at
all for Elyas. The wolf girl was wrapped in a thick cloak of yellow wool that
Ila had given her several nights before. “Of course my sweet. Come sit with
us.” She patted the log on which they perched. Raine sidled over, fixing Egwene
with an unblinking yellow stare that reminded her of Elyas’. Egwene made a
point of staring right back at her.
Ila’s voice turned chiding. “But I’ve told you before, my husband is just a
Seeker, he doesn’t rule us. No-one does. And I’m not a Lady, no more than you
are a wolf.”
Raine shrugged uncomfortably, saying nothing in return. But she did drop her
eyes to the ground, which Egwene found rather satisfying.
“Perhaps it might go easier if we talked in private,” Ila mused, “Egwene dear,
would you mind telling my husband that we should stop at the next woods?
There’s not much shelter in the hills beyond.”
Egwene eyed the ragged girl for a moment longer, then shrugged. She was sure
Ila was wasting her time with that one, but some things even women needed to
learn by themselves.
She found Ila’s husband and Raine’s namesake sitting around a fire with Elyas
and Anna. Perrin was nearby, wrapped in his cloak under a wagon, seemingly
asleep. He had been suffering from bad dreams lately, from what she could tell.
Elyas frowned into empty space when she passed along Ila’s message. He might
have been interesting if he wasn’t so full of himself. He was a talented
woodsman and seemed like he would be a good fighter, but she couldn’t abide men
who got above themselves.
She decided she would indulge Aram again tonight. But first she should settle
matters with Anna.
She sat near the other girl, warming her hands by the fire. Anna gave her a
brief nod of greeting, then went back to staring listlessly into the flames.
She was very short; the top of her head barely reached above Egwene’s shoulder,
and Egwene was not a tall woman to begin with. It had always felt a little odd
being the tall one for once, but not in a bad way.
“So,” Egwene began. “How are you finding life among the Tuatha’an?”
Anna blinked at being addressed. It was a guilty look, to Egwene’s eyes. No
doubt she knew she would have to work at winning her way back into Egwene’s
good graces. “They’re fine, I suppose. But we’re moving too slow. How are we
going to find our friends at this pace? Even if they go to Caemlyn like we
thought how long will they wait there for us?”
“Moiraine will take care of everything. As rude as Rand and the other were to
her, I’m sure she wouldn’t hold a grudge. They will come to their senses and
realise how much they need her, we can hope.” There. That should be enough to
steer Anna where she needed to go.
Though ... in truth she wasn’t certain Rand would have that much sense. He was
a stubborn one, and wilful behind his sweet veneer. He didn’t argue often, but
he had a most annoying habit of simply ignoring what you told him to do. It had
been a little exasperating when her mother arranged the match between them. All
Egwene had said was that he was the handsomest boy in the Theren, she hadn’t
said anything about wanting to marry him and manage his farm! But her mother
would deny her nothing of course. She would simply have to be more careful how
she steered people.
Anna was frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe they do. And maybe they will.” She
sighed. “I wish it were otherwise. The Aes Sedai have a pretty bad reputation.
Cold and ruthless. Manipulative. Treacherous. You know the things people say.”
“People say a lot of foolish things,” Egwene said coolly. “Especially small
people, jealous of their rulers. And since the Aes Sedai are the great power of
the land ... Well.”
Anna smiled wryly. “And you’ll be one of them soon. With all those small people
jealously complaining of what you do to them.”
Egwene sighed softly. “It may get a little hard. But a strong woman must face
such trials, and overcome them. It can only be hoped that they realise their
mistakes in time ...”
Anna shook her head slightly and turned her gaze back to the flame. “Well, it’s
none of my business really. Your life and all. But, for what it’s worth, I
think you’ll make a perfect Aes Sedai.”
That won her a bright smile. “Thank you, Anna. I’m glad we could have this
talk. And I will take that last as better than an apology, so you needn’t say
anything more.” Anna looked surprised at Egwene’s grace.
She reached over and gave the girl’s hand a light squeeze, before she rose and
took her leave.
Egwene had cause to regret her kindness a few days later, when she saw Anna
holding someone else’s hand. Perrin’s. Naturally, they were not aware of her
presence, and she darted around the side of one of the wagons as soon as she
caught them. A careful surveillance revealed that it was no mere handshake
either, she held onto him far too long for it to be innocent. Egwene was
furious. It was not that she had any particular interest in Perrin—certainly
she was not jealous! Not of Anna, or of any other woman for that matter! But
still, if Anna was interested in Perrin she should have asked Egwene’s
permission before approaching him. The nerve of her! And after I forgave her
too!
So the next day when she saw Perrin slinking out of camp on another of his
supposedly innocent hunting trips, she decided to follow. The sun was still a
red ball on the western horizon, when she found him leaning against a tree on
the outskirts of camp. Taking a deep breath, she gathered up her skirts and
crept closer. She might not have Nynaeve’s skill at woodcraft, but she knew
enough to avoid stepping on dead twigs. At last she peered carefully around the
trunk of an old oak.
“Who’s out there? Not Anna, that’s for sure.” Perrin demanded loudly. “You’ve
rustled enough leaves to wake the dead, so you might as well show yourself.”
Egwene’s lips compressed, but she stepped out. I did not! His eyes widened when
he saw her. “Were you expecting someone else?” she said archly, and he at least
had the grace to look ashamed.
“I ... W-what are you doing here, Egwene?”
She came to stand near him. He wasn’t the handsomest of boys, but he was far
from ugly. And he had a very impressive body. She’d enjoyed herself with him.
But there were more important things than that. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
she said. “I recall you being very glad before ...” Without waiting for a
response, she took him by the collar and pulled him down for a kiss.
He didn’t kiss her back, and when she released him he stuttered confused
denials like a great oaf, but that didn’t matter. All he had to do was stand
there, and even a man could manage that much.
Egwene knelt to undo his belt and fish his cock out. Perrin stared down at her,
wide-eyed, helpless, stupid. Male, in other words. His cock was warm in her
hands, and it took no more than a light touch of her fingers to start it
stiffening. She smiled to herself, pleased at the power she had over him with
even that minimal amount of effort. She stroked it in her hand, watching as it
thickened and lengthened, the bulbous head poking out of the skin when she
pulled it back. It was an ugly thing, but oddly fascinating. The sight of it
excited her more than she had been expecting.
“W-we shouldn’t,” Perrin was gasping. “I didn’t think you—”
He cut off with a groan when she took him in her mouth and began sucking. His
thick sausage filled her mouth, alive in a way that meat usually wasn’t. She
didn’t like the taste it left, but that didn’t really matter either just then.
She sucked him slowly, waiting, watching.
Egwene was sure she would have heard Anna approach if not for Perrin’s helpless
groans. As it was she didn’t notice the girl until she crept around a tree ten
feet away from them, her thick shoulders hunched uncertainly. Perrin still had
his back to the tree, oblivious to the world beyond Egwene, but Egwene missed
nothing. She stared right into Anna’s eyes as she ran her lips up and down
Perrin’s shaft, watching with satisfaction as shame coloured the stocky girl’s
cheeks and tightened her face in a pained grimace. Egwene took Perrin’s hand
and put it atop her head, and he combed his fingers through her hair
obligingly. She stared Anna down, until the girl turned and fled. It was hard
to smile with a cock filling your mouth, but she managed it anyway. That should
put the little chit in her place.
Since she was already there, and feeling good about herself, she decided to
finish Perrin off. When her kindness finally inspired him to orgasm, she
hastily removed his cock from her mouth and aimed it away, spitting out the
disgusting sauce he’d already leaked in her mouth. She decided she quite liked
the way it felt while he pulsing in her hand like that, hot and alive.
When it was done, Egwene stood up and dusted the leaves and twigs from her
skirts. She patted Perrin on the cheek as he leant against the tree, breathing
heavily. “You can be a good boy when you try,” she said graciously. “Keep it
up.”
She left him there and went in search of Anna, though finding her proved
irritatingly difficult. She had to ask directions from the People, and when at
last she tracked her down she found her sitting on a log at the far side of
camp, sulking. Anna didn’t look up when she approached, but the way her brows
tightened made plain that she knew Egwene was there.
“Why are you sulking over here? Don’t tell me you have a crush on Perrin! Oh,
Anna. If you’d only asked me ...” Egwene said sadly. “Well, live and learn I
suppose. I’m bored with him anyway, and you two are well suited to each other.
I’ll give him to you, okay?” She smiled and raised her hand, palm out. “There’s
no need to thank me. Generosity is its own reward.”
The way she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut made Anna look even
plainer than usual. She clutched the legs of those ridiculous trousers she wore
in white-knuckled fists, but didn’t seem able to come up with anything to say.
Egwene supposed that was understandable. What could she say, when she had to
know she was in the wrong?
Egwene left her to think about what she had done. She hoped the girl would
learn from her mistake, but it didn’t really matter to her whether she did or
not. She’d made her point.
“Such a bitch!” she heard Anna hiss behind her back, when she was so far away
that it was barely more than a whisper. She considered turning back and
confronting her over her bad manners, but decided she wasn’t worth the effort.
She resolved to take Aram somewhere more private that night. She was in the
mood to feel a warm body in her arms as she slept.
She rarely saw Perrin and Anna in the days that followed, and when she did they
both wore glum, sullen expressions. Egwene didn’t mind. Even by Theren
standards Perrin and Anna had never been interesting company. They had little
to say and less to offer, especially now that she was moving up in the world.
She spent more and more time in Aram’s company after settling matters with
Anna. They found cosy, private spots to sleep in almost every night. One of
those spots—within sight of but slightly apart from camp, and nestled between
the roots of a great oak with a dozen blankets piled atop them—did not prove
private enough, unfortunately. At dawn’s first blush she was awoken by the
harsh voice of Raine Cinclare.
“Girl. Up. Longtooth wants to talk to you. Your mate isn’t needed.”
Egwene rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Who wants what?” she asked blearily. Aram
stirred at her side and poked his head above the blankets, his hair tousled in
a quite fetching manner. He essayed an oddly hopeful smile when he saw Raine,
but the wolf girl ignored him. Instead she examined the nearby woods with a
wariness that she hadn’t shown since the first days of their stay among the
People. Wait, what did she call me? Still half-asleep, Egwene pulled her dress
to her under the sheets and started putting it on over her shift.
“Elyas wants you girl. Doesn’t want boy.” She didn’t look at Egwene either,
just kept probing the early morning gloom with her eyes.
She was half-way to her feet before it registered. Bad enough to be woken so
early, but she wasn’t about to stand to be insulted. She set her jaw and
straightened up. Raine was not as short as Anna, but Egwene still had an inch
of height on her. She gave her a good hard stare to be going on with. “My name
is not ‘girl’,” she said coldly. “It is Egwene al’Vere.”
Raine rounded on her, yellow eyes burning with malice. “Your name is meat!” she
snarled, with her nose crinkled up and her teeth bared savagely. “And ‘meat’ is
hunted.”
Against her will Egwene flinched back from that mad glare, her heart skipping a
beat. Aram was no help. The Tinker cowered under their blankets before the
skinny little savage’s wrath.
Abruptly Raine seemed to come to her senses, what little she had. She looked at
Aram’s cringing and Egwene’s mild alarm and grimaced before turning away.
“Sorry,” she muttered shamefully. “Go to Elyas.” Then she slunk off into the
trees.
After that display she was reluctant to heed Cinclare’s message, but curiosity
drove her to Ila’s fire.
When she got there Elyas was squatting beside Perrin in the predawn, one hand
outstretched as if to shake him awake. Beyond the trees where the wagons lay,
the wolves started howling, one sharp cry from three throats.
“Yes,” Elyas said softly. “It is time. Get up, boy. It’s time for us to go.”
Perrin scrambled out of his blankets. While he and a yawning Anna were still
bundling their blanketrolls, Raen came out of his wagon, rubbing sleep from his
eyes. The Seeker glanced at the sky and froze halfway down the steps, his hands
still raised to his face. Only his eyes moved as he studied the sky intently,
though Egwene could not understand what he was looking at. A few clouds hung in
the east, undersides streaked with pink from the sun yet to rise, but there was
nothing else to see. Raen seemed to listen, as well, and smell the air, but
there was no sound except the wind in the trees and no smell but the faint
smoky remnant of last night’s campfires.
She shook her head. “You sent your ... friend to wake me goodman Machera? I
hope there was a good reason for it.”
He ignored that. “Where’s Raine?”
He could hardly have meant the Tinker standing nearby, even men were not that
slow-witted. “I don’t know, she slunk off somewhere,” she answered with a
shrug. Hoping that would inspire him to manners.
It was a vain hope. Elyas’ frown grew even deeper. He ignored her and went to
meet Raen at the foot of the stairs. The Seeker looked uneasily at the sky as
he spoke. “We must change the direction we travel, my old friend. We go another
way this day. Will you be coming with us?” Elyas shook his head, and Raen
nodded as if he had known all along. “Well, take care, my old friend. There is
something about today ...” He started to look up once more, but pulled his eyes
back down before they rose above the wagon tops. “I think the wagons will turn
back east. Perhaps all the way to the Spine of the World. Perhaps we’ll find a
stedding, and stay there awhile.”
“Trouble never enters the stedding,” Elyas agreed. “But the Ogier are none too
open to strangers.”
“Everyone is open to the Travelling People,” Raen said, and grinned. “Besides,
even Ogier have pots and things to mend. Come, let us have some breakfast, and
we’ll talk about it.”
“No time,” Elyas said. “We move on today, too. As soon as possible. It’s a day
for moving, it seems.”
Raen tried to convince him to at least stay long enough for food, and when Ila
appeared from the wagon, she added her arguments, though not as strenuously as
her husband. She said all of the right words, but her politeness was stiff, and
it was plain she would be glad to see Elyas’ back, if not Egwene’s.
Egwene nodded and hurried into the wagon to gather her things. Whatever
“something” Elyas was being driven by this time, it was plain they were
leaving. She wasn’t about to be left behind. Ila came inside with her. She
spared a regretful moment to admire how surprisingly roomy the wagon was
inside. It was hardly as nice as her mother’s inn, but it was still a lot
cosier than she had thought it would be when they first arrived.
“I noticed young Raine wasn’t with your friends outside,” Ila said as she added
a generous supply of willowbark to Egwene’s herb pouch, and topped up her
heartleaf. “Do you know where she is?”
Egwene sighed. “I despair of that girl. The last time I saw her she was
slouching off north looking—rightly!—ashamed of herself.”
“She is a troubled child, but she has a good heart,” said Ila kindly. But even
she sounded a bit exasperated by Raine’s behaviour. “I’d best go look for her
while I can.” With that she gathered her cloak and stepped out, leaving Egwene
to pack alone. How close are we to Caemlyn, she wondered. I don’t think we
covered as much ground with the wagons as we might have done travelling as
before.
A crowd had gathered by the time Egwene re-emerged. The whole camp had turned
out in their finest and brightest, a mass of colour that made Raen and Ila’s
red-and-yellow wagon seem almost plain. The big dogs strolled through the crowd
with their tongues lolling out of their mouths, looking for someone to scratch
their ears, while Perrin and the others endured handshake after handshake and
hug after hug. The girls who had danced every night would not be content with
shaking hands, and their hugs made Perrin blush and Anna scowl.
Aram approached her, leading Bela, only to stop a little aside from the rest.
Sighing inwardly, Egwene went to meet him. Gently, she reminded herself.
“And so we come to our end,” he said with a sad smile. He handed her the reins.
“The Way of the Leaf teaches acceptance, but no-one ever promised it would be
an easy path. Go in peace Egwene al’Vere.”
She very nearly smiled. He was putting on such a brave face; he was actually
quite close to convincing. “I am glad you are taking it so well,” she told him
in a soft voice. “I did not want to hurt you. But I really must go.” She
brushed a kiss across his cheek. “You will find someone else.”
“Of course,” he said, the lie loud in his voice. “You will too.”
That went well, she congratulated herself as she led Bela towards Perrin.
Cerani and Merile stopped her on the way for goodbye hugs, and by the time that
was done the crowd had moved back, opening a little space around Raen and the
visitors.
“You came in peace,” Raen intoned, bowing formally, hands on his chest. “Depart
now in peace. Always will our fires welcome you, in peace. The Way of the Leaf
is peace.”
“Peace be on you always,” Elyas replied, “and on all the People.” He hesitated,
then added, “you will find the song, or another will find the song, but the
song will be sung, this year or in a year to come. As it once was, so shall it
be again, time without end.”
Raen blinked in surprise, but all the other Tuatha’an murmured in reply, “Time
without end. Time and world without end.” Raen hurriedly said the same after
everyone else.
Then it really was time to go. A few last farewells, a few last admonitions to
take care, a few last smiles and winks, and they were making their way out of
the camp. Raen accompanied them as far as the edge of the trees, a pair of the
dogs cavorting by his side.
“Truly, my old friend, you must take great care. This day ... There is
wickedness loose in the world, I fear, and whatever you pretend, you are not so
wicked that it will not gobble you up.”
“Peace be on you,” Elyas said.
“And on you,” Raen said sadly.
When Raen was gone, Elyas scowled at finding the others looking at him. “So I
don’t believe in their fool song,” he growled. “No need to make them feel bad
by messing up their ceremony, was there? I told you they set a store by
ceremony sometimes.”
“Of course,” Egwene said gently. “No need at all.”
Elyas turned away muttering to himself. His wolves came to meet him, not
frolicking as the dogs had done, but with a disturbingly uncowed air about
them. If words passed between them like he claimed, they were words he did not
like. “Which way?” he asked aloud, seeming unaware he had spoken.
The wolves led them to a hill on the edge of the woods. Cinclare and Ila
awaited them there, the older woman with a hand resting gently on the younger’s
shoulder.
Elyas took in the scene silently. A long moment passed. The air around them
seemed suddenly tense. At last he spoke. “We need to go now, Raine.”
It was Ila who answered. “Isn’t that for her to decide?”
“Of course. She knows the right thing to do.” His voice wasn’t cold exactly,
but something about it disturbed Egwene, like a chill breeze stealing down the
back of her dress.
Raine did not meet his eyes. She spoke so low it was a struggle to hear her
words. “I don’t though. Know what’s right. We don’t belong here. And we don’t
belong there. We don’t belong anywhere. I can’t make the wolf not be there, but
I need to find out if there’s anything left of the girl I used to be. I need to
stay.”
Elyas took a while to absorb that. “You takin’ up the Way of the Leaf, Raine?”
She shook her shorn head. “No. Not that. Though maybe it would help if I did.”
Ila put an encouraging arm around her shoulders. “But what I need I won’t find
out there. With you.” She cringed a little at that last, as though the words
pained her.
The fur-clothed man’s face was very still. “I see. Well maybe that was always
how it had to be.” He sighed. “It’s a balance, kid. There’s nothin’ wrong with
the wolves, and not that much wrong with humans either. Not that much. You just
need to find your balance between them.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “If you
can’t find it ... out there. I hope you find it elsewhere.”
With no more than that he turned and strode off down the hill, his wolves
falling in at his heels. Raine watched them go with a stricken frown on her
face, but Egwene thought she looked a little relieved too.
“I guess this is goodbye then,” Anna said, still not quite meeting Raine’s
strange eyes. “No hard feelings on my end. Whatever it is you’re looking for, I
hope you find it.”
Raine blinked at her. “Thank you. Keep your bow strung. The prey out there is
fleeing from something. All the prey.”
Egwene shivered and mounted Bela, suddenly eager to be away.
Perrin hesitated, like Anna he did not quite meet Raine’s eyes. He seemed like
he wanted to say something, but whatever it was no words emerged.
“Go careful, shoulders,” the wolf girl said softly. “Go very careful.” Then she
turned and trotted away, back in the direction of the Tinker camp, with Ila
hurrying after her.
Egwene gave Bela her heels and set off after Elyas, with Perrin and Anna
hastening to keep up. Egwene still wore the string of blue beads Aram had given
her, and a little sprig of something with tiny, bright red leaves in her hair,
another gift from the young Tuatha’an. She fingered the beads fondly; it had
been a pleasant distraction, their time together.
Perrin spoke up at last. “Do you know what Ila said to Raine? What did you
spend so much time talking about with her? If you weren’t dancing with that
long-legged fellow, you were talking to her like it was some kind of secret.”
“Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began
laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see.
“Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.”
“That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead,
Elyas cackled loudly.
***** Fumbling in the Dark *****
CHAPTER 34: Fumbling in the Dark
 
They avoided the road as much as they could. After Four Kings, and with Mat’s
eyes troubling him, they kept to the hedges and fields, never straying too far
from the Caemlyn Road, but keeping clear of the thickening traffic that walked
and rode and trundled along it. Any one of those travellers could be a
Darkfriend. Their pace slowed unavoidably, as warily as they now moved.
At least the rain had let up. It had poured down for a night and a day after
they fled Gode and his friends. He had been nearly as blind as Mat as they
stumbled through that downpour but he had pressed on until their legs could
carry them no farther, brief flashes of lightening occasionally illuminating
their path, and forcing a flinch from them both. Rand had not forgotten the
dead men in the street, or failed to realise how easily it could have been him
or Mat. Pure luck, he thought. Was Gode as lucky? He hoped not, then rebuked
himself for it. He had never wished death on a fellow human before. But the man
had been a Darkfriend, admitted from his own mouth even ...
A flash of lightning showed him some likely looking bushes and he led Mat
toward them. They had leaves enough to give a little shelter from the driving
rain. Not as much as a good tree might, but he did not want to risk another
lightning strike. They might not be so lucky, next time.
Huddled together beneath the bushes, they tried to arrange their cloaks to make
a little tent over the branches. It was far too late to think of staying dry,
but just stopping the incessant pelting of the raindrops would be something.
They crouched against each other to share what little body warmth was left to
them. Dripping wet as they were, and more drips coming through the cloaks, they
shivered themselves into sleep.
Rand knew right away it was a dream. He was back in Four Kings, but the town
was empty except for him. The wagons were there, but no people, no horses, no
dogs. Nothing alive. He knew someone was waiting for him, though.
As he walked down the rutted street, the buildings seemed to blur as they slid
behind him. When he turned his head, they were all there, solid, but the
indistinctness remained at the corners of his vision. It was as if only what he
saw really existed, and then just while he was seeing. He was sure if he turned
quickly enough he would see ... He was not sure what, but it made him uneasy,
thinking about it.
The Dancing Cartman appeared in front of him. Somehow its garish paint seemed
grey and lifeless. He went in. Gode was there, at a table.
He only recognized the man from his clothes, his silk and dark velvets. Gode’s
skin was red, burned and cracked and oozing. His face was almost a skull, his
lips shrivelled to bare teeth and gums. As Gode turned his head, some of his
hair cracked off, powdering to soot when it hit his shoulder. His lidless eyes
stared at Rand.
“So you are dead,” Rand said. He was surprised that he was not afraid. Perhaps
it was knowing that it was a dream this time.
“Yes,” said Ba’alzamon’s voice, “but he did find you for me. That deserves some
reward, don’t you think?”
Rand turned, and discovered he could be afraid, even knowing it was a dream.
Ba’alzamon’s clothes were the colour of dried blood, and rage and hate and
triumph battled on his face.
“You see, youngling, you cannot hide from me forever. One way or another I find
you. What protects you also makes you vulnerable. One time you hide, the next
you light a signal fire. Come to me, youngling.” He held out his hand to Rand.
“If my hounds must pull you down, they may not be gentle. They are jealous of
what you will be, once you have knelt at my feet. It is your destiny. You
belong to me.” Gode’s burned tongue made an angry, eager garble of sound.
Rand tried to wet his lips, but he had no spit in his mouth. “No,” he managed,
and then the words came more easily. “I belong to myself. Not you. Not ever.
Myself. If your Darkfriends kill me, you’ll never have me.”
Rage contorted Ba’alzamon’s face. “Alive or dead, youngling, you are mine. The
grave belongs to me. Easier dead, but better alive. Better for you, youngling.
The living have more power in most things.” Gode made a gabbling sound again.
“Yes, my good hound. Here is your reward.”
Rand looked at Gode just in time to see the man’s body crumble to dust. For an
instant the burned face held a look of sublime joy that turned to horror in the
final moment, as if he had seen something waiting he did not expect. Gode’s
empty velvet garments settled on the chair and the floor among the ash.
When he turned back, Ba’alzamon’s outstretched hand had become a fist. “You are
mine, youngling, alive or dead. The Eye of the World will never serve you. I
mark you as mine.” His fist opened, and a ball of flame shot out. It struck
Rand in the face, exploding, searing.
Rand lurched awake in the dark, water dripping through the cloaks onto his
face. His hand trembled as he touched his cheeks. The skin felt tender, as if
sunburned.
Suddenly he realized Mat was twisting and moaning in his sleep. He shook him,
and Mat came awake with a whimper.
“My eyes! Oh, Light, my eyes! He took my eyes!”
Rand held him close, cradling him against his chest as if he were a baby.
“You’re all right, Mat. You’re all right. He can’t hurt us. We won’t let him.”
He could feel Mat shaking, sobbing into his coat. “He can’t hurt us,” he
whispered, and wished he believed it. What protects you makes you vulnerable. I
am going mad.
They had not slept again that night, but groggily they donned their cloaks and
set off eastward, Rand leading Mat by the hand, trying to get as far away from
Four Kings as they could before the Darkfriends could organise a pursuit.
They passed the entire next day on the road, passing farm after farm with no
sign of a village. Rand did not dare seek shelter from the farmers, not with
Mat stumbling along at his side. There would be too many questions to answer.
He didn’t know how he could explain the Darkfriends or the sudden lightning
storm without sounding mad.
At last, footsore and weary, Rand turned aside from the every-stretching road
to Caemlyn and unlatched a wooden gate leading to the nearest farm. The sun was
dipping beneath the horizon by then and the farmhands were nowhere to be seen.
He had spied a rickety shelter that had been set up to keep the rain off the
last of their hay and, tired as he was, it looked positively luxurious. He led
the ominously silent Mat towards it.
“There’s hay here Mat, and a roof. We can sleep here tonight,” he sighed.
“Out of the rain is good,” Mat allowed. “Seeing is better.”
“Still nothing? Don’t worry, I’m sure it will come back in time,” Rand said
with as much cheer as he could muster. Mat only grunted in response.
They bedded down beneath their cloaks. Rand knew Lan would have insisted that
one of them keep watch, and perhaps he would have been right too, but he was
much too weary for that. He fell asleep within moments of closing his eyes.
He awoke to a more pleasant morning than he’d seen in quite some time. The sun
was trying to fight its way through the unseasonal gloom. It wasn’t quite
succeeding, sadly, but at least it had done enough to warm the morning air and
dry their clothes. It wasn’t the only reason Rand was feeling so cosy. During
the night Mat had scootched closer and was now cuddled up against Rand’s side,
still fast asleep.
Rand tried to be surreptitious in his stretching but the movement woke Mat who
gave a start and cried out, “Who’s there!?”
“It’s only me,” Rand said with a yawn. “It’s morning.”
“Oh. I knew that. You woke me suddenly, that’s all.”
Rand made a non-committed sound in response.
“I’m hungry,” Mat announced.
“So am I,” Rand sighed. “We have enough for breakfast but we’ll need to find a
town soon or we’ll be forced to look for work on one of these farms again.”
Mat frowned, though his dark eyes remained unfocused. “That will slow us down.
Those Darkfriends could be right behind us. Better to swipe some eggs or
vegetables and hurry on.”
Rand sighed again. He was probably right, but Rand hated stealing from honest
folk.
Mat sat up and stretched his shoulders. “Also. It wasn’t just food I was
talking about ...”
Rand pursed his lips and gave his old friend an appraisingly look. He’d noticed
Mat pressing stiffly against his thigh when he awoke but thought nothing of it.
He rarely woke completely soft himself, it was only natural.
“No time to work ... but time for that?” Rand teased.
Mat’s laughter was a welcome sound, considering how grim and suspicious he had
grown, and especially considering his recent injury. “Of course. You should get
your priorities in order, al’Thor,” he said with a grin, face turned in Rand’s
general direction, but eyes still unfocused.
“Perhaps I should,” Rand murmured as he pulled Mat in for a kiss.
Their lips did not touch for long before Mat began working his way down Rand’s
body and unbuckling his belt. He lifted his hips long enough for Mat to pull
his trousers down over them and free his now fully erect cock, accidentally
brushing Mat’s cheek with the tip as he did so.
“Ah, that’s how it is, huh?” smirked Mat. He patted Rand’s body timidly,
searching with touch for what he could not find by sight. When his questing
hands found Rand’s member he wrapped it in a soft grip and held it steady,
lining it up with the mouth that now descended towards it. There was something
sinfully delicious about the way Mat’s eyes remained open and staring as he
swallowed Rand’s cock and he could not stifle the loud moan that escaped him.
It had been nearly a week since he’d gotten off and the sweet thrill of someone
touching his manhood stirred his hunger immediately. He stroked his fingers
through Mat’s hair as he ran his lips up and down Rand’s length, his drool
slickening it nicely. That was good, because Rand wanted more than Mat’s mouth.
When he sat up, Mat sat up too as though knowing what was coming. He fumbled
with his own belt, but Rand pushed his hands aside and undid it himself.
Breathing nervously, Mat sat still and let Rand pull off his boots, his
trousers, and finally his drawers, baring the lower half of his body to the
fresh morning air. The blind boy shivered enticingly, but Rand knew of a good
way to warm him up.
Rand took hold of Mat’s narrow hips and pulled him towards his lap.
“What ...?” Mat began as his knee bumped against Rand’s thigh. Gracelessly he
clambered over until he was kneeling above Rand, erect and exposed.
Rand shushed him softly. He steered Mat’s hips until his sweet little ass was
positioned above Rand manhood, then began to slowly pull him down onto it.
Mat turned his blind eyes to the heavens and groaned as he felt himself being
impaled on Rand’s hard cock.
Rand slowly pushed his full length into Mat’s tight hole, then wasted no time
in lifted his friend’s hips high and pulling him firmly down again, fucking
himself with Mat’s ass again and again.
As he bobbed up and down Mat flailed his arms, trying and failing to find
something to hold onto. When nothing proved close enough to grab onto he was
left with no choice but to trust to Rand’s grip on his waist and wait out his
pleasure, his blind eyes staring helplessly around.
It was not long in coming. Rand fucked Mat hard and fast, both of them gasping
for breath. He watched his friend’s open face as he forcibly rubbed him up and
down his length and when he felt his orgasm building found to his surprise that
he could go faster still. Mat’s toes were the only part of him still touching
the ground when Rand’s climax thundered down on him. Rand let out a loud yell
and collapsed back upon the hay, letting Mat drop down his length one last
glorious time as he pumped his seed into him.
“Well you certainly enjoyed yourself,” Mat said breathlessly.
“Definitely,” said Rand, between gasps. “I needed that.”
“I need it too ...” Mat hinted.
Rand laughed softly. “Get up then.”
Mat rose to his knees, freeing Rand’s softening length and clambered from the
other youth’s lap. Once he was clear Rand shifted into a kneeling position with
his trousers tangled around his ankles and turned his back to his lover.
Conscientiously, he reached back and took a light grip on the blind boy’s hot
and stiff cock and helped him steer it where he knew it wanted to go.
Mat’s hands quested out once more, patting Rand’s exposed flesh as he sought a
good grip on his hips. It took him longer than usual to find it, but once he
was well positioned he was quick to thrust forward. Rand took the momentary
pain and familiar pleasure of being penetrated in silence, save for his deep
breathing. He revelled in the sensation of Mat pushing his way past his tight
entrance and deep inside him. Soon Mat was fucking Rand with every bit the wild
abandon that Rand had so recently fucked him.
“I think it’s some men, Master Canler. Strangers,” said a distant voice.
Mat’s wild thrusting stopped abruptly and Rand jerked his head to the side in
shock. Up the gentle incline that led to the distant farmhouse he could just
about see a man approach, clutching what looked like a hoe. Behind him marched
a trio of stout farmhands led by a sturdy, grey-haired man who slapped a wooden
cudgel in his hand as he slowly advanced.
Rand, on his hands and knees with Mat mounting him, blushed scarlet. “Blood and
ashes,” he cursed. “Grab your things Mat, they’re coming.”
Mat pulled himself out of Rand’s butt and cast his blind gaze around them
frantically. “Fuck! I can’t ... where are my clothes!?” Wide-eyed and white-
faced Mat began searching among the hay for his discarded garments.
Rand hastily dragged up his trousers and buckled Tam’s sword belt. He snatched
up Mat’s clothes and boots for him and bundled them into his friend’s arms
before grabbing their cloaks and adding them to Mat’s load. Cursing under his
breath he snatched up their unstrung bows and the rest of their supplies,
juggling the unwieldy burdens under one arm as he reached for Mat’s sleeve.
“We need to hurry, run if you can,” Rand said tightly, still red-faced.
Mat nodded and they set off at a trot, the pace made even more difficult by the
fact that Mat was still naked from the waist down.
“Aye, you better run!” called the farmer, Canler. “And stay off my land!”
On they jogged, out the gate and down the road, which was blessedly free of
traffic at this early hour. Rand was careful to steer Mat around any sharp
looking stones along their path.
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Rand,” growled Mat abruptly.
“What? This was your idea!” Rand objected.
“You started it!” Mat grouched, unfairly.
Rand rolled his eyes. “Oh, whatever. Shut up and keep running.”
They had run quite a long way by the time Rand felt safe enough to stop and
dress properly. And they had walked longer still when they arrive at the next
town and went in search of the local innkeeper.
A rooster crowing jerked Rand awake the next morning. He lay there, watching
dawn lighten the window, and wondered if he dared sleep a little longer. Sleep
during daylight, when they could be moving. A yawn made his jaws crack. Mat had
been eager to make up for their interrupted tryst last night, and less inclined
to hurry in the safety of their room at the inn. He had taken Rand like a woman
in the bed they shared, and in the darkness Rand had been as blind as the boy
laying between his spread legs, kissing him deeply as he explored his body with
hands, and more.
“Hey,” Mat exclaimed, “I can see!” He sat up on their bed, squinting around the
room. “Some anyway. Your face is still a little blurry, but I can tell who you
are. I knew I’d be all right. By tonight I’ll see better than you do. Again.”
“That’s great news. You almost had me worried there,” said Rand with a smile.
Rand sprang out of bed, and scooped up his clothes. They were wrinkled and worn
from their travels, and from drying on him while he slept so many times, and
they itched terribly but he had no replacements with him so they would have to
do. “We’re wasting daylight,” he said. Mat scrambled up as fast as he had and
began to get dressed; his clothes were in no better condition than Rand’s.
Rand felt good. They were two days away from Four Kings, and none of Gode’s men
had showed up. Two days closer to Caemlyn, where Moiraine would be waiting for
them. She would. No more worrying about Darkfriends once they were back with
the Aes Sedai and the Warder. It was strange to be looking forward so much to
being with an Aes Sedai. Light, when I see Moiraine again, I’ll kiss her! He
laughed at the thought. He felt good enough to invest some of their dwindling
stock of coins in breakfast—a big loaf of bread and a pitcher of milk, cold
from the spring house, before they set out once more.
***** What the Future Holds *****
CHAPTER 43: What the Future Holds
Long into the night they planned. Moiraine did most of it, with Loial’s advice
concerning the Ways, but she listened to questions and suggestions from
everyone. Once dark fell Lan joined them, adding his comments in that iron-
cored drawl. Nynaeve made a list of what supplies they needed, dipping her pen
in the inkwell with a steady hand despite the way she kept muttering under her
breath. Egwene would rather have done that herself, she was she sure could do
it better, could make the best supplies list anyone could make, but Moiraine
had no tasks for her. Anna was busy questioning the shockingly huge Ogier about
the Ways, though it seemed to Egwene that he was simply repeating what he had
already told them.
Rand paced up and down, as if he had to burn energy or burst from it. He looked
rather a fool beside the dignified women, but what could you expect? She might
have considered helping him with his energy problem—it had been a trying
journey since leaving the Tuatha’an—if it hadn’t been for his earlier words.
Elayne. Who is she? And how dare he go sniffing after another woman. I never
imagined he would be such a slut.He pretended to be immersed in thought, as if
ignoring Egwene’s anger would make it go away. Or perhaps he wasn’t pretending,
and actually believed that would work. He was a greater fool than she imagined
if so.
There was no worry on Perrin’s face at all, just a mask of weary resignation.
He’d been like that ever since his eyes changed colour, just after those
Whitecloaks had captured her and her companions. “There’s good hunting along
the Blight,” she heard him whisper once. Then he shuddered, as if he had just
heard what he had said. She would keep his secret.
Mat looked properly chastened for once. He sat with his hands clasped, knuckles
white, saying little. As usual it had fallen to a woman to clean up after his
follies. Stealing knives from Shadar Logoth. Even by his standards that was
stupid.
Rand drew her apart at one point, over by the fireplace where those planning
around the table could not hear. “Egwene, I ...” Under her silent stare he had
to stop and swallow guiltily. “It’s me the Dark One’s after, Egwene. Me, and
Mat, and Perrin. I don’t care what Moiraine Sedai says. In the morning you and
Anna—and Nynaeve even—could start for home, or Tar Valon, or anywhere you want
to go, and nobody will try to stop you. Not the Trollocs, not the Fades, not
anybody. As long as you aren’t with us. Go home, Egwene. Or go to Tar Valon.
But go.”
So he was worried about her was he? Well, if it was only his eyes that had
strayed ... She smiled and touched his cheek, bringing a shocked look to his
face. “Thank you, Rand,” she said softly. “You know I can’t, though. Moiraine
Sedai told us what Min saw, in Baerlon. You should have told me who Min was. I
thought ...” But that had been silly of her, Min was nearly as mannish as Anna.
“Well, Min says I am part of this, too. And Nynaeve. Maybe I’m no ta’veren ...”
She faltered. It really wasn’t right. Why should those three be marked by the
Pattern but not Egwene? She would have been a much better choice! The injustice
of it made her voice shake. “... but the Pattern sends me to the Eye of the
World, too, it seems. Whatever involves you, involves me.” It should be the
other way around. He should be following me to the Eye to fulfilmydestiny.
“But, Egwene—”
She’d heard enough. “Who is Elayne?” she asked flatly.
For a minute he stared at her, when at last he spoke he told a blatant lie.
“She’s the Daughter-Heir to the throne of Andor.”
It was insult added to insult. Was he trying to make her jealous? As if a
princess would ever have time for some shepherd! She glared at him. “If you
can’t be serious for more than a minute, Rand al’Thor, I do not want to talk to
you.” She stalked off to join Moiraine at the table, where the Aes Sedai was
deciding what the three ta’veren would do. I will be Aes Sedai too. Who cares
about beingta’veren?
Not that it didn’t sound like a useful thing to be. Was it simply coincidence
that Moiraine had caught up with them on the very day that Perrin was scheduled
to be executed by the Whitecloaks? It strained belief. But the idea that the
Pattern would warp itself specifically to preserve one boy’s life strained it
even farther.
Anna seemed to be having a hard time dealing with all the recent changes they
had gone through. She had always been a small town sort of woman. She
approached Perrin hesitantly and took a seat beside him. They spoke so low that
no-one else could hear. Perrin avoided meeting her eyes, looking hangdog, while
Anna herself seemed sad, but in a grim way, as though faced with an unpleasant
necessity. Egwene drifted closer, trying to look disinterested.
“... not that. It’s just ... why did you have to kill them?” she was saying.
Perrin’s deep voice was not made for whispers, try as he might. “They were a
threat to us. They killed Ho ... that wolf ...”
Anna frowned. “Only after the wolves killed a dozen of them, and then that one
officer right in front of us. The beasts did far more damage than the
Whitecloaks.”
“Good ...” Perrin growled. Then he grimaced as though someone had stabbed him.
Anna was quiet for a long moment, watching Perrin with a sad look on her face.
“No, Perrin. It wasn’t good. I don’t know just what it was, but I don’t think
good is the word for it.” She rose from her seat and walked away from Perrin
slowly, her head hanging low. Perrin closed his eyes to the sight, looking sad,
but did not try to call her back.
Egwene didn’t know what the fuss was about. Those Whitecloaks had thought they
had the right to pass sentence on whoever they met, Egwene included. Getting
rid of them was a good thing. Anna was getting upset over nothing.
Master Gill entered several times, first to light the lamps, then to bring food
with his own hands, and later to report on what was happening outside.
Whitecloaks were watching the inn from down the street in both directions.
There had been a riot in the city, with the Queen’s Guards arresting all
involved. Someone had tried to scratch the Dragon’s Fang on the front door and
been sent on his way by the bouncers.
If the innkeeper found their party—which now included an Ogier of all
things!—odd, he gave no sign of it. He answered the few questions Moiraine put
to him without trying to discover what they were planning, and each time he
came he knocked at the door and waited till Lan opened it for him, just as if
it were not his inn and his library. Egwene was torn. It was good that he
respected the rights of Aes Sedai, but she couldn’t imagine her mother or
father letting anyone take over the Winespring Inn so easily. On his last
visit, Moiraine gave him the sheet of parchment covered in Nynaeve’s neat hand.
“It won’t be easy this time of night,” he said, shaking his head as he perused
the list, “but I’ll arrange it all.”
Moiraine added a small wash-leather bag that clinked as she handed it to him by
the drawstrings. “Good. And see that we are wakened before daybreak. The
watchers will be at their least alert, then.”
“We’ll leave them watching an empty box, Aes Sedai.” Master Gill grinned. Then
he showed them to the baths, where hot water and fragrant yellow soap had
thoughtfully been prepared.
The Aes Sedai bathed in a private chamber but the village women used a communal
room, just like that in The Stag and Lion. The Winespring Inn had no room set
aside for bathing, instead they had big copper tubs that were dragged wherever
they were needed. Egwene thought this way better, though she would rather have
had a private room.
Anna had smaller breasts than she did and had a stocky strength to her; she
brooded as she bathed, frowning at nothing and everything, saying little.
Nynaeve was another matter. She sat up in her tub and leaned over the edge
towards Egwene. Her hair hung loose, long straight brown strands clinging wetly
to her face and shoulders. It made her look oddly young. She still spoke
bossily though. “The Aes Sedai are dangerous enough, but the Blight? If even
half the stories are true it is no place for any sane woman. There’s no need
for you to come, Egwene. Go home, for the love of the Light. Your parents are
probably worried sick about you. I have some coin still, with some clever
haggling you could hire a carriage to take you as far as Baerlon. You’re a
resourceful girl, you could make it the rest of the way on your own. Or better
still, the two of you could go together.” She turned her frown on Anna.
“Go home? While Rand and the other two are off having destinies?” Egwene shook
her head angrily. “Never. Have you forgotten I’m going to be Aes Sedai? I can’t
go back to being just a Wisdom’s apprentice.”
Nynaeve’s lips thinned. She seemed on the brink of saying something, but
whatever it was she swallowed it. She scrubbed herself angrily, the sponge
making her breasts jiggle. Did she do that deliberately, to remind Egwene of
how big they were? Egwene scowled at her defiantly, she was tired of people
trying to bully her.
Nynaeve turned her ire on Anna. “Surely you can see this is not some fool
adventure. You should go home too, and take Egwene with you.”
“I told you—” Egwene began, but Anna spoke over her rudely.
“I wish I could,” she said, and from the way she sighed she meant it. “But I
can’t abandon the rest of you while you’re in danger. I don’t even know what
possible good I could do ... I mean, I have my bow but what real difference
could that make? But I can’t leave. What if Rand or Perrin or anyone were to
die? Then I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if there was anything, no
matter how small, that I might have done which would have helped save them.”
Nynaeve’s frown faded and she sat back in the tub with a sigh of her own. “I
know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. What if you were the ones who
needed saving, and I ...” Abruptly, she ducked her head under the water,
scrubbing her hair vigorously.
Egwene didn’t want to listen to another lecture about the comfortable pleasures
of home. So the journey had been less enjoyable than she imagined. Nothing
worth having was ever won without effort. She climbed out of her tub in a
shower of water and wrapped a towel around herself, then bent to gather up her
dirty clothes. Nynaeve had resurfaced by then and stared after her, open-
mouthed as though she wanted to say more, but Egwene didn’t give her the
chance. She stalked out of the bathchamber on bare wet feet.
Moiraine waited in the hallway. Despite the private accommodations Master Gill
had offered her, the Aes Sedai had bathed swiftly. She was fully clothed, her
new dress as fine and as blue as her previous one, if somewhat less elaborately
embroidered. She had said she was of the Blue Ajah, was that why she usually
wore that colour? Would she have to wear the colour of whatever Ajah she chose?
Egwene would learn the traditions soon enough. She would learn everything. The
Aes Sedai watched her approach with a weighing look in her dark eyes. Egwene
had the odd suspicion that Moiraine knew what Nynaeve had been saying.
“You have doubts?” she said.
Egwene stopped short. “I ... no I want to be Aes Sedai. It’s just ... what is
at this Eye of the World that could be worth going into the Blight? I thought
we were going to the White Tower.”
“The Eye is a famous place. In the Borderlands at least. It is little known in
the south. Many famous heroes have sought it out, to take counsel with the
Green Man. The Shadow seeks its destruction and what the Shadow seeks I
oppose.” Her voice was so melodious that some might not have heard the
implacable resolve in it.
“So we will save this famous place from the Shadow.” Egwene nodded to herself.
“And then go on to Tar Valon and tell the other Aes Sedai of our victory.” That
would be sweet.
“Perhaps,” Moiraine said. “Who can know for certain what the future holds. It
might prove prudent to remain silent about what we discover in the north. That
is one of the things you will learn in Tar Valon. The value and power of
secrecy. I will see you delivered to the White Tower, Egwene al’Vere, have no
fear of that.” The Aes Sedai held her with her gaze. “You have it in you to be
one of the most powerful Aes Sedai in living memory. I would not allow such
potential to go to waste.”
The slap of bare feet on the wooden floorboards interrupted her, much to
Egwene’s annoyance. Nynaeve  hurried down the hall, wet-haired and hastily-
dressed. Her scowls were for Moiraine this time though, to Egwene she gave only
a concerned glance.
“Being a Wisdom isn’t a waste of any woman’s potential,” she said. “You leave
the girl in peace Aes Sedai. Egwene, I’m not done talking to you. Go on up to
our room.”
Moiraine was not impressed by Nynaeve’s outburst. “Oh, but I think you are done
,Wisdom. All that should be said has been said. And much that should not have
been. But this is not a conversation that should be had in the corridor on an
inn. Be on your way and get what rest you can; tomorrow will be a long day.
Egwene, come with me.”
She set off in that stately walk that Egwene couldn’t quite emulate. Yet. She
made to follow her but Nynaeve put a restraining hand on her forearm. “It’s not
too late to turn back. You would be safe in the Theren, happy. There’s nothing
in Tar Valon you need that couldn’t be found at home.”
Egwene pulled free. “That’s for me to judge, not you.” She hurried after the
Aes Sedai, leaving Nynaeve to stare strickenly.
Moiraine led the way to the richly appointed bedroom that Master Gill had
allotted her. When Egwene caught up the Aes Sedai was standing in the centre of
the room, atop the thick, elaborately woven carpet, seemingly deep in thought.
“There was more you wanted to tell me, Moiraine Sedai?” The most powerful Aes
Sedai in living memory, that’s a lot better than being a Wisdom. Or ata’veren.
She was weighing Egwene with her eyes again. Her face gave away nothing of what
she thought. “You have the makings of a fine Aes Sedai. Need more be said? I
think not. Yet, the Tower has not survived as long as it has by taking
chances.” She advanced slowly on Egwene as she spoke, glided past her, and shut
the bedroom door with a soft click.
“You are fond of the three boys,” Moiraine said. “There is nothing wrong with
that. But in the White Tower you will find that male company is ...
discouraged. They can be a troublesome influence on initiates, especially if
lines of authority have not yet been firmly established.”
“I understand. Almost any ill can be traced back to a man doing something he
shouldn’t have.”
Moiraine nodded. “That would pass muster, even under the Oath Rod.” She stood
very close. Something about her careful examination of Egwene made the girl’s
heart beat faster. “You are a passionate young woman. In the White Tower, such
passions are expected to be suppressed ... or to be channelled in a more
healthy direction. The polite term we use is ‘pillow friends’. Have you ever
kissed another woman?”
Egwene gaped. She had asked such a personal question in the same tone she might
have used to ask if Egwene had ever tasted venison. “I ... I don’t see that
that’s anyone’s business but ...” She trailed off under the older woman’s
suddenly intense stare.
“You have not,” Moiraine murmured, pacing a slow circle around Egwene. “This
too I will teach you.” She tugged at the towel that was all that hid Egwene’s
nakedness and it easily fell free, exposing the girl’s bottom. Instinctively
she clutched her bundled clothes to her chest.
The Aes Sedai’s fingers traced a cool line down Egwene’s spine. She helped
herself to an experimental squeeze of one buttock and made an approving sound.
Nervousness made Egwene’s breath come quickly, but she could not deny a rising
excitement. If this is the Aes Sedai way ... When Moiraine completed another
circuit around her, and stared at her with those dark, slightly slanted eyes,
she couldn’t help but gulp. And when she took her face between her hands and
kissed her, Egwene did not resist. It felt nice. Not as heated as the other
times she had been kissed, but nice. Moiraine lips were soft and skilful, but
even in this there was a deliberateness about her, a calculation. When she
pulled back and gave her that weighing stare again, Egwene dropped her bundle
to the floor. The Aes Sedai took in the sight of her pert young breasts, and
the erect nipples that crowned them. She smiled, took Egwene’s hand and led her
to the bed.
The soft mattress gave pleasantly beneath her back when Moiraine lightly pushed
her over. She caressed the inside of Egwene’s thigh, stroking her gently until
her legs, and her lower lips, parted slightly in welcome. She slid a finger
inside Egwene’s wetness and brought a gasp of pleasure from her lips.
“You want this,” Moiraine mused. “That changes matters.”
The Aes Sedai reached back and deftly undid the buttons on her dress. She
shrugged out of it, letting it pool around her feet. Soon her silken shift
joined it, the rich garment discarded as though it were of inconsequential. Her
eyes were half closed and her lips pursed prettily when she began undoing the
buttons on her lacy white bloomers. When they too fell, Egwene beheld Moiraine
in all her naked glory. The woman was beautiful, much as she might have liked
to deny it. Her pale skin stood in stark contrast to her glossy black hair,
artfully curled and matched in colour by the neatly trimmed triangle atop her
sex. Her breasts were no larger than Egwene’s, but her nipples were much
darker, small brown nubs that she had a sudden impulse to suck upon.
Egwene was not one to deny herself. She sat up and squeezed Moiraine’s breasts
in her hands. Warm and soft. She lowered her head and took the Aes Sedai’s
nipple in her mouth, suckling upon it experimentally. Moiraine murmured
encouragingly, but other than the thrill of doing something new Egwene felt no
great pleasure, so she quickly stopped.
Rising up, she kissed Moiraine’s lips hungrily. The Aes Sedai wrapped the girl
in her embrace and probed her mouth with her tongue.
Egwene fell back to the bed, Moiraine’s lips still locked on hers. Once more a
finger probed her slit, setting her to squirming beneath the more experienced
woman’s skilful caress. Egwene pawed at the Aes Sedai’s smooth buttocks.
Too soon the Moiraine left her embrace. She sat gracefully on the bed, close to
Egwene’s head and rearranged her tousled hair for her. “Do as I do,” she said
softly, “and I promise you will not regret it.” She lay on her side, her hand
brushing over Egwene’s breast and belly, going lower once more. But it wasn’t
her fingers with which she touched her sex this time.
Egwene let out an embarrassingly girlish whimper when Moiraine first kissed her
lower lips. It was immediately apparent that the woman knew her way around down
there, she soon had Egwene moaning wantonly, despite her best efforts at
reserve.
It took a while, when Moiraine’s tongue finally stopped its probing, for Egwene
to figure out why. Her moans turned to wordless sounds of question and
disappointment and she opened her eyes. When she did she was treated to a close
view of Moiraine’s pussy. It looked no different than a normal woman’s would,
though she supposed that should not be a surprise really. The Aes Sedai had
arched her slender leg over Egwene’s head, presenting herself for the younger
woman’s attention. Egwene took hold of the woman’s hips and pulled her down to
her waiting tongue, determined to be the best pussy-licker there had ever been,
better even than Moiraine was.
Vague awareness of a sound at the bedroom door floated across her mind, but
Egwene’s thoughts were too full of Moiraine to pay heed; full of her taste, her
scent, her so-skilful tongue that now lapped once more at Egwene’s slit,
welcome reward for her own fervent efforts.
She wrapped her arms around Moiraine’s hips and pushed her tongue as far inside
the woman as it would go. The hair around her sex tickled Egwene’s cheeks and
when she opened her eyes she could see Moiraine’s hairless little butthole.
Movement at the edge of her vision drew Egwene’s eye. Nynaeve’s lips moved
soundlessly, as though she were too angry to get the words out; her expression
told all instead. It took a moment for what she was seeing to pierce the haze
of Egwene’s lust. Nynaeve is here!Her heart started racing even faster,
memories of all the scolding’s she had ever suffered as Nynaeve’s apprentice
suddenly flashing through her mind.
The Wisdom marched into the room, lips still writhing angrily. Between one step
and the next, silence became sound. “... me! You leave that girl alone!”
Moiraine gave a loud tsk of vexation. She lifted her head from between Egwene’s
spread legs, her lips glistening wetly. “Do women not teach their daughters
basic manners in the Theren? It is very rude to enter someone’s bedchamber
unbidden, Wisdom.”
Nynaeve gripped her loose hair in a white-knuckled hand, plainly wishing it
were braided so she could give it a proper tug. “Manners? I have no time for
manners when my people are being threatened. I knew you were up to something,
sneaking around outside the baths. Perhaps I should have known it would be
this, but ...” she muttered something under her breath, then finished in a
firmer tone, “... You let Egwene go, get up off of her right now, or so help me
...”
Moiraine gave a soft laugh. Completely naked, with her and Egwene’s faces
pressed to each other’s private places, she still seemed completely unruffled.
“Honestly, Nynaeve. You do have the oddest notions. The girl is no prisoner,
unlike you she knows a good opportunity when it is dangled before her nose,”
she said mockingly. “Watch.”
The Aes Sedai lifted Egwene’s hips in a surprisingly strong grip and rolled
them over. Egwene found herself crouched above Moiraine’s face. That alone was
a heady experience, but it only got better when Moiraine’s tongue went to work
on her pussy, faster and more demandingly than before. She tossed her head,
long brown locks flying free, and moaned loudly.
“Egwene,” Nynaeve gasped. “Come away from there. You can still go home.”
She met the Wisdom’s eyes defiantly. Her embarrassment fought with her outrage
at Nynaeve’s constant efforts to hold her back. Outrage won with ease. “What
could home possibly offer me compared to all the rest of the world? I’ve
outgrown it already.”
Nynaeve looked lost. “I ... you could have whatever you wanted back there. And
you’d be safe.”
Moiraine’s tongue flicked against Egwene’s secret nub, bringing a shuddering
breath and forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut against the surge of pleasure
that coursed through her flesh. Safe. The Theren wasn’t safe. Winternight had
proven that. Worse the Theren was small, mediocre. Egwene did not intend to be
mediocre; someday stories would be told about her, like they were told about
Amerasu or Birgitte Silverbow.
Moiraine’s hands on her buttocks were not as soft as they had been earlier; she
gripped where once she had lightly brushed. Nynaeve spoke from somewhere
nearby. “You don’t have to go to Tar Valon for this if it’s what you want.
Daisy Congar and Doral Thane are both married, with children, but that doesn’t
mean they don’t ... visit each other.” She really must be desperate if she was
resorting to spreading gossip. “I just want what’s best for you,” she
whispered. Something wet and warm touched Egwene’s bottom. It felt like
Moiraine’s tongue, but Moiraine was ... it was then that she realised it wasn’t
Moiraine gripping her buttocks.
Egwene’s eyes flew open. She shot a look over her shoulder, where a fully-
clothed Nynaeve was licking determinedly at her round cheeks. She had barely a
moment to register that shocking fact before Nynaeve pressed her tongue against
Egwene’s butthole. Egwene did not gasp, or moan this time—she shouted aloud.
“Merciful Light!”
Nynaeve was nowhere near as skilful or practiced as Moiraine, but she attended
to her task with great fervour, rubbing her tongue up and down Egwene’s butt.
It was thrillingly obscene.
She sat on Moiraine’s face while the Aes Sedai skilfully pleasured her pussy
and the Wisdom stuck her tongue as far up her dirty little hole as it would go.
It was the best feeling she had ever known in her life, it was all of Egwene
al’Vere’s greatest dreams come true.
Could this Elayne of Rand’s truly be the Daughter-Heir of Andor? If she is,
someday I’ll sit on her face too. Someday her tongue will clean me like
Nynaeve’s is now.
Egwene pinched her own nipples hard, head thrown back, each breath carrying
with it a new cry. Moiraine’s pussy lay forgotten before her. She could feel a
great wave building within her and knew what it presaged, but she fought it
hard, not wanting this moment to end. Try as she did though, she could not hold
it back. She came to orgasm with a shriek, spraying her juices all over
Moiraine and Nynaeve as they fought to see who could serve her best. She held
her pose, as stiff as a board, for a blessedly long moment, then collapsed on
the bed like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.
Warmth, pleasure, satisfaction. She drifted for a time in the lovely aftermath.
Moiraine’s voice finally pierced her pleasant lethargy. “... can’t say you lack
for determination Nynaeve. But you must see that the girl has already made her
choice. Tar Valon is her destiny ... as a grubby herb garden is yours. Isn’t
that what we agreed?”
“I didn’t agree to anything. Don’t put words in my mouth woman. Or anything
else.”
The Aes Sedai laughed softly. Egwene spoke up, intent on putting an end to that
argument for good and all. “Tar Valon, yes. It’s the White Tower for me. I’m
going to be a great and famous Aes Sedai. Just leave over, Nynaeve. I’m never
going back to Emond’s Field. It’s not worthy of me. It never was.”
Nynaeve looked stricken. She turned her face away from the naked women and
wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. As well she might, given the places
it has been. I’ll have to remind her of this the next time she gets all bossy.
There was a long and uncomfortable silence. “If we’re going to be leaving early
tomorrow I need to get some sleep,” Nynaeve said at last, in a low, emotionless
voice. The stood up and trudged towards the door.
Moiraine sighed, almost sadly. “In time, you will come to see it was for the
best Nynaeve.” The Wisdom did not reply. She took her leave of them, pulling
the door closed behind her.
Egwene shook her head. “She’s probably jealous because she can’t channel like
we can. Some women just begrudge others any accomplishment that they can’t
equal, or surpass.”
The Aes Sedai’s weighing look turned cool. “You are very young. And the
training takes many years,” she said at last, sounding more like she was
talking to herself than Egwene. She looked to the door Nynaeve had just left
through and seemed as if she would say more, but then she shook her head and
smiled at the young woman in her bed. “So let us attend to what we can here and
now. First a test ... of how nimble your fingers are ...”
Egwene did not return to her own bed that night. And it was very late before
she finally drifted off to sleep, with her cheek resting against the Aes
Sedai’s breast.
***** The Last Night *****
CHAPTER 47: The Last Night
 
Perrin paced alone through the halls of Fal Dara keep. It was a labyrinthine
and unfamiliar place, and fear of getting lost kept him near the quarters
they’d been assigned. A greater fear, the fear of what the wolves were turning
him into, kept him from his bed. Part of him wanted to tap on Anna’s door, to
ask if she was okay ... And, if he was being honest, in hopes she would invite
him to stay. But he didn’t trust himself alone with her, and he worried that
she didn’t trust him either.
So when he saw her sitting on a narrow windowsill, looking out at the starlit
night, Perrin’s steps came to a sudden halt.
She turned towards him when she heard the scrape of his boots along the stone
floor. The shadows cast on the planes of her face made her look hard and stern.
She did not smile to see him, but sighed a sad little sigh. “Hello Perrin. You
can’t sleep either then?”
“No. There’s too much to think about.”
“There is.” She licked her lips. “Do you realise that your eyes have begun to
glow in the dark, like Elyas’ and Raine’s did? It’s something you might want to
be aware of. Folk will wonder why.”
He cursed under his breath, frantically casting his mind back. How many people
had seen him wandering the corridors tonight? Too many, was the answer. Even
one was too many!
“Thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
“I hope so.”
He was quiet for a time, the unspoken rebuke lingering in the air between them.
He knew her mind, he understood it even, but ... “They would have killed us
Anna, no matter what we did. Even if we’d surrendered without a fight, they
still would have condemned you and Egwene as Darkfriends, and me as Shadowspawn
because of my eyes.”
She grimaced. “You don’t know that. The officer just wanted us to explain why
we were there. He said we wouldn’t be hurt. He didn’t attack you when you
approached, just told you to drop the axe. And then that wolf killed him. And
then you ...”
And then I killed those other two men, he finished silently. But they were
hunting us, hunting the wolves. They were enemies of the pack. Perrin was torn.
He didn’t much like Whitecloaks. But he didn’t much like killing either.
Anna sighed raggedly into the silence. He thought she seemed torn too.
“His name was Hopper,” Perrin said. When she looked at him confusedly he added,
“The wolf they killed. Hopper, because he envied the eagles.”
Anna rose slowly from her seat, and adjusted her coat before she spoke. “Do you
know the names of all those wolves who attacked our flocks back on the farm?
Because—and I hope you aren’t going to go berserk over it—I happened to shoot
quite a few of them. And they didn’t get up again.” Her face was stubbornly
set, and there was restrained anger in her voice.
Perrin put his hands in his pockets, and tried to make himself look as small
and unthreatening as he could. “That’s different.”
She grunted softly. “Since we’re here, there’s another thing I’ve been meaning
to ask you. How long have you been sleeping with Egwene?”
Blood and ashes. Perrin’s mouth fell open, but he swallowed his first impulsive
words, and thought it through. She hadn’t asked if he was sleeping with Egwene,
and she didn’t sound in any doubt that he was. How did she know? Even Perrin
barely knew what to make of what had passed between him and the Mayor’s
youngest. He’d thought it just a one-time thing at first, but then she—not long
after he and Anna—Burn me, I’m not getting out of this one. There was nothing
for it but to confess the truth.
“She, ah, she threw a party this Bel Tine, and invited me along. Things
happened there. I didn’t think she was serious about it. She said she was
leaving town to become a Wisdom in some other village. And Wisdoms seldom
marry, you know?”
“And?” she said, when he fell silent.
“And ... and afterwards, in the Tinker camp. She came onto me then too.”
“Yes. I know. I saw,” she said curtly.
Blood and bloody ashes, he swore silently, head lowering. “I didn’t mean for
that to happen.”
He knew the words were weak even as he said them, and Anna—never one to overly-
sweeten the truth—agreed. “You didn’t mean to stick your cock in her mouth, or
you didn’t mean for me to find out about it?”
Perrin flinched. “Neither. I’m sorry.”
She turned back to her starlight vigil, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, her
face hidden from even his sight. “So am I,” she choked. “If you’re looking for
her, she has a room all to herself. Enjoy yourself.”
“Anna, I—”
She sniffed again, as though her nose was running. “It’s fine, Perrin. We never
made any promises. I’ll see you tomorrow. I need to get some rest if I’m going
to be alert enough to watch your backs out there. It’s what friends are for,
after all.”
Friends, she said. Only friends. Perrin turned and stumped his way dejectedly
through the halls of Fal Dara keep.
 
                                     * * *
 
Despite the hour, Rand could not sleep. Trepidation over what awaited them
tomorrow had his mind racing in circles. The Blight. The Eye of the World. The
Dark One. He knew nothing of such things, yet Moiraine somehow expected him and
his friends to do something to stop the Shadow from ... From what? Even that he
did not know. How was he supposed to provide a solution when he didn’t even
know what the problem was? Could he? Could any of them? Or was this to be the
last night of their lives?
Late in the night, with the moonlight filtering into the room he’d been
provided in Fal Dara keep, he still he lay there, abed, tired, but wide awake.
When his door creaked open he was not as alarmed as he might have been were
they back in Andor. He doubted Darkfriends or Shadowspawn could pierce
Shienaran security so easily. He thought he knew the intruder by their
footsteps, but he waited in silence as they approached. When the moonlight
touched Egwene’s white nightdress he knew he had been right. She was the least
experienced hunter among the Theren folk, and so the least light-footed.
She looked hesitant as she approached his bed; perhaps she could not see him in
the dark, to tell if he was awake or not. So he spoke, “I take it you can’t
sleep either.”
She sucked in a breath, but when she spoke she was all cool self-possession. “I
could, but I wanted to check up on you. You seemed upset earlier.”
Had he? Egwene had a tendency to deflect her own difficulties onto others, but
this time she was probably right. “There’s a lot to be upset over.”
She sat on his bedside. “There’s no need to be afraid, Rand.”
His thoughts spun along their well-travelled circle once more, and he decided
she was quite wrong about that. But there was no point to saying it. Or of
trying to persuade her to go home again—or even to Tar Valon for that matter.
Once Egwene had set her mind on doing something she never stopped until it was
done. “Be careful tomorrow,” he said instead, “we have no idea of the dangers
that wait for us in the Blight. Don’t be too proud to run, okay?”
She sniffed. “Is that what you intend to do?”
“If the alternative is trying to wrestle a Fade? Yes,” he drawled.
“The Pattern chose poorly,” he heard her mutter under her breath. “But at least
you’re pretty,” she added, more loudly. Her hand came to rest on his chest,
exploring the hardness of his muscles, and her saw her smile in the moonlight.
Rand ignored her habitual put-down, and admired the way the light touched her
prettily round face with its strong cheekbones, and those big, dark eyes. He
wondered if Marin had looked like that, when she was Egwene’s age.
“It’s cold,” she said.
“The bed is warm,” he whispered. Her smile broadened, and she stood long enough
to allow him to move the bedsheets aside. She clambered into his bed, and came
to rest against his side.
Her loose hair was freshly washed, and felt silky between his fingers. Her hand
slid down over his belly to rest atop his underwear, and he felt himself
stiffening at her touch. The warmth of her body was welcome in the cold
Shienaran night.
Her words somewhat less so. “You shouldn’t be talking to other girls, Rand.
This Elayne, whoever she is. Or Min. Or anyone else.” She slipped her hand into
his underwear and took hold of his cock. “This is mine.”
He politely refrained from saying anything about the other boys she’d been
involved with. “You’re leaving, remember? You said you were leaving even before
you decided to become an Aes Sedai. And Aes Sedai never marry, from what I’ve
heard. I’d say that ends the engagement.”
The hand that had been stroking his cock tightened warningly. “Perhaps it does,
and perhaps it will. But only when I say so. You’re mine until I pass you on.”
He was fully hard by then. Irritation flashed through him, and he briefly
considered telling her about all the others he was intimate with, her own
mother included. But that would require him to be mean to her and indiscreet
with them, and Rand tried not to be either thing.
Egwene fumbled under the covers, kicking at something. Once satisfied she threw
a leg over his waist and knelt above him. She would want to be on top, and that
was fine with him. Even if he wasn’t sleepy, he was still tired. Egwene pulled
her shift off over her head, tossing her hair once she was free of the garment.
The moonlight cast her pretty little breasts and slender body all in white, and
darkened her hair to black. The contrast was quite lovely to his eyes. He
stared at the light thatch across her sex, and the lips beneath; lips that
parted for him when she took him once more in hand and began sinking herself
down along his length.
Egwene moaned as he slowly filled her. Her eyes drifted shut, and a little
frown tightened her brows. When she had enough of him inside that her hand was
no longer needed, she began fondling the muscles of his chest. She couldn’t or
wouldn’t take him all inside, but once she’d had her fill she smiled a
satisfied little smile and began to ride him.
Rand let her have her way, enjoying the sensation of her hot, slick pussy along
his cock; and the sight of her young body bouncing atop him. Her breasts
shivered in the moonlight with the speed of her movements. He didn’t try to
hold back his pleasure for her sake, because he knew Egwene wouldn’t do the
same for him. That was the nature of her strength: you either kept up or you
got left behind. Even so, he knew he would be left behind that night when
Egwene suddenly stiffened atop him, arching her back as she let out a long,
hissing breath.
She held her pose for a long moment, then slowly toppled forward to rest
against his chest.
He fondled her bottom as she lay there, and rolled his hips in order to rub
himself inside her, seeking release, but it proved beyond him. Egwene grew
irritated by the motion, and pulled herself off his cock. Laying beside him,
she reached for her discarded nightdress and began pulling it on.
“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” he said dryly.
She sniffed when her head popped out of the dress again. “Don’t be so full of
yourself, Rand al’Thor. You might make a good Warder someday, if only you can
learn to mind your place.”
Rand blinked. A Warder, bonded to Egwene ... Well, he’d met Fades and the Dark
One, so he knew there were worse fates, but still ...
She finished fixing herself, then patted him on the cheek. “Get some sleep now,
there’s a good boy. I expect Moiraine Sedai will want us up early tomorrow.”
With that she climbed out of his bed, wrapping her arms around herself to ward
off the sudden chill, then padded back towards the door.
Rand held his silence as he watched her go. Only once he’d heard the door click
shut again did he reach down to pat his hand along the floor of the bedroom,
seeking and eventually finding his discarded stocking. He’d have to take care
of himself if there was to be any hope of his getting some peaceful sleep that
night.
***** A Pebble in the Pond *****
CHAPTER 49: A Pebble in the Pond
 
Green leaves covered peacefully spreading branches. Wildflowers made a carpet
of bright patches in grasses stirred by a sweet spring breeze. Butterflies
fluttered from blossom to blossom, with buzzing bees, and birds trilled their
songs.
Gaping, he galloped on, until he suddenly realized that the others had all
stopped. Slowly he drew rein, his face frozen in astonishment. Egwene’s eyes
were about to come out of her head, and Nynaeve’s jaw had dropped. Anna shook
her head vigorously, as if to rattle some sense back into it.
“We have reached safety,” Moiraine said. “This is the Green Man’s place, and
the Eye of the World is within. Nothing of the Blight can enter here.”
“I thought it was on the other side of the mountains,” Rand mumbled. He could
still see the peaks filling the northern horizon, and the high passes. “You
said it was always beyond the passes.”
“This place,” said a deep voice from the trees, “is always where it is. All
that changes is where those who need it are.”
A figure stepped out of the foliage, a man-shape as much bigger than Loial as
the Ogier was bigger than Rand. A man-shape of woven vines and leaves, green
and growing. His hair was grass, flowing to his shoulders; his eyes, huge
hazelnuts; his fingernails, acorns. Green leaves made his tunic and trousers;
seamless bark, his boots. Butterflies swirled around him, lighting on his
fingers, his shoulders, his face. Only one thing spoiled the verdant
perfection. A deep fissure ran up his cheek and temple across the top of his
head, and in that the vines were brown and withered.
“The Green Man,” Egwene whispered, and the scarred face smiled. For a moment it
seemed as if the birds sang louder.
“Of course I am. Who else would be here?” The hazelnut eyes regarded Loial. “It
is good to see you, little brother. In the past, many of you came to visit me,
but few of recent days.”
Loial scrambled down from his big horse and bowed formally. “You honour me,
Treebrother. Tsingu ma choshih, T’ingshen.”
Smiling, the Green Man put an arm around the Ogier’s shoulders. Alongside
Loial, he looked like a man beside a boy. “There is no honouring, little
brother. We will sing Tree Songs together, and remember the Great Trees, and
the stedding, and hold the Longing at bay.” He studied the others, just now
getting down from their horses, and his eyes lit on Perrin. “A Wolfbrother! Do
the old times truly walk again then?”
Rand stared at Perrin. For his part, Perrin turned his horse so it was between
him and the Green Man, and bent to check the girth. Rand was sure he just
wanted to avoid the Green Man’s searching gaze. Suddenly the Green Man spoke to
Rand.
“Strange clothes you wear, Child of the Dragon. Has the Wheel turned so far? Do
the People of the Dragon return to the first Covenant? But you wear a sword.
That is neither now nor then.”
Rand had to work moisture in his mouth before he could speak. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about. What do you mean?”
The Green Man touched the brown scar across his head. For a moment he seemed
confused. “I ... cannot say. My memories are torn and often fleeting, and much
of what remains is like leaves visited by caterpillars. Yet, I am sure ... No,
it is gone. But you are welcome here. You, Moiraine Sedai, are more than a
surprise. When this place was made, it was made so that none could find it
twice. How have you come here?”
“Need,” Moiraine replied. “My need, and most of all the world’s need. We have
come to see the Eye of the World.”
The Green Man sighed, the wind sighing through thick-leafed branches. “Then it
has come again. That memory remains whole. The Dark One stirs. I have feared
it. Every turning of years, the Blight strives harder to come inside, and this
turn the struggle to keep it out has been greater than ever since the
beginning. Come, I will take you.”
Leading the bay, Rand followed the Green Man with the other Emond’s Fielders,
all staring as if they could not decide whether to look at the Green Man or the
forest. The Green Man was a legend of course, with stories told about him, and
the Tree of Life, in front of every fireplace in the Theren, and not just for
the children. But after the Blight, the trees and flowers would have been a
wonder of normality even if the rest of the world was not still trapped in
winter.
Perrin hung a little to the rear. When Rand glanced back, the big, curly-haired
youth looked as if he did not want to hear anything else the Green Man had to
say. He could understand that. Child of the Dragon. Warily he watched the Green
Man, walking ahead with Moiraine and Lan, butterflies surrounding him in a
cloud of yellows and reds. What did he mean? No. I don’t want to know.
Even so, his step felt lighter, his legs springier. The uneasiness still lay in
his gut, churning his stomach, but the fear had become so diffuse it might as
well be gone. He did not think he could expect more, not with the Blight half a
mile away, even if Moiraine was right about nothing from the Blight being able
to enter here. The thousands of burning points piercing his bones had winked
out; at the very moment he came within the Green Man’s domain, he was sure.
It’s him that winked them out, he thought, the Green Man, and this place.
Egwene felt it, and Nynaeve, too, the soothing peace, the calm of beauty. He
could tell. They wore small, serene smiles, and brushed flowers with their
fingers, pausing to smell, and breathing deep.
When the Green Man noticed, he said, “Flowers are meant to adorn. The plants or
humans, it is much the same. None mind, so long as you don’t take too many.”
And he began plucking one from this plant and one from that, never more than
two from any. Soon Nynaeve and Egwene wore blossoms in their hair, pink
wildrose and yellowbell and white Morningstar; the Wisdom’s braid seemed a
garden of pink and white to her waist. Anna’s hair had almost completely
disappeared beneath a cap of flowers. Even Moiraine received a pale garland of
morningstar on her brow, woven so deftly that the flowers still seemed to be
growing.
Rand was not sure they were not growing. The Green Man tended his forest garden
as he walked, while he talked softly to Moiraine, taking care of whatever
needed care without really thinking about it. His hazelnut eyes caught a
crooked limb on a climbing wildrose, forced into an awkward angle by the
blossom-covered limb of an apple tree, and he paused, still talking, to run his
hand along the bend. Rand was not sure if his eyes were playing tricks, or if
thorns actually did bend out of the way so as not to prick those green fingers.
When the towering shape of the Green Man moved on, the limb ran straight and
true, spreading red petals among the white of apple blossoms. He bent to cup
one huge hand around a tiny seed lying on a patch of pebbles, and when he
straightened, a small shoot had roots through the rocks to good soil.
“All things must grow where they are, according to the Pattern,” he explained
over his shoulder, as if apologizing, “and face the turning of the Wheel, but
the Creator will not mind if I give just a little help.”
Rand led Red around the shoot, careful not to let the bay’s hooves crush it. It
did not seem right to destroy what the Green Man had done just to avoid an
extra step. Egwene smiled at him, one of her secret smiles, and touched his
arm. She was so pretty, with her unbound hair full of flowers, that he smiled
back at her until she blushed and lowered her eyes.
Into the heart of the spring forest the Green Man took them, to an arched
opening in the side of a hill. It was a simple stone arch, tall and white, and
on the keystone was a circle halved by a sinuous line, one half rough, the
other smooth. The ancient symbol of Aes Sedai. The opening itself was shadowed.
For a moment everyone simply looked in silence. Then Moiraine removed the
garland from her hair and gently hung it on the limb of a sweetberry bush
beside the arch. It was as if her movement restored speech.
“It’s in there?” Nynaeve asked. “What we’ve come for?”
“I’d really like to see the Tree of Life,” Mat said, not taking his eyes off
the halved circle above them. “We can wait that long, can’t we?”
The Green Man gave Rand an odd look, then shook his head. “Avendesora is not
here. I have not rested beneath its ungentle branches in two thousand years.”
“The Tree of Life is not why we came,” Moiraine said firmly. She gestured to
the arch. “In there, is.”
“I will not go in with you,” the Green Man said. The butterflies around him
swirled as if the shared some agitation. “I was set to guard it long, long ago,
but it makes me uneasy to come too close. I feel myself being unmade; my end is
linked with it, somehow. I remember the making of it. Some of the making.
Some.” His hazelnut eyes stared, lost in memory, and he fingered his scar. “It
was the first days of the Breaking of the World, when the joy of victory over
the Dark One turned bitter with the knowledge that all might yet be shattered
by the weight of the Shadow. A hundred of them made it, men and women together.
The greatest Aes Sedai works were always done so, joining saidin and saidar, as
the True Source is joined. They died, all, to make it pure, while the world was
torn around them. Knowing they would die, they charged me to guard it against
the need to come. It was not what I was made for, but all was breaking apart,
and they were alone, and I was all they had. It was not what I was made for,
but I have kept the faith.” He looked down at Moiraine, nodding to himself. “I
have kept faith, until it was needed. And now it ends.”
“You have kept the faith better than most of us who gave you the charge,” the
Aes Sedai said. “Perhaps it will not come as badly as you fear.”
The scarred, leafy head shook slowly from side to side. “I know an ending when
it comes, Aes Sedai. I will find another place to make things grow.” Nutbrown
eyes swept sadly over the green forest. “Another place, perhaps. When you come
out, I will see you again, if there is time.” With that he strode away,
trailing butterflies, becoming one with the forest more completely than Lan’s
cloak ever could.
“What did he mean?” Mat demanded. “If there’s time?”
“Come,” Moiraine said. And she stepped through the arch. Lan went at her heels.
Rand was not sure what he expected when he followed. The hair stirred uneasily
on his arms, and rose on the back of his neck. But it was only a corridor, its
polished walls rounded overhead like the arch, winding gently downward. There
was headroom enough and to spare for Loial; there would have been room enough
for the Green Man. The smooth floor was slick to the eye like oiled slate, yet
somehow gave a sure footing. Seamless, white walls glittered with uncounted
flecks in untold colours, giving a low, soft light even after the sunlit
archway vanished around a curve behind. He was sure the light was no natural
thing, but he sensed it was benign, too. Then why is your skin still crawling?
Down they went, and down.
“There,” Moiraine said at last, pointing. “Ahead.”
And the corridor opened into a vast, domed space, the rough, living rock of its
ceiling dotted with clumps of glowing crystals. Below it, a pool took up the
entire cavern, except for the walkway around it, perhaps five paces wide. In
the oval shape of an eye, the pool was lined about its rim with a low, flat
edging of crystals that glowed with a duller, yet fiercer, light than those
above. Its surface was as smooth as glass and as clear as the Winespring Water.
Rand felt as if his eyes could penetrate it forever, but he could not see any
bottom to it.
“The Eye of the World,” Moiraine said softly beside him.
As he looked around in wonder, he realized that the long years since the
making—three thousand of them—had worked their way while no-one came. Not all
the crystals in the dome glowed with the same intensity. Some were stronger,
some weaker; some flickered, and others were only faceted lumps to sparkle in a
captured light. Had all shone, the dome would have been as bright as noonday,
but they made it only late afternoon, now. Dust coated the walkway, and bits of
stone and even crystal. Long years waiting, while the Wheel turned and ground.
“But what is it?” Mat asked uneasily. “That doesn’t look like any water I ever
saw.” He kicked a dark pebble over the edge. “It—”
The stone struck the glassy surface and slid into the pool without a splash, or
so much as a ripple. As it sank, the rock began to swell, growing ever larger,
larger and more attenuated, a blob the size of his head that Rand could almost
see through, a faint blur as wide as his arm was long. Then it was gone. He
thought his skin would creep right off his body.
“What is it?” he demanded, and was shocked at the hoarse harshness of his own
voice.
“It might be called the essence of saidin.” The Aes Sedai’s words echoed round
the dome. “The essence of the male half of the True Source, the pure essence of
the Power wielded by men before the Time of Madness. The Power to mend the seal
on the Dark One’s prison, or to break it open completely.”
“The Light shine on us and protect us,” Nynaeve whispered. Egwene clutched her
as if she wanted to hide behind the Wisdom. Even Lan stirred uneasily, though
there was no surprise in his eyes.
Stone thudded into Rand’s shoulders, and he realized he had backed as far as
the wall, as far from the Eye of the World as he could get. He would have
pushed himself right through the wall, if he could have. Mat, too, was splayed
out against the stone as flat as he could make himself. Perrin was staring at
the pool with his axe half drawn. His eyes shone, yellow and fierce. Anna had
edged back towards the exit.
“I always wondered,” Loial said uneasily. “When I read about it, I always
wondered what it was. Why? Why did they do it? And how?”
“No-one living knows.” Moiraine no longer looked at the pool. She was watching
Rand and his two friends, studying them, her eyes weighing. “Neither the how,
nor more of the why than that it would be needed one day, and that that need
would be the greatest and most desperate the world had faced to that time.
Perhaps ever would face.
“Many in Tar Valon have attempted to find a way to use this Power, but it is as
untouchable for any woman as the moon is for a cat. Only a man could channel
it, but the last male Aes Sedai is nearly three thousand years gone. Yet the
need they saw was a desperate one. They worked through the taint of the Dark
One on saidin to make it, and make it pure, knowing that doing so would kill
them all. Male Aes Sedai and female together. The Green Man spoke true. The
greatest wonders of the Age of Legends were done in that way, saidin and saidar
together. All the women in Tar Valon, all the Aes Sedai in all the courts and
cities, even with those in the lands beyond the Waste, even counting those who
may still live beyond the Aryth Ocean, could not fill a spoon with this Power,
lacking men to work with them.”
Rand’s throat rasped as if he had been screaming. “Why did you bring us here?”
“Because you are ta’veren.” The Aes Sedai’s face was unreadable. Her eyes
shimmered, and seemed to pull at him. “Because the Dark One’s power will strike
here, and because it must be confronted and stopped, or the Shadow will cover
the world. There is no need greater than that. Let us go out into the sunlight
again, while there is yet time.” Without waiting to see if they would follow,
she started back up the corridor with Lan, who stepped perhaps a bit more
quickly than usual for him. Anna all-but trod on the Warder’s heels and Egwene
and Nynaeve hurried behind her.
Rand edged along the wall—he could not make himself get even one step closer to
what the pool was—and scrambled into the corridor in a tangle with Mat and
Perrin. He would have run if it had not meant trampling those ahead. He could
not stop shaking even when he was back outside.
“I do not like this, Moiraine,” Nynaeve said angrily when the sun shone on them
again. “I believe the danger is as great as you say or I would not be here, but
this is—”
“I have found you at last.”
Rand jerked as if a rope had tightened around his neck. The words, the voice
... for a moment he believed it was Ba’alzamon for the speaker had a similar
accent, but the man who walked out of the trees, face hidden by his green cowl,
was shorter than Ba’alzamon, and made to look shorter still by his stooped
back. His clothes looked finely made, but did not seem to fit him properly, as
if he had borrowed them from someone else. He was no Fade at least; the breeze
stirred his cloak.
“Who are you?” Lan’s stance was cautious, his hand on his sword hilt. “How did
you come here? If you are seeking the Green Man he should be back soon.”
The newcomer was silent for a rudely long time. He nodded his head throughout,
as though listening to someone giving instructions, but no voice spoke that
Rand could hear.
He exchanged confused glances with Anna, who clutched her bow and slid closer
to Rand, eyeing the stranger warily.
At last the man answered. “Crude tongue. Simplistic, without art. A sign of the
times? Hmmm.” The hand that pointed to Mat was old and shrivelled to scarcely
human, lacking a fingernail and with knuckles gnarled like knots in a piece of
rope. Mat took a step back, eyes widening. “He guided me. An old thing, an old
friend, an old enemy. But he is not the one I seek,” he finished. The hooded
head swivelled from Perrin, to Lan, to Rand as if he were looking for
something.
Moiraine straightened to her full height, no more than shoulder high to any man
there, but suddenly seeming as tall as the hills. Her voice rang like a bell,
demanding, “Who are you?”
Shrivelled hands pushed back the hood, and Rand goggled. The old man was older
than old; he made Cenn Buie look like a child in the bloom of health. The skin
of his face was like crazed parchment drawn tight over a skull, then pulled
tighter still. Wispy tufts of brittle white hair stood at odd places on his
scabrous scalp. His ears were withered bits like scraps of ancient leather; his
dark eyes sunken, peering out of his head as if from the ends of tunnels.
“I will not translate my name into your childish language,” the old man said.
“You may call me ... Aginor.”
“The Light protect—” Loial began, his voice shaking, and cut off abruptly when
Aginor looked at him.
“The Forsaken,” Mat said hoarsely, “are bound in Shayol Ghul—”
“Were bound.” Aginor smiled; his yellowed teeth had the look of fangs. “The
Wheel grinds exceedingly fine over three thousand years imprisoned.” His sunken
eyes slid to the arched entranceway, and his face grew hungry. “So long
without,” he said softly. “So long.”
A tinny, feminine, voice spoke in a language Rand did not know. The voice
seemed to come from near the Forsaken but there was no-one there that he could
see; Aginor responded to it with no sign of surprise. “Yes, yes. Of course she
is.” His gaze passed from Moiraine to Nynaeve and back. “Some of us are bound
no longer. The seals weaken, Aes Sedai. Like Ishamael, we walk the world again,
and soon the rest of us will come. I was too close to this world in my
captivity, too close to the grinding of the Wheel, but soon the Great Lord of
the Dark will be free, and give me new flesh, and the world will be ours once
more. You will have no Lews Therin Kinslayer, this time. No Lord of the Morning
to save you. I know the one I seek now.”
Lan’s sword sprang from its scabbard too fast for Rand’s eye to follow. Yet the
Warder hesitated, eyes flickering to Moiraine, to Nynaeve. The two women stood
well apart; to put himself between either of them and the Forsaken would put
him further from the other. Only for a heartbeat the hesitation lasted, but as
the Warder’s feet moved, Aginor raised his hand. It was a scornful gesture, a
flipping of his gnarled fingers as if to shoo away a fly. The Warder flew
backwards through the air as though a huge fist had caught him. With a dull
thud Lan struck the stone arch, hanging there for an instant before dropping in
a flaccid heap, his sword lying near his outstretched hand.
“NO!” Nynaeve screamed.
“Be still!” Moiraine commanded, but before anyone else could move the Wisdom’s
knife had left her belt, and she was running toward the Forsaken, her small
blade upraised.
“The Light blind you,” she cried, striking at Aginor’s chest.
Her blade struck nothing and rebounded from it as though from a brick wall.
Aginor gave a single, incredulous snort of laughter. “Manar. Ga doko saidar,
narfa’inda?” He shook his head. “Are you truly a Servant of All, girl? And this
man, too?” He flicked a glance at Lan’s unconscious form. “Surely standards
cannot have fallen so low.”
A convulsion wracked Nynaeve from head to toe, as if she had been cracked like
a whip. Her knife dropped uselessly from dangling fingers. She was lifted into
the air by an invisible force until her toes spasmed a foot above the ground,
flowers raining from her hair and her face twisting in pain.
Two arrows struck at the Forsaken. They proved as useless as the Wisdom’s
knife; hitting a wall of nothing before falling to the ground. Anna and Mat
lowered their bows, pale-faced and gaping.
Perrin’s axe whirled into his hands, and his eyes glowed golden and fierce. He
ran at Aginor. Mat pulled the dagger from Shadar Logoth from its sheath and
charged with him, calling for Nynaeve.
Egwene moved too, and Rand saw that she was going to help Nynaeve. “Egwene,
no!” he shouted, but she did not stop. He took his hand from his still-sheathed
sword and threw himself at her, thudding into her before she took her third
step, carrying them both to the ground. Egwene landed under him with a gasp,
immediately thrashing to get free.
“No!” Rand called. “You can’t fight the Forsaken!”
Aginor glanced at them all unconcernedly ... and smiled.
Rand felt the air stir above him like the crack of a giant’s whip. Mat and
Perrin, not even halfway to the Forsaken, were sent flying backwards to sprawl
on the ground. Even Anna, farther back, was knocked from her feet. He could
have killed them all, us all, with as much or less effort than it took to knock
them over.
“Good,” Aginor said. He let the unconscious Nynaeve crumple to the ground. “A
fitting place for you. If you answer my questions and learn to ...” He gave an
irritated scowl, something that none of their attacks had managed to inspire,
then snarled a question. “Kazath bak’ye, ‘asaparano’?”
The strange, bodiless voice spoke, echoing oddly even though they were out in
the open. “ ‘Abase’, would be the closest approximation, Mia’cova.”
“Learn to ... abase yourself properly in worship and I might let you live,”
Aginor continued. The irritation remained on his face, banishing the smug
playfulness of before and adding an extra wariness to Rand’s near-panic.
Hastily Rand scrambled to his feet. Perhaps he could not fight the Forsaken—no
ordinary human could—but he would not let one believe for a minute that he was
grovelling before them. He tried to help Egwene up, but she slapped his hands
away and stood by herself, angrily brushing off her dress. Mat, Perrin and Anna
had also stubbornly pushed themselves unsteadily erect.
Aginor’s scowl deepened and he stalked hungrily towards the entryway to the
Eye. “Enough! I do not feel like you savages proper respect today teaching.
Time it is past to end this!”
Moiraine had held back throughout, head lowered in concentration. Now she
looked up and fixed Aginor with a dark, piercing stare. “Yes, Forsaken,” she
said, her voice as cold as deepwinter ice. “Past time!”
The Aes Sedai’s hand rose, clutching her angreal, and the ground fell away
beneath Aginor’s feet. Flame roared from the chasm, whipped to a frenzy by wind
howling in from every direction, sucking a maelstrom of leaves into the fire,
which seemed to solidify into a red-streaked yellow jelly of pure heat. In the
middle of it Aginor stood, his feet supported only by air. The Forsaken looked
startled, but then he smiled and took a step forward. It was a slow step, as if
the fire tried to root him to the spot, but he took it, and then another.
The odd voice spoke again, barely audible over the fury of Moiraine’s attack.
“Vadin sor’uiwa. Saidar vaakajane ja’djanzei, Mia’cova.” The Forsaken’s advance
sped up. His cloak was not even singed.
Aginor stepped across the air, toward the edge of the flames. “At least one of
you is not completely without Power. Perhaps this one I will keep alive, for a
time, to my questions answer. The rest are plainly worthless,” he said as he
emerged from the inferno. His gaze shifted from Moiraine to the clustered
Thereners.
“Run!” Moiraine commanded. Her face was white with strain. “All of you run!”
For once, they were happy to heed her orders. He saw Mat and Perrin dashing
away to the east. Loial’s long legs carried him south into the trees.
Anna seized Rand’s forearm in a fear-strengthened grip. “Hurry, we need to get
out of here!” Together they ran after Loial.
They were at the edge of the woodland clearing when Rand glanced to his side
and saw that Egwene was not there. What he saw when he looked back brought him
skidding to a halt.
Anna was tugged to a stop too, her grip on his arm unyielding. “What are you
doing?” she cried.
Egwene, that brave fool, stood rigid back by the entrance to the Eye. She had
not moved a step. Her face was pale and her eyes were closed. It was not fear
that held her, he realized. She was trying to throw her puny, untrained
wielding of the Power against the Forsaken.
“Egwene! Run!” he shouted at her. Her eyes opened, staring at him, angry with
him for interfering, liquid with hate for Aginor, with fear of the Forsaken.
Rand went back to get her. He did. There was no choice. It was what he had to
do, what he always did, he somehow knew. But he made it only a single step.
Anna dug her heels into the soft earth of the Green Man’s garden, holding on to
Rand’s arm for dear life. “Don’t be a fool!” she said in an
uncharacteristically high-pitched voice. “He’ll kill you.”
“I don’t care. Egwene!” Rand said, panic raising his own pitch too.
Anna’s dark eyes were very wide. They implored him. “It’s her life, let her
fight if she wants. But if you go back there, then I have to go back too, and I
don’t fancy my chances of beating a Forsaken with my bow.”
Rand stared at her. In his mind’s eye he saw Anna engulfed in an inferno like
the one Moiraine had tried to use against Aginor. In his mind’s eye he saw
Egwene engulfed in the same. I can’t ... I can’t ...
When he looked back he saw Aginor’s withered face turn from the faltering Aes
Sedai to Egwene ... and that irritated sneer return in force.
Light help me. I’m sorry ... Egwene.
“Run,” Anna urged, pulling at his arm. And Rand let himself be pulled.
He felt a tearing inside himself, as if a part of him was being ripped away
like a tree toppled by a storm, its roots torn free of the earth. Yet still he
ran.
There was a single shriek. Rand had no choice but to look back. Through gaps in
the trees behind, he saw, for an instant, a dark, girl-sized form standing
within a ball of flame. Then it frayed away, to ash, to smoke. So hot was the
fire that in heartbeats nothing remained of the girl within. Her cleverness and
her beauty and her ambitions, all snuffed out with another scornful flip of the
Forsaken’s gnarled fingers.
Tears burned their way down Rand’s cheeks. He ran on, blindly, into the woods.
***** The Eye of the World *****
CHAPTER 50: The Eye of the World
 
A woman’s screams chased them through the woods. Moiraine’s screams. The
screams of an Aes Sedai no less, each more throat-wrenching than the last.
The land tended upward the way Rand went, but fear lent their legs strength and
they ate ground in long strides, tearing through flowering bushes and tangles
of wildrose, scattering petals, not caring if thorns ripped their clothes or
even their flesh. Moiraine had stopped screaming. It seemed as if the shrieks
had gone on forever, but he knew they had lasted only moments altogether.
Aginor would go to the Eye he thought, to do whatever he had come here to do.
They would have time to ... To what? Where could they run? Outside the Green
Man’s sanctuary there was only the Blight. We got through it once, we can do it
again. We have to.
The land grew ever steeper, but he scrambled on, pulling himself forward by
handfuls of undergrowth, rocks and dirt and leaves spilling down the slope from
under his feet, finally crawling when the slant became too great. All
throughout the climb he held on to Anna’s hand, suddenly unwilling to leave her
so much as an arms-length away. Ahead, above, the hill levelled out a little.
Panting, they scrabbled their way the last few feet. Rand stood up, and stared,
wanting to howl aloud.
Ten paces in front of him, the hilltop dropped away sharply. He knew what he
would see before he reached it, but he took the steps anyway, each heavier than
the one before, hoping there might be some track, a goat path, anything. At the
edge he looked down a sheer hundred-foot drop, a stone wall as smooth as planed
timber. He could see the Blight down below, all its sickly discoloured foliage
looking as small as it was deadly.
“If we follow the edge of the Green Man’s domain we should be able to find a
way out,” said Anna. Rand nodded wordlessly and they set off, skidding back
down the slope and heading southwest.
“Don’t blame yourself. Blame me if you must,” Anna gasped out as they ran.
He didn’t need to ask what she meant. “It wasn’t your fault at all. Stop
thinking that. Aginor did it, he’s the only one to blame.” I should have saved
her.
After a time he noticed signs of another’s passage ahead, as though a large
body had burst through the bushes in his haste. Loial must have gone this way.
He ran on, pulling Anna with him.
Following the very obvious tracks Loial left behind, they soon emerged from the
woods. A large, flat meadow stretched before them and just ahead, near the
centre of it stood a frantic Loial, ears twitching wildly.
The Green Man was with him, towering over the giant Ogier like a parent over a
child. He made soothing gestures and spoke words that Rand was too far off to
hear. Perhaps the Green Man could help them escape. If his sanctuary could
appear anywhere, then ... He and Anna ran towards the pair.
They didn’t make it more than half-way to them.
A bright vertical line of silver light appeared in the air before them. It
seemed to rotate and then abruptly snapped open, becoming the four edges of a
doorway hovering in the air itself.
“Light,” Anna gasped as they skidded to a halt, gaping.
On the other side of the doorway he could see the underground chamber where the
Eye of the World was kept. A chamber far behind them, but now right in front.
Dismay forced a groan from his lips when the bent-backed monster who named
himself Aginor walked into view.
Rand stood in front of Anna and pulled Tam’s sword from its sheath. It was a
futile gesture he knew, but he would at least die with his father’s sword in
his hands. He bared his teeth at the Forsaken in a wordless snarl.
Aginor stepped through the gate in the air and let it snap shut behind him.
Deep-sunken eyes burned in that drawn parchment face; somehow, it seemed less
withered than before, more fleshed, as if Aginor had fed well on something.
Those eyes were fixed on him, yet when Aginor spoke, it was almost to himself.
“Ba’alzamon will give rewards beyond mortal dreaming for the one who brings you
to Shayol Ghul. Yet my dreams have always been beyond those of other men, and I
left mortality behind millennia ago. What difference if you serve the Great
Lord of the Dark alive or dead? None, to the spread of the Shadow. Why should I
share power with you? Why should I bend knee to you? I, who faced Lews Therin
Telamon in the Hall of the Servants itself. I, who threw my might against the
Lord of the Morning and met him stroke for stroke. I think not.”
“This shall not be!” The Green Man strode towards them with a voice like
lightning striking an ancient oak. “You do not belong here!”
Aginor spared him a brief, contemptuous glance. “Begone! Your time is ended,
all your kind but you long since dust. Live what life is left to you and be
glad you are beneath my notice.”
“This is my place,” the Green Man said, “and you shall hurt no living thing
here.”
Aginor made that hateful gesture again and the Green Man roared as smoke rose
from the vines that wove him. The wind in the trees echoed his pain. “Be off
with you creature, my patience is tried.”
“You try my patience,” the tinny voice said, as though correcting him. The
Forsaken scowled.
Aginor turned back to Rand, as if the Green Man had been dealt with, but one
long stride and massive, leafy arms wrapped themselves around him, raising him
high, crushing him against a chest of thick creepers. Aginor looked
incredulously into hazelnut eyes dark with anger. His gnarled hands grasping
the Green Man’s head as though he could wrench it off with his stick-like arms.
Flames shot up where those hands touched, vines withering, leaves falling. The
Green Man bellowed as thick, dark smoke poured out between the vines of his
body. On and on he roared, as if all of him were coming out of his mouth with
the smoke that billowed between his lips.
Suddenly Aginor jerked in the Green Man’s grasp. The Forsaken’s hands tried to
push him away. One hand flung wide ... and a tiny creeper burst through the
wrinkled skin. A fungus, such as rings trees in the deep shadows of the forest,
ringed his arm, sprang from nowhere to full-grown, swelling to cover the length
of it. Aginor thrashed, and a shoot of stinkweed ripped open his carapace,
spilling blood that was as red as that of any normal man. His shirt was torn
open, revealing a necklace strung with half a dozen strange medallions, each
one finely made, oddly elaborate compared to the hand-me-down clothes he wore.
Lichens dug in their roots and split tiny cracks across the leather of his
face, nettles grew in the hollow of his right eye socket and popped the milky
orb within like a rotten egg. The Forsaken screamed.
“Glados ... kakamo ... gemarise ... no'shukri!” gasped Aginor, in what Rand
thought would surely be his last words.
But one of the medallions on his flat chest lit up, a yellow glow appearing at
its centre, looking almost like an eye. “Marath'sor ye,” said that tinny voice,
coming, Rand was shocked to realise, from the medallion itself.
Something abruptly knocked the Green Man backwards. He staggered a few steps,
his massive legs shaking beneath his weight, smoke pouring from his plant-like
flesh. Loial ran towards him, crying out in wordless grief.
Aginor fell to the earth and jerked as all the things that grew in the dark
places, all the things with spores, all the things that loved the dank, swelled
and grew, tearing at cloth and flesh ... but where the Green Man’s power ripped
at his flesh, something else worked to restore it, healing him just as Moiraine
had healed Tam.
Rand’s mouth was as dry as dust; his tongue felt as shrivelled as Aginor. He
stepped forward and swung the sword downwards, hoping that the Green Man had
weakened Aginor enough that the blade would touch him. But his strike ended
much as Nynaeve’s had, with a jarring clang in mid-air. There has to be some
way to get away from him. Some way to defeat him! There has to be! Some way!
The Forsaken looked up at him with a hatred that Rand found he could easily
match. There was fear in the man’s remaining eye too though, for all his power.
“Spiating’ye,” groaned the Forsaken desperately. And he reached out ...
It was not with his crippled hands that he reached, but something else. Rand
could not see him reach but he could feel it. His grasp was aimed not towards
Rand, but somewhere far away ... far away and yet as close as his own skin. And
Rand ... Rand could reach it too.
Suddenly he felt something, saw it, though he knew it was not there to see. A
glowing rope ran off from Aginor, behind him, stretching back to where they had
first met, back to the Eye. White like sunlight seen through the purest cloud,
heavier than a blacksmith’s arm, lighter than air, the rope connected the
Forsaken to something distant beyond knowing, something within the touch of
Rand’s hand. The rope pulsed, and beside that shining cord, the Forsaken seemed
almost not to exist. The cord was all. It hummed. It sang. It called Rand’s
soul. One bright finger-strand lifted away, drifted towards him ... He reached
without reaching and touched it without touching. A rapturous gasp burst from
Rand’s lips. Light filled him, and heat that should have burned yet only warmed
as if it took the chill of the grave from his bones. The strand thickened. He
pulled at the light, drank it in greedily.
“No!” Aginor shouted. “You shall not have it! It is mine!”
Rand did not move, and neither did the Forsaken, yet they fought as surely as
if they grappled in the dust. Sweat beaded on Aginor’s face. Rand pulsed with
the beating in the cord, like the heartbeat of the world. It filled his being.
Light filled his mind, till only a corner was left for what was himself. He
wrapped the void around that nook; sheltered in emptiness.
“Mine!” Aginor cried through gritted yellow teeth as he, or something else,
struggled to contain the fungi that infested his body. “Mine!”
Warmth built in Rand, the warmth of the sun, the radiance of the sun, bursting,
the awful radiance of light, of the Light. Power to burn, to burn the Forsaken,
to burn the Shadow. He raised his sword again and brought it crashing down upon
Aginor’s barrier, and with it came a wild inferno.
The barrier held against the flames that cascaded over it, but Aginor’s
remaining eye went very wide and when the fiery wave receded embers rained down
on him, singeing his torn garb.
Rand staggered. He felt as though liquid lightning had been poured into his
veins. As he raised the sword once more, channelling the strange power, Aginor
got one skinny leg under himself and lunged ... but not towards Rand, away,
towards the silver-lined gateway that now reappeared in the air before him.
The Forsaken jumped head-first through the gate. Rand lashed out wildly and
Aginor shrieked. The sound was cut off abruptly as the floating doorway winked
closed, but Rand did not think the man’s screams had ended, wherever he had
gone. He stared at the shrivelled legs laying on the grassy meadow, bloody bits
of knee marking where they had been severed from their former owner.
All was silent save for a chorus of sharply indrawn breaths, Rand’s own among
them. He trembled, from all that had happened, yes, but most of all from the
power that still pulsed within him. Draining out of something, filling him
until he felt he must burst if he did not release it somehow.
Channelling the power, he thought again. Channelling ... the One Power!
He whimpered. No ... no, no, no.
With a groan like a limb breaking under too great a weight, the Green Man
crashed to the ground. Half his head was charred black. Tendrils of smoke still
rose from him, like grey creepers. Burned leaves fell from his arm as he
painfully stretched out his blackened hand to gently cup an acorn.
“And so it begins,” he sighed sadly. His hazelnut eyes locked on Rand’s,
searching for something, probing. He felt as though a thin vine was wrapping
itself around his mind, binding him to something unknowable.
The Green Man’s gaze dimmed. The earth rumbled as an oak seedling pushed up
between his fingers. Even as his head fell, the seedling reached for the sun,
straining. Roots shot out and thickened, delved beneath the ground and rose
again, thickened more as they sank. The trunk broadened and stretched upward,
bark turning grey and fissured and ancient. Limbs spread and grew heavy, as big
as arms, as big as men, and lifted to caress the sky, thick with green leaves,
dense with acorns. The massive web of roots turned the earth like ploughs as it
spread; the already huge trunk shivered, grew wider, round as a house.
Stillness came. And an oak that could have stood five hundred years covered the
spot where the Green Man had been, marking the tomb of a legend. The wind
sighed through the oak’s branches; it seemed to murmur farewell.
Loial dropped to his knees. Great fat tears fell from the Ogier’s saucer-like
eyes.“Yasipa sa’suravye, T’ingshen,”he sobbed. “Rest in peace, Treebrother.”
The Power was still building in Rand. He shook like a leaf in the wind. I have
to get away! I have to do something, or... or ...
The Mountains of Doom shimmered briefly and were gone. Rand stared, open-
mouthed. Anna must have noticed too, because she bit off a curse. For a mad
moment, Rand thought he had destroyed the mountains with the power. Mad, it
drives you mad. But then he realised the mountains had not truly been
destroyed, they had simply been moved. No, not them. Us. We moved.
They were still in the meadow, near the great oak tree, but the Blight outside
the Green Man’s sanctuary was gone, replaced with a cold rocky plain. And where
once the dark mountains had loomed to the north, now they stretched instead to
east and west.
He staggered to the edge of the meadow. As before a sheer drop awaited him, but
this time they were closer to the ground, a mere two dozen feet up. He stared
out, the icy breeze on his face.
They were in a broad mountain pass, surrounded by jagged black peaks. Battle
surrounded them, or the tail end of battle. Armoured men on armoured horses,
shining steel dusty now, slashed and stabbed at snarling Trollocs wielding
spiked axes and scythe-like swords. Some men fought afoot, their horses down,
and barded horses galloped through the fight with empty saddles. Fades moved
among them all, night-black cloaks hanging still however their dark mounts
galloped, and wherever their light-eating swords swung, men died. Sound beat at
Rand, beat at him and bounced from the strangeness that had him by the throat.
The clash of steel against steel, the panting and grunting of men and Trollocs
striving, the screams of men and Trollocs dying. Over the din, banners waved in
dust-filled air. The Black Hawk of Shienar, the Three Foxes of House Jagad,
others. And Trolloc banners. In just the little space around him he saw the
horned skull of the Dha’vol, the blood-red trident of the Ko’bal, the iron fist
of the Dhai’mon. Yet it was indeed the tail end of battle, a pausing, as humans
and Trollocs alike fell back to regroup, paying a few last strokes to the enemy
before breaking away, galloping, or running in a stagger, to the ends of the
pass.
Some of the Shadowspawn stood still, bestial heads swivelling frantically from
side to side, looking confused. As one they turned back to stare at the garden
that had appeared as if from nowhere. Rand wondered what would happen if the
Green Man’s sanctuary appeared on top of someone. Would they be crushed beneath
it, or somehow moved away? He suspected those Trollocs had been standing
elsewhere a moment before.
Rand looked to the end of the pass where the humans were re-forming, pennants
stirring beneath gleaming lancepoints. Wounded men wavered in their saddles.
Riderless horses reared and galloped. Plainly they could not stand another
meeting, yet just as plainly they readied themselves for one final charge. Some
of them saw him now; men stood in their stirrups to point at him. At that
distance, their shouts came to him as tiny piping.
Behind a thick line or armoured pikemen, Queen Kensin of Shienar stood in her
stirrups to peer his way. He knew her by the banner her companion flew, the
White Hart on a blue field, just as Ingtar had described. But he might have
known her anyway by the ornate armour she wore, silvered plate and mail
fashioned to resemble a lady’s long gown while still providing protection. Her
silver crown was fitted to the outside of her open-faced helm. Unlike most
Queens, who ruled from their capitals and sent a chosen general to command
their armies when armies were needed, Kensin was known for taking the field in
person, and fighting alongside her soldiers when she judged it necessary.
Trembling, fit to burst from the power within him, he turned his face north.
The forces of the Dark One filled the other end of the pass, bristling black
pikes and spearpoints swelling up onto mountain slopes made blacker still by
the great mass of Trollocs that dwarfed the army of Shienar. Fades in hundreds
rode across the front of the horde, the fierce, muzzled faces of Trollocs
turning away in fear as they passed, huge bodies pulling back to make way.
Overhead, Draghkar wheeled on leathery pinions, shrieks challenging the wind.
Halfmen saw him now, too, pointed, and Draghkar spun and dove. Two. Three. Six
of them, crying shrilly as they plummeted toward him.
He stared at them. Heat filled him, the burning heat of the touched sun. He
could see the Draghkar clearly, soulless eyes in pale men’s faces on winged
bodies that had nothing of humanity about them. An arrow launched from behind
him took one in the chest, the others dove on. A second fell to Anna’s bow but
the rest were near now, shrieking in triumph. Terrible heat. Crackling heat.
From the clear sky lightning came, each bolt crisp and sharp, searing his eyes,
each bolt striking a winged black shape. Hunting cries became shrieks of death,
and charred forms fell to leave the sky clean again.
The heat. The terrible heat of the Light.
He fell to his knees; he thought he could hear his tears sizzling on his
cheeks. “No!” He clutched at tufts of grass for some hold on reality; the grass
burst in flame. “Please, nooooooo!”
The wind rose with his voice, howled with his voice, roared with his voice down
the pass, “It has to end!”
He beat at the ground with his fist, and the earth tolled like a gong. Ripples
ran through the ground ahead of him in ever-rising waves, waves of dirt and
rock towering over Trollocs and Fades, breaking over them as the mountains
shattered under their hooved feet. The earth jerked like a tablecloth yanked by
an angry child, sending armies flying like so much crockery. A boiling mass of
flesh and rubble churned across the Trolloc army, burying them. What was left
standing was still a mighty host, but now no more than twice the human army in
numbers, and milling in fright and confusion. He heard soft-voiced prayers
being mumbled behind.
The wind died. The screams died. The earth was still. Dust and smoke swirled
back down the pass to surround him.
Through the smoke, as from the far end of the earth, came a cry. “The Light
wills it!” The ground rumbled with the thunder of hooves as the forces of
Shienar launched their last charge. Queen Kensin herself led them, her long,
curved sword in hand, already red with Trolloc blood.
IT IS NOT HERE.
It was not Rand’s thought, making his skull vibrate.
I WILL TAKE NO PART. ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE CAN DO WHAT MUST BE DONE. IF THEY
WILL.
“Where?” He did not want to say it, but he could not stop himself; that
impossible voice demanded response. “Where?”
NOT HERE.
The world outside shimmered once more. Tarwin’s Gap, and the battle raging
there, disappeared from Rand’s view. In its place, insanely, there appeared a
long, dark corridor marked with regular doorways.
He knelt in a grassy meadow and gaped up and down the familiar stone hall. The
grey winter’s sky was hidden by a dark stone roof and when he looked back at
the Green Man’s trees he saw their trunks disappearing into the ceiling.
Hanging branches poked down from limbs that were swallowed in brick, yet still
swayed freely as though the stone did not touch them, as though they were not
truly there at all. This is impossible, this is all impossible. What is
happening to me?
“Light have mercy, what the hell is going on?” Anna’s shaking voice echoed
Rand’s thoughts. She was staring around wide eyed, clutching her bow. Loial
stood beside her, his ears twitching so badly they looked ready to take flight.
The cord was yet there, stretching behind him, the glowing line dwindling and
vanishing into the distance. It was not so thick as before, but it still
pulsed, pumping strength into him, pumping life, filling him with the Light.
And right before him there was an all-too familiar door, its surface rough and
splintered and old.
Rand rose slowly to his feet. “Wait here,” he said, with a calm that surprised
even him. “I have business inside.”
He set his hand to the door, and it burst to fragments. While they still fell,
he stepped through, bits of shattered wood falling from his shoulders.
The chamber, too, was as he remembered, the mad, striated sky beyond the
balcony, the melted walls, the polished table, the terrible fireplace with its
roaring, heatless flames. Some of those faces that made the fireplace, writhing
in torment, shrieking in silence, tugged at his memory as if he knew them, but
he held the void close, floated within himself in emptiness. He was alone. When
he looked at the mirror on the wall, his face was there as clear as if it was
him. There is calm in the void.
“Here we are again,” Ba’alzamon said from in front of the fireplace, where he
had not been a moment before. “A long search, but ended now. You are here, and
I know you for who you are.”
In the midst of the Light the void drifted, and in the midst of the void
floated Rand. He reached for the soil of his home, and felt hard rock,
unyielding and dry, stone without pity, where only the strong could survive,
only those as hard as the mountains. “I am tired of running.” He could not
believe his voice was so calm. “Tired of you harming my friends. I will run no
more.” Ba’alzamon had a cord, too, he saw. A black cord, thicker by far than
his own, so wide it should have dwarfed the human body, yet dwarfed by
Ba’alzamon, instead. Each pulse along that black vein ate light.
“You think it makes any difference, whether you run or stay?” Ba’alzamon
laughed. The faces in the hearth wept at their master’s mirth. “You have fled
from me many times, and each time I run you down and make you eat your pride
with snivelling tears for spice. Many times you have stood and fought, then
grovelled in defeat, begging mercy. You have this choice, worm, and this choice
only: kneel at my feet and serve me well, and I will give you power above
thrones; or be Tar Valon’s puppet fool and scream while you are ground into the
dust of time.”
The white cord that fed Rand and Ba’alzamon’s heavier black cord beat like
heartveins in countertime, against each other, the light barely resisting the
waves of dark. He studied them while trying to appear as if he was not. What
was the Dark One linked to? What was Rand?
“There are other choices,” Rand said. “The Wheel weaves the Pattern, not you.
Every trap you’ve laid for me, I have escaped. I’ve escaped your Fades and
Trollocs, escaped your Darkfriends. I tracked you here, and destroyed your army
on the way. You do not weave the Pattern.”
Ba’alzamon’s black eyes were like pools of hot oil. “Aginor’s failure to secure
the Eye of the World has given you delusions of grandeur. A failing common in
all your incarnations.” He smiled in a way that chilled even through the warmth
of the Light.
“Other armies can be raised, fool. Armies you have not dreamed of will yet
come. And you tracked me? You slug under a rock, track me? I began the setting
of your path the day you were born, a path to lead you to your grave, or here.
Aiel allowed to flee, and one to live, to speak the words that would echo down
the years. Jain Farstrider, a hero,” he twisted the word to a sneer, “whom I
painted like a fool and sent to the Ogier thinking he was free of me. The Black
Ajah, wriggling like worms on their bellies across the world to search you out.
I pull the strings and the Amyrlin Seat dances and thinks she controls events.
I have shaped this very world to my design for the past three millennia, and
you think I am hiding from you?”
The void trembled; hastily Rand firmed it again. He knows it all. He could have
done. It could be the way he says. The Light warmed the void. Doubt cried out
and was stilled, till only the seed remained. He struggled, not knowing whether
he wanted to bury the seed or make it grow. The void steadied, smaller than
before, and he floated in calm.
Ba’alzamon seemed to notice nothing. “It matters little if I have you alive or
dead, except to you and to what power you might have. You will serve me, or
your soul will. But I would rather have you kneel to me alive than dead. A
single fist of Trollocs sent to your village when I could have sent a thousand.
One Darkfriend to face you where a hundred could come on you asleep. And you,
fool, you don’t even know them all, neither those ahead, nor those behind, nor
those by your side. You are mine, have always been mine, my dog on a leash, and
I brought you here to kneel to your master or die and let your soul kneel.”
Rand focused, channelling the Power into his hands, creating a sword of
blinding light in the form of Tam’s heron-marked blade. He didn’t know what he
was doing, or how, he only knew that he had to do it.
Ba’alzamon’s eyes burned like the Pit of Doom, but he shied back from the sword
as if it truly were the Light itself. “Fool! You will destroy yourself! You
cannot wield it so, not yet! Not until I teach you!”
“You have nothing to teach me, I am tired of your ranting and your threats.
This ends!” Rand shouted, and he swung the sword at Ba’alzamon’s black cord.
Ba’alzamon screamed as the sword fell, screamed till the stone walls trembled.
The cord severed, the cut ends rebounded apart as if they had been under
tension. The end stretching into the nothingness outside began to shrivel as it
sprang away; the other whipped back into Ba’alzamon, hurling him against the
fireplace. There was silent laughter in the soundless shrieks of the tortured
faces. The walls shivered and cracked; the floor heaved, and chunks of stone
crashed to the floor from the ceiling.
As all broke apart around him, Rand pointed the sword at Ba’alzamon’s heart.
“It is ended!” Light lanced from the blade, coruscating in a shower of fiery
sparks like droplets of molten, white metal.
The flames washed over Ba’alzamon ... and were swallowed up by his darkness.
Rand poured the power out of himself, shaped it into a weapon and let it rain
down on the Dark One, but to no avail. It was as though he simply absorbed it
all.
Ba’alzamon straightened, seemed calmer, colder, and fixed Rand with a bitter
sneer. “If it were so easy, we would have finished this a thousand lifetimes
ago, brother. There will be no victory here, not for you and not for I. The
only path to victory is the one I have plotted for us. Serve me, or suffer for
eternity. Those are the only choices you have.”
Suddenly Ba’alzamon convulsed. From an unknowable place the black cord
returned, striking at him like a monstrous serpent. It reattached itself to him
and his eyes glowed with hatred once more. “The Great Lord of the Dark does not
relinquish his servants so easily. No more than does the master whose whip
steers you, worm.”
“No,” Rand cried, “this ends!” He struck again, with flames, with wind, with
lightning, with all that his imagination could conjure, draining the great font
of power. He felt the bright thread attached to him thinning, till only the
glow itself remained, but he strained harder, not knowing what he did, or how,
only that this had to be ended. It has to end!
With angry slashes of his arm, Ba’alzamon deflected Rand’s attacks. Furniture
took fire, stone melted as though it were wax, the entire chamber came apart
under the onslaught, but Ba’alzamon himself remained unharmed. “Fool! It never
ends! We have stood in this very room and fought this very battle a thousand,
thousand times. Serve me, or we will fight it a thousand more.”
The pure white cord was gossamer thin now, it flickered one last time. Rand
raised his hand, palm up, and aimed it defiantly at the Dark One. “I will never
serve you. I deny you Shai’tan.”
Ba’alzamon glared back at him. “You will learn. You will see. You will be made
to see my truth.” He mirrored Rand’s gesture. “And here is the first part of
it. I am not Shai’tan. My name ... is Ishamael.”
Rand threw one final bolt of silver lightning at the dark man. It was met by
another bolt, thrown by his enemy, one of purest blackness. The two struck,
rebounded from each other, and tore the world to pieces.
***** The Aftermath *****
CHAPTER 51: The Aftermath
 
He became aware of the sun, first, moving across a cloudless sky, filling his
unblinking eyes. It seemed to go by fits and starts, standing still for days,
then darting ahead in a streak of light, jerking toward the far horizon, day
falling with it. Light. That should mean something. Thought was a new thing. I
can think. I means me. Pain came next, the memory of raging fever, the bruises
where shaking chills had thrown him around like a rag doll. And a stink. A
greasy, burned smell, filling his nostrils, and his head.
With aching muscles, he heaved himself over, pushed up to hands and knees. With
a trembling hand he touched the hole in his coat, dead in the centre of his
chest. Then he gritted his teeth as pain flared. The flesh beneath was red and
raw, as though he had been burnt.
With an effort he fumbled his sword from its scabbard. His hands shook when he
held it up in front of his face; it took both hands. It was a heron-mark
blade—Heron-mark? Yes. Tam. My father—but only steel for that. He needed three
wavering tries to sheathe it again. It had been something else. Or there was
another sword.
“My name,” he said after a while, “is Rand al’Thor.” More memory crashed back
into his head like a lead ball, and he groaned. “Egwene!” That name meant
something important.
Painfully he got to his feet, wavering like a willow in a high wind. Egwene.
Have to find her. Who is she?
A stocky, short-haired girl emerged from the treeline carrying a waterskin. She
had been trotting, but at the sight of him she drew up short. “You shouldn’t be
moving. You’re hurt. Loial went back to see if Moiraine or Nynaeve are still
...” Her strong face crumpled in misery. He wished she wouldn’t do that, she
was much prettier when she was not on the verge of tears.
He had already tottered most of the way across the meadow towards her when a
name popped into his head. “Anna. You are Anna. Anna al’Tolan from the Theren.”
He smiled in relief. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
His knees gave out, but Anna caught him, supporting his weight easily despite
the great difference in their heights. That should not have surprised him. Rand
shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs out.
Anna put his arm across her shoulder and offered him the waterskin. “Drink
this. All of it. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. I think you were struck by
lightning; from the burn and the way you flew out of that room.”
The room. Ba’alzamon, no, Ishamael ...
Anna eyed him critically. There was a wariness about her gaze that somehow
seemed unfamiliar. Everything was unfamiliar, but that especially so. “We
weren’t sure if we should move you, but if you’re walking about on your own
then we should probably head back to the Eye and meet Loial. Save him the
return journey.” Rand could do little more than nod, lost in memory as he was.
He drank in small sips as they made their slow way through the woods. His
memories came back to him, piece by piece. Aginor had fought the Green Man, and
they had grievously wounded each other. The famous Green Man had died, and the
infamous Forsaken had ... No, no, that can’t be right. I didn’t ...
When they arrived back at the clearing, they found half-familiar faces awaiting
them. There was the white stone arch marked with the ancient symbol of the Aes
Sedai, and the blackened, gaping pit where fire and wind had tried to trap
Aginor and failed.
Rand looked around. “Egwene! Egwene, where are you?” A pretty girl looked up
with haunted brown eyes from where she knelt beneath the spreading branches,
flowers in her long hair. She was slender and young and stubborn; and her hurts
and fears were not so well-hidden as she imagined. That must be her. Of course
... “Egwene ...” He stopped. Of course it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, she was ...
He swallowed. “Nynaeve. I’m glad you’re alive. Were you badly hurt?”
The slender Wisdom’s eyes were old, ancient in her young face, but she shook
her head. “A little bruised,” she said, watching him warily. “Egwene is the
only one who ...” She gripped her braid in both hands, shaking loose the last
of the flowers the Green Man had woven in it, and glared at the ground. There
were streaks in the dirt on her face, from recent tears.
“It’s true then,” he whispered. “I hoped I’d imagined it.” His gaze was pulled
to a scorched black circle in the clearing, where grass and branch had been
burnt to cinders. No sooner had his eyes touched the spot than he flinched
away. It had been quick, as such things went. At least there was that. She had
not suffered.
Anna released him and went to Nynaeve, she hesitated before placing a hand
lightly upon the Wisdom’s arm. Nynaeve gave her head a shake and then wrapped
her arms around the girl, hugging her tight.
There was another woman in the clearing. She lay outstretched, her head
pillowed on folded cloaks, her own sky-blue cloak not quite hiding the tattered
remnants of her dress. Charred spots and tears in the rich cloth showed, and
her face was pale, but her eyes were open. Moiraine. Yes, the Aes Sedai. She
looked at him, unblinking and intent.
“I suffered more injury to my pride than anything else,” the Aes Sedai said
irritably, plucking at her cloak blanket. She looked as if she had been a long
time ill, or hard used, but despite the dark circles under them her eyes were
sharp and full of power. “Aginor was surprised and angry that I held him as
long as I did, but fortunately, he had no time to spare for ‘questioning’ me as
he wished. I am surprised myself that I held him so long. In the Age of
Legends, Aginor was close behind the Kinslayer and Ishamael in power.”
“Ishamael,” said Rand slowly. “That was what Ba’alzamon called himself.”
Moiraine shook her head. “The Father of Lies has many names. But Ishamael was
one of the Forsaken, bound in the Pit of Doom at the end of the Age of Legends.
Aginor must have been trapped closer to the surface.” Moiraine sounded as if
she had already explained this, impatient at doing so again. “The patch on the
Dark One’s prison weakened enough to free him. Let us be thankful no more of
the Forsaken were freed. If they had been, we would have seen them.”
He shrugged. “As you wish. Whoever he is I don’t think he’s dead. I tried to
burn him with ...” The rest of memory flooded back then, leaving his mouth
hanging open. The One Power. I wielded the One Power. No man can ...He licked
lips that were suddenly dry. A gust of wind swirled fallen and falling leaves
around them, but it was no colder than his heart. They were looking at him, the
three of them. Watching. Not even blinking.
Anna looked from Rand to Nynaeve. She sighed heavily. “Loial must have told.”
“He did. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” Nynaeve said slowly, “but you
are still Rand al’Thor of Emond’s Field. But, the Light help me, the Light help
us all, you are too dangerous, Rand.” He flinched from the Wisdom’s eyes, sad,
regretting, and already accepting loss. But he knew she was right. Madness and
murder were the fate of any man who could channel. Better to die now, before I
go insane and take more of my friends down with me.
“What happened?” Moiraine said. “Tell me everything!”
And with her eyes on him, compelling, he did. He wanted to turn away, to make
it short, leave things out, but the Aes Sedai’s eyes drew everything from him.
Aginor and his floating doorways. The struggle with and murder of the Green
Man, the medallion that spoke and seemed to heal, the white cord and Aginor’s
escape.
Nynaeve gave a fierce nod at that. “His legs. Good. Let him crawl his way back
to the Pit.”
He told them of Tarwin’s Gap and the battle there, of the way the Green Man’s
garden had moved from place to place, seemingly of its own free will. He
hesitated then, reluctant to speak of the stunning voice, whose words had all
but knocked him unconscious simply from hearing them. Instead he ended with the
confrontation with Ba’alzamon, and his mad claims.
“I had suspicions from the first,” Moiraine said after he was done. “Suspicions
are not proof, though. After I gave you the token, the coin, and made that
bonding, you should have been willing to fall in with whatever I wanted, but
you resisted, questioned. That told me something, but not enough. Manetheren
blood was always stubborn, and more so after Aemon died and Eldrene’s heart was
shattered. Then there was Bela.”
“The coin was supposed to control me? What about Bela?” he said. His anger fell
as quickly as it had risen. What difference did it make now what she tried to
do? Nothing will ever make any difference. Madness and murder.
The Aes Sedai nodded. “At Watch Hill, Bela had no need of me to cleanse her of
tiredness. Someone had already done it. She could have outrun Mandarb, that
night. I should have thought of who Bela carried. With Trollocs on our heels, a
Draghkar overhead, and a Halfman the Light alone knew where, how you must have
feared that Egwene would be left behind. You needed something more than you had
ever needed anything before in your life, and you reached out to the one thing
that could give it to you. Saidin.”
He shivered. He felt so cold his fingers hurt. “If I never do it again, if I
never touch it again, will I still ...” He could not say it. Go mad. Turn the
land and people around him to madness. Die rotting while he still lived.
“Perhaps not,” Moiraine said. “It would be much easier if there was someone to
teach you, but it might be done, with a supreme effort of will.”
“You can teach me. Surely, you—” He stopped when the Aes Sedai shook her head.
“Can a cat teach a dog to climb trees, Rand? Can a fish teach a bird to swim? I
know saidar, but I can teach you nothing of saidin. Those who could are three
thousand years dead. Perhaps you are stubborn enough, though. Perhaps your will
is strong enough.”
And if it isn’t, who pays the price? “Where are the others, were they hurt?” he
asked.
“They’re as well as can be expected. Lan took them into the cavern,” Nynaeve
said. “The Eye is gone, but there’s something in the middle of the pool, a
crystal column, and steps to reach it. Mat and Perrin wanted to look for you
first, but Moiraine said ...” She glanced at the Aes Sedai, troubled. Moiraine
returned her look calmly. “She said we mustn’t disturb you while you were ...”
His throat constricted until he could hardly breathe. Will they turn their
faces away? Will they scream and run away like I’m a Fade? Moiraine spoke as if
she did not notice the blood draining from his face.
“There was a vast amount of the One Power in the Eye. Even in the Age of
Legends, few could have channelled so much unaided without being destroyed.
Very few.”
The rasp in his throat made his voice harsh. “You will be wanting to Gentle me,
won’t you? Isn’t that what Aes Sedai do to men who can wield the Power? Change
them so they can’t? Make them safe? Thom said men who have been Gentled die
because they stop wanting to live. Why aren’t you talking about taking me to
Tar Valon to be Gentled?”
“You are ta’veren,” Moiraine replied. “Perhaps the Pattern has not finished
with you.”
Rand stood up straight. “In the dreams Ba’alzamon said Tar Valon and the
Amyrlin Seat would try to use me. He named names, and I remember them, now.
Raolin Darksbane and Guaire Amalasan. Yurian Stonebow. Davian. Logain.” The
last was the hardest of all to say. Nynaeve went pale and Anna gasped, but he
pressed on angrily. “Every one a false Dragon. Don’t try to deny it. Well, I
won’t be used. I am not a tool you can throw on the midden heap when it’s worn
out.”
“A tool made for a purpose is not demeaned by being used for that purpose,”
Moiraine’s voice was as harsh as his own, “but a man who believes the Father of
Lies demeans himself. You say you will not be used, and then you let the Dark
One set your path like a hound sent after a rabbit by his master.”
His fists clenched, and he turned his head away. It was too close to the things
Ba’alzamon had said. “I am no-one’s hound. Do you hear me? No his, and not
yours! Kill me and be done with it, but do not think to use me in some White
Tower plot.”
Loial and the others appeared in the arch, just in time to hear Rand’s final
words.
Lan led the way, looking as hard as ever but still somewhat the worse for wear.
He had one of Nynaeve’s bandages around his temples, and a stiff-backed way of
walking. Behind him, Loial carried a large gold chest, ornately worked and
chased with silver. No-one but an Ogier could have lifted it unaided. Perrin
had his arms wrapped around a big bundle of folded white cloth, and Mat was
cupping what appeared to be fragments of pottery in his two hands.
“You’re still here?” Mat muttered, not meeting Rand’s eyes. “If I were you, I’d
be halfway to the Aryth Ocean by now. And I would not stop until I found
someplace where there were no Aes Sedai and never likely to be any. And no
people. I mean ... well ...”
“Shut up, Mat,” Perrin said calmly.
“Don’t tell me to shut up. If the Dark One doesn’t kill us, Rand will go mad
and do it for him. Burn me. Burn me!”
That hurt. Rand could not say Mat was wrong, but it still hurt. They’d been
friends, and more, for as long as he could remember. But he didn’t think it
would be just Mat who wanted to be as far away from Rand al’Thor as possible
now.
He turned his face to Perrin. “What about you?”
Perrin shook his head, shaggy curls swinging. “I don’t know, Rand. You are the
same, but then again, you aren’t. A man channelling; my mother used to frighten
me with that, when I was little. I just do not know. If I were you I’d run so
far, so fast, no Aes Sedai would ever find me. Mat’s right about that.” His
eyes, now completely yellow, seemed to look inward, and he sounded tired. “But
sometimes you can’t run.”
“That is what I’m afraid of,” Mat said. “No offense, Rand, but I think I will
just sleep as far away from you as I can, if you don’t mind. That’s if you are
staying. I heard about a fellow who could channel, once. A merchant’s guard
told me. Before the Red Ajah found him, he woke one morning, and his whole
village was smashed flat. All the houses, all the people, everything but the
bed he was sleeping in, like a mountain had rolled over them.”
Perrin said, “In that case, Mat, you should sleep cheek by jowl with him.”
“I may be a fool, but I intend to be a live fool.” Mat hesitated, looking
sideways at Rand. “Look I know we’re friends and all. But you just are not the
same anymore. You understand that, don’t you?” He waited as if he expected an
answer. None came.
Lan ended the awkward silence. “Good to see you alive, sheepherder,” he said
gruffly. “I see you hung onto your sword. Maybe you’ll learn to use it, now.”
Rand felt a sudden burst of affection for the Warder; Lan knew, but on the
surface at least, nothing had changed. He thought that perhaps, for Lan,
nothing had changed inside either.
“I must say,” Loial said, setting the chest down near Moiraine, “that
travelling with ta’veren has turned out to be even more interesting than I
expected.” His ears twitched violently. “If it becomes any more interesting, I
will go back to Stedding Shangtai immediately, confess everything to Elder
Haman, and never leave my books again. Perhaps you would like to join me, Rand?
The stedding is a pleasant place.” A place where the One Power cannot find you,
he did not say.
Rand licked his lips as he considered the suggestion. It would be better than
dying certainly, but he recalled it being said none of the male Aes Sedai who
took sanctuary in the stedding during the Breaking of the World had been able
to make themselves stay there forever.
“A short-term solution,” Moiraine said firmly. “Help me up.” Lan lifted her
until she was sitting; he had to support her even then, her hands were occupied
holding her cloak in place. She examined the prizes they had returned with, her
face a blank mask.
“How could these things be inside the Eye,” Mat asked, “without being destroyed
like that rock?”
“They were not put there to be destroyed,” the Aes Sedai said curtly, and
frowned away their questions while she took the pottery fragments, black and
white and shiny, from Mat.
They seemed like rubble to Rand, but she fitted them together deftly on the
ground beside her, making a perfect circle the size of a man’s hand. The
ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, the Flame of Tar Valon joined with the
Dragon’s Fang, black siding white. For a moment Moiraine only looked at it, her
face unreadable, then she took the knife from her belt and handed it to Lan,
nodding to the circle.
The Warder separated out the largest piece, then raised the knife high and
brought it down with all his might. A spark flew, the fragment leaped with the
force of the blow, and the blade snapped with a sharp crack. He examined the
stump left attached to the hilt, then tossed it aside. “The best steel from
Tear,” he said dryly.
Mat snatched the fragment up and grunted, then showed it around. There was no
mark on it. “Cuendillar,” Moiraine said. “Heartstone. No-one has been able to
make it since the Age of Legends, and even then it was made only for the
greatest purpose. Once made, nothing can break it. Not the One Power itself
wielded by the greatest Aes Sedai who ever lived aided by the most powerful
sa’angreal ever made. Any power directed against heartstone only makes it
stronger.”
“Then how ...?” Mat’s gesture with the piece he held took in the other bits on
the ground.
“This was one of the seven seals on the Dark One’s prison,” Moiraine said. Mat
dropped the piece as if it had become white-hot. For a moment, Perrin’s eyes
seemed to glow again.
Anna paled. “But if it’s broken then the Dark One ...”
“One of seven,” Moiraine reminded them. The Aes Sedai calmly began gathering
the fragments. She carefully put all the pieces into her pouch. “Bring me the
chest.” Loial lifted it closer.
The flattened cube of gold and silver appeared to be solid, but the Aes Sedai’s
fingers felt across the intricate work, pressing, and with a sudden click a top
flung back as if on springs. A curled, gold horn nestled within. Despite its
gleam, it seemed plain beside the chest that held it. The only markings were a
line of silver script inlaid around the mouth of the bell. Moiraine lifted the
horn out as if lifting a babe. “This must be carried to Illian,” she said
softly.
“Illian!” Perrin growled. “That’s almost to the Sea of Storms, nearly as far
south of home as we are north now.”
“Is it ...?” Loial stopped to catch his breath. “Can it be ...?”
“You can read the Old Tongue?” Moiraine asked, and when he nodded, she handed
him the horn. The Ogier took it as gently as she had, delicately tracing the
script with one broad finger. His eyes went wider and wider, and his ears stood
up straight. “Tia mi aven Moridin isainde vadin,” he whispered. “The grave is
no bar to my call.”
“The Horn of Valere.” For once the Warder appeared truly shaken; there was a
touch of awe in his voice.
At the same time Nynaeve said in a shaky voice, “To call the heroes of the Ages
back from the dead to fight the Dark One.”
“Burn me!” Mat breathed.
Loial reverently laid the horn back in its golden nest. “I begin to wonder,”
Moiraine said. “The Eye of the World was made against the greatest need the
world would ever face, but was it made for the use to which ... we ... put it,
or to guard these things? Quickly, the last, show it to me.”
After the first two, Rand could understand Perrin’s reluctance. Lan and the
Ogier took the bundle of white cloth from him when he hesitated, and unfolded
it between them. A long, white banner spread out, lifting on the air. Rand
could only stare. The whole thing seemed of a piece, neither woven, nor dyed,
nor painted. A figure like a serpent, scaled in scarlet and gold, ran the
entire length, but it had scaled legs, and feet with five long, golden claws on
each, and a great head with a golden mane and eyes like the sun. The stirring
of the banner made it seem to move, scales glittering like precious metals and
gems, alive; he almost thought he could hear it roar defiance.
“What is it?” he said.
Moiraine answered slowly. “The banner of the Lord of the Morning when he led
the forces of Light against the Shadow. The banner of Lews Therin Telamon. The
banner of the Dragon.” Loial almost dropped his end.
“Burn me!” Mat said faintly.
“We will take these things with us when we go,” Moiraine said. “They were not
put here by chance, and I must know more.” Her fingers brushed her pouch, where
the pieces of the shattered seal were. “It is too late in the day for starting
now. We will rest, and eat, but we will leave early. The Blight is all around
here, not as along the Border, and strong. Without the Green Man, this place
cannot hold long. Let me down,” she told Lan. “I must rest.”
Rand became aware of what he had been seeing all along, but not noticing. Dead,
brown leaves falling from the trees. Dead leaves rustling thick on the ground
in the breeze, brown mixed with petals dropped from thousands of flowers. The
Green Man had held back the Blight, but already the Blight was killing what he
had made.
Perrin saw it as clearly as Rand. His sad eyes drifted to the black circle on
the ground, where death was already being piled on death, and he heaved a heavy
sigh. “The Light burn me, but I want to go home.” He looked to Moiraine. “It is
done, isn’t it? It is finished.”
The Aes Sedai turned her head on its pillow of cloaks. Her eyes seemed as deep
as the Eye of the World. “We have done what we came here to do. From here you
may live your life as the Pattern weaves. Eat, then sleep. Sleep, and dream of
home.”
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